New Order, New Opportunity Pt. 04

His was the same routine as the others; thrusts until he was almost ready to cum, withdrawal, and then the woman sprayed with cum. As he finished he wiped himself off on her hair. The woman was cooing now, whimpering as she pressed her thighs together trying to will herself to come.

"Here," said the first man to James, "help us." The two of them pulled the woman from the bed and dragged her across the room to the chair. "Do her feet," he said pointing to a loop of rope curling out from the bag they had brought with them.

Between the three of them, they tied the woman to the chair and pushed the gag back in her mouth. They tied her legs spread apart so that as she tried to buck against the ropes to bring herself off, she had little chance of urging herself to orgasm.

"Goodnight cunt," the first man said. "I hope you had fun." He gestured for the other man and James to follow him out of the room.

The woman whimpered as she watched them go.

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Anne Tenant strode purposefully across the Millennium Bridge towards the old Bankside Power Station that now housed the Tate Modern gallery. It was a short walk from her offices and a fine day. It seemed like the ideal opportunity to blow some of the cobwebs from her mind before the meeting.

She'd never really considered herself much of an expert on art but she did know about business and when she'd been invited to join the board of trustees it had seemed like a useful opportunity to make some new contacts, including some useful ones in Government.

She passed by a couple of tourists in hot debate with one of the security staff. From the way she was pointing to the signs and shaking her head it was clear that the tourists hadn't realised that the "No Males" sign meant what it said. It was a shame but until the trustees had finished their work it wouldn't be sensible to relax the rule.

She walked in through the vast exhibition space that was the old Turbine Hall. In the middle, Tracey Emin's new installation, "The Latest People I've Slept With" dominated the surroundings with its collection of a dozen twenty foot high, black basalt, replicas of strap-on dildos, each engraved with the name of the man that she had used the original on. It had caused a lot of debate, some suggesting that it celebrated the male member. Tracey's view, expressed in a foul mouthed and drunken interview on television, that "of course it does because if we aren't using these to fuck them, they'd be using their's to fuck us" hadn't help anyone to believe that Tracey was mellowing as she got older. Ann just wondered if she could use images of it when they started to advertise her new product.

The offices were at the top of the building with views across the Thames and St Pauls. The conference room had a sign on the door. "Trustees Meeting - Department of Culture Media & Her-itage" it said. Anne winced. She didn't think that sort of thing helped matters at all, though of course she agreed that they had a long way to go to redress the imbalance of at least three millennia of male viewpoints on western culture.

She took her seat at the conference table, nodding and smiling at some of the other trustees that she had met at the previous meeting.

Anne looked at the agenda. One of the gallery catering house-boys offered her coffee and she took it without really acknowledging him and certainly without noticing the surreptitious lick of his lips as he caught a glimpse of her breasts and cleavage while he leant over her shoulder to serve her cream. It was just as well she hadn't spotted him. If she had done, it would have been his third offence, earning instant dismissal. He caught himself just in time casting his eyes down at the floor before asking Anne if she wanted sugar.

She shook her head. He went on to serve the next woman at the table, taking more care this time with his behaviour.

The agenda looked as though it would have the usual mixture of tedium and interest. Madam Chair, Anne saw, was beginning to gather her papers ready to start the meeting. She waved the waiters away and began.

"Thank you all for coming. We have apologies from two of our usual members. Can I take it that everyone was happy with the minutes of the last meeting?"

There were the usual nods and muttered agreements around the table.

"Well, if everyone is happy I think we can take the actions from last time as we go through the rest of the agenda. They should all be picked up with the various reports that we have to review, I think." More nods. "Now Monica, perhaps you can update us on the Gallery Working Group."

Anne sat back to listen. She didn't have much to contribute to this part of the discussion. The Gallery Working Group was trying to push through some new policies on exhibits. The government was firmly of the view that it needed to purge the museums and art galleries of works that presented what they termed "an outdated and undesirable view of gender relationships." Of course there were some that considered the proposals to remove from gallery walls all art that presented females in a subservient role or, indeed, glamorised male attributes as censorship. Anne didn't think that mattered. It was better that the new generation had positive role models in art. Something had to be done to redress the balance.

Monica was summing up, "So we can begin introducing this policy at once but the problem remains that there too few works in the current collections to fill the gaps left by the material we are removing. We do need some ideas on how we might go about either encouraging new artists or acquiring material that is more appropriate to our current gender policies."

Anne winced at the term "gender policies" but felt at last she had a contribution to make. She leant forward. "Madam Chair, if I could just suggest..." A nod from the head of the table indicated she should continue. "This may be seen as a radical view but I wonder if we could consider some new works by male artists."

There was a sharp intake of breath around the table, furrowed brows turned towards Anne Tenant.

"We shouldn't overlook that fact that there are men that have expressed the ideals of New Order, albeit in a romanticised manner and from," Anne looked around the table following the reactions of the other trustees carefully, "let us say, a sexual rather than social or political motivation."

"Pornographers, you mean," one of Anne's co-trustees exclaimed with disgust.

"That's certainly the conventional view and it's true that the women in these works are fetishised to a large extent. However, perhaps we should be asking whether their imagination is of value, irrespective of its motivation. Much great art has been created for monetary gain, after all and I think we all recognise that women have been happy to fetishise themselves when it has suited them. While the works I'm thinking of are hardly great art they do have merit and do have the value of representing gender roles as we would want them portrayed.

Monica responded. "It could be interesting," she said. "An exhibition exploring the way in which the New Order view of society was foreseen, perhaps a combination of art by some of the people you're talking about with reportage photography exploring the realities of today's relationships."

Other trustees chipped in with their own ideas. It was clear that the idea had a measure of support even if there were some doubters. Anne was pleased. She had always felt that artists like Sardax, Nimrod and Namshakh had as much to say about the relationships that were now the social Geoff as any of the New Order politicos. It looked as if they might get their opportunity for wider recognition at last.

