Discipline For Private Ana

By | May 5, 2008

“How many this month?” demanded Penelope.

“Eight, possibly nine, one of them could just be a normal missing person.” The words tumbled out of the Home Secretary’s mouth as if expressing the statistic faster would lessen the wrath of the President. It didn’t.

Penelope’s voice was low and controlled, always a bad sign. “Damn it Clare, what are the security services doing. That’s as many as in the whole of last year. I assume you’re going to tell me you have information that might lead to the recovery of the citizens and the elimination of these …” she paused as if the word stuck in her throat ” … men.”

“We believe we know where they are.”

Penelope raised an eyebrow. The Home Secretary picked up a remote control from the cabinet table and pressed a button. The lights dimmed and a presentation began.

The President lost interest almost immediately and missed most of the five minute briefing on the tactics to be used when cleansing the tunnels of the men. She slouched under the table her hand strayed to her thigh. She could smell her wetness from her tryst with Sarah and was sure that most of the room could too. She lifted her skirt a little higher, just enough to allow her hand access to her waiting pussy.

Her fingers toyed with her still swollen lips. She was at the head of the table, furthest away from the screen. The cabinet were turned toward the screen. Should she indulge herself? Or would she be heard or seen? Safer to just toy with her labia, but Penelope had not become President by playing safe.

She traced the outline of her outer lips with her expertly manicured fingernails, gently teasing. The temptation to explore deeper was only resisted for a few fleeting moments though. Inward she delved, travelling the intimate folds she knew so well. The pathways to pleasure that she had come to know as a girl, before her first and only man.

The geography of her pussy was comfortingly familiar, but never lost its allure when she needed release. It was joy to have another’s fingers, tongue, lips, teeth caress and devour it, but she alone knew that territory better than anyone else. She had felt it change over the years, mature, develop. It never failed to please her, this garden of sensual delights that she tended so diligently. At this moment it felt fiery hot with the assurance of a glowing blossom of release.

Two fingers slid into the wet furrow, back and forth rubbing her clitoris, then down towards her opening. Slowly up and down, teasing herself, testing how far she could go without emitting a sound. She bit her lip, threw her head back, the familiar rich smell of leather from the high-backed red-upholstered chair filling her nostrils.

She plunged inside, hooking her fingers round her pubis. In and out, slowly and with as much care as her mounting arousal would allow. Her hand was wet with her very essence …

Penelope became aware that the home secretary was reaching the end of her presentation. Damn! She was so close. She rearranged her self and returned to a dignified posture in her chair as the cabinet turned back towards her.

Undetected. Save for the fact that her right hand glistened with her juices and the desk blotter was drawing those juices into five tiny dark damp patches where her fingers rested on it.

“When do you recommend we begin the recovery operation?” asked Penelope.

