Public Punishment Uniform

by Pervmont

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© Copyright 2023 - Pervmont - Used by permission

Storycodes: F/f; bond; public; gag; oral; chastity; toys; buttplug; permanent; punish; mittens; clamps; piercing; hum; tease; denial; inflatable; collar; leash; bodymod; corset; enema; trick; arrest; reluct; nc; XXX

Continues from

Electric Jane

The oversized, electric dildo securely locked into Titty-tart’s ass was creating a very realistic sensation of rapidly and deeply thrusting into her overstretched hiney-hole via the wave action of its shock point array and it made her gasp as it bumped inside her against the huge punishment dildo secured in her long-suffering pussy.

The ring gag held her mouth open to its absolute maximum and she moaned silently as she worked furiously to please the customer’s cock with her mouth, tongue and throat. She’d have held his balls and worked the shaft of his cock with her hands, but they were mittened into useless little balls and short-chained up to her collar behind her back. That’s how all the ‘happy ending’ girls spent their days here at the Punishment Café, in back-prayer bondage, sucking or waiting en-pointe and leashed in line hoping for an opportunity to lick or suck.

As soon as a girl was given permission to go to a customer, her achingly-large ring-gag was put in place and her short leash was released from its hook. Despite the immediate discomfort caused by the jaw-jacking gag, the girl would usually perform a near-involuntary wiggling, happy little prancing pleasure dance at having been chosen; if she pleased the customer, she would earn pleasurable stimulation and possibly even a desperately-needed orgasm. Titty-tart had even started to relish the energetic electric ass-fucking that she’d receive while she was on her knees and sucking with almost frantic fervor.

The time-release clamps on her stretched nipples really hurt; it was the umpteenth time a customer had pinched them down into the locked position that morning and it’d be another fifteen minutes before they’d release her sore, swollen, tattooed-red nipples. Her nipples were an easy and tempting target, stretched, swollen and projecting slightly up and out from her cartoonishly-large, perfectly-round breasts. These were displayed, high and tight and punished by the root-cinching bands of her uniform’s permanent metal bra. The tight-fitting wire-mesh cage-cups locked onto her oversized tits gave them a quilted surface. In addition to being tight, the cages were lined with blunted little points to further torment the wearer. The tips of the cages were built-in permanent nipple stretchers, serving as a mounting point for the time-release clamps and offering the thick rings pierced through her nipples as shiny anchor, control and leash points. This customer was putting her rings to good use, gently but firmly keeping tension on Titty-tart’s clamped nipples while she used her forced-open mouth with near-desperate energy to please his cock.

At first Titty-tart had wished she could be a waitress instead of just an after-meal suck slut, but the strictly-bound and terribly tormented waitresses didn’t get as many orgasms as the pleasure sluts did and they were forever on the run in their toe shoes and short ankle hobbles. As if on cue, the implanted vibrator that ran the full length of Titty-tart’s clitoral nerves kicked on and brought her to the ragged edge of a desperately needed orgasm before throttling slowly, maddeningly down. Titty-tart worked furiously on the customer’s cock, forcing herself to get it all the way into her throat while using her heavily-pierced tongue in figure eights on the shaft. The customer was in his sixties and it would require a good deal of effort to make him climax. After all, he was full of a large breakfast and was now relaxing at the diner’s table while Titty-tart knelt under it, clamped, plugged, chained, collared and utterly controlled. If she was a very good girl, the customer might push the smiley-face button on her display and it might be the button-push that would get her the orgasm she needed so badly. It had been days since the last one; days all full of sex play, spankings, blowjobs, pussy licking, continuous, utter humiliation and being kept cruelly edged to the point of almost-cumming.

She felt the customer tensing and building towards it and then.. Yes! He rammed himself down her throat, cumming while she swallowed furiously and tried to catch a breath around his cock. As he recovered, she wiggled happily on her knees and batted her eyes at him. He chuckled and said “I bet I know what you want, don’t I?” Drooling around the ring gag, she bounced up and down while she nodded. He smiled. “You are adorable, aren’t you? Well I suppose you’ve been a good girl, so why not.” He put on his reading glasses and looked at the tablet that had been dropped off on the table while Titty-tart had wiggled her way under it.

“There you go sweetheart, a smiley face for a good and enthusiastic little cocksucker.” She rubbed her head on him like a happy kitten while he petted her. “Alright then, off you go.” She squirmed out from under the table and struggled up onto her toes. She performed one of her trademark “thank you!” moves, a positively perverted, squirming, grinding curtsey. She was rewarded with a laugh and a swat on her dildo-stuffed behind.

‘He was nice, I hope he asks for me again’, she thought as she presented herself for cleanup, un-gagging and being re-leashed back in her place on display with the other pleasure sluts.


