Nusquam

by Chris Bellows

  128 steps down, firmly gripping the testicle leash.

  “I walk him many miles. Miss Penny insists he be conditioned.”

  “Of course. I’ll join you.”

  Chapter Forty-Four

  “I understand you spent some time with Nurse Traite in the milking parlor... being evaluated.”

  “Yes Miss Kelly.”

  Member and subjugant converse as 128 circles the paddock area of the stable facility, a leashed steed 88 plodding behind. Spanked balls always sore to the touch, he attentively responds to the directing hand of his groom, tension to be minimized, obedience assured.

  “You have enormous breasts, Pattie... er... 128. You’d be a good producer... let down well. The members would enjoy having your glands perform for them. Of course your nipples would need to be conditioned... lengthened. But all skin stretches. In time they’ll become long enough for a slow soothing hand milking.”

  Udders! 128 finds the notion unsettling. Images of human cow 79 come to mind... the sound of the goat milking machine... the rhythmical whooshing... the low moans evidencing initial joy... transforming to futile begging as the glands became irritated with the constant sucking.... the clear teat cups first filling with the extraordinarily long nipple flesh... pink turning to red... then coated with sprays of beige lactate... cycle after cycle after cycle... the suckling unrelenting... the reservoir tank slowly but steadily filling.

  “You did not tell me about that... when describing Nusquam,” 128 timidly offers.

  “Becoming a subjugant at Nusquam means acquiescing. There are many aspects of serving here that are not meaningful to divulge. You’re here to capitulate and serve... in any manner...at the pleasure of the members. The milking parlor is a source of amusement. And you’re here to amuse... to be exhibited... naked, hairless, tattooed, branded.”

  128 senses moisture. The words bring twinges. Why?

  “Then I’m to be bred. Inseminated.”

  “It assures you will properly express. And enhance your desire to nurture... to give... to offer all.”

  “It’s... it’s... serene. I’m not sure I can do it. The thought of being suckled... and suckled... then lying in nothingness.... waiting to be suckled again. It’s... well... there’s... there’s no...”

  “No pain. No trauma. Your masochism not properly assuaged?” Kelly completing the thought. “You’ll not be corporally punished in the milking parlor. And that disappoints. You would not adequately produce... let down. So you prefer the sjambok... too much enjoy the feel of your tummy pressing against a sodomy frame? Having your sphincter opened. Your throat used as a vagina?”

  “It... it excites. I do not understand it... but it so much thrills.”

  “No girl of your ilk ever does... understand. It’s why you’re here... to protect from your own self destruction. Remember being stranded riding the horse? Being strung up in full suspension and porcupined. Hot needles... dozens... thrusting through every inch of pink flesh? I can’t say it won’t happen here... everything is at the whim of a member. But here you’ll not be abandoned! Instead your survival will be assured... not be endangered... so you can serve more... many years. In the milking parlor you’ll be well cared for, your diet rich with fat and lactose. You’ll be suckled and suckled... but not to death. You’ll produce for us until you’re ready for the pump house. And there you’ll labor until... well... the end. Well supervised and productive. That’s Nusquam.

  “Your role as groom will soon be ending, 128. I am told Penny Osborne has other plans... something more depraved,” Kelly not wanting to divulge that 88 is to be led about by the avenging hand of his wife.

  “If your tits are deemed suitable and you refuse the milking parlor, it’s the pump house, there to be declawed, defanged and desexed. Or perhaps a short stint in the kennel first. That would change your mind... but then it would be too late. Once a subjugant cedes to a Mastiff, the members tend to lose interest.”

  128 shudders. She had not before realized that there can be a fate worse than the milking parlor. Would she indeed find herself forced to please the many canines? She pictures herself belly down on a sodomy stanchion, huge paws pressed to her shoulders... the feel of slimy canine drool... the odor of fetid breath... fur tantalizing her buttocks... ah that initial thrust... so degrading... the observing Nusquam members so deviantly entertained.

  “I... 128... needs to feel the power of a superior, Miss Kelly. To yield. There’s a sense of... of... security and comfort in that.... even if the power is manifested in being tormented. If pain pleases my Master, than pain 128 will bear. I... 128 misses you. Being masturbated... being bathed... you bind... tightly... securely... comfortably.”

