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Review This Story || Author: velvetglove

After the Pestilence

Part 7





by Velvetglove



Author’s Note


This is the final part of ‘After the Pestilence’. A complete, slightly revised and typographically corrected version of the full story is being posted separately for those readers who would like to read the entire novel.



Part Seven



It never, ever paid to mess with Stella.

She stayed watching the screens until the coast was clear then switched the ‘record’ facility back on. The guard would be none the wiser but, even if he did notice anything suspicious, her staff’s loyalty to her was beyond question.

She glanced at her watch. It was going to be a busy evening. But if all went to plan, a highly satisfactory one. At that very moment, her new friend ‘Rhino’ was returning from the port for another visit.

He had been about to set sail for North America with the six slaves he had already purchased from her. But she had got hold of him just in time. She had told him that she wanted to buy any cures his company was developing to treat the awful drugs and creams he had sold them.

And now she had one extra trade to propose.


*** *** ***


Meanwhile, the atmosphere in Studio Number 6 was electric.

Brutus Junior had milked the applause of the excited audience. He had made a speech about himself that went on far too long but, now that he had at last finished speaking, the contestants were finally ‘under starters orders’.

Going first for each family were the ‘young ladies’:

In Lane 3, which was identified by canary yellow fluorescent bulbs inside the translucent rails, was Christina Harvey-Stackford.

The crowd bayed as the 28 year old wife of Mark was introduced. She was a beautiful brunette, with a model’s slim figure and bee sting tits.

Christina was naked; dressed in only a yellow collar round her swan-like neck and matching yellow stiletto-heel shoes. Nothing else. Well, aside from the steel handcuffs that fastened her wrists high up behind her back.

On one of the massive screens hanging above each end of the auditorium, a close up of her shaved mound was displayed to the crowd, with her pouting labia split by the plastic rail. The zoom lens made it possible to see that there was a small ridge along the smooth plastic like a tiny shark’s fin.

Her flesh shone slick with perspiration in the bright studio lights.

In Lane 2, the shocking pink, fluorescent lane, was Corina Kelly.

She got a massive jeer as BJ had already advised everybody in his speech that she had only lost her virginity that afternoon, aged 22.

Not only that, but she was currently having her period.

The once-bubbly redhead didn’t look so happy now. Her freckled face wore a sweating, nervous frown. Like Christina, she was dressed in just a collar and heels, in matching pink. A cameraman was panning his zoom lens down from her large, milky white tits to her unshaven ginger cunt, giving those looking up at the screens a chance to evaluate her potential.

In Lane 1, was 23 year old Tammy Evans, wearing a turquoise blue collar and heels set.

Unfortunately for her, the blonde was the shortest of the three competitors, and it was evident she had to extend her legs and arch her thighs just to make the rail fin cutting into her mound bearable. In her favour though, was her lean, mean appearance.

Whereas the other two still had the unmistakeable skin of newly acquired slaves, Tammy had long since lost the sheen of civilization. Her blue eyes glinted with a determined look.

It had already been explained to the competitors, studio audience and viewers at home, that the winning family would obtain its freedom.

No strings.

This was a first. BJ knew that the determination to win-at-all-costs, and the excitement that would generate, was something that would whet the appetite of even the most jaded crowd.

Especially given the decreed fate of the family that came last !

Without warning, a gun fired and the epic race began.


Immediately the three young women began to waddle in a most undignified manner along their rails. At the same time, a cacophony of screams, and shouts and hysterical laughter burst out around the auditorium.

“Move it, bitch.”

“Faster Yellow !”

“Looks like a fucking duck.”

“Mine’s in the lead”.

There were gambling booths and a mountain of Credits had been wagered on the outcome, based on the ages and details of the competing families.

The womens’ labia and buttocks slid along the greased rails quite easily for the first few yards. Then came a section where the smooth, rounded shape with just a slight ridge, changed into a vicious ^ design. Tammy Evans was leading slightly and her expression immediately changed to a pained grimace. She stumbled slightly, embedding her sensitive underside on the sharp point and howled, to hoots of derision from the crowd. The fall cost her valuable seconds and Christina in the yellow lane edged ahead of her, biting her lip, but ignoring the soreness in her recently well fucked cunt.


BJ sat in his privileged section seat and beamed. Undoubtedly Christina would be thinking of Neil, Tammy’s brother, as she determinedly took the lead. Neil had been the first lad to dump his load in her.

Mind you, Christina probably wasn’t that keen on Corina either, given that her brother Colin had been next slave to enjoy Christina’s undoubted charms. And then a couple of young guards had completed the mix.

Christina had clearly realised the only way for her to escape a future where such ‘fun’ was commonplace was to win this race.

A technician handed BJ a slip of paper. His smile grew wider. For the moment, they had a record online audience. At this rate, his ‘Family Fortunes’ Show would smash his stepmother’s ‘Enemies Reunited’ Show into history !

Thinking of his stepmother wiped the smirk from his face.

He watched the race in silence for a moment. There were no two ways about it. Stella was a prime bitch. She pretended she ran this company when really it was BJ and his dad, Brutus Senior, who were in charge.

He resented her involvement.

His grin returned as he imagined Stella herself as a slave, racing astride the rails in front of a baying mob. Wow, that would get the punters in. A Slave Mistress reduced to the status of slave meat.

People would pay to see that !

Maybe it was time to make it happen.


*** *** ***


After Shack had reluctantly departed for the day, Brutus sat in the leather swivel chair at his desk and surveyed the damage.

Camilla stood with her fingers laced behind her head, feet apart. There were blotches all over her body where she had been pawed and mauled. The bruises on her large breasts had turned a sickly yellow and beige. There were livid blue hickeys on her neck where the two men had possessively kissed her. And their glistening ejaculate coated the insides of her thighs and had dribbled down her legs.

“Splendid.” He muttered.

Ian was hunched beside his wife, the flesh on his face was not physically altered beyond a couple of blotchy slap marks.

But his sunken eyes showed the glazed, devastated look of a well beaten man.

And the flesh of his buttocks bore even more discoloured scars of a well thrashed man !

“Absolutely splendid.” Brutus chimed, again.

He nodded to Rebecca to perch on the edge of the desk beside him.

She was a most interesting woman, this one. He had never come across a slave who’d taken to being a trainer quite so enthusiastically. It would be a waste to return her to the ranks just yet.

“A most enjoyable afternoon.” He said. “What do you think ? I thought Shack was actually rather a splendid chap.”

“Yes.” Rebecca replied. “Very nice. Charming, in fact.”

“What about you ?” Brutus smiled at Camilla.

She returned his gaze sullenly. “Er … yeah … very … charming.”

In a second, Rebecca had risen and slapped Camilla across the cheek.

“Less of the attitude, bitch. Remember your training.”

Camilla rubbed her face. “I’m sorry. Yes, he was … very nice.”

“That was quite an orgasm he gave you.”

Brutus spoke to Camilla but let his amused gaze rest on her husband.

“Yes.” She blushed crimson.

Ian bit his lower lip in humble silence.

“I had you figured for one hot slut. It’s just you’ve been married to the wrong man. From now on, we’re going to have some fun. You’re going to make up for lost time. Rebecca, here, will see to it.”

Brutus smiled at his newest trainer’s wide-eyed smirk of glee.

“Should I have sold them to Shack ?” he asked her. “I could make a massive profit.”

He watched her pause and think.

“Not yet, Sir. Have some more fun with them. I think he’ll still pay top Credit in a few weeks, or even months, time.”

