Chained and Chastened

Gulping, the young guard made the call. The sleepy major growled into his phone: "What authorization? I said.."

"It's a very scary lady bird colonel, sir; she said 'tell Vurstmann that it's Gretl.'"

The officer grumped. "Thought it was tomorrow night. You may proceed. Wait! One more thing. Check the back of the van and check the---cargo. I'll hold."

Bewildered, the guard opened the rear door of the windowless van. It was crowded with miserable naked or near naked handcuffed women, most of them lovely, though bedraggled. One awesome black figure leaned towards him, magnificent ass almost thrust in his face,meaty thighs spread. He gulped again. "What the matter boy" Aint you never seen any righteous black pussy? Janeesha demanded.

* He shut the door as fast as he could and hurried back to the phone. "Sir! Sir! That van's full of naked women with handcuffs and all!"

"Settle down, son. Thats the --appropriate cargo. Top secret mission, Can't discuss it. You did the right thing to call me. Now, open the gates."

Now thoroughly cowed, the young soldier nodded permission for the leather clad figure to pass. She coolly returned his salute and Maria gunned the big vehicle through the triple set of gates.

"We're out!! We're free!" Maria was pounding on Kristin's arm. From the back of the van there were mufffled cheers. Kristin wore a broad grin as well. They had done it! Well, almost.

"Drive another half mile. Don't speed. They might be tracking us with radar, routine. Pull in behind that warehouse on the right. We're not out of the woods yet," They unloaded the van, the women hastily dressing. They were noisy, exultant, cheering for Kristin. She held up her hand.

" Listen to me. One more time. This thing goes way up. Senators, generals, the White House, I don't know yet. So: until I get my story written none of us are safe. Don't go home tonight. I mean it. Theyve got a total profile on all of us. Gretl--I mean the colonel --knew all kinds of stuff about my personal life--but never mind that." Alice wondered again: just what had happened between Kristin and the evil Schmertz for those missing three hours? Kristin continued. "I need about four, maybe six hours until my paper hits the streets. Where can we..."

Janeesha spoke up, "I think I got it. There's a battered women's shelter I work with, totally anonymous. We'll be safe there. It's about ten minutes from here." KIrsten beamed. "Outstanding! Let's go!"

Fifteen minutes later the prisoners, still buzzing from their apparent escape, were settling in, safe in the anonymous shelter. Mrs. Grayson, the calm tall African American who ran the refuge was conferring with Janeesha. Kristin was on the phone with her night editor, Ray Collins, her voice nearly incoherent with excitement as she tried to convey the enormity of the story:

"It's bigger than Watergate! bigger than Iran Conta! Hell, bigger than Monica's butt! Meet me at the office, and bring Mirhat, that computer nerd. If he can hack into this laptop, weve got more than white slavery, damsels in distress and a few bent officers, we've got some of the really big guys by the balls! "

Her enthusiasm was contagious. Collins was excited at once; he promised to have two rewrite guys and a couple of reporters by the time she got there. "Kristin! Lose that army van! Don't drive it; They probably have an alert out on it already! I'll send a limo." he ordered.

Kristin sat back, heaved a deep contented sigh. This was going to work! And now her baser reporter instincts resurfaced. My scoop! She approached her fellow escapees. Some had showered (warm showers, this time) most had shed their hastily assembled military clothes and were decompressing from their ordeal, lounging in the center's large shabby living room. Most were wearing castoffs from the clinic donor's bin; shorts, t shirts, denims, robes. Kristin approached with some hesitation.

"Sisters. Can I still call you that? I think we're going to make it. I have one more little favor to ask. You're all going to be in the news, whether you like it or not. I would just ask that you let the Star--that's my paper--

reporters talk to you first. You don't need to; you don't have to say anything, l will respect your privacy, not like those TV bastards that will be shoving cameras in your face tomorrow. What do you say?"

Most of them nodded; they owed Kristin at least that. Maria, Angie and Colette were enthusiastic. So was Janeesha. Kristin swallowed.

"One more thing. The punishment you took, the cuff marks, the whiplashes, these things fade. I know its a lot to ask, but I need to take some pictures for evidence right now. Tonight. Anyone?" "No way" someone said.

"I just want to forget this whole scene" said another. But there were a few takers. "I hate this" Alice said. "but we've got to help Kristin put these bastards away. I'll show you my whip marks. I was the first, remember?" She shyly lifted her skirt. The welts were livid on her pale ass cheeks. All the women gasped. Kristin, trembling, clicked the tiny digital camera. *

Janeesha was next.. She stood, shrugged off the bathrobe she had borrowed, bent over, and turned her massive rear end to Kristin. She had endured a savage beating, her splendid ass criss crossed with technicolor stripes. "Just don't show my face, baby!" she said.

* 'Kristin's hand trembled again as she clicked the shutter.

Janeesha was slow to put her robe back on. Elsie whispered to Marie: "Janeesha's a wonderful person, but she sure is quick to show her ass, ain't she?" "I think they call it bootie." Maria whispered back. Janeesha's ample display broke the ice. Fully half of the victims, some shy, some proud and angry (especially Colette, who demanded a full frontal view of her violated pussy) posed for Kristin's little camera, recording a gallery of welts, chafed wrists, deeply splotched rosy bottoms. MY god! Kristin thought. We can't possibly use these in the paper! But later, in court..."

The limo had arrived. After quick goodbyes (a special hug for Janeesha} she got in the big car, the driver gawking at her long leather coat, now gaping open. She realized she had been too keyed up to change out of the sexy S and M gear. Oh well. The military van had been abandoned in a near empty Wal-Mart lot; untraceable, she hoped. Even as the limo headed downtown, two Army Humvees sped past in the other direction. Kristin ducked down and shuddered in anticiption in her leather coat. Oh wow! This was going to work! A teetotal once in a century scoop!

THE SCOOP

At the Star editorial office Ray and Mirhat, the computer genius, were eagerly waiting for her story. She blurted it out, words tumbling over one another in her excitement. Mirhat almost pulled the computer out of her hands, so eager was he to challenge the code and hack in.

"Calm down" Ray said, gently steering her to her desk. "Here's where we're going to go with this. I agree, this is the biggest scoop any of us has ever worked on! Now, I want you to write your eyewitness account, make it as personal as you can, real sob sister stuff. Naked women in chains! Secret government plot! Make it sexy and sensational--but I don't have to tell you that. Meanwhile, I'll do the factual article, what we know, what we suspect, and if we can get into those files, a hell of a lot more. Why don't I take that heavy coat and those gloves......"

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.