She laughed. "And then what would you do?"
"I'd move you to the correction stand."
"You mean like this?" she said with a false innocence as she positioned herself in front of the framework of metal tubes, centering her hips between the armatures and elegantly raising her slender wrists towards the outer lengths of pipework.
"Yes, that's exactly right."
"And then what, Mister Thomas Leighton? What would you do to a naughty girl?"
"I suppose I would need to correct you."
"I suppose you would," she replied, holding her hands far out along the stand of dark metal tubing, "and I suppose you would want to do it promptly, like any responsible overseer would."
"Yes, it would be irresponsible of me if I didn't," he replied as she held her position against the frame.
The man picked up two short lengths of pipe from the bench and strode towards the almost-nude woman. He lifted one of the short lengths of pipe and fitted it over two small studs projecting from either side of her right wrist. He pressed the pipe down snugly against her hand and tightened two screws, pinning her arm in place. He then drew her other arm out as far as she could reach and repeated the process, binding her along the upper length of cold metal piping.
She tugged slightly against the frame, feeling the resistance of the metal restraints against her wrists, testing their hold on her body as the man turned away from her.
He walked over to the bench and selected another, slightly longer, piece of pipe and two more lengths of shorter pipe. He returned to the nearly-naked woman strapped against the evil framework and set the two short lengths of tubing on the floor near her feet; her well-manicured toenails resting comfortably against the wooden platform. Her eyes followed his movements with a mix of curiosity, fear, and playful indulgence as he lifted the metal bar and set it horizontally across the rim of her belly, just above the narrow band of her panties, the metal cylinder pressing against her pelvic bone as he tightened the screws, pinning her hips against the heavy frame.
He then knelt down and grabbed her right ankle and tugged it quickly towards two studded bars just above the floor, causing her to briefly lose her balance as he attached the short, stout length of heavy tubing to the frame, the metal pressing against her ankle. He then shifted to her other leg and tugged it forcefully towards the outer length of pipes on that side, forcing her to spread her legs wide as her ankles were bound to the menacing apparatus.
He stepped back to view his handiwork as the scantily-clad young woman tugged at the restraints around her wrists, hips, and ankles. She was stretched out, spread-eagled, her limbs drawn wide apart, with only a skimpy bra and delicate thong panties covering her modesty. He could feel his cock begin to fill and rise as her muscles twisted with her efforts to free herself from her bondage. His scrotum tightened with the first tingling of arousal.
"Now that you have me, Mister Leighton," the woman taunted, smiling at the man, "what will you do with me?"
"State law dictates that all workers subject to corporal punishment must be stripped before the punishment is inflicted, to ensure that all wounds are visible and accessible for medical treatment, if necessary."
"You wouldn't strip me, would you, Mister Leighton? I've committed no crimes. I'm an innocent girl," the woman said playfully.
"You're anything but innocent."
The woman smiled as the man reached out and gently placed his hands against her fabric-covered breasts, his fingers spread wide, gently pressing against her bosom, judging their heft with his palms as his thumbs rested lightly on the clip centered between her young mounds. She pulled nervously at the frame, gasping slightly as the plastic clasp clicked open under the man's machinations. Her breasts, pulled taut against her body by the tension on her arms, fell only slightly as the pressure of her bra was released. He held the two cups in his hands, looking deeply into her eyes before letting the garment fall away from her torso.
Two perfect areolas dotted the soft, pale skin of her mounds, each dark circle capped by a firm brown nub standing proud and erect in the cooling air of the stables. She stared intently at the man, the bulge in his pants indicating his pleasure at her appearance as she stood outstretched against the cruel metal frame, her breasts swaying gently as she pulled at the bindings around her wrists.
The man turned and reached for something on the bench, fumbled with some loose tooling there, then lifted a set of chrome shears. He presented them to the bound woman and said, "Correctional laborers' garments are designed to allow full access in any position, at any time. Unfortunately, your garments are not, so I'll have to make some modifications."
