D O Wilson Ch 01 Innocent Bride

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Author's Note:

This is the first story in what I plan to be an ongoing series of books about Disciplinary Officer Wilson's travels in the totalitarian society of post-apocalyptic southern California.

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The section of highway from District 4 to District 5 was one of my favorites. The skeletons of once-glorious buildings scraped the sky, which sometimes showed blue through the smog. Efforts to clean the air had been more successful in these districts than in others, the populace, small though it was, far more invested in restoring this region to habitability than were others.

They insisted they owed their environmental spirit to those who had lived here Before, their direct ancestors, but those ancestors were also the cause of the Downfall. The same people could not be simultaneously responsible for saving the country and destroying it.

No, I believed it was the leadership and discipline of the Commissioner, the new order, traditional values and strict control, that allowed the men to focus on the task of rebuilding and renewing.

My truck rumbled along the mostly-smooth road, the occasional pothole or rut serving to keep me alert. I made mental note of especially dangerous ones so repair crews could be dispatched. Since so few still traveled between the districts, I was often the first to come upon new damage.

The green fields of District 5 soon came into view, the only green visible for miles in any direction. They grew tomatoes here, and oranges, and the peach orchards were being restored as well, though access to reliable sources of clean water was still patchy.

I switched over to battery power as I approached the outskirts of town, and the engine fell silent. I wended my way toward the courthouse, this leg of the journey always the most challenging, navigating my large truck through the narrow streets.

I parked under my awning behind the courthouse and went inside to pick up my roster for the next few days. I was scheduled to spend five days here. It seemed more than a few young ladies were making trouble in this town, and the Commissioner had ordered a crackdown.

"D.O. Wilson, you are a welcome sight," the Town Manager exclaimed when I entered his office.

"Mr. Muñoz, are the girls giving you trouble?"

He offered me a chair, but after hours in the driver's seat, I was content to stand. Besides, it lent me authority. Muñoz, like the women in his town, was sometimes difficult to control. Perhaps there was a correlation there. If he weren't otherwise so effective a leader, the Commissioner would have demoted him long ago.

"A few are, but they are beginning to influence some of the more docile ones, as you predicted. More than one father has begged me to summon you before his daughter defiles herself."

"That bad, Muñoz?"

He fidgeted with his pen and wouldn't meet my eyes. "Two have already been caught engaging in f—in—caught doing—with a young man." There were reasons we preferred to have a married man in the position of Town Manager, and this was one of them. He couldn't even say the word! I should gift him a 24-hour pass to the Home, let him release some of his frustrations. Or he should just pick one of the girls and marry her already.

"Fornicating?"

"Uh, yes. That." He cleared his throat. "We also have two wives who—well, they were caught—together."

I blinked at that. How unusual. "Caught by whom?"

"One of the husbands. He wanted to take care of the problem himself, but the other husband wouldn't let him lay on hand on his wife, you can understand. It was brought to me instead, and both husbands agreed to allow you to handle it as you see fit."

I nodded and held out my hand for the tablet on his desk. "That is probably best." Two women together. I had heard of such a thing but never witnessed it. Perhaps ... I might need to be creative with this particular situation.

How did two women even ...? I snatched the tablet from Muñoz and tapped the screen. My calendar was quite packed. "Two bridal classes as well? You have been busy in the last few months, Muñoz."

"We have, sir, yes. As I said, some of the fathers are nervous. Those two are being married off before—well, one was witnessed in private with her fiancé, though she insists it was completely chaste."

"I will know for sure soon enough." Love matches were best, when possible, but they sometimes created other problems. "At least it was with her own fiancé?"

Muñoz chuckled. "He has been knocking on my door for days, desperate to know what we're going to do with her."

"He may require a few lessons, himself."

"Very likely. I have asked the Commissioner to provide an Instructor. He should be here next week."

"Excellent. You've done well by summoning me. I'll get started."

I shook Muñoz's hand and took my leave, assaulted by the desertlike heat as I exited the building to return to my truck. I would begin with the wayward fiancée and go from there.

****

"Where are you taking me?" I squealed, as two officers threw open the door of my cell and grabbed me by the arms.

