Subjugated (16 page)

The fingertips, lower, inside the panties. There, on her clit, rubbing hard. She cried out.

He growled in her ear, “My cunt belongs to you, Captain Clark.”

His fingers ran up and down, probed inward where he had opened her only two hours or so before, and the soreness was still great.

“Ah!” she cried with a whining voice that seemed to convey exactly what she felt: the plaintive hope that the man who owned her now would be as kind as he could be.

“Say it, Jenna!”

“My cunt…” She had said the terrible word out loud. She panted with the arousal he imposed on her with his hand and with the words he forced into her mouth. “My cunt belongs to you, Captain Clark.”

Then, of course, the most shameful part: with his left hand, where the tiny panties still covered the secret, violated place. A single finger inside her bottom, and Jenna trying to move forward but held by his right hand upon her pussy.

“I think you know what to say, Jenna,” Captain Clark said softly.

She panted it out in gasping breaths, “My… my… m—my… anus belongs to you, Captain Clark,” feeling the blood rush to her face anew. Would the blushes ever end?

“Listen to me, then,” he said sternly. His eyes, over her shoulder in the mirror, locked with hers. “I am an officer of the Army of Western Liberation. I share what I have with my men. Today, in your town square, I am going to share your breasts, your mouth, your cunt, and your anus. My men have been waiting to help me subjugate you for days, now. Their time has come, and so has yours, Jenna.”

He released his grip behind and before, and he took hold of the leash again. He gave it a tug, bending Jenna back against him.

“You’re a good girl, sweetheart. Everyone can see that. My men like whipping and playing with good girls even more than they like whipping and playing with bad ones, though, so you need to go to the square expecting that there will be no mercy for you. You belong to the army, now, and you have a troop of brave, strong soldiers to please.”

From five yards away, Bradley watched his men secure Jenna over the block, in the little plaza at the top of the steps. To his left hung across the top of the facade of the town hall and looming over everything there, was an enormous screen on which the action in the plaza appeared, magnified many times. At the moment, it showed a close-up of Jenna’s bottom, in the red panties, as the first subjugation team positioned it for the humiliation they would visit on the girl.

“There’s Mrs. Trest, the HDI matron,” said Joe Franklin. His voice boomed out now from the speakers set up at either side of the facade of the old-fashioned brick town hall. In front of the steps stood all the adults of Springfield except for Jenna’s parents. Bradley saw Jenna’s friends Amy and Paula, holding hands, their faces very white.

Mrs. Trest was indeed emerging from the front door of town hall, and walking toward a microphone set up on the other side of the block from Bradley. She carried a black doctor’s bag. Jenna faced the town hall, so that the view confronting her fellow citizens was of her beautiful bottom, the red panties still in place, but her knees spread, and the lace pulled aside once again so that Jenna’s friends and neighbors could see the cleft of her cunt, perhaps even with a hint of the sweet pink inner lips peeking out. Upon that bottom were still the marks of Bradley’s belt, though now only a few curling dark red lines where he had whipped her with extra force.

The parade, though much was always made of it in anticipation, really served only as a transition. All the townspeople had already come to the square, under the watchful eyes and the guns of Bradley’s men. There, on the huge screen, they had watched the recap of the action from Jenna’s house, accompanied by canned commentary from Joe Franklin. When Bradley led Jenna into the square (her house was only two blocks away), her eyes downcast, he had heard a few sobs, but otherwise silence had reigned around the echoing voice of the newsreader talking about Bradley’s technique in punishing and fucking Jenna.

At their appearance, though, Major Trest, in the control room inside, had turned the audio to a live feed from the studio, and Joe Franklin’s voice had said, “And here they are. Jenna Caprio and her subjugator, Captain Bradley Clark.”

As Bradley led Jenna onward by the leash, toward where five of his men—the first subjugation detail, led by Lieutenant Jacobs—waited by the block, Joe helpfully reviewed the day’s action thus far for the benefit of the townspeople, while the view screen showed a three-times-life-size view of Jenna, arms bound behind her, collared and leashed, as she came on clad only in the red panties.

