Chapter 5

We continued to keep Sandy apart from the other prisoners and, as predicted, his reform seemed total and permanent. As I said earlier, I am skilful in detecting the least guile or subterfuge in a prisoner and I was convinced his reform was genuine.

I knew then that we couldn’t just accept that this plant, whose botanical name is unpronounceable but which we dubbed Miraculum, was destined to serve one prisoner a month and then die after a maximum of twenty years and that we couldn’t propagate it.

I decided to go to the top and made an appointment to see the president of the Royal Horticultural Society of Queensland, inasmuch as the government scientists did not appear to expect any results very soon.

Dr Peter Harriet was the current president of the society and an eminent horticulturist in his own right. He had of course heard of Miraculum and examined it carefully - I had taken it with me to show him and after a few minutes told me that nothing was impossible to grow.

“All that is needed, Will, is for us to determine what it needs. I suggest I speak with your Director-General to fund my visit to the region. I am sure I will be able to discover what is so unique in its habitat...”

I pointed out to him the sensitivities of the local Indians and he promised to be tact personified. Now that I had met him personally, I recognised his charm and old-world urbanity and promised to do what I could.

The DG was enthusiastic and immediately authorised the trip. His tact must have worked for he came back with another plant, soil, water, and air samples and data on the temperature range in the area. He seemed sure he could nail the problem but asked if he could witness the first use of his plant, after which he would take it back with him for research, returning it to us monthly so it could do its miraculous work.

I had high hopes he would, in time, learn how to propagate it.

In the meantime, each of the males was implanted with the penile zapper which, by default gave them a nasty shock to the root of their penises the moment blood started to engorge them. It was possible to turn off this function and Wayne used a spare button on our controllers to do that. It would only work by a close proximity of the controller to the prisoner and since our controllers were only active when attached to the wrist of the officer to whom they were allocated (and only him), a prisoner could not use them to bypass the process.

From that moment on erections for them was a no-no. Of course it took them some time to learn this and their screams and contortions as their cocks were zapped were quite comical, especially as I ordered my people to try every trick in their considerable arsenals to tease the prisoners into an erection.

The female prisoners laughed uproariously at their male counterparts and so I asked Wayne for advice on where to place a similar unit on them. We couldn’t use their clitoris’ (I thought) as the GPS models were already glued to them but he demurred.

“Yes, you can, Will. You’ve already glued the other unit to the right side, haven’t you?” I agreed that we had. “Right then, as the clitoris is the only part of the female anatomy that even approaches an erection, you will have to snap these units on to the other side. If they’re foolish enough to get an erection, they will experience the same jolt as the males get... How are they going, by the way...?”

“Very well. The slightest movement of blood into their cocks and Zappp! They’re doubled over, screaming blue murder.”

“Excellent. No less than I expected and we’re already getting dozens of orders for them. It seems every penal authority in the world has been watching you and your ideas, Will.”

Needless to say the two female prisoners were less than enthusiastic at having another implant attached to their clitoris’ but were rather sheepish when I remarked they had brought it on themselves by an overly enthusiastic reaction to the results of the male erections.

The results of these secondary implants on both sexes after that were remarkable. As they now had to contain libidinous thoughts (or suffer a nasty shock to their penises or clitoris’), their rambunctious behaviour and attitudes mitigated and eventually disappeared altogether. They weren’t exactly contrite, as Sandy Blake clearly was, but they were definitely a great deal more tractable - and nicer people into the bargain.

But Sandy was the exemplar whom I showed off to all and sundry and I decided to exempt him from the penile zapper, or rather, in him it was turned off permanently. He continued to show that contrition which had manifested itself from the moment Miraculum had ‘treated’ him. He stayed in his new cell at night and ate proper food (but not with us), but during the day, at his own request, he stripped off his prison clothes (which had been reissued to him) and joined the other prisoners at their daily toil.

He also asked continually when Jan was going to come back and cane or whip him again. I had already decided that would be on a monthly basis and even asked Jan if she would prefer to do it to him on a solo basis as before, or whether she might like to be his public executioner. She chose the latter course and I grinned as I observed to Arthur Franks that she was indeed, cured.

A month after his treatment, I scheduled young Gary Wilson, the twenty-four-year-old paedophile for the next Miraculum treatment, wanting to see how the plant would affect this rather different crime than rape.

It was just as effective and indeed, he actually asked to be strung up by his ankles, stretched as wide apart as we could get them and then have his whole crotch area from the wide open buttocks, across his perineum and, most particularly, his cock and balls subjected to the cat-o-nine-tails whip, administered as hard as possible.

“Indeed, Mr Chalmers, I believe I deserve to be castrated and if it was done with the whip, my pain might go some way to punishing my soul.”

Yes, those were the words he used and I stared at him in some awe as I thought about his request. Not that I would go along with it. True, I had originally intended to castrate each of these male sex-offenders, but the testicular and now the penile model would together make such a course quite unnecessary.

“No, boy we will not castrate you. Your balls are much too useful as a source for the GPS implant, but yes, we may well accommodate your desire for a genital flogging. It’s no more than you deserve, after all.”

In fact, as we were now ready for our first public showing, I scheduled his punishment as one of two disciplinary sessions to be put on for our first public showing which, of course, included the media. They were accommodated in a special box up behind the audience. Once more I used a part of the old munitions factory for this room. It had been a testing and showing area and already boasted tiered seats for the audience and a projection booth up behind them. This became the media box and it took only some carpeting, a few wooden panels and the removal of the workbench at the front, replaced with a small stage, to turn it into a mini-theatre.

I let the media in first, showing them up to the well-equipped box (including coffee and tea-making facilities and with some biscuits and cakes to go with them), then admitted the paying audience. There had been no shortage of bookings for this first showing and I grinned wryly as I thought of mankind’s delight in the misery of others.

I addressed them, outlining the offences of the two prisoners to be punished this day and how they were going to suffer.

Gary was first.

Bob Drover had set up the gallows on the stage. He had made a series of frames to accommodate the different types of punishment but each was designed to be fixed to various slots he had built into the floor of the stage and was very secure. Each of them was made of gleaming stainless steel and the current one stood there, an ominous reminder of corporal punishment from a bygone era.

