Accessories
Leviathan selected a black switch from among the various implements hanging on the wall.
Though painted black, I could tell at once that it was a rattan cane meant for spanking.
I had seen it on the Waltz Production website. It was a punishment tool that appeared often in their videos — a terrifying thing that left every inmate who felt its bite begging for mercy without exception.
"Why are you shaking like that? You haven't even been hit yet. If you're already like this, how do you plan to handle what's coming?"
Leviathan pressed the tip of the cane against the inside of my thigh.
A cold sensation settled over the soft flesh.
I'm scared. I'm terrified…
It wasn't my first time being spanked. I had experienced it now and then at SM gatherings through events like the king game. But being struck while bound like this was something else entirely.
The terror of being unable to resist the beating took hold of my body.
"Ten strokes. If you don't count within three seconds of being hit, we start over from the beginning. If you count wrong, or if you scream loud enough to annoy me, I'll keep going until the muscle in your thigh tears. Understood?"
Another question came flying at me. I wrestled with it for a moment before answering.
"…Yes. I understand."
My voice trembled. Hearing how thoroughly frightened I sounded seemed to please him; he stroked the inside of my thigh with the tip of the cane.
And in the instant I let my guard down—
—Whoosh— Crack!!
Ahk…!
A sound split the air, and searing pain flooded the inside of my thigh. My face twisted whether I wanted it to or not. A fine tremor ran through my brows as they knotted tight.
Even so, I had to claw my way free of the aftershock. If I didn't call out the number now, the value of this stroke that had drained the strength from my entire body would vanish…!
"…Three seconds are up. You didn't count, so that one doesn't count."
"Uuu… Yes."
But it was already too late. The moment I tried to answer, the guard's verdict fell, and I had no choice but to bow my head with a look of pure misery.
With both hands bound high overhead, lowering my head didn't let me see the struck place clearly. I didn't need to look, though. A burning line of heat remained etched along the inside of my thigh. I knew that once all ten strokes were done, a mark close to a scar would linger there for some time.
"All right. Count properly this time."
—Whoosh— Crack!
"Ugh… One!!"
This time I swallowed the pain and forced the number out first. The inside of my thigh stung. More than stung — it hurt, felt as if it might tear, so fragile I could hardly bear it.
It hurts.
It hurts so much.
I lifted my tearful face just as the second stroke came flying in.
—Swish— Crack!
"Euhk! Ah… augh… T-two…!"
Only two strokes. Even counting the one that had been voided, it was barely three — and already the wish that it would end soon was blooming inside me.
No, seriously — how do people who get off on beatings even work?
They feel something from this?
A beating was one-sided violence, inflicted without any connection to lust. In the pain that felt as if it were carving out the middle of my thigh, the only things ruling my heart were regret and fear.
If I had just answered faster…
I wouldn't have ended up getting hit like this.
No. The real problem was writing that I had experience when I applied, just to show off.
…Actually, that isn't it either.
If I hadn't applied for this process with my own hands…
If I hadn't…
If I were still my old self…
I would have been lost in a haze of masturbation watching Waltz Production porn, same as always. That had been my daily routine.
That was how it should have been.
—Whip— Crack!!
"Eugh!! Uht…! Three!!"
"Can't even stand properly? If your posture slips, the skin tears. Got it?"
"Heuk…!"
The result of a wrong choice was, in the end, a beating. Severe pain. Agony hard to endure was being dealt out. And the beating was still only beginning. More than twice as many strokes as I had already taken still waited ahead.
I wanted to stop right that second, but I had no right to choose.
—Whir— Crack!!
"Khup! Four!!"
I hung my head and clenched my teeth against the pain rolling through me. Just as they said — for someone who had gone mad with lust and surrendered her human rights, no rights remained at all.
Yes. Someone who had laid down even the most fundamental right of all — human rights — had no claim to any other. And so I had to endure it.
—Swish— Crack!!
"Eut!! F-five!"
"Your voice is too loud. Keep it down."
"…Yes! Haueu… uuu…."
Besides, even if I regretted it, I had no right to escape. Bound as I was, the only thing I could do was take the blows according to the orders of the guard standing before me — Leviathan — and recite the count. That was everything granted to me now.
—Whir— Crack!!
"Uuht!! Ah. Aaa— S-six!"
Shit.
I almost missed that one.
In pain so extreme my vision flickered, I somehow clung to consciousness and spat out the number. The terror clamping down on my body saved me once, in that moment of crisis.
