Date: Sun, 11 Jun 2006 20:12:22 +1000 (EST) From: Country Mouse Subject: The Centre Standard Squib: The themes and subject matter in this story are adult, including but not limited to both consensual and reluctant (including coerced) sexual acts between persons of the same gender, extreme medical fetish, mind control, body modification and non consensual sexual slavery. Author's Note: Kids, do not try this at home. This is a fantasy. In reality, I advocate the principles of Risk Awareness; Safe,Sane and Consensual BDSM and always observe safer sex guidelines. Safer Sex is a way of life. If reading about power dynamics and graphic smut between women is illegal in your jurisdiction or offends you, please leave now. In my fantasies, anything is possible. I am the feedback whore from hell. If you like my tale, please write to me and let me know. Don't bother lecturing me about my sins. I already know that I'm a pervert. I rather like that about me. If, on the other hand, you're a kinky female (over 21) willing to endure a little training of your own, I'd love to hear from you. Email me at: dr_country_mouse_top@yahoo.com.au The Centre - Chapter One copyright 2006 by dr_country_mouse_top Story codes: F/g, F^f, F/g, teen2, BD, anal, non consensual , spank, sm medical fetish, mind control, body modification, Nifty category: Lesbian/authoritarian/science fiction The author grants the Nifty Archive a non-exclusive, worldwide, royalty-free, perpetual, and non-cancellable license to display the work. All other rights reserved. The prisoners were sorted by gender. Their treatment was entirely professional at the early stages, if not particularly tender. But notes were made of those individuals who showed particular potential. Most of them just looked dazed, shuffling along naked in their shackles and leg spreader bars. They had been hosed down, examined inside and out, and had all their hair removed, including the hair on their heads and their pubic hair. I had the guards pull a woman out at random. Like everyone else, she had her id code tattooed on her scalp in addition to the microchip implanted in her left hip. She was scared, and crying a little around her gag. The guards are adept. They soon had her bent over, her wrist cuffs fastened to the spreader bar. "Pay attention," I rapped to the crowd, my voice amplified and echoing throughout this first station in the processing Centre. "Life as you know it is over." As if they hadn't been able to figure that out by the reports of the War and then finding themselves rounded up out of their homes and force marched to their nearest prison depot^Å But I always found that a demonstration was useful. "Yesterday you may have been soccer moms, trophy wives, dykes on bikes, sorority queens or prostitutes. You may have had girl friends, boy friends, husbands, wives, children and grandchildren. Forget it. Forget them." My victim's legs were spread by the bar so that her feet were substantially wider apart than her shoulders, her wrists fastened to her ankles. She was crying steadily, her voice garbling through the o-ring gag that kept her mouth open. One of the guards kept a steadying hand on one hip. The newbies had an appalling habit of tipping over, unused to navigating the world in bondage. I rubbed the strap over her ass, letting her know it was there. I didn't bother with explanations. The muscles in her legs were twitching, probably from fear. She hadn't been off the transport long enough to be getting cramps from the position. I started lightly, kindly, letting her sort of get used to the idea before I cut loose. I gave her a thorough strapping, with no concern for her arousal, previous experience, or state of mind. It wasn't particularly harsh and it certainly wasn't cruel and wouldn't leave any mark beyond a handful of hours. But her ass and thighs had been paddled to a clear and definite pink. I gloved up and stroked lube over her ass. She was still crying so hard that she didn't even flinch when I entered her ass slowly with my finger tip. It was fear and distress, rather than true pain, although her ass and thighs were no doubt on fire. I went slowly, testing her responses. Tight, and abruptly trying to clamp down on my finger in shocked protest, a sudden wail released through the open rubber ring in her mouth. The other guard had already run a scanner over the woman's left hip, checking the display against the tattoo on her skull. "Tight," I reported my observations aloud, the guard's expert fingers tapping the little wand over the screen and small keyboard, similar to what's used in grocery stores to monitor inventory. "Fighting me now," I added with a chuckle. The woman had begun to twitch and jerk against her restraints as I very slowly worked my finger deeper into her tight ass, crying louder, protesting despite the o ring gag. "One for size and minus five for receptivity," I said for the guard's records, and slid my other hand over her mound, cupping her naked sex. I just held her for a moment, twisting my finger in and out of her ass slowly, letting her tire herself out. "Give me a number two," I decided after another moment. It was a definite stretch, although she didn't tear and it didn't cause her any great pain. She whined as I slowly pushed the smallest ripples past her ring, yelping a little at the sting as I forced the biggest part through. Even as tight as she was, her receptivity score was no worse. The prisoner had responded well to my finger. She didn't like it, but it wasn't causing her any great pain. The neck was hardly larger than