TWO TOURISTS - A TALE AND A SEQUEL

By Francine

This story is set in the Soviet Union, beginning in the Communist era, when two women tourists decide to ignore the rules on export of restricted items.  There are consequences for both, for one humiliating and the other highly inconvenient.  

The story involves a sequel, when there is a return to scene at a later time.

Chapter 1

Alone at Last

Irma Bradley and her friend and companion Helen Murzac stood at the entrance to the modest hotel they had occupied with their tour group for the last several days.  They were waving farewell to the others of the group with whom they had been touring the Soviet Union for the past two weeks.  The time was 1983, the place a town not far from Kiev in the Ukraine.  Irma and Helen had long looked forward to this tour of the communist empire, and now it was coming to a conclusion.  This was to be their last stop, but Irma, ever the adventurer, had persuaded Helen to arrange with her that the two of them might remain for two extra days after the group left; a time, Irma had insisted, would allow them to taste a bit of the country without the supervision of the tour guide and enable them to taste the 'real' Soviet nation - also a time to do a bit of prowling and shopping of the type that would make them the envy of others when they returned to their homes in the USA.   

As the bus carrying their former companions pulled away, Irma turned to her friend.  "Now it's just the two us for two days.  We get our chance to pick up the things we want to bring home - and not from the shops the guides steer us to!  And we can roam around by ourselves, talk to whom we wish, and in two days we go home with an experience that wasn't on the official list!"

Helen smiled back.  To be sure, Helen was a bit less adventuresome than Irma.  She liked to poke around in strange places and pick up interesting bits of artwork or artifacts, but she was a bit more conventional than Irma.  Helen would prefer to do her shopping in stores  or museum shops, while Irma loved to hunt up street merchants, always looking for a bargain or something that couldn't be found in the conventional places.  

Both women were single, fairly independent, and educated.  Irma was thirty eight, a real estate salesperson accustomed to negotiations and completely at home with the bargaining process.  She liked people and had no fear of anyone she might meet.  From long experience she understood posturing and the processes of deception people often used; yet she inherently liked people and felt she could deal with such strategies.  Irma, a schoolteacher, was a bit more of a conformist in her habits. She could be open and friendly with her students, yet she had a private side that she seldom revealed.  She liked her privacy, enjoyed watching others get into adventures she would prefer to avoid, as she might watch that activity in her students, yet enjoyed intellectual exploration of the cultures and varied people she encountered.

Irma wasted no time.  "Remember that man on the street corner who asked us about changing dollars?  He offered an awfully good rate - twice what the banks would give!"

"The one our guide said to ignore?  Because it was illegal?"

"So she said.  What she really meant was that he didn't give her a cut!  If we're going on a shopping spree, we need a supply of rubles.  Let's go!"

The two women wandered back along the street, looking for a familiar corner. After a time they found it.  They stood, looking around.  Before long a rather plain looking man approached them.  He was wearing an old coat, his head covered in a gray woolen cap, fairly appropriate to the changeable fall weather.  "Ah, my American ladies!" he greeted them in rather good English.  "I hope you are having good time in our country!  We like our friends!"  He went on, complimenting them on their dress, their hair styles, their smiles.   Irma cut him short.    "Yesterday - you offered a good rate on money exchanges - are you still in the business?"

The man suddenly became quiet.  He looked about carefully, then motioned them to come into a sheltered doorway.

"In my business, it is good not to be too noisy.  I have many competitors - they would not like to know what good rates I can offer  -  I like to do business with Americans, but some of the others are not so understanding.  If they hear the good offers I make for you, they make things hard for me.  You understand?" 

Irma nodded.  Helen looked on, a bit suspicious.  He went on "How much you want to change? I make very good price - but, you understand, I cannot let others know what I do for you - so it just between us?  So?"

Before long, a deal was struck.  Several hundred dollars changed hands, and Irma and Helen moved away, purses stuffed with wads of rubles.

Irma smiled to Helen.  "See why the guide didn't want us dealing with him?  She probably gets a cut from all the places she takes us to, and this guy wouldn't be cutting her in.  So we got a good deal!  Now, where would you like to go first?"

Helen's taste went to small pieces of jewelry,  and a bit of hand made skirts and blouses; things she would use as gifts to her close friends.  They browsed a bit through street stalls and small stores.

Irma had more exotic tastes.  She inquired at one small store, "I hear there are old pictures - religious icons - for sale.  I'm interested in old art - could you guide me?"  At first she got shakes of the head, or comments indicating her English was not understood, but Irma was insistent. She had a brochure describing old artwork sometimes found among merchants selling antiques, and she used the pictures to help with her inquiries.

Helen was less than enthused.  "Even if you find any of the icons, you know you can't take them out of the country if they're over a hundred years old - it's not allowed, as the guides told us!"

"So who's to know the birthdates?  Old art doesn't come with date of manufacture - that's what makes it interesting.  I was told we'd find some old icons if we looked far enough.  Oh, I'd love some of that - something of old Russia, from the Czarist times - or older!"

They continued looking, until a shopkeeper showed signs of interest.  "Pictures?  Old pictures?  The old churches - they tear down - some make into museums -  sometimes, sometimes, people sell pictures from old churches.  Such is you want?"  Irma's interest was immediately aroused.

Both of them were ushered into a small back room.  A large chest was opened, and from it the shopkeeper withdrew several framed pictures, obviously quite old.   Irma's eyes brightened at the site.  This might be what she was looking for.

A number of old pictures, obviously church icons, were spread before her.  The shopkeeper offered comments in broken English "old - sixteen, fifteen century - from old church -  very rare-  you want?"    Then he added, "Old book - too?"  Her interest was piqued.  She nodded.

After some further search, a very old book was produced, illustrated with several hand painted pictures.  She failed to connect with the text, all in Russian, or perhaps Ukrainian, but the pictures cleared showed her it was a religious text, and probably at least two centuries old.

Irma employed her negotiating powers.  She played the pictures against the book, seemingly debating which was her real interest.  After a time, she finally had a bargain - the book and four small icons.  She smiled as she paid out the cash, thinking how these would appear as rare finds in her home.  All, she noted, were small enough to fit in her suitcase.

The shopkeeper offered no receipt, no papers.  The deal was closed.  The purchases were wrapped in a nondescript cloth and given to Irma.  The two women left the shop, pleased their shopping expedition had yielded such quick results.

The next day was largely Helen's.  Her tastes were less exotic, but resulted in more bulky purchases. At the end of the day, they retired to their room to prepare for their impending departure.

Irma had thought it best to place the icons in the bottom of her suitcase, wrapped in articles of her apparel.  Helen was unconcerned about her purchases, and packed most of them in a carton she had acquired along the way.  They had a late late dinner, and retired early.

The day of their departure began.  They breakfasted, and had arranged a car to transport them to the airport.  The driver arrived on time, and they were off, anticipating a long day returning home. They would not be disappointed.

On arrival at the airport, they checked in for their flight.  After receiving their boarding cards, they were ushered into a room where passports and customs papers were checked.  Baggage, tagged for their flight, was still in their care until it was cleared by the customs officials.

The two approached the customs counter.  They were directed to place their bags on the counter and unlock them. Two customs officers carefully looked over their currency and baggage declarations, and passports.

One official tapped on Helen's box.  He indicated she was to open it, which she did.  She stood as he carefully went through the contents, carefully looking at the pieces of clothing and jewelry she had purchased.  Helen was a bit irritated as she saw her careful packing being disrupted by the rummaging hands of the official, as he withdrew item after item and looked it over.  Finally, he seemed satisfied.  With a nod of his head, he motioned for her to close it up.  With a shrug she bent to the task of restoring order to her carefully packed carton.

Next was Irma's suitcase.  Again, items were withdraw and examined.  The officials seemed disinterested in conversation, or couldn't communicate in English.  With sour expressions, they explored the contents of the luggage.   At length an article was withdrawn, Irma's slacks, worn and unwashed, wrapped around one of the icons.   The official carefully unwound the slacks. He withdrew the icon.  His face brightened as he drew it out and held it up to the light.

The other official stopped what he was doing and turned to see the find.  Together they inspected the icon.  With an expression of disapproval, the customs officer looked directly at Irma.  "Nyet!" he said, clearly, followed by a string of words in Russian which Irma could not decipher.

They burrowed further into her suitcase.  One official looked over the customs papers she had completed, and pointed to it in a quizzical way.  Their voices became animated.  Irma sensed there was a problem.

"I just bought that - I didn't know there would be a problem with it!  I'm sorry - can I leave it?"

The official clearly did not understand.  Then he found a second icon.  He voice rose as he spoke to Irma.  She flushed.   

One of the customs officers disappeared into another room.  It was indicated that Irma should wait.  Helen, her own inspection completed, stood beside her.

"What are they going to do?" Helen asked.  "I think maybe you should have declared the icons! They seem upset about them!"

"If I had put them on the paper, they wouldn't have let us take them out.  They don't know where we got them.  They don't know whether they are fakes or not - these men aren't art experts!  Just wait - everything's going to be all right!"

The customs officer returned with a man they had not seen before. He addressed Irma.  "Deutsch?  Francaise?  Italiano?"

"English!  We're American - as you can see from our passports!"

The newcomer nodded slowly. "English.  We will try.  You ... together?" he indicated the two of them.

"Yes", they agreed, in unison.  

He picked up the two icons, one in each hand.   "Not allowed.  Not on form.  Who?  Which one?"

Irma indicated herself.  "They are mine.  I bought them!"

"More?" asked the official.    "No - just me!" Irma responded, evidently misunderstanding the question.

"Purse", he said. indicating Irma.  She handed over her purse.  The official began to rummage through it.  The contents were hastily dumped on the counter.

After a few moments, he opened an envelope and withdrew a small pile of ruble notes.  He held them up, showing them to Irma.  He looked at the currency declaration, where she had listed no rubles.  She knew full well export of ruble notes was not allowed.

The official frowned. His displeasure was evident.  "Not allowed - forbidden!" he said emphatically. "No rubles can be taken!" 

Helen whispered to Irma, "Why did you keep them?  You know they were not allowed?"

Irma answered quietly.  "They're what's left of the ones we bought - I couldn't change them at the bank without an exchange receipt, so I just stuffed them in my purse." 

She quickly addressed the official.  "I couldn't change them back- I lost my exchange receipt. What else could I do?"

He seemed to ignore her statement.  "Rubles not allowed - old pictures not allowed - no, no!" he shook his head, and said something in Russian to the other customs men. They began dumping out the contents of Irma's suitcase, searching every item.

In a few minutes they had found the rest of the  icons and the book.  They began writing, at some length, on an official-looking document.  Irma and Helen were both addressed in Russian, but they could only understand that the officials were disturbed.

Soon their boarding cards were taken from them, along with their passports.  They were ushered into a small office.

A new, and evidently more senior, official came into the room.  After a long conversation in Russian with the customs men who had inspected the baggage, he addressed them in hesitating English.

"You carry.... forbidden material.  Rubles, old, antique -  no permits.  No declaration. You cannot go.  It is not allowed. "   He tried to explain further, but his command of the language was slight.  They understood only that they were in trouble, and would not be allowed to board the flight.

