BDSM Library - BEYOND THE PESTILENCE

BEYOND THE PESTILENCE

PART 2

‘THE BAD AND THE UGLY’

Brutus had put on a lot of weight over the past couple of years.

His hirsute expanse of belly drooped over the crotch of his ‘banana hammock’ swimming thong. He lay sprawled on a daybed in the hot sunshine, watching four new slaves fucking on the freshly mown lawn. There was the lightest breeze, wafting a scent of grilling barbecue and cut grass.

The young men were rising and falling in tandem, their muscular buttocks following the ticking rhythm of the metronome. Below them, their wives were rhythmically pushing their hips up to meet them, faces shining with perspiration in the oppressive humidity.

Like synchronized swimmers, their fixed grins masked the mental trauma and physical effort required below the surface. Flesh slapped against flesh beating out a steady tempo.

Both couples were recent purchases, new to the harsh realities of life under the yoke of the Brute Corporation. But they were learning fast. The white couple were both 23 years old, while the black pair were just 22 and 21 respectively. Their youth, vigour and good looks made Brutus feel every one of his 53 years.

He snapped his fingers. “Switch.”

Unable to avoid slight hesitation, embarrassment and sideways glances, the two naked lads dismounted, knelt and rose to their feet. Their jutting erections glistened wetly in the sunlight. The tall, muscular black boy and the sandy haired athlete awkwardly swapped places, each standing over the other’s young wife.

“You first.”

Brutus watched the handsome white kid crouch down. His name was Rob. He’d finally married his college sweetheart only 3 weeks before their arrest. Rob put his knees between Naomi’s long, sprinter’s legs.

The gorgeous, copper coloured girl let out an involuntary wail of distress as Rob thrust his length into her for the first time. The two couples hadn’t even met each other until only a few minutes before. Rob began slamming her in time with the relentless ‘tock’, ‘tock’, of the metronome.

An hour earlier, the four individuals had separately been shown ‘training videos’ demonstrating what was immediately expected of each of them and, more bluntly, what would happen if they didn’t obey. The terrifying images of Brutus dispassionately making examples of those few who resisted or disobeyed had turned their stomachs. Almost worse than what was shown was what wasn’t shown, and the soul-shattering testimonies of victims imploring viewers not to make the same mistake. The dispassionately sarcastic vocal commentary that overlaid the film had been proven to be even more effective than somebody having to bother to lecture the inductees in person.

Brutus could no longer stick the preliminary phase; all that pleading and resisting by the women, their men hurling abuse and even fighting back. But, of course, he did like to see their absolute fury seething quietly below the surface. That was the whole amusing point.

He smiled at the grim black face of Tony, Naomi’s husband, and pointed to a spot right next to where Rob and Naomi were making out.

“You.” He barked. “Lie down on the grass, there, face up.”

Tony frowned, obviously struggling to control his loathing, but he obeyed, lying down parallel with them. Brutus imagined that the gruesome fate of the disobedient black couple featured in the training video had concentrated Tony’s mind wonderfully. Naomi’s parted knees kept bumping against her husband’s leg as she was rhythmically pounded by Rob.

The fourth slave of the quartet was Amber, Rob’s truly gorgeous, straw-blonde haired wife. She was still flat on her back staring up into the sky, awaiting instructions.

“You.” Brutus called out, so she twisted her head to look at him. Her bright red lipstick had smudged slightly. “Get up and mount his face.”

Amber quickly rose. Brutus spotted her hazel-gold eyes making fleeting contact with her husband’s. Hot damn. The bitch really did have the most sensational body; one of those tiny waists that make you wonder where you dick fits, slim legs and good-sized firm jugs. He watched her clamber down over Tony’s head, all four bodies now making unwanted physical contact with each other.

“Put your shitter on his nose, not your cunt !”

The white couple were side-by-side; husband fucking an ebony stranger in the missionary position, his wife grinding her bottom on a black face.

“Look up at me.”

He stared at them. Both faces were red with embarrassment and effort, shame and confusion. The girl was crying, her pouting bottom trembling in disgrace. He narrowed his gaze and bored into their young, fluttering eyes, wondering what the fuck they were thinking.

There was a rustle and a shaven-headed female slave appeared bearing a tray. She laid it down carefully on the low table next to Brutus’s bed. There was a heavily chilled glass of beer, some grilled chicken wings and a bowl of potato chips.

The slave curtseyed as best she could. She was dressed in a black PVC head-to-toe suit that was obviously boiling in the oppressive heat. Her scarlet cheeks bulged and her bald head shone with sunburn. A thick penis-gag was fastened into her mouth. It was made entirely of soap. Suds bubbled down her chin like a leaky washing machine.

He stared at her, enjoying her discomfort. The bitch had answered back when given a command. The soap was washing her mouth out.

It was the last time she would ever make that mistake. She had to learn the date, the law, and her situation, as bad and ugly as it was.

He dismissed her with a flick of his hand.

The year was 2012.

After the Great Pestilence of 2008 and the subsequent global famine and depression, the world had descended into a brutal new Dark Age. During the four years that followed, Stella and Brutus had built up a successful enterprise – the Brute Corporation – headquartered in the old region of England, with the tacit support of its corrupt bureaucrats and military leaders.

Since the introduction of the Economic Recovery Act of 2010, slavery had flourished, more than at any time since the Roman Empire. The fortunate and the strong crushed the unlucky and the weak.

In the past two years, the number of slaves had risen exponentially, and their price had plummeted accordingly. Where once Stella and Brutus had possessed only two hundred slaves, they now owned over twenty thousand !

Yet there were glimmers of hope on the horizon. Gradually the world was emerging from the post-Pestilence era. Under its new Dictator, President Rhino, the Great American Alliance was taking the lead in eradicating the final frontiers of plague and famine around the world. The war against liberal Puritania in the old North East USA was being won. Economic productivity based on slavery was driving the Alliance forwards.

Even primitive stock markets were reopening on several continents and international trade was slowly growing. Those who were free – those who weren’t slaves – were increasingly optimistic.

There was hope that the world would enter a glorious new era.

Beyond the Pestilence.

Brutus turned back to his performing seals. Rob’s eyes had glazed as he relentlessly nailed his unwilling partner. Although he was blatantly ‘not enjoying it’ in any civilised sense, especially with his new wife galloping along beside him, his innate biological system was on autopilot. It was obvious he was nearing the point where he’d lose control and spurt his mess inside the shapely young black woman.

“Okay. Out ! At once !”

He watched their limbs disengage.

“Lie down like the other two. You ! Get on his face.” He instructed Naomi. She seemed almost keen, hopping into position.

Now the two women were both riding the men’s noses. White on black and black on white. Like a galloping Zebra ! Four plump tits bouncing in a row. The mushy sounds of cunt smothering nostril made Brutus smile.

He sipped his beer and scooped up a handful of potato chips.

“Enough ! Swap positions now. Men riding the women’s faces.”

It was amusing to study Rob and Tony’s fuming expressions as they each got up and prepared to sit astride the other’s wife. Their precious possessions about to be sullied by another guy’s sweaty anus.

Brutus eased himself up from the bed and waddled the short distance to the couples. He patted each young man on his bouncing head in turn. It was quite evident they were livid under their fixed stares.

“Good lads. Up, higher. Now down. Really pummel their faces.”

He stood inches from them, his own glare daring the boys to take him on.

They didn’t.

He returned to his bed, drank some beer, and rang a small bell.

A pair of burly uniformed guards arrived in seconds.

“Ah, gentlemen. We need some help.”

The shorter of the two guards had drawn his pistol. He was of Asian origin, with an ugly, mean pock-marked face.

“Calm down.” Brutus laughed. “You won’t need that pistol. You’ll be using a different sort of weapon.”

The other guard grinned. He was lanky, white, goofy-faced.

“These two men have got their ladies all hot and bothered. Unfortunately, they’ve run out of time and so we need a couple of reserves to come off the bench and finish the job !”

Brutus clicked his fingers at Rob and Tony. “Off ! Dismount !”

Gritting their teeth, both slaves staggered to their feet. Their erections bobbed pathetically like gaffed fish in front of them.

“You.” He said to Rob. “Which of these fine gentlemen would you prefer to fuck your lovely Amber ? Quick !”

Rob’s handsome face crumpled in shame and distress. He held his head in his hands for a brief moment then he jerked his finger at the goofy guy. The white guard grinned and high-fived his colleague.

Brutus held up his hand. “Er, just a minute. I said which would you prefer. You made a typically racist choice. In which case,” Brutus said to the pock-marked Asian instead, “I wonder if you would be so kind ?”

Brutus watched the guard hurriedly remove his uniform, revealing a squat, sallow body rippling with sinewy muscles.

Amber was lying on the grass, sobbing softly.

“Oh dear.” Brutus said to her husband. “Kneel down and reassure your lovely bride you’ll still love her even after she’s fucked the nice guard. Go on, help her get used to it. I assure you he won’t be the last.”

Rob groaned. He pummelled his own temples in frustration then sank to his knees to comfort his wife. Brutus smiled inwardly as Rob looked to the skies in a kind of supplication. Tears were coursing down his handsome young face. He whispered into Amber’s ear for her to be brave.

“Now, be hospitable and invite him to give her a good fucking.”

“Please … oh my g … give her a good fucking !”

The young Asian, who was probably no more than 23 years old himself, needed no second invitation. He hissed with glee as he sank his dick between Amber’s reluctantly parted thighs.

Tony was made to perform a similar charade with the tall, white guard. The once-proud, ‘Denzel Washington-lookalike’ knelt and asked him to give his beloved Naomi as good a fucking as Amber was getting.

“Kiss your wives while they fuck !”

Both men crouched and put their lips to their wives wet faces.

The two guards reached orgasms within fifteen seconds of each other, thrusting and grunting, and spewing their loads into the humiliated women with long drawn-out groans.

“Say thank you !”

First Rob, then Tony, gritted their teeth and thanked the guards, who were starting to put their uniforms back on. They grinned a little self consciously and shrugged.

“Hey guys. It was nothing.”

“Tell them you hope they can do it again some time.”

“We … hope you can do it again some time.” The two male slaves stammered in unison.

“Okay. Lie down face up.”

Brutus finished his beer and accepted another, watching Naomi and Amber glistening with sweat as they performed a lesbian embrace sitting astride their husband’s lapping tongues. The two women kissed, and fondled each other’s breasts, while the guards’ semen trickled into the open mouths below.

He idly pondered what game to play next ?

Stella watched from the window above, smiling wistfully at the scene.

Ever since the mysterious disappearance of Brutus Junior, her husband’s son by his first wife, he hadn’t been the same man; eating and drinking too much, disinterested in normal sex with her, venting his anger on their unfortunate slaves.

Not that she minded. She still loved him. But she was ten years younger; better preserved physically even for her age, sharper mentally, at a different stage in her life to him. It was her who drove their business onwards now, building it into one of the most important companies of the new post-Pestilence era. It was her who politicked with the bureaucrats and bribed the military chiefs. It was her who mingled at the highest levels with the rulers of the Northern Alliance. It was her who maintained their secret friendship with Rhino, now Dictator of the Great American Alliance.

She turned from the window.

To her, slaves were no more than workhorses. They were digits in a profit and loss column. It didn’t matter if her husband went over the top but she couldn’t have everybody else doing likewise. Of course her guards were welcome to mentally and physically abuse the slaves within reason, as much as they liked. Who really cared ? It helped crush their spirits and keep them docile.

But there needed to be a line drawn for economic reasons. Defile them, use them hard, yes, but to break them needlessly, without producing entertainment value for sale, wasted valuable capital.

Hence the need for her to address all new recruits.

Her headquarters was a suite of private rooms; a large office where she stood now, with windows overlooking the lawns, a smaller windowless room with strong boxes, safes and filing cabinets, her own private bathroom, small kitchen, and a reception area with two secretarial desks.

Everything was in the best possible taste. Furniture, paintings, sculptures often purchased at knockdown prices from distressed sellers, or in the State’s liquidation auctions when a bankrupt’s possessions were disposed of. Of course, some pieces had been acquired at the same time as the slaves who had owned them. In fact, one of her secretaries worked at the very same 15th Century desk he had so proudly owned while running a property company.

Antiques had since become priceless, as so many had been damaged and destroyed during the Pestilence. Back in 2009 and 2010, the State had ordered huge bonfires of people’s infected houses, possessions and memorabilia as policy to eradicate the plague. Flames and smoke billowed into the skies for days while homes and valuables were turned to ashes. It was estimated that 90% of all the remaining pre-20th Century furniture had been destroyed.

Stella walked from her office to the reception area. By the standards of most slaves, these two were incredibly lucky. Her male secretary was Paul. He was still only 37 and yet he had built up a highly successful property company, developing and owning homes for the super-rich, until his empire crashed around him. She had purchased him in the very last auction of 2011, and spent months training him to her satisfaction.

He looked up and gave her his most adoring smile. She didn’t care whether he hated her or not. His feelings weren’t relevant. His behaviour was.

“May I bring you lunch Madam ?”

She inclined her head imperceptibly, but he caught her meaning; not yet.

Her female secretary was Demi. She was 38 years old, 4 months pregnant. Her swelling was just beginning to show. She was an ex-socialite do-gooder, one of those women who were always on some charity ball committee and in glossy society magazines. Her husband was somewhere in the Compound now, either working in the factories or fields. Stella had no idea without looking up the file. Demi had been separated from him on arrival, 12 months earlier.

Stella held out her hand. Demi handed her three files. They were slim, beautifully presented, with just a few leaves of paper inside. Demi’s expression was apprehensive, as if even after all this time, she never knew whether her work would be deemed satisfactory or not.

“Show them in.”

There were three new recruits; two male guards and one female. The Corporation received hundreds of applications a week. Her F.R. Department handled everything from initial filtering, several interviews, rejections, up to final approval.

Stella’s Head of ‘Freeperson Resources’ could generally be trusted to make good decisions. Usually approval was a formality.

The three lined up in their smart new black uniforms in front of her desk.

She smiled, leaving them standing but at ease.

The first male was a ginger-haired monster; 6’ 4” and 221 lbs, according to his file. He was also older than most applicants at 33.

“I see you served time a few years ago for two counts of rape ?” she said, perusing the notes.

“Yes, Ma’am. Only date rape, Ma’am. Not strangers. Just, you know, girls who changed their fucking minds.”

She smiled indulgently. “Well, you’ll find they don’t change their minds here. But I expect a little self restraint please.”

“Yes Ma’am.”

“Okay. You’re hired on a month’s trial. Dismissed.”

She picked up the second file as the giant carrot left the room.

The second male was a squat, bullet headed brute with cheap tattoos visible on his neck.

“So, is it Daniel, or Dan ?”

“Dan, Ma’am.” He replied, revealing a set of typically bad teeth. Dental cosmetics and oral hygiene hadn’t been a preoccupation of the English lower classes at the best of times. The age of pestilence had only made a bad situation worse.

“And why do you want to join us, Dan ?”

He shrugged. “A job. And I hate fucking toffs that has lost their dosh, know what I mean.”

She gave him another of her tolerant smiles. “Okay. And a little self restraint from you too Dan.”

He clenched his fist in triumph, hissing. “Yessss. Thanks M’a’am.”

“A month’s trial, dismissed.”

The female was a whole new ball game. Whilst the two men had been typically loutish, she exuded a calm contempt. The FR’s psychometrics testing had graded her as borderline psychopath.

“Welcome, Katja.”

“Thank you, Ma’am.”

“Please take a seat.”

Stella studied her. The black uniform was striking against her pale, Eastern European skin. The skirt rode up as she sat and crossed her legs. Her file said she was 22 and she looked younger, but something about her midnight blue eyes suggested she might have been twice her age.

“I am told you worked as a prostitute for a number of years.”

The rosebud mouth opened to reveal white even teeth. “Yes.”

“And that gave you a certain … er, view of men ?”

Katja shrugged. “Not all men. But yes, most men are evil.”

Stella was pleased that the woman’s accent was easy to understand.

“Evil or not, I trust you can control yourself not to kill them ?”

“Of course. What would be the fun in that ?”

For the first time, Stella caught a glimmer of the young woman behind the mask. She made a snap decision.

“In that case, Katja, I have a little project for you. A bit of fun.”

The eyes narrowed with interest.

“In that case, Ma’am, I’d be pleased to accept.”

It looked much like a normal alfresco lunch.

Brutus was sat at a table with Amber and Naomi perched on a bench either side of him. Tony and Rob sat on the opposite side of the wrought iron picnic table.

They were all topless in the sunshine, near the edge of a small lake, their skin shining with sweat and oil, plates of grilled meat and salad in front of them. In the distance, several dogs lay dozing in the sun, waiting hopefully for leftovers. Brutus looked somewhat incongruous alongside the four other much younger, fitter people.

Nevertheless they all listened to him intently, laughed exaggeratedly at his jokes, and the two women flirted stiffly. They giggled anxiously when he put his arms around their shoulders and pawed their bare breasts and nipples. Neither man showed any visible sign that he objected to what was happening. On the surface it resembled a macabre scene from a film noir.

“So,” Brutus asked, leaning over to mock-whisper to Rob, “imagine you could do absolutely anything to your new friend Naomi here, what would you do ?”

Everybody chuckled, but it was a strangely, kind of forced, canned laughter.

Rob’s blue eyes flickered from Naomi, to Tony, from Amber to Brutus.

“Oh … er, wow. I’d fuck her, Sir. From behind, in the doggy position.”

Brutus gave a wan, unexcited smile, then frowned. He shifted to one side and raised his buttock, letting rip with a noisy, uninhibited fart in Amber’s direction.

“I said anything, son. I meant anything. Is that the best you can do ?”

Rob blinked in panic. He glanced again at his own wife, Amber, as if hoping for inspiration. “Well, you mean anything ? Like A N Y T H I N G ?”

Everybody pretended to laugh as he called out the letters, buying himself time. Brutus leaned left and gave Naomi a slobbering kiss on her full lips, then to his right to bury his tongue deep into Amber’s mouth.

“Anything.” Brutus eventually confirmed, indulgently.

Rob swallowed. He stared at the lake, at a loss as to what to say, eyes eventually catching the dogs lazing in the sun. “Er … I guess if I could choose any single thing, anything at all, I’d love to watch a woman …” his voice broke, the final five words coming out with a squeak, “ … having sex with a dog.”

There was a total silence.

Nothing but an embarrassed communal intake of breath. It was likely that everybody realised that he’d panicked, plucking the first outrageous idea he could think of out of his brain, but not what had triggered his response.

Then Brutus laughed and raised his pint of beer in the air.

“A toast ! To Rob’s splendid idea.”

Slowly, Rob Amber, Naomi and finally Tony raised their own glasses of water.

“To … er Rob’s … s … idea !”

Brutus turned to Naomi. “Don’t worry, my dear, we have several specially trained mutts for you to choose from.” He belched loudly, spraying a mist of beer over her and tweaking her dark nipple between his thumb and index finger. “Admit it. I can see the idea has made you hot and excited.”

Naomi looked sick. She shook her head from side to side. “ … yes, Sir.”

He turned to Tony, peering over the edge of the table. “I can see we’re going to have to get a cage on that dick of yours, son. You’re getting a hard-on thinking about your lady here fucking a big black lab, right ?”

Finally, he leered at Amber. “And don’t you be getting jealous. Your husband said he’d love to watch a woman having sex with a dog. Not just Naomi. A woman. Or maybe two women, side by side. Hey Rob, how hot that’d be, huh ?”

He laughed loudly, snapping his fingers at a slave for more beer.

“Tuck in folks. You’re not eating. Try those corkscrew shaped, sausage-looking things you’ve all been served. They’re real pigs’ penises. I’m told they’re delicious.”

He waited while they reluctantly, silently picked up their plastic forks.

“So now,” Brutus continued, leaning over to mock-whisper to Tony, “imagine you could do anything to Amber here, what would you do ?”

Dan licked his lips as the Warden concluded his ‘orientation speech’.

He sat at desks with four other guys being allocated his first assignment. He had been detailed to the male slaves wing, which was a bummer. Still, it was quite clear from what the warden had said that there’d be plenty of opportunity to mingle with the female slaves !

