Naked woman in chains and rope | EVE IN EDEN 7 | bdsm stories

At breakfast a week later, Gordon opened an official looking brown envelope, read the contents quickly and passed it over to Eve. It was a formal notification to Gordon, as her sponsor, that her application for citizenship had been accepted, subject to a satisfactory report from the Female Reconstruction and Education Establishment. That body would take her up as soon as a vacancy occurred. Meanwhile her sponsor should take steps to ensure she could be contacted at short notice at any time.

"So that's it," she said, "I'm in."

"Well there is just the little matter of the freezer yet," Daphne cautioned her.

"You won't be told what sort of stretch you'll have to do until they've had you in and assessed you formally, so it could be a little while yet before you get your papers."

Staying in contact provided no difficulty; the housekeeper always knew where the women were going when they left the house. In fact the call came when the three of them were attending a smart reception for a visiting dignitary, a cocktail party on the lawns of the home of the Chief Minister. Gordon had gone along with his two women on his arms, Daphne to his right, as befitted the wife, Eve on his left, the place reserved for mistresses or guests. Dee had recommended 'best bib and tucker' again but not, to Eve's great relief, the full Emily Post drill that

went with those painful memories of Ladies' Night. She'd chosen a tailored linen suit in dove grey, over a crisp white blouse, gunmetal nylons held tautly by a lacy garterbelt, part of a matching set of bra and high cut briefs. Polished pumps with three inch heels completed an outfit that spoke of money and sophisticated good taste, and she moved from group to group on the crowded lawn, with a quiet confidence in herself and her appearance. As she turned away from some acquaintances to cross to a girl she recognised from the visit to Lavinia, she found herself confronted by two large females in military style uniforms.

"Is your name Eve?" one of them enquired.

"It is," she admitted, more curious than alarmed

"And can you confirm that this is you?" the woman persisted, holding out a sheet of paper with a photograph attached.

Eve's belly did a quick somersault, as she recognised her own passport picture, and precise details of her physical appearance, down to her bra cup, and the size of her shoes.

"Yes. That's me," she confirmed. So it had come. This was it; her 'taking up' as the notice had promised.

"Please remove all your clothing," the officer requested.

Eve looked at her in astonishment.

"Here?" she exclaimed, "in front of all these people? Can't we at least go inside?"

Daphne was at her elbow.

"Don't argue, darling," she urged, "it will only make it worse. They are Freezers, FREE's security, and they take up entrants exactly where they find them. You could earn yourself a serious punishment if you resist. You could even foul up your chances of becoming a citizen.

Eve capitulated and took off her jacket, handing it to Daphne, then the skirt.

With trembling fingers she unbuttoned the blouse. Why had she chosen this particular one this day of all days? The people around her had stopped their conversation to stare as she fumbled with the row of a score of tiny buttons that held the blouse together over her thrusting breasts, and more and more were turning to look as they realised something untoward was occurring. She could see the visiting dignitary paused with his glass short of his lips, as he drank in the scene. Even more embarrassing was the look she was getting from the eminent man's young wife.

She set her teeth and stripped off the blouse. Her fingers transferred themselves blindly to the clasp of her bra and the heavy globes of her breasts sprang free as she handed the scrap of lace that had been taming them to her friend. For some reason she chose to peel off the briefs from her glistening crotch and step out of them carefully, a foot at a time, leaving herself only her gartered stockings and her shoes. The pumps were soon at Daphne's feet, then each stocking was unhooked in turn and rolled down its shapely thigh to be passed over as a soft coif of flimsy nylon. Finally the garter belt joined the pile of feminine gear resting on Daphne's arms and Eve stood up naked as her namesake in front of the large and curious crowd.

Well not quite as naked as the girl in the ancient garden.

"Those too," the guard said with a gesture and her watch, her rings, the pearl studs from her ears, joined the rest of her apparel. Now she was truly naked; buck naked, nude as a slug, bare-arsed and pink titted. Proudly she stood

upright, and disdained to try and cover her nakedness with her hands.

"Turn around," the guard ordered, "and put your hands behind your back."

The snap of the cuffs seemed to jolt something in her memory.

"Daphne," she called urgently, "Daisy will be here by the time I get out. Who's going to be my sponsor once she's Gordon's mistress?"

"Don't worry, Darling," Daphne reassured her, "we'll find somebody suitable before you get out. Trust me."

With that she had to be content for while she had been speaking the guard had fastened a heavy dog collar about her neck. It carried a brass plate with the number 213 in large numerals, and a leash, which the guard pulled harshly to indicate she should go with them. Flanked on either side by her formidable females, she walked naked and cuffed through the well dressed crowd, which parted to let her through, then closed behind her with a buzz of conversation, to watch her departing back and enticingly rolling buttocks.

The journey was a nightmare and seemed to take forever. She was made to kneel on the floor of a small van, on a fibre mat which chaffed her knees. Straps held her ankles firm and her cuffs were hauled up behind her and dropped over a hook on a short piece of chain hanging from the roof. Shoulders aching, knees sore, she groaned and moaned with every bump of the poorly sprung vehicle on the rough roads of the island. It was a relief when the van stopped and she had reached her destination, although she was under no delusion as to the nature of her reception or the harshness of her life for the next month or two.

