Agatha's prison - one day early (last)

[Igor con Fine]

(Last part - lengthy. I maybe should have cut it short - but I didn't. If the conversation gets too boring jump to 'hellish night'.
I am still new writing stories - so I need some more time for perfection......)

Heavy steps





“Up!” Agatha disrupts my fading away.
I feel confused for a moment, am not one of her well trained prisoners. So I get a shock, mild one.
“Stand up!”, she repeats, and the pain – even mild – brings me quickly on my feet.
“Handlock position.” I sigh. Now I have routine, my hands are quickly useless. The door opens, and my slider begins to move. My head drops and I am led out of my cell. I know that I am unable to really resist her pull, I can only make things difficult. And she will react – not out of anger, but according to her program. One punishment after the other. Mechanical, without mercy.
I follow – well-behaved. The clever decision. But I am deeply worried. Where does she lead me? What if I meet someone? I try to hide my face behind my back folded arms as good as I can.

Then there is cold fear clumping in my stomach. Agatha leads me to the correction vaults. My feet get heavy, and my heart hammers louder and louder as Agatha forces me deeper into the dungeon.
This block is directly near the solitary block – the 'sounds' of the corrected should help the inmates in solitary to work on their behavior. Officer Walker came to the conclusion that I lied.
How? I nearly pee myself. Cold sweat on my back, on my hands. The cement of the floor is sucking all warmth out of my feet, I shudder.
Battered purple. I don't even know how many strikes and strokes and cane strokes and – whatever – awaits me.
I enjoyed Audrey's correction. And she screamed deafening.
Officer Walker seems noticeably stronger than the other officer.
I fear I already have much more corrections awaiting me, even without the 'at least doubled cane strokes' from officer Walker.

A door opens, another prisoner enters the corridor, following her slider. She is also completely naked, her arms also in handlock. I try to hide my face. It is not necessary, her eyes are fixed on the ground in front of her. I hear her sobbing while her feet are tapping in my direction. She never raises her face, but I can see it turned red, tears glistening while rolling down her cheeks. I can only get a glimpse of her backside while Agatha pulls me forward, her buttocks are glowing red, with angry looking purple stripes – marks of the cane.

I am forced through the still opened door. I am the next one in queue for my disciplinary action. That welts will find their way on my booty, too. But more – much more. I shudder again.
Only now I really sense where I am.
This must be Walkers personal disciplinary vault. The floor is cool, but not painfully cold. It is painted green and has a smooth finish.
The walls are some kind of cynical for a prison. All around they are painted with landscape and a wide horizon, clouds in a blue sky. Only a step out of the industrial corridor you enter the plains. Wide, without end. Symbol of freedom. Somehow depressing, knowing that the door brings you back into prison. But somehow – liberating. For a moment. I think I can even smell it.

And then there is the rest of the interior. In one corner something like a gynecological chair, but without the seat. Only the back and the stirrups. Shiny metal, black hard plastic – and dark brown leather straps to hold belly and legs. Regularly cleaned and polished by prison workers. Cleaning the vaults must be a taxing job. Another thing I learned today, just by change of perspective.
An old wardrobe out of dark wood on one side. Under different circumstances I would have laughed that the entrance to Narnia stands in the middle of the plains. But near it is a small board with hooks on the wall, and from that are dangling the prison straps. The tools of the owner of this vault, waiting for a guilty butt to be disciplined and corrected.
“Kneel!” - Agatha orders, I instantly kneel down, still inspecting the room.
“Pick up the carabiner and hook it in the ring in front of your collar!” - one hand is suddenly free, and there is a carabiner lying on a small metal plate fixed in the floor. It is unusually long and the opening is only in the lower half of it. A cable runs from the carabiner to the floor. I quickly pick it up, pulling the cable out of the floor. As soon as I connect the carabiner with my collar and the latch audibly closes both connected cables are pulled tight. My neck is immobilized between floor and railing. And then I can see the drain, included in the metal plate the cable originates from. To flush away whatever bodily fluid the corrected prisoner looses. Again I shudder.
“Handlock position!” I put my wrist back on my collar and am again even more helpless. As if I could do anything, pinned down to the floor.
“Hello Candy.” I follow Walkers voice to the other side of the room. I need to move awkward to get him into sight, shuffling while kneeling on the floor. Then there he is, sitting on a chair at his desk. A desk matching the wardrobe, dark wood, old fashioned, with its back to the wall. His chair is clashing with the style, a modern, ergonomic but also cheap piece of furniture. I should have spent more time with the employees – so much to do, so little time. But kneeling in the middle of the room in front of the man that holds the fate of my backside in his hands I am ashamed that I caused that misfit. On the other hand it matches with the monitor on the tables top.

Walker looks friendly at me. I feel cold sweat all over my body, my heart is still hammering and there is a nauseatic taste lingering on the back of my tongue. And he is just smiling.
“Sorry, I have a full schedule today. I can not leave without a reason. So I ordered you here for another pre-disciplinary hearing. The good thing is you can get accustomed to my vault.”
I try to answer, but if feels like there is a lump in my throat. I cough, and again I shudder. There is still fear clumping in my stomach.
“I checked our intake and even transfers from the local jails – and I am as sure as I can get that you told the truth.” Relief. I take a deep breath, the fear fades. There is still the blood swooshing through my ears, but I feel myself calm down. A sigh escapes my lips.
Then Walkers face gets a stern expression.
“End of the good news. I can not release you without the execution of your disciplinary action. You will either get your punishment tomorrow morning in this room, or a lot of people will get informed that you cheated your way out. Still your decision.”
“You .. sick .. fuck!” the words burst out of me.
“Ah, yes,” he just answers, “good point. Agatha, prolong Candy's stay in solitary until tomorrow noon for insolence. Otherwise you would have been transferred to the regular population before supper. I don't think you would like that.
I prefer that inmates spent time in solitary in advance of an execution anyways.
Especially in your case!”
He moved sitting on his chair, and I lost sight of him as he rolled behind me.
I clench my legs together, the perv has a front row sight onto my backside, and both of my 'openings'. I grovel around, he just laughs:
“Still shy. Lovely. Inmates loose that too quickly.
Oh, and I recommend no more insults, keep your language in control and stay respectful. Otherwise I fear there will be dire consequences.”

Now I get angry, again he was playing with me. The bastard just wants to use his evil little tools on his boss. Just compensating his feelings of inferiority.
Stay calm, I repeat. Do not say something stupid now. You can do whatever you want when you get out of here, but now, be clever. Don't antagonize the psycho.
And as the anger fades, the fear comes back. Great. Emotional turmoil, best for making decisions.
“You really want to use that straps on me? You really want to punish me here on my knees, spanking my backside? … Sir ?” I utter with a voice I do not even know if it is trembling from anger or fear.

“Oh no, the straps you see are only for inmates with a lower security rating. For category red I have another strap that hurts ... more. Red means strictest discipline!
And you need not kneel. Agatha, put Candy in bend over position.”
The cables move in unison, I have no leeway at all. My neck raises, and the rest of my body has to follow. I find myself in a bend over position, the collar at the height of my hips. I can either choose to kneel with my head bowed down heavily, a really uncomfortable position, or I can stand bend over, with my butt in a perfect position for the sadist.

“You will stay bend over tomorrow, until I order otherwise. You will take your punishment like a good inmate. After that you will be able to leave, return to your life without anyone knowing what happened.
If you misbehave, you will be in trouble! Don't leave an ordered position, don't do something stupid. You are allowed to swear and yell, whimper or cry, but Agatha does not tolerate insults or blasphemy, as you should know. Don't earn yourself further punishments. That is really important! Stick to the rules!

As I said, it is either that or a raised alarm, with whatever consequences for your future.”

I stare at him. The turmoil suddenly ends. I had already made a decision. The whole solitary torture would be for nothing if I try to avoid what Walker plans for me.
I can only hope he will hold up to his word. Then there is only cold finality:
“If that is what you want to do. If you really want to punish me, than bring it on. I will endure it. And I will stick to the rules as good as I can... Sir!”

“You do not understand. It is not important if I want to punish you, you have to decide if you want me to punish you. You can always opt out!”

“With whatever consequences for my future... Sir!”

“Exactly. But you have a choice. So, do you want me to execute a disciplinary action on you?”

I take a deep breath, sigh, and confirm:

“Yes sir. Please execute a disciplinary action on me. Please do whatever you deem necessary to clean my demerits record, sir!”


I expect him to glee in his triumph, but instead he is just rolling back to his desk. I shuffle around, and can first hear and then also see him typing on his keyboard. He looks intently and focused on his screen, sometimes he sighs. After a little while he again turns to me with a stern face:

“I can grant your request, but barely. You are in for a hell of a night, and an extensive and strict disciplinary action, but if you behave you can be released tomorrow morning.”

I don't know what to say. What is he expecting? I just try:
“Thank you, sir?” with a big question mark. He expects me to thank him - for that?

“You are welcome, Candy. I was able to schedule your appointment with the warden immediately after your disciplinary action, as the warden seems to be available the whole morning.” - he chuckles - “Good. So I was able to delay your work assignment into the late shift, giving you enough time to discuss what you need with the warden, just finish before 1 pm or you will be lined up by Agatha.”

“What work assignment, sir?” - I ask incredulously.

“Agatha planned a busy week for you. She revoked your privilege to wear clothing. I had to request an exception for your appointment. Luckily, she accepted as not to bother the warden with your nakedness, otherwise you would meet her in your current attire, including the walk through the yard and the administrative building.
You have been assigned to the highway-chain-gang early-shift, and got some extra hours sanitary care after lunch. Both promise great fun if done without clothing.
And ... you have been registered as pepper - strict interpretation of the rules, constant thorough supervision, harsh punishment. Seems like somebody else is also of the opinion that you would be a valuable slave.”

I am stunned.
Shaking my head I try to make sense of that. I never considered what would really happen when I was not released but transferred to the general population. And then a question rose in my mind:
“But I am still in orientation. As always – the first days you serve are for orientation, after that Agatha has enough data to decide how to treat the prisoner!”

He looked at me, and I quickly added: “Sir”

“Your orientation is marked complete. You are a promising candidate for slavery preparation-program – and so the usual procedures have been applied to you. You will have a hard time here until you sign up for 'SlaP' or are no longer considered valuable enough as a slave to justify the effort.”

“Kov...” it burst out of me, but I get instantly interrupted by Walker: “Careful, Candy!”
“Co-warden, sir.” I quickly correct. “The mighty and wise co-warden must have made an incredibly intelligent decision for my prison career, sir.”
My file would not have been displayed, so he just again must have hit 'apply to all' out of laziness. And that would have affected even a hidden file... I see my fingers closing around a throat.

Meanwhile Walker chuckles, then he stares on his screen, tipping on it with a finger: “That's new.”
Then, turning to me he explained:
“That means you need to be especially respectful from now on. You are only allowed to call for Agatha in case of an emergency or with a very good reason – for example to beg for a break to relieve yourself. You will call her 'Mistress Agatha', 'madam' or 'ma'am'. You will say please, thank you, and you will properly beg for her pardon when you misbehave or get shocked. You will internalize that Agatha is now your superior, you are no longer commanding her, but she commands you.
If you think you are special I can assure you: You are. You are in the pep-program, you are category red and you are already flagged as trouble-maker. Thus you are so special that I can only recommend you to take quickly in that you will treat Agatha with the utmost respect, as well-behaved and humble inmate!”

I swallow hard. Seems like I have to return to politeness, no longer treating Agatha as my plaything. Mistress Agatha as my plaything... but – I thought I was already doing pretty well:
“Sir – did I misbehave since we talked?”

“No, everything alright. Keep it that way. Just remind yourself to be extra polite to your mistress, add a little submissiveness, and we'll be fine.”

I close my eyes and try to sort myself out. It is just for some hours, one night. I need to stay focused, I am not intentionally breaking rules. I just need to be careful to not accidentally do something stupid. With the orientation marked as completed there are more things that could trigger a notification of people I do not want to get notified.... and then I understand:

“You – you really can not let me go without a disciplinary action. Agatha would automatically react to a possible corruption case, and notify … I can not mess with my own prison file as long as there are punishments pending... sir”

“Yes.”

“But, I thought...”
He shuts me up:
“I know what you thought. I do not care. That is something you do not understand, because you have never been in my position. Next time you want to try prison try it as an officer, there is so much for you to be learned! I need to be satisfied with my work regardless what inmates think about me. I can not care if you like me or not, I will do what I think needs to be done. You may like me, that makes it easier for you, or hate me, teaches you to deal with your anger.
How will I be able to discipline you properly when I constantly fear that you won't like me anymore? It is easy: I am responsible for my actions, you are responsible for your reactions – physical AND emotional!”

He pauses.
And after some seconds I shake my head. The naked, bend over moron with the dangling breasts and the hands fixed behind her head, her mouth slightly opened, shakes her head - what a view.
Then he points at his monitor:
“No, don't try to comment that. Just let it sink in.
And as we are trying to teach you something, let us just add another lesson, something you need to understand when you are wearing that collar – be it slave our prisoner.
There is no 'Why' for you!
You will understand that tomorrow, when you are in the same pose. You will learn before, during and completely after your disciplinary action.
I order you to not cause any more trouble. And you have to do that – or you will feel the consequences. That is the great thing as a prisoner here – you will quickly feel the consequences.
Of course I can explain to you that you amassed so much demerits that you exceeded the limit for one day. And now I try to balance out alternative punishments – make your night hellish enough to get you down to zero with the maximum permissible strikes and cane strokes. Of course I need to play on the safe side, if you earn yourself further punishments. But I don't need to explain that to you. You get the order to behave. If not, there will be consequences. I was even nice enough to explain to you that you won't be released without raising an alarm.
And the reason for that – and now you know why I explain it – is you!
If there were some demerits left after tomorrow morning I would just have hidden you for the day, your appointment with the warden could have been stretched out for the full day instead of just the morning, somehow we would have managed that. You would have spent another night in solitary, and the next day we could have got your record clean, the earliest possible time would have been the beginning of the disciplinary action the day before.
That is no longer an option – because the mighty and wise warden must have made an incredibly intelligent decision for my prison career. He just made me obsolete, and turned down the whole corporal punishment system.
That means every left demerit will be converted to another punishment – manually.
'As it happens only once, there is no need to implement a routine for that. The prison management will just select a fitting penalty.' - The words of the warden, more or less.
Given I would harbor a grudge against you – maybe I think you interfered with my job without a clue what you are doing – what could I do?
I can just put you through a hellish night, after that give you the maximum legal corporal punishment, sent you naked to do hard labor, and the next day your co-warden will decide how long you will get no pudding and only salad without dressing while you are cleaning toilets without a stitch of clothing on your body.

This is the WHY.
And it can happen either as a consequence of your actions or because I want it to happen.
You don't need to know - the only thing that is important for you:
I order you to not cause any more trouble.”

He turns back to his screen.



Learning boredom



“Agatha, Candy is not allowed to talk.”, he says into the air.

“Noted” - she confirms, and repeats it through the speakers in my collar. “Prisoner, you are ordered to stay silent!” Only to make sure that I understand.

I stare at Walker, who is working at the computer. Let sink in what he said.
He looks back and suddenly stands up. He walks to his wardrobe, and takes something out of it. As he turns I can see a cane in his hand. I am unsure how to react – I suppress the urge to turn away from him. No more rule violations. I close my eyes as he comes closer, but he just walks past me. He leans the cane against the wall opposite to his desk, and points with the finger at it while looking at me:

“Prisoner, this is a direct order: Focus on this! This is a consequence.”

Then he leaves my field of view, while I shuffle again to focus on the cane. It is harder than I thought to not follow him with my eyes, I have no clue where he is and what he does. But I again present my backside perfectly, given he is sitting at his desk.
Then I hear him operating the keys again.
This is just like stand at attention, I think. But bent over. And with another person in the room. When he stops typing for a moment I get fidgety. Is he looking at me? Inspecting my backside? Leering?
It is harder and harder to resist the impulse to turn to him.

