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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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WARNING!
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The Long Way Down
by 3586088863 (straitlaced8@hotmail.com)
***
After falling into the clutches of a powerful former
lover, a betrayed skydiver soon finds himself facing a
terrible and inescapable fate. (FFM, nc, bd, tor)
***
Author's note: Dedicated to those who like secure
straitjackets and powerful women. Derivative works and
sequels are welcomed, but please acknowledge this work.
***
=============
CHAPTER ONE
=============
As soon as I dive through the door, I realize something
is wrong.
Certainly, many things are right and familiar. There is
the exhilarating feeling of weightlessness, the
whipping of the jumpsuit, and the roar of the wind.
And then, there is the afternoon sun glistening off the
distant desert lake. But this beautiful sight is part
of the problem.
You see, there are no lakes within a hundred miles of
the drop zone.
Then where am I? Though I try to match the features
below with the geography I've encountered on the job, I
am unable to place myself anywhere in the country.
In my confusion, I seize upon a chilling thought.
I realize now with fear what lies below me.
* * *
Her hair still damp from the shower, the pilot emerges
from the locker room. Crossing the hall into the empty
men's locker room, she unlocks #103 and empties the
customer's wallet. Having inspected the identification
with satisfaction, she transfers half of the small
stack of bills to her own wallet, where they nicely
complement the foreign bills she has recently received.
The other half go to the receptionist.
"Hey Jessica, this is for you. And close our latest
customer's account. He won't be needing it anymore."
Jessica grins.
* * *
After spending a couple thousand vertical feet hoping
that I am wrong, I finally resolve to act. A low-
altitude opening, I decide, will minimize my chances of
detection and hopefully get me back home safely. In
another scenario it might be feasible to open high in
an attempt to steer back, but probably not at this
distance; all the while I'd also be a sitting duck.
As soon as I land, I hide the chute and take off to the
north. There are parts of the border where some have
successfully made the crossing. I don't know exactly
how I'll do it, but one thing is certain: I can't stay
put and just let myself be caught. It worries me to
think what will happen if they discover a foreign
officer on the edge of their military base.
Keep in mind that this isn't just any other country.
For many years our diplomatic position regarding our
female neighbors to the south has been one of
deferential tolerance. Though we are perennially
appalled by the leaked stories of their human rights
transgressions -- especially the psychological and
sexual torture -- their military's superior funding and
technological sophistication have left us no choice but
to tolerate their methods. Frankly, we consider
ourselves fortunate that so far, they've been
uninterested in bringing their military to bear against
us.
But instead, there's the kidnapping. Every once in a
while, someone near the border will disappear and never
be heard from again. Sometimes it's a civilian.
Sometimes it's military personnel. Today it's me.
It is anybody's guess what happens to those they have
taken. It is known, however, that they enjoy playing
cat and mouse. I heard from the border guard that once,
they saw a man running toward the fences from the other
side. He came close enough for our patrolmen to see the
hope in his face -- and then to hear his plaintive yelp
as he was subdued and dragged off by black-suited
female forms. Apparently they had lain in wait for
hours just to savor that moment.
But that transpired fifty miles to the east of where I
have now arrived. Only the faintest purple traces of
sunset remain on the western horizon as I see the
barrier in the distance. From my thigh pocket I
retrieve a bundle of cord that I have saved from
earlier.
I am tying the first knot when I feel a light prick in
my thigh. I keep on working feverishly in hopes that
I've only imagined it, but my fears are soon realized.
My body grows heavy, and despite my best efforts to
stay on my feet, I slump to the ground. As I gaze
upwards at the sky, a woman strides, hands on her hips,
into my rapidly dimming field of view.
"Come on. You didn't think we could afford a few motion
detectors?"
She turns, motioning to others I can't see. "Bring him
in. And put his rope to good use."
=============
CHAPTER TWO
=============
"Wakey wakey."
I find myself in a small, dark, windowless room. As my
confusion clears, I discover I am strapped down to some
sort of seat with my legs spread widely apart. Beneath
the many strong bands holding me against the molded
frame, a rubbery grey suit stretches tightly over my
body.
Across from me sits a stunning woman; she wears a
gleaming catsuit which, aside from the red collar, is
as black as night. The glossy reflection of the dim
ceiling light delineates her contours; I can even see
her chest rising and falling lightly as she breathes.
