by D. A. Maddox
****
—continuously trained on her, recording her every movement, broadcasting it to God-only-knew how many people in the outside world.
It wouldn’t be so bad without the cameras, Veronica thought. I never recorded any of my subs and showed them to the public. I don’t deserve this.
This is so degrading.
At a door at the end of the hall, Nurse Reyes-Garcia stepped ahead of her and swiped a card through an electronic ID reader. The door hissed open. Veronica did not resist as the older woman took her by the arm and led her inside.
Mirrored walls. A long stone table with only two chairs, both in the middle but one on either side, facing each other. Between them, a metal box that might have been an EKG attached to a printer. From it, there trailed two long wires that ended with adhesive metal leads.
Officer Thompson was in the room, standing at the back wall. In front of her was a waist-high A-frame, not unlike the ones Veronica and Malcolm adorned with manacles and whips and sex toys at every Origins Fete. But this one was wooden, and a thick, red cushion ran the length of the top crossbar.
“We meet again!” Thompson said cheerily, brushing a lock of her golden hair off the shoulder and waving to her. “Glad you made it safely, sweets.”
Closer, but to her right, Officer Kersey scowled behind a large video camera mounted on a tripod, her smaller handheld still dangling from around her neck.
“You are not being broadcast yet,” said Nurse Reyes-Garcia. “When we begin, your interview will be seen only by our pay per view audience that particularly enjoys that sort of thing. If you are approved—I should say after you are approved; who am I kidding?—tomorrow’s first sessions will be fed live to the rest of our cable audience, and the interview becomes available for no charge in the backlog, so most people wait. For tonight, you will have only a … select viewership.”
For a second, Veronica’s heart lost its rhythm. Had someone told her? Oh, if so, Veronica would kill to find out who it was and—
But if her usage of that word was more than coincidence, there were no further indications.
“Hold out your right wrist, please.”
Nurse Reyes-Garcia was at an open wall cabinet. She wasn’t even facing her. Veronica hesitated.
Then the senior punishment warden clicked a button on a remote on her belt, and the whole righthand wall lit up with a flashing digital countdown: 30, 29, 28 …
“If that hits zero, my contrary young flutter-cunt,” Nurse Reyes-Garcia said, “you will face an additional punishment to the one you already earned back at the campus negotiations.”
Veronica held her wrist out. The screen went dark again.
Nurse Reyes-Garcia then turned back to face her. Around Veronica’s wrist she clipped what looked, at first, like a simple plastic band—but when it locked in place, it seemed to vanish.
She could still feel it there.
“Not invisible,” Nurse Reyes-Garcia explained. “More of an auto-camouflage thing, the technical staff informs me. It is a device that allows me to monitor your heart and other vital systems at times when you will be put under various forms and degrees of stress.” She patted yet another device on her belt, something like a small walkie-talkie with a video screen. “This allows us to achieve maximum effectiveness in your discipline without placing you in real danger.”
If that was meant to be comforting, it wasn’t.
“I should say, you are doing a fine job of keeping quiet, Veronica. That is very commendable, given your circumstance.”
Veronica wondered if she should say “Thank you,” for that.
“Take off your jumpsuit.”
Veronica’s eyes flitted to the junior punishment wardens, as if they would jump in to save her. No one other than doctors had seen her in her underwear since her first Origins Fete. She didn’t even have a dorm sister.
You knew this was coming. You know worse is coming. Don’t be a fucking pussy, Veronica.
The countdown started again: 30, 29, 28…
“But—I mean, why, Madam Reyes-Garcia? What’s the reason? I’m not even in the—”
“That is a hesitation,” her jailor replied, quite implacably. “Three of those is an additional punishment, as is the running out of the clock. Also, you have now spoken out of turn—but I will forget that, at present. This is all very new to you. Strip to your halter top and panties, please.”
19, 18, 17…
“Come on, girlfriend,” Officer Thompson said. “It’s not like you have to get all nakey yet. Buck up and lose it.”
