Incipiunt Vitae Novae Pt. 11: The Tour

A group of people just like this, I reflected, watched me writhe in agony while Jen tortured me. I hope they felt they got their money's worth...

Yes, they did. Jen alone was worth every penny, and that group got Bev and Ginny too! Will this crowd, watching what for them is a fully automated punishment session, do as well?

Jessica led us into a row near the back, and we sat down.

The curtain was already open. The lights were focused on the punishment band and its activation mechanism, so the five preparees floating prone at floor level were almost invisible. The large monitors on either side of the proscenium displayed only a splash screen for the Department of Corrections.

Kalisha pointed to a sign which admonished us to avoid excessively loud conversation and be respectful, both to other members of the audience and to the inmates themselves, who were fulfilling their debt to society. By implication, I gathered, quieter talking was permitted. The techno background would provide some privacy; I could hear conversation coming from up front, but I couldn't make any of it out.

Kalisha was right about the need to hurry. Seconds after we settled in, the lights shifted to the five prostrate women, who rose upright in one motion to face the atoning band. As they reached vertical the band drew back, ready to administer the first blow.

How remarkable to see those five bodies, naked but for their hoods and cuffs, floating upright, seemingly weightless, in midair. Khalidah had described the sensation for me, had mentioned that it wasn't especially uncomfortable, not at all like being hung by her wrists, since the transparent film supported her weight evenly. How I found myself wishing I could be one of them, excepting only that they couldn't enjoy the spectacle themselves. They couldn't even see the band, charged with energy, ready to assert its disciplinary dominion over them. Plus one for our system!

A moment later they all rotated half a turn, stopping when they presented five pairs of buttocks to the band, which landed a second after that with a loud snap. Ginny chose that exact moment to press her button. I doubled over in sympathy with the keening wail echoing through the gallery.

The whole flagellation was over in less than twenty minutes. At, I estimated, five seconds between strokes, the band landed about two hundred times, the most severe sentence, I later learned. But it was clear that not all five inmates received every stroke. Once the first fifteen impacts, five to the buttocks, five to the breasts, and five to the pubes, were completed, the pattern changed.

The frames began rotating their hapless occupants to face forward or backward independently. And, as they moved up and down to distribute the strokes over their bodies, I noticed they also moved forward and backward, modulating the impacts' severity, often even preventing contact altogether.

"Ahh, that's how the system executes the sentence the judge orders. I wondered how the code I key in when I generate sentencing bands made any difference," Jillian murmured, eyes aglow.

Bev, who up to that point had kept pretty much to herself, replied with a puzzling non-sequitur.

"What's in it for them, do you think?"

We'd all observed Bev driving more responsibly since her punishment. Was she thinking about that? Was she probing Jillian's predilections?

Jillian was not blindsided, even though she'd sailed through the tour, it seemed to me, in a haze of fantasy. Perhaps, as Clerk, she'd given this matter considerable thought. She parried with a question.

"Well, Bev, what was in it for you?"

Bev furrowed her brows in thought but didn't answer right away, so Jillian helped her out.

"You've been twice, I understand, once as a volunteer."

Jillian may have been late to class, but she did her homework. That meant she knew about me too, though I supposed it must have been obvious the moment I stepped into the scanner.

"Fair enough. I'm pretty seriously into BDSM." Bev answered, without bothering to spell that out--either Jillian knew what the letters stood for, or she didn't.

"But," Bev continued, "I was really being punished the first time too, for something I did to Angie and Ginny."

True enough, but she had accomplices, Jen in particular, who was obviously listening, and smiling as she did. Even though Ginny too was a victim, she was also smiling, and chose to celebrate with her remote.

"ARRRG," I shouted, doubling over in my seat, but Ginny's timing was exquisite; my breach of etiquette, occurring moments after the band struck all five anvils simultaneously, submerged unheard into a wail of anguish.

"I felt so guilty," Bev confessed, " and when I was shown, in bondage, clips from a punishment session, I couldn't say no."

Was this TMI for Jillian? It didn't seem so. She remained silent and attentive.

"It hurt plenty," Bev admitted, smiling inscrutably, "like that last stroke must have. But I'm pretty sure I've endured more intense pain playing with Khalidah."