Irma tried to explain.  She protested.  She stood up and shouted. "I am an American!  You cannot keep me here!  Take these things if you will, but you cannot hold me!  I demand to speak to the American consul!" 

The officials did not answer in English.  They conferred among themselves, then left the room, leaving only a guard to watch them.

Irma fumed.  "No one understands us!  They have made us miss our flight!  This is ridiculous!  We bought these things, paid for them with money we got for good U.S. dollars!  How can they do this?"

Helen was a bit calmer.  "Irma, you know we were warned.  The guide told us not to exchange money on the street, and we were told taking out antiques would not be allowed!  Maybe, if we just get to someone who understands English, we can explain.  It won't help to shout!"

They were made to wait over an hour.  Finally a uniformed officer came into the room.  He tried to speak to them.  "Go - go Novorosk!  Militia will handle.  English.  You go!" he motioned to the door.

They were taken to a waiting vehicle. The uniformed officer ushered them into the rear seat. He and a driver took the front.  Their baggage was not loaded and their passports not returned.  

"Where are we going?" Irma said to her companion.   "I can only guess", Helen responded, "he said something about Novorosk, I think.  That sounds like the name of a little town I saw on the map, a ways from here.  They seem to think someone will speak English wherever we're going.  But that's just a guess!"

The driver and their escort talked among themselves, but they used no English words.  Irma and Helen could only guess at their destination.  The car drove for some time, and eventually they spotted a road sign pointing to Novorosk.  Helen had guessed correctly.

Chapter 2

English at Last

The car stopped in front of an official looking building in the town of Novorosk.  The escorting officer opened the door, and indicated they were to come out.  They entered the rather drab building, passed a number of uniformed persons whom they assumed to be police, and were taken to a fairly large room with several benches.  "Wait!" the escort ordered them.  They sat down, and waited.

A female in a military style uniform came in, evidently to keep an eye on them.  She sat beside the door.  Their escort left.

Time dragged on.  They waited and waited.  The room had a small water dispenser, from which a glass of water might be obtained, and two rooms that were evidently toilets.  They made use of  the facilities and helped themselves to the water.  The female guard seemed to tolerate these actions, but said nothing to them.

After they had been in the room almost two hours, a uniformed militiaman entered, and called out, "Irma Bradley!"   Irma stood up.  "That's me," she answered.   The man indicated she was to come with him.  She followed down a hallway, and then into an office.  The room was the usual drab official style, furnished with an old desk, a couple of chairs, and an assortment of shelves holding papers and books.   She was offered a chair.

Behind the desk was a man in a military or police uniform, slender, perhaps about forty.  He smiled at her.  Then he addressed her, in rather good English.  "I am Vassily Kuznetov.  I am, as you might say, an officer of the Novorosk militia, or police, to you.  You have been referred to me, I have been told, because you do not speak Russian or Ukrainian, and you are foreigners.  Sometimes persons are sent here because my English is perhaps a bit better than some of our men at the customs posts.  I have been given some information about you, and it is my task to deal with you so we can resolve this matter-"

Irma could not contain herself.  "We have been taken from the airport!  Our luggage was taken from us!  Our passports were taken!  We have missed our flight!      No one understands us, or can tell us what we are expected to do -  then we were brought here and you kept us waiting for two hours! I insist you tell us exactly what you expect us to do, and let us get back to the airport as quickly as possible!" 

Vassily listened to her outburst with as much patience as he could muster.  He allowed her to finish.  Then he told her, "Miss Bradley, you are charged with violation of the currency control laws and attempting to export prohibited items.  You were found with rubles in your possession as you were about to embark on a flight out of the country.  You were found with antique artwork in your luggage, for which you had no export permit.  You had not declared either to customs.  You had, in fact, wrapped the paintings in articles of clothing, in an evident attempt to hide them from inspection.  These are serious matters.

"Further, the value of the artwork and the currency in your possession would seem to considerably exceed the value of foreign currency you brought into the country and legally exchanged.  This suggests that you have engaged in foreign currency transactions at places not authorized to do such business.   These are serious charges.  Do you deny them?" 

Irma was furious.  "We declared all of the money we had when we entered the country. Why do you care where we spent it?  We paid for everything we bought!  We stole nothing!  We're Americans!  You can't hold us against our will!  We have rights!" 

"In our country," Vassily went on calmly,  "We have laws that govern where you can exchange money, and what you can bring in or take out of the country.  They may not be like the laws of your country, but they are our laws, and while you are here you must abide by them.  The charges against you are quite serious, and it may take some time to deal with them- "

Irma interrupted him.  "We are not going to stay in this place!  You have no right to hold us!  If you must, you can keep the things you found in my suitcase, but you have no right to hold me!  I know my position!  I am American, and I demand to see the consulate!"

"You will have opportunity to make your defense, Miss Bradley," Vassily answered.  "In due course.  We may allow you to contact the American consulate, but it is not yet time.  As for the items in your suitcase, we shall indeed hold them.  We intend to find out where you acquired them, and how or if you paid for them.  You may have had an accomplice.  What is you friend's position in all this?"

"Helen's not involved - she was only traveling with me!  You can't hold her responsible!  Everything that was found was in my suitcase- and I paid for every bit of it!"

"In that case", Vassily went on, "it is possible there will not be charges against her.  But it is too early to say.  We will need some statements from both of you--"

"I've told you enough!  I know how you people try to get confessions, and I am not about to do something like that!  I want a proper legal defense, and I want to talk to the consulate!  And Helen's innocent - you can release her right now!  You're nothing but a cheap bureaucrat trying to flout your authority!  And I won't put up with it!"

Her harangue went on as she continued to protest.  The officer's patience was coming to an end.  He was visibly upset.

"Miss Bradley, do you understand your position?  You are in serious trouble, and you're going to make it worse!  It will be much easier if you will cooperate--"

"Cooperate?" she exploded. "Why should I cooperate?  You just want me to confess to something you're going to dream up, so you can make a few points by shoving your stupid laws down the throats of foreign  tourists!  Your government wants us to come here and spend money, which is what we did!  Why should I cooperate with your ridiculous bureaucratic obsessions?"

Vassily had had enough.  He summoned an aide, allowing Irma to go on with her tirade.

He spoke to the aide in Russian, then addressed Irma in clear English.  "Miss Bradley, I think you are not ready to cooperate with us.  We need to allow you some time to consider your position.  This man will take you to a place where you may do just that, and we will discuss the matter later.  Go - now, with him!"    He spoke briefly to the aide, then waved his hand for her to leave.

Irma walked out, her head high and her rage unabated.  She had not understood the instructions Vassily had given to his aide.  Perhaps it was just as well, for what he had said, roughly translated, was "This woman is becoming haughty and arrogant.  I do not like arrogance.  Take her away, and bring her back to me in three hours.  She is in your care; but when you bring her back, I want her naked and holding a full bladder.  We will see how arrogant she is then!"   

Chapter 3

Preparation

Irma found herself escorted down a hall and back to the room where she had been earlier held, and where Helen awaited.  Her escort motioned for her to enter and be seated.  Still furious, her rage evident in her expression, she complied, returning a defiant scowl to her escort.

"What happened?" Helen inquired.   "He wouldn't listen to much.  But he didn't really do anything, either.  Just told the guy in the uniform to bring me back later.  Sounds like they're going to make us wait a while, or maybe he's just trying to think up how to handle us.  He wouldn't really dare to do anything serious! I'm -"   She was cut off, as the man who had escorted Irma now motioned for Helen to come with him.

Helen waited.  There was no one around except the female guard, who obviously didn't speak English.  Irma helped herself to a bit of the water, and tried to calm herself down.  Despite her outward defiance, she was beginning to be concerned over where this might lead.  She hope Helen wouldn't be put through anything difficult.  She waited.

Nearly an hour later, Helen was returned.  "He just asked a lot of questions.  He did seem reasonably polite, and said I shouldn't worry - I would probably not be charged with anything serious!" Helen smiled a weak smile.

"Dad he say anything about me?" asked Irma.

"No - except to say he would see you again, later.  I don't know if he wants me back."

The uniformed escort disappeared for a time.  Irma and Helen both helped themselves to a bit of the water.  Then Helen rose and headed for the room which held the toilet.  She glanced at the guard, who nodded permission.   Irma waited.

In a few minutes, Helen was back.  "You want to go?  No telling how long we'll be here!" Irma considered her physical needs, then arose moving toward the door.

This time the female guard called to her, saying something she could not understand.  She motioned Irma back to the bench on which she had been sitting.   "I'm only going to the bathroom", Irma protested, now rather weakly.  The guard shook her head.  "Nyet!" she intoned. Irma understood at least that word.   "Seems like she doesn't want me to get up", Irma said, half to herself, as she sat down again.   "Do you really need to go, or were just going because I suggested it?" Helen asked, not too helpfully.   "I'm not really needing to go too much, but I wonder why she won't let me", Irma pondered.

They were kept waiting almost another hour.  Then the uniformed escort returned.  He approached Irma.  "Come", he instructed, calmly.    Irma looked at him, then at Helen. "Guess this is my time in the ring again. Be back when I can!"  Helen grasped her hand briefly.  "Good luck", she admonished.

The escort, who seemed to go by the name or nickname of Durv, took Irma down a hall and up a flight of stairs.  She was taken into a room where there were some chairs, some shelves holding books and an assortment of objects, and two desks.  The floor was a bit dirty, and on the wall were pictures which appeared to be representative of revolutionary heroes.  Durv ordered her to sit in his broken, limited,  and heavily accented English,

He handed her a sheaf of papers, in Russian.  "You - case - charge.  Read!" he pointed to the papers.  Irma returned a blank look after she thumbed through the documents, all in cyrillic print which she couldn't decipher.

They exchanged words in their limited command of each other's language.  She gathered the papers were the charges against her, but she had no clear idea what the papers meant.

Next, Durv presented her with a large glass of water.  He told her to drink it.  "Why?" she demanded.  "I'm not thirsty!" 

"You drink.  Drink all of it.  Then photo."  

She figured out that she was to drink the water, and they were going to photograph her.  Standard mug shot, she assumed.  Inwardly she felt defiant, but she was wondering where all this was leading.  She couldn't see the harm in the water, so perhaps it was a gesture of hospitality after the long wait she had been through.  She disliked the idea of a mug shot, but she knew to herself that it was probably inevitable.  The picture would undoubtedly be unflattering, but why fight it?  Perhaps it would be better to save her energies for later.  

Irma downed the water.  She reflected that she would be more comfortable if the female guard had allowed her to use the bathroom, but maybe, she hoped, there would be another chance soon. She hoped the wait wouldn't be too long.

The water downed, Durv directed her across the hall to a room that was obviously where they did the mug shots.  A camera was at one side of the room, facing a wall with a large white rectangle painted on it, obviously as a background for photographs.  Markings along the edge of the rectangle appeared to be dimensions.  As she entered, two men stood up, looking at her rather curiously.

She was positioned in front of the camera, her back to the wall.  Something in Russian was exchanged among the two men and Durv.  The camera was focused on her, and a quick picture was taken of her, apparently head and shoulders only. It was repeated in profile.

Irma thought she was through.  She was in error. Durv escorted her out of the room.  He tried to explain to her.  "Photo must have no make-up.  You must wash face - no lipstick, no - no eye black, no nothing.  Then we come back!"

