Amber And The Spanking Machine

The other girl from The Judicial Spanking Machine and what she went through.

Amber has been sentenced to a public session on one of the new judicial spanking machines. It isn't exactly a Part 2. Just a different lens on the other story.

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Amber knelt in the display pillory, her bare bottom a scorching ball of pain. She was wrung out and drenched in blinding embarrassment. Every time she came close to composure, she failed and burst into tears again. She had howled herself hoarse and she had begged and blubbered: tears and snot. Every shred of dignity was gone and her body, clad only in a thin shirt was fully on display for the crowd.

Behind her, in the mall were shoppers, onlookers, and, most horribly, people associated with her social media who had been invited to her punishment session. The awful punishment carousel was a spectacle and she had ridden it--or was that the other way around? Now, utterly defeated, she sobbed, any attempt at self-possession breaking into pieces instantly. The crowd, it seemed, loved it. She didn't quite hear jeers--but the tone was definitely one of approval and satisfaction. Her displayed naked bottom was shining for them, welted and bruised, quite a sight, it seemed. It was awful and she never felt so small--so defeated.

In the horrid whirlpool of humiliation, a quavery voice scolded her over and over at how pleased the crowd must be to see the little slip of a girl sobbing in the pillory--how satisfied the utter wringing out of her defiance had been--how utterly humbled she was. It was her own reaction to the spectacles that had inflamed her--driven her to find the man who had been one of the key voices behind the machines and target him with the deep-fake.

Councilman Erwin Meyers had been the first to adopt the new standards, apparently seeing the value it had brought in other townships. He had led the campaign along with Dr. Emeila Carter, criminal psychologist, to reverse the activism counter-culture that had taken hold of the youth. In the private literature, it had been referred to as The Taming. It had infuriated and fascinated Amber Saleneth, computer science girl in her second year.

She had determined, quickly, that the forces at work behind the Taming program where embedded in not just the government, but the information network architecture. Namely, that it was hard for anyone under about 30 to get good information on the process. Social media was a bit scrambled, algorithms didn't share properly, and what information there was tended towards propaganda.

The re-education campuses showing rooms of wan girls in gray dresses writing lines or sitting with perfect posture, watching some movie or speaker. There were clips of some of the bigger names in the underground timid, wet-eyed, and contrite renouncing the fight. She had seen rare, hard to acquire video from personal phones showing a girl, her vagina swollen and open with arousal bawling, her dark-skinned buttocks marked by lashes and swollen and bruised.

The girl was lying face down on a slanted padded board, her hands locked into a restraint block before her. A spider's legs cluster of arms held rods that had been used to lash her thighs, her buttocks, and a couple tap-tap-tapping at the naked soles of her feet. She had a small patch of black pubic hair visible around the swollen organ and that, Amber had learned, was why the released video showed the pink of her inner channel.

The snippet showed the young woman bucking and fighting ineffectually, as her feet were lightly stripped and a light coming on under her pelvis, and the girl's mouth opening wider in an O--moaning, and spurting in what, to Amber, looked like a shattering orgasm. The snippet had shown the girl's alleged 'upward trajectory' from rebel activist to apprentice medical technician following her 'taming.'

Amber had carefully locked and checked her room door and then lain in bed several nights, a hand between her thighs, imagining the horror the girl must have felt--that moment of explosive exposure and humiliation and--and--she had concluded that Erwin Meyers HAD to be stopped--to be punished for his plans.

She moaned. Deeper in than the pain smarting and throbbing in her buttocks and thighs was the itch. Her anus itched--it was a tickling feeling directly on the bud with a sharp, intense itch growing there--persistent--urgent. The machine had 'taken' her in both channels during her ride and while her vagina felt bruised and sore, its use of her rear was even worse.

As badly as she needed to cradle her spanked bottom, she would, given only one option, choose a mighty, monstrous scratch at the target of its punishment. Held in the pillory, her feet also secured to the padded platform, she could do neither. Clenching her buttocks did exactly nothing for the taunting, capering itch.

"Amber!" She looked up, a bolt of new misery and humiliation running through her and her wet eyes met Erwin Meyers smugly pleased ones.

# # #

Her ride on the punishment carousel had begun with the order. "Climb up!" The horrible officer Kellis had ordered her to mount the hippocampus--the 'fish-horse' with a crowd of strangers staring at her naked, waxed bottom. When she paused, the stern woman gave her a hard smack on her bare bottom and she gasped and scrambled up. She got one foot in the rubbery stirrup and threw the other over. Before her the padded 'mane' of the hippocampus was ready to serve as a pillow to cry into. Her bare sex nestled into the saddle--also with its own rubbery grip.

"Please," she whimpered. She wasn't sure what she was pleading for, but she was begging now--not that Officer In Charge Kellis seemed to have any stock of mercy within her. SMACK! Her buttocks were totally exposed. Oh!

"Stretch your hands forward and take the rein grips," Kellis ordered. Amber had turned her head well enough to see the officer's hand back and ready to strike. "And don't bother begging. The time for that is long past."

Amber, feeling tears in her chest bent forward--and forward--and took the reins. The officer was securing her feet and knees--tight--snug--and with a pull, when all fastened so that her sex was pushed into the saddle--at least it wasn't visible! Her buttocks were another story though. Seated in a saddle, even somewhat 'upright' she'd have thought her hind-quarters would be more protected. The opposite was true.

The saddle dropped down with the spiraling fish-tail so that it seemed to hang out over the rear of the thing with only a slight flange of the saddle further down. Providing zero protection for her buttocks. The woman was fastening one wrist, and moving to the other.

"It's meant to be punishment," the officer said, focusing on her work. "You're meant to have an awful time of it."

"I am," Amber moaned. Officer Kellis met her eyes then.

"Good," she said. "I expect you to ensure the crowd can see--and hear--what a bad little girl you were."

Amber sniffled.

"You'll have plenty to cry about momentarily," Officer Kellis said. SMACK! A third, utterly unnecessary smack fell on her buttocks, and the wrist cuffs pulled forward--not much--but enough to pull her into the padded surface.

She sat there, unwilling to look out at the crowd, feeling the tears--the nudity--the vulnerability--everything. The big board had mentioned her deep-fakes. She was aware of others whose sessions had involved the notification of classmates, family members, and club-groups. Was someone she knew out there? Seeing her nude? About to see her--about to see her punished? To watch her cry?

The idea of witnesses she knew took the already intolerable desperation to an acute new level and she found herself forced to lift her already falling-apart face to scan the crowd. Their faces--filled with the same kind of eager fascination she would have had if she had been in their number instead of up here--were dreadful. Meeting their eyes, even for a flickering instant thrilled them as if beams of the humiliation they had come to enjoy were pouring out of her! So many faces--men, women, mothers, fathers--young women her own age... boys she might consider peers! All staring with warm anticipation, waiting for the real show--the undoing of a bad girl!--to begin!

The panic she felt at the bareness of her private region climbed to new, screaming heights and she twisted and pulled at the straps, driven to cover and close and hide--and unable to! But even in that storm of complete embarrassment, she still looked, hoping to assure herself these were strangers!

Even that small comfort, though, was cruelly denied her.

It was Tim Bruner. He was her Teacher's Assistant in her Data Sciences class. Young, sharp looking, he seemed horrified for her and when their eyes met, she felt an electric shock of terror go through her. HIM! HE WAS HERE! She turned her face back into the padding, a little moaning whine escaping her lips. Oh-No-No-No! She couldn't face him, but she couldn't not look back.

He was looking--not stricken--but--but she'd... enjoyed his Office Hours, attending each of them for a more comprehensive explanation of what the professor made opaque. He'd... oh, fuck, he'd answered some of her questions on Deep Fakes. They hadn't been the secret that unlocked her sabotage, but they'd discussed how the disinformation could spread, could look legitimate, could induce people to believe things that weren't true.

What must he think of her now?? She met his eyes, more by accident than design and she wanted to tell him that she had been a very bad girl and she was so very sorry! He looked... disappointed. She turned away, shame racking her with its claws. Tears welled up: she was going to cry before it even started! She lowered her face, abashed, down and into her shoulder.

Pssht! The pneumatic sound, and the hippocampus rose slightly as music started. Oh-oh-Ohh--it was--it was happening! It was happening now! The ride moved up as the rotation began, and the speed began to rise. She felt it then--movement beneath and between her legs--a slick prod--a--a penis-sized projection, lubricated and rubbery--but quite stiff between her labia. NO! She gasped and tried to squirm off it. WHUP. The hippocampus crashed back down in a sudden motion that had the probe push into her, sliding past her defenses, into her narrow, wet channel. She felt it enter, and her first, horrified realization was that it was thick! Ohh! Too thick! The lips and walls spread to admit it and then spread and spread and spread! OOOH!! No! No! (but, of course, refusing to admit it did nothing. The powerful instrument simply went where gravity and the machine took it. Amber wasn't a virgin, but she was unused and unready for anything bigger than a finger or too--and as she fell with the horse the restraints on her legs and ankles pulled her down even more! Driving it even deeper!

Shit! S-stop! Please! All her vocal moans and mental begging did nothing.

