The Lemurian Institute Pt. 02

The discovery of the buried and hidden cities and artifacts from the ancient sunken continent of Lemuria marked a sea change in 21st century science, history, and civilization. Expeditions into the Antarctic wastes, the undersea ruins, and the massive pockets of air hidden deep in the earth where the advanced, pre-human civilization retreated to (before vanishing entirely) have only just started--but already they have yielded bizarre and disturbing relics, objects of an advanced, inhuman technology, and copious pictograms and wall carvings and documents depicting a society with intense sexual and social domination. As the world tries to cope with, and understand these new discoveries, the cultural norms and behaviors have begun to shift rapidly towards what it appears Earth's first intelligent inhabitants (who for the most part appear very much like humans) engaged in.

This is nothing to say of the sometimes disturbing finds that the barest exploration into these newly uncovered realms have brought back.

Editor's Note: The first part got cut off before the very end and my TO BE CONTINUED. Sorry about that. I didn't catch it.

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Another laugh, another stroke.

POW! I gasp--the hot-water sensitized skin blazes under her stroke. I hear her inhale--an Mhhmm--hmmm--sound of pleasure. OH! The sharp pain.

POW! POW! SPLAT! SMACK!!

I gasp. Somehow I hold position. Her looking down at me helps me submit to the humiliating thrust she made me do. OW! OWWW!! The blazing pain scatters my thoughts--oh--OWW!

"Ohh--" her voice is just a touch husky. "We're going to do this more often, Little-Slave! I like spanking you!"

POW! POW! POW! I actually cry out at the last. No more silent gasps. The spank is too hot--too sharp. How long will this go on? The embers of panic start to rise in me. Tears sting my eyes--hot star-bursts of pain in my buttocks.

POW! POW! POWW! I loose a yelp--mortifying. I hear her snicker. POW!!! An even harder one! She was going easy on me! Ohh!! SHIT!! I cry out again--and she's rubbing now. I burst into tears.

We cuddled for several minutes, both naked, me sobbing softly in her lap, leaking lubrication into the towel. She kissed me a few times.

Now I'm kneeling by the door to my Domina's apartment, awaiting her return. I still feel the afterglow of the spanking--a 'hand spanking'--but on my wet, sensitized buttocks, it seemed so much worse. I'm still, thoughts racing.

I can't take this--I shouldn't have done this. It's worse than I thought. All of this flitters away with Mistress Christina appearing in the hall.

END Pt. 01

The Corrections Kennels -- Cassandra

Cassandra was still a broiling ball of pain and discomfort. She had been returned to the 'kennels' in a kind of wheelchair that seemed like an oversized baby stroller. Her knees spread, she sat, wrists and ankles restrained against the padded seat. She wore nothing but the stupid, humiliating diaper as the slave girl wheeled her across the campus, students looking at the wretched girl being pushed along.

The stroller has a bright orange "Corrections" banner on it, so everyone knows what it's being used for. Cassandra cried, thickly, all the way back.

Under the diaper her buttocks are swollen and crossed with small welts or blisters. Her thighs as well--if they touch? Pain! They are spread though so there's little chance of that. Her clit is a blazing star of a welt and the rest of her pussy is thick and sore and itching badly. She moaned and sobbed and squirmed as much as she could, desperate for even a particle--a tea-spoon--of relief.

She didn't get it.

Now, hours later she lays, face down, on one of the Kennel's 'recovery beds.' The diaper is a little wet from her leakage (both lubrication and pee) and adds to the humiliating discomfort. Other corrections girls--and a couple of boys are being returned.

Most walk--or at least waddle--some are wheeled in, similarly a wreck. The boy she saw is brought in naked, still erect. She looks at his stiffened purple cock jutting up. His swollen testicles bulged between his thighs. He looked wrung out.

The attendants cuffed his arms to one of the recovery beds and locked his feet into spread stirrups. He moaned, now exposed, his cock sticking up, purple and shiny with pre-cum.One of the girls wiped it carefully and gently with a baby wipe and he moaned when she stopped, needing the continued attention. The attendants giggled at that.

They brought Cassandra two pills and a small glass of water. She took them, and the girl placed a nozzle near her face going to a water-filled bladder.

"Go ahead and suck on that," she'd said. "I want it all gone by night time--okay? Hydrate."

Cassandra had moaned softly.