Mmm …” Brutus nodded, “I agree. So, what ideas do you have for tomorrow ?”

Rebecca leaned in towards his ear and whispered a thought very quietly.

Brutus chuckled in delight.

“I love it.” He said. “We’ll arrange it.”

Camilla and Ian stared down at the desk, eyes lowered, dejectedly.

“In the meantime,” he continued, “as I recall, Camilla has only passed two tests. I seem to remember I promised three.”

“That’s right.” Rebecca replied.

“And what would you suggest ?”

Rebecca grinned. “Well, as it happens, I have something I prepared earlier.”


*** *** ***


Christina Harvey-Stackford had fallen into third position. Not far behind but she was busting a gut to get level with the other two.

Her calf, thigh and stomach muscles all burned with agonising cramps.

But they weren’t even half the story.

She had just slid along a stretch of rail that had been liberally smeared with a pungent gel. It was a muscle relaxant laced with chillies that applied fire to her labia and anus. She howled and wanted to hop about to disperse the searing pain but couldn’t even lift one high-heeled ankle off the ground. All she was able to do was shuffle along like some decrepit old hag.

At that moment, a squidgy rotten tomato caught her just above the right eye and threw her off balance. The section of the crowd only a few feet from her jeered and she saw face after face laughing and screaming at her.

She felt an eggshell exploding across her back and then yolk splattering.

At last she reached the mid-way point of the figure of 8 course and she glimpsed the other members of her family waiting and shrieking for her to hurry up. But in seconds she realised that what passed for their encouragement was, in fact, simply their desperate fear.

Numbness had anaesthetised the worst of the pain in her cleft.

A surge of adrenaline cleared her wandering mind. It was now or never. In a short while, she would either be a free woman again.

Or …

Ahead, the blonde bitch Tammy and the redhead cow Corina had also got a boost from seeing their own families.

Christina was still in last place.


*** *** ***


Jane savoured the tang of mint toothpaste and mouthwash. At last, several hours after the last of one hundred men had filled her mouth and face with their semen, she had been allowed to brush and rinse out the rancid taste.

Sadie Thorne, the Corporation’s Doctor, was in charge of preparations.

She was a late-middle aged woman, with a brusque manner, a round, matronly physique and a grey perm. Her waist was like a barrel and her fleshy thighs resembled tree trunks. The stench of halibut that permeated the folds of her unwashed womanhood would have made a fisherman wince.

But it was only after kneeling Jane had given her the third of three prodigious climaxes with her exhausted tongue and fingers that Sadie had magnanimously authorised the toothpaste.

The doctor examined the massive hoops inserted in Jane’s nipples rings. They pulled her teats down somewhat but had done no damage yet.

Next, she towelled Jane’s hair from the cold shower and fetched the drier.

“We need to pretty you up for your next adventure.” She said.

Jane looked at the older woman apprehensively.

“Do … you know … wh .. what it is ?”

“But of course.”

Jane waited, hoping to be told, or at least given a clue.

The doctor turned the drier on, smiling enigmatically.

“You’re going to be married.”


*** *** ***


Stella was watching the event with half an eye.

The young ladies had handed over the batons, so to speak, to their fathers who were shuffling the second leg of the race.

Mr Kelly, Corina’s daddy in Lane 2, had opened a small lead over Mr Evans, father of Tammy, in Lane 1.

Poor old Mr Harvey-Stackford, oldest and flabbiest of the competitors, had taken over from Christina in last place, and he had fallen further behind. He was gasping and sweating just trying to stay upright.

Next to Stella sat the man known as Rhino.

Like her, he was watching the race with an amused glint in his grey eyes. But he was now turned sideways, one eye studying her with interest.

They were sat near the back of the auditorium, in the ‘cheap seats’, where they would not be noticed. Around them, people were shrieking at the competitors, laughing and pointing funny moments out to each other.

Stella looked away from the track.

“So, do we have a deal ?” she asked him.

Rhino ran his thumb and index finger down his nose, thinking. His eyes were hooded, his nose fleshy and big, his hair long, greasy and tied in a ponytail. Slowly, he turned and looked her full in the eyes.


“Sure.” She replied. “Slightly. For both of us. But I think you’ll agree that the risk is justified by the reward I’m offering.”

He stroked the stubble along his jaw.

Both of them turned again to watch the race as the entire crowd had erupted in riotous screams and raucous laughter.

The men had reached one of the sections of track where the smooth plastic rails had been ridged to create a juddering surface like a row of nnnnnnnnn’s. The section had not been greased but was roughened to create a surface like heavy-duty sandpaper.

Mr Kelly was doing a little dance of pain as his tender scrotum and buttocks bounced along the abrasive surface. Like his daughter, he was dressed only in a shocking pink collar and matching high heels, with steel handcuffs fastening his wrists up behind his back. He stared down with obvious distress at the red smears of glutinous menstrual blood that his own daughter Corina had left along his rail.

Mr Evans, in team turquoise, was grimacing with determination, and he had soon caught up with Mr Kelly, though probably at the cost of all feeling in his bouncing balls.

A gaggle of girls on a hen night out were sat only a short distance from the ridged section. They had each purchased water pistols from one of the booths selling ‘audience participation toys’. The pistols were made of thermos material and had been filled with scalding hot sugar-water.

Both men were trying but failing to dodge a barrage of jets fired by the giggling girls. Tiny explosions of still sizzling water smacked against the mens’ genitals, chests and faces, slowing them in their tracks.

The crowd roared approval, realising that the girls were trying to allow poor old Mr Harvey-Stackford to catch up and make a race of it.

One jet blasted against the tip of Mr Kelly’s penis and instantaneously a blistering red mark appeared, as steam hissed. He roared and shook his head to clear it, as he struggled on. The sugar in the water made it stick to skin for a while before it was sweated off.

Rhino chuckled at the scene and then nodded at Stella.

“Okay.” He took her elegant hand in his coarse palm. “Deal.”


*** *** ***


Joelle gradually regained consciousness.

Her first thought was for her unborn child. She reached for her belly.

“Okay.” A male voice said, reading her expression of alarm. “You’re both fine.”

She gasped in relief. Slowly everything came into focus. She recoiled.

The face looking down at her was like some hideous phantom; almost hairless, covered in weeping pustules, with wrinkled, scaly skin.

“Who … ?”

Thhhhh …” the cracked voice said, trying to hush her between his broken teeth. It’th Don. Remember me. Diana’th huthband.”

She blinked. “Don ?”

He nodded slowly. Then shrugged.

“Those tablets, that cream. They did this ?” She asked.

He kept nodding his head, slowly up and down, like a metronome chiming the death march.

“No.” he said finally. They didn’th. Brututh Junior did.”

She reached up and cautiously touched his face. It was hot to the touch. The skin felt leathery, like parchment paper.

“You know that I have nothing to do with whatever that bastard BJ does ? He was not my real husband.”

He tried to smile reassuringly at her. A spot ruptured as his lips curled and a dribble of pus oozed down his chin.

“Did you kidnap me ? What’s going to happen ?”

“I didn’th kidnap you.” He lisped. “It was Thtella.”

Stella !” she gasped.


“Oh … no. What’s going to happen now ?”

He motioned at the locked doors.

“I’m afraid I don’th know.”


*** *** ***


The fathers collapsed at the finishing line and handed over to the young men to complete the third leg.

In spite of the audience’s best efforts, the Harvey-Stackfords remained in last place, although they were still in touch with the leaders.

