The Referendum Ch 04

The Meranka Quarry was an ugly grey slash in the landscape. It looked completely out of place set as it was amongst the green gently rolling hills of the Ausitanian countryside. It was surrounded by four high observation towers from which constant surveillance of the inmates was carried out by automatic movement sensitive cameras. The whole quarry was encircled by electrified razor wire. It was a miniature version of the Soviet Gulags and was reserved for the most feared and vilified criminals. The newly elected female led administration had identified just seventy nine men, all of them serving long sentences for serious violent or sexual offences against women. Between them these men were expected to mine and process fifty tons of granite every week. Virtually all of this was exported to become kitchens and bathrooms of the wealthy providing an income to the exchequer exceeded only by tourism and the vineyards.

Conditions within this penal colony were unremittingly bleak. The emphasis here was upon exploitation and punishment, two things that were pursued unremittingly, without pity or remorse. All the inmates were dressed identically in orange jumpsuits emblazoned with their numbers on their backs. Once booked into Meranka names became things of the past. Apart from the quarry workings the site contained two large wooden dormitory huts, a modern administrative office block, a canteen and most feared of all the punishment hut.

Martina Kokoska the camp's senior officer watched from her window as the working parties headed out to begin their morning's work. They were marched in columns of six strung out in long lines. Each man was burdened by a heavy steel collar connected to the next man in the line by a sturdy chain. Every column had it's own black uniformed and combat booted female guard carrying a sturdy leather whip, a weapon that none of them had the slightest hesitation to use should they be presented with merest excuse.

Martina Kokoska addressed Arianne."The numbering system is good," she said. "It removes their individuality and serves to remind them of their situation, it is an integral part of the Meranka project. Every prisoner needs to realise that he is a zero, a mere slave to the system to be exploited and punished, even on a mere whim."

Arianne nodded her agreement to this point. The man at the rear of the final column bore the number "82" on his back. Despite his roughly shaved head identical to all the others she noticed the shambling figure of Janacek. He moved uneasily, a legacy of the previous night when, after answering back to one of the guards his genitals had been kicked black and blue, her heavy laced combat boots finding their target easily as he lay, his hands handcuffed behind him on the ground.

All of the men adopted a strange trotting gait that was required of them when on the move, conveying the impression that they were running. " We encourage our guards to treat them harshly. These men have nothing to learn from kindness. They understand only harshness and cruelty, they either bend to our will, or they break." Arianne smiled her agreement to this view.

Martina had a file opened on her desk. "We appreciate the transfer of 80, 81 and 82. With an operation such as this there is sure to be natural wastage and we lost three prisoners over the winter. 43 succumbed to a rockfall, 27 committed suicide by jumping into the quarry and 72 suffered a heart attack." She smiled "Actually 72 froze to death after being left chained up all night in ten degrees of frost, officially of course it was a heart attack,"

"You seem to have a very orderly, well run camp, I will make that point on my report to the Director of Justice when we meet next week." Martina smiled her satisfaction as she poured the coffee.

Later they wandered up to view the quarry workings. On the way they stopped at the neat log cabin style building. Martina opened the door and they went inside. A set of orange prison overalls with a number 18 on the back lay on the floor beside a baked man who stood suspended from the hook of a steel hoist fixed to a roof beam. A steel chain was wrapped around his neck and he was forced up onto the balls of his feet in order to relieve the pressure enough to allow him to breathe.

His face was red and he emitted occasional gasps and groans as he struggled to take in sufficient air. His hands were tightly pinioned behind his back by a pair of standard issue steel handcuffs. "The standard field punishment" said Martina in a matter of fact manner. " Either half an hour or an hour, really depending upon how the guard is feeling."

They stood and looked at him for a while. A tall, striking brunette, her long hair tied in a ponytail entered the hut and checked on the prisoner. Martina introduced her as Florica. She glanced at her watch and said. "You can half another half hour." She turned and left.

