The Naughty Nymph Ch. 02

"Can't we have him arrested?"

"We can," said Rashid. "But if he has no priors he might get a few days in jail and a few lashes. That doesn't solve anything."

"Let's put him on a transport back to wherever he came from," I said. "He achieved nothing here, I doubt he'll spend money on another ticket to Zesta. That's what I hope, at least."

"I am not leaving!" he shouted, trying to get up, unsuccessfully. "Do you hear me? I am not leaving!"

"Shut up already," said Rashid and gave him another smack. "I'll call a couple of my guys, they'll get him out of here. If he causes trouble, he'll travel in a crate in the cargo hold, either way he'll be gone. All we gotta do is sit on him for a few hours."

"Fine," said Sylvie and threw her hands in the air. "But dad, you're getting a going away gift, something very special from the bottom of my heart. You came all this way, you should see me work! Cassie, let's chain him to a booth and I'll do an anal special. He can watch me get butt fucked and see how I enjoy it. Big, fat dicks stretching my asshole, I'm getting wet even thinking about it, dad!"

Or we could just lock him in a cage, I thought, but I didn't dare to make that suggestion. Sylvie was on the war path and neither I nor the other two battle-hardened veterans wanted to get on her bad side. Ever supportive, I went to the office to find some duct tape.

*

As much as we tried to make it work, we had to scrap Sylvie's plan before the first big, fat dick entered her ass. Having an unruly guy chained to a booth would have brought too much attention and I wasn't keen on explaining this whole thing to the cops.

Instead, we zip-tied him to the outside of the cage behind the containers and gagged him with duct tape. Sylvie and Anahí took turns eating each other's pussies in front of him, which he didn't appreciate, to say the least. The orgasms were obviously fake -- I had seen and heard enough to tell the difference -- but her dad had no frame of reference and it sure did a number on him. Apparently, lesbianism was almost as big a sin as anal sex, so Sylvie got her revenge.

I was glad when Rashid's buddies showed up after little more than an hour and took him off our hands. This had all been way too much drama for my taste.

Taxes

We managed to finish our shift without further incident and the next morning, after we let her sleep in, Sylvie spent most of breakfast apologizing profusely for her outbursts the other day. Of course none of us blamed her -- we all had seen her dad -- we were just glad that she was back to her normal, well-adjusted self.

Unfortunately, new trouble was on the horizon and it manifested itself in one of the most annoying forms the galaxy had to offer. As a petty bureaucrat.

He was short and balding, wearing a badly fitting cheap gray suit and he had two cops with him. I hadn't seen these two yet -- since I got here I had fucked virtually everyone from the local police station on our law enforcement discount, so they had to be from some place else.

"I am Earnest Hastings," he said, without taking his eyes off my naked breasts. "I need to speak to the owner of this establishment. One Cassidy Evangeline Anderson."

"You're looking at her," I said, already annoyed. "At her boobs, to be precise."

"Miss, I'm coming to inform you that last week's tax declaration is late."

"Oh? I didn't know it was due, I took over this business just last week. I'll get on it right away."

Dealing with this had been on my todo list, I still needed to hire an accountant. There was no way in hell I'd deal with whatever variation of the tax code they had here.

"I'm afraid you won't have time right now," he said, still staring at my breasts. "The law is the law and for missing the deadline you will receive twenty-five lashes of the neuro correctional whip."

I almost dropped my coffee mug.

"What?! Is this a joke?"

"I assure you it is not. Beggar or billionaire, we at the tax authority fulfill our duties without fear or favor. However, I am authorized to reduce your sentence by five lashes in case there are..." he took a look at our menu, "... certain mitigating circumstances."

No favor, I thought. Right.

"Let me make this very clear," I said. "It'll be a cold day in hell before that shriveled bureaucrat dick of yours ends up in one of my holes. And not for five lousy lashes anyway. If you wanna fuck, you pay. Got it?"