  “And safely. It was my job. Now you have a job. And you will fulfill it... in some manner. No subjugant leaves Nusquam. Not ever. You’ll serve here at the whim and behest of the members... until the end.”

  88 yelps, the leash hand of 128 tightening in reaction to the ominous words.

  “Perhaps I will walk you to the pump house. Yes, I like the idea of leashing you. Have you been put in a cunny harness?”

  Chapter Forty-Five

  “Regularly fed, no rent, lots of cocks to suck. You’ll learn to better enjoy anal sodomy. And each and every day you can be with your husband,” Penny Osborne sarcastically apprizes new arrival 167 of the advantages of being a Nusquam subjugant.

  After more than a year of having the woman in forced prostitution... forced by her impoverishment... Penny has taken pity, arranging for Mrs. Balls Martindale to likewise be rendered to the secretive tropical enclave. It costs money, but as the woman’s pimp, she saved steadily the many sordidly earned stipends, desiring that the funds for Mrs Martindale’s lifetime stay at Nusquam be earned by her... while naked... on her knees... mouth stuffed with cock after cock... gagging with spurt after spurt of sperm.

  Ah, those testosterone laden office parties... how much Penny wished she could have attended. Better, have Balls Martindale watch as his naked wife performed kneeling on the conference table... urinating... or worse... on command. Wall Street has such deviates!

  “You’ll sleep with me when I visit. Otherwise be strung up in the dorm. It’s demeaning... but so appropriate for you.”

  Penny reaches to wipe away a tear, the woman lachrymal. Then the fingers tap the large black numerals tattooed on the forehead. The permanency brings a smile.

  “Save your tears. You’re to be branded tomorrow.”

  “Where is my husband?”

  “Stabled. Did I not tell you? I work him to exhaustion... whipped, sodomized. And I spank his balls. That will be one of your tasks when I’m not here. Every day, moderate but incredibly painful swats of a spatula. After all, he is ‘Balls Martindale’,” Penny explains with a boisterous laugh.

  The tears dissipate. Penny is amused to see the notion strikes interest. Mrs. Martindale needs to slake revenge.

  “The bastard really fucked up. I used to live in a mansion, had a Maserati. And they took it. Lost it all. Living in the south Bronx sucks. I had to lock myself into a ghetto apartment every night. I got raped twice. Finally learned to just get on my knees and suck to avoid the threats and the violence.”

  Penny nods, stifling more laughter, realizing that the woman has performed more fellatio than thought. Ironically she feels cheated out of her pimping fee.

  Dare Penny Osborne volunteer who the catalyst, the source, was for the barrage of financial liens and legal actions? No, it’s best the woman exact her vengeance elsewhere, blaming steed 88. It will be a delicious reconciliation. Ah the spatula awaits.

  “Come. I’m going to show you the sodomy stanchions... and how they’re used. Because of your husband’s screw ups, you’ll be bending and spreading a lot here at Nusquam. So when the nurses begin to open you, understand it is for your benefit. Not all the phalli here at Nusquam are as modest as what I have been using on you.”

  Chapter Forty-Six

  “Leashed by your cunny. It thrills,
doesn’t it Pattie? You’re already getting wet.”

  128 cannot deny her concupiscence, for the words come as Miss Kelly gently kneads the engorging pink of her right labia, slipping in place a clamp. Before working the left labia, a finger teasingly dives inward, the vaginal moisture of arousal apparent.

  Left labia, clitoral hood clamped, Miss Kelly stands, turning her charge to assure that behind the back the wrist and elbow bands are secured as tightly as possible, forcing forth the mammoth breasts which so libidinously attract.

  “And look at these nipples,” a hand reaching about the torso to smooth over nubs crinkling to darts.

  “The cunny harness... so embarrassing, so degrading, yet indeed so oddly pleasing for you,” turning the naked subjugant again.

  Once again a short hobbling chain connects the thigh bands, 128 aware that her breasts will not only be well displayed but bounce about wantonly.

