HARD LABOR

By Velvetglove

Copyright and Disclaimer

‘Hard Labor’ is an original work of fiction and neither events nor characters portrayed are based in reality. Any resemblance with actual persons is entirely coincidental. It contains scenes of non-consensual sex and bdsm. Please do not read any further if such things offend or provoke you. The author does not condone such activities in real life. Copyright is asserted by the author and no reposting to other sites or commercial use whatsoever is authorised.

Synopsis

Set in 2013, a young married couple are sentenced to a life of Hard Labor, in a world where they have no rights. The list of story codes is not complete (I don’t want to reveal all in advance) but the following will NOT feature: young, teen, extreme torture, snuff. Hard Labor will be posted from May to September 2008.

HARD LABOR

Prologue

“Fifty Years, Hard Labor”.

The Judge peered down at them over his half-spectacles, a slight smirk on his rubbery lips. His tone was as casual as if he’d merely wished them ‘good day’ or asked them to ‘pass the salt’. He discarded five decades from their lives as nonchalantly as he might have wiped dog shit from the heel of his shoe.

Derek stared back at him, stupefied, feeling as if he’d been stabbed in the chest. He couldn’t breathe and his ears rang with disbelief.

Fifty years !

“You will serve the full fifty years. No parole. Case dismissed.”

The Judge sneered before lifting his spectacles off his nose and wiping them nonchalantly with a tissue.

Derek was 25. So was Fern, his wife. They would both be 75 years old when they were released.

If indeed… they were ever released.

He heard a titter from up in the court galleries. A solitary female giggle. Somebody enjoying their misfortune. Theirs was the last case of the morning session and by now the courtroom had almost emptied. Most of the onlookers who came to court each day to gloat had already gone for lunch.

Derek stared across at the middle-aged female clerk who was meticulously inscribing the verdict and sentence in a ledger. The whole case had taken a mere eight minutes. No jury, no witnesses, no attorneys, no defence.

“No !” Derek bellowed, belatedly. “Noooo !”

Alongside him, Fern had collapsed in shock, fainting to the floor.

Immediately four Military policemen surrounded them both.

“No … please …”

He felt a thud on the back of his head, scrambling his brains. He turned as another blow thwacked his shoulders.

‘Three months. Or six months at most. And it’ll only be a suspended sentence.’ The words echoed around his mind as he succumbed to the burly policemen.

He watched helplessly as two policemen hauled his wife up to her feet alongside him in the dock. She was sobbing, her lovely face distorted by anguish.

‘If you plead no contest that’s the worst that will happen’ had been the advice that the Citizens Advice Centre had given him. So that’s what they’d done. Pleaded guilty.

“Wait !” the Judge spoke out, above the tumult. He banged his gavel twice against his desk, the action making his double-chin and jowls shake. “Apparently we have one application under the CLS.”

Derek turned. There was a glimmer of hope after all. The Convict Lease Scheme was sometimes used by relatives and friends to buy their loved ones out of the dreaded prison camps. Neither he nor Fern knew of anybody, but …

The Clerk rose and passed a sheet of paper up to the Judge.

“I’ll hear the application in my chambers.” The Judge announced. “Court is adjourned for lunch.”

*** *** ***

Carrie smiled at the Judge and handed over her Lease Application documents.

She tittered again, just as she had up in the galleries. She loved this part, the beginning. But this particular time was simply the best yet.

“You know I am required to ask reassurance.” The Judge said, sipping his sherry and scooping up a large handful of nuts. His black robes were stretched tight across his rotund belly and his bloated neck rippled over the top of his collar.

His room reeked of wood varnish and old leather, stale tobacco and aftershave.

“Yes, your honour.”

“The State has sentenced this couple to fifty years. I need confirmation that they will serve a full term with you, and that you will make it at least as hard and unpleasant for them as it would be in a State prison camp.”

“You have my word on that, your honour. At least as hard.” she emphasised.

The Judge smiled back at her. He was a lecherous old goat but she knew she was safe from him.

“What was his name ? Derek, wasn’t it ?”

She nodded.

“Mmm. I think I should like to meet young er … what was she called …? ?”

“Fern, your honor.”

“Yes … Fern. I should enjoy meeting her again in more … relaxed surroundings.”

“Of course. Any time. You know you only have to ask.”

He smiled at her, munching on a nut. “In that case your application for lease is granted. Both of them for the full fifty years. I will notify the clerk.”

Carrie grinned back. “You are most kind.”

“A pleasure, dear.”

“Thanks Dad.” She replied.

Chapter One

Flashback … to May 2008 … five years earlier.

Fern lay still, staring at the ceiling. She had to end it. Now. Today.

On top of her, Steele, her boyfriend, was grunting and slamming into her, as ever solely focused on his own pleasure, not hers.

He was handsome, and he knew it; tall, dark and strong, with piercing black eyes like coal. All the girls fancied him.

She tried to get into it, to respond, but the combination of his selfishness, her guilt, and their combined lack of lovemaking technique, didn’t do it for her. Once upon a time her crush on him had transcended all else but that was no longer the case.

He was constantly pressuring her to ‘blow him’, to ‘swallow his jizz’ to let him ‘fuck her ass’ and even to let him tie her up, or have a threesome. He’d pushed her once too often. She was a romantic. He was a pervert. She hated rude words, he swore all the time. She liked missionary intercourse, he wanted …

Who knew what he wanted ?

Fern turned her head to the wall as he slammed deeper inside her. She stared at the Arctic Monkeys poster on the wall through blurred vision.

“Cum, damn you.” He murmured into her ear. “Hurry.”

“I c … can’t.” she whispered. “You … orgasm … please.”

He licked her face, slobbering, and then reared up above her, like a vampire.

“Yesssssssssssss … nnngggmmm …”

She felt disgust. With him. With herself.

She had to tell Steele. To end it. Now.

Because she had fallen in love with someone else. With one of Steele’s best friends.

His name was Derek.

*** *** ***

Five years later, Steele was celebrating his 26th Birthday. It was Monday, 27th May 2013.

He sat on the toilet flicking through a magazine. It was a weekly publication of slaves for auction, with their photos, details and price guides. He folded down the corner of the pages of those that interested him, to discuss with Carrie later.

He glanced downwards. He was wearing just his white towelling robe, hanging open, and his favourite pair of old comfy slippers. His chest was broad, his abdomen hard, his legs slim and muscled. He was proud of his body.

Between his thighs a new Asian slave was diligently running her tongue up and down the dark, bulging vein of his shaft.

He frowned at her and farted loudly, turning the page of the mag.

She was 23 years old. He’d purchased her and her sister less than a week ago after her family had been declared bankrupt. Somebody else bought her father and brother, another bidder took her mum at a knock-down price, Steele had sadly been outbid on her other married sister and husband, while other buyers snapped up her younger brother and two female cousins.

That was the way it was, nowadays. Families torn asunder.

Steele actually liked keeping husbands and wives together. After all, it was kinder that way ! But usually families of five, six or more, ended up under multiple ownership, probably never seeing each other again.

This one’s name was Jaz. Her chocolate eyes stared up at him with absolute reverence as her soft lips slithered up and down his throbbing erection.

She’d been a good buy. A bit overpriced, maybe, but worth it. She was well stacked for an Asian, with proper tits and hips on her nubile, firm frame. Her hair was long, lustrous and jet-black, hanging down her naked back in a ponytail that he could use to steer her if necessary. She had a cute nose, perfect white teeth and a bubbly smile. Of course, she hadn’t done too much smiling during these first few days of her new life !

She was still wearing a golden ring through one nostril, gem-stone pendant earrings and a red bindi on her forehead. He liked the ethnic look.

Steele grunted and expelled a soft stool. There was a squishy splat, followed by an invisible cloud of pungent odour. He smiled down at her flaring nostrils. But she didn’t cease licking him. Slaves usually never made that mistake twice !

He pushed hard, enjoying the spectacular ‘whump’ from below as his guts noisily emptied themselves into the special pan. His toilet was a generous-sized throne. It was set on a raised, carpeted dais, part of his and Carrie’s huge ensuite bathroom. There were their two parallel baths, separate showers, twin basins, a dressing table and a day-bed.

The toilet faced a wide window overlooking the grounds and countryside beyond. He liked watching his slaves toiling in the fields outside while he bathed, shaved and abluted.

He settled back against the throne, spreading his thighs wider, relaxing.

Carrie, his wife, love and business partner had left him to amuse himself for a few hours. He could tell she was cooking up something for his birthday party later on. He smiled across at the photo of his wife in a silver frame on her dressing table. She was the kinkiest, horniest, sexiest and most sadistic bitch you could ever meet. How many other wives encouraged – or even allowed – their husbands to fuck the workforce whenever they wanted ? Not many. Mind you, it helped that Carrie enjoyed a female slave’s mouth almost as much as he did.

The photo was his favourite; his wife was staring directly at the lens, her turquoise eyes were hypnotic, like a Siamese cat. Of course she was beautiful, but there was something else. Something indefinable. An aura beyond mere beauty. Her shoulder-length hair was expensively coiffed and her eyebrows curved like Arab swords. A single mole only served to highlight the creamy perfection of the rest of her face, the dazzling whiteness of her teeth.

Below, Jaz licked and slurped, eyes fixed on him. She was a beginner. Although not a virgin when he’d purchased her, she’d only ever had one boyfriend in her life, and her experience with him had apparently been limited to some clumsy handjobs and a couple of hurried fucks once they’d become engaged. But the Asian guy had dumped her when her family’s debts became public knowledge.

Steele, naturally, had proven rather less sexually patient than Jaz’s ex-fiancé !

So she was now undergoing a crash course in all types of fun.

And some not-so-much-fun.

“Kiss my balls.” He murmured, closing his eyes.

Her lips slid off his shaft and he felt her hot breath against his ass crack.

“And finger your cunt at the same time.”

He sensed her shifting position, moving her arm. Her tongue felt wet and warm on the sensitive part between his scrotum and butt. He blinked open an eye to check. Her dark doe-eyes were still fixed respectfully on his face. She was learning fast.

“Lower.”

Her pink tongue probed hesitantly but obediently into his damp cleft.

He winked at her, forcing out a little blast of remaining air. She grimaced and whimpered, her hand moving down frantically between her legs. Her tongue was sliding in and out, avoiding the dirty part of his rim. She was moaning quietly and her stabbing wet tongue was making a ‘pts, pts,’ sound against his flesh.

He stared coldly into her terrified eyes, enjoying her expression. The power of life and death was one thing. But he enjoyed much more power than that. Within just a few days she had learned the truth; that he held the power of ‘endless suffering’ over her.

He studied her pretty face. Tiny beads of sweat had formed on her forehead. She had long dark eyelashes that fluttered as she blinked with the turmoil of emotions in her head. He idly wondered if she would be able to make herself cum with her fingers while she lapped his butthole ?

Not that he cared about her pleasure.

“Feel good ?” he whispered.

Her eyes widened. She kept looking at him, burrowing her tongue deeper.

“Gonna cum ?”

She gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head, signifying no.

He grinned. Who gave a shit ? It had always intrigued him, how women’s bodies worked. Once upon a time he’d cared about whether a woman enjoyed herself, whether she reached a climax, or not. But that cunt Fern had been the last time.

In the five years since they’d split, he’d only thought about his own pleasure. His looked down at his erection jutting unattended above Jaz’s face. He reached down and caressed his shaft gently, teasing it.

His wife Carrie was the only sex partner he cared about nowadays. And she, bless her, could probably reach a climax just by picking her nose !

“Leave your cunt alone and finish me off.”

Her hand reappeared to grip his shaft, gently but firmly round the sensitive ridge, just as he’d taught her a couple of days earlier. Her tongue was wedged in his butt, her face pressed in his balls and her fingers clutched round his dick. Mmm …

He shut his eyes and gave in to the moment.

A dump, an orgasm.

All in all, a decent start to his birthday.

But, even as his balls unloaded their hot, sticky payload, he felt a recurring jaded tug of boredom in the back of his brain. Everything was all so … familiar. He needed something new in his life. Something fun. Not just more of the same old bdsm scenes like all the others. Something to stir his pot.

Maybe Carrie could come up with an idea ?

End of Chapter One

HARD LABOR

Chapter Two

Carrie felt a warm tingle between her thighs as she took delivery of her newest acquisitions.

"Would you remove their restraints please ?" she calmly requested.

The warder laid the completed documentation on the hall table and carefully unlocked and unhooked the Official State neck, wrist and ankle bracelets from the couple.

She watched him looking closely into Fern’s blue eyes as he ran the chain though and out of ironwork encircling her swanlike neck. Carrie smiled internally at his crude, meaningful wink at the poor young woman. It was evident that many tears had been shed in the hours since the courtroom.

Similarly unhooking the man’s clinking restraints, the warder warned him to keep still and smiled broadly at his obvious shame and discomfort.

“But … you’re C … Carrie ?” Derek stammered. “Steele’s wife.”

"Shut up!" the warder barked, quickly raising his cattle prod.

"No, that’s okay for the moment" Carrie interrupted him. "I'll deal with this after you have gone."

Briefly touching the warder’s arm, Carrie escorted him to the door and, after exchanging pleasantries, she tipped him for the delivery and shut the door.

"You are Carrie aren't you?" asked Derek again, as she turned to face the couple.

She nodded coolly.  She had only ever met them a couple of times, and not for three years. The last time she had seen them before today was around the time of Derek and Fern’s engagement.

“Correct.”

Avoiding their desperate gaze, she sidled back to them, savouring the moment to the full. Then slowly she raised her eyes, drinking in their discomfort.

She let her eyes roam from Derek to Fern and back again. They were both still dressed in their own clothes; ‘Sunday Best’ to impress the court.

Derek was wearing a dark suit with a white shirt and sober tie. There were a couple of dirty marks on his cuffs from the restraints but no real damage. His leather shoes were shined and good quality leather.

Carrie smirked at Fern. In spite of having sunken and red-rimmed eyes from tiredness and tears, Carrie couldn’t deny that her husband’s ex-girlfriend was cute; blonde, blue-eyed, high cheek-boned, glamorous but demure, almost Nordic or Californian in appearance, with plump breasts straining against her tight blouse. Her police records showed she measured 5ft 3ins without heels, a full 6 inches shorter than Carrie was. Fern looked like she belonged in some stupid TV soap about lifeguards on a beach.

Like her husband, Fern had opted for a matching dark skirt and jacket and a cream silk top. The outline of a bra was visible and she was wearing sheer stockings and elegant office-heels. Carrie idly wondered what sort of underwear Fern used.

“Please, what’s happening ?” Derek asked.

“What’s happening ? Mmm ? ” Carrie hummed the words around her tongue, like tasting a savoury titbit before a delicious meal.

“Well, you’ve been sentenced to fifty years hard labor. But, instead of a prison camp, you will serve your sentence with us. With me and … my husband.”
His mouth fell open. “Steele ?”

“Of course, Steele. You don’t think I’d be so foolish as to …”

Carrie glanced meaningfully, cruelly, triumphantly at Fern,

“… let him get away from me, do you ?”