Where I come from, this is not something we see every
day. She notices my wandering eyes.
"You like our uniforms, don't you? We like them too."
She smiles. "But on to business."
With the slightest rustlings of her uniform, she gets
up and begins to pace slowly. There is more than a hint
of enjoyment in her voice as she continues.
"It seems, my darling, that you are in quite a bit of
trouble. Apparently you were sneaking around without
identification, trying to pass back north under cover
of darkness, when the border guard took you down. They
were almost done filling in the forms for the standard
five-year jail sentence when they felt the canister
sewn into the lining of your jumpsuit."
Canister? In all the years I'd used that jumpsuit, I'd
never felt anything. And surely it would have been
noticed when after that last jump, I was asked to leave
the suit behind for repai--ohhh.
The officer pivots dramatically to face me. "And what
did they find in that canister? Film copies of our
military spec sheets and drawings."
Ah, crap.
"Naturally, that changed everything. The border
documentation was immediately destroyed. You were
promptly conducted under heavy guard here to the base,
where tonight you are to stand trial before the high
court on charges of espionage." She leans in and
gleefully places her hands over my strapped wrists.
"And, pardon my language, but it looks to me like
you're royally screwed."
Glumly I agree. Someone has set me up for deep, deep
trouble.
She resumes her pacing. "In the meantime, you will be
held here. Perhaps you should use the time to figure
out how you're going to explain yourself. You're also
welcome to try to escape -- though I should point out
that, as part of your preparation for the trial, I'm
about to activate your control suit." Since realizing
the severity of my predicament, I have not really been
very concerned about the strange suit I am wearing.
"Embedded in its fabric, you see, are multiple
processors, powered wirelessly, that transmit your
location and the position of your major joints. Using
fine wires sewn into the suit, the processors also
verify that the suit is still intact and snugly fitted
around you. In other words, this suit is a guard you
can never escape, and it knows everything you're doing.
Recently we've even been using the joint data to tell
us where prisoners are moving too much and need their
restraints tightened down." I realize that maybe the
grey suit is not so benign after all.
She produces a small device like a key fob and begins
playing with it lazily. "But the suit does more than
mere monitoring. Through it we can administer any
strength or quality of electric, eh, 'inducements' that
may strike our fancy. And as a last resort, we can also
trigger an embedded explosive charge that will most
certainly stop you in your tracks. Basically, with this
thing, we may not even need any other restraints, but
we definitely enjoy using them all the same."
She picks up a clamp-like device and walks behind me.
Now I feel her breath lightly against my ear. "So how
'bout it? Ready to be sealed in?"
I am not. Yet she pulls the suit's reinforced collar
tight around my neck. As she clamps down on the collar
at the nape of my neck, I hear the device power up and
discharge with a sizzling sound. The clamp is removed,
and now the collar remains tight. Now I feel the device
against me a second time, this time further down my
back. There is another hum and another sizzle.
My captress steps back around, watching the fob
expectantly. After several seconds, she points out the
numbers now flashing on its small screen.
"The sense wires are connected, the collar and zipper
are fused, and the control suit is activated. Welcome,
prisoner, to the first day of the rest of your life. I
think I'll give you some time alone to reflect on
that." She turns toward the door.
She is halfway through the door code when, glancing
back at me, she decides to stay a little longer.
Enjoying my helplessness, she stands in front of me
possessively for a few moments before crouching down
between my restrained legs. First a few fingers, then
her palms, slowly move up and down my thighs, lingering
slightly over my hardening bulge. The sensation sends a
shudder up my spine. Grunting, I twist slightly in my
bonds to meet her touch.
"You know, you're the first male visitor to drop by
here since I got transferred to this post six weeks
ago. I had heard that these were the best parts of the
job, but I never understood what they were talking
about until now. It turns me on to think about all the
things they'll probably do to you."
Keeping one hand on me, she brings the other hand to
her own suit. As my massage slows to a stop,
increasingly she lets her fingers wander and play
gently under herself. After a minute of moaning and
shuddering, she reluctantly opens her eyes. "Okay, I
think I may need some alone time of my own." Hurriedly
she rises and turns toward the door.
As she turns off the dim lights and rushes out, I
suddenly remember again the seriousness of my
situation. Wrestling with my bonds, I break my silence.
