CHAPTER ONE

 

Like all the women on Dista, Miss Bethia had to spend one year in the Breeding and Training Grounds. It was like a form of National Service. If they found the work there congenial, they could apply to have their period of service extended. Miss Bethia had done so.

She was a tall, dark-haired, dark-eyed, commanding looking woman of 35. When she reached the age of 40, she would be addressed as Madam Bethia. She was always glad she had been fortunate in the Breeding Selection Programme. This was a kind of Lottery in which every young woman took part. One in ten had to go to the Breeding Grounds for two years and, after artificial insemination, produce two offspring. It was the natural order of things in Dista that ten males were produced for every single female, thus an adequate male slave population was ensured.

Up to the age of ten, though boys and girls were kept separate, they were given only elementary schooling. Early teaching made it very apparent that the female sex was the ruling class and that all males were destined to become their slaves. This was accepted by both sexes as something perfectly natural and it was a social order which was never queried. It was as if, on Earth, one bred dogs and human beings, but one would not expect the dogs to be superior to the human beings.

Boys were kept naked from birth. This again was considered perfectly natural. The climate of Dista was equable and no garments were needed. This, however, was not the point. Permanent nudity was a symbol of male slave status. At puberty, a restraining device was fitted. This will be described later. Girls were permitted ordinary girls' clothes, though the wearing of leather was encouraged.

At ten years, training for males began in earnest. First they were taught the basic rule of Dista. WOMEN ARE SUPERIOR.

They learnt the necessity for instant and absolute obedience to any female. That their whole purpose in life was to serve that sex in whatever way was demanded of them.

They learnt a variety of skills and trades which would be useful to them in their service. They learnt domestic skills. They learnt horticulture, building, iron-working, leather-making ... each according to his strength and capability. Some of the more effeminate males learnt the arts of hairdressing, beautifying and massage. The progress of each male was checked regularly and they were graded accordingly. At the age of 13, each male began to specialise in the skill or trade for which he was most suited, although he still learnt other skills or trades. This is the time when his first restrainer was fastened on him.

Girls, meanwhile, led a life of ease, even though they were being educated. Mainly they studied arts and crafts, painting, writing, flower-arranging and so on. They were also instructed in the various ways of controlling and disciplining slaves. Lesbian practices between consenting girls was permitted ... and many took advantage of this.

Discipline with girls was negligible; with boys it was strict from the very beginning.

Miss Bethia was in charge of 20 youths who were in Grade 3 at the Training School - the final Grade. Within three months or less all would be transported out to be sold as slaves on one of a score or so cities.

Into her room, which was plain and utilitarian, she had summoned three youths in her Class ... Quar, Zefor and Brin. They stood strictly to attention before her desk, naked but for their restrainers.

Each restrainer was a hand-made iron tube, quite heavy, which encased the penis but for the phallic head (circumcised) which protruded. The restrainer was held in place by a thin iron band which encircled the top part of the scrotum. This iron band was adjustable so that it was reasonably tight or very tight. It was locked on and, in the case of these three youths, only Miss Bethia held the key. This is how it would be throughout the slave's existence. Whoever was in charge of him would hold the key.

The advantage of this form of restraint was that it permitted natural functions to be performed yet there was no possibility of masturbation. Indeed, even tumescence would be painful with the tight iron tube.

In the Training School, masturbation under supervision was permitted once a week. This was on health grounds. Later, in any slave's life, the amount of masturbation any slave was permitted would be at the discretion of his Mistress or Owner. Indeed, he could be denied any form of sexual relief entirely.

Miss Bethia studied a sheet of paper on her desk. 'I have reports of bad work by all three of you,' she said. A little shiver seemed to go through the three males in line. 'Quar ... careless leather stitching, Zefor ... a burnt cooking pot; Brin ... lack of effort in the vegetable field.' She looked up, her dark eyes hard. 'You are all going to be punished.'

It was something all three had heard a hundred or more times before. But that made it no more pleasing.

'Permission to speak, Miss,' said Brin.

'Yes?'

'I have pulled a muscle in my back, Miss.'

'Have you reported to the physician for examination?'

