The Institute Precious Cargo

Dr Amy chirped, "If you turn up pregnant, missy, you won't need that uniform for a while." I sighed I held the bars with my hands. I felt the cool steel of the bars as my breasts peeked through the bars. To the Provo, Dr Amy, using a gloved fingertip, traced the lines my bra cut in my skin. "Likely, the subject is pregnant. Enlargement of the mammary glands is one of the early signs. She'll feel more comfortable topless."

"We've isolated the capture team," The Provo advised the doctor, "With the story that we're investigating complaints from the University at River Bend about detention of employees. Why not report over there to conduct internal examinations. Remember," the Provo cautioned, "paper charts, no electronic notices."

The Provo turned to leave out the door to consult with Dr Crenshaw; Dr Amy disappeared when the hidden sliding door slid open. Both looked at me with a contemptuous hrumpf when I asked for a gown or a blanket. To keep warm, I continued my physical training in the cage, pushups, situps, squats.

I don't know how long I waited before I was released from the cage. At some point, the anger fueled adrenaline rush, at discovery of betrayal wore off and I drifted off to sleep. Live in a dream awake in a nightmare, I exclaimed when I was awakened by Dr Amy for examination.

Assisted by Angie, a tall impassive crew cut in tan scrubs, I climbed atop the table. Legs bolted into the stirrups, arms fastened to the sides, I giggled at the chill when the gel was smeared across my belly and a wand spread over it. In a soft voice Dr Amy told me, "It's early; the scan may not show much." Looking at the screen on the opposite wall, Dr Amy remarked, "Surprise, surprise. You've brought along cargo not listed on the manifest. Who put it in there?"

I chuckled at the way Dr Amy phrased it. "Lt Bernie." I assured her, "no one else."

"You gals are not supposed to do the same guy more than twice," Dr Amy reminded me. "If it is, you have brought precious cargo along with you. Bernie is the most requested stud in our book. Prospective adoptive parents will pay well for his natural offspring."

"It is," I affirmed.

Dr Amy looked to Angie. "I'd like to put her in the early pregnancy class."

"Wait on that. I have to get an O.K. from Crenshaw," said Angie as she returned me to the cage.

Once again, I was left in the cage by myself. For how long, I didn't know. The cage was big enough for me to continue my regimen of calisthenics to keep up my muscle tone. Periodically, I napped out. Was it for seconds, minutes, hours, or days? I couldn't tell.

Retrieving me from the cage. Angie in grey scrubs, escorted me to `the farm,' the place where humans were bred. At the counter, a nurse in faded blue scrubs, after a superficial exam, feeling my breasts and belly, commented, "not very far along are we?"

"Freshly inseminated," Angie answered for me, "a couple of weeks ago electronic failure of the implant."

Handed loose shorts and sneakers, I asked, "no bra, no top?"

Shrugging her shoulders, the nurse buzzed me in to join an exercise class in the Early Pregnancy section.

During a break I found myself taking off my shorts to sunbathe in a solarium. When I lay naked, the naked girl next lying face down on a mat next to me seemed vaguely familiar.

Huh, although her butt appeared to be a little broader, she was indeed the Buxom Blonde who had been taken by Tom Cat in the crew's shower at River Bend. Lifting her torso above the mat, her nipples scraped the mat, the Buxom Blonde started to chuckle, "You? Who'd have guessed a guy could get close enough to knock you up?"

"Oops," I replied, "it does seem to have happened."

In a pleasant tone, the Buxom Blonde thanked me. "So, we meet again. I hated you when you sent me behind the wire and shipped me. But after some poking, prodding and testing in processing, I landed in here. Tom Cat turned out to be the father, well sought after in the stud book."

"But I interrupted you before he came," I protested.

"I was blessed. Tom Cat's cock had just begun, we screwed, long enough to leave me done," the girl giggled, "It wasn't much fun but I caught some pre -- cum." A dream look crossed her face. "Otherwise I'd have faced hardly a trifle, head shaved, bound in the coffle, a figure on the block at auction, How awful!" Buxom Blonde smiled before she asked, "Did Tom Cat plug you too?"

"Tom Cat might have liked to," I chose to be non - committal in my reply.

