Incipiunt Vitae Novae Pt. 05: Conclave, A Two-Part Invention

Jen's back in the saddle. Ginny is too but not the way she'd prefer this time around. Never mind, she'll get over it as the series continues to unfold.

Part 4, Resurrection, revolved around Jen's and Michael's recovery after sacrificing themselves for science in Gone for Six. Jen, freshly returned from their sojourn three hundred years in the future, takes a central role here in part 5, and in upcoming part 6. Part 4 also hinted at another resurrection - the State Penitentiary Corporal Punishment Facility, staffed by Tormentors Jen and Liz, and soon Ginny, if she gets through her qualifying ordeal successfully. She'll wield her whip once again in part 7.

I promised in the introduction to Part 1 that I'd close that facility. Well... motivated by hits and giggles, I'm breaking that promise. In this character-focused reprise of Budget Correction Jen's back, she's got some changes in mind, and she's ready to rock and roll.

--Liz hatches her plan--

Eeeoooeeeoooeeeoooeeeooo... aaak, aaak, aaak...

Bev pulled over, cursing nautically. This would be her third speeding violation in just six months - she'd probably lose her license. What lousy fucking luck, what a royal pain in the ass, she thought, biting her lip savagely as the officer wrote out the ticket; no point making a scene there. She completed her errands in a fit of peak, extraordinarily lucky not to be stopped again.

The minute she walked in the door Khalidah knew exactly what had happened, even before Bev launched into her vehement and lately all-too-frequent grousing.

"Pay the ticket," Khalidah admonished, putting on the sternest face she could summon given Bev's laughably infuriated scowl. "You just can't keep on driving like that. You'll kill yourself."

That not unlikely prospect flooded Khalidah's consciousness, completely dissolving any further attempt at severity - her eyes softened, tears welling.

"Bev, I love you. I don't want to lose you. If you really want to get yourself killed I'm sure we can come up with something far more imaginative at the studio.

"Fuck you, Khalidah - how I drive is none of your business!

"Bev, it is our business! How are you ever going to learn that?"

In spite of Khalidah's scolding Bev remained obdurate, contesting the ticket through hearing after hearing even though there was nothing to contest. The traffic court judge lost her patience, found her in contempt, and she landed in criminal court.

The next judge had no sympathy whatever. Bev faced a heavy fine, possibly a jail sentence. Just before her sentencing the clerk passed a note to the bench. The judge ordered a brief recess. Bev frowned, looking puzzled - what was going on?

It's morning at the State Penitentiary's Corporal Punishment Facility, though the dawn's early light doesn't penetrate all the way into its innermost sanctum. If you were there you might see a little by the glow of the exit signs, whose Dali-esque reflections glimmer in the sleek contours of the stainless steel restraining poles.

Apart from the poles the room appears empty. Silence reigns; only the gentle rustle of the air conditioning perturbs the early morning tranquility. The robotic floor scrubbers rest in their charging stations, preparing themselves to devour every drop of sweat, drool, and whatever other bodily fluids drip from the poles' unhappy occupants in the hours ahead. They've completed their early morning sweep; the floor, indeed everything in the space is spotless. This is no medieval torture chamber.

Court resumed just as Liz strode in, casting a sadistic smirk in Bev's direction as she approached the bench. By now Bev had an idea what was coming. Liz's sidebar didn't take long.

"All rise."

"Beverly Green, I find you guilty of contempt of court. You are ordered to serve seven days in the State Penitentiary. At the pleasure of the Chief Tormentor you will be taken from your cell and subjected to fifty minutes of Class One non-impact corporal torment, after which you will be returned to complete your term."

For good measure her license was suspended for ninety days.

