Imagine a society based on the overwhelming desire of females for sexual gratification.
Imagine a society where men, called "flinkers", are in short supply.
Imagine a society where only the lucky few females are allowed to have sexual intercourse ("squinking the slambold"), and where all the others have to be satisfied with facesitting ("smuntering") some poor flinker tied to a padded table at the centre of a public gathering ("a scortium") and being forced to perform with his mouth on one female after another.
This is the world of The Flinker. This is the world he intends to change, and he thinks he has the means to do it. Only... it's not that simple...
The extract below is from Susan Strict's new novel "Revenge of the Flinker"
After pacing hopelessly around the cell for over an hour, he lay down on the padded table and closed his eyes.
He had not meant to fall asleep. His head was still hurting, and the day's events had left him tired and confused. His thoughts were as much of Marthen as of his own predicament, and it was not long before he was dreaming of her; muddled, confused dreams in which first he was her slave, then she was mild, meek and only interested in pleasing him; and then she had him tied to his bed and told him she was going to squink his slambold over and over again until she was completely satisfied.
"So!"
A loud voice awoke the flinker just as Marthen, in his dream, was kneeling astride his slambold and lowering herself onto him.
"So, you dirty little flinker," said the matogle. "You dare to raise a slambold outside a scortium, do you?"
"What?" he said, struggling to sit up.
She pushed him down with a hard shove of her gloved hand to the middle of his chest.
He gazed uncomprehending up at her. She was tall, dressed in a uniform much like that worn by the guards, and yet she did not look at all like the guards he had seen. Her hair was jet black and tied into a tight knot at the back of her head. Her features were sharp, with a thin, cruel mouth and high cheekbones. The emblem on her tight jacket above her right breast was the prison emblem he had seen over the doors as he was brought in and on the uniforms of the guards who had led him to the cell, but her jacket was made of a dark, shiny material and instead of the loose, tough trousers and heavy boots worn by the guards she wore a short, plain black skirt and knee-length tight boots with pointed toes and raised heels.
"It's nice to see you have positioned yourself ready for me," she sneered. "So many prisoners fight against it. I can't imagine why."
"Who… who are you?" he asked. "What are you going to do?"
"Don't you know?" She seemed surprised.
He shook his head, and she laughed. It was not a pleasant laugh.
"I'm the duty governor," she told him. "You may call me Governor Silana when I give you permission to speak to me. I'm here to start your training, naturally. I'm sorry to say that we haven't been able to verify any of your details. We will, of course. It may take a little longer than we expected, that's all. So, as the Patrol from your own town won't be coming to take you back any time soon, it's part of my duties to put together a proper obedience schedule for you. Shall we start?"
She began to attach the straps to him just as the guards had done earlier, except that she tightened then with what he thought was unnecessary vigour and to quite an unnecessary tightness. When she had finished with those holding his wrists and ankles and the broad strap across his chest, she added a further strap over his throat and others over the lower part of his stomach and across his thighs. He could not move at all.
"You do know what we do here?" asked Governor Silana as soon as she had secured him to her satisfaction.
He would have shaken his head, but the strap across his neck prevented him from moving it without extreme discomfort.
"I'm surprised you aren't familiar with it," she said, studying the expression on his face. "You must have been detained before now? No matter. I'll explain. If you understand it then perhaps it will help in your rehabilitation. Now, listen carefully."
She walked around the table as she spoke, not looking at him now. She delivered her words as though it was a speech she had learnt, well practised and fluent.
"The purpose of a flinker is to serve the female. He must be obedient and attentive. He must not be seen except when called to serve, and then he must give his utmost for the perfect satisfaction of all who demand it. If he strays, he must be corrected. If he fails, he must be encouraged. If he cannot learn, he must be trained by fear and by pain until he can, by instinct alone, perform his proper role without thought and without question. His face is for nothing except for the smuntering. His body is nothing except to maintain the slambold, and his slambold is for nothing except to reward the scramper. His gelkins are his essence and his insignificance. They shall be the scramper's tool for her fulfilment and for his chastisement should he fail in his purpose. This is a flinker."
She looked down at him once more.
"Well?" she said. "Do you understand? Do you now know what we must do to you, and why we must do it?"
He did not answer.
"First," she went on, "I must see how you will perform at a scortium. This is not for my pleasure, you understand. I must take my turn for my satisfaction with all the others at the scortium. This is only to establish how much work we need to do with you while you are here. You must remember this place is for rehabilitation, not for punishment. You will leave here when you have shown you can safely be released as a proper and useful member of society."
He knew what was coming next, even though he was fairly sure that what she had just said was no more than a justification for what she wanted to do anyway. She knelt on the padded table, eased her short skirt up, positioned herself over his face, and slowly descended onto him.
"Lick," she commanded. "And put all your effort into it."
It had been a very long time since the flinker was smuntered, except by Marthen and on that occasion he had not been restrained and helpless. This was quite different.
Governer Silana was heavy, muscular and powerful. The strength of her thighs was far greater than that of any matogle the flinker had ever encountered, and as she squeezed the sides of his head he felt that at any moment she would crush his skull. The pain was intense, and she pressed down on him as he worked at her with his tongue and his lips, desperate to bring her to her grasmic as quickly as possible to bring this to an end.
When her grasmic came, it was overwhelming yet controlled. It started with a series of shuddering spasms in her muscles, vibrating through her and through the flinker as rapidly as a machine gun. His nose was engulfed and then freed at a rate of many times a second even though the rest of her body was not moving up and down nor backward and forward in the slightest, making any sort of regular breathing for him almost impossible to maintain. That went on for several minutes, as though she was having some sort of never-ending seizure, and he was sure his face was being bruised and his nose broken. It ceased abruptly with a sudden contraction of her muscles. Her upper thighs clamped onto him even more tightly than before, and his nose was gripped inside her blocking his breathing completely and feeling as though it was being sucked deeply into her by a powerful vacuum pump. The sides of his face were squeezed together and upward, distorting his mouth. He would have screamed if he had been able to make any sound at all.
The flinker's whole world became that crushing, sucking, airless space underneath her. Nothing else mattered, and at that moment he would have given anything, done anything, agreed to anything to escape from it. He could not do anything, not even move his lips or his tongue in an effort to hurry her climactic grasmic that held him. His senses started to fade, and he knew he was losing consciousness. He wondered whether he would ever wake up. He doubted it.
"Revenge of the Flinker"
