A New World, Chapter 7: A Day of Discipline

A New World, Chapter 7: A Day of Discipline

Daisy followed Trig down the hall, heeling him a little behind and to his left as a trained bitch should. Daisy occasionally had to skip ahead an extra step to keep up with taller Trig. They passed other slaves going about their chores, who flattened themselves against the walls as Trig went by, their eyes lowered respectfully.

Looking out the windows into the central yard it was apparent to both Trig and Daisy that there were two slaves in the pillories, their naked bodies pale against the dark wood. The rags Mathias had stuffed in their mouths had been replaced by proper ball gags. Daisy wondered who they were, and what had brought them to that terrible place. Trig did not wonder about either of those things.

A pretty black-haired bitch carrying a load of laundry, tall, with olive skin and dark eyes stood aside as Trig approached. Her hair was an iridescent black, gleaming in the sunlight shining through the windows.  She flexed one knee across the other, lifting her heel off the ground in a fetching pose, batting her eyelashes at Trig, who paid her no notice.

Daisy knew this girl, Violet; they had been put up for sale at the same auction and had spent hours in the holding pen together before Master Kim bought them both. Violet, tall and dark, long of leg and beautiful, had sold for much more than little Daisy, with her unremarkable dull brown hair and short legs. Still, Daisy thought she had better breasts than Violet, and more curves in her compact frame. She did her best to show them off when it was her turn on the block; she had been on the block often enough to know the more a slave’s price, the better their slavery—usually. Cheap slaves were often treated with indifferent cruelty or neglect.

 Since then, Violet had often been a visitor in Trig’s bed. As they went by, Violet glared daggers at Daisy, and stuck her tongue out at her, no doubt furious to have spent the night in the slave shed instead Trig’s room and comfy bed. Daisy ignored her.

She followed Trig into the dining room, where most of the staff were gathered, chatting casually, waiting for the staff meeting to begin. A young female slave, barely of market age, was serving coffee, tea, and cookies to the assembled staff.

“Daisy, wait outside,” Mathias said as they entered. She disappeared, and knelt just outside the door, hoping she might be able to overhear the masters and mistresses, not just for herself, but also for the other slaves; this weekly meeting forecast the slaves’ immediate future, and any scuttlebutt she could glean was precious to them.  Trig took a seat besides his teacher.

The young bitch slave was trying to control her trembling as she poured a cup of tea for Mathias. Watching her from the corner of his eye, he wasn’t surprised as she spilled a small puddle of tea besides his mug onto the table. When a slave was the only slave in a room full of free people, it was often frightening for them—even more so for a young one such as this. Things could go wrong in so many ways, and there was only one slave upon whom wrath could fall.

“Follow me,” Mathias said to the slave, softly, as he stood and strode out of the room into the hallway, closing the door behind them. The slave cringed before him. “Please Master, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to…”

“Quiet,” said Mathias. Daisy, kneeling nearby, tried to make herself as small and invisible as possible, wanting no part of whatever storm of discipline was about to happen.

“Turn around, bend over, hands on your knees,” he said to the young bitch. The slave obeyed, biting her lower lip, ass cheeks trembling.

Mathia drew back his arm and delivered three quick smacks to the slave’s bottom. She gasped and tottered a bit with each blow, but she knew that Mathia’s big hands and muscular arms were capable of much more than she had just experienced. Mathais could have sent her sprawling into the wall had he used his full strength.

“Stand up. Turn around. Look at me,” Mathias told the young bitch, as tears welled up in her eyes. “Lily, right?” The slave nodded. “Lily, you made a mess, and were punished. So that’s over. I know you’re afraid, but no one in that room wants to hurt you. There’s no reason to be afraid. All they want is a cup of coffee or tea, or water, or a snack. It’s not difficult. You can do that, right, Lily?”

“Yes Master,” she said, sniffling.

“Good girl. Now take a few deep breaths and stop being so scared.” Lily obeyed, her shoulders and small breasts rising and falling as she tried to calm herself.

“You have a very pretty smile. People like when a slave smiles when serving. It shows that the slave is happy to serve and wants to please them. Can you smile for me?”

