Friday, 22 April 2011

Naughty Story

            The queue was long in the dark, dismal room.  People waited like sheep, standing in endless lanes, occasionally shuffling forward, only to continue with their lonely vigil.  ‘They’ were in charge; ‘they’ said when you could move forward to your fate.
            She looked around her nervously.  Officials in plain clothes stood around nonchalantly, but she knew that they were really secret police.  Cameras viewed them from every wall, watching for the slightest hint of change in the faces of the men and women, resigned to their fate.
What would it be like this time?  She glanced around her again, but he was not there.  Perhaps nothing would happen!  More people entered the room, their looks immediately compliant with their surroundings.  She shuffled forward again.  As the angle of her view changed, her eyes were drawn to the dark panelled door.  Her heart missed a beat, for she knew what lay behind that door.  She had been taken through it before.  She shuffled forward again, rounding one of the bends, when she saw him.  His back was to her but she would know him anywhere.  This tall, blond, muscular man in a plain white, short-sleeved shirt; the man who had first led her through the dark panelled door.
She stood there looking at the ground, trying not to call attention to herself.  Perhaps he would not notice her.  She looked at the long queue in front of her and as he turned and smiled, she knew the fate that awaited her.
“Come with me,” he said as he took her roughly by the upper arm and led her towards the panelled door.
She made a weak attempt at struggling, but it was more for show than as a serious attempt to break free.  There were looks of pity on the faces of the others, but also of relief that it was not they who were being led away.  Suddenly, boredom was what they sought.
She was pushed into the almost empty room as the blond man closed the door.  There was a large table in the centre with restraining straps at the four corners.  She backed up against the wall, a cold shiver running over her skin.
“Are you ready to hand over the book now?” he asked as he stood in front of her.
She stood silent, her eyes lowered.  He took off his shirt in readiness for the task ahead, his muscles bulging.
“I see that you’ve not yet come to your senses!”
He spun her round to face the wall, leaning her forward to balance on her hands.  She was paralysed in that position as his hands slid around her body and began to unfasten the buttons on her blouse.
“Are you sure you won’t hand it over?” he asked as he lowered her arms, slipped off her blouse and unclipped the catches on her bra, sliding it from her shoulders and dropping it to the ground.
He turned her round to face him.  She made no effort to cover her naked breasts.  His hands cupped them, squeezing the nipples.
“I do have ways of making you hand it over,” he said menacingly.
“Then you’d better do your worst, Claus,” she said as she threw her arms around his neck and pressed her lips onto his.
Her trembling body was obedient to every touch of his powerful arms.  His hands and mouth contorted her body until she cried out in ecstasy.  He easily picked her up, her limp body resigned to his will as he placed her on the table.  She obediently stretched out on the cold surface,   as he restrained her wrists with the straps.  Then his hands tore at the rest of her clothes until she lay naked, feeling the straps being tightened around her ankles.
Now he could slow down, teasing her body with his hands and lips, certain in the knowledge that she couldn’t escape.  She moaned at his touch.
“Please!” she begged; “Oh please!”
She thought of the people standing in the queue who would hear her pleas.  They would feel pity at a young girl being tortured.  If only they knew!  The door was not locked.  Anybody could just walk in and see her lying there spread-eagled naked on the table.  Perhaps they would join in with the ‘torture’ and Claus would have to let them, otherwise their secret would be known.  Her feelings grew more intense at this thought.
He lay on top of her and she gasped as he entered her.  He moved slowly at first, agonisingly slowly until her body strained at the bonds.
“PLEASE!” she begged.
The people in the queue would once again feel pity for her.  His movements grew faster and more powerful.
“Are you going to hand over the book?” he gasped.
“No! No! No!  Oh GOD, Nooooooo!
“Are you sure?”
Yes! Yes! Yes!  Oh GOD, Yessssssss!
Suddenly she was dressed again and standing at the front of the queue.  She obediently handed the book to the woman behind the desk.  The woman glanced at her, tearing out the first page and stamping the military insignia on it.
She picked up the book and returned it to her bag.  Putting her money in her purse, she headed for the front door.  The blond man held it open for her.  She tapped him on the arm and he bent down to hear what she had to say.
“You were magnificent!”
“Thank you madam,” replied the bemused man.  “We’ll see you again next week.”
“Oh I do hope so,” she said, as she left the post office and looked forward to the next pension day.


  1. Cute story. Unputdownalbe. More, please? Change "sprang", tho.

  2. Hi Virginia
    I use a UK English dictionary which gives 'sprang' as the past tense of spring (pp. sprung). I realise that US dictionaries differ from this. However, since you were so kind as to read my story, and kinder still to comment on it, I have changed the offending word. I have a book of shorties but not risqué as this is.