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CMB: MARJORIE'S INTERVIEW For the benefit of easier reading this transcript will not have the interviewer’s comment or questions included, the only evidence transcribed will be that of Marjorie Wolanaski – Please note - a trace of this person’s early life has returned blank, until the age of 17 it would appear that she did not exist. Also no trace of her husband has been found. The investigators have declared themselves as officially ‘puzzled’. It has also been noticed that the subject speaks very formally about incidences, also that she never uses her father’s or mother’s names, as if she’s been conditioned never to say their names . . . Some sort of protection by the father? ---- No, I didn’t want to be a teacher . . . but after what my father did to me it was the only way I could ensure that . . . well lets say that he forced me to do it, just like everything else I had to do! What? . . . My earliest memory of my parents? I suppose I was about 5. He was shouting at my mother, I think she had told him that she couldn’t have anymore children. I didn’t understand why at the time, but it seems that mother had a hysterectomy. I recalled my father shouting at her and then pointing to me, he said. “You’ve given me a daughter, but I wanted a son, a boy who could follow in my footsteps! A daughter is worthless to me!” That was when he struck her, I wanted to turn away but he called to me. “Don’t! Watch me Marjorie; see what happens when I’m disappointed, you don’t want me to be disappointed in you!” Even at that age I knew what he meant, so I suppose he’d already spanked me before. So I had to watch as he returned to hitting my mother. Then he started dragging her, that is pulling her by one arm, up the stairs to their bedroom, I had to follow, he’d ordered me to. I watched him get some ropes and start tying my mother to the bed, “You’d better watch this, see your slut mother get what she deserves!” My father told me as he started stripping off her clothes, then I watched him undress – it was the first time I’d seen a man naked. “Now Marjorie this is all a woman’s good for!” My father told me as he jumped on top of my mother, who began to moan with the pain as he entered her . . . I had to watch . . . I . . . just . . . had . . . to . . . >Interview paused, subject given time to calm down ---- Interview resumed. Yes, I’m fine now . . . I’m sorry I was weak. Father taught me always to be strong and to take whatever the world threw at you . . . That was something I learnt real early as well, my father began tutoring me from when I was seven. Every time I got a sum wrong, a phrase mispronounced or a spelling mistake I was given 12 slaps as punishment, which was along with the normal 12 for not being the son he wanted - which I also received every week and whenever he thought about it. When I was 8 my mother, who he had ignored for some time, left the house. . . . I never saw her again. I was told never to think about her or talk about her again! . . . Until today I’ve followed his order. I found that it was simpler to do what he said rather than try to defy him. After she left . . . things changed. My father decided that he should monitor my physical development. He would make me stretch to my fullest extent and measure me, then I’d do the splits and hold it while he measured that, then he’d make me open my mouth and see how far he could get his finger down my throat before I was sick – if I was sick then he’d punish me, 12 slaps, for making a mess and then I’d have to clean it up. Then he’d punished me again, 12 slaps, for having to clean it up! When I was 9 my father declared that I would have to satisfy his cravings, since I wasn’t his son I would become his wife in all but name - I was scared about this as I knew his cock would hurt me if he did to me what he did to my mo . . . her. – But he told me he wouldn’t take my virginity – my lessons had already included anatomy and I knew all the words and functions of the body – he promised me that it was safe from him. That night I had my first lesson in satisfying my father. I was tied up in a kneeling position, my hands tied behind my back and my legs tied together. I was between my father’s legs and he was pushing his penis into my mouth. “Suck it you bitch. Your mother learnt to be an excellent cock-sucker, so you should be the same.” He kept telling me – that hurt me more, his being able to talk about my mo . . . her . . . and I couldn’t. I remember I went to close my mouth but he slapped my face because my teeth touched his skin. I opened wide and then he grabbed hold of my head and started to force himself into my mouth and throat – that’s when I found out why he’d been measuring my throat, I was so used to having his fingers there that I no longer threw up. “That’s it bitch! I knew you could take it!” My father said as his stomach hit my nose. After that he just kept on moving my head back and forwards until I passed out from lack of breath. >Interview paused, short break taken ---- Interview resumed. My schooling was intensified, I know now that I was advanced for my age, but of course my father was never satisfied with my work. Also now he was measuring