An adult stories – Capture Team Pt. 05: The Platform by thomas_dean,thomas_dean CAPTURE TEAM: PT 5 THE PLATFORM
I was in the basement of a rambling old house in the college town of River Bend. From the street the house surrounded by high hedges overlooking the river looked like an old manor. The Institute used the isolated location as an interim detention center to hold repossessed local debtors condemned to serve the period of an indenture they agreed to when the debtor obtained a loan.
In front of me, the guest of honor was not a debtor but an absconder, formerly a trusted human asset at the Institute.
“My name is LT Tina, Commander of this station,” I introduced myself to the six-foot-tall dark haired male prisoner hands bound by stay — ties. The prisoner’s position under the blinding light above the octagonal tailor’s platform surrounded by six facets of mirrors give me a panoramic view of his robust, hairy body.
Pointing to the prisoner’s shrunken penis and drawn up against the body, Cliff leaned into me to whisper in my ear, “He’s playing tough, baring his fangs for show, but his spear has shriveled. He’s afraid.”
Noticing the muscles in the prisoner’s broad shoulders straining against those plastic ties, I reminded him, “You are being processed as an absconder for return to the Institute. Thus far, you’ve been cooperative. Cliff and Logan are here to assist me if you present a problem. We aren’t going to have any problems when we cut off the stay ties. Will we?”
I sighed. If the master tactician taught 2500 years ago that anyone, even a woman like myself, can be a soldier, then by the same token anyone can be a traitor.
It had by no means guaranteed from the inception that the mission would post an outstanding success. Some time ago, I arrived at this hidden detention center in a huff. Wearing the dress uniform, a jacket over a starched blouse and a tight mid-calf skirt that squeaked when I took every step, I was not a bit miffed. Even though I had been notified by Dr Crenshaw’s office of the change in plans I was furious.
A secretary in Dr Crenshaw’s office had called me to advise me of the modification of my orders. “Dr Crenshaw wanted to speak to you personally. Doctor regrets he must deal with a grave emergency. He did leave this message for you. `as circumstances require, one must modify one’s plans accordingly.’ Doctor said you’d understand.”
“From the Art of War.” I replied.
“To look at Dr Crenshaw’s face,” the secretary advised, “you’d think there was a war going on.”
“Damn!” I exclaimed aloud in my car after I terminated the call with Institute Headquarters. I had been en route to the Institute to celebrate a milestone in my career. Now diverted from my promotion ceremony, I was reassigned to join a capture team performing a routine operation in a college town. With my promotion to Lieutenant delayed, I was angry. The diversion likely lost me pay and seniority.
On arrival at the rambling old Victorian spired mansion whose basement housed the forward detention center. I pulled my car into the concrete sunken parking lot hidden behind high overgrown hedges. Walking past vans and squad cars, I passed the outside cage where Mary, who had been one of the instructors at the Institute was in the exterior holding cell, naked clutching to a blanket. Her barrel shaped pregnant belly peeked out from under the cover. A quick shaking of her head advised me not to notice her and to pass on. Hand under her round belly, Mary presented a devilishly cute image.
With such a potentially dangerous prisoner, Cliff and Logan, two young men in the utility uniform, working the yard seemed particularly inattentive.
What had I walked in on?
I paused in front of the door for a second to take a deep breath and ponder: what has the Institute planned for me? At my request, Cliff listlessly escorted me to Sergeant Jenny’s office. Entering the basement, I found myself in a well — light cinder block walled corridor leading to an alcove containing a tailor’s octagonal platform engirded by a mirror with six facets lit by a blinding overhead light. “Hmm,” I told tall tough Cliff, “a spotlight on the guest of honor.” Directed to Sergeant Jenny’s office, I properly knocked and awaited Sergeant Jenny’s permission.
Invited into Segreant Jenny’s office, I, though still gripped with rage over disruption of my plans, strove to contain my anger in order to present a cool exterior. Sergeant Jenny was warm in her approach, thankful for my understanding of the need for the diversion.
“You’ve been described by Dr Crenshaw as the only person he could imagine capable of taking over in a pinch,” Jane opened with a compliment.
“I was under the impression your sister Jane was on this mission with you,” I protested, “She went through the security school with me. Jane should be equally qualified to take charge.”
“We are faced with a unique situation in River Bend. A wave of layoffs running through the college and hospital in River Bend, the surge in defaults, and the breath of our investigation, has stretched me thin.” Jenny advised me. “On top of the usual run of college students who outspend beyond their capacity to repay, as the hospital and University convert from a salaried workforce to indentured labor, I now have to deal with a slew of cooks, clerks, secretaries and young marrieds, pregnant women caught up in the downdraft.
“Other than a surge in numbers,” I replied, “the mission sounds routine. Certainly, something your sister Jane could deal with …easily. But why do you need someone to take over?” I asked suspiciously. “Is there a reason you do not wish to see the investigation through?”
“It’s the curse of having been indentured to the Institute by my father,” Jenny replied, “when I was in Nursing School and allowed to continue until graduation. With Mary, whom you see outside and other pregnant women we pick up likely to go into labor, I have to be available. Now,” Jenny, taking a breath, suggested,” I ‘d like to take a bit of the sting out of your diversion here. Let’s get your promotion picture taken.”
Pointing the way, Jenny commanded, “Out in the corridor, get your butt up on the tailor’s platform and get your clothes off.”
As I stepped onto the raised octagonal platform,.I declared, “Cute and functional. A tailor’s platform to define where indentured slavery begins and freedom ends. Where did the idea come from?”
“According to legend,” Jenny explained, “a tailor was repossessed along with his property. That came here.”
I chuckled, “Likely, when that platform came here, his inventory ended up split between Institute Headquarters and our thrift shops. After meeting the surgeon for eh–alterations, the tailor was shipped to auction.”
“LT Bernie’s likely fate. That brings us to the real mission in River Bend,” Jenny raised the real purpose of the diversion, “Start getting your clothes off.”
Removing my jacket and folding it, I asked, “After my clothes are off, do I end up behind the wire with Mary?”
Drawing a deep breath, Jenny opened a file folder and gazed at a glossy official photo of a nude man, “Now I can see you’re prepared to discuss the real problem.”
Jenny passed me the picture depicting a six-foot-tall young man. Curly black hair coated his naked body. Jenny scrutinizing the throbbing erection depicted in LT BERNIE’s official photo, observed, “Lt Bernie holds a magic sway over men and women.”
