Rebecca Jameson
Temporary Administration Assistant
HM Conscription Training Centre South-West 2 (SW2)
Monday 6th February 2020 9.25am
Slavery, not something I knew about before. Dad was too old, although he did go
to war later. Then there's Mum and my two sisters. We've always had house
slaves, except during the war of course. I never really asked what happens to
slaves or what it's like. It's not done, chatting with slaves, is it?
I finished college last July and wanted to travel, great idea but no money. I
needed an easy job. An ultranet search came up with HM Conscription Centre SW2.
I used to think that place was for political prisoners, with its high walls and
stun cameras. Driving to school one freezing winter morning, I overtook a line
of slaves running towards the "prison". In my rear view mirror, I saw frozen
penises swaying, mud on their chained legs and all over the overseers'
motorcycles. They'd been running on the moors. Oh interesting, it was a slave
training camp.
Last summer was dull. With most of the boys gone, I was stuck at home watching
TV, mostly politics and game shows. That reminds me, I got a D for this at
college:
++++++++++
Millionaire or Bust
By R Jameson
Final Year Political Thinking
Assignment 16: TV & Media
The coolest TV game show ever. Mum and Dad took us to see it live for Kylie's
birthday. Me, Kylie and Jodie have never laughed so much. We even had cokes
after with the host bimbo Pamela McElly, you know - dress half way down her
plastic implants and half way up to her armpits. Every show, the winning couple
take home $10m whilst the man on the losing team gets a seven-minute beating,
cool.
Bimbo kissed the winning man, shook hands with his girlfriend before grabbing
the other man's arm and announcing:
"Millionaires! Woooo! Millionaires Bob and Lisa. Will we have Bust?"
The winning team can pay $1m to save the losing man but would you? We were
shouting Bust Bust Bust you idiots!
"Woooo! Bust! Where are my Busters? Lady and gentlemen, get busting!"
The lights dimmed, the three massive men and one woman in black suits appeared
at the exits. We all stood up, nearly exploding. The atmosphere was electric.
The shit-scared coward screamed, not knowing where to run. Buster Ben, holding
loser with one hand, blew kisses at us while Buster Bill's BB knuckle-dusters
smashed loser's face right through until the commercials. After the adverts,
Buster Bob did his special "double arm break" so Ball Buster Bonny could gouge
loser's eyes and knee his balls. With Buster Bob picking loser up by his hair,
Bonny blew a kiss at the crowd shouting,
"Ten seconds left. Do we like losers? Do we?"
"No! Ten, nine, eight, seven..."
Bonny turned back to the crippled loser, still held up by Bob.
"...six, five, four..."
"Goodnight loser" she laughed kicking his balls, stamping on his feet with her
steel heels and finishing with a final head butt. As he fell, Bob twisted
loser's body ready for Bonny's Backbreaker. Squatting down, she raised her knee
into loser's spine letting loser's dead weight do the rest.
"...three, two, one"
The crowd erupted. Loser's face was split open, we could see his skull, blood
poured out of his eyes, teeth flew, bones shattered. The noise in the studio was
unreal. Dad had to stop Mum running down and joining in. In one inset on TV, you
see Bimbo and other ex-model bimbos sat with the winning couple sipping
champagne in a big chair cheering on Pam's Busters. The other inset shows the
losing girlfriend, it's in the contract, she has to watch too.
"Woooo! Thanks a million Bob and Lisa. Great busting from Pam's Busters! See you
next time on Millionaire or Bust!"
With loser's broken body on the studio floor, the audience wandered off to the
bar to meet Bimbo and her famous Busters. From the bar, we could see the camera
and sound crews packing up. No one even noticed loser boy, his tearful
girlfriend, make-up smudged all over ha ha, running into the bar to dial 999.
Only once in six years has anyone not "Busted". Some stupid old couple, more
money than sense, paid up. With no beating, the show ended ten minutes early,
Bimbo was devastated, the audience booed, switchboards jammed, sponsors
threatened to quit. Sitting at a friend's house, we went totally mad, the whole
street did. Fights were breaking out all over Bristol. Civil Defence had to use
rubber bullets and electric prods to calm things down. I had to laugh at the
winning bitch's reaction to her stupid husband's decision. It was nearly as good
as the beating ha ha. The couple went into hiding after death threats, ha ha.
