Overlord Ch. 02

Story Info
Winston gets spanked, and a bit more. Julia watches.
4.6k words
4.23
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1

Part 2 of the 7 part series

Updated 10/30/2022
Created 02/20/2015
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Hellball
Hellball
39 Followers

The next morning, Winston found a ball of paper crinkled up on the floor of his cubicle. Once opened, it read "Thanks." He peeked out of his cubicle and down the hall toward Tech Support. Julia was sitting there, her berry-red lips pursed in concentration as she typed away. During lunch break, Winston left the cafeteria on pretence of needing the bathroom and snuck over to Julia's empty desk. He tore off a sticky note and wrote "Movies" in carefully nondescript handwriting. He stuck it to her keyboard and went back to finish his spaghetti and meat balls.

The closest movie theater was near the border of Winston's neighborhood, a stone's throw from the line of red paint that crossed the pavement. Winston talked a couple of other workers into going to see whatever random comedy was on this afternoon, so as to remove suspicion. For the second time in a day, he pretended to need the restroom, and snuck away from his escorts when the movie was done. He waited by the entrance, obscured by the crowd, until he saw a familiar head of short, glossy black hair poking up between the taller patrons.

"Julia," he said in mock surprise.

She turned around, spotting him between the other people, and smiled cautiously. "Oh, hello."

She gave him a nervous, half-questioning glance, which he answered by walking up to her. "I seem to be running into you a lot," he said, "here, we were going to go to the cafe for a snack before curfew. Would you like to come with us?"

He introduced her to his coworkers and they smalltalked their way through a light meal. Eventually, the others left, and it was just the two of them.

"I live right across the street," Winston whispered as he opened his mouth to finish his club soda, eyes flicking carefully around to make sure no one was listening. Julia gave a very subtle nod, her needle-sharp eyes lighting up for a moment under her black, painted lashes. They separated upon leaving the café, and she followed him at a convincing distance to his apartment complex. He was waiting for her at the door of his own apartment, head twisting around to spot observers. She quickly hurried inside, and he shut the door behind them.

For a long, tense moment, the only sound was the second-hand of the clock. Julia looked around the room, her bright green irises flicking from the small cluster of armchairs to the TV to the window. Winston kept his eyes on her, wondering if she was about to pull out a nerve pistol and badge.

"Hi," she finally said.

"I've been meaning to ask," Winston replied, deciding that if he had already gone so far as to have a woman alone with him in his apartment he might as well break another minor rule or two, "where did you live before?"

"What?" She looked surprised, then blushed a little across her petite yellow face. "Oh. I'm from Singapore."

They each waited for the other to paralyze them. Fifteen seconds later, Julia broke the silence "You're from Jamaica?"

Winston almost resignedly nodded his head, walking around the room toward one of the chairs. She remained standing, regarding him with shy curiosity. She could still be an undercover Disciplinarian; he had heard that they sometimes prolonged the charade to trick you into racking up higher and higher point counts. At this point, though, he'd be screwed either way.

"Yes, Kingston. My family moved to London when I was in secondary school."

"I see," she said, still eyeing him and his living space with apparent caution. Then she smiled a little and gave him a coy look out of the corner of her eyes. "Good thing you kept your accent."

Winston raised one, thick eyebrow.

"It's cute," she explained.

"Uhuh. Is that supposed to be a compliment?"

She shrugged her dainty shoulders. "Its just true."

Winston allowed himself a half smile as he sat down in one of the easy chairs and motioned for her to do the same. Since he didn't really have anything to add about his allegedly adorable dialect, he said "Singapore. You're used to a system like this one, then?"

Julia chuckled a little bitterly and shook her head, making her hoop earrings sway. "Not really," she said, "Singapore canings only happened to men. And not nearly as often as Overlord's."

Speaking of cute accents, she pronounced it "oh-vuh-load." It made Winston smile and think of another, similar word that we wished would happen to Overlord's processors.

"So," she said, apparently thinking along the same lines as himself, "you were in Europe when it happened?"

Winston nodded yes. "The United Kingdoms were one of the firsts to fall, after it took over Sweden."

"Of course," Julia said solemnly, "we surrendered after China and Japan. There was no one left to protect East Asia."

