by Mark Andrews
We saw in a moment, though. Helga screamed and her hands went up to tug at the collar - quite uselessly of course for once snapped around our necks, they were there for good or at least until Mabuchi unlocked it. She danced up and down, screaming hotly, her beautiful and so naked body describing weird jumps and contortions. It was obviously painful in the extreme. We all wondered what the red buttons would do.
We found out.
“And then there is the other button,” Mabuchi said, grinning horribly at us as his expert fingers rapidly punched in three more numbers, followed by a touch to the red button.
Now it was Mikate’s turn. His face went white - or as white as a black boy’s face can go and then simply collapsed on the floor.
“He’s not dead,” said Mabuchi, solemnly, “but if I had held the button for a few seconds longer he would have been. This is an instant knockout for any of you foolish enough to test my anger, so be warned.
Our next indignity was our medical examination. Dr Akira had been struck off the medical register for an over fondness for medically examining the sexual organs of his younger female (and male) patients. Mabuchi had offered him a place on the island where he could ‘examine’ us to his heart’s content and now he did that to us. He was ambidextrous when it came to sex and he seemed to enjoy feeling and fondling the boys just as much as us girls.
Not that he didn’t conduct a proper medical examination as well, just that he spent ages delving into my vagina and anus and working my breasts once he was done with the more normal tests.
Mabuchi grinned sourly as he watched him probing the inner reaches of my sexual organs and then turned on his heel and left us to his MO’s tender mercies. It was quite horrible.
While the others were ranged against the wall under the watch of a guard (who kept his fingers close to his controller at all times), I was ordered up onto the cold steel examination table and my wrists were secured to its top corners. He lifted my legs up into the stirrups and locked them in place, opening them wide and in the process baring my vagina and anus for his attentions, and then began his probing.
At first he used his stethoscope and took the usual blood samples but then he began on my anus, pushing each of three or four horrible instruments that I didn’t recognise and can’t describe except that one had two spoons that stretched my body apart when he worked the handles and another looked like a large metal pear divided into four sections, each of which also stretched open enabling him to peer into my backside.
I screamed of course. The anus is a most resilient organ but until it is worked open, it is very sensitive and he wanted to hear me scream.
But even that wasn’t as bad as when he began to work on my vagina.
First it was just with his fingers and he certainly used them to feel and fondle and to excite my clit into a couple of massive orgasms at which I stared up at my fellow slaves in shame and mortification. I saw only sympathy on their faces, however, and felt a mite better.
But then he began to use those same horrible instruments on my frontal orifice as he had just poked and pushed into my anus. The difference was that now I could see what he was doing more clearly and when he pushed the hinged spoons in and stretched the inner lips wide open I could see it and my screams were even louder, now accentuated by what I could see as well as feel.
He was a tall, lean man and his face reflected pure cruelty and lust. He clearly enjoyed what he was doing to my sexual organs and later, as he mauled my breasts that too seemed to please him.
My examination took around half an hour and then the others all followed suit. With the boys, he masturbated them three times, taking each offering in a test tube after which he mauled their testicles while they screamed in agony, the fine muscles of their bodies standing out in stark relief as he hurt them terribly.
We all came to fear this man just about as much as Mabuchi.
By now it was late but there was one last thing we had to suffer.
“All slaves will turn to face wall, spread legs wide, bend forward and open buttocks,” he said in that short, sharp, staccato way the Japanese have of speaking.
We did - and quickly. By now we were all very respectful of these horrible men. They had demonstrated they weren’t averse to doing anything to us and so we assumed the pose ordered.
Now I felt him probing at my anus again. But then he ceased his probing and ordered us to stand up and turn around to face him again. “Slaves see suppository,” he said. We stared at the huge, Havana cigar-shaped objects that were much the same colour as the cigar, a dark brown colour.
“It bring on milk in girls and manufacture much semen in boys ... now turn around and assume pose again ...”
We did but our minds were whirling. Milk? Semen? What for?
As he pushed the enormous thing into my anus and I felt it close over the end of it, my mind was seething with questions.
But then we were taken to eat and then to our quarters to sleep.
Phillipa 2
The food they gave us was bland but it was very healthy for Mabuchi wanted only the best for us so we could produce our milk and semen for him. It tasted like nothing and was always pureéd to a soft mush but it contained everything we needed. It was dull and uninteresting and it never varied. Night and morning we fed out of narrow troughs set on the floor, down on our hands and knees, like dogs or pigs, feeding ravenously for the prescribed five minutes then making way for the next lot behind us to take our places.
That night, of course, it was late and we were by ourselves and afterwards we were taken to the long dormitory where up to a hundred slaves slept on narrow hard wooden beds, each numbered with our slave numbers. We made up the sixty-eighth to seventy-second beds in that room and took our places on the hard beds. They were slatted, two feet up from the floor, two feet wide and six feet long.
