D O Wilson Ch 02 Recalcitrant Wife

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Author's Note:

This is the second story in what I plan to be an ongoing series about Disciplinary Officer Wilson's travels in a totalitarian society in post-apocalyptic southern California. The stories stand alone and can be read in any order but will make more sense read sequentially.

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I'd been away from my home district for weeks, most of which had been spent in Districts 5 and 6, both unbearably hot in the summer. But finally my travels were bringing me back to District 1, which benefitted from ocean breezes and a dense cloud cover into late morning. It was at least twenty degrees cooler here almost all the time, and the air was wonderfully moist in comparison, too. I opened my truck windows and breathed deeply of the salty air as I drove north up the coast. The familiar skyline of struggling palm trees and rising concrete buildings was a welcome sight.

I killed the engine and switched to battery power when I entered the town limits and drove straight to Town Hall to meet with the Commissioner. As the seat of our region, District 1 was both the largest and the busiest, and I hated being away for so long, but the rounds were necessary. I was the only D.O. who served Districts 5 and 6, and only one other traveled the other three. Considering the mischief the young women got to in the time between visits, I intended to ask the Commissioner either to assign a second Disciplinary Officer to those districts or to send me out there more often. Despite the heat and dry air, the smaller towns did have a charm that my home town did not.

A few Enforcement Officers gave a jaunty salute or a tip of the hat as I wended my way to the center of town. At least here I didn't have to work out of my truck. I had an office and a discipline room in the Town Hall, far more comfortable than my trailer, though I found the trailer lent its own intimidation factor when the young women saw it for the first time behind their local courthouse.

The Commissioner was expecting me, and I left my truck in the capable hands of a Deputy D.O. to take down to the garage, clean, sanitize, and restock, along with routine maintenance on the truck itself, charging the batteries, and topping off the precious diesel fuel. There were other perks to being back home, like not having to do all of that myself.

"Wilson!" Commissioner Park hailed as he fell into step beside me on the way up to his office.

"Commissioner. I just arrived."

"Not a moment too soon. I've read your reports from the outlying districts. Seems the young women are getting ideas in their heads." Commissioner Park was a short man with Asian features who moved like a sparrow but had the shrewdest governing mind I'd ever known. He had taken his predecessor's philosophy of male dominance and furthered its reach and enforcement, creating a disciplined and successful society in which the men were satisfied at home and hard-working at their jobs, and the women kept the household running so that their husbands would be free to focus on rebuilding the region.

"And some of the young men are indulging them," I added. "I wonder if it wouldn't be prudent to establish regular premarital classes for them as well. Plenty of the girls' fathers are frustrated, but so are some of the boys' fathers who see them as weak and unwilling to control their wives." I had worked with more than one young bride this time around who insisted her fiancé would not want her to learn how to be a proper wife, and the number of women giving away their virginity to their fiancés before their wedding night seemed to be on the rise, too. Or worse, fornicating with a man they weren't even engaged to!

"I will see to it. That's an excellent suggestion, Wilson." We reached the Commissioner's office, and he ushered me inside. As soon as he closed the door, some of his confidence slipped.

"Is something wrong?"

He cleared his throat and perched on his office chair, rearranging the framed photos on his desk to avoid meeting my eyes. "I couldn't tell you this where there were listening ears, but your first assignment this afternoon is ... well, it's a somewhat delicate and shameful matter for me, I'm afraid."

"In what way?"

He popped to his feet again and turned his back, ostensibly studying the print on the back wall of his office, clearly a picture of something from Before, a wooden pier over the ocean under a bright blue sky. "It involves, er, my family. My younger son, to be exact."

"Your son! Kevin, isn't it? And his wife is ..." I couldn't pull a name out of the recesses of my memory. I had been at their wedding, though out of respect to the Commissioner, I had not conducted her bridal class.

"Teresa," he supplied. "Yes. Kevin came to me, quite distraught, after finding Teresa in a rather—" he cleared his throat again, faced me. "In a rather compromising position with her best friend's unmarried older brother. I offered your services, of course, but he elected to handle her discipline himself. It seems he was less than effective, because she has persisted in this unconscionable behavior. Kevin is considering a divorce, but he loves her and it would crush him to see her sent to the Home."

"The Home is not a foregone conclusion," I said, responding to the easy part while I processed the rest. "Perhaps the man she has been dallying with would take her. Is that possible?"

