This is a long story coming in installments. Although it has its graphic moments, description of sexual acts and torture, it has a full plot of its own and doesn’t run through it.

If you’re offended by strong depictions of domination, slavery and torture I invite you to not read further.

I hope you enjoy reading the story as much as I did in writing it.

Elago elagorog@gmail.com

Prologue: a visit to Rashbelt

In the small town of Rashbelt, the monotonous, quiet struggle for survival had been interrupted. Kids crowded the roofs to spy on the show. Villagers hid in their homes, trying to get a peek to the dirt court that served the town as a square and an assembly point at nights. I moved the weight from my left foot to the right, and back again, impatient, and grabbed my Heckler&Koch carbine with both of my hands. I turned around to review the small delegation I had selected. Lucy to my right, Joe to my left, and behind us Herman, Maria and the Pellit brothers. They were also standing, alert, hands to the guns hanging from their belts, watching the open gates of the scrap-metal walls that separated our little haven from the blasted wastelands that lied outside.

Dust was whirling in the air, rising from the dry soil. It covered everything in thick, brown layers, and it didn’t spare our bleached clothes. Our gathering reminded me the Terracotta army, something I had read in a history book my father had passed me when I was eight. A Terracotta army of post-apocalypse punks. Their faces were sunk from the hardships and the little food. Joe silently stared at the gate, an imposing figure with his 6’ of robust build. Him, and the Pellit brothers, Tommy and John, were the biggest and toughest men I could rely on in Rashbelt. They had sheer power, but I always believed that somehow they had less guts than Herman, or even our amazons, Lucy, my girl, and Maria, which shared the bed with Herman.

Lucy, my pretty lady, smiled to me when we crossed eyes. God, I loved her smile, the sincerest thing in the world. She was a miracle. Her red hair the flames of my heart, and her green eyes my sheltering forest. I just smiled back and focused on Herman.

Herman, my childhood friend, as brave and generous as one can be. I thought he had the heart of a lion, but his sparse hair and reddened eyes told another story. It was the omen of the fatal disease that cursed the land. It didn’t have a technical name; it was not treated by drugs and doctors couldn’t do a damn thing about it. You would start losing your hair; your eyes became bloodshot. You’d cough up blood. After some weeks your teeth would start to fall, and in a matter of a few months you’d be too weak to even raise your arm. It would become impossible to formulate a coherent sentence.

In Rashbelt, we simply called it the Curse. Everyone assumed it was a mix of radiation exposure, of malnourishment, maybe some mutant pathogen. Fact is, the labs that might have studied it were long gone; the academia that might have conducted research on it, scattered. The scientists had been busy at saving their own lives, least to address global issues as they used to do. And the Curse kept on taking lives, consuming bodies and minds, years and years after the rainfall of atomic bombs had ushered in a new era for mankind.

The blasts had destroyed the old world. Nuclear mushrooms had not only killed millions, or maybe more, people. They had shattered a culture. The culture of networks, of globalization; the information society. Knowledge had become a hobby for very few people. Violence had spread to even the mildest, most mediocre survivor; the only tool to gain the precious food, water, and equipment needed to survive. The luckiest, and smartest, had teamed up – first as gangs of scavengers, then of raiders. Some of these bands had settled again, in a cruelly ironic reconstruction of the early days of mankind; and sparse, isolated communities rose to the face of the world, hidden behind fences and walls, practicing subsistence agriculture in the unfertile soil.

Rashbelt was one of these communities. My father had lived before the Great Silence, as the survivors called the days after the warheads had struck, and had been one of the town’s founders. Only some months before he had been taken away by the Curse, leaving the responsibility of guiding the community to me, his only son.

My father had always rebuked the approaches from the community of New America. Its representatives had several times come to knock on our doors, offering trade relations, partnerships, promising us a new life. I had always been impressed by their appearance. They looked healthier and confident, as they were immune to the apocalypse around them. Even if they came from many miles away, they didn’t look tired for what I assumed should have been an exhausting trip by foot. In a word, they looked bold. A state of being which was very rare in this new world, filled with bleakness and despair.

Yet my father shunned them. I had always tried to understand the reason, but I couldn’t get the answers from my old man.

- They are vile and immoral. Never trust them, my son! -

was his answer, accompanied by a shiver of disgust.

When he died, the occasional traders that were accepted in Rashbelt took in the news with sorrow. He had been a respected, by some even loved, man. The news slowly started to circulate around the communities around the state. Apparently, it took some months before it arrived to New America. Three months after his father’s funeral, I received a letter, hand-brought by a nomad merchant.

“To Mr. Stan Carson.

We came to learn about the death of your father, and even if we never shared the joy of manly friendship, we are still aggrieved to learn about the death of a great man such as him.

No less, without wanting to interfere with your matters in this saddest of moments, we would like to be able to prove our good intentions and nature to your community, if we were ever let inside. To your discretion, and to our greatest honor, we would also be most delighted if you and a delegation from your town would like to visit New America and learn about our ways, ways that I believe you would find most interesting and useful to adopt.

You can answer through the same merchant that brought you this letter. He knows how to get it to us.

Father John.”

I was awe-struck by the very peculiar correspondence I had received. What an arrogance, I thought. How in this world this man, who called himself Father, could take for granted that I would be interested in “learning about his ways”?

Yet the memories of his previous envoys surfaced to my mind. What I had inherited from his father was a struggling community; we were not rich nor comfortable. I imagined a different life for my companions, for myself. For my sweet Lucy. And of all my little experience of the world, only those New Americans seemed to lead something that resembled a comfortable life.

I wrote back the same day, after consulting with Lucy. I received the answer in her emerald eyes, which sparked when I asked her opinion, which I valued as high as my own.

- Give us hope, Stan Carson. Nothing could be worse than this. - 

So there I was, waiting for New America’s envoys, as a passing merchant had warned us he had seen them coming on the road. The watchman at the wall had seen some figures from afar reaching in their direction, like a sort of caravan. They had stopped at about a mile of distance, and two men alone were walking in our direction.

It took them a good twenty minutes to get to the walls, twenty minutes that we endured under the foul atmosphere and hot daylight. Seasons didn’t matter anymore, as the greenhouse gases had uniformed all the days of the year to a constant torrid summer. And yet the men who walked in the court of Rashbelt were only mildly sweating; just as my childhood memories, they looked oddly fresh even after their trip. I shook my shoulders in disbelief.

- Welcome to Rashbelt, foreigners. We are honored to have you here. I am Carson, head of the town; and these are my brothers.  –

- Greetings to you, - answered the taller of the two New Americans. He was bald, fairly aged and plump, a pedantic confidence exuding from his voice. –My name is Richard Heckert, and this is Joseph Tills.-

- It’s a pleasure to meet you. Should we sit in our town hall to speak? – and, without waiting for their answer, I guided them to the shelter of our town hall, a shabby building facing the court.

I had had prepared a small refreshment for them, water and apples, a grand gesture for those years of scarcity. The two foreigners distractedly sipped some water and ignored the food, studying their surroundings.

- I know. It’s not a paradise, here. –

- Oh, don’t misunderstand us, Mr. Carson – answered Richard – We are thankful for your generous hospitality. How many people live here? –

- About two hundred, of which twenty children.-

- And the able men? –

I frowned at the question.

- If you mean how many are in condition to be useful to the community, I’d say practically everyone. I never counted, but I could say men and women are approximately the same number.-

Joseph nodded silently. It was obvious that Richard was the spokesman.