“To this point, ladies and gentlemen of Springfield, and all you watching out there throughout the republic, Jenna has been spanked, paddled, and whipped—all upon her bare bottom. Captain Clark deflowered her on her childhood bed, after putting his penis deep inside her innocent mouth and enjoying her for a long while that way. Once he had put the noble seed of an officer of the Army of Western Liberation inside Jenna’s young vagina, he allowed her to clean herself, and had her change the sheets on her bed, so that he could penetrate her anally and complete his personal subjugation of Jenna herself and of the town of Springfield through her.

“Jenna is now the property of the army, assigned personally to Captain Clark. After we’re through here today, Captain Clark will bring her to the capital for a week of leisurely sex and discipline, during which he will train Jenna thoroughly in the ways of the pleasure girl. Several times a day, Captain Clark will use her for his sexual gratification, whether young Jenna likes it
or not. He will use her pretty body just as he pleases, penetrating her mouth, vagina, and anus with his penis as often and as rigorously as he likes.

“Then, when the subjugation week is over, Jenna will become a pleasure girl in the Palace of Joy, and every soldier and officer who likes will have his chance to do the same.”

Bradley, his cock hard at the paradoxically clinical and arousing way Joe Franklin had of putting this traditional formula, had reached the steps at that point, and so the climax of Joe’s little recap and look ahead occurred just when Jenna was almost standing before the block where the terrible things in store for her would take place.

“And now Captain Clark has brought Jenna here to share her pleasures with his men. You, citizens of Springfield, have earned this punishment. Now you will watch your mayor’s daughter undergo it, in your stead. Jenna Caprio wears the red panties you gave her, Springfield.”

Then the first team made her kneel, and laid her over the block, her bound hands making it very easy indeed to position her just as they wanted and fasten the straps over her shoulders and around her knees. Bradley walked to her well-secured backside and, with a flourish, ripped the red panties off her and dropped them to the ground next to the block. And then the arrival of Mrs. Trest.

“Captain Clark,” she said into the microphone in a sweet voice that echoed around the plaza, “is it your will that your men degrade this girl, here in your presence?”

Bradley, thinking of Jenna saying the words of the sign, “My town is small but pretty,” and wondering what it meant that she had said them, for the present or the future, plastered a smile on his face and nodded.

“I shall now examine the girl to determine whether she is fit for degradation by Captain Clark’s men,” said Mrs. Trest.

She moved to the block, and put her doctor’s bag down on the small table provided for that, which had upon it also a cat o’ nine tails, a very large, black, penis-shaped vibrator, a long anal probe made of shiny chrome, and a large bottle of lube.

Joe’s voice emerged from the speakers. “Mrs. Trest will conduct a standard physical now. She’ll begin with taking a temperature, of course, and we all know where naughty girls have their temperatures taken.”

Mrs. Trest, smiling brightly and looking the soul of modesty in her white coat over a demure floral print dress, took the thermometer from her bag. She turned back to Jenna’s bottom, as she smeared a little Vaseline on it.

“Now this will feel a little cool, Jenna,” she said.

Bradley watched the thermometer disappear into Jenna’s bottom, and heard her whimper in response.

“Feels a little nicer than Captain Clark’s penis, though, doesn’t it?” Mrs. Trest said.

“Yes, ma’am,” Jenna said softly. She had become much more pliable, it seemed. Did it have anything to do with Bradley giving the countersign? He hoped so. If they could just get through this day, they would certainly have a chance to talk without other people, or their listening devices, hearing them.

* * *

At least she couldn’t see that enormous screen, because it rose right above where they had strapped her down over this terrible block of wood, which seemed hewn a thousand years before from an ancient tree trunk. How many girls had undergone what Jenna would undergo, over it?

Mrs. Trest held the thermometer in, the way you would for a baby who might try to expel it. Jenna felt herself blushing yet again.

“Look at that pretty blush,” said the voice of the terrible man who seemed intent on making every humiliation worse.

No, she couldn’t see the screen, but apparently the announcer would make her imagine it, which seemed almost worse.

“Jenna doesn’t enjoy having her temperature taken like a naughty child, clearly.”

