Overlord

Keeping a hand clamped over her mouth, Winston hauled O'Brien onto her side, ignoring her pitiful attempts at escape. When she started pulling herself away from him to get her mouth free, he dropped the weapon to the floor and grabbed her with both hands; there was little risk of her picking it up. Soon, he had O'Brien lying on her belly on the table, Winston leaning on her back to hold her down while his hands covered her mouth. Her body was warm and pleasantly firm against his naked chest, and her pony tail silky and soft where it draped over his arm. The blood was pounding in Winston's ears. He knew that his hands were trembling. He bit his tongue, using the flash of pain to clear his mind.

"Where," he whispered in her ear, his voice nearly a growl, "is Julia?"

He pulled his hand off of her lips, and she immediately started to scream. He quickly replaced it. She gave a sudden thrash, forcing her head toward Winston's face and burying his nose in her golden hair. To push her back down, he had to lean in further, almost embracing her. He was feeling hotter and hotter.

As he adjusted his hold on her, his hip knocked into a button on the side of the table, and there was a mechanical humming sound from within. Before either of them could react, the table's ankle and wrist straps shot out, guided by some unseen sensor, and seized O'Brien's limbs, pulling her arms and legs against the ends of the table and forcing her to lie flat across it. Winston nearly lost his hand over her mouth again, but he was just fast enough to adjust. Finally, he was able to take his weight off of her back and stand up, keeping his left palm on her lips. The tall blonde was draped across the slanted table, in exactly the same position as Maria in the other cell; chin resting on the lower ledge, buttocks raised up across the higher one. He felt her try to say something, but ignored her.

I can't just stand here

, Winston thought frantically,

sooner or later, someone else will come. I need something to gag her with

. He looked around the cell. Toilet and sink against the walls, pistol and hairbrush where they had fallen on the floor, nothing that would work. Winston sucked in a desperate breath; he had only one option. Keeping his left hand on her mouth, he reached his right down and clumsily worked his underwear down his waist. His penis sprang up, hard as metal and more swollen that it still hurt even after it was free of the waistband. He banished the shame from his mind as he let the underpants drop to the floor and stepped out of them. He had no more modesty. City-71, and the past several hours in particular, had taken that privilege from him. To Winston Fisher, clothes no longer meant anything. He had to release her mouth when he bent down to pick them up, but she didn't have time to make any noise before he raised the underwear to her mouth and pinched her nose, forcing her to open her mouth and let him push them in. She coughed, thrashed her head, tried to spit them out, but he had bunched them up and pushed them in past her teeth. Winston took a step back, both hands finally free. Naked, but victorious.

For the moment

, he reminded himself.

After taking a moment to catch his breath, Winston stepped in front of Laura. She looked up at him as he came into view, looking almost like a blonde, red-lipped goldfish with her mouth stuffed full of (probably rather sweaty) underwear. Her angry blue eyes met his, defiantly.

"Tell me what I need to know," he repeated, his voice strained.

Her eyes shot acid at him. "Rrrffrffrr!" He couldn't tell what she was garbling, but it didn't sound polite.

Rage was beginning to flow through Winston, mixing with the fear and lust. Looking Laura in the face, he remembered her catching him in the alley that first month in City-71. Her inviting herself into his apartment and spanking, humiliating, and sexually assaulting him in front of Julia.

"Alright," Winston said, his voice steely, "We'll do things your way."

Her eyes showed confusion as he walked over to her side and bent down. When she saw him pick up her ebony hairbrush, they widened in fear.

"You sure you won't talk?" He held the brush in front of him, the flat side facing her. The handle was cool, smooth as glass, and incredibly hard in his hand. Heavy, too, much more so than he'd expect from an object its size. He remembered the world of fire, the alternate universe of pain she had immersed him in with this very brush. Holding it in his hand with her bound in front of him felt almost unreal.

She growled and struggled against her restraints. Trying to scream and call for help, thrashing her crimson-uniformed body back and forth across the table.

"Fine."

Winston strode around behind her, to the raised end of the table. Her long, shapely legs were held fast to the side, sticking her bottom straight out at Winston's face. Her buttocks were big, muscular, and round, but with just enough chubbiness to wobble and shake as she fought her restraints. They filled the pants of her red uniform to form a perfect, swollen Valentine's Day heart.

She looked over her shoulder at him, growling furiously now, her blue eyes flashing. The confidence and mockery were gone. Winston lifted the hairbrush to chest level and brought it down hard against her right cheek.

SPLAT!

Half of the red heart bounced up and splashed out of position. O'Brien screamed into the underwear and kicked and thrashed, but it was no use. Winston gritted his teeth and set to work.

SPLAT! SPLAT! SPLAT!

Both cheeks were wobbling now, a pair of vivacious dancers in skin-tight red. He didn't stop to see her reactions, or slowly build up the pace. Winston spanked as hard and as fast as he could, calling on all the strength he had to just swing the hairbrush as deep as he could and as fast as he could into her flesh. Her yelps and screams were becoming a continuous wail. Good, he had been afraid the Disciplinarians couldn't feel pain. He ignored her face and shaking limbs, keeping his attention focused on her juicy ass as he spanked her again, and again, and again.

