Sarah and the Punishment Station

"So this is where you've been hiding."

Thomas looked up from his work, glancing in the direction of the woman's voice. He knew who it was before he even saw her standing in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame as the setting sun cast its beam through the fabric of her dress, the shadowy silhouette of her body's curves moving as she shifted against the stable's wall. The now-grown daughter of a neighbor, she'd been a playmate when they were growing up, and now she was a constant nuisance to him since her return from college. But, it was a nuisance he enjoyed.

"Hello, Sarah," he replied.

"I come to visit you for dinner and you're hiding in the barn with the animals," she said, entering the stall where he had laid out a series of bridles, collars, and chain, "and just what is so important that you can't spend a little time with me this evening, might I ask?"

"Just cleaning up some tackle, Sarah," he said flatly,

The woman approached the man, her gown swishing softly as her heels made a light sound against the rough concrete floor. Her fingers played absently-mindedly with the small, slender buttons that held the bodice of her dress against her chest. He continued polishing the gleaming metal bridle he held in his hands as she neared, stopping only when she wrapped her slender arms around his neck.

"And tell me, kind sir, what is so important about this tackle that you can't take some time away to play with me?"

"You know as well as I do that there's a new group of assignees arriving in the morning. Your father is probably just as busy as I am getting ready. And I would appreciate it if you wouldn't refer to them as animals. They're human beings that just happened to have made some bad choices in life. Just because they chose to spend their sentences working on farms doesn't mean they have to be dehumanized. After all, they volunteered to come here."

"You always were a sentimental type, Mister Thomas Leighton," she responded, sighing with mock melancholy, "I suppose that's why I find you so endearing."

"Is that why? I always thought it was because you enjoyed my money and my estate."

"Well, there's that, too. A girl of my station has to have standards," she replied with a grin, pressing herself against his chest.

Thomas set the bridle on the work bench, carefully grasped the woman's arms, and separated her body from his torso. "Please, Sarah..."

The woman pouted and backed away. She turned and casually strode towards a raised wooden platform in the center of the room. A series of heavy pipes in the shape of an X rose from the dark wooden planks comprising the floor of the crude stage.

"Is that where you punish them for misbehaving?" she asked, knowing full well the answer before she even asked him the question.

"Yes, that's where they go for inspection and correction," he replied. "I'm sure you've seen the process before."

"I have, on my father's farm," she replied, a devilish grin pulling at the sides of her mouth, "but only after I snuck into the attic where he couldn't see me. He wouldn't let me watch otherwise. When I asked about it, he said it was too brutal. I suppose he was right. I don't believe you could punish one of your charges like he does his. Have you ever done it? Or do you delegate that to your foreman?"

"I do it myself."

"Hmmph," she said with contempt, "I don't believe you. You don't have it in you to punish somebody; not like my father anyway."

The man studied the woman who now ran her hands along the length of cold metal piping. He knew her games; he knew what she wanted him to do. She was deliberately challenging him. "There are a lot of things I do differently than your father," he replied.

She smiled and looked at him. "Do you suppose you could show me how you treat your slaves when they're bad? Bring one out and let me see."

"I don't whip my workers for entertainment."

"Oh," she said, unconcerned by his response. She began to loosen the buttons on her corseted bodice, starting at the neckline and working her way down. "Perhaps you should punish me, then, for exposing myself to a strange man."

"That's not a crime, and even if it were, I'm not exactly a stranger," he said as she continued to loosen the buttons of her dress.

"Oh," she said coyly, slipping each button through its hole, "then I guess you'll have to show me what you would do to me if it were."

She stepped back from the tubular sculpture in the center of the stall, cocked her hips to the side, and let the dress fall from her shoulders, the material cascading in a heap on the wooden planking. She now stood before the man, clad in only her strapless bra and tiny thong panties.

She held her hands behind her back and cast her face down in subservience. "I supposed you'd have to cuff me."

"Yes, I would, but only for transport. You would arrive here already handcuffed and chained with belly shackles."

"Belly shackles?" she said, feigning surprise, "do I look dangerous to you, Mister Leighton?"