Lily forced a smile, looking up at Mathias. It might have been forced, but it was not faked; she was eager to please Mathias, and grateful for his mild punishment and rare kindly words.

Mathias smiled back at her, which brightened Lily even further. “When we go back in, stand behind me. Keep your eyes down, but be looking for a gesture, or even just a look, from someone who wants something. Remember to show them that pretty smile. If you do good, you can have a cookie later. Okay, girl?”

Lily sniffled again, and wiped her eyes. “Yes Master,” she said, following Mathias back into the room. The pale globes of her ass were now a rosy pink where Mathais’ big hand had landed.

Daisy, kneeling by the wall in a little ball, head to the floor, had been ignored by Mathais and Lily, as though she had been a footstool or other item of furniture. But she had committed everything to memory. She had learned more of what manner of a master Mathias was, and a little about her fellow slave Lily. As slaves, they had nothing, had no agency, nothing they could possess or own…except knowledge, kept in secret and cultivated among themselves.

In the dining room, people were chatting casually. All of the staff, including the apprentices and journeymen, skilled and unskilled, were present, except for a few who were supervising the slaves during the meeting. Andy was absent, taking a deserved nap after a long night and difficult morning.

A wide-bladed ceiling fan turned slowly overhead, turning the air in the warm but not uncomfortable room. A long leather belt ran from the fan through a wall vent just below the ceiling; it led out a short way to a system of gears attached to the treadmill, upon which a dozen slaves trod with dull and regular steps, watched over by a bored young boy with a whip.  The treadmill was currently hooked up to the ceiling fan and artesian well, a light load. It could be geared to a grinding mill, a saw, a capstan, and various other versatile uses, but today its only use was to fill the cistern and comfort their masters and mistresses in the dining room. It was dull but easy duty for the slaves, and they were glad for it.

The boy, Jack, was the son of a neighbor family. He lolled in a chair, picking his nose. He hated this boring job, but enjoyed the spending money it provided. Once in a while, he’d crack the whip, eliciting a few yelps, just to feel like he was earning his pay supervising Mr. Kim’s livestock. If they were returned to the slave shed with a few welts at the end of the day, it was proof he was a good employee. Jack was old enough to appreciate the swaying hips, taut calves and ankles of the females as they mounted the treadmill’s endless steps; he would need to stop at the full-moon outhouse after his shift ended.

Back in the dining room, Kim made a point never to sit at the head of any table, even today, during this weekly gathering of his employees. He would usually sit in some obscure corner, and all the staff would turn and orient their seats to face his, because wherever Kim sat, that was the head of the table. He held up his coffee cup for a young slave bitch to fill it. He tried to remember her name, but could not. The slave smiled at her master as she poured his coffee.

Kim was happy to gauge the mood of the room, light and pleasant, his employees chatting and joking together, enjoying the snacks that Ms. Janice had prepared for today—brownies, chocolate chip and oatmeal cookies, fresh brewed coffee and tea brought from the ships that sailed from Market Town to the southern islands, served by the pretty bitch Mathias had selected to serve this day.

“Alright folks, let’s get started,” Kim said, shuffling some notes in his hands, as the chatter quieted and everyone turned their attention to him. “Let’s start with the bad news. Henry, I believe you have an update on the repairs to the female slave shed?”

Henry, a middle-aged but very fit and compact man, grey haired and mustached, handled all the maintenance of the buildings and machinery of the farm. “As everyone knows, we’ve been rebuilding the roof. Often, when repairing an old building, once you remove the old materials, you find there’s more damage and decay than you expected. When we took off the rotten portions of the roof, we found more rot in the kingpost and queenposts. They will need to be ripped out and replaced. We can’t do the roofing until that’s done, which will be a few weeks until the lumber is ordered and arrives.”

Mathias spoke up. “So, the slaves I assigned to the roofing project won’t be needed until then?” When Henry nodded assent, Mathias sighed. The farm already had a glut of slaves, as the harvest season was winding down. He would need to find tasks for all the slaves he had assigned to Henry, to keep them occupied and useful.

Now that the slaves had been brought up, Kim asked Mathias about the two slaves locked in the pillory. Mathis explained how Kim’s son Andy had discovered Buster and Jasmine coupling, leaving out the part about Andy’s nap. Kim asked Mathias for his thoughts on dealing with the two slaves.