And standing bend over begins to get .. uncomfortable. Yes, my main problem. Uncomfortable.
Naked, muted and uncomfortable. I could of course kneel down, but I don't know if I am allowed. I could get accustomed to it. Crawling on my knees over the floor, completely naked – ready to clean toilets – what if he really does that? 'Some extra hours' to clean the toilets – I fear...

“Stop it, Candy!”, he brings me back, “Just do what you are ordered to do. Focus on the consequence. No zoning out – just say to yourself: 'I do what I am ordered to do!' - when you begin to think.”

I am baffled. What does he want? Stop thinking? After all that he said – I have to think through that! I will need a plan. What can I do if he really wants to do that revenge plan....

“Candy!” - he is suddenly standing next to me. I feel his hands gripping my head, one is gripping through my hair to reach my neck, the other one grabs my cheeks with his palm on my chin -
“Just do what you are told. Focus on the consequence. It will happen – or not. There is nothing you can do except following your order. No thinking, no fantasizing, just focus. When you feel you loose your focus, you will lift your left foot, then your right foot - for the circulation - and you will repeat to yourself that you will do what you are ordered to do. It only seems incredibly difficult until you just do it.”

I snort – it is more a reflex than a conscious act.

“At the moment it sounds absurd. You don't appreciate the lesson yet. Just do it – that's a direct order, inmate!”

And I stare at the consequences. He leaves, my head is free again, and I try to focus on the consequences. This is incredibly stupid!

“Do it, Candy!” - I lift my feet one after the other and repeat the stupid mantra. Again. And Again.

“You are now allowed to answer questions!” Agatha disrupts me. I've lost my sense of time.

Then there is Walkers voice:
“There is little information about you in your file. Is there anything in your medical history that would pose a problem? Belly, Buttocks, Thighs? Allergies? Surgeries?” -
“No, sir.”
“Any breathing problems, something with your neck I need to know?” -
“No, sir.” I still stare at the cane. But now it just got a little more real. Tomorrow – he is asking for tomorrow. Then the cane will get really .. real. How many strokes is the maximum? I should ask... No. I smile. I am not allowed to. And that is it. I will get as many strokes as I will get. I simply have no say in that, I can only misbehave to increase that number.
I will endure it. I have chosen to - so many others have done it before without an alternative. I will suffer, and I will hate it. And then he will either let me go - or not.


“So, you learned a lesson about focus and following orders, Candy?” -
“Yes, sir.” I automatically reply. He laughs, a friendly noise in another weird situation.
“No need to lie, Candy. You tried it for less than 5 minutes. Let's make a deal – as long as you are wearing that collar we will both stick to the truth. We either say nothing, or the truth. I have terminated my employment, you are on leave, we will probably never see again, so there is not much to loose but, I think, it would make things easier for both of us. I will even begin: I will try everything I can to get you out of prison tomorrow morning, without anyone else noticing. There is no catch, no blackmailing, that would all be way beyond my professional integrity. So, stick to the truth?”

I sigh deeply. For a short moment I close my eyes and just breathe – most of that lingering fear in the back of my mind is gone. And the terror I felt about the punishment – is decreasing.
“Yes sir, stick to the truth.” - I answer.

“I have a friend who, as so many others, went from prison to slavery. He is working for a guy training slaves. He told me what that guy said:
When he creates a new slave girl he always tries to modify how she deals with boredom.
Being a slave nearly always means long periods of boredom, and he tries to fill this boredom with a feeling of duty fulfillment, obedience and servitude. He says if you order the perfect slave to just stand still he would do that and feel deep satisfaction only because he knows that he follows an order. Every slave is different, and you need to find the best feeling for them. And of course that does not work forever, but you can train to increase the duration until the mind begins to wander again. If you create satisfaction out of boredom you can modify the slave however you want. What do you think, how many prisoners are here out of boredom? I try the same. Just follow a command. You did it for some minutes, already. I think that is a fascinating concept. What do you mean, Candy?”
“You want to purge boredom by staring at a cane? I am not sure if that will work, sir.”

He chuckles: “Okay, Candy, you may loose focus and look somewhere else. Agatha, Candy is allowed to talk again. She is also allowed to talk freely with me.”

I blink several times. Agatha repeats my reinstated 'privilege' for speaking. I did not realize how many privileges you can take away from a prisoner.

“Thank you, sir. But I still don't get it. Standing at attention is pure boredom, and I don't know how I should fill that with joy for following a command - sir.”

“Good to know. Maybe you have a point – or maybe you just need to do it. Training. In case that we do not meet again, sent me a mail what you learned tonight. I think I have some ideas – to reduce your demerits.”

I have a bad feeling about that, maybe I should have kept silent.

Then he offers: “Now, time is up. You can return to your cell, or we can schedule the employee interview you wanted to do with me after I resigned but never found the time for.”

“Sorry, what? .. Sir ?” - I turn around to face him. Slowly, shuffling around my fixed neck. My breasts are swinging as I stare at him, incredulous.

“You can return to your cell, there are still some activities on your regime till supper. Or we can talk. The warden and the resigned employee. I tried it, I can enter an appointment. Agatha knows that you are a prisoner, but she seems to also know that you are the warden. So, it is possible. Will keep you out of solitary, and I have a reason not to do something else.
Not to give you a wrong impression, I am fine with doing something else, but I cannot accompany you without a reason, I will fulfill other duties instead.”

“I don't think I am in a very good position for an interview, sir. And not dressed appropriately.” I say, shaking my head. My breasts begin to wobble with the movement, they somehow underline my argument.

“I can change your position. And if you want to keep me as employee, you are wearing the perfect costume, I can assure you.”

I feel heat in my face as I blush. He continues: “That was meant as a compliment. Just the truth - you are a good looking woman, nothing to be ashamed of. And I think we are beyond the point for shyness.”

I look up to him. This is just stupid, I am helpless, completely at his mercy. He can do – so much if he does not like what I say.

[Igor con Fine]

An unusual interview



And finally I find THE question:

“Is there a way to keep you as employee, sir? Still – the truth.”

“Right on point. No. Not as long as there is no more corporal punishment.”

“So. Am I allowed to ask why – sir?”

“You might not like the answer. Still – the truth?” - I nod - “I like my job. And I am pretty sure most of the other executioners also. I love to enter a cellblock and get that mixture of respect and fear. And I like to punish. That should not be surprising – but no one talks about it.
I will enjoy to execute your punishment. Especially yours.
But I would have done everything to spare you from that – and I think that is important.
I can enjoy what I do as long as I stay fair. Punishing you with a reason is OK, but dish out punishments just for my enjoyment is not.
Concluding – no chance for you that I stay here as simple correctional officer.”

“This is so weird. Not you, sir, sorry – just the whole situation. I never thought that someone might just miss the spankings. I thought it would be better for everyone to stop them. Maybe I should just like the idea that someone enjoys what awaits me tomorrow.”

“The truth – you stopped it because of the money. Or mainly the money. Not because it is better for everyone.”

I gulp. After what he had admitted I will not insult him with a lie: “Yes. I hoped we would also get even more rich people to send us their daughters when they are convicted to serve time, but that is also – the money. It is not only the executioners, it also is the premises. A whole wing only for punishments, every executioner has an own vault. It is a huge cost factor.
If we get inmates that are convicted to court ordered punishments the penal authorities have to sent their own executioners, or they need to pay for transfer. Either way, we no longer need to pay for that.
Somehow that angered me, if we have the necessary infrastructure we pay for what the court ordered, if not they pay for it.”

“So, you just stopped it. You never worked in a prison, but you thought you could just revolutionize it.”

“Just one more reason for you to enjoy my punishment.”
He laughs, until I ask back: “Does it really hurt you so much that I made that decision?”

“More than I first thought. And I just now realize that. Some colleagues are furious. I am curious. This is a female prison, I would also like to see how you try that with a male population. Preferably one far away from me. Maybe it works, and you will really save much money, make this prison even more profitable. I will not be part of that. I don't think there is anything comparable to what we do here to uphold discipline. I would like to hear from you how effective you think a disciplinary action is when you got yours. And if it somehow changed your mind.”

“I will not promise anything. Depending what happens I might only tell you how much I hate you. Do you like punishing females more than males?”

“Ah, the misogyny question. I like punishing both, but in a different way. The visual aspect in female prisons on the other hand is much more appealing. Great bonus is to have your naked female boss – correction – attractive naked female boss in your vault.
What is L.A.I. .”

“I don't know... you should not – what do you mean?”

“Hey, Candy – nothing or the truth. L.A.I.?”

“Just something I tinkered with. It does not really work, I thought it could help the AI when I can implement it. What do you know about it?”

“It is a little field in your file. And only in your file. At first I thought it was just because your file is somewhat special, hidden. You can not find it in the database, but I can order you around with Agatha, and the file appears when I call it through the appointment. But then you made that comment about the Co-Warden, and it flashed red. Now it was even flashing black. I think I got you, you violated our rule! You did not tell the truth – so - let's up the ante for you, one cane stroke for another lie, or if you don't answer – seems like you need some incentive! LAI is an illegal lie detector?”

“Not illegal – it is … in a Grey area.” - I answer with a heated, red face. He caught me, but that does not mean he can – I am not really in a position to argue … : “We can use it to enhance the AI – to predict and prevent incidents, like smuggling, assaults or things like that. We can not use it in court or for hearings. It is not really reliable – it was developed for another system, and I tried to implement it. We have only the collar sensors, way less than the original system. I tried to compensate that with the knowledge Agatha collects.” Then I feel heat flaming through my spine. “Oh, sorry sir, sorry Mistress Agatha, I called you without reason. Sorry, madam!”

“That is not a problem. Employee interview. I scheduled it anyways, nothing to loose. You stopped calling me sir a while ago, and I did not mind. Just regain your self-discipline when we are finished, than it means back to ma'am and sir!
This conversation is somewhat confidential, Agatha should not listen. But as your L.A.I. is still working – she listens. So, you won't get punished, but she is still collecting information. Is that also a Grey-area?”

I blush again. “Grey-area, programming limitation, necessity, whatever. It is not illegal, I just don't want the knowledge to spread. She is not really recording the conversation, she just – lets say – she grades it. To refine her assessment of somebody. Trustworthy or liar, bully or coward – something like that. And the great advantage of an AI is she can listen, protocol necessary information – like somebody having drugs or a weapon – and forget everything else. Pretty large Grey-area.”

“Confidential meetings with a lawyer?”

“Cane me! .. Sir!”

“You are naughty, warden! Don't worry, I like Agatha. There are some guards who fear that they will be replaced, but I think she is more than helpful. And she holds the predators in check. Inmate or officer. As tomorrow is already pretty full I think I keep that cane stroke for later. The colors? Red means lie, green truth, yellow something in between? What is black?”

I try to stretch myself as good as possible, still bend over:
“It is only a probability. The ranges are wide, and it is very inaccurate – the limited sensors. Black and blue is used when she knows it is a lie or the truth – out of other knowledge, scientific facts or the summary of her constant supervision. She should not have enough data about me to mark that black – she must have combined my file I only used for testing with my prison file. And that sincerely is how there appeared an LAI field.”
Now I have a question burning: “Is that the cane for tomorrow?”, as I try to point behind me, winking with my elbows and body, finally my breasts are swinging in the correct direction – I sigh.

“No. I can show you what I will use tomorrow. Do you want to change your position first? This must be strenuous by now.”

“That would be nice.”

“I am sorry, there are only two more positions allowed for you, and both have their catch. Category red problem, keep the risk low that you might be able to assault me.
Now: You need to kneel, don't lie down. Else descending would be very uncomfortable for your neck. Agatha, put Candy in floor position.” -... nothing happens - “She listens, but plays deaf. Naughty warden!” he turns to his computer, and a click later my neck moves down. I do what I am told, and move my legs under my body, kneeling slowly down as my neck is forced to the ground.
Deep to the ground. Not much more than one hands breadth to the floor it stops. There is only floor in front of my face, my vision is very restricted. I am unable to look sideways, not with my arms fixed left and right of my head – and even bending my neck as far as I can I am barely able to see more than the knees of Walker.
I spread my knees apart, to give my breasts a little room. This is another stressing position. To deep to kneel comfortably, to high to just lie down. I just can't reach the floor with my head. After all my back is thankful that most of my weight is now on my thighs. Uncomfortable, but at least differently uncomfortable.
And degrading. Cowering on the floor – my breasts even touch it, my nipples harden from the coolness. Directly beneath me is that drain – my face directly over the opening where everything that comes out of other punished women gets flushed away …
I am happy that there is no smell.
Without doubt this is another highlight in my lesson in humility:
“Sir, is it possible to raise my neck? This is not a very restorative position, sir.”

“It is a punishment position. I might be able to modify it with Agatha, even if I doubt that. But currently there are only three buttons I can use to change your position. This is the second, and we will need it to get you into the last position.”

I push my folded arms together to stabilize my head. My neck is hurting more and more. And this position might help my back, but not my neck. The fixed collar surprisingly helps to stabilize my body, but my head pulls nonstop down.
“This is a strange punishment position, crouching as close as possible to the ground.”

“You are not finished yet. Stretch your legs out as far as you can, parallel to each other, a hands with apart.”

“Couldn't I just have done that before – that will be really neck-breaking -”

“Candy, just do as ordered. This is the best way to do it, trust experience!”

Candy – do as ordered, I still hear him say. No arms, and my neck is pinned down and already hurting.
I try to stabilize myself as good as I can using my back-bend arms connected with my collar, I push forward and the collar supports surprisingly well. I stretch out one leg, then the other.
I had expected it to be way more strenuous – just do as ordered, trust experience... Mr. Smarty-Pants

He is at his wardrobe, pulls something out:
“Candy, get on your toes and push your body up. I don't want anything else as your toes touch the ground.”
I sigh and try to follow his command, luckily he adds:
“In your special case I allow two exceptions.”

Now it is way more strenuous. I hear him walking around me, but I cannot see much more than the floor and the drain directly in front of my face. I focus on my breathing to alleviate my struggle. Then his hand is on my foot, he lifts it and places it closer to my other foot.
Something cold is suddenly around my ankles, with a ratcheting sound there is pressure around both. I hear him step back.
“You can release tension.” - With a sigh I put my thighs and hip back on the ground. If I push against the collar, even my upper body – especially my spine – relaxes. If I could just lay my head down.
Too soon he commands:
“Now commence floor punishment position. Only tiny movements – crawl forward with your legs and lift your bottom as high as you can.”

Heat rushing through my face: “That is … obscene! .. Sir”

“I am not going to command you, Candy. You will need that to go forward to the next position, but I am not forcing you, at least now.
Tomorrow you will comply.
At this very moment you just have a one-time opportunity – consider it that way:
You will be forced to endure – let's say - most of the possible experiences you can get here.
If you are willing, you can get something like the 'full experience'. And just now we are in a less punishing situation to explore – tomorrow there will be … consequences for noncompliance.”

I sigh again. Then I move one leg forward to place it under my hip, almost immediately a sudden jerk nearly tips me off. He chained my ankles together.
“Candy, only tiny movements. Category red – you must be unable to kick out.”

I hear me groan – then I am SLOWLY lifting my butt higher and higher. He is watching me from behind, and as I raise my butt I fear he might be able to see through me, down to my tonsils.
“For a perfect position you need to even crawl a little further. If you are on your knees your backside will go down a bit, that will change when you are on your toes again.”

I just “Huh” him – he explains:
“When you receive your strokes you won't be on your knees. Not on this floor. You will instantly lift yourself up on your toes, and the strike will push you into your collar, the impact unfolds its effect on your buttocks and the impulse is picked up by the cables. It is not even a conscious decision to lift up. Some executioners say 'prepare', 'prep', 'strike' or something like that. One likes to yell 'Incoming!'. Not necessary, the sound of the strap or cane whirring in is enough, forcing you into 'receiving position'.”

I instinctively try it myself ...:
“If I could just use my arms, sir. Without it is really taxing - “, then I get back on my knees.

“Not with a red light on your collar, Candy.” - then he laughs - “Again - I must bore you out – consequences. Category red, so many small and large consequences.
That brings me back to your question.”

