Chapter 3

Amelia Selwood:

Okay, it’s my responsibility. I know I messed up, but it’s not entirely my fault. I thought I had it made when Marcus asked me to marry him. After all, he was good-looking, and owned Selwood Clothing after the rest of his family died in the first atrocity. Not to mention how hard it was for any woman to find any man willing to marry her, what with there being four or five women for every man. But as I say, I do have some mitigating circumstances. I didn’t realise ... my mother told me when I married I’d have to spread my legs for my husband. It would hurt, she said, and it would be messy, she said, but I’d have to do it. On top of that, no one in our house was allowed to see anything. We had to cover up almost every inch of skin except our hands and faces. Can you say ‘ignorant’ and ‘stupid’? I believed her. I obeyed her. So when I got married I wouldn’t let Marcus see me. Sex was in bed with the lights off. He resorted to lubricant to get into me and it still hurt. When he just gave up, honestly, I was relieved. When I realised that the housekeeper was sleeping with him, I was relieved, also, but puzzled. I mean, why would she do that? Why would she want to? It wasn’t her responsibility. Then I was pretty sure the house-maids were in his bed. The only reason I could think of that they’d want to do that was to steal my husband!

I stewed about it for a few weeks, then for some reason I went in the kitchen, and there was that girl, that milk-maid, on a frame, having her tits sucked. I hadn’t realised that we had a milk-maid. I’d assumed we got our milk from the farm. Anyway, I got on my high horse and ranted at her, called her all sorts of bad names. I feel really bad about it now. I mean, I understand what was happening and I know she wasn’t those things I said.

Marcus absolutely exploded. He told me, basically, that I was a waste of space, and I’d been rude to an entirely innocent and inoffensive girl. The upshot was, rather than be divorced – I’d never find another man to marry me after that – I agreed to a Training Indenture. I knew that meant I’d be divorced automatically, but at least I might have a chance to get him back in a few months. It took a few days to process the legalities, then Marcus drove me to the hospital. I didn’t know why I was going there. It was just the beginning of my humiliation. They took blood. Bottles and bottles of blood. They tested my heart and I had to run on a treadmill with a mask on my face and electrodes all over my chest. Not that I could run.

They cut my hair short. I had nice hair. Then ... my God! I had my body hair removed. Not shaved, permanently removed. At least it was a woman who did that. They took all my clothes. I mean all my clothes, and gave me an orange shift. Just a shift. It was pretty shapeless, but at least it covered me. I’d never worn so little in my life. Not since I was a baby, anyway. No underwear. Sandals.

Two people came to collect me at the hospital, a man and a woman. That was Jane Edwards and Chalky White. That’s what they called each other and said were their names, but I was told they were ‘Sir’ and ‘Ma’am’ to me. They were wearing short-sleeved, yellow shirts with black shorts and Jane had stripes on her arm, like in the Army. They put me in a mini-bus and drove me – Jane sat in the back with me – to this old building in town. It was built for military prisoners back in the nineteenth century, not that I knew that at the time.

It was like a prison, with special locks which they opened with the palms of their hands or sometimes by looking into a rubber cup. Inside, this big space with barred cells all round. A couple more men in those yellow shirts and black shorts were there, and a bunch of naked women. One of them was fatter than me, but most looked pretty good.

This man ... Major Prestwick ... told me to take my dress off. I mean, that was all I was wearing. I refused, and I was marched over – dragged would be a better description – to a padded metal frame a bit like the milking frame from in the kitchen at home, where they strapped me down, hoisted the dress out of the way, and proceeded to spank me with a paddle. The other women stood and watched. After a few strokes – they really hurt – they asked if I was ready to obey and I said I was.

It was really difficult to take that shift off and give it to them. I think I was bright red all over. I then got the riot act. Basically I had to do what I was told, when I was told, unless I wanted another spanking. I was to get up in the morning when called, exercise when told, eat what I was given.

Then they took me across the space to one of the other cells, one with a curtain across, and fitted out like a doctor’s consulting-room. A woman in dark blue scrubs was there.

“I’m Sister Prestwick.” she informed me. “Major Prestwick is my husband. You may call me ‘Sister’ or ‘Ma’am’, whichever you prefer. I’m here to keep an eye on your health. You may feel free to come and talk to me about anything you need to unload, and with certain exceptions it won’t go any further. I’ll explain the exceptions if the situation arises. You’ve had a thorough physical, so I won’t repeat any of that, but I’ll be checking you regularly during your stay. Are you on any birth-control?”

“I wasn’t,” I said, “but the hospital fitted an IUD.”

“Oh? They usually do a depot. Never mind. As long as you’re protected.”

“Do I need that, Sister?”

“Haven’t you been told anything about this place?”

“Not much. Just I have to do whatever I’m told.”

She sighed. “One of the central elements of the regime here is teaching you to respond sexually. This will involve the staff here having sex with you. But that won’t be for a day or two, and you won’t be hurt in the process. In the referral, it says you were abusive towards one of the Indentured Servants in your house.”

“Yes. I was very unfair. It was the milk-maid. You know, a young woman who has been trained to give milk. She provided nearly all the milk the house-hold needed.”

