The Institute Thomas Dean Pt 02

PT 2 The Institute: THE MAGIC MIRROR Thomas Dean:

"What is an indenture?" I rhetorically asked as I escorted Mr Castleton on a tour of the Institute's facilities. Castleton was thinking of indenturing one of his daughters to the Institute to secure a loan, a fairly routine business transaction here.

When I entered the disinfection zone where Mr James Castleton, naked, covered in suds, was already being shaved of body hair by two short haired females in blue thong bottoms. Firm breasts and pressboard stomachs were speckled with droplets of water.

I undressed and stood on the line to wait for the girls to finish with Mr Castleton, I rendered a partial answer my rhetorical question, "the dictionary defines indenture as `a legal agreement, contract, or document which creates mutual obligations.'"

Mr Castleton attempted to turn to me but was quickly reproved by the shower girls. "Expect to keep them nuts?" they chided Castleton in harmonious high - pitched tones.

To their order to stay still, Castleton chuckled, "How am I to explain coming home hairless from the neck down? Bare of chest, shaved armpit, chest and scrotum! What do I say if my old lady goes down on me and finds nothing there?"

I noticed the girls roll their eyes as I choked on the expletive I might have uttered. Repressing a snicker, I deemed it interesting that Mr Castleton who had come to the facility with the intention of indenturing one of his daughter would be more concerned returning home body hairless than at the prospect of returning home daughterless. What would he say indeed to colleagues, friends and neighbors, gone to school, eloped, job out of state? I tried not to get personally involved. It was business.

"Say something?" Mr Castleton turned his head to ask once again to the stern reproof of the shower girl.

"Not really," I remarked, "as the tour proceeds, you'll appreciate the reasons for the attention the Institute takes for the preservation of a secure, sanitized and sterile environment."

The girls deliberately bounced their bare breasts as they toweled Mr Castleton down. His smile faded into shock. At the click of the chastity device, Castleton jumped.

"But," Castleton protested, "You had male guards conduct the strip search."

"That will be explained," I replied.

Swinging her hips as she walked away, one of the girls smirked, "The guards may be willing but unable. Be happy yours are still attached." Her partner handed Mr Castleton and me thigh length grey smocks.

I explained to Mr Castleton, "An indenture may be a contract, but one which changes the individual's status, and creates new obligations. Where once went a free person, a wholly autonomous citizen with rights to plot his or her course in life, his or her relationship to the state and standing in the public have changed. In his or her new status, he or she becomes subject to the will of another."

To my thanks, the girls responded in unison in high pitched voices, "Thank you, Mr Kinterhawk. It's our pleasure to serve you."

I commented, "You see here some of the indentured girls held in terms of service for years under training as personal servants or valets for sale or lease to the wealthy and well placed. Our clientele is select. An intelligent girl can benefit in many ways from the experience."

I signalled Mr Castleton to proceed further in the tunnel where it branched into two passageways each guarded by a door. "This is called the farewell point," I noted, "brothers and sisters, husbands and wives voluntarily indenturing or surrendering unable to redeem a joint debt are separated here."

"Husbands and wives indenture together?" Castleton asked.

"Often, The Institutes gets pairs of domestics looking for a dual placement," I observed, "Cute couples are salable, but many of our customers want personal service, not a burden."

"I guess," Castleton interjected, "The master like to present an image of beneficence. A pregnant maid cleaning house, lugging laundry, and moving furniture might destroy the picture of ultimate benevolence."

"So, to avoid potential medical expense generated by the female," I explained, "many customers will insist that the male be sterilized. Thus, we will only take an indenture for 10 years. It's a business."

"Lug nuts come off I guess," Mr Castleton joked, "Do you get many couples willing to take the risk?"

"Actually, we do even get couples in light of that risk. Some who are put up for resale - if the master moves, dies or needs cash," I took note, "we might take the couple if the male is willing to extend his commitment to ten years..."

"Wouldn't the existing owner want a higher price?" Mr Castleton asked.

"If the master wants more, we won't deal," I replied, "It's all economics. We will pay the servant for extending his indenture."

"Why would the former master allow his servant to deal with you directly on the extension?" Mr Castleton asked.

"Often there's a personal relationship with an individual master," I responded, "Indenturees can become in a sense a member of the master's family. Sale is with deep regret."

