 |
|||
|
|
The Foundation
12
The Science of Abuse
Daphne Maxwell and Hector Ceballos rose from the leather sofa as a young woman in prison uniform walked into the reception foyer. Pamela Clayton strode across the pristine white tiles with a firm athletic tread that reminded Daphne of Rosa Ortiz. The uniform of tight skirt, white blouse and dark blue tie was not as revealing or as tempting as Rosa’s outfit of black boots and skin tight grey leggings, but Daphne noted her ample breasts and broad shoulders. Carmel had often spoken of her chief guard, the woman who orchestrated the schedule of pain, degradation and humiliation that ensured The Foundation transformed whores, drug dealers and criminals into convict bondage whores, ready and able for every possible indignity.
“Judge Maxwell, Senor Ceballos, thank you for finding the time to visit us. I know that you have both taken a keen interest in our work here. I’m sorry that Miss De Bois is not available today, but she asked me to show you Dr Cartwright’s excellent work in our infirmary.”
“I completely understand. I never work on my birthday.”
Hector noticed the lingering handshake between the two women, and realised why Carmel had chosen her birthday, a day when she would be absent from work, to invite Maxwell to visit the breast augmentation clinic. He decided to help.
“Carmel speaks so highly of your work, Miss Clayton. She told me only last week that, without you, we would be six months behind our timetable.”
Clayton only offered her guests a modest smile as she led them into the prison.
They passed a prisoner squatting on a plinth, driving her anus into a wide wooden plug set into the concrete block.
“What is your crime, whore?”
“I was last out of the yard after mealtime, Mistress Clayton,” the prisoner gasped, breathless from repeatedly impaling herself on the stick that, Daphne noticed, was smeared with juices and traces of blood.
“So, for punishment they asked you to sit here and gently nudge yourself like a grandmother on a Sunday afternoon.”
“No, Mistress, please.” The pace of the anal hammering increased as Clayton ran her baton along the open thighs of the prisoner.
“Faster, bitch.” The prisoner unleashed a frenzied pounding against the plug, almost reaching the concrete base with her buttocks as she grasped her breasts to massage the nipples, reaching down to lick the hardened skin. She turned to the two visitors.
“Please, kind Sir, kind Mistress, I’m begging you. Ask Mistress Clayton not to punish me, please.” She panted out a promise to lick the judge’s pussy and suck the cock of Senor Ceballos if they would plead her case. Ceballos cast a swift glance at Clayton, and she gave him a brief nod.
“Are you a complete slut?” Ceballos asked.
“I am, kind Sir. I deserve to be abused. I was late, and I’m sorry. I promise it won’t happen again. Please don’t let Mistress Clayton torture my sore pussy.”
They agreed to leave the girl on the plinth to ravage her anus for another hour, Hector declining her gracious offer of fellatio. They discussed the prisoner’s breasts as she bounced on the plinth, Daphne being greatly impressed with their shape and consistency. Pamela mentioned that the backside had also been altered and the prisoner removed herself from the pole to show her reshaped buttocks to her guests before mounting her spike to continue her ordeal.
“Do you notice that she was abusing herself without a guard? She’s been conditioned to accept her pathetic role. She wanted to avoid an electric shock from my baton, but she does not ask to avoid two hours of anal torture for being the last from the yard after lunch.”
“Is that why you didn’t hit her, because she was doing as she was told?”
“Judge Maxwell, you understand our work so well. She would only be punished if she had stopped altogether, but she was ravaging herself even though she did not see us. You can also see that she is neither bound nor gagged. We only use restraint in the early phases or when we wish to demean and degrade them before visitors, who usually like to see our subjects in chains.” She stroked the prisoner’s hair as she panted on the plinth. “The occasional warning and reminder of our power is all that is necessary. She has now learnt the lesson not to be slow from the yard and to be energetic when punishing her holes, even when no one is present.” Pamela only needed to tap her baton on the plinth for the captive to heighten the length and speed of her strokes. “Our prisoners are often required to abuse themselves, or abuse other prisoners. It is a question of control rather than simply inflicting pain. However, we need to demonstrate that we can impose pain or discomfort. That is one of the reasons why so much of our treatment involves anal penetration. Anal sex is painful for most women and offers them little chance of sexual release.” Daphne asked for the prisoner to rub her clitoris, and she immediately reached between her lips to stroke herself, moaning with delight with every caress.
“It is a question of maintaining a consistent, dedicated and persistent approach. The methods must be systematic and measured, and you must never lose your temper. You must show virtually no interest in them. You only abuse them to exploit their bodies for financial gain. That is the objective of The Foundation. This woman is no more than a piece of meat. She is three holes and a pair of breasts to be used by paying customers. The subject must learn that their value rests on their sexual performance.”
“Subject?” Daphne questioned the word.
“You need to adopt a scientific approach if you wish to transform these subjects into willing bondage whores, able to perform all forms of degrading and painful sexual acts.”
