Part 5
**************
I don't remember much else about that wicked trip to the shopping mall. I didn't see
or feel the world around me very much. I was too absorbed in my own little world of
punishment. My world was humiliation, hornyness and pain. The spike pumps hurt
my feet but I wasn't allowed to take them off for even a few minutes. The seamed
stockings felt nice but they had to be adjusted almost constantly. Joan insisted I do
this standing in the middle of the mall and in full view of everybody. Of course, this
drew male attention like flies to honey. The garters were too taut for comfort and
when one of them would come undone, I had a hell of a time re-fastening it without
showing my panties. They still rubbed on my pussy and made it sore. The corset was
heavily boned and laced very tight. It constricted my waist, making my hips look even
bigger. It crushed my breasts and made it hard to breathe. Then there was the butt
plug strapped tightly into my virgin rosebud, distending, stretching and reminding me
of its presence with every movement of my body.
After returning home, Joan didn't say or do much to me. I had to strip naked, but the
plug remained until bedtime, when she finally removed the plug. I could see from the
look on her face that she had enjoyed the day tremendously.
"You haven't had an orgasm today, have you?" she asked wickedly as she helped
me move my legs, bound to the spreader bar, onto the bed. The mittens had been
fitted and I was locked onto my leash. All nice and comfy for a good night's sleep.
Suspicious of her tone, I didn't answer, I just shook my head.
She began to pull the covers into place (always too many so I would be hot and un-
comfortable all night). She was very efficient. I wondered how long it had taken her
to figure out this little routine. I cried for a little while and then, to my surprise, fell
asleep.
By the time Joan came for me in the morning, she released me from my many re-
straints and congratulated me on "being good".
As soon as I stood up, I immediately felt my clit hood and became again horny as
hell. I moaned in frustration and had to take all my will to keep me from rubbing my
legs against each other. Joan looked at me with a bad grin and then added:
"Oh, I have to go out for a while. You had better bring me one of the restraint belts
from your dresser as soon as you are finished."
Restraint belt? I had a flashback of Joan in the hospital. I heard her voice again, "we
can't have you fiddling with yourself."
I began to tremble. It was unfair! I had done what was asked of me. I had lain terribly
horny and sore all night without complaint. Now there was something more. There
was always something more. I was trembling by the time I came back from the bath-
room. It was hard to walk toward my closet, open the drawers one-by-one until I
found the instrument of torture that had been prescribed for me.
It was basically a chastity belt, but the part that ran between the legs was wide and
there were big, efficient locks. Joan was sitting at the breakfast table when I brought
it to her. She ignored me for a few seconds while she finished her coffee. I was so
scared and miserable by then that the tears were streaming down my face and it was
all I could do not to sob. Finally she took the tangle of leather straps from my hand
and looked up at me.
"Come, come, Sandy. It's not all that bad, now."
I shook my head in mute argument. How could she know? How could she guess
what it would feel like to have that wide strap tightened against the full seat of my
crotch, pressing against my skin? Then I remembered my sore pubis. I started to cry
in earnest.
There was no sympathy in Joan's eyes. She evaluated me coldly.
"If you don't shut up immediately I'll find a way to keep you quiet, young lady!"
I was in trouble again and I knew it but I was beyond common sense by then.
"Please, Joan," I sobbed, " I'll be good. I'll do whatever you want. I just want to be
saved from that thing!"
She stood up. In her heels she was at least three inches taller than me. I suddenly
realized that I had gone too far. I was going to get punished even worse.
"I'm sorry." I sputtered but I already knew it was too late.
Half an hour later I was crying for a far different reason. The restraint belt was snug
and locked but that wasn't the worst part. Joan had taken me to the basement where
she had one of those treadmill walking machines. You have to keep walking or the
conveyer belt carries you off the platform. Except, I wasn't going to let that happen,
at least if I wanted to keep my nipples. You see, Joan had produced a pair of nipple
clamps. After making sure that their hot little teeth were firmly sunk into my tender
buds, she chained them to the front of the machine. I was wearing a posture collar
that kept my head arched up. A chain ran from it, down my back, to the handcuffs
that kept my wrists behind my back. She had also made me put on my highest pair of
spike heels.
