The Lemurian Institute

The discovery of the buried and hidden cities and artifacts from the ancient sunken continent of Lemuria marked a sea change in 21st century science, history, and civilization. Expeditions into the Antarctic wastes, the undersea ruins, and the massive pockets of air hidden deep in the earth where the advanced, pre-human civilization retreated to (before vanishing entirely) have only just started--but already they have yielded bizarre and disturbing relics, objects of an advanced, inhuman technology, and copious pictograms and wall carvings and documents depicting a society with intense sexual and social domination. As the world tries to cope with, and understand these new discoveries, the cultural norms and behaviors have begun to shift rapidly towards what it appears Earth's first intelligent inhabitants (who for the most part appear very much like humans) engaged in.

This is nothing to say of the sometimes disturbing finds that the barest exploration into these newly uncovered realms have brought back.

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Sonoma Institute of Lemurian Studies - Lenna's Log

I lie nude on the slab--a greenish rock that feels like smooth jade. My legs are up in the spread Lemurian stirrups that open my knees so wide it is a stretch. They clamp around my ankles so my bare soles are vulnerable and exposed. For that matter, so is my vagina--hair removed, now swollen, moistened--an arousal reaction I'm ashamed of. The technician looks down at me--a smirk on his face.

Part of the ritual is humiliation--that's how the Lemurians did it. I wonder if he'd fuck me if allowed to.

"They did," he tells me, looking at the slate, knowing. He meets my eyes. I want desperately to look away--but all I do is blush. My hands are left free for the procedure, so I can cover my breasts--I do. I'd cover my sex--but the punishment for covering my breasts is bad enough. He grins at my distress--pleased.

"Uh-oh," he smirks."Someone's earned herself a spanking."

I can't help whimpering as he chooses his implement. He watches the tablet as his hands hover over each of the chastisers. Oh! Oh! No! That one. He sees my fear at it--a green metal speculum, its curves and sweeps unusual. The attendant paddle--small, also metal--spoon like.

"We know from the designs that slaves were usually fucked after the procedure," he says. "If I were a Lemurian male servant carrying this out," he comes back. "I'd be expected to fuck your anus into incontinence. A lot of their slaves started their service in the gardens because after their procedures, they were leaky."

He grins at my moan. He's looking right down at my sex--and a glance at the tablet. "You'd like that," he says, another grin--the fucking tablet.

"Yes," he agrees. "The fucking tablet indeed. Let's see how much you enjoy your spanking."

"Matthew--hurry up with her. Six smacks--that's all." I hear Dr. Catherine's voice from her office.

He grins at what he sees on the tablet. My inner thoughts. My unwanted image of kneeling between her thighs, my tongue working feverishly to pleasure her.I flush with humiliation as he snickers.

Now I do look away--as the speculum goes in--and opens--wide. It's smooth and seems to be of my temperature. The spread is humiliating--but not exactly painful. That part comes when he applies the 'spoon' to my dangling buttocks, pushed out off the table into mid air.

Smack. Smack! SMACK! Each strike is a little oval of pain that seems to thud deep into my buttocks. Each spank is matched with a snap--a feeling like a rubber band being pulled back and snapped inside my channel--against the walls of my vagina.

I cry out--bark--and yelp with each blow. I'm in tears by the end of it, desperate to cup and cover and comfort my vagina. He takes the speculum out, gleaming with my wetness. He makes a point of taking a sniff of it, drawing a sob from me.

His cupped hand pats my buttock. I feel the hoops release.

"Go see Dr. Catherine," he says, more quietly--gently? "She'll take you from here."

I waddle achy to her office, sniffling, wiping at tears with one hand--the other between my thighs, holding myself. Ow--oww--ohhh--.

I appear in her open door, naked, weepy. A mess. I look through slightly blurred vision at my new 'owner.'

"Come," her voice is steady--normal--ish. I follow her from her office to the office bathroom. Normal looking save for two utterly exposed toilets that face each other.

"Sit," she points at one. "Pee when you can--Lemurian girls had very controlled bathroom opportunities."

She sits on the other. I see her draw her panties down. I sit across from her, huddled. I startle when I hear her pee and she gives me a tight smile.

"You're going to lick me clean--if I were a Lemurian domina, I'd poo as well and you would clean that additionally."

I grimace, hugging myself. What does she see in me? She leans across and moves my front fringe of hair, brushing my bangs aside. She touches the 'tiara' that the technician put on minutes ago.