"Wait, you've got it wrong! I'm not a spy!" Silhouetted
against the bright doorway, she silently manipulates
something in her palm. "I was kidna--!" A sudden
electric blow stops me in mid-sentence.
"Don't interrupt a girl when she has urgent business."
With the door closing, she dashes back into the room
one last time to kiss me on the lips. I am still in
pain from my shock. "You've been fun. But really, save
your story for the judge."
Then she is gone. In the complete darkness, there is
the distant sound of hurried footsteps, a brief
electric hum, and finally the sound of several
deadbolts firing to secure the door. My straps creak
lightly but do not give at all.
=============
CHAPTER THREE
=============
I did save it for the judge, but it didn't seem to do
me any good.
It was a quick trial in a mostly empty courtroom. When
my military status was revealed, the judge -- a woman
in her twenties wearing the standard black suit with a
thin yellow collar -- merely leaned back and crossed
her arms. I could see the corners of her lips turn ever
so slightly upward. Though finally I was allowed to
speak in my defense, my words fell on unsympathetic
ears.
Now I was to receive my judgment. The room is silent as
the judge begins. "Defendant, please rise to receive
the judgment of the court." I do so. She pronounces the
sentence looking directly at me.
"On the charge of espionage, this court finds you
guilty. You are hereby sentenced to destructive
punitive extraction." From a distant corner of the
courtroom I hear a murmur.
"In accordance to law, you are from this moment forth
divested of your rights as a foreign national. You are
now the legal property of the State. Bailiff, please
conduct the prisoner to the chief of police in
preparation for the sentence. This court is adjourned."
As the courtroom empties, the bailiff collects my hands
behind me and applies a pair of handcuffs. After we are
alone, she gives my shoulder a few brief pats, as
though from empathy, and ushers me gently through a
side door into a mostly empty room.
At the far end of the room is an expensive-looking
desk. Seated behind it, a lone woman is studying some
papers. With her head down, all I can see of her is her
suit, her hair, and the hand she is resting against her
forehead.
"Well, well... look who we have here." She looks up,
grinning.
"Serena?!"
=============
CHAPTER FOUR
=============
"Why, imagine my surprise when I found out that the spy
I'd been hearing about was none other than my ex-
boyfriend!"
"You! You were the one who did this to me, weren't
you!"
"Sorry, but I'm afraid the only thing you can blame for
your situation is your own bad judgment. Thanks, Jenna;
we won't need the cuffs anymore." The bailiff nods,
frees my hands, and leaves the room. Serena points out
the seat across the table; I sit down.
"What bad judgment, Serena? That I stopped seeing you?"
Seeing her figure brings to mind delightful memories of
her warm body next to mine; indeed she is just as
physically attractive now as when we were dating. The
sticking point, however, was her tendency to be
possessive. That facet of her personality has evidently
blossomed in the meantime.
Serena shrugs. "I bet you didn't realize back then that
you weren't the only one with some military clout.
After we parted ways, I returned here to resume my
former position. When I remembered your fondness for
skydiving, I realized it was the perfect way to deliver
you into my grasp. It was just a matter of time until
your dive appointments matched up with my pilot's
schedule. Oh, it's too bad you couldn't have seen
yourself when you were shipped back to base! You were
all chained and tied up like a big gift..."
"Well, now you have me. What can I do for you?" I
figure the best I can do at this stage is to please
her.
She chuckles. "Oh, no. It's a bit too late for that.
The wheels have already been set in motion, and even I
can't stop them. You have a sentence to serve." She
presses a button on her desk. I look around nervously,
but nothing happens quite yet. She swivels her seat to
the side to cross her lustrous legs.
"You know," she continues offhandedly, "I don't know
why it is that so many of our punishments are sexual in
nature. Perhaps that's only natural in a female-
dominated culture where males are the worst offenders.
But whatever the reason, we've found it to be highly
effective in males and females alike -- and often,
quite satisfying to watch as well."
The door opens, admitting a stream of agents who
soundlessly begin to fall into formation. "Every once
in a while, we get to carry out a destructive punition
or, more rarely, an extraction like yours. The
international community seems to disapprove of it,
crudely terming it 'sexual torture.' But by utilizing
certain tools and conditions designed to intensify the
experience, we feel we've developed it into a punitive
science."
