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Subject: Cracking the Whip - M/f, BDSM, Voy, NC
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Date: Sun, 07 Dec 2003 01:03:02 +0000
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===================
A young lesbian naval officer is punished by her boss after her secret
is discovered. But there is a secret witness to her pain and abuse.
I took the elevator to the second floor, then walked down the fire
escape to the rear entrance. The Taipei police had assigned a driver
slash interpreter slash guide to me who had, after two days, greatly
exceeded the annoyance quota I a lot to people not related to me. I was
trying to avoid her.
I slipped out the rear and walked up an alley to the street behind
the hotel. I had just stepped out onto the street when a car squealed to
a halt direction in front of me, forcing me to curse and jump back.
"Hey, hallo, big blonde FBI person!" a too young voice cried.
I bent and looked in through the window, glaring.
"How you going!? I ride you where you want to visit," she said
cheerfully.
I opened the car and dropped inside. The tires squealed as it
pulled away from the curve, and I barely hung onto the door, slamming it
shut as we moved out into traffic.
"I was trying to avoid you," I said disgustedly.
"Yeah, I figure," she said around a mouthful of gum. "I catch you
in lobby yesterday so today - " She jabbed her index finger against the
side of her head. "You avoid lobby and go out back. Mama. Chan no raise
stupid girls."
Just really, really annoying ones, I thought.
Her name was Mi-Lin. She was alleged to be twenty one years old but
could easily have passed for sixteen - not that I'm a great judge of the
age of Asian women. She was also alleged to be a police woman. She had a
badge and a gun, but I had my doubts. After all, she had a driver's
licence, and she clearly couldn't drive. The only reason she hadn't
killed me so far was because whatever she was driving tended too move to
fast for anyone to hit.
That morning she was driving a Mercedes sedan, and the tires
squealed with every turn as she zig-zagged in and out of traffic.
"Do you even know where I'm going?" I demanded.
"You going to the army base. Where else you be going to?"
I scowled, wanting to make up another destination just to spite
her. But it wouldn't. Nothing I said seemed to draw anything from the
irritating little nit but a cheerful grin.
She was dressed in black leather that morning; pants, jacket and
gloves. Under the jacket she had a yellow blouse with a fluffy lace
collar which looked ridiculous. Her hair was puffed up on one side and
thrown across her head, but enough remained to be braided. into a half
dozen little tails through which she had wound pink and yellow feathers
and ribbons. She wore aviator style mirrored sunglasses and popped
bubblegum as she talked.
"I don't know why you worry. I tell you I 'm good driver. I never
get in accident. Serious accident no how."
We spun around a corner and a bus honked loudly and jammed on its
brakes as we zigged out in front of it, then back to cut off a pair of
men on bicycles. They wound up riding up onto the sidewalk into a group
of tables set out before a restaurant.
"Where your partner?" she asked.
"He's doing something else."
She nodded and grinned and popped gum.
"Not good to be out alone with blonde hair," she said. "Chinese men
really stupid about blonde hair. Too much Hollywood movies. Dumbass
peasants think you a prostitute and grope you."
"I can take care of myself," I said frostily.
"Yeah. Kill dumbass peasants. Cause too much paperwork. I not mind.
We got way too many dumbass peasant men but it still cause trouble.
Opposition hate Americans. They make big fuss. Put in paper that giant
American prostitute woman kill poor little Chinese man."
The Mercedes sped up as she hit the access road to the bridge
leading to the base. I watched the speedometer edge up towards a hundred
with a morbid sense of fascination. Gravity was pushing me back into the
thick bucket seat as we climbed higher and higher, then we became
briefly airborne as we reached the top of the ramp. The shocks took it
well, and I could see the base well ahead as we started down.
"Where you wanna go on base?" she asked.
"I'm tired of getting the run around from all those blank faced
officers. I'm going to go and see the general."
She pursed her lips and shook he head. "Bad move," she said. "He
don't like women much."
"What do you mean he doesn't like women?"
