A Thief Gets Punished Pt. 09

Sir took me into the building and my jaw dropped. There were dozens of desks to our left, all manned by people in businesswear; men and women in grey suits who were talking to each other, writing documents, filing things. To our right were some chairs, like some kind of waiting room; there were people milling about. In front of us was a desk with a receptionist, and behind her was a corridor towards the back.

Then there was me, the naked chick with her hands tied behind her back and a leash around her neck. I found myself wondering what these people would look like naked. Their bodies - their genitals - were a mystery to me, while mine were on display.

I felt subdued.

"Hey, big dog!" A man walked up to us. His hair was short and slicked back, and his suit was even finer than many walking through the room. He barely glanced at me. "Dropping this little brat off?"

"Nah, I'm going to process her," said the Catcher. He smiled with a warm intimacy. He had never spoken to me this way; in fact, he hadbn't spoken to anyone like this. He liked this man.

"Oh, unlucky for her. Are you stabling her afterwards?"

"Yep. Did you want to hang out tonight?"

"Hell yeah, brother. My ENF is stabled right now."

Processing? Stabling? What do these terms mean? What I did know was that my humiliation had found a different expression. Not only was I left out of the loop, I was being talked about as if I were an object to be shuffled around.

Let's face it, that's what I am. I looked down as they talked - chastised, self-pitying, humiliated. Two professional men in a room full of professionals, walking around like people with jobs and places to go, and here I was; a naked lady who had to do exactly what she was told. I didn't want to draw any more attention than I already was. The very thought of being spanked in this environment terrified me.

Eventually, they said their goodbyes, and the Catcher pulled me over to the receptionist desk.

"Hello, sir," she said. "What do you need today?"

"I'm processing Erica Broadchurch," he said.

She looked up at me. She looked directly at my breasts! Do they keep a lesbian on staff or something? She then looked down at her notes. "Room 7 is free. Alexa is already in there with a trainee."

"Excellent," he said. "Come along, Erica."

I sped forward to keep up as he strode forward. We walked down to the end of the hall. At the very end was a door marked STABLE. The Catcher and his friend had talked about 'stabling'. I shuddered to think what was behind there. There was a door to our left marked PROCESSING.

He opened it, revealing another corridor - this one full of doors, each numbered. He took me into room 7. It was a small room with a kind of cage at the centre. There was a woman and a young man; she was older and wearing a colourful suit, with pink-coloured hair. The young man was dressed very simiarly to the Catcher.

"Ah, he's here!" said the woman. "Young man, this is the professional I was telling you about. He's the best in the business. You can learn a lot from him - discipline, self-control, the right spanking technique."

"It's good to see you, Alexa," said the Catcher, pulling me along. "Our subject today is Erica Broadchurch."

"Oh, aren't you gorgeous! I'm a big fan of redheads, and that's a beautiful tattoo."

"Blow me, you hag," I said. Naturally, the Catcher bent me over and spanked me five times for that one, and I thanked him for every one. As my ass throbbed, he pulled me into the cage. He lifted my hands and put my wrists in shackles attached to the roof as Alexa and the young man put my feet in shackles attached to the floor.

Naturally, I felt very nervous about my exposed armpits. I squirmed a little. But then he pulled out a tape measure. He held it up against me. "Five foot eight height."

Alexa wrote on a clipboard. "Nice."

He put the measure around my breasts. "Thirty-seven."

"Very small boobs compared to most you get." I couldn't help but blush furiously at that. Commenting on my body! I happen to like my boobs.

"Waist, twenty-eight. Hips, thirty-eight."

"She's so fit! Look at these muscles!"

I relaxed. They were just getting my vital statistics. I was a barenaked piece of meat, but by the standards of my usual humiliation, this hardly registered. This wasn't so bad. "Alright, kid, let's show you how to tickle her."

No! No!!!

"Wow, look at her shake."

"Good place to start is at the armpits," he said. He gripped my sides and gently tickled my pits with his thumbs. He kept talking over my giggling: "You have greater control over your thumbs, it lets you build up in intensity." I was his godsdamn instrument! My laughter reached a high pitch.

He continued: "See how she's getting used to it? That'll happen. I'll move down to her belly." He did so. He started gently scratching gently with his fingernails. "I'm also switching up how I use my hands. Keeps things consistent. She's absolutely tortured by constant motion more than intense motion."

I cackled. I giggled. I was tickle-tortured.

"Alright, do me a favour, tickle the back of her knees."

"Noooooooooooooooo!" I cried. Tears poured down my face before he even touched me. The young man knelt down and tickled the back of my knees, as ordered. I tried shaking my legs - totally futile, because my feet were locked down.

I was a long way from Frederick's spare room. I was supposed to be on the run from a bank heist! I was supposed to be in charge! I wasn't supposed to be locked in some cage, tickled until I couldn't see straight!

As I laughed, the Catcher shouted over me: "People underrate the back of the knees as a spot to tickle! I never understood why! Look at her go!"

I was trapped! I was trapped! I was trapped!