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AFTER THE
PESTILENCE
PART SIX
by Velvetglove
Author’s Note
First of all, apologies for the long delay in posting Part Six. Secondly, many thanks to Rocky, slaveneedledick, stimpy, mstrger, heycarrieanne, Guiller, pejanon, foxeye1, chksng19, BigCat, nikita and donkotts for their kind reviews of this story, and to all those who have placed ‘After the Pestilence’ on their Shelves, and especially to people like Pej and TheWhiteLady who have both sent me their feedback. Above all, my thanks to SmCyber for his suggestions for, and proof reading of, Part Six. I hope to finish Part Seven (the final part) by the end of October and then to move on to new projects. I welcome further comments and suggestions from readers.
Brief Synopsis
After the
Great Pestilence and the Global Depression that followed, when the world’s
Stock, Property and Commodity Markets all crashed simultaneously, the largest
continents and economies have each undergone different Revolutions. In
As readers
of Parts One to Five will know, the new system flourished particularly well in
the offshore part of the
*** *** ***
Part Six
Stella held the new cigarette in her lips and flicked the lighter once, exhaling a plume of smoke between her teeth. She patted Hamlet’s black head and rose from her chair, walking over to the male slave who had earlier been caught masturbating on CCTV.
He had been tied spreadeagled to an ‘x’ cross of wooden posts. In front of him stood a pair of metal upright struts just two inches apart. His erect penis stuck out between the two metal struts, locked in place by steel jaws.
It was a guillotine !
Six feet above the height of his head, a glistening blade hung between the struts. Sunlight glinted off the serrated steel edge. It was less than two inches wide but razor sharp and attached to heavy lead weights, so it could slide silently down the well greased tracks in the struts at sufficient speed to slice effortlessly through flesh, gristle and blood.
Between the poor boy’s legs, two female slaves were kneeling, giggling, teasing his genitals with feathers, keeping him erect in spite of his terrified begging.
Meanwhile, there was a leather strap around his scrotal sac from which a metal bar hung. On the bar there were several doughnut-shaped metal weights, and his balls were now being stretched down to an abnormal length.
His entire genital area had been coated in a light, clear honey, and a colony of insects was marching up and down his shaved pubic region, gorging themselves on his scrotum, buttocks, anal crack and shaft.
The girls chuckled as the insects hopped onto the feathers, along their rubber gloved fingers, onto the swollen purple head of his penis.
Finally, there was an electric probe plugged deep into his rectum. One or two of the insects were crawling along the exposed red cable.
One of the female slaves was Indian, a beautiful doe eyed woman with skin like nutmeg. She was holding an alligator clip that she occasional pinched onto the poor man’s veined shaft, before triggering a shock from his bowels to his penis, by completing the electrical circuit.
“Aaaah !” the slave groaned, drool hanging from his lower lip and chin. The erection he had briefly managed to obtain shrunk again in moments to an inoffensive maggot-like size. “Pl …. zzz …”
“Come on big guy.” Stella said, ruffling his head like he was Hamlet. “You want to keep that thing, you get it up once again, nice and hard.”
In fact, the electricity levels were not that high but they were just enough – all that was necessary – to produce a negative, not a positive, stimulation. The cycle of pain had to be such that he would remember it for a long, long time to come, so to speak !
Stella would probably let him keep his equipment. This time ! She gained no pleasure from unnecessary mutilation. It would be much more of a thrill to monitor this young man closely in the weeks to come. To keep him nicely stimulated, exposed to a lot of sex, maybe even licking a few women and then watching them getting shafted by others. And to see if he ever again dared to try and touch himself, after this little punishment.
The two female slaves were working on him again, with their tongues and feathers, licking his chest and nipples and flicking insects from his balls. One of them lifted the weight bar momentarily, giving him a brief respite from the weights.
“Bye bye cocky,” one of them mewed, “so sad to see you go.” Giving a pouting farewell kiss to the slave’s engorging helmet.
She dropped the bar and the male grimaced, mouth gaping in an agonised wail. “Please … n…no … don’t cut it oooooffff….”
Stella smiled at the grinning guard who was watching the proceedings.
“You know the slave, Don ? He has a wife called Diana.”
The guard drew himself to attention and nodded.
“They were in the special section of the brothel but I think Brutus Junior has them. Fetch Don here for me, will you.”
The guard nodded and marched out of Stella’s private garden.
*** *** ***
Brutus Junior grinned and lolled back on the sofa, eating and drinking refreshments served to him by his own pregnant wife, Joelle, and poor Don’s wife Diana. They were still in the large ex-gymnasium with the three unfortunate families lined up in front of them; the Harvey-Stackfords, the Kellys and the Evans. A half dozen guards stood around, all of them having zipped themselves back into their uniforms after sampling the delights of Mrs Kelly and/or her daughter Corina.
BJ clapped his hands loudly.
“Attention everybody !” he paused, surveying the room, in particular the two snivelling Kelly women who had been allowed to rejoin their ashamed menfolk.
“In Roman times, the gladiators used to be allowed some relaxation shortly before they fought in the arena at the Games. And, I think,” he smirked at them suggestively, “what was good enough for Caligula and Nero, is probably good enough for me !”
He rose slowly to his feet.
“We shall have a little orgy. You …” he said, looking straight at Neil Evans, his one-time friend. “Remind me, how long is it since you er … relieved yourself ?”
Neil’s eyes dropped to the floor. “Nearly seven weeks, Sir.”
BJ chuckled.
“Well no need for you to be fussy then. Today’s your lucky day ! Probably. Now, let’s choose you a sex partner. How about your mum ? Or sis ? Or your dad even ? Nah. I never had you down as the incestuous type mate. So, how about one of the Kellys ?”
BJ turned his malevolent gaze on Corina and her mother, as they stood huddled together, naked, with drool dribbling down their inner thighs.
“Nah.” He said. “Let’s give’ em a bit of a rest. I think it’s time this lot joined the party.”
He glared at the cowering Harvey-Stackfords; Mr and Mrs, and their sexy 28 year old daughter Christina, plus her husband Mark.
“You …” he said, looking straight at the 51 year old mother. “Come here.”
She nervously took a few steps forward.
“Stand proud. Head up, feet apart, tits out.”
BJ stared her up and down as if she was a lump of meat, which in a way she was; some lines, a bit of sag, a Caesarian birth scar, a thick, unattractive clump of untrimmed cunt bush but, overall still not too bad. Especially if you’d been seven weeks without any fun.