my finger, so the plug was a comfortable enough fit, but she was whimpering in distress even before I jiggled the wide base, seating it firmly in her tight asshole. "Welcome to the Centre," I continued, my voice amplified over the speakers throughout the section. "Whatever you knew of life before is over. The function of this facility is re-education. Here you will be trained for your new lives. And you will learn, one way or another. How much you enjoy that experience is entirely up to me." I nodded to the guard and continued on my stroll through the facility. Further on down the hall, the inmates were beginning to bunch up again as the lines backed up a bit. The supervisor smiled at me as the handlers barked orders. The women variously squealed and sobbed and swore, depending on their personality. We didn't have time for the niceties. Processing was always insane. I would be glad when we had this latest intake safely in their tanks and on a proper schedule. The first day or so was always hectic, even if it were all a matter of smooth routine. I watched a blonde handler expertly spin off the nozzle from her last subject and dump it in the bucket provided. She spun on a sterile nozzle and nodded. The guard at the door shoved the next woman in line into the room. In swift order, the inmate was bent over, hands fastened to the leg spreader. The handler scanned the microchip, cross checking the number with the skull tattoo out of well trained habit. With a distant look on her face, the handler probed the inmate's ass with a lube slicked finger, calling out her initial evaluation with how tight the newbie's ass was, and how much resistance or enjoyment the subject found in the experience. She worked the inmate's ass with impersonal expertise, massaging the sphincter for a moment or two before slipping the nozzle in. Mineral oil is cheap and readily available and has a nicely laxative effect. Heated to a precise two degrees warmer than body heat, the oiled streamed into the inmate's ass with the press of a button, automatically clicking off when it had delivered precisely one litre into the prisoner's bowels. The delivery was relatively quick, and often triggered yelps of protest as various women cramped from the rapid intake. Before her subject had time to do more than squeak, the handler slipped in the first training plug and then tapped her report into her small unit. The scanners all interfaced over the Centre's wireless network, which allowed for efficient record keeping. The prisoner's wrist restraints were unfastened from the leg spreader bar and she was nudged into motion, still making distressed sounds through her gag. The guards hustled her on and into the section where handlers with rubber aprons, boots and gloves over their uniforms waited for their next subjects. Moving with the pivoting crab legged hobble that the spreader bar imposed, the prisoner moved to the next empty platform. She crawled up on the padded rubber surface and the guard clipped the leg restraints to the anchor points provided, pushing her into position with her head down and her tail up, draped over a round, padded bar at hip height. The paddling wasn't harsh, although those women with already well spanked bottoms may have held different views. It was just designed to get everything moving. After the paddling, the plugs were removed, immediately replaced with enema nozzles, adding to the oil already in each prisoner's bowel. There would be plenty of time to play with their assholes as we trained them. Right now we just wanted to get them processed and in their quarters. The handlers would give each inmate a series of three enemas, using more of various fluids each time. During the retention phase, the inmates were paddled, until they lost all control of their sphincters and emptied, spewing waste and water. Most inmates found the experience deeply humiliating and terribly distressing and not the slightest bit erotic. Regardless of how they felt about it, each woman received three enemas and ended up with bright red thighs and buttocks. The paddling wasn't expected to teach them anything or really do much at all other than keep them off balance and distraught. It was simply good handling, even if their proper lessons wouldn't begin until each inmate was safely in a tank. The final fill was more hot oil, swelling their bellies as the handlers pumped up the double catheter tubes used for the third enema. There was a great deal of moaning and crying as each prisoner was prodded into motion and off the platform, waddling and sweating, hunched over their bulging bellies as they shuffled on with the awkward gait of one bound to an extreme leg spreader bar. The catheter nozzles looked like odd tails, the external balloons riding up between each set of butt cheeks. With the catheter nozzles safely inflated, there was the luxury of time. Walking, even the prisoners' awkward spraddle legged waddle, would help loosen things up nicely. Most of the women were so desperate to expel the oil that they didn't pay much attention to their surroundings as they left the first purging hall for the next phase of their induction. The prisoners stared, wide eyed and astonished, as they were ushered past one of observation ports. It was their first glimpse of the `tanks' where they would spend so much of their lives. There were a sudden hush as they waddled past, seeing the masked and hooded forms, restrained and resting, their bodies fitted with instruments and implements so necessary for their re-education. Between their cramping guts and