The procedure took about two hours--of synchronizing the metal hoop with its pale pink stone at the front. Then he carefully slid it on, moving my hair so that it's mostly covered. When it closed, it sealed. Sync'd to my mind, my thoughts now appear on those tablets. My fantasies, my imagining--my resistance--secrets. Everything.

She touches it and to my surprise, I pee--a gasp as her fingers are somehow impossibly intimate. I pant and moan--a sexual sound I desperately don't want to make--as she feels around, touching the seal against the skin.

Her fingers work around the back of my head. I let out non-stop moans and gasps. Shuddering. Finally, satisfied, she mercifully stops. I whimper, putting my face in my hands, thighs pressed together.

I feel her hand on my shoulder. :: SNIFF ::

"Lenna," her voice is low, kind even. "Look at me." Her fingers touch under my chin. I don't resist her as I look up, meeting her eyes with my watery ones. She smiles, pleased.

"I'm not going to give you a chance to back out," she tells me--kindly. I would, if she did. If she asked me, I would beg to be allowed to go--but she doesn't. She knows for certain I would and her denying me the question is... part of the experience.

I signed on because I was--am--fascinated with Lemuria. I wanted to look into the archives that have been dredged up from the hidden, buried continent--its subterranean megalopolises just barely scratched. Their intricate wall murals--which they placed everywhere--showing incredible, orgy like scenes from Lemuria's everyday life.

I wanted to join the institute--but its limited space meant that my best bet... as I identified as a sexual submissive, not that I'd had much practice--meant I could come on as a volunteer slave girl. They were using the recovered imprinter to see how the devices operated. When used on fully willing subjects who were NOT going to act as slaves, it didn't work--not well and not for long at all.

When it was used properly though--oh, mercy. Now here I was, number 7. A newly minted slave to Dr. Christina. I sniffled and nodded. If she gave me a chance to leave, I'd flee. But she isn't, and I don't. I dearly hope she doesn't touch the metal 'tiara' again--that was... difficult to endure.

Now, my chin raised, she examines me.

She looks satisfied--not put off by my misery. "I've put some clothes and your schedule on my desk. Matthew will get you ready to go out to the campus. I'll be aware of everything that happens--" a glance at my tiara. I blush and flinch slightly. "You'll be safe. Do your best to follow the rules. If not, you'll be punished, of course."

Her words are said in a reassuring tone: go ahead and break the rules, Lenna--you're going to be punished for it! I swallow, and nod, and blush. "Yes... mistress?"

She laughs. "Or Domina. Whichever. You will see me for maintenance punishments and work sessions--pleasuring me in some way--and... other things. Exploratory and so on. But that's all in your schedule."

I flush, and nod.

She stands, spreading her legs. "On your knees. Clean me." she orders. The tile is rubbery and I get down and look up into her hot wetness. I find I'm pleased she's aroused too. The acrid smell and tart taste of her urine is disgusting--but I work my tongue into every fold and crevice. I taste her oil as well and it smears my face. I feel her fingers in my hair, caressing me.

I understand that as my 'owner' she has some access to my 'thought-log' even without a tablet. It makes me feel uneasy--unmoored. Can she read my confusion at this? My distaste for this... domination--even as I presented myself as a 'submissive'? I'd always imagined some level of control in a situation--but this--this feels so far beyond my control that I can't even imagine what having real agency here would look like.

If I refused to lick her, she'd have me punished--badly. If I refused and tried to run, she has the authority to stop me. I'm not sure if she would--but she could--and we would go to adjudication and my thought-log would be presented to the mediator. Ugh.

I lick until I only taste her oil. I feel a soft pat, mercifully not on the tiara. She knows I'm done. Can she feel it? Or is she reading my own senses.

She steps back, drawing up her panties, watching me.

"I can tell from your thoughts," she answers me. "Go and see the correction girls after this. I want you to get a feel for how you'll be punished."

I blush, horribly. Fuck! Do I see a faint smile from her--a sparkle in her eye. Can I keep her out of my thoughts--my... fantasies?

A grin from her. Ugh.

But I rise, keeping my head down, unwilling to meet her eyes, my face flaming.

Matthew helps me into the thick robe.

"It's an estimation of Lemurian dress," he tells me. Now, without the tablet, I don't think he can read my mind--and he seems to be far more... conciliatory. "Of course the slave were largely naked or wearing harnesses or whatever--but also much of Lemuria was tropical. In winter you can wear this--It'll keep you warm."

