****** Janet's Mac by Eli ******
===============================================================================

Janet's Mac


Janet Smith was a first year nurse, and Matron was going to punish her. Walking
about with her raincoat undone indeed! A sharp reminder of the standards expect
at St Agnes' was clearly required.

"I believe the punishment should fit the crime, Nurse Smith," she said to the
young woman, who was standing as smartly turned out as she could manage before
the desk. "You chose to lower the good name of St Agnes' by lounging about with
your raincoat undone. Very well. For seven days, whenever you are off-duty,
your raincoat is what you will wear: and you will wear it properly! Now go and
get it."

Within five minutes Janet was back with the coat folded neatly over her arm -
and her face flushed with running.

"Good," said Matron. "Now take your uniform off and put it on."

This confused the poor girl.

"Hurry up, now, Nurse Smith. Take everything off - everything - and then put on
your mac."

A bit bewildered, she did as she was told. Taking off her shoes, slipping out
of her blue dress and taking off her bra, tights and panties. Then feeling very
foolish she pulled on her grey raincoat, the smooth rubber icy as it slipped
over her apprehensive skin.

"Now I want it buttoned up to the collar, and the belt done up properly," said
Matron. "And I can't wait all day!"

The girl's uniform was new of course and she was having difficulty with the top
button. Matron came around the desk and did it up for her. Then, reaching
behind the girl's back, she drew the belt tightly round her waist.

"Stand up straight, pull your tummy in, Nurse. I think we had better say the
last hole but one for your belt. Don't let me catch you with it any looser!"
She tugged until the buckle pin slipped into the designated hole and left the
girl to "stow the free end neatly away."

"This is how you will dress, Nurse Smith, whenever you are not on duty. Do you
understand?" said Matron, now that the girl stood with her raincoat "done up
properly".

"You mean ... just like this?" Janet asked in embarrassed confusion. "With
nothing on underneath?"

"Exactly. And with your belt buckled in the same hole. And with all the buttons
done up to the collar. Understood?"

"But ..."

"No 'buts', Nurse." I'm going to teach you a lesson. You will learn not to
disgrace St. Agnes' by your slovenly behaviour. And let me say this. Should I
catch you without your raincoat during the next seven days, or if you are not
wearing it properly, I shall not only extend the period of your punishment, but
I shall have you beaten as well. Understood?"

Janet didn't really understand at all, but she didn't think it wise to say so.
"Yes, Matron," was her demure reply.

"Good. So just remember I shall be on the lookout. And I shall make a point of
calling in on your room from time to time, and particularly checking when
you're in bed."

"You mean I must ... I have to wear it in bed?" Janet asked incredulously.

"My dear Nurse Smith, you must listen to my instructions. I said whenever you
are not on duty. Now you may go."

Janet walked out into the sunlight, with the icy touch of her mac already
giving way to a wet warmth at her waist, where the waterproof material was
belted against her skin. She looked down at the pavement and hurried to the
security of her room.

"Hi, Jan!" Sylvia greeted her, lounging on her bed with Blue Jeans. Sylvia was
one of three others who shared with Janet. "You're back quick. What did she
say? Confined to barracks, are you?"

"No."

"Then what?"

"This," she said, looking down at her mac. "She said I've got to wear this."

"Wear what?" asked Sylvia, looking up.

"Wear my mac. Said 'The punishment should fit the crime,' and said I must wear
it just like this."

"But - you wear it anyway, don't you?" asked Sylvia.

"She made me take everything off, " said Janet, putting her bundle of clothes
on the bed, "and she says I've got to wear it like that - for a week, whenever
I'm not on duty."

"She what?" Sylvia was awake now. "How do you mean 'take everything off'? What
about your clothes?"

"She said take everything off," Janet had to repeat. "So I had to. And then she
made me put my mac on, and said I had to button it up and belt it tight and
wear it like that for a week. Even in bed."

"She must be off her rocker," said Sylvia, shocked now. "What are you going to
do?"

"Wear it, I s'pose."

"You can't."

Janet was silent and it was her friend who began again after a pause.

"I mean, how can you? You'd freeze to death for one thing!"

"I'm not freezing now," said Janet feelingly. It's all warm and damp."

"I think it's terrible," said Sylvia again.

Another pause.

"And you've got to sleep in it?"

"Said she'd come round and check."

"It's awful."

All the room-mates agreed, each receiving the news with puzzlement and almost
disbelief. But there Janet was, still dressed in her mac as dinner time
approached, insisting on her story; and they could all see, from the way it
hung, that her mac was all she had on.

"Does it show?" Janet asked. "I mean, can you tell?"

"What - that you've got your mac on?" said Sylvia. "Well, of course you can!"

"No, I mean can you tell I've ... that I've not got anything underneath? I mean
...Oh, Sylvy, it's horrible!" She was close to tears. "How can I go down there
like this? It's ... it's ... it's horrible!"

