Subjugated (10 page)

When he had made her lift her skirt, that had been hard, but something in his manner had kept saying that he would take care of her. Even the strangely respectful way he hadn’t touched her, then, in front, even though a part of her cried out for those fingers to make contact with the lace of the panties in which he had commanded her pussy should be dressed, seemed to make Jenna feel that although the ordeal would be difficult, she would survive.

But then he turned her around, he lifted her kilt himself, and he did touch her. Nor did he simply touch her; he put his finger there, in her most private place. As Jenna, reaching her feet and beginning to move, at the best run she could muster, toward the back door, realized that Captain Clark hadn’t even risen from the loveseat, she remembered for some reason Mrs. Trest saying in Human Development class:
Your husband will be with you however he wishes.

Be with you. My manhood will go here, too.

With the AV crew following, but not interfering at all in the attempt to escape that Jenna now knew to be terribly silly, she reached the kitchen and ran to the back door. The back door was never, ever locked. There must be soldiers outside, but she could… she could…

For the first time in her memory, the back door was locked. Desperate, unbelieving, she twisted the knob over and over, but there was no way now to deny it. Jenna sank to her knees in front of the door.

From behind her came Captain Clark’s voice, not angry and not even disappointed—matter-of-fact, really. “You just earned yourself a paddling, Jenna. Six swats, after I spank you over my knee and before we get all your clothes off.”

She turned around, sat with her back to the locked door that now seemed to symbolize to her everything about this terrible fate: the trustworthy house in which she had grown up, so secure despite the door never being locked, had been taken by this officer and his men, and locked up tight. So, too, her body: taken, clothed in underwear that meant her most private places belonged to Captain Clark and not to Jenna Caprio. For him to lock her back door… and then she felt the heat spread through her face… for him to… to
put
something inside another back door… to make his manhood
go
there.

“Now you get to choose whether you want to add to that paddling by further disrespect and disobedience, Jenna. Are you going to get up and come back to the living room like a good girl, and get over my knee the way you should?”

Jenna looked up at him, standing in the doorway of the kitchen, still eight or nine feet away and apparently feeling no need to enforce his will on her bodily.

No, he has no need to seize me, does he? All the logic, all the reason is on his side.

Her knees shook under her as she moved to hands and knees, so that she could begin to rise. She felt her breath shudder out of her chest. She tried to get her feet under her, but her legs still trembled in fear, and she sank to the floor again.

But Captain Clark did come toward her then, and stooped down to put an arm around her shoulders. “I can be kind, when you’re a good girl,” he said softly, as both AV crews captured different angles on the moment. He pulled her to her feet, but not at all roughly. Again their bodies were touching, this time much more intimately though without any erotic dimension at all. Again, though, Jenna found that her erotic self responded to the strength in his muscles and the way he simply guided her with that strength back into the living room

When they reached the loveseat, he sat in a deliberate way, as if so as not to take Jenna by surprise. Then she felt herself being guided between his thighs, and then over the left one. She felt, too, that he was bending her over, pushing her down so that her face would be on the cushion of the seat and her still kilted bottom raised over his thigh. His right leg then came around, and she heard a whimper come from her throat as she realized that he had trapped her almost completely between his legs. Jenna Caprio would have this humiliating old-fashioned family punishment, here in her living room, whether she liked it or not.

She felt Captain Clark lifting the hem of her kilt to bare her bottom for his firm hand. She felt him gather the fabric atop her back in his left hand, so that it wouldn’t fall down and get in the way of Jenna’s spanking.

Nearly lost in a strange reverie of sensation, trying to puzzle out why something about this humiliation felt
right,
she heard a whisper to her right, and it took a long moment before she realized it was the cameraman of one of the AV crews. “Turn your face to look at us, Jenna,” the whisper said. “We want to see you cry when the captain spanks you.”

Jenna bit her lip, suppressing the wail that wanted to burst from her mouth. She turned her face, which had been buried in the soft old velvet, to look to the right, and she saw the lens of the little video camera pointed straight at her. Then she gasped, because Captain Clark had begun to spank her, hard and quick.