- I see. Well, I must excuse myself if I’m so blunt, but we don’t believe in long speeches and false words. Your community has been isolated from us so far, and we would be very interested in changing this situation. Because only by connecting the communities together we will be able to overcome our hardships, fight the raiders, and help each other in times of need. –

- I agree with you. –

- I could talk for hours, but I’m sure both of us would find it just annoying. I am going to ask you a little leap of faith, and we will both benefit from it. I would like to invite you to visit our Father in New America, and spend with us some days. Our caravan is just out of town, ready to take the trip back. I’m sure your scouts have spotted it. Would you join us?-

I hesitated. Again this Father, and uttered so reverentially.  For sure, this was much quicker than I expected; but, in the end, what was I expecting anyway?

- I don’t see why not. But, if you understand me, I would like to bring someone with me… Just in case.-

- Obviously, obviously. And just to reassure you, you can have my word that we will take care also of your journey home. But given the restrictions of our… means of transportation, I have to ask you to bring only two men with you.-

I couldn’t help but feel that something was very odd with them. I already noticed their glances at Lucy and Maria. Was it lust? Sure, they were good-looking. Maria had Latino blood, her dark colors, and pouty lips could have unsettled most of men.

I quickly reviewed the options I had. As I was traveling to the unknown, even if I trusted them as skilled fighters, I didn’t want to endanger the girls. Too many madmen and desperados were roaming the wasteland, and females were unfortunately a magnet for unwanted attention. I preferred to know them in the safety of Rashbelt.

I also had to discard Herman, usually my number one pick. I didn’t want to stress his fragile health and could not afford to risk having a worsening of his condition while out in the cold nights.

That left me with the Pellit brothers and Joe. I decided it was better to split up the brothers, as together they were less controllable.

- That’s ok with me, - I answered finally. – Joe, Tommy. I want you to come with me. –

Lucy glared me with disappointment, but she understood that it was not the right time to question my decision.

- If you think you could be ready to leave immediately, we would be grateful. We can start at sunset and travel during the night.-

- Let us just organize our travel. Would it suit you to leave in a couple of hours?-

-Obviously. No matter what, we will cater to all of your needs. If you let us, we will wait for you at the gate.-

I sent my two travel mates to their homes, and grabbed Lucy’s hand before she would disappear from my sight, as she typically did any time she got angry with me.

- Wait, sweetheart.-

- Sweetheart your balls, Stan! – she thundered. – When you’ll be back, you can sleep with Tom Pellit. Be my guest. –

I couldn’t hold back a smile. I loved her fiery temperament.

- Now, now. Tommy could never get me going as you do.-

I took her from her shoulders and turned her to face me, before going on with a sweet voice.

- I don’t prefer Tom or Joe to you, babe. I just saw how these two guys were looking at you. We don’t know where they want to take us, we don’t even know if they can be really trusted. And I don’t want to put you in trouble. Never. Do you understand? –

I patted her rock-hard ass, jokingly. She sighed.

- Ok, Mr. Macho. But you promise me one thing, ok? –

- Tell me.-

- You will take care of yourself, will you? –

- I will. –

We kissed, a long, passionate kiss. Even if no one of us wanted to admit it, we were scared. I was everytime I left her, and she was everytime she couldn’t keep me in view. Yet we didn’t want to look weak to each other, that was the silent deal: no whiny romanticism.

- See you later, then. –

- See you.-

Chapter 1: A trip to the unknown

On our way to the caravan, I threw a look at my back, to the walls of my hometown. I wondered how it appeared to the eyes of these strangers. A sorry-looking scrapyard, randomly thrown in this scorched valley of the Appalachian Mountains. But to me, it was home.

I could tell Lucy’s figure among the dozens which had climbed over their houses to watch us from afar. I will bring back a better future, I told myself.

I had got lost in my thoughts, even though Richard Heckert, our chaperone, was telling me about how surprised we would be, wondering on the dismissed state of our country, and rabbling on about this and that. I didn’t even realize we had finally gotten to the caravan before Tommy Pellit burst out in an exclamation of stupor:

- Mother of God!-

The convoy was in front of us. A sort of roofed wagon had been parked under a patch of withered trees that provided some shadow from the setting sun. Two men, all in their young years, were resting idly on the bare ground, looking in our direction, their guns at hand. Then I realized what had caused Tommy to erupt like that.

Bound to the carriage, six girls were standing in their restraints. I stepped closer, to take in the eerie image. A girl-powered cart? My jaws fell open in disbelief.

What made it even odder was the bondage they were put in. The girls had been disposed in three pairs, each pair mounted to shafts crossing a wide central beam that connected them to the wagon behind. The outfit was the same for all of them: heavy boots, knee-high, forced them on the balls of their feet as they sported breath-taking six inches heels. A hobble connected the boots to each other, at ankle height. Their legs, lengthened by the enforced posture, looked like sculpted in marble, not to say about their high, clenched buttocks.

Corsets fitted their slender bodies tightly; I couldn’t obviously take exact measurements, but I guessed their waists must have been no more than 19’’ wide. Their chins were all held high by rigid posture collars, so that they could not look elsewhere but forward. The only thing reminding an actual horse were the bit gags inserted between their teeth, which were cruelly held in place by tight straps running around their chins and skulls, which also served as support for adjustable, rigid eye-pads; the four girls forming the middle and bottom pair had them shut closed, so that I guessed they were effectively blinded. The front pair, instead, was granted at least front view, as the pads were adjusted to only block their side view. 

What appalled me most was to see that they were not supposed to push the crossing bars with their hands. Quite to the contrary, their hands were useless, as they were encased in snugly strapped, fingerless leather gloves that reached above the elbows; their arms pulled behind their backs until their hands came to nest between their shoulder blades, and by means of rings built in the gloves, linked with a chain to another ring attached to the back of their collars. The crossing shafts, instead, were two for each pair and were placed at such an height that their breasts, bulging outwards by the combined effects of the high-heel posture, the folding of the arms and the restricting corset, were crushed between them. To further lock them in position, the corsets had a leather crotch strap that ran all the way from the coccyx, between the buttocks and the legs to a ring cast in the lower of the crossing bars, centered below the breasts of each girl. As I examined the breast bondage, I realized that maybe the front pair was not much luckier with respect to the other fellow girls, who had been deprived of sight, as their unprotected nipples, pecking out of their breasts, were mercilessly crushed by clover clamps. Two link of chains connected, respectively, the clamps on the right nipples and those on the left ones of the two front girls, which were in turn attached to two separate long leashes resting all the way back to the carriage.

Heckert’s voice shook me from my daydreaming.

- I see you are admiring our pony wagon. -

- What the fuck is going on here? – I could barely say.

- This is our transport, gentlemen. You didn’t think we would travel by foot, did you?-

I looked at Joe and Tommy. They just plainly stared at me back, with a baffled look on their face. Hell, this is weirder and weirder, I told myself.

- We saw you coming and we have readied the wagon, Sir Richard.- said the older of the two boys that we had just met, while standing up to greet us.

- Well done, boys. If our guests have nothing in contrary, I suggest we leave. Our ponies are impatient to start, I can see it!-

Joseph Tills, as silent as usual, was the first to step unceremoniously in the cabin of the carriage. The two boys mounted on the outside bench, perched on what could have been intended as the driver seat, and Heckert waited for us mount inside. I let my pals in first, before glancing again our draught females, oh God, how did I just call them. The idea was revolting, even for the amoral, anarchic world I had grown in. But I couldn’t deny the stirring in my pants when I saw these six firm asses in line, strained from the tension, backs arched and arms folded to helplessness.

