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Jennifer Lim
Wednesday 15 September 2055
12.55pm
Oxford's lunchtime traffic was as ever shit. Belmond Le Manoir aux Quat' Saisons was even more stunning than I remembered, though. How amazing that our old Magdalen favourite Foie De Canard Poêlé was still on the luncheon menu.
As we approach through the forests, I recognise this gargantuan monstrosity from my team's research. The architects should've been shot, or chained to machines inside. It looks like a zillion tonnes of battleship grey concrete, soulless and windowless, discarded in a massive unwanted block alongside some first prize winner in a competition to see just how much glass could be used to construct a building. Beauty and the beast, but which is which?
The inner steel gates open and we're through. My driver obeys the 10mph speed limit inside. This is 2055 after all. A logistics slave running back towards the inner gates sees the official markings on the car and stands smartly to attention as we pass. He looks out of breath and glad of the rest. We go around all three sides of that great windowless battleship which takes ten minutes. I crane my neck to see the sides. One is broken by a colourful BAe logo and the huge "One Britain One Economy" and the even huger "WORK HARD. KEEP BRITAIN GREAT". The second wall is taken up by the dispatch area with at least thirty articulated juggernauts with double trailers being loaded and maybe another thirty in a waiting zone. What looks like a whole team of logistical slaves is unloading a 58-tonne juggernaut and running into the building with boxes and crates. At sight of our approaching car, a female voice over a loudspeaker calls them to attention. I recognise the blue Chinese script on the trailer as belonging to the huge Hong Kong-based Parakou Corporation. These slaves also look grateful for the break. We pass one slave less than three feet from my window. He too is out of breath but stood smartly and correctly to attention. His eyes remain front, not gawking down into the car nor following us. That's what I like and expect to see in the RuK. I make a mental note to include footage of their firm well-exercised bodies.
"Get back to work, slaves!"
Break time over. My well-trained new friend sprints to the trailer. The car turns. The glass house entrance has a red carpet, but it's old and faded, left out all year round and not laid out especially for me. Nevertheless, I know my driver will stop just there as there she is, Daniella Peterson, PR Manager. A good example of what you can do in the RuK from humble working-class beginnings. I have to admit she looks the part, though. Just like the research, slim and blonde with that confident half smile. Not bad after two kids and an impending divorce. Blue knee-length skirt suit with BAe Sam Browne belt and black standard whip. Very smart, I'm sure, Mrs Peterson.
Kilo 278431/2032 Conscript (Hard Labour Level 2)
Wednesday 16 September 2055
12.55pm
Something's very wrong. The PR ladies, normally so prim and proper, are stressed about something. I've never squatted in the bucket and wiped my arse with one of those goddesses looking on nearby and checking her watch. The shit cart's just been sent away. Whoever's coming is here now.
Daniella Peterson
Wednesday 16 September 2055
12.55pm
Our research team warned us well. We knew she had a lunch reservation in Belmond Le Manoir in Oxford, so the pencilled-in 11am arrival was changed to a more realistic 1pm. I'd not even ordered lunch for her anyway. I was warned again when she left the restaurant so had at least fifteen minutes to sort my team. She'll get the presentation, video and tour. We'll be done by 3pm.
Just keep away from the slaves, Ms Lim, and we'll leave on smiling terms.
Jennifer Lim
Wednesday 16 September 2055
1.10pm
My driver's obviously in on the act, but I'm cool with that. These people want an exact arrival time, but it's not as if I'm going to disrupt production. He takes an age to walk around to open my door. Mrs Peterson and two assistants approach.
"Welcome to BAe3, Ms Lim. Daniella Peterson, Public Relations Manager."
To be fair, she seemed nice enough. "Nice to meet you, Mrs Peterson."
"We understand this is your first visit to BAe3, Ms Lim?"
Small talk. How very British. The glass house entrance was 50 metres to our left, but I was led to an opening in the grey soulless block. From outside, through the thick concrete I could already hear the machines, the flywheels, the heavy presses. Automatic doors opened, and we were in, in a small partitioned off ante room. Wow, that's loud. The heavy presses were now joined by the clatter of chains and shouts and a whip crack. Mrs Peterson had to shout to make herself understood as she used her whip to point out a safety poster.
KEEP SAFE. KEEP TO THE RED CENTRE AISLE.
ROWS ARE STRICTLY FOR STAFF ONLY.
