It worked! I obsessed more and more about my psycho-sexual correction experience; eventually I determined to try to repeat it. I had trouble coming up with a suitably serious yet reasonably victimless crime which would fill the bill, until one day the solution arrived in the mail - jury summons. I look forward to jury duty, and unlike many, I'm disappointed if the day ends without my being assigned to a trial. The date was one I could manage, so I went online as the summons suggested to complete my response. Just before submitting, it hit me -- the perfect crime! After all, I could always make it up later with some volunteer work. I exited the browser and slid the summons into my desk drawer.
It took a while. Reminders came, each more urgent and threatening. The worst was that I didn't dare visit court, which I normally enjoy. Finally I was ordered to appear and answer for my crime. I tried to avoid excessive contrition and present sufficient attitude, and soon was held in contempt. At my sentencing I was a bit worried -- no tormentor was present, and I knew one had to approve an offer of corporal punishment. I was sentenced to a stiff fine, but to my relief I was offered an option of corporal punishment, similar to the one I received previously.
Ordered to report as before, between 7:30 and 8:00 am, I was excited as a teenager on a first date. Completely forgetting the very substantial pain of my first experience, I was re-living the intensely erotic experience as I remembered it. Actually, it was only 7:25 am -- I have to loiter a bit, and finally enter at 7:35. I try not to look too eager for the guard, feigning anxiety and fear, as I see the sign "Inmate #1 Next". Not too surprised to be first, and remembering the relatively comfortable "holding bondage", I look forward to a good long time in that condition to contemplate what's to come. Six, I hope, but I know all the tormentors in the state by sight now, and I'd be content with any of them -- what hubris!
I pass the retinal scan, tell the guard my desired bus route home, enter the changing chamber and disrobe. But the second little locker does not open, and I am not ordered to put on a smock. The change of protocol is a little rattling, but makes sense; everyone is trying to reduce cost, and this saves on laundry. The second door opens: there is the open collar, the wrist straps, and the ankle shackles. I shiver with anticipation, and step in. I know I can't appear too eager, and must wait for the instructions, but it's tempting just to walk right up to the the collar. Wait... wait. The instructions drone on, and finally I do as ordered, placing my neck in the collar,which promptly closes. The ankle shackles snap shut when I step into them, and I put my hands through the two circles, which shrink around my wrists, binding me securely, this time naked. I quiver with anticipation as I await my sentence.
"You will be placed in strict punishment bondage. After you are secured in position you will receive eighteen correctional impacts to your belly and chest...
"WHAT THE FU... GGGAG," I start to shout, but the collar chokes off the expletive, the voice announcing that speech is forbidden, then continues,
"over a period of thirty minutes. The impacts will cause intense pain. While serious damage to your body is not expected, you will be incapacitated for up to a week after your punishment..." Great! "The impact marks are expected to remain visible for at least a year. These aftereffects are part of your punishment."
What can I do? There must be some mistake. Five impacts are considered equivalent to a year in prison -- am I getting three to five for contempt of court? What_should_ I do? I shake and rattle my arms and wrists in an instinctive attempt to escape, but I'm well secured and can't possibly get loose. I could scream my innocence to the walls, but the only answer I'll get is from the collar. It's pretty scary, but as I stand in my bonds, I'm getting even more excited, asking myself,"Are you really such a pain slut?" This is something I didn't want to learn about myself, as I notice my erection growing.
A few minutes go by for me to contemplate the eighteen strokes (twice chai, I muse, double life) and then my leg spreader goes limp. Unlike before, my collar rod does not, though it becomes slightly more flexible. This experience is already darker than the last. The door opens, and I follow, towed by my wrists, and this time, by my collar too. I round the corners at the end of the passage, arriving at the door to the punishment chamber. It opens, and I am led in.
There are only three punishment poles, not the seven I encountered before, and these are spaced about six feet apart -- commodious punishment this time. Not all poles have to be used, I suppose. The poles are unoccupied, no surprise given my arrival time, but unlike for the previous session, there are several devices already installed. Something like a backrest is mounted to each pole, though I don't expect I'll get much rest on it. There is a fitting rather like a set of stirrups, set about knee-height, and most striking, a conical stainless steel anal penetrator, mounted rather low. This is awe-inspiring; about a foot long, tapered from a rounded point to a base about three inches across. A twenty first century Judas Cradle! I've not attempted fisting, but if I wind up taking it all the way I will be well-prepared, I think with a wrench in my gut. What a way to get people thinking remorsefully about their crimes!
I'm hauled by my neck and wrists to the furthest pole, and turned to face the mirrored front wall. The collar rod extends and forces me back as the fitting on the punishment pole extends to secure my neck from the rear as before. As it pulls my neck back to the pole my leg spreader stiffens, forcing my ankles apart, and the device at the bottom of the punishment pole pulls the spreader backward, forcing me to straddle the monstrous phallus. It does not touch my crotch, so I can see that the tip has perforations. From the two hoses which extend from the bottom I gather it is able to both fill and empty me as required. The stirrups are retracted and do not touch my legs, but I can see that when extended they will push my knees apart and forward. The carriage-pole which towed me in swivels toward me, but this time it does not push my wrists to my belly as it did on my first visit -- instead it pulls them up above my head, my collar attachment sliding on the punishment pole as I am stretched upward. A rod descends from the ceiling and mates with the wrist-strap hub, at which point the carriage-pole detaches and the carriage trundles away.
This is different, to be sure. The ceiling rod did not appear so early last time. The previous waiting bondage, embodied in the figures of One and Two, was at least as erotic as punitive -- this time my bondage appears intended to induce feelings of powerlessness and even terror, not arousal. It will certainly be a lot less comfortable. I'm helpless as the rod hauls my wrists even further upward, pulling my ankles firmly against the shackles and stretching me uncomfortably toward the ceiling. Just then an attendant comes in -- a woman.
Well -- that's good, at any rate. Personally I'd rather be bound by a woman, though I'll enjoy either one -- chacun à son goût. She reaches from behind with a gag, and with the assistance of a shock from the collar thrusts it into place. This one is more like a brank, though the mouth bar is cushioned with rubber and is clearly inflatable. Once the gag is latched to the fitting which also holds my collar, my head movements are considerably restricted, especially since this gag also has a strap which goes under my chin and over my head. My attendant tightens it rather firmly -- I can't open my mouth at all, though I am able to move my head in and out from the pole slightly; the collar attachment telescopes so as not to choke me unintentionally.