As soon as we all seated in the comfortable cabin, Heckert leaned over a side window to issue the command to leave.

- On we go, Sir, - and a sharp cracking sound followed. Joe instinctively stood up, pistol in his hand, causing Tills to react immediately, pointing his rifle to his face. My blood froze, and Heckert burst out in laughter.

- Calm down, please, calm down! It was not a gunshot, if this is what you thought – to which words Joe answered with a confirming grunt, - It was just the crack of the whip.-

The carriage started to move in that moment, as another crack resounded in the air, and we could hear the voice of one of the driver boys shout,

- March! On we go! Do you hear me, you lazy cunts? –

I stuck out my head from the window to check what was going on. Grinning evilly, one of the boys was spinning a long whip in the air above his head, and landing its tip with striking ability on the naked buttocks of the girls in front of him, eliciting moans of protest muffled by the gags. The view raptured me. From my restricted angle of view, I could still see how the six-pack was marching at full unison, in short but quick steps. I wondered how difficult it had to be to avoid tripping in those mean boots they were wearing, and what a physical effort it had to be to keep that pace while bound like that.

- I am sure you are wondering how this is possible, Mr. Carson. –

- I sure am, Mr. Heckert. – I answered while gaining my seat. – You have to forgive me, but I don’t understand. Is this some kind of…-

- Slavery? – helped me Tommy Pellit.

- Hmm, slavery. Yes, we call these girls slaves, but I’m sure your usage of this word holds a different meaning for you in respect to us. I would find it appropriate were we imprisoning innocent men, but this is different. –

- Different? In what respect, exactly? – my voice betrayed my unease, and finally Joseph Tills opened his mouth to talk.

- We call it the Order. –

- The Order. –

- Exactly. It’s not easy to explain it to strangers who just crossed our paths, I reckon. Do you have any knowledge of history, Mr. Carson? –

- A bit. –

- Well, then I am sure you remember that the United States, in which our ancestors lived, the society was founded on a constitution. A constitution being the fundamental law of that society, right? –

- I guess so.-

- Just like in that old country society was molded around its fundamental values written in the constitution, New America has a set of values and laws that regulate our society. New America was founded with this ideal in mind, to restore order in a world of anarchy.-

- Just how does that imply these young girls pulling this carriage in that predicament, man? That’s inhuman! – asked Tommy.

- Our Order has a fundamental value at its heart. That man and woman are not alike. The nature of the man is to serve God; the nature of the woman is to serve the man.-

I stiffened in my seat. Tills spoke ardently, with a priestly attitude. These lunatics are dangerous, I thought. Thank God I didn’t suggest that Lucy would accompany me.

- God has given the power of choice and of reason to the man, - went on Joseph Tills. – The woman doesn’t have the spirit to lead, but only to be guided. She doesn’t know what it’s better for herself. But in her stubbornness, like a wild animal, she pretended to be equal to the man, and led the world to disaster.-

- Oh no, no. You’re not telling me that you believe that the Great Silence was caused by gender equality? –

- And what do you believe, Mr. Carson? – provoked me Tills.

- This is pathetic! – I exclaimed.

- Please, gentlemen, let’s be civil. – Heckert promptly interrupted us. -You have to forgive Joseph, Mr. Carson. He’s what we call a preacher: he takes care of spreading the word of God between our people, and he’s an accomplished scholar but not as good a diplomat. I understand your refusal, as our ways can be strikingly different from yours; and this is not the first time I introduce strangers to our society. Time is needed to fully understand. But rest assured that as much as we desire you to understand us, we respect your values. –

Heckert had done a good job at stifling my indignation, and I let the matter drop for that moment. The carriage was rolling on at a steady speed by then, and during the brief silence that followed, I heard the two youngsters sitting on top of our heads chuckling.

- Blackie is the best lay, I tell you. –

- Are you retarded, man? I would fuck Melons off Blackie any given day. She’s got the best ass. Look at it!–

The whip cracked again.

- She didn’t even flinch! It’s like a stone her ass, I tell you! –

- I don’t know, Mark, I think I heard her moan… -

I realized they were speaking for the captive girls pulling the carriage. Blackie. Melons. They didn’t even have human names.

- So, Mr. Heckert…- went Joe – how long will the trip be?-

- If our ponies keep their rhythm, I’d say a couple of days. New America is about forty miles away.-

- I’m sorry if I’m curious, but how do you expect them to cover forty miles in two days… like that? -

- You mean the ponies. –

- Yeah, that… that’s it. –

- Well, Mr…-

- Joe Manzano.-

- You see, Mr. Manzano, our ponies are a very fine breed. Selected and trained to master the simple task of walking. –

- In high heels. –

- Indeed. You have to understand that a cornerstone of the Order provides that every female, at the beginning of puberty, must be screened by a committee of wise men. They will judge, from her physical  characteristics and disposition, what role will she fulfill in the society. This is known as the first call. The definitive call is established when the female turns twenty years old. For example, a female whose first call would be to be a pony would start the posture, endurance and balance training. At eighteen, her physical development will be measured. In order to be confirmed as a pony, she should be about five feet and eight inches, as otherwise she would not fit correctly in the yoke. At twenty her education is over, and she starts regular service.–

- The yoke? –

- You have seen how the carriage is built, I believe. A pony is mounted to the cart through a yoke, which is the set of bars which binds her breasts and crotch-rope. –

I sniffed, trying to sound my irritation.

- Everything has been carefully studied to be practical and pleasing to the eye. The yoke avoids ponies from falling and injure themselves. –

- It must hurt like hell. –

- What I can tell you is that ponies get used to it. Sure, when they are new to the yoke, most females refuse it. I concede you that it may be uncomfortable, but it doesn’t harm them. It keeps them standing correctly, which only helps to achieve efficiency. -

- What kind of efficiency is that? You can’t keep a human being like that and force him, or her, to march for miles! Jesus Christ, the two girls on front have even clamps on their nipples! –

- That’s how the driver steers the vehicle, no? The ponies are trained to respond to tugs to their nipples. It is a very sensitive part of their body, so there is no doubt they will receive the command. The clover clamps are very ingenious; they exert additional pressure as long as they are pulled, and release it when the slack is restored. Constant pressure numbs your nerves, no matter how sensitive is the part of the body on which it is applied, so changes in pressure are essential to the correct functioning of the rein.-

I couldn’t help but notice how passionate and scientific Mr. Heckert was about describing the tortures he inflicted on these poor girls.

-So when the driver wants to turn to the left, say,- he continued - but it’s the same for the right, he will pull the left rein, tugging the left nipples of the pathfinders. Just a gentle tug transmits a good pinch, it is so… convenient! Oh, you wonder why I call them pathfinders. It’s easy to understand: the front ponies have the task to check the presence of obstacles in their path and adjust their steps autonomously, without requiring the intervention of the driver, as far as they don’t change direction.-

- And the others?-

- The others don’t need to see anything. It would just be distracting for them.–

-Concentration is essential for females- added Tills, - they lose so easily their focus. The duty of a pony is to walk, not to enjoy the landscape. And then, you can’t imagine how easily seditious thoughts find their way in a female’s head. The more controlled is their environment and perception of the world, the less rebellious their attitude will be.-

- Mr. Tills is right, - went on Mr. Heckert – unfortunately for the reasons I was telling you, pathfinders have to be left the ability to see. All we can do is to restrict it to a frontal view. The collar keeps their head straight, and the eyepads prevent peripheral vision. All we can hope is that they don’t get too excited from what they see in front of them!- he chuckled by himself. – Even if, I must say, being promoted to pathfinder doesn’t happen by luck. Only the tamest ponies can aspire to become one.-

- Are you sure ‘aspiration’ is the right word?-

Heckert drew in a long breath, with a thoughtful expression.

