by D. A. Maddox
None of them did. They leaned forward. Their eyes were wide—all except the senator’s, who narrowed hers. Mrs. Merriweather batted her lashes at him. But of all of them, it was hardest for him to accept having this done to him in the presence of Mrs. Fenwick, the one who had just ordered his final stripping.
Go! he wanted to shout. Get out of here! Please!
But he kept quiet, even when the knot came undone between Professor Mack’s thumb and forefinger and the cloth fell away. There he was, the Vitruvian Punk, not just on camera but before a live civilian audience, many of them women he had known his whole life, sporting a boner the size of Florida at low tide. Professor Mack held the cloth up to his face, making sure he got a good look at what he wasn’t wearing anymore. He moaned.
Moaning was okay. He was allowed inarticulate exclamations. He wouldn’t have to pay for them later, so long as he didn’t overdo it. He moaned again.
“Oh, boy,” Professor Mack said, studying his erection. “Can’t have that, can we? This is ‘The Human Form,’ not porn.” Then, to the crowd, “A little help?”
What? Robbie though, aghast. What kind of “help” are you talking about?
He locked eyes with Nurse Reyes-Garcia. Please, Matron, he wanted to plead with her. Couldn’t you come over here and just flick it, or something?
She stared back at him, offering nothing.
“Come on,” Professor Mack cajoled. “We all knew this might happen. We talked about it.”
Mrs. Fenwick regrettably sighed. “Harvey would kill me,” she said. “Sorry. Was all I could do to talk him into letting me be here.”
“He definitely looks like he needs it,” said Mrs. Crop, the reporter, “but I just report the news. I’m not supposed to be the news.”
“Too awkward,” said one, a friend of his mother’s.
“It would feel wrong,” said another, a former babysitter. “That would be crossing the line, I think.”
Go down, Robbie silently commanded his penis. You’ve got to go down. You know what’s coming.
His penis, however, was perfectly happy to remain at attention. It tightened under their scrutiny. It swelled. Heat spread through his core like thick, warm milk spilled slowly.
“I’ll do it,” crooned Mrs. Merriweather, rising from her chair. “Poor boy’s suffering, can’t you see? If none of you younger lot will step forward…”
None of them did, so she came to him.
Robbie stared off to the side, disbelieving, as she knelt in front of him and took him in hand. She had painted nails, Mrs. Merriweather did, but she was careful with them. She held his cock first to one side, then the other. She gave it a preliminary pump or two, ran her hand under his balls.
I’m not going to last long, Robbie thought, heart thudding. God, why? Was I really bad enough to deserve this?
Her hand was so warm, so soft.
“How lovely,” she said, kissing the tip, forcing a gasp. “May I suckle him?”
Professor Mack seemed unsure, looking from one officer to the other.
Nurse Reyes-Garcia nodded—but it was the younger officer, Kersey, who said, “If you’re willing to do that in front of eight million viewers, feel free.”
“Oh, but I can’t help myself,” she said, opening her mouth.
Robbie groaned, the noise more guttural than before, more animal, as he watched her tongue come out. She licked his cock, bottom to top, with her hands on her knees. His whole body shook as she then grasped him by the buttocks and took his entire length inside her mouth, all the way to the back of her throat.
Mrs. Merriweather! his brain screamed. He turned his sight upward, studying the ceiling. My God, my God, my God.
Then he closed his eyes. For twenty seconds, all he could do was feel her—and hear her, slurping on him, as his cock reveled in the attention, so hot and wet, so tight it hurt. She was a pro, the old organ player, with no inclination to let him come in her mouth. She was off him—and off to his side, jerking him with her hand—just before blast off.
Robbie’s semen shot out in line, making it half the distance to the back of Mrs. Fenwick’s easel.
His eyes remained shut under the applause as a second jet painted the floor just under him. Then it was over—but it still wasn’t even three o’clock.
“Moist towelette?” Mrs. Merriweather asked. “Anyone?”
Laughter.
