Chapter 1

 

Seven hours! It had been the longest operation she'd performed to date. Her back, legs, eyes and very brain ached, the two former because there wasn't a seat or support in existence that allowed you to stand close enough to an operating table and still have the mobility you needed to use the instruments and array of technological do-dads that were essential accoutrements to any sort of surgery nowadays. Her eye-ached was the result of peering through the lenses of the VR goggles that let her get into the most minute and hitherto inaccessible reaches of the brain. Her brain ached as the result of the hours of utter concentration that had been necessary.

The great, crowning consolation was though, that she thought she'd done it; a little girl whose short life would otherwise have been blighted by cerebral palsy had been cured. Or, she cautioned herself, almost certainly cured; they'd have to keep a careful eye on the patient for the next couple of weeks, but she was sure that she'd got it right. Not the first such operation, by any means, but certainly one of the most complex.

And none of it had cost the girl, her family or anyone but the taxpayer a cent! To a humanitarian like Julie Bennett, it seemed to be a miracle that after decades and decades of the iniquitous health insurance system, where only the rich could afford decent treatment, now there was Extended ObamaCare, or EOC, so named after the first black President who tried to introduce it early in the last century. Well, it had taken nearly a hundred years, but now, at last, America had at last joined the ranks of the civilised world. It felt good.

She was dog tired, but she had to shower; she could smell herself. It was when she entered the cubicle that her mood took a nose-dive on an almost vertical trajectory. There it was, mocking her just when she'd been feeling all warm and comfortable. Operating was hard, gruelling but infinitely satisfying, especially when of came out like today and thinking that it had all been paid for by EOC. But then...

Then she had to come in here and see the clothes hanging inside the locker, whose door had slipped open; those clothes with the cursed, damning stripes that marked her of the 'Trump Tarts'. Or, in courser usage, 'Trump's Cunts'.

 

It had started with another President, the one who had followed Obama. According to the histories and the old video clips and according to your point of view, he'd been a boor, a womaniser and a thorough-going bastard or an outstanding advocate of men's rights and male dominance in reaction to the growing movement for female equality, which had been raging at the time and a True American Hero. He'd managed only one term before he was kicked out, so it was pretty clear that the Liberal Humanists had won that round, but he had left a core of Hard American Traditionalists -including, for some reason, hard-core so-called 'Christians' - who just wouldn't go away.

She was pretty sure that there weren't many correlations in philosophy and policies between the parties then and now And that there'd been only two parties instead of the more rational four there were now. But then history and politics had never been her strong points, nor had she any great interest in them. Not until her personal catastrophe, when she spent every spare second she had searching for a way out of her horrible situation. That had been two years ago and she'd found no way of escape; but she'd keep trying, she had to. There had to be some Federal or State law, somewhere that had been repealed that would get her out of the hell she'd fallen into.

A hell symbolised by the clothes she had to wear. Not the clothes themselves; as far as the law was concerned, she could wear anything she liked... as long as it displayed those two, broad horizontal yellow bands that proclaimed her shame to the world. Her tears mingled with the water cascading down her body; she was safe here, in her own office and at any other place - or places - of work, but the moment she stepped outside the hospital, she was vulnerable.

She could quote that binding, humiliating, air-tight law almost word for word - and there were a lot of them - biting back her tears as she did so. She'd spent thousands of dollars consulting lawyers - female lawyers only, after her first experience of what happened when it was a man - and she wasn't safe even from her own sex, sometimes. It had been expensive, humiliating and, on one occasion, painful, but she'd learned that Trump's Law was air-tight over every state in the Union. Except that it wasn't technically the Trump Memorial Law, as it should have been; some minor functionary made the blunder of all blunders by making a typo, so the that final Act came out as Tromp's Memorial Law. The whole country had - and most of the rest of the world - had a good laugh about the wording, but then the first women were dragged into it and suddenly it wasn't a joke anymore. Call it what you like, it was a slice of hell on earth for the poor wretches who'd get caught in the net. And she was one of them. And after a lot of behind-the-scenes action, the Law had been corrected to what it had originally been intended to be called.

She could try to escape by leaving the country, but women of her status weren't allowed a passport. There was Canada, of course, but they had an agreement with the US Government that Trump refugees would be quietly handed back in return for favourable trading regulations. And if she tried to evade the problem by wearing clothes without the stripes and got caught, the result would be fifteen years in a Federal Penitentiary, a mixed prison and the sort of place that she never, ever wanted to even see, such a hell-hole, let alone be inside one. Then there was that damned embedded chip somewhere in her body, telling where she was at any time of day or night. If she didn't report in for two days on a stretch, the alert would go out and the next stop was a Fed Pen with a minimum ten-year servitude sentence, no remission.

