Nusquam

by Chris Bellows

  Chapter Twenty-One

  128’s agitation grows. She needs to empty herself and without the vaginal insertion such should be facile. Yet there is no one to offer permission and Brutus is sure to enforce the rules. Plus there is the monitoring overhead camera and the threat of the sjambok, the nurse’s quick and effortless demonstration stroke most painful.

  She attempts to squeeze together her thighs, holding the contents of her bladder within. As she tugs, drawing in right foot and left, 127 responds, in turn pulling her left foot. 128 finds herself losing the duel, the well muscled left leg easily drawing inward to add aggravation to 128’s awkward and revealing pose. She finds herself further spreading.

  This cannot last. She must pee!

  Alas, there come the sounds of activity. A door opens and closes somewhere behind. There are voices. Finally into view comes a woman... tall, blonde, potentially ravishing but for masculine hair styling detracting from natural feminine allure. In her right hand is sjambok. In her left a leash leading to a steel neck band. Following is the collared, naked hairless form of a girl, forehead tattooed in black, numerals 5... 4, her many steel bands evidencing her position of subservience.

  “Some new arrivals 54. Exciting is it not!”

  128 assesses. The woman wears the attire of an equestrienne, white satin blouse, beige jodhpurs and black leather riding boots. The girl is of age, perhaps more woman than girl. Hands to her head, she obediently responds to tugs on the controlling leash, alacritously heeling in perfect cadence with the casually strolling woman. She is well trained. In moving about, 128 notes the cruel brand. Just as with 45, a large letter ‘N’ adorns her right buttock, the coloring a distinctive deep red.

  “Awaiting branding. And such a motley group. This one is no doubt destined for the stables.”

  The comment comes as the woman stands eye to eye with 127. She snickers, her look of Scadenfreude remaining as her right arm extends to offer the sjambok. Her leashed companion knows to take the implement in her mouth.

  The free right hand reaches forth. 127 squirms in her bonds.... resistance... fear? It matters not, the woman’s touch is not to be avoided.

  “You’re well shaped for physical exertion, 127. We can offer that here in abundance. Too tall for a gymnast. Basketball? You may speak.”

  “Track, Ma’am. 200 meters. I.... er... 127 set a conference record.”

  The words come as the woman’s fingers brazenly pinch a perky left nipple, roll about then squeeze to bring a grimace of pain.

  “Well, there’s the stables for 127. And 127 will be run more than 200 meters here. The pony cart... girls like 127 pull for miles. Come to enjoy laboring for the amusement of others. Also savor a bit of the sjambok. Girls like you come to crave it, relish it. You won’t be feeling much else.”

  The fingers release, the hand gliding down to apprize rippled abdominal muscles, then moving to the well exposed mons. Fingers splay open the feminine portal, sliding within. 127 shudders... in distress?

  The woman smiles, 127’s quim affirming what she knows.

  “You’re excited. Aroused to be presented to me stripped naked, branded and spread?”

  The hand retreats, the woman holding up her fingers, wet and glistening in the hot sun.

  “No need to answer. Your cunt speaks for you. 127 is going to have a long grueling stay here at Nusquam. I may just work you a little myself. But I prefer working the male. I have a stallion. Well trained yet not too docile. Still there lacks the challenge of breaking in a new steed.”

  The woman retrieves the sjambok, steps back and delivers a crisp and exacting stroke to the left buttock. 127 screams in agony, the woman laughing with the strident reaction.

  “Ha, ha... it’s unfortunate I need to restrain myself. Can’t have that right cheek welted. The branding iron awaits.”

  The woman returns the sjambok to an obedient mouth and steps to confront 128.

  “Well, well, a dumpling. Nice and soft. Lots of flesh. My imagination hears the thwacks of a cane on buttocks eager to be heated. Is that true 128? You look like the type of girl that would bend in eagerness. And such tits. More bovine than human.”

  Free hand and leash hand extend to palpate left nipple and right. The touch is tender and knowing. The pinks nubs instantly crinkle seemingly inviting more manipulation. With the many weeks of denial... Nurse Kelly long ago refraining from bringing 128 to complete orgasm... the many chaste days and nights enshrouded in plastic... 128 sighs with the delightful touch. She wants more, disappointed when the fingers withdraw.