The Female Reconstruction and Education Establishment was housed in a grim military pile, a relic of some long passed colonial administration that had felt the need to build this grim structure to house its brutal and licentious soldiery, and put the fear of God into the surrounding natives. As far as Eve was concerned it still achieved the latter purpose efficiently, even if she was not a native.

The only external concession she could see to its present incarnation was the motto of the service, carved deeply in large Gothic letters above the dark recess of the forbidding iron-bound entrance gates:- IN SUBMISSION FREEDOM

Inside, the barrack-like building was revealed as a hollow square, its walls as bleak on the inside as on the outer face, except that the former carried rows of small barred windows where the latter had sported mere rifle slits. The sheer granite walls, and lack of openings, showed instantly the futility of thinking of escape, should the regime become unbearable. More immediately, their chilling grey aspect, and brutal strength brought home to her powerless naked femininity.

She had little time to think of such matters though, or even to take in the groups of women, naked as herself, that were scattered about the vast parade ground, toiling at unknown tasks under the barked incomprehensible orders of female guards, all from much the same brutal mould as her own escorts.

These jerked on her chain to bring her through another forbidding doorway, into the dark bowels of the establishment, giving her little chance to take in the proceedings in the courtyard. A brief call at a reception desk, where the first guard called out Eve's name and number to the clerk behind the desk, and handed in the identity papers, then she was propelled into a large circular chamber, its wall tiled to the ceiling. One of the guards went to the centre of the circle, where a hose and brass nozzle hung from a central hydrant. Number two pushed Eve into the room, then stepped back, closing the door on her, and watched the proceeding through a large glass panel, an anticipatory grin on her face.

"Time for a wash," the first guard said, and turned on a tap.

Instantly a jet of ice-cold water sprang from the nozzle and caught her in the belly, driving her against the wall. The pressure was immense, and the jet felt like an iron bar. With her arms still fastened behind her back, she could do nothing to protect herself, and the jet moved from belly to breasts, hitting them like a whip. She cried out in shock and pain, as the awful force drove into her tender mammaries, pinned against the tiles for a moment, then the guard began to play the jet with the skill of long practice. With deadly accuracy she switched the aching blast of icy water from breasts to buttocks, waist to thighs, back to the breasts again, then into the divide of her buttocks, each time drawing a new cry from her victim, and each time moving her on in the desired direction. Helpless under the agonising assault, Eve found herself spun steadily round, as she progressed around the outside of the bizarre circus ring she was trapped in. The guard used the jet to handle her like a baby, though no woman would think of treating a baby like that, sending her willy-nilly round the circuit, hitting every part of her flinching body in the process. The jet blasted her pussy, leaving it throbbing and abused, knocked her head almost senseless, as it tore into her hair, loosening it and leaving it hanging in wet curtains around her face. It caught her breasts painfully, distorting them momentarily into weird caricatures of their normal delightful globes, the nipples hardening into aching rocks. It lashed her buttocks like a wet rope's end, leaving them sore and bruised, and drove the breath from her in hooting gasps as it hit her full in her softly rounded belly. By the time the guard switched off the hose, after three dreadful circuits of the wash circle, she was hoarse and exhausted from her cries, battered and bruised all over, and barely able to stand.

"No-one can say we aren't concerned for hygiene here," the guard observed in what she appeared to think a humorous remark. Eve was not amused.

Still panting and aching she was hauled on her leash to a bare walled room, with a medical couch, a desk and various cabinets of equipment.

They were joined almost immediately by a young blonde woman. She was tall, slim, pretty; no, Eve corrected herself, actually she was genuinely beautiful, with those high cheekbones and blue eyes, but something about the woman caused her to flinch. There was a hardness around the eyes and mouth that belied the beauty, something of the night, a cruel icy Northern night. Eve shuddered in her naked vulnerability before this threatening female.

She seemed to be the medical officer for she wore a white coat, unlike the military style uniforms of all the other staff she had seen so far, and this seemed to be confirmed when she pulled on a pair of surgical gloves.

"Get her ready," she ordered and the guards pushed her up to the metal table, until the edge pressed across the tops of her thigh in line with the gash of her vulva. Strong hands forced her over and down until her breasts, with their fear hardened nipples still chilled into rigid points, rested on the cold iron. A heavy boot kicked at the inside of one ankle, forcing her to move that foot sideways and, a second later, an equally painful knock on the other caused her to open her thighs widely. Something cold touched the gape of her labia, and she recognised the smell of KY. As the realisation of what was about to happen hit her, she at least consoled herself that she wouldn't suffer it unlubricated.

Latex clad fingers forced their way in, one by one, until the hand was bunched in a tight cone, the thumb supporting the others to make a spearhead threatening her cringing belly. There was a forceful thrust, she gasped, groaned, the arm thrust harder and she felt the hand entering deeply into her stretched vagina.

