Pentonbridge Pig

Chapter 17 Correction Commences

Emily timidly opened her mouth as the flattened metal bit was pushed inside. The thin metal projection slid deep inside her, depressing her tongue as Technician Rosen fastened the strap behind her head. The gagging girl's head pushed forward as her body tried unsuccessfully to eject the foreign invader.

The sides of her mouth were pulled back by the supporting shaft and she was unable to close her mouth, causing drool to almost instantly appear on her lips. She stretched her neck, tilting her head back and shook her head from side to side. Nothing worked, she could not dislodge the gag that prevented her not only from closing her mouth but effectively stopped her from speaking.

She could not stop working her tongue against the flattened piece of metal as her wrists were cuffed behind her back. The metal bit almost touched the back of her throat and her battle to push it out was neverending. Her ankles were soon cuffed together and she shuffled and wriggled her legs to get her tag into a more comfortable position. It had been trapped between her thighs, twisted uncomfortably. It was not something she had experienced before as she had rarely been allowed to keep her legs closedr. Emily grunted as her elbows were brought together severely and fastened with a strap.

The next moment saw her arms lifted towards the ceiling via a chain attached to her wrists. Emily tried to accommodate the painful movement, arching her back and doing her best to adapt to the unnatural position. The chain kept rising, causing Emily to shuffle in ever more frantic desperation. Her feet were secured tightly together and she was soon standing on only her toes, which provided a very unstable point of balance. Her arms were now pulled horizontally behind her and it took all of her efforts to remain standing.

A long string of drool slid down the metal brank and fell to the floor beneath her. Emily mewled quietly at the strain of her position. She had been moved to station seven and Technician Rosen had prepared her for her first set of corrections in a quiet, efficient manner. Each movement she made was professional and correct. She spoke to Emily the entire time, describing the apparatus she was using and the effect that they would produce. This did nothing to assuage the young girl’s fears. Knowing exactly what was being done and then experiencing it firsthand was far from comforting.

“The request for fifteen strokes for disobedience will now be discharged at station seven. For this request a single-tail whip will be utilised. A brank of standard regulation has been employed to prevent the inmate from further disobedient outbursts. It has been judged by this technician that the inmate has insufficient mental capacity to govern her speech during correction. A permanent note has been made to this effect. A gag of some order will be employed for all future correction sessions.”

This official spiel now over, Technician Rosen stepped behind the trussed girl and flicked the chosen whip to gauge the range. A blow had not been landed and already Emily was crying. Her belly tightened in anticipation as she waited for the first strike to land. The fear that she felt was almost as bad as the pain she knew was to come. She knew that once it began she would beg for it to stop, but right now she just wanted to be out of this room. She wanted her punishment to be over and done with. She wanted to be back in her cell.

Emily could hear the frightening swish of the whip behind her. After two practice swings the first lash landed across the trembling girl's buttocks. She jerked forward in her bonds, tottering on her tiptoes as the pain lanced through the soft flesh of her behind. It felt like a great knife had lacerated her tender skin, though she knew now that this would not be the case. The amount of pain she felt bore no resemblance to the evidence left on her body. A thin red welt across both cheeks was all that marked her skin. It was almost unseen amongst the already healing bruises of the caning of the day before.

Emily gurgled into her gag, pushing a great string of ropey drool from her mouth. A second blow landed straight after the first, with a third a few seconds later. Technician Rosen had established her rhythm: landing a blow and drawing the whip back in one smooth motion.

The first correction session was over in a matter of minutes. Fifteen lashes had been applied to Emily’s buttocks and thighs, leaving the young girl a blubbering mess. She continued to twist and turn on her toes well after the last lash had landed. Her chest heaved with each fresh sob and she could not stop the unending wave of tears.

Her legs quivered as she felt the warm hand of Technician Rosen trace a number of the marks on her back. A competent spacing, mused the technician. She was not unhappy with her work, but she could do much better. She took her work seriously, seeing each correction as a chance to perfect the art of punishment. It was an art in great demand, and for someone like her, it was more a life-choice than a simple vocation. She had transformed room 303 from an almost bare room, containing the most meagre of equipment, to a well stocked chamber of correction.

