A particular stillness hung over the lab when Lucy William's was there by herself. Various electronic instruments kicked on at times, but otherwise it was quiet. By nine-thirty Lucy was the only person in the lab. Closed behind several doors, she couldn't even hear the sounds of the four-year-old male toddlers as they paced in their cages. The combination of the mechanical gears, the huge paddle wheel, and the profusion of high-tech instrumentation ... it was disorienting at times.
Lucy was bent over strips of film that bore darkened horizontal stripes. Each stripe represented a portion of DNA that had been cleaved at a specific point. She always seeking new waves to produce better genetically manipulated male slaves for the female populace that now dominated what was once the Unites States of America ... but was now The Republic of Femazonia.
The room was about fifty feet long and rather narrow. On a long bench built of rough-hewn lumber sat thirty four gallon glass tanks. The sides were fused with silicone. The tanks were illuminated by heat lamps and gave off the eerie gray light as it refracted through the contained fluid. Inside each tank, and enveloped in transparent membranes were thirty fetuses, each perhaps seven months old, who were swimming about in their artificial wombs.
Soon these fetuses would develop into rosy-cheeked cherubic infants with bright blue eyes and white silky hair. These were features common to all "genetically prefabricated" children grown in the lab. As they grew to maturity the bright blue eyes would deepen to a sultry blue ... their features would become sculpted ... their white hair would exacerbate into various shades of blond. But as for now they were mere pink-skinned intelligent-looking incipient organisms.
The eggs which created these fetuses were harvested before birth. And when these eggs were cultured before parturition, there was the potential for thousands of viable eggs. Eggs were fertilized with fractionated sperm that has also been treated caustically to eliminate gynosperm ... the female producing nucleus ... nearly all fertilized eggs become male embryos, and these are implanted into test tubes first, then removed and implanted into the artificial ungulates. The zygotes are then allowed to gestate normally, and the male babies are birthed at twelve months, reared and trained for servitude until the age of six ... and then sold into slavery.
And it was the slave market in Wichita that Lucy traversed to after she finished up at the lab.
Sitting at the customer's table, Lucy William's and friend Aiesha Davis watched the endless stream of blond blue-eyed boys, muscled and naked except for leather jacks, walk on the auction block towards the female auctioneer. The youths' handsome faces were downcast and despairing, and their muscles were oiled so that every hint of definition was clearly visible.
While the boys flexed their muscles and gyrated in an attempt to show that they would be an asset in the bedroom as well as in the manual workforce, the female customers withdrew to a side room and considered their decision. Female farmer Aiesha Davis unbuttoned her blouse a bit and pondered the six boys she had narrowed her decision down to Helmut, Franz and his brother Ludwig, Hans, Erich and Konrad were the boys she had her eye on.
Lucy specifically scrutinized the boy called Hans. She was so intrigued by this boy's good looks and virile mannerisms that she actually requested to take the lad out for a "test run". The auctioneer agreed, so the female geneticist stepped onto the auction block and approached the handsome slaveboy.
Lucy knelt between Hans' well-muscled legs, and began to kiss the boy's huge balls. She sucked on them ravenously, using her tongue to swirl them about in their sacks, holding the youth's stolid buttocks all the while. Hans began to pant as the female geneticist's mouth traveled to his cock, and she began licking the head which was already oozing precum. It was a nice dick in Lucy's estimation ... perhaps this boy was worth the steep price he was being sold for. She looked at the look of bliss on Hans' young face ... and felt herself begin to cream her panties as she thought of all the fun she and this slave could have once his daily chores were done.
Hans' smooth chest was heaving as Lucy sucked his tool and, as his orgasm began to build, his back arched ... his balls tightened. He groaned loudly as a stream of jizz exploded into Lucy's hungry mouth, and the female geneticist swallowed every last drop of the boy's cum.
She waited for three minutes before placing her mouth back over Hans' cock and sucking again. Lucy was hungry for another load which was already beginning to build.
When the next explosion came, the female geneticist held it there, Hans' stiff cock twitching in her mouth. She tongued his dick while it slowly goes soft ... sucked on his swollen balls as he shuddered and struggled to remain on his feet.
Finally, with her nose pressed against the boy's bush, Lucy drove her teeth down on Hans' cock. And Hans, purely out of painful reflex, slapped the female geneticist's face.
It was Hans Speer's last act.
One of the female security "Fem-Force" guards immediately carried out her duty. And the duty of Fem-Force Security Guard was to immediately execute a prefab who dared to lay an offending hand upon one of the mistresses.
It was Fem-Force guard Erica Taylor who aimed her automatic rifle at Hans and fired.
The weapon made loud explosive noises as the rounds slammed into Hans' muscled body. Bloody holes appeared on the boy's chest and stomach as the bullets tore through him, fragmenting muscle and bones into a gory pulp. The other horrified slaves were splashed with blood and chunks of flesh as Hans slumped lifeless to the auction block.
As two Fem-Force guards dragged the mutilated carcass of Hans Speer away, Aiesha Davis muttered to Lucy,
"Well that narrows down my choice. Now I'll have to choose between Helmut, Erich, Konrad, Ludwig and his twin brother Franz. I wish I could afford them all, but my budget will only allow for three."
"Too bad about Hans," Lucy said.
She wiped the dead boy's cum from her mouth,
"Believe me when I say he was worth every penny."
After another twenty minutes of debating with herself, Aiesha made up her mind and whispered to the female auctioneer who motioned towards the parade of boys who were still generously spattered with Hans' blood and bits of muscle tissue and said,
"Helmut, Konrad, Franz ... step off to the side, you've just been purchased."
"Tell Erich to step to the side as well," chimed in Lucy, "Even though purchasing Hans is no longer an option, I refuse to leave this place empty-handed."
She owns me body, mind and spirit, Erich thought to himself as he stepped out from behind the wheel of the classic Phantom IV limousine that he used to transport Lucy from place to place on a daily basis. After being in the geneticist employ for only a short time, the slave/chauffeur became aware that his mistress was a nymphomaniac ... a sex-crazed she-devil who constantly demanded that her slaves satisfy her sexually in any and every perverted fashion.
And Erich performed his duties well, for he knew that not to do so would involve a great deal of pain ... and blindness. His female owner's harshest threat towards her new slave was that she would see to it that he lost his sight if he performed too badly for her.
"Yes sir, Mistress William's, ma'am. You may burn me with lit cigarette butts and crush my testicles with salad tongs. I will do whatever you want as long as you don't threaten to have acid poured into my eyes again," Erich whispered to himself, "Yes, ma'am, by all means, ma'am. I'll do anything you want me to. Just keep my eyes safe from harm, ma'am. You want someone to drive you around? Just give me the slave/chauffeur's cap and the keys to the car, ma'am!"
But Lucy William's wanted more than just someone to drive her around and fulfill her sexual desires. She wanted a proxy boy to pick on because of what happened to her as a little girl ... during the days before the non-genetically-manufactured male population had been devastatingly reduced. In those days Lucy had been the object of her own step-father's sexual desires. And ever since the day she was able to afford to purchase her first slave Lucy has used hapless prefabs as whipping boys ... nameless creatures to be used and abused in place of her long dead step father.
Erich Erhard recalled the first day that he was ordered to "perform" for his beautiful mistress.
Unfortunately he was not allowed to perform with HER, but rather with her other male slave, Karl. Karl Georg was twenty-four years old. And being thus, everyone was well aware that he could drop dead at any moment like ninety percent of all slaves within that age province. It was clear to Erich that his mistress intended to use her veteran slave right down to the last few moments of life.
Erich remembered feeling the head of Karl's erection probing at his crack ... remembered pleading for mercy as the older slave probed his nude body.
Seeing what was happening to her slave, Lucy ... as usual ... began to grow more and more turned on. She stripped off her panties and raised her legs. It looked almost as if some invisible person was fucking her as she watched her two slaves go at it.
She watched as Karl's hand found Erich's dick and started rubbing.
Eventually Karl had rammed his cock into Erich's completely unlubricated asshole, and began brutally and methodically fucking the youth. Erich wailed in agonized torment. Being a virgin in his backside Erich was astoundingly tight, and Lucy was amazed at how hard her slave's body was considering the fact that he was so slender. Karl rubbed his hands over the screaming younger slave's hard, muscular legs, pulled out of his ass ... then began to lick at his cock.
Erich stopped screaming in agony as Michael took the organ in his mouth, slurping at the crown with his tongue. Karl kneaded Erich's balls as he sucked, and felt the orbs tighten as the younger slave neared the point of no return. Next to them, and watching closely, Lucy's pussy fairly trembled, and began to leak creamy juices. The sight of this inspired Erich and he shot his load into Karl's throat. The older slave swallowed all of Steve's jizz, and then licked what he could from his mistress's pussy. Licking his lips, he stood, and stepped back to admire the younger slave and his mistress ... both were panting.