ENJOY YOUR VISIT TO BAE FACTORY 3.
WORK HARD. KEEP BRITAIN GREAT.
"Of course, as a VVIP visitor today, we'll be happy to quickly show you an AeroSing row if you'd like?"
I hadn't come all this way for the fucking food, had I?
Kilo 278431/2032 Conscript (Hard Labour Level 2)
Wednesday 16 September 2055
1.15pm
"Slaves, stop work!"
Our guest or guests have arrived. This happens every six months or so, but it's usually a customer or just maybe an Upper, and the names are announced. Makes no difference to me, unless it was Lady Noor, of course.
"Machine slaves, switch off your machines!"
Please, let it be female and attractive. OK, I'm luckier than most being chained right by the centre aisle, but the last time I stood smartly to attention like this, two obese Arabs walked by. The time before that it was some Muslim woman with headscarf and trouser suit, glasses and a wart!
"All slaves face the centre aisle!"
Whoever it is, I'll use the opportunity to practice getting my chains right. I watched those fat Arabs with my left wrist chain somehow covering my right eye.
"Stand to attention, slaves!"
This is it. Feet on the markers, hips forward, chin up, hands on head, wait. Huh? The slave opposite, on machine 35S 1F on the other side of the centre aisle is new. New boy looks about 15. I guess the previous guy finished his time. His freshly-shaven testicles were already a swollen mix of purple and black, but his eyes still showed the sense of duty and desire to please instilled during training. Welcome to BAe3, mate. Let's hope this visitor, your first, brightens up what must have been a terrifying first few months for you.
It already sounds promising. Female voices approaching. The polished voice of our main PR lady and an American, maybe a Eurasian accent. New boy is keeping his chin up and eyes front too, well trained.
Fuck! I think of the Economy as we learned in training to control erections, but this one's going to be impossible to tame. New boy's cock has also ignored years of training and is now bulging and throbbing. Just who is this? I thought Lady Noor was a goddess, but this is a Eurasian much taller version. One of the male overseers opposite leaps out of his chair and is now making his way to the centre aisle for a closer look. I want to look down more than anything, but training kicks in. Long jet black shiny hair, open expression and high cheekbones. A cream-coloured one-piece climatic suit allowing a slight shadow to be cast under a lovely tight pair of tits. My right wrist chain, which had been balancing precariously on my shoulder, slid off just as Eurasian walked past. She turned towards the sound, and I saw those full red lips upturn slightly. Wow. It's just as well I'm chained or I'd be running after her. Despite reciting the last decade's GDP, I feel my cock moving, throbbing in pain as even more blood rushes in. I felt as if my cock were halfway across the aisle. One of the PR ladies gave me a sideways glance, and I knew I'd been right to keep eyes front and up. A younger female overseer in 36S was clearly less sympathetic of her 1B's erection. I heard the splat of her steel toecap against his balls from behind. Eurasian slowed her pace and turned towards his grunt of pain. I'd have gladly taken that kick for a better look. The male overseer was now at the centre aisle looking down and following with his eyes as that butt and no doubt long and silky legs passed along the aisle all the way to the viewing area. Bastard. He tore his glance way and noticed me, still stood to attention with eyes front and huge erection, and grinned.
"Back to work, slaves!"
Jennifer Lim
Wednesday 16 September 2055
1.25pm
When we come back with the film crew, we'll pump the slaves full of potassium bromide to suppress those erections. Four of five of the chained machine slaves needed a kick between the legs to focus their thoughts, but I was pleased to see every slave correctly at attention with eyes up and front. From the VVIP viewing area, I can see pretty much every machine, and although the far off machines are lost in a fog of wrist chains, I can still see individual shaved heads bobbing up and down, working hard. The nearer machines offer more clarity. The whipped backs of the first row of men are less than eight feet from my chair. I'll walk past shortly, and not one man will turn around such is the precision of their training. It'll come over well on camera.
I'd had a demi of 2022 Domaine François at Belmond's, best not to doze off on this plush leather. I sit up and cross my legs. The slave chained to an aisle machine facing me looks up, and I hear his yelp of pain as an overseer slashes her whip into his back and lands a kick between his legs.
"Work, slave!"
She's still behind him now encouraging him. He seems to be working hard to me with his limp penis swaying back and forth across his tennis ball-sized bruised testicles with his neatly--trimmed triangle of brown pubic hair. Young men in their prime. They'll look great on camera.
