Ruth
Ruth had always been taller than me, a fact that both bothered her, and one that she liked to tease me with. Now, she is much taller than me, due to the eight-inch tall, ballet-toed stiletto heels that are locked securely onto her large (size ten, women’s) feet. She had always walked impatiently ahead of me, annoyed, her long, athletic Amazon strides, seemingly designed to emasculate my more normal pace. Now I am the patient one, holding her arm as she wriggles along, high on her toes, her knees hobbled closely together. Her bottom moves delightfully, well above the ground, rolling and jouncing obscenely under the way-too-short little grey prisoner’s dress that is now her daily uniform.
Ruth used to be a corrections officer. She was in this field for a full dozen years, almost as long as we’ve been married. She loved the work. Her body, build and temperament seemed designed for it; She is a naturally cruel, even sadistic, six-foot tall woman, who enjoyed her daily workouts and the domination of the hapless women that fell under her control in the corrections system. Her nickname, among both the inmates and her fellow corrections officers, was “Ruthless Ruth”. She was known as the biggest, strongest, meanest female “screw” in the system, and was feared by all, her co-workers included.
How I got her to marry me is still a mystery; At 5’ 9”, I am shorter than she is. At 160 pounds, I’m lighter than her well-muscled 165. As she was all too quick to point out, even in front of family and friends, I was not the world’s greatest lover. Perhaps it was my dedication to the project of wooing her that finally won out, or perhaps the fact that (due to her abrasive personality) there was absolutely no competition for her hand. Maybe she’d thought that someone as bookish and intellectual as myself might be clever enough to earn a life of luxury for her. My somewhat self-destructive interest in her was/is based on an obsessive lust for her long, muscular legs, hourglass-sculptured torso and gravity-defying double “F” cup bosom. Sadly, she kept our sexual encounters to once every month or two, and then only relented to me out of the desire to shut me up. During the act, she was always quick to point out my inadequacies, and ridicule everything from my size to my stamina.
Sex, at least for me, has been much better since Ruth’s conviction. While a woman in the corrections system is specifically prevented from reaching orgasm, they did institute a set of rules known as “Husband’s rights”. It seemed to the lawmakers that while a convict should be punished, the withholding of her womanly charms from her husband constituted an unusual and unconstitutional hardship on her spouse, whom was legally and morally obligated to remain sexually faithful to her.
Therefore, it was determined that the husband should be allowed access to the convict-wife’s mouth or anus for his pleasure, for a period of one hour, with up to three such periods allowed each day. Previously, Ruth would’ve snorted in derision at the mere suggestion that she perform oral sex on me, and probably would’ve reacted with physical violence (not the first time) upon my person had I even mentioned anal sex. Now, with the help of my court-supplied electronic key, it’s my choice of which I’m in the mood for, any time I like.
The trial was a brief one; I covertly worked on the side of the prosecutor whose job it was to prove Ruth’s guilt. Ruth had been discovered taking bribes from convicts who were serving in the “Get tough on Morality” program, and it was the state’s legal position that this was a morality crime in itself, as she had tampered with the size of the punishment devices inserted into the convicted’s sexual, anal and oral openings, as well as the number of months or even years that a convict would endure them.
To Ruth’s horror, the courts agreed. She would now serve no less than four years secured in the very same punishment and humiliation devices, and do so while wearing the same uniform that she had taken such joy in forcing others to endure. Ironically, she would be allowed to continue in her employment as a corrections officer, still in her previous position of fitment and maintenance of correctional devices. I could only imagine the confused looks of the recently convicted, as they were put into corrections gear by a woman who is secured in it herself!
Finding a convicted woman who would go along with my scheme of turning in “Ruthless Ruth” for taking a bribe had been easy. The convict had even turned down my repeated offers of recompense for her service, wanting only “A chance to get at that BITCH!”. She was however, quite unhappy with the courts’ sentencing her to an additional five years in public discipline and restraint, in that she had openly admitted to the felony of committing bribery of a corrections officer. She kept her mouth shut about the set-up however, perhaps feeling that her revenge on the hated Ruth was still worth the price of the additional years she would spend in the terrible discomfort and public humiliation of the correctional devices and uniform.