"You'll like it here," the girl bubbling over assured me, "I've been several weeks, perhaps a month, not quite two. How can you complain about fresh sheets, weekly massages, waxing -- boy the hair comes in when you're knocked up -- daily warm showers, good food and exercise? I hit the jackpot. We even get clean clothes -- bottoms," holding up her shorts, "at least."

"Why are we," I asked, "left topless?"

"To harden your tits," the girl chuckled, "in case your jugs show signs of being good milkers."

"And they always say they like you because of the quality of your mind," I answered.

After my protest in the first few days of the Early Pregnancy program, that I need a more demanding exercises programme to maintain my strength, I was examined by Dr Amy. I think she enjoyed feeling me up. "Solid musculature of her shoulders, butt and thighs," Amy commented. "A pregnant woman should be able to continue a pre -- insemination exercise program, as long as she adjusts it to the needs of her body.

I was in the early pregnancy class right up to the point we were about to be elevated to the second level. I was lying on my belly sunbathing. Reporting to my instructor who called my name out, I found her conferring with Angie. "Anytime," the instructor promised Angie, "you find yourself in a dither, feel free to come for spare moments hither, quiet time you be craving, join the girls for nude sunbathing."

"Undress, rest and relieve stress," quipped Angie. To me Angie ordered, "The Institute Director would see you." When I turned to retrieve my shorts, Angie grasping my hand, advised, "No need. Slaves need not wear clothing. Come as you are."

"The axe falls," I was resigned.

Angie shrugged her shoulders. We proceeded into a hidden security corridor. At a checkpoint, grey uniformed female guards ordered us to strip. Shrugging my bare shoulders, I quipped, "not much to take off here." I removed my sneakers and bent over the counter to have my bar code read.

"Do such orders usually apply to Dr Crenshaw's personal aide?" Angie questioned the order to undress.

"Without contrary orders from Dr Crenshaw," the guard told Angie, "A clothed indentured slave, even one in as important position as an administrative assistant must strip for inspection on request."

"I've never encountered such a request before," Angie protested.

"Things have changed here since, I taught in the security school," I remarked,

"Personal inspections were only required entering Institute grounds from the outside world."

"Dr Amy, the indenture who likes to be called by her former last name, tried to push her way through," said the guard, "I told her, she has nothing under the scrubs that I ain't seen before. After she took it off, I could see why: fat butt, flat chest, nothing remarkable."

With a cool, withdrawn expression, Angie disrobed without further protest, throwing the top of her grey scrubs over her head and stood exhibiting herself before me in her underwear with hands at her sides holding her blouse in her right hand.

Reduced to her underclothes, Angie presented a straight up and down figure with small breasts capped in an A cup bra. Leaning forward to reach behind her back to unhook her ashen white bra unleashing pale raisin -- ettes dangling from cup caked boobs. Squatting to slip her thong off, Angie straightened herself before she presented her butt for reading the bar code.

Ordered to stand over a clear glossy patch of floor, Angie bristled at the command to spread her legs and squat. "I need to check your undercarriage. Dr Amy. Butterball shaped, with narrow shoulders and a wide bustle stood over the reflection like everybody else when I told her the design was Dr Crenshaw's original. Would you prefer, I conducted an internal exam manually?" the guard asked.

"So much fun, I could drool!" I chided Angie, "I taught the art of cavity searches in the security school."

"Hold your torso up, if you will," barked the guard. Standing behind Angie, the guard peered at the reflection of Angie's bottom in the floor, "OK, that wasn't so bad."

Glancing in my direction, Angie asked, "And her?"

"Pregnant. Only Dr Crenshaw can examine her," the guard reproved Angie. I presented an innocent face.

Angie was about to reach for her scrubs when the guard advised her, "not necessary. Dr Crenshaw will meet you as you are in his private sauna."

An occasional administrative employee some clothed in grey scrubs; others nude, acknowledged Angie as we passed down the corridor. Angie advised me, "Dr Crenshaw prefers to discuss important matters in an informal setting. He believes if everyone meets on the same level -- nude -- they'll feel more comfortable."

At the entrance to the sauna two female security officers in grey swiped our bar codes and admitted us to the private spa. We found ourselves in a pool complex which contained an exercise center to the left, a hot tub and pool dead center and sauna to our right.

