Judgment (9 page)

"Not at all," Hutch replied.

"Happy to help," Martin added, then directed the guards.

"Set it up over there and move those beds aside. I want plenty of room to swing into." He twirled the cane in his hand, as though limbering up his arm, and it made a nasty hissing sound as it swished through the air. "Which one is it?"

"Red, of course." Master Boyden turned his head and all three men looked right at me.

I froze on my bed.

Hutch asked, "Isn't that the one we all—"

"That's her," Boyden said.

And Martin smiled. "And she still hasn't learned. I knew I'd get the chance to work that little bottom over. Now, you'll really make my day if you say she didn't bruise yesterday and that I'll have a nice, pale little slate to work upon."

"After Deaton got through with her?" Boyden snorted. "Are you serious? She'll carry those marks for a week at least."

Martin tsked. "Pity. I always do my best work on an unmarred canvas. Still, can't complain. Any week a Black Master gets to cane a New-Comer is a good week to draw Demerit Duty."

As the guards set the 'horse' down and shifted beds out of the way, the masters headed down the aisle between the rows of beds, all dark smiles and white teeth, coming straight to me.

77

Judgment

by Denise Hall

Master Martin caressed the foot of Black's bed, sending her scrambling all the way to the bars at the head to avoid being anywhere near it. He never took his eyes off me as he said, "I love the young ones, so full of spit and fire and practically no common sense—wonderful mixture, that. Hutch, didn't our little mischief-maker here have a taut, firm bottom? I seem to recall commenting on that when I had her across my knee yesterday."

"Very firm," Hutch confirmed. "Very little wobble to it at all."

"That kind of bottom just begs for the cane." Martin struck the end of Black's mattress, the cane slicing through the air to deliver a mighty 'THWHACK!' upon the neatly made blankets, and I jumped so hard I nearly fell off my own. "Put her right up for me, Boyden. I'll give her welts she'll feel for the rest of her life."

I swallowed hard.

Master Boyden lay his hands on the metal foot rail of the bed and leaned over, bringing his face down to mine. "Last chance," he told me. "I'll tolerate no more of your little mutinies. I suggest you start eating."

Beside him, Master Martin lovingly caressed the yellow length of that beastly cane with his hand. "Oh, don't listen to him. Please. Be defiant."

I cleaned my plate. We all did. But to this day, I hold the record for the longest running hunger strike in Judgment's history.

On day number three, they introduced us to caramels and getting me to eat after that ceased to be a problem. And lord, 78

Judgment

by Denise Hall

did those candies ever become a treat! It's how they got us to learn their language.

Master Boyden schooled us every day, teaching us simple words at first and giving a single caramel square to the female who made the most progress or who tried the hardest to fold her tongue around the unfamiliar sounds. For the female who, in his estimate, learned the least, a sound dose of his thick leather strap was enough to motivate the rest of us to try harder. Even me. Three times on the receiving end of that strap was all I required before I decided becoming bi-lingual was in my best interest. But the day I got my first caramel ... oh ... never has anyone savored a candy so thoroughly as I.

They say if a person is dropped into a foreign speaking country, by month's end necessity will have forced them to learn the language enough to adequately converse with the locals. Caramel squares and harsh leather whippings had us speaking Judgment's language in two weeks. By the end of the month, we had begun to lose our accents.

Those candies also got us to betray ourselves.

At the end of our time as New-Comers, we were led from our solitary barrack to a well-lit room that was almost like a cross between a craft store and a music hall. There were all sorts of musical instruments: pianos, guitars, flutes, etc.

There were tables full of books, half-woven tapestries on looms, easels with white canvases and a rainbow array of paints, water colors and pastels, charcoal pencils and sketch pads, arts and craft supplies to boggle the imagination. And the question was put to us: "What can you do?"

79

Judgment

by Denise Hall

I watched as my companions scrambled like a line of naked, pink seals to reveal their favorite hobbies. Brunette and French Blonde both played piano, Brunette only passably so. But they were rewarded with caramel candies and Master Boyden logged a note in the book he was carrying.