Ruth’s co-workers were delighted at the opportunity to give the big, bullying bitch her come-uppence. I provided them with a video camera, and they cheerfully agreed to record the event for posterity. I love watching that recording, and have numerous copies in safe places, should Ruth ever get the chance to destroy one. I am working through the last of the legalities, and will soon be posting the it all over the internet.
I enjoy it when people stare at her curvaceous, Amazon figure, so obscenely displayed, so helpless in its’ bonds. I take her out to dinner, usually two or three times a week. I always park the car at the distant end of the mall from the restaurant we’ll be patronizing, and I make sure that we dine at the absolute busiest times. I attach a six-foot leash to the ring at the back of her collar, and I walk behind her, taking in the view as she struggles along ahead of me. She’s bumped, jostled and ogled and often groped by crowds of people while she wriggles the six to eight block distance in the crowded mall to get to the restaurant. Ruth’s eyes shoot daggers and she blushes furiously at the covert pinches, wolf whistles and stares.
I cannot let him find out what this does to me!
Once there, I like to make her stand (while I sit) for the hour or so while we wait for a table. I’ll often attach her leash to a coat hook or some other anchor, just for the look of the thing. Her long, muscular legs are beautifully displayed in the shiny, super-heavy-duty, back-seamed tights of her convict’s uniform. She’s forced to remain in constant motion to maintain her balance in the one-size-too-small, eight-inch tall, “ballet-toe” stiletto heels. This balancing act is further hampered by her closely linked knee hobbles, which sport a link-bar with ball-swivel ends between the tight bands positioned just above her knees. The unforgiving little bar enforces a constant three-inch distance between her knees, no more or less. An intersecting bar is ball-mounted between the two dildos in her chastity and tees into the knee link bar of her hobble. The whole apparatus is constructed of highly polished stainless steel, and sports clever little ball-and-socket joints at the ends of each bar to allow for movement.
Eventually, we get sat at a table. Of course, only I get to eat, as she sits, posture-perfect and totally silent across from me. Her mouth is completely full, jacked cruelly open by the size 2XL gag that’s locked securely into her straining orifice. I know that the gag’s penis-like shape bothers her almost as much as the very fact that she’s being made to wear such a horrible, humiliating, and terribly uncomfortable device on public display. Per the guidelines of her sentence, the big gag is secured in place every evening by six p.m.; If she’s a even a minute late getting it in place, she immediately experiences painful, electronic “reminder” shocks from her vaginal punishment dildo for non-compliance, along with an automatic extra month of time added to her sentence for each offence. She sucks the fat, garishly-colored rubber penis all night, every night, and is relieved of it only during work hours. On weekends she gets no reprieve, day or night, unless you count performing forced fellatio on me a “reprieve”. Like her other plugs, it’s day-glow, “Safety Orange” color makes sure that no one will miss it’s presence, locked deeply in her straining mouth.
I have replayed the video again and again, so I can watch the part where the half-dozen burly, mean, female guards force the enormous punishment dildo fully up Ruth’s virgin ass. It seems that there was a mistake on her paperwork, and instead of “small”, the size of her anal discipline was written down as “Extra large, no taper”. Her sphincter and anus are now held at full, painful stretch around a ten-inch-long dildo that has the diameter of a soda can.
She had thought that she was aware of what lay ahead of her when she went to be fitted into her punishment uniform, and she was resigned, even complacent, as she stripped down. She was cooperative when the guards had secured her wrists high into the overhead cuffs, and then spread her ankles widely to reach their floor-mounted restraints. There was no complaint when they lathered her from the neck down with the permanent hair removal solution. She didn’t fight when they put her into the super-strong, ultra-stretchy, back-seamed pantyhose, crotchless to expose her anal and vaginal openings. She was still quiet, but finally struggled ferociously as she was held down and handcuffed, thrashing her head back and forth to avoid having the too-large penis gag forced into her mouth. A quick burst with a shock gun stunned her just long enough to allow the guards to jam the huge orange phallus into her mouth and lock it into place with a wide, stainless steel band that clicked shut tightly behind her head. Still, not a peep.
But oh, how she screamed into that gag as the huge, well-lubricated, safety orange invader forced open her virgin sphincter! The matching “Extra large, with pain nubs” dildo that was greased and jammed into her newly depiliated vagina brought a renewed level of agonized howling around the fat rubber cock in her mouth.