“You have no interest in abusing them without just cause?”
“No. The purpose is to make them shameless. As you can see and you heard earlier, they have no dignity. She begged you to help her avoid a single dose of this electric baton. There is virtually no disgrace too great for them.”
“Is there anything you would not do?” Hector asked.
“I have my limits, Senor Ceballos. Others, well, some others do not. I cannot claim to be perfect, and I have … occasionally indulged myself, but I like to keep my working day and my leisure time separate. Once my work here is done, I am quite willing to take one of the subjects and … entertain myself. Let’s leave this whore to her … therapy and find Dr Cartwright.”
The door from the courtyard opened into a large darkened room with four sets of stocks set beside a large table. A nurse dressed in a short blue dress with a white cap and apron emerged from the darkness at the back of the room. Neither her stare not her silence welcomed her guests and an awkward moment ensued until Dr Cartwright, a short woman in her early forties with a sweep of auburn hair and hazel eyes behind her glasses, appeared from her office to eagerly greet her visitors and offer them a tour of her dismal laboratory.
“We have four booths to treat prisoners, but usually we just administer two doses at a time.” She wheeled out a trolley holding a large black machine smothered in tubes attached to bottles of green liquid. She removed two metal discs to reveal two hubs, each with two rings of needles radiating out from a large spike.
“There are seventeen needles. One needle into the nipple, four needles three centimetres from the nipple and a further twelve needles six centimetres from the nipple. Each daily dose requires three separate injections.”
A nod to the nurse sent her away to return a minute later with two naked convicts. She slipped a collar onto each girl to haul them to the stocks, frequently slapping their thighs as she secured them by the neck, wrists and ankles to metal rods. The neck and hand rod was set low, so the buttocks protruded out from the ankle restraint.
“Nurse Thurman loves her work.”
“I can see.”
“Number sixty four and number eighty three.” The doctor lifted the hair to check the numbers tattooed on her necks, and placed a mark on her clipboard while her colleague thrust a gag into the mouth of each prisoner.
Nurse Thurman placed the hub of the device against both breasts of each girl and then set the machine in motion. The contraption rolled forward about three inches, sending the needles into the breasts. A few seconds later the liquid began to move in the tubes and the bottles slowly drained to the faint whirr of the mechanism. Both girls winced as the needles sank into the skin.
“How long does the entire process take?”
“It depends on the desired size, but if we to expand the breast size beyond the current standard for adult entertainment artists, we would require a course of injections lasting about … six weeks. After that the time, and money invested sees a diminishing return.”
“We can increase our production?” Daphne asked, moving away from the girls who were writhing in their shackles. Nurse Thurman administered a series of blows with the electric baton, but the patients continued to struggle.
“Certainly. The procedure is fairly simple. I am familiar with the doses and Nurse Thurman and I can deal with any complications.”
“The nurse is penetrating those two prisoners with an anal plug. Is that part of the treatment?” Hector asked.
Dr Cartwright uttered a discreet cough.
“Nurse Thurman … enjoys working amongst naked and bound whores.”
“I don’t blame her. These girls are, as one of my distinguished friends stated, good enough to eat.”
“Judge Maxwell, would you like to partake?” It was Pamela Clayton who asked.
“No thank you, and I would like you to call me Daphne. Do these naked girls … excite you, Miss Clayton?”
“I am fortunate that my work is also my hobby, and you may call me Pamela.”
A scream from the next room ended their intimate talk. Dr Cartwright and Pamela exchanged a disgusted look that was not lost on Daphne.
“A difficult prisoner?”
“A difficult … sheriff.”
“Rosa is here? I didn’t know she still came, after … last week.”
“She’s still here virtually every day.” Cartwright’s comment sounded like a complaint. “After she did so much harm … It’s just so annoying.”
“Shelley, please. Judge Maxwell and Sheriff Ortiz are … close.”
“Where is she?” Pamela hesitated to answer, but Daphne insisted on seeing her lover. Another scream sent Daphne on her way.
Rosa Ortiz stood over the prisoner lying on the table, wielding an encrusted baton glowing crimson in the pale light. The woman had fainted and Ortiz was attempting to rouse her with blows to the buttocks and back. A swift glance at his companion told Hector that the judge was profoundly shocked by the scene.
“Rosa. You’ll kill her.” Rosa appeared to be intoxicated, her bloodshot eyes glaring across the room. “Sometimes, Rosa, I think you go too far.” Rosa said nothing, still breathless from her abuse of the bound whore.
“There’s plenty more meat at this market.”
“It’s not your meat, Rosa.”
“I am the law in this town.”
A tense silence descended as Daphne moved closer to the table to see the girl lying in a pool of blood around the head. She was relieved to touch her neck and find that she was still alive.
“Rosa.” Daphne’s voice was no more than a whisper. “This is the second time in less than a week that you’ve nearly killed a prisoner. I would like you to go home. We’ll talk about this tonight.”
|
|
|