  “Remember, the pump house is a necessarily cruel facility. The enclave needs electricity and though there are solar panels, the members take great comfort in knowing they’re cooled by air conditioning which is mainly powered by human sweat... the toil of naked, branded, tattooed and well chastised subjugants.”

  With that, Kelly Devers, reveling in her membership status, clips a leash to the cords leading to the clamps. A slight tug brings a grimace... and instant capitulation to her controlling hand. She smiles.

  “Your role as a groom brought a degree of authority, 128. A naked well tethered male... to be directed, exercised and tormented. Will you miss it? I understand Mrs. Balls Martindale has taken well to utilizing the spatula.”

  “I... I... don’t know Miss Kelly, er... 128 does not know,” correcting herself.

  Kelly steps to the door of cabin 10, 128 following diligently, learning well under the auspices of Rex the hound. Slack, endeavor at all times for slack.

  “As we’ve discussed, the location of Nusquam is known to a very few. What is known is that the facility is an abandoned silver mine, the ore having been depleted many years ago. Thus the simple buildings and relative seclusion. But for the discovery of precious metals, these acres would have remained jungle.”

  Kelly raises her leash hand, not satisfied with the gait of her charge. The clamps tighten to bring pain... labia and clitoral hood tensioned... and riveting the attention of she bearing the harness.

  “On toes, 128. I want you walking most obeisantly.”

  How is the command to be ignored?

  “The pump house is so termed because of the equipment used to drain the deep mine shafts of water... huge, heavy capstans turned by mules. Such have now been rigged to generate electricity and are turned by subjugants... those deemed no longer worthy of pleasing... or who otherwise refuse to please.”

  Kelly stops. 128 knows to instantly still her shuffling feet.

  “It’s their last tour of servitude, 128. The pump house subjugants turn and turn until they can no longer... or in many cases choose to end their servitude. At their behest... the last decision they will ever freely make... they can move onward... to the crocodile pit. And what the crocodiles don’t consume of them, the piranhas do.”

  Turning to resume the journey, Kelly smiles in seeing 128 shudder in fear.

  “No one knows how many steel bands can be found at the bottom of the pit. Probably hundreds. But there is no way to determine exactly. It’s all that remain of the many who have ended a lifetime of servitude at Nusquam. Steel bands and crocodile poop.”

  Kelly turns silent, letting 128 mull the wickedness... the gloom... the depression of existence serving in the pump house. Finally in arriving at a sprawling building, well segregated from the dorm, stable, milking parlor and collection of cabins, Kelly again pauses.

  “You’re going to observe the most callously wicked women in the world, 128. The supervisors of the pump house were all born and raised in an African county where slavery is not only prevalent, but considered a normal way of life. Owning another human being is de rigueur for these women... and owning and working Caucasians considered a welcomed status symbol... a desired status symbol. So ironically, despite the rigors of living in a remote jungle, they are easily recruited to work here. Food for thought, no?

  “As you surveil, keep the milking parlor in mind, 128. The tranquility there may become more tolerable.”

  Kelly pushes a thick wooden door, playfully jostling the leash, assuring 128 follows as she steps inward.

  “Welcome to Nusquam’s inferno.”

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Torment... physical... mental... emotional... and unending. The vast chamber exudes suffering as 128 indeed surveils.

  The thick door opens to a balcony. Many feet below there is a dirt floor, clay pounded to the firmness of concrete by bare human feet.

  The capstans, enormous, number four. Each has six prongs, many feet in length attached to a center axle emanating vertically from the ceiling, the generation equipment on the floor above. Secured to each prong are naked subjugants... male... female. They plod, walking in circles... two rotating clockwise, two counterclockwise. Draped over the horizontal poles, hands and wrists pulled behind, are the arms, elbows bent, the prongs held at the backs. The subjugants slowly pull... and pull and pull... the wrist bands chained together at the belly to make each naked form one with the machinery.

