Chapter 19: Ménage à trois

It had been an idle threat made under pressure, that's all.

"If you move your hands," he'd mocked her, so long ago that now seemed. "I'll bend you over, spread your cheeks and stick ten inches of cock up your ass, and then, when I've had what I want of your body, I'll put a noose round your neck and I'll hang you! So don't you dare move an inch... not an inch..."

It had been an idle threat that one makes without thought to the consequence, a promise made in a moment of madness, and yet now this promise had assumed major importance, because Cecily had moved her hands.

Howard had been determined to make her admit whose picture was contained in her locket, and yet, despite his use of force, she'd resisted. She'd won. And yet in the winning, she'd experienced such wild euphoria that she'd moved her hands.

Big mistake.

Hurriedly, she returned her hands to her back, back to the place where they'd come from, to the place where they should have been, holding them as if Pandora could be returned to her box, but it was too late for that now.

"It's my right to punish you for your disobedience, to honour my promise."

"No!"

Howard stepped forward, a terrible smile creeping across his face as he stared maliciously at Cecily's partially clothed body. "I'm going to nail your tits to the tree and screw your snotty ass, my dear pretty Cecily," he declared. "And when I'm done, I'm going to hang you from this tree and be done with you. But first, those clothes are in my way. I'm tired of them."

He grabbed her skirt, gripping the hem and yanking it down, forcing the waistband onto her hips.

"Mr Pendrill!" she cried, tugging the skirt back up onto her waist through the effort of sheer will. "This isn't being clever! I outrank you! This'll ruin your CV!"

Howard pulled the skirt back down, his eyes sparkling with mischief. The waistband was soon on her hips. It was a game, a tug of war, with him trying to haul her skirt down and her trying to lift it back up, and she succeeded for a while because the skirt was still buttoned and like that, it was too tight to slide across her thighs; but he wasn't done. He upped a gear and at once, a button flew into the air and everything was easy.

"This isn't going on my CV!" he whooped, inching the skirt back down, slowly, slowly, very easily now, revealing her sexy red thong for the first time and her black stockings. Oh joy! He was enjoying himself now and in control; and it was delightful that she was fighting him, straining to her utmost and yet failing.

He eased the skirt over her hips and she wailed because she could feel herself losing grip despite her best efforts. In her panic she kicked at him, but that was a bad move because it made his goal easier. Now that the waistband was unfastened, the skirt slid gracefully down her legs, and to her enduring embarrassment, it was around her ankles and he was staring at her thong, conscious that he was reaching the endgame.

"I'm going to strip you!" his eyes burnt as he tossed away her skirt, and she felt his determination and lust, his greed, his need. "You made me jerk off and this is the consequence," he drooled. "I'm going to touch your moist places, your pretty cunt, and when I'm ready: I'm going to bugger your ass."

There was nothing she could do, no defence, for his eyes had refocused on her hose and she mewled aloud in despair. God. He was after her stockings now! The fucking bastard! Oh Jesus. He was going to strip her, humiliate her. Oh God! They both reached simultaneously for her stockings and his smile broadened and his cock became dark and menacing and erect. She hated his arrogance and she hated his cock. She hated that he'd grabbed for her panty hose and that he was stretching and tugging and fighting with her.

She hated his terrible strength. "Mr Pendrill!" she begged him, trying to be conciliatory, to make peace, but that was difficult because a hole had appeared in her stocking. It grew bigger. The fabric was dissolving on her legs, creating a gnawing, growing nothingness and a sea of bare flesh.

She panicked.

"Oh my!"

The Major couldn't contain himself because he was excitable and Cecily's thighs were beautifully showcased by the hole, and her stockings were disappearing into non-existence. They were melting like an ice cube in cola on a hot summer's day.

"Mr Pendrill!"

Howard wasn't listening. He tore manically at the stocking, ripping first one leg and then the other.

"Jesus! My Pendrill!" Cecily cried, forcing herself to resist him, slapping desperately at his hands and kicking him hard. What was he on? Alcohol? Drugs? "Stop it!" she fought. "Please! These stockings are expensive. They cost me fifteen dollars ninety five a pair. Please. I beg you. Stop it! There's no need!"

