Colony Pt. 02

My Name is Pennie

From the journal of Inmate 93NN1E

Dear Diary,

My name is Pennie, and I've been an inmate at the Perfectly Normal Society's Penal Colony for about six days now. Twenty-four more to go.

Like the Mt. Lee Spanking Academy, participation in the Colony's program requires visits to a counsellor to work out the issues brought to life playing so far out on the edge. And, just like the Academy, I'm required to journal.

Instead of a notebook and pen we are given a small tablet like the one Officer Doreen used to control the Archer Seat. The device has only the word processing function and seems to be a solid puck of hard rubber, about 8 inches by 10 inches, with a simple LCD touchscreen and a USB port for charging and uploading data.

Typing on this thing feels a little clunky, but it's all I've got and I'm going to make the best of it.

Oh, yeah, I was warned by my counsellor that tampering with the device in any way would result in an immediate 'pardon'. I wonder how many inmates had the same two thoughts that I did hearing that?

-

So, I'm sure you've probably heard this before, but it's amazing what you can get used to.

I've kept my brain busy by mindfully adjusting to the reality of the Colony and done my best to leave the memory of my first interrogation alone, but it's like a weird new bump on the inside of my cheek, I can't let it be.

Taking Officer Doreen's advice and deciding against the amnesia protocol in the end felt right at the time. I'm not sure how I feel about that decision now, or about what happened in that room, but I do think that I handled it pretty well.

Something that I've said to myself so many times before, usually when my dominant partner would take a scene uncomfortably close to the pre-established limits, that it's become second nature:

I have no choice but to endure.

Something else that's turned into a mantra of sorts, especially when the play turns painful:

Relax and enjoy yourself.

Interrogator Rory was enjoying himself for sure, taking pleasure in a job well done. Officer Doreen was having so much fun, she was bouncing with girlish energy the whole time.

Make them proud, put on a show worthy of their self-pleasuring fantasies.

I realize what a weird fucking thing that is to tell yourself, but again, totally familiar in the context of the submissive life I've led for years now.

I've been wondering how to put the experience in writing. I've settled on a review. How cool would it be to have Yelp for perverts? Hey PNS, get on that!

-

Machine X Made for a Memorable Interrogation ⭐⭐⭐⭐ by user Pennie6969

Machine X, the smart bondage device that choked, shocked, spanked, whipped, and fucked me was really, really well made. Terrifying to behold, but a modern engineering marvel. Moving me around to the different humiliating positions, whether it was in a prayer position, my knees hovering inches from the floor, or spread-eagle and upside down for easy access for deep throating, the machine made it all feel perfectly natural.

The cursed thing was sturdy and clean and held my legs apart to the exact degree where I felt most exposed and vulnerable while it penetrated my ass with a long red jelly dildo that felt like it was squishing my guts when it was fully inserted. Fitting a second, equally thick purple jelly dildo in my pussy was impressive if not a little uncomfortable.

Interrogator Rory was just the firm presence I needed while the machine was whipping my tits.

I really came to rely on his strong support by the end of the 20-minute electro-stim portion. The orgasm from the electrodes placed all over my thighs, ass, tits, stomach, and one wedged deep in my vagina was mind altering. Having his bland but handsome face, hard eyes, and concerned expression helping me to return to reality meant the world to me.

Officer Doreen was so helpful and encouraging. She was so sweet when she told me how proud she was of me when the machine finished its fifty swats from the wooden paddle across my bottom. If I'm not mistaken, every stroke of the paddle was slightly harder than the last. Chef's kiss!

Even though I lost track of where I was and what I was doing there for a while during the impact tests, I always knew how many strokes were left due to a helpful countdown display that the machine kept in my line of sight.

I loved how excited Officer Doreen got when Interrogator Rory handed her a cat-o-nine-tails to personally take care of a second round of punishing impacts to my poor abused ass.

Self-discovery time: I never once thought that I would enjoy getting my pussy spanked. Frankly, I'm surprised that in all my years as a PNS member it hadn't come up.