As per his mistresses' orders, Karl then lay on top of Erich ... allowed the younger slave to cognize his still rock-hard cock, and he kissed and licked Erich all over before putting his mouth on his empty balls, his limp cock, working up each side to his man-nipples.
Eventually Karl bared his teeth and then began biting on the younger slave's nipples.
He bites even after he tastes blood and Erich begins to scream even more horrifically than before. He bites, chews and tears until that nipples are nothing but two wounds slowly oozing blood down the younger slave's chest.
Lucy William's laughed as she watched this ... a mirthless, pitiless laugh that revealed just how much she enjoyed seeing her younger slave mutilated. And while she laughed she slapped and rubbed at her cream-dripping pussy .
Erich shuddered at this memory, and he slowly rubbed at the numb nipples that had been surgically grafted to his body after he was allowed to receive medical attention following his experience with Lucy William's and Karl Gerog.
As he made his way to the mansion where his mistress was no-doubt intimidating people or strutting around like some benevolent goddess, Erich muttered to himself,
"Yes, ma'am, Mistress William's ma'am. I'll bear all the anger and contempt you feel for my gender. Yes, sir, Mistress William's, ma'am. I'll be the scum you can spit on whenever you feel pissed off at my kind. I'll let you torture me within an inch of my life. Just don't blind me, Mistress William's ma'am!"
Erich was currently admiring the opulence that garnished this party he had driven his mistress too. He wasn't sure who the party was for or what it was about, but he did know that he was taking a chance ensconcing himself into it. Prefabs were not allowed to mingle among the mistresses.
So as he stealthily ingressed himself into the exclusive party, Erich knew that he was taking a big risk. William's had specifically ordered him to wait in the car until further notice. But the young slave/chauffeur had always been rather daring, and he just had to take a quick peek at this gala event.
As he moved fluidly through the sea of party-goers, Erich was aware that he didn't look at all conspicuous to them, in spite of the fact that he was still clad in his slave/chauffeur uniform. His wide, dark blue eyes, long lashes and patrician face certainly made him attractive. He was often mistaken for a 'Natural'. A Natural was the term used to describe a male Anglo who had NOT been genetically prefabricated within a laboratory. Naturals had emerged into this world from true female human wombs ... and were also blessed with more rights than prefabs. It was ironic to Erich that naturally-born, "imperfect" Anglo males were given preferential treatment over the absolutely perfect prefabs.
The slave/chauffeur soon found himself at the bar. Time to get a quick drink and dash back to the limo before Mistress William's spotted him.
Ludwig had been purchased by a young woman named Etta Jones. She used the youth to mainly perform farm-work. But on certain occasions she used him as a plaything. And because Ludwig had proven himself to be both agile and strong, she frequently liked using him to do battle with other prefabs in makeshift gladiatorial contests.
And Ludwig defeated all comers. He garnered so many victories that the time came when the boy found himself pitted against the slave owned by Etta's own sister, Tanya Jones.
His adversary was the undefeated Gerard Braunfels ... a prefab who had been known as the notorious "Scarlet Slave" because he had been "born" with red hair instead of the usual genetically-prefabricated blond. Dressed in nothing but leather vests and jockstraps ... and armed with medieval swords ...the two combatants prepared for a skirmish within a clearing near the Jones family barn. The two sister's had bet the entire farm on this bout between Ludwig and Gerard. The winner would own the entire Jones family homestead, lock, stock and barrel.
Soon the battle was on .
The Scarlet Slave lunged after Ludwig, grabbed him by the shoulder, and hurled him at the barn's far wall. Ludwig cried out as he smashed into the wooden structure, hands flung up, eyes shut: the darkness behind his eyes exploded into pain-ridden stars as he bounded off the wall and tried to roll away from the oncoming danger.
But the Scarlet Slave caught him again and heaved him as if he were a human football. The spectators ... made up of the two Jones sisters and a few of their friends ... cheered. Ludwig crashed into the wall with a grunt of pain ... tasted fresh blood as he bit his own tongue. But this time he was ready for the crash ... he made a frantic grab to gain purchase on the wall.
As she watched the clash intently, Tanya quickly started undressing. Her sister Etta helped her, and soon both were naked and rubbing their own pussies ... and rach other's ... as they watched the two male gladiator slaves do battle.
Meanwhile Ludwig managed to grab onto a trellis and managed to pull himself completely to his feet. Forcing air into his spasming lungs, the young gladiator shook the blood and sweat from his eyes.
Still watching, Tanya touched Etta ... and discovered she was really wet. Her pussy was slippery with juices, and Tanya slid her finger carefully between her sister's slightly parted cunt lips. Etta groaned and pushed her pelvis forward, letting Tanya's finger slide quickly into her snatch. Her sister was narrow, but because of the wetness the finger penetrated her quite easily until it stopped against her hymen.
Meanwhile Ludwig looked back into the center of the clearing where his red-haired opponent was waiting. This time the Scarlet Slave was armed with both a sword and a battle-ax.
He hurled the ax. Ludwig ducked, trying to escape it's fatal trajectory ... not low enough. The spinning battle-ax had been heading for his blond head. Ludwig kissed the dirt. The ax whistled over his head, but struck home in the trunk of a nearby tree. Only wielding his sword now, the Scarlet Slave leaped after him, swinging his sword. Ludwig rolled along the ground, determined to stay out of his path.
The young gladiator eventually leaped to his bare feet, slashing at the Scarlet Slave with his own sword ... missing him as his opponent ducked expertly. But the sword grazed the top of the Scarlet Slave's red hair as he sprang away.
Ludwig leaped after him, more confident now, beginning to feel the bizarre mode of battle. He charged across the clearing, slashing at the Scarlet Slave again, hacking away another lock of his long red hair. Then he retreated ... only to take a few breaths before charging again for another attack.
Etta watched this and growled with pleasure. Feeling her sister's shaved pussy she found Tanya was slippery, too, and her lips swelled to their full size. She looked anxiously at her sister's pussy ... watched her younger sibling shudder after she tensely moved her hands to diddle her. The two sisters masturbated each other furiously while the gladiatorial battle between the two slaves raged.
The Scarlet Slave was ready for Ludwig's next lunge. He was on his feet and geared. He swung his sword, let it go ... sending it arching through the air. Ludwig ducked and the sword sliced past him. Then he whirled, aimed and hurled his own sword at his red-haired opponent.
The Scarlet Slave twisted, but this time there was no escape. The sword caught the cloth of his leather vest, pinning his shoulder against the wall of the barn. With no sword, and unable to escape, the red-haired prefab was completely immobile.
Ludwig had won! He collapsed to the ground and panted with both exhaustion and relief.
And Ludwig was still on the ground regaining his strength when an angry Tanya showed how much she hated losing a bet. Squatting astride the young gladiator's broad back, she grasped Ludwig's blond head firmly, and with a brief jerk, twisted it, snapping the youth's neck. Ludwig felt an sudden jolt of sharp pain before shuddered briefly and dying.
Eighteen-year-old Konrad Holborn was sold to a childless female farmer whose fields were growing so large that she needed extra help to tend her numerous acres of yams and cassavas.
Konrad had been purchased along with two other prefab boys, Franz Milward and Helmut Bruck. Franz was a shy, timid boy with a snub nose, close-set misty-blue eyes and a long jaw. Helmut, on the other hand, was quite outgoing, but was subdued a bit by a speech-impeding lisp. He was tall and slender with wheat-gold hair which he wore pulled back in a short ponytail.
Currently Konrad was glancing over at the hierarch female farmer ... his mistress ... who had stepped outside to check on the progress of her slaves. Her name was Aiehsa Davis.
Aiesha was a rather youngish woman by unprefabricated standards ... about thirty, Konrad figured ... strolling the outside of her sizable home and gazing at everything with a critical eye. Her black, unrefined hair had been braided into that hung past his ears. She was tall and slender with eyes that were as exotic as her style of dress.
Konrad turned and watched as Franz Milward, his fellow slave, meticulously rubbed on another coat of sunscreen. Though most prefabs "born" in Kansas ... as opposed to the first experimental generation of prefabs ...were somehow better able to deal with the harsh effects of the sun, it was clear to everyone early on that young Franz Milward could not tan the tiniest bit. Instead he, like the aforementioned first genetically-created male Anglo prefab generation in the country, turned red and blistered and peeled.
