Zoom Punishment Pt. 06

The woman squirmed like a teenager and moaned tearfully as the train arrived and the doors opened. As Mahi expected, the American woman got some looks---but no one stopped. There were, she noted, more donation coins tossed into the pool. She examined her work on the woman's buttocks. The tide of people had thinned to a trickle when the printers buzzed.

Mahi reached into the darkened alcove for the post-punishment 'fortune.'

She examined it and looked up at the woman.

"What--:: sniffle ::--what does it say?" she asked.

"You should go back to your husband and satisfy him before you sleep. You will require no pleasuring of yourself, nor will you ask for, or resent the lack of it. Do so as an affirmation of your vows, and your supplication is granted."

The woman sniffled again and nodded.

"I'm sorry I--" she started.

Mahi shook her head. "It is part of the technique, miss. If you were more experienced, you might be expected to withhold the ejaculation--but no one would expect you to manage your punishment any better than you did."

The woman looked, if anything, more embarrassed by that than if she'd been scolded--but she pulled her panties up, and then, with a faint gasp, her shorts. She gave a shaky bow--and fled.

Mahi's eyes furrowed. She looked at the printed slip of paper. It didn't say what she had recited. Instead, it had a much shorter sentence in the Island language.

TELL AMERICAN LIKE SHE UNDERSTANDS NOTHING.

Mahi glanced at the shrine. It had been drilled into the girls in training that the shrines were simply electronic updates of a system that used random generators--spun wheels, balls falling through mazes, and so on, to produce abstract results open to interpretation--clearly things were more... complicated... than that.

The neon lights buzzed and flickered.

TARA - SMALL QUARTER

Tara walked hurriedly through the light rain. Her growing sense of doom consumed her as she passed under the cluttered vertical signs buzzing with light. Overhead were snarls and web-works of cable: the Small Quarters weren't improved enough to use the wave-power. They used collector antennae and then snakes of cables to every store, shack, or power station down below.

She checked her widget--a budget model with a bright case adorned with custom designs and scratches on the case where it had been dropped several times. The directional arrow pointed ahead. PPP: Personal Punishment Parlor. The counter on the screen showed three minutes.

She picked up the pace: being late to these was a horrible, horrible idea.

She pushed through the door. It had bars on it and was covered in stuck up papers and flyers for all kinds of services. From financial and relationship counseling to pet-style training for one's submissive significant other, to entertainment acts or offers of employment in explicitly degrading jobs, everyone knew what kind of clientele was going in here.

The girl behind the cheap wood counter wore a tanktop with subtle tattoos on her slightly chubby arms. She had a nose ring and blue "troublemaker" hair.

"Got an appointment," the girl asked neutrally.

Tara nodded, pursing her lips. To the right were booths--they were the dimensions of an extra-long video game booth and they had designs on them of cat boys and bunny girls being punished in various ways. They bore logos of one of four or five Tersnian corporations that built and maintained them. TELE-MISERY. PUNISHMENT-DATA. CORRECTION-CORE.

The girl held out her hand and Tara put her unlocked widget into it.

She waited, nervously as the woman hooked up a connector cable and punched something on her touch screen.

"Booth seven," she said, sounding bored. "Did you pee before coming?"

"Yes."

"Yes MISS," the woman said, even though she was the same class and age as Tara. She wasn't here because of missed payments on her credit account.

Ugh. "Yes, miss, I peed before I came."

"You'll clean the booth with your tongue if there's a mess," the woman said, nastily. Tara gulped and nodded.

She wasn't getting her widget back until this was over--so she hurried down the row.

She could hear little gasps and moans and whimpers from the other booths. In a translucent model, it looked like the figure was humping something. Tara was sure that whatever was going on in there wasn't pleasant. Outside her booth, she removed her jacket, shoes and socks, and checked the instructions. Reluctantly, she pulled down her jeans and folded them as well. Wearing her shirt and panties, she slid in the plastic, toilet-like seat inside.

"Door to seal in three-two-one--" said a female voice, and the door, which looked like flimsy plastic, but was thankfully opaque, slid closed. Lights flickered on and a screen came up in front.

"Remove your panties and place them in the receptacle." The voice was recorded. Neutral. She slid them down and put them into the slot that had opened. It hissed shut.

"Place your hands and feet in the lit restraint areas."

Ughhh. She lifted both feet and put them on the round circular lights down below. She reached forward and placed her hands on lit circles with dark palm icons on the "dashboard." The lights changed red and from around them, circular cuffs extended from the plastic and closed softly around her ankles and wrists.