It slid in, and in, and in--a force of intrusion and dominance that instructed her of her of her complete helplessness with each centimeter of violation!

"AH!" The blow within her was not crushingly hard--but it was more painful than any sex she'd ever had. Worse, she was utterly unable to control anything about it: as the hippocampus came to its lowest point, the fucking penetrator gave a little jutting pulse--a little TAP right against her--her cervix! It was a deep interior poke and the sensation was a bolt of pressure with an aching horrid after-shock. Her shriek was loud into the padded surface. Oh-no-no!

The prod in her--violating, filling--was not rigid, no--its head was somewhat spongy but dense. When it pushed--when she was dropped against it, it surged against her inside, combining the stretching fullness with a terrifying POKE right there--AGAIN! The idea that it could be HARDER or DEEPER was horrific. She was affixed, helpless, and invaded. WHUP! Inside-her, the little 'spank' and her stomach clenched--owww!! Her eyes were wide! She had to get the thing out of her! She struggled, helplessly, and gasped as the hippocampus rose precipitously and she cried out!

Her whole world was the fight to control the exact location and depth of the intruder and to do something to mitigate its next little 'spank' against that deepest core of her femininity. Her whole world except the horrible part of her mind that realized the audience watching could see her struggle--her bare ass straining as it moved as much as it could (very little) against the entering, splitting shaft!

And, that small part of her wondered, could they make out the grease of her own moisture smeared on its dark surface? Could they see the awful, unwanted reaction this... this torture! This degradation! This violation created?

Could they!? Could... Tim? The thought was devastating, breathtaking, but only a small part of her could entertain those horrors:

The roller-coaster feeling of the coming plunge consumed her--until the whippy lash on the robot arm exploded across her buttocks.

"AHHHH!!" Her cry was loud and wild! OWW!! OH! OHHH!! "AHHH!!" Again and another wordless yalp as the horse crashed down, and again she got the awful internal 'spank' The terrible probe also seemed to swell inside her vagina, stretching it more--or was she just going deeper? It was deeper and fuller than anything she'd ever taken! SZACK! SCAZK! SCAZK! The robot arm cut three slices through the air.

She heard each faint swish and her eyes bulged with the three explosions of liquid fire in stripes across her once-private geometry. She'd thankfully peed before getting into the square holding area, but she felt an ache in her bladder and little sprays of hot urine on her thigh. OHH!! She caught the arm twirl in some kind of parody of dance and the lashes came from the other direction! SWATH! SWATH! SWIK! "OHhh!! Ahhh!! Nooo!" She howled! The lash felt--it felt wet and fiery! She had to get it away--HAD TO!

In desperation she looked at the crowd as she swung by. There was Officer Kellis, smug and stern with the fucking college girl standing by her, beaming. Amber met her eyes, pleading and saw only pleased satisfaction in the other's gaze. BITCH! "AHHH!" A good, hard SPANK in her vagina. She screeched and SWICK! SWICK! SWICK! Another three quick slashes back and forth--her buttocks SCREAMED she wailed. NO! NO! NO! Tears and cries flowed freely now.

They'd taken her composure. The audience was treated to precisely what they had come for--a crying, bucking girl, suffering exquisitely for her misbehavior.

The thing in her--the machine's cock--was not a hard-metal probe, no--it was somewhat flexible, but dense and it seemed to have some kind of internal piston and air-bladder to inflate and THRUST even if it wasn't a rigid object. It was spanking the inside of her channel and no matter how she struggled. She caught Tim as it brought her around again. What a sight she must be! Bare, thrashing, searing lines of welts or weals across her pale skin! They couldn't see the punishment prod, but they could see her yelping and howling. As the world sild past, she caught his eyes: concern, sympathy... but a horrible little look of satisfaction. She moaned.

SWIK! SWIK! SWIK! "AIIEEEE! OWW!! OWWWW!!" She howled as it rose and fell with horrible pulses and thumps! Her bladder ached. Her vagina felt stretched and bruised--and the terrible thumps when it spanked her cervix made her want to curl up and cry. Of those two, the one she could do was cry, and she did. Officer Kellis looking smug at her wildly begging eyes. She could hear the other girl yowling like an alley-cat and she matched her on the awful machine. WHUP-WHUP--WHUP! She wouldn't be able to sit without pain or walk normally for days just from the internal spanking--never mind the horrible cuts of the switch!

WHUP! WHUP!! "OHH!!! PLEASEPLEASEPLEASE!"

She was sagging, sobbing, hair stuck to her face by snot and drool. The ride had stopped. The first cycle was over. Amber bawled like a child into the foam cushion.

# # #

"I won't beg." Amber had sat in the orange jail jumpsuit in the little metal chair in the lock-up's meeting room. Across from her, Erwin Meyers and the prosecutor sat. Next to her was her attorney--a young man who had been candid about her chances: very low.

"You will," Mr Meyers said--he was mid-thirties, solidly built, a bit 'square-faced.' The prosecutor was a wolfish woman who was definitely a predator who'd caught her prey. He looked over at the prosecutor. "She will, you know. I've seen the studies."

Amber glared. The prosecutor smirked and nodded. "Mr. Telnet," she addressed Amber's attorney, "inform her about how the reparations system works. Reformative humiliation is very effective!" He was swollen with pride and smugness and she seethed before him, her hands balled into small fists under the table.

"The, uh, the way it works," her attorney said, "is that if the injured parties are not satisfied with your apology--"

"Contriton," Mr. Meyers corrected him.

"Correct, sir. With, ah, your contrition then they can, if the court has ruled, extend the, uh, the sentence to its adjudicated maximum. We--ah, we don't know what that'll be yet--but it could be one or more sessions on one of the punishment machines and it could include re-education or even traditional jail time... public service... additional public humiliation."

He shifted in the chair.

"But we don't know?"

"Not until the trial and ruling."

Amber glared at him. "I'm not begging." She was on fire with indignation and rage at him.

"I think we're done here," said the prosecuting attorney, closing her ledger.

Amber's cheeks flared and she ground her teeth.

"Remember this, Amber," Meyers said, almost apologetically. "It'll be relevant later." He smiled--not pleasantly, smugly and superior. He gave her a brief nod. Amber had boiled as they left.

"Do most people beg?" She asked her attorney.

"I can't say about 'most people' but everyone I've seen who has been through the system once has."

Amber grimaced.

# # #

The second-cycle, 'Round 2' had begun with her waddling, badly, to the cutesy unicorn with the lay-down saddle. She'd moaned and sobbed and needed help getting over since her buttocks and her vagina were shrieking with pain. She'd felt crampy and sore all over. Officer Kellis hadn't spanked her--oh, she couldn't have taken it! The lines of the switch felt like wounds!

She'd pressed her face into the pillowed main of the horned creature. She'd heard movement on the platform and looked over, despite herself. To her horror, as Kellis was fastening in her other leg, she saw Erwin Meyers in his office suit fairly beaming in satisfaction at her condition.

"How are we getting on?" He asked jovially. He stood perhaps four feet away, hands casually on his hips like he was examining a job site. He was in a very good mood.

"Uhnnn!" She forced her face back into the pad. No! No! No!!

"I reached out to my colleague Dr. Carter," he said pleasantly. "I wanted something that would be a good little reminder--a follow up to our meeting!"

She groaned again. Oh! Oh this was terrible. "I also have a photographer from the press to take some commemorative photos. I believe I'll have them on my walls--sort of a trophy thing?"

"Can he BE here!?" It was an anguished cry--there wasn't enough strength of outrage in her voice, just a slightly warbling wail.

"He can," Officer Kellis informed her, working on one wrist.

"Ohhh!!" A soft cry. Oh how the fucker must be loving this. She saw, past her hair, him move slightly to come in front of the unicorn and bend in. She was afraid of provoking him by not looking at him so she froze.

He nodded, pleased. "Dr. Carter gave me a recommendation and, as per the judgment, I'm going to add it. Officer Kellis? You'll start with the application?"

"It'll be the first action," she told him.

"Good! Good! You'll have to let me know how effective it is," he chuckled. "Dr. Carter had wonderful things to say about the technique."

"What!?" Her cry sounded desperate. Her pussy was SCREAMING at her! Throbbing! Aching! Leaking! Laying forward, it wasn't directly on the saddle: she couldn't have taken that. But having it pushed out into the air made it visible and the soft tormenting voices in her head reminded her what she was showing him! A wet, sexually aroused, sexually punished woman, suffering in a way so shameful and personal, it had utterly defeated her even without the wretched lines of fire the switch had laid across her equally presented cheeks!

"It's," he laughed, "well, Dr. Carter explained it to me as a kind of extremely humiliating punishment. When she explained it to me, I would say I understood quite well what she was talking about!"

"What is it?" Now her voice was a tremulous whine. Oh, her buttocks blazed--her sex ACHED. The sense of having been--having been railed there--fucked hard and left sore and unable to sit was terrible. She squirmed.

"You'll see. We'll have a full explanation later." He stepped back. "Begging would've helped with this. I want you to remember that." He flashed her a smile. "We'll circle back."