So while his prefab peers were able to atleast romp tentatively under the Kansas sun, poor Franz often stayed confined to the shade when he wasn't working alone with his books. Books with titles like Soul on Ice, No Longer at Ease, The Third LIfe of Grange Copeland and A Red Death. Franz was lucky to have access to these literary gems. They belonged to the private library within the opulent home of a wealthy Femazon ... the district commissioner for whom the studious prefab's worked for as a slave briefly. How a young prefab like Franz could ever find a way to identify with the characters in ancient works of unprefabricated human literature was a mystery to dauntless Konrad and Helmut.
Konrad currently watched in amusement as Franz ... misty-blue eyes wide and alert ... gazed at their mistress with a look that was akin to awe.
The dauntless boy knew that, to a bashful young prefab who peeled easily in the sun, Mistress Aiesha Davis was the epitome of human perfection. And while Konrad and Helmut often squawked about how the Femazons oppressed the prefabs unmercifully, Franz Milward was of a different mind. The shy boy's grumbling was only on the surface. Deep down he felt that the Femazons were such perfect physical beings that they had a right to rule over the weaker male prefabs. Deep in Franz's heart he felt grateful that many Femazons had even agreed to purchase a novice young prefabs like himself as a slave.
Konrad once bore witness as Franz completely broke down. It was on another hot day. The dauntless youth arrived at the fields, immediately noticed his timid friend's anguished face, and asked him what was wrong.
"My brother's dead," Franz announced.
His hazel eyes didn't blink.
"What?" Konrad had replied, suddenly very light-headed.
"My brother, he ... he ... hhh...."
Tears sprang into Franz's misty-blue eyes. He wept fervidly for the loss of his only living relative ... the person who was birthed from the same ungulate as himself,
"I was told that he just fell over and ... and died. They've already cremated him. I put his ashes in the Nemaha River early this morning."
Konrad could do nothing but put his hand on his friend's back. He had lost his own brothers years earlier. But his brothers were older and had both reached the prefab maximum age of twenty-four ... their deaths were not a shock. Franz's brother was only eighteen ... he had seven good years left in him. Konrad was also aware that any claim that Ludwig had simply fallen over dead was ludicrous. The phrase "fell over and died" was code-speak for a slave who had been casually murdered by one of the mistresses,
"I'm sorry, Franzie. I'm so sorry."
But when the two boys heard Mistress Aiesha Davis approaching, Franz immediately scrubbed the tears from his eyes,
"Don't tell Mistress Davis, okay, Kon?"
"I won't say a word," Konrad had assured him.
His timid friend wasn't ashamed to admit that he deeply cared what the Mistress farmer thought of him. And for the rest of that day, Franz worked with his usual zeal and never let on to Mistress Davis that he was broken inside. It seemed like very odd behavior to young Konrad Holborn.
Today he and the other slaves were working hard to plant the Mistresses' field. But the day was oppressively hot and the field-prefabs, though glazed from head to toe with a hardy sunscreen, were bent beneath the harsh rays of the Kansas sun. Working in the gardens didn't run as smoothly as it did during the cooler hours near twilight, and whenever Mistress Davis was not looking in their direction, the three boys furtively halted at their tasks and rested. It was a good thing that their mistress was a kindly woman who hadn't felt the need to hire a whip-wielding overseer to keep her fair-haired underlings in line. Still, the slaves found reasons to complain.
"If I thpend one more hour out here I think I'll thcream!" Helmut announced with his marked lisp.
Konrad glanced over at his speech-impaired friend. Helmut Bruck loathed farm work, so he griped loudly and angrily stubbed at the plowed bare earth with his bare toes. After aimlessly raking his hoe to and fro, he decided to lift his spirits with music. So the eighteen-year-old cleared his throat and lifted his voice in song, but the youth's monstrous speech impediment was so pronounced that he could only lisp through a couple of verses.
Finally Konrad silenced the youth and sang the melody properly:
Anglo prefabs thrive at night,
Femazons love the day.
Naturals straddle both worlds,
And so there is nothing really left to say
Femazons need the sun,
Anglo prefabs do need the moon.
Naturals get most of the good day-jobs,
All because prefabs fry in the afternoon!
The melody was known as the "the Song". It was terrible, but it was one they'd all heard and had memorized almost since birth. The "Naturals" mentioned in it was in reference to the "naturally-born" Anglo-Caucasian males who lived in Femazonia. These young men weren't prefabricated in laboratories, thus they possessed more rights than their prefab brethren.
The only MAJOR difference, however, was that the Naturals were commonly referred to as "servants" instead of slaves.
"Coke," William's said, ordering her absolute favorite beverage in the world.
She didn't care for alcohol. She didn't care much for anything that might cause her to lose control. Control meant everything to her.
As the bartender opened a bottle of Cola and splashed the brown liquid over crushed ice in a glass, the female geneticist glanced around in search of her lover, Tabitha. At the other end of the bar, she spotted someone she recognized. A muscled young man: no more than eighteen, tall and with a lightly-tanned countenance. He was trucked out in a chauffeur's uniform which consisted of only a chauffeur's cap and a matching jockstrap.
Because this young man was indeed a chauffeur. HER chauffeur, Lucy realized with mounting anger. Erich had not been allowed to attend his party. She was quite angry with the young man's disobedience, but She couldn't help but remember how much pleasure She had gleaned from the slave/chauffeur the last time he was disobedient.
Erich had taken it upon himself to lay down for a nap before he had finished his daily chores. The Mistress found him stretched out and snoring completely nude as her prefabs were all required to be around the house on the window seat in her den. She scrutinized the slumbering slave for some time.
His skin was a beautiful lightly tanned shade, and he had slightly curly blond hair. He was a tall boy, over six feet Lucy supposed. And his semi hard dick was a good eight inches long.
Lucy sniffed the heady aroma of boysweat as she looked down at her sleeping slave's cock and balls. Carefully, so as not to wake the snoozing prefab, she bent and gently licked his testicles and limp dick, lapping ravenously while watching Erich's smooth chest rise and fall with each inhalation and exhalation of breath. She licked his genitals for twenty minutes without the youth awakening.
He was well worth the price I paid for him, thought Lucy and then she shot him, once, in the thigh with her 0.22 revolver! Erich's surprised/agonized blue eyes flew open as a bloody hole was torn into his left thigh by the bullet. He didn't have time to cry out before his Mistress shot him again, this time in his right thigh. Erich fainted in mid-scream and didn't recover completely for three weeks.
But back to the present ...
Lucy made her way over to the youth. Erich had his back towards her. He hadn't even noticed that his mistress was only a few feet away from him.
"Young Sir, were you invited to this affair, or are you under the employ of someone on the guest list?" Lucy asked.
She was using a phony adenoidal voice that sounded for all the world like a stuffy English Butler's. The female geneticist had a talent for voice imitations. She could mimic almost anyone, male or female, expertly,
"I say again, young sir, have you been invited here, or are you a slave of one of the guests?"
Erich heard the odd voice behind him, but paid it no attention. He continued to sip at his scotch and soda while admiring Kansas' female elite as they moved to and fro in huddled cliques at the party.
"Young sir, do you hear me?" the voice from behind him asked.
Erich did, but once again he paid it no mind. The person behind him who sounded to him like some English Natural must have been a butler or something. Erich would be damned if he let some Natural foreign cocksucker force him from the party.
"Young sir, I must insist that you...."
"Go fuck yourself, Jeevs!" Erich said without turning around, "The bitch who owns me told me to wait at the bar until she and the dyke she sleeps with are ready to leave."
"No, the bitch who owns you told you no such thing."
Erich's eyes went wide. The voice had changed the stuffy male British accent had been abruptly replaced by an angry feminine voice. The young slave/chauffeur realized now that the person behind him must not have been a butler after all. Erich had a good idea who it was, and the knowledge frightened him to the point where his hands began to shake and a cold sweat broke out upon his brow.
"Turn around, Erich."
The young Slave/chauffeur swallowed his scotch and soda in one gulp and did as he was commanded. He tried to look directly into Lucy William's' dark brown eyes, but he found them impenetrable and very, very hard. The female geneticist moved closer to him. This beautiful woman who never hired Fem-Force guards to discipline her slaves because she enjoyed PERSONALLY inflicting pain upon her prefabs too much.
"Do you have another mistress?" Lucy asked him coldly.
"Nope," said Erich.
"I mean, no ma'am."
Lucy's jaw was hard,
"Then explain what you're doing here, because I seem to recall that your one and only mistress gave you specific orders. Orders to stay within the limo until either she or her girlfriend gave you further instructions."
"That's right, ma'am."
He placed his empty glass on the bar counter.
"Tell me, why is it so difficult for you to obey 'the bitch who owns you'?" Lucy asked.
She was now standing nose-to-nose with the young slave/chauffeur/plaything.
