Corrective Treatment

  Corrective Treatment

  By

  Loki Renard

  Copyright © 2016 by Stormy Night Publications and Loki Renard

  Copyright © 2016 by Stormy Night Publications and Loki Renard

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Published by Stormy Night Publications and Design, LLC.

  www.StormyNightPublications.com

  Renard, Loki

  Corrective Treatment

  Cover Design by Korey Mae Johnson

  Images by 123RF/Vereshchagin Dmitry, 123RF/konstantynov, and 123RF/Евгений Косцов

  This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults.

  Prologue

  “And this is the machine you’ll use most when carrying out corrective treatment,” a distinguished gentleman in a white coat and thick spectacles addressed the gaggle of students following in his wake like chicks following a mother hen.

  The cluster of white-coated young student doctors gathered around the machine in which a young woman was restrained, her bottom bright red from the swatting of a clear plasticized paddle wielded against her rear by the mechanism. She was naked from the waist down, her genitals swollen and wet from the stimulation being applied by a secondary smaller paddle that landed intermittently against her lower lips, simultaneously chastising and exciting her.

  “The punishment machine is a prime mechanism for behavior modification,” the instructor droned, his tone strangely flat given the writhing female form trapped beneath the swatting arm. “In the course of corrective treatment, a woman is put in touch with her deepest desires. Her animal nature is activated, her primal need to be used by a dominant male is satisfied.”

  “Does it always work?”

  The instructor cast his gaze at the student doctor. “Corrective treatment can be tailored to the specific needs of any woman, from the lowest laborer to the highest in the land. It is simply a matter of discovering tolerances and accessing the desires that are most repressed. In the distant past, all we could do for criminal or rebellious elements was incarcerate them. Rehabilitation was rare. In contrast, corrective treatment has one hundred percent efficacy. The recidivism rates are close to zero.”

  “Close to zero, sir?” a voice near the back queried.

  “So close to zero it may as well be zero,” the doctor repeated. “If you follow procedures, you will turn the most hardened of criminals into compliant ladies in a matter of days, if not hours.”

  “So you’re saying corrective treatment has never failed?”

  “Perhaps one time,” the doctor admitted. “One notorious time…”

  The young doctors took copious and serious notes while the subject moaned softly, lost in a disciplinary haze.

  Chapter One

  “Charged with crimes against decency, good taste, and social order, what will be the punishment for Newtopia’s first daughter?” A silver-haired reporter stood outside the Crystal Hall of Justice, his handsome face beamed into screens of every citizen in the city. The entirety of the colony was likely watching the proceedings either remotely or in person. At the hall of justice, thousands of people were gathered down the shining steps: reporters, fans, perhaps even a few surreptitious protesters all waiting for the arrival of the illustrious defendant.

  Sophie Eins had been born special, a young woman of the highest echelon, one of a handful of truly noblewomen. She was just nineteen years old, the only the daughter of the premier of Newtopia. The press had taken to calling her ‘the first daughter,’ which was annoying the seven daughters of the president to no end. It was not quite right that the daughter of the mere premier received so much attention, but Sophie had a way about her that drew the eye and tempted the tongue.

  A sound in the sky heralded her arrival, spinning silver blades bringing the transportation pod down to the base of the steps where dozens of uniformed guards were waiting to take the young woman into custody. Slowly, with the grace of a falling dandelion seed, the bulbous pod landed.

  There was a hush as the silver walls began to unfurl, and then great rousing cheers as finally Sophie became visible through the peeling shafts that coiled up upon themselves and left her standing on the platform, greeting her public with her winning smile. As always, Sophie looked stunning. She wore a vintage cream cardigan with delicate pearl embroidery and a silk blouse that showed her fiery coloring to great advantage. Her legs were clad in delicate gossamer leggings that flowed loosely around her. As dark clad guards circled her, she looked all the more ethereal and feminine. Her bright red hair fell past her shoulders, brilliant green eyes lit with passion that was conveyed even when she was silent and still. Her body was soft and curvy, unaccustomed to physical exertion but naturally shapely. Sophie had not done a day’s work in her life, nor would she.

  From the moment of her birth, images of Sophie had been distributed around the colony, her life story discussed and observed in the weekly gazettes and broadcasts as a matter of entertainment. If she wore a dress, the next week every woman was wearing it. If she chose a new shade of eye shadow, it would be worn from one end of the colony to the other.

  Her celebrity was nothing more than an accident of station, and for many, many years she had borne it with grace. Now she was nineteen and rebellious and now the stories were not as much about her pretty dresses as they were the scandalous behavior she was alleged to be involved in. She had been seen wearing a laborer’s bracelet, an act that had sent ripples to the farthest reaches of the colony. Rumors had started that the premier’s daughter was an anarchist, that she perhaps did more than merely wear the trappings of the lower echelons, that she perhaps socialized, even fornicated with them.

