CHAPTER 1
After heaving her hand luggage onto the ancient Boeing 727 of Nepal Airlines and
crashing down onto the cramped seat, Patricia could at long last begin to relax and ease
away the knot of tension coiled in her neck. Her husband Craig and daughter Sarah slumped
down in adjoining seats; all of them would soon be safe and on the way out of the country.
The nightmares troubling her sleep would have no substance.
The last couple of weeks had been a spiralling corkscrew of pressure for her and
the others in the British High Commission in the Chinese province where Craig was an
attaché. She also worked there as a personnel manager for the British staff to dispel the
frequent spells of boredom of being a diplomat’s wife. The problems for Western
diplomatic staff had begun when an embargo had been imposed on China in 2010 for their
continued refusal to toe the tough US line on nuclear proliferation. Things had escalated
into outright hostility, particularly towards British and Americans, finally making it
necessary for them - and indeed all Western nationals - to leave the country.
Despite the sophisticated and privileged life she was able to enjoy as a benefit of
being in diplomatic circles for the last year or so in the Western compound, she would be
glad to be out of it. Of late she had heard more and more mutters from the locals about
Western imperialism.
On the plus side she was a beautiful woman who had attracted and secretly enjoyed
the many admiring glances and attention she received from the men in the diplomatic
community. Set against that were the rumours of some Chinese officials preventing and
even detaining some Westerners who were trying to depart. That had been very worrying.
Patricia had felt the hostility growing from the ordinary Chinese people with each passing
day. She could sense the harsh looks during their taxi journey to the airport and again
now in the plane. Sighing with relief, she simply felt pleased to be leaving the country
behind.
Suddenly her heart pounded and her palms began to sweat as several Chinese
policemen boarded the plane; they were obviously looking for someone. She hissed a
warning to Craig and Sarah for them to make themselves as unobtrusive as possible. Like
them, she bent forward, rummaging in bags, trying to be invisible. It was as if her
recurring nightmare was playing out.
In the horrid dream which had haunted her for the last couple of weeks she would be
innocently out shopping when a Chinese policeman asked for her papers. No matter how hard
she looked she couldn’t find them. Naturally, in her dream the policeman was a slug-like
brute, coarse and disgusting, someone from a Hollywood caricature of an evil Chinaman. He
stood scowling as she emptied her handbag whilst the shop assistants laughed, and then he
smiled in a cruel contented way when she was unable to produce them – and she was his.
Desperately she had pleaded for them to contact her husband, but it was no good.
In her dream she was taken away, crammed into the back of a police car, unable to tell
anyone what had become of her. They had pulled a smelly hood over her head and bound her
hands behind her to leave her totally, frighteningly, helpless. For someone used to being
in control, such a situation was even more terrible. Next she was dragged to the cellar
of a dark police station and told to undress by the brute. She went hot and cold at the
thought of undressing before him but he had simply stripped her, his hot hands searching,
moving over her body until she found herself bound astride a sharp wooden beam. It ate
into her most tender and private parts, leaving her wriggling in agony as they continued
to ask where her papers were and why she was in the country. The ghastly policeman’s
gloating shining face grew ever nearer as he enjoyed her squirming agony until she awoke
in a cold sweat, hands crushed protectively but painfully between her thighs.
Tentatively she’d reach out for the reassurance of her husband sleeping beside her
and then relax with a shudder. But then her gaze would take in the dawn breaking over the
Chinese flag flapping alongside the Union Jack, both visible through her window, and a
renewed sense of fear would depress her, making her know that for their safety they simply
had to leave this country.
“Passports please.” The official standing besides her dragged her back to reality.
It was no use. He had so obviously been guided to them as departing Westerners by one
of the cabin crew. A small airhostess was scarcely able to conceal her mocking gaze.
“Oh, is there a problem, officer?” Craig smiled with his usual calm authority. “I’m
a diplomatic attaché and have to leave the country for a while, I’m afraid, with my wife
and daughter.” He gestured to Patricia and Sarah.
“Passports please – now - I look at them,” the policeman simply repeated. He
forced them to ferret out their documents whilst the surrounding passengers showed a
mixture of impatience at the potential hold-up mixed with smugness that Westerners were
squirming under the spotlight. “You come with us, please.” Worryingly, he kept their
passports, standing to one side for them to get out of their seats and precede him off the
plane.
“Look, officer, I’m sorry, you don’t understand, we have been ordered to leave the
country with only a suitcase each. I’m sure all of this is only temporary, we can sort
out any paperwork, anything else later when things are back to...”
“Now, please, all of you off, quick, hurry, we no want unpleasantness here, eh?”
The policeman wasn’t in the slightest deflected from his intention and now threateningly
unbuttoned the holster flap over his handgun.
“Craig...” Patricia tasted the fear in her mouth as she implored her husband not to
push it too far. Her wide eyes flicked between him, the policeman and her white-faced
daughter.
