Penance Corporation of America

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“Let’s put him on the top, Nancy,” I cheerily suggest in pushing the ramp in place.

The high tech key dangling on a slim chain around my neck is used to trigger the cage door. It easily springs open, the electronics reacting only to my thumb print. If stolen or lost the key will not do a prisoner any good... only earn him punishment for possessing it.

I stand aside as 122299 gingerly follows the leash, crawling with a combination of speed and caution. Though otherwise completely naked, 122299 is hooded and blinded. The tough synthetic leather-like covering envelops the entire head down to the neck where it attaches to a thicker collar of similar material. There is a large opening for the mouth and nose. A rectangular patch, adhering to the hood by way of Velcro, covers the eyes and can be removed.

Metal clanks metal as 122299’s hands, knees and feet negotiate the ramp. Nylon wrist and ankle cuffs are tethered together with chains to inhibit extended motions of the hands and feet. Thus 122299 crawls utilizing little baby steps that serve to enhance both his humiliation and sense of being under complete control.

“Ok, sweet cheeks, turn toward the sound of my voice like a good boy. Lower your buttocks and crawl backwards.”

122299 obeys. The height of the cage prevents him from remaining upright on all fours. The height is so limited that he must hunch lower to fit within. Yet with his years of confinement he knows to scrunch down and shuffle backwards. Nancy unclips her leash and smiles.

“He’s all yours... ready to be secured and scanned.”

My heart leaps! My first toy. I clear my throat to issue my first command in as stentorian a voice as I can muster.

“Lie tummy down, slide so your feet are all the way back, wrists stretched over your head,” I command in swinging closed the cage door.

122299 complies, slithering to the far end. As stated, the coffin shaped cages are long. When his feet touch the furthest most vertical bars, he lies down. In stretching out his arms straight over his head he pushes his hands toward me and his wrists approach the cage door. I reach into the pocket of my uniformed skirt and remove the ubiquitous double ‘D’ clamps that I have carried since day one of training.

The right wrist is summarily secured to the vertical bars on my left... the left wrist to the bars on my right. The connecting chain is removed and returned to Nancy. I then move to the rear of the cage. Though it abuts the second pile of cages behind, there is no problem in reaching through the bars, clipping each ankle to adjacent bars and removing the connecting chain.

122299 is thus secured to the bars within a locked cage. With the weeks of training, it requires less than a minute to have him summarily immobilized while remaining blindfolded. I move to look at his rump where there is tattooed his prison number... 122299. As my eyes are drawn to the male genitals, hanging between the bottom bars and invading the space of the empty cage below, that sense of moisture forming between my thighs heightens.

122299 is mine!.. as will eleven more soon be.

I hold the modified cattle prod to a metal disc attached to a piercing on 122299’s left hip. Data recorded on the disc is scanned into my prod. It is 122299’s entire history of confinement. His original conviction and sentence, his deportment while incarcerated, all punishments endured, his diet. A small display built within the expensive high tech prod allows me to read all I need to know to best confine and torment my charge.

“He thinks he’ll soon be released,” I note to Nancy in learning that his original ten year sentence is nearing consideration for parole.

Nancy laughs.

“You know that won’t happen. Once we have the likes of him broken, keeping him nicely caged and bound is like money in the bank.”

I suppose I should feel sorry for our convicted rapist. He will never escape the clutches of the Penance Corporation of America. We all make too much money in keeping him here.

Meanwhile I note that the flaccid p***s of 122299 begins to harden. Stretching him out can have that effect. I also know from our training classes and my abnormal psychology courses that there are those who react with a degree of priapism to authority that humiliates.

I reach out and coax further firmness. He’ll never again experience the ecstasy of orgasm... but I can bring him to frustrating proximity.

“If you like showing off for me, we’ll get along just fine,” I tease in an alluring voice, pulling on his pecker like a cow’s udder.

The hips begin to grind and when I sense noteworthy penile stiffness my hand moves to cradle the hairless scrotum. Pediculosis is always a concern with those in long term confinement, therefore hair is prohibited. New arrivals are deluged with powerful depilatory and delousing chemicals. I know from training class that before donning the black hood, 122299’s scalp was coated with a concoction to kill the hair follicles. Thus the tough synthetic leather covering serves more than one function.

With my tender touch abandoning his p***s my naked toy squirms in frustration. I withdraw my hand, step back and a moan of disappointment comes. I suspect there will be many more such sounds of carnal dismay. I gaze at the naked and helpless prostrate form. 122299 looks to be in his late twenties, though the childlike glabrous body may cloak true age. I look to the scanner screen and note his birthday. He is indeed aged 31. I also note the designation ‘CS’.

“He sucks c**k,” I note aloud in reaction to the cryptic acronym for ‘cocksucker’.

Nancy laughs.

“I think you’ll find many do. It comes with the process of breaking their pride... I suppose an expression of resistance to the forced chastity... perhaps a form of misguided affection. It’s just one of the many reasons to keep them all well bound within the cages. Unless of course you want to be entertained....”

