The Order Of New America free porn video

This is a long story coming in installments. Although it has its graphic moments, description of sexual acts and torture, it has a full plot of its own and doesn’t run through it.

If you’re offended by strong depictions of domination, slavery and torture I invite you to not read further.

I hope you enjoy reading the story as much as I did in writing it.

Elago [email protected]

Prologue: a visit to Rashbelt

In the small town of Rashbelt, the monotonous, quiet struggle for survival had been interrupted. Kids crowded the roofs to spy on the show. Villagers hid in their homes, trying to get a peek to the dirt court that served the town as a square and an assembly point at nights. I moved the weight from my left foot to the right, and back again, impatient, and grabbed my Heckler&Koch carbine with both of my hands. I turned around to review the small delegation I had selected. Lucy to my right, Joe to my left, and behind us Herman, Maria and the Pellit brothers. They were also standing, alert, hands to the guns hanging from their belts, watching the open gates of the scrap-metal walls that separated our little haven from the blasted wastelands that lied outside.

Dust was whirling in the air, rising from the dry soil. It covered everything in thick, brown layers, and it didn’t spare our bleached clothes. Our gathering reminded me the Terracotta army, something I had read in a history book my father had passed me when I was eight. A Terracotta army of post-apocalypse punks. Their faces were sunk from the hardships and the little food. Joe silently stared at the gate, an imposing figure with his 6’ of robust build. Him, and the Pellit brothers, Tommy and John, were the biggest and toughest men I could rely on in Rashbelt. They had sheer power, but I always believed that somehow they had less guts than Herman, or even our amazons, Lucy, my girl, and Maria, which shared the bed with Herman.

Lucy, my pretty lady, smiled to me when we crossed eyes. God, I loved her smile, the sincerest thing in the world. She was a miracle. Her red hair the flames of my heart, and her green eyes my sheltering forest. I just smiled back and focused on Herman.

Herman, my childhood friend, as brave and generous as one can be. I thought he had the heart of a lion, but his sparse hair and reddened eyes told another story. It was the omen of the fatal disease that cursed the land. It didn’t have a technical name; it was not treated by drugs and doctors couldn’t do a damn thing about it. You would start losing your hair; your eyes became bloodshot. You’d cough up blood. After some weeks your teeth would start to fall, and in a matter of a few months you’d be too weak to even raise your arm. It would become impossible to formulate a coherent sentence.

In Rashbelt, we simply called it the Curse. Everyone assumed it was a mix of radiation exposure, of malnourishment, maybe some mutant pathogen. Fact is, the labs that might have studied it were long gone; the academia that might have conducted research on it, scattered. The scientists had been busy at saving their own lives, least to address global issues as they used to do. And the Curse kept on taking lives, consuming bodies and minds, years and years after the rainfall of atomic bombs had ushered in a new era for mankind.

The blasts had destroyed the old world. Nuclear mushrooms had not only killed millions, or maybe more, people. They had shattered a culture. The culture of networks, of globalization; the information society. Knowledge had become a hobby for very few people. Violence had spread to even the mildest, most mediocre survivor; the only tool to gain the precious food, water, and equipment needed to survive. The luckiest, and smartest, had teamed up – first as gangs of scavengers, then of raiders. Some of these bands had settled again, in a cruelly ironic reconstruction of the early days of mankind; and sparse, isolated communities rose to the face of the world, hidden behind fences and walls, practicing subsistence agriculture in the unfertile soil.

Rashbelt was one of these communities. My father had lived before the Great Silence, as the survivors called the days after the warheads had struck, and had been one of the town’s founders. Only some months before he had been taken away by the Curse, leaving the responsibility of guiding the community to me, his only son.

My father had always rebuked the approaches from the community of New America. Its representatives had several times come to knock on our doors, offering trade relations, partnerships, promising us a new life. I had always been impressed by their appearance. They looked healthier and confident, as they were immune to the apocalypse around them. Even if they came from many miles away, they didn’t look tired for what I assumed should have been an exhausting trip by foot. In a word, they looked bold. A state of being which was very rare in this new world, filled with bleakness and despair.

Yet my father shunned them. I had always tried to understand the reason, but I couldn’t get the answers from my old man.

- They are vile and immoral. Never trust them, my son! -

was his answer, accompanied by a shiver of disgust.

When he died, the occasional traders that were accepted in Rashbelt took in the news with sorrow. He had been a respected, by some even loved, man. The news slowly started to circulate around the communities around the state. Apparently, it took some months before it arrived to New America. Three months after his father’s funeral, I received a letter, hand-brought by a nomad merchant.

?To Mr. Stan Carson.

We came to learn about the death of your father, and even if we never shared the joy of manly friendship, we are still aggrieved to learn about the death of a great man such as him.

No less, without wanting to interfere with your matters in this saddest of moments, we would like to be able to prove our good intentions and nature to your community, if we were ever let inside. To your discretion, and to our greatest honor, we would also be most delighted if you and a delegation from your town would like to visit New America and learn about our ways, ways that I believe you would find most interesting and useful to adopt.

You can answer through the same merchant that brought you this letter. He knows how to get it to us.

Father John.?

I was awe-struck by the very peculiar correspondence I had received. What an arrogance, I thought. How in this world this man, who called himself Father, could take for granted that I would be interested in ?learning about his ways??

Yet the memories of his previous envoys surfaced to my mind. What I had inherited from his father was a struggling community; we were not rich nor comfortable. I imagined a different life for my companions, for myself. For my sweet Lucy. And of all my little experience of the world, only those New Americans seemed to lead something that resembled a comfortable life.

I wrote back the same day, after consulting with Lucy. I received the answer in her emerald eyes, which sparked when I asked her opinion, which I valued as high as my own.

- Give us hope, Stan Carson. Nothing could be worse than this. - 

So there I was, waiting for New America’s envoys, as a passing merchant had warned us he had seen them coming on the road. The watchman at the wall had seen some figures from afar reaching in their direction, like a sort of caravan. They had stopped at about a mile of distance, and two men alone were walking in our direction.

It took them a good twenty minutes to get to the walls, twenty minutes that we endured under the foul atmosphere and hot daylight. Seasons didn’t matter anymore, as the greenhouse gases had uniformed all the days of the year to a constant torrid summer. And yet the men who walked in the court of Rashbelt were only mildly sweating; just as my childhood memories, they looked oddly fresh even after their trip. I shook my shoulders in disbelief.

- Welcome to Rashbelt, foreigners. We are honored to have you here. I am Carson, head of the town; and these are my brothers.  –

- Greetings to you, - answered the taller of the two New Americans. He was bald, fairly aged and plump, a pedantic confidence exuding from his voice. –My name is Richard Heckert, and this is Joseph Tills.-

- It’s a pleasure to meet you. Should we sit in our town hall to speak? – and, without waiting for their answer, I guided them to the shelter of our town hall, a shabby building facing the court.

I had had prepared a small refreshment for them, water and apples, a grand gesture for those years of scarcity. The two foreigners distractedly sipped some water and ignored the food, studying their surroundings.

- I know. It’s not a paradise, here. –

- Oh, don’t misunderstand us, Mr. Carson – answered Richard – We are thankful for your generous hospitality. How many people live here? –

- About two hundred, of which twenty children.-

- And the able men? –

I frowned at the question.

- If you mean how many are in condition to be useful to the community, I’d say practically everyone. I never counted, but I could say men and women are approximately the same number.-

Joseph nodded silently. It was obvious that Richard was the spokesman.

