Chapter 3
Richard woke suddenly, jerked out of his fitful sleep by the harsh blaring of
some sort of electric alarm. Brief confusion followed as his mind registered the
thinness of the mattress, the lack of a pillow, the white canvas of a tent roof
overhead rather than the familiar plaster of his bedroom. But then it all came
crashing back in a flood of sudden recollection, and Richard knew a moment of
pure despair. Of course he was sleeping in an uncomfortable cot in a crowded
dormitory tent - he was a slave.
But there was no time for self-pity. He heard the tramp of booted feet and the
shouts of the dormitory officers even as the alarm faded into silence. "Get up,
you lazy sods! Out of bed, make up your cot neatly and stand at attention. Up, I
said!"
"What time is it, ma'am?" someone groaned a few cots down.
"Time to get up, you little bastard." One of the younger officers paused by the
man's cot and threw back his sheet and blanket, exposing his lean nude body. She
landed a stinging slap across his upturned buttocks. "Get moving!"
Richard sat up, trying to rub the sleep from his eyes, and slowly pulled himself
out of bed. For Christ's sake, it was still dark; the only light in the tent was
coming from the overhead lanterns they'd apparently left burning through the
night. He still felt sore and exhausted from yesterday's ordeal, and worse was
probably coming. He pulled his covers into some semblance of straightness and
then lined up with the others at the foot of his cot - hands at his sides, chin
up, and cock humiliatingly half-stiffened with the need to urinate.
"Disgraceful," sneered one of the officers as she stalked along the line of
naked men. It was the same woman who'd given them the speech before bed last
night, she of the wiry thin body, straggly brown hair and ugly little moustache.
Her mouth was set in a disdainful frown. "Heels together, eyes forward. And you
straighten up." She prodded Richard in the stomach, not gently, and he quickly
adjusted his posture. She swept her gaze up and down the line.
"Didn't your mothers even teach you how to make a bloody bed properly? Do it
again, all of you, and get it right this time. Ladies, encourage them." That
meant whips, of course. Nobody was spared; the women moved up and down the row,
striking almost indiscriminately. Richard felt a sharp blow across the backs of
his thighs, and then another low on his back. He couldn't help giving a little
moan of pain, but a moment later he had his blanket properly aligned and the
corners neatly tucked in. He drew himself up to attention and was relieved when
the brown-haired officer gave a grudging nod. "Good enough for your first day.
We'll take you to the latrines, then it's over to the exercise yard to earn your
breakfast."
The latrines were a crude affair, as Richard remember from yesterday - if you
had to urinate, you did it in a very deep, broad trench, and if you had to
defecate you squatted over one of several vertical round holes and hoped you
didn't lose your balance. Afterwards you cleaned yourself not with paper but
with a cold jet of water from a nearby hose. You did it all, of course, in full
view of both your fellow conscripts and the female guards, and you did it
quickly unless you wanted a taste of the whip. As Richard crouched naked with
his bowels churning unpleasantly - stress, he supposed, and the drastic change
in his diet and routine - he blushed, and lowered his face so he wouldn't have
to watch the guards watching him.
Hallee, Desalle and the others were there to meet the men of Unit 34 at the
exercise yard, which turned out to be nothing more than a fenced-off area within
the camp; although the fence was only waist-high, Richard still felt like an
animal being herded into a stockade. They shared the yard with the other units
from their dormitory tent, and in the distance other groups of men were being
led into similar enclosures or out to open fields where they formed up in
precise ranks according to the shouted commands of their officers.
"Good morning, lads," Hallee called almost cheerfully. She and the other
officers looked fresh and rested, despite the early hour. "Are you ready to work
hard for me this morning?"
"Yes, ma'am," they replied dutifully, but with a distinct lack of enthusiasm.
"Glad to hear it. Down on your bellies, boys. No, right down! I don't care how
cold and wet the grass is. We'll start with push ups. One! Two!" They were
allowed to stop at twenty; Richard's arms were burning, but he had managed to
maintain Hallee's brisk pace and hadn't yet felt the whip. Some of the less fit
men hadn't been so lucky, as the officers moved among them with shouts of "get
that fat arse down!" and "keep up, you bloody maggot!". One fat, pasty-skinned
fellow was crying and already trembling with fatigue as a blond Nordic goddess
of an officer screamed abuse and kicked him in the chest and belly.
