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

As you know, some prisoners languish in the transport bondage, wondering when their carriage will whirr to life, wondering what they're in for after the cubicle's exit door opens. They may wait a considerable length of time. But Angie didn't have to. Pole one's tenant also arrived right on time - he was on his way to the chamber when she stepped into the open jaws.

She shivered as the collar closed around her neck - she hadn't actually seen this part of the process from the viewing gallery. Even so, she was well aware that her volunteer status, except for the record, ended at the collar's closing; she really was a prisoner now. She'd be treated the same as any convict, though she still believed that Liz would go at least a little easy on her. She passed her hands through the open loops, shuddering with anxious, excited arousal as the bands tightened around her wrists - self-relief is of course forbidden, but now it was impossible. Feeling her ankles secured in the shackles was a little anticlimactic in comparison - how much more helpless could she be? A lot, she knew.

The sentence only specifies the punishment, not the crime, so Angie heard the same one everyone else heard that morning. Shortly afterward the rod between her ankles relaxed, much to her surprise, allowing her to close her legs and relieve her uncomfortable spread. The rod holding her collar did the same a moment later; what just before seemed rigid as steel now dangled in a lazy arc between her neck and the carriage-pole.

What kind of material had that versatility, she wondered. What would a cane made with it feel like? She stepped a little closer to the pole, relieving the tension in her outstretched arms. It would be marginally easier to follow the carriage to the chamber now. The door in front opened. The carriage began to move with Angie shuffling somewhat ungracefully behind, just as Ginny stepped into the facility through the prisoner's entrance.

Ginny approached the guard's desk wearing a somber frown. The officer in charge greeted her cheerfully - she knew why Ginny was there, expected she looked forward to the morning about as much as she'd look forward to a root canal.

"Good morning, Ms. Wentworth. Cubicle One, first door to the right. Hang in there, it'll be over before you know it. Looking forward to having you aboard."

"Thanks Elsie - had to reschedule my dentist for this. Routine visit."

At least she didn't need a root canal. Today's appointment would, she granted, be far more interesting but also much more painful - no novocaine here. She was thrilled to be on a fast track to becoming an official Tormentor but she didn't exactly look forward to this part with relish, not one bit.

Ginny's preparation cubicle's door closed behind her, locking with an ominous click. She undressed and placed her clothes in the locker as commanded. That also closed automatically. As she waited for the second locker to open, she looked herself over, just as Angie had, though Ginny's body, of course, bore no welts to cause her embarrassment.

I can't say I'm comfortable, but arousal is a strong anesthetic, and my present bondage isn't all that stringent, at least for me. Once all seven of us are present we'll be re-bound far more strictly.

There's only one other person here so far, a handsome middle-aged man on pole one. He's in good shape, muscular, well-hung, and obviously embarrassed by his erection.

You should have seen the look on his face when I was towed in. I started giggling uncontrollably. Well, almost uncontrollably; the collar inflated against my neck, promptly terminating the giggle. It administered a healthy shock for good measure; a painful reminder of where I was, and why.

Liz and Khalidah sat side by side in the viewing gallery, quietly discussing the curious combination of familiarity and strangeness Michael and Jen exhibited since they'd returned, how impressive and sexy they both looked, how glad they were to have them back. They watched the chamber door open to admit number three, who struggled furiously but utterly ineffectually as he was drawn by his wrists to his punishment station. Khalidah hadn't attended a session before, so she had many questions about the process, how it worked, about Liz's experiences as a tormentor.

As Liz began answering her questions Khalidah probed deeper, gently, respectfully, skeptically. Given her background it wasn't surprising she had misgivings about state sanctioned corporal punishment. Its moral status, she pointed out, depended on a competent, secure and enlightened government - she'd seen plenty of counterexamples. Here, for now she granted, it seemed to be working. She wondered if that conclusion would be corroborated by any lasting change in Bev's behavior.

Bev...?

The collar's warning reverberates in my brain; I dare not utter a word, not out loud.

I thought you were away on business. So this is how the speeding ticket kerfuffle played out, I whisper to myself as I stare into the mirror, examining the men on either side of me. I look at Bev as she's being secured at pole four. You haven't got a chance, I snicker, glancing at the angry man standing between us, now Bev's here.

