Consequences

by Mark Andrews

  After that, there were much longer rest periods between shocks. The first three - between the three pairs of wires had given her an understanding of what this treatment was all about. Now, the shocks were less intense still and very much further apart, giving her body time to adjust after each shock, each of which lasted seven seconds.

  Her muscles would be extraordinarily tired after this session but in the twenty-four hours that followed, her body would be working overtime to repair the breakdown caused by her effort.

  Perhaps another word of explanation may be helpful here. Muscles are built by work. The work actually breaks down and destroys the muscle tissue but the body recognises this and replaces (and adds a little) to what was there before. This is how exercise builds muscle and in Amelia’s case - in all the girls’ here, this process would be accelerated by the nature and incredible ferocity of the work demanded of them. The hormones that were going to turn her from a female into something approaching a male, would allow those muscles to build to the proportions normally only seen on a male (or on a female) who has taken steroids.

  Using electrical stimulation too much would build muscles that were ugly. Mary didn’t want to do that. Perhaps in the future such methods may be refined to create very pleasing bodies, possibly while we sleep. Right now, the treatment was used more to condition the victim by the appalling pain of the shocks than to create muscle, although that was of course a side benefit.

  Mary left after the first three shocks and so did the guard but Barbara and I stayed to watch it right through. Barbara had to, of course. Even though the machine was automatic once set, she would never leave a slave while it was going - as for me, wild horses could not have dragged me away from this incredible scene.

  Nothing ... Nothing I could ever have imagined for my hated enemy was as good as this. Her body looked stupendous as she stood there in a long ‘X’, for the most part relaxed or shaking in the aftermath of one of the shocks, but every ten minutes or so shaking like a wild thing, every muscle (or so it looked) of her body flexed into total erection and standing out like the marble frieze on a Greek temple but also contorting wildly. As I say I was in a high state of sexual excitement as I stared at her and my panties were sopping wet.

  After it was all over and she had been returned to her tiny cell to recover, I spent two hours really punishing my body in the gym and the lethargy that followed that effort was very pleasing.

  Her operation was scheduled for a week hence although she wasn’t told when it would be. In the meantime, she was introduced into the exercise programme that was going to develop her muscles. They had their hormone suppositories each morning but then, at least for the newer girls, their day was taken up with physical work. It involved working with weights, gymnastics (of the male kind) and working with the machines outside.

  It might be valuable to describe a typical day for one of the newer girls.

  If they weren’t scheduled for an hour on the dildo - and few were, as it happened since all had experienced it at least once and few wanted to feel it again - ever, they went straight to the gym where they did a few warm-up exercises and then worked out on the various items of equipment. When they were new they were watched carefully by the instructor; otherwise, their partner acted as the safety officer.

  They spent two hours on the horizontal bar, parallel bars, the vaulting box and horse and shinned up and down the twelve ropes that dangled in a line from the roof high above our heads.

  They then undertook camp cleaning duties for the next three hours. During this time, while their muscles were moving, they weren’t under strain and this allowed them time to recover. They were then returned to their cells for an hour’s rest.

  In the afternoon, they were chained to one or another of the diabolical machines out on the parade ground, spread all around the scaffold.

  One of these was a capstan. It looked like one of those devices used on sailing ships to raise the anchor - with the aid of human muscle power.

  It had four spokes and there was room for two girls on each one. It didn’t actually do anything but there was a braking arrangement around the massive central vertical pole that could make the effort required to turn it a breeze - or very, very arduous.

  This central pole was all of two feet across and made from a large tree trunk that had been shaped into a perfect round journal and then inserted into the metal bearing that had been sunk into the ground. Inserted into the top part of this were the four spokes, themselves made of round timbers six inches in diameter. They were each ten feet long and the girls were chained to them at the ends.

  They could be used in two ways. The slaves could be chained behind the pole and were then whipped into pushing it forward, or locked in front of it by chains to their wrists. Both methods applied different strains to the muscles of their developing bodies and each method was used on all the girls.

  I watched in some glee as Amelia was chained to it the first time. On this occasion, they were pushing the poles. There were four of them and so the duty guard rotated the brake wheel beside the journal to the proper tension for four slaves. Then, at the command and at the crack of the whip, each of them leaned into her pole and began the afternoon’s toil.

  It was toil. There was nothing pleasant about this labour. Hour after hour, they were lashed into the effort required to keep the massive machine just turning. The brake made sure each step was a nightmare of effort.

  Their thigh muscles quivered and strained, standing out in great strands of powerful sinew, shaking violently as they pushed and struggled to inch the pole ahead, belly muscles writhing and twisting, naked bottom cheeks quivering, breasts (for those that still had them) trembling and sweat already forming in great droplets all over their nicely tanned bodies.

  I could see Amelia staring down at the sexless groins of the girl chained with her to the other poles, her face showing her fear and revulsion of what had been done to them. She knew she too was going to end up like them but she didn’t know when. Her dread of the coming operation was part of her punishment.