There was nothing to do but walk, cry and take stock of my sore points. The pres-
sure on my poor pubis was almost unbearable. I gasped with the pain and then
started to cry even more from that. Just minutes after she had started the damned
machine and left on her errands, my pussy began to scream about the belt that
rubbed against it with every step. My feet were killing me from the heels and the nip-
ple clamps felt like red-hot pokers. I tried to ignore it; the most important thing was to
keep track with this damn conveyer. I had to keep walking, keep the nipple chain
slack, don't think, just survive. She was only gone an hour but it felt like a week.
The bitch sat down and watched me for a few minutes before she turned off the ma-
chine and unclipped the nipple chain. As the blood and feeling returned to my buds,
I began to scream my pain into the air. Joan waited patiently for me to finish. After
she let me off the conveyer, I fell into her arms, sobbing, and meaning every word
about how sorry I was and how good I was going to be from now on.
"I know you will be, baby" she said maternally as she started to release me from the
restraint belt and the tower shoes. "You've learned a good lesson today. Now you
may go and shower and repair your make-up. Remember the rules, especially about
touching yourself."
I stumbled upstairs and went into the bathroom. There, I climbed into the tub and
turned on the water. At first the water felt good but as I began to relax, all the abused
parts of my body began their protests. My nipples burned and ached from the needle
clamps, my legs and feet were sore from walking in the high heels, and my abused
pussy screamed its protest when I let the full force of the shower hit it. Defeated, I
cleaned myself up as best I could and then ran a tepid bath. It was all my body could
tolerate.
As I lay in the gentle water and savored my privacy I realized, to my surprise, that I
didn't hate Joan for what she had done to me. A little voice inside me kept repeating
over and over, `you have been a bad girl and now you must be punished'. I believed
that voice.
I looked down at my shaven pubis. I wanted to touch it, to see what a bare pussy felt
like. The little voice told me that Joan could come through the door at any second
and, anyway, she would find out somehow. So, I just stared at it.
Just thinking about sex, I felt the old, familiar itch start. `Forbidden!', the little voice
screamed and I obeyed. Touching myself would only bring trouble and I had enough
for one day. I stood up and began to dry myself off.
By the time I had finished, I was feeling pretty good, all things considered. Before I
started back toward my room, I felt a strange spasm from deep inside my vagina. I
never could imagine before, how it was being so extremely horny, starving for carnal
relief. My punishment wasn't over yet.
In my room, I used the end of a comb to poke in my vagina in desperate search for
any undangerous relief. It was useless. I didn't feel enough from that small thing.
Deep inside my body my hormones were at work and I was troubled from knowing
what the effects would be. I cleaned up my room, made the bed and reluctantly went
to find Joan.
As I went down the hall, I caught my reflection in the mirror and stopped. It was a
strange sight, this mid-20's woman with an attractive face and good figure wearing
just a plastic belt and high heeled shoes. I could see how red and sore my nipples
looked and my face was drawn from lack of sleep. By stripping me of clothes, Joan
had taken away my image as a honorable woman. Like a slut, I was made to parade
around in whatever state of dress or undress the guardian decreed. My breasts were
left free, making me blush with every of their sways.
I remembered Joan's decree about make-up and padded back to my room to obey.
Somehow, the device between my legs seemed thicker and the feel of the carpet
beneath my bare feet that much stranger.
I did the best I could considering my sinking mood and another round of itches be-
tween my love lips. A dab of perfume and I set out again to find my mistress.
Joan must have heard my approach because she was looking right at me when I
entered the living room.
"Ah, there you are. More comfy now, I presume?"
An alarm bell went off in my head but I couldn't figure out why. She normally didn't
talk to me at all, let alone like this, unless...