She understood they wanted to photograph her with no make-up.  She was wearing a bit of lipstick, a touch of eye shadow.  She didn't think it made that much difference.  Anyway, he took her into a lavatory.  There was a sink and a toilet.  He stood behind her.

She took a paper towel, and the bar of soap she found on the sink, and began to clean her face.  Once she had finished the task, she turned to face him.  He looked her over, nodding approval. "OK", he responded.  "Take out clamps on hair!"  She hesitated, then realized he was referring to two clips that held her hair.  She removed them.  Her hair fell, a bit tousled.  She wanted to comb it, but there was no comb.  He seemed to approve her appearance, and motioned her to leave.

Irma tried to stall.  She indicated the toilet.  "May I?  Would you give me a minute?"

He clearly understood, but he gave her an immediate and quite negative response.  "No - Nyet!  Not now.  Do photos!"

She was ushered back into the photo room.  They took two more head shots, full face and profile.

Then she was positioned against the wall, her back to it, as the camera was readjusted for what obviously was to be a full length photograph.  The men checked her height, then communicated among themselves for a moment. Durv was apparently chosen to give her the next instruction.

He pointed to a cardboard box laid on a table, as he addressed her.  "We must have photo of all body.  No clothes.  You must put clothes in the box.  Now!"  He was emphatic.

She was totally unprepared for this.  "You want me to undress?" she asked, incredulous.  "Here?"

He repeated the command, firmly.  "You must take off clothes. We must make photo of all body - with no clothes on.  You get ready!"

She looked at the three men who stood watching her calmly.  Clearly they were expecting her to obey.  She had never in her wildest dreams expected this.  This was outrageous.  Thy wanted to photograph her in the nude.  In her mind she wrestled with how to resist.

"I don't see why-  this is unnecessary!  You can't make me!  You have no right to!" Her face reddened with restrained fury. She wanted to run, to escape, to show defiance - but she knew she had little hope.   Clearly she was outnumbered.  Physically she had no chance of overpowering the men.

Durv became impatient.  "Now!  You must take off clothes for photo!  You not be hurt!  No harm! Just photo!  You must do!  If you do not, we must take off - by us!  Maybe - clothes get torn!  You do -  we - not hurt you!"   He was trying to be reassuring, but nonetheless was firm.

She stalled a moment more, looking at the three men, all standing, patiently waiting for her compliance.  She looked at the large box on the table.  She started to slip her jacket from her shoulders.  Carefully, she folded it and placed it in the box.  She unfastened her belt, and slipped it from her pants, rolling it then placing it in the box.   She pointed to her feet.  "Shoes?" she asked.

"Off.  Everything off." Durv responded.  His instruction, she reflected, was clear enough.

She sat on a chair, removing her shoes and socks.  She took off the bracelet and necklace she had on, along with her wrist watch.  She hoped they would allow her to put these on again after the photos, though she was harboring a bit of doubt.

She stood, unfastening the pants of her pantsuit, then stepping out of them.  Her blouse was white and long enough to cover her almost to her thighs.  Small comfort, she thought - it would have to be next.   She stalled as long as possible, carefully folding the pants as she placed them in the box.

Then she unbuttoned the blouse, trying to turn from the men as she did so.  Slipping the blouse off, she folded it carefully, as she stood in her white bra and underpants.  She knew she was blushing, and she averted the men's eyes as she positioned herself for the next move.  Reaching behind her, she unfastened the bra, then quickly drew it from her shoulders, exposing her white breasts.  She felt embarrassed at displaying her breasts bare, but even more so because she was withdrawing their support. She hated being braless, knowing her breasts drooped a bit.  She thought the droop was sloppy, and she felt the humiliation intensely as her breasts shook a bit with her movements.  Trying hard to keep them still, she knew she could not.  As she folded the bra into the box, she became aware of her nipples, quite erect, though whether from the exposure or the coolness of the room she could not tell.  She just wished the erections weren't so obvious.

Facing the men, yet averting their eyes, she grasped the top of her panties with both hands and then drew them down in a single quick stroke, then stepped out of them.  She dropped them roughly into the box, then stepped back against the wall, in the position she assumed was required.

The two photographers looked at her for a moment before acting.  Then one approached her, moving her arms and legs into the position they wanted.  They took one full frontal photo of her standing stiffly, legs together.  Then they moved into a large "X" position, her legs spread apart, her arms stretched upward and outward.

She was then put in a profile position, with her arms behind her back.  They took another photo of her from the rear.  Finally they had her stand in profile, hands behind her back, but bending over from the waist almost ninety degrees.  She couldn't figure out why they wanted this, unless it was to show how far her unsupported breasts would hang.  

Finally, they seemed finished.  She had expected they would now return her clothes to her.  Instead, she was startled to see one of the men close up the box containing her clothes, tape it shut, and then call for her to write across the tape.  She assumed this was a way of guaranteeing that she had witnessed the sealing of her belongings.

Durv now opened the door and told her to come back across the hall.  Again, she was incredulous.  He was asking her to step out into the hall naked.  She had not a stitch on, not even her watch or her hair clips.  Even her make-up had been washed off. She felt not only unclothed, but vulnerable and a real mess with her hair falling about, uncombed and unclipped.

Durv told her to stand, her hands behind her.  She saw him reach into the desk and take out a pair of handcuffs.  He walked behind her and cuffed her hands together.  Then he sat back down behind the desk, leaving her standing, hands cuffed behind her, as she faced him.  For several minutes he said nothing, just sat there looking at her from time to time as he occasionally glanced at papers on his desk.

Irma stood, almost motionless.  She was stark naked, barefoot, unable to use her hands to cover herself.  She wanted to sit, to try to keep just a little of her modesty, but she was not permitted. Now she was becoming even more uncomfortable from her full bladder she had been unable to relieve.  

Chapter 4

Interrogation

It had been nearly three hours since Irma had been in Vassily's office.  Since leaving there earlier, she had been allowed drinks of water, even told to consume a large glass.  She had been given no food, not that she was hungry.  Now she was naked, her clothes in a sealed box somewhere, her face cleaned of make-up, her hair in disarray, her hands in handcuffs behind her back, as she stood waiting in a policeman's office.  She felt terribly exposed and humiliated, she was getting tired of standing, and her full bladder was crying for the relief she had been denied.

Durv left the room for a moment, closing the door. He had instructed her to stay in position.  Within a minute he was back.  He left the door open, and through it two other men outside peered in at her.  "Now", he commanded her, "We go!"  He indicated the door, and ushered her through it.

She was led back down the hall, the stairs, the hall downstairs, all the way to the office where Vassily had earlier questioned her.   She was having to walk barefoot, naked, exposed to the view of numerous people who stood about.  Finally she was escorted into Vassily's office.  Durv came in with her, and closed the door behind her.  Vassily sat behind his large wooden desk, and a uniformed aide sat nearby.  Irma was made to stand in front of the desk.

Vassily conversed briefly with Durv, in Russian.   He looked at Irma's naked body, missing absolutely nothing.  For a minute or two he kept her standing there while he just looked, in silence.

Then he spoke to her, in his best English.  "Miss Bradley, you do look a bit different from your appearance in our earlier visit.   I hope you have not been treated too harshly."

There were traces of tears in her eyes, eyes that still projected a somewhat subdued defiance. "Why have you done this to me?  You made me take my clothes off, your men took pictures of me with no clothes on, and now you keep me naked!  And they haven't let me use a bathroom!  Are you trying to torture me?  You have absolutely no right!  I'm American--"

Vassily cut her off.  "We know who you are, Miss Bradley.  The photographs are customary when charges are brought.  We must be able to positively identify you for any future proceedings.  I am sorry if you find it unpleasant, but we find it necessary.  The photos will show whether you have any physical markings or signs of injury.  We intend to make it very clear that you have not been harmed."

"Why am I not allowed to use a bathroom?  I have asked and your guards won't allow me!"

"Are you telling me you feel a need for physical relief?" Vassily asked, as though unaware of her condition.

"Yes! I am very uncomfortable. Will you allow me?" Irma asked, nervously and hurriedly.

"Allow you what?" asked Vassily.

"Allow me to use a bathroom - a toilet!"

"Exactly what do you need to do?" Vassily inquired, obviously prolonging the matter.

"Do I have to spell it out for you?  What do think I need?" Irma was indignant and increasingly irritated.  Vassily gave her no answer.  He waited for her next comment.

"I need to urinate!  I have a full bladder!  They made me drink water.  Is that what you wanted to hear me say?"

Vassily smiled.  "It is helpful when you are honest with us.  I understand what you want.  There are some things we want, too, and I hope you will continue to be honest and open.  If you are ready to discuss the matters we had on the table earlier, we can proceed. I find that sometimes it is helpful if we clearly understand each other's needs and are open to each other.  I know you have some needs, but I must ask you to restrain those needs a bit longer while we go into other matters.  You are, I might observe, a bit more open, so to speak.  Your clothes will be returned to you at the proper time.  At the moment we are keeping you without clothing, so you are not concealing any of your physical self from us.  Perhaps this will encourage you not to attempt to conceal any of the other matters, either.  If you will be as open in our discussion as you are in your physical state, we should be able to clear up these things rather soon.  Your physical relief must wait, also; but we will allow you relief at the appropriate time."

Irma squirmed noticeably.  She was sweating, just a bit.  Her discomfort was obvious and growing.  Her full bladder was more than just uncomfortable, it was beginning to be painful.  She attempted to squeeze her legs together, but it was little help.  She desperately needed to relieve herself.

Vassily went on to ask her about transactions she might have had with the money she had brought in. He probed carefully, seeking to know where she acquired the icons.  Irma was inwardly furious; outwardly defiant.  She wanted desperately to cover herself from the gaze of the men questioning her, but even more she wanted relief for her aching bladder.  

After a few minutes she blurted out, "If you don't allow me to use a toilet, you're going to have a puddle on your floor!  I can't hold myself any longer!"

Vassily simply stopped his questions and stared at her for a moment in silence.  "I think, Miss Bradley, that would be most unwise.  If you are unable to properly control your body functions, we can have you taken out in the street, where you can display your body and its functioning in front of all those who care to watch, until you develop the proper amount of discipline and self restraint."

"You wouldn't dare!" Irma lashed back.  

"Shall we go on with the questions?" Vassily asked.

"You can't treat me this way! I refuse to answer your questions until you allow me to relieve myself in a decent way!  You cannot-- "

Vassily cut her off with some words to Durv.  He motioned to the men to take her out.

Durv roughly turned her around and pushed her out the door.  He led her down the hall.  Two guards quickly joined him, holding her by the arms.  They headed for the outside door.

Suddenly Irma realized they were indeed taking her outside.  She screamed at her captors, "NO, NO.  Don't take me out there -  Please!!   Let me go back to the office -  I'll hold myself somehow -just don't take me out there!"   In her mind she had a vision of being pushed out onto the street naked, with a crowd of men probably waiting out there.  She didn't see how she could restrain her bladder much longer, but she was sure she didn't want to be forced out to the public street.

Durv seemed to understand. He stopped the two guards.  He shook a menacing finger at her, as if to indicate "only this once!" and turned her around toward the office she had come from.