Speaking of which, a gagged and petrified young lady was suspended from the ceiling in a hogtie throughout the speech. Throughout the talk she simply hung there, long black hair and heavy tits dangling down. The elderly Warden paid her no attention until he smiled at Dan and the others.

“Now, gents.” He enquired. “May I have a show of hands ? Which of you has actually raped an unwilling female before ?”

Dan glanced round. They all exchanged sheepish grins. The only arm that went up was the tall ginger-haired guy who he’d seen in Madam Stella’s office. Dan figured him for an exaggerator.

The Warden nodded, using his conductor’s baton to set the young girl spinning on the chain. He stopped her after she’d rotated a few times, so that her head faced away from the audience. Dan ogled her cunt and asshole. Her neck was pulled up so he could see her stuffed face as she span round. She looked like a student. Her spine was arched in a u that only a supple young chick could manage.

The baton prodded her buttocks and her anus. The Warden smiled and used the tip to part the flaps of her cunt, showing the guys everything.

There was a shrill, gagged mewling sound from the girl.

“This young lady is a new arrival on the other side of the aisle.” The Warden said. “You are male guards. She is a female slave.” He rotated her again, so her face was staring at Dan. She had interesting, indignant hazel-coloured eyes.

The Warden picked up a piece of paper and began reading aloud.

“Our friend here is single but not, sadly, a virgin. She’s the only child of Mr and Mrs Jordan, who are also somewhere within this Compound. She lists travel, TV soaps and dancing as her hobbies. Her measurements are a rather handsome 38D, 22, 32. Her ambition is to get into movies, a career goal which, I’m pretty certain, we will be able to fulfill !”

The guys all laughed. Dan adjusted his stiff dick in his pants.

“Would you all assist me please.”

They lowered the chain and fastened her, face up, on the large front desk. Her wrists and ankles slotted into built-in steel cuffs. She struggled a little and moaned but was easily overcome by the lusty five young men. Her buttocks hung over the edge of the zinc-top table and eager hands pulled her knees wide apart.

Dan couldn’t take his eyes off her splayed cunt. She’d been shaved and everything was visible. Her pink folds resembled a living piece of elastic art. He wet his lips again. In his entire life he’d never seen anything so fucking gorgeous. In truth, he’d shagged only three women, one a hooker and one an ugly, drunken one-night stand. Guys like him never got the hot, classy cunts. His only true girlfriend had been nice enough but nothing to write home about on the looks front. His truest partner in life had been trusty Mr Palm and his five fingers.

Until now.

“As you know, you’ve all taken the full range of STD tests and passed, so I can assure you that gang rapes here are nothing to worry about. Well …” he smiled, “for the guards, anyway.”

He prodded his baton at her arid folds.

“As you can all see, she’s nicely dry. I’m afraid that after a while, even the most unhappy slaves lubricate. It’s the female body’s self defence mechanism. So make the most of them while they’re untrained.”

He turned and looked at Dan. “Er … Daniel, right ?”

“Yeah, Dan.”

“Would you mind doing the honours, young man ?”

Dan grunted a little laugh. “Nah, ‘course not.”

He hurriedly unbuckled his belt and unzipped his fly. The other guys were looking at him, half enviously, half pleased not to have to open the show. He tugged off his leather boots, trousers and yellow-stained underpants.

His erection already oozed pre-cum from his excitement.

Dan stood in position between the girl’s thighs. Her eyes looked up, pleading. He grinned, licking his thumb, dabbing a gob of saliva into the middle of her cuntfolds.

She whimpered and tried to shift her hips about. The gang laughed and held tighter, pulling on her knees and pushing her shoulders down.

Dan couldn’t draw it out any longer. He placed the tip of his dick at the mouth of her twat and thrust.

Oh man !

She was like a velvet glove. So snug, so damned good. He slid in all the way, then out, in and out. His own saliva and pre-cum eased his passage. Her resentful tunnel’s attempt at resistance only tightened its grip.

“Fucking A !” he exclaimed, making them all chuckle.

Now he was inside, he started to look around, make himself at home. He put his hands on her tits and squeezed them.

The Warden caught his eye. “Are you making love to her, Daniel, or raping her ?”

Dan clenched his hands harder, sinking his fingertips into her mounds.

She hissed and wriggled. Her cunt clamped wonderfully round his dick.

“I think it’s time to remove the gag, don’t you ?” The Warden said.

Fervent hands unfastened and pulled out the ball gag.

She shrieked, wailed. “Noooooo …”

Dan shut his eyes in bliss. Her cries were proof. At last. He was actually doing it. What’s more, being paid to do it ! No comebacks. This was part of his job. Fuckin’ incredible. He began slamming into her.

She was sobbing now, grunting in rhythm to his lunges. Her tits were rocking and rolling like jelly desserts at a kid’s birthday party.

He held her chin, squeezing her cheeks, forcing her to focus on him.

Look at me bitch ! I’m Dan. And don’t you forget my face. I’m your first fucking rapist. They say you never forget your first.

The guys were getting impatient. One had even lowered his pants and was leaning in, rubbing his cock over her tit. Another had unzipped himself and was fondling his erection.

“I think your colleagues would like to … er … avail themselves of the facilities.”

Dan nodded, his jaw slack. He pushed his head up and shut his eyes, pumping spurt after spurt into his victim’s love compartment.

He hadn’t realised how much fun it would be to watch a rape. In his fantasies, he’d always focused on his own moment. But it was almost as good, standing round after, chilling, admiring the entertainment. Now that he was sated, swigging a chilled beer provided by the Warden, he studied the varied fucking techniques used by his new mates.

He also scrutinized her face. The bloke who’d first suggested that Dan apply to the Brute Corporation had said rape was a two-way street. It’s the man’s job not just to get as much pleasure as he can, he should also give the chick as much grief as possible.

The huge ginger-haired guy went fifth. To give him his due, he had a monster-cock. Dan peered down to admire the pearly slick of jism leaching from her cunt down to her anal crack. Some had puddled on the floor.

The guy’s big, freckled hands lifted her buttocks and thumbed open her anus. She tried to resist but he managed to aim his helmet at just the right spot. Dan laughed at her pathetic wail.

“Naa … ahh … you …”

The thick cock breached her sphincter forcefully. Dan joined the chorus of cheering, drowning out the chick’s shrieks, feeling his own groin stirring for a second round.

He watched as the guy wood-peckered away until he was wedged fully inside her.

The Warden smiled, gesturing at the plastic crate of ice and beers.

“I have to dash now.” He said to them, glancing down at the pocket watch in his waistcoat. “But you young men are clearly capable of looking after yourselves. You have another hour or so before you need to report for duty.”

He shook Dan’s hand, then another’s.

“Welcome to the Brute Corporation.”

Keith had been separated, along with around thirty other men, from the women. The genders were rounded up and marched away; males through one arch, females through another.

It happened without warning. One minute they were all milling nervously together, waiting. The next moment, guards were screaming and lashing. He never even had a chance to say goodbye.

Keith felt terrible. He was the head of the house. It was he who’d lost all their Credits after his father died. He who’d failed to find a way out of bankruptcy. And now his mother, sister and fiance were all slaves too.

Along with the other newly purchased males, he stripped naked and his body was completely sheared and shaved with clippers, until he was totally bald; head, armpits, genitals, legs, everywhere. Then they were herded into open showers. He stood in the icy jets gasping for breath. He ran his fingers over his wet, freaky skin.

Guards constantly shouted at them, lashing crops, threatening with their bullwhips, taser guns and machine pistols. A woman of around Keith’s own age of 25 checked his groin and painfully plucked out the remaining few hairs with steel tweezers, while he stood dripping, naked in front of her.

A male warden with a clipboard wandered along and stared at Keith while she was doing it. He made a note and moved on.

Next the young woman pulled a trolley on castors over to her side. On it was a large selection of hollow steel tubes ranging in length and diameter from 2 inches to 4 inches, pencil-thin to sausage-wide. She picked a medium-sized one up and Keith noticed that the inside was lined with plastic bristles.

His uncircumcised penis was shrivelled with cold and fear.

She placed her thumb and index finger disdainfully on the loose flap of foreskin covering the end of his penis and pulled it, evaluating his size. Then she lifted a slightly thinner tube off the tray and held it against his limp shaft, comparing the fit. She glanced up at his face and smirked. She dipped her fingertip in a pot of lube and smeared a dollop inside the tube. Then she slowly slid the steel cylinder over his penis.

He winced as the sharp internal points pricked his soft skin, imagining the pain if he got aroused. She pushed until one end of the tube was flush against his body and scrotum and only about ¼ inch of his helmet was visible at the other end. There was a steel eye-bolt sticking up from the end of the tube where his pubic hair would have been.

He stared at her.

She winked mischievously and threaded a thin steel cuff through the eye-bolt. It curved down under his scrotum and rejoined with itself like a bracelet. She snapped it shut, locking the tube in place.

Then she waved Keith away and another male slave took his place.

Next he was weighed, measured, made to lift various weights. The steel tube round his shaft felt cumbersome and heavy as he demonstrated his biceps. Another female, much older, grey haired, made notes. She was dressed in a white medical uniform. She asked him all sorts of impertinent questions in a clipped voice.

“Sexuality ?”

“Er … heterosexual. You know, straight.”

“No homosexual experiences at all ?”

“None.”

“Girlfriends. How many ?”

“I don’t know. Not many. Five, six. I’m engaged now.”

The woman raised an eyebrow. “Not any longer. Tell me about her. Name ?”

He told her about his fiancé. Her name was Tara and she was 21. They’d been engaged just four months. They were due to be married in a few weeks. Although Tara shouldn’t have been arrested for bankruptcy, the Stalitz police had simply rounded up everybody in the apartment that fateful evening the warrant was issued. He guessed her parents would be desperately trying to get her released but he knew from similar stories her chances weren’t good.

“And how often did you two make love ?”

Keith frowned. “I don’t know. Pretty often. Three, four times a week. But we didn’t live together. I had to look after my family.”

“Mm, you did a really good job there.” The woman observed drily. “Did you masturbate ?”

He looked at her. The male guard listening raised his taser gun.

“Yeah, sure. Most days if we didn’t make love. Sometimes twice.”

The woman wrote. “What about fetishes, fantasies ?”

He eyed the guard again, shrugging. “Not really. I’m pretty ordinary.”

“You don’t say.” Sarcasm dripped from her voice. “And Tara ?”

“The same.”

“And what about your sister. Any boyfriends ?”

Keith shook his head. Lottie, his baby sis’, was only 18. As far as he knew she’d never had a proper boyfriend. Their strict, dear departed, father hadn’t approved of premarital sex.

“And mummy dear ? Has she been putting it about since daddy died ?”

Keith recoiled, aghast she could speak about his mom like that. His mother was 46. They’d never discussed it but he bet she’d been a virgin when she married dad. He was her one and only love. She’d never look at another man after him.

“No way.”

The woman wrote a long note and then tapped her pen on the clipboard.

“Right Keith. From now on, your identifier is 200-828. Repeat.”

“Two hundred, eight twenty eight.”

“You’ll be working in the gristmill.”

He glanced down at the metal cylinder compressing his penis. “Er … can I ask about this ?”

She shook her head, looking over at the next male in line, clearly indicating his interview was finished. “No. There’s nothing to ask.”

Eventually, Keith was segregated into a group of five, comprising four other guys who looked roughly his age, all mid to late twenties, maybe early thirties.

A pair of guards escorted them through a series of torch-lit corridors, across a courtyard, down stone steps, into a cavernous underground room. There were heavy iron doors at regular intervals leading off from the room. One was signposted ‘Block 8’.

They entered and passed down a wide passage. The clip-clop of the guards’ heavy boots echoed ominously. It smelt damp, like antiseptic bleach mixed with musty urine. It reminded Keith of American penitentiaries he’d seen in movies in the old days. There were cells down the left hand side of the passage. Each was numbered.

818, 819, 820, 821, etc.

He realised he was probably in just one block of 100 cells.

And there were many blocks.

The fronts and ceilings of the cells were barred. The floors, side and rear walls were concrete. For now, they seemed to be empty. He peered inside as they walked past. The cells looked about as wide and deep as a man’s height. Keith was a shade under 6ft. There was a metal cot fixed against the back wall and a steel pail on the floor. Nothing else. A couple of cells had posters or photos stuck up on the walls but most were devoid of personality.

They reached 825.

A guard pushed one male slave in and locked the barred door.

At 826, 827 the procedure was repeated.

They reached 828.

“Here you are, son. Home sweet home.”

The heavy door clanged shut behind him.

“Your own guard will be along shortly.” The heavy-set man said, chewing a toothpick and standing back to address all five cells. He’s in charge of 825 to 829. He’s new, so y’all be kind to him.”

Amber blinked through a blur of welling tears, fighting to look into Rob’s eyes.

She simply wanted him to know how much she loved him. Nevertheless, she snapped the ferocious metal sheath round her husband’s penis. He winced as the plastic-spiked tube snapped shut.

She glanced back down. His soft manhood was now hidden from the root to the tip by the 3-inches long metal cylinder. She was proud of Rob’s penis. She didn’t have much experience but on giggly, drunken nights out with girlfriends she’d formed the impression she was a lucky girl. Big, but not too big. Handsome too, if a penis could be considered handsome: smooth and neatly circumcised.

But the tube was so narrow that there was no way Rob could get an erection with it on. So his length was restricted too, making it appear like a young boy’s. There was a raised part on the metal shaft in which a keyhole was set.

She twisted the key in the lock and passed it up to her Master. The man they called Brutus.

He grinned at her, his piggy eyes and jowls brimming with amusement. His face looked like it might even have been good looking once, many years ago, before a life of decadence and brutality debauched his features. His hair had receded half way back his head and the sides had turned grey. She guessed he had to weigh over 250 lbs and she shivered as she imagined what a woman would feel like with him on top of her.

“It’s for his own good my dear. You see, if your husband lost control and had an orgasm, we’d have to castrate him. This way at least he gets to keep his balls, even if he doesn’t get to use them !”

She lowered her eyes meekly. Then raised her head in shock and horror. Brutus had pulled back his arm and launched the key in the air. It sparkled briefly as it caught the sunlight, before dropping in a gentle arc onto the murky green surface of the lake. All of them watched the ripples spreading out from where it had entered the water.

Brutus laughed. “Don’t worry. I’ll let you dive for it my dear. The lake is fifteen feet deep and full of slime, but you’re welcome to try.”

She hated him. But there was nothing she could do.

“Now, Naomi.” He said, turning to the poor black girl by her side, offering her a similar metal sheath and key. “Let’s lock Tony here up as well, shall we ? So that he doesn’t get into trouble either.”

While Naomi was forced to do to her poor husband exactly as she had done, Amber watched with revulsion as Brutus stood up and eased his tiny black trunks down his legs, revealing his perspiring, obese nakedness. She felt sick in the pit of her stomach.

He grinned at her and then at Rob.

“Phew. It’s hot.” He said, sitting back down on the bench. She watched with bile rising in her gorge as he scratched his big, pendulous testicles. His penis was threateningly large though it wasn’t even hard.

Naomi finished locking the steel tube onto Tony’s shaft and then held out the key to Brutus.

“Take that for me, my dear.” He said to Amber. She held out her palm and watched Naomi’s sad brown eyes as she dropped the steel key into it. “Now, swallow it !”

Amber gasped and then frowned. “But …” she mumbled.

“Now !”

Without further hesitation, she put the small key on her tongue, tilted her head and gulped. The cold metal caught momentarily in her throat, then she felt it pass.

Amber watched him beam at Naomi. “Don’t worry. I’ll let you dive for that one as well. But I wonder if you love your husband enough to try !”

They all looked at each other. She, Rob, Naomi and Tony were all kneeling, their faces only inches from where Brutus sat.

He patted Amber on her head like she was a pet dog.

“Here, dear, my balls are sweaty.” She watched him finger his sticky scrotal sac away from his damp inner thighs. “Lick them clean.”

She silently crossed her fingers in supplication. Rob was watching her, unable to tear his eyes away. She wanted to scream.

But she lowered her head and put out her tongue. He was hairy, salty. And rancid. Like old French cheese. He obviously didn’t use deodorant or shower often. She could also smell the cloying tang from his anus.

She heard him sigh contentedly, addressing Rob.

“Mmm, kid. She’s going to be fun, your missus, isn’t she ?”

A pause. “… Yes … Sir.”

She tried her best to ignore everything, and blanked her mind except for sliding her tongue up and down his damp creases. She could feel the final remnants of the Asian guard’s semen oozing between her own thighs as she knelt. She felt disgusting; used, soiled, damaged, but most of all deeply humiliated.

“Which would you prefer ?” His cruel voice teased Rob. “To be separated from her, right now, never having to witness anything like this again ? Or to stay by her side, like now, watching all the fun, sometimes helping ? The choice is yours.”

“… I want to stay by her side, Sir. Always. Whatever.”

In that moment, Amber’s heart almost broke. She stifled a sob.

“Aaah.” She felt Brutus patting her hair. “Sweet. You hear that dear ? He wants to stay with you. I’m touched. Are you ?”

She didn’t stop licking but she murmured and nodded her head. Her mind was swirling. She felt faint, like she might keel over at any second.

Only days ago, where was she, what was she doing ? She’d been a normal young woman. Poor, yes. Hungry, yes. Desperate, even. But free. And then Rob had broken the news. And the Stalitz had come and arrested them both. And this nightmare whirlpool had not stopped since.

Sex had never been a priority for Amber. Her parents had always encouraged her to put her education first and to respect her own body. She’d had a couple of boyfriends but, until Rob, the physical side of relationships wasn’t important. Even with him, she knew the sex meant much more to him than it did to her. Sure, she liked it. It was what husbands and wives did. But it never touched her soul like, say, a walk in the countryside or a goodbye hug when Rob went off searching for work.

And sex to her meant straightforward intercourse. Not because she was a prude. She’d do it with the lights on, even take a turn on top, stuff like that. But all the other revolting perversions that she’d overheard of like anal intercourse, bmsd or whatever it was called, and even oral sex, were beyond the pale, as far as she was concerned.

Fortunately Rob said he felt the same way as her.

Her brain drifted back to the present.

“Move in close.” she heard his voice ordering Rob. “I’ll ask you again in a day or two if you want to hang around and we’ll see if you’ve changed your mind.” She felt the shame of her own husband’s naked flesh brushing against her hip and shoulder.

“Now feed my dick into your darling wife’s mouth.”

Kimberley kept her head down.

She was still a virgin. What was remarkable was not that she’d managed to reach the age of 20 intact, but that the gift she’d been preserving for her future husband hadn’t been ripped from her during the 6 days she’d already been a slave in this terrible place.

What had saved her so far was that she had been purchased by Stella as part of a ‘Job Lot’. Thirty seven adults at a knock-down price in the final minutes before lunch. Kimberley’s parents were members of a banned religious sect who preached that mankind’s sexual lewdness and promiscuity had directly caused the Pestilence, Famine and Depression. The State Police had raided one of their secret meetings and arrested every member, including poor Kimberley, her brother and parents.

At the Brutus Corporation Compound, they had been split up on arrival. But Kimberley had already witnessed two of her prettiest friends being dragged away screaming to their fates. Her sect believed in total sexual abstinence except for the purpose of procreation. Anything other than the ‘man on top’ missionary position, under bedcovers and in the dark, was considered immoral. Acts such as oral sex of any kind and perverted sexual positions were beyond the pale. Like all unmarried female members, Kimberley had taken a vow of complete chastity until her wedding night.

So she kept her eyes lowered and scrubbed the tiled floor, ignoring any feet walking past her, neither looking left nor right. She suspected the reason she had been spared. Kimberley knew she was attractive but she had learned to hide her charms over the years so that boys ignored her. Her honey blonde hair was scraped back in a ponytail. She held her body hunched and had always worn shapeless woollen clothes to hide her embarrassing breasts. She wore tortoiseshell plastic spectacles even though she didn’t require actual prescription lenses.

As a result, her great fortune had been to be placed in the female area of the compound, away from the rapists and cruel male guards. She was dressed in an itchy, loose top made of sackcloth and horsehair. So long as she kept her head down and did whatever menial chores she was told, she surely had a chance of preserving her honour until she was saved.

