Incipiunt Vitae Novae Pt. 07: Absol

Her face too. Her eyes radiate severity, with just a trace of impish playfulness. Come, let me take pleasure in making you suffer, they seem to say. Indeed, Jen takes great pleasure in her work, in her play also, constantly advancing her already devastating skill with the tools of her trade, particularly her favorites, the whip and the chamber's electrical control pad, all rendered an order of magnitude more effective by her piercing intelligence.

Jen moves over to Jake, who convulses and screams for two long seconds, then she proceeds down the line, welcoming each of us back into the session. Ginny screams but by the time Norm starts his screaming she's already busily contemplating how she'll use the new sensation in her own sessions. An hour from now her qualification ordeal will be over - in a week or so she'll be in her own tormentor's unifor...Ugg...Owww, Arrrgg... Concentrate, Ginny. Next week, next week...

The minutes tick by, faster than our punishment clocks tick down, but tick down they do. Jen's back in her groove; we suffer accordingly. The drill is much the same as in the first half except for our post-orgasmic condition. Amber waves of pain, fiery blasts ripping through our most sensitive places; we watch each other forced into grotesque, sometimes crudely erotic poses, twisting, writhing, squirming as Jen's fingers fly over her pad. Finally it's time for the 'empathy and compassion' experience.

Ginny knows what's coming, but she didn't expect she'd be the one to come first. She didn't expect to come at all, not again, not at this stage in the process. Norm, Ed perhaps, Angie not at all unlikely... but not her.

Empathy and compassion is a set of one-on-ones, in which the tormentor performs a final, short, individual brutalization. The idea is that the one who's turn is up suffers so much that the others find themselves begging the tormentor to stop - and come to terms with their own compassion. It winds down the session, bringing each convict's punishment clock down to the last few seconds, bringing each convict back into the bonds of civilization - that's the idea, anyway. Michael's studied it in detail and concluded that it works, sort of.

In any event, Jen knows from earlier in the session that Ginny hates, more than any pain she might endure, to be brought to climax in front of strangers - so that's what Jen plans to do. She'll make it up to her later.

Oh Ginny, what's she going... I think I know...

By now Ginny thinks she knows too. She's not pleased.

The electric tingling in her nipples, on her clit, even up her ass as Jen walks over makes it clear what's about to happen to her body. What Ginny still doesn't realize is how much control Jen has over her mind.

Jen doesn't want Ginny to realize it, not yet. Later Ginny will practice with Jen and Michael, learn how to control minds herself, learn how to protect her own from others. Until then Jen needs to be careful not to freak her out. Still, she wants to show Ginny how to torture someone with style, using her for her own example. She also wants to have a bit of fun.

AIEEEEEEE... AIEEEEEE...

That wasn't Ginny screaming. She's squirming, to be sure, struggling against her bonds, but only in response to the ramping pleasure taking possession of her body. The screams erupting from Rupert on her left and Norm on her right, their thrashing, their blatant, brutal suffering amplifies Ginny's arousal fivefold - and how unfair - it isn't even their turn! Fortunately for them, Jen doesn't have to keep it up long. Rupert and Norm continue to squirm in response to Jen's expert stimulus, just as if they're in serious pain, but they're not, not any more, not now that Ginny's launched.

Beautifully launched!

Sure, Ginny's not beautiful in quite the same way Jen is, not right now, not like she will be in a week or so.

Today her ravishing breasts project outward like an architect's wet dream - that was Ginny's reaction earlier that morning, looking in the mirror as she felt herself sucked into her punishment receptacles. By now they've looked that way long enough that Ginny's no longer giving it much mind.

A thin stream of drool oozes past her ball gag and dribbles down her neck to wend its way between the dolorous towers, then navigates over her electrified corset to drench her immaculately trimmed love-triangle, not very visible at the moment since it's impaled along with her tidy rosebud by the probes erupting from her torment-saddle.

The chamber's powerful lights bounce from Ginny's professionally prepared body; some of it heads to the front wall mirrors, some to various cameras well-placed about the chamber to provide excellently enhanced views, some is lost forever. Of that which strikes the mirrors some goes through to delight the live audience in the viewing gallery, some bounces back; a tiny bit returns to Ginny's eyes, where it forms an upside-down but otherwise faithful image on her retinae, as it does on ours.

None of this is getting the attention of her brain.

