Victoria's Secret: War Whore

Victoria smiled as she admired her reflection in the huge floor to ceiling mirror wall in her elegant private dressing salon. She was glad the war was over; it was good to wear white gloves and nylons again.

Examining her image more critically she adjusted her hat just a tad so her lovely blonde bangs peaked out just so. Now that the occupation was over the island was once again filled with handsome young British officers, and as the Governor's niece she had to keep up appearances.

Victoria hoped that skirts would get shorter again soon, as it was a pity to hide her lovely long legs under such long dresses. But the current style was refined and elegant, and in her white dress with the faint rose print Victoria was everything a proper English lady should be.

Avoiding the servants Victoria exited out the back of the house and through the garden, walking past the smiling gardener without saying a word. She did smile and nod to the military driver who opened the rear door of the limousine for her. Even before the War Victoria never thanked the servants - that's what they were there for, after all - but manners required her to acknowledge the bowing and scraping of the officers who waited on her hand-and-foot. Besides, he was rather cute and wonderfully humble and servile. Victoria wondered if he had seen any action.

The drive into town was short. Her Rolls Royce Phantom limousine was military issue, and "new" in the sense that it had been shipped to the island after liberation. How long had it been now? Two months? It seemed like forever. Yet occupation seemed like yesterday.

"No, Lieutenant, don't take the alley. I'd like to see the town square, if you please."

"It will be jammed, Miss."

Victoria's voice was pleasant but firm. "I am aware of that, but I want to see it, if you please."

The car slowed to a stop as they turned into the bustling town square. She could see the natives staring in the windows at her. "It's the car," she told herself, although in her heart she knew it was a lie. Everyone was looking at her. Ignoring them, she paged through her copy of Vogue. Why were American women still dressing like soldiers? How dreadful!

The car slowed to a crawl as they reached the courthouse. The enormous platform in front of the massive HALL OF JUSTICE cut into the street, and the wooden steps leading up to the scaffold seemed oddly quaint compared to the grand stone columns of the courthouse behind it. Victoria had wondered if her Uncle might have the platform bulldozed when the war was over, but there was no sign it was going anywhere. The gibbet was taken down, of course, but even before the war they only snapped that piece on the night before the hangings.

They car stopped directly in front of the 13 steps leading up the scaffold. She felt a chill at the unexpected stop and wondered if she was supposed to get out and mount the steps. But as she looked through the front window she saw her driver was waiting patiently for a man to coax his ox into one of the vendor stalls through the throng of people. Victoria glanced nervously at the wooden steps; she could feel the perspiration inside of her gloves as she nervously fingered her pearls.

Victoria frightened easily these days. Her Uncle referred to her trembling hands and frequent nightmares as "battle fatigue", a masculine term men used to diagnose women for something they would never understand.

When the British Army was on the retreat and the evacuation order had been given it had been Victoria who had convinced the other women to stay.

"Show some British pluck!" Victoria said. "Our men our fighting! The natives aren't going to stay and fight for us if we run away." Regrettably most of the locals didn't fight, much to Victoria's shock. She had assumed they would fight for England, and she simply couldn't understand why they wouldn't adore the perfect administration of her father and the opportunity to be subjects of the King.

There had been 8 British ladies left in the city when the Japanese found them hiding in the hidden fruit cellar of the Governor's Mansion, which Victoria had carefully stockpiled with enough food to last for months. Her plan was to have the servants sneak her more, and to lead the native resistance from the safety of her bunker, with the Japs being none the wiser for it. But her plan had come to nothing and they were quickly captured. Victoria still wondered which one of her disloyal servants had turned her in.

That first 24 hours was the most terrifying. After a restless night locked in the dungeon beneath the "Hall of Justice" - a room which as the niece of the Governor she had never seen - the women had been awoken early and marched into the town square.

Awaking from her recollection Victoria trembled slightly at the sound of a drum, peering out of the back window of her limousine to discover the source. A small child was beating on a toy drum, laughing with his friends as they danced. Was he mocking her? Maybe not. Maybe.

