Budget Correction

She lifts my cable and connects me to the punishment apparatus, all the while keeping me locked helplessly in her gaze. Then she turns away.

She continues with the rest of the inmates, spending a little extra time with Six, who struggles even more intensely than before. Seven continues to whimper in his gag—perhaps we all should. The tone in the room has completely changed—we are now truly prepared, physically and psychologically. Not quite biometrically, it turns out. There's one more step.

Calibration.

The system can detect if there is an electrical connection to every electrode, but the intensity of our responses also needs to be determined if our sentences are to be executed properly. Precise punishment is the goal, after all! Some people are simply more sensitive than others, and that must be factored in.

The calibration process is automatic—the system activates electrodes randomly, in various combinations and strengths, while cameras and microphones capture our responses. Since it must determine the limits of our response, some of the activations are very intense. This will give us a taste of what the system can do, but it lacks the human edge which will come after, when our tormentor takes over. I notice in the mirror that she is prepared to take notes during the calibration.

She sits back at the console, and types a command. My gag inflates, filling my mouth, but then it deflates again. I feel my anal penetrator expand against my colon and spread against my sphincter, locking itself in place, while the cone feels like it expands to a bulb and extends deep inside me. This causes discomfort which does not subside. We all groan softly; all of us are squirming in our bonds. I feel vacuum applied in my nipple-cups, causing some tingling, and a fresh round of squirming starts.

I feel an odd buzzing in my penis, then a sudden sharp pain in my nipples: I respond with a yelp. A scream comes from number two as she convulses in her bonds—I did not think screaming was possible through our gags, but it is apparently, especially if they are not inflated. Of course—uninflated they will not stifle screams, and an accurate calibration depends on our being able to scream unmuffled. And while number two might possibly be a volunteer, she's obviously getting no free ride.

The calibration moves swiftly. Number five emits a loud grunt. Suddenly my belly convulses more than I ever imagined possible, and I roar with pain. Number six emits a wail, and struggles violently. My penis erupts with an intense painful buzzing, and I struggle and gasp. The collar electrode is included in the palette of stimulations, and I respond with another yelp. Then my anus twitches—the system seems to be covering all the range of intensity. Everyone is squirming and struggling, and every second or so one of us howls out loud.

Suddenly number six emits a long throaty contralto scream, which seems to go on and on. I experience a very brief moment of schadenfreude, but then my thighs contract ferociously, while my penis seems to burst into flames. My nipples light up in agony, and my belly convulses rapidly, over and over. Staccato fire leaps through my anus. All these continue together for several seconds, and I scream like never before in my life. Each of us receives this experience in turn, and each screams in response.

Then things seem to calm down. My anus contracts and I grunt loudly, as the system seems to be expecting. My belly convulses with pain, and I scream again, but not nearly as loud or long as before. My penis twitches and my belly contracts as I emit a groan. One by one my nipples get a hard electric pinch, resulting in a pair of perfectly matched 'Ow's.

The screaming in the chamber subsides, while the ouches, grunts, gasps, yelps and groans become steadier. Every second or so my body erupts with a different kind of pain, buzzing, stinging, convulsing, with varying intensity, and I respond proportionally, and eerily similarly to my companions. We struggle in our bonds, but no longer quite so violently. Calibration is nearly done. The random stimulations diminish and fade to zero; the bondage discomfort rises once again to the top of our consciousness.

++++

A loudspeaker announces that the punishment session is about to start. A digital countdown appears projected on the glass in front of each of us, showing 49 minutes and 59 seconds remaining—thanks so much for the second, I think to myself. The time of day also appears—it is now about 8:45.—I've been here about an hour, and suffered quite a bit of pain already. But none of that counts. I wonder why each of us has a separate clock. None of them are ticking down yet. Our gags inflate, filling our mouths uncomfortably, and a round of fresh squirming starts.

