Slavery 2050 Pt. 03: The Offer

She placed those hennaed hands on my shoulders. I knew what was coming.

"But for now, keep motivated on my Spending Needs. My latest project is what, slave?"

The last motivational video mentioned a yacht, although I thought she already had one.

"You have ordered a new yacht, Lady Noor Ma'am?"

"Correct." She showed no expression of surprise. "More expensive than my staff said, so you see how important it is keep working hard, slave."

The silky knee was indeed heavier, squashing both my testicles. I kept eye contact and let out a low groan of pain which got a nod of approval. As expected, her hands remained in place. At least we'd been trained for this, and I stood perfectly still. She grinned as number two crunched home, more power but only squashing my left testicle.

This time I yelped a higher-pitched cry of pain and was very relieved to feel those hennaed hands lifting and the sharp gold heel landing on terra firma and not my metatarsals.

"Work, machine slave."

"Thank you, Tan Sri Lady Noor Ma'am."

The five other slaves in EViva/12A were all stood to attention with BLOCKAGE lights flashing waiting for me to start work. Lady Noor shouted past me.

"Order these slaves back to work, overseer!"

The overseers were as scared as us and put on a big show for our guest with exaggerated shouts and whips.

"This slave's light is flashing!" Poor 2F. "Why is this slave not being whipped?"

2F now had Lady Noor's attention. A €$76000 gold heeled stiletto flew up and landed between his legs with a dull splat.

"Faster, slave!"

His guttural groan of pain drew laughter from one member of the entourage who impersonated the sound with her piercing Oxbridge accent. 2F showed his greenness by turning towards the sound momentarily in anger before remembering where he was. He was learning at last, and I felt almost proud to see him cast aside any thoughts of dignity or fairness.

"How did it go again, economic conscript?"

The Oxbridge voice again now stood behind him. The derogatory term was used for us men who didn't get selected for military service. Clearly Ms Oxbridge, with a Royal Marines broach pinned to her one piece, had a taste for military men, probably officers with that accent, but her contempt for 2F was about to be emphasised. Her first kick was off centre and caught 2F on the inner thigh. It was so obvious that when he bent down to pick up the next part, she'd be ready. There was no splat this time, just a dull thud. She'd aimed well and connected with her toecap. 2F dropped the part and put hands to his balls before his training kicked in and he leant over again. He fumbled to pick up the part and Ms Oxbridge had even more time to aim. Another dull thud and this time he collapsed into the small pile of components.

"Overseer!" She called across to Corporal Weston. "Why isn't this economic conscript working hard in the presence of Her Royal Highness?"

Corporal Weston knew a prostate slave with Lady Noor so nearby could be big trouble so had no option but to unclip her cattle prod and jab the sharp copper electrode into his ribs. The skin hissed and I prepared myself for the sickening frying pan smell. It was 2F's first cattle prodding, and the scream was loud enough to disturb the entire entourage several machines away.

"I'm doing you a favour you ugly conscript cunt!" Corporal Weston clearly wasn't so elegant. "If Lady Noor turns round, you're looking at seven to ten years extra. Now work, scum!"

2F was now well and truly broken in. I could see he was a picture of indignity and pain. I leant over to pick up a part for him as his hands were shaking too much. I dared look to my right to see Ms Oxbridge secretly cupping her hand around a Royal Marine Captain's crotch and was thankful the young 2F whose hormones still meant regular erections hadn't seen it.

My balls were still throbbing but also starting to itch from the cigar burns. Lady Noor was right, though. Concentrating on Spending Needs cancels out other thoughts so I blocked out the pain and worked on. Shit! She was back.

"Faster, machine slave! Concentrate on my Spending Needs!"

The metal tip of her whip slashed into my back. I saw stars in front of my eyes and almost fell against my machine. She walked along 35P and amazingly I still wanted to look at those legs.

"Faster!"

Another teenage slave felt the metal whip that time. His head whiplashed backed in agony, but in a testament to his training, he worked on without even turning his head. Miss Taylor-Joyce, now openly flirting with her Royal Marine Sergeant, gave her own nod of approval. As the silk strode along the row, Lady Noor's face was even more smug and confident than last time. Another ten years of Upper life, not having to work or even lift a finger, sat in Villa Seri Perdana watching men like me who don't have that choice would make any Upper more arrogant. But yet, it felt so right, so normal. That's what Uppers do, right?

