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Review This Story || Author: velvetglove

After the Pestilence

Part 3



by velvetglove

Author's Note

“Beware the iron fist hidden inside a velvet glove”

‘After the Pestilence' is a work of fiction, set in the near future. The full work contains 7 parts, of which this is the third. The fourth part is planned for posting around mid-October 2005. Thanks to those who have provided feedback, reviews and suggestions.


Following the Great Pestilence of 2006 and the subsequent Depression, when global Stock, Property and Commodity Markets crashed, the World's largest Economies have each undergone different Revolutions. Northern Europe – comprising the Scandinavian countries, much of Germany, the northern half of France, the Benelux Region, and all of Great Britain – has formed the ‘Northern Alliance', ruled by unelected bureaucrats. Under their Economic Recovery Act passed by the bureaucrats on January 1 st 2008, human rights were repealed and Slavery was reintroduced throughout the Northern Alliance. Severe punishments were introduced for all crimes, especially stealing, and the penalty for bankruptcy was Slavery for life. The new system flourished best in the part of the Northern Alliance that used to be the country of England.

The action follows the lives of a slave owning family; Stella, her husband Brutus, her stepson Brutus Junior, and her niece Lara. In Parts One and Two, we followed the cruel first day in the new lives of Jim and Jane, after they were purchased at auction by Stella to work for the Brute Corporation, a Sex Conglomerate she owns and runs with her husband. We also met Lara and Brutus Junior, and a small selection of slaves including Lavinia, Gemma, Rebecca, Neil and his family. Part Three begins at dawn and describes just the first four hours of what will prove to be another monotonous and gruelling day for all of the slaves.

The Next Day

06.30 hrs

At six thirty precisely, Jim joined the long line of slaves trudging slowly into the canteen. In some respects it looked like any other dining hall or cafeteria he had seen, with a serving ledge running the length of one wall, along which everybody slowly pushed a tray, and in the centre of the room, ten parallel tables and benches at which people sat. But in other ways it was unlike anything he'd ever imagined, with barking guards dressed in black military uniforms, shouting orders and waving riding crops at the slaves, and ominous CCTV cameras mounted on every wall and into the ceiling, monitoring everything. The slaves all shuffled along stark naked except, like Jim, every male wore a tiny steel tube locked over his penis. A few of the females wore what looked like shiny PVC punishment corsets, pin-lined bras or underwear, and a number of slaves hobbled along wearing ankle chains that restricted them to tiny steps.

Worst of all was the stench. Most canteens in his experience had that slightly unpleasant institutional odour of disinfectant and boiled cabbage. This one had that smell multiplied by a factor of ten. And it seemed to be getting stronger the nearer he got to the serving hatch.

“Yuk.” He mumbled under his breath.

The woman in front of him turned and raised an eyebrow. She glanced around nervously for guards but none were watching.

“New ?” she mouthed silently.

Jim nodded.

She smiled at him kindly, with sad eyes. “Rebecca.” She whispered.

“Jim.” He replied. In spite of the situation, his male instinct took over. He checked her out. She was a lovely looking woman. Older than him. Forties maybe. Nice face, doe eyes and soft lips. There were a couple of hickey bruises on her neck and jagged scratches on her full breasts. He glanced away, ashamed.

She continued to smile and shrugged in a way that said he could look as much as he liked. She was obviously used to it.

The line shuffled forwards.

“Eat it all.” She whispered. “Not until we get to the tables. Wait until they say, then eat it all . Whatever you think of it. Everything.”

He nodded slowly. “The smell.”

She made a face. “You get used to it, believe …”

Her mouth snapped shut as a guard walked up the line and past them.

“Can't we speak at all ?” he whispered to her back.

“Not really. You'll attract attention to yourself. You don't want to do that.”

“Where do I sit ?”

“Wait and they'll put you somewhere.”

She had reached the hatch and fell silent. Jim watched her hold out her tray and empty bowl. A ladle tipped three large dollops of mush into the bowl. He heard her say a quiet but enthusiastic and grateful “thank you”.

Jim took a step forwards and looked into the hatch. An Asian man was standing behind a big steel cauldron. He had a cigarette in his teeth and was shouting an order in a foreign language to somebody in the kitchen. He turned back, looked at Jim, removed his cigarette and grinned, showing gold teeth. His face was pock-marked and sweating.

“You new ?”

“Yes.” Jim replied.

The man scowled at him. “Yes, Sir.” He spat, sticking the cigarette back into his mouth.

“Sorry. Yes … Sir.”

Jim held out his tray and bowl. With a grin, the man took it and peered into the cauldron. He took several seconds carefully scooping up selected bits and ladling them into Jim's bowl. Jim stared mesmerised as the long strip of ash on the man's cigarette drooped. Nonchalantly, the man held the bowl and the ash tumbled into the serving. He stared challengingly at Jim and then slowly stirred it into Jim's food with the ladle, before adding two more scoops from the cauldron. Jim's bowl was full to the brim.

He took it and, in spite of his rage, mumbled “thank you … Sir.”

“Welcome.” The Asian cackled.

A black guard with a clip board came up to Jim.

“You James Bryant ?”

“Yes.” Jim replied, adding “Sir” quickly as an afterthought.

The guard pointed at an empty space. “Sit there.”

Jim saw that the woman he'd spoken to, Rebecca, was already sitting at the same table, along with six other women and two men, one middle aged guy, and one younger than Jim. They were all staring straight ahead in silence, waiting, bowls and plastic spoons on trays in front of them.

Jim carefully laid his tray down and climbed into his space on the bench. He winced as his bruised buttocks, from the caning he'd been given the previous evening, came in contact with the hard wood of the seat.

The guard watched him carefully. He was a tall, handsome. He reminded Jim of an Olympic sprinter that he couldn't remember the name of.

“Everybody, this is James, though I think he's called Jim.”

All eyes turned to Jim. Most looked at him warmly, a few disinterested.

“Jim has a wife called Jane. Cute little bitch judging by her photo. She's busy now I'll bet, but I guess we'll get to meet her in a day or two. Tell us all, Jim, which hole do you think I'm going to want to fuck Jane in first ? Her mouth, her pussy or her shey highway ?” He sniggered at his own joke, saying ‘her-shay-high-way' lyrically, but meaning her brown entrance after a well known pre-Pestilence brand of chocolate bar.

Jim stared at him, staggered. These people never stopped.

“Her … I … er … I guess her p …pussy … Sir.”

The guard grinned and unzipped his uniform fly. “Thanks for the tip.” He fished out his black semi-hard penis and sat down in the empty chair at the head of the table. “But until I meet the lovely Jane, you will have to do.” He pointed at one of the women at the table. “Come here.”

Jim watched a lovely redhead stand up. She looked young, early twenties, freckles, pointy white breasts. She knelt down between the guard's legs.

“Mmm … so Jim, you start. You can be taster of the morning slop today.”

Jim snatched his gaze away from the young woman's pink lips sliding up and down over the expanding black cock. He looked down at the brown mush. It smelled like coffee was an ingredient. He saw beans. And black things, maybe raisins. And other lumps. The thick texture was provided by some sort of cereal or maize. He picked up the plastic spoon.

“Hurry Jim, less you want my slop added to it too.” Said the guard.