"Very possible, though I'm not sure I could bear the shame. If they moved to another district, perhaps?"

"This does not reflect on you, Commissioner, though it may feel that way. This brings shame on Teresa's father and Teresa herself. If she is unhappy with Kevin, there are better ways to communicate her discontent."

The Commissioner nodded and composed himself. "Thank you, Wilson. I knew I could count on your level head. That's why I waited for your return rather than hand this over to Jain."

Jain was more than capable, but he was newer and didn't have as close a relationship with the Commissioner. "Do you have any specific thoughts on how you would like me to handle this? Has Kevin detailed his discipline attempts?"

"It's all here," he said, handing me a tablet. "Along with the rest of your schedule for the week."

"Great. I'll get started."

****

I could not believe they were putting me in front of Gabriel Wilson. When D.O. Jain had escorted me personally from my cell, I knew this wasn't going to be good, and when the door of the Discipline Room shut and locked behind me and Gabe was standing there in his black uniform all formal and authoritative, I thought maybe this was all some misunderstanding and they were letting me go. But then Gabe started tapping and swiping on a tablet, and I realized they really were doing this to me.

He was a friend. A friend of Kevin's father. He'd been at my wedding! And now he was going to strip me naked and do unspeakable things to me? No. Absolutely not. This had to be some mistake. Maybe they'd brought me to the wrong room, or it wasn't supposed to be my turn.

"Gabe!" I cried after several minutes of uncomfortable silence. "Gabe, you can't possibly be the one who—"

"That's D.O. Wilson," he broke in, quite calm. He didn't even look up at me, just kept scrolling through something on the tablet.

"But you can't—you're Kevin's friend. This isn't right."

"So, you don't deny you're here for good reason. You just object to my presence." He set the tablet down and trained his insufferably mild expression on me.

"I—yes I object to your presence! And, no, I should not be here. What, you think I'm just going to submit myself to your—your—" I faltered. I didn't exactly know what he was going to do.

"Yes! I do expect you to submit. That's been your problem all along, Teresa, hasn't it? You haven't submitted to your husband's authority. You think you can humiliate him by going off with some other man and violating your promises to him?"

So they did know. I thought they must. I really had no defense if they had an eyewitness. "Are you doing this so Kevin's dad doesn't have to admit his shame to anyone else?" I spat.

"The Commissioner bears no shame for your irresponsibility, Teresa. He merely wished to protect you by saving you from the ministrations of a less scrupulous D.O. You should be grateful."

"This is humiliating." I was running out of energy to resist. I knew it wouldn't get me anywhere, but at least he was letting me have my say.

"No more than what you've done to your husband."

"Kevin wouldn't notice me if I had sex with some other man right in the middle of our bed. This isn't about him. It's about his father. We both know it." I almost wished he would divorce me, just so I could be free of his total indifference toward me.

Gabe sighed. "Such crude language." He shook his head. "There are ways to get your husband's attention that are considerably more acceptable than the route you chose."

"I don't want his attention," I muttered.

"Then you can petition for divorce."

"And then what? I'm an abandoned woman? What good does that do me?"

He raised an eyebrow, as if to say 'you see my point?' "Now then, Teresa, since we've established you really only have one viable course of action at this point, I suggest you cooperate with this process, accept your punishment with grace, and return to your husband a changed woman."

"Wait. Gabe, if he did divorce me ... would they really send me to the Home?"

"There's a strong possibility, since you'd be considered a recalcitrant wife. It's possible upon your return from the Home someone would find you sufficiently rehabilitated to take you on. Your current friend, perhaps?"

"Is it true, about the Home? They make you ... they make you ... with anyone who wants to?" It was one thing to, er, bend my marriage vows with someone I knew and liked, and quite another to have strangers paying to do whatever they wanted with me.

"The Home is not your concern right now, Teresa. You should be thinking about how you can make this up to your husband and reform yourself so that you never have to worry about the Home." He left me standing by the door and crossed the room to a locked storage cabinet. He opened it and put something in his pocket, then closed it quickly, but not before I caught sight of some of its contents. Canes, paddles, whips, rope and chains, the tools of his trade. "But, Teresa, really, you've already shown that you have no problem with allowing another man access to your body, haven't you?"

"Not just anyone!"