“But … oh, fuck, shit, this is so … awful, please.” He groaned.

“Please !” Fern wailed, her hand flying to her lips as she opened her mouth for the first time to echo her husband. She began to gnaw on her knuckles.

Carrie sighed, enjoying Fern’s reaction. It was amazing how suddenly a gorgeous face could turn ugly under traumatic stress. She couldn’t help but notice the pretty sapphire engagement ring and gold wedding band.

“Don’t worry.” She said, hands on hips. “I’ve done this to be kind. You’ll both be much better off with us than in a state prison camp, I assure you.”

She watched them gawp.

“Really ? I mean … really ?” Fern gasped.

They both smiled nervously at her and then at each other in sudden relief.

Simultaneously, their arms drifted out and they held hands. Carrie watched as Derek subtly gave his wife’s hand a comforting squeeze. She could barely suppress her internal smile as she allowed them this affectionate moment.

“For old times sake.” Carrie said, opening her palms in a pleasant shrug.

“I … I don’t know what to say.” Derek said. “It’s all too much.”

She studied him. Up and down. Undeniably, he was a good match for his pretty cunt; he was quite good looking; around six feet tall, fit, wavy brown hair, gentle grey-brown eyes, a strong, dimpled chin.

“Well don’t say anything. I’ll arrange for you each to have your own quick tour of the premises. Then, later on, you can join the party. It’s Steele’s birthday.”

“Er … how is he, by the way ?” Derek squeaked, in a high-pitched voice.

“Steele ? He’s fine, of course. I guess he’ll be busy doing the books for a while. You see your home and possessions all belong to us now. He’ll have to decide what to sell and what to keep. Maybe he’ll want your advice, I’m not sure.”

She paused, unable to stifle her gloating expression completely.

“Ev … everything bel … now belongs to you ?” Fern stammered.

“Yep. The lot. Just one question by the way. Who’s Titus ?”

Fern’s pleading voice gasped. “He’s our pet. The police made us leave him. Please, he’ll need feeding and looking after.”

Carrie raised an eyebrow. “Of course. Just leave that to me, my dear.”

*** *** ***

In the five years following 2008, the Western world had collapsed under the weight of government, corporate and consumer debt. Unemployment ballooned, banks collapsed, crime exploded, the prisons filled, and slavery was reintroduced. Bankrupts became slaves. Criminals became slaves. And naturally the innocent who were framed became slaves as well. As a result, slave labour was plentiful and cheap.

The problem was feeding the slaves.

Steele idly watched Jaz lapping his puddled semen. Jaz. Short for Jasmine. He chuckled and decided to change her name to ‘Jizz’ instead. Most of the slaves were renamed, although some were simply given numbers. It was a powerfully debasing tool; stripping a person of the name he or she had been given at birth.

A pearly river trailed down from his muscled chest, over his abdomen to form a lake round his belly button. Tributaries fanned out where his orgasm had spattered and splashed his skin. He was at the peak of his physical and sexual prowess. His first orgasms of the day were invariably thick, white, cloying and copious.

He chuckled inwardly at her inability to mask completely the disgust on her face as her tongue scooped his load and sucked it down her throat. The combination of obedience and revulsion just did it for him every time. He got no enjoyment from ‘shared fun’. It had to be a one-way street. His pleasure, another’s pain. Except for Carrie of course.

The stench of his dump had faded as it dispersed through the large bathroom.

“Do you fancy a dessert after that ?”

She paused, lips hovering over the last of his slimy residue. She managed to twist her head enough to look up at him. Her eyes said no, she didn’t want a dessert.

He laughed and pointed at the toilet paper holder.

“Finish that then pull off a piece of paper.”

She licked his stomach clean then reached out trembling fingers for toilet tissue. She managed to pull off a single piece neatly.

“Wipe my ass.”

He didn’t move but he took his weight on the backs of his legs while she put her hand gently between his thighs and carefully dragged the tissue back to front between his cheeks.

“Show.”

Her gaze was fixed on him. A couple of fat tears escaped down her olive-skinned cheeks. Her eyes swirled like hot drinking chocolate.

She lifted the paper. Its length was covered in a lush brown skid mark.

“Fold it.” He instructed. “And place it on the floor there.”

He watched her crease the paper twice into a small, neat square.

“Wipe me again. And get me properly clean this time.”

She repeated the action, firmly pulling the paper through his butt.

She lifted it and showed him. The mark was patchier but still plentiful.

He didn’t speak. She folded it over and placed it by the first square.

He smiled. “Okay. Now here’s the test. Wipe me good and hard.”

Her hand was shaking as she extracted another piece from the roll. Her eyes never left him as she wiped his cleft, digging into his rim.

She lifted the piece of tissue. There was a thin streak along with a curled strand of anal hair. Silent tears had wet her lovely eyelashes.

“Sorry dear.” He shrugged. “Good … but no cigar.”

He pushed her away and rose from the wooden lavatory seat. She shuffled back on her knees to make space for him on the raised dais. He put his hands down on the seat and bent over, presenting his butt to her face.

“Finish the job.”

He smiled down into the pan as he felt her hands on his hips, pulling her face into his buttocks. Moments later her wet tongue delved into his crack and began sliding up and down his cleft. He gave her a full minute while she licked and slurped.

“That’s enough. Now dry me with another tissue.”

When he was nice and dry he stood up and tightened the cord of his robe round his waist. He looked down at her and the three small squares of used tissue by her knees. He paused, contemplating, enjoying the horror in her eyes.

“Okay” He ruffled her hair, jerking her ponytail gently. “This time you can put those in the pan.”

The expression of relief on her face made him smile. She scooped up the bits of tissue and crawled over to the lavatory.

There was a light switch on the wall. He flicked it and a spotlight above shone directly down onto the toilet.

He smiled as she looked down into the pan.

A face stared up at them both. Beneath two brown mounds was an olive skinned woman. One steaming brown coil covered her hairline and upper forehead and the other pile was centred on her lower cheek. Brown shrapnel spattered the white sides of the entire porcelain pan. The woman’s nostrils were held closed by a steel peg, forcing her to suck air silently into the side of her mouth that was not covered by excrement. She had dark hair, eyelashes and a red bindi between her eyes.

“Oh yes.” Steele chuckled, as Jaz gasped in shock. “Say Hi to your sis !”

End of Chapter Two

HARD LABOR

Chapter Three

A large, timber ranch-style sign marked the entrance of the drive.

‘Cold Creek Farm’.

The three words were painted in ominous black paint against the wooden background. Below it a smaller sign saying ‘Private Property – Keep Out’ swung on chains, creaking in the breeze.

Cold Creek Farm comprised a large stone farmhouse at the end of the front drive, surrounded by numerous outbuildings, ramshackle barns with corrugated iron roofs, all set in a gently undulating valley of green hills, brown fields and clusters of handsome oak and elm trees. The perfect, natural landscape contrasted with the ugly functionality of the manmade buildings.

In the far distance, there was a church spire and the vague outline of neighbouring farms. But most of the land the eye could see belonged to the young owners of Cold Creek Farm.

Steele and Carrie.

The largest of the barns was surrounded by a high wire fence, with gun turrets and searchlights. Several vans were parked at the loading bay at one end of the building. On the side of each van there was a logo comprising the words ‘Cold Creek Foodstuffs’ overlaid on a pyramid of baked bean-style cans.

In the surrounding fields, labourers stooped and tilled the soil. They were dressed only in rags despite the chill wind. Ankle chains connected them up to each other in groups of five or six. The majority of the labourers were male but there were quite a few women too.

Fern uttered a sudden cry of shock.

She had spotted a naked female writhing in the rutted mud underneath a man dressed in a black uniform. Two more uniformed men stood by and watched, one holding a bullwhip, the other a rifle. Nearby, other labourers simply dug the ground with hoes and spades, as if oblivious to the dreadful event happening only a few yards away.

Derek saw what his wife was looking at. “Look !” he gasped.

The two guards escorting them shrugged. “And ?”

“That woman’s being … assaulted … raped !”

The male guard leaned against the fence to watch. He had been introduced to them as Truman. He was a tall, shaven headed black man, who looked like a boxer. He chewed a piece of grass, smiling across at his female colleague. She was a guard with spiky dyed-blonde hair and a thin acne-pocked face, named Lennox.

“Raped ?” he drawled. “Haven’t heard that word for a while now. Cute.”

“There’s no such thing as rape here.” Lennox hissed, staring at Fern then at Derek. “Well, not of slaves, anyway. Women can be raped.” She continued. “But you …” she poked Fern’s chest, “… can’t.”

“But …” Derek replied. “You’ve got to be … look, we’re friends of Steele and Carrie’s.”

Lennox tilted her head, unimpressed. “Sure.”

“It’s true.” Fern wailed. In the distance the rapist was climbing off the woman, only to be immediately replaced by one of the other guards.

Truman grinned at her. He had two gold teeth. “Lady, I’ll lay you odds of a thousand to one that you and me are … intimately acquainted within one month. There are very few female slaves ain’t met Truman Junior here.” He patted his groin and leered at her.

“You !…” Derek turned menacingly towards him.

Truman swung his baton into Derek’s middle, making him double over.

“Don’t you ever threaten me again, kid.”

He wrenched Derek’s head up by his hair and stared into his face.

“Come to think of it, there are very few male slaves ain’t met Truman Junior either ! When I say your ass is mine, boy, I mean it literally !”

“Come on.” Lennox said to Fern. “You follow me. Say goodbye to your darling hubby for now.”

Fern reached out and clutched Derek’s hand. Fat tears rolled down both their cheeks.

“Be brave, darling.” He gasped to her. “I’ll sort this out, I swear.”

Lennox pulled Fern roughly by her blonde hair, making her scream.

Truman anticipated Derek’s desperate lunge to assist her and smacked the baton down on his arm, making Derek howl. “Say bye bye to wifey, kid.”

*** *** ***

Steele took his mug of coffee into his gymnasium. From the outside it looked like an old, ramshackle barn but internally it was state-of-the-art.

Six female slaves were working out under the watchful eye of a female guard. She’d been a Personal Trainer before joining his staff. He sat down on a viewing bench and sipped his coffee.

As usual, the workout was brutal. The six slaves had been originally selected by him and Carrie for their beauty but they were exercised twice a day to bring them to peak physical condition. As well as the usual running and weights machines there were special sex and fucking apparatus, vibrators for improving their internal muscles, feeding tubes for teaching oral skills, and much more.

The gym resonated to the sounds of concentrated training; grunts and squeals from the naked women, the clang and hiss of machines, the crack of crop against boot and shrill shouts by the female guard. Rather incongruously, piped classical music provided a background track; a Rachmaninov piano Concerto. A whiff of machine oil mingled in the air with the aroma of female hormones and sweat.

He casually studied the slave nearest to him. She was lying on her back, legs in the air, closing and opening them wide. Her pretty face was bright red and contorted with effort. Her tits wobbled in rhythm and she uttered little whimpers of effort and pain. A digital clock on the far wall with her name above it was counting down slowly. She still had 06.13 to go.

He knew her name was Mary and she was only just 21. She’d been on the books three weeks and, with her mane of chestnut hair, high cheekbones and natural Ds, she was a shoo-in for his ‘fuck brigade’. So far he’d only enjoyed two sessions with her. It was hard to fit all his ladies in ! The second time had been a big improvement on the first. She’d learned to be more enthusiastic and open-minded and her toned body was coming along nicely. Sure, she wasn’t a ‘keeper’. In a couple of months he’d probably give her to the guards and put her to work in the fields or factory. Or maybe sell her ? He had buyers for all his best meat so long as it hadn’t been too used and abused.

There were ten clocks on the wall but only a half dozen were in use, with their names above them. Mary had less than five minutes to go now. Then she’d move to an upper body exercise. He watched the guard walk over to her, berating her, holding a leather crop threateningly. This seemed to give Mary a surge of new energy. Fresh beads of perspiration popped on her forehead as she opened and closed her long legs, revealing her pink cunt. Her mound was hairless and he could see a couple of narrow red tramlines where the crop had recently been used to encourage her.

He made a mental note to give Mary her third session as soon as he could fit her in. Perhaps he would even invite her to spend an entire night with him and Carrie in their bed ?

He sipped his coffee and looked round at the five other gorgeous fuck-bunnies all honing their bodies for his pleasure. The oldest, at 39, was a brunette mother of two, who Steele had known back in ‘the old days’ before slavery. He watched her on the gym mat doing endless repetitions of stomach crunches. She had to work that bit harder than the younger sluts to keep her cunt and tits in shape. He had used to dream about her in ‘the old days’, jerking off to images of fucking her. She had just got married, and he’d been a teenager living next door. Back then, he’d never imagined that one day his fantasies would all come true.

The others were all in their twenties. Prime physical condition. There was a leggy platinum blonde cheerleader type, an ebony princess who was 6’ 2” tall, a cute oriental and, Carrie’s current fave, an ex-model and socialite with those kind of refined, well-bred features that only exclusive bloodlines can provide.

Each was pumping iron, grinding on cross-training machines, pounding on punch bags, pulling on rowing machines. Of course, as well as weights and exercise, much of their time was spent on stretching, toning, yoga and pilates. Flexibility was as important as muscle tone and fitness.

And orgasm control. They rode sex machines and vibes and learned not to cum except when given permission. None of them looked directly at him now, but he could sense they were watching him with their peripheral vision. Their eyes betrayed their terror. They knew they were the lucky ones. Yet, one mistake, one random moment of anger from him, and they would be brutally punished or, worse, banished to a life as a normal slave.

He sighed. He was a nice guy, really. Underneath his hard veneer. So long as his slaves did whatever they were told - whenever, wherever and however - then he could be a real softie. He didn’t hurt them gratuitously. Well, not often. He just couldn’t tolerate insolence. Or disobedience. Or anything other than blind submission. All those who properly worshipped him would be fine.

He scratched his balls and grinned, grateful for the fact he’d just shot a load. Visits to the gym made him horny. But he knew he’d better save his energy for Carrie and whatever she’d cooked up for him on his birthday.

*** *** ***

Derek stood in just his underpants. He’d removed his shoes, socks, suit, tie and shirt, folding them neatly onto a chair.

“And the watch.”

He glanced at Truman, but complied. His gold Swiss watch was his pride and joy. A gift from his parents on his wedding day. It was all he had left to remember them by.

Truman held out his hand for the watch, hefting it in his palm to judge its weight. He nodded his head approvingly and tucked it into his pocket.

“Nice piece. Okay, shuck the briefs.”

They were stood in what looked to Derek to be a communal bathroom, like a changing room at a sports club. But in much worse condition. There was a row of rusty shower nozzles to his right, facing a row of basins to his left; the shower heads dripped, the tiling was discoloured and cracked, the basins were chipped and stained. Facing him was a single, large bathtub. A strong ammoniac stench of urine and bleach, carbolic soap and lingering excrement pervaded the large room.

Truman raised his baton.

Derek slowly thumbed down the waistband of his underwear. He felt his skin prickle as he revealed his genitals, placing the briefs on the chair.

