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Part 7
Petal's pleadings for mercy faded behind us as Robin led me into the main building and through a labyrinth of hallways. Eventually we emerged into a large room, a good fifty by eighty feet, filled with overstuffed sofas, chairs and other furniture which, in turn, were filled with an army of outrageously beautiful females.
“My God! Is this Trent's pride?” I asked, rather breathlessly.
“Some of it,” Robin answered. “Do you find them tempting?”
I looked directly at her. I couldn't help but compare her to the other members of the pride and for the first time realized just how astonishing she was. In an auditorium-sized room filled with beautiful women, many of them almost half her age, this woman stood out. Her dark hair, bronze complexion and hypnotic eyes melted me into my shoes.
“Most of these females are available to you, courtesy of Master Trent, if you are so inclined,” she said, her eyes and voice setting me on fire.
“Actually,” I said, “there is a female here who appeals to me greatly. I wonder if she's one of those who are available .”
Robin moved closer to me. The back of her hand just happened to brush my pants in the exact spot that was holding back my growing excitement.. “And which one of us is that, Master Curt?”
“ You , mistress Robin.”
“As it happens,” she cooed, placing her dainty hands on my chest, “Master Trent ordered me specifically to see that you are given every courtesy, including my own body, if that is your desire.”
“That is, in fact,” I gasped, “my desire.”
“I am honored, Master Curt.” She let her fingers trail down the front of my shirt and over my belt. “Would you like to take me here in the Seraglio, or would you prefer a private setting?”
“Here in the Seraglio? Is that done?”
“All the time, Master Curt.”
“Trent has sex with members of his pride right here where everyone else can see?”
“Always! What's there to hide?” Her fingers had begun a maddening tattoo on my bulge. “Our purpose is to give him pleasure and add calves to his household. How it's done is no secret. When we do it here, others can join in the fun. Don't you do that with your pride?”
“Well, no. I've always assumed it would be demeaning to them to perform their most intimate act in public.”
She giggled softly and stepped up close to me where she began to sway from side to side, letting her bosom brush lightly against my chest. “You should teach them what Master Trent teaches us.” She raised her forearms and rested them on my shoulders which made the rubbing more intensely erotic. “The act that creates life is not shameful, something to be hidden behind doors. It's nature's most glorious gift and should be celebrated in the open, with joy, as nature intended.” I couldn't help but let my own arms creep around her and gather her closer, enjoying the full swell of her breasts as she talked. “Females have as much need for sex as men do,” she breathed. “And there are so few of you it's only fair you share your body with as many of us at a time as you can. Don't you agree?”
“It goes without saying,” I said, sliding my hands down the small of her back and over her hips and bottom. “You're sure Trent won't mind this?”
She gave me a cat's smile, tilted her head and nibbled at my chin. “I told you. Master Trent has instructed me to grant you full use of my body if it pleases you, and as an honored guest that means you may also make use of any of the lesser wives as well, except those in their eighth and ninth months. Come!”
She slipped smoothly from my embrace, took my left hand and led me to the center of the Seraglio where a great nest of colorful pillows were strewn thickly about for an obvious purpose. A bawdy theater in the round. A giant screen filled a quarter of one wall, the sound barely audible, claiming the desultory attention of some girls. Most, however, had turned their attention to Robin and me, apparently preferring to watch the live seduction scene in progress. I must say I have never beheld so many truly beautiful females all concentrated in one room. I don't know where Trent finds them all! Most were quite young, ranging from the teens to the mid twenties and every last one of them (except five or six who were ballooned with child) was in perfect shape — slender but not skinny, or lushly endowed but not fat. Trent's strict exercise and feeding programs obviously pay off.
The colorful and varied array of clothing was astonishing to me, too. Most owners of large prides tend to relegate them to an unimaginative, one-style-fits-all costume, either to help keep track of them in public or because they're too cheap to let them shop for their own clothes. Not Trent. Keeping track of his property is easy; every female who leaves the Estate has a transponder/collar locked on her neck. Then he simply turns her loose to indulge her individual taste in wearing apparel so he can sit back and enjoy the variety.
Having led me to the small mountain of pillows, Robin laced her fingers behind her neck, exactly as she had ordered Petal to do, arched her back and thrust her charms toward me. “Well, Master Curt,” she said, “what else would you like to see?”
