DETAINED AT PLEASURE

by

Jennifer Jane Pope

Governments with monetarist policies are not new; totalitarian regimes are hardly unheard of, but when you place the two together in a Britain of the not-too-distant future and then place convicted anti-government activists in the hands of a privatised penal system determined to wring every last penny of profit out of the situation, that's asking for trouble and trouble is not long in coming to the unfortunate miscreants.

Convicts in the island prison colonies are expected not only to earn their keep, but also to keep their harsh masters' and mistresses' coffers well filled. Some establishments achieve this end through farming or industry, but there is one island with a difference, for the inmates are trained to serve as sex slaves and rented out to a horrifying selection of mega-rich patrons.

Every form of degradation and humiliation is visited upon these poor creatures, male and female alike, especially with a treatment that makes it very difficult to tell the two sexes apart. This is the story of two former lovers, who are arrested and, after a sham of a trial, sent to what must rank among one of the most bizarre prisons in the world.

In the female induction block Shelley had gone through the same tattooing and piercing process, except that she also now had rings through both clamped nipples with a slim chain connecting them. The two attendants here were both female, but they were no less proficient at their work and Shelley found it unnerving the way they handled her as if she were just a piece of meat.

One of the women picked up a device which resembled a thick biro, from which trailed a long, thin power lead and pressed a switch on its side. It started to give off a low hum and Shelley gave a little gasp of fear as the woman brought the tip close to her face. The woman frowned at her.

`Keep still and close your eyes, Emmeline sixty eight,' she instructed, using the `bovine' name which she had tattooed on Shelley's temple and stomach. `This is an electronic make-up kit, that's all. The dye goes in just under the skin and stays there for about five to six months, which saves us the bother of having to go through all this rigmarole on a daily basis. Give me any nonsense and I'll put you on report.'

What exactly being put on report might mean she did not enlarge upon, but just the tone of her voice convinced Shelley that she did not want to risk it. She closed her eyes and resigned herself to the inevitable. The process took nearly half an hour and, when the woman had finished, she held up a mirror to show Shelley the effect. Shelley let out a little squeak of astonishment when she saw the face staring back at her, for the eyes had been heavily shaded from black liner, through dark blue and out to a paler blue, making them look enormous. Her lips were vivid red now and there was a small beauty spot on her left cheek, so that Shelley was reminded of the sort of painted dolls she had seen in some of the more expensive stores. She wondered quite why they were going to all this trouble over her facial appearance, but then had to admit it was no stranger than the way they had dressed her and mutilated her body.

She, too, was locked into a Prolon helmet, though hers had an aperture at the crown of the head, through which her ponytail was drawn as the thing was lowered onto her. The senior guard, whose name, Shelley learned during her ordeal, was Donnelly, hauled her out of the chair and marched her across to the far side of the studio where, behind a curtain, was a full length mirror. She made Shelley stand in front of this and take in the picture she now presented.

`And how does our little cow like her new self?' Donnelly sneered. `Not quite so full of the revolution now, I'll bet. Hardly a leader of nations with her tits chained and bouncing, is she Johnson?'

The other guard was still leaning against the wall near the door and Shelley heard her laughing.

`I just love seeing their little faces when we get to this part,' she said. `Total disbelief and wondering what the hell else is coming.'

`Well,' Donnelly growled, `she won't have too long to wait before she finds out. Can you take her down to Induction on your own? I need the loo in a hurry. I'll meet you back outside the next one's cell in about ten minutes.'

Johnson straightened up, grinning. `Sure thing,' she agreed. `I don't think the little slut's got much fight in her now and she's still cuffed, in any case.'

`Yeah, cuffed and stuffed,' Donnelly said. `All ready to learn a few facts of her new life, eh?'

Everything in the long chamber had been deliberately designed to strike terror into the heart of anyone entering it in the same position in which Martin now was. The walls, the floor and the ceiling were all black, the only relief coming from strategically placed spotlights of red and blue. One battery of lamps was currently highlighting the room's centrepiece, whose purpose Martin rapidly deduced, for the various clamps and straps left little room for doubt.

