Guilty as charged!

Fiction by Johnny Cumlately

Part 1. My sentence.

Despite my pleas of innocence, I was found guilty of rape. It had always been regarded as a very serious crime and this was still true in the third decade of the 21st century. The mandatory sentence, however, had recently changed dramatically as more efforts were made to ensure that criminals did not re-offend. This is my version of what happened.

Gill and I had been in our final year at college and had both just received our graduation results. We had both achieved the levels we needed to go on to study for our chosen profession. We both hoped to become lawyers. We had not been particularly close as students but had knocked around quite a lot among a group of colleagues. I think we both had some mutual attraction but only now did I suggest a date. We had been in the bar of the students’ union and had each had several drinks but neither of us were more than just happy. It was a lovely midsummer evening and we decided to walk into the surrounding countryside.

We stopped in a small glade among the trees and I pulled Gill towards me and kissed her. She responded eagerly and we were soon lying on the grass in a tight embrace. She encouraged me by unzipping my jeans and pulled them down and then discovered my little secret. I was wearing panties! “Do you always wear those?” She looked surprised as I nodded.

“Why? Do you need them to keep you excited? Well, you are going to have to prove to me that you are not a sissy” she said as she slid her own panties down.

It was quite clear to me what she expected and wanted and I was not disappointed. I’m sure she enjoyed it as much as I did and she certainly came while I was inside her.

“I think you enjoyed that as much as I did” I said.

“Maybe, but now I feel as if I have been fucked by a pervert and I did not give permission for that.”

We walked back in silence and I assumed that the incident would be forgotten. However, a few days later I was interviewed by police and then told that I was being arrested on a charge of rape and kept in custody for several weeks pending the case coming to court.

The court hearing proved relatively brief. There were no witnesses so it came down to her story against mine. Thankfully, she did not refer to my panties when giving her evidence, merely insisting that I had forced her into having sex. I also thought it prudent not to mention the panties in my statement. There was little cross-examination. The court obviously believed Gill and not me.

“You have been found guilty of a very serious crime for which I must now pass the new mandatory sentence over which I have no discretion. This is has only just come into force and is designed to teach you respect for the opposite sex. You will be denied any sexual activity for the next four years. You will wear a chastity device for the whole of that time and for the first two years of that period, you will be confined in a woman’s prison and wear female clothing. The sentence is not subject to any commutation. Do you have anything to say?”

I shook my head. “Take him down.”

What the court did not know was that for some years I had often chosen to wear a chastity belt, partly to limit my tendency to masturbate several times a day and partly because I enjoyed the frustration of being locked up, having left the key in some inaccessible place. I had also enjoyed a sexual thrill by cross dressing occasionally. Maybe if I had been wearing my belt on that fateful evening things might have turned out differently. But I was not - only my panties. The sentence was therefore neither unexpected nor, in a strange way, unwelcome. But nevertheless the prospect of being locked into a belt and having absolutely no access to the key for such a long period sent a shiver down my spine. And I guessed that I might be given a rough time by the female prisoners.

I was taken down to the cells below the court but later that day was moved in a prison van to a small secure clinic run exclusively by the prison service. I was taken into an examination room where there was a doctor and a prison nurse, each wearing name badges.

Doctor James was elderly and seemed sympathetic. Nurse Williams was to prove very much the opposite. She ordered me to strip off and go into a small shower room next door. She put all my clothes in a black bag and threw it into a corner of the room. “You won’t be needing those again for a long time.” She told me that all the hair on my body must be removed - head, eyebrows, chest, crotch, the lot and handed me some small goggles of the sort swimmers use to protect my eyes while she sprayed me all over with liberal amounts of a strong depilating cream. After waiting about 15 minutes, she turned on the shower and I emerged without a single hair left. I could see in a small mirror that I was as bald as a coot but admitted to myself that it actually felt rather good. I was given a towel to dry off and then taken back to the doctor.

He explained that he had not previously dealt with anyone convicted under the latest sentencing regime. “I’m going to give you a jab of local anaesthetic in your groin to make sure that you won’t have an erection for the next hour or so. Please lie on the couch.” As soon as he was sure I was completely flaccid, he consulted an instruction leaflet before using the traditional stocking trick to slide a rigid plastic tube over my penis. It was about two inches long and scarcely more then one inch in internal diameter. The end of it was closed except for a hole which was just wide enough to allow the removal of the stocking and for normal urination. It was an extremely tight fit. “The leaflet says this tube is coated internally with a glue which will bond to your skin within the next hour or so and will remain in place for the whole of your four year sentence. The instructions do not make clear how it can be removed at that time other than, I assume, by radical surgery.” I wondered what he meant by radical. Amputation? If so why wait four years? Better not think about that!