- I see. Well, I must excuse myself if I’m so blunt, but we don’t believe in long speeches and false words. Your community has been isolated from us so far, and we would be very interested in changing this situation. Because only by connecting the communities together we will be able to overcome our hardships, fight the raiders, and help each other in times of need. –

- I agree with you. –

- I could talk for hours, but I’m sure both of us would find it just annoying. I am going to ask you a little leap of faith, and we will both benefit from it. I would like to invite you to visit our Father in New America, and spend with us some days. Our caravan is just out of town, ready to take the trip back. I’m sure your scouts have spotted it. Would you join us?-

I hesitated. Again this Father, and uttered so reverentially.  For sure, this was much quicker than I expected; but, in the end, what was I expecting anyway?

- I don’t see why not. But, if you understand me, I would like to bring someone with me? Just in case.-

- Obviously, obviously. And just to reassure you, you can have my word that we will take care also of your journey home. But given the restrictions of our? means of transportation, I have to ask you to bring only two men with you.-

I couldn’t help but feel that something was very odd with them. I already noticed their glances at Lucy and Maria. Was it lust? Sure, they were good-looking. Maria had Latino blood, her dark colors, and pouty lips could have unsettled most of men.

I quickly reviewed the options I had. As I was traveling to the unknown, even if I trusted them as skilled fighters, I didn’t want to endanger the girls. Too many madmen and desperados were roaming the wasteland, and females were unfortunately a magnet for unwanted attention. I preferred to know them in the safety of Rashbelt.

I also had to discard Herman, usually my number one pick. I didn’t want to stress his fragile health and could not afford to risk having a worsening of his condition while out in the cold nights.

That left me with the Pellit brothers and Joe. I decided it was better to split up the brothers, as together they were less controllable.

- That’s ok with me, - I answered finally. – Joe, Tommy. I want you to come with me. –

Lucy glared me with disappointment, but she understood that it was not the right time to question my decision.

- If you think you could be ready to leave immediately, we would be grateful. We can start at sunset and travel during the night.-

- Let us just organize our travel. Would it suit you to leave in a couple of hours?-

-Obviously. No matter what, we will cater to all of your needs. If you let us, we will wait for you at the gate.-

I sent my two travel mates to their homes, and grabbed Lucy’s hand before she would disappear from my sight, as she typically did any time she got angry with me.

- Wait, sweetheart.-

- Sweetheart your balls, Stan! – she thundered. – When you’ll be back, you can sleep with Tom Pellit. Be my guest. –

I couldn’t hold back a smile. I loved her fiery temperament.

- Now, now. Tommy could never get me going as you do.-

I took her from her shoulders and turned her to face me, before going on with a sweet voice.

- I don’t prefer Tom or Joe to you, babe. I just saw how these two guys were looking at you. We don’t know where they want to take us, we don’t even know if they can be really trusted. And I don’t want to put you in trouble. Never. Do you understand? –

I patted her rock-hard ass, jokingly. She sighed.

- Ok, Mr. Macho. But you promise me one thing, ok? –

- Tell me.-

- You will take care of yourself, will you? –

- I will. –

We kissed, a long, passionate kiss. Even if no one of us wanted to admit it, we were scared. I was everytime I left her, and she was everytime she couldn’t keep me in view. Yet we didn’t want to look weak to each other, that was the silent deal: no whiny romanticism.

- See you later, then. –

- See you.-

Chapter 1: A trip to the unknown

On our way to the caravan, I threw a look at my back, to the walls of my hometown. I wondered how it appeared to the eyes of these strangers. A sorry-looking scrapyard, randomly thrown in this scorched valley of the Appalachian Mountains. But to me, it was home.

I could tell Lucy’s figure among the dozens which had climbed over their houses to watch us from afar. I will bring back a better future, I told myself.

I had got lost in my thoughts, even though Richard Heckert, our chaperone, was telling me about how surprised we would be, wondering on the dismissed state of our country, and rabbling on about this and that. I didn’t even realize we had finally gotten to the caravan before Tommy Pellit burst out in an exclamation of stupor:

- Mother of God!-

The convoy was in front of us. A sort of roofed wagon had been parked under a patch of withered trees that provided some shadow from the setting sun. Two men, all in their young years, were resting idly on the bare ground, looking in our direction, their guns at hand. Then I realized what had caused Tommy to erupt like that.

Bound to the carriage, six girls were standing in their restraints. I stepped closer, to take in the eerie image. A girl-powered cart? My jaws fell open in disbelief.

What made it even odder was the bondage they were put in. The girls had been disposed in three pairs, each pair mounted to shafts crossing a wide central beam that connected them to the wagon behind. The outfit was the same for all of them: heavy boots, knee-high, forced them on the balls of their feet as they sported breath-taking six inches heels. A hobble connected the boots to each other, at ankle height. Their legs, lengthened by the enforced posture, looked like sculpted in marble, not to say about their high, clenched buttocks.

Corsets fitted their slender bodies tightly; I couldn’t obviously take exact measurements, but I guessed their waists must have been no more than 19’’ wide. Their chins were all held high by rigid posture collars, so that they could not look elsewhere but forward. The only thing reminding an actual horse were the bit gags inserted between their teeth, which were cruelly held in place by tight straps running around their chins and skulls, which also served as support for adjustable, rigid eye-pads; the four girls forming the middle and bottom pair had them shut closed, so that I guessed they were effectively blinded. The front pair, instead, was granted at least front view, as the pads were adjusted to only block their side view. 

What appalled me most was to see that they were not supposed to push the crossing bars with their hands. Quite to the contrary, their hands were useless, as they were encased in snugly strapped, fingerless leather gloves that reached above the elbows; their arms pulled behind their backs until their hands came to nest between their shoulder blades, and by means of rings built in the gloves, linked with a chain to another ring attached to the back of their collars. The crossing shafts, instead, were two for each pair and were placed at such an height that their breasts, bulging outwards by the combined effects of the high-heel posture, the folding of the arms and the restricting corset, were crushed between them. To further lock them in position, the corsets had a leather crotch strap that ran all the way from the coccyx, between the buttocks and the legs to a ring cast in the lower of the crossing bars, centered below the breasts of each girl. As I examined the breast bondage, I realized that maybe the front pair was not much luckier with respect to the other fellow girls, who had been deprived of sight, as their unprotected nipples, pecking out of their breasts, were mercilessly crushed by clover clamps. Two link of chains connected, respectively, the clamps on the right nipples and those on the left ones of the two front girls, which were in turn attached to two separate long leashes resting all the way back to the carriage.

Heckert’s voice shook me from my daydreaming.

- I see you are admiring our pony wagon. -

- What the fuck is going on here? – I could barely say.

- This is our transport, gentlemen. You didn’t think we would travel by foot, did you?-

I looked at Joe and Tommy. They just plainly stared at me back, with a baffled look on their face. Hell, this is weirder and weirder, I told myself.

- We saw you coming and we have readied the wagon, Sir Richard.- said the older of the two boys that we had just met, while standing up to greet us.

- Well done, boys. If our guests have nothing in contrary, I suggest we leave. Our ponies are impatient to start, I can see it!-

Joseph Tills, as silent as usual, was the first to step unceremoniously in the cabin of the carriage. The two boys mounted on the outside bench, perched on what could have been intended as the driver seat, and Heckert waited for us mount inside. I let my pals in first, before glancing again our draught females, oh God, how did I just call them. The idea was revolting, even for the amoral, anarchic world I had grown in. But I couldn’t deny the stirring in my pants when I saw these six firm asses in line, strained from the tension, backs arched and arms folded to helplessness.