It had all seemed like a very clever idea at the time. Jane, “Electric Jane” she and the media had called herself, had needed to make a getaway.

The skinny, twenty-three year-old Harley-Quinn wannabe Electric Jane had spiked-up bright blue hair and a bad habit of mixing speed for crazy and alcohol for courage. That first mini-mart robbery had been such a rush! The next one was almost boring, but the car-jacking that came afterwards wasn’t. That idiot had begged and blubbered, driving a hundred and twenty miles per hour while she held one of her revolvers to his forehead. The police helicopters couldn’t maintain the pace and fell back enough for her to bail and make her escape in an urban area. The car had skidded so far while coming to a stop that one of the tires had burst and for a second Jane thought she was taking fire from the cops.

The next rush had to be bigger.

Robbing a small, outlying bank was bigger.

Jane managed to ditch the dye bombs they'd hidden in the bag just before they went off, throwing them into traffic from the freshly-stolen bank manager’s car as she fled in it. Next was a bigger, bolder, better guarded bank and after that narrow escape she went after a huge, glass-fronted job right in the downtown.

All of the robberies had one common element; a five-foot-six tall, hundred and twenty pound girl with bright blue eyes and hair, wearing almost nothing and screaming “Electric Jane says get on the ground, Fuckers!” as she brandished a pair of polished stainless steel .357 Magnum revolvers. What a rush!

The police wanted her badly. Her picture was everywhere and the news stations couldn’t get enough of the wild-eyed, skinny crazy girl wearing only ultra-short blue spandex shorts, hi-heeled thigh-high blue spandex boots and a pair of blue sequined pasties on her pert breasts; the high-definition video of her in this outfit, waving the huge revolvers around and yelling her tagline inside the banks was on almost continuous loop on all the news stations.. Her fan-boy base online was enormous. There were near misses where the cops almost found her.

The constant running and hiding and anxious moments became exhausting; Jane was tired, and even a little bored. Her enthusiasm for this game was waning. She shoplifted some mousey-brown hair dye and ditched her trademark blue in a warehouse bathroom that she’d accessed via a propped-open window. She’d worn a hoodie while buying some nondescript old jeans, a boring t-shirt and plain tennis shoes at a charity store. An old man at a barber shop charged her ten bucks for a somewhat androgynous ‘paige-boy’ haircut. “Have you been in here before? You look familiar.” He’d asked. Shit. She wondered where she could buy some colored contact lenses.

She had money stashed here and there, lots of it, but she didn’t dare stay at even the sleaziest motel. The cops were watching all those places. She slept in an old van that was abandoned in a light industrial area. It hadn’t moved in a long time and already had a disgusting old mattress and blankets from when some other low-life had stayed in it.

This situation went on for days and then weeks. Hiding out, using a ditch as a toilet. Something had to change, this sucked.


The idea came to her as she bought some food she couldn’t identify at a little Asian market. There was one of those public-punishment girls out shopping, what did they call them? Oh yeah, “Outmates”, that was it. One of them, a young Asian woman, was in the odd-smelling store. She wiggled along slowly, almost comically in securely-locked, six-inch high stiletto heels. Her legs were sheathed in shiny, heavy-duty pantyhose with perfectly straight back seams. Her knees were hobbled together, linked by a few-inch-long bar with swivels on its ends where it attached to the steel bands just above her knees. Her dress was sheer, inmate gray and appeared to be made out of the same material as her shiny tan pantyhose. It fit her very tightly and it’s too-short hem stopped halfway down her butt and just above her pussy. By design, it didn’t cover the ends of the safety-orange dildos that protruded through the polished stainless crotch band. The dildo’s size made Jane wince, as did the obvious tightness of the chastity belt’s constrictive waist and crotch bands. The thin, stretchy material of the dress was pulled see-through sheer over the root-cinching wire mesh punishment cups gripping the woman’s ball-shaped breasts. These were tipped with nipple stretchers and a pair of large, heavy piercing rings though the tips of her nipples. Her head was held upright by the tall, stainless steel collar, and her mouth was jacked open to its widest around a locked-in gag.

Her hair was nicely done, her makeup and nails were perfect. She caught Jane staring and gave her a wink. Jane smiled back and gave a little wave. She had to admit, it was a hot look, the hobble-bondage and heels made the woman’s ass undulate in an amazing double-oval pattern as she walked. It occurred to Jane that this was also a look that no one would question. No one would ever think to look for the dangerous bank robber ‘Electric Jane’ wiggling around in a public humiliation and punishment uniform. She read the bright-orange lettering inlayed into the woman’s collar, ‘Voluntary Punishment-Uniform Wear Program, Florida department of corrections’.

“Hmm,” she thought, “a girl could just go in and sign up for one of these outfits…” That cinched it, Jane had found the perfect disguise.


