Room of Pleasure

Room of Pleasure
Emy Naso
http://emynasoerotica.blogspot.com/

The supplicant next to Caradog sobbed. With his own heavy neck iron clamped to the wall, and wrists and ankles secured so tightly he couldn’t move, he couldn’t see the man’s face. He decided not to offer comfort. Deviant Number 237/TY had no idea if it was permitted and what would he say? He’d never been accused of Transgressing before so how could he offer conciliation to a fellow prisoner for a crime of which he had no knowledge, and a coming punishment that he feared himself.
The water ran down the walls, and rats scurried along the stone edge into the semi-darkness, the only illumination coming from a flickering torch fixed to a rusting bracket opposite Caradog. The glittering flame became his fixation. In it he saw shapes, portents and hope. He couldn’t tell how long he’d been chained and left in these dungeons – he reckoned it to be six hours.
He began to see faces and even signs in the iridescent orange and yellow of the glow. Gasping for water, his feverish mind told him that if the flame cast a shadow long enough to reach the wooden beam it would be an omen that he would be set free. Childish preoccupations continued as he heard footsteps rhythmically clicking in the stone corridor. He recalled being dragged by the two sadistic wardens.
Were they coming to torment him, as they had done when his incarceration started? Light flooded in along the long cell block. The marching started at the far end and slowly got louder.
As five figures got to him, he tried to focus. With the flame behind them, he couldn’t make out their features. Hands grabbed his face and pressed hard on his cheeks.
“Keep your eyes forward Deviant…” someone whispered the details to the officer in charge…”127/TY.”
“Have the charges be read to you?”
“No.”
The stomach punch made him cry out. He would have doubled over with the pain, but the chains and manacles prevented him from moving.
“I am a Bearer Class Five, Deviant, and as such, you will address me as Superior Lady.. Do you understand?”
“Yes…Superior Lady.”
The figure in front of him turned to the four people with her and barked out, “Court H. Bring him at the double.”
Caradog felt the iron neck brace being undone and the shackles on his limbs removed. As he flexed his body to restore feeling, a sharp, incisive pain shot through his side. He staggered back against the wall, knowing instinctively it was a Correction Baton, the deadly electrically charged metal rods used by the guards to demonstrate their authority. It could be set to goad, control, or even kill.
He knew they wanted him to follow the Superior Lady. Two of the guards walked in front of him, and two behind. They approached the open cell door at the end of the long thin room. The light flooded in and he could see the guards were wearing the red uniform of the Interior Police. That wasn’t good news. Society had little rights of justice for Deviants…Interior Police gave them none. These police were above and beyond any law.
“Halt,” called one of the guard. A door opened and Caradog felt the tip of the Correction Baton press against his flesh. It made him sweat, anticipating the shock of current. There was a laugh from the guards. They knew fear itself had as much power as actual punishment. They were amused with the sadistic game.
The door closed. He found himself in another cell, this time small and bare, except for a wooden table in the center. The Superior Lady exited through another door at the far side, turned just before leaving and instructed, “Thirty minutes. That’s all. Then bring him through…after you have finished your investigations.”
Caradog stood, eyes cast down. He knew it would not go well for him to try and outstare the guards. Subservience was a bitter life for those that tried to fight the system. Better to exist and accept.
“I am Captain Gweltani. It says here your designation call is Caradog. Is that correct?”
“Yes, captain.”
“You may look up, Caradog. My sergeant wishes to match your retina pattern with the computer records.”
As his eyes looked into the beaming laser light of the Recograph, he surreptitiously took in the four Interior Police officials. The captain had the white rose emblem on the epaulets of her long, red leather coat. The blue dove insignia showed the sergeant’s rank and the two officers had single yellow leaf motifs. All the women were in their mid-thirties and had the traditional tight fitting silk skull caps covering their shaven heads.
“A match,” the sergeant said in clipped tones.
The captain tapped her Correction Baton in the palm of her left hand and puckered her lips. Caradog looked back down. He didn’t want a correction lash for insubordination. His tattered and filthy tunic contrasted with the immaculate uniforms of the Interior Police.
“You show a great deal of contrition for one who has demonstrated so much insolence,” the captain said in an acerbic manner. She grabbed a piece of paper from one of her officer’s hands and studiously read it.
