Chaste Bob's Erotica

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Pictures taken from the Internet. If you can show you own them and want them removed I will do so with apologies.

By Chastebob

Diane Davis had been an Officer at the Sex Offender Justice Center since its establishment by the Female Council. Her long service and loyalty gave her access to some of the most secret places and activities in the Center. Most people knew of the SOJC as the place where punishment for violations of the sexual laws was carried out. Mostly it was whippings or canings of males caught violating public chastity and the like. Of course for more serious crimes they were responsible for more serious punishments, like castration. The SOJC decided if a punishment was going to be part of a public spectacle, merely televised, or a completely in-house affair with limited witnesses.

Given the way the laws were written, it was mostly males who saw the inside of the SOJC for punishment. However, a few women who were extremely complicit in helping dangerous males evade the law have been publicly punished. A few more have been punished in various ways in a less publicized fashion for similar violations. The Council liked to point to these statistics as proof that criminals were primarily male, justifying stricter laws regarding male behavior, and of course that females were inherently superior. But known only to a few people like Diane, many more females were punished privately in cells deep in the SOJC. While still far fewer than men, the numbers would have shocked the public into realizing that there was a lot less solidarity among women than the Council liked to project. These punishments were often extremely severe and rumor was that they included punishments for political reasons, though unlike the public sessions, the crimes were not announced, not even to staff.

Today Diane would be training a new officer, Becky Thomas. She wasn’t very happy about it. The young Ms. Thomas had only recently joined the Center and here she was being assigned to some of the most sensitive areas of the building. Diane knew that meant Becky had to have some tie directly to the Council or its inner circle. Diane was a little concerned about the chance of getting in trouble if this “little princess” was shocked by some of the things she might be required to do. Diane walked into the HR office, her uniform as crisp as if ready for inspection.

“Officer Davis,” the HR professional said looking up from her desk. “This is Junior Officer Becky Thomas. She’s assigned to you for the next 4 weeks for training in your section.” The brown haired Becky stood at attention and saluted Diane.

“We’re not that formal here inside the Center,” Diane said as she returned the salute. My God, Diane thought, she’s just a kid, can’t be more than 19 or 20.

"I’m looking forward to working with you during the next 4 weeks,” Becky said with a genuine enthusiasm only the young can have without looking phony. Diane led Becky out of the office without commenting on her remark.

“Inside the Center and when only staff are present you may refer to me as Diane. In front of prisoners, witnesses, dignitaries and visiting officials from other centers it is always Officer Davis as you will always be Officer Thomas; no need to advertise your junior status. We’ll be working down on Level D. How much experience have you had with prisoners?”

“I spent 4 weeks on A Level. I saw some males get caned. I got to give one set of strokes and I witnessed a castration,” she said proudly.

“Are you aware of who is kept on Level D?” Diane asked, amazed that this rookie could have seen and done so much so quickly.

“Yes, Ma’am,” Becky answered quickly responding to Diane’s tone of authority, before adding, “Diane. Female prisoners being detained for questioning or punishment prior to transfer to a detention facility or release.”

The girl knew a lot more than most officers with some experience knew. Who the hell was she?

Becky studied Diane’s face, she thought she knew the expression. She’d seen it before.

“Diane,” she began cautiously. “I know you must think I’m some spoiled brat who pulled a lot of strings to get ahead quickly. And you’d be partially right, though I didn’t pull them. All I want is to serve and be involved in this part of the justice system. I expressed those desires and others saw to it that I got this chance. My aunt is first cousin to Rene Alexander. I just want to do a good job because I’m sure I’ll love it. I don’t want special treatment on the job just because I’m related to a Council member.”

Diane was impressed. Ms. Alexander was in charge of licensing and fee collection for sexually oriented businesses. A significant number of female detainees were here for running afoul of Ms. Alexander or her department, she certainly didn’t want to be one of them. Diane decided to take Becky at her word for now.

“That’s good, because you won’t get any special treatment from me. We stick together here, and expect each other to have our backs. You got that?” Diane added a little more forcefully than she might otherwise have said it.