He gets back in front of me, to his wardrobe. Not that I can see much, only limited movement on the periphery. I hear him come back and then his boots are dominating my sight. He squats down, and then there it is, he places a thin – supposedly rattan – cane in front of me.
Thin and so long. It completely fills my field of view, and I am in terror. Such a small, light thing. I've seen it in action, and tomorrow I will feel it in action. This is not only a consequence, but a promise.
“Seen enough?” - I cough my confirmation, my mouth is dry.
He picks it up: “I will water another one tonight. I prefer the freshly watered for category red.
If you are really in for the full experience, I'll show you the difference, otherwise you will just get this cane.”

He let's it whiz through the air – and I am instantly up on my toes. The sound is striking. Terrifying.
Slowly I sink back as my subconscious feels safe again.
Then the thin rod touches my bottom. I twitch, it glides softly down, down my thighs. Then he balances it on my shins.
“Don't drop it, Candy, or you owe me another one.”, he chuckles, while he walks back to his wardrobe.
When he comes back he drops blackness into my sight.
“May I introduce Mademoiselle Raffaëlle DuLiarre.”

That thing has the doubled length and is considerably wider as the straps on the hooks. Robust leather, sturdy and well used, at least 3 layers. Small holes are punched in in two lines, every single one sewn around. A dark wooden handle is screwed on one end, small inaccuracies show instantly that this was not made by a machine. The leather tailored, the handle sandpapered by hand. The handle is long, long enough for two big hands, and has a black pommel at its end. A small chain runs from the ball to the hilt, and transforms into a black leather band that is wrung around it.
As close to the leather as I am I can't help but examine the stitching closely, and it is slightly inaccurate. Someone spent hours to manufacture it without even using a sewing machine.
This thing will sincerely have another sound when it is heaved through the air, thundering when it is driven home on target.

I shudder, and try to look at Walker, but cannot – of course - get my face high enough. So I ask the two boots in front of me, with slightly trembling voice:
“Can't you use one of the straps on the wall? Not this french .. Du – nightmare?”

“I use this one for category red. We better don't risk Agatha getting suspicious. And if you behave I might only use the black side.”
Then he turns the leather abomination on the other side. Dark red leather. Small round bumps are scattered over the surface, all sewn in – not visible on the other side. Someone spent very much time for this. Walker explains:
“Small sacks with sand. Just weight on the black side, drives the lesson a little deeper. On the red side it … focuses the lesson. Right on point.”
I shudder again.
He glides with his fingers over the red leather: “You don't remember Mademoiselle DuLiarre?”

“I have no clue, sir.” I shake my head.

“Weekly maintaining-discipline actions? I got your approval for that.”

“That rings a bell... but .. I need to decide many things.”

“That was a wild decision – I did not think it would get through without problems. A fixed weekly disciplinary action instead of a misbehavior-provoked one.”

“I … I mostly just decide by who is making a request. Then I follow Ag... the AI's recommendation. Especially with the executioners – I am no expert for corporal punishments, you already stated that. As it came from you, I sincerely thought it will be OK. You did not seem like that perverted guys that enjoy causing pain, you know.”

“If only I knew before, would have spared me much lengthy explanation.
And congrats, nice nasty closing remark. So, looking at that strap – name someone that YOU would enjoy being driven home a lesson.”

I stutter: “No – no, no one, I won't...”
He interferes laughing: “It even turned black. She KNOWS you are lying. You should get two strikes for black. An obvious lie – insolent. That is three strokes you owe me.”

I groan.
He makes it clear: “You know that this is just a fictional count? But I might rub it in should we ever meet again. Especially as you earned yourself two for not admitting that you would like to dish out that two to someone else.”

Now I sigh: “Being in this position brings some – insecurities, sir.
I … I have more than one person I could name. It was just – too quick. Sorry, sir.”

“We reflexively deny that. Still corporal punishment helps victims best to cope with the consequences of a crime. General public loves the idea of punished prisoners. And everyone has someone in his mind when it comes to a good old backside tanning.”
He squats down again, and taps on the oversized inmate plaguer -
“DuLiarre. She is still here. Convicted impostor. She defrauded some elderly people, grandparent scam, and finally tried something bigger. She named herself Mademoiselle Raffaëlle DuLiarre – invested in expensive clothing and a chauffeur. Scamming a grandmother is easier than scam rich people. She played her role too well, the spoiled french aristocrat who indignantly refuses to leave some 'Soirée'. One arrest for trespassing later she was convicted, they linked her to her crimes, flew in every elderly person she duped.
Part of her conviction was this, manufacturing the tool to punish her herself. Even if this is not the first, but last castigator she created.
She got a whole load of court ordered punishments, and one older lady was always there, she got there by plane every week to watch. And she insisted that every spanking began with:
'Your granny is very disappointed!'
The flights were added to the pile of debt of 'DuLiarre'. I heard her family is actually wealthy, but she isn't getting a dime from them. In prison – she will need forever to repay her debts. She must have really destroyed the relationship to her family.
But the old lady was willing to spent so much of her time only to see that girl suffer.
We all have it in us.”

“Her father still loves her enough to pay me.”

“So, you know her!”

“The story helped. Her father took care she got here as quickly as he heard that there are no rapes here. Maybe he broke with her, but he still loves her enough to want her to stay pure.”

“Ah, a little late for that. The old lady fought for additional punishments due to insufficient effort to pay back her debts. Successfully, once. Even that finally ended. The Mademoiselle now just faced simple prison time. And the former model inmate began to misbehave. Nothing grave, just enough to pile up punishments.
Either she loves the pain, or she is addicted to the attention – I think it is both.
The weekly sessions helped keeping her in check. She is behaving impeccably again.
And sometimes I get a present from her. Like the Mademoiselle in front of you. Or other, smaller things she tinkers to satisfy whatever masochistic habit she has adopted.”

I begin to shuffle my legs slowly forward, shift my position. I want to get my bottom down again. End this 'presenting' position.
He questions me: “You are not released from your position, Candy!”
He takes the Mademoiselle in his hands, and I instantly stop moving. Shuddering.
He walks around me, and then there is that sound. That whupping sound as the Mademoiselle is powerfully propelled through the air behind me.
I am instantly back on my toes, pushing my backside even higher as before – but the whooping sound just passes without impact.
Something wooden dances clearly audible on the floor.
The noise of the rolling cane ends as, I assume, a boot carefully steps on it.
“Four, Candy.”, he says as I hear him squat down to pick up the cane: “Today you can change your position, if you want. Tomorrow – not.”

I complete my shuffling slowly, while he puts his 'tool' back into the wardrobe. I am again kneeling deep on the floor. I move my head around as good as I can, the fixed collar only allows to turn my neck below and above. I again try to alleviate my straining neck muscles using my folded arms as I press them against my head:
“Sorry, sir. I am worn out. I can't go back into position. My neck hurts. I hope we don't need so much time tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow you will hold position or you will be forced in position.”

“How? Really, I can't anymore. You can threaten me however you want, I just cannot.”

“You would be surprised what you can do when properly motivated. And I have proper motivation in a drawer.”

“Show me.”

“Oh, no. That is nothing for a nice, well behaved inexperienced prisoner. If you really want to find out challenge me tomorrow. But then it is no way back. Full experience.
Than you are a nasty, disorderly inmate.”

“Sir, can we change position? Please? Sir?”

“We can, but it is also a stress-position. And we need to prepare you. You need the carabiner on your ankle shackles to switch to Stand a a . So, when I hit the button you need to crawl forward, open the latch of the carabiner at your neck, unhook it from your collar and hitch it into a small ring in the middle of the cable connecting your ankles. It is easy, the only fumbling part is opening the hook. When finished Agatha will let you stand up, and you must choose the most comfortable position. Just do it swiftly and continuously. Get ready.”

I try to shuffle a little closer to the metal plate holding the cable, but I don't know what more I can do: “I think I am ready, sir.”

I hear one click.
Then the lower cable is released, as is one of my hands. I can not stand up until I unhook that carabiner from my collar, but I am able to upright myself. I use my free hand and fumble with the latch while slowly shuffling forward with my bound legs. That cable connecting my ankles is no longer than twice my shins, but I can see the ring in the middle of it.
And I love the feeling of having my back finally strait up – my neck jubilates.
While I still fumble with the carabiner I allow my head to move around.
Then I managed to open the latch, and disconnect the hook from my collar:
“Huh, we should have done that before. Finally my neck is not killing me anymore – sir.”

“You should hurry yourself, or she might - “
A searing shock runs from the collar through my body. I see blurred lines and have that metallic taste on my tongue. Not a warning shock, full punishment.
“Hurry up, Candy. Swiftly AND continuously. Slightest sign of slacking and you get another one.”

I am already at it. Another one of those and I might loose control over bladder and bowels. He has not finished that sentence and I have hooked the carabiner between my ankles, and my collar is pulled up. My heart still races from the shock as I finally stand again.
“Handlock. Go back into Handlock.” Walker commands, and I fumble my arm back into that helpless position.

“Normally she explains it, and you have more time. She still plays muted. I am not sure if she...”
I still try to find a comfortable position, and after that shock just am happy about the limited freedom of movement. I twist my hips slightly, lift my legs only a little bit. A deep breath to get the pain away, calm my hammering heart. Then searing pain. Again. I feel a spasm in one leg, and the collar pressing on my neck as I partially loose balance. Like a flinching fish on the hook I am twisting under my leash. A tormented roar is hammering on my ears, I need a moment to understand it was mine.
“Candy – Stand at attention! The third punishment position is stand at attention. Get back on your feet and stand straight, don't move.
In other prisons it is just standing, but you made it Stand at attention. Or approved someones idea to do that.
You are allowed to move a tiny bit. Not as strict as in your cell. You don't have a screen to control yourself. Normally there should be a sound when you move too fast or too far, an instant before you get shocked.
This is the strictest punishment position we use.”
I am again standing, trembling slightly, in terror. The smell of urine fills my nose, and I feel a small trail of hot liquid running down my thigh. I have straightened myself as good as I could, and now I try to be as motionless as I can. I so hope simple trembling will not get punished. My view is still blurred.
Full category red punishment shock. Two times in a row. I am done.
Walker is standing in front of me, with a worried look: “I wasn't sure if she would really shock you, as we are currently 'interviewing'. But she is taking no risks. The time where you are not completely helpless must be as short as possible. Red light on your collar.
Just try to breath that away.”
I am shaky. The shocks are brutal. And two in a row – excruciating. My heart is pondering and I feel nauseous. Walker looks worried into my eyes: “Can you do it or back into one of the other positions. You can talk.”

I answer in a halting way: “I – can do it – sir.” Breathing heavily. I need to be careful, but standing is still better than bend over or crouching.
Walker watches me, less worried.
He smiles soothing, adding: “The strictest position. I use it only occasionally. And only as limited part of a session. Standing like this through a whole action – I never did it.
You need to stand still while you hear the cane or strap coming in. Only fractions of a second before the impact you are able to move, and that is not intended, but technical limitation. And 5 seconds after. 5 seconds to get back into position. Then the shocks set in, not full punishment, but rapidly increasing.
You scream and flail around while Agatha counts down. After that you have to be back into position, awaiting the next blow. I only use it on very special prisoners who can stand it and need that strictness. So, nothing for you. Don't worry.
You can just let it sink in. Imagine it, for the full experience.”

I feel something: “You like it? This position – is your favorite.”

“Good question. Yes – and no. I like it. I like a modified version more.”

“What modified version – how modified?”

“I will not answer that. That's between me and the Mademoiselle.”

“You requested to change it from just standing to stand at attention.”

“You can read that in your Mails. So you'll find out.”

“I wager one cane stroke that you sent that request. How much strokes do I owe you?”

“That's … four and a half. Not only one person sent that.”

“Okay, the initiator. You are the initiator, and that is not in my Mails. How many do I owe you?”

“Four, Candy.”

“Shouldn't it be three?”

“No, Candy, there is only one way to reduce punishments.” he teases - “And now you know the three appropriate positions – the three positions for you to reduce your count.”
Then he walks back some steps, and musters me.
“Candy, if you ever consider reintroducing corporal punishment ask me to come back. And if you ask exactly as you are standing now, I will be very tempted to agree. Just a question of cane strokes.”

“Sir – I should show you the finger for that one. But I fear that would hurt me – really – way more than you. Just feel fingered, sir!”

“Nice one.”, he smirks, “Are you ready to go back? You need to be more careful with yours sirs and madams.”

“Sir, I will do my best, sir.”, I almost shrugged with my shoulders.

“Then – if you are in doubt what to do, say that you are sorry and beg Agatha to repeat her command. If you don't know if you are allowed to do something, beg Agatha to allow it. If you did not listen, say you did not understand and beg her to repeat. The one who programmed her must think that inmates are stupid – if you beg to repeat you always get a second chance. That will give you some time. Don't overdo it, sooner or later she'll react. Fierce. If her programming understands that you are tricking her, you'll suffer. So, say it. Train yourself for Agatha – the other inmates do it all.
What do you say when you are in doubt what to do, Candy.”

Again, I almost shrugged my shoulders. I look at him doubtfully, than say “Sorry, Agatha, I did not listen. Please repeat...”

“Well, Candy, you now got shocked, got yourself a punishing activity, or just another demerit. And that means – have fun cleaning the highway, and the toilets. Naked as you are now.
Agatha wakes you in the middle of the night, you have no idea what she said, what do you say Candy, NOW?!” - he yells at me.

NOW – I understand: “Mistress Agatha, please excuse myself, I did not listen. Could you please repeat, madam?”

“Don't say you did not listen. She will not like that. She expects you to listen to all her commands. Say you did not understand. She gets angry if you do not give her full attention, but has no problem with you if you are just stupid. The AI is a diva. So, what do you say if you don't know what to do?”

“Sorry, Mistress Agatha, I am too dumb. Could you please repeat, ma'am?”

He laughs: “Tell me how that worked. But you should take this more serious. Train yourself. Repeat in your mind what you will say when she gets you on the wrong foot. It will happen!
I will get myself a coffee or something like that. Our interview is still running, for some minutes. Use the time to train – or not.
You will stand at attention here, alone. That might make it easier for you - when she orders you back you are under supervision again. And need to behave. Consequences. So use your last minutes without Agatha. I nearly said freedom, but – don't move. Besides ...”

He gets back to his desk. “You should turn around, face the back wall. If someone else enters he should not be able to inspect your face. You are allowed to do it now. Turn around Candy.” - he clicks.

I snort, then I use the opportunity to move as many muscles as possible while of course turning around swiftly and constantly – and I achieve that.

“Later, Candy.” - I hear him open the door. “If you are clever you use your time, Candy.” - The door closes, and I am alone, at least he wants me to believe that. Facing that wall. Standing still. I know he – maybe I should pretend...

“Sorry – Mistress Agatha.” I begin, with a weak voice.
I slowly, very slowly rise my foot. Then there is that sound – a beep running through my ears. I slowly put my foot back.

“Sorry, Mistress Agatha. I did not understand, please repeat, madam.” I say, louder.
Now the other foot. While I lift it I say: “Mistress Agatha, please allow me to relieve myself, madam.”

“Mistress Agatha, thank you for punishing me, Mistress Agatha.”
That is not very creative. But it take time.
“Mistress Agatha, may I please eat my supper, Mistress Agatha.”
It still feels weird.
“Sir, this feels so weird, sir.”
“Mistress Agatha, I did not understand. Please repeat your commands, Mistress Agatha.”
That one should do. 'Mistress Agatha' is a winner. Buys me time to think what I want to say.
“Mistress Agatha, I cannot understand. Please repeat, Mistress Agatha.”
“Mistress Agatha, I am a nasty little prisoner and need to be punished strictly while staring naked at a stupid wall. Just punish me and give me only 5 seconds to get back in position please, Mistress Agatha.
Sir, I think I am done here, sir. Thank you for the lesson. I hope I don't need it.”

Walker hems behind me: “Yes, I think you are more or less ready. And I am sure you will need it.”
An interview running with one person – Agatha is not dumb. But somehow it was easier to believe he might have been gone.

“Okay, Candy. End of our talk, back to business.”

It is just another click from him. Then he commands:

“Agatha, put Candy back in floor position.”