Now plugged, dildoed, gagged and handcuffed, she struggled weakly and wept copiously as the shining, polished, stainless steel chastity belt was fitted around her. As had always been her habit when fitting others, the device was measured many inches smaller than her actual waist size, as was the measurement for the crotch band that would secure the punishment/humiliation dildos into her openings. Her normal twenty-eight inch waist is now inflexibly cinched to a miserable, painful, twenty-three inches. The wide, merciless crotch band bites deeply along it’s path down her belly and crushes her sex while denying access to her clit, then forces her bottom wide apart as it ascends to join the back of the cruelly tight waist band. By design, the ends of the safety-orange punishers protrude fully two inches through the shining, stainless crotch band, so that they can be easily seen from any angle, maximizing the convict’s level of humiliation.
To complete her punishment ensemble and utter debasement, the guards had shown her the tall, polished stainless collar that would be locked around her throat for years to come. It’s inscription drew one last indignant shriek from Ruth’s gagged mouth and nose, and then the slightly-too-snug-for-comfort band of metal was forced closed around her neck by a number of hands.
I had no idea that my “friends”, the treacherous bitches, had it in for me to such an extent. Even weeks later, these dildos, especially the tubular, “enema-ready” one in my butt, continue to be nothing less than agonizing. I can count the “pain nubs” on the monster that’s locked up into my pussy, and using the enema kit to evacuate myself every day is awful. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it. I feel like I can barely breath past this collar and the waistband of my chastity belt, and don’t get me started about my poor tits! I can’t believe the difference between my fantasies of how this would be, and the reality. Although...
Sitting across from me at the restaurant, Ruth is forced to balance uncomfortably on the projecting ends of the two huge, orange intruders. Knowing this, I always choose restaurants with hard, wooden seating for our (my) evening repasts.
I enjoy my wife’s newfound perfect, upright, shoulders-well-back posture as well. Ruth is now unable to slouch, a fact brought about by her high-density plastic chest plate, with its terribly restricting shoulder restraint straps. Her previously magnificent double “F” cup breasts appear even larger now, made almost cartoonish in their size and shape by being forced through terrible, cruelly small openings of only four inches in her tightly-strapped clear plastic chest plate. Unlike the older models that were originally used on the first women to be put into the punishment uniforms, Ruth’s chest plate and breast cups are constructed out of clear lexan.
She suffers in the most recent model, in which the cups are lined throughout with pointed nubs that dig deeply into her tightly-stretched tit skin. Her darkly-pigmented nipples have been pierced, and thick, 4-gauge piercing bars are used to hold her tortured nipples stretched through one-inch, clear, tubular portions at the tip of each breast form. Stainless “stirrups” dangle from each piercing bar, allowing a guard, husband, or whomever to pull and twist on them, for purpose of discipline or control. I have attached with single links a pair of heavily-sprung alligator clips to these stirrups, and I apply them to the exposed tips of Ruth’s nipples as a performance incentive while she services me orally. The better her performance, the sooner the clamps come off. Unless I forget to take them off for a while, which I sometimes do.
The tall, stainless steel collar around her throat, graced with attachment rings front and rear, is emblazoned in large letters with the words “Convicted Prostitute, Florida Dept. of Corrections”. While Ruth was not arrested nor convicted for prostitution, the “Convicted Habitual Prostitute” collar was what they had in stock at the correctional facility, and it’s much more humiliating for her than “Corrupt Federal Employee”.
The posture collar barely lets her chin drop far enough to see her breasts. Ruth has always hated her huge breasts, calling them “Useless”, “In the way” and much to my horror, often talked about getting a breast reduction. She is fully aware now that she will never, ever, be free of her embarrassingly large, porn-star-sized breasts. She is equally aware that her thin, grey elastic “convict’s uniform” is very tight, and constructed of the same material as her uniform’s glossy tan hosiery. Possibly by design, it is pulled so tight across her breasts that it becomes very sheer, and her dark, painfully stretched areolas and nipples with their heavy piercings and dangling clamps are clearly visible through it, at any angle and in any light, displaying her huge, terribly punished breasts more obscenely than simple nudity ever could.