Victoria had heard the drums that morning - the low, muffled drum sounds they played during the hangings, before she even left the dungeon. She knew at that moment that she and the other women were to be executed. Emerging into the blinding sun of the courthouse square, Victoria could see little, but she could hear the muffled drums, and the walk to the scaffold seemed to take hours. The presence of the Asian hangman - bare chested and black hooded, confirmed her worst fears, as the did the presence of the dreaded giblet suspended over the long wooden platform. By the time they were led up the stairs several of the women were weeping, and Gwyneth and Prudence had to be half carried up the steps by the Japanese soldiers escorting them.

Victoria, the smartest of the group, was the first to realize something was amiss. There were ropes on the platform, but no nooses. An odd looking wooden sawhorses added to mystery. Even when the Japanese officer in charge gave the pigeon English command for all of the British women to "stwip nay-ked" Victoria still didn't understand what was happening. It wasn't until the hangman opened the large toolbox to reveal the straps, paddles, and whips that she realized they weren't going to be hung.

Victoria looked across the square to the VIP seating on the balcony of the Hall of Justice. Victoria's throne like chair next to her Uncle was occupied by a scowling Japanese woman who she guessed was the wife of the island's new Military Governor, a small martinet of a Jap with a black pencil mustache who looked perpetually angry.

Normally when prisoners were whipped or executed Victoria looked down on the proceedings. Today, Victoria looked up.

Several of the women refused the order to disrobe, and were stripped roughly by the guards. Victoria, not seeing the point in being manhandled and having her clothes ripped off her by the vulgar Japanese soldiers guarding them, simply obeyed. The other women in her group sobbed, but the plucky Victoria refused to give the enemy that satisfaction. Keeping a stiff upper lip she quickly slipped off her shoes, and raised her skirt to unhook her nylons, a curiosity for the enormous crowd who had gathered in front of the platform. The local men were leering, but the local women, too poor for silk stockings, were commenting on the Victoria's lovely and expensive clothes as she slowly stripped down from the height of British fashion to the bare skin. "What an odd time for a fashion show!" she thought.

Strengthened by Victoria resolve the other women joined in and soon all the women were stripping, or being stripped. At 23 Victoria was younger than most of the other British women, except for Lady Katherine's two daughters, Diana and Kate, who were 18 and 19, respectively. But Victoria's Oxford education, charm, beauty, and position as the Governor's niece made her their natural leader, an honor she maintained even in defeat.

The catcalling began immediately and picked up in intensity as the women stripped, with each revelation of a bare thigh, bare breast, or bare bottom bringing an enthusiastic volley of hoots from the audience. Victoria was glad she couldn't understand what they were saying, although a few of the spectators kindly hurled their insults in English so the prisoners could understand them.

"Strip them! Strip them nay-kid!"

"Nice utt-ers, cow!"

"Chill-ee this morning, lay-dees? Ha, ha!"

"She blushing! She blush red!"

"They make their asses red too!"

"Don't look grand now!"

"Whip their English bottoms!"

"Hang them! Hang them all!"

"Yes, make lay-dees dance!"

"Whip them! Then hang dem! Make them dance more!"

The latter possibility left Victoria truly alarmed, for they were standing under a gibbet that had been used to dangle several natives suspected of helping the Japanese only a week before, when Victoria's Uncle had ruled the island under martial law. Victoria and her friends had watched from the balcony of the Governor's palace across the square, a prime location to see and be seen. But not as prime a location as she was in right now.

"White poo-seee! White poo-seeee!"

"Gold pot! Gold pot!"

Victoria blushed for she knew the man shouting it was looking at her, and she knew precisely WHERE he was looking. Apart from a few of her maids most of the crowd had never seen a white girl naked, and when she finally removed her knickers the natives not only got to see "white poo-seeee" but her natural and very curly blonde bush as well. Victoria briefly tried to cover herself, but when the soldier pressed the butt of the rifle against her palms she put her hands at her side. They wanted to see her, did they? Very well.

Glaring defiance, Victoria turned slowly in a circle so the crowd could see her from every angle.

"Goldi-lox!"

"Blonde honey pot!"

"Whip her! Whip her blonde poo-seee!"

Victoria ignored the catcalls, pausing only once during her slow turn to nod briefly at the island's new commanding governor and his wife. It was an absurd gesture, as she was entirely naked, but much to her surprise, he nodded back, following the protocol of superficial politeness between rulers.

