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Review This Story || Author: velvetglove

After the Pestilence

Part 5





by velvetglove


Synopsis of the Story so far


After the Great Pestilence of late-2006 and the Global Depression that followed, when the world’s Stock, Property and Commodity Markets all crashed simultaneously, the largest continents and economies have each undergone different Revolutions. For example, Northern Europe – comprising what used to be the Scandinavian countries, most of Germany, the northern half of France, the Benelux Region, and the British Isles – has formed the ‘Northern Alliance’, ruled over by a single body of unelected bureaucrats.


Under the ‘Economic Recovery Act’ passed by the bureaucrats on January 1st 2008, human rights were repealed and Slavery was reintroduced throughout the Northern Alliance.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.


As Parts One to Four have already demonstrated, the new system flourished particularly well in the part of the Northern Alliance that had formerly been the country of England. The main characters include Stella and her husband Brutus, who jointly own the Brute Corporation; also Lara, who is Stella’s niece, and Brutus Junior, the son of Brutus by his marriage before Stella. The unfortunate slaves, usually bankrupted and sold at auction by the State, include Jane and her husband Jim, Camilla and her husband Ian, Diana and her husband Don, Joelle who is Brutus Junior’s pregnant slave-wife, and Rebecca, a slave who is currently being given an opportunity as a trainer by Brutus.








As we rejoin the story, it is now just past one o’clock in the morning. Life is mostly quiet in the Brute Corporation Compound. The daytime late-Summer heat and humidity have been replaced by crisp, night air. A white sliver of quarter moon high in the blue-black sky casts its doleful glow on the dark silhouettes of compound buildings and trees below.


Inside, Brutus and Stella are sleeping comfortably in their huge double bed. He is snoring gently, she has her outstretched arm across his chest. At the foot of the bed lie dogs, a cat, and ‘One’, Stella’s personal slave.


In a separate wing of the large old mansion, Lara is lying face down across the satin sheets. For an onlooker, it would be difficult to know if she is asleep or awake. Two tall church candles in glass containers still flicker, lighting her bedroom with a soft, gentle light. Also lying face down, in the gap between Lara’s spread legs, is Gemma. She is ever-so-gently tonguing the cleft of Lara’s bottom, her mouth making soft slurping sounds as she works. It is more of an oral massage and cleansing than a sexual act. She has already been doing it for over an hour and yet she will continue to bob her exhausted head throughout the night. Lara likes to drift in and out of sleep knowing the tongue massage will carry on even when she is unable to feel it. Naturally, each of the two women is currently having her own thoughts about the arrival of Michelle in the morning (and the full story of Lara, Gemma and Michelle will continue in a separate post, now planned for March 2006).


Elsewhere, around the Compound, many slaves are dozing fitfully in their cages. Some are hunched up too uncomfortably to sleep, others were simply too exhausted to stay awake in spite of their discomfort. A few, of course, are still working. For example, Susannah is, at this moment, the centre of attention at a drunken birthday party for one of the guards. She is ‘enthusiastically’, it would appear, taking on five male and two female guards, serving them food and drinks, lap dancing, giving blow jobs in spite of the pain in her teeth from her starring role in the dental movie, licking the drooling vaginas of the overweight and butch females.


Meanwhile, Rebecca is luxuriating alone in a proper single bed for the first time in seven months, her stomach full on a trainer’s supper and even a glass of wine. She has been allowed to use a proper toilet and has even enjoyed a steaming hot and soapy bath before bed. For once, she is sleeping with a smile on her face, enjoying sweet dreams, not nightmares.


While almost everybody else in the Compound rests, or tries to, Jane is sat in the brothel’s main office. She is sitting at a desk, one of those wooden school desks from many decades ago, writing as fast as she can. Her female Supervisor, an albino girl in her early twenties, is sat opposite her, chewing gum whilst flicking through a cartoon comic, keeping one eye on Jane.

In front of Jane on the desk is a pile of digital photos, printed out in colour, with the faces and names of the 50 customers with whom Jane ‘opened her account’ yesterday. There is another pile of blank sheets of headed notepaper on which Jane is writing ‘thank you’ letters, one at a time.

Jane puts down the pen. “Miss ?”

The girl pops her gum noisily and looks up from her comic. She reaches over from her raised desk facing Jane and holds out her hand. Jane wearily passes over the sheet of writing. The girl scans the sheet, grins, and places it on the separate pile of completed letters on her desk. She nods at Jane to signify ‘ok’.

Jane wearily picks up another blank sheet and her pen and stares at the next photo. She can remember the man vividly. Hurriedly, She writes:


Dear Mr. Jordan,

This letter is to say a big thank you for doing me the honour of visiting me today. As you will have realised, I was a lazy and arrogant bitch before I became a slave and whore and greatly regret the fact that I was faithful to my ridiculous husband Jim for so long. Fortunately, I am only 28 (today !) and so I have many years in which to catch up on what I missed. Your cock stretching my cunt and mouth was the best kind of birthday present and was more than I deserve. It is a thing of beauty and size and you spoiled me by letting me have it inside my undeserving body. I apologise for being in no great state by the time it was your turn and I only hope my sloppy orifices were nevertheless reasonably enjoyable for you, and that you will do me the great honour of coming again one day soon and choosing me. I can still taste your delicious semen on my tongue. Maybe next time you might allow me to try to please you with my rear entrance first ! I enclose a voucher from the Brutus Corporation for a free half hour session with me at your leisure as a thank you for your valuable time today.

Yours truly,

Unworthy Jane Bryant


Jane quickly checks there are no spelling errors and that there are at least 200 words in her letter, the minimum each one has to have. All the letters have to be different, original, imaginative, humble, grateful. She puts down the pen, shaking her right hand to ease the cramp in it.

Miss ?”

The same casual, gum popping perusal by the Supervisor follows, and then Jane begins the same routine all over again. Her arm and hand ache madly but she has already had two letters ripped up because the malicious girl considered she was slacking. Letters she has then had to re-write.

Her twelve-hour day in the brothel ended bang on ten o’clock this evening. She was allowed another cold shower, a lukewarm broth of fatty and gristly meat, and then told her that instead of being allowed to sleep, she has to write to every single person who has ‘been with’ her today. Stella popped her head round the door at around eleven and said a cheery goodnight, warning Jane that if all 50 letters have not been finished to the Supervisor’s satisfaction by 06.30 hrs in the morning, then Jane will have another fifty letters to write to a new set of customers in 24 hours !

So, in spite of her throbbing right arm and hand, her exhausted and sore body, her tiredness and abject humiliation, she will continue to write as fast as she can. It is going to be a very long night.


*** *** ***


A little while later, Brutus Junior woke in the dark. He glanced bleary eyed at the red glow of the digital clock on his bedside table. 02.35 a.m. His cock was rigid due to a full bladder. He sensed Joelle fast asleep next to him.

He switched on the bedside light and smiled down at Diana curled up on the floor by the bed. She blinked up at him rubbing her green eyes against the bright light.

“Come.” He whispered, crooking his finger at her.

She rose to her knees and knelt by him.

He pushed back the sheet and showed her his erection.

For a moment, it was obvious she thought he wanted her to suck him.

“No.” he said. “I just need a piss.” He chuckled and took a hold of the back of her head. Human urinals were so much more convenient than toilets, especially in the middle of the night. Diana looked at him uncertainly. He pushed her head down firmly.

“Don’t you dare miss a drop and wet the bed. I’ll be kind this time and pee slowly. Now, get your lips round it before I have an accident.”

BJ felt her warm mouth encase his shaft tentatively. He shoved as deep as he could get it and then sleepily lay his head back on the pillow and released his bladder into the back of her throat.


Joelle stirred, rolled her pregnant body awkwardly to one side and opened her eyes. She made a disapproving face when she saw what was happening, sighed and rolled over, pulling the sheet up over her head.

BJ could feel Diana was struggling with his flow so he didn’t force the pressure. He felt her gulping, once, twice, again, swallowing.

“Wet the bed and I’ll thrash you.” He hissed a warning.

It took forty seconds to relieve himself completely. He let her guzzle the final drops and drain her mouth for the last time. Then he pulled her head up by her hair. He glanced down and checked his body was totally dry.

“Good girl.” He said. “Enjoy that ?”

Her gorgeous face grimaced. She nodded meekly.

“What do you say then ?”

“Thank you, Sir.”

With a wink at her, BJ yawned, reached out and turned off the light.




Camilla grimaced, a large tear running down her cheek.

A dozen pairs of eyes were watching her as she squatted.

Most of their faces wore amused smirks. Directly in front of Camilla, stood Rebecca. She was dressed in a full black outfit of leather trousers and a figure hugging blouse with thigh boots, holding a crop threateningly in her right hand, tapping it against a boot.

