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

Liz loves administering the corporal punishment program. The social value of her work gratifies her, but she'll willingly admit she's thoroughly aroused each time she confronts seven human bodies lined up, naked but for the considerable coverage afforded by the electrode-lined cuffs fastening them securely to their poles in the punishment hogtie, all properly and professionally prepared to suffer at her hand.

The preliminary calibration, honed by Michael to breathtaking accuracy, gives her a complete profile of each subject's tolerance for pain and even better, it scales her actions accordingly without her having to think about it on the fly. Motley or not, each of the following day's convicts will be punished precisely in conformance with their sentences. She'll see to it that all seven leave the session well chastised and thoroughly contrite.

Liz was pretty wet by the time she finished up her notes and shut her computer.

By participating in your own binding you'll make yourself ready for transportation to the chamber, though it may be some time before that happens. The tormentor plans, as she studies the dossiers on her manifest, a specific arrangement of the offenders. For the audience's benefit it's best to fill the poles in order, so you may have to wait until those destined for lower numbered poles than yours are accommodated. Delay does nothing to impair the foreboding quality of the process; it's designed to induce steadily mounting apprehension, contrition, fear. Michael's made many adjustments and improvements based on his understanding of forensic psychology - one is the mirrored surface of the door in front of you.

While you stand with your arms stretched out in front and your ankles spread your sentence will be read to you over the loudspeaker. You'll confront yourself, helpless in your twice-visible transport bonds, feeling them secured about you, staring at them clamped on your body's reflection. After a few minutes you'll find it difficult to imagine that your crime could possibly have had any other outcome than your being here today.

Liz took a book from her nightstand as she climbed into bed, planning a few minutes final relaxation. As she opened it and began reading she heard Jen's voice, quite clearly, though Jen was most certainly not there. The voice seemed to come from inside her head, almost as if she heard it on headphones, which she was definitely not wearing.

"Liz, go to your closet and fetch your toybag. Turn up the thermostat, get naked, and put on your ankle and wrist cuffs. Clip a chain to each one, then spread-eagle yourself on your bed."

Even though HOB had a well-outfitted dungeon Liz kept a bag with cuffs, straps, rope, some lengths of chain, a blindfold, and even a bright-red ball-gag, handy in her closet. She almost never wore any of these items herself - they were for light play with partners who weren't quite ready for the real dungeon, or for foreplay with friends she might enjoy bedding overnight.

Was her imagination playing tricks on her? Though the voice came from inside her head she decided to comply. If it was her imagination she'd be disappointed, but she could always give herself relief and put the toys away. She desperately missed Jen's indomitable cheerfulness.

The heat spread through the room as she lay down on top of the covers, the chains clinking as she dangled them over the sides of the bed, wondering what would happen next, hoping this was real.

"I'll be there in a minute." she heard, quite distinctly, between her ears. Outside her head Liz heard Jen's passthrough door open and close. Then her own started to open.

Liz's heart pounded in anticipation. She rarely bottomed. When she and Jen got together in the past they'd usually just snuggled in vanilla affection, or she'd top - for all her dominant energy sometimes Jen needed to struggle in intense bondage and only the dungeon would do for that. Liz lay back and spread herself wider, imagining herself in place of one of her victims, internalizing what they would be experiencing the next day.

Jen strode in, draped in a gorgeous black kimono trimmed in deep burgundy. She didn't communicate a word as she fastened Liz's left arm and leg chains to well-concealed points on the side of her bed, then circled to secure her on the other side. Liz was still reasonably comfortable but she couldn't release herself, couldn't close her legs. Tomorrow she'd conduct her involuntary ensemble in their miserere nobis. Tonight Jen would call the tune.

Jen returned to the foot of the bed and opened her kimono slowly, deliberately. Liz relaxed. She didn't have to, indeed couldn't, do anything except enjoy Jen, Jen's body, Jen's attention. She lifted her head to gaze down the length of her own attractive body, admiring Jen's magnificent beauty - the changes from when she'd left were subtle, but compelling. Liz thrilled, tingling inwardly, oozing with desire, ready for Jen to have her way with her. Jen stood tall, her muscles gently rippling, her taut, excellently-proportioned breasts hovering majestically, her eyes projecting very human affection. She cast off the kimono and climbed with measured care onto the bed, on all fours, her knees pressing Liz's legs apart, her arms on either side of Liz's chest. She smiled playfully into Liz's eyes.