It was merely two ten-centimetre upright pipes, surmounted by a crosspiece. Inside the base of the two uprights were small winches with stainless steel wire wound around them. These emanated from pulleys inside the tops of the uprights and ended in snap hooks.

Gary walked in to the room, escorted of course but clearly quite willingly. I hadn’t mentioned his contrition and grinned to myself as I noted the astonishment on the faces of the audience at his apparent willingness to approach his punishment.

Once there, and at my gesture, he laid his naked (and nude) body face down on the floor between the two uprights while Bob and Carl wound Velcro fastening around his ankles and then snapped the hooks to them.

I operated the controller which worked the two winches; they whined a little and drew his feet, legs and then his whole body up, stretching his feet out towards the top corners of the gallows as they pulled on his ankles.

In time he was suspended half way up the gallows, which was almost as high as the room - ten metres, and his legs and thighs were pulled very wide open, his front facing the audience.

“This prisoner will receive twenty-five strokes of the lash to his genitals, ladies and gentlemen,” I announced and then nodded to Carl. As this was a public showing, he had kept on his uniform but it was form-fitting enough to show off his spectacular body and particularly his arm and shoulder muscles, which would be doing the work today.

The cat is a fearsome weapon and was used with much notoriety in the Royal Navy until a hundred years ago. Now, it had been resurrected to tame sex offenders in our little prison.

Carl stood behind Gary, raised the whip and brought it down smartly between his thighs, to land with a distinctive ‘splaaat’ on his upside-down, dangling penis and testicles.

He screamed: “Aagghheeoouugghhoouueeaahh...” and his body described a series of most spectacular contortions. I grinned at them - and his scream - for I well knew he truly wanted this pain and that he could easily have contained its effects, at least for the first few strokes. That he hadn’t was a mark of his showmanship and I thought he might be a real drawcard once news of these event got around.

Glancing up at the audience, I knew I was right. There was absolute silence in the auditorium, apart from Gary’s screams, that is. They were riveted to their seats, although on the front edges of them and all were staring glassy-eyed at the naked young man suspended so indecently before them.

Carl allowed a couple of minutes between strokes as we wanted this session to last about an hour. After it we would serve coffee or tea and the same refreshments the media were enjoying upstairs. And then we would begin the second punishment.

He didn’t stay behind the prisoner all the time, coming forward to deliver a couple of strokes from the front but most came from behind as this gave the audience the best view of Gary’s splendid body and face.

Each stroke met with the same scream of pain and the contortions which so wonderfully showed off his athletic and so naked body to a tee. With all the outdoor work with the plough, harrow and scarifier, their bodies had now all assumed a delightful tan and I have to admit each of them looked most appealing, even the formerly skinny Joe Connors whose body had now developed into a more pleasing shape.

Gary took each of the twenty-five strokes, each laid on with a degree of severity which Carl judged to a nicety - not hard enough to permanently damage the organs, but sufficient to give him an exquisite level of pain and this was evidenced by his face when we eventually let him down. It was drawn and haggard and I knew he wasn’t simulating it, either. He had to be helped from the room but the audience cheered - us, not him. Him they jeered as he was led out.

I knew though that as he lay on the bed in his cell (he had a similar one to Sandy’s) he would be exulting in the disapprobation.

During morning tea, many of them came up to me and congratulated me on this new system of punishment for the worst criminals we had in Queensland. I smiled and thanked them, expressing the hope (without mentioning the implants which gave it a surety) that they would be reformed.

But then it was time for the second session. For this, I had scheduled Lola Bertram, the kink prostitute whose over-zealous attack on her client’s cock and balls had resulted in them having to be removed in their entirety.

He had declined the offer to punish her - no doubt he was ashamed that he had engaged her services for kinky sex in the first place and wished to remain as anonymous as possible. This therefore was her first major punishment and for it, I had decided that she would be caned - right along her anus and vaginal slit.

She was brought in, as unwillingly as Gary had been almost eager to be punished, two of my guards dragging her into the room and up to the scaffold. Then, while one held her around her chest, and yes, copping a good feel of her so muscular breasts at the same time, the other fastened first one ankle and then the other to the two Velcro manacles and hooks.

She was then hoisted aloft to dangle, naked, upside down and with her legs spread a wide as Gary’s had been, her vagina now well opened and her clit showing very clearly.

Pete Williams was going to administer the twenty-five strokes of the cane to her anus and vagina and I had enjoined him to be careful. We wanted to hurt her, not permanently damage the goods. We had all had lessons in caning and whipping and these had been supplemented by talks from a clinical physician who specialised in genital trauma and so we were well armed to administer just the right degree of punishment.

Pete is a bit of a showman and he strutted back and forth in front of the audience a few times, holding the cane in both hand and bending it between them to show how supple it was. But then he flexed his right arm to show off his splendid biceps muscle and grinned up at them. He undid the top button of his shirt but then desisted.

They got the message however and screamed at him to “Strip it off!”

He looked at me and I nodded, at which he removed his shirt and then his pants. I hadn’t bargained for this but he had and under them, he had on only a silvery codpiece which apparently clipped over his genital package for there was no belt of any kind. Again he strutted up and down before them, now, to all intents and purposes naked and I grinned as I heard their shouts and cheers.

But then he got serious and strode up behind the dangling, muscular black girl with the incredible body and superbly gleaming skin.

He raised the cane and the audience sighed, almost as one, as his right biceps formed up into a round, apple-shaped lump of pure muscle - and then straightened rapidly as his arm brought the cane down - hard - right along her perineum but catching both the vagina, clitoris and anus in the process.

Her bodily contortions were even more spectacular than Gary’s had been and that’s saying something, for his had been extraordinary. Lola’s though showed off her dark-chocolate-brown skin to a tee and its underlying muscles even better.

This girl was an athlete. Her muscles were splendid: smooth and wonderfully articulated - but not overdone. She was no muscle-freak; simply a superbly athletic girl of twenty-one years, at the peak of her beauty and ability.