"Florica understands the problem of male violence, she comes from the Roma community where it's rife." Arianne raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Yes, a remarkable woman. She suffered violence from her father and then to add insult to injury she was forced into marriage at the age of fourteen with an older man who also beat her. Unfortunately for him the new regime saw him brought swiftly to justice."

"Really?" Asked Arianne. "What became of him." Martina smiled. She turned to the suspended man whose face had begun to take on a purplish hue as his weakening calf muscles allowed the choke chain to tighten further, his head turned upwards in an attempt to draw in even a little more air.

Arianne pointed to the naked prisoner as he struggled "You don't mean..."

Later as Martina accompanied Arianne to her car the two women heard a commotion over behind one of the dormitory huts. The sound of shouting and cheering filled the air and Martina explained. "Oh that will be one of the games that the guards play after work". They walked over to see two of the prisoners, both naked apart from their steel collars running back and forth between the huts carrying large pieces of granite. "It's a competition to see who can move the most stone in ten minutes, the women bet on which prisoner will win."

The men chosen were clearly the best physical specimens with powerful bodies that glistened with sweat as they carried the heavy grey stones, moving as quickly as they could across the course which was about thirty metres in length. One prisoner was clearly ahead as evidenced by the larger pile at the end of his run, the other man visibly flagging as the effort told on him as he realised that he was about to lose this modern day gladiatorial contest.

"The winner gets both men's rations, the loser gets nothing". Martina explained the rules of the contest. " In addition those who have lost bets on him will take him across to the punishment hut and vent their anger on him throughout the evening, it's a good way for them to let off steam. Sometimes they have guard versus prisoner boxing matches, rather one sided I'm afraid as the prisoners have their wrists bound behind their backs, the guards are timed with the winner being the one who scores the quickest knockout, it's great fun." She thought for a moment. "Well maybe not so much for the prisoners of course.".

A few days later Arianne was eating breakfast on the terrace of her chalet overlooking the verdant, pine covered hills. In the distance, possibly a couple of kilometres away the surface of a lake glistened like liquid silver in the bright spring sunshine. Apart from the chirping of the birds and the occasional distant bark of a dog all was silent. Alex Morgan knelt on the mat beside her breakfast table. He wore the houseboy outfit that he had been provided with. It consisted of a heavy black leather collar and a stainless steel chastity lock. Arianne had enjoyed the company of the young journalist over the past fortnight, as much as anything their intelligent conversation had enabled her to brush up on her English.

He had served her well and diligently. Starting work at seven every morning her meals had been cooked, the house kept clean and tidy and he had even submitted with good humour when she had walked across his freshly cleaned floors in her muddy boots. He was unaware that of late with the improvement in the weather she had taken to squirting the hosepipe along the path that led from the driveway to the house, keeping the deep red earth soft son that her boots spread far more dirt than was necessary. This had become a kind of ritual. Arianne spread the mud and he got down on his knees and cleaned it off again. It invariably ended with him being ordered to kiss her boots and then to clean them to a pristine shine with his tongue, feeling the harsh grit invade his mouth as he licked it off at her behest.

Alex had tried hard at this stage to hide his disgust at what she forced him to do. They both knew that it was difficult for him not to gag as he carried out the task. This was the enigma, for the very reason that he found it hard to take she enjoyed it. He hated it, but did it willingly and without complaint. It was, she felt, the perfect balance, the virtuous circle that existed between the sadist and the masochist. She found this new experience thrilling, it touched the very core of her being, infusing it with a strange joy. Even when she found some totally fictional reason to punish him he accepted it in good grace. She had not used the sjambok on Alex, thinking perhaps that it was a step too far. This kind of consideration for the subject was new to her, and she was enjoying it's difference. The Dragon cane had been sufficiently harsh to draw blood from his soft and rather tender skin, although it didn't stop her imagining just what the sjambok would have done. She nevertheless held the wilder excesses of her sadism in check, reservingbhat for the vineyards and her visits to supervise punishments.

