Chapter 7
It was as nice an afternoon as could be expected for November, clear and sunny
with just a hint of breeze in the air. It wasn't exactly warm, of course, but
even so the naked men down in Camp Thatcher were dripping with sweat as they
worked under the harsh direction of their female officers. The women were using
their straps very freely, perhaps even more than usual, and with each blow the
slap of leather on toned male flesh was faintly audible to Claire Nesbitt where
she sat beside a young man named Clive Johnson on the hillside overlooking the
camp.
It looked to Claire as though the boys were almost finished. About a third of
the squadron, or whatever it was called, had been taken away for calisthenics;
each of the remaining men had been made to dig a deep pit in the bare turf near
the perimeter of the camp and place inside it a long wooden pole with a crossbar
at the base. Now they were shovelling dirt back into the pits, leaving a line of
immobile stakes about six feet high. Claire watched them pack the earth down
around the stakes and then form up into a neat double line and march off toward
the middle of the camp.
"Where are they going?" she wondered aloud.
"Who cares?" replied Clive with a shrug of his broad shoulders. "It's all pretty
much the same. Grown men being treated like fucking animals and not doing a damn
thing about it. I'd like to see them make me strip naked and let some woman
chase me around all day with one of those leather straps."
Claire laughed and ran a hand through her companion's unkempt dark hair with
easy familiarity. "Do I detect a certain hostility here? Just remember that
you'd be down there with them if you'd been born a couple of years earlier,
Clive darling. Naked, sweaty, and just as submissive as the rest of them, I'm
quite sure. They did try to rebel last week, you know, and the whole thing was a
dismal fiasco. One lad got himself packed off to some kind of punishment
facility, and dozens more were beaten and assigned extra work. I think you'd be
a good boy if you were down there, Clive."
"Whatever. Look, it's almost dinner time. Can't we go? I've got plans for you
this evening, you know."
"What, leave already? But I'm having so much fun watching the boys. And watching
you watch them. You should see your face." She tried to imitate his sour
expression of distaste, but spoiled it with another round of giggling.
"I don't see why it's such a big deal. You've seen naked men before."
"Sure, but how often do I get to see dozens of them getting smacked and ordered
around by women?Although," she added musingly, "it might be even better if some
of those officers were male. They could hit a lot harder, and the lads might
find them more intimidating. But anyway, I still haven't seen Richard. I wanted
to show him to you."
"Your old boyfriend? What for? You've got me now, baby. Didn't you get enough
ancient history back in school?"
"He's not ancient history yet. I thought I'd explained the plan to you while we
were driving out here. While Richard's incarcerated I'm going to see you, and
maybe other blokes if this thing between us doesn't work out. But Richard's the
one I really want, at least if two years in this conscription system can make
him a bit less selfish and demanding. So in 2007 I'm going to have to choose one
of you, and it may very well not be you, Clive. But we can have a hell of a lot
of fun in the meantime."
He looked at her with what she could only describe as fond anger. "You're a
manipulative bitch, Claire, you know that?"
"Yeah, I've always liked pushing men around," she answered casually. "If I was a
bit bigger and stronger I could put on one of those uniforms and get it out of
my system that way. But I'm not, so I have to find other ways to have my fun. At
least I'm honest about it, though, and I wouldn't blame you if you wanted to
forget the whole thing and try to find some other girl. There should be lots
around, with so many of the lads conscripted."
"Oh, come on. You know I wouldn't do that." Of course she did. She rewarded him
with a brief kiss. "Can we just go?" he added. "If you want to show Richard to
me, you must have a picture somewhere. Like I said -"
"I know, you've got plans for me. And believe me, Clive, I've got plans for you.
I just have to wait to find out whether I can spend the night with you or not."
She touched the pocket where she kept her cell phone.
"I wish you'd tell me what's going here. What do you mean, you have to wait to
find out? Whose permission do you need?"
"Richard's. Sort of. Just wait and I promise that everything will be made
clear."
"But Claire-"
"Shh. I hate it when you whine like that. Besides, the boys are coming back.
Look."
A look through her binoculars showed Claire that the men were considerably
cleaner than when she had last seen them - still damp from the showers, in fact.