"If there's any left, there'll be a little punishment, honey," she'd said. Cassandra had whimpered. She sucked on the water. When she'd asked to go to the bathroom, later, the girl had patted her diaper. "Use that, honey," she'd said.

After a while, her urethra itching from the blue paint, burning from the kiss of the brush, she had.

The tablets helped, and she slept.

She was awakened by one of the attendants changing her diaper--she was dreaming. The dream felt odd--and she remembered it clearly even coming out of sleep. It was a nightmare--expected in a place like this, surely.

In the dream she was back on the 'spanking hoop', naked and stretched out. In it she wore a metal band on her head, a strange bone-ceramic bra that seemed to cup and seal to her breasts. And, worst of all, a metallic "thong" chastity belt with rounded prods in her anus and vagina.

It also sealed and it didn't hurt exactly--none of it hurt or bit into the skin--but it sealed there--and under the metal surfaces were small constant itches--discomforts to remind her they were there and she was helpless to address them.

In the dream she felt horribly vulnerable, exposed to the masses--and although there were rows of the hoops and girls and boys suffering in them, she felt like she was the center of dreadful attention.

Strange people in brightly colored clothes watched her from a stone causeway, appreciating her squirming and shifting. They were pleased by her discomfort and her humiliation. That was bad--the fishbowl feeling--the awful seal of the metal, a constant mild punishment and the abject removal of her ability to address her own body.

Worse, though was the Thing at the top of the stepped pyramid. She didn't want to look at it and she didn't. When she did, it was like at the top was a huge "blind spot" where the sky and the stones came together, cutting out a sphere dozens of yards across. Whatever was there, she couldn't see it.

Looking at it made her afraid--she felt the impossible space staring back into her.

Around the 'blind spot' were a corona of tendrils. They were translucent greenish and Stygian colors--both impossibly dark and impossibly saturated. Her mind couldn't grasp them. The tendrils flowed and waved and once in a while--once in a while a tendril from the "cloud" snapped out to touch one of the subjects in their hoop!

She heard a boy squeal when it tapped him between his anus and scrotum. He bucked, and she could see his anus dilate to the size of a big man's closed fist. He thrashed in the restraints, his scrotum swollen as well, purple veins standing out and creeping along it. It had to be growing to as large as a basketball. His cock pulsed little spurts of fluid. He screamed and thrashed.

The tendril moved and then in a second, horrible flex, pushed into the boy's open anus. She saw his entire body clench and thrust and fight. The touch had to be awful. His stomach flexed as he pushed out as hard as he could, trying to expel the tentacle.

Gasping sobs and he collapsed, whimpering, the tendril snaking back.

She had to hold out: she had to keep some composure--or else the Terrible Thing's touch would come for HER.

It was from this nightmare that she was awakened by the aide replacing her wet diaper with a thick dry one, fastening it at the hips after spreading some powder over her region. The paint had dried and the attendant had told another girl that her region would be colored dimly for several weeks: a reminder of her punishment.

Thankfully most of the discomfort had departed, leaving her with a feeling of dirtiness and grime over her region. Itching under the diaper--but thankfully not as horribly as before, the attendants had loosened her restraints so she could sleep more normally.

She squirmed. The memories of the dream were vivid and she--oh--she wanted desperately to cum. She bit her lower lip awash in white-hot memories of humiliation and punishment. She sniffled and lay a hand over the front curve of the diaper.

A reduction in her sentence or no, she didn't think she could take weeks of this. She wasn't sure she could handle another day!

She didn't have a choice.

In the morning, after being fed in a long hall where talking was not allowed, she stood with the others against a wall and the corrections subjects were collected by various assistants and aides for whatever was being examined today.

Some of the girls wore armbands in color indicating whether they had proved 'difficult' recently. They mostly knelt, heads bowed, their feet locked into the plastic punishment shoes that would cause agony if they stood or tried to run!

One of them, a black girl, wore one of the colorful head-dresses locked around her mouth. She squirmed and sobbed in silence.

"Chin up."

A tall girl wearing the same kind of metal headband on her head that the girl Lenna had worn as well reached out to touch her chin and gently push it up. Cassandra complied. She felt heat in her face as the girl fastened a leather collar--a dog collar--around her neck. The girl clipped a leash to it and Cassandra flinched.

This wasn't necessary--oh--ugh!

