Author’s Note: This
takes place several weeks after Part 35.
---------------------------------------------------
XXXVI
I stand naked and shivering in the dungeon. My legs are spread, my hands behind my
head. Four women stand before me. Masks and goggles similar to the ones used
in paintball cover their faces. They
wear long leather coats trimmed in fur at the collar and cuffs. Fur hats.
Knee high leather boots. They
look like they belong in a movie portraying Soviet-era Russian military. My eyes drift to their belts. My breathing becomes heavy with fear. Handcuffs.
A leather strap. Pepper
spray. A flashlight. A baton.
This feels too real to be a game. My fingers fidget. I am
exposed and vulnerable. I blush in
shame. I can tell them apart by their
heights and hair. The uniform fits
Mistress beautifully. My eyes find
her. The mirrored finish on her goggles
hides her eyes from me. My sex strains
against the belt.
She nods her head to the right. Another guard steps forward.
It must be Tabitha. The voice
confirms it.
She tosses a bundle at my feet.
“Inmate, get ready for transport.”
I nod and open the bundle.
A neon pink jumpsuit with “D.O.C.” stenciled on the back along with a
pair of canvas slip-on shoes. I quickly
dress in front of them. Even as a
prisoner I’m forced to wear pink.
Tabitha and Lauren approach me. They feed a belly-chain around my waist and lock it in
place. Tabitha secures the leg irons
while Lauren secures my wrists with handcuffs.
Full prisoner transport shackles.
They lock them tight. It
hurts. This isn’t a game to them. I throw a concerned glance at Mistress. She doesn’t react.
Hands from behind pull a black bag over my head, covering my
face and eyes. I feel it cinch at the
waist. Ear mufflers over the top. I start to shake, remembering my previous
experiences with Renee. I’m freed from
that moment by firm grips on my arms.
They drag me forwards. I stumble
to keep up. The ankle cuffs dig into my
muscles with each step.
They drag me along with force. Up the stairs. Across the
rooms. Voices are muffled. I see only glimmers of light through the
fabric of the bag. The lights get
brighter. I feel the cold bite of the
wind through the cotton suit. Snow in
my shoes. It’s freezing. I play along. This is what Mistress expects of me. This is what will make her happy.
Up a step. I’m
forced into a seat. Straps cross over
my chest. On the ride I remind myself
this is just for a university project.
This isn’t real. Stay calm. Make Mistress proud. My seat thumps. The ride gets bumpy. I
breathe slowly and keep my eyes closed.
The vehicle lurches to a halt. I feel the straps release.
Hands grip my arms again. I’m
dragged down a step. My feet land in
some deep snow. It easily penetrates
the pant leg and its cold covers my ankles and feet. A gust of wind makes me shiver.
They drag me along.
The ground under my feet changes from snow to a hard, flat surface. They remove the ear mufflers and bag. My eyes squint as they adjust to the
light. I’m in plain and drab building
with a concrete floor. There’s no wind
but it’s still freezing.
Mistress grabs my arm again. Her fingers dig into the muscle and find a pressure point. I wince.
“A new inmate for processing.” She speaks calmly, without emotion.
“Strip search him,” replies Tabitha.
Mistress and the final guard, who must be Dominique, release
my shackles. The rush of blood to my
hands and feet tingles. They unzip my
jump suit and drag me out of it.
“He’s resisting,” says Mistress. In an instant she bars my arm, a blow to the knee makes it buckle
and she puts me face down on the ground.
The concrete is freezing on my bare chest. She digs her knee into my back and pins my arm behind me. A rain of straps follows. Over and over they land on my back,
buttocks, arms, and legs.
I scream and thrash about.
Tears soon fill my eyes. My body
falls limp. The blows stop.
“We’ll do this the hard way.”
Mistress and Dominique force me to my feet. They lead me to a table and force me face
down. My wrists are secured by a pair
of shackles on the far end. The tears
continue. This isn’t real.
“Body cavity search time!”