Jenna yelped: the spanking hurt terribly, and right away, because of the paddling Mrs. Trest had given her. The tears formed in her eyes instantly.

“Very nice,” murmured the cameraman.

Bradley no longer had any doubt that this spanking would do Jenna a very great deal of good. The attempt to escape had brought out her need to feel just how thoroughly he would take charge of her: by guiding her resolutely back into the living room and placing her over his knee he had demonstrated to her bodily his power over her. Now, by adding to that feeling of being controlled by his masculine strength, the corrective pain of his firm hand applied to her little bottom, he would prepare her to accept her own innate need to submit to the much more intimate attentions she must soon accept from him, and to obey the shameful commands he must soon give her.

He could tell from her tears and her yelps of pain that the paddling from Mrs. Trest had left her already sore. That made his task easier, because as he spanked Jenna steadily, focusing mainly on the middle of her pert little backside, nicely set off by the red panties but certainly not defended by them, he knew his principal purpose must be to bring her to repentant tears.

She had tried to escape; whereas before that she had only the abstract knowledge that Bradley had chosen her to undergo subjugation on behalf of her town, now she knew she had disobeyed, in trying to run away from that subjugation. He must make it entirely clear to her both now and when he paddled her for the escape attempt that in running from him and trying to get out the back door Jenna had revealed her naughtiness, and Captain Bradley Clark knew how to punish naughty girls.

He spanked her in silence except for her little whimpers and sobs, until he had made the center of her bottom glow a very bright pink.

“Just look at that bottom,” came Joe Franklin’s voice in his ear. “Magnificent. Captain Clark is certainly giving it what it deserves now, isn’t he? Young Jenna Caprio should probably have thought twice before she decided to break for the door.” A pause, and then, “And there we see Jenna’s face, as she realizes the error of her ways. Many officers say that’s their favorite part of a subjugation: teaching a girl a lesson she didn’t think she needed, about the proper way to behave. Look at that pretty pout on Jenna’s lip, and those tears running down. I don’t think she’ll be disobeying Captain Clark again anytime soon.”

“Jenna,” Bradley said, stopping the spanking for a moment, “I’m going to pull your panties down, now. I think you could tell that they didn’t really make your spanking any less painful, but I want you to think about what it means to have your panties taken down by me.”

He hooked two fingers into the waistband of the lacy red panties. Jenna gave a questioning little cry, as if even though Bradley had warned her, she hadn’t expected that he would actually do it.

“What do you think it means, Jenna?” he asked softly.

“It… it means that… that y—you… can?” she asked in a quavering voice.

“Very good,” Bradley said, and slowly lowered the garment to the middle of the girl’s thighs, relishing the feeling of the delicate mesh in his fingers and the sight of the naughty underwear moving, exposing at last the tender furrow of her pussy just a tiny bit as it peeped out between her legs.

“And there’s our first sight of Jenna’s young cunt. Very sweet. Well shaven, as you can already see just from the little glimpse Captain Clark has just exposed. We’ll be seeing a lot more of that cunt, of course, as the day goes on.”

He put his right hand on her right bottom-cheek, loving the warmth he had created there with the spanking. He rubbed gently. Again came the questioning cry from Jenna: she had expected the spanking, but not perhaps the possessive way Bradley touched her now—or, perhaps, the arousal he suspected he forced on her in this little pause.

“What else, Jenna?” he asked, continuing to rub. “What about the place where panties go, on your body? What does it mean that I uncovered that place?”

Now she gave a little sob, as if at the thought that she would have to speak of something so shameful.

“Answer me, Jenna,” Bradley said, and lifted his right hand. He brought it down in three sharp spanks to right, left, and center; the center one, as he had intended, finding her pussy-lips with the punishing blow.

Jenna cried out loud at the pain and the terrible indignity.

“Answer me,” Bradley said again, resuming the spanking more steadily. The pink, which had begun to fade, quickly returned, all across her little bottom.

