Chapter 4: Ladies in the Rain

Major Albert Steiner was raised in Belfast at the height of 'the troubles'. He was staunchly protestant and vehemently anti-Catholic, and he came to England at fifteen after dropping out of school. After two years spent labouring on various building sites, drifting from one job to another and being fired from them all, he joined the army.

It was a plea for help, an attempt to escape from the long downward cycle he'd been taking towards the gutter, and it worked. Twenty five years later, he was unrecognisable, a changed man, respected and feared in equal measure, especially among the people he trained.

One of those people is already known to us. His name is Lieutenant Howard Pendrill, and this gallant soldier has recently been appointed as troop leader.

Truth to tell, however, the Major was ambivalent to Howard at first. He recognised too much of his former self in the Lieutenant. He considered him weak, soft and easily led, a serial womanizer and a drunkard destined to dawdle the lower ranks.

But like the Major before him, Howard gradually changed. He was melded by the army regime, rising to new and difficult challenges and conquering each of them in turn. Slowly, before his eyes, the Major saw his young protege grow into a mature, cool headed man.

The Major was further impressed by the emergence of Lucy Caldwell in Howard's life. He always found it illuminating to note which type of womon was drawn to his soldiers, and he would reflect on whether they were flighty or serious, fun loving or sombre, and it would tell him much about the man, just as the movements of a distant star can reveal the existence of invisible planets orbiting around it.

In Lucy's case, he was particularly intrigued because he'd encountered her before. She'd been one of the so-called 'pink protesters' who'd popped up during the weeks before the second invasion of Iraq. Pink Protesting was a term for women who took off their clothes as a tactic for gaining publicity for their cause.

One of them famously rode a white stallion across Westminster Bridge on the day of the big vote. She was nineteen, at university, and stark naked, and, of course, her bold bosoms made every one of the next day's papers. Another heavy-breasted lady managed to bypass the Prime Minister's bodyguard and plant a kiss on his lips. His embarrassment was sublime.

In Lucy's case, she was involved in an incident in the West Country involving the climbing onto a tank, the unfurling of a banner, and a gun.

She too had been unseasonably naked, which was one of the reasons the Major remembered her. The other was that he'd been personally involved in trying to grab hold of her, and she'd resisted.

The attempt had been clumsy and embarrassing and the pictures had obviously made the national papers, although most, although not all, had been cleverly censored in the necessary areas. Even now, long after the heated emotions had subdued and faded, that uncensored picture of Lucy sitting on a Chieftain tank and being accosted by an unknown, unnamed army officer remained in the Major's top drawer. Here, he could access it whenever he wanted to. In the grainy photograph, Lucy was sitting astride the gun turret, a soldier's hands gripping her breasts, and the gun disappearing into her pussy and an excessive gasp delighting her face.

It had been a particularly undignified arrest followed by a hasty, stage managed release, but Lucy had profited well by it. In fact, on the back of the notoriety of that single incident, she secured work singing arias in a sleazy strip bar in the centre of town. It wasn't much, and perhaps she could have done better, but the Major discovered her there one evening and he watched from the back of the room. He'd been a faceless nobody amongst a heaving sea of nobodies, all of them jerking their cocks in the darkness and watching while Lucy sang her rich songs and posed naked and played with her pussy.

She was honest, the Major remembered that. Honesty was her appeal and why he liked her. She didn't fake it. If she didn't feel up to more than one or two orgasms, she would say so and the punters would jeer loudly and slip her a tip. On other occasions, she would spread her legs, give them a cheeky smile and she would bring herself off eight or nine times, and everyone knew it was real.

The Major counted the climaxes religiously and he recorded them in his diary.

So now she and Howard were an item, the Major was impressed. He was also pleased for them both, and he mentioned Howard's name in various high powered circles to people he knew. Howard was a man to keep an eye on, he pronounced. Howard was a man for the future.

Well, the individuals concerned took note and conveyed Howard's name to other important personages and it wasn't long before the Major received a nod and a wink and Howard was sent on a journey that he could never, ever, in his wildest dreams, have contemplated.

The Major left nothing to chance. He was a man of process and detail, of management and planning, and so, at 2:00 AM precisely, Howard was awoken and given five minutes to dress. It was amidst the barking of dogs, the ringing of bells and miscellaneous impatient demands. Once the five minutes had elapsed, Howard was frog marched out of the dormitory, with the Major shouting and bellowing orders, escorting him outside, and there Howard found himself confronted with an appalling night and a mighty wind that hit him from the moment the Major threw open the door.

Shit.

It flew at him, blowing sweaty and easterly and bitter in his face. The rain drove rods to the ground and it clattered against the tin roofs and dug deeply into Howard's chest. The Major led him away from the dormitory and through a sequence of puddles and thick muddy tracks, all the while pointing his sharp darting torch and its chaotic light and prodding the darkness and indicating the path they must walk.

There was a wall in front of them, Howard noticed, and then a gate, and they rounded a corner and walked through it, and then they marched on to a secluded corner behind a fence, through some trees and up a sharp incline, where to Howard's amazement, he found six female officers standing at rigid attention alone in the darkness.

He didn't see them clearly at first. They were in a wet mist and they grew from the darkness and the cold night, and suddenly, there they were situated three feet apart in a line, placed there like grey stone monoliths, and picked out by the uncertain eye of the Major's torch. They were silent and miserable and shivering in the wind: their backs straight and their eyes focussed and grey, their green uniforms streaming with water.