She nodded her acquiescence as he pressed the gleaming metal shears against her right thigh, the thin string of her panties' waistband trapped between the large razor-sharp blades. With a snip, the material parted and snapped loosely against her other leg, revealing the bare skin of her clean-shaven snatch. The man then quickly cut the string of elastic around her other thigh and pulled the ruined fabric from her captive body, leaving her completely naked and helplessly bound to the heavy metal frame.
It had been four years since he had last seen her naked. He remembered the first time, when they were both just 15 and playing games in the woods of his family's back acreage. She had challenged him to a game of Truth or Dare, but her rules favored the Dare, and eventually her game had led to them getting naked and swimming in the clear waters of the spring-fed creek that snaked through the property like a tiny slice of Eden. The sight of her blossoming body displayed openly along the sandy bank had given him an erection that could only be tamed by the chilling waters of the creek. In an attempt to hide his embarrassment, he had stood in those waters trying to control "it" while she sat on the bank giggling at his situation. Finally, after cajoling him and promising to be kind, she had convinced him to come out so that she could see "it" fully erect. But seeing hadn't been enough for her. She wanted to touch it, to play with it, and the electricity of her fingertips tenderly brushing against his shaft had brought him to his first orgasm with a real girl.
After that, her games had progressed as she explored her fantasies. Sometimes she would tell him to tie her to a sturdy tree, her body stripped and her delicate hands bound tightly overhead as he tickled her, trying to get her to reveal an imaginary secret. Other times she would be staked out naked on the ground under the hot sun while he poured cold water on her warm skin, or stretched over a log with the insects following a trail of jelly across her breasts. It was always her idea to let him torture her, acting out a scene in a movie she said she had once watched, but couldn't remember the title of. Each time he knew she was lying, but he had gone along with it to see her naked, and the promise of her bringing him to one of many explosive orgasms afterwards. She always fulfilled his wish, so long as he played her games first.
Then she left for college and things changed for both of them. His father died suddenly and he inherited the farm, ending his plans for attending the university with her. Her father, strapped for money to pay her tuition, had applied as a sponsor recipient for the Correctional Labor Program, whereby convicted men and women were assigned to farms as field labor. The farm would then receive payments from the State, as well as own entitlements to any profits generated from the labor, as long as the farms provided food, clothing, shelter, and security control over the workers. The convicts would receive reduced sentences in exchange for volunteering for the program. The jails would benefit by releasing inmates to the farms' custodial care, freeing up space needed for more violent offenders. It sounded like a good idea and it paid the farmers well, so Thomas had signed up as a sponsor recipient also, accepting low-risk prisoners on short-term assignments. It was a lucrative business when managed properly.
Four years later the Leighton farm had expanded three-fold, making it a plantation in every sense of the word. Her father had tried to keep pace by accepting maximum-security prisoners in exchange for greater payments from the program, a high-risk practice which could generate large payments from the State but required an equally large outlay of manpower to maintain. Her father had turned their pleasant little farm into a maximum-security work camp, while the Leighton plantation still exuded the quaintness of a small farm.
And then Sara had come home as a graduate of the university. Faced with living at a penitentiary labor camp surrounded by hardened criminals, it was little wonder that she spent a majority of her first week back from school on the Leighton plantation, pretending to be the lady of the house while socializing with her friends in his rooms, even when he wasn't there. He didn't mind. Four years had been very good to her, giving her the curves of a woman, and he was glad to have her around to keep things exciting.
Now she was stretched out, nude, and helplessly bound to a discipline station in his stables.
Four years had been very good to her indeed.
Young, firm legs curved with soft muscles tapered upwards towards the globes of her bare ass, the petals of her sex beginning to blossom between her wide-forked thighs as she stood spread-eagled on the wooden planking, her toes pressing against the dusty wood for support to relieve the strain on her shoulders as her arms bore a majority of her own bodyweight. Her lean, flat tummy, braced by the cold metal bar across her hips, stretched upwards across her naked torso, her two soft mounds pulled against her chest by the strain on her muscles, her arms extending outwards towards the bars across her wrists, her body stretched between the lengths of cold metal piping.