Mark, Christina’s husband, launched himself after Colin Kelly and Neil Evans, both of whom had fucked his wife only hours earlier.

Each of the men had been teasingly masturbated by female slaves up to the moment they set off. This had the effect of making them shuffle along the waist high rails with jutting erections waving to and fro in front of them.

To emphasise their ‘team colours’ each man had a coloured silk ribbon tied tightly round his erection, as well as collars and high heels.

Colin Kelly, the leader by a length, waddled along as fast as he could with a shocking pink bow flapping in front of him, clashing unfashionably with his carrot top of red hair and sickly pale skin.

He staggered for a moment and seemed to pause. In fact, he had just recognised his ex-girlfriend with her new fiancé sat in the front row. Something fluttered and he was momentarily blinded. It was a pair of white panties thrown by the girl he had once dated. He shook his head, smelling her musk and feeling the dampness, as the panties fell down his chest to the floor. She held up her right fist with the middle finger raised at him.

Out of the corner of his eye he glimpsed Neil Evans in Lane 1 drawing level. He slipped and wailed in agony as the sharp ^ of the railtrack punched him in the coccyx, slowing him down further.

Then, out of the other eye, he sensed Mark in Lane 3 catching him up too.

It was now a three horse race !


Up in the stands, there were two empty seats. Their neighbours thought it most strange that anybody would want to leave during the race !

But Stella had things to do.

While Rhino had things to prepare.


*** *** ***


The library had been set up almost as if for a wedding. There were comfortable, high backed chairs arranged either side of a central aisle. In front of the congregation, centre stage, there was a very sturdy wood, metal and canvas construction.

Imagine a large, rectangular table lying upside down, legs in the air.

The tabletop was set on the floor and formed the base of the structure, while the four thick table legs in each corner stuck up like solid posts.

There was a strong canvas sheet strung half way up each post, tied with reinforced sailing rope. The sheet itself was stretched tight and shaped like a four pointed star. It was basically a cut-out of a human body. The arms and legs were fixed diagonally to the four posts and there was a wider piece in the middle in the shape of a torso.

At various points up and down each post, there were fixed manacles, hooks, and long Velcro straps for tying and fastening a person.

It was evidently a ‘fucking hammock’ of a very special kind.

Stella had left Studio 6 where the ‘rollercoaster race’ was reaching its climax and taken a human-pony trap back to the library.

Incidental organ music was quietly playing as she entered the room. Brutus, Doctor Thorne, and half a dozen friends from the Corporation’s Private Dining Club were milling about in the library waiting for her.

She smiled and gestured for her guests to take their seats. Trays of drinks and hors d’oeuvres were being offered to the guests by slaves. A stills photographer and three separate movie cameramen had set up their tripods and cameras and busied themselves waiting for the start.

A pair of red velvet curtains were pulled closed, temporarily hiding the fucking hammock from everybody’s view.

Stella made sure everybody was comfortable in their seats.

The taped organ music struck up a familiar theme.

Eventually, Jane and Jim were ceremoniously led in from the back of the library to the front, escorted by their ‘guards of honour’.

Jane’s face was obscured by a veil, the thin net just allowing a glimpse of her face under her neatly arranged blonde tresses. She was wearing a pure white wedding dress, satin shoes and carrying a posy of dried, partially crumbling flowers.

It was the same posy, and the same dress, that she had worn to marry Jim, in happier times, when they were solvent before the Pestilence.

There were indentations in the white dress where her new nipple hoops pushed uncomfortably against the virginal material.

Next to her was the man ‘giving her away’.

Not her father this time.

But her husband.

He was dressed in a black tuxedo suit. However, his jacket was pinned open and a square in the front of his trousers had been neatly cut out, to reveal his hairless, emasculated groin.

His penis was caged in a narrow steel tube with a frilly white bow tied decoratively around it, hanging out of the front of his suit.

He wore shiny, patent leather shoes on his feet. His brown hair was neatly brushed and his face was shaved smooth.

A cameraman zoomed in for a close up of his expression. It was strangely accepting. He looked vaguely like a dad who was giving his daughter away to some bad’un who he didn’t like or approve of, but he was still acting the part of proud father on the day.

The guards spun them around to face the small, hushed and expectant audience.

Stella’s eyes roved the room, checking last details, observing the cameramen.

And then a handler walked in through the side door, leading behind him a strutting Hamlet, one of Stella’s four dogs. Hamlet was a magnificent, black coated Great Dane, three feet tall when walking normally, standing as tall as a man when up on his hind legs, weighing in at 220 pounds (15 ˝ stones, equivalent to 100 kilograms).

His short-haired coat was shiny black, his neck, thighs and body rippled with muscle, his eyes and ears were alert. The Great Dane is known as the ‘Apollo of all Canines’ and, looking at Hamlet, it was difficult not to agree.

Well, Stella supposed, unless perhaps, if you happened to be Jane !

The audience clapped politely and Hamlet barked once, flashing his teeth. He had brought with him that vague, wet ‘doggy scent’ into the room. Stella knew he had been bathed, brushed and groomed for this occasion.

The ceremony was brief, conducted by Doctor Thorne. She asked who was giving the bitch away and a guard poked Jim sharply in the back.

“I … am.” He mumbled.

The doctor asked who was taking the bitch.

The handler encouraged Hamlet by his collar to take a step forward.

Doctor Thorne rubbed the dog behind the ears and said “You. Hamlet.”

The doctor then requested the bitch to stand beside her Stud and asked if any person present knew any reason why the two should not be joined together.

The invited audience chuckled, scratched their heads at each other, as if desperately trying to think of any just reason at all. Stella smiled at the corny acting of her friends as a cameraman panned along their faces.

“Absolutely none.” Replied Stella eventually, on everybody’s behalf.

The doctor recited Hamlet’s words for him. “I, Hamlet, take you Jane, as my bitch. I will not be faithful, though I don’t expect you to be either, but you will love, honour and obey me as long as you’re told.”

Hamlet gave an excited ‘arf’ and everybody laughed again.

The doctor then told Jane to repeat after her.

“I, Jane …”

The high quality boom microphone picked up a small cough of apprehension from behind Jane’s veil.

“ I, Jane.” Her voice was strangely composed, in the circumstances. Stella looked at the veil and inclined her head in a nod of approval.

“Take you Hamlet, as my stud.” the doctor continued.

“T …take you Hamlet as my stud …”

“I do not expect you to be faithful, and I doubt I will be either…”

“I do not expect you to be faithful, and I d … doubt I will be either…”

but I will love, honour and obey you as long as I’m told.”

but I will lo … love, honour and obey you as long as I’m told.”

Another ripple of applause filled the library. The cameras focused briefly on Jim’s face as well as Jane’s veil. Stella studied him with interest. She adored seminal moments like this.

“The bitch will now kiss the stud.”

Slowly Jane bent her head and lifted the veil from her face, propping it behind her shoulders. The audience slid forwards in their seats. Jane had been nicely made up, with mascara, rouge and lipstick. Hamlet looked up, opened his mouth, a drool of slobber hanging down, and panted in her face. The guard pushed her head forward until her face touched the dog’s.

“Go on, have a kiss.” Said the doctor encouragingly.

A camera caught Jane’s gulp and forced smile.

She puckered her lips and made a gentle ‘mwah’ sound.

Hamlet barked excitedly.

The still photographer’s camera flashed.

“I now pronounce you, Stud and bitch.” Doctor Thorne said.

