Chained and Chastened

When Kristin complied Ray's jaw dropped. Kristin had almost forgotten that she was wearing only the tightlaced corset, the dark hose and the thigh high boots. The constricting leather narrowed her waist and lifted her breasts like two large succulent peaches on a serving platter. And below her waist, only the narrow crotch strap bisected her plump vulva and bare bottom. She still wore the long brunette wig. *

"Oh shit! " she muttered. "I forgot!"She blushed and turned her back, hands modestly trying to cover both her nipples and crotch, but as she turned she exposed her rump, rosy and crisscrossed with livid whipmarks.

"Kristin! that's awesome! I mean your ass! No, I mean the whole..We've gotta get a picture of your--no. no of course not! I mean.." Ray was babbling. Mirhat had let the laptop slide to the floor, also stunned by the erotic impact of Kristin's skimpy costume, more provocative, perhaps, than frank nudity.

She turned to face the two men. "Look. I'm sorry, I just forgot. Now, if you've both had an eyeful, let's get to work. And have you got anything I can--you know--put on? Cover my tits? And let me get rid of this wig."

Mirhat had unbuttoned his sheer cotton shirt, and with shaking hands draped it over Kristin's shoulders, then her breasts. He was fumbling with the buttons, or perhaps her nipples, when Kristin gently pushed him away.

"Thanks, Mirhat. But lets get to work now. The base is sure to know that we're gone by now, and may have guessed where I am." She pulled off the brunette wig, sat at her computer and began to type furiously, her bare bottom squirming on the hard leather office chair.

With one last glance at his star reporter's breasts, displayed like ripe peaches on a tray by the push up corset, Collins dialed the publisher, Walter Van Dieman, at his penthouse. He explained the story, the urgency, and the dangers for the paper if there were any errors. This was too big a call for him, he told the publisher.' Do we share this with the rest of the media, or wait until we have more facts, or what?' The publisher answered that he'd be there in ten minutes.

Mirhat called out in triumph from the laptop: "I'm in! My God! there's all kinds of codes here; i'm going to copy the whole memory and then sort through these documents, these lists, these emails. Wow! Heres one to Colonel Schmertz from one of the Pentagon undersecretaries, that torture guy Cambone. We've struck gold! Ray, write this up, and I'll keep diggiing."

Fifteen minutes later. Van Dieman entered. He was fiftyish, with the casual but commanding bearing and untroubled face that somehow conveyed great wealth. He nodded to Ray, did a smooth double take at Kristin's dark pink nippled breasts bobbing over her keyboard, and said: "So just what have we got?"

Two hours later they had plenty; enough to solidly implicate several Defense department higher ups, several generals, (Including the Guantanamo Bay commander) three Texas congressmen, a Senator from Idaho, many lobbyists, a Republican millionaire, an evangelist, Halliburton board members (it would turn out that they ran the kidnap ships) and the Attorney General.

Ray and Van Dieman had become quiet as the damning evidence from the computer files grew and grew. Kristin meanwhile was typinig furiously, engrossed in her own lurid account. Van Dieman said to the editor:

"Ray, we've got to be careful with this time bomb. If we don't get our facts exactly right, they'll blow us out of the water. Remember Dan Rather. We're playing against some of the most powerful people in this administration. But you know that. I think we have to share some of this."

"But Van~ It's our--I mean Kristin's scoop~ We can't just hand this to the TV bastards, can we?"

"Ray, I hear your disappointment. Don't worry. You'll get your scoop; the Star will be first. But just as soon as the presses roll--front page headlines, a clean scoop--then we'll leak to the networks. I'll call three honest senators--one's my brother-in-law--and several retired generals I can trust. The administration won't be able to spin this one! And by the way, get our reporters down to that shelter to get those girl's stories."

"Already done, Chief. And Kristin's got some awesome pictures of their whipped asses--uh, ordeal--, that is."

"Good work, Ray. And Kristin--my God, you're lovely tonight. Maybe we ought to get a shot or two of your--er--little prison outfit." He held up his hand. "Just kidding. But seriously, you've done an absolutely sensational job here. The story, of course, but also your personal heroism in getting those poor lovely girls out of that hellhole. Good things are going to happen to you around here, young lady--that's a promise!"

