Slavery 2050 Pt. 02: Good Intentions

"V/217A, stop work, slaves!"

By some form of telepathy, we carried on working.

"I said stop work, you worthless pair of cunts!"

The whip caught my right shoulder, and as Lady Noor's holo looked on with disapproval, I wondered what she'd make of her slaves being whipped for working.

As ordered, we stood to attention facing our machines. All five lights were flashing above now, and I could see a group of seven uniformed female overseers making their way along the centre aisle to us. Nothing they or we could do. Eurasian was still there. Mrs Peterson stood off to one side checking her watch. Furious.

Oh well. I'd use this enforced break well to have another ogle and replenish my erection. I shifted eight inches to my left, not enough for the overseers to notice, but plenty enough for tits of the year part two. She was lovely. Her face and smile would grace any social occasion. She turned in my direction and stroked her hair behind her right ear, revealing a slender gold bracelet.

And next to those nice expensive shoes, was the second best sight of the year. Alpha 375698/2052's backlog. If I counted correctly, that's twenty-eight components stacked right there. That has to be a BAe3 record, fucking hell!

I believe in karma. I must have sinned in a previous life to be chained in here, but at least I'm doing useful work. We all want to serve Lady Noor well, but Alpha 375698/2052 opposite has taken that to the extreme since she honoured him with a visit last year. But Lady Noor is a wise Upper, she knows that visits are motivational but bad for production, which is why she only stopped him for ten seconds. This Eurasian, however, as lovely as she is, has caused big problems for V/217A today.

We'll all be punished for stopping production, an offence against the Economy. Mrs Peterson will have to answer too. Something very bad will come of this.

Jennifer Lim

Wednesday 16 September 2055

1.35pm

It's not until you get close to machine slaves that you realise how much airbrushing takes place in PR videos. V/226H and V/279J are in rows owned by the Al-Fahid family, and it shows. Chained for the mandatory ten years, the male overseers get them working well, very well, but I saw too many missing teeth and black eyes, and also blood stains on the floor. I moved on.

The Asian overseer was a gem. If she passes her screen test, she won't need to set foot in this prison again. V/217A was near the end of my list, but the way the production line goes around two rows is ingenious. The slaves chained in both rows are owned by Tan Sri Lady Noor as recognised by her trademark neatly trimmed pubes and shaven testes.

With her smiling holo above each machine, you can tell they're motivated to work hard for her. They were all youngish slaves with ages and sentences as follows: 23 (5 years of 9 left), 25 (1 year of 8 left), 20 (3 years of 5 left), 22 (7 years of 11 left) and a 36-year-old volunteer slave who my research team briefed me on. Back in 2025, he gallantly wrote to Lady Noor in Malaya when she was only 15 asking if he could serve in an administrative or language role. Her staff passed her the old-fashioned and very courteous handwritten letter. Lady Noor and her advisors were impressed, deciding such a noble gesture showing willingness to serve an Upper shouldn't be wasted. She initially instructed a fourteen-year sentence which was later increased to 18 (7 years left). He's too old and unattractive to film sadly, but I'll use his story somehow. As you would expect he's one of the hardest workers, winning BAe3 slave of the year in 2049.

Alpha 375698/2052 Conscript (Hard Labour Level 2) chained to 1F Row 35 will be my BAe3 star for 2058. His records show high levels of motivation, and whilst his current appearance isn't as good as the naked picture on his record, he had a firm young body and a genuine honest expression.

"Slave. Stand before me."

He bolted upright and after bending to adjusting his ankle chains stood perfectly at attention before me. Not even an erection. Well trained.

Alpha 375698/2052 Conscript (Hard Labour Level 2)

Wednesday 16 September 2055

1.35pm

I couldn't take anymore. First, she walked past us all. I actually saw New Boy's penis go from limp to fully erect in three seconds. Stood to attention with that huge erection in the presence of a VVIP, I was so expecting the kick from behind into my dangling testicles, but it never came. Then she sat up in the viewing area, and I pitied the B slaves with their backs to her. I looked up at Lady Noor's holo for permission and leant to my right each time to catch a few more seconds. What do you look at first? The face was open and confident. The breasts should have a gold picture frame around them. They were just there to be looked at, whilst the silky crossed legs belonged on plush leather like that.

She came out with the PR ladies to Row 16. That's a scary-looking Al-Fahid row with all male overseers and slaves often working on after midnight. I was happy and not surprised that she appeared on the centre aisle again less than a minute later.