Emily listened to the mused mumblings of her tormentor and could not believe what she heard. The placement of each stroke was important to this woman? Emily realised that to Technician Rosen, she was not a person. She was simply an object on which she could perfect her experiments in torture. She was not important, her welfare was not important. All that mattered to this woman was performing the corrections, inflicting pain and suffering in the most efficient and effective way. She suddenly felt more afraid than she had ever been in her life.

This woman had no interest in how Emily felt, she had no investment in her well-being. If she was badly injured during one of these sessions, the technician would view it as simply an experiment that needed to be refined. The wicked apparatus that dotted the room were designed with only one result: to facilitate the delivery of pain.

Emily’s eyes darted from device to device but she was completely unable to imagine what each would be for. She was totally unprepared for this experience, never having believed, even for a second, she would ever have found herself receiving pain of any kind, especially not this bizarrely formal setting.

Without warning her arms were slowly lowered and the chain detached from her wrist cuffs. The relief that flushed through her body was immediate. She was able to place her feet flat on the floor and had not realised how much strain had been placed on her calves and feet. She longed to stretch her arms, to roll her shoulders and ease the aching muscles that had been contorted so severely but it was all she could do to stay standing and not collapse into a dishevelled heap on the floor. Her knees still trembled as the cuffs at both wrist and ankle were removed.

As the technician moved away, Emily scurried to her position by the far wall. She stepped onto the spiked square and stood at attention facing the front wall. The annoying gag had not been removed and a constant stream of drool dripped down her chin, onto her breasts and belly. She had quickly learnt not to push the gag too much with her tongue. She could barely move the thin metal pad and all that was achieved was a fresh gagging sensation as the rounded end of the bit pushed at the back of her throat.

She was no longer restrained and she could easily reach up and remove the gag, a simple process of undoing the strap behind her head, but she dared not do so. Not only did she fear the repercussions but she knew it was wrong, she knew that her life now revolved around complete obedience.

‘Pig,” called Rosen, from a fresh station.

Emily turned and hurried to the next device that would be used to cause her pain. Technician Rosen stood beside a basic block of wood. It stood four feet off the ground on small stubby wooden legs. It was three feet long and two wide. She could see two half-cuffs of metal hinged open on the top of the box and two that hung from each side. Even as she approached, scrutinising every detail, she could not determine just how this was to be used and just how she would fit onto it.

“Up pig,” said Rosen, patting the top of the box. “Lie face down, your legs will rest along the top of the box.”

Emily stepped hesitantly forward and climbed awkwardly atop the box. She lowered her body down but was unable to fit her body along the top of the box without her legs extending way beyond the end of the wooden rectangle. She knew this was not right as the cuffs atop the box were clearly designed for her ankles. The bewildered girl flicked her head back to look at Technician Rosen when she felt a forceful tapping on the underside of her buttocks. Emily quickly caught on and realised she needed to scoot forward. She kept wriggling forward until her upper body was pushed entirely off the end of the box, her arms extended to the floor supporting her now inverted torso.

She felt her head rush with blood as she kept herself upright while the technician secured her ankles into the waiting cuffs. It was a simple process of flipping the cuff closed and turning a latch. Her legs were now pinned between the crescenst of immutable metal and the hard wooden surface of the box. Her feet dangled over the edge and her hips pushed uncomfortably into the hard wooden surface at the opposite end. Emily could feel the drool pooling on the roof of her mouth and tilted her head back, causing a long frothy string to slide over her nose and down over her eyes. There was nothing else she could do while the bit rested frustratingly inside her.

“This is station eleven pig,” Rosen explained as she took each of Emily’s arms and brought them back, restraining them in matching cuffs at the side of the box. ”This station will provide unobstructed access to the full length of both legs: the buttocks, upper thighs and calves. The feet are also a target of interest at this station but as we have only fifteen strokes we shall be utilising only the three aforementioned zones.”

