Year One Pt. 03

Finished my work about 10:30 and went to bed. I was glad to get out of that dress thing. Lucy and Angie were still talking and laughing downstairs.

Thursday December 9^th

Angie was looking at her post over breakfast this morning when she suddenly said, pointing to a printed list, "Why did you go off somewhere different for lunch this day?"

I said, "What?" I didn't remember mentioning anything about where I usually went for lunch.

"It's just that your bank card bill shows these payments all in the same place most lunchtimes except on November 27^th. I mean that's odd isn't it?"

I was more than a bit rattled. It hadn't occurred to me that Angie was getting a detailed copy of the transactions on my card. It was lucky I hadn't been sneakily picking up the odd porn magazine in the paper shop behind the office. "The regular place was shut," I said, quite truthfully. "It was a Saturday." Then I added, for reasons I still don't quite know, "It was all right, though. I might go back. I'd forgotten about it."

"OK," said Angie. "Just as long as it didn't have anything to do with that MCF interview." I'm hoping she'll just forget about it.

Lucy came over again this evening. There was a lot of laughing from the living room and then the two of them disappeared into Angie's bedroom. I can guess what they were up to but luckily it didn't involve me.

Watched some TV news for the first time in ages. I've really been too busy to pick up on much of it up until now. Apparently the French have been complaining about men crossing the Channel illegally and our Foreign Secretary has responded saying they wouldn't be doing it if French fishing boats weren't trying to make a few quid by helping them. It sounds like the EU are just waking up to what's happening on their doorstep. Some member countries have been complaining that there's been a mass of their emigrants returning home suddenly and the EU's human rights commissioner has been complaining. Johannsen said we give the same rights to EU citizens as we do our own, what more can she do? On the other hand, the EU seems to have got enough on its plate with the Italians and Greeks planning their own version of Brexit (although you'd have thought that ours would have put them off).

Friday December 10^th

At work today, every one seemed really busy. Lucy turned up in a rush. "Right, we're going out. I've been up all night. You can still drive can't you?"

I nodded. It was a while since I'd driven but my license was still current. She looked like she had been up half the night. I could guess what had been disturbing her sleep – or rather who..

"OK, bring your laptop or whatever it is you use to work on. We're going visiting."

I picked up a small notepad – it was a long time since I'd been allowed a computer or anything like it in the office and followed Lucy out. I didn't get the chance to ask why or where as we headed down to the car park under the building; Lucy was grabbing papers and her breakfast as I followed along in her wake. One of the other guys on our floor was about to get into the lift as Lucy and I got to it. He stood back and let us use it. I wonder if the women have noticed that men actively avoid being caught in the same space as them. They're working on the basis of 'if I'm not there, I can't get anything wrong', I suppose.

The car was a fairly comfortable BMW. Lucy got into the back and passed me a bit of paper with a postcode on it. "That's where we're going. Try to get us there by ten," she said and sank back in the car's rear bench seat to study her papers.

Luckily the sat-nav showed us getting there with a few minutes to spare. I was glad not to have to rush – it was a while since I'd driven, they were unfamiliar roads and I had to imagine that road traffic officers weren't going to be any kinder to male drivers than the MCF are to us when we're walking.

I nearly managed it without fowling up. The last final instruction – in a not unsurprisingly stern woman's voice - said, "In 200 hundred yards turn left. You will have reached your destination." I took the next left and found myself driving up to a guard post and gate with two burly armed MCF officers looking unhappy at having to disturb their day to deal with a visitor. On each side a tall, razor-wire topped wall told visitors they weren't welcome and those inside that they were staying put.

"Where do you think you're going sunshine?" The taller of the two called through the driver's window. "Visitor's entrance is the next left along there," she gestured back to the road I'd turned in off.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Lucy's voice came from the back seat. "Sorry officer, he can't even follow simple instructions. We'll back up."

As she said that a truck came into the road behind us. It wasn't going to be easy to turn around in the narrow road. "I'm afraid you'll have to wait while I let this through, Ma'am," the officer told Lucy.