As soon as we all seated in the comfortable cabin, Heckert leaned over a side window to issue the command to leave.

- On we go, Sir, - and a sharp cracking sound followed. Joe instinctively stood up, pistol in his hand, causing Tills to react immediately, pointing his rifle to his face. My blood froze, and Heckert burst out in laughter.

- Calm down, please, calm down! It was not a gunshot, if this is what you thought – to which words Joe answered with a confirming grunt, - It was just the crack of the whip.-

The carriage started to move in that moment, as another crack resounded in the air, and we could hear the voice of one of the driver boys shout,

- March! On we go! Do you hear me, you lazy cunts? –

I stuck out my head from the window to check what was going on. Grinning evilly, one of the boys was spinning a long whip in the air above his head, and landing its tip with striking ability on the naked buttocks of the girls in front of him, eliciting moans of protest muffled by the gags. The view raptured me. From my restricted angle of view, I could still see how the six-pack was marching at full unison, in short but quick steps. I wondered how difficult it had to be to avoid tripping in those mean boots they were wearing, and what a physical effort it had to be to keep that pace while bound like that.

- I am sure you are wondering how this is possible, Mr. Carson. –

- I sure am, Mr. Heckert. – I answered while gaining my seat. – You have to forgive me, but I don’t understand. Is this some kind of?-

- Slavery? – helped me Tommy Pellit.

- Hmm, slavery. Yes, we call these girls slaves, but I’m sure your usage of this word holds a different meaning for you in respect to us. I would find it appropriate were we imprisoning innocent men, but this is different. –

- Different? In what respect, exactly? – my voice betrayed my unease, and finally Joseph Tills opened his mouth to talk.

- We call it the Order. –

- The Order. –

- Exactly. It’s not easy to explain it to strangers who just crossed our paths, I reckon. Do you have any knowledge of history, Mr. Carson? –

- A bit. –

- Well, then I am sure you remember that the United States, in which our ancestors lived, the society was founded on a constitution. A constitution being the fundamental law of that society, right? –

- I guess so.-

- Just like in that old country society was molded around its fundamental values written in the constitution, New America has a set of values and laws that regulate our society. New America was founded with this ideal in mind, to restore order in a world of anarchy.-

- Just how does that imply these young girls pulling this carriage in that predicament, man? That’s inhuman! – asked Tommy.

- Our Order has a fundamental value at its heart. That man and woman are not alike. The nature of the man is to serve God; the nature of the woman is to serve the man.-

I stiffened in my seat. Tills spoke ardently, with a priestly attitude. These lunatics are dangerous, I thought. Thank God I didn’t suggest that Lucy would accompany me.

- God has given the power of choice and of reason to the man, - went on Joseph Tills. – The woman doesn’t have the spirit to lead, but only to be guided. She doesn’t know what it’s better for herself. But in her stubbornness, like a wild animal, she pretended to be equal to the man, and led the world to disaster.-

- Oh no, no. You’re not telling me that you believe that the Great Silence was caused by gender equality? –

- And what do you believe, Mr. Carson? – provoked me Tills.

- This is pathetic! – I exclaimed.

- Please, gentlemen, let’s be civil. – Heckert promptly interrupted us. -You have to forgive Joseph, Mr. Carson. He’s what we call a preacher: he takes care of spreading the word of God between our people, and he’s an accomplished scholar but not as good a diplomat. I understand your refusal, as our ways can be strikingly different from yours; and this is not the first time I introduce strangers to our society. Time is needed to fully understand. But rest assured that as much as we desire you to understand us, we respect your values. –

Heckert had done a good job at stifling my indignation, and I let the matter drop for that moment. The carriage was rolling on at a steady speed by then, and during the brief silence that followed, I heard the two youngsters sitting on top of our heads chuckling.

- Blackie is the best lay, I tell you. –

- Are you retarded, man? I would fuck Melons off Blackie any given day. She’s got the best ass. Look at it!–

The whip cracked again.

- She didn’t even flinch! It’s like a stone her ass, I tell you! –

- I don’t know, Mark, I think I heard her moan? -

I realized they were speaking for the captive girls pulling the carriage. Blackie. Melons. They didn’t even have human names.

- So, Mr. Heckert?- went Joe – how long will the trip be?-

- If our ponies keep their rhythm, I’d say a couple of days. New America is about forty miles away.-

- I’m sorry if I’m curious, but how do you expect them to cover forty miles in two days? like that? -

- You mean the ponies. –

- Yeah, that? that’s it. –

- Well, Mr?-

- Joe Manzano.-

- You see, Mr. Manzano, our ponies are a very fine breed. Selected and trained to master the simple task of walking. –

- In high heels. –

- Indeed. You have to understand that a cornerstone of the Order provides that every female, at the beginning of puberty, must be screened by a committee of wise men. They will judge, from her physical  characteristics and disposition, what role will she fulfill in the society. This is known as the first call. The definitive call is established when the female turns twenty years old. For example, a female whose first call would be to be a pony would start the posture, endurance and balance training. At eighteen, her physical development will be measured. In order to be confirmed as a pony, she should be about five feet and eight inches, as otherwise she would not fit correctly in the yoke. At twenty her education is over, and she starts regular service.–

- The yoke? –

- You have seen how the carriage is built, I believe. A pony is mounted to the cart through a yoke, which is the set of bars which binds her breasts and crotch-rope. –

I sniffed, trying to sound my irritation.

- Everything has been carefully studied to be practical and pleasing to the eye. The yoke avoids ponies from falling and injure themselves. –

- It must hurt like hell. –

- What I can tell you is that ponies get used to it. Sure, when they are new to the yoke, most females refuse it. I concede you that it may be uncomfortable, but it doesn’t harm them. It keeps them standing correctly, which only helps to achieve efficiency. -

- What kind of efficiency is that? You can’t keep a human being like that and force him, or her, to march for miles! Jesus Christ, the two girls on front have even clamps on their nipples! –

- That’s how the driver steers the vehicle, no? The ponies are trained to respond to tugs to their nipples. It is a very sensitive part of their body, so there is no doubt they will receive the command. The clover clamps are very ingenious; they exert additional pressure as long as they are pulled, and release it when the slack is restored. Constant pressure numbs your nerves, no matter how sensitive is the part of the body on which it is applied, so changes in pressure are essential to the correct functioning of the rein.-

I couldn’t help but notice how passionate and scientific Mr. Heckert was about describing the tortures he inflicted on these poor girls.

-So when the driver wants to turn to the left, say,- he continued - but it’s the same for the right, he will pull the left rein, tugging the left nipples of the pathfinders. Just a gentle tug transmits a good pinch, it is so? convenient! Oh, you wonder why I call them pathfinders. It’s easy to understand: the front ponies have the task to check the presence of obstacles in their path and adjust their steps autonomously, without requiring the intervention of the driver, as far as they don’t change direction.-

- And the others?-

- The others don’t need to see anything. It would just be distracting for them.–

-Concentration is essential for females- added Tills, - they lose so easily their focus. The duty of a pony is to walk, not to enjoy the landscape. And then, you can’t imagine how easily seditious thoughts find their way in a female’s head. The more controlled is their environment and perception of the world, the less rebellious their attitude will be.-

- Mr. Tills is right, - went on Mr. Heckert – unfortunately for the reasons I was telling you, pathfinders have to be left the ability to see. All we can do is to restrict it to a frontal view. The collar keeps their head straight, and the eyepads prevent peripheral vision. All we can hope is that they don’t get too excited from what they see in front of them!- he chuckled by himself. – Even if, I must say, being promoted to pathfinder doesn’t happen by luck. Only the tamest ponies can aspire to become one.-

- Are you sure ‘aspiration’ is the right word?-

Heckert drew in a long breath, with a thoughtful expression.