Reaching into her supply basket the attendant takes out an upper arm cuff. It is quite long and reaches most of the way from my elbow to my shoulder as she secures it around my left arm, then does the same to my right arm. These cuffs have a securing ring at both ends, as well as an electrical plug and an electro-gel nipple. Once the cuffs are in place on my arms she attaches a fitting to the back of the pole which has two rods extending upward in a narrow vee, rather like an old-fashioned TV rabbit ears antenna. She fastens each end of my arm cuffs to the rods. Touching a control to allow the ceiling pole to let my wrists down, she applies a cordless driver to a socket on the fitting, causing the rods to move from an almost vertical vee to almost horizontal, carrying my arms with them. My upper arms are now held out sideways and pulled backward, pulling my upper back against the backrest. I feel a bit like I'm crucified, except that instead of extending out horizontally the rest of the way to my wrists, my arms bend back inward at my elbows, my wrists secured by the ceiling rod just above my head.
The attendant taps her controls and my punishment pole moves upward about a foot, lifting my feet off the floor. The ceiling rod moves in synchrony so my wrists stay just above my head, my weight taken uncomfortably on the upper arm cuffs and the friction between my back and the backrest. She fits her cordless driver to the stirrup device, and its two projecting arms telescope outward into contact with the back of my knees. The bottom attachment holding my ankle spreader suddenly swivels back, pulling my ankles backward and upward, also pulling my legs back against the stirrups. She tightens a small strap around each of my legs just above my knees, securing them to the stirrups. My ankles are held two feet apart by the spreader, so my legs must turn outward to accommodate the spreading and forward motion of the stirrups, thrusting my genitalia to the fore. She comes around to the front. Phallus next, I suppose.
She adjusts the pole higher for convenient access and raises the tapered stele until it slides in about an inch. At least it's lubricated. She then returns to the rear and passes a strap around the pole from the back between my legs just below my crotch, looping the ends outward around my thighs and back behind the pole. She secures the ends in a winch which her driver tool also fits, tightening it with little mercy. This and my arm cuffs together draw me firmly back against the backrest, pressing my ass crack firmly to the pole just below the backrest. The phallus can swivel a little, I note with relief, so it does not tear my anus, continuing to penetrate me about an inch as I am pulled back against the pole.
Applying her power driver to the stirrup socket, the attendant forces my knees further forward and outward, spreading me wider and wider. I notice that the stirrup mechanism can slide on the pole but I myself cannot as I am secured from above. As I am spread wider and wider the stirrups slide upward as required. How far can I go, I wonder. Further than I ever thought possible, I discover. My genitalia dangle humiliatingly in the space between my spread legs, the phallus poking my anus now prominently visible. Another control press and with a slight hiss of air a steady pressure is applied to the steel anus-invader. It moves slightly further into me, but the force is not extreme. I will not be torn apart - it will seek whatever amount of penetration it can at a force I can bear without injury. Definitely twenty-first century!
My attendant's ministrations complete for the moment, I hang gagged and collared, suspended and spread, naked and (somewhat) impaled, much less comfortable than the last time I waited for the remaining poles to fill up. As I squirm to ease myself, the phallus wiggles in my anus, reminding me of my total helplessness. I am now on display for the next inmate, as well as suffering on my own behalf. Although I'm in plenty of discomfort, there's a sadistic side which makes me want to display myself as distressingly as possible for the next victim, so I practice squirming a little, the phallus stimulating me more than I care to admit. I rather hope the next inmate has never been penetrated this way, and finds it more punitive.
I've been in the chamber perhaps three minutes. Looking at the other two poles (in the mirror, since I can't turn my head far enough to see them directly) I wonder who is going to play Jesus in this re-enactment. Since I arrived early I may have to wait a while for satisfaction. I'm very uncomfortable, but the tight bondage and the anus penetrator are also powerfully erotic, making me erect from time to time. I don't really want to be erect when the centerpiece comes in but it's not easy to control, one way or the other, in this position.
The inmate entry door opens, and the second inmate is dragged in, struggling frantically. He looks at the two unoccupied poles, then at me.
"Jesus Chr... ugg," he ejaculates as the collar chokes him off. Gasping, he is towed to the center pole as another attendant, a man this time, enters. Two is reversed into his pole and the attendant goes to work binding him.
The second inmate looks awfully familiar, even down to the way he entered. It's Four from my previous punishment session, I suddenly realize. I wonder what he did to be here -- I'm sure he did not go out of his way to try to make this happen. These thoughts are interrupted by the reappearance of my original attendant, who approaches me from the front. "More?" I'm thinking anxiously. "Doesn't the rest wait until we are all here?"
She's holding a set of barber's clippers, battery operated and obviously heavy duty, and a rotary shaver. Since I'm pulled back against the backrest by my arms and thighs, my chest and belly thrust forward helplessly exposed, resistance is futile. She goes to work removing all the hair from my chest, starting just below my Adam's apple. As she works her way down she raises my pole from time to time, so as not to have to bend over, and continues to make me smooth all the way down to my crotch, even taking most of the hair off my scrotum. What a strange erotically-charged experience to be shaved by a woman while in tight bondage and gagged. Like Sampson? Four is still being securely bound by his attendant and I can see he is repulsed at the thought that when my depilation is finished she will start on him -- he will be woman-shaved in bondage also. He thrashes angrily against his bonds, to no avail.
A little about the attendants, who come and go frequently during these sessions. Their work is not strenuous, and our binding mechanisms ensure their complete safety at all times. I expect that they work part time. The work requires a certain mental flexibility (prudes need not apply!), so they seem mostly to be rather young; graduate students, or young people starting their careers but not yet able to find their intended employment. They do not wear uniforms. This man-woman team is American-Asian. Her dark hair is cut a little above her shoulders, rounding into her neck, his is bristly and cut short. She is quite cute, and he is attractive also, like many I see regularly on the bus or subway, dressed fashionably but not expensively in dark colors. She has on a short skirt and black hose, he has dark trousers. They each have full-sleeved black tee-shirts without any slogans -- hers is vee-cut. It encases her breasts to form a pleasing bulge, exposing just a hint of cleavage under a dragon tattoo low on her neck. They both sport tall black leather boots. Although the job doesn't demand it, her arms look quite strong -- a rock climber perhaps, for other entertainment.
