The Punishment Club

by D. A. Maddox

  “Come on,” Emma Jo said, standing, letting her arm down at last, easing Cassidy into the chair. “Best position from here. What? You afraid your finger’s going to burst into flame or something like that?”

  “Something like that,” Cassidy agreed, interlacing her fingers with both hands when Emma Jo made a move to raise her arm up by the elbow and wrist.

  “We’ll do it together,” Emma Jo said, sliding onto the chair with her, each with one cheek on and one cheek off. “Cassidy, you can do this.”

  She thought of the home audience. Again, she thought of her mom and dad. Kids in the Harper family did not swear. Therefore, they didn’t use sign language swears. She didn’t think so, anyway. Made sense that they wouldn’t.

  Dad swears sometimes.

  “I won’t make you,” Emma Jo said, “but you’ll feel better as soon as you do it.”

  Cassidy relaxed her hands. She let Emma Jo guide her arm out, palm facing up, folding back fingers one at a time.

  “See? You’re doing it. Almost there…”

  Cassidy giggled, scandalized in spite of everything else that had gone down today.

  And lo and behold, there it was, the middle finger of Cassidy Lee Harper, honor student, choir girl, math genius and STEM champion, in full and solitary salute. Until Emma Jo pressed her cheek against hers and joined her in it. Two middle fingers, just for the home audience. Both of the girls with big, silly smiles on their faces, too.

  “Helloooo, America,” Cassidy said.

  Still smiling, Emma Jo added, “Fuck you, America.”

  And America, unbeknownst to them, loved it.

  ****

  The once-a-week Making the Transition class, three hours long, had been pretty awful in her freshman year, especially knowing as much as she already knew about how the real world worked. Turned out, the sophomore class—on a fucking Saturday, for second-years—was even more brutally boring, with Professor Knapp going on and on about the history behind the creation of the Age of Transition.

  Have to build the stupid timeline on real paper, too, Sierra grumbled in her mind, remembering. Hand drawn pictures as well, all to make sure kids didn’t just cut and paste the job from Online Omnipresence. And all due by next Saturday.

  She shook away the thought. Class ending at 2:30 was perfect timing. Second session would be getting underway anytime. She texted Kevin: Ready for Episode 2?

  She waited for the reply while ambling back over to the Tree of Knowledge.

  But—damn.

  There were people there. Six of her Alpha Chi sisters, setting down a blanket and an outdoor lunch. It was a nice day.

  Have to think of another place. Whatever.

  She checked her phone. No response.

  Ten minutes later, still no response. Her eyes hardly left her phone as she made her way for the sorority house. Kevin had to answer her. He just had to.

  He didn’t.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Costumes

  By two forty-five, Toni was again ready. She’d showered. She had a fresh uniform. Her makeup was fixed. The only thing she couldn’t fully recover was the way she had done her hair that morning, with just the right amount of stability and bounce, the meticulously arranged illusion of “natural wild” that took her an hour every day to achieve. Instead, she donned the visor cap. It’s what Veronica had suggested anyway.

  She walked up the wide dais of crimson-carpeted steps in the anchor studio that led to her chair. Toni sat, smiled for the camera. Waved.

  She wasn’t nervous anymore. Well, maybe a little, but she was excited, too. Very soon, I get to play with Cassidy Harper just like I’ve wanted to from the moment I first saw her. Just like I planned when I arranged for her to be my roommate at school. She has to let me, and it’s all legal.

  Of course, she’d planned on a seduction, back in the day, little as she knew of such things. But this scenario would work.

  I know a lot more now, thanks to Veronica. It’ll be fine.

  Canned applause mic’d in from unseen sources. On one of the screens visible offstage, she caught a glimpse of Cassidy and that other girl, the one with the ass that was both perky and toned, having some quiet time in their cell. God, Cassidy looked good in uniform: school, prison, didn’t matter. Again, Toni wondered what Cassidy would look like naked and defenseless—but in her arms, completely safe.

  Then Toni remembered she was on TV. She had forgotten to go to the desk and shake hands with the anchors—the masked, middle-aged freaks—who went by the stage names Gloria Wholesome and Buck Horndog.