- Everything is relative, Mr. Carson. Happiness, gratification, ambition are all relative. A rich man would not give value to a piece of bread; a hungry man would see it like a miracle. The world is very complicated, you should know it better than anyone else. Even to get to the simplest things you need, you have to take hard choices. You have to run risks. Anytime, you can lose everything. Females are actually far luckier than men, in our society. Their lives are simple; their goals are set. The rules are clear. Their only worry is to perform their tasks and abide to the prescriptions of the Order. -

- Desire has such a powerful effect on the human nature, - added Tills – and particularly so on the nature of the female. Think about yourself: an unsatisfied want will embitter you. Have you never wished there could be a way to control your desires? This is what a righteous man will do with a female: he will take control of her desires. He will suppress the unfruitful ones and grow the fruitful ones.-

I had to admit they finally got me thinking. How many things I desired, for myself and for my close ones, that were almost impossible to achieve. How many times I thought to have a clear idea how to be successful at something, only to fail. No matter how important we believed to be, the world followed his ineffable scheme, and we were only grains of dust in the wind.

The wheels of the carriage kept turning all night long, with only a couple of very short stops. Fatigue, and the boredom of travel, had won in the end, and one by one the passengers fell asleep. I kept looking at the pale, barren landscape out of the cabin window, washed out in the silvery colors of moonlight. My mind was wandering over the conversation I had had with Heckert and Tills. I strongly thought that the Order they were believing in was, in truth, a brainwashed cover-up. These people were perverts of the worst kind, and even had a nice story to feel just and generous.

Still, there was something appealing in their ideas. To relinquish control as to relinquish worries. I would never admit it to them, but some of the things they said about women were not so over-the-top. I thought about all the times Lucy bothered me for nothing. How anxiety could cripple her judgment; her need to be reassured about her decisions, about how beautiful or smart she was. But I loved Lucy also for these things. If she had been like a man, confident in herself, autonomous, what could I possibly give her back for her love? Even more, would she still care for me in the same, peculiar way women do?

A thump made me jump in my seat. I had fallen asleep; from out of the cabin, the light of day filtered inside. One of the driver boys peeked in, his eyes telling the tiredness he felt.

- The sun has risen, Sir Richard.-

Heckert woke up and rubbed his eyes with his hands.

- Alright, Phillip. Find a convenient place and we will camp for the day.-

- Actually, Sir, I think we already found it. There’s a structure right here where we could find shelter.-

- Let’s see.-

He got off the cabin, and, eager to get down and stretch our legs, we promptly joined him. The air was already starting to feel hot, and my clothes were already sticky with sweat. We were in a kind of plateau, at the feet of a rocky hill with sparse vegetation; the boy pointed to what appeared to be a wrecked warehouse, abandoned since ages.

- It looks ok from the outside. Take Billy with you and make sure there are no surprises inside.-

- Sure do, Sir. –

The two youngsters armed themselves with rifles and proceeded to the entrance of the building. With a bit of guilt, I walked to the pony-girls, still bound to the shafts of the carriage, stopping myself to the side of the rearmost one.

Her chest was breathing heavily, her calves trembling from the effort she had sustained during the night. Those patches of naked skin that I could see – her forehead, around her armpits, were covered in a sticky mess of sweat mixed with dust. Her chest and breasts were even wet; I realized that was not – or not just – perspiration, it was her own drool, as her mouth was kept half-open by the bite gag.  I wondered if she knew I was there, a couple of feet away, looking at her like an animal in a cage. It was difficult to tell, as her eyes were concealed by the eye-pads, and all her body was kept in a strict bound position. Moreover, she was not making a sound, apart from her ragged breathing.

Strange thoughts raced in my mind. I could stretch my hand and place it on her swollen, darkened tit, and she could not have stopped me. Would she stay silent if I caressed her thighs, and put my fingers on the crotch-band dug into her pussy?

An angry red stripe was fading on her left buttock. Must have been the whip, I thought; she could not avoid  even that pain. How could this be a better life for her? I shook my head.

- Go on if you please, Mr. Carson, - went happily Heckert. – You can touch her.-

I turned around hastily, like a boy caught red-handed.

- I? don’t really care.-

- Suit yourself.- he smirked back at me.

I made a step back. Apart from the hair color, corvine the one closer to me, it was even difficult to tell one girl from the other. Their heights similar, their faces distorted by the harness gag and the blindfold. Their sexual characteristics were so emphasized, at the expense of their personality, that they could have been dolls.

I walked on to face the front pair. The girls blinked to see me, and they could not avoid to femininely gasp in surprise. I was a new sight for them. Instinctively, I felt like shying away. Their tortured nipples were badly dark and in need of medical attention; the dust had covered them in a thick layer and infiltrated in their hair. The crotch-bands were dug in so deep, that I could see how their pussy lips had parted in a camel toe. But of all that sorry sight, the eyes uncomforted me the most; they were their statement of humanity,  no matter how objectified their bodies were. The almond-eyed girl on my right was of clear Asian descent, her pitch-black braid, skin tone and iris color in stark contrast with the pale nuances of her companion on the left, fair skin, light blue eyes and blonde.

They must think I am like them, I thought. A captor, a slaver. I had to fight the impulse to untie them right there, lest I wanted to get in a fight with my hosts. Translucent, round tears were swelling in the corners of the Asian girl’s eyes. She must had been in great discomfort and pain. Tentatively, she advanced her right foot in my direction, only to be stopped halfway so by her hobble.

- You should be careful, Mr. Carson – said Heckert, approaching me – They have a bad habit of kicking strangers. A defensive reflex, I guess. Their legs are extraordinarily powerful, believe me. I’ve seen tougher men than you falling to the ground like they had been shot. –

- She cannot reach me. –

- Why do you think we hobble them?- he snickered, while he tauntingly poked his finger in her bound breast. – Jokes apart, Eggy is a good pony, isn’it? She’d never kick our guest, wouldn’t she? -

The girl didn’t seem to appreciate the attention so much, as she started groaning and grunting in pain. Heckert crouched and took the link of chain connecting her ankles in his hand.

- Actually it doesn’t serve just that purpose. It’s useful for them to measure their steps. They make far less effort if they walk all at the same rhythm with equally long steps, the perfect steps being those that perfectly tense the hobble. -

Meanwhile, the boys came out of the building.

- The building is clear, Sir! Only a couple of rats that ran away. No sign of recent passage. -

- Very well. Take the carriage inside, we’ll camp for the day. –

The oldest of the two joined me in front of the wagon, collecting the nipple leashes in his hands. He winked at me with a conniving glance.

