D O Wilson Ch 04 Caught In The Act

Author's Note:

This is the fourth story in an ongoing series about Disciplinary Officer Wilson's travels in the totalitarian society of post-apocalyptic southern California. You can read this as a stand-alone story, but it will probably make more sense if you read some of the others as well for context.

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I'd arrived in District 3 prepared for a light load. The women here tended to be docile, the men capable. D.O. Jain had been here just a month ago and handled several minor cases and two bridal classes. I had almost decided to skip District 3 altogether this time, continue on to District 4, and circle back when I'd completed the rest of my tour.

But District 3's Town Manager was a prickly sort who would have felt slighted if the Senior Disciplinary Officer had bypassed his town. He would not take it as the compliment it was—after all, if a town needed fewer visits from a D.O., that meant it was well-run. No, if I drove past District 3, Mr. Jonathan Chaudry would dash off an angry letter to the Commissioner before I reached District 4.

So I drove into town and parked behind the Town Hall, as usual. I was immediately accosted by Mr. Chaudry, a tall, thin man with a ridiculous mustache and an old-fashioned suit.

"D.O. Wilson," he said, respectful but anxious. "I'm so glad to see you. So relieved. I am absolutely mortified, completely flabbergasted really, at what's happened. This could not have waited another day. I nearly called for an emergency visit. But you are here now, and things will be set right."

I'd forgotten just how annoying this man was. "Yes, Mr. Chaudry. I'm here. Would you be so kind as to fill me in?" I hoped he took my tone as formal and interested rather than borderline sarcastic.

"Yes, yes, please, in my office. We'll talk there. It's not something we should discuss here in the public hallways."

The two of us strode along completely alone, but Chaudry glanced about as if he expected the entire town to pop out of the walls at any moment. We reached his office, and he sat behind his desk and picked up a stylus, which he promptly began to chew on.

I should have driven right on by. I sighed. "The sooner you tell me what's bothering you," I said, as patiently as I could, "the sooner I can get started."

"Yes, yes. I know. My apologies. You're a busy man. Of course you are. It's just, I don't quite know how to begin."

"Do you have women who require discipline?" I asked. If not, then why the hell was I here?

"Yes. Well, just one. One woman. Girl. Woman." He tapped the end of the stylus against his nose. "She's the daughter of a rather prominent citizen, a Councilman and the owner of the town bank. And he doesn't know she's here. We thought to spare him the humiliation, you see. He's very well-respected, and if it were known that his daughter, his pride and joy, had ..." He cleared his throat. "Had been caught, ah, caught—" He set the stylus down, folded his hands on his desk, and inhaled slowly. "I caught her and my son fornicating, D.O. Wilson."

I blinked. "Your son?"

"Yes. I am just mortified. I thought Samuel knew better. He does know better. But he and Corinna have been courting for nearly a year, and he asked my permission to marry her. Her father was quite pleased with the match, you can imagine. Of course I granted it, and they announced their engagement just last week. It appears they decided not to wait until their wedding. And, worse, I believe this was not the first time."

I could certainly forgive his agitation. His son had put him in quite the compromising position. "You can't possibly expect to keep this from the young lady's father. He must be informed."

"Ordinarily I'd agree. You know I would. I very much support the Commissioner's work, and I have nothing but the utmost respect for you. But this situation is, er, unprecedented."

Not as unprecedented as he thought, I mused, remembering my recent encounter with the Commissioner's daughter-in-law. "Would it go easier if I spoke with him personally?" I offered.

"Yes, I suppose if you must, it's better if it comes from you."

"It's the law, Mr. Chaudry. The girl's father is responsible for her until she is married. She and your son have put you both in an unfortunate position, but the shame is hers, not yours, to bear. Her father may choose to deal with her as he pleases after I'm finished with her."

"Yes. Yes, you're right. My apologies for my presumption. Shall I have her brought to you?"

"Please."

"Right away." He ushered me out of his office and out to my trailer.

***

My determination to approach the D.O.'s trailer with my head held high drained away at my first sight of the hulking black thing. We'd known this could happen, but Samuel thought his father would protect me.

He was wrong.

I regretted it. Not because I thought it was wrong, or because I didn't want to. I regretted it because now we'd been caught, and I didn't know what that meant for my future, for our marriage. I feared what my father would do almost more than what the D.O. would do.