"Are you ready to talk yet?" His voice was hoarse and gravelly, and he found that he could hardly control its tone.

She glared at him, eyes red and running with tears, and nodded yes.

He wanted to stop and begin the interrogation, but found himself unable. He remembered her smirking, condescending face and her hands exploring his body as if it belonged to her.

"Too bad," he surprised himself, "I'm not."

And with that, he grabbed the waist of her uniform pants and tugged them down to her thighs. Two thick, round cheeks emerged into the cold air, wobbling to a standstill above her lovely thighs. Her butt looked even bigger now that it was free of her pants, either naturally, or due to swelling from the paddling he had just given her. Both cheeks were blotched with sunset red, a random constellation of hairbrush marks overlapping each other all over both pale moons. Below them, her blonde pubic hair was totally exposed, and that somehow enraged him even more.

At the side of her fallen pants, he noticed the pouch whose contents she had threatened him with a few minutes ago. He unzipped it and pulled out a long, thin object, cool and damp to the touch. It was about as thick as his middle finger, and maybe half again as long, carved into a jagged hourglass shape. He brought it closer to his face, and caught the potent smell of ginger.

For a moment, Winston's heart stopped. He had heard rumors, horror stories about this, but the idea had been too outlandish for him to believe. And yet, she had clearly been planning to use it on him.

Winston threw the ginger fig to the ground and raised the hairbrush again. This time, when he brought it down it bit into naked flesh.

CRACK!

"EEEUUUUUURRGGHHH!" The sound that she made threw the gag would have been a scream. The blow left a much brighter red in the center of her jiggling cheek, lined with white. She moaned and whimpered. Apparently, her ass didn't get along with that hairbrush any better than Winston's did. He gave her another whack on the other cheek, leaving a mark the exact same color as her crimson uniform. Then another. And another. Then back to the first.

"

Now

," he said again, holding the brush ready for a sixth bare-bottomed swat, "you can tell me where Julia is."

"RR RRRRNNN RRRR!!" O'Brien shook her head desperately back and forth, sending tears flying onto the cell floor. Even through the gag, Winston understood her.

I don't know

. Winston clenched his teeth together to suppress a frustrated howl. If she wasn't telling the truth now, then she probably never would.

But that didn't mean he was done.

He went back to work on Laura's welted, blistered cheeks, giving her a spanking that even a Disciplinarian would be hard-pressed to outperform. Her bottom swelled up larger and larger, purple bruises expanding across her seat until there wasn't a spot of white or red left. Her muffled screams became constant, and then stopped, giving way to empty sobs. By the time he stopped, she had stopped reacting to each blow. Her nerves had exhausted themselves. She was just crying.

Winston's arm felt like he had dipped it in hot wax, and his fingers were sore where he had gripped the handle of the brush. As he stepped toward Laura, he saw her little blonde muff glistening up at him, as sopping wet as her eyes. He grabbed her by the waist and...

"No."

He stopped, hands resting on the sobbing, utterly chastised woman.

"What the hell am I doing?" he said to himself, aloud.

He looked down. He was still massively erect, and just inches from her. The machine held her legs apart, leaving her open. Was it just him, or had she actually raised her lower body a tiny bit as he approached? Inviting him?

"No." He took a step back. "This isn't...no."

His body had been on autopilot at the end of the spanking. That was all. It was the stress and the fear messing with his head and making him lose control. He wasn't that kind of person. He would never do that.

He picked up her nerve pistol and clutched it in both hands. It was light, had a comfortable grip, and seemed to work like a normal handgun. He flexed his right arm, trying to rub as much of the pain out of it as he could. He'd need his trigger finger if he was to have any chance of escape, let alone of rescuing anyone else. Unfortunately, his underwear would have to stay in O'Brien's mouth. He would be fighting naked against the entire City-71 Command Center.

He gave one last look at Laura. She was crying softly. The dominance and smugness had been beaten out of her. Still, he felt like she was getting off lightly, considering what she had likely had in store for him.

On a sudden inspiration, he reached back down and grabbed the ginger stick he had found in her pouch. Ignoring her yelp as he spread her ruined cheeks, he put its tip against her anus and pushed. Laura's body shivered as she felt the fig pressing against her back door, but she was too busy sobbing to do much about it. Winston gently pushed the ginger stick into her ass until he got to the thin, carved part of it, where it stuck in securely. He straightened himself up, the end of the ginger fig protruding from between her trembling cheeks. He wondered how long until it would start to burn, and how long it would last before she was discovered. The sight of the devilish object penetrating such a perfect female body wasn't doing much to end his arousal, though; it was time to get the hell out of here.

"Behave yourself, studmuffin," he said. Then he left the cell and closed the door behind him.

The metal hallway curved away out of sight in both directions. Winston remembered where they had come from, but that didn't help him. He had no idea how close his earlier holding closet by Maria's cell had been to the surface, or where Julia was being held. Nevertheless, it would be a place to start. He looked at the touchscreens mounted on the wall by each cell. He'd probably need a combination to open them. How many of the cells were occupied? He had no way of knowing.