Many of them were burdened with wooden chairs, others with ice buckets that held
what looked to be a more than ample supply of the beer that seemed to be the
favoured drink among the officers. The men began setting out the chairs in a
line facing the row of buried stakes, as though preparing seating for some sort
of peculiar stage show. And Claire felt her mouth begin to go dry with
excitement as each man came to attention with his back to one of the stakes and
his face toward the chairs, waiting submissively until an officer pulled his
hands behind the stake and cuffed them together. Usually the officer would pause
for long enough to pinch or slap the conscript a little, or at least fondle his
temptingly exposed genitals, before moving on to the next man. As they finished
their task the severe looking Asian who seemed to be in charge said something to
the men - threatening them, it sounded like, or maybe warning them, although
Claire didn't quite catch the words - and then the officers all moved off again,
leaving their victims standing naked and tethered. The way they were handcuffed
didn't prevent them from sitting down, but they all remained on their feet with
their eyes forward and their legs slightly apart. Apparently they took their
instructions seriously.
"Claire, I don't like this. I really don't."
"Well, you'd better get used to it," she said exasperatedly. "Amanda tells me
that this is a kind of graduation ceremony for the lads. The officers are going
to have a little fun with them tonight, and then tomorrow they'll be going off
to their first real jobs. That means you'll be seeing naked slaves everywhere,
Clive. You won't be able to walk down the street in any decent-sized town
without seeing conscripts cleaning streets, doing bits of construction work,
even giving people rides in pull-carts for all I know. Out here I suppose
they'll be put to work on farms, or maybe on those environmental reclamation
projects that are so trendy these days. Department stores are going to be full
of slave-made clothes, and you might find slaves filling your tank with petrol,
or serving your dinner, or bringing you the morning paper. You won't be able to
just close your eyes and pretend it isn't happening. Just be glad you don't have
to go through it yourself."
"Okay, okay. I just hope we don't have to stay out here much longer. When are
the women going to come back?"
"No idea. For all I know they've gone off to dinner or something. It is getting
to be that time. You did remember to pack those sandwiches, didn't you?" This
sent Clive back to the car, and soon they were enjoying a reasonably civilised
picnic meal on the hillside. After they ate Claire rewarded Clive's patience
with warm embraces, hot kisses, and a little fumbling around beneath one
another's clothing. She loved the feel of Clive's lips on hers and his strong
arms around her, but part of her attention never really wavered from the line of
handcuffed men as they waited with the inevitable patience of slaves, cold and
naked and completely helpless.
Dusk was falling as the officers returned, accompanied by a few more women who
were presumably guests from other units. They seemed to be in good spirits, and
the fact that a couple of them were carrying plates of left over food seemed to
confirm her dinner theory. They marched straight up to the tethered conscripts.
"Let's go closer. I want to hear what they're saying." Without waiting for
Clive's approval she moved further down the hillside. It was too bad the men had
their backs turned toward the outer fence, but by positioning herself off to one
side she could see most of what was going on. There didn't seem to be much
talking involved, as it turned out, but rather a prolonged session of teasing
and stroking and finger-feeding. They turned a spotlight on the conscripts as
the sky darkened, and in its cold white light Claire could see officers pushing
bits of food into the conscripts mouths, playing with their nipples, cocks and
balls, sometimes kissing them or whispering to them. She'd heard from Amanda
that the men were never, ever allowed sexual release, so it was no surprise when
they began to respond to the attentions of their officers with almost pathetic
desperation. Their penises came erect almost instantly, but it didn't stop there
- Claire didn't see one single male who wasn't struggling with his handcuffs and
pumping his hips toward whatever officer happened to be tormenting him at the
moment, or into the empty air.
"Please, ma'am!" one of them moaned, and his officer lost no time in strapping
him hard across the thighs.
"Shut up! You should know better by now!"
"No, it's all right," the Asian woman said mildly. "Tonight I want to hear them
beg. You hear that, boys? Plead and whine as much as you want, just keep it
respectful. And remember that it won't do you the least bit of good."