Almost.

It just wasn't fair. We were engaged. We loved each other. Samuel didn't care if I was a virgin on our wedding night, so why should anyone else? The first time had been awkward and a little painful, but also fun, and we thought this way we could look forward to a perfect wedding night.

We'd only done it twice. We thought our fathers would both be busy at the Town Council meeting for much longer, but his father had come home and heard us and walked right in. I didn't know which of us was more embarrassed!

"What's he going to do to me?" I asked the guard.

He urged me toward the trailer. "Don't know. From what I hear, it's not much fun for you." He sounded almost sympathetic, but his iron grip on my elbow didn't lessen.

"This is so stupid," I said under my breath.

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that," he said. "It's the law, and you know that better than most, given who your father is and all."

"Yeah. My father." I sighed.

The guard rapped on the door in the side of the trailer and then helped me up the three steps to the threshold. "Here we are," he said, when the door opened, gave me a little push so I'd stumble through, and left me.

I glanced around in curiosity at the interior of the trailer. An examination table occupied one corner, a waist-high bench sat off to the left, and cabinets lined the back wall. Right in front of me, a tall, blond man with a hooked nose and imposing blue eyes stood in his black uniform with his hands behind his back.

"Hello, Corinna. I'm D.O. Wilson," he said. "I understand you've been misbehaving."

I had no idea how to respond. "Um," I managed.

"It's a serious offense," he continued. "Made more so by your status here. You've brought shame on your household, Corinna."

"Only because someone found out," I muttered.

"Indeed. Well, someone has, as you say. I'll need to determine the extent of your activities, though not much is in doubt given that we have a reliable eyewitness, and then I'll administer appropriate discipline."

"What are you going to do to me?"

He quirked an eyebrow. "We'll get to that in a moment. Take off your clothes."

My stomach dropped. "What?"

"Take off your clothes," he repeated.

"But you're—I can't—" I took an involuntary step back from him and hugged myself.

He tilted his head and studied me. "Surely you have some idea of what to expect. Most girls have heard stories from friends or older sisters."

I shook my head. "I haven't—I don't have—none of my friends are married."

"I see. Well, then you'll be the one passing along the information. Now, take off your clothes, or I will have to cut them off."

My cheeks burned. I'd never taken my clothes off for any man but Samuel. Even my father didn't make me strip when he paddled me. He just lifted my skirt. Which was humiliating enough!

"Now, Corinna," Wilson said.

I closed my eyes and steeled myself. I'd told myself I would take my punishment like a woman, not a frightened child. But I hadn't known what the punishment would be. I began unbuttoning my blouse. I opened my eyes to D.O. Wilson staring frankly at me, hands still clasped behind his back.

I made myself continue, letting my blouse hang open all the way down the front. I unzipped my skirt, hesitated, then slipped my blouse from my arms and pushed my skirt off.

He watched me, waited, and then shook his head. "All of it, Corinna."

"Oh." I finished undressing mechanically, trying not to think about the fact that I was now naked in front of a strange man.

"Good girl. The more cooperative you are, the better it will be for both of us." He walked over to the examination table and patted it. "We'll start here. I'll confirm that you are no longer a virgin."

"Confirm? But you know, don't you?"

"So you admit it?"

I could hardly deny it, given what Mr. Chaudry had seen. "I guess."

"You guess. Well, I still need to examine you. Lie on the table."

I shuffled the few steps over to the table and hoisted myself up. It was surprisingly comfortable, with soft padding and a slight recline.

"Very good. Slide down to the edge and put your legs up in the supports."

He would be able to see everything. I scooted down and did as he said, properly frightened and completely humiliated, and he strapped my ankles down, then forced the supports outward to spread my legs even farther. I whimpered.

"Arms above your head," he instructed.

I raised my arms, and he tied them to the table behind my head. Whatever he planned to do, I could do nothing to prevent it. Maybe that was for the best.

He pulled a stool up at the end of the table and settled himself between my thighs. I felt cold fingers on the lips of my vagina. He separated my labia and leaned in close, met my eyes briefly, and inserted one finger, then a second. The intimate touch caught me off guard, and the intrusion, though not painful, made me wince.

"Yes, clearly not a virgin. Too bad. I could go easier on you if Mr. Chaudry had been mistaken." He moved his fingers in and out, pushing them in farther and spreading his fingers, stretching me. He twisted his hand and ran his fingers along each wall of my vagina, like he was exploring, searching for evidence of wrongdoing.