Her white and gold sarong was held together in front by a matching silk sash tied in a slip knot. One end of the sash found its way into my fingers and I tugged on it ever so gently. The knot fell apart and the sash floated to the floor. At the same time the two halves of the sarong slowly parted, catching on the tips of her breasts but revealing a stunning cleavage, a smooth belly, and a cleanly shaved mound of Venus. Trent's pride, like his calves, are not allowed to wear undergarments. Robin smiled invitingly and arched her back even more so, causing the sarong material to slip aside a little more and giving me a glimpse of one dark burgundy aureola. As I reached to lift the material completely away, a voice chirped over my shoulder.
“Ooo, Robin! Has Master Trent given us a new toy to play with?”
Robin answered without taking her eyes off mine. “Master Curt is an honored guest, Kitten, and may not appreciate being called a toy. Are you offended, Master Curt? Should I have this strumpet punished for her impertinence?”
“I'm not at all offended, Robin. I think she merely wants to play.” I parted the two sides of Robin's sarong to reveal her magnificent tits fully, still amazingly firm and upright despite nursing six babies over the years.
Robin's eyes closed a little and her smile widened. “You are a very kind gentleman, although Kitten's rudeness deserves some kind of punishment. But I will let you decide what that should be. Right after you save me from perishing out of lust for you.”
“Who's this?” Another voice from behind. Still engrossed in admiring the gradual revelation of Robin's magnificent body, I had not bothered to turn my head to check out the would-be party crashers, but gentle hands had begun to investigate my own body. “Why don't you introduce us, Robin?”
Without unlocking her eyes from mine, Robin sighed and said, “Master Curt, this is Shadow. Shadow, Master Curt.”
“And I'm Kitten,” said the other voice. “I'm trembling at the thought of how you're going to punish me, Master Curt.” A tanned arm and shoulder came into my peripheral vision and slender fingers surrounded the top button of my shirt to set it free.
“I'll bet you are,” said the voice of Shadow. “Kitten is a pain slut, Master Curt, but I'm a pleasure slut. While you're punishing her, feel free to pleasure me.”
“Get in line,” said Robin, licking her lips.
“I'm Master Trent's Number Two,” chimed in Kitten. “I'm training to take Robin's place, so I have to do everything she does. Only I'm a lot younger, so my girl hole is a lot snugger than hers.”
“Kitten's nineteen, Master Curt,” countered Shadow, and has dropped two calves, so she's way stretched out. But I'm sixteen and still almost a virgin. I'm nice and tight.”
“I'm sure Master Curt will be happy to compare our pussies,” Robin sighed, “but you'll have to wait your turn. I'm too wet to wait.”
The tanned fingers — which turned out to belong to Shadow — had finished off the last of my shirt buttons and was now working on my belt buckle. At the same time Kitten's elegantly manicured fingers were exploring the new areas of my skin that Shadow was exposing.
“Mmm,” Kitten purred. “Nice hard muscles up here. I wonder if you're as hard further down.”
“Let's find out,” Shadow said, and pushed the lower half of my clothing down over my hips. “Oh my!” she chirped. “Look at that! We'll have to be careful. That thing could do a lot of damage to a poor defenseless girl with a real tight love sleeve.” She bounced it up and down in the palm of her hand, giggling.
Robin, whose breasts I had been lightly strumming with the tips of my own fingers, was breathing more erratically. Closing her eyes, she said, “Shadow, why don't we make Master Curt more comfortable by helping him out of all those clothes. I'm sure he'll find a way of showing his appreciation without injuring your teeny little, almost virginal, hole when it's your turn.”
I felt Shadow's soft cheek against the skin of my thigh as she carefully removed my shoes. Her warm lips and tongue traveled back and forth over my manhood as she spread open my pants around my ankles so I could step out of them. She took her time removing my socks, at the same time drawing my achingly swollen member into her mouth and lavishing it with wet attention.
As Shadow toyed with my penis, Kitten was distracting me from behind by kissing my shoulders, running her tongue down the length of my spine, giving my butt little love bites, licking at my scrotum and even leaning around me to take my own nipples between her teeth and tug on them. I made a mental note of what each girl was doing to me, since experience has shown me that females often do unto you what they'd like you to do unto them.
Still watching Robin, I had allowed my own right hand to slide down her belly into her slit. She moaned loudly and began a grinding motion with her hips to let me know she approved of the invasion. She was, indeed, excited. My fingers were instantly slippery with the essence of her rising passion.
