Penance Corporation of America

Email Comments: comments@pinkflamingo.com-5

Then the fun begins. In lying supine, there is the same expanse of flesh to be clamped... yet much more sentient areas are exposed. Yes, my poor 112606 is once again going to hang by his arms and legs, but because of his belligerent return to vulgar loquaciousness, this morning I will also clamp the n*****s, stomach, scrotum and p***s. Applying the clamps alone brings amazing cries of anguish. Then as he feels the cords first being knotted and then tightened when I secure each to the bars above, the begging begins. Yes, 112606 and I are communicating better today. He knows that I will again be slipping away the boards to leave his entire nakedness helplessly dangling some two or three inches above the bottom of the cage. And it will be his tender flesh which holds him in place.

“How long do you think I am going to hang you today?” I taunt in assuring each of the dozens of cords is well tied.

“Please no, Miss Muffin. I can’t take it,” comes the beseeching reply.

I note that today I am properly entitled as ‘Miss’. An improvement. But 112606 needs to be broken, his pride vanquished, his will quashed, his desire to resist supplanted with a desire to please and obey.

“I will decide that, just as I decide everything for you,” I callously reply.

And so I give each of the two dozen or more cords a final gentle tug to assure uniformity then slowly slide away the two boards.

Oh, the result is exquisite. The lungs empty in an amazing howl of agony as the numerous pinches of flesh pull from his frame. The pain of tension on the n*****s and scrotum alone seem to overwhelm and I know to sit nearby, ready to replace the boards before my dangling toy swoons. Yes, the p***s also rises, on this occasion not in arousal. I have clamped the frenum, right and left, and two cords run to the bars above. Not a lot of tension, but enough to add to the torment and humiliation. A woman toys with his manly appendage like a little puppet and 112606 is helpless to object.

Within a few minutes, the breath is finally caught as 112606 desperately tries to find the words which will bestow mercy. And he now knows that, at the very least such words must be polite.

Meanwhile, as 112606 tries to remain still, frantically attempting to minimize the tensioned agony, I feel within my loins the first twinge of the day. Such wonderful employment, working for the Penance Corporation of America.

My charge becomes perfectly still and I must smile at his dilemma. The pain brings the urge to thrash about, yet in doing so he will increase his own suffering. So more and more he learns to calm himself, accept my offering of torment and just hang. I cannot resist removing his eye covering. I once again want to see the shock and fear in those masculinely beautiful eyes, witness the realization, however slow for a lad of 112606’s limited intellect, that his life of independence is over. That I control all. It is only I who offers food. Only I who offers water. Only I who offers the care of the brusque but welcomed morning hosing. Within the thick concrete walls, I am omnipotent. And though the empowerment is exhilarating, the process of enlightening lowly males like 112606 is even more exhilarating.

Tears once again stream and 112606 shakes his head to rid the moisture. I smile and tenderly brush away some drops then once again demonstrate my insouciance.

“You’re moving your head. I should have been more thorough.”

With that, I find another clamp, cruelly insert it into his nostrils and release it to close. Though he screams with the new source of pain, he also knows not to move and heighten the tension of the two dozen clamps and cords. Meanwhile, I diligently knot another cord to the nostril clamp and connect it above, painfully immobilizing his head.

“Those tears belong to me,” I rebuke. “You’re not to disturb them. I want to watch them flow.”

And so, as 112606 suffers, his tears accumulate and I enhance the mental torment by lovingly dabbing away the constant flow of wetness as a mother would comfort a distraught child, cooing words of encouragement. After several minutes, calm stillness suggests that endorphins are flowing, thus I know to replace the boards and provide a respite. Allowing to dissipate the flow of the torturess’s nemesis, the body’s natural antidote to pain, means after several minutes I can again remove the boards and begin the torture anew... and feel renewed oscillations between my thighs as the agonizing process is resumed.

112606 is going to have a long morning.

Feeding time can impart a sense of empowerment of its own at the Penance Corporation of America facility. It is subtle power, not as pronounced as using the prod, clipping wrists and ankles in tight bondage, or hosing my cadre of miscreants with cold water. Yet, the process still serves to manifest my control.

With the objective of cost minimization in mind, the kitchen staff have concocted a bland stew which offers nutrition without much else. The inmates suggest it tastes terrible, and I can attest that it does not smell much better. But since there is no selection of fare, each spoonful of the foul gallimaufry is readily consumed.

The medical staff conspired with the kitchen to calculate precisely the caloric intake required for each specific inmate. Body size and weight versus the energy needed to exist. Nothing more.

Yes, there are no fat inmates at the Penance Corporation of America. The bowls arrive daily. Only one meal. And the inmate’s number is imprinted on each bowl. A small quantity for the small prisoners, a larger quantity for the bigger prisoner. The staff has even taken into consideration the modest daily exercise permitted and allowed enough caloric energy to be consumed accordingly.

So, despite the objectionable taste, there is always an obsequious request for more... which is of course, denied. Food costs money. Food provides energy. Energy can foster resistance.