Officer Kersey unclipped her shoulder radio and called for a janitor. Shortly, as Professor Mack worked at redirecting her class back to their assignment, one appeared. He was a younger man, hardly older than Robbie. Without so much as an “Excuse me,” he wheeled his mop-and-bucket kit right in front of him, wagging his finger with mild reproach at Robbie’s shrinking penis. “Nice unit, rich boy,” he said. “Makin’ me work for a livin’, though.”
After he was gone, the women resumed their sketching.
Chapter Eleven
Guilt
“You shouldn’t be so concerned,” Dr. Cossack said, offering her a gentle smile. “These really are ‘controlled’ judicial humiliations, Maddy, fully sanctioned by the state. We know he’s not hardcore, as criminals go, and everything on his schedule has been carefully put together with his unique psychological profile in mind.” Then, an afterthought: “It’s a testament to your character, though, this empathy of yours—considering you were the principal intended victim of his crime.”
I’m not so innocent, she thought. I wonder what he’s going through right now.
“I can’t help it,” she said, and lamely added, “Circumstances.”
“Him asking you out and you turning him down. You don’t owe anyone a date, Maddy.”
Thanks, Dad, she thought, shrugging. That and the fact I’m taking money for this. Jasmine and Heather aren’t.
“Well, our hour is past up. We’ve still got two things on today’s schedule for you. Next up for you is a non-contact visit with the subject.”
Maddy sat back. “What? Really? Why?”
“Same reason I allowed you to see footage of him in the nude,” he said. “We need the two of you—you in particular, really—to have developed at least some familiarity and rapport before Friday. Can’t have you freezing up at the last second. Keep in mind, he is not to learn that you are part of the punishment program.”
“But wouldn’t this give that away?”
“He asked for you, Maddy,” Dr. Cossack said. “He wants to apologize. He’ll believe you drove up here specifically to receive that apology.”
“And he thinks I’d do that, after he tried to spy on me?”
“No, he doesn’t expect you to. But he asked us to ask you in case you would. Nice surprise for him when it happens.”
Maddy shook her head. “What kind of person would I be if I accepted the apology and then showed up as one of his…” Her brain struggled for the word she and her friends had been assigned by Officer Jenny. “Humiliators.”
“One can receive forgiveness and still expect to pay for one’s actions,” the doctor suggested, ever so reasonably. “He hasn’t fought or even seriously protested anything to this point.”
“I bet,” she said, but she was dubious. “And I suppose this is part of the contract, anyway.”
“It is,” said Dr. Cossack, “but you’d be better off not reminding yourself of that all the time. Seriously, Maddy, you should try to have some fun with this. Think of it like theater, like improv, where everyone has his or her role. It’s not like anyone’s being injured here.”
Did he know she’d done drama club all four years of high school?
Of course, he knows.
“All right,” she said, resigned. “When does this happen? And what’s the second thing?”
“I’ll buzz Officer Kersey, if you’re ready. As for the second thing, it’ll be another informal training session with your friends.”
I’m keeping him out of real jail, Maddy reminded herself. I’m doing him a favor. I have to remember that.
“Go a
head,” she said. “Let’s get this over with.”
Jasmine and Heather, she thought. Wonder what they’re up to right now?
****
Officer Jenny forced herself to knock, holding the carboard box under her left arm. She waited.
It was a little out of her programming, this drill, this courtesy. In her current position, she was used to showing up unexpectedly, to giving orders, to making others do as she pleased—or as the punishment required. But these aren’t prisoners, she reminded herself. They’re uncontracted volunteers. They’re guests. Have to play this right.
Jasmine opened the door, yawning. Beyond her, Heather was sitting up off the small sofa, stretching her arms.
“Napping, I see,” she said. “Together?”
Jasmine giggled behind the yawn, but she shook her head. Heather called out, “Um, how about no?” She pointed to the recliner across their room, which had a ruffled blanket thrown over it.
Then Jasmine said, “What’s in the box?”