She moaned. The machine was going to start again, the insufferable horrible man was gloating and ohhhh! She should've groveled! She should have gotten on her knees and pleaded! Offered to suck him off! Anything!. Her cries hitched at the pneumatic sound and the unicorn rose. Helpless on it, a spectacle to the crowd she whimpered. She could feel the air on her throbbing sex: wet and bare. She heard the faint sound of the arm behind her--an application the fucker had added just for her.

It was between her buttocks--a push of the robotic arm, perfectly articulate, easing against her anus--what?? Her eyes widened. A little... spurt--some sort of goo? Chemical? It felt warm. The nozzle pressed hard and she clenched. NO!! GET OUT! She got a spark of a shock, like touching a doorknob and a static-zap reprimand. She cried out! It pushed inside: blut! Another application of the goo inside her!! NO! NO! NO!

The ride was picking up steam. Tim and Meyers were talking, the older, bigger man, looking so horribly pleased with himself, gesturing up at her as she sailed by. The handsome TA looking... well, he was watching her--a set of his jaw. Disappointment, condemnation? Some, yes--a cute, smart girl who had gone bad--had used knowledge he'd taught her to slander the council man. She squeezed her eyes shut: she couldn't take the stares of the crowd.

PLAT! The spank was a surprise and her eyes flew open. It was a horrible circle of pain on her buttocks! What the fuck!?

It was a spoon--made of metal, the size of a mixing spoon, the curved bottom as the striking surface. PLAT! PLAT! PLAT! The arm danced behind her. It smacked into her with a crisp swat that seemed to focus the spank deep into the muscle while leaving the skin BLAZING. She yowled. Over the stripes the pain was a sparkling, blinding thing. She howled.

PLAT! PLAT! PLAT! The awful thing came in flourishes snapping around, spinning, and landing them across her buttocks! OW! OW! OW! OW! OW! Even with the rise and fall of the unicorn it never missed, never faltered. She cried out with the rhythmic spanking cadence. Under her, rising and falling a sonic system in the saddle buzzed her bladder. The tingling pulling sensation inside her made the sore-feeling from the punishment prod rose and surged with the upwards motion and then changed to a terribly uncomfortable vibration in her buttocks as it came down! She wailed. Buzzz--buzzzz-buzzzz--and the spoon: SPANK! SPANK! SPANK!

It was awful: The terrible frisson in her bladder was a punishing counterpoint to the throbbing ache in her vagina, the soreness deep inside her--her spanked cervix! The hot lines of the lash sang out in pain and her buttocks--the spoon--ohhhh! The THAP! THAP! THAP! Painted her curves with what felt like bruising slaps! The unicorn seemed to buck so that her bottom was thrust into the swatting implement. Every few seconds, insult was added to injury as the beaming face of Erwin Meyers cycled by--and rows of young women with phones out filming her.

She was secured so she couldn't really move or avoid it, or exert any actual control over the spanking, but she could struggle and buck and vocalize, and she did in a way she understood was intended to be profoundly entertaining! The fucking ride was making her gyrate and screech and push and pull and have her arms and legs pump furiously! Oh, she must look adorable, flailing around up there, bawling her eyes out, filling the area with her pathetic, shrill little cries! The stupid, awful, intolerable spoon made her put on a show!

The music played on, cheery and infuriating--but something else was brewing--rising--behind her--under the wobbling layers of pain, was the itch. As she rose and fell, yelping and yowling, the discomfort between her buttocks suddenly FLARED. It was a sudden, emergency-grade itch right there on her root--her bud!

It peaked and she clenched hard, the spoon finding the tensed muscles of her buttocks fertile ground for its punishment. Oh--ohh--Oh-NO! She pulled as hard as she could on the wrist restraints: SHE HAD TO GET HER FINGER BACK THERE! SHE HAD TO SCRATCH. She was 'rewarded' with a punitive surge of the sonic stimulator and she bawled in rising horror realizing there was not to be any relief.

Apparently her change in squirming and thrashing had not gone unnoticed. Meyers was pointing to her--towards her clenching buttocks, specifically--and explaining something to Tim who looked both horrified and... fascinated. The spoon snapped back after a couple of particularly hard spanks to the crests of her buttocks and then gave mere tap-smacks to the exposed, helpless soles of her feet.

She howled. The itch, sharp and urgent did not relent and she felt the last shred of dignity go as she broke completely, howling out pleas to the man in a broken, hoarse voice drenched in tears. The spoon re-adjusted and laid a flurry of vertical spanks against her vulva.

The slaps were light and sharp and the intimacy of the punishment against her sex was intolerable--blinding. She squeezed her eyes shut and screamed her lungs out. The ride had stopped and she was weeping against it. Urine dribbled helplessly out of her. Her breath heaved. The itch... was relentless. She was assaulted by it and every horrible bruise and welt and throbbing was just an outer coating of misery over the thing at her core that was torturing her.

Her whine came out in a soft, warbling noise of misery. There was no respite and the discomfort--the emergency--was at the nexus of humiliation! They had a wheel chair with a basin in it so her bottom would hang. The got her into it, her head shaking and sniffling--her soft voice pleading for them to clean her there--to scratch--ANYTHING.

"No, Amber," the nurse said, "you're still under punishment and it's supposed to be un pleasant."

"I can't stand it," she wailed, desperate, eyes huge and wet.

"Good," said the other nurse. "You're not intended to."

Moans of discomfort escaped her lips as she was wheeled through the crowd. They could see her bare legs, her swollen, bruised sex hanging between them and she HAD to scratch. She squirmed as much as she could, hoping to get ANY degree of comfort to her ravenously itching anus. Ahead were the display pillories, the crowd watching with interest around her.

Amber's hands were cuffed to the arm-rests, her feet cuffed to the platforms. She couldn't close her legs and snot dripped from her nose in a long, nasty thread. No one wiped it. She was taken out of the chair, her head placed in the yoke and her wrists restrained to either side. She lay on her belly, bottom up and on display. Her thighs were lashed together and held tight, so were he ankles. Between her cheeks her anus, screaming to be relieved, might as well as been as far away as the moon.

Her moan was loud, wet--thick. She could hear the other girl mewling beside her, but she had no room for sympathy for the other. Each throb in her bottom was a new breaking crest of punishment and she was only able to moan at each one, composure having flown.

She was going to be on display and time would stand still while everyone would see her disgrace and defeat! She was so punished--breathtakingly humiliated--and it wasn't over yet. It seemed so terribly far from over and she had to address her anus RIGHT NOW.

There were signs up that not only forbade touching of the subjects but also "comforting touches" explicitly, an image with a bar across it showing a hand rubbing a reddened backside. She needed to plead for someone to scratch her--to CLEAN her back there--to wipe whatever it was that was burrowing--screwing--into her anus! It had to GO!

Movement before her and she raised her eyes, wet and blurry with tears. It was Tim Bruner, the Teacher's assistant. He looked down at her--clearly moved by her wretched appearance... but... He gave a little shake of his head. How could she have done it?

He bent in. "You really stepped in it, Amber," he said softly.

"I know," she croaked. She needed to show him how sorry she was--needed him to help her--to break the rules, just this once! "I know!" A new rush of sobs bubbled out. More snot. He looked around for something to wipe it with then paused, seeing the signs.

"I'll see to her!" A jovial voice--glutted with smug triumph. It was Meyers. He had a handkerchief. "Crying is so messy, isn't it Amber?"

He wiped at her nose and eyes with the soft cloth. Her surge of fury was drowned with pathetic gratitude and she stared up at him.

"T-thank you," she managed hoarsely. Would--would he have mercy on her? She looked pleading. "Sir--I'm so sorry--I was so--"

"Oh, Amber!" He cut in. "Remember when I told you to remember our encounter? That it would be important later?" He ruffled her hair, fondly. "This IS later!"

"PLEASE," she moaned. "Sir, oh, please! It's so bad!"

"Isn't it?" He looked pleased. He looked at Tim who seemed slightly alarmed. "It's based on threadworms," he told the boy. "They're a nasty little parasite--mostly harmless, but they live in the anus and at night the female worms crawl out of the anus to lay eggs round the area!"

Amber let out a softer cry of mortification at this. He nodded, beaming. "The itch is intense--and the area--it carries a good deal of shame, doesn't it?" He stroked her hair. "Dr. Carter is experimenting with it as a spectacular lesson! One Amber is learning right now. Aren't we?"

It was awful--but she had no choice. "Yes sir," she wailed. "Yes sir, I'm learning my lesson! I should've begged you! I was too proud! I'm begging you now, sir, please!"

His laugh shattered something inside of her and she broke into a cascade of uncontrollable tears.

"Amber," he squatted down to be eye level. She was moaning and weeping. "Look at me," he coaxed. He glanced up at Tim. "I want you to see something. Stand behind her--count the contractions in her vulva. The muscle spasms. They'll be visible. I'm going to instruct her not to--and each time she fails and clenches--visibly, it's a sign she needs more self-discipline." He stroked her hair. "Could you film it for me? It's important to her sentence."

Tim looked uncomfortable but nodded and moved around back behind her. He let her cry.

"Good! Now, when the itch overwhelms you and you contract your vagina muscles, it doesn't help does it?" He was solicitous.