my anus, not only for length but also for the width that it could be stretched, every-time I screamed he’d would hit me, but now he’d use a cane on me . . . I was also without clothing now! My father said that I didn’t deserve any and had to prove myself worthy to wear clothes. Why didn’t I tell anyone? I couldn’t! Our house was in the middle of nowhere. We never had any visitors . . . not then anyway. Father would go to the nearest town for some reason that he’d never told me, and when he did I would be chained up – like some dog – so that I couldn’t leave like mother did. On my tenth birthday my father decided that it was time for me to learn more about satisfying him. By this time I was so expert at sucking his penis that I no longer passed out from suffocation and I found that by moving my throat muscles I could make his ejaculate quicker. He now had me sleeping in his bed so that I was handy for sucking him off. Anyway one night he decided I needed to be tied up. Again it was in a crouching position, this time he had my face down on the pillows. I tried to tell him that I couldn’t suck him like that, but he just spanked me and told me to be quiet. He ran his hands over my back and started spanking me again and again, he wouldn’t listen to my cries and tears, he seemed to rub something on my anus and I knew that this night – my birthday – was going to be when he would enter me. He took nearly 30 minutes to force his penis up inside me. The way I was tied meant that all I could do was to move either backwards onto him or to pull away from him. But he was able to ram himself up inside me, I could feel that he was doing something to my insides but there was nothing I could do. He was so far inside me, even that plastic thing that he used to measure me hadn’t gone in as far, and as for the things that stretched the anus . . . well they didn’t really prepare me for the pain. Finally he was all the way into me. I could feel his hands on my hips holding me in position, and then he started pumping away and while he was doing that he began pulling and pushing on my hip, making me respond to his actions even though I didn’t want to. “Move you slack arsed little bitch! Shove yourself into me!” He said, as if teaching me a new dance step. Finally I felt him spurting away inside me. He seemed to fall over me, pushing my face deeper into the pillow, I thought I would suffocate. But then he pulled out from me, spun my body around and made me suck him off. “You’ve got to clean me off after. And make a good job of it . . . or else!” He told me. But after I’d done that he wasn’t happy. “You didn’t suck me back to full erection!” He said before pushing my face back into the pillow, he spanked me and then used the cane on me because some of his sperm had leaked from me and had soiled the bed. When he was finished he found that he needed to use me again . . . which he did before he fell asleep, leaving me tied all night. He thrashed me again because I didn’t stop my anus from leaking his sperm again the following morning. >Interview paused, interviewer requested urgent break. ---- Interview resumed. What? . . . No, I’m okay, but what about you, you’re looking slightly pale? Very well then, where was I? Oh yes, after my birthday my father expected me to look after his bodily needs either by sucking him or by him using my arse . . . Love? What’s that? I mean what’s the point of love? I was just a thing to him, a useful object to be used. He taught me that it was all I was good for, and like all men I was there for his amusement. I suppose if I had been the son he wanted, or if I’d been the second child after his son my life would have been different. . . Who am I trying to kid! My father kept up his use of me, past my eleventh birthday – my father didn’t rape me as I expected him to, but his use of my other orifices increased. But now he had a new target, my developing body. Instead of finding a new sexual use for my body he now started to experiment with bondage, making me bend into different shapes and then fixing me in position, at one stage he made me stand on one leg, with my other raised up to my head – the benefits of all the exercises he made me do – I then hand to grab my ankle with my hands, at which point my father would tie my hands in place so that I was held in that position. I must add at this point that I never wore any clothing. I was just a thing and things didn’t need dressing up. So while I was in this position I would hear my father taking pictures of me, I wasn’t allowed to look This was the first time my father had taken any apparent notice of me and so I tried to look as if I was happy . . . this was a mistake as he started to hit me with the cane, not only on my backside but also on my extended leg and forming chest. He took more pictures of my crying face after that and seemed satisfied. After that he placed me in other poses, the final one being in my submission position, that was were I was kneeling with my hands tied behind my back. He stood in front of me and presented his penis to me . . . he took pictures while I sucked him! The next day he made me stand in front of a white sheet while he started tying me up, my breasts were just budding at