Jen's at work. Ginny doesn't see herself as she is - she's being forced to imagine herself in the gorgeous uniform she's been designing with Liz's assistance, forced to imagine making Norm and Rupert squirm in torment. Jen is hiding in the wings of her cerebral cortex, just beyond her consciousness, making it all happen right inside her head.

You love that, don't you! Listen to them! Watch their immobilized bodies shudder. Her neighbors' authentically agonized-looking struggles reflect from the mirrors; they also form an image for Ginny which, together with the screaming reproduced by the chamber's loudspeakers impinging on her eardrums, is attended faithfully by Ginny's consciousness.

Just think how they're writhing in pain. Imagine how you're playing the audience. They're lapping it up!

No, Jen doesn't want to speak directly to Ginny telepathically, not yet, but injecting thoughts into her brain as she manipulates the pleasure-probes is OK, Michael assured her before the session started, as long as she doesn't overdo it - the mind control part, that is. The next few minutes will involve quite a bit of mind-penetration, sorely testing the budget.

Ginny is definitely playing the audience, Khalidah thinks, listening to the attentive, appreciative murmurs coming from all around her. Well, mostly murmurs, but more and more enthusiastic cheers, whoops, even cat-calls as the seconds tick by.

Ginny's gyrating body radiates her rocketing excitement - she's headed for a personal best in time-to-climax. She's forgotten about the orgasm suppressor, but the video screens in the viewing gallery helpfully inform the audience on the other side of the mirrors that Jen's reactivated it - she turned it off after the bondo-battles. Ginny's racing to perdition.

Oh Ginny, my poor sister Ginny, I know what's about to happen. Jen tested this on me a couple of hours ago - I'll bet she knows exactly how to make you suffer even more...

Jen smiles, tips her head back to project her own magnificent leather-cased bust. Ginny tips over the precipice.

AIEEEE... OW, OW, OWWW, AIEEE...

The suppressor charges into battle, shocking Ginny's clit fiercely, convulsing her belly, stinging her tits mercilessly, driving her back onto the cliff.

That would normally be the end of it, climax interrupted, job done. But Jen's not finished. She can force more erotic thoughts in no matter how hard Ginny tries to force them out, as she restores the pleasureable sensations.

Ahh, Ahhh, Ahhhh...AIEEE, Oww, OWWW. Ahhh, Ahhhh, Oh, Oh, OH...AIEEEEE...

Again and again Jen rams Ginny onto the suppressor, which fights back with escalating valor. Whenever Ginny's body jerks to the increasingly brutal shocks her bottled bosoms bounce vigorously, eliciting more cheers from the audience. In the brief interludes of pleasure she glows with sexuality, writhing sensuously in her bonds.

But this can't go on forever. Ginny's punishment clock is ticking down fast. Jen turns off the suppressor.

OH GOD, OHHH, OHHHHH, AHHHH, AHHHHHH...

Ginny's climax explodes through her body, sending her imprisoned breasts oscillating furiously, her whole being shuddering, struggling, straining in her unyielding bonds, her mostly-immobilized head thrashing against her gag-straps, twisting side to side, up and down as she endures, publicly, humiliatingly, the most powerful orgasm she's ever experienced.

On and on it goes, but all good things must come to an end. She slumps back in her restraints, thoroughly drained, thoroughly subdued, thoroughly mortified. But thoroughly satisfied, she has to admit. And, she observes, she's almost done - only a couple of seconds remain on her clock.

Did it work? Khalidah wonders, looking at an exhausted but hardly sympathy-arousing Ginny through the mirrors.

Probably not, Jen thinks. It was fun, but she won't do that again, not for a final dustup.

Her wits recovered, Ginny's busily analyzing what went down too, and she's decided she won't use that rubric in her sessions either. She's pretty sure that no one, well, no one except Angie, or possibly Bev, felt the slightest empathy - they couldn't even be aware of her acute embarrassment - not so acute embarrassment toward the end, she admits - she wasn't thinking much about embarrassment then, just her rocketing pleasure.

And no, not Bev, Ginny concludes. She probably didn't experience any empathy whatever. Most likely Bev just felt pissed off - her dustup certainly won't go that way.

In the gallery, Khalidah's thinking all the same things, as is Liz.

Oh well, so much for that. Chalk it up to experience. Jake's turn.