The cane as it bit into the soft flesh of her anus and vagina must have sent white-hot shards of agony through and through her. Her bodily contortions were evidence of that; so were her screams, even more strident than Gary’s, notwithstanding that I was sure his had been faked.

But she had been responsible for the emasculation of one of her clients (and his near death from loss of blood) and she was now paying the price of her gross negligence. Pete now payed up to his audience once more, emerging from behind Lola’s suspended body and strutting back and forth to the cheers and ribald suggestions that he strip off his last remaining claim to modesty. He pretended to do so but didn’t actually remove it before returning to his position and delivering the next stroke - right over the last one - at which her screams were redoubled and her contortions even more violent, showing off her so muscly body wonderfully to us all.

It would be repetitious to go on with her punishment. Suffice it to say she was a right mess when he finished but I inspected her nether regions carefully afterwards and was relieved to find no permanent damage. She would be in a great deal of pain for the next few days however - and that was good.

Once she had been removed, I took the people out to watch the prisoners pulling the plough through more of our quite extensive plot at the back. Already, the gardens were taking shape and we were already harvesting beans and carrots and would soon be adding peas, cabbages and all the rest to our home-grown vegetables store. We had built the piggery out in an area near the waste digester and it was already augmenting our own wastes and producing a lot more gas so that we could run the generator all day. We had bought some lambs who grazed a small grassed area. We would soon be self-sufficient in all our food needs. Another plus for our profit and loss account which was already showing a profit.

Jan O’Connor had not come to this first public session and I had assumed, rightly as it turned out, that she was only interested in Sandy’s punishment sessions. I was therefore not at all surprised when my secretary announced her as a visitor a week before he was due for his next monthly punishment.

“Hi Will,” she said, grinning widely at me as she was ushered in.

“Hi yourself, Jan,” I replied smiling at her obvious pleasure in being here.

Once the pleasantries were over and she was sipping her coffee in obvious contentment, I raised my eyebrows at her.

She giggled - a far cry from the forlorn young woman I had first met with Arthur Franks. “I’ve been reading, Will...”

“I see.”

“Yes, well much of it has been on the Net and I have come across a fetish called ball-busting...”

I stared at her in awe. I knew instantly why she had come but was I prepared to go along with her? So far as her own mental health was concerned, I had no doubts such a ‘treatment’ would go a long way in redressing the hurt Sandy had inflicted on her, but wasn’t it just a little over the odds?

But then she went on. “It isn’t for me, Will. I’m cured, even though I will continue to come and take part in Sandy’s punishments. No, I’m thinking of all the other victims of rape...

“I know when I read about it and then watched a couple of excerpts from the videos, that I felt an overwhelming sense of satisfaction at these thugs’ comeuppance, and I think if you were to include, or at least offer this vengeance to the victims, many would jump at the chance.

“I’m not complaining about what you did for me. It was wonderful and I will always be grateful to you for it. I just think however, that this would be the ultimate revenge for a girl...”

I sat back in my chair and stared at her. “It’s certainly a well-deserved punishment in my view, Jan. But I would have to run it by the DG...”

“Of course. It’s only a suggestion anyway, but whatever you decide, I will be here next week to take part in Sandy’s monthly punishment.”

“I’ll look forward to it.”

David Peters was aghast - at first. But then, as his mind took in the psychiatric benefit to the victims, he agreed to back it. “After all, Will, we were going to castrate them at the end of their time with us. This isn’t nearly as radical as that solution.”

“It isn’t, David,” I agreed and he then promised to get me an answer ASAP.

It seemed the minister didn’t need any persuading at all and I had it in writing within two more days.

I then decided to run it by Sandy. As far as I was concerned he had been punished enough and was now a most contrite and, in my opinion, a wholly reformed character. The only reason we were keeping him was because he asked us to. “So that Miss O’Connor can benefit from my monthly punishments, sir,” he explained.

As I told him of the new punishment, ten kicks to his genital organs, his eyes lit up. “And am I to be the first to be punished by it, Mr Chalmers?”

“Do you think you should be?” I asked.

“Oh yes, especially if Miss O’Connor will be doing the kicking - but even if it was one of the guards, I would welcome the pain. Perhaps that might be my final punishment, sir - if you agree of course...” he added hastily.

I smiled to myself. Yes, he was truly reformed and his face was now quite pleasant to look at and so, with his truly fabulous physique, he was now a most handsome young man. “Perhaps, Sandy. Let’s wait and see how you behave under this punishment...”

Jan was ecstatic when I rang and told her that her idea had been approved and that Sandy was going to be its first victim. “And may I be the executioner, Will?”

“You know we want this to be a public event. There’ll be reporters and TV cameras there as well as the paying public?”

“All the better. I’m cured, Will. This will just put the cap on it all as far as I’m concerned.”

“Very well, if you’re quite sure, then you’re on. We’ll make it a full event next Friday. Now, as to clothing. He of course will be naked, as always. What had you thought of wearing?”

“I’ve just been thinking about that very thing. At first I thought of a pleated tennis skirt and halter, but I’ve got a good body. What about a bikini? That’ll give me most freedom - and I can assure you that I haven’t forgotten my cheerleader skills. With a bit of practice I think I can high-kick between his legs with the best of them!”

I grinned to myself. She sure was a looker and I already knew her body was very athletic. I thought she would draw a great many people to the TV sets to watch the weekly show which the ABC had now created to air our punishment sessions, once we released the news that she would be ‘starring’ in this week’s show.

I ran that by her, too, and she giggled again. “You’ll be turning me into a TV star, Will,” she said.

“I think you already are, Jan.”

Sure enough, we were 500% overbooked for the event and every single TV station and major newspaper sent reporters and cameramen to record the session.

I had given a great deal of thought to how we were going to stage it, even looking up those same sites on the Web devoted to this fetish. I have to say I cringed as I watched the (mostly) women kicking the balls and cocks of the so-called victims. I was sure their pain was real though, as many collapsed and crawled into a foetal position on the floor.

But there were many stances taken by them. Some were ordered to stand with feet wide apart and hands up behind their heads while the usually muscular girl aimed her feet at his genitals. Others were secured by their ankles drawn out wide but without other restraint, while still others had their wrists (or thumbs) secured up above their heads. Still others were suspended with their thighs drawn out horizontally so that their cock and balls dangled freely.