No, she couldn't stay in the hospital. Her place of domicile must be at least one mile away and she must present herself for examination at her home terminal at least every twenty-four hours. The only excuse for failing to do so was an 'incapacity whose nature must be certified within three hours by a Bureau of Enforcement doctor'. There was the ultimate escape, of course; she worked in a hospital with access to many easy forms of escape. But she was too much of a coward to take that way out.

She was sobbing, she realised when she turned off the water. Exhaustion and emotion were taking their toll on her. She dried herself, feeling slightly better as the rough towel abraded her skin, but the immediately falling in gloom when she opened the locker door and found herself staring at those two yellow stripes.

It had been a massive and malicious act of betrayal by a man she thought she could trust and now detested with every fibre of her being. If she could get away with it, she'd kill him. But murderers were always caught nowadays... and it meant being sent to the ubiquitous Fed Pen for life. A life of endless rape and worse...

Five years of it and no guarantee that it wouldn't be extended when it was due to end; she knew that she'd been set up, but couldn't proof it. How many other women were in the same situation? Perhaps the men who passed the Act into Law knew what they were doing and deliberately made it so easy, Knowing man as she'd come to, she wouldn't put it past them.

 

Chapter 2 - Phase 1 Day One

 

It had happened on July the thirteenth, 2111, two days after her twenty-ninth birthday, which she celebrated a little too unwisely with her then-boyfriend, whose name she didn't even want to think about, the swine! They'd gone to an exclusive restaurant and eaten and drunk well, then moved on to a disco and danced like maniacs, refreshing themselves with more drink until the early hours. Then it had been back to her flat, a pop or two of Zoom and then bed, where they'd made love until the dawn began to show, then slept and did it again, this time in the other hole, then ate something quick and convenient, took another tab of Zoom and went back to bed where she'd lubricated his ass-hole with her tongue - something she wouldn't normally have dreamed of, except that the last Zoom must have been a strong one and she thought they were in love - before using her strap-on dildo on him. She thought it had been a fantastic, prolonged birthday to remember; he, she learned later, thought of it differently.

The hangover would have been memorable too, but for her supply of anti-alcs, plus a precautionary day-after pill. She was permanently protected, but you can never be too sure. It had been when she was in the middle of making breakfast that the door-bell rang. Since then, she'd played those few moments over and over in her mind remembering it vividly, wondering 'what if...' What if she hadn't opened the door? Would they have gone away?

No, probably not; the law gave them the right of forcible entry and the sort of people attracted to that job like to take advantage of every power they have. And even if they had gone away, they'd have been back the following day. Not that it mattered, because she had opened the door, thinking that it could be an emergency at the hospital. She'd taken three days off and they normally respected them, but emergencies were emergencies.

Her last act as a woman of free will and in charge of her own body - at least for the next five years - was to reach up and turn the door knob. The moment she did that, her hell began. There were two of them, both men; big men in dark blue uniforms, wearing helmets and belts from which a variety of what looked like weapons and restraint devices hung. They looked like normal policemen, except for the odd yellow symbol on the shoulder of their rolled-up shirt sleeves. One held some papers, while the other was a half a pace back, watching her warily. She opened her mouth, but the nearer one with the papers pre-empted her.

"Julie Jane Bennett?"

"Doctor Julie Bennett. Yes?"

He began reading, actually reciting words which must have been as familiar to him as his name. He did it in a flat tone, speaking quickly but clearly. "Julie Jane Bennett, hear ye! Under article thirty-nine of the Federal Trump Memorial Law your name was put forward and accepted for mandatory service under said law and that as of this moment you will assume the status of Available Female for the use and satisfaction of any free member of the public who is a citizen of the United States of America and wishes to use your body for sexual purposes for a period of five years, subject to extension on the assessment of suitability by the Sexual Services Agency, which hereby assumes responsibility for your property and person and any appurtenances and accoutrements appertaining thereto. You do not have the right of appeal nor to refuse any request for lawful sexual congress as defined in section two of the Sexual Services Agency manual and must assist requesting citizens up to a maximum of three at any time in achieving their satisfaction, provided that no single person requesting such sexual congress has made use of the subject on more than three times in any six calendar month period including participation in group congress. No citizen may offer or inflict violence upon the person of the subject for any reason whatever. Any device inserted into the subject must be limited to one per orifice to a total of two and be an approved dildo or insertable device not larger than seven inches in length and five inches in circumference as specified in section two subsection one of the Sexual Services Agency manual. Request for and coition or other legal sexual acts of congress as previously described above may take place at any time or place excepting your place of work and the protected area thereof and your home between the hours of one am to nine pm where and when as applicable you may not be approached. If you are undergoing a monthly period of are otherwise unable to provide sexual service by reason of infirmity or illness you must inform requesting citizens of this fact and perform any act which is physically possible for you to satisfy said citizen or citizens. If you have a communicable sexual disease you may not have unprotected vaginal congress and must inform the citizen or citizens of your condition and assist said citizen or citizens in the performance of any alternative act at their discretion. Failure to provide any requested sexual service for any reason other than those stated above or making any false declaration to avoid requested sexual congress of any kind other than covered by the terms above is penalised by a minimum of ten years servitude in a Federal institution. Enforcement and other Agency Officers and citizens assisting them up to a total of four including the Officers present are exempt from observance of the conditions pertaining to the times places and frequency of congress with the said Julie Jane Bennett. You may not marry nor form any sort of relationship with any person for the period of your service and any relationship in process at this time must cease. You must obey all aspects of the said Law and any further conditions or regulations which may from time to time be issued by the Congress and Senate of the United States. I hereby issue this Order on the thirteenth day of July in the year two thousand one hundred and eleven. I place into your hands this Order and other documents pertaining to the instructions, terms and conditions of your service which you will read and sign at a registered Police Station no earlier than three full days nor later than five full days after the commencement date of this Order calculated from nine am on the day following the acceptance date of this Order as recorded by the Enforcing Officer. Please take the papers I am offering." He held out a bulky sheaf of papers and what looked like manuals.