With a tip of her hand she gestures at the assembled
black sea of femininity, now standing ten wide and
three deep. They salute sharply. "Our transport and
restraint teams are specially trained to subdue and
apply restraints to unwilling prisoners such as
yourself. Though some have many years' experience,
they've all undergone at least a year of intensive
training with psychological screening to guarantee--
well, how shall I put it--their job excites them. I
guess you would say these would be the dominatrices of
your world."
"Curious thing about them. From our early experiences,
we determined that after weeks to months of continuous
destructive punition, the brain changes irrevocably,
leaving prisoners in a permanent state of heightened
sexual awareness. We've found that males, especially,
become perfect sex slaves." She eagerly reveals her
curious secret: "And certain female prisoners -- if we
stop at just the right time -- become perfect transport
and restraint officers."
That is intriguing, but I am concerned mainly about my
fate. "So just because it didn't work out between us,
Serena, you're going to fry my brain and make me a sex
slave?"
"Yes," she says matter-of-factly. "But not just any sex
slave. My sex slave. I've already called dibs on you."
She sighs. "You know, back then, you and I we could
have been happy together. But this way, we'll also be
happy together -- just in a slightly different way."
At her beckoning, the team shifts formation. Roughly
half move to line the periphery of the room, while the
other half advances in two rows to a few feet behind my
seat. My heart begins to beat with dread and
anticipation. The moment has come.
"Through your control suit, I could easily coerce you
to put on all your restraints yourself. But, for the
team's practice and my enjoyment, I'm going to let them
do the work tonight. Stand up, please."
=============
CHAPTER FIVE
=============
Still looking upon my former girlfriend, I slowly push
myself up from the chair. In the quiet of the room, I
am acutely aware of my frenzied heartbeat and trembling
breath. The chain of women has now come around me,
hemming me in against the desk. Unseen hands whisk my
chair away from behind me.
I glance to find two graceful women at my sides, both
wearing a long ponytail and the slightest of smiles. On
their mutual signal they move swiftly toward me. But
just as their hands touch my arms, I twist to the right
and dive behind me in the direction of the door. For a
split second I sail toward a forest of gleaming calves
before a sudden impact pins me against the padded
floor. In the distance I can see the other group of
agents, still impassively guarding the exit to the
room.
As I fight to get up, I feel my ankles being grasped
and separated. In spite of my kicking, I am pivoted and
dragged backwards by my spread legs toward the center
of the room. Clawing futilely at the retreating floor,
I can see a smiling Serena seated behind the desk.
Reaching the center of the room, the women pause, still
holding my ankles. My arms are firmly folded behind me;
with several zips they are fixed securely in place. The
operation has proceeded soundlessly to this point. Now
Serena gets up from her chair and walks towards us,
raising her voice only slightly in order to be heard
across the distance. "A commendable effort to both the
prisoner and the restraint team. What was that, number
four in the playbook?"
A sweet voice rings out from above me. "Yes, ma'am,
basically a number four."
"Again, well done." Serena bends down to pat me lightly
on the head. "Don't feel bad. Remember, they've been
doing this for a long time. Even to each other, when
they're bored." She straightens up. "Now bring in the
restraint."
Behind me I hear the swishing of steps. I follow the
sound around to my left, where an agent now appears in
my view. She presents Serena with a dark gray bundle.
Though it has been folded neatly, I see a number of
straps poking out from the thick square.
Serena takes one fold in her hand, and in one dramatic
gesture she unfurls a fearsome looking suit covered in
straps. "One straitjacket suit: male cut, high
security."
She examines it before handing it to the agent I had
previously seen at my side. "Very good. You are free to
begin."
* * *
Still face down on the floor with my arms secured
behind me, I can hardly fight as the restraint team
begins to slip my legs into the thick rubber suit. But
even without my fighting, it still takes some amount of
work to stretch the tough material fully and evenly
over my already suited legs. As the strait-suit settles
into place up to my waist, I feel its firm compression
throughout my lower body.
A pair of agents fastens thickly padded leather cuffs
over the ankles of the suit. After locking my ankles
together through their thick metal rings, they hoist me
by my underarms back to my feet. Secured at the arms
and legs, and tightly gripped by the suit, I can only
stand unsteadily while the team continues its well-
practiced choreography.
As the two agents hold me firmly at each side of my
waist, a multitude of new black, gleaming hands take
hold of my pinioned arms. Meanwhile, the front of the
suit, previously hanging from my waist, is now drawn up
into place against my chest.