AEIIII...ARRRGGG... Jake's bloodcurdling scream is most satisfying. Six heads twist in perfect symmetry to meet his reflection as he bucks and jerks on his pole. On and on it goes, scream after scream, sometimes reduced to agonized gurgles as the collar shrinks around his neck.

Stop Jen...stop...

Oh Angie, you're such a softie. No stopping until all six of you beg me to - oh, there's a second one.

ARRRRRRG...YAIEEE...OWWW... Jake's thrashing seems to go on forever, though it's really been only a minute or so. Finally, finally he stops screaming and slumps into his restraints, gasping for breath.

That one worked, Khalidah mutters. Liz nods.

And so it goes, by turns. The orgasm suppressor's back on. Ed suffers mightily but maintains his control, Norm does not.

OWWWWW... Jen's eyes burn through me.

Thought I'd go easy on you did you? Let's see how you do.

I thrash and twist in agony, and indeed, pain slut that I am, I hit the suppressor twice, but its ministrations are no worse than the treatment Jen's been giving me the rest of the time. Finally she's done with me, for now. Next week...?

Bev shrieks and howls. I hope she learns her lesson, realizes that her friends care about her deeply, don't want her to be so careless with herself, and then she relaxes, looking thoroughly penitent. Rupert goes last, struggling fiercely in his bonds, yelling at the top of his lungs.

Having a good time, Angie?

Yes, Mistress Jenif, uh, no...OWW...

A few jerks and grunts here and there as Jen brings our punishment clocks to zero in perfect synchronism, and we're done. Jen grins, the last of many this morning, skips to the chair, sets the control pad down and retrieves her whip, cracking it twice. The reports echo around the chamber. We tastel a squirting in our gags, a gentle pressure in our colons as a mild analgesic suffuses through each of us, beckoning us back to the regular world. Jen makes a sexy wiggle, blows us a parting kiss, and disappears through the exit. Now it's time to get the rest of us out of here.

That's not trivial, but naturally there's a high-tech solution. While our punishment's over, by law we can't be entirely free of restraints until our exit cleaning is completed and we're parked back where we began, in preparation rooms, unbound at last, with our clothes delivered so we can dress and depart. Ginny and I exchange sisterly looks.

Oh Ginny, you look so radiant. I'll bet you're glad this is over.

She certainly is! Are you glad it's over? Jen responds telepathically.

Amazing, I think, she's not even in the room - how far does this work?

It works as far as I want it to - you can't escape!

I'd best not even try to answer

Ben enters with a lightly-loaded device cart - it will go out full. He positions it beside Ed and hurries out for another as Sieko delivers the second, parking it next to me. In short order all the carts are delivered and they set to work reattaching the pole accessories which secured our legs when we first came in. Ben fastens Norm's to the bottom of his pole as Sieko secures Ginny's. They leapfrog down the line, Sieko attaching Ed's as Ben returns to unbind Norm. Unbinding doesn't require both of them, so Sieko starts on Ginny.

A gentle reversal of the vacuum helps Ben remove Norm's punishment sleeve - he flops free with a flatulent sound.

"Hmmm...wonder if I can get something like that to use at the Forge," Ginny murmurs, surprised that intelligible sounds actually emerged - Why did my gag deflate right at that moment, she wonders as she continues, a little louder. "Maybe I'd use it on Norm, once he's recovered. Or Rupert perhaps..."

Seiko snickers without interrupting her cadence.

Norm shivers a little, smiling gamely. Rupert looks like he'd scratch his head if he could. He can't, of course, but nothing quiets the wheels turning inside.

No, I don't really need one of my own, Ginny reminds herself as the ball re-expands. I'll get plenty of use out of the ones right here. Still, might come in handy...

Rupert's sure he's seen Norm before. At that club, THB, sitting by himself, he recalls. But he vanished soon after his friends arrived. Didn't see them head for the exit, though...

Out come the cables plugged into Norm's and Ginny's saddles, off come the cuffs from around their thighs, from around their legs. Ankles released from the binding hub their feet flop to the floor and the rod between them stiffens, spreading them as it gets latched to the reinstalled bottom crossbar. Off come the breast cups and the chest harnesses, then it's on to Rupert and Bev - my feet will be back on the floor in no time.