Ebony is coming. She clearly saw me watching Lady Noor's legs and now I'll feel more pain. She stood on my left watching me working again. Those thighs were huge! She slammed a can of cola on top of my machine.

"Ma'am?"

"Put it against your balls. Now!"

Ebony stood over me as I worked my slowest for a decade, one handed with the ice cold can against my damaged scrotum. I needed a logistics slave to step in, but Ebony was clever enough to know that would draw even more attention from Lady Noor still dangerously nearby. Anyone walking past at that moment would have seen the efficient Ebony stood close watching me work and assumed all was normal.

"Hang on in there, boy." She took the cola can from my hand. "As soon as Lady Noor goes, you'll have a medic."

She looked towards the entourage. Not impressed.

"Until then, try your best." She tapped my arm. "I'll be close by for you."

Under normal circumstances, having Ebony close by would be a terrifying experience, but she was professional enough to know that Lady Noor had overstepped the mark.

I worked on slowly for another minute before stopping to bend over with nausea. A tight feeling gripped my stomach. I'd felt it before a long long time ago.

"OK?"

Ebony was right behind me. I knew with sadness the nausea I felt was due to Ebony's kindness, the only kind act I'd seen in eleven years.

"Yes, Ma'am. Thank you, Ma'am."

I wanted to turn and thank her but knew she was taking a huge risk herself. 2F stabbed at his BLOCKAGE. 3F was next, then 4F. The only way I could repay Ebony was to get back to work and fast.

I looked up at the factory clock. Ebony was no longer behind me, and I saw her boots sitting in 35S. Two hours had passed. Maybe Lady Noor had left. I had a quick feel of my balls. The skin had blistered, and although the damage looked not too bad, shaving them tomorrow would be tricky. I reached down to pick up a new box, and there it was. The Cartier ankle bracelet and shapely legs were still here. Lady Noor had finished inspecting her rows and was walking back along the centre aisle and up to the viewing area. Her well-toned and flawless back was in sharp contrast with the fresh welts and open wounds that me and the rest of her slaves had suffered during that long double speed.

I looked up at the silky crossed legs and that arrogant confident half smile. Apparently I'll be seeing a lot more of those legs, which sounds OK, although the working very hard part and those damn cigars could be a problem.

I can still go to uni. Why not?

Li Teng Shiu

PA (London) to Tan Sri Lady Noor

Tuesday 13 August 2055

7pm

Lady Noor took off at 6pm, heading back to London and leaving helicopter 3 here. She asked me to deal with the list of twenty as, in her words, I saw fit.

I was initially shocked by Lady Noor's gracious offer of freedom, but this turned to anger and disbelief. For me, not a single one of her BAe3 slaves, mostly easy level 2 conscripts, showed her the respect of working hard enough today. But once an Upper makes a decision, it will never be changed, even if deep down she regretted this one.

It was good publicity on her part, however, and clever too. She knew the twenty slaves would be replaced by the social parasite scum she'd recently sentenced. Nevertheless, it was an order I strongly disagreed with. Although disagreeing openly with an Upper is clearly seen as lèse-majesté, Lady Noor can read people uncannily well. She knew I had serious objections.

"Miss Li, you are a senior member of my staff."

That was a gentle reminder to conform.

"As such, you are trusted to compile a list as you see fit. I'm quite sure there'll be no new conscripts or life slaves."

She knew I wasn't placated at that and quickly added "But if you feel inclined to do so, also make a second list of twenty for me to evaluate."

So I wasn't that trusted then. The discussion was over.

"Maybe choose some who'd benefit from, say, another five to ten more years to reflect on my Spending Needs."

She took one last look down at the factory and prepared to leave. The normal protocol of calling the slaves to attention for a departing Upper was omitted. Clearly the lack of progress in BAe3 was a concern.

As ever, though, her wise royal mind had a solution. The second list order was fine. It saved face and at least twenty of those lazy machine slaves would now be seeing the error of their ways. Out of principle, though, I would passively disobey. During the double speed, Lady Noor had expressed satisfaction with a young intern who had shown great enthusiasm and had got her slaves to work at an acceptable level. The pink hair and boots were inappropriate attire for an Upper visit but made her easy to locate. She will do the unnecessary list.

