Subjugated (6 page)

The girl looked at him with wide eyes, as if she had not known why the tall, forty-year old British officer had come, despite the fact that she wore the red panties underneath the plaid kilt of her school uniform. Bradley couldn’t help getting hard just at the sight of that expression. Davies managed somehow to make every part of the ritual of the subjugatory duty both erotic and disciplinary. What expression would Jenna Caprio’s face wear when Bradley arrived at her little Victorian in Springfield? What would Bradley say to her to begin the thing? He both wanted and didn’t want—rejected even the idea of wanting—to find something that might outdo, “I’m here to punish you, I’m afraid.”

Colonel Davies, on Bradley’s view screen, turned to Mrs. Smith, raising her daughter alone after her husband had been killed in an attempt to steal cigarettes. “It’s time for you to go, ma’am,” he said. “I have my orders. Go take Grace’s brothers to the place we’ve provided at the army base.” Standard procedure: family taken to the regional headquarters and isolated until the subjugation had finished. Mrs. Smith gave a little sob, hugged her daughter, and left.

Colonel Davies turned back to the girl. “Are you going to try to be a good girl for me, Grace Smith?” he asked.

Mutely, Grace nodded.

“That’s just as well,” said the colonel, “though I’m afraid I have to punish you so severely that it won’t be easy. I may have to tie you down, I’m sorry to say.”

Grace started to cry, then. “Why?” she asked in a little whimper. “Why me?”

Colonel Davies took a step forward, reached down, and boldly raised her skirt to reveal the red panties. Grace quailed back, but the colonel merely put a hand at the small of her back to control her.

“Do you know why these panties are red, Grace?”

The girl shook her head wildly.

“It’s not because you’ve been naughty yourself, my dear, or even because someone in your town has been naughty, although red underwear is the sign of a naughty girl.” The colonel lowered the hand that had raised the kilt, and laid his forefinger on Grace’s little lace-covered pussy. She gave a startled cry. “It’s because when the army has to punish a town, the first thing we do is to pick a girl like you to help us show not just how foolish it is to betray the army’s trust, but why General Dumfries’ Army of Western Liberation was necessary to begin with.”

“I… I don’t understand…” Grace said, but then Colonel Davies, rubbing gently with his finger, made her give a tiny whimper of pleasure.

“The panties are red, my dear, because they show you, your town, and the whole republic, that girls are naturally naughty, and that naughty girls must be properly punished. Now since you’re being such a good girl for me, we’ll start with you over my knee, and I won’t even use my belt at first, until I’ve warmed your pretty bottom up nicely. After that, we’ll have a little talk about what it really means to be a good girl for an officer like me, and we’ll get much better acquainted.”

* * *

All Thursday at school, Jenna wondered whether she should simply go to the nurse’s office and claim an upset stomach, so she could go home and… what? That was the problem. Amy and Paula gave her sympathetic looks all day, which made it both worse and better. They didn’t say anything, but kept the talk on Paula’s prospects of marriage and Amy’s prospects of higher education at little Northwest Community College in Renton, up the road.

Jenna tried to concentrate on what her teachers said, but all she could think about, really, was what she wore underneath her uniform kilt, and what she would look like when she must confront the mirror at bedtime: how she must say goodnight to her parents as if it were any other night, and then go and do the shameful thing Captain Clark had commanded.

Her heart fluttered like a little bird inside her chest, and Jenna couldn’t even swear that part of her excitement didn’t lie in a perverse desire to put on a fine show for Captain Clark and the whole army. That must simply be the yearning to have it over with, mustn’t it?

At the end of the day, walking home with Amy, who lived only a few doors down from Jenna, she managed to ask the question that had occupied her mind since Monday in the cafeteria. “Amy?” she said softly. “Do you… um…”

Jenna glanced over at her friend, walking beside her. Amy frowned, and Jenna thought she could tell that she must know what topic Jenna was trying to bring up. Amy’s lips made a tight little line, and her brow was knitted. Jenna remembered the way Amy had denied playing with herself, and then admitted it angrily. She remembered the part about Amy not minding getting whipped.

Amy’s eyes stayed forward and down toward the sidewalk. “I’m weird, okay?” she said.

“But Paula does it, too!” Jenna made her voice an urgent whisper.