There was a predictable chorus of impassioned pleas. Claire giggled to herself
as the men poured out their desperation. Some of them seemed to be on the verge
of tears! Her panties were sopping. She wished she could be down there to
breathe in the scent of all that helpless masculine frustration, to feel their
straining muscles with her own hands. She imagined Richard, bound and naked and
begging her, begging her... Where on Earth was he, anyway? She had looked up and
down the row of conscripts again and again, and hadn't seen him. Amanda had been
sure his sergeant was going to let him graduate, despite the earlier discipline
problems. But then why wasn't he with the others?
"If you would take your seats, ladies," the sergeant announced, "I believe we're
ready for the main part of this evening's entertainment - the main public part,
anyway." The men exchanged apprehensive glances. According to Amanda, they
didn't even know this marked their graduation; they had no idea what was
happening tonight. "You can see," she continued, "that our naked victims are
desperately, hopelessly aroused. They've been away from their girlfriends for
almost a month now, the poor dears, they haven't been allowed to get any - ahem
- private sexual relief, and I'm sure they'd be ready and willing to leap on
their own grandmothers if the opportunity presented itself. Unfortunately, I
haven't been able to bring any of their grandmothers here tonight, but perhaps
this young lady will make an acceptable substitute."
A stout, dark-haired officer led her forward from the darkness behind the row of
chairs. There she was, the last thing Claire would have expected to see here - a
half-naked blonde with her hands cuffed behind her and a leash around her neck.
She was as tall and statuesque as any woman Claire had ever seen, and her tight
little top and short skirt exposed her well-muscled limbs admirably. The officer
leading her gave an impatient jerk on the leash, and the blonde woman stumbled
in her high heels and almost fell. Her extravangantly applied make-up was
already smudged with tears. Claire felt puzzled and a bit angry as the woman was
dragged forward toward the line of naked men. She just couldn't believe that the
officers would do this! Wasn't respect for women supposed to be one of the
central tenets of the whole conscription system? Why would they take a girl,
dress her up in that whorish costume, and then lead her, handcuffed and on a
fucking leash, toward a bunch of leering, erect males? Was this supposed to be
some sort of sick reward for the conscripts? It didn't make any sense, unless...
unless... Claire suddenly burst out laughing.
"What's so funny?" asked Clive in shock, without taking his eyes off the woman.
Typical, Claire supposed.
"It's Richard, silly!" she exclaimed. "That isn't a woman. Just look at his
muscles, and the shape of his face. Oh, but they've done a job on him, haven't
they? Wig, make-up, fake tits, shaved legs and armpits - it's perfect! I wonder
what they're going to make him do?" She grabbed Clive's hand and stuck it down
the front of her pants, and reached over to return the favour as soon as he
started stroking. Richard was on his knees, being driven toward the man at one
end of the line with ruthless blows of the escorting officer's strap. He was
crying and pulling at his handcuffs. Claire thought she might die of sheer
voyeuristic excitement.
"I'd like to introduce you to Rachel here, boys," said the sergeant coolly.
"She'll be giving you a little of the erotic attention you've probably been
craving for weeks now. If you want to refuse her services, just say so, but I'm
told she's an excellent little cocksucker. She's been practicing on toys all
afternoon."
The men knew what was going on, of course. They had to. Now that she knew Rachel
was really Richard, the clues were all perfectly obvious. The officers had done
a good job of dressing him up, but his decidedly masculine build and carriage
were impossible to conceal. Claire watched in fascination as the big officer
grabbed Richard by the scruff of the neck and pushed his head towards the first
man's crotch with a growl of "Open wide, Rachel!" Richard obeyed, choking back
tears, his disgust only too obvious. The man he was supposed to service was a
beefy, hairy specimen who looked anything but homosexual, and he was squirming
and averting his eyes even as he waved his engorged penis in Richard's face. It
had to be a terrible dilemma for a red-blooded young Englishman - either let a
man suck on your cock, or turn him down and stay desperate and frustrated until
the cruel, notoriously unsympathetic officers provided another opportunity. His
expression of distaste was only too obvious, but lust won out and he thrust
eagerly between Richard's parted lips. Richard's tears redoubled, but with her
binoculars Claire could see him sucking and licking for all he was worth, no
doubt mindful of the officer who held his leash in one hand and an upraised
strap in the other. After perhaps two minutes the man moaned in pleasure and
spurted a copious load of semen into Richard's mouth. Claire felt a surprising
moment of sympathy as Richard gagged, spat out most of the cum, and immediately
felt the strap across his shoulders.