"But that was for fun, I take it," Jillian answered. "Did the punishment do anything for you, personally?"

Bev chose not to acknowledge that it delivered some of the same value, especially fantasizing about it beforehand, and afterward. She had a feeling Jillian already understood that.

"It was cathartically absolving, for certain. I don't think either Angie or Ginny could have forgiven me otherwise."

I'm not so sure about that, I thought. Maybe Ginny couldn't have, but I don't think I would have had any difficulty.

"What about the second time? That was for contempt of court, wasn't it?"

"I deserved it. I was being stupid. So I had a few painful hours to reflect on how my reckless driving affected more people than just me, even, no, especially, my friends. I think it was good for me."

"I wonder," Jillian responded, brows furrowed. "These inmates do get to avoid substantial prison time, and they get counseling too. But I'm not so sure they value the absolution part. I wish I knew."

Bev couldn't resist.

"There's one way to find out, but I hear you don't use volunteers."

Jillian laid her cards on the table.

"I'm not sure I'd respond like the typical inmate."

Is there such a thing, I wondered, doubling over in my seat as the band struck three buttock-pairs and two pubes, my discipline timed so the keening sequelae hid my own stifled cry. I tried to concentrate on the flagellants, wondering what was going on in their minds, letting my own mind go with the flow.

Such an eerie sight, five hooded bodies dancing up and down, around and around, crying time to the band's doleful tattoo. But I couldn't get out of my own head. All I could think of was that while I'd miss that sight if I were one of them, really, I had to admit, I'd pretty much turned inward after the first five minutes of my volunteer session, so would it matter?

Never mind, they don't take volunteers, I reminded myself. And Kalisha was motioning us to leave.

"It's almost over," she whispered, addressing Jillian in particular, "and you wanted to see Forced Orgasm."

I'd forgotten all about that!

Forced Orgasm, aka Libido Management, turned out to be rather an oversimplification. Over an hour had passed since we'd stepped aside for the coffle to go by, and so far none of the five women had actually achieved climax, going by the climax counts displayed on the wall behind them.

Their restraints were efficient, I could see, the moment we entered the room. No need to remove the shackles from their wrists and ankles; all that needed to come off were the chains around their bellies, and of course, their pussy-plates. Those now dangled almost out of sight over the fronts of their benches, attached only by their lower bands.

Their bondage didn't look particularly uncomfortable, but they weren't going anywhere. Their legs rose upward, held apart by wide cuffs around their calves, the cuffs secured in turn to tee bars extending to the ceiling, leaving their temporarily redundant ankle chains looping in shallow catenaries high above their hips. Their forearms were similarly cuffed, holding their arms parallel to their legs.

Wide straps over their bellies, and narrower pairs intersecting between their breasts, held the rest of their bodies firmly to their benches.

If I were in that position, I imagined, I'd be obscenely displayed, anus pointing almost directly forward, vulva angling away between my splayed thighs. I would be, that is, if it weren't for the machines mostly blocking the view.

OOfffff. I almost lost my balance. Ginny was looking the other way, but her hand was in her pocket.

"If you peer in from the side you'll see how this works," Kalisha urged. "The vaginal head is similar to the anvil used in flagellation, but it penetrates the genital canal a little, and it incorporates electrodes."

She looked straight at me, grinning just like Ginny.

"Mostly for instrumentation, but they can be used for stimulation."

Those women must be pretty well-instrumented, I thought, based on that titbit, plus the bands over their foreheads, and various other discreetly located electrodes I noticed now I was looking more carefully.

"We experimented with nipple stimulation," the guard assigned to LIbido Management continued, taking over from Kalisha, "but it took too much time to position the actuators correctly. We've trimmed the number of body sensors to a minimum, and we've confirmed we still get almost perfect climax detection, and very stable values for arousal and frustration."

From coffle to bench in seconds, she chose not add.

"I'm Bettina," she did choose to add, in a lilting German accent. "I'm in charge of Libido Management today. If you have any questions don't hesitate to ask, but Kalisha's the one studying engineering, so I'll let her explain the details."

Her charges' frustration indices were displayed just below their orgasm counts. Bettina explained that a value of one represented a typical state for a woman just failing to climax during vanilla intercourse. The values I could see ranged from 3.2 to 5.1.

