The Reporter

The Reporter:

Strip Search Before Entry

June 30, 2025 11:00 am The Dungeon

Sarah Eve Curtiss

25-031 Age: 24

Height: 5'8"

Weight: 141

Hair: Blond Eyes: Blue Heterosexual

Bust: 36 / 38 Waist: 35 Hips: 37

Bra: 34 C Panties: 5 Top: M

Single Partner: No Kids: 0

Pubes: Shaven BC: Preg:

LO: By: LMP:

SLUT GUEST

Custodian: Restrictions:

The reporter learns to pay attention to what she's told.

Until about seven months ago, I was, at least outwardly, a typical high school girl. That changed the day I turned 18. I think I've always been dominant. I know I've been that way with every boy I ever dated, going back to my first date at age 13. He quickly learned it was me or find another girl.

My dad has been a Dom since dinosaurs roamed the Earth. I know my mom is his slave. I've known that for years, although I don't think either of them knew I'd figured it out until about a year ago. I figured it out long before that. I was always very nosy and even better at snooping. And spying. Keeping secrets, too.

The day I turned 18, my dad had a couple of presents for me. But the best one, by far, was that I was now an adult in his world. Since I was no one's property and never going to be, that makes me a Lady. As such, I'm a higher life form than any slave, including Mom. So now Mom has to answer to me. It's a privilege I've never taken advantage of, not even when Dad was out of town. Oh, I've spanked her several times and punished her in other ways as well. But she deserved what she got. She might be Mom, but no matter what else she is, she'll always be a play toy and Dad's property. As such, she needs to mind her place.

But that's not really part of this story. It only matters that once I was 18, Dad started letting me play with some of his toys. Or maybe he was using me to help him look after them. Either way, I got to have fun with them. And he left me a free hand to do as I saw fit. I've never abused a toy. That's not something I'd do. I like my toys pristine and unblemished, so I keep them that way.

This isn't a big town. Dad has toys in some of the big towns, and some of the smaller ones, within an hour to two hours' drive from here. I think, by now, I've met and spanked most of them. I know I've met all three of the ones he has in this town. Including one whose daughter I went to school with. Somehow that girl found out that I'd met her mom, and either guessed or found out what happened, at least in a very general sense. Word got around school. For the few who dared to say something to me, I simply told them if they wanted to share their opinion about it, they were welcome to meet me and my paddle privately, and all three of us could discuss it. No one took me up on it. Probably because those who know me know I was serious.

There have been a few boys who have tried to make it known to me that they'd like me to take them out. I haven't, and I'm not planning to. I have better prospects. More... domesticated ones. The rumors didn't last long. I'd thought they were forgotten by the time I graduated three months ago. I hadn't heard anything in a couple of weeks by then.

Through my dad, I've met a few other doms and dommes in the general area. From our house, it's about an hour plus a few minutes to either Akron or Columbus. Another 45 minutes or so to Cleveland. Within four hours, you could be in Cincinnati, Indianapolis, Detroit, Ft. Wayne, Pittsburgh, or any number of smaller towns. You could almost make Buffalo. That's what I consider the area. It's the limits of what I'd be willing to drive, although I try to stay much closer to home.

One of those Dommes that did introduce me to is a middle-aged woman named Gabby. She and I have gotten to be pretty decent friends. We share a similar style and several interests. On top of that, she's pretty cool. She's also sent a few of her toys my way, usually for a one-time lesson. Sometimes for a little more than a single session. There's one whore she pretty much shares with me.

I've always envisioned my toy box being similar to Dad's. One live-in dick to cater to my capricious whims. A small number of play toys waiting around for me to use them for my amusement, maybe once a month or so. A few more who get spanked less often. A few good friends to share the unimportant toys with. Gabby's toy box is a little different. She has two live-ins. Then she has about a dozen regular toys, about two dozen more who play rarely, sometimes only once or twice a year, and I don't have a clue how many toys she plays with once or twice. I wouldn't even count those, except it's not uncommon for them to come back.

Today I'm doing a favor for Dad. I have no idea how it happened, but Dad was contacted by some wannabe journalist from the OSU news. To me it makes her one of countless bloggers, nobody worthy of a phone call, but Dad agreed to talk to her and give her a tour of the dungeon for some "in-depth series" she's doing on "alternative interpersonal lifestyles." It's a good thing she called him, not me, I would have said no. Dad agreed, but demanded two conditions. First she's not allowed to mention him, or specifically where the dungeon is beyond "Crawford County." As far as I know, which really isn't saying much, there's only one in the county. However, I'd bet there are plenty more, all of them in someone's garage or something like that. I have no doubt that Dad's is, by a mile, the most elaborate around.

The second condition is where I come in. Sarah, the "reporter," had to agree to enter the dungeon as a bitch: searched, photographed, and with nothing we don't provide. All under Dad's terms. Amazingly, she agreed, and far faster than I would have thought simple desperation would have made her. I doubt many others would be willing to host a tour. I wonder if this woman has any idea what she agreed to. Dad never said how much detail he explained it in, and I never bothered to ask. I figure, either she's game or gone. I don't have much preference, which, although gone would be less work for me.

The favor is that Dad asked me to "greet" her for him. I get to search her and confiscate everything she brought with her. I get to take her picture and then leave her in the "waiting room" for Dad. The "waiting room" being a today-only new name for the nicer of the two bitch cells in the dungeon. With a wink to me, Dad told me that he'd love to help the woman truly understand submission, and nothing will help her understand it better than enjoying a taste of it. On that point, I can't disagree with him. He's also had the lawyer prepare a brief non-disclosure agreement for me to have her sign, outlining the details of what they've already agreed to.

As for "greeting" her, Dad's left that entirely to my discretion. She's due to arrive at 11:00, and as long as I have her waiting in the cell at 11:45, the intervening time is mine to tease or torment the woman. As long as I make certain that she brings nothing into the dungeon. We've always had a no-pictures policy, except for us, and he's not waiving that now. There's no reason. I'm sure Duck-Duck-Go can find her plenty of pictures of an electric chair identical to ours. It's not like we have anything that can't be bought online, most or all of it on eBay.

Neither of us knows anything about Sarah. We did check her out, and she is a reporter for their online newspaper. She has plenty of bylines to prove it, too. Her previous stories do favor the in-depth series, most of those exploring social issues from every viewpoint. In other words, the kind of reporter who might actually be working on the story she claims to be. But there's no picture of her on the site. There's no real bio information, either, at least not the kind I'd care to know. Like her age, height, weight, bra size, and so on. The basics in my world.

Sarah has only basic instructions. If she were a sub or has done enough research into the lifestyle, then she'd understand that even generic instructions sometimes have hidden meanings behind them. She was told to be at the door exactly at 11:00; tardiness would cause schedule disruptions which might result in her having to wait patiently for an extended period of time. What Dad means is that if she's late, she's going to be waiting in that cell for a while. If he leaves it up to me, it will be one hour -- for every minute she's late. No, neither of our schedules are anything close to that tight; it's to punish her for her tardiness, something I so enjoy doing. She was told that she would be "completely searched" to ensure that she brought absolutely nothing but herself into the dungeon. Anything needed would be provided to her by us. I dug up an old steno pad and a pen. That should do for reporting and note-taking. Sorry, there won't be any of those digital recordings reporters are so fond of these days. Actually, there will be, but Sarah won't know it. The cameras in the dungeon are impossible to spot!

Naturally, I've invited two of my BFFs, the ones I was planning to hang out with today, to join me in meeting Sarah. Giggling, both showed up early this morning. Those two, in addition to being two of the four girls I call my BFFs, are the two who enjoy helping me out with bitches more than they probably should. I let them help whenever I have something for them to do. I don't really today, but I'm sure Sarah will enjoy the extra audience.

Sarah was sent a satellite picture of the old farm that we call home. It has a big X to show her where she can park, although that's obvious as she comes up the drive. There's only one place a car won't block the drive, a little graveled area big enough for about four cars. There's an arrow showing her the mulched path from there, around the side of the big barn, to a back door on it. That is where she's to come.

