The Breeder

by Mark Andrews

  Alicia (the name of the other girl - actually, Alicia Nicklin, a swimming star) and I were left standing there while the man reported on his findings to the President. They must have been favourable for he nodded and actually smiled, then rose and left the room, followed by his entourage.

  We were then left with a few soldiers and the man who had examined us who now addressed us again.

  “My name is Dr Yuen,” he said softly. “You are now slaves in my care. Obey me and my staff in everything and your life will be bearable - and perhaps even enjoyable. Resist and you will suffer - suffer in ways you cannot even imagine. We Koreans have forgotten more about the ancient art of torture than you in the West will ever learn so be warned.”

  We were taken out of the throne room and back to the yard into which the army truck had delivered us and now herded into a smallish nondescript van. “Lie face down on the floor and place your hands up behind your heads,” the doctor ordered then climbed up to sit on one side of the van while the armed soldier sat on the other. I couldn’t see them but I could feel their eyes boring down into my nakedness as I lay there next to Alicia, my breasts and thighs and my sexual organs now pressed down on the icy-cold ribs of the little van’s floor. Cold, it seemed, was to be with us all the time.

  Another journey. This one much shorter and then the van stopped and the rear doors opened to reveal more soldiers. The doctor ordered us out and once more we were standing in a snow-covered yard, our bare feet right in it while the cold wind lashed at our nakedness. It must have been cold even for the doctor and the soldiers for we were now hurriedly ushered into this building, a very large and a fairly new one from its appearance - all plain, unfinished concrete of which the lines from the formwork were still apparent. As I stared up at it, I shuddered. It didn’t even have windows! We were herded in through a small steel door and the warmth hit us as if a lovely blanket had been cast over my shoulders. I relaxed visibly although my fear of what might be facing us hadn’t abated one iota.

  We were led straight to the gymnasium and there, the sight that met my eyes as we were ushered in, to stand just inside the twin doors was one that utterly astonished me. There were hundreds of them in there. Yes, really. I don’t know exactly how many but it was somewhere between two and three hundred girls, every single one of them a female athlete, some of Olympic quality but all top class.

  They hailed from all over the world and included all three basic racial types, Oriental, Negro and Caucasian - and many mixtures of them. Every one of them was stark naked and even more than that for each was utterly hairless. Not a sign of hair anywhere on their bodies. From the crowns of their heads to the tips of their toes, each was utterly nude, excepting only for a ponytail that poked up from the very top of their heads and was held vertical by a series of rings then flowed down their backs - and everywhere else as smooth as the proverbial baby’s bum. They had been permitted to retain their eyebrows and lashes but apart from them - and the so demeaning ponytail (which I later learned was intended to mark us as breeding slaves), they were utterly naked.

  I think I cried out at the sight but my noise didn’t even attract a glance from a single one of the hundreds of naked, beautiful - and so damned athletic girls there. Every one of them was working her body to the utmost while technicians and the ever-present soldiers stood over them, the soldiers’ rifles at the ready while the technicians, or more properly, trainers had their prodders in one hand, armed and ready to inflict more of those awful shocks to their bodies; while they held canes in the other. I shuddered yet again as I watched those girls performing all manner of exercises.

  Some were on the mats performing press-ups and sit-ups and the like; others were on exercise bikes, driving the pedals at a frenetic pace while the sweat literally shot from their bodies; still others were working on gymnastics equipment - and I don’t just mean the sort normally used by girls: these young women were working on sets of parallel and horizontal bars, leaping over pommel and vaulting horses, swinging on the ends of a pair of Roman rings or shinnying up and down long ropes set in a row and dangling from the roof high above us.

  “Good God,” I breathed as I stared at the incredible scene before us. I had been a gymnastics star of some note back home. Not perhaps Olympic quality but good, nevertheless. I had therefore worked in many gyms but nothing I had ever seen before compared with this. First of all, of course, there was the total nakedness of each and every one of the girls there.

  It was just so obvious! Not a stitch to cover any of the private parts of those hundreds of girls, their bodies so blatantly exposed to the dozens of men, some in white shorts and singlets, some in soldiers’ uniforms who were driving them to harder and harder effort.

  Then there was extreme nature of their nakedness. They had no hairs on them - anywhere! Not on the tops of their heads but also not on their sex. The pubic mounds and even their vaginas were so totally exposed as of course were their breasts, all perfect in shape and size.

  There was also the universal honey-gold tan on each of the white girls. The others retained their natural skin colour of course but every single one of the Caucasian or part-Caucasian girls wore an all-over tan that made them look even more beautiful. It wasn’t a dark tan, just a light golden colour.

