CHAPTER 1

 

Sarah used the loo for the umpteenth time that morning, such was her nervousness and it was still before 8am as she put the finishing touches to her make-up. It was apparently important to look your best when you had to report to the neighbourhood Control Centre, something she recalled from the numerous instructions sent by the local council. How things had changed over the last twenty or so years in mid-21st century England, she considered as she regarded the pretty face staring back at her in the mirror as she applied a little light rouge.

She had chosen a fairly low cut light blue summer dress with thin straps which allowed a bit of tantalising cleavage to show. This not only suited the warm day but also, she recalled from the instructions sent her, she had to report to someone who looked like a fairly old and doddery guy, maybe a tad uptight as she could imagine a judge might be - albeit a bit 'letchy' looking too. Thus if he liked what he saw, she could maybe sweet-talk and charm her way through this coming ordeal, she reasoned. People often told her how her big eyes and her small, ever so slightly turned up nose added innocent sweetness to her natural beauty. Should she change her hairstyle? Probably not, it was currently ash blonde, falling softly in a bob to the smoothness of her shoulders just as her boyfriend liked it. But she knew that her mind was straying, trying to seek sanctuary in such meanderings from what it knew lay ahead.

Twenty years ago people would have laughed at the idea of local Controllers to whom one had to report for any infraction of the now numerous local by-laws. Well, Sarah wasn't laughing now. Just the initials of the new justice organisation covered a multitude of possible sins: CONTROL: Community Orientated Neighbourhood Training and Rehabilitation of Offender Liability, if she correctly recalled its eye-watering full name.

Everyone had heard the stories about how you became all but a slave to the all-important neighbourhood Controller for the time of your sentence. But being a basically law abiding and timid person it had never particularly bothered her how thugs were now treated. Teaching them a lesson and keeping them off the streets sounded good to her, even if - as it appeared - the people who had gravitated to running the Control schemes were those who enjoyed that kind of power over their fellows. Her nearest Control Centre was actually just a few hundred yards further down her street in an ugly mansion and the people who worked there certainly appeared to reckon themselves. One she sometimes saw leaving the control building was certainly an imposing middle-aged Asian woman, the sort of person you crossed the road to avoid lest her sense of disdain and evil tarnished you too.

OK, so the latest hike in council tax demands was totally unfair but oh why had she gone along to that stupid demonstration with her boyfriend? She pondered yet again. Even though they had kept well to the back the surveillance cameras had been everywhere. Sarah curbed the need to use the loo again at the thought that she had to report to the Control Centre in a matter of minutes to hear the length of her sentence and the nature of her punishment. And she had heard rumours, although facts were scarce under the extension of the Official Secrets Act, that in addition to demeaning rehabilitation and drill exercises, Controllers were empowered to use old-fashioned things like corporal punishment - or worse! But surely, she told herself yet again, that was only for violent criminals. Nothing like that could be applicable to her for taking part in a peaceful demonstration and continuing the protest by withholding part of the stupid and excessive council tax bill?

"We'd better go now, darling." Sarah tried to keep her voice level as she stepped into their large lounge. Her boyfriend, with whom she had lived in their smart and expensive detached house for the last year, left his newspaper to embrace her. Obviously he was worried too; she could tell that he was hardly reading anyway. Greg's body was lean and hard against hers and it felt good to feel his mouth over hers as she clasped him to her almost desperately. Urgently she gripped the back of his head, pressing herself against him, seeking reassurance, never wanting the embrace to end.

"Steady, darling," he stroked her back. "Don't worry, we'll be back in an hour or so, the judge guy and his cronies can't make much of it all. We're not criminals; we didn't get involved in anything bad; there was no violence. And a late bill... we can always pay it now we've made our protest," he assured her, his hand impudently squeezing the pert mound of her bottom over her short dress.

"Don't, you'll mess up my appearance," she mock scolded him, reluctantly breaking away. "But don't forget they also want to talk about reports of licentious behaviour," she remembered the wording from the summons, her eyes searching his for yet another sign of reassurance.