This, I decided was the most spectacular and therefore the best choice for us. We already had a frame we could use to secure Sandy into this pose and I explained it to Jan when she arrived about an hour before the event was due to start at 7:00 p.m.

I took her along to my quarters and left her there to change into her bikini while I went to welcome our paying guests and the media. Once they were all in their respective seats, I returned to my rooms and knocked on the door.

Jan was ready and when she emerged I caught my breath in awe at the splendour of her almost-naked body. She really was the absolute epitome of the perfect female, at least in my eyes. Her skin was flawless, smooth as cream and lightly tanned. Her muscles were also perfect; not in the least overdone but she was clearly a dedicated sportswoman and while they were only just apparent, they too were truly spectacular.

She was wearing only what used to be called a ‘pocket handkerchief and two -tuppeny-ha’penny stamps’. In other words a halter which covered very little of her beautiful (but not too big) breasts and the tiniest of triangles at her loins. Her buttocks were quite bare, the bikini being held in place by a plug which fitted neatly into her vagina (so she told me).

“I want him to see me almost nude, Will. It will be the last time he does see me and I think as I kick his testicles, my near nakedness will underline to him his crime against my person.”

I wasn’t sure I understood what she was saying, but I thought the spectacle of this now self-assured, beautiful and clearly highly athletic young woman punishing her attacker in this most bizarre manner would send one hell of a message to future would-be rapists.

I escorted her into the theatrette and smiled at the gasps of awe at her attire (or lack of it) and then the applause which continued on and on as she stood before them, smiling and waving her appreciation at them for their welcome.

Just then Sandy was brought in, naked of course and the applause died down instantly. They weren’t going to clap a rapist, no matter how good his body was nor how real his contrition.

Carl and Pete had led him in while Jan stood to one side, allowing them to take him right up to the frame. He was quite willing of course. He had actually asked to be the first to undergo this punishment but he didn’t once look at Jan - until now.

Just before Carl and Pete secured him, he dropped to his knees, bowed his head and again apologised most profusely for his crime and then asked her to punish him.

“Please kick my balls as hard as you can, Miss. I deserve it and will try not to scream too loud...”

She just nodded but there was a mutter of approbation from the audience.

He rose to his feet then and Carl and Pete each took an arm, raised it and fastened the Velcro manacle around his wrists, pulling on the other ends of the rope to raise his arms up and out from his body.

Two more pulleys had been attached to the uprights at waist level, each with another, larger Velcro strap on its end. These were slapped around his lower thighs, just above the knee and when their ropes were pulled, raised his thighs outwards until they were both horizontal, leaving his legs to dangle down below his knees. Once they were tied off, he was ready.

And how was he ready, I thought. His body was pulled upright, arms up and out from his shoulders while his genitals dangled cleanly below his groin, now in a perfect position for Jan’s foot.

She moved up to him, her so lithe young muscles rippling beautifully with her every tiny movement. Her so nakedly exposed buttocks, on her, small and rounded like a boy’s but indented at the outer sides, clearly two powerful muscles, clenched and relaxed rhythmically with each step. So did her well-muscled thighs. Her arm and shoulders muscles also sent shivers of delight through and through me as they moved in response to her steps.

I watched Sandy (when I could take my eyes of her magnificent body, that is), wondering if he would react to the picture of erotic splendour she presented. He didn’t. There wasn’t even a twitch to his rather impressive cock and I knew Miraculum had truly cured him.

Instead, his eyes were misty, not lustful at all and I read into them a real desire to suffer at her hands. Well, he was going to, in just a few more seconds. She told me she had been practising all week against a pillow she had suspended from the ceiling in her bathroom and had regained perfectly her high-kicking moves from her cheerleader days.

Now the perfect showman, she turned to the audience and with a perfectly straight face, asked them if she should make him suffer.

“Yes, Jan,” they cried. “Make him scream!”

She waved to them in acquiescence and then moved up to him, aiming the instep of her right foot up between his legs in a perfect punt-kick, equal, I thought to the best kickers in the Aussie Rules football code (and they sure can high-kick, believe me).

It connected with a loud splaaat and as she backed away, there was at first dead silence, but then a number of things happened.

First, every muscle in Sandy’s quite splendid body went into strictures of agony, standing out in stark relief and quivering powerfully.

Second, he screamed. A howling cry of pure, unmitigated, excruciating torment which went on and on for long minutes and then slowly dying to a low growl.

And third, sweat broke out all over his body, gilding his superb muscles as they rippled and contorted as he struggled and strained in his bonds.

The audience, to a man (and woman) cheered loudly and as I watched, I knew they were cheering her as much for her beauty, athletic prowess and superb body as for the accuracy of her kick, which to my mind, had been quite perfect in its aim and delivery.

At their cheers, even Sandy perked up, although he knew very well they weren’t cheering him. But he responded anyway. “Thank you, Miss O’Connor, for that first kick. But please make the next harder and I will try not to scream so loud...”

The audience actually clapped him at this, recognising the agony he undoubtedly must have been feeling. It was nothing like the applause they accorded his tormentor, but I was glad they were responding positively to his apparent reform.

Jan waited a good five minutes, prowling around him and also coming to the front of the stage (to more applause from her audience) but then finally moving around behind him for the next kick.

From this angle, the audience could see her foot coming up between his widespread thighs and their view as its instep connected with his dangling balls and cock was perfect.

To his credit, while he still squirmed and contorted every muscle in his body, he managed to repress the scream, although I was sure it was at least as hard as the first blow. He had no control over his sweat glands however and his whole body was now drenched in it, making it look like a Greek god as he hung there in that so indecent and revealing pose.

Again Jan prowled around him, not talking to him, but looking him over intently as he hung there is a torment of agony which must have been about as bad as it can get. The audience had cheered her again but this time it wasn’t as loud and I thought they were feeling that enough was enough.

She also caught the mood and asked them. “Has he had enough, do you think. ladies and gentlemen?”