Amazingly, she then came to 36. Her DenWa filmed the backs of the two men in 36 before filming 278431/2052 from the side. With her now in full profile, working was impossible. The Scottish overseer was sat staring straight at my erection. Normally, she would have squeezed and twisted my balls until the erection subsided, but she would have had to squeeze hundreds of testicles that day. Desperate! Panicking, I picked up a component and fumbled it to the floor. From there I gripped my foreskin and yanked it back and forth three times. That was enough. I stood up with the component and placed it, all the while ejaculating six months of semen on the floor and my machine. I pulled down the safety guard and looked up at Lady Noor's disapproving holo whilst enjoying the final spurts.

"Sorry, Tan Sri Lady Noor Ma'am."

It worked. The erection was subsiding and now I could get back to work. Lady Noor wouldn't have approved of my methods, nor ejaculating whilst looking at her, but her photo approved that I was working hard again. For what felt like two whole minutes of ejaculation, the damage was minimal. I quickly wiped myself with the machine rag. It would be just my luck if the Eurasian gave me a motivational knee in the groin only to find semen soiling a €$500 pair of silk pantyhose. A few spots of semen on the floor were no problem, but out of respect I cleaned a component which had been splattered.

With the erection gone, I was the fastest in the section again. Ordinarily, I would've pressed blockage, but I had sympathy for 278431/2052 who could barely bend down with his throbbing erection and could hardly try my ejaculation trip with a VVIP filming.

"Slave. Stand before me."

Those two highly-polished brown stilettos were right there next to me. I forgot about the next component and snapped to attention. Thank God for that wipe down.

"How are you today, slave?" I heard my left ankle chain rattle as her shoe brushed against it. Oops. I had to bend down to rearrange the chains behind me and re-spread my legs.

"Sorry, Ma'am."

She didn't repeat the question. My health wasn't that important then I guess. She looked up from her DenWa. "I'm a senior executive at AeroSing Corporation. Do you know what you're making for us here?"

She gestured down at the part on the floor. I looked down too. By "part" I mean "parts". Oh shit!

CLANG.

"We are not told, Ma'am."

She made a little laugh. Well, yes Ma'am, in the real world I'd ask, but this is a place which rewards curiosity with a steel toe cap in the balls. Into her DenWa but looking at me, she asked "If prepared, do you feel you're lucid enough to explain what you're making here, in front of a camera?"

No. "Yes Ma'am."

CLANG.

OK, this conversation is over, OK? I'll do whatever you want. Please just go, Ma'am. My backlog is waiting.

Again, into that fucking DenWa, "And your future plans. I'm not interested in hearing them, but do you have plans such as university or an apprenticeship, which you could mention on camera?"

My future plans are to clear my backlog. "Yes Ma'am."

She sighed, a frustrated sigh, maybe boredom, which would have been good. "British slaves, well trained but so fucking boring with your monosyllabic answers. The next question, I want at least a four-word answer, preferably a whole sentence. Is that clear, slave?"

CLANG.

I thought of just saying nothing. What could she do? Now Mrs Peterson was behind her with a stopwatch and an itchy whip.

No DenWa this time. I had her full attention. "Tell me about your plans after BAe3. Did you have a girlfriend, or maybe a boyfriend?" She had been looking down at my flaccid penis, probably a rare sight for her in any slave factory, but now she gripped it between thumb and forefinger, and didn't wait for my answer. "I ask because you've been chained to this machine for two years. You don't seem pleased to see me if you get my meaning?"

CLANG.

It's now or never. "Ma'am, with respect. I am not gay. I work here to serve my country, Tan Sri Lady Noor and my Economy. I do have plans, yes Ma'am. I have a delayed entrance to Bristol University to study Aerospace Engineering, Ma'am."

CLANG.

She clapped three times. "Bravo, Stephen Henning, or should I say Henny?"

Huh? That's my real name and nickname from the rugby club. We're told our names are secret and not on any records until after release. This woman knows people at the very top. "Henny, you're in my 2038 PR film for AeroSing. Well done."

CLANG.

"Unlike the usual bullshitters who say this will look good on your record, this really will."

CLANG.

Thanks. My record is about to change for the worse as is the skin on my back. She took one last look at my shrivelled penis. "And AeroSing need graduates like you. I'll be in touch after your release."

CLANG.

"I said stop work, you worthless pair of cunts!" That was row 36 finally stopping because my backlog had exceeded all limits. She turned to go. For all the pain and beatings I was about to receive due to her, I was still too much of a gentleman to let her slip in those heels.

"Ma'am, please watch your step. There are components on the floor now."