She grinned and cocked her head to one side, finally slowing down -
which mean the brakes were squealing - as we approached the front gate
and the guards there.
"General Ramsey an old man," she said. "He no like girl soldiers. I
bet he don't like girl police either."
"How do you know he don't... doesn't like girl soldiers?" I asked
cautiously.
"I work what you call, Vice, you know. Meet lotsa yankee soldiers
trying to pay me for - you know?" She put her finger in her mouth and
popped her cheek. "They complain, hardly no girls on base. General no
like girls. Don't let them come there."
"There are American women on the base. That's why I'm here."
She nodded. "Yeah, but how many, eh?" She raised her sunglasses and
gave me a wink. "I bet you check base in Japan or Korea and find lots
more girls there than here."
She dropped her glasses back into place. "General Ramsey think
women for making babies."
The brakes squealed again as the Mercedes stopped at the stop line.
A wary looking soldier wearing a sidearm walked up to the drivers' door
and peered in.
"May I help you ma'am?" he asked.
"No speeking Heengleesh," Mi-Lin said, exaggerating her already
strong accent
I leaned in and held out my badge.
"I'm Agent Ryan here to see Major Aimes," I said.
"Oh, yes, Ma'am," he said. "We heard you'd be coming in and out.
You can go right through."
He looked doubtfully at Mi-lin. "Please observe the speed limits,"
he said.
The tires squealed as she accelerated forward and we took a sharp
turn leading into the administration area.
"Turn left," I said.
"Provost Marshal this way," she said, pointing ahead.
"I'm not going to see the Provost Marshal again. He never has
anything to say. He's obviously been told to smile and keep his mouth shut."
She nodded "He real good at that," she said.
I frowned, wondering just how much of the way she behaved was an
act. She seemed awfully knowledgeable for the airhead she appeared.
"You going to see General Ramsey?" she asked.
"Yup."
She shook her head and popped her gum. "Ramsey not going to like
talking to be blonde girl."
"I'm not big, you're tiny," I said.
"I just right size. I have nice tiny feet. Chinese men like tiny
feet. I bet you have giant feet."
"Shut up and turn in there or you'll get one of my giant feet up
your butt," I said.
She sniffed and the Mercedes screeched to a stop at the rear of the
central administration building. "Remember, no taxis here. You dump me
you gotta walk two miles to motor pool and make eyes at Sergeant to get
drive."
I nodded and slammed the door behind me, then trotted across to the
nearest entrance and let myself in. I found myself in one of those dull,
drab, military halls, with shiny linoleum tiles on the floor and walls
pained a dull shade of yellow. I pinned the FBI badge to my belt and
nobody challenged me as I trotted up the stairs to the fourth floor and
the General's office. The last time I'd come, with Lorne, we'd used the
elevator and gone through a guard, two receptionists and his secretary
before getting to the great man's door.
I emerged in a tiny hall which went behind his outer office, opened
a door, and found myself in his secretary's office. Or whatever they
were called now. His aide, I think. Anyway, she wasn't at her desk so I
moved to his open door and peeked in. It was empty too. At first I was
disappointed. But then, well, I never look a gift horse in the mouth.
I walked in, looking around carefully, hurried across the desk, and
scanned the papers on it. They were in eat little piles according to
priority. The priority that morning seemed to be cost overruns in a new
warehouse being built on the base. I leafed through the papers, my eyes
flicking towards the door, ears listening for the sound of military
heels clicking on linoleum.
Nothing looked very interesting. It was the minutia of running any
large organization, involving budgets and personnel. I turned away and
moved to a cupboard to the side of the desk. I slid back the two doors
and found a small closet with file cabinets on one side and shelves of
forms on the other. I wrinkled my nose as I gazed at the cabinets, then
tugged one open.
Heels clicked on the floor and I twisted, instantly decided I
hadn't the time to get out, and slid the doors closed. I heard movement
out front, what sounded like female heels clicking on the floor nearby,
near the desk. They started to walk away and then stopped.
"Anderson," a male voice said, older and heavy with disapproval.
"Sir!"
The female voice was young.