She began to beg, pushing herself against my hand, her own fingers still interlocked behind her neck. “Now, please, Master Curt! Do it now! Now! Take me now before I explode!”
My response was to enfold her in my arms. Her reaction to that was to leap at me like an uncoiled spring, flinging her arms around my neck, her legs around my hips, hugging me ferociously to her! She planted her mouth on mine, forcing it open, making small animal noises as she buried her tongue in it, fencing with my own tongue, licking every interior surface. She was already coming and I was not far behind, so I knelt down and laid her out on the mound of cushions, inserting myself into her man-eating cavern. She met my every thrust with her own and went wild when my spunk spurted into her, as though she hadn't had sex for months, although she herself had told me that Trent keeps his pride well serviced. She screamed when her own grand orgasm hit her and dug her nails into my back, pounding me with her heels! When it was over, she collapsed on the pillows, her arms flung out to the side, panting, her eyes closed, her mouth open in silent joy. I could feel her heart pounding, gradually slowing as I laid a hand on her lovely breast.
Finally she opened her eyes and smiled brilliantly. “O Master Curt, you are a girl's dream come true. I could stay here forever with your magnificent staff inside me, coaxing it back to life over and over.”
“Then let's,” I offered.
“But it wouldn't be right,” she said, pouting. “I promised to let you play with Kitten and Shadow, too, and it wouldn't be fair.”
“No, it wouldn't!” Kitten agreed.
“It certainly wouldn't,” Shadow emphasized.
The two girls were instantly on me again, pulling me up into a kneeling position over Robin's thighs, kissing and caressing me all over, rubbing their bodies against mine in a variety of salacious ways.
For the first time I looked away from Robin to see what the bodies attached to the voices looked like. It was not a disappointing sight! None of Trent's pride that I had seen so far were less than outstandingly beautiful and I would rank these two near the top. I've read somewhere that many of the gorgeous actresses we see in starring movie roles these days have been rented from Trent's pride, and I can see why. They're that spectacular! My own pride, you understand, though far more modest in number, are nothing to sneeze at, but Trent's is every man's vision of heaven. These two girls in particular were stunning!
Shadow, who was gently massaging my testicles and sneakily working a finger between the underside of my cock and the wall of Robin's vagina, had a small round face capped by a frothing mane of dark brown hair. She had a cute button nose, dark smoldering eyes and was touching the tip of her tongue to her upper lip with blatant eroticism. Her body was small, darkly tanned and promised to be disproportionately endowed under a sleeveless, silk, Asian-style red dress that seemed spray painted to her figure. It consisted of a front and back panel held precariously together by four slip knots up each side and another on each shoulder and another on each side of the collar. It was all I could do to resist untying them all at once. The front panel had a large diamond cutout, the side points nearly reaching her nipples for a breathtaking display of cleavage.
Kitten was taller by about two inches and slimmer, with an oval face highlighted by bright blue eyes, plump lips that begged to be kissed and a river of long, straight, honey blonde hair highlighted with brighter, golden streaks. Her skin was pale and flawless, her legs long and elegantly sculpted. She was wearing a toga-like dress slung from her right shoulder and crenelated at the bottom. It was white with black and gold trim. She wore sandals laced three-quarters of the way up her calves with leather thongs. Enough of her young, upstanding left breast was exposed to convince any man with functioning balls that ripping the toga off would be an extremely good idea. Kitten had straddled Robin's belly in order to rub her wonderfully firm frontal assets against my naked chest and lick my face.
Between the two of them, I was rapidly recovering erectile function.
Robin's voice was like whipped cream on coffee. “Kitten, you owe Master Curt for your earlier insults. It's time for you to ask him for your punishment.” This was not at all the tone she had adopted with Petal. This was play.
Kitten drew back at once and hung her head. “Mistress Robin is right, Master Curt. I did a bad thing and deserve to be punished. Please do to me whatever you will, no matter how terrible it may be.”
“The usual punishment for that kind of bad behavior is a sound spanking or a whipping,” Robin offered helpfully. “Would you like me to find a whip for you?”
Robin was such a pretty picture lying on the pillows under both Kitten and me that I couldn't bear to disturb it, so I turned down her offer in favor of another idea. “No. In this case I prefer a different instrument. Kitten, stand up and take off your sandals.”
