Under His Eye - A Sam and Colby Fan Fiction

Commander Brock

Commander Brock's POV

This was not how the ceremony usually went. Usually, it was a private ceremony, but because I was a high commander it was necessary to have a full ceremony for the public to be able to see. Usually, the ceremony was held in the bedroom, but since it was a public ceremony, it would take place in the sitting room.

My wife would be in her position above our handmaid Ofcole's head, holding her arms down while I did what was necessary to make sure Ofcole was pregnant. it would continue over the next 4 nights until we had confirmation she was pregnant.

As I paced back and forth in my quarters, the nerves began to tighten in my chest. This was necessary for the future of our society and to ensure its continuation. Yet something felt unnatural about this process – the public scrutiny, the cold formalities, the heavy silence that enveloped the room.

Soon, it was time to begin. As I made my way into the sitting room, a hushed silence fell upon those who had gathered there. The high-ranking commanders and their wives were present, as well as other important figures and citizens who had earned the right to bear witness to this event. My wife Catriona stood at Ofcole's head with a somber expression. I could see the barely concealed fear in Ofcole's eyes as she lay on the makeshift bed, dressed in a plain white gown.

As per protocol, I approached Catriona first. We exchanged a nod, our love unspoken but understood. As always, she looked beautiful performing her duty with unwavering resolve. Next, I stood before Ofcole as she lay on the bed with her arms outstretched, reaching for Lorraine and me. The tension was palpable.

With a deep breath, I began reciting the words required by tradition: "Dear Heavenly Father, we come before you today seeking your guidance and blessings for conception between Commanders and Handmaids."

My hands shook slightly as they hovered over Ofcole's abdomen. In response to my touch, she visibly shuddered – frightened and repulsed by this humiliating display of power over her body.

Each night during those four days felt like an eternity – not only for Ofcole but also for us. The repetitive rehearsals seemed unbearably tedious as we drudged through each ceremony with increasing reluctance. Her well-being was a priority; she was checked on by doctors daily to monitor her health and fertility.

The strain on all three of us was evident: Catriona, stoic and composed on the surface, began showing cracks in her carefully crafted façade. For myself, it was exhausting to maintain the tough and stubborn demeanor that my position required.

My nights were disturbed by nightmares of the ceremony, and I would wake up drenched in cold sweat. During the day, I distracted myself with work and the affairs of New America, but it was impossible to escape the whispers and judgmental glances sent my way.

On the final day, as we gathered inside the sitting room for the last ceremony, I noticed that although Catriona remained her stoic self, her eyes revealed a deep-rooted sadness. Grief seemed to be gnawing away at her ever so slowly; she had once expressed her desire to have a child of our own, but alas, fate had ruled otherwise.

Meanwhile, Ofcole looked as if she were holding onto whatever last shred of dignity she had left. Her face bore an expression of resigned acceptance as I approached her one final time. As I touched her abdomen again, she closed her eyes and clenched her fists – she was a fighter despite everything that was happening to her. I silently prayed that this ritual would end here tonight and that it would never be repeated.

As our prayers echoed throughout the room, I could feel the heavy burden upon my heart - guilt for being part of this process and empathy for Catriona and Ofcole who were experiencing their form of torment. The only reassuring thought was that they knew our intentions were not malicious but rather ensuring the continuation of our society.