"Mrs Peterson, 817 machines are working on AeroSing projects." It wasn't a question. "I want to see the following Viking cells: V/217A, B, C, D, E and F. V/219A, V/226H and V/279J."
Mrs Peterson raised a shiny DenWa I5 to her ear.
"Your cells are beautifully and clearly signed. My DenWa will lead me to each cell. V217/A is six rows to our right. Will you join me?"
The machine roar, overseers' shouts of "faster!" and the sonic cracking of whips will challenge our sound crew. My DenWa will record a short interview with an overseer and a slave, and we'll see how that all works once back in Singapore. The slaves were fully at work now. Very few erections.
A very smart southeast Asian-looking overseer patrolled one of the first rows, and I realised it was her who had disciplined that ogling slave just now. Very photogenic. The steel heels on her highly-polished knee length boots could just be heard above the machines. Denier 12 regulation pantyhose, black knee length double pleated skirt and white blouse, freshly starched and ironed. The polished black leather Sam Browne, black peaked cap with gold HMOC badge and black leaded whip, she was going in my film alright. She stopped to watch a pasty and overweight logistical slave (interesting selection) balance two boxes of components in his arms before running, well wobbling, off around us with belly and penis jiggling at random.
"Faster, you ugly fat shit!"
"Yes, Ma'am."
Not in my film. Sorry, fatboy. The overseer caught my amused look and flashed me a film star smile. It wasn't an AeroSing row, but I didn't care.
In Mandarin, I called out. "Do you speak Mandarin Chinese?"
She squinted in concentration. "Yes, a little."
I still print old-fashioned business cards from my DenWa, and I handed one to her. She took it politely with both hands.
"Thank you."
More than a little. The way she thanked me was a very formal expression not often used in modern Mandarin. Perfect.
"Call my PA as soon as you're off duty. You're doing a great job."
Daniella Peterson
Wednesday 16 September 2055
1.25pm
So much for readiness training. Ms Lim has smashed Lady Noor's joint record for centre aisle erections. Our poor slaves made me so proud today, though. With many barely 18 years of age, testosterone levels off the scale and in the midst of their full-blown sexual peak, they all kept eyes front before continuing work. Boys, you've no idea what a nightmare this woman is to me and to you, but you've made me proud today.
Kilo 278431/2032 Conscript (Hard Labour Level 2)
Wednesday 16 September 2055
1.25pm
The cacophony of shouts and whip cracks from the rows behind say something interesting is going on. We all work on, eyes front, like good boys whenever the mini-skirted PR girls and secretaries walk by. I can take a sideways peep at them anytime Monday to Friday without risking another leaded whip across my back. But once in a while something different comes by whether it's a new secretary dolled up in climatic suit and heels or, of course, Tan Sri Lady Noor last year.
"Know your place." Mrs Peterson said during our induction as forty of us stood to attention in four chained rows in the nice reception. "You're here as BAe3 machine slaves for five years minimum to serve your Uppers. Your hard work keeps Britain great. Do I make myself clear, machine slaves?"
Five years did she say? "Yes, Mrs Peterson Ma'am."
She uncrossed her legs and stood up from the visitor sofa.
"The chains you are wearing now are lockable. They can be removed. But by order of your Uppers, you will be chained to your machines with welded chains. Think about that. The only highlight in your five years minimum might be the honour of a rare motivational inspection from your Owner or another Upper."
I could hear her heels directly behind me on the marble floor as she walked between the rows.
"Free your minds of pleasure. Five years minimum of hard work in service to your Uppers. Understood?"
She did say five years. "Yes, Mrs Peterson Ma'am."
She called to the waiting overseers. "Take them away and chain them."
Nice little speech. I was about the only one not crying as we waited to be marched away and chained. Five years? Just yesterday at Camp SW2 we were told our destination and two years. One lad behind, Kilo 278496/2032 who struggled through training even more than me actually dared speak without permission.
"Ma'am, we were told..."
The heels quickened in his direction.
"Shut your fucking mouth, slave!"
His sobs changed to the now all familiar guttural sound of pain as Mrs Peterson slammed her knee up into his testicles.
"Chain this one first. One of the Al-Fahid heavy presses in row 16 will shut him up."
I heard chains grating as he was unlocked, and he gasped in even more pain as a male overseer slammed a fist into his stomach and twisted his arm high behind his back to drag him towards the factory glass double doors. The overseer released his grip but then aimed a kick at the slave's lower back forcing him to the ground halfway through the double doors. He uncoiled his leaded whip.
