**Stacey**
I refrained from laughing in triumph. He could hang up and never respond again.
“Mr. Damasio, I´m Hamilton! The gal who found your Porsches. And the niece.”
The next time he answered, he didn´t sound any more moderate.
“I remember knockers that might have been more enjoyable than those cars if somebody wasn´t demure! Why don´t I see anything, babe? If you got it, show it!”
“Mr. Damasio, I was snatched! I´m in Princess Tower since September and I finally swindled them, so I could call you. I need to hear… About everything.”
Bohemian-to-the-last-moment Hugo becomes as articulate as in those moments you ask him to sign a check.
“Fellow internal security boy, it´s an honor to be inspected… I screwed up, didn´t I? I should have gone with it and tell fellows at Fraternal poli…”
“Hugo Damasio, you are not scammed! If that is what you think when you are contacted by a distressed smart hottie, who was dreaming about you for two and half months, I begin to see, why you were wasting your time making money, bolstering the mammon. It was a replacement for the missing heart and charm.”
I thought he will try to shake off the accusation.
“How did you connect?”
“Female vices, well-positioned friend, said friend sacrificing herself for you and tomboy playing Judas. What have you been doing lately? Banking programs? Space defense investments?”
“Computer magnate attaches himself to anything requiring digital components. Preferably, thus crushing the competition on the global scale thanks to the Scottish partners as long as he has them… Back in the States era, you didn´t care where is who from, but totalitarians scrutinize…”
“I take it The Unite Republic didn´t cease to fortify the frontiers?”
“You don´t know the best, babe. Brave Hunters didn´t like the perspective of an enemy bridge from Greenland and Iceland, so they just swooped over both islands on the same night. Later, their representatives offered Scottish and Irish drinks with green ice cubes. One of the things that made them consider non-aggression pact and neutrality in hostility as the best solution.”
“So, Brotherhood has nothing to worry beyond The Channel.”
“Not at all. That damned Brexit, that was the first thing that break the West, if you ask me.”
“What about Europe?”
“Russians just keep to their deals, but Polish… You see, they don´t call it that way, however, they preventively conquered some countries of their own before they could join FPA. Czechia, Slovakia, all of Baltics. Norway and Austria were most impressed and in the last weeks, they consolidated the alliance in Warsaw. If somebody can turn things back to normal, it´s the Polish.”
The Sun rising far away.
“Damasio, I would tell you what is going to on here. Do you know someone who would make it go viral?”
Old man´s voice regained the full pungency.
“What would you tell me, babe? That people´s daughters, sisters, wives, and mothers are being brought up in the spirit of The New Morality? That their obedience is made anew? That they are being serviced by increased pain threshold?”
“Many guys must be wanking by the thought alone.”
I was disappointed.
“Relatives do not. Understand, babe… I am not committed to any of this. Wives of mine and of the friends do not work. That would be against their conviction. And if they don´t fuck us, there is plenty of candidates. But some affected people inherited leverages from the previous regime and other people know people. Enough of them to postulate that female reeducation should be in the direction of every individual man. The Brotherhood tried to stop them in an original way.”
“Original?”
“They legalized them, registered them, but they had to answer to the official counselor. They still do, with a difference some members are his… Well, his equals. They nag the usual Brotherhood members. Oh, and they call themselves The Rear Riders.”
The choice has appeared. Whoresons aren´t sure who of them reverted to domestic procurers.
“Do you know any of them personally??”
“Babe, when you are mating with bastards, you choose either the attractive ones or those with more stable authority.”
“Please, find somebody. I will help him to discredit the project.”
“I offer goods when I have one. I am looking for a rich buyer when I have one. How often can you be making proposals, babe?”
“I will try to maintain the two weeks interval.”
“I don´t know if I´ll have anyone in a month. Friendliness to some is now a war declaration to others.”
“Damasio, what about your niece?”
“She is not hiding. Along with her husband, she lives normally in South Africa.”
“They won their race… Think about such free spirits, dishonored forever.”
I terminated the call, concealed the device, and shouted for the warden.
The extra gym, I believed, wasn´t nearly so hard to keep under wraps as the exciting game of Rummy. Barbara translated a few opening terms and kissed me on the neck. Therese played three wrong card sets in a row. Zita Hari was plotting.
*”We will find the Rear Riders. Marry them! Subordinate them!”*
*”I want to call my parents,”* formulated Barbara slowly.
*”I have them too!”* signalized Zita Hari.
*”Jenine has a husband,”* reminded us Therese. Moment of sadness was unavoidable.
