"I think it was twelve, the most she gave me."
"You didn't enjoy it?"
"Not at all, Madam Izabela."
"Before you leave here, you will get to enjoy beatings, even with the cane. Put pillow underneath your stomach to lift your ass."
I did as she told me, lifting my bottom up a few inches and making it a better target for her.
"Six strokes for touching yourself without permission."
She gave me the six strokes full force, pausing only long enough to reposition herself after each stroke. The pain was excruciating, but I lay there and took every stroke with as little moaning as possible. At the end, Izabela was breathing heavily, and I don't think it was just from the effort, her tanned face looked a little red, something I'd seen in Becky's face when she was highly aroused. This girl was a sadist, she loved her work, and I knew I was in for many more beatings with that strap in the weeks and months to come. I was really going to have to work on my behaviour or my backside was going to be in permanent agony.
She told me to stand up while she went outside for my breakfast, which consisted of two pieces of toast with a smear of marmalade, an egg which turned out to be hard boiled, and a plastic cup of tea. At least I didn't have the tea kicked over the food this morning, and when she left me alone, giving the two knocks on the locked cell door, I sat on the bed and ate it.
The food was barely adequate to fill me up and within half an hour I was hungry again, and there was no prospect of anything else for the next five hours. So, all I had to look forward to was my shower, emptying my bowels, both in front of the prying eyes watching through the camera lenses, and maybe another sleep on the bed. I'd struggled to control my frustration yesterday afternoon and evening, but this morning it seemed to be worse as I thought of the long day ahead.
After my shower, I lay back down on the bed, my penis growing as images of the guards or Becky drifted into my mind, or even if I moved on the bed and felt the bruises on my backside. I looked around my cell at the large, plain slabs of heavy stone that made up the walls; I wondered how many centuries they had been there. A more modern addition was the metal door looking strong and secure with its little peep hole so I could be spied upon by any guards on patrol.
I turned my head to the right and saw the toilet and the shower head, the only difference to the floor in the whole cell was it had been lowered so the water would run out of the small drain. Next to that was the sink; a solitary tooth brush and tube of toothpaste lay next to the single tap. My only other possessions were a towel, hung up neatly next to the sink and a block of soap in a dish within the shower square. If I felt sorry for myself before, I felt even worse now after focussing my gaze on everything I had.
I had no idea of the time either, apart from meal times and lights going off, which really didn't help. A clock in the cell would have been good, but the main problem I was going to have was keeping track of the days. I knew it was August 3rd today, but I would soon lose track after a few weeks, one of the subtle tortures inflicted by this harsh regime.
The boredom was intense, I jumped up and straightened the toilet paper again. Then I positioned the soap perfectly in the centre of the tray, refolded the towel and moved my toothbrush slightly. Everything was perfectly positioned. I looked back at my bed and smoothed the mattress out and placed the pillow at the top and in the centre so everything looked neat. The whole operation took less than one minute. Oh, I was so bored, I would go insane if I had to endure any length of time in here.
There was nothing I could do about it, but that was the idea, I suppose. I was here to be punished, to endure suffering as a prisoner, but, for what I'd done, I thought this was way beyond what I deserved. My penis began to stiffen again as I thought of the injustice and utter lack of power I had. The frustration was growing as I contemplated the hopelessness of my situation. I really was trapped here, and because of my beautiful, stunningly sexy wife, Becky, it would be months rather than weeks. I knew she loved to be cruel by keeping me sexually frustrated for several days or even weeks in her particularly harsh moments, but she had taken our games to the extreme. My penis was throbbing and I ached to take hold of it and stroke it while images of her bare body writhing on top of me flashed through my mind.
I closed my eyes and tried to sleep, but I wasn't tired. I wanted Becky, here and now, naked on the bed in my arms, stroking my erection while I caressed her pert breasts. No, no, no, I had to stop thinking like that; it would be at least three months before I even had a hope of experiencing that again. We should have been sitting on our balcony back at the apartments having breakfast in the early morning sun, planning our day, holding hands, deciding to go back to bed to pleasure each other's bodies. No! Why did everything have to go back to sex when all it did was cause my penis to ache with frustrated desire.
But, as I dragged my thoughts back to reality, my doubts about going back to the way things were seemed stronger and clearer. Did my future include Becky and her cruel, selfish games?
Lunch was delivered by Madam Izabela who pouted the whole time, hardly speaking to me, and leaving with two sulky bangs on the door. Not even the threat of a beating this time, maybe that was why she seemed moody. My behaviour was impeccable, probably because I was used to following rules laid down by Becky through our tease, denial, humiliation games I had had to endure over the last few years. But during the afternoon, not that long after I'd finished lunch, I heard the sound of the outer door to the passageway opening again.
The emotions that ran through my head at that moment were mixed. I was fearful who might be coming to see me, I was excited that it might be Becky coming to take me home, I panicked that the cell wasn't tidy. I was worried I would become aroused and be punished. Was I in trouble for masturbating on the first day? They must have seen the video! All these thoughts flashed through my head as I jumped to the floor just in time to hear three knocks and the locks being opened on the cell door.
By the time I heard two sets of footsteps enter, I was already on my knees, back straight and face pointing to the floor. My hands were behind my back exposing my front. Only one set of footsteps approached, stopping right next to my head.
"Good afternoon, Mr Emerson." It was the voice of Madam Popescu.
I didn't know if I should respond, but chose caution and stayed silent and still.
"I have come to see how you have settled in, and hopefully clarify one or two things with you, so, please stand."
I rose to my feet and stood almost to attention. My penis stirred when I saw how beautiful Madam Popescu was. She was wearing a tight black dress that came down to just above her knees; dark stockings covered her shapely legs, and on her feet, she wore shiny black high heeled shoes. Her silky hair, cut to just below her sharp jawline was straight, and for today, was jet black with no hint of any other colouring. Her brown eyes oozed sexuality, and I was immediately hypnotised by her authoritarian stance, the power she had over me, and even the fact she was about ten years older than me. I became almost weak at the knees as her eyes held me in her gaze. I had no control over my penis which quickly grew to full size, standing upright and expectant.
"This is day three of your sentence, Mr Emerson, many more to go before your punishment is over," she said.
Gabriela, in the meantime, was leaning against the far wall casually with one leg crossed in front of the other while she looked at her nails. I noticed her long leather strap hanging from the side of her short black skirt.
"During this visit, I will allow you to speak freely..."
"Thank you, Madam Popescu..." I responded eagerly, but I must have been too eager as she held up her hand close to my face to stop my interruption. I had a sudden urge to kiss the palm of her hand, but held back. What was I thinking?
She continued: "... providing what you say is relevant to this meeting and you are thoroughly respectful at all times."
"Sorry for interrupting, Madam Popescu."
"I always pay a short visit to lawfully convicted prisoners during the first few days of their incarceration. I like to check on their welfare and answer any queries they may have." Madam Popescu's English was very good, with almost no discernible accent.
My penis throbbed as she spoke, but she was ignoring it for now.
"Now you may ask questions or make comments."