I heard the outer door close and licked my lips nervously. If I got
caught in here I was in deep shit.
"You're aware of my deep disappointment in you, Lieutenant," the
male voice growled.
"Yes, sir! I'm sorry, sir!" the female said, her voice stiff.
"I have told you before about the need for self-discipline.
Evidently you require further demonstrations.
"I - sir I - ."
"Assume the position, Lieutenant," I heard the man growl.
Frowning, I eased the doors apart and put my eye to the crack.
It was Ramsey and his aid. She was a young lieutenant, short,
slender, with very short brown hair, almost boyishly short, with bangs
cutting diagonally across her forehead from left to right, enormous
blue-green eyes, a tiny snub nose, and small, pert mouth. She was
wearing a long pale green uniform blouse over a darker green army skirt,
cinched tight at the hips, the skirt descending to her knees. The
uniform was cut in that utilitarian military fashion which did little to
flatter a woman's body, yet it was fairly easy to detect that she was
slim and had a generous bust line.
Her face was small, and I had previously marked her, on meeting, as
naive and desperately earnest. A young woman who was eager to please and
very afraid, in the way of the young and inexperienced, of revealing her
lack of polish and expertise.
She was standing rigidly at attention now, staring over the
general's shoulder. Her face was red, and I could see the tension in her
and anxiety in her.
"But General I - ."
"Would you prefer I handle things formally, Lieutenant?" he demanded.
"No, sir," she said in a small voice.
"Then stop being a child," he said harshly. "You said five months
ago you were strong enough to bear anything, that you would prove you
were capable of wearing that uniform."
"Yes, sir."
He motioned towards his desk and she braced herself, then took a
hesitant step forward. She pressed her knees against the side and then
bent over.
"To the side, Lieutenant," he ordered, tapping at her left hip.
She shifted to her right. This put her over the back of the
general's chair, which elevated her bottom more, even as her chest and
belly were pressed against the slightly lower surface of his desk.
"The skirt, Lieutenant," Ramsey said.
Ramsey was tall and broad shouldered. He was about sixty, with
steel grey hair and a tough, square jawed face, the kind you see in
recruiting posters. But he was a cold, harsh man with a face which
looked permanently set into a scowl of disa
proval.
He opened a drawer and took out a long, thin cane as the young
lieutenant gripped the hem of the skirt and slid it up her legs. She
bent forward, tugging the skirt higher, baring herself to the General.
She was wearing a white thong which did nothing to detract from the
attractiveness of a very tight round bottom. The general gazed at her,
and I sensed his disapproval even from behind him.
He raised the cane and slid it between the girl's slender thighs,
then pressed it up against the small white patch of fabric which clung
tightly to her mound.
"And is this military issue, Lieutenant?" he asked curtly.
I saw the cane trace the line of her sex where the material was
pulling up into her cleft.
"N-no, sir," she said in a trembling voice.
The cane was still pressed up against her, directly against her
cleft, pushing up hard into the soft fabric and sawing back and forth.
"This is something a whore would wear," he said, raising his voice
several octaves at the word "whore". "A prostitute would wear these," he
said, raising his voice at the word, his tone turning icy.
He snapped the cane up against her sex and she gasped and shook..
"I-it's only the fashion, sir," she said, sounding shaken.
"Fashion!? It's the fashion of a whore!"
He snapped the cane up against her again, and she gasped.
"Remove them!" he barked.
She slid her hands back along her hips, hooking her thumbs into the
thin white straps and pushing, sliding them downwards over her bare
bottom. They clung briefly to her thighs where the fabric had pushed up
between the lips of her sex, then dropped to her ankles.
He slipped the cane between her thighs again, pressing it up
against her sex.
"This is the source of your problem, Lieutenant," he said in a
slow, cold voice. "This is the source of your weakness."
He rubbed the thin cane in and out, pressing it upwards so that it
sank between the puffy lips of her sex.
"This is the weakness of all females," he said. "This is a signal
from God that they were meant for the purpose of procreation."