Although the console is set up behind us, our tormentor now controls it remotely with a pad, which in her hands will soon be more fear-inspiring than any whip could be. She walks out in front, and stares again into number one's eyes, making a little adjustment to his height; the jerking of his pole makes him wince. She touches the pad again, and he emits a muffled shriek past his gag, then settles to a rhythmic moderate convulsing, emitting a soft grunt each time. His clock is ticking down, but not as fast as I would have expected. She moves to number two and looks at her perfunctorily, then touches the pad. Two shrieks, and begins her sequence of ouches and ugghs.

The tormentor arrives in front of me, and brings me down a little. All my bonds ache at this point, and when the pole jerks I groan softly. As she stares again into my eyes, the icy depth of her intellect sinks home. She's contemplating how to reverse my erotic joyride, how to exploit my fetishes, my specific vulnerabilites, in the service of my suffering. She intends to punish me thoroughly and effectively, as she is required to do. She has everything she needs at her fingertips to simply bring me to an intense orgasm right here and now, which might actually be her best choice for maximum agony thereafter.

But she knows that I know how much more pain I would suffer if I were to come; I would try my best to resist it. And besides, it's bad form and the paying customers probably wouldn't approve, at least not so early in the game. So she gives my nipples a very painful and unerotic shock—my turn to shriek. Then she sets up a rather intense buzzing in my penis. This repeats every second or so, and pauses longer from time to time, quite randomly. It will not bring me to orgasm, especially with the nasty random nipple and ball shocks she also programs in. These stimuli soon result in deep frustration, keeping me painfully aroused but nowhere near climax while she continues down the line and gets everyone going. I observe with chagrin that my clock ticks down much slower than once a second, and stops altogether when the buzzing stops. It dawns on me that these clocks have more rules than American football—we could be here all day.

The stimulation stops, for all of us apparently. Except for a small amount of squirming we are all suddenly still. The tormentor looks at none of us in particular, intent for a moment on her pad. She makes a few strokes, but nothing happens immediately; the wait is pregnant.

I become aware of a slight contraction in my thighs and belly, on for half a second or so, then off for one, repeating. I can see that all of us are experiencing the same sensation. It gets stronger and there's some grunting. I'm starting to convulse a little. It continues to become more and more intense until we are all roaring in pain together, arghh two, three, arghh two three, a chorus of torment. Then it stops.

A few seconds go by and I notice a tingling in my penis, following the same pattern, and this time I know what to expect. In a few seconds we are screaming together, aiee, two, three, aiee, two three. I notice that our clocks are ticking down about one second in three—we'll be here a long time, but perhaps not all day.

This sequence goes on for quite a while. The tormentor telegraphs what's coming at low intensity and ramps it up rapidly, all of us experiencing the punishment together. She comes up with many subtle combinations, making us twist this way and that, maybe combined with throbbing or stabs of pain in our most intimate places. Hits to my balls and nipples are liberally mixed in. I can see the responses rise from discomfort to agony for six others as I experience each new combination myself. I watch my co-sufferers convulse in pain simultaneously with me. It's an eerie effect, for sure. We truly share each other's pain.

Then the pattern shifts, so not all of us seem to get the hit at the same time any more. The half-second on, one second off cadence continues, but now it rolls up and down the row of poles, one in three of us in pain, the others waiting for it to hit.

One thing I have to allow—it's good exercise. By now we're sweating profusely, and along with the drool from our gags plenty of sweat drips off our knees, keeping the Skoobas busy. But I'm not getting thirsty—I'm getting well watered through the gag as my punishment proceeds.

From time to time the attendants come in to trim our bondage, usually tightening a bit here or there. They are also prepared with the gel guns, giving one or another of our fittings a squirt now and then—I guess the equipment can detect if a contact point is developing too much resistance. It's pretty disheartening when some loosening of my bonds is quickly detected, and an attendant comes in to tighten me up. A squirt of gel, on the other hand, is soothing. The Skoobas scurry out of the way of the attendants just like they avoid the tormentor.