  They came to her instead, rising with a shared, knowing smile and converging on her like birds of prey. They held out their hands, both of them wearing shimmering black nail polish. And both, Toni realized upon receiving them, were overly moisturized.

  “Toni DiFiore!” Gloria crooned, beaming down on her, limiting her handshake to a quick, slight, dainty up-and-down. “Our last and possibly most important new volunteer that we get to talk to before cutting to the action. Welcome. Don’t you look fearsome?”

  That was rich, coming from a woman who looked dressed for a bank robbery—in, say, 1978. “Pleased to meet you. Thanks,” she answered. Toni had never been camera shy. The words came easily.

  Buck took her hand in both of his and lifted it for a kiss through the open zipper of his mask. “My lady,” he said. “My servant of justice. Thank you for coming.”

  “Pleasure’s all mine,” she managed, with rather more difficulty this time. Um, yeah, so, how about you go back to that desk? Like, right now.

  They did. Toni felt the cameras zero in on her. She let out a sigh and shrugged, keeping the smile. Was she allowed to say hi to her parents?

  “So,” Gloria said with a tone that suggested getting down to business. “How well do you know our captive princess, Cassidy Harper?”

  Captive princess, Toni thought, finding that notion exciting unto itself. That’s good. That’s right. “Only a little,” she confessed. “I’m her roommate at school—sort of her big sister, I guess. But I only first met her in the sorority interview and then again on move-in day.”

  “Are you very good friends?” Buck prodded.

  That was trickier. “Well,” Toni said, “I like her, you know?”

  The zipper mouth grinned. “Does she know that?”

  “I think so, yeah,” Toni said. In fact, she was sure of it. And even though Cassidy was an out-of-the-closet bi—declared right on the application, a fill-in-the-blank explanation under the checked-off rainbow—she wasn’t ready to be that kind of friendly in return. There’d been the age difference, naturally, but more than that, there’d been the law.

  “Really?” Buck persisted. “Generally, our penitents and convicts aren’t exactly ready for these encounters before they happen. It’s supposed to be punishment, after—”

  Toni lowered the visor of her cap by the slightest fraction of an inch, summoned her memory of Veronica, and replied, “She’s not ready for me, Buck. Not like this. I promise you.”

  ****

  A tap on her shoulder, strong but gentle. Cassidy opened her eyes.

  She hadn’t heard the click and hiss of the door. She had heard the buzzer—it was impossible not to—but it had become common enough so as not to draw her out. She had, through some miracle, been able to do this today, to get her meditation time in. And Emma Jo had remained courteously and quietly reading at the desk the whole time.

  But now—God, now it was three o’clock, and Officer Garcia was in the cell with them, and Veronica, and Officer Grant filming from out in the hall, and Emma Jo stood waiting at the open door. “Time already?” she quietly asked, bringing her palm-up hands off her knees, swinging her crossed legs back over the side of her cot and giving them a quick forward stretch.

  “Yes, Miss Harper,” he replied. Infusing his voice with deliberate compassion, he said, “I am afraid the time has again come for you to be silent and do all I tell you, just as you have done before.�
�

  “Hope you’re fortified!” Veronica chirped, whipping out that stupid phone of hers and going live again. “Here we go, streamers and creamers! Session two is about to get underway. Can’t show that, unfortunately—subscribers can catch it on the official website or on TV, of course, and I’ll be working—but just look. It’s costume time!”

  Emma Jo dashed a lock of hair out from under her glasses and stood, arms crossed, somehow defiant and nervous at once. Cassidy could relate, especially to the “nervous” part.

  “We will have you change right here,” Officer Garcia said. “You will not wear your hats to this session.”

  The first hats—given away to the tour visitors—had been promptly replaced when they’d gotten their uniforms back. Standing now, Cassidy noted the paper bag at Veronica’s feet, along with a long plastic bag thrown over the shoulder, which Veronica held by hooking her finger over the coat hanger wire that poked out of the top.

  “What do you think, Internet?” Veronica asked her phone. “Do they know what to do by now, or do we have to tell them?”

  In the back of her mind, Cassidy couldn’t help but wonder how many viewers Veronica had in addition to the subscribers who paid for the show. But the front of her mind was occupied with the two bags and the inevitable question of what ridiculous thing they’d be made to wear on television for everyone to laugh at.

