I was seventeen. It is a significant time. But perhaps I need to explain some more? Until a few years ago, this country, my country, was two centuries behind most of the rest of the world; our leader, Glavni Starij (you would say ‘Chief Elder’), and the Vestri, brought in some modern technology, but didn’t think about the implications ... the consequences. My Father explained some of this to me. You see, in Domovinu, women have few rights. I have to say, though, my Mama ruled our household. She did it very subtly (still does) but there is no doubt about it. But as you might imagine, when women, especially the younger ones, saw how life could be outside our homeland, they became ... unhappy. Glavni Starij and his colleagues in turn were not happy about that and introduced some draconian laws to try to manage the situation. My Father said that they were fighting a losing battle, but at the time the situation was what it was.

But as I say, I was then seventeen and in our family, that meant I was to be introduced to sex. Not that I hadn’t been taking things into my own hands for years. Even ten years before, at seventeen I would have been taken to a brothel and given some training by the Madame, but at the time private brothels had been largely replaced by the Државна реформација, (Državna reformacija), the State Reformatory. But I suppose it amounted to the same thing. I was to spend two weeks there, learning how to deal with women. My Father said, ‘Just nod your head and do as you’re told, then when it’s all over, remember that women are human too.’

Still, it was quite exciting to be taken along to the impressive building which housed the main facility...

“Good morning, I am Goran Dajkovic, and this is my son Johannes. We are here to see Madame Gudrith.”

The man behind the counter looked us up and down and, apparently satisfied, nodded. “Certainly, Gospodin, mlad čovek, if you would take a seat over there, I will call her and she will be with you shortly.”

We did as we were told and shortly – after some minutes only – a woman appeared. She was, I suppose, in her fifties, but elegant and well dressed.

She approached, smiling. “Good morning, Gospodin Dajkovic, young man. Gospodin, will you be leaving your son with me? Do you require entertainment yourself?”

We stood, and my Father replied. “Thank you, Madame, but I will be returning home. Johannes will be safe in your hands, I’m sure, and he can find his own way home when it is time.”

“Very good, Gospodin. Johannes – if I may?”

“Certainly, Madame.”

“Then, please, come with me.”

She led me through labyrinthine corridors. “We will begin with the court-room, Johannes, so you get an idea of how our prisoners get to be here, then, after some refreshment, you will, I’m sure, be interested in the in-processing of prisoners after sentencing.”

“Thank you, Madame.” I was a little puzzled, but willing to go along with her, at least for the time being. That was, after all, what my Father had told me to do.

We ended up on an enclosed balcony overlooking a courtroom, where three men in robes surveyed their domain from behind a desk on a dais. We could follow the proceedings despite screens.

The middle one nodded to a court official, who proclaimed ‘Next!’ in a loud voice.

“We have three categories of prisoner,” Madame Gudrith explained quietly. “Criminals, social dissidents, and women who have disturbed their family stability.”

A young woman, naked and gagged, was led into the court-room to stand in front of the bench. A man stood. “Katrina Olegovna was caught red-handed stealing from the open market. She had in her bag a new iphone and ipad, which she had not paid for, and when her room was searched, several other items were found.” He held up a list and a bag containing the two previously mentioned items.

The same magistrate nodded and turned to another man who had just stood. “Defence?” He asked.

The other man shook his head. “She admits her guilt, Your Honour, and pleads clemency.”

The same magistrate turned to his companions and one asked, “Any mitigating factors?”

“She was hungry, Your Honours. She lost her position as a nanny a week ago when the Father of her charges acquired a younger replacement.”

The three magistrates looked at each other and held a low-voiced colloquy. Then the middle man addressed the prisoner. “Katrina Olegovna, you are duly sentenced to one year in the Reformatory, followed by two years indentured servitude.” The girl, head bowed, was led out of the room. The next accused, however, was somewhat different. Tall, statuesque, blonde, despite her nudity and the gag, she strode into the court between two guards. She might have been robed as a queen, the guards an escort of honour, by the way she stood.

“Teodora Malina Petrovic. You are accused of undermining society by instigating and leading a protest outside the Vestri building, and leading our young women astray by preaching insurrection.” The magistrate looked across at the defence table.