"You swallow that stuff, whore!" the officer barked. "Every drop!" She was
already dragging him to the next man. Another woman came forward to release
Richard's first "client" from the stake, then re-fasten his handcuffs and lead
him over to where the watching officers sat drinking and applauding. One of them
instantly unzipped her pants and pulled the man's head to her crotch.
And so it went. Poor humiliated Richard had to use his mouth on man after man
while the officers jeered and yelled obscene encouragement, and the strap
spurred him on whenever he faltered or hesitated. Not one single conscript
refused his services, and two or three of them seemed positively delighted to
take their pleasure from a weeping tranvestite rather than a real woman. But for
most it was clearly an uncomfortable experience, and Claire found their disgust
almost as diverting as Richard's tears. She could practically see their
masculine pride going up in smoke as they took turns making faggots of
themselves. Most of them looked almost relieved to be handed over to the seated
officers afterwards, although some of the ladies were doing a lot of obviously
painful squeezing and slapping.
When Richard had finished with the last man the Asian sergeant rose to her feet,
pushing away the naked conscript who'd been nuzzling her breasts, and hastily
re-buttoned her uniform. "I have an announcement to make," she said grandly.
"Boys, your training at Camp Thatcher is finished." She smiled briefly at their
expressions of disbelief. "What more can we teach you here? You've learned to
obey orders, you've grown used to the food and sleeping arrangements that we
consider appropriate for slaves, and you are finally in adequate physical
condition. We've broken you and molded you, and you know it. Nakedness and
discomfort are second nature to you now. You're so subservient to our authority
that do as you're told even when you're exhausted or in pain, or when the
instructions we give you seem unbearably degrading. You act as our sexual
playthings whenever we want you, and you've just seen that we can make you so
desperate that you'll take your pleasure from a bloke in a slut costume if you
can't get it any other way. You're slaves, boys. You act like slaves, you think
like slaves, and for the next twenty-three months you're going to work as slaves
- starting tonight, if any of the officers decide to take you back to their
quarters. Some of your fellow conscripts will be kept here another few weeks,
but you are sufficiently far along to begin the working phase of your
conscription. Tomorrow morning you'll be getting your first labour assignments.
Good night, lads, and congratulations." And without a backward glance she took
Richard's leash and vanished with him into the night.
* * *
Richard was allowed to take off his feminine attire, wash off his make-up and
perfume under an ice-cold shower, and use the toilet before Sergeant Hallee took
him over to the Special Training Centre. He was no longer crying, but his mouth
was thick with the taste of semen and he felt a terrible nausea at the memory of
what he had just been forced to do. He could still feel the wet grass on his
knees, and see and smell the stiff, dripping penises hanging in front of his
lips. It was almost a relief to be alone with Hallee, though he had no idea what
she was going to do with him or whether he would be allowed to graduate with the
others. He wondered sourly if there was another lad waiting in the Special
Training Centre to suck him off.
But the room she led him to was empty, and identical to the one where Desalle
had used him so roughly during his first week of conscription. Hallee's manner
was completely different, very firm and decisive but with little of Desalle's
coarseness. She closed the door and removed his handcuffs; obedience was
something the officers could take for granted these days.
"Undress me, Richard. Slowly."
Did her breath quicken just a little as he slid her panties down her thighs? He
was certainly getting excited as he exposed more and more of that smooth brown
skin. She was a big woman, like nearly all of the officers, but nothing like
Desalle. He guessed she was at least as old as his mother, but her body was
still toned and muscular, her large breasts firm beneath his touch. Her
confident maturity was every bit as stimulating as the memory of Claire's
youthful passion.
"Kneel, Richard. Kiss my feet, then work your way up." He was only too glad to
obey. Lapping at her dark bush was infinitely better than wrapping his mouth
around all those hungry penises. He remembered what Desalle had seemed to enjoy
and slid his tongue inside her, probing the soft folds, and she gave a sigh of
pleasure.