Everybody clinked their glasses.

Cheers ! To the Stud and his new bitch.”

Jane looked around. Her make up had been smudged slightly by Hamlet’s lick. She glanced briefly at Jim, at the cameramen and then finally at Stella. It was as if she thought it was the end of a performance and was gauging the audience’s satisfaction with her performance.

Stella smiled. “Cut.” She said to the cameras.

There was an awkward silence.

“Well,” Stella continued, “I think it’s time we prepared for the next scene; the honeymoon and the … er … first night !”

Noooooo ….” Jane wailed, staring in horror straight at her.

“You bastards.” Shouted Jim, trying to break free.

Slowly the red curtains behind them opened to reveal the fucking hammock.

His guard, a karate black belt, twisted Jim’s arm up behind his back and held him effortlessly. The audience tittered.

“You will pay for that comment later”. Stella announced, matter-of-factly.

“You promised.” Said Jane. “Please. You said that it was just a movie scene, a horrid mock wedding, and if we went along with it, that would be all. We did what you asked !!”

She threw herself down on the floor.

“You promised.” She wailed.

Stella looked down at her and shrugged.

“I lied.”


*** *** ***


Sat now at your PCs, or with your laptop on your knees, or relaxing in bed with a downloaded copy, it is nigh on impossible to imagine the final few minutes of the rollercoaster race; the agonising, lung bursting, muscle burning, gasping shuffle for the finishing line.

And redemption.

Or doom.

For all of a father’s pride, a son’s loyalty and a daughter’s love, it is the mother who is the most protective, most determined to save her family.

For all a man’s courage and strength, it is the woman who can bear the greatest pain and suffering.

So the final leg was a race between the three ‘mummies’.

The leading two were neck and neck; 48 year old Mrs Evans in Lane 1 jostled alongside the 40 year old Mrs Kelly in Lane 2. Then, around ten seconds behind and seemingly destined for failure, lurched 51 year old Mrs Harvey-Stackford in Lane 3, bringing up the rear.

Instead of wearing handcuffs, the three older women had their hands free. But they had to use them to hold up and present their flopping breasts to the jeering, cheering audience.

They waddled along desperately in their turquoise, pink and yellow collars and heels. Each knew only one thought;

I must win.

So they ignored the pain and shame and everything else. The screaming, jeering faces, the cameras and microphones, the screens and bright lights, the deafening noise and mind-numbing pain and exhaustion.

No shame, no game.

No pain, no gain.

They had reached the long section on the final bend where the rail was not actually plastic at all. It was made of stiff bristles, dipped and dyed in the same glowing turquoise, pink and yellow shades. The coloured quills had been set at an angle, pointing backwards towards the competitors, who were faced with an unenviable choice.

They could either waddle as fast as they could through the brutal ‘hair brush’ barbs sticking proud, that ravaged their defenceless labia and sphincters.

Or they could pick their way along more carefully, reducing the piercing pain, but losing valuable seconds to their competitors.

Against all odds, Mrs Harvey-Stackford paid no heed to the barbs slashing into her hanging flesh and ripping loose of the rail. Her labia now looked like a sea urchin covered in yellow broken spines.

But, much more importantly, she had almost caught up the other two, younger and more selfish, women.

Finally, on the home straight there was the ‘chicane’.

At this point, the three rails merged into one wide, triple-striped rail as thick as a man’s upper leg.

The competitors had to spread their feet exceptionally wide, shambling along in a most ungainly, undignified and painfully slow gait.

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, sending blue, pink and yellow sparks hissing into the air around their waists.

Mrs. Kelly was just in the lead as they entered the chicane, followed by Mrs Evans, with Mrs Harvey-Stackford close behind in third.

An electrical zap and shower of pink sparks signalled that Mrs Kelly had had the misfortune to trigger a shocking bolt up her spine.

She gasped and let out a wail that was drowned out by the maelstrom of audience noise.

Mrs Evans piled into the back of her, before setting off another shock that froze both women in their tracks. Drool flew from their slack jaws.

Somehow they surged ahead again, and moments later broke out of the chicane onto three rails and the final short stretch of the race.

Ahead of them, their families were shrieking at them, each face sobbing and begging, urging and daring to hope.

A rotten tomato smashed hard into Mrs Evan’s exhausted face, sending red flesh and seeds flying everywhere.

A raw egg landed in a direct hit against Mrs Harvey-Stackford’s bouncing chin, spewing shards of yolk over her canary yellow collar.

They reached the finishing line virtually in a row.

After four laps raced by four different team members, the result incredibly came down to a matter of a few inches.

It was almost a dead heat.


And at that moment, the lights went out.


*** *** ***


Brutus Junior crumpled the microphone in rage.

At his very moment of triumph, when his program was about to set a record for pay-per-view online viewers, the Compound’s power had gone. The signal had been disrupted, leaving people with blank screens all over the land.

It took only a couple of minutes to get everything up and running again, but by that time, the moment had passed.

The official feed confirmed his worst fears.

The online viewing record was still held by ‘Enemies Reunited’.

He did his best to smile and take the plaudits from his colleagues, guests and guards. But inside he was seething.

A review of the tape confirmed that the Kellys had won by inches.

He watched indulgently as his old friend Neil, young Tammy, and mum and dad Evans hugged each other in a circle, screaming and laughing and rejoicing.

He stared sullenly as the guards marched away the gasping, sobbing Kellys and Harvey-Stackfords to a life of untold grief; young Christina and Corina were both hysterical, tearing at their hair and flesh in anguish.

Then BJ made his excuses and slipped away.


He walked along, muttering threats against Stella. He bet that his cunt of a mother-in-law had sabotaged the power supply.

She hated him. In fact, everybody in this fucking place hated him.

Well, except Joelle.

One of the CCTV cameras set above the path he was walking along whirred and he glared up at it. Fucking spies.

He reached down and adjusted his dick in his pants. At least he could go and get Joelle to relieve him. That’d make him feel better. A beer and a blowjob.

He never even saw the black clad figure.

Or felt the dart as it pierced his neck.

Or the pathway as it rushed up to meet him.


*** *** ***


Jane was suspended on the sturdy, star-shaped sheet. It took her weight easily, with her legs and arms staked out along the four points of the piece of canvas, her body supported, and her head and hips hanging just over the edges of the central section.

She had tried vainly to resist the burly guards but her ankles and wrists were now fastened tight in manacles. She was still wearing her white dress but her veil had fallen onto the floor below her head. She was looking towards her fascinated, excited audience.

Below her lay Jim, his legs and arms stretched out on the base of the structure, manacled to the struts. He was face up and tied in the opposite direction to her, so that his feet faced the audience.

The position gave him an excellent close up view of his wife’s body, especially her inner thighs just above him. He had been gagged with a pink ‘o’ gag to silence his desperate protestations.

The audience had been sat a polite distance away during the ceremony but now all their seats had been moved forwards, so that people could easily reach out with an extended arm and touch Jane’s face if they wanted.

On a screen to one side, a recording of the short, moving ceremony as Jane and Hamlet exchanged their vows was just finishing.

“It’s time.” Stella said, draining the last of her champagne glass.

On her nod, Cuntlicker stepped forward.

Stella had chosen her for the role that afternoon.

Cuntlicker was the 29 year old lesbian from the garden; boyishly handsome with doe-like eyes set off by enormous lashes and a fringe of short dark hair. She was sexily dressed in just a black lace thong and quarter cup bra, from which the nipples of her perfect little tits poked out.

