Chapter 6B

Howard knew that what she was saying was likely true and he was torn, and he hesitated. But no, he couldn't do it. The price was too much.

"It's the only way, Mr Pendrill," she repeated quietly. "Think carefully. You've trained so hard... It would be a shame to let it waste..."

Howard looked at the paper and Cecily's resolute, flint-like chine, and what could he do? The army was what he understood and how could he toss it away?

And yet, it was a poisonous pill. "It's not right!" he objected wretchedly, and Cecily smiled, readily agreeing with him.

"Of course it's not right," she grinned. "Espionage is a grubby, disreputable business, and it's not 'right' that we do the things we do. It never has been 'right', but it's what we are, what we do; and while Lucy is hanging from the rafters, your colleagues will gather in front of her and they'll gamble for her clothes, the winner of each rubber gaining the right to remove an article of her clothing. Do you like that, Mr Pendrill? She'll not be given a gag and she'll be encouraged to scream loudly: the more screams the better, so that when the gambling's done and she's naked, we can gamble some more and she can be buggered and then tortured and you can hear the strength of her voice."

Howard shrunk back in horror, shaking his head, for in his naivety, this was worse than he'd expected. "No!" he cried. "Lucy is my girlfriend!"

"I know that, Mr Pendrill."

"I won't allow it... I couldn't live with myself!"

"Yes you could, Mr Pendrill. SJ6 offers a bounty of buxom female compensation, all of it willing to serve you, and fuck you, and suck you. You enjoyed my officers, I recall. Would you like them again?"

"No. I won't listen. I won't do that to Lucy!"

"You'll sign it, Mr Pendrill - You will, despite your misgivings - because you're army bred and military life is in your blood. You breathe it. Am I right? For people like you - and me also, very sadly - there is no option. It's what we do."

"No!"

He couldn't sacrifice Lucy...

Dear Lucy!

Aged 22. 34 inch bust. 34 inch hips. Swaying. Stripping.

First her blouse; then her skirt.

Dear Lucy.

She seemed to be swirling in a mist and getting fainter and disappearing into the nothingness. God. Where was she?

Now her stockings, first this one and then the other, and soon she was looking at him demurely; promising to take off her bra and her panties, and shaking her chest at him, but he could barely see her in the mist.

"Mr Pendrill! This is boring me. Please, let's get this done: sign the bloody paper!"

He glanced down at the form and wondered how anyone could do such a thing to someone they loved. He picked up the pen.

"Thank God, Mr Pendrill. Now sign it. Let's move on, because once Lucy's used to being your fuck toy, you'll bring her to the barracks. Do it during manoeuvres when no one's about, and undress her. Ask her to walk along the corridors and into the men's dorm and walk with her and see how she feels. Keep the conversation light and saucy and don't say anything to frighten her. You know the drill. Let her know that the buildings are unoccupied and that no one's returning anytime soon. She's safe; but tell her that you're excited and turned on at the idea that a man might unexpectedly return and find her minus her clothes. Play with the idea.

"They won't return, of course, but, wait: surely she must feel the tension too? Just a little? Isn't it sexy? A group of trained soldiers stumbling across her and finding her naked? Play the devil with her. Excite her. Do it slow and arouse her. Get her used to the idea of being naked in a roomful of strange men and of being scared and yet also turned on."

"I couldn't do that! Don't you see? Lucy isn't into that kind of thing. She's very conservative and... well, she isn't an exhibitionist."

"Of course not, Mr Pendrill. No woman is an exhibitionist until she's been trained because it's an acquired condition that takes time, patience and effort to attain to. She'll be terrified at first, but you'll coax her and take her from her shell. She'll worry about the soldiers and how long they'll be away and where they've gone and when they'll return. She'll fret and beg you to take her somewhere private to do it, and when you say no, she'll worry about her body: whether her tits are too small or too large or the wrong shape. She'll worry about whether she's too fat or her ass is big or is sagging. You'll calm her by providing her with a long coat, a rain Mac with two buttons on the front and a belt, and she can put this on in case of an emergency.

"Now that she can see that there's no risk, you'll flatter her and appeal to her ego. You'll play games: standing with her in the men's dorm by their beds where you'll open their lockers and show her the rude centrefolds taped to the doors. 'That could be you, ' you'll whisper, kissing her neck. 'You, my dear, lying on your back and spreading your pretty pink petals. Imagine it, my dear! Imagine that it's you!' And she'll blush, and her breathing will hurry, and when it does, you'll order her to undress.

"'The boys would like to get a better look at you, ' you'll whimsy.' They're in front of you right now - imagine it - jostling and joking and they want to see your breasts and your pussy, and the pink between your legs. Imagine: the department has instructed me to tell you that you must strip naked and be rude for those soldiers. Imagine: the soldiers and how they want you to open your legs and hold yourself open so that they can see how wet you are.'