  But there was more that had me standing there agog at the scene before me. There was the effort each of those girls was applying to her work. I had always believed in working my body to the limit. Only in that way could a modern-day athlete even hope for success, but this ... this was inhuman! As we stood there and watched, I could see every one of those girls was lathered in sweat. She was applying every last shred of her energies into the work of the moment and I could see why.

  The soldiers didn’t prod the girls. They were obviously there for security reasons only, but the other men did. As I said earlier, each was armed with a cane and a prodder and they weren’t averse to using them, especially the prodders and I shuddered yet again as I remembered the terrible pain of that thing as it had been applied to my breast - and even worse, to my reaction when it was thrust into my sensitive vaginal opening.

  Now, as I watched the white-coated men chivvying the girls along, I noticed they regularly thrust the sharp tines of the prodder into their bodies. Sometimes, if they were being lenient, it was only into a thigh or a bottom cheek but more often it was to the soft flesh of one of their breasts or even worse, into their sexual organs. It was no wonder every single one of them was sweating like the proverbial pig as she applied her magnificent muscles to the task in hand.

  As I said, these were many and varied and they even included one of those horrible and diabolical instruments of torture known as an abdominal table. I had good reason to hate that thing for my personal trainer had made me use one for a couple of weeks a year or so ago. You don’t know what they are? Believe me, your ignorance is indeed bliss!

  They don’t look much. Just a short, narrow table about three feet high whose four sturdy legs are bolted to the floor. It’s what you have to do on them that is so horrible. You climb up and slip your feet through the straps at the bottom corners and that leaves your buttocks sitting off the other end. Then you have to swing your body back and down until you are bent like a bow, your hands now reaching down to the floor. Your trainer then makes you stay like that for a few seconds, stretching every muscle horribly and then, keeping your hands outstretched to add to the weight of your upper body as your belly and thigh muscles work to hoist you back up again, up you go until your torso is lying right along your thighs and your hands now reach down to touch your toes.

  Even one such repetition is diabolical. My trainer made me work up until I could do twenty. But these girls had been at it for hours!

  I suddenly had an urge to bolt. Fortunately, reason got in the way of such a rash action and I stayed still but I knew then that we, Alicia and I, were in for a horrible time of it.

 

It was then I caught sight of Jenny. You remember Jennifer Lalink, the track star from Tottenham? Well now I saw her. She was working on the parallel bars and for a track athlete she was doing very well, very well indeed. I realised I hadn’t recognised her immediately because without the tight curls of hair on her head (and now with the beginnings of a ponytail), she looked so different but now that I looked more closely I recognised her face, even through the sweat and strain of her work.

  I stared at her in awe. Partly that awe was because of her newfound skill as a gymnast but more it was the sheer beauty ... no, beauty is the wrong word although she was incredibly beautiful, but it was the magnificence of her body as it swung this way and that on a piece of equipment that in my experience had always been reserved for male gymnasts, that was so startling.

  Being stark naked, her body was no longer hidden in even the slightest way by a gymnast’s clothing - shorts and an athletics singlet. Every single muscle in that stupendous body was thus fully, openly and totally evident as each corded, rippled and strained. And with the pubic hair gone, that nakedness was even more total.

  I have never - not ever in my whole life - been attracted sexually to a woman or a girl but as I stood there in the entrance to that gym and watched Jenny performing, I felt a distinct thrill - a sexual thrill - down in my loins.

  I shook my head. What was the matter with me! I wasn’t like that. I knew it. I glanced at Alicia, my companion in misery and felt a lot better. Her eyes too were sort of glazed over as they stared from one to another of the hundreds of naked, magnificent athletes all working at a frenetic pace at their various activities.

  I returned my gaze to Jenny’s naked work on the bars and as I stared at her body I knew it was even better than I remembered it from our workouts in the gym. She was sleeker, finer, her skin smoother, her muscles more sharply defined. I didn’t think she had had an ounce of fat on her body before but perhaps she had for the definition of her muscles was now so sharp as to remind me of the belly muscles on a male gymnast.

  Then my reverie was interrupted by the Korean doctor speaking. “Soon, slaves, you too will be performing as they are, and your bodies will be as good. Right now though, it is time to continue your tests...”

  Chapter 2

  First though, we were depilated, or at least all of our bodies were except for our heads. It seemed Dr Yuen had an unlimited budget in order to achieve Sun Mak’s programme and the machine his technicians had developed for this purpose was very effective. Alicia and I were led to the depilating room in which stood a glass cupboard. I was first and was issued with a helmet that covered my head and was then led into the cupboard and fixed with my arms up and my legs outstretched.