She diligently scoured the white floor with the toothbrush she’d been given, until the tiles shone. It was the female guards’ public washroom; comprising ten individual lavatory cubicles and a marble counter-top with five sparkling basins facing them. There was also a glass-panelled door leading to a separate tiled area with communal showers.

The guards were provided with every necessity; china bowls overflowing with soaps, moisturisers, makeup and cotton wool, hairdryers and brushes, decanters of perfume, tubs of tampons and sanitary products.

She was one of three slaves working the washroom on their knees. So far, every woman who had entered the room to use the cubicles had ignored them. Through her spectacles, she watched their leather-booted feet stride past her and heard the cubicle doors slamming. Moments later, she glimpsed their black pants being lowered to their ankles and heard the hiss and tinkle of urine, or occasionally uninhibited bursts of flatulence and splashes. Finally the sounds of flushing, cubicle doors opening again and boots brushing past her as the guards walked to the basins, carelessly leaving dirty footprints on the sparking tiles Kimberley had just cleaned.

Eventually, she reached the row of cubicles. She pushed open the partition door and crawled into a stall. The tiles were damp and smeared with dirty boot prints. She began to scrub the grouting clean.

Suddenly a guard pushed open the door. It banged against Kimberley’s bottom. The guard grunted with annoyance and went into the neighbouring stall. She couldn’t help seeing under the partition, as the woman’s uniform was lowered to her boots, inches from Kimberley’s face. Within seconds she heard grunting and then a loud splash. A distinctive aroma curled under the gap and invaded her nostrils. She held her breath and carried on scrubbing.

Five minutes later, she finished the first cubicle and entered the next one, recently vacated by the grunting guard. It still stank and the floor was in a worse state, due to leaking plumbing round the back of the pan. Steeling herself, she started brushing the grouting clean.

She heard footsteps. Distinctive. A click-clack, different from the heavier thud of leather boots. The door pushed against her kneeling bottom.

“Shit !” a woman’s voice snapped. Kimberley caught a glimpse of high heels. “Get out and wait until I’m done.”

Staring at the floor, Kimberley pushed her glasses onto her nose and started shuffling backwards out of the stall as fast as she could. Then she felt talons clawing her hair.

“What the fuck is this ? You call this spotless ?” the voice hissed.

Kimberley whimpered with pain as her hair tore at the roots. Her head was pulled up and then pushed down over the top of the lavatory pan.

“Look !”

She stared. The previous visitor hadn’t flushed. A mush of soggy brown tissue paper clogged the surface of the water. Caramel coloured skid tracks smeared the back of the pan. The stench was strong.

“I’m s … sorry.” Kimberley wailed. “I was only t … told to do the floor tiles.” She shrieked as her hair was pulled to and fro.

“Look at me !”

Kimberley twisted her head and blinked up at the woman. She was dressed in black stockings, grey skirt, cream blouse, dark jacket with a red silk scarf round her neck. Her cruel, aqua-blue eyes stared back.

“What is your name, you miserable slut ?”

Kimberley gulped. The woman was the most terrifying person she’d ever set eyes on. Probably about 30, classically beautiful, with an oval face, a delicate jaw line and narrow nose. But it was the eyes. Something behind them. They were cold. Like ice.

“K …Kimberley.” She stammered. “Kimberley, Ma’am.”

The woman’s sneer revealed her perfect white teeth.

“Hallo, Kimberley.” She cooed, arching a dark eyebrow.

“I’m Lara.”

Brutus stared down coldly as the sandy haired, pretty boy placed a hand hesitantly around Brutus’s thickening shaft and offered it to his wife’s pouting lips.

“Thank me !”

The boy dry-swallowed. “Th … ank you, Sir.”

Brutus pushed his hips up.

“Thank me for doing your fucking job, your dirty work !”

“Thank you for doing m … my job Sir, my work.”

“Your fucking job ! Your dirty work !”

“My fucking job, Sir. My dirty work, Sir.”

He winked at Naomi. Her mouth hung open. And Tony beside her.

Brutus snorted with amusement. He considered himself a bit of an expert in male territorialism, having spent two years studying the infinite variety of ways men react to the forced sharing of their women. He liked to indulge in pseudo-intellectual babble on the topic with other Owners.

Being territorial about wives and female partners runs deep in the male psyche everywhere. In Latin, Arab and Oriental cultures, this rich vein of possessiveness has continued unchanged for centuries. Brutus had recently begun trading with other continents for the explicit purpose of getting his hands on new male slaves holding such unreconstructed macho attitudes. And their women, of course.

Unfortunately, in the five decades preceding the pestilence, the white, western world had emasculated its men to such an extent that most had become preconditioned to accept everything from non-virgin brides, sexual equality, infidelity, cuckolding and the taking of their women, forced or otherwise. Nowadays few felt, deep down, their women belonged to them, in the way that males still did in ‘less developed’ parts of the globe. It was mostly only master-of-the-universe, rich and upper class men who provided Brutus with extra special entertainment as their wives and women were ravished before their eyes.

But each nationality and ethnicity had its amusements. Slaves of Indian, Asian, African and Caribbean origin were commonplace in the Corporation. And the blacks had been weaned on a diet of their penile and sexual superiority. Even the intelligent and educated ones like Tony had absorbed the propoganda until they actually believed it.

Which was part of the reason he was clearly struggling to contain his rage of dishonour now and it was beautiful to watch. Tony and Naomi would have their eyes opened to the relative merits of a whole spectrum of colours and races in the days and weeks to come !

“Your turn next ! “ Brutus said to Naomi. “Meanwhile, kiss my feet.”

He stuck out his left leg so that the pretty black lady could slobber over his dusty, sweaty sandals. He slapped Amber’s slim fingers away from his shaft.

“No hands.”

He began pushing her head up and down, ramming her face, making her gag, choke and moan. They didn’t realise it yet, but these fine young men who were so traumatised merely by sharing their wives during these first few days would, after a few months of total abstinence, wait gratefully at the back of the line to take their turns.

The great majority of male slaves became completely desexualised for a while, as their libidos were crushed by shock, work, hunger and exhaustion. But the biological needs and testosterone that have ensured the continuation of the human race until now, inevitably slowly reawakened, especially in those aged 20s to 30s. Then it would be time for the Ceremony of Acceptance.

“You hold her head.” He barked down at Rob. He smiled inwardly at the young guy’s strong hands gripping his wife’s head. “Pump it.”

“She used to enjoy swallowing your load ?”

Rob looked at him stunned. It was the conversation that was visibly killing him.

“Yes … well, sometimes she did a bit, Sir …” his expression changed. “Well, no, not really.”

Brutus grinned, raising his eyes to the blue sky. He was close. The Ceremony of Acceptance was usually the first, and often the last, time a lucky male slave was allowed an orgasm. He was reacquainted with his wife, or another female relative, and offered the opportunity to fuck her, say as number 50, after a motley collection of guards and, eventually, even privileged slaves had made use of her. The odd brave soul didn’t want to accept but most did. By that stage they would have sodomized their dads for release. And when it was finally their turn for a 60 seconds slosh about inside their woman’s leaking, stretched vagina, a crowd assembled to jeer and witness the ritualised acceptance of their humbled status.

“Tell her you want her to swallow. Whisper into her ear.”

He watched Rob grimace, leaning forward. “Please, darling. Swallow it.”

Brutus roared, stretching his legs out, knocking Naomi over. His orgasm built into an exquisite peak. He started chuckling at them all, groaning and laughing simultaneously, as he spewed hot semen into Amber’s delightful young gullet. Wave after glorious wave.

He had taken a Mop pill earlier. The Brute Corporation had an exclusive distributorship granted by the Rhino Company, manufacturers of the little beauties. The Mop acronym stood for ‘Massive Orgasm Potion’. Instead of producing a typical tablespoonful of semen, the Mop multiplied a guy’s production by twenty times.

He lay with his head back, his dick pumping like a repeating shotgun, ten, twenty, thirty rounds.

Then he opened one eye and peered down at his waist. He hated any waste of his lovely cum. His thick slab of flesh was still wedged in her mouth. A smear of pearly fluid seeped from her pursed lips but there was no sign of any real spillage. She’d gulped the whole damned wine glass full ! She’d passed the test, but then again, Lesson One was pretty easy !

He pushed her face away. “Now give your dear husband a kiss.”

While Stella was fed a simple lunch of exquisitely prepared raw vegetables and fruit, she sat back in her leather throne and shut her eyes. Paul stood and used a tiny silver fork to place freshly cut pieces on her tongue, one by one. Meanwhile, Demi knelt and massaged Stella’s feet, before applying a new coating of varnish to her toenails. She realised the small risk she was taking. Paul could plunge the fork into her, or they could both try to overpower her. There were only a few slaves she could properly relax with like this: Demi and Paul her office staff, and Trophy and Hedge, her bedroom slaves.

She opened one eye and peered down at Demi, remembering the proud wife and mother she’d been, even on the auction block. But stripped of her husband and teenage children, she had accepted her new status in life surprisingly well. Her 14 year old son and just 13 year old daughter had been taken away, adopted by one of Stella’s friends, to be trained as good young citizens of the new world.

When she was a free woman, Demi had drawn the line at 2 children, still aged only 25, after her daughter was born. She had wanted her figure and freedom back.

Stella smiled. ‘Freedom’. Funny how flippantly women had used that word a few years ago. Now, as a slave, Demi was pregnant again. The world’s population stood at only 20% of the level it had been back at the time of the Beijing Olympics, before the Pestilence. So Stella ran a breeding program, doing her bit towards the restocking of the planet.

Stella watched the careful skill with which Demi applied the deep red varnish to her nails, gently blowing each one dry with her warm breath. Already Demi’s cleavage had begun filling out her low cut dress, as pregnancy swelled her shapely B-cup breasts. Demi had been a tall, elegant hostess at 5’ 9”, with patrician features and long, lustrous black hair.

Four months ago, Stella had arranged to have Demi covered. For 4 consecutive days at the peak of her fertility between her periods, she was mounted on the hour by a steady stream of prime male specimens, of all colours and types. The eventual twins would be a lottery when they emerged, but that was part of the fun.

“How’s the sickness ?”

Demi looked up, clearly shocked at being spoken to.

“Er … not bad, thank you Madam.” She dropped her eyes again.

Stella turned to Paul. He was wearing a smart suit, elegantly tailored in dark wool. Like the antique desk, it was one of his possessions she’d acquired when she purchased him. The only difference was the oval hole since cut in the fly of his trousers. His shaved groin and plucked testicles were on display, framed in the hole. Paul was one of the few male slaves who wasn’t kept permanently in a steel chastity device.

He placed the segment of orange on her tongue. She smiled as the cool juice trickled down her throat. He was a delightful slave; 6’ 3 tall, very upright and attractive with dark, slightly greying hair with a touch of that actor Pierce Brosnan about him. He was well endowed too. Not that she had ever been tempted to fuck Paul, nor ever would be. But she liked admiring a sizeable cock. It made its frustration seem that much more romantically tragic.

“Mmm … enough.”

He put down the plate and gently padded her lips with a linen napkin.

She stretched out her hand languidly and cupped his balls. He didn’t acknowledge what she’d done, simply continued folding the napkin.

“How long ?”

“Forty two days, Madam.”

She watched it twitch, inevitably responding to her fingers. He stood to attention, while his penis thickened and slowly rose.

She was 99.9% certain that he had remained chaste for the entire six weeks. He never had sufficient privacy from prying eyes and hidden cameras to touch himself. Furthermore, the threat, the risk, if he was caught even once; would it be worth it to him ?

“Here.” She curled her finger at Demi. “Stroke him for me.”

She watched her two secretaries. Their relationship was wholly professional. But their eye contact and body language had always made Stella think they felt nothing else for each other, despite sharing good looks. Demi’s long, manicured fingers caressed Paul’s erection. It was now an impressive 8 inches with a neatly circumcised crown.

“Lick it.”

Stella admired her profile. The straight jaw, classic nose, ruby lips. Few women could apparently retain their dignity sucking cock like Demi.

Of course, Paul knew that he wouldn’t be allowed to cum. That wasn’t the idea. His cheekbones highlighted how he sucked in his facial muscles, controlling himself, eyes straight ahead.

“That’s enough for today.”

Demi wiped the strand of spittle from her lower lip and stepped back.

Paul stood, his penis jutting uselessly between the flaps of his suit jacket.

Stella clapped her hands. They all had a mountain of work to be getting on with. It would be a busy afternoon.

“Right, you two. That’s enough lazing around. Let’s get back to work.”

Bond. His name was Bond.

Not James. It was a joke he’d cracked in happier times.

‘The name’s Bond, not James Bond’.

He was 49 and had been Chief Executive of a major bank, one of the first to collapse in the turmoil of 2008. Yet despite his face having been on TV and in the newspapers, he’d managed to survive quietly, hidden in a ruin in a remote part of the country for over three years.

But, eventually, the Stalitz Police found him.

And a few days later, The Brute Corporation acquired him.

He and three other similarly aged men stumbled as they dragged the plough through the dry packed earth, tilling the soil. Once upon a time, all four had sat in the same boardroom, titans of the financial world, raking in 8-figure bonuses and treating stock options like confetti, driven around by their chauffeurs and feted by industry analysts, treating their staff and customers as just so many numbers on a pad.

It had taken Stella’s research team several weeks to locate the three others. She had happened to own one of them already but the other two had been purchased from their owners in order to reunite them with Bond.

So now the quartet toiled 16 hours a day performing backbreaking work more befitting of their reduced status. The afternoon sun hammered down on their shaved heads and naked backs. At midday, they had been introduced to their new ‘driver’, a female guard named Katja. She had delighted in telling them her life story. How she had been illegally smuggled into England from Eastern Europe back in 2004, when she was only 14. How she had been promised respectable work as a waitress and London streets paved with gold. How she had been raped by her pimp and then forced to turn kinky tricks for overweight, middle aged businessmen in pinstripe suits. How she had lost her hard earned pittance of savings when the banks went belly up in 2008. Not just any bank. But Bond’s bank. And how she was now relishing the prospect of revenge.

She rode behind the plough in a cart, cracking a long riding whip in the air above their heads to encourage them. But in her pocket she carried something the men feared much more. It was a remote control, linked to the steel harnesses round their waists. One little push on the dial and current surged through the probe in their anuses and along the steel chastity tubes encasing their penises.

Bond puked up with exhaustion but nobody stopped for him, and he staggered on. He blinked his eyes trying to clear the salty sweat. The man in front, Curtis, who he’d known since college, pissed into the earth as he pulled. Bond stepped barefoot through it. He knew that they had several more hours yet before sundown. And, just like yesterday, tomorrow would be the same.

But Bond had a secret. Something that kept him going. Something that stiffened his resolve every night as he lay in the filthy, stinking stable, trying to sleep. The gold. He’d managed to stash away some of his pay into gold bars in Switzerland before the 2008 Crash. Switzerland’s mountains were the only place in the Western World the Pestilence hadn’t reached and financial disaster hadn’t struck. Switzerland was now the only sane country west of Pakistan.

But of course, as the only democratic haven left, it was impossible to get into. Unless you had gold.

It had taken him three years to negotiate three entry Visas. He had been due to start on the arduous journey by foot to Switzerland the day after he was arrested by the Stalitz. But his family had already left. They had all been travelling separately to attract less attention.

And that was what kept him going.

Maybe he would never get out of here. Maybe he’d be a slave for life.

But his wife and daughter were free, breathing the clear mountain air.

Lara watched the slave called Kimberley picking at the dried shit stains with her fingernails. The brown streak had actually been baked hard onto the porcelain earlier with a blow heater. Lara always prepared one of two toilets beforehand for games like this.

“Moisten it.” She said. “Lick your finger and loosen the stain.”

She watched her hesitantly put her finger to her mouth and dribble saliva onto the tip. Then the girl dabbed at the two inches long smear.

Lara smiled. There was something about this one … she’d have to do some research, find out who she was. She enjoyed the shy, silent types. And this one reminded her a bit of dear, departed Gemma. Heck, she even wore the same kind of spectacles.

“Harder. Rub harder, or maybe you’d prefer to lick it off ?”

The girl began scratching frantically, gradually revealing white porcelain.

Lara watched benevolently.

After all, there was no rush.

Keith lay on his cot staring at the bars overhead. They were thick steel and there was a wooden walkway running above the centre of each cell. Obviously the guards could patrol overhead as well as along the passage. His cot was desperately uncomfortable. The springs were sharp and they dug through the thin plastic covered mattress. There were steel handcuffs hanging loose on chains that were connected to the four corners of his cot.

He heard footsteps. Booted feet, purposeful strides. A voice.

“Hello Keith, my old mate. Fancy meeting you again !”

Lara flicked through Kimberley’s file.

She was perfect. A nice, religious girl whose 21st birthday was coming up in a couple of days. What a party they could have ! Kimberley’s parents and brother could be invited. In fact, maybe all the members of their crazy anti-sex cult could attend ?

There were only sparse details on file but Lara would commission a full Stalitz police report on Kimberley’s life to date. She liked to know who she was dealing with. The medical report from Doctor Thorne’s inspection confirmed that Kimberley was basically healthy, disease-free and, better still, a virgin. Lara stared at her ‘convict’ photos; full face, profile, naked body shot. The girl was very cute indeed, much better than at first glance. She was staid, sexless, but the raw material was perfect. She had that classic sweep down from the sphere of her young breasts into her narrow waist and out again to her welcoming hips.

Lara peered at the girl’s gaunt, wide-eyed expression behind the cheap spectacles, full lips turned down in a sad pout.

Perhaps the tits should be a C ? Or the tiny gap between her front teeth corrected ? There was not much that diet, drugs, exercise and the knife couldn’t resolve nowadays.

Lara glanced through the other three files; dad and mom in their mid-forties, brother aged 22. The women were the better lookers of the family. Father and son appeared just as you’d expect a couple of wacko, anti-sex campaigners to look.

Well boys, you’ll get your wish here, she chuckled. No sex for you, that’s for sure.

Stella needed to relax, after an intensive afternoon of hard work.

With 20,000 slaves, 4,000 guards, 1,000 other staff and several hundred visitors a day to manage, it required planning and execution to make the place run smoothly. People thought this slave owning lark was easy !

She sat back in her chair smoking a cigarette, with her ankles over the arms, and watched Paul’s head as he tongued her anal rim. She had trained him to perfection. Meanwhile, Demi stood behind the chair and massaged Stella’s shoulders, soothing the knots of tension.

“I wonder how your husband is ?” Stella asked, out of the blue.

She heard the ‘tsah’ sound of shock as Demi’s jaw dropped. Her husband was one of many deltas whose name had been replaced by a coded number. Although Demi had secretarial access to the main files, only Stella could open the protected database.

“I’m sure he’s having a gay old time.” Stella chuckled, exhaling a smoke ring that drifted into the air.

Demi laughed in reply. It was a forced snigger, but not bad acting.

Stella splayed her thighs even further, sliding her bum forward on the leather seat. Paul adjusted his face so he could continue his job.

She turned her head up and looked straight at Demi.

“He hasn’t a clue you’re pregnant. What’ll the twins be ? His stepkids ?”

Demi’s eyes betrayed her torment. But she spoke firmly.

“Yes Madam. Or maybe my existing children are the new father’s stepkids ?”

Stella shrugged, making a face. “You know, I’m not sure. We have many such cases here, but I’ve never thought about it before.”

She sighed, dropping a shoulder as Demi loosened a muscle.

“Tell me,” Stella continued, taking a deep drag, “joking aside. Would you really like to see him again ? Like this. Or would you rather he doesn’t know ? And never see him again. Perhaps that’s for the best ?”

She watched Demi bite her lovely lower lip.

“May I speak honestly, Madam ?”

“Of course.”

“I would love to see him again. Even once. And I’m sure he would love to see me. Even like this.”

Stella smiled, pulling Paul’s hair, passing the burning stub of her cigarette to him. “Go rinse your mouth.”

She watched his suited frame enter her bathroom and heard him drop the cigarette butt in the pedal bin. Then the sound of the running tap. She didn’t like germs from her bottom being transmitted to her pussy.

