by Ron McIngle
Sarah stood, waiting in the near darkness of the room that had become her prison. The oil lamp was lit, but the wick turned down so low that only the barest hint of a flame could be seen, emitting just enough light such that the lamp itself could be seen but not illuminating anything beyond. She could turn the wick up if she wanted, but that would only show her things that she didn't want to see. There was a table in the corner, with two chairs she could sit at if she desired, or the bed she could lie down on, yet she preferred to stand. He wanted her kneeling, subjugating herself before him, and it would go easier on her if she was, but she refused. A minor rebellion, yet the only one she could manage.
She recognized his footfalls as he climbed the stairs. His pace was slower than the houseboy who scurried up and down the stairs as he did the housekeeper's bidding. The floorboards creaked more under his weight than with the housemaid. The butler's limp was noticeably absent. She counted the steps as he made his way down the hall, wondering if he would stop after twelve. If he stopped after only a dozen paces, then he would be entering his own bedchamber. If he continued on, she would know that he was coming for her. She counted on: ten, eleven, twelve, and then her heart sank as the count increased to thirteen and beyond. Her heart skipped a beat before her resolve strengthened. There were seven more steps before she heard the sliding of the bolt that locked her door from the outside.
Even though the hallway was dimly lit, its light still spilled into the room when the door was opened. He stood, silhouetted in the doorway, as he tried to make sense of the near darkness. If she had wanted to avoid punishment, the wench would have been kneeling just inside the door. But the silly girl wasn't where she was supposed to be; she never was. Truth be told, he preferred it this way.
Sarah remained motionless, quiet, as if she was hoping to go unnoticed. The man reached up towards the lamp, twisting the knob that raised the wick. Flames leapt up, sending sooty smoke curling up the glass chimney and creating a flare of light. His eyes met hers, dominance meeting defiance. He turned the wick back down, creating a soft, warm light that didn't smoke, and then closed the door behind him.
"Kneel!" he commanded, the index finger on his right hand pointing to the spot on the floor at his feet. If she complied now the punishment would be minimal. At least he told himself that, it had never been put to the test.
"Never!" she replied, but as she did so her eyes were drawn towards the whip that hung on a peg by the door. A girl whip. It wasn't meant for riding a horse or encouraging hogs to move along; this whip was specifically crafted to whip women. It was finely crafted out of a single piece of deerskin. There were four tails, each about as long as the distance from her elbow to wrist, half an inch wide. These transferred into a section, about a hand's width long, where the tails had been braided into a cylinder about as thick was one's thumb. The four tails were then stripped into 16 thin strands that had been woven over a bamboo base, providing a stiff handle. A brass ring was woven into the very end, upon which it was currently hanging.
She verbally defied him but didn't fight or attempt to flee as he grabbed the whip off the peg and strode up to her. The simple shift she wore tore away easily: it happened so frequently that it had only been stitched back together with the bare minimum of threads. Strong hands threw her towards the bed, forcing her to bend over the footboard as the whip began its assault on her bare buttocks.
Sarah cried out and struggled, but a firm hand held her pinned to the bed as lashes continued to rain down. Porcelain white skin turned pink, and then red. The soft deerskin of the whip wouldn't cut into her flesh, but the length of the handle allowed for a considerable swing, and the tails stung terribly. Her cries grew more frantic as the pain swelled. She widened the stance of her legs, hoping to gain purchase that might allow her to escape, but it only left her more exposed. She wailed in pain when he exploited the vulnerability, directing a lash upward between her legs.
At last she lay limp, muffling her screams into the bedding. Sensing his victory, he reached up and grabbed her by the hair, pulling her back off the bed and forcing her onto her knees. This time she did not resist as he unlaced his britches, releasing his cock and presenting it to her. She supported his balls with one hand while the other grasped the base of his cock, directing it into her mouth. Shallowly at first, but increasing with each bob of her head, she took his cock deep into her mouth. As she pulled back she would suck desperately, running her tongue first along the underside of his cock and then across the head before plunging it back deep.
The man stood, one hand clenching her hair yet allowing her to move her head as she might. One leg started to tremble, then he gasped as he yanked her head free of his cock. Sarah strained against him, reluctant to let him go, her hands giving his cock one last stroke, trying to get him to spill his seed now for she knew that once he was sated he would leave her alone. She finally succumbed, her hands reaching up to where he held her hair, seeking to ease the pain.
