The blindfolds were left on even when the aircraft had landed. While they were taxiing,
someone leaned across her; she heard the sound of the blind on the window being pulled
down. Since she couldn’t see out, she presumed that that was so that others couldn’t see
in. One of the girls was crying; she could hear the muffled sobs; probably 665, the
blonde. From what she’d managed to gather at Correction Parades and in the odd snatches of
conversation she’d overheard, 665 had been a difficult case. Certainly she’d been up on
the dais with the blonde she-devil haranguing her often enough before she was put over the
block for a punishment even more severe than the last. Then, one evening she hadn’t been
punished in front of them: she’d been sentenced to a week in ‘the hole’, whatever that
was. When she reappeared, she’d been a quite different person: one who cried a lot and
never appeared on that dais again.
The aircraft came to a halt. She heard the pilots getting off, but no one came to the
rear. There was a jerk and more movement, lasting just a few seconds. Then there were
shouts, echoing as if they were inside some large space; a deep, reverberating clang
followed. Then the door opened.
“Good morning, ladies,” said a cheerful voice. “You can take those blindfolds off now.”
They had been told not to touch them on pain of punishment. Although her hands had been
entirely free for the whole journey, she hadn’t so much as thought about disobeying. Now
she did, blinking against the light, expecting to be blinded. But it was dim.
“Seat belts off, ladies. Yes, I know one of you’s a boy, but I’ll wager he’s more girl
than man by now. Aren’t you, duckie?”
Elana heard the muffled groan from the unfortunate man, but it lasted bare fleeting
moments. She unclipped the belt, spreading the loose ends to either side. Then she waited
for more instructions; that was what you did when you were a slave.
“Right,” said the voice. “Out you come; once you’re out keep your heads and eyes down.
Follow the person in front. Any nonsense and we’ll send you straight back where you came
from with a VERY bad report: I think you know what’ll happen then.”
Elana shuddered: she could imagine that only too well: Obersturmführin Viberg would
be angry, very angry. And Elana didn’t want to be within a thousand miles of an angry
Obersturmführin Viberg, a woman she fervently hoped she would never, ever see again.
She stood and followed the line in her turn, climbing down the steps and over the smooth
concrete of what must have been a hangar floor, following the feet of the woman in front.
They were led along a passage and into a brightly-lit room.
“Stop! Left turn! All right, girlies; and you, girlie-boy. Look up.”
She did. There were six of them, all in black overalls, some of them oil and dirt
stained. But that wasn’t what she saw: she saw the eyes and the expressions in them. She
knew that look only too well. She shivered, despite the heat.
“Get those rags off,” said the leader, who’d been looking at the man among the slaves.
He looked some more now, as the smock-like garments were stripped off, revealing five
naked pairs of breasts and chastity-belt-enclosed groins. Plus one muscled body and
shrivelled penis gripped in its punishing restrainer. The leader showed his preferences by
going directly to the man, taking that penis between his fingers and staring straight into
the eyes of the slave. “Hello, lover boy,” he said. “I’m going to have some fun with
you.”
“Thank you, Master,” came the man’s voice, full of misery. “It will be an honour,
Master.”
“Of course it will. All right, sluts,” he continued. “I’m going to take those belts off
now. You’ve got five minutes to shit or piss, fifteen minutes to entertain us then twenty
to clean yourselves up and get something to eat. When you’ve been examined you’re going on
another trip.”
As the chastity belt fell free, one of the men stepped forward and grabbed her arm. He
had stubbly blonde hair and brutish features; several of his doubles were handlers back in
the Camp. “That’s a lovely pair you’ve got there,” he said, reaching. Once more she thrust
them forward, making them more available to him, spreading her legs wide at the same time.
He fondled for a moment then took a nipple, using it to lead her towards a door. She saw
others being led out, the leader of the black-overalled men leading his captive by the
penis.
He followed her into the toilet, crowding close as she sat. Even as she began relieving
herself, his penis was out, nudging at her lips. She opened her mouth, closing it over him
lovingly, her tongue swirling. It had happened once or twice in the Camp, particularly
when she was being returned from all-night duties in a bedroom. Then, squatting just like
still with the night’s juices on and in her, she might have to accept a handler’s penis
for a quick suck because there was no time for anything else.