Ruth never used to wear makeup or even any jewelry, not even a wedding ring, despite the fact that I placed a very expensive and beautiful one on her finger at our wedding. That’s changed now. Even after her conviction, she initially refused my requests for her to wear such things, so, I purchased a large, flat wooden paddle. It’s the sort you’d see at a frat house for hazing pledges, and much resembles a Cricket bat. Ruth’s eyes showed murderous intent when she first saw the thing, a week after she’d been fitted with her devices and uniform. I’d asked her co-workers to handcuff her for me (hinge cuffs, short-chained up to the back ring of her collar) at the end of her shift, and to put her gag in place for the night. Once home, I clipped a short, heavy leash onto her collar and dragged her, struggling and protesting into the kitchen. I pulled her onto our large kitchen island, forcing her to bend over it, and secured her leash to a heavy hook I’d installed on the other side.
I didn’t count how many times I brought the paddle down with a full swing and a lot of anger onto her upturned ass; I do know that after minutes of steady paddling, I was sweating, and Ruth’s gagged screams were no more than hoarse raspings from her exhausted throat. The heavy tights of her convict’s uniform completely concealed the bruising that must’ve covered every inch of her big, beautiful ass and upper thighs.
I pulled her to her feet as she sobbed in pain and humiliation. Pulling her face down to mine, I informed her “You WILL obey me, from now on, in all things”. Rebellion flared in her eyes and I raised the paddle into her peripheral vision. Her look became one of terror, and she hurredly nodded, mmphing “mm-hmm! mm-hmm!” around the safety orange phallus locked into her mouth. I used the “Husband’s Rights” key for the first time that night, and enjoyed the first blowjob I’d ever gotten from my angry, kneeling, handcuffed wife during our twelve years of marriage.
Not wanting to give her an opportunity to cause me damage, I first fitted her with a large “ring” gag (supplied by the state, via Ruth’s co-workers) that kept her mouth as forced open as the corrections plug does. I have to admit, I relished her anger and humiliation as I forced her to swallow my semen! Her voice trembled with rage as, at my instruction, she was made to say “Thank you, Master!” in a falsely sweet voice before I locked the government’s silencer back into her mouth for the night.
Stanley is a man, after all! He actually broke me with that horrible beating. I’d have done anything he said to make him stop after the first dozen or so. Strangely, every rude, awful thing I’d ever said or done to him passed through my mind as he made me scream myself hoarse. The “ring-gag” thingy that he used to hold my mouth open was totally unnecessary. I’d have sucked his cock all night if he’d have let me.
I made her wait for a full hour, the taste of my ejaculate strong on her tongue, before allowing her to suck water and her liquified dinner through the feeding hole in her gag. Ruth’s co-workers had not provided me with a key to her handcuffs or the short chain linking them to the leash ring on the back of her collar, and so she spent a very uncomfortable night in them with her wrists chained high and tight between her shoulder blades.
Her fear of the paddle facilitated my gaining her coerced cooperation from then on. For example, when I took her to a beauty salon to get permanent, tattooed-on makeup; She signed the forms with a hand that trembled with rage, and in a low, deadly voice, she recited to the salon technician the lines I’d made her memorize: “I’d like it to be extremely dramatic, please. I want very heavy eye shadow and liner, blush, and very dark red lips with heavy lip liner as well”.
I made her give the girl a picture that I’d downloaded and printed off the internet; I got it from a porn site, and the girl in the picture was heavily painted up as a complete and unmistakable whore. “I’d like to look exactly like this please, and money’s no object. Isn’t she just beautiful?” Ruth had positively choked out the last few words. It took the beautician all day, plus a number of return visits to make Ruth look exactly like the porn star in the picture.
To go with her permanent new “ultra-slut” makeup, Ruth now wears her hair fully styled and very “big”, yet short enough to display her collar from all angles, as well as the variety of enormous, dangling earrings that she now wears at all times. Her wrists are resplendent with many bracelets, her nails are long, very red, and meticulously maintained, and her wedding ring is in place on her ring finger. I had it re-fitted one size smaller, and engraved with “slave” on one side of the diamond and “slut” on the other, with the biggest letters that would fit on the wide band. The new engraving on her wedding band is inlaid with her new favorite color, safety orange, to match her dildos and gag, as well as the heels on her ballet-toe shoes.