"Hm. I see. Well, I understand you get used to it fairly quickly. Discipline is strict over there, too, you know." I wished to know what he had taken from the cabinet.

My choice was plain: I could either let one man do whatever he wanted to me, or let lots of men do whatever they wanted to me. I shuddered. Neither option was particularly attractive. Then I made the mistake of actually looking around the room. I'd been so focused on Gabe that I'd blocked out the frightening equipment all around me.

In the middle of the room was a clear space with a rug. To my right, an examination table sat in all its black, hulking glory, leg supports rising up out of the end. To my left was a large bench or small table, at least as long as I was tall, and wide enough to support my body, waist-height from the floor. But he didn't go to either of those apparatus. He headed straight for me and reached up above my head, standing in my personal space, close enough that I could smell the remnants of his lunch on his breath.

"Arms," he said.

"What?"

"Give me your arms."

"Why?"

"Because I told you to," he snapped.

I shied back, but I didn't have far to go, backed up against the door as I was. I held out my arms to him, and he grabbed my wrists and guided them above my head, where he secured them in cuffs hanging from the ceiling. "What are you doing?"

"Cutting your clothes off. You're argumentative, so I have decided not to allow you the option to undress yourself."

"Cutting—but—" I twisted my body, struggling by instinct. "I'm not arguing. I'm just—I just want to understand."

He caressed my cheek with one finger. "Here's what you need to understand, Teresa. You had sexual intercourse with a man not your husband. Repeatedly. Even after your husband administered discipline. Out of respect for the Commissioner, because you are his daughter-in-law, I have decided not to either send you straight to the Home or put you before the court. The humiliation and pain you will suffer in here with me will pale in comparison to what you would be subject to in either of those scenarios. Do you understand so far?"

"Yes," I squeaked.

"It is in your best interests to cooperate with me so that I don't change my mind. Your offense is quite severe, Teresa. Today will not be pleasant for you. But when we're finished here, I will send you back to your husband, and you will have one final opportunity to change your ways. If you persist, I will have no choice but to pursue one of the other options, unless your husband simply decides to divorce you."

"I understand," I whispered. I had enough sense to be scared even as I still wanted to scream about the injustice of it all. "But what about the women—"

"Enough!" He fished a pair of trauma shears from his pocket. That's what he must have taken from the cabinet. At least he wasn't going to risk cutting me. Small consolation.

"No! What about the women Kevin has sex with?!" I wasn't quite finished arguing. "And why is he allowed to have sex with other women but I'm not allowed to have sex with another man?"

That actually brought Gabe up short. He had the collar of my blouse in his left hand and the scissors poised to cut, but he froze. "Who are these women?"

"I don't—I don't actually know who they are. But I've smelled perfume in our bed, and I don't wear perfume. And I tasted another woman on his ... his ... we hadn't had sex in days, so I wasn't tasting myself!"

"I see. Hardly solid proof, Teresa. But if it's true, the woman or women will eventually be caught. You worry about yourself now." The scissors bit into my collar and sliced my blouse open straight down the middle.

"You could have just unbuttoned it," I pouted. Maybe I still wasn't done arguing. I was going to dig myself a hole I couldn't get out of.

"This is more fun." He moved to the cuffs of my sleeves and cut down my arms and then across to the center slice. The blouse fell. He yanked my skirt to the floor and removed my shoes and pantyhose, then stepped back to admire me in my underwear. "Kevin dresses you well, I see," he commented.

Kevin liked me in pretty lingerie, and today's was a lacy, pale blue bra and matching panties. I knew my dark nipples showed through the lace. Not that it mattered. He was going to see everything soon enough.

I would have to see this man socially. He was my father-in-law's close friend. And now he was going to see me naked and—how could I possibly face him after this? "Please, Gabe. I'll be good. I will. You'll see. You don't have to—" I might have even meant it, but my plea fell on deaf ears. Not that I really expected a last-minute amnesty. He made a savage cut right between the cups of my bra, snipped the straps, and let it slip from my shoulders.

"Shame. It's a nice bra. I'll reimburse Kevin for it and suggest he buy you a new one. I'll do you a favor and save the panties, though." He rolled them down my legs and off. "He likes you bare? Smart man."

My face heated, and I tried to bring my knees up to hide my hairless crotch. I'd just been waxed three days ago on Kevin's order. They'd arrested me on my way out of the salon. "He did it for you," I grumbled. He must have known they were coming for me and decided to add to my embarrassment.

