Incipiunt Vitae Novae Pt. 07: Absol

It's time to get Bev, Ginny and Angie (me) out of the punishment chamber - we've been in here an awfully long time now and I'm sure you're getting impatient. Perhaps this time around I really will retire the meme for good...maybe?

The usual trigger warning - this story contains heavy bondage and discipline. A lot of my stories revolve around a high-tech, intended-to-be-humane judicial corporal punishment system, the characters who suffer in it, often voluntarily, and those who staff it. One of the victims, Ginny, is here for her qualification ordeal, the final hurdle to becoming an official tormentor herself. She and Angie are sisters on a journey, one to the top, the other to the bottom of the world of BDSM. Ginny is also on another journey, one of recovery from the resentment engendered by the haughty but well-meaning treatment she received from her aunt Barbara as she grew up, culminating in her experience during Executrix Khalidah. By the end of this story she's cast off that baggage, ready to get on with her new life.

Judicial punishment is inherently non-consensual (unless you're a volunteer!). Not everyone here is, but everyone learns from the experience - at least one of the malefactors learns to accept that he's more into it than he previously permitted himself to admit. But this is fantasy. Even though a lot of the story is in the first person I doubt I'd enjoy the experience for real anything like as much as I enjoy imagining it - I have endured some pretty intense bondage and discipline, but nothing quite as severe as some of what I describe! I doubt that any political entity on earth today is capable of administering a corporal punishment system fairly and humanely - I'm certainly not advocating it. In real life consent is paramount.

So, if you wish to continue, let's get on with it. I hope you enjoy this story, and I hope you stay safe, in and out of the scene, in these trying SARS-CoV-2 times.

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Uhh, what happened... where am I?

I test-struggle, the closest I can come to pinching myself.

Yes, I'm definitely awake.

My surroundings swirl in and out of focus but it does feel like I'm suspended in a standard correctional hogtie.

With a sigh of relief, the best sigh I can push past my mouth-filling ball gag, I confirm that too. The lights shine at full brightness; I can see clearly now, though only straight ahead. I'm definitely secured on pole two in the Corporal Punishment Facility's Torment Delivery Chamber and Jen's returning, swinging her whip. Everything's just as it was.

Relief?, I hear you thinking...

Oh yes - relief, absolutely, for sure. What a dream I had! No organdy, let alone crinoline. Pressed in stiff plastic film, I couldn't move a centimeter.

The unrelenting material covered me completely, from my arms stretched high above my head to my feet hovering well clear of the floor. The cruel carapace fitted me too perfectly not to have been formed right in place but I couldn't know for certain; I was anesthetized during its application. I hung from the ceiling right where Bev presently squirms punishment-hogtied two poles to my right, but I was not on pole four - I was pole four, revolving slowly, my body no more than a seamless extension of the polished rod projecting me downward.

My upraised arms could offer no protection; nothing limited access to any part of my shiny surface. Twice apprised of my unimpaired sensitivity each time my breasts' rigid casings grazed the steel band stretched across the chamber, I knew the efficacy of my punishment was assured, notwithstanding my rock-hard exoskin.

Please... please don't send me back. Please...noooo...

The process didn't spare my face but the chamber's bright lights penetrate my outward-facing blackness, a little. I can just see my neighbors, one to each side, each sharing my mesmerizing circumvolution. We rotate in perfect synchrony, busts thrust out sex-doll-like by the gleaming binding-film, bellies rounded in front, buttocks projected pruriently to the rear. How were we forced to hold this lubricious pose while our glazing cured, I ponder, turn after tedious turn.

I suppose you've made your way here to observe our spectacular suffering from the viewing gallery. I imagine you're easing yourself into your comfortable seat, preparing yourself to watch with pleasure as we endure our dreadful chastisement. Do you like what you see, three succulent women beautifully posed for punishment, rotating slowly before your eyes?

Or is that you, revolving to face me as I'm turned away? Are you sorry you committed the crime which brought you here? Do you bitterly regret choosing corporal punishment over the other alternatives which seemed so dire at the time? Are you terrified, or like me, terrified and frightfully aroused?