"Have it your way. Officers, if you'd be so kind."

One of the cops took his handcuffs off his belt. "Turn around, miss."

"You're doing this now?" I asked, putting down my coffee mug. "Can I get dressed at least?"

"Right now, miss. Or we'll add resisting arrest to your charges."

Cursing, I turned around and felt the handcuffs close around my wrists. A judicial whipping was really the last thing I needed and over some stupid tax bullshit no less. Didn't they have anything better to do than harassing small business owners?

"Don't worry," I said to Sylvie who looked more shocked than I was. "I'll be back in half an hour."

*

I had never been to deck eighty-four, so I'm not sure if we took the shortest way to the agency -- I got the distinct feeling that this was the scenic route. We entered the agency -- Everton's Judicial Punishments Inc. -- and it looked like any other agency I had seen before. A small room with a counter and a door that led to the changing rooms.

The young woman behind that counter seemed a bit surprised at first when she saw me -- clothed customers were a lot more common -- but after a quick glance she returned to her professional self and smiled at us. She looked cute in her company-issued blue pantsuit with the orange safety bracelet, a brunette with her hair tied into a bun, pleasant, friendly face, and quite busty. I couldn't help but notice how her large, full breasts strained against the fabric.

"Welcome to Everton's," she said with a courteous smile. "I'm Carla. How may I help you?"

"She gets a few, courtesy of the tax authority," said the fatter one of the cops. "Her paperwork should be here any minute."

Carla nodded. She took an orange control collar from beneath her desk and locked it around my neck. The name was no accident, from this point on I was firmly under her control -- any kind of issue and she could reduce me to a quivering mess lying on the floor. I knew the collar was connected to the bracelet she wore and if she pressed the panic button or if her vital signs showed any distress, the collar would incapacitate me in an instant.

"Are you familiar with how this works?" she asked me, raising the hand with the bracelet. "Or is this your first time?"

"I know how it works."

"Alright," she said and turned to the cops. "Thank you, gentlemen, I got it from here. Do you need me to hold her after the session?"

"No," said the fat one and unlocked my handcuffs. "She's free to go."

I rolled my eyes. Free to go, without a stitch of clothes. Brilliant. I rubbed my wrists where the cuffs had cut into them and watched the cops leave the shop before the attendant interrupted my train of thought.

"I will take you to the changing room where you can get undress-" she looked at me. "I'm sorry, force of habit. Please follow me."

We walked through a corridor with a number of doors to the right and we entered the last one. The room was small and had the usual furniture -- a bench, a shelf with a box of utilities, a few clothes hangers, and an antigrav chair with wide leg and arm rests in the middle of the room, similar to the ones used in hospitals. And there was of course another door on the other side, leading to the whipping chamber.

"Are you okay?" she asked when she saw me getting jittery. "We could do a breathing exercise together if you want."

"No, I'm good," I said, closing my eyes for a couple of seconds. "Let's get this over with."

"Alright."

She took four padded cuffs out of the box and locked them to my wrists and ankles, making sure they were a tight but comfortable fit. Each of these cuffs had two eyelets -- one on the top and one at the bottom. They would be used to connect me to the cables in the whipping chamber.

"This may sting a little," she said before jabbing my butt with a disposable injector. It was the stimulant to prevent me from passing out.

"Oh, I almost forgot," she said. "We can now offer a stopper at no extra charge."

"A stopper? What kind of stopper?"

"In order to prevent accidents during the procedure. Loss of bowel control is very common, so we're now offering a solution. It's brand new, we introduced it just last month."

I had cleaned myself out this morning, so having an accident was extremely unlikely. But curiosity got the best of me.

"Can I see it?" I asked.

"Sure," she said and took a package from the shelf, ripped it open and showed me a small plug.

"I think that's way too small for me," I said and chuckled. Considering the things that I took up my ass on a daily basis, this little thing wouldn't stop anything.

