[All characters and actions in this story are purely imaginative. The author in no way condones sexual assault, physical coercion or any non-consentual activity].
In the decades that followed the global energy and food shortages, and the subsequent collapse of various economies, the old polities disintegrated into city states and feudalism. The rich were excessively so, and exploited the poor for their own private gain.
Inside the complex on the far side of the mountain, near the ruins of the Oratory, a slave girl was "hired" for the Master's personal indulgences. Her name was Shana.
Having been taught six erotic poses by the Understudy for display before the Master (upon his whim), Shana had been shown to her shoebox-sized chamber. It had been a disorienting week.
Following this, she had been given her slave outfit, which was a green tunic with short sleeves and a high, even collar with a notch cut in the front, like a priest's. It had a crisp, professional press to it, greatly flattering her upper body, but its hemline was very, very short. She had only an inch, it seemed, between her modesty and her embarrassment.
Now, Shana was in her chamber reading, lying across the bed on her stomach with her feet in the air, brushing her bare, pointed toes against each other. The whole exercise was unconscious to her now (Pose Four, Variation D), and so long as she was alone, she didn't mind the mirror reflecting how the skirt betrayed the first inch of cheek of her bare seat. Now, lost in the book, she was unaware of the approaching shuffle of the Usher, did not hear the feet on the ladder, did not realize her solitude was to be taken again until the curtain was flung back. Shana gasped, and was off the bed and on the floor in one, swift motion, her head bowed. The Usher's face was expressionless.
"The Understudy will see you now," he said simply. She never knew what time it was, but she had the sense to know it was late. She was always allowed her sleep, her quiet time. Shana nodded and rose. "Bare feet," the Usher said, absent-mindedly, almost to himself, as he climbed back down the ladder. Shana suppressed a sigh. Cold concrete again, the sandals forsaken. She climbed out and down the ladder, oblivious to the Usher's upward stare. She was going over in her mind what it was the Understudy might want her for.
* * *
The Usher brought Shana to a dark room she'd never seen before, at the far end of the complex. She was greeted by the sight of a strange contraption in the middle of the room. A sort of stainless steel operating table, with a large floodlight positioned overhead and a long, stainless steel piston-shaped tube emerging from an inscrutable mesh of hydraulics, rounding to a soft point at one end like a missile, and with a diameter comparable to a rolling pin. The Understudy paced slowly around the machine and stopped when he caught sight of Shana.
"Ah, good," he said, "You've arrived." She knelt and bowed her head. Rather than leave, the Usher went and flipped some switches on the contraption. Gauges and tiny lights jumped to life on the console. Then he switched on the floodlight and the metallic table was brightly lit, the shiny metal reflecting the light all around the room. The Understudy smiled thinly. "I designed and built this myself," he said. "Spare scrap from McGill engineering." Shana stared up uncomprehendingly at the machine. The Understudy stepped forward and took her hand. "Arise, slave," he said, gently pulling her up. "Stand on your toes for a moment." She did, and the Understudy paced around her, taking her in from all sides. Standing on her toes had the action of pulling the back of her skirt's hem up high enough to show a hint of the crease of her bare ass.
The Understudy stopped smiling. "All right, that's enough," he said calmly, striding over to the machine. "Come over here and get up on the table." Shana hesitated, her eyes wide. "Now!" the Understudy barked, and she padded quickly over, and slid onto the table, keeping her legs and thighs firmly together, in an attempt to preserve her modesty.
The Usher seemed to be checking gauges, and conferred momentarily with the Understudy, the two talking in quiet tones. Shana stared at the piston. The Understudy turned back to her suddenly and said, "Alright, Slave Shana, lie on your back." Shana broke her silence.
"What is this machine for?" she asked quietly.
"Lie down and I'll tell you," he replied. She slowly lay back, bringing her legs up, thighs together, onto the cold, metal slab. She tugged her tunic down to cover her fur, which uncovered her bare rear. She felt the cold metal beneath her and began to shake. Before she understood what was happening, the Understudy calmly reached to the side of the table and pulled a strap tightly over her pelvis like a seatbelt, locking it in place on the other side beyond her reach. Shana sat up in a panic, tried to wiggle her torso free, and found she was belted tight to the table. She looked at the Understudy with fright.
"Please, sir, what are you doing?" she squeaked. The Understudy pushed her back down roughly, eliciting a surprised grunt from her.
"Slave Shana, I am displeased with your truculence and we are here tonight to ensure that this behaviour changes!" the Understudy thundered. Shana began to cry, quietly, tears brimming up and rolling down her cheeks.