Inside the barn has been renovated over the years. It's no longer much of a barn, but more like an airplane hanger or something. At least the back 2/3 of it are. The front was left as a generic storage area. The outside got nothing more than a fresh coat of paint. The inside got everything. The former dirt floor is now cement with laminate over it. The walls are plywood, but only because drywall wouldn't survive the humidity, and painted, they look the same. There's even a drop ceiling now.

The doors are new as well. They're all the same, metal security doors, no windows in them, but keypad locks that require a PIN to get out as well as to get in. Without a PIN, those doors aren't opening from either side. While that should violate a dozen sections of the fire code, in this Amish-friendly state, there are no rules on what you can do with a barn. On the outside of the door, "Office Entrance" is printed in one-inch block letters. And there's a doorbell. There's another door around the side that leads directly to the two cells, and a back door through the storage area off the main part of the dungeon. That gives us an exit on three of its four sides. As long as you have the PIN code, and the codes are different for every keypad.

The door Sarah was sent to opens into a smallish office area. It's no different than the kind of office you'd see in a restaurant, or most any other business. There are two doors, the one Sarah is going to come in, and another, with the same PIN locks, that leads out, roughly across from the first, and into a hall. The room is about fifteen feet square, the size of a decent spare bedroom. There's no closet, but there are a few cabinets along a side wall. And there's a desk, not in the center, but closer to the back wall, where you have to walk around it to get to the back door. There are a few metal file cabinets. Along the other side wall, there's a mug shot background, white with black lines for height, hanging. There's a webcam on a tripod pointed directly at it as well. There are more cameras, impossible to see, that cover every square inch of the room. There's one directly above the place where one would stand for a mug shot, and a second on the floor directly under the spot, too. There's not a single inch of the dungeon that's not on camera. That way, we have a full record of what happens here, and that everyone consented to it. There is zero privacy for the bitches. There's a comfy office chair behind the inexpensive metal desk. There are two plain, and slightly short, wooden stools in front of the desk. Beside the cabinets, along that wall, there are two nicer padded chairs for guests, both of which have been claimed by the BFFs.

The three of us are waiting, and watching a "stupid kangaroo TikTok" in the dungeon by 10:30. Sarah is a few minutes early. And we were all hoping she'd be late. She rings the bell with seven minutes to spare. I guess being early is a good trait for a reporter? A bitch would be in trouble for being early, but Sarah is going to get away with it. Irene volunteers to get the door, a little eagerly, so I let her. It gives me a second to click the laptop back to the desktop instead of TikTok. And for Jenna to get to her seat.

"Oh, Hi. I'm Sarah Curtiss. I'm looking for Rob Dexter?"

Irene steps back and opens the door as I'm getting up to my feet. "I'm his daughter and co-owner of this dungeon, Miss Dexter." I introduce myself.

"Oh, wow, I didn't know you and your dad... did this together..."

"We don't." I firmly correct any ideas she might have along that line. We never have, and I am so not going there. "We co-own the dungeon, that's all. I have my own toy box of skank to entertain myself with." As I'm setting her straight, I'm coming around the desk. In the center of the office, there's nothing. There's a square, about six by six, with absolutely nothing but the floor in it. There's a mark in the center of it, and it's that mark that I'm using my body to nudge the unknowing Sarah towards. The girls, Jenna and Irene, know exactly what I'm doing. They know about that mark. They've seen it used countless times. They know that, with her feet there, Sarah won't be able to touch anything without moving her feet a full step in one direction or another.

"Oh, that would have been like so kinking into the niche fetish realm!" Sarah says, and she sounds almost relieved to hear it.

"Today, I get to meet you and search you before your tour. Dad thought you might be more comfortable with a woman searching you, instead of a man."

"Uh, yeah, I would be... you know, I've just... not really thought about that requirement much..." Now her voice has just a tinge of anxiety in it. "So... what? Do I put my hands on the wall like a prisoner?"

"Don't be silly," I tell Sarah, smirking from ear to ear. This woman, a term I'm using loosely as I guess she's more of a young adult, somewhere in her early 20s, has no clue what she's getting into. And, thanks to Dad, I get to tell her. Not that I mind, I am so going to love watching her face drop.

Sarah is a decently tall woman, I'd guess around 5'9" and just slightly on the full side. She is by no means close to fat, but more just with a little bit wider of a frame, like a Viking woman. She's also a blue-eyed blond, so the Viking woman image fits. She's a little lean as well. She has longish blond hair that hangs down over the tops of her shoulders. Today she's wearing a sleeveless pink cotton top that's slightly loose-fitting on her, letting me see the lines of her collar bones under her skin, a sure sign that there's no fat on her body. I can see the strap of a lavender bra showing, too. And below that, a pair of snug-fitting faded denim jeans that hug her bottom tightly. At least with the jeans on, that bottom has a well-rounded and full shape to it.

Sarah has a slightly rounded face, with a hint of a point at her chin. Otherwise, the lines are smooth and flowing. She has thin, light brown-blond brows over her brilliant blue eyes, letting me know her hair color is natural, not out of a bottle. She has a slightly small nose, but a wide mouth with full, plump, light pink lips. Her skin is light white, showing a hint of rose in her cheeks that I doubt is makeup. I can see that her arms are lean and look to be a little toned. I'd guess the rest of her body will be as well.

"I thought he was clear, Sarah. You were told that you would be searched 'completely,' weren't you?"

"Yeah," the anxiety in her voice ramps up another notch. I can see a little confusion on her face as she tries to figure out where this is going faster than I'm telling her how... ignorant she is.

"Good," I'm still smirking wide, just waiting for the look on her face as she figures it out. "Because there is no way to search every nook and cranny of your body with those clothes on. So you can start by handing me your shoes." I firm my voice up on the last line.

"Oh! No!" Sarah balks, her eyes popping wide and the surprise and horror blooming on her face. "I didn't agree to a strip search!"

"No, what you didn't do was pay attention to what you were agreeing to. However, I won't force you to submit to a FULL body search." I add the emphasis on "full" to cue her in that there might be more involved than just getting naked. I am known to be detail-oriented and thorough, not that she'd know my reputation. "You may, of course, leave. Miss Vadek, let her out." Irene, hearing her name, punches in the PIN and opens the door.

Sarah glances over to the open door. I see her eyes flash back and forth a few times, not really even noticing anything but me and the waiting door. I can see her face falling, from horrified shock into a dim, reluctant acceptance. I can see, by the way her eyes are flashing everywhere, that she needs the interview. I'd bet she's wondering just how far she'll go for a story. As cutthroat of a business as she's in or getting into, if she doesn't go the extra mile, she's going to be two days behind the competition in a 24-hour news cycle. And that would make her the worst thing a reporter can be: irrelevant. I see her face scrunching into a light grimace as she shifts her focus back to me.

"It's just a search, right... I mean, I get my clothes back for the tour, right? You don't expect me to stay naked, right?" Sarah asks, her voice tentative and nervous, as if she's afraid to ask for fear of the answers. She cringes a little, her face still scrunched up, and now she refuses to meet my eyes.

"Listen carefully. You will strip. I will search your body as fully as it can possibly be searched. You will be photographed. But no, you will not be naked in front of any males or during the tour. After the tour, you will get your things back and may leave. Or, you may leave now. I really don't care which you pick, but pick now."

Sarah doesn't say a word. After a second, her shoulders slump, and she squats down. Her fingers start fumbling with the laces of her shoes, untying them. With a nod from me, Irene closes the door behind Sarah. We wouldn't want anyone walking in on her. When she gets her shoes off, which takes far longer than it should, she holds them out towards me, her hand trembling slightly, as if they weigh far more than they do.

I take them from her hand and begin "searching" them. I doubt I'm going to find anything. I'd hope she wasn't so dumb as to try and hide something, thinking she'd slip it past me. What reason would she have to do that, anyway? When I'm done, I put the shoes in a cardboard file box. Then I get her purse, and it joins her shoes.

Sarah's eyes avoid me but intently watch everything I do. I'd bet she's wondering why her shoes and purse are in a box. She thinks she'll need them back after her search. She didn't listen to what she was told, and I'm not repeating myself. I merely told her that she wouldn't be naked. I never said she'd get her clothes back. In fact, I told her that she gets her things back after her tour, not before. I can see that Sarah is going to be getting far more of an education today than she anticipated.

"Now give me your socks, Sarah."