No, the facility where Liz plies her trade as Chief Tormentor is not medieval, but let's not mince words. Antiseptic cleanliness notwithstanding, it is a torture chamber, dragged kicking and screaming into the twenty-first century. The seven restraining poles shimmering in the exit lighting also reflect the latest in corporal correction technology. They project from the high ceiling about a meter apart in one long row. While they normally extend directly downward they can angle forward and backward, even rotate, orienting their hapless burdens for optimum infliction of pain with minimal effort. If more than one meter of clearance is required or fewer prisoners are to be punished at one time redundant poles can be swiveled up out of the way. The only serious limitation is that without rebinding, only one side of a convict is fully accessible. Jen has some ideas to rectify that - after all, she's seen the future, and knows how it works.

Chief Tormentor? Bev suppressed a snicker. Liz was the only tormentor now. It couldn't be too bad - she'd suffered at Jen's hands as a volunteer, and word had it Liz was a softie in comparison. She'd said as much to Angie when she was considering volunteering, but Bev was forgetting that the rumor, even if true, applied only to volunteers - she wouldn't be volunteering this time. Seven days in jail didn't sound so great though. Not as bad as flogging and strangulation, Bev smirked sotto voce, but crucifixion would at least have gotten her out in the open air.

The poles barely touch the floor even at full extension; at the moment they clear it by at least thirty centimeters. Oval in cross-section, about ten centimeters wide but not quite as thick, with a smoothly contoured groove running down each side, they accommodate a wide variety of restraining attachments, easily clamped on and removed as required.

Liz watched Bev carefully - it was clear she wasn't taking this anything like as seriously as she should. No matter, that would soon be remedied. Bev would be transferred directly from the courthouse to the Correctional Facility. Liz texted Khalidah to retrieve Bev's car, urging her not to let Angie find out why. Just tell her something came up suddenly at work, she suggested, and Bev needs to be away for a bit. Never mind who's work it came up at. As court wound down for the day she headed home, grinning from ear to ear.

In preparation for today's session three attachments are already installed. The first, a simple yoke clamped at about neck-height, supports a forward-projecting socket prepared to mate with a fitting at the rear of the prisoner's control collar. Below that a crossbar about half a meter long extends sideways from an adjustable post projecting backward from its yoke-clamp; the prisoners' arms, wrapped in wide bicep/tricep cuffs, will be pulled backward and secured to attachment points on this bar, pinning their shoulders firmly back against their vertical restraining poles.

After her cell door clanged shut Bev started to think through her situation more realistically. Welcome to the real world, she thought, mentally reviewing the calendar she could no longer view. She had important appointments, critical deadlines, all the usual stuff, just like any other white collar criminal. That cut not a whit of ice for the system, unless you're among the super-rich, she mused. This cage wasn't much like the ones she'd written about for Barbara either. It was clean, yes, but not spotless, and not very comfortable; she wondered if this or some other one would be her home for the next seven days. It wouldn't be long before she'd have to face... the food.

The third attachment is a shorter crossbar which appears to bisect its clamp but doesn't; each side is a separate piece, welded to the clamp with consummate craftsmanship. It's positioned just above knee height; the prisoners' legs will close around its projecting stubs when they're folded into the punishment hogtie. The measurements of each of today's occupants were taken into account as these devices were clamped into place - that's why they don't line up exactly as you look down the row.

Liz was delighted by her good fortune - she hadn't anticipated this amendment to her plan. She'd teach Bev to impugn her severity!

A fourth attachment will be installed later, shortly before the day's roster marches in. It clamps onto the bottom of the pole and it does extend all the way to the floor. It features a hook which reaches out to grasp the prisoner's ankle hobble/spreader, then retracts, pulling their legs back almost even with the pole to restrain them until they are more thoroughly secured. It's not in place yet because it obstructs the floor scrubbers, and it will be removed as soon as it's no longer needed.

And what exactly was Liz's plan? By now her friend Ginny had journeyed far. She'd become a skilled dominant, advancing so rapidly that Liz urged her to apply for a Tormentor posting. She was convinced she'd make an excellent one; this would also allow Liz to spend more time at JenLiz Productions. After Jen died Ginny's application moved fast; it was time for her qualification ordeal. Every new tormentor needed to experience first-hand at least some of what they would have to inflict. One down. Next up...Angie.