Jane surveilled the county court building for three days before slipping inside through a rear employee-access door at the end of the lunch hour. She’d looked up the floor plan for the building in public records on a library computer and knew the way to slip past security into the waiting and interview area for voluntary uniform contract negotiation. She brought a good amount of cash in small bills as well as fake identification. In the waiting area, she sat with her hoodie up, pleased with herself. There had been so many cops on her way in, every turn had been a near miss, what a rush! Her heart pounded. She knew that she needed to get into a uniform as a disguise before she left the building, the odds were just too high that she’d be caught otherwise. Looking around, she counted a dozen women of varying ages and races, all there to sign up for a stint in one of the State’s public-punishment uniforms. The one thing in common amongst them was a sense of nervous embarrassment; these women weren’t like the thousands of others who were sentenced by the courts to wear a punishment uniform, they were there voluntarily for the experience!

Their reasons varied. One woman, a tall, striking, large-breasted blonde cougar in her late forties had been caught embezzling. Wanting to set an example but not alarm the stockholders, her company had quietly offered the option of “fired and prison” or “demotion and voluntary felony-level punishment uniform wear” for not less than ten years. The amount she’d embezzled dictated that the prison sentence would have been lengthy, and it wouldn’t be served in a cushy white-collar luxury jail; she’d do her sentence in real prison. The choice was an easy one for her; she’d do literally anything to avoid prison! That morning, she was wearing expensive designer clothing for the last time in a long while.

Every few moments she couldn’t hold it in and would tremble at what was in store for her; The collar she would wear would be permanent, welded in place and large embossed letters on it would proclaim her new job title, “Oral pleasure clerk”. Her new occupation was to hurry around the office, ankles short-hobbled and on her tip-toes in ballet-toe high heels, cheerfully and energetically hoping to service anyone who wanted to use her mouth. Her Jaguar and her ritzy apartment were already gone and for the next decade (or likely more) she’d now be spending her nights deep-throat gagged, elbows and wrists touching behind her in a tight armbinder. Her nights would consist of kneeling motionless in a strappado position with only the tight breast bondage harness and the big punishment dildos locked securely up her pussy and ass for company. She’d seen her new bedroom; it was a very small, sturdily-built steel cage, located in a janitor’s closet in the building where her former title had been Vice President.

Another woman was there to save her marriage by making amends for infidelity. She considered what her husband was demanding to be extreme, but, well.. Her fling had given her an STD which she’d passed on to her husband, and before they’d discovered that, the fling had used the alarm code she’d given him, breaking in and burglarizing their home. She sighed, ‘Yes, I deserve this.’ She was terrified about what “Felony level discipline with whippings at inspection appointments” would be like, how long it would take her to learn to take the deep-throat gag and walk short-hobbled up on her tip-toes in the ballet-toe heels that her husband had specified. Equally daunting was the fact that she’d be signing up for the “lifetime/indeterminate” contract, and that she’d be leaving here today wearing a collar that read “Cheating Slut”. The collar would be permanently welded onto her and she would be wearing it and all the other uncomfortable humiliation and punishment devices for the rest of her life. It would all be worth it though, if he’d only forgive her…

One pretty young lady, just turned eighteen years old, was there to fulfill her prenuptial agreement. Her fiancé was a few years older (okay, fifteen years older) than she was, but classy and wealthy. She was terribly excited about starting a lifetime of pampered marital bliss with shopping and travel and expensive… Everything! She was admittedly nervous about the agreed-upon accompanying lifetime of strict, punishment-uniformed bondage. She also should have spent more time reading over that “Total Obedience Contract” thingy that she’d had to sign in like, fifty places in front of that Judge. Her fiancé was so handsome though, and rich, too! What could possibly go wrong?

Most of the others in the waiting area were just masochistic little sluts, consumed by a deep-seated need for the sexual torment and the attention/humiliation that uniform wear guaranteed. The minimum volunteer uniform-wear period was four years, but with the wide array of time-adding pitfalls (late getting gag in place, too little time on feet, late service payment, ruined dress or hosiery, etc.) four years usually meant eight or more. There was no chit-chat among these women; the room was silent as eyes darted from the floor to the ‘now serving’ screen and back to the floor again. Nearly all of them were single, hoping that the non-criminal, voluntary presentation of themselves in the most humiliating and torturous bondage possible would help find them the man of their dreams; A dominant who would own them body and soul and take care of them as a favorite little fuck-pet. This wasn’t foolish hope, it had become a subculture of its own with a very high success rate of happy matchups.


Jane’s number finally came up on the screen.

