Zoom Punishment Pt. 01

This takes place on the small island nation of Tersnia which has very unusual laws about sexuality, dominance, and submission--as well as practicing various forms of sexual punishment. It's somewhere in Asia.

Tersnia is an economic miracle and a Technocracy's Technocracy. Run by both a human council and an artificial intelligence, it is wealthy and has advanced technology throughout it.

Vicky is an American who works for a Tersnian company and has relocated there for career prospects (and maybe other interests). She is still in the "Green Zone" section of the city under quarantine for two weeks that all foreigners go through when visiting the island nation.

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Vicky nervously double-checked her work-from-home set up. The desktop computer was fine, but she slightly adjusted the camera to better point at the reclining chair she'd bought for the specific purpose. Her mind roiled as she looked at the camera screen on her monitor—pointing directly down into the chair . . . where her naked bottom and sex were going to sit in . . . 8 minutes? Shit.

She'd cleaned up the apartment in a whirl of energy yesterday—now it looked, well, okay. Clean. Her work group probably wouldn't see much of it, anyway. The camera was going to be pointed at her the whole time—ohh! Ugh! She blushed. She was hugely tempted to say fuck-it and quit and leave. She'd have to leave the apartment and she'd need to get a ticket to the mainland—and then back to America.

Her corporate travel card would be shut down and the payments into her trust wouldn't be accessible . . . so she'd need to just use what she had in her bank account. The disciplinary hold on her passport would show up at any of the official travel offices that would easily get her off the island. She could . . . run to the US embassy? But she knew that was probably not going to work either. Oh—ugh.

Five minutes. She was wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt. Her hair was tied back in a tail. The instructions, printed out and laying on her desk, had a number of bold-faced directives.

Wear loose clothing without underclothes. Do not wear clothing you are unwilling to have cut away.

Make-up and cosmetics are unadvisable.

Use the toilet before your appointment.

Remove all jewelry save for wedding rings or ownership collars.

Remove all pubic hair, underarm hair, and leg hair.

She'd visited a salon yesterday for the last item. The girl had asked if it was for punishment and she'd lied and said "no." It was clear the technician didn't believe her—but she'd gotten the non "disciplinary" waxing, anyway. That had been bad enough!

The computer's alert chimed—incoming Call. Shit-shit-shit. She clicked on it.

Ms. Taskirs face appeared—her formal work close—a pale pink pantsuit and wide office-view window behind her looked terrifyingly official.

The severe looking Asian woman looked her over. Vicky felt young and small and vulnerable.

"Are you shaved?" her boss asked by way of introduction.

"y-yes, miss," Vicky squeaked.

"Good. Did you pee?"

Oh-ughhh! "y-yes?" she couldn't quite make it a strong statement. But it appeared Ms. Taskirs was okay with that, anyway.

"Good. The disciplinarian will be there shortly," said the woman. "Once you're positioned, I will invite the team in. Breathe, Vicky—breathe."

Vicky realized she was shaking—trembling—all over. The idea of being naked in front of the team was awful—the punishment . . . she couldn't even really think about that. She didn't know what it would entail but she felt certain she couldn't take anything.

Ms. Taskirs eyed her. "You have six more days of travel quarantine, Vicky-kan," she said, using the diminutive suffix like she would with a child. "you've gotten your first punishment ticket and you're not even in the office yet."

"I'm sorry!" begged Vicky, suddenly. "I just—I got angry—I'm sorry!"

"I know," Ms. Taskirs said. "But you understand that young women don't speak over senior executives no matter what. Certainly not to make sarcastic insulting comments! "

Vicky gritted her teeth. The all-hands meeting had been three days ago and the executive talking about how the tiny island nation of Tersnia had overtaken America in productivity and technology had sounded, well, pretty biased. She'd thought she was on a private channel when she said the executive was being a moron. But it had gone out over the team channel and then on the main one.

She'd gotten a punishment ticket within the hour.

"I didn't—" Vicky started. Her door-alert chimed. Shit. The disciplinarian was here.

"Go let her in," Ms. Taskirs said. "Follow instructions."

Ughhh. Vicky walked to the door of her unit and set it to unlock. The chime meant the officer was in the building. She knew that Tersnia was extremely renowned for its social punishments—but she hadn't even made her 3 week quarantine. Images of the public pillories, stockades, and 'high chairs' flitted through her mind. The sexual element of the punishments was . . . interesting to her—in the abstract—or when it wasn't her. But now—now it would be. The door pinged. Vicky felt like she might faint.