“Where is your arrogance now, Caradog?” She walked around him and nodded as if she disapproved of a pet dog running away. With her Correction Baton, she lifted the back of his short tunic and gently patted his bare ass. Her juniors restrained from outright bawdy laughter but sniggered.
“Why did you refuse?”
He shrugged. Captain Gweltani signaled to her two officers. They grabbed Caradog’s arms and pushed him flat down over the table. The sergeant roughly ripped at his tunic, exposing his rear. A single crack of the Baton lashed across naked skin.
“Perhaps your answers will be more prompt now,” the captain said cruelly, and sent another whipping stroke across his rear. She gave the baton to the sergeant and strutted superciliously in front of Caradog. Lifting his head up, whilst he was still being held down, she leered at him. “Sergeant Tyowu’s arms are stronger than mine. And she has a reputation for chastisement, which goes beyond viciousness into the realms of sexual brutality.”
Caradog heard the ribald smirks.
“So, let me try again, Deviant. “Why did you refuse a Bearer Class Three?”
“I don’t know.”
“You are aware that any Lady above Class five has the Recognized Right of Selection?”
“Yes.”
“And even a Lady of a lower class has The Right of Pleasure, where a refusal must be for rigidly proscribed reasons.”
“Yes.”
“Well, Caradog of the delectable ass, the question is asked again. Why refuse?”
Her comments elicited a vulgar laugh from the guards. He saw Captain Gweltani gesture to the officers to pull the prisoner up. The superior officer snapped her fingers as if she was summoning food to the table. The subordinate officers pulled Caradog’s tunic over his head and before he could react, brusquely forced his wrists behind him and snapped on handcuffs.
The captain sat on the corner of the table, pursing her lips and making no secret of her inspection of his nakedness.
“Your answer, Deviant?”
“I wasn’t in the mood.”
A silence followed. The captain reacted first. Her eyes rolled and she rocked gently as she perched on the table. Her laughter had a large element of disbelief.
“Mood!” she eventually said incredulously. “I will not remind you of the edicts. That will be for the adjudicator. I am here to investigate. But what is there to examine. You have admitted your Deviancy.”
Gweltani got up and walked over to Caradog and ran her finger down his chest, over his stomach, and let it twist and curl his pubic hair, in a exploratory moment. The captain brought up her wrist and looked at her watch.
“Only ten minutes of our allotted time…and we have the confession. What shall we do with the remainder of this investigation?”
“I don’t think we can disturb the adjudicator,” the sergeant smugly put in.
“Just so, Tyowu.” The captain continued to make patterns with her fingers around Caradog’s lower abdomen.
“What rank of server are you, Deviant?”
“Seven, captain.”
“Seven. You must have pleasured some influential ladies to have gotten so far up in male ranking. What do you think, sergeant? Can you understand how he has attained that status?” Gweltani let her fingers slip lower and feel leisurely from the base of his shaft to the tip. By the time she had reached his folded foreskin his erection began.
“Perhaps this is the reason you have advanced in esteem and rank,” she haughtily laughed and nodded her head in approval, whilst looking at her officers and bathing in her possession of the man’s pleasuring rod.
“Rank has its privileges, Deviant. As the highest ranking Interior Police officer here, I have the Right of Pleasure.” She faced him, pushed against his body and through clenched teeth, bit out the words, “But you will not refuse ME. I intend to take you by force.”
Caradog stifled a cry of anguish as the two officer goaded him with their Correction Batons and he felt a surge of intense pain in his ribs. They held him pinned to the wall. He knew fighting was useless. Submission had been taught since very young.
Captain Gweltani undid her long leather coat, and let it slide off her shoulders. She wore the plain cotton shift favored by so many Prime Females who had Rights of Pleasure. The simple dress had become a symbol of predatory women. With one hand, the boss-lady pushed up her shift so her body from loins to breasts were displayed. She could have taken Caradog without any nudity but this showed she demanded his total arousal and response.
Gweltani rubbed her body against Caradog, massaging his shaft until it was upright. She raised herself on tiptoe, directed his manhood against her mound and let the sensation precipitate her juices. Her mouth bit gentle around his neck and with a pelvic thrust urged him into her. A few gyrations and she panted to her officers, “Stand back and watch. He will not resist.”
Gweltani took Caradog’s hands and brought them to cup her rear cheeks, and pull her onto his probe.
