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2. A new world
I woke up from the light slumber I had fallen in sometime during the night when the carriage stopped to a halt. Dawn had to be approaching, as from the carriage window a strange, cold light was filtering in.
Richard Heckert gleefully clapped his hands.
- As expected, we made it in time. –
He opened the window and stuck out his head, greeting someone out of my sight.
- We have three guests from the town of Rashbelt with us, - he told the other man. Then, facing back to us, - If you would be so kind to step down from the wagon, our gate officer will proceed to some formalities. –
I let Joe get down first, as he was the closest to the door, and then stepped out. In the middle of a plateau, miles of metallic fence ran out of sight from our point in two directions. It had to be the border. We were standing at the feet of a guard tower, three armed men on top of it looking curiously down at us.
To my stupor, a working searchlight was pointing close to us, enough to shower us in bright light without blinding us. That was the source of the light I had seen from inside the carriage, not the light of dawn – which was, nonetheless, appearing in the sky. Not that I had not seen searchlights before, we even had a couple of wrecks in Rashbelt. But in order for it to function, you needed electricity – lots of it. A good generator was rare to find, and possessing the gas to power it was close to impossible.
The officer who had spoken with Heckert so far standing in front of us. He was the military kind of guy, maybe in his older forties, a salt-and-pepper beard grown on his square jaw, and a grinding hand in whose clasp I put mine to shake hands.
- Stan Carson, - I plainly stated.
- Dieter Falck, head of gate security. If you will please follow me inside. –
His tone admitted no rebuttal, and we sheepishly followed in the inside of the tower, a single, large room where he sat behind a desk. There were no seats on the other side, only a camera. He faced a computer, and adding to the stupor I had from the searchlight, he started working on it.
He took our names and pictures, duly registering us as temporary guests of the community under responsibility of Richard Heckert. As soon as he was finished, he stamped a piece of paper for each one of us that summarized our identity and purpose of visit, and then he provided us with a plastic bracelet, colored in bright yellow.
- Please wear it at all times. It identifies you as visitors, so that both citizens and slaves know of your status. It is numbered. Do not remove it at any time; if you lose it, contact a member of police immediately, so he can confirm your identity and provide you with a new one. Unidentified strangers in the community are subject to arrest, expulsion and in case of grave threat to our security, death. You will be allowed to visit freely unrestricted areas without interrupting slave labor. Access to restricted areas has to be requested preventively to the officers of the law. Crimes against citizens or property will not be tolerated and lead to arrest, expulsion or in the gravest felonies, death. You will be allowed to serve yourself of slaves on discretion of their master. Do you confirm you understand the rules of the law? -
I felt an uncomfortable knot in my throat as I stated that yes, I understood. My two companions did that as well, and we wore the bracelets.
- Then I welcome you to New America. You are free to go. –
- Thank you, officer Falck – said ceremoniously Heckert, and viscidly taking me from the arm led me back to the wagon.
- It takes only twenty minutes from here to the city gate, - went on the ambassador, - I guess it’s time to lay plans for your visit. But a good breakfast will for sure prepare us to the day. –
Joe approved of the idea.
- I will show you to your quarters. You will be my guests over your stay. Unfortunately, I will have to reach the governmental building by noon, so I won’t be able to enjoy your company today. But I will make arrangements that you are seen to. Also, I will try to schedule a meeting with Father John tomorrow, and we will be able to talk business, if you are so inclined. –
- I would be… honored. – was my concise answer.
The ponies walked us for a mile or so of barren flat land, kept devoid of obstacles, except some withering trees and bushes. It seemed to be a safe buffer zone between the border fence and the city itself – though I was unsure it was meant to keep people away from the city or inside of it.
We stopped again, and I tried to look out of the carriage window. A concrete wall, about ten feet high, was blocking my line of sight. As for the fence before, also this wall seemed to extend for miles. Another guard spoke briefly with the driver boys, this time coming to our window, and asking us to check our identification papers.
After being cleared, we were allowed behind the second gate, everything changed.
Luscious vegetation grew on the inside of the perimeter; trees I had never seen so full of leaves, vibrant in their hues of green, some even sporting blossoming flowers. I met eyes with Tommy Pellit. We were astonished. Even the temperature was slightly cooler in respect of the outside. It had to be the vegetation, I supposed.
Apparently we were on a road neatly kept, sided by trees, behind which laid open fields. At different distances, people were toiling on the ground, a grand version of the poor subsistence agriculture we practiced in Rashbelt. I realized that all of them were females.
For a handful of seconds, I could take a glance to a laborer closer to the road: her black hair collected on the top of her head, sweat glistening on her toned body. Her only garments were tight knee-high boots, two leather straps at the base and at the top of her breasts, wide leather manacles at the wrists and a collar hugging her neck. She was holding a tool, maybe a spade, and I thought I saw it was chained to her manacles.
Her naked body was scratched and bruised, but still I could judge her to be a beautiful woman in her mid-twenties, not as beautiful as our ponies, but remarkable nonetheless. As quickly as she had appeared, she exited my range of vision. The image remained impressed in my mind: this fit, sleek woman laboring in the fields, and I found it incredibly sexy.
- They start to work the fields at dawn, to take full advantage of the morning light – commented Heckert – we found to be very inefficient for them to work in full daylight, at the hottest hours. They get dehydrated easily, and need more water. Also it would be a waste of natural light to let them sleep after dawn. –
I nodded at the unsolicited explanation. More of the same view accompanied us for some time, fields dotted with brick buildings. At a point we passed by another small carriage loaded with potatoes and other fresh produce, drawn by a single pony-girl in a similar attire to the ones pulling our wagon. She was straining against the weight of her load, progressing much slower than we did. I heard a crack as Phillip flung his whip on her left ass cheek, shouting:
- Your master will thank me for that, you lazy bitch! Faster! –
The solitary ponygirl could do nothing to avoid a second hit on her crushed tits; bound into position with her hands behind her, her legs constrained by her hobble, the secure cinching of her crotch belt to the yoke preventing her from any futile attempt at ducking to avoid the incoming blow. All she could do was to try to increase her pace and hope that the young driver boy would leave her alone, even if her effort meant that she took the same speed with our carriage, thereby staying under the reach of the whip.
Phillip, cruelly, added two more lashes to her breasts, one of them landing straight over her nipple, eliciting a loud yelp from the victim, which doubled her efforts to gain speed. All of this was happening right out of our window, right in front of our eyes.
Tommy, losing his patience, stamped his foot loudly on the carriage floor and grunted,
- You better stop, kid, or I’ll shove that whip in your ass! –
Tills frowned visibly; I suspected it was very uncommon to question a behavior such as Phillip’s, especially in front of a slave. The little I knew about this people, it seemed like a logical consequence to me.
- Stop it, Tommy – I whispered in his ear.
He just glared back at me, trying to take a hold of his hot temper. I was worried he could put us in trouble. Not that I liked what I saw, bar the amazing blowjob I received back in the warehouse, but we were in their homeland as guests, and it was no place to irritate them by showing disrespect.
Phillip must have heard that, because he flicked the whip elsewhere, probably on one of the ponygirls pulling our carriage.
- You remember that, you cunt slave, I took it easy on you! – he shouted back at the poor girl, quickly burning out of exhaustion after her thirty-second sprint, and falling back behind us, out of view.