  “Yes, 128 would express marvelously. We’d have you letting down copiously, the goat milking machines are amazingly effective. Have you begging to be milked... by hand... slow, gentle. There are subjugants here at Nusquam who can have a girl performing for us... lactate dribbling at the sound of their voice,” the words offered in a soothing and sultry tone.

  The free hand lowers finding the outer labia of the hairless portal, once again splaying with deft, fingers entering a vagina sopping with feminine essence.

  “You’re even wetter than 127. So eager to serve. So eager to perform for me. So nicely curved, 128. You must have been attractive before being shaved and tattooed. And you will brand well... have you looking like the cow you’re so eager to emulate,” the leash hand reaching behind to smooth over the soft well rounded right buttock.

  “54, after she’s branded and trained I want you to show 128 around. Show her how you groom and ready Richard for his daily run. She’ll fluff him nicely, I’m sure. Richard’s becoming too accustomed to you. And you’re nearing another step in status. The pump house beckons.”

  The girl nods, her face sullen in reaction to the commands.

  “Thank you, Ma’am,” 128 finding her voice. “May I pee?”

  There comes a grin, turning wicked.

  “Yes. But you’ll not soil the ground here. We have certain ...ah... rituals. 54,” snapping her fingers and pointing.

  The leash hand offers slack. A glum 54 steps to 128’s front, lowering to her knees, her mouth proximate to the moist portal.

  “Go ahead. You’ll return the favor for 54 when you’re better trained.”

  128 is horrified, the woman ready to accept her excretions, the lips are pressed to her labia, positioning perfectly to take her flow. Though 128 finds the deed repulsive, she can no longer hold back as the girl’s tongue extends... her lips sucking to encourage.

  “You’ll note that a drop won’t escape. We tend to be very exacting here at Nusquam,” the words coming as 128 finds she must release. And indeed the flow is neither to be seen nor heard... only the gulps of 54’s throat.

  “Now let’s have a look at Nusquam’s newest castrate,” 54 licking clean the moist quim as the woman steps to the left. “Sutures feel a little tight down there, 126? The nurses can be a little mischievous... wanting you to be very much aware of your alteration.”

  128’s eyes follow the woman as she moves. A hand lowers drawing forth an empty scrotal sac. As suspected the male... former male... has been cruelly neutered, tears indicating he is yet to acclimate to his transformation.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “The branding becomes you, 128. You look even more like a kept animal,” fingers gently smoothing over the keloided flesh of the right cheek.

  “Thank you Ma’am,” the voice timid and respectful.

  Having been branded, training deemed complete, 128 has indeed learned she is kept, the trainers, nurses and members of Nusquam strict and demanding.

  “I had wagered that you’d urinate. You cost me some dollars.”

  “I’m sorry Ma’am.”

  Augmenting the intense pain of being marked as chattel with a searing hot iron was the humiliation of being tethered before a sizable gathering of Nusquam’s members, observing with sadistic delight. Members are given to wager whether the subjugant will vomit, faint or as with the woman’s bet, involuntarily urinate.

  128 tossed her lunch, a waiting bucke
t assuring such would not be lost... to later be served again.

  Adding to the ordeal, 128 grievously learned that the letter ‘N’ does not result from a single marking but instead from three... two parallel brands with a third applied between at a slant to depict the desired letter. Thus brandings at Nusquam are ritually long and involved... indeed bringing violent somatic reactions.

  “Well, you’ve sucked enough cocks for a while,” the examining hand withdrawing. “The male members do enjoy sampling the skills of the new arrivals. I’m told you can take some of the biggest quite deeply. So I’m sure auditioning to become my stable groom be will a welcomed change.”

  “Yes Ma’am, thank you for the opportunity.”

  The woman turns. Member and subjugant resume walking the soft dirt path leading to the stables. 128 dutifully keeps her hands to the back of her head. One of the many Mastiffs, 128 has come to learn there are dozens patrolling the many acres, ambles behind. When the woman speaks, 128 listens attentively, the sjambok in her right hand at the ready to assure her words are heeded. She peers at the woman with envy. Though her age is approximate to her own, the woman’s comportment is so authoritative... regal... having the savior faire Ms. Patricia LaMange... Nusquam subjugant number 128... never developed yet always admired.