She shook her head mournfully, staring up, begging him for relief. His eyes gleamed.

"Every clench from here on out will be extra punishment I'll assign up to the limits of the judgment!" His smile spread. She gaped.

"Now," he continued, holding up a finger, "that punishment will be separate from my requirement to judge you on your apology! You see, if your written pledge of apology isn't deemed sufficient, darling Amber," he leaned in closer, "I can assign another wonderful session on one of the machines... and I'll give you a trip to the reeducation camps!" His smile was awful, smug, cruel. The itch took her then and she realized she'd clenched. Panic hit.

"No, please!" She begged pathetically. "Sir, please--no! Please not another one!" Tears flowed and fell--she struggled! She thrashed, getting nothing--clenching and unclenching, heedless of the consequences. "Please sir! I'll do anything," she pleaded. "What can I do?" He ran his thumb under her eye, wiping a tear.

"Imagine if you'd begged so prettily at the jail?" He chuckled. "On your knees, at my feet? We might have avoided that awful little itch!"

Her soft moan of dispair filtered up. "I'll crawl sir! I'll lick your shoes! I'll clean your house on my hands and knees," she wailed. "I'll clean your toilets--anything! Oh please, sir! Oh--" she sobbed, "please!" She saw then that it was hopeless--that the itch, rampant and burrowing through her was to be allowed to flay her and he would do nothing. She would ride again--and perhaps worse. Her sobs were thick and wet. Snot and drool ran down. She slumped in the restraints then, exhausted. The constant was the pain in her buttocks, her vagina, and the itch harrowing her anus.

Sobs rushed out of her in shuddering breaths. She felt the touch of the handkerchief again, wiping her nose, her eyes, her lips. It was the smallest of mercies and she moaned against his hand, her face laying against his palm. Time had stopped and she clenched and unclenched aware that the crowd could see her pussy dance--and that she was adding to her punishment. Time was still and she was alone with the itch ravishing her.

"You know," he said, mildly, softly, conversationally, her head against his palm, "I do have an open position on my staff for a computer science intern." He said it casually and she quivered and clenched and suffered.

"If a girl who was under adjudication was willing to apply for it, I suppose I could see to it that rather than spending her time in the reeducation school, she could serve in my offices." She quivered in his palm, the words washing through her around the bright star of intolerable itch that was her world. "I will be doing a good deal of work with the new counter-counter-cultural initiatives and the position would be quite unpleasant," he said.

"But if a girl did promise to serve me in that capacity, I suppose I could look past her history of ugly inappropriate pride." In the silence that followed, she whimpered and looked up at him, eyes wet and red. Their gazes met and she nodded.

"Yes, sir," she whispered.

He nodded back.

"You're not going to be cleaned," he told her. "You have a few more minutes in the display before you're taken into the clinic. Each one of those minutes you suffer, I want you to remind yourself that if you'd gotten down on your knees and begged me, you'd still be crying your eyes out here, but you wouldn't have the--" He gestured towards her rear, "--extra."

She met his eyes tremulously. "Yes sir." Her voice was tiny.

Satisfied, he gave her an avuncular smile. "I plan to frame your letter of apology on the wall of my office. I want a work of art, Amber. I want a letter that is dripping with humiliation and that any reader will see how hard it was to write! I want that letter as bare of dignity as you are here," he told her. "Impress me, Amber."

She gave him a trembling nod.

# # #

FOUR WEEKS LATER

Amber stood, arms folded behind her, slightly bent forwards so the tip of her upturned nose touched a circular sticker on the wall next to the four framed pages of her apology letter and an image of her from the back in the display pillory. The humiliation of assuming the position and place for visitors hadn't remotely gotten old yet.

"That's her!" The woman was clearly charmed!

"It is!" Meyers was proud of his 'trophy intern.'

"And you make her--"

"Her request was to spend the entirety of her term here taking the punishment she earned! She was very emphatic about wanting to make her wrongs up to me!" He chuckled. "So we have a number of punishment-protocols for her. This is one."

"The poor thing!" The woman sounded overjoyed! Amber winced. With her nose to the wall, she kept her eyes closed, but she knew full well what she looked like. Awkward. Ridiculous. A girl without a shred of dignity forced to assume a demeaning, uncomfortable pose for the amusement of her observers! Could she feel their gaze play over her like heat-lamps? Was that possible? It felt that way! She boiled, her ears reddening for them with a wretched blush that spread as they appreciated her artful belittling!

"Well," Meyers laughed, "It's not intended to be comfortable!"

"I should say." They were closer. Was the woman reading the framed hand written gushing, pleading apology letter she'd made? The lined paper was adorned with literal faded tear-stains that had dripped onto it.

"The dress?" The woman was surely intrigued now.

"Dr. Carter's choice," Meyers said. "I certainly defer to her judgment on these things. It's an old fashioned maid's uniform. I find it quite suits her conditions--and of course she gets to wear knee pads under the dress!"

"Kneepads?" The woman was surprised. Amber grit her teeth--forced to be still, silent, and absurdly positioned with her nose just touching the surface was horrid. Having them gloat over her disgrace was terrible--but she held position, face burning.

"Lots of kneeling and crawling. Cleaning on hands and knees--like that."

"I see." The woman was thinking it over...

"Dr. Carter says it helps her remember her place. One of the reparative functions we're working on!"

"Does Dr. Carter oversee her punishment?" The woman sounded like a Dr. Carter fan-girl. UGH! Amber swallowed. Every guest was a humiliation--but this woman was especially enthusiastic. Women tended to ask more questions than the men. They also seemed more attuned to the petty, awful torments of holding a position while being observed--and far, far less forgiving of the ways a girl might squirm or wiggle when her muscles ached and itches danced lightly, maddeningly across delicate stretches of skin. The rules had been made clear that untoward squirming or scratching was forbidden in the display position so she shifted as little as she could and forced herself to endure the prickling agonies of her circumstance. Oh! Hurry and get this done! Go do... whatever it is! Turn your attention away from me! Of course her fierce, commanding thoughts did nothing--but make her stillness and submission worse.

"She does. It's--well, I'm pretty sure young Amber would tell you Dr. Carter's input is the worst part of her ordeal!"

"Ohhh." The woman considered.

"Come," Meyers said. "I want to show you the proposal."

Amber steamed against the wall as they sauntered over to the office. She was to wait--to hold position until he pressed the button that rang a small bell. It was a conundrum--was the worst part being observed? Or being left, ignored, to ache and itch and suffer with no idea how long it might last?

Or were both equally horrid but in different ways!?

She stood there, shifting her weight slightly from foot to foot. Time--slow, slow seconds passed as they were seated, exchanged more muffled small-talk and all the while an itch crawled up her earlobe. She swallowed the constant sense of impotent anger that boiled low in her belly. Wait. Wait. Wait. UGH! Then the little tinkle of the bell called her and she stood with her dignity in tatters, and fetched the coffee and tea tray.

This part of the protocol was particularly horrible. She was to bring it in, face up, a smile on it--ready to serve. 'Girls under punishment smile when they are humiliated,' Dr. Carter had instructed her. 'I know it feels degrading, but that is intentional. Your punishment will be worse if you don't attend this.' Women like the councilman's visitor fully appreciated the wretchedness of being made to glow perkily when stewing in outrage and misery, adding another level of exposure to heighten her embarrassment.

Carter, who left no potential humiliation unexamined, instructed her to be loud enough to be clear in her address of guests and very submissive. She'd been unable to manage a few times and had been treated to additional punishments starting with a session over Mr. Meyer's lap and her buttocks bared for spanking in front of the very guest she'd been unable to perform in front of!

He spanked hard and she was, even after weeks, ill able to bear the procedure. She'd cried then and been put through additional penance. Now, she did her utmost to impress the guests with her servility.

"Ma'am, may I serve you?" She placed the tray on the table and curtsied the way Dr. Carter had taught her to. The older woman positively beamed.

"You may, Amber, is it?"

"Yes, miss," Amber said. "Coffee or hot water for tea?"

"Tea, I think," the woman said. Amber wanted to keep her eyes down as she poured it from the tea pot but she knew better. Eye-contact was required--just a touch. No hiding. She glanced up and met the woman's eyes: Oh! They gleamed with delight. BITCH!

The woman caught the flicker in Amber's face.

"Did you learn your lesson, honey?" She asked as Amber, her hand shaking slightly, placed the tea cup before her.

She gave the woman another good view of her face, the discomfort, the vulnerability. There were rules to this: any question must be met with an open and honest answer--the language chosen to heighten the embarrassment of anything said. Dr. Carter had worked on her with that. Four weeks in, she knew what was required.

"I am a terribly sorry girl, ma'am," Amber said. The words came out quiet--maybe too quiet--Mr. Meyers didn't permit her to mumble. "I am still learning my lessons," she swallowed. It was a horrible protocol--but she simply couldn't endure another spanking! "I regret my decisions every day." She felt an awful little tremble of her lip when she said it.