Emily closed her eyes and steeled herself for the coming ordeal. She could just see, through the blur of drool and the ragged curtain of her hair, the technician’s booted feet move around the box. She had tried to wriggle into a slightly more comfortable position once all four limbs had been secured but all she had managed was to shake more drool down her already soaked face. The freightened girl blinked the bubbly saliva from her eyes and breathed as calmly as she could, feeling her body moving a little with each breath. Her breasts were mashed into the side of the wooden box and it prevented her from completely filling her lungs.

“The request for fifteen strokes for laziness will now be discharged at station eleven. For this request a cane of gauge 3 will be utilised. A brank of standard regulation has been applied to the inmate. The fifteen strokes requested will be apportioned equally between buttocks, thigh and calf,” Technician Rosen recited, as if providing explanation to some unseen audience.

Emily tensed her body in preparation for the first stroke to land. Her buttocks were already bruised from the previous day’s caning and numerous strikes of the whip in the session only just completed. Would the strokes on her abused mounds hurt more because of this patchwork of bruises and welts. Would the first blows land on her buttocks? Would they all land in the one spot before moving onto another or maybe one each until all had been completed. She had no idea why such thoughts were whirling around her head. Why was she wondering about the procedure of her punishment?

All she needed to know was that she would soon be screaming in pain and there was nothing she could do. She was completely at the mercy of the technician, her body exposed and unable to be moved. She could not prevent a single blow from landing, nor could she turn her body away from the full force of each stroke. All that was left was for her to endure the punishment and even in that she had no real choice.

The silently sobbing girl's senses had been heightened by the prolonged wait for the first blow to land. She had heard the practice swings performed by her tormentor, the harsh whistling sound of the thin wooden rod flying through the air caused goosebumps to raise along her side. Emily heard the first strike coming a split second before the stout cane impacted the soft flesh of her buttocks.

The young girl screamed as the pain sliced through her composure, the bit, seated deeply in her mouth, converting the bestial howl to a gurgling grunt. As the second blow landed on her buttocks, answering one question her curiosity had dredged up to distract her, the drool pooling in her mouth caused her to cough and splutter as she tried to draw a ragged pain-wracked breath.

“Inmate is experiencing difficulty breathing due to excessive salivation. Session suspended,” said Technician Rosen, resting the cane casually across the back of Emily’s knees.

The distressed girl felt her lank hair being gently gathered up into a ponytail behind her head. How the fuck was that supposed to allow her to breath, Emily fumed, the pain coursing through her abused flesh, firing her flagging spirits. Get this fucking metal out of my mouth and I will be fine she screamed silently to herself. Instead, her head was yanked roughly backwards until her face was now parallel with the floor. A fresh flood of ropey saliva instantly fell from her mouth and pooled on the floor below her.

“Inmate has been supplied with further restraint, elevating the head to facilitate gravitational expulsion of saliva. Session will recommence, fifteen strokes.”

No, no that’s wrong Emily pleaded. It’s only thirteen. No, please. Emily was so distraught at the first two strokes not being counted, at the complete unfairness of the situation, that she attempted to speak. She was rewarded with a mumbled, rasping lisp that was barely audible in the room. The severe angle of her neck created by having her hair tied to some point behind her, restricted her ability to create any sound. This was only reinforced as the first, or third, stroke of the cane slammed into the bruised flesh of her buttocks. A tiny squeak was all that came from the abused girl, despite every muscle in her body tensing to give voice to her suffering.

The next fourteen strokes sank Emily into a maelstrom of agony from which she felt she would never surface. Her entire body tensed for each imagined blow, exhausting her meagre reserves of energy. When she was sure no blow would land, she tentatively relaxed only to have her torment renewed as the slim cane flew with unerring skill to impact on her exposed, vulnerable flesh. Her delicate composure had been overwhelmed by the ordeal, leaving her a quivering mass of broken flesh.