I turned to see the judge who had sentenced me to Joan's care, sitting in a chair,
looking very pleased with himself. At first, I felt mad at Joan for not warning me to
dress. Then, I realized that she didn't want me to dress. She wanted me displayed,
her sex prisoner, in full gear and nothing to hide it. Instinctively, my arms began to
move toward my breasts, false modesty to be sure, but a second instinct told me to
forget it. It was humiliation time. Another itch from my pussy reminded me that there
might be more to this than a little peek show.
In the court room I had dubbed him an old fart but a closer look now changed my
mind. He was staring at me alright but it wasn't the leer of a dirty old man. Despite
his pot belly and sagging neck there was power emanating from this man and the
cold, calculating look of appreciation in his eyes scared me.
Joan's voice echoed in the room, "Dear, you remember Judge Wilkins, of course.
We've just been discussing your progress and your future."
"So we meet again, young lady, but not in my court. I'm now confident that we'll not
be conducting that kind of offence together again. Joan has been telling me of the
rules you must live by and what happens when you don't. I'm sorry I wasn't here this
morning to see your first taste of real punishment but I'm sure we'll have an opportu-
nity to share that experience together soon."
I looked back at Joan, feeling like a child whose parents have betrayed her latest
misdeeds to the dinner guests. I trembled with dread and sadness. I didn't know
what the judge was hinting at but I was pretty sure I wasn't going to like it at all. Joan
pointed at the floor and I obediently assumed `the position'. Almost immediately I
sensed the pressure on my intimate spot. I felt my face go pale and I bit my lip, the
taste of lipstick surprising me.
Both of them had noticed my distress.
"The clit hood, I take it?" said the judge.
I nodded.
"Well then, I want you to come here so I can have a closer look at you."
Panic-stricken, I looked at Joan. She smiled and nodded, my sentence was con-
firmed. I got up slowly, trying to keep myself calm. As I moved toward the judge, I
realized that Joan's dildo treatment had taken its toll on my control. I was breathing
heavily with desire by the time he reached out and grabbed me around the waist with
both hands, bringing me to sit on his knee. I was rigid, but more from the effort to
keep myself reacting too slutty than from revulsion at his touch.
He began to move his hands over my naked rear, caressing it almost reverently. He
made little cooing sounds when he noticed my damaged nipples. When I felt one of
his hands slip beneath my rear globes, I tried to forced myself to stare at the floor
but instead, found myself looking at the tent his erection made in his suit trousers.
Immediately, my pussy convulsed and cried for a cock. He urged me to stand while
his left hand cupped my ass. I moaned with frustration, humiliation and the effort of
trying to hold back my emotions.
Then he sent his right hand down my belly, searching for the bared little mound. I
was afraid he would make me horny but not let me come. He fondled my slit and be-
gan to massage my neither lips. At first the misused flesh protested his touch, how-
ever, it didn't take long before I felt myself get wet. Despite my best efforts at self
control, I felt my body respond. My next moan was of pleasure.
The hand at my ass disappeared. He began to work on my breasts, first with his
hand and then adding his tongue. It had been soooo long and I was hot. I felt the
orgasm begin to build even as the pain from the soreness of my nipples made me
clench my buttocks and grit my teeth. It was a bittersweet chorus of pleasure and
painful spasms.
"You seem troubled, my dear. Would you like me to stop?"
His voice seemed far away. I was lost in my own little world but somehow I managed
to shake my head. A soft moan of frustration escaped my parched throat. His fingers
increased their stroking and massaging, responding to my little grunts of pleasure.
He was skilled and knew how to find the right places.
Suddenly he stopped. I grunted in surprise and momentarily lost my concentration. It
was the chance for which my body had been looking, and it has gone. Involuntary
muscle contractions shattered my lower body. I took a step backward, engulfed in
the fading arousal and the escalating revulsion of having lost control of myself.
Paralyzed, I stared down at him while he grinned at me broadly. I heard little whim-
pers and then realized that I was making those sounds. His face had taken on color.
His eyes were bright as if he had been drinking. He didn't even blink as he drank in
the scene of my desperation. He licked his lips and suddenly I realized that he had
gotten what he wanted. There never would have been an orgasm. He wanted me to
confuse pleasure and pain. He wanted to use me like a toy, to amuse himself, to
have pleasure from my discomfort.
