With the slight raising of a blunt hand, a gesture perfected by minor functionaries given too much power over their own small dominion, the little tour group came to a muddled halt before a formidable steel door bearing a bold warning sign stating in no uncertain letters:
DANGER:
Atmospheric Hormonal Hazard
Respiratory Protection Required
Vanessa, looked with no small amount of trepidation at the warning placard none of which showed on her face of course. That would not be in keeping with the Doctrine of Thought Discipline. Praise the Null. She repeated the litany that had been branded into her mind so long and so persistently that now it was an indispensable part of her thought processes and an odd source of comfort in times of distress. Brenda, in her officious capacity as guide, with just the right amount of added patronizing and "oh, here let me help you with that", proceeded to place the protective masks on the faces of the small group. She fussed interminably over her charges until at long last satisfied, but just barely, that all was well she keyed the door and let them inside.
The steel door swung slowly open. One of the tour, Vanessa thought her name might be Mandy, let out a muffled, but still audible gasp, naturally all present turned to glare their disapproval at such an unseemly emotional display from a student of The Doctrine. Mandy burned with embarrassment under the collective gaze, but still help up as well as she could. After a short and appropriately dispassionate apology, the tour continued.
"As you can see.." and here the muffled voice of Brenda was lost to Vanessa because the smaller woman had turned away to begin leading them down the corridor once more. Her thin voice, now gratefully muffled, would have been intelligible to persons in front of her, but of these there were none. If this lack in communication distressed her followers nobody chose to make mention of it. In truth Vanessa did not need to hear her words. The histories they taught in the schools explained it all. Long ago the Earth was ruled by the brutal Mals, known as "men" in those times, until the coming of the Reproductive Revolution followed quickly by the Second Age of Reason. The Mals, being unnecessary, began to die out. They were kept now primarily for the sake of curiosity and instruction. The corridor down which Vanessa was walking was lined with their cages.
They were naked and some of them were filthy despite their regular cleaning. Their hair was long and tangled. Most of them sat hunched against the back wall and glared mutely at the passing group. Vanessa considered them with proper disdain until they had traversed almost the entire hallway and came upon something different. Brenda had halted abruptly before one of the cages, causing those who were following her and not paying particular attention to engage in some abrupt gyrations lest they collide with her well-padded backside.
A young Mal had come to the bars to stare at the group. This in itself was strange as yet another warning sign quite explicitly stated that the bars were supposed to be electrified. Vanessa took the opportunity to examine him at close range. His thick hair was long and fell in waves around his face and although tangled it had a healthy sheen to it. He was taller than she and she watched with something more than a clinical interest the play of his well developed muscles as he moved. Vanessa saw that the face behind the hair was of good structure and had an undefinable softness about it. She looked into his eyes and found his brown staring intently into her own blue. Although his eyes were so dark that the pupils were lost, they radiated a hypnotic intensity and spoke so many promises that Vanessa was forced at last to turn away before they immobilized her. She dropped her gaze and discovered that the young Mal was in a state of full arousal. His member, now fully erect, stood at attention between two of the bars. She gazed in a combination of fascination and disgust. The shaft was ribbed hairless and with a blue tracery of veins visible. The tip was a darker purple stretching the skin with its fullness. It moved with a slight cadence which kept time with the beating of his heart. Vanessa turned aside to see the rest of the small tour, with the exception of Brenda, mesmerized by the creature. Her round face was pinched in wrath. A storm about to break. "What is this?" her shrill accusing tone broke through the mental haze like a bullet. "A class of the Undisciplined?" That accusation, like a swift arrow, found its mark. Muted murmurs of apologetic disagreement emerged tentatively from the group. "Praise the Null I have never seen such a sight."
"I would be remiss not to report this to Counseling Services." A look of collective dread, poorly disguised, passed over the faces of her charges. The storm cleared just a little. "Humph, well, we shall overlook this incident, but praise the Null there shall be no more." "Praise the Null" came the expected response in unison. Stiffly, almost at attention they continued down the hallway. Vanessa did not look aside, but she could feel his unwavering gaze upon her as she moved. Drinking in the sight of her as if it was his last. The fear of punishment had made her break out in a slight sweat. A bead of moisture making its lazy way down the bridge of her nose made it itch terribly. Without thinking she pried the edge of her mask up and scratched. Holding her breath had not helped as she had hoped it would. A world of smells assaulted her. There were the usual odors of caged animals, but within that there was something different. Something instinctual that touched her deep deep inside and awakened hungers of which she had been oblivious just moments ago. She shuddered and without knowing why, she stole a glance back down the hall. It wasn't the frank intensity of his stare which disturbed her so. It was the undeniable strength of her own response that frightened her.
Sleep was a long time in coming and a restless guest. Vanessa tossed and turned with abandon in her small bed. It seemed she could not get enough of the feel of the sheets against her skin. Her hands, as if obeying a different master, would be found cupping the fullness of her breasts and squeezing her erect nipples or when from the Sea of Dreams chance would cast her briefly onto the shores of consciousness she would find them stroking her thighs. Dancing ever closer to the center, where a nameless ache was building.