“Shouldn’t I insist you strip naked and join me?” I snickered as I unbuttoned my blouse and swept it off my shoulders. Reaching behind me, I unhooked my bra and slipped it off, letting my DD breasts bounce in front of her eyes. “We can celebrate my promotion upcoming by cumming together.”
Looking over the official photo of LT Bernie with a full blown erection, Jenny acknowledged,
“As much as I prefer girls, I’d ride his spigot, with or without you.” Jenny took a deep breath. “As much as I’d like to announce your promotion today and celebrate…”
Picking up my blouse and folding it carefully, I teased her, “I can see why you would want to restrain men on your team in chastity to keep them from thinking with the wrong head. I suppose LT Bernie’s crime is greater than displaying his capabilities in his promotion photo. ”
Jenny looked thoughtfully for a second. “LT Bernie defected from the last round — up in River Bend. His departure was accompanied by security breach in the Institute’s computer system.”
“So, LT Bernie knows our moves before we’ve thought of them,” I declared.
“LT Bernie’s target audience is the same as ours,” Jenny advised, “He trawls through debtors who’ve received their notices and promises them a career in porn. Times are such Bernie can sell horny men porn at top price while desperate women come cheap. Intell reports Bernie’s contacts are random. We are unable to tie LT Bernie to a specific location.”
“That brings us to the question. In fighting a traitor who has no known location, who can anticipate our every move, our protocols, what assets do I have?” I asked.
“Cliff and Logan, testosterone powered strong fellows, in tip top physical shape fresh out of the demanding security school,” Jenny explained.
“Cliff and Logan, the two men in utility uniforms, I saw cleaning vans and squad cars,” I noted, “when I pulled my car into the sunken parking lot out back. Regrettably they’re not very attentive, not very observant of the dangers presented by the prisoner in the cage…”
Jenny conceded with a sigh, “That’s Cliff and Logan — they’re green, first assignment. Thus far,” Jenny defended Cliff and Logan, “they have been able to handle female prisoners, but I admit, they must be monitored to insure discipline.”
Standing bare — breasted hand on my hips in front of Jenny, I allowed her a moment to admire my double DDs before I folded my jacket, shirt and bra.
Jenny politely turned away, although tall lanky Cliff standing behind her followed every undulation of my bare breasts as I breathed. An erection blossomed in the bottoms of his pants, evident despite the loose fit.
Carefully placing my clothes on the platform, I quipped, “I’m trusting you that I’ll be allowed to put this on at some point. I won’t wear wrinkled clothes.”
“I’ll scarf you up,” Jenny promised, “a utility uniform so that you don’t ruin your dress uniform in this dingy dank, damp dungeon.”
“And Jane, your sister?” I asked.
“Jane is detached working with an informer who had been approached by LT Bernie, No results yet.” Jenny noted.
Unzipping my skirt, I allowed it to float to the floor. After folding the skirt and placing it atop my blouse, I kicked my loafers off, dropped my panties and slid my stockings down my legs, presenting full — frontal view to Jenny for the first of four views of my body.
Jenny took note, “I see why you arrived in a huff. You had your bush trimmed for your elevation party.”
Cliff, standing behind Jenny, looked pained by the waves of spasms viewing my bare body was sending through him.
“I suppose,” I sighed, “during a lively romp with the director and the bull and heifer of my choice, a full bush might have been an unnecessary distraction.–Before I get distracted. Our most experienced agent Mary has been stripped naked and confined behind the wire, bulging pregnant belly dragging the ground, ready to drop her load,” I paused. “I’d love to know why you’re holding her.”
“Hopefully I can persuade Mary to go under cover and assist in gathering intelligence from an expected haul of pregnant females,” Jenny replied, “LT Bernie is said to be eclectic in taste for women in porn. Maybe we can fix a location on Bernie.”
“So, if Mary’s role is limited and so too, is Jane’s, I’m elected,” I declared, “Mama to shepherd testosterone driven inexperienced boys through a mission of uncertain long term objectives.”
“Dr Crenshaw assured me,” Jenny tried to assuage my ego, “you were the most capable person to deal with the constraints of these — parameters. You would soon figure out the necessity of them. ”
I sighed, “The first rule is to know your assets and their potential. Here one experienced agent is beyond my direct control. The other Mary can’t be trusted. Not a good omen for this mission.
“Officially, Mary, as you know, lost her stripes on the last mission to River Bend,” Jenny leaned forward to advise me as if she feared someone was lurking nearby to overhear us, “The Institute retained Mary; officially because she agreed to be inseminated.”
“You expect different. Did Mary return to the Institute from her previous mission pregnant? Whose?” I asked.
Jenny bit her lip, “Mary was demoted but retained by the Institute. Others on her team weren’t so lucky. They went naked, head shaved to auction. What in Mary’s relationship with LT Bernie that would incline the Institute to keep her and jettison others on her team? I’ve been left to guess.”
“Often the simple solution is the best. Why not ask Mary?” I suggested.
“Just call Mary in,” Jenny questioned, “to ask Mary: `Hey Mary are you a spy?'” Jenny’s face bore a tired look.
“There is no other choice,” I insisted.
“I’ll call Mary in but let’s finish your photos.” Jenny ordered.
After I presented my posterior, I felt a tingle when Jenny, running her fingers along the ridges in the mark burnished into my left hip, in an apologetic tone, noted, “good clean branding easily read, “Tina, age 25, barcode 2030VF0651, voluntary indenture — 7 years, classified security prom LT accepted 10 yr commitment genetic class 1 fertility class a.”
“I was an 18 year old girl, just out of school when I volunteered for an indenture. Stripped naked, poked and prodded by a doctor, I bent over to present my butt for branding. Smelling my flesh burning from the red-hot branding iron, I screamed,” I reminisced, “what have I gotten myself into!”
“You’ll ask that question again once I pin those yellow bars on you,” Jenny declared, “You haven’t trimmed your bush in vain. I’ll try to organize an elevation party for you. We’ll invite the Institute Director, but I doubt he’ll come.”
I slung my arm around her, “You’re terrible.”
“Let me find you a utility uniform so that you can dress before I decide whether to start the celebration or charge you with assault on a sergeant,” Jenny placed a peck on my cheek.
“I’d prefer to remain naked while I take my tour of the facility,” I decided to remain naked to test Cliff who thus far remained at the edge of cumming. How much longer could he hold it?
“A few minutes ago you were afraid, I wouldn’t afford you the courtesy of allowing you to dress. No matter, stay naked, if you wish to entice me. It’ll save some time,” Jenny chuckled, “I’d just have to order you to strip for your promotion physical.”