And Agatha is back: “Squat down. You can lean on your collar. Don't kneel.”
A helpful tip, as my legs are still shackled. The collar descends slowly, and I end softly on my bum.
“Remove the carabiner from your ankle shackle and hook it quickly into your collar. Hurry!”
Again one hand is free - I try to remove the carabiner, fiddle around with it – it feels like I need too much time.
“Mistress Agatha, I will do as ordered, Mistress Agatha. I follow your command, Mistress Agatha.” - The hook is finally free, and I clip it in my collar.

Agatha commands: “Handlock. On your knees. Shuffle backwards while the collar descends to floor position.”

The collar moves slowly, but constantly. I lock my hand on my collar, and kneel as Agatha is pushing me down with unrelenting force. Then I am back on my knees, still shuffling back.
“Raise your buttocks. Move your legs back until ordered to stop.”
This time my backside is facing the door. And of course, Walker. I stare at the drain in the floor, and he stares – a nasty comparison with drain and … drain … runs through my head.

“Stop.”, commands Agatha.

I sigh deeply. My neck has recovered – for now. Luckily this will end long before it gets taxing again.
I shuffle slowly further, and sigh again. I need to get into that stretched leg position with everything in the air, only 'pain and shame' – the two exceptions. Then he will remove that shackles.

Agatha intervenes: “Get back into floor position! Leaving a disciplinary position will be punished!”

And Walker adds: “Do you try to find out what is in that drawer?”

I shuffle quickly back, nervous … and nosy: “No, sir. Mistress Agatha, sorry. I am back in position, Mistress Agatha.”

He compliments: “Keep it that way, Candy. Follow orders. Don't question, comply.”

And then he does – nothing.
Again. I hear him working at his computer, while am waiting on my knees – watching … the floor.

After a short while Walker stands up and gets back to his Wardrobe: “Agatha, put Candy in bend over position.” -

And Agatha commands me around again: “Crouch forward, lowering your buttocks.” - the collar raises a as I comply - “Feets on the floor. Squat. Stand up, you can lean on your collar. Stretch your legs and bend over.”
It is a little tricky with my ankles bound together – but manageable. And I have no clue why I am back in this position. I thought I would leave.

Then I flinch as the sound of a cane whirring through the air abruptly disrupts my thinking. I instantly feel the cold sweat on my back again.
Trembling I ask: “Sir, did I do something wrong, sir?” - as humbly as I can.

The cane produces his trademark sound once again, then Walker says: “Interview time is over, Candy. As said. You will listen and follow orders. And sometimes you will answer a question. You are allowed to talk when it is absolutely necessary – that's it. No more conversations for you.

I put you in a different position. You think it is the same, but it is not. This is more restricting.”

The cane touches my butt, I flinch and try to move away. The cable is yanking at my feet.

“When the cane hits you, you will love to be able to lift one foot, dance around to alleviate the pain. I have taken that – at least partially – from you.
I am not just a sadist who enjoys causing pain – I have learned how to do it properly – state approved.”

The cane is at the back of my thighs, slowly running up again.

“Executioners are in demand. I will sincerely find a new job quickly.
But unfortunately not my dream job. Most prisons limit the corporal punishments on the buttocks, even most executioners do that - out of fear. Your bottom and thighs have the lowest risks of complications.”

The cane switches to the front of my thighs.

“Some prisons allow more areas for punishment. They always have more than enough executioners – even a waiting list for new employees - always willing to quit their current position and move there.”

The cane leaves my thighs, and glides over my belly.

“Would have made our session tomorrow much easier. We could circumvent the limit for your butt by changing to another body part.”

The cane is on my breasts, pushing them up. Then he begins tapping, softly. All around my nipples – I feel them harden.

“Full body punishments. With a wider range of tools allowed.”

He puts the cane on my back, over my shoulders – balances it and let's it lie on me. He moves around and is directly in front of me. He puts my chin in his hand, lifts it. With his other hand he presses my folded elbow down. Then he raises his hand.

“Or just a hand. Some allow slaps...” - and his hand speeds down, with great eyes I follow that impending doom. He stops an instant before he forcefully hits my face, and pats my cheek.
Again something wooden is dancing over the floor, then I hear it roll.

“Five, Candy.” He steps back - “Agatha, put Candy in floor position.”

And Agatha simply commands: “Kneel down, commence floor position.”
The AI must have got the impression that I am able to interpret the command by now.
She is only correcting: “Lift your buttocks higher!” as I am back on the floor again, presenting my bottom.

Walker has picked up his cane and moved behind me, one click later I hear him move to the wardrobe, while Agatha commands: “Move your feet back as far as you can – get your legs straight!”

So, now it is time for that. I must look so ridiculous doing that with the tiny little movements I am able to do. But finally I am there, this time I know I have to wait for another command.

“Lift your body up! On your toes! Don't move!” She orders one after the other as I comply. Sighing I am again in a 'neck-plank'. Walker is using the tool again, it ratchets and my ankles are free: “Stay in position, Candy.” he adds.
I groan silently.

“Agatha, new rules for Candy.
Candy, you will begin and end every sentence as appropriate with sir, madam or Mistress Agatha. Repeat the rule, Candy.”
Oh, I hate this guy. I concentrate on holding position, and between my strenuous breaths I utter:
“Sir, I will begin and end every sentence with sir, madam or Mistress Agatha, as it fits best, sir.”

“Candy, you will confirm every command by repeating it. Candy.”

“Sir, I will confirm every command by repeating it. Sir.”

“Agatha, enforce this rules for one hour. Don't tell Candy when the hour is over.
Candy, you can relax yourself.”

I sigh as I just plump down. A boot is softly kicking against my foot – I quickly add:
“Sir, I relax. Thank you, sir.”

“Candy, if anything is wrong tonight you might call the executioner on duty. That is me. Until tomorrow morning, 6 am sharp. As long as I am on duty, Agatha will simply alarm me, otherwise she will ask you for a really good reason to alarm my successor.
I am sure you are able to decide when you need to wake me and when not, either way you owe me 5 of the virtual ones for that. I am sure you won't risk angering me by doing it without reason.
You don't need to repeat that, it is not a command. Just thank me.”

And grateful I am for that, reciting: “Sir, thank you very, very much, sir.”
A 'call in case of emergency' number … I would have been so grateful to have that at the beginning of my little adventure!

And then I am finally back on my way to my small little cell. And I am feeling so stupid. 'Mistress Agatha, I am standing up, Mistress Agatha.' - move forward, Mistress Agatha – turn left, Mistress Agatha.....

[Igor con Fine]

A hellish night



I am so happy when I finally arrive in my cell – and this will-grinding and mind-tiring repetitions end. I am sitting on my mat, of course I cannot lie down, not enough cable. But I close my eyes and lean against the wall – resting.
After a while I hear yells. Another one for Walker. I shudder. Tomorrow it will be me.
I shake my head – I was so quickly thrown into this completely different situation, but somehow – I am not as frightened as I maybe should be.

I hope that hour passes quickly. I am already repeating automatically, I hope I will be able to stop once I am done here.
Agatha – Mistress Agatha plans something different for me.
As I repeat:
“Mistress Agatha, I am standing up, Mistress Agatha.” - I see another fitness session starting on the screen.
Heavily breathing I dutifully repeat every single command I get.......


It must have been half an hour of – Mistress Agatha, I am doing sit-ups, Mistress Agatha – changing to jumping jacks – Mistress Agatha … and so on and on and on... I am exhausted. Physically and much more mentally. I am back leaning against the wall and cool down after work out. A short resting period.

I hear someone outside on the corridor moving,
Whoever it is might hear me yell:
“Mistress Agatha, I am standing at attention, Mistress Agatha.”
The footsteps are coming closer. The lower hatch opens and, incoming, my celebratory dinner.
On an appetizing light-Grey tray. To not distract from the main dish nothing else is on the board with the various indentations – made of a special rubber like plastic that is nearly impossible to break, and even then there would be no sharp edges. You always have to hold it with both hands, or, like now, push it over the floor, or it bends down and you must pick up what was on it - or eat it directly from the floor.
And the food itself – a delicacy. I retch.

But before I am allowed to chew on the pan-cooked brick there is another thing I introduced, and now experience.
Before eating I repeat, Mistress Agatha prompts every sentence:
““Mistress Agatha, I say grace.
Mistress Agatha, I thank the tax payers and the Hekaty prison for the generosity to provide me with food. I will consume it with respect and gratitude. I thank the hard workers in the kitchen for their effort to hand-make this especially for me, Mistress Agatha.”
The last part is hilarious – when you are not wearing a collar.
Regular prisoners get simple convenience food, warmed up – I would never call that cooking.
But we have a kitchen for inmate training, providing for the staff canteen – a benefit to help recruiting and keeping employees.
Leftovers and usable waste like potato peels or meat scraps are blended. The AI calculates the
nutritive value and, when necessary, instructs the adding of other cheap components. Formed to a block and fried in a pan it is then served with the described great attention to detail – to the 'naughty' inmates. Depending on the amount of 'delicacy' that is available the prisoners with the worst behavior get this 'hand made' dish. In solitary that kind of gratuity is guaranteed.
If there are enough 'bricks' available Mistress Agatha reduces the convenience food – long before the warming up begins.
You might always end with a brick if she registered misbehavior during the day.

“Mistress Agatha, I .. will eat … up, Mistress Agatha.” I grimace.

I squat down near the tablet and pick the wobbly thing up. I place it near my mat, and while I sit down I muster it with disgust written on my face. The block has a dark brown, partially black burned crust, you can see the marks left from the spatula.
I pick it up, beneath is a white paste. A reward from the Pep-program – nutritional supplement for hair, nails and skin. An investment to future slavery.
The block cracks softly as I dare to take a mouse bite. Surprisingly it is mostly tasteless. Dunking it in the slightly cream-tasting white paste it is edible. Dry, scratchy and not the slightest bit enjoyable, but edible.
Refusal of food is a punishable offense, so – I am somewhat grateful, it could have been much worse.
I am allowed to flush it down with some water – Mistress Agatha, may I please drink some water, Mistress Agatha – squatting in front of the small tube and sucking my water ration out of it I wonder why I am so wet. My spread folds feel so well greased as if I was just interrupted doing a very private action. I can even smell it.
Agatha is cutting that short, I quickly put my tray back to the door hatch, of course again repeating my command, then I have add another praise:
“Mistress Agatha, I stand at attention – and I will express my thanks.
I thank the tax payers and the Hekaty prison for my meal. I will remember their generosity. I will not forget that I owe society another day I was given to improve myself. I will make myself a better person and worthy member of community. Thank you, Mistress Agatha.”

I stand again watching the small green stand-at-attention light until the tray is picked up. After that I am allowed to 'roam freely' in my little cell. I am unable to sit down, Agatha has shortened the leash so I need to stand. Or, what I do at the moment, circle around my cell.

...

I found out – I forgot one beginning Mistress Agatha – that my hour was over. I am still as polite as possible, and up to now I was not reprimanded by Mistress Agatha.
We just began my 'preparation for disciplinary action'. I did not even know that existed – but I now found out that a disciplinary action is a highly ritualized event.
I am still learning the correct wordings, and at the moment I am listing up all the reasons for my punishments. Some different ones, many repeated offenses – mainly being a non-compliant nuisance during lock-down. For that my butt will pay dearly.
This is the most tedious activity today. Mistress Agatha insists on exact wording, I must correct every mistake, repeat the passage three times and then – she starts from the beginning. Again, and again, and again. Every single mistake – three times repeat, start over. No human would be so stubborn.
…
Three successful, error-free recitations. It is not even much I have to say, it is mainly the stupidity of it all, and of course, my fear to make an error, to AGAIN have to start over.
I so often thought I did it when I reached the end, the concentration faded only an instant – begin from the start, Candy.
And the meanest thing was when I finished my first flawless performance. How lucky I was when she congratulated me for doing it without an error. And then she just said: First sequence complete. Start over for second sequence. And of course no word how many sequences she required.
Now it is finally done, and I am allowed to go to bed. No blanket. The floor under the mat can be heated, to avoid hypothermia. A small, half-round bolster pillow – filled with a hard foam and covered with the same easy washable leather-like synthetic fabric – is handed through the lower hatch while I again wait – standing at attention. The main reason we offered that pillow was the ability to take it away. And now I can understand what the consultant meant – the threat that you might loose something when you have nothing else is far worse than not getting it from the beginning.

Over time I slowly get a feeling for the prison routine, and the ever-present threat of punishment. Every little infraction, every small mistake – and might it only be to not act quickly enough – is registered and pursued. Mistress Agatha is always watching.

I lie down on the warm mat, and try to find a comfortable position. I know I should use the time to sleep, but I toss and turn, and my mind races without following a thought. A turmoil of different things I have to cope with. Highway-chain-gang. Kovacec enlisted me for the Highway-chain-gang – not really true, Mistress Agatha did it, he just ended orientation – out of... I'll kill him!

Maybe Mistress Agatha knows, the highway-chain-gang is my absolute favorite. Of course, as long as I am not enlisted as actual member!
As a warden - it has the last revenue, but the best advertising. The best way to show everyone how criminals are punished. And provide the picture of them giving something back. We use so many photographs of women picking up trash or fighting weeds to quell out snakes.
I should be flattered that Mistress Agatha thinks I would be a worthwhile addition for the 'advertising aspect'. No clothes, that might be have been an argument in her decision-making.

I know I am not as experienced as I should be, but I try to learn. And as this kind of work fascinated me, I accompanied them once, not a whole day, but some hours. I had an officer driving me, someone I trusted to keep me safe with the whole criminals involved. I was so clueless. This chain-gang-girls didn't pose a threat.
It was a hot day, and they wore black and white striped clothes, not our jumpsuits, as they are actually 'lend out' to the sheriffs department. White striped uniform consisting of cap, short-sleeved light jacket and trouser. A pair of black simple, sturdy work boots – below our undergarments.
They all still wore their collars, chain-gang-service means a slightly modified one with longer lasting batteries and a higher WiFi range. And – what should be a secret but is not – an activatable mobile network connection with tracking capabilities.

The group I watched was divided in two lines, each connected with a long chain by their feet. Connect that many people with one chain is actually making real work nearly impossible – four unchained instead of twelve chained girls would sincerely get more work done – but that is not the point.
Walker is right, I love to see them suffer - somehow.
They only use two deputies and a driver to guard them, the collars also work outside – Mistress Agatha is able to hear them and follow their position. The nearby prison bus provides the WiFi – and cameras, however they are of limited use.
During my visit there was a horse trailer hitched to the bus and one deputy was mounted.
And not mounted on a nice horse you might know from a visit to the nearby children-friendly pony center – that one was a giant warhorse, always foaming spittle in the corners of that ever grinning horse-mouth with the protruding teeth. A loud neigh sprinkled myself in slobber, and the aggressive clapping of its teeth made me jump back. The guard accompanying me had its fun.

The girls: Two lines, one equipped with garbage sticks and blue trash sacks, the other one with hoes, spades and shovels. Clanking along the highway, working in the unrelenting sun or all-drenching rain – only the dust storms giving them a break.
The line is always spread out from the highway, one girl directly near the road, the girl on the other end of the chain at the roadside ditch or even beyond. Behind them follows the air-conditioned bus with the blinking warning sign at the rear – 'Penal labor, don't pick up hitchhikers!'. The mounted deputy urges to work faster should someone fall back.

The other deputy and our guard stood next to me as we heard a car honking on the other side of the highway. The deputy that had tried to ogle my chest without ostentation turned around, then he pulled me away from the inmate picking up trash directly at the street.
“Might be someone with a gift incoming.” - he grinned - “Keep distance to the inmates at the street, and watch what happens.”
We overtook the line and turned to look down the highway, the chain-gang facing us. Then there came in that car, and slowed down nearly to a stop. While it was creeping past her a man was leaning out of the window of the front passenger seat, sitting on the rim. He threw a large slushee at the girl walking near the street, yelling: “Something to cool you down, streetwalker. Call me when you are available again.”, and they drove off, honking.
He had hit her directly between the breasts, splattering her face completely, with much of the red colored ice flowing down – deep into her cleavage. The overheated girl shuddered from the cold, rubbed her eyes, tried to scoop the freezing liquid from her body with her hands. She had stuck the picker-stick into the ground, and then there was the mounted deputy. He let his whip crack next to her, and yelled:
“Back to work, number twelve. You are not allowed to interact with free population. Ignore and pick up that damned trash!”
She had flinched so badly that her stick fell over, and she still rubbed her eyes to find it.
“Agatha, register a half-demerit for number twelve.” She flinched again, hurried herself. Picked up her stick and impaled the slushy cup. The guy had written 'Call 555-CHEAP-SLUT' on it, clueless that that one was – actually – on him.