He lifted the cane, sliding it up along her hips and in against the
side of her chest, pushing against the side of her right breast. "And
this is another signal. It is a sign of what God designed the female for
- to birth children, and then to suckle them. Only the degenerate age in
which we live has allowed people to pervert that message, and only a
degenerate age could give birth to the perversions which young women
like you take upon yourselves."
Dumbass, I thought.
But I was becoming aroused. That twisted side of myself which
seemed to exult in the sexual degradation and abuse of women - including
me - rose like a snake sliding from its lair, slithering up from the
darkness which spawned it and spreading through my mind. My nipples
began to harden inside the cups of my bra and I felt a tightness in my
chest.
The general moved to one side and drew the cane back, and I held my
breath, waiting, then inhaled sharply as it slashed down and forward to
strike the girl's upraised bottom. It made a cutting sound as it flashed
through the air, and struck with a soft, meaty thwack which was echoed a
moment later by her soft gasp of pain as her body jerked sharply.
"Do you not know that the unrighteous will not inherit the kingdom
of God?" Ramsey said sternly.
The cane slashed in again, harder, and the girl swallowed a cry,
her fingers white as they clutched the side of the desk.
I held my breath, my heart beating faster. She was so vulnerable,
so helpless, such a little thing, and the sight and sound of the cane
cutting across her bottom was - breathtaking.
" Do not be deceived. Neither fornicators, not idolaters, nor
adulterers, nor homosexuals, nor sodomites will inherit the kingdom of
heaven."
He turned, putting his shoulder into the next blow. It cut across
her upraised bottom and she jerked violently, gasping, half sobbing in pain.
I swallowed, my arms squeezing my breasts together now as I knelt
before the door. I let my hand come up between my legs and rub myself
through the thin linen trousers, feeling the buzzing, throbbing heat
begin to spread out through my body. I imagined myself laying across the
table instead of her, then next to her, then imagined myself with the
cane in hand, gazing down at her.
"One Corinthians. Six. Nine. Ten. God does love the homosexual
enough to send His own Son to die, so He can forgive one who repents of
his sin!"
Three dark red lines cut across her pale flesh. A fourth rose as
the cane snapped down powerfully. She let out a muffled cry this time,
her body shuddering.
"You must be strong, Lieutenant," he said. "Strong and disciplined."
He pressed the thin cane up between her legs again, sawing it
slowly along, and then between the lips of her sex. "You must show
discipline to overcome the strong natural weakness of the female, to
repress your natural sexual impulses to fornicate."
The cane cracked down hard, this time against the very bottom of
her buttocks, and her legs jerked as she sobbed in pain.
"Not that you fornicate as a woman, even an immoral woman is driven
to," he said icily. "For your perversions go even against that natural
inclination to copulate and bear young. Your lusts are a perversion of
the natural order."
Again the cane slashed down, and she jerked and moaned.
"The look on their countenance witnesses against them,"Ramsey
chanted. "And they declare their sin as Sodom; they do not hide it. Woe
to their soul! For they have brought evil upon themselves. Isaiah,
three, nine."
It was hard to think of the earnest young lieutenant as a lesbian
fornicator, but that was clearly his accusation, and her willingness to
submit to this sort of thing seemed to testify that she was indeed
guilty of something like that. Homosexuality was illegal in the
military, of course, and would cost her at the very least her commission
and quite possibly land her in a military prison.
The cane cut in across her thighs and almost knocked her legs out
from under her. She whimpered and let out a choked sob.
Ramsey rolled his shoulders. He was a big man, and I had a really
low tolerance for large men who beat up on tiny women. I was picturing
what he'd look like with his head caved in when he brought the cane down
across her already red, lined bottom again. It cracked loudly and
another choked sob was torn from between her tightly clenched teeth.
"For this reason God gave them up to vile passions. For even their
women exchanged the natural use for what is against nature. Likewise
also the men, leaving the natural use of the woman, burned in their lust
for one another, men with men committing what is shameful, and receiving
in themselves the penalty of their error which was due. Romans one."
Again the cane slashed down, and a sob burst from the girl's lips.