"Look, we talked about it," Greg held her tightly and with the firmness she needed. "That's surely just some busybody in one of the council flats opposite, jealous because they haven't got a huge house and mortgage like us. It must have been that day when you came home a bit tipsy a couple of months ago and stripped off to have your evil way with me..." he chuckled at the memory, "before you'd drawn the curtains. They must have been peeking out of their window with nothing better to do. Who cares, we're in our own house; they can get stuffed."

"Yes but..."

"But nothing, we're respectable people, law abiding, they aren't going to make a thing over stuff like this." He again held her tight, soothing her fears, kissing her tenderly, stroking her face. She just wanted to stay in his arms forever and not have to face the horrible world and the people outside. "Come now, we're ready to go. And if one of us gets home before the other they put the kettle on and we can have a laugh about it all," he smiled, patting her back.

"I guess," Sarah sighed, feeling better now. She always did feel better when bolstered by Greg's courage. He was such a handsome man and she was so lucky to be with him, she gave further thanks. True, in her twenty years she too had also often been told just how gorgeous she was, from her innocent doll-like face to her firm 36c boobs and slim yet curvy body with a wiggling bottom often attracting wolf whistles. So maybe she could, as she had been told, have her choice of men but, yes, life was good, especially with Greg. He was just a couple of years older than her, in a good and well paid city job, a bit more glamorous than hers, assistant personnel manager at a large local company. Mind you, she was in a position of authority and only a few weeks ago had tackled the sacking of one of the staff, a lazy girl who had pilfered a few things. It was good to be able to give the rather unpleasant Asian girl a piece of her mind and show her the door. The Chief Exec had been very complimentary - so not all the responsible jobs were in London, she thought proudly.

Yes, all in all, she and Greg had the world at their feet despite these petty new legal restrictions. And in a few weeks' time, when she was twenty one, her substantial inheritance of around four hundred grand would allow their life to become even better, pay off their joint mortgage, maybe get an even bigger house? But for the moment, her life temporarily looked like getting a bit worse. She wrung her hands in anguish. She had thought about telling her wealthy parents who had moved to Florida, but didn't want to burden them and she was anyway a bit ashamed about having got into this jam in the first place. No, she'd sort it herself, no matter how unpalatable.

Before, she had scarcely spared a thought about the various scare stories surrounding the virtually limitless powers now used by the local guardians of the state to stamp out petty crime by zero tolerance. Surely, though, she tried to reassure herself again, the simple charges against them would scarcely warrant more than a ticking off from the judge guy? She'd just craftily lean forward a bit and so that he could see a bit of her creamy boobs and flutter her large blue eyes at him. He'd probably keel over with a heart attack, she cautioned herself, regaining a little of her natural humour. OK, so maybe someone had also seen her getting a bit fresh through the window the other month. Her behaviour that evening had been unusual for someone of her shy nature and the thought of it still made her blush. She suspected that someone had laced her drinks in the office leaving 'do' she had attended. But in any case, she was a grown woman and in her own house. This new so-called justice process might be a bit demeaning, maybe they'd have to eat a bit of humble pie, but then it would be over, she decided, feeling a little better.

Maybe they should then move to America too with her inheritance, she contemplated. Trying to smile for the benefit of any other nosy neighbours who might be watching, she tucked her hand under Greg's muscular arm, her blue high heels clicking up the road towards the large house at the end of her street.

 

***

 

"Identity cards, we can't let just anyone in here, sweetheart." The youngster drawling sarcastically, standing behind the high iron gate, clicked his fingers. It was infuriating that someone like him, probably still a teenager and looking nothing better than a common thug with his cropped hair and scarred white face, now had such authority over them - and emphasised by the sinister 'Control' logo on his black uniform contrasting with the tattoos on his smooth white arms. It sometimes seemed to her that the previously criminal types were now almost in charge of things, the lunatics running the asylum, she mused bitterly.

Wishing her hands weren't shaking, Sarah passed the ID cards everyone now had to carry through the gate for the lad to scrutinise and barcode against his handheld computer. Silently he beckoned them onto the drive after releasing the electronic lock. It felt so frightening and strange to be standing on the gravel inside the grounds of the evil house she had so often driven or walked passed, never expecting to enter. It had once been an old Victorian cottage hospital she recalled, although expanded since.