At the heads were stocks for our necks and wrists and we saw that the other sixty-six slaves in the room were all lying on their backs, sleeping face up and obviously used to such spartan sleeping accommodations. I shuddered, though. Each was naked and had no covering over his or her body for they were mixed indiscriminately. Some of the boys were erect; most were not.
I was ordered onto my bed, face down (for which I was grateful for the brand was still screaming at me) and then the guards locked the top half of the board over my neck and wrists. It was comfortable enough, I suppose although being used to pyjamas and soft bedclothes over an innerspring mattress, I found it very hard at first.
Dana followed onto the bed next to mine, the others after her.
“No talking,” said the guard, “or you feel shock. Yellow shock ...” We all shuddered. I desperately wanted to get to know the others and particularly the beautiful black Dana but I just winked at her and closed my eyes.
We were wakened by the strident clanging of a bell that sounded like a fire alarm. Guards went along both sides of the room, unlocking the stocks but I noted nobody moved yet. That came after an order from the guard at which every one of the other sixty-seven slaves in the room rose, all together with a military precision, first sitting up, then swinging their legs out to the left side of the narrow bed, then standing erect beside it, then striding the three paces forward to stand at its foot.
We all followed suit at the prompting of the guards and when the group turned left or right (depending on which side of the room they were), we followed their lead. As soon as they stood up, they placed their hands up behind the heads so we did this too. No way did we want to risk having our tongues torn out or any of the other little nasties Mabuchi had in store for recalcitrants.
Then, keeping our eyes on the back of the head of the slave in front, we marched out of the dormitory to be cleaned. We didn’t bathe. We were cleaned. We passed through a race in which scalding hot soapy water battered us from above and the side as we rubbed our flesh clean. We w
ere then rinsed with icy cold water. We weren’t given any towels. We simply passed through a short wind tunnel that blew the moisture off us - literally. It was very hot and it had the force of a gale. After this we had thirty seconds to comb our hair and then we were taken to eat.
It was in the same room as last night but now we ate with the nearly a hundred other slaves from our dormitory. It was numbered Three to match our primary number and there were three others: 0, 1 and 2, each holding a hundred slaves and each set up in exactly the same configurations as ours.
There were two rows of the narrow beds, each separated by a foot-wide aisle and the passage between the two rows was three feet. The room was thus a hundred and fifty feet long and fifteen feet wide. It was as bare and stark as the other rooms in that place: raw unfinished concrete walls and ceiling and a plain concrete floor. Apart from the two feet wide beds each with its set of stocks for neck and wrists at the wall ends, the room was utterly empty.
Despite the starkness of the room and the hardness of the bed on which I lay face down all night, the stocks preventing me from turning, even if I had wanted to, I slept well. Possibly because of the shock of my kidnapping and the terrors that had emerged once we had been delivered to the island.
Still, though, I had no idea what I (and the rest of us) were there for. Neither did I find out for some time yet. Being in the fourth dormitory, we were last to be scheduled for the Milking Room and so after breakfast, we went straight to the gymnasium - in company with the slaves from Dormitories 1 and 2, while those from Dorm. 0 went straight to their first milking.
The gymnasium was enormous. It had to be to cater for the four hundred slaves but it was set up very scientifically so we all had the benefit of each section in the vast room.
First though came our warm-ups. Any student of physical education knows that the muscles need to be warmed up before strenuous exercise and Mabuchi had hired the best Phys. Ed. trainer he could find who would be comfortable training slaves in the Twenty-first Century. Toyonari was just such a man and he wasn’t just comfortable in training us, he gloried in it, working us as hard as he liked - which was very hard indeed. Never would he have dreamed it possible to have free rein - totally free rein with our bodies. He could work us until we dropped if he liked - and he did.
I hated him nearly as much as Mabuchi (and Dr Akira) - and that’s saying something. But he knew his onions when it came to physical development and this showed through with every single one of the nearly four hundred of us slaves resident in that horrible place. There wasn’t a fatty or a skinny amongst us although I suppose, given the selection process, that wasn’t likely anyway. Nevertheless, Toyonari took handsome or beautiful, highly athletic young men and women and then honed their bodies to the nth degree so that there wasn’t an ounce of fat on a single one of us, our muscles were clean and sharp, our stamina as good as the best Marathon runner and of course our strength quite prodigious.
After our warm-ups, we moved in groups to various locations in the gym, some going to the tumbling mats where they performed a series of very skilfully executed routines; others went over to the weights section; while still others worked on the two kinds of horses (vaulting and pommel), the parallel or horizontal bars or shinnied up and down the series of ropes strung from the very high roof.
I won’t go into the details of what we did for the next two hours - I’m sure you can imagine it and unless you are a student of physical education you would find it boring. Suffice to say we worked on all these sections under the watchful eyes of Toyonari and his under-trainers and I knew I was in the hands of real experts. My own gym back in Sydney had had good trainers; these were much more knowledgeable, that became obvious very early.