Interrogator Rory told me that the genital impact test would be short and said he was giving control back to the machine for the best results. The riding crop the machine chose stung in best way at the start and became a sort of detached wave-like vibration that was pure pleasure by the end. I don't think I could have cum that way, but it was nice to try in the moment.

On the other hand, I do have some complaints, hence the 4 stars instead of 5.

I didn't much care for how the machine used increasingly long, girthy, and excessively realistic dildos to gage my gag reflex. I'd long prided myself on being able to suck cock like a pro, never gagging even on the most plentiful hosing of jizz on the back of my throat. That pride lasted three dong levels. Even with the dental harness, the fourth dong felt like it was going to split my mouth into a Joker smile, and by the time the tenth barely made it past my teeth, I was glad my stomach was empty.

The vaginal and anal probing went on for too long, to be honest. Even though Officer Doreen was allowed to apply lube on most of the probes, things started to chafe and get sore, and it is all just a blur now, which is too bad because I felt like the machine was doing its darnedest to give me another orgasm to remember.

Face slapping, even by an unfeeling robot, is the bottom of the barrel for me masochism-wise. I only used to let my ex do that sort of thing when I was feeling my lowest and wanted to go lower, and it just felt out of place here. At least Interrogator Rory was allowed to take the dental hardware out first and replace it with a thing like a boxer's mouthpiece that I could bite down on instead.

The electrical butt plug was a step too far until the machine went further and started zapping my already sore ass with some kind of wand. Really, really painful.

The machine went on and used that same wand to shock every part of my body except for my neck and head, which was a weird experience to be honest.

At least Officer Doreen and the interrogator were having fun. I mean, I did get to give him a blow job after the wand turned my body into a quivering mess.

The worst of it all was the method of transport to inmate housing. I would have preferred a hospital gurney or wheelchair (sore red ass notwithstanding) to the Archer Seat. Getting back on that thing after Machine X had its way with me had me thinking about using the safeword again.

One nice touch though, was something Officer Doreen had been alluding to the whole session. She got permission through her tablet to take a detour into an empty and dark interrogation room. When she turned on the lights, I got to see what she had been raving about all along.

This interrogation room had a mirror taking up an entire wall. It was presumably one-way so that interested parties could watch from the other side.

I was a sweaty mess; my mouth, neck, and upper chest still covered in drool, my normally lustrous hair hung wet, limp, and stringy down my neck, face, and back. I was thoroughly marked, from my rosy cheeks to my dusky ass. The small amount of makeup I had put on before I entered the colony was smeared down my cheeks and chin. I would have found myself the perfect picture of desperate beauty if I wasn't feeling so sorry for myself at the time.

Overall, four out of five stars, highly recommended, would return!

-

Now that the seal has been broken on that memory and I'm free to alter it with periodic recollections, I suppose I should describe the second transport to the interrogation rooms.

Spoiler alert, I do not remember my second interrogation.

In the six days I've been here, I've slept in three different kinds of inmate housing. I was sent to a cell with two bunks after my first interrogation. My bunkmate arrived a little while after I had.

We barely spoke, but we did sleep spooned up against each other on the bottom bunk the first night. I don't think I cried, and I'm pretty sure she didn't either. I barely remember her face; all I remember is that her inmate designation didn't seem to make for a good nickname like mine does.

The second cell was more like a dorm room or a barracks, with beds for sixteen or so women. That night felt a bit like the first week or so at camp and everyone was friendly but guarded. We were all at the Colony by choice, after all.

I'm writing this in a cell I've got all to myself. My journal tablet was already sitting on my freshly made single bunk, and a tray with a couple of books and a fashion magazine came through not long after I got here. I've heard that there are monitors in some of the cells and that the entertainment is fascinating.

-

We get a lot of 'Free' Time at the Colony, something I hadn't anticipated at all. I guess it's like going to an amusement park. The rollercoasters are great, but who would want to spend eight hours on one?

I can hear the quote-unquote around the word 'Free' anytime someone here says it next to the word Time here. I'm not free, every moment here is pre-determined. I'm not just a person being put through the program, I'm the program itself. Even the 'Free' Time has that pre-programmed element of fate to it.

