Tales from a Far Country Ch. 04-25

It's the man in the photograph, the photograph that "Agency" showed me after they took me from Inward Bound! This is the man that "The Agency" was so interested in; the man in the photograph on Angela's desk. I start to feel sick.

"Gaspadeen Anatoly Sergeyevitch Kustensky and Gaspazha Svetlana Nikitechna Kustenskaya! Thank you so much for coming!" begins Dr Mendeleyev.

Kustensky. Kustenskaya? The name of the Dacha. So it's the name of the Owner ..... my Owner!

I burst out in a cold sweat, heart racing, feeling sick with anxiety. This is the man who arranged my abduction and my enslavement. Coming here to listen to me discuss how young innocent men and women were prepared to lay bare their innermost fantasies. To strip themselves more than naked. What on earth might my research be leading to?

Dr Mendeleyev has just finished introducing Julia (Neena needs no introduction) ... " and this of course is Vyera. Have you met in person yet? Vyera: come to meet Gaspadeen and Gaspazha." Dr Mendeleyev is using the adult version of my name. For the first time in a long time, I am Vyera.

They stand only twenty feet from me but the journey towards then seems to take hours. What do I say? Do I smile? Even allowing for my inherent desire to be polite I can't bring myself to say, "Such a pleasure to meet you." What do slaves do when they meet their Master and Mistress for the first time? Their new owners? The people who apparently have the power of life or death over them?

I walk unsteadily over, bow my head and hold my hands behind my back just as I do when I greet Neena in the mornings. For goodness sake why? But I just stand there. The woman takes my chin in her hand and lifts my face so our eyes meet.

"I am Svetlana Nikitechna," she says.

"And I am Anatoly Sergeyevitch", says the man, resting his hand on my shoulder.

"I'm sorry" I try to say, "I am not sure what to do", falling over my words.

"You are doing well, rabinya," replies the woman. She smiles at her companion as if to say, you see there is truth in Vyera. "Please, we should start."

Once these bizarre formalities are concluded, Dr Mendeleyev steers proceedings back towards something approaching normality, in as much as it can be.

"Our purpose today is to give Vyera the chance to describe her findings from this most interesting research project. She has been responsible for data collection and analysis. I have provided advice concerning the approach to analysis and Julia here has provided detailed advice concerning the use of the statistical tests for the significance of differences between the groups of subjects. However, I can say that the work which Vyera is going to describe is the results of her own very considerable efforts ......"

He smiles and holds out his arm, palm open as a signal to me to begin. Everyone sits and turns their chairs towards me. I feel lonely, cold; more naked than if I wasn't wearing a stitch of clothing.

I suddenly think, what happens to me after this project is complete? Will I merely be disposed of, my usefulness at an end? I shake this thought away. It can't help things now. Now I just have to get through the report. I clear my throat and begin.

"As you know I can speak a little Russian but this report is technical and I do not know enough words so may I speak in English? "

Heads nod around the table ......

"This project began as a doctoral research project at a University in the UK. It was sponsored by the University Department of Psychology as part of a wider investigative effort into the effect of play behaviour on psychological stress in adult men and women." I am relieved to find that as I fall into my stride everything else slips away and once more, I can function as an academic with something to say: "This investigation tracks the psychological changes which take place in volunteers who take part in extended consensual slavery games.

"Can I ask who proposed this research?" interjects the woman, Svetlana.

"Er, it was suggested to me by the head of department, Professor Dawney ... er, as a suitable project and because not much was known about ...."

The woman smirks and looks pointedly at her husband who looks oddly -- just for a moment -- uncomfortable. There has been an unspoken communication. I get the strong feeling that they know all about Angela and the games she likes to play. Gaspazha Kustenskaya clearly does not like her ......

"The project was based at ......."

The more I speak, the more I slip back into the skin of my former self. The more I seem like the self-confident, precise, informed, articulate woman who used to be Jennifer McEwan. Perhaps I am now possessed by her ghost. The slutty creature who lost herself in licking out women she barely knew last evening begins to fade away.