*”Jenine would be glad because I talked to Damasio. Her husband can´t help, he can.”*
*”Who will use it next?”* asked Zita Hari.
*”Right, girls. I will take it simply when I want, but we will take the order based on victories in this game, not counting me. Nicole and Claudia come sooner than the last of us.”*
I realized we haven´t played the game just for sake of it since Zita Hari separated the deck from the rest of my gift basket. Barbara winning effectively decided my tender. I disposed myself of the cards with the hope Therese will crown the loser status of Zita Hari. My lucky day didn´t disappoint me.
I pierced the walls. Air from estranged corners of the world slathered the wounds!
Would it indeed relieve Jenine?
Thanks to me, we were living it up on Sunday. The mostly obligation-free hours meant the solace that was not ending. The browsing device, now buried in the Art of Holy Submission portfolio, should be borrowed by Barbara in the middle of next week.
Monday, that was going to be a whole new game. On the final course of a day before we were given short, but forceful notifications that all inmates are going to enlist to Lovemaking training event, underages included. Seventeen-year-old sissies chirruped like lunatics, at our place and most certainly everywhere.
It is a testament to the callousness of these dicks they waited until morning to add we all are keeping chastity belts.
The mass event was to be played out in the hall which entrance was guarded by the two boxes, huger than the door itself, one of them being titled with “B”, the other with “H”. We were in the first wave of trainees who exchanged outfits and uniforms for the moth food of B box. Gauzy veils, crappy oriental top and pants, midriff not covered. I heard some friend of Zita Hari´s statement about “Mirror Universe officers”. Huh?
On the parquet we circled our bellies and hips, listening to melodies that could encompass national anthems of the countries from Morrocco to Iran.
The instructors made it clear we are expected to practice while in the room and the next examination will also come abruptly. To not evoke just harem, we let the other party to the hall and changed into stuff from H box. Grass monstrosity around the waist, colorful bra and flower to the hair to imitate the luscious savages of Hawaii. Now our arms and asses had to partake.
The groups that completed both dancing quickies had to go outside into the grounds for they built some new Homemaking house.
I should say I had the most intense moment on the walk to get there. Today was so sunny, I could see myself back in the summer. This soft rapture went bad as we were shown something that needed no comment. Downhill, nigh the path, was situated row of pillories. The nude inmates with shackled hands and heads, begging for water, could consider themselves lucky if their faces clung to other heads. Some of them were directed to… Orifices.
Besides the damned colony was a quicksand pool, the mound of dirt casting a shadow over it. The five heads jutting out were suspended on the gallows-like construction by the string that led into noses and mouths.
The conspirators were having a rest before the highlight, I felt in my bones.
The group reached a newly built cottage of two floors. The furnishings were touched upon by spokeswoman and natural sciences teacher Lindsey Trevorrow. They familiarized us with butter churns (“You might be sold to traditionalist countryside.”).
Above the stairs, tables were prevailing, mightier than those in the dining hall, a lot of space for wardrobes for mortars and pestles. Trevorrow was slobbering thrilled, every syllable devoted to making of perfumes.
Barbara jumped up.
“We have constructed also the genuine spacious amusement you will settle for the best part of the day,” the spokeswoman said. “There, you will pass on your chastity belts. Little misses not excluded.” She closed her eyes and burst out quietly. “Because of aesthetical reasons. Chop-chop. Lindsay, did you select perfume smeller?”
“Yes, yippie-kay-yay! The lady of mud and ham, miss Stacey Hamilton!”
It wasn´t like you shouldn´t value your senses, but when one´s nostrils haven´t been tested in like forever, she gets the scent of bullshit. Or monkey business, for the sissies.
As I remained on the floor, guarded a little for the sake of spokeswoman and Trevorrow, the former exclaimed: “Truth to be told, I was the one who summoned you. You have ripened, Ms. Hamilton. You have integrated as can be deduced from your recent trade with us.”
It is consequential on two fronts.
“We scratched our backs, fellow spokeswoman.”
The word “fellow” had a taste of sea urchin.
“I´m fellow Arnolph for you.”
Arnolph the cunt wanted me to be more than the backscratcher.
“Don´t interrupt the good work. We are in the middle of the term and we clashed with the vicious uncooperatives. Time to raise the stakes, meaning the inmates assumed to be potential criminals, exposed to more corporal punishment, more hard labor, being given much less free time and the bad marks will be actively set to the right track. The means depend on your participation and the goodwill.”
“Do I need… Special guidance?”
