Yes, You Cooperate

How could you not? What else are you going to do? Have the collar used on you again and then do it anyway? You start with your boots. They're long and sturdy, meant to be able to stand up to the Nothian snows. You pull them off and throw them aside. Socks next. You do the same. Then comes your shirt. {if Escape Attempts=1}They already took your coat off while you were out earlier. {else}You start with your coat. Now that you're in a building with full heating, taking it off is actually a bit of a relief. {endif}With it gone, you remove the shirt that had gone on underneath it, then the undershirt below that, leaving your torso bear.

"Not bad," the soldier says. He's studying your figure. It is, perhaps, a conventionally attractive one. Short though you may be, you have the muscles that would be expected of a high-school athlete. Your arms are well-defined, as is your six pack. You're not a bodybuilder, but you're no twink either.

The way the soldier is drinking you in makes you close your eyes. You try not to think about his gaze, but somehow you can still feel it. Two pairs of pants come off. The thicker one meant to bear the brunt of the wind and cold and the thinner one meant to help the other keep you warm. You could get them off at once, but you're dreading the moment when you're fully nude, so you take them off in sequence.

"You can stand up if you like," the soldier says.

You open your eyes. He's taken a step back to make room for you, but his eyes are on you. "Please stop looking at me like that," you say.

"Who are you asking?" he says.

"Sir. Please stop looking at me like that, sir."

"You asked nicely, so just this once I won't punish you, but a ****'s job is to take orders. You should never presume to give them."

You'll have to bear it then. You stand. Down comes your underwear. It hid an average sized but well-shaped cock and balls. You're soft for the time being. You kick the underwear aside. "Not bad at all," the soldier says. He reaches out, and runs an armored hand down your arm. "Now, go stand in front of the camera. It's time to get your picture taken."

You walk over. The camerawoman is upright now, ready to take some snaps of you. "Gorek kuz sin togok," she says.

"Stand in the very center," the soldier says. You do. "Alright," he says, "hands to your side, and look at the camera." You put them there, and you do. The flash goes off.

"Kogdoth," she says.

"Turn around," he says. "Face the wall."

You do. As you do, you're painfully aware of your bare butt. Dreadful possibilities, no, more like probabilities about your fate here are gnawing at you. You're young, but not a child. You don't have many skills that would be useful to a corporation. {if Virgin=1}You're a virgin, a fact they felt the need to verify, along with {else}They asked if you were a virgin, and about {endif}your sexual orientation. And you're attractive. It's a fact you've sort of known about yourself for a few years now. {if Into Men=0}Girls{elseif Into Women=0}Guys{else}Guys and girls{endif} haven't exactly been falling all over themselves for you, but, well, you've been on a few dates, and never had a hard time getting one if there was a dance or something coming up. Now that you're in the hands of the Empire--

"Spread your arms and legs," the soldier says. You do. Another picture. "Turn around, then another one like that." You do. You have to. You take a deep breath. Okay. Okay so you're probably going to be a sex ****. That's more likely than any other single occupation for you. You're going to spend the next quite a fucking while being fucked by Imperial{if Into Men=0}women, and that's if you're lucky. A stupid voice in the back of your head whispers 'nice, you're gonna score,' but no. They'll be scoring, and it'll be at your expense. {elseif Into Women=0}dudes, like this soldier. This creepy fucking soldier who seems to be desperately grasping for some method of **** you with just his eyes.{else}s, like this soldier, or this cameralady. Or anyone else in the whole empire who wants to use you.{endif}

"Alright," the soldier says, "now you need one of you doing the pose. I don't imagine you know what that is?"

"No."

"Who are you talking to?"

"No, sir."

"Slaves are expected to kneel in a specific way." He pulls that screenpad off the desk, the same one he was recording your answers on, but now he shows you a picture of a nude slavegirl, down on her right knee. Her arm is in front of her, and her fist rests on her left knee. Her face is buried behind her arm. "Do this."

You do. Or at least you attempt to. "Head down," the soldier says. You thought it already was, but you push it down further. "Keep it down. Don't look up. Your hand should be a proper fist. Thumb on the outside." You switch it. "Okay. Looks good enough." The picture is taken.

Next there are close-ups on several parts of your body. Your face. Your torso. Your arms. Your legs. Your butt. Your junk. "Just one more," the soldier says. "We need one of you erect."

"What?"

He holds his finger over the button on his wrist that activates the collar. "Sorry, that response was wrong. I was looking for 'yes, sir.'"