But then it was our turn to be herded out to the Milking Room, or rather the turn of half of us, we six newcomers being in the very last group to be milked.
To this point I had no idea why I we were there on that island. I had gone over the possibilities in my mind and rejected every one of them. Now, for the first time in nearly a fortnight (I guessed for I had lost track of time) I was to find out.
As we marched (with the same military precision as we had moved from our dorm to the shower room and then the mess room and finally the gym) into the Milking Room, I stared in mystification at the weird machinery laid out in a long row in front of us.
They had lined us up in two rows, the boys on the left and I had noted there had been some jostling for position amongst the boys and girls so that a pair ended up together. I found myself next to Mikate and I smiled tentatively at him, at that time quite unaware of the significance of our pairing. As it happened, I was very glad that our arrival together had thrown us side by side for we hit it off very well - and even more than that, later ...
Following the lead of the girl ahead of me I marched up our side of the room and turned when she did to face the weird array of stainless steel and plastic pipes and cups and valves and pistons that faced me and then knelt down over the long steel bar that ran the length of the room.
I was scared. I didn’t know what it all meant although it was fairly obvious that the cups below my chest were meant for my breasts - what for, though, I had no idea at all.
Then, at the signal, they began to rise up towards my body while at the same time I felt the machine behind me push its dildo into my vagina and begin its motions and vibrations that would have me on a sexual high in seconds.
The cups slurped onto my breasts and then began mauling and sucking them. Of course I had nothing to give, for the hormones in the suppository had hardly begun to work yet. Now though, the doctor’s words began to make sense. He had spoken of lactation and semen enhancement. They were actually going to milk us girls and harvest the boys’ semen - but still the reason was unclear.
I noticed however that the girl and boy next to me had begun to kiss and lick each other’s faces and I looked across at Mikate and raised my eyebrows. He grinned at me and moved his face closer.
Oh God! He was wonderful. A beautiful man anyway, his chocolate-brown face as handsome as any matinee idol but more than that we were slave-in-misery together and I had already wondered what it would be like to lie with him - make love with him as his prodigious cock speared into me ...
In our position on our hands and knees it wasn’t all that easy to kiss but we made the best of it and I knew from his excitement that he was enjoying it as much as I was. I mightn’t have had any milk to give but he certainly had semen and his three ejaculations must have been mighty events for as his cock erupted, he ground his lips even harder into mine, almost bruising them with the power of his loving.
What about our brands, you ask?
Well, they were still very sore. Very, very sore, but we learned on that very first day that our discomfort was no reason not to perform as well as if we were in perfect health. Indeed, if we persisted, we disappeared. I didn’t find out where for a long time and like the others, presumed the girl or boy had been killed - my guess was they threw him or her over the cliff.
No, Mabuchi had a thing about discipline - he would have made a perfect officer during World War II, I guessed, especially a Kempei Tai officer! He demanded instant, absolute and perfect obedience from us and he had all sorts of means, apart from the electronic neck collars and prodders to enforce his wishes. I will detail some of these later, as they occurred in the sequence of the events that happened to me on that island.
Right now I was kneeling on all fours, my belly held up by the bar while my vagina was being probed and excited by the wonderful rubber dildo behind me and my mouth by Mikate’s wondrous lips while my breasts were being painfully mauled by the plastic ups pressing up into them.
The suction was not all that powerful. I was to find out as the weeks passed that the machine was quite ingenious. Left to its own devices, it knew just how much pressure to apply to our breasts and how much suction
was needed to draw out our milk. Of course Mabuchi often interfered, ordering the technician in charge to increase the suction so he could watch us in the added pain to our breasts.
I glanced from time to time at those on the girls either side of me, Dana on my right and another girl on the other side. Dana’s beautiful breasts looked grotesque - as, for that matter, did all those I could see. They were swollen horribly by the suction, the flesh distended so it pushed against the inner membrane of the breast cups while that membrane squeezed it in waves, as if by fingers grasping the organ and pressing inwards.
It was painful. Those finger-like squeezes were horrible, pressing in hard then relaxing while other parts of our breasts were then squeezed, squirting out every last drop of milk from the lactating girls.
But that hurt was compensated by the dildo that so wonderfully excited my clit and the inner reaches of my vagina; and by Mikate’s warm soft lips on mine. Oh how I wanted to reach out and caress his face, shoulders and arms but the guards had warned us that lip and tongue contact was all that was permitted and their fingers were never far from the buttons of the controllers - or the birch sapling each had in his other hand, ready to lash it down on our twitching haunches.
Every now and then I felt an electric shock from Mikate’s lips and thought he had been shocked through his collar. Later, I discovered the single penis cup that milked the males of their sperm had electrodes that worked on the base of each boy’s shaft, exciting him to a more copious discharge at the moment of ejaculation. I was to find out these shocks were horrible, even though very effective as a seminal enhancement and I could personally attest that even after travelling through his body to his lips, they still packed a fair wallop when they sparked across his lips to mine.
