CHAPTER 1
The persistent call of the phone dragged Karen from a clinging sleep, one in which she
dreamed she was entwined in the strong arms of the man she loved, his maleness drilling
and throbbing into her. In her dream her legs and arms were wide for him; her thighs
crushed against his waist, her arms pulling him close, pulling their bodies together.
There was a sheen of perspiration on her brow and in the enticing valley of her cleavage
as she reluctantly surfaced but the minute she heard the voice on the phone she
instinctively stood erect, her 36B breasts thrusting forward and bouncing slightly with
the movement. She was alert, the cobwebs of sleep and fanciful pleasure dispersed.
“This is an automatically generated reminder for which you have been charged at the
standard phone rate,” the voice droned. “You will report to the Community Service centre
at 08.00 hours this morning. You will report on time.” The voice, although probably
pre-recorded and mechanical, had a crisp authority; it brooked absolutely no argument –
and she knew that she dare not give it cause for any. She was terrified of that voice and
the CS.
“Y-yes, Sir,” Karen replied, just in case it was one of the occasional ‘live’ calls; in
such cases not replying in such a respectful manner could be regarded as a further
offence. Her voice was, as usual, low, soft and subservient when addressing the CS
people. She was grateful when the line automatically clicked into silence after it had
detected and verified her acceptance and she was free, although she mused that the word
‘free’ scarcely applied to her now. She was simply able to continue her preparations of
getting up as quietly as possible without disturbing her husband. Her emotions were a
conflicting mixture of trepidation, anger and shame. All vied for position as she hung
up.
Her gaze fell tenderly on the curled naked foetal form of her husband, Simon. He had
been working hard recently and she didn’t want to disturb him, especially knowing the
distress he felt at her obligatory visits to the CS. However, she couldn’t deny the
shiver of delicious anticipation caused by the sight of him. Impishly her cool hands
encircled his shrunken limp manhood until it grew slightly. Smiling mischievously and
with her tongue circling her pouting lips, she impulsively bent to plant a tiny fluttering
kiss on the head of his erection, making it stir and grow further. For a few seconds she
stroked it with a light touch, cupping his tightening balls, seeing his face reveal the
type of dream he must now be having.
Yet such acts made her think of other times, better times, when he might have
immediately turned to her with his erection stabbing her fluttering belly in anticipation.
Her big green eyes nearly moistened with tears; those days seemed to have gone. His
attraction towards her now appeared to be more one of comfortable ‘slipper and pipe’
familiarity. Karen stopped her teasing and now bent to lightly kiss the side of his
mouth, her erect nipples brushing his shoulder, before she turned to select some clothes
and to shower. She had a deadline to meet.
Simon opened one eye, the pupil wide with desire at the sight of the gorgeous curvaceous
form of his naked blonde wife, her breasts and bottom jiggling gently as she bent and
stretched over the dressing table drawers before making her way silently to the bathroom,
clutching her clothes. At thirty-six she was even more beautiful than when they had met as
teenagers.
Yet he accepted that since then they had both changed, in outlook at least; she was
almost more like a sister to him now. Maybe they had grown apart? And if so it was maybe
a result of the way the state now treated her. He had heard the phone call and feigned
sleep, knowing what it would be about. It had been so difficult to remain motionless as
the cool hands encircled him and her warm wet mouth briefly kissed his penis. Once he
might have pulled her down to him, kissing her breasts and holding her deliciously shapely
and firm bottom as he plunged into her hot wet tightness, seeing the desire in her wide
eyes. But now he felt strangely emasculated by events beyond his control. He felt that
she might not have been so promiscuous towards him just now had she known he was awake.
It was almost as if she was doing so for old times’ sake, knowing that he wouldn’t
respond. A silent tear of frustration moistened the pillow at the thought of what lay
ahead for his wife with the despicable CS people. He watched her write a note before
leaving as he continued his sleepy pretence and thus avoided having to show his helpless
impotent emotions at what likely lay in store for her; what she would have to endure.
Half an hour later, after blowing silent kisses to her sleeping son and daughter, Karen
took a deep steadying breath as she grasped the door handle, ready to step out into their
expansive drive and then onto the road beyond. She had to do so to stem the awful feeling
of an imminent panic attack, something which threatened to engulf her whenever she had to
leave her house and family to attend the Community Service centre a few miles down the
road, near the town centre.
To make matters worse, this time she had seen half a dozen boys lounging casually
outside her house in jeans and tee-shirts, chatting on the avenue outside. Most of their
faces were vaguely familiar as being locals and it was a totally natural scene for
suburban middle class England. However, now it was one which she wished so much that she
could avoid. She would have dearly loved to delay leaving her house whilst the lads were
there, but knew she couldn’t without risking being late for the CS – and all the
additional pain and suffering which that would entail.
After a few seconds she controlled her breathing and stepped outside; it was not as if
she had any choice.
As she turned to lock the door behind her she heard the chattering of the youths stop
momentarily before they continued first in giggles and then louder tones. They came from
posh houses like hers, but boys would always be boys, she guessed. Normally they would be
silently respectful to an adult – but not now – not to someone under CS control and
discipline.
“We know where she’s going!” They smirked at the sight of the large yellow CS cross
which offenders were obliged to wear when summoned by that organisation.
“It looks like someone’s got another naughty girl appointment.”
“Nice legs and arse...”
“Bet she gets a fucking good caning…”
“Please, may I get by?” she implored as they blocked her path.
“You wanna get by, you gotta show more respect – you’re just a shitty criminal, aint’
ya. Lemme’ feel your arse before it gets tanned.”