Naturally, Stella’s threat that if Cuntlicker either failed to obey any instruction, or failed in the mission she’d been given, then she would herself take Jane’s place had concentrated the beauty’s mind.

She bent over and slowly, sensuously, eased Jane’s white dress up her legs.

A camera placed behind her broadcast the view on the widescreen monitor. Jane was wearing white fishnet stockings, held up by a white suspender belt, and no panties; a hot, horny wife on her honeymoon, ready to receive her husband as soon as they reached their hotel bedroom.

Cuntlicker pushed until the tops of Jane’s legs and eventually her dimpled buttocks were fully revealed on screen.

She poured a small amount of warm oil onto the palm of her hand and then rubbed her hands together, before beginning to massage Jane’s ankles.


Jane looked up at Stella.

Ple ….” She began to say, unable to finish the word, shaking her head.

Stella cupped Jane’s chin gently in her hands and stared back.

“You have two choices from here.” Stella said, calmly and almost sympathetically.

“The first is to give in and enjoy it. Concentrate on the good part, the physical pleasure. Cuntlicker will get you in the mood first.”

Stella carefully lifted a blonde strand of Jane’s hair out of her eyes.

“The second is to fight it and concentrate on the bad part, the mental shame. It’s up to you. But here’s the deal. I know that Hamlet will enjoy this. He always does. I want you to enjoy it too. I want you to reach a big, teeth-jangling climax for us. And I can assure you that Cuntlicker does too. If you don’t reach one, well, let’s just say you’ll both regret it.”

Jane simply gawped up at her.

Unsurprisingly her brain was slightly scrambled, computing information slowly. Very slowly, she nodded her head up at Stella, a big fat glistening tear sliding out of the side of one damp blue eye.

“And don’t … ” Stella added, “… think you can fool any of us with a fake orgasm. We all know the real thing. If there’s any doubt about whether you’re faking it, our decision will be final.”

A cameraman had zoomed down onto Jim’s ‘o’ ring-gagged face filmed through Jane’s legs during Stella’s speech. Jim had clearly given up fighting. His head lay back on the wooden base, just staring in stupefaction up into the ‘v’ of Jane’s splayed thighs.

Cuntlicker knelt and began to go to work on Jane’s body, massaging up her legs, following with her skilled tongue, slowly, teasingly, playing snakes and ladders; up three inches, then down two, but gradually homing in on Jane’s middle. Eventually her fingers and lips reached their goal.

It had been almost 24 hours since Jane’s vagina had been used.

Stella guessed it may still be sore but the nerve endings should have recovered much of their functionality.

A guard passed Cuntlicker a glistening vibrator. It was lubed up and warm. Stella had even selected a nice, comfortable size.

An instrument of pleasure not correction this time.

She watched on screen as Cuntlicker applied the pink crown to Jane’s gash. Damn the girl was good as well as beautiful. She simultaneously pushed on the vibrator, kissed Jane’s labia and fluttered soft fingers over her skin.

On the screen, Jane’s body resisted, but there was something in the physical language that suggested Cuntlicker was slowly winning.

Stella was careful not to look down at Jane’s face. It wouldn’t do to be caught smirking yet. But anyway, Jane’s head was hanging down, facing the floor.

Like a skilled courtesan, Cuntlicker played Jane’s body, slowly lowering her resistance in spite of the situation. It was just a question of the physical conquering the mental. Eventually, as Cuntlicker eased the vibrator almost out to the mouth of Jane’s cunt, Stella was certain she noticed Jane’s hips follow. She was trying to maintain full contact with the plastic penis.

Cuntlicker noticed too and eased the vibrator all the way out with a plopping sound, replacing it with her lips, then tongue, then easing the penis back in and putting her tongue gently to Jane’s anal cleft.

Stella heard a distinct sigh from Jane’s mouth.

Quiet, brief, but a definite gasp.

She held up her finger to her lips to warn everybody not to mock or even make a comment.

It was now a sex scene. A lesbian love-in. Cuntlicker was leading Jane’s body a merry dance, using her fingers, mouth, even her breasts as well as the vibrator and warm oil to massage, kiss, tease and arouse her, gradually but inevitably bringing her out of her shell, so to speak.

At just the right moment, Cuntlicker’s fingertip brushed against Jane’s protruding clitoris, producing a much louder sound; a moan rather than a sigh.

Jane’s head jerked and she looked up in shock and shame.

Stella met her gaze and smiled back reassuringly.

“It’s much better this way.” She mouthed, almost silently.

Jane was already bright red but she still blushed, and let her head drop again. She could not stop her body responding now to her lover’s every touch.

Cuntlicker shifted her angle on her knees and began to lap at Jane’s engorged clitoris.


*** *** ***


Rebecca reclined in her new trainer’s quarters, on a bed of cushions.

Ian was hunched between her thighs, licking at her musky cleft. In spite of his bruises, he still had sex appeal. She had always found his intellect and humour deeply attractive, especially given his grey-flecked hair, chiselled features and firm jaw. Of course, back then, she’d thought of him as ‘Camilla’s husband’ and so that was that.

Back then !

She looked up dreamily and pulled a clump of his hair to adjust his angle. She had already climaxed twice but was not yet satisfied. She felt an insatiable need. After seven months of giving, she had a lot of taking to catch up with.

It’s better to give than receive ! Hah, whoever said that crock had never spent time at the Brutus Corporation !

Camilla was kneeling, observing them.

Rebecca gasped and narrowed her eyes in lust. Being voyeured by somebody added a delicious thrill to the moment. But being watched by her lover’s wife was something else entirely.

She reached out and touched Camilla’s nipple, then slowly raised her hand to the back of Camilla’s neck.

“Kiss me.” She said, pulling her face down.

She caught a flash of Camilla’s ice blue eyes as she lowered her head and puckered her lips, tentatively coupling them with Rebecca’s.

Mmm …” Rebecca moaned, thrusting her hips up into Ian’s mouth.

She extended her tongue and sought Camilla’s tongue, kissing her passionately as she felt climax washing over her.

“So goood. I’m going to … aaa … to cuuuummm …. nnnngh …. aaaaaaaaa.”

Thirty seconds later, just a little sheepishly, Rebecca pushed Camilla’s face away. Ian remained dotting her inner thighs with little kisses.

“He’s learning, your ex.” She said, smiling at Camilla. “You should have let him do that to you, all the time you were together.” She pouted, mock-sadly at her. “Now it’s too late.”

Several great big glistening tears rolled down Camilla’s cheeks.

“W … why ?”

Rebecca reached up to smear the tears away.

Why ?” She paused, musing a moment.

“You know, we all used to ask that. Why ? Why me ? Why that ? And you know what ? There isn’t any answer. Just think of it as some kind of story, where there are winners and losers. Some happy endings, some sad endings. And guess what ? I’m a happy ending.”

Rebecca allowed her grin to break into a broad, euphoric smile. She reached out and casually dug two fingernails into one of Camilla’s nipples.

“But you’re a sad one.”


*** *** ***


A Great Dane is a gentle giant. Treated kindly and well trained, the dog can be trusted with old ladies and children alike. But it is as well to remember that it has enormous power. Big dogs have all evolved from hunting beasts to a greater or lesser extent. Their bodies are designed to run, manoeuvre, fight and conquer. Their breeding style reflects their power. An excited Great Dane is not, shall we say, to be messed with.