"Place your head against the rear headrest, keep your eyes ahead on the screen."

Guhh. She did. The headrest felt padded and when she pressed the back of her head against it, soft plastic restraints slid out from either side, clasping around her throat.

On the screen, she saw herself: spread, her knees pushed back some as the restraint stirrups they were locked into extended slightly. There was a camera pointed right at her--and one up from below. She blushed hard and grimaced. The view framed her bare sex.

"Shit."

The screen crackled. LANGUAGE WARNING. Ugh!!

Then it buzzed. The picture was slightly grainy. This was likely because the PPP didn't pay anything for bandwidth. As such it got the lowest priority for data delivery. In any event, a well coiffed young woman sat in a nice office. She wore a pale pink slightly ruffly blouse. She looked into her computer's camera. Tara didn't see any pity or mercy in her eyes.

"Tara Villaneuva. Grand Banks account 23-32-21," she said, reading it off the screen. "I show this corrections unit as assigned to your widget. Are you meeting your obligation for discipline?"

If Tara was the wrong person or something was amiss, this would be the time to say something. She did her best to pretend that her nude bottom wasn't spread for the camera.

She forced a slight smile.

"It's me. Hi!"

The bank girl was, perhaps, slightly thrown by that. She recovered quickly. "You're here because you have a retail line of credit with us and you've overdrawn and missed three payments," she said, looking at the information that was off screen.

"Uh--yes, ma'am. You know, I got sent out of where I was staying and I had to find a place to stay... "

"That took six weeks?" The girl raised her eyebrow.

"AAh--well, yes ma'am. I didn't want to leave the area where my friends were--"

"And you couldn't go home?" another arch question.

"You mean to my parents?" Tara asked, scoffing.

"Yes," the video girl said.

Tara glared back. "Would you go to your parent's house if you had to tell them you lost your room-ticket?"

The girl's eyes narrowed.

"You're suggesting if that happened to me, I wouldn't go home because my parents would disapprove and punish me?"

Ugh. But she was committed.

"Yes! Unless your mother is NOTHING like mine!"

The video girl was given pause. Then she stood. Shit, Tara thought. What now?

The girl stepped away, off screen and Tara heard the faint sound of a door closing. The girl came back and stood, folding her arms. The system camera changed it's aspect ratio to frame her. She looked... annoyed. That wasn't good.

"I'll have you know that even though I am Junior-Cub executive I DO live at home--and I'm going to guess--" she paused, building up more steam--"I'm going to GUESS that my mother is, yes, a fair amount like yours."

Double-shit, Tara thought.

The girl turned and to Tara's surprise, she raised the back of her skirt and lowered her panties. Two carefully curated bruises were softening on the crests of her buttocks. Tara could see some tram-marks--from a switch, she thought, along the bottom bulges, where she would sit. Ow.

Tara stared in dismay at the cleary recently punished bottom. The girl drew her panties up, smoothed her skirt down, and stepped over to open the door. Tara guessed 'Junior-Cub' executives were not allowed to have their doors shut. Still, even having a door--an office--was a pretty big deal.

She was also pretty sure she wasn't going to get any sympathy.

The girl sat, a bit carefully. And re-centered herself in the monitor.

Tara swallowed and forced herself too look back. If she looked down now, acknowledging she deserved her fate, she was going to get it no matter what. Maybe if she kept a hint of defiance there was a chance?

"You should keep sending something in--even if it's just a few wan," the girl said. "Don't send nothing. If you really can't spare anything, send a message or, even better, go to a branch and talk to someone."

Tara knew going to a branch was a good way to do an hour or two in the bank's pillory--but that'd be far preferable to this!

Ugh. "Yes ma'am. S--" she almost said she was sorry. Again, that would end this. "Should I, uhm, file something now?" she asked 'hopefully.'

The girl scowled--but not AT Tara--which was the important thing.

"Now you're already in Corrections. It wouldn't help." Her fingers tapped something. Tara felt a surge of hope! Was she--what was she--

"Do you have an advocate?" the girl asked. Corsi--that was her name, she could see it in the upper corner of the view.

"Do I look like I have an advocate?" Tara asked, trying to hit the exact point of acidity that didn't offend Miss Corsi--but made it clear that she, yes, was not the kind of person who 'had an advocate.'

"You can get a 'big sister' advocate at the college," Miss Corsi told her--but the young woman's tone made it clear that she knew not-everyone-knew-it.