the rather eye opening glimpse of their future, most prisoners didn't even notice that they had an audience at first. There were a small number of discerning patrons that enjoyed seeing our induction procedures. Although we had a truly generous budget, the additional income from our little productions earned us both friends in high places and fat bonuses. In the next room, the prisoners were forced to their knees, most taking the appropriate position without further coaching. "Empty," The command was unadorned, and immediately followed by further paddling, setting off a new round of wails and sobs as the women were paddled until they had expelled the oil filling their bowels. There were new cries of outrage and distress and despair when the prisoners noticed the audience waiting at the other end of the room. The handlers palpated each prisoner's belly, determining if they were empty enough for the next phase of the induction. Each prisoner was then fitted with a helmet, the eye pads and ear plugs covered by the high tech devices, plunging each woman in to a frightening world of dark silence as the helmet was fastened over the lot, the contacts sliding smoothly over their naked skuls. The prisoners waiting for their turn to be fitted with the helmets watched as the next woman in line was hoisted into position on the waiting unit known as `the tank'. The helmet was locked into position, then the chains leading from the wrist restraints were fastened to their hook, preventing the prisoner from lowering her hands below the level of her nipples. Her ankles were freed from the spreader bar and the prisoner's legs were fitted in the stirrups and secured with straps at the thigh, knee and ankle. A final strap was fastened low on her hips, pressing her lower back more firmly to the wedged shaped support. The prisoner was already breathing more easily as she began to listen to the reassurances and directions. She was old enough to have experienced routine pelvic exams, and accepted the vaginal speculum easily enough. The rectal speculum usually triggered whimpers, but the prisoners were slick with lube, their assholes well prepared. After everything they had been through, the insertion of the catheter always seemed to be the most stressful event of the induction, even if the staff members performing the procedure were expert and experienced and adept. The IV in their arms wasn't something they even appeared to notice. At each stage, the handlers entered notes in their scanners, all of which was efficiently routed to the individual prisoner's files. The next room was quiet, except for the occasional whimper through the o ring gag. The prisoners were calming under the soothing influence of the drugs in their veins as well as the hypnotic murmur of the Voice in their ears. Handlers carefully positioned the drinking tubes and I watched tongues hesitantly poking out through the o-ring gags as prisoners searched for the water the Voice told them they would find. Of course, once they had been through their initial orientation, they would learn how to use the feeding ports in each unit. The tanks really were a most ingenious device, and the key to our ability to not only retrain and re-educate prisoners, but also our ability to simply manage the enormous numbers presented due to the recent War. The reason for the audience soon became apparent as the drugs and the hormones began to take effect. The whimpers continued but they soon took on a new urgency as the Centre's methods began to prove themselves once more. It was actually rather entertaining to watch the prisoner's bodies begin to change, softening, easing, the scent of arousal heavy in the air as their open cunts began to ooze. Betting was fierce as the audience tried to decide which of the new prisoners, if any, would orgasm without any futher stimulation, simply because of the drug therapy and the Voice coming over the headphones as their entrances were steadily dilated by computerized speculum inserted in each vagina and anus. Despite the Centre's cut of the betting, the program wasn't designed to produce orgasm. It was simply the most efficient way to open them up sufficiently to fit them with the final attachments. Any orgasms this early in the procedure were the result of sheer luck and the variables of individual need and psychosexual development. Over the next few hours, more and more women were fitted into their individual tanks, the units stacked and racked and waiting for the final fittings before being loaded into the pods. Bells chimed and monitor lights flashed as one by one, the women reached the required dilation levels, handlers making the required adjustments, expertly replacing each speculum with the plugs as the monitors indicated that each prisoner was ready. The plugs had multiple functions. The core of each plug was similar to the old Hirshfeld speculum, with the removable central core. The exterior was surgical grade silicone, with electrical contact points running down the sides as well as around the narrow neck, each portion of the entire arrangement capable of expanding or contracting independently. As soon as the plugs were in place, the handlers finished up by attaching the contact pads on the required spots. There were squeals of protest and more than a few orgasms as the clitoral stimulation units were clamped into position. Sensory deprivation has been used to re-educate prisoners since the beginning of time. Many of the world's religions and philosophies had elements of it in their meditations, practice or prayers. It was