STORY INFORMATION

 

Published in December 2020, just over three years ago, the first Book of Penal Colony Nine introduced a sprawling tale of dystopian life featuring a range of characters and, above all, Warden Bull Sykes himself. Over the next three months, eight more books followed, adding up to a total of over 120,000 words.

When the ninth book was published in March 2021, it was stated that Book 9 was 'the last that has been discovered to date'. And that was certainly true at the time. Although most people assumed the story had ended, a small handful knew better.

The final three volumes have since been unearthed and the first of this trilogy (Book Ten: 'The Return') was published in December 2023. Book Eleven is now available for purchase. It is the penultimate book in the series.

Seven years have passed since the "Glorious First" bloodless coup of 2022. The government's punitive 'Act of Payback' legislation remains in force. The only difference is that instead of sentencing only 'the most entitled 1 percent' to life in the penal colonies, that low threshold has steadily increased to 10 percent of the population.

Fortunately, the fabled Warden himself - Colonel Bull Sykes - is still very much in charge of Penal Colony Nine. Other characters such as Bull's servants Sarah and Jim Armstrong are still in residence, as is Deputy Warden Farmer Giles and his wife Yvonne.

Meanwhile, the Colony's population of prisoners has doubled from 40,000 to 80,000. Bull has recently selected four of them - Barbara and Wyatt, Camilla and Monty - to undergo his intense 'PIP' (Personal Initiation Process). In this Book they are joined by Josh and Bex as the action spirals towards its darkest hour.

 

EXTRACT ONE

 

PENAL COLONY NINE

 

BOOK ELEVEN: THE DARK

 

 

16.00 HRS

 

All around the globe - Tokyo, Bangkok, Rome, Paris, New York, Los Angeles - clocks are chiming the hour of the world's various time zones.

On the Mainland it's exactly 4 p.m. and staff are clocking off for the day. In fact, many of those Working From Home have long since had their feet up, relaxing, taking a nap, making love, or jerking off over some daytime BDSM stream such as PC9-TV.

There's little or no incentive to carry on working beyond 4 o'clock. In fact, for higher earners, there's even a positive disincentive. Nobody wants to stand out and join the despised Ten Percent.

Meanwhile, at precisely 16.00 hrs on Penal Colony Nine, the military hovercraft is delivering today's batch of fresh meat. It has just arrived at the jetty. By coincidence, exactly fifty males and fifty females are being discharged today, to the sound of barked orders, jeering catcalls and piercing wolf whistles. Armed guards and shouting interns line the path leading to the dreaded Welcome Halls.

An indignant and terrified Bex Adams is pushed and shoved into line by two heckling kids. Her husband Joshua stumbles behind her. He's filthy, with two swollen eyes and a cut lip, and his wrists are cuffed behind his back.

Bex is totally naked except for the grubby bra and knickers she's been wearing since yesterday's meeting with Tod Mannion. Her handbag, jacket, blouse, skirt and even her heels were all stripped from her at the police station. The police have put her clothes in the pile for this week's Auction, hoping that some of Bex's fans might bid for souvenirs of her finished career. However, miraculously, the police allowed her to keep the engagement ring and wedding band on her finger.

"There she is. And him!" She hears a bearded man shout. He's dressed in black uniform, brandishing a long baton. "You two. Come here."

Bex and Joshua are both manhandled towards him.

"Come with me. You're off to meet our Warden."

Elsewhere on Penal Colony Nine, when it's only 4 p.m. nobody's clocking off from the bustling factories. On the contrary, the drudges are just one hour into their second 8-hour shift of the day. The first shift runs from 06.30 to 14.30hrs and the second from 15.00 to 23.00hrs.

Almost every one of the 35,000 factory workers puts in two shifts a day, seven days per week. The island's four vast units manufacture essential products for the Mainland and its export markets. Products range from car parts to garden tools, cotton clothes to sex toys.

Of the 35,000 workers, around 70percent - 25,000 - are male 'drudges' (as factory workers are technically called) and the remaining 10,000 are female. Productivity is extremely high. Much higher than on the Mainland. And costs are obviously low. There are no strikes, no pay reviews and very few days are lost to sickness.