With a sudden release of pressure, my arms are cut
free. But despite my new struggling, half of the hands
keep my right arm securely wrenched behind my back. The
other half deliver my left arm inexorably into the
strait-suit's waiting sleeve. As the tight, thick mitt
at the end of the sleeve finally tugs into place around
my hand, a strap is fastened around my wrist. Now
trapped within the sleeve, my left arm is firmly
replaced behind my back. The thick unbuckled strap at
the end of the sleeve is passed to the right as the
agents there prepare for their turn.
Though I am able to resist a little more on the right
side, soon that arm is also fed into its sleeve,
imprisoned, and once more wrested behind me. From the
small of my back, a sturdy zipper is slowly tugged
upwards, closing the suit tightly over my whole body as
it goes. The slider continues upward between my pinned
arms, finally arriving at the narrow collar and locking
in place with a small click. Soft hands smooth the
tight material over my chest.
Across the locked zipper, the first of several buckles
is now fastened. As the work continues, Serena produces
a small key that is passed behind me. Each of the bands
on my back and wrists is snugged down before I hear it
being locked with a click.
Now behind me come four new agents standing abreast.
The two immediately behind me take over responsibility
for my arms; each grips a forearm firmly in one hand
and a yet-unfastened hand strap in the other. With
constant pressure they bring my arms to face forward
against my sides; then, stepping around to the front,
they begin to fold my arms across my body into the
dreaded position of the straitjacketed prisoner.
As I struggle to delay the inevitable, the outer two
agents steadily push my elbows toward each other. As
each mittened hand is driven through the front loop of
the jacket to nestle against the opposite elbow, the
agents grasp the sleeve straps, feeding them loosely
through the jacket's side loops. Just as the first pair
of agents releases their hold, the second pair pulls
mightily on the straps.
Unable to overcome their efforts, my arms slide into
place. I now stand in the middle of the room, legs
together and arms crossed tightly, controlled by the
two agents keeping tension on my straps. The other
agents stand at ease facing Serena.
"Flawlessly executed! Just like watching clockwork. I
love every moment of a straitjacketing, but that last
part is always my favorite." Receiving the key from her
agents, Serena tightens down the front loop and twists
the key in the buckle. Meanwhile, the two ends of the
sleeve strap have been matched up behind me. The strap
hums as it pulls quickly through the buckle and
eliminates all the slack.
Then all the female hands and arms let go. For the
first time since rising from my chair, no one is
holding me. But now, testing the movement of my arms in
all directions, I confirm with dread what I already
know to be true: I am locked tightly in a full-body
straitjacket, and I cannot get free. Serena reads the
expression on my face.
"Yes, that's a precious moment, isn't it, when you
realize you are well and truly stuck?" She steps back,
allowing a large fabric rectangle to be laid down
before me. Meanwhile, five or six agents take firm hold
of the strap just buckled behind me.
All of a sudden someone tips me from behind. My arms,
jerking out instinctually, are held fast within their
prison; with my ankles still bound, I cannot avoid
falling forward. But as I am about to hit the fabric,
the agents yank on the strong strap, pulling my arms
tighter with the weight of my body before setting me
down gently. The new slack in the strap is promptly
removed. One of the latest agents, planting her foot in
my back, is about to pull the strap still tighter when
Serena interrupts.
"That should be secure enough. We'll only cause
problems for ourselves if we go too hard on his
shoulders."
The redirected agent instead fastens one final strap to
tension my upper arms back. Then, after two final
insertions of the key, every last buckle and zipper of
the suit has been done up and locked. Lying on the wrap
with my face just a few inches away from her feet, I
strain to meet Serena's gaze as she looks down upon me.
"As you have certainly noticed, the suit is made from a
extremely durable material and can easily deal with
whatever we demand of it. It simply has to. Over the
weeks and months, you will be subjecting the suit to an
enormous amount of stress." She looks back up. "Let's
get the transport wrap on."
The fabric under me is rolled securely around my body
to wrap my torso and thighs; patted down, it adheres to
itself with the quiet crackle of velcro. To a multitude
of rings along the wrap's outer surface are now clipped
leashes of various lengths. Pulling on them, several
agents restore me to my feet.