“Tomorrow morning 03:00”

~~~

Pvt. 1743892 Hepworth lay on a thin mattress on a battered steel framed bed staring up at the peeling paint on the ceiling. It was probably once white, or cream, but had taken on a nicotine brown hue, hinting at damp and years of neglect. The olive-green walls of the holding cell were showing their age too, in places the passage of bodies across them had worn away the paint to the concrete beneath.

She heard footsteps in the corridor and scrambled out of bed, straightening her uniform and bringing herself to attention in the middle of the cell as a key slid through the escutcheon and into the lock of the grey steel door.

Two red-bereted military police officers flanked the doorway, puffing out their ample chests. Unbidden Hepworth marched out of the cell and down the corridor towards the RSM’s office, her bootless feet clad only in woollen socks almost silent on the hard. The senior of the redcaps tapped twice on the obscured glass section of the office door.

“Come.”

The door was opened for Hepworth, she marched inside and heard the door being closed softly behind her. She snapped to attention. She was alone with her Regimental Sar’nt Major.

Judith eyed Hepworth with sadistic pleasure over the charge sheet she was reading. It was filled out by hand, and covered in the customary plethora of official stamps.

“Hepworth …”

“Sar’nt!” Hepworth stuck her chest out further than normal.

“At ease, private. Hepworth, how exactly did you come to lose twelve rounds of ammunition?”

“River crossing sergeant. Dropped my rifle, when I recovered it the magazine had become detached.”

“Hmm”, pondered Judith. “What shall we do with you?” She leaned back in her chair, pen tapping on her teeth. “I ought to give you back to the MPs for a week you know.”

Hepworth gulped.

Judith stood and picked up her silver topped swagger stick from the desk. She slowly walked behind Hepworth, who stared forward, hardly daring to breath.

Standing behind her Judith laid the bulbous silver boss of the stick on the skin of Hepworth’s neck. Hepworth flinched. Judith leaned in so her lips were millimetres from Hepworth’s ear and whispered. “You’re afraid of me aren’t you Hepworth.” It was a statement, not a question.

Hepworth didn’t know what to say. She felt cold sweet rise on her back.

“Ana” continued Judith. “I think I should teach you a lesson you’ll not forget.”

Ana Hepworth’s heart began to thud in her chest like a medicine ball in an oil drum. Her ears rang with its thunderous cacophony.

“Take two steps forward.” Ana was now standing immediately in front of Judith’s desk.

“Take off your belt and give it to me.” Ana fumbled with her webbing belt and held it to one side, brown eyes wide and fixed on the regimental shield behind Judith’s desk. Judith’s boots trod the linoleum floor behind Ana. Back and forth, she was playing with the young private, watching her become increasingly nervous.

“Raise your arms above your head, together, elbows bent.” The moment they were raised, Judith slipped the loop she had made with Ana’s belt over her wrists and tightened it. “Keep them there.” Judith reached round from behind Ana and unfastened her trousers. They fell to the ground, Judith’s underwear followed.

Moments passed, Ana waited to feel the heavy kiss of the swagger stick on her buttocks. The air around the base of her skull crackled with blue sparks of anticipation. Her glutes were taut and firm. Judith eyed them appreciatively.

“Lean forward into the desk.” Ana complied, almost losing her balance. Her buttocks were now presented provocatively, her face, turned to one side, resting on the tooled leather of the desk.

Judith walked around her blind side, grabbed the dangling end of the belt and tied it to the desk drawer.

Returning to Ana’s perfect rear she ordered, “Legs apart.” Ana stepped out of her trousers and spread her legs. “Further”. Ana was now prone on the desk, effectively immobile.

Judith raised her hand, it landed flat on Ana’s buttock, sending a searing shockwave through her. Judith watched as the red and white outline of her hand developed. She switched sides and planted another slap mirroring the first. Then she waited, some times for seconds sometimes minutes, switching from side to side.

Ana never knew when the next blow would fall, she stayed almost silent, only whimpering occasionally. She was dancing on the atom-wide knife edge between fear and excitement. She noticed that she had become wet, very wet, and that if she angled her hips just so she could press her mons into the carved edge of the desk. Less than a dozen stinging kisses were delivered by Judith’s hand but the delicious suspense she contrived was driving them both wild.

Then she felt it, the cold metal of the swagger stick resting on her labia. Judith held it there, moving it gently, coating the end with Ana’s wetness.

Ana knew what she wanted and tried to push backward onto the stick. Judith moved backward, denying her for now, but her lust was rising too. She wanted to see the girl ride this metal phallus.

She raised the stick to her nostrils and drew in the sweet aroma of Ana’s lust. Judith’s impatience took over. She slowly slid the silver headed dildo in and out of Ana’s moist cavern. Deeper with each stroke. Ana bit her lip, not wanting to antagonise Judith, unsure if she should let out a very appreciate groan or stay silent. She chose silence and bit her lip until it bled to quell the need to vocalise her passion.

Ana let herself fall into the maelstrom of excitement and through into orgasm. Judith smiled lasciviously as the wetness around her swagger stick increased further and Ana’s body bucked and contorted on the desk. Unable to control her convulsive orgasm Ana released herself to it and rode its crest until it broke on a distant shore. For a moment she was transported and the office around her melted into a blue ocean of calm water.

She returned to reality to see Judith standing beside the desk looking down at her. Judith brought he silver head of the swagger stick to her mouth and circled it with her tongue.