"No slacking off," Hallee shouted. "You work till you collapse, and if you
collapse you spend the rest of the morning in the punishment cages. Now get up
and follow Officer Murray around the edge of the yard. Go!" Murray was one of
the younger officers, and she trotted off at a pace that made Richard's already
strained muscles scream in protest. Other women were running behind them, of
course, "encouraging" the stragglers, and now Richard felt the already-familiar
sting of the lash on his back and buttocks. With an effort he moved up to the
middle of the jostling pack, losing himself among the other sweaty male bodies.
Hallee watched it all with a faint smile on her hard brown face.
Mercifully, Murray began to slow down as they approached their starting point,
but Hallee shook her head. "Pick up the pace!" she grinned. "You don't stop till
you're told. You can go a little faster, Murray, now that they're all warmed
up." There was a chorus of groans from the men. By the end of the second lap
some were flagging badly, and at the rear of the pack the sound of cracking
whips and thin cries of pain was almost continuous. Richard, panting, aching and
blinded by sweat, was inevitably beginning to slip toward the back himself. He
envied the knot of men ahead of him who seemed to be holding the pace easily,
with their hard, lean bodies and rippling muscles. He did his best to keep in
shape, but had never been fanatical or even particularly conscientious about it.
Now he was paying the price.
On the third lap the fat man who'd been having so much trouble with the push-ups
finally collapsed, and lay unmoving as the blond woman - Officer Horton, Richard
thought she was called - hit him again and again with her whip.
"He's finished," Hallee sneered. "Get him in a cage before he has a heart attack
or something." The poor bloke looked almost relieved as Horton hauled him easily
to his feet, despite his bulk, and led him away. Everyone else managed to finish
the full ten laps, although Richard's lungs were on fire and his eyes were
half-blind with dripping sweat by the time they were finished. And of course
there were more orders to be followed, more strenuous exercises to push them all
closer and closer to complete exhaustion. They strained and sweated and howled
under the lash as the sun slowly crept up over the horizon and Hallee barked out
brisk commands and smiled to herself at their discomfort. Richard was feeling
giddy and nauseated when she finally called a halt, just after the fourth man
keeled over in a pool of his own vomit and had to be half-carried to the cages
by Horton and Desalle.
"We have sixteen more minutes of exercise scheduled," said Hallee scornfully,
"but today I'll let you rest. I'm not impressed, lads. I'm aware the average
young man is far too sedentary these days - lazy might be a better term - but
this is absolutely pathetic. I want all of you to get down on your knees and
think about how soft and weak you are, and how badly you need us to whip you
into shape. Many of you will be performing heavy physical labour after your
training period is finished, and we expect you to be able to get through a full
day's work without collapsing. I'll see about scheduling a little extra physical
training. It seems to be urgently needed. Murray, go get a little water for the
lazy bastards, will you?" She had been leading most of their exercises, and
although she was flushed and sweaty she hardly looked exhausted as she jogged
off to get the water. Richard sighed and let his eyes fall closed, wishing he
could lie down but grateful to be allowed a few minutes' relaxation. He had
almost got his breath back by the time they were marched off for a quick shower
and a cold, cheerless breakfast. Everyone was moving stiffly, and Richard didn't
think there was a single man who didn't have at least a few angry red welts on
his legs, or his back, or his buttocks. And the day was just beginning!
They were made to wait on their knees for a few more minutes after breakfast,
but finally a nearby loudspeaker crackled into life.
"All units are to assemble on the East Parade Ground at once," a woman's voice
announced, clear and cultured despite the faint hiss of accompanying static.
"This your camp commander. Repeat, all units to assemble on the East Parade
Ground."
"That means you, boys. On your feet, and hurry. Run!" With the welts fresh on
their bodies, no one needed to be told twice, and soon they were joining a crowd
of thousands of other nude, tired men and their uniformed overseers. The East
Parade Ground was right next to the camp's only gate, and Richard cast a longing
glance toward the rolling hills just outside the confining double fence. But the
barbed wire, the heavy chains and padlocks that sealed the gate, and the guards
with their dogs and tranquiliser guns made escape not only impossible but almost
unthinkable.