The drama of watching her emotions struggle to overcome her was a key part of the entertainment value her submission was meant to deliver! They wanted to see a girl fight not to cry! And they got that! Oh, the tears and sobs and moans threatened to slip out! Down her cheeks--past her lips! If she cried she was to do it before them in a way that was utterly unbearable to the vestiges of pride left--she fought hard for her composure!

The woman was amazed. "She's absolutely adorable Erwin! I can't believe how contrite she is!"

"Oh, Dr. Carter gets all the credit," he said. "And while I'd rather not have had the activist smear campaign, I think we can safely say things have worked out well enough--for me." He smiled at Amber, more gently. "And for Amber as well--although I doubt she thinks so!"

The woman mixed her tea. Amber stood, silent, burning with helpless indignation. Once she was done, Amber could retreat to the front room where she could get on with her other chores.

"Do you think she could stay?" The woman asked Mr. Meyers.

"Of course!" Magnanimous. "Amber--" He gave a slight nod downwards. Ugh! Amber paused for a moment, her hands hanging limply, her eyes begging him again--but, no. He gave another little nod. The woman looked at her with interest. Amber sucked in her breath and got down. On her knees, by the feet of the woman. It was how she was to wait when 'on call.'

The woman beamed down at her. "You're so cute!" Then "I'm sure you don't want to hear that!"

Amber blushed hard, her heart hammering. "I don't like being found to be cute, miss--but I'm aware that my circumstances please people." She blushed. She didn't have anything like a pat answer for any question, but Dr. Carter's guidance had been made quite clear: every interaction should cost you some dignity.

If she was caught not 'exposing her belly,' the result would be a literal exposing of her bottom... and then, possibly worse, a call to Dr. Carter who was unfortunately never far away. If Mr. Meyers reported she needed additional training in self-humiliation... well... Dr. Carter knew how to provide that.

The woman took one of the little butter cookies and held it to her lips. Amber battled not to glare at her, met the woman's eyes in drenched humiliation and took the cookie in her mouth. The older woman fairly gaped. "Oh dear," she said, "I--meant--I could've just given it to you!"

Amber had her mouth full and thankfully didn't need to answer. She did figure she'd better keep her face upturned and 'shining' so the woman could bask in her embarrassment.

"It's fine," Mr. Meyers said. "Part of the protocols is, well, not a great deal of dignity."

"You're doing so well," the woman said and Amber managed to swallow the cookie and give a small nod of her head.

"Thank you, miss," she said softly.

She knelt there while they talked about some proposal that Amber didn't quite understand. At one point the woman put a hand on her shoulder and Amber forced herself to relax. It was met with an approving little rub. She bathed in the pathetically welcome approval.

"You may rise," Erwin said, closing the door. Amber scrambled to her feet.

"Thank you sir," she said. She was to thank him for just about everything. Being allowed to go to the bathroom, being given lunch, being reprimanded when anything wasn't perfect. She kept her eyes down.

"I realize that was a hard one," he said. He didn't sound sorry about it--but not quite gloating either. She'd learned early on that he was, it seemed, serious about her being put through her punishment. He WAS surely pleased she'd gotten what was coming to her, but while he'd been completely triumphant in his victory and was absolutely committed to the idea of reformative humiliation, he probably could've been worse. She was punished for failing to live up to the standards--which were awful--but he was fair enough not to punish her just because he enjoyed it, which he surely did.

"We have a harder one coming tomorrow," he said. It was nearly the end of the day. "Dr. Carter will be here for your appointment and then you can go--but the District Attorney and the prosecutor from your case will be here tomorrow and you'll be on display."

Amber swallowed! The AWFUL WOMAN WHO HAD--who had--oohhh! She winced, meeting his eyes, horrified.

He nodded. "Nothing for it, Amber. You'll do your best." She let out a little angry, defeated moan. Beg him! Oh! The thought of facing her prosecutor in the depths of her defeat rang in her body like a cruel bell--an impossibility that consumed her as she trembled in the thought of humiliation perfected! She would have groveled at his feet, sobbing and begging--if she'd thought it would help, but she knew better.

She remained in a flustered state of dread until Dr. Cater finally arrived.

The sessions with Dr. Carter were, by far, some of the worst things she had to endure: the woman was like the Michaelangelo of humiliation. Even dressed, she felt naked before the woman and always like a mouse being toyed with by a cat. Now she sat on the padded sofa with her hands in her lap, head up to look at the psychologist. She didn't directly meet the woman's eyes, though: nothing that could be taken as a challenge.

Dr. Carter observed her, letting the silence stretch. Amber willed herself not to squirm. She did brush back a lock of hair. That got a faint smile from Carter.

"Last firm correction?" She had a tablet and a stylus.

Amber swallowed. "Y-yesterday, over the lap, twenty two spanks." She swallowed. "Entirely naked," she added. Bare-bottom was a given, but she'd had to undress entirely for the 'firm correction' she'd gotten from Mr. Meyers for failing to complete her chore list.

Dr. Carter made a note. "Fair or unfair, child?" She asked it nicely. The term--a 35 year old woman calling her 'child' was a cue that Amber was to speak frankly on the matter. She could criticize Mr. Meyers or Carter or the program when that was said. She hated it.

She looked down. "Unfair, miss," she swallowed. "There are too many chores. I can't do all of them!"

Dr. Carter made another note. She seemed pleased--but she always seemed pleased: apparently every fucking thing worked out for her!

"And you resent the spanking?"

"I don't like being spanked, miss?" Amber looked up. Dr. Carter had explicitly allowed 'miss' and 'ma'am,' not requiring 'doctor.'

"I should hope not! But fully in the nude is an additional hardship isn't it?"

Amber brushed at her hair, cast her eyes about. "I hate it," she murmured. A big part of this was emotional nakedness. Admitting how upset it made her, how demeaned, how vulnerable! All the things she desperately wanted to hide were forced to come out in her answers to simple questions.

Dr. Carter nodded. More notes.

"When was the last time you masturbated?"

"What!?" Amber gasped. Her face went bright pink, eyes huge.

Dr. Carter looked up, calmly.

"Did you masturbate last night following your correction?" She asked the question, enunciating each world carefully, head cocked to the side like a bird.

Amber's mouth moved like a fish gasping for air. She shook her head--no--JUST NO!

Dr. Carter opened her fairly-large doctor's bag like purse and removed a ping-pong paddle from it. It had a black lacquered surface, a custom, leather wrapped hand grip. Amber had experienced it once--just a couple of slaps: it had stung like nothing else she'd ever felt. Dr. Carter set it aside on the sofa next to her. Amber stared at it, eyes filling up with tears.

"You can answer me--or answer me with a smarting backside," Dr. Carter said evenly--a little gently.

"I--I--" Amber was shaking her head, trying to get the words out.

"Honesty, child. Answer now."

"Yes," Amber was breathless. Mortification seized her. She wanted to faint--to die! The session had changed from yet another horrid punishment to some new level of shame and anguish.

"Come," Dr. Carter pointed at the ground before her. "On call."

Amber, clumsy, forced herself off the couch, stepped forward, her whole body shaking, and knelt before Dr. Carter. She looked away, felt tears flow, made herself look back. She was commanded to show off her tears when she cried.

Her hands twitched in her lap, yearning to cover her face.

"Good girl."

Amber blinked tears coming harder.

Dr. Carter looked pleased as punch. She made another note.

"Don't answer yet," she instructed, looking down into Amber's face. "After firm corrections--after spankings--especially the ones done in full nudity, you masturbate before bed, yes?" She didn't wait for an answer.

"In bed, I would guess--without implements--we don't have a vibrator, do we?" A smile at that. "We don't need one."

Amber let out a little cry, and though it was forbidden, plunged her face into her hands. She felt Dr. Carter's hand move through her hair, stroking. She shuddered. No-no-no! This couldn't be happening. It Could Not!

The fingers stroked. "I wonder," Dr. Carter considered. "Do we touch ourselves and imagine our ride on the carousel?"

Amber made an involuntary squawking noise and pitched forward, grasping her stomach, curling up, her head to the ground, making a soft keening noise. No-No-NO-NO! NO!!

She was aware of Dr. Carter lifting herself off the sofa to kneel beside her like a friend holding her hair out of the way as she puked in a toilet.

"I've known for quite some time," Dr. Carter said. "When one knows what to look for, it's very obvious."

Amber was still in the grasp of deep panic. The shame she felt in the act was awful, red-hot, and throughout her body. It was only tolerable because it made the final event--the orgasm--more powerful and because she assured herself no one would ever know!

"Don't tell him?" She shifted, turned, threw herself lower at Doctor Carter's feet, on her belly now, her head against the ground, supine. "Please! Please! I'll do anything--I'll take more punishment. I'll serve you! Please, miss! Oh please! Don't tell!"

Now she was quite an experienced groveler and she begged. The thought of Mr. Meyers knowing the things Dr. Carter said was intolerable--utterly--she would combust! She'd HAVE to.

The woman stroked her hair gently. "I shall reserve the right to tell him in the future," she said. "However, for now your privacy will be maintained--at my pleasure."