this time, but they became his target! He would get twine and start wrapping it around my breasts, pulling the twine tight so that the nipples would become engorged with blood and . . . I’m sorry are you alright? Are you sure? No, I’ll be happy to delay the rest for another time. . . . You’re looking very pale. Interview suspended, at interviewer request. ---- >Interview resumed, new interviewer. Hello . . . how is? Oh I am sorry to hear that . . . do you want me to start from the beginning or . . . I see, you’ve already listen to the tapes. So where did I get up to. My twelfth birthday? Or when I started had my first period? Of course I had read about such things, I knew that all girls had periods and that they are accompanied by fluid from the womb through the vagina, but of course my father couldn’t let me make a mess like that without punishing me. It was the only time I wore clothing, a pair of knickers and a sanitary pad. I had to report to him when I needed a new one. He said it enforced my dependency on him to take care of me. It was during this time that he seemed pre-occupied, he would be reading books, mostly medical books, sometimes he would weigh me but all the time he would tell me how worthless I was to him and would beat me . . . I hated him, although I knew it was wrong. At night now I would have to be tied up in the bed, my hands to the headboard of the bed with my feet tied above them. He would raise my head so that I could see between my legs and at my vagina, which was starting to sprout hair. Every-time he found a hair he would spank me and then, using tweezers, remove the offending hair. But soon too many were sprouting for him to take care of, and so he started using some cream on my body, leaving it on sometimes for hours. It left red marks on my skin and seemed to remove the hairs . . . but they grew back after some days! Then he brought a machine and started to use it on my body, it had a needle and he would follow the roots of the hair and dig the needle in, I tried not to scream, but it was no use . . . after some time, with my throat sore, he placed a gag in my mouth to block out the sound. When I awoke I was sore between the legs but I was still tied up! My father was using my anus again. He didn’t care how I felt as long as my body was able to take him whenever he wanted. He sat me up after he had finished satisfying himself with me, he then tied my small breasts with twine . . . it was agony! But he hadn’t finished just yet. He showed me a large leather belt and, without warning, brought it across my chest, he seemed to be taking aim at my nipples. I couldn’t even scream about it my breath was taken away with the shock of it. I had to endure 6 strikes with this leather belt, and then he turned his attention to my backside. This was because I had screamed when he was attending to my hair. He then untied me from the crouching position and then retied me in a backward bow so that the front of my body was available for his attentions. “You see this you stupid bitch? It’s a whip. This little beauty will taste you skin every time you have a period!” He told me. I tried to protest but of course he wouldn’t listen to me, I was beneath his contempt. So anything I tried to say was worthless. He showed me this once more as he started to whip me between my legs. Causing more blood to flow . . . blood which I had to clean up, but I still earned myself a thrashing. Interview paused, short break taken ---- Interview resumed. You want me to move onto the next event in my early life? . . . Well that’s easy. My father waited for my menstrual cycle to regularize itself. While he was doing that I had to be tied to my bed in a special way. I would have a frame erected at the foot of my bed with manacles at four places. My head would be supported by a hinged rest, which could be raised or lowered to place my mouth in line with my throat, or to allow myself to look along the length of my body. My hands would be placed in the inner manacles with my legs brought up over my body and manacled to the outer set. Bent almost double I could see my vagina and knew that my father had full view of both my lower orifices. My father took many pictures of me like this, as if he was proud of his handiwork. He was now using string to tie up my breasts. He would pull them into points and then attach thread to the nipples, pulling on them when he wanted to goad me into better action on his penis as he used my mouth. I became used to this position as he would use it often; he commented that he was surprised that he didn’t think of it sooner. He started to change the way in which he worked this, I would be blindfolded and have loud music blaring in my ears. In this way I would never know when or how he would use me. I did expect him to rape my vagina this time . . . but I found out he had other plans for that. After three months of this new routine he would leave me for hours at a time, before he’d attack me . . . this time it was an attack as he would brutally use my body, it didn’t matter if I struggled – it just seemed to make him excited and more vicious in his use of me. Just after my twelfth birthday my father changed my life forever. I was bound once again