Truman stared pointedly.

“Hands behind your back.”

Slowly, he crossed his wrists behind him.

His mind flashed back to changing after sports at school. Fooling around and playing pranks with Steele, Terry and Ulrik. At first, in junior school, aged six and seven, there’d been no embarrassment. But in senior school, after puberty, Derek had been one of the shy ones, wearing his towel round his waist.

Steele had been one of those happy to parade around naked, showing off his physique and abs, his hairy and impressive manhood. They had been friends since childhood; Steele the gang-leader, Derek his trusty sidekick.

Steele was magnetic, daring, slightly dangerous, never more than a moment from trouble. Derek had often been torn between his own instinctive good behaviour and his loyalty to the gang.

For over a decade, Steele, Terry, Ulrik and Derek had been an inseparable foursome; the STUD Gang after the first letters of their names, or the ‘Studs’, as they called themselves.

Until Fern, that is.

She’d been Steele’s girlfriend. But she and Derek had gradually fallen in love. And one day it had all gone off. He’d been cast out of the Gang.

“Don’t move.” Truman said, and Derek’s mind snapped back to the present.

Moments later, the door opened and a man walked into the bathroom, pushing a trolley. He was naked, like Derek, except for pink bracelets he wore round his wrists. Derek guessed he was a few years older, maybe early thirties.

“Hah.” Truman said. “Here we are. This is Will. Say hi to Derek, Will.”

“Hi.” The man said, his vacant, brown eyes looking straight through Derek.

“Derek’s a new arrival. Derek say hi to Will.”

“Hi.” He tried to read Will’s dull stare; it was devoid of emotion.

“Will was standing exactly where you are now, three weeks back. Weren’t you Will ?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And Will has a young wifey too, don’t you Will ?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Derek has a wife as well. Nice lady, name of Fern.”

Derek saw a flick of emotion pass through the man’s eyes; recognition, understanding, pity ?

“Let’s get Derek hooked up.” Truman said, changing the subject.

There was a whirring sound and two chains descended from the ceiling, making a metallic sound like anchors being lowered from a boat. There were manacles at the end of the chains.

“Put your wrists through these.”

Derek wondered if he could make it ? He might be able to surprise Truman and knock him down. The guy called Will didn’t seem like he’d put up much of a fight either. He had his bearings. He could flee the farm in minutes.

But then what ? They’d come after him. He had nowhere to hide.

And Fern ? He couldn’t save her. Not yet, anyway. So he had to be patient.

He resignedly put his hands through the steel hoops and held still while the ratchets clicked tight. There was another whirring and the chains slowly climbed back towards the ceiling until his arms were stretched uncomfortably tight above his head.

“That’s better. Now the feet.”

There were two steel manacles on sliders in the floor. Will knelt and held them while Derek put his feet through, then tightened the ratchets round his ankles. The sliders parted until his legs were stretched painfully wide apart.

Truman chuckled, patting Derek on his naked thigh.

“You remember this moment ?” Truman asked Will.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Tell Derek what’s going to happen now.”

Derek saw Will frown. “We’re going to shave his body, his genitals.”

“And then ?”

“We’re going to put some of these on him.” He gestured at the pink bracelets on his wrists. They looked like toughened plastic watch straps with steel rims and a couple of coloured wires embedded in them.

“That’s right. And where does the third one go ?”

Will gestured to his own bald groin. More like a kid’s than a man’s. He was completely devoid of pubic hair. Even his balls were smooth and hairless. A pink band encircled his limp penis, from the root to the ridge of his helmet. The band was tight and clearly digging into the tender skin of his limp shaft.

Derek stared from Will to Truman and back.

“Tell him.” Truman said.

“These prevent us touching ourselves. If our hands get too near our genitals we get … an electric shock.”

“So, show him !”

Will’s eyes screwed shut and he bit his lip. But he obeyed. He moved his right hand down as if to touch his penis. There was a crackling sound, like a spark of electricity, and the pink band round his shaft briefly glowed bright red.

“Aaahhh …” he gasped, face contorting, jerking his hand away. A sheen of sweat burst onto his forehead.

Truman smiled at Derek. “Works, huh ?”

Derek shook his head at them both in disbelief. Not that he cared at that moment. Sexual urges, frankly, were the last thing on his mind.

“Okay. I’m going to take a piss.” Truman continued. “Shave him.”

Derek watched Truman walk through a doorway into another part of the washroom, presumably where the toilets were located. Will picked up an electric shaver from the trolley and a pair of scissors.

“Hold still. I’m going to trim your hair then shave it off.”

Derek made a face. “Be careful, huh.”

Will looked at him, then glanced at the doorway. “Don’t resist them.” He whispered. “The first few weeks are the hardest. But it will only make them worse.”

“Wh … what do you mean ?” Derek asked, under his breath.

Will shook his head sadly. “Welcome to hell.”

*** *** ***

Carrie enjoyed her little secret for a couple more hours.

She and Steele sipped early birthday drinks on the terrace, overlooking their farm and the pastoral view beyond. They employed over two hundred slaves, along with a couple of dozen officers and guards.

“Happy birthday, darling.”

He chinked glasses with her. “Twenty-fucking-six, huh. Time flies.”

“Time only flies when you’re having fun.”

“Well, it’s been fun all the way since I met you, sexbomb.”

She leaned and teasingly kissed him on the lips.

“Sex bomb ? Am I as sexy as that whats-her-name before me, you know ?”

He sighed. “You mean that bitch Fern. You’re a hundred times sexier, you know that.”

“Am I ?” she rolled her tongue and raised her eyebrows. “Really ?”

He frowned. “Sure you are. Hey, what are you up to ?”

She giggled. “A little surprise. A birthday present.”

“What ? Go on.” He laughed, tickling her ribs. “Tell me.”

And so she told him.

Everything.

Her entire plan.

When she’d finished, Steele sat back in his chair and whistled with glee.

The best damn, fucking birthday present he’d ever had.

End of Chapter Three

HARD LABOR

Chapter Four

Fern felt herself blush scarlet, heat radiating through her cheeks and neck.

The past 24 hours had been terrible but this moment was the worst of all.

By far !

It was Steele. Looking the same, except around the eyes. He had an aura now, of total self-confidence. When she’d first dated him, he’d been all bravura on the surface but kind of self-conscious underneath. It was a combination she’d liked at first. Like a candy bar; hard on the outside with a soft centre.

“It’s been a long time.” He said to her, matter-of-factly, slightly coldly.

“Yes.” She replied.

“What happened ?” Steele asked.

“They found our passports. I swear that I handed them in during last year’s amnesty but the police discovered them during a random search of our house yesterday. We were advised to plead no contest and they said we’d only get a suspended sentence.”

Steele’s mouth curled in an unpleasant, amused smile.

Fern watched him pensively sip his glass of champagne. They hadn’t offered her any. His wife, Carrie, just sat there listening. Fern thought she looked a bit like that actress Angelina Jolie; cool, enigmatic, with full lips and intense turquoise eyes.

“I promise you.” Fern blurted out. “You know me, Steele. I wouldn’t lie. I handed them in, I swear.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Fifty years, heh ? Hard labor. I know they’re having a crackdown on illegal travel but, phew, that’s a bit harsh.”

“And they told Derek that we can’t even appeal.”

“Well, don’t worry, my darling.” Steele’s face broke into a warm grin. “There’s nothing we can do about the sentence. But … well, Carrie and I can do something about your treatment here. As friends.”

For the first time since the courtroom, breathing felt a touch easier. She blinked.

“And how is Derek, by the way ?” he asked.

“He’s devastated. I mean, you can imagine how … this … is for him.”

“What do you mean ?”

“Well, you know … I mean being your friend and now your … slave.”

Steele gave an amused, cold chuckle. “He’ll get used to it. They all do.”

She frowned. The atmosphere had taken a sudden turn for the worse.

“Please, Steele. Don’t blame him for … what happened.”

“Oh, I won’t. You’ll both get … special treatment here. That’s a promise.”

“You’re a … good man, Steele. Thank you so much.” She gushed.

He opened his palms and glanced sideways.

“Don’t thank me. It was Carrie’s idea. Thank her.”

“Th … thank you, Carrie.”

The woman - who Fern realised with a sudden shiver was now legally her ‘Owner’ - gave her a grin like the cat that got the cream. Her hair was elegantly brushed back and her eyebrows plucked into thin, neat curves.

“The pleasure’s all mine, my dear.”

*** *** ***

Only an hour later, Fern lay alone, spreadeagled on the four-poster bed, her wrists tied to the head posts, ankles to the other posts. Lennox, the rat-faced female guard with spiky blonde hair, had tied her up and left the room.

She was naked and helpless. Her hips were raised up by a plump cushion placed underneath her bottom. One moment Steele and Carrie had been kind, the next they’d laughed and summoned guards to take her away.

She could hear noises next door; voices, laughter, party-sounds. People arriving.

The room was the largest she’d ever been in. It was clearly some kind of entertainment or reception hall; maybe 100 ft long. There was a vast stone central-fireplace in which real logs spat and crackled, giving off a scent of smoke that mingled with the aromas of numerous perfumed candles lit around the place; fig, citron and lavender.

The bed she was tied on was a large oak double, set on stage carpeted in burgundy pile, located in the centre of the room. Its four oak posts had been ornately carved with scenes that, Fern realised, were sexual; men and women coupled in every sort of combination and position.

To her right, one half of the room was laid out as a comfortable seating area, with several large sofas, plump armchairs, consoles and low side-tables. It looked like a smart, country house with rugs, lamps, vases of flowers, paintings on the walls and chintz curtains drawn across the full-length windows.

To her left, the other part of the room contained a massive, rectangular dining table, large enough to seat at least two dozen people. She’d counted twenty chairs and places set with fine linen, silverware, china and sparkling glasses.

A banner with ‘Happy Birthday Steele’ in swirly red lettering hung from the antlers of a stag’s head mounted on the far wall.

Five, probably ten more minutes passed. She lay still on the bed, panting, listening to the hubbub outside and her own heartbeat in the room. The crackling fire had warmed the room but she still felt a slight chill on her naked flesh. Her skin was goose-bumped and her nipples were hard.

Then, the double doors opened.

She briefly saw shadows, before three crystal chandeliers flooded the room with bright light. People came trooping through the doorway. She counted ten of them, all women, carrying champagne and cocktail glasses, some smoking cigarettes, chattering and laughing.

She raised her head and stared in shock. She wanted the ground to open up and swallow her. She knew several of them, most of them in fact.

There was Carrie, of course.

And Ruby. Leonora. Jill. Zara.

“Fern, darling. It’s you !”

“Omigod. Look ! Fern !”

“Carrie. Please tell us.”

Fern listened as Carrie recounted the story, to shrieks of amusement. The women gathered round the bed, all staring down at her, eyes sparkling. She wanted to curl up and hide but she was tied helpless. Her vision blurred with tears.

“So, she’s really yours, to do with as you like, for fifty years ?”

“And Derek too ?”

Carrie patiently nodded and answered their inane questions. Slowly, they all sat down on the edge of the bed, surrounding Fern from her head to her feet, eyes feasting on her shame and discomfort.

Ruby’s hand was the first to reach out. She had always been the female ring-leader. Steele’s equivalent. She was a butch lesbian, with crew-cut black hair and eccentric scarlet-rimmed glasses; the type Elton John might wear. She tweaked Fern’s upstanding nipple casually.

“Please …” Fern stammered, blinking her tearful eyes to look at Carrie. “You said you’d give us sp … special treatment.”

There was a guffaw of laughter all around her.

“And I assure you, I will.” Carrie said, running two fingers through Fern’s triangle of pubic hair.

“This is going to be such fuuuun.” Another woman giggled. Leonora had been Steele’s girlfriend before Fern. She and Fern had never got on.

“Fifty years. Phew.” Jill whistled. “Like how many fuckin’ days is that ?”

“Eighteen thousand, two hundred and sixty.” Carrie smiled. “Give or take. I worked it out earlier.”

“Eighteen thousand days. Wow ! Imagine that. Think of what can happen in just one hour, then multiply that by twenty four. Then day after day, after fuckin’ day !”

Most of the women were handling Fern now, like she was a piece of art. Fingers prodded and probed her face, body, arms, legs, thighs.

“Fuckin’ day being the right term !” a voice behind her giggled.

“Her tits are actually bigger than I imagined. What’s her bra cup size ?”

“D.” Carrie replied. “But they stand up nicely don’t they ?”

“Well, for now. I’d like to see them in a few years time.”

“I trust you will ensure this gets a lot of use.” Ruby commented, pushing two fingers to spread Fern’s dry labia.

“But of course.”

“And here ?” Fern whimpered at the intrusion into her bottom.

Carrie smiled from Fern to Ruby and back again. “Silly not to.”

Fern shut her eyes. But she could do nothing about her hearing. Maybe they were just tormenting her ? Maybe this was just some bad taste joke and they’d all start laughing kindly any moment now ?

“When do the men join us ?”

“Not for a while. They’re gaming on Steele’s new machine.”

“So what shall we do to pass the time ?”

Carrie smiled at her friends. She clicked her fingers in a loud snap.

Lennox’s pocked face appeared at the doorway, carrying a tray.

*** *** ***

Steele escorted his mates into his Home Cinema.

Will and Derek were stood like sentries at the entrance holding trays of drinks; champagne, wine, beers, rum punch.

“Help yourself guys.”

“Hey. Derek ? Steele, it’s Derek !”

“Oh yeah.” Steele told Ulrik, one of his old gang. “My new slave. Everybody, say hi to Derek.”

“Fuck me. He’s your slave ?”

“Sure. Well, only for the next fifty years. He’ll be free when he’s seventy five.” Steele patted Derek on his bare shoulder. “Bet that seems a while away, huh ?”

Derek blinked. Earlier, during their ‘reunion’, Steele had told him not to speak unless obviously invited to.

“Hey guys. Check out the pink bracelets. Nice.” Somebody said.

Steele laughed indulgently as his friends examined Derek and Will. Seven of them had know Derek when they were all younger.

“What are they ? Security tags ?”

“Kind of.” He replied. “And punishment tools. You can zap’em with this.” He showed them the torch-sized laser hanging from his belt. “But, best of all, they’re chastity devices. Prevents my slaves from jacking off.”

“What ? You mean, like, ever ?”

Steele shrugged. “Sure.” He stared directly at Derek. “Why should a slave need to jack off ?”

They had all spilled into the large room by now. There were sofas, chairs, a bar, and a vast 100-inches widescreen monitor on the wall.

Everybody laughed. “I guess when you put it like that …”

“What about his wife ?” Terry asked. He was another member of the old gang.

“Yeah, Fern ? Hot babe.” Somebody echoed.

There was a sudden silence. Everybody waited on Steele.

“Yes. She’s my slave too.” He corrected himself. “Our slave rather. Carrie’s and mine.”

All eyes studied him. They were like a feral pack.

“Wow.”

“She was pretty fuckable.”

“You gonna let Derek fuck Fern any more ?” Terry enquired.