Black arranged flowers and dug yarn from the sewing box with which to crochet, and received a candy for both. Blonde German sang, her soprano voice not opera quality but lilting and beautiful and very pleasing despite the fact that her song was in German and I couldn't understand a word of it. She got two caramels for that alone, and we were all very jealous because of it. Even me, though I kept myself apart from the rest, standing next to the wall and making no move to join my fellow seals in the performance arena.

"What do you do?" Master Boyden finally asked me.

Just because I wanted caramels bad enough to learn their language, didn't mean I was ready to fall at their feet in throes of obedience. At this point, I knew I would never be allowed to go home. But rather than give up, the wheels in my mind had switched tracks. I was now thinking about escape.

He held his hand out, gesturing to the musical instruments. "Do you play?"

"Not since I was five," I said.

He looked at me. "Not since I was five, what?"

"Sir." That word stuck in my throat nearly every time, but Boyden's ever ready strap was slowly but surely helping me overcome my reticence.

He made a note in his book. "That's three for today."

80

Judgment

by Denise Hall

I turned my head away, making a face as I realized I'd be under his strap before bedtime again tonight.

"What did you play?"

"A kazoo," I muttered, then quickly added, "Sir."

"Too late," he said, almost cheerfully and making another note. "That's four, and I ought to give you another for cheek, so watch it. Can you sew?"

"No, sir."

"Everyone has hobbies, Red. What do you like to do for fun?"

"Watch tv mostly." I frowned, picking at my hands, then realized my mistake.

"Five," he said. "What else?"

"Keep your caramels, sir." I was careful to keep my tone and expression both neutral. "I am not a trained monkey. I won't dance for you."

"Six. The respect is there, but so is the attitude. What kind of dancing do you do?"

"It was a figure of speech, sir. I can't dance."

"Two more for lying then." Master Boyden glanced around the room. He noted Brunette's artistic ability with a charcoal pencil, and German blonde who was busy showing her golden-haired sister how to fold origami animals.

"Do I get sent home, sir," I asked, not entirely unhopeful,

"if I haven't any decent skills at all?"

Master Boyden glanced at me over the top of his book, his expression unreadable. "Your status and sales price are determined by the quality of companionship you offer. A man can only beat and fuck a female, even the most beautiful of 81

Judgment

by Denise Hall

females, so many times before boredom sets in. When she can do other things, then she maintains a level of interest.

Blonde with the lovely singing voice will likely be ranked higher than the rest of you. She has a talent that her sales price will reflect. She will, in all probability, be sold to a more artistically inclined master who will value her ability. With fewer skills, comes less value and a lower price. And think, if just about anyone can afford to buy you, Red, who knows what kind of brutal, callous, sadistic master you might find yourself undervalued by. As hard as it may be for you to believe, there are things Outside worse than what you'll find within these walls."

It was a chillingly cold explanation, and as I digested the hard-to-swallow information, he smiled. "There have been a rare, few females who have come to us without a single decent skill, too stupid or disinclined to pick one up during their time of training. I believe all three were sold to fetish brothels. How many years can you endure that kind of treatment, do you think: nightly beatings, being passed from one man to the next, used so frequently that after a while the pain of brutal, savage rutting causes all sexual sensation to fade into nothingness. That is, of course, if you are even allowed to keep your clitoris. Some places have been known to cut them from a female to keep her focused on pleasuring the men mounting her, instead of selfishly achieving an orgasm for herself. At least whores and prostitutes can change their professions if they want to badly enough. All you'll be able to do is lie on your back, stare at the ceiling and try to retain your sanity. How appealing is that to you?"

82

Judgment

by Denise Hall

I stared at the origami animals the blondes had fashioned: German's, all beautiful and elegant creations; French, still struggling to fold a simple swan. I looked up at him, swallowing my pride as I asked, "Do you have any clay, sir?"

