The Punishment Club

by D. A. Maddox

  We were so, so fucking stupid.

  Nurse Reyes-Garcia leaned over her, took a tissue to her face. She spoke so softly, Emma Jo couldn’t imagine the cameras picking up her voice. “You listen to me, Emma Jo Swanson. In some ways, though you do not show it as much as Cassidy or Buddy, I expect this may be hardest on you, who are no guiltier than they are. You punish yourself as much as we punish you, and you keep so much of it inside. I need you to remember, nothing we do here are things that time itself will not undo. And that is because you are only guilty of some foolishness and have done no harm to anyone. This will be uncomfortable. It will be a shock. It will be embarrassing, and there are greater embarrassments to come. But I have an eye on your numbers. I will not hurt you. You will be fine. You will get through it.”

  Emma Jo nodded. If there was any part left of the dam that held back her tears, it was broken now. But she was relieved. “Thank you, Madam Reyes-Garcia.”

  “It will grow back, you know,” she reminded her again. “For you, I expect it will come back sooner than for most.”

  Then she got to work, teaching the audience through the camera as she went.

  “First, we relax the leg a bit, just so, but prop it up for full access, right up to the inner thigh by the hip bone. This is more important in Emma Jo’s case, whose field grows far and wide and wild when unchecked.”

  Emma Jo wondered if that was a good or bad thing. She pictured people at home—mostly women, probably—looking at the screen with lowered glasses and upturned eyes, taking notes.

  “A little LLT baby powder all around goes a long way. We do this before and after in the case of a bikini wax of this kind to prevent rashes.”

  Oddly soothing, baby powder. Emma Jo tried not to let it bother her when she felt her lips pucker somewhat under the patting. Tried to focus on the smell, which was nice.

  “You have to get the oil right up and in it for best results and to avoid abrading the sensitive tissue. Better to err on the side of too much than not enough.”

  But now the rough part was coming. Emma Jo had heard Cassidy going through it, even with her little arrowhead pussy-do. She expected most of protective custody had heard her. Not agony, exactly, but the girl had some volume, nonetheless. High-pitched, quick shrieks, soon to subside.

  “You will want to apply the wax to the cloth, not the skin—and especially not to any part of the vagina. The top, where the flesh is thinnest, is most sensitive…”

  After that, Emma Jo pretty much lost track of the instructions. Not that she’d been filing them away for later exactly, anyway. But she was preoccupied.

  And found, in a pinch, she had just as much volume as Cassidy.

  ****

  Neither Buddy nor Peter had any idea why they were being wheeled out to the center of the room again. They weren’t supposed to know. Nurse Reyes-Garcia found the innocent confusion in their faces positively fetching when it happened, though. Ah, the helplessness of young men in her charge. Good thing she looked after their well-being as she did.

  These two had been so hard so many times over the past twelve hours. It was unhealthy. Such things could lead to conditions that required treatment she could not provide. But in this case in particular, the key was preventative therapy—and in that regard, she was nothing if not a professional. She’d just never “treated” two subjects at once.

  First time for everything, she thought, calling for a rolling chair.

  ****

  Peter was lost, utterly and completely lost. The girls were up, just in front of the showerheads, getting a pre-shower treatment with wash-off antiseptic powder. By the look on their faces—they were facing Officers Garcia and Thompson, arms straight up to receive the treatment—that medicine stung, too.

  Buddy and I should be there with them, going through the same thing, he thought with mounting dread. What fresh hell is this?

  Whatever it was, they were getting it faceup and buck-ass naked, like everything else.

  Whatever it was, it required the lowering of their stretcher legs, bringing them waist level with a seated Nurse Reyes-Garcia, who squirted a clear gel into her hands at their approach.

  And whatever it was required a portable freezer with unknown contents to be placed between their X-frames, a bottle of baby wipes conspicuously (and ominously) on top of it.

  Peter didn’t speak. He felt like he’d used up all of his chances at this point. But Buddy did.

  “Matron?” he asked, voice quavering, his penis rocking back and forth like a metronome.

