D.O. Wilson Ch. 01: Innocent Bride

A wave of fatigue swept over me, and I swayed as I stood up. "I'm so tired," I whispered.

"All you have to do is lie there. Come on. Up you go."

"Please. Can't I just go home?"

"When we're finished. This argumentative nature of yours is going to get you in trouble one of these days."

Manny liked that I questioned and stood up for myself and wanted to understand, but my father wasn't so fond of what he called my contrarian spirit. I heaved myself up onto the table yet again and was trussed as before. I deflated in my exhaustion and lay limp while he gathered whatever it was he needed from his cabinet of mysteries.

He set his tray of tools out of my sight and used a control pad to adjust the table. My knees were forced back toward my head and my lower half was tilted up so that my bottom was completely exposed. The position was horrendously uncomfortable, and I tried to thrash. "What are you doing now?" I wailed, all my reserves of self-control drained.

"I won't penetrate you anally, though I am tempted, I admit. But I will begin your anal training so that when your husband wishes to use you that way, you'll be prepared."

"Anal—what?" I kicked my foot to little effect.

"Anal training. Some men specifically request that I do not do this, because they want control of the process for whatever reason. Your father was not clear, but he did say you should have the full program, as I mentioned. You'll thank me for this. The first few times can be quite painful if you haven't stretched yourself at all." He put gloves on again. "All I'm going to do now is introduce the smallest of the anal plugs. I suggest you wear it for several hours a day for a few days, and then try the next size up. There are four in total. By the time you're married, you should be able to take the largest one without too much difficulty. Unless your husband is particularly well-endowed, this should make his first penetration a breeze for you, and possibly even pleasurable."

"Manny wouldn't want to do that! He wouldn't!"

"And if he does? Trust me. It's better this way." He squeezed some lubrication onto two of his gloved fingers. "It's best if you relax the muscles rather than trying to keep me out."

"I just want to go home," I whined.

He probed at my anus with one finger, pushed through, and waited. I contracted the muscles involuntarily, and he responded by wiggling his finger and applying pressure up toward my vagina, then side to side, then down. Each motion caused a brief, sharp pain and then a sense of stretching and intrusion. I shook my head and jerked my arms, but I was unprepared for him to attempt to insert a second finger. "Just relax," he said again, as though if I heard it enough times, I would magically calm down. The added pressure at the tight ring of muscles became burning pain as he gained access.

"You said it wouldn't hurt!" I shouted.

"No, I don't believe I did. I said you should relax, which you are not doing." He rotated his hand, eliciting another shriek from me, then removed his fingers. From his tray, he showed me a sealed plastic bag containing four black objects that looked like pegs, tapering out to a flared base, with a groove behind it and then a handle. The smallest was no wider than two of my own fingers together, and less than three inches long, while the largest had to be nearly two inches wide and four inches long. He tore open the bag and selected the smallest one. "These are your anal plugs," he explained. "I'll insert this one now, and I'll order you to keep it in for at least two hours today. If I have to check up on you, I will, Claire. Remember, I'm doing this for your sake. I'll give you a schedule to follow, and since I can't trust that you'll do this solely on my order, I'll give you two options. One, you may send me photos each week of the plug inserted. Or, two, I can require you to visit the doctor once a week and have him confirm for me whether you've been doing as you're told. Which do you prefer, Claire?"

So much for my plan to simply throw these in the incinerator when I got home. Would they even burn? I wasn't sure what they were made out of. "I don't—Manny wouldn't—"

"It's not up to Manny yet, Claire. It's up to me and it's up to your father." He slathered lubricant on the plug and pressed the tip into my anus.

"Photos ... of ..."

"Of your ass, Claire. And no tricky business. There's a number on the handle that will tell me which size plug it is, and I will check the timestamps on the photos to make sure they're current." He shoved the plug into me. The pain was minimal, thanks to his stretching, but there was no escaping it, the sense of fullness, of something intruding where it didn't belong.

"I'll—I'll do it. Please don't make me send proof."

"I can also assign a proxy to insert it for you," he said as he discarded his gloves.

"A proxy? No! I can't—I'll do the photos."

"I thought you would. Just one a week, showing the new plug. There's no way you'll get this big one in without at least some practice. I do suggest you follow my schedule. Oh, and if I have any reason to doubt you, I'll insist on a video of you inserting it." He used the control pad to readjust the table, to my immense relief, so that my legs were still spread but not pushed so far toward my chest. I could breathe more easily, too, though the new angle changed the pattern of pressure from the plug and renewed my awareness of it. "I'll give you this, though, sweet Claire. If your fiancé can convince your father that you don't need the anal training—since you are adamant that he feels that way—then your father may petition me to release you from the requirement."

Surely Manny would do that for me! Surely my father would. Maybe he didn't realize he was asking for this when he said I needed the full program. "Thank you."

He was rooting through the cabinet again. "One last thing, and I'll send you on your way. You may have guessed that you did not earn a second orgasm."

I didn't even care. I just wanted to leave.