"The D.O. is here," one responded mildly. "He wanted to start with you." He seized my jaw between his thumb and forefinger. "He'll find out once and for all if you were telling the truth."

My stomach dropped. The Disciplinary Officer? For me? I'd heard stories from some of my friends who were already married, of the humiliation and pain of being examined and punished by the D.O. Much worse than their husbands, they said. Maggie had been afraid to leave the house for days afterward, for fear that she might accidentally be alone with another man and be sent back to him.

That was ridiculous, of course. Shopping had to be done, and cleaning, and laundry. You couldn't stay locked up in your own house for long before responsibilities called, and sometimes you were alone with a shopkeeper in the course of your duties.

Maggie discipline had not been for being alone in a store with the shopkeeper. She had been alone with a man who was not her husband, not in a shop or out in the streets, but rather in that man's own bedroom. She had had little defense for that, and I had privately believed she deserved what she got for betraying her husband.

But I had never expected find myself standing before the D.O.! I had done nothing wrong, as I had repeatedly protested, but they wouldn't listen. Manny was just showing me something he'd found in his backyard while digging a garden, something he thought might be from Before. He'd left the door open and everything, just as we were supposed to do.

I had no real hope of resisting them, and there wasn't much point, either, but my instincts said to struggle, so I struggled, until the bigger one slapped me on the butt and yanked me forward. I was so stunned I stumbled along with them for a dozen steps before righting myself and attempting to regain some of my dignity.

"You're best off cooperating," the one who had spanked me said in the same mild tone his companion had used. "Who knows? You might get off light."

"What's he going to do to me?" I whispered, my friends' stories bouncing in my head and filling me with horror.

"Don't know, but I'd sure like to watch." The two men laughed as they guided me up a flight of stairs and out into the summer heat. A semi truck with a foreboding black trailer was parked under an awning not far from the door, and it was to this truck that my escorts led me. One handcuffed my wrists behind my back while the other knocked on a door in the side of the trailer. My knees were weak, and I would have collapsed but for the officer's grip on my arm.

The door opened inward, and folding stairs descended to the ground. "Up you go," the one holding my arm said, giving me a little push.

I stared up into the dark portal, the bright sun making it impossible to see what was inside. "What's in there?"

"You can walk up or we can carry you up."

I put a foot on the bottom step and willed myself forward. The officers supported me as I climbed, taking surprising care to ensure I didn't fall with my hands cuffed as they were. When I reached the door, they let go and another pair of hands hauled me inside. The door closed, and I waited for my eyes to adjust to the dim light.

"Good morning, Claire," a male voice said. My vision finally cleared, but that only made me wish I were still half-blind. A tall man with blond hair, wearing the black slacks and black, long-sleeved shirt of an Enforcement Officer, stood a few feet away from me. The badge over his breast pocket said "D.O. Wilson." He wasn't as old as I expected, probably not much past thirty-five, but he carried himself with confidence and authority, blue eyes hard, and large, hooked nose adding sternness to his features.

Behind him, the trailer was furnished with a black leather padded examination table, some kind of tall bench padded in the same black leather, a steel cabinet, and some other drawers and cupboards. The interior was surprisingly cool, and I made out the faint hum of an air conditioner.

Wilson circled behind me and released the handcuffs. "I don't think we need these, do we, Claire? I sense you want to cooperate."

"I didn't do anything wrong!" I burst out as panic overtook me. "Please, Officer. We followed all the rules. He didn't touch me. I swear! I don't need to be here!"

"Don't be so frightened. We're just going to confirm that you're being truthful." He spoke in a soothing tone, as though to a child, and he took me by the hands and walked me over to the exam table.

"H—how?"

"I'll examine you. If everything is as it should be, we'll move on."

"Move on?"

"Assuming you are telling the truth and your fiancé still wants you, your wedding day is close enough that I will conduct your bridal class immediately."

I knew about the bridal class, of course. There were benefits to being one of the last to get married among a friend group. I had heard all their stories. But Manny had promised to waive it for me. "But, my fiancé—he said—he—didn't want that."

"I know. I see that here." He consulted a tablet. "But the waiver was overridden by request of your father, given your current situation." He moved in close to me, invading my personal space, and cupped my chin. "Surely you want to please your husband?"