- Getting to know our sluts, Sir? –

I didn’t feel like answering and moved away. Shrugging his shoulders, he pulled both leashes, and with a soft cry the once immobile girls sprang to life, first as the front pair pushed forward to ease the strain on their nipples, then as the blinded ones on the rear reacted to the pull they felt on their breasts. To my astonishment, this perverted machine was working perfectly, and after a mere three steps all six girls were marching at unison, tamely following the lead of the boy holding the leash.

We entered the warehouse. Ancient, rusty trucks were forever sleeping in the dusty hall. Even if someone had been able to find some drops of gas, I doubted they would work. Fuel had been completely consumed years and years ago. Sure, some merchants claimed they knew someone who knew someone else that still had gas cans left, stashed in underground safe houses, and they were willing to barter it. But in truth, nobody even wanted fuel. It was damn difficult to even find a car that would still work.

- Phillip, Billy, you can unhitch the ponies – commanded Heckert.

Tommy Pellit, with which I hadn’t exchanged a word since morning, came up to me, close to my ear, and whispered.

- What should we do, Stan. -

- Keep calm. We’ll talk later.-

- I just can’t stand this shit anymore.-

I gestured him to stay quiet. I would find a chance to talk in private with him and Joe during the long, hot day that was waiting for us. Joe, on his part, looked less worried and more curious, as he was intently looking at the removal of the girls from the carriage.

With a sadistic grin, Phillip pulled the clamps off the nipples of the front girls, which screamed in agony.

- How many times did I tell you to unclamp them, not pull them! – Heckert scolded him, with an unconvincing condescending voice.

- Sorry, Sir. I just forget it. –

Ignoring their lament, the boys proceeded to unfasten the crotch-bands holding the captives to the cross-bar from the rings, and left them only a brief second of respite before retying them to other attachments built in the corsets. Together, they unlocked the upper of the bars crushing their breasts and lifted it upwards, finally freeing the poor mounds from the devilish pressure.

- Come on, back! –

Moaning, the girls made a step back, sliding their breasts away from the supporting lower bar, and squatted down on their position, their calves shaking. They had to be exhausted, but managed to keep the position long enough for the boys to repeat the unhitching for the other two pairs. Once all six girls were squatting down, Billy retrieved a box from the carriage, from which he produced a syringe and a flask. He crouched in front of the blonde girl that had been forming the front pair with the Asian one, and pointed the thin needle to her spectacularly large breast.

- Stay still now. –

Unceremoniously, he inserted the needle in the reddish-purple skin and released the content.

- What’s he doing? – asked Joe, flabbergasted.

- Oh, Billy’s just giving Melons the Balm. – answered the always-present Heckert.

- What are you talking about? – I pressed him.

- That’s our little secret, dear guests, I hope you understand. But it’s all for her good.-

- Actually, Heckert, we really don’t understand.- intervened Tommy Pellit, his impatience mounting. The bald man sighed theatrically.

- Well, basically it’s a medicine. A very efficacious one.-

- I never heard about any balm.-

- Of course you didn’t! – he laughed – You won’t find it anywhere but in New America. A miracle of science, let me tell you. –

- What does it do then? –

- It regenerates cells. Those little things that make up your body. In a miraculous way. – as he saw us frowning, he went on. This man was obviously unable to restrain himself from giving speeches.

- Probably you never heard about staminal cells, did you.-

- No. –

- I’m not a scientist myself, I’m more of a technician, and the details are pretty much gibberish even to me. What I understood of it, it’s just that in the old days, science had made huge steps forward in biogenetic studies. The most promising of this research regarded these staminal cells, I think they were looking for a kind of cure to cancer. –

My eyes widened.

- You mean the Curse? –

- Kind of, yes. A part of your body started to die, and all the rest followed suit. This is how I imagine it was. So these staminal cells were in theory capable of fixing the damages created by cancer. We are very proud to say that we managed to support a thriving scientific community in New America, which has further expanded this research. The best output it has produced, so far, it’s this Balm I’m talking about. –

- This Balm is a cure for the Curse? –

- Whoa, slow down, Mr. Carson. I don’t know. What I know is that it’s very helpful in dealing with bruises and injuries, external or internal. If you want proof, look at Melons’ breasts. See how swollen and bruised they are? Check them again in some hours. The Balm will have restored them completely, like brand new. In truth, if we didn’t have this wonderful remedy, you couldn’t use a pony for such a long trip as ours. She’d be wasted after only one day. But I have no doubt that by sunset our ponies will be fresh and regenerated, so that we will be able to safely hitch them to the carriage again. –

Tommy turned his back and walked away, jumping in an empty semi-trailer. Joe was lost in his contemplation of the pony girls, whose gloves, blindfolds and bit gags had been released from their collars. Able to finally move their arms, they were stretching them, moaning from the cramps they must have felt, and rubbing their aching breasts and legs with their fingerless hands. I saw Tills helping the boys to secure the girls to the carriage, by means of long leashes attached to their collars, and laying on the ground bowls that they filled with water and a soggy mess. Obviously starved, the girls tumbled on the floor and dug their faces in their food, bare breasts scraping the dusty floor, oblivious to the self-humiliation they were imposing on themselves in front of our eyes.

As soon as they had finished eating, their faces all smeared up with the remains of their unappealing meal, following a well-learned habit, they started cleaning each other’s faces with their tongues, licking and sucking.

I decided I had had enough of this show, before my alarmingly stirring dick would decide to bulge straight out of my pants. Watching the girls having their meal also reminded me how hungry I was. I collected the food we’d taken with us from Rashbelt, joined Tommy Pellit in his secluded refuge and sat down next to him.

- Stan, this is fucked up – he whispered to me.

- I know, Tommy, I know. Look, let’s try to not get sentimental about it, let’s just follow these cranks and understand what they want from us. –

- I think the earlier we get our asses back to Rashbelt the better. I’ve got a bad, bad feeling. These guys are fucking insane! –

- I can’t imagine what Lucy would do if she’d been here. Guess she’d blow up their brains right here. –

- I can’t promise you I won’t do the same if this gets worse. –

- Keep yourself tight, Tommy. Have you not heard about this Balm of theirs? Imagine we managed to strike a deal and bring some home with us. Think about Herman, for the love of God! We could save his life. We could get a better future for our children. –

- Yeah, and these perverts use it to prolong their tortures to infinity. -

Tommy brought his thick hands to his temples, massaging his head with a heavy sigh. He was a good boy, solid morals. He could have been me ten years ago, more hot-tempered, more impatient than I was now. I handed him one of our food rations and we ate in silence for some minutes, before he whispered again.

- Joe is behaving oddly. –

- I think he’s actually just horny. Can you blame him, being around six young girls exposed like that? Jesus, I couldn’t take my eyes off their ass myself. –

- Yeah, I can’t blame him either. –

Our stomach full, the conversation dried up there: too much should have been said, and too few words could express it. We soon drifted off in slumber, carried away by the erotic recollections of the passing night.

A dream haunted me. I was standing, alone, in the middle of a blasted road. All around me, a thick whirlwind of dust wouldn’t let me see in the distance, and its howling noise would fill my ears with an alien cacophony. In the desperate hope to find a refuge, I would start walking down the road, when a familiar figure appeared in front of me, battered but still, in the fiery sandstorm.