No, Ginny's no prude. She's proud of her physique, even more so recently - she'd been exercising assiduously, lifting weights, practicing with her whips and floggers for months. It showed. Ginny's muscles rippled a little as she shivered, partly from the cold, partly from anxiety. Though no welts disturbed her equanimity her nipples projected pertly, annoyingly, from her opulent, gracefully rounded breasts; otherwise she was pleased by her presentation. Her seamlessly tanned skin glowed radiantly in the mirror, daring the harsh institutional fluorescent light to diminish her body's classical elegance one iota.

Silky black hair dangled over her shoulders, almost reaching the neatly trimmed triangle between her solid, shapely thighs. She removed the white sleeveless smock from the locker, passed her arms and neck through the holes, extracted her hair, and let everything fall, covering herself once again to below her knees. She'd soon be naked again, she knew. She wondered why they bothered with the smock at all - maybe she'd suggest changing that. The door separating the cubicle halves slid open.

Ever since his carriage dragged him in Three's resisted my efforts to turn him on. Khalidah's tied me up plenty, alone and together with Bev, but we've never been bound together for strangers, at least not since the execution - and then it was in front of women only, strangers only to Ginny and me.

It's fun, especially since these guys can't so much as touch us.

Our bondage is easy compared to what I've gotten used to, but they don't know that. Our ankles are spread half a meter or so, opening us in forced display. I love seeing Bev naked but it doesn't seem like she's into it today - she looks upset, irritated, despondent.

I squirm and twist, like I'm in serious distress, trying to ease Bev's funk, playing to the gallery. Number one was easy. Three's been a challenge - he got stiff, then went soft again. He seems really pissed-off. Maybe he's getting a cramp - I think he must be pretty frightened too. He should be - this is going to get a lot harder, even if he doesn't. Angie, get a grip, I implore myself. I'm racing, exhilarated, nervous energy coursing through every fiber of my body.

The loudspeaker ordered Ginny to move her hair aside as she placed her neck between the open collar's halves; she held herself stoically upright as it snapped closed. Why she had to keep her hair clear the voice didn't elaborate but Ginny knew, reminded by a slight tingle as the equipment confirmed the integrity of the contacts touching her bare neck. Reluctantly she offered her wrists as commanded to the encircling bands and placed her ankles in the shackles. Well, she'd make the most of it and try to learn as much as she could, to be able to give as she was about to get, or better.

The sentence boomed from the loudspeaker. She shivered, imagining what it would be like to be an actual convict, about to endure a session like the one she'd watched Jen conduct. What a rush that had been, watching Bev squirm and thrash in agony, especially near the end. Soon she'd be squirming and thrashing in agony herself - why, she wondered, would anyone volunteer for this? Then again, she was now, sort of, she acknowledged sheepishly. She'd heard via the grapevine that in comparison Liz tended to go easy on volunteers - would that apply to candidate ordeals too, she wondered. The door opened and her transfer carriage began to move.

Whatever did my neighbors do to wind up here, I wonder. Little do they know they'll not only be punished alongside women, they'll be punished by a woman.

And why do I know all this and they don't? I've watched a session from the viewing gallery - Liz invited me - and based on all the ghostly shadows in the one-way mirror I think the gallery's already full.

Jen sat in the Tormentor's anteroom, going over her notes. She switched the large display over to the chamber feed as number five reached his pole. The moment they'd been waiting for was coming - they all wanted to catch the expression on Ginny's face when she entered behind her transfer carriage.

Jen adjusted one of the cameras accordingly, glancing into Liz's mind for a moment to savor her excitement. Both of them vividly recalled Jen's dramatic entry some years before. Soon she'd be back in the saddle again, figuratively, she chuckled, unlike those awaiting her arrival today.

Except for a few special guests, like I once was, everyone in the gallery today paid handsomely to enjoy watching us writhe in torment.

I'm sure many more will watch online.