The rest of the team now joins them, attaching their
leashes and stepping away from me as they form into a
thick square block. I struggle and twist from within my
tight wrap but am effortlessly held at the center of
the escort formation.
"Good. Unlock his ankles, and then let's head down."
Walking past me toward the door, Serena makes a small
apology.
"Sorry, but you'll have to do a bit of walking now.
Lucky for you, though, the federal prison is right
below our feet. You'll be all stowed away before the
night is up."
=============
CHAPTER SIX
=============
Following our descent into the underground prison, we
find ourselves in the outermost of its five concentric
rings. So immense is this structure that I can just
barely see the curvature of its walls. Though we have
come to a stop before a large steel door, the cavernous
space still rings with the sounds of our footsteps.
A pair of agents steps forward to twin keypads to
authorize our entry into the second level. Meanwhile,
having taken for herself the empty transport position
to my left, Serena is boasting about the virtues of the
police state. With a unyielding grip on her leash she
ensures I remain the captive audience to her
reverberating speech.
"We believe that a strong penal system provides the
foundation for an orderly society. In order to instill
a respect for the system, we ensure that no one can
evade justice; we ensure that once apprehended, no one
can escape from it."
With some electrical humming, the thick door before us
begins to open, revealing first the large lock
cylinders set into its sides and then the short tunnel
it has been guarding. Within the tunnel, dim lights
flicker on. The team resumes its march forward.
"For over twenty years we have been able to maintain a
spotless record because of our heavy security measures.
Most guards work in only one ring, entering and leaving
only once each day through airlock chambers such as
this. Depending on the security level, they
authenticate themselves with a combination of badge
scans, code challenges, and biometrics. Entry
requirements are a little less stringent, but all
exiting personnel must authenticate and pass through
the airlocks individually."
She chuckles. "In fact, every now and then a rookie
guard follows others into the next level and then finds
herself unable to get back out. Often I think they lead
her in on purpose. If there are any empty cells, they
usually lock her up for a few days as an informal
punishment. Sometimes they leave her in isolation;
sometimes they rig her up and zap her for practice. She
doesn't forget after that. But I digress."
As the door behind us locks with a series of
penetrating clanks, Serena points out a flat metal
structure on the collar of the agent in front of her.
"As far as other security measures go-- for their own
protection, all prison personnel are required to wear
an inner computerized tracking suit under their
regulation uniform. Both the inner and outer suits are
locked shut and tagged." She nods contentedly. "Yep,
over the years, we've pretty much sealed off any
avenues of escape several times over. If you're not
supposed to leave this place, you will not leave it."
The airlock door ahead of us begins to open. As the
next vast space is revealed, Serena describes its
contents.
"Level Two is for misdemeanors; prisoners in this level
are restrained at all times in their cells but
generally can still move around. Nothing too exciting.
At Level Three, heavy immobilization is applied, and at
Level Four, we add active torment in up to two separate
modalities." She pauses.
"And you, we're taking to Level Five."
* * *
At last our journey brings us into the dreaded
innermost level, a single circular room several hundred
feet across. Most of this dark room is marked at
regular intervals by numbered squares about a foot and
a half wide. We trek across this desolate twilight
landscape toward the center of the room, where a large
platform supports an array of stations and a few
guards.
We mount the stairs with a clatter; the guards salute.
As we cut through the area, Serena reads a note taped
to the edge of one station. "Ah. Hold on a second,
please. Bring him over just a bit; I want him to see
this."
Spread before her are controls of all sorts. "This is
the control console for a destructive punition cell.
Where the actual cells are, you'll see soon enough. But
this" -- tapping a monitor that I cannot see clearly --
"this is the prisoner in cell 35.
"Formerly, she was chief security officer for the base;
I believe you met her successor earlier tonight. Her
service came to an end two months ago, when she carted
off for her habit of fraternizing and sharing a little
too much private time with her male prisoners. I worry
that her replacement is developing those tendencies
too. When sexual stimulation is carefully meted out as
punishment, spurious and unregulated use of that tool
becomes a very serious issue."
She turns a dial clockwise, listening in with
satisfaction to the anguished moans and gasps of a
female subjected to relentless sexual stimulation. She
depresses a small red button, which remains toggled
down with a tiny click. A hissing sound now comes
through the speaker; the pitch of the moaning slowly
falls, and now there is the sound of someone trying to
catch her breath. The prisoner speaks indistinctly,
amid heavy panting.