I didn't know what to do, just stared at her. The deputy near me just said: “That one was right on target. Don't get too close, sometimes they come in packs. Last week we had the 'bakerboys'. You sent us another naked one – sorry, 'with revoked privilege of clothing' “, he chuckled maliciously, “we always put'em in front row. They attract most attention. The 'Bakerboys' loved her. 4 cars, one after the other. Eggs, a bag of flour, a water bomb full with milk, a bag of sugar. The last one yelled 'Oh sorry we forgot to include the file. We will be back soon.'
She smelled horribly when her shift was done, we took her back in the horse trailer.
The stallion liked her, licked at her until we arrived.”


I turn once again on my mat. I am only a demerit away from also becoming cake. And I don't know why that turns me on that much. I feel like – I am in heat. And my nipples are so hard they may poke wholes in the mat when I lie on my front.
Being cake – runs through my mind.

..

ALARM. An alarm is hammering through my collar, mistress Agatha is ordering something while I shake my head to wake up.
I understand that precious seconds already ticked away – I slowly utter:
“Mistress Agatha, I am dumb.. did not understand. Please repeat, Mistress Agatha.”
She commands me to begin with another round of 'intensive training'. Immediately.

..

I did what I could but I missed my goal. Didn't achieve eighty percent, torn straight from sleep.
I squat again over my grated loo and suck some water. Mistress Agatha gave me a short break, and now I try to suck and pee at the same time. The first time in my life. After all I had today this position is still so vulgar for me. Squatting wide legged over that grate, naked. I put my hand down on my crotch and spread my folds to pee without sprinkling to much. Moving my crotch as deep as I can over that grate, I nearly touch it.
And it feels like I am slavering down there. This is not my vagina, this is a horny, randy, and – I fear – stinking cunt between my legs. What is happening. This whole stupid prison adventure is turning me into some submissive and masochistic slut that gets incredibly turned on by waiting for a strict beating. Alone the word, strict. Shudder.
The whole ordering around is also doing something weird with my sexual hormones.
Out of an urge I give that slavering cunt a forceful slap. I cringe from the pain. As it subsides there is a tingling, numb feeling. And then, pee.
I need some therapist when I am finally out. And a dick. Preferably a large one...

Before my mouth waters Mistress Agatha is back. I will have to repeat that round of training - another try, another chance. Meet the 80 percent.

..

I achieved eighty-five at the second try. I was not even shocked when it was not over, but Mistress Agatha ordered position training, just to cool down. Not long, but tiring. I am finally lying down on my mat, try to get some sleep.
I just close my eyes and relax, as Mistress Agatha yells: “Up.” Groggily I heave myself up again, then Mistress Agatha yells: “You will repeat commands again, inmate!” - and yelling the directional commands Agatha gives me, I follow the slider. Until I find myself in the correction vault.
No one is there, I am to early.
But Agatha quickly corrects me: “You are late for your disciplinary action. You are a shame for an inmate, being late for your punishment. You will excuse yourself by your executioner!”

The door opens and there she is. I don't even know why I can see her that good, I am in kneeling position, my butt raised as high as I can, but it is her. Aubrey Hart. And she has a giant leather slapper with her, small sharp pyramids of sand are sewn on the surface.
I instantly hear me begging Mistress Hart for forgiveness.
She smiles: “There is no absolution. Only retribution. Now YOU will pay for your crimes, Udders.”
She pulls on a very long yellow household cleaning glove, with that stretching sound that belongs to another glove, but somehow it seems right. Then she says:
“But first we need to cavity search you, Udders. We will thoroughly search that stinking, slavering cunt for contraband. Open wide.” She cackles insanely, and then I feel the fingers entering me. Playing on my little button. My mouth opens for a moan, and as I feel her pushing deeper … There is no moan but a yell. A yell of pain. My collar shocked me, hard.
I am still in kneeling position, and am slowly falling on my side, but not in the correction vault, I lie on my mat. And my fingers are slimy and sticky.
“Sexual intercourse is not allowed.”, Mistress Agatha states, “ Additional punishments have been added to your disciplinary action. Commence Stand at attention!”

I am awestruck, my mouth still wide opened. I can't believe what happened. The screen – time is ticking down. I rush myself to get into position, and avoid another shock.
My … cunt … is still itching, shrieking for attention. And I can't understand it. Why …...

Horny juice. Horny juice has a calming effect that can help new inmates to get accustomed to a new prison – at least according to the data of our 'survey'. To verify, we were granted permission for a practical test. The pep-program, of course! We are allowed to spike the water of promising prisoners with horny-juice. In high dosage. My whole pussy must by now be soaked by that shit.


“Say: 3 hours and 52 minutes left until I will be corrected.” - What? I quickly give her my new mantra: “Mistress Agatha, I did not understand. Please repeat, Mistress Agatha.”

“Say: 3 hours and 52 minutes left until I will be corrected.” Agatha commands again, and I try: “Mistress Agatha, 3 hours and 52 minutes until I will be corrected.”
She interrupts before my second Mistress Agatha: “Say: 3 hours and 52 minutes left until I will be corrected.”
Mistress Agatha always takes it so literally, I silently protest. Instead I comply: “Mistress Agatha, 3 hours and 52 minutes left until I will be corrected.”
Agatha confirms: “Correct.” And stays silent for a moment.

*Ding - there is a ringing sound in my ear.
Agatha commands: “Say: 3 hours and 51 minutes left until I will be corrected.”
And I parrot her: “Mistress Agatha, 3 hours and 51 minutes until I will be corrected.”
“What is next?” She asks.
Suprised for a moment I say: “Mistress Agatha, 3 hours and 50 minutes left until I will be corrected?”

“Correct.” She says. “Every time the sound plays a minute has passed. You will give the correct phrased time until you will be corrected, now starting with 3 hours 50 minutes. Attention stance will only end after enough correct time announcements.”

This is not true... It was – it was 3 hours and, oh I hope 50. This is unbelievable. That guy is evil!

It is the middle of the night, I got shocked, I am tired, I can not concentrate. 3 hours 50. How long should this little mean game last? Couldn't he just let me sleep until he would batter my backside? How much repetition is enough?
3 50.
*Ding
“Mistress Agatha, 3 … 3 hours and 50 minutes left until I will be corrected.”
“Too slow.”
What? That's it? Too slow? Burn in hell you evil …. calm down. It was 3 50. Now it is 3 49. I am not going to argue with an AI that is able to shock myself into oblivion. 3 49. Nothing else matters. The correct phrasing is 3 hours and 49 minutes until … no LEFT until I will be corrected. Focus, Candy, and ignore that pulsing feeling from between your legs.
I will say 'Mistress Agatha, 3 hours and 49 minutes LEFT until I will be corrected.'

I earned myself another punishment, a nagging voice says in my head.
Another punishment. Naked toilet cleaning. Being cake!
*Ding
“Mistress Agatha, 3 hours and 49 minutes left until I will be corrected!”
. . . . . Seems like everything is fine when she says nothing. I had hoped for a positive feedback. Be happy with the absence of a negative one, inmate Candy....
3 hours and 48 minutes left.
I earned myself another punishment. He warned me to absolutely avoid that.
What should I do -
3 hours and 48 minutes. That is important if I ever want to do something else than standing around.
3 hours and 48 minutes. I should be back in my office before 10 am.
He sincerely is still on duty.

I try something: “Mistress Agatha, can you please sent the executioner on duty a message.”

“Speak.”

I try to think about formulating something a little less embarrassing, but finally it is just:
“Sir, I am sorry sir. I was caught masturbating in my sleep. I earned myself” - *Ding
“Mistress Agatha, 3 hours and 48 minutes left until I will be corrected. I am sorry sir, I earned myself another demerit. I don't know what happens now, but I thought you should know. Of course you don't need to come here.” … I sigh, submitting to fate … “You don't even need to tell me anything, sir. I will just cope with the consequences, Sir. I am very sorry to disturb you, sir. That's it, thank you Mistress Agatha.”
Another deep sigh leaves my mouth.
3 hours and 47 minutes left until I will be corrected.
The nagging is gone. I've done all that I can. The stupid cunt is still needy, she will have to wait! I am concentrating on my commands!
Focus, Candy, 3 hours and 47 minutes until I will be corrected.

Everything else does not matter . . . .

…


Preparation



I don't remember when I was finally allowed to fall on my mat again. I instantly fell asleep, and slept very restless. I woke up often, full of panic that my hand may have found her way back into my crotch. But Mistress Agatha had nothing more planned for me. And – I was allowed to lie down way beyond 6 am. Maybe I have to thank my personal sadist.
The night must be over, and I am happy for that. Now the next stage – 'yay'.
Mistress Agatha announces: “You need to defecate.” - not my kind of dirty talk. And I am not going to do that over that grate. That is too much, and it is way not urgent enough for that.
That obscene position is already doing weird things with my juiced up pussy, but that is too much. Sometimes *it remains laying on the grid and I heard you have to push it down, I nearly vomit.

Of course I am squatting as ordered. Even sucking some water. And – after trying – some pee. That must be enough, Mistress Agatha.
“Mistress Agatha, I am finished. I don't need to … defecate.”


“Up. Handlock.” she commands me, and a moment later I leave the cell. It is only a short distance.
I stand in a small room, in front of a saddle. The same machine as at the beginning. Cavity-Ultrasound. Agatha is still explaining, but as quick as my hands are free I just take my place and don the belt again. My feet and shins are fixed to the machine, and the belt is pushing me onto the metal bump between my folds as last time – my way more slick and aroused folds as last time – I feel like I am drooling. The upper body does not get worked with at this machine.
The two thin, slimy metal bolts are penetrating my nether region. It is only a moment, but the juice craves for more. I have no clue how long the duration of the action is, but part of me hopes dearly that there is some unsupervised time soon – Why am I still fettered on the saddle?

A bigger bolt enters my backside – more painful, but I can deal with it. I feel it inflate inside me.
And then it dawns on me, I yell: “Mistress Agatha, I will defecate. I am ready now. Please, I can defecate now, Mistress Agatha... “. But she is already flooding my backside. A closed system, flooding and sucking. It does not even smell. Flooding and sucking. And I am not sure what additions she might add to my cleaning solution. Flooding. And sucking.
When she is finally done I feel drained.
I am not even allowed to control that basic biological function.

Arriving back in my cell the room service was already there. My pillow has gone, but there is another wobbly tray with another delicacy. Nothing hearty from the pan this time – one of the indentations is filled with the white paste, a bigger one with a Yellow-Greyish sludge. No solid food. Just in case. Every mishap that might happen can be solved with a squeegee broom. Regardless of the opening.
I need the drain. My colon is – rumbling.
I squat as deep as I can, my breakfast only an arms length away on the floor.
Mistress Agatha must have heard the rumbling – or is used to my situation. She allows me a little time over the grate. To release – air. My cramping stomach has nothing to push out. I am just not used to being – emptied. Finally I feel water running out of my backside, only a tiny little bit. Still in handlock I breath the last cramps away.

“Stand at attention. Say grace!”

I am anew thanking the tax payers – and Hekate prison, so somehow myself – this time for a hand made, carefully calorie-counted slime, composed out of the left overs from dinner.

I wait standing at attention, but the screen is already off. I am staring at my 'meal', my hands still locked, but Agatha is not doing anything. Slowly and cautiously I move out of position.
Of course, it makes sense. There is not much use for my hands. I could have lifted the tray, and kept a tiny little bit of dignity, as if that does matter any more. She is also punishing me for not 'defecating on command', I suppose.
I am down on my knees and try to suck and lick from the tray. The slime is not tasteless, hurray, it is awful. I will eat up, because I must eat up. No demerits.
And I try everything to keep it in my nervous stomach. Forced defecation is enough, I will not to try force feed.
And nervous my stomach is. As the time ticks away I know sooner or later there are only 'minutes left until I will be corrected'.

I finish my feeding and put the trey near the door.
Standing at attention I express my deepest thanks for the generosity of society to help me improve myself. I fear I might again stand until the tray is removed, but I actually leave my cell.
In the corridor I do not turn for corrections, but to the shower – I know it does not really change what is coming, but am still relieved that it is a postponed a little further.


I position myself under the shower head, and she gives me the use of my hands back.
Cold water, counted by second. Enough to wet the body, and soak the hair.
Calculated to its minimum.
No shampoo, not in solitary, but industrial soap for my skin, out of a small tube.
It burns and stings as I rub it over my body, and my nose is filled with lemon and bergamot.
I smell like a freshly cleaned floor – not like a woman, but a clean commodity.

Mistress Agatha opens the valve again, cold, then hot for a very short time – to get the soap and any dirt away. During the hot shower she is yelling where my hands have to move, hurry, hurry, hurry.
Beware of wasting a drop of warm water.
Otherwise I might have lingered at a zone still not satisfied.
Resisting this urge is made much easier when 'hot' ends and 'cold' begins again.
I shudder, and hug myself.

Trembling I am ordered to the fan. This time it is more strong air than hot air. I need to bend over, wring my hears out – and afterwards comb it with my fingers, as good as I can. I am quickly ordered back to my cell, and handlocked I am marching through the floor.
I shall finish my grooming when I am no longer blocking the shower, and am correctly and securely stowed away. Combing with fingers - Prison, what you lack in tools you compensate with time.

Back in my cell the tray was removed, but instead there is a small plastic bottle with a Post-it on it and a foam cup.
As quick as my hands are free I inspect it – the bottle is simply white without labelling, the hand-written post-it says:
“WHOLE body! No SOLES! VS bruising”
The foam cup is filled with – coffee. A still slightly hot cup of coffee. The smell alone... This is not regular solitary service! I just hated that Walker-devil, now I love him.

A small sip, lingering the taste on my tongue – enjoy...

I open up the bottle, squeeze a little of the liquid on my hand - some kind of body oil.
Why should I use it on my whole body when only my butt... pointless questioning.
I rub the amount on my hand slowly on cleavage. My breasts get a glossy look, my nipples are accentuated. This is something new for me, and I am irritated. Now I not only smell like a freshly waxed floor, I also look like one. A generous amount goes on my butt. VS bruising – then that one will have priority, and the back of my thighs.
Only when that is done I am back rubbing it on breasts and belly. And the juice is again buzzing my mind as I massage my .. tits. I suppress a moan. Better try another part first before I go … down -
with all artistic grace I can muster I try to coat my back with the oily fluid. Then my legs and arms. Even my face – my coffee is finished, the bottle has still some oil.
I am especially careful when I start rubbing it on my more spicy part. Spread my legs and rubbing – my eyes close – I instantly stop. That greedy wet hole is protesting loudly, the small button buzzing for attention.
Hellish juice. Oh, only one command. Just some unsupervised time – without a camera watching. My heart is beating as if applauding to the idea.

I squeeze the remaining contents of the bottle in my hand and rub it on less complicated body parts. Then I put foam cup and bottle back on the floor, unsure what I have to do with them.

The insecurity is quickly washed away, Mistress Agatha commands: “Handlock! Follow my lead!”

Fixing my now glistening arms on my collar I seem to be finally able to just follow a lead. At least she is trying it, if I behave dumb enough she might give me direction commands back.
Strange, this feels like a promotion, being able to follow my leash. Thanks for the trust into my mental capabilities.

[Igor con Fine]

Disciplinary action




Sarcasm helped for the first part of my walk, but now the hammering heart is back. Corridor to the correction vault. The oil is now cold on my skin. I tingle on the verge between nervousness and anxiousness.
I enter the vault, and it is dark inside. Lights are out. No one inside, as far as I can tell. I am led deeper into the darkness, and the door behind me closes. As soon as my eyes adjust I see faint light coming through the gap at the bottom of the door.