“Yes, I do.”

“Good. Understand that a lot of the job is far from glamorous or exciting. It can’t all be whippings, canings, and clitoridectomies,” Diane smiled. “The good news is this is not a long term internment facility, so we don’t have really experienced and hardened criminals to make life difficult for us, generally the inmates are terrified. Most of what we get down here are sex workers who have run afoul of licensing fees or regulations, next most common are the wives and girlfriends who are lax or even complicit in their male’s violation of public chastity and orgasm limits. It’s kind of ironic, we usually catch them both by correlating reports the sex workers provide to maintain their licenses. Less common are the true gender traitors, you know actively trying to undermine the sexual safety laws. Occasionally we get some special prisoners, very hush hush.” Diane studied Becky’s face for any sign she might know more about this.

“Do you mean rebels?” Becky asked, uncertainly.

“Could be,” Diane answered. “You might know more about that than the rest of us.” Becky’s blank expression told Diane that she didn’t. “They are usually interrogated by special agents, if they aren’t immediately transferred to another facility, usually outside the SOJC, we only get the orders for punishment – no charges.” Becky’s expression revealed that she really didn’t have inside information; hers was just a casual connection to the powerful Rene Alexander, just as she had said.

“This is actually one of the smaller facilities,” Diane began her official instruction. “Level D is just over 14,000 square feet. Like all internment and punishment facilities it is laid out to be deliberately confusing to prisoners. There are dead end hallways, and the numbering system for the cells is non-sequential. There are five punishment rooms with viewing areas, A through E. A is in the center of the complex and is very small, usually intended for VIP witnesses with very private viewing of punishments, up close. There are two other small rooms easily accommodating six witnesses, and two larger rooms good for about a dozen each without doubling up. Cell numbering begins in the center of the floor and spirals out. So there may be many cells and twists and turns between adjacent numbers, while sometimes they will be around the corner from each other. Signs in the hallways identify the next three cell numbers closest in the direction of the arrow. It will get a lot easier after you get familiar with it, but for now, know that lower numbers will generally be toward the center of the floor, so keep a good sense of direction. Also, finding your way out, just go against the direction of the arrows. If you end up in a dead end, back up to the last turn and take it, again going against the arrows.”

“Well here we are at initial intake. One of the less exciting aspects I mentioned. All of these women are being detained for various reasons, but they are first subjected to a body cavity search, rectum and vagina. Put on these latex gloves, use one finger initially, go around the outside of the cavity first, gradually working deeper. Vagina first.”

About a dozen nude women were lined up on one side of a narrow hallway facing holding cells. They were silent except for minor shuffling of feet in their nervous anticipation.

Becky got right to work, no complaints, no squeamishness. Diane was pleased. She hadn’t gotten a little prima dona after all. Because these weren’t seasoned criminals they were all embarrassed and humiliated by the process. At the second one down the line Becky turned her head.

“I think I found something,” she said. Using the fingers of her left hand she pried the asshole open to the girl’s gasp of pain and humiliation while she extracted the object with her right thumb and forefinger. It turned out to be a very hard turd. Becky was unruffled. Diane watched as Becky improvised on the spot. She held the brown bullet up to the embarrassed girl’s face.

“Do you think that’s funny?” she glared at the prisoner who was mortified with shame, tears forming in her eyes.

“N..N…No, officer,” she stammered.

“You better not, or I’ll shove this up your pussy! It’s the only thing that’s going in there for a while.” Dropping the turd at the girl’s feet Becky moved on to the next girl, but not before issuing an instruction.

“That’s yours, prisoner. Be sure to take it with you and dispose of it properly.”

Diane was impressed. Becky might very well be a natural for this kind of work. After the inspection the women were herded into their holding cells, and Diane and Becky continued on their way through the level. They passed other rows of nude prisoners being inspected or just moved from one area to another. Diane leaned in to talk privately with Becky.