The thermometer left her anus at last. “98.8,” said Mrs. Trest with satisfaction. “Blood pressure, now, my dear.”

Jenna, her heart pounding, risked a glance at Captain Clark. She supposed she needn’t worry… wouldn’t any girl in her position want to look at the man responsible for the terrible indignities she suffered? But knowing that she had in him a very strange sort of ally meant that when she thought of him, now, her emotions became tangled beyond loosing, and part of her thought that surely any eye could see in her face the hope she felt.

Captain Clark stood impassively, his hands clasped behind his back, looking out over the plaza, while Mrs. Trest took Jenna’s blood pressure. Just as Jenna lost hope that he would show any sign that he cared about her, when Mrs. Trest pronounced herself satisfied with what she saw on the gauge of the blood-pressure cuff, his eyes met hers.

She saw him start a little at the meeting of their gazes, as if he had hoped he might just survey her, in the process of her examination by Mrs. Trest, and then she saw his brow crease in what she thought could only be concern. He did care. He cared. She felt her own eyes widen, and she realized that the corners of her mouth had of their own accord twitched upward.

Then, to her shock and dismay, she saw his face turn angry. She watched in terror as he strode, not looking at Jenna again, out of view around her backside where Mrs. Trest now stood—was she looking at Captain Clark?

Jenna twisted her head wildly, to find that he had taken a stand behind the microphone.

“What’s this?” said the announcer’s voice. “It looks like Captain Clark has something to say.”

“My little slut here…”

Oh, God. Oh, God. What was he…?

“…thinks she has something to smile about.”

Now he turned to Jenna.
I smiled. And… and they saw it?

“Ah,” the announcer said, “very interesting. Yes, that was an odd moment, ladies and gentlemen, wasn’t it. We all saw young Jenna smile, as if she thought she could get the captain to be lenient. Captain Clark is quite rightly going to put a stop to that, I think.”

They had placed the table with the terrible things Jenna had stopped herself from looking at just in front and to the right of her. Captain Clark stepped there, and he picked up…

Oh, no.

It was the cat: nine knotted cords at the end of a wooden handle. Captain Clark disappeared from view. The last view of his face Jenna had seen had showed a grim expression that made her tummy flutter. Almost unconsciously, as if she had forgotten that her arms were tied behind and her shoulders and knees securely strapped to the block, she struggled to rise, so frightening were the cat and the man who wielded it.

“Mrs. Trest,” she heard his voice come from behind her, “do I have your permission to whip this naughty girl?”

“Certainly, captain,” said the matron cheerily. “I didn’t see the smile myself, but it appears that everyone else did, and you’re absolutely right to punish her for it.”

A pause, and then he said, very sternly, “I don’t want to spoil my men’s fun, Jenna, but six will probably wipe that smile off your face.”

“No! Please!”

“You should have thought of the consequences before you decided to try to win favor from me, girl.”

Then came the sound, like the thing:
whip!
And then the strange slapping noise, and pain: much worse than his belt, like tiny, intense flames dancing cruelly across her bottom on top of the terrible soreness already there.

She screamed, and just kept screaming as the cat fell over and over, five more times.

“A fine job here by Captain Clark, folks. Jenna Caprio won’t smile again for quite a while—not to mention sitting down. Just look at that backside, covered in lovely red curls.”

It had stopped, and her screaming became racking sobs. Why? Why?

Because if they had thought I could smile at him and get away with it, the consequences would be terrible.
She hadn’t meant to smile, but he must know that the danger in letting it pass was so great that he must become the cruel officer again, or risk both their safeties.

Jenna watched him return the cat to the table, not looking at her. She wanted him to look at her; she wouldn’t smile. But he turned to Mrs. Trest and said, “Please proceed, ma’am.”

Mrs. Trest stooped beside Jenna’s right cheek. “I’m going to examine your vagina and anus now, dear,” she said. “We have to make sure the soldiers won’t hurt you when they shame you with their hands and the toys over there.” Jenna’s only response was a sob slightly louder than the others.

Mrs. Trest stood and went to her bag on the table, and took out a clear plastic speculum. On the big screen, in front of the town: Jenna’s pussy and bottom-hole, opened by Captain Clark.