"I'll have to teach my husband to do this," she murmured. "Ah - ah - slow down.
I don't want to finish quite yet. Lie back on the bed. And here - cuff your arms
above your head." He'd never had to do it himself before, and he felt more
subservient than ever as he locked the cold steel around his own wrists.
Helpless, he writhed frantically and tried to press his body against hers as she
lowered herself onto him, her crotch over his face and her lips teasing the head
of his cock. She didn't put it in her mouth, just kissed and licked a little
around the tip, but it was enough to make him moan in desperately longing.
Almost involuntarily he pumped his hips up into her face, and she slapped his
balls hard.
"Stop it! Lick me!" she hissed savagely, and he thrust his tongue back into her
warm recesses. She ground her vulva back against his face, drowning him in her
juices, and her mouth and hands were busy on his own genitals. The pleasure
built - and built - and abruptly stopped, even as she screamed out her own
ecstasy. The warm weight of her body collapsed onto his, and she twisted around
to face him. Her breath was hot against his cheek.
"Very good, Richard. I do love having you boys to take care of me like this."
"Aren't you going to take care of me, ma'am?" he pleaded.
"Someone else might. If she chooses. I promised I'd leave you for her."
"Not Desalle! Please!"
Hallee laughed. "You're really afraid of her, aren't you? Sorry, dear, but you
don't have any choice in the matter. You're property. Good night, conscript, and
thank you." She kissed him on the lips, gently, and moved away to dress and take
her leave. Richard was left helpless on the bed, his gaze and his erect penis
both directed upward at the cheerless grey ceiling. He had no idea how long he'd
been lying there when the door creaked open and Amanda stepped in.
She paused in the doorway to look him over thoroughly before moving into the
room. He watched nervously as she took off her pants and underwear ("Sorry," she
smiled, "but you don't get to look at my breasts just yet") and went over to the
locker that seemed to be a feature of all these "Special Training" rooms. He
couldn't take his eyes off the rippling muscles of her thighs and buttocks.
She came over to the bed with a black plastic phallus in each hand. Like the
ones Desalle and Flagg had made him practice on all afternoon, they were very
lifelike, with sculpted veins and a scrotum at the base. Amanda held one dildo
to his lips.
"I hear you're good at this cocksucking business," she said with a grin. "Just
give him a little kiss, Richard. Make friends with him." He brushed the thing
with his lips, which seemed to be satisfactory. "Good boy. Now, I'm going to do
something to you that you really won't like, but you can take comfort from the
fact that I'm going to enjoy it. And Claire approved, too. I want you to sort of
curl back - get your legs up over your head so I can tie them to the bedframe."
It was a horrible position - cock and balls practically dangling in his face,
arse uplifted and exposed. Amanda pulled the ropes tight around his ankles and
then began to smear one dildo, the one he'd kissed, with some sort of lubricant
cream.
"Just relax and this won't hurt so much," she cautioned.
"Ah! What are you doing? Please, Amanda!"
"Shut up. Relax, I said." She slapped his left buttock, hard. "Come on! Do you
really want me to go tearing your sphincter?" He closed his eyes, willed himself
to relax, and whimpered in discomfort as the hard shaft slid into his rectum. He
felt as though he was being ripped apart.
"I can't believe Claire said you could do this to me," he whined.
"She thought it was a wonderful idea, dear. She wants you tamed, you know.
Broken in and ready for the bit and bridle. I honestly think she loves you, but
she says you can be a selfish bastard at times. She thought it might do you good
to feel used and violated." She slid the other dildo inside herself, and then
took one plastic scrotum in each hand and began to move them in a slow, even
rhythm. Richard groaned and desperately willed himself not to tense up or
struggle as he felt the monstrosity inside him slide in and out, in and out.
Amanda was gasping and groaning in pleasure, her face flushed and sweaty. He
wished she'd take her shirt off. Once in a while her hand would leave the
phallus planted inside him and reach up to stroke his cock and balls, keeping
him on that desperate edge. He could have wept with frustrated as he heard a
woman moan in orgasm for the second time that night. His arse was throbbing.
"Please, Amanda! Don't leave me like this! It's been a month now, you know."
