Sunday, October 21, 2007

The Girl Tupita


Tupita did not deserve the rape I put upon her this afternoon but, even as the ink that pens these words will indelibly dry, that is the fate of women such as her. Slavery is not fair. It is not meant to be. It is a demanding thing on a woman, and a rewarding one. Such rewards come at a cost, however. At the end of my interview this morning, she made her way back into the office, ready to transcribe or file or fetch or whatever it is I required of her. Instead, she found herself stripped and thrown to her belly over the low table I conduct the business of the Magistracy upon. Her knees on the floor, ass in my hands, she was entered rudely. It was a quick, heated exchange that left her bruised, sweating and dismissed to the corner where she curled up and tried vainly not to moan for more. I did not apologize to her, nor do I intend to. While I am the Magistrate of the People, she is my slave. I domicile her in the kennels of this cylinder when I have no use for her. She is clothed in an unflattering smock of rep-cloth and her head is shorn to a fine, sueded stubble. She is not permitted cosmetic. Otherwise, she might prove an inappropriate distraction to the work I am pledged to do on behalf of the People. Ironically, from time to time, on days such as today, Tupita serves dutifully and delightfully to clear my mind of distractions.

I have much to complete today. I may have to gag the girl.

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