Sarah says nothing but lifts a foot and pulls one off. She tosses it at me, her little act of rebellion, before lifting her other foot, getting that thin cotton sock off, and pitching it at me as well. Both land on the floor. I don't catch them. I wait until Sarah has both bare feet on the floor. "I'd pick those up and hand them over nicely before someone decides to sweep my floor and they get swept up in the trash, Sarah." I grin wide and glare at her.

Sarah, chastised and feeling it, unhappily leans over and picks them up. I'd bet she correctly guesses they would be gone by the end of her tour. She grumbles silently as she holds them out for me.

"Now what are you hiding in here that you didn't want me to find..." I muse aloud as I take a little extra time to very fully search the little socks, making sure that Sarah waits as she watches my hands touch every stitch of fabric. Then I casually toss them in the box. "Now give me that top, Sarah."

She very reluctantly brings her hands to the bottom hem of the T-shirt and lifts it up. It lets me see a purple bra. Its 3/4 cups are lace, but foam-lined, and with a thin wire under them. They leave a decent slice of her mound bare at the top-to-inside edge. Her breasts don't look to be too big, but she's filling the cups out. I'm guessing a B-cup, but I could be a size off. It has the thinnest ribbon straps over her shoulders, more like spaghetti straps only with ribbons. But it has a wider band that slowly tapers back to a single hook around her sides. What I notice are the faint goosebumps already covering the parts of her breasts that I can see. It's far from chilly in here, maybe 75 degrees.

Now I can get a good look at her figure, too. As I thought, there's no fat to it. Her stomach is flat, and shows off a firmly toned muscle. Her hips are lean, with little curve to them. Her sides aren't straight, but there's only a gentle feminine curve slightly high on her waist, making her look a little straight. Mostly she just looks like that Viking woman. I call it a strong look. Add that to her height and she'd make an imposing dame, if she can muster the attitude for it.

I let her watch me as I run my hands over every bit of her top, letting her know that I've touched, as well as seen, everything. Inside and out. She'll be thinking about that as she pulls it back on later.

I take a moment and have her hand over a pair of earrings, a watch, and some bracelets that she's wearing. They all get the same treatment, before I drop them in a zip-lock baggie, seal it, and toss it in the box as well. That way, nothing will end up getting lost.

"Now wiggle your butt out of those jeans and hand them over, too." I tell her.

Sarah's face falls a little more. I can tell that she wants to ask again for leniency, but decides not to. She moves slowly, reluctantly unbuttoning and unzipping them, taking far longer than she needed to get it done. As I'd thought, she does have to wiggle her hips to get them down. They barely slide down her thighs easier. She hands them over, and I check the outside of them, then turn them inside-out to check the inside. That way she gets a good view of my hands running over the fabric at the crotch of them. I can still feel a trace of warmth there. They go in the box.

It shows me a pair of light pink cotton panties. They're thick enough to hide her body, but also snug on her body, letting me see the puff of her mound under them. Her panties are especially low-cut, letting the tops of her pubes peek above them. I don't see any hair, so I assume that she shaves. They have a wide side, about 2" tall, that circles around her hips, but as low as they're cut, it's more like the entire panties are just a single band around the bottom of her hips. They let me see that her legs are lean and well-toned, without a drop of fat on them, too. Her height makes them as long as they are shapely.

"Time to get personal, Sarah, the bra, now." I hold my hand out, as if hurrying her along.

She looks as if she's going to cry, then as if she wants to run away. Then her hands hesitantly rise up behind her back, and unclip her bra. The straps fall to her sides, but the ones over her shoulders hold it up. She has to bring her hands around and slip those off her shoulders, and she clamps an arm across her chest as she does. By the time she takes it away, there's nothing left for her to stall with. The cups fall away from her mounds and reveal them. For a split second, before she clamps her arm back across them, holding her bra out to me with her other.

I let her get away with it, knowing it won't last. Besides, I've already seen hard, fully-rounded, half-melon shape of her mounds. They rise off her chest perfectly, showing the world just how pert they are. They're perfectly curved in every direction, too. I've seen that she has tiny rings, maybe the size of quarters, that are a deeper shade of pink, each surrounding a nipple as wide as a pencil eraser, standing up fully with its stiffness, showing off its fully rounded tip. There's nothing more to see. I let her watch as my hands explore all of her bra, especially the seams and the insides of the cups. Then it goes in the box, and a look of dread rushes to flood over her face.

Sarah knows what's next. There's only one possibility. I tell her to hand over her panties. She still hesitates. I'd bet she's telling herself that this isn't the first time a reporter got naked for her story. At least that's all she's being made to do. I'm sure she considers herself coerced into it, although I don't. I clearly gave her the chance to leave; Irene even held the door open for her.

Sarah's hands move slowly, and with a hint of unsteadiness as if she's making herself do it. She gets them to the waistband, crossing them over her breasts to cover those as she does. It takes her several long seconds to reluctantly push them off her hips. But once her body is exposed, she keeps one hand over her mound and hurries to work them down with the other. And get them off. She stands, leaning forward, covering her breasts with one arm and crossing her thighs to hide her pussy, while holding them out to me. When I take them, she straightens up, keeping the hand over her breasts as her other hand covers her mound. For good measure, she keeps her thighs crossed and squished together as well.

I am not fast. I make sure that she sees me touching every bit of her panties, especially the inside of the crotch. I can definitely feel her warmth lingering there, as well as a touch of her wetness barely moistening the cotton fabric. I'm sure she knows what I'm feeling. Just as I'm sure, when she goes to put them back on, she's going to be thinking about how I've touched the fabric that's going against her most private place. I toss them in the box.

"Are you happy now? I'm naked! Can I get dressed, please?" Sarah asks in a very embarrassed, and quiet, but squeaking voice.

"No. Haven't you learned to listen yet, Sarah? I said your body would be searched, not simply stripped. You can either stand there, hiding it like a shy little mouse for a while, or we can get this over with, and once I'm done with everything, you can put something on. Your choice, I'll just wait until you're ready for me to search that body fully."

Sarah's face wrinkles up into the most miserably humiliated grimace. "Just hurry the hell up, please."

I tell her to stand with her arms stretched straight out to her sides and spread her fingers apart. I make her spread her feet, not overly wide, but opening them enough that I can see her mound between the tops of her thighs. It puts her feet about even with the outside edges of her shoulders. I tell her to keep her head up, and eyes forward. Then I let her watch me pull on a pair of purple latex gloves. That gets an even harder grimace from her.

"Now I know what prisoners feel like when they get to prison!" Sarah mutters under her breath. With Jenna and Irene more behind her than to her side, she's forgotten that they're still there and can see everything happening. They have a nice view of her bare butt, too.

I grab a little penlight as I step close to her and start by running my fingers through her hair, feeling her flinch with even that chaste touch. As I do, I brush her hair back, over her shoulders, so that I have a good view of her ears. First, my hands flow softly over them, then I use the bright little light to glance behind them as well as into them. Obviously, there's nothing there. This isn't a prison. She has no real motivation to hide anything so deeply on her body. It's not about finding anything. It's about making her feel that I've seen every last bit of her body. I want her to know that she has no secrets here, just as a bitch coming in wouldn't. She wants to learn about the lifestyle for some story; what better way to get the tone of her article right than to experience it firsthand?

I use my fingers to pinch her eyelashes and use that to lift her eyelids away from her eyeballs so that I can peek under them. I watch her flinch hard and shift her eyes as the light hits them. Then I shine my light up her nose, peeking into one nostril at a time.

I don't tell her to open her mouth. I pinch the corners of her jaw, making it open for her. I shine the light into her mouth, moving slowly and shining it over everything. Then I lift her tongue with the tip of a finger and look under that. I use my fingers to push her cheeks out and to pull her lips away from her gums, and see everything.

My hands move slowly down the front of her body, along her jawline, where I feel only bone under soft skin, along her neck where I can feel a little more of her, her windpipe, and some tendons, then over her shoulders where I can feel the lines of those bones. I go out each arm, my eyes following my hands as I inch along, lightly touching her flesh with the gloves. I go out to her hands and make sure that I see all of them, including her fingers. I even peek at the tips of her fingers to see under her long painted nails. On the way back up her arms, I check her underarms.