Jim raised a mouthful to his lips. It was lukewarm, not even that. Tepid. He put it in his mouth trying not to retch. There was certainly coffee in the mix. Jim loved a good expresso or cappuccino and judged himself a bit of a coffee expert. This was cheap, bitter. There were cold beans and raisins. Lots of them. His teeth crunched on something small and hard. The whole thing was a chewy mush, so thick that he had to lick off the spoon.

“So, Jim, how do you like your first taste of the Corporation's food. Good, eh ?” The guard was gently fondling the girl's red tresses.

“Thank you, Sir. Yes, very good, Sir.”

Then the guard suddenly seemed more interested in his blowjob than in humiliating Jim. He clapped his hands at everybody.

“All eat, now, and hurry. We've wasted time already.”

Jim lifted another mouthful to his lips and chewed, watching the other people at his table. Rebecca glanced at him but simply ate quietly.

It was foul, worse than you'd feed a dog, but just edible. There was a lot of it too. His serving was the equivalent of about four big bowls of normal cereal that Jim would have eaten for breakfast once upon a time. The worst part was crunching on bits of unexpected stuff. It was like kitchen sweepings had simply been added to the mix, a bit of raw carrot, a bit of eggshell, a lump of gristle, and flecks of cigarette ash.

He had been given a meal 24 hours earlier, before the auction, but nothing since. Suddenly he realised his body needed sustenance.

He noticed, amazingly, that Rebecca, and the others, ate almost with relish, eating fast and efficiently, with no sign of distaste.

The guard gave a grunt and Jim realised he was unloading himself in the redhead's mouth. Nobody else looked, but Jim caught the eye of the young guy opposite him.

“Mmm … hold that on your tongue, baby, don't chug it back.”

The woman carefully slid her lips off the glistening erection and shut her mouth. She stared up at him obediently, waiting.

The guard reached up and fingered her small breast. “Share it with your husband, baby, gob that into his bowl.”

Jim watched the woman rise, lean over the young man opposite's shoulder, and drool and spit the pearly contents from her mouth onto the remaining slop in his bowl.

The guard stood to jiggle his erection back into his pants. “Kiss him.”

He stared as the redhead turned to her shaven headed husband and kissed him lovingly. The young man kissed her back passionately. For a moment, they held each other's gaze longingly. Strangely, even in such circumstances, Jim felt envious of them, at least being together.

“Now now,” the guard smirked, “that's enough sex you too. What do you think you are, married ?” He laughed at his own joke. “Both eat up.”

The guard watched the young man lap up his seed from his bowl while he carefully straightened his smart, shiny black uniform, and then he wandered off to chat with a couple of the other guards.

Jim glanced at Rebecca.

She shrugged and then looked meaningfully at a CCTV camera.

Jim and everybody at the table simply finished their ‘meal' in silence.


07.05 hrs

Stella released Jane from the bathroom. She was already dressed in jogging pants and trainers. She pushed Jane into the huge double bed with a sleeping Brutus. He was lying face down, breathing heavily.

“Wake him. Nicely. Lick his arse.” With that, Stella left the room for her early morning run.

Jane looked about. Morning sunlight filtered through the blinds. There didn't seem to be anybody else there. For a ridiculous moment she thought about escape. Then she sighed and slipped underneath the covers. Brutus, a man old enough to be her father, was hirsute, naked and sweaty. She grimaced. It was relentless. Last thing at night she was licking Stella's bottom. First thing this morning, kissing Brutus's.

Carefully she slid into position between his legs and put her tongue to his hairy cheeks in the dark. She felt him stir. She was certain that Stella would check later she'd done it. Jane pushed her tongue inside and kissed softly with her lips.

She was rewarded with a soft murmur. He was coming round.

She lapped again, up and down in gentle, reverent motions.

She was rewarded with a loud rumble, a huge sonorous early morning flatulent fart. It exploded with a gust of wind on her face.

For two seconds she backed off, horrified. He just seemed to have ignored her presence. The stench under the sheet was awful but she put her lips back and tongued him again. Tears of shame pricked her eyes.

He murmured again, louder, and shifted in the bed. His buttocks spread open, pushing slightly against her face. Reluctantly she pushed forwards.

Suddenly, the covers shifted over Jane's head. She blinked and saw Lavinia, the woman Brutus had cruelly renamed Lavatory, looking at her. She was a brunette, with stunning high cheekbones, lovely brown eyes like chocolates, perfect firm high tits that Jane was jealous of, and a slim but gracious body. She looked like fashion models used to before the Pestilence destroyed the fashion industry. Lavinia frantically gestured for Jane to get out of the bed.

Jane shook her head.

“He said I had to wake him this morning.” Lavinia whispered.

“No, I was just ordered to … wake him. By his wife.”

Suddenly Brutus turned over, awake, and squinted at them. His eyes were full of sleep, his face creased, dark with a heavy stubble.

“Mmm .. nice wake up call.” He pulled Lavinia down into the bed. “Come here Lavvy.” He ran his hands up and down her flanks, over her nipples and kissed her. He reached down and stroked her bald mons. The words ‘I love Brutus' had been neatly tattooed there in black ink inside a scarlet heart.

Jane looked at him. He grinned back lewdly at her, fingering Lavinia's labia open.

“Make yourself useful. Kiss this beautiful cunt for me.”

Shocked at his crude dismissal of her, Jane felt her eyes sting with tears again. She crawled across the bed and put her face between Lavinia's thighs.

In turn, Brutus pulled Lavinia's mouth over to his jutting erection.

After a few moments, Jane heard him ask her. “That good, Lavvy ? Enjoy it ? How do you like the feel of a tongue in your pussy ?”

Lavinia moaned. Jane had no idea if it was genuine or not. She was certainly lubricating but that didn't have to mean she was enjoying it. Jane felt humiliated preparing her like this. She knew that she was not bad looking herself but Lavinia was gorgeous. Doing this made her feel terribly inferior. Somehow it was worse than pleasuring Stella had been.

“Move.” Brutus pushed Jane away and slid in between Lavinia's long legs, easing himself up into her now moist body in one smooth motion.

“Mmm .. that's gooooood.” He said. Then he turned and looked at Jane spitefully. She was watching them, kneeling on her haunches.

You can go back to kissing my butthole.”

Jane lowered her eyes. She had no experience. Just one boyfriend and then Jim. But no man, no person, had ever made her feel so devalued.

She knelt behind him and began licking as best she could in time with his lazy movements. Each time he thrust back towards her, his cheeks spread wide, clammy, bashing her face. She shut her eyes and thought of Jim. Where was he ? Why oh why was all this happening ?

“Oh, by the way,” Brutus said, peering at her over his shoulder, “I remember from your file. You're 28 years old today, right ?”

She had forgotten. “Mmph … yeth…” she mumbled into his crack.

He chuckled and winked before turning away. “Happy Birthday.”

07.30 hrs

Surgery opened at half past seven except for overnight emergencies.

First up for Doctor Sadie Thorne that morning was Susannah, the 32 year old who had entertained BJ and his friends on the Sexercycle the previous evening. She had since spent an uncomfortable night hunched into a small mesh cage in an underground cellar, with only rats and spiders for company.

Now she was strapped into a gynaecological chair, long athletic legs placed wide and high in stirrups, buttocks hanging over the edge of the half-seat.

