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Subject: {ASSM} Under Control - part twenty-four
Date: Mon, 17 Jan 2000 21:10:02 -0500
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Under Control - part twenty-four
copyright Victor Bruno, release to publish
granted to Christine Stevenson.
They were all roused at six a.m. and unchained. Then they ran to
the mass showers where some twenty or so girls were already
jumping up and down, squealing under the icy jets of water. Paul
joined the mass of bouncing female flesh, crushing all around
him. Oh yes, he was very much one of the girls. They all stayed
there for five minutes under the pitiless streams of water before
an overseer bellowed them into a drying room. There they sat
until dry, for slaves were not given luxuries such as towels.
Then, naked as the day they were born, they all marched to the
dining hall. Seated at long wooden trestles they wolfed down the
revolting branmash which was served up. Nourishing as it was, it
made one want to heave . . . and every last morsel had to be
consumed.
Ten minutes later they were herded out to the courtyard . . . and
the squads were formed up. Twelve to a squad. Four squads in all.
Like on a military parade, Paul stood in line while an iron
collar was put about his neck. A chain linked him to the girl in
front and another to the girl behind. The day was beginning . . .
and very early. It was still cool . . . chilly even . . . and
there was a faint haze in the air. Paul knew that coolness would
not last.
Paul was shocked to see the plump young Karen linked into the
same squad as himself. She saw him too, but obviously did not
recognise him. No doubt at all now that his change was complete.
Miss Delia, in black boots, black leather bolero and short
pleated skirt strolled into the compound. From the hipster belt
slanting across her bare belly hung the familiar long leather
tawse. She strolled slowly up and down the line, eyeing each girl
in turn . . . and lingering on Paul with a sardonic smile.
"Right," she said, "I'm getting a full day's work out of you
bitches. There's plenty of leather waiting for you. So . . . move
.. . . at the double . . . . ."
With chains clanking, the column went off at a jog-trot. Try as
he might, Paul could not keep his eyes off the bouncing bottom
right before him. It was futile . . . it was frustrating . . .
but it was compulsive. He may have looked like a girl but,
despite all his injections, he still had the urges of a man.
That, he now well realised, was just exactly how Gloria van Meer
wanted it to be!
They came to a clearing in the forest and the squad was split up
into pairs . . . each pair still linked by collar and chain.
Either by accident or Delia's design, Paul found himself linked
with young Karen. The memory of that night when he had been free
to toss himself and look at her all the time was still hot upon
him. He had got more relief in one night than he had done for
months before or since.
Their joint task was first to saw down one of the spruce trees in
a small forest, trim off the branches with an axe and then carry
the heavy timber between them, resting it on the shoulders, and
take it to a pile some four hundred yards away. One was not
allowed to walk with the timber, one had to run with it.
Paul, thinking of the long morning ahead, and the increasing
heat, strove to reserve all the energy he could. But, all the
same, after an hour, he was sweating like a pig. As was Karen.
Sat up on a dais, under a large sun umbrella, was Miss Delia.
Mistress of all she surveyed. By her side was a slave girl, ready
to serve her refreshments whenever she wanted them. In front of
the dais was a wooden framework, whose purpose Paul could easily
guess.
"Do we . . . get a break?" asked Paul . . . though speaking was
forbidden.
"Y-Yes . ." whispered Karen. "Ten minutes after two hours . . ."
Between them they hoisted another timber on to their sore and
aching shoulders and doubled towards the growing pile. All around
them, teams of two were doing the same. And steadily the heat
increased.
It must have been very near the break time when Miss Delia's
voice bellowed out through a megaphone. Two girls, it seemed, who
had not been putting in sufficient effort, were summoned to the
dais. No one else stopped work. But, out of the corner of his
eye, Paul saw them both being fastened to the wooden framework.
Soon there came the thwacking sound of Miss Delia's tawse on bare
flesh, accompanied by howls of pain. Paul counted the strokes.
There were ten apiece. Then, buttocks aflame, the girls hurried
back to their back-breaking task.
Murderous work, thought Paul. Tough enough for a man . . . let
alone girls. When the whistle blew for the break, he dropped
down beside Karen in the shade of a tree. Their breasts heaved,
their breath rasped.
"How . . . how long does it go on?" he asked.
"Two stints of two-hours in the morning. Two more in the
afternoon. The afternoons are worse," said Karen. "It's hotter."
Paul's mind gazed bleakly into the future . . . and found no
comfort.
This story was released as an illustrated web book. For
details of Victor Bruno Books available please contact
VictorBruno@MsChristine.com
http://www.mschristine.com/bruno.html
Warning! Turns your wife/lover into a Dominatrix.
The Fem Dom Training Software.
http://www.mschristine.com/program.html
mailto:program@Ms-Christine.com
The DOMestic digest is free of charge.
Subscribe in subject line:- DOMestic@Ms-Christine.com
Moderated by David & Christine Stevenson.
Subscribe online at http://www.mschristine.com/domestic.html
The DOMestic discussion list has been going well over three
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--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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