“We renew your preparation for disciplinary action. Begin reciting!”

I already botch at the first words, and now I do not only have to begin from the start, I also get a shock. A weak, but still painful one.
My leash is pulled tight, and I am forced to stay on point. I begin again – with more caution. Remembering what to say. Of course I can do it.

.
.

“Correct. Start over.” Mistress Agatha says.
And that's it. I begin again. Only clothed in my 'VS bruising' coating and waiting for a thorough spanking. In the dark. I have no clue what time it is, and how long I will need to -
PAIN. This shock was stronger. Concentrate, Candy!!!

..

I blink as the lights turn on.
Mistress Agatha commands: “Stop. Silence! Posture!”

And I am moving in position. As long as it was just dark I slacked. Now I am standing straight, chest out.
I can only imagine how I must look for my executioner, entering the room with me, the naked prisoner, waiting, my legs spread shoulder wide. My skin glistening from the oil, my body hairless.
My hands are in handlock, prominently presenting my breasts. My eyes fixed on the small gap between door and floor – submissively awaiting my punisher.
My accentuated nipples are swollen, red and hard. The juice, the cold, the situation. All is rushing me into a feeling as if I am no longer standing on the ground, am slightly displaced, my mind buzzes between a soft headache and an unquenchable need. Not only the nipples show that. I feel my folds are slightly agape and sincerely give a glimpse on what lies underneath. I feel that there is a great amount of excited moistness wetting my nether lips.
My skin is tingling, hot and cold at the same time. Maybe he put something in that oil, but I had that feeling before. At that time every four weeks – when you decide to take a day just for yourself. You do normal things, a spa, a massage – I once just ran until I was completely spent, and wider. Until there was nothing left. I got home by an uber. Afterwards I spent hours in my bed, it was hot, sweaty, smelly – dirty. I was unable to get up when I finally was chafed enough to stop, my legs were still too numb. I just lay there until the next day, in a puddle of my own fluids.
That felt like now. But I am not chafed, just ... needy.

It is incredible what this juice does to me.


The door opens itself, and there is that pair of boots entering.
It is Walker, I think I know his silhouette, but I still stare at his steel caps.

Mistress Agatha wants me to show him the trick she trained me, ordering: “Start reciting disciplinary introduction!”

“Sir, I, inmate Candy, am ready for my disciplinary action. I am healthy and feel well enough for corporal punishment. I am not aware of any injuries or maladies.
I had no corporal punishments in the last twenty four hours.
This is my first documented disciplinary action. Special limitations apply.

I misbehaved in following ways:
I showed non compliance, aggravated due to repetition,
I used offensive language,
I abused assistance call, severely aggravated due to multiple repetition,
I feigned an emergency,
I resisted an officer,
I used a name,
I showed insufficient commitment to mandatory training, aggravated for repetition and seriousness,
I abused my relieving privilege.


I apologize for my misconduct and promise to do better in the future.
I humbly request a disciplinary action to help me improve myself and become a better person.

I am fully prepared to get disciplined.
I am not hiding anything, my body is free of contraband, and I am ready to give proof.

I am grateful for you helping me, sir.”

Walker just points into the corner: “Inmate Candy, get on the chair to give proof.”

Another routine I need to go through, but this time he will inspect me 'thorough' to avoid danger for me. There are people stupid enough to fill themselves with – things – that do not react very well to a spanking.
I walk over to the chair. And then I need a moment.
Getting on this misogynist thing might be challenging – my hands are still locked.

Walker instructs: “Put your back on the backplate, then swing first one leg in the leg holder – then the other one.”
The seat is already moving down. That would have been helpful from the beginning. He puts his gloves on. The sound is unnerving.
I lie backwards, my legs still on the floor, and with a little momentum I kick my leg into the holder. Another little momentum, and an obscene movement – I feel .. gaping.
My flooded sex is fully on display and available for . . Walker. Walker is coming, and puts the leather straps over my legs.
He is inspecting my chest. He will check if there is something pinned under my breasts – but he is not pushing them up, he just pulls at my hardened nipples to inspect the underside. At first I think it hurts – and it does – but that is not the main feeling. What he does lets my heart race.

Then he picks the next strap and places it on my chest – directly under my breasts. He pulls it tight, and I feel my breasts get pushed up.

I am flushed, I try to calm my breathing. I don't want to give the impression that .. I am a needy slut.
Walker inquires: “What deviancy you did not report, Candy?”

Of course now, that question. Couldn't he ask while I was standing? My face gets painted shameful-red. I stutter a moment: “S-sir, I .. I was masturbating, sir. I am sorry, I was asleep, I reacts strangel-”

“Open.”, Walker commands abruptly and loud, holding the metal contraption in front of my mouth. I instantly shut up, and – after a short moment – open my mouth, wide. The ratchet sound, and another part of myself is gaping.
While he puts his fingers in my mouth he orders “Tongue.”
I twirl my tongue around his fingers exploring my cavity.
“I don't need your excuses. First offense, mild warning punishment. Next time you go into chastity. Your legs get stretched!”
He spreads the leg holders wider, and my pulsing, oiled and well groomed opening is even more available. He adjusts my arms and pulls two slightly padded rods out of the seat and over my shoulders. Then the chair tilts backwards, I shriek and I lie head down. I am sliding downwards, until my shoulders press into the two rods.
The chair raises. Walker is standing between my legs and there is a vaginal speculum in his hands.
I cough some saliva out of my mouth as my intimate parts are perfectly presented for him.
I feel the cool metal at my slicky entrance. He presses the two spatulas in me – and there is way less resistance than my decent self hoped there would be.
There must be a special provider for this speculum – it also has a ratchet. No gynecologist would ever use something like that – or he might never see someone on his chair again.
A ratchet. Every single sound makes me cringe. This metal torture device will only expand.
And I hear the ratchet sound – and sound – and – please stop.
I gargle in that mouth clamp. This is so humiliating. Can't you just put your fingers in. Don't … tear me open.
I quietly protest as he inspects my inner muscle, saying: “Don't see contraband. But I am a tired.
Have been woken up tonight. So, I am not really sure. I think I get myself a coffee, and inspect it again. See you soon, Candy.”
And he turns around and leaves. At the door he says, without turning: “You owe me ten, you know.”
Then the door closes behind him.

I quickly feel the blood rushing into my head. This is not really a painful position, but a shameful one. He just left for a coffee, and I am here like a … cup holder waiting for him.

And what plagues me the most is that my pussy yells: Shove that thing in and out! Move it! Move it! - the whole damn time.

The door opens. My breathing stops, and I try not to move – what an incredibly stupid defense reflex. Can't be Walker, that was too quick, so hide by not moving. I act like a reptile.

Frightened I am unable to move, or make a sound.
Until I see IT IS Walker. Then I am able to gargle quietly in hope of being freed.
This is just dehumanizing.

Head down I can barely see him entering, holding my coffee cup and the bottle of oil, placing them on his desk, picking up a magazine. I am a little dizzy as he picks a small strap from one of the hooks near the wardrobe. Then he is coming closer.
My view is limited on his trousers and boots marching to me, until he arrives, towering between my wide spread legs.

Without waiting he places his hand between my legs, two fingers explore my forced open cavity, gliding over the flesh between the two beak-shaped metal plates. He is turning the whole apparatus, and I spasm, yell and gargle.
And as heat is running through myself, and that needy hole begins cheering – I hear the ratchet unlock. The device visibly clinks as it closes again – then Walker pulls it out.
I feel abundant fluids run down my belly, through my cleft, I even think I could hear some dripping down on the floor. As he holds the speculum up I see my slime drip down in viscous drops.

The two fingers run along the metal, collect the greasy liquid. And then they are at my other entrance. Probing. I quickly remember: Push, Candy.
He is not brutal as he passes my muscles, but unyielding. His finger slowly enters, and does not stop to go deeper and deeper. I gargle again as there is the pain – my sphincter loudly protests.
The pain lingers – and it becomes that weird pain: I hope he pulls out, and it ends, but on the other hand I enjoy - And hope it would go on. This fullness – must be the juice running through me!
And I moan.
Shame. Shame floods through my mind, and tears are welling in my eyes.

He pulls out. I breath heavy, blow against my puckered lips.
He is not done. Two fingers. Two fingertips are forcing entrance. I push again, as good as I can. I am so empty, I do not fear there might be a 'complication'.
He stretches me, and I am not only moaning, but mooing. A deep, guttural moo.

He gives me a moment with his fingers deep inside myself to get accustomed to this situation. He keeps looking at me. I am not only acting like a bitch in heat, now I am all udders – the two breasts are nearly completely hiding my face. Moo, udders, moo. I shudder as I remember.

Then the fingers are rotating - turn left, turn right, and slowly out.
I can feel my stretched hole twitching as he leaves.
And the lingering tingling in my backside – in harmony the insatiable cunt is also yelling to be filled up again.
Fill them both, my randy horny-juice-soaked lust insists – 'Beg him to finish us! You want it, slut!'

I clench my muscles. No way. Mistress Agatha is still watching, he can not do that, even if he wanted. What I doubt – gargling head over with my mouth forced wide open, ready to be punished, and still so horny – dangling-udders mooing cup-hold-cow with her slavering nether regions is just pathetic and way to needy to be attractive.

“Cavity search concludes without findings.” - he affirms that 'fore-play' is over while I hear him removing the gloves - “We are now commencing punishment for violating rape-elimination-act. First offense, participant was consenting. Are you willing to enroll in the slavery-preparation program, Candy, and do you know what that means?” - he asks while walking around my leg, and standing directly near my head he is removing the mouth clamp. Saliva is running out of my mouth, and over my cheeks. I look at him bewildered, while he nods invinting.
I answer, more like a question: “Yes, sir?..”

“Very good, Candy. We can do a mild punishment as a warning. I found one that does not include spanking your backside, so we won't get problems with a limit. I have no clue who added that, promise it was not me, and I wonder it was authorized.

Just open your mouth, Candy.” - he produces a small piece of wood like a tongue depressor out of his pocket and puts it between my teeth. - “And now bite down. This will sting. You may yell or bite, whatever helps you best.”
He picks up the strap he brought with him from somewhere below the chair.
As he stands near me I follow the strap raising higher and higher, until he brings it down – quickly. With a loud smack the strap bites into my crotch, directly on my needy little pussy.
I yell loud, and the wood-piece is falling out of my mouth.
It is more the shock than the actual pain. It hurts, but way less then the sound might have implied.
And then there is the after-pain moment when it begins to tingle between painful and numb. Walker walks around me, until he is standing between my legs again – back on my 'cheeky' side.
The strap is moving up once again – and with another loud slap it comes down - hits the same spot, but this time from the other direction.
He is dead on target. The tip of the slapper hits directly on my clit – that had swollen out of her protection. I yell again, loud. This time it hurts way more. I close my eyes - the tingling will hold on for a while. Breathing heavily I open my eyes again, only to see the magazine, rolled up, in front of my face. Walker slaps the magazine on my nose, and scolds me: “Bad girl!”

Then the chair is tilting back into upright position. I stare at him in disbelief. He says: “I went to the library especially for this. I couldn't find a newspaper, Agatha was fine with a replacement.”
Then he picks up the wooden stick and looks at it: “No bite marks - you're a yeller. Great – you don't need a gag to bite on. Yell loud, Candy. Show the whole block what happens to rule violators. And if you can: Even louder, show the whole yard. I would take that as a compliment.” - and he whispers in my ear - “And a personal favor.”

He pushes the two metal rods behind my shoulders back into the seat, and unbuckles the belts binding chest and legs. He helps me put my legs at the floor, and supports me as I am standing up. Shaky I am grateful for the help. I am wobbling as I still feel stretched and manhandled and .. unfulfilled.

As I feel secure enough on my feet again, Walker steps back. He looks at me, and after he is satisfied with my stance he says: “Agatha, initiate disciplinary action. Put Candy into floor position, facing the door.”

Tapping over the green floor I have a leaden feeling – now it begins. Shudder...

Both of my hands are free, and I kneel down and hook the front of my collar to the floor-winch.
As I hear it click Mistress Agatha begins to pull. My head is pulled down unforgiving.
I try to get my hands back into handlock. But my collar does not lock my wrists.
Wondering I put my hands on the floor, under my head.

Walker comes closer: “I am not using handlock during corrections.
You are not allowed to move your hands anywhere below your hips or you will be punished.
If you feel you cannot withstand the urge to do that ask me to bind you.
I you can do it, we can spare you some strikes for showing self-discipline.
Just place your hand on the floor and don't lift them.”

Executioners have extensive authority during a disciplinary action. It was a pain in the ass to modify the AI – they don't cope with leeway. Might be another reason for me to put it to an end. End the pain in the ass... shudder. Now Walker is on his way to the wardrobe – I can follow him with my eyes as my hands are free and my elbows no longer limit my field of view. I can support myself and rotating my head is actually useful – so I say “Thank you, sir.”

As my ankles are free I don't need much time to raise my butt as high in the air as I can. Walker pulls out the leathery abomination named DuLaire. My heart beats faster. It gets real. And then his eyes meet mine. For an instant he smiles – neither evil nor nice – he just enjoys the moment. Then he gives me a stern look: “Eyes down, Candy. Keep your mouth open when you get hit. Yell as much as you like, but don't close your mouth or you will be gagged. We must protect your tongue, Agatha will watch!
It is your first disciplinary action, so you don't need to count. Just focus on enduring. I will give you a moment. Just get on your toes in 'receiving' position when you are ready. Don't take too long.”

I breath in, and get on my toes, I want this to be over as quick as possible. I open my mouth and await the blow. “Eager.” - he says, and then there is the sound of the leather ramming through the air. The quiet whistling of the small holes. A thunderous slap echoes through the vault. I scream. Even before the pain is hammering on my brain I scream, as loud as I can. It helps.
My neck is pushed into the collar, the cables screech as they try holding me.
He planted the strap directly on my cheek. I thought he would plant the middle on my butt, and the tip of the strap would hit my side, but he hit exactly where he wanted. One cheek is on fire, a deep, blunt pain. The other cheek is only mildly complaining. I move, first crawling forward – not much leverage. Then I turn, try to creep sideways away from my punisher. My butt is no longer raised, I try to hide it between my feet.

I expect Mistress Agatha to intervene, but Walker is in full control of his disciplinary action. I feel him watching me as I crouch over the floor, trying to circle away from him. He easily follows my backside.
I blink some tears away, and my breathing calms down.
“Back into position!”, he commands.

I risk a quick glance. He still has a stern look, but his eyes... they tell he loves every moment.
Eager... I raise my butt again and am back on my toes – breathing in and … THUD – SLAP.
I break down on the floor, again screaming. He wielded the tantalizer from the other side, set my other cheek ablaze. Ambidexterity performed by a pro. My butt is stinging. I try to roll on my side, hide from the strap.

“Ass up, Candy!”
I try to, still breathing away the pain.
Raise my butt. On my knees. Taking a deep breath.
The blow comes in. He is hitting me where he wants. A little deeper than before. I am again on the floor, screaming and afterwards wincing. Always rotating a little around my fixed neck. I nearly made half a rotation, and now my butt is facing the door.
Another feeling is slowly coming back, pinching through the pain.
I am getting wetter. The needy cunt is somehow converting every blow in more and more moist. Moist is not the right word, swampy, soggy, soaked...