The woman behind the desk accepted Jane’s fake ID with hardly a glance. “What level of uniform and duration are you wanting, honey?” She asked. “I don’t know, what can I get today?” Jane had blurted out, instantly cursing herself for revealing her nervousness. The woman peered at Jane over her glasses and shook her head. “The only thing we’re fitting this afternoon is the ‘Extreme Experience’ uniform, you don’t want that one, it’s way over the top.” She chuckled.

Jane’s eyes widened and she leaned in to hear more. Extreme? That was Jane’s favorite flavor! “I might be interested in that, what all does it..?” she said, trying not to let the butterflies in her stomach make her voice sound giddy.

The woman looked at her. “Do you like being totally out of control?” Jane nodded, wondering what the catch was. “This isn’t like the other programs which are based on chastity and sexual denial as part of the punishment. The Extreme program has constant, heavy stimulation and forced orgasms, in addition to sexual contact as part of the employment that comes with the program. Are you employed now?”

Jane couldn’t believe her good fortune, and said “No, I’m not. I need a job. This sounds really interesting, did you say that I could get put into one of those uniforms today?”

“The prepayment is very high, do you have five thousand dollars?”

“Yes. I um, just sold my car.” Jane squeezed the ball of money in her pocket.

The woman raised an eyebrow, shrugged and said “Well then, you’re in luck honey, I’ve got one spot left. Here, be quick, sign and initial this contract so I can put your name in the computer before somebody else grabs it. Good, now initial all the boxes, perfect.”

The woman took the signed-and-initialed contract back and checked off a large number of boxes on the page titled “options”. Jane felt a rare tinge of worry in her stomach, shouldn’t she be the one choosing the options? The woman finished and smiled at Jane in the way that a cat might smile at a mouse under its paw. “Okay Sweetie, I think this package will really keep your attention. Have fun!”


Thirty minutes later, Electric Jane was naked. Her wrists were cuffed behind her, held up high on her back by a snug waist chain. Steel cuffs with only four inches of chain between them hobbled her ankles. An inflatable gag filled her mouth to the point where her cheeks bulged, her jaw strained and she couldn’t make a sound. A collar was locked around her neck and a leash attached her to a sliding ring on a pipe that ran along the ceiling above her. She was one of ten women in identical bondage, gagged, naked and forced to stand in line, short-leashed to rings on the pipe. A confirmed lounger, Jane was already uncomfortable with being made to stand straight, not being able to scratch, and her jaw was aching from being held open to its widest for so long.

“This won’t be a problem,” she told herself, “I’ll get used to this sort of shit.” She was irritated at her self-consciousness about being so slender and so pale compared to the others. A natural ginger, she was milk white with modest C-cup tits while the others had tans and bigger boobs. She shivered in the cold, government-quality air conditioning, embarrassed that her raspberry-colored nipples were so hard that they throbbed.

The fitment began and Jane tried to hide how rattled she was by the gagged screams and unintelligible begging coming from the woman who had been first in line. Her anxiety grew as each new woman was marched down the hall on her leash, only to start screaming some minutes later. By the time it was Jane’s turn, she was shaking. The girl behind her peed on the floor in abject terror.

It turned out that all the noise was due to the tall, unforgiving control collars that participants in the ‘Extreme’ program were being fitted with. Jane was through the depilatory chemical wash and body scrub-down and was now freshly collared in one of the devices and secured into a reclining examination chair.

“I’m sure you’re concerned about all the noise you’ve been hearing,” said the fitment officer, not unkindly. She briefly explained about the control collar needing to establish baseline readings on its wearer and that there was only one way to do it. “This will be really unpleasant, but it’ll be brief and then it’s over.”

The tall, heavy collar fit Jane more closely than she would have liked and had clicked shut with an ominous finality.

“Here you go Hon, hang onto your socks!” The officer pushed a button and then put on a set of ear protection muffs. Jane hyperventilated. Over the next three minutes, a sensation that started as an itching through her body became a tingling and then grew into what finished as intense, racking, burning, stabbing everywhere pain and room-spinning nausea. Then it was over.

Jane waited, every muscle tensed against her restraints. The woman removed her protective headphones with an impressed look on her face, then released Jane’s gag.

“That was amazing, you didn’t make a sound.” the officer said, shaking her head.

“Sorry?” answered Jane hoarsely, still head-spinning a bit.

“I’ve never seen the collar not make somebody scream. I checked the settings, you got the whole program. Pretty impressive.”

“That was the worst of it?” Jane asked, relieved.

“Yes and no. It’ll be pretty intense when they run the tests on your implants.”

“Oh. Wait, what implants?”

“You didn’t read the description for the Extreme uniform program? Well, you’re in for some surprises, tough stuff. Here’s one now. She emptied a syringe into Jane’s arm. “Night-night!”


“My pussy hurts,” was the first thought through Jane’s mind when she woke up. “Oww, my titties hurt too, shit!” A pair of way-too large, bandage-wrapped orbs now took up a lot of her lower visual field.