He looked at his Rolex. "Three thirty. We've just got time to make the morning edition! Stop the presses~ Tear out page one!" He grinned. "Ever since those great thirties movies I've always wanted to say that! And, by God we'll do it! blaring headlines! Your story will be left lead column, Ray. And your first hand account of your ordeal gets the right lead, Kristin. With your byline, of course." The Indian hacker was tugging at his sleeve ; "More letters, Mirhat? From Scooter Libby? Fantastic~"

Thirty minutes later, the job was done. Ray and Van Dieman read Kristin's sex saturated horror story avidly. "I see you've left nothing out!" (well, not quite. Kristin had severely edited the hours with Gretl before the escape.) "Don't change a word~ Magnificent"~ Van declared. "You deserve a hug!" Her shirt slipped off as the publisher pulled her out of her chair, hugging her with enthusiasm, one hand slipping down to caress her bare bottom. Flustered, she didn't resist when Ray hugged her too, and then Mirhat, his eyes gleaming. "This shirt! I'll never wash it"~ he whispered, sniffing the garment as he reclaimed it. There was an awkward pause. Van Deiman spoke:

"Well. A celebration is certainly in order. My penthouse. Champagne~ and food, God, I'm starved. I'll call my driver at once." Kristin felt his hot glance , threw her shoulders back and smiled at him. '0h, what the hell; he is such a nice old man, rich, handsome and apparently horny,too.' she told herself. He returned her smile.

"Ah, Kristin, this will be a 'come as you are' party. if you don't mind."

She did a subtle wiggle in the overflowing corset. "Of course not." she answered, fluttering her eyelashes, coquettish.

FINALE

The story hit Washington like a nuclear bomb. There were initial denials from the White House, the Pentagon, the CIA, everyone. But as the hard evidence and documents piled up, the malefactors began a disorderly retreat. There were resignations from congress, multiple courts martial; the general who had addressed the women on day one was broken in rank and quietly shipped to Wyoming, in charge of an obsolete gas mask depot. There would be no claims of 'a few rogue soldiers' this time; Rumsfeld himself was forced to resign.

But what of the specific actors in our story? SGt. Otto Schwartz limped off on his stiff knee to a seven year term in Leavenworth; the other guards received less severe penalties. Colonel Gretl Schmertz-- had disappeared. There was a massive coverup, conflicting rumors, but she was just--gone. One blogger insisted that she was being held in a military facility for the chronically insane, sedated, usually in a straightjacket or padded cell. This was of course denied. Another suggested that she had escaped. One late night comedian suggested that Colonel Schmertz was sharing the secret undisclosed location with Dick Cheney. *

Just rumors, of course, but as Kristiin knew, Colonel Schmertz wouldn't be the first politically embarassing figure to drop out of sight.

But all stories fade in time; hurricanes, earthquakes, floods, even bungled wars are often replaced with celebrity trials, kidnapped waifs, basketball scores, and all the other daily exitement--real or trivial--that the media serves up. There were vacant seats in congress, true, but many of those disgraced were now quietly employed by the munitions manufacturers and suppliers who had been part of the brainwashing white slave scheme.

It should be stated, though, that persistent FBI and CIA work found some of the sixty two missing victims from the prior classes so psychologically damaged by Schmertz. Six were found 'under the protection' (read: harem ) of a Saudi prince. Ten more were working in a Taiwanese brothel, most of the rest were never found, having disappeared into the snowy mountains of our '-stan' allies in central Asia.

And what of the women who shared Kristin's ordeal? Janeesha was back at her job as a social worker, albeit a somewhat famous one. It is rumored that her bountiful whipped ass can be seen on the Web. In this case the rumor is true. Her supervisor, Tony Ciallo, a middle aged balding career civil servant, has an extensive file: the pictures snapped by Kristin, but chiefly the pirated movies (taken by hidden TV cameras Schmertz had placed in the showers) from the torture camp itself, They were found by a government investigator after the camp was closed, copied and sold by the unscrupulous (and now very wealthy) agent and now on several porn sites. * Tony has watched Janeesha' ripe brown body stripped, cuffed, showered and whipped, her glowing, welted ass throbbing, on a nightly basis, and gets an erection every morning when she sways into his office reporting for work . Janeesha is dressing a bit more flamboyantly now after her appearance on Oprah; shorter tighter skirts stretched over her astonishing ass. And usually no panty line! Tony groans behind his desk. His hard on is painful.