"And the Institute?" Castleton asked.

"We're all business," I replied, "we best accomplish our humanitarian ends by keeping dollars and cents in mind. We pitch the idea of extending the Indenture to the former master with the services we offer. Our clientele is select. The chance of abuse is limited. We bank the sperm of all males processed through here. So, after their term concludes, the female can return here to be fertilized with her partner's sperm. Shall we enter?"

"This tunnel connects the entrance with all the buildings on our campus. It is the preferential entrée point, reserved for employees entering and leaving, surrenders or redemptioners and indentures. On our right," One click on my electronic notepad made the wall transparent, "You will see the magic mirror. In that adjacent tunnel, we in - process those who had to be captured. You saw them stripped for inspection. Now they've reached: Station One."

Inside the adjacent tunnel, a line of naked women watched as a woman in a blue smock positioned a naked redemptioner's in the air, blotted the arm pits with soap, and began shaving the detainee's underarms.

"See," Mr Castleton pointed to the male guard standing by, "how is he a part of a secured, sterile facility?"

"We'll get to that, in due course," I assured Mr Castleton, "For now, it suffices to say that even in the more genteel handling of voluntary surrenders, the newly accessioned subject suffers total subjugation of the ego and submission of the body to the will of the master and the loss of personal choice."

As the coiffeuse roughly used a foot to prod the detainee to spread her feet further apart and to begin soaping the pubis in preparation for removing pubic hair, I commented, "You'd be surprised how many men are entranced," I observed Mr Castleton's eyes bulging transfixed by the spectacle unfolding before him, "by watching a woman shorn of her body hair. Shall we move on?" I had to poke Mr Castleton to proceed to Station Two.

"Even voluntary surrenders and indentures," I assured Castleton as we moved toward Station two, "though dealt with discretion and respect for a measure of privacy in the manner and through the entrance way in which you were received, are subjected to the same loss of person - hood without accomplishing the reduction in status through personal humiliation."

Before us on the other side of the transparent wall, a dejected girl are feet sticking out of a white sheet covering her body sat in the barber chair getting shorn by a female wearing that same blue smock. Long strands of streaked hair accumulated on the floor. Leaning against the far wall were two blue uniformed female guards one with epaulets.

"Women's hair is cut uniformly in the kennel clip," I advised Castleton, "hair barely covering the ear and reaching down only as far as the neck. It's fully functional and easy to maintain."

Another female in a blue smock brushed up yards of cut hair. "The detainee owns nothing. Legally even their bodies are the property of the master. The severed locks of hair are gathered, dyed and fashioned into wigs."

"Uniformity breeds compliance," Mr Castleton observed.

"The bond of an indentured servant to her or his master requires absolute obedience and loyalty in rendering services required," I replied, "to compensate the master for training, food, lodging, medical care, and clothing provided. Lets move on. Shall we go to something more interesting, perhaps at Station Three?"

On the other side of the wall paced Dr Throop, hands behind her back, looking over her spectacles impatiently toward Station Two. The stethoscope dangling from her neck and her white lab coat flapped in the breeze as she strode back and forth. Behind her, three young, long legged beauties who towered over the petite doctor stood on a line pained in the adjacent tunnel. Leaning against the transparent wall, backs facing us, were two security officers, a male and a female.

"I've just noticed all the male guards all have fuzzy heads," Mr Castleton commented, "while the females guards like the one twirling a baton," pointing to the guard whose apple shaped butt was crunched against the transparent wall, "seem to have the same eh—page boy top..."

"The kennel clip," I corrected.

Once two additional naked females, arms nervously clutching their chests, hesitated as they neared Station three, they were gruffly positioned by the security guards to stand on the line. When the security guarded nodded to Dr Throop, Dr Throop approached the girl on the far left of the line to begin the exam.

With the `ah - stick' and a penlight, Dr Throop stared down the subject's throat. Then, proceeded with the superficial inspection of the eyes and ears, followed by listening to heart with the stethoscope and massaging the breasts. Making a circular motion with her hand, Dr Throop signalled the girl to turn about. Thumping on the girl's back, Dr Throop evaluated respiration. Noticing the other girls watching every move, Dr Throop shot them a pleasant smile.

At that I announced that I should turn on the sound. "We can listen into what transpires on the other side of the magic mirror."

