The Referendum

Arianne Voric shifted down a gear, feeling the strong pull of the two litre engine as she accelerated into the long, climbing curve. Her leather gloved hands moved deftly across the steering wheel instinctively correcting an incipient skid as the road surface changed from dry to damp under the fringe of fir trees that bordered the A1 highway. As the road straightened the grey, forbidding facade of Prochody castle came into view.

To say that Anton Janacek's first week at the vineyard had not gone well would have been somewhat of an understatement. Arianne's enquiries into the prisoner's past history had revealed a litany of misdemeanours. Most of them related to his attitude to women in some way. They ranged from domestic abuse to an allegation of attempted rape by a tourist who he had picked up in his taxi. Her first interview with him had lasted barely two minutes. Janacek had remained silent throughout. Arianne had him taken to the cooler, a bare, dark cell barely any bigger than himself. There he remained in solitary confinement for the next five days.

Being forced to witness the sjambok beating of a prisoner on the day of his arrival could have left him in no doubt that his turn would soon arrive. In fact Arianne's investigation had unearthed sufficient information to give serious consideration to reopening the rape investigation. Conviction of this offence would lead to a mandatory ten year prison sentence with hard labour. Since the referendum prisoners within this category no longer qualified for any protection from their guards. Arianne Voric due to her seniority was able to select any prisoner and carry out punishments with impunity. Janacek, by his impudent behaviour was digging himself into a very big hole.

Arianne drove into the castle courtyard and parked her car on the grey cobbles, still gleaming from the early morning rain. The heels of her black leather boots echoed faintly in the early morning air as she made her way towards the reception foyer. Veronika Tomasek, her dark hair tied into a ponytail greeted her and they made their way up to her office on the first floor.

"And how is our friend Janacek progressing?" Veronika asked. She poured coffee into two mugs and placed one in front of Arianne.

"Oh you know how these things go, slow and steady. Although I have dug up more information on him. It seems that he has a very murky past, he's been a very naughty boy indeed."

She pushed the beige criminal records file with the diagonal red stripe that denoted crimes with violent behaviour across the desk to Veronika. " I don't think that they bothered themselves too much with the original investigation. They probably thought that it might damage the tourist trade and probably preferred not to have a trial with all the bad publicity that might involve. I have spoken with the complainant and even though this was three years ago she would be quite happy to attend a trial. Although I don't think that will be necessary. I am quite confident that we can get a full signed confession from Janacek."

Arianne added "I can be very persuasive when the mood takes me." The smile that accompanied this remark implied that the persuasion would not be of the gentle kind.

They finished their coffee and went back downstairs. Another flight of stone steps led to a basement level where a row of uniformly grey steel doors gave access to the cramped and spartan holding cells. At the end of the corridor another door led onto more steps descending to the lower basement level. Now they were in the very oldest part of the castle. Here a single, large cell languished behind rows of rusty vertical steel bars. One section of the bars firmed a hinged door and they went inside. The only light came down from the stairs behind them. Piles of old cardboard boxes stood in one corner. The place had clearly been used as a store for old paperwork for many years and had the damp, musty smell of decay about it. Veronika turned to her partner. "What do you think?"

Arianne ran a leather gloved hand down one of the bars. "I think that it's perfect for an interrogation centre. I can imagine that once we have installed our equipment it won't take much to have them falling over themselves to sign confessions." She let out a short laugh.

"My only concern is that they will give in too easily and that might spoil our fun." Her mind was already on Janacek, her determination to break him was growing by the day as she found out more about him.

" It is good of you to offer to train me in the techniques of interrogation, I can assure you that I am eager to learn. It really is time that these men were put in their places, I can't wait to get started." The tall, dark haired Veronika was of Ausitanian peasant stock but her natural intelligence shone through her humble background. Arianne regarded her new protege. For generations this attractive young woman's forbears would have laboured under their menfolk, accepting their menial lots in life. No it would be Arianne's project to offer her the opportunity to atone for the sins of her fathers.

The prison director, Maria Novak, was an old friend of Arianne's and she had readily agreed to the conversion of the old cellar into an interrogation centre. "I have around fifteen thousand shillings remaining in this year's budget that you are welcome to use for the building work and equipment. Prochody has been in need of such a facility for a long while, the lower basement will be ideal for such a purpose. I gave only one concern. Amnesty International have been taking an interest in our internal affairs. I think that it would be best if what takes place in Prochody prison remains completely confidential."

Arianne nodded her agreement. "I think that you can be assured on that point. I would hate for anyone to get the idea that these punishments are only for my personal gratification. I can assure you that I will ensure total confidentiality."

Three weeks later Arianne Voric returned to see how the work was progressing. Progress had been good. Once again the policy of using prisoners to carry out the work had paid dividends. After the stored boxes, many containing files that were fifty or more years old, had been disposed of the entire area had been cleared and cleaned. Electrics had been upgraded to provide power and light and a small separate office provided in one corner. The main body of the cell, a large stone floored area had been equipped for the purpose that Arianne had intended.