A cold silence, made all the heavier by Tills’s piercing gaze on Tommy, accompanied us for the remainder of our trip. The idyllic agrarian landscape gave way abruptly to a sprawl of low shacks that I guessed were the housing of the farmers. I detected some hints of movement in the small, dusty lanes that crisscrossed the neighbourhood, but I could not see clearly what kind of activity it was. A solid three-story construction towered over the area. Its windows were small holes with metal bars giving way to pitch black inside. A couple of men sat idly on its roof, as on guard. Someway behind it, a silo and another building completed the landscape.
We came to a stop, and Heckert gingerly opened the door.
- We reached Market Square! - he declared, gesturing us out. The familiar buzz of human activity engulfed my ears, multiplied by several dozens to what I had ever known. I stood still, ruptured by the largest gathering of people I had ever seen in my life.
About two hundreds of people of all ages went back and fro in the large esplanade, grouping around stands of all colours that were set at the edges of the square.
- This is where our community comes to exchange their produce, of all kinds, be it food, clothes... - explained Heckert.
Some of the strollers were followed by young, attractive women wearing embarrassing outfits that could leave their breasts or asscheeks on display. Some more women labored silently around the square, women of all ages, barefoot and scantily dressed. The pavement was gravel, which by no doubt was not a pleasure for unprotected feet soles.
- ...all kinds of manufacts…-
I walked by fruit and vegetable stands, admiring the variety and abundance of it. My attention was caught by a bald, overweight man describing the quality of his merchandise to a well-mannered buyer in his thirties, who kept on a leash a stunning blonde in her early twenties. She kept her eyes to the floor, humbly, her wrists manacled and shackled together by a loose metal chain, her curvaceous body squeezed in a dark red corset that enhanced her hourglass figure and matched in colour and texture the collar snugly fitting her neck.
- You know, sir, that when you’re looking for quality, and I mean long-lasting quality, all you have to do is come to me. - boasted the vendor.
- I’m a loyal customer, mister Fields. -
- With such a good piece of personal slave as yours, - commented the tradesman with a hint of jealousy, - I’d make sure she wears only the best. So what are we...-
- Wise words, wise words! Our esteemed councilor indulges only in the best, - interrupted Heckert, with his oily manners, - Nothing less for a man of taste and respectability as himself. -
- Embassador Heckert, I see you’ve returned - answered the buyer, drily, and then moving his gaze to my presence, - And in company, I see.-
- May I have the chance to introduce you to Stan Carson, with a delegation from the town of Rashbelt, - gesturing to me - Stan Carson, this is councilor Markovic, a very respected figure in our community. -
We shook hands firmly. Markovic studied my appearances and couldn’t hide an expression of faint disgust. He turned to Heckert and said,
- So it was a fruitful trip, I see. -
- Mister Carson is very curious about the Order, a real gentleman, if I can add. -
- I’m…- I was promptly silenced by Heckert, who was in a gloating mood.
- Tomorrow I’ll schedule him a meeting with the Father himself.-
- I see. Well, I’ll probably be there. So I will meet you tomorrow, mister Carson. -
- I guess. Pleasure to meet you, - was all I said.
- Look, look, mister Carson - went on Heckert - This is Mia, the councilor’s personal property. As I was telling you, it’s a fairly rare honour to be conceded to a man. -
- An honour that you share with me, Embassador. Mia, greet. -
Markovic was without a doubt a man who held himself in very high self-esteem. I had the feeling that Heckert had someone to pay his lip service to. The beautiful blonde raised her eyes, of a pale shade of grey, and gave us a
-Good morning, Embassador. Good morning, Sir. -
with a lifeless, broken voice that froze my blood. Heckert took my arm and pushed me backwards, nodding his head to Markovic.
- We will not steal more of your time, Councilor. We will see you tomorrow. -
Markovic nodded his head in goodbye, and returned to examine the merchandise on the stand.
- He’s one of the closest advisors of the Father, - Heckert whispered in my ear, - making a good impression on him might secure you a good trading deal, if you’re interested.-
- I haven’t made my mind on anything, Heckert. I don’t know if I’m looking for a deal or anything and I would appreciate if I could take a bit of time to… consider things. -
- Of course! Of course, my friend. I’m not trying to force anything. -
Tills coughed, looking for attention.
- I’m off to my study, Richard. I’ll be there if you need me. Mr. Carson…-
Heckert extended his hand, looking to shake Tills’s one, and in doing that an older slave woman cut our way, carrying a big wooden box full with vegetables, probably distracted by what had to be a considerable weight in her hands. She inadvertently collided with the extended hand of our host, who turned purple and spat out,
- Watch your step, cunt! -
The woman froze in her steps and turned. She set her eyes to our feet, and stumbled,
- Sir, this slave is sorry for disturbing you, Sir, please forgive her…-
Phillip reached us quickly, his beloved whip still in his hands, smelling trouble. A man in black also approached, wearing a kind of uniform. He reminded me the officer at the city gate.
- Who’s your master? - my chaperone pressed on.
- This is a city slave, a market porter, Sir, please forgive her… -
- Officer, I demand immediate discipline! -
The man in black raised the sleeve on the woman’s arm to examine a tattoo, tutted and spat on the ground next to the woman.
- You can have it right away, citizen. She’s unowned. -
- No, please, this slave is sorry…- pleaded the woman, still straining under the weight of her load.
- Isn’t this too hard, Richard? - I intervened - She didn’t see us…-
- Stan, we cannot accept this kind of behaviour. This sorry, useless slave knows best. -
- Please, Sir, please…-
- Enough with the begging! - roared the police officer, slapping the woman on her face. She shaked under the hit, and with much effort managed to keep her balance without losing hold of the box. Now the only sound she made was an anxious breathing, her face immediately flooded in red.
- Phillip, lift her skirt, - commanded Heckert. The boy promptly complied. Under the dirty fabric of the cheap dress, two immaculately white thighs appeared.
- Higher. -
Phillip lifted the hem of the skirt to her waist, revealing her most intimate zones. She was unshaven and her back area dimpled.
- No question she’s unowned! - commented the boy - Sir Heckert, she’s not seen some correction in a while. -
The woman sobbed silently.
- I’m not touching that without gloves, - said Heckert. - Give me the whip. -
The woman opened her mouth as to say something, but then she decided to close it with a gasp. I nervously toyed with my fingers. Joe and Tommy had joined us, as well as some bystanders, forming a circle around the scene. A man from the crowd shouted,
- Give her twenty! -
- Don’t let the box fall, you cunt! -
Heckert pushed his fat belly out, looking out at the crowd, as a consumed actor.
- I’ll say, you gentlemen, ten for the lesson, and we’ll double it if she lets the box fall! -
A mix of approving sounds and calls for harsher measures followed. Heckert let the long whip unfold, and a man stepped forward with another instrument in his hand.
- Leave that, sir, that’s for ponies. You can have my flogger. -
Heckert thanked and took the flogger in his hand, a dozen of strands dangling from the handle. They appeared to be thin and knotted. Without notice, he swinged the tails down on the naked right cheek, eliciting a yelp from the victim.
- One! - chanted together the crowd.
He grinned, and mustering all of his strength, he rained down hard blows on the woman’s ass and thighs, with loud smacking sounds.