Howard ignored her hands and her arms and he sidestepped her foot, grinning lasciviously and listening to her feminine trivia. Nothing she did, it seemed, could touch him or reach him. Nothing she did could stop him. She was demented. She was sexy. She was focused and insane. "And what's that to me?" he rasped savagely, ripping the top part of her stockings into smaller and smaller pieces. "What do I care how much you paid?"

"Mr Pendrill. I have my work to do, soldiers to interview: jobs to complete. Listen to me! Listen, please. You're not the only one I have to talk to! Please! I don't have any spares."

He laughed. How bizarre! How cute! "You don't need any spares," he teased, and he ripped the black nylon down the lower part of her leg towards her foot, doing so to annoy her, to tease her, and then he did the same with the other leg, and soon there was nothing left of the stockings except what looked like socks and unrecognizable fragments that were ruined, and all that protected Cecily's modesty was a tiny red thong.

Howard grabbed the sock like garments and tugged them from her feet, scooping the black nylon into his hands, and throwing them away. Cecily swallowed hard. She was flushed because Howard was close to her and touching her and every part of her, it seemed, was bare. Her feet were bare. Her shoulders, her breasts, her arms - likewise her stomach and her legs - were bare. Her hands were bare. Her back was bare. Every part of her female anatomy was bare and open and vulnerable to him, except for her carefully groomed Manhattan that was temporarily covered by a pair of red panties, and what protection was that to a man with his strength?

He touched her.

Jesus.

He was caressing her. God. Cecily's hands moved immediately to her groin to keep him away, and she shivered, staring spellbound at Howard's cock, for his hands had left her and he was caressing his tool. He treated himself to several long, deliberate strokes of his dick. "And what about those?" he prodded playfully, nodding in deference to her final garment, her little red thong. "Do you have any spares for them?"

Cecily gulped, disconcerted by the size and vigour of his cock. "I don't have any spares," she whispered coyly, watching him play with it and wondering what it would be like to have that monstrous thing buried within her, pounding her ass. She liked to watch men jerk off. She liked to play at a distance, to be in control, to decide when and where and if; but there was no distance here. She reminded herself of this fact. She was vulnerable, highly vulnerable. She could easily be raped. "Please," she wavered. "I beg you. They are the only pair I have. Don't tear them."

He let go of his cock and instead, he pinched her black, calloused nipples, but instead of pushing him away, she let him. She didn't move or protest, and so his hands travelled across her midriff, bisecting her navel, circling it, before moving lower to the triangular red wisp protecting her pussy, and she let him do it.

She said nothing and she did nothing to stop him. She just let him touch her.

"I'm going to bugger you," he pronounced gravely. "I'll do it from behind like you're a dog - my pet poodle. I'm going to plug your ass with my cock. But first, you're going to lose those panties."

Cecily swallowed hard and she flushed with indignation. She bit her lip, but she didn't speak to him, or answer, or complain. She hesitated and felt her vulnerability; and she watched him closely, for he was already holding her thong, threatening to tear it away.

"Oh God," she breathed, shutting her eyes, imagining what would happen once he'd uncovered her ass. He'd promised to bugger her; hang her. "I've... Oh God. I've never been buggered before."

"What? Never?"

"No. Never."

He yanked the red lace across her thighs and drew it down her calves to her feet, and she didn't stop him, because she couldn't. She was frozen, trapped, vulnerable. She just stood there, eyes shut, fists clenched, and he stared at her mound and her thin slither of hair. "Get down on your knees, my beauty," he whispered. "Show me your ass, and ask me to do it. Ask me to bugger you. I want to hear the sound of your begging."

She didn't protest and she didn't resist him. Instead, she dropped slowly to the grass, first to her knees and then into a praying position, and she shuffled forward onto all fours, turning round so that her ass was facing him, and then she lifted her rear and parted her legs and wiggled her buttocks and pointed it, knowing he could see into both of her holes.

"Don't hurt me!" she begged him, and she could feel that he was staring between her butt cheeks at her delicate purse and seeing everything she had, and there was nothing she could do to prevent him. If she'd tried to resist, it would get worse. He would hurt her. This was the only way it could be. "Go on," he ordered. "Open wider. You can do better than that, dear Cecily. I want to see all the way inside."

And so she pulled back her knees, opening herself right up, and she blushed bright red because he was looking deep into her hole.