Mathias, ever professional, already had an answer prepared. “There should be a demonstrative punishment, followed by whipping for both. Then we should take Buster to the slave market and sell him as soon as possible.”

Kim considered, rubbing his chin. “You don’t think they should be put down?”

“No, it wasn’t a real escape attempt, Besides, they both have good obedience records, healthy, good workers. Buster might have a future as a stud on a breeding farm if he was able to cum even in chastity.”

Some of the people in the room chuckled. “I’m sure he be happy to hear that!” said Kim. Mathias knew Kim wouldn’t want the two valuable slaves executed; the offense wasn’t worth losing two deposits on them and Kim wasn’t going to lose money on principles of discipline. Mathias continued: “If we sell Buster, he’ll never see Jasmine again. It’ll be noted in their papers that they can’t be sold to a buyer who already owns one or the other.”

“Okay, I’ll take your advice. Will you have thought up a demonstrative punishment by tonight?” Kim asked.

Everyone in the room turned their attention to Mathias. “Demonstrative punishments” were designed to reinforce a slave’s helplessness and degraded state, a mental lesson to accompany the corporeal discipline and a reminder to other slaves.  The runaway slaves immured alive in the walls of the slave market were a well-known example. A good slave manager like Mathias could make them effective as well as entertaining for onlookers--those who were not enslaved, of course. A demonstrative punishment was usually followed by a more mundane beating or whipping, just to drive the lesson home.

“Yes, I’ve thought of something that should fit,” said Mathias as Trig looked up him, wondering what Mathias might have concocted.

“Very well,” said Kim. “We look forward to something entertaining after dinner this evening. Now, what’s the problem with Daisy?”

“It seems there was an…incident…in the kitchen the other day,” Mathais began. Janice rolled her eyes at his bland language. Kim asked Janice to explain.

“That girl was supposed to be scrubbing the floor, but she had been underfoot all day, always getting in the way. I scolded her several times but she just wouldn’t listen. I finally gave her a kick in the ass and she dumped the scrub bucket all over my feet!”

“Could it have been an accident?” Mathias asked.

“Does it matter? She’s either stupid and clumsy, or rebellious and uppity. I don’t want that bitch in my kitchen ever again!”

Mathias sighed. “Janice, it’s hard enough assigning dozens of slaves to work without having to remember which slaves someone wants or doesn’t want.”

They both looked to Kim, who tapped a pencil on the table, considering. Finally, he said, “Mathias, let’s keep Daisy out of the kitchen for now. We can revisit the subject later. Has she been disciplined?”

“No, nothing serious. Janice whipped her, but that wasn’t a real punishment,” said Mathias. He turned to Trig. “Bring her in…crawling.”

As he rose to fetch Daisy, Trig felt a touch of empathy for the slave he had had enjoyed over the previous day and night. He remembered the spark he had seen in Daisy’s eyes when Eleanor joked about whipping her, and wondered if Daisy had sparked with Janice as well. Mathia’s instruction to bring her in on hands and knees could only mean one thing—Daisy was going to be punished.

Daisy quickly lowered her head as Trig opened the door and motioned for Daisy to crawl to the center of the room, where she knelt, buttocks on her heels, thighs together, head down, the very picture of a submissive, even remorseful slave girl.

“Kneel up. Display.” Mathias commanded her. Daisy rose to her knees, thighs wide, her hands behind her head. The pose complimented her breasts, which thrust out proudly, but also placed her in a pose of great vulnerability and humility. She could feel the eyes of every person in the room boring into her, roaming over her body—except for Lily, in the corner, her eyes lowered.

“Daisy, did you spill the scrub bucket in the kitchen?” Mathias asked her.

“Yes Master,” she answered keeping her eyes on the floor.

“Did you spill it on Mistress Janice’s shoes?”

“Yes Master.”

“Is there anything you want to say?”

“Master, this slave is very sorry for the mess it made, and begs forgiveness,” Daisy said mechanically.