“Aah, ow, please… you know you’re not allowed to stop someone from reporting to CS,” she
gasped as crude hands outrageously pinched her bottom under her short CS uniform. “Ouch,
no…” she squirmed as cruel fingers tweaked and probed like painful insect bites on her
intimate flesh. It took all of her self-control not to slap their grinning faces as she
tried to squirm away.
“Shouldn’t have broken the law, then you wouldn’t get felt up eh...”
“Are you late, Mrs Pennant?” another lad asked – who shamefully seemed to know her. “Oi
...I asked a question, lady – and I want the proper respect from a CS cunt!” the spiteful
youngster insisted when she ignored him, ignored their probing hands and began to push
past them, her eyes downcast.
“Y-yes, a little… Sir.” She finally managed to almost whisper through clenched teeth the
required respect to the boy, who was just a little older than her own son. Shame coloured
her pretty, tense face as she felt his filthy hand moving on her bottom.
Now they all chipped in to take advantage of her predicament, painfully pinching her
boobs and bottom as she squeezed past them. Because she was on Community Service she was
considered fair game – and certainly not able to fight back or even answer back apart from
with utter respect. Normally she would have shouted and lashed out at anyone who treated
her like that but today she was not a normal member of the public, she was a Community
Slave. Indeed, if she were dressed in her usual clothes the lads wouldn’t dare have said
anything; maybe just looked and admired, as she knew many males did, of all ages.
Now, unable to put up with the laughing faces and spiteful fingers or answer their
mocking jibes, she forgot her pride and ran sobbing past them out of her expensive drive
and up her secluded street toward the main road. Their derisive, laughing voices
thankfully faded into the distance as she dried her eyes and quelled her anger and shame.
Gratefully she saw her friend Mike waiting at the end of the road. She remembered him
whispering, when they had last met up with their respective partners as a foursome for
drinks, that he also had a CS appointment today. It was so different when she and her
husband and Mike with his partner chatted socially over a meal or in a theatre compared to
when she and Mike were thrust together in the CS regime. In some ways she hated it when
their appointments coincided and he of all people would witness her shame. But in other
ways it at least gave her some shared courage to help withstand the ordeal, or at least
some of it – on the journey to the CS centre.
Mike’s hand on her arm strengthened and reassured her. He was strong, kind and handsome
and she now knew that he had deep feelings for her, which meant that he would always be
there for her - and she had recently realised she felt the same. She had often tried to
determine to her satisfaction whether her feelings for Mike had increased as her feelings
for Simon, or at least the sexual ones, had diminished somewhat.
It reminded her of her own demeaning, yet she knew also titillating, status to see him
wearing just the short blue smock, which looked like a dress and was so ridiculous with
his hairy legs on view. With bare feet in open-toe sandals, it was almost as if they had
reverted to Roman times in the middle of 21st Century England. Yet this was the required
unisex attire of Community Service Slaves reporting to the CS HQ. Although it suited her
far better than Mike, she wished her own dress wasn’t so short. The smock barely covered
the pert curves of her bottom and allowed almost total visibility of her long toned thighs
disappearing up into it. Worse, the provocative garment was sufficiently low cut to show a
more than generous portion of her enticing cleavage to all who cared to look – or indeed
touch, as had the boys outside her house.
Additionally, all Community Slaves had to wear in public the huge striped fluorescent
yellow cross bearing the shameful Community Slavery Service logo. It left none in doubt
as to what they were, and reminded all of their lowly status when wearing it. It almost
put them in the same category of someone in medieval times locked in stocks to be pelted
with fruit and abuse. Karen recalled gloomily as she walked beside Mike how this state of
affairs had been reached in mid 21st century England.
The Government had introduced Community Slavery a few years earlier as a natural
progression, it said, to Community Service. However, under the later scheme, offenders
were obliged to act as slaves to their victims for a stipulated number of hours, spread
over weeks or months, to redress the effect of their crimes. The victim of the crime
would obtain police approval to a proposed work plan, the nature of the duties being
predictably vague; the Community Slave would have to report as required by the victim.
This was often to the victim personally if so requested, until the required number of
hours’ slavery were completed. But in addition to that were regular visits to the nearest
CS headquarters – from where recordings of the ‘criminal’s repentance would be sent to the
victim.
Part of the process of Community Slavery was the utterly respectful form of address
which slaves had to adopt, and their complete obedience. Otherwise the designated number
of hours of slavery would be increased or a custodial sentence would be given - everything
hinged on the report of the victim of the original ‘crime’ or indeed any witnesses, such
as CS officials, to an infringement of the strict rules. The victim, or whoever else
served in their stead, were of course, naturally in this day and age, allowed to inflict
minor corporal punishments on CS slaves for rule infringements. Karen shuddered as she
recollected some of the beatings she had received during her first few ‘outings’ as a CS
slave.
Community Slaves were obliged to wear the shameful logo when reporting to and from
duties and additionally the smock when, as in this case, making their regular appearance
before the ‘Probation Officers’ at CS Headquarters. Luckily there were stringent
regulations about no one interfering with a CS going to or from their duties. However,
although Karen had never been seriously attacked, the looks, snide remarks and obscene
comments and groping hands she normally received from members of the public emphasised the
utter shame and humiliation of her position. And that was in addition to the knowledge of
the physical exertion or pain to come during most CS duties.
Middle class law-abiding citizens such as she had at first welcomed the introduction of
the CS scheme to stamp out lawlessness, never appreciating how it could and would spread
almost like the tyranny of the French revolution. The wanton nature of CS had certainly
only become apparent to Karen since it impacted personally on her – or perhaps, she
wondered, she had turned a blind eye until too late? Now it was often simply applied to
grudges between neighbours; or in her case, grudges between acquaintances. It was of no
consequence that she and Mike had been tricked into a minor law infringement. They had
been found guilty and were both Community Slaves.
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