It’s definitely Dominique. She
sounds excited. I hear the snap of a
rubber glove. A squishing sound. I pull my legs together. I feel a hand grip the back of my neck,
pinning my face to the table. A boot
forces its way between my feet. It
shoves my right foot out to the side.
Another boot repeats that with the same.
I sob.
“Please don’t do this.
I don’t have anything. Please
don’t do this.”
The hand tightens on my neck.
“Shut up, inmate.
Speak again and you’ll get the strap.”
My body tenses. My
muscles twitch. I feel a pair of lubed
fingers slide their way between my cheeks.
I whimper. Please don’t do
this.
They violate me. I
bawl. The fingers move around,
inspecting my insides. My body slumps
in defeat. This isn’t a game. I am a prisoner.
“He’s clean.” The
fingers leave my body.
A guard sits at the head of the table. It’s Tabitha.
“Inmate, you have been sent to this prison to complete your
rehabilitation. The length of your
sentence is determined by your ability to change yourself into someone that can
contribute positively to society. Do
you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am.” My
response is feeble and weak.
“From now on, you are prisoner number zero-zero-one. You do not have a name. Names are granted to those who deserve
them. You are merely a number until you
have earned the right to a name upon your release. Your file says you have pled guilty to sexual assault and
indecent exposure. Is this true?”
“No, ma’am.”
SMACK. A strap bites
into the frozen skin on my rear. I
yelp. They tell me who I am.
“Is this true?”
“Yes, ma’am. It is
true.”
“Good, inmate. Admitting
your crime is the first step. I’m sure
you have a long list of crimes against women.
Confess and we can start your rehabilitation.”
“I have nothing to confess, ma’am.”
SMACK. SMACK. I wail and sob.
“Confess.”
“I’ve committed crimes against women, ma’am. I lust for them. I see them as prey. I
treat them as inferiors.” I lie out of
necessity.
“Inmate, by the end of your rehabilitation, I can promise
you that you will see women in a new light.
Get him into uniform and take him to his cell.”
The hand releases its grip on my neck. The shackles are unlocked from my
wrists. The skin on my back, arms,
legs, and buttocks burns. I can feel my
heart pulse in them. There will be
bruises soon. A bundle lands on the
table in front of me. I open it and
find my uniform. My heart sinks even
more. It too is pink. I unfold the uniform. If its design was meant to demoralize me it
has succeeded.
I reluctantly pull the pink dress over my head. It’s almost identical to my maid’s uniform
with fur at the collar, cuffs, and hem.
There’s a startling difference.
The prison uniform is made of thin cotton. It is rough and scratchy.
A hand zips the back up for me.
I rub my arms for warmth. A pair
of cotton tights. Thin mittens. Pink moon boots. I finish dressing and present my finished self to the
guards. My face burns red. Lauren secures a gag in my mouth. She buckles it behind my head and locks it
in place. The gag has an air hole in
its center. She then pulls a pink
spandex mask over my head. It has
eyeholes and a small hole to leave the gag’s air hole unblocked. I feel a pom pom dance back and forth on top
of the mask as I move.
I feel a belt cinch tightly around my waist. It buckles behind me. A lock clicks.
Lauren stands directly in front of me.
“Inmate 001, this is your prison uniform. You will be inspected several times a
day. Your uniform will remain in place
and in presentable condition. Any
uniform violations will increase the length of time before your first parole hearing. Your current parole hearing is scheduled for
7 days from now.”
I hang my head. This
isn’t a game. I feel leg irons click
shut around my ankles. The boots
provide enough padding to keep them from hurting.
“Hands behind your back.”
I turn and do as I am instructed. Her hand grips my wrist and turns it palm out. I feel the handcuff close around my
wrist. She repeats with the other
hand. A tug on the chain.
“Escort the prisoner to his cell.”
Hands grip my arms.
I keep my head down. Is this
what you wanted, Mistress?
They direct me to the back of the building. Along the rear wall stand a row of stacked
cages. I approach the left side of the
row. Mistress opens the latch and
swings the door open.
“Welcome to your new home, inmate.”