It was Lucy, but she was not looking at me: she was holding her eyes straight down to the ground, her face slapped by the wild swings of her hair, flames dancing on a coppery background; I realized she was not wearing clothes, a realization that made my heart fall; not out of sympathy, but out of pure lust. I wanted to touch her, to feel the warmth of her skin; but her hair grew longer, covering her in an impenetrable barrier, a constricting sarcophagus of red fur. Lust was driving me mad; I tried to rip the hair off her body, only to feel the tips of my fingers burn as if I was handling a fire. And from within, echoing, I heard a mewling , that both saddened me and made me more and more hungry, so that I couldn’t resist to dig deeper in that layer of hair, my hands charring, smoldering?

I woke up to the very same sound of my dream, a rhythmic, feminine sound I knew so well. Tommy was still asleep, next to me. I raised up and looked at the rest of our party.

I trembled in disgust as I saw Heckert pumping his mediocre dick in and out of Eggy, the Asian girl, slapping her rock-hard ass cheeks as if he was beating a bag of sand; just two steps away, the two driver boys were sharing mouth and vagina of another girl, and Joe a bit on the back was riding enthusiastically the blonde amazon that used to lead the caravan. Only Tills had not joined the bacchanal; he was apparently intent in reading a book, undisturbed by the savage orgy that was taking place just behind his back.

- Joe, what the fuck! – I screamed furiously.

- It’s ok, Stan, it’s ok – was the answer, words interrupted by his ragged breath. He was having the sex of his life, and he even raised his hand to slap the girl’s massive breasts, taking fast example from Heckert.

- It’s not ok, you have to stop now! We are not here to behave like animals! –

- Relax, partner. Take one for you too! I won’t tell nothing to Lucy. –

- Don’t dare to say that name here, Joe. –

He slowed down the motion of his pelvis, his dick wet of his and the girl’s mixed juices. She wiggled a bit as looking to adjust her position into a more comfortable one, but he held her fast from her hips, forcing her to lay on her back, legs spread open, on the dirty ground. Our voices had gotten low.

- What’s your problem, Stan? I am just fucking. And you will not tell me who I can or I can’t fuck. –

- I can tell you, when you’re obviously taking advantage of her. Are you a raper? Are you one of those shithead punks we keep out of Rashbelt, man? Do I have to consider you like that?-

- My gentlemen, calm down! – interrupted us Heckert, still busy penetrating his victim. – There is nothing to blame here, is it? A man satisfying his urges must be called a raper? –

- This is sick! – bellowed Tommy from behind my shoulders.

- Please don’t stop, Sir. This slave wants your cock. -

The blonde spoke, and I must admit I was shocked. After only a day, I had painted her in such a way that I had completely forgotten she was a human being – able to talk, to express her feelings. Heckert smiled triumphantly. Tommy was left without words as well, and the girl continued begging with unabated conviction.

- Please, Sir. This slave wants to make you come. This slave needs to be fucked. –

Joe, now completely still, his dick buried down in the blonde’s pussy, was looking at her as if he was looking at the strangest animal on earth. I guess nobody of us expected her to talk – and all of us, even him, had taken for granted that these girls were sorry captives.

- Enough chatter! – commanded Tills, staring icily at the ponygirl. She shut her mouth as obeying as humanly possible; only her eyes and a soft moan betraying her arousal, her complete abandon to the depraved act she was participating in.

I tried to find words, but they were still not coming to me. I clenched my fists and made a frustrated gesture, turning my back to the scene only to hear Joe reach new heights of sexual self-realization.

- You sure have a sweet mouth, babe. I wonder what else it can do. –

Heckert was over after a short time, as the younger boys and Joe were prolonging their fun and camerading. I was trying my best to focus my attention elsewhere, but it was impossible. Our mad chaperone came next to me and sat down on a crate, giving me a long look.

- I’m not buying that shit. – I spouted.

- I can’t make you believe anything different from what you think? But I guess you witnessed a fitting example of what Tills was explaining you earlier about the control of desire. –

- This is crazy! –

- Oh, come on, Mr. Carson, I do not intend to be unpolite, but you’re proving to be the one with the wrong mentality here. –

Tills joined us, his book on his side, keeping a thumb between the pages to hold the mark.

- I know your way of thinking from other heathens I’ve met. – Before I could interrupt him, the priest went on. – A barbarian belief that we are all equal in the eyes of the Lord. It’s a dismissal of responsibility. We are the instruments of His will. And his will was as God spoke to Eve in the book of Genesis: thy desire shall be to thy master, and he shall rule over thee. –

- To put it in other words, - went on Heckert, - you surely take for granted the way of life your community has. And we respect that. – Tills frowned only slightly – But what if it wasn’t the way things should be? What if things would work better in another way? –

- I don’t know. Nature seems at odds with that. –

- Our community is flourishing in the middle of anarchy and despair. Every single member of our community, male or female, takes pride and great benefit in that. And regarding nature, you might want to have a second opinion about that. Ginger! – he called out to one of the ponygirls, a redhead. I figured that’s where her name had come from. In a single movement, Ginger sprang up to her feet, still enclosed in the six-inches-heel boots, legs spread as much as her ankle hobble could allow, her arms up and gloved hands on her nape, tits gloriously pushed forward on top of her corset, chin up. Her expression a painting of obedience and selflessness.

- Come here, Ginger. –

She graciously walked the distance between us in short steps, tensing the collar leash still securing her to the wagon, without ever letting her hands down. She stood in front of me in all of her female glory, her gaze lost to a faraway point. Heckert gave me a condescendent look.

- Now, my honoured guest: would you like to hear from her what she wants? –

My manhood took over. She was a very beautiful and sexy woman, and her attention position made an excellent job at displaying it for everyone to see. All of her more intimate parts were accessible, in front of my face. I noticed Tommy eyeing me from a short distance.

- What do you want, Ginger? – interrogated Heckert. – You are allowed to speak. –

- This slave wants to serve you, Sir. This slave is weak and willing to please. –

- What are you good at? –

- This slave has been told she knows very well how to suck cock, Sir. –

- Do you like it? –

- This slave likes very much to suck cock, Sir. –

- Elaborate. –

- This slave loves the feeling of a cock in her mouth. It makes this slave feel worthy and useful. This slave would also like to deep throat a cock and make her master proud of her. This slave will suck cock slowly and taste every bit of cum that she is given, if so her master likes. –

- If so her master likes? You don’t like it then? –

Ginger made a genuine expression of fear and confusion, her lips speechlessly moving to find an answer.

- Answer! –

- This slave? didn’t mean she doesn’t like it, Sir, she meant? -

- You meant that you would do anything to please your master? –

Relieved, Ginger nodded.

- Yes Sir. –

I was puzzled to see how a vile man as Heckert held this beautiful woman in total control, and felt a sting of jealousy.

- Would you like to service our guest Mr. Carson? –

- This slave would be most happy to service him, Sir. –

Heckert looked at me, prodding me with his eyes. No words were necessary at this point. I felt like I had lost control, as if something inevitable was going to happen. My instincts, buried under the weight of thousands of years of denial passed down even through the Great Silence byfamilies, institutions and social habits, now being allowed to come to the light. I offered no resistance, it was clear. I could have spoken, but I stayed silent. Heckert gestured the girl to move on and politely left me some privacy, taking Tills away with him.

The redhead fell to her knees in front of me, now her eyes firmly locked in mine, something that sent waves of excitement through my spine. She raised her mitts to my crotch, silently trying to make me understand that she needed a bit of help from me. I didn’t let her wait, unzipping my fly and letting my penis out, already rock-solid, a rocket aimed straight at her face.