I blush, nodding. It has long thick sleeves. A belt holds the 'jacket' closed and he adjusts the "knot" (really a kind of wrapped fixture) so it's behind me. After all, if someone wishes to disrobe me, they'd do it from behind.

I slip my feet into the sandals. Surprising amounts of support from the spongy material. Like crocs, I think, looking down.

"Those heat up when you walk on them." he says. "Should keep your feet warm."

"Thanks," I say, softly

He nods. "Hey--you know that my--when I apply the loop--I'm supposed to be, uh, unpleasant."

"Really?" I'm surprised.

His turn to blush, and he nods. "Yeah--we tried it being, you know, normal--didn't take. Also tried Dr. Christina doing her own set up. It didn't work properly either. Has to be someone else, they have to be trained, and... you know, it's supposed to feel... "

"Like punishment," I finish for him.

"Like domination," he says, but nods. "She isn't kidding about punishing you--she does it. You know the Lemurian text, the ones we can read--she's supposed to enjoy it--or she isn't a real 'Domina.'"

I feel the heat in my face and I'm glad he doesn't have the tablet with my thoughts. I nod. "I knew that. I mean, mostly."

I did. I read about how Lemurian society operated.

"She asked me to go see the corrections girls." I tell him. I'm not sure why--I'm blushing, just saying it.

"Oh--good, well, enjoy," I'm expected to enjoy their distress. What does that say about me?

I nod to him--and I start off, outside, onto the campus: a newly minted Lemurian slave girl.

Sonoma Institute of Lemurian Studies - Cassi

Cassandra--Cassi--let her fingertips dangle in the pillory restraints. She glared at the ground. She wore the orange prison jump-suit: New Mexico Department of Corrections. Under that, her only item was an adult diaper they'd put her in and strap on shoes with small dull but pointed plastic 'spikes' that would hurt magnificently if she tried to stand or walk on them.

Thankfully, the pillory had her on her knees: if she was made to stand--and it WAS adjustable in height as well as other ways, she'd be shrieking.

No, here she was just... immiserated. And things were going to get a lot worse. Part of the DoC's agreement with Sonoma was that prisoners could be delivered to the Institute for help with 'study'--meaning help with the work they did on exploring the Lemurian artifacts creativity in methods of punishment.

The check had involved a tampon-like sensor and a variety of movies that made her squirm, blush, and swear viciously at the testers. She'd "passed" whatever test it was and been selected for the trip in the nasty smelling prison bus to the 'campus.'

Here it was beautiful--cut grass, manicured hedges, new buildings with gleaming arches and park benches. And here she was, in the "Correctional Paddock" locked into a pillory. The other passengers were in stupid little cages--but they at least could scratch. She couldn't--and she dearly wanted to.

A distance away was a boy--skinny, coffee-with-cream colored skin--handsome in his way, she thought. He was nude save for a harness around his groin that had a thick tube sprouting from here his cock would be.

It had to be trapped inside it. He also kneeled, knees spread, and the tube blinked with green lights along its length. The boy gasped and whimpered and jerked slightly from time to time as though whatever it was doing seemed to be generating small electrical shocks?

He squirmed. The entire package vibrated slightly and his hips gave a suggestive thrust.

"We made the casing," The voice came from above Cassi and she looked up as best she could to see a tall, slim figure standing there in a thick tan-colored robe. She knelt down and Cassi could see the thin loop of dull silvery metal around her head, mostly concealed by her hair. "Underneath the casing it's all bone," she said "Bone and cables and some kind of fur for the sleeve. I saw one being constructed at the workshop. They put the casing over it so it can be used without being exposed to the elements."

Cassi swallowed, nodded (although she couldn't move much).

"I'm Lenna," the girl said. She gestured at the boy. "It's milking him. There's a fur-lined shaft inside that has his penis in it. A similar cup holds his scrotum. It squeezes and pulls according to rhythms that it gets from bio-feedback. A probe goes in his anus--when it detects that he's going to cum, it pushes him over the edge and stops--ruining it. It also gives him painful little shocks to his testicles--so he doesn't get much, if any, enjoyment out of the experience. Then it completely removes his refractory period and does it all over again--and again--."

Lenna was stroking Cassi's hair as she talked, her voice low and conspiratorial. As if on cue, the boy gave a little cry and bucked fiercely in the restraints. The technological looking diaper shook as he quivered and squirmed.