One more vigorous shove and it was all in, and the woman's fingers were exploring her cervix, squeezing painfully on the neck of her womb. She gave a small animal sound of distress and her assailant rebuked her in a slight Nordic accent.

"You think this is rough girl. Wait until I check your arse. Then you'll have something to howl about."

At last she seemed satisfied and withdrew her hand. The exit was almost as painful as the entrance, for she used no finesse, simply pulling her hand free in one brusque movement, but at least it was a relief to have it gone. There was a short pause and the fingers were back, but this time probing the even more reluctant anus. A latex-wrapped digit pressed hard on the wrinkled whorl of brown tissue clenching tightly against it, forced the passage brutally, then was joined by a second. After some exploratory turning in the narrow passage, they made room for a third and them a fourth. Oh God! Was that her thumb? No no, she couldn't be planning that, surely?

But she was. The wedge of fingers formed itself again, the tips just lodged in the clenching sphincter.

"Give," the doctor cried, slapping hard on a bare buttock. Eve tried to let herself relax; it would be best she knew, but this was impossible. The doctor murmured something to one of the guards, who unclipped a short dog whip from her belt. There was a brief sound of air parting and a crack of leather on girl flesh, and Eve cried out at the sudden blast of fire in her rear. In the ensuing maelstrom of pain that followed, somehow she let herself go enough that the doctor's fingers pushed in past the knuckle. After that it was simply a matter of brutal shove, followed by a cruel screwing motion, and her wrist was through, followed by her arm up to the elbow. If Eve had thought the palping of her womb was bowel churning, this invasion of her rectum, followed by the opening of the penetrating fist into vice-like fingers that explored her entrails and organs ruthlessly, left her sweating and nauseous. When the doctor finally extracted the probing hand with no more care than she had evacuated her vagina, she could only howl in protest.

Weak legged she was made to stand, then given a cursory examination of her breasts, mouth, ears and feet, before being told she was in excellent condition, and would be reported as fit for all levels of exercise and discipline, standard, medium and hard. Feelings of satisfaction and pride in her physique were clouded be a certainty that this could only be to her disadvantage among the severe regimes of this bleak establishment.

"You can take her down to processing now," the doctor informed the guards, and in a minute Eve found herself in another bare and unfriendly chamber, where even worse humiliations awaited, though without the icy menace of the doctors manner to turn the knife. The operators here seemed bored and indifferent, but lacked the calculated cruelty of the medical woman. Eve hoped, without much conviction, that she would not have to encounter her again.

First to arrive was a monstrous enema. Forced over a similar table to the one in medical inspection, she had to brace herself while a gross, moulded rubber nozzle was forced into her stretched and sore anus, and two quarts of hot soapy water run in from a rubber bag hung from a drip stand. Her bowels writhed and roiled, her belly swelled. She wanted desperately to 'go' but the nozzle held her sealed immovably. Only after ten full minutes of belly cramps and pain was the nozzle none too gently withdrawn, and she was allowed to squat over a bucket and relieve herself, amid a cacophony of shaming belching from her bowels, liquid eruptions of the most disgusting nature, and spasmodic jerks of her belly. When at last she had quieted a little, she was made to go over the table again and take a repeat of the horrible irrigational procedure.

The uproar in her belly quelled enough for her to respond to instructions. For the first time since she had been cuffed, naked in front of the crowd at the reception that afternoon, her manacles were released, but only to be snapped shut again with her hands in front of her, but it was like a present from heaven compared to the increasing torture of having her arms secured behind her. She was told to mount the table and lie on her back, her knees first, drawn up tightly, then allowed to fall outwards, leaving her vulva and mons totally

exposed. One of the civilian attendants produced a bundle of linen strips, an insulated bowl containing hot honey coloured grains and a wooden spoon. She heaped the hot unrefined sugar, as it proved to be, on the hairy vulva, working it in with the spoon, and pressed strips of linen tightly against it, ignoring the protests this scalding assault evinced. A warning cut with the dog whip on one tender white inner thigh sent a clear message of what would happen if she failed to keep herself fully open.

After some minutes in this painful and humiliating pose, her attendant returned and tested the result. Satisfied, she gripped the end of the first strip and, with a slow deliberate and inexorable movement, tore it from its place. The cooling sugar ensured that hairs and strip remained firmly together. Since something had to give, it was the lodgement of the hairs in the tender skin of her mons and vulva. Inch by inch the cruel extraction proceeded, until Eve could bear the pain and, more particularly the long drawn out nature of the process, no more, and vented her anguish and frayed nerves in a howl of frustration.

When the last fugitive hairs from around her anus and in the crevice of her anal divide had been pulled acheingly out, leaving her crotch and crease hairless, red and inflamed, as sore as if she had had a kettle of boiling water poured over them, she had thought there was nothing more she could be made to endure in the way of 'processing. She was wrong. The final scene, the one that would nearly break her, the moment she was to look back on, when floggings and backbreaking labour had been forgotten, was about to begin.