"Of course I know. And Richard, if you want me to, I'll take that thing out of
your arsehole, untie your legs, and make love to you as much as you want. I'll
even take the rest of my clothes off. There's just one catch."
"Anything!" he pleaded.
"Okay. But I should warn you that if I fuck you, Claire is going to fuck Clive
Johnson later tonight. That was the arrangement we made. She doesn't want you
having fun with other women unless she can play around a bit too."
"You're lying! Claire wouldn't-"
Amanda laughed. "Oh yes she would. Or she will, rather. I'll bet she'll enjoy
it, too. You remember Clive - that big bloke with icy blue eyes and curly black
hair a girl could play with all day." She reached out and began to rub her
fingers slowly up and down his shaft. "He could really make Claire scream, I'll
bet. I can just picture it now - her underneath him, moaning, clawing his back
with those lovely long nails - nice image, isn't it, Richard? Anyway, it's up to
you. It won't happen unless you want me to help out your stiff little friend
here."
His eyes were suddenly blurry with tears. "I can't - I just - I can't believe
you're doing this to me! Both of you. It's just fucking cruel."
"Yes. We like cruel sometimes. Shall I say goodnight, then?"
"No! Please, it's been so long. Please fuck me, Amanda. Claire can do what she
wants, so long as she's there for me when I get out of here."
"I think she will be, Richard. But she isn't making any promises. Are you sure
you want me to stay?"
When he nodded she broke into a broad grin. "Good. I've wanted to do this ever
since that night they caught you wanking." True to her word, she relieved him of
the dildo, untied his ankles, and slowly and seductively slipped out of her
shirt and bra. Her breasts were small, but very firm, and kissing them was like
drinking from an oasis in the desert. She slipped a condom onto him, stretched
out her body atop his, and kissed him almost chastely on the lips before burying
him to the hilt in her warmth and softness. It was hard to believe that the
passionate woman moaning and panting in his ear while her sweat mingled with his
was Amanda, his childhood schoolmate - but the thought fled as the bed creaked
beneath their urgent movements. So, mercifully, did images of what an equally
passionate Claire would soon be doing with Clive Johnson.
* * *
They were lined up in formation for the last time at Camp Thatcher, naked and
drawn up to rigid attention in front of a stern sergeant who seemed a different
woman from the one who had left Richard handcuffed in a training room the night
before. The morning had begun with the usual calisthenics, followed by breakfast
- but afterwards each of the graduating conscripts had had his name, number and
release date mechanically tattooed into his forearm. It was to be a lifelong
reminder of service to the state as well as an instant identifier that replaced
the metal bracelet each man had been issued upon first being conscripted. And it
hurt like hell, Richard thought as he stood with the other men.
"Each of you can expect to rotate through several different work assignments
during the remainder of your conscription," Hallee announced. "Your initial
tasks will be quite varied, and they have been assigned based on a combination
of your aptitudes, the present needs of the state, and what we feel will do each
of you the most good. Some of the jobs are humiliating and degrading, others
involve backbreaking physical labour that will leave you exhausted each and
every day, and others are merely dull and arduous. But none of them are easy,
none of them are pleasant, and you will never be allowed to forget that you are
slaves. In a couple of weeks you might find yourself longing to be back here
with me."
She glanced down at her list. "All right, let's deal with the workhorses first.
Nine of you will be heading for Northern Ireland to work in a limestone quarry -
Brideston, Hajeed, Farin, McDonald, Slater, Bryson, Jones, Conzi and Chadwick.
You can look forward to sore muscles, plenty of sweat, and lots of punishment if
you don't push yourselves as hard as you possibly can. Good luck." All of the
men she had named were among the bigger and stronger conscripts. Dowling and
Murray lost no time in pulling them from the line, shackling them and leading
them off to a waiting van.
"Marston, Bryant, Houseman and Ali will be taken back to Birmingham to act as
trash collectors. You'll be in the public eye more than most conscripts at this
stage, so behave yourselves. Keep in mind that you may very well be seen naked
and at work by friends and acquaintances." None of them looked exactly thrilled
at the prospect, but they all had the sense not to protest.
