Kindness II
Rufe talks.
I worked with Quasimodo in London and Paris, and I admit it, I learned a lot
from him. But my business is a lot nearer the edge than his is, and maybe he
should learn something from me. Especially when it comes to raw product.
Speed and shock: that's the way to do it.
Five minutes after I had driven the car into the garage, the newbie was sprawled
on the floor of its cell, still dazed, still wearing the jeans and t-shirt it
had worn when it was harvested.
A minute after that, my three Alphas were in the cell, too. I started the
stopwatch and left them to their work.
They came out, giggling, precisely five minutes and forty-two seconds later.
Well, they weren't exactly giggling: it's hard to laugh when you have a ring in
your tongue chained to a ring in your septum. But they were happy and pleased
with themselves. Anyway, if you're an Alpha you can unclip the rings yourself. I
told them to go to the garden lounge and stepped into the cell to check their
work.
As I expected, they'd done a perfect job. It was naked, its hands strapped
behind its back, wrist to elbow. I checked the circulation: it would be bound
like that for six weeks or so and I didn't want its limbs to fall off. Its head
had been crudely shorn, its genital area waxed smooth and its body had eight new
holes: the standard piercings. The nipples and the labia holes for the moment
held plastic keeper plugs, steeped in antiobiotics to help the healing. The
tongue and the nose, though, had steel rings already in place, joined by the
usual two inches of lightweight chain. And no, the newbie wouldn't be
disconnecting them.
It was sobbing, and when it saw me it actually tried to speak: an impossibility,
of course, and its pathetic bleating just caused it more pain. I simply ignored
it, and checked out the piercings. They'd keep two of its orifices off limits
for a while, but I was feeling randy. I rolled it onto its belly and buggered it
quickly: judging by the tightness, it was probably a first. It bleated some
more. I pointed to the toilet pan and the bowls of food and water. It would find
eating and drinking difficult, but hunger and thirst would find a way. I turned
the lighting to a dim red, slammed the door and left it to its new life.
The "it" stuff is just doctrine, by the way. "It" is a Delta right now, if it
makes it to Gamma it'll be she again. Most of them do. I'm not by nature a cruel
man, and I learned a lot about tenderness from old Quas when I worked in London
with him. But he's got a lot more money than I have, which allows him to be a
ridiculous old poser sometimes. Then again, he doesn't have Alphas. Then again,
I don't have access to that crazy Belgian of his, who is probably changing this
whole business right under our feet. Or whatever.
Quas doesn't have boys either, which is really silly if you're looking at cash
flow. I don't train them, but I ship them in, geld them, and ship them out.
Mostly to the Yemen; I'd say about 90% of my business is with Sheikh Ramanhi,
and the other 10% I could probably do without. I insist on doing the gelding
here, which suits the Sheikh: that's what his customers are paying for. Sure,
they want blond hair and blue eyes. But they also want compliant mouths and
assholes, not stallions. Read a history book: what do cavalry troopers ride if
they don't ride mares? Got it in one.
I am not really anti-gay, but I had a bad experience when I was 14 and I guess
I pass it on. I do try to make it as painless as possible; once Ramanhi is in
charge, though, who knows? But if you've seen a 20-year-old's face when his
balls go onto the barbecue (it's a treat for the Alphas; they've been known to
eat them) then all I can say is that you have seen something.
Alphas. Hard to explain, and probably my biggest weakness here. There's me,
Carlo, and the Alphas. Carlo is old, shot-up, totally reliable and the most
perverted human being I have ever met. Quasimodo thought that too, and he has
met more perves than almost anyone alive, I'd guess. So let's leave Carlo out of
it and talk about the Alphas.
We have four levels in the House. First, the deltas: that's the newbies.
Quasimodo uses a very different technique, but he's got more tech, more money
and more experience than I have. I make sure that nearly every bad or startling
or painful thing happens to them in the first five or ten minutes, and then I
let them lie around for six or eight weeks. Essentially, after those first ten
minutes, everything that comes to pass is kind of nice, or good, or at least
much less bad.
If I'd some of Quas's equipment, I might try a few different things. But my kind
of patience really breaks a delta, I can tell you. The Alphas come in every now
and again, to keep that pussy waxed clean and to shave the head properly. These
things have nothing to do with my own sexual preferences, I assume you
understand that. It's the breaking.
Eventually, we have a coming-out ceremony. Out of the little, red-lit cell. And
it *is* a ceremony, that's important. It's led from the cell, is spoken to for
the first time in, what, two months, and offered the rings. If it accepts, it's
a gamma and a she. If it doesn't accept, back into the box and we check it out
again a month later. This can sometimes go on for a while, though it's unusual.