The Major explained that these women had been waiting for several hours in the deluge, and he invited Howard to see for himself that they were drenched to the point of saturation, that their hair was plastered to their heads and that the rain was running in rivers down their necks and seeping into the delicate layers of clothing beneath. Everything about them was clammy and cold, even to the most intimate garments of all.

Howard gazed at the women in sodden bewilderment. Here they were in their late twenties - one or two a fraction older, but none of them was more than thirty. Each was in uniform, and the uniform clung to their curves, and if you looked carefully, you could ascertain that they were officers.

The Major whispered into Howard's ear and confirmed it, his words lost in the furious tempest. "These ladies are senior to you," he informed him softly. "But see how obediently they wait? They remain in the rain and the dark and they'll do so until you're finished, laddy, so take your time and be leisurely - because they won't complain or mutiny or throw any tantrums. They're standing here for you to gawk at and for no other reason, and if any of them don't like it, they'll be whipped and brought back here tomorrow, and we'll do everything again."

It was difficult for Howard to absorb what the Major was saying because of the violence of the storm and the noise of the wind. He thought he caught the jist of the Major's words, and the flavour of his phrases and the tang of his meaning, but he wasn't certain because what he was hearing couldn't be right! They were to be whipped? What about their rights? How could this type of thing happen in a modern Western country?

"Who are they?" Howard inquired of the Major, wiping copious water from his eyes. "And why are they here?"

"Wrong question, my boy," the Major declared to him solemnly. "What you should be asking is what gives me the power to bring them here, reducing them to slaves and taking away their will, for undoubtedly I've done it. Give them an order and see what they do - how they obey immediately and without question, and ask yourself why that should be."

Howard paused. He was hoping for a fuller explanation than this from the Major, but none came. Instead, the Major egged him on to take advantage of the women: "How often do you get a chance like this?" the Major said. "Never. That's how often. So tell them to undress, that for a start. One at a time, or however you want it. Tell them to give you a lap dance or a hot steamy show. Why not? They'll do it to the best of their ability, even out here in the rain, anything you want of them."

"But what's making them do it?" Howard wondered privately, as rain tumbled through the women's hair and ran through their clothes. He was convinced that this couldn't be real, that it was a joke, a test. "Why would they listen to me?"

The Major laughed in his face. "Choose one and try her," he insisted, and the rain lashed at him and his eyes shone leery and bloodshot. "Make her day and tell her to undress! Hurry, my lad. Don't you fancy some sport? Don't you like wet pussy? Which will it be?"

Howard listed but he was confused and not absorbing it all. He glanced at the women afresh, unable to stop himself, first at their faces and then at their busts, and finally down at their groins, and he wanted them all. "Choose one?" he asked.

"Yes, laddy. Choose one. Which do you fancy? Point to her and let her see that you want her and she'll do the rest."

God. He mustn't be greedy. He wanted them all but he had to choose one: only one.

"I have the power to bend a woman to my will, my boy," the Major shuffled mischievously, as Howard tried to make up his mind. 'They do as I tell them and I tell them to bend. I bend them until they snap, and when they snap, they make a noise; so listen, and listen to me well. Politicians, executives, religious leaders: they don't know what we're doing here, what I'm telling you tonight, because our illustrious masters follow the rules and live by the law in their blissful Godlike ignorance. They know that if they break it they'll pay the penalty, but while that may be true for them, it's not for me. I'm above the law and those perfunctory standards: like God, and if you don't believe me, then laddy, ask one of these ladies to strip. Don't look at me and doubt my sanity, just do it. I'm outside the controls; and it's tolerated that I take the odd liberty for the sake of our freedoms. I can bring these lady's here and make them stand in the rain. I can command them to undress and play with themselves and fuck them. I can turn them into whores and they'll do it because they've learned that they have to. So, listen to me, laddy, and listen to me well. The key to this power is belonging and being known to the Department. Officially - and listen to me, boy - the department is known as SJ6; but unofficially, it's just the department. If you can belong to it, then like me, you can think of a girl and imagine her naked, and immediately she will be. All at once, you have her; you can bend her; any time, any way, any position, no questions asked, and no penalties to pay. Think of that, laddy: to have your own private whorehouse and have any girl lying in it you fancy. It doesn't matter whether she's married and it doesn't matter if she's a nun. You have her. You own her. That's the scale of the privilege that comes with belonging to the Department."

The Major pointed to the six female officers who stood facing him, who stood awkwardly, uncomfortably, awaiting Howard's orders and past caring what happened to them now. Their backs were arched and their knees were bent. Their chins were clenched and chattering, and they were frozen and dishevelled and dripping with water. "This is just a trailer for what I have to offer you," the Major explained softly. "Just a trailer. They officers are awaiting your orders. Tell them what you want of them. Tell them to strip and play with themselves; tell them to suck cock and swallow your cum; tell them to do anything you fancy. The Department's orders are there to be obeyed and honoured, no question."

The Major shone his torch and illuminated each of the women in turn, focusing on their legs and their busts and then on the bits in between. He pointed his light up their skirts and into their blouses, and it seemed to Howard that he was in ecstasy which was a strange spot for him to be in when it was raining so hard, and perplexing too; because Howard was remembering how he'd promised to be faithful to Lucy, and while he wanted to be part of this strange new world, he knew he would have to decline this offer, because of Lucy.

34 inch bust, 34 inch hips, 23 inch waist. Dancing. Stripping. And Lucy had a tanned Mediterranean appearance, and beautiful olive skin.

Dancing. Stripping.

Lucy's mother was Italian, like her daughter, and the issue was, despite Howard's good intentions, he had no choice. All of a sudden, the women around him were undressing and removing their jackets and their regulation blouses, their green skirts, and their wet black stockings.