“We keep them nude and on display a lot of the time. It adds to their humiliation and makes them a lot easier to control. It also guarantees that no one is hiding anything.”

They continued through the maze of corridors and were soon in a hall of cells.

“This one is going to be cut, deeply. We’ve kept her in chastity so she won’t be able to enjoy any final pleasures, if you know what I mean,” Diane said confidentially as they passed the poor woman’s cell. Becky’s face lit up watching the woman, and Diane knew she harbored a sadistic streak as strong as her own.

“Do you confine all these cases in chastity before the operation?” Becky asked.

“No,” Diane smiled. “Sometimes we leave them free to ‘do what they will’. But we put them in monitored cells. There’s usually a pool about how many times they will get off in the night before their procedure,” Diane said conspiratorially. Down the corridor she gestured at another cell where a woman in a burlap bag squatted over a bucket.

“This woman is being punished for back talking an officer during a cavity search. The burlap is itchy and irritates the skin. She’s fed laxative laced food to ensure a nice runny bowel. After a few days when her privates are completely chafed and inflamed she’ll be cleaned with a high pressure water hose, then whipped with a single tail until she bleeds, including her privates. THEN she’ll be returned to intake to begin again with the sentence she was originally sent here for. If she’d kept her mouth shut she’d already be home by now, nursing a half dozen or so red welts from the cane.” Becky’s eyes twinkled at the thought. She hoped she’d be able to watch that whipping.

The next cell had no bed or toilet; it was just a narrow space between two concrete walls. It housed an hysterical woman who was wailing and crying uncontrollably. She screamed as she alternately pounded on the walls and clutched herself protectively. She cried “no” and “please” occasionally. Eventually she collapsed on the floor of her cell, exhausted from her frantic display.

 “What’s the story on her?” Becky asked casually/

 “She’s just been informed that she’s going to be cut tomorrow,” Diane said with a wicked smile and scissor motions with her fingers.

Becky stared into the cell as they walked past, savoring the idea that the woman would fret about her fate all night.

Seeing the hopefulness in Becky’s face she added, “yes, we’ll at least get to witness that one.” Becky’s pussy fluttered and moistened with anticipation.

Coming around another corner they could see four men in regular jail orange jumpsuits behind bars. In the area just in front of them another officer was undressing a female prisoner who had also been wearing an orange jump suit. Becky was puzzled because none of the detainees she had seen wore prison uniforms at the center.

“Now this is interesting,” Diane remarked. “These prisoners have been brought to us from the County Jail. It seems the woman was caught violating the no masturbation rule in her cell. Separately the men warned the guards over there of some trouble that was going to be started, so they are going to get to use the woman as a reward for an hour.”

“Why did they bring them here?” Becky asked.

“Well, that sort of reward and punishment is not the kind of thing we like to let the public know about and we are much more secure in both facility and staff,” Diane answered. “Do you want to stay and watch?”

“No, that’s OK.” Becky was thoughtful for a moment.

“Something wrong?” Diane asked. “Not fond of that reward or punishment?”

“Yes, I mean the Council doesn’t have anything against female masturbation and it just seems wrong to use male aggression as a reward for them or punishment for her,” Becky was clearly confused.

“The rules in jail are different,” Diane said understandingly. “They have to be somewhat arbitrary and demeaning to remind prisoners, male and female, that they have lost more than just the ability to go where they want. They have lost even the freedom of personal choices by breaking the law. The woman is also learning that following the rules, the laws, is important. The laws are what protect her from just what’s going to happen.” Becky seemed to be understanding, but was obviously still disturbed by something. Diane guessed it was the men. “As for the men, their short-sighted lust will likely be their undoing. After they are done with the girl we’ll have samples of their DNA. It wouldn’t surprise me if that connected them to several open rape cases. Who knows you might get to see them again under different circumstances,” Diane smiled. So did Becky.

“We’re on witness duty next,” Diane said.

They passed through a barred door, and on the other side of the small strip of hallway was a locked metal door with small barred window. When they were buzzed through that doorway the hallway was lit with warmer color lights and the walls seemed somehow less stark and hard. Down the hall behind another officer was a line of women in civilian clothes.

