I have to say from the outset that I enjoy my work
immensely. That is probably because I am
rather good at it. I know this sounds
immodest but then I’m not really a very modest person.
I am
what is commonly called a Teen Tamer. That’s not what the government calls us, of
course. Our official title is Juvenile
Correctional Officer although we are not civil servants. In fact we are private businessmen, licensed
to perform this very necessary function to keep society on an even keel.
Let me
explain: After a hundred years of
gradual decline, juvenile manners had become quite outrageous. I am led to believe that after two world wars
last century, a degree of licentiousness or at least licence began to creep in
and the civil libertarians started to campaign for a removal of the teacher and
parental right to discipline the young.
Over the
years this led to a near total moral bankruptcy that finally made it unsafe for
elderly people to venture out onto the streets.
Only then did the government step in and legislate for a return to a
requirement for more acceptable behaviour among our younger citizens.
Parents
were made responsible for their children’s behaviour but when they found
themselves at their wits end as to what to do next, we came into the
picture. There are hundreds of us all
over the United Kingdom (which, by the way, after the dissolution of the
short-lived European Union, is again ascendant in world affairs), although I am
the only one who comes from the aristocracy, my father being Viscount Langley.
At first
they all looked on my choice of career with horror but when it became apparent
that I was very good at it and they thus had one of their own class to correct their errant children, they welcomed
me. I charge the highest fees for my
services and I have very few failures.
Failures, I
should add here, are not acceptable. If
a child cannot be corrected by us, we recommend to the Home Secretary that he
or she be relegated to slavery and then, as long as the court agrees, that is
the end of them as a free citizen. Slavery, incidentally is now the only option for
criminals. There are no jails any
more. Commit a serious crime and you
become a slave. Simple as that! Very effective it is, too. Effective and cheap. In fact, instead of the penal system costing
the government a significant slice of the budget, it now returns a profit to
the exchequer (and saves taxes!).
William was an old friend of mine.
When he
inherited the estate and titles of the marquessate, I
continued to visit Bridgeport as a friend but then, as the antics and
indiscipline of his eldest daughter Sarah got worse, he turned to me for help.
“Of course,
William,” I said. “You know I will not
be easy on her?”
“Whatever
it takes, Charles. We, Anne and I, have
tried everything we know but we just can’t tame her
and it looks as if she is now arousing the interest of the authorities – and
you know what that means …?”
“I do
indeed and why should you and Anne be at risk when it
is that young she-devil who is at fault?”
He
grinned. “She-devil? Well, I will admit she is a hell-fire … I just hope you can
do something with her. Why don’t you
come down for dinner on Saturday? We’re
entertaining John, and you can see how bad she is, even in the presence of a
duke!”
Now it was
my turn to smile. “I don’t need to see,
William, but I’ll come and if you agree, I’ll take her back with me.”
“Please
do.”
By 2060, formality in dress and manners was again to the
fore and the dinner was a tails and white tie affair. For all of us that is
except Lady Sarah, who, as usual, was late.
William sighed as he led us in to the dining room and we were just
beginning the soup course when she breezed in, quite unrepentant for her
tardiness, and dressed still in the jeans and tartan shirt she had been wearing
whilst out riding her mare.
You
couldn’t call her beautiful, but she certainly had charisma. Charisma and fire. She wasn’t tall, either. In fact, she was rather smallish but quite
definitely athletic in build. Indeed, at
age seventeen, you might say she was your typical tomboy. I looked her over critically as she entered
the room, noting her good facial features and firm body, deciding just how I
was going to tame this termagant of a girl.
No, that isn’t fair. She wasn’t a
shrew, just much too high-spirited and lacking in the normal constraints
required of people these days.
Yes, I
would tame her and turn her into someone who could
grace any table in the land from the king’s down! And if I couldn’t, she would be placed on
offer as a slave. I grinned as I thought
of the bidding that would follow her public and so naked display. The daughter of a marquess! It would indeed be the Sale of the Century.