Amber moaned--but it was relief. "T-thank you miss," she sobbed. Her body trembled and she felt some force take her and move her hips forward so her face hovered a half inch over the woman's shoes. Some undertow of dark, thick defeat pulled her down and she felt herself kiss the leather lightly, shuddering as she did so, some deep chord of degradation and smallness plucked by her act of grotesque subordination. It felt correct. Horridly correct--even comforting to flay her pride so completely!

The woman stroked her.

"Tomorrow we're going to visit a facility. It's going to be very... unsettling for you. While we are there I want you to take notes on your impressions and thoughts. I'll give you a notebook. The notes will be for my eyes only and I want the same punishment protocols you used when you wrote the apology letter in effect: very frank, very open, zero dignity.

Amber gave a soft little wail, but nodded.

"It isn't intended to be pleasant, but you will be obedient," Dr. Carter instructed her. She nodded again, wretchedly.

"You also may want to touch yourself tonight," the doctor continued. Amber's cry was piercing. Ohhhh!! "If you do, there will be some punishment for it. It'll be between you and I--but if you think I won't know, you're wrong. If you succumb, know you'll be punished for it. I won't even need to ask you if you did or not."

Amber sobbed in a puddle on the floor as the woman crouched by her, stroking her hair gently. Under her skirt, her panties, her cunt throbbed with a power she hadn't felt before and the thought of leaving it unresolved added a new tier of discovered obedience!

# # #

Amber sat in the back of Mr. Meyer's car, hands in her lap, head lowered. Next to her Miss Kim, the prosecuting attorney, sat watching her, gloating. Mr. Meyer's drove and Dr. Carter sat up front. She shuddered. She needed to pee and she had to ask the bitch, "Miss Kim" for permission. Today, everything was up to Miss Kim. Eating, going to the bathroom, even scratching--anywhere--required permission and Miss Kim wasn't inclined to give it.

Before they'd left, she'd quietly requested to go to the bathroom.

"Is it an emergency," the young woman had asked with an all-business manner that did not fully conceal her pleasure at having the authority.

Amber had shook her head--a mistake. "Then you can hold it," she'd said airily. She'd looked at Dr. Carter. "And find a more demeaning way to ask," she'd said.

"Yes, Miss Kim," Amber'd said softly. Her throat had been full of anger at the woman, her imperious pleasure, her glee in lording over her punished, defeated convict! Amber had made herself swallow that anger so went back down and mixed with thick oil of other emotions trapped in her belly, her lower regions.

"Today we're going to practice really knowing our place," Miss Kim had decided, apparently relishing her chance to immiserate Amber. "So really show me what a reformed girl you are!"

"Very reformed, Miss Kim," Amber had managed. "I'm a very sorry girl." Mr. Meyers had beamed proudly at her.

"Think of a really demeaning way to ask," Miss Kim had said, "and we can try again when we get to the facility." Amber had made a tiny noise of complaint that seemed to amuse Miss Kim. She'd risked a look at Dr. Carter, who had given no sign if she was deemed to have masturbated last night, but Amber thought she knew.

She'd lain in bed, tossing and turning, whimpering. The whirl of thoughts--the memory, revisiting the carousel, the corner time with her nose to the wall, the scorching indignity of the fully naked spankings... the itch. It was the memory of the awful itch that had broken her and finally, she had drawn her feet up together, her knees falling to the sides and slipped a hand under her pajamas into the wet warm folds of her sex.

She'd remembered the suffering, demanding torment radiating from the tight, disgraceful opening deep between her cheeks and how she'd fought against it but it--finally--had broken her and the awful, unrelenting itch had made her cry and grovel and submit completely! The memory of the flaring ember and how it had brought her to disgrace herself before Mr. Meyers was the thought she settled on as her fingers found her wretched clit and began the light torment of it, stroking and petting as she lingered on the raw humiliation of the pillory and the gnawing, burning torture of her anus, her anal channel, before the astonished, gratified men and women! In the grips of pleasure and rising tension toward explosion, she found the thought of being punished 'extra' and humiliated for this act of self-pollution didn't dissuade her! It somehow made her even more eager to finish the job! How!? How had she let this happen!?

In the sane light of morning questions whirled in her head. Would Dr. Carter know? Would she guess? She'd said she wouldn't even ask! It was abysmal! Unfair! Horrible! She'd masturbated then, knowing she would likely be punished for it and knowing she'd deserve it. She'd battled with herself in bed, tossing and turning and shifting and... suffering. The need--pervasive, throbbing, insistent had gnawed at her until she'd done it. The final gasping climax was bitter: she'd be punished! Punished for it! Somehow Dr. Carter would KNOW!

Eventually, though, in the aftershocks of her orgasm, she'd slept.

Now, in the car, she had to wonder what was waiting for her when Dr. Carter got her claws into her. The prosecutor girl, "Miss Kim," also seemed to have ideas in store. She squirmed. She really did have to pee. She wasn't sure how to ask in a demeaning enough way to get permission. Would the bitch try to make her wet herself?

The car rumbled on, and she could feel Miss Kim watching her, eagerly--even hungrily. She bit her lower lip, concentrating on her bladder. Ugh. Ugh. Ugh. Ahead, further down the access road they were on was a high fence with official notices on it and a small guard-house.

"Ah," Mr. Meyers said. "Up here. The PleasantView facility for Reeducation of Counter-Cultural Influencees." He looked over at Dr. Carter. "I like how the names are so friendly!" They pulled up at the gate-house and Mr. Meyers showed his ID. The guardswoman peered into the car and then waved them through. Ahead was a small cluster of buildings which sat on a green field. A central quad held what Amber recognized as pillories under sun-shades. In each of them, a kneeling girl was affixed similarly to how she had been on the display. The girls wore gray dresses and looked almost limp in the restraints. Their eyes shone with misery. A young woman in a slightly different uniform--still gray, but with a bright pink arm-band and some adornment on the breast, stood by. Amber could see a long switch, slightly curved like a saber at her side.

One of the girls wore a fuzzy face mask over her mouth. It had fuzzy ear-muffs too. Her eyes were wide and bright with horror. Amber felt her gut twist: she recognized that look--her own.

"Oh dear," Mr. Meyers chuckled. "We seem to have a crop of misbehavers out here!" He looked at Dr. Carter. "Should we have a look?"

"We should!" Dr. Carter was smiling faintly. "Amber--come with." She started off.

Amber turned to Miss Kim, finding the woman's eyes. "Miss Kim," she said as firmly as she was able to form the words, "This very contrite girl really needs to go pee?"

That got an approving chuckle from Mr. Meyers and even Miss Kim looked... charmed.

"Can you hold it?" Miss Kim asked, almost sweetly. "Or do you need to go potty right now?" Her smirk was horrid. Amber bristled but she swallowed what little remained of her pride.

"I need to go potty soon, Miss Kim," she said. She was at this woman's mercy.

Miss Kim considered her. She looked over at Dr. Carter, who was nodding approvingly at the scene. She seemed to be taking the doctor's lead.

"I'll take her," Dr. Carter said. "We're meeting the DA in thirty minutes. She looked over at the cluster of pillories. "There should be a toilet there. Let's go."

They set off up the slight hill towards the center of the quad. The girl "on duty" stiffened and adjusted her posture as they came closer.

"Sir! Ma'am!" She came to a kind of attention, first curtseying low, and then standing straight with her hands tucked behind her back. Her name tag said 'Casey.'

"I am the duty girl for the pillories. How may I serve you?"

Amber stared. She was embarrassed to be out with the group wearing the old-style maid's uniform--but it was clear to her that this girl was an inmate here! Her face was bright with the willingness to serve.

"There's a toilet," Dr. Carter pointed to a small chamber at one corner of the quad.

"Yes miss!" Casey said brightly. "If the girls are well behaved, they get to use it before their reflection period!"

"Wonderful," Dr. Carter said, sounding sincere. "Come, Amber." She gestured. Amber hurried after her, feeling the girl's eyes follow her. Inside it was a squat toilet with signs suggesting that any mess that remained after usage would be strictly punished. It mandated wiping front to back and a specific cadence of hand-washing.

Dr. Carter watched, looming over her as Amber struggled with the dress and her panties and squatted in the vulnerable position and peed. It took her a while and spent several agonizing moments squirming before she managed it.

"In case you're wondering," Dr. Carter said, looking down on her, arms folded, "I know you didn't hold out."

Amber looked up, eyes slightly wet, cheeks burning. Dr. Carter smiled. "Don't deny it."

Amber looked down. She shook her head, dripping into the basin. She couldn't bring herself to speak. She felt a sob well up and crushed down on it--but a little high-pitched moan escaped her lips.

"Don't fret so," Dr. Carter said, with a bit of a purr. "You'll have a punishment coming, of course, but I've not determined to explain the details of why to Mr. Meryer."

Amber let out a little whimper and dabbed at her eyes. When they exited, while her head was hung, she wasn't sniffling. In truth it was a relief to be told she'd been caught.

The prosecutor and Mr. Meyer were standing behind the girl with the muffle over her face. Her dress was raised to reveal a bare bottom which was lined with what Amber thought were stripes from a switch like the one Casey was carrying.

She could see the girl's buttocks, spread by Casey who was enjoying explaining the girl's circumstances. Between the cleft, at the core, was a small white dab. Amber drew in breath--she knew full well what was happening--and why the soft sounds of pleading came from the muffle over her mouth.

