Penance Corporation of America

Muffin Brown Aspires

 

My hand rises and I find my fingers rubbing the finely polished bars of steel. The sense of permanency such a bulwark confers brings goose bumps. As I know after the many weeks, that which is placed inside will never be released... not without my acquiescence and then only under my direction. I can feel the sense of empowerment the well crafted cage of metal bestows. Though age 23, I feel as excited as a young girl at a birthday party.

In training class, the confinement enclosures were of wood, designed to replicate the conditions without the expense. After all, no one would attempt escape during training class. Therefore cheap wooden dowels were used to fabricate replicas of the hardened steel in order to facilitate practice in feeding, handling and caring for that placed within.

"It does imbue one with an arousing sense of governance, does it not? I felt the same when my first tour began."

I turn my head to the room's entranceway, a solid door of equally imposing metal, to see that an enormous woman of some forty years has been observing my state of reverie. Whereas I would normally feign some degree of innocence, perhaps even blush, when someone suggested that thoughts of authority could instill arousal, I instead smile devilishly. After all, I know the woman is one of us... one of the many employed by the Penance Corporation of America who thrill with the notion of governance.

"I'm Peggy Blakely, the warden," she smiles warmly in extending her hand.

"Muffin Brown," I courteously reply in offering my hand in return.

"So you'll have an even dozen," Peggy remarks in counting the stacks of cages. "The thought of so many may overwhelm at first, but it will take a few days to fill each cage. And just remember your training. It encompasses all a girl needs to know about handling our guests... the truculent male."

She smiles confidently and with her aura of superiority and knowledge, I feel even more of a joyous glow in contemplating my new employment.

"You're young and cute, Muffin. With the new prisoners, in the beginning that will be a detriment. But as you've learned in training class, your charms will over time very much aid them in embracing subordination."

I nod, the training thoroughly taking us through the steps which result in complete capitulation, the unwritten goal of the Penance Corporation of America. I recall the instructor's opening words...

"We could care less about penance, ladies. Don't let the name confuse you. We want profits. The state pays us fifty dollars per day per prisoner. Thus any amount spent on food and care comes out of potential profits... which affects the bottom line and which affects the stock price."

That got everyone's attention. Frankly, the pay level at the Penance Corporation of America is drearily parsimonious. The offer of stock ownership in a publicly traded corporation and the right to buy more, is what drove me and the cadre of other trainees to accept employment. Increased profits equals increased stock price equals more remuneration.

"So forget about eliciting penance. We want quiet, docile prisoners who very nicely lounge about, sleeping and eating while the state government remits to us a sizable monthly check. Troublesome prisoners incur costs. Docile prisoners bring money. And remember, this notion of parole and early release diminishes the bottom line. Once indoctrinated, we prefer the prisoner just remain forever. Think of each inmate as an annuity..."

I listened raptly to the lecture and wondered if the government authorities had any real inkling as to how and why a private corporation could hold prisoners more cheaply than the government and without mishaps such as violent acts or occasional escape.

It seemed that no one asked. Therefore one by one, state run prisons have closed, and the Penance Corporation of America has constructed more and more facilities. The stock price steadily rises.

Costs are everything, so I learned. And to control costs, one needed to control the prisoners. And that's how I have spent much of the time in the last eight weeks of training.

"What's your background? You appear quite athletic."

I beam with pride when Peggy notes the results of feverish endeavor in track and field during my formative years. Though only five foot six, the shortest girl in my training class, I am sure it was my well muscled form that the recruiters found attractive. Handling males, I was to learn in class, can be physically daunting.

"Ran quite a bit. Mid distances. Some soccer in the fall."

"I did the discus and javelin... many years ago," the imposing Peggy rejoins, her size more in line with the other trainees and handlers.

"Education?"

"Bachelor's in psychology with a number of courses in phys ed."

"Yes, that always attracts the recruiters... academic knowledge of the mind and body," Peggy knowingly smiles.

"Well here you'll receive a more practical education. I'm going to transfer in a couple of the long term prisoners to start you out. They won't overwhelm. Gentle as lambs. Then after a few days I'll assign a new prisoner or two. Those will be challenges... but ones which women like us enjoy."

She grins evilly, apparently picturing me indoctrinating a new arrival. This brings a smile to me as well... along with a tremor between my thighs. It that moisture forming?

"Peggy, what about the special release requests? Not much detail in training class. I found it contrary to the overall goal, letting the prisoner out for other than exercise."

Eight weeks of class ended with an aside comment from the instructor, suggesting that from time to time some prisoners will be temporarily released from their cages and that handlers should merely sign the papers and offer bathing when returned. The other trainees shrugged off the comment. For me it stirred curiosity.

The brow of the large woman knits as she searches for words.

"You'll have a better understanding over time, Muffin. But two things should satiate your interest for now. One, such special requests serve to enhance the profits. And two, you'll find the prisoner easier to handle upon return... which also enhances the profits."

Once again, if the government authorities ever realized that the motivation for every procedure undertaken at the Penance Corporation of America was by sparked greed, I wonder what the reaction would be.

"I leave you to acclimate yourself. I suggest familiarizing yourself with the equipment. Make sure you have your key... and check the batteries..."

She turns to leave, reciting the caution that ended every training class. Indeed I raise my left hand where the complicated modified cattle prod gently rests within my grasp. The power indicator suggests it is fully charged. After all, I have only used it once in training on some poor prisoner who was thoroughly bound in the middle of the classroom while each new girl applied a moderate shock. Yes, I recall the trembling flesh of number 062705's naked buttocks as girl after girl applied her prod.

We giggled endlessly as he writhed with the suffering. The reaction of we girls was quite telling.