"Th--Thank you for stopping it. Thank you..."
"You are aware, Christina, that occasionally there is a
opening in the transport and restraint team. In such
circumstances we are able to recruit new agents from
selected females undergoing destructive punition. Your
response to the stimulus so far has been promising, and
so for two weeks now we have kept you at submaximum
stimulation so a spot could open up."
At the center of the console is a large lever,
currently pushed about three-fourths of the way to the
back. Serena inserts a key near its base and turns it.
"And a sp--a spot opened up?" There is relief and hope
in the voice.
Serena places her hand on the handle, depressing the
safety with her thumb. I wince with the terrible
knowledge of what is about to happen.
"I'm sorry. And two weeks is all we are permitted to
wait. Goodbye, Christina."
"NO! Please I beg you--!!" Over Christina's wild
sobbing, Serena pushes the heavy lever all the way
back, simultaneously releasing the red suspend button.
Suddenly the prisoner's pleas are replaced by screaming
so loud that the speakers ring with distortion. After a
few moments, the speaker hums with the sound of
inflation, and her desperate pleas become
unintelligible. The room, however, still echoes faintly
with her last scream.
With an air of finality, Serena removes her key and
turns the volume knob down until it clicks. As her
prisoner's cries fade away, she confirms that the
safety on the lever will no longer budge.
I sense an involuntary tug to my right. Glancing over
at the face of the agent on that side, I see her
blinking to hold back a tear.
* * *
After descending on the far side of the platform, we
come to a halt in front of one of the squares.
Surrounded by yellow and black caution markings, this
one bears the number 56. A pair of agents goes to enter
some codes at a nearby keypad.
"Well, looks like this is the end of your journey." A
series of loud clacks can be felt through the ground.
With a deep mechanical rumble, the thick numbered
square slides up on its hinges to reveal a deep black
hole. "That is where your sentence is to be carried
out."
A ladder slowly telescopes down into the darkness of
the chamber, stopping at a floor about thirty feet
below. All of my transport leashes are promptly
disconnected, excepting one on my left. It is looped
around the ladder and clipped again to me on the right,
where an agent begins to cinch the leash tighter.
Struggling, I am forced closer and closer to the gaping
hole.
"I like my prisoners to walk under their own power
until the end," Serena explains. "Now go on; take the
first rung." With the leash holding me to the ladder, I
take a terrifying first step on to the ladder and begin
the climb down.
As I descend into the dark, each step I brings more of
a sense of doom. I realize I will never again ascend
past that step as the same person. I am filled with
sadness for the home and the country that I will never
see again. I regret leaving Serena. I am indignant for
what she has done to me. And strangely, in the back of
my mind, I think I find myself in awe of her power. Yet
none of these thoughts can save me from the prison, the
guard, my restraints, and my final descent.
Serena calls down after me. "Careful now; you wouldn't
want to slip. It's a long way down."
=============
CHAPTER SEVEN
=============
Reaching the floor of my unlit cell, I discover that
it, like the walls, is covered with thick spongy foam.
As soon as I am unhooked from the ladder, I begin to
wobble from the lack of solid footing; ultimately
unable to balance, I fall backwards in my bundle and
find myself staring up at the hole through which we
have entered. A handful of agents, navigating the soft
surface like comparative experts, rolls me over
unceremoniously as they rip off my transport wrap,
exposing once more my strait-suited body.
Frustrated, I try to get back on my feet. But though I
am able to roll on to my stomach and back, the floor is
far too soft for me to work my way back to standing.
The sensation of being half buried in foam, rolling and
writhing but unable to move, is like a nightmare.
Suppressing a laugh, Serena kneels by my side. "Oh, you
poor thing. I'm tempted to stand you up just to watch
you try to get back up the ladder. But it's getting
late. I'm afraid you've already walked your last step."
She points a small device upwards. From the dark
corners of the ceiling I see the glint of four metallic
arms descending. As the agents guide them near the
floor, I can see that each terminates in a long spring
and a snap hook. I am flipped one more time on to my
crossed arms as the hooks are attached to the ankles
and shoulders of my strait-suit.
* * *
"One more inch for the shoulders should do it."