  The rumors were scandalous, almost unthinkable for a far-flung colony such as Newtopia. What had started out as a prison labor colony for undesirables from other planets had, over the years, become a bustling center of commerce and culture. Through the labors of millions of sweating convicts, beautiful buildings had risen and beautiful people had come to fill them.

  The system of echelons was a natural consequence of distinguishing between laborers and supervisors, but as decades passed into centuries, it became more complex and evolved. Now there were five echelons. Convicts at the very bottom, then laborers, then merchants, then soldiers, then the ruling classes, of which there were very few. Sophie had been born to a position of privilege most could only dream about, and yet she seemed to be on the very brink of throwing it all away.

  The precise details of her crimes were unclear, but there were rumors that Sophie might find herself sentenced to hard labor in the mines, though it was unlikely given that she was high-born and female. Women who found themselves afoul of the law faced a different punishment to that which men would endure. A shorter, but no less impressive sentence would likely be handed down.

  “Free Sophie!” a bold, lone voice in the crowd piped up. It was quickly silenced by the swift motion of the many guards in attendance. There would be order on this most solemn of days; that much had been decreed. Sophie turned her head to watch the protester be swept away, her magnetic gaze saddening, her full lips turning down at the corners as a more resolute expression passed across her pretty features.

  Slowly, she began to ascend the stairs toward the hall of justice. There were a great many of them and her progress was carefully watched by dozens of flying cameras, some of which would be broadcasting to various news stations, others of which would be feeding direc
tly into the hall of justice itself. With each step, the crowd became more agitated. The guards could no longer keep them quiet. Cheers and jeers rose, but Sophie kept her head high, her expression composed, but determined.

  She stopped at the top of the stairs, turned and smiled to the assembled men and women. She looked almost regal in that moment, like a young princess greeting her public. It almost seemed impossible that she was on the brink of being judged and sentenced for crimes against social order as she lifted her hand and waved to the crowds, some of whom seemed to be on the brink of hysteria. Women dabbed their eyes with handkerchiefs, men shouted encouragement and condemnation in equal parts. The roar of humanity at her feet might have overwhelmed a less stoic young woman, but Sophie took the reception of the crowd in easy stride. This was the life she had been born to. The adoration and hatred of masses were all as one to her.

  Though she was being brought before the high court in disgrace, Sophie did not look disgraced in the slightest. As the cameras swept in for a closer shot, there were no nervous tremors in her lips or eyes. She was utterly composed, her face painted perfectly with lipstick and liners that emphasized her wide green eyes and her generous mouth.

  The crowd’s roar rose to a high pitch as she turned toward the great archway leading into the hall of justice, and then silence fell as she passed under the arch—as if all who watched the popular young aristocrat go to her fate somehow knew that it would be the last time they would see Sophie Eins.

  Chapter Two

  Shadows fell around Sophie. The hall of justice was structured in such a way that the defendant did not meet anyone or see anyone once they were ordered to walk the gauntlet of righteousness. She could feel the dark presence of the authority all around her, those whose role it was to rule and ensure order. As she walked through the narrow hall to the defendant’s booth entirely alone, she felt as though the old stone walls were closing in around her.

  She emerged into a small wooden box that sat recessed in the judgment chamber. Five judges were seated above her, their skin pallid, their faces wrinkled, their hair gray. There was no shortage of drama to the occasion, or to the very structure of the situation. The building was engineered to reinforce how small and insignificant any defendant was, no matter what their station.

  Sophie found herself looking up into unsympathetic faces and wishing that she were not quite so alone. Her father was not there to defend her. Six months earlier, the premier had left on important business and had been out of communication range for most of that time. He did not know of the trouble his daughter was in. She would face these charges entirely alone, helpless before the panel of five.

  “Sophie Eins,” the head judge growled in gravelly tones. “You are charged with crimes of the highest order, of causing social unrest, of socializing outside your echelon, and of inciting revolution.”

  “Because I wore a bracelet?” Sophie could not quite keep the incredulity out of her tone.

  “You have done much more than wear the trappings of laborers,” the judge said. “We have received evidence that you have fraternized with them.”

  It was true. Sophie had sneaked out on numerous occasions and gone to the bars where the laboring echelons relaxed at the end of their long workdays. They were much more lively places than the stiff, formal lounges she was permitted to attend with the handful of high-born youths who also had the misfortune to live in Newtopia.

  Sophie had made friends among the laborers. She had been taught that lower echelons were less mentally able, only suited to physical work, but that was not true. They were wickedly funny at times and far more aware of the lies being fed to them than those who told the lies could believe. She enjoyed her time among the laborers and the merchants and even the soldiers far more than she had enjoyed any time spent among those who were supposed to be better.

  “Look at what you have done!” The judge gestured to a wall that suddenly lit up with an image of the outside of the hall. The crowds were yet to dissipate, and thanks to the aerial view of the cameras, looked even larger than Sophie had realized.