The response was about half and half and I thought she was going to finish it then and there, but Sandy wasn’t having any of that.

“Mistress, may I speak?”

She looked at me and I nodded imperceptibly, although I had noted the word he had used: ‘Mistress’. So he thought of her in these terms, eh. I wondered how she would respond.

She was a bright girl and had noted it too. “Yes, slave. Speak.”

“Mistress, your kicks are the worst pain I have ever experienced but I believe I must experience the full ten which Mr Chalmers told me I would suffer.”

The audience clapped him and I could hear the murmurs endorsing his request. So did Jan.

“Very well, slave, you shall receive the final eight, but they will be full-blooded kicks!”

“Yes, Ma’am,” he said.

I was grinning to myself at the use of the words mistress and slave between them and I wondered if it meant anything. I now fully intended to release him after this punishment and I would be watching to see what this pair then did. I had an inkling he would become her slave (even if slavery as such was still illegal).

Her next kick was from the front but at an oblique angle so most of the audience could see her foot connect with his balls. The one after that from the other side and then the fifth from behind him again. At each one his muscles went into those same erotic strictures and contortions but he managed to keep his mouth shut although his face was as red as a beetroot and he looked like he was going to burst a blood vessel.

The final five were delivered with much less force and the audience applauded her for that, too.

And then it was all over and I asked Carl and Pete to escort the audience out of the room as quickly as possible while I took Jan back to my suite. “You are going to release him now, aren’t you Will?” she said to me as we neared my rooms.

“Now how did you know that, Jan?”

“Because he deserves it. He didn’t need this punishment and you and I both know it. Do you know, Will, I’ve taken to that boy?”

“Are you sure, Jan? After all, he did rape you. There’s no getting away from that.”

“I know. But Miraculum plus your treatment of him here has turned him into something quite different. You heard him address me as mistress?”

I nodded.

“Well, I believe that is how he sees himself - as my slave. I have a mind to invite him into my home - but as a slave, not a lover. He will remain naked at all times and I may even make him go out in public in that state. I suspect no-one will object...?”

“You know, I believe you may be right. But what safeguards will you put into place in case he relapses?”

She grinned. “Oh, I have become quite a dab hand at karate, Will. As you know, I love athletics. I am pretty strong and I’m sure I will hold my own against him - but I don’t think it will be necessary. You and I both believe he is truly reformed. No-one could keep up a pretence of what he has been offering us over the last few months. But he will stay my slave until I am truly sure about him. After that, well, we will see.

“Now, I’m going to shower and change. Can I meet you - and him in your office in a few minutes?”

“Sure thing.”

She was right about one thing. It was only a few minutes and then she joined Sandy and me in my office.

He was still naked although he had showered and had his genitals attended to. They were still agonisingly tender but they would recover in a few days.

“Well, Sandy,” she said as she seated herself opposite my desk (Sandy remained standing, of course), so you are going to be released today?”

He started for I hadn’t told him, knowing she would like to do it herself.

“Oh no, mistress, I’ve got a lot more penance to do for you yet?”

“I think not, boy. So what are you going to do? I know you were a labourer before your conviction. Are you going to go back to that...?”

He looked thoughtful for a few moments but then he spoke up. “I’d rather serve you as your slave, mistress. That way you could continue to punish me until you thought I had earned a reprieve...”

I stared at him. They weren’t the words of a labourer. I glanced at Jan but she just smiled at me. I thought her information on him was probably better than mine.

“Then so it will be, slave. You will work hard. You will not be permitted clothing of any kind during your slavery, even when you go out in public. You will perform all household duties and I may even use you as a pony, riding your shoulders or perhaps pulling a little gig. At night you will sleep chained by your balls to the foot of my bed and you will also serve as my body-slave, bathing and grooming me.

“But you will not be permitted even an erection as you tend my naked body. The slightest sign will result in a repeat of today’s punishment.”

I wondered if I should offer to turn on his penile implant. His had been left permanently switched off as we wished to test Miraculum without the benefit of the penile zapper to aid his self-control, but when I did, she rejected it.

“No, Will, thanks for the offer, but I have a feeling that boy is going to become a lot more than my slave in the future and I want to trust him. We will see how he fares as a naked slave first, of course, but I feel he may in time become my husband...”

“Good God,” I said, now really astonished - but pleased nevertheless. He was certainly now the complete antithesis of what he had been. “Alright but will you allow me to keep in touch and please call me if there is the slightest problem...?”

“I will. You have become a real friend - to both of us, I suspect, Will.”

Chapter 6

There was less success on the Miraculum front. After many months of work by Dr Harriet and his assistants, he professed himself no nearer to a solution of the propagation problems than at the beginning.

“It’s almost as if the plant has a mind of its own and refuses to breed except in its own habitat, Will.”

“Then perhaps we must use diplomacy to persuade the locals to allow us a plant every now and then. Perhaps one a year or maybe two...?”

“From my conversations with them, I believe that may be difficult. They were very reluctant to allow me the one plant I brought back and I feel any further requests would be viewed with hostility. I think we should continue with our researches into the enzymes it secretes with a view to synthesising them but of course that is going to take years...”

I then rang Dave Peters to apprise him of this latest advice and remarked that perhaps we could use the plant only in the very worst cases and continue with my two zappers for the rest.

“Well that’s obviously our only option, Will. In any case, wonderful as Miraculum is, I really wanted to see how your implants worked with the prisoners once released.”

“Me too,” I said. And I meant it. The testicular GPS model was a major plank in my thesis and Wayne’s penile unit, a wonderful secondary accessory and while I knew the prisoners would object strongly to being monitored once released, I was sure the public (and therefore the government) would just as strongly approve. The evidence was in that curing paedophiles was a near impossibility and these units should be most effective deterrents.

As for habitual thieves and burglars, well monitoring their whereabouts should go a long way to discouraging them from re-offending.

By now, six months into the programme, the unit was humming.

We went to full strength almost immediately and now Dave, who had been keeping a fatherly eye over us, suggested that as we had the room and that as the success of the project was now a foregone conclusion, we up the numbers to a round hundred. I was thrilled at his confidence and in any case, as pleased as punch that the prisoners were now tractable, obedient and hard-working; that my unit was now returning a small margin to the department and most of all, that the public at large, kept apprised of what we were doing by the public visits as well as the ongoing interest by the media, was a hundred percent behind us.