It was the Doctor's job to pass Susannah fit for further mistreatment. Although primarily a plastic surgeon, Sadie was well qualified in medical basics, and she took her role seriously. She was a late middle aged woman with a brusque manner, a matronly physique, grey hair and a white medical coat. She had inserted a steel speculum into Susannah's vagina and was now exploring inside using a camera probe that displayed the image on a screen. She checked for internal damage caused by the previous evening's deep intrusions. The relentless plumbing by a 9 inch (23 cms) long plastic phallus had done no material harm inside but its 2 ½ inch diameter ribbed thickness had definitely left her opening dilated and loose. Sadie smiled and made a note on her clipboard.

Next she inspected Susannah's sphincter and rectum. Here, there was evidence that the combination of the random 3 to 10 inches penetration, the burning gel and the 2 inch diameter thickness had caused severe abrasions that would take weeks to heal fully. In the meantime, natural bodily functions would prove most uncomfortable for Susannah. Worse perhaps, it was likely that the exhaustion of her sphincter muscle would make bowel control temporarily very difficult indeed, leading to discomfort, leakage and hence further punishment. Sadie ran a rubber gloved finger nail over the bright red soreness around Susannah's slack anal opening, making her hiss with a sharp intake of breath, and wince.

“Sore ?”

Susannah nodded her head. Her once chic, brunette hairstyle had been shaved to a convict stubble and her classically beautiful features were etched with pain.

“Yes, Doctor.”

Doctor Thorne smiled and made another note. She laid down the clipboard and stood between Susannah's thighs, reaching up to feel her modest but perfect handfuls, thumbing her retracted frightened nipples, then down over her taut ribcage.

“You should have thought of that before you spat into the food on that tray, shouldn't you ?”

“Yes, Doctor.”

“You wouldn't do it again, would you ?”

“No, Doctor.”

“Open your mouth.”

Susannah gulped. Reluctantly, she opened her jaws wide.

Sadie opened a cupboard. There was an array of bottles and vials, all clearly labelled with very specific contents and dates. It looked a bit like a sweetshop with clear and sickly coloured fluids inside the glass containers. She removed a tall glass bottle. It was clearly labelled. She lifted it down so that Susannah could see it. The translucent liquid was a glutinous cloudy mix, with tiny bubbles. Slowly, she uncorked the bottle and teasingly emptied a small ‘tasting dollop' onto Susannah's tongue.


Susannah almost retched but managed to force it down. The smell of the liquid was strong, musky, a blend of stale body odour and fish guts.

The Doctor kept patiently pouring in bursts, filling Susannah's mouth to the brim with generous doses, then allowing her time to swallow, gulp and gasp, before holding her head still again. It took over five minutes for the bottle to empty completely. Susannah managed to drink the lot, although she nearly vomited several times.

Sadie smiled as she placed the empty bottle on the side so that the label was in full view again. BULL SEMEN AND HUMAN SPIT. On the next line it said, FRESH and was dated the previous day in marker pen. The quantity was 0.375 litres, the same as a half bottle of wine.

“Well done. I think that our spit is a little tastier than yours ! Now, I also think you are fine.” She said, patting Susannah on the flank. “So, we can continue with your punishment schedule for two or three more days at least. Your arse needs a rest but they have you down for mouth, tit and cunt punishment today, so that will be perfect.”

Susannah began to snivel.

“Pl … please, no ! I can't take any more. Please, you're a doctor. Tell them I can't, I beg you.”

Doctor Thorne shook her head. “Nonsense. Your body can take a great deal more. We have to make a proper example of you.”

She pushed a switch and moments later two burly guards appeared, to release Susannah from the chair and drag her sobbing hysterically down the corridor.

Next up for Doctor Thorne was Gemma. She voluntarily lay in the couch while Sadie strapped her legs into the stirrups.

“So,” she said, “Lara wants your clitoris numbed, does she ?”

Gemma nodded uncertainly.

“Did she catch you masturbating ?”

“No … Mistr … I mean Doctor.”

Sadie skilfully probed and unhooded Gemma's clitoris.

“No ? Do you masturbate ?”

“Never …. well, not since I came here, Doctor.”

Sadie smiled, teasing a finger up and down Gemma's dry slit.

“Well you won't be able to once I've injected it with this.”

She lifted up a large syringe with a long needle and showed it to Gemma.

“In case you were wondering, yes it will hurt. No simple prick and it's done. This injection takes a couple of minutes to administer. You must remain completely still, understood ?”

Gemma nodded slowly.

“The needle itself will hurt. The fact that it's going into your clit will hurt even more. Soon your whole vaginal area will start to burn intensely, probably for about ten minutes. After that, everything will return pretty much to normal except you won't feel a thing … there … for at least a week, probably nearer two.” She waved the syringe. “Extra large dose, you see.”

Sadie splayed open Gemma's labial lips as wide as she could.

“Shift your butt forward slightly. Good. Okay, now keep completely still and silent. If you don't, I will use an even longer, thicker needle.”

Gemma grimaced in silent agony as the tip pierced her tender sex.

08.10 hrs

Stella sat naked at her dressing table. After her early morning run around the compound, accompanied by her pack of four trained hounds, she had showered and was now getting ready for another ‘action packed' day. It had been hot outside, around 90 degrees Fahrenheit. So much for global cooling ! All the State Meteorologists had been saying temperatures would fall now that fossil fuels were used much less. No sign of that yet.

Her personal male slave, One, served her a tray of hot cappuccino, freshly squeezed grapefruit juice, iced water and pastries. Smiling at him, she trailed a hand over his shaved, semi-erect penis and groin. It twitched.

“Don't go getting any ideas.” She said. “That's it for a while. Three weeks minimum. I don't want you getting thoughts above your station.”

Only a sharp eye would have picked up his blink of disappointment.

“Of course, Mistress. Thank you, Mistress.”

Stella took a sip of her coffee. “Bring the new bitch to me.”

While she waited, Stella stared at her reflection. She was proud, overall, of her looks; a bit heavy in the bottom now, a bit pear shaped overall, some cellulite, a few lines around the eyes, but still an attractive woman for her forty years, with a firm jaw, ice blue eyes, plump breasts and a narrow waist. She ran her fingers over her thick nipples and down to her pubic hair. Not past her “use by date” yet ! The running and the sex would keep her in good enough shape for a while. She grabbed a cream silk robe from off the back of a chair and shucked it on. Being undressed would not set the right tone this morning.

She turned her gaze on One, and Jane who was totally naked, as they entered the bedroom. Considering the past 24 hours, Stella thought Jane looked pretty good. Her red-rimmed eyes were sunken but her shoulder length blonde hair still had been brushed to a sheen, and her face was remarkably unblemished. With the right make up, she would look the perfect whore.

“Ah, Jane. Happy Birthday, my dear.”

Jane turned her gaze down towards the floor.

“Did you have a nice breakfast ?” Stella asked.

“…. Y…yes Mistress.”

“Good. Come here. Look at me.”

Stella hefted one of Jane's breasts in her fingers. Her big tits were pale, with soft pink nipples, and veins just visible below the flesh.