They seem pretty free with each other; it would not surprise me if they are lovers -- this work must make interesting pillow-talk. Maybe they are doing it partly for a lark, earning a bit of money while they get their internet start-up going, getting off on it a bit also. It feels bizarre to be naked and spread wide, my penis and balls hanging in mid air, my ass penetrated by a steel intruder, while she goes efficiently and nonchalantly about her work. I imagine that for most inmates it would be deeply humiliating -- that I'm sure is the intent. Of course the attendants do not speak to us or to each other.
Once my chest and belly are smooth all the way from my neck to my crotch, and even beyond, my attendant takes a wide and somewhat stretchy latex band and fastens it rather tightly around my waist and the pole. It reaches from just above my penis to my ribcage, and encloses my belly. At this point I learn more about the backrest as it inflates, forcing me against the latex, which stretches outward slightly, but mostly pushes me inward. It's rather satisfying to see my paunch disappear. At the same time the phallus gently pressurizes my bowels with warm water, pressing me firmly against the latex. It's rather uncomfortable, and I'm baffled just what it can be for.
I hadn't noticed the tripod with a laser device on top, but it must have been in the corner all along. It is set up before me, the beams racing all over across my chest and down onto the latex, covering the entire area. As the patterns fly the backrest inflates and deflates slightly; my bowels also inflate and deflate several times. I am being measured, it seems, though for what I can't imagine. I suppose the laser communicates its results wirelessly, for nothing is connected, and the beams shut off after a few seconds.
My attendant turns her attention to number two, and I'm left hanging, the latex band still tight around my belly, though my bowels and back are depressurized, allowing me a little more comfort. Not for long I suppose. Four does not seem the least amused -- I suspect he'd much rather just be caned and get out of here, but that's not the way it works. After all, no human can administer eighteen strokes without overlap -- that takes machine precision, and something more, I'm about to find out. In the meantime he struggles and squirms and scowls as he is shaved and measured.
The inmate door opens for the third entry, the other thief to be punished with Jesus, I muse, but this time we both have a shock as we recognize each other. Number three is Five. He does not look so inquisitive as he did coming into the first punishment session we endured together -- in fact he looks quite frightened, especially seeing the two of us bound in so humiliating and vulnerable a position. His day is not going the way he expected -- but if he's having a bad chest hair day it will soon be over. I don't have much time to consider what the appearance of Five might mean when my attendant, who had stepped out briefly, returns with another piece of apparatus. It looks like a large mylar waistcoat, flexible but just stiff enough to hold its shape. It has been selected, I suppose, based on the measurements taken just before. The attendant removes the latex band presently around my waist, and slides the mylar covering into place over me.
She fastens it securely on each side to the backrest, and it certainly does fit me perfectly. It feels slightly slippery on the inside and slides smoothly over me as she fastens a pair of small straps over my shoulders to the backrest behind my neck. A similar pair of straps are passed through my crotch on either side of my scrotum and the phallus, and fastened behind. The thin but iron-strong plastic film is now secured firmly in place at top and bottom and on both sides. She activates a control and my backrest inflates again, along with my bowels, pressing me firmly into the mylar cavity.
I think I know what this is for. To get all the strokes in, my skin must be accurately positioned every time. The hard mylar will transmit the full shock of each blow to my body, while preventing any cutting action or breaking of skin -- so hygienic and twenty-first century! Each stripe will be laid down precisely. As this thought settles in, my attendant passes her gloved hand over my chest and now flat and tight belly, checking for any folds or creases, massaging out any she finds. This is excruciatingly erotic; she too seems to enjoy preparing my surface for the punishment strokes which will soon be landing -- she looks at me with a rather condescending smile as she performs this task. Bubbles aren't a problem, as the plastic has tiny pores to allow my sweat to escape.
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When she is finished I present a smooth shiny playground for the steel band to play on, but she has a few more tasks before she is done. Once satisfied that I am properly fitted in and smoothed out, she plays a flashlight-like device over the hard mylar surface, and I feel the strangest sensation. The lubricant, it appears, is also an ultra-violet setting adhesive. It tingles as it cures from the UV. I am being glued into my punishment garment!
At that point, my arms, which are starting to ache from being above my head for so long, are repositioned. The attendant fastens a strap winch to the pole behind the small of my back. The ceiling pole descends, bringing my wrists down in front of my plastic-covered chest, while she tilts the arm cuff holders downward. Attaching the rear straps to my wrist cuffs she winches them behind me as the front cuff winch loosens, sliding my wrists around my sides without ever releasing them. The front straps are removed and the front hub detached from the ceiling pole, which disappears into the ceiling. She adjusts my upper arm cuff rods to ensure that I am pulled securely backward, my elbows slightly apart from my sides. She fastens electrode cuffs to my lower legs and arms, checks all the adjustments, tightens up my stirrups slightly more, and applies a few squirts of electro-gel to the various cuff nipples.
I can't imagine a more stringent bondage as I groan from the tension. She places a little net over my penis and scrotum, which I suppose will prevent them from bouncing up into the path of the punishment band. The net is secured underneath on either side of the phallus, which penetrates me a little further as I squirm. I'm guessing that no orgasm is prescribed for this punishment session. She plugs all the wires and tubes, including some from the mylar vest, into a connector behind my back and gathers them neatly -- for this punishment no tormentor attends, I've read, though they certainly had a hand designing it. The vest probably includes de-fibrilator electrodes in case they are necessary, I think darkly. Turns out it also has belly electrodes, though no nipple electrodes, I'll discover later.
Her final task completely seals my sense of powerlessness, and she performs it with relish. She measures down from my chin and makes a mark on the stiff plastic film, then measures up from the top of the base of my penis and makes a similar mark. She checks the distance between, confirming I suppose that there is adequate space for all the strokes. I have just received punishment fiducial marks -- the strokes will land precisely where they are supposed to, in between these marks. She tosses me a kiss as she walks away -- beautiful bitch, I want to say but don't try, as she walks over to Five to complete his preparation. Once done with Five, she goes to Four and makes his fiducial marks, while he thrashes furiously. It does not make his punishment surface move at all, which appears to infuriate him even more. He must hate being this helpless before a woman marking him out for punishment.
Our preparations are complete, and we hang side by side, netted balls and cocks dangling, shiny chests and bellies exposed and smoothed flat for punishment, arms and wrists secured behind, brank gags holding our heads motionless, electrodes connected and ready to enhance the torment. The preparation attendants leave.