“Your Honour, my client claims that it is her responsibility to protest the injustice she sees in the way women are treated in our society, that she does not wish to undermine society, but to correct the imbalance between male and female.”

“I see.” The three men muttered together again. Then, the leader spoke, “Teodora Malina Petrovic, your behaviour, whatever your opinion, is de facto and de jure undermining the authority of the Vestri. In this, your Father cannot help you. Indeed, I have his recommendation that you receive the maximum appropriate sentence for your offence. Thus I sentence you to a minimum of one year and a maximum of two years in the Reformatory, followed by a minimum of three years indentured servitude.”

She stiffened, and as the gavel fell, strode defiantly out between her guards. Next to me, Madame Gudrith sighed and, when I looked at her, was shaking her head. She glanced at her watch and, as the next prisoner was announced, gestured for me to follow her out of the room.

Outside, she said, “It is time for lunch, and I thought you’d probably seen enough, am I correct?”

I took a deep breath. “Yes. That seemed ... summary. They didn’t have a chance, did they?”

“No. But elsewhere, there would have been attempts to cast doubt on the offences, and there’s no doubt that they did that of which they were accused. But it is time for lunch.”

It was a very good lunch, savoury, and perfectly cooked and presented, in (according to the sign) the VIP dining room. “In a few minutes,” Madame informed me, “the magistrates will be in here for their lunch break. I would prefer to be out of the way then.”

I just nodded, and followed her again.

It looked like a space-age torture room, all white paint and stainless-steel and black webbing straps. There were three young women on tables, restrained by black webbing, legs spread painfully wide. I recognised the blonde from the court-room who was being released from the table. Her pubic area and armpits were hairless and looked inflamed, it was obvious that she’d been raped, and had an anal plug in place. Next to her, another young woman, girl, really, was being raped by a guard.

The third girl was just being strapped in position as we walked along the room. A man in a white coat was supervising, and looked round at us.

“Doctor Markovic,” my companion greeted him, “this is Johannes Dajkovic. You are expecting him, I think.”

“Indeed. If he doesn’t mind waiting as I examine this admission, I expect he will carry out the necessary preparation for me.”

I didn’t know what to make of that, but waited as he carried out a thorough physical examination, limited only by his lack of access to the girl’s back, finishing with a careful examination of her genital area. “Virgin,” he commented, “so I won’t carry out an internal exam. Now, Johannes, if you will...” he handed me an odd device, somewhat like a cordless electric razor. “This,” he explained, “pulls the underarm and pubic hair out by the roots. A painful process, but one that minimises the return of the hair. Usually one repeat is all that is necessary.”

Reluctantly, I took it and proceeded to remove the girl’s underarm hair. I had to grit my teeth to ignore her obvious suffering. When I got to her pubis, Madame Gudrith stepped closer, and supervised, explaining how I needed to pull and stretch the girl’s labia in order to deal with the hair there. As I did so, she explained what I was looking at. It seemed to take forever, though I confess it was both fascinating and stimulating.

“Next,” the Doctor said, “we tattoo a barcode above the pubis, which will reference her name, birthdate, date of sentencing and loss of virginity, and, well, everything else as we add to her database. Quite simple, just press it in position...” he pointed, “press the switch and wait for it to beep twice.”

I did as I was told. Again, it was obvious, even on top of what I’d already been doing, that it was not a pain-free process.

“Not quite the last thing,” the doctor said as the device bleeped the second time, “is to lotion the inflamed area. Be thorough.”

That, I didn’t mind doing, especially as I could detect the relief she was feeling. What was obvious through that process was that there was a lot of natural lubrication leaking out of her.

It was Madame Gudrith who took over then. She handed me yet another device.

“Johannes, this is a vibrator. We need to use this to stimulate her clitoris. There are several reasons for doing this, but mostly it is to ease her deflowering.”

Following her instructions, I carefully brought the girl to several climaxes. By the time I’d done that, I was painfully erect.

Meanwhile, another two naked women had been brought in and strapped down to the empty tables, and the doctor was dealing with the first of them.