“I've arranged a nice birthday party for you today.” She ran her thumb casually over Jane's nipple. “Like yesterday, you'll be the centre of attention ! But on a grander scale. Remind me, how many people had you, er … made love to, up until the day before yesterday ?”

A teardrop splashed onto Jane's breast. Stella thumbed it away.

“T… two, Mistress.”

Stella fingered open Jane's labial lips.

“Two ? That's a bit mean isn't it ? Sexy 27 … er … 28 year old like you. I'll bet you wanted to fuck other guys, married to somebody like Jim ?”

Jane stifled a sob and shook her head, staring at the floor again.

“Turn around and bend over.”

Jane slowly obeyed. One grabbed her neck and pushed it down firmly.

Stella smiled at him and ran her fingers over the ridged bruises on Jane's buttocks, admiring the dull red, yellow and bluish tramlines.

“Look up at me through your legs, young lady.”

Stella winked back at Jane's awkward gaze and pushed a fingernail into the puckered orifice. Jane's body twitched and she muttered an ‘ouch'.

“And just one dick up this arse until now, right ? My darling husband's. I get jealous Janie. I don't like my man being the only one. He might value your pert little backdoor too highly. You see, I've never let him, or anybody else for that matter, do me there.”

Using both her hands, Stella hauled Jane's buttocks wide apart.

“Anal work is slave's work. So is cunt and mouth of course, but anal in particular. I wanted you to know that in advance. By tonight, this tight back passage is going to be … well … not so tight !”

Stella patted Jane's tender bottom, smirking at her red, upside down face.

“Stand up and look at me.”

She waited for her to turn around so she could continue to her face.

“In some ways I envy you. Uninhibited, guilt free sex. Loads of it. Look, if you had gone away for a romantic weekend with Jim and fucked him twelve times - if he was man enough for that of course - you'd think nothing of it. Would you ? You'd be flattered. It wouldn't do that …” - Stella poked at Jane's pubic mound - “… any harm at all would it ? So what's the difference between fucking one man twelve times and fucking twelve men once, eh ?” Stella opened her palms enquiringly. “The only difference is the fussiness of a woman's pride. But her cunt doesn't know the difference between one cock or twelve !”

Jane's face had crumpled again. She mouthed ‘twelve' silently, shaking her head slightly from side to side, knees quivering.

Stella smiled inwardly. It was best to break them into the idea slowly. At one o'clock, Jane would think her dreadful ordeal was over, after she had ‘entertained' twelve men. But in fact, as she would discover, it would be just beginning. By the end of today, she would realise that at lunchtime she'd in fact been only a quarter of the way through her daily quota ! And the whole of today would be caught on several cameras for later viewing.

“I'm sure it will be more interesting than just fucking Jim. Imagine, all those different dicks; long ones, fat ones, old ones, young ones, warty ones, every shape and colour. What a treat. Well ?” Stella said.

Jane looked puzzled through tearful eyes.

“It's customary for the birthday girl to say thank you for her present.”

“Th … thank you … Mistress.”

Stella shrugged. A nice touch would be making Jane spend many hours overnight handwriting to each person who had fucked her to say an effusive thank you for doing so. She made a mental note to ensure the brothel manager supervised it .

“Think nothing of it, my dear. Enjoy ! And have a nice day !”

She nodded dismissively at One who escorted Jane from the bedroom.

08.35 hrs


Lara giggled at Gemma, who was scarlet faced and heavily perspiring. She was kneeling on the floor eating the special breakfast that Lara had arranged for her, from a bowl laid on a low table. Nobody much cares for curry at eight thirty in the morning. Still less a super-hot and spicy Vindaloo curry. And even less a ‘curry slurry'. The previous evening, at Lara's request, the chef had brewed up an a la carte dish of liquidized offal, mainly giblets and intestines, to which he had added several heaped spoons of curry powder and red chillies, leaving it to simmer overnight.

The helping was enormous. The deep bowl had been filled to the brim. Painfully slowly, Gemma was working her way through it. Lara sat watching her put her mouth to the swill to suck up mouthfuls of the brutally spicy brown mixture. Gemma gasped, panted and gulped, steam almost visibly rising from her ears and nostrils as she ate. It was a small mercy that the curry disguised the worst of the taste of putrid meat.

Lara popped another piece of warm, buttered croissant into her own mouth.

“Come on, doll. Faster, or I might think you would prefer something else.”

Gemma looked up at her through her steamed up spectacles and red, watering eyes and shook her head. She buried her face in the bowl and slurped up an especially large mouthful.

Lara smiled. Gemma didn't know it but the mixture contained another ingredient, added that morning, so that the effects wouldn't be cooked away. A powerful laxative ! Within an hour or so, she would be full to bursting and desperate to void her bowels. Needless to say, Lara had no intention of letting her off that easily. The interesting email she had received would see to that.

“Even faster. Hoover it all up. I want that bowl licked sparkling clean.”

09.10 hrs

Joelle lovingly suckled Brutus Junior's wake-up erection. He was laying back, hands behind his head, knees splayed, grinning down at her. She was hunched awkwardly between his legs with her huge pregnant belly off to the side, smiling back up at him as she teased his length with her tongue. Every bone in her body hated him but each morning she swallowed her pride, and his salty load, for the sake of her unborn child and her ex-husband. The child was BJ's and the product of their forced marriage, but still Joelle loved it already and knew she was now helpless emotionally as well as physically. And she knew there was little she could do for Pierre now, but at least he was still alive and the more she pleased BJ, the more merciful he was likely to be, she hoped.

She recognised by his moans and shifting body that she had him near the edge. She was not allowed to use her fingers or hands on him at all. He liked what he called ‘proper BJs', not ‘wanks'. It had taken her ages, hours of practise, to learn to do it just as he liked. The key was not to rush, and not to gag, and to get him into the back of her throat whilst breathing through her nose, so he could literally fuck her tonsils. She alternated this with sexy eyes, loving licks, and sucking the crown of his penis with just the right amount of pressure. He liked to come on her tongue, at the front of her mouth not the back, so that she tasted him and could slide it around her teeth, gums and palate before swallowing.

He thrust and she moaned excitedly as what he laughingly referred to as her ‘petit dejeuner' was served. Thick warm jets hit the top of her mouth and spattered bitterly all over her tongue.

“Mmm … mmmmmmmmmmmmmm …. mmmm.”

They exhaled in unison. Anybody would think Joelle was in orgasmic ecstasy as she pleasured her young ‘husband'. BJ insisted that she show enjoyment, even though he had never made any effort to make it better for her. She'd had little experience other than Pierre but she couldn't imagine a more lazy, egocentric or selfish partner. He seemed to think that by just manically banging away at her with the over-sized penis that he'd inherited from that brute of a father of his should be enough to drive her wild. She had long ago learned to fake orgasms on the few occasions, thankfully, he fucked her. He mainly preferred her to suck him and expected her to love doing it. She had soon learned to bring herself to the only real orgasms she had, when he made her entertain him by masturbating herself with her fingers, a vibrator, or even a humiliating piece of fruit or vegetable.

“Mmm …” she opened her lips wide to show him his load and ran her tongue along her upper lip several times appreciatively. Slowly she let it all trickle down the back of her throat, with her head back and eyes shut.

“Thank you.” She said, kissing the dribble of come that had appeared at the slit of his cock. “A little minty, this morning, I think.”

