Capture Team Pt. 05: The Platform

"The Institute has other plans for you," I informed Bliss, "you will be transported to the Institute with the detainees. Undoubtedly, they'll give you a week's leave and provide a couple of weeks training before the next semester begins..."

"Will eh-- they assign me a new roommate or will eh--Felicity return to school with me?"

"Likely, where you and hmm--Felicity will be sent is a question the Institute will decide in the best interests of the security of the Institute and the safety of all concerned," I surprised myself indulging in officious gobbledygook.

What would the Institute do with Bliss? Would the Institute live up to its promises to her or simply flip her to recoup its investment by shaving her head and shipping her to auction? Heck if I knew.

Rising Bliss, shoulders still nested in a blanket, offered a delicate feminine hand. A look a shock appeared on Bliss' face when I whimsically swept the blanket off her back, leaving a naked shivering mass in front of me spouting goosebumps on the soft flesh of her bare boobs. "Bare down there? Was that for porn or do you wear it that way?" Patting her on her bare butt and pushing her toward the door, I called Cliff, "Cable tie the prisoner and return her to the Hen house."

I began the interviews of the young women we hauled in. Most came from the Drama Department of River Bend University, victims of silly young adult reckless spending. I might have empathized with a few of their minor delinquencies. Should I tell them the law allowed their families 10 days after notice to pay the debt and redeem her person? The Institute made more money at auction if the debtor waived the right to notice.

Protesting that she was in the process of being redeemed, Elise Parker, a statuesque dark brunette, a decade older than most of the college girls arrested that night, climbed the tailor's podium. Neatly dressed in a fashionable dark skirt with stockings, Elise had been identified by an informant as a star in LT Bernie's production. Though promising to sick her lawyers on the capture team, Elise complied with Cliff's order to strip.

Elise was correct -- partially. During the cover mission, when my capture team apprehended Elise, her husband volunteered to self-indenture to pay her debt. Injecting Elsie with transponders in her butt and boobs. I took her husband with permission of the institute. With the implanted transponders, I was able to track her movements and set a time for the raid.. The appraisal of her husband and his business contracts was not complete. Looking at Elise's attire, I surmised a part of her debt was the fashionable wardrobe she was asked to remove.

"Strip! Such a stark word," Elise exclaimed, "to describe a facet of the art of seduction."

"Oh, I admit, Elise," I shook my head, "you projected a style in rhythmically disrobing. Why are you being so shy?"

Unbuttoning her blouse button by button, Elise, looking coquettishly down to the floor, retorted, "I'm no two -- bit slut. I don't display my wares for free." Daintily tugging her shirt tail inch by inch from her skirt, Elise boasted, "Admirers must pay to see." Yanking her shirt open, Elise boasted, "the work of art that is she." Unveiling an eye opening lacy frilly embroidered bustier top with a lustrous satin trim as Cliff and I took a deep breath, Elise chanted, "whose skillful hands hold the key."

A slight of hand the brassiere was dangling from her hand. Released, the delicate floral decoration floated to the floor. The move was so well done, the eye focused on the dangling bra until it landed on the ground. Only then her gorgeous smile as her DD boobs bouncing on her chest as she swayed side to side teased, "to raise temperatures 10 degrees."

Unzipping her skirt, she allowed it to glide to the floor. Hands on her hips, she pulled the strings on her bikini bottoms embroidered with pink blooms and trimmed with satin. Seductively, bending forward, Elise rolled one stocking down one leg then another.

Elise didn't stand for the photos; she posed. I couldn't watch it any further. I called Cliff over. "Be rough with her," I whispered.

Ordered to bend over, Elise swayed her rear end productively. Cliff clamped a hand on the small of her back. "Be gentle," she pled in a plaintive, seductive voice. Cliff looked to me. I nodded. Elise yelped when Cliff plunged his thumb into her crack and forced fingers into her slit.

In my office, Elise rubbing her rear end asked permission to stand. "I hope to be out of here. I need to call my attorneys."