Her face was a mess: eyes red and bloodshot from the constant strain of crying, nose oozing thick strings of mucus that reached to the ground where they joined the growing pool of frothy saliva, her cheeks burning with shame and the stress of her inverted position. Emily grunted as her right hand hit the hard floor, scraping the knuckles painfully on the rough surface.

Before she fully realised she was being released, her mind still whirling in the tumult of despair, her left hand hit the floor and she supported herself by instinct. She slowly forced herself back to the present, back from the amorphous plane of desperation and wretchedness into which she had sunk, and realised her legs were also being released.

Emily’s head almost swung to hit the side of the wooden box as the strain on her hair was suddenly removed. She was now free of the infernal box and knew she had to move. She knew she had to make it to her position before she incurred any further counts of disobedience. The exhausted girl slid her legs to one side and slowly crawled her body onto the wooden box. Technician Rosen had already moved to the next station, Emily’s plight no concern of hers now the correction had been completed.

Can I crawl to my position, Emily thought, her brain moving at the speed of cold molasses. No, she managed finally in silent reply, I will get in trouble for sure. The dejected girl struggled to her feet and hobbled slowly to her position. The instant she stepped onto the plastic spikes her demeanour changed. Her posture improved and she lifted her head higher, as if the small plastic protrusions had somehow injected her with renewed vigour.

Emily stared at the blank wall in front of her, trying her best to stand at attention and ignore the discomfort in her feet. It was as nothing to the pain that radiated in slow, throbbing waves from her legs and buttocks. The thin welts of the single-tail whip blazed with a focused intensity but they felt like fading bee-stings compared to the fresh strokes of the cane she had received. Emily could feel each individual cane stroke on her calves and thighs but those on her buttocks had melded with the ache of her previous punishment.

Each part of her body seemed to contribute its own share of pain: her mouth and lips ached from the constant pressure of the metal bit, her wrists and ankles were scraped from her attempts to escape the strict metal restraints, her hips hurt from impacting the hard wooden box edge as each stroke had landed and the muscles in her shoulder and neck still spasmed as they attempted to readjust after their painful stretching.

How much more of this could she stand? It was a question that Emily could not answer, though she knew there was really only one conclusion open to her. She would endure whatever her superiors deemed necessary. She no longer played a part in the direction her life was to take, she had but to obey and accept. Anything else was just fantasy on her part.

The forlorn girl resigned herself to her fate. She would do her best to please the guards and the warden. She did not think there was any pleasing Technician Rosen, she was like an automaton of torture, showing more feeling for her apparatus of abuse than she did for the subjects that inhabited them.

“Pig.”

Emily turned to find Technician Rosen on the far side of the room. She eagerly stepped away from her position, the sharp pain in her feet subsiding almost immediately. Each time she stood on the plastic square she had to fight the compulsion to constantly wriggle and shift her position, desperately seeking a more comfortable spot. No doubt such movement would be seen as disobedience and anyway there was nowhere on the small square that contained less spikes. She had resigned herself to accept the discomfort and pain, after all it paled in comparison to the agony that radiated from the rest of her body.

The last five strokes, Emily thought. Well then she had the punishments she had accrued during the session, but she was almost finished with the punishment that had landed her in the room in the first place. If she hadn’t been so stupid she would be on her way back to the safety of her cell after these. Why could she not just do as she was told? Emily’s jaw set as she approached her final station, she could not just do as she was told because she wasn’t told anything. She had been trapped and persecuted into the infractions. She really wasn’t like that and she didn’t deserve to be treated this way. 

As she stepped in front of the waiting technician a little fire sparked in her belly. She was better than this, all this. She was better than all the women here, guards and prisoners alike. She could make it through this. Just make it through this last station and she would show these bitches, she would show everyone that she was someone who would not be broken. She would surprise them all.

Emily’s inner pep talk was disrupted as Technician Rosen grabbed the ring at the front of her collar and dragged her forward. The naked girl stumbled toward a large metal pole that projected horizontally from the wall itself. It was set at the height of her neck, the end a padded hole into which her collar ring was slotted. The technician pulled her tight into the pole so her collar was flush with the padded end before slotting a peg through the top of the pole, fastening Emily securely. The trembling girl watched cross-eyed as the peg was clamped underneath the pole and locked into place. 