Then there were eight uniformed guards and trainers sat in chairs in a circle surrounding Camilla. Five of them were male and three were female. They ranged in age from their twenties to sixties, drinking mugs of steaming coffee, some munching on bacon rolls or smoking.

Finally there were three other slaves standing naked to attention behind Rebecca; one was her husband Ian, the other two were apparently a recently acquired married couple being inducted by another trainer.

Camilla was squatting on a raised dais in the centre of a squalid, stinking, communal bathroom, astride a solitary ‘hole-in-the-ground-type’ latrine. It was really just a shallow hole in the tiled floor that didn’t even seem to be plumbed. There was a white plastic tray placed in the hole. The room itself reeked of ammonia, disinfectant, cheap soap, stale urine and a lingering stench of excrement.

She was completely naked, perched up on her raised toes, ankles straining, her thighs pushed up and out and spread wide apart. Her tented fingers were on the floor behind her, holding herself steady.

Rebecca and the guards were sat only five or six feet away, their ogling eyes exactly level with Camilla’s widely splayed, ‘on show’ genitalia. Two of the guards had a full frontal view, four had side views, and two were watching her from behind. Behind them were film cameras mounted on tripods, their red recording lights already illuminated.

“Hold it there.” Rebecca repeated. “And wait for your audience to finish eating their rolls.”

Camilla swayed slightly, her ankles hurting. Her bottom still stung hot from the swishes Rebecca had casually administered to get her to assume this awful position.

Rebecca stepped forward, smiled at everybody, and ran her black leather crop up between Camilla’s parted thighs teasingly.

“This is Camilla.” She announced. “A new arrival. That is her husband Ian. And I have been appointed by Master Brutus as their trainer.”

Camilla noticed the ripple of amusement that seemed to cause the watching guards. The tip of the crop cruelly parted her labia and she felt a new rush of indignity from the cold air.

“You can see, ladies and gentlemen, from the state of her tits and arse that I’ve had to punish her already. Now, ask nicely, Camilla. Say please Miss Rebecca, may I go to the toilet.”

Camilla grimaced again, her eyes leaking tears. Her guts were doing somersaults. She had never felt so ashamed in all her life. Not even Ian had seen her use the toilet to pee before, ever. Let alone for anything else. She was not a baby. At forty years old, private bodily functions were meant to be exactly that. Private. She hadn’t been hungry the previous day but they had forced her to eat the disgusting mush in the evening. And this morning she had realised how little she’d eaten since their arrest and she had gulped down the breakfast, even though it was pretty foul. Now she felt bloated and ready to explode. This was going to be the most embarrassing thing that she’d ever done. How could her dignity mean so little to these people ?

She couldn’t get the words out. Until she saw the fierce scowl on Rebecca’s face and the fearful crop being raised again.

“Pl … please … M … Miss Rebecca, m … may I go to the toilet ?”


*** *** ***


Stella lay back in bed, head propped on the pillows. It was early. Just seven fifteen and Brutus had already left their Compound to travel to the day’s auction in the City. The covers were cast aside and dappled morning light filtered through gaps in the curtains. Her thighs were widespread and One, her personal slave, was lapping skilfully between them.

Usually she liked to see him hard and frustrated as he pleasured her, but the Droopy tablet was still working to perfection. He was as shrunken and incapable as a tiny lad ! Fortunately for her he was apparently still as mentally frustrated as usual. Frustration helped ensure he was desperate to please her. The drug left the motive and merely took away the weapon.

She lay looking up at the ceiling and dreamily tweaked his hair to guide him lower to her bottom. Her vagina smelt fishy and unwashed from not bathing for 24 hours and having sex with Brutus the previous night. She liked long, slow sweeping licks all the way from her back passage to her clitoris. Cunnilingus was something that Brutus had stopped doing as the years had passed.

Not that she could complain. She barely sucked his cock any more either. Just a few quick slurps now and then for old time’s sake. Their lovemaking was still good, passionate, exciting even, but they each now used other people for the less ‘egalitarian’ tasks in a relationship.

She let her mind wander to the day ahead. The exciting events she had planned were laid out in her mind like a smorgasbord of delicacies. She was amused by Brutus’s idea for the Judge’s wife, mildly annoyed by Lara locking herself away with that Gemma girl, and intrigued by BJ’s plans for a new TV show, but her thoughts kept returning to Jane.

Why she had it in for her so much, she didn’t know. Or care really. It was the same with Lara and Gemma. Sometimes you just found a slave you wanted to fuck with. And poor old Jane was Stella’s new found target !

One’s tongue was doing the business. As usual, her personal slave had risen at 06.30 hrs to eat with the other slaves then rushed back to use the bathroom, brush his teeth and rinse with mouthwash, and shave his face smooth, just in case she needed him for her pleasure. She couldn’t stand rough stubble against her soft skin. She sighed and gave into the feeling. Her breath came in short bursts and she smiled at the ceiling.

Aaaaaaammmmm ….”

She arched her back and her legs stiffened as she reached a powerful, toe-curling climax. One gently licked and kissed her down from her mental high, knowing exactly how she liked it done. Nevertheless, sometimes she thought it was time to replace him with a new model.

She liked the look of Don, Diana’s hunky husband, and had decided she would have a threesome with him and One, if only to keep One on his toes. It would be amusing to watch the two of them do a 69 on each other to entertain her. But she doubted that she’d actually dispense with One completely for a while yet.

He slowly retreated, running his tongue down the inside of her legs, sucking each one of her toes, and looked up at her submissively.

She never thanked him. Or even acknowledged a decent job. It wasn’t like managing a subordinate where you had to worry about motivating them, giving occasional encouragement. A slave soon learned self motivation or suffered the consequences. To avoid criticism and punishment was reward enough. Stella preferred to find frequent fault and found denigration a far more effective weapon than praise or thanks.

She dismissed him.

“Go and run my bath.”


*** *** ***


At 06.30 hrs, the days’ cycle had begun again. Relentlessly, daily: 24/7/52.

Twenty four hours a day, seven days a week, fifty two weeks a year.

There were no such things as weekends or holidays for the slaves. Sick days were almost unheard of. Doctor Thorne took a dim view of any slave expecting any time off, except for the most severe ill health or accidents.

Every morning began with ‘breakfast slop’; an unappetising brew supplemented with essential vitamins and additives. It was sufficient to keep the slaves functioning enough to perform their duties, but at minimum cost to the Company.

Then, at 07.00 hrs, it was time for their rushed morning bathroom routine. Elsewhere, most of the slaves were using other communal bathrooms as hurriedly and efficiently as possible, under guard supervision. But Rebecca had selected Camilla and Ian for the ‘special bathroom’ reserved for slave toilet training during their first few days.


“Pl … please … M … Miss Rebecca, m … may I go to the toilet ?”

Rebecca smirked at Camilla. She remembered her own shame at being made to perform her toilet in public. How long ago that seemed now. How many people she’d seen since stripped of their dignity this way. It was one of the most effective methods of quickly making a person aware they were now a slave.

“Yes.” She replied, after a long, meditating pause.

But,” she continued, “only if you show us some control. Are you ready to show everybody your self control, stripey tits ?”

Camilla swallowed, gawping at her.

“Yes, Miss … I’ll try Miss.”

Rebecca had to stifle a giggle. Yes Miss, no Miss, three bags full Miss. She tried to imagine what Camilla might have said a few years ago if anybody had suggested to her a scene like this would be happening one day !

“Okay.” Rebecca said, thinking of all the humiliating ideas she had witnessed over the past few months.

“Let’s see some control and decorum. I want you to open your sphincter and show us just the first inch of your disgusting shit. But hold the rest inside you for the moment. And no noise either. Slaves do not break wind. Especially female ones. And no pissing. That comes later. And smile. Look each member of your audience in the eye in turn, and smile for us all.”

Rebecca watched Camilla’s aristocratic face flushing crimson. Slowly she turned her head to acknowledge the grinning audience of men and women, some twenty years older, others twenty years younger than her.

Rebecca stepped forward and leaned in close to whisper in Camilla’s ear. “Smile I said ! You’re on camera darling. Your friends will all want to see you enjoying yourself when they receive the DVD !”

Camilla wobbled again and nearly collapsed.

Rebecca could tell that her calves must be aching by now, her fingers would be tired and her ankles sore from holding the uncomfortable position. Just more problems for her to contend with !

“Come on !” Rebecca said, slapping the crop loudly against her boot. “We haven’t got all day. And for the last time, fucking smile I said.”

Grinning inanely at the audience, tears running from her eyes, Camilla grunted and relaxed her internal muscles.

Rebecca burst into a guffaw of laughter.


