Chapter 1

 

I looked around the table at my two companions. "Well ladies, I believe we are now ready to harvest and train our first slave. What say you?" There was an immediate clamour of agreement from the other two.

Perhaps first I should introduce us: my name is Angela McIntyre, and like my two best friends I am very athletic, having always been interested in all sports and we delight in training our bodies to be fit and strong enough for the most arduous of them.

I am blond with blue eyes while Phoebe, Phoebe Salmond, that is, has brown wavy hair and brown eyes, and Geraldine Swain has red hair and green eyes. All of us are tall and as I say, decidedly muscular; indeed, many men find us too much that way I am sure, and I think it was this attitude of theirs that triggered us to talk, at first only jokingly about how difficult it was to find a suitable man to be our husbands, but then, as our discussions became more and more detailed, we started to realise we were getting quite serious about it all.

We are all wealthy in our own right although I am very, very much so, my father having left me, as his only child with an enormous fortune, but the other two are also very well off as well, making our undertaking a breeze.

My father brought me up himself as Mother died when I was very young and it was very much a hands-on upbringing. It was he who first introduced me to sports, being a keen aficionado himself and he also taught me to be independent, inquiring, competent at anything I took on, and of course he instilled leadership skills into me too.

He died when I was only twenty-five, seven years ago. Geraldine is my age and Phoebe a year younger. We all went to the same school, an exclusive Brisbane college and there we all excelled both academically and also at sports of course. The other two were of a similar nature to me and I think our unwillingness to play the simpering girlfriend-type made boys shy of us. And then later, as we became known as heiresses, we each grew very wary of fortune-hunters.

I stress we were not man-haters and we were and are not lesbians. We have heard ourselves described as that 'Amazon Trio' but we have never ever indulged in sex of any kind with each other.

And so, what is it we did that had me asking that question of the pair of them?

In short, we had set up a school. A very specialised school in which we were going to train men to be obedient and loving but not submissive husbands. Initially, as I say, it was to be just for the three of us, but later, when we realised how much we were going to enjoy the process, we decided to do it for other ladies and, I have to add, just for the hell of it.

Having decided this was going to be an ongoing enterprise and not just a single, one-off event, we had to build a permanent, out-of-the way site. The first thing was to acquire the land. We were all from Brisbane, Queensland's capital but we loved the surf and sea and my father had a wonderful seaside house down at the Gold Coast where we had all spent many wonderful holidays together. We thus knew a lot about the 'hinterland', the area behind the Coast which boasts three successive ranges of mountains and therefore many hidden valleys, some of which already housed retreats such as 'fat farms' and the like. We decided to acquire one such location and develop it into our school.

That was the easy part. We found a perfect site soon enough: right on the end of a narrow, winding lane which led up an ever-narrowing and steep-sided valley with its own rain forest and permanent brook and which was virtually inaccessible except by the lane. We were able to seal this off with an attractive but impregnable (from both sides) wall and then had built the necessary accommodations for us and for our slaves.

Yes, we called them slaves because we found it aided in their training.

The hard part, as we now discovered, was finding our trainees. The kind of young man we were looking for needed to possess a number of qualifications: he had to be good-looking and already reasonably well-built; that went without saying, of course. He had to be aged in his twenties, or at most early thirties. We also wanted him to have committed some sin against womankind. That we felt was our justification for enslaving him and turning him into the perfect husband-to-be. Perhaps he would be arrogant, chauvinistic or demanded too much of his girl; or perhaps he had even committed rape but escaped the consequences.

And finally he had to be 'accessible'. That is, we had to be able to take him out of society without causing a stir. We didn't want to end up in jail for kidnapping or unlawful deprivation of liberty and while we were confident we could soon brainwash him, a hue and cry when he first disappeared could be disastrous.

You may be wondering at our own arrogance: that we thought we had the means, qualifications and ability to actually achieve all this in a man. Well we believed we had it in spades. First, Geraldine was already a competent psychiatrist, who of course didn't need to work but had had the brains and the interest to follow that path. Phoebe had obtained a degree in and then pursued a career in business management. I had become a physical educationalist, more to indulge my love of sports than anything else and we believed that between the three of us, we could quickly take an arrogant young bastard and turn him into a handsome paragon of loving docility and attention to and for his wife-to-be.

Anyway, we started to look more closely at the males we came across. But there was always something wrong. Of course we started with their looks and age. That hurdle over, we then considered their brainpower and in that process assessed his 'sin'. But then, even if everything else seemed okay, that last and greatest problem always seemed to stymie us. How could we make him disappear without raising Cain? The people we were looking at were either too well-known or, because of proximity of friends or relations, or for some other reason, too difficult to successfully kidnap and spirit away.

But then, when we were about to give it all up as too dangerous or too difficult, our first live candidate came to our notice. He was perfect. Handsome and with a good frame, he was also bright but chauvinistic towards women. He was also no-one of note and was in fact a tourist from Melbourne and by himself and so his sudden disappearance would go unnoticed for a long enough time for us to have moved him well away from the Coast.

