From: Milk Bar Punishment

 

'Andrea Swan, you have been found guilty of making a false declaration of the birthplace of your offspring with the aim of securing for him a future place in a select educational establishment,' the Judge said sternly. 'Have you anything more to say before I pass sentence upon you?'

Andrea stood in the dock of Courtroom Three of the city's central courthouse. A custody officer stood guard over her in the back of the dock. She wore only a sleeveless orange prison tunic, loose trousers and slippers. Her hands were confined before her by a rigid cuff bar that was chained to the front railing of the dock. Her crime might be relatively minor, but she was still a criminal.

Andrea was thirty-three. She had a strong intelligent face with bold eyebrows, a firm nose and a thick mass of brunette hair. Her figure was womanly with wide hips, a tight waist and a full bust. She had worked hard to recover her figure after the birth of Jonathan. Perhaps it had been pride in her appearance that had motivated her, or had she been involuntarily preparing for this moment? The process of the law had given her the time, of course. The state was not barbaric, but it did demand that she pay for what she had done as an example to others. Not through a prison term, of course. Hardly anybody was locked up nowadays if they could be made to pay from their crimes in the community in some appropriate manner, where their suffering not only acted as a warning to others but also made a profit for the state. What she faced now was carefully calculated public shame and indignity.

'I only lied about where Jonathon was born to qualify him for an alpha zone educational catchment area,' Amanda said. 'If he hadn't arrived early, I would have been resident and qualified. It was only a matter of a few hours! But somebody informed on me.'

'They were just doing their civic duty,' the Judge said. 'I see you make no residency claim in your partner's name.'

'I have no partner. Jonathon was conceived from an anonymous donor. I wanted to bring him up without interference. I still will. I don't regret what I did. The law is unfair and unjust!'

There were murmurs of agreement from the public gallery where her friends and relations sat.

'It is not the function of this court to make the law,' the Judge said. 'We are here only to apply the law as it stands. Whether you agree with it or not, as a teacher you should have shown proper respect for the law. You have set a bad example to your former pupils and so you must pay for your crime in a fitting manner. Test her to see if she suitable for mechanical lactation,' he told Andrea's guard.

The guard took hold of the sleeves of Andrea's prison tunic and pulled.

The tunic had hook and loop fastening strips sewn into it which allowed it to split open along the seams. It came apart with a dramatic ripping sound leaving her naked to the waist. As Andrea bit her lip and lowered her eyes and her friends and relations turned their heads aside in dismay, the rest of the court enjoyed the first stage of her humiliation.

Andrea's breasts were pale and plump, capped by prominent dark russet nipples. Even though Jonathon had been weaned, they still stood out proudly from her chest; heavy with milk and ready to be suckled. This readiness would now be used to punish her.

Her guard held a small, graduated plastic beaker, the rim of which he pressed to her breasts in turn, as he squeezed her globes. Andrea whimpered as milk spurted freely from her nipples in tiny jets, filling the bottom of the beaker. When he was done, the guard held the sample of expelled milk up for the judge to see.

'That is satisfactory,' the Judge declared. 'Andrea Swan, you are hereby sentenced to serve a community public degradation sentence in an approved milk bar for the period of three months. During this period, your normal bodily rights and freedoms are suspended...'

 

From: The Last Resort

 

Lesley's glistening breasts bounced as she pounded along the endless treadmill track. The sweat dripped onto the rubber belt under her feet, making it slippery. But she dared not fall, nor could she even rest.

The sides of the treadmill had been in-filled with sloping Perspex panels, so that it was impossible to step off onto the tread boards that flanked the belt. She could not run forward or back off the belt because of the restraining plug up her rear. It was a mushroom-headed prong of rubber, mounted on the end of a metal arm that extended from a stand behind the treadmill. The arm was pivoted and had a sprung telescoping middle section, which meant it followed the motion of her body as she ran and did not impede her stride. But this was a strictly limited degree of freedom.

Sensors in the arm measured the compression of its joints. If Lesley slowed down, a control box would send electric shocks of increasing intensity along wires taped to the arm which terminated in crocodile clips clamped to her labia; clips that with her gloved hands, of course, she could not release.

The warning shocks were both painful and perversely stimulating to her vulva, so that after a while she was not sure if they were a punishment or a reward. She pounded on in a confused haze of misery and excitement with hard nipples and erect clitoris, while humiliating lubrication trickled down the insides of her thighs to join the sweat staining the track.

After little more than ten minutes of this, she was dripping with sweat and lubricating juices. She could feel the hot lust gradually filling her loins and knew it was going to burst out of her and she could not prevent it.

She sobbed as she came, delighting in the illicit thrill that coursed through her even as the cheeks burned in shame. Her juices sprayed out between her thighs over the track. The thrill of it made her stumble briefly, but then she kept running. A climax was no excuse for failing to maintain her pace and reach her target for the day of three thousand metres.