“So,” Madame Gudrith told me, “the last thing is to divest this young woman of her virginity, and that is your task now. She has, like all the prisoners, got a contraceptive implant on admission which is good for three months.”

I looked at her, then at the poor prisoner. The table was, of course, positioned at a perfect height for penetration. I have to confess that I was more aware of my erection than of her discomfort and I told my conscience to shut up, freed my cock from its confinement, and slid it into nirvana, aware of her wince as I did so. At first I hardly moved; I was just enjoying the sensation of being gripped by something much better than my hand. Then I looked at her face and our eyes met. Her eyes glanced down and back, and again, which led me to look down her body. Her breasts – small to medium – stood proud, the nipples hard and erect. As I began to move in her I reached out to fondle those tempting tits, to squeeze the nipples. When I looked back at her face, it was difficult to be sure in view of the gag, but I was almost certain she was smiling.

I came quite quickly. I’m told that is hardly surprising. I stepped back but a guard gestured at the straps and I undid them. At least, I puzzled out the release mechanism and undid them. When I did so, she briefly grasped my hand and squeezed it; however, that took only a moment and she was led away by two guards.

“There is time for you to help in processing two more prisoners,” the doctor told me, glancing over. “I have finished examining this one...” he stepped away from a somewhat overweight girl, who had a pasty skin and a fine crop of acne. Perhaps her most prominent attribute was a pair of breasts that looked enormous.

I accepted (not entirely willingly) the depilatory device, gritted my teeth, and set to work. By the time I got to the tattoo stage, she was clearly crying, tears were streaming down her cheeks, and it was apparent that she was beginning to have trouble clearing her nose to breathe.

“Doctor!”

“Yes, Johannes?”

“This one is having trouble breathing. May I remove the gag?”

He stopped what he was doing and came over. He glanced at a pad. “Hanna.” She looked up at him. “If I remove your gag, will you be silent? If you don’t, it will have to be replaced.”

She nodded. The doctor looked at me. “Go on, then. But it goes back if she speaks or screams.”

It took a moment to work out the release, but I did it and she worked her jaw, breathing a little noisily through her mouth. She followed me with her eyes. “I must tattoo you now. Please don’t speak, or make a lot of noise, okay?”

She did, in fact, groan a little as the machine worked, but not so that I had to replace the gag. Applying the lotion produced a sigh of relief. She could not resist making a few noises as I applied the vibrator, but when I entered her, she was silent; it was apparent that I was far from her first.

The doctor was working on another girl when I finished and released Hanna to be taken away. He looked round as he applied lotion to the sore areas. “Sorry, Johannes,” he said, “It’s my turn this time.” Madame Gudrith and I watched as he brought her to orgasm and entered her. As he fucked her, another woman, this one in her twenties, was brought in and strapped to a table.

“Madame,” I said to my companion, “may I know the name of the first girl?”

She looked at me thoughtfully. “Why would you want to know that?”

“It’s just, well, I feel I ought to know the name of the first woman I had sex with. Not to mention, I was her first too.”

She smiled. “Very good, Johannes. Yes. Very good. I like that. Her name is Marta Novak. She will be known here as Marta 4.”

“Madame, please, if you wish, call me Johan? Or even Jon?”

“Thank you, Johan. I’d like that. I think we might make a start on her,” she indicated the new girl, “with the depilator, while the good doctor finishes relieving his stress.”

So I did that. I had plenty of time. He didn’t rush at all. I was just about to pick up the tattoo device when Madame stopped me. “It hasn’t been programmed yet for the new girl.”

We didn’t have to wait long, though. The doctor examined the new girl – Lejla – programmed the tattoo device for her and handed it to me. “She’s the last today,” he said with a smile, “so I’m going home to my family. Help yourself.”

I did. She being my third woman that afternoon, I was able to take my time. In fact, she actually orgasmed on my cock a couple of times before I flushed her full. I got the impression she was even less happy about that than her previous treatment. But I released her bonds and she was taken away.

“Johan, if I am to be so informal with you, you may call me Gudrith.”

“Thank you, Madame ... Gudrith. I consider myself privileged.”