In spite of my discomfort I'm curious to see the punishment apparatus itself, as nothing is yet evident. An attendant walks in, but all he seems to have is three blindfolds. Crap, I think, I won't get to see it after all. The attendant blindfolds us and I hear him leave. The room lights dim -- I can tell by the light leaking around the edge of my blindfold, and a voice intones,
"You have been prepared to receive eighteen punishment strokes. Listen to the sound of this punishment." There is a very loud SNAP, followed by a gurgling sound, then cries of agony. The pain of my bondage temporarily evaporates in fearful anticipation. The voice continues,
"Now hear it again" and another SNAP, followed by keening wails. "You will hang suspended in punishment bondage for one half hour to contemplate and regret your crime before your punishment begins. Hear the sound again." SNAP, then screaming.
"While you wait you will be electrically stressed to remind you of your helplessness and the inevitability of the punishment you will soon be enduring." Our arms and legs convulse, making us gasp, and we begin to squirm and twist helplessly. It's just plain weird to feel myself twisting and squirming while my chest and belly seem completely still, totally immobilized in the grip of my unyielding mylar vest.
This is bad enough, but what's to come sounds awful. I'm thinking about my crime -- skipping out of jury duty, and wondering how this sentence could possibly be appropriate, when it finally sinks in. This is no accident or data entry error. How could this conjunction of three un-heavenly bodies have been a coincidence? I dare say Four is here honestly, but Five must have tried to pull some stunt like I did, and the tormentors figured it out. How could I be so stupid? They know me in court -- how could I think that trying to skip out of jury duty would escape their curiosity. Did I fuck it up for Five also? They probably put two and two together, or in this case Three and Five together with Four. Whatever made me think I could screw around with these women? With a stroke of a pen (or a keystroke nowadays I suppose) any one of them could have sent me here.
I'm caught up in a mental conversation with Six, the woman, now a tormentor, that I shared the punishment chamber with months ago. I don't know if Six was responsible for my being here today, but I might as well fantasize about something, and being punished for staring and lusting after Six, watching her humiliation during our shared punishment, seems like a much more satisfying crime than contempt of court. Each stripe could be worth, maybe, ten of her beautiful pussy hairs. As I turn myself on with these thoughts the pain of my bondage seems to melt away, though I'm convulsing too much to come. My fantasy conversation continues.
"Why are you being punished? For gawking at me in this chamber. For watching me climax against my will, and you, number five, for enjoying it so much with your sexual arousal intact, and for beating me in bondo-battle. Number three, you had the nerve to write about it. I think that's worth quite a few stripes.
"I just_had_to get my anger out for that day, and you boys fell right into my net - how could I resist! Now you two get to take the rap along with Four for all five men there that day... well, not for Seven -- I didn't mind his looking so much. He was cute. Maybe he'd never seen a naked woman up close before!"
Our electrically stimulated pole dancing causes us to make quite a bit of noise -- there's no way I could tell if anyone came into the room, though I have an eerie feeling we are no longer alone. My electrical stimulation stops as I sense the lights come up a little; my neighbor continues to twist. Suddenly I hear a snap, not as loud but more realistic sounding than the ones from the speaker. Five yelps. Then I feel a stinging across my groin, though it doesn't feel painful enough to qualify as one of the eighteen. I yelp also. I feel my pole descend a little, the phallus jerking in and out of me a little as arms reach around my head to remove my blindfold.
Six is right in front of me, wearing a devilish smile! She's dressed in her court clothes, a handsome professional black pant suit that projects "woman of power" with crystal clarity. The jacket hugs her elegant body gently, enhancing her figure while offering just a hint of cleavage. Her gorgeous black hair dangles behind her, outlining her deep eyes and beautiful, slightly angular face. Six is tall and needs no "altitude enhancement"; her low dress boots match the rest of her ensemble perfectly. She has one accessory usually only imagined with this outfit, a long single-tail, neatly coiled in her left hand.
She backs away and stands between Five and me, in front of Four. He is still blindfolded and unaware of any of this, and I'm guessing it is important that he remain so. Six touches her lips enjoining us to silence.
"You wanted to see me?" I seem to hear, though she doesn't actually speak._"Well, here I am, but this time on__myterms. You two lookso good_in mylar -- my favorite!"
Another woman comes in -- It's number two!
"Yes, Two is my acolyte now -- she's going to help with some extra preparations I have just for you."
Two walks up to Five as Six raises his pole for convenience, and she removes the net over his penis. Taking a sleeve from her tote bag, she sucks Five's penis into it with a squeeze bulb, then fastens the assembly to his encased belly with a Velcro strap around the pole. She carries the wires and little hoses from the sleeve around to his back and plugs them into the control box which picks up all the other wires and hoses, except for the ones from the phallus.
"I got out some of my old clothes for Two to wear -- hope you like them!"
Two is dressed in an excellent dominatrix outfit, studs and leather supporting her full, tight breasts, leaving about half the tops exposed -- no nipples visible, though. Much of her upper body is covered, but what isn't is deliciously erotic; her shoulders, the lower sides of her torso, and her arms are beautifully displayed. She's every bit as erotic, maybe more, than when I saw her almost naked in bondage at the first punishment session, and she looks far happier and healthier. Her leather crotch-piece leaves her thighs exposed, and her legs are bare down to her high boots. As I look from one woman to the other I imagine with a shiver of delight this outfit encasing Six.
"Impact punishment is_sooo_much better with an orgasm -- it's a pity it's not normally included. You two will be part of a little experiment of mine -- I'll be recording your responses to your post-orgasm punishment, along with Four here as a control. So sorry, he won't be coming. The data may be useful," I seem to hear Six say as Two comes over to prepare me the same way she did Five.
"Well, let's get on with it -- we don't have a lot of time. I want both of you to come super hard -- a really good orgasm enhances the punishment exquisitely -- and you did ask for it, didn't you," I hear, as she looks right into my eyes. She's not doing the ice thing much, except now and then for effect. I assume she's not really supposed to be in the chamber. She's surely not working for the state right now, she's playing with us, and I'm enjoying every second, though I know I'll pay a stiff price shortly. Flicking the whip Six administers a sting to each of my nipples."No electrodes I'm afraid -- have to do it the old fashioned way."
Two finishes my preparations and disappears for a moment, leaving Six center stage. She returns with the control pad and takes the whip from Six, handing her the pad instead. Six poises her finger over the pad and smiles wickedly at Five and me, hanging helplessly before her, our penises sheathed along with the rest of us, our balls still hanging below. Our bodies are now completely under her control -- she fingers the pad and sets us writhing erotically, a little painful in our strict bondage, but not unbearable. A periodic electrical buzz in my penis adds spice, and helps to prevent me coming.