“Ass up, Candy! Quicker, without command. Show some dedication!”
I am back on my toes, my ass again awaiting another one.
He quickly sends me back to the floor, yelling and wincing. Curling up for a moment.
Then I get back into position. Without command. Presenting my butt, awaiting my punishment.
He sincerely smiles now. He sincerely is proud of Candy, showing dedication.
Taking her punishment like a good inmate.
Needy cunt... Its like I am completely drunk from that horny-juice. Pushes my self-control aside and leaves a slut that just needs... needs so much....
Another blow. I scream and feel the pain. I sincerely suffer, but not as I thought I would. There is more than the suffering. With the pain impulses reporting from my butt there is another message hammering on my brain.
The wanton slut rolls on the floor, and enjoys the tingling in her backside. She just wants her both holes filled. Or all three. Shaved, cleaned, flushed out, oiled, ready. When the scream subsides, she moans. I hate the bitch. Needy bitch.
And then there is the masochistic cunt. Obeys her command. Gets back on her toes, and greedily awaits the blow. She is winking with her backside as the thundering tormentor comes down. And when she is beat down to the ground she is bathing in the pain. As she screams as loud as she can it sounds like she is screaming of pain, but she is screaming for more.
And I am... both of them, at the same time. Loosing control.
Blow after blow he destroys my stuck up self, my self-control, everything else than the wanton submissive maso-cunt.
Whenever he sends me to the ground I roll a little further.
I feel my hands at my tits. Grabbing my nipples as I lie on my side. I quickly put them back on the ground.
He sincerely has seen it – and commands:
“Agatha, put Candy into bend over position.”
Without warning my neck moves up, and I stumble on my feet to follow. I don't know how many circles I did in floor position, and have no clue how many blows rained down on me.
My fingers grip the cable, and the maso-cunt dutifully stretches my legs, bringing my butt in position.
Rotating my backside to him, so he can just take aim.

Whistling the strap is coming in, and when it hits smacking I am again thrown into the cables, so hard I take one step forward. My knees bend, and I am hanging on the cable. Screaming, moaning.
Instinctively I try to move my butt away from him, tilt it to the side and dance anew circles around my neck.
My hands find my nipples – this time I pinch them. The hormones or whatever it is are flooding my brain, intertwining with the pain-lust turmoil.
Maso-cunt is already getting back into position, begging for another hit. I get another glimpse from Walker, his stern mask – and the joy behind it. And that tickles me even more. I please him, he is enjoying me! Me, udders!

Thud! Scream. The last one sent me again on my knees, but this time my hands were flying elsewhere. I wanted to sent my fingers to another .. cavity search. And they nearly made it. I stopped them as they passed my breasts, as I got aware what I was up to do.
“Sir, please chain my hands, sir.” I beg breathing heavily.
He walks around me, looks into my eyes. I fear he knows whats going on with me, knows it all to well.
“Okay, Candy. But not enough self-control means full shackles. Full experience for you.”
He walks to his wardrobe, and comes back with a cable.
“Hands behind your back.” he orders, and as I follow he takes my wrists cuffs and locks them together. I feel my collar wiggle as he connects my wrist cuffs to the cable between neck and railing. Then my arms are pulled up. Behind my back, up into strappado.
The position gets more and more stressing – until he is satisfied.
He moves back to the wardrobe, and gets another tool.
“Legs back, Candy, as far as you can.”
I grunt. I am hold by my neck, my arms are nearly useless. Carefully I walk back a tiny bit. I cough, my neck is protesting.
Walker is standing behind me. He grabs my leg and places it closer to the other one. I won't be able to kick without hanging myself, so he seems satisfied with my half-hearty 'as far as you can'.
The greatest danger for him might be the glowing butt targeting at him, it feels like I can melt his face with my backside.
The ratcheting sound brings the feeling around my ankles back. And with Walkers: “Back in position.” I am shuffling forward, back into bend over.

He walks around me really close. Then I can see it, he has a cable emanating from the middle of my ankle-chain in his hand. He pulls at it, saying: “Move forward, Candy.”
Some tiny steps, and he fixes that new cable to the cable between collar and floor, with a small rectangular thing that ratchets once as he pulls tighter.
My legs are not far away from my former position, but I lost any freedom to move them individually. And my arms are only okay as long as I don't need them to stabilize myself.

He is now close to my face, squatting on the floor, looking at me, my dangling breasts.
He stands up: “No more cane-stroke reduction - you lack self-control, Candy. There is something you can try, something Raffaëlle made. Might be right your cup of tea.” - he sounds .. leering.
And then I see his crotch. And I know for sure – he enjoys this. Really.
Or he carries spare socks in his pants. Large ones or more than one pair.

The submissive part of myself wants this: “Sir, whatever you think is best, sir.” and I try to look up to him, not easy with my hands in strappado - “Full experience, sir.”
He opens a drawer at his desk, turns to me and says: “There is so much more for the full experience, Candy. You just get one tiny bit more.”
And he produces two stones. As he comes closer I can see them. Two stones, each has a wire wrapped around and a clamp on the wire.
He presses one clamp open as he squats near me: “Hard, but doesn't close completely. Can be worn for long times. Hurts – potentially the right way for you.”
He pinches my nipple - my rock hard nipple. Holds it and places the clamp on it. As it bites into my flesh I hiss in air through my teeth.
The other nipple follows quickly, and there is lingering pain. And yes, maybe my way of pain. And it looks lewd, my breasts pulled down into – cones with nipples. The swinging stones are pulling constantly on them. And I catch myself swinging them.

Another thundering slap throws me to the ground, this one was special. Mostly my thighs, only the lowest part of my butt. And somehow he did not let it slap, he moved with it, pushed the pain deep into myself. Rocking me forward really hard.
Oh, what a yell. Sincerely another pair of socks worth. No more dancing, just stumbling around with my bound feet.
I lift them up as the pain sets in, both, and this blow sends me spinning around. My arms are protesting – I enjoy it. The stones are dancing a hypnotic pattern.
It is so different now, and still the same.
Being even more helpless intensifies my feelings, and I quickly succumb more and more to the submissive maso-cunt. Or I just accept her, use her, shield the pain away from me with her.
A moan, another deep moan. Someone who can not see my face and my position, my dancing, might think it is of pain – not the truth, at least not the whole truth.

It continues, blow after blow. Then there is red leather in front of my face. I am still breathing heavy, try to dance the pain in my butt away.
Walker shows me the other side of the strap: “You want to try that? There are not much strikes left, if you want to experience it – now or never.”

There is only one answer: “Sir, whatever you think-”, suddenly his face is there, with a sadistic grin showing for the fraction of a second before he is all business again, interrupting me: “Just kiss it when you want it.”
I feel my heart beating frenzy, then my lips are closing in on the red leather, softly kissing it.

He steps back, and as I close my eyes I hear it incoming.
The pain is different. No longer my whole cheek is burning, the impact is limited on small regions. It is much more piercing. The other strikes hit a more and more numb area, nonetheless they hurt more and more. But this ones strike deeper, a new area for my pain. This is so much harder, and I lie on my knees, much longer than before until I can get back up.

Four. Four strikes for the red side were left, and for a second it feels like they hurt more than the whole lot before. I am happy when it is over. Walker gets back to his desk, and sits in his chair: “The first half is over, Candy. You did well.”

Walker opens a bottle of water with a fizzle. I feel my dry mouth, and look longingly while I am still resting on my knees. The maso-slut takes herself a time-out, and the rest of myself is suffering. My butt and thighs are incredibly hot, my nipples are hurting. My shoulders ache. And Walker is just sitting there taking a break.
I wiggle my backside hoping to cool it down. Even if that lets the small stones swing, pulling stronger and stronger at my nipples.
Walker watches me for a while, but then he commands: “Back into position, Candy!”
I stare at him, at the water in his hands. “Get back into position, Candy!”, he orders again.
I smile at him. Somehow this is all too surreal.
He looks amused, then stern: “Candy, don't try to challenge me. The drawer?”
I slowly raise myself back into position.
I try to say: “Sir, please...” but Mistress Agatha rebukes me: “Don't disturb break time!”
Walker laughs: “This is MY break. Not yours, Candy. To avoid problems with my joints, ligaments and muscles. Prevent aches or soreness.” - he looks at me, my stunned reaction -
“You don't know... There is a limit of strikes in a row – for an executioner – until you should take a break. There is also a daily limit – the reason you did not get your disciplinary action yesterday. I can exceed this limit, when justified and within reason, as I did yesterday. But – notifications, and justifications. I didn't want your name to show up.”
He opens his drawer again, and pulls another bottle out of it. He opens and puts a straw in it, comes closer. As the straw is near my mouth he whispers: “You did me a favor. Let me help you to carry on yelling.”
I suck greedy on the straw, welcoming the cool water filling my mouth, running down into my stomach – somehow easing my pain.
There is a knock on the door.
The nearly empty bottle quickly vanishes in Walkers hand as he commands me: “Face down.”, then yells angrily: “Who's bothering?”

The door opens, and I can see the under half of blue pants and a pair of blue flip-flops standing in the corridor.
A trembling, squeaky voice asks timidly: “Sorry, sir.. was sent to clean here, sir. Come again later, sir?”
I can hear Walker is grinning as he says: “No, no. Very efficient to use my break to clean up here. The search-chair needs some cleaning, got oily. And mop op the puddle on the floor, she enjoyed her search too much.”
My ears are glowing again. I stare on the floor, and am happy that my hair is hiding my face.

The flip-flops enter cautiously, the pants become a blue jumpsuit, pulling a mop trolley in.
Walker asks: “Whats your number, inmate?”
The squeaky voice almost breaks: “AA-1041, sir – or do you need the national number?”
“AA-1041, fine.” - I hear him typing.

The trolley passes me, and while I still try to hide my face by staring at the floor as if it was the most interesting part of the whole room, I see her out of the corner of my eyes.
She is pulling a rag out of the upper bucket, wrings it out and begins cleaning the seat from the oil my back smeared on it.

Walker is asking: “1041 – still pretty new here. Fresh out of orientation. You heard her yelling?”
She uprights herself, I can't see her face, but her hands are trembling, as is her voice: “Sir?”
“You heard her yelling?”
“Yes, sir.”
“She is max-sec, a red one. This is only the first part, disciplining by cane is still pending - “ I wince, and step from foot to foot as far as my ankle-chain allows, slowly moving my butt away while sobbing quietly - “do you think you would risk a re-categorization, 1041? Having seen and heard her today? Or would you say her rear end has a deterrent effect, lets you think twice before misconducting?”
She is still frightened, stuttering: “Sir? .. I will not misconduct....of course this is deterrent, sir.”
“Will you tell this your fellow inmates? What happens to deviants?”
“Sir... yes?”
“So, this i disciplinary action has an effect on a greater number of inmates, just to state that clearly. You can continue, 1041.”

He is lecturing me. I try to stretch my back, and find a somewhat comfortable position while my punishment gets delayed until 'housekeeping' is finished. I fear the girl might recognize me – and am in shame that she is there mopping up my juices, knowing full well what it is. Why did he tell her. I am wincing again, sobbing quietly. Hiding behind my hairs. Fearing the cane – still pending.

“Slouching again!”, Walker says annoyed - “You are lucky a blue one is here. We don't want to hurt her feelings, so you only get the posture helper for lower security levels!” - and he opens 'the drawer'. He has a thin cable in his hands as he stomps over to me, and I think I can already hear not only annoyance in his voice, but also amusement.
He wraps the cable around my belly, directly over my hips, and connects it somehow, forming a noose. Then he forces the thin cable through my nether folds, over my swollen clit and through my cleft.
Finally he is fixing it also on the cable from neck to ceiling, somewhere near the cable holding my arms up. And then he is pulling on it, it tenses – and my butt is up. No chance that I am slouching again, the cable bites into my soft flesh, when I put weight on that cable it gets painful, very painful and then quickly excruciating.
With an even light smack on my heated butt he extricates another yell and sends me on another round, hopping from foot to foot, sobbing.

1041 seems to have finished mopping the floor, asking: “Do you have another order, sir?” with her squeaky voice.
“Come over here,” he orders - “feel the heat emanating from her backside. Keep that in mind, when you are not doing what you are told.”
She comes closer, and I see her out stretched hand still trembling as she is coming closer to my butt – she says: “This is really .. hot. Her ass is glowing!”
“You may touch it, carefully!” - and her cold, wet from washing water fingers touch me.
I sigh quietly at the cooling sensation.

Then Walker says: “You have four half-demerits to work off, 1041. We can get that squared now. Should we put you in her position and get you four with the strap? Quickly done?”
“Sir, please.... they said a half is more of a warning. Not an automatic punishment, sir, please, it was nothing, they said most times they just .. vanish when I show good behavior, sir. Please.”
“Ah, that's true, but you got four. For slacking and for sloppy work. Seems like I need to control what you've done with my seat. Four half-demerits in a week, I don't think they should vanish.
I will make you an offer: You just mopped up the remains of this con with no self-control – so she owns you. Or you can do her a really great favor -
You will get 4 with the strap, and your file is cleared – and you will spare her 4 cane strokes.
She has so many cane strokes pending. Or, your file is cleared, you get no punishment – but you will add 4 cane strokes for her. Are you willing to suffer for her?”

The blue girl asks: “She is .. a real criminal?”
And Walker laughs: “Look at your choice of clothes, 1041 – you are no real criminal? But I get what you want to know, she is Max-Sec. Max-Secs have done something severe to end there.”
“Then she deserves what is coming. Give her the four. Please. Sir.”

And she stumbles back to her trolley.
Walker still laughs: “Well, your decision. Just make sure no one disturbs the next two hours, and you are cleared. Go clean solitary, avoid the whole disciplinary complex. You can still hear her, the first four are yours, 1041.”

Her trolley is rattling as she storms out of the vault.

Walker is pulling at the cable running through my crotch, checking the tension. A grunt later he is at my arms, and lifts them even further up. The ratchet sounds as my strappado becomes a little stricter.
“You are welcome to dance around, Candy, but I need your cheeks at steady height. Time for the cane.” - while he gets back to the wardrobe.
I humbly ask: “Is there – enough strikes possible – can you add four more strokes, sir – today??? Without needing tomorrow, sir?? Please...”

Walker gives me an irritated glance: “You developed a computer to expunge corruption and arbitrariness – and still believe I can just redistribute punishments however I want.” - shaking his head.

He turns back to the wardrobe, then he has it in his hands.

Shivers are running down my spine as he swings it through the air, once, twice, the incisive noise unnerving.
Shuddering I hear myself whimper.

The cane appears in front of my face. I stare at it. It moves up and down - “No kiss?” Walker asks. I still stare at the tool with the nightmarish sound, then Walker takes it away.
It is lightly tapping on my heated bum. I rise on my tiptoes, the last height change I can make, and it is only minimal.
Walker moves the cane slowly down my butt, commanding: “Again - on your toes”, and I obey, “ Good. I can work with that. Remember, keep your mouth open. Even if I don't think that will be a problem.
Incoming!” he yells, and the cane is swooshing in.
I nearly jump forward as I feel it hit me, yelling. At first on my tiptoes, than falling painfully into the pussy-cable.
He stopped before hitting, and just touched my backside – one last try to assess his target.

The cane vanishes from my butt.
Screams his way back.
I brace for the impact, feel the collar pressing on my chest as I lean forward. My arms and legs are cramping.
It hits. My scream bounces back from the walls, pounds through the open door and down the corridor.
A new pain. Sharp. Slicing deep. My arms hurt - I notice my legs are in the air.
My crotch protests massively.
This is intense.
My toes touch the ground again, and stop my swinging and turning.
I suck in air. Breathe again.
My buttocks are flinching.

Then the cane is swishing again. Precisely hitting below the first one.
I comment his fine craftsmanship with another yell. I lie with spread folds on my pussy-cable, clit and cleft are hurting, but way less protesting than my butt.
And I find myself trying to rub my button on that cable.
The juice is again doing its work. The pain is different, the reaction nearly the same.
I breath to ease it. It hurts – more. Way more.

I am glad I don't need to count the strikes, I just concentrate on not drowning in the waves of pain storming through my head. One hit after the other is planted on my butt, always a tiny bit below the last.

Then it stops. I can still feel the last yell that had left my lungs. Next position. He is changing position. One last time, he says. And I nod, my whole body is numb, only my butt is crying its pain loudly through my spine.
He loosens the cable locking my legs, and I shuffle backwards. He loosens the cable holding my arms, only a little. My arms are still held behind my back, are still forced into strappado, but – thankfully – not as strict. Then the pussy-cable is removed. Completely. He takes it back to the desk, and lets it glide onto the ground, body oil and fluids from me glistening from it.

