Off the Grid

by 3586088863  [straitlaced8{at}hotmail{dot}com] (Utopia)

Author's Note: A Prequel to "The Long Way Down". Like many prequels, this account may be more enlightening if you save it until you've read the original.

Nevertheless, you are welcome to make this tale your first introduction to this most fascinating universe.

As always, this story is dedicated to those who like secure straitjackets and powerful women. Derivative works are welcomed, but please acknowledge your inspiration.

Part One

The time for the end had arrived.

Holding down the red safety button with a click, Serena slowly began to push the heavy lever toward the back of the console. As she looked on, the power readout behind the lever slowly crept higher and higher, until she confirmed with a smile that it had finally achieved its maximal output.

Two meters beneath her feet, secured within the inky blackness of a cavernous torture cell, swung a helplessly bound young woman. Still waking from the sedation of her recent medical examination, the prisoner had not yet reacquainted herself with the unfortunate details of her condition.

It was nine full weeks ago that she had been handed over by trial into her current world of darkness and sexual torment. Of the specifics of her restraints she could remember very little. Only vaguely did she remember being forced and sealed into the tight black stimulation suit, a suit that for nine continuous weeks had been mercilessly dispensing carefully measured electric current into her loins. And only vaguely did she remember the inexorable fastening of the full-body straitjacket that now enveloped her, securing her to the pneumatics suspending her high above the padded floor.

But now, as the circuitry in her suit reacted to the signal from above, the dazed captive grew aware of an alarming change. Swaying helplessly, she found her torment increasing to more than she had ever imagined possible. No matter how she bucked or struggled or twisted, she could gain no respite as the pulsing activity between her widespread legs edged her closer towards yet another shuddering climax.

Serena traced her finger lazily around the control console's intercom knob. Sometimes when she was all alone in the control room, she would listen in on the muffled pleas and moans of the condemned, imagining herself in the place of the doomed prisoner. What if, in a moment of weakness, she were to make a bad decision and find herself not an agent of justice, but instead its object? What would it feel like, she wondered, to be rendered helpless under the full authority of the government -- made to submit to a sexual punishment so intense that prisoners emerged from it a primal shell of their former selves? As she closed her eyes, her breathing quickened, and her other hand began to wander.

But as she was about to turn on the intercom, she relented. No, she had to exercise discipline; no upstanding woman like herself should be entertaining such depraved thoughts. Actually desiring sexual torture? Sighing, she inserted the console key at the base of the lever and turned it until the system locked with a clunk. It was time to go home.

Satisfied the red safety would no longer depress, and that no amount of bystander sympathy would free the lever from its current setting, Serena powered down the lights. As the door closed, the room was illumined only by the dim blue lights of the console computers as they worked away on the prisoner enclosed below.


Part Two

Then one afternoon, while doing inventory, Serena found the suit.

By all means it should not have been there; in fact it was an offense to Serena's meticulous management of her division. Without fail, every time she received a shipment, she would personally pass the wand over it to record the suits' radiosignatures and confirm the shipment count. In fact, knowing she was nearly out of the CT suits, Serena had already scheduled the next two hundred to arrive that evening. Yet here was this straggler, mocking her: a single flat cardboard box bearing the words, "ONE COERCION AND TRACKING SUIT, FEMALE. To be handled or applied only by government order."

Serena hurried back to her desk. No one else was supposed to have access to the supplies. Was someone stealing? What other counts were off? Returning with her wand, she walked it through the supply room from one end to the other. Looking at the device for the final count, she saw the tallies she expected, except for something that both relieved and intrigued her: the count for the female CT suits was still zero.

Clearly, then, there was something wrong with the box. Contemplating the familiar warning she had seen on the box every day for the past five years, Serena was unsure whether it was her place to investigate further. At this point, however, she was too curious to stop. Besides, she rationalized, she probably ranked highly enough that she would be forgiven for going beyond her duties in this exceptional circumstance.

She opened the box with particular care and tilted it. Out slid a neatly-folded bundle of black rubbery fabric, no different than what she had seen many times before. Holding the suit out before her, she let it unfurl. Unlike the regulation tracking suit that she herself wore, she made note of the typical gray collar and sealing tab of a female CT suit -- the female prisoner's distinguishing mark.

Well, maybe it looked like the real thing but lacked the internal workings? Gingerly tugging down the zipper, she inspected the inside of the suit for the nearly invisible flexible circuitry. And indeed, in addition to the usual joint position tracking sensors, this suit was studded with an intricate pattern of additional contacts -- especially below the waist. As far as she could see, it was the real deal.

Serena sighed. A defective item. For something as high-profile as this, she'd probably have to complete a whole stack of discrepancy paperwork. But as she reached to zip the garment again, something caught her eye.

In the small of the back, on the right side where the primary transmit antenna circuit was, there was a bubble in the material that interrupted several wires. Now that she knew what to look for, she was with some difficulty able to find a second smaller defect in the secondary transmit circuit. Whoever was mixing the polymer that day must have been inattentive. No wonder this suit had never been counted; it had no way of making itself known to anyone. As far as transmitting went, this CT suit was completely off the grid.

A perverse idea formed itself in Serena's mind. Gathering up the suit, she ran her hands gently along the miniature contacts inside. What she held in her hands was a very special thing. She wasn't sure yet what to do with it, but she was sure she should hold on to it. The neatly folded suit went back into the box.

And the box went into her duffel bag.

That night, with the box hidden deep within her desk drawer at home, Serena had the first of many wild dreams.