Six sets the pad aside, then turns away. Two cracks the whip, sending a shiver through all three of us on the poles. Six puts her hands above her head. This is strange -- Two domming Six? How totally bizarre -- Six and Two are going to put on an S&M play, while Five and I, who soon will be severely punished for real, get to watch. Six's terms, I suppose! Last time it was for real for all of us, though rather less severe. Two hangs the whip around Six's neck and begins slowly undressing her! How exquisite!
Six, as before, is simply stunning. She doesn't have quite the tan she used to have, which is even better. Although I sometimes imagine her in a silky black bra, she has no bra today. Her dress jacket comes off first, allowing her blouse to flow down over her bust with tantalizing promise. The promise is quickly fulfilled as Two removes her blouse button by button, allowing her beautifully sculpted breasts to burst free. Smooth and round, these project in perfect proportion from her elegantly vertical torso, requiring no artificial support. Fire-red nipples erupt like miniature volcanoes from the shadows of her finely domed areolæ, betraying her arousal. Two bends down slightly, gently biting one and then the other. It's not the chill this time; the room is warm, rather too warm for those of us complying with the official dress code. Six is turned on by her own choice entirely. Two may be domming, but Six is in total control.
I'm surprised to observe as Two slowly pulls Six's dress pants down that she has no pantyhose or stockings on -- perhaps just for convenience for this session. She does have elegant silk panties which hug the smooth contours of her crotch enticingly, a slight bulge telegraphing the gorgeous pussy I remember from before. Six's long legs are perfectly shaved, lithe and smooth like her breasts. She slips off her boots and kicks the pants away; Two picks them up and folds them neatly. For a moment I wonder about the floor, but I remember that the Skoobas, cowering in their docks right now, were on patrol earlier. We've all walked this floor in bare feet, and none of us picked up anything.
Six is in black silk panties only now. Two flicks the whip, though without cracking it, and Six pretends to cringe."No, you will not see me naked -- my pussy is not for you to ogle."
Two swings the whip again, caressing Six's breasts this time.
"Must I?"
"Absolutely -- your experiment will not work unless you overwhelm these men with your full nakedness."
Six puts her arms above her head again, as Two embraces her with a deep kiss and pulls her panties down. Taking a small Persian rug from her tote bag and spreading it out, Two flips the whip again as she "orders" Six to lie on it, legs apart and facing us. Dammit, with my head in the brank I can't move enough to see.
I learn something about the punishment poles; the poles can tilt and even swivel, and with a touch to the pad Two tilts Five and me forward and inward, so we are forced by our branks to stare directly between Six's legs. Her exquisite triangular black snatch is every bit as beautiful as before, but this time we stare helplessly right at her pussy and glistening labia, heads pinned at just the right angle, while she spreads her legs lasciviously. Six is_forcing_ us to stare at her sex!
Two goes down on Six, who slowly begins to writhe in ecstasy, just as we are writhing in aching bondage. Six lifts her head and grins at each of us.
"I just love watching men squirming in tight bondage - especially when I don't have to tie them up myself," then lies back, succumbing to the determined and ultimately overwhelming stimulation of Two's tongue."I'm dreaming of the suffering you are about to experience -- I'm dreaming, I'm coming,__I'm coming!" Two reaches up and closes her hands around Six's neck, momentarily throttling her as she explodes in orgasm -- can't make too much noise. Another sexual supernova blinds me, but I cannot turn away to shield my eyes -- the radiating sexual energy flashes through me, penetrating my very core.
Six and Two rest for a moment, then Six jumps up and does a joyful erotic dance, giving each of us on the poles thrillingly evil sexy looks. She takes up the pad, and our electrically stimulated erotic writhing stops. I feel my penis sheath move. Five squirms a bit -- he must be experiencing the same sensation. We are to be brought to orgasm together. I think back to my previous experience with the Tormentor, which was one at a time. Our poles are returned to their normal upright position, our eyes aligned with Six's standing barefoot, but we are still turned inward to face her together.
Six will make us come pretty quickly -- it won't take four minutes this time. She's aroused us intensely already and can't let that dissipate and be wasted. She uses all the devices available, including the collar and the anal probe. Five and I ride helplessly up the slippery slope as she gazes first at one and then the other. She knows exactly how much stimulation to apply to keep us perfectly on the edge for just a minute or so, then gently pushes us over precisely together.
Five and I explode in mutual orgasm. Bucking and thrashing against our bonds, we come and come. She can't push the penetrator all the way to our prostates, but no big deal -- I feel like I squeeze out every drop I ever had just the same. She controls us with the collar so we do not make any sound which might make Four suspicious -- he's bucking and thrashing too, but from electricity, not ecstasy. As I come down from my sexual high and open my eyes her gorgeous pussy is still there for me to long for."Oh, too, too bad your wrists are so beautifully bound behind you -- you'd so love to caress me, wouldn't you!"
The anaesthesia of orgasm subsides. Six grins at each of us as she watches our bondage pain rushing back. She's now in front of Five, whip at the ready, and I feel our backrests inflate. Breathing is hard but not impossible -- my diaphragm can still move even though my chest can't.
"This mylar is cool stuff -- I can do things with the whip I wouldn't have dared with clients -- would've ripped their skin to shreds!" With that she delivers him a vicious stroke diagonally across his chest. He doesn't scream -- she activates his collar also, choking him off. As she lets his breath back, he makes a soft keening cry. She stands back and focuses on his chest again; Five is wincing and struggling against his bonds. Winding up, she delivers a second blow, angled the other way. Five gurgles and cries out in pain. Oh my god, she's walking over -- me next.
She stands before me, locking me in her gaze. Some ice, but more a sense that she's just enjoying a really good time. I can't complain -- so far I've gotten the long end of the stick for sure. I'm perfectly available for target practice -- I won't move an inch, and can't be seriously damaged, only given excruciating pain. She's still completely naked, I'm somewhat less so, and I'm completely in her thrall. She winds up, playing on my fear, flicking a few times, and then CRACK. Searing pain surges up from my chest to my brain, as she lays a diagonal stroke on the mylar. Yes, this plastic can definitely transmit the blow. I'm sure it doesn't count in the eighteen. I can't scream -- I am choked by the collar. As she releases the collar I keen in pain like Five. But she's not done.