"You can't," I was firm, "retain counsel. In servitude, you cannot enter into a civil contract without the Institute's approval."

"I was given time to report in," Elise maintained.

"You were given 10 days," I reminded her, "That expired long ago."

"But I made money while awaiting my husband's appraisal," Elise argued. "With all I earned plus my husband's appraisal, my debt should be paid and I should go free."

"After your notice of levy," I reminded her, "your property became forfeit to the Institute. The Institute became entitled to any money you earned."

I was standing in the corridor with Cliff as Logan guided Elise down the corridor. Rear cuffed held by one arm, Elise sashayed down the corridor toward the entrance to the dungeon. Cliff was counting out the seconds until Elise's shrieks filled the basement.

Cliff commented, "no matter how tough or nonchalant they pretend to be the artic cold water and the disinfectant even red - hot Bliss and stone -- faced Jane yelped as loud as the others when we put them under the shower. `Two settings for your comfort, Cold and Artic cold,'" Cliff snickered, "Care to join them in a refreshing shower."

After we were finished with the cast, we delt with the leaders: the woman first. I was standing arms folded across my chest, in front of my office when Professor Wendy Miller, dressed in a navy blue cape over a white blouse and skirt with heels and dark stockings stood on the tailors' platform. Not a filament, not strand of her hair styled in a fashionable wave was mussed when her head spun to glare at me.

The cable ties were cut from her wrists. Ordered by Cliff to strip, Wendy Miller protested, "I won't permit a man to touch me. That's my civil right."

"A free woman might have such a right," I reproved her, "You are property, subject to my orders, Wendy."

"Ugh, Professor Miller, please." Wendy asserted.

"Frankly, in here regardless of whom you think you are, Wendy," I was harsh. "On your delinquency, your indenture provides that your property is forfeited to the Institute. Your clothing, your car, your house, even your professional title and last name became Institute property."

"Fuck you!" Wendy cussed.

"Now, I warn you. You owe seven years on your indenture plus three for the expense of capture. Now, either take off your clothes or," I was firm, "I'll cut them off you. Now I ask you: Will you undress for me?"

"Cliff, Logan, since Wendy won't undress voluntarily. Take her into the arena. Stand her in front of the rope. I'll be with you presently," I declared.

During the struggle with Cliff and Logan, Wendy lost her heels. Her stocking covered feet slid across the deck paint of the concrete floor.

On the night of the roundup, before Wendy Miller was led away, I declared, "Wendy, if I must to cut your clothes off, I mean to humiliate you in front of an audience in the henhouse and the bullpen."

When I entered the arena, with the bullpen against the wall on my left and the henhouse against the opposite on my right, Wendy, securely held on either side by Logan and Cliff, looked up at the rope dangling from the 25 foot heigh ceiling.

A gaggle of naked women were on their feet watching. Clutching the ringlets of the cyclone fence, most were shouting, jumping up and down, flapping their bare breasts. One or two folded their arms over their breasts; one cupped her hands over her vagina. The guards used their batons to rattle the cage. "Stand back," the guards ordered.

There were two naked young men, average sized thin, shiny cock and ball jams attached to their hoscus, were standing up but remarkably quiet. When we conducted our raid, we released most of the men, injecting the transponders into their butts, scrotums and underside of the penis. "You want to keep what you got, use your transportation pass and report in," I advised the lucky ones. With the two other than LT Bernie that we retained, sadly they had been delinquent too long.

I confided in Cliff and Logan, "It's probably more exciting than that movie they were making." Taking a breath, I shouted a call for quiet at the top of my lungs. "Please ladies, give poor Wendy a chance. She's got a big decision to make."

I addressed the prisoner, "Wendy, I'd like you to look at me. I'm LT Tina, in charge of this roundup of defaulting debtors. Upon your default, your person is liable to seizure to secure the loans you took out. Under the terms of your indenture, your property is forfeited to the Institute. Like the others you were asked to surrender your clothing which is Institute property. You face on top of the seven years you owe for the indenture, three for failing to surrender your person. If I have to cut your clothes off, you may face an additional three to five years for destruction of Institute property plus an additional year for disobedience." I took a deep breath. "Now, what will we do, Wendy?"