He went on “When we’ve finished, the nurse will cuff your hands behind you while the glue sets but first I am now going to measure you for your actual belt and take a mould of your crotch area.” He carefully measured my waist and through my crotch and then covered my crotch with a sort of wet blanket of something like Plaster of Paris. I was told to stay still for a few minutes while it hardened. “The belt will be made from this mould to your exact measurements and I expect to receive it in three or four days. The tube you are now wearing will slide into a larger tube forming part of a shield which will cover all your genitals. You will be brought back here once a month when the belt - but not the tube - will be removed temporarily for cleaning and staff will then milk your prostrate and check on your general state of health. Since you will be in a women’s prison, you may come to be thankful for the protection the belt will offer you.”

The nurse then proceeded to fit breast forms to my chest with some sort of adhesive and handed me a pile of clothes and demanded that I put on some of them there and then. There were a couple of bras, several pairs of panties, a T shirt, a sweater, a skirt, a pair of lady’s pull-on denim slacks and girl’s pyjamas. “You will be held here for about a week to be indoctrinated into female ways before being sent to H.M.Prison Dotville. I suggest that you think of a suitable name for your female self before then.”

I was ready for that. “I think I would like to be called Jennifer.”

She told me that Dotville was not high security and therefore inmates were free to wear their own clothes. “You might find the slacks better to begin with as the other inmates are sure to want to see what is under a skirt. You won’t need fly openings when you’re wearing a chastity, will you?” She gave me a wig - short brown hair - and some makeup which she helped me to put on before inviting me to look in the mirror. She had pencilled in fine eyebrows and I saw a quite attractive girl with a T shirt and fairly prominent boobs. There was a definite protrusion where my new tube was, however. “Don’t worry, Jennifer, your belt will take care of that in due course. Your indoctrination will start tomorrow.”

My wrists were cuffed behind me and I was taken into a small room which was to be my home for the next few days. It was minimally furnished with a bed and chair. There were bars across the small window and a tiny en-suite toilet. There was a selection of women’s magazines and some romantic paperbacks. After about an hour, the cuffs were removed and I was given a tray of food. I heard the key turned in the door lock.

By now it was quite late in the evening so I stripped off and put on the pink flannelette pyjamas very conscious of the penis tube and my attached boobs. The bed proved fairly comfortable and I drifted off to sleep only to be woken in the middle of the night by an attempted erection. I gently pulled on the tube to see if it would come off but the bond had obviously taken effect and there was no way it could be removed. If this was a problem with just the tube, how much more frustrating would it be with the full belt? And the glued-on boobs prevented me from playing with my nipples!

Next morning, the same female officer, Nurse Williams, took me to an adjoining room. “You must understand that for the next two years you are for all practical purposes female. What is your name?”

“Jennifer”.

“You are not male any more. What are you?”

“Female.”

I realised afterwards that she quite quickly managed to brain wash me (or hypnotise, call it what you will) each day while she made me feel as if I had always been a girl. I was taught how to use simple makeup and also about female sanitary matters.

The belt duly arrived and was locked in place by the doctor.

“Do you have any problems before I lock this on?”

“Only when I have an attempted erection in the middle of the night.”

“That’s understandable. The nurse will provide some pills to help to control it.” He looked towards the nurse who looked as though she would relish doing that. It would be some months before I found out why. She handed me a box of pills which I must take daily under supervision to ensure compliance.

Where the waist band met the crotch section behind my back, the belt had a locking system which the doctor operated with a remote control. The narrow penis tube slotted easily into the larger tube behind the front shield which allowed for urination through a drain between my legs. I would clearly have to sit for that and mop carefully. The crotch strap divided to allow defecation. It was to prove fairly comfortable - better than the belt I had chosen to wear from time to time previously. But the prospect of it being there continuously for four years seemed an eternity. However, I liked the appearance of it and the smooth front added to my grudging acceptance of femininity. By the end of the week, I had begun to look forward to going to Dotville with much less apprehension.

Part 2. Prison.

Dotville proved to be a converted country house. Cells had been built in the old stable block. There were about 50 inmates, mostly in single cells The main building had spacious communal rooms and dining hall on the ground floor. The first floor had the governor’s quarters and offices and also accommodation for some of the prison warders. The staff were exclusively female. The buildings were set in large grounds with some modest sports facilities. It may not have been a maximum security jail, but it had high perimeter fences with razor wires and security lights. I doubted whether anyone would try to escape.

