A plague has devastated the world’s society and the government that’s left realizes the necessity of rebuilding the population. The few women who survive are enslaved – sold and traded and bred. Owned by their male relatives, they are punished severely for any misdeed – real or perceived.
Prima is such a woman, bought and paid for by Joseph: a man who intends to get full use of her, in every conceivable way.
Prima is, technically, a post-nuclear (post-plague) genre story that contains extremely harsh, non-consensual scenes of BDSM, anal, and the occasional touch of ageplay. This is one of our "Dungeon" selections, which is given to a few of our most explicit and severe stories. It may not appeal to all readers.
She was his. He stared
at the faded black and white picture that stared boldly back at him from the
computer screen. His woman.
Not by any word of his
own or hers, nor of any solemn declaration before a person of religious stature.
Legally, it was true, though. He had the email bill of sale, which stated
the obscene amount he had paid for her in fuel, batteries, and generators.
He owned her; short of death she was his to do with as he pleased . . . and
the State pleased that he should impregnate her.
Well, if that happened,
he thought, it happened, although he wasn’t sure he could sire a child,
and at her age he wasn’t sure she could conceive one, either.
It had been the ad that
had intrigued him while he was casually surfing what now passed for the World
Wide Web. In truth it had almost reverted to its origins as a method of communication
between small clusters of universities and governmental workers. Nowadays,
since the Cultural Retrofit – as he liked to call it with dark humor
– it was a connection between clusters of survivors around the world, spotty
at best and rife with talk of insurrection, revolution, and, of course, tons
Like roaches, spam survived
What had caught his eye
was not that the solicitation was flashy; it almost consciously wasn’t.
He had been casually surfing in the eBay listings for a woman, not thinking
to find one he particularly wanted in this day and age. He thought they were
all too young, with chronoages of twelve and thirteen or even younger, staring
out at him with big, frightened eyes.
But this one was different.
The ad was wistfully sad and disillusioned. The author was obviously reluctant
to give up his treasure, only – unlike the rest of the world currently
– it was abundantly clear that he did not look on this female as merely
a commodity to be sold for great financial reward.
The man shook his head.
Women were at a premium now, and fairly scarce. As had happened so many times
in history after a devastating plague, society had returned to its patriarchal
roots and women were relegated to lives as virtual slaves. Although this time
it was worse than slavery. No “freed slave” status existed for
a female in this new world. They were valued for their ability to produce
children, and were expected to do so from an appallingly early age for whatever
man – or in some cases, men – their father/uncle/brother sold them to.
Females no longer had any rights – Joseph was old enough in chronoyears
to remember the Before Time, the time of the SuperMom and the SoccerMom, when
women were women and men ran scared.
Well, the Plague had put
an end to that. The ERA was long, long dead, he chuckled to himself. The pendulum
had swung back with a vengeance, and women were in a worse situation now than
they probably ever had been in the past – true and utter slaves with
only one law that protected them: anyone whose actions resulted in the death
of a woman of childbearing age – even by accident – would be killed.
Killing a pregnant woman meant a slow, public death by torture.
No, the seller in this
ad was obviously what had once been known as a doting father, who probably
found himself in dire need of money to fund a Patch habit, or who owed bad
debts incurred in the Circus Caesarea, betting dearly gotten meager wages
on when – if – a pregnant slave would miscarry, miscarriages being
so much more common in this day and age than live births.
Beyond the sheer magnitude
of the price, a lot of bidders were probably put off by several questions
they were required to answer in order to be considered, regardless of the
size of their bid. Questioning a man’s qualifications to own a woman
was unheard of; the only requirements were that he has the goods to back his
bid if he won. But Joseph answered the queries truthfully – they were,
as he’d expected, inquiries about his philosophies regarding the treatment
of women as well as about his financial stability, and whether or not he owned
a home or a vehicle.
Still, there was something
about her that tugged at his heart, which he ruthlessly suppressed. In some
ways, he had always subscribed to the current philosophy that a woman was
to be treated much as a child – kindly, and with care for her worth
– but strictly. The days of children being put in “time outs”
or being restricted to a room full of toys were officially over, and Joseph
heartily concurred with that. Nowadays, a wide range of spanking and punishment
implements were available in nearly any retail establishment, even the corner
store, and no man ever hesitated to physically correct either his child or
his woman, regardless of where they were. As women were never given any money,
no woman would ever technically own an implement and they were not even allowed
to discipline the children within their care. Joseph smiled wryly. It was
much more likely that the well-made and readily available straps, tawses,
canes, hairbrushes, and paddles owned the woman, making her dance to their
terrible, stinging tunes at the slightest inclination of her owner.