BJ grinned at her, contentedly. He thrust a hand roughly inside her black lace negligee and squeezed her cleavage. “Go make breakfast.”

09.20 hrs

Gemma was heaving for breath, sucking up huge lungfuls of air. Were they called Jumping Jacks or Star Jumps ? She was too exhausted to remember. Lara had her doing jumping exercises, clapping her hands above her head while opening her legs wide, then snapping her arms back down to her side and hopping her legs together. Repeat. Repeat. One jump per second. In bursts of thirty, followed by a short respite to get her breath back, and then another set of thirty. In all, she had already done one hundred and eighty.

Before them, she had been made to do push ups, stomach crunches, knee squats and jogging on the spot. Lara's excuse for this physical torture was that she was fat and untoned, although Gemma knew that she was actually underweight from the awful diet.

“Let's do one more set, shall we ?” The ‘cow' said, smirking.

Gemma sucked in a large breath, stood to attention and began to jump. Her glasses bounced on the bridge of her nose and her breasts flopped about across her chest as if they had a mind of her own. They hurt. But not as much as the stitch in her side and the gradual cramping in her stomach. She felt nauseous from the physical effort, especially so soon after a heavy meal. Light headed, she did her best to focus straight ahead. The cow wasn't even looking at her any more, she was flicking through a sheaf of papers she'd downloaded from her computer. Occasionally she looked up and checked on the quality of Gemma's jumps.

“Arms higher you lazy slut. And legs wide ! ” She shouted, before looking down again.

Gemma gasped as her breakfast quietly repeated on her. The strong curry belch tasted awful in her dry mouth. Worse, she felt the need to pass wind from below, something she knew that the cow would be furious about. One of the first rules every slave learned was that all bodily functions, including eating, drinking, urinating, defecating, even sneezing and farting, and especially climaxing, were strictly forbidden without prior permission.

Gemma counted the thirty jumps, arms and legs aching, and worst of all her stomach lurching up and down.

Twenty seven, twenty eight, twenty nine, thirty. She stopped and bent over. Her spectacles tumbled onto the floor. Like a knife, the sudden clench of her guts, made her wince. She knew she was going to have to ask permission to use the toilet.

09.25 hrs

“I'm off to the little room.” Brutus announced.

Stella glanced up from her papers and nodded. He picked up his glowing cigar and the movie script he was reading.

“Come with me.” He said to Lavatory, who was kneeling alongside her husband Bidet. “And you too. Bring my coffee.”

The ‘little room' was, in fact, not so little. It was Brutus's sanctuary, a luxuriously carpeted, book-lined library cum lavatory with a toilet mounted on a throne, a side table with bottles, creams and an ashtray on it, a large basin and gilt mirror, and a plasma screen on the back of the door. There was at least enough room for three people to swing a cat.

Brutus had long since lost any embarrassment about performing his ablutions in front of others. The first couple of times he'd been a bit sheepish, but now it was second nature. He placed the script on the table and cigar in the ashtray, before raising his arms outwards.

The beautiful female slave stood and loosened the belt of his silk robe, easing back the folds to reveal his hairy gut and genitals. He sat down on the seat and picked up his cigar, chomping on it.

“You.” He said to Bidet. “Lie down, head this end, face up.”

The tall, handsome, naked male slave immediately obeyed.

“Sit yourself down on his face.”

She placed one foot either side of the prostrated head, facing Brutus, and elegantly bent her legs, lowering her mons with the ‘I love Brutus' in a heart tattoo, until she was astride her husband's face. Her vagina, still damp and fishy with Brutus's load from two hours earlier, made a slight squishing sound as she settled her full weight down.

Brutus nudged the man with his foot. “Make love to your missus.”

He smiled at the woman. Fuck she was gorgeous. He leaned forward and ran his fingers up through her hair, lifting loose strands from her forehead. Her eyes looked at him humbly, petrified, pert lips slightly apart, revealing her small white teeth. A slight flutter of her lashes suggested her husband's tongue had got to work.

“I want to see you come.” He said, in a kind tone. “Enjoy yourself. But don't you dare even think about faking it. And …” he pulled her head down to his groin, “… in the meantime …”

He settled back on the toilet seat and flicked his cigar, before draining his cup of coffee.

Her warm lips encircled his semi-soft penis and her tongue fluttered around it, instantly making him thicken. He ran a finger gently over the back of her neck, admiring the curve of her spine. He parted his thighs as wide as was comfortable and pushed her a touch lower. Moments later he passed a loud trumpet of gas and shut his eyes contentedly.

He could feel the main event arriving. By now, he was fully hard and too thick for her small mouth to do more than worship the crown. He grunted and unleashed a huge volley of excrement, neither solid nor diarrhoea, just the nice, easy to pass kind. Almost immediately, a thick stench wafted up through the gap in his legs, filling the little room.

After the explosion there was total silence. Just the tiniest murmur from her lips as she diligently continued to suck him, as if oblivious to the fact that he was taking a dump while she orally served him.

He reached under her head and she shifted to give his right hand access to tweak her pert tit as he relaxed and unloaded a second, smaller volley into the toilet pan. He loved the efficiency of the whole thing. He had a meeting at 10 o'clock but this way he could enjoy a shit and a blow job, ridding his body of two needs, in the time it would otherwise take to achieve one or the other. And it made an event out of something as mundane as taking a dump. The air was thick with the heavy aroma. He picked up the script and began to read again.

09.28 hrs

Lara stood back to admire her handiwork. Gemma was suspended in the centre of her bedroom, wrists in a spreader bar chained to a bolt in the wooden beam, and ankles chained wide apart to bolts in the floor. Every nerve and sinew stood out as Gemma's glistening body strained for comfort. Lara pulled up a stool and sat in front of her naked slave.

09.32 hrs

Brutus lifted her mouth off his glistening erection. She had begun moaning meaningfully, moving her hips just slightly.

“You going to come ?”

She looked up at him, relieved, or embarrassed, or both. She nodded, eyes half shut.

He held her earlobes and leaned forward and kissed her kindly.

“Come, Lavvy. On your hubbie's chops. You're making love together. Wifey and her husband. Let yourself go.”

She hissed, and gave a muted squeal, then climaxed silently, as if she was ashamed to admit what had happened. Brutus watched her expression, inches from her face, enjoying a glimpse inside her soul.

Then he pulled her mouth back down to his sweating inner thighs.

“My turn.”

She hadn't yet learned well enough to do the ‘hands free' job. He let her use her delicate fingers to pump his shaft while she slobbered over his purple crown, and soon he was spurting pearly gobbets over her palate and gums. She looked up at him in the eye as he had taught her, while she swallowed his second donation of the day. Like she was honoured.

He let her wipe his bottom gently and carefully with soft white tissue. Bidet knelt beside her, supporting the toilet roll between two index fingers like a human roll holder. The boy's face shone wetly, unwashed. Next Bidet ran a basin full of hot water and then towelled Brutus's hands dry.

Finally, Lavatory carefully tightened the cord of Brutus's silk robe.

Bidet looked at him for permission to push the flush, knowing it was entirely possible that he would instead be made to clean the toilet out manually.

Brutus nodded magnanimously. Smiling at them like a doting grandfather, he strode out of the little room, with his two new favourites following, carrying the script and empty coffee cup.