Tara did, in fact, know that--but a big-sister-advocate from the college would be a one-way ticket to being someone's pet being hauled around to school parties on a leash. That didn't exactly appeal to her. Still, she reflected: having an advocate--even with 'big-sister' status would come in handy like this.

Miss Corsi was checking something out. She paused.

"Do you--" she paused to figure out how to say this tactfully, "do your parents know anything about your situation?"

Ughhh. Tara groaned inwardly. But it was the right question: she couldn't exactly dodge it. Lying and going for sympathy might work in the short term--but she knew better. If she told the girl she was cut off from her parents the girl might file a social-need check and if THAT happened, things would snowball fast... and badly.

So... ugh.

"I--yes, miss," she said. It was REALLY hard not to look down. "Not about this, of course--or the line of credit--but we talk. They know I'm not... doing much." She fought a guilty-looking gulp and almost managed it.

"Hmm. Well--they COULD intervene on your behalf--" she said. "You're unmarried--not in employment, education, or training--so your parents still have your account--" she was flicking through data. Tara was amazed she wasn't being punished already! Still, she dearly wished she wasn't doing this with her puki on full display.

"Well," Miss Corsi focused back on Tara, "There's a chance the Corrections Dept would accept you being turned over to your parents..." she checked something. "They'd want receipts--"

Of punishment, Tara thought. The idea of being delivered to her parents with a full accounting of her irresponsibility for a punishment regime wasn't just a very unpleasant thought--it was unthinkable. She didn't have any kind of bad relationship with her parents--but her mother would see her return, with a bank-prescribed punishment, to be a complete victory in every power-struggle they'd ever had! Plus, if it was bad enough, she'd wind up doing whatever she was told by her mother... which would undoubtedly mean starting the whole marriage thing on her mother's terms.

UGH!

She realized Miss Corsi had seen the look on her face.

"No, huh?" the young woman said.

Grr. But.. "No." Tala shook her head, the idea of avoiding this punishment by running for cover with her family an attractive but untenable option.

Miss Corsi absently chewed and errant strand of hair, looking at the screen.

"Well," she said after moments. "Sorry. You're in collections. The only thing I can do is send it for a re-evaluation... which won't pass... but you'd have a few days." She frowned. "Maybe a day. I don't even know what I'd put on the evaluation reason."

Tara thought furiously--but Corsi was right.

"If you sent it for re-evaluation and I paid today? Right now?"

Miss Corsi glanced at her.

"Can you?"

Tara decided she could. She nodded.

Miss Corsi glowered.

"You could pay right now during our tele-punishment session but you couldn't pay anything before?"

SHIT!

Tara grimaced. Dammit! She'd... ugh. She'd walked into that.

"I'd find a way," she objected. Miss Corsi scowled. Guh! Guh! Guh!

Her fingers flexed on her pad and Tara watched her eyes scan her monitor. She paused.

"You have... you have an errant balance with Coastal Loans... " her fingers danced on the tablet Tara could only barely see. "And a personal credit line with Nalstrom NEET-wear?" Miss Corsi's eyes went up.

Oh... fuck. Tara grimaced. She tested her bonds as minimally as she could--she didn't want the girl to see her trying to escape. No luck: the plastic was thin and light and actually had soft padding. The tele-punishment pod looked cheap--but the whole thing was as solid as a steel cube. SHIT.

"How... how much credit have you taken out?" Corsi said, apparently... impressed. Well, aghast, Tara estimated---but also clearly impressed.

"I need to check this," Corsi said, her eyes furiously scanning. "If you've defaulted on a personal line they'd have either sent it to your parents or... "

Ohh... oh fuck.

"... the police if they couldn't find--"

"MISS PLEASE!!" Tara felt uncharacteristic panic.

Too late. She could see in Corsi's eyes, the flicker of scrolling data.

The girl pushed back. "You're wanted for like fifteen thousand wan," she said softly.

It wasn't THAT much--no one would give her a personal line of credit for real amounts--but it was enough to get her in serious, serious hot water. Very, very uncomfortable hot water.

"Please," she begged. "Don't turn me in--they'll--they'll remand me to a disciplinary home!"

Miss Corsi looked back at her. "A couple of years in a punishment home might do you some good," she said archly.

Shit. Tara had a very good sense for when she could negotiate and she assessed this was NOT one of those times. Trying to worm her way out of it would just make things worse.