Steele paused, swigging his beer. “That depends.”

“Really ? On what ?”

Steele fired up the games monitor and began handing round the wireless controllers. It was a 5-a-side football game, very realistic.

“Wait and see. After the game.”

*** *** ***

Carrie watched as Lennox passed round the tray.

There were ten pairs of steel tweezers. Each guest took one.

She took the last.

“We like our slaves hairless. Most of them we shave, or wax, or use electrolysis. But for the special ones, we use tweezers.”

There were amused, appreciative titters. Most of her friends didn’t possess slaves of their own. They enjoyed Carrie’s generosity with hers.

She watched Fern instinctively try to wriggle on the bed. But the combination of tight bonds and the cushion kept her stationary and well presented.

“Ruby. Would you and Jill start off, please.”

The women all shuffled along the bed, so that they could watch close up, as the first two started plucking. Ruby smiled and leaned down with her tweezers, gripping a couple of Fern’s soft, downy pubes next to her labia.

She pulled, parting Fern’s lips, wrenching out the hairs.

Fern winced, letting out a shrill wail.

“No.” Carrie admonished. “Silence ! Take it bravely, like a true woman.”

Jill laughed and dug her tweezers into Fern’s mound, coiling a clump of pubes into the steel prongs like she was eating spaghetti with a fork.

“Yahh !” Fern shrieked, unable to control herself.

They all looked at Carrie expectantly.

“Yes, ladies. I assure you she’ll be punished later for that outburst.”

*** *** ***

Derek rushed about, ferrying drinks, handing out nuts, lighting their cigarettes and emptying ashtrays. The guys were engrossed in their game on the screen.

He had got over his initial shock and shame but he still felt awful. It was quite obvious that Steele was gunning for some kind of revenge. He just had to hope it wouldn’t be anything too awful. And that he’d spare his darling Fern.

He wondered where his wife was and what was happening to her ?

“Hey ! Derek. Fetch us another beer.”

“Hold it guys, take my controller. I need a leak.”

There was a plastic bin set up in the corner as a urinal, so they didn’t need to leave the game for long. Already most of the guys had used it at least once. They unzipped themselves hurriedly, pissing into the big trashcan.

“Hey, Derek. Looky here !” Ulrik stood waving his penis at him, as he turned and tucked himself back into his pants. “Maybe Fern’ll get to play with this ?”

Ulrik was descended from Viking blood. He was 6’ 6” tall, with a straggly, ginger beard and a barrel chest. His dick had reputedly been the largest in the school, bigger even than Steele’s.

The word ‘Paused’ appeared on the screen and there was silence.

Suddenly, without warning, Derek felt his brain explode and he felt searing fire tear through his groin, up his backbone. He gasped, breathless, and fell to his knees. A wisp of smoke trailed from the pink band round his penis.

“Derek.” He heard Steele’s voice saying, calmly.

He slowly turned his head and managed to focus on Steele, who was holding his torch-baton.

“Ask Ulrik nicely if he’ll fuck Fern for you some time.”

He felt drool running from his lips onto his skin. He looked up at all the grinning faces watching him.

“I …”

His brain felt as if he’d been punched in both temples at once. Again, flames roared up his back and down his legs. He couldn’t breathe or speak. He couldn’t think even, except that he couldn’t take any more pain.

“Pl … Ul … Ulrik … please … f … fuck … F … Fern …”

Ulrik was standing over him, scowling.

“No. Beg me !”

Derek shook his groggy head. “Please !” he said, louder, more urgent. “I b … beg you, Ulrik. Please fuck … Fern.”

Ulrik’s watery blue eyes were inches from his own.

“In her ass. Ask me to fuck your wife in her cute little ass.”

Derek shook his head, trying to think. His wife ? Her virgin ass ? His mind couldn’t compute the thought into words.

“Aaaaaahh.” He groaned, as a third electric punch rocked his head and fried his nervous system. He collapsed face down to the floor.

He regained consciousness, staring up into several faces. He had no idea how long he’d been out.

“Wake up.” Steele said. He held out his hand and helped Derek rise groggily to his knees, then feet. “Ulrik was only kidding around.”

“Sorry, Derek.” Ulrik shrugged. “Got a little carried away mate.”

Steele patted him on the shoulder. “You’re a plucky fighter, I’ll give you that.”

Derek gave him a confused, weak smile.

“Now, go fetch me and Ulrik another beer, kiddo.” Steele said.

*** *** ***

Fern had grown accustomed to the monotonous pain, if not the shame.

She was bald now, except for a few, final tufts. Little spots of blood marked where the women had been overenthusiastic. They had done her underarms too, plucking out the short hairs that had grown there since she’d last shaved.

Most of the women had drunk too much. They were unabashedly probing and testing Fern’s body. Some stroked her face, others her breasts and nipples.

“I kind of envy you.” One woman whispered. Fern didn’t know her. She was the plainest in the room, apart from Ruby. She licked the inside of Fern’s right ear, making her squirm.

“All that fucking. All that sex. Mmm, I betcha’ll learn to love it eventually. Don’t you ?”

Fern turned her head away, heaving dry-tears of despair.

“Carrie’s going to let me borrow you soon. You know that ? A whole month. Each one of us will get a turn with you. Mmm, it’s going to be such fun.”

Fern heard a buzzing sound. An electric razor.

“Okay.” Carrie said. “Let’s give the job a nice smooth finish.”

End of Chapter Four

HARD LABOR

Chapter Five

Derek hustled and bustled while the men all finished their boisterous game of wireless 5-a-side football on the screen. Eventually the game ended. Steele’s team had won.

“Okay, guys. Game over.” Steele called out, high-fiving his team-mates.

After a moment, he looked over at Derek. Everybody was watching.

“Well, that was fun. Now for the main event.”

Derek was wiping up a beer spillage off the floor.

Steele smiled. “Feeling horny, Dork ?”

Several of them laughed at the mispronunciation of Derek’s name.

“No … Sir.”

“Really ? So you’d rather that we all fucked Fern instead ?”

“No !” He took a deep breath. “Er … sure, I’m horny … Sir.”

Steele gave another reptilian smile. “Okay then. Let’s join the ladies.”

*** *** ***

Fern winced as Carrie leaned down and inserted the metal tube.

At least it was thin and greased but it felt cold and unpleasant inside her bottom. She didn’t recall even a doctor or nurse using a thermometer back there. It was the first time anything had ever been put inside her anus.

“There we are.” Carrie announced, patting Fern’s bald mound. “A lie detector. This baby will bleep like this …”

She pressed a button, triggering a sound like an alarm clock for a few seconds.

“… if our friend here has a climax. But the probe detects the real thing. No orgasm, no bleeps. Stops a woman denying it, if she has one. Or faking one, if she doesn’t.”

“Neat.” Somebody commented.

“No wonder you’re always bleeping !” Ruby joked.

Carrie laughed. “Very funny ! No need for me to use one of these. But I’m told young Fern here doesn’t cum so easily. Isn’t that true, doll ?”

Fern gawped up at the evil, leering faces. She slowly nodded her head.

At that moment, there was a commotion. She cringed in shame. Men started spilling into the room. She recognised some of them, carrying glasses, smoking cigarettes, laughing. Last of all came Derek. And Steele.

“Hiya all !”

The men greeted their own wives and girlfriends, and vice versa. Derek was staring downwards, avoiding her gaze. He was naked, blushing, looking totally dejected amongst the fully clothed crowd. She could see his hairless, shrunken genitals.

“Hi Fern. How’s things ?” Some man asked her casually.

“Nice tits, darling. I never saw them properly before.” It was Terry, an old friend of Derek’s and Steele’s. He sat down by her hip.

Everybody crowded round her; a front row on the bed, and a second row standing behind them, all looking down. She grimaced helplessly as Terry and other men, and women, clutched at her breasts and body.

“Look up.” Steele spoke curtly to Derek.

Slowly her husband raised his tearful eyes, looking at her.

Steele was brandishing a bamboo cane. It was crook-handled and gnarled.

Carrie spoke next. She was at the end of the bed, her arm round Derek.

“Quiet everybody, please.” There was a hush. “We would like you all to witness this moment. Derek is going to fuck-for-his-wife. Literally ! If he makes her cum, from straight fucking, within a set time, then we will let him cum afterwards inside her.”

Several people laughed, cheered, jeered.

“Not only that ! But we will not allow a single one of you to fuck her afterwards. Not today anyway ! He will be saving his missus from that fate !”

Everybody groaned, hissed, booed, like some chat-show audience.

“But …” Fern listened as Carrie’s voice rose, “… if he doesn’t make her cum, it will not only be the last time he ever fucks his own wife, but he will then get the chance to watch all of you try to make her cum instead !”

There was a raucous cheer and sustained applause. Derek looked at her, mouthing something. She thought it was ‘be brave’. She bit her lip. Their sex life had always been hit or miss. Mostly miss. She often didn’t climax at all and, when she did, it was with his fingers, after he’d finished himself.

“Okay.” Steele barked. “Derek. Hold still.”

She watched as Carrie removed a tight pink band from Derek’s penis. He winced as it came off and she saw deep red lines where the ends had dug into his skin. Her husband looked so puny, like a young boy.

“Right.” She head Steele say over the hubbub. “Hunch down and lick her cunt.”

*** *** ***

Steele watched Derek’s head bobbing between Fern’s spread thighs.

He tapped the cane against his schoolfriend’s naked bottom. The genitals hanging down between Derek’s legs had finally started to thicken as nature took control.

“That’s it. Give your bitch a nice lapping. Get her wet and juiced up.”

The audience were playing their part beautifully; leaning right in, crude comments, dirty laughter, fondling both bodies.

“That nice, Fern ?”

“Get her hot for me, Derek. You know I’m gonna fuck her later.”

“Hey. Her nips are hardening again. It’s working. Feel’em Jill !”

“Mmm, Derek. Maybe you can lick me out one day dear !”

Steele prodded the end of the cane into Derek’s puckered, winking anus.

“Okay mate. That’s enough of that. Sit up and let’s see that pecker.”

Derek pushed back and knelt on his haunches. Everybody leaned in.

“Oh, what a diddy, widdy one !”

There were guffaws of teasing laughter. In fact, Derek’s dick was pretty normal. By no means large, but not tiny either. It was semi-erect.

“You ever sit on her face before ?” Steele asked.

Derek’s mouth opened. He shook his head solemnly. “No … ”

Steele smiled. “Scoot up there and squat astride her chops. Facing us.”

Derek obeyed. People moved back off the bed to give him room. There were ribald comments and the chinking of glasses in mock-toasts.

Derek hunched over his wife facing her feet.

“Tongue out, dear.” Carrie called out to Fern.

“Okay. Lower your butt down but so we can see her lick you.”

Steele laid the cane down threateningly across Fern’s bald pubic mound.

Everybody cheered as Fern reluctantly stuck her tongue out. In seconds, Derek’s erection had hardened, jutting out almost vertically. He squirmed in embarrassment.

“Your husband seems to like that, dear !” Carrie said.

*** *** ***

“Your husband seems to like that, dear !”

Fern blinked to her right, and caught a glimpse of Carrie’s gloating face.

She blanked her mind and stuck out her tongue. She had always been a stickler for hygiene. She was precious about everything from kitchen dirt to bathroom smells. Fortunately Derek felt the same way. Nevertheless, 48 hours had passed since their arrest and sentence and her husband smelt sweaty and unwashed.

“That’s enough.” Steele’s voice boomed at last.

Derek’s backside rose up, revealing all their horrendous watching eyes. Their fingers were teasing her armpits, nipples, thighs, even tickling her feet.

“We don’t want him getting used to it.” Steele continued, taunting Derek. “Just a taster ! So that when he sees loads of other guys astride his darling’s face in the years to come, he knows what he’s missing !”

Fern shook her head, starting to cry again. Somehow her exhausted ducts managed to dredge up a few more tears.

“Okay.” Said Steele. “Take up your position. It’s exam time !”

She watched Derek clamber between her thighs. She tried to catch his eye, to reassure him, comfort him, encourage him.

They had to try, at least.

*** *** ***

Steele thwacked the cane crisply down across Derek’s white buttocks.

“Mount her. Ram that dick inside in one quick thrust. Hurry.”

Derek raised his hips, then lowered them, to a jeer from the audience. Steele smiled and winked at Carrie.

“Got the metronome, darling ?”

Carrie held up the wooden obelisk. It was originally an antique, probably German, used by musicians to maintain tempo. But it had been refitted with a modern, electronic state-of-the-art, internal mechanism. She placed it on the bedside table and flicked a switch. Everybody fell silent. The metronome began a steady beat in monotonous five second intervals; tock – pause – tock – pause –tock.

“Nice and slow !” Steele called out to Derek. “Keep time with the beat.”

He used the cane to tap Derek’s butt to the same rhythm.

“That’s it. In. Hold it. Okay, out. Hold it. In. Hold it. That’s it.”

Poor old Derek had to control his urge to accelerate; he took his weight on his elbows, rose until his dick had almost left Fern’s body, held the position, then slowly lowered himself until he was embedded inside her.

“She looks bored shitless !” Ulrik commented.

“Come on dear. Push to meet him. In time.”

“More drinks, anyone ?” Carrie asked.

The metronome had been pre-programmed. After a minute, it slowed further. The gaps between tocks were extended to ten, long seconds.

“Slow down.” Steele hissed, landing a sharp stroke onto Derek’s thrusting cheeks. “Out. Wait. Hold it high. Wait. Okay. Now. In. Deep. Wait. All the way. Control. Wait. Okay. Pull out, nice and smooth. Hold steady.”

Ruby stroked Fern’s cheek. “Is that nice ? Anything happening down there ?”

Again Derek slowly withdrew in time to the tempo of the metronome, raising his buttocks into the air whilst just the head of his penis remained parting his wife’s pussy lips.

Steele smiled at the raised, naked buttocks of Derek presented to him. It was such a tempting target, certainly one that couldn’t be resisted. He drew the cane back and laid it across Derek’s butt, not viciously, but hard enough to elicit a yelp, and more importantly, to ensure Derek thrust forward, forcing his cock an inch or two further into Carrie.

“I thought I made it clear,” hissed Steele into Derek’s ear, “you only put it in her in time with the beat, not before. If you move next time, you lose, understand?”

The metronome ticked and Derek slowly lowered himself into his wife and waited. On the next tock of the device, he slowly withdrew, buttocks once again pushed upwards.

“I reckon old Derek is a bit of a pervert,” Terry shouted above the hubbub, “the way he thrusts his bum in the air like that. Must like being caned while he’s screwing his wife.”

Everyone laughed as the cane was once more thwacked across Derek’s naked buttocks but, this time, he remained perfectly still, while his face grimaced at the pain.

“Come on you two. This is your chance. Make each other cum !”

Steele smiled inwardly at the comments. In truth, they had no chance. Their fate was sealed. Even if by some fluke, Derek made Fern cum, by the time this birthday party was over, the two of them would have been given just a glimpse of their bleak future at Cold Creek Farm.

