Incipiunt Vitae Novae Pt. 06: Purgatory

My sister told me all about the Jen-epiphany she experienced in the viewing gallery the morning she attended Bev's volunteer session. Liz had invited her there to watch Bev, self-convicted, suffer for her part in the mock execution we'd endured together. She knew Ginny wasn't likely to volunteer as a result but she wanted them to become friends. Somewhere in the middle of the session, Ginny couldn't quite remember when it hit her, Jen's voluptuous contours turned her thoughts back to our childhood home.

She remembered our daddy teasing her, to her extreme annoyance especially if I was present - if he was annoyed with her he'd tell her she was 'just like your aunt Barbara.' He meant her behavior of course, but other developing attributes surely floated just below his consciousness, Ginny was sure.

She hated the comparison, especially on account of Barbara's rumored profession, but now, after seeing Jen in action, she thought better of it. With a little effort, she concluded as she watched Jen ply her trade, she could pass for either of them and she set out to do so.

She has a little further to go, especially since Jen's taken on a fresh new magnificence since her recovery, but it's attainable.

Their bodies never arrived at the Institute - they were whisked three hundred years into the future. Every neuron in their brains had been read out moments before they were rendered unconscious and frozen at the end of the sacrifice scene. They woke up in a world where most of the solar system's sentience lived in a huge sun-powered computational structure at L4.

Many minds, extending back to the dawn of civilization, had been scanned and now resided in the cyberspace, but time-teleporting whole biological bodies wasn't the rule. Jen's, Michael's and Ariel's would require months of repair before they could spend any time in them - it would be more than a year before they would be restored enough to return to the present, though we would experience them gone for just two months. In the meantime they enjoyed the rich mental life of their present.

Barbara's business success saved our family from financial ruin and funded our education - she took care we didn't find out about that until much later. And Barbara's business? She tortured men and women for fun and profit, loving every (well, nearly every) minute of it; this was in no way incompatible with her core values as a generous, cosmopolitan woman of the world, I now understand. Back then I simply respected her incisive wit.

Barbara used to invite me to dinner near the start of term; I was welcome to bring along a friend if I wished. I wondered if Bev, my frighteningly smart new college roommate would enjoy her intellectual companionship. She did - Bev and Barbara remained close friends to the end of my aunt's life.

They hit it off immediately, but Bev didn't say much more about it other than thanking me for the introduction. I soon found myself puzzling over poorly-excused bruises, bicycle mishaps or something similarly lame, following her subsequent visits alone. As far as I could tell Bev rode competently but we were busy and I didn't want to be nosy. As it happened, Bev enjoyed many evenings that winter stretched on Barbara's rack. That I learned much later.

Unlike Bev or Ginny, I struggled in school. I couldn't spare Bev's bruises much thought, but for Bev college was smooth sailing - she had plenty of time and energy to give her new relationship its due. And Bev, like Ginny's father, had also noticed Ginny's and Barbara's resemblance. Bev recounted the conversation to me recently.

Bev had mentioned the similarities during an after-session glass of wine - Barbara concurred, smiling, and suggested that they didn't stop at Ginny. She walked Bev to the mirror.

Bev, Ginny, and Angie were all fine-looking women, Barbara pointed out, tall, solidly built and generously endowed, though even by then Angie could use a little more time at the gym.

That part of the history irritated me.

So Barbara took the comparison with her niece as a generous compliment in spite of Ginny's supercilious attitude toward her, and thanked Bev graciously, She rewarded Bev vigorously and enthusiastically, not so much graciously, at their next session.

Michael had to be returned - the strange loop of causality which led from his work in neuroscience and artificial intelligence to the world three hundred years hence would, if broken, lead to a horrifyingly bleak world, at least from the viewpoint of the cyber-civilization hosting them. As a consequence Michael had considerable bargaining power and insisted that Jen and Ariel go back with him, though Ariel ultimately declined. As part of the deal Michael and Jen requested and received modest improvements to their bodies, some of which Angie and Ginny have both already observed.

