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Chapter One


 

It surprised Qez that Jex even sent her to the Lyceum, considering that it was probably the least secure area of the entire building, from what she’d been able to gather.  But she ended up there not too long after the claiming ceremony.   Apparently, it was mandatory that every woman attend such schooling, although it was usually something that was begun very early on in their lives, as a replacement for what would have been a normal education in her time.

But she was to find that the two bore literally no resemblance to each other.  Before she left, of course, he gave her the speech, as if he was her father sending her off to her first day of school, although Qez would have liked to have thought that there wouldn’t have been the implied threat of a physical punishment if she failed, had her biological father been around to give her a more normal childhood.

“You are to obey your instructors, even though they’re only women,” he’d said while holding her chin in his fingers and forcing her to look up at him while actual wrist and ankle band style restraints were being recalibrated to those she needed for her uniform.  They would be set to the classroom while she was there, and then back to the biobracelets again when she returned at the end of the day.

Jex knew that Fist wanted him to send her away from him for several months, but he wasn’t about to do without her for that long under any circumstances.  A month would do, and he was chafing at even that short a time because he knew he was going to lose his exclusive hold over her, and he dreaded losing that.  If Fist hadn’t insisted, he would have had her going in day school, at least, which was pretty much unheard of, but at least he would have been able to reassert his possession of her every evening.  She would have been lying beneath him at night. But even Fist had bowed to pressure from his council and had installed his new favorite there not long ago, he’d heard.  Trying to get Qez in only during the day might well have drawn unwanted attention; it might have alerted the powers that be to just how obsessed he was becoming with her.  As it was, J knew that his old friend was already looking at him in a rather suspicious light, considering that, since he’d taken possession of Qez, he’d had a definite tendency to closet himself away with her.  It was best that he acquiesced as gracefully as he had, especially since it wasn’t as if they lived in one of the outlying provinces and the closest school was hundreds of miles away.  It was four floors down, in the basement, near the harem quarters, where the natural insulation would keep it cool and reduce some of the noise that naturally resulted from recalcitrant girls being punished for whatever offenses they had committed.

And punished they were.

They all boarded there, joining the outskirts of the established harem at the household upon which the school was based so that they could have a taste of what it would be like when they were placed within their master’s household.  Schools had only been established only within the houses of Fist’s most trusted friends and allies all over the world. No matter how strict any girl thought their family was, they were given a rude awakening when they were sent to the Lyceum. 

Discipline at home, at least, was usually administered by those who loved and cared for you – no matter how exacting – was an entirely different thing from that which was meted out by complete strangers, and even more frighteningly, by bots.

What had surprised Qez the most had been to realize that they even allowed females to teach other females.  It bespoke of just how successful Fist’s propaganda ministers had been at getting women to buy into their own enslavement.  She had to wonder, though, if it wasn’t something that was already built into the female of the species; an innate willingness to doubt their ability to truly step up to the ultimate leadership roles.

She couldn’t understand it herself, because she had no such doubts, but she’d seen it in others.  She’d seen a few – very short - glimpses of just that in Aaleigha, although she had also seen that tendency very thoroughly suppressed by her friend in each and every instance.

J tipped her over his lap when she seemed to be staring off into space rather that paying attention to his warnings about good behavior and learning her lessons.  “Are you listening to me?  You’re not going to make a very good impression on Madame Provence if you arrive with your bottom already well tanned, you know.”  And he was seeing to it that she would, of course, with that damned paddle of his.  If she was ever given the chance, she was going to melt down both that plastic paddle and ruler.  They seemed to be his go to implements, and he delighted in taking every possible opportunity in bedeviling her with them.

As much as she wanted to disagree with him, she was too much of a type A not to be embarrassed at the idea that she was going to be attending her first day of school – regardless of how utterly ridiculous it was to actually think of this trumped up place as an institution of learning of any kind – with her backside a bright red and tear swollen eyes advertising the fact that she’d already had to be thoroughly discipline before she even arrived.  She couldn’t help but think that that was quite likely to predispose her instructors to consider her a troublemaker, and thus go that much harder on her, when that couldn’t have been the farthest from the truth.  Under more normal circumstances, Qez loved learning things.  Just not what she figured these kinds of things were going to be.

When he’d reduced her to a stinging, sobbing mass, long past begging for him to stop, he finally did, but she knew it was only because it was getting to the point where she needed to be brought down to her classroom.  He stood Qez up and straightened her uniform, which consisted of bright red arm and ankle bands in place of the biobracelets, so that it would be easily recognizable that she was a newbie – the color so chosen to match the expected color of their bottoms for the first month or so they was there, he delighted in informing her – as well as a snood to hold her hair in a neat bun atop her head.  Newbies were not allowed to leave their hair down during lessons, as it just got in the way of their punishments.  No jewelry, beyond her collar and newly pierced nipples, was allowed.  Even the nipples were discouraged, technically, as most girls were much younger when they entered the school, but, as he’d told her, some exceptions needed to be made in her case.

Living in space for a while will do that for a girl, Qez thought sarcastically, but wisely kept her mouth shut.

As he pushed her out the door and into the care of the bots, he said, “Make me proud.”

Knowing what she knew about what was in store for her, which was precious little beyond the few facts he’d chosen to impart to her and what she’d been able to overhear – such as the idea that he had told the instructors to go extra hard on her because she, as his possession, must be an example to other girls – she wasn’t at all sure she was going to be able to fulfill that command.

She did know that she was going to take this opportunity for what it was – a possible means of escape, or, at the very least, a way of learning more about this society, and perhaps making an ally or even two, if she was careful.  At the very least, the more she knew, the better.  She paid attention to the path they took to get there, any doors and windows and the positions and number of guards they passed - anything that might be helpful, and filed the information away in the back of her mind, all the while presenting the nice, placid face they expected to see on their women.

Girls, she corrected herself.  She’d noticed that she’d rarely, if ever, heard anyone refer to any woman as a woman.  They called them “females”, occasionally, but most often “girl”, or worse, “slave”, although Jex seemed less inclined then most, she thought, to use that particular word, at least in conjunction with her.  She wondered if that was a class distinction.

But it was as if, by the use of the more childish word for a female human, they had obliterated even just the verbal possibility of male female equality.  A boy could grow up to be a man, but a little girl would always be a girl, cosseted and protected, if she was lucky, but always strictly corrected for the slightest error, regardless, lest she forget her place.

Whereas some parts of the rest of the large residence were distinctly ramshackle, the Lyceum, she had to admit, seemed surprisingly newer and well built.  It was underground, but didn’t seem so.  It was well lit, bright and open, done in calming, softer colors that she saw later were also reflected in the Harem.  Someone had paid close attention to the way color affected the behavior of those around them, Qez thought as the double doors opened and she was positioned in front of a small scanner.

“Qez d’JezTabor,” the bot said, lifting her collar to the scanner.

She heard a beep, and the bot began to guide her down the corridor, but not before Madame Provence, in her ever present, shapeless black robes, glided over to them.  “Ah, there you are. We were beginning to worry about you,” she took Qez’ hand and dismissed the bot with a regal, “You may go,” that conveyed her distinct distaste for the necessary evils that she considered them to be. 

“The first order of business is a thorough medical evaluation.  I was horrified to realize that your Master hasn’t allowed you to have one yet after your long voyage.  You should have been brought to the infirmary immediately upon your arrival.”  She tsked, reminding Qez of Agatha.  “Have you been well, my dear?”  Before Qez could answer her, Madame leaned around her and saw the condition of her bottom. “I can see that you haven’t been very well behaved, of course, but have you been feeling well?”

Qez frowned, thinking that was an unnecessarily nasty dig at a time when the older woman was being so solicitous, and, indeed, Qez had almost come to see her as a potential ally.  “Yes, I guess so.”

“No stomach upset, cold symptoms, flu or anything of that type?”

“No.”

“Well, then, I’m going to leave you with Dr. Master Ferrone.  He will examine you and then have you sent on to your class room.  I just wanted to greet you and welcome you to our school.  I’m sure you’ll find your time here very . . .” she paused as if searching for the proper word, “enlightening.” 

She was kissed on her forehead as if her grandmother was sending her off to her first day of nursery school, then pushed alone into a room where the décor on the walls made her turn immediately around and try to go back out the door again, only to find that that it had been closed and locked behind her.

Qez turned immediately and spotted a second door, but before she could get to it, it opened, and a man of average height but considerable build walked in with two bots tagging along closely behind him, who closed and locked the door behind them.  There were no other exits or windows in the room.

There would be no escape.

He looked like those men she’d read about in the history classes she’d taken at the Academy who had belonged to biker gangs.  His head was closely shaven, although he wasn’t bald, and he had – what were they called? – tattoos all over his arms and shoulders that were nicely shown up by the white tank top that seemed to be the uniform of any man who wasn’t in the military nowadays, along with a pair jeans that had seen much better days.

He certainly didn’t look like any kind of doctor she’d ever seen.

He barely looked at her at all before patting the examination table, and, swallowing hard with dread but trying to be as compliant as she could, Qez took a step towards it, but the two bots that had followed him in, who somehow managed to look at least as menacing as the so called doctor did even though they looked exactly the same as the bots who had escorted her down here, didn’t give her a chance to make it there under her own power.  They grabbed her upper arms and carried her there, each one with one grip on an arm and one on an ankle, depositing her none to gently down on her already sore rear, then forcing her to lie all the way back and locking both her bracelets above her head and the collar around her neck into place on the table with a resounding, horribly final sounding, click, so that she could neither pull her arms down nor lift her head up.

As she was kicking out at them, trying to fight them off, and the doctor was doing that horrible, singsong, “Ah, ah, ah-ah”, as if she was some misbehaving child, they already had the stirrups out of the end of the table and her anklets locked into them with the same deafening, frightening click that left her head and arms well out of the way and her legs spread so that she had absolutely no defense against whatever it was that he was going to do to her.

And she somehow doubted it was going to be a simple medical exam.

Then they reached under the table and brought a strip of the same material that her wrist and anklets were made of out and laid it over her hips.  It felt a bit heavier and more solid than the other restraints, but it had the exact same effect of severely diminished her ability to move her hips, thus rendering her almost completely immobilized.

This was what she got for being compliant, Qez thought, trying to suppress the tears - that always seemed to be just below the surface now - at the thought that she might cry in front of someone she didn’t know, and who didn’t give a damn about her.  That, almost more than the punishments, or the fact that her body seemed to enjoy the way the man who claimed to possess her molested her all the time, was the worst thing.  She couldn’t seem to control her emotions.  Or her body.  Or her mind.  For a person who had struggled out of the chaos that had been her early life to be right back in a position where she had absolutely no say about anything about her life was hitting her hard.

The tears and the pleasure, and the guilt they were both causing. were driving her crazy.  She had to get away from him, by any means necessary, or she’d go insane.

Or worse.

The first part of the exam wasn’t too awfully bad.  It was a lot like many medical exams she’d had before, and she was glad to see that he had washed his hands very thoroughly at the small sink in the room, even though he didn’t put gloves on afterwards.  His hands were firm, no nonsense, cool and callused on her skin as he kept up a patter to the bots – who were recording the exam - about his findings and his medical impressions of her condition, about what he found.   But his dismissive demeanor and choice of language – speaking about her in the third person, as if she was some sort of a prized brood mare – added to her feelings embarrassment and humiliation that were already heightened by the vulnerability of her position, splayed open in front of a man she didn’t know who was, purportedly, a doctor.  Her pulse and blood pressure were taken, eyes looked at and her head held immobile for drops to be administered into them rather perfunctorily, then her ears, nose, and throat were also checked. 

She was heartily thankful that he had obviously forgotten to take her temperature, shuddering to think how that might be accomplished.  When she’d first come into the room what had sent her running back towards the door was what she’d seen all around her.  It looked like what was in Jex’ little toy closet had exploded and landed on the walls of this room. 

The examination table was in the middle of the room but pointed towards the far corner, surrounded on all sides by floor to ceiling displays of implements.  Some of them were the usual punishment apparatus - paddles, whips and canes - but the overwhelming majority were not.  They were medical devices, some of them very old.  Speculums of all shapes and truly mind boggling sizes.  Tens units.  A vast, deeply detailed and thoroughly disturbing array of enema paraphernalia – stands, bags, bulbs, solutions, nozzles, hoses, funnels, pumps and soaps.  There were things as simple as the sleep masks, and as complicated as straight jackets.  And a vast amount of old style glass thermometers, from very small and thin to dildo thick – none of them, she would bet, meant to occupy any other cavity but one.

And now that she had a chance to get a better look at them, she was truly horrified to realize that every single one of them looked like they were kept in good working order, and not a one of them had a lick of dust on them.

He checked her lymph nodes and reflexes, and did a surprisingly thorough, professional breast exam without taking any of the liberties she had been expecting.  “Newly pierced, I see.  No sign of infection.” 

Qez gasped as he moved the rings around and lifted them up, not treating them anywhere near as gently as she would have wished.

“They’re not activated yet, though.  Better do that.”

Activated?  What the hell did that mean? She wondered.  One of the bots pressed a few buttons and she felt a resulting slight tingle through them, nothing more than that.  But she knew better by now than to hope that that was the end of it.

He had the bots remove the belt across her lower midsection so that he could examine her stomach and press on it, asking her if it hurt in different places, but then it was immediately replaced as he moved away and questioned her about her period, which she hadn’t had since they’d returned.  He nodded as if this was expected, and it was nothing new to her, either.  Their reproductive abilities had been put on hold chemically while they were off planet, and they had been told prior to leaving that it might take a year or more before the effects wore off and things returned to normal.

Or they might never have a period again.  That was the chance they’d taken.

Then he pulled a very comfortable looking chair that was not quite a chair but more than a stool directly in front of her spread legs and took a seat, as if he expected to be there for a long while, and slowly pressed them back, so that she was even more exposed than she had been before, as the anklets held her fast, adjusting their position so she wasn’t hurt, but not letting go.  Click . . . click, cli..ck, c...l .. ick.

Try as she might, she couldn’t make her hips move away from him.  She couldn’t even get them to arch a millimeter off the table.  Her upper body moved, a bit, as much as her useless wrists and tethered neck would allow, but what little twisting at the waist she could accomplish was utterly useless against whatever it was he was he intended.  She was completely vulnerable down there, and he knew it.  There was nothing she could do to stop him from completing his “examination,” which she highly doubted would serve any real medical purpose at all.

Qez cleared her throat, trying not to think of the picture she presented, not to think of him between her legs, looking at her there, and raised her eyes to the ceiling, hoping to distract herself by counting the holes in those industrial tiles that lots of ceilings had, at least in her time, only to discover a large, magnifying mirror was aimed directly at the place she was most trying to avoid, so that she could see everything that was going on in disquieting detail.

She even thought she literally saw the snap as the rubber glove fell into position around his thick wrist.  “That’s it,” he encouraged, “keep looking up like a good girl.  It’s always good for girls to see themselves being taken care of as they should be.”

She had no choice but to obey him, because one of the bots had pressed yet another button on the table, and two blinders came up out of the exam table, one on either side of her head, like those a horse wore, and she found she couldn’t move her head in either direction.  Nor could she keep her eyes closed for longer than it took to blink, no matter how hard she tried.  She was beginning to panic, thinking something was medically wrong, until she remembered the drops he’d put in her eyes a few minutes ago and realized they must have had something to do with it.

She had no choice but to watch him defile her under the guise of a medical examination, and that had been everyone’s intention all along.

One bot stood to one side of him with a tray full of items that were probably missing from the walls, along with an enormous tube of what she recognized as a water soluble lubricant that ominously bore her name across it in giant red letters, and the second bot stood to the other side of him, several more uncomfortable looking instruments always held at the ready.

At first, he didn’t do anything particularly disturbing, which was almost worse.  Qez had braced herself to be hurt and mauled and she couldn’t even imagine what else, but the most startling thing he did was apply some sort of plastic thing that lay atop her mons but had thin arms that fit between her outer lips and, with several quick cranks, worked to keep her them wide open, affording her absolutely no modesty whatsoever.

Pseudo-squirming and tugging at her restraints, as always, got her absolutely nowhere.  She could only lie there and watch what he was doing to her, feeling it as she saw it happen to herself in the mirror above her.

He inspected her closely, running three firm fingers over every inch of her from stem to stern, mentioning out loud that he saw no imperfections or deficits, nor any unusual markings, moles, discolorations, tattoos, or piercings in the area.  He did note, rather loudly, she thought, that “the girl” was “obviously aroused” by the proceedings, as he had visible evidence of vaginal secretions, which he dipped his finger quite early into then dabbed off onto a slide.

Qez was mortified.  She knew that the bots didn’t care about what they were recording, and she wasn’t quite sure why she cared about what the doctor thought, but she found it absolutely excruciatingly shameful that her body was reacting like that.

But he seemed to take it in stride.  He even commented, as if for her benefit, “Of course, that’s to be expected and encouraged, especially in unusual situations such as we find ourselves with this girl, and the two others.”

Encouraged! She screamed in her mind, and attempted to with her mouth, but he had already – or perhaps automatically, somehow, maybe at the same time he “activated” her nipple rings - employed that same ability to subdue coherent speech that Jex used on her in conjunction with those awful restraints, denying her the ability to give voice to anything other than the basest of sounds.

Regardless of the fact that he’d just commented on the fact that she was showering him with copious amounts of her own unguent, she could still see him squeeze a sizeable dollop of gel out onto the gloved fingers of his right hand, then place those slickened digits directly onto a clit that had been forced into almost uncomfortable prominence by the fact that her lips were held well out of his way, and when he lay those cool, wet fingers on top of it and began to rub, slightly insistently, in a circular motion, she couldn’t help but moan.