Mathias unhooked the whip from his belt, snapping his fingers and pointing to the floor at his feet. Timidly, and hesitantly, Daisy crawled to him and knelt on elbows and knees. “Open your mouth,” he commanded. When Daisy lifted her head and obeyed, Mathias thrust the looped coils of the whip into her mouth so that it dangled from her jaw. “Bring the whip to Mistress Janice and offer it to her to punish you as you deserve,” he instructed her.

Daisy’s eyes widened, and Trig saw her body stiffen at Mathias’ words. Slowly, she turned, crawling and crouching low like a frightened dog, the coils of the whip trailing as she brought it to Mistress Janice. Everyone in the room watched her, as they would a performance by any well-trained animal.

Janice sipped her tea, ignoring the terrified slave who knelt up before her, offering her the whip held in her mouth. After a moment, Janice pressed the sole of her clog shoe against Daisy’s forehead, pushing her away. “I whipped her when she made the mess, and I’m not in the mood to whip a slave today. That’s your job, not mine,” she said.

Mathiias was not surprised; Janice could be harsh with slaves, but Mathias knew that she regarded punishment as an annoying but necessary duty. Janice would prefer to enjoy a cup of tea and a brownie than whip a slave.

Nonetheless, Daisy still needed a demonstrative punishment. Mathias stood up and strolled over to Daisy, where he yanked the whip from her mouth and hung it on his belt. He grabbed the back of her collar in his fist and pulled her to her feet. With one hand he reached into his tool bag for a pair of cuffs, which he quickly secured around her wrists behind her back.

Mathias force-marched Daisy, on her toes, to the supply closet at the back of the room. Flinging open the doors, he asked her, “Daisy, what do you see here?”

“Brooms...mops…buckets…brushes...rags...Master,” Daisy answered, wheezing a little as Mathias’ firm grip on her collar kept her on toes and choking a little.

“That’s right!” said Mathias. “Tools for cleaning things! Just like you’re a tool for cleaning things! But you’re not very good at it, are you?”

“No, Master!” Daisy gasped out.

“Well then, maybe if you spent some time with these tools, you’ll learn to be a better tool yourself.” With that, Mathias thrust her forward to the tool rack, to an empty hook between a mop and a broom. He clipped her collar onto the hook, at a height at which Daisy could not stand upright nor kneel down or sit; Mathias knew the posture would soon become agonizing.

Mathias shut the doors, leaving Daisy in darkness, crouching, her hands cuffed behind her. He turned and went back to his seat, followed by the approving smiles of his peers, who had enjoyed the little drama he had just directed. Except for Trig, who was focused on the silent doors of the closet.

Now that the matter of the slaves had been addressed, the meeting moved on to more mundane topics, ordering sacks of slave feed from the market, lumber from the warehouse, fertilizer from the rendering plant, which fields to plow or leave fallow, and so on. Mathias and Trig would take Buster to the market to be sold tomorrow, and the place orders with the various merchants to be picked up or delivered later.

“Oh, one more thing,” said Kim as everyone as picking up preparing to leave. “There was quite a mess in the yard this morning. It seems someone left out a dirty bucket of slave feed and spoons and bowls, and some critters got into it. It’s okay though, I cleaned it up. But some slave needs to be punished for not bringing the bucket and bowls back to the kitchen.”

Trig felt Mathia’s eyes boring into him, as he felt his face blushing with shame. He briefly considered blaming some random slave, Jonas perhaps---but turned from that path. “That was my fault, sir. I didn’t assign a slave to bring it back to the kitchen. It won’t happen again.”

Kim nodded, satisfied that Trig had owned up to his error. Kim liked Trig. In some ways, he hoped his son Andy would model himself after Trig. The matter was closed; no one would speak of it further.                       

When the meeting was ending, Mathias placed his hand on Trig’s shoulder. “Trig, you’ve never done a formal punishment whipping, right?” Trig nodded assent: he had thrashed and whipped and beaten slaves since his youth but never delivered a formal punishment in front of other kneeling slaves and curious onlookers. “After I finish the demonstrative punishment for Buster and Jasmine this evening, I want you to use that new whip and administer their whippings.”

As they walked out, Mathias tossed a chocolate chip cookie onto the floor to Lily; she gathered it up with a grateful smile. They filed out of the dining room, leaving it empty, except for Daisy, cuffed in the closet, her legs already aching.