  Officer Garcia turned to Emma Jo and tilted his head, as if to repeat Veronica’s question.

  Emma Jo, with a resigned huff, started to undress.

  Cassidy waited. When they wanted her to do it, they could darn well tell her. She wasn’t going to spend one more minute without her clothes on than she—

  Veronica came to her, leaving the paper bag behind with Emma Jo, coming to Cassidy and drawing the plastic one in front of her. Peeling the bag away. Holding it up for Cassidy to see.

  It was a silken black dress, sleeveless with shoulder straps, cut reasonably high up front and with a zipper at the back. It was simple, elegant, understated, and beautiful. And, once upon a time, it would have been legal. She’d seen pictures of women wearing dresses like these out on the town, going to a show, fancy restaurants. Sashaying around in dresses just like that right out in public where anyone could see.

  “You need the command, little cunny?” Veronica cooed to her, holding the dress in front of Cassidy’s body so that she could look down and imagine herself in it before putting it on. “Answer me.”

  Behind Veronica, Emma Jo was already naked, holding up the contents of the paper bag with a look on her face that was beyond furious.

  It was a hospital gown, no mistaking it. Modesty up front, no secrets from the back.

  “Yes, Miss Ronnie,” Cassidy said, dreading to hear the word, needing to just the same.

  “No problem,” Veronica said, taking a step back and holding her phone out in front of her. “Strip.”

  Trembling everywhere, Cassidy obeyed.

  ****

  In the bag, Buddy found a classic Star Blazers anime tee, a tan tweed jacket, a matching golfer’s cap that buttoned down in front, comfortable-looking brown woolen socks, and a pair of loafers. It was a damned near perfect replica of what he had worn to the last poetry reading he had attended at Cyber Mike’s Café two weeks ago.

  Not that he’d read anything. But he’d gone. He’d enjoyed himself, shown support for those who had read, enjoyed a nice gingerbread latte or two.

  “Um, Matron?” he ventured, fishing around inside the bag.

  “Yes, Buddy,” Nurse Reyes-Garcia said. “I will allow you the one question, but I think I know what is coming. Or shall I simply answer it for you now?”

  Next to him, Peter sounded even more frustrated. “What the living hell?”

  Officer Thompson giggled. And why not? He and Peter were both naked again and only beginning to understand what they were in for. Behind her camera, Buddy heard rather than saw Officer Kersey yawn.

  He looked back to Nurse Reyes-Garcia.

  “The reason you do not see your customary blue jeans or underthings in the bag is because they were not sent for. Now, put the other things on, please, and we shall proceed to your second session. You have an audience who cannot wait to enjoy your Longfellow.”

  Really, Matron? he thought, dejectedly drawing the bag after him as he returned to his cot.

  “Joke’s arguable,” Kersey said, still shrouded behind the camera.

  Buddy drew on the t-shirt first, unable to refrain from giving Officer Kersey a sour look. And found, as he did so, Peter had it even worse than he did.

  In his hand was a long cord of rawhide with a belt loop, fastener, and wooden bit at its end. Hanging half out of the bag was an odd saddle with belt straps at either end.

  Oddly shaped, Buddy presumed, because the saddle was meant for people.

  “Matron,” Peter said, a pleading quality to his voice, “please, you can’t be serious. I don’t even know what to do with this.”

  “I understand,” Nurse Reyes-Garcia said, setting two plastic cups on their shared desk and placing a bottle of water and a smaller bottle of pills next to it. “Officer Thompson shall guide you into it. Please do not be so distressed, Peter. The complete outfit includes an anal plug with a horse’s tail, but I do not think your crimes sufficiently serious to merit that attachment, so try not to complain. I may still reconsider. Officer Thompson?”

  Buddy drew on the socks. Nurse Reyes-Garcia poured them each a cup of water.

  Officer Thompson, meanwhile, strapped the saddle to Peter’s back, but she did not make him lie down. Nor did she yet affix the makeshift bridle between his teeth. “Hands behind your back, stallion.”

  Shell-shocked, Peter obeyed, crossing his wrists just under the bottom of the saddle.

  Officer Thompson cuffed him, then took a second set of cuffs from her belt and came for Buddy.

