War Prize Ch. 01

She comforted herself with these thoughts, and in her mind's eye, brought forth a memory of Him. Of them together, the last night before He reported to His duty station, at the beginning of the end.

~~**~~**~~**~~

She paced in their assigned rooms, in the tower high above the city stretching out below them. She loved their rooms. She loved the views, the clear air, the large windows and the glass doors. A sign of His status in the government.

She paced in their assigned rooms. Her silver diaphanous gown billowing out behind her. His favorite of her dresses, it concealed nothing of her form from Him, but allowed Him the conceit of stripping her before He took her. She wore it for Him, to please Him, to offer what consolation she could in this dangerous time. He was at a meeting with the council, some kind of war planning. Getting His orders. In an acknowledgement of His status, His rank, He was allowed to return to her. But He would leave at dawn, in the vanguard of the response to the imminent invasion.

She paced faster. Her hands flying, winding together, and running through her hair. She went more quickly still, until she practically ran. She forced herself to calm. She went to the window, bracing her arms high above her head, pressing herself to the glass, peering out across the buildings below her. There was talk of evacuation. There were instructions about shelters, places to hide, places to be safe should the enemy breach this far. She knew the city was a prime target. Not the country's capital, but a major population center and strategic in other ways.

She paced, biding her time. She heard the telltale whine of the elevator, and soon the door opened. She was assailed by the competing impulses to jump into His arms, or prostrate herself before Him. He saved her the decision by striding to her and picking her up. They clung to each other, her arms locked around His neck, her legs wrapped around His waist, and His arms cradling her backside. He carried her to the couch and laid her down.

He opened her gown and gave Himself over to tasting her flesh. He touched her everywhere, holding Himself away from her. He used His fingers, tongue, lips, palms, to ignite fire in her, to enflame her in ways that no amount of water would douse. He marked her, with His hands and His teeth and she craved more. He brought her close, so close to relief, but then He stopped; He eased off. He watched her face, saw the desire, the need. He waited for the moment to subside, and then started again. She trembled under His hands; she shook under His mouth. Once again, when she neared her climax He denied it to her.

She stared at Him, her hands itching to touch Him, her mouth parched with want for Him. For His flesh, for His mouth, His member. She stared, laying on the couch, her limbs spread and arranged to His liking, her body open to His need. She saw that need in Him; didn't understand why He was denying Himself what they wanted.

He stood and stripped off his clothes. His erection jutting out from His pelvis, so hard, so proud. She licked her lips before she could stop herself. She moaned before she could school herself. She dug her hands into the cushion to still her impulse to reach for Him. He stood over her, bending slightly so she could look, adoringly, into His steel blue eyes.

He dropped a hand and traced a line on her cheek. She could feel how wide her eyes were, how wet, could hear her panting breath, and the first beads of sweat on her chest.

"You sustain me," He said. "I need this. I'll need to remember this."

He sat on the edge of the couch, folding His limbs, avoiding contact with her.

"You're so wanton. You're so full of lust. You're so beautiful, but especially like this. What will you do? What will you promise me? What depravity will you allow me to commit?"

With each of His statements and questions, her arousal grew beyond what she'd thought possible. Her craving for Him increased by orders of magnitude. She shook, though He didn't touch her. She moaned again, feeling the physical manifestation of her want dripping down her innermost flesh and pooling below her.

He had trained her in silence. Her heart thumped hard in her chest. She widened her eyes, arched her back, she presented her breasts to Him, for His touch, or suckle, or assault.

"Beg me," He said. "Tell me. Speak, now, heart of my heart. Give me your song to carry into battle."

She rolled off the couch, kneeling between His feet, face turned to His. She begged. She pleaded, with words she thought she'd forgotten. With a voice at first halting from disuse, but which rapidly softened, cleared, and began floating out of her. She begged, for His hand, for His mark, for His semen. For the power of His body pounding into her. She promised. She promised to debase herself, to accept anything, to accept everything. She did sing, after her fashion, the words rolling faster off her tongue as she perceived favor in His response. As He began moving with her, toward her, as He gripped her.