"Don't worry," she assured me. "You'll find that it works very well. It's a disposable adhesive plug that will keep you closed. Do you want to give it a try?"

"Okay," I said, still quite skeptical. "Let's do this."

"Bend over, please."

I bent over at the waist and pulled my cheeks apart to let her push the plug through my sphincter. It was so small, I barely felt it.

"Your body heat activates it. Give it five seconds and then try to push it out."

She waited patiently as I strained, trying my best to push it out. That little thing wouldn't budge.

"The adhesive starts to dissolve after about an hour. Wait for ten more minutes, then you can remove it. And now please take a seat."

I sat down and let her push the eyelets of my cuffs into slots in the arm and leg rests of the chair and the control collar's ring into one of the slots in the head rest. Now there was no way back, everything was locked in place.

"The chocolate is the only good thing about this," I said while she put a towel with a wrapped piece of chocolate and a small bottle of water on the bench.

"Yes, I like it, too. Do you want one right now?"

I nodded and she took another piece out of the box, unwrapped it, and fed me the chocolate. It was delicious like I remembered, but not as good as it would taste afterwards.

"Is there anyone I can call to bring you some clothes?" she asked. "Looks like they caught you at a bad time."

"Could you try The Naughty Nymph on deck ninety-seven? Much appreciated."

She nodded and left me alone, still nervous, but at least with a taste of chocolate on my tongue.

*

A few minutes later the door behind me opened and it was Carla again, an apologetic smile on her face and a data pad in hand.

"Sorry, I'm still waiting for your paperwork. How are you holding up?"

"I'm a bit nervous," I admitted. "More than a bit, actually."

There was no point in lying, my left leg was shaking. It was my first judicial whipping in years -- since that stupid bar fight on Emaris that I hadn't even started.

"Nobody's picking up at your place, but don't worry. Worst case you can borrow one of my uniforms, I'm not kicking you out like this, I promise."

"Thank you."

At work I spent my time naked, but walking home like this was not exactly my idea of fun. I didn't know the law on public nudity on Zesta, but if the cops picked up a naked woman without a slave collar, there was a chance that woman might end up right back in the whipping chamber.

"So you're a prostitute?" she asked. "Did I get that right?"

"Yes."

"Sometimes I'm jealous, I bet your customers are a lot happier than mine."

I laughed. "Probably. How long have you been doing this?"

"For half a year. It's part-time and only until I find something better. I came to the station to work at a casino, but I didn't get the job and this was the only thing I could find."

"You don't like it?"

"Gods no. You're relatively relaxed, all things considered, but a lot of the people who come here are super scared, it takes a lot of energy to talk them into that chair. I'm just glad I'm not in the whipping chamber, seeing the results is bad enough."

"You guys do a lot of work for the government?" I asked.

"Some. The tax authority is a big customer, but we get most of our work from private companies who send their employees."

It seemed to me like almost everyone these days had a discipline clause in their contract. And for motivation a session at such an agency worked wonders -- in any case it was a whole lot cheaper than paying bonuses.

She looked at her data pad.

"There it is, your paperwork came. Hang in there, in a few minutes it'll be over. Good luck!"

*

The door towards the whipping chamber opened and the chair hovered towards the large red circle at the center of the chamber. The circle had a diameter of two meters and there were steel cables with hooks hanging from the ceiling and embedded in the floor.

I looked around and shuddered when I saw the bot. It wasn't humanoid, just a cylinder with an antigrav drive, one and a half meters high, with an arm that had the neuro correctional whip attached. I knew from experience that these things moved fast, much faster than a human could, and no matter how much I squirmed, the whip would always find its target.

An attendant connected the hooks to the eyelets of my cuffs, then he pressed a button on his comlink, releasing the locks that had tied me to my seat. I stepped off the chair and another press of a button and the cables were pulled taut while the chair automatically moved over to the side.

I was now standing spread-eagle in the middle of the chamber and there hadn't been a second when I could have escaped or caused any trouble.