  “Yes, Buddy?” she said, smiling warmly at him, squelching gel. “You two may talk for the present. I am sure you have questions.”

  “What are you going to do now?”

  She held out both of her hands. “I am going to keep your testicles from blowing up like the reactor at Chernobyl. Your baby batter factories have been in hard production mode on and off but continually since last night, and neither of you were seen masturbating.”

  Buddy’s mouth opened and closed, mute. Peter’s whole body felt as though it had just suffused with fresh blood. At those very words, his cock went stone stiff again, further damning him. “You mean, in front of…”

  “Also, we have our first auction winners. There are two buyers interested in your semen samples. Later, if we do this again, we shall donate your contributions to fertility clinics. But for now, we do have sponsors to pay for.”

  She was right between them, sliding forward from chest level to waist. She reached out—

  “Wait!” Buddy said, suddenly and with force. “No one’s ever…”

  “Of course not, you poor, fretful thing. You are not allowed to yet. I shall bring you both to orgasm nevertheless.”

  Here, she sheathed each cock in a well-lubricated fist, causing both of them to cry out—Peter with a despairing, ecstatic groan, and Buddy with first a shriek, then a defeated, “Ah-haaaaa…”

  There was no doubt Buddy had been telling the truth. And the further truth, this was a first for Peter, too. The feeling was so alien, so violating, so helpless, so wonderful. Suddenly, all he could do was let his eyes roll back and the core of his body enjoy the sensation, revel in it, though he was only getting this “punishment” from her left hand. Her good hand was on Buddy, who continued making little “ah” noises as her hand pumped him—pumped them—in a steady rhythm.

  Never mind who’s watching. Don’t think. Never mind—

  Swiveling in the rolling chair, she switched hands, taking Peter now in the right, Buddy with the left. “Fair is fair,” she said. “I am not ambidextrous, you know. Who will ejaculate first, I wonder?”

  Peter’s whole body convulsed against the restraints. She’d left his shaft and was tickling his balls now. God, don’t—whaaaaa…?

  For now her hand on his cock—back on the shaft again—was not in the fisting position. She had brought her fingertips together with her thumb to make them into hand-suckers, mouths with five appendages that gently milked them, drew from them.

  “Matron!” Buddy squealed, when her fist encased him and started pumping him again. “Oh! Oh!”

  And Peter watched, feeling himself draw to the point, as his friend shot a load that arced clear over his chest and splashed on his own face. Then Peter came, too, jetting three streamers over his chest while he lay there and yelled at the ceiling.

  Pluck, pluck, from the baby wipes bottle. “Ms. Cruz,” Nurse Reyes-Garcia called, standing. “Donations. Quick, please, while their fluid still has living swimmers in it.”

  Veronica hurried over at once.

  Chapter Twelve

  Smoothies

  Cassidy let it all hang out. There was no part of her everyone in the room hadn’t seen. Every inch of her flesh that had taken oil, tape, or wax was powdered with a chalk-white dusting that had the consistency of flour, and it burned with a low heat that intensified when she touched it. She stood with her arms down but not quite touching her sides, her knees slightly apart, and her hair thrown i
n front of her, over her shoulders. She waited. Endured.

  Maybe this will count as my punishment, she thought, but her common sense automatically quashed that hope. Next to her, Emma Jo was feeling the burn, too, and she hadn’t been assigned extra discipline. In fact, Emma Jo was probably suffering even more, because she insisted on keeping her hands crossed over her newly denuded sex. She was beet red in the face. Whether this was from the indignity or the additional pain she was causing herself (or both) was an even bet.

  Nurse Reyes-Garcia came to them. “We have not forgotten you,” she assured them. “We need the medicine to settle for fifteen minutes for it to do its work. Nearly there. We will not make you wait a moment longer than that, I promise you, and your male partners in crime will have their turn very soon. Emma Jo, do follow the example of your friend. You are only aggravating yourself down there.”

  The girls nodded. Surrendering, Emma Jo mimicked Cassidy’s stance, arms at her sides but off her body and with her vaginal lips, well powdered and rather more protuberant than Cassidy’s, out in the open.