She paused to watch it for only a second or so, maybe stroken by a thought, her lips parting first in a lusty smirk, then engolfing the tip of my penis, her tongue flickering gently the underside of my glandes. Ginger never let go of clasping the back of her neck afterwards, nor of looking back at me eye-to-eye. Her wide-open eyes reminded me of a dog we used to have in Rashbelt, the way the animal looked at you in utter loyalty and obedience, hoping for a bit of food from your hand.

The only difference being, this time, she was not getting fed but busying her soft mouth around my shaft, and besides, she was no dog - maybe a bitch, maybe a pony, maybe just a girl playing perverted roles.

I closed my eyes for a moment, the natural beauty of my penis in a warm and moist place my only place of attention. As she reached the end of my shaft, her weight forward to extend her throat at the right angle withstanding the limitations imposed to her by her rigid collar, she started obscillating on her knees, her head bobbing up and down my dick, all body tense as if she had been impaled upside down, and still her eyes - by will, acting or training - full of pleasure in giving pleasure.

I reached for the sides of her head with my hands and helped her to suck me off, imposing my rhythm to her bobbing, briefly giving her a break only the couple of times she gagged as the tip of my dick probed inside of her throat. I moved my right hand down towards her round tit, manhandling her mound, and I was impressed by its firmness and tautness, a ripe fruit in my grasp, her nipple aroused and pointing out. The volume of her moans increased proportionally as I fondled her left breast, and with one final thrust I started coming straight in the back of her mouth. Drool mixed with my cum started to drip from her lower lip, one thick strand dangling down from her chin and between her breasts.

With a deep, satisfied breath I slid out of her mouth and let go of her head, my dick also dripping, resting my weight against the crate behind me. She licked her lips and chin as if savouring the most delicious of meals, then reaching back for my penis and licking it clean.

She knew how to make a blow-job, that was for sure. I let her complete her task, gently stroking her hair, my attention refocusing to my surroundings. Tommy had gone. I let my head down, taking in the realization of what had just happened. Ginger, as quietly and gracefully as she had arrived, at a distant motion of the hand from Heckert, left me alone to join her peers.

Had I taken advantage of her? She sure looked consensual. Even sharing the joy of the act. Her eagerness to please looked sincere, yet it was so baffling and bewildering to me to conceive such a lewd, yet graceful behavior. I guessed I didn’t have to let any sense of guilt to overwhelm me; after all, what happened in the country, out of the protection of towns, was far worse from this. Rapes were a common fate for travelers unlucky enough to surrender to bandits, and often ended in death. Those who wouldn’t fall in the hands of bandits, they would starve; others went mad from isolation, or malnourishment; and for the lucky ones to survive through this, the Curse was always there to catch you in the end. Rashbelt was not spared from these plagues.

I weighted in my head the cons and pros of being Ginger. She looked to be pretty healthy, notwithstanding the demeaning and exhausting treatment she was submitted to. She looked, in a shockingly new way to me, satisfied of her place in the world; not caring for water and food hunting. But she didn’t appear to have any freedom, and this, for someone like me, was a price too high to pay.

What if there is people who don’t value freedom this much? What if Ginger was just, plainly, a different kind of person from me?

A smack on my shoulder shook me up from my train of thought. Joe, with a heartfelt laugh, joined me on my side.

- Now, Stan, don’t tell me you didn’t have a great time.-

- That was fucking unbelievable.-

- You know, man? We should just have a good time. –

I shook my head. I was unsure about picking him up for the trip. He looked like he had found the treasure cove.

- Joe, whatever happens here, stays here, ok? And I want you to keep your guard up. We’re in no man’s land, and the company is kind of... –

- This is fucking promising, Stan. I can’t wait to get to their town. Sounds like paradise to me. –

- We are from Rashbelt, let’s not forget that. That’s our home and that’s where we are getting back. –

- Yeah, yeah – he shook his shoulders – We have a responsibility, I get it. But I don’t think enjoying the local customs will do us any hurt, don’t you agree? –

I massaged my temples, wishing I was as light-hearted as he was.

- Where’s Tommy? –

- Taking a walk around. I guess he has a second opinion about this. But I’m glad to see you changed your mind. –

- I did not change my mind, Joe. –

He grinned, and patted his dick.

- Looks to me your dick changed his mind. Think about that. –

I looked around and saw Tommy, nervously walking around the perimeter of the warehouse, and made my way to meet him behind the carriage wagon. He stopped, planted his feet, and pointed his finger at me.

- I don’t give a fuck what you do, Stan. You’re the boss and I will respect that. I will stick around to look for your sorry heads when you and Joe lose them. I will stand at your side, because that’s what we do in Rashbelt. –

- Tommy? -

- But I’m not taking this shit. As soon as we get our hands on something, I’m heading home. With you guys or alone. And you should be back too. At least for Lucy. –

- Relax, for fuck’s sake! You think a blowjob made me one of them? –

- I’m just warning you. And this conversation’s over, Stan. –

Young Tommy had a temper. I resisted another wave of guilt. As he turned his back to me, I couldn’t resist to smile, amused. We really were villagers, I thought.

We idled around the rest of the day, the girls asleep on the floor, Ginger curled up like a ball, the blonde resting her head on the leather-clad legs of a companion. Phillip and Billy took turns for guard, Heckert snoring in deep sleep on a sleeping bag.

As the sunset approached, the driver boys started to prepare the carriage. They formed pairs of ponygirls – exactly in the order of the previous nights, there had to be a precise hierarchy – and repeating, backwards, the procedure I had seen when we arrived in the warehouse, they hitched the girls to the carriage by their breasts and crotch-ropes, mounted bit-gags on each one of them, set in place the blindfolds and folded the arms upwards on their backs, pinning their hands between their shoulder blades.

Once more I took in the spectacular view of the prepared six girls, now fresh from the day of rest and from the miraculous effect of the healing balm they had received. I examined closely huge breasts of the blonde standing in the front row. They looked unbruised and spotless again. I had to get some of this healing Balm home, for Herman.

I saw the girl’s teeth dig deeper in her gag as Billy clamped her nipples with the driving leash. She made only a small moan of resignation. Heckert urged me to get up in the wagon.

- Ponies are cinched and ready to go, Mr. Carson. We should get going. –

I took my seat in the carriage. He looked out of the small window, to the cloudy sky whose light was fading away, and mumbled.

- If we’re lucky, we’re home before dawn. –

I was deadly curious, by then, to learn more about New America, its organization and, most of all, how in the world they were able to bend a girl such as Ginger into that kind of submissive behavior. Heckert – being the chatterer kind of guy – only needed a small input to ramble about his community for hours; only this time, I was looking forward to it.

- So, Mr. Heckert? -

- Why don’t we drop formalities? Call me Richard.-

- Ok, Richard? I am quite? impressed. –

- You have every right to be, Stan. Every right of this world. Our ponies are the finest breed, not only excellent in marching as you have just experienced. –

- I’ll be damned, they are hot as hell! – commented Joe. Tommy, impenetrable, looked away in the wilderness.

- I told you that these ponies have been chosen carefully out of hundreds of candidates – went on Heckert – They have been raised to comply to these tasks since they were sixteen. –

- You said you have screened hundreds of candidates? -

- Oh, no. I didn’t screen them, our educational facilities do that. I am an ambassador of New America, that’s quite a different job. –

- Whatever. So how many people live in New America? –

- Our latest census put us at about twenty thousand souls, if I recall correctly. –

Twenty thousand! This was an unimaginable number for me.