She almost recoiled: in the Camp, all the man she had serviced had been clean. This one
wasn’t: he was rank with sweat, his member foul and unwashed, something bitterly
disgusting accumulated under the foreskin around the head. She had thought that she’d done
every disgusting thing that it was possible for a woman to do: now, within hours of
leaving the Camp, she learned that there was more. But the training had been thorough; she
did what she had learned to do: close her mind and do the task, showing every eagerness to
please. When he came, his semen tasted foul, too; she swallowed every drop.
She knew that the masters at the Camp used some sort of pill to keep themselves virile
for prolonged periods. She wondered whether they used them here, too, as she was dragged
from the toilet in a small, stuffy room and thrown on the bed. He was erect, but he hadn’t
entire subsided; he stripped off the overall, his only garment besides boots, which he
didn’t bother removing.
“Suck, bitch!” he snarled, thrusting his penis at her. At least it was clean now, she
thought, accepting it. “Good! You’ve got a fucking good mouth, slut!” he gasped. “And a
fantastic pair of tits! Get me hard, sow! I want you on your hands and knees with my cock
up your arse and your tits in my hands, pulling me into you! You want that, you filthy
twat?”
She couldn’t answer; she was too busy and she knew better than to pull away to answer:
that had earned her more than one thrashing in the past. But she knew the sort of man he
was: he was going to do his best to hurt her. And he would. She had taken many men in her
rectum, but she was dry.
He pulled out, the organ throbbing, glistening with her saliva. “Look up, you cunt!”
snarled. She obeyed, looking up, past the penis and belly that was beginning to sag to the
cruel, twisted features. “You think I’m going in all wet like this?” he said. “Well,
you’re fucking wrong, tart! Get that towel and dry me off, then hold your arse open for
me. I’m going to make you squeal like a pig!”
Once more she obeyed, working mechanically. When the penis was dry, she turned away from
him, kneeling and putting her head down to the bed, smelling sweat and others things. Then
she reached back and parted the cheeks of her backside, opening herself for him. His
weight tilted the bed, his hand clasped her hips, one delivering a stinging slap. She
heard him panting and wondered just how long had elapsed of the fifteen minutes. Or had
that been another of their tricks? Was she going to find herself servicing man after man
for hours, as had happened more than once?
“Put it in, cunt! I’m going to show you what a real man’s cock feels like!”
She pushed her hand back and grasped the shaft, bringing it to her nether entrance. It
butted against the tight opening then pressed, forcing the muscle open. He was a pig and a
braggart, his penis much smaller than a lot of those in the Camp. But it still hurt; she
needed no encouragement to scream and squeal, exaggerating for his benefit,
“Hah! See? I told you! Tight! God, that’s good.” Then he felt silent but for piggish
grunts as he drove into her, his body curled over her, his hands clutching and mauling at
her breasts, establishing a rhythm that she soon picked up, encouraged by the vicious bite
of his fingers.
The pain went quickly, but she kept on squealing; that was what he wanted to hear. “It’s
too big,” she gasped, pandering to his ego. It was something she’d never have got away
with only a few hours ago, but she sensed that this man needed that sort of encouragement.
She was right; it took only a few more driving strokes to bring him to climax once more.
He lay over her, panting into her ear, spittle from his hanging mouth dribbling on to her
neck. She felt him diminish then leave her; she felt, even more acutely than ever before,
fouled and dirty. Used, but utterly unable to do anything about it: she was a slave.
He stirred over her. “I’ve been waiting for this chance for weeks,” he said. “Just to
get my hands on one of you high-class stuck-up whores.”
His breath puffed into her face, foul. What was he saying? Did he imagine that they
chose to be what they were? She felt his weight lift off her. Was it over? Was the time
gone? Please let it be so! Then his voice came again.
“Over here, cow. I want your tongue up my arse. And be quick about it; we don’t have
much time!”
She lifted and turned. He was on hands and knees, his backside towards her. She closed
her eyes and swallowed, remembering the state of his penis. Dear God! But she did as he
commended, her nose wrinkling at the reek. It was terrible! He couldn’t have washed there
for ages!
“Get to it, slut! Or do I have to report you?”
No! Not that! Oh God, why had such a terrible thing have to happen to her? She forced
herself forward, trying to block out the awful smell and failing. It was every bit as bad
as she feared, but somehow or other, retching, she forced herself to the something the
unutterably vile task. She was saved by the sound of a bell ringing, but not soon enough.
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