*** *** ***

Derek had started to tire. He was poised over Fern, taking his weight on his elbows, holding his back and body rigid. It wasn’t so much the physical effort as the tension, the shame and the audience. It felt strange, his bare skin against Fern’s, both of their groins hairless when he thrust into her.

He wanted to turn round and punch Steele, with his taunting and annoying clips with that damned cane. He hated them all, but what could he do ?

So he gritted his teeth and thrust in time with the fucking metronome.

‘Please’. He begged Fern with his eyes. ‘Cum, darling. Just this once.’

Without warning, the metronome’s beat started to accelerate.

“Aha.” Steele’s voice rose. “The final lap.” Derek felt the cane being applied to his bottom like a jockey’s riding crop. “Faster. You have one minute to make that probe in your wife’s asshole bleep. And enjoy it. Because it may well be the last time you ever fuck her. It’s now or never.”

Derek whimpered and grunted, thrusting in, out, manically. He was surrounded on the bed by people he’d known, some since childhood, most several years, guys and girls. They were making snide, sarcastic, cruel comments, poking him, laughing and jeering in his face. In Fern’s face.

“Move over, kid.” Terry said. “I’m looking forward to taking your place. Steele fucked her years ago. You’ve fucked her. Now it’s time to pass the slut round the gang.”

“Right on !” Ulrik chorused, staring straight into Derek’s bugging eyes.

“Steady !” Steele called out. “You’re trying to get her off ! Not get yourself off. If you have an orgasm without permission, I’ll cut your balls off.”

Derek gritted his teeth. “Please darling …” he whispered. “Try, please !”

Fern shook her head, sobbing.

“Twenty seconds left.”

He thrust as deep as he could, staring at Fern, hoping for a reaction. Any reaction. He leaned down and kissed her on the mouth.

“Aahhh … sweet.”

“Ten seconds.”

A crescendo built as the audience joined in.

“Nine.”

“Eight”.

He was losing it. He thrust, his own orgasm building. If Fern couldn’t, well at least he’d give her a good load. Show them all she was his wife, dammit.

“Six.”

“Five.”

He collapsed. His arms gave way. The bracelets round his wrists exploded, sending shock currents shooting up his arms. His orgasm died. He fell helpless and limp onto Fern and felt a searing crack of the cane across his bottom.

“Oh no you don’t kiddo !” Steele said. “No cumming for you !”

“Two !” The crowd chanted.

“One.”

“Zero.”

He felt his shoulders being roughly pulled up and away from Fern. At least six men had him in their grip, manhandling him onto his haunches, and then off the bed, so he was standing, naked with his shiny wet erection bobbing.

“Okay, my friend.” Steele said. “Let’s get you a ringside seat for the next part.”

*** *** ***

Carrie ran her fingernails teasingly along the underside of Derek’s shaft, keeping it hard. He was tied at the foot of the bed, his arms suspended from chains in the ceiling, feet held apart by a spreader bar. She chuckled.

“One day, you will beg me to cut these off.” She flicked his tender scrotum, making his balls bounce. “Until then, these balls that have given you years of pleasure, will give you many months of …” she curled her lip, “… distress.”

Jill stood alongside her, stroking Derek’s cheek.

“Oh, how could you be so cruel to cut his little balls off,” Jill said mockingly, “maybe just slice his cock off ? After all, he won’t have any use for it anymore will he ? And I think his wife will get more than enough cock elsewhere to keep her fully satisfied ?”

Carrie smiled. “That’s true,” she mused. Her fingers toyed with Derek’s scrotum. “And if as you suggest, we do let him keep his balls, he will retain his desire, but with no cock, he won’t have the equipment to do anything about it, will he ?”

Both laughed at his shudder of horror. 

“I hope you don’t cut his tongue off as well.”

Carrie smiled. She loved teasing Derek with all these threats of castration and mutilation. “No. He’d have to really annoy me for that to happen. His tongue we can find a use for, I’m sure.”

Both women turned.

Fern was displayed on the bed, hips raised by the cushion, ready.

The men were out in the games room, filling their drinks, rolling dice for places in the order. She heard a burst of cheers and laughter.

Moments later they all walked back into the room.

“Birthday boy going first ?” Jill asked Steele.

“Nope.” He smiled. “Saving myself for later. I’ve had her cunt many times in the past. It’s just fuckmeat, nothing special.”

Ulrik grinned, jabbing Derek in the ribs. “Me first, mate. Now, ask me nicely again to fuck little Fern for you.”

There was a loud crack as Steele swung the cane across Derek’s buttocks.

“Aah !”

Carrie pinched his balls in her fist. “Say it.”

“Please … fuck her … for me.”

Ulrik slowly unzipped his pants. He removed them and stood in just his beer-stained shirt and socks. “I fancy a little of that ass licking first.”

Fern started to shriek hysterically, shaking her head. “No, no, no !”

“Yes ! Yes ! Yes !” everybody chanted.

Ulrik clambered across the bed and took up position. He planted his knees next to Fern’s ears. He was massive. He slowly unbuttoned his shirt to reveal his hairy body and belly. He was well muscled, but with a heavy beer gut.

“The eighth wonder of the world.” A female voice called out.

Men and women cheered and applauded.

Ulrik’s balls hung down like hairy coconuts. His circumcised penis jutted out like the lopped branch of a tree, its purple head swollen and shiny.

Carrie smiled, running her tongue along her lips. She studied Derek.

“How does it feel ?”

She looked down at his erection, still responding to her red nails despite the situation. She cupped his scrotum teasingly.

“Don’t look away dear. You must watch carefully. Disobedience will only make things get much worse, especially for certain tender bits of your anatomy. Don’t worry though, I’m not really going to cut anything off.”

She ran her finger along the underside of his quivering shaft.

“Not for a while. Not if you’re good.” She leaned her lips into his ear. “We’re going to have some fun, aren’t we ? You’re going to learn how to keep me and my friends very happy using just your lips and tongue.”

She followed his eyes, staring at Ulrik, lowering his body onto Fern’s face

“But in the meantime, I think we can definitely agree that you’re, officially, no longer a STUD !”

End of Chapter Five

HARD LABOR

Chapter Six

“Hold it, a sec’, Ulrik.”

Steele was perched on the pillow, by Fern’s left arm. He smiled at everybody and pointed to the small sapphire engagement ring and a gold wedding band on her left hand.

“I think it’s time we removed these, don’t you all ?”

“Don’t want her being unfaithful with her wedding ring still on !”

He opened her palm and roughly tugged both pieces of jewellery off her finger.

“Anybody like sapphires ?” he asked.

“How much ?” Leonora asked him, quick-as-a-flash.

He grinned at his greedy ex. She’d been his girlfriend before Fern. But for some reason, he still got on well with her, and even Carrie liked her too.

“Here.” He said. “You can have it. It’s just a trinket.”

Steele’s lingering smile was directed at Fern as he tossed the pretty ring over. Then he glanced at Derek.

“And what about her wedding band ?” somebody asked.

Steele flicked it up in the like tossing a coin and caught it.

“We’ll keep this. Use it to make a padlock for his dick.”

People laughed. “Great idea.”

“Kept chaste by his wife’s wedding ring. Symbolic, huh ?”

“Hey !” Ulrik said loudly, impatiently. “Cut it guys, come on, I’m ready !”

*** *** ***

Fern watched in horror. She’d never studied anybody’s bottom, obviously, but she couldn’t imagine anything more gross. Her husband’s had been unwashed and sweaty, however that hadn’t been his fault. And at least his buttocks were trim and shapely.

But Ulrik was a big oaf whom she’d never liked. His backside was huge, white and spotty, with a trail of reddish hairs running along his crack. His testicles hung grotesquely down towards her.

Yet she was helpless. She cast her eyes around in panic and saw the circle of amused faces watching as his body descended. She felt his straggly hairs tickle her nose and inhaled his clammy odour as everything went dark.

“Mmmpff …” she gasped. “Mmmgghh.”

He lowered his full weight onto her. He was heavy and she couldn’t breathe.

She panicked. In the distance she could hear muted laughs and voices.

“Mmmgghwwaaa …”

Seconds passed. Her face hurt; nostrils squashed, chin and forehead crushed. But worst of all was a complete lack of oxygen. He had enveloped her nose and mouth. She tried to twist her face, to breathe, all to no avail. A drumbeat sounded in her head and she felt herself steadily drifting towards oblivion.

Then, suddenly, at last, he raised his body up a fraction, and she was able to suck in a small mouthful of pungent air. It was foul. But at least she could inhale.

Then the cycle repeated itself. His hairs tickled her nose, everything went black and she heard more laughter and talking. Long seconds passed while she couldn’t breathe, everything seemed to go quiet around her.

This time he kept her waiting even longer. She almost passed out.

“Lick me.” She heard him grunt, as he eventually lifted his bottom a mere inch off her face.

She barely paused. She gasped in a lungful of air and then stuck her tongue up between his cheeks. There were cheers and laughter around them. His internal scent stank like rotten eggs.

“Keep your tongue right up there.” She heard him say.

He lowered his hips again, sealing her face.

And she did exactly as she was told.

*** *** ***

Derek sobbed helplessly as he watched Ulrik astride Fern’s head.

Carrie’s shining eyes were fixed on his. He hated her. No, ‘hate’ was too mild a word. She was fondling his penis, keeping him hard throughout the ordeal.

“You enjoying the show ?” she whispered, arching one of her plucked eyebrows.

He shook his head manically.

“This says you are.” She looked down at his erection. Several people around them, women and men, were also grinning at his predicament.

“No.” he gasped, gulping a tear back.

She let go of his bobbing penis and licked his earlobe sexily.

“This is nothing. She murmured into his ear. “It’s going to get much, much more fun than this.”

*** *** ***

Fern sucked in air desperately, like a drowning woman.

Ulrik’s hands were kneading her breasts like doughballs as he peered down through his legs. He had sat down full on her face for a whole minute; the watching audience chanted down the final ten seconds.

Leonora leaned in, using her hands to wipe stray, damp hairs that had stuck to Fern’s slimy face.

“That’s it, dear. A few deep breaths. In …”

Fern own engagement ring scratched her cheek as Leonora used a finger to lift another hair.

“ … and out.”

“Please …” Fern whispered. “N … no more.”

“She says no more.” Leonora called out, grinning.

There were loud boos.

Ulrik winked down at her. “Then get her cunt ready !”

He plunged his buttocks back down with a squelch onto Fern’s face.

This time she almost blacked out. She stuck her tongue out for as long as she could, trying to please him, licking his backside. Meanwhile she felt numerous fingers probing between her legs, peeling her labia apart roughly, sharp fingernails pinching the protective hood of her clitoris. She tried to move her head, but the blackness and airless void slowly closed down her senses.

And then, suddenly, light and air, and she wheezed in ragged mouthfuls again.

It was several seconds before she realised that Ulrik was no longer atop her face. He was kneeling between her thighs, with twenty faces gathered around them both. Fern glimpsed Derek staring at her, his eyes brimming with tears, and she looked away.

Suddenly Steele’s face appeared next to hers, smiling. Even at this terrible moment, she realised how cruelly handsome the bastard actually was. 

“This is it, Fern. You could have been satisfied with just one member of our gang. Me. Couldn’t you ? But oh-no. You had to fuck another one. Derek. Didn’t you ? Well …” his voice rose, “… why stop there now ? Why not fuck all the gang members too ? Ulrik and Terry.” He gave a sad shrug. “Hey. And why stop with them ? Why fuck just my gang ? You’re a decent enough piece of skirt. Fuck every guy in town.”

He nodded to Ulrik.

Fern groaned in pain and shock as hot, rigid flesh invaded her tight, semi-dry vagina. The lubrication from Derek’s tongue and penis had all but dried. She shut her eyes but couldn’t blank out the loud cheer. She felt Ulrik withdraw, frustrated by her lack of lubrication, and then slam into her again.

Thankfully, her body’s natural defence mechanism overrode her horror and within a few strokes she had loosened up. He plunged his full length in her until she felt his pubic bone slamming against hers, making her grunt and squeal.

“Eeeyh !”

“I’ve been waiting years to do this.” Ulrik hissed into her face.

“Well you won’t have to wait years for the next time, mate.” A voice said.

Fern turned her head and saw, to her disgust, Terry unbuttoning his pants. He’d always seemed the gentle one of the four; short, studious, with spectacles. But now his eyes looked hard and distorted through his strong lenses. He put his left hand behind her head and pulled her face towards his dripping, purple crown.

Fern had occasionally sucked on Derek’s cock in the past. It was not something she enjoyed, but she had done so because she loved him and she knew that like any man he’d enjoy it. It was part of their tender love-making.

But the situation she was now in was very different; tied down, naked, exposed and watched, simply being used. For a brief moment she tried to resist and turn her head away, but Terry grabbed a handful of her blonde hair, twisting it painfully.

“Suck it slut,” he hissed.

Fern opened her lips a fraction and he lunged forward and rammed his length right into the back of her throat.

She was unprepared for the quantity of translucent fluid that soon smeared her tongue.

He exhaled happily. “Mmm.”

“Suck him. Move your head.”

Now it was Leonora, issuing orders.

“This, bitch, is Lesson Two. How to look after two guys at once. I suggest you learn the lesson well.”

Another round of chuckles, comments, chinking glasses, lighting cigarettes.

“When do you plan Lesson Three, Steele ?”

“Not today.” Fern heard his voice. “But soon.”

*** *** ***

Carrie smiled knowingly at Derek.

“Don’t look away !”

Ulrik’s leg, thigh and buttock muscles clenched and relaxed, as he roared and threw his head upwards in orgasmic release.

“Watch it all going in.” she teased, her fingertips brushing Derek’s straining shaft ever so lightly. “Imagine that big load filling her right up.”

She had to keep him on the edge, but without cumming.

As Ulrik sagged, there followed a cry from Terry. “Yes … oh … yessssmmm.”

He was holding Fern’s blonde hair tight in his fist as he blew her a couple of jets in the mouth. Carrie watched Fern’s throat working, gulping, glugging.

“I knew your wife would find it easy to swallow. They all do. When there’s no choice.”

She enjoyed Derek’s expression of utter dismay at her words.

Meanwhile, Terry had wrenched Fern’s lips off his shooting dick as he continued to pump his final three stringier ropes across her face; spattering her nose, cheeks, chin and neck.

“Nice one.” Carrie called out to Terry. “You never disappoint, do you !”

The clamour and applause dwindled as the two men slowly pulled away. Ulrik clambered off the bed and started pulling on his clothes. Jill was holding them out for him. Terry somewhat sheepishly glanced down at the mess he’d made of Fern’s features. He stood up and tugged up his pants, giving everybody a grin and shrug.

“Ladies and Gentlemen.” Carrie called out. “Dinner is served !”

End of Chapter Six

HARD LABOR

Chapter Seven

Derek was one of the waiters and waitresses serving at the dining table. The six female waitresses were dressed in sexy little cheerleader-cum-maid’s outfits of micro skirts and tight sports bras. The only other male waiter was wearing a butler’s full regalia of black tailcoat and dark trousers.