Norm's and Ginny's wrists remain bound behind them, their collars still enclose their necks, and they are still gagged. Some of us have seen this before, so we know there's no reason to be alarmed. We can't be completely unbound while still in the facility - we'll be marched out of the chamber as we were marched in, except this time without smocks. After all, we know each other a lot better than we did when we came in!

Seiko gives me a smile as she unwraps my cuffs and releases my legs. I shiver as I feel them spread and locked in place below me - I'm still capable of a frisson of excitement. My continuing restraint reminds me it won't be long before I'll be facing Jen again.

Yup. You will! Jen's disembodied voice resonates clear as a bell.

Ed's feet settle to the floor, and it's time to detach us from our saddles. It's too bad the Xamboni's been retired - it was practical at the time and great theater, but the consumables/disposables reservoirs give the saddles all the capability they need to clean us out for a tidy retraction and this way we can all be processed in parallel, speeding our exit. Warm liquid surges into my colon, into my vagina - then it's promptly sucked back out - this happens several times. My companions look surprised, but not overly distressed.

Jees, that feels weird. Pleasant though...

We're all pretty tired.

Our saddles descend, causing a collective squirm as all our probes slide out simultaneously, their tasks done for the day. Starting with Norm Sieko and Ben detach saddles from reservoirs and poles, bagging them before placing them in the carts. They'll be cleaned and disinfected, of course, before they're used again. The two of them work their way back up the line, detaching reservoirs, tucking them neatly on the cart's lower shelf. The first overhead-rail transfer carriage arrives for Norm just as they finish - it's a picture of practical efficiency!

The carriage's front rod tilts down to mate with Norm's front binding-hub while Ben attaches its dangling flex-rod to Norm's flex-spreader. He removes Norm's gag, releases his arms from the rear binding rod, removes his upper arm cuffs. Something in the mirror catches my eye.

Whoa, how is this happening - he must be totally used up by now...

For the moment Norm's collar continues to circle his neck, securing him to his pole, the shocking mechanism still able to enforce his silence. But he's permitted a different form of expression, it appears, as I watch him stiffen, go flaccid and stiffen again, several times over before he flops down for good. The expression on Ginny's face defies description. Jen's voice rings again.

Just practicing. Subjects this sexually wrung out are hard to come by!

Ugg, I wince.OWW, I wince again.

Forgot you've still got the collar on, didn't you! Glad I didn't have to wait for later to punish you.

At last Ben releases Norm's wrists from behind him - the carriage instantly reels them in front - he doesn't experience freedom for even an instant. We're supposed to be reminded of the state's awesome authority, lest we entertain thoughts of repeating our crimes, or in my case, volunteering again. Oh, right, that's not allowed.

Norm's spreader goes limp, his collar opens, and the carriage trundles away, hauling him from the pole. It turns him to the left and marches him in front of us to the exit opposite where we were all marched in hours ago. He knows even collarless he still must remain silent - electrodes in the wrist cuffs are prepared to enforce that stricture if need be.

Ginny's carriage is right behind. She nods to Bev and tosses me a sisterly smile as she's marched past. Rupert looks thoughtful, introspective, as he shuffles by, hobbled by the limp rod between his ankles. Norm and Ginny managed the hobbling more gracefully but Rupert's concentrating on the details of the mechanism and his relationship to it rather than worrying about how he appears to us.

Bev goes by, smiling sheepishly; it is her second time. Her first was as a volunteer. She's followed by Jake, looking sorry for himself but at least a little bit repentant... and finally it's my turn. My collar releases and off I go, passing only a pensive-looking Ed. I'm marched out of the chamber, marched into the cleaning station. My limp ankle rod stiffens, re-spreading me, and after a warning to close my eyes I'm sprayed thoroughly - an antiseptic fragrance replaces the sweaty aroma we exuded while we were in the chamber. The air knife induces a tingling sensation as it dries me off, especially when it passes over my clit. Then I'm back in the preparation room, released finally from my hours-long bondage. My clothes sit in the open locker beside me, just as I left them, though I don't think this is the prep room I started in. I dress.

Most freshly-punished convicts, unless they are returning to a prison cell, will receive a police car ride to a nearby bus stop - they'll likely be too woozy to walk safely. But when I exit the facility I'm relieved to see the Jen-Liz limo waiting, the driver beckoning. Jen's already in front, still in uniform, still gorgeous, her eyes closed.

Asleep? Meditating?

Meditating, sort of. You did great! We're going to have fun!