The man forced her head back, her buttocks sitting on her heels and her back arched. The whip, still held in his other hand, lashed down cruelly against the tender flesh of her breasts. She was tempted to use her hands to protect herself, but past experience had shown that it was pointless, and it would only increase the pain from the hair. A dozen more lashes were directed at her torso before he pulled her back upright.
Sarah scrambled to her feet to alleviate the pull on her scalp, then dove for the bed when he pushed her in that direction. Experience had proven that he would take her wherever she might fall, and the bed was more comfortable than the floor. He was on her in an instant, having kicked free of his britches. Firm hands clenched her breasts tightly as he forced her into a more suitable position.
Sarah was both pleased and ashamed by her traitorous body. Pleased because the lubrication that was seeping out of her sex allowed him to enter her without causing her pain. Ashamed that her body would respond in such a way to such a violent, despicable act. Shame turned to disgust as he started grunting like a pig as he thrust repeatedly into her. Disgust went full circle back to shame when her body continued to defy her wishes and an orgasm swept over her.
"No! No!" Sarah cried out, chastising her own body rather than the brute that had forced himself upon her. Her body tensed as the orgasm peaked, then she went limp. The man finished and withdrew. He replaced the whip on the peg as he left, leaving it as a reminder of what was in store for her if she continued to defy him. He blew out the lamp then locked the door. Sarah took solace knowing that while her body was weak, her spirit had remained strong. She closed her eyes and the darkness took her.
Sarah awoke to a brightly lit room, the morning sun shining in through the window. She glanced at the digital alarm clock app displayed on the console sitting on the nightstand, confirming that she had a few minutes. She didn't know why she bothered to set an alarm, she always awoke before it went off. The motion sensor on the console detected her movement and screen changed, scrolling through the various status updates. Her calendar was shown first, indicating that there was nothing scheduled that day. That wasn't unusual, it was rare that there would be an entry on her calendar. The weather popped up next, suggesting to her that she should dress warmly. Top news stories began scrolling through a banner at the bottom of the screen.
She could hear the gurgle from the kitchen as the automatic Latte machine was preparing her morning ritual. Just a few more minutes, she thought. Her hand crept down to her waist, her fingers slipping under the waistband of her panties. She'd had that dream again. She only had a few minutes before she had to get up, but it never took long after the dream. Her fingers found that special spot and started rubbing gentle circles. That dream, she thought. That brute! That whip!
She was gasping and writhing from her actual orgasm when the alarm started to beep.
"Silence alarm!" Sarah called out, and the beeping immediately ceased. It was a work day, but at least it had started pleasantly.
Frank O'Malley, Deputy Director of the Interstellar Intelligence Agency, stared out the window, looking for answers, or at least for inspiration. Being on the 75th floor, his office used to have a dramatic view before the 200-story behemoth was erected a few blocks away. The view used to sooth him, allow him to find peace and harmony. Now his view was limited to shiny glass windows, which did nothing to sooth his foul mood. Linda Ferguson, his second in command, remained seated, waiting patiently.
"I don't like it!" O'Malley said, turning suddenly and slamming the report down on his desk.
Linda winced as the data tablet smacked hard against the table, hoping that it would not become another casualty of her boss's rough handling. She respected her boss and his decisions and was willing to disregard his explosive temper, but she wished he would go a little easier on the equipment.
"Neither do I," Linda agreed as she locked onto his gaze from across the desk. "But no one has come up with an alternative. All other attempts to get an agent inside the palace has failed. We have been working this for almost ten years, and to no avail. It won't be long before there is a shift in power, it is essential that we know what's going on. We need an agent inside."
If Frank O'Malley was the driving force behind the agency, Linda was the grease that allowed it to function smoothly. The Deputy Director considered the input from his most trusted advisor.
"I can't ask someone to submit themselves to this," O'Malley said. "We couldn't do that to a prisoner, let alone an agent."
"You could never do that to a prisoner, even voluntarily. You can't require it from an agent," Linda corrected, pausing to give that point emphasis. "It has to be voluntary, with full disclosure," Linda continued, easing back into the chair. "We may have to recruit from outside the normal pool. With the hazard pay, and most likely the bonus for pain and suffering, the pay will be lucrative even to a regular agent. Add to that the raise in pay associated with becoming a field agent, someone out there will be desperate enough to agree."
"I don't like it!" O'Malley repeated. "But I'll authorize it. Just make sure that this project gets all the support it needs. If we are going to put an agent in harm's way, we owe it to them to have our shit together!"
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