Peggy steps out and I move to the cabinets, stocked with that which is required to bind and discipline those in need of behavior modification. Nylon wrist and ankle cuffs are abundant, lined with softness for long term comfort. My training suggests hourly release from such for new arrivals, extending to three hour intervals for those more acclimated to the drudgery of long term bondage. A drawer contains water bottles. Designed to hang from the bars of the cage, the plastic cylinders resemble canisters found within the abodes of small pet animals.

Another drawer is filled with clamps of all sizes and shapes. The serrated teeth of some bring more goose bumps. Two cans of Sterno imbue the capability to heat the nasty implements. I can't imagine a troublesome prisoner taking too many before the intense pain breaks the will and brings complete supplication.

On the wall adjacent to the cabinets are plumbing fixtures with hoses attached. It is suggested that the stacks of cages, occupants included, be hosed daily with more elaborate individual cleansing afforded weekly. In the corner is the strange toilet where I will supervise bowel movements. Such will come with release from the cage for daily exercise. The fixture is really nothing more than a sizable hole in the tiled floor with a flush handle. Under our auspices, prisoners evacuate their bowels more like a canine than a human. The resulting humiliation is intended. As my training dictates, we break a man both physically and mentally at the Penance Corporation of America.

Sitting in a corner, conspicuous as the only real furniture within the four walls of concrete, is a chair. Simple, though appearing quite comfortable with leather covered foam, it juxtaposes wickedly against the cold impersonal steel that will hold my charges. I imagine it is where I will wile away the hours when not exercising, cleansing or tormenting. I idle to the front and feel a brief frisson of delight in surveying the shape of the seat. Nicely padded, there is an indentation carved into the front edge that can, and I suspect will, accommodate the neck of a kneeling supplicant. As I envision a hooded cranium propped between my knees, the thought brings more moisture.

Yes, there are rewards other than stock ownership at the Penance Corporation of America.

I return to the pile of cages. Each cage is the size and shape of a coffin, though somewhat longer. Those with claustrophobia can be challenged by the confinement. Thus the collection of bars is left open... top, bottom, sides and ends... providing both merciful airiness and cruel access to all a prisoner holds dear. The bottom cage is propped up on wooden blocks some four or five inches above the tile floor allowing excretions to drain freely from above.

There are two rows, side by side, three high. Abutting these, accessible from the other side of the room, is a similar two by three stack. A total of 12 cages will imprison 'guests' in a room the size of which would normally not house more then four prisoners in a government run institution. Yet the pile, reaching some seven or eight feet, can go higher. It is only because of my inexperience that I will initially supervise only twelve.

The limited use of space is just one of the many efficiencies that leads to the vast profits of the Penance Corporation of America.

There is a movable ramp to be slid about when opening a cage door and allowing the prisoner to crawl out. Since they remain caged either prostrate or supine, crawling is the operable word. At some two and a half feet in height, the cage does not permit a prisoner to stand. There is barely room to bend the knees and draw up the feet.

The many, many hours of confinement with minimal movement make release time quite the welcomed respite... and it is time that I control. Thus amongst those that have spent some time in incarceration, I can expect that the desire to be released will result in absolute obedience. Amongst the newer arrivals... well that's when I will earn my pay.

All seems to be in order as I hear commotion outside the door. Within a moment an experienced handler steps through the formidable steel door, held open by a chain.

"Got your first guest, Muffin. Meet 122299."

It is an experienced handler by the name of Nancy. She assisted in conducting the training class and her cool demeanor in handling the naked male impressed. With a firm tug the leash in her right hand tightens and I indeed meet 122299 as he crawls through the doorway.

The six digit identifying number is the date of incarceration, therefore I know that my crawling charge has been under our 'care' or that of the government since December 22, 1999... seven years.

In responding instantly to tugs and commands, the affect of his long term of confinement becomes evident. He endeavors to please and actually appears somewhat eager to be brought to his new cage. When so enclosed it is difficult to earn the wrath of a handler... something to be avoided.

"Let's put him on the top, Nancy," I cheerily suggest in pushing the ramp in place.

The high tech key dangling on a slim chain around my neck is used to trigger the cage door. It easily springs open, the electronics reacting only to my thumb print. If stolen or lost the key will not do a prisoner any good... only earn him punishment for possessing it.

I stand aside as 122299 gingerly follows the leash, crawling with a combination of speed and caution. Though otherwise completely naked, 122299 is hooded and blinded. The tough synthetic leather-like covering envelops the entire head down to the neck where it attaches to a thicker collar of similar material. There is a large opening for the mouth and nose. A rectangular patch, adhering to the hood by way of Velcro, covers the eyes and can be removed.

Metal clanks metal as 122299's hands, knees and feet negotiate the ramp. Nylon wrist and ankle cuffs are tethered together with chains to inhibit extended motions of the hands and feet. Thus 122299 crawls utilizing little baby steps that serve to enhance both his humiliation and sense of being under complete control.

"Ok, sweet cheeks, turn toward the sound of my voice like a good boy. Lower your buttocks and crawl backwards."

122299 obeys. The height of the cage prevents him from remaining upright on all fours. The height is so limited that he must hunch lower to fit within. Yet with his years of confinement he knows to scrunch down and shuffle backwards. Nancy unclips her leash and smiles.

"He's all yours... ready to be secured and scanned."

My heart leaps! My first toy. I clear my throat to issue my first command in as stentorian a voice as I can muster.

"Lie tummy down, slide so your feet are all the way back, wrists stretched over your head," I command in swinging closed the cage door.

122299 complies, slithering to the far end. As stated, the coffin shaped cages are long. When his feet touch the furthest most vertical bars, he lies down. In stretching out his arms straight over his head he pushes his hands toward me and his wrists approach the cage door. I reach into the pocket of my uniformed skirt and remove the ubiquitous double 'D' clamps that I have carried since day one of training.