- Everything is relative, Mr. Carson. Happiness, gratification, ambition are all relative. A rich man would not give value to a piece of bread; a hungry man would see it like a miracle. The world is very complicated, you should know it better than anyone else. Even to get to the simplest things you need, you have to take hard choices. You have to run risks. Anytime, you can lose everything. Females are actually far luckier than men, in our society. Their lives are simple; their goals are set. The rules are clear. Their only worry is to perform their tasks and abide to the prescriptions of the Order. -

- Desire has such a powerful effect on the human nature, - added Tills – and particularly so on the nature of the female. Think about yourself: an unsatisfied want will embitter you. Have you never wished there could be a way to control your desires? This is what a righteous man will do with a female: he will take control of her desires. He will suppress the unfruitful ones and grow the fruitful ones.-

I had to admit they finally got me thinking. How many things I desired, for myself and for my close ones, that were almost impossible to achieve. How many times I thought to have a clear idea how to be successful at something, only to fail. No matter how important we believed to be, the world followed his ineffable scheme, and we were only grains of dust in the wind.

The wheels of the carriage kept turning all night long, with only a couple of very short stops. Fatigue, and the boredom of travel, had won in the end, and one by one the passengers fell asleep. I kept looking at the pale, barren landscape out of the cabin window, washed out in the silvery colors of moonlight. My mind was wandering over the conversation I had had with Heckert and Tills. I strongly thought that the Order they were believing in was, in truth, a brainwashed cover-up. These people were perverts of the worst kind, and even had a nice story to feel just and generous.

Still, there was something appealing in their ideas. To relinquish control as to relinquish worries. I would never admit it to them, but some of the things they said about women were not so over-the-top. I thought about all the times Lucy bothered me for nothing. How anxiety could cripple her judgment; her need to be reassured about her decisions, about how beautiful or smart she was. But I loved Lucy also for these things. If she had been like a man, confident in herself, autonomous, what could I possibly give her back for her love? Even more, would she still care for me in the same, peculiar way women do?

A thump made me jump in my seat. I had fallen asleep; from out of the cabin, the light of day filtered inside. One of the driver boys peeked in, his eyes telling the tiredness he felt.

- The sun has risen, Sir Richard.-

Heckert woke up and rubbed his eyes with his hands.

- Alright, Phillip. Find a convenient place and we will camp for the day.-

- Actually, Sir, I think we already found it. There’s a structure right here where we could find shelter.-

- Let’s see.-

He got off the cabin, and, eager to get down and stretch our legs, we promptly joined him. The air was already starting to feel hot, and my clothes were already sticky with sweat. We were in a kind of plateau, at the feet of a rocky hill with sparse vegetation; the boy pointed to what appeared to be a wrecked warehouse, abandoned since ages.

- It looks ok from the outside. Take Billy with you and make sure there are no surprises inside.-

- Sure do, Sir. –

The two youngsters armed themselves with rifles and proceeded to the entrance of the building. With a bit of guilt, I walked to the pony-girls, still bound to the shafts of the carriage, stopping myself to the side of the rearmost one.

Her chest was breathing heavily, her calves trembling from the effort she had sustained during the night. Those patches of naked skin that I could see – her forehead, around her armpits, were covered in a sticky mess of sweat mixed with dust. Her chest and breasts were even wet; I realized that was not – or not just – perspiration, it was her own drool, as her mouth was kept half-open by the bite gag.  I wondered if she knew I was there, a couple of feet away, looking at her like an animal in a cage. It was difficult to tell, as her eyes were concealed by the eye-pads, and all her body was kept in a strict bound position. Moreover, she was not making a sound, apart from her ragged breathing.

Strange thoughts raced in my mind. I could stretch my hand and place it on her swollen, darkened tit, and she could not have stopped me. Would she stay silent if I caressed her thighs, and put my fingers on the crotch-band dug into her pussy?

An angry red stripe was fading on her left buttock. Must have been the whip, I thought; she could not avoid  even that pain. How could this be a better life for her? I shook my head.

- Go on if you please, Mr. Carson, - went happily Heckert. – You can touch her.-

I turned around hastily, like a boy caught red-handed.

- I… don’t really care.-

- Suit yourself.- he smirked back at me.

I made a step back. Apart from the hair color, corvine the one closer to me, it was even difficult to tell one girl from the other. Their heights similar, their faces distorted by the harness gag and the blindfold. Their sexual characteristics were so emphasized, at the expense of their personality, that they could have been dolls.

I walked on to face the front pair. The girls blinked to see me, and they could not avoid to femininely gasp in surprise. I was a new sight for them. Instinctively, I felt like shying away. Their tortured nipples were badly dark and in need of medical attention; the dust had covered them in a thick layer and infiltrated in their hair. The crotch-bands were dug in so deep, that I could see how their pussy lips had parted in a camel toe. But of all that sorry sight, the eyes uncomforted me the most; they were their statement of humanity,  no matter how objectified their bodies were. The almond-eyed girl on my right was of clear Asian descent, her pitch-black braid, skin tone and iris color in stark contrast with the pale nuances of her companion on the left, fair skin, light blue eyes and blonde.

They must think I am like them, I thought. A captor, a slaver. I had to fight the impulse to untie them right there, lest I wanted to get in a fight with my hosts. Translucent, round tears were swelling in the corners of the Asian girl’s eyes. She must had been in great discomfort and pain. Tentatively, she advanced her right foot in my direction, only to be stopped halfway so by her hobble.

- You should be careful, Mr. Carson – said Heckert, approaching me – They have a bad habit of kicking strangers. A defensive reflex, I guess. Their legs are extraordinarily powerful, believe me. I’ve seen tougher men than you falling to the ground like they had been shot. –

- She cannot reach me. –

- Why do you think we hobble them?- he snickered, while he tauntingly poked his finger in her bound breast. – Jokes apart, Eggy is a good pony, isn’it? She’d never kick our guest, wouldn’t she? -

The girl didn’t seem to appreciate the attention so much, as she started groaning and grunting in pain. Heckert crouched and took the link of chain connecting her ankles in his hand.

- Actually it doesn’t serve just that purpose. It’s useful for them to measure their steps. They make far less effort if they walk all at the same rhythm with equally long steps, the perfect steps being those that perfectly tense the hobble. -

Meanwhile, the boys came out of the building.

- The building is clear, Sir! Only a couple of rats that ran away. No sign of recent passage. -

- Very well. Take the carriage inside, we’ll camp for the day. –

The oldest of the two joined me in front of the wagon, collecting the nipple leashes in his hands. He winked at me with a conniving glance.