That leaves my hands on her chest. I don't shy away from her breasts, even though she flinches so hard that she almost jumps as she feels me touching them. She sucks in a hard gasp and her face scrunches more, too. I treat them as I would any other part of her body. My hands flow slowly and smoothly over the mounds until they're at the tips of them, with her nipples against my palms. I stop and give each mound a gentle squeeze to feel its firmness, which I'd qualify as almost hard. Then I stroke my fingers lightly over the stiff nub of her nipple, both the sides of it and the rounded tip, feeling the slight roughness of its texture. And then I keep going, Sarah showing the tiniest bit of relief as my hands flow off of her mounds.

My hands go down her sides, shifting back and forth across her stomach as they do so that no part of her goes untouched. I check her navel closely. Then I keep going down, feeling a faint quiver getting stronger the lower my hands go. My hands aren't the least bit embarrassed, so they keep going down her silky smooth shaven pubes, feeling that flesh like any other. At her hips, I can feel a faint hint of looseness to her skin, but also her bones just under the flesh.

Then I get to her mound. Hers is moderately puffy, neither the flattest nor the puffiest that I've seen lately. There's a crease at the tops of her thighs, and that's noticeable, so I let my hands go there first, giving Sarah a second's hope that her pussy won't be molested. Then my hands gently glide over the long, thin lips that swell down, squishing their inside edges firmly against each other into a light pink line of a slit. I caress over both lips, then shift so that one hand is getting them both for a moment, as if teasing her mound. I feel the quivers getting even stronger as I do.

I use my fingers to pull her lips slightly down and out to her thighs, stretching them gently, but revealing the pinkness underneath. I see a medium-sized clit, a little wider than a pea, but not much taller as it pokes up from a knot of light pink folds. The rest looks more blood-flushed and bright. Everything sparkles with a light coating of her wetness that clings to everything. I can smell her private scent now, too, a little on the musky side, with a touch of sweetness and a hint of sweat. I let her feel the tips of my fingers rove over her pinkness, and even her clit, before my hands move along. I go all the way down her legs, over her ankles, and along the tops of her feet.

Then I stand up, and with Sarah thinking her humiliation is over, I step behind her and start over again. She shudders, but otherwise stands still as I go over her back. I skip her arms, having already been out those limbs, but don't skip her underarms. As I go down her back, I let my hands get her sides, pressing against her just enough to feel the hint of ribs under her flesh. It takes almost no pressure. It gives me the perfect excuse to slide my hands over her breasts, as if I'm just going along her sides, and give her mounds another, unexpected, squeeze, this time from behind. I keep going down, just as thoroughly.

Finally, I get to the small, but well-rounded, and firmly toned cheeks of her bottom. There are no well-defined lines here. Her body more flows with a gentle rounding as her globes rise from her thighs and waistline. The inside edges of her cheeks touch, blocking my sight into her crack. I let my hands flow down over her bottom, feeling the full rounding of it and the almost hardness of her muscles. I give both cheeks a little squeeze at the same time, then I pull them wide apart to stretch her crack open and let me see the tiny pink ring of her asshole. Sarah gasps out and flinches hard as she feels me do it without even warning her. She flinches so hard that her heels rise off the floor for a second.

Then I'm done there. I let my hand stray over her mound one time, then go down to her ankles again. This time I lift each foot, one at a time, making her balance on the other while my hands and eyes slowly move along the foot, top and bottom, to the tips of her toes. I even slip a finger between her toes, so that nothing is left untouched.

Sarah lets out a deep sigh as I put her second foot back on the floor, assuming that I'm done now. After all, what of her haven't I seen? I rise back to my feet and step around her, taking hold of her wrists and bringing them out in front of her. I use her stretched arms to pull her shoulders down. "Just one more thing to do, and your search will be over, Sarah." I tell her firmly as I bring her hands down to her knees. I put them to her shins just below her knees and tell her to keep them there.

"You're kidding me, right?" Sarah blurts out, her voice a nervous little squeak that tells me she really doesn't believe that I'm kidding her. I'll bet she's wondering just how far I'll take this. She's about to find out as I shift back behind her and squat down to get my eyes level with her bottom.

I use my fingers to pull her lips wide apart, stretching them gently, pulling a touch of the thickness out of them as I do. It lets me see her short, medium-tall, paper-thin, and wrinkly loose inner folds. They pull wide, too, revealing the little button of her rock-hard clit and showing me the meaty entrance of her tunnel. I can see a decent layer of her wetness clinging to everything, a bit more than I saw a few moments ago. Her walls are thick and look to be spongy, soft, but full. I can see a good inch or so into it before her walls swell together and close it off.

I know how exposed Sarah is feeling like this, bending over with her most private place pulled open and exposed to my eyes. She closes her eyes so that she doesn't have to see anything. She can feel my eyes on her intimate body, stripping away her privacy and dignity so casually. I move slowly, but steadily, and without pausing as I bring my finger up to the entrance of her tunnel.

"OOH!" Sarah squeals. Her hips shudder powerfully as she feels my finger pushing into her pussy. "You're going too far with this!" she mutters, her voice a hushed, mousy squeak. She stays as I put her, letting my finger push all the way into her.

I feel the fiery heat in her walls. Her wetness seems to get thicker the deeper I get, and it's slipperier than grease. It's creamy hot and sticky, too. I can feel the soft sponginess of her walls, but under the thick layer of softness, there's a good, firmly toned muscle. The way every little movement of my finger gets a little twitching shudder out of her body, I'd guess her nerves are tingling with fire here. I take a moment to explore the depths of her pussy, making sure the cringing woman feels me taking care not to miss a single place. Then I ease it out. I quickly use my cream-covered fingers to push her folds down and stretch them taut, letting her clit pop up fully. I very lightly stroke a finger of that sensitive nub and feel the shudder hit her body like a hammer as I do. She sucks a sharp, gasping breath. Then I stretch her pinkness taut just above her tunnel until I can see the little opening for her to pee. I touch that as well, not that there's anything more than a bit of rubbery flesh to feel, but so that she'll know I've checked that place, too. Since it's only for peeing, there's really no reason anyone would ever go there, making it one of the more private and less shared parts of her body. Finally, I pull my finger back.

"Please tell me it's over now!" Sarah's voice is more of a squealing, mute plea than anything.

I ignore it. With her body bent over, her crack has spread fairly wide open, now letting me get a very close look at her asshole. The pinkness of her flesh, even as it covers the ring of muscle, is so light that I can barely make out the tint. There's really no swath of color around it. It's more like a tiny black line at the base of her crack where her muscle squeezes tight, shutting it off.

I don't need any lubricant; Sarah has left enough of her slippery cream on my finger to make it oilier than any grease would. I just put the tip of my finger against the outside of the dark line.

"NO!" Sarah cries out, her voice pure nervousness now. "That's going to be too---" I ignore her, mostly because she's staying in place instead of jumping up and running away. "UGH! OW!" Sarah cries out, this time letting the discomfort show in her voice. She pants a fast breath. "UGH!" she grunts again as my finger starts moving inside her, exploring the very last secret place she has. "OW! OUT! I didn't agree to THIS, GET IT OUT! THERE'S NOTHING UP MY ASS FOR GOD'S SAKE!"

I don't take her word for that. And technically she's lying anyway. There is something in her rectum, and I can feel it. It's just nothing that shouldn't be there. Nothing she put in there, at least not through her asshole. "Relax your anus, Sarah, and it won't be so uncomfortable for you." I tell her as I go on exploring her insides. Since she wanted to insist there was nothing inside her, I make sure to push the stiff mass of waste around, pressing it against her walls to make her feel it moving around inside her. I make sure she feels my finger, too. Then I let my finger slide around, twisting slightly as it does, until I can feel the heat of her pussy through the paper-thin walls of her rectum. I very softly stroke my finger over it, and watch as Sarah's hips jump forward as the most powerful shudder hits her body.

"Relax your anus, Sarah, and push my finger back out. Unless you want it to be more uncomfortable." She quickly pushes, as if pooping my finger out of her, and that loosens the vise-tight grip of her ring around my finger. My finger slips from her body easily, and the instant it's out, Sarah lets her breath out.