With little time to rest, she was made to turn over, and kneel on all fours on the table, her long lovely hair now fallen loose and hanging about her face.

Fingers moved through it, searching, selecting, then there was a small hideous crunching sound and scissors cut though the handful of hair, near her scalp, and a large luxuriant tress dropped onto the table beneath her eyes. She moaned in despair, horror and loss. Again the fingers roved, the scissors chomped through the glorious threads. Remorselessly the crude barbaring continued while she wept openly and bitterly, until the curtain that had hung around her face lay pitifully on the metal surface below her. When all had gone, the scissors were replaced by a buzzing clipper that completed the work, leaving her with a head as bald as an egg.

Through her tears she heard one guard remark to the attendant," Funny thing.

They all blub when they lose their hair. Even the toughs from the criminal side break when the scissors get to work. Quietens them down wonderfully."

Subdued and tearful, Eve allowed herself to be led by the leash, walking a little stiffly from the soreness of her raped anus. She was deposited in a small bare cell, a mere stone box, with a plank bed screwed to the wall, an empty shelf and a covered bucket in the corner. Such light and air as she enjoyed came from a small barred window set high in the wall. She guessed she must be somewhere in the basement of the barracks.

"These solitary cells can get a bit lonely," one of the guards remarked," but never mind; there'll be a special welcome party for you later, when you can meet your new comrades."

Her companion seemed to think this very droll. Eve wasn't sure she found it reassuring.

An hour passed while she waited. The assault on her rectum had upset her bowels and her bladder, and she had crouched ashamedly over the bucket out of necessity, not choice. Sitting lonely on the plank, her bottom aching from the hard surface, she had absently passed her cuffed hands over her head, bursting into fresh tears when, instead of comforting silk, she found only smooth scalp.

The minutes passed slowly until the door opened with a clang, and she was ordered out.

"Time to meet your new friends," the guard said, and tugged on her leash to pull her from the cell. They walked down a long bleak corridor lined with similar cells, then up some stairs to ground level and a door out onto the square.

She blinked a moment in the sudden sunlight, then saw that dozens of women, all as naked and bald as herself, were drawn up round three sides of a low wooden platform. At first she only had eyes for the naked women, standing in well-drilled rows, totally silent and unmoving, caught in an iron discipline, then she lifted her gaze to the platform itself and gasped at the realisation of what her 'welcome' might be. She should have known, of course. Daphne and Gordon had both referred to it, but the reality was something else. Approached by half-a-dozen steps from the rear, the platform was about twenty feet square, plain planks with a crude guardrail. Set in its centre, black and menacing, was a pair of solid wooden posts, leaning in towards each other to form a sturdy triangle.

If she hadn't already got the message, it was spelt out by the straps fastened to the bottom of each rail, and the short chain, with its butcher's hook, that hung from the apex

With set face, but chin held high, she marched across the intervening ground and mounted the steps to the scaffold. Made to stand to the post with her back to the women, she was ordered to spread her legs wide. A guard knelt to each ankle, buckling a strap tightly round it, fastening her firmly with parted thighs, then made her raise her cuffed wrists for the hook to be threaded through the connecting links. The chain was ratcheted up to leave her tensioned painfully at the triangle, every limb pulled taut, the muscles in her shoulders protesting already before the black hide whip hanging from the posts had even kissed them.

Another uniformed woman, later Eve found she was the Superintendent of the

'freezer', stepped to the edge of the scaffold and addressed the waiting women.

"Pay attention," she barked, "today we are joined by Number two-one-three Eve.

She has applied for immigration. Please welcome her in the traditional manner."

While the woman had been speaking the taller of her two guards had unhooked the leather thong and moved behind Eve's drum taut figure, stretched helplessly against the triangle. The Super nodded to her, and the leather lifted. It made a peculiar thrumming noise as it flew, then cracked loudly across the stretched shoulders. Eve felt herself driven forward, despite her strained position, and fire leapt across her back. It was even worse than she had expected, and she'd not been kidding herself it could be easy. Her breath was knocked out of her by the blow, and she drew it back in with a strangled sound as the pain in her back flowered. As the whip fell away to hang at the guard's side, the parade cried as one woman, "One."

She could feel the skin tightening across her shoulders, where the thick welt lay from just under her left arm to run across and curl into her right armpit, where the tip left a searing blister of agony. The guard lifted the leather snake again, and the thrumming was repeated. This time she used the backhand but, like a true professional, she was equally strong on both. A matching welt ran from right to left, the other armpit bitten and bruised this time. Again Eve was driven forward as she gargled in agony and the watching women chorused,

"Two."