"Like most psychometric measures," Kalisha added, "it's based on a log scale."

I had to think about that for a moment. Like the Richter scale, I supposed, but with devastation levels short of lethality.

"I've seen it go above six, just once," Bettina boasted, glowing with professional pride.

That I didn't have time to think about, since Ginny rendered me temporarily unable to think at all. Bettina turned to Jen.

"We consulted with your authority to develop this. A gentleman named Michael was enormously helpful."

Jen grinned. Oh, oh, I thought, that means Michela is involved too. These poor women! I wondered if she was monitoring them in real-time, right then and there. I could have asked, but I've been practicing keeping Michela out of my brain lately, and she's been cooperating, mostly.

Number four's machine sprang to life.

"For the first hour the artificial intelligence system tries to drive the frustration index as high as possible," Kalisha elaborated. "But the algorithm also imputes a high cost to an orgasm, so that almost never happens"

I stared at Four, struggling against her restraining straps, trying to press her pelvis higher, harder, onto the buzzing plastic stimulation head. She moaned softly. Her arousal index, displayed below her frustration index and above various lesser vital signs, climbed steadily upward.

Suddenly the vibration stopped. Four gasped and let out a yelp of dismay. Her frustration index jumped from 3.8 to 4.1.

"Once the first hour's over..."

"which was about ten minutes ago," Bettina interjected,

"the orgasm cost weighting factor is incrementally reduced, reaching zero half an hour later."

One's simulator started. Her body jerked. For the next ten seconds or so she squirmed to the pleasure of precisely metered stimulus; 9.6, 9.7, 9.8 her arousal marched upward, but the display didn't make it to 9.9 before the machine halted. She swore as her frustration index jumped from 5.3 to 5.7, but quit swearing when Bettina threatened her with a ball gag.

"Most women climax around 10..."

"That's how the scale's defined," Kalisha interjected contrapuntally,

"and the first one usually goes over the edge around about now."

Three started up. Her arousal crept up; 9.9, 10.1, 10.2, 10.3, 10.4. Why isn't she climaxing, I wondered, just before I doubled over in pelvic convulsion.

Her stimulation stopped. She whimpered plaintively, like she must have dozens of times by now, and her frustration ticked up from 5.7 to 5.8. I guessed that just wasn't her moment.

"The smart ones learn to hold out as long as possible. 10.4's a personal best for her"

Why would anyone do that?

Five ball gags hung on the wall. I had a feeling they wouldn't stay there all that much longer. Kalisha spoke as if she'd read my mind.

"After they climax the first time, the stimulation ramps up considerably."

I thought about how excruciatingly sensitive I could get right after orgasm, how the lightest touch could send me into paroxysms of ecstatic agony, whether I wanted it or not.

"They all start screaming, sooner or later," Bettina elaborated with youthful enthusiasm. "After the first one, they'll be forced to cum over and over until they pass out."

Five's body jerked, then squirmed to the compelling stimulus, her arousal climbing steadily.

"Keep an eye on number five," Bettina suggested. "She's a newbie."

I watched her clock 9.6, 9.7, 9.8 on her arousal meter, wondering what I'd be indicating myself.

"9.2, and that's without any clitoral stimulation," Michela's voice cackled.

Fuck!

"You can run, but you can't hide. But hey, I know when I'm not welcome."

She wasn't really pissed off, I knew. We'd agreed I should be practicing my mind-defense. I'd be punished for that slip.

Jen grinned at me.

So did Ginny. I doubled over, but that wasn't my punishment. Ginny only just found out about Michela the night before, when she extracted the details of my nightmare. She hadn't met her yet, but she soon would, I gathered by listening in on a brief Jen-Michela exchange before I shut out their telepathy. I'd be punished for that breach of etiquette too.

I turned my attention back to Five.

9.9, 10.0, 10.1, ohh, here she goes.

Five's thighs thrashed against the enforcing spread of her calf cuffs. Her back arched, her chest rose, the straps across her breasts dug deep into the surrounding flesh as she hauled herself up by the cuffs around her biceps. Her head tipped back, her mouth opened wide, she gasped with pleasure as the climax tore through her body. For the moment, she was in seventh heaven. Her orgasm count advanced to 1.