Alice, the once shy librarian was perhaps the most affected by her hell camp ordeal and exposure. Kristin had interviewed her in the series she was doing for the paper: (Handcuffs! Chains! Nudity! Degradation! How delicious!~Every secret S and M aficianado in town could hardly wait for the next episode.) The next day at the library (attendance was up, she noted) she got a call from a Playboy editor, suggesting a photo spread. In good taste, of course, perhaps a coy pose with the handcuffs. The pay would be considerable. She thought it over: "No harm in doing the interview, I don't really have to agree, or anything; I'm in the public eye already. It might be fun." It was fun. The smoothtalking photographer convinced her that a little tasteful exposure--not serious nudity, he assured her--would enhance the shot. She felt a little ripple of recklessness, a trait she had been barely aware of before--before the whipping and all the rest. "Why not?' she told herself, and allowed the photograher to gently remove her blouse and pose her flirtatiously with her glasses and the handcuffs and a darling leather collar. What could be prurient about that? *

When the magazine came out Alice was deluged with phone calls, email, and a crowd at her branch library. She pretended to be shocked, annoyed; she hadn't realized how much of her showed in that harmless little picture, she protested to everyone she knew. But secretly she was delighted. Even as she coolly rebuffed her fans and admirers, she thought of doing it again, Well, probably not. A one time wild oats sort of thing, that was all.

But when the editor called again, begging, imploring her to do just one more picture; "We're doing a series on bondage, ropes, chains, and we want you to be our handcuff girl. We'll pay you twenty thousand dollars. Please say yes...", she had no trouble saying 'yes'.

The next photos called for full nudity--but very tasteful, he assured her again. Marco, the photographer, was very persusive--and handsome too.. None of that ugly, low life type bondage, that porn stuff, he insisted. Just a lighthearted look at the whole S and M genre. Again, Alice pretended to be doubtful, reluctant. "Are you sure that this will be --in good taste?" she asked as she undressed; full nudity this time. She was looking forward to the session, which seemed to go well; he threw in a few extra shots, a bit kinky--'just for good measure' and suggested that she had a real future modelling should she ever get tired of the library. She secretly agreed; she scarcely noted that she was not wearing her glasses and was just another naked blonde in handcuffs; she could hardly wait for next month's issue.

When it hit the newsstands she was both shocked and secretly delighted. again. They had used both photographs; no longer coy Miss Handcuffs, she was a blatant bondage bomshell! A bridge has just been burned, she thought. She was right.

* *

This time the furor was even greater; she had to change her phone number, email, and street address. And endure a fairly stern talk from the chief librarian, a warning, actually. But somehow, she didn't care. Somehow, she was revamping her quiet dutiful personality. It felt weird; it felt great. This time, she made the call to Playboy, talked to Marco the photographer, then an assistant editor.

"I have an crazy idea." she said. "It's just an idea, but maybe I could do a spread about a librarian. You know, we're supposed to be so prim and proper. We could shoot it in my library, and I'd be, well, kind of abandoned, sexy, you know. We could call it The Lusty Librarian. What do you think?"

He was more than enthusiastic, and set a date. Alice could hardly wait; in her apartment at night she stroked herself (something she had rarely done before), fantasizing. 'Little Alice, demure Alice--meet the lusty librarian! Yes! I've waited so long to be a little bit naughty!'

*

On a Sunday, when the library was closed, the whole camera crew set up, using the stacks as a backdrop. Alice enjoyed the whole scene: the hair stylists, the make up lady, the very expensive risque gown and dark stockings, the garter belt. And no panties! The photographer cautioned her:

"Look Alice, this is going to be steamy stuff. lusty, like you said. And nudity. You can do that, can't you?" She smiled sweetly and said ;

'I've done it before, haven't I? Why stop now? I'm in your capable hands."

'You better believe it, honey' Marco thought. He tried not to lick his lips. In the next two hours he filmed some of the best, the most salacious downright dirty work of his career. He was sweating as he posed Alice for the last shot, legs up, blond fringed labia winking at the camera. "Alice--this stuff is so hot that I'll need your OK before we publish it. Maybe you shouldn't..."

Alice was so totally swept up by the whole erotic atmosphere on the set that she brushed his suggestion aside.

'No need for that, Marco. I know you've captured the real me!" she almost giggled to herself. 'I'm talking like some drama queen!' she thought, then: 'Well what if I am? Maybe I'm going to be a star~'

Even so, she was overwhelmed when the issue finally came out. She was at once surprised and gleeful: Marco's photos would destroy the stodgy librarian image forever, she hoped. She was so hot, so provocative! 'I'm going to be the poster girl for literacy!' she thought, perhaps naively.

