The door opened, and one after another the twelve women shuffled into the room to be lined up along the far wall by the guards. Most of them lifted their eyes and snatched a nervous glance at the figure watching them from the sofa. Most of them that is, apart from the dark-haired little girl who stood nervously in the centre of the line and surrounded by the largest and tallest women in the group. It was a deliberate ploy designed to make her even more nervous than she already was. That sense of unease was clear in the way she hunched her body and continued to stare at the floor between her feet. The mere sight of her caused Walther's cock to harden in his tight uniform trousers. At that moment he felt as though he'd died and been reborn in paradise.
Once the women had settled, he ran a practiced eye along the line. They were a typical cross-section of the whores working on the government register at the time. Every one of them was barefoot and buck naked, apart from the broad leather belt fastened around their waist. An attractive bunch on the whole, they ranged in age from the late teens to the mid thirties and came in a variety of shapes, sizes and colours. Something for everyone thought Walther, and smiled to himself.
Much of his afternoon had been spent working through their personnel files, but he found the photographs cold and impersonal compared to the array of female flesh that now lined the wall, waiting for him to make his decision. It was the belts that made the difference he decided, the heavy black leather belts some two inches in width, locked round their waists and resting low on the curve of their hips. Walther found the effect strangely erotic. In a way it emphasised an acceptance to their fate.
Their arms had been secured in cuffs, and were hanging by their side, clipped tight against their belts. It was an arrangement that ensured their breasts and pussies were kept available for inspection at all times, both visual and manual and made them appear doubly vulnerable. Hardly surprising given the situation they were in.
From the looks they gave him, Walther suspected some of the women had been tipped off as to his identity, probably by the guards. The way they straightened their backs when his eyes turned in their direction rather gave them away. The way they tightened their breasts and stood before him with legs akimbo, and literally flaunted their sex at him.
"Choose me," their actions were telling him. He could read it clearly, even in the empty void of their eyes. "Choose me and you can fuck me as hard as you like."
"Too right I can," thought Walther, "and at least one of you ladies is going to have her wish fulfilled tonight. But the choice of who it will be is mine to make and not yours. Flaunt your sex at me all you like, you're still a bunch of whores, and when I tell you to spread your legs the only decision you have to make is how wide."
The new unit commander was God to both guards and inmates alike. His word was law, the difference between pleasure and pain, hunger and plenty, life and death. It was only natural they should be keen to impress, though they were wasting their time. Walther's choice had been made long before they shuffled their way through the door. The nervous, dark haired, little girl standing in the centre of the line and staring at her feet had been his choice from the moment he'd opened her file in the quiet of his office earlier that afternoon.
Her name was Hannah. It was her first appearance on the meat run, and she was clearly terrified at the prospect. Walther found himself feeding on her fear like a baby sucking on its mother's tit.
Only Christian names were used in the brothel system these days. Family names reminded the whores of the past that had brought them to this place, and gave them something to cling to as they suffered. The ones who hadn't opposed the party themselves were the wives, daughters, and girl friends of those who had. Snatched from the bosom of their families, and forced to provide sexual favours for the great and the good of the ruling hierarchy.
'Pour encourager les autres' was the byword of the brothel system, though it was a flawed and faulty system at best. The message it tried to proclaim in its routine humiliation of women was supposed to be a clear one. 'Continue to oppose the party, and your females will be the ones to suffer.' In reality the message it broadcast to an increasingly paranoid nation was more along the lines of 'unless you are a party follower, you are worthless to our cause.'
Once taken into custody, the women were forced to open their legs and fuck every person they were offered to in the ultimate act of degradation. Forced to provide sexual pleasure to party supporters, day after day after day, until their will to resist was eroded away and they became automatons, opening their legs every time a man so much as looked at them. In many cases they evolved into the human equivalent of Pavlov's dogs; offering their bodies willingly in exchange for the gift of survival.
Of course there were always those who'd refuse to play the party game, but their fate soon persuaded others not to follow that example. Their stay in the brothels tended to be both short and painful. The whores would be forced to stand and watch as the guards were turned loose on the offender. 'No' wasn't a word the guards really understood, unless it came as a part of the phrase 'No quarter'. And when the guards lust was finally sated, what was left of the women would be shipped out to the gang masters and forced to serve out their days as whores in the prison system.
Walther looked across and nodded at the guards, it was time for the parade of shame to get under way. The guard bared his teeth and grinned back at him in an overly familiar manner that threatened to grate on Walther's nerves.
"Stand up straight ladies," said the guard, "get those shoulders back and give the major a clear view of your tits and your fannies. Help him decide which of you lucky cunts he's going to fuck tonight." He jerked his thumb and the first of the women shuffled her way to the centre of the room.
Walther did his best to ignore him, concentrating instead on the first of the women. She was a dumpy little redhead in her early twenties who stopped and shook her tits at him like a ten-bob tart, before turning in a full circle, allowing him to assess her potential from every conceivable angle. When she spread her legs and leant back, Walther caught a flash of pink amongst her trimmed ginger pubes. She wasn't bad looking, but she wasn't what he needed tonight and he waved her away, turning his eyes to the dark haired little girl in the middle of the row.
"Tell me again," he said, addressing the guard. "How many of these cunts can I fuck tonight?" His language was deliberately harsh, and his eyes remained fixed on Hannah as he assessed her reaction. She shivered slightly, but her head remained bowed.
"How many can you cope with?" came the reply.
"I'm not sure," said Walther, "I'll probably take a couple of them tonight, and give them a really hard time. It's just a matter of which ones to choose, personally I like them young and petite."
Again he saw her shiver, a sight that caused his cock to crawl in his pants. But still Hannah's eyes remained stubbornly downcast. They stayed that way as, one by one, the woman took their walk of shame, accompanied by the guard's inane chatter.
"I'm sure we'll have something to suit your taste Major. You can take all twelve if you like, though you're right, you probably wouldn't do them justice. Two is a good number to start with. Take them for the night, fuck 'em as long as you like and, then force them to fuck each other. They will you know, filthy whores. They'll fuck each other like a pair of polecats if you tell 'em to. They know it's the only way they're going to get fed you see."
The women fascinated Walther; the way they'd adapted to the sea change in their circumstances. He watched them with a strange mixture of disgust and desire as they did their best to seduce him with their belted bodies. This group was no different from all the others he'd seen over the years.
Displaying them a dozen at a time was about the right number he felt, as long as they had some idea of the client's likes and dislikes. More than a dozen and there was a chance that uncertainty might come creeping in; not that Walther had any uncertainty about his choice. As he said, he liked his women young and petite, with perky little breasts and tight little buttocks. He'd long held a theory that smaller breasts were more sensitive than the larger, pendulous variety. It was a theory he'd be testing to the full in the long hours of the coming night.
One by one the women were waved across the room and, one by one, they exhibited their bodies in front of him before returning to the wall to await his decision. The guard was continually trying to assert his authority over the women, and succeeded only in confirming Walther's suspicion that he would shortly find himself seeking alternative employment.