She backs up and stares deeply into my eyes, smiling."Just something to remember me by. Just imagine me standing naked before you with my whip for each of your eighteen strokes -- maybe it will go faster!" Then the stare turns to ice, which surges terrifyingly through my veins. I'm struggling desperately in my bonds, trying frantically to free my wrists bound behind me, but the cuffs are unyielding. Suddenly I realize the incredible freedom Six and I have in this moment. I can struggle for all the world; my chest target won't move a millimeter. She doesn't have to worry at all that her target will move involuntarily -- she can concentrate entirely on her aim and the blow she intends to deliver. I feel a surge of erotic appreciation for her beautiful naked body, her mind, her sadism, her whip, my bondage. Yes, lay it on me Six.
Page 3
Which she does. With a CRACK the searing pain erupts again in my chest, filling my whole body. I can only stare back with admiration and longing as she binds me once again in her gaze, then gracefully releases me. Five and I both wear Six's X now. This part is over.
Two removes our extra devices and puts our cock nets back on. She gives each of us a little kiss right below our upper fiducial marks, taking care not to smudge them, then turns to help Six finish dressing."We're done now -- back to work. Suffer pretty in your mylar vests." And to me_"See you in court -- come in stripes next time!"_ They exit the rear door. I'm relieved we are not re-blindfolded -- did they forget? I'll get to see the apparatus after all.
But there's still some contemplation time left. We were to hang for half an hour. Six and Two took a bit over twenty minutes for their show, and there's five minutes left. I'm twisting and convulsing painfully again, just like my neighbor. But now I know why I'm being punished -- I can use the time to reflect properly.
It goes fast; time for final preparations. The punishment apparatus is pretty sinister, and totally twenty-first century. An attendant, a man this time, enters the room and opens a hatch in the wall to my left. It is difficult to see clearly on account of the brank holding my head, but in the mirror I see he grasps a metal ring inside the hatch and pulls it out. Attached is a steel band about half an inch wide. He walks across the room pulling the band out behind him, opens another hatch on the other side, where he hooks the ring in place. He touches a control, and the band is tightened, stretching about three inches in front of my chest. I sense by the strange singing noise it makes that it must be under a thousand pounds of tension -- maybe more. At this point I have no concept of the pain this band can induce, I can only imagine, and I'm getting hard again, in spite of having just come. The attendant notices this and chuckles a little to himself, leaving the room for a moment to return with a bag of fittings.
The inmate door opens and a carriage comes in on the overhead rail, but it is not towing an inmate. Attached to its carriage pole, and the one which follows it, are the active instruments of our chastisement. The first stops between me and Four, the second between Four and Five. Each supports a long rectangular box, reaching from the floor to above the height of the steel strip. They appear to attach themselves to the floor by suction so as not to move even with a lot of force. The attendant opens a hatch on the front of the machine nearest me. Sliding a large hairpin-shaped loop over the band, he plugs it into the machine. This appears to be mostly for safety -- the band does not touch the hairpin, though the hairpin completely encloses the band. I observe that the end of the loop is well past the targets -- us.
The active mechanism is revealed next. The attendant reaches into the hatch and swivels up a rod with a bend at the end, which can hook the band and pull it backward. The hook end is just an inch or so beyond the band, and appears ready to pull. A magnetic latch extends slightly from the front of the mechanism, ready to receive and hold the band stretched away from us.
He sets up the other machine, then presses a control. The two hooks pull the band back with obvious force to the magnetic latches. Once the band is magnetically gripped, the hooks drop out of the way. As the band is pulled back it makes an ominous singing, sizzling sound -- a great deal of energy is being put in, ready to be released on our mylar-covered torsos. I shiver with anticipation as I look in the mirror at the taut quivering band in front of me, ready to unleash its atoning energy into my very being. Yes, Six, I deserve this punishment.
The attendant leaves the room, and the lights dim. What follows is surreal. My twisting and convulsing stops. The steel invader in my anus, which is now considerably further in, fills me below as I feel my backrest inflate, further tightening me in the steely embrace of the mylar case I'm wearing. Two laser beams converge on my polymer-enclosed chest and those of my companions. My pole moves down until the two beams are at the mark the attendant made below my Adam's apple, and it simultaneously swivels forward and slightly side to side until the reflections leave without bending up or down -- I am positioned so the point of impact is exactly square to the path the band will take as it flies in. Since my chest curves in toward my neck in that area, I am tilted somewhat head forward, and can't help staring at the band -- I understand the purpose of the gag strap now, since if I opened my mouth my jaw might actually be in the band's path. I feel the telescoping collar attachment lock so I can't move my head at all. My punishment pole moves forward until the two laser marks converge, positioning me at the correct distance for the impact. Precision! I can hear my companions grunting as they are similarly positioned, the laser beams converging to neat dots on their chests also. This time around Four is sharing the experience, though he cannot see the beams, and he growls into his gag, thrashing in his bonds.
The loudspeaker voice announces "Commence the punishment. The prisoners will receive eighteen severe correctional impacts". Right now I'm in an ecstasy of anticipation -- perfectly positioned to receive the blow, the band singing in front of me. The seconds go by...
I could not have imagined what happens next. First, my arms and legs are fiercely convulsed, along with my belly. As I gasp in surprise the collar tightens, preventing me from drawing my breath back. I struggle for breath for a second or so, and the collar suddenly loosens; involuntarily I draw in deeply. The collar tightens again -- I am filled with air and water, squeezed even more tightly against the mylar. With a loud SNAP the band lands, shaking me on the pole with the impact. Agonizing pain surges up and down my whole body. Of course I can't scream, not yet. But the collar loosens after a moment, and gasping for breath I let out a keening cry, along with my companions. This is nothing like any blow I ever received -- even Six's X seems merciful in comparison. This is real punishment, not a game.
Well, did I expect a walk in the park? Twenty seconds or so go by, the agony settling into a throb, and the laser beams come on again. This time the pole aims me for a landing at the bottom mark, just above my penis -- that's why the net, which secures it well below the line of fire. I'm tilted back to make the landing spot perpendicular, and in the eerie glow I see my companions positioned likewise. Establishing the upper and lower bounds, I suppose.
I know a little more what to expect this time; my body struggles to escape, obviously to no avail. I convulse, the pain momentarily obscuring the burning at my upper chest, exhaling for the collar's embrace. There's no avoiding gasping air when it releases momentarily, even knowing what is to happen. Collar tightens -- SNAP -- I shudder and sway on the pole. The searing pain rushes out of my groin to the ends of my body as the collar releases, allowing me a scream of agony. At this point I don't even notice what my companions do -- I've sunk into my own space.
