Chapter 11 : "Oriental Princess"

Cecily had been sitting upon her stool slumped at the table, playing with her pencil and tapping its end against the transparent glass.

She wasn't now.

Neither was she hovering by the window, looking out at the parade ground and reliving those heart churning days of long ago, when she'd been a blue collar naked recruit, an artificial cock dangling from her pussy and an assemblage of soldiers whacking their erections in artistic appreciation.

She wasn't doing either of those things.

Instead she was standing at the centre of her office, pointing at several coils of rope and holding her hands so that Howard might more easily tie them.

"Do it tightly, Mr Pendrill," she directed with a cold authoritative bite. "First my hands, and then my legs. I've cut the rope into five meter lengths, sturdy hemp so that it will be impossible for me to escape from. Tie my wrists behind my back, Mr Pendrill, and my elbows to each other, so that I can't use my hands to keep you from touching and hurting my breasts. Loop rope around my legs - twice - first at the knees and then at the ankles, tightly, so that I can't kick or fight or run away. Then, when you've done these things, I shall tell you what to do next."

She looked a heavenly sight! Her blouse was unbuttoned, and her naked breasts were open and exposed. They were damaged tortured breasts, Frankenstein tits as Howard preferred to call them, partly hers and partly stolen from an unwilling, terrified Egyptian field operative named Jazmin.

The question was, though, why did she want him to hurt her. "It's a test," she said jerkily, steeling herself and extending her arms so that Howard could loop them with rope. He was still naked, and she was staring at his limp manhood and wondering how long it would lie dormant.

"A test?" Howard frowned.

"Yes, Mr Pendrill. A test. It's a small one, I think - for you - but a large, terrible one for me. I want you to tie my hands and my feet like you would if I were the Oriental Princess of some Barbarian Kingdom and you were about to abduct me and take me hostage and rape me."

Howard folded a length of rope into two, running it through his fingers and looping it round his hands. This was awkward because of what had happened shortly before. He'd cum, and his semen was splattered across the floor and Cecily was standing with her feet and her heels in the puddle. Her stockinged toes was smeared in the juice and she was wiping it around the planks, writing her name on the wood in thick rolling letters.

He frowned. "An Oriental Princess of some Barbarian Kingdom?"

"Yes, Mr Pendrill. Imagine it. You've stormed my palace and you've fought your way to my room. My attendants are dead, and there's fighting all around. You see me, the great prize, and there's a price on my head, a ransom. If you kidnap me, you can extort my kingdom, and everything is yours. I'm a woman, a frail vulnerable woman..."

Howard tried to think of something intelligent to say. "If you are an Oriental Princess of some Barbarian Kingdom, then what am I? A pirate? A bandit? Or am I just a battle-worn guerrilla who hates you and who fights from the mountains?"

He looped a length of rope around Cecily's forearms. His words were meaningless and inane but Cecily seemed to like them. She tossed back her hair and studied his cock more astutely than ever. "The latter," she decided firmly. "You saw me once, a long time ago, when I presided over the execution of several men from your village. They committed a minor crime, stealing game from my land and they begged me for their lives, but I was disinterested. I was aloof. I sat on my throne and I made no allowance for their hunger, for their families and for their need. I was unmoved by their repeated pleadings for mercy.

"And so now the tables are turned. You have abducted me from my palace and I stand before you in my gold and pearls and rich purple robes, and I will be judged by the same harsh standards by which I have judged others. I will be ritually stripped, raped and then publicly branded and sold as a slave in the very square where I presided over the execution of your villagers. I will be led slowly from the prison and escorted through the jostling crowds, my hands tied behind my back and my legs shackled in irons, and the fickle populace will grope my breasts, my ass and my pussy to test how much I could bring at auction. Some of them will spit at my body; while others will slap and punch me; and yet others will push their fingers into places that shouldn't be poked; and in front of me is the blacksmith's forge, dark, imposing and ominous, a silky silhouette lit by an invisible sun, and I'm too frightened to hurry towards it and too frightened to loiter, and I know that I'm done for."