The End by RAJ & her Busters...
OK, I was a bit stoned when I dictated it but bloody hell! Grade D!
++++++++++
For the first few weeks of my long summer holiday, I gave the house slave hell.
Sending him on long errands, telling him he bought the wrong stuff. "Run to that
shop and take it back slave", making him iron clothes, wash them, iron them
again, etc, ha ha. Mum would get home:
"Slave! Here, now!
"Ma'am"
"Where's my Civil Defence boots, slave?"
"Not finished polishing......Urrgghh"
Ha ha. He'll end up with three Adam's Apples if Mum keeps doing that.
After a few weeks, that bloody slave and his balls, like two gooseberries thanks
to Mum, ha ha, drove me mad. Why couldn't we get a good-looking one and send him
to some factory? Then, one hot day sunbathing in the garden, gooseberries handed
me the mail, in that weird semi-kneeling way I think he has to do. That boring
job at the "prison", they'd offered it to me. Of course, I had the right
qualifications: Female ha ha, able to use voice commanded software, no relatives
in training and a valid WCC, Whip Competence Certificate.
I did WCC when I was 14, just to get out of Civil Defence class. It was boring
at first, using old rope to hit plastic dummies. As we got better, we had real
whips with competitions and prizes too. For the last few classes, the overseers
brought five real slaves along. They were chained in the gym with their heads
and lower backs padded. We all queued up for a practice. It was great, the
deafening noise of whips in the echo-filled gym. The slaves' backs were starting
to bleed but we had to keep on to get our certificates. As I swung for my final
hit, the slave was twitching all over. His head rolled forward and flew up again
as my whip struck. With the guard over his head, I couldn't see his reaction.
Next week, last week, no head guard, cool. As we left for the next class, we
watched the overseer unchaining his wrists. With a thud, he collapsed onto the
gym floor. Had we killed him?
The overseer shrugged, "Don't worry girls. Just watch."
Her boot pushed him onto his back, she stepped back. With a dull thump, she
smashed her toecap into his balls. His covered head jerked up, his shoulders
lifting off the floor with the force, before he fell down again. Another kick.
"If you want more, stay down. Otherwise, on your feet, slave!"
The slave rolled over onto his side, no doubt expecting another blow, the gym
floor speckled with blood and sweat. He painfully rose to his feet. We left very
relieved.
"Slaves Forward!"
Chains clinked, dragging on the wooden floor. We heard even more whips.
"Nearly finished boys. Only three more schools today!"
Ha ha. Overseers have some sense of humour.
We all passed the test, Mrs Grogan, our school Conscription Liaison Officer,
presenting us with shiny new whips. The funniest part came next. Outside the
sports building, the final year boys were running back after their weekly 12Km
conscription-readiness run. Jenny Allen shouted, "Faster, or you'll feel this!"
The boys replied all macho, fingers stuck up but once Jenny uncoiled her whip,
they sure did move, ha ha.
I guess, being 19, I'd be enslaved now if I were a boy. In Political Thinking,
we heard about boys, before the war, saying how unfair conscription was. What
the f***? Did they want women chained up too? They must've been so dumb back
then. A man can work 16 hours a day, I think it is, every day for 2 years. Men
don't have our biological problems.
So, new start of term. I've been looking forward to this all weekend. Maybe I'll
know some of these boys from school, ha ha. This is my second lot. I was a bit
nervous last time but Mrs Joyce said I did OK. This time she'll let me process
them. She says it's an important stage in their development as I'll be the first
civilian woman they'll meet as slaves.
What a stink! 250 guys, hands on heads. Did they shower today? Ha ha ha. Some of
these boys are so white, I wish I'd brought my shades. There backs are so clean,
so white. And wow, balls are so small and so pink. Poor old gooseberries at home
ha ha..............
Let's get to work...