“Paula doesn’t like getting punished.” Now Amy sounded forlorn, as if somehow Jenna receiving the red panties had brought things to light that she hadn’t ever wanted to talk about.

“That’s…” Jenna hesitated, and then, though her face felt very hot, managed to continue, “that’s what I wanted to ask you about. You said that you don’t mind… getting, you know, whipped.”

“Nope.” Amy still wouldn’t look at her, and she spoke the monosyllable in a falsely bright tone, as if it didn’t cover over anything more serious at all.

They had almost reached Amy’s house, and Jenna stopped and turned to her friend. Amy too stopped on the sidewalk and turned as if reluctantly. She gave one piercing look into Jenna’s eyes and then looked away, but Jenna saw in her best friend’s face the answer to her question.

“Look, Amy,” she said. “I think maybe you’re feeling guilty because there’s a part of you that… well… it’s looking… forward to seeing me, you know, subjugated. And I want you know that it’s okay.”

“Oh, God,” Amy said. “Oh, God, Jenna. I’m so sorry. How did you know?” She looked into Jenna’s eyes now, and brushed away tears from both her blue eyes. Jenna reached out her arms and hugged her friend.

“I don’t want you to feel guilty, Amy,” she breathed into the other girl’s ear. “I don’t know if every girl who gets the panties starts to feel this way, but, well…”

“You do? I mean, you feel the same way… about being punished? Oh, Jenna… I couldn’t help it…”

“What?”

“Last night, in bed… I, um, thought about you.”

Jenna felt herself go bright red. “That’s okay.” Why did she feel warm, down there, thinking about it? And she still hadn’t asked the one little question she felt she needed the answer to. She whispered right into Amy’s ear. “Am I supposed to put my fingers inside?”

Amy giggled, and suddenly despite the subject matter it seemed like they had become carefree again, just for a moment. “Um, if you want, I think?”

“Do you do that?”

“Sometimes?”

“But, I mean, isn’t it like when Mrs. Trest put that speculum thing in?”

Amy giggled again. “No, not really. Oh, Jenna, don’t worry. I think you’ll figure it out. Just try to make yourself feel good.”

* * *

General Dumfries, in instituting the subjugations, had followed his traditional values program at least to the extent that Jenna’s parents knew nothing of what the letter had contained. Jenna, with a racing heart, had managed to conceal her compulsory nakedness from them as well, slipping from her bedroom to her bathroom and back quickly and quietly each night and each morning.

So of course at supper Thursday night, Jake and Louisa Caprio didn’t know that their daughter’s subjugation would actually begin, in an important sense, that night. They had no idea that she’d had to sleep naked for the past six nights, wondering what it would be like to touch her pussy—and, after Monday, her newly shaved pussy. They had no idea that their demure daughter’s pussy was bare, or what her red panties looked like. Above all, they had no idea that she must tonight stand in front of her mirror and watch her fingers work their way inside those panties; watch them touch the places she had bared for Captain Clark; watch them show Captain Clark that Jenna Caprio needed a whipping like the ones her friends had received for their own wicked pleasure.

Supper was doubly strange and difficult, too, because not only did the subjugation itself sit in the corner of the room like an elephant no one wanted to mention, but their one small hope, Plan Beta, itself required not talking about anything out of the ordinary. It would work or it wouldn’t, but until it had run its course no one would say a single word about it. Jenna could see the strain on her parents’ faces as they ate their chicken breasts and the salad Jenna herself had made.

Jenna found it was all she could do to pretend to eat. She managed to put into her mouth a bit of a tomato that she knew had to be delicious, having picked it herself, but it tasted like wet paper on her tongue.

At seven p.m., to everyone’s clear relief, she said goodnight to her parents and went upstairs. As she climbed toward her bedroom, Jenna wondered whether her affectionate father and mother could have the slightest idea what this night held for their daughter. Loneliness rose up in her chest and seemed to choke her, then. How could she possibly do… that, now?

She reached her room, entered it, and closed the door behind her. No reason not to get it over with; mechanically she unfastened the waistband of the plaid uniform skirt and stepped out of it, so that the mirror showed her in the blouse whose front hem just covered the panties and black stockings.