The next morning the stiff notice of dismissal sat in her mailbox. She was charged with unauthorized use of community facilties and failure to conform with the usual moral standards of the community. The outrage was clear just under the formal language.

Alice, now revelling in her new found randy devil-may-care persona, laughed and called Marco again. They had already been planning another Playboy series, a calendar, quite possibly a web site, "Browse with Alice."

Marco was more and more smitten with his unlikely new find: Client first, lover later, he hoped. 'God, these pictures are astoundiing!'

They were. *

*

*

And finally:

*

Alice's new life was well begun; she never looked back.

Unlike Alice, Colette had no personal second thoughts to contend with. From the very first days of her celebrity she planned every move. On the Oprah show she slyly depicted herself as the real heroine of the escape. Modestly, eyes demurely downturned, she described graphically her abuse at the hands of the guards she had so gallantly volunteered to distract. Her voice faltered she described her brutal search--"all four of them! It was... ..just..Oh I can't describe it!" But she did, under Oprah's sympathetic questioning. And she was just as graphic about how it had felt, tied to the jail bars as she was raped with the electric dildo, She quivered, very sexily, and sobbed. The audience, of course, took her to their collective heart; so did the 40 million viewers nationwide.

Colette had already hired an agent, a show biz type with a shady reputation, Mel Talwein. (She had gotten his name from her old madam.) Together they planned her campaign. He was enthusiastic:

"We gotta work fast! While your pussy's still tingling from that electrified schlong, so to speak. I'm talking to the San Fernando valley film makers, the porn guys. That's where the action and the big bucks are! If we act right now, we'll get you a six figure salary. maybe seven. And that's per picture!"

And that's how it turned out. Within weeks Colette was at work; the quickie film was titled The Perils of Blunder Broad. (The character was based on the adult--very adult--satire on the original Wonder Woman superheroine.) As in the graphic pictorial, Blunder Broad was repeatedly captured, tied or chained and violated in extreme bondage settings, only to escape, using unspecified escape artist expertise, and perhaps some semi magical powers. Her red white and blue costume appeared only fleetingly. Usually she had been stripped and ravished in the first five minutes of each encounter; she was blatantly bare assed'naked through the rest of her torments at the hands of aliens, Islamic terrorists, evil CEOs, dominating lesbian spies; It made little difference who the villain was, the savage complicated bondage and rape sequences were always nearly the same.

Colette was the ideal star for this kind of pornography, given the high profile her public record as cruelly abused national victim/heroine had

bestowed. Oprah one week, hard core porn three weeks later. The advertising campaign for the movies (there were to be three, ground out quickly, no rating) showed the just barely publishable scantily clad bound heroine. Within weeks the first movie hit multiple outlets: a few movie houses, but chiefly video tapes and DVDs (these frankly X or XXX rated.) Massive illegal downloading followed, of course.

On the set even the most seasoned porno stars were awed by Colette's professionalism, meaning that she looked forward to, eagerly embraced her brutal predicaments, her filmed degradation. Her secret was simple: she just loved to fuck. No one except her agent was aware of her prior career in prostitution; her specialty had been the kinky acts that she was now reprising, this time for a sensational salary, on the silver screen.

* *

It's Blunder Broad in the brief moments before she gets naked. In big trouble, of course. With decadent, delicious results. Here's Colette/Blunder Broad in a few outtakes from the three movies:

*

Painful--and delightful--ropes and ingenious bondage postures, of course. Confining shackles and chains. and much, much more--but see for yourself: * *

* *

Poor Blunder Broad! That tit roping really hurt! But Colette kept coming back for more. Here she is in a rare shot with her costume still intact--but not for long! Serious bondage is in store.

*

For instance: * That uniform didn't last long, did it? And then the clamps, the cuffs, the sadistic rope ties, the suspensions, the cage, the dildos-- Colette loved it all; every sadistic wildly inventive bout of painful bondage and the brutal intercourse and torture that followed. Just a few more outtakes. ....... *

*

And now the famous Hustler photograph that ensured Colette's lasting status as a porn star: cruelly roped and gagged, nipples erect. Her rabid fans kept watching and rewatching the three (and only) Blunder Broad films, so tacky that they achieved cult status, like the work of Russ Meyer. Colette was well on her way to being a very rich porn legend. *