Hamlet’s handler was grooming him using his favourite brush and long, sensuous strokes. Gradually the end of the stroke moved from ending on the spine before the tail, to sliding down the flank and ending near to the dog’s genitals.

Cuntlicker withdrew from between Jane’s legs and picked up a glass perfume bottle, with a spray atomiseur top. She sensuously applied scent to Jane’s legs, buttocks and inner thighs. Jane hadn’t noticed the switch and her body swayed gently on the canvas as Diana rubbed the scent in.

It was a musk taken directly from a canine bitch in heat mixed with a light oil base.

Almost immediately, Hamlet, gave a high pitched ‘arf’ and began to skitter around.

The noise jerked Jane out of her reverie. She stared up at Stella.

The handler marched Hamlet into position as Cuntlicker vacated the spot. Four guards helped lift the dog up on his hind legs and eased him down onto Jane’s back. The handler had thoughtfully placed special protective leather ‘gloves’ on Hamlet’s forepaws.

Cuntlicker knelt and used her skilled fingers briefly on Hamlet’s ‘doghood’.

It wasn’t necessary. Hamlet had been here before. He knew what he had to do. He enjoyed it, and the grooming and bitch scent were more than enough. His long, shiny, glistening pink erection protruded from his fur.

Jane’s mind may not have been quite ready. But her body was. A quick adjustment by the guards, plus Cuntlicker’s hands, and Hamlet’s arrow slid easily into the moist, skilfully prepared and defenceless target.

There was a sudden noise after the silent tension of the past few minutes. The audience cheered. There was no need to control themselves now. Things were irreversible.

Jane half-grunted, half-wailed.

Stella just let out a quiet breath and watched. She always loved this bit.

One of the cameramen zoomed in on the moment of penetration, while another focused on Jane’s upturned, tear-stained face.

Almost immediately, Hamlet began to thrust and pump, his jaws open wide. The canvas sheet and steel bolts squeaked rhythmically.

Hands reached out and began to fondle and intimately caress Jane’s body, along her shoulders and jiggling the breast hoops that stuck from underneath her torso.

Brutus held her by her blonde hair to prevent her dropping her head.

The atmosphere had completely changed; now people were no longer quietly fascinated, they were actively relishing Jane’s humiliation.

There were loud words of encouragement for Hamlet.

“Come on, boy, give your bitch a good seeing to.”

“Ah, don’t they make a lovely couple.”

Jane’s eyes rolled in their sockets. Her mouth gaped open.

She’s loving it. I know that look.” Commented a female guest to Stella.

Sure enough, in spite of herself, Jane seemed to be steadily, if reluctantly, responding. After ten minutes of relentless teasing, her body was on auto-pilot. Stella smiled at Cuntlicker who returned her look with relief.

“Come,” Stella said, taking over from Brutus and gripping Jane’s hair, “let yourself. Remember what I said.”

One of the guests who had moved to the side for a better view said, “I think Hamlet is ready to tie one on.”

Stella lit a cigarette and recharged her glass with champagne.

Jane’s eyes widened in shock as the dog’s huge knot swelled inside her. Hamlet was now thrusting even more manically, his ears pricked. Drool slobbered from his black chops in glistening strands.

The squeaking rhythm of the metal, the grunts and groans, and laughter and comments reached a crescendo of noise.

Ngah …” Jane grunted, “nngmmmmm …”

“Breed her, Hamlet. Make some pups.”

“She’s just a bitch.”

“She’s coming.” laughed another guest.

Stella leaned in to whisper in Jane’s ear. “Ask me permission.”

A gob of spit flew from Jane’s jerking mouth. She gawped at Stella.

“Pl …” She mumbled. “Pl … pliz m …”

Hamlet growled a loud ‘arf’ and everybody cheered. Without a shadow of a doubt, the Great Dane was spewing his load.

Jane was unable to speak. She simply grimaced.


And climaxed herself.

The cameras caught it from all angles.

But after the movie was selectively edited, it would show a consensual ceremony and then an ecstatic, orgasmic consummation. Stella couldn’t wait to release a few free copies of the DVD to Jane and Jim’s social circle.

Hamlet stayed resting on his partner’s back, with his knot locked inside her. Brutus patted the dog on the head gently and praised him.

More champagne was served.

Stella grinned at Jane as she descended from her high.

“Good girl. We can all tell that wasn’t faked.”

Jane blushed even more scarlet than she was. There was a mix of shame, and relief, and even a tiny unavoidable glimmer of sexuality in her eyes. But quickly the shame and anger came back to the fore.

Stella chortled. “Don’t say anything you might regret. I have three other dogs and they are all as horny as Hamlet. So, thank me instead.”

Amidst the shame, commonsense flowed into Jane’s blue pupils.

Ththank you, Mistress.”

“I don’t think it’s only me you need to thank, is it ?” Stella asked, looking up at Hamlet.

The audience turned absolutely silent.

Jane shut her eyes momentarily, feeling the weight on her back. Slowly she turned her head as best she could.

“Thank you … H … Hamlet.”

Everybody smiled and chinked their glasses.

A few minutes later, Hamlet’s softened knot slid sloppily from Jane’s slack vagina. A camera was there to catch the moment as Jim’s face was revealed below, and soon after watery fluids began to dribble downwards onto his ‘o’ ring gag.

Hamlet was led away by his handler, tail wagging.


*** *** ***


The moon cast a bright, shimmering glow across the dark water.

Crates were being loaded onto the ship. To the six cages that had been brought to the dockside earlier, a seventh had now been added.

Rhino watched impassively as the burly dockers swung all seven cages into the cargo hold, where they would remain for the duration of the journey.

“That’s the lot, Guv’.” The foreman said, wiping his grimy forehead with a sweat soaked glove.

Rhino handed a bearer IOU for the agreed amount of Credits. He then added a generous tip.

The foreman grinned, tapping his finger to his nose.

“For your discretion.” Rhino stated, a touch of menace in his voice.

“Goes without saying Guv’.” The man scratched his head. “That was six cages we loaded, wasn’t it ?”

Rhino pointed to the shipping document and then folded it into his pocket.

“Just as it says. Six.”


*** *** ***


Brutus patted the pillow next to him.

“Come to bed.”

Stella smiled, coquettishly.

“Be patient, my love.”

He groaned.

“I have things to do. This place doesn’t work on its own you know !”

He pushed the sheet down to reveal his erection.

My oh my.” She chuckled. “Do you ever stop ?”

She sat down on the edge of the bed and curled her fingers around his shaft.

He nestled down into the bed and closed his eyes.

“Nobody does it like you do.”

“Oh go on with you !” she looked down at him, secretly thrilled. Her husband was no picture postcard any more, but he was still her man.

“Have you seen BJ ?” he asked, suddenly, eyes still closed.

She carried on smoothly teasing his veined rod, not missing a beat.

“No. I’m sure he’ll turn up at breakfast.”

He nodded, sighing, mind wandering.

Slowly Stella lowered her head and took him in her mouth. It had been a long time. She heard him let out a gentle moan of surprise.

Shhgghhh …” she hushed him, soft lips round his helmet, tightening her grip and moving her hand up and down.

A few minutes later, he came, in grateful, gratifying grunts.

Stella let it ooze from her mouth onto his belly.

After all, to swallow would have been taking things a bit too far !


She switched out the light and left Brutus to his slumbers.

In a room, the Evans family were eating and drinking a celebratory meal. They had each been allowed to shower and given clothes.

Their joyous, noisy chatter cut to a nervous silence as Stella entered.