She regarded his pale torso as he knelt upon the straw mat, waiting for her to finish breakfast before he cleared her table away. " So today completes your fourteen day sentence then?" It was really more of a statement than a question, both of them were away that this was his last day.

"Yes it does mistress."

Did she perhaps notice a tone of regret, a hint of disappointment in his voice?

Her professional worked served to satisfy the desire to inflict severe punishments very well. If she felt the urge to take up the sjambok and hand out a severe thrashing then that was something that she could do on any working day, but this was different. Alex gave of himself completely freely. Whether this was from respect, love or a strange kind of hero worship she didn't know, or indeed care. But this simplicity and openness she found most refreshing and totally delightful. She looked at the angry red weals across his back and buttocks, the result of her wine being over chilled at dinner the evening before. She had called him to her table and accused him of it, even though in reality she had found it perfect. His head had dropped in submission as she said, "You do realise that it is such an elementary mistake that you will have to be punished for it?"

"Yes mistress, of course."

He had wanted to receive it every bit as much as she had wanted to hand it out. Meekly he had followed her down from the terrace to where the heavy timber post stood sunk into the grass in front of the chalet, feeling that frisson of fear run through him as he had watched her descend the steps before him. The slightly hypnotic sway of the hips, the her elegant laced knee boots with their fine, pointed heels accentuated the wonderful shape of her long, slim legs. Quickly she had shackled him hand and foot, his wrists held tightly just above head height by the rigid steel manacles, the fetters on their short linked chains restraining his ankles. She habitually tightened them slightly more than necessary, causing him to wince at the bite of the cold steel.

Once he was secured her footsteps had receded as she returned to finish her dinner while he remained tightly shackled to the post, awaiting a punishment that was surely out of all proportion to the offence, but which served to illustrate her complete power over him, no right of defence, no appeal. Arianne was judge, jury and executioner.

The noises as she continued her dinner drifted down to him through the warm night. The evening frosts had disappeared now, driven away by the warm southerlies that drifted up from the Mediterranean. From above him the clink of her knife and fork and the occasional sound of her coffee cup being replaced in the saucer reached his ears and served to torment him more. Finally the scrape of her chair as she rose from the table and the tap of her stilettos on the steps confirmed that she had finished. She was returning to meet out his punishment, one that she alone would decide upon, and she alone decide when he had suffered sufficiently.

Then she was beside him. The last rays of the setting sun imparted a fiery tint to her neat auburn bob exposing the alabaster skin of the nape of her pale neck and reflecting from her skintight leather jeans in a thousand mobile pools as she walked slowly towards him. He felt her warm, soft breath on his own neck and heard her own soft exhalations as her leather gloved fingers idly traced the outline of the muscles in his back. Eventually she spoke. "You wish to please your mistress boy?

He felt his head gently nod his assent to the question, accepting without condition her authority over him, her complete right to punish him as she saw fit for a minor, maybe even imaginary lapse. The heavy cane was gripped firmly in her gloved right hand, almost a metre in length and capable of inflicting possibly more pain than he could take. She flexed it slightly between her outstretched hands, feeling it's potential to inflict pain as the rattan resisted her effort.

His answer to her question was freely given. " More than anything in the world I wish to please you mistress." He knew what pleasing her meant. It involved gritting his teeth and managing the pain as best he could as time after time the heavy Dragon cane impacted his buttocks. He would try desperately to restrict his cries, fighting the temptation to scream for mercy, holding it in until such time as the strange fury contained within this beautiful woman dissipated itself. He braced himself for that first, explosive stoke.

At breakfast the following morning she casually asked "What time is your flight?" He confirmed what she had thought, that it was early evening. "I will be back in good time to take you to the airport. You are quite sure that you wish to return?" The nature of her enquiry exploded like a bombshell in his brain.

"What are you asking me mistress?"

She got up from the table and walked over to stand beside where he knelt. She placed a hand on top of his head. " It's not impossible that I might find a reaon to delay your release from my service. You know that I am a woman of considerable power, what I want I usually get."