So we waited. I could hear Lucy drumming her fingers on the seat in frustration at being held up. The officers were obviously being careful about whatever the truck was, checking its paper work and the like before they opened the first of two sets of gates to let it in. As it went by I saw that it looked like one of those police vans they use to transport prisoners to and from court. "MCF: Detainee Transport Service" it said on the side.

We were ten minutes late by the time we got to our correct entrance. Lucy was fuming, even though the person who greeted us (well, just Lucy really) said it didn't matter.

We were shown up to an office overlooking an open area within the fenced compound. Uniformed guards were marching groups of men across the yard.

"Well, thanks for coming along," our host said. The name plate on her desk said Joanne Gates : Site Supervisor. "The South Merryside Detention Centre doesn't get too many visitors."

"Thank you for letting me have some of your time," Lucy replied. "You're aware that we're bidding to provide site services for the Detention Service. I wanted to get a first hand view of a typical Centre and the Ministry was kind enough to suggest yours."

"Is he all right?" Ms Gates nodded at me. The first time she had given any indication of acknowledging my presence. "We normally keep males the other side of the wire."

"Sure, he's harmless. He'll just be taking notes and helping me out with some of the detailed work."

I took that as a cue to get out my notepad. Ms Gates launched off into a talk about the Centre and how it worked. I had no idea that places like this existed, but it was all too clear that it was run with considerable efficiency. "We have two classes of detainees," she said, "those suspected of disorder offences awaiting hearing and those convicted. All our detainees are fairly low grade offenders; sponsorship absconders, repeat curfew breakers, things like that. All the really serious cases are dealt with at higher security facilities. We deal with both detention and rehabilitation; the sort we get here can still be put on the right track. The real dissidents they have to deal with elsewhere. I'm not sure if the rehabilitation stuff works but who knows? It's probably worth trying."

Angie nodded and asked a few questions. I noted the answers as best I could. After about half an hour we got taken off on a tour. Not on the detainee side of the wire, obviously, but we got to see some of the admin side of the site. There was accommodation for the staff – warders, I suppose you'd call them - with a big communal area with a sports centre (quite a few fit-looking women working out on the equipment, I noticed) a staff restaurant, and lounge. There was an area that was linked to the detainee side called the visitor's suite, but Ms Gates said that didn't get much use apart from the occasional lawyer. Most significant from our point of view were the equipment store (there was a lot of anti-riot gear: shields, batons, tear gas rounds, respirators, restraints, all that sort of stuff) and the control room. They were all on a long list of facilities that they wanted us to look after. In the control room there must have been fifty or so video monitors connected to a network of CCTV cameras that obviously looked out across the compound and into the accommodation and exercise areas for the detainees. I didn't really get chance to watch what was going on – I was too busy jotting down points that Lucy and Ms Gates discussed. I did see a few of the detention centre guards going about their business though. They all seemed intimidating, but I guess they mean to be. It was also obvious that quite a few were pushing the boundaries when it came to their uniform with the aim of making it clear to the men who was in charge. Tight skirts, boots to the knee with 5 inch heels and thick platforms, broad patent leather, waist-cinching belts, and white shirts that seemed too often to have lost strategic buttons at the front were quite common even if they didn't look too practical. Most of the warders carried a crop or a whip as much as a badge of office, it looked like – leastways I didn't see one being used while I was watching; mostly the men just seemed to do as they were told. "Yeah," Ms Gates said to Lucy, "a lot of the warders like to wind the inmates up with the way that they dress. First sign of trouble though and there's a fix-it team deployed in fatigues and riot gear. It's good to keep the boys' tongues hanging out though. Takes their mind off other things."

"We've had a reasonable performance record, here," Ms Gates was saying, "compared with some of the other Centres. Frankly, though, we'll be happier not having to worry about site maintenance. That's about it, I guess. Any other questions?"

Lucy shook her head. Neither of the women seemed interested in whether or not I had anything to say. We headed out back to the car. Lucy flopped down in the back seat as was dozing before we got out through the main gates. She snored all the way back to the office, loudly enough to be heard over the BMW's motor.

I reckon they ought to arrange tours of the place for men. It would be a good way of keeping the number of male control order violations down, if you ask me.