“You are at the top of PA and most of all in the Art of Homemaking. But average in the Art of Lovemaking and not properly responsive in the Art of Holy Submission. You have unwisely declined the second co-lector for the PE position by which was now rewarded Ms. Manderville. Why not become another woman who hears and talks?”
Another? Who is the Miss Shitty McRatty? Ekström the Runner? Manderville the bi-freak?
Arnolph cunt wasn´t pressing me for an answer.
“Nobody expects the approaching Retribution breakfast. Everyone will see traitors punished before we´ll send them away and those cute loyal Loyal underages will start their show.”
The idea is forming.
“How will they be punished?”
Arnolph cunt rubbed her hands.
“It will happen on separate locations, but they will come into one glass pyramid for the holograms. On the bottom, inmates who were merely conspiring in secret will be eaten by some very nasty ants, on the second place insurgents will get every bone in their body broken. In her private room above all of them, Pepper will be raped by a gorilla. The brilliant intention, to show the upcoming generation of FPA next.”
Jenine ridiculed would be an internet sensation no matter the regime. Making this atrocity known, that could compromise the system.
“Quid pro quo,” I picked up the threads of myself from earlier. “As I did with Victoria. I promise to study well enough for that.”
Arnolph cunt´s smile didn´t wane off, it froze on that face. Twenty points for me, I employed the word “rictus”, forced to remember.
“When you´ll grow tired of our gifts, learn to be unselfish.”
Unselfish denunciator? Your own train of thought has been robbed and vaporized.
The masses were pointed towards “the village”, mostly untouched Holy Submission installation that seemed larger today. We stripped on the edge and I saw Victoria herself handing out universal keys for the chastity belts to the wardens.
The boxes there were numerous, each neighboring one hut, provisions tailored for the inmates from the first to the last. We were being issued short leather pants and long hoop-like necklaces over our chests. I had a feeling like I just turned on the Discovery Channel, when I saw our Harlem sisters, putting on those pieces.
Geez, I´m not racist. I just know gloves are for hands, glasses do not belong in front of ears and every ethnicity has its history. Besides, are you sure people of different origins won´t be racist towards you first?
The voice of Arnolph cunt was heard from the verges of the road that intersected the village and some reproductor was situated also on branches cambered by wire.
“Dr. Beck and I were contemplating the natural cultures at the dawn of civilization. In these societies, all follow their role without grouching and there is also no prejudice towards nudity, not to mention people are much more in tune with sexuality as a part of daily activities. In FPA we are trying to emulate this casualness, so you must go to the core of your inner primitive.
Collectively, you will wash in hand and you will prepare animals that will be served to men, coming to their homes. Fed, they will use you lovingly, with underages listening. Sloth will be punished by narrow SHU.”
Zita Hari squeezed one or two links on her “hoop”.
“I see imprecision in the issue at hand. Modern media have already loosened our shyness, even in the presence of sexual acts. If they think this will make smut more consensual, they are loons.”
Smartypants made herself unseen in the droves, newly coordinated to some expanded parts. I drew level with her to reassert vigilance.
“From this day on, if you will harass, I swear to God, I will pour hot oil to the front of your panties.”
She reacted confidently.
“Fellow principal supports the basic critical reason of *special girls*. That alone serves my *projected goals* as Loyalist.”
“Haven´t I showed you my way? Loyalist lags behind.”
She got my point and puckered lips denoted search for the poignant answer.
“Your results are limited in scope, Stacey. I must be sedulous in a delicate collective.”
There was no going back from our non-lethal shelling. We were deployed to a freshly dug up trench, hosting a crystal clear river. As Zita Hari soaked some caps from an immense amount of trash clothing, I sneaked on her, shouted boo, and by coincidence pulled jeans on her arms. She wasn´t telling and washed them. When pussies were sweat-moistened by the campsite, she took brushwood and pricked me over exposed tail bone space. When we were skinning rabbits and piglets, I gouged out some eyes, exhibited them on the stone, and made the bleeding heart sit. The Girl War passed off when we were beaten by the superiority of male demanding hosts.
If I ever recognize those sons of bitches, who fingered me, I will slowly amputate their shorter members and I will advance to longer ones from there. That being said today the Heirs weren´t giving off vibes belonging to frat boys or Rohypnol guys. They had pants like us, hold by suspenders that ornamented their nude chests either as X or as H.
The long wooden desks they got their dishes full of roasted meat on were the same as we used for washed clothes. The chairs were for their utilization, we took a perch over the leathered thighs, discouraged from the selection of our everyday shaggers. That meant male hooks couldn´t lower themselves to tearing the food. We carried the bits. When the mouth didn´t open, ours did or that of impatient underage on the ground.