"As you make her imagine this, Lucy will stamp and argue and do whatever she can to hang onto her clothes - because this imagining makes her uncomfortable - but you, Mr Pendrill, will be strong and insist.

'Undress my love," you'll whisper. "It's the only way that I can help you. If you won't do it there's no telling what these soldiers might do. They're a rough undisciplined lot and they might tie you to a bed and gangbang you and take pictures and post them to the internet, and you wouldn't want that, would you, my love?' You, on the internet, with a broad beaming smile and another on your face."

Cecily had Howard's undivided attention. His mouth was agog, for she was touching his mind. "And now," she said. "You'll tell dear Lucy a story."

Howard was caught unprepared in this web of Cecily's invention. He was trapped. He was sweating. "I will?" he mumbled. "What kind of a story?"

"Something to pander to Lucy's burgeoning exhibitionist curiosity: the story of what happens to a lady caught without her clothes in the middle of a soldier's dormitory, as those soldiers return unexpectedly and move in towards her."

Howard wobbled. "Oh Jesus!"

"Yes, Mr Pendrill. It's surprising how a woman reacts to the invasion of her psyche. Imagine: it's a day like any other, when suddenly you tell Lucy that you're going to tie her, just as you normally do when you're at home, and as you've grown used to doing it in the men's dorm. You pick a bed that has a locker adjacent to it decorated with naked ladies and you ask Lucy to lie on the bed and look at the pictures. Give her time to grow comfortable and settle and recover from her fears, and then, point to one or two of the pictures and reflect on the likely character of the owner of the bed she's lying on, and then, as you get out the ropes and show them to her, ask her to smell him. Can she sense his lingering masculinity? His sweat? His dirt?

"As you loop the lengths of rope round her wrists and tie the knots, ask her how he'll react when he returns to his bed and finds a naked Cinderella with her arms outstretched and her legs apart and vulnerable. 'It won't be long, ' you threaten, tugging at the ropes and pulling Lucy into a spread-eagle position. 'The soldiers will return soon! In fact, I think I can hear them outside!' And then, while she's panicking and struggling to free herself, climb on top of her and fuck her. Do it hard. Do it unexpected and give her everything you've got."

Howard swallowed dryly and he listened to the speech with difficulty. He gulped without air. "You mean," he mouthed. "We should have sex in the barracks? On someone's bed? When someone might walk by? But... but that's ridiculous!"

"It's not, Mr Pendrill. Why is it ridiculous? Danger is an intoxicating aphrodisiac to a woman even more than to a man. It's like a drug befuddling a woman's mind and stirring the loins, and so yes, you must certainly do it at the barracks! Tie her to the bed and when she's beginning to get anxious, when she can hear the soldiers returning and perhaps their voices, make love to her, and as always, make sure that she cums."

"God!" Howard shook his head in wonder. "Honestly. Lucy would freak out if I did that! She'd go bananas! She'd go mad!"

"Not if you follow my instructions, she won't, Mr Pendrill. She won't freak out at all. You'll fuck her, and then when you're done, she'll shower and dress, and you'll each leave the barracks in stitches at the ridiculousness of the stunt you've just pulled, for although there were soldiers returning, they'll pass the door as you knew they would, for the door is locked and the key in your pocket. They've gone to the bathroom and to the mess... But now, having broken the ice, the next time will be easier. She trusts you, and the time after that, easier still. Get her used to being naked, of enjoying a sense of danger. Walk her up and down the corridors and tell her how turned on you are, and how excited by the risk that someone might chance by and find you both in the barracks. Let her feel the hardness of your cock and allow her to caress it. Press your finger against her clit and let the pressure build...

"And then, when the time is appropriate and she's walking freely without any clothes, tell her that you've forgotten the coat.

"You see how easy it is? By the time that you get to this point, the coat is forgotten. She'll be so familiar with your story that she'll no longer be frightened. It takes time and work to get here, and in the meantime, you make her laugh and have light-hearted fun with her. Excite her. Arouse her. Have good sex with her. Tell her that your fellow officers are longing to get a peek at her tits and describe their erections, describe the shapes of their tools even as you play with her clit. Tell her who the guys are, their names, their girlfriends, their backgrounds, and what they've been doing in their beds. Lie. Pretend. Be inventive, because women like to feel that they're the centre of male interest, and it goes straight to their egos.