"Get the fuck up!"
We all jumped in shock at the shout and sonic whip crack. The chubby receptionist, who was probably only a few years older than us, didn't even look up from her DenWa. Seen it all before. Through the open doors, I could hear thousands of machines and far off whip cracks. I could already smell the ozone from 278496's ankle and wrist chains being welded.
It left us in no doubt that Level 2 and this place would be hard. It also, however, told us to take our chances. When you see a real beauty walking by, she'll be worth one or maybe two cracks, but look and remember well. There might be nothing else to see for years.
Talking of risks, I just craned my neck around, and it was our Eurasian bringing so much delight to my comrades in chains whilst the overseers went into overdrive. I can't see today boosting Lady Noor's bank balance much nor tomorrow come to that with the right wrist chain orchestra, me included, kicking off at midnight.
She was now in our row with Mrs Peterson and two other hangers on watching a section behind me at work. Nice to see she's not carrying a whip. She looks much too classy for that. Now she's directly behind me, and either taking pictures or filming with a DenWa whilst dictating in what sounded like Chinese and English.
"Row 38 Asian overseer. She'll call for screen/language test. V/226H, V/279J, V217/B all no go."
I found it amusing that Mrs Peterson was shushed away whenever she spoke. Whatever the purpose, our Eurasian knew her job, thank you very much. Now she's filming at my right-hand side. She likes that long ramp, and as she checks it out, this is all my cancelled BAe3 Christmases and birthdays at once. That shiny black hair and gold loop earrings. As she looks down and grins at the flowing parts, I can see her features are very Asian with the cute button nose and full lips. And whoever gets to touch those tits, even covered, could spend twenty years chained in here and still be happy. The cream climatic suit exposes firm shapely lower thighs and calves wrapped in seamed satin silk pantyhose. Those legs are from treadmills, masseurs and Jacuzzis, not the varicose veined swollen kind we're developing in service to Lady Noor. I'm not great on shoes, I'm afraid, but spike heels and highly-polished brown leather finishes those legs off nicely, and as she walks back, I notice she's taller than me.
That DenWa's out again, filming me and my erection from the side. I daren't glance to my right. She's clearly got no problem with erections, but if I catch those tits right now, I'll ejaculate three months' supply of semen all over my machine, or worse.
"We're going with V/217A." This time in English.
No idea if that's good or bad, but now I wish she'd just go. How ironic. Ninety seconds of ecstasy in eight years of slavery in conditions I'd never dare imagine and now I want this bliss to end. Finally, she's moved on to Alpha 375698/2052 and giving him and his erection the DenWa treatment. This is even worse, though, as now I have her in full profile!
I can't humanly take my eyes away now, and as I place a component on the ramp, I have to just stop and look. I knew that male overseer was nearby so it was hardly a surprise when his leaded whip cracked around my ribs. It was as if I deserved that and stood still to make his job easier. Eurasian glanced over at my yell and grinned before focusing again on her DenWa. OK, back to work. With that overseer and Mrs Peterson six foot behind me, I had to somehow ignore thousands of years of human instinct and my erection and focus on work.
Utter bastard! First Tan Sri Lady Noor and now this goddess. What does Alpha 375698/2052 have that I don't? He's stood fully to attention now answering her questions. Her expression shows genuine interest and pleasure, not the sour face of overseers and PR ladies who you feel will spit in your face. She's laughing at a comment. Maybe he'll share the joke. No laughs in here. Right Mrs Peterson, you want hard work? Watch me.
I took a deep breath and decided I would count twenty-five components and rush through without stopping. The two slaves to my left were just as messed up as me with full erections, so after seven components, I hit BLOCKAGE. Mrs Peterson made her way round to Alpha 375698/2052's machine as one of our overseers came across. I only had ten seconds or so to wait before the components started again. Now we were all working well and at speed, and my thoughts returned to Lady Noor and her Spending Targets.
BLOCKAGE
Huh?
BLOCKAGE
A second machine? Of course, it was Alpha 375698/2052. I'd almost forgotten about Eurasian. She was still there! He was still stood fully to attention. It's not my problem. We work until ordered to stop, isn't that right, Tan Sri Lady Noor Ma'am? The smiling holo of Lady Noor looked down from the machine flywheel above.