Sometimes she gives us a wave. As her fingers fly over the pad we can't know what delicious combination of ecstatic agony she's preparing until one of us convulses, thrashes, gasps or screams. Whatever it is moves rapidly down the line one way or the other, circling around the end if necessary until we have all shared the experience. Some of the stimulus concoctions are not too severe, some are awful, and except for the first one to get it, we know how bad it's going to be before it hits. Since we have electrodes on our arms, legs, wrists and ankles, a 'behind only' recipe is an option, which in a hogtie is a uniquely painful experience, with nothing in front to distract. These can be seen coming, too.

One of the worst parts of the waves is since we're up just one at a time, our clocks don't tick down very fast as the minutes go by. There is something hauntingly erotic, though, about a convulsion of agony I can see but not yet feel heading toward me. If it starts with Two or Four and heads the other way the anticipation itself is almost unbearable, especially if it looks like a big one. Anticipation doesn't count on the clock.

This goes on for a long time, and I'm feeling very punished—little do I know. It must be highly stimulating for the audience, the writhing bodies, naked, sweating and drooling, convulsing in paroxysms of pain the viewers can only imagine. In fairness it's pretty stimulating for me also, agonizing as it is. But now it seems that a new phase is starting, as the waves die down.

++++

A body-map outline appears, projected on the glass high enough so as not to obstruct the spectators' view, but easily viewed by all of us, in front of number four. A similar map lights up in front of number six. The tormentor stares at Four, and stimulates his lower leg electrodes fiercely, causing him to buck in his bonds. Four's body map lights up indicating the stimulation of his legs. At the same time I see on Six's body-map that her pussy (and perhaps her clit, though it is not displayed) lights up. This happens several times, Six grunting and squirming each time. The tormentor then stimulates Four's thighs and as his legs try to kick back, Six's pussy lights up again. Finally number four jerks his legs by himself, and he gets it. Clenching his legs will shock Six's sex. He quickly explores a number of other muscle contractions, and determines that he can stimulate many places on her body with some suitable action. He makes no further use of this additional information, settling on her vagina as his exclusive target. He flexes his legs vigorously: Six howls into her gag in distress.

She is not amused. Her vaginal penetrator is clearly under Four's control, but the tormentor has not set up any reverse paths. The only things lighting up on number four are his own contractions. The tormentor looks away from Four and locks eyes with Six.

She's becoming more and more furious. The penetrator grinds within her neatly trimmed triangle in response to Four's malice-motivated muscular contractions. Six struggles mightily against her bonds and glares back at the tormentor. I'm starting to feel sick—I'm witnessing a rape, and I want out—not possible of course. State-sanctioned techno-rape is just over the top—I just can't imagine what number six can possibly have done to deserve this.

But something else also seems to be going on. As I watch the body-maps I start to get a sense of what muscles of number four control devices on number six, and Six surely is doing the same. Nonetheless the bizarre state-rape goes on, and Six's anger rises to boiling. I doubt that the tormentor would allow Four to force Six to orgasm, but of course I don't know. All I can see is the two womens' eyes locked on each other, and Six's struggling turning to frantic thrashing. She's absolutely livid—her poise and grace seem to have evaporated. This must be part of her punishment, excessive though it seems to me. Suddenly Six screams "cut it out, you fucking shit!" as best she can through her suddenly uninflated gag. At that moment the tormentor enables the return paths, and Four explodes in agony, thrashing ferociously in his bonds. The battle is joined.

Four recovers quickly though, and is smarter than I thought. He too has a map, and has figured out enough strategy by now to steer clear of Six's genitalia. He tries to convulse her, and an odd thing happens. Her involuntary response clenches him in return, and the two lock in a circular seizure neither one can release. The tormentor allows this to continue for a few seconds—it must be excruciatingly painful—then breaks the loop, allowing them to relax. Four gets in the next thrust, clenching Six's arms and legs to twist her backward with a gasp. She parries to his belly and thighs, twisting him forward with a hefty grunt. They can't move a whole lot, but every little movement seems exaggerated in my mind—I'm bound the same way, after all. As they learn the system better they each figure out how to do legs on one side with arms on the other, resulting in some convulsive twisting, along with a lot more grunting and groaning. The tormentor doesn't lock eyes with either contestant as the battle surges on, but she's watching carefully, her fingers moving steadily over her pad. She wants to make a good show for the audience, I expect, so she needs to keep the intensity up. She seems to inject tweaks to keep the anger on a rolling boil—sexual parts are not off-strategy for her, and if one of the contestants finds an especially good infliction path, she's likely to change it, just when an opening for maximum effective use opens up, I suppose.