“First we check the room to be sure everything is ready,” Diane said as she opened a door marked “Witness Room B” on her right. The room was dimly lit, and the far wall was all glass, about six feet away. She could see into a small, well lit room the most prominent feature of which was a standard gynecological exam chair modified with restraints. As her eyes adjusted Becky could see about a half dozen simple metal chairs, padded with vinyl arranged in a jagged row. There was barely standing room behind the chairs. The left most part of the room seemed to be just past the gyno chair by about 45 degrees, while the right end, directly in front of the door, was the sasme angle in the other direction. The gyno chair was only 6’ to 12’ away from any of the viewing chairs.

“Make sure the seats are clean and dry, and that there is no trash around; discarded tissues and the like,” Diane said as she brightened the lights momentarily. She slid back a panel revealing a latex glove dispenser, spray cleaner, paper towels and a trash bin, then touching a button on the wall she called out, “Sound check for room B.”

“Sound check,” an officer in the operating room said in a normal voice. It was so clear it sounded like she was in the witness room.

“Roger sound check. Monitors,” Diane called and two screens spaced out along the base of the window lit up. Each screen was split between a view of the head of the table and the seat.

With the room clean, trash and supplies put away, Diane dimmed the lights again.

“You may speak to the witnesses if they engage you in conversation, otherwise do not talk to them. Always ‘ma’am’ and do not react to anything you see or hear on either side of the glass,” Diane instructed. Becky nodded and stood just inside the witness room while Diane stepped into the hallway. She signaled the officer that the room was ready for the witnesses and then stood by the door almost at “attention”, but with a welcoming expression.

Half a dozen civilians moved down the hall to the door. Some a little more excitedly than others, but all with a quick step ready to see something relatively rare. Diane and Becky could hear the chatter among the women as they filed into the witness room and found their seats.

“It’s not easy getting to witness one of these procedures,” a middle aged red head said to her neighbor. “There aren’t that many done and a surprising number of women want to witness it.” Her friend was of a similar age with long brunette hair flowing over her shoulders.

“I appreciate your help,” she answered. “You know my religious fanatic parents had me done for ‘excessive masturbation’ when I was young and I still resent it. And I resent these bitches who got to cum all they wanted and all they had to do to keep their clits was control their men.”

A young short haired brunette with very unattractive features joined the conversation. “I don’t like it when some women try to improve their attractiveness by being lenient with male orgasms. It’s unfair! They are cheaters and should follow the rules.” She stopped a moment to reflect on what she’d said. “Still I do sort of feel sorry for them, it’s so awful.”

“By the time a women ends up here there’s no more reason for sympathy,” a short haired red head said. “It should hurt terribly and be traumatic. Maybe she can at least be a deterrent to others.”

“I’m a court appointed psychotherapist,” a fiftyish blond said. “I follow them for a period after the procedure to assess their potential to reoffend. It isn’t just their fear of what’s coming and the physical pain they endure that I find exciting – it’s also later when they begin to fully realize the magnitude of what they’ve lost.”

A prim and proper looking early thirties woman with short black hair spoke up. “This is serious punishment under the law – it shouldn’t be about enjoyment!” she said all the while hoping no one could smell how aroused she was. She needn’t have worried. From where Becky and Diane were standing the whole room was beginning to get a little scent of female arousal.

On the other side of the glass an officer stepped to the center and read from a clipboard.

“Prisoner 34160, Cindy Lowery has been convicted of aiding and abetting a convicted sex offender evade chastity and orgasm limitations. This is the prisoner’s third conviction. She was specifically warned that repeated offenses would result in this procedure. Removing a woman’s ability to experience orgasm is a serious step and not one taken lightly. As I’m sure all of you witnesses would agree if you were facing the rest of your life without those pleasurable feelings. Witnessing punishment provides reinforcement for our rules and values. The witnesses add a little humiliation to the criminal’s punishment and the witnesses see the horrific consequences of breaking the laws. In consideration of that last point I would like to suggest that the witnesses contemplate the pleasures being removed from the prisoner in order to get a clearer picture of what happens to habitual offenders. She has been sentenced to radical clitoridectomy and nymphectomy. Bring in the prisoner for execution of sentence.”