The soldiers moved quickly. Gwyneth and Jane, were hung upside down by their ankles and given a good paddling. Prudence and Anne were also hung upside down, but they were given a sound beating with the leather paddle. Diana and Kate, the two sisters, were hung up by their wrists, but in a burst of perversion the Japs tied them together at the waist and ankles so they rubbed against one another as they twirled through their caning. Their mother, Katherine, whose bright red bush made her almost as much a novelty as Victoria, was hung next to them, and frequently called on the hangman to stripe her bottom instead of her two weeping daughters, a request he always granted before returning his attention to the two teenage girls, rubbing against each other as they suffered through a truly exemplary school girl caning.

Victoria had seen the instruments used before, as they were a regular part of the hangman's toolset, and ordered quite frequently during her Uncle's administration. She had always thought their use was for the best, and as it was the swarthy and uncivilized Asians who were getting beaten she had never let it bother her. After all, if they followed the rules of decent British society they wouldn't be punished, would they?

Victoria always wore her finest clothes and white gloves to the punishments. She and her friends tittered at the naked men's bobbing members as the stripes were laid on, and had laughed about the "dramatics" of the prostitutes who always screamed so loudly whenever her Uncle ordered them whipped as part of one of his regular "moral cleansing" of the red light district. Judging from the bulges in the British officer's pants, Victoria was not the only one who enjoyed the punishments.

Victoria had told her friends that the prostitutes were "fakers and actresses, as all women in that line of work have to be. They carry on as if they are being skinned alive, when in truth their dull little brains can barely register a thought, let alone actual pain."

But as she watched her friends being punished one by one they didn't seem to be faking anything. They cried and screamed and begged for mercy as, one-after-another, they were paddled, strapped, and caned. Gwyneth, Prudence, and Kate shamed themselves further as they lost control of their water and peed like racehorses in front of the laughing, jeering, applauding crowd.

"Make water, English girl!"

"Pee-pee! Pee-pee!"

"Filth-ee little piggy!"

Pissy pants girl!"

Kate peed on her squirming sister while Gwyneth and Prudence, hung by their heels, actually peed on their own faces, much to the crowd's delight.

"Drink up!"

"Yummy, yummy!"

"Wash face good, English bitch!"

As the Governor's niece Victoria was saved for last. She didn't understand what the sawhorse was for, with its sharply shaved edge rising up to a point, but she understood it's sinister purpose quickly enough when she was made to straddle it. The sharp edge cut into her crotch, and she struggled to raise her bottom up to relieve the pressure.

Victoria was not paddled, or strapped, or caned. The hangman used the pony whip on her, lashing her bottom as if she were a rebellious filly. Each stroke of the lash burned like fire and caused her to push down onto the devilish razor-like wooden plank between her legs, which in turn caused her to raise her bottom up for the next stroke.

The crowd had always enjoyed public punishments, although the whipping of political protesters was usually met with an eerie silence rather than lusty cheers. However the taunts from the crowd seemed particularly barbaric today, as for the first time Victoria realized precisely how much the locals despised her and the other woman.

"Whip harder!"

"No Uncle to save you now!"

"She felt that!"

"Good!"

"Make the little blonde puppy yelp!"

"Paint the Union Jack on her ass!"

"How do you like your new seat, Missy?"

"Awwww! Not as comfortable as balcony sit-sit? Ha-ha!"

"Get the whip between her cheeks. Skin her bunghole!"

On the next stroke the hangman did just that, causing Victoria to scream the scream of the dammed. The pain actually caused her to pass out, but to the crowd's delight she was quickly revived by the noxious smelling salts he kept in his toolbox.

The end of Victoria's whipping brought little relief. The girls were left naked on the scaffold, an example of Japan's mastery over the British and their defeat over colonial rule. Victoria was retied with her ankles shackled together and her arms tied to her elbows so she couldn't take the pressure off her crotch. The women hung in shame; Victoria rode the wooden donkey, crying out in pain and pleading for mercy as the spectators laughed at her bopping breasts as she struggled to find a bearable position on the horse.

