I've been in the chamber perhaps three minutes. Looking at the other two poles (in the mirror, since I can't turn my head far enough to see them directly) I wonder who is going to play Jesus in this re-enactment. Since I arrived early I may have to wait a while for satisfaction. I'm very uncomfortable, but the tight bondage and the anus penetrator are also powerfully erotic, making me erect from time to time. I don't really want to be erect when the centerpiece comes in but it's not easy to control, one way or the other, in this position.
The inmate entry door opens, and the second inmate is dragged in, struggling frantically. He looks at the two unoccupied poles, then at me.
"Jesus Chr... ugg," he ejaculates as the collar chokes him off. Gasping, he is towed to the center pole as another attendant, a man this time, enters. Two is reversed into his pole and the attendant goes to work binding him.
The second inmate looks awfully familiar, even down to the way he entered. It's Four from my previous punishment session, I suddenly realize. I wonder what he did to be here -- I'm sure he did not go out of his way to try to make this happen. These thoughts are interrupted by the reappearance of my original attendant, who approaches me from the front. "More?" I'm thinking anxiously. "Doesn't the rest wait until we are all here?"
She's holding a set of barber's clippers, battery operated and obviously heavy duty, and a rotary shaver. Since I'm pulled back against the backrest by my arms and thighs, my chest and belly thrust forward helplessly exposed, resistance is futile. She goes to work removing all the hair from my chest, starting just below my Adam's apple. As she works her way down she raises my pole from time to time, so as not to have to bend over, and continues to make me smooth all the way down to my crotch, even taking most of the hair off my scrotum. What a strange erotically-charged experience to be shaved by a woman while in tight bondage and gagged. Like Sampson? Four is still being securely bound by his attendant and I can see he is repulsed at the thought that when my depilation is finished she will start on him -- he will be woman-shaved in bondage also. He thrashes angrily against his bonds, to no avail.
A little about the attendants, who come and go frequently during these sessions. Their work is not strenuous, and our binding mechanisms ensure their complete safety at all times. I expect that they work part time. The work requires a certain mental flexibility (prudes need not apply!), so they seem mostly to be rather young; graduate students, or young people starting their careers but not yet able to find their intended employment. They do not wear uniforms. This man-woman team is American-Asian. Her dark hair is cut a little above her shoulders, rounding into her neck, his is bristly and cut short. She is quite cute, and he is attractive also, like many I see regularly on the bus or subway, dressed fashionably but not expensively in dark colors. She has on a short skirt and black hose, he has dark trousers. They each have full-sleeved black tee-shirts without any slogans -- hers is vee-cut. It encases her breasts to form a pleasing bulge, exposing just a hint of cleavage under a dragon tattoo low on her neck. They both sport tall black leather boots. Although the job doesn't demand it, her arms look quite strong -- a rock climber perhaps, for other entertainment.
They seem pretty free with each other; it would not surprise me if they are lovers -- this work must make interesting pillow-talk. Maybe they are doing it partly for a lark, earning a bit of money while they get their internet start-up going, getting off on it a bit also. It feels bizarre to be naked and spread wide, my penis and balls hanging in mid air, my ass penetrated by a steel intruder, while she goes efficiently and nonchalantly about her work. I imagine that for most inmates it would be deeply humiliating -- that I'm sure is the intent. Of course the attendants do not speak to us or to each other.
Once my chest and belly are smooth all the way from my neck to my crotch, and even beyond, my attendant takes a wide and somewhat stretchy latex band and fastens it rather tightly around my waist and the pole. It reaches from just above my penis to my ribcage, and encloses my belly. At this point I learn more about the backrest as it inflates, forcing me against the latex, which stretches outward slightly, but mostly pushes me inward. It's rather satisfying to see my paunch disappear. At the same time the phallus gently pressurizes my bowels with warm water, pressing me firmly against the latex. It's rather uncomfortable, and I'm baffled just what it can be for.
I hadn't noticed the tripod with a laser device on top, but it must have been in the corner all along. It is set up before me, the beams racing all over across my chest and down onto the latex, covering the entire area. As the patterns fly the backrest inflates and deflates slightly; my bowels also inflate and deflate several times. I am being measured, it seems, though for what I can't imagine. I suppose the laser communicates its results wirelessly, for nothing is connected, and the beams shut off after a few seconds.
My attendant turns her attention to number two, and I'm left hanging, the latex band still tight around my belly, though my bowels and back are depressurized, allowing me a little more comfort. Not for long I suppose. Four does not seem the least amused -- I suspect he'd much rather just be caned and get out of here, but that's not the way it works. After all, no human can administer eighteen strokes without overlap -- that takes machine precision, and something more, I'm about to find out. In the meantime he struggles and squirms and scowls as he is shaved and measured.
The inmate door opens for the third entry, the other thief to be punished with Jesus, I muse, but this time we both have a shock as we recognize each other. Number three is Five. He does not look so inquisitive as he did coming into the first punishment session we endured together -- in fact he looks quite frightened, especially seeing the two of us bound in so humiliating and vulnerable a position. His day is not going the way he expected -- but if he's having a bad chest hair day it will soon be over. I don't have much time to consider what the appearance of Five might mean when my attendant, who had stepped out briefly, returns with another piece of apparatus. It looks like a large mylar waistcoat, flexible but just stiff enough to hold its shape. It has been selected, I suppose, based on the measurements taken just before. The attendant removes the latex band presently around my waist, and slides the mylar covering into place over me.
She fastens it securely on each side to the backrest, and it certainly does fit me perfectly. It feels slightly slippery on the inside and slides smoothly over me as she fastens a pair of small straps over my shoulders to the backrest behind my neck. A similar pair of straps are passed through my crotch on either side of my scrotum and the phallus, and fastened behind. The thin but iron-strong plastic film is now secured firmly in place at top and bottom and on both sides. She activates a control and my backrest inflates again, along with my bowels, pressing me firmly into the mylar cavity.
I think I know what this is for. To get all the strokes in, my skin must be accurately positioned every time. The hard mylar will transmit the full shock of each blow to my body, while preventing any cutting action or breaking of skin -- so hygienic and twenty-first century! Each stripe will be laid down precisely. As this thought settles in, my attendant passes her gloved hand over my chest and now flat and tight belly, checking for any folds or creases, massaging out any she finds. This is excruciatingly erotic; she too seems to enjoy preparing my surface for the punishment strokes which will soon be landing -- she looks at me with a rather condescending smile as she performs this task. Bubbles aren't a problem, as the plastic has tiny pores to allow my sweat to escape.