Three matched One and four twinned Two, and the crowd continued to show proof of their mathematical skill. Eve hissed and gasped, her throat almost strangled by the sheer weight of the pain. It was far, far worse than a flogging on the buttocks. Maybe it could be shown scientifically that the neuron messages were no stronger, that the total of tissue damage reported to the brain was no worse than if a heavy penal was tearing into the buttock flesh, but there was a missing element. Even in the most dire beating of the buttocks, the female body and mind made a connection with the womb and clitoris, blurring the boundary between agony and eroticism in an evolutionary ploy the female had developed over thousands of generations to help her survive rape, mutilation and childbirth, and still function as an efficient reproductive system. Time and

time again, Eve had found herself wet between the legs after a beating, or spotted the tell-tale glistening of erotic dew on a girl's sex fleece after she'd been caned. Somehow it didn't work for the back. The connection just was not there. It was pure pain, total torture, with not a crumb of erotic relief Not even when the guard dropped her aim, let out her arm, and sent the wicked length seeking out her tender sides and vulnerable breasts. Five wrapped itself across her back below the shoulder blades and curled round hungrily to bite deep into the under-side of her right breast, lifting the heavy globe, so that it bounced on her chest as the leather released its grip, leaving her writhing helplessly as far as her stringent bonds would allow, punctuating the count with a strangled cry.

She howled and writhed again as Six tore just as bitterly into her left teat, leaving a searing welt three parts of the way around its base. She was hardly aware for some minutes, as she hung and squirmed on the hook, that the parade had been marched off into the barracks. By the time she had been released from the straps and chain, the parade ground was deserted again. Mercifully, for the first time since they had come for her at the reception, that afternoon, the cuffs were removed completely, and she stood, bowed over her wounded breasts, arms cradling their throbbing welts, hands cupping her anguished armpits, where livid lumps, like pickled walnuts, showed where the lash's tip had struck home.

"Can't hang around feeling sorry for yourself," a guard announced, not unkindly,

"your room-mates will be able to do something for you I expect. Time you joined them."

Still clasping her wounds she followed on her leash, this time to an upper floor of the barracks, rather than the grim 'solitary' world of the basement.

"Welcome to your new home," the guard said, throwing open the door of a large bare cell, and unclipping her leash. As the door slammed shut behind her with a metallic clang, she looked about her and sized up the new surrounding.

Six plain plank bunks were arranged in pairs around three walls. Five were occupied by assorted females, as naked and hairless as herself. A big girl in her twenties, probably a blonde by her skin colouring, who seemed to be their leader, swung her legs to the ground, and came over to hold her gently by the arms.

"Hi, Eve. I'm Kath. Sorry about your back. It must be bad just now, but it'll pass. We all got the same welcome and as you can see, we survived."

"Jeez! I never want to go through that again," Eve groaned, "it's quite the worst thing I've ever come across."

"I know," the blonde sympathised, "it's got nothing to recommend it at all. At least if you get your arse whipped, you can wrap your cunt around the pain and use it to warm up your belly, but a flogging on the back is hell, plain and simple."

She seemed to hesitate a moment, before she said suddenly.

"Sorry to have to give you bad news, but it's best you know the worst and get used to it. That was your welcome to the freezer. We all got it, and we'll all get a similar farewell when our time is up."

"But that's at least a month away," she said in consolation, "you can forget about it for the moment. Come and meet the others and let's see what we can do about your back. Here, Jose. What've you done with the salve?"

A dark skinned girl, Hispanic Eve thought, jumped down from one of the top bunks with a tube of ointment in her hand. Between them they laid Eve out on her belly on Kath's bunk and began, with exquisite gentleness to work the soothing salve

into the livid stripes that covered her back.

"Better?" Kath asked.

"Mmmm," Eve agreed, feeling the sharpest edge of the pain softening under their care, "though I never imagined for a moment that there'd be any such stuff available in this place. So far it's been uniformly grim and girl-unfriendly."

"And so it is," Kath assured her, "the only reason we've got this stuff is because the Doc knows her own hide could be on the line if we got scars or infections. They daren't risk sending us back marked for life. Damaged goods and all that. The men would never stand for it, and they'd have her trussed up tight, and a strong male arm skinning her back with a bullwhip if we got into serious trouble. So they slip us this stuff from time to time so we can take care of any damaged patches."

"Well, I for one am very grateful," Eve declared, "actually I feel a touch better already. When I first came in I thought I wanted to die. Now I think I might just bear to live, though my back still feels like a disaster area."

"Looks it too," Jose assured her, "but a good night's sleep and you'll find it merely sore by morning, though you'll be stiff for days."

In the event it was a correct forecast, exhausted by the gruelling events of the day, she fell asleep almost as soon as she curled up in the blanket of the spare bunk. She'd thought the rubbing of the coarse material on her lacerated back would drive away sleep, but she was fit and healthy and had been through a lot in a short time and nature took over to restore her well-being.

Not that the morning brought her any comfort. Besides the throbbing in her back, various other parts of her anatomy were still actively protesting at the abuse they had suffered from the pressure hose or the Nordic medico's sadistic fingers. And when she tried to swing herself out of the bunk in response to Kathy's urgent shaking, and the clanging bell that had woken her in the first place, she groaned at the stiffness in her back and followed the others out of the cell half bent as is suffering from arthritis in old age.