"Please, say it's over. Please, please, please, say it's over now..." Sarah mutters nervously, and very quietly, with a little squeal under her breath.

I pull my gloves off and then tell her that she can stand up now. Her face shows relief as she gets up. I look her in the eye. "Now you've been fully searched."

"Fully and then some! Did you really have to go up my ass? I mean, seriously, who'd hide anything up there? Like how would I even get to it?"

I smile. "Doesn't matter. Now I know that you have nothing but you. Come over here and let me get your picture."

Sarah freezes in her tracks. "Stop! Wait! You didn't say you wanted a NAKED picture!" Sarah shows absolute horror and embarrassment on her face. I see the rose in her cheeks starting to brighten as her eyes nervously look at me, dancing around in their sockets. I see her body quivering. I watch as she instinctively pulls her hands to her body, hugging one tightly across her breasts and using the other to cover her mound.

I let her walk like that. It's only a few steps. "Yes, I did. You just weren't listening to what I was telling you. I told you that we'd get your picture, then you could have clothes. Thus, it's logical that you would not have clothes during the pictures. Of course, if you'd rather leave, you're always welcome to. But if you want to see the dungeon, it's my way or no way."

"What... happens to them? I mean, like can they be hacked? Are they going to be somewhere where the entire world can see me?" she asks very nervously.

If she were a bitch, I wouldn't answer. I'd order her to stand there and be photographed. I suspect that would work with Sarah, too, but I'm not so eager to test it. "They're stored on an air-gapped server. They're for us only, unless you go to the cops and claim an injury here or something like that. Even with the subs who come here, the pictures are only for our use. I might use one, for example, to show another domme what a toy looks like if I'm considering sharing the toy with that domme, but otherwise, no, they're not shown off."

I put a hand to her back and start nudging her into place. "See those two footprints? Your feet go on them." They're on a scale, which is against the wall, and the background is up a couple of inches to get the height right as she stands in front of it. It has her feet close together, just open enough for the camera hidden in the scale to get a shot of her mound and her now-wet slit.

"Promise me? No one will ever see my picture..." She pleads nervously.

"Sarah!" I snap, not raising my voice, but firming it up. "Stop being a baby. Hands at your sides, head up, look at the camera, now!"

Sarah quivers but straightens up, maybe even a little faster than she's been moving. It reaffirms my idea that she'd respond to a firm command, at least now. I have her facing the camera, her hands loose at her sides. I only have to tell her twice to keep her eyes open. While the camera snaps a picture, I glance down and read her weight as 64.02 Kg. I'll remember that. Sarah might not be a bitch, and she might never intend to return here, but she still gets her very own entry in our database. Everyone who comes in, except my helpers and invited guests (such as other dommes), does. Her data, and her images, will forever live there. At least as long as the drive lasts.

I make Sarah turn to her side and pose for another picture. Then one from the backside, that nicely shows her rather awesome, and spankable, butt. I get a last one from the other side. Sarah will never know that the camera below her took four pictures, as did another directly above her. All of them end up in the database.

"See, you survived," I tell Sarah. I put a hand to her upper arm, leaving her breast alone, and guide her to step off the scale. Sarah notices that the box of her things is gone. It was on the desk, but not now. While she was busy fretting over posing naked, and getting her butt poked, Jenna locked the box in one of the cabinets.

As I walk Sarah over to the desk, I point to a stool and tell her to sit. I put just enough firmness in my voice that she sits down. I put a paper in front of her and tell her, "I believe you discussed the NDA and something lawyers call a hold-harmless agreement? This is that. Sign it and you get clothes. Otherwise, you get to leave." Sarah barely reads it but signs it. That's a mistake on her part. It also clearly gives us ownership of the pictures and all recordings made while she's here. Legally, that means I can do as I wish with them. Although I won't. I wouldn't last long as Domme if I did that to a bitch, let alone a reporter.

I turn to Irene. Jenna announces, "Sarah is a 36-B, size 8." She peeked at the labels on Sarah's clothes as she locked the box away. I already knew that; I peeked when searching them. "She's 173 cm (5'81/2") and 64.02 Kg, so... let's get her a large dress." Irene reaches into one of the cabinets and brings out a neatly folded dress. She hands it to Sarah, who instantly shakes it out and starts pulling it over her head, relieved to have anything to cover her body with.

The dress is simple cotton. It's white with black stripes on it, like an old-time prisoner's uniform. I tell her that she can stand up now, and she does. The dress hangs to just above her knees, leaving them show, but not her thighs. On top, it has inch-wide straps over her shoulders, but otherwise, nothing above the tops of her breasts, all the way around. There's no elastic on it, so even at the top, just above her mounds, it's slightly loose on her. Not so loose that the tips of her nipples can't be made out, but loose. More so at her hips. "Yeah, that's right. Anything more, and your boobs will flop out." I tell Sarah. She doesn't argue. I wonder if she noticed that instead of "prisoner" or "inmate" across her back, this dress says "bitch" across the back.

"Mr. Dexter will see you at 11:45. I'll take you somewhere you can wait for him." I tell Sarah. She gets up and lets me start walking her to the door, then stops and asks, "Wait, I need my recorder for notes and stuff! It's just voice, no pictures!"

"No. You'll be given what Mr. Dexter will let you have. I told you that you can't bring anything in or out of the dungeon, unless we provide it. Come along now." I unlock the door, and Sarah notices that I need a PIN to get through it. It opens into a hall, and I turn her to the right. It's about six steps, and then I turn her left again. A quick right follows, putting Sarah face to face with a solid, shut door. She glances at the door handle, and I feel a relief come over her body as she notices that there's no lock on this door.

I open the door, and Sarah both cringes hard and shudders powerfully. Then she blushes, knowing that, with my hand on her arm, I had to feel that shudder hit her. I pretend that I didn't.

Sarah now has a view of the room I'm nudging her into. It's the nicer of the two cells here. It's 4' wide by 7' long. There's a narrow bed along one wall, taking up 20" of the 48". It's not much of a bed, either, just a thick steel sheet braced up and bolted into the wall studs, with a thin layer of vinyl-covered foam atop it as a mattress. There's a toilet and a sink, and a roll of toilet paper on the floor in front of the bowl. It's not exactly Alcatraz-grade escape-proof, but it's well-built. The walls are solid plywood and painted over as if they're drywall. Overhead there's a sheet of glass, with a fluorescent light behind it that stays on. There are cameras behind it, too, but she won't be able to see those. Nor will she be able to pick out the pin-hole cameras in all four walls. Even the side wall, along the toilet side, that's entirely glass except for a steel frame to hold the glass. It's not exactly bullet-proof heavy, but it's thick glass, like for large patio doors. It lets those outside see everything in the cell. A couple of strategically placed lights on the other side glare against the glass to keep her from seeing out through it.

Sarah's feet move slower, and more hesitantly, with each step as I nudge her into the cell. I let go of her arm once she's through the door. And then I shut the door behind her. She turns around fast as she hears the door shut her in. And that's when she notices why there's no PIN lock on this door. On her side there's not even a handle. The door shuts, and seals, tight, leaving only a faint seam where it opens. The inside is solid. There's not even a place for a handle. There's a small slot at the bottom, but that's now tightly closed from the outside, too, sealing just as flat as the door.

In a couple of seconds, I hear Sarah pound on the door and shout, "Let me out! I never said you could lock me up!" I ignore her and step away. She pounds a little longer, then gives up, deciding that the door wins. She realizes that she's now stuck in that cell until someone comes and lets her out, no matter what she wants. I'd bet minutes start feeling like hours to her.

I text Dad that Sarah is in the storage room, ready and waiting for him. She'll need a notepad and pen, which I already have out.

Dad's there in about five minutes. He was waiting for my text. I hand him the notepad and tell him that Sarah "whined her way through her search." He heads back to get her and deliver on his promise of a tour.

The Reporter:

Orgasm By Electric Chair

June 30, 2025 1:00 pm The Dungeon

Sarah Eve Curtiss

25-031 Age: 24

Height: 5'8"

Weight: 141

Hair: Blond Eyes: Blue Heterosexual

Bust: 36 / 38 Waist: 35 Hips: 37

Bra: 34 C Panties: 5 Top: M

Single Partner: No Kids: 0

Pubes: Shaven BC: Preg:

LO: By: LMP:

SLUT GUEST

Custodian: Restrictions:

The reporter showing it's lithe and long body in the cell.