Ugh. Ugh. Ugh. If Corsi hadn't been trying to help her--questing around through the bank files to see if there was something that could get her a lighter sentence she wouldn't have pulled in outside data--and now she had... police filings dragged in like a fisherman's net.

Corsi burst out laughing. "Brating?"

Tara colored miserable. "I got tickets for defiant behavior."

Miss Corsi nodded, reading. "How did you not get dragged into one of the stations and strung up nude for the tourists to take pictures of??"

Tara groaned. It was the right question. "Shell IDs," she said miserably. They were hard to make, but Tara was pretty good at hacking a system to give her a temporary ID that was based on her real one--but if the officer just tagged the ID with the offense and didn't look deeply into it... it would take a real search to link them all together.

Miss Corsi had just done the real search. She tapped something.

"Okay, lots of overdue punishment tokens for bratting. Two for... public urination?" She glanced up.

"I was drunk. Twice," a miserable Tara confirmed.

"Uh... running from security forces after curfew a few times. Some attached points for t-shirt slogans... movie piracy.. illicit masturbation manga?"

Miss Coris' eyes lit up with the charge. Using a story-telling and Art AI to make your specific fantasies was prohibited since there was only one use for that--and that was the use she'd put them to.

Corsi seemed more amused than scandalized--although it was some of both.

"You're a one-girl spree of misbehavior, Tara!" she said, looking back.

"Are you going to tell the police?" Tara asked. She knew she shouldn't but she was past the point of being able to control her fear.

"Worse," Miss Corsi said.

Shit--shit no--what?? Tara's eyes widened as he mind raced.

"First, we're going to have our punishment, you little brat," Miss Corsi said--but her voice wasn't full of venom. "Then--I guess I'll let you recover--you are going to haul your bottom down to the bank for an appointment in corrections."

Oh, fuck, Tara thought, panic rising.

"With me. And we are going to discuss whether or not I haul you directly to your mother."

Tara blanched. "PleaseDon'tDoThat," she said, her voice quivering--but as even as she could make it. There was a deal to be struck here, she thought. She... had a suspicion she even knew what it was.

"Part of my decision will be based on how well you take our session," Miss Corsi said curtly. "Are you ready?"

"N-no! Wait--ugh!! No!... yes." Tara deflated.

Now she looked down, blushing. The girl on the screen nodded.

"Okay--these pods can get pretty bad--so be aware that this is NOT going to be fun."

"Are you just punishing me for my non-payment?" Tara asked, not able to meet Corsi's eyes.

"I've put in for a bunch extra because of 'defiant behavior," Miss Corsi said, sweetly. "Do you want to contest and have a review?"

Grrrrr... "No," she said sullenly. Bitch!

"I thought not," Miss Corsi's voice was sugar and honey. "Let's get started. First, I'm going to do some discomfort as a base layer," she said, bringing up the console.

"Oh, great," Tara sniped.

"I want to give you an unpleasant, annoying itch somewhere--"

The toilet-like bowl under Tara seemed to hum and the neural projections lit up under the plastic.

Oh! Her anus flared with an intense itch. Tara bit her lip--trying to grit her way through it--but it didn't subsite. Oh, ugh!! Ugh! She squirmed, but her buttocks were hanging in air--she got nothing.

"That's nice, isn't it?" purred a Miss Corsi who was unquestionably enjoying this.

"It's awful!" shouted Tara. "Stop it!"

"I think we should add a Time-Out pull, don't you? Level 2--and it can stay through the session."

"DON'T" begged Tara. "Wait!!"

She didn't. MhhMMMMM.

Tara had suffered Time Outs here and there. Usually Level 1's and usually for only about fifteen minutes. Enough for most people to change whatever tune had annoyed their superiors. Level 2 wasn't a nightmare--but that plus the itch was a wave of discomfort that was unable to be ignored.

"Sit tight, nene," Miss Corsi purred. "I'm going to check on something---maybe get some coffee. You comfy?"

"UGH!! NO!!" she shrieked. "MISS!! MISS! DON'T!!! PLEASE!!" but the girl got up, gave her buttocks a rub and stepped off screen.

"COME BACK!! OH!! THIS ITCHES! PLEASE DON'T LEAVE ME!!" Tara was fighting now in the bonds. The plastic shackles moved slightly on what felt like really heavy rubber bands. If she used all her might, she could get a tiny amount of motion--it wasn't enough to do anything.

The feeling of needing to go to the bathroom--of needed to masturbate--of needing, badly, to scratch was terrible and she arched and pushed.