"Of—of course I do, but he said—"

"Good. And you will. He'll be happy about this, I'm certain, come your wedding night." He tapped on the tablet's screen. "Let me just make sure I have the right records. You are Claire Wallace?"

"Please. I don't need this."

He sighed. "Are you Claire Wallace?" he repeated, with less patience.

"Yes."

"Birthdate July 24, 2067?"

I nodded.

"Ah, so you just turned twenty?"

"Yes."

"Happy birthday." He smiled in a friendly way, and I shrank back from him. "I'll be frank with you, Claire. The easier you make this for me, the easier it will be for you, too. I'm sure you understand that."

Manny had said he didn't want some other man touching me before he did. It was his right to waive the class, and he'd promised I wouldn't have to do this! Did he know? What if he was angry about it? I knew he'd petitioned the Town Manager to release me. "But I—I shouldn't be here," I said weakly.

"Many young women have stood just where you are and said those very words, my dear Claire, but in the end, it's better for everyone that their fathers or brothers or husbands thought differently. Now, the sooner we get started, the sooner I can send you home. You'd like to go home, wouldn't you, after three days in a cell?"

Desperately. But that meant going back to my father, who I knew now was the one subjecting me to this humiliation. It was true my wedding date was coming soon, though. Just a few more weeks, and I could be with Manny. I took a deep breath and nodded. "I would."

"I thought as much. Let's begin, shall we? Take off your clothes and lie on the table."

"Take off—I can't do that!" Even though I knew I would be required to undress, when he actually gave the order, it was still a shock.

"Then I will tie you down and cut them off." He said that casually, as though it made little difference to him, as long as I ended up naked.

He went to the large cabinet, which he opened to reveal all manner of restraints and scary-looking tools. I recognized the cane and the paddle. My backside knew the pain of those well enough, but they had always been applied through my clothing. How much worse would they be on bare skin?

I knew I was telling the truth. If all I had to do to prove it was lie on this table and let him ... let him examine me, maybe it really was best to get it over with. Maybe if I cooperated, I wouldn't need to find out what a cane to the bare buttocks felt like. I shuddered. Having talked myself into it, I unzipped my long, black skirt and let it fall to the floor, then unbuttoned my white blouse and shrugged out of it while his back was to me. He turned back toward me with a tray of implements in his hands and nodded in approval.

"That's a good girl. Underwear, too."

I rolled my simple, white, cotton panties down and stepped out of them, then unhooked my bra and let it slide from my arms. My skin pebbled in the cool air of the trailer, and I crossed my arms in front of me, trying to hide my breasts and crotch from his gaze.

He clicked his tongue impatiently. "Up, on the table."

I couldn't stop a whimper, but I climbed up and lay on my back with my legs tightly closed and my arms across my chest. He set the tray down at the foot of the table, out of my sight, and patted the edge.

"Scoot down. Legs up here, arms above your head. Come on, Claire, you're doing so well."

'I shouldn't have to be here,' I thought one last time, then allowed him to guide my legs into supports that extended up and out from the end of the table, forcing my thighs wide apart and putting me on display for him. While I was still fighting my shame, he buckled straps around my ankles to secure them. He moved up to my head and cuffed my wrists to the table somehow, too. Why did he need to tie me down? I was cooperating!

"I'm going to check you for signs of fornication, ensure that your virginity is intact, and if all is in order, as you insist it is, we'll continue directly to the bridal class. If I find you've lied to us, Claire, there will be punishment. If you have anything to admit, now would be the time. I will be more lenient if you confess before I begin."

What if he found something? What would he look for? I knew I was innocent, but now, helpless and exposed like this, I was terrified. Maggie's dull recitation of what he had subjected her to played on repeat in my head. I swallowed hard. "I haven't done anything wrong," I cried, shaking my head and tugging at the restraints.

"Very well." He placed a hand on my forehead. "Calm yourself. This won't be painful." He stroked my hair and waited as I tried to slow my breathing and relax my muscles. "You have lovely hair," he commented. "I've always been partial to brunettes, myself."

"Um, thank you."

He held my face between his palms and peered into my eyes. "Hazel? Beautiful."

I squirmed, confused by his change in demeanor and his compliments. He kissed my forehead and then straightened.

