Overlord Ch. 02

"That's good to hear," she said, giving each cheek a harder squeeze, "but as long as we're doing this, let's do it all the way. Hold on there, honey, mamma's got just the thing."

She reached under his legs and pulled something out of one of her uniform's many pouches. He thought she was reactivating her audio-recorder at first, until he saw what she was getting. Oh no, you can't be serious. He had heard about Disciplinarians carrying illegal implements on duty, but he hadn't seen it before until now. That's why she turned off her recorder. She wanted to use that thing on me.

"This isn't quite what it says in the rules," she said cheerfully as she tapped the thick, oval-shaped ebony hairbrush against her palm, "but its all off the record, so no harm done." She gave his butt a few quick pats with her left hand while turning the hairbrush around in her right. "And to tell you the truth, I've been wondering how that nice thick booty of yours would get along with my brush." She squeezed him again, making him gasp. "Let's find out together."

She hasn't paralyzed me, he thought after the first, woody crack of the hairbrush made him jump in her lap and yelp, I'm stronger than her, unless Overlord has really changed them. I could get up and - CRACK! The second hairbrush stroke fell right on top of its predecessor, and his thoughts broke down into an involuntary yelp. And then what? He asked himself as she grabbed the flesh she had just beaten, as if to sample its heat, I try to fight the entire department? No, she had him where she wanted him, and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

Seemingly dissatisfied with the heat his bottom was putting out, O'Brien went into a frenzy, crashing the hairbrush into his upturned cheeks as hard and as fast as even a Disciplinarian could. Winston tried to count the strokes, but after either 12 or 13 he gave up. His muscles tried to propel him to his feet, but she held him down, her strength and his own better judgment just barely enough, in tandem, to keep him down. She must have looked like a southern schoolmarm, putting an unusually tall schoolboy over her lap. Or a plantation mistress, disciplining a slave. He started really howling, there being no point in holding onto his dignity. His head bobbed up and down. His limbs twitched. But to O'Brien, his agony was as distant and irrelevant as the last century's bus schedules. His face was wet and his fingers going white when, finally, she put the hairbrush away. Winston snorted back as many tears as he could. The pain had broken down, leaving his bottom numb. He wiggled weakly over her lap, not reacting when one of her hands petted his back and the other gently sampled his bottom.

"That's a lesson I don't think we'll be forgetting. Will we?"

She pinched him again, which made him jump off her lap and shout. She giggled at him like a teenager, then raised an eyebrow to show she was still expecting an answer.

"Y-yes... I mean no... ma'am," he wiped his face, "we... I... won't forget."

She nodded, smugly satisfied, as his hands went gingerly to his ass. Winston was in so much pain, he almost forgot he was naked from the waist down until she put a hand on each of his bare hips and pulled him forward again.

"In that case," she said, her blue eyes smoldering up at him above her swollen, blood-red lips, "I think you've earned a little reward."

She took one hand off his hip and placed it under his flaccid cock, giving it a curious squeeze. Winston tried to stop himself, but the sensation brought back the feel of her thighs under him, the sensual rubs and pats she had administered, and the sheer, mature sexuality of O'Brien's body in its skintight wrapping. She pulled him back and forth, keeping her nails carefully away from his skin, making him harder and harder. When he was nearly back to full length, she grabbed one buttock in each hand and pulled him into her mouth. He almost choked on his tears when her tongue and teeth found his most sensitive places, then almost choked again when she interrupted the pleasure with a painful squeeze of his bottom. Her eyes rolled up at him as she moved her head back and forth, her expression daring him to resist her.

The worst part was not knowing if he wouldn't, or actually couldn't.

When the pleasure grew, she'd squeeze back the pain with her fingernails on his spanked ass. If he started to grow flaccid, she sucked more eagerly, pushing her body forward in the chair to rub her ample breasts against his legs. Soon, she had crawled onto the floor, the better to press her entire body against his nakedness. He felt the pleasure turn electric, the familiar vibrations starting in his prostate. He was about to-

Sensing the nearness of his orgasm, she pulled her mouth away and gave his buttocks a final, cruel, two-handed pinch.

"I think," she said languidly, rubbing her lips and straightening her hair again, "we'd both be a lot better off if this stayed between us."

Winston's pain and unconsummated lust froze him as surely as a nerve pistol. O'Brien got to her feet and straightened her uniform, flicking the recorder back on. Unlike the rest of Overlord's technology, Disciplinarian audio-recorders were notoriously unreliable; no one would ask questions.

"Buh-bye, honeybunches. I'd put on some ointment." She closed the door behind her.

An unguessable period of time passed with Winston standing in his living room, one hand on his penis, the other on his rump. Finally, he got ahold of himself and pulled his pants back on, fighting the multiple instincts that told him otherwise. This was Julia's cue to come out.

"I'm sorry," she said pitiably, biting her lower lip, "Really, I'm so sorry."

"Not your fault," Winston said, his voice almost mechanical as he fought down his nervous system, "I knew the risks."

"I'll... um... I'll see you at work tomorrow?"

"Yes, tomorrow. Are you sur-"

"I won't get caught."

There was a long pause, when his tear-filled eyes met her sad green ones, when each felt like the other wanted to suggest something else. The moment passed, and she crept, silent and catlike, out the window.

Winston sighed deeply, covering his dewy face with his hands. What the hell was Julia thinking now? What could anyone in her position feel? She said she was sorry, but did she really mean that after watching him go hard and moan at O'Brien's touch? He tried to purify his hate for O'Brien, but the emotion was polluted with desire. He was helpless, as much a prisoner in his own body as he was in City-71.

Then he went into the bathroom to take care of a couple things.