She did as she was told, but remained straddling Robin's body right in front of me, her tempting pelvis only a foot away from my face. As she was pulling off her second sandal, I gave my next order.
“Now you are to remove the leather thongs from the sandals and hand them to me, along with the sandals.”
She didn't know exactly what I had in mind but the possibilities were exciting her, although she tried not to show it. Soon both long leather thongs were in my left hand and the sandals in my right. I laid them down to either side of where I squatted atop Robin.
“Now, Kitten, you will get on your hands and knees across Robin's belly, facing to my left.”
She did as commanded, putting on an unconvincing show of contrition.
“Pull your dress up over your haunches and expose your pretty bottom.”
She had been waiting for this and adroitly flipped the bottom of her toga up over her hips, presenting her lovely young ass in all it's eager glory, anxiously waiting to be warmed. I planned to warm it more than she expected.
“Your punishment will be in four stages of which this is the first. I will give you ten spanks with my hand and you are to count them off. Ready?”
“Yes, Master.”
The first smack was loud enough to draw the eyes of the entire room and make Kitten gasp. I suspect she had anticipated a much more playful tap. Well, if she was really a pain slut, she was about to receive her heart's desire. Perhaps this would cool her ardor for pain. She dutifully counted “One,” and I continued with another heavy spank. And another. And another. By “Five” she was cringing, leaking tears and her voice distinctly lacked enthusiasm for the next blow. But she made it through all ten without begging for mercy. Her bottom was fiery red (as was my right palm) and her voice quivered as she thanked me for the spanking.
I gave her a moment to wipe her eyes and compose herself before asking, “Are you ready for the second part of your punishment?”
She inhaled deeply, said, “Yes, Master. Please continue my punishment.”
“This next part will be ten spanks with your sandal: five on the left cheek and five on the right. Again, you will count them, but this time you will ask for the next. Tell me when you're ready.”
“I'm ready, Master.” She closed her eyes and clamped her jaws shut, waiting for the expected pain.
I whacked her a good one on the left rump, which drew a screech. She whimpered “One,” and paused for the pain to subside a little. After a few seconds she said, “Please give me another.” I whacked her equally hard on the right cheek, bringing another screech and a barrage of tears. But she held on through all ten, counting each blow and asking for the next despite her obvious dread and suffering. I laid a hand on her bottom, now a vivid red; it was noticeably (and, no doubt, painfully) hot!
“Time for the third part of your punishment,” I announced blithely. “Or would you rather skulk off and watch TV?”
She turned tear glazed eyes to me. “No, no! Please continue to punish me as you see fit, Master.”
Shadow snickered behind me. She had been doing highly distracting things to my under parts throughout Kitten's ordeal. To Kitten I said, “I want you to remain on all fours but move sideways until your tits are directly above Robin's mouth.” She did. “Now I want you to lower your torso so she can bite your nipples if she so desires while I deliver your next ten strokes. But keep that pretty ass high up in the air!”
“Yes, Master.”
Robin smiled her appreciation for being included in the game, bared her teeth and took Kitten's left nipple gently (for the moment) between her teeth. I had doubled up the two lengths of leather thong to form a four-tailed whip. “Once again, Kitten, you will count the strokes. But this time you will also thank me for each before asking for the next. All ten. Understood?”
“Yes, Master,” she answered happily.
I raised my right arm and brought a searing blow down across her already sore behind. This time she screamed and buried her head into the pillows, clenching her fists and sobbing. Purple stripes flamed up across the scarlet flesh of her abused bottom.
Her crying had subsided to shudders before she was able to say, “One. Thank you, Master.” She bit her lip, screwing up her courage, and finally managed in a weak voice, “Please give me the next one.”
It was too much. I couldn't keep it up. The poor child was in hideous pain, but was obviously going to tough it through. So I lightened up a bit with the last nine blows. That gave her a chance to enjoy (if that's the word) whatever Robin was doing to her nipples with her teeth. Nevertheless, her bum was a latticework of purple stripes on red and Robin's shoulder awash with her tears when I finished.
“One last part to go,” I said cheerfully. “Unless, of course, you can't take it and prefer to quit in shame.”
“Please, Master,” she squeaked hoarsely, wiping her nose with the back of her hand, “allow me to receive the rest of the punishment I deserve.” She was a brave little soldier, I have to say.