- Getting to know our sluts, Sir? –

I didn’t feel like answering and moved away. Shrugging his shoulders, he pulled both leashes, and with a soft cry the once immobile girls sprang to life, first as the front pair pushed forward to ease the strain on their nipples, then as the blinded ones on the rear reacted to the pull they felt on their breasts. To my astonishment, this perverted machine was working perfectly, and after a mere three steps all six girls were marching at unison, tamely following the lead of the boy holding the leash.

We entered the warehouse. Ancient, rusty trucks were forever sleeping in the dusty hall. Even if someone had been able to find some drops of gas, I doubted they would work. Fuel had been completely consumed years and years ago. Sure, some merchants claimed they knew someone who knew someone else that still had gas cans left, stashed in underground safe houses, and they were willing to barter it. But in truth, nobody even wanted fuel. It was damn difficult to even find a car that would still work.

- Phillip, Billy, you can unhitch the ponies – commanded Heckert.

Tommy Pellit, with which I hadn’t exchanged a word since morning, came up to me, close to my ear, and whispered.

- What should we do, Stan. -

- Keep calm. We’ll talk later.-

- I just can’t stand this shit anymore.-

I gestured him to stay quiet. I would find a chance to talk in private with him and Joe during the long, hot day that was waiting for us. Joe, on his part, looked less worried and more curious, as he was intently looking at the removal of the girls from the carriage.

With a sadistic grin, Phillip pulled the clamps off the nipples of the front girls, which screamed in agony.

- How many times did I tell you to unclamp them, not pull them! – Heckert scolded him, with an unconvincing condescending voice.

- Sorry, Sir. I just forget it. –

Ignoring their lament, the boys proceeded to unfasten the crotch-bands holding the captives to the cross-bar from the rings, and left them only a brief second of respite before retying them to other attachments built in the corsets. Together, they unlocked the upper of the bars crushing their breasts and lifted it upwards, finally freeing the poor mounds from the devilish pressure.

- Come on, back! –

Moaning, the girls made a step back, sliding their breasts away from the supporting lower bar, and squatted down on their position, their calves shaking. They had to be exhausted, but managed to keep the position long enough for the boys to repeat the unhitching for the other two pairs. Once all six girls were squatting down, Billy retrieved a box from the carriage, from which he produced a syringe and a flask. He crouched in front of the blonde girl that had been forming the front pair with the Asian one, and pointed the thin needle to her spectacularly large breast.

- Stay still now. –

Unceremoniously, he inserted the needle in the reddish-purple skin and released the content.

- What’s he doing? – asked Joe, flabbergasted.

- Oh, Billy’s just giving Melons the Balm. – answered the always-present Heckert.

- What are you talking about? – I pressed him.

- That’s our little secret, dear guests, I hope you understand. But it’s all for her good.-

- Actually, Heckert, we really don’t understand.- intervened Tommy Pellit, his impatience mounting. The bald man sighed theatrically.

- Well, basically it’s a medicine. A very efficacious one.-

- I never heard about any balm.-

- Of course you didn’t! – he laughed – You won’t find it anywhere but in New America. A miracle of science, let me tell you. –

- What does it do then? –

- It regenerates cells. Those little things that make up your body. In a miraculous way. – as he saw us frowning, he went on. This man was obviously unable to restrain himself from giving speeches.

- Probably you never heard about staminal cells, did you.-

- No. –

- I’m not a scientist myself, I’m more of a technician, and the details are pretty much gibberish even to me. What I understood of it, it’s just that in the old days, science had made huge steps forward in biogenetic studies. The most promising of this research regarded these staminal cells, I think they were looking for a kind of cure to cancer. –

My eyes widened.

- You mean the Curse? –

- Kind of, yes. A part of your body started to die, and all the rest followed suit. This is how I imagine it was. So these staminal cells were in theory capable of fixing the damages created by cancer. We are very proud to say that we managed to support a thriving scientific community in New America, which has further expanded this research. The best output it has produced, so far, it’s this Balm I’m talking about. –

- This Balm is a cure for the Curse? –

- Whoa, slow down, Mr. Carson. I don’t know. What I know is that it’s very helpful in dealing with bruises and injuries, external or internal. If you want proof, look at Melons’ breasts. See how swollen and bruised they are? Check them again in some hours. The Balm will have restored them completely, like brand new. In truth, if we didn’t have this wonderful remedy, you couldn’t use a pony for such a long trip as ours. She’d be wasted after only one day. But I have no doubt that by sunset our ponies will be fresh and regenerated, so that we will be able to safely hitch them to the carriage again. –

Tommy turned his back and walked away, jumping in an empty semi-trailer. Joe was lost in his contemplation of the pony girls, whose gloves, blindfolds and bit gags had been released from their collars. Able to finally move their arms, they were stretching them, moaning from the cramps they must have felt, and rubbing their aching breasts and legs with their fingerless hands. I saw Tills helping the boys to secure the girls to the carriage, by means of long leashes attached to their collars, and laying on the ground bowls that they filled with water and a soggy mess. Obviously starved, the girls tumbled on the floor and dug their faces in their food, bare breasts scraping the dusty floor, oblivious to the self-humiliation they were imposing on themselves in front of our eyes.

As soon as they had finished eating, their faces all smeared up with the remains of their unappealing meal, following a well-learned habit, they started cleaning each other’s faces with their tongues, licking and sucking.

I decided I had had enough of this show, before my alarmingly stirring dick would decide to bulge straight out of my pants. Watching the girls having their meal also reminded me how hungry I was. I collected the food we’d taken with us from Rashbelt, joined Tommy Pellit in his secluded refuge and sat down next to him.

- Stan, this is fucked up – he whispered to me.

- I know, Tommy, I know. Look, let’s try to not get sentimental about it, let’s just follow these cranks and understand what they want from us. –

- I think the earlier we get our asses back to Rashbelt the better. I’ve got a bad, bad feeling. These guys are fucking insane! –

- I can’t imagine what Lucy would do if she’d been here. Guess she’d blow up their brains right here. –

- I can’t promise you I won’t do the same if this gets worse. –

- Keep yourself tight, Tommy. Have you not heard about this Balm of theirs? Imagine we managed to strike a deal and bring some home with us. Think about Herman, for the love of God! We could save his life. We could get a better future for our children. –

- Yeah, and these perverts use it to prolong their tortures to infinity. -

Tommy brought his thick hands to his temples, massaging his head with a heavy sigh. He was a good boy, solid morals. He could have been me ten years ago, more hot-tempered, more impatient than I was now. I handed him one of our food rations and we ate in silence for some minutes, before he whispered again.

- Joe is behaving oddly. –

- I think he’s actually just horny. Can you blame him, being around six young girls exposed like that? Jesus, I couldn’t take my eyes off their ass myself. –

- Yeah, I can’t blame him either. –

Our stomach full, the conversation dried up there: too much should have been said, and too few words could express it. We soon drifted off in slumber, carried away by the erotic recollections of the passing night.

A dream haunted me. I was standing, alone, in the middle of a blasted road. All around me, a thick whirlwind of dust wouldn’t let me see in the distance, and its howling noise would fill my ears with an alien cacophony. In the desperate hope to find a refuge, I would start walking down the road, when a familiar figure appeared in front of me, battered but still, in the fiery sandstorm.