Michael sat in his study, watching his monitors. Since there were at least two high-pain-tolerance individuals present he was particularly eager to watch the calibration live. He'd stay online for the whole session, mostly to celebrate Jen's return to the chamber, partly to assuage a nagging concern. While the calibration should determine accurately the sensitivity of each of Jen's tormentees and apply a corresponding scaling to her actions, it was still entirely up to Jen to decide how much pre-calibration-compensated pain to inflict - there was no calibration for Jen herself. Michael suspected she might be a little out of touch with her present reality after her experiences in cyberspace. Her subjects today weren't guilty of capital offenses, he reminded her telepathically.

Bev test-struggled against the temporary holding bondage securing her at pole four. She was surprised but not shocked to see Angie at pole two - she knew she'd submitted her volunteer application in the end. But what a coincidence - really? Angie seemed more surprised, Bev thought. This wouldn't be the first time they'd been tormented jointly - they'd endured some pretty rough stuff together at Khalidah's hands.

That bitch. She hasn't even come to visit me in prison, just sent a note hoping this would finally teach me to behave and start driving sanely. And pole four - Jen once joked that the center pole was always assigned to the most unregenerate offender.

"Buzz off, Michael," Jen snapped back. "Don't tell me how to do my job." She loved Michael, she didn't want to hurt his feelings, but she was flying high. She apologized after she caught his drift.

Three hundred years hence it was known quite precisely how much pain people suffered when they were crucified, burnt at the stake, garroted, guillotined, shot or killed in the electric chair, not to mention being subjected to various lengthier or more revolting methods. Thousands of victims' brains had been read out just before they died - most of them were pretty surprised when they recovered in cyberspace, no matter what beliefs they may have held up to that point. Usually they were extremely bitter, not so much about the pain they'd endured during their executions as for the way they'd been treated beforehand.

Angie, what a slut you are, writhing like that, pretending to be so desperate to escape!

While Bev loved bondage, she'd been here, done this. She was pissed at being set to jail, and felt, not unjustly, that her friends were ganging up on her. The collar gave her a squeeze and a shock. Talking, even muttering quietly to yourself, was strictly forbidden - she'd have to continue thinking in complete silence.

Go on, wiggle your ass on that pole. Shove your shaved cunt at the mirror since you can't shove it right in their faces. Never mind, you've already got them hard as a rock.

In the spirit of becoming a more competent tormentor Jen had arranged to endure a few execution horrors herself, in that virtual reality where they weren't so terminal. A considerable amount of what she'd learned from her intense experiences remained intact but each day more of the context dissipated - by now their sojourn in the future seemed little more than a fleeting dream. Michael's memories were fading too, more gradually; he remembered enough to know he'd better keep an eye on things and make sure Jen didn't inadvertently kill anyone, even though the system was supposed to prevent that. He wasn't totally confident it would.

Was Bev right? She'd been trying to dissuade me from volunteering, but she gave up after Jen died. Did that really mean it's easier with Liz? How does she know? Will I be able to stand what's about to happen - how loud will I scream? No choice now. Liz will plug us in and start the calibration. My limits will be measured automatically, scientifically, accurately, painfully. Bev got calibrated when she volunteered last year - she said the way it repeatedly caught her off guard was pure mechanical sadism - she wished she'd come up with the idea herself. It doesn't matter whether it's Liz or Jen at the controls so Bev and I will be able to compare our tolerance profiles directly.

Maybe that's it - Bev just doesn't want to find out I can take more than she can. Khalidah brought me over earlier in Bev's car, kissed me, assured me I'd do fine. I'll be out in a few hours and then she'll take me home. She propelled me toward the prisoners' entrance with a hearty smack on my ass. I suppose by now she's in the viewing gallery. When it's over she'll have my calibration results too - that's scary!

It's awkward walking with your ankles hobbled, but Ginny got the knack of it as her transfer carriage followed the overhead monorail past the switches feeding in from the other disrobing cubicles, finally reaching the end of the corridor where it circled around to the punishment chamber entrance.

Ginny drew her breath - this was it. She wanted to make her entrance as dignified as possible. After all, she only had to do this once. Next time she'd be in a different uniform, she reminded herself, her victims would be squirming in terror as she'd make her entrance. She tried to hold that image in her mind as the door slid open and the carriage towed her in.