Cecily smiled, still proffering her arms so that Howard might tie them with rope. "Does my submissiveness excite you, Mr Pendrill? It appears from your biological function that it does. Your cock is growing hard and it needs to be tamed. I'm an Oriental Barbarian Princess and I'll soon be forced to bend across a blacksmith's anvil where I'll be tied, and brigands will cut off my clothes and my jewels. They'll rape me and they'll cheer every time that I'm pricked. Finally, you'll approach with your branding iron, and you'll press it against my forehead, my breasts and my ass. I'll carry your name, your initials. Imagine it, Mr Pendrill. Imagine how I scream, how I kick, how I cry."

Her toes were wet with his cum and she was wiping her stockings and smearing the floor and making crude erotic patterns upon its hard gloss surface. But her arms she kept still. "So having amused ourselves, let's return to our question," she said. "The one that we began with - so long ago that seems now. How do you answer? Mr Pendrill? You have an Oriental Princess that you've abducted. She's naked and wrapped round an anvil. Her ass is lifted high into the air, and it's exposed and waiting to be marked, but can you do to her as she has done to others? Is the fibre within you to torture this woman? Can you resist her tears and her persistent and irritating wiles? Indeed, could you torture her, Mr Pendrill? And then, when she's sufficiently humiliated and carrying your name on her skin, could you rape her and sell her to the highest bidder, for him to do with her as he chooses? How do you say?"

"Yes, mam," Howard answered with a new, arrogant confidence that had been absent before. He stepped purposefully into the puddle of his own cum and slipped the ends of the rope through the loop and drew out the slack. Now that the tables had been turned and Cecily was helpless, he was more certain and not so prevaricating.

He snapped the rope tight, cinching Cecily's elbows and doing so aggressively. "I could torture this woman," he declared boldly. "I would, and I will!"

He knotted the rope and then tugged at the ends, and Cecily grunted under the force of his efforts. "Confidently spoken, Mr Pendrill," she coughed, her voice straining under the pressure knitting her arms, and then thickening because Howard was yanking upon the ends and forcing the rope to bite at her flesh.

It hurt. It hurt a lot, and the pain made her pause, and she tested her fingers for numbness: bending and unbending them separately. They were swelling. She could feel it. "Very good," she muttered approvingly through her clenched teeth. "In fact, not bad at all. But the case is not proven. The time has come for your metal to be tested."

"My metal?" Howard mocked, picking up another rope and looping it around Cecily's stockinged knees, lassoing it around her legs before tightening the rope quickly. She swayed, and gasped, finding herself off balance.

"Mr Pendrill," she frowned, shifting precariously from one wet stockinged foot to the other as she fought to keep her balance.

She recovered it, and then she asked hastily without further preamble: "Do you know what a governor is, Mr Pendrill?"

Howard did, or at least he thought he did. "You mean like Arnie Schwarzeneggar?" he suggested.

"No, not that kind of governor."

Cecily tested her fingers again, bending and unbending each one of them in turn. "I'm referring to the type of crude mechanical device that's sometimes fitted to a car engine. I'm not referring to a government official."

But Howard wasn't listening. His mind and hands were on other, less erudite matters. He was stroking Cecily's calves because he'd discovered that Cecily swallowed whenever he did it. Her eyes were moistening and her cheeks were glowing red.

She was turned on! The bitch!