“Right leg up pig,” Rosen instructed, tapping the back of Emily’s thigh. 

Emily obediently raised her leg and placed her ankle in the waiting cuff that sat atop a small crossbar that protruded from the wall. When the cuff closed she was left standing on one leg, her right stretched in front of her and firmly fastened in place. The bottom of her foot actually rested against the smooth brick of the wall. Emily could feel the muscles in her thigh begin to strain. She didn’t dance nor do yoga or any other of the popular fitness fads, but she now wished that she had. She shuffled on her left foot trying to find a more comfortable position, knowing as she did so how futile an endeavour it was.

She could not lift herself up, as the tight restraint at her collar prevented her from moving either up or down or to the side. Her hands remained free, and she had opted to keep them behind her back until advised otherwise, but she was trapped, completely immobile. She could not free herself no matter how hard she tried. 

“The request for five strokes for solicitation will now be discharged at station nine. For this request a grade 6 hose will be utilised. A brank of standard regulation has been fitted to the inmate,” intoned Technician Rosen in her near robotic voice. 

Emily tried to twist her head and look at the woman, who stood to her side, but was only able to make out a blurry outline. What the fuck was this hose? The mention of the brank had reminded her of the intrusive metal shaft and a fresh wave of effort to expel the bit started involuntarily. Strings of drool dribbled slowly out of her mouth to land on her already glistening breasts. 

“Now pig, this is not strictly by the book, but to have only five strokes at this station just does not sit right. What I shall do to rectify this is to trade one count of disobedience for an additional stroke at this station. This will allow three strokes on each thigh and will provide the necessary symmetry,” explained Technician Rosen, with obvious satisfaction. 

Emily simply swallowed uncomfortably and tensed her muscles for the inevitable blow. She knew the technician had but one priority, to see the punishment earned be delivered correctly, but this cold, calculating assessment of the situation, an assessment that did not even factor in that there was a living, breathing, feeling human being involved, sent Emily spiralling down upon a fresh whirlpool of despair. She tried to steel herself for the coming punishment but she was too overwhelmed, her thoughts too scattered, to ready herself for the first blow. 

Her hands flew to the pole at her neck and gripped it furiously as the tortured scream gurgled and died in the back of her throat. The pain that exploded in her right thigh left her pale of face and shivering. She foolishly tried to lift the leg off the ground, only to replace it instantly when she realised her other leg was unable to support her. Her fingers turned white as she grasped the thick metal pole at her neck with all her strength, willing the pain to flow out of her and into this inanimate object. 

The next blow took her equally by surprise and this time her hands dropped urgently to her sides, trying feebly to protect her from any further punishment. The strict position in which she was restrained prevented her from providing any protection to the tender flesh of her inner thigh. Her arms waved manically as her panic at the coming blow rose. Each passing second brought her closer to the inevitable breakdown. She grunted with each breath, doing her best to push the pain away, but nothing worked. 

The third blow left her wheezing, drool liberally flowing from her open mouth. Her nose had become blocked as the tears fell uncontrollably down her cheeks and she was struggling for each frantic breath. Without a word Technician Rosen uncuffed her right ankle and let her leg fall to the floor. Now that she could support herself in some other way, Emily tentatively folded her left leg up towards her body. She slowly lowered and raised the leg, unsure what she could do to ease the spasms in her thigh.

"Leg up pig," Technician Rosen instructed, the same dispassionate tone cutting through Emily's despair.

Anger blazed inside the anguished girl. Fucking bitch! Emily struggled in her bonds, her hands frantically trying to dislodge the pole from her neck. Her movements were frenzied and uncoordinated and she did nothing more than make herself look foolish. Exhausted after only a few moments, the naked girl rested her chin on the pole and sobbed noisily. She timidly lifted her still stinging left leg and placed her ankle in the open cuff by the wall.  