“I’ll show you. May I come in?”
Jasmine gestured her in, and Officer Jenny set the box on the table. Without preamble, she undid the string at the top and peeled it off. Jasmine and Heather stood at either side of her, peering over her shoulders.
There were three uniforms in there. The vests were dark blue, sleeveless, each with a custom badge that read “Volunteer Humiliator” and bore their names: one for Jasmine, one for Heather, and one for Maddy. The shorts were gray, with gold police-emblem stars running down the sides.
“I’ll be back later with the gloves and boots,” Officer Jenny said. “You have some choices to make with those. Also, you’ll need to make a final decision on your preferred instrument of correction and discipline before lights out tonight. I’ll check back with you after dinner.”
“What if he doesn’t earn any punishments for Friday?” Jasmine asked.
“He will. They always do. He’s already on tap for punishments tomorrow.”
Heather’s hazel eyes were wide, and she made no move—but Jasmine’s hand shot out and turned the collar back on her own vest. “You even got my size right,” she said, her features radiant with delight. “How wonderful.”
“Try them on?” Officer Jenny suggested.
“Shouldn’t we wait for Maddy?” Heather tentatively ventured.
“I prefer you don’t. She won’t be back for a while, and you two have your own preparation and practice to consider.”
Jasmine drew hers out of the box. “What kind of practice?”
“Practice giving orders—not to dear ol’ Fred this time. To real people.”
“Real … people?” Heather mimicked, but the look on her face proved she knew exactly what Officer Jenny had meant.
“To each other,” she said. “One of you is the volunteer, one of you is the prisoner. Take turns. And don’t hold back—anything you’re going to say to Robbie, you need to practice, and whenever you’re the prisoner, you need to obey every command.”
Heather’s mouth opened in an O and hung there.
“You’ve seen each other’s bodies before, my cute little running buddies,” Officer Jenny reminded them. “Mads’, too. Don’t make a thing of it.”
“What about those?” Heather asked, a note of desperation creeping in, tilting her head at the camera. “We’re on TV, and we’re not the ones being punished.”
“Well, don’t actually hurt each other, silly. Just go through the motions. As for the cameras, those will shut down after I leave. Mads will be back sometime between five and six. Surprise her—start right in when she walks through the door. See how she responds.”
“Oh, yes,” Jasmine said. “This is going to be such fun.”
But again, from Heather, “I don’t think she’ll like that very much.”
“Try her,” Officer Jenny said. “She has been known to show a daring streak, yes?”
Neither of them answered. It was inarguable. Jasmine, Officer Jenny could tell, couldn’t wait to get to work.
“Back in a bit,” she said. And she left, shutting them back in with each other.
****
Officer Kersey allowed Robbie half an hour of recovery time before leading him to the visitor booths in the gen-pop section of the main prison. She let him wear his standard-issue jumpsuit and socks, for which he was grateful. But she also made him put the hat back on, and that was more than a little embarrassing.
They’d come off-hours, and as far as prisoners went, all twenty-four of the booths were empty. Only one, five cubicles in on the right, had cameras positioned overtop, looking over both sides of the glass. On the other side of that one—on the free side—sat Maddy Piper.
“Go ahead, 186,” Officer Kersey said. “Get over there before she comes to her senses and changes her mind. Can’t imagine why she’d want to talk to you in the first place.”
Neither could he, come to that. It had been a long shot at best.
Her hair was down, dark and glorious. Bright green eyes peered out from under her bangs—but she looked as nervous as he was. She had on a perfectly normal jacket over a perfectly normal button-up blouse—might as well have been a suit of armor, he couldn’t help but think—while he wore clothes that proclaimed him a national scumbag.
Fair enough, he thought. Didn’t get here by being good.
She tilted her head at him, glaring at him with both awkwardness and impatience. The message was clear: You asked for this. You start.
He glanced about, looking for a microphone, or for holes in the glass, something.
“Just say something, already,” she blurted, perfectly audible. “God, Robbie.”