This discovery was interrupted by “WTF is with my tongue? It feels like it’s got a bunch of stuff stuck through it, my mouth feels like it’s full of little metal balls! Hey, WTF is with these plastic mittens!?”

Jane’s fingertips throbbed dully inside the too-small seeming, hard plastic ovoids that contained her hands. These were part of shoulder-length gloves made of tight, thick, stretchy material that was stiff enough to stay up her arms to her pits. The material was black, and somewhat shiny. It made bending her arms at the elbow slightly difficult. The first inch at the tip of the mittens was bright, safety orange and was fitted with a sturdy, inch-diameter attachment ring. Inside them, she could feel that her thumbs were tucked into her palms, under her bent-over fingers. She couldn’t move them even the tiniest amount inside the mittens, which had no apparent seam or joint to allow them to open.

“Oh, fuck!” Jane said to herself as she stared at her mittened hands, realizing that pain in her fingertips was because all of her fingernails were gone, surgically removed! The drain slots in the hard plastic meant that her hands could be washed and therefore wouldn’t have to be freed from their tiny prisons. She started to breathe rapidly and her heart started to pound. It took her a few minutes to get control of herself. “It’s perfect. I can’t leave fingerprints anywhere. This is actually a good thing,” she rationalized frantically.

That was all good until she went to scratch her nose and couldn’t.

She lost it; Jane spent the next minutes frantically pulling at the mittens with her feet and banging them on the floor, all to no avail. They hadn’t budged a fraction and didn’t show a trace of damage. “OMG, I am so fucked!” Jane thought as she panted. “Okay, okay, I can deal with this. I have to deal with this.”

Jane ascertained that she was in some kind of recovery room, naked except for the shoulder-length mitten-gloves but otherwise free to move about. She headed for the bathroom, pausing to look at herself in the mirror. “Holy shit!” Jane stared at herself; her hair was once again “electric blue” but it was her face that was really alarming. Jane had trouble recognizing herself through all the new, dramatic and very slutty tattooed-on makeup she now wore! Heavy blue eye shadow all the way to her eyebrows, thick eyeliner, blush, ruby-red lips, all permanent.

Jane couldn’t not look at her chest, it was bandaged and was absolutely huge compared to what it should have been. She squeezed one of the monster fun-bags between her mittens. Oww! Yep, they were real, and really tender! “So much for being able to get a tan below my chest,” Jane thought.

She stuck her tongue out at the mirror and gasped; there were four big, fat barbells with half-inch balls pierced through it, two on each side. Worse, an even more formidable D-ring pierced the center of her tongue and now created a leash point!

“Fuck mee! Aww, shit!” is what Jane tried to exclaim out loud, but all that came out was breathy hissing. She realized that her collared throat was very sore, right where her vocal chords would normally be. Horrible realization set in, along with a string of attempted screams that came out as “HHHHHhhhhhhHHHH!” The room spun and went black as Jane fainted.

She didn’t know how long she’d been out when she came to, but when she did she had a long, involved, freak-out session involving weeping, pounding on the walls and floor, and even rolling around and kicking like a toddler. She was down to periodic episodes of hyperventilating when the smartly-dressed fitment officer arrived. “I saw your antics on the monitor, what an embarrassment! I don’t know why you’re throwing a fit,” the woman scolded, “You signed up for the ‘Extreme’ program, and you checked off every single option and upgrade on the contract. You act like you didn’t even read it!”

“I’m fucked,” Jane mouthed silently as she slumped down onto the cot.

“Enjoy having those out and free while you can,” the fitment officer said as Jane stared incredulously into the mirror at her newly-unbandaged chest. She cradled her new, enormous, perfectly-spherical fake tits with her plastic-mittened hands and tried not to panic over the large and thick new rings that adorned her sore and swollen raspberry-colored nipples. Her nipples were about three times their normal size, and apparently had been pumped full of something to keep them that way. “As soon as you’re done healing, we’re going to put those lovely new melons of yours into their punishment cages. For today though, we’re going to get you into the rest of your new outfit.”

Jane apparently looked so lost and bewildered that the Fitment officer did a double-take and said “You did read the contract, didn’t you?” Jane shook her head, “no”.

“You have no idea what you’ve committed yourself to, what the rest of your life is going to be from now on?”

Jane gave her the “uh-uh” face and an insolent little shrug before the words “The rest of your life” sank in. Her eyes got very wide and she was the picture of alarm.

“I see, you thought you were just signing up for the four-year minimum? Well, you got the bonus plan, sweetie. You’re going to be all slutted up and wriggling around in extremely strict bondage and heavy discipline for the rest of your life.”

“NO!” Jane attempted to harden herself up and quit hyperventilating. She would escape! Wouldn’t she?