"No worries." She looked down and accidentally stepped on three of the parts, leaving them bent and damaged. "See you soon, film star. If I'm not here for filming, have fun at Bristol. Ciao!"

Those heels headed back up the centre aisle, and the whips started again. Minus the three damaged parts, my backlog was now at least twenty-five parts.

"V/217A slaves. Get back to work, slaves!" The Scottish overseer roared with urgency.

"Double speed!" Mrs Peterson. Why?

Kilo 278431/2032 Conscript (Hard Labour Level 2)

Wednesday 16 September 2055

1.45pm

Lady Noor's Spending Targets come before common sense. Double speed is used after a whole section stops at once and maintained until normal earnings are achieved. Alpha 375698/2052's backlog is fucking huge. Clear the backlog first and then double speed.

Alpha 375698/2052 yelled, a cross between a little girl's cry and a wounded dog as the fat Scottish overseer's steel toe cap smashed into his balls for a third time.

"Clear your fucking backlog, slave!"

Her whip struck him five, six, seven times, and as bent to pick up, I saw the left-hand side of his face and temple had felt the tip of a whip. To be fair, the backlog now looked smaller, but at this rate we would be double speeding for an hour. Impossible.

The Scottish overseer drank from a water bottle as another overseer took over. Finally, some common sense as a logistical slave arrived to pass the components up to Alpha 375698/2052 and save valuable seconds. This mercifully also stopped Alpha 375698/2052 having to bend down and expose his poor testicles to those relentless kicks.

But he was being constantly whipped which no man can withstand. And with probably fewer than ten parts remaining, he started to slow. The BLOCKAGE alarms were back.

Another overseer took over with what looked like a metalled whip, possibly Level 1. No. This wasn't the answer. The whoosh was loud, too loud. The sonic crack echoed off the grey walls, and the crack across his back was terrifying. Again and again. Five, six, seven, eight! His head whiplashed right back, but his whole body kept going and poor Alpha 375698/2052 fell back to the ground.

"Take over, slave!"

The logistical slave was fitter and fresher, and without the hindrance of wrist chains soon had the backlog down to five.

The Scottish overseer was back and taking a mini run up once more ploughed her toecap into Alpha 375698/2052's scrotum. His head shot up, which was a relief as I really thought he was dead, and he let out a pitiful groan, too weak to express the pain it deserved.

"On your feet, slave!"

As a testament to his training and motivation, he did try to ease himself up.

"Faster!"

She whacked his balls with a bright yellow cattle prod and pressed the button. He writhed in pain onto his side, but she rammed the live cattle prod back into his balls. He did what any human would do, he pushed the cattle prod away.

"Hands off the cattle prod. Hands on your head, on your feet, slave!"

Even as he got onto his knees, she could have used that strength and aggression to help him up. But instead, she aimed another kick to his balls. If he'd walked into an A&E now, the medical staff would think he'd been in a serious road accident. His head was bleeding as was his mouth. His back was gouged and blood had run down his legs on to the floor. His eyes were pointing everywhere, but thankfully he was on his feet.

"Work!"

He stepped forward to work but straight into the logistical slave. He had no clue where he was. BAe3, mate. Welcome back. The logistical slave resumed his earlier position of passing parts up to Alpha 375698/2052.

"Fuck off back to your station, slave!"

Cruel. Just cruel. The logistical slave sprinted off, and I looked up at the cameras. They were still. It was just before 9pm in Malaya. Lady Noor was probably sat with showbiz friends at her club with more than a few opened bottles of €$18000 Domaine Leroy Musigny. I look at her holo. Ma'am, is this helping your Spending Targets? As the BLOCKAGE alarms sounded yet again, she smiled back right on cue and seemed to speak.

"Faster!"

The whip across my lower back reminded me we were still at double speed.

Alpha 375698/2052 reached to pick up a part but missed it completely such was his disorientation. He deserved an award for what happened next, though. He closed his left eye and felt for the next part and carried on working with one eye closed.

The backlog was now at three but a constant three. No let-up for Alpha 375698/2052, but even the overseers were bored now. Only one stayed to encourage, but the others had all sat back down.

This was a long and cruel double speed, and I realised I had the power to stop it. My process doesn't produce much debris, but I need to clean the presses two or three times a day, so why not now? Pretty unheard of in mid double speed, and I would suffer for it.

Here goes. I'm brushing inside now. Upper dye clean...

"Faster, slave!"

Ouch! Lower dye clean. Backlog down to two.