A fierce look peered on Wendy's face. "Ok, Cliff, you know what to do. Bind her hands in front of her. String her up."

Surely, Cliff would administer the punishment with glee. Snickering Cliff assured Wendy, "Each stroke creates a swish sound whistling through the breeze more terrifying than actual whack on the bare rump."

In response, Wendy started to speak. I called for silence. "I'll do what you ask," Wendy cried. Her mascara streaked over her face.

"Alright," I declared as I studied her bulk, "let's see what you have underneath, hand me your cape." Untying her cape, Wendy held it in her hand and offered it to Cliff. Checking its pockets and feeling along the seams, Cliff passed it to me. "It's a little chilly in here," I observed, "I left my jacket in my office. This color blue matches my uniform skirt. I'm in charge. I can bend the rules. Your blouse Wendy?"

Untying the scarf and laying it aside, Wendy unfastened her sleeve buttons and lifted the blouse over her head, mussing the gentle wave in her brunette hair. Hands on her hips, Wendy presented a butterball shaped body. A bright red brassiere, as burnished as her cheeks, covered cup 32 C breasts. "Ok, let`s see those tits," I ordered, "hand the bra to Cliff." After examining the cups, Cliff put it aside.

"Are the skirt and wrap a suit or are they separates?" I asked. When she acknowledged that skirt, tie and wrap were a part of a suit, I requested, "Now the skirt." Left in her underwear and stockings, I complemented her on her cool and collected composure in the process.

"I did work in porn," Wendy stated.

"On screen or in recruiting," I questioned. When she shrugged her shoulders, I told her to slip off her panties. Yanking her panties off, Wendy lifted them to Cliff with her foot.

"Great gymnastics for a full-figured woman." I congratulated her. "Now the stockings."

Once Wendy was standing before me stitchless, I read her bar code and announced, "`Wendy Miller, age 35, 5 ft 3 in, 155 lbs. Indenture Made ___ Declared Delinquent ___ Notice of Levy ___ Levied ___ Escaped ___.' And of course, we know Wendy has been levied once again. Quite a record. Cliff, bind the prisoner's hands." Once Wendy's hands were bound in front of her. I ordered her searched and paddled. 10 right. 10 left.

Wendy's bound hands, secured to the rope dangling from the ceiling, were raised above her head; her butterball shaped body was lifted up so that only her decorated toenails scraped against the grey painted concrete floor.

"Before I order Cliff and Logan to begin," I, taking a paddle in my hand, addressed the women in the henhouse and the chastity caged males in the bull pen, "a reminder of the effect of your indenture. Once The Institute enforced your indenture, your freedom ended. For the period of your indenture, you are a slave, property, subject to disposition: retention by the Institute to serve it or sold in a private sale or at auction. Your purpose hereafter is unquestioning service to a master. Disrespect and disobedience are a challenge to the very nature of your responsibilities in the master servant relationship. The disobedient will be punished."

I paused deliberately. Handing the paddle to Cliff, I commanded, "Tan her hide. Then bring her to the consultation room for examination."

As I left the room to return to my office, I heard the gasp of the crowd as the first whack fell.

After administering the punishment, Cliff and Logan joined me in my office. "These types of punishment are unfortunate but necessary. I doubt we'll have any trouble -- for the next few hours at least."

Cliff advised me that "the squealing from the cold water and screams from disinfectant have subsided. T the ladies taken at LT Bernie's porn theatre are now safely ensconced behind the wire in the hen house. Shouldn't we deal with the rooster, LT Bernie, while we're were still alert enough to handle him. "

"LT Bernie is a powerful guy," I reminded Cliff and Logan, "You may be glad Mama made you wear the iron jockstrap."

"Dealing with LT Bernie, the face behind the picture, would be a test of wills," Cliff warned, "to the very end."

In minutes, LT Bernie was produced on the tailor's platform in front of me in all his naked glory. Cliff and Logan, though both newbies, were especially vigilant ready to pounce as I recited the usual introduction.