The officer continued, “Well, you won’t have seen this public punishment uniform anywhere before, it’s a brand-new design for the ‘Extreme’ program. Every aspect of it is designed to enforce and remind you of how totally controlled you are. The rewards and punishments program is going to really titillate your submissive needs and the outfit you’ll wear and the things that you’ll do to earn a reward will completely pin your humiliation-fetish meter. You will have absolutely zero freedom and at no time will you be even slightly comfortable; the sexual and other punishments built into this are going to make you a very happy little pain slut.”

“I’m SO fucked,” Jane said, which came out as “Hhh Sh Fhhhh.”

The fitment officer told this to Jane as she was fitting Jane into an amazing new corset. Constructed of the same tightly woven plastic fabric as her gloves and constructed over titanium stays, its design still allowed its wearer minimal flexibility while terribly constricting and reducing her torso. It covered Jane from her hip bones up to a pair of quarter-cups that pushed her firm new honeydew-melon plus-size breasts up obscenely high. Jane’s swollen and thickly-ringed nipples now pointed upwards at about thirty degrees.

The corset incorporated a shoulder harness that pulled Jane’s shoulders so far back she was sure her shoulder blades were touching. The constriction of the corset had not occurred from the usual method of lacing, but instead by a machine that squeezed her entire torso slowly down until the corset’s rear edges met and then cold-welded the plastic into an unbreakable seam, all while Jane fought desperately for air. The waist-reduction process had taken more than an hour, and Jane was past self-control. Once free of the machine, she tried to scream and fight, but instead fainted silently.

“Your body will adjust to the corset over time, it’ll get a little easier to breathe,” the fitment officer said after she brought Jane around with smelling salts. Wide-eyed, Jane panted shallowly as the officer continued, “Your waist is only seventeen inches now! It looks amazing, wait until we have you up in your new boots so you can see it.”

The ‘boots’ in question were more of the tight, super-heavy, black, shiny fabric, made into pussy-high stockings with integrated toe shoes. They were equipped with built-in shin-to-arch bracing that kept Jane’s feet in a slightly over-arched, past vertical position. The toe section was high-durability, safety-orange rubber. The shoes had no heel; Jane could now only walk in an enforced (and reinforced) ultra-pointe position leaving ‘footprints’ the size of a quarter. Jane noted that the ‘soles’ of the shoes (they’d never actually touch the ground) were the same bright, safety-orange as the tips of her bondage mittens and the toes of the boots.

As Jane tenuously tried to stand for the first time, she found out about the very special boots’ very special feature; when she put her weight onto the toes of her right foot, a tiny, flat speaker the size of a casino chip on the front of the boot said the word “Slut!” in the most bimbo-esque voice Jane had ever heard.

It quickly got worse; when Jane put any weight on her left toes, the speaker in that boot said the word “Pain”. Wobbling to the mirror sounded like “Painslutpainslutpainslutpainslut!” and was accompanied by peals of laughter from the fitment officer.

“I’d only heard about that feature, nobody’s ever signed up for it,” she wheezed. “I don’t dare tell my husband about it, he’ll have me locked up in a pair of those every night and all through the weekends,” she chortled.

Only then did she notice how beet red Jane had become, and how desperately she was trying to balance in place on her toes without taking another step. “Oh my! Look how red you are, you’re completely mortified, aren’t you? Well good, I know that’s what you humiliation girls are into, I’m glad you like them.” She giggled again and added “The really fun part is that your ‘talking toe-boots’ change what they say every twenty-four hours. I heard the design department was absolutely losing it, coming up with all the things those boots are going to say!”

“Hh FHHH Hh! (Aw, fuck me!)” Jane replied, rolling her eyes.

Jane took two more doe-like steps towards the mirror ‘Pain slut!’ and stared at herself. “Okay, fuck. This is a really hot look,” she admitted, staring at her huge, round, thickly-pierced tits, her impossibly tiny, corseted waist and the incredible length of her permanently en-pointe legs. She wobbled, moving a foot slightly “Slut!”.

“That’s going to make me die of embarrassment, though,” she groaned soundlessly.

She looked at the tall, tight stainless-steel collar and blushed even more deeply as she read the large, orange-epoxy-filled letters, “Titty Tart”. There was other lettering below that but Jane didn’t read it; her eyes were glued in horror to the welds that ran up each side of the collar. Jane moaned silently and sagged with the realization that the uncomfortable, heavy thing was permanent, there’d be no escape from being “Titty Tart”, ever.

“Alright then, march your pretty self back here, it’s time to put the rest of your outfit on. Or maybe I should say, in?” Jane stared in horror at the two huge dildos the officer was holding, and at the too-small appearing chastity belt laying open on the fitment bench. Jane didn’t move. “NOW, pretty.” The officer set down one of the dildos and picked up a remote control. “I guess it’s time for a little education,” the woman said with a raised eyebrow.