"You're always dangerous."

She laughed. "And then what would you do?"

"I'd move you to the correction stand."

"You mean like this?" she said with a false innocence as she positioned herself in front of the framework of metal tubes, centering her hips between the armatures and elegantly raising her slender wrists towards the outer lengths of pipework.

"Yes, that's exactly right."

"And then what, Mister Thomas Leighton? What would you do to a naughty girl?"

"I suppose I would need to correct you."

"I suppose you would," she replied, holding her hands far out along the stand of dark metal tubing, "and I suppose you would want to do it promptly, like any responsible overseer would."

"Yes, it would be irresponsible of me if I didn't," he replied as she held her position against the frame.

The man picked up two short lengths of pipe from the bench and strode towards the almost-nude woman. He lifted one of the short lengths of pipe and fitted it over two small studs projecting from either side of her right wrist. He pressed the pipe down snugly against her hand and tightened two screws, pinning her arm in place. He then drew her other arm out as far as she could reach and repeated the process, binding her along the upper length of cold metal piping.

She tugged slightly against the frame, feeling the resistance of the metal restraints against her wrists, testing their hold on her body as the man turned away from her.

He walked over to the bench and selected another, slightly longer, piece of pipe and two more lengths of shorter pipe. He returned to the nearly-naked woman strapped against the evil framework and set the two short lengths of tubing on the floor near her feet; her well-manicured toenails resting comfortably against the wooden platform. Her eyes followed his movements with a mix of curiosity, fear, and playful indulgence as he lifted the metal bar and set it horizontally across the rim of her belly, just above the narrow band of her panties, the metal cylinder pressing against her pelvic bone as he tightened the screws, pinning her hips against the heavy frame.

He then knelt down and grabbed her right ankle and tugged it quickly towards two studded bars just above the floor, causing her to briefly lose her balance as he attached the short, stout length of heavy tubing to the frame, the metal pressing against her ankle. He then shifted to her other leg and tugged it forcefully towards the outer length of pipes on that side, forcing her to spread her legs wide as her ankles were bound to the menacing apparatus.

He stepped back to view his handiwork as the scantily-clad young woman tugged at the restraints around her wrists, hips, and ankles. She was stretched out, spread-eagled, her limbs drawn wide apart, with only a skimpy bra and delicate thong panties covering her modesty. He could feel his cock begin to fill and rise as her muscles twisted with her efforts to free herself from her bondage. His scrotum tightened with the first tingling of arousal.

"Now that you have me, Mister Leighton," the woman taunted, smiling at the man, "what will you do with me?"

"State law dictates that all workers subject to corporal punishment must be stripped before the punishment is inflicted, to ensure that all wounds are visible and accessible for medical treatment, if necessary."

"You wouldn't strip me, would you, Mister Leighton? I've committed no crimes. I'm an innocent girl," the woman said playfully.

"You're anything but innocent."

The woman smiled as the man reached out and gently placed his hands against her fabric-covered breasts, his fingers spread wide, gently pressing against her bosom, judging their heft with his palms as his thumbs rested lightly on the clip centered between her young mounds. She pulled nervously at the frame, gasping slightly as the plastic clasp clicked open under the man's machinations. Her breasts, pulled taut against her body by the tension on her arms, fell only slightly as the pressure of her bra was released. He held the two cups in his hands, looking deeply into her eyes before letting the garment fall away from her torso.

Two perfect areolas dotted the soft, pale skin of her mounds, each dark circle capped by a firm brown nub standing proud and erect in the cooling air of the stables. She stared intently at the man, the bulge in his pants indicating his pleasure at her appearance as she stood outstretched against the cruel metal frame, her breasts swaying gently as she pulled at the bindings around her wrists.

The man turned and reached for something on the bench, fumbled with some loose tooling there, then lifted a set of chrome shears. He presented them to the bound woman and said, "Correctional laborers' garments are designed to allow full access in any position, at any time. Unfortunately, your garments are not, so I'll have to make some modifications."