  Visually the scene disturbs. But there also comes the smell... sweat, urine, excrement. In the heat and humidity of the tropics, the chamber reeks. Then there is the noise... thuds, leather shrouded sjamboks on human flesh, resulting in yelps and pitiful cries. Women of color, 128 is surprised to note the bevy of sizable supervisors are naked from the waist down, freely dispense encouraging swats to the buttocks. The cries, shrieks and grunts do not stop... just as the capstans do not stop. Such turn and turn as the bare feet scratch the firm surface and the sjamboks thwack away.

  “Be sure to note the physical alterations, 128,” Kelly lectures in guiding to a descending stairway. “When rendered to the pump house, the subjugants are defanged and declawed.... finger and toe nails removed... teeth filed to uselessness. Fingers and thumbs are sutured together, making the hands useless as well. Thus in addition to being constantly tethered, they are defenseless as well, no biting... no scratching... nothing to be held as a weapon.”

  128 feels the clamps of the cunny harness as she pauses in horrifying awe... a giant woman lashing at the buttocks of a naked male, struggling to respond with required vigor. Kelly jostles the leash, obedience demanded. 128 meekly resumes stepping downward.

  “Though appearing decrepit, the prongs have sensors which detect the level of effort. As you can see, those who slack, failing to apply force, are dealt with promptly... and painfully.”

  Reaching the floor, 128 spies rows of subjugants lying prostrate on the dirt. They are secured to prongs, also held at the back, elbows positioned atop.

  “They’re resting. After much experimentation, we’ve found that four hour shifts maximize both the human output... and the level of torment. No one ever gets a full night’s rest in the pump house. All are worked... four hours in labor... four hours to eat and sleep.”

  Proximity offers 128 better inspection as threesome after threesome pass by, heads down, some with eyes closed. There are castrates, with her months of indoctrination and servitude at Nusquam, 128 no longer appalled by missing testicles. Yet there comes unexpected horror in noting both women and men are devoid of nipples, the pink nubs excised. The penises of the intact males are oddly shaped. The flesh about the female genitalia also appears abnormal.

  “The women are desexed for servitude in the pump house... the labia and clitoris surgically removed as well as the nipples. The males who have not been castrated are degloved, sensitive penile skin removed. Not only is sexual pleasure denied here in the pump house... there is no hope for ever again achieving sexual pleasure. The subjugants here only experience pain, 128... unending forced exertion and pain.”

  A giantess approaches, s
jambok in hand. 128 cannot help noting her genitalia. As opposed the naked female subjugants, the woman’s inner labia protrude, dangling well down the thighs, the fleshiness flopping about with every step.

  “Good afternoon Miss Kelly. You’re back.”

  As the woman greets she calmly applies a vicious stroke of the sjambok to a passing subjugant. As the recipient howls and stumbles, 128 sees the numerals 45 at the forehead, her fellatio trainer finally remanded to the pump house.

  “Here to inspect your snipping?” the woman laughs, the teeth strikingly white in contrast to skin the color of midnight.

  “Good afternoon, Mondiva. Just a visit. No longer on the medical staff. I’ve joined Nusquam as a member and am showing prospect 128 the drudgery of the pump house.”

  “Welcome 128,” a free hand extending.

  Well trussed, breasts thrusting forward, 128 cannot resist the touch. Thumb and forefinger, graze about then pinch the right nipple, squeezing to bring instant breathtaking agony. The woman smiles with the reaction, aloof to 128’s discomfort.

  “You come and have Mondiva work you here. We like white girls... owned, naked and tattooed. Mondiva will have your brand lit up, the red glowing. Work you hard... set those plump buttocks on fire, ha ha, ha.”

  The woman, fortyish, seems pleasant, appreciating her authority... the dispensation of pain and suffering. The fact that she so much enjoys, frightens. Mercy not an attribute.

  The black hand rises, fingers slipping under 128’s steel neck collar. She pulls downward, the strength inordinate for a woman. Kelly knows to offer slack on the leash as 128’s knees buckle, forced to kneel.

  Now proximate, the extraordinary labial flesh is within inches. Then the well muscled woman shuffles even closer.

  “And you’ll thank me with your tongue and lips. White girls learn to enjoy chocolate flesh here in the pump house. Look at Mondiva’s cunny. So much attention here... but every week there’s just a little more to suck on, ha, ha, ha.”