Then she turned back to Demi. “I’ll mull it over. Maybe I’ll let him be present at the birth ? That’s only five months away.”

“Thank you so much Madam. That would be wonderful.”

“And by the way, your other kids are fine. I spoke to their mother the other day. She said your daughter’s periods have started and she’s sprouting perky little tits. Your son’s stopped asking about you and is doing better at school. So, don’t worry.”

Demi screwed her eyes shut momentarily. “Thank you Madam.”

Stella watched Paul walk back. He was sporting a full erection. She’d be offended if he weren’t. But it merely swayed, ignored, disregarded.

He knelt between her legs and slowly placed his mouth to her labia, sliding the freshly minted tip of his tongue over her clit. She exhaled tobacco breath, wetting her lips.

“How long since you climaxed ?” she asked Demi.

“Eighteen and a half days Madam.”

Her personal slaves were required to keep an exact tally, to the nearest quarter day. She would often fire the question at them unexpectedly.

“And how long since you were mounted ?”

“Five afternoons ago, Madam. If you recall, you made me dial up three guards to do it on my desk at the end of your lunch.”

Stella looked blankly. “Did I ?” She shook her head. “Oh well. What did they do ?”

“One in each orifice Madam.”

Stella shut her eyes, relishing Paul’s mouth. He knew just what she liked.

“That must be getting trickier now your belly’s growing.”

“Yes Madam.”

“And you’re sure I was there ?”

“Yes Madam. You watched the whole thing, finishing your coffee. It took about ten minutes.”

Stella sighed. “Nope.” She shook her head. “Still, it’s not important. Mmm … come and kiss my boobs.”

Stella’s shoulders were bare but she was wearing a black lace bra. Demi knelt and unclasped the front loader, gently pulling the cups away. She kissed Stella’s hard nipples, flicking her tongue over them. Paul’s tongue accelerated, slobbering to and fro as Stella’s juices ran.

“Make me cum !” she barked suddenly. Her mood had changed to need now, impatient hunger. And she wanted to have a bath before dinner.

They double-teamed her skilfully, with no thought for themselves. Their sole reward would be an appeased Mistress. And maybe another 24 hours working in her office. That was all they could hope for.

Stella let herself rip, eyes rolling, mouth agape, toes curling.

Rob hung at the back.

Brutus greeted them all as if it was just a typical cocktail party.

“Ah, nice to see you all again.”

He watched Naomi, Amber and Tony shake Brutus’s hand. He reluctantly held out his own and Brutus squeezed it warmly.

“Drink ?”

A male servant was holding out a tray with clear plastic glasses on it.

The liquid inside was a murky golden-green, with particles floating, and froth on top.

Brutus smiled, making it clear they must take one each.

“Asparagus cocktail. Mixed with my own fair hand, so to speak. Enjoy !”

There were five seats in a row. He gestured at them.

“Take a seat.”

Since the barbecue, Rob had been locked alone in a tiny, windowless cell. He hadn’t spoken to Amber or anybody else, except a surly guard. As far as he could tell, they’d all been kept apart purposely, waiting in dread. He’d had nothing to think about but the dreadful events of the day and his utter hatred for the revolting oaf now grinning at them all.

They sat down on the hard-backed chairs. In a row. Brutus took the middle seat, with Naomi and Tony to his right. Rob and Amber were to his left. Brutus had showered, shaved and was dressed in an open-necked white shirt and an expensively tailored suit that disguised his gut. A blast of aftershave hung about him and his receding hair was pomaded and brushed back. He looked a bit like the Godfather.

Rob and the others were still naked and unwashed. As they sat down, Rob’s nostrils detected the scent of Amber’s perspiration and rancid sex. The chastity tube pinched uncomfortably between his thighs.

“I thought you’d enjoy this pre-dinner entertainment.” Brutus said.

The room was like a country house living room, with rich fabrics, old rugs, expensive antiques, chandeliers and art. The five chairs were facing an empty square of wooden floor without any furnishings.

Two male guards walked in from a side door, leading a woman. Rob stared. She was quite similar to Amber, but with red hair, and smaller breasts. She too was naked except for what appeared to be a sort of cloak on her back.

“Okay.” Brutus said, sipping his drink. It looked like a whisky with ice. He indicated that whatever was going to happen should begin.

The woman turned and bowed at them. Close up, Rob could see the freckles on her face and scratches on her body. He felt sorry for her. Her breasts were bruised and her mound was totally hairless.

Rob watched her turn side-on to them and slowly crouch down on hands and knees.

There was a slight commotion and then another guard led in a big, grey haired dog. He was no expert but he thought it was an Irish Wolfhound.

Brutus leaned his arm along the line, nudging Rob and Amber on the shoulders, joking.

“You’ll like this. You said you would, anyway. You perve !”

The woman didn’t move. The guard walked the big hairy dog round the side of her until it was facing the audience. It seemed to smile, a trickle of slobber hanging from its mouth. It had to be over three feet tall and probably weighed over 150 lbs.

The woman silently shifted her head under the dog’s back legs.

“She’s not very good at giving head yet.” Brutus said. “But it’s only been a few days. Practise makes perfect, huh ? Drink up everybody.”

Rob sensed Amber shaking next to him. But he couldn’t tear his eyes from the freak show. The woman’s head was moving. She was sucking the dog. He simply couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The dog barked but stayed motionless. Slowly Rob lifted his glass to his mouth. He gagged at the stench. The greenish fluid was lukewarm, sharp.

“He’s well trained isn’t he ?” Brutus called out, this time towards Naomi and Tony. “He loves his girly friends. Don’t you, Luath ?”

After a couple of minutes, the two guards pulled Luath away, and then round behind the woman. She turned 90 degrees to face Brutus, looking up at him directly. Without delay, the guards helped the Irish Wolfhound mount her protected back.

Rob couldn’t help staring at the woman’s eyes. He could see angst and suffering and turmoil. But also broken spirit. She didn’t resist.

He dug his fingernails into his palms. He was finding it so difficult not to jump up and punch fucking Brutus on the nose. Even though he knew he would be signing his own death warrant, at best. The utterly sick-making clips from the training video showed that endless torture would be his more likely fate. Any form of resistance would be brutally punished.

But it still took every ounce of willpower he possessed to control his instincts. It was only the terrible threats in the video of what would happen to Amber that kept the bulging vein in his neck from bursting.

The dog surged forward and her green eyes bulged, wincing with pain.

Brutus leaned forward, tickling under her chin with his finger.

“That’s it dear. Now what do you say ?”

“Th .. thank you, Sir.” She grunted as the dog began maniacally thrusting.

Brutus turned to Amber. “I’m afraid dogs don’t do foreplay. Not once they’re in. Fascinating isn’t it ? Ask her a question.”

Rob heard his wife gulp.

“H … how is it ?”

The woman’s eyes flickered towards Amber. She hesitated.

“The truth.” Brutus barked. “Educate her.”

The dog’s spine was bending powerfully, driving to and fro. It weighed considerably more than her and she visibly had to brace herself and push up against him.

“It’s my f … fourth time. The b … iggest dog so far. It h … hurts.”

“Naomi ? Question.” Brutus prompted.

“Er … does it feel good at all ?”

The blue eyes rolled in the woman’s skull. Rob watched her turn her face towards Naomi. She glanced up nervously at Brutus.

“N … not really. It’s ob … scene.”

Brutus slapped his thigh laughing. “I love it. Tell them, my dear. Where were you sat just a couple of days ago ?”

She grimaced at a particularly hard thrust. Rob knew very little about dog sex but he’d heard something about a knot. It swelled up inside. He forced himself to have another sip from his glass.

“I w … was … s … sat up where they’re s … sitting now.”

Brutus smiled, turning to Naomi and Amber in turn.

“There we are dears. My secret’s out. Within a day or two, one of you will be down on the floor here, being watched by your successor ! And a short while later, one of your successors will be watched by her successor. And so on. The circle of life here ! But which of you two will it be ?”

Rob felt his wife freeze. Her lip trembled.

Brutus turned to both women, sliding his empty hand down between Amber’s sullied thighs. He winked along at Rob.

“Don’t worry. She’s got a fifty, fifty chance.”

Moments later, the Irish Wolfhound somehow accelerated, lunging forward even faster, all but knocking the woman over. He was evidently in ecstasy of some form. A slick of drool hung down from his mouth onto the woman’s shoulder. The male guards moved closer to ensure that nothing went wrong. The woman finally started sobbing.

Brutus tongue-kissed Amber, whilst looking over her shoulder straight at Rob.

“Show’s over guys. There’ll be knotted together a while. Let’s replenish those drinks and get you something to wear for dinner.”

Keith felt sick.

His name was Dan. He’d been at college with Keith and he certainly wasn’t an ‘old mate’. In fact, Keith had barely spoken to him. There had been a big class divide in all senses of the word. They studied different subjects. But Dan was the kind of low class troublemaker who got up everybody’s nose eventually. He despised Keith and his privileged crowd.

“Stand.” Dan instructed the five men, now all motionless in a line outside their cell doors. “Hands on heads.”

Dan walked the line, past 825, 826, 827 and stopped facing Keith. He let his gaze wander down to Keith’s feet, up his legs, waist, chest, face.

“Get down and give me fifty push ups.”

Keith had never felt so humiliated in his life. He crouched onto his knees and began doing press ups. Dan and the other four slaves simply watched him in silence. He did the first 35 pretty well.

“Come on. Chest down almost to the ground.”

He was flagging, arms turning to jelly, gasping. He reached forty.

“Ten more, faggot.”

At 46 push ups, Keith collapsed to the floor. He heard Dan addressing the others.

“My name is Dan. I may be new here, but I’m not to be fucking trifled with. You lot are my first group of inductees. And we’re going to set new records for productivity. I can be really quite a nice guy.”

He paused. Keith felt Dan’s heavy boot pushing on his back. “Or nasty.”

“Did you enjoy my husband’s semen ?”

Amber did a double take. That the woman called Stella had actually asked her such a question. She just didn’t know how to reply.

They were sat at a dining table; candlelight, silver, shimmering glasses. There were eight people. Stella was at one end and Brutus the other. In the middle seats facing each other sat an striking younger woman introduced as Lara and an older, grey-haired lady called Doctor Thorne.

The four slaves were placed between them. Amber was sat next to Stella and opposite Tony.

“Umm …”

“It was a big load, wasn’t it ? I bet he’ll have taken a Mop.”

“Yes, Mistress. It was.”

Stella smiled. “You’ll get used to them. Did you used to enjoy blowing your husband ?” Stella jerked her head at Rob. Amber glanced at her husband who looked uncomfortable, in conversation with the lady doctor.

“Sometimes … you know, kind of.”

“Sometimes ? Kind of ? That doesn’t sound a ringing endorsement to me. Oh well. Now, it doesn’t matter what you enjoy, does it ?”

Amber shook. “No, Mistress.” She felt so intimidated. The woman was around 40 she guessed, well preserved and wearing a beautiful dress, draped in jewellery. Amber was dressed in a simple, sackcloth shift.

“And what about you ?” Stella said, bringing Tony into the conversation, who had been sat silently listening. “Did you sample Amber’s cunt ?”

“Er … yes, Mistress, I did. Briefly.”

“She stinks a little. I trust that’s not your cum inside her ?”

“No, Mistress. Er … a guard.” He replied, glancing shyly at Amber. She felt a weird pang of compassion for him, even though she was disgusted he’d been inside her. After all, he’d had no choice. Based on what she’d seen in that terrible video, none of them had any choice.

“That’s a relief.” Stella said to him. “And did another guard fuck what’s her name, Naomi ?”

“Yes.” His face hardened. “Yes, one did.”

Stella wiped her mouth with a napkin. The four Owners were eating fillet steaks, while the four slaves spooned chunks of rubbery offal into their mouths. It was a glistening stew like pet food with gelatinous gravy and the cheapest innards from the compound abattoir. Amber gagged every time she forced a mouthful down her throat.

“Don’t ever look at me insolently like that again !”

Tony shrank in his seat. “I’m sorry, Mistress.”

She smiled, patting Amber on the wrist. “Don’t worry, dear. My bark is worse than my bite. Now, eat up.” Then turned back to Tony. “It sounds as if my husband is following his usual routine. Now, how many men had your wife fucked before you ?”

Amber watched him dry swallow, composing his features. “Er … one.”

“Just one boyfriend before you ?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“And what about you, Amber ? How many boys did you fuck before you married Robbie ?”

She hesitated. Then told the truth. “Three, Mistress.”

Stella sighed. “Dear me. The youth of today ! Not enough fucking is what I say. You must be looking forward to catching up, huh ?”

Amber frowned, not immediately following what she meant. Stella’s manner was disconcerting. On the one hand she had this striking face with high cheekbones, full red lips and a very business like manner. But in a flash, those same lips could curl into in a cruel sneer and her language would switch to downright crude and sadistic.

“Oh yes.” Stella nodded across at Brutus. “He’ll have your numbers right up in a day or two. We have young girls like you who do fifty men on their second day here. The female cunt is a marvellously adaptive machine, my dear. But it needs oiling to be truly efficacious.”

Dan fastened Keith’s wrists and ankles to the corners of his cot.

“Did you enjoy supper ?” he smirked, pushing up off Keith’s chest.

Keith made a face. “No.”

Dan stood, unzipped the fly of his uniform, and stood by Keith’s bucket.

“You sure you don’t need to use this ?”

Keith nodded. He wasn’t sure at all. But he couldn’t bring himself to pee or shit in front of somebody else. And certainly not Dan.

The steel rattled and liquid sloshed as Dan pissed.

“So, I looked up your records. Mum and sis in here too, eh ?”

Keith watched Dan’s back as his hand shook off the drips.

“Yes.”

Dan sighed, turning. “The name’s Sir to you.”

“Yes … Sir.”

“And who’s this little Tara bitch ?”

“My fiancé, Sir.”

Dan looked at his watch meaningfully. “You know I get off in half an hour and the night shift takes over. I’m going over for a nightcap at the guard’s bar in the female blocks. I’ll keep an eye out for Tara. You got any message for her if I see her ?”

Keith screwed his eyes shut and blinked back tears. He couldn’t bear to let this guy see him cry.

“No. That’s okay … Sir.”

Dan smirked, lifting the steel pail and placing it on the concrete floor next to Keith’s head. “In case you feel sick during the night. That supper you ate didn’t look too healthy.”

Keith watched Dan standing over the bed, scratching his balls. He looked so evil and repulsive.

“Nighty-night.” Dan chuckled. “But if you think today was bad, I can promise you, tomorrow’s gonna be a whole lot worse.”

END OF PART TWO

COMING SOON – PART THREE

‘FROM BAD TO WORSE’

www.velvetramblings.blogspot.com

BEYOND THE PESTILENCE

PART 3

‘FROM BAD TO WORSE’

Stella and Brutus had a 5,000 square foot private bedroom suite in the west wing of their new building. It comprised a vast 80 x 30 ft bedroom itself, plus separate bathrooms, individual dressing rooms, and a shared ‘snug’.

The only servants allowed within the hallowed sanctum were their selected Bedroom Slaves, usually a well trained married couple. It was unusual for any pair to last more than a couple of months.

Their current brace had been in the role for three weeks, following two months of intensive training. Superbly trained and docile, they knew that just one mistake might be their last.

Neither woman needed to speak.

Stella allowed ‘Trophy’ to unzip her dress and assist her out of it.

The woman was legally still the Swedish second wife of an American Hedge Fund trader whose European fund had collapsed. She was 34 and truly stunning, in the cliché Scandinavian way; yellow-blonde hair, piercing sapphire-blue eyes and high cheekbones. Her slim but classic hourglass figure had curves reminiscent of a cup awarded for sport.

Stella had renamed her as a tease to ‘Hedge’ who’d married his younger ‘Trophy’ wife.

Trophy folded the dress hurriedly over the back of a daybed and began helping Stella remove her jewellery. One of Stella’s favourite new pieces – a necklace of fat diamonds – had once belonged to Trophy. Sadly her husband had not been able to sell it for Credits before being declared bankrupt.

Stella sat silently on the toilet urinating while Trophy prepared a toothbrush. This was a routine they went through together most nights. She sighed and began brushing her teeth while Trophy knelt and used tissue to wipe the golden droplets of piss from Stella’s labia. Without saying a word, Stella simply opened her thighs wider, leaning back against the cistern.

Trophy blinked and dropped hurriedly to her knees, pausing only to brush a flyaway strand of yellow hair from her face. She leant forward and put her lips to Stella’s dark bush, sliding her tongue through the curly hairs into the gummy folds.

Although she had enjoyed Paul’s tongue a few hours earlier, Stella always slept better immediately after a climax. Her sex life with Brutus was, to say the least, unpredictable now. A monthly ‘coming together’ was the most either of them wanted, for old times sake.

She adjusted Trophy’s head slightly and let her mind wander to her discussions with Rhino about the forthcoming Olympics.

Bond hung in cuffs suspended from a wooden beam in the centre of the barn. Spittle mingled with blood drooled from his cut lip. He was forced up on tiptoe, his ankles held apart by a spreader-bar.

“Naaahaaah …” Bond screamed again, as electric current ripped through his testicles and anus, joining and surging up his spinal column. The beam above creaked under his flailing weight as he thrashed and jerked.

When his blurred eyes opened again, he could still make her out, draped on a stack of hay bales, watching him. She had this crazy, half-smile on her face. It would have been pretty if it weren’t so damned terrifying. She was the archetypal Slav blonde, with a gem-shaped face that narrowed down to a rosebud mouth and pointy chin. She had small, perfect teeth and demonic blue-black eyes.

But most extraordinary of all, she was totally naked.

She had casually and unashamedly undressed in front of him. Her body was frail but she had toned biceps and legs and the most incongruously large breasts. Between her thighs she had a shaved vagina crowned by an exclamation mark of honey brown hair.

“N … no …” he stammered … “more … please …”

His vision was slowly clearing. He was transfixed by her vagina. Earlier he’d worked out she had to be 22, a year younger than his own daughter. Her labial lips hung open, slick like damp rose petals. Around them was a darker hued circle of skin rising from her pale buttocks to her clitoris.

She was visible excited. In her right hand she toyed with a vibrator, sliding the tip through her folds. In her left she caressed the electric zapper almost as fondly. Her nail varnish was blood red.

He felt her studying him intensely and sensed her deciding.

“Please … I …. Aaaaaahhh …!”

He lost control again, bobbing up and down in his bonds like a puppet.

Eventually, after who-knew-how-long, he managed to blink back to consciousness. His legs, thighs, genitals, backbone throbbed.

She was watching him, mouth open in an ‘o’, pleasuring herself with the the vibrator deep inside her. She was playing the zapper across her breasts, teasing one hard nipple then the other.

He hung in silence, praying she’d forgotten about him.

And then he heard her hiss, and moan, and exhale a long orgasmic shriek of ‘yessssss’ as her head arched up towards the rafters.

Rob lay curled up on the concrete floor. He rolled over yet again, dragging the moth-eaten blanket over his naked shoulder. He was exhausted but couldn’t sleep. Discomfort, hunger and thirst gnawed at his body, but most of all it was his mind that kept him awake. Images.

Dreadful visions of everything he’d seen that day; Amber, all that his love had been through, with him impotent to save her. Memories of the disgusting sex they had all been forced to participate in. Naomi’s body, Tony’s penis. And worst of all the smug face of Brutus. His corpulent bulk, his jowls, his obscene genitals. Amber’s mouth on his erection, swallowing his repulsive load. And the Irish Wolfhound, that poor woman struggling under the beast’s weight. He cringed at the memory of the crass comment he’d made about dog sex.

He turned over violently, staring in the darkness at the cell wall, inches from his face. His palms were wet. He felt sick, although his empty stomach groaned. He listened to his own breathing, a slight whistling in his nostrils, his heart beating. Somehow the silence in the tiny cell was deafening. He couldn’t hear anything through the thick walls. Where were they ? Where was she ?

He pictured Amber’s face. The gentle curve of her cheek, her soft lips. He shut his eyes and kissed her mouth. Her eyes looked back at him, fearful but trusting. She knew he would save her.

Somehow.

One day.