  “There is great unrest,” the judge said grimly, as if the crowds were Sophie’s fault. “There is disorder and chaos wherever you go.”

  “I did not call the crowds,” she said simply. “You did.”

  “Young lady, you are in grave trouble,” the judge replied. “I would warn you not to be glib. We have watched you with concern for some time. Your father’s permissive attitude to rearing has left you bereft of a proper sense of order, and that disregard is spreading to the people at large. You,” he said, peering over his spectacles, “are a bad influence.”

  “That I am an influence at all is rather silly,” Sophie began.

  “Silence!” The judge boomed the word and held up his hand. “We do not wish to hear from you. The evidence has been gathered. There is only the question of how you plead. Will you throw yourself on the mercy of this court? Or will you continue your rebellion against social order?”

  How did she plead? It did not matter. She had already been tried and convicted in the minds of the five men sitting before her, five twisted, bitter souls who seemed to be taking a sadistic pleasure in making it clear that she had no power in that place, none at all.

  Sophie started to get angry. Very angry. She was being made an example of. She was absolutely certain that the hearing was being recorded. They wanted her to break down, to cry, to beg for forgiveness and mercy, perhaps to confess her sins. That was not going to happen. Not ever.

  “How do I plead? I plead for an end to this charade,” Sophie said in arrogant tones. “This court is a joke. These proceedings are a pathetic attempt to scare people. But the people are not scared. They see through…”

  “Silence!” the judge boomed again, his face twisted with fury. This was obviously not how the judges had intended for the proceedings to take place. Sophie smirked even as she fell silent, pleased at the way the vein was standing out in the old man’s forehead. They had all the power, but they would not win. The courtroom footage would be useless to their cause; she would make sure of that.

  “You are in contempt!”

  “You are contemptible,” Sophie shrugged. “Five old cowards enforcing archaic laws that serve nobody but themselves. It’s sad.”

  Bang! The sound of the gavel rang out like a gunshot. The judge pointed a wizened old finger at Sophie, a finger that shook with barely contained rage.

  “You are hereby found guilty!” he declared. “You will undergo corrective treatment until such time as you see the error of your ways and can be tolerated to once again join good society. Until then, I strip you of your rank and I declare you a convict.”

  The words were supposed to break her, but they barely made her quiver. Corrective treatment was prison for the upper classes, a re-education. It was nothing compared to the daily lives of the laborers, or to the horrors of what true convicts endured. Sophie had heard all sorts of rumors about what corrective treatment entailed, but the process itself was secret, taboo. In fact, inquiring as to the nature of corrective treatment was, in and of itself, grounds for corrective treatment. She was half-curious to find out what it involved.

  “Bailiffs! Take her away!”

  Within seconds two strong bailiffs appeared at her side, wearing the dark blue uniform of the court. They were young men, just a few years older than Sophie. They seemed pleased to be able to touch her, their large hands curling around her slim wrists and forearms. Sophie made sure to flash a big, thoroughly unrepentant smile at the judges as she was led away. She did not resist even a little as she was led down to the chambers below. Instead she bowed her head and allowed herself to be taken to the place reserved for miscreants and criminals.

  “Wow. You really annoyed the judge,” the bailiff to her left murmured as they escorted her.

  A little smile passed over Sophie’s lips. The men holding her were from the military echelon, so they were strong and loyal to the authority. She did not expect
much in the way of understanding from them. To them, her behavior was probably completely unfathomable.

  “I have never seen the old man go that red,” the other bailiff said, speaking over Sophie’s head. “Did you see him? I thought he was going to stroke out. You’ve got some nerve, Sophie.”

  They used her name as if they knew her. Sophie was used to that. Her name had been in people’s mouths since her birth. Everyone in Newtopia felt that they knew her in one way or another.

  “I’ve never seen anyone talk to them like that,” the first bailiff spoke. “They’re going to have your ass seared.” The note of admiration in his tone almost made her smile. She got the sense that they were going to be telling that story for a long time. If nothing else, she’d managed to entertain them.

  “You’re quiet,” the one who had first spoken observed as they loaded her into a vehicle. “Lost your nerve now you know you’re in for corrective treatment?”

  Sophie looked directly at him for the first time. “Is part of the punishment having to listen to you two break down the trial like it was a game of two halves?”

  “Giving us attitude too, huh,” the bailiff on her right smirked. “You won’t be so mouthy once the process starts.”

  Sophie rolled her eyes at him, but he just smiled back at her as if he knew something she didn’t.

  Both bailiffs were kind of cute in an authoritarian kind of way. Sophie was enjoying them, to tell the truth. She’d expected more cold judgment, but they were close to her age and they didn’t seem inclined to judge her at all, aside from repeatedly telling her how much trouble she was in. They were really enjoying that aspect of the whole situation, a little too much for Sophie’s liking.