Such a strange, hopeless condition, to be so constrained, to savor my body quivering inside my adamantine shell - uncomfortable electrical stimulations keep my muscles pulsing, keep my blood moving... preventing me from fainting for sure, but I don't think for a moment I'm to be punished with electricity. The taut band titillates my case-hardened nipples afresh, dispatching delicious tremors through my plastic-petrified frame. It tickles as it passes my armpits, as it slithers over my shoulder blades. It returns to kiss me, left, both, right. By now I've been warned over and over - everything the band delivers will be transmitted unattenuated through my onyx-hard coating.

Are you imagining what we're feeling as the steel ribbon caresses our voluptuously postformed, obscenely projected breasts? Or are you just looking forward with enthusiasm, gleefully anticipating the intoxicating surge, the sexual thrill you'll experience every time our glistening silhouettes shudder with the band's precisely targeted, obviously excruciating impacts.

Either way I can't do anything about it; you're examining every part of us, contemplating our bodies' defenseless contours at your leisure, passing the minutes amusing yourself in your fantasies while you wait for the chamber's purifying cincture to begin its measured tattoo.

Jen? Ginny?

I don't recognize either of my hapless companions, but I certainly recognise the two women who entered the chamber just as the band completed my umpteenth teat-excursion - I've long since lost count. Their mouths are moving but I can't hear what they're saying to each other as they examine the menacing-looking mechanism standing between my neighbor and me, where pole three would be if it weren't folded away to the ceiling.

Looks OK, I seem to hear between my encased ears.

They check out similar apparatus located under pole five and conclude their inspection with apparent satisfaction.

Jen approaches me, palm extended. She touches my thigh, ever so delicately. Her fingers brush over my smooth-salient buttocks as I revolve away from her gaze.

SMACK.

Ow...

Did I make that sound? Did she? Could anyone hear it? My mouth's filled behind my lips' impenetrable seal with a sort of gag material, but I seem to be breathing OK, I suppose through tubes embedded in my coating. I can't choose when - that's controlled by the sinister machinery I seem almost to be part of now. And I'm filled just as thoroughly below - how did that escape my attention before? I suppose anything that happens there will be handled just as efficiently.

Jen traces out my dimpled clit-contours as I turn to face her once again - I tremble at the brief, delicious stimulation. As her eyes meet mine I overhear, or do I just imagine, her communication with Ginny, clear as a bell, inside my head.

She's ready.

These are too, my sister Ginny replies, giving each of my neighbors' gravity-taunting bust-shells a parting tap. Let's roll.

They leave the room.

Our rotation stops.

I tilt forward and backward in sympathy with my body's rigid connection to the pole-mechanism above my head as I'm brought precisely into position. The band tickles both my nipples equally, ominously, fleetingly.

I shudder, staring helplessly past my frozen-wide eyelids. I'm forced to watch, paralysed with dread as the machines between us reach up to grip the band, then begin moving toward the mirrors, drawing the band away from us, stretching it further and further. Oh my God, how far can they go?

Fierce atoning energy sizzles in the tensioned steel. I wince, to the extent I can, preparing myself for the impact. No need to hold my breath - during my alignment I felt myself pumped full of air, pressing my chest hard against the rigid film - now it's held for me. There's no helping it; amid the awful suspense a familiar surge of ecstasy wells up from my groin.

Oh God, Oh God, I'm going to c...

WHAM...AEIEEEEEEE... Agony explodes in my breasts, rockets through my body. The blast of pain jerks me awake.

Have a nice dream, Angie?

Jen's looking straight at me, lips unmoving, eyes shining with devious solicitude. Her dulcet contralto resonates telepathically in my brain; her grin radiates cheerful sadism. Looking past Jen I see Ginny's reflection in the front mirrors. She's squirming on pole six just as she was before we lost consciousness, and she's smiling too, seraphically.

No, diabolically.

Your sister shared your dream. She wasn't a pole though - she played herself - then again, you knew that, didn't you?

Figures. She always wanted to be in control. Jen's smile widens. She knows every thought I have now, sometimes before I even think them myself.

Like my plan for full-exposure corporal correction? Ginny's going to help me work through the details!

My neighbor on pole three is not smiling. He looks like he's just been to hell and back.

His dream didn't end as quickly as yours - he got eighteen. Looked pretty fine forced into the shape of a woman, don't you think?

