Chapter 14

Monday morning, week six.

The RSM had the duty, with Sven and Dusty. They were expecting Bert, too, bringing Mirosa. The RSM had notes from the Major, and, of course, the handover from Pete Norris and Steve Collins. He looked at the other two. "Thirteen's going to be a problem. So far she's toeing the line, but the moment she steps over it she'll need to be jumped on. Fourteen..." he frowned, pausing. "The Major wants Steve to handle her. She'll have the exercise, of course, and the stimulation, but we're to hold back for the present. I think she could go to the kitchen with Zero Seven. We'll see if she has any idea of what to do there; Steve says her family used her like a slave anyway, so she may know her way round. In fact, I'll ask Bert to keep an eye on her."

Bert arrived, Mirosa in tow, just before they roused the women. Mirosa had what could only be described as a 'rosy glow' about her, and a smile a mile wide.

The two newcomers stumbled out, blinking, as the others took their places. Marie Dellorto was clearly making a point of doing exactly as she was told, though with an unmoving, disdainful sneer on what should have been a beautiful face. As the exercise session began, it was clear Marie was very used to a gym. She smoothly worked up to a steady, loping run, keeping her pulse just inside the training zone. Imogen, equally clearly, was unsure. She was, however, clearly fitter than most of the others had been on arrival. She was walking and jogging. Marie's sneer was joined by raised eyebrows when she saw the dildo fitted to the rowing machine, but none-the-less, she mounted up and worked hard enough to work up a sweat. The gleam of moisture accentuated the curves of her body. Imogen had a rowing machine sans dildo. She managed to keep up a good, steady rhythm and she, too, was soon gleaming with sweat. It didn't do for her body what it did for Marie, though.

Breakfast was routine. Afterwards, as the other women took their places on the discipline frames, Marie, still sneering, followed suit. As did Imogen, though her short legs meant her feet were dangling. Marie got her first shock when her ankles and wrists were strapped to the frame. That was compounded by the application of lube to her pussy and teat-cups to her perfect breasts, the insertion of a first-size anal plug, and a vibrator on low. Wide eyed, she watched as the other women reached orgasm, and were then mounted on Sybians. Helena, Belle and Millicent, however, were left on the frames to be fucked by Sven, Dusty and the RSM. Imogen, however, had been left in a similar condition to Marie, except that the vibrator was set higher. She was in the process of experiencing her first orgasm. And her second, her third and her fourth.

Bert watched them, only setting rests on the frame for Imogen's feet. He briefly left to speak to Mirosa, and when he returned, gently fondled Imogen's dangling tits.

"Please," she gasped, "Too much!"

"The tits?"

"No!"

"Ah." He switched off the vibrator and she sighed.

"I never had, you know, I never came before."

"Never?"

"No. Never. Why did you play with my tits?"

"I wanted to. And it's part of what we do with our trainees. To get you all used to sexual intimacy."

"No-one's going to want sex with me."

"Why-ever not?"

"Well, just look at me."

"I have been. There's nothing wrong with the way you look. At least, only one thing."

"Oh, right. So there's only one thing wrong with me? And that is?"

"Your expression." He could tell she needed more, so he went on, "You look beaten down. Miserable. Resigned. Your body's fine. You may not be a model, but I'd personally rather make love to you than your neighbour." He nodded towards Marie. "She's physically gorgeous, but her expression would sour milk. You, if you could find a smile from somewhere, I think you'd be quite attractive. I know at least one of the Trainers who is looking forward to having sex with you, and I will as well, as soon as you're available."

"No! Really? What do you mean, available?"

"We give virgins a day or two to settle in, then try to introduce them to sex gently. Then you have a day to, um, recover, before you get the same treatment as everyone else."

"Which is?"

"Well, there's several of you all now, but you can expect to be fucked at least once a day by a real cock, and you'll spend a lot of time with assorted dildos in you."

"Oh..." something in her voice prompted him to squat in front of her so they were eye to eye – at least, they were eye to eye when she lifted her head to look forward. "You mean all that?"