I'm marked at both extremes, the throbbing extending from my neck to my groin. Sixteen more strokes will fill in the space. Can I possibly bear it? I know that if I start to faint I will be revived with drugs squirted into my mouth and anus -- there's no escaping this punishment, even by unconsciousness. I struggle involuntarily in my bonds, even though it adds more pain.
Another twenty seconds and I'm being positioned again. My muscles convulse painfully with electrical stimulation, taking my breath away again. The collar tightens, then loosens and I gasp for air -- there is no way to avoid this, no matter how hard I try. I mentally brace for the impact, but nothing. The collar releases again, and I gasp along with my companions, wondering what happened. Did the mechanism fail?
No. Twenty five seconds later the same thing happens, and it sinks in. I will be repositioned and choked every thirty seconds, sixty times in half an hour. But I am to receive eighteen strokes, two already passed in the first minute. I'll not know when a stroke is actually to occur.
Re-position, convulsion, gasp, choke, gasp, wait. Re-position, repeat. I watch helplessly as the beams converge on a particular spot, not knowing if agony will erupt there in a moment or not. Now that top and bottom are established, the other positions seem random -- I've been positioned half a dozen places now, high and low, with no stroke landing. The throbbing continues unabated, but to my complete surprise I'm wishing for a stroke now -- perhaps to get this over with, but perhaps not. Please sir (or ma'am), may I have another?
Re-position, convulsion, gasp, choke, gasp, WHAM, gurgle, AARGH. My god, how could I wish for that. The pain surges through, mixing with the increasing throbbing. Re-position, convulsion, gasp, choke, gasp, WHAM, gurgle, EOWWW. Two in a row. Then three no-hitters. Re-position, convulsion, gasp, choke, gasp, WHACK, gurgle, AIEEE.
Several more false alarms. I'm starting to sob pitifully, my body struggling to get free. Control yourself, it only makes it hurt more. But there's no controlling it, the lower brain does all it can to try to escape. "Resistance is futile" is meaningless -- the body, if still alive and conscious, simply can't stop resisting. I can't believe this is happening to me.
The lights go up, but it's obviously not over. An attendant comes in with two blindfolds. She flips a safety switch to pause the punishment and walks over to Five to blindfold him. Then over to me, and I lose my vision also, though it makes little difference now. I hear her go out, flipping the safety switch back to normal, and from the light leaking into my blindfold I see that the lights dim back down.
Re-position, convulsion, gasp, choke, gasp, WHAM, gurgle, YAIEEEE... I'm up to six now. Only twice as much yet to go. Crying desperately I try to imagine Six naked before me, but the image won't form."My God, my Queen, why have you forsaken me?"
Although the positions seem somewhat random, the choices are clearly made to keep space between the strokes, to allow the freshest possible flesh to receive each strike. After six impacts my space is pretty filled in, the throbbing can't be placed. But the blows continue to land, of course, in the spaces in between. The perfect bondage of the mylar vest makes it possible to land many impacts without overlap -- the maximum number has been steadily increased from around ten when the punishments were introduced, up to around twenty now, depending on the size of the inmate. I'm not large, eighteen is pushing it, but each stripe will be clean and distinct -- none of the messy results seen in pictures from Indonesia.
Re-position, convulsion, gasp, choke, gasp, WHAM, gurgle, YAIOWW. My little reverie is interrupted, sending fire through my body.
I'm sinking into a daze. Infusions of drugs are keeping me conscious but the brain has defenses nonetheless, and after a while I lose count, drifting in a sea of throbbing pain and momentary agony. I still can't help struggling to escape, though -- you'd think it would be obvious escape is impossible, but the body can't learn or accept that, and it adds considerably to the overall punishment. Except for the convulsions before the impacts, no electricity is required now. I will writhe and twist between impacts anyway, struggling desperately to escape regardless of my helplessness. This appears to be true for my companions also. I can see them in the mirror twisting and pulling on their wrists frantically just like I am -- we'll have bruises on many other places besides our chests and groins. Our spread legs shake uncontrollably in our stirrups. Rattles, clicks and creaks fill the room along with with the singing of the steel band and our cries and groans.
On and on it goes, the blows filling in every inch between my two marks. No wonder the attendant took such pleasure in making them. My whole body aches and throbs with pain, except when a blow lands and I explode with agony. The blows which don't occur remind me how I'm shuddering with fear just before they land. I continue to struggle fiercely, yanking and pulling at my wrists, thrashing my legs about desperately. I expect my balls and penis are flapping around plenty for the pleasure of anyone who might be watching, though I know these sessions are not offered for sale. Although the penetrator now invades my anus pretty far, I'm hardly aware of it, so great is the pain from the blows themselves. I must be a pretty sight for anyone who likes to watch this sort of thing, and I suspect that one person in particular will view the security tapes with pleasure. This thought is promptly interrupted as I am re-positioned yet again. Then comes the excruciating convulsion, the pain of which is only exceeded by the impact of the steel band on my body. The breathless anticipation, gasp, choke, gasp. Then the merciless impact. For all its modern efficiency and hygiene, it's founded on the whole history of humanity's brutally effective coercive corporal punishments. Except for one thing, for which I am thankful -- a fatal outcome is far less likely. WHAM, gurgle, AIEEEEE.... The room erupts with screams.
Finally it's over. The end is a little mean -- the repositionings continue for several cycles after the last blow has landed, but I long since lost count, so I don't know that it's really over until I sense the lights come up, and feel some soothing pain-relieving drugs injected into my mouth and anus. They don't taste very good, but they work fast.
We remain blindfolded for the unbinding. First the penetrator withdraws. The previous punishment took care of this delicately -- nothing like that now. However, I emit only a few drops -- the continual pressurizing and releasing has cleaned me out pretty well, and before it pulls out completely it sucks me out thoroughly. I can hear the Skoobas patrolling -- they will clean up the rest.
The vest is another matter. It's tightly glued in place. I dread the thought that it will simply be ripped off, but they are not that cruel. I feel an attendant sponge a fluid over my chest and groin. It's anaesthetic, and brings the pain under control -- we have to be able to get home, after all. But I notice that it's dissolving the glue also, returning it to the lubricating state it was in when the vest was installed, and the attendant can now remove it without much pain. As this is taking place I can hear my companions, Five first, then Four, making their exit. We can't see each other, but it makes little difference - this punishment has had little of the communal bonding quality of my earlier experience.