09.35 hrs

Lara ran the feather up inside Gemma's cunt lips, grazing her clitoris.

“You can't feel a thing ?”

“Not on the clitoris, Mistress ? Just a tickle elsewhere, Mistress.”

Lara laughed aloud, discarding the feather.


She leaned her head close to Gemma's taut stomach.

“Was that a tummy rumble I heard ?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Naughty, naughty. That counts as a bodily function you know. You should have asked permission.”

“Sorry, Mistress.” Gemma's face screwed up. “Ple …” Then she stopped, seeming to have thought better of it.

“What ?” Lara asked in a teasing, sing-song voice. “Go on.”

“Please, Mistress. I need to do another … tummy rumble Mistress.”

Lara ran a fingernail through the ‘brazilian' strip of pubic hair that Gemma had been allowed to keep, up into her belly button.

“Go on then.”

There was a distinct sound, like a creaking door.

Lara chuckled and fetched the sheaf of papers she'd downloaded earlier. It was time for Gemma to understand the rules of this game.

“Tell me about Don.” She said.

Gemma reacted like a startled rabbit. Her eyes flew open and she gasped.

“D …. Don ?”

Lara was delighted. She flicked through the pages.

“Here we are. Two known boyfriends. One, Don Wilson. Born October First, 1980. Dated her for around six months in 2005.” Lara proferred a grainy black and white image. Grainy, but clear enough. It showed a young man and a younger Gemma smiling side by side. “See ?”

“Oh … Don. Yes, Mistress. He was a fr … friend of mine.”

“And how about Steve ?”

“Yes, Mistress. He was my boyfriend when I was arrested, Mistress.”

“Yes. Interesting.” Lara said, stretching out the word interesting. “I thought you'd gone bankrupt. But this Stalitz Report tells me that, in fact, you were arrested for stealing.”

Gemma grimaced as her stomach gave a deep growl.

“Yes Mistress. I'm sorry Mistress.”

Lara decided to ignore the infraction. “What did you steal ?”

“A bag of sausages, Mistress.”

Lara smiled. “Mmm. The most expensive half dozen sausages you ever ate, right ?”

Gemma stared straight ahead. “I was arrested before we could eat them, Mistress.”

Lara arched an eyebrow. “We ? It says you were arrested alone.”

Gemma gulped. “Please, Mistress. I need … to g.. go to the toilet.”

“Stuff and nonsense.” Lara barked, sharply. “You will learn to control yourself.” She paused to pick up the feather. “Now, who was your accomplice ?”

“Nobody, Mistress. I meant ‘we' meaning anybody I might have shared them with. Lots of people were hungry, Mistress. Bankrupt, starving.”

Lara moved the stool round Gemma and sat on it behind her, facing her bottom. She trailed the feather slowly across Gemma's pale globes.

“Just because a few people are hungry doesn't mean they can steal.” Lara admonished, mouthing the State's policy line. She tilted the feather and eased it, ever so slowly, between the curves of Gemma's crack.

“Aah … ngh …” Gemma murmured a grunt of shock.

Lara smiled quietly and removed the feather momentarily.

“Tell me about Michelle then.”

“M … Michelle ?”

Lara slid the feather up into the entrance to Gemma's bottom.

“Yes, your best friend, Michelle.”

Gemma's body seemed to sag slightly, as much as was possible the way she was strung up taut and spread eagled.

“She was … I lived with her Mistress.”

“Aha. And I thought I was your first female lover !”

“No, Mistress. I mean you are. Michelle is a friend, Mistress. We both … she liked men, Mistress.”

Gemma's stomach growled loudly again. Her buttocks clenched around the feather that Lara had inserted an inch or so inside.

“Control, please.” Said Lara, secretly delighted. “And where is this Michelle now ?” she asked.

“I don't know, Mistress. I last saw her the morning I was arrested. I have never seen or heard of her again, Mistress.”

Lara twisted the feather.

“But I know where she is.”

Gemma's mouth gave an audible pop as her jaw fell open.

Lara teased the feather in and out, very slowly.

“At the moment, she's at the Stalitz Offices on suspicion of being your accomplice.”

Gemma groaned. This time the sound came from her mouth, not her stomach.

“I think she's probably guilty, don't you ?”

Lara climbed off the stool and left the feather poking out of Gemma's backside like a flag in a conquered mountain. She walked round to look Gemma in the face. With a grin, Lara lifted the spectacles and perched them on top of Gemma's hair, so she could stare deep into her eyes.

“You can be the jury.”

It was a joke. Juries no longer existed. The State Judges made all decisions. But people still remembered what a jury was.

Gemma blinked uncertainly. “I … jury … how, Mistress ?”

Lara leant forward and kissed Gemma full on the lips, giving her the tip of her tongue for a second.

“You have to exercise control.” She giggled.

Gemma frowned, still confused.

“It's simple.” Said Lara, thoroughly enjoying herself. “If you keep control of your bowels for as long as I say, then your dear friend Michelle is innocent. But if you lose control at any time beforehand, I'm afraid she'll be found guilty and sentenced to slavery. For life of course.”

Gemma understood. She seemed to get renewed strength. Her body tightened and her eyes focused.

“H .. how long, please, Mistress ? Will you t … tell me, how long ?”

Lara turned a full circle with excitement. What a game !

“Six hours.” She said. “One for each sausage that you stole.”

Gemma's eyes screwed slowly shut. She sagged again in her chains.

“I … I can't …. ple … Mistress … less …”

Lara shrugged. “At least you can do your friend the favour of trying. If you don't even try, she hasn't got a chance, poor bitch.”

Lara left Gemma with that thought and walked through to the bathroom. She wanted to give Gemma time to steel herself. It wouldn't be fun if she didn't suffer the agonies of trying to hold out for a while at least.

Lara sat on the toilet and sprayed her coffee and juice into the removable plastic pan that sat under the seat and above the flushable water. After she'd thoroughly relieved herself, she lifted the pan out and tipped the contents into a small barrel like container she kept in a cupboard next to the toilet. She smiled happily and began to hum a little song.

10.06 hrs

Jane's mind screamed silently as she lay back on the sofa and let the grey haired man mount her. The brothel manager had introduced him as an important State Official, her ‘first trick'. He had unzipped his fly and ordered Jane onto her knees to suck him. He smelt of mothballs. When his uncircumsized penis stiffened, Jane recoiled from stuff that looked and stank like an old French cheese, revealed as his foreskin slipped back. He made her carefully lick it all off and swallow it, slapping her cheek hard when she retched. Then, satisfied, he pushed her onto the sofa and made her rub herself while he watched. At last, when she had managed to conjure up a bit of moisture, he impatiently leaned forward to mount her.

Now, he had rolled over and made her climb on top so that she could do the hard work. He reached up and used his thumb and index fingers to squeeze her nipples roughly, his yellow teeth biting his lower lip as he scowled at her. Jane had never known a man who seemed to have so much immediate rage.

“Faster, slut.” He hissed.

Jane bounced up and down as if her life depended on it. Horrified, she caught sight of herself in the big mirror on the wall. Her D cup breasts were bouncing and her hair was flying as she worked to bring this awful old guy off.

