Hollis knew the middle class very well. He had, after all, porked (as the semiliterate Albert Smeed would have said) most of their wives and daughters; or at least most of their wives and daughters who were worth porking, in this district. The very best ones he insisted on trying out first, before they were available to the general public, especially if they were virgins, and most especially if they were as pretty as the Fairfax girl. It would have been an appalling waste if a creature as gorgeous as her had married some middle class cockroach. Hollis hated the middle class, the formerly well-to-do; but given the proper training (fair, but firm), their women could be made into very useful egirls, he thought.

Hollis had a method, a system for breaking in new egirls. First, he demonstrated with a terrible, terrible ferocity what happened to a girl who did not cooperate. This was why the new girls had been shown the film of Linzi being disciplined. Next, after a little training and instruction, he either broke them in himself or passed them on to a colleague, perhaps a senior member of the Party with whom he wished to curry favour. He would break in the Fairfax girl himself. She was too good to pass up. So was her mother, also a newly indentured egirl. At his request the husband and son were already en route to Equatorial Guinea, one of Britain's African allies, where they would be labouring in a cobalt mine.

He enjoyed breaking in a new egirl even if she was not a virgin. He even enjoyed it if she had been married. He enjoyed the glorious, dizzying feeling of power he felt, knowing that the woman felt violated but dared not show it, much less complain; knowing that she would now be considered a whore forever and that not just the woman but her husband or father and her whole family was destroyed, and knowing the shame and humiliation that the husband would feel because he had been unable to protect his wife.

Hollis looked severe, almost angry. He was studying his victim. He lifted Daisy's chin critically and turned her face left, then right. She had a beautiful face and soft skin. Her eyes looked wide and frightened. For a moment he closed his eyes, drinking in her perfume. Her lips were full. Later he would have her serve him orally, he decided, but first he would kiss her. He pressed her lips to his mouth and sucked them.

Daisy felt her lips sliding into his mouth and tried not to panic. He had an unfamiliar smell of smoke and spicy food. She forced herself to keep still and not push him away.

She was shocked that it was Hollis who would deflower her. He's got a grudge against our family, she thought. He hates us. But it's not our fault. Daddy worked hard for many, many years and saved up all his money to buy a second house, and Mr Hollis ruined it. The bathroom, the carpets, everything. Daddy didn't do anything wrong. Now it's Mr Hollis's fault that Daddy and Rob have been sent to the Labour Corps and I'm an egirl and so is Mummy. He's the reason why I'm here. He's dangerous. He can make me take off my clothes and do things to me, anything he likes, and I'm not allowed to say 'no' and there's nothing I can do to stop him.

"Take off your clothes," said Hollis. "Slowly. All except your underwear. You can keep them on. For a while, anyway," he grinned.

Daisy obeyed. Hollis watched, savouring the pretty teenager's humiliation. Eventually he removed her bra himself. Daisy did not resist. He looked thoughtfully at her breasts. The gel had set perfectly. Decades ago, before moulded implants were invented, all breast implants had been done with gel. The clock had turned full circle, thanks to eLove.

Daisy's breasts felt heavy now, and stretched. They still ached, but they were a delight to behold: not overlarge, but firm, proud hemispheres with no sign of sagging. They jutted proudly forward from her flat, slim torso. He squeezed one of them thoughtfully. He saw her barely perceptible intake of breath and knew that they were still tender. He squeezed them both, harder. He saw the pain in her eyes, but she was trying hard not to cry out or whimper.

He looked at her curving hips and her shapely legs, her slim waist, flat stomach and smooth skin. A tiny spot of medical glue on her stomach, just below her navel, showed where her microchip had been inserted. The glue would peel off by itself in a week or so, without any unsightly stitch mark. The hole was tiny. The skin and underlying tissue had stretched to allow the microchip to be pushed through.

"Take these off," he said, indicating her panties. Daisy obeyed. The humiliation was all the worse because Hollis himself was fully dressed.

"Go and lie on the bed," he said.

"Yes, sir," Daisy said.

 

***

Peter did not like the way his meeting with Clara was going. She was speaking to him as though he was her daughter's boyfriend. In a sense this was true, but that was not the point. Clara was an egirl, and he was her customer. That was all that mattered. He decided it was time to take control of the conversation.

"Shouldn't you curtsey, and address me as 'sir?' " he said. His voice had hardened.

She looked at his expression, wondering whether he was serious. "Oh Peter," she said smiling, hoping he was merely joking, "Don't you think...."

