Making the crime suit the punishment

[ConsentOptional]

A little story about a great change.  If nothing else, a temporary distraction from the other change that is going on.

*****

 

He no longer knew what day it was.  Between the intensity of the experiences and the way they manipulated light and dark, his circadian rhythm had evaporated.  Sounds pumped into his headphones suggested morning, night, city, country, an opera, then death metal, then a gentle voice urging him to relax, accept his fate, and submit to his superiors.  Then silence, then new sounds, then low light, intense light, flashing light, dark.  Presently he was blindfolded with a gag that made him drool.  He was bent over some padded frame and strapped to it at the wrists ankles and across his back.  He went in and out of dreams indistinguishable from reality. 

 

The headphones fell silent.  He felt a gloved hand remove his gag and wipe a cloth across his mouth where the drool continued spilling.  "What day is it, 114?"  He wasn't sure until then if the name "114" was part of a dream.  But he recalled that delayed answers were dealt with swiftly, so he croaked, "I don't know."

 

"Good boy.  The day is not your concern.  But as it happens, this is a special day for you.  It's your birthday."

 

A clue!  But no, he couldn't have been there that long.  The last date he could remember clearly was early January.  Or late January?  But January sometime.

 

She watched this debate playing out in furrows on his brow and brought her lips down to his ear.  "What did I tell you about thinking?  It will only confuse you here.  Your thinking has been done for you."

 

She removed his blindfold.  In his present condition he couldn't raise his head to look at her.  His gaze stopped at the latex dress that barely reached to her thighs, a sight that abruptly reminded that he was locked in chastity and had been since early-, mid- or late-January, a fact that she intentionally worsened with some sort of unseen feather behind him.

 

"...Of course it can't be your birthday until you officially begin your new life.  That is to say - legally begin your new life..." 

 

Legally?  How could any of this ever be 'legal'? 

 

He could still remember this slender, stunning woman telling him that a decision had been made about his 'treatment' and he would be remaining indefinitely.  He had said "whatever is wrong with me, nothing like that is going to happen," and made to leave.  In two swift, deft movements, despite his marked size advantage, she had put him on his back.  She smiled at him.  "You're ready now.  I'm sure you'll do better this time."

 

Damn right, he had thought.  But he again found himself landing hard on the floor, and this time the lights went out. 

 

He woke up naked in metal restraints in a room bathed in red light.  The ordeal of light and sound was beginning.  He had gone through phases.  "You can't do this to me."  "You are breaking every law in the book."  "Why are you doing this to me?"  "Please stop."  "I'll give you whatever you want."  "I promise not to tell anyone."  "What do you want?"  "Please let me go."  "Please, I can't remember myself."  "Please...."  And finally now, when he didn't know what day it was.

 

She continued.  "Yes, legally.  Slavery is presently illegal.  Quite a quandary for little girls like you who were born for it.  Obviously we don't want you to wait until the laws catch up with your condition.  What kind of doctors would that make us - to ignore the obvious anxiety that pretending to be equal causes you.  Poor little 114..."

 

In the mirrors he could see that S114 had indeed been tattooed on his ass.  Were they skipping numbers?  Had they really kidnapped 113 other patients?

 

She brought a crop down on his ass hard.  "Do not let your mind wander when a woman is addressing you, boy.  Do we need a few more days of lights and sounds?"

 

No, no, please, no, I'm listening, I'm listening.

 

She held a control in front of him and pressed one of the buttons.  He felt warmth spreading in his ass.  "Mmmm, that's good isn't it.  Such a little slut."  She pressed another button and waves pulsed through him.  Another button sent spokes of light.  The pleasure was both exquisite and deeply troubling.  What had he become? 

 

"What a dirty little whore we have.  Naturally, you can't be returned to your past life, a wanton little cunt like you.  Would you try to touch your clit right now if it weren't locked up?  Tell the truth."

 

Yes....

 

"Even if I told you I would make you eat every drop?"  She grabbed his hair to make him look at her face.

 

Yes....

 

"Then we can't unlock it, can we?"  She turned off the machine. 

 

"You see the dilemma now.  A slave and his Master in a dark time when slavery is outlawed.  What is a Mistress to do?" 

 

He knew this was rhetorical.  She had already found the answer to that question at least 113 times.

 

She took a folder down from the shelf.  It had been there all along.  He remembered seeing it weeks or months or days or hours ago.  She showed it to him.  There were two blank pages with a place to sign at the bottom of each.

 

"This," she said, "Is your confession.  You agree that all the above statements are true, that you have done or hoped to do everything listed.  You will sign and date at the bottom."

 

But there are no statements..?

 

She ignored him and continued.  "This - is your patient agreement.  In light of the deep depravity outlined in your confession and your complete inability to control the many perverse impulses that will be listed, you give complete control and authority to me - sexual, psychological, physical control.  You do what I say, think what I tell you to think, wear what I tell you to wear, perform any act I tell you to perform.  You even agree that I may assign your gender as I determine."

 

He was involuntarily blinking as she pulled the noose tighter.  "And here is my favorite part - you agree that you have consented freely under no duress to this radical, irrevocable transfer of power - to me, your Goddess."

 

His head slumped to the table.  "Yes, it's over now.  No more useless struggles, no more denying your natural position at the bottom of the true social order, no more wondering why things don't quite make sense and why you don't quite fit.  Sign the papers and be reborn, birthday boy - or girl.  That, too, is for your Mistress to decide."

 

As she knew, as she had seen 113 other times, he couldn't sign - yet.  The totality of meaning was too much.  She wasn't angry.  She eased the gag back into his mouth and pulled it tight.  She replaced the blindfold.  "Raise 2 fingers when you are ready to surrender to me and I will free your right hand and give you a pen.  Until then..."

 

She re-situated the headphones.  Mozart's "Sleep Safely" aria, a role reversal in which the heroine rescues the male in distress.  The pulsing spikes resumed in his ass, followed by the crash of the whip.  It was only a matter of time.