The meal
proceeded without any comment as to Sarah’s lateness and lack of proper
dress. Every other woman present was
attired in a proper evening dress and of course we men were all wearing tails. She looked utterly incongruous but she cared
not one whit for formality and carried on as if nothing was wrong and in her
usual style interrupted her elders constantly while her father and mother
winced visibly.
Then,
towards the end, just before the dessert course, I stood up, bowed to the marquess and begged leave to perform a small task. Of course he acquiesced and I moved around to
her chair. “If you please, Lady Sarah,”
I said formally.
She turned
round and looked up at me questioningly but then stood up as I pulled back her
chair. Of course she had no idea why I
was there. I was a somewhat regular
visitor to the house and a known friend of its owner (and before him, his
father). She didn’t for one second believe I was there as anything but a regular guest.
“Uncle
Charles?” she said uncertainly.
“Not any
more, girl. I am now ‘Master’, to you,
and as an introduction to your new state, you will remove your clothes … all of
them!”
Her face
flushed. She still didn’t understand but
there was a sudden hush right around the table as the drama began to
unfold. None of the guests had known
what was to happen but all had been expecting it. Sarah was just too rambunctious by halves to
survive without a term with me or one of my kind.
Neither
were they fazed by my order to the girl.
Nakedness in slaves, both permanent and temporary (as were considered
all juveniles under correction by us) was the norm. It was just one of the tools we used to cow
them and to separate them from the normal, free members of society.
“You aren’t
here as a guest, are you, Uncle Charles?” she said, already forgetting my very
recent order, and indeed still showing her fire by the tone of her voice.
I smiled,
thinly, but it was still a smile of sorts:
“No, I’m not, girl, and you have already earned five extra strokes of
the cane for your impertinence in the use of my name. Now are you going to strip, or shall I do it
for you?”
“Just you
try,” she snarled, backing away from me and crouching over in a fighting
stance, fists outstretched like a Nineteenth Century prize-fighter.
I laughed,
and that enraged her more, making her careless.
What she didn’t know about me was that I was as fit as a fiddle; very,
very strong, and as fast as lightning.
These qualities I trained in myself (and my staff) every day so that any
one of us could easily overcome any of our charges without seeming to lift a
finger.
I was in
front of her in a split-second, had delivered two slaps to her face, one either
side, and ripped her shirt down her back, pinioning her arms behind her without
her even being aware of it. Before she
had time to recover or even move, I had her jeans open and down around her
ankles so she was now helpless, her arms held behind her back by her shirt and
her ankles similarly pinioned by her jeans.
Again before she knew it, I had ripped her bra from her chest and torn
her flimsy panties from her loins. She
was now effectively naked, her well-toned body now on show to her mother and
father and their dinner guests in all its athletic beauty.
She may not
have been a classical beauty, but her fresh face and the smooth litheness of
her body more than made up for it. I
knew I was going to enjoy taming this little hell-cat!
“Your
Lordship,” I said formally to William, then saluted his wife and guests and
picked up the diminutive girl still struggling mightily, and with her shirt
around her back and her jeans at her ankles, threw her over my right shoulder
and carried her out to the marquess’ transporter
booth.
Every house
had one of these now. They have replaced
public transport and even the need for roads since people and cargo can so
easily be electronically moved at the touch of a button – instantaneously.
This has
also made international travel cheap and easy.
As long as your electronic passport (embedded in your personal implant)
is in order, you may move to any location in the world without any delay at
all, so airports and aeroplanes are also a thing of the past.
I dialled
in the address for my London headquarters and in an instant, arrived back
there, in my office, dumping the former Lady Sarah Farquar,
now, at least temporarily, the slave sarah (without
the capital ‘S’).
Before she
had time to react, I pulled her jeans off her legs, taking her walkers with
them, then completed her stripping by tearing her
shirt down her arms so that, apart from her socks, she was quite nude.
“Take them
off,” I said pointedly, gesturing to the remaining footwear.