Of course we took other precautions. We had designed a mask which would be permanently locked over the upper part of his head. He would be able to see, but only with a blurred vision and his hearing too was going to be muffled so that while he could make out our words, he would not later be able to recognise us either by sight or voice. This mask only covered his eyes and ears but it was made of metal and once locked onto his head, could not be removed.

The actual kidnap was easy. We watched and waited, learning his habits. And then we struck. Geraldine had of course graduated as a general medical practitioner before specialising in psychiatry and gave him an injection as he passed us on his way home along a deserted path to his hotel. We were ready with the little car and had him inside and away in seconds.

The ride up to our little camp took just over an hour. I drove, with Phoebe sitting beside me, while Geraldine sat in the back watching over our unconscious slave. Our camp had just the one building and it was on two levels. The cellar contained the slave accommodations and punishment and treatment rooms and the ground floor our little suites, the sitting and dining rooms, kitchen, laundry, etc. and a full-size gymnasium. This was at my insistence since it would be my role to turn our slaves into the epitome of the perfect lithe male athlete. We weren't going to make them into muscle-men but rather into well-toned, athletic types whom every girl would drool over.

And of course we would be using the gym to keep ourselves in top condition, too, for we had each decided to abandon our (so-called) careers and concentrate on this new venture full-time. This was easily done for none of us were really serious about them. I had never had a proper job as a physical education teacher although I had had a few clients as a personal trainer; Phoebe had dabbled with a few firms as a middling executive and even Geraldine had only been offered part-time work as a psychiatrist and so it was not at all difficult to abandon such pursuits and spend our time training Bobby.

Our victim's name was Bobby Williams and we discovered (Phoebe was a computer whiz-kid who could hack into just about anything). She soon had a full profile on him) that he was a twenty-three year old architect (just) but had not yet found full-time employment.

He was tall, dark and handsome, as they say, with blue eyes, curly black hair and beautiful skin. He was reasonably well built but he certainly had the frame and I knew I could soon turn his body into the ideal in a human male.

Likewise, Geraldine had every confidence she could take his chauvinistic and boastful arrogance and transform him into a kind, attentive husband and be a perfect companion to his wife.

Phoebe would train him in every aspect of home management and thus competent to run a household while at the same time holding down a well-paying job, if required.

Part of my duties would involve training him in the sexual arts, for we had no secrets from one another and I had never hidden from the other two my intense interest in that subject and that I had made its study a significant part of my leisure hours.

It is well known that in the western world we tend to think of sex as rather dirty and a subject only discussed in hushed tones, even between a man and his wife and, as a result, it is very rare for either of them to learn more than the very basics of good sex. I had delved into ancient Indian and Arabian tomes and discovered an incredible number of ways in which to enjoy sex in many different forms. I have said none of us are lesbians but I did experiment with it once as part of my researches. Not with Phoebe or Geraldine but while it was pleasant enough and I didn't find it dirty or soul-destroying, I had no desire to repeat the experiment, far preferring the male of the species.

Anyway, it was felt I was best qualified to take over that aspect of Bobby's education and I knew I could train him to keep his wife well satisfied sexually.

We hoisted him out of the car and into our new house and dumped him on the floor of our sitting room. He had been to a disco that night and was dressed in a casual shirt, long trousers and shoes and socks. We left him that way but it wouldn't be for long.

We had also armed ourselves with electronic quirts. These look like your usual riding crop complete with the little leather flap at the tip, but the handle end is slightly thicker that the standard model and contains the batteries and electronic works which provide the electrodes in the leather tail and around the last few centimetres of the shaft with high voltage shocks which we knew would soon get his attention.

The drug was beginning to wear off and he started to stir, opening his eyes to find the three of us staring down at him. We had dressed in casual shirts and jeans for the kidnapping but as soon as we got home, had changed into black lycra body suits which accented our slim but athletic bodies perfectly.

The only change we had made to his attire thus far was the addition of his mask. It was close-fitting of course but only covered his eyes and ears and didn't in any way disguise him or conceal his handsome good looks but it meant he could neither see nor hear us clearly enough to identify us or his new surroundings.

And so, as he came to, we were three slightly blurred faces staring down at him. He thought the impairment of his vision had to do with his 'turn' or whatever had disabled him and wasn't worried at first but then, as we began on his psyche by screaming at him to 'get up and be quick about it' and to lash at his still clothed body with our quirts, he realised something was very, very wrong.

But he obeyed us. The shocks the quirts delivered were designed to go through thin clothing and so self-preservation demanded it. He got up onto his hands and knees and then stood up, still a little groggy but he did manage to stand upright, now feeling up to his eyes and ears and finding the mask.

"What the hell...?" he started, but I was on to him like a flash, my face right into his and screaming at him that he never talked - never opened his mouth unless invited to do so, then I lashed at his chest with the quirt. As I say, it was designed to send him a shock even through his shirt and he jumped back as if bitten and stared at us in horror. Oh, I should say that we could see his eyes very clearly although they were a bit bigger than normal.