"Several more of you - let me see, Hooper, Callum, Resnick, Ryan, Tobias,
McNamara, Winston and McNab - have been assigned to a clothing factory. You'll
be chained to a sewing machine, producing designer garments for spoiled young
people all over the world."
"Ma'am, why on earth-"
"Because I said so! These assignments are arrived at by myself, the other
officers and the psychiatric staff, not by you. I don't care whether you approve
of them or not. Now let's see... the other six of you have more specialised work
to look forward to. Khandourian, you've been selected to narrate promotional
videos for export to other countries - 'Hello, I'm a slave, I have no rights and
I get smacked a lot but I'm happy because I know it's all for my own good,' that
sort of thing. Lewis and Scott, you'll be taken to a training facility for
conscription officers. They'll be practicing restraint and slave-handling
techniques on you. I expect it will get pretty rough at times." Both men looked
stricken, but allowed Murray to chain them and lead them away.
"Marcel, you're heading for Cambridge as a sort of guinea pig for the medical
and psychological people - female researchers, of course. You're going to be
involved in experiments that would normally be considered unethical because they
cause undue suffering, but of course with slaves that isn't a consideration. You
won't actually be damaged, but you can expect stress, fear, discomfort, pain,
and isolation. But don't worry - it's all in the name of science."
That left Richard and one other man, a well-muscled blond with piercing blue
eyes. Hallee smiled at them. "The two of you are among the few slaves who have
been rented out, as it were, to private individuals. Each of you will be the
property of a woman for the next five months." Richard felt Officer Dowling,
usually one of the gentler and more reasonable ones, snap handcuffs on his
wrists as Hallee continued. "Your owner will be able to do anything she wants
with you, provided it doesn't result in permanent injury. Needless to say, the
owners have been carefully screened, and the sites where you'll be held have
been thoroughly pre-checked for security and suitability. They are well up to
our standards, so don't think you'll be getting too comfortable. We'll be
checking up on you occasionally, but for the most part you are now in the
capable hands of your individual owners. I think both of you will find that the
women in question are very strict and demanding, and well able to keep you in
your place. This is something of an experiment - if it works out well, I expect
private use of slaves will increase in the future. Be good, boys, and always do
what your owners tell you."
And with that she turned away, just as Dowling finished chaining his ankles
together. He'd been sold, like a piece of livestock, to some woman he'd never
set eyes on. She could do anything she wanted to him. Trembling in the cold
morning air - there'd been frost earlier, though it was mostly melted now -
Richard allowed Officer Dowling's firm grip to direct him toward the periphery
of the camp, where two automobiles waited to take two young men into private
slavery. A woman in a conservative dark suit, powerfully built with short dark
hair, climbed out of one of the cars as Richard approached. She looked a bit
mannish except for the heavy swelling of her breasts.
"Richard Tipper?" She had a hint of a foreign accent, perhaps German.
"Yes, ma'am," he answered automatically.
"My name is Ms. Bonner. Follow my commands at all times and I think we will get
along very well."
"Of course, ma'am."
"Good. Sit down in the back of the automobile, please." He obeyed, and she
leaned forward to fasten his seatbelt - sitting back was a bit uncomfortable,
with his hands cuffed behind him, and he hoped it wasn't going to be a long ride
- and then blindfold him with a strip of dark cloth. He was leaving Camp
Thatcher just as he had entered it, naked, chained, and sightless. Before the
cloth was slipped into place he saw that another woman, also dark-haired but
older and rather less Amazonian, was seated behind the wheel of the car. He
heard Ms. Bonner thank Officer Dowling, and ask if she could keep "our boy's
restraints". Dowling readily agreed, and a moment later Ms. Bonner settled into
the seat beside him and pulled the door shut. The engine started up with a roar.
"You're going to learn something over the next few months, conscript," whispered
Ms. Bonner in a tone that held nothing of her former cool professionalism.
"There's slavery, and then there's slavery. You can't begin to imagine what's
going to happen to you. And neither can the officers." She stroked the back of
his neck almost reassuringly. "No, don't squirm like that, there's no point. You
can't get away. You belong to Lady Briddington now, and you'd better learn to
make the best of it."