"That's no answer," Lucy replied.
Her fist lashed out against her slave/chauffeur's face. In the mists of the white-hot pain that followed, Erich thought that he heard the bones in his nose crack. And he couldn't even defend himself. To raise a hand against one's mistress meant immediate death.
"Answer me," said Lucy.
And the slave/chauffeur felt more consummate pain as the female geneticist hammered her balled fist down on the crown of his head. Another searing wallop to the face, and all the slave/chauffeur could see were stars.
Blood pouring from his injured nose, the agonized Erich couldn't organize his thoughts well enough to give his mistress a comprehensive answer. He also couldn't focus his dark blue eyes, and the pain was making him so dizzy. He felt himself falling.
"Don't you pass-out on me, you prefabricated cur!" Lucy snarled.
She was moving forward to seize the young slave/chauffeur by the collar of his uniform. Blood was streaming freely from Erich's nostrils and one corner of his mouth,
"You still have to drive Tabitha and me home!"
The slave/chauffeur moaned,
"Right, ma'am. Just Just give me the k-keys and I'll...."
Then Erich fainted.
Anglo prefabs thrive at night,
Femazons love the day.
Naturals straddle both worlds,
And so there is nothing really left to say.
Femazons need the sun,
Anglo prefabs do need the moon.
Naturals get most of the good day-jobs,
All because Anglos fry in the afternoon!
Mistress Aiesha Davis heard this song that one of her new slaves was singing, and she frowned. It wasn't good to let prefabs sing so much. They would often begin by singing a harmless childhood ditty, but eventually they would detour into the outlawed musical verses of protest. This would not do.
"Be silent over there, Holborn!" she yelled to the dauntless youth. "And you too, Milward!"
The resolute female farmer knew that timid Franz Milward had been totally innocent of any wrongdoing. Still he was blamed right along with Konrad. Aiesha Davis had learned this particular trick from other Mistresses. Whenever one prefab did something wrong, a Femazon slave-owner would blame an innocent bystanding prefab. With this action you hoped that the true offending prefab would feel guilty and behave himself. But because this tactic was wholly unfair, Aiesha often felt guilty whenever she employed it. Still, it usually kept the peace out in the fields and gardens.
If the truth be known, Franz Milward was Aiesha's favorite slave. Not because he was the best at his job, but because of the sincere effort he put into his endeavors. The bond between her and the boy was also strengthened by the fact that Aiesha had no sons.
Aiesha gazed at this Anglo youth who ... without realizing that he was being observed ... tilled the soil furiously in an attempt to soften it a bit. Sweat was pouring from Franz's ruddy face and neck, and the extremely hot air was forcing him to breathe laboriously. The female farmer hoped that the boy had taken a salt tablet before he began working.
Hearing jovial conversing in the distance, the resolute female farmer turned eastward and momentarily observed a procession of exhausted prefabs, trudging down the dusty road leading to the home of a farmer who lived further down the river. Upon turning back to her own slaves, she watched as the youth who had been crooning the terrible song, frowned deeply and bent over in order to scrutinize the dark soil that he and his fair-haired fellows were tilling.
"We may have a problem planting here, ma'am," Konrad announced to the Mistress.
He dug his hoe a bit into the freshly-plowed dirt,
"The earth here is no good."
Aiesha sauntered over to the youth,
"Oh, is that right?"
The young man nodded,
"The subsoil seems so sandy. It is going to be very difficult to grow cassavas here."
The woman examined the exposed earth that Konrad was motioning towards with his hoe.
Helmut Bruck scoffed with his horrible lisp,
"You've been enthlaved here with me an' Franz for thirty dayth and already you think you're an ecthpert, Konrad!"
But Mistress Aiesha Davis motioned for Konrad to kneel over the exposed area. Then she had the dauntless youth to touch the dark soil with his fingers,
"You feel it's texture? It looks like black sand, but it pulverizes quite easily . . . and it's mineral-Franz. This isn't poor soil, boy. It's the very best."
Konrad's face flushed in embarrassment,
"I'm sorry, ma'am. I...."
"Don't be sorry. It takes a bit of study and know-how to recognize a subsoil's texture. It was rather keen-sighted of you to detect it's graininess at a glance. Say, I only had you helping out here until you find another gopher job, didn't I?"
"Yes, ma'am. You were going to move me to a new position soon because you read that most of my know-how revolves around running errands and performing manual household tasks."
"That is a shame," said the resolute Mistress, "A boy with a capable eye like yourself would probably grow to be invaluable to me on the farm here."
Aiesha knew that, judging from what the other often said, many prefabs had proven themselves to be above-average in agricultural matters. They seemed to have a knack for farming. Several of the wisest city elders even went as far as to suggest that the village-dwelling men of Femazonia City should begin to focus most of their concentration on traditional hunting, and leave all the farming up to their genetically prefabricated Anglo subordinates.
It was approximately an hour later that Franz Milward collapsed and died in the field .
The timid youth had been fighting valiantly to keep himself from fainting beneath the blazing sun. Konrad had watched him sway on his feet on several occasions ... constantly wiping away the sweat from his pale, drenched face. The three young slaves had conversed as they worked. Or atleast Konrad and Helmut had, passing the time away by engaging in mindless confabulation. Franz hadn't joined in their idle chatter ... just kept working away.
"Franz wants to be in charge of all of Mistress Davis' fields on the Kansas/Oklahoma border," Konrad whispered to Helmut. "He works here all day, and studies farm techniques in books all night."
"When doth he thleep?" Helmut asked in his horrible lisping voice.
He was still speaking quietly so that Franz, who was working diligently a short distance away, could not hear him.
"I don't think he ever sleeps. He wants to be the first person here in the morning, and the last one to leave in the evenings."
The dauntless youth shook his head at that,
"Poor kid wants to be a big man here in Lenora. Doesn't he know that Prefabs in this nation can only go as far as the Femazons allow them? It doesn't matter how hard you work ... the only thing that matters is which curvaceous feminine ass you smooch."
Helmut nodded sagely.
Once they finished their break ... a half hour to eat and rest ... Konrad made his way over to the palm-oil tree that Franz had spent the entire thirty minutes napping under. He shook the timid youth's slightly sunburned shoulder,
"Back to work, Franz."
"Why didn't you juth let him thleep?" Helmut asked the dauntless lad.
He was revealing a bit of fraternal concern for his bashful fellow slave.
"And let the great Mistress Davis come out here again and catch him napping on the job? Franz would never forgive me!"
Now he's asleep forever, Konrad currently thought as he choked back a sob. Mistress Aiesha Davis herself grabbed Franz's feet and gently pulled him until Helmut grabbed his dead friend's limp arms.
As they carried him, the Femazon woman and the lisping prefab youth commented on how weightless Franz seemed. They'd both heard stories of how people seemed to become HEAVIER after they'd expired.
Mistress Davis also asked numerous other questions Did either Helmut or Konrad have any idea why the slave would just drop dead like he did? Was there a connection between Franz's death and the way his brother had allegedly dropped dead days earlier? Did Franz have any other living relatives that needed to be notified? Had someone contacted either Dr. Tinubu or Dr. Northleaf to come and officially pronounce the young man dead? And still more questions tumbled out of Mistress Davis as she and Helmut carried young Franz's lifeless body away from the fields and into the main house.
"Are you satisfied?" Konrad asked the resolute female farmer, weeping.
He didn't care that he was speaking harshly to a female Mistress and could easily be beaten and/or killed on the spot,
"Franz is gone ... but you've still got the best fields and gardens in all of Lenora!"
"You do not know me well at all, boy," Mistress Davis replied in a surprisingly gentle tone. "If you did, you would know that I would let all my fields and gardens wither and die if keeping them in top-notch condition would mean the death of a boy who had yet to even obtain his man's growth."
And the dauntless youth stared at Mistress Aiesha Davis intently ... and came to the immediate conclusion that the woman meant what she said with every ounce of her being. Upon closer examination, Konrad even noticed that his Mistress's dark eye seemed to be glistening a bit.
Aiesha Davis was admiring the splendid condition of his fields when she saw Franz Milward collapse and die atop the patch of earth he had been tilling. The resolute female farmer caught a glimpse of her favorite slave's misty-blue eyes before he fell ... wide and with only the whites showing. Konrad and Helmut were at the boy's side immediately.
The timid youth had apparently died of heatstroke just that quickly.
It was hard for Aiesha to avoid feeling that the boy's death had somehow been her fault, and as Konrad and Helmut discussed the fact that the Franz was an orphan, and that no family plot had been reserved to receive his young remains. This sad discovery nearly caused Aiesha more heart-sickness than the lad's death itself. As with most slaves without living relatives, Franz Milwald was destined to be cremated and forgotten.