She smiled at them magnanimously.

Congratulations ! It was a great race and a well deserved victory.”

Her comment met with four expressions of huge relief.

Ththank you, Mistress.” Mr Evans stammered in reply.

Gradually, the atmosphere relaxed as she joined them in a glass of wine. She listened to them recount their traumatic experiences in BJ’s special dungeon. One by one they opened up.

“And what will you do now ?” she asked, finally.

The uncertainty returned.

“We can go ? We’re really free ?” Neil, BJ’s one-time friend, asked.

“A deal is a deal.”

The euphoria passed. A sudden realisation hit them.

“We have nowhere to go. No credits. Nothing.” Mrs Evans shrugged.

Stella patted her on the shoulder. “That can be arranged.”

“I don’t think I could go back to my former life.” Neil said.

“The humiliation.” Tammy murmured. “Those DVDs of us. I just couldn’t.”

“If only we could start again, somewhere else.”

Stella looked at Neil. “Have you ever been to the Americas ?”

He gawped at her. They all did, hanging on her every word.

“I have a new friend there. I could give you an introduction. He has a business over there. I’m sure he could find a role for you all.”

Really !”

“No way !”

Suddenly the atmosphere changed again, this time to great excitement.

Stella rose from the table.

“Sleep well everybody. We’ll sort out the details tomorrow.”

She left the room with an enormous grin on her face.


Next, it was Joelle’s turn to benefit from the recent turn of events.

Stella scowled once more with annoyance at Don’s appearance as he opened the locked door for her.

“How are things ?” she asked.

“Okay, Mithtreth. The’s awake now.”

Stella nodded, walking over to where Joelle lay.

“Regardless of what we all think of BJ, this …” she laid her hand on the woman’s swollen belly, “… will be my husband’s grandchild.”

Joelle looked up at her nervously. “Please … let me keep my baby.”

Stella smiled kindly. “I can do better than that.”

There was a commotion, and then a guard marched in with a gaunt, emaciated male prisoner.

Pierre !” Joelle shrieked, seeing her real husband for the first time in almost a year.

He ran to her, tears running down his cheeks, uttering a torrent of French.


Not long after, Stella lay in the dark, next to Brutus.

It had been a momentous day, even by the standards of the Corporation.

She felt her eyelids growing heavy and cuddled up closer to her husband’s warmth.

It felt strangely good to have righted a few wrongs.

To have been merciful.

She must be growing soft in her old age.



*** *** ***



Six months later



The sign on the oak door said it all:

‘Head Trainer’s Office – Private’

Camilla knocked cautiously.

There was no reply.

She knocked again, a little louder.


Slowly she pushed the heavy door open.

The Head Trainer was sat behind a large desk, surrounded by neat stacks of paper, files, photos and a computer screen.

On the floor there was an inordinate and quite unnecessary mess; more papers, strewn clothes, empty cardboard food cartons, all manner of rubbish and waste.

It was the same very morning.

Just to make her job a little harder.

“Ah, Camilla.”

“Good morning, Mistress.” She replied.

“Come here.”

She stood to attention by the desk.

“Raise your top.”

Winter was turning to Spring but it was still a bitterly cold day. The slaves were generally allowed light clothes, in Camilla’s case a cotton smock, mini skirt and stockings. She lifted her top high.

Rebecca reached up and fondled Camilla’s pendulous breasts, then slid her hand down over her tummy.

Sick ?”

“Not today, Mistress.”

She was exactly half way through her term. Twenty weeks pregnant. The worst of her morning nausea seemed to be over.

“Any clearer idea who the father is yet ?” Rebecca asked gaily.

She cracked the same joke most mornings.

“No, Mistress.”

“But at least we know who it isn’t, don’t we ?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

Ian had been sold to Shack after only a few weeks. Camilla hadn’t seen him in more than five months. She was forbidden even to mention him.

“Right, well get to work.” Rebecca said. “I have several new slaves to train today.”


*** *** ***


The previous evening’s Premiere had gone very well. Most releases were action-thrillers-with-sex, or straight sex films, and it was rare for a documentary to generate critical and commercial interest.

But the story of Mark’s search had wowed the invited audience of state bureaucrats, new ‘celebs’ and, of course, the stars of the movie.

It documented the lives of Christina Harvey-Stackford and her husband Mark from the moment they lost the rollercoaster race.

Entitled ‘The Search for Christina’s Lovers’, it follows Mark as he revisits his and her old neighbourhoods, schools, offices, locating every person on their wedding guest list who was not a slave, and every acquaintance they had made afterwards as a couple.

Naturally, some of them are aware of the Corporation and its good work.

But many are surprised when approached by their old mate Mark.

“Hi, Mark, I hear you went bankrupt. How’d it happen ?”

“I’d hate to be in your shoes, mate.”

“What’s life like for you nowadays ? Tough, eh ? Really ?”

“You what ? You want me to fuck Christina ?”

“You’ve gotta be kidding. You serious ?”

“What, all three of us ? At once ?”

“You mean you’ll be with us while we do her ?”

“Man, I remember your wedding day. Christina looked great.”

“Sure, I’ll fuck her for you. So long as she sucks me first.”

“She still got that little dress she used to wear, The red one. Get her to start off in that.”

“Oh yeah, that tank top too. Her titties looked good in it.”

“Fuck. Her wedding dress. Yeah, she can wear that. With a lacy bra !”

“You what ? You’re going to lick her cunt moist first for us ?”

“And lick her out after ? Man, that’s sick.”

“She a swallower your missus ? Mine ain’t. If I’m going to be unfaithful then I want yours to guzzle down every drop.”

“You promise they’ll blur out our faces right ? My wife’d go apeshit.”

“I’m not a lesbian but I always fancied trying it. No-strings-attached muff diving with your dirty old Chrissie, mmm ? Who’d have thought !”

“Her arse. Now you’re talking. But you’ve never done her there right ?”

“No. I’m not interested. She’s an ugly slag … hah, only kidding.”

“I’ll do it on one condition. If I can piss in her fucking face first.”

“Get down on your knees and ask nicely, Marky boy.”

“My girlfriend says I can so long as she can join in too. A threesome. With you as the fourth but just a sad watcher !”

“I never liked the pair of you. Too fucking lah-di-dah for my taste. Well, your bitch can lick my arsehole, then we’ll discuss a fuck.”

“But I must be twice her age, young man.”

“You mean you have to beg me to screw her if I say no ? Hell then, no !”

“I feel sorry for you, mate. Seriously, I do. I wouldn’t wish your fate on anybody. Buy you know what ? I always fancied giving Christina one. More than one actually. So, I guess I’m going to have to do it.”

“I know I was your boss once, Mark, and I’m not meant to exploit my staff. Things were tough for me too, but I hung in there. So I guess the old sexual harassment rules don’t apply now. I shall thoroughly enjoy fucking your little missus for you.”

Mark ! Wake up and smell the roses. I’m fucking gay, man !”

Mmm, my puss is moist already. I have a big strap on she can enjoy.”

Superbly filmed by skilled cameramen and lovingly edited into a 90 minute story, the audience literally lapped it up. There was an amusing voice over commentary, cracking jokes at the humiliated couple’s expense.

By the end, once proud and prim Christina has fucked and sucked and performed just about every imaginable sex act with boys, girls, older men, and even older women from her own, and her husband’s, past.

And the highly explicit movie will now be going out on general release !


*** *** ***


Another door, another sign.

