Fiction

Chapter 14 - Punishment

On Sunday Margery had a date with Phillip, her current boyfriend, to go boating on the river.

Margery and Phillip have been dating for well over a year now and this would be an opportunity to rekindle her waning interest.

He's a Busie, a medical specialist who had an honorific title Dr until he specialised in surgical robots; engaged in the lucrative business of body modification; and became Mr again. He now owns the clinic and a suite of surgical robots, allowing him and a partner to carry out many operations simultaneously.

He's also minor royalty and while any political significance was finally killed off by the famine, an inherited title still caries street-cred.  She likes to be seen about town with him in his luxury aircar. A particular characteristic of Busies is their unusual choice of vehicles.

Busies prefer longer lasting 'classic' vehicles that among their class are a mark of professional status and achievement. These are built to last longer than a year and are identified by a limited number of recognised badges, for example: a chain of four circles in a horizontal line; a single circle containing a three-pointed star identifies 'Doichies'. There are a couple of others.

Because of the Busies obvious lack of concern for the latest fashion, often keeping the same vehicle for months, and even having them washed when they get dirty, instead of immediately recycling them, Bogans are offended by them, some even claiming to feel ill when they occasionally see one, because of their revolting 'oldness' and the lack of hygiene that oldness implies. It's like a 20th century pedestrian being confronted by a sanitary cart in the middle of the day. They derisively call them: 'Doichies'; 'Frenchies'; 'Ities'; or 'Brities'; or '44 Door Sedans'.

Where these Bogan insults come from Margery is not sure. 44 doors? Anyway, Phillip presently pilots a 'Frenchie'.

They met when Margery visited Phillip's medical centre for one of her little surgical enhancements. Initially her plan was to enchant the owner to have her 'adjustment' done for nothing, it didn't matter what he or she looked like. But he turned out to be: tall; good looking; intelligent; athletic; and wealthy. Margery saw Phillip's potential immediately. And when Circe ran his Partner Potential Profile (PPP) and she discovered that he had an hereditary title, he came up tops.

He's polished and knowledgeable, close enough to being a Grad not to embarrass her when they go out with her colleagues; he has better credit than most grads; and best of all he wouldn't get in her way. He works nights, for way over a standard 20 hour week, mainly altering wealthy patients who prefer things done at night, and spends a lot of his spare time at his gym.

The only snag was some code called 'medical ethics' based on some ancient Greek Oath, 'hypocritical' or something, that told him he couldn't date a patient. So, she showed him how nicely her ring twinkles; sang him a little song he quickly decided that not only would the procedure be free but that she would need to come to his apartment to recuperate.

Once she was staying there, a couple of evening Christmas presents, to assuage his considerable libido, quickly put an end of that silly 'no consorting with patients' rule.

Even better, it turns out that it's quite a strict rule, that she could hold over him when he looked like escaping. In the early days this was useful when he accused her of 'using him' or unreasonably objected to her other carnal peccadilloes. Margery loves strict rules.

Very soon she didn't have to hold these bagatelles over him. She began to cast some spells.

Margery's teacher, Morag, told them that the word 'spell' has ancient roots similar to spiel - an attempt to lure - and to the same word as a verb in German - to play. Morag taught that it is actually an acronym: Subconscious Psychic Entrapment Leading to a List (SPELL). The list of outcomes is almost limitless and include a lot more 'L's including: leverage; leadership; long-lasting obedience; loyalty; languor; lassitude; littleness; lowness; as well as limitless pain, joy or ecstasy the sorceress wishes to inflict. Not forgetting the most useful spell of all: lethality.

Yet, as the word implies, all spells are entirely in the mind of the subject. Because our mind is the temple of our individual reality. It interprets our senses; collects our memories; forms our beliefs, likes and dislikes; manages our bodily functions; and thus constructs our interpretation of the external world and our relationship to it. So, anything becomes possible in a subject's personal world once a sorcerer has command of their mind. A quick spell is cast using a similar technique as stage hypnotist. Much greater skill is required, like that of a native witchdoctor, to cast a deadly spell.  Once the subject's mind is captured a mutually understood signal, usually a word or gesture will activate the predetermined spell. A witchdoctor may point a bone. 

Witches have always made use of herbal hallucinogens, poison and mood changers, in addition to powerful suggestions to assist in their mind control. But Morag was a world leading pharmaceutical scientist and counselled against alternative medicines, insisting her disciples use evidence-based drugs and practices. She was continuously experimenting and improving on her many potions and practices. No eye of newt or toe of frog for her or for Margery. But, as she always said, a drop of Lysergic Acid Diethylamide in someone's coffee always beats cream.

Margery became an expert at spells many years ago and has practiced mind control on almost everyone who's crossed her path. Without realising it Phillip's becoming proficient in interpreting her body language. For example, when she twitches her little finger a certain way, he spontaneously decides it's time to do something for her, believing he needs to ask her what she wants then drop everything else until he's done it, certain that it was his own idea. Wrinkling her nose and frowning makes him believe, without doubt, that he was responsible for whatever it is Margery has just done or is about to do. He will be so convinced that he will find a rational explanation to explain any evidence to the contrary.