“Agatha, put Candy into floor position.” My head going down again – last position. I know what I have to do, but this time it is only my neck giving stability, my arms are exhausted – and nearly useless behind my back.
It does not take long and I am back with my head over the floor, my ass raised up as high as I can.
The stones dangling from my nipples hit on the floor, and the clamps are buried under my flesh as my tits are compressed. Walker is back, with another cable in his hand.
A hook is dangling in front of my face. He says: “Max-sec, Candy. This is how we get the butt of a red one into position. Salivate.” The cable is still in his hand, and the hook is slowly rotating. Its only a moment until I can catch it with my mouth, sucking on it. The hook might be as long as my hand, and as deep, the penetrating part as long as my index finger.
I think I know exactly what will happen, and try to get is as slippery as I can.
My arms are put back into strict strappado. He pulls them up to the cable.
Accentuating the kneeling position even more.
The hook. He is pushing it into my fresh cleaned bumhole. Cold, hard, unyielding. The cable is also pulled, fixed somewhere below my hands. And then he pulls again, my ass raises. Higher and higher. I am already on my toes, now my legs try to get straightened.
He stops.

I know my body is exaggerating, but it feels as if I am in a neck-breaking back-upright position.
Walker is taking position in front of me, the cane resting on my butt.
If he strikes this way, the new welts will be in a right angle to the other ones.

Then the blows rain down. Quick. I just have enough time to breath in between my screams.
My hooked hole is stretched and shaken, my toes nearly give in, but I hold position. I must hold position. I am nearly puking my lungs down in that drain at my face – and then it is over. He instantly releases the cable holding my butthole in position, I cannot get down completely as my arms are still held, but when they are loosened, I collapse on the floor, nearly faint. The fingers on my back cautiously explore my backside, and I can feel the 'hills and valleys' – the welts running over my cheeks.
I am a sobbing, weeping mass rolling herself together.
I made it. I endured.
“Maximum number for a first timer.” I proudly announce stuttering between heavy breathes. I flinch as a stone leaves the floor while I turn on my side.

He is standing in front of me, still holding the cane. While I am bathed in cold sweat, I can at least see some wetness on his forehead.
And the pairs of socks. A magnificent boner.
“You were well behaved, Candy. I could spare you five. Only five less than possible at max.”

“Use yours, sir!” - it bursts out of me, and he watches me unbelieving. I can't believe it neither. But it lets my lust swell, I breath heavily. “Please sir, you have ten. Use 5 of them, now.”

I think I see the socks twitch. But he answers: “Not possible, Candy. You finished your punishment. That virtual ones are mine, Agatha would not understand.”

“What happens if I earn myself another punishment now, sir? Can we just add it?”

“Disciplinary action is not executed, we can just add up to the max.” - another twitch. And I feel that needy cunt spasm, my .. asshole clenching joyful on the hook still penetrating.

“So, would you add up 5 more cane strokes, Mister Walker?” I ask breathing heavily. “One for calling a name, Candy.”

“Put me again in position and cane me, Mister Walker?” - “Two more cane strokes, repetition, Candy.”

“Punish me … strictly, Mister Walker?” - Then he is near my ears, whispering:
“What will happen if I add three more for you, Candy. What will happen to Miss Miller. You will stay here and line up for work.” - he is now also breathing heavy - “In the nude. I will drive along your worksite, watching you picking up trash, fighting weeds. Naked, with sunscreen glistening on your skin. Bathed in dust. Every day – and after that you will clean, like the girl. But you will be naked.
And you will be disciplined. Again. And again.
Only one strike more, Candy!”

Then he stands up.
“Agatha, add five cane strokes for Candy for repeatedly using a name.” - “Noted.”
“Agatha, I will now continue execution.”

I ask: “Sir, do I need to make a new introduction?”
He smiles sardonically: “That was for me. As was the oil.”
He releases my hands, the connector still at one wrist.
As he walks back to his wardrobe, changing the cane.

“One position left, Candy. Hook your ankle-chain.”

My heart is hammering in my chest as I follow his command.

“You can remove the clamps. There is no more reduction.”

I put my fingers on the clamps, and hesitate. Instead I pinch my nipples, wiggle the clamps. Follow the thin wires and dangle the stones with my hands.
He is watching: “If you wear them till you are released you can keep them. Raffaëlle will make new ones. Possibly even more painful.”

I leave them and release the carabiner from my collar to lock it on the cable between my feet.
I am so excited and so full of fear on what will happen next. I am happy that I have use of my hands as I get on my feet without my butt touching the floor. I wince alone by thinking of it. The stones are again pulling on my breasts, I am squatting. The obscene squatting. Feet together, knees spread wide, my hands on my breasts.

Walker is connecting my wrists again, this time in front of me. The cable is again connected to the cable between collar and ceiling, and he is stretching my arms upwards. Still squatting, my folds spread and glistening, I smile at him, the multitude of socks directly in front of me.

“Agatha, put Candy into stand at attention, modified toe position.”

And my arms get pulled up. I straighten my legs and follow the pull.
Up, higher and higher. I am straightened standing on my feet, then finally on my toes. I am carefully balancing and holding position, and can already hear the sound warning me to move no more.
Walker is behind me. I lost the hook on my way up, and he pushes it back in. Another time the sound. And when he pulls the cable taught, and the hook glides in deep – there is the shock. A blinding light runs through my eyes, and my cunt spasms – a deep moan escapes my lips. Then I am back on point again.
I am a hardened criminal now, I smile to myself. Not true – but it really hurts less than before.
Maybe its more my lust-turmoil and less adaption.

The last thing moving are the stones on my nipple-clamps, dangling left and right. Pulling my breasts with them. Showing me I was a good programming girl, not punishing uncontrollable movement.
Sincerely every other big breasted inmate would appreciate that.

Walker holds the other cane in front of my face: “This is the watered one. Kiss!”

He is not asking. And Mistress Agatha allows me enough movement to plant a kiss on the rattan stick. Walker is trembling lightly. He is now also in 'randy mode'.

“You need to get used to this position, Candy. I will not hit you. You will only hear it. Far, coming nearer. Do not move!”

And then the cane is swooshing through the air. I flinch. Only the warning sound, I was lucky.
Swooshing again. And again. I can control my reaction better and better.
Then the cane is tapping lightly on my butt. “Five strikes, Candy. Sometimes you get hit, sometimes there is only the sound. Don't move before, be back in position after five seconds. Agatha will count down from five.” Then he whispers again: “And I will enjoy.

And Candy, do me another favor. Try to yell the count of strokes you got.”

The cane is swooshing in, once, then HIT.
I pull my legs instinctively up, curl myself to a ball. The stones on the clamps are flying through the air until they rock on my nipples. I hear myself scream, with the rest of air in my lungs it gets something you might interpret as 'ONE'.
I had no clue that the pain could be so much stronger.
And Mistress Agatha is in my ear, I already missed five and four – “Three, two, one” - she is counting way to fast, my feet just touched the ground again. I am swinging forwards and backwards and am also rotating, I try to stop the movement with my toes, the shocks begin. And he is right, they quickly get stronger. I yell again, this time getting louder instead of starting loud. It transforms to a moan as I finally stop, heavy breathing, my tits still swinging. There is still the sound every time I tilt from left to right, but no shock. I am hanging again, awaiting the next blow motionless.
And the cunt is so happy, she is slavering, I can feel the fluids run down my thighs.

Swoosh, swoosh, swoosh – hit.
This time I tried to yell the Tw – before I get the chance to empty my lungs with the oooooooooo.
And I am swinging again, my legs raised.
'Five, Four, ' my feet are touching the ground 'Three, two, one' I tried to stop, but the shocks still begin.
End a little before the last time. I am getting better at this.
Walker is now smirking lecherous and sadistic. He enjoys this really as he walks around me, looks at me from all sides. I can only imagine how much. The machine is forcing me quickly back, and I am only allowed a short moment to give in into my suffering, yelling, swinging, trying to get cover that I have no hope finding.
And he must savor every single of the five seconds.

He is behind me again, swoosh – hit.
I wasn't prepared, so I need to break the yell to pack the thr in before I can eeeee.
The slashing is so brutal, the hormones are luckily kicking in.
He is not drawing blood, but the cane feels as if.
Mistress Agatha is unimpressed. She is all business, “Five, Four, Three, Two, One” shocks begin.
Walker is again smiling in my face as I turned 180 degrees to face him. This time I made it nearly to stop before I get punished.
Then the watered cane is between my legs, first it dinks against the hook, then it is pulled through my folds.
Walker looks into my eyes: “More than the half done.” He slowly rubs the cane over my button. I moan – and flinching I rub back.
The sound, than another punishment shock. Searing through me. Lets spasm me in so many muscles – I even feel my backside clenching wildly.
And there is again fluid running down my legs. I can smell my scent – and urine I could no longer keep. I fear how he might react, I had tainted the cane.
But he is just smiling as I am stationary presenting myself on my tiptoes.

He strikes through the air, slinging liquid on the floor. Then he is back behind me.

Another swoosh. Pain.
My knees hit my tits. I feel a clamp getting loose, pulling increasingly painful at the tip of my nip. I scream. Fooouuu – I yell, until it gets deeper, from deep of my lungs, rrrrrrr – I roar. “Five, four” Quickly putting my toes back on the floor Mistress Agatha has no need to shock after I used “Three, Two, One.” to stop.
I am sobbing as the clamp is so slowly moving down my nipple. Every swing gives it a little less flesh to sink her teeth in.
My eyes flicker, and I am flinching, another warning sound taming my try to lighten the pain with movement, my try to shake off the clamp. Then there is Walker. He holds my nipple, pinches it tightly. And places the clamp back on the full nipple.
“It hurts most when the blood rushes back in. Save that for later, Candy.” he explains his little painful pinch.
“Last one, Candy. Don't forget, five seconds. That does not end with the last one!”

A last time he is behind me, ready to strike.
The cane lingers on my battered ass. Then he swings the cane again. Without hitting me.
Swoosh, swoosh, swoosh. He enjoys it. He enjoys me suppressing my reaction, waiting for the blow, hoping for the last one.
Swoosh, swoosh, - I slightly flinch – swoosh, swoosh – hit.
There it is. I scream. I scream everything out that was still in. Last one. I take two deep breathes before I can modify the scream to sound like a five. And then I yell “Thank you, sir!” - while Mistress Agatha counts “Two, One.” My toes are on the ground, but I am still tilting. The shocks set in, and for an instant, a very short instant I think about moving intentionally. Riding a last time on the pain, until it might give my cunt what she craves for.
A deep moan, and I stand still. The shocks subside.

I can only hear through a fog how Walker orders Mistress Agatha to let me down.
I collapse on the floor, my hands still over my head, rolling onto my side – then I am on my knees again.My legs near the drain - the cable is short, my hands reaching up and behind me. My head hanging down, and my butt lightly raised, not touching my shins.
Walker unlocks my wrists, and I balance myself placing them on the floor.
I lie my face on the floor, somehow try to raise my ass up as high as I can, to get some wind the air conditioning is blowing through the vault.
It feels so good, something cool at my boiling backside.

My hands slowly explore my breasts again. Find the nipples. I hold the clamps.
I let them stay. It feels right. Suffer a little more, Candy. Wait for a private moment.

“Unhook the ankle-cable, Candy.”

I crouch back with my hands. With my shaky fingers I fumble with the carabiner. My butt is still raised so high. I unhitch myself a last time. The hook slowly slides back to the metal plate as it is winched in.
“Move your legs back, Candy.”
He uses this tool again, a bar with two clamps for my ankles. He presses a button, it ratchets – a last time – and my ankles are free. He takes the tool back to his wardrobe -
I am finally standing on my feet – still crouching, than squatting. Breathing deep.
Walker smiles. A red jumpsuit in his hands. “No underwear, Candy? You only get a jump suit and the flip-flops.”
I have underwear. In my office. I stashed it there – the present I got from Fawn, after her stay with Fukuda. The flimsy, itchy, cheap underwear. The bra poking and torturing my breasts, the panty scratching my folds and always gliding too deep in the cleft. Fawn had embroidered both with clumsy stitches, C Miller ~ WannabeWarden. Either that underwear or none, I found it arousing. Now it is more than that, I feel the cunt twitching.

“Sir, I need permission to pee, sir.” I ask. The need was there- there is no shame in front of Walker anymore.
I don't know how I should do that back in my office, I can't get on the toilets with the collar on – I need to use a grate somewhere here. Or move to the cell block. Or need to free myself, put on clothes and then use the one near my office. Seating.....
I look into his eyes. “Please, sir.”

“That place is as good as any other, Candy.”

He turns around, and I let go.
I even love the idea that the blue bitch will clean this. He is not watching, I am sprinkling the floor. You wanted me to suffer four more, take this, 1041!

Walker ignores my little mess - he even hands me a paper towel when I am finished. Cautious I clean myself up.
I can at least partially see what Walker had done with my butt. I will need a mirror to admire it in all its glory, but it will be composed of welts, lines – in different colors. Blue, Pink, Violet, maybe Black.

I wobbly get up. Walker is assisting. I step out of the puddle, and Agatha lets me.
My feet find the corresponding openings in the Jumpsuit. I yelp as I put it over my butt.
Then I am clothed. For the first time since I lost control I am wearing clothes again – and it hurts.

“Handlock, Candy.” I can feel the stones pulling on the clamps as I put my hands up against the collar - raising my breasts. The flip-flops are at the ready, my feet slip in. Then Walker orders me to follow. Mistress Agatha controls that I do as told, but does not need to intervene.
As we leave at a fast pace the rubbing fabric over my butt is painful, but after what I was put through, easily tolerable.

We enter the yard, and I hide my face. Some blue's are sitting on the other side, trying to look at me without looking at me. They heard me.
I follow an officer in black uniform, no one bothers to stop us.
We are quickly up the stairs, standing in front of my office. Walker opens the door for me, and I step in. As I enter my hands unlock. No longer under supervision – as programmed. My fingers find the zipper. The jumpsuit is gliding from my shoulders. I slip out of the flip-flops, then out of the suit. I stand in my office only wearing the collar and the clamps with the stones. My skin still has a slightly oily shine.
I try to kneel down on the floor. Not enough cable. I did not program that – for what reason.
I climb on my desk, my ass so hot I fear it can melt the paint on the door.
The stones hit my table top, scratching the wooden surface audibly, I like the traces left for later. My breasts and nipples welcome the cool finish of the table, I also place my forehead on it.

My fingers wander to my crotch. No surveillance, Candy.
Time to wack out the juice.
Moaning. Deep moaning again. My fingers are exploring that still needy cunt – exploring and exploiting. Two fingers enter my cleaned .. asshole. Obscene. Cunt and asshole. It only takes seconds to bring me to the edge, twitching I hear something hitting the floor. The key for the collar.
I will have to search it when I am finished. And if I take too long – need too long – for my pleasure – I find myself in the line up. Walk the streets, pick up trash. Get slusheed.
I break down on my table and scream again. This time no pain, just pleasure.
An orgasm like an eruption, deep from my self. Never before I felt it that heavy – and I can not stop. My fingers are still rubbing and pumping and... I moan, and moan.......




Walker takes a seat.
He removed the jumpsuit lying in the doorway, and closed the door to Millers office – not before he saw another punishable offense. He smiles. Her butt is a piece of art. Already turning purple, with perfectly squared welts. Four of the last five diagonally crossing, the last one in the center.

He will sit here, guard her. He promised it to her. She has more than enough time for – what she is doing. Of course he can hear it.

If necessary, he will remind her that she needs to hurry.

But now she needs the time.

He takes his handheld device out of the side pocket of his pants.
Writing a mail for the warden. Maybe she will rethink her decision of ending the corrections.
He also hopes to hear from her how she felt.
Smirking he adds that she knows what to do if he wants him to stay.
Then he proposes an appointment. Main topic: 10 strikes.
The moans still continue.

“Agatha, tell inmate Candy she is scheduled for a weekly maintain-discipline action in 6 days, 9 am sharp. She will report 10 hours earlier in solitary.”
“Disciplinary actions are no longer possible after midnight.”
“Agatha, don't schedule something. Just tell her. I have a feeling we might get special permission.”

The response penetrates the door way louder – a deep guttural groan.