Even the do-gooders, who had brought a near reign of terror by hooligans and seasoned criminals down upon us, were silent, no doubt overwhelmed by the public approbation for the unit and scared to open their mouths in protest.

With the additional seventy prisoners, all stripped naked, denuded of their body hair and implanted with the dual zappers, our output increased significantly. We were able to man the generator capstan to a much greater extent and with our much heightened vegetable output (brought about by the use of the waste digester’s residue which allowed bumper crops throughout the year) we were actually able to sell our surplus.

The extra numbers also allowed more public showings of our punishment sessions.

The ball-busting was the most popular of these but I restricted them to rapists and paedophiles. The other classes of sex offender and now some who were guilty of major assaults were caned, whipped or strapped.

Because of the clamour for seats for these sessions and I was pleased to see that we had waiting lists for all of them, we decided to move them into a larger area of the old factory which we turned into a real theatre with semi-circular galleries, each stepped higher than the one in front and with comfortable theatre seats providing each with a perfect view of the activities on the round stage down below them.

Bob Drover now excelled himself in providing equipment for the stage which could be assembled and disassembled in seconds. Thus if we were going to flog the genitals of a prisoner, the scaffold to support him upside down and with his feet drawn up wide and high, could be slotted into the floor opening and the crosspiece fitted into their tops very easily.

He had provided small electric winches built into the base of each upright and the wires from these went up the inside of the column, emerging near the top and ending in Velcro lined ankle or wrist manacles, thus he (or she) could be secured into the desired position in less than a couple of minutes.

With our proven success so far, Dave was quick to authorise the new expenditure to create our new theatre, which we dubbed Punishment Room 1, implying there were others and which we thought gave a nice touch to it.

It was furnished tastefully and provided with up-to-the-minute computerised lighting to highlight the activity down on the stage and to dim the house lights. The lower walls were panelled and the upper ones provided with well-displayed paintings (copies, but they looked good). In short, the large room had the appearance of an up-market theatre. It could also comfortably hold five hundred spectators which, if we could fill them, would swell the department’s coffers even more.

Of course i kept tabs on young Sandy. I believed he was a reformed character but I had come to like and admire Jan O’Connor very much and I would never forgive myself if he relapsed due to the penile zapper unit being inactive.

Accordingly I went out to her house at odd times on weekends. She always made me most welcome and as I sat in her living room I was amazed at Sandy’s demeanour, appearance and efficiency.

She had ‘dressed’ him in a black bow tie around his otherwise naked neck and smart starched cuffs on his wrists and these items enhanced rather than took away from his nakedness.

She had obviously kept the penile zapper switched off, too, for as he attended on us, serving coffee and savouries, I noted he was fully erect. She grinned at my obvious astonishment and explained that whenever she required him to attend her personally, he was required to erect - and stay that way for the duration, on pain of five strokes of the cane if he failed to keep it up.

“But aren’t you worried that he might try to rape you again?” I asked carefully

“Not at all. I believe he is truly repentant, Will. When he raped me he was full of bravado, a sneering braggart... Now, as you can see, his eyes are soft and they follow me everywhere. I think he would give his life for me now.”

I had to agree. He was certainly a changed young man and I also noted that he kept her house spotless. Even more amazing, he had become a good cook, she said. “The savouries you just sampled were made by him and you have to agree they were wonderful, eh?”

I grinned. “They were, indeed. And you intend to keep him naked?”

“For the time being, anyway. Actually, he asked me to. And, he goes shopping that way, too. I asked him how the public reacted. He said they sneered at him at first but as he held his head high and smiled at them all, they relented and actually talked to him, so it seems your whole programme is a success, Will.”

“It does seem so but I’m really glad it’s worked out for you.” I paused a moment and looked at her speculatively.

She grinned and shot back at me: “You’re going to ask how long I’m going to keep him and whether I’ve fallen for him, aren’t you?”

I looked sheepish but then smiled back at her. “I was, actually...”

“As to the first, I don’t know. For now, indefinitely, as for the other, I’ve thought about it a lot. I certainly like him a lot. Whether I love him is quite another thing. I certainly don’t hate him any more, that’s for sure and, you know, it’s rather nice having him around. I actually like to look at his naked body, Will...”

“Well, that’s understandable. He really is quite a handsome young man now and his body is just about perfect, wouldn’t you say?”

“I most certainly would. Hey, would you like to see him dance?”

“Dance?” I said stupidly, imagining him performing the ballroom or rock or roll variety, but I nodded and said I would.

She called him in and as he did, I noted his eyes were properly downcast in the presence of his mistress. He moved over to her knelt and still with his eyes down, asked her wishes. She ordered him to perform for me, at which he gave her a court bow (that is a smart nod of the head, down and up but without any bending of the body), rose and came over to stand before my chair - and then began a belly dance.

And, quite incredibly, he was very good at it. My understanding of this so erotic dance is that it takes years for a girl to learn it and even more to master it. As he stood there and gyrated his middle regions back and forth, moved his arms and upper body in tantalising postures and gestures and included mock-fuck motions as part of the whole, I was quite unable to control my own libido and desperately attempted to hide my aroused state from her.

To no avail. As he brought his performance to a close I clapped him, at which he smiled weakly at me then moved to, knelt and looked up at his mistress.

“Mr Chalmers needs your attention, boy. See to his comforts, please.”

He came over to me again, knelt, reached out for my hand then rose and led me off to a guest suite in the house. (Jan had inherited a quite substantial house from her parents and the means to maintain it. Now though, Sandy was her maid, gardener and handyman, I gathered.)

Once in the room and undressed me while I stood and watched, uncertain what was coming but eager to see what he would do. So far, he was the soul of discretion, not touching me improperly as he removed each item and folded it neatly. Then, once I was naked, he led me into the en suite bathroom and showered me. In the process, he manoeuvred his body around and poked his backside at my still raging boner, clearly inviting to be fucked.

