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CHAPTER1
Marianne
“I’m not sure about this new protocol,” said the doctor to the nurse as they both stood looking down at me. I glared up at him, trying to say with angry eyes just how fucking monstrous I thought everything thisprotocolwas.
Not that I even really had an especially good idea of what aprotocolinvolved. I had the vague feeling that it meant something about manners, or maybe about hospitals, but those two things didn’t go together at all. New or old, whatever fuckingprotocolthese assholes had decided to put me through represented, as far as I could tell, a horrendously unjust—and, I hoped anyway, totally illegal—series of humiliating, degrading, fascist acts they seemed intent on committing on me without my consent.
Not to mention the worst thing that had ever happened to me in my life.
Naked, bound, gagged, and placed in something like a gynecologist’s examination chair with my knees spread wide, I couldn’t tell the stupid doctor or his stupid nurse just how deeply I resented theirprotocol.I couldn’t even cry out in protest as the nurse started to shave my pussy.
“But, doctor,” she said as she held the buzzing clipper a few inches away from my privates, looking down with an assessing, condescending expression, “Selecta knows what they’re doing, don’t they?” She, a middle-aged professional in traditional blue scrubs, regarded the intimate places between my spread thighs as if she wanted to start the humiliation of the shaving in the most degrading way possible, so as to teach me some horrid “lesson”.
She brought the clipper down slowly, confirming—it seemed to me—that she wanted to make certain I “understood” something. Despite the stout webbing belt fastened around my waist, I couldn’t help trying desperately to squirm away from the buzzing device. I managed to move my ass about a millimeter, which only made my situation worse. The tsking noise of patronizing disapproval the nurse made with her tongue and the way the tension in my muscles from the effort both reinforced, to my dismay, the unexpected, unwelcome, frankly horrifying response of my clit and my nipples to their whole fuckingprotocol.
“Naughty little girls who are getting their privates shaved,” the doctor said, his voice just as condescending as the nurse’s, “need to keep themselves still.”
My lips parted and my heart, which had already wanted to pound through my rib cage, began to beat even more wildly. I forgot all about the pink ball gag they had stuck in my mouth and velcroed behind my neck, and I tried to sayWhat?but it came out as a sort of moaning grunt, which then extended itself mortifyingly as I felt the clipper start to do its work between my thighs.
Having delivered his baffling warning about “naughty little girls,” the doctor proceeded to ignore me completely. He answered the nurse’s question—which I had to admit I wanted to get the answer to as well. I had known I was taking a serious risk in trying to run my play on a Selecta executive, because the megacorps had their own private security apparatuses these days, much more brutal, and much more effective, than the government’s police.
I hadn’t known that she would have the power to turn me over to what seemed increasingly like a separate, twisted, fascist system of justice. I didn’t know if it would make it better, or worse, to hear what the doctor thought of Selecta’s capacity for creatingprotocolslike whatever-the-fuck one they had decided to apply to me.
“Oh, they know what they’re doing,” he told her. “I’m just not sure it’s a great use ofmytime to provide this wayward young woman—a convicted felon, no less—with the fulfillment of her unconscious sexual fantasies as a means of punishing her.”
My eyes had opened wide enough that I could feel the tension in the muscles of my forehead and my cheeks. Again I tried to sayWhat?!and this time the urge to speak was strong enough that I made a humiliating, inarticulate noise around the pink silicone ball between my teeth. I swallowed desperately, clearing my mouth of the saliva that kept flowing as I tried to get used to the mortifying feeling of having my voice taken away by the horrid thing.
The awful pink thing that I now understood must in fact have the sexual meaning I had tried hard to pretend couldn’t actually be involved in thisprotocol.
They told me it was… hygienic!I wanted to scream at the doctor and the nurse. After sentencing, the officers—who knew what organization they belonged to, given that so many different ones controlled law and order in our brave new world of economic collapse—had come to the table where I sat with my court-appointed legal aid. I’d heard that they used to appoint an actual lawyer, but that had to have been years ago at least.
My legal aid had told me that she’d gotten me an amazing deal. A program for non-violent offenders with a work placement.
“We’re here to take Marianne to the on-boarding for her program,” said one of the two non-descript officers. “Just a hygiene check with a doctor and she’ll be on her way to her new life.”
The nurse had helped the doctor strap me down to the exam chair, while the officers, who had stripped my jail uniform off me, held me down so that all the webbing restraints could be easily fastened, pinning me almost motionless to the awful thing. They had parted my legs despite my futile attempts to struggle, and put my knees in the stirrups, where the nurse on one side and the doctor on the other had deftly secured them in place. The officers hadn’t neglected to look between my spread thighs, either.
“Nice little bush,” one had said, as he gazed down with a smile at the tuft of golden fur that covered my pussy. “Especially for nineteen. Shame you have to lose it, I’d say.”
“No one asked your opinion, officer,” the doctor had replied, sounding annoyed. “Thanks for your help. We’ll take it from here.”
I had felt, I remembered now with horror,gratefulto him. I had thought he actually cared about me—even that he had felt sorry for me and annoyed with the corporate justice system for putting mostly innocent girls like me through this craziness.
Not anymore. When I asked my desperate, wordless question through the gag—what the actual fuck is going on here?!—the doctor turned to me with a cold look on his face.
“You tried to steal—what, Marianne?—a hundred thousand dollars, wasn’t it? Doyouthink you’ve earned the chance to live a pampered life as a sexual servant?”
I tried to say,A what?!and then I cursed myself for forgetting about the horrible fucking gag yet again.
A what?!He had said what I thought he had said. I had paid too close attention to have gotten that wrong, hadn’t I? The doctor had actually saidsexual servant.
I stared at him—glaredat him—and I watched his mouth curve up at one side, into an amused little sneer. My heart pounding as I swallowed down my spit once a second, it felt like, I turned to the nurse. Her attention remained focused between my legs, on the clipper that kept buzzing and moving, shearing away my private curls. What the doctor had said hadn’t surprised her at all.
Pampered life?
Sexual servant?!
“Well,” the doctor continued, “I suppose, Marianne, if what they tell us about the program is accurate, life won’t be that pampered. You’ll work for your daddies in less pleasant ways than your bedroom service, or your backside will feel the paddle.”
