The prisoner is nervous, fidgety. She glances at the man outside the cage. He looks down at her with a steady gaze. She looks at the guard. She's standing, arms crossed, with her back to the woman.
People filter into the room - witnesses, spectators, voyeurs.
I make the final adjustments to the equipment, throw the switch. There is a loud buzzing that startles some of the onlookers. The air is filled with that distinctive burnt electrical smell. I fine-tune the settings, kill the power, and nod to the guard.
She opens the cage door, steps in. She grabs the woman's right hand and snaps a metal cuff to her wrist. She does likewise with the woman's left hand. The cuffs are connected by a short length of chain. Another chain dangles to a second pair of cuffs and the guard locks them to the woman's ankles. She grabs the woman's arm and guides her out of the cage.
The woman is wearing a simple, gray dress that clings to her ample curves. She's cute in a chubby sort of way. Her long, black hair hangs half way down her back.
She stops before the chair, a massive wooden thing with thin padding on the seat and back covered in faded brown leather. I hand my assistant the probe. It's a large acrylic plastic thing with metal strips running along its length. She applies a glob of lubricant to the tip, not only to ease insertion, but to provide good electrical contact. She nudges the woman's legs apart and pushes the probe into her pussy. The woman grunts, squirms. The guard increases her grip and my assistant rams the thing into her despite her protests.
The guard pushes the woman into the chair. She unlocks the woman's right ankle, wraps a leather cuff around it, securing it to the chair leg. She does the same with the left. She unlocks the woman's wrists and secures them to the arms of the chair.
The guard unbuttons the faded gray prison dress, pulls it open. There's a strap fixed to the seat and she buckles it across the woman's chest, just below her tits, large tits that droop quite a bit. Her nipples are large, brown, and erect. Her pussy lips are hairless and smooth. She has a little heart-shape patch of hair up on her mound and a tattoo, initials just to the left of it.
I hand my assistant an electrode. She applies a bit of adhesive to the edges and presses it to the woman's left nipple. She repeats the process with the right. She fixes four more to the woman's pussy lips. She glues four to the woman's abdomen and four to each thigh.
I triple check that all the electrical connections are properly set.
My assistant retrieves the electric trimmer, grabs a handful of the woman's hair. It's long and black and reaches well past her shoulders. She presses the trimmer to her forehead. There's a snap and a buzz when she turns it on. She mows a row from the woman's forehead half way over her head. She grabs the hair and lets it fall before the woman.
For a moment she sits there stunned, then the reality hits.
"No! What ...?"
She struggles in the chair looking up at the man, frantic, her eyes pleading. He looks at her passively. My assistant grabs her hair.
"Sit still!"
She clears another row, then another. The hair piles up around the woman's feet. She's careful and very thorough and it takes a few minutes before the woman is shaved clean. My assistant goes over the woman's head again shearing off the odd tufts. She sets the trimmer aside and picks up the can of foam. She squirts some onto her hand and smears it over the woman's head. She repeats the process until the woman's head is covered in a thick layer of white. She flicks open the straight razor, grabs the leather strop and works the blade back and forth several times.
"Now stay still. I don't want to cut you."
The woman doesn't respond, but she sits still, rigid in something bordering on a state of shock.
Again the minutes pass, again areas of bald scalp emerge. My assistant wipes the woman's head with a damp towel. She works the razor over her head a bit more, gives it another damp wipe, then a dry one.
The woman's bald pate glistens, slick and shiny in the harsh light. It's eerily white against the tan skin of her face and neck.
The guard produces a leather pouch and stuffs it into the woman's mouth. There's a strap affixed to the chair back and she draws it between the woman's teeth, buckles it snug.
My assistant dampens a sponge, places it on the woman's head. I lower the headpiece. It has a central metal disk and six metal arms. I adjust them to fit her head. The arms are connected by a leather strap and I cinch it.
I step over to the electrical box, my hand on the switch. the woman looks up at the man, then closes her eyes. He nods. I throw the switch.
The woman shrieks. Even gagged, the sound echoes in the small room. Her body twitches uncontrollably as the electrodes stimulate the muscles in her belly and legs. The electrodes on her nipples and pussy lips are actually groups of contacts. They fire at random. The effect is intense. Something akin to having a rubber band snapped against the skin. The sensitive lining of her pussy only intensifies the effect there. The head piece? Just a prop.
My assistant takes the stim and squats between the woman's legs. The stim is a small, but powerful vibrator. It narrows to a pencil width for the last couple of inches. On the tip is a knobby rubber bead. My assistant spreads the woman's pussy lips and slides the bead under her clit hood.
The reaction is immediate and intense. The woman is frantic, tugging at the cuffs binding her to the chair. I cut the power.
My assistant continues to work the stim over the woman's clit. Gradually her reaction becomes less intense. Then, after a bit, somewhat rhythmic. I can tell she's close to orgasm, but I let my assistant make the call. It's a woman thing.
She nods and I throw the switch again. Again the shrieks, again the intense wrenching spasms. I cut the power and my assistant turns her attention, once again, to the woman's clit.
We repeat the process four times. I step away from the box to get a better look at the woman. My assistant works the stim between her legs.
When the orgasm comes it's explosive. The woman screams. Hard to do while breathing through your nose, but the sound bounces off the walls. She arches her back, strains against the cuffs with so much intensity that the massive chair creaks. Each wave accompanied by a grunting gasp that's more animal than human, more like a primal growl.
And then there's silence.
The woman has fainted. A second passes, another, a third. Then with a shudder her chest heaves. The guard unbuckles the strap across her mouth and pulls out the sodden, leather mass. The woman takes deep gulping breaths. She opens her eyes. Her look dazed, confused. After a moment she focuses on the man. A small smile crosses her face before she closes her eyes and takes several more breaths.
I remove the headpiece. My assistant removes the electrodes. The guard undoes the leather cuffs and helps the woman to her feet. My assistant reaches between her legs and removes the probe. The onlookers drift away. The man wraps an arm around the woman and guides her to a small couch in the corner of the room.
We pack up our gear, stow it in the small metal case. At the door the man looks up. He extends his hand.
"Thanks. That was awesome."
"Our pleasure."
"I hope she likes her new look," my assistant says running a hand over her own smooth, shiny dome. "It kind of grows on you. Pardon the pun."
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01.09.12