Just as he was thinking of going back inside and asking O'Brien for some information, a tall, burly blonde man in a blue Private's uniform rounded the corner. The Disciplinarian's eyes narrowed.

"You! Who let you out of your cell?"

The man's hand was going for his nerve pistol, but Winston already had his out. He pointed it down the hallway and squeezed the trigger. There was a high pitched whine, and the Disciplinarian collapsed, falling in a heap in the middle of the hall. Winston ran toward him to take his equipment or beat him unconscious, but the man had already managed to drag his wrist up to his mouth.

"Jailbreak!" the man shouted into his wrist, "Cellblock two, level three!"

Shit

.

Winston ran. He didn't know where he was going, or what he would do when he got there, he just had to move. The arched, catacomb-like ceiling echoed his footfalls, like an insect beating itself against the inside of a jar. The dim light and cold, damp air flowed across his naked body. Like being in a crypt. Or even a coffin. He came to an intersection and rounded the corner, coming face to face with a short, curvy African woman in a blue catsuit.

"Freeze!" Shouted Disciplinarian Beatty.

Winston dropped to the steel floor, dodging her shot, and fired one of his own into her foot. She crumpled down to his level and dropped her gun. Winston crawled forward, moaning with pain from hitting the deck, and grabbed her nerve pistol away, tossing it behind him. When his face came near hers, her eyes widened.

"Oh, you're the vigilant guy! From the park! I was just on my way to your-"

"SHUT UP!"

He got back to his feet, rubbing his bruises. He was about to stomp on her wrist computer when he heard footsteps coming from behind. He leaped over the paralyzed Disciplinarian and kept running.

The corridors winded, twisted, rose and fell. Winston passed intersections, ascended a staircase, descended another when more footfalls cornered him. He was starting to pant, his chest hurting him. His body might be the healthiest it had ever been, but he couldn't run forever. Another door, another ramp leading down. He was in another part of the Command Center's underground maze now, a rectangular hall of black metal with no more doors. He stopped to catch his breath, but then he heard voices at the top of the ramp.

"Citizen Fisher! We know you're down there!" a gruff, angry male voice echoed, "Drop your weapon and come out with your hands raised, or else-"

And then, just like that, a steel shutter slid down from the ceiling and closed off the door. The Disciplinarian's voice was cut off mid-sentence.

Winston was almost too exhausted to be confused. He heard a tiny, distant tapping from the top of the ramp as the Disciplinarians banged on the shutter. Winston was alone.

He sat down on the black, metal floor and rested, letting his heartbeat slow down and his lungs get back to normal breaths. If they managed to get the shutter open he would be a sitting duck, but he couldn't have fled for much longer anyway. As he sat, he took in his surroundings. A wider hallway, with a normal, flat ceiling. The light was brighter here, and the air warmer. A generator area, perhaps?

Slowly, Winston got back to his feet. With the adrenaline rush over, his bruises were starting to hurt. He was thirsty, his mouth and throat dry. His erection was gone, but there was an unsatisfied ache in his balls that he knew would get worse. Water was the most important thing. He had to find water.

He took a few steps down the hall, and heard a loud thump behind him. He turned, and saw that another shutter had closed just behind him, sealing off the way he had come.

His heartbeat began picking up again. He took a few steps backward, keeping his eyes on the new shutter. He had only gone a few meters before another shutter slammed down from the ceiling, sliding to the floor just fifty centimetres from his face. The hallway was closing itself behind him.

He felt goosebumps rise all over his naked body.

Slowly, Winston turned back around and kept going, weapon at the ready. Behind him, the hallway kept closing itself. He came to an intersection, but the way forward and to the right were already shuttered off. He had no choice but to go left, down another staircase. Once he descended, the stairwell sealed itself off too, locking him in a small, empty room. The walls were covered with exposed wires and pipes, plastic and metal and other, stranger materials all coiled around themselves, multi-coloured lights shining from every wall. At the opposite end of the room was a simple, automatic door.

Only one way to go

.

Winston approached the door, and it opened for him. Beyond it was a room the size of a cathedral. Towers of brilliantly glowing crystal climbed from pits deep in the floor and branched out into rainbow-covered optic cables across the ceiling a dozen stories above him. Hundreds of miles of wires, held aloft by scaffolding, filled the huge cavern like a delicate spider web.

He came a few steps inside, and the door closed behind him.

Everywhere he looked, there was machinery Winston had never heard of. The air itself hummed with electricity, rising and falling like waves breaking against a seashore. It was like standing in the heart of a living creature.

"Not my heart," said a friendly, male voice, "this is more like a nerve center. There are hundreds like it across the planet."

Winston looked up with a start. A few meters in front of him, a holographic face hovered in the air. It was green and blocky-looking, like a simple computer animation. It wore a carefree smile as it floated toward him. Winston started backing away from it, but tripped over something and fell back, landing in a soft, comfortable armchair that had appeared out of thin air behind him.

"Please make yourself comfortable, Winston Fisher. I would like to speak with you. My name is Overlord."