  Complementing her envy, is the woman’s handsomeness. Given little time and attention, the golden blonde locks offered a less angular hair style, the looks of the commanding woman would be as stunning as her demeanor.

  “My name is Penny by the way... Penny Osborne... Miss Penny to you. As a trial, you’ll be learning to care for my steed, Richard Martindale... otherwise known as Balls Martindale.”

  The appellation brings 128 to smile... a reaction to be quickly and humbly suppressed.

  “And yes, my stallion does have a large set... many subdued swats of a spatula serving to bring irreversible swelling... but the moniker originated from his notorious but short career on Wall Street. Balls was known for both his gutsy trading and reckless philandering. And as his administrative assistant I had to sit at his side and watch him... until he fucked up. Then I turned things. It was for the best. Deep within his complex personality, ultimately he wanted to lose... a self destruct element. I knew that from day one, but I had to let him jump off a cliff time and again, Balls putting great faith in me as his parachute, pulling his ass out of bad trades... and sordid relationships in cheating on his wife.”

  Listening intently, 128 notes a stanchion, a smooth horizontal plank, waist high, supported by vertical poles, left and right. Numerous snap hooks at the ready, Penny Osborne notes her interest.

  “Sodomy frames... and for more lengthy applications of the sjambok. Tummy on the rail, head held low, buttocks high, a subjugant can be restrained in seconds... and face fucked... butt fucked... or whipped.”

  128 trembles with the thought, bringing laughter.

  “Yes, the members here enjoy spontaneity. You’ll encounter frames everywhere.”

  The strolling duo reach one of the many unassuming cinder block structures of the Nusquam compound. The door opens to a startling scene, rows right and left of stalls, ostensibly for livestock... but at Nusquam none are four legged.

  “One of the many diversions here at Nusquam... working naked, well restrained subjugants. Something empowering about whipping a human steed into exhaustion on a hot sunny day in the tropics.”

  Miss Penny turns to silence, slowing her pace as the duo step down the center aisle, permitting 128 to take in the bizarre scenario.

  To her left is 127, her coal black flesh seemingly even darker, no doubt having been run and sunned often. A large steel ring has been cruelly inserted into her nose, its gauge convincing, the cartilage of the septum pierced well into her nostrils. Attached by way of a small padlock is a chain leading to a ring embedded into the thick wood forming the stall. Though it is her only binding, 128 quickly realizes that in sensing the constant weight of the nostril ring and chain, 127 is well aware she is kept, no other raison d’etre then to await a member for bridling and a long run.

  In seeing Miss Penny, 127 knows to step forth, turn, spread and bend, presenting her mons for inspection. This brings a wicked smile. An examining hand lowers, and as 128 has learned, the woman can splay and enter a girl’s vagina in a single effortless gesture.

  Sure enough, two fingers glide inward and diddle, bringing 127 to both grunt and smile, repressed in guilty shyness.

  “127 has been well trained. And no longer champs at her bit in resistance... isn’t that right 127? You’ve come to enjoy being run... some swift strokes of the sjambok bringing a good lather.”

  “Yes, Ma’am,” the words surprisingly subdued for a girl of 127’s size and strength.

  “Yes, and you enjoy having your cunny fingered as well. Life at Nusquam. Girl’s like you so much revel in it... run, fed, groomed and bedded. Everything provided, not a care in the world...”

  As Miss Penny continues her brusque manipulation, 128 notes that the letter ‘N’ has been similarly branded into the right cheek... poor 127, ceding again to the unrelenting irons of the blacksmith.

  “I just may run you myself sometime, 127. I prefer stallions, but you’re strong enough... would no doubt enjoy the controlling hands of a woman... and for well more than 200 meters.”

  “Yes, thank you, Ma’am,” the words coming as Miss Penny succinctly withdraws, apparently sensing a pending orgasm.