She laid back, on the floor, the space cleared for Him to work upon her. Her flesh His canvass, her moans and cries, her grunts and gasps the soundtrack to His art. He marked her. He took her. She gave herself over to Him completely, and she gave Him her voice, gave Him her heart in pieces.

When the sun set behind the city, and the lights came on in the other buildings, He brought her outside, to the balcony. He pulled off her diaphanous gown and let it fall twelve stories, carried away on the wind. He took her in front and behind. He took her mouth. He marked her yet again. Her cries and her moans and her occasional screams also drifted, on the wind or down, out across their city.

As the sun peaked back over the horizon, He prepared to leave.

At the door, He pulled her to Him. "I love you, heart of my heart. We will survive this together."

She whispered, "I love you."

When the end came, it was swifter than any of them had imagined possible. Those were the last words she'd spoken.

~~**~~**~~**~~

When she opened her eyes again, the light had changed in the tent. She must have fallen asleep, as unlikely as that seemed. She heard rustling off to the side and spied the man sitting again at that long table. Her stomach growled and her bladder felt uncomfortably full. She had a thought to soil herself where she lay, to act like the animal they'd treated her as. She dismissed that thought, and sat up, knowing the noise would attract the man's attention.

It did; he stood next to the cot. She felt the fullness in her bladder shifting, and heard soft beep. The man held a small device, roughly oval shaped, and as thick as his thumb. He pressed a button on it and the magnetic locks holding the chains to the ankle cuffs released. The man reached down and gathered the two chains into his hand, pulling up and stepping away from the cot.

"Come with me," he said.

Despite her hatred and her desire to thwart him, she found herself obeying. She stood, and after a few seconds to find her balance, they walked toward the back of the tent. A curtain made a partition of a rear section. On the other side of the curtain was a toilet and a shower stall. The man led her to the toilet and gestured for her to sit.

She did, and glared at him without attempting to use the facilities.

"Really?" he asked. "I'd hardly expect you to be shy."

She met his eye, unmoving. She wasn't shy. She was used to the absence of privacy, but only with Him. Only for Him.

"Fine," the man said, snorting and turning his back to her.

She let her bladder go, gritting her teeth at the sigh of relief that had almost burst from her. She completed her business, and felt a spray of warm water, washing those areas. Then a gentle breeze of air, drying.

'A bidet?' she thought, incredulous. 'How do they have bidets in camp toilets?'

She stood, once the air stopped blowing, and he led her back toward the cot. But instead of allowing her to sit or lie down on it, he moved her to the support pole in the middle of the tent. He took out the control fob she'd seen, and with a few buttons pressed, her arms were released from her chest harness, the forearm restraints detached from each other, then swung over her head. He positioned her under a cross brace, pulling her arms up with the chain.

He looked at her, appraising her, his eyes roving over all of her flesh. He walked around her, looking, she was sure, at her backside, her legs, and what he could see of her back. He came back in front of her, and she watched him stare at her sex, and then as his gaze travelled back up, pausing at her breasts, at her mouth, and finally meeting her eyes. He smiled then, and sat back in the chair.

He tossed the fob onto the table.

"Essie oh oh two," he said. She realized that what she'd been hearing as a name was actually her designation. She realized that what he'd been saying was 'S. C.' She rolled her eyes. How unoriginal. 'Slave Consort' becomes 'SC' becomes 'Essie'.

"So, one thing you should know," he continued.

She refused to look at him. She started past him, to the front of the tent. Another curtain prevented her from seeing the door, and there was a section shrouded well enough that it could be a separate room.

He cleared his throat. Her heart jumped, and her loins flooded. That sound. She'd been trained so well by Him. It was so close to the sound she was familiar with. If He cleared His throat like that, it meant she was about to be punished. Her behavior needing some kind of correction. She stifled a smile.

He cleared his throat again, and she looked at the man finally. He'd picked up the fob, and when she made eye contact with him, that device imbedded in her began to vibrate, softly, subtly, but enough to exacerbate the feelings in her groin. She continued to look at the man, and a slight tingle of electricity emanated from the same place. A single pulse. She couldn't help but widen her eyes. He nodded, minutely, and the device quit.