My notepad started to play the sounds from the adjacent tunnel. I clicked on just in time to hear Dr Throop in a congenial tone, "Just a routine physical evaluation, nothing to fret." Turning away from the first girl, Dr Thorp advised her "to relax. I'll be back in a jiffy."

Moving onto the next girl in line, Dr Throop began her superficial exam of eyes ears and throat. As Dr Throop felt for enlarged lymph nodes in the neck, Dr Throop asked the typical questions:

"What's your name, sweetie?" When no response came, a female nurse in blue scrubs ran in to assist Dr Throop to hold a notepad for Dr Throop. "Jill Johnson," Squinting her eyes to read the name off the nurse's notepad, Dr Throop remarked, "has a nice ring to it." Dr Throop's voice was pleasant and comforting when she asked, "Doesn't it?" When Dr Throop applied the stethoscope to Jill's chest, Jill jumped. "A little nerved up, hmm today, are we?"

Hand gesticulations signalled Jill to turn her back. Dr Throop continued her talk, as she listened to Jill's lungs. "It doesn't seem so long ago that I had the opportunity to stand on this line, naked, cold, bruised from capture, and cramping. I was so upset being taken, I went on my period. Bad time to be bagged. Would you agree?"

"Yes," Jill replied in a crackling voice.

"Jill, sweetie," Dr Throop asked, "when was your last period?"

A weak voice responded, "Two weeks."

"Are you sexually active?" Dr Throop asked.

"I'm married." Jill responded with a slight undertone of defiance.

"What happened to him or her? Was your partner hauled in?" Dr Throop asked.

"I was taken this morning in my apartment," Jill responded, "I was in the shower. My guy got away. I can't tell you whether I hope he got away clean or they caught him and put him on the table to .. " Jill broke down into tears.

"Normal to have mixed emotions," Dr Throop continued her exam. "leaving you paying the whole bill on your own. Sweetie could you spread your legs as far as you can, would you?"

At that I noticed the lifeless guards had suddenly become cautiously attentive, one pounding her nightstick against her open palm.

"I feel like," Jill said with a nervous chuckle, "I've already done this."

"This is a medical exam to make sure the equipment the Institute bought is in working order," Dr Throop explained in a cheery voice as the nurse handed Dr Throop gloves. As the nurse placed a goo on the fingertips, Dr Throop instructed, "now sweetie bend over touch your toes. By the way, when did you last have sex?"

"This morning." A weapy voice responded as she bent at the waist and allowed her arms to drop. Her voice was suddenly inflected with a snicker, "He took me from behind. So, you might say this is the third time I've been in this position today. And now, I'm really fucked!"

"Just relax," Dr Throop spoke in a reassuring tone, "I'm going to conduct a digital examination of your rectum for obstructions. You're going to feel a chill as I massage your sphincter muscle to check its tone. It warms as I work it in with my fingers. Now make the process easier by pushing back."

The patient gasped as Dr Throop's fingers penetrated her anus. Dr Throop then advised Jill, "I'm going to reach underneath you and examine your external sexual organs." In an audible whisper, Dr Throop breathlessly promised to press the patient's "buttons."

Oblivious to the attention of the other examinees, Jill hovered on the edge of orgasm as Dr Throop plunged fingers in and withdrew them from the orifice. Jill's breathing intensified. I was sure Jill was biting her lips to keep from screaming as she came.

Patting Jill on the bare rump, Dr Throop looked to the first girl in the line, "Don't worry, Your turn will come. Darling," Dr Throop declared, "I shall return."

As Dr Throop washed her hands in a sink by the far wall, she told the nurse, "I hope no one will mind if, after this, we cool down in the shower with the girls."

Looking through the magic mirror, I gritted my teeth and shook my head. I controlled myself. Though a good doctor, I muttered to myself, Throop is still a slave. She acts like a detainee, goofing around, forgetting this is a business, trafficking in people we have to keep under wraps. To restrain others, we must first control ourselves.

I allowed Mr Castleton to watch a few more examinations. I wasn't really paying attention until Dr Throop reached the last girl in the array and began the perfunctory examination of eyes, ears mouth and skin.