They re-entered the office where Vassily sat. He smiled at her.  "Have you decided to be more cooperative?" he asked.   All she could do was nod her head.

"Are you ready to admit unlawful exchanges of money?" He asked her pointedly.

"We did exchange some money on the street.." she began, tears in her eyes, her whole body quivering.   Vassily then asked her several other questions, which she only vaguely understood.  She simply nodded.

"I think you must be thirsty" Vassily said to her, after making some notes on the questioning.  "Bring her some water!" 

"I'm not thirsty - I don't need a drink-- just, please, let me pee!"  She almost cried, tears in her eyes and her voice breaking.

In a moment a guard came in with a pitcher of water. Vassily motioned for it to be given to her. "Drink it - all of it!" he commanded.  "I will have a statement prepared for you to sign.  It will take maybe half an hour.  You are not to relieve yourself until you have signed it!  Once that has been done we will allow you to release your water.  Until then you are to stand there and hold it!"

He started to leave the desk, carrying some papers.  "I don't think I can hold myself - I just can't!" she protested, rather weakly.

"Then", Vassily instructed, "I will have my men help you.  You will hold!" He was quite firm.  One of the two men immediately placed his hand on her genitals, squeezing the lips together.  She glared at him in protest, then turned her eyes downward.  She knew his hand there would not completely prevent her bladder from releasing, but the invasion of what was left of her privacy was just one more terrible indignity.  

A second guard held the pitcher to her.  A glass straw was in it, to enable her to take in the water without using her hands.  She took the tube into her mouth and began to drink the water.  It seemed an eternity until the pitcher was empty.  Her stomach again felt bloated; and she couldn't imagine the torture which awaited her stretched bladder if she didn't quickly get relief. 

She stood, legs squeezed together as best she could, her guards alternating holding her genitals closed.  Her hands were still cuffed behind her.  Her body was shaking and sweating under the stress.  Her breasts quivered.  The minutes slowly ticked by.  Her stomach ached with its load, the pain in her tormented bladder getting worse by the minute.

At long last Vassily returned, a carefully typed paper in his hands.

"Are you ready to acknowledge your breach of the currency and customs laws?" he asked her quickly.

She didn't care.  She didn't know what the paper said.  She just had to have relief from the pain inside her.  She nodded.

He had her hands uncuffed, then presented her with a pen, his hand indicating a spot on the document where she was to sign.  She tried to write her name, her hand shaking.

Vassily held up the finished document.  "Now, I suppose you would like some relief".

At his order, a guard took the now empty pitcher and held it between her legs, spreading them with his hand.

"You may release your water into the container!" Vassily instructed her.  All the men were watching closely.

It took Irma a few moments to get her muscles to relax, but shortly her urine began to pour from her.  She tried to bend a bit into a squatting position, but the guards held her erect.  The contents of her bladder poured into the pitcher, splattering audibly.  She held her head up, her eyes almost closed.  The humiliation of this was such that she didn't want to see her spectators.  Yet, the relief she gradually began to feel was sublime.   The awful ache in her bladder ceased.  Finally, Vassily commanded her, "Stop - it's full - enough for now!" 

A bit shocked, she tightened her sphincter to shut off the flow.  It wasn't easy or quick, but she managed.   Her bladder wasn't empty, but it was a lot more comfortable than it had been.

Vassily gave some instructions in Russian, then spoke to Irma.  "I am sorry you were so slow in cooperating.  I hope you will give us less trouble in the future.  For the moment you will be held here tonight.  In the morning you will join some other prisoners who will be learning some lessons in cooperation.  Don't make it difficult for us, and learn the lesson well.  If you are not troublesome, you may be out of here in a few days.  If not..."   he let her guess the rest of the sentence.

Irma had supposed that, having signed the statement, she would be given her clothes back.  She was wrong.  She was led down the hall, where various men and women stared at her as she passed, and then down some steps into a basement.   She could see a row of cells, some occupied, some vacant.  She was taken to one near the end of the block and ushered inside.

In the cell, there was a cot with a crude mattress, a sink, and, blessing of blessings, a toilet.  A blanket was tossed at her, and the door was closed and locked behind her.

She immediately drew the blanket around her.  Looking to see who was around, she used the toilet to relieve her bladder.  She fell onto the cot, wondering what would happen next.

An hour or so later, a woman came to her cell door, unlocked a small opening in it, and handed her a tray.  She took it in and looked it over.  There were a few pieces of black bread, a piece of cheese, and a small slice of some kind of sausage, accompanied by a cup of lukewarm weak tea.

Shaking her head at the prison fare, she ate most of it, then fell exhausted to the cot and drew the blanket around her body.

Chapter 5

Morning

Irma awakened suddenly in the morning when she heard a banging on her cell door. A male guard held a tray, quite like the one she had received the night before.   As he gave her the tray, he gestured for her to give him her blanket.  She hesitated and drew back, but he was clearly insistent, and she relented, handing it to him.  She sat on the cot, naked, to eat her breakfast.  She was unable to discern the time, but the dim sunlight coming through the window suggested it was quite early.

She washed herself as best she could, and used the toilet, wondering what she would have to face. She had not long to wait.

Shortly a uniformed male guard came and unlocked her cell door.  He took her roughly by the arm, and pushed her down the hall.  As she passed other cells, she saw several male prisoners staring at her naked body as she passed. The men, she noted, were all wearing clothes.

Irma was taken up the stairs and down a hall to a large room, where she was roughly pushed inside and the door closed behind her.  The room was large and well lit, but with only benches along two walls and a small table at one end.  There was one other occupant, a woman somewhat younger than Irma, slender, with dark hair, huddled on a bench, and just as naked as she was.

The woman, Irma found, spoke no English, but Irma discerned she was another prisoner, probably a local.  The two of them waited, and in a few minutes two more women were brought into the room, both naked.  Within a few minutes there were others.   When the last arrived, there were eight altogether, besides Irma.  Not a one had a stitch of clothing, a piece of jewelry, a hair ribbon, or anything on their bodies whatever.  All were absolutely bare. 

Irma surveyed the group she had joined.  Two were quite young, probably twenty-somethings, and fairly good looking.  Another somewhat plumper woman was probably close to Irma's age, and the others appeared to be older.  Three, Irma guessed, were middle-aged, forties or fifties; one quite slender with very small but drooping breasts, one rather matronly, sporting a bit of a paunch, a great bush of pubic hair, and rather large sagging breasts; and the third, also a bit on the heavy side, had long gray hair. One woman was relatively young, perhaps thirty, but quite fat, with heavy thighs and large breasts.  The last woman was clearly the oldest, probably seventy or so.  She was not especially small, but wrinkles were evident in her skin, spotted with brownish age blotches.  Her small breasts sagged noticeably so that the nipples pointed downward, and her hair was almost white and cut short.  

The slender one with the smallish breasts spoke a bit of English, and Irma attached to her, hoping for some interpretation of what might be said.

Two uniformed females came into the room, pushing a cart on which were set nine large plastic containers, filled with water.  The containers were clearly marked to show a two liter content.  The women in the room were called to queue up, and each was handed a container.   The English speaker, who Irma learned was Titania, told Irma that they were being told to each drink a container of water - and "not to leave a single drop!"

Irma began to sense that they were being filled up so as to shortly create a need to urinate.  She was glad she had relieved herself before leaving her cell.  As the women were drinking the water, the two female guards watched to insure none was spilled and none was left.  Simultaneously, a roll of light steel chain was brought into the room, with a box of padlocks.  Two male guards went to work with the chain.  The women were lined up, and starting with the first in line, the chain was passed around her waist, padlocked in place, and about a meter of chain measured out before it was passed around the waist of the next woman, then again padlocked in place. Eventually all nine women were chained together, in a line, spaced about a meter apart.  A length of chain had been left hanging in front of the first woman, apparently to be used as a sort of leash to lead them.  The chain around their waists was not tight enough to be painful, but too tight to be able to be slipped over their hips or shoulders.   

One each woman had consumed her container of water, the guards pulled her hands behind her back and tied them with a soft cord.

Their work completed, the guards surveyed the result with apparent approval.

The women were then led by one uniformed guard out of the room, and down the hall, to the front door of the police station.  Then, the door was opened, and they were marched out to the street outside.  

As they passed through the hall, Irma noted from a clock that it was close to nine o'clock in the morning.  She wondered, with some alarm, where they would be taken.

As they entered the street, it was apparent that they were expected, for a crowd had gathered.  Most were men, though there were some women.  She saw no children, reflecting that probably they would mostly be in school at that hour.  

They presented quite a spectacle; nine naked women, of assorted ages and shapes, chained together and marched in a line through a public street.  It was cool, not really cold, but in the morning air Irma shivered just a bit.  Her bare feet felt the roughness of the pavement.  The leader forced them to spread apart as far as the chain would allow, so they presented an unrestricted view of themselves to the onlookers.

Three policemen guarded the group; one leading them by the chain, a second holding the chain behind the last prisoner, keeping them spaced apart; and a third walking beside them, watching the bystanders.

Irma had an intense urge to cover her breasts and pubic area, which of course she could not do with her hands tied behind her. They had to walk slowly, keeping the spacing, and the view of their bodies was unrestricted. Irma could feel her breasts swinging and bouncing as she walked over the uneven street.  She could see the bystanders staring at her parts, focusing as they were on her breasts and crotch.   Some of them made comments, in Russian or Ukrainian, which she could not understand, but she expected were crude remarks.  

Many of the bystanders followed the group as they were led through the streets.  Several women in the crowd stared with open mouthed expressions of shock.  Others just laughed, mocking the prisoners. The policeman watching the crowd kept them from touching the women, but not from looking and calling to them.

They were marched slowly around the streets for over an hour, passing some points several times, which caused Irma to know they were being publicly paraded, not just being taken to a particular place.  Irma's feet were feeling and looking dirty from the unclean pavement, and the constant pace was making her just a bit tired.  She was no longer cold, however, as the day warmed and the exercise heated her body.   After most of an hour, however, all of the women had quite full bladders from the effects of drinking two liters of water.  Irma was no exception; her bladder was becoming quite uncomfortable; and she doubted they would allow her to relieve it any time soon.

The parade eventually stopped at the side of a small public square, where several iron posts were sunk in the ground.  The women were drawn up to the blank wall of a building on one side of the square, where they were made to stand, turning in their chain belts so they had their backs to the wall and they faced the square.  The front end of the chain leash was attached to a metal post, and the other end was then pulled until the women were spaced as far as the chain lengths would allow, when it was then tied to another post with a length of rope.  The guards then positioned themselves in front of the women.  A sizable crowd was assembling.

From somewhere a small table and chair had appeared, and one policeman positioned it in front of the women, at one end of the line,  He then sat on the chair.  A conversation in the local language began, which Irma could not comprehend.

There were perhaps a hundred people now in the square, looking at the prisoners.  Irma had a chance to look down the line, where she was in the sixth position, to see how her companions were doing.