For example: a few months after they met, Margery took Phillip's new Doichie out flying without his permission, to have a little lemanly fun with a woman she'd enchanted. The audio was playing an old 20th century song with the lyrics "It's just the spin I'm in; That makes it seem such a sin; It's just the spin I'm in." To test this hypothesis the spin she put them in resulted in a spiralling crash into the harbour. It sent the Doichie to the recycler and put her new conquest into a recovery pod, from which she emerged not nearly as attractive as when she went in.

Margery told 'the girls' over a drink that: "It was like a butterfly in reverse. You know - butterfly - chrysalis - caterpillar - Ha Ha Ha."  She hadn't mentioned the sex but they all laughed anyway. Who wouldn't?  It was Margery.

The average boyfriend might have been cross. Yet after Margery cast her spell; instead of getting angry or feeling deceived Phillip apologised for not having the automatic anti-spin software enabled. This was actually immaterial as Margery had turned it off for the experiment. Thus, he blamed the whole incident on himself; paying the woman's hospital expenses; buying a new aircar and presenting Margery with the spare owner identity dongle, describing it as "our new car".   

Since then, he comes at her beck and call. And thanks to her frequent 'becks and calls' he's come many times and is getting a bit worn, like old shoes. And he's annoyingly besotted with her, "like a bloody pet dog."  Anyway, he's available whenever she feels like a bit of male company or needs someone presentable on her arm at a function.

Today he's decided that they should take a picnic to the river-bank. After eating gourmet sandwiches and consuming a bottle of his vintage wine, the only kind Margery drinks, he decided to take her for a row. They'd moored the boat and he'd decided to consummate their déjeuner sur l'herbe in the grass above the embankment, when two couples in a passing boat noticed Phillip's bare bum bobbing up and down between Margery's bare knees that were projecting above the long grass, and yelled their encouragement.

Margery lifted her legs high and wiggled her toes at them; giggling; because it reminded her of a Limerick:

Philip who by nature is a reserved, proud man, with a family tradition to uphold, was surprised to find himself doing this in public and immediately stopped, lying doggo. But Margery was having none of that and promptly showed him her third finger to have him perform more vigorously for the boaters, and then curled a little finger to make him finish prematurely with a great orgasmic yell, completing the spectacle. "Doggo indeed! Lapdog more like!" she mumbled under her breath.

Then she just said: "Thanks," in a flat unemotional way.

After his amazement at his own exhibitionism and his supreme exertion to finish he was taken aback. Surely, she'd been satisfied, that was one of his best. He didn't understand. Was she being ironic? 

"Come on stud let's get in the new Frenchie and fly home," she told him: "No. Better. I'm still not satisfied. We need to find some longer grass and do that again," she insisted: "To the park James!"

So, to his ongoing amazement, Philip found himself, yet again, completely naked, except for his panama hat, lying on the jogging track in their local park just where it snakes through the long grass. Margery was shrieking with delight as each jogger, taken by surprise as they rounded the bend, narrowly missed them. Margery didn't want any locals to get a good look at either of them so she'd made him wear the hat and told him to stay low, effectively hiding both their faces. Meanwhile she just lay there in the shadow of his hat, passively, except for the occasional wiggles and the shrieks, watching him as dispassionately he might observe a patient undergoing surgery. Yet try as he might, for the first time in his life, he was totally unable to perform. Was it the coldness of her gaze?

His obvious confusion at his opposing failures was so delicious that Margery abused him for the rest of the afternoon; accusing him of selfishly trying to satisfy himself while doing nothing for her.

Phillip had never experienced such a physical wringing out, followed by such humiliation. He just wanted to collapse in a dark room and hide in shame.

***

By the time Margery's alter ego, Kat, arrived late on Sunday evening, Mohandas had been working for thirty hours, with only the briefest of pizza and bathroom breaks, and wasn't making much sense. She told him as much. The Mikado music had stopped and she was cross about that too. She put it back on and made sure that it was on repeat.

"You're useless to me in this condition. Go to your bedroom and get undressed. Now!"

As soon as he was naked, he collapsed on his bed and closed his eyes. He was so tired!

"What do you think you're doing?" she demanded, following him in some minutes later. "You can't go to sleep unpunished."

She'd been jumping his player to the track: 'There is beauty in the bellow of the blast' and setting the first part to repeat. She slid the wide leather belt from his trousers and doubled it over. She told him to roll onto his stomach. She had his remote control that allowed her to raise the volume the music as she liked and she beat him in time to the song, using one arm to hit him while with the other hand she pushed his head down, face into his pillow, to quieten each yell of pain.

As 'his Kat' beat Mohandas, Margery experienced the exquisite pleasure that she always felt when Kat was hurting someone. But now the pleasure was seasoned deliciously with thoughts of Bianca.