"There is much I need to explain to you. But the first thing you should know is that you are no longer a prisoner of the New Gallatian Empire." He stood in front of her, and she noted how he towered over her. Her head would barely reach his chin.

He reached out and cupped her jaw. "No, you are the second with your designation, and as such, you are my personal chattel. As soon as you entered this tent yesterday and I signed the acceptance. You," he stopped to squeeze her chin slightly, tilting her head up to look at him, then sliding the back of his hand over her cheek. "You are my war prize. My reward for a job well done."

He let go of her, stepping back and sitting again. He shook his head. "That they found you. Honestly, it astonishes me. When I was told. When I was given the opportunity to request."

He shook his head again. "I threw a bunch of requirements together. Granted, of course, they were all attributes I prefer in my women. But the odds that anyone would be found to meet them all. When I got notice that the orders were being carried out. That you had been recaptured and were in processing."

He shrugged. "The irony." He looked hard at her, and she returned his stare. He stretched his legs out, his hands clasped loosely at his lap. "One of my requirements was a woman who had attempted to escape multiple times. I thought... Well, it doesn't matter what I thought. But that was it. That was the last piece. Imagine, if you hadn't run off that last time? Where would you be."

She narrowed her eyes. 'Where would I be,' she wondered. 'Would I be dead by now? Have I prolonged my torment by trying to end it?'

"So," he said. "Understand this. You are my personal property. You are my personal responsibility. I am required to see to your basic needs. I am prohibited from intentionally killing you. Unintentionally? They didn't say one way or the other. I am allowed to use you for any duty I see fit. In any manner I choose."

He stood suddenly, coming close to her. His voice dropped to a low growl, and her body responded involuntarily. She closed her eyes against the flood of memory this man triggered in her. "Any manner," he said, hoarse and needful. "You belong to me. To my use. For my enjoyment."

He stepped back, then turned to gather a few items from the table. "You should understand this, too," he said as he faced her again. "Right now, I don't care whether you speak. But you will attend to me."

He came close to her again, and with a practiced hand, affixed a sticky metallic pad to each of her breasts. Then he placed another pad on her stomach, just below her navel. He added fine chains to a hook in the center of each pad, so that each one was connected to both the others. Then he picked up another device from the table, which had a long lead. He connected the other end of the lead to one of the chains.

He picked up the other fob, and she felt the electrical pulse again, just above and deeper than the sensation of the clamp on her clit, but somehow transmitted directly to those nerves. Those electrical pulses continued, increasing in intensity slightly, in a pace consistent with her heartbeat. She felt every part of the internal structures of her clitoris pulsing in time. She felt the increased blood flow to her labia, and felt her vaginal muscles pulse along. It was a subtly pleasurable feeling; she felt herself moistening, lubrication beginning to flow. She breathed in deeply, savoring the feeling, but still unsure of what else was to come.

He looked at her, holding the other device. "I'm supposed to punish you, now. For running away. I have to be seen to be punishing you. Do you understand? If it's not known that I've punished that transgression, someone else will take that on for me. You'd like that less."

He twisted, looking toward the curtained off area at the front of the tent. "Corporal!" he shouted.

A young man burst through the curtain. "Yes, General. Yes, sir?" he asked.

'A general,' she thought. 'Figures.'

"Is Tango squad here?" the man asked.

"Yes sir, and the Colonel, sir."

"Good, send them in. She's ready."

While they waited for the witnesses to enter, the General came close to her again, making eye contact with her. "This will be a genuine chastisement," he said. "But the, let's just say, the optics are the important part. Give them a good show, and this won't take as long."

She kept his gaze, believed she understood his meaning. She had less than a minute to decide whether she would acquiesce to his implication. The men from the squad who'd recaptured her came into the tent, gathering loosely together just behind the General. She met each of their looks. Only the Lieutenant looked her in the eye. With them was a sixth man, older, his hair going to grey. He had a large version of the ubiquitous tablets and was in the process of calling up some program or other.