By the time I got my breath back, I felt dirty, ashamed and humiliated. Suddenly I
couldn't look at him any more and stared at the floor.
"It's just as well you didn't come," Joan said almost consolingly, "it would have meant
a week in chastity belts."
I thought about that for a second and then began to cry, silently. My single sob broke
the thick silence in the room.
"It's time to get things put right," the judge said, "starting with this."
I didn't have to look to know what he was talking about. Part of me had already
guessed that servicing him was in the game plan. I used to enjoy blowing a man but
not now, not wearing a wicked device over my aching clit threatened to cause me
pain the first time I touched it; and especially not for a man who had just robbed me
of a much needed orgasm.
There was no point making things worse by resisting. I thought of the treadmill
downstairs and how much this guy would love to get his rocks off by watching me go
through that horror again. I licked my lips. My mouth was so dry it was going to be
hard to do it right. When I finally got up enough nerve to look at him, I wasn't sur-
prised to see that he had already dropped his pants and was fondling his pole rever-
ently. I wanted to check with Joan but discovered she had left the room. That made
me anxious. What was she up to now?
My head hanging, I went to him and kneeled carefully. No matter how awful I felt,
things would only get worse if I performed poorly. I took him into my mouth and be-
gan to work my tongue up and down his shaft. I was rewarded with a soft moan and
a congratulatory pat on the back. I just prayed he wouldn't try to caress my bum
again.
I tried my very best to please him. My mouth was sucking, stroking, rubbing, finding
out what he likes and then give him all he wants until I would get a mouthful of cum.
Normally I did this only for a man who had attracted me. This time I was doing it to
thank someone for robbing me of an orgasm and making me humiliate myself. It
seemed so absurd.
He came in a great chorus of moans and cries, shooting gobs of the stuff against the
back of my throat. I was so dry that I was almost grateful for the fluid. I cleaned him
up with my tongue and then carefully stood up, trying not to look him in the face
again.
"Well done," he said while putting his pants on.
I heard Joan come back into the room.
"Here's a little reward."
I looked over to see her holding a feeding bag, hose and restraint gag over a plastic
sheet on the floor. I whimpered my protest. I had been good. I had done everything
they wanted. Why couldn't they leave me alone?
Joan pointed to the floor. I knew by now that it was useless to protest so I went over
and kneeled down, feeling the urge in my loins grow again when I sat back on my
heels. I noticed the judge was watching carefully as Joan locked my wrists behind
my back with a pair of steel cuffs and then fitted the feeding gag into my mouth,
tightening all the straps more than was necessary, considering I didn't have any
hands. Joan put the bag on the top shelf of a bookcase, warned me not to pull it off
and turned on the valve that sent a rush of baby formula into my mouth. I started
swallowing, it was that or drown.
I was doing fine until Joan blindfolded me. It was the stroke of a genius really. Sud-
denly my world was confined to the feeling of my aching breasts, my sore legs and
the residual arousal in my pubis. I listened to the rhythmic sounds of my constant
swallowing and started to cry. I didn't care what they did to me any more. Eventually,
I tuned into the conversation and realized with horror that my fate was being de-
cided.
"You've done well with her in so short a time," said the judge.
"Thank you. I appreciate your cooperation. She's the fourth, isn't she?"
"From your program. Cindy and Samantha have had more traditional training. I'm
intrigued. I definitely want her for my collection."
"Of girls in pain? You're a real nice guy. I think that you would find her range of use
a bit of a nuisance. Besides, I'm not sure I'm finished with her. Those medic folks are
willing to pay well for accurate testing her chastity hood. How about taking her for a
couple of days a week? That will give me time to find another girl and get her started
and you can have your fun."
"I'll want her all night sometimes."
"That can be arranged. I want her restrained at night but you can handle that, I'm
sure."
The judge laughed, "There are advantages to having your home and office in an old
police station."
They talked some more about other things. I had heard enough to go into panic.