She smiled. “I will walk with you down to reception. Tomorrow, you will work with guards in the initiation room. Once prisoners have been processed, as you have seen today, they serve guards in a room for one to two weeks, learning to pleasure men with mouth, cunt and anus. Accustoming them to work four hour sessions, with an eight hour break, as they will for the rest of their sentence. You will see how that goes for two or three days before you move on to the public areas. But I think you will no longer need me with you.”

“Madame ... Gudrith, I am most grateful to you for your guidance. I would like to consult you in the future, if I may?”

“Certainly! I would be most happy to hear from you.”

I was confused. I enjoyed ‘getting my rocks off’, but it all ran counter to the way I’d been brought up. That evening, I cornered my Father in his study, and tried to explain.

“Johan, my son, I’m proud of you. Proud that your conscience pricks as you use those women. All I can say to you is that I was introduced to sex in a brothel, where I doubt the ladies had any more choice in their work than those you saw today. In days to come, perhaps there may be a chance to change things ... do you understand? The Chief Elder will not live for ever, and neither will most of his Vestri. Conform, my son. Keep your head down. Do as you’re told and keep your own counsel. Unless you want to leave the country? I will send you west to college, if you wish?”

I actually thought about that, for several minutes, and my Father didn’t press me. “I don’t think so,” I replied, eventually.

“I will tell you this,” he said then, “Gudrith was my first. I would have married her, but that was a step too far for my Father. Despite her ... career, though, we were lovers until I married, and we’ve kept in touch. I know what goes on in the Reformatory, and Gudrith called to talk about you. She was impressed with you, which makes me even prouder. You will take over the business in a few years when I retire. In the meantime, you will gain experience in the business and take some online courses. I doubt if you’ll learn anything worthwhile at college in this country.”

“Thank you, Father. Thank you for your confidence in me, and thank you for the way you’ve brought me up.”

“No, thank you for being everything I could hope for in my son.”

So the following morning, I made my way to the Reformatory and announced myself at the desk. It took a few minutes, but a guard appeared, wearing the standard uniform of black trousers and t-shirt and black ankle-boots. He approached me, hand outstretched.

“Johannes Dajkovic? Good! I’m Sergeant Todor Pavlovic. For now, call me Sergeant, please.”

“Pleased to meet you, Sergeant.”

“Today, you will be working with me in the Initiation Room. I believe Madame Gudrith mentioned this?”

“She did.”

“Good! The room is for new prisoners, to accustom them to the routines of the Reformatory and to introduce them to some activities which will be new, and probably distasteful, to them. They will work a four-hour session, with an eight hour break, though they may not be allowed to relax in that break, then another four hour session followed by another eight hour break. For the first few weeks, the ‘work’ will be being used for sex, in every possible way, but once they are accustomed to that, they will be trained and used in domestic activities where necessary. Prisoners are changed, one at a time, every hour, so each will overlap with three others. Understand? No? Never mind, you’ll see.” He looked at his watch. “Excellent. We’re just in time to fetch the next prisoner to the room. It’s ... Teodora 2.”

He strode along rapidly and I was barely able to keep up without breaking into a run. We came to a substantial barred door, which he opened with a rather large key. “There’s a master key coming for you later today,” he told me as we entered and he locked the door behind him. The room consisted of two rows of five bar-fronted cells, each containing a bed, a shower cubicle, a w/c stool and a small wash-basin. At the third on the right he stopped and unlocked the door. I recognised the inhabitant as the recalcitrant blonde from the courtroom.

“Teodora 2! Time to go!”

“Fuck off!”

He sighed, and turned to me. “Sorry. I don’t much care for this part. Come along.” He produced a pair of handcuffs and, with my inexperienced help, cuffed her wrists behind her back. One each side of her, we, well, dragged her out of the cell. Unlocking the door, getting her through it, and locking it behind us was a trial. She didn’t actually fight, but made no attempt to walk as we took her – her heels dragged on the floor – to the Initiation room.