Nancy chortles with the suggestion that I permit, perhaps force, a display of male on male oral sodomy. And indeed the thought brings a smile. I imagine there will be many endless days together, just me and my dozen naked and bound charges, and boredom may indeed bring a quest for entertainment.

My free right hand glides along 122299’ s hairless torso to find a n****e. I tenderly tweak.

“Would you like to do that for me, 122299? Suck a nice fat c**k. Make a fellow inmate happy and bring me a smile?”

My touch teases. Even useless male n*****s can become quite sentient with the many, many months of denial. Just the process of securing 122299 to the bars brought tumescence, though I suspect being lead about on a leash kindled the process. The training classes were thorough and explicit in explaining the needs, wants and desires of those kept in long term confinement. Dealing with such and as cost effectively as possible are the goals of Penance Corporation of America.

122299 does not reply. I suppose he is rather sheepish about conduct most males wish to keep secret. Yet his new found skill is permanently recorded on his metal disc and available for the entire staff to read. The moniker ‘CS’ will forever stay in his file.

Nancy departs. I stroll to the drawer with the water bottles, fill one and return to the upper cage to attach the canister to the side.

“Water is to your right, 122299,” I inform in grasping my charge’s hood and guiding his head so that mouth and lips find the small metal pipe that discharges the flow.

A tongue eagerly extends and alacritously presses against the little ball holding back the flow. The practiced action releases the refreshing liquid and prisoner 122299 drinks. I smile with childhood reminiscences of my pet hamster.

By the end of my second day, the upper cages and two in the middle are occupied with transferred inmates. I find my warden, Peggy Blakely, to be correct about their comportment... gentle as lambs indeed. Having spent years blindfolded and secured to near complete immobility the time passes with my charges just lying about waiting for... well, I really do not know for what it is they await. Silence is the rule and I need not use the cattle prod to enforce it. So I sit in the special chair and read a book, refill an occasional water bottle, and shift their positions every two to three hours... basically rolling them from prostrate position to supine and vice versa and perhaps occasionally reattaching the wrists cuffs closer to the door to add to the slow torment of the stretched out posture.

By mid morning boredom ensues and the built in timer in my high tech prod gratefully proclaims a change. It buzzes.

“Exercise time,” I pleasantly call out to the six annuities I have restrained well stretched out and prostrate in their confining steel enclosures.

Yes, the hooded heads bob in a combination of joy and apprehension... joy in knowing that limbs will mercifully be freed to move... apprehension in having to do so under my strict and demeaning tutelage.

I don latex gloves and open a glass jar of suppositories. I begin with 122299, reaching into his cage, parting his cheeks and slipping the gooey cylinder of glycerin into his rectum. He is helpless to resist and I take my time, my index and middle finger thrusting well past that tight purse string muscle and playfully wriggling within before withdrawing.

Yes, it’s quite the humiliating procedure. But these are the rules. In having the inmates so proximate, stacked atop one another seven to eight feet high, we must supervise bowel movements. Can’t have them soiling each other, the cages and the floor.

My key opens the cage door. I clip a leash to the thick neck collar and release all the double D clamps securing wrists and ankles. With the room door locked, tethering chains are not needed. He cannot run away, only face the debilitating shocks of my prod should he summon the fortitude to resist. And after seven years, he probably cannot formulate the resolve to do so.

“Come,” I pleasantly coo in pulling on the leash.

122299 knows to lift himself to his haunches and respond to my tugs, gingerly rising to crawl low and slow and exit the confining cage. Yes, he is quite the lamb, offering no opposition whatsoever and finding his way onto the ramp where I direct him to turn and crawl down to the tiled floor.

Yes, once again I feel moisture within my loins, leading about a naked man on a leash arouses. We circle the stack of cages twice before I detect the telling pause. Not resistance, but instead just the effect of the suppository bringing the expected reaction in the bowels.

“Over here,” I direct with a renewed tug.

We approach the simple hole in the floor that serves as a toilet. Gloved hands push and poke until his backside is aligned. Then, to heighten the humiliation, I remove the blindfold. The Velcro yields quite easily and 122299 blinks in adjusting to the room light after many, many hours of darkness.

I stand to his side. My left hand, bearing the cattle prod, takes the leash and holds it high, forcing 122299 to crane his neck. With his vision improving he struggles to turn his head and look at the pretty young woman who controls all.

I stoop and with my right hand find the male package, palm both p***s and balls and draw such forward and up towards his lower belly, clearing the way so he can empty himself with a minimal of cleansing required thereafter.

“Spread nice and wide and do your thing for me,” I encourage in words enunciated as would mother to child.

Again I feel him begin to harden with my touch. Peering at my curvy athletic form with blue eyes and blonde hair enhances the expected response of the forcibly chaste male. I find myself smiling evilly, kneading just enough to bring his neglected p***s to complete stiffness, making his own anatomy add to his shame.