" ...... so to summarise. First, our experimental sample was self-selected and thus biased to contain subjects who were likely to enjoy BDSM and MS experiences. Second, during their adventure, they became more confident in their fantasies and more confident about actualising their fantasies in real life. Third, these differences were clearly significant with p values of < = 0.05 and in some cases p values of < or = 0.01." (3)

Dr Mendeleyev raises his eyebrows at this point and glances at the Kustenskys.

"Fourth, the experimental group were significantly different from the reference population whose sexual outlook was (in the statistical sense) normally distributed. Fifth, the strongest "reactors" to the various experiences could be predicted from the answers to the initial questionnaires but there were some other subjects who showed milder initial bias towards BDSM and MS fantasies but who nevertheless began to react strongly and positively as their adventure unfolded."

I stop speaking, my presentation over. My audience sits chewing over my concluding remarks and then spontaneously begins to applaud. I smile broadly and my eyes begin to water. I wipe them with a tissue from the pocket of the jeans I am wearing. So it seems I have done well after all.

"Questions?", asks Dr Mendeleyev, rising from his chair.

"I would like to start", responds Gaspadeen Kustensky. Dr Mendeleyev nods. "So you could identify subjects who would enjoy their slavery experience and complete their training successfully by the use of a screening questionnaire and your identification is usually accurate?"

"Yes, in this sample."

"Can you tell if the training itself was the most important factor, or the people?"

"No: the population was already biased to include only people who were likely to make the most of their experience and training. It's not possible to determine from this project if it is the people or the training which is most important."

"So if you picked up a subject at random, does the Inward Bound programme make them different people? Are you able to predict the extent to which they are likely to be affected by their experiences?"

Suddenly with a shock I realise where this is going. They are interested in my research because it might identify people who could be trained most easily for slavery! I open my mouth and close it. I feel very dry. I try to speak again but nothing comes out. It is a confirmation of what I have begun to suspect. I am not the first abductee and I will not be the last girl or boy to be kidnapped into slavery and it is the results of my research which will smooth the path of the slavers and help them to identify and train the future slaves!

Gaspazha Svetlana takes up the questioning. "It seems to me that you have tracked changes in people who are already enthusiasts?"

It feels easier to answer factual questions than to give opinions. Somehow I feel that makes me less complicit in all this dreadful criminal conspiracy. "Yes"

"And enthusiasts get more enthusiastic if they are encouraged in the right way?"

"Yes. That's what the data show."

"And you would need a quite separate investigation into the effects of BDSM and MS training on people who had no bias towards that sort of sexuality in the first place?"

"Yes, certainly."

"So perhaps a randomised controlled trial would accomplish this?"

"I am sorry?" This level of sophistication in Gaspazha Kustenskaya takes me completely by surprise.

"I mean," she continues, looking towards the others in the room, "if one collected a sample of say, 100 subjects and then allocated them at random to two groups of fifty, and exposed one group to BDSM and MS training and the other merely to deprivation of freedom, it would then be possible to assess how effective the Inward Bound methods were at changing a subject's mindset?"

"Well, yes but how could one ever do that? You would need Ethical Approval and that would imply describing the nature of the experiment to the subjects and then there is the question of informed consent. At Inward Bound they ......." I do not finish the sentence. As I speak, I know that consent, informed or otherwise, is not on their agenda.

Gaspazha Kustenskaya just smiles broadly and nods. Her husband continues, "Yes. I agree ordinarily this would be difficult to achieve."

His tone and facial expression convince me that the sinister implications of his remarks are not only in my mind and that ethical approval isn't something that comes high upon his agenda. I try to grasp what might be my one last opportunity to rescue the situation and to rescue innocent men and women who might fall prey to these slavers, as I have done.

"But Gaspadeen, but Gaspazha do you need to know if the Inward Bound methods are effective at changing the mindset of someone with no BDSM or MS interest? There is no shortage of volunteers -- paying customers too, don't forget - who want to go to Inward Bound and follow the course there ....."

Gaspazha Kustenskaya then smiles broadly once more and says to her husband, "Well there you are Tolya. That's why they are interested. Instead of having to go after people, the people come after them!"