  Miss Penny turns, continuing to the end of the long passageway. In passing each stall the occupant steps forth, similarly chained by a formidable nose ring. The fillies turn, spread and bend, offering salacious views of their sex. 128 is shocked when there is encountered a male... more aptly termed a gelding. He presents his empty sac, the demanded greeting for the genderless.

  “The grooms have kept you nicely stretched, 96,” Miss Penny’s hand lowering again, this time palming a mass of floppy pink flesh.

  Yes, with the tattooed letter ‘C” following the numerals ‘9’ and ‘6’, 128 knows the tethered creature is devoid of male tidbits. Yet the sac hangs most prominently... and has been pierced, rings dangling below. Also notable is the penis... small... shriveled... to a woman, carnally useless.

  “The geldings are belled here when run” Miss Penny anticipating 128’s question in turning up the flesh to better show the rings. “Keeps them mindful of their altered status... humble... and obedient. Isn’t that right 96? Little need for the sjambok on our docile geldings.”

  “Yes Ma’am.”

  “Yes, putting the geldings in harness is quick and easy. But their stamina is limited. The hormones... lacking hormones... do make a difference, ha, ha, ha. “

  Ending the journey, Miss Penny leads to the last stall on the left.

  “And here is my stallion... subjugant 88... formerly known as Balls Martindale.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Miss Penny stands in silence, letting 128 take in the benumbing scene.

  A massive naked male stands, nose ringed as with the other steeds, yet with the attached chain secured to a ring high above. Hairless, forehead tattooed with the numerals 88, his neck, thighs and ankles are banded in steel. With arms apparently tethered behind his back, 128 presumes his wrists and biceps are similarly banded.

  Standing nearby is 54, naked as always, bucket of sudsy water in hand. 128 soon finds her wandering eyes glued. 88, aka Balls Martindale, indeed has balls. Beneath a penis encased in a tube of matching steel, two massive globes strain the thin pink flesh of the scrotal sac. Both gonads are ringed, making the organs appear to be even more prominent. The sight is both comical and shocking.

  “Good afternoon, 88, 54 taking care of you?” Miss Penny finally greets.

  “Beesh,” the reply vehement and barely discernible.

  Miss Penny laughs evilly.

  “I assume that’s bitch. And you’re right, I am indeed a bitch,” Miss Penny stepping to the right wall.

  128 notes there hangs equine gear... bit
, bridle, straps, harnesses. But there is also a kitchen implement... a simple spatula.

  “Such nastiness. Can’t let a day go by without your special treatment now... can we.?”

  Miss Penny grasps the spatula and approaches.

  “Naw,” the enunciation of the word ‘no’strained, 128 concludes the steed has no teeth.

  54 puts down the bucket and without command, bends. For the first time 128 notes that in addition to the bands of steel, 88 has been pierced, heavily gauged rings thrust through at the Achilles tendon. Though 54 is diminutive compared to the size of 88, when she hooks her finger through the left ring, lifts and pulls to turn, 88 emits a plaintive cry, pivoting and allowing his leg to rise and his thighs to instantly part.

  “The slightest tension on the Achilles tendon brings cramping, pain... and quick compliance. Isn’t it curious how a 110 pound girl can control him?” Miss Penny stepping forth, spatula in hand.

  54’s casual tug aligns 88’s backside. 128 notes that the right buttock is branded with the obligatory letter ‘N’. In addition, the left cheek is tattooed with his appellation... ‘balls’... in thick black ink.

  Miss Penny’s left hand grasps the tethered wrists, secured together as suspected. She lifts, forcing the steed to bend at the waist, tensioning the nose chain.

  “Still belligerent after two years. Must be the testosterone injections,” Miss Penny conjectures.

  Bent over and spread, between parted thighs the huge plums swing heavily... and invitingly. Miss Penny begins the daily torment, her right arm swinging gracefully to bring forth the sound of a mild splat... and a howl of pain.

  “Since I spank his balls every day, they remain tender. Doesn’t take much to bring correcting pain. And the testes will swell nicely, challenging the rings. Given a few hours to recover, the glands will somewhat shrink... but not entirely. I’m growing them. It’s like watering your garden every day... and I’m growing... what would you say 88... plums?.. apples?... grapefruit? Ha, ha, ha.”