  It isn’t that I want to see the boys hurting like this, Cassidy wanted to protest. And she didn’t. They already looked so traumatized. She didn’t want anything bad to happen to either of them—especially Peter, who did himself no favors with his quick wit, who…

  Likes me, and I like him back. Leave him alone. Please, leave him alone.

  Just now, Veronica went to him, brandishing a small, empty bottle of frosted glass with a rubber suction nozzle up top. She turned it upside down on his chest, and the rubber sucker took in his fresh ejaculate, which instantly froze at the bottom of the bottle. She ran it down the middle of his pecs, picking up the trail of semen—which, Cassidy could not help but think, looked like watered-down Elmer’s glue. Kind of gross, really.

  Then she brought a second bottle over to Buddy and got his, mostly from his face. He lay quiet, twitching a little, when she took his penis between two fingers and eased his tip to the nozzle, rolling back skin. He whimpered, toes curling, as the small, automatic proboscis sucked at him.

  Nurse Reyes-Garcia went for the powder bottle, which was on another rolling aluminum table near the showerhead wall. She returned to the boys with it in hand as Veronica undid their restraints and as Officer Garcia came to Cassidy and Emma Jo.

  He passed them without a word, went to the showerheads themselves and, surprisingly, detached one to reveal a retractable cord.

  That would have been nice to know about when I had to put soap in my darned butthole, Cassidy thought, defiantly crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at him.

  He snickered and winked at her. “We are close enough on time,” he said, ever so conversationally. “Arms up, Miss Swanson. Do not be concerned. The water will be warm but not hot. Close your eyes. Good.”

  He sprayed down her front, getting her limbs first, one at a time, then letting the spray linger over her armpits, her pussy.

  “Turn around, please. No, keep those arms up. Good.”

  Cassidy waited. Seeing the relief wash over Emma Jo inflamed the burning she felt everywhere he’d patted in the powder. Her eyes watered.

  “Bend ninety degrees at the waist, please. Open your labia with your fingers. That is a good fruit smoothie.”

  Emma Jo held position as he came closer, made himself level with her hands, running the water between them. “Oh, God,” Emma Jo said, modesty forgotten. “Thank God…”

  “Spread the cheeks of your buttocks, please. Last part.”

  She obeyed, no question. The noises she made were not pain, not embarrassment. Only sweet relief. Cassidy could hardly stand it.

  “That is you done, my dear. Now, go on ahead and shower off normally. Be done in ten minutes, please.”

  Emma Jo shuffled off to another showerhead, sniffling but not unhappy.

  Officer Garcia turned to Cassidy. “What is it, Miss Harper?”

  “Are you punishing me now, Officer Garcia, sir? Is this it?”

  He laughed heartily. “I have not forgotten that, Miss Harper, but no. You will be told when that is to happen. I do not think I shall be in charge of it this time, though. We shall see. Raise your arms now so I can rinse you to a good, buffed, polished smoothie like your friend.”

  Smoothie, she thought, raising her arms, lowering her head, regarding her uncovered sex for a moment before looking up again and closing her eyes. Whatever.

  The last thing she saw before the relief crashed over her as well was Nurse Reyes-Garcia bringing two freshly powdered and miserable young men into the shower area with her, one at either arm.

  They’re so different, she thought.

  Neither of the men in question were erect anymore. In fact, their organs hung rather low, slightly distended. Buddy’s had an extra hood of skin at the end, which Veronica had peeled back to get at the tip. Darker, too.

  Peter’s, on the other hand, was more sculpted. Pinkish. He looked nice. They both did, but…

  “Wait here,” said Nurse Reyes-Garcia, addressing Buddy and Peter. “Fifteen minutes.”

  Cassidy smiled, enjoying the warm water, taking orders from Officer Garcia with neither hesitation nor question, and felt the pain wash away.

  I like him, she thought. Peter. He makes me laugh.

  ****

  A sign went up where the crowd in the parking lot was nearest to the gate by the visitor’s entrance:

  For our in-person audience ONLY: Raffle!