Two officers dragged the nude prisoner into the room. Surprisingly she wasn’t handcuffed, each officer had a wrist. Cindy was crying and struggling, but they had a good grip. She was almost thrown into the chair with the officers quickly strapping down her arms, then corralling her feet and legs and securing them to the supports, and pushing them back to spread her wide open.

She was around 40 years old, Becky thought her unattractive and clearly old enough to know better – she was trying not to think about women her age still having sex. Yet Cindy’s struggles indicated quite clearly she was very familiar with what she was going to be missing and didn’t want to lose it.

Her labia were loose and wrinkled. Her clit was hidden somewhere under what seemed a pile of loose skin at the top of those inner lips. Becky thought she might even look better with all of that skin trimmed away, for a moment forgetting what that would mean for the woman’s sex life.

“He wasn’t a sex criminal,” she screamed in protest. “He never hurt anyone! He was my son. He forgot his chastity device once! He visited the massages a couple times too many.” She devolved into sobbing.

Her pleas didn’t even slow down the procedure. Such pleadings were futile because two kinds of people principally come to witness punishment; those who are in some way excited or otherwise highly motivated to see the sadistic event, and those whose job it is to conduct it. The first don’t want to be cheated of their spectacle and the second don’t want to lose their livelihood; so no one was going to stop it.

“I saw her son castrated,” said the lady who commented about being selected as a witness to her neighbor. “I hear they made her watch. Can you imagine?” she said with obvious glee. “I’ll bet they’re making him watch her.”

The scent of female arousal rose in the witness room, and Becky could see most of the witnesses had a hand furtively in their laps. The witness lady unashamedly had her hand under her skirt. The prim and proper lady had her arms folded resolutely but her thighs were tight together, clenching rhythmically.

Becky’s sex was tingling and getting wetter as she thought about the wretch in the other room about to be deprived of orgasms for the rest of her life. It made Becky want to get off, but sneaking a look at Diane she could see that her superior was just observing without giving any outward signs that she was excited. Becky decided that must be how they had to behave and decided to intently store every image and sound for her later enjoyment. It seemed unfair, all of the witnesses were getting off, well, all who could anyway. But then she was assured of seeing a lot more of these procedures than they ever would.

A tall, blond woman in a surgical mask and scrubs entered the operating room. She took her place between the prisoner’s legs and a tray of instruments was wheeled near her by one of the officers. Both officers stood back on either side of the prisoner’s head. They were watching a screen that was on the wall at the foot of the table. It must have been the feed to show the cutting and was obviously placed so the prisoner could see it as well.

Becky knew that despite newly enacted legal protections many doctors refused to do the actual punishment clitoridectomies, and were only willing to close wounds and repair the damage done by punishment officers. Perhaps this doctor was willing to do the surgery since it was a simple removal and not some of the more extreme and brutal measures Becky had heard about. Simple and surgical still didn’t mean painless.

Cold antiseptic was painted onto the woman’s pussy. The doctor verified the prisoner’s name and the procedure and without further preliminaries grasped the tip of the exposed clitoris with her forceps and pulled up sharply. The prisoner’s face grimaced and she grunted as the doctor’s scalpel deftly sliced through first the left then the right labia, just where they attached to the clitoris. Shifting the grip of the forceps to the left labia she pulled it away from the woman’s body and with a long smooth stroke of the scalpel removed it completely and dropped it in a kidney shaped steel bowl. Picking up a small gauze pad and a device that looked remarkably like a soldering gun, the doctor dabbed the blood oozing from the place where the pussylip had been attached then ran the soldering gun instrument over the cut. The woman made a small shriek as the burning pain followed the line of stinging the blade had left. The same procedure was repeated on the right labia.  