Without a second thought she decided that Franz would be buried in her own family plot which ... because Aiesha is a highborn Lenora native ... was located at Stienumtown, far beyond the Landsworth River. No prefab had ever been buried there, but the Mistress farmer didn't think that she would have much trouble accomplishing this feat.
"He was planning on managing all my fields on the eastern border before starting his own sharecropping farm over near Prefab Camp Two," Aiesha was telling her good friend, fisherwoman Deshawn Johnson.
Without having asked, Deshawn knew that the Mistress was referring to the late Franz Milward.
"It was such a waste ... he was barely eighteen," Aiesha's voice nearly broke.
"You really loved that little prefab, didn't you?" Deshawn asked with marked distaste.
"I thought he was a capable and industrious boy. I know I am going to miss him ... a harder worker I will never find."
The female farmer's voice was more casual now, but anyone who heard it could detect the underlying sorrow,
"Yes, I loved that little prefab. And I shall live out the rest of my days feeling responsible for his death."
"Be reasonable, Aiesha. Remember what Dr. Tinubu said? You could not have known that the boy had a congenital heart condition. It had never manifested any symptoms in him before. Stop blaming yourself."
But Aiesha would not be consoled. And the guilt she felt wasn't for Franz's sake alone, but for all the prefabs. And she felt ashamed for every slave-owner who, in their hearts, thought of ways in which they could turn the sweat of prefab-labor into profit for themselves. And she included herself. She regretted the day that the prefabs were first genetically manufactured. Sure the male populace had grown intolerably evil during the decades past. But the Femazons ... once most of the natural adversarial Anglos had been exterminated ... should not have spitefully endeavored to genetically produce more to act as slave labor
President Amy Carter had been a merciful ruler who allowed the prefabs to stay and even become partial citizens out of fear of what the other surrounding nations might do to them. But once this beloved ruler died, Bobbi-Christina Brown ... Femazonia's new ruler ... had different plans for the naturalized Anglos. In her mind they were never citizens at all, but rather living trophies of war ... objects to be exploited.
The first thing Brown did ... after crowning herself absolute autocratic ruler of the nation ... was systematically administer more neurological-suppressing drugs to the prefabs. Back when President Carter ruled, the administration of these narcotics was relegated to only the most "spirited" male slaves. But by the time Brown was through with them, however, the prefabs had been mentally suppressed to the point where they'd lost their cultural identity, the knowledge of their Franz heritage and ... perhaps worst of all ... the hope that they might one day rise above their current sorry circumstances. It was a crime that FAR too many Femazons had turned a blind eye to.
This was surprising, considering that ... as far as Lenora's citizens were concerned ... only the Fem-Force Law Enforcement Guard seemed to find some sort of satisfaction in the imposition of Brown's regime. The reasons vary as to why the majority of the nation's populace didn't speak out about what the new president was doing to the hapless prefabs. To force a broken and humiliated look into anyone's face was never something to strive for in Femazonia. And to use fear and a special narcotic to rip self-respect out of the entire genetically altered people was not savored by many Femazons at all. But the totalitarian regime, once securely in place, was not really a hindrance to any of the Femazons. And this was due mainly to the fact that the negative aspects of it were directed against the minority PREFABS, not the Femazon majority.
"Well, Franz, it won't be long before we part ways forever," Aiesha said.
She was on her boat, the Souljah,
"I'm going to miss you boy."
Franz Milward's body was stretched out upon a bench on the deck. Deshawn's daughter had neatly cut the dead youth's hair. His skin was tinted blue, and his lifeless face seemed a lot younger than eighteen. Deshawn herself was currently sitting in the corner ... she begrudgingly sewed a length of tarpaulin cloth to hold the body.
It was around midnight, and other new slaves were due to arrive soon. Slaves whom neither Keisha Thomas nor her slave nineteen-year old Michael Grunewald had ever met. Grunewald waited nervously alongside his perfectly calm (and somewhat bored) mistress who had outfitted his naked form with a collar and chain.
Mistress Keisha had purchased four other slaves and had requested that the each arrive at her home at different hours. She also ordered that they be well-rehearsed in certain roles that the she wanted them to play for her amusement.
One slave had already arrived and currently lay unconscious in the center of the living room.
Grunewald had been too busy getting the house ready to watch as Keisha disposed of slaveboy called Linker handsome, five feet ten with curly blond hair and flashing aquamarine eyes. By the time Grunewald finished washing the dishes, he did catch a glimpse as his mistress dragged the unconscious young prefab from the sofa to the center of the room. Linker, with his stolid, classical features was almost the opposite of Grunewald. Keisha's "favorite" slave was a little under six feet even, slim, with sandy-blond hair and blue-green eyes.
Keisha didn't say anything when she saw Grunewald watching her as she hauled Linker across the room only stared into his eyes. Grunewald tried to stare back in order to boldly, albeit silently, protest his mistresses treatment of her hapless new slaves. But he cracked and she didn't come close to cracking. Her face was medium brown: the exotic features were exaggerated, unflinching, and appeared to be carved from solid oak. Everything about his mistress seemed to say she wasn't in the mood to be disobeyed or disagreed with today. Everything: the unblinking brown eyes, the set jaw, the limp and seemingly lifeless body of the handsome slave called Linker in her arms.
So Grunewald kept his trap shut. He had learned to gauge Keisha's moods long before he'd became her slave. He had been sold to her after her cousin Tasha had cast him away.
And currently he and his new mistress were waiting in the living room she on the sofa, he kneeling on the floor beside her. Grunewald was completely naked and Keisha had a firm hold of the chain that was attached to the collar she'd cinched around his neck.
It was around noon when the front door suddenly swung open with a bang.
It was a young slave in an open white shirt, beige trousers and black boots. He was dressed like an overseer in the days of the Nineteenth century American south back when males ruled the nation. His face was young and so fair-skinned that it had been tinged pink in the sun.
"What the fuck are you supposed to be, man?" Keisha asked him.
"I'm your master, bitch! With my whip and iron I've kept the discipline among a hundred female bucks like you!"
Grunewald understood now. This young man had misunderstood Keisha's request for a slave to arrive with an S/M bent. This young man actually thought that Keisha was going to play the role of a slave from the past. There were several mistresses who got off on playing the role of a subjugated female from the days of yore but Keisha Thomas was NOT one of them.
Grunewald saw, even before it happened, what this error in thought would lead to. Assumptions were dangerous and presuming anything as far as Keisha was concerned was harmful.
Grunewald knew that what happened next might have gone quite differently if his mistress had not been so angry and disappointed by the frailty of the first slave who had arrived. Keisha was ready to tell this slave-dressed-as-a-booted plantation overseer to forget the whole thing and would have ushered him out the door in less than a minute. Keisha might have said something like, "this isn't going to work out, boy I never play the role of a slave," or she might have said "Your dumb prefabricated ass automatically assumed that I was going to play the slave and you the master?? Shiiiiiiit!"
But as it happened Keisha's dark eyes turned into narrow slits, and she charged at the young role-playing overseer and clutched him by the windpipe.
A young man with a head of close-cropped ash blond hair is what Grunewald saw of the role-playing overseer called Chissel when the prefab was conscious. Chissel had eyes that were a lighter blue than his own. He was maybe a year younger than him as well.
Keisha tightened his hands around the astonished youth's throat. The role-playing overseer stared at her with bulging aquamarine eyes, and Keisha squeezed dug her fingers into the tender flesh. And, as was required by law, the boy called Chissel didn't raise a hand to stop her. As he watched, Grunewald wondered if his mistress could feel the beat of the youth's pulse beneath her fingers. He knew that she could probably feel it become stuttery grow increasingly weak as the young role-playing slave lost consciousness.
Grunewald had never stood so close while Keisha choked the air out of someone before. He was so light-headed with bewilderment at the time that he wouldn't even remember how long the choking lasted. It seemed like quite a while. And the sounds they both made! Between Keisha's grunting and the young slaveboy's choking, the sound that filled the room were the noises two animals might make in a particularly brutal copulation session.
When the young overseer was completely out, Keisha rose from the floor and brushed her pants knees. Sighing, she then glanced at her favorite slaveboy and said,
"Shiiiiit, Grunewald hope the next arrival has got more juice than these two simple weak mutha fuckas."
The next slave arrived no less than twenty minutes later. He was cute and almost obscenely prefabricated very blond, deep blue-eyes, extraordinarily handsome. He glanced sideways at the two unconscious slaveboys lying haphazardly in the center of the room.
Keisha hesitated before stepping towards him, because if she wasn't careful, the boy would probably flee in terror. And a slave who flees from a mistress generally ends up being a dead slave.