For half a minute she squirmed in delight, then her seraphic look faded, her squirms turning frantic as reality rushed home. Exquisitely ticklish now, she fought against her bonds, desperate to pull herself away from the infernal stimulation.

AARRRGGG... she howled, then 'mmmmph' as her ball gag went in. Bettina buckled the strap tight around the back of her neck.

After a brief decline, her arousal rapidly ratcheted back up: 8.3, 8.7, 9.6, 10.1, then hovered for a few cycles at 10.2. I watched her body tense up, rock hard and motionless, tight in her bonds, ascending to 10.3, then 10.4. MMMMPHHH... RRRRRGGG, she murphed, clamping her jaws around the rubber ball as she tipped over the cliff. Her climax counter clicked up to 2.

She flailed against the implacable cuffs as the inexhaustible machine drove her on toward number three. Welcome, I thought, to Forced Orgasm.

"Once the first one goes, the rest fall like dominoes,' Bettina chuckled. "Watch Three now."

She'd bested her best at 10.6, but it was clear from the relaxing tension in her body, not to mention her melting grimace of determination, that she was going over the edge. She must find post-orgasm stimulation excruciating, I figured, to spend so much energy holding out.

AIEEEE, oh, oh, oh, AHHH... she howled. She was definitely enjoying this part, I could tell, even if she did know there would be hell to pay.

YAARRGGG. FUCK, FUCK, MMPHHHKK. Three fought gamely against the straps and cuffs holding her in the machine's thrall. Her second and third orgasms came in quick succession, but in the meantime Two went over the cliff. One and Four fell in quick succession, emptying out the gag rack.

For the next ten minutes orgasms came faster than I could keep track of them, counters incrementing left and right, the quintet of bound, helpless women mewling the music of forced libidinal depletion in heavenish-hell harmony. How I wished I could join that ensemble! Bev looked like she'd be ready to sign up too.

UURKKK... Ginny brought me back to earth.

"Let's get going," Kalisha ordered. "Nothing more to see here." I didn't entirely agree, but I wasn't about to argue. Jen and Ginny looked hungry. Jillian looked... well, I just couldn't tell.

We bid Bettina goodbye. Kalisha escorted us back to the entrance desk, thanked us for joining her for the tour, and headed back inside to study.

Jillian wobbled to her car in a daze. Bev, Ginny, Jen, and I hurried back to ours to look for something to eat. Ginny was, thankfully, too hungry to waste precious time pressing buttons.

****

Here's a preview of the next chapter, Khalidah's Homecoming Party

We got back to the hotel mid-afternoon, and considering how the evening's shaping up, I'm glad I had a chance to rest!

We met up, as agreed, in the hotel lounge around eight-thirty. After a light supper Ginny, Jen, Bev and I headed back out to the car, and within minutes of our arrival at the club Ginny and Jen had me stripped of my harness and bound back to back with Bev, just like we were in my nightmare.

Almost.

Our wrists are drawn up above our heads, but our feet aren't suspended off the floor. I'm standing ankle to ankle with Bev on a little turntable. I expect we'll be like this for some time to come, so I'm thankful to be on my feet. We rotate slowly, first one, then the other facing out into the club. And I'm not twisting into a pretzel; whatever holds our wrists up swivels too. That's a relief.

But that's it for relief because there's one more difference. No surprise; as we were being bound Ginny did indeed produce a crupper strap from her bag of toys, but so far it's a massively frustrating disappointment; it's looped loosely around our necks, not buried in our crotches. The ends dangle against my breasts, where they do nothing but tease me infernally. Bev and I can struggle all we want and our bare pubes get no stimulation whatsoever. Ginny, you are so mean!

What's this! Jessica's sailing over with a magic wand in her hand. Jen volunteered to DM this evening so Jessica could play, and she appears to be setting out some additional torment for us. She grabs a nearby stool and places it next to us. She plugs in the wand, turns it on low, and sets it on the stool.

"That's so anyone at the party can pleasure you, whenever they feel like it. But don't forget, Angie, about your date with Lady Dimitrescu. You'd be most unwise to cum before she gets here, and she likes to arrive on the late side."

Jessica glides away, leaving us to marinate in our frustration while the vibrator rattles and buzzes on the stool beside us.