"Attention!" he snapped. "Silence!" Clara jumped quickly into position. She was afraid now. Peter was angry. She must assuage his anger. She must not speak now, she knew, until she was spoken to. She made her back even straighter, with her breasts thrust forward, pressing firmly against the fabric of her egirl uniform. Above all she must not make him angrier still.

Peter stepped closer. He looked into her eyes and saw her fear. Her fragrant, feminine perfume filled his senses. He reached out and gently turned her head first left, then right, establishing his mastery of the situation. He put his hand on her breast and squeezed it gently.

Clara gasped imperceptibly, humiliated but afraid to protest. He squeezed harder, kneading her breast. She winced and gasped more audibly.

"Take off your top," he said.

Clara curtsied and said, "Yes sir," and removed her tunic.

"Carry on," he said. Clara removed her white blouse.

"And the bra." Clara hesitated for a second. Then she saw the hardness in his eyes. It was something she had never seen in Peter before. Hurriedly she obeyed. At first she tried covering her breasts, but then she sensed a hint of irritation in his expression and dropped her hands to her sides.

Peter looked at her breasts.

Clara stood perfectly still and straight, submitting herself obediently to his scrutiny. He squeezed and prodded the two perfect globes.

The pretty egirl's stomach was smooth and flat and firm and toned. After five months of the rigorous egirl training routine, her body was slender and pleasingly firm. She was glowing a deep shade of pink, bravely enduring the humiliation of this intimate physical examination by her daughter's boyfriend. Each day seemed to bring a new humiliation. She felt the prickle of tears forming in her eyes and wanted to wipe them away before Peter saw them, but she dared not move her hands. He was fondling her breasts and she could not utter a word to stop him.

"Now the skirt," he said.

"Yes, sir."

Her legs were slender and toned. Her whole body was pleasantly tanned. Like many egirls, she was required to spend twenty minutes each Saturday beneath the sunlamps at her gym.

He slid his hand down to her panties, his finger tracing the slit of her labia through the thin cloth.

"Oh!" she squeaked, shocked. "Oh Peter, please! Please, not that!" She could not help herself.

"Paddle!" he barked. This was another command she had been taught. It could be called either a tawse or a paddle or a strap. Egirls were taught to respond to all three commands.

Defeated, the pretty blonde turned to obey.

"Run!" he snapped. It was only a few feet to the bathroom, but Clara ran and fetched the terrible instrument from its hook. She hurried back and knelt at his feet, holding the tawse up for him horizontally, as she had been taught.

Could he really use it on me? she wondered. Could Daisy's boyfriend really beat me? Surely he will realise that my buttocks are still painful from the flogging! Or will he? Clara already knew the pain a tawse could inflict even on flesh that was not already injured. She was horrified by what she feared Peter would do, but she could not disobey a direct command.

"Attention!" he snapped. She rose lightly to her feet, still holding the tawse out to him, awaiting his decision. She felt him looking at her, scrutinising her body. She was bare now, except for her hair ribbon and her panties.

"Remove your panties," he said.

Agonised, the blushing egirl removed her last vestige of modesty. He's going to thrash me, she thought. And then he will want to do things to me, disgusting things. Other men have done horrible things to me but now it will be worse, much worse. Peter is Daisy's boyfriend. Our family friend.

Peter took the tawse and said, "Toes!"

Clara obeyed at once, touching her toes with her legs straight. She saw Peter flexing the tawse, testing its weight and firmness. It had a thick, round handle. The blade was two feet long and two inches wide. It was stiff and hard.

"Spread your legs. Wide. A yard apart," he said.

The pretty blonde obeyed, keeping her fingers on her toes, bitterly conscious that she was displaying her buttocks for his inspection and he could easily see her pudenda too. She looked carefully at the distance between her feet, making sure it was as close as possible to a yard. Some men were very strict about such things. Young men were often the strictest, as though they considered that their manhood depended on being in complete control.

"I hope you're smooth down there, and clean," said Peter. "I don't like scratchy twats."

"Oh yes sir, yes sir, I am very careful about that," she answered sweetly, although shocked both by his vulgarity and the menace in his tone. She was discovering a different Peter. She wondered whether Daisy had already discovered this other Peter.

Slowly, gently he stroked the inside of her thighs with the tawse, from just above her knee, right up to her pouch. He looked at her buttocks, full and round, with a dozen lines across them, dark and thin now. It was two weeks since she had been disciplined. The welts had healed. The red had turned to purple and the purple to black. Clara had been fully booked immediately after her public flogging. Many men liked to book a girl who had just been flogged. Unfortunately for Clara they were often the sort of men who wanted to see the girl flogged again. They had enjoyed watching her twisting and leaping and dancing and howling and squealing on the whipping frame, and they wanted to watch another performance. They wanted an encore. Hollis had warned her about this. Some of them gave her very poor reviews and Clara was very afraid she might get another demerit.