"That's nice," he said, pulling at her shaved lips with his fingers so that she gaped, and there was a pink tunnel beyond her spread lips that hid mysteries and lust. "Now order me to bugger you," he said. "For this is your interview, Cecily, and you're the one who's in charge here, and so be brave and order me to do it."

He held her lips so that they stayed open, and he was enjoying the pinkness and the power he held, and he was waiting for the idea of what he was doing and what he was planning to settle in her brain. What was she thinking? What was she feeling?

And then, when he'd decided that she'd waited long enough, he rubbed the inside of her pink tunnel with his finger, forcing it to lubricate, and that made her swallow.

"Oh my God!" She bit her lip and she stuttered awkwardly. "Mr Pendrill..."

"Say it. Order me to do it."

Her mouth opened and closed. "Mr Pendrill. I can't. Please don't make me say it."

He kept rubbing with his finger and she began to move, to sway. "You can say it. You can say, 'Mr Pendrill. Stick your big juicy cock in my ass and bugger me because I'm a slut and I need it. Mr Pendrill.' You can say, 'Hump me. Give it to me hard.'"

And with that he spread her ass cheeks and forced her other hole to open, her ass hole, and he peered inside, and considered her delights.

"You have a cute ass, Cecily. Did anyone tell you that?"

"Mr Pendrill. Please don't do this! I beg you."

"Why not? Tell me why I shouldn't do it."

"You're embarrassing me."

"Well, maybe I like embarrassing you. It turns me on. Maybe I like putting my finger into your cute ass hole and sliding it inside. Maybe that will embarrass you too."

And he did stick his finger deep into her back passage, He pushed it in and wriggled it about.

"Oh God!" she groaned, pushing back against his hand. "I hate you. Oh God!"

"Do you, Cecily? Do you? Do you hate me? I remember a girl at the barracks. She hated me too. She had a nice tits and a cute little ass hole. It was pretty, like yours, and I remember how she told me that she'd been ordered to offer it to a stranger, and since I was a stranger, would I mind fucking her ass? I remember wondering who'd ordered her to do this weird thing, but I thought fast, and I told her that I'd be happy to help as long as she first helped me. I told her that she must strip nude and touch herself and made herself wet. When she was sufficiently wet, I would do it. I would fuck her ass.

"That caught her out, my pretty young trainee, for although she didn't mind stripping for me, she didn't like the idea of playing with herself and juicing herself up. She told me that this was something private, and she couldn't do it in front of a man, but I held my nerve because she was shy and young and naive and having plucked up the courage to talk to me, I was sure, even the terror of performing a public masturbation was preferable to starting afresh with someone else."

"So we went down to the gym together when everything was quiet. It was dark and empty in there, and I turned on the lights and I unrolled a crash mat and I set it square on the floor in the middle of the gym. And then I told my pretty young trainee to take off her clothes and lie on the crash mat and make herself comfortable.

She didn't want to do it and I had to repeat myself a few times. She said that to play with herself was something private and she became emotional and made a fuss, but eventually she did as I asked her, awkwardly, shyly, blushing all over. She had freckles on her chest and a scar on her left shoulder, and a mole near her mound and pubic fuzz that she left unshaved. She kept hiding the fuzz and the mole and the scar because she was perfectly embarrassed, but I told her to relax. I told her to lie on the mat, to close her eyes, and to touch herself between her legs, and she did it, which surprised me, so then I told her to take deep breaths and play with her breasts, to squeeze them, and she did that too. Slowly, she did began to relax, and so then I told her to touch her pussy lips - very lightly, carefully - and then her mound and then finally her ass hole.

"Even as I watched her doing this wonderful thing, she told me that she was a cadet. She told me that it was part of her training to use sex to gather information from the enemy, and that she'd been given lessons on how to pleasure a man, but it had been theoretical. She hadn't had any practical experience. I would be the first. Her tutor had informed her that she must use what she'd learned to hook a man and then, having hooked him, she must get him to bugger her.

"She told me all this sweetly, politely, while lying on the mat with a finger stuck firmly in her pussy, and another in her asshole.