"Put crudely, Mr Pendrill," she mouthed uncomfortably, and her voice wavered as Howard's fingers inched beneath her skirt and moved silently towards her crotch. "A governor is a feedback device that limits some mechanism." She swallowed, and then she stuttered as he closed on his target. Then, suddenly, her eyes opened wide and she stiffened. "Jesus! Mr Pendrill! It might be fitted to a gas boiler to keep it from... overheating... or to a car to keep it from speeding. Such devices can also be... applied in other... less obvious, situations. For instance, a governor might be used to limit the excess of a man's lusts." She hesitated and blew out her breath. She snapped her thighs around his hand to stop it, to hold it in place, but he levered her legs and forced them apart, and again his hand invaded her... her... God! Her mouth wobbled and she blushed. Jesus! He was touching her pearl. "Oh shit!!" She swallowed dryly. She could feel his fingers pushing around her panties and penetrating her hole. "I have this kind of governor." She swallowed. "A woman - I mean - a person. Oh Jesus. Mr Pendrill! Don't! Given your... your... Mr Pendrill! - your attentiveness to my - Oh Mr Pendrill - my pussy - you mustn't touch me there. It's not allowed... Oh my God - please - I was going to say that owing to your attentiveness to my legs, but it isn't my legs, it's also... Mr Pendrill! Oh God, please! You mustn't! Oh God! I perceive that I'm... in need of a Governor, and it's fortunate that I have her... Lucy..."

Howard stopped, his hands becoming clammy and springing from under Cecily's skirt, and he grabbed her by the shoulders, his fingers wet with her juice. "What?" he grunted. "What are you saying about Lucy?"

She exhaled in resigned sexual disappointment, and she was searching for breath. "Yes, Mr Pendrill. I have Lucy. Lucy and I have exchanged pleasantries, and I'm sorry to have deceived you - and I have deceived you, for what I've told you is 'opaque', and a veil of constant misinformation. But you see, my role as Director of Psychology compels me to deviate from the gospel. As I've explained to you, I must verify that you have the strength to torture a woman - and the department has stipulated that I be that woman. I must place myself in your hands, Mr Pendrill, in a certain and unwelcome position of vulnerability and I must ask you to undress me and torture me; and given that I'm wise in such matters, Mr Pendrill, and given that I know better than to trust a man or ask him to behave as a gentleman: I've brought my insurance."

"God. You mean Lucy..."

"Yes, Mr Pendrill. I mean Lucy. Let's be frank: you and I. The department can no longer abduct lone females from the street and whisk them to its dungeons and use them as torture fodder. It may have done so in times past, but nowadays, such happenings create friction, and we prefer to remain outside the public consciousness whenever possible. For the same reason, although we're free to use criminals, the mentally insane, and even sultry enemy combatants in our experiments, we choose not to do so as it results in unwelcome publicity. In addition, in this case, the Department has decided that I should be your victim - I myself, Mr Pendrill - and so naturally, as I wish to protect and care for my long term wellbeing, I have identified a governor: your Lucy. But to use her, I needed your warrant. I'm sorry to have deceived you - but it was, for me, the only solution."

Howard didn't understand most of what she'd said but he sensed that it was bad for Lucy. "Shit!" he expostulated, his juice-covered fingers clinging to Cecily's shoulder.

"Precisely, Mr Pendrill: shit. The situation isn't appealing to either of us, although you have the advantage in that can inflict torture on me and I can do nothing to stop you. The Department has authorized that you use your imagination to roam through the torture chambers of history, through the horror film archives and through your own imagination, and then play with me. I am yours to hurt, and given that this prospect is not appealing to me, Mr Pendrill, here is my governor, my insurance. Everything you do to me will be done to Lucy. At this very moment and throughout the session, we're being watched. There are four hidden cameras covering this room, and if you hit me; your colleagues will hit Lucy. If you waterboard me; they will do likewise to her. Rape me; and she'll be raped too, not just once, but by all of your colleagues, and brutally: together and in sequence. Let me repeat this as there must be no misunderstandings, and particularly for my own personal sanity of mind. To the extent that you take advantage of your power to hurt me, your platoon will hurt Lucy. It'll be a wonderful, unforgettable orgy of violence in which your girlfriend stars as adult entertainer and guest rolled into one. Put simply, Mr Pendrill: you have a choice. If you want to join SJ6, then you must be prepared to sacrifice your girlfriend to the lustful tortures of your various colleagues. On the other hand, if you value and wish to protect your girlfriend, then you must sacrifice SJ6. You can have one but not both."