Yanda's Catch

As Yanda dragged a struggling and gagged girl into the barn everyone turned to look at the newgirl. Yanda looked happy with her catch. The healthy, rope-bound 20'er had obviously put up a fight, the tear and scratch marks on Yanda's blouse were the evidence she had not come quietly. But that's how she likes them. She seeks out the though ones and challenges them - while most of us prefer tranquilizers, Yanda likes to keep her amazonian body in shape with her sadistic sport.

The gagged girl was crying, but her well-build physique and short hair gave the impression she was indeed one of Yanda's typical catches. The butch of the group, the girl wearing the pants in her scarce relationships. She'd probably have grown up to be a beautiful biker-bitch - but for now she's stuck with us.

Yanda sat down in one of the chairs close to the girl and rubbed her crotch, revealing her impressive bulge, drawing the outlines of her firm girlcock on her tight jeans. "The bitch bit me" she snarled - almost as if she was genuinely displeased. The gagged girl looked up and struggled for a moment. Unfortunately for our latest subject, Yanda knows her stuff - and the ropes on her back seemed to do their work just fine, keeping the girl on her belly in front of Yanda as she composed herself.

She got up and gripped the girls tank-top from behind, pulling her up roughly and pressing her against one of the poles. The newgirl snorted and grunted as she was pushed against her new home - the iron shackles attached to the thick wood clicked around her heels. Yanda rose again with a smirk. "I'll need my ballgag back now - but I'd be happy to lend it to you again if you can't behave..."

The newgirl looked into Yanda's deep brown eyes - a cold stare filled with hatred and defiance. Yanda just smiled and removed the gag slowly - expecting the predictable outcome as the girl spat her in the face and started shouting. None present seemed to react much, so the girl switched gears and looked pleadingly around her, hoping one of us would suddenly be struck by remorse and set her free. Phase three in this routine is acceptance, the pleading look turns to fear, and they start crying again, screaming 'Why?!'.

Those of us that have been here over a year know this routine by heart. I can understand the anger, the hope, the fear, but the why bothers me to no small degree. We do the things where regular science hesitates to do what is required for progress, circling the solution but scared to touch. The stuff they dream of because the rewards will be well worth it if they could only make the moral leap. We are not simply mutating these girls, we are carving out the imperfections in these bodies, arranging the atoms differently, observing their results, and correcting nature's mistakes. Our tools maybe crude to the untrained eye, but our results are... remarkable. At least they will be... should become... soon enough.