- Two! Three! Four! Five! Six! Seven… -
The woman groaned and tried to shift the balance on her quivering legs. As she was adjusting posture, Heckert changed movement, bringing it upwards right in the middle of her reddening legs, with full force. The slave cried out in pain and surprise, and with the following blow stepped forward, starting to lose hold of the box. Heckert quickly profited of the opportunity and brought another blow on her most sensitive spot, pushing her definitively off balance. The smack was followed by the thump of the falling box, potatoes rolling out of it, her beaten body following suit to the ground.
The crowd roared and someone started clapping hands.
- Ten more!-
- You like to be beaten, you stupid bitch? -
The victim, as red on her ass as she was on her face, fumbled for the lost potatoes, her skirt still to her waist, a sorry heap on the gravel pavement. Mercilessly, the police officer grabbed her by the hair and forced her to stand up again.
My heart was broken by the inhumanity of this treatment, and I tried to turn around and walk away from this abuse, but the group of watchers had increased by dozens, forming a solid wall of men and slave women. I had no chance but to attend to the rest of the whipping.
It took only a minute for it to end, as Heckert took no compassion for the now sobbing woman, and rapidly flogged her ass for the remainder of the punishment, her skin starting to crack, her hair still caught in the policeman’s clasp which forced her upwards, her hands uncontrollably trying to pry her hair free. But it was hopeless.
- Twenty! - declared the crowd as it was finished. The officer let her go, and she collapsed to the floor in sobs and tears, adjusting her dress in a spark of dignity.
- You remember that, you cunt! - roared Phillip straight into her face. Heckert returned the flogger to its owner, and the crowd started to disperse. Tommy sprang forward, a wild look in his eyes, pushed Phillip away from the woman and tried to help her to her feet, holding her arm. Weakly, she stood up, and she immediately tried to scuttle away from her savior, pure terror in her eyes, only to have her arm firmly gripped by Tommy, chest out, as if he wanted to shield her.
Nobody dared to speak. A grave silence fell on the square. Phillip was petrified, staring at the snorting Tommy in his idiotic fighting stance. I felt a trickle of sweat coming down my brow and thought what the hell had my friend just done.
- This was a very, very… unproper thing to do. - blabbed Richard Heckert.
- You’re out of your fucking minds, I want to be out of this shit. Now! - was the yelled response.
The city guard started approaching Tommy. Three more appeared from the crowd, weapons readied.
- Heathens... - sighed Tills.
- Tommy, don’t lose your head. - I tried to sound as commanding as I could. - Let the woman go, NOW!-
- Do as Mr. Carson says- pleaded Heckert.
Heckert reached for the policeman’s steadied hand, lowering his gun away from Tommy, who in return let his hold of the woman in one resigned gesture.
- I will take care of that, Officer - quipped Heckert, immediately glancing in my direction as if asking for help.
Understanding fully well the gravity of the events, I forcefully took Tommy by the shoulder, and silently we all followed Heckert’s lead to his estate, a fancy two-story building a short walk away from Market Square.
Two armed men followed us all the way to the polished metal front door, where our host nervously gestured for time, slamming the door shut in front of them.
* * *
- Do you want me hanged ? -
It was the first time in my brief knowledge of Richard Heckert that I heard him yelling. His face was red hot from anger, the rolls of fat under his chin shining from sweat, a wheezing breath that made me wonder if he would collapse to the floor in front of us from a stroke.
To be honest, I could understand the chubby’s predicament. We were his guests, and his responsibility. There was no doubt that had Tommy reacted like that to some other citizen of New America, we would have probably been arrested. Thankfully, Heckert was more keen on his “diplomatic” success than on his pride.
- All of the city will be laughing after me now! ALL OF THEM! -
Tommy sat on a comfortable chair, enduring our scolding gazes, with a defiant expression on his face.
- Ain’t that a shame. - he quipped.
- A shame..? A shame? The shame is I can’t have you thrown in prison as the miserable son of a … - Heckert wheezed and heaved, urging himself to control his rage. Tommy grinned.
- Say it, “Sir” Heckert, tell me, son of a…?-
- Damn it! - was all that Heckert could say, falling heavily on his couch. The sitting room was a luxurious, large space, heavily decorated. Joe erupted in the meanwhile.
- You fucking moron, do you want to get us all killed? -
- Shut up, Joe, you’re thinking with your dick. -
- Enough, both of you! - I growled and turned to Heckert. - What now, Richard? -
- I’ve got to talk with the officers outside. I can settle this, but.. I think it would be best for… him - and he gestured at the still grinning Tommy - to not leave the house for a while. -
- For a while ? We’re not staying, anyway. Just get us to the meeting and we’re done. -
- The meeting is tomorrow, mr Carson. That’s all the time I ask. -
- Suits me fine. I’ve seen more than enough, anyway. - Tommy said.
Heckert sighed heavily, discontented. He clapped hands twice, and immediately a door opened to let a tall, curvaceous brunette into the room.
- Master. -
She was quite a sight. No more than twenty years old, her dark honey hair was collected in a long, perfectly woven braid cascading over her naked shoulders and collared neck. Her voluptuous forms covered by a snug, dark blue, corset, which cupped her perky breasts until just below the rosy nipples and tightly swathed her waistline to produce an enticing hourglass figure. Leather gloves in matching colour covered her until the elbows; knee-high leather boots with 5’’ heels completed the outfit.
Raptured by her sight, I was slightly surprised by seeing that she was wearing panties - and not a sexy thong, but high waist ones, reaching all the way to cover her corset, and a bit puffy, as if they were containing something.
In the very same moment that the girl had greeted Heckert, she gracefully fell to her knees, sitting on her heels, her head lowered in a humble position, only her eyes looking upward someway short of Heckert’s face.
- Rebecca, present, we have guests. -
She stood up and spread her legs at a wide angle, raised her arms and locked her crossed fingers behind her neck. The three of us - even Tommy - gazed at her in admiration of her tamed, luscious femininity; her breasts pressed in the cups of the corset, ready to bulge out, her nipples engorging as if the mere presence of men in the same room had filled the girl with lust.
- I will have to discuss with the city guard, and then I’m off for the governmental building, as I told you earlier. You’re free to eat, rest, shower. Do as you like. Rebecca will take care of all of your needs… Won’t she?-
- Yes, Master - she answered, immobile in her exposing position.
- All… all of our needs? - asked Joe, expectantly. Heckert, always the volubile man, giggled, as if he had already forgotten the recent events.
- Pardon me, I was about to forget something - he laughed, and then, with an unconvincing commanding voice - Rebecca, present the belt. -
She stood up, and pinching the two sides of her panty with her gloved fingers, in one fluid movement brought the garment down to her ankles and stood out of it, immediately resuming her spread-legged, hands behind her neck position.
- What is that? - I asked. Her corset ended with a padlocked, tight leather belt encircling her waist, holding still a leather and metal band that departed from the small of her back, pressed tightly between her ass cheeks and rejoined itself with the leather belt down of her belly button.
- That is Rebecca’s chastity belt. - Heckert explained with gusto - It’s a nifty device designed for denying a slave any kind of sexual satisfaction, both from herself or from others… Kept secure with a high quality steel lock. You’d need a heavy-duty blow torch to cut that metal. It always reminds the slave that her sex is under full control of her master. It’s a very popular thing to wear for personal slaves like her.-
- But… she wore it for all the duration of your trip? -
Rebecca winced slightly at the question, but remained silent.