'No ... no ... not yet, Miss.' Brin was well aware that reporting to the physician could be an unpleasant business. She could be quite brutal if she considered your complaint unjustified.

'Well, that's your stupid fault, Brin. Don't expect me to be lenient on that account.' She looked at all three of the pale, hang-dog males. Soon to be fully-fledged slaves. 'You are all nearing the end of your training,' she said. 'I hope you have profited from it and will thus be able to render the service which is required of you. If it does not, you will suffer dearly.'

Miss Bethia stood up. She was garbed in a simple black leather dress, tight-fitting, and a pair of calf-length black boots. She picked up the willow rod which lay on her desk top and flexed it.

'I am giving you ten strokes each,' she said. 'And, if you are reported for any more slack work while you are here, I will give you double that number.'

She saw them all flinch as she walked around to the front of her desk. She was a well-muscled woman with big biceps and had the reputation of being one of the hardest caners in the Training Centre.

'Bend over ... all three of you!'

The three youths bent over immediately, each one gripping his ankles tightly. This was the procedure for canings of a moderate severity. If over ten strokes were to be administered, it was customary that the youth should be secured over a hurdle or punishment block. But not always. It was well understood by all three that if, at any point, they lost grip of their ankles, that stroke would be repeated. Thus the method was a form of discipline as well as punishment. All had become used to it since their training had begun.

Miss Bethia surveyed the three sets of buttocks presented to her. They were lean and muscled, hard-looking with a red-mottled appearance. Evidence of numerous previous punishments. These three, she knew, were hardened by experience at their age. They had toughened up over the years. This was fortunate for them for they were going to face an even tougher regime in the outside world. The youths were bending over about a yard apart and Miss Bethia stepped up to the first and measured his rump. The rod, which was about the thickness of a woman's little finer, went up and came whistling down.

That Miss Bethia had put the force of her right arm into the stroke was evident. It cracked loudly across the muscled flesh, raising an instant weal. Quar, who had received the stroke, gasped and jerked but hung on to his ankles. Used to pain as he was, it never seemed any easier to endure. As he had been made aware of before now, the power of Bethia was formidable. Remaining bending, feeling the burning throb of the weal just raised, he listened to the whistle of the cane as it was laid across the rump of Zefor, who was next to him. He heard him gasp and whinny through clenched teeth ... and understood.

Miss Bethia's boots clopped on the wooden floor. She had moved to Brin.

Ssssswwweeee ... cccrrraaacccckkkk!

The third youth got his first stroke. It made him yelp. He had never been quite so tough as the others.

Nine more strokes to come for each of them.

Quar tensed as Miss Bethia's boots clopped back to him. His buttocks clenched involuntarily. Then he got his second stroke.

Ssssswwweeee ... cccrrraaacccckkkk!

Pure searing pain. How often he had experienced it! He whimpered through gritted teeth. Momentarily his knees sagged but they straightened again. His grip on his ankles remained tight. Ten was quite enough to endure from Miss Bethia. He certainly didn't want to earn himself any extra strokes.

The pattern of pain was repeated ... with Zefor whinnying again and Brin yelping. Eight to go, thought Quar with anguished dread, as Miss Bethia came back to him. Did he really deserve such torment for stitching carelessly?

By the rules of the Training Centre, it seemed that he did.

Remorselessly the canings continued at the same pace ... and with the same force. Miss Bethia remained silent, apart from the little grunts of effort which accompanied each stroke.

Quar almost lost his grip on the sixth stroke, which had overlaid an earlier one.

Excruciating!

A high-pitched shriek was torn from him. Four to go, his tormented brain told him. He must hang on - he MUST!

Zefor whinnied loudly as his sixth stroke landed. The pace of pain was hotting up.

Brin howled. Quar guessed he had also had an overlay. And, he realised, the fellow had lost his grip.

'You get that one again, Brin,' said Miss Bethia remorselessly. And Brin got it. He howled again. Near breaking point, thought Quar. But that wouldn't do Brin any good. Miss Bethia never minded how many extra strokes she had to lay across the rump of a trainee slave.

Quar yelped again as he got a second overlay. There was no doubt at all that Miss Bethia was not only powerful but most expertly accurate with the rod. Somehow, Quar just managed to hang on to his ankles.