Officer Kersey just shook her head and muttered, “God, why are they all the same?”
It wasn’t as though she had a bad body. She had nice tits, a slim waist, longer than average legs, fucking flawless skin that kept a tan—Veronica was proud of it. It was just, being unclothed in a room full of other people—older people—who were fully dressed made her…
Vulnerable.
11, 10, 9…
No!
Veronica took down the zipper with an angry yank and let the jumpsuit drop. She forced her hands to stay at her sides, keeping her head up. “There,” she said through gritted teeth. “Are you fucking happy now?”
Officer Kersey let fly a low whistle and clucked her tongue. “We got a live one, boss,” she said—and for the first time since Veronica met her back at the admin building, didn’t sound displeased.
“I am content,” said Nurse Reyes-Garcia, circling her, gazing fully upon her as though testing her resolve. “But you, my dear, have increased your scheduled punishment from three swats to five.”
Officer Thomson hopped up and down with her feet together, clapping like a little kid. “Yay!”
Veronica brushed the bottom of her bangs out of her eyes, and was annoyed to feel her face so infused with heat.
“Best not to think on it,” Nurse Reyes-Garcia said. “That is for later. We still have our interview. And although you do not realize it, you’ve already answered the first question. I need to verify your honesty.”
Here she took a knee and made herself eye level with Veronica’s crotch.
“Lower your panties.”
Time hung.
“Veronica, what? You have lost all color. You may answer.”
Veronica’s hands surrendered and went to shield herself. She tilted her head back at Officer Thompson. “Madam Reyes-Garcia,” she said, suddenly needing to sound cool, reasonable, “she said I didn’t have to get naked yet.”
“And you do not. You have your shoes, your top, your hat—and you may keep the panties on. Lower them. I wish to see your vagina, and to confirm you told Officer Davies the truth at Intake.”
The truth? What the fuck was—
But then she remembered.
You on the rag?
“The cameras are not on, Veronica. Do what I tell you. Show me your genitals.”
Veronica hooked her thumbs in the waistband, started them down.
“Farther. Farther.”
Veronica felt her pubis come into view, the wind of the room on the top of her small hairs. Then the top of her slit, with Reyes-Garcia’s nose just inches from it, tickling it with her breath. Then all of her slit, with her panties just above the knees and her arms hanging loose again, her whole body aquiver with exposure.
“Good, good. And you see? You are not naked. Put your feet a bit apart, would you? Excellent. You have told the truth. That is very good.”
Her finger pulled a nether lip left, then her other one right, as if she was searching for a tampon that would be poking right the fuck out there, if she had one. The nurse touched her here, there.
“You have a most appealing vulva—although it will need a bit of a trim to bring out some of your inner color. You have symmetry, perkiness. It is like a half-bloomed rose in an overgrown flowerbed.”
“Madam … Reyes-Garcia…”
“Hm?”
“Please—stop.”
She withdrew her finger, licked the tip
, then pulled up Veronica’s panties. “There, now. On a scale of one to ten, how mortifying was that?”
“Eight hundred and twenty-three.”
“Do sit down and calm yourself. We will give you a moment.”
Veronica sat, hands holding the seat of the chair at either side, tears silently cutting tracks down her cheeks.
Officer Kersey clicked on the tripod camera.
The wall to the left lit up with another digital readout, a single number: 42.
“Give the audience a wave, princess,” Kersey said. “There’s almost fifty people out there who paid a thousand bucks each because they couldn’t be bothered to wait for the free feed. America has its share of rich fucking perverts.”
“Thank God for that,” said Officer Thompson.
Veronica, never sparing the camera a glance, instead staring straight ahead, showed it her middle finger.
Officer Thompson cackled. “Oh, my,” she said. “I fucking adore her. We up to seven?”
“No,” said Nurse Reyes-Garcia, chuckling. “I will allow this one. Officer Kersey was not specific as to the manner in which she wanted Veronica to wave.”