The lead woman, one of the youngest, stood rigidly erect, her youthful breasts high and firm. Her dark hair was in disarray, though, and tears ran down her face. She stood with her feet apart but her knees squeezed together, probably trying to control her full bladder.  The second position was taken by the rather fat thirtyish woman, constantly shifting her considerable weight about, her head hung downward.  Number three was the one about Irma's age, a little on the plump side.  She stood in a stoop, leaning forward, her breasts sagging slightly as she stood with her legs tightly pressed together.  Fourth was Titania, the English-speaking one, slender, head held high, one leg moving in an agitated way.  Fifth was the matronly paunch with the big bush, breathing a bit heavily and squirming noticeably.  Irma was next, and as she looked to her left, the seventh position was the other young woman, holding herself erect and still, showing no real signs of distress. But beyond her, the oldest prisoner was grimacing, moving her head around, fidgeting nervously, and muttering something Irma could not understand.  At the end of the line was the heavy middle aged woman with the long gray hair.

From the looks of the group, Irma guessed they all had full bladders and were feeling the same distress as she was.  Suddenly a guard stood in front the women and began to address them.  Irma got not a hint of the language, however, the reaction of the women was obviously unpleasant, so she reasoned he must have said something unsettling.  Irma looked to Titania, about two meters away, her expression asking for some interpretation.

Titania saw the question in Irma's eyes.  She looked at Irma and tried to tell her what they had been told.

"It's to be hard for us -  we are all full of water, but we are told not to let any of it out -  we must hold ourselves -  sometime, maybe, they let us let go of our water, but not now.  We are told to hold, and stay standing up.  The people are not allowed to touch us as long as we wait. But he tells us if any woman lets go of her water they will let a man come and put his hands on -  on her, her top up front, you know -  "

Irma understood that they could not relieve themselves. She expected as much.  For her, it was last night all over again.  She tensed her muscles, trying to hold herself.  At least, she thought, "this time I have company.  I wonder who will be the first to let go?"

The guard at the table was apparently doing some kind of business.  Several men stood in a queue at the table.  The one first in line produced some money, and the guard took it, making some notes on a sheet of paper. He gave the man a small scrap of paper.  The transaction was then repeated with the second in line.  Irma tried to figure it out.  She looked to Titania.  "What's going on?" she softly asked.

Titania shook her head with a worried look. "Gambling - tokens, how you say?  Tickets?  They make bets - which one of us will leak first.  He tell first man, if you win, she let go first, you get ten minutes your hands on her - her things in front;  what you call?" Titania, slightly shook her breasts to clear up her point.  "Breasts?" Irma asked, "He gets to put his hands on her breasts?" Titania nodded.

All of the women were showing signs of major distress.  The men at the table were eagerly awaiting the first loss of bladder control.  Irma fervently hoped it wouldn't be her.

Then she heard the first failure. A slight scream came from her left.  She looked to see the old woman in number eight position squatting slightly.  She could see a stream splashing on the pavement in front of the lady.  Evidently the older woman's bladder had given out - she just couldn't bear the strain of all that water any longer.  Irma felt sorry for the older lady, but at least it wasn't her own muscles that had given up the battle.

A somewhat rowdy discussion took place at the table.   Titania looked again to Irma.  "He doesn't want her - he wants someone not so old.  The other man -  the one with the hat and hair of gray - he wants to play with the old lady's --- breasts?  So they are exchanging!"

Irma watched with some trepidation what was happening.  After some discussion at the table, an older man, perhaps in his sixties, moved forward.  He went directly to the older woman, who looked at him with obvious great apprehension.  The guard allowed him to stand directly in front of her. He said something to her, and she said something back, her voice shaking in fear.

He reached out his hands and seized her small sagging breasts.  He felt them with both hands, then grasped the nipples and pulled them both out toward him, tugging noticeably.  Her two breasts stretched out in front of her, and she winced and cried out.  He held them for a minute or so, then pulled them wide apart, stretching the nipples beyond the width of her shoulders.  He released them suddenly, allowing them to jump back into position.  He repeatedly pulled them, twisted them, bounced them up and down.  He held them up, one at a time, stretching them upward, as he looked under them.  The woman closed her eyes, at times holding her breath, at times gasping, as she endured the treatment.  The man turned to the crowd behind him and received some shouts of approval.  He continued to fondle her breasts for several minutes, until the guard stepped forward and took his arm, saying what Irma surmised meant "time's up!" 

Irma was horrified.  She knew it probably was only a matter of time before she got the same treatment.  The prospect intensified the clenching of her sphincter muscles, trying desperately to restrain those two liters of water.

Another police guard approached the woman who had just urinated.  He had a plastic container in his hand.  He untied the woman's hands, then retied one hand to the chain at her waist, leaving only one hand free.  He placed the container in her hand and said something to her by way of instruction.  She appeared to protest a bit, but then she took the plastic container in her free hand and raised it to her lips.  Irma turned again to Titania.

"Something good - he tell the man he  too rough on the old woman.  He can have hands on breasts - pull, twist, but not make marks - he hurt her - not allowed.  But anytime we pee, man gets ten minutes on breasts, and we got to drink liter of water.  Make more pee for later!" 

The next failure came from the large woman in the number two position.  She suddenly shot a forceful stream out her front, splashing to the pavement.  All eyes turned to see her. Once her urination subsided, another man moved forward to face her.  He turned to the guard, who nodded approval.  The man then grasped both her breasts, squeezing them, rubbing them, occasionally pulling the nipples.  Irma noticed he was being a bit more careful than the first one, but his hands were all over her ample bosom.  She stood in silence, uttering no protest, perhaps realizing the futility of it.  For the allowed ten minutes he manipulated her breasts, then withdrew, smiling.  Again the ritual of the water container was repeated.

Titania called quietly to Irma.  "Just tell you - I let mine go - can't hold anymore!" With that, she turned her face straight ahead, spread her legs, and released her urination.  The stream poured down her legs and the resulting puddle rose around her feet.  She kept her face almost emotionless, awaiting the penalty but savoring the blessed relief to her bladder.

The man who bought the right to fondle Titania moved forward to collect his prize.  She recoiled slightly, but his hands seized her breasts, a bit roughly.  He worked on her for the allowed ten minutes, not squeezing so much but doing a lot of pulling.  As he finally withdrew, Irma noticed Titania's breasts reddened from the treatment, but with both nipples rigidly erect.   

Two more women gave up and released their bladders in the following few minutes.  Irma noticed the clock in the square now indicated almost eleven o'clock.  She had been holding her water for two hours - it seemed like two days.  The pain in her lower regions was getting unbearable.  She felt she could hold it no longer - regardless of the consequences.  She let go.

A torrent of warm liquid ran down her legs and over her feet. Suddenly she was the center of attention.  All eyes focused on the stream she was pouring out.  She felt as though it would not end, but, oh, the glorious release from the pain in her lower body.  She felt the stream taper to a trickle, and she tried to bring her legs together.  Both of her legs felt wet. Her feet felt wet. She closed her eyes to enjoy the wonderful release.  She was jerked to consciousness by a firm grasp on her right nipple coupled with a squeeze on her left breast.  She opened her eyes to look into the face of a dark haired man with a short beard, his hands on her naked body.   She winced in pain as a breast was tugged by its nipple, and uttered a quick exclamation.  The man stopped for a second, looked at her face, then pulled the other nipple, just a bit less forcefully. She felt his hands roaming over her upper body, pulling, tugging, squeezing, and just feeling. She tried to hold still, sometimes closing her eyes, averting his, just trying to get through the allotted ten minutes.  She could feel her breasts being separated, pulled in opposite directions, lifted, and moved in directions she knew they were never intended to move in.  The ten minutes seemed an eternity.

Finally they were over.  He had no sooner left her, than she felt her hands being untied, and then the container of water placed in her right hand. Her hands felt a bit numb from the restraints, and she  sensed a pleasant release as the one was untied. She took the container, and begin to down the water.  Her stomach was quite empty by now, and it wasn't difficult for her the finish the liter of water.  As soon as she did, the container was taken away and her hands again secured with the cord behind her.

The women in the number three and four positions were the next to yield to the pressures in their bladders, and in turn their breasts received the ten minutes of fondling by the next men in line.  Their stomachs were then refilled with water.

Now only the woman next to Irma, the older woman with the the noticeable paunch and enormous pubic bush, had not urinated.  Irma looked at her, standing with her eyes almost closed, her face tensed, her muscles tensed as she tried desperately to keep her urinary outlet closed.  Irma guessed she was in her early fifties, no real beauty, and not looking particularly fit with sagging breasts and stomach, and that big bush with its hairs standing almost straight out.  

The police guard went up to her and said something that evidently pleased her.  Her expression turned to a bit of a smile, and she seemed to relax.  She released her urine, and a prolific stream shot out, spraying in front of her and pouring onto the pavement below.  Irma was amazed at the extent of her discharge.  When she finished, Irma waited for the next man to come forward and put his hands on her breasts, but none moved.   Titania saw Irma's interest, and told her, "She's the last - she held her water longest, so no hands on her top! No more water for her either!"

Irma began to understand.  The one who held her bladder the longest didn't get fondled, and didn't have to refill her stomach with water.  Irma began to wonder if there would be another round.  Her bladder was already beginning to feel distended again - the residue of the first two liters, she surmised, plus that extra liter she had now poured into herself.

It was now noon, and the crowd had grown a bit.  It was warmer, now, and the women had been standing for over three hours.  The older woman had now urinated at least four times - she was having a real problem with her bladder.  Each time a different man had won the opportunity to amuse himself with her breasts for ten minutes.  The last one had made a game of shaking her a bit, making them swing rapidly, then repeatedly picking up one at a time and dropping it, to show the crowd how flexible they were.  The poor lady was horribly humiliated as the men made fun of her breasts.  They weren't very big, but they sagged with her years and the onlookers laughed as the men played with them and made crude jokes about them.  They tried to get erections from her nipples, which seemed to respond very little, though they were repeatedly pinched and pulled.

Irma felt her legs tiring. It was half past noon, and she was having great difficulty holding her painfully full bladder.  She had lost track of how many other women had already urinated more than once, but she didn't want another set of hands pulling and squeezing her breasts.  She tried to hang on, finally decided it was no use and let go.

Another ten minute session of having a stranger play with her pectoral appendages.  She held her breath, steeled herself, and waited for it to be over.  To be sure, he didn't really hurt her very much, but the idea of being handled was awfully distasteful.  She was again given her water and gulped it down.  

About two o'clock, it looked like the game was over.  The policemen shut down the ticket table and unfastened the two ends of the chain.  The tired women, who had been standing since nine in the morning, were made to start moving again.  They were marched about a half a kilometer to another square with had a large grassy area in the center, with a poorly kept flower bed.  There was a low wall around the flower bed, and the women were told to sit on the wall.  A large number of people had followed them, so Irma was sure something further was in store.

One of their guards appeared, with several of the now familiar plastic containers. He had apparently filled them from a water faucet nearby.  Again the women were told to drink, a liter each.  The only exception was the one with the big bush, who had out-held all the others earlier, and had been given no more water since.

The guards allowed them to sit for half an hour, then commanded them to stand and face out from the wall.  They were made to spread their legs, and with the women standing about a meter apart, the length the chain allowed, a guard used cords to tie each woman's leg to that of her neighbor, as the chain was pulled taught on each end.  This made them stand with their legs spread quite wide - a difficult posture to hold with a full bladder, which all but one of them had. 