She just stared at it. It was open—the disciplinarian could enter—but she was probably supposed to get it? Oh! She stepped forward as the door opened.

The woman was slim. She wore a uniform that looked like a military uniform to Vicky—severe, with a dark skirt and jacket with insignia on it and shoulder bars. She wore white gloves and had a tool belt like a police officer—but without easily identified objects. She carried a bag. She wore a mask—part of the quarantine protocol. Vicky stood stock-still unable to know what she should do. The woman walked across the room to the monitor, looked it over, identifying the camera and the chair. The disciplinarian's eyes met Ms. Taskirs'.

"We will commence with the punishment in twenty minutes," the disciplinarian said in a clipped tone. Ms. Taskir nodded and agreed in the native language of the island. Vicky felt light-headed. The officer put the meeting software on hold, the camera switching to red—off.

The woman turned.

"You are Vicky Truman?" she asked, holding up some kind of electronic device to look at both it and Vicky.

Vicky nodded, her mouth dry.

"And you have a punishment ticket?"

Vicky nodded again.

The young officer nodded.

"Sit down on the couch," she pointed. "I'm going to explain the process to you."

Vicky nodded. After a moment of paralysis, she moved over and sat on the sofa.

The officer was examining the reclining chair. She opened her bag and took a folded pad and opened it so it covered a good deal of the seat. "When did you last pee?" she asked.

Ohh, fuck. "This morning," Vicky said in a small voice.

"Right after you got up?" asked the woman. She had removed a bar with cuffs on it and was affixing it to the arms of the reclining chair.

"yes'm," whimpered Vicky.

The woman paused, and then went into the bag again, removing another thicker pad which she spread over the first. "You're going to pee in front of all of your co-workers, then," she said. Vicky gasped—she felt her hands tremble.

The woman examined the chair, checked the position of the web-camera and then, satisfied, came over to the couch.

She sat softly next to Vicky and reached over, taking her hands.

"To have a work visa like you do, you must have been extensively briefed and tested on Tersnian discipline," the woman said, gently. "You should have been offered a chance to experience a mild corporal punishment?"

Vicky nodded mutely.

"But you didn't take it?"

Vicky shook her head. She could feel tears.

The woman drew in a breath, seemed to mentally count several numbers, then nodded to herself.

"If I was allowed," she said, holding Vicky's hands in hers, "I'd delay this until after your quarantine period and we'd do this in a punishment studio—I think you'd do better with that—but you broke corporate policy and got a discipline ticket—and since you're under care of the Central Authority, I have to carry it out."

Vicky nodded again. Was there any way out of this? Could she . . . quit? Flee? Plead.

"Let's go to your bedroom," the officer said. "My name is Sumi." She drew Vicky to her feet and guided her back down the hall to where her bedroom door was partially open.

Ugh--her bedroom was a mess: she'd cleaned the kitchen and main space knowing the officer would come--but she hadn't done anything with her bedroom.

Clothes lay piled over a chair. The bed itself was unmade. A couple of empty glasses sat on the night-stand. Vicky blushed dully as the officer took it in--she didn't say anything though.

"Very well--this is meant to be quite unpleasant--and embarrassing--and it's going to be--but it is just a punishment and you'll survive it. I want you to cooperate with me, apply yourself to learning the lesson, and be obedient."

Her voice was, frankly, calming--and Vicky found herself nodding. Maybe if she could be extremely obedient--extremely cooperative--she could get as little as possible.

"Okay, I am going to undress you. I've done it lots before--in both my public job and privately -"

Sumi move forward and gently gathered her t-shirt, drawing it up.

"Everything?" asked Vicky, stupidly.

Sumi nodded. "This is going to be done naked."

Vicky stifled a sound and raised her arms.

"Good girl," Sumi said drawing the shirt over her head. "If you must cover your chest, I'll allow it. Generally it's frowned upon though."

Vicky folded her arms over her breasts. They weren't large and while she hadn't thought she was shy about it, it turned out she was.

Sumi hooked her thumbs into Vicky's waistband and squatted, drawing them down.

Vicky gasped, her face going beet red.

"Put a hand on the wall," Sumi said, not looking up. Vicky, slowly, did.

"Good. Lift your left foot--Your other left--Good."

Vicky realized she'd picked up her right foot first and felt stupid. "Sorry," she breathed.

"It's okay," Sumi said. She had taken the pants off over the raised foot.

"Now pick up the other.