But Veronica did check the audience counter again, just in her peripheral vision.
55.
And felt a twinge of satisfaction in the thought that she had just gotten a little more popular.
Behind her, the door to the interrogation room again opened—
****
…without her ever touching it. Beyond it, as expected, Savannah stepped out into an empty school hallway.
But of course it was empty. Classes were in session, and in high school, all of the students in a given grade level had their classes at the same time. She padded down the hall in her sneakers, fingers interlaced before her into a single two-handed fist of trepidation. Headmaster Lachance was said to be strict, Savannah told herself. He was said to be … merciless.
She’d never been in trouble before. She hoped—desperately, foolishly—that he would be kind to her. Maybe if she smiled prettily, or cried—
****
…in front of so many people in her whole fucking life. So humiliating.
Officer Alejandro Garcia had come into the interrogation room, evidently just to watch. And watch he did, expressionlessly, leaning up against the countdown wall with perfect patience, listening as his goddamned wife explained to Veronica that if she was perfectly honest—if she didn’t lie once—then she’d be taken into the CJH program right away. She’d receive her first punishment and be shown to her room. Dinner would be delivered to her, as the other prisoners in protective custody had already had theirs promptly at six.
If she did not answer honestly at any time, the two Garcias would have to convene and discuss, in private, whether or not to take her in anyway, adding punishments as seemed suitable—or return her to Bridgemont. There, having been deemed unfit for Controlled Judicial Humiliations, she would be subject to whatever alternative punitive plan the school had in mind.
That, Veronica reminded herself, taking a tissue, wiping her nose, could not happen.
She wished Officer Alejandro would stop staring at her, in her half-dressed state, for just a second, so she could fucking concentrate.
“May I speak, Madam Reyes-Garcia?”
“You have a question of your own?” Reyes-Garcia asked, slipping one of the leads just inside the right breast of her bra, patting it down there, fortunately closer to the heart than a nipple.
The video camera ran on its own. Officer Kersey took a knee here, then over there, getting still shots.
“Just one, I think.”
“By all means,” she said, attaching the second lead behind the bottom of her ear, where her neck met her jawline.
“It’s just … I’m upset, Madam Reyes-Garcia, and I can’t help it. Won’t that mess with the readings on the lie detector? I’m not going to lie to you—I swear to God, I’m not—but that fucking thing there might think I’m lying.”
“You know, Veronica,” Nurse Reyes-Garcia said, taking the seat opposite her, clicking the reader and the printer on. “I am inclined to believe you. But before I proceed any further, let me first warn you—if you swear in my presence again, unless you are in physical pain and unable to help yourself, I will duct tape your mouth and paddle you with a dough board until your ass cheeks dance La Conquista. It takes much to engage me in the physical duress of my own charges, but for you I may make an exception. Does my cherry little furburger understand me?”
Veronica lowered her head, seething with indignation. But she answered, “Yes, Madam Reyes-Garcia. I understand.”
“The answer to your question is that polygraph technology has vastly improved from whatever twentieth century police show or courtroom drama your mind is currently referencing. Also, I am a fair judge of truth telling in my own right. So—shall we begin?”
Veronica nodded.
Let’s just get this done, then, she thought, then remembered what awaited her at the interview’s conclusion. And although Veronica could not see any punishment implement on her at present, Officer Thompson looked all too ready to receive her—
****
…and all she had to do was knock. Get it over with, for better or worse.
The backwards-heart arrow was just over her head, pointing right at the door before which Savannah dithered, her heart aflutter, her pussy damp with dread.
She raised her hand to knock.
“Come in,” said a voice from the other side, before her hand even came down. Scott’s, and not Scott’s. Deeper. Darker, more gravelly.
The door swung in. Savannah stepped into the headmaster’s office, her hands still clutched together, her knees shaking.