Of course, these changes came after her second court appearance. You see, a convict in the “Get tough on morality” program is to report to the corrections facility twice a month, for a full cleaning (inside and out!), toe-nail clipping, hosiery change and correctional device check-out and adjustment. It’s during these times that “Ruthless Ruth” used to delight in reducing waist sizes and increasing the heel heights as well as the dildo and gag sizes of the punishment regimen worn by the women serving time in the program. This time, it was she who was inspected, cleaned, “adjusted”, and so on.
It came as a complete surprise to Ruth when the inspecting guard called in additional security. Ruth didn’t even have time to fight before she was pinned down and secured onto an inspection table. “Of all people to try to cut their way out of the belt, what the hell were you thinking?” Ruth shook her head in frantic denial, making frantic “Mm-mmm! M-mmmm!” noises through her gag.
“Oh, and I suppose this lock just took a grinder to ITSELF, then?” the guard smirked. In her defense, Ruth had slept, knocked out by the heavy sedative I’d slipped into her liquid dinner while I used my angle grinder to scar up the lock on her chastity belt the night before her monthly inspection.
Stanley, in his usual incompetence, did not give me a strong enough dose of whatever that was that he tried to knock me out with, and I was wide awake. I’d seen the newly purchased grinder stashed under the bed. I knew what was coming. The hardest part was laying still while the sparks hit me here and there!
Ruth got to contemplate the mystery of that ground-up, nearly-destroyed lock for two days in a small cell, wrists cuffed behind her to a waist chain, gagged, ankle cuffed, and without even the tiny excuse for a prisoner’s uniform to cover her transparent breast punishment. Her cell mates, a group of three, not-yet restrained, college-age exotic dancers who’d been arrested for offering more than just dances, made good use of Ruth’s nipple piercings. Ruth took involuntary courses in tip-toe tap dancing, sensuous floor crawling, and the art of barking like a dog through a penis gag to avoid being nipple tortured and spanked.
I hope they stuff punishers the size of fire hydrants up those little bitches! Ooo, if only I hadn’t been restrained!!
The beauty of a “morality” convict’s court appearances are that they do not usually require the program participant to have her gag removed; This simplifies and expedites the proceedings nicely, as well as keeping court and lawyer fees down. Such was Ruth’s case; She was brought out into a courtroom as part of a chained coffle of wrist and ankle manacled convicts, or convicts-to-be. During a typical court proceeding, each woman gets about three minutes to stand on a low stage before the judge, mostly naked, securely chained with wrists cuffed behind her, gagged, butt plugged, dildoed, balancing in ultra-high heels and suffering in a transparent plastic breast punishment device, all in front of a large, crowded courtroom full of flashing cameras, reporters, videographers, and hundreds of other people.
The judge barely glanced down at her, then said “Oh it’s the corrupt guard, in front of me again, so soon? And let’s see, what’ve you been up to now..” She peered at the paperwork in Ruth’s file, “Oh, now you want to escape, is that it?”
Unable to reply out loud, Ruth glared back, and adamantly shook her head “No!”.
“Well you should’ve thought of that before you tried to cut a lock off of one of your correctional devices.” Ruth shuddered with the implications of what was to come next.
The judge shifted forward in her seat and glowered down at Ruth with a scowl that only made it’s way into her courtroom once or twice a year. “Well officer, as you are entirely aware, attempted escape and willful destruction to state correctional property are both felonies, making you no longer eligible to work in corrections. The escape attempt carries a five-year minimum, eight-year maximum sentence. The willful destruction carries another three-year minimum, five year maximum on top of that. The fact that you are, or were, a corrections officer and were well aware of the consequences of your unlawful actions influences me to impose the maximum allowable on both charges. Further, I see that I was mistaken in my decision of only a month ago to give you the minimum in a four to ten year sentence for corruption.”
Ruth stood staring while shaking in fear, anger and disbelief, every muscle tight, her eyes wide and rimmed with tears of helpless rage and frustration. She couldn’t tear her gaze away from the woman in the black robes, seated just on the other side of the bench; The woman who had just announced the end of Ruth’s career, and for that matter, her life as she knew it!