Having disposed of the labia the doctor once again firmly grasped the clitoris itself with the forceps and pulled up. The woman screamed and immediately began to beg.

“Please don’t do this! Please don’t!” She was screaming and sobbing at the same time.

The doctor ignored her pleas and used the scalpel to make a circular cut all around the clit and its hood. She continued to tug on the clit trapped in the forceps and a worm like structure began to emerge from the bloody hole. Small motions of the scalpel freed attachments that tried to hold the worm in, but as each was slit, the worm came further out. The prisoner continued to scream and sob, though it was hard to tell if her pain level had actually increased any from the original cut around the hood.

The hand motions in the witness room were reaching a fever pitch, and even the prim and proper lady had her hands pressed into her lap. The sound of wet flesh against fingers was loudest from the “witness” lady. The scent of sex was overpowering. Becky wanted to plunge her hand down her uniform pants and get off in the worst way, but she knew she had to follow Diane’s example if she wanted to be a success on this job. However, she did engage in a little thigh clinching to see if she could stimulate enough sensation to get some small satisfaction.

The wormlike clitoris was now pulled so far out that you could see it branching off into two parts. The doctor quickly tied a thread around each leg as close to the body as possible. Then she picked up the surgical scissors and cut just above the tied off segment. The woman let loose a blood curdling scream of pain and loss. Her breathing became ragged as the surgeon stitched up the hole where her clitoris had been. The prisoner’s screams coming through the sound system nearly drowned out the squeals of orgasmic delight inside the witness room.

After being bandaged the poor wretch in the other room was unbelted from the table and helped to her feet by the two officers who brought her in. The screens went blank, and the lights on the other side of the glass dimmed, the lights inside the witness room came up and at Diane’s signal, Becky opened the door to the hallway and the witnesses filed out silently. Diane looked at Becky with a faint smile.

“There’s a restroom about 500 feet down the corridor, if you need to use the facilities. I’ll do a brief clean up here and meet you there,” she said, her smile broadening ever so slightly.

“Thank you,” was all Becky could manage before rushing down the corridor.

Once inside a bathroom stall she quickly bared her sopping wet sex and began to work her clit feverishly. The first orgasm overtook her quickly, but it barely took the edge off her arousal. Her clit was as hard as a metal bead. Her fingers worked it up and down while curling and penetrating her tight, warm tunnel. Her arousal hit a new high, higher than when she used to imagine witnessing a cutting. Then suddenly her climax hit. It was one of the most powerful she had ever felt, and her legs just shuddered uncontrollably while she clamped her mouth shut to avoid shouting out. Deep internal contractions took over and she squirted clear liquid into the toilet bowl. Slowly every muscle relaxed and she was spent, sitting in the stall, her sex and her hand covered in her juices.

She cleaned herself up and straightened her uniform. She looked the perfect officer, but Diane would know what she had done. Becky wondered how Diane could stand it without needing relief. Perhaps it gets old, she thought while hoping that would never happen to her. Exiting the bathroom Diane was waiting in the corridor for her as if there was nothing unusual about Becky’s trip to the restroom. She fell into step with Diane as they continued down the corridor.

“You’ll learn to pace yourself,” Diane said in an even tone, still staring down the hall. “Enjoying the mental and emotional aspects, and saving the release till after some especially intense sessions does have its physical rewards as well.”

Over the following weeks Becky was allowed to cane, strap and whip prisoners under supervision and her techniques improved considerably. So far her training was proceeding routinely. Diane could tell that Becky wanted more, but true to her word Becky hadn’t even made hints about what assignments and training she would like, for fear that her family connection might make it seem like more than a statement of interests. Becky had earned Diane’s respect and so she brought it up.

“I presume that you are interested in moving beyond the transport of prisoners, hosting of witnesses and the occasional basic corporal punishment?” Diane asked as nonchalantly as possible.

“Yes, of course!” Becky answered immediately.