"Now, I just want you to let yourself react naturally to whatever happens. If you have nothing to hide, I will know soon enough." He smiled briefly, then left my side and sat on a stool between my legs. I heard the distinctive snap of latex gloves and tried to lift my head to see what he was doing. "I'll check your hymen first. After all, if you're not a virgin, I will have all the evidence I need." My thighs contracted, trying to close, but the leg supports didn't budge, and I could only lie there as he separated my labia. I squeaked at the intimate contact, and when he inserted a finger into my vagina, I tried to climb right up off the table, not that I could get far. He moved his finger in a slow circle, rubbing along the walls, pushing in slowly. My eyes widened and my fists clenched as I processed the strange feeling. "That is a nice, tight pussy. And I have good news for you. I have no reason to doubt that you are a virgin."

Why, if even my own fiancé wasn't allowed to touch me this way, was this stranger permitted to explore my private parts? "I told you! I didn't do anything wrong!" My voice was breathy, and he hadn't removed his finger. Indeed, he wiggled it inside me, watching my face with those cold blue eyes. "What are you—why—what—?" I stuttered, as the motion sent flutters through my stomach.

He chuckled and withdrew his finger. "Very responsive," he remarked. "But clearly confused." He removed one of his gloves and picked up the tablet, tapping rapidly. Making notes, maybe? "Some girls are clever and keep their virginity intact while defiling themselves in other ways. Are you one of those girls, Claire?"

"Other ways? No!" I didn't even know what he meant by that.

A gloved finger returned to my vagina, swirling around just inside, then slid out of that hole and traced a line to my anus. I yelped and tried to jerk myself away. "Afraid?" He tickled the puckered entrance. "Afraid that I'll find something, or afraid of what I'm doing?" he mused. He reached for something on his tray, a bottle, and squirted some kind of clear gel onto his finger. "Just a little lubricant," he explained.

"Why? What are you going to do?"

"Just relax." He pressed the finger against my anus, and I writhed, trying to free myself as it slipped inside, aided by the lubricant. I had expected pain, but there was none, just some mild stretching. "Definitely no penetration here. Yet. Good girl. See? I believe you. Just two more tests."

Penetration ... there? I would never have considered such a thing. "Yet?" I echoed.

He quirked an eyebrow at me from between my thighs. "I think this class will do you a world of good." He discarded the glove and made a few more notes on the tablet. "Tell me, sweet Claire," he said, tickling my inner thigh with his fingertips, "have you ever touched yourself ... down here?" His tickles continued down my thigh to the crease where my leg met my pelvis, then along one of the lips and up to the apex, coming to rest there.

I twitched, still quite uncomfortable with this strange man rooting around in my private areas. "No," I said, my voice hoarse with the lie.

"No? Most girls do. You're in the bath or shower one day, washing yourself, and you spend a little too long cleaning this one ... particular ..." His finger moved down just slightly and landed on my clitoris. He made a lazy circle there. I jumped at the contact, then lay shaking as he spoke. "... spot." He watched my face. I wasn't sure if I looked scared or guilty. I hoped for scared. "Or maybe you're in bed one day and you have an itch down there. It happens. But as you're scratching, you realize that when your fingers pass across this little button, it feels awfully nice. Maybe you keep doing it, just to see how nice it can feel?" More circles, and my breath quickened. He knew just how and where to touch me, better than I even knew myself. How? "Claire? You do know about your clitoris, don't you?"

"Yes." That came out in a gasp as he switched to an up-and-down motion.

"Are you sure you never explored here, even just a little?"

"I—"

"Claire? Don't lie to me."

I jerked ineffectually at my wrist restraints, flexed my toes, whimpered. I wanted to get away from this man and his questions, his molestation. But I knew it wasn't over yet. "Yes."

"Yes what?" He stood up suddenly, the abrupt end to his stimulation leaving me reeling.

"I have—done that. Only a few times, though!"

He nodded. "Thank you for being truthful. There are no laws against an unmarried woman learning about her body that way. Indeed, it often makes them better wives, because they know of the pleasure to be had. But I must caution you that once you are married, it is up to your husband to make the rules. And he may decide he does not want you to give yourself pleasure. You must also be careful not to insert anything, as I see you have not. Do you understand?"