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 Copyright (c) Robin Neal, all rights reserved, reposting without permission
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   PET

   2.  THE PUNISHMENT ROOM

   I was in a little room, not more than fifteen feet or so on a side, with
an overhead light and a little shelf on one side at about table height. 
The wall in front of me was mirrored, the door was to my left, and it
didn't have a knob on the inside.  When I had been brought in by the
Trainers, I had seen that there was a knob on the outside and it hadn't
been locked.  I had fought them with all my strength, knowing I would lose
but hoping at least to get in a kick or something, mostly just fighting
them because I wasn't going to go placidly, OBEDIENTLY to a punishment, but
I hadn't been able to do anything useful.  I usually had a hysterical fit
when the duty Trainers showed up, if I wasn't having one already.  They had
put a wrap of thin cord around my waist, tying a knot in front by my belly
button, and then taken the free end between my legs and pulled it up behind
me, passed it between my tied wrists and pulled it cruelly tight, so that I
had to reach way, way down between my cheeks in back and still the cord was
cinched deeply into the cleft of my naked, shaved sex.  They tied a knot
and I was left like that while they manhandled me through unfamiliar
corridors, my legs tied together above the knees with the same slim,
cutting cord so that I was forced to take small steps and kept losing my
balance again and again, trying to keep up, and would have fallen except
for their grip on my shoulders.

   The humiliation of my abject nudity and helplessness was much worse than
the pain, and I would have done anything I could to hurt those women, if
one had come within biting distance or I could have kicked out, but they
were just too strong and too clever, used to dealing with situations like
this and totally professional.  I called them every name I could think of
until I finally realized that I was making no impression and I was running
out of breath that I desperately needed.  They hustled me along without a
word until we got to what I thought of as a punishment room, and that
probably was its only purpose.

   In the middle of the little room was a kind of pedestal, a steel pole
standing up vertically, screwed right into the floor somehow and very
solid. It was about waist high, and on the top was a long, thin little seat
of leather, like a slim bicycle seat.  About a foot up from the floor, the
pipe had a kind of adjustable fitting on it with two steel cuffs, like
manacles, that opened and closed with simple catches, and the fitting could
slide up and down the pipe and be locked at any height.  When I saw the
contraption, I figured it out right away and I fought those Trainers
wildly, uselessly as they untied the cord between my legs and took it from
around my waist, then untied my knees and physically picked me up between
the two of them and wrestled me onto the seat.  I twisted frantically,
squealing and trying to kick, but when my weight settled on the little seat
I had to be much more still, because any wiggling or shifting hurt my
pussy. While I tried to get my balance, they quickly reached down and one
of them grabbed each ankle, and before I knew it they had them in the cuffs
and locked.  Then one of them pulled down on the fitting, stretching my
legs toward the floor as I shifted my ass around trying to ease the
pressure of my weight on the seat, and then she levered the little catch
and locked my ankles in position.  I was completely helpless.

   Even if my hands had been free I couldn't have done a single thing to
get down from the punishment stand, but I wasn't going to be allowed that
mercy.  The bitches untied my wrists as I shifted gingerly on the seat,
whimpering with discomfort and trying to get into some position where I
could rest, and then one of them went to the little shelf and brought back
two strange-looking slim tubes of supple leather.  I didn't understand at
first, and I wasn't thinking too clearly anyway, and then they took one of
my arms and held it out straight behind me while they slipped a tube onto
it.  It turned out to be like a sleeve or shoulder-length glove, with a
little strap around the top of it that buckled so it would stay firmly in
place.  Down at the other end, there really wasn't any allowance for my
hand, it just tapered to a point, sort of, and my fingers were stuffed into
it, and it ended in another buckle.  When my other arm was similarly done,
I effectively didn't have hands, and then one of the women went back to the
little shelf and got a couple of simple leather straps, like belts.  They
took my sleeved arms and forced them behind my back, and despite all I
could do they got one of the straps around my elbows and buckled them
together, passing the strap around several times.  I had already stopped
insulting them and started whining, and now I begged, but they didn't pay
any attention.  My shoulders were pulled back and my spine arched, my boobs
forced out helplessly as I explored my position, trying to find a way of
easing the pressure.  There wasn't any.  They took my wrists and pulled
them around to the front of me, so that I was reaching around my waist as
far as I could, which wasn't very far, and then took the other strap and
fitted it to the buckle at the end of one sleeve, down by my fingers, and
passed it around behind my waist once, pulled it very tight and then
buckled the other end of the strap to the buckle at the end of the other
sleeve.  Now my elbows were touching behind my back and the ends of my
fingers were almost touching by my navel, and it was like I didn't have
arms at all.  I threw myself against the arrangement in a spasm of
frustration, with my full strength, and all I really accomplished was to
bounce my tits.  I couldn't get my hair out of my face and tears of
frustration and pain dripped off my chin.

