Juliette the Super Tramp
Chapter 5
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This is the first story I ever submitted to this site, and I've never
been completely satisfied with Juliette or her life. So I've renewed our
acquaintance and will see how it goes. Naturally I am looking for feedback from
those who read this chapter.
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These days it's sort of trendy if one has a blog. The average blogger is
some self absorbed loser who has no life outside of the particular fantasy he or
she has chosen to lie about. I may occasionally stretch the truth, but I have a
problem with those who are downright dishonest about their dreary lives, and
only express opinions that are strictly mainstream, and represent that fabled
creature the consensus, so popular with our elected leaders both here and
especially abroad in the former colonies.
Those of you familiar with my former life, or should I say existence,
know that I worked very hard at earning the title of Super Tramp. In passing I
have to acknowledge the rock group of the same name that preceeded my appearance
on the scene. I beg their indulgence for my bit of thievery. On the off chance
that they wish some form of compensation, I would be very happy to arrange a
time and place for them to take their pound of flesh, or whatever kinky thing
they wish to do to me.
As most of you know, I had finally found my calling. I was well and
truly a pain sponge and a creature whose self worth had taken a bad battering
both literally as well as figuratively. My perspective had become as warped as
my insides. My life oscillated between being beaten to a pulp by any and all who
had the time and inclination to scratch my various itches, and the hospital
where they sewed me up in exchange for the use of my body for some medical
experiments as well as a relief valve for the sexual tensions that resulted from
the stressful environment that those devoted men and women in white operated in.
Recently I was admitted to my favorite hospital after a rather lengthy
sex orgy featuring yours truly, a pack of dogs and I believe it was two ponies
and a donkey. This in turn had been followed by a round-robin torture session
that included the removal of two finger nails and an equal number of toenails, I
presume in the interests of symmetry or fair play, plus other assorted
treatments that left my breasts, buttocks and genitals covered with burns, cuts
and bruises. I was in a bad way and my personal physician,( she is the one who
schedules my treatments and payments for services rendered when I'm recovering )
suggested a rather radical approach that might allow me to begin to live a more
fulfilling life and retain my physical well-being for much longer periods before
I required rest, rehabilitation and therapy. Considering the sorry state in
which I found myself, the decision to proceed was easily made.
"My dear Juliette, you have a good set of breasts despite all the abuse
they are subjected to. However with modern cosmetic surgery they could be
significantly enhanced in size, shape and firmness. You are prone to being
overweight, but your rather stressful activities seem to be keeping that
situation somewhat in check. However I would like you to begin taking an
appetite suppressing drug as well as medication that will somewhat increase
your metabolic rate. You do have a tendency to also retain water, so I'm
prescribing a diuretic to take care of that little problem. Now there may be
side effects or even some adverse reactions between the drugs you will be
taking. Be advised that since we intend to have you as an in-patient for at
least a month, any difficulties you encounter will be speedily dealt with by my
staff."
That 's about all I can recall from our first serious discussion about
turning this caterpillar into a butterfly. It certainly did sound appealing to
me, but I am accustomed to being used and abused by almost all those who cross
my path. I do believe it is in my nature to bring out the worst in all those I
interact with. Perhaps this is my intended purpose, who knows? I began to wonder
what kind of an agenda my physician had for me. It made me very curious in light
of all the kinky things she and her staff already did to and with me every time
I was admitted.
In point of fact that first discussion occurred during a time when I was
holding a three quart enema of glycerin, double-boiled coffee including the
grounds, and a trace of some kind of paint remover that was added to give the
solution a little extra kick. I had a great deal of difficulty concentrating due
to the cramps and burning sensation that was washing over my lower intestines.
Naturally I was also in the standard hospital-issue strait jacket, my only
covering, and was somewhat distracted by the rather large vibrator that had been
plunged deep into my vagina, taped in place and turned to high. I remember nurse
Crocet informing me that the vibe had fresh batteries, the kind that last three
times longer than the normal type, and thus she would be able to devote more
time to my rehabilitation therapy now that she was relieved of the obligation to
change the batteries so frequently. I will cover the type of rehabilitation
therapy I was being given in a later portion of this little expose'.
I have been repeatedly told that I am by far their most popular patient.