The girls and I amuse ourselves in the office while Dad takes Sarah on her tour. We find various things to do, such as not only rooting through her purse but rearranging things so that she knows we've been through it. Not only do we listen to the notes she's made on her recorder, but I download a copy of them. Those things should have better security on them! It gives me an idea of what the tone of the story is going to be. Obviously, it's not unfavorable, or I'd go let Dad know that he's only feeding her more fodder for a hatchet job.

Somehow, Dad manages to get her back to the cell after her tour, telling her that he'll go tell me that she's done and I should go get her to "check her out." I smirk, wondering if Sarah has any idea that I plan to cavity search her once again and take a second set of pictures so I can prove nothing happened to her here, on her way out. To prevent her from just walking out, Dad has taken her notepad, which she used extensively, and promised only that I would return it "upon check out." He sounds as if this was a hotel she was staying in.

With the girls listening to every word, I have Dad tell me about her tour. I already know that he has a few things out in the dungeon, namely a cross, the rack, and the electric chair. In addition to that, she got to see the fantasy rooms: the gynecologist's office, the classroom, and the home gym. He tells me that she paid close attention to two of those, noting that the furnishings were real, not something homemade or cheap copies (we bought it all on eBay, from actual schools and gynecologists selling off equipment, likely as part of a remodel). She was, however, not as interested in the gym.

In the dungeon, she paid close attention to all three, along with the other things he showed her. He tried to describe how a woman is put on them, even letting her lie on the rack and imagine herself stretched out. She reached up and stretched on the cross as well. But, despite her avid interest, she refused to even sit in the electric chair (no, it's not a retired execution device. But it looks like it! Exactly like Ohio's old one, anyway.). She gawked at it, but she would not get in it. Or even touch it. She said "no way, that has got to be awful painful! You are not getting me anywhere near that!"

In her notes, or musings, that we snooped through, Sarah talked about the lifestyle could push subs to do things that they never would do. She seems to have a lot of the basics down, such as how true submission requires total trust in the one you're submitting to, since they'd have the ability to hurt you, and you have no way of stopping it. She talks about how it must be to feel so powerless, but she's truly ignorant. Trying, but without having been there, she's working from what a couple of subs have told her, and one of those sounds to me like a woman who just plays a little in her bedroom, not a serious sub. I could introduce her to plenty of truly subservient women.

I decided to let her stew for a little while, but not long. She has to understand that I'm not going to rush just for her. I figured she waited about ten minutes on the way in, so the same, maybe a minute or two longer, on the way out. While we're chatting, to be helpful, Irene gets out the box of her things and neatly folds all of her clothes.

When I finally go fetch Sarah, I take a pair of handcuffs and a blindfold with me, slipping both into my back pockets where they won't be visible to her. She almost springs to her feet when she hears me open the door. "Thank God!" she blurts out. "This cell sucks!" She starts coming towards me.

I stay in the doorway, blocking her way out. "First, I have something for you to think about, Sarah. I'll give you five minutes. If you truly want to understand this lifestyle, there's really only one way, and trust me, I've snooped through your notes. It will show to everyone who knows anything about it that you don't really know what you're talking about. Do you want me to give you a real education, Sarah? I will, and I promise that you will not be injured, and you won't suffer unpleasantly. That's the only promise a sub would get from me, or Master Dexter, or anyone else who was truly dominant. Your choice. I'll be back in five minutes, and you can either trust me for a little while, maybe twenty minutes, or I'll start checking you out." Before she can say anything, I have the door shut, locking her back in. I hear her cry out a loud sigh of frustration at being locked up again, but she doesn't beat on the door this time. She must have figured out that will do nothing but make her hands sore.

I open the door in five minutes exactly, and this time there's a pair of handcuffs dangling from my finger. "So, what's it going to be, Sarah? Ready for a real education?"

Sarah looks at me nervously, and the handcuffs even more nervously. "Please don't make me wear those..." she says so quietly that she more breathes the words out, a squeak in her voice. I suspect she already knows that she's not going to talk her way out of them.

"Don't be such a baby, Sarah. You can put that dress on the bed, and then turn around so I can cuff you."

Sarah freezes, as if she's unable to make her hands move. I just stare at her, instructions given. It's her choice to obey them or leave. At least for now she has that choice. Soon she won't, and that will be her education. She'll learn what it really feels like to give herself to someone and just have to trust them to take care of her while toying with her.

It takes about a full minute for Sarah to move, and she turns her back to me before the dress rises up. It takes another minute for her to have it carelessly tossed on the mattress, and her hands behind her back. Only when she does, do I step in and lock the steel around her wrists. I feel the hard, shuddering tremors flow through her, shaking her body twice, once as each wrist is locked.

I never mentioned the blindfold. With me behind her, Sarah doesn't know it's coming until it drops over her eyes and takes her sight away. That is the most powerful tremor through her, shaking her and buckling her knees as it does. She breathes fast and deep, a little raspiness in her breaths, clearly very nervous now. I tie off the blindfold.

As I turn her to face me, Sarah says in a very quiet, and pleading, voice, "Please don't hurt me. Please! I'm trusting you, Miss Dexter, please just don't hurt me..."

I put my hands to Sarah, taking hold of her by one elbow and the shoulder. I start nudging her forward, but her feet refuse to move. "I'm scared..." Sarah mews under her raspy breath. "I can't see where I'm going! Or what I'm going TO!"

"I know that, Sarah. You're going where I take you. When you get there, you'll figure out what's going to happen to you. You have no choice now. Trust me. And if I were you, I'd be a very good girl now, too. I won't let you walk into anything, so let's go, Sarah." I give her a nudge and she shuffles her feet along the floor carefully, as if using her toes to feel for anything I might walk her into.

It takes me longer than it should to get Sarah back to the dungeon. She can't get her feet moving. I just don't know if it's because she's afraid of walking into something, or afraid of what she's walking to. Probably both, I decide. I keep her moving along, but she slows it down as much as she can. In the end, it does nothing to spare her. It just delays it a few moments.

I walk her straight to the electric chair. The one thing she showed the most avid interest in, but refused to so much as touch. Blindfolded, she has no idea what she's in front of. Once in the dungeon, I walked her around in a circle so she wouldn't know what I was taking her to. In a few minutes, she won't be afraid of it. She'll be in it. I'm not planning to give her a choice.

The chair itself looks exactly like a real electric chair, minus the clamp for her head. It's a very sturdy old wood chair, with leather restraints bolted to it. There's one addition that the department of rehabilitation and corrections never imagined, though. It's a small dildo, rising only an inch above the seat, and surrounded by soft spongy silicone covered with tiny little fingers. The dildo is a touch wide, about 11/2" across. At the tip of it, there's a small wire glue around the shaft. The spongy base is coated in a conductive gel and there's a second wire in that. The dildo itself is a vibrator, and not only does it vibrate, but it manages to send those vibrations into the sponginess surrounding it, which has the little fingers dancing over everything, notable her most sensitive nerves, like her clit. Hanging from the back are four plastic clothes pins, each with a thin wire attached to its jaws and a touch of gel covering it. The electricity comes from three separate, and thus individually controllable, TENS units mounted under the chair. Sarah knows all that. Dad explained how it works in his tour. He was trying to convince her to at least sit in it for a picture, which he thought would go well in her article. With her wearing the prisoner dress, it would have, too. Maybe I'll take one for her, but it won't be in her article. She doesn't have that dress now.

I guide her back until the backs of her calves touch the seat. Then I guide her to sit, putting my hands to her hips, my fingers on her cheeks, as I guide her down and make sure that the gel-covered dildo pushes into her pussy. It's long enough to make it through her lips, and about 1/2" or so into her tunnel, but no further. The little fingers are everywhere, but for the moment mostly against the outside of her lips, except right at her slit.

Jenna and Irene were waiting for us. They both kneel and quickly take hold of a leg, wrapping a thick, slightly rough-hewn 2" wide leather strap around her shin just above her ankle.