I drop to my knees and shuffle into the cage. The door closes behind me. A lock clicks. I turn to the bars. I can
smell Mistress’s sex. I want to touch
her. Without a glance she turns and
walks away, Dominique beside her. When
they are across the room I see them getting friendly. Talking, giving each other playful shoves. I feel sad and alone now.
I slump down in the cage.
I hate being restrained with my hands behind me. It’s uncomfortable. The inside of the cage is small. It’s too short to stand. It’s not deep enough to lie down. It’s too narrow to turn easily. Solid metal surrounds me on 5 sides. The barred front door is the only
opening. I lie on the ground and curl
up into a ball, a feeble attempt to huddle for warmth. I close my eyes.
A clink of metal startles me. I open my eyes.
“Feeding time, inmate.”
I rise in the cage and struggle to turn. I shuffle toward the bars. A bottle clamps to the bars. A bent metal tube at the bottom acts as a
sort of straw. It’s a larger version of
the water feeders we had for our pet gerbils when I was a child. I glance around, wondering how I’m supposed
to eat. The guard is already across the
room.
I let out a sigh. I
press my face to the bars. Line the
metal tube up with the air hole on the gag.
It takes a few tries to insert it.
Finally secure, I suck. Liquid
slowly enters my mouth through the hole in the gag. It tastes awful. I’m
starving and dehydrated and I know better than to complain. I choke down the foul and perverse liquid
meal sip by sip, gulp by gulp. The
rumbling in my belly slowly ceases. I
empty the bottle and slump back into the cage.
I close my eyes.
A bang of metal on metal makes me jump. My eyes fly open.
“Head count!” The
latch on the cage door clangs and the door swings open. I shuffle my way out of the cage. I struggle to my feet. Lauren stands before me with a clipboard.
“001 present and accounted for. Get back in your cell, inmate.”
I again drop to my knees.
I shuffle my way back. A foot
shoves my backside forward. I topple
onto my face, my cheek bears the brunt of the impact.
“I haven’t got all day, hurry up, inmate.”
I pull my legs in.
The cage door clangs shut. The
latch bangs. The lock clicks. I slump against the cage floor. My wrists hurt. This isn’t a game. I miss
you, Mistress. I close my eyes.
Time passes. I lay
motionless. A voice shouts.
“Lights out!”
I open my eyes in time to see the ceiling light near the
cages turn off. It’s dark. I’m cold and lonely. This isn’t a game. I close my eyes. I repeat
a mantra in my head: This will all be over soon. I doze off.
I jerk awake. Metal
on metal. I shift my body in the
cage. Light blinds my eyes. A guard with a flashlight. She drags the end against the bars. The lock clicks. The latch clangs. The
cage door swings open. I shake the
cobwebs from my head, rise to my knees, and shuffle my way out. The light continues to blind me.
Her hand pulls up my mask.
She fidgets with the gag strap.
I feel the buckle release. She
pulls the gag from my mouth. I can
smell her. It’s Mistress. My heart jumps.
“Mistress, I love you.”
“Silence, inmate!”
Smack. Her hand
meets me squarely on the cheek. It
stings. Tears fill my eyes. Her mirrored goggles hide her eyes. I lower my head.
“Don’t you dare get familiar with me, inmate, or I will beat
you.”
Smack. She slaps me
again, even harder.
“You’re the fresh meat here. We played rock, paper, scissors to see who would get to use you
first, and I won.”
I mentally retreat.
I feel small and helpless.
Endure. She unbuckles her
belt. It falls to the ground around her
with a clank. Her coat opens. Her hands slide down her body to the waist
of the leather pants. She unsnaps a
frontal codpiece from the crotch and drops it on the floor.
I fight back a grin.
The design is what I would have expected from Mistress. Her sex glistens in the light. She’s wet.
Her palm extends on the top of my head and holds it in place. Her boot lightly taps the front of my
chastity belt. My breathing grows
heavy.
I whimper a low moan.
SMACK. Her hand meets my
cheek. I cringe and shut my eyes
tight. She hisses.