"I think it just got him!" whispered Lenna, the boy's soft defeated, tear-heavy moan floated across the courtyard. People walking in the quad turned to look at the boy whose whimpers were audible, even at a distance.

The girl looked on eagerly as the vibrations and squirming started afresh. Cassi looked too. The boy's narrow hips thrust in accordance with some stimulation. Even from this distance, she could see him grimacing and the sheen of tears on his cheeks.

"You're going to be whipped," the girl--Lenna--said softly. Cassi glanced at her. "I saw it on the charts. I'm assisting in Mr. Kalson's class. They have a Lemurian punishment rig. They have the corrections girls to 'demonstrate.'"

Ugh. But Cassi wanted to know: "Whipped how?"

"I don't know," Lenna pondered. She gave Cassi's hair a little rub. "We'll find out!"

Across the quad, the boy gave a mighty spasm and a low, long plaintive moan. Then he started to rhythmically thrust again.

Ms. Kalston's Class -- Lenna's Log

It has been three hours since this terrible tiara-halo thing was fitted and I've been wet ever since. I'm horribly turned on. I so badly want to be fucked even though the idea of being taken like that right now repulses me. I feel so vulnerable knowing my thoughts are being stored on those awful tablets and fed to domina Catherine.

I don't know if it's the tiara or my own stupid self that actually likes her. I keep imagining the taste of her--the moist heat--even the disgusting acrid hint of her pee. I hate it. I hate that she knows it--that I have no privacy. It's a matter of time before I masturbate: the need is at a level of torment--and I've read that it's going to get much worse.

I won't be able to hide it--she'll know--and I'll be punished for it--and that horribly entices me more! It's unfair! It's awful! This robe I'm wearing absorbs my lubrication but it feels moist under me. I got to the lecture hall early and I'm seated up front. All the students will see me--in my strange clothing--will they know I'm a slave? Oh, I hope not.

They took the girl--Cassandra in. She's barefoot and they took off the corrections jump-suit and the diaper she had on--how humiliating. Then they got her into the punishment rig.

It's a vertical hoop that holds her ankles and wrists. The metal is a strange greenish hue. It's on a black base that looks like stone. A yoke holds the hoop so it can be tilted, lowering her head and raising her spread legs for the audience.

I can see her shaved sex, plump and ready and vulnerable, as she's tilted forwards. The rack has several adjustable mechanical arms on it and one holds a large lens about a yard across. Mr. Kalston moves it down to lay between her thighs so that her entire region is magnified for the audience.

Horribly, a second hoop with a mirror is moved before her--it shows what the lens does. She can see her own bottom presented naked. I see her eyes widen--her body and face blush. When she starts to plead with Professor Kalston, he slips a head-dress over her and calmly buckles it around her mouth: she goes instantly silent--but I can see her eyes bulge and tear up. Her body struggles. Her mortified eyes meet mine, pleading silently for help.

I give her an encouraging little smile and wave back at her. Tough it out, girl! Oh--I'm awful! What will domina think!?

The head-dress has a plume of brightly colored feathers and odd flowers. They don't decay. The material is soft-leather like wraps with a few bone plates. It looks snug and secure--but I see her trembling--sobbing! Her throat moves: yelling? The poor thing fights, struggling to close her legs!

"Slave." Professor Kalston's voice. He's not quite young--but handsome--tall, with high cheek bones and piercing eyes.

I startle at his voice and then leap up and scurry over to him, head lowered. Students are starting to file in, looking with interest at the naked girl splayed in the hoop, her rear and sex magnified in the glass.

I stand before him and feel him look on me. I know the tiara is gleaming on my head and I'm sure he knows what it does and means. I tremble.

"Just fitted this morning?" His voice alters with sympathy. A deeper shudder runs through me. I swallow, nod--my mouth is dry. I find my voice and croak out "yes, sir--" Should it be master? Dominus? My sex clenches.I feel that Mistress Catherine is amused at my distress. Is that real? Can I sense her? Or is it my own self imagining it??

"Sir is fine," he assures me, touching my shoulder. "I'm afraid it doesn't get any easier. The other slaves are perpetually a mess." He gives me a rub. I'm afraid I might pee myself. I mentally beg him not to touch the tiara.

He's down to business. "I want you to prepare our subject--Cassandra--for her ordeal. There is a kind of lotion in the container there--" he indicates a table near the hoop where Cassi hangs. "Apply it to her region--bottom, inner and back thighs, sex, and so on. Rub it in gently and make sure you cover as much as you can, yes?"