Theirs to Use: A Punishment Reverse Harem Romance(3)
“Look at that,” Pete said with a chuckle. “So nice and red, and she can’t help showing us that pretty cunt, either. Girl, you’re going to get a lot of paddling where you’re going.”
Chapter Two
Mr. Green—Samuel Green of TruMark Financial Services—had been watching the video feed from the prison without much interest, before his two trusted henchmen Joe and Pete had reached the cell of the girl whose name was apparently Karen Hunter. The video feed, ostensibly for the safety of the inmates of ResTech’s CDF (Corporate Detention Facility) Number Five, had received a number of improvements in the way of resolution enhancement both of picture and of sound that a rehabilitation expert might not have deemed necessary for that so-called primary function.
The crystal clear view of a girl’s cunt and well-paddled ass-cheeks, like the one Green now had of Karen Hunter, and the high-fidelity rendering of her cries of pain and shame, however, made the feed highly marketable. As a commodity in ResTech’s portfolio—listed in their financial reports as ‘Entertainment Deliverables’—the subscription service constituted an asset even more lucrative than the leasing of the human capital they acquired on a daily basis through their predatory lending practices.
Selling a prurient look at the disciplinary practices of their CDFs, including the sexual use when deemed appropriate of their female inmates, however, didn’t interfere with another of the key lines on their balance sheet, one that fell under the heading ‘Rehabilitative Programs.’
On ResTech’s financial report from the previous year, that line had read:
Rehabilitative services $45,342,827,719
The ten million dollars, plus tax, that Mr. Green and his associates would pay for each year of the three-year lease they would hold on one of the three girls selected by Joe and Pete, represented the ultra-high end of ResTech’s price range for the indentures of their delinquent borrowers. You could get a strong man to do your landscaping for as little as ten thousand per year, or an older woman as your housekeeper—and, if your taste ran to such things, sexual servant—for twenty. You had to feed, clothe, and house them, but the corporate laws established minimum standards for that, as well as for sexual consent, that didn’t punish the wallet terribly. If you went with the Rehabilitation Support Package option from ResTech, which provided a modular cell to place somewhere on your property, a Spartan work uniform the delinquent, him or herself, could be made to keep clean, and a year of adequate nutrition, you didn’t add all that much to the bottom line.
Karen Hunter, or one of the other two girls on Joe and Pete’s list, would have housing, clothes, and food better than that—unless of course Green’s associates decided they wanted her kept in squalor, something Green himself found only mildly appealing, though he knew some men enjoyed it. Indeed Green had gone to a dinner party the previous week at the home of an ultra-rich couple who kept a girl in a cell under their backyard.
The wife in particular had waxed eloquent on the subject of her responsibility to rehabilitate the girl, and at the end of dinner the young woman had been brought out, naked, to eat from a dish placed on the floor before the wife spanked her soundly with a hairbrush, over her knee. The husband had looked on approvingly, and when the girl’s bottom glowed bright red he had offered her mouth to the guests.
Green had readily availed himself of the opportunity to come in the girl’s practiced mouth while her master and mistress looked on to ensure her faithful attendance to his pleasure. He had found the occasion entertaining, but he didn’t think the majority of his investors would want to keep their girl that way, at least on a day-to-day basis: once they had spent so much on a truly beautiful girl, they would, Green thought, want to dress her up and show her off, even if they ripped the lovely things off her later. The contrast between elegance and debasement constituted a very appealing part of the prospect of owning a girl like Karen Hunter: when, sobbing, she knelt in torn panties to suck your friends’ cocks, the thought that only a few moments before she had looked like an old-fashioned starlet, dressed to the nines, only made you harder.
Joe had paused after delivering six swats of the prison paddle to Karen’s lovely little bottom. She wailed and struggled, her breath coming in gasps and her backside still doing the sexy dance she apparently couldn’t control. The girl hadn’t said anything to indicate acquiescence, but Joe wouldn’t have reached the status of Special Assistant to Mr. Green, as the nameplate on his office door here at TruMark termed him, unless he understood how to bring a girl along. Green’s predilections meant that his trusted henchmen had a great deal of experience in punishing young women to ensure their obedience; his instincts clearly told him something about Karen, now.
He put his hand down and began to rub the sweet red cheeks, apparently idly, not letting his fingers drift too far down and in but only, it seemed, intending to soothe her, or perhaps to ascertain how hot he had gotten her rear end with the paddle. Karen wept into the mattress of her bunk, her wrists still held tight behind her and her pants and panties around her knees.
“Karen,” Pete said, as he watched Joe’s hand very closely, “you know you’re going to have to do as we tell you. You know I’ll paddle you until you do show us your breasts and your pretty cunt properly. We have to get a good look at them, so we can see if you’re a candidate for our program.”