"Absolutely." For the first time, she wore a smile; tentative, yes, but indubitably a smile.

After showers, Mirosa and Imogen were taken to the kitchen and Linda donned her orange dress and work boots without protest. She followed Sven out of the Centre and out of the building, having picked up some basic tools in reception. She put on the work gloves provided against the assorted thorns, spikes, and toxins of the weeds she was to pull, and worked steadily for a couple of hours.

"Time to go in, Ten."

She straightened up and groaned, a hand to her back. She looked round at the area she'd been clearing. "Doesn't look much, does it, sir?"

"You've done well. Time for a hot shower before lunch."

"Wonderful. Sir, after lunch..."

"Back inside. We may bring someone else out for the afternoon. You get a rest."

"After lunch, I'd like an orgasm. On a real cock."

"I think that might be arranged."

Bert returned Mirosa and Imogen to the Centre, and conveyed the cook's report on their performance.

"Zero Seven is doing quite well. From almost no experience in the kitchen, she is now competent, if slow, with most tasks. Fourteen, though, is clearly very used to the work and required only basic instruction in where to find things and which specific utensils to employ. The comment made was that her family obviously used her like a slave in household tasks. One wonders what they're doing without her."

"I know what they're doing," the RSM said. "He's bought a female slave who is warming Fourteen's father's bed when she's not being put to work in the house. I suppose it's something that he hasn't indulged in a little incest. But from what she's said, reading between the lines, so to speak, that's about the only way she's been considered."

Bert shrugged. "I talked to her a little this morning. She was surprised anyone would want to use her sexually. I told her I was next in line after Steve. I'm not sure she believed me, though."

Lunch arrived and was consumed. Bert left with Mirosa, and Sam arrived with Martina. Sam would be working with Andy Downs, and Andrew would be in later to take over from the RSM.

Dusty escorted Martina and Millicent to the kitchen with the trolley and left them there, before going off duty himself, leaving the RSM with Sam and Andy to deal with the after-lunch sex session. The RSM asked Sam to supervise Imogen on the frame, leaving Andy to fulfil Sven's promise to Linda of a cock and an orgasm or two.

The RSM took a deep breath and went to deal with Marie. She was a little wild-eyed as he buckled her down to the frame and fitted the teat-cups to her still swollen and sensitive nipples. Rather than use the vibrator, though, he teased her pussy with his fingers until he was sure she was well lubricated. She was panting and groaning.

"Please ... oh, please, sir!"

"What do you want, Thirteen?" Silence, apart from her continued heavy breathing. "I could just leave you like this, if you prefer."

"Your cock, sir. I need your cock."

"Very well." Carefully lined up, he thrust home in one go and, to his astonishment, she orgasmed, her body shuddering and her pussy rippling on him; he remained still, deep in her until the orgasm subsided, then began to move. It was not a fluke; she came again after a few thrusts, and by the time he came in her, was experiencing a more or less continuous orgasm. When he spent himself inside her, however, she slumped, quite out of it. 'Oh, well. Not much point in trying to make her clean me up.'

She was out for some time; several minutes, in fact. When she woke up, he released her and helped her into her shower. It was the beginning of a profound change in her personality and behaviour.

Wednesday, Week Six.

Imogen, standing outside her cell like the other women, saw Steve Collins with Sam standing with the Major. Another woman with olive skin knelt next to Sam, wearing a bright steel collar. Although overweight, the woman knelt with her back stiffly straight and smallish breasts pushed out. Her arms were folded behind her. Of course – it was Twelve. What was her name? Martina. That was it. One of the trainers had bought her out. She worked in the kitchen sometimes – the cook had mentioned her. Imogen envied her. If only someone would want her enough to buy her. No one would, of course, unless they just wanted a kitchen slave.

Sam bent and spoke quietly in Martina's ear. She nodded and rose, a little awkwardly, to her feet, then walked across the room to Imogen.

"Hello, Fourteen. I'm Twelve. Today's your big day, isn't it?"