- Yes, obviously. She’s my personal slave, so without my consent nobody can touch her pussy. Or her anus. Well, I gave her the liberty to urinate, at least. I’m a progressive kind of man, you know. There’s an airtight, small rubber opening placed exactly on top of her peehole. This chastity belt was crafted on Rebecca’s exact measurements. And, yes, it is retractable. So it can be kept close if you don’t trust your slave to keep her pee. But Rebecca’s beyond that stage. -
He moved towards her, keys jingling in his hand. He slapped her inner thighs, and she forced herself to spread her legs further. With his chubby, fat index finger he traced the plate pressing against her vulva, indulging on her parted pussy lips.
- That’s so finely crafted, look, it fits perfectly between her labia. - he commented with pride, and proceeded to unlock both the front and back locks holding the metal band in place. I expected the chastity belt, now free, to fall to the floor with a bang, but to my surprise it stayed still in place.
- Take it off! - he told the girl, then looking back at us, - It can get a little bit messy, after three days, you know. Anyway, Rebecca was trained to… evacuate with enemas, to keep her rectum clean. The collateral effect is that she has lost her ability to… defecate on her own. -
- She can’t take a shit on her own? - Joe simplified things his way.
Richard shaked his head and retracted. Rebecca proceeded to pull the device away from her crotch, with greater care and effort than I would expect for someone that was finally freed from such a torture. The explanation for this was soon clear.
Two considerably large, hard rubber dildos dislodged, slowly, from her vagina and anus. The first one maybe 6 inches long and two inches thick; the second one first emerged with a slender shaft, then with a pop the head of the dildo, three inches thick, emerged with a whine of discomfort from the poor girl’s ass.
- Present your ass - commanded Heckert.
Rebecca hastily turned around, giving us her back, and bent forward, parading her now exposed nether regions to us, three strangers, without questioning. Her pussy, a bit swollen from the relentless pressure of the belt, was completely hairless; both of her holes, having been stretched wide open for all that time by the rubber intruders, were gaping wide open. I realized I could have fit my finger inside her without even touching the walls of her vagina.
- Now, this is what I call a decent welcome home, Rebecca - said Heckert, a bulge in his trousers pointing to her slave’s goods - But my duties are not over yet, and time is short. Service my guests, Sir Carson first, - he grasped her braid to turn her head forcefully in my direction - I will know if they are not satisfied. When you’re done, serve them lunch and show them to their accommodations. -
- Yes Master, this slave… -
I tried to express my refusal, Tommy’s eyes anxiously fixed on me, but Heckert, like a consumed actor, whirled to the door bellowing his good-byes. Rebecca pleaded with her eyes the leaving man, her sentence left in the middle. She looked at us like a deer caught in the flashlights, her bare ass still up in the sky for all the world to see, Joe springing to his feet and rubbing his hands, his wild excitement barely contained by the fabric of his pants.
- Stan, let’s get going - he pressed on. I held my hand up. I could feel my own arousal, but was starting to be really worried about Tommy. I glanced out of the window to the street, capturing the image of Heckert discussing hotly with the guards. As if sensing my thoughts, Tommy snorted.
- Do what you want, Stan. The fuck I care. I told you back in the warehouse, I’m gonna stand by your side anyway. Just don’t ask me to do shit. -
- Leave him brood, fuck, Stan, this is gold. - Joe closed in to the slave girl, one hand straight on her pussy, the other cupping her chin, lifting her face to get eye contact. He looked like he was born in New America. A fast learner, I guess.
- So what is it that you do, doll. You like cumming, uh? -
- This slave likes coming, Sir, if her Master allows her… -
Joe erupted in laughter and started rubbing her vulva.
- Stan, can you believe this shit! So you’d have me believe, sweetheart, that you’d not come if you are not given permission? -
- This slave will hold her orgasm until her Master tells her to release, Sir… -
- But your Master is not here, what about that? -
She looked at him with a spark of defiance.
- This slave cannot come then. -
More laughter followed.
- We will see about that - and he slid, carelessly, two fingers inside her gaping vagina, unlubricated, and moving to her front, he started rubbing his crotch on her helpless, young face, holding her by her braid. She didn’t retract, but started pleading.
- Sir, please, Sir… -
- You want me to fuck you, you cunt? -
- Sir, please… -
- You want to suck my cock? -
- Sir, please…-
- What? - he bursted with an annoyed tone, stopping his rubbing.
- Master… Master told this slave to please Sir Carson first . -
I sprang to life to hear my name, my attention divided by the sexy young girl debasing herself in front of me and the memory of the beating that I just witnessed in the square.
- Well! - Joe let go of her braid and slid his fingers out of her pussy, smacking forcefully her ass with the same hand. Even though her flesh vibrated by the slap, turning to a rosy red, she didn’t flinch. - Get busy, then, Rebecca! I’m waiting for my turn! -
She came to kneel in front of me, hands offering her cupped, semi-bare breasts, her wide doe eyes looking straight at me.
- Sir, how can I please you ? -
- Uhm… I don’t know... - I mumbled, taken aback. She dolefully pouted.
- Maybe this slave is not attracting enough for you, Sir..? -
- I didn’t mean that, you’re very, very attractive, I just… -
- Stan, wake up, damn! - Joe nervously said - She wants to fuck you, I swear, I’ll tear that ass apart if you don’t… -
Rebecca needed no further cue to take initiative. She climbed on my lap, straddling me, and started to wiggle her hips while sitting on my crotch, moaning, touching my chest with her gloved hands, eyes begging to be used, to be abused.
My penis responded to Rebecca’s expert work. She slid back to her knees, quickly unbuckling my pants and bringing them down to my ankles. She flicked her tongue around the head of my cock, then climbed back on my lap, filling her pussy with my erection, bouncing on it passionately.
Her nipples some inches away from my face, I could not resist nature’s call, and I laid my hands over her breasts, fondling her, twirling her buds, eliciting her moans of arousal.
I must say, Lucy always admitted I was well endowed by nature. My penis was thick and slightly curved upwards, something that apparently made women go crazy. My endurance was also considerable, allowing my partner to satisfy herself completely before I needed the urge to come; more so in penetration than in fellatio.
Rebecca eventually understood that what had started as a routine service, was turning into a long, mind-blowing fuck. As I started helping her hips by thrusting rhythmically back my dick into her, I started circling her asshole with the points of my fingers, delicately biting her nipples with my teeth. She started panting louder, moaning in a growing ecstasy. I had one, then two, fingers into her ass, filling her completely, to which she started twitching and shaking, humping me with a wild, quick motion, bringing her legs up on the arms of the couch to assume a squatting position.
I had never fucked like that, and I was blown away.
Minutes turned to seconds, the strain on her face more and more evident, both by the setting physical exhaustion of balancing on the high heels while propelling herself up and down my shaft, both by what I assumed was her herculean effort to hold her orgasm.
- You can come, if you want - I whispered in her ears.
- Sir, ah… Sir, this slave is… sorry… - she managed to say.
- I’m not gonna tell Richard. You can come. - I insisted, reassuringly.
I doubled my efforts to repay her for her performance, fucking deep, fondling her breasts ever harder, tickling her ear with my tongue, until she couldn’t resist anymore: she howled like a wounded animal, closed her eyes and catched her breath, and shaking wildly, she squirted all over my pants and the couch.
I held her between my arms, rocking her, a big, stupid smile on my lips - I’ve always taken great pride in satisfying my women - with my dick still deeply buried inside of her.