"Course you can't tell," said Sylvia with as much conviction as she could
muster. "And people often eat with their coats on. You'll be all right. Nobody
will know."

"It feels so ... so kind of weird," said Janet miserably. I can't go on wearing
it. I just can't."

"Well, nobody's going to tell Matron if you slip it off when you're up here.
Just wear it when you have to go down, that's all."

"But she said she'd come round!" Janet was interrupted by the dinner bell.

The girls did not have to wear their uniforms for dinner, and among the noisy
crowd which Janet and Sylvia joined in the foyer there was a variety of outfits
- some dresses, some skirts and blouses, a lot of jeans. But in spite of
Sylvia's encouraging forecast, and not at all surprisingly on a brilliant May
evening, Janet was the only one in a mac; and with it buttoned right up to the
chin, tightly belted, her hands thrust nervously into the pockets, Janet's
appearance positively invited comment.

Not that anyone knew what to make of it.

"What's she like that for?" was the question everyone asked, and nobody could
think of even an amusing answer. But Jan caught the puzzled looks and grew hot.
The wetness enveloping her grew warm once more. She hurried to her place and
stared down at her tomato soup.

The seniors strode in and gathered round the top table. Janet's tormentor
barked three Latin words of grace, and the girls sat down.

On Janet herself, dressed as she was, this experience was a novel one. Above
the waist, where the belt drew the raincoat tight, she was enclosed. Her skin
perspired, but the moisture had little chance of escape, trapped either by the
belt, or the elasticated storm cuffs fitted inside the sleeve, or the collar,
close-buttoned around her neck. Her arms and back and breasts were therefore
constantly bathed in perspiration, a wetness that caused the mackintosh
material to cling to the skin and affect the feel of every movement.

But below the waist, having flared over the hips, the material swung loosely
about her legs. There was no enclosure: the inside of the rubberise cotton
stayed dry and cool and smooth. So that when Jan sat down, her bottom and
thighs and so on received something of a caress from their sudden contact with
the grey rubber mackintosh lining. She was startled, almost thrilled in fact.
She swallowed her soup, doubly suffused in embarrassment.

That first evening was the worst. Certainly, the following days were a strange
experience for the girl - remembering to change into her mackintosh the moment
she came off duty, the weirdly vulnerable feeling of going in public wearing
only the single thickness of rubberised cotton, and, most telling, the
increasingly familiar touch of the fabric on her skin. But she got through them
without attracting the further action she dreaded from Matron.

But that was not the end of the matter as far as St Agnes' was concerned.

Sylvia was the next to be directly affected. She had been keenly intrigued by
her friend's punishment on that first afternoon, and had seized the earliest
opportunity to take her own mac into the lavatory, take her clothes off, and
slip it on. To her, the cool slipperiness of the mackintosh was fantastic, and
for the next few days she appeared to use the lavatory so much that her friends
thought she must have eaten something.

Then one morning she was late for duty and had to report to Matron. It was
usual on these occasions, before 'sentence' was passed, for the girl to be
asked if she had anything to say. Sylvia saw her opportunity.

"I suppose I'd better wear my mac, Miss - like Janet?"

Matron was momentarily nonplussed. She had been about to let Sylvia off with a
talking to. What was she suggesting? Like Janet? - Janet was that girl who had
been caught improperly dressed, wasn't she? And she had made her wear the
offending garment in proper order. She had noticed her in dinner looking
altogether smart in her raincoat, with the buttons all done up and the belt
neatly buckled at her young waist. Just how all the girls should look! Make
this girl do the same? Why not? An entirely appropriate punishment. If Matron
felt a thrill, as she surely did, it did not attract her notice.

"Yes, I'm afraid you must," she said." Run along and fetch it now."

Sylvia ran, flushed and trembling, and thus began a flushed and trembling week.
Thereafter, she committed minor misdemeanours on a more or less regular basis,
and Matron seemed content to co-operate.

Moreover, before the end of Sylvia's sentence, she and Janet were joined by
other girls: and the custom developed from there. A sort of club emerged of
girls who got their thrills from being punished in this way, with Matron
apparently happy to go on participating in its tacit conventions.

Unhappily, however, Janet herself never got to share her friends' enthusiasm.
While they gasped and giggle with pleasure as they slipped in and out of their
punishment uniforms, she felt only reluctance and embarrassment. They loved the
swish of the rubber about their legs and thighs as they walked, but she felt
exposed and uncomfortable. What elated them was nothing but humiliation to her.

Which was a great pity - for Matron, thinking of Janet as the founder member of
the club, made sure she was punished for every slightest transgression, and the
poor girl found herself having to put aside her comfortable jeans and shirt in
favour of her smart grey mackintosh uniform - with its epaulettes, its
wriststraps and its tightly buckled belt - again ... and again ... and again.

End

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