“Not so truculent now, are you Caradog.” The captain leaned back and holding him around the neck, thrust her hips with the beginning of passion.
“My junior officers would love to have you,” she groaned lasciviously. The sergeant nudged one of the guards and licked her lips suggestively.
“He’s getting worked up,” Gweltani panted, relishing her possession of the prisoner and the obvious desires of her officers.
“Shall I show them your power, Deviant?” The captain didn’t wait for his answer. She wasn’t trained to consider a Provider’s emotions.
With quick jerks, she brought him to an uncontrollable precipice, slipped away from him, and in his final moments of ejaculation, took him over the edge. His hot eruption coated her pubic triangle, glistening in its sticky film against the black curls of her abdomen.
“Well, sergeant, by rank he is yours next,” the Captain said contemptuously as she adjusted her tunic and put her long red coat back on. As Tyowu moved toward Caradog, the door opened. A woman in a black gown stood looking at the scene, coughed to dismiss any interest in what had happened and said softly, “The adjudicator is ready for Deviant 127/TY. Attire him correctly and bring him in.”
When the door shut, the sergeant went over to Caradog and with her Correction Baton, cracked his naked thigh and growled low, “Don’t think this has saved you. Once your trial is over, I’ll be going through the records to see where they’ve sent you. One night there’ll be a knock at your cell door and it will be me. And let this dwell in your mind, you low life Provider, when I come for my pleasure, you will feel both passion and pain.”
“Sergeant, get the prisoner ready,” the captain ordered. One of the guards threw Caradog a long white linen tunic. As soon as her had slipped it on, he was marched into the next room. The guards saluted to someone in the body of this larger room, and locked the door, leaving Caradog standing in a small caged area.
His eyes surveyed around, making sure the glance was submissive and not challenging or audacious. Just below his cage were a line of six guards, standing to attention. Each of the women held a Correction Baton, lowered in acknowledgment of the Retribution Court. Opposite sat three adjudicators. The central judge had long white hair. She was probably in her seventies, but had a severe and noble face. She was flanked on either side by two women, slightly younger. In session they made up the Trio of Sentence. In the perfect silence, only the low hum of a computer emitting a beam and shining blankly on a large screen could be heard.
In front of the Trio of Sentence, at a desk, sat three women, dressed in purple robes and wearing the conical hats of court officials. One of them rose.
“To the Supreme Adjudicator and Past Regal Bearer Class One, we greet you.” The center woman on the raised dais nodded her head to accept the honored salutation.
The court official continued. “Deviant 127/TY. Charged that he, as a Provider, refused a Lady of Class Five the Right of Selection.”
“Are the Lady’s credentials on record?” the senior adjudicator asked. The computer whirled into full life and the information projected onto the screen.
“What class is this Provider?” one of the other adjudicators directed at the court official.
“Class Seven.”
“And his past performance ratings?”
More figures appeared on the screen.
“Read them out. When you are my age everything is not always clear.” The senior woman judge’s remark was more wearily said than with any impatience. The official nodded. “He is twenty seven, and has a designated name of Caradog. Since reaching Providing age he has been thirty eight times recorded as a kept-male in Selection. Naturally, we have no record of the number of informal unions he has been requested to bestow in the Rights of Pleasure.”
The three adjudicators scrutinized the written documents in front of them.
“His genetic profile?” The white hair senior judge nodded rhythmically as she spoke.
The court official pressed a key and the records appeared. She knew the next question, so anticipating it, read aloud.
“Ninety-eight percent for genetic precision, with sixteen progenies resulting from unions.”
“How many male-children?”
“Five.”
Even in a solemn adjudicators court there was an audible murmur of appreciation.
“What about psychological testing?” A secondary adjudicator asked.
“We have left those records till last, Lady Tribune. May we request the permission of the Trio of Sentence that I ask my guards to clear the court during the presentation of this information.”
“For what reason,” the senior adjudicator asked quizzically.
“State security and public order,” the answer snapped back.
After five minutes consultation, the order was given and the hidden public gallery cleared.
“Now, present this data,” the adjudicator commanded.
“I would like to read it aloud, your Highest Tribune, as I feel it should not be set down in the written records.” The court official walked from her desk and approached the dais. She looked up at the combined majesty of the adjudicators, and it was with obvious reluctance that she began.