“Get
stuffed,” she replied. Her face a scowl and her voice
decidedly belligerent.
“Very
well,” I sighed. “If you are going to
continue to be a pest, so bet it.
I was down
on my heels and had the socks off her feet before she even saw me move. Speed is the best weapon in most cases and I
used it now. She was now naked. Stark naked, but I hadn’t yet finished with
her denuding.
A woman,
even a young one such as she was, is extremely modest of her sexual
organs. So are males I have found and
removing the protective hair from these organs has the effect of shaming them
terribly. To add to that shame, I also
depilate the rest of their bodies, including the males’ beards.
This
process required the hairy parts be first shaved and then the depilatory
smeared over the former hairy parts. A
single application is all that is required.
To add further to their humiliation, I also shave their heads and their
eyebrows, smearing the ointment over them as well. The only thing is that, with these latter
parts, the ointment used is a placebo.
It doesn’t do a damned thing – but they don’t know that and now assume
that their whole bodies from tip to toe are now permanently glabrous.
It all aids
in the taming process.
This is
undertaken in two parts that actually overlap with each other. The first part is the breaking down of their
former personality; the other one to build up another one. A more pleasant, docile one
that will fit in with the rest of us.
I stress
here that we are not out to create a nation of automatons. People should be individuals, able to have
their own thoughts and ideas and to contribute to the betterment of
society. We are no dictatorship and
neither are the other countries that support our ideas.
What we are
aiming for is a society where people care about others and are cognisant of their
feelings. In other
words, a polite society, free from strife and dissension. Of course there are arguments and dissension;
we are still human beings. But when a
person such as Sarah, continually upsets people with her contrary ways, then I
come along and tear down her boorish manners and build up a more pleasant
person.
If I can’t
do it, then she faces a whole lifetime as a slave, owned by another, who may
then use her as he or she sees fit. She
will then cease to be a person at all and her future is entirely in the hands
of her owner.
This may
sound harsh but it is a last resort option and one that hangs over the head of
every recalcitrant temporary slave. The
threat is usually enough to make them see reason but if not, then it is carried
out without any compunction after due consideration by the Home Secretary and
an order from the Slave Court.
Not tonight
though. It is too late in the evening to
begin this process. I picked up a cane
from my desk and approached her. She
cowered back from me for a second but was then on her feet in a trice, running
away from me. I grinned. How little she knew of my methods.
I didn’t
chase her and she stopped, uncertain again as to what I was up to. This is another of my tools: keep them
guessing! Normally, I prefer ancient
methods of discipline: the cane, the whip and assorted variations of them. There are however a host of weapons that have
been invented over the last fifty years that work very much more effectively: the
laser pistol, for example, that can be set to hurt, stun or kill; the
electronic whip, which, when flicked like a real whip, even from a distance,
sends a line of fire across the victim’s flesh; or the penal implant, different
from the identifying model worn by every single citizen these days, which is
injected into the vaginal flesh of every girl (and into the scrotum of every
male) and which can be set to send a horrible pain to their sexual organs when
they misbehave.
But as I
say, I prefer the older methods. They
are more dramatic for a start: the threat of a dose of the cane to the naked buttocks, or of the whip to the suspended body of a girl,
perhaps concentrating on her breasts, or, if she is upside down, between her
well stretched thighs, being a very telling argument. But it isn’t just the drama of being caned or
whipped.
This type
of punishment can be carried out for extended periods, the whipper using his
own judgement to decide how much more the victim can take and either reducing
the force of the blows, their frequency
or changing the target area when she begins to wilt. I have whipped a girl all day at times and
while you may think it inhuman, bear in mind that this treatment is costing her
family a small fortune. She has brought
this course of action on herself and while I rarely resort to such methods or
at least to that degree of applying them, I have and I will again.
I took up
my cane, which looks like your normal length of rattan – but isn’t. It is actually a laser gun and I now pointed
it at her groin, pressing the button on its side that sent an invisible beam of
light to the most sensitive part of her body.