“I see. Well, your breasts will be stimulated, and some of our residents start to lactate. So you might start to give milk. We use such milk in the Centre. Anyway, I’m here to ensure you are healthy, and so you have someone to talk to if you need. You are ... IS31/61. You’ll probably get called sixty-one. I am allowed to use your name, Amelia, when we’re talking. I’ll walk you over to your cell. You’ll have your own toilet and shower, but you won’t be locked in as long as you behave yourself. Feel free to talk to any of the other residents when you’re not working.”

She stood, and I followed her across the room to one of the barred cells. It had a counter with a chair under it, a narrow, high cot, a toilet pan, a basin and a shower. Next to the counter was a small sink. On the counter was a little pile of paper.

“Here you are, Amelia. This will be your place for the next few months, anyway. Cell Zero One. I should read those papers if I were you, that’s the details of your indenture, and the rules and regulations we – and you – have to deal with. Good night.”

She left me there. I half-heartedly scanned the legalese. I couldn’t concentrate for my nakedness. It’s not that it was cold. The place was actually warm enough to be comfortable without clothes. Not that it was possible for me to be comfortable without clothes. After a while I went out to see if one of the others would talk to me.

My neighbour was older than me, late thirties.

“Hello! You’re the new girl? I’m ‘Fifty-two’. Or ‘Erin’, if you want to be friendly. You’re ‘sixty-one’?”

“Yes. My name’s Amelia, but I suppose I’ll have to get used to being ‘Sixty-one’.”

“Yep. You do, you know.”

“And the nudity?”

“Yeah. Actually, that gets easy quite quickly. At least it did for me. I think I settled in in about two weeks. It’s hard for the first week, when you’re doing stuff for the first time. The important thing is to make yourself do it, whatever it is. If you don’t toe the line you won’t get your laptop on the first Saturday. I don’t know what I’d do without mine. There’s not a lot to do except surf the net. Of course we have to exercise, and there are duties like working in the kitchen and laundry, and there’s fucking on the schedule, but the only entertainment is your computer. Unless you want to talk to Sister, or the Chaplain. You can always walk on the treadmill, of course.”

I’d never done any housework. I’d never cooked a meal or cleaned anything. I could barely boil a kettle. I was gradually beginning to think that maybe people who did those things might be more useful or important than people who just gave orders.

Erin and I shared a little of our histories. She was in her second three months, but thought maybe she might be leaving soon. Voices from across the place, from the ‘office’.

“Oh – sounds as though the night shift are ready to take over. They brought you here earlier than usual on a Sunday. Quite often it’s the night shift that does the collection. A word of advice. When they come round, be in your room, on your knees. Keep your knees apart, sit up with your back straight, head up, but eyes down, wrists crossed in front of you. That’ll please them.”

I said good night and went back to ‘my’ cell and when I saw two men approaching, knelt by the bed. “Oh, that’s very good. Did Fifty-two tell you to do that?”

“Yes, sir.” The blush was back. Actually, I think it closely resembled a severe sunburn.

“Well, Sixty-one, the major asked me to collar you. Apparently no-one had ordered a supply up and we’d run out of red. A red collar indicates that you have had some experience of vaginal sex.” He bent down and wrapped a red plastic collar which snapped closed, not too tightly. “Doesn’t matter if it gets wet. Don’t try to get it off, though, that takes a special device. I’d suggest you try to get some sleep, as we’ll be waking you up rather earlier than you’re used to, I expect.”

How embarrassing was that?

The hospital had been noisy, with much more light at night than I was used to. Not to mention the intrusive things they did. I got myself ready for bed, not that it took much. Cleaned my teeth, went to the toilet and washed my hands. I shrugged and went and climbed up on the bed and laid on it. Why was it so high?

I lay there, thinking. I tried closing my eyes without much effect until the lights were turned right down after about half an hour. Then, I slept. Actually, I slept quite well.

I was woken at six o’clock by a loud voice, not to mention the lights coming on. I followed instructions, went to the toilet, drank a whole bottle of water, put on trainers and an exercise bra, and Bombardier Sassy Welling began to instruct me in the exercise routine. Half an hour on the treadmill – I could barely maintain a moderate walking pace – fifteen minutes on a rowing simulator, ten minutes with free weights (the lightest dumbbells) then it was time to break for shower and breakfast. The shower was an unexpected pleasure. Hot water running over my aching, sweaty body. Breakfast was a surprise – scrambled eggs on toast. Quite tasty, actually. I was less impressed with the water to wash it down. I wanted coffee.

But after breakfast they put me on that frame they used to spank me. I promised to stay in place if they didn’t strap me down. But one of the men put dollops of something cold and slippery on my private parts. Even pushed some in with his finger. It was beyond degrading to me, but I made myself stay still. Then he put something that buzzed to press against the front of my ... groin. At first, I just felt a vibration, but soon it was causing some very strange feelings ‘down there’. He did something to it, and those feelings grew and intensified. Suddenly there was a ball of heat in my belly, and my stomach muscles were tightening and ... I was breaking into tiny pieces. I’d just about got my breath back and was wanting to ask what had happened to me when it began again.