I cannot understand the full implications of this remark, in particular who exactly "they" are, but everyone else in the room obviously does. Gaspadeen Kustensky is nodding in his head in a way that says whatever it is that he has just learned has impressed him. Svetlana his wife is looking smug. A RETURN BARGAIN

We travel back to the Dacha, walking back to the car, then driving through suburban Moscow. As we go I cannot help noticing how many people are speaking on mobile 'phones. Mobiles: once a luxury to acquire, then something merely useful, now something which could bring about my execution. My hand strays to stroke the collar that defines my slavery and sits around my neck as a continual threat to my life.

The thought wriggles and writhes in my mind. I know I should probably not ask but I cannot let it lay. "Gaszphaza Neena?"

"Da, rabinya?"

"Can I ask you..."

"Well, there will be a cost." She cuts me off. "You have not had a caning recently and I was thinking that it is probably time you felt the cane again, especially after this afternoon. You performed well. Your owners were very pleased with you, but it is important for slaves never to forget what they are, and the cane is a wonderful way to remind them -- or the whip, of course." She sees my nervous acceptance of what she says. "Is your question worth an extra caning, given that you will be caned tomorrow in any event?"

I don't need to think. "Da, Gaspazha. It is worth it."

"Really? No hesitation? So definite? So sure? Well, you had better ask me."

Odd. This woman is my own age. Perhaps younger. We are from the same educational background, I guess. We probably enjoyed a similar upbringing, and yet she is now in charge of me and I must obey her commands. She can dispense physical punishment to me and I have to gratefully accept it. All because I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. All because others were interested in work I was asked to do by yet another 'someone else'. How strange the twists and turns of our lives are!

"And your question is?"

"My special number on your mobile phone ...."

"Your execution number?" Her blunt response convinces me more than anything else of how real that threat is.

"Er, yes. I am worried about people dialling wrong numbers ....."

"Ha!" Neena laughs out loud. It's obviously a foolish question but it doesn't feel that way to me. "Well, what should I to tell you? I could say that's it's none of your business - and it's not, by the way. I could say that it's a risk you will have to live with." I bow my head but Neena continues. "I could point out that your new country went from a backwards agricultural nation to a nuclear power in 30 years, launched the first satellite, put the first animal in space, sent the first space probe to the moon, photographed the dark side of the moon for the first time, put the first man in orbit and brought him back safely to earth, launched the first useable space station and landed the first ever functioning space probe on Venus. So with all this in mind, do you think our country is incapable of arranging a secure mobile telephone connection?"

"I'm sorry Gsapazha. I see I was foolish."

"Actually, rabinya, you can't dial the number with just any 'phone and there has to be two way device to device communication. That's the real answer. Reassured?"

"Yes Gaspazha. Thank you."

"How much are you reassured? How many strokes is my explanation worth, do you think?"

For a moment I am at a loss for words. "Er ... er ... well it has set my mind at rest so it has to be worth ... several." Neena is really making me squirm now.

"Several? Is that all? To be reassured that you will not be accidentally killed by someone, oh, ordering a pizza say, or calling their lover?" She looks at me with one quizzical eyebrow raised.

She obviously wants me to set my own punishment. If I go too low, she will delight in increasing it. If I go too high, she will delight in giving me more cane strokes than she intended and telling me all about the extra pain I have awarded myself and all for not trusting her and the Kustenskys. It's another domination game. I asked one question. She gave me five answers. Russia is a "metric state" and things go in fives and tens so I swallow hard and say. "Twenty five, Gaspazha?"

She glances quickly towards me -- and laughs. "Yes: twenty five. That will do nicely! Oh and the five you were to get anyway makes thirty. Tell you what. I will carefully record it and have it set up on your computer so you will have to watch your punishment each and every time you switch on. A suitable reminder of what happens to slaves who do not trust their owners as much as they ought? What do you think?"

"Da, Gaspazha. Spaseeba."

"Pazh' alsta, rabinya!" A DIFFERENT NIGHTCAP

We pass the rest of the journey in silence until we reach the Dacha. Neena who has been driving, parks the people carrier, switches off the engine and says to me, "Now, I have your final task for today -- well probably I should say tonight. There are three rapacious young women who have been waiting all day to play with you! Go to your cell, take off all our clothes, leave them on your mattress neatly folded and report for duty. You know where to go!"

I can feel my heart rate beginning to climb, my mouth waters and I start to look forward to my "next duty". The Academic has been left 100 km away in Moscow. The slut has reappeared.