"So, what next? Having got Lucy to this point, you must put a blindfold over her eyes and walk her through the dorm. Explain to her that the guys are watching and waiting for her to strip. Have her stand by each bed and remind her whose bed it is, the owner's name, his background, what he would like to do in his bed if he had the chance with a naked and vulnerable woman. By this time, Lucy will have played this game so often and she'll be so comfortable with it that she'll be playing along with you. It's a fantasy, she thinks. Set the scene and allow her to imagine it. By now, she'll have conquered her fears and she's learnt that danger is fun. She'll rise to the spirit and she'll remove her clothes and dance ferociously, imagining the soldiers staring at her charms and waiting to fuck her; except that it's no longer fantasy. It's reality, Mr Pendrill. The soldiers are actually there and they're watching and they're playing ferociously with their cocks.

"So then you take her to the first of the beds and you lie her down and you tie her to the bed, and once she's tied, you hand the fantasy to the first of the soldiers, and he takes over, he surprises and rapes her, and once he's finished, you unfasten the ropes and pull a slightly shaken Lucy to the next bed, where you tie her again. A second man climbs on top of her and he rapes her too. He takes his time and he does it slow and nice and he makes Lucy cum, and once he's finished, you untie her and she stumbles on, and you lead her to the third bed and you whisper softly in her ear: 'There are twelve beds, my dear, and we must visit them all.'

"If you encourage Lucy, and you prepare her properly, she'll do it. She'll go to each of the beds and she'll take the cocks of those soldiers, and she won't freak out."

"God. Yes. You're right. And what happens next?"

Howard gazed feverishly at Cecily's barely concealed breasts and her dark, saucer like nipples. He eyed them greedily and with frustration, yearning to hurt and pinch them with his fingers, even as Cecily thrust her sheet of paper in front of him and stabbed her index finger at the line awaiting his signature.

"Sign it, Mr Pendrill. If you want me to continue, then sign your name..."

"I can't. Please! I'm not doing it. You can't make me!"

"I beg to differ, Mr Pendrill. You will sign it because you want what I have to give, and I'm not talking about sex now, nor am I talking about money. No, Mr Pendrill. Not money. Not sex. They're not everything by a long chalk. There are other, better types of compensation. I'm talking about the power that devolves, Mr Pendrill. Power. For instance, how would you react if I allowed you to hurt and control me? What if I signed over such power, if I said you could do anything you liked to my body: anything at all, even something permanent and ghastly. Think about that, Mr Pendrill. Wouldn't it be better than money? Better than mere sex? Wouldn't you care to own such power even if you chose not to use it? I'm sure you've fucked many young ladies, enjoying your pleasure of them; but how many of that number have you owned and controlled? What would a man give to own such power, do you suppose, Mr Pendrill? To know that he could order a woman to do anything at all and she would do it? I wonder: might a man even sell his soul to attain this amount of power?"

"I don't know - I mean... I'm sure a man wouldn't want such irresistible power. It's too much..."

"Really, Mr Pendrill? I don't think so - and how could I believe you, looking at that long, juicy prick staring at me through this glass table. My suggestion is exciting you - you like it - and you have this fantastic notion that you might possess my body and do with it as you crave, even if it's against my will. You imagine yourself with the unimaginable power. But you haven't grasped it, not yet, and I don't blame you. Men are unaccustomed to the idea of imposing their will so absolutely on a woman."

Howard shifted, hiding the glory of his manhood. "You're teasing me!" he shrugged, but his face was reddening and confused.

"Lucy's torture will be filmed," Cecily informed him quietly. "We can watch it together. I have a bed and we can lie upon it and allow nature to do as it wants - or not, if you'd prefer. I will offer you power, but first... I have my favour to ask."

Howard groaned, knowing what was coming. Oh God. He was hurting in the groin for Lucy, for his girlfriend, but caught in a trap of his own making.

He tried to remember: Lucy. 22 years. 34 inch bust. 34 inch hips. Swaying. Stripping.

Jesus Christ. Where was Lucy?

She had on her stockings and was removing them demurely, first this one and then the other. She was looking at him and promising to take off her bra and her panties, but begging him to look at her... yes, at her; and at no one else.

"That's better, Mr Pendrill! Your cock is blossoming beautifully. I like a hard, handsome man with a big fat dick. I like it when you touch it, when you stroke it, when you look at my tits.

"Maybe it would help to clear your mind if I told you that within my world, an agent's methods are his own. Do you know what I mean? Do you comprehend me, Mr Pendrill? There's no concept of 'reasonable force' here, because you're a reasonable man, and so all force must be reasonable by definition. I'm a field operative, a member of SJ6, and so I can order you to strip and you'll do it because otherwise I will have you arrested and banged up in jail and given no redress or sentence. Since I consider that reasonable, it is, and so you see, there's no accountability in SJ6, Mr Pendrill - none - except in obtaining results. I have the authority to ask you to stand and play with yourself, to sit with a hot poker sticking out of your ass, or anything I like. I have that power, and afterwards, when I'm done, you have no recourse to complain to the authorities or the press or even your superiors."