She pushed a button and the implanted vibrator running the length of Jane’s clitoral nerve bundle awoke within her. Jane’s eyes flew open and her hard, plastic mitts flew to her sex. She stumbled, causing the speakers in her boots to announce her new words-of-the-day yet again. The vibrator started softly, then turned up and up. Jane’s eyes rolled up and crossed as she screamed soundlessly.

Just as quickly, the vibration stopped. “That’s what good girls get, would you like to try the punishment settings? You may remember them from your collar fitment.” Jane shook her head ‘no’ and obediently returned to the fitment table. Her balance on her toes was improving, but her opinion of the boots’ announcing what she was with every step was not.

Jane was surprised when the officer unzipped and wiggled out of her short, tight skirt, revealing garter stockings and a nude, cleanly shaven pussy, decorated with a thick ring piercing her clit and a large tattoo that said SLAVE in bold, two-inch-tall letters just above it. The woman leaned back against the fitment bench and said “On your knees, pretty,” while unbuttoning her blouse to reveal long, pierced and thickly-ringed red-brown nipples.

Wide-eyed, Jane knelt. For the first time, she noticed the locks on the ankle straps of the officer’s six-inch stiletto heels. Jane tapped on one of the locks with a mittened hand and looked up at the fitment officer with a coy and questioning expression on her face. “Yes nosy, I’m Master’s good girl. These are my work heels. After work, overnight and on weekends I’m gagged, collared and locked up in a full punishment uniform with all the accessories, including felony hobbles and ballet-toe heels.” Jane wiggled, smiled and didn’t have to be told to start licking the officer’s pussy. She was doing so when the officer moved the remote control into Jane’s peripheral view. “Remember what good, energetic girls get, and also remember that girls who don’t work hard enough get their attitudes adjusted. Ultimately, everybody becomes a good girl.”

Jane redoubled her efforts, ignoring the protestations coming from her still-sore, heavily-pierced tongue.

Minutes later, she was getting the woman close, but needed something to push her over the edge; Jane slid one of her small, smooth, hard plastic mittens up the inside of one of the stocking-wrapped thighs and pressed up into the soaking pussy, all while licking furiously at the woman’s clit, their jewelry clicking together like castanets. The woman gasped and moaned and thrust her hips as Jane continued the upward pressure with her small, smooth, ovoid-captured hand. There! Her hand was inside, and she started fucking the woman in earnest while continuing with her tongue.

A short moment later the woman was cumming, whipping her hair around while pulling, rolling and pinching her ringed nipples very hard. Panting and wobbly, she said “You’re… a… Very good girl. Now, please pull your hand out.”

Jane smiled brightly and shook her head coquettishly “No”, pointing to the remote control with her other mitten, and then to her own pussy. With her right hand, she kept slowly fucking the woman’s now super-sensitive pussy.

“Ohhh! Minx! I could just zap you with this,” the woman threatened.

Jane did her best “pouty with puppydog eyes” face and kept fucking.

The woman shook, moaned and said “All right then,” with a deviously raised eyebrow.

Jane didn’t remember pulling her mitten out of the officers’ pussy. Jane couldn’t really remember her name. All she knew was that she’d die if she had another thrashing, kicking, hair-whipping ultra-orgasm like the last six, or was it eight, she didn’t know. How she’d managed to climb back onto her knees and silently beg for mercy was a mystery.

“Oh, are you finally sated?” The woman laughed and turned Jane’s vibrator off. Jane collapsed on the floor, panting in deep, silent gasps. “No time for that, pretty. Up on the bench, let’s get those holes of yours stuffed full of toys.” “Pain-Slut!” Jane’s boots announced in fast cadence as she obeyed.

At first, Jane didn’t think that being tightly strapped down, bent-over, legs straight and ass-high on the tall stand, was really necessary. She was willing to be a good girl and take what was coming, she thought. In a moment of clarity between her silent screams (HHHHHhhhhHH!!), she realized that being secured in place was very necessary. She wrenched against the straps holding her wrists, as her attempted screams came in time with the fitment officer’s pushes on the long, fat, greasy punishment dildo.

Jane could see the progress in the mirror off to the side; the horrible thing was now just three inches into her very tight little asshole, with another seven inches more still to come! Jane had thought that her ass could simply open up to take the big orange intruder, after all, that’s what all those girls’ butts did in all that porn she watched.. HHHHHhhhHHH! The woman had her blouse open again and was alternately pulling on her own pierced nipples and rubbing her clit with one hand as she worked the big dildo up the much-suffering Jane’s ass with the other. “This would be really hot if I wasn’t dying!” thought Jane, between silent screams.