Dr. Carter put a hand on her shoulder, steadying her and moving her closer.

"Come," she said. "Let's have a look."

Someone had written the word RECALCITRANT in marker across the girl's backside. Her hips bucked slightly and clenched and unclenched. Mr. Meyers chuckled, looking down at the display of restrained suffering.

"Mmmmnnhhh! MMMhhhnnnnHH!!" The girl begged and squirmed.

"It's quite new," Casey was telling the prosecutor. "And it--you have to be pretty bad to get it. But Angela here managed a good little outburst and now she's paying it off!"

"An outburst at an instructor?" The prosecutor girl looked like she wasn't sure the paste was bad enough for that.

Casey nodded. "It was--according to her sheet!" She unhooked the switch from her belt. "I'm allowed to give her three 'corrections' an hour if I deem it appropriate! It's about time! Would you like to see?" She was bright and seemed thrilled with the opportunity to show off.

Miss Kim looked over at Amber and the doctor returning.

"Dr. Carter? Do you think?"

Casey turned and looked at Dr. Carter, her eyes widening. Oh! Oh--my--oh SHIT! The girl might not have recognized her face, but she surely recognized the name.

Her hand came up--eyes wide with fear... and awe.

"The--The Doctor--" she stammered.

"She is the one who created the reeducation protocols," Mr. Meyers said with rumbling pleasure. "It's my privilege to introduce you to the woman who created the entire program!"

"Not alone," Dr. Carter said. "But yes, I am the architect of the counter-counter-cultural program and protocols."

Casey blanched and gave another, even lower curtsey.

"I--I--Am I in trouble miss?" She whispered, looking down.

"No, Casey," Dr. Carter laughed. "We are here to see part of a new initiative. Tell me, you are in your third month? High-ranking in your class?"

"S-second, mistress," Casey said, still not looking up.

"And you were chosen as a monitor, I see--your instructors must think highly of you!"

"I--I think so?" The girl was blushing badly, vacillating between looking up and keeping her eyes down.

"I'm sure of it," Dr. Casey told her warmly. "Why don't you show us your technique with the switch. Not too hard now--no need to try to impress us with strength."

"Oh no--I mean, of course not, mistress!" The girl was still clearly shaken. She almost fumbled the switch, stepping into position. Amber looked on--the pilloried girl's bottom still shifted and bounced. She was clearly struggling in the firm restraints. Amber knew well the desperation she was feeling: how long was she stuck here, restrained, muffled, helpless?

Casey lined up the switch on the girl's bottom and then with a flick of her wrist and a snap of her hips, she struck!

Amber watched the switch bite into the fleshy orbs--deeper than she'd thought. The girl in the pillory gave a keening, muffled moan! She was thrashing now, but several points of restraint brought it all to naught.

SNAP! A second switch and another red-line of pain! The girl bucked--minorly: she didn't have the freedom of movement. Amber saw a long line of lubrication leak down her thigh as she fought to escape.

SNAP! The sound of the girl's bleating carried through the muffle.

"That'll give her something to think about other than the ointment," Casey said, pleased with herself.

"Indeed, I think it will," rumbled Mr. Meyers. He looked at Amber. "Our Amber is very familiar with the ointment, aren't you, Amber?"

All eyes fell on Amber. She blushed a shock of embarrassment lighting through her. OH! She let him see the hurt in her eyes--she knew better than to hide it. "Y-yes, sir," she managed and then in a panic that a simple answer wouldn't be enough--"I g-got the ointment as my 'extra' on the course." Oh... would that do it? Was that enough to please them? Some awful, disgusting part of her mind didn't think so. It told her what she would want if she were lording over a girl who was meant to humble herself thoroughly! "I couldn't stand even a minute of it," she blurted out! "All I could think of was my p-poor a-are and how badly it needed to be cleaned--scratched! And since I couldn't, all I could do was suffer! I hated every second of it!"

Sniffle! Whimper! The emotion that had poured out pleased them tremendously--the delicious confession of a bad girl fully punished. She felt their satisfaction as whip-lashes on her pride and quivered under the smirking assault.

"Do you think our recalcitrant girl is learning her lesson?" Mr. Meyers prompted. Making a punished girl perform was part of the program, and she was to gratify them with her endless servility!

"Yes, sir," she said with enough volume to be clear--but her voice was still soft and a little shaky. "It's... awful, sir. Unbearable." She looked at the girl's slightly jiggling buttocks. How long did she have to go? Would there be ANY mercy for her at all?

"We can only hope," Mr. Meyers said. "After all, if she doesn't learn her lesson she may find herself at the mercy of the system again!" He looked at Casey. "You, dear, are on the right course! I'm sure you'll be fine."

Casey blushed hard and curtsied again. "Yes--ah--yes sir!" She kept her eyes down.

"It really does a good job," Miss Kim was saying as they departed. Amber could still hear the muffled mewling of the pilloried girl as they walked towards one of the buildings.

# # #

"Fascinating." The District Attorney, an older man in a sharp suit--distinguished looking--watched the group of new inductees. The 16 young women--all convicted of counter-cultural activities and inclinations sat in what looked like a sort of classroom. There were individual desks with restraints for ankles and wrists, although the wrist restraints came with short cables bolted to the desk top so the subject could use a thick-looking laptop.

The girls wore tight, gray, rubbery-looking shirts that allowed the observer to see wires connected to sensor stickers along their bodies. Other than that, they wore high-cut panties that made a V between their thighs. Dr. Carter stood with a slightly younger woman in a lab coat, Jennifer Laurel, MD. Dr. Laurel was holding a tampon sized acrylic device with wires and a sensor with a clip at the end.

"Right now we're running our seventh test of the mapping process," she nodded through the glass at the classroom below. "These young ladies will be the first to get a fully tailored experience."

Amber had been steered to the glass where Dr. Carter had positioned her. She could see the girls squirming, whimpering, and gasping. On the screen images of sexual degradation played out--a slave market where the wares, naked young women, were whipped with small lashes for the amusement of an exotic looking crowd. Two women, face down, strapped to exam tables, pillows lifting their hips. Their buttocks and pussies bristled with small spines where, perhaps they had been sat on a cactus? They moaned as technicians in lab coats and masks slowly pulled at the quills.

A bathroom with girls chained in urinals, their naked bodies the target of urination. Gags held their mouths open in wide O's. Amber saw one of the screens, showing a corporate meeting in a large auditorium. On the stage a row of asian looking girls were down in the lunge position, hips up, as a man with a microphone walked behind them, delivering hard-looking swats as the rest of the company watched.

Her sex clenched. The vaginal sensor was inserted and the clip affixed to the clitoris. Dr. Laurel had said it was considered 'extremely uncomfortable.' The program ran its subjects ruthlessly through various scenarios, measuring arousal and other biological responses. As the program ran, it honed in on the responses that would generate the most shame--the most secret fantasies--the most mortifying kinks--the map that was generated would expose the subjects hidden sexual inclinations, measure submissiveness, and locate the girl on an axis of punisher or punished in her imagination.

Amber trembled. It was monstrous! She imagined the shame of all her tormentors knowing exactly how her body reacted to their domination--no!

"And they can't--they can't just ignore it?" Miss Kim was enthralled.

"The clitorial clip measures arousal--but the laptop's camera tracks eyes and attention. If the subject isn't engaged, she gets a little reminder down there!"

"Ow!" Miss Kim sounded... thrilled. "How do they take it? I mean the process?"

"They're a bit of a wreck following the mapping session," Dr. Laurel said cheerfully. "We have a recovery and after-care process. No one has died of embarrassment!"

"Yet," chuckled Mr. Meyers.

The District Attorney also gave a chuckle.

"The map is used," Dr. Carter said, "To inform the reformative humiliation process--to target both the rebellious instincts and to smooth them down. A personalized protocol as it were. It also gives us an idea of how resilient the girl's defiance is. We can distinguish between an activist who will respond well--submitting to a light touch--from a more hardened gyno-anarchist who needs more substantial treatment."

Miss Kim looked away from the viewing window.

"Which was Amber?" Amber felt her face go hot and she stiffened.

"I would say she was in the former category," Dr. Carter said fondly. "Not a hardened oppositional defiant young lady--but one whose passions were inflamed and decided, unfortunately, to strike out at Mr. Meyers!"

Amber cringed as eyes fell on her. She turned, agonizingly to face them, face shining.

"I'm--I'm so sorry, sir. I'm l-learning my lesson," she stammered out. Mr. Meyers beamed. Through the window the girls at their desks squirmed in degrees of stimulation that were visibly uncomfortable. She forced herself not to notice!

"All well in hand," he assured them. "Amber is a valuable member of my staff!"

She huddled a bit against the window, the attention of the group like a hot wind over her body.

"I should like to take you through our research center," Dr. Carter said. "We won't need Amber for that. Why don't we map Amber while we tour it?"

M-map? Map me? Amber felt herself freeze in a new degree of panic--the process the girls in room were being put through--the step-by-step extraction of their private fantasies and shameful sources of arousal? Exposed? Shared!?