And Scott—no, Headmaster Lachance—was ready for her, standing in front of his desk. On it, there was a yard-length plastic rod that looked very bendable. Very whippy, one might even say.
He wore a tweed jacket and a bowtie, pressed slacks, dress shoes polished to reflection, and a polished leather belt. His short hair was slicked back. He even had glasses.
“Headmaster called for me,” she meekly said, not daring to meet his gaze.
“I did,” he said, reaching behind himself, taking up the rod, holding it down at his side. He approached. “Does that displease you, Miss Savannah?”
She shook her head, no.
“Does it frighten you, Miss Savannah?”
She nodded her head, yes, her face level with his neck.
“I’m going to give you one opportunity. Tell me why you are here before I have to tell you, and things might go easier for you than they otherwise might. Have you done wrong, Miss Savannah?”
Savannah nodded, already crying. “Y-yes, Headmaster.”
“Tell me,” he said, his voice stern, unmoved.
There would be no pity from him. There was nothing she could do.
“But … I’m so scared.”
“I know. Tell me anyway.”
“I—I didn’t cite my sources on my last paper,” Savannah confessed, nearly faint with the shame of it. “I c-committed…” —a deep intake of breath— “plagiarism, Headmaster…”
Hands over her face. Despair, delicious and terrible, flowed in her very blood. But her headmaster was not done yet.
“That’s not all, Miss Savannah,” he said. “It’s a start, but I want more than that.”
Savannah was beyond confused, and she was already so distraught.
“I’m sorry, headmaster,” she said, her hand over her heart. “What … more does Headmaster want me to tell?”
“Tell me everything,” he said, “and I will tell you when to stop.”
****
The questions came, one after the other. They seemed to have no end.
“Which is more embarrassing, being made to obey, or the prospect of being viewed naked?”
“Being naked, Madam Reyes-Garcia.”
“Which is more embarrassing, being naked in front of women or being naked in front of
men?”
“In front of people, Madam Reyes-Garcia. Doesn’t matter.”
“Which is more embarrassing, being naked in front of strangers or naked in front of friends and enemies?”
The temptation to lie. Veronica felt it—and fought it down.
“In front of people who know me, Madam Reyes-Garcia.”
“Which is more frightening to you, the idea of being punished in ways you’ve never heard of, or of being punished the same way you have punished others?”
Sometimes, it was hard to know what the truth was, and she had to guess.
“Being punished the same way I did it, Madam Reyes-Garcia.”
“Which would be more horrifying to you—being naked and bound and being touched intimately by your peers and classmates, or being naked and ordered to hold position, unrestrained, while they explored your body with impunity?”
Were they going to do this? All of this?
“Answer the question, Veronica. You are doing well.”
“I—I don’t know … I just … don’t…”
“You don’t know or cannot say?”
“I … don’t think I could stand either of those things. Madam Reyes-Garcia, please.”
“One more question, then. We’ll be done after this.”
“Th-thank you, Madam Reyes-Garcia.”
“Which is more difficult to bear—the idea that you have been treated unfairly … or the possibility that you actually deserve this?”
The tears flowed freely, blurring her vision to next to nothing. Veronica was almost grateful for them, tasting them on her lips, feeling the runoff down her chin. “Do I? I … never thought so. I mean, maybe, but…” she said. “Maybe I do, Madam Reyes-Garcia … I mean, they all hate me, and it’s … just horrible.”
Nurse Reyes-Garcia punched off the machine, smiled softly to her.
“I believe we are making progress already,” she said. “Chin up, Veronica. You are not so bad as you might think, and I believe our program is just the thing you need to get that conscience clear.”
Miserably, vanquished in spirit but somehow hopeful, Veronica bobbed her head up and down without answering aloud.
“Stand up,” Madam Reyes-Garcia said, reaching over and patting her hand. “We will take those wires off and see to the final business of the night—then get you off to bed, yes? Officer Alejandro? Officer Thomson?”