Jenna started to unbutton the blouse, still looking in the mirror. Something about seeing herself do that seemed to push the loneliness back, as if to gaze upon her eighteen-year-old body as, at the order of an army officer, she revealed it, said that Jenna stood upon the threshold of something new, and that it only made sense that she should stand there alone.

Suddenly and without even meaning the action, she took the bottom of the blouse and raised it up in her left hand. She needed to see the lacy panties Captain Clark had sent. She needed to see how she appeared in them; what her bare pussy looked like, covered in the sort of underwear an officer would appoint for it.

“Look at that,” said Colonel Davies. “The little hussy wants to see how pretty her cunt looks!”

He chortled, and the rest of the officers watching laughed with him.

“Is she going to start before she’s even got her blouse off?” asked Major Stewart.

“The letter only said she couldn’t remove the panties,” said the colonel, turning to the major. “Isn’t that right, Clark?”

“Yes, sir,” Bradley said, his eyes fixed on the video monitor, which showed a high angle of Jenna herself, looking steadily into the mirror with her eyes clearly focused on the part of the reflection that showed her what her red panties looked like. Her right hand lay on her thigh, just below the waistband of the lingerie, and Bradley saw the fingers flutter a little. Something about the indecision that flutter conveyed endeared Jenna to him yet again, but it fired his blood, too. She made a wonderfully lascivious sight in the black stockings, her blouse unbuttoned enough to show a bit of her modest white bra and the panties that covered her shaved pussy looking both lewd and sweet at once.

Her middle finger started to play gently along the very end of the crease that led from thigh downward and inward toward the place where Jenna’s pussy lay in its lacy wrapping. More modest panties would have put an elastic leg-hole there, but on Jenna, the girl who would soon be subjugated, that crease lay entirely bare for the naughty finger to slip further and further down.

“Oh, she’s going for it,” said a lieutenant. “Look at that finger!”

Bradley wished he could watch the video feed alone—and he certainly would watch the tape alone later, he promised himself. He couldn’t deny, however, that his dominant libido took a good deal of satisfaction in hearing how it satisfied his brother officers.

He looked at Jenna’s face on the screen, wondering what she had talked about with her friend Amy, on the walk home. No mic had been available to pick up the conversation. Now, as she seemed to be beginning to awaken herself to the kind of submissive pleasure Bradley must give her so much more of, as he took his own pleasure from punishing and possessing her, the look on her face seemed to echo the expression she had worn that afternoon as Amy had headed up her walk, leaving Jenna on the sidewalk: a pensive, troubled look that seemed to say Jenna felt new things she could not name, and perhaps did not wish to.

Her forefinger and middle finger reached the right edge of the panties’ lace together, rubbing gently up and down there, as if Jenna was trying to decide whether, if she touched her clit, it would be worth the possible punishment a girl who put her hand inside her panties might well earn. Some girls, when they played with themselves, Bradley had seen many times, laid their hands boldly on their pussies; Jenna, never having done it before, showed an indecision that he found charming.

“There you go, girl,” Colonel Davies said. “That’s it. Give that cunt a nice little wank for us.”

But suddenly Jenna took her right hand away, to a groan of disappointment from the officers’ mess, and began to unbutton her blouse all the way, changing the groan instantly to a cheer, which only increased when she swiftly dropped the blouse to the floor and unhooked her bra, so that she stood now only in the red panties and her black stockings.

She put her hands up to her chest and began, a little inexpertly, to play with her breasts. When her thumbs ran across her nipples, though, she seemed to learn very quickly what felt good. She gave a little gasp, and then rubbed more firmly and faster, her eyes wide and her mouth open, until suddenly it seemed she must put her right hand back where it had been, at the side of the red panties, and now with rapidity and decision, put her middle two fingers right on her clit and rub firmly there, too, while her left hand moved now from little breast to little breast, playing with each nipple in turn.

Jenna cried out in pleasure, then, and again. The expression on her face seemed startled for a moment, as if she hadn’t understood that her body might emit such a sound without her intending it. Her breathing came quicker and quicker, and suddenly her left hand descended to the panties and gathered the lace at the front into a narrow ribbon, pulling it against her pussy-lips even as she kept rubbing her clit with her right hand. Her eyes were fixed now on the sight of the wicked things her hands did, in the mirror.