“There’s a reason. I’d like to feel what the indenturees we’ll seize will feel confined down here for as much as 24 hours.” I questioned, “Do we really need to keep them naked?”
“The Institute decides,” Jenny insisted gruffly. “That’s the procedure. Enforced nudity not only discourages escape, it impresses on the indenturee the change of status, correction loss of status.”
“A free person no longer,” I declared.
“The reduction of the person begins in reception on the platform,” Jenny explained, “the prisoner, if cooperative, is un-manacled, stripped, and searched. Then sent into the dungeon.”
“Kept naked,” I observed, “to magnify their discomfort.”
“If we protect our product, the indenture, from assault or abuse, it is to preserve their value at auction. Their comfort is not a priority.” Jenny pointed the way down the corridor. “Shall we proceed?”
We walked up to a secure door which Jenny opened with a code on her notepad. “Abandon hope all ye who enter here: Welcome to the dungeon.”
The door opened onto a large open area. Pointing to the far wall, Jenny noted. “We generally hold females in the Hen House, the cage on the North wall; the males ordinarily are held in a cage on the south wall.” Standing in the center of the room, Jenny pointed up to the rafters where a rope dangled down. “And,” Jenny sighed, “every round up produces someone who’ll test the limits.”
“Bringing in LT Bernie guarantees a disciplinary problem,” I feared. “Still, a prisoner must be correctly treated and humanely kept as certainly as punishment must be swift and sure to enforce order.”
I approached the fence of the henhouse and tried to shake it., “Pretty sturdy for a Chain link fence. Solidly rooted in the concrete below and reinforced timbers above,” I noted. I glanced behind me. My boobs jiggling as I shook the cyclone fence sent that erection in Cliff’s utility bottoms throbbing.
In front of the Hen House there was a single spigot over a slight depression in the concrete in the center of which there was a drain. “Seeing as how you’re dressed for the part, you might like to try it out,” Jenny baited me, “It has two settings for your comfort: Cold and Artic cold.” Jenny teased me, “Not interested in a refreshing shower.”
“Not unless you order it,” I returned the compliment.
Directing my attention to the other cage, Jenny explained its purpose, “Usually, the capons that fall into the net in the round-up will be crammed into that holding area.”
“Did you ever,” I queried, “wonder why the Institute focuses on rounding up women and not men? It doesn’t seem very fair.”
“The Institute decides on the risks it wishes to take,” Jenny asserted. “in relation to the expenses incurred in a recovery and the difficulty in bringing the product to market. Women fetch higher prices at auction, are easier to control and surrender without a fight. Our job is to implement the Institute’s directives not to debate them. An indenture, taken up by the Institute, is a commitment to do whatever the Institute has required.”
“And this would include putting Mary naked — or even your sister Jane or better yet me — in the Hen house behind the wire with Indenturees,” I parried with Jenny.
“If that’s what the Institute or the needs of the mission require.” Jenny an angry tone entered her voice. “Too many volunteers who sign an indenture in exchange for a payout seven years hence treat the Indenture as a job — It’s not. The voluntary indenture is no different than being sold into servitude by a parent or being repossessed after defaulting on a debt secured by your person; a volunteer is a subject.”
“Then you see no difference between volunteers, people impressed into service by head of their household, and people who contract loans they can’t repay and must be repossessed and forced to serve,” I continued to fence with Jenny, “Interesting observation.”
“Both volunteers and repossessed end up with a bar code on their butt. Yet, there is an important difference. A volunteer, such as yourself — or my sister Jane — gave up your freedom for a future benefit, food, clothing shelter and a pay out at the end of service; a repossessed debtor traded their person as security and assumed the risk that they’d be able to pay back.”
“I suppose that’s why the Institute prefers volunteers for the officer caste,” I countered.
“But it leads to situations like we have with LT Bernie,” Jenny’s voice now carried a slow introspective tone. “Where the Institute sends me on a mission, but leaves certain critical details cloudy.”
Abruptly, turning to find tall lanky Cliff behind us, Jenny chuckled. “Tina, in this business you must develop eyes in the back for your head” before Sergeant Jenny roared an order, “Cuff Mary, bring here to my office, now.”
“Should I search her?” Cliff asked.
“Good question,” Jenny replied in a gentle tone, “Just a frisk, gently massage her breasts, her belly, her back and her butt, read her bar code, nothing more,” Jenny ordered. Answering my unvoiced question, Jenny turned to me with the suggestion, “Tina, could you remain naked for just a while longer? Poor Mary might feel just a little more comfortable.”
“So, the comfort of the prisoner does count, sometimes at least,” I observed.
“If the interests of The Institute so direct,” Jenny rejoined with a sly smile.
I stood in the corridor with Jenny. Watching Cliff bring Mary in from the outside, I detected a waddle in Mary’s gait that seemed exaggerated as Mary entered. Cuffing her hands behind her back had pushed her belly out further, making her appear to be more unstable. Placed on the tailor’s platform, Mary snorted as her sharp eyes scowled at her reflection in the mirrors. “Unblemished epidermis stretched across the abdomen pushes the umbilicus out,” Jenny observed. To my critical stare, Jenny shrugged her shoulders, “I’m a nurse.”
Bulbous breasts with erect nipples sticking out like bayonettes rested on her ballooning belly, Mary smirked, “Guys love the fun of penetrating your defences, but run at the inconvenience of consequence, presenting phallus proud tumescent at your entrance but running from responsibility let it shrink. Leaving me all over to itch, rounded belly, my back, especially. I can’t reach around to scratch, I lack flexibility.”
“Hmm,” Jenny took note. Jenny nodded to Cliff who glanced in Jenny’s direction.
“C’m’n, Cliff,” Mary taunted him, “Don’t be shy! I’m a girl and you’re the guy, Raising you with pomp and ceremony, melding you into the camaraderie, an honor bestowed on a select few, I held your cock and Logan’s too, I channeled the rush, I directed the gush, admitting you to the fraternity, joined together in unity.”
At first, Cliff’s hands hesitantly touched Mary’s butt, but receiving a nod from Jenny grasped both cheeks and kneaded them in the palms of his large hands. Mary leaned into his touch. “Who could expect a strip search be so arousing?” Mary, leaning into his touch, cooed.
Cliff released a deep sigh as his hands migrated up her sides to massage her breasts. “Soft and sweet,” Mary swaying gently assured Cliff, “a tasty treat, a jelly belly but not fragile, I’m still swift and agile.”