Morag always insisted that we each find at least one younger apprentice to follow us a generation later. Suitable candidates have been hard to find but Bianca is just perfect. The girl is very attractive and not unlike her. She'll be a wonderful seductress and acolyte when she's been properly recruited and trained. At last, she's found a girl worthy of initiation who might in years to come be led through her degrees in The Craft until she's ready to step up as worshipful mistress. A warm glow suffused her body, like a delayed sexual climax, as she beat Mohandas and simultaneously imagined future intimate moments with Bianca.

When Mohandas' bottom was satisfactorily crimson, she changed sides and beat him with the other arm. Margery is an ambidextrous thwacker.

When the first blood appeared 'his Kat' let him up and demanded he pleasure her with his tongue, thwacking him again at each mistake. Margery was disappointed in his manly endowments, when compared to Phillip, who has become a bore. So, greater skills, in other ways, are important for Mohandas to perfect. In any case, she often preferred lingua to lingam and this was to be her most satisfying session of the weekend.

Yet, save for his now desperate need to please 'his Kat', it did little to relieve Mohandas' urgent carnal needs. Anticipating this Margery had brought with her a robotic 'familiar', or assistant, in the form of Pussy, a large fluffy, black, toy cat.

Taking Pussy in her arms then lying beside him naked and kissing him deeply, to initiate the experience, she introduced them. The robot cat, with its wonderful mink-like fur and multifunction tail and surprisingly accommodating orifices, then moved, purring softly, over his body in learning mode, visiting each erogenous zone to nibble; or lick; or stroke; or probe; or engulf; learning to monitor and heighten his excitement to an extended crescendo under Kat's guidance. When Margery was satisfied with this foreplay Kat pressed the programming button before Pussy settled down for the finale. Pussy's equipped with an electro-stimulation unit of the kind used for 'milking' bulls and rams of semen for artificial insemination. Yet her subtle program is not like a bull in a china shop. Over the next, seemingly interminable, period she proceeded little by little to rob Mohandas of more and more 'ego' until he was hallucinating.

Margery has had Pussy since she was an apprentice to Morag her teacher. Pussy was a birthday gift for her fifteenth birthday like a 'soft toy' given to a younger child. Since that time, she has served her mistress faithfully with very little maintenance except firmware upgrades provided by a wicked colleague. And of course, to be emptied. At one time Pussy was a useful source of credit as there's a thriving semi-legal market in human sperm.

Not every male partner can deliver the goods in sufficient quantity and quality to meet the demand. That's because these days, when a single baby is so precious, the recipient mother will generally want to in-vitro fertilise say a thousand of her ova so she can reject all but two or three of the blastocysts after genetic screening: first for known genetic defects; and then selecting for desired characteristics. Like one of those Bogan elimination shows, final selection will occur after successful implantation or in the delivery room, to ensure the best possible outcome. That's why every child born today is told that they're the: 'one in a thousand'.

One of Margery's very successful start-ups was Male Order, a sperm bank that promised delivery, from 'studs' with the desired attributes, anywhere in the world, within 48 hours. Hunting the appropriate donor and then collecting was fun for a twenty-something and good experience in seducing men but became boring after a time.  

Margery sold the business to an acolyte long ago but might nevertheless offer tonight's harvest on the 'dark web', for old time's sake.

She knows that the wording of the ad is important. Parents want a child consistent with their family traditions. Preferably one resembling the putative 'father'.

Margery knows not to mention that he's a Grad. That would immediately limit her market to a mere handful. But many families originate from India and that's a big positive, along with fitness and medium height. 'Intelligent' comes later as it will not appeal to many. She might even leave it out. A child who's too bright can be a burden to a Bogan family:  'Nobody likes a smartarse,' as the saying goes.

Apart from that, Mohandas is in the 'Goldilocks zone':  not too tall; not too short; not too dark; not too white; and will probably fetch a premium price.

Regular milking is now on his agenda. So, across the world, dozens of little Mohandas' will soon be the 'apples of their parents' eye', filling nappies and crying their tiny hearts out. As he, too, soon will be, if Kat has anything to do with it.

During Mohandas' extended series of climaxes with Pussy, Kat had kissed him continuously, so that he would associate the whole experience with her and not just a mechanical cat. Then she allowed him to fall into a deep sleep. After that Margery reset the music and, putting her Pussy back in her box, she departed invisibly; her own ego close to exploding, having completely robbed two men of all of theirs in a single afternoon. From now on, if Kat was not in the mood for that kind of sex, Pussy would stand in for her. Just set and forget. Meanwhile, the deposits would flow to Margery's credit balance. Perhaps another pair of shoes?

Such material concerns are of little interest to her Kat alter-ego, who is motivated solely by power over others and the erotic thrill it delivers. While Margery's interest is commercial, Kat's now excited by the thought of introducing Mohandas to more of her hardware, to complement her firmware; software; and wetware.