Her body began to shake with tears.
"Now Lieutenant. Something to remind you of what you were made
for," Ramsey said with a growl. "Something to remind you of the purpose
for which your genitals were made. And that purpose was not to give you
lewd sexual pleasure!"
He bent over the credenza behind his desk, opened a drawer, and
took out - a dildo. It was too thick for a girl her size, and too long.
Nor was it the smooth rubber or plastic of most dildos. It was covered
with sharp looking little studs. It was not a device intended to give
pleasure. It was the kind of device - the kind of device a religious
zealot would use to punish a girl whose sin was considered sexual.
Unless you were a sick, twisted bitch like me. I stared at it with
fascination, and bit my lip. I was sweating, though the closet wasn't
especially hot. The heat was swirling around me, and I had to ease my
legs apart and fight to control my breathing as I watched.
Ramsey put on a pair of plastic gloves, then moved behind the
trembling, whimpering girl and gazed down at her with distaste. He
pressed his fingers gingerly against the soft flesh of her inner
buttock, jabbing at it to force her legs apart, then pressed the thing
against her entrance and pushed. Hard.
She gasped and her body stiffened. She jerked upwards, or almost
up, for his big hand gripped her shoulder as she rose, forcing her back.
"P-Please, Sir," she panted, her head twisted around to look
behind, her teary eyes blinking as she tried to see what he held.
"It is necessary, Lieutenant," he growled, forcing her to bend once
again.
Ramsey pushed the dildo into her. I saw its thick girth jammed
against the soft opening of her sex, saw it pushing forward, her flesh
bowing inwards.
"Oh! Oh please!" she gasped, her voice breaking. "Sir!"
I had to unzip my trousers, had to force my hand inside, tug aside
the damp crotch of my thong and slide two fingers up into my pussy. I
moaned softly as I did, feeling the soft, tight, wetness of my inner
body around my fingers as I silently urged Ramsey on. Give it to her, I
thought. Ram it up her cunt!
"And such were some of you. But you were washed, but you were
sanctified," Ramsey chanted. "but you were justified in the name of the
Lord Jesus and by the Spirit of our God."
"Hgnnggh!" the lieutenant cried, her head twisting from side to
side, her lips drawn back, her teeth clenched.
Ramsey used both hands on the thing, forcing it up into her inch by
slow inch. He used no lubrication and gave her no time to adjust to it.
If he wasn't careful he was going to tear her open, and she'd have no
chance to repent.
"Please-please-please-please-p-p Unggh!"
Ramsey put his gloved hands against the base of the thing and
forced it fully inside her until the base was flush with her labia. He
stood back then, smiling righteously. He turned away, then drew what
looked like a T-shaped belt from the credenza. He slipped it around the
trembling girl's hips, forcing it upwards around her waist. He cinched
it tight and drew the lower part of the T back between her legs, then
yanked up almost angrily, causing her to cry out in pain as the belt
pulled in against her sex. He fed it up between her buttocks to the rear
of the top part of the belt and buckled it in place.
"Cover yourself, Lieutenant," he said indignantly.
She moaned and whimpered, then slowly pushed herself upright, her
hand pushing repeatedly at the skirt until she could grasp it and slide
it back over her bottom. She stood upright, turning, chest heaving, face
streaked by tears.
I was pumping my fingers desperately in and out, but now began to
slow. I was still hot, still aroused, frazzled and gulping for breath,
but the heat was receding as the action stopped, and I was starting to
regain control of myself. Angry at my own weakness, at my own
perversity, I tugged my hand free and zipped up my trousers, cursing
myself, feeling guilt and shame.
"That will be all, lieutenant," he said, turning to the window and
turning his back to her.
She wiped her face on the sleeves of her uniform.
"Yes, sir," she said.
She turned, winced in pain, put a hand to her abdomen, and then
straightened and walked slowly - and carefully - to the door. She
unlocked it, opened it, and stepped slowly out, closing it behind him.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
From the ebook: Pain Slaves - By Veronica Beacher
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