He and the General acknowledged each other.

"Colonel Baker," said the General in front of her. "The prisoner will be punished for her attempted escape, with these men and yourself as witnesses."

"Yes, General Toms. I understand this was her fourth attempt."

"Fourth? Really. I'd heard it was the third."

"Sir," began the Lieutenant, "we were told that when she was found with the survivors of the city assault, she did not surrender with the others. Apparently, she hit one of the men with an iron bar, something from the rubble. She had to be chemically restrained before she could be brought to the camp."

"I wasn't informed of that, Lieutenant." The General looked at her and she thought there might have been grudging respect.

She shook her head. 'You will not curry favor with these barbarians. You will not care what these spineless invaders think of you.' She closed her eyes.

"Ok, then," said the General. "Are we ready?"

"Yes," said the Colonel. "Recording and broadcasting as of... now."

When the General spoke again, it was with the same intonation and clear enunciation as the Gunnery Sergeant had used at the beginning of her most recent processing.

"SC-002, you have committed multiple violations of the code of conduct for chattel prisoners of the New Gallatian Empire. Included in your offenses are multiple counts of assault on soldiers in performance of their duties, multiple counts of attempting unauthorized movement, as well as three formal counts of attempted escape. Had you any other designation, your punishment would be death. However, due to your current designation as Slave Consort, and your status as the personal property of Brigadier General Sydnor Curran-Toms, lethal punishment is forbidden. Your sentence is commuted to behavioral recalibration via electrical stimulation."

His last words had barely sunk in when the implanted device began vibrating and sending stronger pulses through her. She felt her body betraying her again, as the telltale tension grew in her stomach. She shifted onto her toes, relieving some of the strain in her arms.

General Curran-Toms flipped a switch in the larger device that he held, and pain shot through her breasts and collided in her stomach. The pain and the pleasure coursed through her. The electricity was stronger than what He used, when He played these games, and the orgasm induced left her breathless. She babbled, barely aware of her surroundings. In her heart, she knew her circumstances were meaningless; she would endure, and she would find another way to fight. She grunted.

The surge stopped. She stood herself up again and looked at each of the seven men in front of her. She felt more powerful than all of them combined. What did these cowardly boys beholden to a craven government know of honor or integrity? She glared at them in turn. The Lieutenant turned away from her. The Sergeant returned her glare with his own hatred.

Then she looked at the Major General, who claimed she was his property. She tossed her head back, defiant, throwing his suggestion to act cowed back in his face. He shrugged infinitesimally. He adjusted the device and hit the switch again.

The world went black.

++~~++~~++~~++

When she regained consciousness she was back on the cot. She was arranged on her side, her legs bent to support her, and her forearms once again folded on her stomach. Her every muscle and joint ached. Her throat was parched, sore when she swallowed. Her eyes were crusty and her head throbbed. She moved her feet, and heard the chains rattle, she twisted and saw that her ankles were locked together, and then affixed to the foot posts of the cot. She attempted to sit up, but this time another chain was attached to her collar, and it prevented her from rising.

But once again, the sound of her movements had attracted the General's attention, and he walked over to her. He carried a chair in one hand, and a large sealed bottle with a thick straw in the other. He placed the chair near the cot, level with her torso, and the bottle on the ground. He sat and she attempted to roll over, to turn her back to him. But the attempt caused more pain to flare up in her body, and the chain at her neck thwarted the movement.

The General placed a hand on her temple, and she deigned to look at him. His touch tricked her, at first, into feeling comforted. His touch, so similar to what she had been used to. The care and concern in evidence after a training session, the affection after discipline.

"I didn't actually think you would play along," he said. "I would have been very surprised."

She shook her head. 'What is it?' she thought. 'What is it about this man that it so familiar. How can he act like he knows me? Like he has any understanding.'

She knew she couldn't escape his touch, but she did draw her head into her shoulders, disengaging from him as much as possible. He left his hand on her cheek as he reached for the bottle on the floor.