Katja unfastened Bond’s penis cage and removed it.

She stared into his eyes as she did so. Her body still tingled from her first orgasm. Yet she wanted more. Much more. His fear was beautiful. The pain was transitory, the fear would be permanent.

This one reminded her most of Zlatko. Of course, he was not the same. He was more refined with Anglo Saxon features whilst her shit-pimp Zlatko had been an uncouth Serb, but there were enough similarities.

She dropped his sheath to the floor and handled his shrivelled penis. Beautiful. He was petrified. She weighed his hairless nuts in her fingers, watching his apprehension as she squeezed lightly. She lowered her hand and ran her middle finger teasingly along his exposed anal crack, pushing at the tip of the steel conductor probe embedded inside.

“So, Mister Bond.” She said, cracking up at her joke. She sounded like a corny Russian villain in Goldfinger. Although she retained a clipped accent, her English was almost faultless. She was particularly fluent in four-letter words and the language of disgusting sex.

She teased his shaft, thrilled that he didn’t respond. No man could resist her manual skills for long, unless he was absolutely terrified.

“You lost all of my money.” She said.

“I’m s … sorry.”

She cocked her head to one side. He couldn’t meet her stare. She felt his eyes on her tits, avoiding her eyes.

“Sorry. Such an easy word to say.”

He glanced up, sweating. “I mean it. I really do.”

She smiled. He was slowly responding. She’d not lost her skills. In spite of everything, little by little, blood was flowing into his shaft.

“What can you do to make it up to me ?”

His eyebrows furrowed. “I don’t know …” He fell silent.

She shrugged. “How do you propose to compensate me ? You know the phrase an eye for an eye. Where I come from, we say; a wife for a wife, a life for a life. It means the same thing.”

She glanced down for the first time at his thickening erection. When she raised her eyes he was red-faced. The blood on his lip had dried.

“Tell me about your wife, Bond.”

She watched his eyes. During the Cold War, the Soviets used hookers to interrogate. A whore knows when a john is lying.

“What …do you want to know ?”

She sighed. “Tell me where she is.”

“I don’t know.” He croaked. “Truly.”

She started pumping his shaft casually, until it was rock hard.

“And your daughter ? You don’t know where she is either, right ?”

He shook his head. He was nicely confused. The shocks. The situation. The sexual stimulation. The sudden questions.

She broke into a grin, letting go of his erection.

“Okay. We know she’s fled across the water and southwards. We also know something that you don’t. Your wife fooled you.”

She caught his momentary frown before he composed his features.

“I’m lost. I don’t know what you mean.”

“Your wife has a lover. We don’t know who, but he’s with her now. And they have your daughter and your secret stash. I bet they’re laughing.”

He shook his head. “No …”

She giggled, poking her finger under his chin. “Don’t worry. It’s not them I want. It’s you, pretty boy.” She licked the tip of her finger and slid it under the vein of his jutting erection. “Forget them. You’ll never see them again. Think only of me.”

His brown eyes narrowed.

This time she dipped her finger in the folds of her vagina and showed him the glistening string of fluid, trailing it under his nostrils.

“I love older men.” She whispered, huskily. “This is your one and only chance.” She glanced round cautiously. “Do you want to be one of my lovers ?”

His Adam’s apple bobbed. She could tell his mouth was totally dry.

“I … I … but …”

She smiled kindly at his bewilderment.

“It’s not a trick.” She reassured him. “But it won’t be all fun either. I demand total obedience. Total devotion.”

She began fisting his erection again, making him gasp.

“I have a voracious sexual appetite. I adore lust, pain, kink and darkness. Are you …” she winked naughtily, “ … in or out ?”

He had started bucking his hips as much as his dangling position allowed.

“I …”

“In or out ?” she barked, louder. “Bondage, Mister Bond ? Or misery ?”

“ … In !” he wailed.

She chuckled, slowing her strokes, loosening her grip, until her fingers barely touched his desperate penis. She looked down, releasing it entirely. It wasn’t bad. But she was a connoisseur. She’d seen many larger. She’d had her fill of pricks anyway. The dickhead they were attached was all that mattered.

She returned to the bales and spread her thighs, enjoying his eyes feasting on her nakedness. She lifted both the pink vibrator and black zapper and blew him a kiss.

“Tomorrow I will let you lick me out, lover. Would you like that ?”

He blinked, then stared at her, grimacing at the pain in his shoulders.

“Yes.”

“Front and back ?”

He paused, working out what she meant.

“Naaahaaah …” he screamed, jolted to and fro.

She shut her eyes and lay back, easing the vibrator deep inside her.

Amber sat huddled on the concrete floor, her spine pressed against the dank wall. The coarse, mouldy blanket was draped over her bare shoulders.

She had slept briefly but then woken in a cold sweat. It wasn’t a nightmare, more a semi-conscious cycle of memories that made her shudder. She felt a disgusting feeling inside that made her want to shower more than anything else in the world.

She reached down and dragged her fingertips through her vagina again, wiping them along the concrete afterwards to try and clean them. Her mouth tasted not of the disgusting stew they’d been forced to eat at dinner but the lingering aftertaste of the huge orgasm she’d swallowed.

Strangely, she somehow felt less pity for herself than for Rob. What must it have been like for her husband to watch her do what she’d done ? He’d always been so proud, so possessive of her.

And just because he’d lost his job and bankrupt them didn’t mean …

No man ought to have suffered what occurred today.

No woman either.

And what was even more certain was that absolutely nobody deserved what might happen to them tomorrow.

Bond was woken at 05.00 hrs, taken to the showers by two burly male guards, and pushed under the ice-cold water. It numbed his brain but woke him up. He’d had barely any sleep. Every bone and sinew in his body ached. They watched while he dried off, shaved his face and brushed his teeth.

Then they escorted him down a corridor and knocked on a door.

“Enter”.

He recognised the clipped accent.

The room was dark. Particles danced in the sliver of dawn sunlight that sliced through the curtains. Katja was curled up in the double bed.

“You may leave him.” she said to the guards. “Come.”

He walked to the bedside. His eyes were growing accustomed to the light. She was tousled. Half asleep. She patted the bed.

“Sit.”

He rested his bottom on the edge of the soft bed. She looked so small, young. He flexed his fingers. He could have wrung her neck, throttled her in seconds. Before she could even call out to the guards. Yet, she betrayed no fear of him.

She reached up and fingered his smooth jaw, touching his lips.

“Mmm, soft.”

Her arm suddenly pulled back the bedclothes.

“Kiss my cunt.”

Her knees were akimbo. She was totally naked. Her teeth smiled.

He paused, still absorbing her brusque command. Then slowly he shifted along the bed, knelt between her ankles, and hunkered down.

She smelt musky, stale, warm. He could just make out her pouting folds, spread open like a hungry flytrap. He stuck out his tongue and licked.

“Mmm.” She giggled. “Did you do this to your wife ?”

He made a non-committal noise. In truth, it had been a long time. Years since he’d done this. To his wife or anybody else.

He felt her hand push on the back of his shaved head.

“Does it excite you that I’m younger than your daughter ?”

He eventually grunted a response again. He realised that her questions were for her own amusement rather than anything else. Teasing not interrogating.

Her hips spread and she gave a little buck into his face. Her juices ran slick against his chin, lips and nostrils. The musky odour had evolved into a strong womanly flavour, sweet and sour. He tried to blank out the nagging thought in his mind that she’d once worked as a prostitute. He suddenly became aware of his own arousal, despite himself. His penis was trying to expand inside its plastic toothed prison.

He grimaced, exhaling hot breath.

Her excited breath matched his. He felt her body twist and her left arm stretch down, fingers reaching for his sheath.

“Naughty daddy.” She rolled a nail over his exposed tip. “Very naughty.”

The gristmill was brutal.

Thirty six male slaves pushed three huge, heavy wooden wheels to grind the corn. Most of it became bread sold at market, under the Brute Bread brand; ‘our slaves are only fed so you get your bread’ was the tagline on its packaging. Under Stella’s direction, the Corporation had branched out from sex to selling all sorts of staple products.

Keith was one of 12 slaves working the middle wheel. Like them, he was fastened to a thick wooden bar, one fixed at each ‘hour’ of the ‘clock’.

It was relentless. Hour after hour, with almost no breaks, wading through the damp, sawdust covered floor, round and round and round. If they needed to urinate or defecate, they simply did it while they pushed. The wheel stopped for nobody.

Little heaps of human dung lay in the clotted sawdust. Clusters of flies and flying insects swarmed the hot barn, buzzing the slaves’ heads.

Inside a little glass, odour-proof cabin, three guards surveyed them. Red and blue wires were taped along the wooden bars and then connected to the metal hoops locking on the penis sheaths. Any slave judged to be slacking had his testicles shocked.

The first and longest shift was 06.30 to 12.30.

After a 15 minutes break for Porridge Slop the next stint began.

Second shift was 12.45 to 16.45.

It was the shortest but through the heat of the afternoon.

After a second 15 minutes break for Evening Gruel came the final session.

17.00 to 22.00

A nice relaxed five hours to end the day.

At ten o’clock, the utterly exhausted slaves would be returned to their cells.

An older slag named Ludmila had taught Katja everything she needed to know in those early days. Neither of them had spoken much English and they enjoyed the double-meaning of the verb ‘come’.

“The customer cums first.” They spat in thick accents, downing their sorrows in black humour and cheap vodka after yet another day entertaining a dozen clients from mid-afternoon until dawn.

Ludmila was mid-thirties, raddled and too embittered to enjoy sex. But Katja was only 16 and too embarrassed that she felt stirrings of a strange lust, albeit chased down by a bitter shot of hatred. Even then, five words had echoed round her brain.

“The whore cums first instead.”

She had fantasised about boys, men, males of any description dedicating themselves to her pleasure. Of course, back then, it was just a fantasy. A dream to help her to sleep. No more likely to come true than Richard Gere climbing a vine-clad wall to declare his love for Pretty Katja !

Yet the world can spin on its axis.

Fantasy can become reality.

She arched her spine and cried out, familiar fireworks exploding across the night sky of her climax. She heard her climax spraying his face. Katja was a squirter. Not always, but often. Once upon a time it had embarrassed her. But now she loved the animal evidence of her enjoyment, just like a man’s.

The sun had risen, lightening the room. She smiled down at his blinking face, glistening in the gloom. It reminded her of sordid assignations in hotel rooms, down on her knees blowing fat 50-year olds until they emptied their filthy pecker snot down her young throat, all for the price of lunch.

“Thank me.” She said.

He gulped. “Thank you … Miss.”

She snuggled down into the mattress, pushing up her thighs.

“Now tongue my asshole.”

She scrutinized him as his face slipped below the horizon of her mound. His expression was an intoxicating cocktail of fear, anger, lust and confusion. Her spine tingled as his tongue probed her sphincter.

“Mmm.” She sighed. “As deep as you can, darlink.”

She exaggerated the Eastern European accent. It felt so good to have her own anus licked at last. She tensed her buttocks opening her crack, stifling a giggle as she felt a bubble of early morning flatulence.

Why not ?

His eyes popped open as the quiet hiss ruffled his tongue.

Her eyes met his, steely and determined, masking any doubt.

It felt wonderful as he continued to lap obediently at her furrow.

And it was at that moment, and only then, that she realised the truth.

There were no limits here. None at all !

“Ah, Good morning.” Brutus said, as his favourite four slaves were ushered into the room. They looked dishevelled and exhausted, hair all over the place, smudged makeup, dark rings under their eyes.

He didn’t invite them to sit down, even though there were empty chairs. They shuffled, naked and nervous, in a line.

“This is my good friend Steve.” He said. “Steve, meet Naomi, Tony, Rob and Amber.”

Steve was one of the Brute Corporation’s top directors. He was handsome, prematurely bald on top, with close-cropped steel-grey hair at the sides, and a pair of jet black wraparound sunglasses. He nodded.

“You are going to be the stars of Steve’s new project. It’s a docu-drama called ‘Beyond Humility’.” Brutus beamed. “My title. Catchy, huh ?”

They gave various reactions; two false smiles, one gulp, eyes to the floor.

“The interesting thing is, humility is a good thing, right ? We’re all brought up to respect modesty. Blessed are the meek and all that. But what about way past meekness, beyond submissiveness even ? Surely that’s even better. But can it be learned ?”

Brutus paused, taking a slug of his coffee, grinning at Steve.

“How far can the human go ? That’s what I want to know. And that’s what this film will be about. Of course, we can force you to do whatever we like here. Anything. But can we teach you to swallow your pride and self respect so deeply that you reach a stage … beyond humility ?”

Steve spoke for the first time.

“This is a serious project, not some kind of porno-flick. I’ve done hundreds of those. But you’ve been chosen for something much more interesting. That’s an honour.”

He stared down their baffled frowns, so that they realised he was serious.

“So I’ve persuaded Brutus that we won’t waste time with any person, or couple, who’s not committed. You really have to want to learn true humility. If you’re not interested … well.” He crushed the empty paper cup from which he’d drunk his coffee. “I guess Brutus can decide what to do with you if you want to turn down his offer.”

Brutus smiled at them and opened his palms.

“Tony ? Naomi ? Thoughts ?”

The handsome black couple exchanged glances.

“We’d like to accept Sir. It would be an honour.” Tony said.

“Amber ? Rob ?”

Rob’s adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. “Yes.” He croaked. “We’d like to accept too Sir. It sounds great.”

Brutus lingered, looking into their eyes. Then he turned to Steve.

“Over to you, my friend.”

“What exactly are you thinking ?”

Rob opened his dry mouth but struggled to speak.

Amber and Naomi were standing together side by side, while the ten members of the film crew examined, fondled and filmed them. He watched his wife struggling to stay still as their calloused hands roved everywhere, over the tits, up between their legs. They looked a typical film and roadie crew from what he’d seen; all straggly hair in headbands, beards, paunches, dressed in dirty denim jeans and T-shirts.

But Steve was looking intently at him, camera rolling.

What exactly did he think ?

“I’m wondering how this all happened ? You know. How did life get like this, so quickly ? I’m wondering what will happen next ?”

Steve smiled encouragingly.

“Good. That’s it. Your innermost thoughts. You love Amber, right ?”

“Of course.” Rob stared at a bearded guy who was holding a boom microphone. He had bent Amber over and was fingering her ass at the same time. “Absolutely.”

“Did you ever think about her with other men ?”

“No. Never.”

“But she fucked guys before you, right ? Three, I heard.”

Rob shrugged. “Sure. Like most girls. I never wanted a virgin.”

Steve grinned. “Funny how many men say that. I wonder if, deep down, it’s really true. But anyway, you never fancied a bit of swapping, right ? You wanted her to be faithful ?”

“Yes.”

“How was it seeing Tony here nailing her yesterday ?”

Rob glanced over at Tony who was suffering every bit as much as he was. Naomi was bent over pulling her brown buttocks wide open for two men holding a camera.

“He hadn’t any choice.”

“I asked how you felt.”

Rob ground his teeth. “Not great.”

“And what about when the guard fucked her ? An Asian, I’m told.”

“Even worse. What the fuck else do you expect me to say ?”

Steve was silent, staring at him, the camera lens filming.

“That’s it. Some emotion.” He smiled. “And then she blew your owner, Brutus, right ?”

“Yes.”

“Did you consider that an honour ?”

Rob dug his fingernails into his palms. “No. To be fucking frank, I didn’t.”

“Mmm. This is good stuff. It will be interesting to see how things change as the days go by. Let’s go meet Amber.”

His wife was standing with her feet wide apart and her hands on her head. Some guy was pushing his fingers between her legs and sniffing them.

“She stinks.” He said. “Needs a clean out.”

Steve turned to Rob. “How does that feel ? Hearing a complete stranger speak about your darling like that ?”

“It’s hard to find the words.”

“Try.”

“I want to punch the lot of you. I’m finding it very hard to control myself.”

Steve nodded approvingly. “Excellent. Believe me, I love knowing that. The audience will too.” He stood in front of Amber and next to Rob and slowly appraised her. Her damp , hazel-gold eyes blinked back tears.

“If you were me,” he smirked, “where would you start ? With her cunt, the old fashioned way ? Or her mouth ? Or her ass, which is a bit of a cliché ? Does she do anything especially well ?”

“She makes love well.” Rob snapped. “To somebody she loves.”

Steve grinned. “Does she ? We’ll see. Though I doubt love is necessary. By the way, did you know any of her previous boyfriends ?”

“No.” He corrected himself. “Well, I met the guy she dated before me just once. Otherwise, no.”

“Ah.” He looked at Amber, lifting her chin with his finger. “You must write their names down for us, dear, and we’ll track them down. I’d like Rob here to meet them and I expect you probably want to be reunited with them too, eh ?” He casually fingered her nipple.

She shut her eyes. “N … not really.”

A few yards away, something similar was going on between Naomi, Tony and three men. They were inspecting every inch of her, asking him impertinent questions, their piggy eyes almost feral. All three were white skinned, fat and short. In contrast, Tony’s handsome face towered helplessly above them.

“These are pretty nice tits.” Steve continued. “But I think they could be improved over the next few days.” His eyes twinkled with amusement at Rob’s expression. “We’ll make them a cup size or two bigger. With some jewellery. And perhaps a tattoo or two ?”

Rob couldn’t help it. “You fucking bastard !”

There was a hushed silence. The group round Naomi and Tony turned round in shock to look. Steve raised his hand to signal it was ok. He turned to the cameraman filming the interview.

“You get that ?”

The guy didn’t speak, just stuck up his thumb.

Steve grinned, hefting Amber’s right boob in his palm.

“I’m afraid you husband’s lack of humility just cost you an extra cup size, dear. With a back as small as yours, a G cup is going to feel pretty heavy.”

He turned to Rob, his sneer hardening. “And that little outburst will cost you as well. Let’s go eat some breakfast.”

Rebecca sat at her office desk, drinking coffee, perusing the database on her screen. Her first ‘post-inductee’ waited in silence, feet apart, hands on head, bare breasts thrust out.

The screen flashed with a message icon. Stella clicked on it.

“Madam.” Her male assistant’s voice came through the speakers.

“Yes ?”

“The school party you mentioned has arrived, Madam.”

“They’re early.” She replied. “Make them welcome. Give them a tour. Nothing inappropriate.”

“Yes, Madam. Thank you.”

Rebecca returned to the database. The woman’s file was comprehensive. The Brute Corporation’s own data about her, listing price paid, vital statistics, photos and health check had been overlaid onto the original Stalitz dossier that contained her entire family history and personal record from date of birth onwards. The 2010 State Census had required all surviving citizens to complete a 50-page questionnaire on their lives. Her file had been topped up recently with a daily diary of short notes recording how each of the seven days since her arrival had been spent.

Rebecca looked up and smiled.

The 25 year old redhead was Irish. Her green eyes were striking, albeit rather dull and sunken under dark bags of tiredness. Her face was puffy and there was a small red scab where her lip had been split. Her pale body looked fine except for a few bruises and some fresh welts across her torso and upturned breasts.

“So.” Rebecca said, kicking back in her chair. “Colleen.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Sleep well, Colleen ?”

The woman swallowed. “Not too well, Ma’am.”

Rebecca shrugged, glancing at the screen. “It says here you had a few visitors during the night.”

“… yes, Ma’am.” Her whisper had a soft, Gaelic lilt.

“And it says that you were not a virgin when we purchased you.”

“Th … that’s correct, Ma’am.”

“Hmm, not quite the good Catholic girl you pretended to be. How many boyfriends did you fuck ?”

Colleen blanched at the crude language. “Just one, Ma’am.”

“How many times ?”

“Er … I don’t know, Ma’am. I’m s … sorry, Ma’am. We were together almost two years, Ma’am.”

“And how many men have fucked you since you arrived here ?”

The green eyes shut, blinking back tears. “I … have no idea, Ma’am. But many.”

Rebecca shook her head. It annoyed her when they got emotional. She felt like shaking their shoulders and slapping their faces.

Get over it woman ! You’re a slave. Just deal with it.

“And you don’t know the total number of times you fucked them ?”

“No, Ma’am.” Colleen was quietly sobbing now, wiping the back of her hand across her eyes.