  With the helmet in place I couldn’t see anything but I could feel it - and how. I could also hear the zaps as they licked out at the hairy parts of my body, including my pubic area, and at each Zzzzsssttt sound, I felt a sort of electric shock. It wasn’t pleasant but it wasn’t really painful, I suppose. But it went on, and on, and on. I don’t know how long but it seemed like hours and then when the zaps ceased and they let me out from the manacles into which I had been fastened and took off the helmet, I stared at my body in awe.

  Of course I had always shaved my legs and my underarms and had kept my pubes trimmed but now, as I looked down at them, the stubble that had begun to develop all over my hairy parts was utterly gone. So was the small triangle I had retained at my vagina. Apart from my head, I was as naked as all those other girls in the gymnasium - excepting only my head.

  They now fixed that.

  First though, they denuded Alicia. I watched the process in more awe as the little lightning-like bolts zapped out from the glass walls and fastened onto a hair on her body, which then fell out and then another zap came from somewhere else. Of course she moved in reaction to the mild pain of the zaps and this moved another part of her body closer to the glass, at which the machine then responded by seeking out a hair in that location. Consequently, the zaps, while seeming to be random, were a function of the distance of a part of her body from the glass, although every part of her was eventually treated.

  When she was done and had been released, I was forced to sit in a chair and the technician now carefully clipped most of my hair from my head, then shaved it until I was quite bald - except for the topknot, which they made up into a ponytail by adding rings - about five of them, I think, that forced the hair to stand up from my scalp before falling down my back, just like the hundreds of other girls back in the gymnasium.

  Alicia was similarly treated and now we were taken to Dr Yuen’s clinic for our tests.

  If I had thought his fondling and probing of my body in front of the President had been horrible, now I was forced to think again. That was nothing to what he proceeded to do now.

  He had machines there that were horrible in the extreme. I was forced down onto a gynaecological chair and my ankles lifted up into the stirrups and locked in place. My wrists were similarly manacled while Alicia was cuffed to a ring in the far wall.

  Once I was locked into the chair, the horrible doctor drew up a stool between my widely stretched legs and with it, a machine that looked a bit like a mechanical octopus. I looked at it warily, sensing it was going to hurt me a lot. In that I was wrong for as a virgin, I was not going to be entirely made aware of its full potential.

  Nevertheless, it was bad enough. Two of the ‘tentacles’, each with a cup on its end moved up my body and fastened onto my breasts, beginning to suck and probe at them while I squirmed on the chair. The doctor now allowed his hands full rein over my flesh and I knew this was no medical examination. What the cups were doing to my breasts may have been checking them out - indeed they were - they were actually assessing my mammary capacity, apparently, but his hands fondling my flesh was nothing but lustful prurience. They spent a lot of time at my now totally naked vagina, feeling at the hymen but not breeching it and tickling my love bud until I was squirming even more.

  Then another of the many tentacles probed at my anus and I felt a large metal thing push inside while I screamed in pain and outrage at this indecent attack on my body. Over on the wall I could see Alicia watching in horror, her face screwed up and her eyes wide as the doctor and his machine pushed into various parts of my body or fondled it.

  The next was another probe that inched up towards my face. “Open your mouth, slave, or it will be worse for you!”

  Alas, I had already forgotten the prodders in my horror of what was happening to me and I clamped my jaws shut tight. Dr Yuen just smiled and, removing both hands from my belly, where he had been checking out my muscles, he touched a button on the machine beside him. Immediately, I felt a horrible series of shocks between my breasts and my anus.

  I quickly opened my mouth and in went the probe - right in. Have you ever had anything pushed in past the back of your mouth? It’s horrible, isn’t it? You gag and try to expel it. I did both of these things - or tried to. But the tentacle kept pushing inside my mouth and right down my throat - as far as my belly, anyway.

  And at my rear end, the other one was still pushing in. I thought the pair of them would soon meet in my stomach. All right, I know there are miles and miles of intestines but I didn’t think of that right then.

  The machine was actually doing things, though. It was measuring my libido and various other female things. Later, when I stood at the wall and Alicia was strapped down onto the chair I noticed she had three of the tentacles inside her body, the third delving right into her vagina while she squirmed and struggled on the chair. In her case, the machine was also measuring her cycle. It would do it to me after my ritual deflowering, apparently a ceremony of some importance for the President liked to watch each such event, rare though they were.

  It was utterly horrible. It hurt but it was more the shame and degradation of what was being done to us that was so awful. But there was more.