Joe started clapping, a mix of annoyment and excitement on his face.
- You’ve lost the bet already, slut. -
I clenched my jaw to hear my companion’s remarks, as if he had just disrespected my girl. I shook my head lightly, keeping my words to myself. Rebecca reopened her eyes, a bit frightened, and started rocking her hips around my dick, a guilty look in her eyes, moaning in pain.
- What is that?-
- Sir, this slave is… -
- Tell me, don’t be afraid. -
She looked terribly confused by my behavior, as if this kind of sympathy, from a man, was something she had never experienced in her whole life.
- This slave is sore and… She needs a toilet so bad. -
I felt a wave of guilt running over me. She had been locked in that devilish chastity belt for three, maybe four days, filled to the brim with dildos, day and night, unable to take a shit, and I unceremoniously had her fuck me, oblivious to her pressing needs. Taking advantage of the situation.
- I understand, Rebecca, that is… Obviously, there, - I said as I gently pulled her off me - I’m ok like this. Go do whatever you need. -
She smiled, hesitantly, with mixed emotions. That was the first time in two days I had seen a girl smile, and it hit me like a truck. Nothing can repay that, I thought. But Joe had a different feeling about it.
- Stan, what the fuck you’re talking about! I don’t care if your dick got soft, I had blue balls already before watching this slut get her way on you! -
I got to my feet, menacingly. Tom Pellit also stood up, his towering mass of muscles shadowing the light coming from the window.
- The girl is done for now. You can have plenty of pussy, later. I don’t care if you understand that, but you do as I say. -
Joe snorted, evaluating his minority position, and waved a finger angrily at Rebecca, who tried to shy away.
- You got lucky… for now. -
- Go! - intervened Tom, waving at Rebecca. She disappeared without making a sound from the door that had let her in the room in the first place, leaving us, like three cowboys, facing each other in the now silent sitting room. I could still make out Heckert’s voice discussing on the street.
- Let’s clear some things up, gentlemen, - I opened rounds - I’m not gonna tolerate this kind of behaviour for long. From both of you! -
- What the fuck you’re talking about, Stan - complained Joe.
- You’re losing it, Joe, and you know it. Take a hold of your dick, I mean, I’m not going to stop you from having a little bit of fun, but that’s not the reason of our trip… And, to be honest, I’m worried that this is exactly what that snake Richard expects us to do. -
- I don’t follow. -
- They want to turn us into them. They want us to embrace their “civilization”. I don’t care if that fucked-up Order shit works for them, I’m not buying this. -
Joe shrugged, unabated.
- You’re missing a point, here, Stan. This girl here, the ponygirl back at the warehouse yesterday night, they literally JUMPED on your dick. Hell, did you want them to sign off a waiver before touching you? They like fucking, they crave it, this is how the world should be. -
- They must be keeping’em drugged, there’s no chance in a million they’re consenting to this shit. - wondered Tommy.
- I’ll tell you what I think, man, I think these guys have hit the fucking gold here. Look around you, for fuck’s sake! - Joe gestured to the spot clean, fancy living room - They live like KINGS! These girls have it so much better than my sorry ass or your sorry ass out there. -
- Well, if I only imagine them again in Rashbelt, especially that prick Tills, I’m gonna unload my carbine straight in their dick. Then we see who’s a sorry ass. - declared Joe.
- I think we need to make a plan. For our stay. - I tried to muster my rational self - And Joe, judging from your lack of control, it’s best if you comply with what Heckert suggested. I don’t have any idea for the kind of shit that we might see out there. And… I think you should stay as well, Joe. -
- To hell I am! - shouted in disbelief my young compatriot.
- I made my mind. I can’t trust your head keeping your dick under control. Make the most of your time with Rebecca. - I thought about how Herman would have behaved differently. Damn Curse. Joe and Tom were oversized boys, they didn’t have the temper to navigate this strange world. Hell, I was unsure about me as well.
The following half an hour I managed to convince Joe to limit his ventures out of Heckert’s mansion to a minimum. Tom Pellit sat silently throughout, a sullen look on his face, nervous to the thought that he would share space with his friend and the poor Rebecca, probably imagining the lewd noises he’d have to endure. But I was convinced that, at least, they might keep each other in check. I decided I needed to find out more about that Balm I had seen in the warehouse; I didn’t give many chances to a deal with New America to get a supply to Rashbelt, since we didn’t have much to exchange, except…
Except our women.
No way. I grinned, silently, congratulating myself for seeing through their plan. Not that it was that hard to decipher, anyway. I remembered Heckert’s odd questions about the number of people in Rashbelt, and how many men, and how many women… Bastards.
A radiant Rebecca returned to our room, a vague smile reforming on her lips as she met my gaze.
- This slave has prepared lunch, Sir. -
- Thank you - I politely said, again leaving her confounded. Joe promptly brought her back to her status.
- That was about time, I’m starving. And my cock is starving too. Remember? -
- Yes, Sir - was the concise answer.
- Duty before pleasure, darling - pressed on Joe, licking his lips and gesturing Rebecca to get close to him. Tom and I left them alone and moved to the adjacent dining room, where the sweet smell of plentiful cooked food invested us. I had never seen such a diversity and wealth of food gathered together, my stomach angrily rumbling.
It appears Rebecca was quite the cook, as it was absolutely the most delicious meal of my life. Even Tom managed to relax, visibly enjoying the experience, chewing enthusiastically, only the odd moan coming from the sitting room pulling a fleeting frown on his face.
By the time Joe was finished ravaging Heckert’s personal slave, we were stuffed. He opened the door with a bang and peeked in with a devilish smile.
- All this exercise sure made me hungry! -
He dived on the food like a wild animal, feasting on the banquet. Rebecca remained on the doorstep, hands behind the small of her back, her thighs covered in juices oozing from her pussy, who had turned purple by the double fucking she had received.
- Rebecca? - I asked.
- Yes, Sir. -
- I’d like to meet with Joseph Tills. Can you take me to him? -
- This slave is sorry, Sir, but she can’t leave the house without her Master’s consent… -
- You said it for the coming part already - taunted Joe.
- It’s ok, Rebecca. Could you tell me how to find him? I’ll go on my own. -
* * *
As soon as I stepped out of the house gate, the two police officers I had seen discussing with Heckert earlier stopped me brusquely.
- Identification, stranger. -
I offered the yellow bracelet for their inspection, which they snobbishly examined.
- You’re clear, Stan Carson. -
They waved for me to go, but I decided to check with them Tommy’s situation.
- I’m sorry, officers, what about my companion… Tom Pellit? Is he going to...-
The older of the two guards gave me a long, unsympathetic look.
- He’s not authorized to leave Sir Heckert’s mansion. -
- Thank you, Officer - I drily answered, and tried to figure my way to Tills, as I followed Rebecca’s instructions.
Even though it was noon by now, as long as I walked in the shadows projected by the buildings, the air was considerably cooler with respect to Rashbelt. It was actually a pleasant stroll, and I took advantage of it to study the surroundings.
All the streets were covered in gravel, which gave a nice sense of tidiness to the town, as well as being probably discomforting for the number of female slaves trotting silently barefoot. Compared to Market Square, or to our pony girls, I didn’t see as many kinky outfits as I had come to expect from Mia, Rebecca or the pony girls; but I reasoned that the slaves on the street had more in common the laborers I had seen in the fields.