A seeming eternity later, the anal punisher was finally all the way into Jane’s drum-tight and spasming bottom. Without any pause, the still-skirtless officer began pushing a second thick, orange intruder into Jane’s small, smooth and pink-skinned pussy. With most of her nether-region space taken up by the fat tormenter in her ass, the insertion of the second dildo was neither welcome nor easy. Soundlessly, Jane screamed and screamed, then even more so when “officer stockings” used the remote control to fire up Jane’s vibrating implant again. Her last thought before passing out was “This hurts so much! How can I be cumming when it hurts so much?”  A moment later, the nasal burn of the smelling salts brought her around again.

Two inches of each of the ends of Jane’s hostile new occupiers protruded through the crotch panel of her too-tight stainless-steel chastity belt. The front one was fitted with a leash ring, while the rear was equipped with a large, spring-loaded plug. The rear dildo was hollow and open at its tip, to allow for its victims’ multiple daily enemas to pass through. The fitment officer, still in a state of semi-undress, ordered a very wobbly Jane try out the automatic enema machine; she obeyed, backing carefully onto the metal probe which pushed the spring-loaded plug out of the way, and was startled when something clicked, locking her in place on the device. Warm (thankfully!) water rushed up into Jane’s over-stuffed plumbing until she was wide-eyed and flapping her mittens in protest. Just as quickly, the water and whatever else was pulled back out. Jane was filled to capacity and emptied four times in as many minutes. She nearly fell over when the machine clicked again, withdrawing its probe and releasing her. “And that’s how you’ll go poop from now on!” giggled the officer. She’d been much entertained by the flapping mittens and expressions on Jane’s face as she was forcibly evacuated.

“Well, except for some small accessories and the titty cages you’ll be fitted with later, this is the outfit you’ll be wearing for the rest of your life. How do you like it?” Officer stockings asked.

Electric Jane was still coming to terms with the wide new ankle cuffs she now wore, and the fact that she was now permanently limited to eight-inch steps by the chain that hung between them. She was entirely sure she didn’t like the outfit; Not only was her tongue full of steel, she couldn’t speak, she effectively had no hands, she was forced to only take tiny, hobbled steps, high up on her ballet-tip-toes, she could hardly breath, she couldn’t stand the punishers in her pussy and ass for another second, and her tits were so big they threw her balance off.

She stared at herself in the mirror and thought “I do look fucking hot, though.”

“Well?” asked the officer, her eyebrow raised. Never one to miss an opportunity to shock, Jane smiled sweetly, curtsied, gathered the startled officer in for a seriously hot kiss, then sank to her knees to give the officer’s pussy another thorough licking and mittened fist-fucking.

Jane lay on the floor, coming around from a second session of near-death-by-forced-orgasms as the worn-out (and a bit giddy) officer squirmed her way back into her too-tight and not-professional length skirt. She adjusted her stockings and said mostly to herself, “Don’t want to annoy Master with uneven stocking tops or crooked seams.” Then she addressed Jane and said “Well, you certainly live up to your old moniker, “Electric Jane”. You’re a real handful, I’m going to pull some strings and get the position as your maintenance officer. We’ll be doing this every two weeks when you’re in for maintenance and re-fit.”

Jane sat bolt upright, then scrambled to her feet which declared “Pain Slut!” through their tiny speakers. Jane was wide-eyed and silently mouthed “You know who I am?” The officer laughed, but not in a mean way. “Of course we do, sweetie. The facial-recognition cameras picked you up before you ever got into the building. You didn’t set off the metal detectors, no guns, so we watched to see what you were up to. Sure enough, it was the old “volunteer-punishment-uniform-disguise” trick. Do you have any idea how many women try to hide from warrants and bad debts and all kinds of other trouble by signing up for volunteer punishment uniform wear?” She laughed at Jane’s deeply embarrassed blush and continued with a giggle, “We let them all come on in and sign right up. I have to admit, the enrollment officer wasn’t completely honest with you, there were openings in all the different levels of uniform. Being as you’re ‘Electric Jane’ though, she led you off into the deep end of the program. It’s all good, you saved everybody from going through a big, expensive trial with a lot of publicity; the state is content with the level of lifetime punishment you’re enrolled in. So, how’s it feel knowing that you’re no longer wanted by the police, but that you’re in for a lifetime of forced orgasms, sexual servitude, humiliation and continuous, strict bondage?”

Jane tapped one of her toes against the floor a few times, and then the other. The result was “Pain. Painpainpain pain. Slut.” Officer ‘stockings’ laughed and said “Very clever, Titty-tart. Oh, by the way, that’s actually your legal name now.” Titty tart rolled her eyes and sank carefully down to her knees. She was going to be doing everything carefully for a long time, especially trying to get used to the long, thick punishment dildos locked into her much-suffering openings.


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