Now a man was chosen from the crowd, Irma wasn't sure how.  He was taken over to the young woman at the end of the row, and placed his hand on her crotch.  He was allowed to handle her genitals for a few seconds, then withdrew, then proceeded to the second woman and repeated the handling.  Several men were lined up for this procedure, so that in a few minutes each woman had the hands of several men placed on her pubic area, though only for a few seconds. With their legs widespread, they were extremely vulnerable to the handling and had no way to protect themselves from this brief touching of their most private parts.  Some of the women squirmed and twisted through the process, others simply stood still and accepted it.  

A number of people stepped forward with cameras, to record the scene with the women chained and their legs spread.  The guards seemed to encourage the process.

As Irma looked into the crowd, she spotted a familiar face.  Her friend and erstwhile companion, Helen, was among them.  As the picture taking was going on, Helen came a bit closer and called to Irma.  Irma responded with a glance of recognition, not sure whether to be glad to see a familiar face or recoil in horror at her friend seeing her in this condition.  

The guards now began a new procedure.  They unlocked the waist chain of the first woman, releasing her from the group, and untied her legs, but not her hands.  The policeman put his hand on her abdomen and pushed, saying something to her.  She grimaced noticeably, then nodded her head. He handed her over to another guard, who then escorted her to the flower bed, where she was made to stand facing the crowd, her legs spread as she stood over a row of plants.  The guard gave a command, and after a few moments the woman began to urinate.  As she did so, the guard made her move slowly down the the row a short distance, as her stream poured forth.  When her stream ended, applause erupted from the crowd, and the woman was returned to her position, her waist chain re-fastened.  The second woman was then taken to "water the plants".  The crowd seemed to enjoy this particular activity, which was repeated with each woman, except the one who had been the champion holder early on.

When Irma returned from her "watering" chore and was being re-fastened into her waist chain, Helen approached her.

"Irma-  I heard you were being taken out for the 'parade' as they call it.  But -  being led around with no clothes on, and made to do things like this?  How can they do this to you?"

Irma was now beyond being shocked..  "Apparently it's quite easy - but it's got to end somewhere - they've been doing things to us all day!  How did you manage?"

"They released me.  I was told I can go, but I wanted to wait for you. The consulate has been contacted, but I don't know what they can do.  The police said there might be some decision in your case tomorrow.  I wanted to wait to see what's going to happen to you!" 

"They've done about everything they can to humiliate us.  Some of the worst is, I don't even know what coming up, because they never speak to us in English.  Fortunately, one of the others speaks some English, and she's been giving me at least a little interpretation."

"Have they hurt you?"

"Well, I'm still in one piece, as you and the rest of the world can plainly see, and if I had any scars or bruises you could see those, too, because I'm sure not hiding anything.  We've been paraded, looked at, handled in the most personal places, filled up with water and not allowed a bathroom - I don't know what they're going to do next!"

"Just hang in there - I'll keep in touch with the police and see what they do with your case-" Helen was motioned to withdraw by the guard and her conversation ended.

The only woman who had not been required to do the watering was number five, the one with the big bush chained next to Irma.   She seemed to have been exempt from almost all of the extra treatments since she demonstrated her superior holding capacity.  Now she was singled out for something.  The guards took her out of the chain link, and brought her forward toward the crowd. A big announcement was made, which of course Irma could not understand.

The woman was now made to stand between two guards, as her hands were untied.  One of the guards now produced three of those loathsome water containers, obviously filled.  The woman had seemed at first a bit pleased to have been singled out, but now as they spoke to her, her face turned to an expression of shock.  She was handed the first of the three containers, which she rather gingerly put to her lips.  As she did so, a guard placed his hand on her abdominal region, and patted it gently.  The woman reacted with a movement that showed discomfort. Something was said, and people around began to smile.

Irma began to figure it out. The woman had been the last to urinate in the morning, but that had now been three hours ago.  One urination, Irma knew, didn't get rid of all that water they had taken in at the start, and this woman hadn't urinated since, so surely her bladder was quite full. The wincing when she was pressed seemed to prove that.  Now they were going to give her three more liters to drink. What were they trying to do?  She glanced at Titania.

Titania tried to explain.  "They said she has - biggest - place you hold pee!  It full now - they give her more water - three liters more. Not let her pee.  Show people how much she hold!" 

Irma was glad she hadn't won the competition first off.  This woman was going to be publicly tortured, it appeared.  Irma watched.  The woman had now managed to drink two liters and had started the third.  She was sweating and shaking - obviously nervous.  

All of the women remained standing as their champion completed her filling.  It took a while; her stomach was full and even bulging a bit.  It took half an hour for her to get the last liter down.

Now two guards stood her up between them, her arms outstretched, and one guard holding each hand firmly.  Her legs were tied together.  They made her stand that way about fifteen minutes. Then, a man was chosen from the crowd and given a small rather soft rubber ball, about the size of a small fist.

He stood perhaps five meters in front of her and studied her carefully.  She looked at him a bit in horror.  Then he let fly the ball at her - striking her pubic bone and glancing off. He was given another chance. This time the ball hit her right in the middle of her abdomen - right over her bladder.  She jumped at the impact, gasping.  A cheer went up from the crowd.

Titania glanced at Irma to explain.  "It's a test.  If she takes ten hits on her place where she holds pee -  very full now -  and not leak, her punishment over - they let her go. If she leak, then she come back with us!"

Several men took turns throwing the ball at her. The object, obviously, was to hit her over her bladder; but only about a third of the balls hit there.    The guard was keeping count on his fingers. At each strike on the intended target, she jumped with the sudden pain. The ball was soft, not hard enough to harm her, but the pressure of even a soft hit on her extremely full bladder severely tested her holding ability.

The count went on - seven, eight, nine.  They waited to see if she could withstand one more hit on her sensitive area.  Finally one more hit struck the target - with force. Suddenly a spurt of urine erupted from her.  She tried to stop it, but too late, she had lost on the last try.  She was brought back to her spot next to Irma, and rejoined the group.

Sorrowfully, she was now back with them.  The group was now led in their chained procession.  The clocks now indicated nearly five o'clock.  Irma moved with the group, her exposed body now a bit dirty from the street, the hands that had been placed on her, and her nervous perspiration.  Her legs were tired from standing most of the day.  Her hands chafed under the cord binding them. Her bladder was uncomfortably full again, and she no idea when she would be able to empty it. Her breasts bounced as she walked, and she longed for some support for them.

For an hour they were paraded around the streets in their chains.  Finally they were stopped at a place she recognized as quite near the police station.  A policeman she had not seen before came over to them and began talking.  From his demeanor and the respect paid him by their guards, Irma took him to be a senior officer of some kind.

Titania tried to interpret for Irma.  "He say - we must learn cooperation. Not be difficult. Do what told. He is going to test us - we must follow his order."  Suddenly the women began to nod and give animated responses to some question he had asked.

"He ask - do we want to pee? Better you say yes - we all need pee!"

Irma joined the chorus in answering, her painful and swollen bladder giving her encouragement.

Titania continued.  "He say - he will tell us to pee - then we pee; but when he say stop, we must stop pee.  If we do not stop when he say, then he punish us more!"

The man shouted a command.  The entire line of women, facing him as best they could, tried to urinate.  Irma understood, she tried to release her bladder.  Nine streams of urine began to flow down to the pavement.  The flow had hardly begun, though, when he gave another shout.  Titania called to Irma "Stop!"  Irma had already assumed that was the meaning.  Most of the women stopped their streams, though some took longer than others.   The old woman in position eight apparently couldn't stop; her stream continued.  He shouted at her. She said something back.

He gave her a tongue lashing, then ordered the women to turn and start marching.  He marched them two blocks down the street, then turned and marched them back.  Once again he had them turn to face him.  He gave the order to release their water.  The old woman had nothing more to release; all the others started their streams again.  Once all had started, he ordered them to stop.  Irma found it very hard to stop her stream.  Her bladder complained about the rough treatment.  She said softly to Titania, "This is torture.  Why doesn't he let us finish?  I can hardly stop once I've started.  Oh, I'm still so full!  All that water!"

Titania shot back, "It's supposed to be torture. He may not let us finish at all."

Five more times he made them stop and start. Most of them still had full bladders - they had been able to let out very little.  The officer gave some further commands, which Irma could not figure out. Then guards started untying the hands of the women.

"Are they going to let us go in?"  Irma asked of Titania.

"No", she answered.  "We are just to use our hands - I don't like it!  He tells us to hold the points of our -- breasts -- we are to pull them up and out, then put legs wide - it is just to embarrass us! But maybe then he let us pee- "

Irma followed what the other women were doing.  Each took her nipples, one in each hand, and pulled them as far up and wide apart as they could, while spreading their legs wide.  "At least", Irma thought to herself, "It's me doing it to myself - not some strange guy handling me!"

The senior officer passed down the line, inspecting the women as they held this odd posture.  To some he ordered them to pull wider or higher, to some he nodded approval.

Finally, he seemed satisfied.  He gave a command.  Titania, almost needlessly, translated for Irma.  "Pee - let all water out!"   The women enthusiastically complied.

Relieved, they were allowed to release their breasts and draw their legs together.  They were kept waiting a few more minutes, then they were escorted inside to the room where their ordeal had begun.

The chains were taken off.  They waited.  From time to time a guard would appear, call a name, and take a woman from the room.  Irma just waited.

After a time, a man appeared and motioned to Irma.  She was led from the room, back to the office where she had been interrogated by Vassily.

She was ushered into his office, still naked, barefoot, a bit smellier and dirtier than yesterday.  He looked up from the desk and greeted her.

"Well.  You are back.  And how were you treated today?"

"You know how I was treated.  I was chained to eight other women, and we were paraded around the streets with no clothes on.  Strange men were allowed to handle us, and we were denied use of bathrooms.  We had to relieve ourselves, when they allowed us, in front of crowds!"

"And have you learned cooperation?"

"I've learned your people can humiliate and degrade us."

"I see your attitude is a bit calmer.  I'm not hearing threats from you.  Would you like another day like today?" Vassily's question seemed rhetorical.

"No. I would not." Irma wondered what would be next.

"Would you like to be allowed to wear clothes?"

"Of course. Do you think I enjoy being paraded like cattle?"

"Then I have some news for you.  After our little lesson in attitude improvement, I sense you are being more cooperative.  We have no wish to hold you beyond what is needed to teach you cooperation with us and respect for our laws.   I have been authorized to release you on your own recognizance and send you home, in the custody of your companion, Helen.  You will be taken to your cell for tonight.  In the morning your friend has been notified she can pick you up here, but she must then take you immediately out of the country."

"And will I be given my clothes back now?"

"In the morning, not now.  You will spend the night without them.  You can be taken back to your cell, now."

Irma turned to leave.  Vassily called to her, "You know, I rather like seeing you naked - it certainly has improved your attitude!"

Irma turned away and left with her escort. Inwardly, she fumed a bit at Vassily's last comment. Then she thought better of it.


PART II

Chapter 6

Return

It was fifteen years after her experience that Irma returned. She was  fifty three now, and went by Irma Mitchell, the name she had acquired twelve years earlier at her marriage to James Mitchell.  Children had been born to the marriage, but they were now of an age that they could be left to the care of others, and Jim and Irma were able to travel a bit.  They had lived a fairly conservative life, and now had amassed enough affluence to be able to see just a bit of the world together - something Irma had largely given up when her children were born.