The guards were opening the doors all along the corridor and groups of naked women were spilling out and making their way to the parade ground. When all had been formed up in lines, and the numbers checked, they were marched off in the chilly dawn to a dining hall for breakfast.

The food was simple but adequate, porridge, bread and margarine, even the choice of orange or apple to finish and, she was relieved to find, plenty of it. They were not intended to starve while they trained. She learnt in cautious whispers from Kathy and Jose that breakfast was the same every day, but they got a little variety in their other meals, which were also adequate.

"It's the same as with the salve," Kath explained, "they daren't risk returning us to our men in anything but prime condition."

After breakfast some numbers were called, 213 among them, and she had to leave her new friends and report to the office. She waited in line until called and stood in front of the Duty Officer's desk.

"213," the latter read out from the list in front of her, "I see you're applying for immigration. There are some special remarks regarding your treatment, and we'll deal with them later when we have assessed your progress. Meanwhile you'll go the standard course, like all the Eden born girls. You'll get light duties the first few days, then settle down to make your pair. When you've completed a respectable pair of drawers we'll see about the next phase."

'Light duties ' consisted of collecting, emptying and cleaning the lidded pails that served for nightly needs in all the cells. Not actually very hard work, as

befitted her healing back, but a humiliating task for a young woman used to commanding others and being provided luxury bathrooms wherever she went. Still she had been warned, and Daphne's fortnight of humiliation had inoculated her to some extent and she accepted it for what it was, a trial and a lesson in humility. To reinforce the point, she was set to fill in the rest of each day scrubbing the floors of the endless stone-flagged corridors, still naked and on her knees, with periodic visits from guards, who rewarded her efforts with cracking strokes of whip or cane on her bare bent buttocks. Nothing very much in themselves but, by the end of each day, she had collected the equivalent of a considerable thrashing

After a three day stint as latrine lady she joined the rest in their daily routine.

Kath, Jose and a third girl, Carla, had all been to the same college together and had come to serve their time immediately after graduation. The other two girls, Mary and Connie, were only just eighteen. They were friends, and had elected to be initiated as women after high school. Now that she was pronounced fit, Eve joined them on the parade ground after breakfast each morning for some strenuous exercise.

The drills were many and various, but all were calculated to take a woman to the edge of endurance. There was pack drill, with each girl carrying a backpack loaded to half her body weight. Hunched under the load, they were set to march steadily round the edge of the parade ground, until their legs felt like jelly, and their shoulders ached. To keep them moving when their tired muscles screamed for rest, the guards, positioned strategically round the tract, would lash out at legs or bums with their dog whips or the swagger canes they carried on parade, quickening the pace again and drawing short yelps of distress from the sweating, naked girls.

At least it seemed to have some sense to it, even if useless, but shot drill was designed to try the spirit by its totally futility. Each side of the square were piles of antique cannon balls, each weighing fifteen pounds, simple spheres of cast iron stacked up in pyramids, four balls in a row at the base, tapering to a single shot on top, a total of thirty lifeless lumps of iron. A girl given shot drill had to pick up a ball in her hands and run with it to the far side of the square to set it down on an empty base. One by one she had to carry the awkward heavy balls until she had built up a full pyramid on the far side. Then she repeated the useless labour by carrying each ball back to where it had come from, until all was just as it started.

A smooth fifteen pound round shot was an uncomfortable burden for a girl, requiring considerable effort merely to grip it safely, let alone run bare foot across a sandy parade ground under a quickly heating sun. One slip and tender finger tips would be pinched, one sign of slackening and a whip or cane would wrap itself round the sweating straining thighs or buttocks. and all this for nothing. And sometimes one run was not enough. Special category candidates, and Eve had that honour, might have to repeat the performance all over again, starting with already aching limbs and sore feet and fingers.

As she dragged herself back with the other girls, after her first morning's experience of hard physical exercise, her naked body streaked with sweat and dust she asked Kath when they could look forward to a shower.

"No showers here," Kath informed her, "Once a fortnight you go back into the waterwheel for a dowsing. That's the nearest thing to a shower around these parts."

She'd only been here a few days, and this was her first time in the rapidly rising morning heat. Seemed like Daphne had known what she'd been doing after all.

With the end of exercise came work, the traditional 'pair'. The girls were marched into the workrooms and sat at benches and looms. It was a very old regime, harking back to the days when women made all their own cloth and clothes. They started with a spinning wheel, learning to produce fine cotton thread from the heaps of raw cotton dumped in front of them. Learning was rapid under the whips and canes, and the hours long, and each girl had to produce enough material to make the cloth that would eventually be her 'pair'. When she'd completed her stint at the spinning wheel, she was transferred to the weaving shed, and worked a loom to weave a form of coarse cotton cloth. quality was controlled by the usual mechanism of stinging cane and bare female buttock, but even the most stringent application could not guarantee more than a very rough and uneven material.

From the weaving shed Eve progressed to the more congenial work of cutting out and sewing her 'pair', clumsy and humiliating drawers, their baggy legs coming almost to the knee and fastened at the waist by tapes.