I pushed against the leg supports, trying to slide back up the table and off his fingers, but I didn't budge.

"How many times have you had intercourse?" he asked.

Did it matter? If I said just once, would that be better? Would he know if I lied? "Two," I whispered.

"Two. And just with Samuel?"

"Yes."

"Thank you for being honest, Corinna." He used his thumb to tease my clitoris, and a tremor ran through me. "Has Samuel put his penis anywhere else? Your mouth or your anus, perhaps?"

"My—my—my anus?" My bottom clenched at the thought.

"I'll take that as a no." He withdrew his fingers, then trailed one down from my vagina to my anus and tickled me there.

"What are you doing?" I cried.

He pressed gently, and the tip of his finger entered. "Just checking," he said, a hint of amusement in his tone. He pushed forward, forcing his way in.

I squealed in surprise and fought my restraints, the sensation unfamiliar and the very idea shocking. "What are you doing?" I asked again, squirming.

With the thumb of his other hand, he rubbed my clitoris in slow circles. His finger slipped farther in. I didn't know what I was feeling, didn't understand why he was doing this. Was this the punishment? It didn't feel like a punishment.

He removed his finger. "All right, Corinna, I'm satisfied that you're telling the truth. But fornication with a man before marriage, before you were even engaged, is a serious offense. Your purity is yours to guard. What if you and Samuel break up? You will no longer be able to offer yourself untouched to a future husband."

"But we are getting married," I said.

"Are you? Will he still want to marry you after this?"

My throat constricted. "Yes. He will. I know he will."

"Good. I'm glad to hear it. I'm sure he's a lovely young man. Let's begin." He picked up a tablet from a small cart beside the table and stood beside my head. "I'll read you the statute. 'A woman accused of fornication, defined as sexual intercourse with a man prior to her wedding or any sexual contact with a man not her husband if she is married, shall be stripped of her clothing and subject to discipline administered by a Disciplinary Officer consisting of no fewer than fifteen and no greater than thirty lashes with a belt, strap, or tawse, at his discretion, followed by oral, vaginal, or anal penetration with an object of the D.O.'s choosing not to exceed seven inches in length and one-and-one-half inches in diameter.'"

"Penetration?" I echoed.

He began untying me from the table and helped me sit up. "We'll start with the strap," he said. "Lie on the bench on your stomach."

I slid off the table and crossed to the bench on wobbly legs. The strap, and then penetration? Did that mean what I thought it meant? But he couldn't. He'd just spent all that time telling me how bad it was that I'd "fornicated" with one man, and he wanted to make it two?

As those thoughts tumbled through my head, I lay down on the bench, somewhat dazed. The strap. I'd been paddled enough times by my father, but I couldn't remember if he'd ever used anything else.

"Lift your hips," D.O. Wilson ordered, and he slipped a wedge under me so that my bottom was raised higher than the rest of my body. He moved around the bench buckling restraints around my ankles, my wrists, my waist, and my thighs. "Now, the statute says fifteen to thirty lashes. Since you've been cooperative and you've had intercourse only twice, and only with the man whom you intend to marry, I believe the lower end of that range will be sufficient."

"Thank you."

He rested a hand on my bottom. "Don't thank me yet." He opened one of the cupboards to reveal belts, straps, paddles, and canes. He chose a thick but pliable strap and showed it to me. "Twenty will do," he said.

My thighs contracted, and I curled my toes in anticipation of the first lash. I thought it would feel like my father's paddle, but when it landed, the slap-sting drove the breath from my lungs as agony spread across my buttocks. I screamed, shuddering and twitching.

"One," D.O. Wilson counted.

Twenty didn't seem so merciful anymore. The second lash struck, and my whole body seized up, every muscle tensing.

"Breathe, Corinna," he advised. "Deep breaths."

I inhaled slowly, and the pain dissipated bit by bit.

The third lash fell, then more, D.O. Wilson's dispassionate count sounding between my cries of pain. My bottom burned, and every strike drew new, fiery lines along the vulnerable flesh.

"Please," I gasped. "No more."

"Twelve," he said.

The burning became stinging, my shouts became pitiful moans, and finally, after an eternity, the twentieth lash struck. I struggled to get my tears under control as little tremors passed through me.