Jim knew a bit of Irma's unpleasant sojourn in the old Soviet Union, but he had never been there himself.   Now, at long last, the two of them were able to have a lengthy holiday in Europe, and Jim had insisted that the countries of the old Soviet Union be part of the itinerary.  They had been to Moscow and St. Petersburg, and then had booked a few days in the Ukraine.


Once they had been two days in Kiev, Jim chanced to look over a map posted in their hotel.  "The place where you had all the trouble before, can you show it to me here?" he asked of his wife.

Irma studied the map.  She could trace the sites of most of her earlier exploits from memory.  She pointed out the place where she and Helen had tried to exit the country.  Then she frowned a bit.

"The place where we were taken was Novorosk - it's not a very big town, but, let me see if I can find it." She studied the surrounding area of the map carefully.  Finally she exclaimed, "Here it is!  That's the place!  I wasn't quite sure how to find it, but I'll never forget it. We spent several days there, and oh, what an experience!"

"Yes, you've told me a bit about it.  In fact, from what you've said, I always wanted a chance to see it myself.  You're sure that's it?"

"Yes, indeed. I could never forget the name - or a  couple of the town squares!  I wonder if they've changed it much?"

They talked a bit of their itinerary.  Jim was intensely interested in seeing the place of his wife's misadventures, and she seemed mildly interested in seeing the place again, too.  The consulted the hotel concierge.  After a couple of hours, they had booked a hotel in Novorosk and a train to take them there the following day.

Things were a bit freer now than they had been fifteen years earlier, Irma noted, and she felt more at ease in traveling back to the place she remembered so well, yet with such awful memories to her.   The train trip was long and a bit complex, but they arrived at a small, somewhat run-down train station the following evening.

From the station they took a taxi to the small hotel.  It was one of the only two in town, she discovered.   "Did you stay here before?" Jim asked her, as they approached the hotel entrance.

"I didn't need a hotel.  The local police put me up all the time I was here.  I hope, though, that these accommodations are a bit better!  The station was lacking a few conveniences!"

"Such as? Didn't you have a private room with a bath?" Jim smiled a bit as he tweaked her memory.

"Private room, if you want to call it that!  Yes, and a toilet.  A personal toilet, but nothing private about it.  Anyone who was near was watching when I used it!  That is, when they allowed me to use it!" She shook her head at the now distant memory, still vivid in her mind.

They checked into a room and made ready for bed.  The next day Irma had promised to take Jim on a tour of the sights she remembered.

Morning came, though they were up none too early.  After breakfast, they acquired a rather poor map of the city, and set out on their tour.

The streets were much as Irma recalled them. Little seemed to have changed.  "Sure you're not lost?" he asked her.  "Are you going by looks of things, smells, or just feeling your way?"

"I ought to take off my shoes," Irma joked.  "I never walked on these streets in shoes before.  I can still remember how they felt on my bare feet!"  She shuddered a moment at the recollection.

"Bare feet? I don't remember that part of the story? Did they keep your shoes too?" Perhaps, Irma thought, Jim was kidding her a bit.  "When I walked here before," she went on, emphatically, "I had bare feet, bare legs, and absolutely bare everything.  There wasn't one thread of cloth or anything else on my body, except of course for the cords on my hands and that damned chain around my midsection." She shuddered again, her face turning to a frown.

She pointed out to Jim some of the sights she did remember.  "After all, you know I spent hours just standing still in the squares - I had lots of time to memorize how things looked!"   Suddenly, as they turned a corner, her face lit up, and she exclaimed, "There - right there!  That's the square we stood in. I'll never forget it.  There were nine of us, all chained in a line, and they stood us right there, against that wall. See?  There's the post over there - they fastened an end of the chain to that post!  And, behind us," she gestured to the opposite side, as they turned, "there was a crowd of people standing over there - a crowd that got bigger and bigger through the day!  They all stared at us!  Oh, I wish I could have fallen into the pavement!  Ugh! The things they did to us - we were full of water, we weren't allowed to pee, and if we did they let the men come up and put their hands on our -  well, all over us!"   Her expression was one of great distaste. 

"Looks pretty dead, now," Jim observed.  There were no crowds, only two or three pedestrians passing through.  

"No naked women for them to look at!" Irma noted.

She recounted to Jim more of the events of her first visit, as they found other places she remembered, including the police station and the square with the flower garden.

Later, over lunch, she went again over some of the events now being pulled from her memory.  Her husband seemed a bit mystified at her detailed recollections.

"If the memory is so awful, why did you want to come here?  I know I wanted to see it, but that's because of your experiences.  But you seemed to enjoy going back to these places, and every time you tell me more, you act like the memory is making you sick."

She thought a bit.  "I don't know. It was an awful experience.  I would never have wished it on anyone.  Yet, as I look back on it, in a way I'm rather glad it happened.  Now I know that's a strange thing to say. It was horribly humiliating and painful - especially in certain places. But, I wasn't really harmed, I wasn't raped, no one beat me; and I did live through it.  In a way, I know I probably deserved some of it.  I had been pretty arrogant with the customs and police, and I think I learned to be at least a little more diplomatic.  Or, maybe you don't think so!"

Jim said nothing, communicating only in a knowing smile.  He well knew his strong willed wife and her occasional hot temper.  He knew she could indeed get herself in trouble with her quick tongue.

Irma went on.  "In a crazy kind of way, it was one of the most erotic experiences I'd had.  You know I don't take off my clothes in public, but here I was paraded all over town with nothing on.  Bare feet yet.  And going to the bathroom in front of everybody; and them handling me and making fun of my  most personal parts.  I wouldn't have chosen to do it, but it was done to me!  Thank goodness all those people were strangers - I never had to look them in the face again!"

"Think they'd recognize you with clothes on?  Some of them may be around now!"

"Would you want me to give them a chance to recognize me like they saw me before?" Irma asked, jokingly.

"Never can tell.  Someone might remember you then.  Who knows?" Now Jim was joking.

"Nonetheless, it was a strange experience.  But I have to admit, it wasn't all terrible.  It was scary, but in a way, some it was - well, not really fun, you could never call it that, but a bizarre kind of experience that wasn't quite all unpleasant.  At least, now that I'm looking back on it and know I came out of it OK!"

Once again they passed the police station.  Irma mused, "I wonder if they still have those photos they took of me in there".  She shivered in disgust.  "I'd never been photographed naked!  Not even for baby pictures.  But they took those shots of me, well, all over, and in the most revealing poses!  Jim, can you imagine how I felt?"

"I'm trying to put myself in your shoes, but no one really can.  If I had seen it, I would have felt awful for you - sympathy, anyway; but no, unless it happened to you, you can't really know how it felt.  In a way, I wish I could share it with you!"

They walked back to the square that had the flower bed.  It was now mid afternoon, and they saw a small crowd congregated at one point in the square.  The went over to see what was the object of interest.

They found an artist at work, an older man, perhaps sixty, with a cap, and old suit, and graying black hair.  He sat on a chair in the square at an easel, making a sketch of a girl who was posing in front of him.  The girl was standing behind a chair, leaning over it slightly.  Her blouse was slightly unbuttoned, and she was showing considerable cleavage.  Irma looked at the artist's rendition of the scene.

"You know, he's quite good.  Some of these street artists have real talent!"

"Here's some of his work," Jim observed, seeing a group of sketches and portraits set up beside his chair.  Several were of young women, and two were nudes.  There were also depictions of children and older men.

"Would you like him to do you?" Jim asked, "Really, he seems to do good work.  Couldn't be too expensive, and it looks like he works fast!"

"No", Irma replied, deep in thought as she looked over the sample portraits.  She studied them carefully, then suddenly her face brightened.  "Yes! Yes!  I'd like him to do one of me - but I want it in a very special setting! Let's see if he'll do it!"

Jim had learned not to be surprised as what his wife did.  He wondered what she had in mind, suspecting it would be something radical.  His suspicions proved correct.

Once the artist had finished the girl's portrait, Irma and Jim approached him.  He could manage only a few words of English, but they went to work with gestures, facial expressions, and markings on their town map.

Irma managed to get across to him that she wanted a portrait of herself, to be done at the other square; the one at which she had first been chained to the post.  She indicated with the help of her watch that she would need to get ready for the portrait, and they agreed it could be started there in about an hour.  Irma indicated she would go to the hotel to prepare herself and then return; Jim would stay with the artist as a guarantee of payment and to direct him to the right place. 

The artist seemed to want to know if Irma would be sitting for her portrait, or with her husband, or how she would be.  Irma immediately stood straight up, pointing to herself, and stood with her feet apart, her hands behind her, and again indicated herself, nodding.  Then she motioned to Jim, and indicated "no".  Then she pointed to one of the portraits the artist had on display.  She indicated it, and then pointed to herself, nodding affirmatively.

Jim stood in shock as he realized the picture she had indicated for a sample was one of the two nudes.

"What are you going to do?" He asked, a bit worried.

"Jim, you stay with him.  Be sure he gets there.  Look, I know you'll think I'm crazy, but I want to do this.  It's my only chance, and I want to pose the way I was those fifteen years ago.  Right where it happened.  I know it sounds absurd, but I just want to live through a little part of that experience again, to stand there the way it happened, naked and with a belly full of water I'm trying to hold - I want to live that part of it again, but this time on my terms.  I want you to see it, and then you can share the memory with me!"

Jim stood, a bit perplexed.  "Are you trying to wind up in jail?  This isn't the police doing it - it's you.  Irma, you just don't do things like this - it's not you!"

"Watch me.  And I don't think anything will happen from the police.  Jim, I just have an inner urge- I can't really explain, but I want to do it.   Indulge me a bit!"

Assuring him she would be all right, she left him with the artist as she headed the short distance back to the hotel.  Jim was filled with trepidation - he had no idea what to expect of her.  He tried to settle the deal with the artist, observing that the day was drawing late, and in another couple of hours the light might be fading.

Back at the hotel, Irma hurriedly went up to their room.  Once inside, she picked up two large bottles of drinking water provided for them, and put the first to her lips, gulping it rapidly.  She kicked off her shoes, and began discarding her clothes into a pile on the bed.  She searched through her suitcase for a small package containing a carefully folder plastic raincoat, which she kept for weather emergencies.

Having consumed the first bottle of water, she started on the second.  She slipped her feet into a pair of sandals, replacing the walking shoes she had kicked off.  "I suppose it should be barefoot" she mused to herself, "but I'm not going to risk my bare feet on that rough pavement when it may get dark.  These will give me a little protection."

She slipped on the raincoat, having stripped off all of her clothing, and turned to the mirror to tidy up her hair and make-up.  Satisfied with her appearance, she picked up a large shopping bag and dropped into it the case for the raincoat.  Carrying nothing else, she took the bag and left the room, going down to the reception desk.

At reception she requested two more bottles of drinking water, then signed for the charges to their room account, and put the bottles into her shopping bag.  She drew some stares from the reception clerk as he perceived her odd attire, a raincoat on a dry day, with no signs of other clothing under it.

Irma headed for the square she had selected as the scene for her portrait.  Arriving there, she found Jim awaiting her.  Several bystanders had accompanied him, evidently curious as to what was going to occur.   The artist had not yet arrived, but Jim indicated he was coming.