Ginny's distance from her Jen-emulation target is greater than it was a few hours ago, greater than it will be a week from now. Our six breasts vacuumed tightly into our just-generous-enough punishment cups point grotesquely toward the mirrors like six badly designed spaceships racing to an assignation on planet tormenta. Highlighted by her shiny-smooth bodice Jen's bust looks fabulous in comparison. She bends slightly, leaning into Ed as she reaches for the cable hanging from his chest harness.

Ed breathes deeply, suffusing his lungs with the sensuous, pungent aroma of Jen in leather, exhaling the intoxicating fumes with unwonted rapture. Jen lifts his punishment-lock from its hook and returns to full elevation, stepping backward as she slides the cable through her fingers to take hold of the key switch at its end. She lifts it into the line of sight between the two of them, smiles menacingly, and lowers it strategically.

If you're a man you won't be able to become an official Tormentor, at least not yet - the Office of Correction is studying the matter, with Michael consulting. They're aware of their poor diversity statistics and anxious, like many organizations, to improve them, anticipating even better results if they do. For now you'd have to be content with an attendant's post; even that gives you plenty of opportunity to express your sadistic bent. And if you're man enough to wear Jen's boots you're man enough to imagine yourself a woman. Lets pretend you're almost finished with your training.

No indeed, Jen doesn't look a bit like us now. Ed gazes at the lustrous black leather flowing butter-smooth over her stunning physique. It starts its journey at her neckline, rounds majestically over her breasts to dip ever so delicately into her cleavage, then recedes, hugging her muscular abdomen before disappearing beneath her strikingly evocative belt buckle. Though Ed's eyes can't follow the leather down that far that doesn't matter - it's the relentless tsunami of female supremacy surging between Jen's robust biceps from which he's trying so hard to avert his gaze with vaguely condescending political correctness. Jen will have none of it - she holds the switch at heart center as she reaches with her other hand for the key tied to the handle of her whip.

Ed stares helplessly into the valley of petite mort he skirted earlier. Ascending the mystical high throne of judgement Jen inserts the key, one tumbler click at a time, then raises the

whip-cable nexus back between their eyes, hers radiating fire and ice, his transfixed in breathless anticipation.

Ed's never felt remotely like this his entire life though he's tried hard not to fantasize about something very similar. He has no idea what to expect when the contacts close, and can do nothing to escape. He remembers the tingling he felt all over as the saddle ran its self-test. Jen turns the key.

I have a feeling I know what's about to happen.

I wish I could see better. Jen seems aware of this, I don't know how but I'll learn shortly. She steps slightly sideways, affording me a clear view in the mirror, also affording Ed a better view of me struggling in bondage, deliberately. Whether it's this, the absence of an initial wave of agony Ed was expecting when she turned the key, or some mysterious extra push, Ed finally loses control.

His body stiffens, his face contorts, his jaws crush the ball between his teeth. His climax wells up, blazing with lightning speed from his brain to the fingers and toes we can't see flexing frenetically. He convulses, first with ecstasy, then with agonized frustration as his orgasm suppressor chokes off his attempted ejaculation with brutal efficacy.

Ed's body shudders to the concurrent blast of electricity delivered to his genitals, arms, legs and belly, ending with a painful sting to his nipples. Jen has him exactly where she wants him - an utterly subdued, prematurely penitent Ed hangs in his bonds as she releases the cable, allowing it to retract into the saddle between his thighs. She steps sideways to face me.

A compassionate Domme tries, within the limits of practicality and her own integrity, to experience herself anything she intends to inflict on her subs - this is no different. The last hurdle you need to overcome before you can don your chosen uniform and take up the control pad is also the reason Ginny's here. Angie doesn't know that; she's wondering what crime her sister could possibly have committed - Ginny doesn't know Angie volunteered so she's wondering the same thing. Bev did commit a crime and she's here to pay for it. Liz thought getting all three into Jen's return debut would be great sport.

The orgasm suppressor Ed just encountered serves a vital forensic function. The correctional rubric takes advantage of our initial high level of erotic arousal - that mustn't be compromised since later in the session Jen will force each of us to climax, one by one, possibly more thoroughly than we ever have before, while the rest watch. This kicks off the more brutal second half of the punishment sequence. Ginny, Bev and I all know this is going to happen but we're not especially looking forward to it, at least, I don't think Ginny is.