He beckoned for Neil to join them, until they formed a triangle, with the older woman and the younger man facing each other in front of him.
“Don’t fancy yours much, mate !” he nudged Neil.
Then he whispered loudly into Mrs Harvey-Stackford’s ear. “Bet you’ve always fantasised about a toy boy lover, eh ?”
He looked over at her husband, the pathetic, balding, crest-fallen, crying Mr. Harvey-Stackford. “After all, you can’t be getting any thrills from him any more.”
“Please …” the woman murmured “… don’t …”
BJ seized her by the throat. “Don’t what, bitch ?”
She gurgled, struggling.
He let her go. “You do as you’re fucking told.” He leered over at Mrs Kelly. “You’ve seen what happens to ladies who cause trouble.”
Mrs Harvey-Stackford massaged her neck and throat. “Y … y …yes.”
“Both of you get down on the floor.”
He watched them obey, and glanced to check his audience was looking.
“Right. I think we’ll start with a bit of oral sex, to get acquainted. Neil mate, get your laughing gear into the old tart’s glove box.”
Taking the initiative, Neil gently but firmly pushed Mrs H-S back, until she was lying on the floor. He hunched low between her knees, knelt, and lowered his mouth to her thick pubic bush.
BJ grinned down at them, staring into her upturned, hazel coloured eyes.
“Man that’s a hairy snatch. I think we’ll have to pluck them all out before the race. How’s it taste mate ?”
Neil raised his head slightly and answered with a ‘mfff’, indistinguishable from a ‘good’ or ‘bad’.
“Right. Let’s give the old lady something to hum on. Assume the 69 position.”
Neil slowly manoeuvred himself 180 degrees, until his cock was next to the woman’s head, his own face still clamped to her middle.
BJ noticed with a chuckle that Neil was still almost soft, totally un-turned-on by what he was being made to do.
“Oh dear, lady, looks like you’ve got your work cut out. You’d better get my friend here hard in your mouth pretty quick !”
He gave her an encouraging nudge with his foot.
Neil shifted until the soft head of his penis disappeared between her lips. Slowly the two of them began a work out in the classic 69 pose.
*** *** ***
Camilla was kneeling on the floor naked and shaking. Her eyes followed Rebecca as she was inspected from every angle.
In her mouth, she was reluctantly but enthusiastically sucking a fake-penis. It was incredibly life-like, large, thick, flesh coloured with heavy blue veins, connected by a long tubular prong to a barrel. Inches away to Camilla’s left and right two other fake-penises hovered, black and gnarled, one even longer the other slightly thicker. As she moved on her current companion the black penises brushed against her cheeks. Occasionally, if she lost concentration, a penis would poke her in the eye or push up under her nose.
She was being constantly criticised by Rebecca about her unskilled technique.
“Deeper.”
“Shallower.”
“Softer.”
“Harder.”
“Slower.”
“Faster.”
“Freestyle.”
Whatever she did, however much effort, however degrading, after a few seconds it was apparently wrong.
There were fake scrotums attached to all the penises. Again, perfect replicas, with soft malleable skin, two pendulous heavy balls inside hanging down, and numerous little hairs sprouting from the sacs. Her job was to use her fingers to tease the hairs and balls but not to touch the penis.
“Use your mouth, lips and tongue, only.” Rebecca ordered. “No hands on the cock shafts.”
Camilla’s knees, back, neck and jaw all ached, but she slid her lips lovingly along the huge phallus, backwards and forwards, softer then harder, slower then faster, keeping up a rhythm, but one that was subtly varied. Like an oral waltz; slow, slow, quick, quick, slow. She couldn’t believe what she was doing, but she did it all the same.
“Okay, gangbang practice again, please Camilla.” said Rebecca, with a polite but contemptuous smirk.
Camilla's eyes rolled and she groaned loud enough to bring a genuine smile to Rebecca’ s face.
She must have already done this six times during the previous hour.
Without letting go of the penis in her mouth, Camilla took hold of the two black penises in her hands (forefinger and thumbs towards the roots) and rhythmically pumped them in and out at the speed Rebecca dictated by clicking her fingers. After a few minutes the instructions changed and she had to pump both penises in opposite directions, one in one out. Then Camilla was told to reverse her grip and, within the pace of two strokes, Camilla had skilfully changed her finger position as taught. Now, she was masturbating the black penises with her hands inverted, thumb and forefingers slipping over and under the rubber glans.
Several more minutes passed and Camilla could feel all three penises getting warmer and firmer.
Her eyes stared wider than ever, watching Rebecca intensely, waiting for the usual instruction to let the penises go. But Rebecca just smiled and pouted an ‘oh dear’ expression.
And then they came. Literally.
The moment Rebecca had said was the serious test. The critical question.
Out of the corner of her eye, Camilla saw Rebecca push on some sort of control pad and, a couple of seconds later, the fake-penises and scrotums started convulsing.
A huge first dollop of hot fluid invaded her mouth. Two further scalding jets squirted copiously onto both sides of her face. Shocked and blinking, she continued to pump, as the second, third, fourth, fifth and sixth jets shot either into her hair, under her chin or onto or over her shoulders, and a seamless river of pungent fluid invaded her tongue and gums.
Camilla could smell the sweet fragrance of orange blossom mixed with sour notes of stale sweat as her mouth filled.
“Don’t swallow !” Rebecca shouted at her. “Hold it all in your mouth. On your tongue. All of it I said.”
Two more final pulses of the warm, cloying fluid filled her mouth almost to overflowing. Her cheeks puffed out and she felt it clinging to her teeth, invading the roof of her mouth and back of her throat. It was all she could do not to choke.
She almost felt happy that the artificial penises had to have been filled with artificial sperm. But now she could taste it. She gagged again and yet managed to control herself just in time. Her nauseous senses exploded; taste, smell, visual imagination. What was in her mouth ? Realisation set in.................
Her lips were still obediently sealed round the inanimate shaft. Rebecca was grinning into her face.
“Excellent. Hold it. Whatever you do, keep it there. Mmmmm ….”
Camilla knelt, motionless, stuffed to the gills. The warm, lumpy gruel was filling every nook and cranny of her mouth now.
“Now, slowly remove your mouth from the cock. Don’t waste a drop.
That’s it. A tight seal. Look upwards. Imagine there’s are real men stood there watching you. Good.”
It was easier now she didn’t have that thing inside her. Just the cloying mouthful of briny bitterness. She looked desperately at Rebecca who was giggling like an overgrown schoolgirl.
“And now the big test comes.”