"Drop your handbag. Hands out, away from your sides, legs apart like a cross, I need to frisk you, darling, both of you, before you go in." The creep smiled crookedly as another guard sauntered up to check Greg.

Sarah's face felt hot and sticky as she complied, hoping that no-one she knew was passing. She'd not expected such a public humiliation but her fear of the new justice system prohibited any outright revolt. After first checking her bag to ensure she'd obeyed the rules about no mobile phones, computers or cameras, the lad looked at her, a grin creasing his ugly face.

"Hah," she gulped, trying to remain passive as the gloved hands slid down the side of her face, checking under her hair, mucking up its neatness, before trailing down the pulse of her throat and between the almost beckoning valley of her cleavage. It was awful that his grimy finger was stroking between the top of her milky globes. She almost stopped breathing in her tenseness. Then the hands moved to the outside of her dress to obscenely grope and hold the mounds of her boobs; it was like being searched at an airport - only ten times worse. She shrunk away slightly, aware of Greg glaring at the lad as his hands lingered, taking her breasts and lifting them slowly in their scant covering before they continued like slugs down her waist to her backside. Oh, why had she not covered herself more modestly, she now thought, blushing.

"She's got a good pair a' tits, and a nice arse - all nice and firm, eh," the guard leered at Greg as he groped the cheeks of her bottom through her thin dress. Then his fingers came forwards and upwards.

"Ughh, please..." she wriggled, beginning to lower her outstretched arms as his crude hands scrunched up her pretty dress, forcing her onto her tip-toes as his fingers slid hard up against the crotch of her panties. Her tiny pink thong must be clearly visible to his greedy eyes. "Please don't, you can't, I'm-I'm not hiding anything, I only live down the road and it's virtually only an administrative matter we're here for there's no need..."

"I wouldn't try it, matey," the other young guard cautioned Greg, fingering his baton to almost invite trouble as her boyfriend made to say something through bared teeth as he had to watch the hands on her. "When you're through these gates you're in the power of the Controller, who can make sure you never leave here until you're broken. And you've no claim over the slut - your ID records show you're not even married," the lad smiled sadistically at him.

"She's not a slut, she's my girlfriend, we live together and you've no right... aaaghhh," Greg's protest ended in a wheezing grunt as the guard jabbed his solar plexus to make him fold over, gasping.

"Stay right where you are," the brute touching her gripped her arms to stop her going to Greg's aid, positioning her hands away from her body again. "Yeah, nice and soft down here," the brute purred as his hateful fingers curled against the lips of her sex through the thin material of her knickers. This was ghastly for her. "You see, we're just not interested in why you're here - only that you are - and the need for you to be taught respect. And you don't ever say, 'don't' or 'no' here, girlie," the guard's nicotine stained hands were suddenly in her hair, shaking her head. It was so painful, as if her scalp was being torn off, forcing tears to her eyes as her hands uselessly tried to prise away his iron grip. "Bad things can happen to people here unless they behave themselves. Now what you gotta' learn is the proper respect. You bow to your superiors here. You and your boyfriend, hands by your sides, bow from the waist, deep and respectful and hold it like that before I say you can leave us to go into the house." He pointed to large black door behind him. "And it's gotta be low enough so your tits nearly fall out," he grinned.

Oh heavens it was so shameful but shaken by her experience, Sarah, red faced, managed the dutiful and demeaning bow, bending low to the two grinning thugs, her hair hanging down partially shielding her shining face. And indeed, she was aware of how nearly her boobs came to spilling from her low-cut bra. She wanted to clutch and shield them but daren't, keeping her hands by her sides, fists bunched, aware that she was giving the brutes a real show. And to make matters even worse, two of her neighbours were walking by, pretending not to look at the humiliating spectacle she was forced to give.

"Good, and you remember to bow to everyone here from now on and call them 'Sir' or 'Ma'am,' nice and respectful, yeah?"

"Yes... yes, Sir," she nearly spat at the thug through gritted teeth when his hand went to his baton, hearing Greg similarly debasing himself.

"Off you go then," he demeaned her further by smacking the taut curve of her bottom whilst she was still bent over.