It was Lucy, but she was not looking at me: she was holding her eyes straight down to the ground, her face slapped by the wild swings of her hair, flames dancing on a coppery background; I realized she was not wearing clothes, a realization that made my heart fall; not out of sympathy, but out of pure lust. I wanted to touch her, to feel the warmth of her skin; but her hair grew longer, covering her in an impenetrable barrier, a constricting sarcophagus of red fur. Lust was driving me mad; I tried to rip the hair off her body, only to feel the tips of my fingers burn as if I was handling a fire. And from within, echoing, I heard a mewling , that both saddened me and made me more and more hungry, so that I couldn’t resist to dig deeper in that layer of hair, my hands charring, smoldering…

I woke up to the very same sound of my dream, a rhythmic, feminine sound I knew so well. Tommy was still asleep, next to me. I raised up and looked at the rest of our party.

I trembled in disgust as I saw Heckert pumping his mediocre dick in and out of Eggy, the Asian girl, slapping her rock-hard ass cheeks as if he was beating a bag of sand; just two steps away, the two driver boys were sharing mouth and vagina of another girl, and Joe a bit on the back was riding enthusiastically the blonde amazon that used to lead the caravan. Only Tills had not joined the bacchanal; he was apparently intent in reading a book, undisturbed by the savage orgy that was taking place just behind his back.

- Joe, what the fuck! – I screamed furiously.

- It’s ok, Stan, it’s ok – was the answer, words interrupted by his ragged breath. He was having the sex of his life, and he even raised his hand to slap the girl’s massive breasts, taking fast example from Heckert.

- It’s not ok, you have to stop now! We are not here to behave like animals! –

- Relax, partner. Take one for you too! I won’t tell nothing to Lucy. –

- Don’t dare to say that name here, Joe. –

He slowed down the motion of his pelvis, his dick wet of his and the girl’s mixed juices. She wiggled a bit as looking to adjust her position into a more comfortable one, but he held her fast from her hips, forcing her to lay on her back, legs spread open, on the dirty ground. Our voices had gotten low.

- What’s your problem, Stan? I am just fucking. And you will not tell me who I can or I can’t fuck. –

- I can tell you, when you’re obviously taking advantage of her. Are you a raper? Are you one of those shithead punks we keep out of Rashbelt, man? Do I have to consider you like that?-

- My gentlemen, calm down! – interrupted us Heckert, still busy penetrating his victim. – There is nothing to blame here, is it? A man satisfying his urges must be called a raper? –

- This is sick! – bellowed Tommy from behind my shoulders.

- Please don’t stop, Sir. This slave wants your cock. -

The blonde spoke, and I must admit I was shocked. After only a day, I had painted her in such a way that I had completely forgotten she was a human being – able to talk, to express her feelings. Heckert smiled triumphantly. Tommy was left without words as well, and the girl continued begging with unabated conviction.

- Please, Sir. This slave wants to make you come. This slave needs to be fucked. –

Joe, now completely still, his dick buried down in the blonde’s pussy, was looking at her as if he was looking at the strangest animal on earth. I guess nobody of us expected her to talk – and all of us, even him, had taken for granted that these girls were sorry captives.

- Enough chatter! – commanded Tills, staring icily at the ponygirl. She shut her mouth as obeying as humanly possible; only her eyes and a soft moan betraying her arousal, her complete abandon to the depraved act she was participating in.

I tried to find words, but they were still not coming to me. I clenched my fists and made a frustrated gesture, turning my back to the scene only to hear Joe reach new heights of sexual self-realization.

- You sure have a sweet mouth, babe. I wonder what else it can do. –

Heckert was over after a short time, as the younger boys and Joe were prolonging their fun and camerading. I was trying my best to focus my attention elsewhere, but it was impossible. Our mad chaperone came next to me and sat down on a crate, giving me a long look.

- I’m not buying that shit. – I spouted.

- I can’t make you believe anything different from what you think… But I guess you witnessed a fitting example of what Tills was explaining you earlier about the control of desire. –

- This is crazy! –

- Oh, come on, Mr. Carson, I do not intend to be unpolite, but you’re proving to be the one with the wrong mentality here. –

Tills joined us, his book on his side, keeping a thumb between the pages to hold the mark.

- I know your way of thinking from other heathens I’ve met. – Before I could interrupt him, the priest went on. – A barbarian belief that we are all equal in the eyes of the Lord. It’s a dismissal of responsibility. We are the instruments of His will. And his will was as God spoke to Eve in the book of Genesis: thy desire shall be to thy master, and he shall rule over thee. –

- To put it in other words, - went on Heckert, - you surely take for granted the way of life your community has. And we respect that. – Tills frowned only slightly – But what if it wasn’t the way things should be? What if things would work better in another way? –

- I don’t know. Nature seems at odds with that. –

- Our community is flourishing in the middle of anarchy and despair. Every single member of our community, male or female, takes pride and great benefit in that. And regarding nature, you might want to have a second opinion about that. Ginger! – he called out to one of the ponygirls, a redhead. I figured that’s where her name had come from. In a single movement, Ginger sprang up to her feet, still enclosed in the six-inches-heel boots, legs spread as much as her ankle hobble could allow, her arms up and gloved hands on her nape, tits gloriously pushed forward on top of her corset, chin up. Her expression a painting of obedience and selflessness.

- Come here, Ginger. –

She graciously walked the distance between us in short steps, tensing the collar leash still securing her to the wagon, without ever letting her hands down. She stood in front of me in all of her female glory, her gaze lost to a faraway point. Heckert gave me a condescendent look.

- Now, my honoured guest: would you like to hear from her what she wants? –

My manhood took over. She was a very beautiful and sexy woman, and her attention position made an excellent job at displaying it for everyone to see. All of her more intimate parts were accessible, in front of my face. I noticed Tommy eyeing me from a short distance.

- What do you want, Ginger? – interrogated Heckert. – You are allowed to speak. –

- This slave wants to serve you, Sir. This slave is weak and willing to please. –

- What are you good at? –

- This slave has been told she knows very well how to suck cock, Sir. –

- Do you like it? –

- This slave likes very much to suck cock, Sir. –

- Elaborate. –

- This slave loves the feeling of a cock in her mouth. It makes this slave feel worthy and useful. This slave would also like to deep throat a cock and make her master proud of her. This slave will suck cock slowly and taste every bit of cum that she is given, if so her master likes. –

- If so her master likes? You don’t like it then? –

Ginger made a genuine expression of fear and confusion, her lips speechlessly moving to find an answer.

- Answer! –

- This slave… didn’t mean she doesn’t like it, Sir, she meant… -

- You meant that you would do anything to please your master? –

Relieved, Ginger nodded.

- Yes Sir. –

I was puzzled to see how a vile man as Heckert held this beautiful woman in total control, and felt a sting of jealousy.

- Would you like to service our guest Mr. Carson? –

- This slave would be most happy to service him, Sir. –

Heckert looked at me, prodding me with his eyes. No words were necessary at this point. I felt like I had lost control, as if something inevitable was going to happen. My instincts, buried under the weight of thousands of years of denial passed down even through the Great Silence byfamilies, institutions and social habits, now being allowed to come to the light. I offered no resistance, it was clear. I could have spoken, but I stayed silent. Heckert gestured the girl to move on and politely left me some privacy, taking Tills away with him.

The redhead fell to her knees in front of me, now her eyes firmly locked in mine, something that sent waves of excitement through my spine. She raised her mitts to my crotch, silently trying to make me understand that she needed a bit of help from me. I didn’t let her wait, unzipping my fly and letting my penis out, already rock-solid, a rocket aimed straight at her face.