Camilla nodded over her puffed out cheeks. Any test, please just finish it !
“You must gargle it for thirty seconds.”
Camilla felt a second wave of nausea assault her but she pushed it away. Okay.
She started to tip her head back.
“No …” Rebecca admonished, “wait for my word. Before you start, I think you should know what you are gargling, don’t you ? If you spit it out now, you fail. You don’t even want to think about the punishment I have in mind if you do. But, if you succeed, then we’re making good progress.”
Camilla nodded. She had been hoping that the fluid was some sort of fake stuff they could manufacture, like the pretend penis and testicles, but she guessed she was going to be told this was in fact how the real, horrible male stuff actually tasted.
Rebecca smiled at her, reaching up to stroke Camilla’s bulging cheeks, sliding her finger sensuously down to her neck.
“Remember, doll. After I tell you, you must gargle it and then swallow it all. Got that ?”
Camilla nodded furiously again. She never swore but … for fuck’s sake, get on with it !
She watched Rebecca reach out and fetch something. A photo frame.
Slowly, she turned it around so that the photograph faced Camilla.
It was a field. In the middle of the field was a horse. A stallion. And in the middle of the stallion was an erection. And … next to the erection was a bucket. The horse’s glistening erection was being held by a young Indian woman, and the bucket by what appeared to be her twin brother.
“Now, you can gargle it !”
Staring in horror, then screwing her eyes shut to rid herself of the terrible image, the bile rising in her throat, Camilla tilted her head back.
*** *** ***
By now, the orgy was in full swing.
Neil and Mrs Harvey-Stackford were still doing their 69 on the floor.
More enthusiastically since the threat of them both being buggered had been introduced.
Mrs Evans - Neil’s 48 year old mum - was sat gyrating on Mr. Harvey-Stackford’s pudgy 54 year old face, while she simultaneously sucked on Colin Kelly’s 22 year old cock.
Meanwhile, Mr Kelly was fastened onto the same flogging bench that his wife had been caned and gang-fucked over earlier. Now, his arse was being sensuously tongued by Mr Evans, Neil’s dad. Unable to control his own erection, Mr Kelly’s cock eye was being rhythmically tapped by the palm of Mr Evans’ right hand.
On a raised circular dais, the young ladies, Tammy Evans and Corina Kelly, were in a lesbian scene, tongue-kissing passionately and riding each other with the help of a bubblegum pink double-ended dildo. The dais rotated slowly giving the families panaramic view of the girls’ humiliation.
Only poor Mrs Kelly didn’t have a live partner. Instead, she was lying on the floor, ankles extended in the air, thrusting a monstrously over-sized, buzzing vibrator in and out of her freshly distended and still sloppy cunt. The speed of her strokes in and out was dictated by a musician’s metronome alongside her head.
Finally, Mark and Christina, a real, young married couple, were the focus of BJ’s unpleasant attention. Firstly they had been instructed to face each other, staring lovingly into their partner’s eyes. Then they were questioned and re-questioned about their previous love life, After BJ had explored their rather ordinary world, he sat back and simply said I think it would be a good idea if you showed me don't you?
Now they were embarrassingly demonstrating for him how they made love.
After a few kisses and a bit of foreplay, Mark lay Christina down on the floor gently and clambered on top of her in the straightforward missionary position, moving up and down.
“Fucking hell, mate. Call that sex !” BJ said. He squatted down, facing Mark, so that his bottom hovered over Christina’s beautiful, high cheek-bones.
“Let’s spice it up a bit. Okay doll, give me a rimming.”
He plonked his buttocks down over her lips. After a pause, he felt her soft tongue sliding hesitantly up his back alley. Looking down into Mark’s crimson face, he watched them for a full five minutes, and twice he had him pull out as he judged him too close to climax.
“Okay, you’ve calmed down a bit now,” he teased, as Mark stood watching BJ savouring his wife’s humiliating display, “time to get back in there I think.”
BJ winked down at him.
“That’s good. Now mate, this time, I want you to really start fucking your missus. I mean slamming her, right ? ‘Cause if you don’t do it, I’ll get somebody else who can !”
Mark began to bounce up and down, harder and faster, bullying his dear wife. His weight against the wooden floor drove the air from Christina’s lungs out of her mouth, tickling BJ’s sphincter.
He chuckled and farted.
Ah well, as they say, it’s only air.
BJ reached down and pulled Mark’s head aside by his hair so that he could pinch Christina’s nips to let her know she should carry on tongue-fucking his sphincter despite the billowing, sulphurous stench.
“Hey, Neil, come over here mate.” BJ called out.
Neil looked over from his 69 position above Mrs Harvey-Stackford’s now responding vagina. His chin glowed slick with wetness.
“Looks like you deserve a reward. Come and swap. You …” he said to Mark, “out of your missus and take over licking your own mother-in-law’s twat instead.”
Mark hesitated, too long, perched over his own wife, his face inches from BJ’s. He had a grim, insolent, almost rebellious expression.
BJ slapped him. Hard. On one cheek then a brain-scrambling backhander to the other.
“Right. On second thoughts, you can lick your in-law’s anus instead.”
A guard roughly escorted a now crying Mark, clutching his crimson face, to his new place in the orgy.
Neil happily exchanged places, kneeling patiently between Christina’s lovely thighs, his erection jutting at 90 degrees, awaiting instructions.
“Get in there.” BJ said magnanimously, rising up off Christina’s crumpled sweating visage so that she could set eyes on the young man who was mounting her.
BJ sidled over to Neil’s dad, patiently still licking Mr Kelly’s butt. “Hey, Mr Evans. That’s enough preparation. Now I want you to bugger him. And feel free to squirt your load at will.” He returned to watch Neil roughly start slamming his hips up and down, kissing Christina’s sobbing face and mouth.
By the time this little orgy was finished, they would all hate him even more, that’s for sure.
But, much more importantly, each of the three families would hate the other families as well !
*** *** ***
Meanwhile Brutus Senior was nearing the Compound. He had bought eight slaves for 97,500 Credits. An average price of 12,187 Credits each, which was the highest average he or Stella had ever spent in a single day. But they were spectacular; three couples and two single females. Undoubtedly the best looking and most fun Lots in the auction.
He had been tempted to ease his sexual frustration on one of the new purchases but then had remembered Camilla, the judge’s wife. As soon as he’d got back and had a snack with Stella, he’d have some fun.
