Arianne Voric shifted the car down a gear, feeling the strong pull of the powerful two litre engine as the she accelerated into the long, climbing curve. Her leather gloved hands moved deftly across the wheel, instinctively correcting an incipient skid as the road surface changed from dry to damp beneath the fringe of fir trees that bordered the A1 Highway. As the road straightened the grey, forbidding facade of Prochody castle came into view.
To say that Anton Janacek’s first week at the vineyard had not gone well would have been somewhat of an understatement. Arianne’s enquiries into the prisoner’s history had revealed a litany of past misdemeanours. Most of them in some way related to his attitude to women, ranging from domestic abuse to an allegation of attempted rape made by a tourist who he had picked up in his taxi. Her first interview with him had lasted barely two minutes. Janacek had remained silent throughout. Arianne had him taken to the cooler, the bare, dark cell hardly bigger than the man himself. There he had remained in solitary confinement for the following five days.
Being forced to witness the sjambok beating of the prisoner on the day of his arrival Janacek could have been left in no doubt that his turn would soon arrive. In fact Arianne Voric’s investigation of his background had unearthed sufficient information for her to give serious consideration to re-opening investigations into the rape allegation. Conviction for this offence would carry a mandatory ten year prison sentence and, since the referendum prisoners within this category no longer qualified for any protection from their guards under the law, Arianne Voric due to her seniority was able to select any such prisoner and to carry out whatever punishments she chose with impunity. Janacek by his impudent behaviour was surely digging himself a very big hole.
Arianne drove into the castle courtyard and parked her car on the grey cobbles, still gleaming from the early morning rain. The heels of her black leather boots echoed faintly in the quiet morning air as she made her way into the reception foyer. Veronika Tomasek, her dark hair tied into a ponytail greeted her and they made their way up to her office on the first floor.
“And how is our friend Janacek progressing” she asked. She poured coffee into two mugs as she sat across the desk from Arianne.
“Oh you know how these things go, slow and steady. Although I have dug up some more information on him. It seems that he has a very murky past, he has been a very naughty boy indeed.”
She pushed the beige criminal records file with the diagonal red stripe that denoted violent behaviour across the desk towards Veronika. “I don’t think that they bothered themselves too much with the original investigation. They probably thought that it might damage the tourist trade and preferred not to have the adverse publicity that a trial would involve. I have spoken to the complainant and even though this was three years ago she would be quite happy to attend, although I don’t think that will be necessary. I am quite confident that we could get a full signed confession from Janacek”. Arianne added. ” I can be very persuasive when the mood takes me.” The smile that accompanied this remark implied that her persuasion would not be of the gentle kind.
They finished their coffee and went back downstairs. Another flight of stone steps led to a basement level where a row of uniformly grey steel doors gave access to the cramped and spartan short term holding cells. At the end of the corridor another door led onto more steps and these descended to the lower basement. Now they were in the very oldest part of the castle. Here, a single large cell languished behind rows of rusty steel vertical bars. One section of bars was a hinged door and they went inside. The only light came down from the stairs behind them. Piles of old cardboard boxes stood in one corner. The place had clearly been used as a store for redundant paperwork over many years and the whole place had the damp, musty smell of decay about it. Veronika turned to Arianne. “What do you think of it?”
Arianne ran a gloved hand down one of the bars. “I think that it’s perfect for an interrogation centre. I can imagine that once we have installed our equipment it won’t take much to have them falling over themselves to sign their confessions.” She let out a short laugh. “My only concern is that they will give in far too easily and that might spoil our fun.” Her mind was already on Janacek, her determination to break him was now growing by the day as she discovered more about his background.
“It is very good of you to offer to train me in your techniques, I can assure you that I am eager to learn. It really is high time these men were put in their places, I can’t wait to get started”. The tall, dark haired Veronika was of Ausitanian peasant stock but her natural intelligence shone through her humble background. Arianne regarded her new protege. For generations these attractive young woman’s forbears would have laboured under their menfolk, accepting their menial lots in life. Now it would be Arianne’s project to offer her the opportunity to atone for the sins of the fathers.
The prison director Maria Novak was an old friend of Arianne and she had agreed readily to the idea of the conversion of the redundant basement. “I have a fifteen thousand shillings of this year’s budget unallocated, you are welcome to use it for your project. Prochody has been in need of an interrogation centre for a long while, the lower basement will be ideal for the purpose. I have only one caveat. Amnesty International have started to take an interest in the internal affairs of Ausitania. I think that it might be best that whatever happens here inside the Prochody prison remains completely confidential”.
Arianne Voric nodded her enthusiastic agreement. “I think you can be assured on that point. I would hate for anyone to get the idea that these punishments are purely for my gratification. I assure you that I will ensure total discretion”.