D.O. Wilson released the restraints. "Do you need some water?" he asked.

I nodded.

He returned to his cupboards and opened a different one this time, retrieved a water bottle, and brought it to me, then backed off to let me drink. I pushed up on my elbows and tipped the bottle against my lips, the cool water soothing my throat. I downed nearly half the bottle.

"Thank you," I said, offering it to him.

He took it from me, screwed the lid back on, and set it on the floor. "Nearly done. You're really doing very well, Corinna."

"Are you really going to have sex with me?" I burst out.

"Of course," he said.

"But I'm not supposed to do that with anyone. You said that. I don't understand."

"I am a government official administering discipline in my capacity as a Disciplinary Officer. It's not the same as you choosing to fornicate with anyone who strikes your fancy."

"But why is that part of the discipline? Even if you're supposed to penetrate me, why is it with your—your—yourself?"

He chuckled. "Would you prefer something else? I can shove a dildo up your ass instead."

"My ass?"

"Get back up on the table."

"But-"

"It's well within my purview to add further discipline if I deem it necessary."

I slithered off the bench and got to my feet. He rubbed my arm affectionately, then guided me back to the table and helped me climb up. I lay back, hissing as my still-tender buttocks touched the padding.

"Legs up," he said, and the process of securing me to the table began. This time, in addition to spreading my legs, he also adjusted the leg rests so that my knees were pushed toward my chest. He stood between my legs looking down at me and then reached up to caress my breast. I flinched, but his touch was gentle. My shoulders tensed as I tried and failed to bring my arms down to protect my exposed chest. "I've had women in here who have committed much more heinous acts of fornication." He pinched my nipple, then stroked it with the pad of his thumb. I watched in fascination as it contracted, and a little shiver of pleasure surprised me. "Your offense is serious, of course, but you did show some level of self-control by limiting your contact to only your fiancé. For that, I will spare you the additional pain and shame of fucking your ass, as much as I'd like to." He switched to my other breast, tracing my areola with the tip of one finger. "Besides, I have the feeling your father will have some words, and probably a paddle, for you as well."

I had no doubt of that. "Do you have to tell him?"

"Yes, Corinna, I do. Or you may tell him yourself. Is he the type to show mercy if you are up front with him?"

I shook my head. "My father only cares about his image. He'll be humiliated by what you've done to me." A spark of indignation put some heat in my voice.

Wilson stopped manipulating my breasts and unzipped his fly. "No. He will be humiliated by what you did. I'm sure he'll be pleased to know you've already been handled by the authorities." He pulled his penis through his fly. "I will now penetrate you vaginally, as instructed by the statute, and then we will go to your father together."

I jerked my leg, overcome with horror that this man could simply have sex with me and no one would care. Did he have sex with all the women he had in his trailer?

I didn't buy his explanation. It was one thing to choose to have sex with a man I loved and wanted to marry. But for this stranger to be that intimate with me by virtue of his authority just wasn't right.

"Does it have to be your penis?" That came out as more of a whine than a demand.

"No." He began rubbing himself with one hand.

"Then can't you use something else? Why do you have to penetrate me at all?"

"Protesting now, Corinna, when we're almost finished? I have plenty of time. We can return to the bench for more lashes if necessary."

"No. No, I just—" I thought through everything he'd said so far. "Just, shouldn't I stay pure for Samuel? If you have sex with me, then haven't you taken that away from him, too?" It was a weak argument, but I was desperate.

"I appreciate your loyalty to your fiancé and your concern for his feelings in this matter. It's not often a woman thinks of someone other than herself when in your situation. But, Corinna, you are no longer a virgin. Whether you have had one cock or twelve, you have taken that away from Samuel, not me."

I'd been raised to be a good girl, modest and obedient. What the D.O. said was what I'd been taught by my father and, to some extent, my mother as well. Until that first time with Samuel, I couldn't have imagined myself making that choice. Of course my husband would be my first, on our wedding night. Of course I would obey him as I obeyed my father. But my conviction wavered as my relationship with Samuel grew more serious. He really was a lovely young man, polite and respectful, quiet and gentle, so unlike his father. We'd made the decision together. He'd insisted he didn't care if we waited until the wedding. He was just happy to be my first. And when his father walked in on us, Samuel had pled my case so vehemently, begging his father not to take me.