"My name is LT Tina," I introduced myself to the six foot dark haired male prisoner standing under the blinding light above the octagonal tailor's platform surrounded by six facets of mirrors giving me a panoramic view of his hairy body, "you are being processed as an absconder for return to the Institute. Thus far, you've been cooperative. Cliff and Logan are here to assist me if you present a problem. We aren't going to have any problems. Are we?"

Receiving a nod, I signalled Cliff to cut off the cable ties. "Stick your tongue out for me and twirl it around," I commanded LT Bernie.

When he complied, I thanked him. Ignoring Bernie's open amusement, I ordered, "Now Bernie, would you hold your arms up high. Try to touch the sky." I requested Cliff to pat Bernie down from head to toe, making Bernie wiggle his toes and display his fingers..

"I'm disappointed," Bernie laughed, "I deserve to have you pat me down."

"You'll get your chance to experience my gentle touch," I replied. Approaching Bernie, I claimed to have decided to personally conduct the genital examination. "Let me lift up your cock and take a peek under your ball sac."

Bernie attempted to interrupt. After effusively applauding my planning and execution of the raid, Bernie demanded "I need to report my findings to the Institute Director. Get me my clothes or issue me a utility uniform. I'll be sure to report your total cooperation!"

"Let me finish up my job here, Lieutenant, if you please, Hands on your head," I requested, "LT Bernie, hold still. I need to install a chastity device snugly to avoid injury or damage to Institute property, your testicles. First the face plate,"

Once again, LT Bernie assumed a voice of command. "When I reveal to the Institute a plan I've developed for baiting the young woman into submitting to capture as easy as inducing young women to over -- spend themselves into debt, I could end up in the directorate."

"Interesting," I ignored LT Bernie's claims, "Why they call the plate that anchors the chastity cage behind your scrotum a face plate? Actually, the face plate rides behind your scrotum."

"The solution," Bernie declared, "is porn. Horny men will buy anything. We can get desperate women trying to work their way out of debt cheap.'"

"Hmm, While the Institute decides its direction, let me finish up here. Now," I describe my actions, "Let me snap the tube holding your penis into the face plate and last the cock cage holding your nut sack. And there you can't erect, engage in penetrative intercourse or pee standing up."

Rising, I asked Cliff to take over, "Cliff take over from here. I must report to The Institute that LT Bernie is back." To LT Bernie, I asked, "Anything else?"

"I intend to reduce the process of credit -- indenture -- over extension -- capture into an assembly line. You could be part of it. You too," Bernie, turning to look behind him at Cliff, implored Cliff. "My proposal could revolutionize Institute security. It's a question of do you want to join the future or end up going to market head -- shaven cuffed when Security is cut back?"

It took only a nod to Cliff. As I turned my back to Lt Bernie, I heard screeching cacophony of latex gloves stretched. Cliff barked, "LT Bernie, sir, be so kind as to spread your legs, bend at the waist, pull your butt cheeks apart." I chuckled when Bernie's grunt echoed off the cinderblock walls.

"Your speech, Lieutenant," I declared turning around at the door to my office, "Who could not be carried along by your speech. My breathing became deeper. I could feel the sweat on the back of my hands.. How I want to rip these clothes and fuck --"

Cliff looked up at me with a quizzical look. "Unfortunately, with your accoutrements unavailable, you promise too much beyond your capacity to deliver."

At a simple nod, Cliff drew his taser. Bernie fell to the floor. Cliff inserted a ball gag in Bernie's mouth.

Standing over Bernie, hands on my hips, I declared, "When you sign the indenture, the Institute decides." To Cliff, I ordered, "Put Bernie in the cage outside, away from other prisoners. Even with his balls in a cock jam, and a ball gag sealing his mouth, he has enough charisma to persuade others to do his bidding."

"Anything else?" Cliff asked.

"Have someone from the farm to guard him. Get Logan," I ordered, "Meet me upstairs in quarters. The cock locks are coming off. Mama needs to fuck herself blind."