*** *** ***


Don was running along the walls of the Compound, being chased by a dozen uniformed guards and howling, baying dogs. He dragged Diana along with him by her wrist, but she tripped and fell. A siren began to wail. He looked around desperately, gasping for breath. The guards were now only moments away. He spotted a thick bush alongside the high Compound wall and ducked into the foliage, pulling Diana in after him. He pushed his hand over her mouth, holding his own breath.

Heavy footsteps raced by. He heard shouts and the slobbering of dogs as they passed the bush he and Diana were hiding in. At last, slowly, Don was able to lift his hand from his wife’s mouth, allowing her to gulp air.

She looked up at him, her green eyes wide with fear.

Don placed his index finger over his lips. Shhh.

The siren ceased wailing. The noise of the dogs gradually faded away.

They were both naked. He suddenly became aware of her sweaty body underneath him, her heart beating hard under her full breasts.

Don looked into his wife’s eyes, smiled and sensuously lowered his lips to hers. She kissed him back. He felt her shift warmly against him.

Miraculously, he was no longer encased in the chastity cage. He shifted his own body and felt his erection throbbing hard against her leg. Slowly, staring into her eyes, he eased himself up between her legs, savouring the long denied warmth of her body.

She was still loose and sodden, where BJ had used her for the umpteenth time.

She suddenly looked up at him, her eyes cold like emeralds, and leaned up to whisper into his ear; “is that all you got, Donnie boy ?”

Her fingernails raked across his bottom, digging for blood.

“Rise and shine, fuckhead !”

Don woke with a start and opened his eyes. A foot had nudged him, not too gently, on his naked buttocks. His penis was uncomfortably squashed in the chastity cage, trying to stiffen through the tight steel bars.

Brutus Junior was staring down at him.

“Lazy, fucking dreamer.” He snarled. BJ too was naked, but for a silk robe that hung open at the front. He was scratching his hairy balls, his thickening penis lolloping down free and unwashed.

“Sorry, Sir.” Don responded, snapping into life, his dream forgotten.

BJ stared down at him, seemingly contemplating him like a worm that he might tread on or not. Eventually he looked back over his shoulder at the bed, on which Joelle and Diana lay watching them.

“Come up into the bed and join us.” BJ laughed, maliciously.


*** *** ***


“What did I say ?” Rebecca screamed at her.

Camilla was crying. “J … j … just one in … inch, M … Miss.”

“And what do you call that ?”

“I’m s … sorry, Miss.”

A glistening log about three inches (7-8 cms) long, had escaped from her body and broken off, tumbling into the tray, leaving a second shorter piece dangling obscenely from her anus.

“You will be.” Rebecca said.

Camilla felt the eyes of the guards studying her. One younger woman lifted a handkerchief to her nose and held it there.

“Okay, you can hurry up and finish.” Rebecca continued. “While I think of a suitable punishment for your lack of control.”

With a shrill sob, Camilla simply let the floodgates open and noisily finished voiding herself. Tears coursed like raindrops down her cheeks as her guts rumbled and expelled air, stench and faeces.

“Okay. Finished ? Now pick up the tray.” Rebecca ordered her. “Hurry.”

Camilla scrambled to her knees, picked up the plastic tray carefully and stood up on the tiled dais. Her unwiped bottom felt disgusting.

“Hold it out.”

Camilla stared at the tray’s contents. How could she have chosen this, of all moments, to produce one of the largest expulsions of her life ? There was a huge shimmering and steaming mound like some animal might have produced.

Rebecca peered at it, holding a thumb and finger to her own nose.

“Climb down from the stage. Now, walk around the audience. You think you’re so fucking special ! A successful career woman, a Judge’s wife. Well, we all now know you’re just like any other slut. And your shit stinks worse.”

Eyes stared coldly at Camilla as she walked slowly in front of the trainers and guards, presenting the tray’s contents for inspection. She wanted to curl up and die as a man half her age peered closely. Finally, she arrived in front of her husband and the other two slaves. She looked at him imploringly, apologising.

“You.” Rebecca said to Ian. “Take the tray from her.”

Ian slowly gripped the tray and Camilla was able to let go of it.

“You, hands by your side.”

Uncertainly, Camilla forced her arms straight down. She didn’t like the way this was going. What worse thing could her nemesis be thinking of ?

“Before I give this order,” Rebecca said coldly to Ian, “I want you to know that if you do not obey it immediately, then I will ask these guards to assist, and you and she will be punished in a much worse manner than my original order. Is that completely understood ?”

Camilla watched her proud, loving, naked, helpless, husband, calculating his choices and realising he had none, slowly nod his head.


There was a long pause. Even the jaded audience and two other slaves seemed interested, staring at her and Ian.

“Tip it all over her head. Now !”

A second can seem a long time. In that moment, she saw everything in her husband’s eyes; an inability to compute what he had been told to do, a gradual understanding, shock, fury, then the sudden thought of the threat of a worse punishment, the acceptance of the inevitable, shame at his decision, disgust at what he was about to do, fear of her reaction.

He lifted the tray and emptied the steaming mound all over Camilla.

She stood there, herself now computing shock, anger and acceptance.

Her own dung splashed, warm and wet, over her bare shoulders, arms, breasts and toes. She felt it in her hair, saw it tumble in front of her eyes, and smelt it cloying in her nostrils. More bits spattered onto the tiles at her feet.

Everybody was laughing at them.

“Good.” Said Rebecca. “That was a start. There’s hope yet that you two can learn enough obedience in time to pass your exam with Master Brutus.”


*** *** ***


Diana lay face up on the double bed. BJ was lying on top of her, literally fucking her face. She had to keep completely still as he rammed his cock into the back of her mouth, bouncing off her tonsils and gullet. He ignored the muffled gagging sounds and groans from underneath him.

At the same time, BJ was leaning over to kiss his sexy French-born wife, Joelle, who was curled up on the pillows, her big pregnant stomach in the way. He swapped the tip of his tongue sensuously with hers, to all intents and purposes making love to her, but utilising another woman’s mouth as a vessel for his cock.

Meanwhile, Don knelt ‘at attention’ to one side of the bed, watching them as his own wife was misused, listening to her gags and mewls. His arms were down by his side, his body stiff. BJ looked across and grinned at him with a shudder of pleasure. He would soon be spewing his morning load.

Today was going to be a great day.

He thought of the Evans family downstairs, and the Kellys and the Harvey-Stackfords he had purchased the day before, who would be delivered shortly. Twelve competitors; three proud dads, three yummy mummies, three young men and three sexy ladies who were all going to put on a great show for him in Family Fortunes !

He looked into Joelle’s eyes and lost himself in the moment. The ‘no turning back’ moment. He felt the pressure of tongue and lips below and pushed hard, feeling his cock ram against Diana’s windpipe, and enjoyed the bubbling feeling of his spew travelling up from his groin to his shaft. Then he was careful to pull out slightly so that he coated the back and sides of her mouth with the old one-two-three pumps of jism.

BJ knew that making cum swallowing as much of an ordeal as possible wasn’t just a matter of chance ! The taste buds on various parts of the tongue are different; sweet on the tip, sour and salty on the sides, bitter at the back. Cheats tried to store your jizz at the sweet-sensitive front and then chuck it back with a load of saliva. Or bypass the bitter-sensitive taste buds altogether by deep throating.

And you had to eat right; plenty of strong tasting, heavily scented stuff like onions, garlic, sprouts, cabbage, spicy dishes, fish, wine and cigars, all of which cranked up the bitter and sourness levels of your juice.

In short, you spike your ammunition and then aim it at the right spot !

He let himself sag a moment, heavy on the head below, kissing Joelle one last time. He turned and looked at the watching husband meekly frowning, his expression more of concern about his wife’s gagging and spluttering than the fact that BJ had just used her like a blow up doll.

He chuckled. What a wuss !

Surfer-dude-handsome, six foot tall and packed with muscle, but a wuss none the less.

Handsome, eh ?

In the cupboard by his side of the bed, BJ had a stash of the new drugs Stella had purchased from that Rhino guy. He fancied seeing what a Dumpty tablet would do for the dude’s straw coloured beach boy hair ! It would apparently make him bald as a coot in 7 days.

And a Goofy tablet would do wonders for that dazzling smile ! It might even be fun to get some orthodontic treatment for him after, so that instead of having crooked teeth he had a jaw full of steel braces for a year. Then he could suck on another Goofy in a year’s time and be crooked all over again !

And finally how about some of that Zitz cream ? See how that smooth masculine skin enjoyed a massive crop of itchy pimples !

BJ rolled over, his cock flopping out of Diana’s mouth onto his stomach.

“Hey,” he said to Don, doing his best to hide his smirk. “In that drawer you’ll find a bunch of medicines. Pass them to me.”

He beamed at Joelle. “Piss in that glass will you hon’. Our friend here is going to need a glass of liquid to take his tablets with.”


*** *** ***


Stella sat at her dressing table in a silk robe.