She desperately wanted to close her eyes, but they popped right back open as soon as she’d blinked, like one of those old fashioned window shades on a roller, so that she could see him as he turned his head and watched her watching him touch her, the barest of triumphant smiles on his lips before he returned to the matter directly at hand.

He sat back for a second, and applied a glove and then another dab of gel onto the fingers of his left hand, using them to replace those of his right, keeping up that delicious pressure on her clit, perhaps lightening it just a bit, and reaching with his right hand to grab what looked like the head and neck of some large plastic bird, with the two huge parts of its beak wide open, as if it was constantly hungry.  It took her a moment, until he began rubbing some – but not a lot - of the lube that remained on his right fingers onto the bird’s beak for her to realize that it wasn’t a bird at all, but rather a very large cordless, lighted specula.  And he then he closed it – showing her the stark difference in sizes between closed and open - and placed it at the entrance to her body.

At the same time, though, his free fingers continued to expertly caress that plump little nub, as if he’d done just this a thousand times before, making her muscles contract and tighten, joining the fight against him, but almost hindering herself at the same time.  She struggled as best she could, and then, finally, exhausted at the futile fight, surrendered to the inevitable with a broken sigh.

“That’s what we’ve been waiting for,” he crowed triumphantly, taking that exact moment to lean forward and penetrate her firmly, brooking no resistance, holding his eyes with hers and seating the large speculum deep within her then immediately ratcheting it open to its largest setting, stretching her uncomfortably wide and causing her to groan loudly at having been opened so abruptly and severely.

Tom had seen the notes.  All owners were required, upon registering their slave at the Lyceum, to provide them – in this case, him - with all pertinent medical information available, and that included sexual activity.  And he didn’t need those medical records to know that this space girl had been proven pure at her claiming ceremony.  It was all over town. 

He was the doctor here, though, and he was of a mind that all girls could use a little stretching now and then, and there was quite literally no one – considering the shortage of doctors - who was going to tell him otherwise.

Not that he wanted to risk losing this cush job, but he didn’t feel like he was in any kind of danger of that.  Nothing was going to go on in this exam that didn’t go on in every other adult girl’s medical exam that he conducted – and doctors all over the world – conducted.

And this girl – he liked this girl.  She was something different.  And, as much as he knew she hated every little thing he was doing to her, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she loved every little thing he was going to her.

And he had more than enough in his bag of tricks to keep them both occupied for quite some time, well beyond this piddling initial medical exam.  Yes, Sir.  He could see that this girl was going to need plenty of future medical appointments for something.  He hadn’t quite determined what yet, but he’d find something if it killed him.

Her temples were flooded with tears, throughout this process, although she was surprised that he really did some things that he was supposed to do.  He performed a Pap smear and examined her visually for any defects, but he had withdrawn the horrid thing in about the same time as it would have taken her to have had the same type of exam prior to her descent into this hellhole.

Of course that wasn’t the end of it.  Not by far.

“Nothing unusual to report in the visual exam.  Send the smear to the lab,” the Dr. stated, putting the specula back on the tray and catching Qez’ eyes as he held his right hand up.  “Now for my preferred method of examining incoming girls.  Manually.”

Qez had whined and whimpered more since they had returned than she ever had in her life, even when she was growing up in the gutter.  Then, she’d mostly been left to her own devices.  She’d starved, but she’d been relatively unmolested.  Since their return, she’d been nothing but molested, in one way or the other.

And here she was, whimpering again as she watched him press not one, but two fingers, uncrossed, deep inside her, all the while still stimulating her clit, albeit much more slowly than before, as if he didn’t want to allow her too much pleasure all at once.  Those fingers had slowed nearly to a halt a top her throbbing button, and they still sat directly atop it, flexing only occasionally, strictly controlling her responses.  She would have pleasure only when he allowed it.

And when she thought about it, and listened, she realized that she was panting heavily, and moaning, unconsciously.  Qez did her best to get it under control, but she had to admit to herself that what he was doing to her wasn’t helping.  A third finger had quickly joined the original two, stretching her more slowly than the speculum had, but also more firmly and completely, since the blades weren’t solid, or connected to a very muscular arm.

For a long few minutes, he simply fucked her with his fingers, occasionally flicking those other digits and stirring her up a bit, listening for her moans, then stopping for a few more minutes while he pounded his fingers in and out of her.

And then, after three long, languorous strokes over her achingness, he abruptly leaned back and completely withdrew himself from her, peeling off his gloves and walking over to throw them in the trash, saying, “I find no defects whatsoever.  Turn her over.”

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