Cliff unbuckled his belt and allowed his uniform trousers and boxers to drop to his knees. A bulging erection jutted out from his body; blue streaks crossed Cliff’s engorged cylinder; precum glistened on the tip.
Jenny and I sprung into action, pushing Cliff aside. “OK, Mary,” Jenny commanded her, “demonstration is over.”
Righting herself, Mary placed her hands behind her back, ready to be cuffed. Laughing Mary asked, “Sergeant Jenny, is Tina next on the platform?” Noticing me standing naked next to Jenny, Mary quipped, “One of my pupils from the Security Academy! Tina is it? It looks like you’re dressed and ready to join me behind the wire or is nudity the uniform of the day?”
I picked Cliff off the floor. Looking at his throbbing erection, I observed, “Thinking with the wrong head. Mary had been my instructor in the school. She’s tough enough to be dropping a litter of sextuplets and still break you in two. Why do you think the Institute had such a powerful woman inseminated?” Turning to Jenny, I recommended, “Sergeant, should I have this man fitted for chastity before your round — up?”
Jenny ordered, “Cliff, take a shower. Clean yourself up.” When Cliff started to walk toward the office. Jenny thundered, “Not upstairs. Get your clothes off. Now. Put them in the barrel. Take your shower in front of the Hen House.”
“The usual punishment?” I suggested imposed chastity. “Cliff was put to the test and failed.” Looking at the throbbing member, I sighed. The punishment would be as much on Cliff as it would be on me. But the Master of Strategy taught punishments and rewards must be consistently imposed, personal feelings notwithstanding.
“Cliff,” Jenny announced the penalty, “Institute Security has the perfect cure for thinking with the wrong head. Strip, shower, then a female will fit you for the cock — and — ball jam. Afterwards you can remain naked until we’re ready to suit up for the round-up.”
When Cliff placed his clothes in the bin and shuffled off to the back, Mary shook her head. “On the platform that’s where a career in security begins and ends. Poor Cliff didn’t have a chance. Do you remember when you and I taught the anatomy course at the Institute’s Security School? You, the nurse, explained the inner recesses of the body and I showed how to probe them?”
“Those were fun times,” Jenny sighed. To me, Jenny noted as an aside, “in command, you must develop trust and confidence in your subordinates such that you need not utter a sound to issue an order.”
“Who was that doc who got you transferred into security,” Mary asked, “when the Institute decided it no longer needed a nurse assigned to security? What happened to that crazy doc? On a life indenture to go to med school, doc was plucked from her sinecure. Stripped, head shaved, the doc was shipped to auction for screwing around during reception of prisoners. Wasn’t she?”
In a tone dripping with grief, Jenny acknowledged wistfully, “As the Institute directs.” After a pause, Jenny invited Mary, “please join us in my office.”
“No cuffs?” Mary asked.
“At the moment,” Jenny replied, “Only if you want them.”
Invited to take a seat, Mary plopped down. “Damn,” she screamed as she leapt into the air. Her bulging belly jiggled like a bowl of jelly, her bulbous boobs bounced like beach balls when her bare bottom hit the cold steel of the chair.
Apologizing Jenny reached to a table behind her desk to provide Mary with a towel to sit on. I handed Mary a blanket to cover herself with. Mary declined the blanket, “Sergeant Jenny, allow your naked assistant to cover herself. All I need is a towel to insulate my butt,” To me, Mary chuckled, “You have nice boobs, Tina, but I have more insulation over all.”
“Just routine,” Jenny assured Mary as she attached a blood pressure cuff to Mary’s bicep. Announcing the reading, Jenny remarked, “a little elevated, but normal.”
“Small wonder,” Mary snorted, “one minute, I’m cleaning out the cages from the previous load of detainees. Next minute, the cage is locked. I’m told to strip and pass my clothes through a slit in the fence. And I remain held behind the wire outside naked for the next 24 hours. And nobody spoke to me to tell me why. I had to guess that you wanted me to test Cliff. I had to rely on cues we developed when we worked together.”
With a smile, Jenny turned to me for an aside, “I told you, in charge, you must develop such a level of trust and confidence in your subordinates such that a glance, a nod or even a change in the vibe is sufficient to issue a voiceless order.”
As Jenny tucked a stethoscope under Mary’s breasts, Jenny suggested, “Maybe you could tell me why all the subterfuge was necessary.”
There was silence. Jenny turned to me. “Agent Tina, would you escort Mary to the Hen House? I’ll let the Institute decide what needs to be done. Cliff ought to be finished with his shower. Install the cock — and — ball jam.” Jenny sighed. “It can’t fail to impress, poor Cliff will be speechless when a woman bare assed and stitchless applies the interdictor to his boa constrictor.”
Chuckling at Jenny’s ellipse, I put my arm under Mary’s to assist her to her feet.
Mary, looking at my hand with a smirk, began to talk. Rubbing her belly, Mary acknowledged, “It’s his. The Institute decided,” Mary drew a deep breath, “to send me back with you to River Bend to see if Bernie would emerge from the shadows.”
With a sigh, Jenny advised, “We have no indication Bernie has come looking for you. If you are wiling to assist the Institute, find Bernie, then you will be kept in the Hen House to gather intelligence. You will be returned to the Institute with the pregnant indenturees. And upon your return there, the Institute decides. ”
“Your opinion, Tina?” Jenny asked me.
“It is of great consolation that when I take charge,” I declared, “in the hunt for a pornographer, I will have gained Cliff whose balls are bigger than his brains when I lose dependable and experienced agents like you Sergeant Jenny and your former partner Mary.”
After Mary left Jenny’s office to attach Cliff’s chastity belt, Jenny performed a physical exam. “No time like the present,” Jenny declared, “you’re naked, obviously dressed for the part.”
My teasing quip, “No hospital gown?” drew a whack on the ass.
In the consultation room, next to Jenny’s office, Jenny conducted the usual superficial physical exam, mouth, ears, lymph nodes on the neck, blood pressure. I jumped when the cold steel of the stethoscope was pressed against my chest.
“Sorry about that,” Jenny apologized as she blew her breath onto the stethoscope head, “I didn’t make you plunk your bare bum down on the cold steel office chair.”
“When do I squat and pee in a cup for you?” I taunted Jenny.
After range of motion studies, Jenny ordered, “Up on the gynecological couch.”