The battle continues for what seems like a long time, and I'm impressed by the fight each of them puts on. By now I'd expect a performance like this from Six, but Four turns out to be no slouch; they both seem to be able to make the other thrash and twist ferociously. It must hurt almost as much to deliver a blow as to receive one, since it requires a strong voluntary muscle movement from the deliverer. This game is clearly fueled by fury and determination and Four is getting angrier by the minute. Six looks furiously angry too but grim determination really seems to be driving her, as perhaps it always has, I suppose. Why shouldn't she win this game the same way she usually wins?

Number four seems to be retreating. Perhaps guilt for his crime came rushing home, or perhaps he's simply exhausted. His return paths are still active, but he's making little use of them. While Six forces him to convulse over and over she swells up his anal penetrator and grinds his ass without mercy, pounding his gut furiously, while four does nothing in return. She's retaliating for the battle's start, I guess. Six has surely reamed a few assholes before, though probably just extra ones. The tormentor closes down the connections—Six has won,

Our gags suddenly go loose, and Four explodes, perhaps from his own rage, but probably not, given the glare he received from the tormentor. His gag loosens and he starts swearing profusely, with no response from the collar to shut him up. The tormentor's eyes are locked on Six, some sort of private exchange taking place—was that the tiniest trace of a wink I saw?

Since Six's gag is also loosened, she makes as much of a smile as she can, and in spite of her bonds even manages a sexy wiggle, which I do not think was induced. The rest of us all get a delicious tingling in whatever sexually excitable places we possess, definitely induced, and the room explodes with loosely-gagged laughter, except for Four, who swears even louder. My vocabulary expands considerably; even Seven seems to get into the spirit.

The tormentor has a sense of humor, it seems, but her eyes quickly return to ice as our gags reinflate, squelching the laughter—post-game party's over. The icy eyes fall momentarily on number six, who convulses and grunts. Then my whole body explodes in agony, worse even than during the calibration—how is that possible? What skill she has! The racket in the chamber assures me that we all shared that delightful experience—not. We resume a painful pulsating as the tormentor prepares for the next pairing, which turns out to be numbers one and two.

When I came in One and Two seemed to have already established an emotional bond. They both seem rather calm even now. What kind of person arrives with time to spare to a punishment session, I wonder—then again, I was here earlier than the median arrival time too.

So, One and Two both project well-grounded emotional centers but Bondo-battle runs on anger; I can't see the fuel here. The tormentor seems to have thought this through—no surprise. It's tricky: no good making them angry at her—they need to be angry at each other.

Two gets to start. The tormentor sets her writhing sinuously in an especially erotic fashion—I'm getting damned turned on—best pole-dance I've ever seen, I think (and get a sting to the balls). Then Two gets some paths to One, but all of them seem to end at his penis.

I was pretty upset and shocked by the rape of Six, until I understood what was going on. This is a little distressing too, but it's also more subtle, and I'm reserving judgment (as if it makes the slightest difference). On the face of it Two is the sexual aggressor, but she's clearly getting pissed herself. The only control she seems to have is over his dick. One isn't pleased either. He probably doesn't realize that she really has no control—to him it must seem that even though Bondo-battle strategy doesn't favor the sexual parts, that's where she's focusing—he's become a sex-object. All the same he's unable to stem his arousal.

I can see his anger building. You were bound, beautiful and naked in my gaze, yet I accepted you as a whole human being, not just a pussy and tits. Why are you treating me as just a disembodied dong?, I imagine him thinking.

Her answer: Fuck, I've been here before. You say you see a whole human being, but you're still getting hard, and all you care about is how good it feels. It's as if I can hear them actually talking—I don't understand.