“Ah.” She said. “The lovely Jane … and her loving Jim.”

Two burly male guards stood either side of the unhappy couple.

She stared at them appraisingly. Jane looked rather the worse for wear compared with a day earlier. Her blonde hair was tangled, her blue eyes sunken, her pale skin puffy, her curvy body marked with blotches and the odd bruise. Jim looked ordinary; dull brown eyes, posture crestfallen.

“So, you’ve finished the fifty letters ?”

Jane curtseyed. “Yes, Mistress.”

“Good. I look forward to flicking through a few.” She paused, picking up her eyeliner pencil to continue with her own make up.

“I must say, I feel better now that you have a few more notches on your bed post, so to speak. You look like a slut and now you’ve got the numbers to prove it. Well, at least it’s a start anyway. I expect we’ll look back in a few weeks on fifty or so people, and think it’s a ridiculously small number but for the moment it’ll do. You must be a proud man, Jim, eh ?”

He looked at her dumbfounded. One of the guards slapped him.

“Y … yes, Mistress.”

She concentrated on her eyes in the mirror not looking at them.

“I think you should write thank you letters too Jim. Not many men get the opportunity to watch other men and women so thoroughly fucking their wives. Don’t you think you should write to them all as well ?”

She heard him swallow dryly.

“Y … yes Mistress.”

She turned and beamed at him. It was such fun so thoroughly fucking with a husband’s ego.

“Good. And you must write to the two men who introduced you to the delights of homosexual sex as well. We’ll ensure they get to the right people. You can write all the letters tonight. Throughout the night !”

“Yes Mistress.” His eyes had started to water.

Stella put down the eyeliner and turned to face Jane. “Here.”

Jane took a couple of steps forward. Stella reached out and fingered her puffy labia. She slid a couple of fingers inside.

Mmm … much looser. I can’t wait to feel what it’s like in a few weeks.” She removed them and ran a hand up Jane’s hip and side to her ample tits. She put three fingers around a nipple and tugged at it roughly.

Jane winced and tried to step back away from the pain.

“Naughty, naughty.” Stella admonished. “For that, I think we’ll have these ringed. First, some nice little silver nipple rings, and then some big heavy steel hoops worn hanging from the rings.”

Stella looked at the senior of the two guards.

“See to it straight afterwards. Have Doctor Thorne insert a pair of those six inch diameter hoops in double gauge steel. They’ll be a nice big burden for these two pack horses to carry around.” She said, digging her nails into Jane’s D cup breasts.

Jane’s eyes pleaded. Stella simply smiled thinly at her.

“Now, because I’m a kind and generous Mistress, I’m going to give you a choice today. Isn’t that nice of me ?”

Jane managed to nod. “Yes Mistress.”

You get to choose your schedule. Option One is the same as yesterday. Fifty more customers in various combinations in various orifices.”

Jane shut her eyes and began shaking.

“Option Two is split into two parts. Part One, this morning, is one hundred men ejaculating into your mouth and face. Naturally, you probably haven’t seen any of our ‘Fast Blast’ Series yet. It’s basically a heavily cut movie of cum shots shooting into a waiting mouth. Simple stuff. But the wankers out there love to see a pretty chick taking load after load and swallowing. It takes about two hours to shoot the guys, but we cut out the boring bits so the actual movie barely lasts half an hour. Just shot after shot in quick succession. And we already have the men waiting, with another ‘actress’ lined up but, if you want the role, it’s yours !”

Jim was staring at the floor. Jane’s mouth hung open. Eventually she spoke.

“I … w… what about the s … second part, M … Mistress ?”

Stella smiled inwardly. The slut was making progress, already debating the lesser of evils in her own mind.

Ahah. A surprise ! This evening. But I will make you a promise. It will be a quiet evening in, by your standards nowadays.”

Jane bit her lip. Interestingly, Stella noticed she didn’t look at Jim for guidance or opinion. The same thing as usually happened. Sooner or later all married couples became self centred individuals, only interested in themselves. That was why it was important they spent the first few days together, while the humiliation of being witnessed by each other was still intense.

“Hurry up. Or I shall choose Option One for you.”

Jane took the bait.

“I … er … the second Option pl … please Mistress.”

Stella gave a disappointed pout.

“So be it. You would rather be a film star than a whore, eh ? Or is it that you acquired a love for the taste of semen yesterday ?”

Jane simply shook her head, eyes downcast.

“I have a part in the movie for you too Jim. Your role will be to hold Jane’s head still for the cocks to spurt into. Who knows, you may even win a ‘best actor in a supporting role’ award !”

Stella nodded to the two guards.

“Take them away. I think it would be fun to have her nipples pierced and ringed first. For the movie. Nothing like a bit of bling to add some cheap glamour to a rather sordid plot line.”

She waited until they’d reached the door.

“Oh, by the way. I forgot to mention that the hundred men you’ll be starring with are a delegation from the new Central African Empire. They’re visiting us to see how we do things here. Make sure you represent our region with distinction, won’t you.”


*** *** ***


The big delivery cart arrived at the Compound groaning under the weight of twenty iron cages. Nineteen of them were occupied. There were sixteen purchases for Brutus Junior, a pair for Stella, and a single female for Lara. Guards unloaded the filthy, bedraggled occupants and began processing them immediately.

Brutus Junior had acquired four families in the online auction, each comprising two parents plus a daughter and son, or son-in-law, in their twenties or early thirties. Two families were lined up as first contestants with the Evans family for his new “Family Fortunes” Show.

The pair for Stella were unusual. A lesbian couple. Although not averse to a skilled female tongue herself, exclusive lesbianism was one of Stella’s many pet hates. She took it upon herself to try to convince them of the error of their ways by restricting them to a solid diet of male meat.

Last out of the cages came a sexy strawberry blonde, early twenties, about five four tall, with a mass of freckles, blue eyes, and a superb butt. Her name was Michelle.


*** *** ***


Doctor Sadie Thorne pressed the needle into the meat of Jane’s right nipple and inserted the silver ring. Then she did the left one. Jane was strapped down on the gynaecological chair, unable to resist as the simple operation was completed without local anaesthetic or even ice.

Next the doctor took one of the heavy steel hoops and passed it through the right ring, before using a soldering iron to seal the hoop in place. Finally she did the same to the left one.

Jane was sobbing, helpless, biting on a rubber bit, and hyperventilating to try to disperse the pain.

Finally, Doctor Thorne undid the straps and patted Jane on the stomach.


Jane rose up and stepped down onto her jelly legs. The two big hoops hung down almost to her waist, stretching her large nipples downwards. There was a dull chink as the two steel circles clashed against each other.

Sadie smiled.

“There we are. Job done. They suit you. Your body jewellery is going to make those African lads feel right at home.”


*** *** ***


Studio Number 6 had an eerie atmosphere at this time of the morning.

It was empty, dark, cool and silent.

But in just a few hours, it would throb to the shrieks and sounds of a ranting audience and the temperature would rise many degrees due to the human bodies and bright studio lights.

Brutus Junior flicked the master switch and there was the clunk of a generator whirring into life. Numerous ceiling lights flickered on, one by one, until the studio was bathed in a fierce halogen glow. It was like he was looking at a fun fair before opening time, the rides empty, awaiting the thrills and spills. But this would not be ‘fun’ for everybody.


In the centre of the studio was a huge construction, rather like a roller coaster ride. It was difficult to take in every detail at first glance. BJ had fallen in love with it the moment he first saw it in the online catalogue. It was two hundred feet (about sixty metres) in length by fifty feet wide, rising up to twenty feet high in places.

There were three ‘lanes’, so that three competitors could race each other simultaneously. Each lane was designated by a brightly coloured rail, like the wooden handrail of a staircase. One rail glowed bright turquoise, another bright pink, another bright yellow.

Each rail was supported, generally at near to waist height, on clear poles made out of rigid perspex tubes. The effect was that the rails seemed to ‘float’ above the plastic flooring. On the floor the track was designated by stripes under each rail, painted in the same turquoise, pink and yellow colours.


BJ stood admiringly and ran the palm of his hand along the smooth yellow rail. The course was based on a ‘figure of 8’ design, so that the pink lane was in the middle throughout, while the turquoise and yellow lanes had the inside lane at some stage, and the outside lane at others. It had all been measured and checked so that it was scrupulously fair.

He pushed to check the strength of one of the perspex tubes. The tough plastic was solid. Inside it ran a link of tiny neon light bulbs that would be lit for the Show in each lane’s colour. There was other wiring almost invisible to the naked eye and a mechanism for raising and lowering the height of the rail from the track.

Etched into the plastic of each tube was the trademark logo of ‘SmCyber, 2008’. BJ smiled at the thought of the fiendish mind that had come up with such an ingenious design.