Once I lay back on the table, Jenny fastened my hands to the side of the table, secured me to the table. Bands stretched across my forehead and my waist together with my feet locked in the stirrups froze my body in place. “I won’t tease your clit, you have enough to deal with,” Jenny promised before she began to secure my body to the table.
“If you must put an indenturee on the table, strap her down,” Jenny warned me, “Use the pelvic exam to punish an uncooperative indenture or to check her insides out more thoroughly if you think she’s concealing something.”
After my physical examination, Jenny and I entered the arena to check on Mary and Cliff. Mary was behind the fence in the Henhouse; Cliff was standing naked dumbfounded, the shiny cock — and — ball jam enshrouding his genitalia.
“Cliff,” Jenny spoke in an even tone, ” when you are searching a prisoner heighted vigilance is required. Heedlessness can cause injury to the indenturee, to yourself and to another member of the team. It’s an important lesson to learn.”
“It won’t happen again,” Cliff promised.
“I’m sure you’d make that promise,” Jenny knelt to inspect the chastity device. “Handy,” she declared as she tapped the device with her fist, “Protects a sensitive part of the body from insult. Protects the team from a member thinking with 20 cubic centimeters of testosterone power rather than the full capacity of 1400 cubic centimeters of grey matter.” Rising, Jenny ordered, “Bind his hands, Tina, in front of him.”
With a sigh and grim face, I complied. Advised that Cliff’s wrists were secured, Jenny commanded, “Now string him up, feet just far enough the ground so that he can graze the ground with his tippy toes.”
Attaching the rope to his bound wrists, I pulled with all my might. Cliff’s toes were dancing to keep contact with the floor. Jenny ordered. “Fetch Logan.”
I found Logan outside hosing down the patrol cars and vans. When I returned to the gallery with Logan, Mary, a serious look on her face, was outside the wire speaking with Jenny.
“I was going to order the lash, five apiece on the right side, 15 from the left handed Logan on the left side,” Jenny announced, “Mary persuaded me to reduce that in half and to simple paddling, “Three apiece on the right butt cheek, nine on the left butt cheek from Logan. Mary, you have seniority you go first.”
The swish which filled the air was more terrifying than the whack as the paddle landed on Cliff’s butt. Two more quickly followed. When the paddle was handed to me Cliff’s butt was already beet red. “Sorry, Cliff,” I said as I administered the first of my three blows. Cliff’s butt was crimson when Jenny handed the paddle to Logan.
Sometime later I found myself in charge here. Sergeant Jenny returned to the Institute to tend to Mary and the other pregnant women taken as repos in the cover mission. I now sat behind the desk where it begins and ends fretting.
The calm before the storm gave me time to coordinate information on LT Bernie’s activities.Though the Institute prohibited use of transponders to shadow Lt Bernie’s activities. Chance had put transponders on an identified starlet in Lt Bernie’s most recent production. I now knew the location of the shoots.
Should I have alerted the Institute for this deviation from orders? The Master of Strategy wrote that the Commander in the field need not literally follow every order of the sovereign so long as the commander acts in his ruler’ interests.
That works, I mused, if you win; in the finger – pointing of a loss, how much worse could it be than stripped naked, hands manacled, publicly paraded head shaven out the door of The Institute in an outbound shipment bound for auction? The glares of envious friends upon your bare butt as you’re cast out.
I could count on no quarter from Dr Crenshaw who practiced the rules of combat to perfection. Though he held me in high regard, the cardinal rule of discipline afforded no exceptions: no favoritism no special privileges.
In the calm the team enjoyed leading up to the raid, I kept the team of sight. If LT Bernie were watching the capture team, the spell of inactivity, might have persuaded Lt Bernie that the team had returned to the institute and was no longer operational in River Bend. To complete the image, I even had Institute people from the farm outside of town clean the mansion as if we were closing the center, having completed the mission.
While my team waited for the raid, I had to keep Logan and Cliff occupied. “Inactivity often lapses into lethargy on one hand; anxiety on the other. “Physical training is the antidote to listlessness. Intense physical workouts followed by steamy showers in our quarters will maintain an edge,” I told the boys.
A regimen of calisthenics followed by relaxing massages in the warmth of the showers upstairs in the mansion seemed to alleviate the tension. The boys were lulled into such a state of relaxion that I could shave their pubes bald. I admired the pearly white skin that emerged when I cleared the suds away.
Hmm, I mused, a bare pubic area makes for a snug fit of the iron jock strap.
Like, typical guys they did not suspect that my pampering covered an ulterior motive. I intended to attach the cock — and — ball jam before the raid. “With every pleasure,” I released a wistful sigh when I kissed the exposed white skin, “there must be pain. Let Mama make things better.”
Deception of course is an important tactic in any operation.
Planning and a little bit of luck was with me, the team captured its target and the cast of one of his porn productions. Right now, my concern was a pleasant one, revving myself up the nerve to deal with LT Bernie, the most important prisoner whom I would receive.
Outside my door, Cliff and Logan, both in chastity were dealing with the female captives from the take-down of LT Bernie’s porn production. Nerved up, Cliff had suggested “Shouldn’t we put aside plucking the clucks for the moment and deal with the rooster, while we’re still alert?”
“In the iron jock, you’re out of luck, no chance to turn a diddle into a full-blown fuck,” I chided Cliff.
When I drew a sheepish smile from Cliff, I issued my order, “With LT Bernie, leave the rooster outside in the holding area. Get his clothes off and make sure you apply the cuffs, so that he can’t pass time by jerking himself off,” I decided. “I’ll interview the women — all of them and take my time.”
I decided to start with the undercover agent Jane and informant Bliss. While Cliff examined the seams of her clothes, Logan had our undercover agent Jane bent over on the platform, spreading her glutes as he greased gloved fingers to examine her insides.
Grunting as Logan’s fingers entered her, Jane, wiggling her butt to draw him in deeper, protested, “Couldn’t you wait until the film is released to get your rocks off?”
Cliff smirked, “Maybe we’ll invite you to the premiere.”
As photographs front back and both profiles were taken, Jane growled, “There wasn’t enough nudies seized in the barn they called a studio.”
“Under your indenture,” Cliff reminded Jane, “Your person is the property of the Institute. About you, It cares. It wants to make sure you’re no worse for the wear.”
Jane appropriately turned a deep shade of crimson at Cliff’s joke while Cliff and Logan joined me in a long laugh. “Nothing like humiliating a nude,” I declared, “Their butt cheeks have a deeper flush than their face.” After my witticism, Jane, my former classmate at the Security Service School, though glaring in my direction, showed no flicker of recognition.