"She then told me that there was a blackboard at the front of her classroom, and that her tutor had drawn diagrams on it. He'd given her a textbook and a dildo on which to practice, but she'd felt ill and frightened, because she'd never before done it like that with a man.

"I asked her what she did with the dildo and she blushed and the finger sped up. She told me that she would put the dildo in her ass and squeeze it, and sometimes she would sleep with it inside her, just to get used to it, but tonight I was her project, and my cock would replace the dildo and I would be kissed; coaxed and cajoled until my cock was begging for mercy and it was buried deep inside her ass.

"She gasped, and her finger was fast, and she was rubbing herself and she was hot. She was grinding.

"She said that her tutor had drawn the assignment on the blackboard. It was clear that I wasn't to cum in her mouth or her pussy, only in her ass. Could I promise to do that?"

Cecily remembered those same drawings and the obligatory exercises from her own time as a cadet. She remembered the big ugly dildo and being told what to do with it.

It was doubtless the same for all cadets. They had the same book and the same dildo. They shared the first exercises about sucking a man's dick. Cecily remembered it, the taste and the homework sessions and swallowing so many gallons of jism that she'd become drunk from it, doing fifty to a hundred men each day, and the memory had stayed in her mouth for weeks if not months.

Cecily remembered the more advanced lessons, similar to those that Howard was here describing. She recalled having to kneel on the parade ground and being asked to pull apart her butt cheeks for a hundred jeering soldiers. She remembered thinking about Harriet and her husband and daughter, and insignificant things like wondering whether Harriet had turned on the dish washer before leaving home that morning, and whether Ruth had sufficient diapers, and suddenly she'd felt the cramping sensation of a man's cock buried in her ass and this had subsumed all her other feelings and thoughts. Harriet was forgotten and she was wailing and shrieking like all the other stupid cunts who'd been given their desserts.

And when the present cock had been removed from her ass, there had been another, another, always one more: fifty to a hundred each day, day after day, over and over.

It had been her training. That had been her torture. It was how you turned a nice girl like Harriet into a someone like Cecily.

"Who is the lady in the picture?" Howard asked, interrupting Cecily's memory, and he kissed her butt cheeks and licked her mons, tasting the zest of fresh lemon that had mixed with the faint aroma of talc.

It tasted good. It was hot.

Cecily had used the talc to dab on her skin after applying a razor to her pubes. She'd shaved before coming to work - her pubes and her legs and under her arms - so that they were smooth, hairless and feminine.

Howard applied his nose to Cecily's crack, and then up into her purse, ignoring the lemon and instead tracking the musk. His head darted between her thighs and from here he was nuzzling her ass, and his mouth was pressing and teasing her pussy.

"Tell me about the lady in the locket," he ordered, and Cecily felt his tongue moving about, searching for her clit. He was exploring the summits and valleys of her folded flesh, but aiming for one thing, and when he found it, he licked it.

"Please! Mr Pendrill!" Cecily gasped, and she shivered, staring down at the grass and the dark brown earth. She was sweating. The perspiration was on her brow and her cheeks. It was dripping from her chest to her breasts. He was licking her clit.

"Tell me about the locket," he repeated.

"I... I can't do that, because, you see, the locket is my secret."

Then his teeth. He bit lightly on her clit as a warning, waiting for the nub to swell between his sharp white canines, and as it ballooned between his teeth he heard the whistle of Cecily's repeated breaths and the rasp of her passion. "Oh Jesus. Christ. Please don't! Mr Pendrill! I beg you! Please stop it!"

But he ignored her and he bit harder, forcing his point. "The locket. Who is the woman? Who is she?"

He tugged at Cecily's flesh, holding the nodule between his teeth and twisting his head, and that blew the fuse. That did it. That was the clincher. That was too much. He pulled upon her tender flesh, and suddenly, in panic, the sweat pouring more copiously now, Cecily closed her legs and locked her thighs and leant back. She wrapped her thighs about Howard's head, preventing him from hurting her sex.

"Oh God," she shivered, forcing his mouth to lock against her groin. "Please don't! Oh please don't! Have mercy, Mr Pendrill! Please no!"

"You'll lose your womanhood!" Howard threatened savagely, and his voice was muffled and trapped between Cecily's legs. He couldn't move because she was holding him, but neither could she move. He was trapped against her chassis and she was trapped between his teeth.