I was taken into a sparsely furnished cell with a single bed, a small dressing table and mirror, a cupboard and bookshelf. There was bars at the window, a toilet and washbasin. The door would only be closed and locked at night but had a spy hole. The warder (or should she be called a wardress?) introduced me to Julie, another inmate, who was detailed to show me round and make sure I understood the routine. Julie proved a pleasant girl who was half way through a five year sentence for her part in an armed robbery!

It was soon clear that all the inmates knew who I was and why I was there. They knew the full details of my sentence. They seemed to split into three groups - those who regarded me as a pervert to be avoided and refused to even speak to me, those (Julie was one) who sympathised with my plight and were happy to befriend me and those who just wanted to see the chastity belt and offer verbal abuse. I had to run the gauntlet of the latter every time I went into the dining room and - particularly - on occasions when I could no long avoid using the communal shower room.

We were expected to clean our own cells and do our own laundry. I was initially put on kitchen duty and finished up peeling potatoes and washing up. Only much later did I graduate to more amenable duties in the library.

Altogether, it was no worse and no better than I might have expected and I settled down reasonably well.

Monthly visits to the clinic were a pleasant break from prison. The belt was removed and the doctor carried out a brief inspection before telling the nurse to do her milking. The first time was very painful as she used very little lube. I had to bend forward holding a plastic cup under my tubed penis while she worked a probe inside me. I could tell when she found my prostate but was amazed to see a couple of spoonfuls of cum drop into the cup without any feeling of climax. The belt was then locked back on.

It was on the third of these visits that the doctor commented that my breasts were showing signs of developing. I had noticed that they had become rather sensitive and increasingly uncomfortable under the breast forms. My hair had also started to re-grow and was softer than before. Nurse Williams expressed her satisfaction. “Those pills seem to be doing their job. No more erections? We’ll make a female out of you yet. That’s what the judge intended, isn’t it?” I was slow to realise what was happening and it was not until my next visit that it became clear to me that my body was now distinctly feminised. I had put on a little weight around my hips and lost some round my waist. My skin seemed softer. It took some time before I eventually realised the nature of Nurse Williams’s pills. The breast forms were changed for just extra padding and I was soon able to go without the wig, albeit with a short, but I thought quite attractive hair style.

About this time, I had the worst experience of my time in prison. I’m told that all prisons have their bullies and gang leaders and Dotville was no exception. One day as I left the dining hall I was surrounded by three girls. One, Sharon, I knew was a trouble maker. They sort of marched me back to my cell. One stood outside to watch for warders and Sharon and the other girl shut the door behind them.

“So you’re a rapist. You’re going to find out exactly what it feels like to be raped.” They forced me to bend over the side of the bed, pulled my skirt up and my panties down and forced a rag into my mouth as a gag. I noticed that Sharon had a very unfeminine bulge in her jeans. She pulled down the zip and took out the largest cock I had ever seen which she plunged into my back passage. I’m sure it would have been worse still if I had not already experienced Nurse Williams’s efforts with her probe in my prostrate, but it was at least twice that size and there was no lube. The pain while Sharon fucked me was excruciating. She thrust into me about two dozen times before she squealed as she came and I realised that she must have been wearing a double-ended dildo. They beat a quick retreat leaving me in pain and shock and I lay on the bed for a long time before Julie came to see why I had not reported to the library and I felt able to stand and take stock of what had happened. All my fellow prisoners made a point of not tangling with Sharon and her mates and Julie advised me that any attempt to report the incident would land me in even worse trouble with them.

Surprisingly, all the time I was in prison, the only contact I had with the outside world was a letter from Gill. Whether she felt guilty for having testified against me I shall never know, but her letter was very welcome and in spite of everything I decided to send a warm and friendly reply. We had exchanged several letters when Gill wrote to say she would visit me in Dotville. She would be my first visitor and I was not sure what to expect. The visiting room had a number of tables where we sat opposite one another under supervision of a warder. There were no barriers but physical contact was not allowed.

Gill’s surprise on first seeing me was obvious. “My God! You really have gone native!” I was dressed in my usual sweater and denim skirt. I had modest makeup and my, by now, long hair was neatly tied back. “Whatever have they done to you? Are those boobs real?”

I nodded. “Yes. I didn’t exactly volunteer, but they are much better than the falsies I had when I first came here over a year ago. Actually, they help me to fit in and identify with the other girls better.”

“You sound quite proud of them.”

“I am. You’re proud of yours, aren’t you?”