Like when, the other day, two inmates started arguing over a game of cards, the rules or something like that, accusations of cheating, whatever. The rest of us tried hard not to pay attention at first, but when it escalated, we were all aware of nothing else. It was like the cutscene of a video game, one moment everyone was busy manipulating their controllers, and the next the programmers took back control to show us all these two women causing a kind of trouble for themselves that would spread through the common room like a virus...

Everyone in the common room got a major offence added to their record for failing to stop the inmate altercation. No one thought for a moment that was something we were allowed to do. Or maybe a better way to put it is, on hindsight, we would have all gotten an offence for interfering in the altercation, so doing something or nothing was fine either way. The proscribed interrogations, the preplanned torments must happen according to the program.

Two officers arrived from nowhere, their presence instantly deflating both women. The inmates helpfully separated on their own and faced away from their guards, clasping their hands behind their backs.

Zip ties went on and black bags got pulled roughly over their heads with frightening speed.

"Take them to the Area 5 Dungeons immediately for correction. Check your tablets for the cell assignment and further instructions."

This was announced over the intercom by the same bored, possibly artificial, voice I'd heard reading my sentence to be tormented by Machine X.

There hadn't been a helpful staff led orientation showing us around, creating a vision for our time spent here, but anyone could pick up the basics on their own easy enough. The words 'Area 5 Dungeons' was a cloudburst that flash-flooded the common room with terror.

I tried to look around me for the mood of the room as furtively as I could, only to find that everyone else was doing the same. Blank faces, wide eyes, a few mouths hanging open. An all-consuming realization (or reminder to some, I'm sure) that anything at all could happen here at any time and it was entirely out of our hands.

We were then instructed by the detached voice to set our belongings on the picnic tables and sit with our hands behind our backs. Every few minutes a new guard would come in and call out an inmate's designation, stainless steel cuffs and shackles jingling merrily in the pin-drop silence. Any inmate who was slow to stand and walk over was given an additional offence. Any inmate who was too fast to comply was also given a demerit. I was one of the last inmates called. With plenty of time to gird myself, I moved with collected assurance, head held high and was awarded the same as everyone else.

In case it wasn't obvious, offences are the Colony's way of adding additional punishments to the regular interrogations.

Talking with the other inmates over the past few days, I gathered that the Colony allows at least two days between interrogations. Other than this known factor, the Colony likes to keep its inmates unbalanced and guessing.

There's stuff that goes on between interrogations, only some of it is worth writing about later, I guess.

After the inmate scuffle, I learned that I would always be sent to a holding cell before interrogation, to be dressed for transport, and based on what I've seen being moved around the Colony, dress code for interrogations was always strategic exposure, and the transport was always maximum humiliation. Both seem fine-tuned to have maximum impact on the inmate's state of mind as they go to their sessions.

The rest of the time it was sturdy orange jumpsuits and four-point shackles, and the ratio between ordinary inmate uniforms and the fetish stuff was fifty-fifty.

The Colony is a busy place, people coming and going at all hours.

To get me in an overtly submissive but subtly rebellious mood, I believe the Colony will cart me around on devices that are the fever dreams of Kink-dot-com's most prolific and perverted video producer.

I know this because the device on the cart that arrived for my second transport was even more devious than the Archer Chair.

But first, what was I wearing? Because that's important to set the scene, right?

The guard (more on him soon) assigned for my transport took off the shackles and told me to strip and put the jumpsuit, underwear, and sandals through the door flap like before.

This holding cell was identical to the last one I was in, but close to the inmate housing area. The first one was near the inmate processing center, which felt like it was miles away.

Naked, shivering from the chill and the blend of fear and anxious arousal that I'm sure is a feeling familiar to subs everywhere, I waited. I decided to stand, fighting the instinct to hide under the single bunk like a frightened cat.

Maybe it doesn't need to be said but being a sub at the Colony is so much different than playing with a partner or even swinging at a party. I'm into hard bondage, otherwise I would never have even considered this gig, right?