"And what is it that you want Mistress?" She stood before him now, long leather clad legs set wide apart, the living realisation of all his most erotic dreams that stretched back throughout his entire adult life. His eyes fell surreptitiously upon the tight leather of her crotch. He was still unsure as to whether the thrill of inflicting pain was a sexual one, a psychological one, or both.

Arianne was the ultimate Ice Queen and her inscrutability knew no bounds. She turned away and his eyes studied her long, slim legs once more. He was aware that his heart was racing now as she picked up her car keys and headed for the door. "I will back this afternoon, we will discuss this further then." In his heart Alex already knew the answer. Whatever her terms and conditions he was hers for as long as she saw fit to keep him.

He took his place on the mat as he heard her car drive up to the house, it was just after four and his flight back to Gatwick was scheduled to take off at eight. He heard the car engine switched off and the sound of her key in the door. The tap of her stiletto heeled boots came along the hallway to the study. His blue sports bag with the luggage only meant for a weekend was packed, it didn't matter, for the last two weeks he had worn only a leather collar and the steel cage that locked around his genitals.

She entered the study with it's row of tightly packed bookshelves along one end and it's windows overlooking the garden. "You had better get dressed and put that in the car." She said pointing to his bag. She detected an atmosphere in the quiet stillness of the room, an as yet unasked hanging in the air. This was where her training in psychology came into play, an advantage she could exploit easily.

She looked down on his kneeling figure. The black leather jeans displayed her slim but athletic figure to perfection. Her small, neat breasts were confined inside a black leather bodice drawn tightly to her by a row of metal buckles down the front.

"You don't really want to go do you?" Without waiting for his answer she had already removed the sheet of pale cream vellum from her briefcase and placed it on the desk weighing it down with two glass paperweights. She briefly outlined the key points of the Contract of Indentation.

"This contract is for one year from the time of it's inception and once completed it comes into force immediately, you may take a minute or two to read it. It has been drawn up in accordance with all current Ausitanian protocols and is entirely legal here. But I must warn you that once your imprint is on it it cannot be rescinded so be aware what you are taking on."

Alex skimmed the document, his heart racing as he took in the significance of what he was about to do. It gave him very few rights apart from guaranteeing his basic health and safety. The contract effectively signed him over to Arianne for one year as a slave with everything that such an arrangement entailed. He now felt the stirring between his legs once more as he contemplated the situation that he was about to place himself in.

Before leaving for work she had unlocked and removed the genital restraint that had held his penis in a state of limbo for the last fortnight. It did absolutely nothing to dampen his desire, merely prevented him doing anything about it.

He had scrupulously observed her condition that he was not to attempt to gain any relief until such time as he was no longer under her control, he had respected this to the letter despite the strong temptation to masturbate throughout the day. His testicles felt strained to bursting and he craved an orgasm more than he had ever done in his life. Her mere presence, always dressed in skin tight black leather tormented him constantly.

In no other country in the world was a contract such as this still legal. The narrow victory for the female led New Ausitania Democrats had surprised everyone and these contracts. had been passed into the new legislature. By placing his mark on the bottom he would be stepping back in time to a point when the ownership of one human being by another was commonplace and an accepted arrangement. He knew that by agreeing to this he would be placing himself entirely in her hands and at her mercy, a quality he knew she possessed very limited amounts.

He thought for a moment. This sophisticated petite redhead was indeed the woman of his dreams. Only over the past fortnight had he come to realise his true desires. Previously he had looked upon such women as mere sexual brings but now he had arrived at the inescapable conclusion that the attraction was about power. The very ability that this contract would give her to control every aspect of his life, to decide exactly what she wanted to do with it exerted an irresistible pull on him. He knew that he wanted nothing more than to submit totally to this woman. When she treated him with the cruelty that she clearly enjoyed so much then the attraction became stronger still. He had become no more than a fly, fatality attracted to the spider's web. He no longer possessed the desire or ability to resist her.