And he grinned at the thought of the three families who would be racing for their lives along the track for the entertainment of a studio and TV audience, in just the first of a series of monstrous events.

The rail itself was made of smooth plastic. Well, smooth in most places ! It was curved and thick, about the diameter of a male bicep. The basic idea was simple. The competitors had to stand astride their own rails and race as fast as they could along the course.

Outright running was impossible for several reasons. The most important reason was that the rail itself was too high for people to do anything except shuffle carefully along in an undignified waddle. All the competitors, male and female alike, would be naked from the waist down except for stiletto heels.

Their high-heels, each pair in the matching turquoise, pink or yellow colours, could be adjusted in height so that the tops of each competitor’s inside legs were all the same distance from the floor. With the ability also to raise or lower the height of each rail, a tall man and a short woman, or vice versa, could each be handicapped in whatever way the race organiser considered fairest or most appropriate.

Each competitor was adjusted so that she or he raced with her/his genitals and bottom rubbing astride the rail. This was provided they stood as upright as possible on their toes and heels, legs straight, and did not slacken or slip. As a further hindrance, their wrists were fastened behind their backs so they wouldn’t be able to use them for balance or to break a fall.


But aside from those inconveniences, the trickiest parts were the course itself, and the rail. For about half the course the rails were smooth, curved, almost comfortable plastic, which was greased before the race. However, at various stages, the rails were different.

There were two sections where they were a sharp, triangular ^ shape, making the journey, especially any slip much more painful.

There were two sections were the smooth plastic rails had been ridged to create a juddering surface like a row of nnnnnnnnnn’s. In this part the rails had also been roughened to create a surface like sandpaper, which was left ungreased. The rails were set at a height that made it impossible for the female competitors to avoid bouncing their labia and buttocks along the cruel ridges. Male competitors could not prevent their tender scrotums scraping up and down against the abrasive surfaces.

There was one long section where the rail was not actually plastic at all. It was made of stiff bristles, dyed in the same bright colours. The quills had been set pointing backwards, towards the competitors, so that they were faced with an unenviable choice. Whether to waddle as fast as they could through the brutal ‘hair brush’ barbs sticking proud, or pick their way more carefully, and slowly, along the section to reduce the pain.

Finally, there was the ‘chicane’, where the three rails merged into one wide, striped rail as thick as a male upper leg. The competitors had to spread their feet exceptionally wide at this point. The metal tips in the bottom of their stiletto heels met with random plates hidden in the floor and triggered electrical shocks in the rail above.


Brutus Junior sat in the front row of the high-banked stands briefly. He could reach out and almost touch the outside lane. The audience would be armed with bags of rotten fruit and tiny pellets that they could throw and fire at the competitors. It was a participation sport ! The audience gambled Credits on their favourites and then tried to affect the result by slowing up the opposition with missiles, making the floor slick and treacherous with juice and perspiration.

He looked at his watch, rose and walked to the master switch to turn the lights out. He was impatient. How would he amuse himself in the intervening hours ?


*** *** ***


“Going once …” announced the Auctioneer, peering over his half-spectacles at the audience, his squinting eyes roving the floor for the sign of any other bids.

“Going twice …”

Brutus was already putting a tick and amount against the Lot Number in his catalogue.

“Gone … sold to Buyer Account 362.”

Brutus had no need to raise his bidding paddle. The Auctioneer was well aware of Brutus’s number and name. This was already the fifth Lot that he had purchased for the Corporation that morning.

He felt a slight resentment in the crowded room. Some of the other bidders knew Brutus and Stella quite well, most of the others at least knew who they were. Everybody was used to them buying one or two Lots per Auction, several times a week. But today Brutus had spent almost 100,000 Credits, outbidding everybody on the five best Lots available. The profit on the Rhino transaction was being put to good use. But he decided that discretion should get the better of valour and he would not make any further bids today.

He would leave the cheaper cuts to the others. He rose from his seat just as the Auctioneer announced the next Lot.


*** *** ***


The Studio was like a large ballroom with a circular stage in the centre. Over a hundred men stood milling about, drinking coffee and refreshments. Most of them were the ‘actors’, in various hues from skinny, light-brown men from the north of the continent, to milk chocolate shades from the east, to thick, heavy-set, jet black men from the west. All sported big, white-toothed smiles, laughing and joking with each other, some dressed in bright coloured robes, others just in loin cloths, a few already naked.

Amongst them, the white-skinned ‘techs’ bustled around, checking wires and monitors, making last minute adjustments. There were screens at each end of the Studio; large ones showing the stage, and smaller ones displaying close ups, angle shots, and a ‘birds eye’ long shot of the Studio from above.

On the circular stage, the director was addressing Jane and Jim, giving last minute instructions. Jane was dressed in skimpy lingerie, just a black thong, black fishnets and heels, with her huge new hoops hanging from her pale, pendulous breasts. She was lying on a chaise longue sofa, while a make-up girl applied bright red lipstick to her pouting mouth.

“Okay.” The male director said. “Two minutes.” He glanced round the Studio. “They look pretty ready to me.”

Jane looked away from the girl, up at him.

Wh … what do I do if I can’t take any more ?”

He shrugged, mock-kindly. “You think about what will happen if you stop. And then you carry on.”

He turned to Jim. “And you help her. Hold her head still and look her in the eyes. She’s your fucking wife. Make sure she carries on. The penalty for cum dodging here is … well, you don’t want to know. I don’t like my movies being fucked up.”

“But there are s … so many.” Jane’s eyes darted around the room.

He grinned at her.

“That’s the idea. A nice round hundred. It won’t be easy but you can do it. Just fight the nausea and don’t vomit.” He paused to check his watch.

“Look, quick biology lesson. I’ve met all sorts of women in my line of work. And it’s a simple fact that even those few who actually enjoy the taste and texture of come are satisfied by a small helping.”

He checked Jane’s make up and waved away the girl, before continuing.

“I can assure you that even the most jaded blow job groupie draws the line at more than a half dozen loads in a sitting. I guess it’s nature’s way of ensuring that women prefer to receive our juice in the place …”

He ran his stubby fingers up Jane’s legs to her thong.

“… intended for procreation instead. Semen swallowed orally in anything more than very modest quantities makes any woman feel bloated, light headed and nauseous ! Simple fact ! After all, if it tasted like vanilla ice cream, it wouldn’t be good news for the human race, would it ? Isn’t nature wonderful, eh ?”

Jim shook his head. “You bastards.”

The director looked at him angrily, then chuckled threateningly.

“We make gay versions of these movies too, you know. Strangely enough, gay men can swallow plenty without getting nauseous. Kind of proves my point about nature doesn’t it ! But hetero guys, now they don’t like it so much for other reasons.”

Jim gulped and lowered his eyes. “I … I’m sorry, Sir.”

There was a long pause. Eventually the director turned back to Jane.

“So, you just guzzle it down and outperform the two cent whores who are too fussy to do what a slave has to, eh ? Right, time for action !”


*** *** ***


Ex-Judge Ian Andersen lay face up on the floor. On his head he was wearing a set of straps that supported two vibrators that stuck up vertically, one from his forehead, the other from his chin.

Rebecca smiled at Camilla, who was still damp from the freezing cold shower, and naked. She put her left arm round the shoulder of her trainee slave, fondling a breast that was blue with cold.

“It’s time for a few lessons. A few realities.” She said. “Ready ?”

Camilla nodded apprehensively.

“You have to get one thing into your head immediately. Always obey. Instantly. Whatever the order is. If you do that, you will avoid the worst. If you don’t obey, our Owners specialise in thinking up something much more awful they can force you to do. They get off on it. Is that understood ?”

Camilla shut her eyes momentarily, drew in a deep breath, and nodded her head slowly.

“I’m going to be blunt with you.” Rebecca continued. “However bad it seems now, it will get worse. You are not anything that special to look at and you’re my age. Master Brutus will get bored of you in a week, two weeks tops. And, in a month or two, you will look back at your time with him fondly. I promise you. Whatever he does, whoever he shares you with, however much you hate it. It will get worse. Right ?”

Again, Camilla gradually nodded her head. “But …”

“But what ?” Rebecca snapped. “But nothing. There are no buts.”

Camilla nodded her head more vigorously to show she understood.

“Now, your one advantage, is that they are amused by the idea of taking you down a peg or two. They will want you to obey but to be obviously hating the fact that you are obeying. If you strike the right balance, you can maybe make it last a while. I’m sure they’ve chosen me to add an extra element of humiliation for you. That’s my good fortune and I intend to milk it for as long as possible. You fuck things up for me, and I will do everything I can to get my revenge. Is that a hundred per cent clear ?”

Camilla stared at her. Too long.

Rebecca swung her free right hand up across Camilla’s cheek.

“Is that clear I said.”

Camilla clutched her cheek and mumbled “yes …. Yes … er Mistress.”