  I watched as she passed my spot, eyeing off her beautiful breasts and writhing belly muscles as she strained and struggled. They had to strain. The guards were skilled at detecting malingerers and it took only a few strokes of a well-placed whip to the back or thighs of a lazy girl to have her struggling as hard as her fellows. I gloried in her straining flesh, aware that as the sun beat down on her flesh, slick with her own sweat now (which acted as a natural sun tanning device, although Barbara made sure they were all sprayed with an appropriate sun block as well) and this added to the magnificent sight of four naked, straining muscular girls.

  I stayed and watched as they struggled on the capstan for two solid hours - non-stop, forcing the quite useless machine round and round and round. They were watered every half hour - by the simple expedient of hosing them down. What water they could gulp down at these times kept them hydrated.

  The hose had a nozzle on the end that emitted a high pressure jet and this added to their misery as the guard played it all over their bodies but particularly at their now diminished breasts and between their cheeks, trying to jet an enema dose in through their anuses. Gulping down a few mouthfuls wasn’t easy but it was essential if they weren’t to collapse from dehydration.

  A day or so later I watched as she was chained to it by the other method. Pushing it was hard. Their left wrists were chained to the pole but they could use their hands to push against the brake’s resistance. Pulling it with their arms extended behind them was much harder but it was just as wonderful a sight for me.

  Now they really had to lean forward, partly to gain purchase on the ground beneath their bare feet, but also so that the angle of their arms to the shoulders was not impossibly painful. Their bodies looked quite superb, the muscles rippling and straining with each painful step; their faces showing their exhaustion and desp
air - for their futures were as bleak as they could possibly be ... But wonderful for me.

  Oh yes, I was thoroughly enjoying my stay in that camp. Another machine that Mary had set up out on the parade ground was a rowing machine. It had been built to resemble the slave deck on an ancient slave galley and there were places for ten slavegirls on it, five on either side of the central passage.

  The girls each sat on a low bench under their oar and there was a foot bar for their feet that they could also use to hook them under at the end of the stroke. The oars were pivoted on the outer side of the ‘deck’ and the outer ends were all connected to a long rod that led to a crank at the front end. This crank turned a shaft supported on two bearings in front of each row of girls. Right in the centre of this shaft was a huge flywheel set in the very middle, right in front of the aisle between the two rows of girls. This too had a brake and the load could thus be adjusted to the number of slaves at the oars. There was also a large ‘speedometer’ sitting above the massive spinning wheel - it was easily six feet high and a foot thick and keeping up the effort to keep it spinning at the regulation thirty mph must have been just as bad, or perhaps worse than the capstan.

  It was even better for me to watch Amelia straining on this machine than on the capstan. Here, her body was even better exposed and its muscles displayed as she strained to pull back on the oar and then push it forward again.

  The cranks at the front of the ‘slave galley’ and the pivot point of the oars had been designed so that the handle end of the oar had to travel a full six feet from front to back with each stroke. This meant each girl had to lie right forward, reaching along her body to her toes, her body bent double at the forward extremity of the stroke and then pull the oar handle backwards, over her thighs, loins, belly, chest and head before the crank allowed it to stop and then return forward once more.

  They were thus exercised fully, bodies bent forward double one minute and lying flat on their backs with the oar handle right over the faces the next. As they pulled backwards, their arms and shoulder muscles were worked. As the handle reached their bellies and they began to lie backwards, their belly muscles, thighs and backs were brought under strain. When they were lying quite supine, with their heads down between the feet of the girl behind them, every muscle on the fronts of their naked bodies was etched up into high relief, quivering with the strain and rippling very erotically.

  I say erotic although I had no wish to make love with any of them. The eroticism came from my pleasure at Amelia’s punishment. Sadistic? Yes, of course it was. But only towards her. She had raised in me the demon of revenge and now I was fulfilling it to the fullest.

  They looked quite superb, all ten of them. The connection of the ten oars together by means of the long rods, meant they all strained in perfect unison, each pulling back at exactly the same time and place as the others while the huge wheel out in front of them, situated at the end of the central aisle, rumbled around and the needle of the ‘speedometer’ hovered over the 30 mark, indicating they were maintaining the desired speed.

  I giggled to myself as I thought of this machine being used to train a rowing eight back home. It would certainly build the muscle and the stamina if the eight men applied themselves as these ten girls were. Of course there would be no whipmaster there, strolling up and down the central aisle there as there was here, lashing down at the back or belly of a girl perceived to be slacking.

  What a sight! Ten beautiful if slightly more muscular than normal girls, straining at the oars of a machine that did nothing except exercise their bodies, developing the huge muscles Mary wanted ... muscles that were turning them into half female, half male freaks whose sex however was quite indeterminate really, since there were no outwards signs of what they really were.

  The hormones had altered their shape enough to disguise the feminine ‘hour-glass’ figure, the muscles made them look like powerful men, while their total absence of hair, especially on the tops of their heads made identifying their sex almost impossible.