- That’s really? much more than I expected – I said, trying not to look shocked – Out of which? -

- Sixteen thousand females, if that’s what you wanted to know. It’s necessary for the functioning of our community to maintain a ratio of at least three females to one man. But we maintain a larger proportion, as times allow. –

- And they are all? - Joe pointed his thumb backwards, to where the girls were sweating and drawing the wagon, - they are all like that? –

Heckert bursted into laughing.

- No, Joe, not quite. As I told you, ponies are strictly selected, and anyways there’s not the need for keeping a large number of them. Where should I start? Let’s say that females, in general, provide the physical labor so that men can concentrate on complex work; we maintain scientists, doctors, even professional soldiers, a very small and efficient government, police, teachers, whatever a community needs to flourish. Females are bred to perform simple tasks and to serve society. Some of them make it to being ponies, but I wouldn’t say it’s the most important of their activities, not by far. They are employed in the fields, in industry, some of them become personal property of a man and just tend to the house. Although this happens only to the most esteemed members of our community. I’m humbled to say I have one. –

- You have a personal? slave. –

- Yeah, father John granted me this right about four years ago. For my distinction in service. –

- What exactly? -

Heckert waved his hand diminishingly.

- We’re not here to talk about myself, I wouldn’t want to bore you. I’m a loyal member of our government, reporting directly to father John. –

- Tell us some more about this father John of yours. He’s your leader, I guess. –

- You can call him that, sure. -

- He’s the guardian of the Order, our beacon of light – Tills intervened – his word is law because God speaks through him. He is the only one that can sentence to death a citizen, or intercede for a slave. –

-  What do you mean, interceding? –

- Some females in New America can be granted citizenship, even though this happens very rarely, - picked again Heckert – It can happen only when they reach the age of forty, if they have been head slaves for at least twenty years, and on the unquestionable decision of father John. Well, in the case of personal slaves, the consent of their master will also be needed. Property is sacred in our community. –

I felt that every bit of information I was getting from Heckert opened new doors to a world I didn’t know in the least.

- Head slaves, you said. –

- Well, it’s a kind of intermediate step given to distincted slaves, those ones who passionately and selflessly follow the principles of the Order. They are responsible of other slaves, being no more than slaves themselves. They discipline the ones straying from the path, report merits and faults of the slaves in their responsibility, and excel in labor and in servicing their master. –

- So who’s the head slave here? – asked Joe.

- This is a small group, no head is required. The head slave of the stables is in New America, I don’t think that the stable director would have let me take her on this trip. Too dangerous to risk such a prized asset. –

- It’s difficult to replace a head slave, - Tills observed – so difficult is for a woman to carry responsibility without engaging in condemned activities. -

Tommy sighed, visibly annoyed by the preacher’s way of speaking.

- For example, as father John granted citizenship about three months ago to a distinguished head slave from the corn fields, and named her Mary, the responsible director, mister Wang, had a severe fault in judgement and trusted a younger slave with the responsibility of a team of twenty laborers. As it appears, she immediately started to exploit her new power to submit other slaves in committing lewd sexual acts against nature. –

- Such as? – Joe’s interest flared up again and Tills continued.

- She was possessed by uncontrolled desire for other females, she had always been, but had managed to keep it hidden for years. When she found herself in the position to force her subordinates to satisfy her wants, she lost control. One night, following reports of noises in the barracks where these slaves were sleeping, the police found a most horrifying scene. –

Heckert tried to interrupt the storytelling.

- I don’t think our guests are interested in? -

Joe extended his open hand to Tills, curiosity having the best of him.

- No, not at all. Please, it was most interesting. –

- The head slave had bound two slaves and forced them to use their mouths on each other’s genitalia for hours. Another one had been brutally whipped with a dry corn stem all over her body, including her breasts, buttocks and legs. Most shockingly, as the interrogated slaves confessed, she had been penetrating for weeks the most of them with objects of fortune, desecrating their bodies and defiling their spirits. It may not come as a surprise, but under this new head slave the productivity of the corn field had been much lower than expected. –

I tried to picture the image in my mind, not much interested in the economy of corn fields, rather in what sounded like an extremely kinky lesbian orgy that took place every night, for weeks.

- So what happened afterwards? –

- Mr. Wang was removed from his position for the grave lack in vigilance, all of his property confiscated. I think now he’s employed, quite ironically, in the correction department as a common warden. The slaves were sent back to reeducation, and the head slave to discipline and correction. –

- Wait a minute? You mean that all of them paid for this? –

- It couldn’t be any less than that, I’m afraid. Wang had it lucky; had he not had the position he held, he might have been sentenced to death. So the same for the failing head slave. –

- But what about the poor girls of the field? What was their fault? Were they accomplices in the end? –

Tills raised his eyebrows, then he shook his shoulders.

- I have no idea. I don’t think any of us asked himself this question, in truth. To participate in such an act is almost as grave as causing it. They failed to report it to their master straight away, to make it worse, probably under intimidation; but we cannot allow intimidation between slaves to stand in the way of the Order. It’s a delicate balance.-

- And then, only the head slave was sentenced to discipline, I might add – Heckert said – the others were just sent back to rehabilitation training. –

- Doesn’t sound too good to me, this ?rehabilitation training?.-

- It’s just a shorter, more intense version of the training a female undergoes after puberty. Six years condensed to three months. After all, it’s supposed they are only there to refresh a knowledge they already possess. –

- And what happens if this training doesn’t work? I mean, maybe they have been influenced in an irreversible way. –

- Well, they’re screened at the end by a panel of wise men, to judge if the rehabilitation was successful. If a rehabilitating slave is deemed of failing to recuperate, especially under suspect of scarce collaboration, thoughts straying from the principles of the Order, or rebellious behavior, they are typically sent to discipline. Afterwards, they will start over the rehabilitation process. –

It all sounded methodically organized, with a touch of lucid folly.

- Now that you make me think about it, if you’re interested, the screening is probably due one of these days. I can ask if you can participate as silent observers. –

- Count me out of it – spat Tommy, but Joe enthusiastically accepted.

Slowly, we were getting sucked in by this alien world, even before we had entered it. After six hours of travel and two rest stops for refreshing the ponygirls, I felt I had heard enough of New America. I understood – as I had never met someone in my life whose title was ?ambassador? of someplace – what Heckert’s job was. Wandering the wasteland in search for other communities and convincing them of the righteousness and practicality of New America’s way of life.

As I came to understand, the community had a much more complicated structure compared to Rashbelt where every member was on the same level, my leadership not needing any formalization and encouraging freedom of thought. This Father John, in all aspects a crowned king acting on divine right, was a blood descendant of the founder of a community, which wrote down the Order shortly after the Great Silence. Tills spoke erratically about the history of the community, as I sensed there was more to be discovered than his epic drenched in religion, but regarding to this aspect, both him and Heckert had been unusually discreet.

What made the story more interesting, and less medieval, was the close intertwining between their self-righteous misogynistic beliefs and the use of technology. Out here, I mean in the wasteland, we were just basically salvaging old technology from decay; be it weapons, medicines or tools. They had a scientific community, what sounded like real labs, production technologies, the capability to sustain a population of twenty thousand. These guys were here to stay. We were surviving, they were writing their own history.

I decided I had to keep my eyes open, the words of my father still ringing in my ears:

- They are vile and immoral. Never trust them, my son! -