Wrists bound with cable ties behind her, Jane, assisted in stepping down from the tailors’ platform, was directed to my office across from the tailor’s platform. Appropriately surprised to find me there, Jane asked after her sister Jenny.
“Welcome back, Jane,” I greeted her, “I’m sure you’ll meet your sister Jenny soon enough. Sorry, you’re going to go under the name Felicity just a while longer.”
Jane code named Felicity quipped, “At least I don’t have to wear Felicity’s clothes anymore. They fit, but I didn’t like them.”
“OK, eh — Felicity,” I introduced myself, “I’m Tina, you may remember me from the security school. I’m in charge of this operation. May I be the first to offer my congratulations on your part in a successful operation?”
“Incredible operation, Bernie had,” Jane, exuberant in the afterglow of the triumph she assisted in, exclaimed. Her marshmallow sized breasts bounced when her bare bottom hit the cold steel of the chair.
“Jars the story right out of them. It works all the time,” I snickered as I handed her a towel to sit on and a blanket to cover herself with.
Jane’s eyes lit up in awe when she spoke of the Bernie’s enterprise as “overhead free.” I appropriately smiled at Jane’s choice of words.
“Bernie,” Jane explained, “planted an indenturee he set free Professor Wendy Miller in the faculty to recruit students, mostly co-eds, for the porn shots. All the equipment was ‘borrowed’ from the University audio-visual department.” Pausing for a second, Jane pressed for details about her twin sister Jenny.
“I imagine you’ll see her soon enough,” I informed her, “I’m shipping you back to the Institute with the haul. Higher Headquarters feels you might get more information from the repossessed delinquent debtors and deserters from their indentures if you’re returned packaged and shackled with the detainees. After reception at the Institute,” As I uttered that word Jane smirked, “You’ll probably be separated and disappear from the ranks of the prisoners in classification.”
“About Bliss?” Jane asked, “She was observant, provided good leads, honest, even a decent actress. Will she be retained by the Institute or shipped to auction?”
“The Institute decides! I will record your recommendation as favorable,” I made no commitment, “It might carry weight. Loyalty to your comrades is an admirable quality. Regardless, Bliss should be pleased by your loyalty to her.”
I would probably recommend retention of Bliss. Master strategist taught that a spy who successfully survives to return to ranks should be generously rewarded. Dr Crenshaw should know this. He taught the course on strategy at the Institute’s Security School.
Jane was followed to the platform by her informant red headed Bliss. Bliss took the strip — search unlike most of the other women unfazed. Where Jane employed sarcasm, Bliss entertained her guard Cliff with sizzling provocative asides, “I usually get extra crispy C notes for a shot like this.”
Cliff snickered, “the hairs on your pussy are as red hot as your carrot top.”
“That’s because I am red hot,” Bliss retorted.
With flaming red — headed Bliss, our informant, I was a little more genteel in my approach — I provided her with the blanket and towel before she sat down. “I’ve never been much for watching porn, but your boobs are little bigger than goosebumps.”
“You could expand that thought,” Bliss quipped, “and write a script for Bernie’s next flick, call it casting call. Do you bring me upstairs, let me sack out, give me my clothes back and let me go home for my Christmas vacation?”
“The Institute has other plans for you,” I informed Bliss, “you will be transported to the Institute with the detainees. Undoubtedly, they’ll give you a week’s leave and provide a couple of weeks training before the next semester begins…”
“Will eh– they assign me a new roommate or will eh–Felicity return to school with me?”
“Likely, where you and hmm–Felicity will be sent is a question the Institute will decide in the best interests of the security of the Institute and the safety of all concerned,” I surprised myself indulging in officious gobbledygook.
What would the Institute do with Bliss? Would the Institute live up to its promises to her or simply flip her to recoup its investment by shaving her head and shipping her to auction? Heck if I knew.
Rising Bliss, shoulders still nested in a blanket, offered a delicate feminine hand. A look a shock appeared on Bliss’ face when I whimsically swept the blanket off her back, leaving a naked shivering mass in front of me spouting goosebumps on the soft flesh of her bare boobs. “Bare down there? Was that for porn or do you wear it that way?” Patting her on her bare butt and pushing her toward the door, I called Cliff, “Cable tie the prisoner and return her to the Hen house.”
I began the interviews of the young women we hauled in. Most came from the Drama Department of River Bend University, victims of silly young adult reckless spending. I might have empathized with a few of their minor delinquencies. Should I tell them the law allowed their families 10 days after notice to pay the debt and redeem her person? The Institute made more money at auction if the debtor waived the right to notice.
Protesting that she was in the process of being redeemed, Elise Parker, a statuesque dark brunette, a decade older than most of the college girls arrested that night, climbed the tailor’s podium. Neatly dressed in a fashionable dark skirt with stockings, Elise had been identified by an informant as a star in LT Bernie’s production. Though promising to sick her lawyers on the capture team, Elise complied with Cliff’s order to strip.
Elise was correct — partially. During the cover mission, when my capture team apprehended Elise, her husband volunteered to self-indenture to pay her debt. Injecting Elsie with transponders in her butt and boobs. I took her husband with permission of the institute. With the implanted transponders, I was able to track her movements and set a time for the raid.. The appraisal of her husband and his business contracts was not complete. Looking at Elise’s attire, I surmised a part of her debt was the fashionable wardrobe she was asked to remove.
“Strip! Such a stark word,” Elise exclaimed, “to describe a facet of the art of seduction.”
“Oh, I admit, Elise,” I shook my head, “you projected a style in rhythmically disrobing. Why are you being so shy?”
Unbuttoning her blouse button by button, Elise, looking coquettishly down to the floor, retorted, “I’m no two — bit slut. I don’t display my wares for free.” Daintily tugging her shirt tail inch by inch from her skirt, Elise boasted, “Admirers must pay to see.” Yanking her shirt open, Elise boasted, “the work of art that is she.” Unveiling an eye opening lacy frilly embroidered bustier top with a lustrous satin trim as Cliff and I took a deep breath, Elise chanted, “whose skillful hands hold the key.”
A slight of hand the brassiere was dangling from her hand. Released, the delicate floral decoration floated to the floor. The move was so well done, the eye focused on the dangling bra until it landed on the ground. Only then her gorgeous smile as her DD boobs bouncing on her chest as she swayed side to side teased, “to raise temperatures 10 degrees.”