That little bitch! She was certainly a different person when she’d come to me three years ago, all embarrassed and blushing, wanting to be fitted for, and then “sign out” a full compliment of corrections equipment for herself, a complete uniform including punishment stilettos for “research purposes”. “I feel that I should have a complete understanding of what it is that I’m sentencing so many other women to wear. Oh, and we don’t need to mention this to anyone, do we officer?”
She didn’t notice that the ‘Voluntary wear’ form* I had her sign had the ‘Felon level restraint’ and the ‘Indefinite/lifetime’ duration boxes checked, and even initialed them for me without reading it.
Little miss judge got what she wanted, and has a complete understanding of the corrections uniforms now! She sure didn’t like it when she realized how much it HURTS to have big dildos locked up her puss and butt. Six-inch stilettos aren’t easy to walk in, and that tit bondage and nipple stretching are designed to punish!
It’s her own damn fault that she’s locked in the same punishment gear under her robes, that she has to sleep gagged and with her arms fastened tight behind her back every night, just like all these girls that she sentences. I just hope that my co-workers keep tightening her belt and increasing her plug sizes and heel height every month like I was. At least I know they’ll never, ever, let her out of any of it!
The judge continued, now angry at the apparent insolence of the bound Amazon glaring back at her, “You are hereby sentenced to serve the full ten year maximum of your previous judgment, plus another eight for attempted escape, and I'm going to give you the full five years for the willful destruction of property. That's a total of twenty-three years, officer. You are to serve this time in public chastity, restraints and uniform. As you are aware, there is no time awarded in the “Get tough on morality” program for good behavior, and no such thing as parole or any type of early release. You will serve every
last minute of this twenty-three year sentence, minus the 30 days you’ve already served. If you should feel so inclined to attempt escape again, this becomes an automatic life sentence.”
*The ‘voluntary wear form’ came about as at the request of a certain, small percentage of women who had already served time in corrections gear, and for various reasons wished to continue to do so. It was an initial surprise to those running the program, as had been the just over 50% of ex-convict women whom, upon release, purchased the corrections gear they had worn during their sentence from the state.
There were abuses and unfortunate choices made, of course. One love-besotted young woman, on her eighteenth birthday, appeared at the corrections facility and announced that as a pre-nuptial agreement with her fiancée, she was to wear a corrections uniform for her hubby-to-be, as he liked that sort of thing.
Against strong counseling from all present, the girl passed over the 1, 5 and 10 year options, instead checking and initialing the ‘indefinite/lifetime’ box, as well as the ‘felony level restraint’ box. She of course had no idea what she was really in for, and two days later she was released to hobble slowly away, knees banded closely together, high on her toes in locked on 6” punishment pumps, weeping disconsolately around the huge gag locked in her mouth, her newly-pierced nipples and tightly confined breasts in terrible discomfort, waist cruelly cinched, her lower openings hugely occupied, and sporting a tall and snug fitting welded-on collar. She hadn’t counted on the humiliation of her new, too-short, too-tight lycra dress, showing off most of her bottom as well as the ends of the punishment dildos that protruded through her chastity belt.
She managed to finish out her senior year in high school, one of only a couple of girls there in corrections gear. The wedding engagement did not last, and she found herself alone, trying to reconcile herself to the fact that she’d irrevocably volunteered herself into spending every day of the rest her life enduring the strict, painful and humiliating bondage and continuous sexual violation provided by her corrections uniform.
The judge picked up a laminated piece of paper and said “And here’s the ‘Now you’re a felon!’ boilerplate, officer. I’ll bet you’ve already heard this a thousand times, but listen along, anyway.” She cleared her throat and read, “As a felon on release in the community, your collar becomes a lifetime mark. Per our statutes, it must be made irremovable, and is to be welded in place. (The collar she’s got on, under her judge’s robes is welded closed, and it says “Slutty little masochist, cums when caned”!) Also, as a felon with a history of attempted escape, you are now subject to the state's public safety restraint system. This means that your home will be equipped with a timed “auto-sleeve” device. At seven p.m. each evening, you are to place your wrists and forearms behind you and into the auto-sleeve. It will engage automatically, wrapping your hands and arms together into one unit, from finger-tips to elbows (She should know, she’s secured every night by the same unit at her house!). Once sleeved, you will be free to move about, and even leave your residence. You will return to the auto-sleeve machine at seven a.m. each morning to be released, at which time you will undertake wholesome daily activities. If you fail to report to your auto-sleeve machine for release by 7:05 a.m., you will have to wait for a full 24-hour cycle before release is again possible. Do you understand?"