an integral part of the Centre's re-education programs, although the tanks were fairly simplistic. These first days and weeks were brute force programming, with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer. Drug therapy, sensory deprivation, electrical stimulation and the Voice would all conspire to help the prisoner begin to adapt to her new life. * * * * * One of the Centre's guests wanted to see the current development of the breeders. The extreme body modifications and extensive behaviour modification the prisoners went through was unique to the Centre, and a vital part of managing the population. The flip of a switch and a quick authorization code changed the configuration of the Visitor's lounge. The viewing ports opened to another section of the Centre. Number 98274 was well advanced in her training. She was built well for childbirth, which is why she had been chosen. The Centre's methods had then further modified her body and her psyche. Advanced hormone therapy had started milk production and greatly increased the size of the subject's breasts. Her records indicated that she had begun the program with a modest B cup, but they were now at least a DD cup, the nipples engorged from repeated sessions with the milking machine. For thirty minutes out of every two hour time block, the suction pulled her nipples up the interior tubes, while the outer cup sucked and massaged her entire breast. The exercise program ensured that the breeders were in prime physical condition. Number 98274 was lean and limber after months of breeder training, long muscles rippling under the optimum level of body fat to ensure maximum conception rates and milk production volumes. She was an athlete preparing for an arduous physical ordeal, a marathon that would push her body to its limits. The subject was a model resident, responding beautifully to the Voice, cooperating with guards and handlers. Of course, she was still in training, although she had already learned to handle dildos as large as a big man's fist. She was in the middle of a reward cycle when the view port opened on her tank. The instruments told the tale. The milking machine was drawing white fluid up the tubes, the flow encouraged by highly pleasurable electrical stimulation of the nipples each time they were sucked up the milking machine. Her vagina was dilated to its current maximum capacity with a dildo that both vibrated powerfully and spun at high speed, creating a pleasurable sensation as the clitoral stimulator ensured that she climaxed repeatedly throughout the reward session. She was still working on developing her endurance. The Centre would not administer drugs during birth, so the subject had to be conditioned to be able to continue to orgasm over a very long period. The most advanced subjects experienced drug induced cervical dilation on a regular basis, conditioning their bodies to accept, welcome and rejoice in the experience. The Voice was vital to the success of the breeders' conditioning program, mental conditioning at least of equal importance as the physical. By the time Number 98274 was fully trained, she would easily accept both cervical and vaginal dilation sufficient to permit the passage of her offspring through the birth canal, and she would experience the most intense pleasure of her life during labour and delivery. It was a primary tenant of the Centre's philosophy that the neurotransmitters released in response to the breeder's pleasure passed the placental barrier, along with the maternal hormones. As the offspring developed in the breeder's uterus, its brain architecture was influenced by the biochemical cocktail released by the mother. Conception, pregnancy, delivery and nursing of the offspring were all handled in various departments of the breeders division. The education of the offspring, once weaned, was another division. There was much anticipation in the creche these days, as the first crop of the Centre's breeders division approached puberty and menarche. * * * * * Leaving the visitors in the capable hands of the Centre's public relations officer and her staff, I continued my rounds, stopping in the personally observe the operations of the Centre's various divisions. I laughingly referred to this little supervisory task as management by walking around, a useful remnant of my own days wearing pin striped suits and swimming with the corporate sharks. My habit of randomly appearing in any department kept my staff on their toes, anxious to meet the rigorous standards set by my administration. I spent a few minutes observing various tank blocks engaged in their exercise routines, the difficulty and duration of which was determined by their intake date and progress in retraining. The inmates were kept grouped according to the lots established on their arrival day. They would stay with their initial tank block for the first twelve months of their residency. It wasn't long before a discreet chime let me know that the day's shipment had all been processed and locked down in the tanks. The wireless computer network merged each tank block's records and the biochemical conditioning discipline began. The IV drip in each inmate's vein began to feed tranquilizers, muscle relaxers and serotonin reuptake inhibitors directly into the blood stream. They were mellow, relaxed and the Voice told them they were safe. The Voice was gentle and coaxing and hypnotic, an effect encouraged by the mix of hormones and mind altering drugs flooding their systems. Each drug had been chosen for its ability to make the inmate more receptive