Both sexes are primarily selected based on their apparent durability and capacity for hard work rather than their good looks. Nevertheless, many drudges - both male and female - have faced sexual harassment in the workplace at some time or another. There is no Grievance Procedure. There's no #Me Too movement.

Each production line contains a conveyor belt and 200 numbered places. One hundred drudges work standing on each side of the belt, opposite each other. Conversation is prohibited except during short breaks. Everyone must focus 100 percent on the job.

Shift supervisors patrol the lines on foot to ensure there's no talking or laziness. There are also staff rooms up in the gantry above the belts. These have large internal glass-windows that overlook the toiling drudges below so that even off-duty supervisors can keep an eye on productivity.

As usual, at 4 p.m. today, there are a couple of gaps on the assembly line where drudges have been removed for appraisals. A pretty 21yr old redhead who works on line 4 at place 17 is up in a staff room having her performance evaluated.

Currently, the young man on line 4 place 16 adjacent to hers is having to work twice as hard. He's having to make up for his redheaded girlfriend's absence. There's no excuse for failing to meet quota even if there's a temporary gap in the line. So his hands are flying as the components trundle down the belt.

If he had a moment to glance up at the internal window overlooking his place, he could see his girlfriend's nose is pushed against the glass. Behind her the bearded face of one of the early-shift Supervisors can be seen. Her top is unbuttoned and he's appraising her pale breasts while he rocks backwards and forwards.

She's been up there for half an hour so far. Several supervisors have already graded her. She's hoping to get a B or B-minus at worst. Anything starting with a C will carry a punishment. Hopefully she'll be down in another half an hour and she can rejoin her line until the shift ends at 23.00hrs.

The situation is similar over on West Hills Farm. Today's outdoor work will be continuing for around three hours yet, at least until sunset. Out in the fields, row upon row of labourers stoop to pick cotton, tend crops and till the soil, while the foremen and interns ensure there's no slacking under the sultry, late-afternoon sun.

Meanwhile, on the sloping pastureland and inside cool barns, the real cattle and sheep, pigs and goats are looked after like royalty while human ponies haul carts up and down the gentle slopes.

In one field, honey-blonde Naomi has learned yesterday's lesson well. Three days ago she had a career, a husband and a nice apartment. Now, she's crawling on her hands and knees using a ruler and trowel to plant seeds exactly 45.7 centimetres apart. She ignores the humidity and dust and her sore knees. She even seems oblivious to the flies and insects that are buzzing around her backside.

Strolling behind her is her personal minder, young Tommy Gunn. He's holding a long bamboo, tapping the top of her head every few seconds, keeping her aware of the brisk pace required. He's wearing shorts and an unbuttoned shirt, showing off his sweaty chest and stained fly.

Tommy doesn't bother to check each and every measurement. Instead at random, about every twenty seeds or so, he'll pull out his tape measure and verify the exact distance between the last two seeds that Naomi's planted: if they're 45.6 or 45.8 centimetres apart it simply isn't accurate enough. The Manual says that the crop will grow best if planted at precisely 45.7 cm gaps.

Fortunately, Naomi's pert buttocks bear a mere seven scarlet welts, showing she's only been inaccurate seven times since dawn. Not bad considering the numerous rows she's managed to plant during the past nine hours.

Her naked body stinks a bit by now. Especially her armpits and between her thighs. Since last night's shower, she's entertained Tommy three times today and a couple of his new mates once as well. Interns often swap their charges like they used to trade Top Trumps.

Naomi is also no longer so pernickety about being fucked in the arse. In fact, she willingly offered Tommy and his friends whichever of her three holes they fancied. As she crawls along, the insides of her thighs are sticky with a mix of stale semen and fresh sweat that attracts flies and insects. Given the current state of both her front AND rear entrances, there's little doubt Tommy will be choosing her parched mouth if he requires a final pleasure break before sunset.

 

END OF EXTRACT