So what now? What next?

Which one of them would blink first?

"Be sensible," Cecily gasped, and her torso tightened with fear.

"I am being sensible."

Oh God. What now? What next? Shit. Which one of them would blink first? Which? What would he do? What was he thinking? She had only one clit. One pearl. She only had one chance to get this right. "Remember Lucy!" she breathed desperately, sucking in her stomach and her breath and trying to distract him with her body. "Please, Mr Pendrill. Please don't bite me. You wouldn't want to do this to Lucy!"

But despite her appeal, he bit harder, and for longer. He bit deeper, ignoring her logic and her reason, and he was hurting her more. "Shit!" she swore, rocking about on her knees. His teeth were strangling and squeezing her bud, and she sank lower. She swayed. Oh fuck. What now? His mouth was on her clit and he was biting her! Biting her clit! She fought to repress the pain and the rushing of blood and the involuntary spasms of her muscles, but it was thankless to try because he only bit harder: so much harder, orders of magnitude harder. "Shit! Shit! Shit!"

She screamed.

He was biting her pearl, chewing it off! "I am remembering Lucy," he told her, appearing absurdly from between her legs so that he could see the evidence of her despair. A moment's relief! A moment's respite. Thank God! And her clit was intact! It was still there! But look at those teeth marks! God! "You see, you overreach yourself, my dear Cecily. Lucy isn't going to lose her clit, you are."

And as his head disappeared again between her legs he grabbed her. He bit her! Oh fuck! Oh no. What was he saying?

What did he mean? He was biting her. Oh God! His teeth were biting! Shit! Keep out the pain! "Whatever happens..." she began, sucking in her breath and reverting to her mantra. Concentrate.

Concentrate. Such awful unendurable pain. Too much. Too much pain. Oh God.

"... happens to Lucy," Howard agreed readily, and Cecily's juice dribbled from his chin and there was foam and white talc mixed with it too. He was insane, rabid. "You've told me this repeatedly, but you see, Lucy didn't move her hands, you did, my dear Cecily. You did. Therefore, Lucy isn't the one begging to be punished. You are. Lucy kept her hands behind her back."

Cecily heard his words and she experienced a chill of paralysis that spread all over her skin. She was on her knees looking at the dirt and the grass and feeling the most terrible pain, and although she couldn't see the dirt or the grass very clearly, she could hear that it was quiet and calm by the old willow, and that didn't seem right to her at all. For some reason the screams there had subsided into silence and everything was hush, but for how long had it been like that? And how come that Cecily hadn't noticed?

"Oh God!!" she exclaimed, as Howard bit into her clit again, and she understood suddenly that Howard had duped her. How easy it had been! Oh shit! He'd prepared her mind and then so easily he'd misled it. She struggled to turn and to see past his naked frame. She struggled. She struggled to do so because she needed to know what was happening at the other place by the willow. She tried. She fought.

She had to see Lucy. She had to, but Howard had her clit in his mouth and she couldn't move with intensifying her discomfort, and then, suddenly, Cecily did see Lucy, and she wished that she hadn't.

"Oh shit!"

There she was. She was standing in all her miserable glory, her clothes in tatters, hanging from her like curtains blowing in the wind. The poor wretch! Her breasts were resting upon the remnants of her torn bra and they weren't at all inside it. Her stomach was naked. Her panties were shredded and dishevelled and hid nothing, and yet somehow they'd lodged precariously on her hips and a tiny triangular tuft proved that they were for decoration and fulfilled no functional purpose.

Significantly, Cecily noticed, Lucy wasn't shielding her womanly parts. She couldn't, for her hands were tied to the tree.

Oh Christ. Cecily trembled. She was scared. Oh shit. Lucy was tied up.

Cecily recognised the portentous significance of this simple statement. Oh dear fuck. It meant that Lucy couldn't move her hands even if she wanted to. She couldn't make the same mistake that Cecily had made because the ropes protected her from harm. Cecily shrieked in frustration and angst, understanding how easily she'd been outwitted.

"You broke the rules," Howard gloated merrily. "You messed up and Lucy didn't, so you must be punished, Cecily, and Lucy won't be. That's only fair."