I can hardly imagine...

I modeled him after you. By the way, I'll be counting on you to help us test all this - we'll need to make sure it's safe before we deploy it with real convicts.

Oh my...

Let me introduce your neighbors - you've seen so much of them already, you might as well know their names.

I'm puzzled why Jen thinks it's useful for me to be able to attach names and crimes to my co-sufferers.

Over on your right, that's Jake. He was on your left during your dream, when you were facing me at any rate. He participated in a human trafficking ring, fingered his friends in return for a lighter punishment. They'll probably get for real what he experienced in his dream, maybe several times.

I suppose that sordid detail helps a little.

That guy to your left, the one you've teased so much, his name is Ed. He's here for tax evasion. Turns out he's into this - who would have known!

Ed struggles against the electrical cuffs binding him like they bind all of us, pressing us to our punishment poles.

I don't need to be introduced to Bev, squirming double-penetrated on her supporting saddle - we're all mounted on one, though my immediate neighbors' penetrate them only singly.

I wonder what Bev's dream was...

Guess you'll just have to ask her later, Jen interrupts, grinning again. She is a convict, you know. She's here for contempt of court, wasting judicial time. So if Jake was on your left...

Oh, poor Bev...

Over there on pole five, that's Rupert. He's here for a computer crime, and I sympathize with what he did. Doesn't change how I do my job though.

Norm, whose name I suddenly recall from the Forge, languishes all the way over on pole seven; I already know he's into this. Hope he's enjoying it...

It's my duty to make sure he doesn't, not too much, at any rate.

We're about three quarters of the way through 'intense electrical psycho-sexual correction', a punishment in the Class One non-impact corporal torment category, prescribed for crimes of moderate severity. We've suffered plenty but the hardest part is yet to come - in fact we've all been forced to come, earlier in the session, with the objective of rendering our subsequent suffering post-orgasmically more intense. I'm here as a volunteer.

Don't ask...

Well, everything's almost just as it was when I felt my consciousness slip away, when Jen left for her break. We're all still folded in the same hogtie, our arms, legs, and thighs enclosed in electrical punishment cuffs. And although Jen's carrying a whip that's just for effect; she's torturing us electronically, controlling our chastisement using a handheld pad which communicates by wireless with a myriad of astonishingly powerful punishment-stimulation generators located in the saddles beneath us. Cables carrying multiple conductors from each of the cuffs plug into the saddle and oh yes, there are plenty of electrodes on the probes plugged directly into us too. Penetrating deep into our immobilized bodies, they deliver intimate torment from our insides out. They sport more than just electrodes - they possess pneumatic actuators able to induce serious distress and exquisite pleasure in accordance with the unfolding rubric's demands. By now all of us are quite familiar with their capabilities.

Our thigh cuffs press us to our saddles, thwarting any attempt to lift off. Should any of us try, dozens of sensors in the probes and cuffs will detect the effort in short order. The sensors also relay every detail of our responses to Jen's pad should she wish to make use of that information.

While Ed, Jake, Rupert and Norm have just one probe each, that deficiency is amply compensated by the electrical sleeves into which they're vacuumed. Indeed, we're all under vacuum at least twice; we're sucked into electrode-laden punishment cups locked onto our chest harnesses; rather small cups for the men, much roomier ones for Ginny, Bev, and me. Our harnesses team up with our electrical corsets to draw our backs firmly against the poles - escape is out of the question. If still you harbor any doubt, observe our bicep cuffs anchored to the pole-accessory crossbars mounted behind us, just above where our wrists and ankles are secured. We're not going anywhere until Jen's done with us.

So everything'sjust as it was, except for the steel band tickling the narrow strip of skin exposed between my electric corset and my harness. What's with this?

Jen scrutinizes her squirming cohort and cracks the whip. I shudder, staring at the band in the mirror, rerunning my dream. The machines to activate it are absent, I observe with only slight relief.

Jen cracks her whip again, louder. For seconds the sound reverberates - one, two, three I count to myself before the stunning report sinks into the background of grunts, groans and creaking bondage. She turns to face Bev.

"I promised I'd show you what happens if you're sentenced to return to this chamber. Remember?"