Tuesday December14th

A big surprise today. I was in the queue for the bus coming home. It's a males-only service – saves bother. Then behind me I heard a voice, "Hullo David."

It was Harry. I felt pretty uncomfortable, knowing the MCF had been looking for him and all, but he seemed relaxed. I looked around – no one seemed to be taking any interest in us. A bus queue is about the only place you see groups of men together as a normal thing.

"I hear you had an outing last week. Little trip to the countryside. Looking at some high walls and razor wire."

I had no idea how he had found out about the trip to the detention centre and the fact that he knew made me more nervous. Now I was wondering if I really should have admitted meeting him to the MCF.

"Must have been interesting. Not an easy place to get into, I imagine."

Something about his manner annoyed me. Even if I'd felt like taking the risk of helping him, his approach was putting me off. "Not from what I hear," I answered. "I think you just have to run foul of the MCF. By the way, did they ever get round to talking to you after they asked me about you?"

Harry smiled. "No, our paths haven't crossed yet. You don't need to worry. I'm not asking for anything illegal. It's just that I've got a mate in South Merryside and I want to visit."

That sounded unlikely. I remembered Ms Gates had said they had hardly any visitors. Then I heard a car horn sound as one of the company BMW's pulled up alongside. The window slid down, It was Lucy. "I can give you a lift," she said. It didn't sound as though she was asking me if I wanted one or not but in honesty I was grateful.

"Sorry, got to go," I said to Harry. He shrugged as I jumped in alongside Lucy.

"Friend of yours?" Lucy said as we headed out of town.

"Not really. Just someone I know slightly." I was feeling stuck in the middle. I didn't want to help Harry and compromise anything our company was doing. On the other hand I didn't want to shop Harry to the MCF. And now there was the extra problem that there was obviously someone in our part of the company that was passing stuff on to him. And maybe I should tell someone about that, because from what I saw at South Merryside it didn't look like anyone was doing anything illegal. On the other hand then, why would it matter?

I was feeling pretty confused by the time Lucy got to my house. "You look like you're thinking too much," Lucy laughed as she pulled up onto the drive. "My tip is, don't. You'll only end up making some shit male-dominated decision and we know how good they are." She put her hand on my thigh. I didn't find that in the least reassuring. "Anyway you'd better get inside. I'm sure your sponsor has got plenty for you to do. And she and I have a date."

Wednesday December 15^th

Feeling a bit thick-headed this morning. I was busy all yesterday evening with domestic stuff and then Lucy and Angie we obviously enjoying themselves well after I had sloped off to my little room upstairs.

Lucy wasn't around by the time I needed to get the bus, so although her BMW was still there, I didn't want to take the risk of assuming that she would drive me in. As it was, she still managed to get into the office before me.

At coffee break I spotted a notice on the male staff board warning of the dangers of dissidents and the sensitivity of company information. It felt a bit personal to be honest and it wasn't as though I had actually DONE anything.

Office Christmas Party tonight – no males invited.

Thursday December 16^th

Lucy was in a fowl mood first thing this morning. She was obviously hungover from the party last night. She certainly wasn't talking about it and spent the whole morning staring at a glass of water.

Then, when I got back from lunch she seemed to have cheered up a bit. She came over and sat on my desk – always a bad sign. She had on a short kilt that left a lot of leg on display, although that's nothing special these days. The women in the office seem to think they can dress as provocatively as they like. "Angie was saying you get quite horny because she's not letting you have any prick sex." Lucy smiled and leant back, stretching her legs forward.

"I'm surprised you found time to talk about me."

"Don't be silly. Angie's your sponsor. She worries about you. Anyway don't worry. She said she wouldn't mind if I did you now and again."

"Wouldn't mind if you 'did me' now and again?"

"Yes, just to release the pressure sort of. We know how you men are slaves to your appetites. She doesn't want to; party rules and all that sort of thing. I don't give a toss though. I can have your prick up me and not feel oppressed for one moment."

"Thanks for the complement."

"Come on. I fancy a good fuck. An office Christmas Party without men isn't that much fun. I missed getting a furtive fumble behind the filing cabinets. You've got to keep up the traditions."