"OH MY GOD! NO!" Sarah blurts out in a true panic. "LET ME UP, NOW! I AM NOT BARBECUING IN THAT ELECTRIC CHAIR!"

I reach over to one of the tables where there's a ball gag waiting. I have to pinch the corners of her jaw firmly, and force her mouth wide open as she screams out "I DON'T WANT TO DO THIS! STOP! PLEASE! PLEASE, DON'T PUT ME IN THE ELECTRIC CHAIR! I WANT OUT! PLEASE!" After that, her words are just a jumble of nonsense sounds as the rubber ball stuffs her mouth full and shoves her tongue firmly against the floor of her mouth. I buckle the strap around her head. Then I tease her by saying "What's that, Sarah? I can't understand what you're saying. Just sit back and enjoy your ride in Old Sparky." Sarah vigorously shakes her head no.

By the time I have her gagged, the girls have the second set of straps around her shins just below her knees. I get her arms, leaning her forward enough to unlock the handcuffs. She tries to fight me, pulling her hands away. She doesn't really stand a chance, and I think she knows it. I'd bet she just wants to be able to tell herself that I overpowered her. As I bring her hands out front, Jenna puts a strap around Sarah's chest, just above her breasts and under her arms. She pulls it tight, pulling a wiggling Sarah back firmly against the back of the chair. Irene runs another strap over the tops of Sarah's thighs, as her body bends at the waist, and pulls it tight as well, pulling Sarah's bottom both down and back as it binds her to the chair. Jenna takes one arm, leaving me the other, and we bring them both down to the arm rests and hold them down while Irene buckles a strap over her wrists, then another low on her upper arms, just above the elbow, effectively binding her to the chair.

Sarah squirms energetically, but doesn't manage to move more than a couple of millimeters in any direction. I can see her fingers and toes wiggling, as if trying to get to something. Her hands move, flexing her wrists, but we've put the buckles where it's impossible for her to find them. Even if she knows where to look, her hand isn't getting there. It doesn't stop her from trying. I bring out two of the clothespins, ones with weaker springs so that they don't pinch as much. One pin goes on the hard nub of her nipple. The second one I have to pinch up a little bit of skin on the underside of her breast, as close as I can to her chest, and clip it onto the little fold I make. Sarah tries to squirm while I do it, but it doesn't even slow me down. She constantly begs me to let her up, but the gag mutes it.

Once she's fully buckled down and secured to where she won't move, I do my best warden imitation and announce "Sarah Eve Curtiss, you have been sentenced to ten minutes in the electric chair. We will now carry out that sentence. May God have mercy on your soul." Jenna struggles not to laugh. Although neither of the girls has ever had a ride, both have seen bitches ride it. They know what Sarah is in for and what it's going to do to her. I flip the switches, turning the electricity on to all three TENS units and the vibrator at the same time.

Sarah screams into her gag. I see her body tense, her hands gripping the ends of the armrests tightly. Her toes curl as tightly as they possibly can. She feels the voltage, as a constant fire burning through her pussy, then down into her clit and pinkness. Despite the heat, it's not really painful, but it does stimulate both muscles and nerves. It makes the muscles tense and strain harder. It makes her nerves tingle with excitement. It also makes them about three times more sensitive than she's ever felt them before, making her feel what the vibrator is doing to her three times more than she would. I know that every nerve in her pussy, even the ones that the vibrator isn't close to, tingle and torment her with the sparks racing along them. Her breasts fill with the same fire, filling her with an almost unbearable urge to get to them, which she can't, while the nerves there tingle just the same as the ones in her pussy are.

In about five seconds, Sarah is hit with powerful shudders that have her body snapping hard against the straps, making her look as if she's being electrocuted. In about five more seconds, we all notice the edge of a wave of her wetness flowing slowly over the bumpy mound under her pussy as she steadily weeps more and more cream. Her nipples don't really stiffen more, but they pull tighter, wrinkling up not just the deep pink flesh around them, but the tops of her breasts as well.

We have a bet on how fast Sarah cums. We all guessed a minute or less. It takes her forty seconds, making me the winner, but only because it was the closest without going over! I had 30 seconds, Jenna 45, and Irene, a game show fan, had 46. When Sarah cums, there is no mistaking it, either. The orgasmic wave that hits her hits her harder than a sledgehammer would. Her body snaps hard, her muscles thrashing her with every bit of electrified strength they have. I see her head snapping forward and then back several times. We can see her hips trying to buck up and get off the dildo. We can see her shoulders trying to snap forward. We can see her arms trying to fly into her body. We can see her feet trying to kick wildly. The straps hold her still and in place, letting the current and the dildo do their thing.

And, as Sarah is discovering, leaving her no choice but to sit there and endure it. I'm sure she'd be begging shamelessly now to be let up. I'd bet she's never had more than one orgasm in a row before, too. I'd bet if she could, she'd be out of that chair so fast we would only see a blur as she moved. But she can't. She probably can't even think too clearly now, her brain fogged by all the unknown sensations flooding it and the pleasure filling her body in spite of the fire tingling its way along her nerves. She screams louder, probably giving herself a sore throat, into the gag. It almost sounds like a cry of equal parts agony, frustration, and sweet relief.

I'd bet now, as Sarah very quickly builds to a second orgasm, her already stimulated nerves now getting even more tender to the sparks flying through them, making her feel the sensations even more strongly. I'd bet this is when she truly realizes that I intend to make her endure the full ten minutes I "sentenced" her to. I'd bet she's wondering how long it's been, convincing herself that she's far closer to the end than she is. When the brain is that fogged, time has a way of getting warped badly. Now is when Sarah is truly learning how a sub feels, as she is strapped down, and trusting me not to make her take more than she can stand.

We all watch as two more orgasms, each one stronger than the first, hit Sarah by the five-minute mark. The third does her in. It has her so tired from the hard fighting that she almost slumps inert, her body only coming to life with a single wild thrash as each wave crashes over her.

The next, Sarah's fourth climax takes about two and a half minutes to build. Sarah's body shivers hard the entire time, and she pants hard, fast breaths through her nose. Her pussy flows with a steady trickle of wetness, which by now, has not only covered the entire mound under her, but wept onto the seat of the chair as well. She clearly feels everything, several times more intensely than she's ever felt those sensations before. The current has her nerves awake and alive with the light fire, letting the sparks tingle them too strongly for her. It keeps her mind foggy, leaving her to merely feel the overly sweet sparks of pleasure racing through her body.

When the orgasm hits her, Sarah is back to snapping single thrashes with all her strength against the straps as each wave crashes over her. To her surprise, instead of the waves ebbing with each one, this time they're building, each one hitting harder than the last. Without realizing what she's doing, Sarah screams at the top of her lungs into the gag. The waves keep coming, hitting her hard. Instead of fading in intensity, they only take a second longer between waves. Sarah doesn't even notice it. Nor does she notice the light burn in her muscles as they strain harder and harder, urged to tighten by the erotic tingles racing through her nerves.

Sarah doesn't even feel her fifth orgasm building. She's too busy feeling the incredibly hard waves smashing over, bucking her body so hard that she's glad the straps are there to hold her in the chair; otherwise, she thinks, she might end up flying across the room and flopping around on the floor or something. She feels her breasts burning lightly, and tingling so weirdly that the sensation reminds her of a mouthful of Pop Rocks -- only in her breasts. Those tingles make her want to her hands to her mounds, but the straps won't let her move.

Sarah's body suddenly hits the edge, about to cum again, but this time almost stuck there, the swelling ache seemingly a hundred times worse than any she's ever endured before. So urgent that she can't stand not cumming, and her hands fight the straps to get to her pussy and make herself cum. She feels the ache slowly swelling to even more intense sparks that drive her even crazier, making her scream in sweet erotic agony as she waits, her body squirming wildly now fighting the straps, wanting to get free.

"Oh, look, Sarah," she only dimly hears me and my teasing voice. "Your ten minutes are up! You've survived your execution by orgasm!" Sarah barely hears it, and even less hears the girls giggling in the background. It's more dull noise. Except my words. "Would you like me to stop, or let you sit there and cum... it looks like you're just so eager to sneak another one in!"