  Buddy had the jacket on now. He stood and, without being told, turned and crossed his hands behind his back just over his bare ass. But when he felt the steel close over him, he asked, “Why?” It wasn’t like they were going to attempt to break out of this place.

  “Standard transfer protocol,” Nurse Reyes-Garcia answered. “We are going to the theater rooms, which will require us to pass through the administration offices of this facility on the way to the elevator. We may encounter visitors, civilians, unarmed civilian non-prisoners. When such things are unavoidable, these are the precautions we take to keep everyone safe.”

  Because I’m such a huge threat, Buddy thought, but he nodded understanding. He could not expect the police to make exceptions.

  Peter looked down at himself. “Better issue an escaped sausage alert,” he muttered.

  Nurse Reyes-Garcia sniffed. “That will be enough from you, Peter Gravis,” she said, shaking a pill from the bottle—just one capsule, which she separated with her fingers, dividing its contents equally between the two cups. “Come and get your vitamins.”

  Peter went to her, casting a dubious glance at the cup she lifted from the table.

  “It is to make sure you are not all finished should you ejaculate before your next humiliation is complete,” she explained matter-of-factly. “A simple replenisher, nothing sinister, and half a dose only.” She brought it to his lips. “Down it goes, Peter.”

  He hesitated, keeping his mouth shut.

  Nurse Reyes-Garcia checked her watch. “Twenty-five seconds, Peter.”

  Peter opened his mouth, took the medicine, swallowed. Showed his tongue. In moments, before Officer Thompson had the bit in his mouth, silencing him, his penis went completely rigid.

  “Your turn, Buddy.”

  He was already hard. Helplessly, he looked down at himself again, not daring to speak, trying to communicate with his eyes.

  “Yes, Buddy,” she said, bringing the second cup to his lips. “I know. Your man puppy sits up and begs if it is let loose anywhere within ten feet of a vagina. This medicine is not meant to supply you with your first erec
tion. It is meant to enable you to have a second, should you blow your Wadsworth prematurely. Be a good wiener dog and drink it. Go on.”

  Buddy closed his eyes and drank.

  ****

  Down through the end of the protective custody unit Nurse Reyes-Garcia led them all, with Buddy up front, her hand guiding him by the arm, pressed over the patch of his tweed jacket sleeve. His erection, straight up against his belly, hardly bobbed at all. His scrotum was swollen to a hard ball.

  I shall have you there as quickly as I may, Buddy, she thought. You will not have to wait long.

  Beyond protective custody was a hall that led perpendicularly to the visitor’s entrance. Buddy looked that way, aghast to hear so many people in the waiting room. They were plainly visible through the open doorway, a dozen or more free citizens here to meet with their incarcerated relations.

  “Oh, fuck, that’s the new kid on Consequences! Hi, Buddy!”

  “Jesus, what are they doing to the poor saps now?”

  Laughter, pointing fingers, the standard. Buddy’s hands struggled behind his back to break free of the cuffs. A low moan of despairing shame—also standard. With her free hand, she drew her palm com and checked: standard elevations. Acute distress but nothing dangerous.

  “You are fine, Buddy. Keep walking and you will be out of their line of sight all the sooner.”

  Behind them, Officer Thompson led Peter forward more carefully, stark naked but for the saddle on his back. She allowed him to walk upright and gave only the slightest tug of the cord when he showed any reluctance to proceed. It was attached to the bit in his mouth, which was strapped in with a belt loop around the back of his head—so it wouldn’t do to pull too hard. Nurse Reyes-Garcia was not having any dislodged teeth.

  When at length they finally made it to the standard-sentence processing center and admin offices—half-staffed on a weekend—she found that Alejandro and Ms. Cruz had only just gotten to the elevator on the far end and were still waiting for it. He had relieved Cassidy and Emma Jo of their handcuffs. There they stood, rubbing their wrists as though they’d been cuffed for hours and seeming none too pleased. Emma Jo shrank under the casual gaze of so many, no doubt amplifying their attentions in her mind (people around here saw this kind of thing so often, to them it was just another transfer). Cassidy, most likely, was fighting down paroxysms of guilt for being allowed to wear a dress while her friend’s back and buttocks were exposed.