“You are currently at the First Degree – infliction of pain without expectation of permanent injury or marking. The Second is where pain is inflicted with the intent of permanent injury, marking or alteration. In order to perform castrations and clitoridectomies you need to be certified for Second Degree.” Diane paused in her description. Becky’s eyes told her what she wanted to know. “But my guess is you want more?” The student nodded, unsure whether to be embarrassed or excited by the revelation. “The Third Degree is where the potential of death from the action cannot be ruled out. An executioner needs no more training than First Degree, but a Third Degree must know the risks and make a reasonable judgment, knowing that sometimes they will be wrong and the death may have consequences, for example if there was information that wasn’t extracted before the death.” She searched her young charge’s eyes to see if she was making an impression on her. After determining that she was, Diane continued. “You will be assigned where you are most needed, but your preferences will be taken into account. I could help with that but I suspect my help won’t be needed. You’ll see more action in the other sections handling men. And you should know that while most of your colleagues understand that female traitors need to be punished, some few will think you are one for doing this to another woman.”

“I’ll serve wherever I’m needed,” Becky answered, “but I’d prefer to work here on Level D. And yes, I’d like to train for Third Degree.”

Becky began training in anatomy; locations of major nerves and key areas for sensing pain, as well as the circulatory system and other key points where the risk of fatality was high. She was allowed to wield the cane and whip on several women for violating the licensing requirements for sex workers. Diane noticed Becky had a cruel streak.

Whenever she had an offender on the caning bench she liked to take great care in positioning them bent over so far that their labia would protrude past the line of their buttocks. This virtually assured some of the cane strokes would directly strike the pussy lips; adding a whole new level of intensity to the pain of their caning. Most never realized that the blow was intentional and had been set up from the start.

Diane noticed the faint smile on Becky’s face when the women screamed and their bodies shuddered from the pain as much as their bonds would allow; this was especially intense when a tramline could be seen on the labia itself. There was no doubt Becky would make a formidable interrogator as well as punisher.

Becky continued to assist with witnesses, prisoner transport etc. while she was training to be a Third Degree interrogator and punisher. An important, although unofficial, part of her education actually came from observing the witnesses. They definitely had expectations about the proceedings based on their motivations. Playing to those various elements made the whole business a little of a drama. Becky believed it made the punishments more effective, to both the offender and the witnesses. She quietly noted that it also enhanced her own and some others sexual excitement as well. She didn’t know that mastering the “showmanship” of these proceedings was good for her career opportunities; even beyond the obvious of being selected for one of the public spectacle punishments.

Witnesses to corporal punishment differ significantly from those for the clitoridectomies. By her rough estimates, half of the witnesses to the canings and whippings etc. were staunch believers in justice and physical punishment as a deterrent. They held these beliefs as firmly as a religion and therefor took their witnessing the acts somewhere between a difficult but necessary duty and a sacred reaffirmation of their sense of order in the world. The nudity of the penitent was purely for their shame and humiliation, and to ensure severe enough punishment. The other half of the witnesses (and virtually all of those witnessing clitoridectomies and castrations) had sexual arousal as part of their desire to witness. It might be well hidden, almost from themselves, or so open as to be freely discussed, but it was there.

One of her stints in the clitoridectomy witness room was particularly memorable. Either this group of witnesses all knew each other or they got friendly very quickly because they discussed openly their enjoyment of the proceedings and shared stories of other times they were witnesses.

A lady remarked to another, “Betty, you’re wearing pearls?”

“Yes,” Betty replied. “What could be more appropriate than wearing pearls to witness a woman lose her’s?” They all laughed.

Two lesbian lovers were relating how they liked it when the roots were taken too. “That way even huge penetration won’t get those girls off again.” They exchanged blushing looks. “We have huge orgasms thinking about how those girls won’t ever again.”

“I saw my neighbor brought in. I knew she was letting that sex maniac boyfriend of hers out without being locked up. Well he tried to rape a girl, and his girlfriend was charged as well. She begged and cried as they led her to the chair for a full and deep removal. She screamed and fought so during the procedure, that it was botched and now she’ll be wearing diapers the rest of her life!” There was an unmistakable glee in the voice that related the story.