She nodded her acquiescence as he pressed the gleaming metal shears against her right thigh, the thin string of her panties' waistband trapped between the large razor-sharp blades. With a snip, the material parted and snapped loosely against her other leg, revealing the bare skin of her clean-shaven snatch. The man then quickly cut the string of elastic around her other thigh and pulled the ruined fabric from her captive body, leaving her completely naked and helplessly bound to the heavy metal frame.

It had been four years since he had last seen her naked. He remembered the first time, when they were both just 15 and playing games in the woods of his family's back acreage. She had challenged him to a game of Truth or Dare, but her rules favored the Dare, and eventually her game had led to them getting naked and swimming in the clear waters of the spring-fed creek that snaked through the property like a tiny slice of Eden. The sight of her blossoming body displayed openly along the sandy bank had given him an erection that could only be tamed by the chilling waters of the creek. In an attempt to hide his embarrassment, he had stood in those waters trying to control "it" while she sat on the bank giggling at his situation. Finally, after cajoling him and promising to be kind, she had convinced him to come out so that she could see "it" fully erect. But seeing hadn't been enough for her. She wanted to touch it, to play with it, and the electricity of her fingertips tenderly brushing against his shaft had brought him to his first orgasm with a real girl.

After that, her games had progressed as she explored her fantasies. Sometimes she would tell him to tie her to a sturdy tree, her body stripped and her delicate hands bound tightly overhead as he tickled her, trying to get her to reveal an imaginary secret. Other times she would be staked out naked on the ground under the hot sun while he poured cold water on her warm skin, or stretched over a log with the insects following a trail of jelly across her breasts. It was always her idea to let him torture her, acting out a scene in a movie she said she had once watched, but couldn't remember the title of. Each time he knew she was lying, but he had gone along with it to see her naked, and the promise of her bringing him to one of many explosive orgasms afterwards. She always fulfilled his wish, so long as he played her games first.

Then she left for college and things changed for both of them. His father died suddenly and he inherited the farm, ending his plans for attending the university with her. Her father, strapped for money to pay her tuition, had applied as a sponsor recipient for the Correctional Labor Program, whereby convicted men and women were assigned to farms as field labor. The farm would then receive payments from the State, as well as own entitlements to any profits generated from the labor, as long as the farms provided food, clothing, shelter, and security control over the workers. The convicts would receive reduced sentences in exchange for volunteering for the program. The jails would benefit by releasing inmates to the farms' custodial care, freeing up space needed for more violent offenders. It sounded like a good idea and it paid the farmers well, so Thomas had signed up as a sponsor recipient also, accepting low-risk prisoners on short-term assignments. It was a lucrative business when managed properly.

Four years later the Leighton farm had expanded three-fold, making it a plantation in every sense of the word. Her father had tried to keep pace by accepting maximum-security prisoners in exchange for greater payments from the program, a high-risk practice which could generate large payments from the State but required an equally large outlay of manpower to maintain. Her father had turned their pleasant little farm into a maximum-security work camp, while the Leighton plantation still exuded the quaintness of a small farm.

And then Sara had come home as a graduate of the university. Faced with living at a penitentiary labor camp surrounded by hardened criminals, it was little wonder that she spent a majority of her first week back from school on the Leighton plantation, pretending to be the lady of the house while socializing with her friends in his rooms, even when he wasn't there. He didn't mind. Four years had been very good to her, giving her the curves of a woman, and he was glad to have her around to keep things exciting.

Now she was stretched out, nude, and helplessly bound to a discipline station in his stables.

Four years had been very good to her indeed.

Young, firm legs curved with soft muscles tapered upwards towards the globes of her bare ass, the petals of her sex beginning to blossom between her wide-forked thighs as she stood spread-eagled on the wooden planking, her toes pressing against the dusty wood for support to relieve the strain on her shoulders as her arms bore a majority of her own bodyweight. Her lean, flat tummy, braced by the cold metal bar across her hips, stretched upwards across her naked torso, her two soft mounds pulled against her chest by the strain on her muscles, her arms extending outwards towards the bars across her wrists, her body stretched between the lengths of cold metal piping.