"I'm so thrilled to be alive, to be with you again," Jen whispered softly, distinctly. She was really there, no doubt about it. Liz melted with desire as Jen eased her legs backward, allowing some of the weight of her torso to settle against Liz's immobilized pelvis as she supported herself on her elbows, freeing her hands to massage Liz's breasts lovingly. She lowered herself gently into the valley between, licking her fondly, then rose back on her hands to take her nipples gently one by one into her mouth, between her teeth, stretching and releasing them several times each, smiling as she asserted her dominance. Little by little she slid down the bed, pausing momentarily to kiss her navel. As she approached Liz's neatly-trimmed mons she lifted her head - so did Liz; her eyes implored her to continue. Jen plunged into her cleft, slicing her tongue between her lips, feeling her way deeper, then eased out to settle on her clitoris.

Liz squirmed with pleasure as Jen worked her magic, driving her relentlessly higher, her thighs spread by Jen's shoulders, her chains clattering as she struggled helplessly in ecstasy. Jen wasn't going to drag this one out - she'd make Liz feel utterly overwhelmed, make her come as fast as she could, give her not a moment of relief. Liz exploded, thrashing furiously against her cuffs as Jen continued stimulating her mercilessly. She screamed with delight. Who cared if she woke Michael - that was his problem now. Finally her struggling subsided and Jen granted her relief, easing herself alongside, kissing her affectionately.

"Are you going to release me?" Liz asked.

"No, not just yet," Jen answered. "Let's just chat for a while. You can pleasure me another time. We have lots to talk about, and plenty of chances besides tonight. You have to get up early tomorrow."

Liz began to describe her plan to get Angie, Ginny, and now Bev, all together in the punishment chamber for Jen's return debut, but Jen pressed her fingers gently against her lips.

"Liz, I already know. It's an absolute hoot. I'm looking forward to it. But you don't need to tell me about it. I've read your mind."

Liz felt a bit freaked as she waited for Jen to continue. "Don't get upset - you can easily block me - you've simply never had to before. When you're less tired we can practice. In any case I already know you pretty well." Liz had to admit there were few if any secrets she'd ever kept from Jen.

As tormentors, Liz and Jen always had an eerie ability to communicate with their unfortunate clients in the chamber, but Liz figured it was all about body language and facial movements - what Jen had done earlier was far clearer, much more direct. This would take some getting used to.

For Jen, the problem was different. With the memory of her sojourn fading rapidly she was left with no simple explanation for her delightfully enhanced body and newly acquired telepathic capability. "By the way," Liz heard, this time inside her head, "you don't need to worry about waking me, or Michael. You could play Nirvana turned up to eleven and we wouldn't wake up, but we'd respond to a pin dropping if it represented a threat."

"Jen, don't try to explain, I'll get used to it. I just love you more and more." They talked quietly, normally, about ordinary things, then Jen rolled back on top of her, pressing her into the mattress just hard enough to reinforce her helplessness, laughing and smiling. They gazed into each other's eyes for a minute or so, then Jen eased herself off the bed and pulled the comforter gently over Liz's naked body.

"Rest, my love, in my bonds of friendship. I'll know when you've fallen asleep and I'll come back to release my sleeping beauty from her chains." She bent over, kissed her affectionately, then swirled her kimono over her shoulders and returned to her own room, turning off the light as she departed.

Liz struggled a little, savoring her submissive side - she knew Jen would be there in seconds if necessary. She drifted into dreamless sleep, waking to her alarm quite refreshed. She removed her cuffs with a frisson of pleasurable reflection and got ready for work. Her plan was taking shape nicely - after finishing today's session she'd attend to the administrative details.

The lights in the chamber are on, the cameras - there are plenty of them - are operating. It won't be long before the day's action starts.