   One of the Ladies took a handful of hair and forced my head back so she
could look in my eyes.  I thought of trying to spit, but she saw the idea
take form and shook her head slowly in warning and I got the message.

   "You are to apologize to your Lady for your behavior," she said in a
matter-of-fact tone, as if she were telling me to clean my room.  She was
an athletic, pretty black woman with clean, springy dreadlocks, and she
didn't seem angry with me.  But she wasn't sympathetic either, she acted
like the Trainers always did, just doing the job.  Somehow that made me
madder than if she'd been enjoying hurting me, and my hysterical anger rose
again, making my head hurt and my vision dim with its relentless pressure.

   "You are being videotaped," she went on in a calm tone.  "The tape will
be reviewed every few minutes to see if your apology is on it.  When an
apology is found, it will be taken to your Lady for viewing, and if she is
satisfied with it you will be released and returned to your room according
to her instructions.  Do you understand?"

   Did I understand?  Did she think I was completely stupid?

   "Fuck off, bitch!" I gasped, assuming that nothing I said would make it
worse than it already was.  Never assume.

   She didn't act surprised or anything, but she shook her head again, the
impression being that I really must be completely stupid, and she reached
into her pocket and took out two little pieces of fishing line, the plastic
kind.  They had little pre-made eyelets at one end, and she took the first
one and threaded the other end of it through the eyelet, making a noose.  I
couldn't figure this one out, but I didn't like it and I fought my
restraint and whined, rocking a bit on the pedestal.  She put one hand
under my left breast and lifted it while with her other hand she rolled the
nipple between her fingers, looking at it critically as it hardened and
lengthened from the stimulation.  I stared at it too, nervously, and I
realized that for some reason my oversensitive nipples had already been
erect.  I couldn't fight her at all, and when she was satisfied with the
size of the nipple she slipped the little noose around it and pulled gently
toward the ceiling, getting it just right, and then the other Trainer took
it and held it so that part of the weight of my breast was supported by my
nipple.  The breath hissed between my clenched teeth as I tried not to cry
out, and after a moment I adjusted.  The pain wasn't really that bad
because my nipple wasn't being pulled on very hard, but it was irritating
and the fishline noose held my nipple swollen and stiff, a brick red color.
Of course the other nipple was done the same way, and then they took the
two fishlines behind my neck, holding my hair out of the way, and tied them
together.  They didn't pull it too tight, but tight enough to lift my boobs
a little and pull my nipples up.

   With a last check of their work, especially to make sure I was settled
straight on the little seat, they walked out the door and closed it.

   I won't go into a lot of detail about that night, but I will admit that
I wasn't smart enough to just make the best apology I could think of, right
away, and wait to be rescued.  I tried to hold out, and I was there a long
time, until my mind got fuzzy and I was in a kind of half-dream world. 
Then I had an orgasm, stimulated by the leather seat and the pressure on my
nipples.  That made the seat slippery and much more uncomfortable, and I
gave in, beaten.  But I doubt my first apology was accepted, and thinking
back it really wasn't very contrite.  I'm not sure, because there was no
way to tell how long an apology would take to get to Cissy and how long
after she accepted I would be released, but I squirmed impatiently on the
pedestal, watching myself helplessly in the mirror and fearing another
orgasm, and after a little while I apologized again, better.  Then the next
orgasm overwhelmed me and I couldn't keep from bucking on the seat and the
bouncing of my boobs tightened the fishlines holding my nipples.  I thought
I was going to pass out, and when I could get enough breath I blubbered a
tearful, sincere castigation of myself that no one could have disapproved
of.  I don't know if she ever saw it, but it was a short time later that
the door opened and a different set of Trainers took me down and
half-carried me to my room.

   I lay on my bed while a maid dutifully treated my small injuries, mostly
stiffness and a few scrapes and welts and of course my painfully swollen
nipples.  Time and the punishments I had endured had toughened my
constitution, and I was back at class the next day, hiding my lingering
discomfort and defying the House to do its worst.

   *****

   In episode 3, Pet's bad behavior reaches a new level, and brings her and
her Lady to a crisis.