and open to brain washing and hypnotic instructions. Each tank held a woman in sensory deprivation as the Voice provided instruction. Today it praised and reassured them, even as the drugs promised pleasure and satiation. Many would begin to try and work themselves on the computerized nozzles penetrating each hole. The Voice encouraged an erotic response, teasing and promising as the drugs flattened brain waves and shattered resistance to the inescapable hypnotic instructions. As each tank block advanced through the program, the Voice would become more demanding, correcting and praising, instructions and orders delivered with high expectations. The rewards were correspondingly larger as a few individuals from each tank block were selected for further training. But for today, the Voice welcomed them to the Centre and introduced the basic principles of their Service. Obedience was arousing, willing Service rewarded with endless pleasure. For seventy-two hours, the new inmate would be kept in the sensory deprivation tanks, listening to their own heartbeats and the Voice. Each woman received precisely the same amount of vibration and electrical stimulation though all the various contact points, nozzles and clamps. There were endless eternities of silence and sensory deprivation and no input followed by long periods of the Voice whispering the basic catechisms of their Service. They drifted in the endless dark, waiting for the unendurable pleasure that was fed to them through the nozzles, electrical stimulation, clamps and vibration. Every rest period for the rest of their lives would be much the same; the Voice and the rewards and praise. I inspected individual tanks at random through the monitors, doing a visual check on the resident, observing as stimulation produced the first orgasms. But for this particular tank lot, their first hour of the seventy-two had just begun with a bang. They were fed a glucose saline drip, also ensuring a continuous serum level of biochemical conditioning. The instructions, or Prime Orders as they called it, were simple. The stimulation of various types was chosen for its ability to tease and seduce the body into a greater sexual response. Patiently, the computer programs coaxed the new residents through the cycle of arousal, anticipation, orgasm and afterglow. Their bodies were drained of waste through the catheter and the anal-rectal nozzle, blood sugar levels and brain candy maintained by the IV drip. After a few more spot checks of the day's intake, I moved on to the next point of interest in my wanderings. I took the lift up a dozen levels and over into the southern quadrant of the Centre. I peeked in on an early Feeding. This tank block was being rewarded for nursing on breeder candidates. Each hopeful breeder had a woman nursing strongly on each nipple, nozzles and clitoral stimulators rewarding the candidate for milk production. Those nursing were being rewarded as well. After several months in the program, breeder breast size had swelled and milk production had begun. This lot were producing an average of 250 ml per breast during each nursing. The caloric value of the feeding was fare less important than the hormones and biochemicals that were delivered through the breast milk, perfectly designed to meet up with human brain cells, encouraging synaptic sculpting as the Voice never ceased. They were being rewritten, their personalities shattering under the long hours of drugs and carefully programmed sexual stimulation. They were being reshaped into sexual athletes, perfectly tuned for sexual submission. Through the inhuman precision of computer controlled sexual stimulation programs, drug and hormone treatment combined with sensory deprivation flat-lined their sense of self. There was no attempt to remove memories or rewrite what had gone before. It was simply flattened under the enormous weight of the brain cocktail racing through their blood streams. Their world became defined by the Prime Orders and the instructions from the Voice, reshaping them and preparing them to offer their Service. There were prisoners retrained as a sort of attache or butler, capable of organizing events for up to 5000 people or intimate dinner parties for two, running domestic matters, the executive assistant for the House. They were gracious escorts to social, cultural or political events, expensive and exclusive ornaments on the very wealthiest Citizens. Others might be kept by syndicates of the wealthiest hoteliers and private clubs, sharing the Service of one graduate of the Centre's hospitality training. The glittering salon society of the Inner Worlds sprawled across galaxies, densely populated by the wealthiest and most jaded Citizens. The Great Houses were competitive in their quest for elegant perversions, and it was not uncommon to pay a small fortune for a single hour of Service, offered as the high point of the evening's festivities, the decadent climax of the night. I spent a few minutes in one of the lecture halls and stopped by one of the labs. The research wing was always a popular stop with our patrons, and I wasted a few unhurried moments charming the wealthy and the powerful. There were entertaining demonstrations of truly creative deviance but I didn't linger. One of my support staff was lying in wait for me as I turned the corner into the West Corridor in the southern quadrant. Several new inmates of particular interest had arrived recently and some required a more intensive approach. With a small sigh, I cut short my rounds and headed back to my offices.