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As the woman greets she calmly applies a vicious stroke of the sjambok to a passing subjugant. As the recipient howls and stumbles, 128 sees the numerals 45 at the forehead, her fellatio trainer finally remanded to the pump house.
“Here to inspect your snipping?” the woman laughs, the teeth strikingly white in contrast to skin the color of midnight.
“Good afternoon, Mondiva. Just a visit. No longer on the medical staff. I’ve joined Nusquam as a member and am showing prospect 128 the drudgery of the pump house.”
“Welcome 128,” a free hand extending.
Well trussed, breasts thrusting forward, 128 cannot resist the touch. Thumb and forefinger, graze about then pinch the right nipple, squeezing to bring instant breathtaking agony. The woman smiles with the reaction, aloof to 128’s discomfort.
“You come and have Mondiva work you here. We like white girls... owned, naked and tattooed. Mondiva will have your brand lit up, the red glowing. Work you hard... set those plump buttocks on fire, ha ha, ha.”
The woman, fortyish, seems pleasant, appreciating her authority... the dispensation of pain and suffering. The fact that she so much enjoys, frightens. Mercy not an attribute.
The black hand rises, fingers slipping under 128’s steel neck collar. She pulls downward, the strength inordinate for a woman. Kelly knows to offer slack on the leash as 128’s knees buckle, forced to kneel.
Now proximate, the extraordinary labial flesh is within inches. Then the well muscled woman shuffles even closer.
“And you’ll thank me with your tongue and lips. White girls learn to enjoy chocolate flesh here in the pump house. Look at Mondiva’s cunny. So much attention here... but every week there’s just a little more to suck on, ha, ha, ha.”
“Taste the woman, 128. Be polite,” Kelly commands. “It’s pump house etiquette.”
The sjambok hand threatens. 128 knows obedience, trained in oral servitude, so much time spent under the cunnilingus chair of Miss Florence Gale. She extends her tongue and licks.
“No girl. Take it in... the left lip first. Press your mouth to my mons and swish with your tongue.”
With the words, the sjambok threateningly grazes her back. Then comes a loud thwack as a nearby supervisor applies an encouraging stroke to the buttocks of a passing castrate. The cruelty shocks. 128 engulfs. No further commands required.
“Yes, you like my taste. And when it’s your turn to serve here, you’ll have lots of it. My girls and boys like to drink from me. And they’re always so thirsty...”
Chapter Forty-Eight
“I’m not sure I can do that, Miss Kelly.”
“You mean, 128 is not sure.” Kelly corrects, offering a tug on the cunny harness to remind.
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“Rather fickle of you, 128. Reservation about the milking parlor... and now concerns over the pump house. The Director will be very interested in learning this.”
Kelly decides 128 needs to be reminded of her place... her status. Exiting the pump house she takes long quick strides. Her charge must shuffle rapidly, feet moving with vigor. Still the clamps of the cunny harness tighten, bringing yelps of pain.
“Let’s see if the Director is busy. I am due to return to New York and it’s nearing time for your review and evaluation.”
To the administration building, the center of Nusquam’s power indistinguishable in the plainness of the cinder block. Kelly strolls into the reception area. There feminized castrate Robert greets, the soft high pitched voice evidencing his physical alteration.
“Good afternoon, Miss Kelly.”
“Good afternoon Robert. Is the Director available?”
Robert wordlessly presses the intercom, announcing Kelly’s presence and desire to meet.
“128 is here with her.”
“Send them in,” the raspy voice succinctly granting an audience.
A firm tug on the leash, once again Robert impressed with the woman’s stern resolve, brings a yelp and instant compliant footwork as Kelly heads to the inner office door. Upon entrance 128 becomes transfixed, despite the many months of quirky Nusquam antics. The capacious office is more dungeon than place of business.
First her eyes rivet upon the dangling nakedness of 156. Tall, muscular, erection pointing to the ceiling, the extreme level of authority frightens. He is suspended by cables secured to muscles and flesh, the slow agony unimaginable. Limbs remaining perfectly still, there comes a low moan, relieving 128 of the notion that a dead body has been strung up like cattle for slaughter.