As far as Liz or anyone except a very small number of people at the Institute knew, Jen, Michael and Ariel really did die on the poles that night - and those few knew only that their bodies hadn't arrived as expected. They didn't know that as the trio thrashed in their terminal orgasms, their neural states were copied out in extraordinary detail. Before the gurneys carrying their more-or-less lifeless bodies reached the Institute they'd been snatched away, transported three centuries into the future, into a world where most of the solar system's sentience resided in a huge sun-powered computational structure at L4. There, over a period of a year, they'd been restored to health so that Michael could be returned to our present to complete work in artificial intelligence which ultimately brought that world into existence.

Jen and Michael recovered rapidly from their three hundred year return journey, exercising daily, gaining strength, forgetting more about their sojourn as each day turned to night. After two weeks they were pictures of health; the Neuroscience Institute had managed two miraculous cures. Since Jen hadn't been gone that long Liz was able to pull strings at the Office of Correction, getting Jen back on the Tormentors' roster without any public fanfare. In a few days she'd conduct her first session, executing Liz's carefully crafted plan.

The staff are key to the success of the corporal punishment program. A great deal of the process is automated, but real people are intimately involved, partly to perform operations not yet practically automated but primarily to add the human essence necessary to instill a complete sense of powerlessness and impotence, while at the same time reinforcing the convict's tenuous connection to society, provided they are willing to participate in accordance with its expectations.

Jen had almost all her stamina back. She practiced with her singletail whenever she had a free moment. She wouldn't be allowed to make actual contact with it during a non-impact session, but armed with extensive neurological justifications from Michael, she'd cleared with her supervisors some enhancements to those sessions' rubric, and to the uniform.

The evening before Jen's return debut Liz stepped softly into Jen's bedroom bearing a mahogany tray with a glass of wine and a nice cup of tea; Jen still wasn't doing well with wine; she was starting to think she'd probably dispense with alcohol altogether. She sat at her desk reviewing the next day's rather familiar lineup. Liz set the tray down on Jen's desk and pulled up another chair.

Tormentors are paramount, of course, but attendants play important roles also. When a prisoner steps into the preparation cubicle they are cut off from human contact - everything is disembodied, automatic, mechanical, terrifying. There are severe punishments which remain that way throughout, but most, like the one to which Angie, Bev and Ginny are doomed, return the prisoner to humanity, co-sufferers and torment providers both, quite early in the process. 'Intense electrical psycho-sexual correction' is a social experience. The arrangement of the sufferers, the seating plan, if you will, matters.

There they were, along with the other four on the schedule: Virginia Wentworth, Angela Wentworth, and Beverly Greene. The Wentworth sisters weren't there as criminals but they had dossiers just like the other five, troves of information to guide the tormentor when planning the session, conveniently hyperlinked to their names. Angie's mostly duplicated her volunteer application, but there were a few extra tidbits dug up by the Office of Correction. Ginny's contained a lot more, summarizing her application, background checks and interviews. Bev's had her entire history of motor vehicle offenses, and some interesting historical background relating to a certain Barbara Wentworth, deceased. Jen grinned as she visualized the session's unfolding.

"I'll put Ginny on pole six."

Liz smiled while Jen typed in some final instructions. She recalled Jen writhing on pole six for her own qualification ordeal, enduring torment at Liz's hands. That's when they fell in love. Jen looked up from the keyboard and kissed her, then turned back to review the manifest.

JenLiz Studios has played a major role at the Corporate Punishment Facility from the studio's establishment, its principals even before that. In addition to Official Tormentors Liz, and until recently Jen, several JenLiz employees sunlight at the facility and those who are not JenLiz employees are all quite familiar with the studio and the local scene generally. Most of them top but some are switches. They take pride in their ability to combine meanness with compassion, intimacy with detachment, and of course they pay scrupulous attention to the details of the job. Within a few seconds prisoners know they are being prepared for punishment competently, efficiently, inexorably. A few employees have even volunteered, partly to learn how to do it better, partly for reasons known only to their closest friends.

Jen studied the four men on the roster, reading their dossiers carefully, planning how best to punish each of them effectively. One of the names caught Liz's attention - she broke out laughing.

