Finally, I stand back and take in my freshly numbered charges. They are numb with shock, and hang rather quietly in their collars, with just a sob here and there. I slather antibiotic ointment into and around each brand. 'Follow the rules in the future, ladies,' I say, as I turn to depart.

'Sir?' one asks.

'Yes?' I reply, turning half about.

'What are the rules, Sir?'

'You'll learn them as you go,' I say with a bit of a wry grin. 'If you suspect you shouldn't do something, it's probably against the rules.'



'Number 7, stand in the center of the cell.' My harsh voice, amplified and surrounding them, startles the women awake. 7 moves groggily to the center of the room as the others scoot uncertainly back against the walls.

'Number 7, did you masturbate last night?' On the monitor, I see her throat work, but her gulp is inaudible.

'No, Sir.'

'Number 7, turn to your right and watch the monitor.' I work at my console, revealing a monitor in their cell and starting the video from last night. The low-light, computer-enhanced video has a greenish tint, but clearly shows the naked number 7 huddled against a wall. Her right hand moves slowly between her tight thighs. Little shudders wrack her frame, betraying her stealthy orgasm.

'Number 7, did you masturbate last night?'

'Yes, Sir,' she says quietly. I tell her to say it louder, and she does.

'Number 7, move to the door.'

'Please, Sir, I didn't know.' All nine women scream and hop to their feet as I send a strong shock to the floor. The others are yelling encouragement at her as number 7 moves in jerks to the barred door. When she reaches it, I shut off the current.

The door slides silently open before her. "Number 7, follow the red line until you receive additional instruction.' She moves to follow my orders, and door locks securely behind her. I sync my monitor with the one in the cell, and the other nine of us watch number 7 proceed along the red line. She follows it through the main chamber, and I activate a barred door on the far side, allowing her to continue along the line down a narrow corridor. I switch and pan cameras to keep her in view.

'Number 7, enter the next room on your left.' My instruction booms throughout Camp Treve, and she complies. 'Stand against the far wall, facing the door.' I watch her take in her surroundings as she crosses the room. A low, padded table. The stone walls draped with whips, chains, paddles, some of the latter prickling with metal spikes. Several apparatuses draped with opaque sheets. She reaches the wall and stands as instructed. At a leisurely pace, I exit my quarters and head for corrective room 1.



'First, you will be disciplined for lying to me.' I stand before her as she presses against the wall, quivering. A sharp rebuke upon my entrance has motivated her to silence. 'Then, we will address your sexual transgression. Your peers will watch throughout.' A click on my remote brings a monitor here to life, providing us a view of my other charges, observing us with rapt attention. She sobs.

I instruct her to face the wall, and secure her ankles and wrists to chains, spread wide. She forms an X before me, stretched against the cold stone. 'For your lies, you will be flogged.' I ignore her protestations as I move to the side, selecting a longish flogger with a dozen narrow rubber fall peppered with small steel beads. The beads click together as I shake it out. 7 turns her head at the sound, catches a glimpse of the fierce-looking implement and begins to scream. I let her, and take up a position behind her.

Intending to truly discipline my charge, I start with a powerful, full stroke to her ass. 7's high-pitched, pain-laden scream bounces throughout room. I can hear their amplified echoes trailing down the halls from the holding cell, where they must be deafening. I have that amp at full volume, that the other prisoners not miss the slightest moan in this room. A glance into the monitor shows the other eight, hands clasped over their ears, mouths agape in mirrored screams. Angry red dots appear in stripes across her tender flesh.

I administer a vicious beating, fifty strokes in all, each slamming into her at full bore. She is pressed against the rough stone by the force of the blows, and it abrades the front of her body. By the end, her full weight hangs on her arms, tears stream down her face, and her screams of pain are an incoherent stream of sound. 7 screams quite well. Her back, ass, and thighs have become a mass of red except of her spine, which I have avoided. Little indents, oozing blood where the skin has split, dot her flesh, especially her ass, where I have concentrated, and high back where her shoulder blades near the surface.

I turn the hose on her. Icy water powers away her blood, and spirals down a drain in the floor. The women on the monitor watch on in stunned silence at the brutality of 7's punishment, and its gory result. With gloved hand, I smear a paste onto her back, inspiring a series on new screams. The mix of healing ointment and fiery cinnamon oil burns into her open wounds.

When her shudders slow, I release her bonds and she drops to the floor. I lift her in my arms, laying her gently on the table. The cool plastic covering is soothing to her burning back, and 7 is compliant, exhausted, as I restrain her. Wrists bloodied from the earlier strain at the table's head. Waist strapped tightly down. Ankles to thighs, and thighs tautly to the base of the table.

'While at Camp Treve, you will receive only the sexual gratification I see fit to grant you.' I speak loudly, as much for the benefit of the others as to 7. A quick check shows both audiences to be attentive. 'Number 7, last night you masturbated yourself to orgasm. The stealth with which you did so, and your lies to me this morning, prove that you suspected this act to be a violation of my rules. Not that this matters. As I informed you yesterday, transgressions are dealt with quite harshly here.'

I roll one of the draped machines to the base of the table, strip off the cover and lock its wheels. The piece gleams brightly, all shiny metal. A single jointed arm extends from its squat base, and I position in near her sex. I use the remote to re-position the camera, panning in until her prone form fills the view afforded my other charges.