Over the years I've been a hobbyist and a weekend player. I've committed to the full lifestyle, gone professional, and bounced around everywhere in between.

It's always been a fantasy of mine to spend time in prison. It feels so weird to write that. To be honest, for the circles I've traveled in, prison fantasy is fairly tame. Personally, it lived in the darkest part of my mind for a long time.

I got to give it up for the PNS, though. They really know how to make a fantasy into cold, hard reality.

The shiny latex garment that came through the door slot was accompanied by a silicone lubricant. Being a big fan of latex, this was a welcome development, and would greatly speed up getting dressed.

The garment was at once sexy and silly. It could best be described as orange chaps with a thin panel running up my chest between my boobs to a collar where it became another thin panel running down my back. The panels split right above my pubic bone in the front and my butt crack in the back to become stockings with stirrups and I'm sure I looked stunning, especially considering the way my tits were proudly on display.

Officer Claude entered the cell without a word. I should write another Yelp review just for this guy.

The Colony guard uniforms seem to be designed to hide normal human bumps and valleys, the fashion equivalent of a brown paper bag hiding a forty. Officer Claude's uniform was no different except for his gut which stuck out like a late-term pregnancy.

The guard had an unkempt salt and pepper beard, with emphasis on the salt. His cruel eyes and thin mouth were the only visible facial features, and even those were in shadow due to the baseball cap pulled down to his ears.

The transport cart had the most unusual pillory I'd ever seen. Just like the Archer Seat, I really didn't understand how it would work until I'd been manhandled into it.

It appeared to be a single large panel of hard wood, painted orange, and supported by a pair of triangular metal struts bolted and welded to the cart on either side. There was a manacle on a short chain hanging off both struts, so I knew my ankles would go there.

The pillory had a large opening at its center and another pair of smaller openings near the top panel. Behind those smaller openings, where I'm sure my arms would go, there was a long cross bar and another set of manacles. The openings had padding, so I guess there was that.

I also noticed there was a small length of chain bolted to the surface of the cart with a carabiner on the end of it. I took all of this in during the three or so seconds it took for the door to open and the transport cart to get wheeled into place.

"Inmate 93NN1E, my name is Officer Claude, and I will be putting you in the pillory for transport. Any attempt to help or resist me will be marked as an offence. 'Yes, Sir' is the only answer I'll accept until I hand you over for interrogation."

"Yes, Sir." I responded, years of submissive self-conditioning taking over.

He tapped his tablet, locking the cart in place. The pillory wasn't automated in any way so while I stood exposed and awaiting his administrations, he mounted the cart and got to work.

A couple of loud snicks and a little labored breathing later, he'd pulled the entire top off and set it to the side. He stepped off the cart and stood tall in front of me. Gathering both of my hands in one of his huge paws, he cuffed them with the other in a quick set of practiced motions. The cuffs were too tight to stay on long, but I got the point. Officer Claude was now in control.

The guard pulled me by the chain between the cuffs onto the cart, guiding my hands over the base of the pillory and bending me roughly over so that my stomach was resting on the bottom of the big opening. He then brought my hands down so he could snap the carabiner to my cuffs and quickly moved around back to lock my ankles into place.

I did my best to go along with all of this as best I could, but already he wasn't happy.

"No help and no fight, inmate." He slapped both of my thighs in one motion, the swipe of an angry momma bear protecting her cubs, as a reminder. Rocking forward and gasping in response drew another offence. Not good; I was already one in the hole from the common area fight.

"Don't even think about resisting the next part, or the Motivator will be on your ass before you can spit."

"Yes, sir," I answered, as calmly as I could. Fear was mounting and we hadn't even left the holding cell.

He slapped my exposed pussy for extra measure. I stifled a yelp.

"No lip, either."

I could tell there would be no winning with Officer Claude, and that was just how he liked it. Doms like him were hit or miss with me during playtime and I wasn't yet sure how this would go.

I have no choice but to endure.

He grunted the top of the stocks back into place and locked it down with a pair of snaps that I could feel through the wood. My waist was a little too narrow to touch the top of the main opening, but I felt the heavy wood and metal pressing down on me anyway.