He snorted in spite of himself. “Typical me,” he ruefully said. “For some reason I thought the glass would be soundproof.”
“Well, it isn’t.”
“No,” he agreed. “Listen, Maddy, I’m glad you came—”
“Why?” she countered.
The word stung. He took a breath. “To hear me say what I didn’t say in court. To apologize. Right here, where I’m not trying to get sympathy from prosecutors or a judge or anyone else, I wanted you to know I’m just sorry. I’m really not that much of a creep, I swear—”
She cut him off. “But you didn’t ask to see Heather or Jasmine. Don’t they deserve an apology, too?”
Robbie put his face in one hand, slammed his fist with the other. “Yes,” he said. “Just like that, I’m a jerk again.” He started to his feet. “Okay, never mind, I’ll go—”
But her face softened, just a little. The slightest bit of warmth touched her eyes. “No, Robbie, it’s okay. Sit down, for Pete’s sakes. Look, for what it’s worth, I accept your apology—and I don’t think Heather or Jasmine really care.” But, after a moment, “Well, maybe Heather, a little … definitely not Jasmine. I’ll tell them for you.”
Robbie risked a small smile. “Thanks. For that and for talking to me. They don’t let me talk much. The guards. I have to keep quiet, most of the time.”
“Are they awful to you?”
Robbie couldn’t quite make out the subtext of the question. She still didn’t look terribly sympathetic. He tilted his head back at Officer Kersey. “That one is,” he said with a grim smirk. “But that’s okay. Nice isn’t part of their job. I get that.”
“No,” Maddy said, studying her hands. “I guess it isn’t.”
“Actually, the big boss isn’t that bad. She’s … almost sweet, in a sort of be-quiet-and-take-your-medicine kind of way. That’s the one I call ‘Matron’ all the time.”
“Matron?” She was honestly confused.
“You haven’t been watching?”
“Robbie, I’m transitional, same as you. I’m not old enough. But…”
The word hung there, like drying laundry in old movies. “But?”
“Nothing. Can’t help but be curious—sorry about that.”
He nodded. “I understand. I don’t want to talk about it in detail, though. I’m getting what’s coming to
me, Maddy, if it makes you feel any better.”
“Believe it or not, I don’t actually want anything bad to happen to you.”
Really? He thought. He nearly said it. Instead, he muttered, “I’ll be fine. When I’ve got time to think, I’m more concerned about my dad.”
“Oh, God—I didn’t even think about that. Not since court. Now I’m sorry. You must be worried to death.”
“What have you got to be sorry for, Maddy? It’s my fault. I caused all this, not you.”
“It’s too much,” she said, her breath catching. Then, recovering, “Don’t get me wrong—you’re a nosy little pervert that did the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard about in my life…”
Robbie laughed, nodding his head again. And she laughed, too, covering her lips with her fingers.
Until she said, “You’re going to hate me, Robbie.”
And stood up and turned from him. And walked away.
Robbie stared after her. And it hit him: She’s in on it. She didn’t drive here. She’s part of the program. Part of my punishment.
“No,” he whispered, for the benefit of no one but the cameras, which he had quite forgotten. “I could never hate you, Maddy. No matter what.”
He was going to leave, too, when Officer Kersey spoke.
“Stay put, 186. You’ve got fifteen minutes left in here.”
So? he thought. What am I supposed to do for fifteen minutes?
“There’s someone else to see you.”
****
At visitors’ reception, Maddy practically bumped into her, pushing through the door as soon as it hissed open. Mrs. Lorena McNeal, wife of Senator Dusty McNeal. Robbie’s mother.
“Oh, my gosh. Mrs. McNeal. I’m—I’m sorry. Wasn’t watching where I was going.”
She had a youthful face, something passed down to her son in the eyes and the cheekbones. Maddy knew she had to be in her mid-forties at least, but it only showed in her bearing, and in the stiff white and blue pantsuit that looked tailor made for a congressional debate.