She paused to watch it for only a second or so, maybe stroken by a thought, her lips parting first in a lusty smirk, then engolfing the tip of my penis, her tongue flickering gently the underside of my glandes. Ginger never let go of clasping the back of her neck afterwards, nor of looking back at me eye-to-eye. Her wide-open eyes reminded me of a dog we used to have in Rashbelt, the way the animal looked at you in utter loyalty and obedience, hoping for a bit of food from your hand.

The only difference being, this time, she was not getting fed but busying her soft mouth around my shaft, and besides, she was no dog - maybe a bitch, maybe a pony, maybe just a girl playing perverted roles.

I closed my eyes for a moment, the natural beauty of my penis in a warm and moist place my only place of attention. As she reached the end of my shaft, her weight forward to extend her throat at the right angle withstanding the limitations imposed to her by her rigid collar, she started obscillating on her knees, her head bobbing up and down my dick, all body tense as if she had been impaled upside down, and still her eyes - by will, acting or training - full of pleasure in giving pleasure.

I reached for the sides of her head with my hands and helped her to suck me off, imposing my rhythm to her bobbing, briefly giving her a break only the couple of times she gagged as the tip of my dick probed inside of her throat. I moved my right hand down towards her round tit, manhandling her mound, and I was impressed by its firmness and tautness, a ripe fruit in my grasp, her nipple aroused and pointing out. The volume of her moans increased proportionally as I fondled her left breast, and with one final thrust I started coming straight in the back of her mouth. Drool mixed with my cum started to drip from her lower lip, one thick strand dangling down from her chin and between her breasts.

With a deep, satisfied breath I slid out of her mouth and let go of her head, my dick also dripping, resting my weight against the crate behind me. She licked her lips and chin as if savouring the most delicious of meals, then reaching back for my penis and licking it clean.

She knew how to make a blow-job, that was for sure. I let her complete her task, gently stroking her hair, my attention refocusing to my surroundings. Tommy had gone. I let my head down, taking in the realization of what had just happened. Ginger, as quietly and gracefully as she had arrived, at a distant motion of the hand from Heckert, left me alone to join her peers.

Had I taken advantage of her? She sure looked consensual. Even sharing the joy of the act. Her eagerness to please looked sincere, yet it was so baffling and bewildering to me to conceive such a lewd, yet graceful behavior. I guessed I didn’t have to let any sense of guilt to overwhelm me; after all, what happened in the country, out of the protection of towns, was far worse from this. Rapes were a common fate for travelers unlucky enough to surrender to bandits, and often ended in death. Those who wouldn’t fall in the hands of bandits, they would starve; others went mad from isolation, or malnourishment; and for the lucky ones to survive through this, the Curse was always there to catch you in the end. Rashbelt was not spared from these plagues.

I weighted in my head the cons and pros of being Ginger. She looked to be pretty healthy, notwithstanding the demeaning and exhausting treatment she was submitted to. She looked, in a shockingly new way to me, satisfied of her place in the world; not caring for water and food hunting. But she didn’t appear to have any freedom, and this, for someone like me, was a price too high to pay.

What if there is people who don’t value freedom this much? What if Ginger was just, plainly, a different kind of person from me?

A smack on my shoulder shook me up from my train of thought. Joe, with a heartfelt laugh, joined me on my side.

- Now, Stan, don’t tell me you didn’t have a great time.-

- That was fucking unbelievable.-

- You know, man? We should just have a good time. –

I shook my head. I was unsure about picking him up for the trip. He looked like he had found the treasure cove.

- Joe, whatever happens here, stays here, ok? And I want you to keep your guard up. We’re in no man’s land, and the company is kind of... –

- This is fucking promising, Stan. I can’t wait to get to their town. Sounds like paradise to me. –

- We are from Rashbelt, let’s not forget that. That’s our home and that’s where we are getting back. –

- Yeah, yeah – he shook his shoulders – We have a responsibility, I get it. But I don’t think enjoying the local customs will do us any hurt, don’t you agree? –

I massaged my temples, wishing I was as light-hearted as he was.

- Where’s Tommy? –

- Taking a walk around. I guess he has a second opinion about this. But I’m glad to see you changed your mind. –

- I did not change my mind, Joe. –

He grinned, and patted his dick.

- Looks to me your dick changed his mind. Think about that. –

I looked around and saw Tommy, nervously walking around the perimeter of the warehouse, and made my way to meet him behind the carriage wagon. He stopped, planted his feet, and pointed his finger at me.

- I don’t give a fuck what you do, Stan. You’re the boss and I will respect that. I will stick around to look for your sorry heads when you and Joe lose them. I will stand at your side, because that’s what we do in Rashbelt. –

- Tommy… -

- But I’m not taking this shit. As soon as we get our hands on something, I’m heading home. With you guys or alone. And you should be back too. At least for Lucy. –

- Relax, for fuck’s sake! You think a blowjob made me one of them? –

- I’m just warning you. And this conversation’s over, Stan. –

Young Tommy had a temper. I resisted another wave of guilt. As he turned his back to me, I couldn’t resist to smile, amused. We really were villagers, I thought.

We idled around the rest of the day, the girls asleep on the floor, Ginger curled up like a ball, the blonde resting her head on the leather-clad legs of a companion. Phillip and Billy took turns for guard, Heckert snoring in deep sleep on a sleeping bag.

As the sunset approached, the driver boys started to prepare the carriage. They formed pairs of ponygirls – exactly in the order of the previous nights, there had to be a precise hierarchy – and repeating, backwards, the procedure I had seen when we arrived in the warehouse, they hitched the girls to the carriage by their breasts and crotch-ropes, mounted bit-gags on each one of them, set in place the blindfolds and folded the arms upwards on their backs, pinning their hands between their shoulder blades.

Once more I took in the spectacular view of the prepared six girls, now fresh from the day of rest and from the miraculous effect of the healing balm they had received. I examined closely huge breasts of the blonde standing in the front row. They looked unbruised and spotless again. I had to get some of this healing Balm home, for Herman.

I saw the girl’s teeth dig deeper in her gag as Billy clamped her nipples with the driving leash. She made only a small moan of resignation. Heckert urged me to get up in the wagon.

- Ponies are cinched and ready to go, Mr. Carson. We should get going. –

I took my seat in the carriage. He looked out of the small window, to the cloudy sky whose light was fading away, and mumbled.

- If we’re lucky, we’re home before dawn. –

I was deadly curious, by then, to learn more about New America, its organization and, most of all, how in the world they were able to bend a girl such as Ginger into that kind of submissive behavior. Heckert – being the chatterer kind of guy – only needed a small input to ramble about his community for hours; only this time, I was looking forward to it.

- So, Mr. Heckert… -

- Why don’t we drop formalities? Call me Richard.-

- Ok, Richard… I am quite… impressed. –

- You have every right to be, Stan. Every right of this world. Our ponies are the finest breed, not only excellent in marching as you have just experienced. –

- I’ll be damned, they are hot as hell! – commented Joe. Tommy, impenetrable, looked away in the wilderness.

- I told you that these ponies have been chosen carefully out of hundreds of candidates – went on Heckert – They have been raised to comply to these tasks since they were sixteen. –

- You said you have screened hundreds of candidates… -

- Oh, no. I didn’t screen them, our educational facilities do that. I am an ambassador of New America, that’s quite a different job. –

- Whatever. So how many people live in New America? –

- Our latest census put us at about twenty thousand souls, if I recall correctly. –

Twenty thousand! This was an unimaginable number for me.