Stunned, open-mouthed with shock and horror, Julie backed away. She'd heard of the Trump Law, of course and, like almost every other person in the country had witnessed women wearing yellow stripes being forced to offer themselves to passing men or women. It had become a common sight on American streets. She had always turned her head away from the sight of a sobbing woman being so foully treated, but knew that, if she stepped in, she'd be breaking the 'no interference' law, which could mean Federal Prison, or, for a woman like her, induction into the same awful system. Now, unbelievably, it was happening to her!

Others had felt differently about it, She'd seen assaults taking place surrounded by jeering crowds of both men and even women who were clearly enjoying the sight. It was horrid, but it was happening. She'd thought that, as a brain surgeon with a growing reputation, she was immune, but all it took was five nominations and proof of immorality. But how could that happen to her?

"Take the papers, woman. That is my second request."

Shaking, now crying, the terrified Julie backed away again. She was numb with shock, but she had to speak. "Y...you can't do this," she stammered. "I'm a doctor... a surgeon!"

"The law applies to all eligible citizens regardless of status and subject only to age. You have been nominated and proof of immorality produced and confirmed. As a result, your name was entered in to the availability register and was chosen. I must now offer you these papers for the third and final time and advise you that failure to take them will result in an automatic sentence of six months in a Correctional Institution such sentence to begin immediately and you will be available as a sexual subject from the moment that arrest is made take the papers now."

"Immorality? What proof?"

"I have a representative sample of the images submitted," he said, handing her a plastic card.

She took it, her hand shaking. Then she gasped. It was undoubtedly her, stark naked obviously enjoying herself uninhibitedly with a man she'd never seen before. "This is a fake! I don't know this man!"

"Five witnesses have certified that this is a true and actual image. It has been closely examined and found to have no traces of modification or tampering. I have asked you to take the papers three times and you have very little time left before automatic arrest. Do you know what a Correctional Institute is?"

She knew, all right. They were just smaller versions of Fed Pens for shorter sentences, apparently. But their reputation was even worse, according to gossip. She couldn't face that. Hesitantly and with her mind filled with dread and revulsion, she held out a shaking hand and took the papers with nerveless fingers.

The two men relaxed immediately. The first took off his helmet, tossed it on to the sofa and ran his hand through the short, blond stubble on his head. She watched the thing land and bounce, its straps flying; the sight hypnotised her already-traumatised brain as if that helmet bouncing on her sofa was a symbol.

"Welcome to Trump's Tarts, cunt!" said the first man, approaching her, his eyes on her breasts. The other one moved in, too, taking off his helmet and starting to unzip his jacket. They weren't... No. not now, surely!"

"Get that dressing gown open, cunt! Let's see what you've got to offer!"

She clutched it tighter to her. "What...! No! Get away from me! And stop using... that word!"

The man laughed and turned to his companion. "Just like all of them, Cal! Lovely, isn't it, when it hasn't sunk in yet! Makes it so much more fun! I love this job. Got to call you cunt, cunt! It's what you are! Get used to it!"

"Me too! Read her the Law, Al!"

The first one looked at her again. "Get this message, cunt! As from now, you're available to anyone who wants you, anywhere he - or she - wants you, any time they want you! You don't say no! You can't! It's the Law! You assist in my satisfaction and if you don't, I'll say that you refused and you'll spend the next ten years sucking cock and cunt and taking it in every hole you've got twenty-four hours a day! You in a period, poxed?"

"N... n... no..."

"Then get that robe open!"

Julie was an intelligent woman, but she didn't need to be intelligent to know she was beaten. Like so many women before her, she slowly and hesitantly obeyed; sobbing in shame and humiliation, in her case by opening her robe to display herself like any paid whore. It was the first time, but it wasn't but any means the last; she was too good-looking to ignore. And she knew it. She also knew that she that she hadn't bothered to put on a nightie last night.

"Now that's nice! Them jugs is made for... what's that?"