“So what’s the problem ? Before you arrived, you lost count how often you fucked. And after you arrived, you’ve lost count as well. I don’t see why you’re crying. What’s changed ?”

Colleen bit her lip, trying to compose herself. Rebecca waited. It was obvious the woman either wanted to break down sobbing or to argue. But she did neither.

“N … nothing, Ma’am.”

“I can assure you that a bit of gang rape never hurt anyone.” She paused. “Not in the true sense of the word. Believe me, I know.”

Colleen had managed to stifle her tears and regained her mask of composure.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Rebecca smiled and tapped the screen. “Anyway, you’ll be pleased to know that your efforts during your induction have been recognised. You’ve been put forward for a promotion.”

She loved this bit. The pause, while the match of surprise lit a candle of hope in their minds. Colleen’s eyes widened. “Ma’am ?”

“Yes.” Rebecca dragged out the word, thrumming her fingertips on the desk, as if mulling over a great opportunity. Then she hosed water all over Colleen’s flickering flame. “We are considering you for elevation to a position as a full time hooker.”

“Oh … I …”

Rebecca laughed. “Scat got your tongue ? Obviously you will have to start at the bottom, so to speak. But at least you’ll have a career. It’s an opportunity that many slaves would give their teeth for. In fact, some have !”

Confusion and exhaustion were writ large on Colleen’s face.

Rebecca began typing on the keyboard, signalling the brief interview was over. “I’m sending you back for one more heavy session today. A final big bang ! Then you can join a course tomorrow and begin learning how to satisfy paying customers instead of lusty rapists. That way you can start repaying your financial debt to the Corporation.”

A leering guard appeared at the doorway.

“Dismissed.” Rebecca grinned and turned back to her screen as yet another new whore was marched away.

The table groaned with food. Amber’s stomach rumbled with hunger. She watched the men all sit down in a line, on one side of the table, like one of those paintings of the last supper. They were outdoors, in a dusty garden, but a canvas awning had been set up as a semi-permanent structure to shelter the table from the hot sun. There were a few trees but mostly the surrounding crops looked like salads and vegetables in neat rows. One or two slaves were silently harvesting them in the distance.

She was standing alongside Rob and next to Naomi and Tony. They were all still naked, grubby, dusty. She could smell body odour when any of them raised an arm. Tony had a distinctive, stale scent. She shivered at the memory that yesterday he had been inside her.

The crew were already tucking in, loading their plates with fried bacon, sausages, eggs, grilled tomatoes and beans. There were jugs of iced fruit juice visible and pots of tea, coffee, bowls of fruit, baskets of bread and pastries. It was so near she could see it all, smell it, taste it.

Steve the director, had taken the middle seat, with five of his team each side of him. He had put his black sunglasses back on and she couldn’t see his cruel eyes. She couldn’t deny there was something magnetically powerful about his lean face, with his short, grey hair at the sides.

“Right.” He addressed them all. “First things first. While we eat, you guys can use the bathroom.” He smiled as Amber and the others looked round. “No. You go here, folks. Alfresco, as nature intended, in the sunshine. Cameras rolling.”

He pointed at a pair of tripods set up with small cameras on them.

“First of all, who needs a piss ?”

Amber froze. She watched as Tony hesitantly put his hand up, then Rob, and Naomi. Finally she inched up her right arm.

“Four of a kind.” Steve nodded. “And who needs to dump ?”

Nobody moved. Amber tried to decide. It was true she probably could go, but she wasn’t sure she needed to. Until when ?

“I have no idea when your next opportunity will be.” Steve shrugged.

Still none of the four raised their hand. She just couldn’t do it.

Steve grinned and looked at them in turn. “Sure ? Last chance.”

Amber saw her husband nod his head determinedly. She did the same.

“Right guys, it’s just a piss show for now !”

Stella was sat in her office holding a meeting with three State Bureaucrats. They were discussing details of plans for the upcoming 2012 Olympics. She found a lot of the conversation tedious. Stella was no longer used to anything resembling democratic decision-making !

She watched in silence as the tiresome middle ranking officials debated amongst themselves. If necessary, she would simply go over their heads later. But so long as these mediocre, greedy, self-serving bureaucrats reached a conclusion in line with her own thoughts anyway, she would preserve her firepower for another time.

There were two men and a woman, all with the vermin-like features of truly selfish individuals; narrowed eyes, thin lips, sharp tongues. One of the men was monstrously fat with porcine features and bubbling jowls. He made Brutus look like a skinny rake. The woman was overtly ambitious, clearly trying to put down her male colleagues.

Demi arrived with another round of beverages and biscuits; coffee for the men and mint tea for both ladies. The conversation continued, disregarding her presence, as she walked round the meeting table, clearing dirty cups and serving full ones. But the two sets of male eyes didn’t ignore her cleavage as she leaned over them.

“Gentlemen.” Stella raised her fingers. “Would you like a closer look ?”

All three guests looked at Stella, slowly breaking into smiles.

She merely glanced at Demi who didn’t pause before placing the tray aside and unbuttoning her tight black housemaid’s blouse, then flipping it open and unclipping her frontloading bra.

There was silence as everybody stared at the gently protruding swell of Demi’s tummy and her heavy, pregnant breasts.

“Phew.” The fat man exhaled admiringly. “Nice.”

Stella winked at Demi. “She may be pregnant, but she can still give my guests a good time.”

Demi blinked, dry-swallowed, but inclined her head meekly.

Stella pointed her finger downwards then turned to her guests. “Shall we continue the meeting ?”

While they returned to the topic under discussion, Demi knelt and crawled under the meeting table. Moments later, the revoltingly fat man grinned like an overgrown schoolboy and shifted in his seat.

Stella listened as the conversation became animated again, stifling a smile every time the man shut his piggy eyes distractedly.

Well, it helped pass the time.

Amber blinked into the bright sun. She was in the ‘gymnastic table’ position, face up, on her toes and fingertips, holding her torso in the air.

Naomi was next to her holding exactly the same pose.

“Legs wider apart, ladies.”

She could see the leering faces of the men watching her. They stuffed their faces with fried food, wiping greasy hands against their hairy upper lips.

Amber parted her knees, brushing against Naomi’s.

“Right guys !” Steve instructed. “Kneel down on the ground between your own wives thighs. Quickly !”

Amber grimaced as Rob hurriedly fell to his knees. He glanced up at her then lowered his eyes to her vagina. She felt ashamed, disgusting. It was over two days since she’d washed. Her bottom felt grimy, her vagina was mucky, still stained by the remnants of that guard’s orgasm. She could also see Tony’s face over Naomi’s flat stomach.

Steve had got up from the table and he wandered over, carrying a mug of coffee. His face grinned down at all four of them.

“Okay, gentlemen, tongues out please.”

Amber couldn’t tear her eyes away from Rob. He pushed out his tongue.

“Right, stick them into your wives’ cunts.”

She shut her eyes and felt her husband’s soft, wetness opening her labia.

“Eyes open dear.” Steve touched her hair. “Look into the camera.”

She forced them open. Rob’s tongue started sliding up and down her slit. It felt strange, not sexy at all.

“How is that ?” Steve asked. “Tell the audience. It’s your first time giving your hubby a sour yoghurt pie, isn’t it ?”

“Y … yes.” She paused. “It feels weird.”

He chuckled. “Weird ? That’s a new one.” The live audience laughed. “Well things are going to get a whole load weirder !”

Amber’s fingers and feet were getting tired. She listened to him talking to Naomi, ridiculing her and Tony as well.

“Okay, gents. Let’s move those tongues to their assholes, yeah.”

Rob’s eyes disappeared from view. She felt his tongue flicking into her bottom. She raised her hips to help him gain access.

“Hey, the lady likes it ! Did he used to starve you of good analingus ?”

Amber rolled her head, trying not to respond. Rob had tried it just once. Early on. She’d been fresh out of the shower one evening and they just got carried away. But it wasn’t something he ever pushed or she remotely missed.

Steve knelt, resting his cup carefully on her abdomen. He hunkered down so that he could get his head close to where Rob was licking her.

“Don’t spill my coffee.” The base was hot against her skin but bearable. “So, you’re not a keen asslicker, huh ? How’s her cornhole taste ? Make it nice and clean for all our cocks, kid.” He turned to Amber and stroked her cheek. “You ready to piss ? Or perhaps you need to take a shit after all ? A good tongue tickling tends to loosen the bowels.”

“Pleas …”

He cuffed her face. The coffee cup rocked alarmingly. “Shut up with that please crap ! Ready to piss ?”

“Y … yes.”

“Hear that, toilet ?” he poked Rob’s head. “Get your laughing tackle round your lady’s cunt and form a bowl for her.”

By now, the other cameramen, sound guys and film team were finishing their food and wandering over to join the circle. One crouched and checked the fixed lens on the tripod was perfectly aimed.

Rob’s mouth was open wide, his lips pressed against her body.

“Okay, lady. Turn on that tap, nice and slow. So there’s not too much spillage. You’re in a competition with Naomi and Tony here.”

Amber looked in horror at the grinning, bearded faces peering down at her in amusement. A couple of them had lit cigarettes.

“Uhgh …” she grunted, and carefully relaxed her bladder. Rob’s blue eyes widened in shock. He was staring at her, along the length of her body.

“That’s the way.” Steve said. “Gulp it down. Get a nice rhythm up. Help each other out. Piss slow and drink fast is the secret. Whoops ! Spillage.”

Amber grimaced and squeezed her muscles to slow her flow. She felt Rob’s tongue brushing her labia and then he resealed his lips round her skin. He stared at her in panic.

Steve looked at his watch.

“Twenty seconds gone. Take your time, Amber. We’ve got all day to amuse ourselves.”

Sadie sat at her desk.

It was morning surgery and she was examining a nice 30 yr old boy whose genital area was bleeding. Scabs around his penis and scrotum had turned septic. His eyes shone with tears as her latex-gloved fingers peeled away some dried pus.

“It really is your own fault.” She teased.

“Yes, M … Ma’am.” He winced.

He was well endowed. Impressively over-sized. Somebody had either been careless or mischievous at his arrival and fitting. The chastity tube was way too tight, even when he was limp. The rim chafed both ends.

Her left finger grazed his scrotum. His penis trembled, even in its state. He was totally devoid of pubic hair due to electrolysis.

“Naughty.” She snapped, amused but pretending otherwise.

“I’m so sorry, Ma’am.”

She knew from his file he’d been a slave for 77 days. Completely chaste throughout almost three months. This one had been single when he was purchased, enjoying a lusty bachelor’s sex life up until his arrest.

She cupped his balls, enjoying their heaviness.

Underneath her white coat, Sadie wore only a virgin white garter belt, sheer white stockings and white leather heels. Although her age was a closely guarded secret, she had the body of a 57 year old, but the tastes and desires of a woman 30 years younger.

She looked at his confused face and pointed at a gynaecological examination table. “Go and bend over that.” She ordered.

“Twenty seconds gone. Take your time, Amber. We’ve got all day to amuse ourselves.”

Rob heard Steve’s sarcastic words. He found it impossible to swallow properly whilst keeping the seal tight against Amber’s damp skin. He stopped gulping and tried opening his throat, just letting the strong-flavoured liquid slide down. It was so hot. Bitter tasting, pungent, but above all surprisingly hot.

And there was so much of it. She had to have been bursting. It kept flowing out of her. Ten, twenty more seconds passed before he felt the pressure dwindling, and the flow at last dwindled to a few drops.

Underneath his chin there was a spreading puddle on the stone deck.

“Not bad.” He heard Steve, the fuck-head director say. “How much was wasted Bill ?”

“I’d give them a 7 out of 10 for waste, Steve.” A voice said.

“Okay. That’s what the other two have to beat.” Rob watched Steve lift his mug off Amber’s tummy and felt a tap on his head. “Get up and go stand by your wife’s head. It’s her turn to be your urinal now.”

He rose off his knees and walked to Amber’s face. She looked up at him with wild eyes. His darling looked like she was losing it. He tried to reassure her with a cautionary stare. He heard the hiss of Naomi pissing into Tony’s mouth, the chuckles and cruel comments. He realised that he wanted the other couple to lose, to splash the ground. It was everybody for him or herself now.

“I’d call that a tie, Steve. Another 7 out of 10.” The same voice said.

Steve turned and winked. “Then it’s up to the ladies.” He wandered over and casually flipped the metal tube that encased Rob’s penis. The plastic pins made him wince.

“Lay your dicky down over her lips.” Steve said. “I’ve seen this done many times. It’s easy. That’s it dear. Mouth wide. Say ahh ! It’s as near as you’ll be getting to your husband’s dick for a while yet.”

He smiled, jabbing his finger into Rob’s bare chest.

“Don’t look at me like that kiddo. Okay, let it rip.”

In truth, Rob really did need to go. He shut his eyes a moment and tried to treat it like any normal piss. He felt his dick twitch inside the steel cylinder.

Amber was still in midair on her hands and feet. Her head was back, eyes looking right up at him. She screwed up her face like she’d eaten a lime.

Steve laughed at them both, patting the zip of his own jeans.

“My coffee’s gone right through me, you know. Pretty soon I’m going to need to go too.”

Golden fluid bubbled out all over Amber’s face. Rob tried to control his flow to give her respite. He heard her sucking her lips around the tip.

Steve crouched and whispered into Amber’s ear, loud enough for Rob to hear.

“How does that taste ? Get used to it. If you’re a good kid I’ll take you as my personal slave as part of my fee for this movie. You can be one of my toilet ladies.”

He rose and winked at Rob. “Finished ?”

Rob sighed, his flow diminishing at last. “… yes, almost.”

The hairy guy called Bill peered at the ground. “I’d give that no more than a 5 out of 10, Steve.”

“Whoops. You two left the door open for the other guys there.”

Rob watched Tony repeat the exercise with Naomi. They did pretty well. The black woman’s throat gulped noisily as she swallowed her husband’s urine.

“Got to give that a 7. Clear winners.” Bill said.

Tony clenched his fist. Rob dry-swallowed with tension.

Steve unzipped his fly and stood astride Amber’s mouth. His expression was a mixture of amusement whilst daring Rob to challenge him. He fished out his penis casually, letting it lollop out of his denim jeans.

“Come here.” His finger curled at Rob. “Kneel behind her and hold her head still. That’s it. Right dear. Mouth wide open.”

Rob cradled Amber’s head, supporting her. He looked in her eyes.

“Look up at me. And invite me to piss down your wife’s throat.”

He shut his eyes. He couldn’t do it. He shook his head slowly.

Steve sighed and winked at Amber. “He’s a kinky fuck, your husband. I can see he’d like to see you fuck a dog real soon. That just cost you two one hundred points. A nice lead for Naomi and Tony to take into the next round.”

Amber stared manically up at Rob, imploring him.

“Please … I invite you to p … piss down her throat.” He gasped.

“Tch.” Steve smiled. “Better than that. I’m offended now. Beg me.”

“Pleeease … Sir … I really beg you to piss on her … like she was a toilet.”

“Not, like she was a toilet. She is a toilet.”

“She is a toilet.”

His arc of golden urine sparkled in the sunlight, sending a splash of rainbow into the air. The jet bounced off her forehead, onto Rob’s fingers. He watched Steve correcting his aim in between Amber’s lips.

“You getting this ?”

A guy leaned closer with a handheld camera.

Rob watched the piss frothing, bubbling. It had felt bad watching his wife drink his own urine but this was a hundred times worse. Amber gulped and her mouth emptied, although a wave broke all over her cheeks.

The assault was relentless. He looked up into Steve’s face, pleading with him to be merciful. Couldn’t he at least spray her face and body a while ? But the director simply smirked and kept his aim directed at the bulls eye. Amber part-choked, sending a gush back out of her mouth, but yet more simply streamed in. Forty, fifty, almost sixty seconds.

Eventually, Steve stood, shaking his dick, sending the final drops over Amber’s naked stomach and thighs. He tucked his dick in his pants.

“Okay, guys. The toilet’s free.”

Eric shivered, petrified in front of her desk. He waited in silence, feet apart, hands on his head, his chest thrust out. He was naked.

He knew the woman’s name was Rebecca. And she was the Head Trainer. There was a sign on the door and he’d also overheard two guards talking about her. How she’d once been a slave herself but was now a free woman. Not only free, but one of ‘them’; rich, powerful, brutal.

She sat ignoring him, staring at the screen on her desk. He kept his own gaze fixed straight ahead. His eyes flickered over the display of photographs behind her; colour face shots of men and women with names and numbers underneath.

She looked up at him, curling her lip. Her brown eyes were compelling. They seemed able to bore through his shameful nakedness into his gut, his mind, his soul.

“So. Eric.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Sleep well, Eric ?”

“A few hours. Thank you, Ma’am.”

“You’ve been here a week now, right ?”

“Yes, Ma’am.” He replied. A week. It seemed a lifetime.

“Have you seen your parents ?”

“I’ve seen my father, Ma’am. Not my mother.”

“And your sister ? What’s she called, er, Kimberley ?”

“No, Ma’am.”

“Tell me about this strange sect you all belonged to. Bunch of weirdos, right ?”

He felt her sarcastic gaze scrutinizing up and down his body and blushed. His penis hung in the metal tube between his shaved legs. He believed that nudity was a sin. Men and women should never look at each other that way. A husband and wife might touch each other, but only if necessary, and always in the dark.

“Our beliefs are sincere, Ma’am.”

She smirked. “Sincere but against the law.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“And you’re a virgin, right ?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“In all ways ?”

He frowned. In all ways ? What ways were there ? “I …er …”

She sighed. “Look, I know you haven’t ever fucked a woman, Eric. But what about your backside ? Or mouth ? Have you been fucked yourself ? Tried a little gay oral ?”

He recoiled in horror. “No, Ma’am. Absolutely not.”

She tapped something on her keyboard. “Well I have good news for you, Eric. You’ve been put forward for a promotion.”

He blanked. Promotion ? Wow. What did that mean ?

“Yes. We are considering you for elevation to a position as a full time male prostitute.”

Amber lay on her back on the wooden bench outdoors.

She’d finished heaving her guts out for the fourth time as every single member of the film crew used her as his urinal. The quantity of hot, bitter liquid and acidic taste of her own vomit had drained even the bile from her stomach.

Now her wrists were tied and her ankles were suspended above her, wide apart. The water was only three degrees above freezing. Two enema tubes hung on poles, slowly cramming both her rectum and numb vagina with the chilled fluid. Her teeth chattered uncontrollably and her skin was turning blue. A horrible, brown-toothed man was directing a hose haphazardly at her body. He spent a few seconds spraying her thighs, then her breasts and then her face. She could hardly breathe through her tormented nostrils as he let the stinging curtain of water play over her nose.

“Right.” Steve shouted, as the flow from hoses dwindled. “Now that you’re all nice and clean. We have a job for you.”

He pointed at the four grinning, bearded men who had been handling the hoses. The other three were facing Naomi, Rob and Tony. The same horrifying one leered at Amber.

“My friends here would like a clean up too. But the water’s too cold. So they’d like a tongue bath. While you all hold those enemas inside you.”

Amber watched in horror as the man started removing his overalls. Nearby, another man was undressing in front of her husband.

She heard a gagged commotion from Rob and Tony. But within seconds she was solely preoccupied with her own problem. The man who’d hosed her was shucking his stained underpants off. His paunch sagged, covered in a thick mat of hair. He had to be at least twice her age !

His body cast a shadow over her as his bony fingers loosened the gag in her mouth, unbuckling the strap. He stank of tobacco, garlic and sweat.

“Now.” She heard Steve’s voice again. “Just so as you know. The carrot is that there are one hundred points up for grabs in this game. The winning couple takes the lot. The stick is that … well.” He chuckled. “Let’s leave the stick as a surprise, huh ?”

The bearded man grinned, throwing the gag aside, and wiping spittle from his lip with the back of his hand. He patted Amber’s swollen waist gently.

“Nice to meet you, little Amber. Let’s start, huh ?”

She watched in horror as he stood awkwardly on one leg and raised his other foot, plonking it on her left breast. She stared. His foot was grimy, but worse, the yellowed toenails were huge, ragged and uneven. He turned slowly and squatted over her face.