Rebecca beamed coldly. “Good.” She took her arm from Camilla’s shoulder before continuing.

“You have a cunt. It is old, but not overly used, and you have not had children yet. I am going to teach you how to use it to give pleasure, to entertain and to amuse. Eventually, I am going to ask permission to be put in charge of a breeding program for you.”

Camilla gasped, but did not speak.

“You have an arsehole. As we saw earlier, it is no better than any other arse. But it is virgin. Master Brutus will enjoy being the first human cock in it, but we will prepare it for him first. It is not much fun being fucked in the arse and you will probably much prefer your other places. Which is why I’m going to focus on your bum for the next few weeks, hopefully with the help of many men.

Camilla was about to speak but thought better of it.

“You have tits. These big, bruised fun bags. You will learn to use them to entertain and you will learn how easy they are for somebody to punish in numerous ways. And you have that mouth. Which is not for talking any more. You will learn how to use it to please men, and women too.” Rebecca smiled, suggestively.

“And maybe even … er … others. You will make up for two decades of not swallowing semen. And you will learn that your mouth is, in fact, now a toilet. All of these things, and more, I intend to teach you.”

Both women stared at each other. Camilla blinked first.

Rebecca sniggered and looked down at Ian, waiting in silence.

“I’ve already told Ian his deal.” She said. “See that tight chastity tube he’s wearing. That’s his new wife. He can fuck that metal all he likes. I’m going to look after his balls myself. But he won’t be excluded completely from your sex life. Far from it. See those vibrators sticking up ?”

Camilla looked and bit her lower lip. She nodded.

“He’s going to get a real close up of you losing your anal virginity. First to a plastic cock and, in a day or two, to a real penis. Now, you’ve got one minute to get yourself astride his face, and those two inside you.”

The vibrator sticking up from his forehead was a monstrous size. Pink, thick, ridged, and very long. The one jutting straight from his chin was chocolate brown, thinner, smooth and only about six inches long. Both glistened with a generous coating of some type of lubricant.

Rebecca shrugged and pulled up a chair next to Ian’s head. She unbuckled her belt and licked her lips suggestively.

“And while you’re learning to ride two cocks at once, we don’t want your mouth to go to waste.” She glanced at the wall clock. “Fifty seconds left.”


*** *** ***


The big brown fist jerked frantically backwards and forwards a few more times. Then there was a deep baritone groan of pleasure. The fist guided the swollen bell-shaped end of the penis to the edge of the red ‘non-smearing’ lipsticked mouth and several thick jets of white semen uncoiled accurately and copiously onto the woman’s flattened tongue.

For a second, her throat bobbed, and Jane seemed about to gag. She was lying on the chaise longue, face up, with the African crouched by her face and Jim, her husband, holding her head, staring into her eyes.

Her gag reflex kicked in again and she fought to control it. She watched the smiling brown face looking down at her with morbid interest. She would never know his name, or see him again, and had never spoken to him. She had never touched him unless you counted his casual wipe of pre-cum over her cheek when he began. And yet here she was with his semen splattered on her tongue, grinning at her.

She steeled herself, closed her mouth and gulped. Twice. Bitter.

She had naively imagined that all semen must taste the same. Jim’s or any other man’s. But she was discovering it was individual. Some, occasionally, was almost sweet, certainly not pleasant, but easier. Most was salty, sometimes chlorine, almost acidic. The texture was worse. Especially the younger ones in their twenties. Theirs was thick, almost chewy, glutinous. Some were pungent with the smell of masculinity, brine and fish, and others were more spicy, clove and garlic.

But she was discovering that all men, regardless, watched you, ready to take offence at any sign that you did not consider their own delicious.

Another man stepped up onto the stage, his erection already horrendous, his hand casually keeping himself on the boil. He smiled over her at Jim, who was still holding her head tight, and squatted to rub the slimy head of his pre-come soaked cock over Jane’s neck and chin.

Why did they all do that ? Like dogs marking out their territory in the place where other dogs had left their scent.

She smiled weekly up at him and forced her mouth wide open again, flattening her tongue, despite the ache in her jaws and sickness in her stomach. She watched his fist start to move in a blur and waited to receive his foul gobbets in her mouth.

She had somehow managed to keep track. She knew that this man was still only number twenty. She was a fifth of the way through. Come what may, she had to stomach another eighty more.


*** *** ***


Camilla gasped and hissed, slowly lowering herself onto the two vibrators. She was squatting astride her husband’s head, with the crowns of the vibrators nestling in the lips of her cunt and the portal of her arse.

Rebecca leered at her, at the same time, gently teasing her finger up and down her own bald mound, nuzzling her slick labia apart. She had surprised herself, how much she was into this, how hot it made her.

She chuckled and teased Camilla with the old snooker shot analogy.

“Which is it to be first, the easy pink, or the tight brown ?”

Rebecca looked down from Camilla’s scowling face to between her thighs, as Ian’s staring eyes disappeared from sight. She giggled imagining the view from his angle. Slowly, she sat back, slid her bum forward and hitched her own legs over the arms of the chair, splaying her orifices for Camilla’s tongue.

“You’ve got twenty seconds left.” She said. “Before I get bigger ones for you to learn on. Shove your cunt down on the front one first.”

Camilla bit her lip, grunted and wailed as the monster penetrated her.

“That’s it !” Rebecca encouraged. “Now you push down at the back. Quickly, or else.”

Eyes fluttering, Camilla grimaced and pushed her bottom down. She shrieked and jerked her body up off the vibrator.

Nnnnaa …. no …. pl …. I … it hurts too ….mu …”

Rebecca put on her best bored expression. “Last chance. You’ve got five seconds. The next one will make that one feel like your little finger.”

Camilla stared at her with hatred, bit her lip again, shut her eyes and pushed. This time, instead of stopping after she met resistance, she pushed down a second time. Her face crumpled into a mask of pain.

Yessss.” Rebecca hissed. “All the way.” She reached out and briefly cupped Camilla’s jaw. “Push it all the way in. To the max.”

Camilla pushed again and wailed, part-pain, part-relief, as her body sagged down heavily onto both the plastic intruders.

Rebecca flicked both switches on the remote control.

Camilla’s eyes flew open as the vibrators churned into life.

Rebecca giggled and turned the dials on full.

Ride’em cowgirl !” she whooped.

Camilla braced her hands against the floor and gritted her teeth. Her head rolled back, side to side, and forwards as she rode the twin prongs.

As Camilla’s head lolled foreward, Rebecca thrust out an arm and grabbed her by her short blonde hair, pulling her face down. She shifted her own position slightly and introduced Camilla’s mouth to her gaping labia.

“That’s it. Yssssss….”

Rebecca shut her eyes, thrilling to the electric buzz of Camilla’s unwilling tongue accidentally making direct sloppy contact with her clit straightaway. She forced her eyes open and turned both dials down to low so that Camilla could concentrate on her oral task first.

Mmm … make me climax, Camilla. That’s …. Oh … mmmmm …”

She had never come so quickly in her life. Even with her husband, back in the old days. As she came down from her orgasm, she adjusted her position, pulling in her stomach, so that her anus slid against Camilla’s lips. She looked down and smirked into those posh blue eyes.

“There too.” She murmured. “Push your tongue right inside.”

Once Camilla was licking her arse deeply, Rebecca turned up the dials.


*** *** ***


Stella turned away from the screen that was showing a live feed from the studio where Jane was gulping down her sixty seventh load.

Her smile faded when she saw the guards had finished tying the naked male. He was suspended by the wrists from the ceiling, his ankles splayed wide tied to steel rings set in the floor.

“So …” she said, using the remote to change channels.

The screen now displayed an angled long-shot, clearly CCTV footage. The quality was clear enough. It showed a male slave sweeping a room with a broom.

On screen, there is no sign of anybody else. The slave is naked and unbelted. He looks around slyly and touches his penis that is semi-erect. Cautiously, while still sweeping with the broom one-handed, he clearly starts to caress his genitals. Soon he is masturbating, with his back to the entrance to the room, but he doesn’t realise he is in direct line of the hidden camera. When he looks as if he is on the point of having an orgasm, there is a noise and a female guard enters the room. He panics and tries to hide his erection, now sweeping with two hands. The guard walks calmly towards him and wrenches the broom from his grasp.

Stella flicked the screen off and stared at him.

“A wanker, eh ?”

“Please Ma’am …” he wailed, “I’m s … sorry … I …”

He was twenty seven years old. In his physical prime. Purchased three and a half months earlier. Over six foot tall, well endowed.

Stella put her fingers to her lips.

“No excuses. You’ll only make things worse for yourself.”

At that moment, Doctor Sadie Thorne entered the room. She was dressed in a white coat, pushing a steel trolley covered with surgical implements.