His woman, though, would
be well-cared for, even coddled to a certain extent, especially in comparison
to many of her sisters in slavery. Although his house was extremely isolated
up in the hills, he was a wealthy man for these times, and owned a field of
generators that had become a premium in the After Time, which he rented out
as one part of many lucrative pies he had his big, thick fingers in. His house
was considered humongous – three bedrooms and he was the only occupant.
That was practically unheard of nowadays, but he had electricity to burn,
and he did. He owned one of the few automobiles that were still functional,
due mainly to his incessant puttering. Gas was free for the taking to those
who were willing to siphon it from the underground storage tanks of old gas
stations – fewer people used it any longer – generally those who
did would be considered rich now. They were unwilling to get themselves dirty
retrieving it, so he had become all too willing to support their habit with
a little elbow grease, and charge them exorbitantly for the honor. Funny,
though, he still carried his old Texaco and Exxon credit cards in his wallet
as reminders of the old days.
He would see to his woman’s
every physical need – and would scrupulously attend to some needs she
likely didn’t know she had. The ad had made a bold claim – that
she was twenty-nine years old, uncut, and a State Certified virgin –
license number available upon request. The first two statements may well have
driven off a lot of potential bidders, but the last may have made some of
them reconsider. A twenty-nine year old virgin. Unheard of, even in the Before
Time! As to her uncut status, the State now practiced female circumcision
at birth as readily as it had male circumcision in the nineteen-fifties. It
was only the older women who could enjoy sex nowadays, and the woman’s
age had probably worked for her in that she had not been cut since. It would
be unwise for even the state to risk the possibility of killing a woman of
was thirty-eight, although he was well beyond that now. He didn’t need
or want a mindless, tittering twelve-year-old passing for a woman in his house
or his bed. The ad had raised the hairs on the back of his neck when he’d
read it, and he had frankly questioned its validity. It sounded a little too
damned good to be true. So he called in a couple of favors from people he
knew who were not as law abiding as he was, and found out the whole story:
the seller was an old man; it was his oldest daughter that he had to sell.
He’d been right that the man had not wanted to part with the girl; she’d
been his caretaker for many years. But he was reaching his End Time, and wanted
to see her safely placed. This was the only way he’d known how to do
And Joseph’s bid
had won – it should have, considering how large it was. He shook his
head thoughtfully and hoped she proved worth it. If she was anything less
than what the ad said, however, he would be well within his rights to bring
charges against the old man that would likely result in his meeting his maker
even earlier than he’d planned.
He’d know in a few
hours. Female Express was bringing her to him. He’d paid extra to have
her sent that way, and handled as “Fragile” as opposed to merely
stuffed into a cattle-car with fifty or so other women, driven into what passed
for a town and left, where she could easily be stolen. FemExpress would deliver
her to his doorstep, and he would be able to see whether or not they had treated
her as he’d requested before he signed for her, before the delivery
man unlocked their special neon orange travel bracelets from her wrists.
A loud knock interrupted
his reverie. When he opened the front door, the first thing he noticed was
that the picture on the Internet had not done her justice. She was lovely.
Not one to miss anything, he also took in the angry blue bruises beneath the
tight cuffs, and the way the label “Fragile” had been plastered
all over her faded blue cotton shift, so that there was barely any material
showing through the warnings. Betraying her training, her eyes met his for
a fleeting second before she looked down as she was required to. But in that
tiny second he had read her thoughts and feelings with amazing accuracy: fear
and uncertainty, stubbornness and bravery all at the same time.
As a man, even during
the sickness and resolution and rebuilding, he had always been in control
of his fate, his life. No one, not even his best boss in the Before Time,
had really ever been able to tell him what to do. There were too many other
opportunities, and when none had readily presented themselves he had made
his own. How horrible it must be to have known such freedom as she had had,
only to have it cruelly yanked away from her. Whatever – whoever she
had been – nun, prostitute, CEO, or stay-at-home mom, she had become
the property of either her husband, her father, or her nearest male relative
within a matter of months after the devastation of the Plague. And he could
do with her as he saw fit – short of killing her. There was precious
little in her life that was actually within her control, and this situation
was entirely out of it.