So it proceeded.

As inevitable as doom.

Ten strokes they had been promised and ten strokes they would receive.

In fact, Brin received twelve strokes in all, for he lost his grip a second time. With ten hot bars of fire encircling his buttocks, Quar remained bending. As did the other two. One did not make voluntary movements. One acted under orders. If she wished, Miss Bethia could keep them bending there for an hour ... five hours ... ten hours ... until they dropped.

Mercy was a commodity in very short supply at the Training Centre.

Seated at her desk, Miss Bethia made notes of the names of the offenders, their faults and the punishments given. This she did mainly for her own benefit, so that she could keep track of the more persistent offenders. And thus punish them more severely.

There was no doubt Miss Bethia enjoyed her work. She loved dealing with these young men, who had not yet matured to full slavery. I reckon I'll continue up here for another year, she thought. The State was most appreciative of women who extended their period of enforced service. A third year would earn her a big grant. Then she would be able to return to her city, buy half a dozen or so slaves, and live comfortably. She might team up with Sala, who had also done an extra at the Training Centre. Perhaps she could be persuaded to stay on for yet another year. They got on well; they could have a happy life.

Miss Bethia was bisexual, but a little more lesbian than heterosexual. She had rarely made use of any of the youths at the Training Centre. They were too violent in performance, too short on control, it was their tongues she mainly made use of.

'Stand erect.'

The three youths stood erect, each giving a little gasp. It was always unpleasant to move after a caning. The skin seemed to have shrunk and the pain of freshly-raised weals intensified.

'Your time here is now getting short,' said Miss Bethia, 'and I shall expect maximum effort from all of you. I have warned you what will happen if I don't get it. I want you leaving here trained to a T. Now, back to work, all three of you.'

The three trainee slaves turned smartly and filed out of the room. Miss Bethia watched the departure of their striped buttocks with indifference. It was an all too familiar sight. She studied the tip of her cane before putting it away. It was starting to split; she would have to get a new one.

She left the room and headed for her private quarters. These were on the other side of a large drill square. Two squads of twenty were drilling under the supervision of their trainers. They wore boots and 36 pound packs. They would have been on a cross-country run and looked as if they were beginning to feel the strain.

One thing that could certainly be said; every trainee who left the Training Centre was as fit as a fiddle!

***

As she entered her quarters, Miss Bethia saw her batman polishing the passageway. He stopped at once and, still on his knees, placed his forehead to the floor. Each member of her squad did batman-duty for 48 hours at a stretch. It was all part of their training ... and a nerve-racking one, for they were so often in the presence of the woman who had complete power over them. Moreover, it seemed, Miss Bethia had an eagle eye for the slightest speck of dust. Every section of her apartment, and everything in it, had to positively gleam before she was satisfied.

The rump of her batman carried five stripes. This was on account of the fact that, before leaving that morning, she had inspected her bed and had considered it not perfectly made up. The batman soon had his backside in the air and she was laying a cane across it. Miss Bethia was a perfectionist, which is not a pleasant person to work for.

'Stop that ... and go and fill a bath for me.'

'Yes, Miss.'

The batman leapt to his feet and ran to obey the order. Tubs of water had to kept ready, constantly filled with hot water, so that a bath could be prepared at any moment. The heating of the water was done over charcoal in an extension to the washroom.

Miss Bethia looked briefly round the living room ... and could find no fault in it. She unbuttoned and removed her leather dress. Then she removed a breast support and a brief pair of drawers. These were made of very thin black leather. Products of the leather craftsmen at the School. In nothing but her leather boots, she stood and looked at herself in a full length mirror.

She could not, she realised, exactly be called attractive facially but she still had a good body, even if arms and legs were rather over-muscled. Her breasts were full and firm, her belly flat. She turned to one side. Perhaps her bottom was a little too fulsome, but that couldn't be helped. All in all, Miss Bethia was quite well satisfied.

Whilst she was making her inspection, the batman returned, knelt and placed his forehead to the floor again.

'Your bath is ready, Miss,' he said in a humble voice.