Keisha was staring at the boy's feet which were clad in flip-flop sandals.
"Lose the footwear, boy," she ordered.
The slave, whose name was Heinrich, immediately kicked off his flip flops. He really did have nice feet. They were only about a size ten, but they were high arched with long, well-shaped toes and were very well manicured.
"Come here, boy," Keisha ordered.
Heinrich looked uncertain.
"You retarded or somethin'?" Keisha said with the guttural anger in her voice that may or may not have been genuine. "Bring yo' mutha fuckin' ass over here!"
The perfect boy practically sprinted to the mistress and immediately Keisha seized him.
Heinrich bent under the mistress's grip. Keisha got her hands around the perfect boy's throat and squeezed tightly before the youth could even begin to think about prying himself loose. There was a long, dry rattling sound and the boy collapsed. Grunewald, who was observing a few feet away, closed his eyes seeing the light fade from a vibrant prefab was painful to watch. When Grunewald opened his eyes again, the blond perfect boy was being dragged towards the center of the living room, sweet bare feet dragging limply on the carpet, blue eyes rolled up in his head.
The last young man to arrive was a cowboy who only referred to himself as "Wallich". He was the most elaborately dressed sub Grunewald had ever seen. He was dressed in full vintage American cowboy attire hat, shirt and boots with real spurs!
As she sprinkled a velvet cloth with a brown-glass bottled substance, Keisha told the cowboy directly,
"Look, I'm too tired to throttle you, so I'm gonna take you down the easiest way. Now you have two choices, wrangler, either you come here and allow me to sedate you with ether or I'm jus' gonna take my fist and knock you the fuck out,"
Keisha's face was twisted with malevolence as she said these words, and this scared the prefab cowboy more than the ether soaked cloth the mistress was holding. It scared Grunewald as well. The cowboy eventually cleared his throat and said,
"That stuff's safe, ma'am?"
"Of course," Keisha said, almost to herself. "Plain ether. You'll just sleep a while."
Wallich knew that Keisha could kill him and all the other slaves while they were unconscious, but he was even more aware that the mistress was going to take him down right at this very moment if he didn't cooperate. And she would take him down painfully. She would beat him until he lost consciousness and, being a prefab, he would be forbidden by law to do anything to defend himself.
Wallich trudged over to Keisha as if his feet were weighed down with lead. He stood before the mistress with slumped shoulders and resignedly said,
"Do it fast, please ma'am. Uh if I inhale real deep, it ain't gonna kill me or nuthin'?"
Keisha didn't answer, she merely pressed the cloth over Wallich's mouth and nose and held it in place until the struggling cowboy slave went limp.
Pretty soon the prostrate bodies of four young men lay sprawled at the feet of Keisha and Grunewald. The young role-playing overseer did regain consciousness long enough to clutch weakly at Grunewald's ankle as if he was seeking the favorite slave's help. But he passed out again before he could make his intentions known.
Keisha ordered Grunewald to drag all four to the den, strip them naked and bind them hand and foot. By the time her favorite slave completed this arduous task, Grunewald was ready collapse amongst them.
He dreaded the though of what his mistress might have planned for the four prefabs she'd purchased.
Eventually Aiesha docked The Souljah and left the boat in order to clear a few details with the officials at the cemetery in Angelou County. While she did this, Deshawn was left alone with the body of the young prefab. She glanced at it disdainfully. The boy looked as if he might have been sleeping, but his feet were turned in awkwardly.
Eventually the fisherwoman finished her sowing. And because Aiesha was not there watching her, Deshawn unceremoniously stuffed Franz Milward's body into the tarpaulin cloth sack and carelessly tossed it to the stern of the boat. She wanted the dead boy as far away from her as was possible, for the body would soon begin to smell in the fierce Lenora heat. And lord knows the prefabs smelled bad enough when they were ALIVE.
When Aiesha finally returned, she informed Deshawn that the officials at the Angelou County Cemetery were giving her a hard time about burying a prefab at a resting place designated for highly-esteemed Femazons. She told her surly fisherwoman friend that it was going to take the both of them to make the officials see things their way. So Deshawn and Aiesha both left 'The Souljah'. But before they did so, the two women actually picked up the cloth-enshrouded body of young Franz Milward and placed it within the boat's refrigerated ice box ... to keep it from decomposing in the sun while they were gone.
"Hey, Aiesha," Deshawn said evenly as the two young women strolled down the dock. "Do me a favor, will you?"
"Of course, Deshawn," replied the female farmer.
She glanced skyward and noticed that dark gray clouds were socking in. Despite the impossible heat of the day, the area just might be in for a mild storm,
"What is it?"
"Remind me to never again eat any food that has been kept in cold storage aboard the Souljah."
The lighting was dim, so the den which was strong with the odor of four sweaty male bodies was illuminated mainly by natural sunlight. Still, though the room wasn't the brightest-lit place, it was bright enough for Grunewald to see the four naked and bound bodies sprawled upon the carpeted floor. When Keisha arrived she had to walk a circuitous path, stepping carefully between the bare arms, legs and pale, unconscious faces of the slaves she'd purchased.
Keisha turned to Grunewald,
"Wake up these two ," she said pointing at the role-playing overseer prefab and the cowboy, "I want to practice with them for a while. After you wake them up, get to steppin' for a little while."
"Just because they're prefabs doesn't mean they're so fearful of Femazonian law that they'll always obey, Mistress Keishan," Grunewald said cautiously, "You took them down while they were off-guard, but they're stronger than you might think."
"But I know they're strong," said Keisha. "So I don't think I'll be surprised,"
"I'm just saying you might not want to be alone with them, mistress," I said.
"And I'm just sayin' that I might not want to give them the slightest indication that I fear them," said Keisha. "I've handled slaves more dangerous than these boys slaves so spirited that they had to be administered neural inhibitor narcotics. I hadn't known anything about those boys until they taught me by their actions. These simple children here aren't any different."
So Grunewald dumped basins of water over the heads of the already awakening cowboy and overseer slaves then shook and slapped them into full alertness.
Keisha leaned over one of the prefabs.
Wallich lay before him, blinking his blue eyes, trying to understand his surroundings. Keisha reached down with one hand, took him by the throat, and raised him up almost to a sitting position, screaming at him in the most colorful language, the very least of which was,
"Shit-kicking mutha fucka you gave up without really putting up a fight. Where the fuck did you come from, Ranch Pussy?"
Wallich's first response understandably was not fear but rage. And Keisha was pleased to see this. Was pleased to see how the cowboy reached out with tattooed arms still weak from the ether and tried to plow his Mistress's face.
"Ah, so you still think you bad, huh?" Still gripping Wallich by the throat, Keisha yanked him up and off the floor . . . and flung him against the opposite wall.
"Shiiit, this is too easy! Grunewald! Get in here and wake up the rest of these punks!"
So Grunewald scurried in and woke the remaining slaveboys one at a time. Keisha made it a point to be the first face they saw when they regained consciousness. She also made it a point to handle them roughly and constantly. They felt her grip on their shoulders as they were propelled along the corridors. She pushed them ahead of her through the house. The only reason she did this was to see if her slaveboys would at least try to revolt against her, or if they'd submit and follow her every order like the subjugated peons that they were. They submitted . . . thus the mistress became bored with them very fast. When she got tired of terrorizing them, Keisha knocked out Heinrich and Linker again with more ether. She eventually ended up sucking on their sweaty toes while playing with their feet at the same time. Grunewald's mistress had rendered them unconscious before worshipping their feet because she apparently didn't want her unworthy slaves to enjoy anything this day.
When Keisha was done feasting on the feet of Linker and Heinrich, she and Grunewald stared down at the remaining two subs. The Mistress was now in the mood to tickle, so she started on the overseer's sweaty back, then allowed Grunewald to join in. They each took one side, and slowly gave this role-playing youth an agonizingly slow and thoroughly ticklish tongue bath. They lapped at the back of his neck, then down his shoulders then up to his ticklish armpits. He giggled and screamed and the more he screamed the more Keisha creamed her panties.
The two then used feathers to tickle Chisel's big size thirteen bare feet. The Mistress ran the soft feathers along the youth's soles, while Grunewald tickled him along his ribcage and armpits. The young overseer was able to stifle his laughter for exactly one minute then chortles was erupting from him like an active volcano. He was heaving with uncontrollable laughter. We mercilessly stroked his body with the feathers, brushing them between his toes. The youth was howling and trying to twist away from the torture, but Grunewald had tied him well. There was nothing he could do but endure the torture or plead with the Mistress to stop.