on the bed, blindfolded and deafened. I felt hands on my breasts and realised that he was going to use me again. There was something different, he was more . . . urgent, rougher in some way that I couldn’t define. I tried to raise my hips so that he would have easy access to my anus, but then I felt something thick and hard between my labia lips, fingers opening my vagina and then a stabbing sensation as this thick hard thing was pushed into my body. How could he do that? He’d promised me that he wouldn’t do that to me, but here he was I felt it as he ripped away my hymen, forcing himself up inside me . . . I couldn’t cope with this I started to scream in pain, but then my support was removed from my head, something that stopped me . . . My father could not be raping me when he was doing this it was impossible, my head was tipped back and his penis. . . it was his penis I knew it, every part of it . . . was forced down my throat. I couldn’t give his penis as much as I should have done, the pain of that other penis being rammed inside me opening parts of me that I had hoped would be spared his attention was diverting me, and I found he was slapping my head in his effort to spur me on. He pulled out of me, apparently dissatisfied with my work. He pulled off the headphones and the blindfold. The room held six men – all of whom were leering at me. I was terrified! I’d never seen another man before only my father. He raised my head so I could look at the stranger who was fornicating with me. He smiled at me as he pounded away in my body. “Now bitch, I told you that I wouldn’t rip that piece of worthless flesh from your body! That’s been brought by the man who is now inside you. He really loved your actions on the pictures and wanted to meet you. He paid plenty in the end - for your end.” My father indicated the other men in the room. “These good fellows have agreed to contribute to your motherhood. You are at your most fertile for the next few days, so there’s a chance that one of these men will become the father to you child.” And so it was for four days I was used by all those men, I was unable to stop them as my father kept me tied to the bed all that time. I was fed while tied, urinated into a bedpan while tied. I wasn’t allowed to leave that bed until my father determined that I was no longer fertile. Interview paused, short break taken ---- Interview resumed.Sorry – sorry I didn’t realise that I was still affected by that memory. I missed my next period, and the following one. I was concentrating on the exercises that my father had told me I was to follow every day, so it came as a surprise when my father told me that my impregnation was successful! He seemed happy with the news! I started finding myself eating more food; my father was studying his books again and would take great delight in describing, in detail, what changes were occurring with me. And what I would have to expect in the way of pain when I gave birth to my son. Oh yes it was going to be my son, not his. It was my fault that I was pregnant I allowed those men to take advantage of me. But then I was just following my calling - I was a sex toy for everyone to use. To prove this my father brought in some women. They seemed to enjoy playing with a bound, pregnant, child. They would lick at my vagina delighting in degrading me. I would find my face covered by women’s vaginas. I forget how many women I serviced like that. Some of them would have sperm inside them that I would have to suck out of them. When they left I felt physically sick – but knew that I would be punished by my father should I vomit on my bed. This brought up the matter of morning sickness . . . I wasn’t allowed to suffer from it! The birth of my first child was everything my father had told me it would be . . . I wasn’t allowed anything to reduce the pain I was forced to endure it the entire time. I didn’t have a birthing chair. I was manacled to the raping board by my hands, my legs were extended and then bent back, and finally they were spread so that my father, and I, could see my vagina as the baby emerged. First the head and then the body emerge from me, I couldn’t stand the pain and threw my head back to scream as the baby was born, my father took care of the after birth, and slapped the child on the back causing it to cry and breathe. Then I heard my father swear at me. “A bloody bitch! What is it with you stupid women? All I require is a son . . . why don’t you learn!” and he began to hit me again and again until I passed out. He allowed me 2 weeks before I found that he was going to use my vagina. I had to nurse and change my child who he called Cunt. He told me that no matter what it took he would have his son from me. I miss my children . . . do you know where they are? . . . Please tell me. Interview paused, short break taken ---- >Interview resumed. Yes . . yes I’m feeling better. I’m sorry about that. Eleven months after the birth of my daughter, Cunt. I gave birth to my father’s son, who he called Adam. My daughter was now relegated to second position in the eyes of my father, Adam was the one he wanted, Cunt was another worthless thing, something to be trained. In a way I was almost happy . . . as my father