Three weeks later Arianne returned to Prochody to review the work. Progress had been good. Once again Ausitanian policy of using prisoners fir necessary works had paid dividends. After the stored boxes, many containing files fifty or more years old had been disposed of the entire area had been thoroughly cleaned and the electrics upgraded to install power and light. A comfortable office with a small kitchen had been constructed in one corner. The main body of the cell, a large stone floored area had been fully equipped for the purpose Arianne intended.
Maria Novak stood in the centre of the stone floor where the steel chain of a power hoist was suspended from the ceiling. She ran her fingers down the cool metal links as she addressed her old friend. Her immaculately manicured hand with it’s crimson talon like nails gripped the chain as her other hand pointed to the upholstered restraint bench with it’s two “Y” shaped ends equipped with sturdy leather straps, designed to hold fast the limbs of the very strongest occupant. Arianne regarded it also. In her minds eye she saw the naked body of a male prisoner restrained and awaiting her use of the sjambok. She could already smell the fear on him
“Let’s not beat about the bush Arianne, what you have constructed here is not really an interrogation centre but to all intents and purposes a torture chamber. I don’t have a problem with that at all, it’s high time these men got what is coming to them but I am sure that you know that there are people out there who might wish to use the very existence of places such as this against the administration. So I am relying on you to keep what goes on here absolutely secret”.
Arianne looked around at the ancient stone walls. Prochody castle had been constructed of huge blocks of the local heavy granite. The blocks had been hewn from a nearby quarry more than two centuries ago. Ausitania was known as a source of this stone and it was now being sold all around the world. Long before it had been used for the trendy loft conversions of London and New York the feudal lords had used it to provide the defensible military positions of which Prochody castle was a fine example. The walls were almost a full metre thick, no sound would ever escape this subterranean room.
As this conversation was taking place a thousand or so kilometres to their west in the offices of The Sunday Courier newspaper another was being held between Alex Morgan and his boss, the newspaper’s features editor Donald Harrington. The dour Scot with the florid, pock marked face stubbed out yet another cigarette, he had never taken any notice of the smoking ban, his office remained an oasis of fug in a smoke free world. “Just over a hundred and fifty votes between the two and on that basis a new government with draconian powers, it’s political correctness gone doo lally”. Harrington offered his own take on the Ausitania situation.
The breaking news on the BBC detailed a report by Amnesty International stating that male subjects of the tiny state were being subjected to persecution by it’s female leadership. Flagrant breaches of human rights were said to be rife within the country with many males being arrested and held without trial. Strangely Harrington never had never had a good word to say about either of these organisations before but in this case he made an exception.
“Damn good work, it’s blatant sex discrimination, the sooner these harridans are hounded from office and a responsible government restored the better”. Alex saw the opportunity. If his boss had realised that half his working life was spent surfing the net watching videos in which women in black leather beat men black and blue his answer would have been very different. Now when Alex suggested writing a piece on the abuse of men in Ausitania as an expose Harrington agreed to the idea immediately. Within the hour he had booked his flight and he left the office early to pack his bags.
The Friday morning flight into Libovice International departed Gatwick on time. Ninety minutes later Alex Morgan felt the clunk of the undercarriage locking into place as the 737 crossed the Slovak-Hungarian border on the final approach into Ausitania’s only airport. The aircraft was full of the usual suspects. A large party of girls on a hen weekend and several groups of lads, no doubt attracted by the cheap alcohol for which the bars of Libovice had become infamous. He checked into his hotel and prepared to investigate for himself the reports now circulating widely about the alleged abuses of power taking place across Ausitania.
The bar U Kalicha was situated on one of the twisting warrens of steeply inclined cobbled streets that formed the heart of the medieval city. The buildings here all huddled in towards each other as if holding furtive conversations in the gathering dusk. As night began to fall across the city so did the temperature. By the time the bar began to fill up there was a distinct hint of frost in the air. Groups of young people arrived shivering off the streets. Alex Morgan ordered a carafe of Ausitanian Riesling and began to work his way methodically through the whole litre.
It was just before midnight when the first police patrol arrived at the U Kalicha, the two black uniformed women officers made their way through the bar checking the identities of all the men. It was the locals that caused most of the problems. They were not used to seeing young women at close quarters in their provocative clothing that left nothing to the imagination. Until fairly recently Ausitanian women had adopted the dress of their mothers and grandmothers, heavily influenced by the modest styles of the old empire. Outside of Libovice where the tourists had influenced the younger women the babushka styles were still relatively common.
Alex decided that this was his opportunity to get some photographs. He took out his mobile phone and began to gather images to demonstrate the harassment that was taking place. He had barely set about this task when the taller of the two women drew her extendable steel baton and caught him with two hard blows. The first to the back of his legs put him down, the second across his shoulders as he collapsed ensured that he stayed down long enough for his assailant to secure him into her steel collar and cuff restraint. He was then dragged unceremoniously from the bar and thrown into the cage in the back of the police van.