Cassandra's eyes flashed in a glare and the girl smiled. It wasn't even a smirk--just a little grin of recognition.

"I'm Taylin," she said, taking the lead and giving the faintest of tugs. "I'm assisting in the Blue Laboratorium. Very exciting stuff!"

Cassandra didn't answer but swallowed and gave a faint nod as the girl led her across the campus. The girl went slowly, which was good because Cassandra was still chaffed and sore and could only waddle. Others passing could tell with a look she was experiencing distress down there. The added leash and the orange prison uniform was a nexus of humiliation.

"You got it good yesterday," Taylin said, hints of cheer or appreciation in her voice. "I hope for your sake today will be a little more mild."

Cassandra couldn't tell if she was sincere or not--but it sounded remarkably legitimate.

"Thanks," she mumbled. The girl patted her backside--a mild flinch through the prison pants and the diaper she still wore.

The building was big. It was brick with white masonry and arches leading to the inset doors. Cassandra was led inside where the air was cooler and there were... smells. Unidentifiable but slightly unpleasant, like a strange spice.

There were two sets of 'airlocked doors' with a security station and cameras. The two had to be buzzed through after the guard woman reviewed Taylin's identity lanyard. Cassandra was ignored by her and was led through. Inside were tiled halls with high ceilings. The paint on the walls. The campus, she had heard, was originally a university taken over by the Institute after the Lemurian discoveries.

The Blue lab, a thick door--industrial metal with an electronic lock and security camera above it--opened and led to a short "corridor" of expanded plastic--a sort of decontamination set up with fans in the ceiling.

They moved through it without any noticeable treatment and waited at the far door of the 12' plastic hall until it opened.

A man in a lab-coat had opened the door--and a boy--a student--was at a table with some kind of green metal machine which looked to Cassandra like an engine floated above it. The "engine" was about a yard and a half high and wide and two yards long. It had thick tubes and radiator grids and a curved, smooth-edged "hole" at one end of it.

There were computer stations and terminals and cameras around it and she felt a little twinge of fear as the engine thing turned slowly, as though in a breeze, pointing the now yawing open tube end at them. A young woman in a lab coat at one of the terminals looked up.

"Contact," she said. "It's definitely identified them."

Taylin, holding the leash, lowered her head submissively. Cassandra saw her hand tighten on the leash lead. The girl shuddered--she was--scared?

Cassandra looked at the strange machine with fear. How the fuck was it just floating there in air? It must weigh... a ton? More?

The professor or doctor or whatever who seemed to be in charge gestured to the boy.

"Separate them and bring the corrections girl over here. See who it tracks," he told the girl at the desk.

The boy walked over. He didn't look exactly sympathetic--excited, uneasy. He reached out and took Cassandra's wrist--then, in his other hand, the leash.

She felt a surge of anger at that. He could've just told her to come over to the thing. She didn't have to be led around like a dog.

Taylin gave her a little rub on the small of her back. Cassandra was unexpectedly thankful for that. Then the boy walked her across the room. Cassandra went with him.

The girl at the station: "It's--I'm not sure. There are changes in its telluric currents. It still looks like it's tracking--I'm not sure--"

"Slave," said the professor to Taylin, "Out."

"Yes, master," the girl said softly. She turned and walked back into the tunnel. Cassandra watched her go, alarmed to be left here by her with these people.

The boy gave her a little tug moving her up to the lab table the machine floated above. She looked at it--it was turning slowly bobbing just a little--but its tube end pointed directly at her. She knew even as the computer-girl reported:

"It's tracking her."

Ughh. The professor nodded. "Stewart--high chair."

"Yes sir." He looped the leash over one of the faucets like he was tying a dog and went and fetched a high chair with attached tray and everything. It was sturdy enough to hold Cassandra but it didn't look like a humiliation device--just the largest regular high chair they could get. Ugh--somehow that was even worse.

"Climb into the chair, girl," said the lead scientist to Cassandra. "This artifact will examine you there."

She wanted to ask questions, but she did as she was told silently. The boy--Stewart--helped her into the chair and then after a moment, closed the tray. It was tight--if Cassandra wasn't naturally small, it might not've worked. Sitting on the padded seat was uncomfortable but she knew better than to complain--they didn't want to hear it.