"What in here? Now?" I knew there wasn't much sense in trying to argue with her.

"Why not? There's no one much in the office. I'll lock the door."

That didn't make me feel any more secure.

"Come on over on the couch." Lucy grabbed at my belt and had my trousers undone by the time she had pulled me across the office. She pushed me down on my back, pulled my trousers and pants down to my knees and straddled me.

Embarrassingly, my cock was only too willing to leap to attention. Either it's got used to bossy women or it's feeling under used. Lucy reached down and stroked me behind the balls. My cock responded enthusiastically. Lucy grinned. "See it wants to play, even if you don't."

She stood up, lifted her skirt, and pulled her pants and tights down. She was as keen to get on with it as I was for her to finish and in a moment she was sliding her cunt down over my cock, sprawling down on my chest and sticking her tongue into my mouth, and squeezing my nipples, as she pushed her hips to thrust against me.

Lucy was nothing if not enthusiastic. She was quite happy to bounce up and down on my prick for as long as it took. I tried to join in with my hands at one point but she just said, "Don't! Just put you hands over your head. I can do it myself."

She carried on bouncing up and down on my dick. She obviously wasn't interested in whether I was getting anything out of it, just as long as I stayed stiff enough for it to be fun for her. She sat back at one point and poured some more wine into her glass. Then she started up again.

Eventually she' came, bucking back with a loud, "Mmmmm!" grunt before she climbed off my aching cock and laid down beside me.

Lucy giggled and almost dropped her glass. The wine had obviously just topped up the previous evening's intake. "Don't get too used to it though. It may get a bit more of a problem if the MCP stuff comes in."

"MCP?

"Shhhh – I'm not supposed to say anything about it. Just a New Order thing. Don't worry about it. Come over here and give me a frigging, I'm still feeling the need." I did what I could and she seemed to get off again. The trouble was my cock was still as stiff as anything and aching too. She didn't seem very interested.

Afterwards I was thinking about "MCP". The only MCP I knew of was the old 1970's term: Male Chauvinist Pig", but I didn't think this was anything to do with that. Lucy was stretched out on the couch, still pissed, shagged out and asleep. In pulling her pants and tights back on she'd managed to tuck her skirt into the back of her tights.

I was starting to get nervous about leaving. It was getting close to the time the last bus that would get me home before curfew. I was wandering around the office working out if I should just go or if I should wake her up and tell her I was going or what. Then I noticed a folder on her desk with "MCP Support Services Proposal" on the cover. I shouldn't have opened it but, as I did, some photocopied pages slipped out. There were about a dozen, all the same, entitled "Overview for Bidders". I was curious I guess, and took one, folded it up, and slipped it into my pocket. I suppose I told myself Lucy would be expecting me to work on it anyway. As I put the folder back, Lucy grunted and rolled over.

I took the opportunity to leave. "I'm just... You know... the curfew..."

"Yeah, whatever," Lucy grunted. She rolled over, realised that her skirt was caught up and said, "Fuck." She scowled at me with a look that said, 'I know you've been staring at my arse'. "Don't be late tomorrow. You've got a lot to do."

It was only after I got home that I looked at the paper. I've hidden it. I'm really sure that I'm not supposed to have it and I don't know what I'm going to do.

Friday December 17^th

Lucy has got one of her power suits on today – dark tailored jacket and knee skimming straight, skirt teamed with a bright yellow shirt. She's obviously looking to impress someone. Not me, of course. She hasn't mentioned the MCP bid today. I'm hoping she hasn't missed the page I stole. I saw her taking the MCP folder to a meeting but I had plenty to do, working on the budgets for the South Merryside project and it wasn't like I was invited to take part in it or anything.

The MCP thing is incendiary. MCP stands for Male Chastity Programme. According to the page I found, New Order believe most poor MDDM is because of male sexual obsession and that the problems it causes can be reduced my restricting male sexual activity. They reckon where sponsors have done this already dissident activity is reduced. The policy would allow sponsors to get their males to wear an "approved chastity device" and have it monitored by the Government. Companies are being asked to bid to manage the service.