“Ah, good morning doctor.” Stella said. “Ready ?”

The doctor nodded, opening her palms to display the trolley’s contents.

The slave began crying. “Please … don’t …”

“If your equipment is so burdensome to you,” Stella admonished, “then it would be best to lighten your load.”

“No … I promise … I won’t do it again … ever …”

Stella stood in front of him, looking up into his damp, brown eyes. She ran her hands down his chest and flanks, eventually fingering his shrivelled penis. She casually flicked it with her index finger.

“Well if you won’t do it again, then it’s not as if you really need it, is it ?”

She cupped his scrotum. “Or these ?”

He gabbled. “I … I’ll control myself … I still want them … please.”

“And it’s not as if your girlfriend needs them now, is it ?”

Stella paused.

The slave had not been married but he had been living with a lovely brunette for two years when they had been declared bankrupt. Stella had rented her out to a nearby farm to work as a labourer.

“She’s pregnant, you know.”

His mouth opened like a fish. His eyes screwed shut.

“Yes,” Stella said with a shrug, “I heard a couple of weeks ago. I forgot to mention it. I’m told the father could be any one of quite a few men.”

His head hung down.

“So if she doesn’t need this, and you don’t intend to use it, what precisely is it for ?” she slapped his groin hard.

He lifted his head and looked at her, defeated.

“I d … don’t know, Ma’am … but please … I’ll do anything …”

“Aha !” Stella exchanged smiles with the doctor.

“The old ‘I’ll do anything’ line ! Tell me, exactly what you won’t do now, that you will do if we spare your balls ? I’m mystified.”

He looked at her in rising panic.

Pleeeease Ma’am, just give me a chance, I beg you.”

She chuckled. “That’s better. I like the words ‘beg’ and ‘chance’.” She pinched the tip of his petrified penis and stretched it downwards like a piece of elastic, making him wince and cry out in pain.

“Here’s what we’re going to do.”


*** *** ***


Don knelt in front of the toilet scrubbing the pan. Brutus Junior and Joelle’s luxurious bathroom contained a huge sunken Jacuzzi bath, a separate power shower, double basins, a WC and separate stand up urinal, and a dressing table.

A tear splashed into the pan as he worked. The pain in his jaw was worse than the most severe toothache. His skin was burning hot where the cream had been applied. Several yellow hairs from his fringe had fallen into the toilet. They seemed to be coming out at a rate of a few every ten seconds. BJ had laughed as he made him swallow the pills, saying he’d be bald as a coot within a week, with ugly crooked teeth, and the most terrible acne on his face and groin from the cream he had made Diana rub on him with a glove.

And as Don worked, he decided that life was no longer worth living. At least, it was no longer worth caring about. He had nothing to lose any more. He only had one goal now. To take somebody with him.

And that person was the one whose filthy, encrusted skid marks he was currently scratching off the toilet pan with his fingernails.

Don ground his painful teeth and began to formulate his plan.


*** *** ***


At that moment, unaware that a slave was plotting revenge against him, Brutus Junior was about to survey his new purchases. They were lined up in a large room – previously a school gymnasium – along with the Evans family who had been brought up from the dungeon below.

He walked along the line slowly perusing them, like a Sergeant Major inspecting his troops. There were three families on display; the Harvey-Stackfords, the Kellys and the Evans.

The Harvey-Stackfords were his most expensive purchase. Old Mr. H-S was 54, balding, useless. His Mrs was 51, better preserved than her husband, not bad if you liked your beef well done. The jewel in the crown was their only child, 28 year old Christina, who was a beautiful brunette with high cheekbones, a model’s figure, and sadly a model’s tits as well, flat ‘A cup’ poached eggs. Three years earlier she had married Mark, who had been something in investment banking before the depression wiped the floor with everything financial except for good old loan sharking.

The Kellys were younger, fitter. Mister was only 39, a child ‘dad’ when his twins were born. His wife was a year older at 40, a good looking, auburn haired woman. Their daughter was a few minutes older than her brother. She was a sexy, 22 year old, bubbly redhead with pretty freckles and a superb chest. Whereas she took after her attractive mother, her brother took after the father, all pale skin, and a carrot top of red hair.

The Evans had already spent seven weeks in the dungeon below; Mr. Evans, his 48 year old wife, their son Neil who had been a mate of BJ’s, and Tammy, their, blonde 23 year old, well fucked daughter.

Several guards stood along the walls of the room watching. There was a large, flat screen monitor on the wall facing the slaves. On it, there was a live feed of a pretty woman holding her mouth open while a succession of black men masturbated themselves into it.

The slaves had been ordered to stand to attention and watch the screen while waiting for Brutus Junior’s entrance.

He glanced up at the screen and smiled.

“I see you’ve been kept entertained.”

They were lined up by family; Mr. Harvey-Stackford, Mrs H-S, Christina and Mark; then Mister Kelly, Mrs K, Corina and Colin, then Mr. Evans, Mrs E, Neil and finally Tammy. The Evans family were totally naked. Even the chastity tubes and womens’ corsets had been removed.

But the new slaves were still dressed in their underwear.

BJ stared fiercely into Mr. Harvey-Stackford’s eyes, daring him to object, and casually thumbed down the elastic front of the older man’s underpants. They were a white, clean but threadbare pair of boxers. He pulled them down to the man’s knees, revealing his soft and unimpressive genitals.

“Take them off and stand naked.” He ordered.

Clearly petrified by threats made earlier by the guards, Mr. Harvey-Stackford clumsily removed his pants, and stood naked. He seemed unsure about what to do with his boxers and held them in his right hand.

BJ moved onto the man’s wife and stood in front of her. He lowered his gaze to her cleavage. Slowly, he revealed the sharp gutting knife in his hand and reached up to her white cotton bra. She winced worriedly as he grabbed the front and slit the little bow where the cups were joined.

He pulled the remnants of the bra away and dropped them. Her breasts were modest in size and still in reasonable shape for a woman over 50. There were some lines and a bit of sag but overall they weren’t bad.

One by one, he denuded the new slaves. None put up any physical fight. All were clearly terrified of him.

But the best bit came when he reached the sexy Kelly twin. A guard came forward with notes from Doctor Thorne’s initial Q&A and examination of the slaves; the girl Corina was, remarkably, still a virgin. Vaginal, anal and even oral (so she had she claimed).

BJ felt his loins stir the moment he read the words.

He cut Corina’s lace trimmed bra and unleashed her spectacular melons. They were that unbelievable type that seemed to go out and then upwards, defying gravity in spite of their size. The flesh was milky white, shaped like perfect spheres, with delicate pink areolas, and nipples like tiny raspberries.

She flushed crimson, a heat rash of shame steadily spreading from her neck to her face and down to her torso. She tried to hold his gaze with her turquoise eyes but soon gave in and stared at the floor.

He licked his lips and eased down her sexy little thong, revealing her ginger coloured minge. Oh dear. He soon espied a thin blue string dangling from her pouting labia. Corina was ‘on the rag’.

He hadn’t considered the likelihood of one of the women having her period during the race on the SmCyber ‘roller coaster’. That could add a nice extra touch of humiliation as she competed without any padding and left a red trail behind her on the rail.

BJ finished inspecting all twelve of them. He couldn’t decide if the Evans family had an advantage or not. On the one hand they were now pretty well unshockable and without shame, so they would do whatever they were told. But they were exhausted and with wasted muscles, whereas the Kellys in particular were younger, fitter, stronger. He winked at his old mate Neil as he finished walking down the line.

Then he stood in front of the screen. On it, the woman now had a funnel inserted in her mouth and a dark skinned man was squirting his cum into the wide brim of the funnel, while a white man was holding it in place.

“You.” He said, leisurely directing his index finger at Corina. “Up, over the bar there, face first.”

Hesitantly, the 22 year old virgin stepped forward, casting a terrified glance over her shoulder at her parents. Two guards moved alongside and escorted her to the sturdy construction. There were two old flogging benches side by side, each consisting of a horizontal bar over a wooden frame with straps at the base.

Slowly, she bent at the waist and lowered her breasts and head over one side of the bar, leaving her legs on the other. The guards’ practised hands soon had her ankles strapped apart, so that her toes barely touched the floor, and her wrists were strapped similarly, presenting her bottom as the pinnacle of the mountain, over the bar.

Brutus Junior smiled and removed three matches from the box in his pocket. He broke the head off one.

“Let’s draw for it.” He said, arranging the three matches in his hand so that they all looked the same. He offered them to Corina’s dad.

Who shamefacedly took one with the phosphorous head still intact.

BJ offered them to Corina’s mum.

Who hesitantly took one with the phosphorous head still intact.

BJ shrugged, smiled and offered the last match to Corina’s twin brother.

He took it to reveal the match with no head.