"Well, well, Norman Bottomley. What did he do!?"

Jen knew the name too since he'd modeled at the studio. They'd both wondered at first if that was his real surname, but yes, it was, a distinguished one at that. Liz had picked him up on her first outing with Ginny - the two of them roughed him up thoroughly and he'd loved it - at least, he loved thinking about it afterward.

Liz was aware he'd gotten into some sort of trouble. Now they both knew what it was. Tomorrow's session would give him some serious new memories to fantasize with, but Jen would make sure he didn't overly enjoy the event itself. She snickered as she looked up from the screen.

"Put Norm on pole seven," Liz suggested, "so Ginny will already be there when he comes in." Ginny was in for yet another surprise!

Jen finished up her notes and instructions, finished her cup of tea, and invited Liz to stay with her for the night. She'd greet Bev, the Wentworth sisters, Norm, and three others in the chamber the next day. Liz would be in the viewing gallery, in the front row. The two of them slept soundly, their bodies comfortably intertwined after a spectacular mutual orgasm in sixty-nine.

--Jen executes Liz's plan--

The poles are ready, gleaming in the bright lights, custom-readied for the seven occupants Liz has lined up for Jen's pleasure. The left two already have occupants, their struggles abating as the hopelessness of their condition sinks in. Pole two's tenant looks familiar.

Oh. Hi, sorry. I'm Angie. I didn't see you at first - I'm just a bit preoccupied right now.

I'm standing with my legs spread, wrists bound at my sides by straps extending from the hub at my waist, my arms fastened with cuffs above my elbows to a horizontal rod pulling me back against my restraining pole. The collar around my neck attaches there too.

Angie trembled ecstatically as the transfer carriage towed her in. She was promptly stripped of her entrance robe and secured in place.

These restraints - they're only temporary, but still, I was astonished how quick and efficient it was - I never felt the slightest bit free since the collar closed around my neck. I believe this system is safe, everything I've heard about it says so. I have to trust it, trust Liz's competence and professionalism. I won't be killed, will I? My body won't be permanently damaged, though I suppose it'll take me a week to recover - I'm glad I have friends to help me through that.

The bonds I'm squirming against remind me unequivocally - I've embarked on a frightening, challenging new leg of my journey into submission. This ship has sailed. I'm on board.

Khalidah brought Angie to the penitentiary that morning precisely at half seven, the time specified in her call-up email. Volunteers and most convicts are permitted to report to the facility on their scheduled day of torment, though some deemed less trustworthy are incarcerated a day or two ahead of time. It's seriously disruptive to have a no-show so JenLiz models are encouraged to make themselves available to step in at the last moment if necessary.

It seldom is, but it's an exciting hour or so for the back-up pair, one woman, one man, who wait in a nearby lounge bantering nervously with each other as the day's convicts report in. When the seventh arrives they are dismissed, relieved but vaguely disappointed - they can leave or remain, if they wish, in the back-up lounge to watch the session on monitors. Those who stay do so, of course, because watching turns them on, but few have chosen to sign up for back-up duty again if actually called.

How did I wind up here, squirming in this chamber? Well, yes, I volunteered, but aren't you curious about precisely what happened to me between the prisoner's entrance and pole two?

Upon entering the facility Angie was directed to the second of six preparation cubicles. The cubicle entry door locked behind her and a disembodied voice ordered her to strip completely and remove all jewelry, then place her belongings in the locker which opened to receive them. It closed automatically after she put everything in. A second, smaller locker delivered a sleeveless white smock which she was ordered to put on. She hesitated, staring in the mirrored door dividing the front half of the cubicle from the rear.

Angie, Bev and Ginny are all similarly built, all three very attractive - Angie likes seeing herself naked, but this time she looked in the mirror she flushed unexpectedly - at least half a dozen marks from Khalidah's most recent whipping hadn't yet completely faded - would anyone notice? The loudspeaker warned her to move along. As soon as she put on the smock the mirrored door slid open. She was ordered to proceed through to the second part of the preparation cubicle to submit herself for transport to purgatory.