Truth to be said, no woman looked old, the average apparent age sitting someway around thirty years old; the younger ones wearing no clothes at all, sometimes a collar or manacles; the older ones loosely wrapped with a cheap tunic, much like that market porter that Heckert had flogged.
Whereas women kept their eyes to the ground and avoided my path, men looked at me curiously, evaluating me. I gave no importance to this, as I knew well I was the stranger in a foreign land.
I finally arrived to a concrete building that I identified might fit with Rebecca’s description of Tills’s study. I knocked the door and waited.
A short, piggy-nosed woman in her late thirties, sporting a plain white dress that covered her until the ankles opened.
- Sir. -
- I’m looking for Joseph Tills. I’m Stan Carson. -
She nodded, and disappeared inside. She behaved quite differently from the other women I had seen so far, more confident, more… familiar.
- Master Tills will receive you, Sir Carson. -
She made way through a gray, undecorated hallway - quite a different environment from Heckert’s house - spaced with anonymous, black plastic doors, all shut closed. We passed a dozen before stopping. She knocked and, with a rapid bow, announced me.
- Carson. - Tills raised his head from some papers he had spread on a wooden desk, the only piece of furniture, except for gray metal archives occupying two of the walls. - You’re starting to make rounds in our town. -
- I am. Can I..? -
- Sure, come in. Close the door! - he commanded to the woman, who bowed again and disappeared. - And where are your companions? -
- I left them at Richard’s. -
- That was a sensible choice, - he agreed with a sly smile. - Your partners are very young, and youngsters tend to leave their emotions have the best of them. -
- I’m sorry for what happened at the market, but Tommy is a good-hearted guy. He didn’t want to disrespect Richard, or anybody, he acted out of instinct. -
- Well, what he did was a grave act, a grave violation of the Order - considered Tills, icily, - but keeping in mind that you are foreigners and nobody got hurt, I’m sure Heckert will iron everything out. But let’s forget that, now. It isn’t my business, anyway. Why did you seek me? -
I cleared my throat and looked at the papers spread on his desk. They were densely written, manuscripts of some kind. Even if I had to discard the chance that they had anything to do with the Balm, I hoped he would comment on his work. Instead, he just kept staring at me, patiently.
- I’m… Well, I’d have liked the opportunity to get to know New America better. Heckert is busy, now, and I wondered if it would bother you that much to show me around. -
- I see. You’re looking for entertainment. Didn’t Heckert’s slave take care of that? -
I shaked head, taken aback. These people were fixated on sex, damn it.
- Yes, I… Yes, she did. But I didn’t mean that, obviously. I meant that I was interested to get to know the town better. How it works, and so on. -
- That’s curious, - commented Heckert, dropping his pen on the desk. - You’re a particular man, Carson. Well, you’re also a lucky man. I have just the right news for you. Do you remember the screening I talked to you about yesterday? -
I remembered he had told us about a kind of evaluation that was carried on slaves at the end of rehabilitation training.
- Yes, for the reeducated slaves. -
- Quite so. Screenings are held for newly educated slaves as well. - he collected his papers with his hand. - I am a rotating member of the screening committee. And we have to evaluate some slaves in one hour’s time. Would that be the kind of entertainment you’re looking for? -
That was more than I asked, actually. I was unsure I had the stomach to witness more humiliation and abuse. But I was in the game now, and I had to play.
- It would be mostly interesting to witness that, Mister Tills. -
- So be it. -
* * *
As we walked to another compound, Tills instructed me concisely on the behaviour I should keep.
- Don’t talk, don’t make noise, don’t distract the committee or the candidates. -
- Will I be the only silent witness? -
- I don’t think so. As long as one doesn’t interfere with the proceedings of the committee, every man can attend. -
We walked for half a mile or so, passing by craftsmen’s shops as well as a deserted cafe.
A towering structure, menacing, appeared from the last corner. All around the building, a barbwire fence gave it a military look. Its gate was guarded by two armed policemen in black uniforms, who respectfully greeted Tills and checked my bracelet.
Once in, I followed Tills to join a small group of men waiting outside of the door.
- Good day, Joseph - greeted a lean man with a beakish nose.
- Good day to you, James. Mister Carson, an outsider, will attend as a silent witness. -
I introduced myself to the five men. Tills warmed up, probably enjoying the company, and explained me that James Rudolf was a councilor such as the Markovic guy I had met in Market Square that morning. Following suit, I shook hands with a certain Warren Boussard, an old, absent-minded preacher, and with a Dimitri Orlov, an aging, burly man that had trained, in Tills’s words, more than a thousand slaves. The other two ended up being witnesses as me.
- There, Conrad - said the councilor, looking at a small, thick man arriving from the gate. - Finally we are ready. -
- Good day, gentlemen - said the last arrived, - You’re all here, wonderful. Shall we begin? -
- May God bring us good candidates today - said Boussard.
We all moved inside, to a large room with a high podium in the middle that hosted a long desk and five chairs in the middle. Some more chairs were at the near end and on the sides of the podium..
I looked to the other two witnesses to take cues, and stood, waiting, until all of the five members of the committee were sitting at their places on the podium. We took places just behind them.
- Bring the first candidate ! - called out, loudly and firmly, councilor Rudolf.
A door on the far end sprang open, and in came a very young, petite girl, her dark blonde hair freely flowing to the middle of her back. She was completely naked, except for leather manacles circling her wrists and ankles. She was escorted by two muscular, tall men that led her by her armpits to the front of the podium, and stepped back.
She stood there, trembling, her gray eyes looking at the men looking down on her, arms on her sides. The committee mumbled in disapproval. Orlov icily rebuked,
- Is that how you present yourself to the Committee, slave? -
Her face turned red, and she hastily brought her hands behind her nape, slightly spreading her legs. Judging from Rebecca, this poor girl was doing a poor job about it.
- Read the file! - ordered the councilor with an irritated tone.
- Number 72016, age eighteen, - Conrad started reading, emotionlessly - Measurements as of this morning: height 5 feet 2 inches, weight 118 pounds, breast size B, under bust 30 inches, waist 27 inches, hips 37 inches. -
He smacked his lips disappointedly, and went on.
- My esteemed panel, we’re looking at a substandard specimen, I’m afraid. -
The blonde sank in her shoulders, face still flaring up.
- Tell us about her training review - asked the councilor.
- Her trainers have expressed concern for her lack of progress in posture, oral skills, and orgasm control. They consider the candidate not suited for advanced training and suggest employment in labor or cow service. -
“Cow service?” I wondered silently.
- I want to see her endurance, - said Orlov - first the buckets. -
One of the two guards went back into the door, bringing back a long wooden pole which had tin buckets attached at both ends. With the help of the other guard, they lifted the pole, resting its central part on her shoulders, and brought her hands to grasp the buckets by the attachments.
- Number 72016! - bellowed Orlov - Start doing squats. -
The girl promptly complied, pumping up and down with her legs. She took a confident look, probably she felt this was not that hard, after all.
- Guard, add a stone at every squat. -
From a heap that I hadn’t noticed earlier, the guard started pulling pieces of rock as big as apples, throwing them in the buckets, one squat to the right, the other to the left.
The girl frowned and tensed, keeping her rhythm but struggling to keep her balance with the ever shifting distribution of the weights on her arms. After fifteen squats, she started slowing down.