She looked at the machine and looked away. It was still drifting a bit. The end of the tube where it stuck out was rounded off--smooth. She thought she could hear a slight sound from it. A static? It sounded like crowds she'd heard at sporting events: throngs of people shouting at a distance--a soft undulating roar.

"Dr. Denning?" The computer girl.

"Nara?"

"I think--I think it's centering. I have telemetry coming from new areas. It's 'sniffing' her."

"MMm--maybe. Girl?" Cassandra looked at him, wide eyed.

A silence.

"Sir?" she asked softly, timidly.

He gave a slight nod. "Your name, girl?"

"C-Cassandra--Cassi--" she swallowed.

"Cassi," he said, and she felt both of his assistants looking at her, "You will tell me if you feel or sense anything. Truthfully and completely, yes?"

"Yes sir."

"Good girl. If you perform well here I will not send you for further punishment after this test. Be disagreeable and you'll be put in a donkey pillory."

Cassandra gulped. She'd seen them: blunt triangular seats with hung yokes for the wrists and neck. The occupant 'sat' on the uncomfortable blunt edge without her pants, her weight on her sex against it.

"I'll be good, sir," she whispered.

He nodded.

"I know you will," said the assistant Stewart, putting an arm around her.

She didn't really like the over-friendly touch but she nodded with it--she wasn't going to antagonize anyone here.

"OH!" she cried out! A sudden image--and the ghost of a sensation erupted in her mind. The image was her, corrections suit removed, along with the diaper, bent over the lab table, Stewart's cock deep and unlubricated in her anus.

She'd tried anal once and even with a LOT of lubrication, she'd really disliked it. Here the painful stretch and the needing-to-poop fullness was sudden, awful sensation she felt in her aft--not just her imagination.

The computer girl: "It fired!"

The professor: "What did you experience? Tell me!"

She gasped--she didn't want to say this--to explain--but unsure and worried, she did.

"B-being--an image of being--of your assistant--he was--" she fumbled.

"Calm down, Cassi--" the professor said more calmly. "Use your words. It's okay."

Stewart patted her shoulder. Oh--ughh.

Silence. "I was being--fucked--" she was afraid to use the vulgar word, but even more afraid to say 'raped'--"b-by him--here--o-over the table."

The hand was removed in surprise. She looked miserably down at the highchair tray.

The girl: "How was the--the intercourse--happening?"

"My--my a--a--from the rear."

"Vaginal?" The girl pressed. What did she know??

Cassandra shook her head, her face flaming. "Anal," she said. "It hurt."

The girl nodded to the professor: "Match," she said.

"Hmm."

He was examining something on a screen. "Good girl," he told Cassandra. "Keep that level of clarity and honesty and you won't need to be sent to the donkey."

"Charging," said the girl.

"What does it--" whatever the professor said next, it was eclipsed by a sudden terrible flash in Cassandra's mind.

The image--the fantasy--like a short clip of film unreeled in her imagination--but also utterly real at the same time--the experience of a nightmare fantasy.

She was in a great hall with carved rock walls. There was odd furniture around: great curved tables with several tiers, padded furniture that only some of seemed to accommodate humans. She, herself was strapped into goldish-colored device that held her face up, arms bound under her and her ankles spread and pressed back so her region was proffered.

The three of them--the professor, the computer girl Nara, and Stewart were all sitting around her, laughing--talking--drinking from fluted glasses.

She hurt. They had cigarette like things--smoking sticks in their hands and periodically they would tip the ash and embers off into her vagina which was opened by a speculum. She shrieked silently as it burned--not badly--but enough to hurt quite a lot.

Nara had stubbed out a few of the smoke-sticks on her buttocks leaving little round buns that left her breathless. The headdress she was wearing cupped around her face, under her chin and over her mouth, silencing her.

Stewart paused in his conversation, glanced down at her--abject humiliation overcoming her pain for moments as she fought helplessly to close her legs in front of him. The headdress seemed to amplify her plight making the exposure a terrible violation every moment.

But then she wailed and arched as he stubbed out his own smoke-stick on her erect clitoris.

In the highchair she gasped and let out a whine. Her hand gripped herself through the pants. She gasped and panted and gagged and let out a sob.

"Mark," said Nara. "It's... charging, I think."

"What did you experience," the professor asked. "Slowly and clearly now, girl."

She swallowed. She shot a glare at Nara--what did she see on her screen??