Vicky did and felt the pants come off. She was naked. She pushed her thighs together. She butterflies in her stomach. She thought she might burst into tears. Sumi stood, fluidly, folding the pants and placing them on the bed. She'd folded the t-shirt professionally too.

"Okay--I am going to sit on the bed--" said Sumi stepping around to sit. "And I want you to lay over my lap--here--like this."

She beckoned to Vicky who stepped over and then, awkwardly, lay her stomach on Sumi's lap. Her face lay against the cool sheets. She felt the gloved hand light on her bare bottom.

"Were you ever spanked over a lap?" Sumi asked. She sounded curious.

"When I was little," Vicky said.

"It's okay to feel little," Sumi said, stroking her buttocks. "The humiliation of being punished does that."

Vicky braced herself for a slap.

Sumi continued with her hand there, rubbing slightly.

"When we go into the room," Sumi said, "I'm going to put you in the chair, put on the restraints, and start the call."

Vicky nodded. This was horrible--unthinkably humiliating. To be naked in front of all her new co-workers.

"Then, there will be a brief lecture. You just be silent and say 'yes ma'am' when I ask you if you understand. Okay?"

"Okay," she whimpered.

"Then I will carry out the punishment. It will involve some very light percussive slaps to some sensitive parts of your anatomy," she stroked Vicky's thighs, "followed by the application of a Pull Generator to your pudenda."

"A Pull Generator?" Vicky asked.

"You've seen our Time Out stations?" Sumi asked.

Vicky had: they looked like men's-room urinals to her. White basins with a tube rising from the top to which wrists were affixed. The subject straddled the 'bowl' either facing the wall or facing out.

When they were there, they were in "Time Out." She'd read that Time Out lasted about ten to sixty minutes and had a range of punishment from one to seven. She'd seen pictures of subjects with their pants removed, squirming on the seat. The official pictures showed young men or miserable looking young women fully clothed staring out from the unit.

She understood that at the bottom, where a drain would be in a urinal, was the Pull Generator--the punishment . . . device? Emitter? Whatever it was--that caused the discomfort.

She also had read that on settings of 3 or higher, the subject might have an accident, peeing into the generator--which was both worse for the subject--but also humiliating. If it was going to be a longer time-out or at a higher frequency, the subject often begged to have their clothing removed!

"I'm going to use it at level 1," Sumi said. "For our purposes, that'll be enough."

"H-how long?" Vicky asked.

"The ticket says eight minutes. I have discretion to end it at six."

"Oh." Vicky swallowed. That didn't sound . . . awful? "Is it--is it that bad?" she asked.

"It feels like a combination of bathroom discomfort and sexual urgency," Sumi said. "Technically a sensation of extended plateau without the sexual pleasure. It's uncomfortable--not exactly painful."

Vicky nodded against the bed.

"For a native who has probably experienced both Time Out Stations as well as spankings in school, at home, and in office-life, the experience would be considered mild. For you, I expect it'll be substantially more severe."

Vicky lay there, feeling embarrassed.

"One more point," Sumi said. Vicky felt herself tense.

"You are going to be naked and punished in front of your team, yes? You understand that?"

"Yes," Vicky said thickly.

"Good--it'll seem like the worst thing in the world, I'm sure--but on the Island it isn't . . . it's not that rare. You are aware that there are public punishments for a great range of misbehaviors?"

Vicky knew. She had planned to see some of them--but not to be subjected to them!

"Yes--and that dominants--generally husbands punish their submissives--wives, mostly, in public?"

Vicky nodded again.

"Very well--so what will happen by your experience will be awful--but by Ternsian standards, this is a very mild punishment--mostly humiliating. I am sure that is all the executive you mocked wanted."

Vicky nodded.

Well, if he wanted her humiliated, he'd certainly achieved that. The young officer spread her buttocks slightly, examining her anus. Vicky gripped the bedclothes tightly trying to ride out the intense embarrassment.

"Nhhmm!" a faint squeal. The officer patted her gently.

"Up, Victoria--it's time."

Naked, and blazing with blush, Vicky got to her feet and let Sumi lead her into the living area.

"Sit on the pads--good. Now I'm going to put each ankle in one of the cuffs. Relax and let me work."

Vicky lay on her back, her upper body slightly tilted up by the reclining chair's back so her view was down her pale naked body to her waxed sex. It was framed on both sides by her thighs, pulled back, her feet up and latched into the crossbar that ran at the level of her belly button.