"Josie," Dr Throop addressed the subject. "Regular periods?" Receiving a nod, Dr Throop asked, "Regular sex?" To a non - committal answer, Dr Throop inquired, "married?" At a nod, Dr Throop continued, "That explains it. Your significant other is a guy?"

With another nod, Dr Throop prodded, "Not very talkative Josie. My guy and I were bagged together, right in the middle of getting it on. We were so absorbed in the moment that we didn't realize - surprise, surprise, we were being watched. Tell me about the last time you two got it on."

"It wasn't that memorable," Josie confessed as she turned around to present her back, "He let me go down on him—He generally didn't like that."

"That's the first guy I ever heard of who didn't like oral sex," Dr Throop interjected a comment.

"I almost bit his dick," Josie chuckled, "when he told me that we should split up—It'd be easier to make our way to a free state separately - and meet up there."

With a sigh, Dr Throop patted Josie on the bare bottom to signal here to bend over. As Dr Throop's palms carefully manipulated Josie's plum shaped butt, Dr Throop pried, "What became of your guy?"

"I'm not sure," Josie emitted a satisfied 'ah' as Dr Throop gently greased the sphincter, "Oh, no," Josie inhaled deeply as Dr Throop plunged her fingers in, "I think he was nailed and told them where I was hiding out with friends. Only he knew where I could be found."

Watching the events on the other side of the magic mirror, I informed Mr Castleton, "For her sake, I hope indenturee is right. As a joint obligor on debts with an un - apprehended husband, the indenturee could be caught on a peculiarity of the slave code. Her term of indenture would be extended to 10 years and he would be discharged from liability."

"That doesn't seem fair!" Castleton declared.

"To whom?" I asked rhetorically, "Is it unfair to the people who gave their bond to repay a loan that one is exonerated or to the facility which could lose the service that secured repayment of money lent? Think on that question for a minute. It encourages spouses to turn each other in." Pointing ahead, I indicated, "Let's move on to Station Four: Identification and Location."

Inside the tunnel, there were five naked girls lined up, awaiting to called by a female security guard behind a divider. Out of their sight, the subject was positioned, arms and legs extended in an "X" shaped frame in front of the camera. "The frame is rotated to capture full body views, front, back and sides. Not specifically intended to be erotic," I noted, "the full body poses primarily identify the body of the indenturee, should he or she scoot."

"Do you sell these photos?" Castleton asked.

"Naturally, the indenturee once reduced to servitude," I explained, "has no rights except to be protected from unjustified physical harm. The photos are forwarded to the auction houses, to prospective purchasers or lessees of the indenturee and to central registration. And with an attractive enough body, images could be sold."

Having completed the pictures, the photographer nodded to a security guard who inserted a secure gag in the subject's mouth and pulled a hood over the subject's head. "Branding," I introduced the next procedure, "burnishing the token of servitude into bare flesh, signifies total subjugation, more than seizing the person, taking their personal property, and stripping naked. The subject imprinted with an emblem of title is reduced to inventory. No longer free, the subject is little different than anything else which could be owned, whether an animal or an inanimate object like a house or a car."

Out of the shadows, emerged a female nursing assistant in blue scrubs. In hands covered by surgical gloves, the assistant brandished tattoo needles and a pattern.

I commented, "Different recovery points intaking indenturees may brand their logo on a subject's lip, hip, breast, or pubis. Here we use the underarm."

Working quickly, the nursing assistant embossed the brand in the subject's underarm.

Retreating out of view, the nurse returned bearing a needle which she injected into the side of the subject's breasts.

"A chip is injected into a fleshy area of the body," I commented, "as a tracking device to catch runners but also to prevent kidnapping. To remove it from a female would require a partial mastectomy devaluating curbside appeal of the indenturee and potentially alerting a purchaser to defective title."

Once again reappearing after briefly vanishing from view, the nurse, now hands protected by thick gloves, came in view holding a rod. At the tip was a fiery slat no longer, nor wider than an index finger. The nurse applied the white - hot ingot making a vertical imprint on the subject's hip.

"The branding iron," I explained, "marks the subject's body with a bar code that identifies the subject provides a chain of title from reception to current owner or to release and discharge from obligation."

"A permanent scar?" Castleton questioned.

"True, but one," I noted, "that protects the indenturee from a false claim on his/her person. The bar code would prove that the indenture has been completed and obligation has been discharged."