Victoria had always supposed that some of the natives hated her; being pretty and educated and successful it was natural for them to be jealous. But until that moment she had never understood the dark depths of their hatred. Even now Victoria didn't understand why the natives hated the pretty British women more than they hated the men who made all the decisions. It didn't matter. The hatred was real, and deeply ingrained, and the Japanese knew how to use it to their advantage.

It was broiling hot by noon, and by 6PM it was freezing cold. Victoria wondered if they were going to die there. When the soldiers finally released her and the other women for their humiliating walk back into the Hall of Justice, Victoria frog marched like a saddle sore cowboy, her legs spread wide.

They were not taken back to their cell, but rather to a large room filled with soldiers. In the front of the room was a wooden stepping stool, about 45 cm high. Above the stool was a 3 strand manila rope, coarse and unfinished, which had been knotted into a hangman's noose.

The officer's accent was thick, but his instructions. "English Colonialist bitches are now war prize, property of Japanese Empire. You will serve as comfort women. You will serve well, and spread your legs for glory of the Emperor. If you refuse, you will die now."

Even after a day of naked shame the British ladies quickly summoned all of their umbrage. "Prostitutes?" Katherine said. "You can't be serious! Do these savages know who we ARE?"

"I'd rather die," Prudence said.

"As would I," Anne agreed.

Even after a day of riding the horse Victoria's voice rang out over the others. "Don't be foolish. We are no good to the war effort dead. First order of business is to survive."

"But Victoria! They want us to be...whores!"

"Yes, and that's what we will be, until our British boys beat them back to hell. We're war prizes. Fine. Let's fight them a different way. Let's show them that they can use our bodies, but they will never take our courage."

"I'd rather die," Katherine responded.

The officer nodded. Two of the soldiers grabbed Katherine, who struggled as they led her toward the stool.

"Stop!" Victoria said. "Me first. Cut me down when they all agree to...cooperate."

The room fell silent as Victoria quickly walked to the front and stepped up onto the stool. Not waiting to be helped, she put her head in the noose, tightened it, and violently kicked the stool away.

The drop was only a few inches but Victoria's head jerked up violently as the rope tightened around her neck. Her hands weren't tied, so she reached up and tried to pull herself up, taking the weight off her neck. But her hands slid, and after a day of riding the horse she wasn't strong enough to hold herself for more than a few seconds.

Victoria kicked wildly as the noose choked her.

"I'll do it!" Katherine said.

"So will I!" Anne shouted. "Cut her down."

The officer walked over to Katherine. "On knees, English strum-pet!" he barked. Gritting her teeth, Katherine obeyed.

"Suck-suck! Suck now or friend hang."

Katherine looked at the cruel man in horror.

"DO IT, Katherine!" Prudence shouted. "She's turning blue."

Katherine had never done anything like what was being asked of her, but she quickly unzipped the loathsome man's pants and took his disgusting member in her mouth. She sucked hard and fast, but not fast enough for Victoria, who passed out shortly before the officer spurted his load in Katherine's mouth, causing Katherine to gag even as the guard's cut Victoria down.

Fingering the "hanging scar" beneath the collar of her dress Victoria stared at the scaffold steps. "I'd like to get to market today, Lieutenant."

"I'm very sorry, Miss. It's the crowds. This is more of a sidewalk than a road."

"Very well, I'll start my shopping here," she said, reaching for the handle of the limo.

"Sorry, Miss. The Governor wants me to keep an eye on you. Orders, Miss."

"Well, then park this silly yacht and join me when you can."

Victoria sighed. Despite all that had happened her paternalistic Uncle liked to maintain the illusion of control. Even before the war the endless parties had bored her: laughing at the same stale jokes told by the same stale people. Now her Uncle had resumed his schedule as if nothing had happened.

Victoria knew better. Everything had changed. Everything was different.

Victoria checked her makeup in her compact mirror and checked it again in the larger vanity mirror. Were the pearls too much? There was still rationing on the island, after all.

Victoria smiled at her reflection. There wasn't rationing for HER, and it was best to let these people know who was in charge.

"I'm in charge," she repeated to herself, steeling herself as she ran her fingers through her perfectly coiffed blond hair. "I'm in charge."