Her bottom and sex pointed directly at the webcam, and‌ she could see her body reflected there--spread, obscene. Even porn wasn't THIS bad. Her sex was pushed towards the viewer and she could see the swelling of her labia--her . . . her clit was visible--barely.

"Arousal is unfortunate--but not uncommon," Sumi said, removing a small oval rubbery paddle from her bag. "We're going to begin."

Vicky's eyes watered as the woman clicked to join the team meeting.

She could see her own look of horror as the faces appeared. Most at their desks.

Ms. Taskirs was in her office. The woman looked stern--but Vicky saw sympathy in her eyes--and in the others as well. They were watching--and they weren't enraged--but they were sympathetic.

"Victoria Truman, you made disparaging remarks on a common-call about Executive Joson Kwaln. These were out of line for your station and rank--they were a show of unacceptable defiance and pride. You have been issued a disciplinary ticket for this behavior and I am here to carry out the punishment."

Vicky swallowed, her mind was a swirl of humiliation and horror--her eyes focused on her bared, naked body, bottom-first in the camera view. She could see her spread cheeks--a glimpse--oh, mercy--of her own anus--the swell of her labia. Oh--oh--ohh-no!

"Because of the required quarantine protocol, I am carrying out your punishment with the team-meeting so that your work-group will witness your punishment. Your punishment will be twenty one strokes with a type-1 slapper to your pudenda--"

Vicky's eyes widened--her what?

"Your kiki," Sumi 'clarified'--"Followed by a six-minute time-out with a pull generator at setting one."

"You are to bear the punishment as issued--do I need to tie your wrists?"

Vicky, blushing terribly, shook her head. She was sniffling already.

Sumi glanced at her ticket, "Madam Taskirs, do you have anything to add before we begin?"

"No," the older woman said. "Proceed."

Sumi laid the rubber slapper over Vicky's pudenda. The officer looked down into her wide eyes.

"The standard is one slap per year of age," she said softly. "Grip the arm rests--don't try to cover up. Do your best to bear it. The first few won't be that bad."

Vicky was petrified--but she managed a faint nod.

Sumi adjusted her stance slightly.

Pap. She flicked her wrist so the slapper rose up and smacked down--not hard--but Yow!! The smarting pain flared over her lips.

Pap. Pap. Pap. A steady cadence started. The pain was a swell of smarting sensation. Vicky felt small noises escape her mouth as Sumi spanked. Her sex was smarting worse and worse--the skin seemed to 'sparkle' with pain and a faint, humiliating feel of wetness.

Smak. Smak. Smak--harder? Was it getting harder--Vicky's thighs quivered as she tried to close them, the ankle spreader preventing her--oh!!

Pow! OH! She yelped loudly.

"Stay spread," snapped Sumi. "That's eight--"

Oh--mercy--eight--just eight? That wasn't even halfway!!

Slap! Slap!

"Ow!" she cried out. Sumi paused for moments, very lightly rubbing the slapper on her swollen lips.

POW! That really hurt! Vicky arched her back, crying out. The slapper hovered. She gripped the arm-rest, white knuckled. Pow! Another one--her sex--tender and swollen screamed. If the crossbar hadn't been fastened to the arm-rests she would have rolled to the side or thrust it away.

Pow! She shrieked again and her hands flew from the rests to cover her sex.

Tears were rolling down her cheeks. She heard gasps and murmurs of disapproval from the group watching.

"Get your hands off your puki!" snapped Ms. Taskirs. Vicky, crying now, couldn't bring herself to--it hurt! Her sex burned and danced with the awful sensations of the slapper. Her fingers sought to comfort the delicate, intimate skin.

She looked up, desperately at Sumi. The officer's eyes looked kind--but hard. She took each wrist and lifted it, fastening it to the arm-rests.

"Until you are more experienced," Sumi said, "ask to be restrained."

Vicky moaned. Sumi took a wipe and horribly wiped her sex--cleaning the lubrication oil off of her lips--everyone could see it!

She folded the wipe and cleaned Vicky's anus--although as far as Vicky knew there was no reason to--her eyes met Alteha's--her group leader's--and she could see the concern in the pretty girl's eyes.

"We are going to start the count over," Sumi announced, having bound Vicky's wrists tightly.

No! Vicky's mouth opened in a quiet cry.

"Miss disciplinarian," Aletha spoke from her square on the screen, "It's her first punishment ticket--she's an outsider--she didn't know--"

"I'm sorry," Sumi said to the monitor. "The protocols are clear and don't make exceptions for experience or the lack."