People say that the anticipation is worse than the actual thing -- which may be true in many cases, but certainly not here. The first lash makes you realize that you're in way over your head. Any illusions you had about your own strength went right out the non-existent window.

When that first lash finally did land on my back with a loud, satisfying crack, it knocked the wind out of my lungs. While the physical hit was bad in itself, the neuro whip sent a wave of pain across my entire body, amplifying the pain of the impact a hundredfold. I groaned, shifting my weight between my legs, taking short, shallow breaths.

Ten seconds later, before the pain had fully subsided, the next lash hit me, building on what I still felt from the previous one. I danced in my bonds, still able to think more or less clearly, angry at myself and the universe for getting myself into this mess.

More lashes landed, causing cramps in my limbs and increasing the agony. I groaned and cursed myself for the tenth time. At this point I would have agreed to commit the Teraxian tax code to memory if only we could call it a day, so my sentence had its educational effect, at least in this very moment. Even though I hadn't was still trying to avoid the whip -- unsuccessfully, of course -- I knew it wouldn't be long now, my legs were getting weaker and it became harder and harder getting them to move.

The dance stopped at lash seven when my legs gave out, which they always did at some point. For the rest of the punishment I just hung by my wrists, my legs twitching uncontrollably.

I would have gone to the bathroom before my session if I hadn't left in such a hurry, but it was too late now. In the past I had tried hard to hold it, but there was really no point -- I had nothing to prove, what would follow could happen to anyone and it would happen sooner or later.

I lost my halfhearted fight against my bladder at lash twelve, but I wasn't embarrassed when the urine ran down my legs, splashing everywhere. What I was more concerned about were the remaining thirteen lashes. The pain was building up to levels that are very hard to describe, it was just the stims that kept me conscious.

As I hung in my bonds after lash twenty, I realized that something was wrong. I waited, clenched up and tense, but number twenty-one didn't land. Had I miscounted? Definitely not -- I wouldn't miss five lashes. Maybe the bot had a malfunction? Gods, would I have to wait until they got it fixed? I hoped they didn't start over with another twenty, on the house.

It was only when the attendant locked me back into the chair that I was sure that the ordeal was behind me.

*

When I arrived in my changing room, the locks disengaged and I sat there for a few minutes, taking deep breaths to calm myself down. It took a while until the spasms stopped and I had regained control over my limbs. Had it always been this bad? Hadn't I more or less walked out of a whipping when I was younger? Crawled rather than walked, if we're being honest, but still.

I took a sip of water and ate my second piece of chocolate before I picked up the towel from the bench and wiped the tears from my eyes and the sweat and urine from my body. I'd need a few more minutes until I was back to my old self.

"You made it," said Carla and checked my back for broken skin. "All good, you're a little bit red, but that'll pass in an hour. We'll mail you the certificate of correction and the video later today."

She handed me a blue uniform.

"It's not washed and I don't have shoes or underwear for you, but it's better than nothing, I suppose."

"You're a lifesaver. I really appreciate it, thank you."

The uniform was a loose fit, she had wider hips and larger breasts than me, but it didn't matter, I would only wear it for a few minutes.

"You'll get it back tomorrow," I said. "Washed and ironed."

"Don't worry about it. Your deck is on my way home, I'll pick it up after my shift. And now go and relax, you deserve some rest."

*

On the way to the public elevator I met Sylvie, out of breath, carrying a small bundle of clothes under her arm.

"Sorry," she said. "There's half a dozen agencies, we didn't know which one they took you to. How did it go? Are you okay?"

"Yeah, all good," I said, putting on the shoes she had brought. "Missing the tax deadline is twenty lashes, not twenty-five. It's just a game this fucking bureaucrat plays to extort free stuff."

"Actually," said Sylvie, smirking, "Anahí fucked him to get your lashes reduced. I'm impressed that he got hard, I think she scared him a little."