“Yes. But I’m a girl and you’re not - at least you weren’t when I last saw you.”

“Well, I feel like a girl, now. Most of them call me Jenny, or Jennifer and seem to accept me as one of them.”

We went on to chat about old times at college and Gill brought me up to date on some old colleagues who she said didn’t want to be associated with a convicted rapist. Since graduating Gill had joined a large law firm as a trainee. She had a reasonable salary and was able to rent a small two bedroom apartment and buy a small car.

It was really good to see her and I was happy to let bygones be bygones. I told her I hoped she would come again and write often - but please to address the letter to me as Jenny.

She did write and came again two or three times as the day of my release came nearer. But the prospect of returning to life outside left me with a major problem. Who was I to be? Johnny or Jenny? Either way I would still have to wear the belt for another two years. And I was now the proud possessor of a nice pair of boobs, smooth skin and long soft hair. I certainly looked female. And for almost two years I had had exclusively female company so that I now thought of myself as female a lot of the time.

Part 3 Release.

It gradually became obvious to me that I could not go back to living as a male. Even if I had surgery to remove my boobs, I would still look effeminate. And the chastity belt meant that I could not function as a male for another two years. I was not even sure whether my male bits would ever function properly again. I had to report back to the prison clinic once a month and would still be under Nurse Williams’s supervision. If I disobeyed her orders, she probably had the power to get me returned to prison. Anyway, I decided that I rather liked the idea of being a girl.

There would be complications either way. I would need a job and a plausible CV. I would have to come clean to any prospective employer where I had been for the last two years and why. Maybe they would look more favourably on me if I was a girl and therefore no longer a male rapist.

Gill and I discussed all this at length during her visits and in our letters and she offered me a possible solution. We now seemed to got on well as girl friends so I would continue to be a girl and could live with her in her flat until I had a job and an income sufficient to support myself. If it didn’t work out long term, maybe I could switch back. That clinched the argument for me.

Finally the day came for my release. Gill was at the gate to meet me. I gave the prison authorities her address as my temporary new home and asked them to change my name on their records to Jennifer. Among the formalities I was handed a black bag which I was told to sign for. It contained the rather smelly old male clothes I had been wearing at my trial and I threw it into the first waste skip we passed.

For the first few days I did not dare to go out, being convinced that I looked a freak. But Gill reassured me and insisted that we should go shopping together. Shopping for girl’s clothes was a totally new experience. I loved it! We had a limited budget to cover some things which would be suitable for work when I found a job and Gill also insisted that I must have a “Little Black Dress”, court shoes with modest heels and a few items of cheap jewellery. The clothes I had in prison were all skirts, jeans, tops and sweaters with trainers.

Gill had also bought some things for herself so that evening we had a “trying on” session. I had never worn a dress before and felt wonderfully feminine. Afterwards, we had both stripped to bra and panties and Gill wanted a close look at my chastity belt. “Wow. Four years in that! At least it covers your redundant male bits and has a nice clean front to go with your new boobs. No wonder you have chosen to stay female.” She took me to her bedroom and pulled me down onto the bed.

“You know, Jen, I really fancied you as Johnny until I discovered you were wearing panties but I fancy you even more as Jen now you’ve got boobs and actually need to wear panties. I guess you always wanted to be a girl and now you nearly are one so its time to teach you a few things about what girls like.”

She undid my bra and started to play with my tits. I had often played with my tits by myself in prison, but having Gill do it was really something else! I could tell she was also running a hand down the front of my chastity belt, but of course I couldn’t feel anything there. “Poor Jen! Four years with no cock. No wonder you’re getting used to being a girl.”

I started to reciprocate and she immediately guided my hands to her pussy and made sure I found her G spot. In a few minutes, she was squealing with pleasure. That was the start of our long lesbian partnership.

I managed to get a trainee job similar to Gill’s with another law firm and that enabled us to pool our resources and buy a larger flat.

On my monthly visits to the clinic, I found Dr James very helpful. Even Nurse Williams seemed more human now that she had succeeded in making a female out of me! He made an appointment for me to see a transgender specialist and - to cut a long story short - I was eventually accepted for reassignment surgery and the date fixed for the day when the chastity belt would at last be removed. By then, I had lived as a female for exactly four years. Dr James arranged to be present during the operation so that he could remove the belt and the tube after I had gone under the anaesthetic. My penis was to be amputated after all but it was so long since I had seen or handled it that I hardly gave it a thought. My main consideration was to be free from the belt and enjoy life with Gill.

Fiction by Johnny Cumlately ( or should it be Jennifer?)

October 2010

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