Many attachments and accessories are available to accommodate a wide range of punishments, some almost entirely mechanized, others requiring, or perhaps one should say featuring, the active involvement of a tormentor. Severity ranges from moderate to just short of termination, a punishment no longer imposed - it's unnecessary. Humiliating, stressful bondage, electricity and impact are all in the tormentor's toolbox.

Seven-convict punishment sessions work best with at least two women in the lineup; given the realities of the criminal world female volunteers are often needed to balance the manifest. A substantial stipend provides incentive, but it's an auction. Volunteers stipulate how much they'll settle for and naturally some are keener for the experience than others - applications from the lowest bidders are processed first.

How long had it been, five months at least, since Ginny's sister Angie took Liz up on her invitation to view a session?

The two attachments already installed on all seven restraining poles auger this morning's activity, a Class 1 non-impact corporal torment. One meter spacing is entirely adequate; today's punishment will rely on electrical stimulation controlled by the tormentor's handheld pad, administered through wide contact-lined electro-gelled cuffs wrapped around the prisoners' limbs and torsos, together with other strategically placed electrodes.

Given Angie's excitement during the visit it took much longer than Liz anticipated for her application to appear. She wasn't overly pleased when it finally did arrive, suspiciously soon after Jen exited the picture - Bev surely had something to do with Angie's prevarication, Liz concluded, not unreasonably. But Angie's bid near the bottom of the suggested range greased the skids admirably; her application sailed through without delay. Check, number two.

Corporal punishment has been a great success. It's demonstrably more effective than long incarceration, more egalitarian than fines. Group punishment is economical to boot. The restraining poles face a mirrored wall, forcing their occupants to see themselves as they are, to watch each other as they writhe in torment. This is not the only function of the shiny glass divider but the designers correctly estimated the substantial forensic impact of the reflections. By now Michael has firm data to support those estimates.

Liz's original plan involved just the Wentworth sisters, but what good fortune - now Bev too was caught in her web. With an actual female convict in the queue Liz risked flak for needless use of a volunteer, but it would be worth it to get all three into the same session, each unaware beforehand who they'd be sharing the experience with, all expecting to face Liz.

They would face Jen instead, on her first day back. Stuff Bev's insinuations - Liz would sit back and enjoy the show. Strike three - Jen, get ready to go to the mound.

Regardless of the method in use it's great theater. Some relatively gentle Class One flavors such as 'intense electrical psycho-sexual correction' actually turn a profit, deriving considerably more revenue from viewing gallery entrance fees and online sales than they cost to deliver, even allowing for the forgone fines.

Liz climbed the stoop, tired but exhilarated after her busy, lucky day. She unlocked the front door of the House of Bondage, the pet name Liz, Jen, Sara and Michael gave to the spacious, comfortable townhouse they also called home.

No brass plaque announcing 'House of Bondage PC' with the principals' names etched below dresses up the dark red brick next to the front door but they do have one, a gift from Sara's friend Hermann Strauss. It looks just like the usual professional-office kind except for the inscriptions; they'd installed it proudly in the small anteroom leading to their dungeon in the basement. Herr Strauss wasn't disappointed - he didn't expect them to put it up at the front door. He'd had it mounted in a costly platinum frame and suggested several places inside he thought it might go well; its actual location topped his list.

Liz entered, closing the door with a satisfying clop behind her.

The gallery located right on the other side of the front wall's one-way glass provides a comfortable setting from which to view the victims' suffering. Snacks and libations can be had for somewhat inflated prices at the rear, large screens to the sides deliver stunningly clear close-ups along with front-angle views of the tormentor's performance.

Hungry and starting to get her energy back now she was home, Liz sat down at the kitchen table to collect her thoughts and plan her evening. Sara had an appointment with a sponsor at the studio along with Gabe, so he wouldn't be there; by now Sara would have eaten and left. Jen and Michael, not yet completely recovered from their journey, were both asleep.