“Very well. I want you to get up on your knees straddling Savanna and facing me. I want you to position yourself so that your cunt is over Robin's mouth, and I want you to lower yourself so she can take your pussy lips and clit between her teeth and bite them if it pleases her.”
Apparently the tit torture Robin had delivered was not all that terrible, because Kitten seemed more than a little eager to position herself exactly that way. In the meantime, Shadow was doing some positioning of her own. She was on her back behind me between Robin's legs and as I rose up on my knees she wriggled her head between my thighs and began to lick my balls and the underside of my fully reactivated rod. Trying to ignore this shameless ploy, I went about preparing for Kitten's next ordeal by discarding one of the two thongs and ordering Kitten to put her arms behind her back and grab her opposite elbows. This caused her naked breasts to thrust outward with their nipples (already reddened by Robin's nipping) an easy target. She stared at me with a mixture of fear and arousal.
“This time,” I said, controlling my voice despite Shadow's tongue, “you are not only to count the ten strokes and thank me for each one, you are to beg me to make the next one harder. Understand?”
“Yes, Master.” Her eyes went to the double-tailed whip, but as I raised my hand to strike, she scrunched them up.
I aimed the whip to strike her breasts horizontally, first one side, then the other. The sting of the leather thongs landed directly on the nipple with every stroke. The first stroke made her jump and grimace. The second one drew an “Oww!” From the third one on she screamed with each blow but still managed to count it, thank me for it and say, “Please do it again, Master, only harder.” Which I did, but not so hard as to cause actual injury, though it must have hurt like hell! She hesitated, cried a little and ground her teeth between each stroke, but through the magnifying pain she never faltered. I was impressed. She was trembling and weeping wretchedly by the time we reached ten.
“Well done,” I told her. “But you took altogether too much time after each stroke to ask for another. So, as an added punishment, I intend to rape you.” She smiled beatifically. “First, why don't you spend a few minutes recovering while I . . . .”
“Nooo!” she wailed, and launched herself at me, crushing her sore tits into me. “Do it now! Please! Rape me! Make it hurt more! Rape me hard!”
“No fair!” Shadow called out from under my testicles. “I'm the one who got him hard again. Me first!”
The protest merely made Kitten all the more frantic. “Rape me, Master, now, please! While it still hurts! Hurry! I need it! I need you in me, punishing me!”
As she pleaded, she dragged me over on top of her, got her legs around me and was pumping her pelvis at me. I glanced over at Robin who was laughing and nodding approval, her face slicked with the evidence of Kitten's intense arousal. Kitten had managed to locate my tool with her right hand and had tucked the swollen head into her cunt, so I gave a forceful heave and buried it in her up to the hilt. She yelped and I hoped I had not torn her, but she returned my thrust with a harder one of her own. We continued to pound away at each other, Kitten crying out with each slamming together of our bodies, her mouth wide open, her eyes rolling up into her head. Remembering that she had pulled at my nipples when we first met, I grabbed hers and pinched the hard nubs, aware that they must be super sensitized as a result of the whipping. It threw her into an even greater frenzy. After a minute or two of hammering and grinding and screaming, her nails digging into my back and sides, she surged over the top with a long howl of ecstacy and fell back panting on the pillows her body jerking in a series of aftershocks.
Shadow was back at me with a giggling frontal attack that knocked me over sideways . My manroot exited Kitten with a slurping pop. I found myself on my back looking up at a naked, sex crazed sixteen-year-old. Stripped of her red dress she was a dazzling sight with young, taut breasts, a wasp waist and a cloud of dark hair swirling about her face like a madwoman. Since Kitten's orgasm had been unilateral, I was still solidly (and now vertically) erect. Shadow took advantage of it like a rabid cat, impaling herself on it and riding it with joyous fervor, posting up and down like a deliciously fevered jockey. Even at my age I am capable of servicing two or three females a day, but I do require a little spacing. So even after fifteen minutes of Shadow's crafty teasing and a good two minutes of flat-out, energetic fucking with Kitten, I was still a ways from climaxing. Shadow made the most of it, mewling and twisting as she rode up and down, pulling my hands up to cup her fresh young tits, reaching under to squeeze my balls. It seemed to go on for an eternity of delight before the tide rose from my genitals to the roots of my hair and swept me away in my second huge orgasm of the afternoon. At the same time Shadow went berserk, her body shaking in uncontrollable spasms, her love chute running copiously with juices, both hers and mine. We seemed to deflate together, melting into each others arms, lying still, waiting for our pulse rates to slow down. Suddenly she propped herself up, looked down and me and laughed with a girlish glee.