“There are four reports at Central Provider Information of this male refusing the request of either a demand under the Rights of Selection or Pleasure. One filed complaint came from a Class One Prime Female.”
The face of the senior adjudicator lost its composure. “Why has this Provider not been brought before this court before. These heinous and flagrant disregards for edicts must be punished and corrective treatment carried out.”
The court official shuffled uneasily. “We understand from our investigations that the Provider known as Caradog spoke to the Bearers of these transgressions and persuaded them not to substantiate the charges.”
“Persuaded!” the grand adjudicator almost chocked. “Providers have no place to persuade. Next we will have the words, feelings and love creeping in to society.” She held up her hand to stop the official proceeding. “We have heard enough. Call the captain of the Interior Police.”
Within a few seconds, Captain Gweltani marched smartly in, saluted, and faced the adjudicator.
“In your interrogation did the Provider exhibit any physical abnormalities?”
“No, Highest Tribute. The male was put to the test as you requested.”
“And?”
“His responses were carnal”
“No dysfunctional reactions?”
“His penetration was a willingly act.”
“The termination?”
“His sperm came without restrictions. We have analyzed specimens where he erupted onto my abdomen.”
“The results?”
“High-grade and still in the ninety-eight percent levels.”
The adjudicator waved the captain away. With a snap of her heels and an exaggerated respectful saluted, Gwaltani marched off.
More discussions took place in a secret huddle of heads. Eventually the senior adjudicator looked up, took hold of the square soft hat sitting on a stand and placed it on her head. She stared hard at Caradog and with quivering voice announced.
“We must make an example of you. Society is precious to all thinking Prime Females and Past Bearers. Balance, harmony, and order must be maintained. Most of all the hegemony of this Female civilization, will, and must, be preserved. It is the decision of this Retribution Court that you be sent to the Room of Pleasure.”
Like a fable, a story from the mists of time, a byword for ultimate punishment, the Room of Pleasure, struck awesome terror in the mind. If there had been truth known about this place, the horror could have been qualified. Since the early days of the edicts and new constitution, this punishment was feared by all males. In the darkness of their own slave society they whispered about its existence. Tales grew up…but none were sure. One thing was certain. No one returned. Yet it wasn’t death that caused the dread. Males only retained one independence, and that was of their private thoughts. Rumors spoke of the brain altering punishments, the secret devises the Room of Pleasure had at its disposal. Sentenced to their care meant the final surrender.
The door opened behind Caradog’s cage. He felt the hands of guards on his shoulders and the soft evil voice of sergeant Tyowu.
“The prisoner will be transferred to the Tower of Routes in three days times,” the senior adjudicator said. Hold the deviant safely until that time, sergeant.”
Caradog was bundled out of the court. Tyowu and the two guards of the Interior Police prodded him into a corner with their Correction Batons. The sergeant took out her knife from the belt of her long coat and with one expertly executed slash, ripped away Caradog’s white tunic. She tapped his manhood with her Baton and snarled cruelly, “Three days, Deviant. Let your imagination run wild and even then you will not get near to the acts and degradation we are going to inflict on you.”

~*~

The metal cup tipped over and Caradog cursed. His dry tongue needed the water. No point in calling the guards. He’d had enough of their treatment. The Deviant had no idea how long he’d been in the Interior Police custody. If someone had said one day or one year he would have agreed to either if it gave him rest.
His hands were manacled with wrist irons and a short length of chain, just long enough for him to pull apart the meager bread rations the guards had mockingly thrown on the floor. A chain encased one ankle and held him securely to within five feet of the wall. The cell was dark. Noises of scampering rats were everywhere. Occasionally, he heard the cries of prisoners in other cells.
He tried to blot out what had happened to him. The guards took their pleasure, and his training and instinct as a Provider gave him courage to forebear, even though he would have preferred much of the initiative to have been his. Sergeant Tyowu’s demands and predilections were sadistic and she took delight in humiliation. To suffer the degradation in privacy at the whim of a Prime Female wasn’t unusual in his experience. But Tyowa took her sexual delights in his public displays. The last time she had insisted on his body, it ended in her sharing him amongst a group who had witnesses the debauch lewdness of her gratification.