“Criminals don’t deserve to enjoy this. Pleasure me well or I will have no issue
with hurting you.”
She pulls my face into her sex. Her other hand grips my neck and presses firmly on my
throat. I gasp for air. Her scent fills my nose. I’m not a person. I’m her masturbation toy.
My lips kiss her erect clit. I
want to love her but she frightens me.
My body takes over, the years of conditioning and training shining
through. I lick my lips and press them
around her clit. My tongue flattens and
massages it. Her juices soak into the
fabric of the mask. She is all I can
smell.
She pulls my head tighter.
I swirl my tongue over her. Back
and forth, up and down. Small
circles. She rocks her pelvis and meets
me. I continue to lick. My lips form a suction. She moans.
She grinds into my face. I press
my tongue harder and increase its pace. I feel her juices flowing.
I press firmer and find the sweet spot.
She lets out a pleasure cry. Her
hand pulls my head harder. Her thumb
presses firmly on my throat.
My breaths heave through my nose. In and out. The hot air
flows from my nose in pulses. I know
she can feel me. My tongue and lips
continue their work. She grinds onto me
harder. I feel her thighs flex. She moans again, louder. My tongue flicks and slides across her. She is close.
Her hand slides down the back of my head. It mirrors the other. I feel both of her thumbs over my
throat. I tremble. I take a deep breath and continue to lick. Her thumbs press tighter. The air passage closes. I feel the blood throb in my face. My body reacts in panic. Her fingers tighten at the back of my neck
and press my head tightly against her.
My mouth opens and my tongue stops moving. Panic. My head shakes
violently. My face rubs back and forth
over her sex. She moans and loosens her
thumbs.
I heave a deep breath.
My throat swallows, shaking away the unfamiliar sensation. She lets out a deep laugh. Her hand pulls my head, burying my face in
her sex. Her hips press her firmly
against my lips. I work faster. My tongue finds the sweet spot. Her voice pulses in a series of cries and
moans.
Her hands slide down.
Her thumbs again find my throat.
I let out a small whimper. They
press down. My head fights against her
grip. She pulls me tighter. My eyes feel like they are bulging. My face pulses. My head shakes rapidly. My
lips and nose spasm against her crotch.
I feel her clit rubbing against my quivering face. She digs her fingers in tighter. She cries out. Her juices soak my face.
She shoves me to my back, releasing her grip on my
throat. I topple over hard, gasping for
air. Coughing. Choking.
I swallow repeatedly. My
breathing calms. I slowly regain my
composure. I can still feel where her
thumbs pressed my throat.
Her boots click against the floor as she gets closer.
“On your stomach, inmate!”
I turn over onto my stomach. I want to cry out to her.
Mistress, you are hurting me.
Mistress, you are scaring me.
Mistress, I love you.
She digs her knee into my back. I grunt. The gag presses
against my lips. I part them and it
fills my mouth. The buckle pulls tight,
digging the straps into my cheeks. The
lock clicks. She pulls the mask down
over my face. It’s soaked with her fluids. Her scent dominates my senses.
She presses her hand on the back of my head.
“The other ladies are going to be so disappointed at your
pathetic oral abilities, inmate. I’m
sure they won’t even bother trying and they will go straight for that ass. They were a bit worried our ‘past experiences’
might cause me to go easier on you out of sympathy.”
She grabs the handcuff chain and pulls my arms up. Click, click, click. Click, click, click. She tightens each cuff, removing any amount
of play in them.
“Let’s just say it has the opposite effect. To think that someone I once cared about is
now a convicted criminal and sex offender.
I’m mortified that I knew you and I hope you suffer like the piece of
shit that you are.”
She dismounts my back.
I whimper and sob on the ground.
“Get back in your cell, inmate.”
I rise with difficulty and begin to shuffle to my cage. Smack.
A leather strip lands on my back.
I move as fast as I can. I fall
into the cage onto my chest. She shoves
my legs with her boot. The door swings
shut with a clang. The latch
closes. The lock clicks. The light vanishes behind me. I lay alone in the dark. I cry.
END ACT