I want docile lambs. And as I spoon feed each hungry mouth, I indeed marvel at how the rigorous system instills the characteristics of the ovine. The physical will to resist is depleted by the precise measurements of minimal sustenance, thus augmenting the lack of mental will which, as I have demonstrated to myself with 112606, is easily broken.

“May I please have more Miss Muffin?” is the typical humble question at feeding time.

I allow rudimentary communication as I feed. It is a concession quickly and easily revoked with any misdeeds.

“No,” is my typical terse reply. “You don’t need it. You’re to receive just enough food to languish in your cage and be exercised in crawling four laps for me. Nothing more.”

Yes, it is subtle control but quite thorough. I often wonder if I led an inmate five times around the room instead of four. I suspect, with the scientific calculation of input versus output, he would slowly wither to nothing.

But that would not do. My job is to maximize the annuity earned from every inmate. We want long healthy lives, bringing revenue of fifty dollars per day. The diet, devoid of harmful fat, heaped with nutrients, will ensure long, long physical life, however mentally tormenting that may be.

Four days after 112606’s first arrival, I have completely broken him. He just languishes in his cage, lying well bound either prostrate or supine, his repose forcibly changing as I choose. And I might add, he is quiet... very quiet. Certain points on his flesh remain tender, where the nasty serrated clamps bit with particular zeal. Otherwise, there are only mental scars remaining from his most cruel and agonizing ordeal. I kept him dangling by his own flesh well after his resolve and his fortitude dissolved. He now better understands my power.

I am pleased to report there are no more vulgarities. No more unauthorized verbal outbursts of any kind.

The deportment of my little lamb now replicates that of my other eight charges. And he amuses me with moments in which I enjoy watching his trembling reaction as I once again suggest I might want to see him hang. But other than to whine, not daring to speak without permission, there is no other reaction.

During feeding, when I grant permission, he speaks politely and most subserviently, usually begging for food but also humbly asking when his term in the cage will end.

“Your sentence is for two years. You will therefore spend two years caged. It’s very simple, 112606. The conditions of your incarceration will not waver. There will be no time off for good behavior. We don’t need to encourage good behavior here. All inmates exhibit good behavior... they have no other choice.”

I laugh lightly as it dawns on 112606 that prisoners are not coddled within the facilities of the Penance Corporation of America.

I spoon forth another odorous glob thinking about the soft eyes tucked away under the patch adhering to his hood. The naked form lying bound and totally under my control is nicely shaped. The nose straight and without excess, the lips an alluring color, yet masculine. Sans hood, I am sure 112606 was a handsome lad before the girls in orientation deprived him of his individuality. Now he is just a well restrained pile of flesh, earning the maximum revenue for the Penance Corporation of America, and incurring the minimum in costs.

With the excitement of the past few days, acclimating myself to my new role, I have ignored my own needs, many times feeling the effects of stimulation as my loins warmed and wetness formed. With padded chair nearby, the shape of its seat constantly reminding of its potential, the quiet and more repetitive chores allow time to once again sit and read. With the rigid discipline instilled, there are long periods of silence between, hosing, feeding and exercise. Thus I can relax uninterrupted with nine naked and well bound males docilely awaiting my tendance.

Within an hour the door lock clicks and Peggy Blakely enters. I rise and we bid each other greetings. I note she carries paperwork.

“A very good job with 112606,” she compliments.

She stoops and sees that the inmate in question lies prostrate and well stretched with wrists and arms extended straight over his head. She smiles when she spies the p***s and balls hanging through the bars below. 112606 is erect. I surmise the priapic condition is the result of the mounting number of days kept chaste, the curious reaction of the male spinal nerves when the back muscles are tensioned, and the mental joy with the absence of pain.

“Rather cute when not being belligerent,” she notes, her assessment paralleling mine.

A firm and knowing hand extends through the bars and smoothes along the buttocks, palpating as much as offering soothing comfort.

“Nice cute posterior. We may soon have a special release request for this one.”

Once again there is the reference to activity which in my mind counters the stern atmosphere so painstakingly entrenched in the hundreds of inmates... that of release. But before I can again inquire, Peggy places a pile of papers on the cabinet.

“Infraction reports. I’m sure the need was discussed in training.”

I nod and join Peggy in an evil smile as she explains.

“No hurry. But the girls in admin do like to keep everything current for the parole board.”

Yes, under the guise of maximizing revenue, the staff at the Penance Corporation of America commit what is essentially massive fraud. Reports of rule violations are constantly fabricated and filed with the Parole Board. The results I am told are twofold... with the perceived challenge of unruliness the per diem fee for incarcerating each inmate continues without question... few, if any, inmates attain early release.

As stated, to ensure the vast and continuing profit growth, once a prisoner is broken we endeavor to keep him forever.

I laugh to myself wondering how many years 112606 will really serve for his petty convenience store antics. Within a few months I suspect there will be a report of violence and attempted escape. In the eyes of the Parole Board such ‘vile’ conduct will earn more time with us... beginning 112606 down the slope which will lead to extension after extension of his sentence.