Unzipping her skirt, she allowed it to glide to the floor. Hands on her hips, she pulled the strings on her bikini bottoms embroidered with pink blooms and trimmed with satin. Seductively, bending forward, Elise rolled one stocking down one leg then another.
Elise didn’t stand for the photos; she posed. I couldn’t watch it any further. I called Cliff over. “Be rough with her,” I whispered.
Ordered to bend over, Elise swayed her rear end productively. Cliff clamped a hand on the small of her back. “Be gentle,” she pled in a plaintive, seductive voice. Cliff looked to me. I nodded. Elise yelped when Cliff plunged his thumb into her crack and forced fingers into her slit.
In my office, Elise rubbing her rear end asked permission to stand. “I hope to be out of here. I need to call my attorneys.”
“You can’t,” I was firm, “retain counsel. In servitude, you cannot enter into a civil contract without the Institute’s approval.”
“I was given time to report in,” Elise maintained.
“You were given 10 days,” I reminded her, “That expired long ago.”
“But I made money while awaiting my husband’s appraisal,” Elise argued. “With all I earned plus my husband’s appraisal, my debt should be paid and I should go free.”
“After your notice of levy,” I reminded her, “your property became forfeit to the Institute. The Institute became entitled to any money you earned.”
I was standing in the corridor with Cliff as Logan guided Elise down the corridor. Rear cuffed held by one arm, Elise sashayed down the corridor toward the entrance to the dungeon. Cliff was counting out the seconds until Elise’s shrieks filled the basement.
Cliff commented, “no matter how tough or nonchalant they pretend to be the artic cold water and the disinfectant even red – hot Bliss and stone — faced Jane yelped as loud as the others when we put them under the shower. `Two settings for your comfort, Cold and Artic cold,'” Cliff snickered, “Care to join them in a refreshing shower.”
After we were finished with the cast, we delt with the leaders: the woman first. I was standing arms folded across my chest, in front of my office when Professor Wendy Miller, dressed in a navy blue cape over a white blouse and skirt with heels and dark stockings stood on the tailors’ platform. Not a filament, not strand of her hair styled in a fashionable wave was mussed when her head spun to glare at me.
The cable ties were cut from her wrists. Ordered by Cliff to strip, Wendy Miller protested, “I won’t permit a man to touch me. That’s my civil right.”
“A free woman might have such a right,” I reproved her, “You are property, subject to my orders, Wendy.”
“Ugh, Professor Miller, please.” Wendy asserted.
“Frankly, in here regardless of whom you think you are, Wendy,” I was harsh. “On your delinquency, your indenture provides that your property is forfeited to the Institute. Your clothing, your car, your house, even your professional title and last name became Institute property.”
“Fuck you!” Wendy cussed.
“Now, I warn you. You owe seven years on your indenture plus three for the expense of capture. Now, either take off your clothes or,” I was firm, “I’ll cut them off you. Now I ask you: Will you undress for me?”
“Cliff, Logan, since Wendy won’t undress voluntarily. Take her into the arena. Stand her in front of the rope. I’ll be with you presently,” I declared.
During the struggle with Cliff and Logan, Wendy lost her heels. Her stocking covered feet slid across the deck paint of the concrete floor.
On the night of the roundup, before Wendy Miller was led away, I declared, “Wendy, if I must to cut your clothes off, I mean to humiliate you in front of an audience in the henhouse and the bullpen.”
When I entered the arena, with the bullpen against the wall on my left and the henhouse against the opposite on my right, Wendy, securely held on either side by Logan and Cliff, looked up at the rope dangling from the 25 foot heigh ceiling.
A gaggle of naked women were on their feet watching. Clutching the ringlets of the cyclone fence, most were shouting, jumping up and down, flapping their bare breasts. One or two folded their arms over their breasts; one cupped her hands over her vagina. The guards used their batons to rattle the cage. “Stand back,” the guards ordered.
There were two naked young men, average sized thin, shiny cock and ball jams attached to their hoscus, were standing up but remarkably quiet. When we conducted our raid, we released most of the men, injecting the transponders into their butts, scrotums and underside of the penis. “You want to keep what you got, use your transportation pass and report in,” I advised the lucky ones. With the two other than LT Bernie that we retained, sadly they had been delinquent too long.
I confided in Cliff and Logan, “It’s probably more exciting than that movie they were making.” Taking a breath, I shouted a call for quiet at the top of my lungs. “Please ladies, give poor Wendy a chance. She’s got a big decision to make.”
I addressed the prisoner, “Wendy, I’d like you to look at me. I’m LT Tina, in charge of this roundup of defaulting debtors. Upon your default, your person is liable to seizure to secure the loans you took out. Under the terms of your indenture, your property is forfeited to the Institute. Like the others you were asked to surrender your clothing which is Institute property. You face on top of the seven years you owe for the indenture, three for failing to surrender your person. If I have to cut your clothes off, you may face an additional three to five years for destruction of Institute property plus an additional year for disobedience.” I took a deep breath. “Now, what will we do, Wendy?”
A fierce look peered on Wendy’s face. “Ok, Cliff, you know what to do. Bind her hands in front of her. String her up.”
Surely, Cliff would administer the punishment with glee. Snickering Cliff assured Wendy, “Each stroke creates a swish sound whistling through the breeze more terrifying than actual whack on the bare rump.”
In response, Wendy started to speak. I called for silence. “I’ll do what you ask,” Wendy cried. Her mascara streaked over her face.
“Alright,” I declared as I studied her bulk, “let’s see what you have underneath, hand me your cape.” Untying her cape, Wendy held it in her hand and offered it to Cliff. Checking its pockets and feeling along the seams, Cliff passed it to me. “It’s a little chilly in here,” I observed, “I left my jacket in my office. This color blue matches my uniform skirt. I’m in charge. I can bend the rules. Your blouse Wendy?”
Untying the scarf and laying it aside, Wendy unfastened her sleeve buttons and lifted the blouse over her head, mussing the gentle wave in her brunette hair. Hands on her hips, Wendy presented a butterball shaped body. A bright red brassiere, as burnished as her cheeks, covered cup 32 C breasts. “Ok, let`s see those tits,” I ordered, “hand the bra to Cliff.” After examining the cups, Cliff put it aside.
“Are the skirt and wrap a suit or are they separates?” I asked. When she acknowledged that skirt, tie and wrap were a part of a suit, I requested, “Now the skirt.” Left in her underwear and stockings, I complemented her on her cool and collected composure in the process.
“I did work in porn,” Wendy stated.