The fact that the trainee was seeing her quite naked was of absolutely no concern to Miss Bethia. A trainee slave ... or any other slave for that matter ... was beneath consideration. He simply did not count. In any event, a batman was forbidden to gaze upon her. To look at her lustfully was instantly punishable. Most batmen made it a practice to keep their head down and eyes slightly averted.

Miss Bethia seated herself. 'Remove my boots, slave,' she ordered. The batman knelt and started unlacing. These boots had to be removed with care. If Miss Bethia experienced any discomfort she was quick to anger. Nervously, the batman eased them off. 'While I am taking my bath, you will clean these boots,' said Miss Bethia. 'With your tongue.'

'Yes, Miss ...'

'Thoroughly. From top to toe; soles and heels.'

'Yes, Miss ...' It was something all Miss Bethia's batmen had to do every day. Often several times a day. It was a tedious business which had to be performed with meticulous care. Miss Bethia considered it an excellent form of discipline. And she was right.

Miss Bethia wallowed happily in the warm water. Her day was nearly over. She would go and pay Sala a visit; tell her of the plans for a third year. The day was not nearly over for the trainee slaves, however. They would continue to work in classrooms and work-shops until nine o'clock. After that they would feed and drink from communal troughs before being locked into their bare, wooden, barrack-like quarters by the Duty Supervisor of the night. They slept on hard wooden pallets ... until 6 a.m. But they did sleep, for usually they were exhausted. Miss Bethia's batman would remain on duty until midnight, whether she was in her quarters or not. After that, he could always be summoned by the ringing of a hand bell kept in her bedroom.

When Miss Bethia returned, the batman was still kneeling, cleaning the boots with his tongue. The upper parts were gleaming quite well, he thought, and he was now working hard on the last sole. Dir and dust-caked soles were the most difficult of all to deal with. Also, the most disagreeable. He got a sharp kick in his backside.

'Hurry up, slave!' snapped Miss Bethia.

'Yes ... Miss ...' gasped the batman ... and resumed licking furiously.

Miss Bethia put on a fresh breast support and drawers. These were again of thin leather, a light tan colour. Over this she wore a short-length dress of velvet-like material, trimmed with white lamb's wool. When she seated herself, the batman was extending her boots to her. Miss Bethia kicked them away, not bothering to inspect them. 'I don't want those, oaf,' she rapped out. 'Fetch me the tan coloured pair.'

The batman, of course, had had no idea what colour boots Miss Bethia would be wearing, but he must not show the slightest resentment.

'Very good, Miss,' he said as he hurried away to fetch the boots. He was simply thankful that Miss Bethia had not inspected the boots he had been cleaning. He opened the cupboard; there were five pairs within and he had cleaned and polished them all that morning. They shone, looking brand new. He went back and knelt with the tan boots.

'Permission to put your boots on, Miss,' he said.

'Get on with it,' said Miss Bethia sharply. Of course, if the batman had begun to do so without permission, he would have been punished.

He inserted the left foot and began the lacing. That had to be perfectly spaced and even. No easy matter but it was an art that could be learned after many hours of practice and many punishments for failure. The batman considered he had done well with the left boot and, a little later, equally well with the right one. Miss Bethia raised each leg in turn and inspected his work. The batman held his breath ... and was thankful indeed when no criticism came.

'Give me those boots you cleaned,' ordered Miss Bethia. The batman picked them up and extended them to her. Again, his heart was in his mouth. 'There are still flecks of mud on both soles ... and also some mud on the heel,' announced Miss Bethia. The batman well knew it was impossible to get hard-caked mud off with the tongue alone. It had to be scraped. Miss Bethia knew it too. But that made no difference.

'I tried ... but ... it wouldn't ...' began the batman. A palm crashed across his face, then he got a knuckle back-hander. His head rang; tears misted his eyes.

'Don't talk back to me, oaf,' bellowed Miss Bethia. She was very good at simulating these rages. They added no end to her terrifying image. Underneath she was actually quite cool and calm. 'Fetch me the cane!'

Resignedly the batman rose to his feet. He had only hoped to escape, he had not truly expected it. Kneeling, he extended the pale yellow rod to Miss Bethia. She snatched it off his upturned palms and stood up.

'Arse up,' she snapped.