Keisha then trailed her tongue down the cowboy's spine and sides, causing Wallich to spasm as if he were possessed by some unearthly demon. Then Keisha began to lick his armpits. The cowboy went crazy screaming and yelling. He wasn't nearly as tough as his image seemed to indicate, he fainted even before Keisha got to his feet.
Once she grew tired of using the slaveboys as her playthings, the mistress brought her buck knife into play and got a peculiar look in his eye. Grunewald's heart began to race when he saw this look, and he could feel his own blood thudding crazily in his temples. Even his vision began to blur a little. He had seen this look in Mistress Keisha's dark eyes before. And the fate of his fellow prefabricated slaves certainly would not be a pretty one.
She slit Heinrich's throat from ear to ear with one slash of her knife. It passed through the young slave's neck like a hot knife through butter and immediately the dying boy began to gurgle. His hands flew to the extensive gash in his neck, trying uselessly to staunch the profusely spurting blood. Torrents of scarlet seemed to spray in all directions at once. With both carotids severed, he toppled forward in unconsciousness and was death within seconds. She repeated this process with the boy called Chissel.
Grunewald later dragged Linker's unconscious body over to the patio, and dropped it beside that of the equally unconscious Wallich. The mistress was allowing her favorite personal slave to have his way with these two newer prefabs she had purchased and was now suffering buyer's remorse over.
A grateful Grunewald rubbed his cock as he scrutinized the unconscious slaves. Eventually he took it upon himself to ease his thick penis into Linker, brutally ramming it into the senseless boy's ass. It was tight and warm, but the only response from Linker to the member invading him was an unconscious groan of pain.
Grunewald fucked the prefab's body for a few minutes, and then pulled out before ejaculation. He moved over to Wallich and drove his dick into the other youth's asshole. He fucked Wallich body, enjoying the unconscious moans of pain which erupted from the prefab with each thrust of his cock. He thrust harder and faster, until he blew his load. His sperm filled the boy's asshole some leaking out and mingling with the blood which had resulted from the unexpected penetration.
Now that her slave had concluded his fun with the slaves, Keisha slit Wallich's and Linker's throats as well.
Because of the suddenness of his friend's death, young Konrad Holborn spent the following day in a sort of daze. Everything around him seemed dreamlike and hazy. He decided to clear his head by taking a walk along the Saline River this always served to clear away the fogginess that clouded his brain. Like the waters of the Saline, his life seemed to be shifting and this shifting was as unstoppable as the river's water. He had been walking for three hours before he realized what he'd done. He found himself strolling near the Oklahoma border with no recollection of having traversed there. He supposed he had been lost in thought, but was he so foggy-minded that he hadn't realized that he was traipsing into the outskirts of forbidden territory?
Konrad came to a road, which ran at left angles to the Saline River, and followed it. There were a few shops scattered in Saint Marys, but only sporadic pedestrian traffic. An unobstructed view of Lake McKinny was ruined by the docks where several boats were moored.
The dauntless lad felt somewhat exhilarated upon realizing that he had traveled further than probably any prefab in Kansas. There were rumors that slaves who ventured this far out along the Saline were actually struck dead by some mysterious force of nature. But Konrad currently saw nor felt any evidence of this. He trekked passed the boat docks.
He made good progress through the afternoon and, when the Kansas sun truly began to beat down upon him, he made a brief stop and rested beneath the shade of an elm. Then he continued on, more and more fatigued as the day's heat wore on and the orange Kansas sun blazed its way across the clear blue sky.
Then suddenly the pain came.
His head was pounding pounding so hard that the youth could think of nothing to do but fling himself to the ground in helpless agony. No screams came from his throat, so great was his pain. He bit his tongue till it bled he wet his pants.
There was nothing amiss within the area of the Kansas/Oklahoma border itself. Nothing at all that could have caused Konrad such agony. The answer lay in the boy himself in his mind. Konrad Holborn could not have known that, as a child, he like all prefabs born within Lenora had been given additional administrations of the neural inhibitor narcotics. Like a hypnotic suggestion, orders had been planted into the dauntless lad's brain along with neural suppression narcotics. Orders which forbade him from venturing beyond the Kansas border. Tampering with the mind of newborn prefab children was one of the first decrees made by Bobbi-Christina Brown after she had bestowed the Presidency upon herself.
The result of this was that whenever a prefab trekked beyond the decorative border posts located at all points around the state he would be assaulted with an unbearable pain. A pain that, unbeknownst to the victim, was merely an illusion within their own brains.
Konrad finally managed to stagger back behind the border posts. Instinctively he knew that this would be the only way to stop the agony. The pain began to recede, and then as the dauntless lad moved even further back into Kansas Konrad was finally freed from his torture. The pain stopped so suddenly that the boy actually fainted and lay amongst the tall grass for what may have been hours.
He had no idea how long it was before he awoke, but the sun's heat was still beating down with it's usual intensity. Only the tall grass and the shade of an elm had protected him from a horrible burn. He climbed to his feet upon detecting a familiar sound: booted feet pounding rapidly on the grass in the distance. And more than one pair of feet. Konrad realized that he might have been seen by one of the Kansas travelers in Saint Marys and they most-likely would have reported him to the Fem-Force Security Guard.
These officers may have been trekking across the plains in search of him at that very moment. The dauntless lad had no idea what the penalty was for slaves traversing into forbidden territory entailed, but he was reasonably certain that it was substantial. Oh, President Brown and all the Kansas administrators assured the public over and over again that the general laws of the nation was the same for Femazon and prefab alike, but everyone knew the truth.
So Konrad ran.
He made his way back towards the dock and, providentially, he recognized one of the smaller barges moored there. It was The Souljah, the sea vessel owned by his misstress, Aiesha Davis. He boarded the boat immediately, intending to throw himself at the feet of the female farmer and beg to be placed under her protection. Doing this would, atleast temporarily, stave off any physical punishments the Fem Force Security Guard might bestow upon him before he was sent to trial.
But the boat was empty. Desperately trying to calm himself, Konrad decided to wait. His mistress was bound to return at some point during that day. Sweating and gasping from exertion, he wished desperately for a Coca-Cola. Any cold soft drink would do, but a Coke would truly be heaven-sent. He was light-headed and sweating profusely. Despite the fact that a storm was imminent, the hostile Kansas weather seemed determined not to cool down as the day wore on.
The dauntless youth, in an attempt to conceal himself from the Korofos while he waited, ran from bow to stern frantically searching for a hiding place aboard the boat. Within mere seconds he realized there wasn't one, so he decided to just sit and pray that the female farmer returned before the Security Guard arrived. While he was doing this, he happened to notice the small refrigeration unit. Lifting the lid to this cool metal box, Konrad immediately saw that the ice chest didn't contain cool soft drinks as he had hoped.
He found himself looking directly into young Franz Milward's bluish, lifeless face. Konrad Holborn immediately fainted.
Not only did he faint, but upon losing consciousness the lad's body tumbled limply into the refrigerated ice box. And once he had fallen completely into it, the lid of the unit fell and latched effectively locking Konrad into the ice box with the corpse of his friend Franz Milward!
When Aiesha Davis returned to his boat and happened to open the ice chest, he found the bodies of two young prefab boys lying within it both dead, he thought, until the boy called Konrad Holborn uttered a low moan.
After his defeat of the late Ludwig Milward, The Scarlet Slave whose real name was Gerard Braunfels was sent to do battle at the Latifah Arena in Abbyville.
The newly constructed amphitheater was dug into the ground, with levels of seats looking down to a large center pit where slave gladiators fight would fight for the amusement of the Mistresses who have their own box seats right above the actions.
The center pit was quiet and cool. As Gerard Braunfels approached, a fellow slave had drawn his sword and was waiting. It was Kramarz the shaven headed prefab with the glacial blue eyes.
"Come, Braunfels" he exclaimed impatiently, "Let's get this over with!"
Gerard's opponent was a killer a slave trained specifically for the task of killing other slaves in gladiatorial combat, and I was his prey. Therefore the glacial prefab wished to be rid of him quickly.
In several brief exchanges he seemed to have the better of the scarlet slave, but Gerard had learned to trust his gut instinct for the proper moment of attack. Wild cheers of the onlooking mistresses become almost deafening while he rests his back on the slab of stone that make the arena's northern walls.
Kramarz was laughing,
"I knew we'd meet eventually the two best slave-fighters ever genetically produced."
When Gerard's time to attack came, he lunged. His recovery was a mite slow, but his riposte was not. His cut was for the cheek but his point was a bit low or maybe he shifted his head at just the wrong instant. His point struck Kramarz's jawbone and was deflected downward. The glacial prefab took nine inches of the scarlet slave's blade through his neck.