Sandra D'Arcy

Summer Intern

BAe Factory 3 (Oxford)

Tuesday 13 August 2055

9.10pm

I'm only here until September when I head back to New College Oxford for my final year. I'm reading Mechanical and Production Engineering and had to do a placement somewhere this summer as we all do. No travel allowed for males under 28 or females under 23 until 2065 as the Economy needs us. My family come from Jersey, and I wanted a full summer in Oxford, not in a smelly slave factory obviously but close enough to the rowing club and my fiancé Steve.

Although the machines down there in the factory are fixed, new projects are arriving all the time. In fact, there is currently a four-month backlog of civil-based projects which obviously play second fiddle to military orders. Four months may sound huge in this Economy, but this time last year it was nearer to nine months. With limitations in equipment and personnel, the prod planning team work wonders to ensure production lines are well synchronised.

I had no idea my internship would coincide with the visit of an Upper. What an honour. Hard work, but it really brought it home. We all want the best for our Uppers as their Spending Needs balance our Economy. The rare presence of Uppers sitting in view of their slaves is known for its motivating effects, but to be a part of it today was incredible.

The overseers had rehearsed double speeds in the week leading up to the visit. I'd checked the list the previous day doubting I'd even see my name. There it was.

D'Arcy S (I) - Row 35SF, machines 1 to 6

Even then I didn't expect to have to do anything except sit and watch, but I could hardly believe those fucking slaves. Useless. Weeks we'd been preparing for Lady Noor's visit, and they couldn't even make the effort to impress her. At one point, I even had to kick one of the older slaves over in 35PF. I flushed with pride, though, when they all speeded up, and their lights went out one by one. The rare presence of an Upper should have been motivation enough, but a kick in the balls always helps remind them to focus.

But what happened later was unreal. We all lined up in the early evening sunlight to bid farewell to Lady Noor. There'd been an emergency meeting with senior staff, and rumours circulated that Lady Noor had ordered massive changes. After that double speed performance, I can't say I was surprised. She actually looked troubled behind those gold-framed Gabbana shades as she headed to the waiting helicopter. This was her last motivational visit in the RuK and probably last working day of 20xx before she heads to her private island in the Maldives later in the week. What a shameful end thanks to those fucking idle slaves. The rest of my internship was going to be busy alright, but a whole new shedload of responsibility was about to come my way.

Miss Li, one of Lady Noor's scary inner staff members, marched into the restaurant area with a face of pure hatred. I'd been chatting to Rich from uni who was also here on placement as a Lance Overseer and was ready to collapse from being on duty since 4am!

"Ms D'Arcy!"

She clicked her fingers, beckoned at me and turned to leave.

Rich didn't look up but whispered, "You'd better follow. Good luck!"

Miss Li was just outside. The latte I'd been drinking erupted into my throat, and I had to swallow hard to keep it down. If she noticed my discomfort, she didn't care.

"Lady Noor's gracious announcement was?"

I stifled a cough. "Yes, the freedom. She will choose some..."

"You were noticed today, Ms D'Arcy." She looked down at my boots. Not a fan. "Lady Noor expressed satisfaction with your enthusiasm today as she was sat in her viewing area."

I was just doing my job as trained, but wow! What an honour. Rich was right at the front with cattle prods on max but didn't catch Lady Noor's eye.

"As recognition, you have been honoured with the task of selecting forty slaves."

Something was wrong here. "Forty? Didn't Lady Noor say twenty?"

Miss Li was clearly not someone you asked questions to.

"Good you listen to our Uppers, Ms D'Arcy. Lady Noor said twenty. I say forty."

This wasn't right. No Upper would release forty slaves. That's seven percent of her workforce at a time when Spending Needs are near record high levels.

"I'm afraid I don't understand, Miss Li. Lady Noor said twenty for release."

She was now on her DenWa, about to leave.

"Again, good you listen. Twenty for release. The other twenty will be re-sentenced by Lady Noor. Choose well, Ms D'Arcy. Choose well. No life slaves. No conscripts with less than three years' service."

She snapped her heels together to leave. Super scary.

"Re-sentenced how?"

She stopped but didn't turn around.

"However, Lady Noor wishes, Ms D'Arcy. Or are you questioning an Upper?"

Fuck! "No. No, of course not."

What a horrific responsibility. Twenty conscripts would soon be cut free, but another twenty would almost certainly have sentences increased and probably not by Lady Noor sat in her Maldives beach mansion but by this fucking robot.