Sarah vigorously nods her head yes. I tease, "Oh, you want to electrocute yourself to another orgasm?" She keeps nodding yes while her body squirms hard, her muscles tensing faster and almost snapping her body in the seat. "SLUT!" I tell her. Sarah keeps nodding yes just as enthusiastically. I don't know if she's agreeing that she's a slut, at least for the moment, or just afraid to stop for fear I might stop this, or if she's forgotten she's nodding.

I let her go on. She actually has about fifteen more seconds to go anyway, but that doesn't mean I won't tease her by telling her she's getting overtime.

Sarah cums, and it's hard. Her head snaps back and forth as she screams into her gag, flying all the way down until her chin hits her chest, then back as far as her neck will bend. Her toes curl so tightly that they cramp. Her hands grip the armrests, her nails digging into the wood. Her hips try to buck, but the strap is too tight, leaving her bucking to do nothing more than snap against the leather. Her arms and legs do the same.

Sarah feels the hardest imaginable wave crash over her, flooding her body with the deepest bliss she could have dreamed of, while at the same time her nerves burn with fire and tingle as more sparks race along them. Then there's nothing. She feels absolutely nothing, as if her body is gone. Until the next wave hits her, and she feels everything in full power all over again. And falls numb.

I turn the TENS units off, stopping the current that flows through and the vibrator. It doesn't matter. Sarah goes on bucking and thrashing in her seat as wave after wave slams into her. I go about unclipping the clothespins from her breasts. I don't dare unstrap her yet. We all stand back and watch as Sarah goes on thrashing against the straps for a good two minutes before her snapping jerking motions finally begin to ease. It's another minute before she's done. Her body falls totally loose and spent, her head hanging forward, her neck muscles not having the strength left to support it. The rest of her body is just as gone. Her mind is further gone, drifting through the sweetest fog of pleasure and feeling nothing but. She doesn't notice as we quickly unstrap her.

Sarah isn't moving. I hadn't expected her to be this far gone, but it's nothing I haven't seen before. The three of us pick her up. I get her shoulders, Jenna gets her feet, and Irene goes for her hips. We carry her to the cell and lie her on the bed. I doubt she even notices that we've moved her. I pick up the dress and take it with me, leaving her without anything to wear. I get a fresh notepad and write her a quick note. I leave that where she can see it, and we shut her in the cell.

In the office, we all watch the camera in the cell, seeing Sarah lying on the mattress naked for about ten minutes before she stirs enough to roll to her side. She lies like that a while longer. It's about thirty minutes before her eyes open and she glances around. I can see the confusion on her face as she realizes that she's back in the cell, not the chair, and wonders how she got here. She sees the notepad on the floor, where I let it propped. She starts to get up, but wobbles, and almost falls onto her side. She rolls to her stomach and reaches a shaky arm out to grab the notepad.

As soon as Sarah flips it open, she sees the note I left for her. "Sarah, I see you enjoyed your ride in Old Sparky like the trashier of sluts. Cool down, you were on fire. Rest. I left the notepad in case you wanted to remember that you're a reporter and make some notes about your experience. You will be released at 4:00. Until then, you can stay where you are. Ms. Dexter." I didn't mention what time it was. Or is now. It's already a few minutes after two, so she won't really be there long. It might seem long to her, but it won't be.

It takes her several minutes of staring at the page, her mind aimlessly drifting before she sets the pad down. She tries to get to her feet, and discovers how wobbly her legs still are. She feels the light burn in her muscles, just as if she'd had the hardest workout of her life. I'm sure she notices the sweat dried on her body. And the stick-dried wetness that covers her mound, about 1/3 of her thighs, and 1/2 of her butt. She wobbles over to the toilet, stopping once and dropping to lean against the glass wall on her way.

Sarah stares at the toilet for a minute, half glancing at the glass wall right beside it, probably wondering if anyone is on the other side watching her. She resigns herself to it, drops her butt on the seat, and pees. She uses half the roll of tissue, most of it wetted in the sink and used to clean her cream off her body. Then she walks, slightly better, back to the bed and sits. In another minute or two, she scribbles notes. She doesn't bother to beat on the door.

At 4:00, I go get Sarah out of the cell. By then, she's back to herself, but still feeling the sweet bliss throughout her body. I tell her to give me her notepad, and she obediently hands it over. I'm sure she assumes that she'll get it back at the door, as she was promised with the other one. I make her put her hands behind her and allow herself to be cuffed for the short walk to the office, teasingly telling her that "prisoners are always cuffed when out of their cells." This time, she catches the tease.

In the office, I hand Irene the notepad. Irene has the job of scanning over Sarah's notes, removing the page with the note I left Sarah, and copying the notes. We've already copied her other set of notes. I don't much care what she noted, as long as it's accurate. If there were any misquotes in there, I'd rip them out. I hate being misquoted.

Back in the office, Sarah learns that her "check out" procedure is the same as the "check in" procedure was. This time, I don't have the threat of kicking her out to hang over her head, so I taunt her with a teasing comment that "bad girls don't get their notepads back." I don't know if she thinks I'd actually shred them or not, but she dully resigns herself to the fate and steps in front of the camera for a fresh set of pictures. They show not a real mark on her body, just a touch of pink chaffing from the leather straps she was bucking against. I ask if she's sore there, and she tells me they're a little raw, but not bad. She lets me search her again, too, still grunting as I check her butt, but telling me "even this isn't going to ruin how good I feel now." In a few minutes, I'm done, and Irene returns her clothes. Sarah dresses as quickly as she can, and Irene hands over both notepads. Irene walks her to the door.

The next morning, she calls Dad and asks if she can have both of our emails, which he gives her. A couple of minutes later, there's a draft of her article in our inboxes.

She's not a bad writer. She describes everything, but the electric chair gets the most detail. The cell gets its fair share of press, too. Sarah talks openly about how she felt so exposed and couldn't stop wondering if she was being watched in there, especially if she was seen using the toilet, a thought which humiliates her to think of, even though she doesn't know if she was seen or not. She talks about how she felt so "out of the world" in there, with no way to get out or do anything more than wait, her life wasting away until someone else chose to free her. She talks about how there was nothing pleasant to distract her, either, leaving her to conjure up ideas of what humiliations she might be suffering without even knowing it.

She manages to accurately describe how she felt sitting in the electric chair, too. First wondering how bad it was going to hurt, then discovering that it "really doesn't hurt," calling the pain level "about half as bad as a needle in the butt." For the first few seconds, all she wanted was out of that chair, and she thought she'd made the worst mistake of her life by agreeing to trust me. Then she felt the arousal beginning, how quickly it built, and how fully she enjoyed that, and decided that she liked it. But then, after her orgasm, she wanted out of it again, feeling herself to be finished. She couldn't get out, and she couldn't even communicate how overly sensitive she felt and plead for mercy. She felt truly helpless, unable to do anything but endure whatever I did to her. She skips over the next several minutes and talks about "waking up" back in the cell, her body feeling so good and thinking about how good I took care of her, how I must have known her body better than she does, because she's never felt so sweet before.

She openly tells her audience how humiliated she felt at various times, such as having to allow her body to be searched "intimately, as if she were visiting death row." She talks about still feeling totally embarrassed every time she thinks about the experience, wondering what "the young mistress," (obviously me) must have seen and how degradingly slutty she must have looked at times. She says that she never would have sat in that chair if she'd been given a choice, or known what I would do to her, but also thoroughly enjoyed her ride in it. That, she assumes, is part of what a sub gets out of the experience, doing things I like, but that "mental issues, such as modesty" prevent her from doing on her own. She talks a lot about how much she had to trust me, and how that wasn't easy for her. She mentions one thing that wasn't in her notes. On the way out, she found the search just as humiliating as on the way in, but minded it far less. She wanted to show me that she could behave after the sweetness I showed her that she could feel.

Attached to the bottom of her draft is a personal note asking "If you don't mind, Miss Dexter, would you please let me call you?" Isn't that so polite? I send her my number, mostly curious to see what she wants to ask me.

She has a few questions, most of which she could probably have answered herself. She spends most of the call hinting that she wouldn't object too much if I liked her enough to invite her back for another lesson in submission. She never says it, but the hints are there. I laugh, and I still haven't decided if I will or not. She's pretty enough, and she could be fun. I'm thinking of finding out what she might like.