A pain like a branding iron seared the inside of my thigh. I didn't need to look to know. He had struck the same place again. An agony incomparable to the earlier strokes gnawed at my thigh by the second.
My fear doubled. My heart hammered. Pain like this could not end with a single blow. If luck ran against me, every remaining stroke. Even if luck held, roughly half of them. A beating delivered into the limited space of the inner thigh could only settle as greater torment piled atop the pain already stored there.
—Whip— Slap!!
"Agrh…!! Eugh! Seven!!"
Only seven strokes, and already my body shook as if seized by epilepsy, strength draining away. I sagged, limp as a rag. I had trained steadily to maintain my figure, but none of that mattered now.
I haven't even finished ten.
How do the masochists who claim to have taken hundreds of strokes — the ones in the experience stories and the Waltz Production videos — even survive this?
—Whip— Crack!!
"Kheup…! Eight!"
A small arc, but enormous pain followed. Soft flesh was far too vulnerable to a beating. And the guard's malice was layered into it as well. He had specified the inner thigh as the target, but I had never imagined he would strike only that exact spot — only the inside of my right thigh. He focused exclusively there.
My body felt ready to topple sideways. If I could have, I would have wanted to cut the place being struck clean out of me. That was how agonizing the beating was.
—Swish— Crack!!
"Euk… haeuk…! N-nine…!"
At some point tears had begun sliding down my cheeks. I had tried to hold them back… tried to endure… I hadn't wanted to end up like this over a mere handful of strokes. Holding them in was impossible. The grievances and self-pity of the entire day wrung the tears out of me.
Through the ceaseless fall of tears, I saw Leviathan's hand.
"Why are you crying?"
He caught my chin and lifted my face. Meeting Leviathan's eyes — him standing fully dressed in his uniform while I stood naked — the difference in height felt like an unbridgeable gulf of status.
"Uuu…"
I had been asked a question, so I had to answer. The longer I hesitated, the higher the chance of additional punishment. I had to speak. I had to spit something out.
"…Because I… regret it."
Fortunately, I managed to open my mouth before any further punishment fell. With no room to think, I simply poured out the thought already running through my head — but at least I had cleared the immediate danger.
"Regret? Why?"
"I… well."
But the danger wasn't over. Another question attached itself to the first and came circling back. How was I supposed to put it? Where was I supposed to say the regret began? No matter which angle I considered, I could only picture mockery and humiliating words coming back at me, and my mouth refused to open easily.
Still, the pressure to speak dragged my buried true feelings up from the bottom by force.
"Coming here… I regret it… I mean… struggling this much over a beating like this… how am I supposed to… endure prison life… I-I mean…."
The words wouldn't organize themselves; I just babbled whatever came out. I couldn't help it. Just as I was telling him — extreme regret, the question of why I was even here doing this, and on top of that shame, humiliation, terror, every kind of emotion had melted together in my heart. Simply forcing the words out at all was already more than I could manage.
"No. You don't need to regret it. You've come to exactly the right place for you."
But even all of that was denied in a single instant. Lowering my tear-streaked face, Leviathan brought the tip of the cane back to the inside of my thigh.
Is he about to deliver the final stroke?
"Ahk…! Uht!"
No. The place the cane touched was the deepest point between my legs — the mucous membrane hidden between my labia. The force with which the cane prodded that sensitive place wasn't particularly strong, but it was more than enough to make my body flinch and shrink.
I twitched and twisted in my bonds for several seconds. Then, following the tip of the cane as it pulled away, I saw a glittering thread.
"What kind of regret is this when you're dripping arousal this thick… A masochist inmate who can't even last ten strokes and just leaks everywhere is the perfect fit for this prison. Wait — then… should I take those tears of yours as tears of pleasure? Heh heh."
Humiliating words. But I couldn't refute them. Between the cane in Leviathan's hand and the cleft of my body, several viscous strands of arousal stretched like threads. Even without him saying it, the slick wetness I could feel between my slightly parted labia told me it was worse than when I masturbated.
The second time today alone. Now it was undeniable, irrefutable evidence.
Ahh — even in a situation like this… did I actually get off?
I'm so ashamed I could die…
Faced with the clear proof, I hung my head. I couldn't even cry anymore.
"Last one. I'll hit hard to account for the lie, so count properly."
"…Yes."
