rackWrite's Reckoning

This little ditty started life as a script for a play session with my partner—though I dare not try to submit it in Loving Wives! I was the only punishee in that session, but those of you familiar with some of my other stories will understand I couldn't resist turning it into a group session here.

The setting, a judicial punishment, is of course non-consensual, but I can't help imagining that my four companions, like me, are here at least partly by choice. In real life consent must be explicit—this is fiction.

"Preparations for punishment session three are complete, Ma'am," the computer-like voice intones, coming from nowhere and everywhere at once.

The door to the chamber opens. The disembodied voice continues, consigning us to our fate.

"The convicts are fully immobilized and configured for genital torment. All electrical self-tests are passing. Everything is in order, ready for you to begin."

We, the unfortunate convicts, get no further introduction. Our Tormentress, enclosed in stunning latex and leather, radiating correctional severity as she strides briskly in, needs nothing more.

Five of us, all convicted of sexual misdemeanors—that's why we're configured for genital torment—squirm side by side in our implacable bonds. Bound in wrist and ankle cuffs, legs spread wide, backs held tight to our punishment racks with bands across our chests and bellies, arms secured below, we cannot escape, regardless of how desperately we struggle.

I struggle anyway, testing the bonds. They perform as expected, forcing me to reflect on my crime, the reason I'm here.

How I squirmed, bound merely in handcuffs and flushed with shame as the judge stared at me from her high bench. Her stony expression barely hid her glee as she pronounced my sentence.

"You will be taken from this courtroom directly to the place of correction, where at the state's convenience you will be immobilized supine with your testicles, penis, anus and nipples fitted with electrical contacts, by means of which you will be subjected to class three torment, as befits your crime."

I couldn't believe how elated I felt!

She wasn't finished.

"Recognizing your specific crime, your punishment will be enhanced accordingly. During your chastisement you will be forced to listen to selected passages of your writing, read out loud over headphones clamped over your ears."

My heart plunged.

Her stern voice sounded once more, hammering shut the coffin of my despair.

"I made the recording myself."

++++

Early this morning I was fetched from my cell to serve my sentence; now I'm on my back, securely bound alongside four others. Ten testicles find themselves squeezed into tight-fitting elastic casings, well greased with electro-gel to ensure we make good contact with the punishment electrodes pressed to our scrota. Electrical sleeves enclose our penises.

My sentence didn't mention the erection-enhancing drug I was forced to swallow before I was taken from my cell. Imagine how subjugated I feel, swelling involuntarily, pleasurably, for now, into the instrument soon to torment me so intimately. My companions in crime, reflected in the mirrors above, stiffen helplessly alongside me.

A massive stainless steel probe challenges my rectum. I squirm, exploring the depth of the probe's penetration, wondering what I'll experience when it's activated, how I'll shudder with agony when its chastening bolts surge through my gut on their path to the electrical cuffs tight around my belly and thighs, which, I suppose, will also independently convulse me, excruciatingly for sure. Together with the cuffs, the cruel, hard probe severely limits my pelvic movement.

But that's not all...

Demure electrical cups pressed to my nipples belie their potency; their frightful sting I can at this point only imagine. All I feel is a faint tingling as the system checks, one by one in sinister rotation, the integrity of all my torment-connections. Our Tormentress is entering, but I can't see her directly, owing to the strap over my head, holding my ball gag in place—I've been told she prefers our screams mostly suppressed.

No, I can't move my head enough to look at her directly, but I can watch her reflection in the mirrors as she moves about the chamber.

How beautiful, how terrifying, how delicious! Her smile, her professional detachment, her silky black hair dangling over her back, gathered in her silver ring, swaying side to side as she paces the chamber.

"Are we all sitting comfortably? No, we're not sitting, I see. I believe I'm going to enjoy myself today. It's so nice to have you all greeting me with such enthusiasm!"

I swell painfully into my sleeve as she glances across the row of encased erections. She chuckles, taking note of our uniform response to her awe-inspiring presence.

"Well, it's not going to be all fun and games, not for you five." She waves her head mock-seriously.

"I plan to have fun though, making you squirm, watching you struggle, trying desperately to escape as I torture all those nice, stiff cocks with electricity. I could make you come, you know, all at once if I wanted, but I won't—it would be too cruel. Punishment after orgasm is so much more intense. You're so lucky the judge didn't impose that sentence!" She pauses, snickering, to let that sink in.

"Besides, I wouldn't want you to lose all those lovely hard-ons."

She slides the control pad from her pocket and enters a password.

"So, let's check this out."

As if we have any part in the decision!

She taps the screen.

URRRMPHH...

Our five bodies jerk upwards against our restraints; five pairs of jaws clamp down on five gags. A vicious throb surges through five defenseless penises.

She laughs. "Good—you all responded as I expected. Of course, the equipment assured me you would." A malicious grin crosses her lips.

"Thought I'd check anyway."

I'm transfixed by her terrifying potency; my tumescence doesn't abate a whit in spite of our painful preview. I can be confident I'll remain pressed firmly on the dreadful contacts lining my sleeve, thrusting myself wholly into her tormenting apparatus until she finishes executing my sentence. I'll stay rock-solid for however long it takes.

She approaches. She stands over me—her icy gaze pierces my bound body, boring a thrilling, harrowing channel from my eyeballs to the tip of my probe, penetrating the very depths of my being. I struggle desperately, utterly unable to escape her psychic embrace. Then I relax, submitting to her diabolical sorcery. She picks up another instrument of torture, the headphones whose cables lead to little portable player taped just behind my head. She clamps the headphones over my ears, enclosing me in temporary silence. I gaze with abject longing into the austere beauty of her face, delighting in her dark, dangling hair, reveling in her inscrutable smile. I glance at the overhead mirrors, at my companions squirming anxiously on either side. Our purifying chastisement is about to commence.

But I am the only one wearing headphones.