I did and although I knew he was not homosexual from his reactions to our rape of his body while our prisoner, he gave a masterly performance here, too, reacting to each of my thrusts with just-as-strong recoil against my thrusting loins.

Afterwards, he thanked me for raping him, dried me and then dressed me again. He led me back to Jan’s small sitting room and left me there.

“Was he satisfactory, Will?” she asked. “If not, I will cane him, right now...”

I grinned back at her. “No, he was perfect, thank you.

We made small talk for a few more minutes and then I took my leave. “You will come back, Will, won’t you?” She paused a moment and then added, “You know I like you, don’t you?”

“I do, Jan, and I like you, too, but you know my heart is in another place...?”

“Carl?”

I nodded. “Yes, and I think we will be making a permanent home together at some time soon.”

“I was hoping you would. The love between you is obvious and no, I hadn’t set my heart on you. To be honest, I wouldn’t be surprised if I did fall for Sandy. I really like him, now, but I want to be sure of him. I think he loves me for myself but time will tell and keeping him as a naked slave, even to making him go out naked in public will eventually show him up if he is shamming it.”

“I agree,” I said, but I also agree that he does love you and will go to any lengths to prove it to you.”

I paused a moment, then decided to tell her of my newest idea to shame and humiliate the rapists among my prisoners. “Jan, I’m going to introduce a new activity at the factory. Bob Drover is already making me some small gigs which are going to be harnessed to the rapists and paedophiles in a manner that most would describe as utterly bizarre: we are going to connect them to it by an anal butt-plug and a cuff around their genitals - and that’s all. No belt or handles for them to hang on to... They are going to be made to race the gigs before our paying public.

“How about you ask Sandy if he would like to compete with them as a mark of his devotion to you?”

Her eyes sparkled. “Let’s!” and she called Sandy once more.

He entered and dropped to the same position of subservience to her and then she asked me to describe the gigs and how they were to be harnessed to the rapists and paedophiles. I did, watching his eyes carefully. I thought this would be litmus test of sorts. If he thought his mistress was asking him to be one of them, how would he react? After all he was legally free now. His slavery to her was perfectly voluntary and he could opt out any time he wished.

I wasn’t surprised to see the same sparkle develop in them, however. Oh yes, he was changed alright. “And, sir, do I take it that I might be permitted to take part alongside them?”

“Would you wish to do so now that you are a free man, Sandy?”

“If it was my mistress’ wish for me to, sir, I would be honoured to compete as her slave...”

“Then so it shall be. We shall be practising with the gigs for the first time next Monday. Come at ten in the morning...”

I smiled at Jan, thanked her (not Sandy) for the morning tea, and left, well pleased with my morning there.

With our new theatre up and running, I wanted to make sure our shows continued to attract patrons and at the same time, get the message across. Offend against the person in Queensland and particularly commit rape and other sex crimes against others, and this is what you face...

Accordingly, I encouraged our participants, the officers who would be acting as the ‘executioners’ in our little dramas to come up with ideas to make them better, more spectacular and some had.

Carl, had originally suggested the chain-mail helmet and loincloth and Pete Williams, the codpiece, both of which had been warmly received.

Now, it was Sandy who rang me and suggested an even more startling get-up for our ‘executioners’. Have you ever seen one of those helmets the Japanese samurai used to wear? They are quite terrifying - by design - and he suggested that the codpiece Pete had worn be replaced by one adapted to match the helmet.

Carl agreed and Bob Drover was able to fabricate both items quite easily. When Carl tried them on, standing otherwise naked before me, I was shocked (but also gratified) how terrifying he looked, especially holding the coiled signal whip in his right hand. I knew that when he, Pete or any other of my universally muscular officers strode in wearing these two items, they would be applauded roundly for their audacity and command.

I was right. Over the last few months, each of our officers had taken part in these ‘shows’ which were designed to not only apply painful punishment to the prisoners but also to humiliate them by displaying them naked in public and under the whip, cane, paddle or strap. But now it was Carl’s turn again and he grinned as he strode around my office, almost completely naked but with the two fearsome metal accoutrements on his tall muscular frame. My secretary, the only non-prisoner female in the factory, thought he looked stupendous and asked if she could come and watch Joe Connors punished this day.

“Of course, Jill, you only had to ask, you know that?”

“I know, Will, but I didn’t like to before. But Carl looks so good, I couldn’t pass it up now.” I just smiled at her.

Joe Connors’ body was no longer the scrawny, runt-like piece of garbage it had been when we had acquired him. A great deal of hard work, enforced and encouraged by whip and cane, had developed it into an almost pleasing shape although he hadn’t assumed the very strange handsomeness that Sandy had. That, we were all convinced, had come about by the effects of the enzymes produced by Miraculum.

Anyway, this was to be Joe’s last day. He hadn’t been treated with Miraculum as I decided to use him (as a repeat paedophile) as a test case for the testicular and penile zapper.

He had been informed of his limits and of no-go areas such as schools and the like and that his continued freedom (on a parole which was under my control) would depend on his playing by the rules. I think he was genuine in wishing to do the right thing but then I knew the power of the urges that beset his kind. Mind you, ever since he had had the penile implant and I had tested him by means of provoking photographs, he had come through clean, without even a twinge down there, so perhaps the fear of that pain was enough to override his urges.

I (or more often the automatic surveillance afforded by the sophisticated computer programme on the department’s mainframe computer and relayed to my desktop unit) would watch him carefully and if he stepped out of line, even once, he would be back with us, maybe to undergo the radical castration I had originally decided on for his kind.

His punishment was to be salutary - as a last reminder what awaited him if he was foolish enough to attempt to go near places frequented by children or otherwise break his parole. He was to be strung up by his heels, pulled as wide apart as we could get them.

He was then going to caned - viciously. Twenty strokes, as hard as Carl could apply them and then Pete, similarly attired, was going to whip him.

For that he would be restored to his feet and be required to stand, quite free of restraints of any kind, while Pete applied the signal whip’s lash around his middle, its tail landing on his genitals. There were to be twenty of these, too.