‘Gender Research – Strictly No Unauthorised Entry’

The door was heavy steel with a small window of reinforced glass at eye level. There was also a discreet Rhinoceros logo above the viewing window.

Behind the door, Neil Evans unzipped his fly and draped his thickened penis over the lip of the funnel. His bladder was swollen with grapefruit juice and morning coffee. He had also saved his overnight brew and this was his first piss of the day.

He smirked down at the person strapped down motionless on the operating table. The body was completely encased in a red rubber suit, other than circular holes at the breasts and genitals, plus slits for the ears and eyes.

The eyes looked up at him in helpless supplication.

He chuckled and let a few dribbles dampen the funnel. The stench of his acrid, dark urine tickled his nostrils and he savoured the sharp aroma.

Then he relaxed and unleashed a fierce jet aimed at the spout. It gurgled down the one-way valve. Ten, twenty, thirty, forty seconds he emptied himself, until at last he shook the final few droplets from the tip. He watched the whole lot disappear into the human toilet in the facemask.

Neil zipped himself up and smiled at Tammy, his sister. She was sat at the computer screen composing an email.

“Finished ?” he asked.

“Not quite.”

He picked his nose and flicked the residue into the funnel. The figure in the rubber suit was completely immobilised. He ran his hands over the budding breasts that stuck out through the circular holes. The nipples were still disappointingly small, obviously male, but the tits themselves were coming along nicely; an A cup but verging on a B. All from drugs to lay the foundations.

Soon they would be able to complete a proper silicone boob job and give the bitch some mega D or E cup hooters.

More interesting was the shaved pudenda. It was hardly what you’d call an attractive vagina. Just a slit and sheath where the male equipment had been. But it did the job. The new drugs they were experimenting with were successfully increasing the sensitivity in the nerve endings so that the sheath lubricated properly, without yielding any orgasmic pleasure. There was obviously no intention to attempt replicating a clitoris.

The hormones, diet and forced exercise were reshaping the body shape into a stereotypical female with wide hips, slim waist and decent boobs.

There was a clipboard on the end of the table. Neil scanned the page. Later that morning, ten desperate, horny American slaves would be given a couple of minutes each to relieve themselves in the ‘she-male’ sheath.

In the afternoon, there was a question mark against another ten slaves using the she-male’s anus for the same purpose.

Grinning, he held the page up above the facemask and showed the eye slits what the day’s likely activities would be. Then, taking a red pen, he carefully ran a line through the question mark over the afternoon’s fun.

Tammy stood up and walked to the chattering printer. She waited until it finished and then pulled a colour sheet out.

It was a digital photo.

“New one ?” Neil asked.

She nodded. “Stella sent it.”

It was a family snap of a happy trio; mother, Joelle, with her husband Pierre, and their cute baby boy.

They held it so that the damp eyes staring through the slits could see.

Looook.” She cooed into the earslits. “Young Pierre Junior. They call him PJ. And doesn’t his mum look happy to be back with the man she loves. I hear they’re having a great sex life again now. Maybe they’ll mail us some dirty photos of them fucking.”

“They really liked receiving that one we sent them of you fucking.” Neil said.

“Or rather, being fucked !” She giggled.

“Have you replied to Stella ?”

Neil’s sister called him over to the screen.

“How’s this ?”

She had attached an image. It was of a smiling, geeky guy in his mid-twenties. He looked happy enough, although alongside his acne, stubble and specs it looked as if his goofy grin may have been slightly forced.

The photo had in fact been taken five months before.

“Dear Stella,” Tammy read aloud, “thanks for your email. Please give my love to dad. I’m still fine, as you can see from my latest photo. Don’t come looking for me. I’m still rediscovering myself. Getting in touch with my feminine side ! I’m enjoying giving something back to society. All the best, love BJ.”

Neil chuckled. “Perfect. Should be good for another month or so. You anything to add ?”

They both turned to the motionless, undoubtedly listening, figure.

“No ? I guess he hasn’t. Okay then.”

Tammy hit the send button.

*** *** ***


Brutus let rip.

His son had to be taking the piss !

“Fucking feminine side !”

He let rip again. Louder. A huge rumble of gas.

Momentarily he glanced down between his thighs.

A helpless pair of eye whites and a widestretched mouth stared up at him.

“Pardon me for that, my friend.”

He winked and then, with that matter-of-fact, mock-apology, sat back comfortably on the seat.

Giving something back indeed !

Brutus shut his eyes and unleashed a torrent of abuse into the pan.

Oh well, if his son wanted to rediscover himself, so fucking what ?

He grimaced and fired another salvo. Pfwaw. What had he eaten ? Something spicy had really churned up his guts.

He scanned the printed email again and then crumpled the paper into a ball and dropped it between his thighs.

There was a gurgling sound.

Brutus sat there for several minutes, contemplating in virtual silence.

There was just the occasional plumbing noise.

Finally, he reached for the tissue.

Strange lad, BJ. But if he wanted to stay away, so be it. Brutus had more than enough with Stella and everything else to keep him happy.

Even if BJ never returned, well, shit happens !

Brutus started to chuckle.


*** *** ***


“And, finally for today ladies and gentlemen, Lot Ninety Seven”.

The auctioneer glanced over his half-spectacles at the couple momentarily, then smiled back at the audience.

Stella listened as he spoke in his customary, semi-bored monotone.

“This pair may be purchased separately or together. However, I would point out that they have been specially trained by the previous owner to … er … provide certain services together.”

He smiled lasciviously again at the audience.

“They are technically still a married couple, although she has obviously had a few dalliances with … er … boyfriends, shall we call them ?

Her name is Jane. She is 28 ˝ years old, 5 feet 6 inches tall, now sporting – as you can see – a magnificent 32, 20, 44H set of statistics. Oh, the wonders of diet, exercise and modern science !”

Next to Stella, a few people nodded and pointed at the ridiculously curved body with a tiny waist and humongous pale breasts.

“I am assured by the seller that there is nothing this slave will not do, and nobody or nothing she will not do it with.

Meanwhile, his name is James or Jim, or whatever the hell you want it to be, age 31, 5’10”. Now with, as you can see, a rather vertically challenged penis.”

The audience laughed at the tiny acorn and shrivelled sac between the man’s legs.

“So who is going to start the bidding ? Who will give me, say, 1 Credit ?”

Another round of laughter. All of the regular bidders were quietly drifting from the room as the auction was over for them. Most of them knew Stella and her reputation. This pair would only attract the real bargain hunters and bottom fishers. The absolutely worst sort of perverts.

In the row in front of her, a wizened couple, in their late sixties, nudged each other excitedly. The man tentatively began to raise his hand.

“Come on, ladies and gentlemen, I am assured that the seller would like to ensure they go to a good home, so to speak. They are not being sold for profit. They are being sold to ensure their degradation reaches a new level. Who would like to bid to take them on ?”

Stella leaned forward and tapped the old man in front on the shoulder.

“She’s a bit of an old dog now, but still worth bidding on.”

The man beamed back at her. He had no teeth. His hand went up.

“Thank you, Sir.” The auctioneer called out. “I have 1 Credit ! Any advance on 1 Credit ?”

Up on the stage, silent tears were trickling down Jane’s haggard face. She looked the perfect picture of misery.

Stella closed her eyes imagining, and listened as the bidding continued.

It was time to move on.


***  The End  ***



And finally, watch out for the two-part ‘Ballad of Lara & Gemma’.

Parts 1 and 2 should both be posted by early December.


Review This Story || Author: velvetglove
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