She smiled seductively at him as he judged the attributes of her nude body, every inch of her most sensitive areas open and available to his touch, exposed to whatever torments he had in mind for her.

"Now what, Mister Leighton?" she asked duskily.

"By law, I would tell you the nature of your infraction and the corrective action I would take, as well as any corrective action I would take for any further infractions you may commit."

"But, sir, I haven't committed any crime," she replied with a mischievous grin. "I have done nothing to warrant any punishment."

The man smiled. He saw her game. "Then I suppose I will have to give you a pre-emptive punishment session, as a warning on how we treat misbehavers on this farm."

She giggled and tossed her hair, then tugged at the restraints holding her captive body to the metal apparatus.

The man stepped over to the workbench and turned his back to the woman, blocking her view of what he was doing. She heard the sound of rubber being stretched and knew he was putting on a pair of surgical gloves.

She was going to be inspected.

She smiled in anticipation.

But the man reached for something more. She tried to see what it was but he was deliberately blocking her view. All she could see was a black electrical plug being inserted into the outlet.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

The man ignored her question and simply turned around. In his gloved hands was an electric trimmer. He flicked it on and a loud buzz filled the stall. Her eyes filled with terror at the realization of what he intended to do.

New arrivals were always shaved. Growing their hair back was a privilege they had to earn through hard work and obedience.

"No! Not my hair!" she shouted above the din of the buzzing razor, "Please! Seriously, I'm not kidding!"

The man continued to approach her, the electric trimmer drawing closer to her body, the cord stretching like a long black tail over the rough-hewn bench and across the dusty floor. She pulled at the metal brackets around her wrists and ankles but her struggles were useless. She was securely bound to the metal frame, allowing her only limited movement.

"Please! No! Not my hair! Ok? Please?!" She was begging now, pleading with him.

The man took a step towards her.

"Please! No! No, no, no... I'll do anything; anything you want. Just not my hair. Don't cut my hair. I'm serious, ok?" She wasn't pretending. She was frightened he might actually do it.

The man replied, "It will grow back" as he continued to approach her.

The woman let out a frightened whimper and pulled against her bonds. "Please! Please, please, please! I promise; I'll do anything you want. Anything! I swear! I'll do whatever you want. Ok? Please! Just don't shave me! Please, please, please..." She let out a fearful cry and turned her face to look away, tilting her head back to avoid the buzzing silver blades of the electric trimmer as he raised it towards her head.

The man stopped. An evil grin slid across his face as the woman hung from the frame naked and helpless. She had given him the opening he wanted. "I'm going to hold you to that promise."

She realized what she had said; she had made an offer he couldn't refuse. Now she had to wait to see what his fiendish mind might be contemplating. She tugged at the restraints around her wrists, feebly testing their hold on her body as she hung against the frame.

The man switched off the trimmer, set it back on the bench, and unplugged it. He was going to enjoy this very much.

He approached her spread-eagled body, this time empty-handed.

"What are you going to do?" she asked in a tiny voice, concerned about what he might be thinking.

"All prisoners are inspected upon arrival. You know that."

She flashed a nervous smile. The game was back on, but the rules had changed. He wasn't going to tell her what he had planned for her. He was in control now. She just had to trust him. It was the first time she truly felt helpless, and it thrilled her.

The man stepped behind his imprisoned captive and began to run his fingers through her thick, luscious hair; the dark brown strands glistening in the light of the stall, her subtle highlights sparkling as he brushed her locks out with his hands as if searching for contraband. She smiled as he pushed her head forward, then back, turning her left and right as his fingertips massaged her scalp. She giggled slightly as his fingers slipped behind her ears, tickling her a bit as she stood naked on the discipline station.

His inspection of her hair complete, he swiftly ran his hands down her back and across her ribs. She tensed up, laughing and giggling as he tickled her torso, the captive girl twisting as his hands ran along the sides of her chest, across the undersides of her breasts, then upwards along her arms, her wrists helplessly pinned outwards away from her body.