Our theatre was full. Not a spare seat anywhere and before Joe was brought in, I addressed the audience, informing them of Joe’s crimes and his punishment thus far and that after this last correction he was to be freed on parole - and then advised them of the nature of his two implants and how we believed it would keep him on the straight and narrow.

There was a murmur in the crowd and I knew some of them at least would prefer that he and his ilk be kept under lock and key permanently - for the rest of his life. I explained further that that was not only extraordinarily expensive but that we really believed the two implants were fail-safe and that he was so scared of them that if he erred, either by being in the wrong place (at which the GPS unit would shock his testicle) or manifested an incipient erection (and thus suffer a shock to his penis), he would result in being transformed into a gibbering wreck, called up in a foetal position on the ground. And further, that he would then be returned to us for much worse treatment still.

They quietened then and he was led in. There were some jeers and boos, but for the most part the audience remained silent but watching intently as his now quite athletic but of course still naked body was led in by two uniformed guards. He was then secured, upside down, as described, now waiting for Carl to come in and cane him.

He strode in confidently, staring up and around the semi-circular tiers above him and smiling and waving the cane at them.

He then moved over to his position behind and to one side of the dangling, upside-down prisoner, raised his cane, and then lashed it down, as hard as his powerful muscles allowed, striking both buttocks fair across their middle. I grinned as I watched this so strong and purposeful officer, who dearly loved to play at being my abject slave, now acting as the dominant master - and making a more than fair fist of it, too.

His body was still as good, er, maybe even better than when I had first seen it naked, all those months ago when he had become my lover and friend as well as my deputy and the audience obviously thought so too for they cheered him loudly, both as his cane slammed into Joe’s buttocks, but even more so when, after each stroke, he strode around the front of the stage flexing his splendid muscles at them and grinning happily up at them, the cheers then and the ribald suggestions to ‘get it off’ he took good-naturedly and even tugging at the samurai-helmet adorned cod-piece, as if trying to pull it off - but of course failing - to their shouts of disappointment.

Dave Peters, sitting beside me, grinned and wondered (rhetorically, I hoped) if he would succeed. I just grinned at him he was, after all, my boss.

Each stroke thereafter was delivered with the same panache, skill and power and each one elicited a scream of pure agony from the upside-down Joe Connors and his body, free apart from the manacles on his ankles, twisted and contorted as he tried to cope with the mounting accumulated pain of twenty very meaty stokes of the rattan cane to his bottom.

But then it, or at least this part, of his punishment was over and he was lowered to the ground.

I left my place next to Dave and went down to the stage as he climbed painfully to his feet. “You already know you are to receive a further twenty strokes of the whip to your genitals and that you are to remain perfectly free while they are administered... However you have a choice now. You can elect to take the twenty unrestrained, which means you are not permitted to run away from the punishment. Or you may be restrained - in which case there will be forty strokes. Which do you choose?”

“I’ll stand free, sir,” he replied firmly and I marvelled yet again that these scum, whom I had treated so harshly since their arrival here, now seemed to be very different men (and women) indeed.

“Very well, so be it - but remember, if you do attempt to run, we will start the count again...”

“Yes, sir.”

Carl left then, with a last grin and wave to his audience, who cheered him out of the theatre - but then cheered again as Pete entered, holding aloft his signal whip.

He moved straight up to his victim and first ordering him to ‘assume the position’ (which meant Joe had to clasp his hands up behind his head and spread his feet as wide as he could get them and hold it until the end of the punishment) then laid out his whip (with which he was now as expert as Carl) on the floor in front of him, judged his distance, drew it back over his head and then, almost lazily lashed it forward, its tail following in an oily flight through the air to wrap itself around his lower belly, the knot at its very end lashing both his testicles with a quite loud report.

He had been ordered to hold the position come what may or have that stroke deleted from the count, and he did, but he screamed blue murder. I knew the pain would have been agonising but he did hold his ground and now Pete strolled around him, cracking the whip in the air, its report now really loud and, to Joe, probably terrifying as he imagined the next stroke to his genitals.

Pete spaced the strokes about five minutes apart, just as Carl had, giving Joe time for the pain of each to properly sink in.

This was definitely the harshest punishment we had dished out to him as I hoped it would be a salutary reminder of what awaited him if he somehow evaded the GPS zapper’s constraints or allowed his penis to even begin to erect.

But to his credit, despite the accumulated pain from the twenty strokes of the cane to his buttocks and now added to by those from Pete’s whip, he stood his ground right through them all, although he did collapse after the twentieth stroke.

The audience clapped him though as they got up from their seats and made their way back out to the car park. Some had paid for a tour of the facility and would be treated to morning tea first; the rest now made their way home.

The factory, as it has become known all over the world, has been going for two years now. And it has proved a total success. Not only for major sex offenders but also for prisoners who have committed other major crimes. Only the sex offenders have the penile zapper permanently glued to the roots of their penises but all who pass through our doors get the testicular (or clitoral) model inserted.

It has been decided by legislative amendment that all major criminals are now to be monitored for the rest of their lives and this unit does that perfectly. As a result the rate of recidivism (criminals re-offending) has dropped to near zero and the government has now decided that I am to be moved from my position as manager of the facility to replace Dave Peters, who is to be moved to head up the Department of Premier and Cabinet.

I have mixed feelings about this. On the one hand, I will be pleased to oversee the re-vamping of the whole of Queensland’s correctional facilities to bring them into line with the factory, more or less; but on the other, I loved my work at the factory. We achieved wonderful results and it was a delight to see criminals actually ‘cured’ of their tendencies. Admittedly, it was by draconian methods, but they worked, as nothing before them had.

I had been pleased to recommend Carl as my replacement at the factory although he wouldn’t be living there. We now shared a very nice house in one of Brisbane’s nicer suburbs and would be making our lives together.

Jan is going to marry Sandy. She is now convinced he truly loves her and that they will make a good couple. I happen to agree.

Oh and just so you know, Lola Bertram, the so muscly black kink prostitute and her friend Jenny Arkright, have secured jobs with the department - as guards. I recommended them, believing they would make fine officers and so far at least, I have been proved right. The female prisoners go in real fear of that pair.