The armed guard asked
him the required question: “Do you assume responsibility for this woman
and any children you might breed on her?”
When he stated clearly,
“I do,” the young man reclaimed the bracelets with absolutely
no care for her at all, winked at Joseph, and patted the woman familiarly
on her bottom before turning to leave. Anger burned through him so quickly
that he didn’t think but merely reacted, pulling the girl behind him
and into his house in almost the same movement as he flattened the cocky asshole
with one vicious punch.
Joseph was no lightweight.
He had been trained to fight in a short stint in the military, and had found
he had a knack for it despite his considerable size. When he’d boxed,
it was as a heavyweight; there was no mistaking the bulk of those muscles,
and a smart man would take it as a silent warning that they were visible even
under the rough cloth of his shirt.
But no one had ever accused
Female Express of hiring geniuses.
The embarrassed young
man decided against striking back at the big behemoth, instead scrambling
back to his truck and peeling out on the rough dirt driveway.
She forgot herself again
and met his eyes with her big round ones, remembering a second later that
she wasn’t allowed to do that, lowering them modestly to the ground.
Joseph did not bother correcting her for something he considered at this stage
to be a normal impulse, and moved into the living room, closing the door behind
them. He noticed that she had her hands clasped behind her, rubbing her wrists
Joseph ordered gruffly, “Follow me.” It was probably an unnecessary
statement, as a woman was required by law to walk several paces behind the
man that owned her, but he didn’t want to get to the kitchen and find
she was still standing by the door with that sad, lost look. She complied
obediently, watching his every move as he dug around in the old chest freezer
and came up with a couple of big bags of frozen vegetables – one corn, one
peas. He could see her curiosity was piqued, but she held her tongue.
Joseph pulled a chair
out from the eat-in kitchen table, commanding, “Sit.”
Again, she did exactly
as she was told without a moment’s hesitation. Her hands lay in her
lap until he reached for them, the gentleness of his touch belying his size.
She’d seen him deck that man with one well-aimed punch, but he was handling
her like she was fine china, arranging her arms in front of her on the table
then draping cold bags of veggies over each wrist. She started at the cold
and would have pulled her hands away, but his sharp command to be still made
She was biting her lip
and looking frightened again when there was no need, so he began to talk to
her as if he was talking to one of the animals he used to train when he was
in the K-9 Corp of the Air Force. “Give it a few minutes on each side.
It’ll help reduce the swelling.” That was why the cuffs were so
tight. Joseph grimaced at the raw red and blue scrapes on her delicate flesh.
She was so white he could see the tiny veins beneath her skin. If he’d
had that deliveryman in front of him after he’d had a chance to examine
the evidence of her mistreatment more closely, the asshole wouldn’t
have gotten away so easily.
No one touched or damaged
his property. Ever.
He almost couldn’t
believe she was here; his eyes trying to look everywhere on her at once, her
eyes trying to look anywhere but at him. Suddenly, he asked, “What’s
she answered quietly. Her voice was soft and strong. He had forgotten how
pleasant a woman’s voice was.
The usual name for a first
daughter. Joseph sat back and considered this, watching her closely. “What
is your real name?” his voice was low and soft as he asked the illegal
question, though he hardly had fear of legal reprisals within his own fortress.
When she bit her lip he
knew what thought was running through her head from the re-education training
she had undoubtedly received: you are nothing but what we men make you. Your
name is what we say it is. To answer with anything else is to be punished,
immediately and severely.
“Prima, you don’t
know me, but I am a man of my word, and I am telling you that you will not
be punished for answering me truthfully.”
That lip was going to
need ice shortly, too, if she didn’t stop gnawing on it. “Sir
Joseph shifted lazily
in his chair, never taking his eyes off her. “I will not punish you
for answering me, Prima, but I will punish you for not answering me.”
A second passed, and then another. “I will not wait forever.”
It was not delivered as a threat, merely a statement of fact. If she did not
obey him, he would punish her. Action and consequence. Relentless consistency.
Even in the Before Time, Joseph had found women who appreciated his philosophy.