"Why aren't you fucking working, slave?"

The first boot missed, hitting my inner thigh, but the second was spot on, crushing both testicles at once. Unusual to get a double hit so I have to get my breath back and look up at Lady Noor for motivation as another whip hits home.

I lean across to see the backlog. It's gone! Well done to Alpha 375698/2052, and I gain another painful stripe leaning round to see if he's OK. Shit! His hands are shaking, but he's reaching up with one eye closed. What's he doing?

BLOCKAGE

Ha. Welcome back, Alpha 375698/2052.

Jennifer Lim

Wednesday 16 September 2055

2.45pm

My staff weren't in the office until 2.30pm RuK time, so I was happy to take it easy and catch up with some friends by DenWa. Never leave a place without finalising arrangements. I don't have to be here for the filming in January, but I'd like to be seeing as I'll be skiing in Val d'Isere.

I can see why many consider BAe3 to be crossing the borders between Level 2 and the more strenuous Level 1 forms of conscription. The five-year minimum must be tough for the boys at first, but the slaves I spoke to today understood the Uppers' reasoning and were happy enough if not full of conversation.

When you meet the likes of Daniella Peterson, you lose faith a bit. My film star, slave Stephen, though, was much more refreshing. An IQ of 155, rugby scholarship and AAA entry into Bristol, you'd think he'd feel held back by conscription. Not at all, and quite right too. He was itching to get back to work for his Lady Noor who has some very demanding Spending Targets.

Maybe the Fabienne D'Or trouser suit would've been a wiser choice for today's factory visits. I'll have to wrap up in any case come January as no Upper would want any of their Spending Target money wasted on heating this ugly grey monstrosity. Sorry boys, but I'll give you one last centre aisle walk past on my way out now.

I'll also take the opportunity to check out film star Stephen again and his huge pile of parts all over the floor. Row 39, 38, 37, 36 and 35. There's my boy, working away, erection free. I have to say he finished those parts quickly.

Looking forward to January.

Daniella Peterson

Friday 30 October 2055

10am

Lisa Stevens, Head of Production Planning, started it all. Delays to production are an everyday occurrence, but all are accounted for. Most are due to machine breakages, shortages of parts or quality problems. All are logged and investigated. The trouble is it wasn't until six weeks later that she came to see me.

I was in trouble. That Lim woman was out of control and wandered around the factory like an Upper. Only she wasn't an Upper so that's no excuse.

Seven minutes? How can she have chatted to that stupid slave for seven minutes? But that's what the report says no matter how many times I look.

Machine 1F Row 35 stopped 1332, restarted 1339. Investigate.

"You had a VVIP guest that day, a Ms Lim from AeroSing."

Production Planning are a serious career-minded bunch with serious schedules to meet or exact reasons why not. "She kept to the centre aisle? No interaction with machine slaves?"

She is 100% to blame but you might as well try and point the finger at Lady Noor or the Al-Fahids. It will be pointed back in your direction with interest. "Yes." Relentless she questioned on. "So, again. Why did this slave just stop work for seven minutes? Our Uppers' staff need to know."

Lisa Stevens reported directly to Uppers' staff so was scary all right.

"No idea. Sorry."

Captain Paul Fuller

Her Majesty's Royal Overseer Corps

Friday 30 October 2055

2.30pm

It's not that rare to see a male overseer. Level 1 businesses are full of us. We're all ex-military, of course. I served in the 5th Parachute Regiment for nine years and loved it. I saw action in Belize, Brazil and Indonesia. Lost a lot of good men. Nothing else to say.

Do I have sympathy for slaves? Yes and No. Not everyone is suitable for the military and do just as important jobs in civilian life. Slaves are doing an important service just as we did. But if I hear a slave complaining about his lot in life, it's hard to agree after Indonesia. I make sure they never complain again.

Why do male overseers need to be ex-military? Because an ex-slave would be the world's worst overseer obviously. I've had my fair share of kicks in the balls in the Paras, but that's been in fights, and the kickers regretted it, often for months in hospital. But if it was my duty to just work and work, noble as it is, and get kicked in the balls and carry on working and working, I'd develop a fear for it. After years, that fear would never leave you. I still see civilian men, often in their 30s and 40s, look at a passing woman and then quickly resume eyes front. Ha ha. Good training, chaps, but you're not chained to a machine now. So how could someone with that mentality force a slave to work? They'd hold off. The slave would soon notice and enjoy his holiday whilst our Uppers go short. Forget it. The only people who can oversee slaves are those who've never been slaves. Simple.