"You failed to offer me a seat, or a drink, or to remove my shoes," Peter said. "You were familiar. You used my first name without permission. When I told you to remove your bra, you hesitated. It was only for a moment, but there was a definite hesitation. And when I stroked you through your panties, you spoke without permission and questioned my decision. For discourtesy, six cuts of the tawse."

Clara wanted to beg, to plead, to promise to be good and sweet and to do anything he wanted, to escape the thrashing which seemed imminent, but she knew better than to contradict him. Instead she said, quietly and sweetly, "Yes, sir. I'm sorry." Peter heard the resignation in her voice, but his anger was undiminished.

He brought the paddle down across her buttocks, hard. It was harder, indeed, than he had intended. He was a keen squash player and physically strong. He was also irritated. He heard the hiss of air and the loud sharp crack as the tawse hit the sensitive flesh of the bare blonde's rump. Then he could hear nothing except for her screams.

Clara was shrieking uncontrollably. Somehow she managed to hold her feet still, but she was wriggling her buttocks from side to side vigorously, wildly and energetically. Peter was taken aback by the sheer volume of her shrieks. Gradually they softened into a whimpering sound.

Perhaps he had hit her too hard, he thought. He had not taken her existing bruises into account. He enjoyed it, though. He did not order her to be silent. This was quite as entertaining as the flogging on the stage at the Fiesta Club. Indeed it was better, as he was doing it himself and seeing it close up. He had not expected her to be so loud though.

He picked up her bra and grabbed her by her plait to lift her head. He stuffed the bra into her mouth, pressing firmly with his fingers until almost all the garment was pushed inside, except for part of the strap which was hanging down from her mouth. Her cheeks were puffed out. Peter could see the fear in her wide eyes.

Peter delivered the second stroke. For Clara it was worse than the first. Her squeals and howls were muffled now by her bra, but her wriggling and buttock twisting were if anything more energetic than before. Peter did not mind her wriggling as long as she did not move her feet or hands. In fact he rather enjoyed the wriggling. He resisted the very strong temptation to take her to the bedroom straight away. He was determined not to ruin the appointment by rushing it.

He listened to the pretty blonde howling for half a minute or so and then delivered the third stroke. The howls and the wriggling intensified. Eventually Clara's shrieks subsided into prolonged keening sobs and whimpers.

He stroked her pouch. Clara had been truthful. It was smooth. She used depilatory cream followed by moisturiser every two days. This was more often than was strictly necessary, but Clara preferred to err on the side of caution. He ran his fingers along her labia, gently stroking her slit from end to end. He let his finger slip inside her pouch. She raised no objections to this intrusion. She understood their relationship properly now. She was an egirl. He was the customer.

He pressed his finger deeper inside her. "You're moist," he said.

To Clara's shame, it was true. A woman's body can respond to stimulation without her wanting it, or even enjoying it. The body knew that it would soon be penetrated and was responding as necessary. It was a result of evolution, not Clara's wishes or desires. Her body was reacting despite her shame, humiliation and fear, or perhaps indeed because of them. She began moving her pouch, rocking back and forth in time to his finger. Feeling her clitoris, he began flicking his finger from side to side.

"Does that feel nice?" he asked. Clara thought he sounded kind and less angry. She was relieved. She gave two little whimpers which she hoped he would understand meant "Yes, sir." Perhaps if Peter enjoyed it he would be less severe with the paddle, she hoped.

He withdrew his finger, loosened his trousers and inserted his manhood instead. The pretty blonde gave a surprised little squeak, a sweet sound. Peter continued for a minute or two before withdrawing. Then Clara squeaked again, a sound which was intended to mean "Please, please don't stop."

Clara was trying her very best to assuage Peter's anger. She was in fact succeeding quite well, until she made a mistake. It was a mistake which a trained egirl with several months' experience should not have made. She moved. She did not intend to be disobedient, but the 'toes' position is a very uncomfortable one to maintain for an extended period of time, despite her regular training sessions at the gym. She thought she could relieve her discomfort by moving one hand up to her shin, just for a moment.

She should have known better.

"You broke position," said Peter. "Those strokes will not count." He tried to make his voice sound serious, yet slightly disappointed, as though he did not want to inflict further punishment, but it was unfortunately necessary because of Clara's weak will.

He paused for the egirl to absorb this terrible intelligence, and then added, "I did not give you permission to move. I will start again."