His mind
wandered back to his instructions the afternoon before; “you – what was she called ? – yes, Rebecca, have
twenty four hours. I want a domestic maid, office clerk and cock masseuse
rolled into one. This time tomorrow I’ll give her three tests and if she fails
any single one of them, she will suffer. But you will also have failed and your
chance will have gone too. Am I making myself clear ?”
In truth, he wasn’t that interested in testing the maid or clerk bits yet. After all, any slave could soon learn to scrub toilets or file papers. The real test was whether they could learn more er … primitive duties.
Best of all, he had planned a nice additional surprise for Camilla.
He squinted his eyes and could at last make out the Brute Corporation name above the entrance. He was home.
Hot.
Hungry.
And horny.
*** *** ***
Stella, meanwhile, had just arrived in one of the many outside entertainment areas. Slowly closing a gate to the walled garden, she smiled at the pleasant scene. In front of her was a sunlit lawn, just thirty yards by thirty yards (c. 30 x 30 metres), surrounded on each side by a neat gravel path, and then borders of perfectly tended and bright coloured plants and flowers. A gentle breeze stirred the foliage in the warm sunshine. In the centre of the lawn, there was a low wooden stage. On the stage, the new pair of lesbian lovers Stella had acquired were now arranged just as she had earlier instructed. They were bent over, side by side, and for the moment were dressed in silk blouses, tight skirts, stockings and elegant heels. They were bending carefully at the waist over a piece of barbed wire strung taut between two wooden posts. By the posts, there was a pair of three-legged stools standing ready. The women were not tied or fastened. After all, they had nowhere to run.
One of the women was classically beautiful; almost boyishly handsome in fact, with short dark hair cut in a fringe, symmetrical features, and long, elegant legs. Her lean, toned calves strained as she bent over and held herself to avoid touching the barbed wire. Stella knew she was 29 years old and the dominant one in the relationship. The other female seemed unworthy of her, a typically pretty blonde bitch, a bit plump and bosomy. She was 25 years old and the ‘homemaker’ before the pair had run into their financial problems.
Behind them and jokingly twitching the girls skirts up and down, two corpulent and stinking male guards were stood with their yellowed pants round their ankles, bellies hanging down, puffing cigarettes and languidly stroking their erections in the bright sunshine. Smiling inwardly, Stella walked leisurely over the lawn and cupped the sobbing face of the younger blonde in her palms.
“Don’t cry, dykey. The two of you need grounds for divorce. So this is it. Infidelity ! Each caught in flagrante delicto by the other. Okay, for a start, lets get you into your birthday suits.”
She smiled at the two guards, hiding her own revulsion at their appearance and smell. Then she crisply slapped the blonde.
“Up onto a stool and give your new male lovers a bit of encouragement as you undress.”
Stella nodded at the first guard, who ground out his cigarette, then stepped forward and took the girls hands, grinning broadly as he helped them step up onto the stools, one by one.
Slowly, tears cascading down their faces, both girls started to undress. Each unbuttoned her black silk blouse with trembling fingers.
“I said encouragement !” Barked Stella. “Smile sexily at them, flutter your eyes and sway your hips. You’re whores, not visiting the doctor’s.”
With forced smiles, both women began wiggling their hips. They pulled the blouses off the shoulders to reveal creamy skin and black lace bras. The older lesbian had modest B cup tits but they were full and jutted high from her chest in that lucky way that seems to defy gravity, while the younger blonde hadan over-sized, white cleavage spilling out of her D cup bra.
Stella and the two men watched them unzip their skirts next, pulling them down. Next they slid off their heels and fishnet stockings, so that they were standing in just their underwear. First they unclasped their bras and pulled them along their arms, finally tugging their thongs down, standing on one foot after the other to remove them completely.
The dark haired one had a neatly trimmed triangle of pubic hair, while the blonde’s plump mound was shaved completely bald. There was a large mole visible directly above her vagina.
They stood perfectly still apart from trembling skin as Stella ran her hands down their cheeks, necks, flanks, up between the v’s of their legs and to their nipples and breasts, judging them like pieces of meat.
“Pass them the cream.”
A guard held out an open tub of glistening, translucent lubricant.
“Smear a handful of that into each other’s cunt.” Stella said.
The two women tamely scooped their fingers into the pot and leaned down to apply it to the other’s slits.
“Goood.” Stella cooed. “Now, hold each other’s hand and bend over the barbed wire again. Turn your faces and stare into each other’s eyes.”
Once they had apprehensively obeyed her, Stella nodded to the guards.
The first man stepped forward and fingered apart the lesbian labia that had already been lovingly lubricated. He was dark haired and hirsute, and a nice match with the older, brunette female. With one smooth thrust he pierced her ‘well-used but virgin-to-man’ cunt. The woman groaned, looking miserably into her partner’s eyes, mouth widening into a ‘o’.
“Don’t cry. Be brave.” Mocked Stella, leaning so that her face was inches from both of theirs.
“You don’t want your slut’s last vision of you to be so ugly. Look !” Stella twisted the woman’s jaw so that her face almost touched her girlfriend’s. She smiled at their crumpled, red-eyed expressions.
Then Stella nodded at the other guard. He was double-chinned with large jowls, and shaven-headed, so a perfect match with the bald-cunted blonde. In moments, he too was comfortably wedged inside her wailing, begging body.
Stella watched the scene with a smirk as the two obese men rutted away on top of the bent-over-backs of the two adjacent women. Carefully but firmly, they stroked away in unison, making their inward strokes deep and simultaneous. The woman had to brace themselves and even push back to avoid being scratched by the barbed wire. After two minutes, the two men changed partners, their bobbling wet dicks swinging out from their bodies as they shuffled into their new places. The second time they changed they were careful to swap positions by walking in front of the two women, so that each got an eyeful of her male partner’s equipment and bodies.
It didn’t take long. By the standards of the rest of their lives, these ‘virginity loss fucks’ were indeed gentle and caring. A couple more minutes and both men came almost in chorus, in snorting, heaving bursts, one after the other. The two women wailed like sopranos, and cried as the slimy fluid invaded their bodies and minds. The men collapsed spent across their backs, forcing the straining women to hold them up.
Eventually, both guards withdrew and smiled sheepishly at Stella.
She held each woman’s head by an ear, lifting their faces up.
“There we are. Not too bad was it ?” She let go of their ears and viciously slapped them both across the cheeks simultaneously.
“Answer me !”
They stared at her, eyes blubbering, saliva drooling.
“N … no … Mistress.” The older one forced herself to answer.
Stella sneered at her.
“Tell me, gentlemen, how did you find these two bitches as fucks ?”
The two guards exchanged glances.