At last she heard him making tell tale sounds. She shocked herself by contracting her vaginal muscles together, trying to finish him. What the hell did she care if it was good for him ? Ashamed, she still bounced and squeezed as best she could, as she felt his hot wetness invading her. She looked down at her ‘first trick', appalled to think she had another eleven more to go.

10.07 hrs

Jim was shaking his head, as best he could, sobbing. Yesterday had been terrible, but this ? Not rape, but prostitution ? He was fastened into a pillory, his neck and wrists locked into holes in the wooden frame. Wooden pegs connected to headphones held his head facing straight forwards, so that he couldn't turn away from the action taking place the other side of the glass. He was at an awkward angle, with his back bent and his bottom sticking out, but no amount of physical discomfort could compare with the mental turmoil he felt watching Jane whoring herself for some old bastard.

The guards had fixed wireless headphones to his head before the start. The volume was turned up incredibly high and he suspected there must be numerous high quality microphones in the next room because every slap of flesh on flesh and grunting expulsion of breath was loud and distinct.

Jim heard the guy making tell tale sounds. He was going to shoot into Jane's pussy. His pussy, that should be Jim's pussy, not any other guy, damned them. He watched his wife bouncing, tits and hair flying, and saw her looking down into the old guy's face. Her expression said it all.

10.08 hrs

The suspect fought. But, outside of those pre-Pestilence movies featuring martial arts women, no female can beat five males, and especially not five highly trained, 6' plus tall, Stalitz interrogators, when she is only 5 ft 4 ins tall. They had decided to extract a confession from Michelle, assuming they would get the call saying she was guilty. It would speed up the paperwork. If the call said she was innocent, so be it. There was nothing an ordinary citizen could do against the dreaded Stalitz Police.

First they raped her. Not really as part of the interrogation, but simply because they all fancied the sexy, unemployed actress. She was a strawberry blonde, aged 23 according to her papers, with refined, well bred features and an arse that looked great in the denim shorts she'd been wearing when they picked her up. They tied her over the desk in an interrogation room and banged her front and back, singly and in pairs, passing the early morning pleasantly.

Next they used the electric shock Q & A machine, attached to her nipples, and it took a mere sixteen minutes for her to make a recorded voluntary confession on camera, with a signed statement to the same effect.

At just after ten o'clock, they left her tied there sobbing and went about their other business, awaiting their boss's call.

10.09 hrs

BJ sat nervously in front of his computer screen. He had logged onto the ‘e-slave' site and was ready to bid online on several families for the Corporation's new project. The Government channel had signed up for a new series that BJ had developed called “Family Fortunes”, a show that would pit competing slave families against each other in a range of events. Furthermore, BJ had managed to engage the legendary SMC himself to direct the first episode. BJ had already decided that Neil and his family were going to be in it, and the task today was to acquire at least one suitable 4-person family to battle it out with them.

He was sitting on a specially adapted, padded bench seat with a long box below it, into which Tammy Evans was locked face up. He enjoyed her wet tongue darting through a small gap, into and out of his backside, as he waited for the auction to begin. Squirming with anticipation, he licked his thin lips, as the screen signalled the introduction of the first Lot.

10.10 hrs

Stella sat in the central Monitoring Room. It was located in the basement of the old Hotel, which now housed the brothel. The room contained over 200 screen monitors, with a small group of people, known as monitors, sat looking at them, like air traffic controllers used to, when plane travel was commonplace. About half the screens displayed CCTV shots of the Compound for security reasons, constantly flicking from one camera view to another every few seconds, so that the monitors could check for any untoward activity anywhere within the three square miles. The other half of the screens showed fixed views from inside the brothel rooms and the film and TV studios. These were for filming and entertainment.

Stella sipped at a mug of coffee, lit a cigarette and checked in on a few locations. She smiled at close ups of Jane and her first trick, And of Jim sobbing as he watched from the viewing closet. As usual, she checked in on her 48 year old school teacher embarking on yet another gruelling day of pleasing teenage boys, and of her own ex-boyfriend who was already hard at work with a couple of gay punters. She made a mental note to have a nice chat with him soon.

But the big excitement was in Studio 2. There was already a ‘full house' sign posted outside the locked door. Stella's eyes flicked to the neighbouring monitor and saw that both audience sectors were already full. In the front sector, the seats were reserved for people who knew the participants, usually ex-school friends, ex-colleagues, ex-competitors, ex-partners, who just those who'd known them socially. In the rear sector, the seats were awarded partly by lottery and partly on a first come, first served basis. ‘ER' was without doubt the most popular show on pay-per-view, and people made long journeys by foot, horse, cart and occasionally car for the thrill of seeing it being made live.

Looking at the chanting, excited audience on the monitor, Stella felt a buzz of pride. ‘ER' was her creation. It was a phenomenon. And in twenty minutes, the next show would start.

10.11 hrs

Brutus smiled at his guest from the Great American Alliance. (As will be explained in Part Four), the American continent had split into two parts. Unfortunately, they were a bit ‘behind the times'. Slavery there was restricted by a charter that prevented American slaves from being sexually exploited. As a result, the Pornographic Movie business had drifted inexorably in Europe's favour, partly for financial reasons and partly due to audience preferences. Costs in Europe were much less as America still had to pay actresses and actors to perform, so the Europeans could undercut American DVD and TV prices. But, more importantly, American films still had to pretend the performers were ‘willing', even though they were only doing it for money. European films suffered from no such limitations and the consumers voted which they preferred with their pockets.

“More coffee ?” Brutus asked.

They were sat in a viewing gallery above Studio 3. Below them a scene from ‘The Return of the Home Invaders' was being shot. It looked realistic, because it was.

“Yeah, sure.” The American replied. He was a similar age to Brutus. Nobody knew his real name. But he was called the Rhino. Some people said it was because of his nose, fleshy and big, and it had definitely been broken a couple of times. Other people, mainly but not exclusively women, knew it had nothing to do with his nose. He was big, barrel of a man with long, greasy hair tied behind his head in a ponytail.

Bidet reacted immediately by rushing forward with a pot to top up the guest's cup. Nobody acknowledged him.

“So ?” Brutus said, looking down at the filming.

The Rhino grinned back at him, shifting in his seat.

The couple whose ‘home' had been ‘invaded' had been overpowered. They were reacting realistically because they were a married couple who had been purchased just a week earlier. They had been segregated from the main compound and treated well. Until now. The promise of freedom guaranteed that they would put up a desperate effort while the twenty different cameras rolled. Some were large scale movie cameras mounted on cranes and tripods, others were micro cameras hidden in the walls and furniture. The dozen invaders had made it inside the studio home with just a few bruises from the husband's desperate swings with the light club he'd been armed with. Now, the wife was being held down by several jeering men and ravaged for the first of many times.

The American looked down at Lavatory who had carefully pulled down his pants and been reverently sucking his cock since the start of the meeting.

“Shit, man.” He said. “I just love this. And you mean to say that guy there really is this lady's old man ?”

Brutus beamed. “More like her young man, I'd say.”

The Rhino chuckled. “Yeah. May I ?”

“Be my guest.”

They both turned to look at Bidet. Rhino crooked his thick finger.

“Here, boy.”