"You really are beginning to enjoy this aspect of your service, aren't you?" Neena has seen through me immediately, of course.

"Yes Gaspazha, I am ashamed to say."

"Ashamed? Don't be ashamed. That's an instruction. Do you understand? I said you were becoming wonderfully slutty and sluts are made, not born. I expect you to apply yourself enthusiastically to your sexual service just as you do to any other aspect of your service, but this time, the measure of your achievement will be how much you can wholeheartedly enjoy it.

"Da, Gaspazha."

"Now off you go ......"

I climb the stairs and follow the corridor until once more I am standing outside the door of the suite used by the 'Koreans' but as I now know them to be, the Mongols. Another visit to Outer Mongolia. I knock and then kneel. Neena's words still occupy my thoughts. To be made into a slut. To enjoy being a slut. To be fulfilled by being a slut. Is that really how it must be for me?

The door opens and I look up into the smiling face of Batachikan.

She beckons me inside. Her two friends are waiting for me. This time they are Arban and Damdinsuryn. She is dressed in a silk dressing gown. They are already naked. A large, realistic dildo and a knobbly butt plug stand on a table, side by side, ready.

With no more hesitation, Damdinsuryn lays down on her back, lifts her legs into the air and glances towards me. No words are needed. I am to lick her. Labia, clit, breasts, thighs. I begin to perform my duties. She has evidently been using a skin cream. It makes it easier for my tongue to glide over her body and she tastes nice, in a creamy way. By the time I reach her clit, her cunt is drooling and I have to keep lapping it up, so to speak. The more I perform, the more abjectly I want to serve sexually.

My own sexual desires are almost always unsatisfied (unless Andrei has taken me) and I am constantly smouldering, even burning with desire.

The girl orgasms. In a parody of polite behaviour, she smiles, gives me a short bow and Arban takes her place. I begin again. Kiss. Rub. Tease. Lick. Suck. Kiss. Rub. Lick. Suck. Lick. Suck. Stroke. Stretch. Suck. Lick. Finally she reaches orgasm. She smiles broadly. She bows.

Arms reach around me. The third girl. Batachikan herself. She is holding the dildo.

She finds two recesses in the front plate of my belt and connects the dildo. It's held firmly by corresponding latches in its base. It juts from me. It's obscene. Thank goodness I am not a man like ... what was his name? The man I used to be with, so long ago? How lucky I am not to be like him, having to waddle round with an erect prick sticking out from your body whenever you are aroused. How much more attractive we girls are! But then sometimes our tits can get a bit hangy. But of course, I no longer really have tits. With all my exercise and diet I look quite androgynous. I suppose I must look a bit like a man? A eunuch with no prick? Except I have prick now.

'Tiger Lily' is on the bed in front of me, legs apart. Hips on a pillow. I bend and begin by nuzzling at her labia; careful rub after careful rub. Then I start licking; slow, careful, deliberate licking. She juices. I lap. My tongue travels up from base to clit. Up. Up. Up. Then I swirl across her clit itself. Now she squeals out loud She begins to buck. It's time I penetrated her. I have never done this before. Better be careful! I slide slowly past her outer ring. I nudge the dildo deeper. She is very wet! There is no resistance. I suppose a man must feel the muscles of the vaginal walls but all I feel is the pressure of the base of the dildo on my chastity belt and receive - as always happens -- no sexual gratification from my own vagina or clit -- and of course, I feel nothing of Batachikan herself. Slowly, firmly I let my dildo travel on inwards. I have no proper feedback, as a man must have. I wonder what it used to feel like for ... that man ... when he took me? Suddenly my mons and hers touch. She gasps. Someone swipes me on my bum. I start to pump her. In. Out. In Out. One of the others begins to paddle me. In. Smack! Out. Smack! In. Smack! Out. Slowly, then faster, then faster we three beat out this strange sexual tattoo. Batachikan mews, gasps, bucks, mews, writhes -- and comes. And now it's my turn to give out a little torture. I continue to ream her cunt! She is squealing in ecstasy and I just continue. She is desperate for me to stop. Serve her right if she lets go of her bladder and wets her bed! The other two look on and laugh, obviously enjoying their friend's sexual discomfort. It's not long -- perhaps a dozen strokes? -- before I slowly subside and let her recover.