“Oh, this is very clever on Captain Clark’s part, I think. He wants to take her into her paddling thinking about what it means to have her sweet young cunt bare, and the red panties down around her knees.”

Jenna could only cry all the more, until Bradley stopped again, abruptly.

“Are you ready to tell me about what it means to have your pussy uncovered, Jenna?”

“Yes!” she exclaimed. “I… I… can’t c—cover that part.”

“Why may you not cover your pussy and your bottom?” He began to rub again, and Jenna groaned in relief and perhaps in pleasure.

“Because you… y—you…” Her voice trailed off, and even from his position above her, he could tell that her face was bright red.

“Because I what, Jenna? I know you don’t understand exactly what’s going to happen to you when I get all your clothes off, but I think you can find a way to say it anyway.”

Another little sob from Jenna. Her voice emerged in a whisper. “You’re going to have me there.”

“Yes, I am,” Bradley said softly.

“And I think we’ll see him… yes, there it is. Captain Clark touches Jenna’s cunt for the first time. Just a little rub, and a little wank, you see, to let her know he’s pleased, of course, but also to make sure she understands his right to take charge of her body just as he likes. On her face there you can see that her arousal is coming along very nicely, even though she certainly never thought her first sexual experience with a man would involve so much stern discipline for her bare bottom.”

* * *

Captain Clark’s fingers were so gentle—so much the opposite of the way that very same hand had just spanked her so hard—that Jenna, to her shame, couldn’t help trying to push back against them.

The captain’s chuckle came from above her, and the fingers left her pussy. “High time for your paddling, Jenna,” he said. “Otherwise you might get even naughtier.”

Jenna opened her eyes to see again the camera looking back at her. She pictured the alarm on her face, as Captain Clark suddenly changed his manner. For a moment he had seemed different, and somehow special: the man who had touched her pussy so gently for the first time, and made her gasp and try to ride his hand, thinking that perhaps he would find her to be a good, pleasing girl. Now he had become again the stern officer, shaming Jenna for her wanton behavior.

“Get up,” he said, “and go over to the chair on the other side of the fireplace. Lay yourself over its arm, with your cheek against the cushion. Keep that skirt up and your panties down, please.”

Red-faced, Jenna stood up, turning toward the chair as she did so. Did she really have to hold her skirt up in back?

“Kilt nice and high, now,” murmured the cameraman. “We need a nice close-up of that red bum of yours, over those sweet red panties.”

Jenna made a little frustrated sound in her nose, feeling like a punished little girl—just the way the captain wanted her to feel, she realized, and the thought made her face flush even hotter.

“Get over there, Jenna,” he said, with a little edge of menace in his voice. “Butt up and face down this instant. You earned this paddling with that silly stunt a few minutes ago. You need to understand how serious I am about teaching you to obey me.”

He stood up behind her and gave her a hard spank with his hand. “I said, get going!”

The pain from the spank, on top of her already sore backside, made Jenna jump and run toward the chair, her skirt still humiliatingly raised behind while the cameraman followed to get his close-up.

Biting her lip, but not hesitating in her desperation not to be spanked or paddled any more than she had to be, Jenna bent over the arm of the big old chair. Not needing to be told, now, she laid her right cheek on the chintz-covered cushion, so that she again regarded the camera—the other one this time, for the first had stayed behind her, no doubt still taking close-up shots of Jenna’s rear end.

She heard the door open, and she saw another officer—a lieutenant, she thought, from his insignia—come through it and stand at the doorway to the living room.

“Ah. Thank you, Jacobs,” Captain Clark said, moving toward the newcomer. Jenna saw now that Lieutenant Jacobs held a paddle just like Mrs. Trest’s. He held it out to Captain Clark and the captain took it. “That’s all for now,” he said. “You’ll have your fun later.”

“I’m sure I will, sir,” said the lieutenant. His eyes met Jenna’s, and he winked. She took a sharp breath. What did they mean?

The lieutenant departed. Jenna watched Captain Clark approach with the paddle.

“Now, Jenna,” he said. “Why am I about to paddle you?”