Episode 2: The Punishment Room

I was in a little room, not more than fifteen feet or so on a side, with an overhead light and a little shelf on one side at about table height. The wall in front of me was mirrored, the door was to my left, and it didn't have a knob on the inside. When I had been brought in by the Trainers, I had seen that there was a knob on the outside and it hadn't been locked. I had fought them with all my strength, knowing I would lose but hoping at least to get in a kick or something, mostly just fighting them because I wasn't going to go placidly, OBEDIENTLY to a punishment, but I hadn't been able to do anything useful. I usually had a hysterical fit when the duty Trainers showed up, if I wasn't having one already. They had put a wrap of thin cord around my waist, tying a knot in front by my belly button, and then taken the free end between my legs and pulled it up behind me, passed it between my tied wrists and pulled it cruelly tight, so that I had to reach way, way down between my cheeks in back and still the cord was cinched deeply into the cleft of my naked, shaved sex. They tied a knot and I was left like that while they manhandled me through unfamiliar corridors, my legs tied together above the knees with the same slim, cutting cord so that I was forced to take small steps and kept losing my balance again and again, trying to keep up, and would have fallen except for their grip on my shoulders.

The humiliation of my abject nudity and helplessness was much worse than the pain, and I would have done anything I could to hurt those women, if one had come within biting distance or I could have kicked out, but they were just too strong and too clever, used to dealing with situations like this and totally professional. I called them every name I could think of until I finally realized that I was making no impression and I was running out of breath that I desperately needed. They hustled me along without a word until we got to what I thought of as a punishment room, and that probably was its only purpose.

In the middle of the little room was a kind of pedestal, a steel pole standing up vertically, screwed right into the floor somehow and very solid. It was about waist high, and on the top was a long, thin little seat of leather, like a slim bicycle seat. About a foot up from the floor, the pipe had a kind of adjustable fitting on it with two steel cuffs, like manacles, that opened and closed with simple catches, and the fitting could slide up and down the pipe and be locked at any height. When I saw the contraption, I figured it out right away and I fought those Trainers wildly, uselessly as they untied the cord between my legs and took it from around my waist, then untied my knees and physically picked me up between the two of them and wrestled me onto the seat. I twisted frantically, squealing and trying to kick, but when my weight settled on the little seat I had to be much more still, because any wiggling or shifting hurt my pussy. While I tried to get my balance, they quickly reached down and one of them grabbed each ankle, and before I knew it they had them in the cuffs and locked. Then one of them pulled down on the fitting, stretching my legs toward the floor as I shifted my ass around trying to ease the pressure of my weight on the seat, and then she levered the little catch and locked my ankles in position. I was completely helpless.

Even if my hands had been free I couldn't have done a single thing to get down from the punishment stand, but I wasn't going to be allowed that mercy. The bitches untied my wrists as I shifted gingerly on the seat, whimpering with discomfort and trying to get into some position where I could rest, and then one of them went to the little shelf and brought back two strange-looking slim tubes of supple leather. I didn't understand at first, and I wasn't thinking too clearly anyway, and then they took one of my arms and held it out straight behind me while they slipped a tube onto it. It turned out to be like a sleeve or shoulder-length glove, with a little strap around the top of it that buckled so it would stay firmly in place. Down at the other end, there really wasn't any allowance for my hand, it just tapered to a point, sort of, and my fingers were stuffed into it, and it ended in another buckle. When my other arm was similarly done, I effectively didn't have hands, and then one of the women went back to the little shelf and got a couple of simple leather straps, like belts. They took my sleeved arms and forced them behind my back, and despite all I could do they got one of the straps around my elbows and buckled them together, passing the strap around several times. I had already stopped insulting them and started whining, and now I begged, but they didn't pay any attention. My shoulders were pulled back and my spine arched, my boobs forced out helplessly as I explored my position, trying to find a way of easing the pressure. There wasn't any. They took my wrists and pulled them around to the front of me, so that I was reaching around my waist as far as I could, which wasn't very far, and then took the other strap and fitted it to the buckle at the end of one sleeve, down by my fingers, and passed it around behind my waist once, pulled it very tight and then buckled the other end of the strap to the buckle at the end of the other sleeve. Now my elbows were touching behind my back and the ends of my fingers were almost touching by my navel, and it was like I didn't have arms at all. I threw myself against the arrangement in a spasm of frustration, with my full strength, and all I really accomplished was to bounce my tits. I couldn't get my hair out of my face and tears of frustration and pain dripped off my chin.