Madam Chair sat listening to the debate, pleased that something seemed to be come from the meeting. She was glad that she'd suggested Tenant join the trustees. This was just the sort of innovative thinking they needed.

Chapter 12 : Special Weapons & Tactics

Florence Daniels, Minister for Home Affairs, sat waiting for the count down at the start of the programme. She was already sweating under the lights. With luck she'd get in her points this time. She could hear the voice of the producer in her ear piece. "Quiet studio, please. Three... two... one..., Roll credits, Ready on one. Coming to one. Cue Kirsty..."

"Good evening and welcome," Florence's interviewer smiled. "In tonight's programme we will be looking at some of the latest New Order initiatives and I'm joined by Florence Daniels, Minister for Home Affairs" Florence nodded in acknowledgement. "But first,..." Florence felt her stomach sink. Why wouldn't they just let her get on and talk about the important stuff? "I hope, Minister, that you can comment on media speculation about the true nature of some of the recent trials being carried out by your department."

Look straight at the camera, she thought. Be firm and clear. Let her see you are answering but don't let her divert you from what you've come to talk about. Let her have this one and a follow up question so it looks like you don't want to duck the issue but then get back to your message. "I think I have made it quite clear," Florence said, "that these trials are being carried out purely from the perspective of the potential use of these devices in the detention and correction system."

"So reports that this is a precursor to a directive for the use of these male chastity devices in domestic environments are without foundation?"

"I can assure you, Kirsty, and the viewers, that my department's interest in this project is penal not penile." She smiled at the camera. Her interviewer smiled in her turn at the joke and abandoned her questions. "But what I really want to get across the viewers is the way in which our latest proposals on detecting and deterring dissidents will work..."

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The Prime Minister's fixer turned down the sound on her video screen with a satisfied nod. Mrs Johannsen would be pleased; she liked her ministers to be able to think on their feet.

The fixer knew that the newspaper headlines would be more interested in the "penal not penile" joke than anything else.

Moments later the fixer's phone rang. Mrs Johannsen, Prime Minister and leader of New Order was on the line.

"A good sound bite," Johannsen said.

"And all her own work. I can't claim any credit."

"Indeed. Well she threw that little cow off the scent."

The PM's fixer was always disappointed when Johannsen started mixing her metaphors. It was always the same when she got annoyed. The PM didn't like the BBC. There were still too many men in editorial posts for her taste.

"That piece of work might be useful," Johannsen went on. "I've been thinking we ought to look at some further ways of reducing the opportunity for un-sponsored males to commit sex crimes."

"You don't think that some might see that as a further erosion of personal liberty? Or that some people might think that Florence Daniels wasn't being entirely straightforward?"

"You tell me. And then tell me how we make it play differently." The fixer could hear the determination in Johannsen's voice. "The way I see it, if an un-sponsored male isn't involved in sex crimes they shouldn't have a problem with chastity devices; should they?"

The fixer didn't reply. She knew it was a rhetorical question.

"There's one other thing. It's about Stearns." The fixer listened carefully. It hadn't been clear when they spoke before whether Johanssen wanted her on board or not. The things that she'd learned from Fetter Lane might or might not have made a difference. "I'm not sure," the prime minister continued, "that I accept your concerns. I appreciate your advice but I've always felt that she doesn't let her personal life interfere with her work. I am absolutely certain that nothing will come to light that would prevent her appointment to the Supreme Court."

"Prime Minister?" The fixer wasn't happy with the decision but the use of the word "absolutely" was clear enough; Catherine Stearns was being fast tracked and that was it.

"Yes, good, I'm glad you agree." That was all Johannsen needed to say. That was the strength of their relationship, very little said but that which needed to be done happened.

The fixer put down the phone. She knew what was meant. Whether or not she agreed, she was being asked to make sure things turned out that way. It would cause some problems. They'd have to shut down the Fetter Lane operation, of course. It was a shame, it had only really just got going, but there would be far too many loose ends. Tennant wouldn't be happy either but she would have to find another venue for entertaining.

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Lady Justice Catherine Stearns sat with her elbows on her desk, her fingers pressing on her forehead, trying to clear her head. The ache in her head was doing nothing to help her concentrate on the day's business.

Lewis, her chamber boy, stood quietly to one side, knowing that calm and quiet was needed in the office that morning. It was a hot day. He couldn't understand why Lady Stearns was dressed as she was. The heavy, high necked, long sleeved, dress must be making her hot and surely that couldn't be helping how she felt.

He had brought the files for the cases for the following day. Sometimes she asked him about what was going on in the offices, what the gossip was below stairs. Today though she was quiet. "Tea, Madam?" Lewis asked. It seemed a more likely choice than coffee this morning.

She said nothing for a moment but then looked up. "No. Err, no, thank you Lewis. Just some water will be fine. Thank you." She took the files as Lewis went to fetch it.

She leafed through the folders. More dissidents. Conspiracy to rape, possession of subversive material, membership of a proscribed organisation, promoting behaviour in conflicting with public morality, obtaining property by deception. It was days like this when she regretted following criminal law. How much easier it would be to be looking at a civil custody case or trying a dispute over some transfer of property under the Reallocation of Marital Assets Act. She felt stiff. Bruised all over, bruised emotionally and physically too. It was, as always, difficult to concentrate and Lewis made it no easier either. His blank, dutiful mechanical obedience made her own feelings the more difficult to come to terms with.

Lewis returned. He put the tray down with the jug and glass of water. Catherine reached for the glass. As she did so Lewis caught sight of a dark mark on Lady Justice Stearns' wrist. It looked like a nasty bruise. Lewis wondered how she had got it.

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