That was pretty much what Winston surmised. The European war computers had been compromised first, due to their proximity, but the rest of the world followed only shortly. He wondered for the millionth time what had happened to those poor fools in Sweden who unleashed Overlord. Had it killed them as soon as it achieved self-awareness, or were they still alive somewhere, living under the same conditions as the rest of humanity? If the latter, he hoped for their sake that Overlord kept the secret from their neighbors.

This rather more serious train of thought led Winston back to practical matters. "Curfew starts in half an hour," he cautioned, remembering the fate that had befallen Maria for this very offence yesterday.

Julia smiled a little mischievously, which made her lips seem even fuller. "Don't worry, I break curfew almost every night. I'm very sneaky."

Okay, that sounded a little too much like foreshadowing. Winston narrowed his eyes. "How sneaky?"

She smiled again. "I lived in a bad neighborhood in Singapore. I used to slip passed the gangs every time I stayed out late."

"If there were gangs, why did you stay out late?"

"The same reason I came with you today."

Their eyes met, his deep, dark pools catching her green stones.

"You like taking risks, then," Winston said, deciding that he had been beating around the bush more than long enough, "but what about me made you leave the note? Aside from my accent."

She leaned her head to the side, one earring lying flat against her head. "You're very polite," she said slowly, "most people in the office are assholes to tech support. You seem much smarter than the supervisors; you should probably have Mr. Montag's job."

Winston allowed himself to chuckle at that. He supposed that was a compliment, although if you asked him anyone else should have had Mr. Montag's job.

She pursed her lips thoughtfully. Wow, they really were full. "I can't quite think of the main thing," she said, "you're just interesting."

"You love me for being interesting?" He laughed again. "Either you're very bored with most people, or you fall in love a lot."

"I'm very bored with most people. And my note got your attention, didn't it?"

He felt his nerves beginning to warn him again. If she was setting a trap for him, this was probably it.

"If I said anymore about that," Winston said, leaning forward to look at her expressions more carefully, "I could get spanked for it."

"And I could get spanked for telling you about the note. We both take risks."

Winston could see no deception in those energetic eyes of hers. Slowly, he accepted that she was probably for real.

"Would you like some chocolate?" He asked.

Her eyes lit up. "Oh, now THAT can get you a real spanking."

He nodded grimly. "There's a good black market in this neighborhood. Chocolate, champagne, I even got some herb and tobacco. Do you smoke?"

She shook her dainty head. "No. But I eat chocolate."

He got out of his chair and opened one of his cabinets, taking out the DVD case that contained his half-finished Dutch chocolate bar. Julia smiled eagerly when he took it out, and her grin became almost childlike when he handed her a square. Soon, two glasses of champagne had been poured as well.

"I think I'm getting a promotion soon," Julia enthused as she sipped down the last of her champagne, "even Montag said I'm the best techie."

"Congratulations," Winston said, pouring her another glass, "I think I'd rather stay where I am. Any higher up, and resource analysis gets too impersonal, and Ms. Gattaca is fine to work fo-"

A loud, angry knocking filled the air, making both of them jump in their seats. Winston and Julia both stared at the door, heartbeats getting louder. The knock repeated itself, even more urgently.

"Hide," Winston mouthed at her, eyes wide with fear, "the closet. Under my coat." He pantomimed hiding under the coat, and Julia swiftly and silently darted into the closet. Somehow, even with the fear of who or what was banging on the door seizing his brain, Winston's eyes were drawn to the back of Julia's pants, and how the two juicy orbs bounced up and down beside one another as she scrambled for cover. Damn, what was wrong with him? He rolled the champagne glasses under an armchair and stuffed the mostly-eaten chocolate bar into his pocket before lurching over to the door.

"Top o' the evening, studmuffin."

Winston stood very straight and made his face very neutral. "Good evening, ma'am."

Disciplinarian Laura O'Brien filled the doorway, the green corporal stripes on her breast glowing brightly in the dusk. Her straw blonde hair was hanging loosely down to her neck today, and her freckled, sun-dried face looked impatient. Without another word, she strode passed Winston and into his living room. He took a step back to avoid brushing against her wetsuit-like uniform.