“On screen or in recruiting,” I questioned. When she shrugged her shoulders, I told her to slip off her panties. Yanking her panties off, Wendy lifted them to Cliff with her foot.
“Great gymnastics for a full-figured woman.” I congratulated her. “Now the stockings.”
Once Wendy was standing before me stitchless, I read her bar code and announced, “`Wendy Miller, age 35, 5 ft 3 in, 155 lbs. Indenture Made ___ Declared Delinquent ___ Notice of Levy ___ Levied ___ Escaped ___.’ And of course, we know Wendy has been levied once again. Quite a record. Cliff, bind the prisoner’s hands.” Once Wendy’s hands were bound in front of her. I ordered her searched and paddled. 10 right. 10 left.
Wendy’s bound hands, secured to the rope dangling from the ceiling, were raised above her head; her butterball shaped body was lifted up so that only her decorated toenails scraped against the grey painted concrete floor.
“Before I order Cliff and Logan to begin,” I, taking a paddle in my hand, addressed the women in the henhouse and the chastity caged males in the bull pen, “a reminder of the effect of your indenture. Once The Institute enforced your indenture, your freedom ended. For the period of your indenture, you are a slave, property, subject to disposition: retention by the Institute to serve it or sold in a private sale or at auction. Your purpose hereafter is unquestioning service to a master. Disrespect and disobedience are a challenge to the very nature of your responsibilities in the master servant relationship. The disobedient will be punished.”
I paused deliberately. Handing the paddle to Cliff, I commanded, “Tan her hide. Then bring her to the consultation room for examination.”
As I left the room to return to my office, I heard the gasp of the crowd as the first whack fell.
After administering the punishment, Cliff and Logan joined me in my office. “These types of punishment are unfortunate but necessary. I doubt we’ll have any trouble — for the next few hours at least.”
Cliff advised me that “the squealing from the cold water and screams from disinfectant have subsided. T the ladies taken at LT Bernie’s porn theatre are now safely ensconced behind the wire in the hen house. Shouldn’t we deal with the rooster, LT Bernie, while we’re were still alert enough to handle him. ”
“LT Bernie is a powerful guy,” I reminded Cliff and Logan, “You may be glad Mama made you wear the iron jockstrap.”
“Dealing with LT Bernie, the face behind the picture, would be a test of wills,” Cliff warned, “to the very end.”
In minutes, LT Bernie was produced on the tailor’s platform in front of me in all his naked glory. Cliff and Logan, though both newbies, were especially vigilant ready to pounce as I recited the usual introduction.
“My name is LT Tina,” I introduced myself to the six foot dark haired male prisoner standing under the blinding light above the octagonal tailor’s platform surrounded by six facets of mirrors giving me a panoramic view of his hairy body, “you are being processed as an absconder for return to the Institute. Thus far, you’ve been cooperative. Cliff and Logan are here to assist me if you present a problem. We aren’t going to have any problems. Are we?”
Receiving a nod, I signalled Cliff to cut off the cable ties. “Stick your tongue out for me and twirl it around,” I commanded LT Bernie.
When he complied, I thanked him. Ignoring Bernie’s open amusement, I ordered, “Now Bernie, would you hold your arms up high. Try to touch the sky.” I requested Cliff to pat Bernie down from head to toe, making Bernie wiggle his toes and display his fingers..
“I’m disappointed,” Bernie laughed, “I deserve to have you pat me down.”
“You’ll get your chance to experience my gentle touch,” I replied. Approaching Bernie, I claimed to have decided to personally conduct the genital examination. “Let me lift up your cock and take a peek under your ball sac.”
Bernie attempted to interrupt. After effusively applauding my planning and execution of the raid, Bernie demanded “I need to report my findings to the Institute Director. Get me my clothes or issue me a utility uniform. I’ll be sure to report your total cooperation!”
“Let me finish up my job here, Lieutenant, if you please, Hands on your head,” I requested, “LT Bernie, hold still. I need to install a chastity device snugly to avoid injury or damage to Institute property, your testicles. First the face plate,”
Once again, LT Bernie assumed a voice of command. “When I reveal to the Institute a plan I’ve developed for baiting the young woman into submitting to capture as easy as inducing young women to over — spend themselves into debt, I could end up in the directorate.”
“Interesting,” I ignored LT Bernie’s claims, “Why they call the plate that anchors the chastity cage behind your scrotum a face plate? Actually, the face plate rides behind your scrotum.”
“The solution,” Bernie declared, “is porn. Horny men will buy anything. We can get desperate women trying to work their way out of debt cheap.'”
“Hmm, While the Institute decides its direction, let me finish up here. Now,” I describe my actions, “Let me snap the tube holding your penis into the face plate and last the cock cage holding your nut sack. And there you can’t erect, engage in penetrative intercourse or pee standing up.”
Rising, I asked Cliff to take over, “Cliff take over from here. I must report to The Institute that LT Bernie is back.” To LT Bernie, I asked, “Anything else?”
“I intend to reduce the process of credit — indenture — over extension — capture into an assembly line. You could be part of it. You too,” Bernie, turning to look behind him at Cliff, implored Cliff. “My proposal could revolutionize Institute security. It’s a question of do you want to join the future or end up going to market head — shaven cuffed when Security is cut back?”
It took only a nod to Cliff. As I turned my back to Lt Bernie, I heard screeching cacophony of latex gloves stretched. Cliff barked, “LT Bernie, sir, be so kind as to spread your legs, bend at the waist, pull your butt cheeks apart.” I chuckled when Bernie’s grunt echoed off the cinderblock walls.
“Your speech, Lieutenant,” I declared turning around at the door to my office, “Who could not be carried along by your speech. My breathing became deeper. I could feel the sweat on the back of my hands.. How I want to rip these clothes and fuck –”
Cliff looked up at me with a quizzical look. “Unfortunately, with your accoutrements unavailable, you promise too much beyond your capacity to deliver.”
At a simple nod, Cliff drew his taser. Bernie fell to the floor. Cliff inserted a ball gag in Bernie’s mouth.
Standing over Bernie, hands on my hips, I declared, “When you sign the indenture, the Institute decides.” To Cliff, I ordered, “Put Bernie in the cage outside, away from other prisoners. Even with his balls in a cock jam, and a ball gag sealing his mouth, he has enough charisma to persuade others to do his bidding.”
“Anything else?” Cliff asked.
“Have someone from the farm to guard him. Get Logan,” I ordered, “Meet me upstairs in quarters. The cock locks are coming off. Mama needs to fuck herself blind.”