I steeled myself and clenched my teeth. My heart, broken as thoroughly as my exhausted body, could only wait in resignation for whatever came next.
—Swish.
A sound cutting the air. Sharper than any of the previous strokes, it rang in my ears—
— Crack!!
The bursting crack of the cane, as if it would split the skin, reached my nerves before the sound itself did.
"Kyaaak!!! Ah… aaeugh! T-ten!"
Ah — I really am a pervert, aren't I.
In the moment I cried out the number, I saw the tips of my swaying, bouncing breasts. My nipples were standing stiff and erect. Even without words, my body was reacting first. Before my mind could understand, my body already knew.
That I was a masochist inmate perfectly suited to this place.
"Hmph."
Resigning myself to my nature, I lowered my head, and Leviathan returned to the desk. As if the beating he had given me amounted to nothing. The close of the violence was a simple dismissal.
From atop the desk, Leviathan brought over a piece of metal. What he held in his hand was a metal collar of the open-and-close variety.
"Lift your neck."
The moment I heard the order, I had to recognize once again that this humiliation had not even begun.
Right. I came here on my own two feet.
I'll do as I'm told.
I obediently lifted and offered my neck, and the metal collar locked into place. The chill of cold metal embraced my throat, and blunt needles built into the collar pressed against my windpipe from either side.
The needles were considerably irritating. Not only did they interfere with breathing — they made me conscious even of swallowing saliva.
Uncomfortable.
More than anything, the simple fact of wearing the collar announced that I had at last arrived at the true starting point, and my fear swelled.
"This collar is a terminal that reports your biometric data. It receives every piece of information related to you, and at the same time it's a device for controlling you."
I already knew. The chained collar I had seen so often in the videos. Of all the tools of Waltz Production I had ever watched, the most vicious of them had just been fastened around my neck.
"There's also an electric shock unit built into the collar, so I can knock you unconscious remotely. If necessary, electric torture is possible too. I can choke you, and I can stop you from swallowing food. The collar can only be unlocked with a designated code and the fingerprint of your assigned guard — me. So don't even think about escaping this island."
Not a promise sealed by contract or words, but physical proof. A clear brand declaring that my human rights had been stripped away had been engraved on my neck. I nodded at his warning.
"All right. Shall we wrap this up, then."
The end was finally in sight. Now all that remained of the intake procedure was to put on those filthy rags. Having had my true nature exposed left me feeling strangely lighter. The choice to hurl myself into a world I had only ever watched on video could no longer be taken back.
"This will hurt. Clench your teeth."
But then — just when every preparation seemed finished and I was only waiting for the moment I would be released from the frame — Leviathan pulled something he had hidden among the rags on the desk and came toward me.
What is that?
What he held looked like a toy syringe. The material was closer to metal, but its shape was somehow different from an ordinary syringe.
What on earth is that thing?
Standing before an object he had gone so far as to conceal from someone who already had no freedom, I felt the terror of the unknown.
"…What?"
"Don't talk back. Here. Going in."
"W-what are you—! Eeeik!!!"
Before I could even form a question about the unknown, Leviathan seized my breast and drove the syringe into the tip of a nipple already stiff with arousal.
Whatever it was, pain like thousands of needles stabbed into me. It hurt so much. I thrashed my hands and feet in agony. Pain so extreme I writhed without meaning to. But resistance was impossible, and through the tip of my nipple I felt some thick, viscous substance burrowing into my skin.
The strange material churned through the inside of a nipple whose capillaries had already been burst by the clamps on my belly, spreading outward. As if colonizing the blood vessels… little by little, yet with a strong enough motion to be felt, it occupied the nipple.
"I'll do this side too. Be careful not to bite your tongue."
"Eugh… eeeik!! Aaaeu…! Euk!"
The syringe plunged into the opposite nipple as well. The same sensation boring into the nipple doubled the torment.
What did he inject?
The one small mercy was that no injection mark remained. My nipples were still hard from the stimulation and distinctly swollen, yet there was no visible trace of a needle having gone in.
What in the world did he just do?
As the questions piled higher, Leviathan spoke.
"All right. Then we should test the collar and the Stimulation Spores, shouldn't we?"
"…What?"
The moment the words ended, he pulled a small device from his pocket and pressed a button. A faint signal tone sounded.
— Beep.
The instant that barely audible beep rang out, I felt the change in my body and dropped my head.
"Ah…! Aaa…! Ahk…!"
A stinging pain bloomed from inside my nipples.