"Great," said Irma.  Let's get ready.  I want to be facing the square, standing close to that post - because that's the way it was.  I want you to watch while he does the portrait.  And there's one thing more - you wanted to know how I felt, so I'm going to help you.  I have two liters of water here - I just drank that much in the hotel, and I want you to drink the same amount here.  When you have a belly full of water and it starts going through you, you'll soon know how I felt."

"Why did you have to drink it now?  For the portrait?"

"I want to look the way I did.  Well - I can't do anything about the damage fifteen years have done, but I want to feel and pose the way I was.  And I was full of water - to the brim.  I am now - and I know what it's going to do to me in a little while.  It's part of the experience I want to relive, and let him record what he sees of it!"

Jim had great difficulty understanding his wife's intentions.  However, he wanted to please her, and he began to drink the water while he waited for the artist.  Irma stood by, in her raincoat, a gathering crowd looking at her in wonder.

After half an hour or so, the artist arrived and began to set up his equipment.  Irma was standing in the place she wanted to pose, and she waited for him to arrange his easel and tools.  Eventually he seemed to have everything in order.  He sat beside the easel and looked to Irma.  His look and gesture asked if she was ready.  In answer, she removed her sandals and passed them to her husband.

Irma quickly unfastened the raincoat, dropped it off in one sweeping gesture, and passed it quickly to Jim.  Then she resumed her pose, now completely naked, full face to the artist, her legs slightly spread, her hands clasped behind her.

A gasp went up from some of the onlookers. There was now a crowd of perhaps twenty people, both men and women, watching the proceedings.  

Irma held her pose, standing motionless, not speaking.  While her hands were untied, she held them behind her as they had been once bound.  The lowering sun streamed into the square, lighting her brilliantly.  Her breasts faced the crowd, sagging a bit, and, Jim noticed, quivering a little from her apparent nervousness.  Below, her full belly protruded somewhat over a bit of paunch in her lower parts.  Her pubic hair, somewhat trimmed but not shaved, was prominently displayed.  Her spread legs clearly revealed her genital area.  

Jim watched as he kept guard over the bag containing her sandals and raincoat.  Evidently she had not brought any other clothing with her.  He stared at his wife, publicly displayed as he had never seen her.    While she was obviously not a young girl, she was still in good shape, and Jim felt his own body responding to the arousing sight of the spectacle before him.

Irma's facial expression was not a smile.  She didn't want to reflect any enjoyment of this situation anyway, but the water was doing its job.  She was feeling a need to urinate, which she knew was going to get a lot worse before this was over.  She wondered if her bladder was still able to hold as well it had fifteen years earlier.  She would find out.  Her face reflected the tension and growing discomfort.

The crowd, for the most part, watched quietly.  There were no catcalls, no obscene gestures.  The people just stared at the nude woman in front of them, with the sunlight flooding her body.

The artist did a good job.  He sketched the scene,  and carefully added color and detail.  He worked carefully, and Jim carefully watched the progress. The picture resulting clearly was recognizable as Irma, with details of her body he knew no artist had captured before.  It really was a good portrait, he thought, but who would they show it to?

It took about an hour for the artist to complete his work.  Finally he seemed satisfied.  He showed it quickly to Jim, then motioned for Irma to look. She came forward and viewed it, but only briefly.  She indicated her approval.

The artist took down the portrait, and prepared it for his clients.  Then he turned to Jim, pointing to him, and setting up the easel for a new portrait.

Irma watched. "He wants to do a portrait of you.  He's good.  Let's let him do you, too, before it gets too dark.  Are you willing?"

Jim had had no intention of having a portrait.  He could see the artist did good work, though, and quite quickly.  What was the harm of it, and anyway, Irma obviously wanted it.  He quickly agreed.  As the artist began his preparations, Jim moved over to where Irma had stood.

He struck what he considered a dignified pose.  Irma, still nude and standing beside the artist, called to him.  "No!  You're not ready!"

Jim looked at her, questions written on his face.

"It's to be a nude!  That's the way I had to pose!  If you want to share the memory, you have to do it the way I did!   I'll hold your clothes in the bag!" She held the bag toward him.

Jim had absolutely no desire to pose naked in front of this crowd.  He was having trouble, though, finding a graceful way to object.  Irma wanted him to share her experience, and she was only asking him to go through a part of what she had done.  While he didn't like the idea at all, he didn't want a disagreement with his wife in public.  Still, he was hugely embarrassed at the idea.  The thought struck him - that was exactly the feeling she would have had.

Time was running out. It would be too dark before long, and besides, the water was going through him and he needed to pee.  He wanted to get this over.

He started to take off his clothes and put them in the bag, As he did so, he noticed Irma had now retrieved her raincoat and put it on, though she had not fastened any of the buttons, and the front hung open.

He was expecting some laughter or at least some humorous response from the crowd, but there was none, except for some smiles.  He did notice that a few men retired from their front positions and some women pushed forward.

Jim was a year younger than Irma, slender, not overly muscled, and about the same weight as his wife.  He stood a couple of inches taller than Irma, and displayed a bit of gray at the temples in his otherwise black hair, worn in a medium cut.  Otherwise, he normally kept a well groomed conservative appearance.  This was a new experience for him.

Within a few minutes, Jim was naked and his clothes were in the bag in Irma's custody.  She stood close to the artist, facing him in her completely open raincoat, both breasts and her pubic region almost entirely exposed.  She stood now clasping one hand to her crotch, a reflection of the discomfort she was experiencing in trying to restrain her full bladder.  It was getting very uncomfortable for her, but she was now determined to force martyrdom on it until Jim's portrait was done.

He assumed a pose where Irma had stood. Following her example, he stood, face forward, hands behind his back.  His genital area was prominently displayed, and his penis projected in a semi-erect state.  He knew his penis was quivering a bit, as he tightened his muscles to control his filling bladder, and also from the arousal he felt both from his own state and from the view of his wife's exposed body.  He perceived her bladder discomfort, and suspected it was a lot worse than his own.  He would last through this, however.  He held his pose, embarrassed ever more at the occasional motions of his penis.  The artist worked on.  The crowd watched, quietly, staring with open eyes, but making few sounds.

It took a bit less than an hour for the artist to finish.  The light was fading as he applied the finishing touches.  The air was getting cooler. Irma stood, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, squirming a bit, squeezing her abdominal muscles.  Her bladder really hurt, now, and she was having difficulty restraining it.  Still, she stood with the raincoat over her body, the front completely open.

As the artist finished and Jim left his pose, he started to reach for the bag for his clothes, but Irma stopped him.  "Not yet", she said to him, "wait a few minutes!"

They paid the artist, who thanked them and began to pack up.  The crowd began to disburse, evidently feeling the show was over.

Irma picked up the bag with their possessions and the portraits, and indicated for Jim to follow her.  He protested, though a bit weakly.  "Irma, I need to pee - badly!  And I can't walk around without any clothes on!  Have a heart!"

She looked at him, and smiled a bit through her own discomfort.  "Your bladder can't be nearly as full as mine is!  We've got to take care of that situation - and I had to walk miles with nothing on - you can manage a few feet!"

Hastily she walked away from the square, her open raincoat floating around her with her motion, he following, naked.   Somehow he was expecting the onlookers to follow them, but they didn't.

The streets were practically deserted as darkness was falling, and the street lights were illuminating only parts of the streets.  It was getting cooler, and he was feeling a bit chilled in his unclothed state.  This didn't help the state of his uncomfortably full bladder.

Obviously Irma knew where she was going.  She turned a small street, really a bit of an alley.  A little light penetrated it, and a few feet into it a small railing stood, about waist high, separating an area which seemed to hold several trash containers.

No one was about.   Irma stopped, placed the bag on the ground, and let the raincoat fall from her body.  She quickly pushed it into the bag.  Then she turned to face her husband, standing with her legs spread, her hands gripping the railing behind her.

"Feel my bladder - it hasn't been this full in fifteen years - not since they made me hold it in front of all those men!" She took his hand and placed it on her lower belly.   He immediately felt the hardness.  "I've got to pee, too - this will do--" he began.

She cut him off.  "Not yet!" she insisted.  "That experience back there - it made me feel something I can't explain; but I know I need one thing worse than I need to pee, and it's this!"

With that, she took hold of her husband's penis and brought it to her genitals.  She moved slightly and received him into her, but only slightly.

"You're holding too tight", he said quickly, realizing what she wanted and feeling the resistance of her tight muscles. .

She gave him one command.  "Push!" she said, emphatically.  He did.

Her clenched sphincters were tight around him, gripping him as they sought to restrain her badly overloaded bladder.  His own need to urinate suddenly seemed to subside, as he began to move within her.

"Don't let my topside fall - the last time I had a bladder this full I had men's hands all over me - this time shouldn't they be yours!"   He got the hint, seizing one of her sagging breasts in each hand, then grasping and pulling the nipples.

Suddenly it was no longer cold, no longer painful, not humiliating to be nude in an alley.  She leaned back to tighten the tension on her nipples as he moved within her.   Suddenly she jerked in an explosion of release, a moment before he achieved the same reaction.

They stood together, breathing hard, for a few minutes, his penis still within her.  Suddenly he felt a warm wetness as her bladder poured forth his contents, the liquid running over both of them and down their legs.  He started to release her breasts to draw apart, but she wouldn't let him.  She replaced his hands and he gripped her breasts as her urination continued. After what must have been a minute, she spoke to him softly, "I'm not through yet - you don't want to go, do you?"

"I'll wait for you!" he replied quietly, as her urination continued unabated.    "Why don't you let go, too?" she asked him, the fluid still streaming from her.   He nodded.  He had never tried anything like this, but his full bladder was beginning to torture him again.   He tried to let go.  Finally it happened.  

"First time we tried this" she laughed. "Feels strange".  

"You did a lot of strange things today," he responded.

Finally, they were both emptied.  Irma stepped out of the deep puddle of liquid that had now accumulated around them, and moved a bit down the alley.  She retrieved her raincoat, and put it on, this time fastening one button.  She handed him his shirt and pants from the bag.

Dressed, at least covered to some extent, they started back to the hotel.  They arrived to receive stares from the hotel staff as they passed on the way to their room.

Once inside, they closed the door.  Jim surveyed the pile of Irma's clothes laying on the bed, where she had left them.

"Maybe the memories of this place won't all be bad," he remarked, as he flopped on a chair.  "Let's look at our pictures!"

They opened the two portraits and examined them, Irma's first.  Suddenly she let out a gasp.  "No one tied me while I posed, did they?  Look at this!"

On Irma's portrait the artist had clearly drawn a small chain around her waist, linked to the iron post a short distance away.  

"How did he know about the chain?" she almost shrieked.  "It wasn't there! I didn't tell him!"

Jim studied the picture.  "Maybe - just maybe," he mused,  "He may have seen this scene before. After all, he has probably been here a long time!"

"Maybe even fifteen years!" Irma smiled, shaking her head.

"And are you going to show your portrait to your children?" Jim asked her.

Irma thought for a moment.   "I think", she began, "that  might be best left until they get the picture as an inheritance!" 

No, Jim thought to himself, all the memories she had of this place wouldn't be bad ones.  Not all of his, either.


END