“OK, OK, we’ll sort it out in a minute outside.” Craig’s tone held a confidence
Patricia certainly didn’t herself feel as they retrieved their hand luggage from the
overhead lockers and squeezed back down the aisle past the curious and hostile eyes of
their fellow travellers, many of whom seemed pleased at the turn of events afflicting the
Westerners.
Patricia felt like a prisoner as they were surrounded by the policemen almost
marching them back along the tarmac and into the terminal building. There they again
became the focus of stares from the Chinese, ranging from amused to angry. Their luggage
waited, giving a sense of the inevitable to their remaining where they were - in a place
she was now beginning to fear even more deeply. She looked longingly at the plane taxiing
on the runway. It would have taken them away from all of this hate, out of the country,
back to a friendly welcome in Britain. China was not a good place to be if you were from
the West.
“We search … open cases,” the policemen demanded, shouting as the roar of the
departing plane faded in the background. Tears misting her eyes as she watched the jet
climbing away to freedom, Patricia couldn’t prevent her blushes as all her belongings and
clothing were pulled out before inquisitive eyes. “Now we search you, arms out!” He
advanced on her.
“Now look, this has gone far enough! I am the British attaché and I demand that
we are treated… aaah,” Craig flinched back as one of the policemen raised a baton
menacingly to his face. “All right but I’ll be raising a complaint, though. I’ll want you
to give me the name of your superior,” he added with bravado before he nodded to Patricia,
his shoulders drooping with resignation.
Patricia was aware of the heat from her flushed cheeks as she meekly stood with
arms out from her side in the middle of the terminal with Sarah and Craig alongside in
similar poses as the policeman patted her down. She was a lovely woman in her mid
thirties and it was embarrassing, especially when the grinning swine ran his hands over
her thrusting boobs. He deliberately squeezed them, watching the shame etching and
colouring her beautiful face. The brute was so obviously enjoying himself, but at least
she wasn’t being stripped as in her nightmare.
“Legs apart.” She closed her eyes, wishing they had at least been taken to a
side-room. Yet she obediently parted her thighs to allow his hands to travel suggestively
up and down her long and slender legs, pushing obscenely up a little into the warm
softness at the apex of her jeans before patting the firm and shapely curve of her bottom
with utter familiarity as if she was an animal.
Each of their mobile phones was confiscated, together with Craig’s wallet and her
handbag. Patricia felt lost, alone, cut off from everyone, from normal life.
“You come with us please,” the policeman demanded.
“I must report this to your superior officer because we are protected by diplomatic
immunity and under those terms you cannot …”
“Please do not tell me what I can or cannot do to those who are about to declare
war on the Chinese Republic!” His voice now had an edge and the other policemen had drawn
their guns threateningly.
“Look I can assure you - my country has no intention of …”
Click!
The sound of a policeman cocking a gun seemed as loud as an explosion in the
echoing hall.
“You come now or all of you face consequences!”
“OK, OK we’re coming.” Patricia took over from Craig to reduce the pressure on
either man to back down. “Come on, darling.” She took her husband’s arm. “You can sort it
out later. It will be fine, dear, you’ll see.” She smiled at Sarah with a confidence she
didn’t feel as she also took her daughter’s shaking hand. A sense of inevitability was
closing in on her.
CHAPTER 2
Patricia stood stiffly to attention, unmoving, silent as still as ordered. She had
many longings at that moment, to sit down, quench her thirst, eat, have a wee, but she
knew that she simply daren’t move or ask - she was too frightened for that. Craig had
tried speaking an hour earlier and she still winced, recalling a guard’s rifle butt
doubling him up and strong hands preventing her going to him whilst he was jerked back to
position. This was worse than in the warning of her dream.
They were all tired after their journey to the internment camp in which by mid
afternoon they had found themselves. All elements of their journey had been bad.
The first part of it had been in the back of a covered lorry taking them away from
the airport. They had bumped along for three hours, watched in initial silence by armed
guards dressed in drab green uniforms who had replaced the policemen. The guards shouted
at them and forbade them to speak; it had been awful. With no idea of where they were
being taken or why, fear of the unknown gnawed away at them. Patricia could only squeeze
her daughter’s hand now and again to give the frightened youngster reassurance, warily
eyeing their thin, cruel-faced captors. The guards were later talking and shouting amongst
themselves as soldiers do, their rifles aimed loosely at them. She could understand some
of the words they used and their crude, international gestures as they eyed their
prisoners with lust and amusement. Her mouth was dry with her vulnerable fear.
For once Patricia wished her figure wasn’t so inviting. Her supple curves were
only too apparent beneath the tight jumper and jeans and she knew that Sarah presented
probably an even more enticing figure - still in the bloom of teenage youth. Fearing
rape she pressed her knees protectively together, looking down, avoiding eye contact with
her captors, and just wanting the journey to be over.
The next stage of their descent into captivity came when they were herded off the
lorry into nondescript bleak countryside. Then she soon regretted being out of the almost
protective and cosy environment of the lorry. Initially she steeled herself against being
pushed to the ground and assaulted - deciding not to resist and thus increase the risk of
them being hurt or killed. Yet thankfully rape didn’t seem to be their intention.
