Kelly steps to the door of cabin 10, 128 following diligently, learning well under the auspices of Rex the hound. Slack, endeavor at all times for slack.
“As we’ve discussed, the location of Nusquam is known to a very few. What is known is that the facility is an abandoned silver mine, the ore having been depleted many years ago. Thus the simple buildings and relative seclusion. But for the discovery of precious metals, these acres would have remained jungle.”
Kelly raises her leash hand, not satisfied with the gait of her charge. The clamps tighten to bring pain... labia and clitoral hood tensioned... and riveting the attention of she bearing the harness.
“On toes, 128. I want you walking most obeisantly.”
How is the command to be ignored?
“The pump house is so termed because of the equipment used to drain the deep mine shafts of water... huge, heavy capstans turned by mules. Such have now been rigged to generate electricity and are turned by subjugants... those deemed no longer worthy of pleasing... or who otherwise refuse to please.”
Kelly stops. 128 knows to instantly still her shuffling feet.
“It’s their last tour of servitude, 128. The pump house subjugants turn and turn until they can no longer... or in many cases choose to end their servitude. At their behest... the last decision they will ever freely make... they can move onward... to the crocodile pit. And what the crocodiles don’t consume of them, the piranhas do.”
Turning to resume the journey, Kelly smiles in seeing 128 shudder in fear.
“No one knows how many steel bands can be found at the bottom of the pit. Probably hundreds. But there is no way to determine exactly. It’s all that remain of the many who have ended a lifetime of servitude at Nusquam. Steel bands and crocodile poop.”
Kelly turns silent, letting 128 mull the wickedness... the gloom... the depression of existence serving in the pump house. Finally in arriving at a sprawling building, well segregated from the dorm, stable, milking parlor and collection of cabins, Kelly again pauses.
“You’re going to observe the most callously wicked women in the world, 128. The supervisors of the pump house were all born and raised in an African county where slavery is not only prevalent, but considered a normal way of life. Owning another human being is de rigueur for these women... and owning and working Caucasians considered a welcomed status symbol... a desired status symbol. So ironically, despite the rigors of living in a remote jungle, they are easily recruited to work here. Food for thought, no?
“As you surveil, keep the milking parlor in mind, 128. The tranquility there may become more tolerable.”
Kelly pushes a thick wooden door, playfully jostling the leash, assuring 128 follows as she steps inward.
“Welcome to Nusquam’s inferno.”
Chapter Forty-Seven
Torment... physical... mental... emotional... and unending. The vast chamber exudes suffering as 128 indeed surveils.
The thick door opens to a balcony. Many feet below there is a dirt floor, clay pounded to the firmness of concrete by bare human feet.
The capstans, enormous, number four. Each has six prongs, many feet in length attached to a center axle emanating vertically from the ceiling, the generation equipment on the floor above. Secured to each prong are naked subjugants... male... female. They plod, walking in circles... two rotating clockwise, two counterclockwise. Draped over the horizontal poles, hands and wrists pulled behind, are the arms, elbows bent, the prongs held at the backs. The subjugants slowly pull... and pull and pull... the wrist bands chained together at the belly to make each naked form one with the machinery.
Visually the scene disturbs. But there also comes the smell... sweat, urine, excrement. In the heat and humidity of the tropics, the chamber reeks. Then there is the noise... thuds, leather shrouded sjamboks on human flesh, resulting in yelps and pitiful cries. Women of color, 128 is surprised to note the bevy of sizable supervisors are naked from the waist down, freely dispense encouraging swats to the buttocks. The cries, shrieks and grunts do not stop... just as the capstans do not stop. Such turn and turn as the bare feet scratch the firm surface and the sjamboks thwack away.
“Be sure to note the physical alterations, 128,” Kelly lectures in guiding to a descending stairway. “When rendered to the pump house, the subjugants are defanged and declawed.... finger and toe nails removed... teeth filed to uselessness. Fingers and thumbs are sutured together, making the hands useless as well. Thus in addition to being constantly tethered, they are defenseless as well, no biting... no scratching... nothing to be held as a weapon.”
128 feels the clamps of the cunny harness as she pauses in horrifying awe... a giant woman lashing at the buttocks of a naked male, struggling to respond with required vigor. Kelly jostles the leash, obedience demanded. 128 meekly resumes stepping downward.
“Though appearing decrepit, the prongs have sensors which detect the level of effort. As you can see, those who slack, failing to apply force, are dealt with promptly... and painfully.”
Reaching the floor, 128 spies rows of subjugants lying prostrate on the dirt. They are secured to prongs, also held at the back, elbows positioned atop.
“They’re resting. After much experimentation, we’ve found that four hour shifts maximize both the human output... and the level of torment. No one ever gets a full night’s rest in the pump house. All are worked... four hours in labor... four hours to eat and sleep.”
Proximity offers 128 better inspection as threesome after threesome pass by, heads down, some with eyes closed. There are castrates, with her months of indoctrination and servitude at Nusquam, 128 no longer appalled by missing testicles. Yet there comes unexpected horror in noting both women and men are devoid of nipples, the pink nubs excised. The penises of the intact males are oddly shaped. The flesh about the female genitalia also appears abnormal.
“The women are desexed for servitude in the pump house... the labia and clitoris surgically removed as well as the nipples. The males who have not been castrated are degloved, sensitive penile skin removed. Not only is sexual pleasure denied here in the pump house... there is no hope for ever again achieving sexual pleasure. The subjugants here only experience pain, 128... unending forced exertion and pain.”
A giantess approaches, s
jambok in hand. 128 cannot help noting her genitalia. As opposed the naked female subjugants, the woman’s inner labia protrude, dangling well down the thighs, the fleshiness flopping about with every step.
“Good afternoon Miss Kelly. You’re back.”