Gerard's withdrawal was instantaneous but already Kramarz was choking on his own blood.
"I'm sorry, Kram," the scarlet slave whispered.
The glacial prefab stumbled forward, blood oozing from both corners of his mouth. He smiled weakly when he said,
"Don't apologize you proved you were the the best. "
Gerard was still horrified as he watched his opponent die his legs felt weak. He recalled how Ludwig Milward the only slave gladiator to defeat him was casually murdered by his mistress out of a fit of bad sportsmanship.
The Scarlet Slave was heartsick upon remembering this, but not so heartsick that he lowered his defenses.
The red-haired prefab stepped back, blade still on guard. And it was well that he kept it thus, for in one wild, vicious effort Kramarz swung the edge of his sword at him with a wide cut, in a desperate effort to take Gerard with him.
The Scarlet Slave's blade caught his and deflected it, although the power of the cut was staggering.
Kramarz stumbled forward, his own point striking the bare earth as he fell. Then he rolled over, face upward, his chest stained red with blood, his glacial blue eyes quickly glazing over in death.
Standing towards the back of the crowd, Mistress Tanya watches the events carefully as her red-haired slave moves in to perform the perverted act that was more exquisite than the kill itself. She feels the wetness of pleasure spreading between her legs as the thought of the imminent kill heightened the sexual desire already coursing through her and through every other mistress witnessing the battle.
Gerard rolls the body of Kramarz over onto his back, strips off the dead prefabs leather jock, then rolls the glacial gladiator's corpse back over onto his face again.
After removing his own jock, the Scarlet Slave fucked his opponent's corpse for no reason beyond pleasing the onlooking mistresses. He popped the head of his cock into Kramarz's ass. It took about all of Gerard's strength to get it past the lifeless prefab's virginal sphincter. The Scarlet Slave shoved about four inches in and eventually his cock was as far in the dead prefab as was possible. The crowd of mistresses just watched and cheered until the red-haired young gladiator ejaculated into the corpse.
Then Gerard got up and wiped his scummy dick on Kramarz's motionless shaved head, then left the arena.
As she pulled the inert body of Konrad Holborn from the refrigeration unit that had held him like a frozen coffin for an undetermined amount of time, Aiesha Davis gasped,
"My God !"
Because of either cold or a lack of oxygen, the dauntless lad had lost his natural Anglo pinkness and was currently a sickly grayish color.
"Franz," Konrad whispered as he slowly came to, "Aw, Franz ."
he mumbled these words continuously, and Aiesha felt a stab in hr heart. It must have been horrible stumbling upon the body of a friend the way Konrad must have. The dauntless lad was already aware that Franz Milward had died, but to have come across the corpse in such an unexpected way had clearly been quite a shock.
Deshawn Johnson was already piloting the ship as the female farmer ministered to their unwitting stowaway. Aiesha removed the tarp from Franz's lifeless body and draped it around the frightened Konrad's trembling shoulder. Once he returned to his normal color, the dauntless lad went about explaining just what had happened about how he tried to traverse beyond the borders but was struck down with excruciating pain and so on. Aiesha wanted to pound his fists against the walls at the injustice of it all. Prefabs should have been allowed to go anywhere a Femazon could not be confined within the borders of a nation that saw them only as a cheap source of labor. The entire country was little more than a giant prison for prefabs. If President Amy Carter were alive, he would not have allowed such a thing!
Once The Souljah traversed the Saline River, the female farmer eyes wide with amazement turned to the boy and said,
"Do you realize what has just happened?"
"What?" Konrad asked.
"You have surpassed the borders of Lenora and you are still alive. And you are obviously in no pain."
The dauntless lad was stunned,
"You're right! But how?"
Aiesha stroked his smooth chin,
"The only thing I can figure is that, at the time you were transported past the borders of the nation, you were out cold unconscious and locked within my ice box. I suppose the mental blocks that keep prefabs from leaving Lenora only affects the conscious mind."
"You mean to tell me that, after all these years, all a prefab had to do was knock himself out to surpass the borders of Lenora?"
"Apparently so. But listen to what you are saying such a feat is not as easily accomplished as it sounds. The only way you managed it was through a freak accident. Or perhaps I should call it fate."
"Yes. And destiny. It has been a long time since a prefab has been in the position where he has the opportunity to free his people. The last was Ralf Rudolf some years back. He stumbled upon a rebel group of prefabs who'd managed to latch onto the antidote to neural inhibitor narcotics. He and his rebels then took this antidote and placed them into exploding capsules called them 'Freedom Fume' bombs."
As she narrated the tale, Aiesha noticed that the dauntless lad was listening very intently. Apparently Konrad had never heard the story of heroic Ralf Rudolf. This didn't surprise the female farmer. To many older prefabs, Ralf Rudolf was no hero merely an agitator who caused nothing but grief for the prefab populace as a whole. Well, Aiesha decided that she was going to tell Konrad the true story of the rebel save boy. A brave lad who was defeated not by the Kansas Femazons, but by his own prefabricated kindred.
"At the age of eighteen he attempted to use the Freedom
Fume capsules on his fellow slaves. Not to harm them, but to free them from
the affects of the inhibitor narcotics. Ralf marched right into a prefab slave
quarters and threw down the first exploding capsule.
Xxxx"It didn't detonate it had never been tested, you see. The prefabs who were present immediately raised the alarm. Femazon Fem-Force guards rushed into the camp. The kid had another capsule to be used as a back-up in case the first failed which it had.
Xxxx"Ralf was preparing to use it. All he had to do was toss the capsule to the ground and it would have exploded and flooded the camp with the inhibitor antidote. But one of the prefabs pried it from his hand and held him while two Fem-Force guards pummeled him unconscious."
Aiesha could see that Konrad was angry. Angry at the Femazons, but mostly at his own people for turning on a fellow prefab who was only trying to help them,
"Where is Ralf Rudolf now?"
"They released him from imprisonment only last week," Aiesha explained.
Then her face grew somber,
"He is a broken young man. He is not yet twenty, but he
looks like an old man now. His formerly bright blue eyes are now like polluted
lakes. If you were to ask your prefabricated elders what this boy
accomplished, they will speak his name with scorn
say he brought only the
disdain and abuse of the Femazons upon Lenora's prefabricated populace.
Xxxx"They say he turned even the Kansans who sympathized with the prefab's plight against them. But that isn't true. There are some Femazonians, like myself, who are aware that the boy was a hero. He deserved death, but his spirit alone convinced most of the Mistresses to spare him.
Xxxx"You deserve to be spared as well Konrad, but you've discovered a way to escape Kansas and that kind of information is dangerous. Too dangerous for us to take a chance on it being spread around amongst you prefabs."
"What do you mean, ma'am? What are you going to do to me?"
Almost immediately Konrad was laid on the boat's wooden deck and his legs bent outwards at the knees in a crouching position. A smiling Aiesha positioned the sharp javelin spear to the right calf and drove it in. Konrad found himself screaming at the searing, agonized pain as his calf was impaled and then the javelin was driven through the thick meat of his right thigh.
Aiesha took note of the fact that the further she pushed in the javelin, the more engorged the naked boy's cock became.
The spear was compressed through until the point could be positioned in his right arm and driven completely through his shoulder and on out for several feet.
A second javelin impaled his left leg and shoulder in the same manner.
Aiesha laughed with girlish glee as the boy's huge, erect cock suddenly erupted with an explosive orgasm of white cream. Aiesha knew that the slaves had been genetically manipulated to the point where their bodies responded to intense pain with sexual excitement. And from the way Konrad had ejaculated, she knew that he must have been In unbelievable agony.
Deshawn began to finger Aiesha while they watched the boy scream. She ejaculated her to a wild climax and then slurped on her juices. Aiesha then used her finger to enter Dashawn's moist and hot pussy. And the fisherwoman began thrusting back and forth with all the pleasurable moans and groans. Aiesha tasted the sweat on her tits as her fingers disappeared in the jungle of her pussy. She came within second while still watching young Konrad flail in agony.
Aiesha then lay on top of Konrad and slowly kissed him while he screamed before resting her head on his chest.
Eventually she rammed her knife into the prefab's side, skewering vital organs. She then used the knife to rip his body open. Konrad had stopped screaming and was now vomiting blood. Still, his cock was rock-hard even as the knife continued to tear into him. Aiesha began to orgasm when blood began to gush from the prefabricated slaveboy's wounds in seemingly impossible amounts.
The young prefab felt the cold steel of the knife as well as the blood filling his mouth and asphyxiating him. By the time his throbbing, engorged cock erupted in orgasm, Konrad Holborn was dead.
Aiesha and Dashawn both took turn licking the cum from the slave's privates before tossing his body overboard.