  These girls were of course in varying stages of this transformation. On one end of the scale was the girl next after Cunt- face (who had now gone to her fate as a quarry-slave) and she was nearly as muscly and freakish as that girl had been, down to Amelia who was still very much a woman although the new absence of hair made her look quite weird.

  But all of them heaved and strained at their oars, each keeping one weather eye on the huge speedo sitting on top of the massive iron wheel right in front of them, and the other on the guard who prowled up and down the aisle next to them, lashing at anyone whom he thought wasn’t putting in her all.

  Of course it was possible to slack. The oar moved anyway, connected to the others by means of the long rods on the outsides of the two rows of straining slaves; but, just as the guards who oversaw the capstan were skilled in discovering malingerers there, so was this man. It wasn’t difficult, of course. Muscles that are really working take on an appearance of quivering strain; those that are merely following the action are much softer and so anyone who took a break soon felt the stinging tail of his whip curling around her back and breasts, or, if she was at the end of a stroke, down over her bunching thighs or rippling belly muscles.

  These girls didn’t malinger. It was just too painful a choice.

  Chapter 4

  Dr Trudeau performed the neutering operation with me as a most interested spectator. We told Amelia the night before so she would have the night to contemplate her transformation from a beautiful, if totally bald woman, into a sexless thing.

  I knew this would be the worst night of her whole life so far but I felt not even a spark of sympathy for her. Let her suffer as she made me suffer, I thought. She had publicly gloated at me over her success in stealing Toby from me, parading him before all our friends and glorying in my distress; now I could return the favour.

  It took two guards to drag her into Barbara’s clinic and strap her down into the gynaecological chair and during all this time, as I accompanied them from her cell to the clinic, she alternately begged me for compassion or threatened me with terrible consequences unless I desisted.

  When she begged, I merely reminded her of what she had done to me; when she threatened, I repeated the news that when she left here, she would be in no position to carry out her threats for she was destined to be a muscle slave, working all day at a coal face or perhaps in a quarry, her magnificent new muscles whipped into harder and harder effort until eventually she simply died of overwork At this she slumped in defeat but she still made the two Korean guards work hard to drag her to the clinic.

  Mary, who as a psychiatrist, was also a medical doctor, acted as anaesthetist and her role was to ensure her patient’s level of consciousness was high enough that she was aware of what was happening, but not high enough that she might go into shock. She was given an epidural anaesthetic that deadened the lower part of her body and then other drugs that numbed her middle regions without her losing consciousness.

  What they wanted was for her to see and understand what was being done to her every step of the way while not permitting any dangerous levels of shock from the trauma of the operation.

  She was securely tied down, of course, but propped up so that she could see every cut of the knife as Barbara opened her up and removed her womb and all of its associated organs. She was enjoined to silence by the threat of a whole day on the dildo if she said one word during the procedure but she stared down at her belly in fear and tragic resignation as she watched the doctor remove forever her chances of being a mother.

  Barbara was a good surgeon. She worked quickly and surely although a lot of what she was actually doing was lost on me, not understanding what the various organs inside Amelia’s belly actually were. I simply saw the laser scalpel (an electronic device that cauterises as it cuts which saves a lot in bleeding and suturing off bleeders) cut away at various items which were then
removed and discarded into a waiting kidney dish beside the table.

  Soon enough she was closing up the inner layers of the girl’s lower torso and then actually stitching up the skin itself. She used ultra-fine stitches that would not be noticed once the wound healed over.

  It was then time to work on the final indignity. The removal of her love bud and the closing off of her vagina - permanently. Snipping off the clitoris was quick and easy. One cut and it was gone. She would never again feel the joy of sexual pleasure.

  Amelia watched it all in horror. She could see quite well what Barbara was doing to her and if she hadn’t been under the threat of a day on the dreadful dildo, I know she would have been screaming constantly ...

  Barbara now sliced off the inner lips of her vagina with the laser scalpel and then removed the outer surface of her labia majora, leaving the flesh red and moist. It was then a simple matter to draw the two sides together, after providing for the little bud that would allow her to urinate, carefully sewing them together with the same tiny stitches that, once healed, would be as invisible as the ones just above them.

  I stared at her new lower belly in more glee. Her vagina was gone. Her belly muscles now marched down the front of her body to a flat and empty groin. There was nothing there now except the tiny stitches to show that she had once had a beautiful organ of female beauty. She was now a female eunuch and when the wounds healed, they would crank up her exercise programme so that, aided by the daily hormone suppositories, inserted deep into her rectum, she would begin to build muscle and turn into one of the freaks that were now approaching their sale and departure to other climes.

  I chortled as I stared down at her, looking so forlorn now as she stared up at us in a mixture of hate, resignation, despair and sorrow. She didn’t say anything, though. The threat of being impaled on the dreadful dildo for a whole day was very real and I knew Mary would have no compunction in carrying it out if she even opened her mouth.