How could she be so certain, Liz wondered - it was as if she could hear them breathing softly, rhythmically, even though they were several floors up. She'd get herself a light dinner and eat solo, then head up to her bedroom to spend some quality time with her computer before turning in. She needed to be at the facility the following morning to conduct a session; she ought to review the convicts' dossiers once more before greeting them in person. She'd sleep better with that out of the way!

The punishment facility's intake mechanism is quite remarkable. Its construction added considerably to the facility's cost, but MIchael has confirmed its devastatingly helplessness-inducing psychological worth. An overhead monorail runs the entire length of the hall abutting the preparation cubicle exits. It leads into the punishment chamber where it passes all the way across the front.

About a week had passed since Jen and Michael returned to the House of Bondage. Just a little more than two months earlier they'd faced debilitating illnesses; rather than allow themselves to waste away they'd decided, along with Gabe's friend Ariel, to donate themselves to art and science by taking lead roles in an elaborately staged sacrifice scene written by Jen herself, produced by JenLiz Studios, in which they would actually die. Aided by CG originally created by Michael the audience watched with fascinated horror as their bodies erupted like Roman candles, but in fact they were flash chilled for delivery to the Neuroscience Institute in pristine condition.

Liz perused the refrigerator. She wasn't much for cooking, but that was no problem - there were always leftovers, delightful dishes made by Gabe, even better ones since Michael returned. She soon found something satisfactory, heated a modest helping and sat down with a glass of wine, happy to be reunited with her friends, even if at the moment they were asleep.

Short spurs serve the restraining poles themselves. The monorail continues through a door at the other end of the punishment chamber, running past the cleanup stations before returning to the preparation cubicles; prisoners are fully restrained the entire time they are in the process, from the moment they leave the preparation cubicle until they return from their post-punishment cleaning.

Liz loved the bathroom she shared with Jen. Compact but deliciously sumptuous, it could only be accessed from a short hallway between her bedroom at the front and Jen's at the rear, making it feel exquisitely private. On the other side of the hallway a smaller but equally well fitted-out half bath met their requirements if the main bathroom was in use. That convenience had, in addition to its entrance from the private passageway, a door to the main hallway.

Liz was impressed with the practicality of this arrangement when she first viewed the house with Gabe, who bought it for them. They'd come to love hosting large parties so it wasn't unusual for a guest to have to climb all the way to the third floor seeking relief - the door from the interior passageway could be locked from the outside on these occasions. And though the bedroom doors at each end were solid and well-fitted, tonight Liz worried especially about disturbing Jen - she took care of her post-supper essentials before going up.

Should you be unfortunate enough to find yourself in the first half of a preparation cubicle, naked save for your transfer smock after you've obeyed the order to strip and slide it over your shoulders, this is what you can expect. The intermediate door in the cubicle will open. You'll find yourself confronted by a split collar positioned just about shoulder height, its jaws angled a little upward, opened toward you. It's supported on a rod projecting half a meter horizontally from a much thicker rod reaching down from the transport carriage which rides high above on the monorail stub serving that cubicle.

The mechanism is designed to be menacing, to convey the stark inevitability of the punishment you're going to endure. You'll be ordered to step into the open collar, which will close around your neck. The rubber lining will then inflate just enough to initiate your journey into complete psychological submission.

The convicts on Liz's screen presented a pretty motley crew. Five men and two women were scheduled for group torment - neither of the women were volunteers. Their crimes were not all that heinous, also not very clever, but they carried hefty fines. The corporal punishment option meant they could pay their debt to society without going into debt themselves. Proportionally larger fines for wealthier miscreants ensure that not just the destitute elect to endure it.

Your eyes will follow the rigid rod extending horizontally from your encircled neck out to its termination on the transport carriage's pole. Attached just below that, where the carriage's pole ends, you'll observe a compact mechanical hub from the sides of which bands spring to form circles facing you, each about ten centimeters in diameter. You will comply with the command to pass your hands through - if you resist the collar will shock you with increasing severity until you do. The hub will reel in the bands, shrinking the circles to secure you by your wrists. You'll be ordered to spread your legs and place your ankles in the self-closing shackles below.