Maria Novak stood in the centred the stone floor where the steel chain of a hoist was suspended from a ceiling beam. She ran her fingers down the links of the steel chain as she addressed her old friend. Her immaculately manicured hand with it's row of crimson talon like nails gripped the chain as her other hand pointed to the upholstered black leather "Y" shaped bench equipped with sturdy black leather straps, designed to hold fast the limbs of the strongest occupant. Arianne regarded it also. In her mind's eye she saw the restrained body of a male prisoner nervously awaiting the attention of her favourite sjambok. She could already smell the fear on him, and it excited her like no other thing.

"Let's not beat about the bush Arianne. What we have here. Is not really an interrogation centre but to all intents and purposes a torture chamber. I'm sure you know that I don't have a problem with that at all. I know that these men deserve all that is coming to them, but I am sure you know that there are people out there who would happily use this against the administration if it became public knowledge. So I am relying on you to keep this absolutely secret."

Arianne looked around at the ancient stone walls. Prochody castle had been constructed from the local granite, hewn in huge blocks from nearby quarries more than two centuries ago. Ausitania was renowned as a source of this stone and it was now being sold all around the world. Long before it had been used in the fancy loft apartments of London and New York the feudal lords had used it to provide defensible positions, of which Prochody castle was an excellent example. The walls were almost a metre thick, no sound would ever escape from this basement.

At the same time that this conversation was taking place a thousand miles to the west in the offices of the Sunday Courier newspaper another was being held between Alex Morgan and his boss, the newspaper's features editor Donald Harrington. The dour Scot with the florid, pock marked face stubbed out yet another cigarette, he had never taken any notice of the smoking ban, his office remaining an oasis of fug in a smoke free world.

"Just over a hundred and fifty votes enough to justify a draconian government, it's political correctness gone doo lally." Harrington offered his own take on the Ausitanian situation.

The breaking news on the BBC highlighted a report from Amnesty International stating that the male subjects of this small country were being subject to persecution by it's female leadership. Flagrant breaches of human rights were said to be widespread through the country with many males being held in custody without trial. Strangely Harrington had never had a good word for either organisation before now, but the in the current situation it suited his purpose to take them seriously. "Damned good work, the sooner these harridans are hounded from office and responsible government restored the better."

Alex saw his opportunity and grabbed it. If his boss had realised that half his working life was spent surfing the internet, viewing sites that highlighted wild women in tight black leather beating men black and blue his decision might well have been different. But when Alex suggested that he investigate the situation Harrington agreed immediately and within an hour he had booked a flight from Gatwick and he left the office early to pack his bags.

The morning flight to Libovice departed on time. Barely ninety minutes later Alex Morgan felt the distinct clunk as the undercarriage of the 737 locked into place as they descended across the Slovakia-Hungary border on the final approach into the capital city of Libovice. The aircraft was packed full of the usual suspects for the Friday flight. A large party of girls on a hen weekend and gaggles of young men no doubt attracted by the cheap alcohol for which the capital city was rapidly becoming infamous.

The bar U Kalicha was situated amongst the warren of steep, twisting warrens of narrow streets that formed the oldest part of Libovice. Here the medieval buildings all leaned in towards us as if whispering their ancient secrets that no one else must hear. By the time the bar began to fill the temperature on the streets had fallen close to freezing. Groups of young people drifted in and the nightlife for which Libovice was becoming well known began to get under way. Alex Morgan ordered a full litre of Ausitanian Riesling and began to work his way systematically through it.

It was just before midnight when the first police patrol entered the bar. The two black uniformed female offices worked their way through the place checking the papers of all the men. Alex did a double take at the tight fitting uniform trousers tucked into laced black leather knee boots, whoever had designed the uniforms clearly had similar tastes to himself. It was the local men who caused most of the trouble. Unused as they were to seeing women in display in short skirts and high heels at such close quarters many got carried away. It was only recently that such styles had become acceptable, most women still wearing the dowdy styles of their mothers and grandmothers.

Alex decided that now would be an ideal opportunity to get some photographs to accompany his article for The Courier. He took out his phone and began to take pictures of the two policewomen harassing the young men. He had barely started to take his pictures before the taller of the two officers and drew her extendable steel baton and caught him with two hard blows. The first to his back put him down and the second across his shoulders ensured that he stayed down long enough for her to secure him into the steel collar and cuff restraint. He was dragged unceremoniously from the bar and thrown into the cage in the back of their police van.

"So what brings you to Libovice Mr.Morgan?" The question was almost superfluous really as Arianne Voric had already been through the contents of his wallet before handing it back to him with the comment that it had been taken for "safe keeping". He looked into her grey green eyes. She was a striking redhead with the most attractive, slim body and her uniform of tight black leather was like something from one of his widest fantasies. She was older than him, probably mid forties, He thought that if this was post referendum Ausitania he was all for it.