Cecily could feel Howard's cock grazing her back, and she sensed that his erection was angry and lurching towards her crack, and she had no doubt what her punishment would be. "Ask me to punish you," he invited her mischievously. "Ask me to bugger your ass, to stick my cock up your backside. Ask me to give you a good ass fuck."

What a dilemma! What a terrible thing to ask him! And yet to refuse would make him angry.

And already she could feel his knob pressing, and she sensed the tip of it resting against her hole as a woman does who's about to be raped, and Cecily was certainly going to be raped.

Nothing would stop it.

Nothing at all.

No one could stop it.

Cecily was about to be raped. Howard's cock was resting against the edge of her ass hole and he was pushing it in.

"Okay, I hear you," Cecily screamed, biting her lip and playing for time. "Okay. We can work something out. I misjudged you. You surprised me. Mr Pendrill. You're a fine, worthy opponent. Go tell Lucy that you've passed!"

Howard stared at Cecily's buttocks disbelievingly. He didn't believe what he'd heard. "Do you mean that I qualify for SJ6?"

"Of course, Mr Pendrill," Cecily shrieked. "Get dressed. We're done. Go tell Lucy the good news. You must be prepared to leave, for she's your girlfriend, after all."

There was a tree behind where Cecily was standing and Howard was edging her towards it.

"I have another ten minutes," Howard observed coyly, softly, pushing Cecily steadily towards the beckoning tree. She was naked and frightened and he was forcing her back, steadily, touching her tits with his fingers and her buttocks and stomach with his hands as he did so, pinching and slapping. "Ten more minutes," he said, striking them again. "And you haven't yet told me about the lady in the locket. I'm intrigued by that. Who is she, dear Cecily? Please. Tell me! I'm waiting!"

But Cecily didn't answer. Instead, she wailed aloud because she didn't want to tell Howard about the lady, because that was her secret.

Secret.

"This is over, Mr Pendrill!," she declared firmly. "We're done! We're finished! Are you listening to me? There is no more!" But even as she said this, Howard bumped her into the tree and she was trapped by the weight of his body. There was now nowhere to go, nowhere to retreat to and nowhere to run.

"I have ten minutes to play with your ass," Howard murmured softly, pressing himself against Cecily's nude body and enjoying the thrill of her nakedness against his skin, and he stroked her hips and her ass. "Ten minutes to torture your breasts, dear Cecily. Ten minutes to get to know you, and for you to tell me about conjugal friendships and how ours will work in our brave new world together. You asked me whether I could torture a woman. Well, let's see, now's the time to find out."

And he grabbed her arm and he twisted it so that she was facing the tree, and she gasped. Her arm was forced up her back and she was staring directly at the tree. "Ten minutes," Howard reminded her again, and she was stammering; shaking, hoping against hope, and he, for his part, was holding her tightly and squeezing her tits. "Ten minutes to discover so much about each other, eh, Cecily? Not a minute less; not a minute more."

And for a second time Cecily felt Howard's hands on her body and his cock pressing against her ass, only this time, it moved to its destination quickly, digging at her crack, hunting for her asshole.

"I want your butt, Cecily," Howard murmured quietly, holding her against the tree. "I'm going to poke it and split it in two. That's the plan. You can scream all you like. You can beg me to do it or not do it - I don't mind which - but you're going to get my cock in your ass, and two six-inch nails in your tits; both those things, because, for the next ten minutes, I own you."

Cecily stared blankly at the oak tree, and yet that was all she could see. There were other things around her but her only consciousness was the tree and Howard's big cock wedged against her ass, and pressing against her sphincter and ready to rape her, and she swallowed miserably, clinging to the bark of the tree and prepared for the imminent assault. Howard was going to rape her. He was going to murder her ass. Cecily's black nipples were resting against the rough surface of the tree bark waiting to be rubbed against it and the skin worn down. She was about to be raped, ravished. Hurt. "You're not being clever, Mr Pendrill," she choked desperately, her knuckles becoming blue as she gripped the ragged gnarls of the bark and prepared for the attack.

"Ask me," he hissed again. "Ask me to fuck your ass." He was pushing harder, pressing against her sphincter. She could feel the pressure becoming stronger and intense, all of it focussed on her hole. "Ask me, Cecily. Ask me. Ask me to stick my dick in your rear and to give it to you good."