The uniforms of the room's two occupants had likewise been chosen to enhance the fear factor. George Harrigan was pale skinned, tall and slim, with close cropped white blond hair. His features were angular to the point of hawkishness and his grey eyes looked hard and uncompromising. His companion, Winston Seymour, was as black as Harrigan was pale, slightly taller and built like a heavyweight boxer. Both men wore knee length boots with heavy soles and heels, into which were tucked loose fitting black leather trousers. Above this, they wore sleeveless jerkins of the same material, heavily studded, as were the broad collars which encircled their necks. The uniform was completed by studded leather gloves with thick, spiky wristbands and Martin wondered which fetish fashion magazine had been the inspiration behind all this.

Harrigan stepped forward first and grasped Martin by the shoulder. He looked down at his hapless victim and grinned, revealing a set of even white teeth.

`Daisy 23, eh?' he chuckled. `Well, you must be a pretty one under this lot.' He tapped the top of Martin's helmet and turned to Amanda. `No skin to be broken then?' he asked. Amanda nodded. `Well, you can leave little Daisy to us, if you want to go for a coffee break? Give us about half an hour.'

Amanda shook her head emphatically. `No way, Georgie boy,' she said. `Miss Lynch gave explicit instructions that I was to remain and witness the punishment. She feels that a plastic cock is plenty good enough for him for now.'

The grin faded from Harrigan's face. `That witch is prejudiced. A good butt fuck gives them the right message from the start.' He looked Martin up and down. `Do we take the pants off?'

`No, they stay on. They push the flesh up nicely, anyway.'

`Have it your own way, girlie.'

`I usually do, Georgie,' Amanda retorted. `Besides, you know how much it'd frustrate you, seeing a nice bare arse and not being able to screw it. Anyway, can we get on with this? I've got two more of these on my schedule at the moment and I haven't eaten yet today.'

The two men moved into action with practised efficiency. Martin was hustled across to the frame beneath the spotlights and quickly fastened to it. The contraption consisted of a vertical post section about five feet high, across the top of which ran a horizontal bar, forming a T shape. In the centre of this bar was a hinged circular attachment, which, when Martin was forced forward, locked about his collared neck. At either end of the horizontal bar was a smaller lockable manacle and, when the thumb cuffs had been removed, his wrists were similarly secured. Seymour crossed out of the pool of light and Martin could just make out the control panel on the wall to which he now went. The guard pressed something and immediately the horizontal bar began to extend, dragging Martin's arms so wide that he thought they would be torn from their sockets, but the man knew his business and stopped the motor before that could happen. He pressed another control and this time the central support began to shorten, forcing Martin to bend at the waist. The neck pillory section had been designed so that it could pivot around the horizontal bar, otherwise Martin feared his vertebrae would have snapped under the strain.

From the base plate of the upright another section hinged down, at the top of which was a curved steel bar, which Harrigan adjusted until it fit snugle against Martin's stomach. From either end of the curved strut dangled a thick strap and this was now buckled around Martin's back, so that he was held tightly against the brace. Another press of a button and this section, too, began to extend, lifting Martin's torso until his booted feet swung helplessly clear of the ground. From the floor beneath, the final section now rose up, a shorter T shape, with clips on either end of the horizontal. These clips were now attached to the loops on the inside of each of Martin's boots, Harrigan dragging each leg wide in turn to effect the manoeuvre. He nodded to Seymour, who again adjusted the controls and the bar emulated the actions of its higher counterpart until Martin's legs were forced as far apart as possible. The position was excrutiating.

Harrigan was now unclipping the bit gag from Martin's helmet and loosening off the chinstrap to enable him to fit the huge ball gag which Seymour then passed him. It barely fit between Martin's distended jaws and a wave of panic swept over him. He fought to get himself back under control, knowing that there was no way they were going to take any notice of him and he was determined not to give way to any show of weakness.

When the first blow from the heavy tawse cracked across his constricted buttocks, however, that resolve fled straight out the door.

Sadly, this is another book that is out-of-print in bound form. Originally published as a limited edition, full length novel, by Avid-Diva, it was then released in two novelette sized parts by Olympia Press, but I think they are now out of stock. However, all is not lost and, yet again, Detained at Pleasure will be available in electronic form before too long.

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