(An edited, modified standalone version from the novella "The Training of Slave Girl Shana.")
In the decades that followed the global energy and food shortages, and the subsequent collapse of various economies, the old polities disintegrated into city states and feudalism. The rich were excessively so, and exploited the poor for their own private gain.
Inside the complex on the far side of the mountain, near the ruins of the Oratory, a slave girl was retained for the Master's personal indulgences. Her name was Shana. Having been trained by the Understudy for display before the Master (upon his whim), Shana had been shown to her shoe box-sized chamber and given her slave uniform. It was a green tunic with short sleeves and a high, even collar with a notch cut in the front, like a priest's. It had a crisp, professional press to it, greatly flattering her upper body, but its hemline was very, very short. She had only an inch, it seemed, between her modesty and her embarrassment.
It had been a week of hard training by the Understudy, and Shana was in her chamber, trying to relax by reading, lying across the bed on her stomach with her feet in the air, brushing her bare, pointed toes against each other. So long as she was alone, she didn't mind the mirror reflecting how the tunic betrayed the first inch of her bare seat.
Having lost herself in the book, she did not hear the approaching shuffle of the Usher, did not hear his feet on the ladder, did not realize her solitude was to be taken again, until he flung back the chamber curtain. Shana gasped, and was off the bed and kneeling on the floor in one, swift motion, her head bowed. The Usher's face was expressionless.
"The Understudy will see you now," he said simply. Shana rose and looked for her sandals. "Bare feet," the Usher said, in an absent-minded tone, almost to himself, and climbed back down the ladder.
Shana suppressed a sigh. Cold concrete, the sandals forsaken. She climbed out and down the ladder, ignoring the Usher's upward stare.
The Usher brought Shana to a dimly-lit room at the far end of the complex. She was greeted by the sight of a strange contraption in the middle of the room: a stainless steel table, with a large floodlight positioned overhead. At the foot of the table was a long, stainless steel piston-shaped tube emerging from an inscrutable mesh of hydraulics, rounding to a soft point at one end like a missile, and with a diameter comparable to a rolling pin. A small console with gauges and lights stood next to it. The Understudy paced slowly around the machine and stopped when he caught sight of Shana.
"Ah, good," he said, "You've arrived." She knelt and bowed her head. The Usher went over to the machine and flipped some switches on the console, causing gauges and tiny lights to jump to life. He switched on the floodlight and the metallic table was brightly lit, the shiny metal reflecting the light all around the room. The Understudy smiled thinly at Shana. "I designed and built this myself," he said. "Spare scrap from the university." Shana stared up uncomprehendingly at the machine. He added, "There are other projects, too."
The Understudy stepped forward and took her hand. "Arise, slave," he said, gently pulling her up. "Stand on your toes for a moment." She did, and the Understudy paced around her, taking her in from all sides. Standing on her toes had the action of pulling the back of her tunic's hem up high enough to show a hint of the crease of her bare rear.
The Understudy stopped smiling. "All right, that's enough," he said calmly, striding over to the machine. "Come over here and get up on the table." Shana hesitated, her eyes wide. "Now!" the Understudy barked. She padded quickly over to the table, and slid up onto its cold, shiny surface, keeping her legs and thighs firmly together in an attempt to preserve her modesty.
The Usher seemed to be checking the gauges on the machine and conferred momentarily with the Understudy, the two talking in quiet tones. Shana stared at the piston. The Understudy turned back to her suddenly and said, "Alright, Slave Shana, lie on your back." Shana broke her silence.
"What is this machine for?" she asked quietly.
"Lie down and I'll tell you," he replied. She slowly lay back, bringing her legs up, thighs together, onto the cold, metal slab, and tugged her hem down to cover her fur, which uncovered her bare rear. She felt the cold metal beneath her and began to shake. Before she understood what was happening, the Understudy casually reached to the side of the table and pulled a strap tightly over her pelvis like a seatbelt, locking it in place on the other side beyond her reach. It was so tight, it hurt. Shana sat up in a panic, tried to wiggle her torso free, and found she was belted tight to the table. She looked at the Understudy with fright.
"Please, sir, it's too tight! What are you doing?" she squeaked. The Understudy pushed her back down roughly, eliciting a surprised grunt from her.
"Slave Shana, I am displeased with your truculence and we are here tonight to ensure that this behaviour changes!" the Understudy thundered. Shana began to cry quietly, tears brimming up and rolling down her cheeks.
"But, but I've been a good girl," she said plaintively.
"No," said the Understudy simply. "Not to my way of thinking." She began to cry harder as the realization dawned on her that he meant to punish her. Her slim body increasingly shook with her sobs. "Anyway," said the Understudy, "I'm not much for lectures. This isn't a movie." He turned toward the console. "Begin the treatment," he said to the Usher, who nodded and flipped a switch.
Shana let out long, choking sobs, which filled the room from end to end, echoing off the walls piteously. The piston shuddered to life and advanced up the table with a soft whine of its hydraulic arms. It was already positioned at a latitude that brought it easily up between her legs. When Shana saw the piston move, she sat up again, hysterical, frantically clamping her thighs together, as she finally realized what the piston was for and why she wasn't allowed any panties underneath her little skirt.
.... There is more of this story ...