The blue-eyed office boy David wasn´t hungry, he supplied us with pork. I didn´t see anyone here as “good”. Similarly to Auschwitz, you can´t keep your hands clean. Or wangs. I thought he is making me amenable for some specialty.
“I have a good friend called Simon,” he said. “His thing is golden hair, also full breasts… and the fucking in public. Dozens of guys promised him they will watch. He would like to do it with the lass of your proportions in the stream. We have decided our “tribe” has a tradition that one very masculine man will be coupled with a very beautiful lady and they will have intercourse in the river to assure plenitude of fish, their union confirmed by many witnesses.”
“I…exist to submit, I live to love. My mind makes his dream real. That is the purpose of companion, that is the being of a wife. My vow is honest. Thank you for giving me a request, not an order.”
Memory and watching television after takeover now obscured the lingering about the public defamation. David guided me to some of his pals on the bank. He sent for Simon, him having not yet come. I stripped out of village attire and they gave coconut bra and highly nominal panties, just some shells on threads, really.
“Here he comes. Pretend to escape!”
I started running, dirty feet got little green by frisky hopping in the grass and I gladly dipped them into water. David caught with me when the knees were just an inch above the surface. He prodded my side, so I have seen his coming pal, long-limbed bla… African America… Living ebony wonder with kind eyes and huge amorous cock, sprouting from the sack of balls, furry ones, like his head with the fro. David supported my shoulders and I complied, tilting my pulsating crotch. Guys not busy with a woman of their own were bawling on Simon, oh yeah, they were cheering on him. When my voice made obvious the rod is in the mouth of piranha, somebody even started drumming.
His onyx member penetrated deeper than any manhood I recognized as worthy of task to satisfy me. In those moments I used to imagine that I´m stealing white, yellow, or red dicks from the male subject, never straying from the path as dictated by Her Majesty.
Shawn wasn´t really about sex. That was some sort of reversed enema. I wanted to cope along with the pain he was causing me.
Simon ride didn´t fall under any of those paths to orgasm. My vagina was now shared. It was purring, but I had to surrender to his control and his pace, not attempting to determine it myself, my sides caressed by his black and fair hands. Behave or else… Silly miss- I-want-to-be-in-charge.
Simon escalated his dominance. He encouraged me to hoop upwards to be entirely supported by him.
I made a sound of puma that must have been in the paws of alpha. Men clapped, Simon pulled himself gently out and he put me over his shoulder. Men in all corners laughed and women shrieked, so every guy must have done the same. Simon opened one of the huts and let me stand inside.
There was a kneeling bench just under the window.
“Kneel, so your breasts and your face are visible to all,” Simon said and threw away the coconuts. The poise couldn´t be called as uncomfortable as the view was silly, inhibited by other expressionless women inside huts and underages biting their lips. Next to my hut stood David, tossing a small club and some tableware item.
Simon stroke my heir lightly. “You better be ready as I say, because you are not giving my cock much of a peace.”
“This twat aches until it gets poked.” I couldn´t tell how fast would my love pipes produce fluid. Seeing some inmates themselves responding to inserted dick was a turnoff.
“Suddenly troubles with open space?” David asked.
“I am … I was never doing it… While watching people doing it.”
But I know everything about birds and bees, I swear, uncle.
“You can be looking at me in the beginning. I think you must be unblocked in a stimulating fashion. I brought this, so I could tenderize you somewhere.”
I thanked him for help and didn´t say no, but I thought he is also a kind of despicable image.
David grabbed my right breast and only with enough necessary force, he clenched part of, above the nipple, between two fingers and hit it with a club. It was annoying, just like examinations. I will never be an idiot finding pleasure in hurting or being hurt. This wasn´t about the pain, I felt a little more alive after contact, I saw more colors around David´s hands in my sight and the whole body of Simon on my mind, pussy was pleading for her natural counterpart. I held out and Simon´s cock made me almost ignore that some ladies in the windows are silently praying or begging the guy behind them to slow down.
David didn´t stop. He underlaid my tits by the flat greasy plate from the table and pressured them by the club, he was rolling them in alternating directions. On both of my ends, I was pulled and mollycoddled. My repertoire of beasts and cattle broadened. I was booing, baaing, and bleating.
I hoped Zita Hari heard and wished to switch places!
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/jy7eg9/the_princesses_in_the_tower_chapter_4_part_1