'Your punishment will fit the crime. We will start by giving you the orgasms you seem to desire so desperately.'

She lays helplessly spread before me. I gather some lubricant on a finger, and begin to gently massage her clit. It grows to fullness under my attentions as I stretch it gently. I carefully expand her hood, pulling it up to make room for the machine's little tube. Push against her public bone, pressing her as far up the table as her restraint allows. 7 will be unable to pull away from the machine's touch.

I move the rubber and metal tube at the end of the arm into place, fitting her clit snugly into its grip. Press it into her and tighten the arm's joints, locking it in place. I run straps from the arm around her hips as a final caution.

All in readiness, I bend to the machine's base. Turn on the power. A display lights, and I select several options then hit start. The device emits the faintest of buzzing. I stand back to watch her reactions.

7 thrusts her hips at the machine. Her head is thrown back, eyes closed. Tongue to lips, moaning softly. The machine's sound changes slightly, and 7 pushes her pelvis into its kiss with more serious intent, helpless against her building arousal.

The machine cycles somewhat randomly through a series of stimulations to her clit. A gently sucking motion, powered by a miniature vacuum. Vibrations in a variety of intensities directly into her bud, some faint enough to be barely perceivable, others like a miniature earthquake, sometimes undulating between the two extremes. A spinning motion, dragging the slightly roughened interior of the tube around her tender flesh. A slight shock to either side, just a tingle, a tickle. Combinations of these sensations.

Quickly, 7 is writhing in orgasm. Moaning loudly. Hitching with squeals as the intensity drives her over the top. The machine continues to whir relentlessly.

It is about fifteen minutes before 7 starts to beg me to make it stop. Her hoarse requests are broken periodically by the high-pitched squeaks of yet another orgasm. Every muscle in her body is taunt, trembling. A light sheen of sweat breaks out on her, and she glistens under the lights. Her nipples, raw from the stone walls, strain upward, her chest heaving for breath. Eyes plead to me. I turn away and walk to my quarters.



I sit back at my console, watching the monitors. One shows 7, strapped in place as she has been for the last ten hours. Her hair is pasted to her head, eyes lidded with exhaustion, body trembling helplessly. She went silent some hours ago as her voice failed her. Still, her body responds defenselessly, wracked by shudders of orgasms that have grown farther apart but continue despite her fatigue. The machine continues its merciless attentions.

A second monitor shows the scene in the holding cell. Several girls have curled in corners to sleep, but the rest continue to watch 7, unable to pull their eyes away from the girl's torture. Some are weeping in sympathy while others remain stoic and aloof. I note the reactions of each.

I turn on my microphone, into the cell. 'Wake up and pay attention, my lovelies. Things are about to get interesting again.' I send a brief jolt into the floor, encouraging them to gather before the monitor.

I walk to corrective room 1, whistling. My recently over-sexed little pet looks at me with hazy, pleading eyes. I hold her glance and move to the machine. Depress a button sending it into one final flurry, every motion set off at once. The inescapable sucking, vibrating, rotating and shocking against her raw fleshy bit rocks her almost immediately into a final, protracted orgasm. I let my gadget run a moment longer, then shut it down. 7's body flops as she relaxes suddenly, her muscles twitching and cramping from hours of constant strain. She takes rapid, shallow breaths.

I release the machine from her, and pull it away. Her clit is a bright red, inundated with blood, rubbed raw. Fluids of her arousal have pooled on the table. I run a finger through her juices, then rub it on her clit. She twitches and tries to pull away, screaming silently.

'A bit tender, my dear?' I know she can't answer, and don't expect her to. I release her sex for the moment. Turn to a cabinet, retrieving three items: a piece of metal shaped like a popsicle stick but gently curved, a length of fine wire with a small ball on one end, and a pair of vice grips. There are two small holes in one end of the stick, close to each other. I thread the free end of the wire through one, and back through the other. Pull it about, until the ball come to rest against the back of the stick and a small loop protrudes from the curved side beyond. I plug in a soldering iron, which will soon be hot.

With the remote, I switch the view in the holding cell to a free-standing camera, which I position between her thighs while giving myself room to work. I adjust it to give the other girls a tight view of 7's twat and her raw clitoris.

'7, some might say that you have, in the last ten hours, experienced enough orgasms to last a lifetime. However, you may not yet be convinced to follow the rules. We have one last part of your punishment. I am going to remove half of your clit.' 7's eyes go wide with shock, and she mutely shakes her head, no. I can faintly hear shrieks of horror carrying through the halls from the holding cell.

Over 7's whispered protestations, I position the metal stick above her sex, slide the loop carefully over her swollen clit and pull it snug halfway up. She tries to squirm away, but her bonds leave nowhere to go.

I check the monitor, and am pleased to find the other prisoners attentive, peering over their hands which cover mouths wide with horror.

I clamp the pliers on the wire's free end. Holding the stick in my left hand, pliers in my right, I glance up at 7. 'You earned this. I hope that you will behave more appropriately in the future.' Suddenly, I jerk the pliers upward. The thin wire slices cleanly through her bud, severing it against cold steel. Her exhausted body goes rigid and trembling. A hoarse wheeze escapes her raw throat. The end of her clit falls to the table, and her blood flows over it.

I cauterize her with the soldering iron, leaving a burned stub drawn up under her hood. I spray her clean and carry her to the cell.