“So what brings you to Libovice Mr Morgan?” The question was almost superfluous really. Arianne Voric had already been through the contents of his wallet before handing it back to him with the comment that it had been taken for “safe keeping”. He looked into her grey green eyes. She was a striking redhead with a slim, attractive body and her uniform of tight, black leather was like something out of his wildest fantasy. She was older than him, probably mid forties. If this was post referendum Ausitania then Alex Morgan thought that he was all for it.
He decided that the best option was to tell her that he was just a tourist. Before he could blurt out this story however Arianne fixed him with a stern stare, an inscrutable look on her immaculately made up face. “I do assure you Mr Morgan that should you try to mislead me the consequences for you will not be good”. Alex felt a distinct twitching between his legs as her comments hit home. He had visited a few professional dominatrix but this woman was the real deal. He wondered what would happen if he flirted with her consequences.
“Look, I’m just a journalist after a story about people having a good time”. Her expression told him that she didn’t believe this line.
“And exactly how does that fit in with photographing police officers going about their legal duties? Come now Mr. Morgan, let us not waste one another’s time. You have already qualified for fourteen days for resisting arrest, why make the situation worse?”
A male orderly brought a tray of coffee into the interview room. “Do you take sugar Mr.Morgan? I suppose black would be a good idea, to help you sober up?”
Thrown by this sudden change of tactics Alex agreed “Yes, black is fine”.
As he sipped at the hot, dark liquid Arianne put her theory to him. ” I did a bit of quick research on your newspaper. Judging from their previous articles they don’t agree with the turn of events in Ausitania since the referendum. So I think it highly unlikely that you were intending to write an article extolling the virtues of such a society”.
Alex saw the lie of the land and decided that it would be easier to come clean. “Alright, I admit that was my original idea to write an expose. But my own view is that you have something good going on here. I am actually in complete agreement with the controls that your government is putting on male power”.
Arianne smiled. She had developed something like a radar for this over the years. Now she was pretty certain that she had a true male submissive sitting before her and she saw a way of turning the situation to mutual advantage. “I think that now I believe you” she said quietly.
The deal was soon cut. In exchange for dropping all charges Alex Morgan agreed to serve as Arianne’s unpaid house boy for the fourteen day period that would have been his sentence. She laid out the terms. “You will work in a domestic capacity carrying out whatever tasks I chose for you. Any failure to come up to my standards will result in you being punished by me. No kind of sexual gratification is permitted to males in custody and you will wear a standard issue male chastity lock for your period of service, is that agreed?”
Alex nodded his assent. “I will of course be keeping your passport for the duration of your stay. It will be returned to you on the eighteenth, then you may return to England”.
Arianne Voric lived in an idyllic setting. The converted ancient stone farmhouse looked out over the valley. In the distance it was possible to make out the ripening vines of the state vineyard. Alex Morgan was naked apart from a heavy leather collar and the stainless steel chastity lock that prevented him from gaining any sort of erection. He was on his hands and knees still polishing the kitchen floor when he heard the low throb of the car’s engine. The kitchen floor was the last thing on her list and, although as he regarded the pristine grey tiles that he had now buffed to a shine he knew that Arianne would find a reason to order him down to the cellar to receive the punishment that she decreed was his due.
His body tensed with a growing, tingling excitement as he heard her key turn in the lock followed by the staccato tap of her heels on the hall floor. He assumed his position in the centre of the floor, the cold of the tiles fresh against his cheek. The steps came closer to the kitchen. Now she was in the doorway, framed against the backdrop of the light coming from the front door. It was a stance that he was coming to adore, her long legs elongated even more by the heels of the laced black knee boots. Alex had glanced up from his position to look at her, he realised that he still held the cloth in his right hand.
The look on her face could have been mistaken for a scowl, but it was more than that. Her grey green eyes sparkled with a divine mischief. Arianne removed her jacket to reveal the intense white of her blouse that contrasted starkly with the tight black leather that encased her slim body from the waist down. She walked slowly across the room, almost brushing his naked body as she did so. Picking up a tumbler she ran the water into it. Alex followed the tracks of her boots. Before entering the house she had obviously walked through some mud, the line of dark smudges extending diagonally across the kitchen floor. She followed her path back to the door, compounding the soiling of the floor with another row of dirty boot prints. She stood sipping the water. Without speaking she extended a gloved index finger towards the double row of tracks, pointing accusingly at them.
“Clean them up boy!” Alex moved to begin the task once more. As he cleaned away each of the muddy smudges he moved closer to where she stood. The final one was just in front of her boot. As he cleaned it from the tile she moved her foot forward, swaying the elegant almond toed laced boot from side to side just beneath his face.
“Clean it!” He moved the cloth towards her boot.
“Not like that, with your tongue.”
He felt the coolness of the leather beneath his lips and the grittiness of the dirt on his tongue as he obediently followed her orders. Arianne leaned back, savouring the intensity of his submission. She said softly “Good boy.”
Enjoy the view.
Copyright DL Media, October 2018
Artwork http://ladycaroleart.com