It has gotten to the point that the nurses draw lots to see who will have the
pleasure of my company. Some of the ladies of mercy are askance at my behavior
and do their best to make me see the error of my ways. This for instance was why
I was holding that rather nasty enema while my physician and I were discussing
my future. Others are only too happy to join in the fun when I arrive,
especially those who are of the lesbian persuasion. Believe me, it really takes
some doing to equal the pleasure that a knowledgeable, fast tongue can provide
to one as jaded as myself.
My absolute favorite is a young woman who before taking up nursing had
taken her conditional vows as a nun, I do believe it was the order of the
Sisters of Martyrdom. Unfortunately she began to suffer doubt, especially after
she was approached a number of times by members of the order who were most
interested in proposing relationships that semed rather bizarre to her. She
tells me that she is confident that she has found her true calling, and I am one
of those who is most thankful to have had the opportunity of enjoying her
company as she utilizes her unique gifts for calming my insecurities and
promoting a sense of well-being that I am told does enhance the healing process.
She is the main reason that I sometimes think it would be best if some way could
be found to keep me as a permanent patient in this wonderful place.
However there is the other side of the coin to consider as well. I often
dwell on this version of reality as I'm being surreptitiously wheeled down the
long dark corridors in the wee hours of the morning, on my way to the men's wing
where I shall be the main source of sexual relief for perhaps a dozen or more
patients, all eager to use me in ways that are decidedly nontraditional. My
companion for these little trysts is usually one of the senior nurses who cannot
understand why hospital management allows me to remain a patient of this
institute of healing. Personally I do not take offense at this approach to
showing their displeasure; I rather enjoy showing off my darker side and do
appreciate the attentions that are paid to me by these patients, some of whom
are suffering from mental as well as physical problems. It is when I am working
with these unfortunates that I sometimes think I may have a responsibility to a
higher power to properly channel this talent to more productive avenues.
Getting back to my decision to allow myself to be in a sense reborn, my
physician arranged for me to take a battery of psychological tests to see if I
had the type of personality that could adapt to such a radical change in my
physical appearance. As she put it, "You will be moving in different circles,
meeting people who are decidedly of another, perhaps better, perhaps not, class.
Knowing your interests and needs as I do, you will still be gravitating towards
those most interested in harming you both physically as well as psychologically.
It is the latter damage that concerns me. We can always sew you up and have you
out and about thanks to the miracles of modern medicine, but damage to your
personality is not something that can be dealt with easily or expediently."
To my way of looking at things, basically she was telling me that this
physical transformation would likely result in my meeting a better class of
rapists and sadists, but would probably not result in me seeing anyone new when
it came to personality type. On the other hand "better" has a variety of
definitions. If I had a choice between being raped in an alley surrounded by
winos or taking it up the ass against my will (not likely), on silk sheets, I'd
likely choose the latter, just because I'd never experienced rape under those
particular circumstances. It would be a welcome change from my current humdrum
existence.
Being suspicious of anyone who offers to improve my lot in life without
taking advantage of me, I inquired as to what my physician expected me to
provide in exchange for her gracious offer to change my perspective and allow me
access to a better class of people. I caught her a bit off guard I fear. She
looked slightly distressed at my question, and there was a lengthy pause before
she answered. I knew her mind was racing to come up with the correct response
that would calm my fears and allow her to go forward with this daring plan.
"Well, first and foremost will be the feeling of satisfaction that comes
from helping a person like yourself grow and change. If we are successful, I
will be recognized professionally which may ultimately lead to a better position
in the medical community. Finally I will at last have an opportunity to have you
completely under my control, briefly as it might be. I know that makes me sound
selfish, so be it. I am also made of flesh and blood and have my own inner
needs. You may be the one that can satisfy some of my darker urges."
At that point my physician's face took on a rather pale look and her
hands moved back and forth over each other, almost as if she were wringing them.
Now the truth be told, she too was as imperfect a creation as I; that made me
most comfortable with the arrangement and I nodded my head at her answer as I
said, "Then let's proceed. I am placing myself in your capable hands; do with me
what you wish, for the near term I am your slave." I thought my dear friend was
about to wet her panties in joy and relief.
( To be continued)