“Thank you, Master Curt. That was delightful!” She leaned down and kissed me on the lips, but didn't linger. Then she was up and off. A typical sixteen-year-old, sexually gratified for the moment, but off for other amusements.
Kitten remained on the pillows, gazing at me hopefully and rubbing her quim seductively. She wanted a rerun. But I needed time to refill the well. Besides, it was Robin I wanted to spend time with, sexually or not. The two younger girls were beautiful and zesty, but Robin had a quality that touched my core. I smiled at Kitten and nodded non-committedly, but turned quickly to Robin. “Come. You promised to show me the cages where bad girls are punished. This is a good time.”
Her eyes sparkled. She knew she had promised no such thing. “Certainly, Master Curt,” she said, taking my hand so I could help her up. She led me out of the Seraglio, putting her sarong back on when we reached the corridor.
“Sorry,” she chuckled. “I should have warned you about our two tigresses. They don't get fresh man-meat very often and they're insatiable.”
It was odd being referred to as meat, like a female. She meant it as metaphorical drollery, of course, yet it reminded me that she and all other females live with the knowledge that they are, in fact, meat and will eventually find themselves on the slaughtering deck. It's a fact that must become frightening as a girl approaches sixteen, despite what the psychologists say (all of whom were raised as pampered males, like you and me). I am definitely not a bleeding heart and I like girl meat as much as the next person, but we men often tend to ignore that fact that even though females are known to be inferior and are happiest when properly trained as subservient wives and meat on the hoof, they still have feelings.
“Don't worry about it,” I told her. “I survived the ordeal pretty much intact.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she laughed. “You survived pretty good. In fact, I got the impression you didn't mind boffing them at all.”
“They were fun, I admit, and extraordinarily vigorous. But I would much rather have been boffing you.”
“Oh my! You're such a delightful flatterer, Master Curt. You brighten my whole day. I love your sweet words.”
“Oh come, you can't tell me Trent doesn't give you lavish compliments. Not such a lovely girl as you.”
“He used to, when he first bought me. But now I'm just a comfortable old glove he slips into now and then when he's cold. Which isn't very often these days. But I can't blame him. He's got all those other hot young fillies to attend to, and they're just as hungry for a good boffing as I am. But come; I did ‘promise' you a look at the cages, didn't I.” She gave me a smile that let me know she was lending life to my fiction to give me time to recharge, and that she'd be ready when I was ready for her. God, she was something!”
The route to the cages was downward. We were well below ground level when we came to an iron door and a security guard at a desk watching TV with softly muted sound. The guard snapped to attention at the sight of Robin, handed her a flashlight and opened the door for us. We stepped inside the chamber beyond and the door closed behind us but did not lock. It was pitch black except for the flashlight beam and reeked of body odor, urine and human feces. The flashlight beam raked across a dozen cage doors about three and a half feet square stacked six across and two high on one wall. The beam was reflected back by pale skin from eight of the cages, four on the floor and four above them. There was not a sound except for breathing. Robin trained her flashlight on a girl in the first cage on the lower tier. I could see a naked female form sitting awkwardly, cross legged, her hands cuffed behind her back and a ball gag in her mouth. She was wet and something brown had stained her shoulders, blond hair and thighs. She stared at the floor of the tiny cage. The light beam swept up to the cage above her. The girl there was also naked, cuffed, gagged and crammed uncomfortably into the small space, but appeared clean. The floor of her cage was coarse wire mesh and could not have been comfortable to sit on for any length of time. I had been warned not to speak so I did not. Robin led me back out of the chamber and the iron door was closed again and locked.
She explained. “The females in the upper cages change places with those below them every day. All the girls must empty their bladders and bowels on the floor of their cage. The difference is that the piss and shit from the upper level falls down on to the girls in the cages below them to make their punishment even more miserable.”
“On the other hand,” I observed, “the wire mesh floors of the upper cages must be painful to sit and sleep on for long periods.”
“There is that. But the girls on the lower level must sit and sleep in their own filth as well as what comes down from above. Either way, it's not a punishment most girls want to repeat.”
“Is it only calves who are put in the cages?”
“Oh no. The wives are perfectly capable of disruptive behavior or failure to control their brats or disobedience. Sometimes a sound whipping is just not enough.”