- Keep your speed, slave, it’s early yet! -
She panted and doubled her efforts, but her petite build was not helping her with the task demanded of her. She managed to perform four more squats, then, as the guard mercilessly threw another rock on her left bucket, her weak hand ceded under the weight and the pole fell to the floor.
- Now, that is very, very bad. Are you not ashamed with yourself? - asked Orlov. The girl stared back, fish-eyed.
- Sir Orlov asked you a question, you lazy cunt! - erupted councilor Rudolf.
Tears welled up in the eyes of the haunted girl, who resumed the attention position and stuttered,
- Yes, this slave is ashamed of herself… -
A moment of silence ensued. Then Tills sprang to his feet, finger pointed to the podium.
- Are you finished? -
I could tell the girl was so frightened, she didn’t have a clue about the reason that had upset the preacher so much.
- You don’t know you have to address all men as Sir or Master? -
A tear rolled out of her wet eyes, and she frantically nodded,
- Yes, Sir, this slave knows, Sir, please forgive her, she is so nervous that -
- Enough! - Tills interrupted her brusquely and sat down. Carson cleared his throat and, looking at his colleagues, started speaking.
- It’s obvious that the evaluation conducted by the trainers was only partially correct. Her lack of self control is… disturbing. She’s also unfit for labor, probably. I mean, I could give her a chance, but considering that she’d still be needing to interact with the head slave and with her master, I’d rather not give her one. My opinion is that cow service is the only option. -
- Agreed. -
- You’re right - echoed back the other members.
The girl erupted in full tears, falling to her knees, head on the ground, begging,
- Please, not the milking, please Sir, this slave can do better, Sir… -
- And she’s a talkative one, too! - Rudolf said with an entertained tone, - That ought to be dealt with. Orlov, what do you suggest? -
- I’d advice full restraints for a week, then review according to her behaviour. -
The appalled girl begged in vain.
- My medical opinion is, I think her behaviour must be corrected more drastically - considered Conrad, - she should be also kept in sensory deprivation for three days and subject to electrical therapy sessions for a month. -
- Isn’t that a waste? I can’t see this slave ever progressing out of the dairy. - pondered the councilor.
- We have a duty with God to educate each and every slave to the best of her potential, - sentenced Tills with his priestly lingo, - As the Proverbs say, he who withholds his rod hates his son, but he who loves him disciplines him diligently. -
- Praise the Lord, - echoed Boussard. The councilor tapped his fingers on the desk, and after a brief meditation, sentenced:
- That is decided, then. Number 72016, you’re destined to cow service, assigned to head slave Joanna. Your Master shall be Sir Rosenthal, to whom you shall be property. In consideration of your unsatisfactory training and behaviour held in front of this committee, you shall be confined in your pen for three days, where you shall continuously wear the discipline hood with gag, earplugs and blind-pad. You shall be kept fully restricted as your head slave sees fit and subject to three session a day of full electrical therapy up to a month. You shall use this occasion to reflect on the importance of complying with the provisions of the Order. Your head slave shall begin administering your hormone therapy immediately. Guards, you can deliver her to the preparation room. We will inspect all candidates at the end of the screening. -
The girl, now kept standing by the grasp of the two guards, turned white and blue as the sentence was carried. Her knees started to shake and, by the time that Rudolf was over, flailed hopelessly between the arms of her wards.
I reflected on the strange terms that had been used, trying to figure out what the hell they were talking about. Even though Tills was not likely to give me any kind of explanation, except for those Bible quotes he was so fond of, Heckert would have probably been enthusiastic to tell me all about that “cow service” they discussed about.
- That was quick - considered Boussard, stretching on his chair as the guards collected the sobbing and wailing girl, pulling her from her armpits out of the room, her doleful begging rapidly fading away.
Some minutes later, the same guards reappeared, this time escorting a naked, hooded woman. She was much taller and fitter than the girl that we had seen just before; her head was snugly covered by a tight, textureless latex hood whose only openings were two small holes corresponding to her nostrils. Her limbs were tightly shackled together by a heavy metallic device that forced her hands down by means of a short link of chain connecting them to an even shorter hobble chain between her ankles.
Her bare skin was crisscrossed in marks, some of them angry red, as if they were recent welts, others darker. Her ample breasts were outlined by stripes, as well as her knees and neck.
Following their habitual procedure, the guards led them in front of the Committee.
- Number 67590, named Anna - read Conrad, - sentenced to a month of discipline, to be screened for admittance into rehabilitation training. Her last occupation before discipline, head slave in the corn fields. - he lifted his eyes from the papers - I think all the esteemed members of the committee remember fully well the grave faults of this slave...-
I understood that this woman was the one I had heard about in the carriage, on our first day of travel to New America.
- Actually, I was not present at the sentence - observed Boussard. - Could you shortly recount what happened? I heard some stories, but… -
- Obviously. Well, three months ago, number 67590 was elevated to the rank of head slave in the corn fields by her master, Wang. This slave abused her power to conduct lewd acts against nature with her subjects, involving many lesbian sex practices. As it has been conjectured, but not proved, this was all conducted without the consent of the slaves under her responsibility. This committee sentenced her guilty of crimes against property, against the Order, insubordination and sedition. -
- I see. What an unbelievable lack of judgment from her master, - noted Boussard. His colleagues agreed. - And what punishments has she been subjected to? -
- I will read from the ward’s report. Ah, I almost forgot, I must inform you that the slave is wearing a sensory deprivation hood, so she’s unable to hear and see at the moment. Maybe she didn’t even understand where she is now. Shall we keep her like that, Councilor? -
- For the time being, yes. Let’s hear the report first. -
- Very well. - he cleared his throat, and changed his tone.
- Thomas Nolan, ward of the discipline and correction department of New America, writes this report on day 30 of the custody of slave number 67590. The subject arrived in my custody with an extremely rebellious attitude, a foul mouth, and anger at any form of male authority exerted on her body and mind. Given that this honoured committee reported lesbian and dominating tendencies, I decided to mix traditional methods of discipline with long sessions of intercourse with the wards of the department to reacquaintance the subject with the orthodox sexuality she had strayed from.
I set three goals to the discipline regime: pain as a punishment for her sins; humiliation in order to obliterate the subject’s dominant fantasies; orgasm denial during exposure to manhandling and intercourse to sanitize her lesbian deviations.
Pain was inflicted with a wide array of methods. During the first three days, an evaluation of the subject’s weaknesses was conducted, on which topic I found out the subject has particularly sensitive nipples and responds very well to pain applied to this area. It was ensured that the subject spent considerable time every day with tight restraint on her breasts, amplifying the sensitiveness of her nipples, particularly during caning sessions.
Nipple clamps of different types were applied daily, before and after the breast caning sessions, managing to obtain a higher degree of docility from the subject especially with the combination of triple alligator clamps on her nipples and clitoris tied to her fingers. This predicament has been used for the latest three weeks at all times the subject was not securely restrained, for example during transportation from her cell to the treatment room.
It is a sad duty to report to this honoured committee that the penetration regime has been widely unsuccessful. In her first days, the subject reacted violently to having her vagina or her anus penetrated by the wards, and in order to ensure the safety of the staff, fellatio was tried only with a ring gag applied. Even if the violent behaviour subsided after the first week, the subject failed to manifest desire for the male sex. In order to evaluate how rooted her refusal is, three sessions of orgasm denial have been carried out over the last week of custody. All of the three consisted of prolonged mechanical stimulation of the subject’s erogenous zones, followed by exposure to male members. The last one had the subject secured to a sybian vibrator for two hours, set to increasing speeds and turned off before the subject could reach climax; afterwards, the subject was penetrated in all of her orifices by the wards, but the behaviour was still passive and uncollaborative.