My legs are let down, my brank-gag removed, and my arms returned to my front, where they are taken by the carriage-pole. The collar is re-attached to the pole also, unlike before when it simply opened. I am still bound with high security. At the exit I am finally un-blindfolded.
The carriage pole pulls me out. I enter the cleaning chamber as before, and my legs are re-spread. The collar pole stiffens, and I am quickly washed, then dried. The air knife hurts a bit more than previously as it passes over my eighteen welts. Now I learn why the collar and its pole are used for this exit. I'm being spray-painted on my chest and groin. A thin plastic covering, like a medi-spray bandage, is applied, and tingles as it settles and dries. I suppose this is a good thing. Although my skin is mostly not broken thanks to the vest, it's pretty traumatized, and there is risk of infection, which this will reduce. It has another more sinister purpose, I discover later.
On to the dressing booth, where with some difficulty I dress. This time the second little compartment does open. No drugs this time, only instructions. These set expectations, warning me that my punishment is not yet over, and especially not to try to apply pain relievers to the stripes, as the protective spray coating also contains chemicals which will react with them and create considerable extra pain. There are some prescriptions in case of infection, and instructions for how to deal with more serious medical issues should they occur.
The police car is waiting outside, and the officer motions me to get in. He does not speak or look at me, simply delivering me to the bus stop I requested. The anaesthetics last long enough for me to get home, where exhausted, I try to sleep, but find it's not so easy.
Just one anomaly was recorded for the session. At shift change, a security officer substituting for one who called in sick observed on his monitor that contrary to the specified protocol two of the three prisoners being punished were not blindfolded, so an attendant was sent in to correct the situation. Six sure knows how to cover her tracks!
EPILOGUE
The punishment continued long after I returned home. The first week was excruciating -- I could hardly sleep. Contrary to the instructions I tried a little anaesthetic balm on one stripe, and the instant searing pain put a stop to those experiments. As the pain decreased the itching became unbearable. I got in touch with Five, and we became better friends for our common experience. I could not have made it through those weeks if he had not been willing to bind my hands behind me while I got what little sleep I could. Soon my turn would be over and I would have to stand guard over bound Five while he tried to rest. We both took some amusement in the distinctive pattern we wore. While web pictures of an "Eighteen" show just eighteen perfectly parallel welts, we in addition sport a perfectly formed X across our upper chests, the intersection perfectly centered and precisely in line with our nipples. At first neither of us had any desire for orgasm, it was simply too painful, but later we provided each other with relief -- other sexual encounters required far too much explanation! Our friendship got us through the first months, until the angry marks subsided sufficiently to enable outside exploration, and while not serious lovers, we still enjoy a scene once in a while -- we certainly know a lot about each other's limits. He's never been willing to tell me what either of his "crimes" was -- don't ask, don't tell, I suppose. We agree that the second experience was rather beyond either of our limits -- I certainly learned Six's lesson, and will not try to slip one by her, or any of the tormentors, ever again.
Six's experiment yielded interesting data, as Five, who is able somehow to access all sorts of confidential information, ferreted out. Five and I suffered significantly more than Four, and more consistently from stroke to stroke, as a result of having been brought to orgasm (especially so thoroughly) before our punishment. Six has not actually made use of this data; the authorities have been tolerant of the peculiarities of the non-impact punishment because of the revenue it raises, but the notion of making prisoners come before impact punishment, however effective it might be, is simply too far from the mainstream notion of what constitutes "punishment" to gain traction. I rather suspect that Six documented that experiment more for damage control preparedness than to actually push for a change in the punishment protocol. In the event that her presence in the chamber that day came to light, it would provide some justification, however lame, for the activity which took place.
The other interesting piece of confirmed information was this. Four, after a series of minor property crimes, decided to try his hand at pimping again. His shoddy treatment of his girls resulted in quick apprehension, and his misfortune to come before a woman judge got the book thrown at him. He still must not have been very good at it -- he could not possibly pay the fine. Six only had to approve Four's punishment, but when Five's and my cases came up about the same time, it was simply more than she could resist not to make some "corrections" and put us in the same session. She of course knew exactly what I was up to, and had a pretty good idea in Five's case also -- I've heard she was grinning from ear to ear when she logged out that day! However, I've also heard that she was pretty chagrined when she reviewed the punishment data -- Five and I really did suffer quite a bit more than she anticipated. How do I feel about it? The experience was excruciatingly awful. But the erotic surge which wells up inside as I think of Six's X on my chest makes me wonder -- are there some questions which just can't be answered?
Page 4
It was quite a while before I got up the nerve to return to court, but as I gradually recovered and hurt less my life returned to normal. So today I'm back. I chose a striped shirt, as I imagined Six had suggested. Horizontal stripes wouldn't do in court, and I didn't have one anyway, so my stripes today are vertical, but they'll do.
As the courtroom fills, I'm back in the swing, watching the lawyers, clerks and other professionals greet one another and begin the cheerful banter which is so contrasted to the later seriousness. No tormentor yet, I see, but they don't usually come in this early. The judge, on the other hand, seems to be running late -- the session was supposed to start twenty minutes ago. Not so unusual either.
Must be my lucky day. In walks my original tormentor, along with Six -- two tormentors is unusual. They split and take seats on opposite sides of the courtroom. Just after them the judge enters. A lady judge too -- this will be an excellent day!
ALL RISE, and in the bustle of standing the judge says something I can't hear -- probably a humorous excuse for being late, I suppose, based on the titter which runs around the front of the courtroom. Just then Six looks toward the back and sees me standing there. She acknowledges me with a flicker of a smile, and I smile back with a bit of embarrassment and a shiver of delight. Perhaps I stood too fast; my head goes all fuzzy and light. The courtroom diffuses into a diamond: Judge at home plate, Six on first, the Tormentor on third. With a quick look Six throws the ocular baseball across the courtroom to the Tormentor, who catches it and with a glance in my direction sends it whizzing toward my seat at second. I rush frantically back to safety as the umpire cries "OUT." The judge frowns at Six and then the Tormentor, who continue to chuckle a little longer than the others.
"Surely my little quip wasn't that funny," she must be thinking. No mystery to me -- as the judge motions us to sit I can feel the hot sticky residue of my ejaculation oozing down my pants.
"Consider us even," I seem to hear in the rustling. Touché, Six.