Caradog sat up quickly and his body stiffened. The lock on the cell door clanked and he strained to see who had come to claim his favors. It wasn’t the Interior Police guards. Two female soldiers of the Edict Council, dressed in their satin blue tunics and jerkins, stood to attention at the open door as the light from outside flooded in. Besides them was a small woman, dark hair and penetrating hazel eyes. She held a file in her hand. Prim spectacles rested on her aquiline nose and she looked down, first at the file, then to Caradog.
“Caradog of Tessler?”
He nodded, then wondered if it would be taken as dumb insolence. The woman didn’t react. He even detected a faint smile.
“Come with me.”
The two soldiers walked slowly on either side of him. He noticed that the woman leading the group limped and their pace was in deference to her disability. The stately procession took them out of the prisoner compound to a waiting carriage. It was a sleek , luxurious model, sitting stylishly on the private tracks used by Council Leaders, with access to the uncrowned route system. Even going on the public freeway, carriages were a rarity for males, unless they were being transported to serve a Prime Female. The soldiers led Caradog into the rear of the carriage and he sat between them as the Edict Council official took her place in the front section. She spoke to the computer prompt and the carriage sped off at an alarming speed. Skimming through the subways, they arrived at a large hall like structure. The four disembarked and were met by a troop of twenty blue satin dressed soldiers.
“This way, Caradog the official beckoned.” He found himself in a smaller room, tiled with beautiful mosaics in pastel colors. They covered walls, floor and ceiling. In the center stood a circular disk.
“Take those prison clothes off and stand in the middle of the round cleansing area,” she instructed quietly with an authority, which was natural and calm.
As Caradog slipped the rags off, he carefully watched the three women’s reactions. Was this an elaborate and more sophisticated sexual humiliation ritual? The soldier’s faces showed no emotions.
He stood naked in the circle. The official nodded her head. A transparent cylinder came down, enclosing Caradog. Then water showered down on him, cleaning away the grime of his incarceration. This was followed by drying air and perfumed sprays. When the cylinder went back up, the two soldiers stepped forward and handed him a purple tunic and leather sandals. He dressed and waited for someone to speak.
The soldiers brought a single chair into the room, saluted and left. The elderly woman hobbled up and sat down, looking at Caradog.
“In a few moments, I will lead you to the Tower of Dreams. Then you are on your own. You must climb to the very top until you reach the Room of Pleasure. Your presence in this society disturbs the balance we have carefully created.”
She got up and held out her hand. Caradog took it and they walked out of the room, and into an arched corridor. Stepping onto a moving floor, they glided effortlessly for what Caradog calculated to be nearly an hour. All along the corridor were vivid scenes from the world he had experienced.
“We are here,” she said as the moving belt came to a halt. She escorted him out into a glass domed chamber. He saw above him a metal ladder, going up, it seemed, to infinity.
“There is your route. Do not try to turn back. The central computers will monitor you and are programmed to administer a lethal gas toxin if you climb down. As the Lady of the Verdict it is my duty to say we do not want you to return…unless your sins are purged. That would be such a monumental and horrendous task that I doubt you will come back.” She took off her spectacles and put them fastidiously into a small black case. Then she took out a document, rolled and tied with a silk ribbon. She offered it, and he took the scroll.
“Your permit when you reach the Room of Pleasure. Without it, you will be killed instantly. With it, you…” she lowered her eyes…”Well, let us leave it there.”
Then she moved closer to Caradog. “That is my painful duty completely. You are a strange and…exciting Provider.” She kissed him, pressing her body so close he could feel the curves and passion in the single embrace. Then, quickly, without looking back, she stepped on the travelator and left him at the foot of the Tower of Dreams.

~*~

After almost two hours climbing, Caradog decided he would have to rest at one of the small platforms which he passed every so often. Tentatively, he put a foot on the metal landing, fearing a sudden bolt of electricity or noxious gas, warning him to keep on going. Neither occurred.
He huddles precariously on the small ledge and rested his head back against the metal lining of the Tower. Somewhere far below him, he heard the transmitted reverberations of the world from which he had been expelled. He listened to the mechanical buzz of automatic carriages and the heart beat of a society. The layer upon layer of the huge metropolis had been security build thousands of feet below the hostile planet, and now that cold, inhospitable Outside Environ was but a tale to scare the inhabitants.