And between the different work rooms there was the 'hook'!

The 'freezer' was meant to be self-supporting to a high degree. Much of the food came from the farm attached to the establishment and worked by the women. They even grew the cotton for their drawers, and the power for lighting, pumping water, etc., was largely produced in the mills. Eve had heard rumours of the mills, but women seemed to shy away from recalling them too vividly. It was soon apparent why. It was an amazing sight that greeted her the first morning she was sent to work her shift on the wheel. In a large stone built chamber, as bleak as any of the multitude of others she had visited already, but rather larger and higher than most, a long horizontal cylinder ran across one side. It was built like the wheel of a watermill, with long plank 'paddles' forming the outer surface, but arranged, not to be driven by a stream, but as a set of steps, for this was a treadmill, and some eight or ten girls were steadily climbing the endlessly descending staircase, holding onto a rail in front of them to keep their balance. That was bad enough but their sweating nudity and straining limbs were not the only thing that sent a shock of apprehension through her. Each straining naked female had a brutal iron hook thrust up her anus, from which a rope ran over a pulley above to be fastened to a cleat on the wall. It did not need much imagination to guess at the effect, if the girl slackened even for a moment in her upward climb, and her weight fell on the hook that penetrated her rear. The guards had no need to use whips or canes in here. The hook would work just as effectively as the lash.

One of the bored guards slackened a cleated rope and let down an unbaited hook.

"On your hands and knees girl," she ordered, and Eve dropped obediently into the required position. The guard came round to her head, carrying the hook. Eve's eyes opened wide at the sight close to. It was even larger than she had thought, a serious intruder for a tender female sphincter, as large as a man's prick, to which the business end had a distinct resemblance, no doubt intentional.

"Here, give it a good suck," the guard suggested, offering the pseudo penis,

"you'll make it easier on yourself when it goes in."

This was no place for modesty or protest. The woman obviously meant it kindly, and Eve could see the sense in her suggestion. She gathered her saliva and put her mouth over the blunt helmet end, coating it as thickly and completely as she could. The guard gave her a minute or two to make the best job she could then took it out of her mouth and went behind her kneeling figure. She had been prepared for what followed and her conscientious lubrication certainly softened the blow but, even so, the penetration of her anus was torture. The thick solidity of the iron was definitely girl-unfriendly, and no amount of preparation could make it anything but a nightmare to have that unfeeling metal phallus stuffed rudely up her arse. She grunted and blew and tried to relax her sphincter as much as possible to aid its entry, but she was panting and sweating

all over again, by the time it sank fully home.

"Up, girl," the guard ordered, and reinforced the command by jerking none too gently on the rope attached to the hook. Propelled by a shaft of agony that lanced her belly she sprang to her feet, her legs bowed to accommodate the intruder as comfortably as she could, and moved over to the wheel, where it rotated remorselessly, the steps descending in a never ending succession. Urged on by more tugs on the hook, she climbed the moving stair until she could grip the handrail, then went on climbing step after step, to maintain her position.

The guard tied off her rope on a cleat. Now she was tethered firmly and obliged to keep walking if she wanted to avoid deeper impalement. For the moment she could cope, it was just like climbing the stairs to a higher floor, but the floor never came, only another flight of stairs. She was fresh for the moment, but the other girls had been on for some time already. Her neighbour was sweating profusely and groaning mournfully, as she desperately tried to keep up, and keep the hook from pulling on her sore anus or pushing into her tender bowel. Next to her an older woman seemed in dire trouble, her rope almost continuously taut and dragging exhausted howls from the suffering wheel walker.

It seemed she was at the end of her shift, as well as her tether, and at that moment the guard slacked the rope and the dog-tired woman let herself drop with the wheel until she could collapse on the solid ground below.

Eve couldn't spare her more than a parting glance, she had troubles of her own to think about. The pace was beginning to make itself known in her unaccustomed legs. True she had been fit enough when she entered, and worked hard since, but this climbing made demands of its own on slightly different muscles, which were becoming tired now. Besides, the soreness in her bum was getting worse with the continuous motion, and had become a constant nagging pain, without even having the pressure of the rope on it. By the time her first break came round, she was more than ready.

They each walked for twenty minutes without a break, then were let down for five to recover, after which they were sent back onto the unending climb for another stretch, keeping the wheel loaded with sufficient toiling females to drive the generators. It was the worst form of forced labour she could imagine, and Eve was no different from her sisters in this grim establishment, in physically cringing when it became her turn again to do a stint on the hook.

Life in the freezer seemed an interminable round of labour and pain. There was too the humiliation of the lack of hygiene provided for the sweat-soaked, dust coated, nakedness they lived in, a grimy filthiness only relieved by another visit to the 'waterwheel', where she spun in agony under the lash of the icy jet, coming away bruised and sore but, for the moment, clean. With the bruising bath went another crude barbaring to restore the polish of her scalp. Eventually though the month was up and her degrading drawers completed. Most of her friends had left one by one as their own terms were up; had stood to the triangle in the yard for a farewell flogging, and left the next morning, their welts still livid, clad only in their newly manufactured underpants. From what the others told her, she understood they would be received by their relatives at the gates and taken off for a 'coming-of-age' party, still dressed in no more than their drawers, and carrying their weals and polished skulls as badges of rank.