Out of the corner of one eye, she could see Naomi already licking another man’s sole. Gagging, she stuck out her tongue and began sliding it over the man’s sole.

He smiled. “That’s a girl. Got me a daughter your age, you know. She had to leave school at 16 and worked in some crummy job as a supermarket shelf stacker before the pestilence. But now she has a supervisor’s position here and good career prospects. She loves the job. That’s it. Suck each jammy toe. Get that tongue flushing between them.”

He stopped talking at last. There was now an eerie silence, apart from her hushed sucking. After several minutes of her slobbering on each foot, he knelt alongside and leaned over her, until his armpit hovered over her face. She whimpered. Her violent cramps were increasingly regular. Her internal muscles ached. She was desperate to go to the toilet.

“Okay darling. Let’s wash my pits next.”

She baulked. They were hairy and foul smelling. Hadn’t the man heard of deodorant ? But she knew she had no choice. She forced herself to stick out her tongue and start lapping.

He smiled at her. “That’s it. I’m going to have me a nice hot bath later and I’ll already be clean by the time I get in it. What’d we all do without our nice slaves like you ?”

After a while, he chuckled, and she heard him pass disgusting wind noisily. There were groans of mock-complaint and laughter from around them.

“Now, little lady.” He whispered into her ear. “There’s one more part of me that needs an extra special good tongue bath. And I’ll give you one guess where that is ?”

Kimberley followed the female guard down a long corridor to a huge oak door. It was labelled ‘Private – knock before entering’.

The woman turned, checked Kimberley’s sackcloth top, then adjusted it so the neckline was pulled low. She gave a stern look and whispered.

“One word of warning. She is the second most powerful female in this place. And the most demanding. Do whatever you’re told.”

She knocked.

After a few moments, the guard pushed the door open. “Mistress Lara ?”

“Enter.”

The woman stood back and ushered Kimberley ahead. With a gulp, palms perspiring, Kimberley walked into the room.

It was enormous; more luxury than Kimberley could have imagined. Great swathes of oriental carpets, plush curtains, expensive antiques, art and sculpture covering the walls. At one end, there was a vast four-poster double bed with two Siamese cats curled up on the covers.

“Come.” A voice said.

Kimberley heard the door shut behind her. She recognised the woman called Lara, who was sat in a cream silk robe having her wet hair combed out by another female. A beautiful oriental girl. Slowly Kimberley walked towards them.

Lara waved. “Ah, Kimberley ! Welcome to my humble home.”

She wasn’t sure whether to reply. “Th … thank you, Miss.”

Lara curled her finger. The nail varnish was scarlet. “Nearer.”

She stood inches from the two women. The oriental girl had lustrous black hair flowing halfway down her back, and coal-black eyes with arched eyebrows. She surveyed Kimberley, while combing Lara.

“Kimberley meet Jade. Jade, Kimberley.”

Kimberley smiled nervously. “Hi.”

“We’re all good friends here.” Lara said, winking at Jade. “Aren’t we ?”

The girl’s tongue slid along her thin mouth. “Yes, Miss.”

Lara raised an eyebrow at Kimberley. “Take that horrible sack off.”

Slowly, like an automaton, she obeyed, pulling the itchy top over her head, holding it in front of her nude hips.

Lara waggled her finger.

Kimberley dropped her clothing onto the floor. She felt Lara’s strong gaze appraising her in silence. Jade also stared, though less intensely. For a full minute, nobody spoke.

Suddenly, there was the sound of a toilet flushing. Kimberley looked round in surprise. She saw a stunning Indian woman ambling towards them with a warm smile on her face. But it wasn’t the naked woman that shocked her.

It was the open-plan bathing area that filled the opposite end of the huge room. It was stark white, with opulent furnishings. There was a huge sunken bath in the centre, with a large walk-in shower to the left and a marble counter with three basins to the right.

And at the end there were three toilets, one of which the dusky skinned woman had been using.

“Amulya, darling. Meet our new friend, Kimberley.”

Kimberley smiled apprehensively again. “Er … hi.”

The woman’s mysterious brown eyes softened. She had an incredibly slim waist and a dancer’s physique. She didn’t reply.

Lara gestured towards the bathroom. “Feel free to use the facilities at any time, my dear. But do let us know first.”

Sadie admired the young man’s muscular buttocks.

“Relax.”

She eased her index finger into his bottom and identified his swollen prostate. He gasped and whimpered as she gently probed.

“Good boy.” She encouraged. “Keep completely still.”

Her own loins felt warm and moist. She cast her mind back to when she was already 27, imagining this pretty hunk being born somewhere. He had surely spent all his life preparing himself for the moment when he’d be allowed to pleasure Doctor Sadie Thorne.

“Tell me.” She cooed. “Does that feel good ?”

She heard him gulp. “Yes, Ma’am.”

“Let’s milk that mouse then.”

She was silent for several minutes, concentrating on extracting his prostatic fluid, being careful to check on his reaction. Eventually, she recognised the signs and his penis started discharging harmlessly onto the floor tiles.

He groaned. It was difficult to differentiate between relief and frustration. What was certain was that he hadn’t enjoyed any orgasmic release.

“There we are.” She commentated matter-of-factly. “All done.”

A glistening puddle under his legs was slowly spreading across the floor.

She removed her finger and snapped the glove off, jettisoning it into a pedal bin. She smacked her palm crisply across his bare buttocks.

“Stand up.”

She smirked into his gorgeous olive-hued eyes as he stood and looked at her. His cheeks were flushed. She’d treat the raw scabs round his genitals afterwards.

She reached for the bottom of her medical jacket and slowly undid the lowest button.

“I think I deserve a little reciprocity, don’t I ?” she asked, huskily. “Come over here and get down on your knees, pretty boy.”

His bottom was the most revolting thing Amber had ever seen.

And it was heading straight for her. His bony fingers held his own buttocks wide apart, so that she could see everything as it descended. Steve’s leering face appeared alongside her head, with a handheld camera.

She screwed up her face and begged ‘no’, first in a hushed whisper, then in a loud moan. Long clumps of hairs hung down from the man’s scrotum and anus. His bottom was wrinkled and dark but he’d pulled it apart enough for her to see the hideous state it was in.

To no avail.

He sat down hard, smearing his crevice astride her nose, crushing her nostrils until he blocked her mouth and the light. In seconds, she panicked. She couldn’t breathe. She lost all control of her bladder and spurted out cold water.

Just before she started blacking out, she felt the weight lifting. She gasped. A sliver of sunlight appeared. She heaved in a lungful of oxygen, ignoring the foul smell.

Steve was there, with the camera and a mini-microphone.

“Hi Amber. That looked fun. Would you tell our viewers what that was actually like ?”

She couldn’t speak, gasping further breaths.

“Okay, no comment. Tell you what. Stick that tongue of yours out as far as you can and really give Bill’s crack a nice bath. That way you’ll be able to breathe more easily.”

Amber frowned. Her head was still spinning. What ? She paused.

Too long. His bottom smashed down hard again, obliterating her face. She screamed with embarrassment as she lost control of her bowels. A huge cramp tore through her guts as she was aware of the entire contents of her bottom spurting out.

Again, moments before she lost consciousness, his weight lifted. Steve’s face was there, grinning at her.

“Are you ready to stick that tongue of yours out now and irrigate Bill’s colon ?”

She heaved, nodding, gasping out the word “pl … sss.”

The red recording light on the camera glowed as she stuck out her tongue into the hairy anus just above her face. She gagged, tasting foul, metallic, vegetable. Somehow she controlled her retching.

“That’s it, Amber. Great. Now turn your head slightly to the camera and give us a smile. That’s it. Don’t be camera shy. A snapshot for Rob to keep by his bedside.”

Slowly, she felt his bottom being lowered onto her face another time.

“Oh dear. Bill’s getting pissed. Raise your head. Use your neck muscles to stab that tongue in so deep you can wash his guts. Hurry.”

“Hey !” She heard a different man’s voice exclaim. “Look here. In amongst her shit. It’s a little silver key !”

Sobbing in desperation and humiliation, she managed to lift her neck so she could push her whole nose, lips, tongue between his damp, hairy buttocks.

Rebecca sat at her desk watching the couple perform jumping jacks. They were both in their mid-forties but still reasonably fit.

Katherine was an older version of her daughter; honey blonde hair with just a hint of grey, pendulous C-cup tits that rotated from side to side as she jumped, a little heavy about her hips. But the strikingly pretty woman that she’d once been was still quite discernible.

She had passed her ‘best before’ but certainly not her ‘use by’ date.

Ernest looked like he understood the importance of being ernest. He was balding and bookish-looking. It was hard to believe he’d attracted Katherine and sired Kimberley, or even Eric. His pasty flesh bounced as he tried desperately to complete the athletic challenge.

They reminded Rebecca of one of those cliché cowboy movie couples; the good looking, god-fearing pioneer young woman who’d married the dull but worthy, slightly older man.

Now you could imagine the ominous music as the baddies approached !

Eventually they both gave up, one after the other. He had somehow managed 68 star jumps, throwing his arms out and back, while leaping and opening his legs in tandem. His penis flopped to and fro in its metal tube, bouncing against his hairless groin and scrotum.

His wife struggled on to complete another 11, finishing on 79.

Not enough.

They both stood bent over, wheezing and clutching their stomachs.

Like her daughter, who Rebecca saw from the database had been confiscated by Lara, Katherine had so far escaped any sexual action. The young guards tended not to bother with the 40-plus inmates unless instructed.

She pressed a switch on her desk.

“Look at me.”

First Ernest, then Katherine, twisted their glazed eyes upwards. They looked so pale she thought they might be sick. Ernest had spent two decades sat at a desk in an accountancy firm that had collapsed. His wife had taught in a high school. Science not Physical Education.

“We shall have to work on your fitness.”

The door opened and a huge body filled the entrance. His name was Leroy. He was an older, grey-haired black guard, the kind who appreciated a middle aged white lady. He beamed at Rebecca.

“Yes, M’m.”

In turn, she beamed at the straightening couple.

“Leroy, would you chain up this gentleman for me, please ? I have something to show him.”

“Sure, M’m.”

Ernest’s eyes showed his panic but he put up no resistance. At only 5’8”, he was a whole 13 inches shorter than Leroy. The guard locked his wrists in steel manacles and then tightened the chains, pulling his arms taut towards the ceiling.

“Now, would you show him your penis, please ?”

Ernest’s eyes widened even further as Leroy shucked his pants. At three inches in its steel tube, his dick was a whole six inches shorter than Leroy’s, whose was already erect, stiffening to full hardness.

“Magnificent, huh ?”

Katherine cringed, suddenly realising her inevitable fate.

“No … don’t. Please no …”

Chains rattled with Ernest’s impotent rage as Leroy advanced on his trembling target. Rebecca angled her chair back and kicked her heels up on the desk.

“One man in your entire life, dear ?” she shouted, over the poor woman’s quavering protests. “I mean, really ? You should be honoured that Leroy’s going to broaden your horizons.”

His solitary punch to the solar plexus made Katherine double over, heaving for breath. He manoeuvred her so she was bent over the desk, her face only inches from Rebecca. He slammed an open palm into her shoulder blades and kicked her ankles apart.

Rebecca let her eyes roam from Katherine, to Ernest, to Leroy.

She smiled. And winked.

Leroy nodded his homely black face back at her and drooled a gob of saliva over his thumb. Moments later, he bit down on his protruding lip and crouched to plunge his manhood home.

Katherine’s tan-coloured eyes popped wide as she betrayed her husband on what Rebecca calculated from the data was only 4 days before their 25th Wedding anniversary.

“Noooooh … aaah …naaah …” Her wailing echoed round the room.

Shucks, nearly got to Silver before scratching that itch ! Her husband evidently didn’t like the idea of his missus cucking him with a black stud, bellowing out his futile fury.

“You fiend ! Leave her alone, you … oh darling, I’m so …”

Rebecca pushed a lever, raising the chains and hoisting his feet off the floor, which reduced the metallic clanking, if not his verbal diarrhoea.

“How is she Leroy ?”

The guard’s mouth turned down and he nodded at Rebecca approvingly. “Not bad, M’m. Plenty of gas in this tank.”

She smiled, reaching out to stroke Katherine’s tortured face. She smoothed the distressed wrinkles on her perspiring forehead.

“Shh, my dear. Don’t make such a fuss. Otherwise you won’t have any tears left when something actually quite bad happens.”

Rob stood alongside Amber, Naomi and Tony huddled in a line.

Water dripped off their bedraggled hair, faces and bodies. They had been hosed down once again with water, to clean away the remnants of the disgusting enemas and tongue bathing.

Steve walked down the line like an officer inspecting his exhausted troops. He stopped and eyeballed each of them in turn. Rob was last.

“Your wife did well, kiddo. She did a damned good job on Bill’s ass. But you didn’t do so good. All that macho, hetero stuff. Here slaves do as they’re told regardless of sexual preferences, and the sooner you fuckin’ learn that the better.”

His stare was implacable. Rob couldn’t help but nod acknowledgement.

Steve stepped back, addressing them all.

“Meanwhile Tony here, he stuck that tongue of his right up Rufus’s shitter no problem. So I guess Tony doesn’t want to see his darling Naomi fucking dogs any time soon. Unlike Rob here. So I’m awarding another hundred points to you two.”

He pointed at Tony and Naomi. Amber’s shoulders slumped.

“Please …” her frail voice whispered, tearing at his heart.

Rob dry-swallowed as Steve shrugged, smirking at him, then at Amber.

“It’s your husband you need to plead to darling. Not me.”

Rob stood, a gnarled, crook-handled cane shaking in his hand.

Amber was bent over in front of him. Her hands clutched round her ankles and her face stared back up at him between her legs. He gaped at her helpless buttocks stretched tight before him.

“Here’s the deal.” Steve said. His crew were all clustered round watching. Some held cameras, others just smoked and pointed. “You give Amber here ten strokes of that little cane. Real hard ones.”

He pointed at Rob, as if checking he’d understood.

Of course he fucking understood !

“Or, if you don’t fancy doing that. You can hand that cane over to Tony there. But he’s going to give Your missus twenty strokes as hard as he can.”

Steve grinned at the audience.

“And if neither you nor Tony fancies it, then me and the boys here will be very happy to lay a total of forty strokes across her nice juicy butt there. So, hero boy, which is it to be ?”

“I’ll give her ten strokes. Please.”

Steve nodded approvingly. “Okay. Sounds good to me. But if I’m not satisfied that you’ve trashed her ass good when you’ve finished, then me and the boy’s will give her another forty on top. Got that ?”

Rob gripped the cane, grinding his teeth. “Yes … Sir. I understand.”

“Fine. And when I said trashed I meant trashed ! Not thrashed. I want to see her bubble butt rubbished, kid.”

“Yes Sir.”

Steve leaned down to speak into Amber’s ear. “And you keep still and take it, lady. You get up or hop around or whatever, the stroke count starts again, gotcha ? You can make as much racket as you like.” He chuckled towards the crew. “Heck, we like a bit of noise. But don’t fucking move about.”

Rob heard her whimper in reply. “Yes … Sir.”

A cameraman moved in close to record Rob’s face and another inched even closer to Amber’s buttocks. Steve nodded his head.

Rob raised the cane up above his shoulder. He tried to judge just how high he had to go to satisfy them. Steve pointed to the sky.

“High and hard as you can.”

He swivelled his hips until the cane was way above his head, then crashed it down. The outside air rustled with a low whoosh.

“Naaaaaaah …. Aaaaah …” Amber screamed, howling. Her fingers clutched behind her, clawing at her skin. A red welt was growing and changing already, spreading, leaving a darker mark in its place.

What the hell had he done ?

He gawped at them in horror.

Steve just shrugged, an imbecilic grin on his face. “Don’t worry, kid. The bitches always make a fuss about the first one. Hurry up.”

He raised the cane again, gritted his teeth, and swung it, like a bad 4 iron on the golf course. The thwack as it landed was like a gunshot.

Amber screamed again, louder, pleading, hopping from foot to foot.

Rob looked disgustedly at Steve. “I can’t do this.”

“Sure you can. It’ll be much worse for her if Tony there does it.”

He looked through the inverted ‘v’ of Amber’s legs. Her face was crimson, screwed up in an ugly wail, sobbing. But she was clutching her ankles again, trying desperately to be brave.

So he lashed down the third stroke.

Brutus sat in a folding director’s chair, watching Rob flaying his young wife’s backside. Her physical cuts and bruises would heal but the mental memories would never fade. It was all part of the process.

He smiled at Tony while Naomi knelt and sucked his cock. Brutus ran his hands through the young wife’s braids as she slurped.

“Are you ready to give Naomi here a nice whipping ? It’s nearly your turn.”

The dark, handsome face nodded grimly. “Yes Sir. I’ll try.”

Brutus waved over at Steve. “Give us a couple of minutes here.”

Steve held up his fingers in an ‘o’ sign to reply okay.

Brutus looked meaningfully down at Naomi. Tony’s gaze followed his.

“Not bad at all. You should be proud. Not too many women know how to give decent head when they start here. Mmm.”

Naomi’s chocolate eyes glanced up.

Brutus chuckled. “Well, at least even if she never sucks your dick again, you know her skill’s not going to go to waste round here.”

Tony scowled. Just a little too obviously.

“You’re not racist are you boy ?”

“Ra … me … no Sir.”

“Good. Because I thought for one moment you were looking disapprovingly at a nice white cock sliding in and out of your hussy’s lips. That sure smacks of racism to me.”

“Er … no Sir. It’s … it’s a lovely sight.”

Brutus nodded, only slightly appeased. “Tell you what. You can go and savage your lady’s behind for the cameras over there, and I’ll save my load for her asshole later.”

Kimberley lay on the huge bed. Her head was on the plump pillows, her heels tucked back under her bottom with her knees wide apart.

She gasped helplessly as the Indian woman, Amulya, slid the narrow tip of a feather between her thighs. She didn’t even know what you called it. The mouth-like entrance to her … womb.

Jade was draped to her right, watching, and Lara to her left.

“Ahsss …” she exhaled.

Jade giggled, opening her lips again to suckle Kimberley’s nipple.

Lara’s eyes shone excitedly. Kimberley had never met such a woman. Her face was beautiful but evil. Like a Devil. She was more frightening than the worst stories told about life in hell.

The feather slithered up and down, just inside and just out.

“Tell us again.” Lara cooed. “Why is sex sooooo bad ?”

“It … it is for procreation. In marriage.”

All three of them smiled, quietly tittering. “Is that what your mummy and daddy told you ?”

“Y … yes. Not just them.”

The feather attack shifted. Amulya blew a silent kiss and dragged the tip through Kimberley’s pubic hair down to her bottom. She gasped.

They laughed.

“That’s a big bush of hair they left you with, isn’t it ?” Lara said.

Amber bit her lower lip in a wince of agony.

She hung spreadeagled, standing on tiptoe. Her wrists and ankles were fastened wide apart in steel cuffs attached to a wooden frame. Rob was facing her. He was in a wooden pillory, his head and arms poking helplessly through the tight holes.

Brutus, her owner, and Steve, the film director, were examining her bottom. Their rough male fingers admired the raised ridges of welts caused by Rob caning her.

Her own husband, forced to cause her terrible pain. She was no longer crying. Her tear ducts were like exhausted wells. In front of her, Rob was sobbing instead, sniffling helplessly, avoiding looking at her.

Still their awful cameras rolled and microphones recorded.

Steve’s face suddenly appeared in front of hers.

“Do you hate him yet ?”

She frowned, then realised he was asking about Rob. “N … no.”

Steve nodded approvingly. “Good girl. But you must despise him a little. After all, it was him who got you into this mess.” He casually stroked Amber’s naked breast. “If he’d held down a job, you wouldn’t be a slave.”

It was a thought she’d already had, but not dared to go there. So his words hit home. She shut her eyes.

His hand slid down over her abdomen to between her legs.

“When a line of men are fucking this cunt, I want you to think about what life would be like as a free woman again. Maybe we can do a deal.”

Amber gasped as Brutus gently slapped her tender buttocks. He appeared, standing alongside Steve.

