Chapter 15

Sunday, Week Seven.

"Oh, my ... Ma'a ... I mean, Dorothy..." Griselda gazed at Dorothy's body, glistening with water from the shower. It wasn't the first time she'd seen her nude, of course, but she couldn't get used to the evidence of the abuse Dorothy had suffered. She reached out and touched a small, round, white scar.

"A cigarette burn," Dorothy said, quietly. Then, when the finger moved to a long, thin, scar, "A cut from a thin cane."

"How do you bear it?"

"They don't hurt."

"But..."

"Griselda, I didn't know any different; it was my life. I just expected that one day one of them would go too far, and it would all be over; I even looked forward to that. But while it was happening, I ... well, I endured. I learned that crying, and screaming, only pleased them more, so I learned not to make a sound. When the Police broke the ring, I expected to be bought by someone else who liked hurting girls, or to die when no-one wanted me. But Andrew bought me. I kept expecting to wake up, that I was merely dreaming, but I gradually began to accept that things had really changed. You know, I never had any time for religion – why would any God allow what happened to me and many others – but now I think I have experienced Hell, and found Heaven in Andrew's arms. I would go through it all again to have what I have now."

"And you're not worried about having me here?"

Dorothy smiled. "My husband has enough love in him for several wives. But I just want him to be happy. If it would make him happy, I would be his slave again; in my mind I still am. Besides, I love you, too. It will be a joy to live with you." She closed the distance between them and took the taller girl in her arms, pressing their damp bodies together. "Come, let's dry off before Junior wakes and needs our attention."

"Good morning, S'nt Major."

"Good morning, Chairman. You've come for Zero One, I understand?"

"That's right. Karen ... Zero Two, feels she is not yet ready to leave." He shrugged. "I suppose it's my suspicious mind that suggests she enjoys the sex too much. She knows I'm not happy about making love to her myself."

"I suspect you're right, Chairman."

"Anyway, I've brought a steel collar for my ... for Zero One. If you could remove the black one, please?"

"Of course, sir."

So, not too much later, the Chairman left, followed two paces behind by his former wife, much changed since her arrival, a bright steel, engraved collar snug around her neck.

Next arrival was Alan Beeton, who also had an engraved collar for Mirosa. He noticed that she was not enthusiastic when the RSM was about to take her black collar off. "Do you want to come home? To come with me?"

"Yes ... yes I do. But, it's odd, I'll miss this place." Her eyes strayed to Bert's, who was watching from a distance.

"Well, if you find you don't like it with me, I expect you could come back."

She nodded, and smiled up at the RSM. "I'm ready, now."

Like Helena earlier, she followed her former husband, now her owner, out of the door; but not without a backwards glance.

The RSM walked up behind Bert Wood. "Tough, watching her go?"

The other man started. "Christ, Sar'nt Major. I didn't hear you come."

"Inattention like that can get you killed, Bert."

"I know. I know. I just hope she's happy now. It's not as though I don't have others to deal with. But there was something about her that got me right where I live. I'll get over it."

The RSM nodded, satisfied, and went back to the office. 'Okay. What do we have? Zero Two, Zero Three ... she needs some one-to-one attention today ... Zero Five – perhaps she'll take Bert's mind off Zero Seven's departure – Zero Six, Zero Eight, Zero Nine, Ten, and Thirteen. Eight of them. Two to come this evening. Not what I expected, but I suppose it's working.'

The lunch trolley arrived, with Belle and Imogen, who was still walking awkwardly. As soon as everyone was settled with their meals, and the trainers were together in the office, "Bert, Zero Five."

Bert smiled. "Trying to take my mind off Zero Seven?"

"That too. But she's working hard and deserves some attention. Jane..."

"Sar'nt Major?"

"Up to dealing with Zero Six after lunch?"

Jane Edwards grinned. "Certainly, Sarn't Major."

He sighed. "So I'll give Zero Three her spanking. I'll leave after that and have a few hours in my apartment, then come back for the new admissions."

He went back to his meal, but perused the reports on the admissions as he ate.

Belle, having seen the RSM approaching, was on her knees when he arrived at her cell. Her hands, instead of being clasped behind her back, or resting on her thighs, were cradling her breasts. He looked at her, at them. "You seem to have grown," he commented.

"Yes, sir. Sir, my exercise bra doesn't fit any more. I've got it on the last hooks. And my nipples are itching."

"Well, we must certainly get you new bras, Zero Three. But your nipples..."

"Yes, sir. Could I have the breast pump, please?"

"Ah..." The RSM knew several of the women were using the pumps regularly. He knew also that Belle often had the pump sucking hard as part of what turned her on. He also knew that prolonged stimulation by the pumps could induce lactation. "Yes. I'll set it up."

When he returned with the contraption, she was draped over the discipline frame, tits dangling. He couldn't resist fondling them before attaching the teat-cups. As the suction began, she groaned – it could have been pain or pleasure. Actually, it was both. As he watched, the first drops of liquid, not yet milk, appeared in the clear tube. His cock, already somewhat swollen, immediately came to attention.

"Looks as though you're lactating, Zero Three. Not much yet."

She grunted.

The RSM stroked a finger through her slit, which was dry and tight. Moments later, his hand landed on her buttock with a loud crack. He cupped her mound, then with a sudden movement, smacked the other buttock. She grunted again, a deeper, louder sound. He caressed her rear. Then repeated the sequence. After half a dozen smacks, his hand was stinging a little, her buttocks were pink and her pussy was wet and blooming pinkly open; a smack on her mound had her convulsing in orgasm. He penetrated her to the hilt, grasped her hips and began to thrust.

"Sir," she gasped, "please – in my arse. Please!"

