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corridors. I tried to keep track of the path, but I was soon
hopelessly confused. The dark, empty halls looked too much
the same, and the direction for the door I most wanted—the
one behind which lay my freedom—was kept a complete
mystery from me.
We were brought to Judgment's medical center. The
Master Doctor introduced himself as Moulton while we lined
up against the wall, and he was very, very thorough in his
examinations of us.
He collected blood in multiple vials. Urine and fecal
samples were taken with each of us made to squat over a
pot, without a shred of privacy as we made our
"contribution". When Black had difficulty, she underwent the
added embarrassment of a public enema. The sight of that
was enough to convince me to cooperate. When it came my
turn, I accepted the fresh pot they handed me, turned my
face to the wall as I squatted, and tried to pretend that I was
alone.
Our hair was checked for fleas and lice. We were given eye
exams. Our hearing and motor skills were tested. They looked
in our ears, noses and mouths. They even seemed interested
44
Judgment
by Denise Hall
in our individual level of intelligence. While we waited for the
final, and worst, aspect of the examination, we had to
complete short written tests regarding mathematics, sciences,
the composition of sentence structures and reading abilities.
It was almost like being back in school.
Blonde German was the first to be subjected to the
gynecological chair. With a face as red as her flanks, she
crept past the two masters and reluctantly hoisted herself up
into the seat, wincing as her whipped bottom and thighs
made contact with the black leather beneath her. She placed
her legs into each of the stirrups and then she covered her
face with her hands and cried as Master Moulton probed her
private parts, looking for signs of sexually transmitted
diseases, pregnancy, and opening her wide with a speculum
to measure the size of her passage and search for
abnormalities. With one final indignity, the tightness of her
bottom was prodded and tested before a series of four
vaccinating injections were dispatched and Blonde was
allowed to get up.
It was no treat being the last in line. As I stood in
trepidation, awaiting my turn, something in the speculum
process hurt Brunette, for midway through it she stiffened
and nearly came up off the chair, shrieking with pain. She had
to be restrained after that, with a guard at each leg holding
her open for Moulton, and the other master pinning her hands
above her head. At a word from the Master Doctor, he
reached down between her legs to fondle her. Though
Brunette continued to arch and cry out, the pitch and tone of
her protests minutely changed. By the end of it, she was
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Judgment
by Denise Hall
flushed, panting as breathlessly as if she'd run a marathon,
and her hips could hardly be kept still.
The exam concluded, but the master did not grant her
sexual release. She got up from the chair slowly, walking as if
in a daze to join the others. And then there was only me left
to go.
Doctor Moulton wiped down the chair, as he had at the
beginning of each examination, and patted the seat for me. I
stared at it, at the other master with his dark and lecherous
smile and the long solid bulge that pressed taut against the
front of his black pants, and my legs just would not work. I
pressed back against the wall, shaking my head. Indeed, I
shook all over.
My defiance aroused him. The bulge in the master's pants
became thicker and larger and incredibly more pronounced.
For the second time, he slid his belt from around his waist,
beckoning me with one finger before firmly indicating the
chair. I shook my head again, more frantically this time
because out of the corners of my eyes I could already see my
two guards coming for me.
He wrapped the buckle end of his belt around his hand
several times, shortening the length as I was dragged,
kicking, flailing and screaming, to the examination chair. They
bent me over it, hauling me so far up over the top that my
feet no longer touched the floor. My guards held me in place
from the other side to give the master plenty of room to whip
me.
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Judgment
by Denise Hall
"You will be obedient," the master said in that other
language. Having heard it twice now, I did not need an
interpreter.
As horrible as it had been to witness, the belt was even
worse to experience. Held as I was, I could not even see it
coming before the first stroke sliced into me from behind,
catching the middle of my thighs. I bucked and shouted, and
the belt worked its way up my legs to brand my bottom with
overlapping lines of sheer fire.
"This is the last time you will behave this badly," my guard
told me.
"I doubt it." Even in the throes of agony, I recognized that
low voice the instant I heard it. "Stay your arm, Boyden."
My whipping stopped and the guards released their hold on
me. Exhausted from my struggles, sobbing with the hurt
throbbing in my flanks, I more fell off than climbed gracefully
down from the chair.
He stood in the doorway, tall, his head clearing six feet at
least. His chest and shoulders were thickly built, with a lean
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