“It’s true.” He said. “There’s a market for young wives. Not sex slaves, proper wives. We could sell you to somebody, but you would have to love him. Properly. Sure, you’d never see young Rob again and your new husband wouldn’t be a prime hunk, but he wouldn’t be a useless fucking slave either !”

Both men were playing with her breasts now, fluffing her nipples.

She couldn’t help looking from their faces down to Rob’s.

“N … no.” she gently shook her head.

Brutus shrugged. “Okay. But be quick. Once a female slave has been gang raped a couple of times, there are few buyers interested. And once she’s been put to the doggies, there’s no way back.”

“Aaouuch …”

Kimberley grimaced as Jade plucked another tweezer-full of pubic hair from her mound. One side of her triangle was almost bald.

“Shh …” Lara whispered, licking Kimberley’s ear. “Be brave. We hate hairy bushes round here, don’t we girls ?”

They pouted. Amulya leaned down with her tweezers and wound hairs round the prongs like pasta into a fork.

“Please …”

“Tell me more about your darling family. They were arrested too, right ?”

Kimberley nodded, scowling with apprehension as Amulya tore out another clump.

“Ngha … aah. Y … yes.”

“And you’re sure that mummy and daddy only fucked to make babies ?”

“Y … yes, th … that’s what we believe in.”

“Then mummy must be in real need of a good fuck.”

Kimberley looked at her in shock. How could a woman say such a thing about another ? These people were depraved perverts. All of them.

And this Lara devil above all.

Amber howled astride the wooden horse.

It was a simple plank sharpened to a splintery point, wedged up between her anus, coccyx and perineum. Her labia were draped either side of the wood like cleft fruit.

Brutus smiled, one eye on her, and one on Rob. He watched her husband’s tongue snaking out, licking the tip of the gay cameraman’s erection.

It always touched him how far each spouse would go to aid the other.

Amber still hung spreadeagled in cuffs, feet off the ground, forced to take her own weight straddling the horse. He walked up to her and teased her nipples.

“Stick those tits out for me, dear.”

She stared at him wide-eyed, saliva flecking her lips. Slowly she arched her back, pushing her chest out.

“Look at your darling husband sucking cock. Isn’t he good ?”

She rolled her eyes, unable to speak.

“I’m going to beat your titties now.” He said. “With these stinging nettles. You’re going to hum me a nice little tune.” He chuckled. “While your husband hums one of his own.”

Rob’s mouth was sucking noisily now, slurping on the thick erection. But the pillory prevented him from moving his neck or head much, limiting his momentum. The cameraman seemed in no rush to shoot his wad.

Brutus teased the stinging flogger under the globes of Amber’s C-cup hooters. There were nine individual nettles lashed together at one end to create a handle. The feathery green fronds dripped venomously.

She hissed, inching her torso as far away as she could.

He raised the cat-o-nine-nettles above his shoulder and then thwacked it down.

“Naah …” she pleaded, before it turned into a wail. “ … aaaooch !”

He smiled at the red splodge that immediately emerged on her tits.

“Hum me a tune. How about Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony ?”

She stared at him frantically.

He raised the nettles again and slammed them home, watching with satisfaction as her scarlet flesh bounced.

“Duh … du… du …duuh.” She whimpered.

“Better than that dear.”

He lashed again. Her breasts were already mottling nicely as the formic acid surged into her bloodstream. The one metre-long nettles were from a sub-species specially grown by the Brute Corporation.

“Duh, duh, duh, duuuuhmmm.” She hummed, louder.

Brutus looked round amused. The cameraman had removed his dick and was jacking himself off, smacking his helmet against Rob’s eyelids.

“Keep humming dear.”

Her eyes were wide, flipping from her poor husband’s face, to the nettles, to Brutus. She rasped out a few more bars of staccato humming.

“Get your fucking mouth open.” The cameraman snarled.

Brutus smiled at Rob’s blinking eyes as he forced his jaws wide apart. There was a metallic chattering as a stills camera took a string of photos. He turned back to Amber.

“Look. Aah. Don’t pearls suit your husband ?”

She slowly nodded, biting her quivering lower lip.

He raised the nettles again, shrugging.

“Come on now. Again. Duh … duh …”

He paused expectantly.

She finished the musical line weakly. “ … duh … duuuuh.”

He whupped her again, harder, concentrating on the nearside tit this time.

He felt his stomach growl.

Oh well, a few more strokes and then it would be time for lunch.

Rebecca checked one last time on the suspended couple.

She wanted to achieve just the right impact.

Ernest still hung from chains. She’d lowered them so he could just touch the floor with the tips of her bare feet and take a little of the strain from his agonised arms and shoulders.

Katherine now hung alongside her husband. Her wrists were in leather loops so she could be kept fully off the floor, her arms and feet held apart by spreader bars. A rich vein of glutinous semen oozed from her freshly depilated labia, glistening down the insides of her parted thighs.

The atmosphere had changed since Leroy departed happily tucking himself back into his pants. He’d helped Rebecca manoeuvre the traumatised woman into her bonds in total silence, except for her endless snivelling. No words were spoken or necessary. Ernest was sullen but silent, due to Rebecca’s threat to summon a dozen more Leroys to prolong the fun.

She took a final glance and then opened her office door.

“Ah. Welcome !”

They were milling around in the hall. Two escorting guards snapped to attention. The sixteen assorted teenagers looked at her expectantly.

“Er … hi.” One of the boys said. Rebecca detected the confidence of a ringleader. He looked a sporty type, whereas most of them appeared more typical acne-ridden, high school kids. The girls were a mixed bunch too; some pretty and quite mature, others still in the ugly duckling phase.

“Come in, please.”

The initial hush when they saw the suspended duo, turned to gasps when they realised they were reunited with their Science teacher. Mrs Randall and her husband were equally shocked and a lot more vocal.

“No !” Katherine screamed. “Oh no, out ! Get them out !”

Rebecca smiled reassuringly at her 17-18 year old guests as they hesitantly filed in.

“It’s quite alright kids. She just gets a little emotional about reunions !”

By now, most of the class had got over their initial disbelief and into the next phase; nervousness, amusement or excitement. Rebecca could almost smell the hormones. The girls seemed every bit as curious as the boys. A few looked hesitant, glancing around wide-eyed.

“Wow !”

“Fuck.”

“Mrs Randall ?”

“Shit, will you look at that !”

“Cool.”

“Er … I mean, is this okay ?”

Most started sniggering, pointing, egging each other on.

“Hey man, look at her puss !”

“It’s streaming out of her.”

“Guys, do you think we should be doing this ?”

“Yeah ! Look, she’s been fucking. Imagine, frigid old Mrs Randall fucking.”

“And judging from all that baby gravy, it doesn’t look like it was with Mr Randall.”

Louder laughter, even a couple of high fives. Slowly the uncertain few were gaining confidence, joining the majority, overcoming any doubts.

Rebecca pushed forward. The throng parted to let her through.

“Yes, everybody. It’s Mrs Randall. Your Science teacher who left you in the lurch recently, without completing this term’s syllabus.”

“That’s okay.”

It was the ringleader. He had a square jaw and close cropped hair. He was 18 years old and ready to get out into the world.

“The syllabus was fucking boring.” A girl said. “Chemistry and physics.”

Rebecca smiled at them. “How about biology ?”

“Duh. No more studying worms for me.”

“I don’t want any more lessons.”

“Hold on. Speak for yourself.”

“How about we do some anatomy !”

“Quiet, let the lady speak.”

Rebecca raised her hands.

“Hold on ! Ssh !” she looked at them all in turn, studying their faces, their eyes. She liked what she saw. The frantic mood of a mob was building.

“This is an extraordinarily special class that Mrs Randall has volunteered to give you today. On the female body. And how it reacts. Now, I know you’re all adults and you probably know all that birds and bees stuff already.”

They laughed, groaning.

“Er … duh. Sure we do.”

“But I suspect that most of you won’t yet know much about a female slave’s body. And it how responds to the most interesting treatments.”

There was a hushed stillness. They gawped. A few frowned, waiting to check out which way the vibe swung. Then one by one all sixteen tense faces dissolved into lip-licking grins.

The ringleader was the catalyst. He caught Rebecca’s wink. She watched his hand reach up and, very calmly, cup Katherine’s left breast.

“Take your hand off me young man !”

There was a moment of hush. Rebecca smiled at the woman’s ridiculously indignant expression. The boy’s hand didn’t move, stayed where it was. Then he sniggered and tightened his grip.

The crowd watched mesmerised as his fingers sunk deep into her fleshy boob.

A hum of excited comments and nervous hilarity grew as they swarmed around her naked body. Dozens of hands reached out and touched.

The crescendo rose and eventually drowned out the helpless whimpers and protests of Katherine Randall.

Of course, the mistreatment served a purpose.

These four would remember today for the rest of their sorry lives. It wasn’t just gratuitous violence. It would make them better slaves. It gave them a little taster of how bad things could get if they fell even slightly below the Corporation’s exacting standards.

Brutus threw his lunch bones to the cluster of hounds lazing in the sunshine; Luath, Rex, Fernando, Trojan, Bull, Stud and Knotty barked and snapped. Meanwhile Steve held out his empty plate for Hamlet, the older of two Great Danes, to lick.

Rob, Tony, Amber and Naomi stood out in the hot sun watching. They wobbled occasionally, trying to say upright to attention in the heat. The two white bodies were red with sunburn and all four were battered, bruised and exhausted.

Brutus wiped his mouth with a napkin and belched appreciatively. He curled his finger at Naomi and beckoned her over. She was a sorry sight compared with 24 hours earlier. Her face was unharmed but below the neck was another story; her brown breasts were criss-crossed with crop lines, her tummy and mound dark red from a paddling. A thin splinter of wood was sticking out from one of her labial lips.

He twiddled his finger and she rotated.

Her buttocks were striped raw from the savage caning her own husband had given her. She’d need to visit Doctor Thorne to prevent infection.

But before that it was time she hosted her first gangbang.

After the initial laying on of hands, each teenager took it in turn to examine Katherine’s helplessly dangling body. Extracting revenge for every imagined slight, homework assignment or strict dressing down their middle-aged teacher had given them.

The lads typically focused on her female parts; her breasts, nipples, bare mound and protruding labia. Girls giggled and pointed out the clitoris to educate the less experienced geeks. They peeled open her sodden folds and peered inside, before pushing fingers, thumbs and then their palms within. Meanwhile, others walked round the back and thumbed apart her buttocks, discussing the dark starburst of her anus, pushing their fingernails into the wrinkled orifice.

Some girls took the opportunity to brush up on male anatomy by surveying Ernest Randall’s stretched, middle-aged nakedness. They mocked his body in comparison with their fit classmates and boyfriends. There were zits on the older man’s bottom and they found it hilarious to tease their friends suffering from acne that they had faces like old Mr Randall’s ass !

Rebecca stood back and watched as the girls spent time mocking Katherine’s mature body. Although in good shape for her age, the inevitable slackening process had begun, and everybody knew that any comparisons with the teenage girls were cruel and unfair.

She smiled internally while they ridiculed any hint of cellulite, prodded Katherine’s pleasingly upholstered butt, pinched her thickened thighs and disdainfully poked her tummy with its slight stretch marks and telltale contours of childbirth. Rebecca couldn’t help feeling relieved it wasn’t her own maternal body hanging there. Nothing was spared their derision.

But they saved their worst for Katherine’s womanly charms; sneering at her somewhat pendulous breasts, some younger girls even going so far as mooing. Others taunted their former teacher about how the heavy bags of flesh dangled naked and free, as if inviting abuse, and they gave them the occasional admonishing slap. Her dark and prominent nipples became a special target for their jeers and taunts; coming in for a generous dose of twists, pinches and pulls. This treatment included the occasional lift and drop that caused the breast to jiggle like a bowl of jelly.

A hot brunette, clearly sexually active herself, seemed obsessed with insulting Katherine’s protruding vaginal lips, speculating on how they became so loose and capacious. It was a particularly cruel jibe, Rebecca knew, given Katherine’s lifetime of virtual abstinence and, to be fair, the fact she actually looked some ten years younger than she was.

The other students joined in and their conversation turned to such a body’s actual usefulness to anybody as a sex slave.

Rebecca finally joined the debate.

“Do you know the definition of slavery, girls ?”

They looked at her. One who was chewing gum ventured a guess.

“Like, er … doing stuff you don’t want to ?”

Rebecca grinned, shaking her head.

“Property. A slave is a chattel. Meaning an owner no more thinks about not using a slave whenever, or however, she or he is needed, any more than they would consider not using an umbrella if it’s raining. You don’t think, oh dear, sad umbrella, you’ll get wet, or tired, or broken. Do you ?”

The girls laughed. The boys who were listening did too.

“Nah.”

Rebecca had already noticed a sharply pretty brunette who seemed to be the ringleader’s girlfriend. She was even more into the scene than the others.

The girl turned and tugged Katherine’s nipple. “Poor fucked up umbrella.”

That produced an even bigger round of raucous laughter.

Rebecca waited until they’d all hushed, then made them an offer.

“So, let’s all imagine that it’s pissing with rain !”

Naomi lay on an air mattress in the sunshine.

It resembled an oversized swimming pool toy, a big pink bouncy cushion pumped up for outdoor play or tanning. Her wrists were tied to stakes in the grass, but otherwise she was free to jiggle her hips and wrap her legs round her admirers.

The first group were the hairy film crew, taking their turns before her performance turned too sloppy. They gathered round to egg each other on, jeering in time to the rhythmic slap-slap-slap of flesh on flesh.

“Aah. Come on little lady.” One man said, stroking her face and kissing her, while another used the spring in the air mattress to hump up and down frantically. “You can do better than this. Now, stop crying and start fucking us.”

Between sobs, the black girl did seem to be trying to play her part. One by one, the men unloaded inside her. Most were brief, taking a maximum of a couple of minutes, having teased themselves manually to near-orgasms before they took their turns. She was a cum-bag today, nothing more. They knew there would be other days, other opportunities, for them to take a more casual approach to sex with Naomi.

After the first half dozen had noisily spewed their semen, somebody produced a lemon-soaked rag to wipe away the excess from her thighs. The guys had started complaining about the lack of friction to get themselves off.

“May I start with you, Tony.” Steve said, leaning over and holding his microphone towards her suffering husband. Brutus winked at the film director-cum-interviewer, performing his best talk-show-host act.

“How do you feel watching this ? You must be a proud man.”

Tony dry-swallowed. “Er …” He glanced at Brutus and wiped a grimy hand across his face. He shook his head. “Please.” The whites of his eyes were wide open. “Please don’t do this. I beg of you. No more.”

Steve gave him a conciliatory smirk, pointing at Naomi.

“Oh, come on, listen, look. She’s getting into it. You should be pleased for her. And for yourself, as her proud husband. I bet you really want to thank your new owner, here, for what he’s done for you both.”

He leaned past Tony, directing the microphone at Brutus.

“And Mr. Brutus, please. Can you tell her husband and the viewers what plans you have for this lovely couple ?”

Brutus patted Tony on the shoulder. “Sure.” He exhaled a thick wreath of cigar smoke.

Katherine wailed, a drawn-out, gut wrenching sob.

Another of her female pupils stepped up and slapped her face with an open palm, making Katherine’s head sing. She felt the hot sting of redness on her cheek but it was shame, every bit as much as pain.

A cheer went up.

The worst part was their cheering.

Before she could compose herself, she groaned hoarsely as she felt yet another sear across her buttocks. Behind her, Walton, an unpleasant boy she’d often had cause to scold, was using a stainless steel 12-inch ruler to thrash her with. She heard the shrill thwack in spite of her own scream and her jeering audience.

She twisted her head to avoid another slap. Through her blurred vision she caught sight of her husband. Ernest was hanging helpless, while a gaggle of girls mocked and tormented his naked body. His glazed eyes rested on hers for the briefest, saddest moment, before he screwed them tight in pain. A girl had lifted her knee into his testicles.

Katherine’s head spun and spittle flew as another slap landed without warning. Then somebody was pulling her hair, twisting her head round this way and that.

“Nooooooo …” she managed to scream.

There was only their unbearable adolescent, taunting mirth in response.

She winced as sharp nails scratched her and she felt fingers clawing at her hips. Strong male hands held her knees apart. A thumb poked inside her bottom and she jerked upwards to avoid it.

At the same moment, a blaze of fire scorched her private part. She felt weak, but realised that the ruler had been lashed across her hairless mound and into her very womanhood. Blissfully, darkness descended.

But she regained consciousness seconds later as a torrent of freezing water soaked her face, taking her breath away.

She gasped and let out the most lung-bursting plea she could.

“Pleeeeeeeassssse … !”

She suddenly realised there was silence. They’d ceased. She forced her soaking eyes open and blinked at their wild, jubilant faces. She saw the Trainer woman, Rebecca, step forward, raising a hand.

She grinned at Katherine, then turned to the teenage pack.

“Let’s all take a short break. Tea anyone ?”

Lara sipped her mint tea, watching Jade and Amulya shaving away the last tufts of Kimberley’s pubes. She’d have the follicles electrically destroyed in a few days, if this one passed.

She studied the beautiful oriental, Indian and white girls in turn. As usual, it would be decision time soon. There were four of them once again, and her bed was only big enough for three.

The tea was hot and sweet. She felt it glowing inside her, sliding through her system. She had only three toilets too !

Kimberley’s eyes met hers. Lara winked.

Such a sweet girl.

She sidled over and put her cup and saucer down. Jade and Amulya parted as Lara reached out and ran her nails sensuously over Kimberley’s belly, down to her dry cunt lips.

“Would you like to see your mummy again soon ?”

Kimberley’s lips parted. She nodded, mouth agape. “Yes, pl … ease.”

Lara found her clit, easing back the hood. She grinned.

“Well be a good girl and we’ll see what can be done

Next came Rape Regiment 1.

The oldest and noblest rape squad in the Brute Corporation’s history, the team had been established back in 2007 out of a long list of applicants; released convicts, asylum dwellers, psychopaths and misfits, the bad and the ugly.

Not a single one of the ten squad members stood less than 6’ 3” in his bare feet. Specially selected, not a single member possessed an endowment of less than 8 thick inches when erect.

They arrived in their canvas fatigues, sporting their ‘thicker, harder, longer’ motto emblazoned up the side of their military shirts. They were heavily armed with machetes, truncheons and pistols.

One by one, the thugs ripped into Naomi.

After a brisk round one, they double-teamed her; some cunt and ass, others spit-roasting her.

Next, they triple-teamed her; ravaging all three of her flopping, gaping orifices at once. Black and pink flesh oozed thick white fluid.

As the final trio finished their second shift, Tony was dragged alongside the writhing bodies. A huge, rape squad member who’d already taken his turn produced a clipboard, document and pen.

“Sign here.” He joked gruffly, proffering the pen to Tony. “It’s a full divorce on the grounds extreme infidelity. Don’t worry mate. Your friends won’t think badly of you.”

Tony blinked at him through tears, glanced down at Naomi, and then – without warning – lost it.

Watching the action, Brutus was intrigued that, after so many hours of reluctant but restrained obedience, the silly lad suddenly misplaced all his self control and swung his fist at the highly trained rapist. His blow connected solidly, causing a surprised grunt.

Tony roared and swiped again. But this time, with a neat sidestep, the 6’ 6” brute dodged the blow and nonchalantly stepped back. Unperturbed, he glanced across for a signal.

It was Chairman Mao who reputedly said; ‘kill one, frighten ten thousand’.

Brutus lifted his thumb like a Roman Emperor. An image of his son’s face flickered inside his mind. As BJ would have said, it was a waste but, heck, an example was occasionally necessary.

He gradually rotated his thumb down.

The Browning HP pistol appeared in the brute’s hand as if by magic. The noise made by the first 9mm Parabellum was shocking, as Tony’s body ricocheted backwards. An arc of red splattered across Naomi’s face and across the backs of her trio of admirers. The second blast lasted longer, echoing in the sunshine, while birds squawked out of nearby trees.

The men fucking her didn’t even break stride. Naomi screamed as her husband’s naked body slowly toppled over, and began twitching next to her on the ground.

END OF PART THREE

COMING DECEMBER – PART FOUR

‘FOR BETTER FOR WORSE’

BEYOND THE PESTILENCE

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