But Derek was naked, in just his pink bracelets and penis tube. His job was to keep the guests’ wine and water glasses fully charged.

Steele sat at the head of the table and Carrie sat at the opposite end, with nine guests on each side of the table between them, making twenty diners in all. The waitresses were carefully clearing away the bowls from the soup course.

Carrie raised an eyebrow to catch Derek’s eye, curling her finger at him.

“Yes Ma’am.” He said.

“There’ll be a five minute break now.” She looked at a list jotted on her napkin. “You see that man there, next to Ruby ?”

“Yes Ma’am.”

Nobody else was listening to them. Around the long table there were several conversations going on simultaneously. Carrie was pointing at a man whom Derek had never seen until that evening. He was sun tanned, handsome, a romantic-hero type. He was in intense conversation with a female guest.

“His name is Roberto.”

Derek nodded.

“He won’t really be that interested in fucking your wife. He can have his pick of free women and he doesn’t approve of doing it with slaves.” She lifted her wine glass to her lips and took a sip of white wine. “So go and beg him to fuck her.”

He dry-swallowed.

She looked at him sternly. “I warn you. If you can’t persuade Roberto to fuck her right now, both you and your darling wife will seriously regret it.”

“Yes Ma’am.”

Slowly, cheeks burning, Derek edged over to a spot behind the man called Roberto. He waited, watching them, holding bottles of red and white wine. He coughed.

Roberto looked up. His brown eyes betrayed a flash of annoyance at being interrupted. Derek figured he looked around 40, fit and sophisticated.

“No more wine.” The man gestured at his full wine glass.

Derek cleared his throat again. “No … Sir. It’s something else.”

Roberto was clearly more interested in the cleavage of the young blonde he was talking to. He frowned.

“What ?”

“It’s … my wife, er, Sir. There’s a break between courses. It’s your turn to … have her, Sir.”

Roberto waved a hand dismissively. “No.” He smiled at his neighbour and she pouted sexily back at him.

Derek realised that the other voices round the table had hushed. One by one, everybody had started listening to him.

“Please, Sir. It won’t t … take long.”

Roberto slowly grinned around the table, realising he had been set up.

“I don’t rape slaves. Not my style.” He kissed the blonde’s hand. “I prefer women who actually want to have sex with me. Besides I don’t even fancy your wife.”

Derek glanced nervously down the table at Carrie.

“Please, Sir. It won’t b … be r … rape, Sir. My wife wants to have sex with you, Sir. And so do I want you to … fuck her, v … very much.”

Roberto eyed him up and down. He stared at Derek’s bald, shrivelled penis and sighed magnanimously.

“I will let her blow me. That’s all.”

Derek looked at Carrie. She eventually inclined her head positively.

“Thank you, Sir. Very, very much.”

Roberto looked at the blonde. “You mind ?”

She fluttered her eyes. “Not at all. I’ll join you.”

They both sneered at Derek as he pulled their chairs back from the table.

*** *** ***

Steele sat at the head of the table and watched Roberto and Kirsten strolling over to the bed, with Derek trailing dejectedly behind them.

It was a great birthday party, sure, but he was looking forward to later. The coming days, weeks, months, when he could enjoy some ‘private time’ with Fern. And with Derek. This evening was nothing. Just a bowl of nuts to whet the appetite and stimulate a thirst before the main meal itself.

He enjoyed his power. Always had, always would. Yet, so far something had held him back from really fucking with any of his slave’s minds. But this time was different. He wanted to gorge himself on his unfortunate new couple without limits. Take them to places that no person deserves to visit. Not mindless brutality, of course. He could never understand people who enjoyed violence purely for its own sake; blood, guts and gore. Snuff, even. A waste of a good slave in his view, when they could be so much more fun, alive and able-bodied. But extreme humiliation, torment and good old-fashioned sexual abuse, well those were areas he would explore to the maximum extent of his imagination. To the extent that Fern would soon look fondly back on this evening’s gang-bang as merely a harmless bit of foreplay.

He could see the bed. Roberto had sat himself down astride Fern’s chest and Kirsten was flirting outrageously as she unzipped him. He watched them and sipped his red burgundy.

He would call Nick and Steve for some inspiration. Those subtle ideas he came up with to add real spice to events. They were other slave owners he’d only met at a couple of auctions and traded with. But Steele admired Nick and Steve’s obvious abilities to train their own slaves in interesting ways.

Mary, one of the waitresses, had taken over Derek’s wine serving duties. She carefully poured more wine into Steele’s goblet. She was cute, Mary. Aged 23, a brunette with small but nicely formed boobs. He might get around to having them enlarged sometime.

“Thank you.” He smiled at her pleasantly. “My bladder’s full.”

She looked at him, mouth gaping. The decanter trembled in her hand.

He scowled. “You expect the birthday boy to leave the table ?”

“N … no, Sir.”

He tilted his chair back onto its hind legs.

She was still frozen, her mind unable to control her limbs.

He reached up and slapped her. She gasped and put the wine decanter and water carafe down. A crimson mark blushed onto her cheek. Wordlessly, she knelt and crawled under the table between his shoes.

A few guests down Steele’s end of the table turned and smiled.

He was impassive while Mary’s shaking fingers unbuckled him. Then he emptied the contents of the water carafe into his glass and passed the carafe down to her.

“Use this.”

She carefully placed the head of his thickened but still soft penis into the mouth of the carafe and bent it down below 45 degrees so it wouldn’t spill.

“Look up at me.”

Her glistening brown eyes stared up at him as he relaxed and unleashed his flow. He inhaled the sharp ammonia-tang of urine and grinned at her. She really was magnificently cute. But what was magnificence without obedience ?

He flicked a stray strand of her chestnut hair from her face.

“Now look at it.”

She turned her eyes down. They both watched the swirling, cloudy, frothing, hot, amber mixture as it steadily filled the glass container. He loved his piss; a constant supply of nature’s goodness on tap to humiliate his slaves with. He’d been drinking beer, champagne and red wine – without taking in water – and it was strong, liquid gold.

There was something about this one he quite liked. She’d been a purchasing clerk at some company and had been caught fiddling the books. Well, apparently. In fact, the owner had stitched her up and Carrie’s dad had done the rest. Sentenced her to twenty years.

After almost a full minute, his flow eventually petered out.

“Now get up from there. And don’t spill any.”

She carefully clambered out and rose up onto her high heels again.

Most of Steele’s end of the table were watching them. He reached out for an empty wine glass. It was an expensive, cut wine glass on a long stem.

“Here.” He pushed it in front of her. “Pour yourself a drink.”

Again, hands trembling, Mary tipped the carafe and filled the glass. When she’d finished, there was still enough to replenish her glass four or five times.

“Cheers !” Steele and several guests raised their wine glasses, whilst staring at Mary. She lifted hers and looked at him, nausea passing across her face.

Steele drained his glass of the excellent red burgundy Carrie had bought him.

He watched Mary slowly force down the excellent chateau pisse.

Everybody tittered when she’d finished.

“Top yourself up.”

Her eyes were watering as she poured herself another glass up to the brim.

“In one.” He said.

They watched her steadily drain the entire carafe; five and a half glasses full.

Her eyes were watering and she belched involuntarily making everybody laugh. He pulled her to him by her bottom and cuddled her, nuzzling her cute tits, barely making a cleavage out of the tight spandex top.

“Next time, you won’t hesitate to drink piss, will you ?”

She shook her head. “No, Sir.”

“Good.” He replied, patting a crisp smack on her buttocks. “Because you will now go round this table with this decanter, and a funnel for the ladies, and invite every man and woman to relieve their bladders at the table whenever they like. And you will stand by them and afterwards drink every drop they give you. Understood ?”

She bit her lip, struggling to focus on him.

He scratched his head; how much piss could twenty people produce at a dinner party ? Not that much, surely ? A few pints, maybe a gallon or two ? He’d see how she coped. It wasn’t the last time he’d play with Mary.

“Yes … Sir.” She was crying. A fat tear slid slowly down her cheek.

He zipped himself up. “Fail and I’ll think of a much harder task.”

*** *** ***

Derek watched as the blonde’s skilled fingers teased the man called Roberto’s shaft. Her nail varnish was vampire-red and mesmerising as she manipulated him towards orgasm. But she seemed in no hurry to finish him off.

“Goood ?” she asked coquettishly, evidently pleased with herself.

“Mmm … sss…” Roberto replied, eyes closed, hissing through gritted teeth.

His knees were astride Fern’s head, his bottom over her chin. Derek could see his wife’s tongue slaving at the man’s hairy testicles. Roberto was muscular and swarthy, with a mat of dark chest hair and a hirsute body.

“Tell me.” The blonde said, addressing Derek for the first time. “Does your wife actually like the taste of semen ? Did she used to enjoy blowing you ?”

Derek looked directly into her piercing, ice-blue eyes. “No … not really, Ma’am.”

The blonde smiled. She didn’t reply but simply used her spare hand to ease Roberto back slightly on the bed, so that Fern’s face was fully revealed.

“In that case …” She looked at Derek, then down at Fern. Her fingers guided Roberto to sit so that his penis was now bouncing atop Fern’s chin and mouth. Without having to be told, Fern’s pink tongue started caressing the underside.

The blonde’s manual strokes accelerated and Roberto’s groans increased.

Derek saw her carefully point the tip of his penis at his dear wife’s flaring nostrils.

“Don’t you dare resist or move.” She snarled down at Fern.

The first, high-velocity jet came without warning. It shot up the inside of Fern’s right nostril, exploding into her nasal passages.

“Yesssss…” Roberto gasped, as the rest of his orgasm peaked.

The second and third spurts blasted out of him, as if from a double-barrelled shotgun. They were the heavy payload and the blonde giggled as, with perfect timing, she twitched his pulsing shaft, so that one spurt entered each nostril, before mingling in Fern’s sinuses.

Fern’s eyes flew open in shock and awe. She breathed in the fourth and fifth lines as if she was snorting coke. She began to choke and splutter.

“Steady dear. There’s more.”

In fact, the final few flurries were harmless enough, and she simply directed them over Fern’s nose, cheeks and lips as a mini-facial.

Roberto sat back, grinning, admiring his performance. “Phew !”

Derek watched the blonde lean over to kiss Roberto sensuously on the lips. “I hope you enjoyed that. Because that will stop you ejaculating too early with me later !”

She glanced over at Derek then down at Fern, who was gasping, sniffing.

“Deep breaths ! Snort it all up until you can taste it in your mouth. Then swallow it. That’s it, clear those blocked passages, as if you had a head cold.”

Derek watched his poor humiliated young wife inhaling the filth.

And there was not a single thing he could do to help her.

*** *** ***

It was past two o’clock in the morning when the final guests departed and 02.40 hrs when Carrie finally sat down next to Fern, who was still tied to the bed for the night. Derek had already been locked in a cell down in the basement dungeon and Steele had staggered drunkenly upstairs to bed.

“Goodnight dear.”

Fern peered at her through her damp eyes and strands of wet hair over her face. During over five hours of ‘entertainment’ she had been fucked by eight men, most of them twice. Only Steele and Roberto had abstained.

She had also sucked most of the men and at least half the women and, in the final hour, been penetrated by an oversized vibrator until – at last – she reached a climax of her own of sorts, triggering the anal probe’s bleep, to her humiliation and the amusement of the audience.

“Sleep tight.” Carrie patted Fern’s sodden cheek. “You deserve a few hours rest. You were the star of the show ! Did it give you a buzz, all that attention ?”

Fern turned her eyes away and slowly shook her head.

“Look at me !” Carrie’s nails squeezed Fern’s earlobes. “That’s better. Don’t ever turn your gaze away from me unless I tell you to. Got that ?”

“Yes … Ma’am.”

“Tonight was …” she shrugged, “… just a bit of fun. The real action starts tomorrow. That’s when you’ll learn about your new place in life.”

Fern suddenly uttered a loud sob, a trickle of tears rolling down her temple.

“All I can tell you is,” Carrie continued, “it will go a lot better for you if you do exactly as you’re told. Steele and I can be quite merciful when we want to be. But nothing gets us pissed like insolence and disobedience.”

“Yes Ma’am.” Fern whispered.

Carrie ran her hands casually over Fern’s breasts; they were scratched and covered in red-splotch marks and a sheen of sweat and fluids. She tweaked the nipples, making Fern wince. Finally she ran her fingers over Fern’s newly plucked mound, with tiny pin-prick scabs of blood and a canal of ooze flowing from her labia.

“Don’t think of this body as yours, dear. That will only make you unhappy. From now on, think of it - these tits, this cunt - as all ours. Understood ?”

Fern swallowed. “Yes … Ma’am.”

Carrie rose from the bed, smiling.

“And tomorrow morning, I’m giving your ass to my husband.”

End of Chapter Seven

HARD LABOR

Chapter Eight

Derek cleared his throat.

Thirty two hours had passed. He had spent two nights and a whole day locked in an underground cell; dark, damp, without water or food, with no toilet, nor even a bucket, alone. Alone with his thoughts. Thinking about what had happened to him and Fern. And what the future held for them.

Now he was standing, totally nude except for the infernal pink bracelets, still wet after a cold shower, dripping on a Persian carpet in front of Steele’s massive partner’s desk.

The desk looked antique, dark mahogany, set on a raised dais so that Derek had to look up at Steele, even though he was on his feet, while his former friend was sitting down at his desk reading.

Steele seemed not to notice Derek standing there. He continued flicking through papers, a cup of steaming coffee on his desk.

A bronze clock on the mantelpiece behind Steele chimed 10 o’clock.

On the tenth stroke, Steele finally raised his head and looked up.

“Dork ? Hi ! Phew, you’re looking a bit rough, mate.”

Derek stared at him in amazement. “All thanks to you.” He mumbled.

Steele grinned unpleasantly. “Don’t be fucking insolent, Dork.”

Derek bit his tongue. Then he stifled a sob and wiped his eye.

“I don’t particularly want to hurt you.” Steele said. “Not badly. But I do require absolute obedience at all times. From both of you. You and Fern. Got that ?”

Derek couldn’t bring himself to respond. He just dry-swallowed, staring upwards in silent rage.

He watched Steele casually pushed his chair back to stand up. Steele turned his back briefly and picked something out of a tall, oriental vase. Then he turned back to face Derek.

He was holding a cane. Derek felt a shiver tremble up his spine. It was a long, yellowed, crook-handled bamboo.

“Recognise it ?” Steele asked. “It’s the exact same one that hung in the head’s study when you and I were both at school. A relic from our distant past. Of course, he wasn’t allowed to use it on us, because in our day corporal punishment had been banned.”

Derek couldn’t breathe. He wanted to fight, he wanted to beg, he wanted to cry, he wanted to die. Anything but stand here and be humiliated like this.

Slowly, Steele descended from the dais and pointed the tip of the cane at a wooden construction in the window bay. It was like a sturdy trestle bench mounted on a low stage, overlooking the lawn.