"Remind me to thank him. A bald pussy is so much easier to work with." He released my arms from the cuffs and I lowered them gratefully, rubbing my wrists more dramatically than strictly necessary. "Kneel on the rug," he instructed, pointing to the middle of the room.

I hesitated, considered refusing just to make this more difficult for him, then decided I would really only be hurting myself. He probably wanted me to resist. I knelt on the rug with my knees parted and my hands clasped behind my head, like a good little wife.

He collected his tablet, tapped and swiped a few times, then stood in front of me. "Teresa Park, you are accused of and have admitted to sexual relations with a man not your husband, observed on at least three occasions by reliable witnesses, and persisted despite discipline from your husband. I am to punish you as I see fit, and I am permitted to add to the discipline as necessary if you are uncooperative. Clear?"

"What are you going to do?" I hated the tremor in my voice.

"Afraid? Good. I prefer fear to defiance. We'll start with the cane. Go lie facedown on the bench."

Kevin had caned me, but I had a feeling Gabe's arm would be far less forgiving. "Please, Gabe."

"D.O. Wilson."

He was too much of a professional to let my feeble begging affect him. "Can't you just fuck me and let me go?" I knew that was going to be part of this process. It was no real secret that the D.O.s took full advantage of their position. It was even encouraged, an additional humiliation to reinforce the lesson. Most women didn't know that, but being the daughter-in-law of the Commissioner made me privy to information I probably wasn't supposed to have.

"Such language, Teresa! Doesn't your husband curb your tongue?"

"I told you, my husband wouldn't notice me if I sat naked on his face and screamed obscenities at him."

Gabe made a frustrated sound. Good, at least I was getting to him. "That is clearly not true, since you're in here with me. In addition, the Commissioner informs me that Kevin is deeply in love with you and is pained at the thought of divorce."

"Bullshit. He'd be just as glad to be rid of me." Love? He barely tolerated me!

"You're not making this easier for yourself. If you persist in your disrespectful behavior, I will drag you straight to court, naked and screaming obscenities all the way. A judge will have you strung up on the whipping post before you can say 'don't you fucking touch me.' Now lie down on the bench."

That sounded like the very definition of hell, and I knew he would do exactly as he described. I lay down on the bench, but not without one last defiant glare.

"Better," he said. "Lift your hips." He shoved a foam wedge under me so that my buttocks were higher than the rest of me, then made short work of strapping me down. He cuffed my arms to the legs of the bench, cinched a belt around my waist and another around my ribs, and fastened my legs and ankles in place as well. I certainly wasn't going anywhere now. I tugged at the cuffs and tried to buck my hips, but I could barely move. Gabe disappeared from my line of sight, then returned holding a thin, flexible cane, tapping it against his palm. "One more question before I begin. When was the last time you were penetrated anally?"

I tried to curl into a ball, stymied by the straps, of course. "Kevin doesn't like anal. So, never."

"Never! That does surprise me. Well, there's a first time for everything."

"No! You can't—you don't mean you're going to—" My buttocks clenched, and a knot formed in my stomach.

He placed the tip of the cane at the nape of my neck and traced my spine, letting it dip between my butt cheeks, then raised it. I shuddered. "I'll quote you the statute, dear Teresa. 'A recalcitrant wife, defined as a married woman who has been witnessed having inappropriate contact with a man not her husband at least three times after discipline from her husband for such inappropriate contact, may be subject to one or more of the following actions: One, she may be put before a Disciplinary Officer in a private discipline room or mobile discipline office where she is to be stripped of her clothing, struck with a cane to the bare buttocks no fewer than twenty times, and penetrated orally, vaginally, and/or anally with an object of the Disciplinary Officer's choice, not to exceed eight inches in length and two inches in diameter, at the Disciplinary Officer's discretion. Two, she may be put before the Court, where she is to be stripped of her clothing before an audience of the judge and no fewer than three additional men and three women, bound to a whipping post, and struck no fewer than twenty times with a flogger or belt to the bare buttocks. Or, three, she may be transported directly to the Home for Female Rehabilitation to serve a sentence of no fewer than three weeks under the supervision of the Home's Director and subject to its rules and regulations.' Now, Teresa, given those options, would you prefer that I penetrate you anally or should I send you to the judge now?"