The ground was rough. It was quite warm and it was soon an effort to maintain the
brisk walk demanded by the guards in her high heeled boots whilst struggling with their
suitcases and bags.
“OK, none of this lot are gentlemen, we’ll just have to leave the bloody things,”
Craig had decided after lugging two suitcases a few hundred yards.
“No, I insist Westerners carry them, no leave behind, no Chinese skivvies to carry
for you now,” the soldier in charge snapped. “You choose to have so many useless Western
decadent things - you no leave them now to pollute Chinese countryside. If you no carry
- you stay here with your rubbish!” Ominously the soldier pointed his gun at them, his
finger hovering over the trigger.
Bang!
“No, haaah,” all three had yelped, only relaxing slightly when the bullet whistled
harmlessly over their heads; but the message was clear, the wicked-looking barrel
traversing lower to now cover all three of them.
“Craig, it’s OK! We’ll manage,” Patricia gasped when her husband looked dumfounded,
speechless. His occasional pompous pride had been deflated and replaced by white-faced
fear. She picked up her own case to ease his burden and set an example. “J-just do as
they say - wait till we get wherever we are going then we can sort things out.” She hefted
her case, tugging it along, not caring about scratching it - only anxious to avoid further
antagonising their trigger-happy guards. She instinctively knew that they just had to
somehow endure this ordeal.
After an hour of struggling with their burdens, the bleak countryside had improved.
But her body was a sweating mass of aches by the time they reached the high, imposing
wooden gates of a large compound covering several acres, much of which of quarry-like
terrain. Her belly felt hot with dread as the gates were opened to allow them access.
They were emblazoned in large black letters ‘Internment Camp 7 - Inn of Physical
Happiness.’
Like a prison camp, high watchtowers manned by armed guards bounded the compound.
Within the high bamboo fence were many rows of wooden huts and to her horror, under the
watchful eyes of baton-carrying Chinese guards, numerous figures were busy toiling
feverishly, the occasional swish of a cane encouraging their efforts.
She tried to smile encouragingly at her daughter who was gazing almost with awe at
the pretty, rolling countryside they had just left. The camp was surrounded by hills, the
highest topped with a pure white tower like a lighthouse. The stark detention centre
looked out of place in such a tranquil setting.
Looking around with fearful eyes, Patricia staggered through the entrance with her
burden, hearing the deep crunching rattle of the gates ominously shutting after them. She
saw that some of the busy, hapless prisoners were tending crops on strips of earth
clinging to the rocks. More sweating figures were breaking rocks with heavy hammers in a
quarry, to allow others to carry or push them on mine wagons. There were yet more
straining figures dragging heavy rollers, crushing the rocks into paths. The air was loud
with their efforts, their cries and groans, the smashing of rocks and the shouted orders
and curses from the guards. All the prisoners were being treated like slaves and yet they
seemingly had no choice, for whenever any of the toiling figures unbent, their brief
respite was met with curses, shouts or the crack of bamboo across their limbs.
She realised to her horror that they were to be confined with these prisoners. She
shivered at the prospect. Suppose some of those fierce hard-labouring criminals rioted?
She and her family would be placed in danger! This was outrageous treatment. No doubt
Craig would protest at the first opportunity - they were diplomatic staff, no matter how
tenuous that diplomatic thread now was.
However, on closer inspection, her anxiety deepened further still. Although
initially misled by the short brown striped pyjamas type ‘uniforms’ which all of the
‘prisoners’ wore, she gradually realised that rather than a brutish Chinese chain gang,
many of those working were Westerners, men, women and youngsters - all gasping and shining
with effort. Her attention was drawn to one guard berating a middle-aged woman.
“You think you Yankee cows too good to work for Chinese people?” he screamed as the
woman, who looked pretty despite her age and clothing, stood with obvious servility before
him.
“Sorry, I’m truly sorry, Sir it’s the sun and…” Her humble response petered out.
“You shut up, Yankee cow!” he interrupted. “If you hot you work naked – strip!” he
shouted.
Patricia could scarcely believe her eyes as the woman, after just a moment’s
hesitation, pulled off her uniform to reveal a beautiful body. She looked so out of
place. Then she continued to stoop and pick up rocks, staggering with them, setting her
nudity bouncing. The sun beat down on her shining curves as the guard gloated at her
discomfort.
Thankfully Patricia and her family were allowed to deposit their cases before a
large wooden hut and she could no longer see the American woman’s shame – and stoke her
fears for the future.
“Drop coats, prisoners stand to attention, no move, no speak!” the guard instructed
as he threw her confiscated handbag onto the pile of cases.
“This is absolutely preposterous; we are not prisoners, we are diplomatic staff,
and we demand diplomatic stat… arghhhhh!”
“Leave him, you … hah!” Now Patricia too gasped in pain when a cane lashed her back
as she tried to go to her husband who was moaning on the floor under vicious blows from a
baton.
“Western scum learn at Inn of Happiness they obey all orders instantly - if not -
it painful! