by Sean O'Kane
With complete calmness and confidence the Prince picked up a transpiercing needle and held Sophie’s right breast from underneath, then he pressed the steel point down, slowly, into the upper right slope. Sophie’s breath hissed from between clenched teeth as she watched her skin indent more and more and then finally break. There was a brief flower of pain and then the long sinister shaft was sinking into her. Sophie could only watch in amazement and slowly realise that there was hardly any pain, just a weird, intrusive feeling of movement within her. But suddenly the pain was back and she watched as the skin peaked on the far side of her breast and then peaked further until, with a final push from the Prince, the bright steel broke free once more and the needle stood proud on both sides. Asil groaned with desire as the men stood back and Selim handed the Prince another one.
“Even for a chipped slave, that was impressive,” the Prince said. “They usually scream and wriggle the first time they are fully pierced. I think this one must have had some natural ability before I had her chipped.”
“She came with a suitcase and some paperwork, your Highness. Would you like me to look through it and see if I can find out anything about her?”
“No. Nothing matters except that she is here and belongs to me,” the Prince said quietly.
Then he stepped forward and gripped Sophie’s left breast.
To her own amazement Sophie hadn’t come by the time the four long, thin needles had been run through her. Two crossed in each breast and she had to admit she had never seen her breasts look so incredibly erotic, but the procedure had been slow and surprisingly painless in comparison to her recent experiences. So all she could do was look and groan in need of further stimulation to finish herself off. But it was not to be.
Asil was brought to stand open legged at the other end of the bench and chains were clipped to her labial rings while her hands were raised and shackled to cuffs hanging from the posts that surrounded the bench. Selim stood behind her with a single tail whip and began to beat her while the Prince bent down and began to clip weights onto the chains. Immediately Asil began to cry out as she jerked about under the whip and her labia began to stretch down her thighs. Soon she was helplessly thrusting with her pelvis as she came and making the weights swing and clink against each other. The Prince laughed in delight as he tried to time the attaching of the next weight as the chains gyrated wildly to the girl’s desperate writhings. Sophie added her cries of desperation to Asil’s ones of ecstasy as she came.
Selim put down the whip and came around behind Sophie where she heard him undo his trousers. Hardly daring to hope, she kept her eyes on Asil whose labia were now stretched thinly to about half way down her thighs. She made a beautiful picture as her head fell forward between her raised arms and her breasts heaved in the aftermath. The Prince rose and moved behind her, he picked something off a shelf and Sophie saw his hands come round from behind Asil’s chest. Each hand went to a swollen nipple and allowed the springs on the clamps they held to close fully on the rigidly erect little nubbins. Sophie couldn’t help smiling at the Prince’s ingenuity. Asil’s head jerked up and a scream escaped her, but she was fully alert once more as he prepared to take her from behind. And from behind Sophie, hands reached out to at last free her aching wrists and arms, allowing her to almost fall forwards onto hands and knees. To her delight she felt Selim’s cock nudge at her slicked vaginal entrance and she felt her labia spread wide as he thrust into her, then thrust again to lodge at his full extent.
“Is she comfortable?” the Prince asked.
“Very, your Highness. And very easily penetrated,” Selim pronounced from behind her.
Sophie saw Asil adjust her stance slightly, her face softened and she sighed as her owner entered her, his face clearly visible above and behind her delicate shoulder as she leaned her head back on him.
“Good,” he said as he began to fuck Asil, setting her chains swinging again and making her groan. “The Americans said as much, but one never really knows with them.”
Selim reached forward under Sophie and, careful to avoid any sharp points protruding from the breasts, he grasped them before giving her a vigorous shafting that lasted just long enough to bring her off. She desperately wanted to collapse forwards but didn’t dare with so much hardware in her tits, she had to wait until the Prince had finished with Asil, unchained her and left with Selim.
Asil had first to spread her legs and unclip the chains that supported the weights and Sophie was amazed at how quickly the labia sprang back to their natural shapes.
Taking the needles out of her tits proved almost as exciting as watching the Prince put them in. The long ones had to be withdrawn slowly and carefully by Asil while Sophie took advantage of the girl’s closeness to stroke and caress her breasts. There were only very slight dots of blood to show where they had been inserted and a dab of an alcohol swab took care of them. Asil found two double sheets in a drawer and laid them out on the floor.
“We sleep here,” she said. “If they want us, they come and take us. You need to get some sleep as it’ll still be night when we arrive, we’re flying East.”
Both girls were too exhausted to do anything other than snuggle together and wrap the sheet around them on the carpeted floor, but Sophie managed to stay awake long enough to curl up close behind Asil and cup a breast in one hand, revelling in the feel and the scent of another woman’s body against hers again.
She awoke in darkness with Asil shaking her.
“Come on, we must take our seats for landing,” she told her and as Sophie climbed groggily to her feet she felt the plane angle downwards and with a chime the seat belt sign came on. She just had time to hope she might be allowed to put her dress back on before disembarking, then she was following Asil back to the main lounge, where the men waited. They too were naked and Asil whispered that they would dress when the plane landed.
“Then you’ll be in Bakhtar and the fun will really start!” Asil managed before the landing gear rumbled down and the angle of descent steepened. Sophie braced herself for whatever lay ahead.
Chapter Ten
The group’s footsteps echoed in the vast hall, the men’s heavier tread mixing with the clicking of the women’s heels on the polished floor. Clive Mostyn brought the party to a halt in the centre of the room which housed what he hoped would be almost the final step in his battle to overcome the prissy, bleeding heart liberals in Parliament, who continued to fuss and worry about enslaving anti-social young layabouts. Admittedly he had recently managed to railroad through a bill that added offences such as careless driving, petty theft, loitering with intent, just loitering, littering and being disrespectful to a police officer, to the Slavery Act. It was already proving amazing how many good looking young women were falling foul of the act nowadays. But that was none of Clive’s business, that was purely in the hands of the police. But the country was booming, the treasury coffers were overflowing with revenues from the arenas and from slave purchases generally. The global monopoly on slave chips and the sky-high prices companies were paying for licenses to manufacture them were making the country even richer and now the sDocks were taking off too. And all that was most definitely Clive’s business.
And here was something that would provide that part of the great British public that was free, with so much fun that any MP opposing it would be committing political suicide.
He turned to his audience of tabloid journalists, broadsheet journalists, TV cameras and nano-drone cameras filming for foreign news channels hovering above their heads.
“What you see before you was first developed in France before we took it a stage further,” he said, gesturing towards an enormous rectangular block of dark green, smooth glass about the height of a two storey house and which seemed to have been made in one piece. It was surrounded by steel stairs and walkways – some of which went over the top of it. There were even some deep recesses in its sides into which walkways led. “It’s made from what we call ultra glass. And altho
ugh we on the outside can see in quite clearly, from the inside the walls are utterly solid in appearance and inert to sound transmission. In other words, we can see – and with the aid of nano-microphones – hear everything that goes on inside there. But those who are on the inside will be completely oblivious to us.”
“But what exactly is on the inside, Prime Minister?” one female journalist asked.
“Go closer and you’ll see, use the walkways, go where you like. There’s half an hour yet until they arrive and we let the public in. I’m told they’re queuing round the block.” Tickets had gone on sale the week before and had sold out in hours. Where Clive Mostyn led, the public was increasingly coming to realise, it wanted to follow.
Clive watched the group disperse and explore. Some comments drifted back.
“Hey it’s all, like bedrooms!”
“Like, cells more like!”
“Yeah, but comfortable! This one’s got a double bed in it!”
“Hey, the bed in this one’s got handcuffs!”
Smiling broadly, Clive approached and stood close by the foot of the glass cube.
“Ladies and gentlemen, if you’ll gather here again, I’ll explain.” He waited until his audience had re-convened and then went on. “Over the past few years the number of young people serving hard labour and slavery sentences has grown considerably. And whilst we have been able to find gainful employment for the females …” There were some laughs and, Clive noted gleefully, blushes from some of the more hard bitten female journalists, who he knew had bought compliantly chipped girls for their beds. “But what of the young men? Hard labour has honed their fitness but there has been nowhere for them to let off steam and discipline has been increasingly hard to enforce. But here we have the answer! In half an hour a bus load of young men, fresh from forging the country’s new infrastructure will be supplied with an intake of freshly arrested and chipped young female convicts.”
“And you’re going to make a show of it?” a young journalist asked.
“I don’t call it a show. I call it letting the tax payer see how the government is spending his money,” Clive answered smoothly.
“And giving them the biggest porn show on the planet!”
“Jeez! He’s nationalised the porn industry!”
Clive beamed happily as realisation dawned. “Call it what you will, ladies and gentlemen! It will keep the country’s infrastructure projects running smoothly, it’ll keep those doing the work happy – very cheaply I may add as it uses the slave resources we have to hand for free - and the hard working British public will be able to see it all happening!”
“Prime Minister!” cried one young hack who wasn’t so quick on the uptake. “Don’t you think that there will be massive opposition in the House?”
“Ask me that question again in a couple of hours’ time,” he shot back and suggested they all move back onto the floor of the main hall as the public was about to be admitted and sure enough as the doors were flung open, swarms of hard working tax payers stampeded in to get the best views. And then a few minutes later the first of the convicts arrived. At first everyone fell quiet as the lean and fit young men filed in to the cells just on the other side of the inch-thick glass. Some of the observers actually stepped back when occasionally one of them would approach the wall and feel it curiously whilst appearing to look right through them – even though they had been told that from the inside the glass was an impenetrable black wall. The convicts started calling to each other as they found the double beds and the handcuffs and the ropes and straps.
And then the girls were let in. They were let in along a central corridor that the audience could see either from above or from right beside them, courtesy of the numerous rectangular recesses let into the cube’s sides. They were mainly dressed in whatever clothes their arrests had left them with and these lasted no time at all. They were set on and dragged into bedrooms, stripped naked and shagged in short order. The audience shrieked in shock at first but then cheered and applauded with glee as smooth young female thighs were spread wide apart and waved aloft while pale muscular buttocks humped with desperate haste between them. Huge breasts, small breasts, tip-tilted breasts; all were mauled and ravished just inches from the awe struck audience. Some couplings were made on the floors – so urgent was the need some felt. And as the spectacles went on, the crowd gained in confidence and became noisier and found places where they could get even closer to the action. Standing or sitting on the top and looking down was quite popular. Standing in the recesses and watching the cells on either side was also popular, but the loudest applause was reserved for moments when a girl was pushed up against a wall and fucked from behind. Soon some of the women in the audience were being pushed up against the wall themselves when that happened and their shirts or blouses torn open so that they went breast to breast with the girls inside, whose tits would be pressed into white circles against the glass. Inevitably after about an hour, there was some hard rutting going on outside the cube as well as inside it.
Once the initial sexual appetites had been sated, the men began to use the bondage facilities with more imagination than Clive had given them credit for. In several cells girls were tied face to face and shafted simultaneously from behind. In others they were tied by their hands and sodomised from one end whilst being made to fellate at the other. Some were tied down on their backs and made to lick other girls to orgasm until the men were able to fuck them again. And of course the chips saw to it that there was never a dissenting voice raised.
After an hour and a half, what the main hall was echoing to were the sounds of orgiastic pleasure from both sides of the glass.
Clive stood back and raised himself up onto tip toe and down again in sheer delight. He was providing the public with the biggest peep show ever and the voyeuristic delight they were taking in it exceeded his wildest expectations.
The young hack who had asked the naïve question earlier hurried past him, tucking his cock back into his trousers. Clive had watched him shafting someone’s willing wife or girlfriend in time to a frantic rut going on in a cell. Now he reached out and grabbed him.
“Ask me your question again, young man,” he said.
The man looked flustered for a moment and then remembered where his recorder was and what the question had been.
“Prime Minister, don’t you think there will be massive opposition in the House?” he asked with a sheepish grin across his lipstick smeared features.
“No I do not!” Clive told him. “I do not anticipate a murmur of protest from any part of the bloody House! And you may quote me!”
As the action in the cube began to slow, Clive took his leave. There would be another show later in the day. The first lot of men would be herded back to their barracks, hopefully a lot more amenable now they knew that, from now on, once a month they would be let out to shag themselves stupid. The girls would be showered and scrubbed and sent on for auction while the cube was cleaned for the next show.
He walked briskly to his car with his security men at his shoulders, but even so he managed to get a look around at the streets as he went. His reforms were beginning to have a major impact now. Quite apart from the queue already forming for the next show, the free women he saw around him were now mainly dressed in long, sweeping skirts – some had zips in the sides so that they could choose to show some leg or not - with short bolero jackets that covered low necked tops and shirts. The jackets could be buttoned across to hide the cleavage very easily, but they and the zips on the skirts, emphasised that the wearers were free women who had a choice about what they displayed.
In contrast, just beginning to appear on some public streets were the slavegirls. Previously they had been only visible on private estates. They couldn’t be paraded naked of course but their owners liked to make them unmistakable. After all it proclaimed that they were rich enough to buy one.
The usual uniform was a variation on the theme; collar, lead and half-cup corset or bustier above
the waist and a mini skirt below, with high-heeled court shoes and hold up stockings to complete the humiliating ensemble. Sometimes the skirts would be tight, sometimes they were short and frothy confections. Sometimes they hid the stocking tops and sometimes they left them exposed, and sometimes the girl was bare legged, but whatever the minor differences the overall image was of complete compliance with their owner’s sexual predilections. And Clive knew that on quieter streets it was not uncommon to see two owners passing the time of day and carelessly fingering each other’s girl under the negligible skirts, as they chatted.
As yet he couldn’t be seen in public leading his own slaves around and he resented that, but the day was coming, he was certain of it, and this day had gone a long way towards making it arrive. As his car pulled away heading out into the country for the weekend, his favourite slave stirred at his feet. She had been with him for quite some time and was nearing the end of her usefulness. She had been one of the first slaves of the government’s own, covertly owned, slave stable – in the days when he had been a junior minister entrusted with the project by MacIntyre, the then Prime Minister, in fact he had recruited her. The government had sold the stable and when the stable had sold her, he had bought her and another girl. They had gone on to become the test beds for the early chips. He thought her name was Kath, but he couldn’t be sure, for ages now she had just been 6 and her lover had been 9. Or was it the other way around? Anyway, it took some vigorous exercising to keep her tits up these days but otherwise she had worn well. She was lying on the floor of the car at his feet which was her usual position when she wasn’t in the boot – which was where her lover and fellow slave currently was. The look of adoration in her eyes always made him feel good and he let his knees fall apart and moved his pelvis forward. She smiled in delight and sat up to gently draw down the zip on his trousers. She was dressed in a simple, short, white tunic dress that barely covered her crotch and which flattered her still shapely hips and legs. The neckline was scooped wide and as she sat up, curling her legs to one side, he was able to reach forwards and help himself to one of her breasts. He fingered the warm flesh idly as he thought back over the myriad times he had beaten her breasts and pegged, clamped and pierced them, but still they swelled smoothly enough from her chest and retained a good shape.