I still don’t know how everyone in that packed courtroom failed to see me have that huge, mind-blowing orgasm. It had been building for a month!
The enormity of her future apparently overwhelmed Ruth. She managed to nod, convulse oddly for about ten seconds, and then fainted dead away into the arms of the guards on either side of her.
When she was released to me two days later, I saw that the court had made good on it’s promise to have Ruth’s collar welded permanently shut. Further, she had enjoyed wearing one of the new “Auto-sleeves” for nearly the whole of the last 48 hours. It had been installed onto her immediately after the trial, and I admired how it glued her forearms together behind her, containing them from fingertip to elbow. The corrections officers, Ruth’s former co-workers, openly laughed as I clipped a fancy leash onto her front collar ring.
“Gooood Ruthie!” they called out to her as I led her, mincing along in her brand-new, ballet-toe, stiletto-heeled punishment shoes. “You heel, Ruthie!”
And heel she did.
And that is the story of how I finally got what I’d always fantasized about. My husband finally took on the role of “man” in our marriage, and dominates me completely. I am kept under continuous control, used and displayed as a tormented, disciplined, sexual object and toy. Of course, the reality is not always as good as the fantasy, and it’s always very, very uncomfortable. But, oh those moments, my arms sleeved together behind me, utterly helpless, leashed, painfully dildo-fucked in my mouth, pussy and my poor aching ass, my nipples terribly stretched and often cruelly clamped as I’m marched along on my tip-toes in a see-through micro-dress, collared and leashed in front of hundreds of staring people... Oh, the humiliation! I have to disguise my small orgasms as “stiletto stumbles” and hope that people don’t realize why I’m really breathing so hard!
Epilogue, five years later.
Ruth is now employed as my secretary, at my small but lucrative business. She is not allowed to sit, instead standing astride a tall wooden “tee”, balancing on the ends of her anal and vaginal punishment plugs that protrude through her chastity belt. Her weight is divided equally between her ballet-toe shoes and her dildos. Her waist-height desk is to be kept empty, as it is made of clear glass, and I want her to be visible through it when customers walk in.
Ruth now curtseys prettily to me whenever she enters or leaves the room. She also curtseys before crawling under my desk, to spend hours of her un-gagged time during the day with my manhood in her mouth.
She now wears fishnet stockings and a garter belt, in conjunction with her “normal” convict’s uniform, over the top of her thick, shiny convict hosiery. It’s a very fetching look on her, with her stocking tops and garters exposed below the hem of her sheer little daily uniform, as well as the “tits-uncovered” French maid’s uniform that she wears at our house (with small bells hung from her nipple stirrups), and especially to entertain friends. I send a fresh set of high-quality, “dance” grade fishnet stockings in with her to her inspection every two weeks, and the corrections officers are happy to make her put them on before locking her pointe-stiletto shoes and knee hobbles in place.
Ruth is still angry at me for the whole “escape” thing, but now somewhat less so. About two years ago, I discovered that if I secured a large, massage-type vibrator to the solid bar that’s fastened between the dildos on the crotch strap of her chastity and her knee-hobble link, I could make a remarkable thing happen; I can make her cum, despite the best efforts of the state to prevent it. Actually, I can bring her to multiple orgasms, quickly and easily; I just have some good, vigorous anal sex with her, with the aforementioned vibrator running and some tight, toothy, weighted alligator clamps on her nipples.
She claims that she hates the clamps, but she cums for minutes on end when I fuck her ass with them and the vibrator in place. She is very aware of them at all times, dangling threateningly from her nipple rings, and she is perfectly proficient in reminding me when she should be wearing them.
Yes, she’s still a little angry, but at least it doesn’t sound the least bit fake or forced now when she calls me “Master”. Furthermore, she and her little “Judge” friend are awfully cute up on their ballet-toes as they’re made to dance together, helpless with their arms sleeved tightly behind them, kissing and making out to the music, all while their terribly stretched nipples throb in tight clamps!