Caradog ran his finger down the metal Tower walls and felt the moisture. He licked his finger and the cool condensation felt good. The only lights were small blue bulbs set into the solid Tower every twenty yards. Their eerie glow gave his skin a sallow cold look and in the hazy reflection of the metal, he saw the bruises on his cheeks, inflicted by the treatment of the Interior Police.
For just a moment, he contemplated sitting on the ledge and letting death come to him. Neither starvation or a dramatic fall appealed to his nature. He got up and went on with his ever upward climb.
He gauged another two hours had passed. The lights got less and somewhere in the distance above him he felt he could see a faint patch of bright blue. Then he became convinced it wasn’t a mirage caused by his lack of food and rest. There before him was the dome of the Tower of Dreams. He had almost reached the top. The Room of Pleasure must be near.
Caradog took the final step and walked out onto a large platform. All the way up the Tower had been uniform in diameter. He was puzzled, because now the space seemed to have grown, yet when he looked down, he could not see where and how the Tower had become greater in size. The blue light now covered everything. Looking around he froze. In the middle, at the end of the landing, was a single dark green door. Dread racked his mind and body. This must be where his final awful punishment was to take place.
If he stood here and didn’t enter, what would happen? Caradog decided to face the future, rather than cower away. If he was to die, let it be looking boldly at the fates.
He opened the door…and fell, trembling to the floor. His whole being became paralyzed with a fear. He staggered to his knees with hands covering his eyes. Caradog wanted to look…but dare not.
“Have you your Sentence Scroll?”
The voice came at him but he couldn’t, mustn’t, open his eyes. He stuck out a hand with the scroll, still tied in the satin ribbon. He heard it being unrolled.
“Get up.” The command couldn’t be ignored. “I will turn out the light. Then perhaps you will look at your Pleasure Mistress.” Even through his closed eyelids he could tell the blinding light was being dimmed.
Apprehensively Caradog looked up from his kneeling position. In front of him, by the now dark wall, stood a young Prime Female. She had her back to him and still read the scroll. The lady was the most exquisite Mistress he’d ever seen. Dressed in a tight jerkin top and minimal thong, her olive skin and jet black hair gave her an exotic, sensuous appeal to his mind. He had become used to Providers displaying for the dominant females. Here was a gorgeous Prime Female dressed alluring as if to tantalize his senses. Most of her rounded rear was naked to his glance. Her hips and waist were like a perfect statue, conceived in desire and carved in passion.
She turned and her smile made him look away.
He had risen from the kneeling position. She walked around him, whip in hand, first studying the scroll then nodding her head and taking in his physique .
“Your crimes are severe.” she said. He dutifully lowered his head as if in shame. The lady lifted his head with the end of the whip.
“Caradog, listen to me. When I talk to you, answer. When it is time to submit, I will make it plain. Do you understand?”
“Yes, mistress.”
“My name is Blodeuwedd. We have much to discover before your punishment is decided. When you are bound to my will, then you will call me Pleasure Mistress. Until that endless moment of your sensual destruction, you will address me by my given name.”
As she strolled around the room, he tried to keep still. Caradog became confused by the situation. He was the Provider…yet he could sense her sexual aura, almost feel it and smell the scent of this Prime Female. This isn’t how it should be. These was not the ways.
“Your crime has horrified The Council. Do you know why you refused the lady the Right of Selection?”
“No, Mist…Blodeuwedd.”
“That is not a truthful answer. Remember, Caradog, you are in the Room of Pleasure. All your thoughts are known. I ask these questions, not to learn the answers, but to test and find out how you can be corrected.”
“You like my body?” Her question took him by surprise. Why did a Prime Female ask him? It wasn’t necessary. She was young, maybe twenty one, he surmised. Rank unknown, but if she didn’t have the Right of Selection she would, by her female status have Right of Pleasure.”
“You have not answered, Caradog…and I require you to do so.” he stuttered for words.
The whip cracked down with sudden and unexpected ferocity across his hip. It ripped the tunic so it hung in shreds.
“Is that what motivates you, Deviant. Do you like your Prime Females to treat you cruelly? We have for as long as it takes to find what is in your sensual soul…if anything.”
Caradog stole a look into her eyes. Dark pools of liquid mystery stared back at him. He bits his lips in a nervous gesture. This Prime Female made him scared, yet excited him.
He felt another crack of the whip, this time across his shoulder.
“Your sullenness angers me, Caradog. Take off that tunic.”