"Big day?"

"You're to lose your virginity today, aren't you?"

"Well, so I'm told. I'm not sure I believe it. I mean, look at me. Why would anyone..."

"Believe it. Look at me. A week ago, I couldn't believe anyone would want me. My husband certainly didn't."

"No!"

"Yes. There's nothing wrong with you. Stand up straight. Come on! Better. Shoulders back. Push those tits out."

"But..."

"I'll be with you this morning, unless you'd rather not? Steve will be across soon." Martina didn't miss the blush at the mention of the Trainer. "You like him."

"He listens to me. He's nice."

"Yes. You're lucky – nearly as lucky as me."

"I don't think Steve is going to buy me out."

"Maybe not. But that's not the only way out of here. But come on – exercise time."

With Martina exercising alongside and Steve spending most of his time encouraging her, the time passed swiftly for Imogen and almost before she thought about it she was showering and resting before breakfast. She felt Steve's eyes on her constantly and fought her desire to hide. She sat straight, her heavy, pear-shaped breasts obvious against her chest.

A bell sounded, and each woman made her way first to the discipline frame in front of her cell. Steve stood beside her. "It's time, Fourteen. Would you rather be private? In your cell? Or public?"

"Public. So everyone here can watch."

Imogen blushed hotly. But she was aware of juices trickling down her leg. The idea. The thought of being fucked at all was unreal. 'But to be watched? No one would doubt, would they?' "Public," she found herself saying.

"I want to use the chair," Steve said, pointing.

She looked. The gynæ chair was out in the open and, quite obviously she'd be displaying her most intimate parts. "Why?"

"I want to watch your eyes, see your breasts, look at your body."

"Okay." It was unreal. Surreal, even. It wasn't really happening – she was still dreaming. But she was being led out to the chair and helped into it, Velcro straps gently holding her, legs lewdly spread. She was half aware of the other women in a semi-circle around her and Steve, though Martina was half bent, thrusting her rear back at Sam, while Marie was doing the same for the Major. Her awareness of what else was going on disappeared as Steve's lips fastened on a nipple and his finger slid through the swamp that was her pussy. It slid over her clit and a shock made her pelvis jerk.

Steve's face was over hers. "I think you're as ready as you're going to be?"

Her head moved – without her conscious volition – and his lips descended to touch hers. Then the moment was past and he positioned himself between her legs, swabbed the head of his cock through her juices and lined up. A stab of pain, stretching, an intrusion, right there. "The worst is over, Fourteen." His hands moulded and squeezed her breasts.

Suddenly, she realised she was tensed, rigid, and made herself relax. But the foreign intrusion remained. Indeed, moved deeper, then out, then deeper again. She found herself breathing in time with the movements until she felt pressure against her, and an almost pain deep inside, a sense of fullness, of stretching. "Oh!"

"All the way in, Fourteen. Are you okay?"

'Am I okay? I feel ... good. I think.' "Okay."

He began to move. Around her, watching, Martina and Marie thrust back against their men. Nine other women had one hand between their legs, the other, squeezing a breast, or a nipple. Suggestive sounds infused the air, but Imogen only heard one voice grunting in time with Steve's thrusts, not realising it was herself. That newly familiar heat was growing in her pelvis. Zings of pleasure flickered between there and her nipples, which were being pinched and pulled. Then, an explosion of ecstasy, like her earlier orgasms, yet immeasurably greater, overwhelmed her and her scream echoed around the building as Steve filled her no longer virgin pussy with semen. Consciousness fled.

"Fourteen. Imogen." A voice, familiar, gentle. Warm. A hand, stroking her hair.

"Ste..." she realised she was about to say his name and stopped. "Sir?"

"Welcome back."

"Can you do that again, sir? Please?"

"I can, but you'll be sore. Better to wait. Can you stand?"

She thought. Would her legs hold her? "I..." she stopped again, remembering something, though not where from. 'Don't try. Do, or not do.' "Yes, sir."