stopped hitting me so often. I had to look after the children now. My schooling, which had been declining for some months now, was restarted along with sessions with some drugs – not enough to be harmful to Adam who I was still breast feeding – I would watch a screen with a revolving image on it and then I would find myself tied to the bed. I have no idea how long I’d been asleep or what had happened to me during those times! No, I didn’t worry about this. . . . I don’t know why not. . . . I’ve never thought about it until now, I really don’t know why? The children grew, Adam was praised for everything he did, Cunt would be doing just as well, but she would always be told off by my father. She became Adam’s toy, she would have to do what he told her. My father made sure that Adam had better lessons than Cunt, was taught how to inflict pain upon his sister, to know his position over her. Adam wore clothes, but Cunt was refused such things, she didn’t deserve them, unless Adam decided otherwise. That was the point! She was to learn to depend on Adam. They were potty trained, as my father didn’t want to find a mess in their bed – for which I’d receive the punishment of course. Adam had special training in using Cunts mouth if he couldn’t reach the toilet in time, she had nothing available to her and received a spanking if she made a mess. My father made sure that Adam learnt how to administer punishment, he was given a list of what deserved punishment and how it would be applied, with live examples by my father with me. He also taught Adam how to fornicate with me, although there isn’t much a 5 year old can do. No . . . no just yet . . . there isn’t much more to tell you about my early life. When I was seventeen my father gave me some more of the drug, a larger dose than before. I was seated in front of the turning screen . . . I was wearing headphones . . . I’d never recalled that before! I kept watching the screen I had to watch the screen . . . watch the screen . . . screen. I awoke in a hotel bedroom. I was surrounded by pictures of myself as a young girl in bondage, but I didn’t recognise myself I knew that such thing were wrong and I destroyed them all. I had clothing and a bank card. When I checked the account later it had over £250,000 in it. I also had a diploma stating that I had passed, with honours, an educational degree and letters of introduction. I could go to any school and take position as a teacher, I had the knowledge and I knew – I knew that it was my duty to protect the young children, make sure that they wouldn’t have to live as I must have done . . . I couldn’t remember anything at that time. How do I remember now? It was the way the school I teach at has changed! That Robert Wilson and his so called sexual development lessons! They are a menace and have to be stopped! The sight of those naked children seemed to weaken whatever it was that my father had done to me. I could recall many things. I had to stop him from doing this to those children! It was just after I’d tried to get him thrown out of the school. I knew that I’d have to show the brats just what was going to happen to them when he finished with them. When I returned to my class it was a mess. The children were shouting and behaving like animals. So I locked the door and ordered them to strip off. I also started to undress I grabbed one boy and one girl – I can’t tell you who they were as all the children were a blur to me at that time. I sat in a chair and pulled the boy down on his knees and between my legs. I made him taste me between my naked thighs. The girl I placed on my lap, so trapping the boy between us. And showed her exactly what was going to happen to her by slapping her on her vagina. I can’t tell you what happened after that because as I came to the door had been smashed in and the children removed from the classroom, the two brats I’d been giving a lesson to were being comforted by that bastard Robert Wilson. He was acting as if he was taking care of them. But I know the truth; he is a menace and should be locked up. I need to be freed to continue my crusade! You have to let me go . . . I mean now that I’ve told you all this you are going to let me go aren’t you? What do you mean you can’t help? That’s why you’re here isn’t it? You’ve got to help. Really! Interview completed – recommendations follow. A background check – as stated in beginning showed that Marjorie Wolanaski had no legal identity before the age of 17, the diploma was found to be issued in, what could be considered fraudulent conditions, although the student for which it was issued did provide suitable material which was accepted in the course she did not actually attend the class. Her story of being educated privately does have some credence, as also does the medical evidence which shows she did bear children when younger. The identity of the man referred to as Father can not be traced without further details. The location of the two children mentioned, Adam and Cunt, is also unknown. These ‘children’ would now be in their late 30’s early 40’s. Subject is considered to be a risk to herself and especially this person Robert Wilson. She should be held in secure confinement pending re-appraisal. |