“I must warn you, mate, that any disobedience by you will be severely punished. But it won’t be you who pays for your own mistakes. No, it will be your darling Fern who is punished. And, in turn, you’ll be punished for her mistakes. That’s how the system works here. Any insolence from you today will cause Fern’s ass to burn in hell tomorrow. Meanwhile, your caning today will be for all her stupid naughtiness yesterday, while you were locked up downstairs.”

Steele smiled and shrugged in a ‘simple as that’ gesture.

“Now go and bend over that.” He said.

Somehow, Derek forced himself to stagger a dozen paces over to the wooden stage. He stepped onto it and laid his hands onto the trestle bar. He looked longingly at the manicured green grass outside, the blue sky, trees rustling in the breeze. Freedom.

So near, yet so far.

“Bend over. And Hurry.”

He leaned his waist against the hard wood and bent over fully until his fingers touched the dais floor. He heard a rustling and felt his ankles being fastened into steel shackles, his legs roughly pulled wide apart. Next Steele’s obviously practiced fingers inserted Derek’s hands through steel loops that were fastened to the trestle legs. After a moment, the ratchets were tightened.

He tested his strength against the bonds and realised he could barely move a muscle. He was bent over and spread out like a folded starfish.

A strong hand casually pushed against his buttock as Steele eased himself up to his feet. Derek froze as a finger brushed nonchalantly over his defenceless anal rim.

“Ha.” There was a chuckle. Steele had evidently noted his reaction. “What’s good for the goose is good for the gander, my friend.”

There was a drawn out silence, just the two men breathing.

“You were both anal virgins weren’t you ? You and Fern ? Answer me.”

“Y … es.”

He felt a sharp, painful slap on his bottom.

“Yes, Sir.” Steele snapped.

“Yes … Sir.” Derek echoed.

“Well, Fern isn’t one … any longer. And nor will you be soon.”

Derek tugged helplessly at his chains making Steele laugh.

“Don’t worry. I’m not into men. It won’t be me who fucks your ass. I only do women there. But we’ve got several male guards who are homosexual. And I always thought you were well suited to playing a gay queen. After a bit of promiscuous experimentation, we’ll choose a nice husband for you to settle down with.”

Derek stifled a sob as he felt the tip of the cane sawing up and down the cleft of his buttocks while Steele’s words tormented him.

“Wh … why ?” he sobbed, unable to control his tears any longer.

Steele sighed, cruelly mimicking Derek’s wail. “Why ?” he mock-sobbed in a high pitched whine. “For fun, my friend. You can’t imagine how bored I get. We have slaves to do everything; cook and clean, pour us drinks, wipe our fucking asses. Even my business is run by my staff and slaves. So, you’re my fun, just some amusement, an experiment. You and that little cunt you call a wife, Fern.”

“Please …”

“Oh, shut up ! I hate that ‘Please’ shit. If you’re going to beg, at least do it properly.”

Derek sucked in air, trying to clear his head. He felt weak from having been given no food; parched from lack of any fluid.

“Tell me. Look, I … I’ll beg any way you want. I’ll grovel at your damned feet. Just spare us, dammit.”

“You sound as pathetic as your missus did before I corn-holed her. Damn, she was a tight assed bitch. I took my time, you know. I held off for over half an hour before I shot my juice into her guts. And afterwards she grovelled at my feet, just as you’re offering to do now. So I figure you’ll do the same. You’ll beg me after I’ve thrashed you, even more convincingly than before.”

Derek sensed Steele stepping back a couple of paces, heard the cane being raised.

“Tell you what, let’s continue our chat after I’ve given you your first twenty strokes. Those few I gave you the other night were just little taps.”

Derek shook his head. “N … no …look …”

There was a deep whoosh of displaced air. He only seemed to hear the loud, shrill crack of the cane on his flesh after he’d already felt the searing blow across his bottom. The pain travelled faster than sound.

He gasped for air, his dry mouth suddenly producing a speck of drool. “Uhhh.”

Then he sensed the cane being raised again.

*** *** ***

In a room down the corridor, the sounds of the thrashing were clearly audible; the rhythmic splat of wood on skin, the random grunts and moans.

Carrie sipped her tea quietly, glancing at her newspaper.

Fern was down on her hands and knees vigorously polishing the wooden floor with just a toothbrush. She was dressed incongruously in her white wedding dress, with all the trimmings; veil, white lace stockings, ballet pumps. It was the very same outfit she had married in, precious possessions stored safely in a box, and all now belonging to Carrie and Steele. Her face was focused on the shining timber floor, polishing up occasional tears that dripped from her eyes.

Carrie pretended to ignore her. Both women knew who was being thrashed and by whom. The sounds were like sweet music to Carrie’s ears.

The double doors opened and a plump, black lady appeared. Her name was Sharon and she was the housekeeper of Carrie and Steele’s home.

“His honor is here, Ma’am.”

Carrie smiled as her father limped into the room. He was dressed in his court robes, carrying his silver tipped walking stick. His corpulent body was egg shaped; a barrel of a body rocking from side to side on stumpy legs.

“Hi Dad.”

“Hello, my dear.”

Carrie patted the cushion for him to sit down next to her.

“Coffee, Dad ? Or a sherry ?”

He glanced at his pocket watch. “I think a coffee at this hour.” He turned to the housekeeper. “Please, Sharon.”

The black lady nodded and her own huge bottom wobbled as she walked out of the room.

The Judge dropped into the plump sofa with a sigh.

“You’re early.” Carrie said.

He shrugged. “Doesn’t take me very long to sentence wicked sinners.”

“Speaking of whom,” she replied, “recognise that one ?”

He peered over his spectacles at the woman in the wedding dress polishing the floor.

“Should I ?”

“Two days ago you sentenced her to fifty years, hard labour.”

“Did I ?” His piggy eyes twinkled mischievously. “Fully deserved !”

At that moment, there was an extra loud thwack and moan of pain from the room down the hall.

Carrie grinned at her father’s raised eyebrow. “And, in fact, that’s the sound of Steele giving her husband a fully deserved thrashing.”

“Is it indeed ?”

He pointed his stubby finger at Carrie. “Yes, I remember now. Young couple. You rented them under the Convict Lease Scheme. She was …,” his eyes roved towards Fern with renewed interest, “… quite a looker.”

Carrie’s voice hardened as she spoke to Fern. “Stand up !”

Fern scrambled up onto one knee then stood, holding the toothbrush.

He nodded his head slowly in approval, then turned his eyes to Carrie.

“Who is she ?”

“An ex of Steele’s.”

He raised an interested eyebrow. At that moment, Sharon returned carrying a tray. They were silent while she placed a cup on the side table and poured his coffee from a jug.

Carrie realised the sounds of the caning had finally ceased. The air was at last still, silent.

“I see.” Her father said, once Sharon had closed the doors behind her. He turned his head to peer over his spectacles at Fern. “Raise your veil.”

Fern’s trembling fingers lifted the lace from in front of her face. Her eyes were sunken, red-rimmed, with dark patches below.

“Good. Now turn round dear. Show me.” He twirled his index finger in tiny circles.

Fern slowly turned her back and then carried on round until she was facing him again.

“Delicious.” He pronounced, as if she were a fine wine he was tasting. “I expect that your fifty year sentence was a bit of a shock, my dear ?”

Carrie frowned at Fern’s quivering lower lip.

“Answer him.”

“Yes … S … Sir.”

“I know that you are innocent. And I know that even if you were guilty, you should only have received a few months suspended sentence, at most.” He smiled, lifting his coffee cup, taking a loud slurp of the hot drink. “But I had the power to sentence you to fifty years and only I …” he paused before repeating the words, “… only I … have the power to reduce that sentence.”

Carrie stared deep into Fern’s glistening blue eyes, trying to read them.

Fern nodded. “Yes, Sir.”

A long silence followed.

Eventually, Carrie broke the tension.

“Hey ! I have an idea.”

*** *** ***

Steele signed a couple of papers and made a few phone calls. He glanced at the top of a pile of books he was reading; the lurid cover showed a woman fastened under a mechanical machine and the title ‘New World Order’.

From his desk, he could see Derek’s glowing backside, like a living, motionless sculpture in front of the window. The twenty strokes had not broken the skin but they’d caused a fine series of fresh red welts, rising from his mottled skin. Derek was still clenching and unclenching his buttocks trying to disperse the smarting pain.

Steele laced his fingers behind his head and sat back in his chair.

Moments later, a guard arrived, knocking on the ajar door.

“Enter.”

His last phone call he’d made had been to summon Jaz and Jella. Two guards escorted the new Asian-origin slaves into his study. He nodded to the guards.

“Leave us but wait outside.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Steele stared at the two matching girls. Both were similar, dusky maidens, with olive skin, nubile bodies and refined features. But Jaz was taller by an inch and better endowed by one cup size. Jella glanced at him, then averted her eyes in abject fear. They were wearing green silken robes knotted round their waists and chests.

“Come.” He barked, kicking his legs back. “Here.”

It never ceased to amaze him how easily people can be trained, when they have no choice, no recourse, no rights. Both girls moved as quickly as if red hot coals had been applied to their feet.

He grinned at Jaz. She had taken the lead, Jella hovered just behind her shoulder. She had already spent over 24 hours locked into the base of his toilet and yet he’d never even spoken to, touched or barely acknowledged her existence.

“Introduce me to your sister.” He said, with a meaningfully downwards look.

Jaz’s nimble, elegant fingers reached for Steele’s zipper and lowered it. Her doe eyes glanced at him for approval and then she eased down the front of his underpants, releasing his swelling erection. He raised his hips so that she could tug his jeans down.

She whispered in her sister’s ear.

Jella immediately lowered her head and kissed his dick ‘hallo’ on its throbbing vein.

“Get under my desk.”

He shook his head. It was strange. For no good reason, he could like one person, and despise another, even if they were almost identical. He’d decided in favour of Jaz, and against Jella, the moment he’d first set eyes on the two sisters. It was like an interview, where the moment a candidate entered the room, he instinctively knew he wouldn’t hire that person.

“She’d better do a good job.” He muttered threateningly to Jaz.

“She will, Sir, I’m sure of it.”

He shrugged noncommittally as Jella slid her lips tenderly over his crown. She had a red bindi on her forehead like her sister, and the same dark eyelashes.

“You see that male in the window ?”

Jaz turned her head. “Yes, Sir.”

“I want you to go and give him ten more strokes with that cane.”

Her brown eyes widened in shock. “Y … yes, Sir.”

“Then …” he smiled, raising his head up towards hers.

She leaned down so he could whisper into her ear.

He gave her an instruction.

*** *** ***

Fern stared at her competition.

Tamara was one of those women whose looks were only part of the story. As well as her classical bone structure and sensuous curves, she exuded a feminine, almost feline, grace that Fern was immediately in awe of.

So, evidently, was the Judge.

“Ooh, darling.” He cooed. “But Tamara’s your favourite !”

Carrie blew a kiss at her father. Fern realised that even his own daughter didn’t actually want to kiss the old slug in the flesh.

“No matter.” Carrie trilled. “It’s up to you.”

The Judge leered.

“Young ladies.” He address Fern and Tamara. “The deal is simple. One of you might win some time off her sentence. Perform well enough and you could even win your freedom. The loser ?” he shrugged. “Let’s just say that the loser will serve her full sentence. Or maybe even have her sentence extended !”

Fern couldn’t help but glance nervously across at Tamara.

“Remind me.” The Judge asked Carrie. “How long has Tamara got ?”

“Nineteen years and eleven months left to run.”

“Mmm.” His hideous frown slowly cracked into an ugly smile. “That’s quite an incentive, isn’t it dear ? Instead you could be walking free in a few days time.”

Tamara’s stunning features twitched. She tried but failed to hide her excitement.

“I would imagine she’d do pretty much anything to win.” Carrie smiled.

Fern felt Tamara stiffening alongside her. She didn’t quite know whether to feel empathy or animosity towards her opponent.

“And her ?”

All eyes turned to Fern.

“Fifty years to run. And her husband too.” Carrie mused.

The judge winked at Fern.

“I think we should give her some real encouragement.” He said. “She’ll need it if she’s to beat Tamara, who’s an infinitely superior physical specimen.”

“I agree.”

“In which case, I will make things very interesting. If you win, young lady, I will convert your sentence to what it should have been. Six months suspended.”

Even Carrie uttered a gasp of surprise, almost mouthing ‘dad ?’

Fern couldn’t breathe. Her head spun in absolute shock.

The old man seemed delighted with their reaction. “Yes, and I’ll even allow that husband of yours to benefit too. You’ll both be set free.” He raised a finger. “But only if … you win.”

*** *** ***

Derek felt like he was drunk. His head spun and his shrivelled penis hung down. There was a slimy puddle of drool below his face where he’d dribbled saliva.

And yet, slowly, he responded to the girl’s insistent fingers, while she reached under him, as if she were a milkmaid and he were a cow. He could smell her natural scent, like cinnamon and fresh sweat, and feel her fear too.

Like him, she was only doing what she’d been ordered to do.

Seemingly far away, he could occasionally make out Steele’s voice; words, and impatient groans, cursing the poor other girl who was obviously servicing him.

Derek slowly hardened, in spite of everything. He felt her fingertips sliding over his crown, probing the first drops of pre-cum to assist her ministrations. Her nail trailed teasingly up the sensitive underside of his erection, making him twitch.

He heard her sigh of relief, sensed that even in these terrible circumstances, some small primeval, feminine instinct made her pleased with her power.

Her fingers left him and then gently cupped his scrotum, weighing his balls as if they were ingredients in a recipe. He was hairless and it felt strange, different. He realised with a twinge that Fern had never fondled him quite like this.

Next, her gentle hands were on his bottom. He felt her thumbs opening him up. He felt embarrassed. It had been days since he washed and now some stranger was letting the air into his backside. Yet her fingertips returned, teasing his anal rim, gently applying pressure to his prostate.

And then he gasped as he felt her wet tongue snake along his cleft, just as her hand returned to milking his shaft, in a teasing up-down motion.

And for the first time, he groaned in pleasure. Not pleasure, but animal response. He immediately cursed himself silently. Sick, sick, sick ! He was tied down, bottom smarting from a humiliating caning, his wife probably suffering who-knew-what at that very moment, and some unknown girl could get him erect.

Worst of all, again, there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

End of Chapter Eight

Author’s Note

I apologise to everybody for the strange lay-out and color changes you see when you select the ‘whole story’ option to read. As I hope you realise, this is completely outside of my control. I always publish in black & white, Times New Roman font, and only very occasionally use italics for emphasis or ‘internalised thought’. If you select the individual chapters one at a time, you should experience a lay-out similar to that I originally intended. Apologies, Velvetglove

HARD LABOR

Chapter Nine

On the edge of the Cold Creek Farm estate, was a barn that had been converted into a sumptuous guest residence.

Fern followed the Judge and Tamara through the front door into a reception hall, leading to a large open-plan living space.

The Judge beamed at both of them.

“Here we are. Home sweet home. This is where I stay when I’m off court duty for a few days. Let me show you both round.”