Joan was hard to cope with but she was predictable and followed her own rules. The
judge liked to inflict pain. That was another story. It sounded as if I had better endear
myself to Joan if I wanted to stay out of his clutches on a permanent basis. Finally
my feeding bag was empty. Joan released me and ordered me to get cleaned up and
changed in ten minutes.
I went through the ritual mechanically, my mind distracted by what I had heard. I did-
n't even care about how badly the shower hurt. Back in my room I found some baby
scent Vaseline and coated my pubic area with it. I also used a lot of powder to try
and prevent more rash. Just as I was starting to leave my room, Joan walked in and
told me to get ready to go out to dinner. My costume was to be a mini skirt, high
pumps and a sexy blouse. She pulled the clothes from my closet and then, as an
after thought, she found a pair of pink plastic panties with lace ruffles sewn across
the seat. I was told to put these on.
Fear gripped me as I struggled with the clothes and tried to control my shaking
hands enough to put on make-up. Fear of exposure, fear of discovery, fear of hu-
miliation, it was all the same. Despite having been made to drink two quarts of baby
formula my mouth was dry again.
One last look in the mirror. Yes, the ruffles peaked out from underneath the mini
skirt. Joan called me from the other room. I was out of time. I had to go out looking
like this and the two of them were likely going to enjoy it all.
The judge leered at me and told me to model the outfit for him. I did a few steps and
a model's spin. He laughed, smiled, and said I looked "perfect". I guess Joan saw
the look on my face because she told me to start smiling or she would make sure I'd
regret the consequences.
The judge drove a Lincoln. By the time we reached the $50 a plate restaurant, I had
more important things to worry about. The valet took the Lincoln and the judge es-
corted his ladies into the posh lobby. My face was beet red and I kept looking about
anxiously to see if anyone was staring. When I caught my reflection in a full length
mirror, I wanted to die from embarrassment. I didn't know how I was going to walk
across the floor of the restaurant without stopping every conversation in the room.
Joan grabbed my elbow and told me to hurry up. There was to be no time for self-
pity.
I got a lot of stares as we were led to our table but I didn't exactly stop the show.
When the Maitre d' Hotel held my chair for me, I could feel his eyes burning into my
impressive cleavage. I swear he deliberately touched my breasts while adjusting the
chair.
The judge ordered Martinis for Joan and himself and a Shirley Temple for me. Just
as he was bringing them, Joan dropped her cigarettes.
"Pick them up!" she ordered.
The bitch! She knew what she was doing. I felt a tremor of fear course through my
body. With all the eyes already on me, there was no way I could bend down without
showing my rear end to the entire restaurant. She repeated the command again and
this time I saw her take the remote controller for my belt out of her purse. I didn't
need any more encouragement. I dipped down as fast as I could and handed her the
smokes. She had that satisfied look on her face that made me hate her the way a
child loathes a parent for handing out punishment. I took a quick glance around. It
confirmed that I had become the topic of conversation at most of our neighboring
tables. The men turned and stared. The women gave me penetrating side-long
looks. I wondered what would happen if I made off for the ladies' room.
They didn't talk to me during the meal but I kept my ears open. I found out that the
judge had two girl slaves who worked in his private offices. Both had been offered
the chance to escape prison by cooperating with him. Officially it was called Super-
vised Parole with the judge as the Parole Officer. As far as I could tell the girls would
have been better off in the joint. The judge put the cells in the basement of his office
(a former police station) to good use. The girls were basically his prisoners and he
obviously enjoyed creative ways to correct their real or perceived misdeeds.
I was feeling sick at the prospect of being delivered into this guy's clutches. I thought
of escape but most of my friends were decent people who didn't know about my drug
affair and were too straight to be able to cope with me turning up in this special pris-
oner's outfit and the law on my tail. I wasn't going to get very far. Even if I had
money, I was legally under Joan's jurisdiction. If I went to the papers, the judge
would pull some strings. I would still have to go back to Joan but with even more
punishment coming my way. There was nothing else to do but to stay with Joan.