Again the arms retract. As they finally pull my crossed
arms clear of the floor, my body starts ever so slowly
to swing free. Pleased with the successful completion
of their task, the agents return in formation to
Serena's side.
Now she holds out her hand, and two black devices are
placed in it. She takes one and inserts the inflatable
bulb firmly past my resistant lips, strapping the gag
into place firmly behind my head. Surveying their joint
handiwork, her inescapably bound future slave, Serena
turns to speak to the agents flanking her.
"Would any of you girls like a minute to touch him? You
have permission from his future mistress. But I remind
you, if he climaxes on your watch ... well, you saw
what happened to Christina."
Perhaps against their best judgment, two daring agents,
probably both in their twenties, step forward
hesitatingly and set upon my body. With Serena's
encouragement, one lavishes attention on my chest while
the other, rather dangerously, hungrily strokes my
rear; my tight restraints intensify their gentle touch.
However, as much as I desperately want revenge -- to
make these beautiful tormentresses share my fate -- as
much as I try in vain to brush up in the right way
against them or the floor, I cannot put myself over the
top. Serena addresses me again, and the happy pair
resumes their former statuesque position.
"You will recall that you have been sentenced to
punitive extraction. Every third day, your punishment
will be briefly suspended, much like you saw earlier,
and you will be offered a chance to divulge relevant
information at the prompting of my intelligence
officers. If they feel you are misleading or stalling
them, they are authorized to intensify your suffering,
so personally, I would stick to the truth." She
realizes with satisfaction, of course, that I have no
relevant truth to offer.
"Periodically you may be sedated for medical
maintenance; after all, we still want you to be in
passable physical shape for your new life. During the
next few weeks we may also need to clean or shave you
to optimize the contacts in the control suit. But you
will be awake for none of that. You will doze off and
then awaken just as before: blinded, restrained,
suspended, and tormented. You will be aware of nothing
but your punishment."
She clasps one hand in the other. "That's all there is
for us. I'll be seeing you on the other side." Watching
me suspended face down in front of her, she thinks up
one last facetious comment.
"Don't be scared," she says. "It's just like
skydiving."
With that she works a black hood snugly over my head,
cinching and locking the straps tight. I hear the
muffled ascent of many female feet and the withdrawal
of the ladder. I hear a profound mechanical rumble, and
then finally massive metallic clacks.
Then I am rapidly lifted toward the ceiling.
* * *
At the control console for cell 56, a female hand
eagerly pushes the lever to half the maximum setting
and locks it in place.
Next to the lever she places a book detailing the
interrogation protocol and how exactly to increase the
stimulus when a prisoner refuses to answer. In the
front cover she leaves a handwritten instruction.
"Increase to maximum stimulus over four weeks; continue
at maximum until verifying psychological destruction
at--" She thinks for a moment before completing the
note.
"Twelve weeks."
* * *
Flying high above the floor, I wait in nervous
anticipation.
Then from between my restrained legs stirs the
slightest tingling.
At first it is just a fleeting warmth, and I am not
even sure it is real. But slowly it builds, gaining the
intensity of hundred gentle hands running up and down,
tickling, lingering, caressing. After a long night
restrained and teased by sensuous women, unable to use
my hands or even to brush up against a soft body, I
hope fervently for sexual release. My breath is
becoming uneven with the stimulation.
Without warning a pulsing current envelops my body.
Locked away securely behind the two layers of suits, my
fingers and toes curl and twitch; my arms jerk but are
held fast. I cry out in pain. As if on cue, the gag
inside my mouth starts to fill with a mechanical
bleating, finally leaving my mouth just slightly
overfull. The room is again quiet, except for my soft
inarticulate grunts and my noisy breathing. The current
subsides somewhat, and the hands begin again.
As I grind my loins against my unseen lovers, writhing
in vain to evade the electrical torment, the suspension
arms suddenly give. My heart jumps with weightlessness
and fear as I fall several feet into the blind
blackness. Catching me, the springs throw me up and
down over and over as the arms slowly draw back again
in preparation for their next unpredictable move.
* * *
Rebounding and twisting dizzily in the darkness,
convulsing with a mixture of pain and ecstasy, I hope
silently that the interrogations will at least help me
maintain a sense of time in the months to come.
And in my brain, the sensory overload starts to wear
away at my synapses, beginning my inescapable descent
into sexual madness.
It would be a very long way down.
- END -
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This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 61