But when her own time came she found herself, not straining at the triangle, but standing in front of the superintendent's desk.

"You've done well, so far," that official admitted, "but I have to consider the comments and recommendations made by your sponsor, and agreed with by yourself.

You do agree that your case required more than the standard treatment, as awarded to girls who have grown up under our customs?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"And that you are by nature and experience a young woman of more than commonly strong will"

Again Eve agreed it was so.

The Superintendent seemed to consider for a moment, then pronounced.

"Then you will do two weeks on a chain-gang, to help curb those unfeminine leanings. You'll be returned to us here in a fortnight."

The chain-gangs operated from an entirely separate establishment, being part of the criminal, rather than the social, system. Eve, still aching from a further bruising wash down in the 'waterwheel', found herself attached by one leg to a chain of half-a-dozen women of all ages, sentenced for theft, fraud or domestic disobedience. Each, as she had observed while still a free woman, had her prison number permanently burnt into her shaven mons. Her belly had quaked at the thought of the pain of such a marking, but also at the humiliation of having to carry the mark for the rest of her life. And it was with immense relief that she heard that, as a candidate for immigration, and not a criminal, she would be spared this ordeal.

She was spared nothing else. The first week her gang was assigned to refuse duties in town, hitched to a heavy wagon to tow it from street to street, encouraged by whistling cuts of cane or whip to bare buttocks and backs, then made to collect the garbage from the houses, under the scornful eyes of passers-by and householders. Eve found herself watched by several women she had known socially, and blushed to be seen so, toiling naked at this humiliating task with the chain linking her to the rest of the gang, more and more disgustingly soiled as the days passed under the unrelenting sun.

The second week the gang was sent out into the country to mend roads. With only primitive shovels and barrows, they dug gravel, filled pot-holes, heaved heavy kerbs into position, spread the hot steaming tarmac over the road bed under the mocking laughter and lustful gazes of the men who drove the machines. At least, Eve consoled herself, the guards make sure they can only rape us with their eyes.

Dog tired, she would drop into sleep alongside her companions, lying like sardines along a hard plank bed, too weary even to notice how the days were passing. It was with surprise she received the news that her time was up, and her leg iron was opened to allow her to leave the gang, and ride the truck back to the freezer.

And then two thoughts hit her at once. To night she would be flogged in farewell at the triangle, in front of the paraded inmates, tomorrow she would be sent out into the world, naked save for her drawers, to meet an unknown sponsor.

She'd plucked up courage to ask the Superintendent if she knew who the man was but other than confirming that someone had been appointed, she could enlighten her no further.

"I shouldn't worry," the officer said, "someone will be meeting you tomorrow."

Once more she found herself, dripping from her punishing bath, her head freshly clipped, strung up tight on the merciless timbers. While her sisters watched and counted, the ritual six stripes were laid across her flinching back, and she screamed as the lash lifted each breast in turn, leaving a searing brand under each full firm globe. Jose was long gone now, but other, newer fingers helped soften her wounds with the clandestine salve and she fell into exhausted sleep, still wondering what kind of man might be waiting for her. "Daphne, Daphne," she thought, "I hope you've picked the right one for me."

Standing on the steps of the grim gateway to the 'freezer', naked but for the drab cotton knickers, her back still sore and aching, her breasts bare and rocky

nippled, she looked about her in distress. Had she been forgotten? Was no one coming for her? Before she could experience real concern a chauffeur driven limousine swept up to the gates. She started. She'd seen that car before. Right at the beginning of the adventure. It had been bearing away the patronising Scot she'd met at the airport.

Now Angus was getting out and walking towards her.

"What are YOU doing here?" was all she could think to ask.

"Come to collect you, lassie," he said. "Didn't they tell you I'm to be your sponsor? Come along. We have an appointment." and he took her arm to guide her to the waiting car.

"Where are we going?"

"To a wedding."

"Whose?"

"Yours if you like. You have a choice. You can marry me or you can accept me as just your titular sponsor, a kind of Godfather figure and go back to live with Gordon and Daphne and young Daisy."

Feminine-like she could only reply idiotically, "But I haven't a thing to wear."

"This is the Eden equivalent of the old Scots custom of marrying in your shift,"

Angus reassured her. "The woman leaves all her past behind her, and her new husband is not responsible for her debts or past misdemeanours, so will you marry me?"

She thought of Gordon with the two sisters and how she would be an intruder at a sensitive time for them, she thought of Angus's firm but sensitive treatment of her in the stables, Above all she recognised that he truly wanted her, even in her present degraded condition. It occurred to her with a sudden jolt of perception that he was actually a strong and very handsome man, who would complete her life.

"Yes please Angus, if you'll have me," she answered softly.

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