Bev trembles at the exact center of the taut band, staring helplessly. Jen swivels her enthralling gaze all the way from Ed to Norm and back before addressing us.

"You may think this whip would hurt, but it's nothing, a mere mosquito bite, compared to what this can do. Let me give you a taste."

Swinging the whip over her shoulder to free both hands Jen grasps the band on each side of Bev and pulls it away just ten centimeters. The room goes dark, except for the image projected in front showing three impact punishment victims bound on poles two, four and six, the band drawn back a meter or so from their bellies.

Jen releases the band.

OWWW... all seven of us gasp in astonishment, gags notwithstanding, as two miniscule waves race each other to the sides of the chamber, stinging each of us viciously as they whistle by.

WHAM goes the band in the video. Echoes of the despairing screams die away as the lights come back up.

"For your information, the little tweak I just gave you isn't even close to counting as an impact, so don't even think of complaining. Just take it to heart."

Some of us already have...

Jen walks over to the wall and presses a button; the band goes limp. She releases it from its termination, closes the cover, and walks across the chamber holding the end of the band as it retracts into the far wall. With a flourish Jen closes that cover too, then returns to center stage.

"Lest you forget." She cracks the whip again, loops it over the chair, and takes up the pad. "Shall we continue?"

She doesn't wait for us to reply. The ghostly shadow of the curtain opening on the other side of the one-way mirrors lining the wall in front of us answers on our behalf.

On the far side of the reopened curtain Liz and Khalidah resume their conversation; eerie techno background music deals them a modicum of privacy as the surrounding chatter settles to a soft buzz. The punishment clocks show around ten minutes remaining of the fifty minute sentences, a little less for Bev, a little more for me. That's going to take half an hour, maybe forty minutes, Khalidah estimates, based on what she's seen so far. Earlier she'd been wondering how long a human body can endure such stringent bondage without risk of harm. With the addition of a twenty minute intermission she's even more concerned, especially for Bev and Angie. Ginny too.

Liz doesn't seem worried though. Khalidah asks her why - she's satisfied with the answer though it's more complicated than she expected, involving Jen-Liz Studios' data scientist Michael and his AI companion Michela, and a lot of history she hasn't yet fully digested.

Bottom line - Michela has our backs. We're safe, even if Jen gets carried away - she agreed to this wholeheartedly; it allows her to give her creativity free reign.

We squirm afresh as Michela's circulation-inducing electrical twitches ripple through our immobilized extremities - not quite as immobilized as in my dream, I reflect with gratitude. No, I won't faint, I'm sure. But I'll endure a lot more of Jen's torture before I leave here today. I feel a squirt of fluid entering my gut. I tingle as exhaustion-suppressing stimulants suffuse through my body, restoring me to full sensitivity. I'm ready to resume my suffering...

AEEEIIII...AIIIII...AIIII... AEEE... My flesh explodes with fire, every muscle screaming, my brain consumed by the pain. The half-second it lasts seems like forever. Jen grins.

That's how it feels to be burnt at the stake. Of course, the pain goes on much, much longer.

How on earth does she know?

Not quite sure - I just do. For now, all you need to think about is how it feels knowing I could do that to you. I won't, of course, not today - it wouldn't be consistent with your sentence!

Jen's so terrifying, so riveting, so breathtakingly dominating in her expertly-fabricated ready-for-business tormentor's uniform. Lustrous black leather covers her body from her boots to the stately collar framing her stalwart neck. Silky-dark hair frames her statuesque forehead, emphasising her stern countenance, rolling smoothly over her crown. The graceful strands funnel reluctantly into the intricately-tooled silver ring close to the back of her head, then emerge with a joyful bounce, free at last to tumble behind her like a rippling mountain stream in early spring.

On Jen's other side the leather descends from her neckband to slope unhurriedly across her majestic bust. It dips ever so slightly into the opulent curve between her sumptuously mounded breasts, then sinks beneath the subtly-ribbed corset enclosing her iron-hard torso. On emerging it rounds over her muscular thighs to deliver an unequivocal not-in-your-wildest-dreams message before disappearing with the subtlest of transitions into her boot-casings. Every square centimeter of the smoothly textured leather exudes monumental feminine authority.