She was an active participant in her own torture and there was nothing she could do. She felt ashamed of her childish outburst, it was just the cold way the technician treated her. Objective, as if she was not in acute and constant agony from the very actions she had just performed. How could anyone be that way? How could they so easily and dispassionately ignore the suffering of someone? How could they discount the pain and anguish of another woman? How could she not matter?

Emily looked down at her abused thigh and her breath caught. Three thick red welts were evenly spaced along the soft, delicate flesh of her inner thigh. The first was high, only an inch below her sex, an even two inch spacing separating each subsequent mark. She could already see the bruises begin to form and she knew that this pain would be with her for days to come. Her head began to shake from side to side. Emily pleaded with Technician Rosen not to punish her other leg in such a way. All that was heard, however, was a pained mumble that was patently ignored.

The final three blows of her punishment were supplied in quick order. Emily's throat was raw from screaming and her face was a mess, every inch of the once pretty visage blazed a deep red and glistened under its coating of tears, mucus and drool. Strands of hair, shaken loose from the severe ponytail, hung raggedly around her face, plastered to the coating of slime that covered her cheeks and her entire body trembled as it attempted to process all the sensations that had been forced upon it. 

When her  left leg was released, it dropped limply to the floor, as if the poor girl had no energy with which to control its descent. Emily stood still, her hands still clamped fiercely around the pole to which she was harnessed. She tried to lower herself to the ground but her body would not move. All she wanted to do was lie down, to curl up into a ball and rock herself to sleep. 

She was startled when she felt the strap at the back of her head being released. She immediately pushed with her tongue and the long, flat metal bit came out of her mouth. For the first time in what she felt was many hours, Emily was able to close her mouth. She flexed and stretched her mouth and smacked her lips, trying to get some feeling back into the stinging sides of her mouth. The next moment saw a course towel rubbed across her face, wiping away the shameful secretions that covered her.

Emily tried to move away from the rough treatment but she was firmly attached to the pole by her collar. She had to stand there and endure the humiliation of having her face cleaned like a little child. She tried to calm down and gain some composure as the towel moved from her face to her breasts. Each quivering mount was wiped dry with a few swift, violent swipes. Her belly and sex remained coated in a thin sheen of ropey saliva. She felt dirty and ashamed of the way she looked. The slimy discharge felt awful as it slowly oozed down her body. Now that half of her was clean it only highlighted the filthy state of her lower body.

She was left unattended for a few seconds and wondered what was to happen now. She did not think she could take much more. She was exhausted and barely able to think. Her body was overloaded with so many different kinds of pain that she was amazed she had not already sunk into unconsciousness. Yeah, and then she would have been punished for laziness she joked bitterly to herself.

"The requested punishment has concluded pig. You will be moving straight to station seventeen, once ready. As discussed I was willing to allow one count to be expunged to facilitate a commensurate punishment at the previous station. This will see nine strokes to be administered. All counts earned during correction will be discharged at station seventeen. Seventeen is designed to allow the inmate a degree of control to emphasise the lesson. It is through the inmates ill discipline that it finds itself requiring such a lesson, and it is through the inmates finding of such discipline that will not only allow the current lesson to be brief but for further lessons to be unnecessary."

Emily had no idea what Technician Rosen was talking about. Instead she used the time to control her breathing, taking slow deep breaths to help her calm down. She breathed in through her nose and pushed each breath out silently through her pursed lips, constantly aware of the freedom the lack of the gag allowed her. She absently brushed the hair from her face, pushing the strands behind her ears. 

"Hands behind your back pig," ordered Rosen from across the room.

Emily obeyed, glad that her lapse in concentration did not bring her further punishment. How her life had changed, she mused. She now felt happiness that a seemingly inconsequential act, an idle, everyday movement, did not bring her pain and degradation. She had fallen so far in so short a time and this realisation almost had her crying anew. She grit her teeth and bit back her anguish. Even this simple act gave her pause. She had been unable to do so with the bit in her mouth. So much could be taken away, normal people simply did not understand what freedom really was. Normal people she mused, among whom she could no longer be counted.