Message-ID: <15424eli$9809182243@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: <URL:http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/15424.txt> From: np98rb@mail.telepac.pt (Christine & David Stevenson) Subject: Under Control part twenty-four of twenty eight Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: <usenet-approval@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Story-Submission: <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Original-Message-ID: <35feacbf.28447458@news.telepac.pt> Under Control - part twenty-four of twenty eight by mailto: VictorBruno@mschristine.com this story remains 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 is being released as an illustrated web book, for details of Victor Bruno Books available please contact VictorBruno@MsChristine.com http://www.mschristine.com/bruno.html Also published as text simultaneously on...... ------------------------------------------------------ The DOMestic mailing list 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 Fem Dom Training Software. Runs on all computers (Macs too!) 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