“That room stinks. Who has to go in there and take care of those girls?”
“Other girls. Cleaning and feeding the cagers is another level of punishment. The guards watch and make sure it's done right.”
“And if it's not?”
“The care giver becomes another cage dweller. Believe me, they make a real effort to do the job right!”
“How long do the girls stay caged?”
“Usually a week. Sometimes ten or fourteen days. Every day is an eternity.”
“I'll bet!”
“Don't you have cages in your household?”
“No. Nothing so drastic. But then, there are only fifty or so females in my household at any one time. At the first level of punishment they get assigned to scut work — cleaning toilets, changing diapers in the nursery, gutting girl carcasses in the kitchen, that sort of thing. If they balk or their attitude doesn't improve, we go to corporal punishment — flogging, caning and so forth. If that's not enough, they spend time chained to a wooden palette in an isolation cell until they're willing to crawl on their hands and knees at the end of a leash from the cell to a platform in the exercise yard, put on a blindfold, stick their neck and wrists into a set of stand-up stocks and ask for twenty strokes with a cane or twenty lashes with a singletail whip. The twenty strokes or lashes are delivered by up to twenty females they have harassed or insulted. Since she can't see who they are, they're free to whack her as hard as they like without fear of retaliation.”
“I like that. You let the girls participate in punishing their tormentors.”
“Exactly. And if the offender ever gets to that point again, the punishment doubles. Every girl gets to deliver two strokes or lashes.”
“Wow. Have you had any go back a second time?”
“Only two. One was a really rebellious thirteen year old. Even that didn't cure her, so I sold her to a meat farm. The other was a wife who had delivered a son and thought that exempted her from the house rules. Her third offense was so grievous — she punched a pregnant wife in the stomach and caused a miscarriage — I made an extreme example of her. I had her strung up on the slaughtering dock, head down as usual, but instead of cutting her throat I had the wife she'd punched gut her alive. Then I skinned her alive myself, starting with her legs, then her arms, then her torso. She lived through the whole ordeal until the kitchen crew began to filet her meat. I had the meat ground into hamburg which I sold to the local market, and had the scrap parts — head, neck, hands, feet and bones — fed to the perimeter guard dogs. It made a powerful impact on household behavior, I can tell you that.”
“Double wow! You really know how to dispense justice.”
“You don't think it was too harsh?”
“Not at all. But the best thing is, you let the other girls take part. That's amazingly thoughtful of you. Most men have absolutely no idea — don't even care to know — how it feels to have no control at all over your life, including how you live, who you live with, or whether you get to live at all. There's a word that no one uses any more that describes people living that kind of existence. They used to be called slaves. But now the word is females.”
“I hear what you're saying,” I said, “and that's why I treat my females with as much consideration as possible. But you are female and as such simply cannot understand the complexities of the world. Females are only slaves if they think of themselves that way. In fact, they have great value to humanity. Where nature has designed and wired males to think, protect and lead, it has designed females to provide meat and incubate future generations. To do this properly and efficiently, females must accept their place in the scheme of things gracefully and happily.”
“Which means accept that our value is in our meat and ability to make babies.”
“Precisely.”
“But what about our value as fuck toys for men?”
“Ah well, the joy of sex is a plus nature has provided to keep females productive.”
“Pregnant, you mean.”
“Correct. If done properly, both man and female achieve orgasm so that both have an incentive to repeat the act in the future.”
“Sometimes the immediate future,” she said slyly.
“Just as soon as the man recovers,” I said, stroking her cheek.
“But what if the man doesn't care whether the female enjoys it or not?”
“What of it?”
“What's her incentive to fuck him again and be productive?”
“Strictly speaking she doesn't need incentive. It's her duty. It's why she exists.”
“So when it comes down to it, our feelings don't really count, do they?”
“Well . . . not strictly speaking.”
“Right. It's not necessary to please meat. Or incubators.”
I didn't like the slightly seditious direction of this conversation, so I decided to steer it elsewhere before Robin said something she'd regret. “How about showing me more of Trent's estate?” I suggested.
She stared me down for a few seconds with those black magnetic eyes, then threw her head back and laughed heartily. “Don't worry,” she said. “I'm not going to poop on our party. I'm just a girl. What do I know about these things? Come on! Let me show you where we take bad girls who think they're better than meat.”
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