“Honest, Ma’am ?”
“Yes. The truth.” Stella winked.
“Very ordinary Ma’am. They got the job done, if you know what I mean. But I had to imagine they were attractive to get myself to come.”
“Yeah,” the other said, “their cunts were both surprisingly slack, for virgins, you know technically virgins anyway, if you ask me.”
“You ask me, only larger dicks will get any pleasure from them.”
“Well now you know what to expect here !” Stella said. “Nice, fat cocks. But firstly I think you should give each other a big kiss, don’t you ?”
Sobbing loudly, the girls brought their puckered lips together.
“No, no not like that you stupid girls.”
Pretending frustration, her hands on her hips, Stella clarified the instruction.
“Right then, Cuntlicker,” she seized the older, brunette by her fringe. “Kneel down and kiss your bitch girlfriend goodbye in her soaking fanny. Her cunt is reserved for the exclusive use of men now.”
Stella watched the woman she had named Cuntlicker hesitantly stand and step behind her blonde girlfriend.
Stella decided then and there that she would enjoy having the boyishly handsome Cuntlicker go down on her. Perhaps she would even keep her as a lesbian masseuse for herself and female colleagues like Doctor Thorne ? But not before the bitch had enjoyed a full and vigorous crash diet of male meat.
“Mmm … I bet that’s oh, soooo yummy.”
Cuntlicker had knelt behind her girlfriend’s plump, bent over arse. She was nuzzling her perspiring face up into the v of her legs.
Stella
walked round the far side of the wire and perched down to get a close look. “
“Spread your legs wider. That’s it. Arse out. Mmm … now we can see your cunt properly.”
Stella, the two men and Cuntlicker all peered together at the woman’s red gash, as a generous dollop of still white semen oozed from it, splitting into several stringy parts as it obeyed gravity.
“Ooooh yes, delicious. Some of my girls prefer their spunk straight from the spigot, but I always think that it’s best eaten second hand. Don’t worry, you’ll get plenty of chances to sample all the options on the menu from now on. Now, lick that strand that’s hanging down.”
Stella watched as Cuntlicker’s tentative pink tongue obediently snaked out and curled up the creamy globule into her mouth. “Mmm. Now, lick your lady friend’s cunt for the last time while I tell you what’s going to happen to you both.”
Stella teasingly ran her fingernails along the two womens’ sweating flanks.
“You will never see each other again. Or if you do, you will not speak or acknowledge each other’s presence. You,” she prodded the bent over 25 year old blonde, “will go to the breeding pens. Oh it’ll be wonderful ! You will have a great time. Cock after cock, day after day, in fact more cocks than any decent woman would know what to do with. But there again, you could hardly be called a decent woman now could you? I've arranged for you to be dosed, starting tomorrow, with my new Momma tablets so that you produce a nice big litter each year for us. Twenty years or so of productive - or rather ‘reproductive’ - work for the benefit of the planet.”
The poor woman sobbed, shaking her head and mumbling “no, no, no”. Stella smiled.
“Oh yes, yes, yes ! But, for the rest of today, I’ve arranged you a little treat. I’ve found a handful of boys you used to be at school with. Strange how well the grapevine works. And one of them … remember young Jamie Mulligan … well, he happens to be getting married next weekend. So he and his mates need a little rowdy entertainment for the stag afternoon. Which is starting in about … er, one hour ! And that’s where you come in.”
Then Stella leaned in to mock-whisper in Cuntlicker’s ear.
“But you, my dear, will not go to the breeding pens for a few years yet. Instead I’m going to make you a star of stage and screen. I have in mind a serious documentary studying whether a lezzie can really be trained out of her unnatural desires by constant contact with males, both human and .. er .. other types.”
The distressed, dazed and defeated face stared up at her in shock.
“But it’s not all bad ! First you will join me and my husband Brutus in our own home for a few weeks, learning how to look after both sexes.”
She rose and waved to the grinning guards, walking briskly across the lawn to the gate. Cuntlicker was still obediently lapping at her girlfriend’s thighs.
“Let them say goodbye like that for another minute then separate them quickly; no fond farewells or sentimental kisses. I want their last memories of each other to be exactly like this.”
*** *** ***
A short while later, Stella stared angrily at a guard and at the young man he was holding.
“What ? I said fetch Don ! This … is Don ?”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“What the fuck … “ she exploded with rage.
The once-handsome young man she had sent for was now an ugly, disfigured wreck. His hair had all fallen out but for a few straw coloured strands, his skin was scaly and blotchy, covered in livid pustules that weeped yellow pus and there were red sores all over his muscled body.
“Who did this ?”
The man’s mouth opened, revealing awful, yellowed crooked teeth, and two gaps where the two front teeth should have been.
“Brututh Junior, Mithtreth.” He lisped back at her. “He made me take thome tableth and forthed Diana to rub thome thream on my fathe and body, Mithtreth.”
Stella stood there, lost for words, seething. This time her stepson had gone too far. She had chosen Don to be her next personal favourite and now her husband’s poodle of a son had destroyed her plan.
She could maybe get some antidotes from the Rhino Corporation but that would take a while and Don would probably never be as good as before.
She shrugged and gestured dismissively at the guard.
“Take him out of my sight.”
It wouldn’t do to make a fuss. Her husband wouldn’t stomach it.
No, she would have to take care of young Brutus Junior by more circuitous means !
*** *** ***
Half an hour later, she was sitting finishing her lunch.
Brutus Senior wiped his lips on the linen napkin and smiled at his wife.
“Mmm … that was delicious. But now I have work to do.”
She sipped her wine glass coyly and raised her eyebrows at him. She’d had one of those enigmatic, devious looks on her face throughout their lunch.
“Aren’t you going to bathe first ?” she asked him.
“Do I stink that bad ?”
“Well … yes, actually.”
He raised
his left arm and sniffed under the armpit. It was true. He had not showered that
morning and the journey back from the capital had been a gruelling trek in
“I’ll wash before cocktails, I promise.” He smiled, lighting a cigar.
Stella chuckled back at him. “Work hard, darling.”
*** *** ***
After Brutus had left, the guards brought Jane to visit Stella.
“Ah, Jane dear.” Stella exclaimed, lighting a cigarette and taking another sip of wine. “Welcome. I’ve just finished my lunch. I wonder, how did you enjoy your meal this morning ? Quite a few calories I guess !”
Jane curtseyed submissively. “Thank you, Mistress.”
Stella nodded approvingly. How long had she owned Jane ? A couple of days ? Quick progress, all things considered.