“They beg and plead for mercy, thinking a woman will have more sympathy for them,” an angry sounding woman said. “Fools! Their leniency with the men threatens our entire female led society. Isn’t that right officer?” she directed her question to Becky.

“That’s what they tell me, Ma’am. I’m just here to administer the law.” Becky’s response was straight out of the training manual. Diane was proud of her protégé for not being tricked into a political discussion with the witnesses. The appearance, if not the reality, had to be maintained that the officers of the Sex Offender Justice Department were like any other law enforcement officers; neutral and objective professionals only here to uphold the law. Even though witnesses at Level D were carefully screened there was always the chance that someone looking to give the Council a black eye could slip through.

Becky’s first simple clitoridectomy was actually a little anti-climatic. Sure she experienced the thrill of knowing she was ending or severely diminishing another’s sex life, but the procedure was so simple it lacked a lot of the “fireworks” she thought it might have. Many firsts and lasts are like that in life. They are supposed to be major milestones, but the reality just doesn’t seem to match the hype; apparently sometimes even for horrific events. Nevertheless, that doesn’t stop fantasy and fetish from building anticipation and excitement; and fueling those feelings for an event that isn’t one of the expected firsts.  Becky’s most memorable was her first clitoris destruction using a method of her own choosing. It wasn’t terribly innovative, it had been done before, but Becky had always wanted to see it done in person, and now she was going to do it herself. She couldn’t even remember what crime the girl was supposed to have committed, and why not, it couldn’t have mattered less; all that was important to her was that she could destroy the wretch’s clit in her own way.

Becky was going to burn off the first half inch or so of the girl’s clitoris. A metal rod had been heating in a portable furnace till it was glowing red at the tip. The girl didn’t beg or plead. She knew it would be pointless. Becky respected that even though she would have personally liked to hear her pleading to be spared. As the hot iron was brought closer the girl set her jaw and tried to remain very still. She was well aware that more damage could be done if she moved around even as little as her restraints would allow. Her quiet and still determination to get through the awful procedure almost felt like permission for Becky to do it – not that she would have needed any.

Hoping to ramp up some fear, Becky toyed with the girl, bringing it close enough for her to feel the heat, but not touching. The girl squeezed her eyes shut in anticipation, but then relaxed a moment, and that’s when Becky pushed it home. First there was a sound like bacon frying, then the smell of burnt flesh, and at last the victim could hold out no longer and let out a high pitched yell that carried all the energy that would have gone into thrashing about if she had not maintained control of herself. For Becky’s part the enjoyment was sharing the mental stage with precise control of the rod, so as to ensure it was actually burning up the clitoral tissue, not just blistering it. When it was all healed, not only would some of the most sensitive parts of the clitoris be gone, but the remaining shaft would be buried behind thick, hard scar tissue. That evening in her bed Becky would replay the scene over and over as she rubbed her own clit raw in orgasm after orgasm.

Diane knew her “trainee” was going far when she saw her first innovative vulva destruction. The creativity to the punishment was astounding. A simple wire brush wheel as is used for removing rust from metal was attached to a hand drill. Spinning rapidly the metal bristles torn off tiny pieces of her most sensitive flesh. The woman’s screams went on and on as the destruction was easily be prolonged. When at last the wire brush had done its work, alcohol was splashed on the ragged wounds. The witnesses and other guards applauded, while the woman wailed. Becky went straight to the lavatory to finish up something that had been building strongly.

Diane took up a position outside the bathroom and directed others away as if the room were temporarily out of service. She could just make out the moans and cries of climax coming from inside. After several long minutes the door opened and Becky stepped out a little surprised and embarrassed.

“Watch the door for me, as I did for you,” Diane said with a smile and found her own stall to relive the scene and relieve the sexual tension.

When Becky was ordered transferred to the interrogation unit full time Diane wasn’t surprised.