Two tall naked male security, arms crossed over muscular chests, both eunuchs, with shriveled penises, stood to either side of the hot tub. In front of us stood Dr Amy. In the nude she appeared more butterball shaped, shoulders narrower than her hips, cupcake sized breasts and much shorter than in her scrubs.

Looking at his pregnant female companion, Dr Philip Crenshaw, standing nude in the center of the tub, musculature toned, penis flaccid balls, dangling, bent over a pregnant woman to kiss her rounded belly. Pulling her to her feet leaving her bulbous breasts bouncing, emphasizing the darkened rings and distended nipples, Dr Crenshaw announced, "Margaret darling it's nice for you to bring my heirs for a visit, but I regret I have to attend to some business. Moose," Crenshaw called on one of the guards, "Escort my beautiful sister to her quarters."

After the electric eye door closed with Margaret's departure left, Dr Crenshaw, sitting on the edge of the hot tub, reflected, "Clothing serves several purposes: to protect the body from climatic extremes of heat and cold, to present the body in an ideal form and last to identify the status and role of the person. Taking clothing at the point of repossession impresses the captive indenturees, compelled to serve out their term, with the changed status, with the transition from freedom to servitude."

Silence fell. From autonomy, I mused, to servility, A figure on the balance sheet to an asset on the ledger, bound in a coffle to the auction block together.

When no one broke the silence, Dr Crenshaw cast a penetrating stare from Dr Amy to Angie to me, before he continued, "The repossessed indenturee regards their reduction to natural state as an humiliation. Do our captives appreciate the greater virtues of social nudity practiced behind the scenes: transparency, honesty, and equality?"

After listening to Dr Amy's report on the maternity section, Dr Crenshaw recognized me. "Welcome back, Mary. Your report on arrival here a couple of months ago showed the need for improving security. Some of the changes may be apparent to you."

"Yes, Dr Crenshaw. I was surprised to find checkpoints to regulate traffic between different internal points wholly inside the Institute, a different security service controlling internal checkpoints and the use of eunuchs in security," I replied.

"Mary," Dr Crenshaw came to the point, "I have one question for you: Was the reason you turned on Lt Bernie and reported your crew that you realized LT Bernie had betrayed you?"

"I don't say that's the reason, Dr Crenshaw," I insisted, "I was going back and forth all night as the van bounced on pitted roads between River Bend to here. Before I learned I was being betrayed, I was not satisfied with LT Bernie's decision to overrule my decision to punish Tom Cat by leaving him naked, placing him in the cock lock and returning him here with the male indenturees."

"Arguably," Angie interjected, "LT Bernie correctly saw Sergeant Mary's punishment as extreme. Didn't Tom Cat request you help him satisfy an itch?"

"I refused to fraternize with the crew," I firmly insisted, "so that I could impose a disciplinary action which might leave him with an empty scrotal sac."

"Hmm," observed Dr Crenshaw, "the issue of the extent of punishment required was discretionary with the commander -- Lt Bernie was in charge. Proceed Mary."

"Once it became known that the crew was stealing from Institute property recovered from indenturees. I was not satisfied with LT Bernie's decision not to search the crew," I explained wavering during the bumpy ride from River Bend.

Dr Crenshaw noted, "I don't mind agents borrowing from the till to get something they really want -- as long as the agent requests permission before taking. Going through the examination of the crew I find no one did."

"That revelation of LT Bernie's personal betrayal was not the reason I made the report," I maintained, "though it may have been what pushed me to make the report."

"Angie," remarked Dr Crenshaw with a chuckle, "should I send her to law school? That's a hair splitting distinction worthy of you." To me, Dr Crenshaw announced his decision, "Mary, for sexual fraternization with LT Bernie, in maintaining an exclusive relationship, in engaging in intercourse more than twice in the same gender role and in refusing to satisfy the itch of other males, I'm going to reduce you in grade to agent and impose 30 whacks on a bare butt, stayed during your pregnancy. I will keep you in security and return you to River Bend in the next crew headed there to see if you and the contents of your belly can lure LT Bernie out of the shadows. Can you handle it?"

"If that's what the Institute requires," I replied.

"I' muscles were artistically toned in gymnasiums m not sure," Dr Crenshaw closed the meeting, "if I hope for your sake that Bernie doesn't swoop down and rescue you."

"Neither am I, Dr Crenshaw," I replied.