“I didn’t ask you to thank me. I asked how you enjoyed that generous helping of tasty male fluid I arranged for you. And tell me the absolute truth !”
“I … er …”
Jane’s blue eyes darted and her lip trembled.
“Don’t worry. Tell me the truth. I’m interested. Some women grow to like the taste.”
Jane shook her head, her stringy blonde hair rustling. “No Mistress. It was d … disgusting.”
Stella tittered happily. “I’m delighted to hear it. Firstly because you obeyed me anyway and guzzled it all down. Or until you were sick anyway. But secondly, because there is plenty more where that lot came from and I wouldn’t like to think you might enjoy it in future.”
Jane nodded, eyes downcast, all but defeated.
Stella would have liked to spend more time taunting Jane but now she had another project to focus on instead.
“Now, I’ve a nice surprise for you. You can have a few hours rest and then a nice shower and make-up, before this evening’s treat. I’m sure you’re aching to know what’s in store for you, but you must wait until the next Part of our little story before you find out !”
*** *** ***
Ian, 44 years old and once one of the youngest judges in the country, knelt on the hard floor of Brutus Senior’s study. His knees hurt and his arms ached but he did his best to ignore the pain. He was kneeling behind Camilla, his ex-lawyer wife, holding her bruised breasts up on display, just as he had been made to do the previous day.
They were both naked, but for the tight steel tube that gripped his penis like a vice, prohibiting even minimal swelling. He felt Camilla’s lower back pushing against the metal as she tried to stay upright in her awkward, knees-splayed, vagina-on-display, squatting-on-her-haunches position.
Rebecca was patrolling around them, seemingly checking with one ear for the arrival of Brutus, while mumbling threats at him and Camilla and listening out for any murmurings by them with the other.
Eventually, there was the sound of a door and, moments later, Brutus walked into the spacious room, still dressed in sweat stained clothes, but also wearing a standard issue grey Judge’s wig, puffing on a cigar.
Rebecca threw herself onto the floor in deep homage.
Brutus grinned at them all. “Mmm … what a fine sight !”
Ian blushed and slowly lowered his gaze in deep shame, feeling his wife’s trembling nakedness against him.
Brutus exhaled a thick cloud of grey smoke and tapped Rebecca on the head.
“Up. How have your charges got on ?”
Rebecca rose onto one knee, then stood, answering. “I hope they will please you Sir. I’m afraid 24 hours is not a long time.”
Brutus scowled, clearly uninterested in excuses.
“You caned her tits well, I see.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Brutus casually ran a finger over Camilla’s bruised, presented bosom.
“And you plucked, whipped and secured his dick.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Brutus stared straight into Ian’s eyes, boring in, as if seeking defiance.
Ian did his best to appear meek and obedient, looking at just below his new Master’s eye level, blinking often so as not to be judged insolent.
Eventually, Brutus smirked at him. “So, my little … er … ex-judge, tell me, what are you offering me as a plea for clemency ?”
Ian’s heart grimaced but his face was impassive. “I am offering you my wife, Sir, and myself, to serve you as best we may, for as long as you wish us to, Sir.”
Brutus chortled. “Very good.” He looked at Rebecca approvingly.
“Time to put that plea to the test then.”
*** *** ***
Camilla gulped a mixture of air and bile rising from her gorge.
In front of her, Brutus was laid out on the massage table. He was lying on his front, his head at one end of the table, still puffing on his cigar, with his legs splayed, feet hanging off the other end. She had watched as Rebecca reverently helped Brutus to undress and covered his buttocks demurely with a small white towel while he lay down.
Then Rebecca had carefully stroked his hirsute shoulders, back and legs to relax him, before smiling at Camilla and Ian, her pink tongue running lasciviously over her lower lip.
Camilla had smelt the ripe odour of stale sweat and cigar smoke rising from his skin. The room already swam with a heady odour similar to a tangy blend of ripe Brie and full ashtrays.
Suddenly, like a toreador sweeping a cloak aside for a charging bull, Rebecca removed the towel covering Brutus’s ample, hairy, buttocks.
“You,” Rebecca said, looking at Ian, “stand there.”
Camilla watched her husband shuffle into position.
“Now, pull apart those arse cheeks ever so gently with your fingers.”
Camilla, despite her horror, prayed he would do as he was told.
She watched Ian’s once proud hands easing the cheeks open, until a deep, dark, hair encrusted but glistening crack appeared.
Rebecca’s face curled in the most sick, sadistic grin imaginable.
The stench got worse as the seconds ticked past.
“Time for lunch.” Rebecca said. “Hurry !”
Digging her fingernails into her palms to control the vomit rising from her stomach, Camilla bent her neck down. She caught her husband’s disgusted look as she lowered her face but ignored him. She baulked momentarily as her nose and mouth were tickled by anal hairs but forced herself to press against them and then she stuck her tongue out into the welcoming moisture.
She heard him give a soft sigh of approval, nothing more.
It was, she imagined, like tongue-kissing a sewer pipe; the stinging coppery taste allied to the overpowering clamminess of a stagnant pond.
He lay unmoved. And she realised that for him this moment was nothing special. Not even out of the ordinary. She was just one in a long line of poor, female bankrupts who would squat here and do this same revolting thing. She would never forget this. And yet he would barely remember it.
*** *** ***
Elsewhere within the Compound, Studio Number 6 had begun to fill with an excited audience. They ranged from solitary older men in plastic raincoats to large groups of young lads and lasses out for a drink, a laugh and an evening’s entertainment, to loving couples hoping to spice up their own sex lives, and well dressed bureaucrats, uniformed soldiers and state police taking advantage of their subsidised ticket prices.
As they entered the huge auditorium, everybody stopped in turn to stare in awe at the monstrous construction that gleamed under the fierce glow of the halogen floodlights. Of course, by the standards of a normal funfair rollercoaster it was only of modest size, rising up to twenty feet high (about 6 metres), and covering an area of about two hundred feet long by fifty feet wide.
But as they the audience took their comfortable seats round the perimeter, munching popcorn and guzzling beer, each person knew that, for the participants, it would not be a normal fun ride !
There were three rails that each designated a ‘lane’. The rails were transparent tubes like the handrails of a staircase, made of perspex set at waist height on clear, almost invisible poles, so that each rail seemed to ‘float’ above the flooring. Inside the tubes, coloured neon bulbs glowed giving off a bright light. Lane 1 was turquoise blue, Lane 2 glowed shocking pink and Lane 3 was coloured canary yellow.