At the same time, Phoebe and Geraldine were lashing at his back and buttocks with their quirts and we kept this up until he held up his hands in defeat.

"And now, scumbag, you will strip. Naked. Stark naked!" I said in somewhat more muted tones although still with authority.

"Strip?" he began, but instantly we were on to him again, our electrified quirts attacking every part of body and making him twist and turn trying to avoid them until at last he admitted defeat and unbuttoned his shirt, pulling it out of his trousers to reveal a rather hairy chest. He slipped off his shoes and then dropped his pants and underdaks followed by his socks and now stood up naked before us.

But his face was now smiling in a sort of prideful arrogance. He was clearly proud of his body and his sexual organs - not that they were anything to write home about and nor was his body. He had a good frame but he had let it go to seed a little, even though he was still only twenty-three years old. He posed for us a little, swinging his arms up in the classic pose but even his biceps were not attractive to us for we value perfection in the human body and he was anything but that.

"Thinks, he's the ant's pants," I remarked to the other two. "But just look at him. What a disgusting reptile he is..."

They took me up on the theme. "Isn't he just," said Geraldine. "D'you know, I think he thinks those chest and pubic hairs make us admire his virility," she added in mock amazement.

"And will you just look at his slack muscles," put in Phoebe. "As you say, X, he's just a reptile." (We had decided that in the camp, I would be X; Geraldine, Y; and Phoebe, Z.)

He stared at us in astonishment - and chagrin. He clearly thought he had a good body but we had floored him with just a few well-chosen words. His shoulders now slumped, but we weren't having any of that, either.

"Stand up straight, slave-scum!" I yelled at him. "Get your shoulders back and your belly sucked in," and I feinted at his stomach with my quirt. Now naked, its bite was much worse than when his body had been partially insulated by his clothing and he yowled in fear as its tail almost touched his flesh.

But then I pushed it right in and now he really let fly, dancing around on both feet, his toes curled up, his hands clutching his belly and his eyes staring at us wildly. "Why are you doing...?" he said and so I really lashed him with my quirt and so did the other two until he was screaming (and alternately crying like a child) in pain and in fear of us.

But he did shut up and he did stand up straight. You see, Geraldine's knowledge of brainwashing had already achieved wonders and I grinned at her in silent praise at her perspicacity.

But while it was a good beginning - no a great beginning - what was coming next would really have him a blubbering wreck.

First, we shaved him - all over. We clipped his head hair and that on his chest, pubes and legs and then shaved him quite smooth. We then applied a permanent depilatory to his whole body from his cheeks down. (We also applied a placebo cream to the crown of his head so that he would think he would henceforth be permanently bald as well). We all preferred totally smooth male bodies but that aside, it would take away from his maleness; his aggression and perhaps his chauvinism if he was as smooth as a baby from his eyelashes down.

To achieve this, we made him walk down the stairs to the cellars where he stared around him at the open-barred cells for slaves and the punishment and treatment areas, one of which we were now headed to. In this we soon had him spreadeagled between two floor-to-ceiling posts in the middle of the room and the three of us then proceeded to strip him of all the hairs on his body and then treat them so they would never return. This cell had wall mirrors in front of and behind him so he could see, dimly anyway, what we were doing to him and he moaned a little, until Phoebe snarled at him to shut-up, unless he wanted a prolonged dose of the quirt. He obeyed instantly after that.

And then we took him to a tiny, fully enclosed cell. This one wasn't open-barred and it was really small, just two metres square. On the floor, just out from the middle of the back wall, actually set out about twenty centimetres from it, a large butt plug, shaped a little like a miniature ninepin, had been bolted to the floor. Above it two pairs of rings were bolted to the wall itself, the first pair half a metre up from the floor, the other a full metre. Each was set a metre apart.

First, we forced him to squat down over the plug and while he began to protest, one sight of my raised quirt was enough to silence him. He screamed though, as we forced his backside down onto the plug, stretching his virgin anus wide open as the bulbous end of the ninepin-like plug penetrated his rectum.

Then we grabbed his wrists and cuffing them, locked them above his head to the upper rings. We completed the ensemble by dragging his ankles up and out wide, cuffing them similarly and locking them to the lower set of rings.

He was now seated in a most uncomfortable position with his bottom resting on the flared base of the butt-plug and his arms and legs pulled out and up - and there we left him for the rest of the night and most of the next morning.

By this time it was one o'clock in the morning and we wanted our sleep.

That Bobby wouldn't be getting much, we knew, but we didn't care. In fact, we hoped he wouldn't. It would all be part of his brainwashing.

He had been kidnapped, spirited away by three unknown women, stripped naked, shaved and depilated nude, tortured, jeered at and now deposited in an agonising position on the concrete floor of some weird dungeon. We knew he must be wondering who we were and why he had been selected. Well that would wait, or at least the second part would; the first we hoped he would never discover.