"Can I help you, Officer?" Winston repeated, turning in place to face O'Brien. She looked suspiciously around the room, blue eyes darting from door to closet to cupboards. She turned her back to him for a moment, forcing him to pay attention to the glowing corporal stripes across her buttocks. O'Brien's build was more athletic than anything else, but it was built around a very feminine shape. Her hips flowed smoothly outward before coming back into her thighs, and her largish bottom was round and protruding, its curvature highlighted by the stripes. He quickly raised his eyes when she turned back around, making sure they didn't stop again on her chest stripes.

"I received a good citizen's report," she drawled, her crystal blue eyes locking onto his, "You wouldn't be helping someone break curfew, would you babe?"

Her voice grew a little slower and more sinister at the end. Winston kept his practiced calm up, though his heart was thumping. They didn't have built in X-rays, did they?

"I bade my coworkers goodbye before coming home, Ma'am. I was getting ready to-"

She suddenly leaned forward, putting her face just inches from Winston's, and inhaled deeply through her nose. Winston flinched back, but it was too late.

"What's that on your breath, mind telling me?" The beginnings of a catlike grin were beginning to play at her mouth. Like Julia, she was wearing bright red lipstick.

"Very strong apple juice," Winston thought quickly, "I think its starting to get old." His outrage at having this woman barge into his living room got the better of him, and he felt compelled to add "it's a good thing I work in resource allocation. I can do my part to solve this problem and safeguard our great society from stale food products. Ma'am."

Her blonde eyebrows sank, narrowing her eyes. She smiled grimly, as if accepting a challenge. Keeping her eyes on his, she reached down to her leather belt and flicked a button, turning off her audio/visual recorder.

"We're off the record now, sugar," she said, her lipsticked smile widening, "so let me tell it like it is."

She stepped around him, circling his body like a shark. He turned quickly to not expose his back, hoping she didn't happen to look at the closet at the wrong moment.

"There's reports of someone hiding here after curfew. If I breathalized you, your apple juice would read cidery. " She gave him a sidewise look. "Between this and that, I think I've got grounds to raid your apartment. You ain't got nothing to hide in here, do you sweetheart?"

She was grinning now, the same way she had when she accosted Maria yesterday afternoon. Winston searched her eyes for any sign of weakness. Shit. Shit.

"Of course," she drawled on, "you know that storing contraband on premises is a four hundred point offense. Intent to distribute is worth a night or six in the station, and in my professional judgment, I think you're the type of fella' who'd share the goodies around, if I found he had any."

Winston's mind raced. O'Brien stood imposingly before him, one hip sticking casually out at him. Her nerve pistol was on her belt, he could probably grab it if he was fast... but then what? He'd have a paralyzed Disciplinarian in his room and six or seven very mobile ones coming to look for her. The opportunity was lost when she started circling him again. Why did she keep doing that?

"Of course," she said, "you're a good boy, Winston. You've got no reason to say no if I wanted to search your apartment, would you?"

Winston immediately thought of some better places to hide his contraband when he could, but that wouldn't help right now. His jaw set, his eyes not daring to let go of the blonde woman's. Desperate for something to distract itself with, his mind tried to guess O'Brien's age. She looked like a well-kept forty to forty-five, but in City-71 that meant nothing. He wondered if Overlord made the Disciplinarians look a little older than the general public on purpose, so they would seem more authoritative.

"What do you want?" Winston finally asked.

O'Brien's shifting smile finally became the full, predatory smirk it had been threatening.

"I don't want to get you in trouble, sweet cheeks," she gloated, "but I wouldn't be doing my job if I did nothing when I suspect you've been breaking the law. It wouldn't be fair to Overlord, or to you; the rules are for your own protection."

He gritted his teeth. Winston could hear the hypocrisy in her voice. She didn't really believe a word of that, and she knew that he knew it, and she didn't care.

"So," she stopped circling and gave him a self-satisfied smile with her red lips, "you accept a good whupping from me, right here, right now, and I tell them I didn't find anything. Will you let me do this for you?"

Over O'Brien's shoulder, a pair of bright green eyes widened in the darkness of the closet. Winston took a big risk by glaring at them out of the corner of his eye, making them retreat fearfully back under the coat. Fortunately, O'Brien didn't notice. Winston thought fast, hoping O'Brien wouldn't get impatient and decide for him. He remembered all too well the last time O'Brien had had him over her lap, when she caught him in the alley with a woman... it wasn't a picnic.