“M -my name was
Katherine. Katherine Marie Cassidy, Sir.” It had been so long since
she’d mouthed her own name it truly sounded like someone else’s.
A small smile played about
his lips. “Very good, my girl. Next time, though, I will not be as patient.”
Joseph rose and began walking down the hall towards his bedroom. “Come.”
Prima almost had to run
to catch up with his long strides, but remained a respectful distance behind
him until he walked into his bedroom and motioned her inside. He could tell
by the fearful expression on her face that she thought he was going to expect
her to service him now, only a few minutes after they’d met, as would
be his right as her owner. But he was not about to set the precedent of explaining
himself to her. He would demand her obedience to his commands, regardless
of whether she understood his intent.
She came forward and he
pushed the door closed but not latched behind her, then said casually as he
ducked into his bathroom, “Strip.”
Alert to her expressions
and sounds like he’d never been to any other woman, Joseph heard her
sharply indrawn breath as he grabbed what he needed and returned to her. He
wondered if she would comply or rebel.
He was pleased that she
had done as he’d asked, and his breath was literally taken away by her
pale golden beauty. Although the rest of current culture might lean towards
taking a girl to bed, Joseph much preferred a woman, a woman like Prima, who
was softly rounded in all the right places, almost overly full breasts with
largish, taut pink nipples and . . . a hair covered mound.
Joseph frowned. That was
highly illegal, and would have to go, although he would require that she keep
herself hairless because of his own preferences, not the State’s. “Turn
around.” When she blushed, her whole body suffused with a light pink
glow – probably close to that of what she would be like if she were
to be bred – but she did as she was told and would have turned all the
way back around but he commanded her to stop when she had her bottom to him,
making her blush all that more acutely.
A woman’s bottom
was truly a thing of beauty, Joseph thought, and Prima’s was as overly
generous as her beautiful breasts. It fairly begged for the kiss of the strap
or cane, or anything else he could – and would – use on it, including
his own two lips.
The rampaging spike in
his pants nearly exploded as he stood and stared at her wonderful perfection,
imagining all the ways he was going to punish that lovely bottom. Why, he
could almost hear her cries now of how she’d be better behaved, pleas
for him to stop that would go entirely unheeded, screams and sobs that would
be music to his ears.
lovely,” he complimented. Joseph put a box next to him as he sat on
the far side of the bed and patted his leg. “Lay over my lap.”
Prima had never felt more
vulnerable and exposed in her life. The man who owned her was fully clothed,
she was in his house totally naked and subject to anything he would do to
her with absolutely no recourse. There was nothing she could do but obey him,
so she did, draping herself over the trunks of his thighs, feeling the rough
denim and scratchy wool of his clothing prickling her sensitive skin. A broad
palm rested on her vulnerable cheeks, but he did not hit her as she expected,
although she tensed when the hand was removed. Instead she heard something
being unwrapped, and then he was positioning her far leg out and away from
its twin, deliberately exposing her most private, secret area.
tried to close her legs against his grip, but only received two viciously
hard smacks to each of her wobbling bottom cheeks for her troubles. “No,”
Joseph said sharply.
Her head was practically
touching the floor, and she had to grab his leg, upside down, after he spanked
her to keep her balance. Her small voice drifted up to him. “I’m
Soothingly, Joseph crooned
rubbing her bottom gently, “That’s okay, my girl. You’ll
learn quickly enough. I want you to relax now while I give you some pain medicine
to help your wrists feel better, then I’m going to put you down for
a nap. You must be exhausted after your trip.”
Medicine? Prima wondered.
The only kind of medicine she’d ever had applied in the area he was
now examining was an enema – which was a most unpleasant experience
despite the fact that it usually stirred uncomfortably embarrassing feelings
in her that she had absolutely no interest in exploring.
Before she knew it, he
was pressing a large something against the entrance to her bottom hole, while
issuing a firm command to be still, which she only partially succeeded in
obeying. The intruder was soft and slippery, expanding her rosette uncomfortably
as he administered it, watching it pop inside her while practically salivating
all over her. Prima jerked suddenly when his middle finger, coated with something
slippery, followed the suppository’s path, boldly pressing inside her
to adjust the position of the little bullet so that it was lodged deeply in
he soothed, moving his finger around as he rubbed the small of her back, ke