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SYNOPSIS
With crime out of control, the Prime Minister brings in new draconian laws, physical punishment and slavery for all offenders, with the punishments and auctions televised live to avid audiences.
As the crime rate drops, so the number of prisoners falls, so the Prime Minister needs more victims – which he creates by outlawing prostitution.
Fay Mantle believes she is above the law, that her high ranking clients will protect her but she still ends up in the court, sentenced to branding with the terrible letter P, piercing of nose, nipples and labial lips, electric shocks and finally, 50 strokes of the cane, before being sold.
All this to be carried out in full view of the cameras over a period of three weeks.
After undergoing this and other grievous tortures, Fay is eventually purchased by a Viscount and trained to be his very best pony slave –out of which comes a whole pony racing club and culture – all on TV, of course!
EXTRACT
From the book: ‘ … She didn’t scream – yet. She didn’t even protest. What was the use?
Instead, she spent her time preparing for the awful pain that was about to envelop her.
She steeled her mind to it, telling herself that she was a Mantle. She was not going to
scream or even whimper. She would be strong …
Alas, she didn’t know just how bad this pain was to be. Oh yes, she had seen other girls
branded – and men too for that matter, and they had all screamed and their faces had
screwed up in the rigours of the terrible agony of being branded like an animal, but until
one actually experiences that agony for themselves, they can’t imagine how really horrible
it is.
When she was properly secured, the executioner strode over to check on the guards’ work.
It wasn’t necessary but it added to the drama – this mediaeval torturer in his chain-mail
suit, now testing the belts and manacles and reaching up to check the tension on the
chains holding her arms aloft.
And then he grunted, looked meaningfully at the camera with the red light on its top and
then strode back to the brazier, now extracting the iron and examining its tip carefully.
He did this with an eye to the dramatics, aware that every viewer as well as the studio
audience, were watching his every move with bated breath, all awaiting the awful moment
when he would bring it over to the well-secured girl and apply that glowing tip to her
flesh.
Even the director held his breath subconsciously, as caught up in the drama as everyone
else – and he had seen it all a hundred times before …
But then, after blowing off an imaginary ember, the executioner walked back over to the
girl and, positioning the branding iron precisely so that the letter was perfectly upright
and in a position exactly half way between the top of her vagina and her navel and right
in the centre of her belly, he slowly pushed it forward …’