"Your wedding is far enough away that this may be somewhat moot, but it doesn't hurt to get you started and show you what's expected. You need to keep your pubic hair groomed for your husband. You may shave or wax. For now, I'll wax you, just the minimum requirement, and your husband will tell you what his preference is."

"Shave my ... you're going to—I can do that myself!"

"I hope you can, I really do. But I can't release you until I'm certain you are prepared for your wedding day." He didn't wait for me to respond—argue—just opened a tub of wax and set it in the warmer. "I'll also trim some of your bush. It's a bit unruly." He used an electric trimmer to shorten the hair, cutting away the curls and leaving just a dusting. I felt so bare and exposed, though I hadn't thought it was possible for him to embarrass me further. He'd had his fingers in my orifices, his penis in my mouth, and still he found ways to degrade me. "It may itch a bit growing back in. That will be your cue to trim it again." He applied the hot wax to the hair in the crease of my thigh and along my labia, waited a moment, and then ripped it away.

"Ow!" I cried, caught by surprise.

"Oh, did I not warn you it might be painful?" He smirked and continued tearing my hair out by its roots. I was certain he must be peeling my skin right off. "And we're done. Not so bad, right?"

My mouth hung open in incredulity. Not so bad? It had been the most horrible experience of my life! "Yes, it was bad!"

He shrugged and consulted his ever-present tablet. "Do you know a Bridget Jenkins?" He set the tablet down and uncuffed me from the table.

"Bridget? Yes, she's getting married a week after me." Was Bridget in trouble? I'd been stuck in that cell for three days and had no idea what had been happening in town.

He helped me up and handed me my clothes. "Get dressed. Yes, I know she is. I have a feeling I will not be able to find proof of her virginity. I suspect her day will be considerably worse than yours."

I flew into my clothes, never more grateful for the modest outfits my father stuffed me into. "Oh." I believed that, actually. I'd seen her and Tran sneaking off together more than once. Not that I would have said anything. "What are you going to do to her?" I asked out of morbid curiosity and a desire to know I wasn't the worst offender.

"The punishment for fornication is quite severe, I'm afraid. But it's up to her to tell you about it if she wants to. Are you good friends?"

Poor Bridget. I wondered who had caught her. "Not really."

"I can say that her bridal class will, by necessity, be more comprehensive than yours."

I didn't want to contemplate what that might mean. The anal plug still sat quite obtrusively inside me, though I was just as glad to be fully clothed.

"I'll walk you back to the courthouse and hand you over to the local E.O. Come." He ushered me back out into the searing sunlight. "Fuck, it's hot here. How do you people live with this? District 1 is much cooler. Probably because it's closer to the ocean, eh?"

I'd never been outside of District 5. "I don't—have you seen the ocean?"

"I have." He smiled and led me across the yard and back inside the welcome coolness of the courthouse. "A perk of my job is all the travel. I've seen all six districts. Everyone has something interesting to offer. Your orchards are the most green I've seen anywhere. I envy you the fresh oranges."

He was behaving like a completely different person than he had been inside the trailer. I didn't know what to make of this friendly, conversational D.O. Wilson. "My father owns one of the larger groves," I said, allowing some pride into my tone.

"Please give him my compliments. Here we are." He delivered me to the Enforcement Officer who had stuck me in that cell in the first place. "E.O. Chen, she's all yours. She's free to go back to her father. I suggest she be kept away from her fiancé until their wedding." He turned to me. "You'll receive your anal training schedule and information about how and where to send your photos in your mailbox. Any questions before I leave you?"

"No. But why do I have to stay away from Manny?"

"So that there will be no suspicion, of course. You can talk to him in a public area, but it's best if there's no chance of you ending up back in my trailer, wouldn't you agree?"

I shuddered at the idea of ever seeing the inside of that truck again. "I understand."

"Good. I'll go clean up. E.O. Chen, you'll send me Miss Jenkins next?"

"Of course, D.O. Wilson."

Wilson nodded to me and headed back outside.

"Should I have your father come get you, or do you prefer one of the guards to escort you home?" Chen asked.

I had no desire to see my father at the moment. "I'll take the escort," I said.

"Certainly."

****

I returned to my trailer cursing my own integrity. Claire had been too believable, but I'd had other girls who were under far more suspicion, a few, even, whose own fiancés had sent them to me to investigate whether they might have been with some other man. My predecessor had finally given in to the temptation to take the virginity of a suspect and then report that she was guilty of fornication. That was how he'd lost his job, of course.

It would be so easy. And a girl like Claire, so sweet and pretty. What would it be like to be the first to bury my cock in her? I'd examined my share of virgin pussies, but I'd never gotten to partake of one myself. To do that, I would have to get married, I supposed. No, I believed too strongly in the value of my duties and the importance of a young woman's protecting her own virtue to risk my job and my reputation that way, not to mention the validity of the Commissioner's whole system.

At least with the less honorable ones, I could indulge. Little Miss Bridget Jenkins, for example, was about to find out what happened to young maidens who thought their virginity was something they could give away on a whim.

I cleaned the table and the bench and squared everything away, then awaited the knock that would announce my next subject.