"M-miss--" She turned to Mr. Meyers, eyes bright with desperation! "S-sir!"

"This way, Amber." Dr. Carter didn't even appear to notice her alarm and took her arm, guiding her into one of the nearby chambers with a little more privacy and security than the common chamber--this one held four empty cells, each one equipped with a restraint chair and monitor behind a uniformed woman who sat at desk.

She looked up at their arrival.

"We're going to see to that punishment," said Dr. Carter. "For masturbating when it was strictly forbidden." She said it loud enough that the desk-woman looked up and gave her a disapproving glare. Amber made a little squeak of horror--the humiliation she had been dreading finally arrived! Oh, goodness! At least Mr. Meyers and the wretched Kim woman weren't present but Dr. Carter's decision to humiliate her in front of the guard stung like a wasp sting!

"Can we get her hooked up to the mapping harness?" Dr. Carter asked the guard.

"Yes, ma'am." The woman stood and took a plastic-wrapped package from the locker. "Clothes off, honey. Everything. Now." She didn't wait for Amber to strip as she opened the package and Amber's eyes bulged at the net of sensors, the awful little clitoris clip... and a tampon-sized sensor in its applicator tube. A second in a round bulb with a flanged end that went... where?? Back THERE? Oh-Goodness!

"When you're bare, bend over the desk."

The dress, her bra, then her panties, sodden with unwanted arousal came down and off in a haze of dread and humiliation. She kept trying to find the words to plead to be spared this! It was unthinkable! Beyond enduring! But all the women wanted was he compliance and when she stood, covering herself, quivering in the warm air, the guard took her upper arm, turned her to face away. "Bend over the desk, sweetie," the woman ordered. "We need to put in your sensors."

She rotated Amber forward and she felt the cool smoothness of the desk against her nipples and moaned.

"My goodness, she's ready!" The guard smirked. Amber felt the swollen wetness of her cleft peaking rudely from between her thighs. Oh, goodness! She was leaking in front of them! Amber moaned into her fist. Oh, mercy, this mustn't happen!

"Amber's already on her journey," Dr. Carter said. "Offer up, Amber."

It was agony, but she was expected to suffer it as she complied and she did, moaning and lifting. Spreading. 'Offering' as Dr. Carter had ordered her. She felt her fury at them, but what devastated was that they would soon learn perfectly this kind of submission triggered her! How made her flood and leak and ooooh---

Maybe they did know. "Reach back with your hands," the guard said, "and spread your cheeks apart. One of the sensors goes in there."

Amber didn't refuse--she didn't dare!--but she twisted and let out a closed lip groan and--

"Spank her?" the guard asked for permission.

"Give six and see," Dr. Carter suggested.

"I'm SPREADING!" Amber reached back one hand on each cheek and pulled them apart, exposing herself grotesquely! Oh, mercy! This was agony! Shame! Degradation! Oh, they could see everything! And she was letting them! Was there any more groveling submission?

"Good girl!" The guard enthused, but she wasn't satisfied. "Next time you're given an order, honey--snap to."

Six swats--three on each cheek! Crack! Crack! Crack! Spank! Spank! Spank! OW! Oh! Ah! Eeek! Gasp! Sob!

Both women studied the pink curves, the cleft, the tight, vulnerable anus, with pleased approval. And then the sensors were applied. Agonizingly, infuriatingly, the anal probe went in last--she was made to spread herself through the whole procedure just for their amusement and the lady mocked her sniffling, whimpering form, discussing her masturbation with Dr. Carter.

"We'll see what she was settled on," she promised the Doctor. "A lot of girls do their carousel ride! The most intense experience of their lives, after all!"

"It was very impactful for Amber," Dr. Carter agreed. "I'm sure she's 'used' it more than once, but it will be interesting to see what particularly got her attention!"

"Arch up," the woman ordered when it was time for the vaginal probe. "Good girl." She reached down and rubbed Amber's bare pussy, enjoying the access but also petting it to 'freshen' the wetness for the insertion. "You know girls get more of whatever pressed their buttons hardest? I hope for your sake it wasn't the worst punishment you suffered! That would be dreadful, wouldn't it?"

MOAN!

And then, finally, the little bulb went into her anus and she felt its presence there, thick and annoying and impossible to ignore and everything was an endless blaze of stimulation and exposure.

The last thing was the clip on her clit and no-no-no-! Not there! Not there! Ahh! Ohh! Oh, goodness! It was tight! Metal! Ahh! But it was almost endurable... almost tolerable... unless one entertained the thought of a shock in such a place and then it became a nightmare.

"Nice and ready--no secrets here," The guard enthused. "Let's get her settled."

They buckled her in. Amber sat naked at the desk, cuffed to it, trailing wires, squirming and blushing furiously. The screen was counting down with large pink letters. She'd been walked through an attention-monitoring lesson which had resulted in several horrible little shocks to her clit which had made her yowl. She was to stay focused and alert--fixed on the screen and to quickly respond to any asked questions by hitting a button. She was convinced: the terrible little zaps had HURT!

Then the images for her to react to played. She wasn't allowed to look away and at this point, she wasn't even sure she wanted to. The ambient discomfort between her legs demanded stimulation and while physical touch was impossible she wanted to know what delights the screen would show her!

It started with spanking and fucking. Husbands spanking their wives before sex. Amber didn't know if it was a warm-up to get the man in the mood or part of a larger punishment. It didn't matter. The girls were on beds, hips lifted with pillows so the man could properly rail her. They were on their sides, knees pulled up and spread to take the cock.

When the penis exited an anus or a vagina, dripping with lubrication, they took it in their mouths. None of them looked pleased by that. Amber stared. A woman at a desk was clearly experiencing a terrible itch in her nethers and she squirmed and shifted, trying not to draw attention to her humiliating discomfort. A corner window showed her anus swarming with small little white threads. She bit her lower lip, soft noises of complaint finding their out.

Amber saw women prisoners in rows taking enemas--the tubes running into their bare bottoms as guards walked past them, sometimes landing spanks from small leathery paddles. She shifted herself, driven to find some position that gave even a little solace ot her wetting cunt. There wasn't one. With nothing to do but endure the needy throb, she sat there, whimpering.

A parade of women dressed in humiliating novelty 'pig costumes.' Each wore a sign around her neck describing some crime and the crowd stood by the sides looking on and snickering. The outfits had neck braces so they couldn't lower their faces and chains that ran from the wrists of the girl in front, between her legs and back to the next woman in the line. Amber moaned.

A pillory was affixed inside a glass dumpster. The girl in it was coated in garbage. Thick bags of what looked like food waste crowded around her and some of the bags had burst, getting muck on her skin--in her hair. Pedestrians walked by, looking at her helpless body struggle in the mess. She sobbed.

The one that brought her to tears was a set of masturbation scenarios where the girl going at herself was made to do it with others watching as a punishment. A young woman, in tears, rode a pillow. Her hips bucked as her roomates looked on, one of them landing hard hand-slaps to her bare buttocks.

A girl sat spread kneed in a chair before a group of college students, working her pussy as the teacher stood over her, tapping a yardstick. Amber looked away and was treated to yet another of the ravishing shocks.

In a disgustingly dirty club bathroom, a girl with running mascara used a vibrator on the toilet. The door was open so the women outside could see in. She wore a dog's collar and the leash was tethered to a hook on the side of the stall. Her high-heeled shoes tapped and scattered on the tile floor as she drove herself. Amber sobbed, the intimacy and the arousal gripping her and leaving her breathless.

When Dr. Carter came to her, she was a quivering sobbing puddle, her sex having registered the maximal amount of punishment-shocks the process would deliver.

EPILOGUE

She lay naked in the recovery room, sobbing into a pillow unclear on how she could ever face anyone again. The process had dragged her through the most humiliating corners of her imagination, digging and digging, upturning the various terrible secrets she had within her--some she hadn't known about. The computer generated scenarios had gone places she was, herself, a new visitor to. It had found the things she'd NEVER have admitted to and exposed them!

She felt ruined, drenched--mortified.

"You'll survive," Dr. Carter stood in the door. She looked up, her pillow wet with tears, eyes red and bleary. "The process is designed to help you through it. Mr. Meyers is very dedicated to carrying it out properly." She walked in and sat.

"Yes, Miss Carter," Amber said, her voice creaky. Dr. Carter stroked her hair.

"Do you know," she asked, "that those profiles, while not public, have a utility in match-making?"

Amber shook her head, sniffling, not understanding.

"A profile like that--think of it as a key, for which another partner would hold the lock. A partner would understand you on an uncomfortably deep level."

Amber stared up. Dr. Carter smiled then. "Your Teacher's Assistant--the one who was summoned to your punishment session on the carousel--he's made a few inquiries as to how you're doing with your term of service."

"Tim," Amber's voice was hoarse--cracked. She swallowed a lump of tears and it hurt.

Dr. Carter nodded, and stroked her hair. "I've arranged for him to have a bit of time around the office starting this Friday. I think you'll find it may suit you well--uncomfortable or not."

Amber pushed her head back down into the pillow and shuddered. The feel of the Doctor's fingers running gently through her hair felt good.

--End.