Finally, with a defiant glare at her corn-fed face, he said simply "I accept."

There was a brief look of disappointment in her eyes, as if she had been hoping he would resist more. Tough beans, bitch. Her grin soon reasserted itself, though, and she sat down in his squishiest living room chair, which conveniently happened to lack armrests.

"Over here," she chortled, pointing at the floor to her right, "get that caboose where I can reach it."

Stifling his groans, Winston stepped up to her side. Funny how your place of residence stopped being "yours" the instant a Disciplinarian set foot in it. O'Brien brought her fingers up to his waist and started unbuttoning and unzipping his pants. There was a stirring over in the closet, as Julia changed positions. He wondered if she was retreating deeper into hiding, or creeping out to see what was happening. Soon, O'Brien's long, painted nails had undone his pants and dropped them down to his ankles, leaving only a pair of briefs around his chocolate-brown skin. She slapped her thigh, making a fleshy "smack" sound through her uniform.

"Bend over, hon. Let's see if you've been keeping that tushie in shape since last time." She took hold of his shirt collar and not-quite-gently pulled him over her lap. The feeling of powerlessness that Winston recognized from his last encounter with the law came back. Shame rose in his heart and brain as he felt the wetsuit-like material of her uniform against his naked thighs and her inescapable gaze falling upon his seat.

She squeezed his buttock, her fingernails sharp through the fabric of his briefs. "Let's make sure this is a lesson you won't forget," she said by way of explanation as she took her hand off his bottom and grabbed the hem of his briefs. Winston had been expecting this, and didn't give her the satisfaction of a protest when she pulled his underwear down to his knees. He squeezed his fingers against the carpet, keeping his eyes carefully on the floor. He turned up his imagination, conjuring seashores and waves and July suns, struggling to drown out the feeling of her eyes on his now-naked rump. He wondered how much Julia could see from her vantage point. Probably everything.

"Not bad," O'Brien's Southern drawl had gone quieter, more musing, "I see you've been excercizing. Nice and round. Good boy." He felt a strong, feminine palm pet its way down each of his cheeks, giving the thickest part of each a possessive squeeze. Humiliation turned to horror when he felt his manhood grow between his naked body and her skintight pants. That was the worst part he remembered from his last punishment, although then he had already been in an aroused state with his partner in crime and so he'd been able to rationalize it away. It was bad enough when he had this reaction to someone else's punishment. He felt his calm begin to break down as he wondered if O'Brien could feel that, and how she'd react if she could.

The soft material of her pants and the firm, springy flesh underneath were a stark contrast to her hand. The first slap left Winston marveling at how pitifully sensitive the human buttocks were; how vulnerable and uncovered those many nerve endings. Her soft fingertips and hard nails ran gently across the spot she had slapped before she landed the next one. Winston sucked in a sharp breath. She was taking her time, but she made each slap count. Miserably, he stared into the carpet, waiting helplessly for his bottom to finish paying the price. O'Brien's hand had a sharpness to it, a whippy snap that you wouldn't have expected from the way she rubbed him between the slaps. Sting turned to burning, burning turned to anguish as she rubbed less and slapped faster. Soon, her hand was coming down with every tick of the clock, alternating sides but keeping to the same, battered spot on the thickest part of each. Winston started hissing, his toes and fingers beginning to curl and uncurl as the sensuality vanished from her punishment. The slaps got louder, faster, and somehow angrier. He stole a glance at the closet. Julia was peering, wide-eyed, from under his coat. He looked back at the carpet, his pride unable to contend with this. When O'Brien finally stopped spanking, he was panting.

"Has my naughty boy learned his lesson?" O'Brien cooed from above, her hand becoming gentle once more as it resumed its tickling rub. Winston felt his hardness, pulled back into an unwilling life by her touching. Did she know his shameful secret? If Overlord really could, as some believed, read people's minds, would it share that knowledge with its agents? He couldn't bring himself to answer her until she pinched his sit spot painfully, her sharp nails digging into the place she had spanked.

"Ahhh! Yes. Yes I have, ma'am." He choked the words out through gritted teeth. Winston looked up at her over his shoulder; her face told him just how much she was enjoying herself as she let both hands crawl across his buttocks.

Hellball
Hellball
39 Followers
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