Fern exchanged mystified glances with Tamara. This man was treating them like he was a real estate agent showing around prospective purchasers. Fern was still dressed ridiculously in her own wedding outfit while Tamara was in a yellow chiffon dress with a floral print like a girlfriend dressed up for a visit to her future in-laws.

They followed him through to a well-equipped kitchen, past a cloakroom, then down a corridor to a master bedroom with ensuite bathroom, and then two smaller single bedrooms. There were locks and bolts outside the bedroom doors. Finally, he showed them a large closet between the two smaller bedrooms.

“Ta-dah !” he said.

Fern could hardly believe her eyes. Inside there were racks and racks of clothes; and shelves of accessories, wigs, jewellery and props. It was like she imagined a theatre’s makeup department would be.

“For our … games.” He beamed. “Every outfit and prop you could wish for.”

They walked back through to the kitchen.

“So, a few house rules.”

Fern nodded. Tamara did likewise. Neither had dared to speak.

He took Fern’s left hand, and Tamara’s right, and raised them up to his fleshy lips.

“I am not like my daughter.” He said. “Or Steele. I am not into all that S&M stuff. Not unless it’s deserved, anyway.” He winked. “I am just a normal man, with normal … needs. And I will stick by the terms of our competition. You will both cater to my desires. The one who does that … shall we say, better ? … will win.”

He dropped their hands.

“But the one who does that worse, will lose.”

He looked at each of them in turn. Fern held his gaze.

“Do you understand that, dear ?”

“Y … yes.” She stammered. “Yes, Sir.”

“And you, Tamara ?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Excellent. There can only be one winner. The other one will serve decades in this dreadful place.” He smiled. “Yes, this should be a really enjoyable few days.”

His face leaned towards them until Fern could smell the spice on his breath.

“Who knows ? You both may even get to enjoy it as well.”

*** *** ***

Carrie tickled the backs of the four naked slaves with her lash.

She was taking an afternoon ride around the estate in her pony-cart, pulled by two strong males and a couple of overweight females. They were going uphill at a decent lick, along the ridge, with an uninterrupted view over many acres.

Not that her ‘ponies’ could really enjoy the view.

“Whoa !” she called, cracking her whip, yanking the reins.

She let them rest, heaving and panting. The men were the lead pair, the women following, their faces tethered near the muscled backsides of the men.

One of the women suddenly vomited over the back of the male in front. They really were unfit. Mind you, they’d been cheap as a result.

She curled the lash skilfully under the woman’s armpit, flicking her plump breast with the tip. The woman howled and hopped from one foot to the other. She was 43 years old, 5’4” tall, 30lbs overweight with F-cup tits. But a few weeks of harsh training and diet would get her back in reasonable shape.

Carrie laughed and threw her head back, enjoying the breeze. She cracked her whip and set off again through the nettle fields to the summit.

“Gidyap !”

*** *** ***

Steele dragged Derek’s head up by his ear.

“Hi there mate, feeling peckish ?”

Several hours had passed. Steele had enjoyed his own fine, hearty lunch with Carrie, leaving Derek’s endless torment to continue in Jaz’s tired but relentless fingers. He noticed that in the meantime a large slick of pre-cum had collected under Derek’s body from the almost constant teasing, as she stroked his shaft, scrotum and drooling slit until he gasped and bucked helplessly. Then she would stroke his body a while, before repeating the cycle.

Steele stared into Derek’s glazed, faraway pupils.

“Hungry ?”

Derek barely nodded his head. But his sunken eyes said yes. He looked haggard and unshaven.

Steele laughed and nodded to Jaz. She brought forward a wooden stool with a bowl on it. The stool was the right height for Derek’s hanging head.

“Eat up.”

In the bowl was a lumpy brown stew that gave off a strong, rancid odour.

“Eat !” Steele pushed down hard on Derek’s head.

He crouched down on one knee so he could study Derek’s face.

Cautiously, Derek stuck out his tongue to sip at the putrid meat.

“Get the cane !” Steele ordered Jaz.

Derek realised the stew was tepid and he sucked up a small mouthful.

Steele watched him taste, almost choke, and prepare to spit it out.

“Don’t you dare waste any ! Eat that all up !”

With a grimace, Derek somehow managed to hawk back the taster.

“Good lad. Now another mouthful. Bigger.”

Steele smiled as Derek slurped up a large hunk of the gristly, tough meat. He waited until Derek’s mouth was full and chewing.

“Were you fond of your dog by the way ? Titus, wasn’t he called ?”

Derek spat out the remains, turning his head, eyes bulging in anger. “No !?”

Steele burst out laughing, slapping Derek hard on his sore butt.

“Only a joke ! Don’t worry. Titus is safe and sound. Now, hurry up and finish your lovely lunch. I’ll get Jaz to lash you again.”

*** *** ***

Fern perched on the toilet to pee.

There was no lock but it wouldn’t take her a moment.

However, just as she’d started, the door opened and the judge stood there, dressed in just a dark blue, silk dressing gown.

“Now now, dear. I’m afraid there are no closed doors in my house.”

She couldn’t stop her flow. Urine hissed noisily into the pan.

He walked over and sat perched on the rim of the bathtub opposite her.

“You must always ask me whenever you want to use the toilet.” She saw him peering down between her legs. “I love to watch young ladies.”

She nodded slowly, a rash of embarrassment mottling her skin.

“In fact, it will be an important part of our competition. Which one of you entertains me most in little ways like this.”

Finally, her flow ceased.

“Anything else ?” he enquired.

She shook her head, wondering if he meant what she thought he did.

“Let’s see you wipe yourself then.”

She reached for the toilet roll, just as Tamara appeared in the doorway.

“Hey.” He said, staying her arm. “Tamara, over here ! Come and wipe Fern’s pussy dry for her.”

Fern had to force herself to obey. She screwed her eyes shut in shame as Tamara leaned down with a piece of tissue and padded the golden droplets dry. When she opened her eyes there was a hint of a smirk on Tamara’s face.

“Mmm.” He said approvingly, getting to his feet.

Fern watched in horror as he opened his dressing gown.

“Now, my dears.” He said to her. “Both of you hold my dick while I piss.”

She watched as Tamara immediately stuck out her hand and curled her slim fingers round his thickening tip. Then, realising he was waiting, she tentatively put out her own hand and gripped his shaft gently behind Tamara’s fingers.

She was finally forced to confront the Judge’s nakedness. She tried to ignore the pendulous gut that hung like a sack from his chest down to his pubic hair, spilling over his genitals. In truth, he looked like he was pregnant. His skin itself was pale and slack, with a thin layering of fine hairs and then a thick clump of coarse hair from his belly button down to his inner thighs. His testicles dangled obscenely between his legs.

“Aaammm …” he exhaled.

She felt a twitch and the pulse against her fingertips as his dark urine flowed from his bladder, out through his urethra. Again, her eyes caught Tamara’s. Both women exchanged looks.

And Fern realised with utmost clarity what Tamara’s cold expression said.

It said I’ll beat you. Whatever it takes.

I will beat you.

*** *** ***

Steele always took a tour of his factory in the afternoon.

‘Cold Creek Foodstuffs’ was his favourite part of their business. It specialised in the manufacturing and canning of food for slaves. As usual at this time of day, several trucks were parked at the loading bay, being stacked with cans for distribution.

He was reminded of that old saying; ‘where there’s muck, there’s brass’. While many people prefer glamorous, high profile businesses, Steele knew that there was good money – brass – to be made in a dull, mucky industry like manufacturing food for slaves. So long as it was cheap, sufficient and it kept them alive, owners would buy it.

Fortunately for Steele, he was able to make a nice profit, even though the price per can was very low. The secret was in the recipe !

The factory was alive with the sound of conveyor belts; the clank of metal, the hiss of pistons, the shouts of humans. People worked in four production lines. They were nearing the end of their daily, gruelling 16 hours shift.

Steele sat in the boardroom on the mezzanine floor and perused the exhausted workforce through the viewing window.

There were 64 slaves, plus a handful of guards.

Most of the slaves were male but there were a dozen or so females. He watched the human production lines rapidly spooning and cramming mounds of offal into open cans.

The cans then travelled along a belt to the huge auto-claves that sterilised the putrid meat, rendering the bacteria, spores and fungi harmless.

In the final stage, tasteless powdered nutrients, vitamins and a gloopy, gelatinous preservative sauce were all added.

Finally, the cans were lidded and hermetically sealed.

The slaves slapped the famous ‘CCF’ labels on the cans along with the “best within 10 years” date stickers and loaded them onto large pallets.

The four teams of sixteen worked manically to meet their daily quotas. But they were kept in the dark as to how they were doing. Each week, the teams were summoned to meet Steele in the boardroom and their scores were revealed. The three teams that had filled, sealed and loaded the highest quantity of cans were given a little treat. The losing team stayed behind with Steele in the boardroom.

He then selected a member of the week’s losing team to be “fired”.

And today was ‘Boardroom Day’.

*** *** ***

Carrie’s father wallowed in the centre of the double bed like a beached whale.

He was ugly, 55 years old and weighed 250 lbs.

And yet he had two gorgeous young ladies perched on the bed either side of him. He smiled down at Tamara first, and then across at Fern, winking at them.

“Do you like what you see ?”

He studied their expressions carefully. Tamara made a better attempt but the obvious gulp, the wide-eyed gawp gave her away. As for Fern, it was quite evident that the little slut did not like what she saw.

He scowled at them both.

“You fucking bitches. Just because you are less than half my age you think you’re too good for me, huh ?”

He pushed them both away and pointed at Tamara.

“You ! Get undressed.”

Then he turned to Fern’s shocked face.

“And you, you stuck up cunt ! Hurry up and strip too.”

He watched Tamara struggling with her dress.

“How old is your father ?” he asked her.

“He’d dead, Sir. He’d be … 49, I think Sir.

“And you think just because men like me are older than your father, we look at you like our daughters ? Well, we don’t. We look at you like the sluts you are.”

Fern was struggling with the clip at the back of her white dress. He gestured at the topless Tamara to help her out. Tamara’s tits were high and perky.

“You may look at me and see just an old guy. But I look at you and I see tits and cunt and I want to fuck you.”

Fern was pulling off her wedding dress. He immediately saw her boobs were big and full, larger and more pendulous than Tamara’s.

A few years back, before the collapse of social order and the reintroduction of slavery, he’d been just another middle-aged man, forced to watch cock teasing sluts sashaying around in tight tops and short skirts, looking through him as if he didn’t exist. Oh sure, the bitches glanced at and flirted with much younger men their own age, ready to dance and fuck after just a burger and coke, but once a poor guy had hit forty, put on a few pounds, and turned grey or bald, they considered themselves too good for him.

Well, nowadays was like a movie sequel; ‘the old guy strikes back !’

Now he could have his pick of tight assed young ladies, force them to do exactly what he wanted. Oh yes, they sure noticed him now; his jowls and his gut, his baldhead, spectacles and bad leg. He didn’t have to diet or exercise, or give a shit what he looked or smelt like, or heck, even buy them a hotdog. Now, it was he who was too good for them.

“Stand to attention. Tits out, legs apart !”

He stared at their nakedness, feasting his eyes on their youthful beauty.

Tamara was a perfect 10. Her skin was a golden hue, like honey. She had long legs, a flat belly and pert breasts. She was tall but coltish, with a waist that made you wonder exactly where she was going to fit his cock inside her. He gloated from her shaved mound up into her nervous eyes.

Fern was good. Very good. But not a 10. She’d have to work very hard to win against Tamara’s perfection. She was shorter, curvier, with feminine hips and the kind of plump breasts that danced amusingly under a crop. Her face showed she’d been given a thorough working over these past couple of days, but he liked her mouth, with its full lips and white teeth, and imagined it doing all sorts of things, not just the obvious ones either. There were hickeys on her neck and tits, scratches and bruises, but nothing to put him off.

Again, he wallowed in her shame, from her plucked, hairless cunt up to her sunken blue eyes.

“Come.” He instructed Tamara, curling his finger.

She knelt by the side of the bed, very contritely, and then slowly moved her lips up, until her chin was lightly resting on his bloated belly. She looked at him.

“Sir.” She kissed his skin. “You’re right. I am sorry for not recognising the beauty of older men until now. But I hope you will let me make it up to you over the next few days. Or as long as you like. It would be an honour for me to make love to you in any way you wish.”

He chortled with glee. This one was going to be good. He yanked Tamara’s head back by her hair and pointed her eyes at his dick.

“Prove it. Suck on that !”

He sighed as her warm, wet lips engulfed him as best she could.

Then he looked coldly at Fern.

“Right, my dear. Bad news and good news. The bad news is that you’re nowhere near as attractive to me as Tamara. Get that into your thick skull right now.”

He smiled at her shocked expression hearing his brutal observation. She blushed with indignity.

“That means she’ll get the nice jobs and you’ll get the shitty ones. But the good news is that you could still win. Just. If … she disappoints me and if … you work extra hard, then you have a chance. Deal ?”

He watched her throat dry-swallow. “Y … yes, Sir.”

“Mmm …”. He settled back enjoying Tamara’s young tongue slurping his shaft. He was rock hard now, without the need for medicinal assistance. Nubile flesh proved as effective as any drug.

“Come here.”

Fern walked to him and leaned over.

He reached out to her boobs, first the left, then the right, and bounced them in his palm. She bit her lip and winced.

“You see that paddle ?”

She turned her head. He was looking at a circular wooden board with a handle. It resembled a table tennis bat.

“Fetch it.”

He watched her, admiring her bottom as she turned her back.

“Okay. Now stand here, and use the paddle to smack your own tits.”

Her blue eyes sparked and then she screwed them shut.

“Hurry. Feet apart. Now, smack your left tit hard.”

He studied her carefully. She lifted the bat and then cracked it across the side of her boob, making a nice splat sound. Her face contorted in pain.

“Again.” He chuckled. “Much harder !”

Biting her lip, she raised it up and smacked it down against the meaty centre of her tit, making it jiggle and turn red.

“Lovely.” He said. “Tell me, how does that feel ?”

“It h … hurts, Sir.” She stammered.

“Excellent. Later, we must ask Tamara to thrash your jugs with a bamboo.” He leaned down, easing Tamara’s hair from her face. “You’d like that my dear, wouldn’t you ? Or would you prefer to be beaten yourself ?”

“Nnghgm …” the cocksucker replied, indicating she’d prefer to be the one wielding the cane.

He nodded approvingly, turning back to Fern.

“Sensible girl. Okay, now another one. Even harder.”

Tears trickled from Fern’s eyes as she obeyed him.

“Now, lean down.”

He reached up and admired the heat emanating from her left tit. He tugged on her right nipple, causing her to whimper.

“Look. Your other jug is all pale compared with it. Let’s swap over. Smack your right one now, nice and hard.”

Her trembling fingers switched the paddle into her other hand. She swung, making a shrill crack as wood landed on flesh.

His loins were stirring and he could feel an orgasm building. He sighed contentedly, wondering whether to shoot in Tamara’s mouth, or whether he should stall, and maybe try something else.

Decisions ! Decisions !

End of Chapter Nine