"Welcome to Training Camp Thatcher," the same invisible voice announced. "As I
said, I am your Camp Commander, Major Judith Stevens. You will not see much of
me during your stay here - unless you commit a serious breach of discipline, in
which case I assure you the time we spend together will not be pleasant - but
rest assured that I have ultimate authority over you at this stage of your
conscription. Your sergeants will already have explained most of what you need
to know, but I want to say one or two things before your training begins in
earnest.
"Firstly, I am sure you are all aware that men are not coddled at Camp Thatcher.
You will be worked hard, disciplined severely, and made to do unpleasant,
degrading things to which you would never ordinarily agree. However, conditions
may get somewhat more bearable once you are past the training stage and ready to
be put to work. In the labour camps, factories and so on where you will serve
out your period of conscription, you may be provided with occasional luxuries
such as sweets, playing cards, and access to literature we consider appropriate
for impressionable young men. You may be allowed free time to relax and
socialise with one another. Contact with free males is out of the question, but
you may be permitted to correspond with and telephone female friends and
relatives - subject to our censorship, of course - and perhaps even receive them
as visitors. We might even let you jerk off once in a while." The mild vulgarity
was almost shocking, when delivered in that calm, dignified voice that might
have belonged to a baroness addressing the House of Lords.
"But all these things are privileges," she continued, "and our philosophy in the
conscription system is that privileges must be earned by demonstrating your
ability to work hard, obey instructions and follow the rules. That is why
conditions here are so rigorous, and that is why we expect that you will be
eager to conform to our expectations so that you can graduate from Camp Thatcher
in the minimum time rather than being held for additional training.
"The other side of the coin, of course, is that disobedience and undisciplined
behaviour will be severely punished, as I now propose to demonstrate. All of you
turn to the east, please." Richard obeyed without thinking, and found himself
squinting into the bright morning sun. For a few long minutes there was nothing,
but then they all heard the distant rumble of motors. It was another minute or
two before several long grey buses of the kind Richard had first seen yesterday
(only yesterday?!) at the Intake Centre crested the low hill to the east of the
camp. As they approached women ran forward to unlock the gates and pull them
wide open. There was a stirring among the men, but nobody actually moved. Nobody
dared, Richard supposed.
"Bloody idiots," the man next to him whispered. "They're thinking of running for
it."
Richard glanced around nervously, but no officers seemed to be paying any
attention to them. "Aren't you?" he replied. The other man was thin and very
lightly built, with finely chiselled features; the stubble on his head was
black.
"Sure, but I know I'd never get anywhere. The bitches have us right where they
want us. And I think we're about to see exactly how they can put us in our place
when they feel like it."
"Why? How do you know?"
The other man smiled wryly. "My mother's a civil servant with the Ministry of
Social Order - you know, the new outfit that planned this whole thing. Let's
just say she isn't always careful with her confidential documents, and I saw a
few things I technically shouldn't have. Don't be fooled by what that Stevens
bitch said. This is hell, and it's going to stay hell until the day they let us
go."
"Cheerful thought," Richard murmured.
"Yeah. I'll tell you about it later - one of the bitches just looked in our
direction. I'm Carl, by the way."
"Richard. Nice to meet you." It sounded ridiculous, under the circumstances, as
soon as it was out of his mouth. But the buses were inside the camp now, and
officers were herding a line of frightened young men out of each one. They were
all naked, and chained just as Richard had been at his arrival, with their hands
cuffed to the front of a leather waist-belt and their ankles fettered with a
long chain. More conscripts, apparently, and hundreds of them. They must have
been packed into those buses like sardines.
"Some young men," said Major Stevens through the loudspeakers, "neglected to
report to their local Intake Centre yesterday despite being on the conscription
list. Thanks to the efforts of Britain's fine policewomen, most of these
miscreants are now with us. I'm glad you could join us, boys, and I am sure you
will understand that your failure to comply with the clear instructions in your
notification papers demands serious punishment. Officer Ludovich!"
"Yes ma'am!" boomed a woman from among those who had led the new arrivals off
the buses.