In his notes in the glossy brochures laid out on each audience member’s seat, Brutus Junior had given everybody a warm welcome, and introduced them to the family members who would be competing tonight. There were helpful little biographies of all twelve of them; the Evans family in turquoise Lane 1, the Kellys in pink Lane 2 and the Harvey-Stackford family in yellow Lane 3.
And at that very moment, the six male and six female competitors were recovering as best they could after their enforced intra-familial orgy, preparing themselves for a race with the ultimate incentive to win !
*** *** ***
Rebecca rejoiced silently, It was going oh so well.
Brutus was now sat in his chair while Camilla knelt sucking him. She wasn’t allowed to use her hands but was doing her best with a combination of neck muscles and slurping mouth control. Ian, meanwhile, was curled on the floor, gently kissing and revering Brutus’s sweaty, dust-stained feet.
Brutus curled a finger and summoned Rebecca over.
He kissed her, reaching up to cup her breasts through her blouse.
She kissed him back, pushing her hard nipples onto his fingers. The stink from his cheesy body was overpowering but she gave him no impression of noticing it. She had known much worse over her past seven months.
“Is there anything I can do to make it better for you, Sir ?”
Brutus smiled approvingly, pulling his lips away. “I do not make a habit of kissing a vide couilles.” He said.
She dared to smile back at him. “I am only here to please you, Sir.”
She pulled away so that they could both admire Camilla obediently ploughing her mouth up and down Brutus’s slick, rigid shaft. Not quite such a Society magazine lady now ! Her bright blue eyes were staring up at them lovingly, exactly as Rebecca had instructed her to do. Rebecca marvelled at how the woman’s lean, aristocratic features still managed to look pompous, even while slurping over a blowjob.
“Do you want her to deep throat you, Sir ?” Rebecca asked.
Brutus raised an eyebrow. “Really ? Already ?”
She smiled proudly. “She’s practised hard. Or rather, I’ve trained her hard.”
Brutus shook his head. “Later. For now, I think I’ll fuck her.”
*** *** ***
Ian stood holding his wife’s ankles straight above her head. She was lying on the desk, legs splayed up in the air, as Brutus deep fucked her with long, languid thrusts.
Rebecca winked crudely up at Ian as he held his dear wife’s legs at an uncomfortable angle for another man to fuck her.
But just as Rebecca had instructed him to do, he mouthed occasional chants of encouragement from above the desk; “fuck her, Sir !”, “give it to her, Sir.”, etc. Somehow he managed to force the words out of his mouth as if he really meant them.
Meanwhile Camilla writhed and moaned imitating ecstasy, pulling Brutus into her with her fingers on his shoulder blades, shrieking; “oh …yesssss … sooo good … I’ve never known anything like thissss …”.
And soon enough, Brutus increased his pace, and then thrust into her with a bellow, and impatiently unloaded his pent up orgasm inside her.
“Thank you, Sir, oh thank you.” Camilla and Ian chorused together.
Ian couldn’t prevent himself staring down into his wife’s face. Her eyes were closed and her features were screwed into a contorted mask. He knew she was faking. Knew she must be hating every moment of this revolting act. But equally, he knew he had lost her, just as much as if she was being unfaithful by her own choice. She was no longer his.
And then he saw something that made him feel ten times worse.
A face that filled him with unspeakable dread.
*** *** ***
Camilla opened her eyes at the same moment.
And saw the grinning black face looking down at her.
It was a face she would never forget.
Shack
Tyrell had been a hoodlum all his life. The leader of a gang that had
controlled the narcotics and prostitution trades in all of
Sentenced by none other than Judge Ian Andersen.
And as he had been led from the dock to begin his sentence, Shack Tyrell had looked up at Ian and bellowed revenge on him and his loved ones.
Released by the new Bureaucratic Government, he had been thrilled to receive the email from Brutus the previous evening.
Revenge: delicious and cold.
*** *** ***
“Ah,” said Brutus, pushing himself off Camilla. “Welcome Shack.”
Brutus accepted the silk robe Rebecca held out for him, putting his arms through the sleeves and tying the cord round his ample waist.
“We’ve never met.” He extended his hand.
“Pleasure.” Grinned Shack, crushing Brutus’s fingers.
The online article hadn’t lied. Shack had to be almost 7 feet tall, as dark as ebony, shaven headed and bull necked, strong as an ox. It had taken Brutus very little time to research the Judge’s most high profile case.
“You know Judge Andersen, I think.”
Brutus grinned at Ian who was still standing on the desk holding his wife’s ankles.
“Yeah, we met once.” Shack drawled menacingly. He was wearing a pair of dirty denim jeans and a torn basketball vest under which his muscled torso rippled.
“And his wife Camilla.”
All three men looked down at Camilla’s flushed, wide-eyed face.
“No. But I’ve been wanting to shoot hoops with her for a looooong time.”
Shack’s gaze travelled down Camilla’s body, over her tits to her wide spread thighs, with a dollop of white oozing from her gaping, glistening labia.
Brutus chuckled at the frozen, humiliated and downright petrified expression on Camilla’s aristocratic features as she gawked up at the younger man surveying her.
“You sure you ain’t gonna sell them to me ?” Shack asked.
Brutus watched Ian’s mouth hang open in shock. And fear.
He shrugged. “Well, that depends on them, I guess. I’ll sell them to you cheaply as soon as I get bored with them. Once they disobey me or piss me off in any way. How’s that ?”
Shack sighed.
“Guess that’ll have to do.”
His black face scowled at Ian. “You’re lucky man. Lucky I didn’t know you were being auctioned. And lucky this guy won’t sell you to me yet. You thank him every fucking day he spares you from my clutches.”
Brutus patted Shack on his enormous shoulder.
“But just because I won’t sell them to you yet, doesn’t mean we can’t do a little .. er … short lease business !”
Shack grinned, high fiving him. Brutus had already promised his visitor a treat for making the journey.
Suddenly Camilla wailed and her eyes erupted like geysers, tears flowing down the sides of her face.
“Please, noooo … I beg you … please…”
“Can’t you see she’s had enough … Sir …” Ian said, still standing holding his wife’s ankles like a man with an oversized pair of scissors.
Brutus calmly motioned for Ian to climb down off the desk.
Then he stepped forward and viciously slapped Ian across one cheek and then backhanded him across the other.
Ian grimaced in shock and pain, mouth hanging open.