- That’s really… much more than I expected – I said, trying not to look shocked – Out of which… -

- Sixteen thousand females, if that’s what you wanted to know. It’s necessary for the functioning of our community to maintain a ratio of at least three females to one man. But we maintain a larger proportion, as times allow. –

- And they are all… - Joe pointed his thumb backwards, to where the girls were sweating and drawing the wagon, - they are all like that? –

Heckert bursted into laughing.

- No, Joe, not quite. As I told you, ponies are strictly selected, and anyways there’s not the need for keeping a large number of them. Where should I start… Let’s say that females, in general, provide the physical labor so that men can concentrate on complex work; we maintain scientists, doctors, even professional soldiers, a very small and efficient government, police, teachers, whatever a community needs to flourish. Females are bred to perform simple tasks and to serve society. Some of them make it to being ponies, but I wouldn’t say it’s the most important of their activities, not by far. They are employed in the fields, in industry, some of them become personal property of a man and just tend to the house. Although this happens only to the most esteemed members of our community. I’m humbled to say I have one. –

- You have a personal… slave. –

- Yeah, father John granted me this right about four years ago. For my distinction in service. –

- What exactly… -

Heckert waved his hand diminishingly.

- We’re not here to talk about myself, I wouldn’t want to bore you. I’m a loyal member of our government, reporting directly to father John. –

- Tell us some more about this father John of yours. He’s your leader, I guess. –

- You can call him that, sure. -

- He’s the guardian of the Order, our beacon of light – Tills intervened – his word is law because God speaks through him. He is the only one that can sentence to death a citizen, or intercede for a slave. –

-  What do you mean, interceding? –

- Some females in New America can be granted citizenship, even though this happens very rarely, - picked again Heckert – It can happen only when they reach the age of forty, if they have been head slaves for at least twenty years, and on the unquestionable decision of father John. Well, in the case of personal slaves, the consent of their master will also be needed. Property is sacred in our community. –

I felt that every bit of information I was getting from Heckert opened new doors to a world I didn’t know in the least.

- Head slaves, you said. –

- Well, it’s a kind of intermediate step given to distincted slaves, those ones who passionately and selflessly follow the principles of the Order. They are responsible of other slaves, being no more than slaves themselves. They discipline the ones straying from the path, report merits and faults of the slaves in their responsibility, and excel in labor and in servicing their master. –

- So who’s the head slave here? – asked Joe.

- This is a small group, no head is required. The head slave of the stables is in New America, I don’t think that the stable director would have let me take her on this trip. Too dangerous to risk such a prized asset. –

- It’s difficult to replace a head slave, - Tills observed – so difficult is for a woman to carry responsibility without engaging in condemned activities. -

Tommy sighed, visibly annoyed by the preacher’s way of speaking.

- For example, as father John granted citizenship about three months ago to a distinguished head slave from the corn fields, and named her Mary, the responsible director, mister Wang, had a severe fault in judgement and trusted a younger slave with the responsibility of a team of twenty laborers. As it appears, she immediately started to exploit her new power to submit other slaves in committing lewd sexual acts against nature. –

- Such as? – Joe’s interest flared up again and Tills continued.

- She was possessed by uncontrolled desire for other females, she had always been, but had managed to keep it hidden for years. When she found herself in the position to force her subordinates to satisfy her wants, she lost control. One night, following reports of noises in the barracks where these slaves were sleeping, the police found a most horrifying scene. –

Heckert tried to interrupt the storytelling.

- I don’t think our guests are interested in… -

Joe extended his open hand to Tills, curiosity having the best of him.

- No, not at all. Please, it was most interesting. –

- The head slave had bound two slaves and forced them to use their mouths on each other’s genitalia for hours. Another one had been brutally whipped with a dry corn stem all over her body, including her breasts, buttocks and legs. Most shockingly, as the interrogated slaves confessed, she had been penetrating for weeks the most of them with objects of fortune, desecrating their bodies and defiling their spirits. It may not come as a surprise, but under this new head slave the productivity of the corn field had been much lower than expected. –

I tried to picture the image in my mind, not much interested in the economy of corn fields, rather in what sounded like an extremely kinky lesbian orgy that took place every night, for weeks.

- So what happened afterwards? –

- Mr. Wang was removed from his position for the grave lack in vigilance, all of his property confiscated. I think now he’s employed, quite ironically, in the correction department as a common warden. The slaves were sent back to reeducation, and the head slave to discipline and correction. –

- Wait a minute… You mean that all of them paid for this? –

- It couldn’t be any less than that, I’m afraid. Wang had it lucky; had he not had the position he held, he might have been sentenced to death. So the same for the failing head slave. –

- But what about the poor girls of the field? What was their fault? Were they accomplices in the end? –

Tills raised his eyebrows, then he shook his shoulders.

- I have no idea. I don’t think any of us asked himself this question, in truth. To participate in such an act is almost as grave as causing it. They failed to report it to their master straight away, to make it worse, probably under intimidation; but we cannot allow intimidation between slaves to stand in the way of the Order. It’s a delicate balance.-

- And then, only the head slave was sentenced to discipline, I might add – Heckert said – the others were just sent back to rehabilitation training. –

- Doesn’t sound too good to me, this “rehabilitation training”.-

- It’s just a shorter, more intense version of the training a female undergoes after puberty. Six years condensed to three months. After all, it’s supposed they are only there to refresh a knowledge they already possess. –

- And what happens if this training doesn’t work? I mean, maybe they have been influenced in an irreversible way. –

- Well, they’re screened at the end by a panel of wise men, to judge if the rehabilitation was successful. If a rehabilitating slave is deemed of failing to recuperate, especially under suspect of scarce collaboration, thoughts straying from the principles of the Order, or rebellious behavior, they are typically sent to discipline. Afterwards, they will start over the rehabilitation process. –

It all sounded methodically organized, with a touch of lucid folly.

- Now that you make me think about it, if you’re interested, the screening is probably due one of these days. I can ask if you can participate as silent observers. –

- Count me out of it – spat Tommy, but Joe enthusiastically accepted.

Slowly, we were getting sucked in by this alien world, even before we had entered it. After six hours of travel and two rest stops for refreshing the ponygirls, I felt I had heard enough of New America. I understood – as I had never met someone in my life whose title was “ambassador” of someplace – what Heckert’s job was. Wandering the wasteland in search for other communities and convincing them of the righteousness and practicality of New America’s way of life.

As I came to understand, the community had a much more complicated structure compared to Rashbelt where every member was on the same level, my leadership not needing any formalization and encouraging freedom of thought. This Father John, in all aspects a crowned king acting on divine right, was a blood descendant of the founder of a community, which wrote down the Order shortly after the Great Silence. Tills spoke erratically about the history of the community, as I sensed there was more to be discovered than his epic drenched in religion, but regarding to this aspect, both him and Heckert had been unusually discreet.

What made the story more interesting, and less medieval, was the close intertwining between their self-righteous misogynistic beliefs and the use of technology. Out here, I mean in the wasteland, we were just basically salvaging old technology from decay; be it weapons, medicines or tools. They had a scientific community, what sounded like real labs, production technologies, the capability to sustain a population of twenty thousand. These guys were here to stay. We were surviving, they were writing their own history.

I decided I had to keep my eyes open, the words of my father still ringing in my ears:

- They are vile and immoral. Never trust them, my son! -

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. -