"What the FU..." Ginny hissed as she passed the entrance, staring at the row of five bound bodies, all naked, all eyes pointed in her direction. She wasn't thrilled at the thought of being stripped for six total strangers, but maybe, she'd imagined, she could pretend they weren't there. She hadn't planned to be tortured alongside Bev and her own sister a second time.

Her mind raced back to the mock execution chamber; a wave of pent-up indignation rose in her gut, surged through her body, inflamed every sinew, seared every nerve with white-hot ice. Her flush of embarrassment must surely be obvious, she thought. She clenched her fists, wrestling frantically with her transport carriage while averting her gaze, trying to look anywhere but at her sister, or at Bev. The wristbands tightened in response to her furious sparring, sending a spasm of pain up her arms into her shoulders, flooding her brain, forcing her to cease her pointless struggle.

She studied the immaculate floor, the monorail above, the door at the far end, and recovered her composure after what seemed like an eternity though it was really no more than a second or two. Jen roared with laughter. Liz and Khalidah, surrounded by the audience in the crowded gallery, tried to be circumspect, but they couldn't hold back a solid guffaw each before, like Ginny, they recovered control.

"The collar didn't activate," Jen gleefully informed both of them, telepathically, much to Khalidah's surprise, as she hadn't yet experienced Jen's new capability. "Ginny caught herself just in time. Liz, now do you believe me when I insist it really was my self-control, not the collar, which ended my outburst when you played that trick on me years ago?"

"How did Jen do that?" Khalidah asked, startled. Liz hadn't mentioned Jen's telepathy during their earlier discussion - she took it for granted by now; she brought Khalidah quickly up to date. Things were happening thick and fast and she didn't want to miss any of Angie's and Bev's reaction to Ginny's entrance.

With Liz's attention turned back to the glass, Khalidah's mind wandered, andante moderato contra Ginny's prestissimo, to the mock execution, during which she'd thoroughly flogged the three of them as they revolved helplessly in the elaborate bondage Bev imagined some years before. Indeed, Bev had a lot to do with the experience they'd endure today - she'd written about that too, describing nearly all of it in fantastical detail, enthusiastically egged on by Angie's and Ginny's aunt Barbara, who subsequently consulted during the facility's inception.

Barbara managed to accumulate a substantial fortune over a lifetime as a private big-city dominatrix, leaving a generous portion to her nieces on the condition that Bev, Khalidah, and JenLiz studios successfully pull off a scene in which Angie, Ginny and Bev were to be flogged and strangled for blasphemy and lascivious behavior.

The event was successfully executed, so to speak. Ginny and Angie each inherited enough to be able to live more comfortably than they otherwise could, though it wasn't enough to retire on. Another outcome, which Barbara anticipated but Khalidah didn't at the time, was to propel Angie into her journey of submission, and Ginny into hers of domination. Khalidah understood that quite clearly now; she admired Barbara's insight - actually she was awed by it. But she felt guilty - she knew that Ginny hadn't really gotten over her anger about the execution scene.

She hoped that today's event wouldn't inflame that sore too much. Possibly, she allowed, hoped even, it might help to heal it - Liz had told her these sessions could be an intensely bonding experience for the participants.

She winced at the pun. Perhaps she should volunteer herself, atone for these sins. Her tattoos would make quite an impression though they wouldn't be very visible, she supposed, once all the electrode cuffs were in place - what a pity! Khalidah turned to Liz.

"Ginny's such a strong, smart, proud woman. I was so worried she'd call our bluff."

"Yes, you told me. You said you had to flog her twice as hard as you really wanted to just to make sure she continued believing it was real. I suppose I'll have to take your word for that!"

"Well, maybe... not. After I got the signal that we'd met the requirements to get the money, I could have ended it any time. But Bev would have been furious if I'd stopped. I could tell that something interesting was going on with Angie, and I really got into the scene. Ginny could take the pain OK, that was clear. It was such fun thrashing her; even more fun was making her come, twice! She tried so hard to resist me the first time. I wonder how her calibration will come out - I hope Jen uses her telepathic trick and lets us know right away."