  Take a guided tour of the facilities used in Consequences, Live!

  Meet the new inmates—UP CLOSE AND PERSONAL, just the way you like them!

  (Media and participation waiver required upon selection.)

  Phones and devices permitted. One pic per winner with the criminal of your choice!

  12 winning entries will be drawn at 11 AM!

  ($10 per entry. Limit 5 per buyer. Increase your chances with each purchase!)

  Embarrass them! Degrade them! Do YOUR PART for justice! God Bless America!

  The police set up four tables inside the gate, each manned by two officers, twin rolls of ticket tape at each. They checked ID, verified age, logged entrance, and kept the peace. Second-unit camera crews from Channel 382 were well deployed to catch it all, relaying the best footage back up to Gloria and Buck, who used it to fill dead moments. There weren’t many, but a lucky few were able to return from the ticket table to the projection screen in time to see themselves blown up and larger than life.

  The line, at its longest, stretched half a mile off the property—but just as many protected their place in the viewing party and never joined it. Perhaps they weren’t feeling particularly lucky that day. Some, doubtless, found it easier to watch in relative anonymity than to involve themselves personally, especially those who felt sympathy for the prisoners. They wouldn’t want Cassidy, Peter, Emma Jo, or Buddy seeing them. They’d feel guilty.

  Others were simply diehard viewers who didn’t like to miss a moment. They could not be expected to leave the screen now. The Punishment Club was being taken to breakfast.

  ****

  Emma Jo and Cassidy sat opposite each other at a cafeteria table that could have seated sixteen. The boys weren’t here yet. The server was an uncommunicative male prisoner in a green jumpsuit with his hair under what looked like a protective plastic bonnet. Apart from him and an anonymous female guard, the place was empty.

  They’d “run long” again, according to Officer Garcia. It was eight thirty in the morning. The rest of the prison population had already been served.

  “Ever get the feeling,” Cassidy asked, “that we’re being kept from the rest of them on purpose?”

  “No,” Emma Jo answered with feeling, buttering a modest stack of pancakes, counting herself lucky it hadn’t only been toast, as promised. “Not after our wakeup call this morning, I don’t.”

  Cassidy looked around her table, disgruntled. Had she expected syrup? But she soon desisted and said, “Oh. Yeah. Almost forgot about that after be
ing flippin’ deloused. What’s next?”

  “Crowd surfing,” Emma Jo answered with her mouth full, taking a swig of her fruit smoothie. Strawberry. It didn’t suck. “Definitely naked crowd surfing.”

  “Please,” Cassidy said, “do not say anything like that where Alejandro can hear. Don’t give him ideas.”

  Emma Jo shrugged. Their worst fears were already on record from the interview. “It’ll be bad,” she said. Then she made herself add, half against her will, “It’s supposed to be bad. ‘Punishment’ and all that.”

  Nurse Reyes-Garcia had promised it would get worse. She had also promised their safety.

  And speak of the devil, she thought, turning on the mounted plastic disc that was supposed to account for a chair and finding Nurse Reyes-Garcia leading the boys into the cafeteria. She spoke briefly to the guard, tapped her watch, and departed. Buddy and Peter went to the nonexistent serving line and took up trays. Peter moved to tuck his hat into his back pocket, then stopped at a word from the guard.

  Two ceiling cams swiveled in their direction. The other two stayed focused on her and Cassidy.

  “I am so ready for this to be over,” Cassidy said, setting down her plastic fork in frustration.

  Yeah, cutting through these cardboard facsimiles of pancakes was not easy. Emma Jo tore off a chunk with her fingers, popped it into her mouth, and made her hands open on either side of her cheeks as if to say, Voila! Problem solved.

  A gesture Cassidy returned with an expression Emma Jo interpreted as, This is not how I do pancakes. But then she did it anyway.

  Behind her, Peter’s voice came into focus as the boys drew closer. It was an older brother tone, even though the two of them were only months apart in age. “Come on. Buddy, come on. Don’t be such a—”