Bidet placed the coffee pot on a table and scuttled over. Rhino reached out and touched the brutally small, two inch long steel tube that was locked onto Bidet's crushed manhood. There was just a tiny hole at the top for urine to pass through. He flicked it. Bidet flinched.

“Kneel down behind your lady and stroke her tits for me.”

Pausing for only a split second, Bidet knelt and placed his naked body right behind Lavatory's, reaching his hands round and fondling her pert breasts. She ignored him and concentrated on the task in hand, or rather, mouth. Rhino winked at Brutus and then looked down.

“Look up at me, boy.”

Bidet obeyed, blinking meekly, cheeks flushed with humiliation.

“You suck dick too, boy ?”

Bidet began shaking his head, then turned it into a positive nod.

Brutus shrugged at the American's inquisitive glance.

“Not yet.” Brutus responded, his tone making it clear that he didn't give a damn either way.

The American lifted Lavatory's head from his lap by the roots of her luscious brunette bob and pushed her slightly aside. He pointed at his huge glistening erection to Bidet. It was, without any doubt, the largest penis that any of Lavatory, Bidet and even Brutus had ever seen.

“Your turn.”

The young male, heterosexual slave knelt forward and encased a cock in his mouth for the second time. He had briefly sucked One the evening before. He just managed to get all of the circumsized crown inside.

“Man, this is the life.” The American exhaled, leaning back in his chair. He stared down at Lavatory's gorgeous but blank expression.

“Sorry. You want to use her ?” he asked Brutus.

Brutus shook his head. “Done that twice already today. Got to pace yourself at my age.”

Both men laughed.

“Er … you mind if I … er shift position ?”

Brutus shook his head again, opening his palms in a ‘be my guest' gesture.

“Tell you what. Why don't I give you a little privacy. I'm going down to the film set for a few minutes. Do as you like. There are no restrictions here. Let me know if they show any reluctance to obey any order.”

After Brutus had left, the Rhino removed his pants from around his ankles and pushed Lavatory face down onto the carpeted floor.

“Mmm, I fancy buying this lady of yours. But before I do, I want to sample the hole that nature didn't intend be used.” He said, with a wink at Bidet. He knelt between the backs of the female's knees and grabbed Bidet by the boy's muscular shoulders.

“Lick your wife's butthole, boy. Because the Rhino Horn is going up there right now.”

Tentatively, then forcefully, Bidet pulled his own wife's clenched buttocks apart and inclined his head. He gently began to rim her rear passage.

Rhino watched, fascinated, for a brief moment. He reached underneath and squeezed around the tight rim of Bidet's steel tube.

“Hey,” he exclaimed, “you're horny boy ! Look at me, I'm talking to you.” Bidet turned from his duty and looked shamefacedly at him. Rhino was smiling. “Tell me. Is this making you horny ?”

Bidet gulped. “I … Sir … no, sorry, but I haven't been out of this thing since I arrived nine days ago. I guess I'm … frustrated, Sir.”

The American guffawed. “Fuck, that's the best yet. They keep you locked up and never let you even wank, eh ?” He pushed Bidet's face back down.

The slave nodded his face into his wife's buttocks.

“And how does it feel, knowing I'm about to shoot my bolt up your wife's ass ?”

The slave mumbled. “I … mmur… noth great, thsir.”

“I think you're secretly getting off on it.”

Bidet didn't dare argue.

“Well take my dick and place it in your wife's cornhole. Now !”

Bidet knelt up, put his hand out and grasped the man's penis. They shuffled forward until it was at the saliva lubricated but still puckered entrance.

“Pull her butts real wide. That's it. No, wider.”

Gradually, the swollen horn forced its way inside her resisting anus. Lavatory squirmed, squealed and squeaked, but she didn't fight. She gasped as, ever so slowly, the over-sized penis penetrated her back passage.

“Good. Mmmm. Now, push me all the way in. Push down on my back.”

Once he was fully embedded, he began to piston slowly in and out.

“Damn, that's good. Tight as a drum. You should try … oh no, I forget, she's only your wife.” He leered at Bidet. “Now, lie facing your lady and kiss her. Give her some tongue. That's your role.”

Bidet took up position lying on the carpet, head to head with his wife, putting his lips to hers to make an uneven threesome. She whimpered back, snorting gulps of air as Rhino seesawed in and out of her.

Sadly, it didn't take long. Hissing a staccato “yes, yes, yes”, the American guest soon made himself properly at home and, with a loud roar, he pumped enough hot juice into his hostess for two men. Later, he would take a MOP tablet and come in her mouth. That would really give her a shock !

10.29 hrs

Lara smiled at her and glanced at her watch. She casually tickled the green frond under Gemma's nose, making her snitch. Lara had replaced the teasing feather with a bunch of freshly cut, acid-dripping, stinging nettles.

Already the cow had sensuously draped the evil stingers all over Gemma's helpless breasts, stomach and labia, producing violent red inflammation on her soft, pale skin. Then she had pushed a glove full of nettles up into the cleft between Gemma's buttocks and laughed at her clenching and unclenching her cheeks, trying to disperse the burning itch.

And of course, Lara had also teasingly placed a plastic yellow bucket between Gemma's feet, just in case of any ‘little accidents'.

“Coming up to an hour. Only five to go.”

The cow stared deep into her eyes inquisitively. “Please don't give up. Think of Michelle.”

Gemma just stared back. In truth, she couldn't think of anything but the dreadful stinging that she desperately wanted to ease by scratching.

Except, of course, she could also think of her bottom.

She had felt the inexorable journey of the curried breakfast through her digestive system, and finally down her colon. Eventually it had lodged in her bottom, literally just the other side of her anal sphincter. Gradually, she felt it loosening, virtually becoming liquid, inside her.

Gemma had only had an enema once before, just before the terrible Bukkake film when they had wanted to clean her out completely. This felt the same but worse. The enema had been water based and they had only wanted her to hold it a couple of minutes. But holding back something much heavier, for much longer, was much harder. Harder still was the fact that, with her legs chained wide apart to bolts in the floor, she couldn't clench her buttocks properly. All she could do was tighten her muscles as best she could as the diarrhoea swirled just inside her, like a marauding army searching for a weak spot in a castle's defences.

She knew it was one in a million she could hold out for five more hours of this. But something inside her made her want to resist this fucking cow as long as possible. It wasn't about Michelle. Well, it was, but mainly it was about the two of them. Gemma versus the cow. That was her only bit of resistance. Silently naming her the cow. She winced as a knife spasm speared her guts but managed to compose herself before disaster.

Lara chuckled.

“Well, it's going to be a long old day.” She said, switching on the wall mounted screen. A picture of an animated studio audience appeared on it.

“So let's watch ER together and imagine Michelle starring in it.”

Gemma blinked, confused, unable to think properly. Michelle in a hospital drama. Hadn't there been something like that a few years back ?

Lara giggled, flopping down to sprawl on the sofa.

“No, silly !” she said, turning to look up at her over the back of the sofa. “Not that old ER. The new one. Made by Aunt Stella. ER ! Enemies Reunited !”

End of Part Three

Author's Note

At a few people's request, an extra Part (ie. not one of the original seven) is planned for release later in October: ‘After the Pestilence; the ballad of Lara and Gemma'. It will look into the background and relationship of the two characters in more detail than the main story allows.

Review This Story || Author: velvetglove
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