"Do you sculpt?"

Reluctantly, I nodded. "I make pottery, too."

"Nine." He held out his hand to show me to the pottery wheel. "Right this way."

I made a small pot. Uninspired and unenthusiastic though I was, my foot pumped the peddle to spin the wheel and my hands knew well where and how to touch the clay to mold that lump into a pleasing form.

"Very nice," Master Boyden told me.

But the second he graded the skill, I destroyed my creation, letting my hands fall into the sides and reducing the structure to an ugly, wet lump again.

* * * *

Our time as New-Comers ended that day. We were given the drab blue-grey uniforms of Primaries and taken down into the Pit to join the rest of Judgment's Lessers. French Blonde and Brunette were given into the care of Master Hutch, who supervised those who could play a musical instrument with some degree of competency. Black went to Master Borsch in the sewing room.

83

Judgment

by Denise Hall

"You should probably go to Master Duncan," Boyden said as he led me down a long corridor, past a good many skill room doors. "He's got eleven painters and would no doubt be grateful for a sculptor and a little variety. But this was requested especially with you in mind, and Tane has already agreed."

We went almost to the end of the hall before Boyden stopped, opened a door, and motioned me inside. "I've been looking forward to this." He took my hand and pressed a yellow slip of paper into my palm. "Your nine counts of misbehavior. Be sure to give them to your new instructor."

I went in. There were four Primaries, seven Midpoints and three Elites, each sitting at individual desks that were, but for the ankle stocks underneath them, strangely reminiscent of grade school. All along the walls were bookcases crammed full of huge leather-bound tomes. The walls were lined with canes, straps, paddles and yokes. At the front of the room, there was a stool in one corner and a waist-high stock with wrist and neck holes in the other.

Over all this presided Master Deaton. His desk was centered on a raised dais between the stock and stool, and at the moment, he was half-leaning, half-sitting on the edge, a long, whippy cane in his hands, which he methodically bent back and forth as he surveyed the Lessers under his command. I think we saw each other at the same time.

Master Boyden patted me on the shoulder and winked,

"Welcome to Primary life."

And the door closed behind me, sealing me in that room with a man who suddenly seemed more like a demon. We 84

Judgment

by Denise Hall

stared at one another, his black eyes boring into mine, squelching whatever rebellious feelings I'd been coddling since the skill room. Though I could have been a stone statue for all I moved, Master Deaton came as close to cracking a smile as I would ever see him.

"Well, bugger me blind." The corner of his mouth curled ever so slightly upward. "I didn't think Tane would agree to put you in my care. He must think you're as desperate for discipline as I do. Either that, or you just didn't pray hard enough."

Taking one step back, I bumped into the wall, disturbing a neat display of canes with my elbow and knocking two of them to the floor. Not one of the other Lessers so much as turned her head to look at me.

In fact, the only one moving was Master Deaton, who pointed the length of that cane at me and said, "You must be wondering right now, what does he have planned for me?"

I knew what he had planned for me. The pain from his last spanking had lasted a long time, and the bruises even longer.

The very idea of what he could—would—do to me now, left me almost paralyzed with fear.

"A female should know her fate before it's dealt her," he said in his soft, loverly way. "It's a fascinating thing to watch—the visible, emotional conflict as a woman tries to reconcile herself with the agony she knows she'll suffer under my hand. I've been looking forward to watching you struggle all month long. The fear I see on your face is a good beginning, but you have only the barest inkling of what I can 85

Judgment

by Denise Hall

do to you. I think I'll give you a little demonstration.

Something to broaden your scope of understanding. Dawn."

A blonde Midpoint immediately lay her pencil aside and stood up beside her desk. Like a well-trained soldier, she stood at attention with her head high, her arms straight at her sides, and waited to be directed. From under the back of her uniform skirt, dark bruise-like lines laddered the back of her legs to a point halfway down her thighs. I felt my own legs go weak and rubbery in response to the sight.