Michael found every day he spent in cyberspace thrilling beyond compare. The enormous scientific progress of three hundred years, the opportunity to hobnob with historical and religious figures, philosophers, scientists, artists and writers he could previously only read, or read about, these excited him more than his wildest fantasies. Given the choice he likely would have stayed, especially since he reunited with his daughter, the grande dame Michela, the oldest never-biological sentience living there.

Jen experienced it differently. She missed the hurly-burly of the twenty-first century - the opportunity to live full-time in her biological body, surrounded by other physical beings. She wasn't quite sure why this couldn't be achieved in the cyber-environment - someday, after they grow very old, she and Michael will probably return. Perhaps they can help make it better.

But for now they're here, and while they retain from their sojourn most of their mind-expanding growth and self-awareness they must forget the specifics - Michael especially no longer remembers the details of the breakthroughs in artificial intelligence he will help bring about, even though they've only been back a little over two weeks. The Neurological Institute has achieved two remarkable cures and one unsurprising failure.

Deployed shortly before Jen conducted her previous session and departed this world, the orgasm suppressors quickly proved themselves a welcome addition to the arsenal of subjugation tools - Jen was impressed, as were all the CP staff. Responsibility used to fall to the attendants during preparation, and to the tormentor herself during the session, to detect incipient gun-jumping and apply corrective measures. This distracted them from their primary responsibilities.

Michael, always on the lookout for improvements, knew that the wealth of biometric data flowing from the prisoners' electrodes, especially those located in the probes and sleeves, would make it a simple matter to assess arousal. Providing an indication of the level of risk and detecting the onset of climax, the ordinary point of no turning back, turned out to be easy. The same electrodes, combined with the penile constrictor for men, made turning back a cinch - Michael explained all this to me once, making my head spin and my underwear soggy.

Today the suppressor is taking a more active role. Jen came up with the idea about a week ago. She discussed it with Michael who proceeded to examine past data, then ran some confirmatory simulations. The results were gratifying; the relatively few who'd up to that point actually endured the suppressor's demoralizing efficacy all melted completely into submission no matter how recalcitrant they may have been moments before. Everyone should experience it, Michael concluded. The amendment to the rubric was quickly approved - actually, only Liz had to ratify it.

Norm and Bev have already had their turn - once is sufficient to instill utter subjugation. Ed avoided it during the preparation, but he's thoroughly chastened now. I tried my best not to avoid it then but I didn't succeed. It appears I'll get to enjoy its excruciating frustration after all.

Well, well, here you are, my pretty pain slut. Terrified of me? You should be - Bev is. She knows what I can do. I might have gone easy on you since you're a volunteer, but you hurt Liz's feelings. Some nerve, waiting until I was dead, then turning in your application. I like your spunk. To reward you I'm going to make you my new toy. Michael's gotten way too grown up for me to enjoy playing with him.

Jen's lips are not moving. They're pinched in a wickedly sadistic smile but the words resound in my brain as clearly as if she's speaking out loud. Liz told me the tormentors had an uncanny ability to project thoughts into their victim's minds, but I figured it was just body language and power of suggestion - not like this.

Yes, I'm telepathic now, got it? If you breathe a word to anyone before I give you permission I'll thrash you to kingdom come - and not in a fun way.

Given my present circumstances I guess I'd better take that seriously. Should I take it that the thrashing I'm about to receive will be in a fun way - and in whose judgment?

By the way, I can read your mind too. I know how much you wanted to try out the orgasm suppressor. In a minute you will. You won't have to do a thing. I can make you come with one little thought, without batting an eyelash.

I stare into Jen's eyes, trying to fathom her. She's fathomed me in a couple of seconds. She reaches for my keyswitch, waves it slowly in front of my face and inserts her key.

In a week or so, after you've recovered I'll have Khalidah chain you up and bring you over to the HOB. We'll form a second opinion on your calibration.