"Lube..."

"I lubed up before. Please, sir!"

"Very well."

He withdrew, reluctantly, repositioned and pushed at her anus, which accepted him smoothly, if slowly. She came again as he achieved full penetration, and her tight channel clamped down on him. It took some time – perhaps a minute, he wasn't timing things – before he was able to move and achieve his own satisfaction. When he did, she was so tight, and the fluttering of assorted muscles in her pelvic area so teasing, that he didn't soften immediately. But he withdrew and was about to suggest a shower, when Belle begged him to let her clean him up. To his astonishment, she came again as he did so.

"Do you want the pump removed?"

"Not. Yet. Sir. Feels ... good."

He left word with Bert to keep an eye on Belle, and left.

The two admissions arrived with Dick Tracey and Andy Downs. While they'd had the same tests as the others, they had come from Police custody.

Vera Crowe, IS29/15R (the R indicating further legal restrictions) was mid forties, overweight, with grey-streaked auburn hair. She was an arsonist, having set alight the family home with her family in it. She'd disabled the alarms before leaving and it was entirely luck that had her husband woken by a phone-call before the fire took hold. He got their teenaged son and daughter out of the house unharmed, but the building was destroyed. She wore a red collar.

Penelope 'Poppers' Linden, IS29/16, was the antithesis. A drug user like Bennie Hemming, she was seventeen years old (but looked much older) painfully thin and literally covered with tattoos. The tattoos partially obscured the needle tracks in her arms. Wearing a black collar.

The RSM looked them over, then at Andy and Dick. "Any problems?"

"No, sir," Dick responded, "unless you include Sixteen lifting that dress and suggesting we both fuck her before we got here."

The RSM shook his head. "Are you both okay about tonight's shift? Need an extra body?"

"I don't think so, sir. The Major's on call if we need support, but other than that, I think we'll lock the two in tonight."

"Good enough. Just keep an eye on Fifteen. I don't want her to take the easy way out." He returned his attention to the two women and gave them the admission spiel, before telling them to remove their dresses. Penelope complied immediately, unsurprisingly, revealing the extent of her body art. Vera did so reluctantly, barely in time to avoid punishment. "You have an hour before we'll put you in your cells. I suggest you have a chat with the other trainees. It might save you some pain."

Monday, Week Seven.

Five men sat round the table in the Committee Room.

"The shortage of technically qualified personnel..." began the Chairman. "Alan?"

"Er, yes, Chairman. I asked the Vice-Chancellor to join us." He looked at his watch. "He ought to be here by now." He stood and went to the door, opened it and spoke. "Rosemary, is Rupert Charlesworth here yet?"

"Yes. He just needed..."

"Ah. Send him in, when he returns, will you?"

"Certainly, Mister Beeton."

Some minutes later, during which the Committee refreshed their coffee cups, a tall, well-dressed man entered the room. The Committee stood and the Chairman stepped toward the man and held out his hand. The man took it.

"Welcome. Vice-Chancellor. Won't you take a seat? Would you like coffee?"

"Thank you, Chairman. White, please."

"Mister Beeton has been telling us of the difficulty of recruiting engineers, technicians and scientists."

"Yes, indeed. The main problem is there just aren't many men anyway, and only a tiny proportion of those there are have the right mental set."

"Have you considered recruiting women?"

The man sighed. "Yes. Before the War, more than half of our students were female, though not so much in the sciences and technology. But the present social climate..."

"Yes. Quite. Supposing the Committee pressed for extending the recruiting of women to further education?"

"There would be resistance, I think."

"And how about Indentured Servants?"

The man's eyebrows lifted. "Interesting. As far as I'm concerned, as long as their fees are paid, I don't see why not. Women – I assume you mean women – might face some problems if they're wearing black collars."

"A good point," the Chairman mused. "Actually, I have two people in mind right now. My daughter is currently enjoying a stay at our Training Centre – had you heard about that?"

"Yes, Chairman. Happily, I don't believe the womenfolk in my household need such an intervention."

"Ahem." The Chairman cleared his throat and the Vice-Chancellor had the grace to appear embarrassed. "As I was about to say, she has been studying. She achieved matriculation standard at school, but when she left she was under pressure to conform to the social structure she was a part of. She has been working on level four science for the last few weeks. The other is actually a man – Private Andy Downs. He was to have entered University from school, but went into the Army instead. Currently he's one of our Trainers, but he's been keeping on studying in his free time."

"Suppose..." the V-C began slowly, "your man brought your daughter with him to lectures? Could he claim her service? Protect her to an extent?"

There was a long pause, during which the V-C wondered if he'd overstepped the mark.

"That would work, I think," the Chairman said eventually. "But if we're going to encourage women to take up technical roles, a needing to have a male escort at all times won't work in the long run."

"You know," the V-C put in, conversationally, "women weren't awarded degrees identical to men's until 1948, even though the first University College for women, Girton, opened in 1869, and a woman, Phillipa Fawcett, took top marks in Mathematics Tripos in 1890."

"Is that so? I didn't realise it was that late."

"Oh, yes. The resistance to permitting women equal status with men persisted long after it was demonstrated they were perfectly capable of achieving competence – even excellence – in the professions. The War set us back in more ways than one."

"So you're not personally opposed?"

"Not at all. Some of my own teachers were women. Some of the best ones. Can I take this a step further?"

"How?"

"Education is not the only way women can undertake traditionally male tasks. In Russia, for example, women work everywhere – even down the mines and in factories. Even here, during the Second World War, women worked in factories, on the fields ... everywhere. They ferried military aircraft around, even four-engined bombers. I'd suggest, if there's a shortage of men, there's not much women can't do."