"You have charge of these ill-behaved louts until further notice. Please take
them over to the latrine trenches to begin with. Have them crawl."
"You heard her!" Ludovich shouted. A big blond woman, she looked as Slavic as
her name. "All of you down!" She seized the nearest man and hurled him bodily to
the ground, and the other officers in the vicinity immediately began forcing the
chained conscripts down with brutal efficiency. Most lay down voluntarily once
they realised what was happening, but Richard saw several who had to be shoved,
kicked and whipped into obedience. The men were being handled far more roughly
than seemed to be the norm at Camp Thatcher - part of their punishment, Richard
supposed, but all the same he found it difficult to watch as Ludovich and the
others began driving their victims off toward the latrines with blows of the
whip and well-placed kicks. In their chains they were crawling awkwardly, almost
comically, and their slow pace certainly did not satisfy their tormentors. Whips
stung exposed backs and buttocks, hard leather boots drove into the soft flesh
of naked flanks or occasionally came up between a man's legs to make him howl
with pain. Richard shuddered as the men passed near enough for him to see the
hot tears that stained their faces and the naked panic in their eyes, not to
mention the stern unsympathetic faces of the following officers.
"You will see more of their punishment as the day progresses," the loudspeaker
informed them with an air of satisfaction as the chained men were led away.
"Keep in mind that you will be treated with equal severity if you step outside
the rules in any substantial way. Have a nice day, gentlemen."
But in fact they saw nothing of the chained men throughout the rest of the
morning, as Hallee kept them on the parade ground for a long session of marching
and drilling that was apparently supposed to instill discipline. The rain and
cool weather of yesterday had given way to bright, clear skies, and Richard
hated every sweaty moment of marching, pivoting and saluting under the hot sun
while Hallee screamed orders and reprimands and the other officers used their
whips ruthlessly on anyone who dared fall out of step for even a moment. The
irrelevance of the whole exercise was maddening - they were slaves, after all,
not soldiers, and he didn't see what all this stomping about was supposed to
accomplish. It was a relief to be allowed to stop for lunch and a generous
ration of cold water.
"Chores all afternoon," Hallee announced, "but you get another toilet break
first. There's a surprise waiting for you at the latrines - let's go." Were the
officers really exchanging conspiratorial smiles? Richard noticed Carl sidling
up to him, trying not to be too obvious about it, and moved over to join him.
"Is it going to be something awful?" he whispered.
"Probably. Surprises aren't usually pleasant around here, are they?"
The surprise turned out to be that the latrine trenches were full of chained,
naked men. They looked wretched and miserable as they stood ankle-deep in
stinking mud, their bodies pressed together in the confined space. The tops of
their heads were a couple of inches below ground level, but they would certainly
be able to see and hear Unit 34 approaching. Richard heard groans of trepidation
from inside the trench.
"This is of course the next stage of their punishment," said Hallee coolly. "The
superior officers here understand that degradation and humiliation can be as
effective as pain in encouraging obedience. These men showed complete disregard
for the rules, and they need to be taught a sharp lesson. You will line up along
both sides of the trench and urinate on them."
Richard felt a firm hand on his shoulder, shoving him toward the trench. He
stepped forward hesitantly with the other men, finding a place between Carl and
a burly thick-necked bloke who had looked as though he'd actually been enjoying
their session on the parade ground. Richard hated the idea of being used as a
tool to punish these men, no matter what they'd done, but he wasn't about to
disobey a direct order when all those women - those bitches, as Carl liked to
call them - were standing around with their whips ready. He grasped his penis
and glanced down, hoping to aim between the tightly packed men as much as
possible.
It was that glance, he supposed, that changed his mind. The despair and sheer
misery he saw on the tear-stained faces in the trench was like something out of
a Medieval vision of hell. Without really thinking about it he stepped back from
the edge, and immediately - of course - yelped in pain as a whip cracked
viciously across his buttocks.
"Don't be stupid," whispered Carl urgently, just as Desalle's harsh voice
shouted "Tipper! What the hell do you think you're doing!"
"I'm sorry, ma'am," he gasped. God, she'd hit him hard that time. "I - I just
can't. Punish me if you have to, ma'am."