The rings aren't particularly terrible: the tongue-nose bridle stuff I got
straight from Quas (it ought to be called the Quasimodo piercing) and I guess
that's a little tough. But the newbie's had that since day one. As for the rest:
clean nip rings, an infibulation ring at the introitus, a couple of rings at the
front. We usually join them together, and hammer on another ring that dangles
down; learned that from Quas, too. Depends on the equipment God gave them
between the legs. None of this hurts. The holes were made at least six weeks
before, and the delta's gotten used to them. As a reward, the new gamma is
allowed to grow some hair on her head. Generally a Mohican, but we vary..
If it stays a delta without making gamma for too long, basically I have to kill
it. Not nice, and I hate it, but I've only had to do it once in three, four
years, and that was after nearly a year's effort to avoid it. It would have
starved to death if I hadn't done it clean, anyway. But it's really, really not
my bag.
So the newbie makes it from delta to gamma. It's not an it, any more, she's a
gamma. She's got iron hanging between her legs, and believe me it makes a
difference. I could sell her right there, but the margins aren't terrific. I
once dumped a dozen raw gammas on the Japs, when I had bills to pay, but in
business terms it doesn't usually make sense.
So we train her up. First, the mouth stuff. We move her to a new cell, and
unclip the tongue. She thinks that's great. But the only food and water comes
from a couple of artificial dicks. She has to take them deep to get anything
much. I know this is primitive technology compared with the kit Quas uses, but
believe me, it works. Nearly always, the new gamma has already lost a lot of
weight by this stage, so she's hungry. Same dim red light, by the way; same
Alphas keeping her shaved and shorn. The Alphas mess around with her a bit, but
mainly she learns deep throat. Occasionally, if I'm passing, I'll shaft her ass.
The training takes, oh, a minimum of two months. I think it's better if it takes
longer, but there's always pressure on product.
Now, to get from gamma to beta is tricky. Beta is public. In this house, a beta
gets a public number, not a name but the nearest she'll ever have to a name
here-- more stuff I learned from Quas. We're talking Guest Night here. So our
gamma gets tried out in a rough trade session first. I take the fib out -
remember, she's never been fucked, as in cock-and-cunt- for at least six months
- and I take the bridle from her mouth and nose. If she speaks, at all, she goes
back to gamma in her cell for at least a month. There's no other punishment. We
don't tell her she can't talk, of course. She has to figure that out for
herself. Quas fucks with their vocal chords: frankly, I think that's an
atrocity. I believe in self-discipline.
Then we let the rough trade in. Quas would have some kind of electronic orgasm
monitor, but I just keep an eye out. I usually try a mouth or ass myself. We do
this a few times, over a month or so. And that's how you become a beta, should
you ever be one of my girls. My product, I should say: that's where me and Quas
divide. They are not my girls.
If you're a beta, you are, like, beta-12. It's the first time in many months
that you have been anything individual. Usually, your number will be marked on
your body somehow. Not permanently, because this is the point that I sell you
and your new boss may have different ideas. Which I can accommodate as required,
of course. You're good product, and I need cashflow. My beta has been eating her
head off at my expense for the best part of a year, and usually I want to sell
her on just as fast as I can.
If there's no sale likely soon, we do our our house special. You're twinned with
another beta: her tongue, your cunt and vice versa, with your arms strapped. We
used to sell pictures on the Net but the price is peanuts so we just do it as
advanced training now. It's messy, but believe me it makes you want to please
customers at the next guest night. If you make a special visit, I'll show you
sometime. Twinned betas trying to piss and shit....
Alphas: hard to explain. Look, last year I had almost 100 newbies through here.
That was the time I had to kill one, but I ended up with 99 gammas -- sold about
ten right there, I had more than I could handle -- and more than 80 betas. Not
all at once, of course. I don't suppose I ever had more than a dozen fully
operational betas in the house -- hell, how big do you think this place is? --
at any one time and usually I sell the product on almost as fast as I generate
it. I haven't got Quas's Japanese contacts but I am not so fussy about Arabs,
and you wouldn't believe what a Saudi prince will pay for one of my betas. Not
as much as Quas makes on these Tokyo deals, but I am shifting a helluva lot more
product than he is. There are *thousands* of Saudi princes, and they are all,
without exception in my experience, fucked-up perves. But *rich* fucked-up
perves.
You have to understand: a dozen betas and a very small amount of dope makes for
a magic sex party. By the time they are betas, they are, well, crazy. Make sure
a few congressmen are invited, the local chief of police... saves problems
later.
Still doesn't get you an alpha. We'll come to that.