It was a request he had received many times from females who’d exercised the Right of Selection or Pleasure. From Blodeuwedd, it made him tremble.
He disrobed and tried to see her reactions. The Mistress of Pleasure’s face stayed stony passive.
“You have undressed many females. Do so to me.”
She faced him so he could unlace the front of her jerkin. He tried to be just a Provider. It was difficult. The sight of her breasts made him salivate. She haughtily pointed to her thong. Caradog pulled it down over her hips. She tapped him on the head. He knelt and went on slipping the garment to her ankles, where she stepped out of it.
“Now come here while I question you, she casually indicated.
“Is my face pretty?”
He was going to just nod, then remembered the angry sting of the whip, and managed a, “Yes.”
“My breasts?”
“They are lovely…Blodeuwedd.”
“Have your thoughts dwelt on my zone of moist weeping?”
He’s throat went dry. She walked nearer and smiling sardonically, overtly looked at his rising erection. “I don’t think we need a computer brain pattern analysis to know the answer to that…do we Caradog? When you first came into the room and saw me, what did your mind say to you?”
“I was blinded by some brilliant light.”
“And after, when I came into focus?”
“I thought you were very pretty.”
She stroked and fondled his uprightness. “That is an answer of a servile Provider. Shall I tell you what your Deviant mind thought? You didn’t wait for a superior Prime Female to indicate her desires…you lusted, Caradog. Your abnormal thoughts saw the fullness of my displayed rear cheeks and you wanted to rip my thong away, bend me to your will and like an animal, gorge your manhood into my vagina.”
“I didn’t…”
“Stop, Deviant. I do not want your excuses. Now you will call me Mistress Pleasure. Your punishment is about to begin.”

~*~

That same unbearable light blinded his eyes and senses. He tried to cover his face but couldn’t. Caradog’s arms were pinned back behind him. The rope cut into his wrists. Then the light ceased. All went dark. Slowly he opened his eyes. Blodeuwedd stood above him. She was dressed in her jerkin and thong. He knelt on the floor, naked and sore. The Mistress of Pleasure approached him, her long legs, firm thighs and barely concealed loins before his gaze.
“Stand, Deviant.”
Struggling to gain his feet, with hands tied behind his back, Caradog staggered up. He felt a thick iron brace around his neck. Blodeuwedd grabbed it and led him like a dog on a leash to one wall. She shouted a command he didn’t understand, and the wall became a sheet of mirrors.
“Look, Provider.”
He stared at his body. There were bruises on his neck, chest, and as she tuned him around, on his shoulders. Straight red lines marked his rear.
“You are a stubborn prisoner, Caradog. And a strange one. My punishment has been severe, yet your mind pretends not to know what I have done to you. Do you understand why you have been sent to the Room of Pleasure?”
“For refusing to be the plaything of a Prime Female.”
“Good, Deviant. We make progress. And why have the Edicts been passed for Prime Females to have the Rights of Selection and Pleasure?”
“Because our world is cursed.”
She pushed him down to his knees again, and her laugh echoed in the empty room.
“Cursed, he calls it. For thousands of years our scientists have tried to discover why so many male children are born sterile, and the ratio of births has gone on swinging toward females. Now we have a society where males are a commodity that must be shared. It has been ordained that the few males that are potent MUST be available. Do you comprehend?”
“Yes, Mistress Pleasure.”
She helped him back to his feet and gently untied his hands and unlocked the iron brace. She held his hand and led him to the opposite wall.
“Your independence has frightened the Council,” she almost whispered in his ear. “Tell me, Caradog, why do you think I am here in the Room of Pleasure?”
“Because you must punish the deviants.”
She laughed, but this time it was filled with a certain pity. He sensed her undressing. She pushed her naked body against his back. He loved the feel of her soft breasts and warm triangle. Its rich, deep covering of pubic hair gave promise and comfort.
“Listen my Caradog. I was sent here because my mind was also considered deviant. I loved…yes, loved…not wanted or demanded. Our punishment is mutual.
Blodeuwedd leaned over to a switch and press it. Steel shutters on the wall sprang back and the light hit him.
“Don’t flinch, Caradog. Look. It is the Outside Environ. The sun is beating down. There are no tunnels, no edicts, no ranks…only a freedom. Do you want that, Caradog? Do you want that with me?”