"Punish you! I'm going to skin you alive, you little runt." She punctuated her
words with another blow. "You do not disobey orders." This time she hit him
between the shoulder blades. "You do not talk back to the officers. And if you
know what's good for you, you don't request punishment." She reached between his
thighs and grabbed his balls, her grip tightening until he moaned in pain. "Do
you understand!"
"Yes ma'am!" he sobbed. "But I won't - you can't make me -"
"Like hell I can't! I'll whip your skinny little arse until -"
"Just a minute," Hallee cut in smoothly. "Let go, Rebecca." She grabbed
Richard's chin and forced him to meet her eyes. "Listen, Tipper, you've got
three choices. First, you can do as you're told. I think you'd find that
easiest." He shook his head stubbornly. "Fine. Second, you can go to the
punishment cages and stay there until midnight. Or third, you can climb down
into that trench with the other bad boys." He swallowed hard. He couldn't give
up his little act of defiance now, and he knew he'd be screaming in agony after
twelve hours in one of those cramped little cages. He took a deep breath and
swung his legs over the edge of the trench.
"All right, Tipper, it's your decision." Hallee sounded exasperated. She kicked
him viciously in the shoulder so that he fell back among the other men in the
trench. The nauseating smell and the feel of the other men's bodies against his
- damp with sweat and God knew what else - assaulted his senses. He looked up
and saw Carl almost directly above him, wearing a wry, apologetic smile. And
then, at Sergeant Hallee's curt nod, Carl pissed in his face.
***
"We're doing a good job, ladies," said Hallee, as the naked conscripts assigned
to serve in the officers' mess cleared away the remains of their dinner. "The
boys hate us, but I think they definitely respect us. All of you have been very
strict and demanding with them, but very fair, which is exactly the necessary
attitude."
"Should we ease up a little from now on?" asked Sharon Dowling. "Now that we've
shown them who's in control?"
"Definitely not. If anything we should get tougher as their training progresses.
But I think we're at about the right level for now. Remember that this stage is
designed to be extremely frightening, humbling and stressful for them. It's all
right if they break down and cry for their mothers once in a while." To
emphasise the point she reached out and pinched the bottom of one of the passing
conscripts, hard enough to make him wince in pain. "Sheena, can you remind me
what we have scheduled tomorrow?"
Sheena Murray, a compact woman with short dark hair, pulled out her notebook.
"Exercises at dawn again, of course, and then vocational training with sewing
machines for the rest of the morning - the lads will love that. Laundry work
after lunch, then parade drill, then more exercises until dinner. You said they
needed extra."
"Sewing machines?" said Sharon quizzically.
"A lot of them are going to end up in garment factories, apparently," said
Hallee. "Sheena, that sounds fine, but we're also going to need to pencil in our
first sex session soon. We're going to need five to get through the whole unit.
How do you girls feel about the evening after next?" They fidgeted and glanced
at one another, but no one spoke up.
"Listen, we can't be embarrassed about this. It's an important part of their
training - basic obedience, and it'll be good for them to serve a woman's needs
without getting any relief themselves. It might wake them up to the fact that
our desires are just as important as theirs, and their wives and girlfriends
will appreciate it later." She looked around the table. "I didn't hear any
objections, so Thursday night it is. Have you got the conscript list, Sheena?
Everyone needs to pick a man for at least her first session."
Rebecca grinned at her. "Why don't you go ahead? Commander's privilege, you
know."
"All right, let's see... there he is. Damon Reilly. I always did like blond
boys." She put her initials beside one of the names on the list and pushed it
across the table to Rebecca.
"I want Richard Tipper. No question."
"The martyr from the latrine trench? All right, but I want you to put him very
firmly in his place. When I let him climb out of the trench he was pretty
shaken, of course, but I also got the impression he was proud of what he'd done,
as though he thinks he's defying us somehow. And remember that this was three
hours and several urine-showers after his little outburst. The sex training is a
good opportunity to take him down a notch or two - you'll have him one-on-one,
in private, and you can get as demanding and degrading as you want. Don't be
afraid to be creative. Do you think you can make him crawl?"
Rebecca smiled again and settled her bulk back in her chair. "Oh, yeah. Remember
I was the one he first started talking back to today. I've got plans for young
Richard, and I promise he won't like them."