The subject still refuses to address men correctly and, if disciplined in ways that she endures better, such as whipping or suspension, is likely to speak when unaddressed and to show disrespect by actions or words.
Taking into consideration that the subject has been in discipline for thirty days, it is fair to assess that the chances of a progress in the subject’s behaviour by means of applying further traditional correction are very low.
The final judgement of the correction department is that number 67590 is still dangerous to society and not ready for rehabilitation training. The correction department proposes to this honoured committee to consider one or more of the following sentences: encasement in a solitary confinement sarcophagus for two weeks; medical conditioning; expulsion from the community. -
I held my jaw wide in disbelief at the brutality depicted in the report. The other men in the room looked surprised as well, but probably for different reasons from mine.
- A very bleak report, - commented Rudolf. - Orlov, what do you think about the measures proposed by the correction department? -
- They have all pros and cons. The sarcophagus is an incredibly potent experience, if you think that the slave is effectively shut out of any kind of human contact while experiencing torturous pain, it can drive a female mad. That is a kind of lottery ticket: we could permanently subdue her aggressive behaviour, or we could definitively tip her off balance. I’d advise having her listen to recordings of the Father’s speeches while inside, both to avoid severe mental damage and as a chance at educating her. -
- A wise observation, even if he who turns his ear from the law, even his prayers are abominations, - noted Tills, with an unconvinced expression on his face.
- I’m sorry if I ask, but two weeks in the sarcophagus… wouldn’t it pose danger to the bodily functions of the slave? - asked Boussard. Both Orlov and Conrad smirked, and the latter answered,
- There is a medical preparation of the subject that takes care of that. It involves rectal and urethral catheters, feeding and breathing tubes, are you sure you want me to describe that? -
- I’d rather not, actually. This is taking a long time indeed! - laughed the old preacher, with a hare-brained smile.
- The sarcophagus is an extremely draining experience, though, - considered Conrad, who I started identifying as a doctor, or at least someone who brought some kind of medical expertise to the committee - and even with administration of the Balm, the subject will have to be physically rehabilitated in her movement and nervous capabilities. The medical conditioning, on the other side, is more apt at tackling the issue with this slave’s sexuality as well as having milder physical consequences. We could administer hormone therapy, or surgically removing … -
- Defiling her body does not serve any purpose! - Tills interrupted him brusquely, - And it was never proven to be effective. The woman must be subject to the sarcophagus, then expelled! And let God decide her fate. The failure of this slave, of her master, weighs on all of our shoulders. And this sin must be cleansed! -
- She won’t survive a day, alone, after the sarcophagus treatment, without rehabilitation - retorted the doctor, bitterly, - You’re basically sentencing a slave to death, which, as you know, is against the Order and the will of the Father! -
I raised my eyebrows. So these people had some taboos in the end. But didn’t the gate officer mention death penalty earlier? Was he referring that only men could be subject to it?
- Mind your words, Conrad! I know fully well the tenets of the Order, as well as I know that no slave shall be killed by the hand of a man. What happens in the wasteland, cannot be ascribed to this committee. -
Councilor Rudolf raised his hands, suppressing the altercation.
- My esteemed colleagues, please do not argue pointlessly. I think that all of you have the Order and the best interest of our community at heart. I came to my decision. Guards, remove the hood from the slave. -
A rich, pitch-black mane of wavy hair rolled out. The face was cruelly contained by leather straps running around Anna’s skull, which appeared to serve the purpose of locking in place two plates over her eye sockets as well as a plastic device between her lips.
- Remove the whole muzzle. -
They unbuckled the leather contraption from the back of her skull and pulled it off. Her sunken eyes appeared, circled in black, exhausted yet piercing as ice knives. The wards extracted two plastic plugs from her ears, to which she shook her head in evident relief. Pointing to the gag still fit in her mouth, the oldest guard asked,
- Sir Councilor, the gag as well? -
- Yes, ward. -
The guard shook his shoulders and opened a tiny valve on the front of the plastic object stuck in the mouth of the woman. Air flowed out with a high-pitched sound and her cheeks reduced her swelling, until the ward was able to remove the gag. The woman drew a long breath and stretched her jaw, eyes wet from pain; she then clenched her mouth shut with a defiant attitude.
- Number 67590! - called out councilor Rudolf, - This committee has examined your report and found it reiterate evidence of your insubordination. Your failure to respect the tenets of the Order is unprecedented in scope and gravity.-
She stood motionless, eyes transfixing the man about to declare her future.
- You are sentenced to two weeks in the sarcophagus. After this punishment, you shall be unowned by the community and sold at the market to whoever stranger bids the most for your property. -
She winced at hearing the word sarcophagus, and lowered her head. Then she raised it up, her black eyes mad with anger, and shrieked with the fury of an eagle:
- You shall be damned, I… -
My blood froze. A guard landed a hard back-handed slap on her face, toppling her to the floor. The Committee watched, silently. Anna took her breath, dizzy from the hit, but started shouting again, defiantly:
- You will pay for your sins! You will rot in hell, you will rot with the Curse! -
- Shut up, bitch! - yelled the guard in her face, pointlessly, hitting her again; she was out of her mind, mad at her tyrants, like someone that had lost everything and didn’t care anymore what tortures or punishments her body would be subjected to. My heart filled with pain and sympathy, and I had to control myself to stay seated, expressionless, instead of running to her rescue. - Councilor, shall I gag her again? -
Rudolf lifted a hand, gesturing the ward to wait. Anna rambled on for half a minute, before tears started streaking on her face. As her outburst passed, Rudolf spoke.
- Anna, - and it felt so strange that he called her by name, a human name - You’ve fallen so low. You have disgraced yourself, and there is no turning back. Bear in mind that you called this fate on yourself, not with your mistakes, but with your inability to understand your wrongs. -
Anna was crying miserably by now. It all looked completely crazy to me, where did this come from? The councilor was talking to her… gently, as if recognizing her humanity, patiently trying to explain her, like a father to a child.
Between her sobs, she tried to say.
- This slave… this slave is… -
Rudolf, again, lifted his hand and hushed her.
- Don’t do the slave talk. We disown you. You’re not a slave to us, anymore. Say, “I am”...-
Anna wailed as if she had been shot. She opened her mouth, but no words came out, heaped on the floor in a semi-fetal position forced by her hobble.
- Say it, Anna. Say “I am”...-
The woman formed the words with her lips, without sound, her desperation higher and higher, as if Rudolf was extracting her heart from her chest with this banal, simple request.
- Say it! - commanded the Councilor.
- I am… sorry… - stuttered the haunted woman, and then louder - I am sorry, I AM SORRY! -
A grave silence followed. The wards lifted her from the floor, standing up again, waiting for orders.
- What a shame, - quipped Orlov.
- It always is, when our flock loses a sheep - agreed Tills.
- It is time to go, Anna. As a sign of benevolence, you will be able to listen to the Father’s speeches while in the sarcophagus. May God have mercy of your soul. -
- Praise the Lord, - echoed Boussard.
Anna tried to compose herself, her face a mess from the desperate cry. She looked at Rudolf, and whispered.
- Thank you, Sir. -
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