My orgasm starts welling up before Jen even starts to turn the key. By the time my cable retracts my body's tensing, my fingers and toes are curling. It feels glorious, but I know what happens next, at least I thought I did.

AIEEEE... OH... OH... OH... OWWW... AIEEE... OH... OH... OH... OWWWWW...

I'm not consciously aware of Jen hanging out in my brain pushing, forcing me repeatedly to the threshold as the suppressor fights back with ratcheting severity. Caught between a rock and a hard place, I can only thrash and buck ferociously as the saddle's genital electrodes, the cuffs and the breast cups dutifully marshal their response, calling in reinforcements as the battle rages on.

The half-minute crusade goes on for hours it seems, but once Jen satisfies herself that the device can stifle even the most powerful climax she relents, granting the machine victory.

Oh my God, that hurt. I had no idea... I guess that's the way it's going to be all day. I deserve to be punished for sheer stupidity - why did I ever volunteer?

I can't hide this thought from Jen, who smiles knowingly as she turns to face Three.

Why? Because you're insatiable. Thanks for lending me your body for that little experiment. Michael is thrilled with the data - he's already analyzing it - he says thank you too. He said he can hardly wait to watch Michela calibrate you!

My emotional roller coaster thunders over the rails. I've been invited into the family with obvious warmth and ruthlessly crushed into sexual obedience all in the space of a few minutes.

We haven't even started. And who's Michela? I'll learn that soon too.

Jen's not going to let Three experience her telepathic ability directly; it needs to remain a closely guarded secret for the moment, especially from Ginny who might feel at a disadvantage as she takes up her new role. Michael thinks it's learnable - there doesn't seem to be any biological change in either of them to account for it, and he's already working with Liz, who's starting to make progress, but it clearly takes time - they had a year. But keeping it secret needn't prevent her from toying with Three's mind in more subtle ways.

Sorry if you're getting impatient - this is as good a time as any to step into Jen's boots. Ready?

Squirming before you is a piece of humanity's lower life, though we perhaps we shouldn't be so judgemental - that's up to the court. He's a minor operator in a human trafficking ring. Such a conviction would normally justify a much harsher punishment, probably several Class Three impact sessions, and indeed the co-conspirators he fingered during the investigation face that grim prospect.

He hoped by cooperating he'd get off scot-free, so he's angry he's here, though he really deserves much worse. You know all this from studying his dossier in preparation for today's session. You also know that you have a legal responsibility to execute his sentence exactly as handed down, inflicting no more or less torment on him than say, Bev, who's here for wasting judicial time over speeding violations. You are free to make adjustments for Angie and Ginny but you probably won't - after all, they asked for it.

In any event you're not yet delivering the court-imposed punishment - that comes a little later. For now your objective is to ready him psychologically, to impress on him the power of the state, terrify him, prepare him to regret his crime and resolve not to repeat it. Your hope is that he will also learn respect for the humanity of women, for you and those punished with him - that's why Angie, now hanging morosely on pole two, is here as a volunteer. But you don't detect much sympathy - he's probably seen, perhaps done, much worse. This may be a challenge.

You want him to look straight at you, to get him to lock eyes with you, but right now he's staring at your breasts and grinning oafishly - the opposite of the problem with Ed. Still, this serves your purpose - you want him aroused, you want him to forget, for the moment, his discomfort. You step closer, expression deadpan, and raise his pole slightly. He can't bend his head down enough to continue looking where he was, and he can't directly see you reach out to his harness and and lift his control cable. You back up and lower him a little; his eyes can't help but follow as you move the switch from your leather-bridged cleavage into your line of sight, inserting your key as you go. Once his eyes meet yours, you'll have him in your grip - he'll dive headlong into an icy pool of state-sanctioned sadism, far more powerful than his own pathetic meanness could ever be. He'll find this unbearably erotic - he may be imagining himself in your boots, holding the key himself but he's many sizes too small.

Once you turn the key you can control his body using your pad but you might not have to use it for this. If you do, a little twitch in his sleeve, perhaps some vibration in his anus, and a light tingle over his body is all it will take. No need to bother watching him struggle, gasping in agony as the suppressor does its job, unless of course you want to.