The room was equipped with a number of different frames, obviously intended to restrain a woman in some position for sex. The sergeant chose one which did not require removal of the handcuffs. It looked very uncomfortable, despite some padding on the frame. She was bent over, her neck clamped to the frame so her body was horizontal, facing down, and her legs spread, pulled forwards and held in place by straps. (Her impressive tits dangled temptingly, and the swell of her buttocks was emphasised). He then forced her to open her mouth and he inserted two devices which held her jaws apart, but didn’t stop her lips closing. “It’s to stop her biting,” he explained. He then fetched a strip of springy wood, and proceeded to apply a series of strokes with it to her buttocks. They were hard enough to leave red marks with each blow.

“Your turn,” he said, pointing to her genitals. “She’s here like this so we can fuck her, and as the guest, you get to go first this time.”

“She’s dry,” I pointed out.

“Yes, and some of my colleagues would ignore that. Here.” He handed me a small tube of lubricant.

I duly applied that to her genitals and mine. I was erect; possibly more because of the other naked, restrained women than the one in front of me, but at least I was able to do what was expected of me. Once in her, nature took over as I held her hips and thrust into her. It felt good ... whatever my mind was saying. As I slid slowly in and out, I circled her clit with my thumb, and could feel her reacting. Madame Gudrith later told me that making a woman orgasm while she’s being raped is particularly humiliating to her. At the time, I was just enjoying her response. Her orgasm actually pushed me over the edge.

When I withdrew, Sergeant Pavlovic gestured at my – still half erect – organ. “Go and stick that in her gob,” he said. “If she won’t suck, encourage her by pinching her nipples.”

Anyway, I did as I was told. I can’t say I got her to do much in the way of sucking or licking, but I did enjoy the feel of her tits, and I was certainly pretty erect by the time he finished in her.

I stepped back so he could use her mouth. “Time for your next ‘first’,” he said with a serious expression.

He led the way to another prisoner, who was mounted more or less vertically.

“Anal,” he said. “If you look, she’s got a vibrator in her cunt, which is also stimulating her clit. Watch.”

I did. As I watched, she tensed and trembled for a few moments.

“Orgasms every few minutes for four hours,” he shrugged. “Now then – you’re still hard?”

I was. “Yes, sergeant.”

“Good. Always lube for anal – whatever anyone else says, it’s just unnecessary cruelty to go in without.”

I still had the tube he’d handed me earlier, and following instructions, lubed her back passage and, as an afterthought, my own organ. As I pushed into her, past her outer sphincter, God! She was tight, even though I wasn’t the first in her that morning. It was very stimulating, I have to admit, but. Anyway, I came.

When I asked the location of the toilet, Sergeant Pavlovic waved at a discreet door at the far end of the room, and I went, relieved my bladder, and cleaned up a little – not that there was any visible evidence of where I’d been.

For the next couple of hours, I took my turn with each of the prisoners. I would not have believed how often I could come! In the Initiation Room, some were mounted face down, though not like Teodora rather with their arms strapped to the frames, some face up, and some in a couple of different vertical mounts. All, however, were mounted at height appropriate for the use of them. Obvious, I suppose.

I’d been in there with Sergeant Pavlovic for over three hours when he called me to escort one of the prisoners back to her cell; she’d served a four-hour session. She walked between us, a little bow-legged as one might expect, but co-operatively enough, back to her cell.

“Well, Johannes? Have you had enough for the moment? Or you can have her again before we leave her...”

“I think I’ve had enough for the present, Sergeant,” I replied with dignity, but smiling, too.

“That’s good, because I’m hungry. Let’s get some lunch.”

The cafeteria for the use of the guards was much more workmanlike than the VIP restaurant I’d eaten in before with Gudrith. Nonetheless, it was good food – gyros – and excellent coffee. The latter was a surprise, as tea is much more common in my country. But we ate with enjoyment, and Sergeant Pavlovic entertained me with some of the lighter moments of his job. I decided I liked him, and he was as humane as was possible in the nature of his employment.

After lunch, he took me to an office, where I was issued a master key and three sets of uniform. “For the purposes of your time here, Johannes, you are a private, though I’m afraid you won’t be paid. The rank and so on is for convenience – ours, and yours.”