He considered that his best tactic was to tell her that he was just an ordinary tourist but before he could launch himself into this lie Arianne fixed him with a stern stare, a look of inscrutability on her immaculately made up face. "I can assure you Mr.Morgan that any attempt to mislead me will have bad consequences for you." He had visited a few professional dominatrix in his time but this woman was the real deal. He wondered what would happen if he flirted with her "consequences".

"Look i'm just a journalist looking for a story about British people having a good time, its just a feature for the newspaper's travel supplement." Her expression told him that she didn't believe this line either.

"And exactly how does that fit in with photographing police office going about their legal duties? Come now Mr.Morgan, let us not waste any more of each other's time. You have already qualified for fourteen days in custody for resisting arrest, why make matters worse?"

A male orderly brought in a tray of coffee. "Do you take sugar Mr. Morgan, I suppose black would be a good idea, it might help you to sober up."

Thrown by this sudden change of tactics Alex meekly replied "Yes, black is fine."

As he sipped at the hot, black liquid Arianne put her own theory to him. "I did a bit of research on your newspaper. Judging from their previous articles they don't entirely agree with the turn of events in our country since the referendum. So I think it entirely unlikely that you were planning on writing a piece extolling the virtues of our society."

Alex was intelligent enough to see the lie of the land and now he decided to come clean.

"Alright, I will admit that my brief was to write an expose. But my view is that you have something good going on here. I am actually in agreement with the controls that your government is imposing on male power."

Arianne smiled. She had developed something of a radar for this sort of thing over the years. Now she was fairly certain that she had a true male submissive sitting before her and she saw a way of turning the current situation to their mutual advantage. "I think that now i believe you." She said quietly.

The deal was soon cut. In return for dropping all charges Alex Morgan agreed to serve as her unpaid houseboy for the period of fourteen days that would have been his sentence.

She laid out the terms. "You will work carrying out any duties I chose for you. Any failure to adequately discharge these duties will result in punishment decided upon, and carried out by me. No form of sexual gratification is allowed to males in custody and you will wear a standard issue male chastity lock for the entire period, is that agreed."

Alex nodded his assent to these terms. "I will of course be impounding your passport for the entire period. It will be returned to you on the eighteenth when the fourteen days service is completed."

Arianne Voric lived in an idyllic rural setting. The recently converted ancient stone farmhouse looked out over an undulating valley that eventually fell to the river in the

distance. Beyond this, on the opposite bank, it was possible to make out the serried ranks of vines in the state vineyard. Alex Morgan was totally naked with the exception of a heavy leather collar and the stainless steel chastity lock that prevented him from gaining any kind of erection. He was on his hands and knees and was still polishing the kitchen floor when he heard the throb of the car engine. The kitchen floor had been the last thing on the list that she had left him. Although he now regarded the grey kitchen tiles that he had buffed to a high shine with satisfaction he knew deep down that she would find a reason to order him down to the cellar to receive the punishment that she decreed was due to him for some imaginary failing.

His body tensed with a growing sense of fear mixed with excitement as he heard her key turn in the lock, followed by the staccato tap of her heels as she made her way along the hall. He assumed his position on the kitchen floor, the cold of the tiles fresh against his cheeks. The steps drew closer. Now she was in the doorway, her body framed against the light flooding in from the hallway. It was a stance that he was coming to adore, her long legs appearing even longer by the high heels of her laced knee boots. Alex glanced up to look at her, the cleaning cloth still in his hand.

The expression on her face could easily have been mistaken for a scowl of disapproval. But it was more than that. Her eyes sparkled with a divine mischief. She removed her jacket, hanging over a chairback to reveal the white intensity of her blouse that contrasted starkly with the black leather that encased her slim body from the waist down. She walked slowly across the room, almost brushing his naked body as she passed by. Picking up a tumbler she crossed to the sink and ran water into it. Alex followed the tracks of her boots. Before entering the house she had obviously walked through some mud, the line of dark smudges ran diagonally across the kitchen floor. She made her way slowly back, compounding the dirty marks with another row of dirty boot prints. She stood for while sipping her water. Without speaking she extended her hand towards the muddy footprints, pointing accusingly at them.

"Clean them up boy!" He moved forward to begin the task once more. As he cleaned away each one he moved closer to where she stood. The final smudge was just in front of her right boot. As he cleaned the tile Arianne moved her boot forward, swaying the elegant almond shaped toe right in front of his face.

"Clean it!" He took the cloth and moved it towards the boot. "Not like that boy, with your tongue!"

He felt the coolness of the leather beneath his lips, followed by the grittiness of the dirt on his tongue as he obediently followed her orders. Arianne savoured the intensity and the depth of his submission as she watched him lick her boots. She allowed him to continue until every grain of dirt was removed. Softly she said "Good boy".