Chapter 6
Whoever made the decisions on her case, whether Dr. Morris or some faceless machine, extended her stay at the hospital for three more weeks. After a month under evaluation – two contentious sessions per week in Morris’s office – it was finally time to see a judge. Another fight with Lillian had earned her the straitjacket once again – the one now exclusively reserved for her.
When Ernesto picked her up and ushered her to her room, it was after lunch, and two sheriff’s deputies were already waiting for her. The young male deputy was carrying a bundle of chains, and the female deputy, a woman in her forties, had an orange jumpsuit ready.
“Sorry,” said Ernesto. “I called for a nurse to clean her up. You can’t take her like this.”
The young deputy held his nose. “Damn, she stinks.”
“She likes to go in her pants,” said Ernesto, shrugging, which made Quinn blush. “Apparently, she’s always had the affinity, and it’s gotten worse over this past month. You might wanna wait outside; this won’t be pretty.”
Quinn avoided the deputies’ gaze as Ernesto undid the buckles of her straitjacket, freeing her from the numerous straps, the pants, and the plastic cover. The disposable sheeting was already on the bed; she lay down, letting him fasten the padded cuffs that kept her hands at the side of the bed and her legs apart. Straps around her midsection and above her bare breasts ensured she wouldn’t jerk around.
Janie rushed in, looking a bit stressed. She gave the female deputy a nod. “Hey, Brenda. How are you?”
“Fine. Sorry for interrupting your lunch break.”
“No worries, that’s the job.” Janie donned a pair of gloves. “Let’s see what you’ve done this time, Quinn.”
It was business as usual, but the two deputies right outside were strangers, and despite a month of strict discipline and humiliation, their presence still made her feel uneasy.
She shot the deputies an angry glare. “If you want a peep show, I suggest the Neon Nights on Mason and Fifth. I’m not your fucking entertainment!”
Janie took a step to the left, blocking the view. When she opened the diaper, already swollen from half a day’s use, Quinn glanced down at her pussy, caked with dried-up feces, and quickly turned her head to the wall. The last time she had rubbed her clit and brought herself to a climax felt like a distant memory. By now, she used her diaper without conscious thought.
The smell in the room intensified, and she heard the young guard standing in the doorway retch. That at least put a smile on her face.
“Never changed a diaper, Dale?” asked Brenda, grinning. “That’s what’s coming if you ever wanna be a dad.”
Dale swallowed hard. “I think I’m staying single. God, that smells like a sewer.”
Swift and businesslike, Janie cleaned Quinn’s filthy crotch. She rolled up the used diaper and stuffed it into a plastic bag along with her soiled gloves. As usual, she applied some lotion on her skin.
Brenda walked up to the bed, glancing at Quinn’s naked crotch. “Not my favorite thing, but we’re supposed to search prisoners prior to transport. Regulations…”
“Please be gentle,” said Janie. “She hasn’t even touched her genitals in a month. No opportunity to hide anything.”
“I guess if there was something in her ass, she would have shit it out.” Quinn’s blush intensified as Brenda parted her labia with two fingers. “No rash. You kept that pretty little snatch in good condition.” She ran a hand along the labia, then pushed two fingers inside. Unable to close her legs, Quinn held her breath and squirmed as probing fingers moved deep inside her. “It’s okay; I don’t think we’re gonna find contraband here.”
Dale walked over. “Wow. I think she’s getting off on this. Look how her clit pokes out. Stiff nipples, too.”
Asshole.
“She hasn’t had any in a month. I think it’s understandable.” Brenda brushed over Quinn’s clit, making her shudder, then she stepped back. “Can you put a diaper on her? I don’t want her to piss or shit in the van.”
“Sure. What do you say, Quinn? A fresh one for the road?”
Freshly diapered, wearing a slightly too long orange jumpsuit, Dale applied the restraints he had brought. Her hands cuffed in front to a chain around her waist, shackles on her feet, both connected by a chain, they led her out of the ward and into the waiting van. The restraints were a lot less comfortable than her straitjacket, but the presence of her diaper and the plastic cover was somewhat calming.
Doing some time in jail was probably unavoidable, but at least she was getting out of this place. Tonight, in her cell at county, she would bring herself to the first orgasms in a month – maybe thinking of Ernesto or Ralph as she rubbed her long-neglected clit. Nervous and full of anticipation, Quinn peed a little as the van merged into traffic, toward the courthouse at the center of town.
The self-driving van navigated the city without issue, taking its passengers through the back gate of the courthouse, a tall, utilitarian building that could use a fresh coat of paint. Quinn was resigned to spending the rest of the afternoon in a holding cell, but despite waves of layoffs, justice moved faster than ever. Flanked by Brenda and Dale, she stood in front of Judge Dawson, a white-haired woman in a black robe. No court reporter, no lawyer, no prosecutor – the efficiency of the new, AI-based justice system was equal parts impressive and scary.
“Quinn O’Connell,” said Dawson, checking the screen in front of her. “One month evaluation at Hackney Heights. That can’t have been pleasant.”
It didn’t sound like a question, so Quinn kept staring at her feet, feeling the handcuffs cut into her wrists. No matter what she said, the system had probably already assessed her priors, the charge, and the evaluation report, and calculated her sentence. The judge’s presence was purely ceremonial.
“The system’s giving you another six months in Hackney Heights–”
“W-what?!” Quinn’s eyes widened, her chains jingling as she took a step back. “Six months in that place? Are you fucking kidding me?”
Dawson just shrugged. “With a higher security level for violent tendencies and deviant sexual behavior. Destruction of property, repeat offender, and your psych evaluation score is under the threshold for a good social prognosis.” She tapped at the screen in front of her. “Your release is conditional on the next evaluation report in six months.”
Six months?! And there was no guarantee that they would let her go after that. She felt her knees weaken.
“Can’t you just send me to county?” asked Quinn, swallowing hard. “Please?”
Suddenly, she felt a warm mush spread in her diaper. The fiber-rich hospital food that still caused diarrhea – like many times over the last few weeks, without warning and powerless to stop it, she was emptying her bowels. The deputies on her left and right caught a whiff and moved a half step away from her.
“I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do,” said Dawson. “We don’t have as much leeway as we used to. Whether we like it or not, it’s all AI now.”
“Please!” Quinn looked at her with pleading eyes. “I spent four days in a row in a straitjacket. And I didn’t even do much.”
“Well, with that higher security level…” Dawson sighed, then she swiped her screen. “Good luck to you, miss. Next case.”