“Thank you, Sergeant.”

“Do you think you can find your way back to the Initiation Room with a prisoner? We don’t normally go in pairs except with prisoners like Teodora 2,” he told me. “Most prisoners are subdued quite quickly.”

“I think so,” I agreed.

“You need to collect ... Marta 4. She’s in cell 3R, block 2.”

Marta 4. I knew that name. Was it the same one?

It was. What’s more, she recognised me; I could tell by the widening of her eyes, though she said nothing. I unlocked the cell door. “Time to go,” I said.

She nodded, and stepped out of the cell, then walked in front of me to the door of the block. My eyes followed the shape of her back and the motion of her buttocks. That was one seriously gorgeous young woman.

I got her to the Initiation Room. No problem. There was a face-up frame free, and I positioned her on it – she co-operated completely – and strapped her down. It wasn’t how I’d seen her in the processing room; the frame provided for positioning her legs bent and spread, rather than just pushed apart. I was going to apply some lube, but her genitals were already glistening, and when I looked at her face, and she nodded, with a slight smile, I just freed my cock and slid into her. I remembered how she’d indicated her tits, and I reached out and moulded them in my hands, before using one hand to stimulate her clit.

Having had quite a lot of sex earlier, I went a long time and she came several times as I did. When I withdrew, I was watching her face. Beautiful. But she smiled, and turned her head so I could be ‘cleaned up’ with her mouth. She really worked on that, and I hardened again as she did. But I had to leave her as a guard came over to make use of her. I didn’t want to watch that.

For the rest of the afternoon, I did the ‘fetch and return’ duties each hour as the prisoners finished their stints.

Sergeant Pavlovic seemed to approve of my efforts, and smiled as I left to go home.

There was certainly no need to jerk off when I got to bed, though the shower was very welcome beforehand. I made my way back to the Reformatory the next morning, and basically fitted in with the other guards in the Initiation Room. I did about half of the ‘fetch and return’ duties, including one with Sergeant Pavlovic to bring Teodora, who was still being very uncooperative. I wondered how long she’d keep that up, in view of the resulting treatment. I did see Marta, but somehow managed to avoid ‘doing’ her. She was different from the others, and I didn’t want to follow the other guards.

Over the next three days, I ‘worked’ as a supernumerary guard in the ‘Intermediate’ rooms. There were three, in each the prisoners were all in one position; face down in one, face up in another, vertical in the third. I took my turn in fetching and returning, relieved my ‘tensions’ in the prisoners I fetched, and additionally supervised the customers. They were supposed to use condoms with the exception of a few privileged ones who carried a photo card demonstrating that they were regularly tested for STIs. That took me to Saturday evening.

Sunday was different. On arrival I had to go with the other guards, all of them, to a ‘worship’ service in the Reformatory chapel. The audio was piped to all the cells, too. Now, years later, I can tell you it was unmitigated, hypocritical bullshit. But I sat through it, biting my cheek, and tuned out the voices. My mind turned to just one of the prisoners. One with a beautiful, oval face, perfectly balanced features, and an excellent figure. Marta Novak.

After that, I was taken to what I think was the worst area in the whole place, the ‘cow-barn’. The prisoners in the barn were treated, literally, like animals, bedded in straw. They were injected with a lactation hormone and their breasts stimulated with a milking device. New girls spent one to two weeks before their milk started, restrained most of the time in face-down frames, being used sexually by the guards. Once their milk started, they were moved to stalls where they were available to customers who had that particular kink. Most of the time the milk was collected by the machines, bottled, and sold. The number of customers was lower than in the regular rooms, and even there were even fewer who enjoyed manually milking the prisoners. That, I think, was particularly humiliating, and saved for specific prisoners who had upset the ‘system’.

The prisoners relegated to the barn fell into two categories; plain or homely girls, usually with large breasts, and recalcitrant prisoners. Two I recognised – Teodora, who had obviously responded negatively to her sentence and treatment, and poor Hanna. With her unprepossessing figure, large breasts, and acne, that was unsurprising.

For myself, I was instructed in the correct application of the milking teat-cups and the individual schedules for each prisoner.