There would be no negotiating or reasoning with that psychopath. I had to be practical about this. If I chose forty of the hardest working and most deserving, half of them would be looking at an extra five to ten years.

I accessed the conscript database. Most photographs were taken on their eighteenth birthday. They looked so young and keen, and balls so pink! The database gave vague details of training, etc. I'd decided to at least try and make fair and valid judgements of each slave by visiting them at their machines. The first slave, Bravo 380102/2049 had eight months left of a fifteen-year sentence. He was chained to a drilling machine way down 39S beside the lower glass offices, now dark and empty. He saw my reflection approaching in the glass and concentrated hard on countersinking a bracket. His body language said he knew I was still standing behind him. Who did he think he was? He might have had the sense to carry on working hard right then, but the cattle prod burns and fresh welts on most of his back told me he needed frequent reminders of Lady Noor's Spending Needs. With a red mist, I uncoiled my whip when my DenWa sounded.

"Ms D'Arcy. Li. Lady Noor wants your list by 10pm or her gracious offer is withdrawn."

I started to speak, but she'd gone. I sprinted back up the centre aisle to the offices, now dark and empty. Such an impossible task and no one and nothing left here to help. It was 9.40pm.

I tried several formulae before sorting the forty by date of birth. I reasoned the twenty youngest would have the most to offer the Economy after conscription. The records of the older twenty showed horrifically long sentences. Lady Noor had extended all their sentences from two to in one case seventeen extra years. Shit! Would Lady Noor or more likely Miss Li give these poor slaves even longer?

Back out into the huge factory, still working at 100%. I was paying special attention to rows 33 to 40. One older slave in row 35S, one of my machines during double speed, actually dared to stop work to watch me approach. I guess a one-piece at that time of night was unusual to see, but this could not go unpunished. He stood to attention but not in the smart and disciplined way I'd seen in training.

"Are you working hard, machine slave?"

"Yes Ma'am."

I held his gaze for a full five seconds. I now had his full attention. A sea of wrinkles surrounded bloodshot and saggy eyes. He was probably in his forties and had clearly seen years of hard labour and beatings.

"Yes Ma'am? I'm slightly confused by your answer, boy."

I could see his Neckpro shift as his Adam's Apple moved.

"Very confused in fact!"

I jabbed the handle of my whip under his chin to correct his posture.

"Did your owner, Lady Noor, stop and talk to you today?"

"No Ma'am."

I felt anger as I thought of this conscript cowering as the heels of Lady Noor passed inches behind and him then stealing a glimpse at the entourage once brave enough to do so.

"No Ma'am, but she gave up her valuable time to honour you with a motivational visit today, and yet a matter of hours later, you're stopping work to gaze at passing females?"

His Adam's Apple bobbed up and down again.

"Turn around, slave! Show me your back."

He gingerly stepped round to avoid his ankle chains becoming tangled. The effects of today's double speed, including my handiwork, were evident. Jagged welts had risen across his upper back and had started to bruise around his right ribcage. A recent whip blow, possibly one of mine, had even caught the back of his shaven head, and red and black burns from his overseer's HV cattle prod were dotted along the backs of his thighs.

"You and I were busy today, weren't we, boy?" He winced as I poked a fresh welt. "Turn around, slave!"

The ankle chain dance again, and he even bent down to untangle the resultant mess. Now he shows respect.

"Faster, you ugly ogling cunt!"

That was the first time I'd sworn at a slave since our Citizenship training back in year 8 high school. It felt strange then shouting at the year 10 boys lined up in the school gym, but here it felt right, so right.

"So how long have you been chained to this machine, slave?"

He paused to think. I was about to slap his face for insolence. Never let a slave get away with disrespect we are taught daily from year 7 at school.

"I have served Lady Noor for fifteen years, Ma'am."

Shit! I had to hide my shock. I was barely five years old when he'd been chained. I looked down at his neatly trimmed but now greying pubic hairs. His heavy ankle chains were welded and dated 2048. He really had been there for a decade and a half.

"Well, I'll let you into a secret, ogling machine slave. Your Owner made a gracious offer today, very gracious. Let's see if you were listening and not ogling. What was Lady Noor's offer, boy?"

Neckpro shifted again. He was not enjoying our little chat.

"Well?"

"I think it was freedom..."

I crashed my whip handle into his ear.

"Think? I think you were ogling and not paying attention. That's what I think!"