“Go to your sister and kneel with your face by her arse. Then I’ll tell you what to do.”

BJ turned to watch him.

It was lucky that the guards were alert. Mrs Kelly had been about to jump on BJ and assault him but a guard intercepted her in time and dragged her to the ground.

“You horrible perverted boy … you leave my darlings … you … I’ll …”

she screamed, thrashing and swearing on the ground.

BJ nonchalantly pointed the guards at the neighbouring wooden bench.

He smiled down at Colin, who was doing his best to ignore his mother and staring silently at his sister’s pale, goose-bumped skin.

“Reach and pull out that tampon from her cunt.” BJ told him.

Gently, the young man eased his hand between his twin’s thighs. It was awkward but he managed to pull on the blue cord and slowly extract the swollen red plug. He held it up by the string.

BJ ruffled his hair. “Good lad.” He paused and looked over at the guards who were finishing tying Mrs Kelly to the other flogging bench. She was still crying and shouting abuse.

“Go and gag your mum with that.”

Colin hesitated, horrified.

“Believe you me,” BJ continued, “it’s for her own good. If she wanted to save her family, perhaps it would have been best not to go bankrupt. Now, unless she shuts up pretty soon, I’m afraid I may get really pissed off.”

One of the guards held her head, another her nostrils, while her son hurriedly rammed the soggy pink tampon in her mouth, and then fixed it shut with two thick strips of tape.

Muted moans continued but at least the verbal din had ceased.

“Good.” BJ said, “now I want you to kneel down and prepare your sis’s cunt and arse for my cock. I don’t think a virgin should take part in this evening’s event so I will deflower her for you, here and now.”

Colin looked up at him. He seemed about to resist too, or maybe just to plea, but he seemed to understand the steely expression in BJ’s eyes.

Slowly, he pushed his face into Corina’s round buttocks.

BJ chuckled and selected a cane from a stand in the corner. He kept one eye on Colin but steadied himself in front of their mother’s struggling frame. Meanwhile, two guards moved near to Mister Kelly in case her got a sudden rush of blood to the head as well.

BJ raised the light, whippy bamboo and cracked it fiercely across Mrs Kelly’s backside.

There was a gagged moan from inside the taped mouth and a gasp of breath from the watching audience. Or rather from the Harvey-Stackfords. The Evans were immune to such scenes by now.

After about ten strokes, Mrs Kelly had got the message. Her head hung and she was silent, but for soft snorts of breath through her nose and the drip of her tears. She was beaten. Metaphorically and literally.

“How’s it going there ?” BJ asked in a stage whisper. “Lick her cunt too.”

He unzipped himself, fished out his erection, and manhandled Mrs Kelly’s thighs apart, so that he could slide himself into her box. She was dry but he gobbed spittle onto his shaft and rammed it in her cunt, until his pubes were wedged against her hot, caned butt cheeks.

“Just preparing myself too.” BJ said, with a twinkle in his eye down at Colin. “How does you sister taste ? Bloody heck !” he joked.

After a minute of hard thrusting, he slid out of the mum and shoved the brother out of the way, so that he could impale the daughter.

Meanwhile, he made a ‘be my guest’ gesture at a couple of the guards.

“Oh no ! Please …” Mr Kelly shouted out.

“Not you too.” BJ moaned, as he carefully spread Corina’s labial petals with his thumbs.

A guard used an electric zapper on Mr Kelly and he collapsed to his knees.

Another smiling guard shucked off his uniform jacket and dropped his trousers to his knees, lining himself up with mother Kelly’s doorstep.

“So, you really are a virgin ?” BJ leaned and asked into Corina’s ear.

Her head nodded and she mumbled a snivelling ‘um’ meaning yes.

“I love it when girls save themselves for me. It’s worth it I assure you. I am a great lover and this will be a lovely way to lose your virginity, with your family around you, watched by an audience, no silly romance and foreplay holding things up.”

He nuzzled his cockhead between her lips. The lube from the mum helped as he pushed hard. He watched her spine freeze and she gasped but he slid in easily enough. The little tart might be morally virgin but years of tampons and probably masturbation with a nice little vibrator had long since dispatched the hymen that made her physically a virgin.

Soon the two men were jack-hammering in tandem into the daughter and mother. It didn’t take long for the first guard to unload, and a second one soon took his place, while another two readied themselves, jackets off.

During the change, BJ extracted his blood-streaked weapon from Corina’s no-longer-virgin passage and repositioned it at the entrance of her, as-yet-still-virgin, back door, wrenching her puckered orifice open roughly with his fingers, shoving his thumb in first to make a breach in her defences.

He tried to make it last, “for her satisfaction” – nah, his actually – and to make her first time memorable, but he soon drilled his second orgasm of the day into his new acquisition’s bowels. Oh well, he was pretty sure she’d remember this occasion anyway. He stood up and grinned at the line of slaves watching, especially Mr Kelly crouched on the floor.

A guard looked hopefully at BJ.

He shrugged. Why not ? In for a penny, as they say.

The large, fat guard proceeded to become Corina’s second lover.

BJ zipped himself up, smiled and glanced at his watch.

Only a few more hours and the fun could really begin.


*** *** ***


Jane had made it ‘voluntarily’ until man number eighty six.

She had swallowed about 80% of their production, while the remainder had been splashed into her blonde hair, all over her face and upper body. Two men had given her ‘nasal rims’ – fierce jets aimed specifically up her nostrils – and another three men had opted for ‘corn holes’ which in this case are ear jobs, filling up the aural canal. One had painted her eyebrows and another discharged about the largest load of the day purposefully and copiously all over her ample, D cup breasts.

However, even with 20% of the fluid “wasted”, eighty six loads still adds up to a lot of jizz to swallow. Do the math, as they say.

That’s the equivalent of 70 male orgasms.

Containing a total of around 30 billion sperm cells, give or take.

Sloshing around with some 500 chewy calories, in all.

Equivalent to 25% of a woman’s recommended daily calorific intake.

Seventy good spoonfuls of pearly white, seminal plasma.

Or, put another way, approaching a wine bottle’s worth.

‘A bottle of you favourite white, Ma’am ?’

Of course, Jane’s mind wasn’t exactly on such specific statistics.

And, eventually, her gratitude ran out.

She vomited.

A bile of translucent undigested spunk streaked with bits of food, that she had the good sense to splash onto the stage floor.

In seconds, the film technicians had mopped up and produced a plastic funnel with a one-way valve that they wedged between her lips and strapped into place, held steady by her husband Jim.

Jane watched number 87, a wiry northern African, step up to the plate, beating his meat, a quizzical, amused expression on his olive skinned face.

She looked up and saw Jim staring at her with panic-stricken, encouraging eyes, willing her to conquer her nausea and complete the ordeal. Easy for him to say, she thought. It’s not his stomach swimming with the stuff, lurching as she moved like a ship in high seas. She could feel it, taste it, smell it, sense it, and would never be rid of it. And now her palate was tainted with vomit as well, like curdled sour yoghurt.

The uncaring little man flashed his tobacco-stained teeth and leaned up on one foot to direct his erupting penis into the funnel. She couldn’t see his spurts because of the funnel in the way, but soon enough she tasted it trickling relentlessly onto her depressed tongue. She wanted to spit but knew that if she did these bastards would do something awful to her.

She controlled her gag reflex and managed to let it slide down the back of her throat.

Immediately up stepped, frustrated and impatient number 88, a massive, ebony skinned man, still wearing bright red, yellow and green ceremonial robes, which were casually pulled open at the front, revealing a thing the size of a forearm, and a swollen scrotum that looked big enough to resemble an old leather soccer ball.

Jane gulped and screwed her eyes shut, pleading silently for respite.

But she knew that none would come.

Not until the hundredth man had deposited his juice.


*** *** ***


Stella exhaled a plume of cigarette, watching the male slave desperately trying to save his equipment.

She glanced over at the monitor displaying Jane coming to the end of her first ordeal of the day. Her mind wandered to worrying how Brutus got on at the auction ? Oh, for the days of cell and mobile phones. The State had reserved the airwaves for its own security network and even somebody with Stella’s contacts couldn’t bend the rules. She scowled and ground out the butt of her cigarette under her heel. How she’d love to get a few of those bureaucrats under her control !

And how were preparations for this Family Fortunes idea of Brutus Junior’s going ? That boy was trouble. She knew he was obsessed with knocking her Friends Reunited Show off the top of the ratings.

She took a sip of her drink, smiling at the lovely cool taste and contrasting it with the drink Jane was guzzling on screen.

And what about the lovely, handsome slave Don ? Maybe she should send for him so that he could give her a relaxing shoulder massage ?

She stroked behind Hamlet’s ears and fished another cigarette out of the packet.

“Patience, my love.” She said, smiling down at him, “all good things come to those who wait.”


End of Part Five





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