“Are you both extraordinarily stupid ?” Brutus roared, though secretly he was enjoying himself immensely, hiding a smile. What did I say moments ago ? Once you disobey me or piss me off, I’ll sell you. And what do you two do ? Piss me off ! I’ve a good mind to sell you both for a few Credits right now !”
“No …” Camilla sobbed, “I’m sorry … anything … forgive me … forgive us … please.”
Ian’s gaze dropped to the floor. “Please … Sir … excuse us.”
Brutus paused, then grinned condescendingly. “All right. Just this once. After all, she has just passed the first of her three tests. But you must still be punished.” He said to Ian. “Fetch that cane here.”
Brutus watched her him return with a gnarled, crook-handled rattan cane.
“Ask my good friend Shack here to beat some manners into you.”
Ian screwed his eyes shut momentarily and his Adam’s apple bobbed.
“Please … er Sir … would you beat some m… manners into m… me ?”
Shack exchanged a delighted glance with Brutus and his lips spread like uncoiling snakes into a wide grin.
“Man, I’d be delighted, you fucked up piece of waste matter.”
He took the cane from Ian’s grasp and manhandled him into the centre of the room.
“Now, show me a nice backboard. You bend over and clutch your fucking ankles with your hands.”
“And stay in position.” Brutus added, taking a seat on the sofa. “If you move or try to resist I assure you I will sell you to my friend here.”
Shack arranged Ian by his hips until his bottom was exactly where he wanted it. Then he pushed hard down on the small of Ian’s back until his buttocks were stretched as tight as possible. Finally, Shack raised himself up to his full, enormous height and brandished the cane, whooshing it through the air in a practice swing.
“Oh man, I’ve been saving this up for five long years.”
He brought it crashing down across Ian’s pale, helpless backside.
*** *** ***
Camilla was bouncing frantically up and down on Shack’s lap, as he lazily chased her strawberry nipples with his huge black fingers. Her bruised hooters swung up and down and from side to side, as she worked up a slick of perspiration all over her skin. She was fucking him on the floor in the middle of an expensive Ottoman rug, while Brutus watched the scene from the sofa, with Rebecca standing behind kneading his shoulders.
Ian was still obediently bent over staring at the floor, eyes moist with tears, unable to see his wife’s performance but certainly able to hear her. His thrashed, swelling buttocks were bright crimson with purple welts and tracer streaks of dark red, like a painting of a violent sunset sky. Yet he was still only half way through his sentence of 24 strokes.
The others were all enjoying a well earned ‘half time break’.
Camilla leaned forward excitedly, her tongue seeking out Shack’s for a passionate kiss, her expression a near-convincing one of total ecstasy.
“Fuck meeee … aaaahhhh … yesssss.”
“Tomorrow we must try out her arse.” Brutus announced matter-of-factly. “I do hope you’ll be able to join me again.”
Shack nodded enthusiastically, driving up to meet Camilla’s frantic thrusts. Her distended labia slid up and down his thick dark shaft, making slushy wet rhythmic sounds, to the beat of flesh on flesh. At first, she had wailed in pain as she eased her already-used and slick vagina onto his incredible size, her mouth set in a pained ‘o’. Even now she winced occasionally as he pistoned himself up into the deeper recesses of her cavity towards her cervix. The room stank of the distinctive body odours of west Indian male, testosterone, used-female sweat, and bareback sex.
“Sure. Why not ?” Shack grunted, pulling Camilla down onto his chest, so that her tits were squashed against him and he was able to change angle to ram against her clitoris. “But why just her arse ? My time in prison gave me a taste for slam dunking boys too !”
Brutus laughed. “Mmm … we can do them side by side.”
Shack beamed back at him, then hissed and bellowed in triumph and satisfaction, clearly unleashing a torrent of jism deep into Camilla.
“Oh man !” he exclaimed towards Ian, recovering his breath. “I just hosed a three pointer into your missus, judge”.
Whether it was the sensation of hot fluid pulsing into her or the change in angle of the relentless pounding, suddenly Camilla’s eyelids started to flutter and air whistled in short gasps through her grimacing teeth.
“Noooo … nghhmm …” she wailed in shame.
Shack looked up at her with a delighted sneer spreading over his face.
“This whore is coming, man. She’s going crackerjacks.”
Shack, Brutus and Rebecca all laughed uproariously as Camilla’s cheeks flushed and she suffered a long, debilitating and unwanted climax in front of them all.
“I think she just passed her second test.” Brutus announced.
*** *** ***
Joelle heaved a sigh of relief. She had feared that Brutus Junior would drag her off to watch his appalling roller coaster race. But he had surprised her by smiling, pecking her on the cheek and telling her that a hot studio full of jeering rabble was not the place for his pregnant wife. So she was walking back to their quarters alone, looking forward to a quiet evening in, to rest her heavy belly and read something relaxing. She guessed she might have to ‘relax’ her dreaded husband when he returned much later, but that was nothing new. Briefly her thoughts turned to her beloved Pierre, her ‘real’ husband, who she still had not been given news of after so many months.
One of the CCTV cameras set above the path she was walking along whirred and she looked up at it. It was strange how a piece of equipment designed to intrude and discomfort could also provide security and comfort. Being safe here was about the only advantage of being BJ’s wife.
She pulled her robe tighter around her cleavage and tummy and walked on.
*** *** ***
Stella watched the screen dispassionately. She had dismissed the guard who normally monitored this section of cameras, telling him to take a 15 minute break. The camera was on, displaying the scene, but she had switched the ‘record’ facility off so that there would be no footage of the events to follow. Stella saw Joelle look up momentarily at the lens. She noticed her pulling her robe tighter round her as the afternoon warmth turned to the cool of the early evening.
And she barely raised an eyebrow as three black uniformed men stole up behind Joelle. One covered her face with a cloth while the second caught her as she slowly crumpled to the path and the third was already scooping her up into his massive forearms to carry her limp form away, to a very secret place.
Briefly Stella pictured Don’s awful, ruined face but she dismissed the thought. It wasn’t about him. Slaves were easily replaced. It was her stepson BJ who had caused this.
It never, ever paid to mess with Stella.
END OF PART SIX
VIEWS AND VOTES
Do you have views about the fates of the characters in the final part ? It is still not too late. ‘After the Pestilence’ is like a reality show (or an ‘unreality’ show !) where you really can affect the outcome. Stella vs. BJ, who wins ? Should Brutus sell Camilla and Ian to Shack ? What will happen to Jane in Part Seven ? Which family should win the ‘rollercoaster ride’ ? And what of Joelle ? And Don ? And will it be a happy ending for Rebecca ? Feel free to influence the outcome.
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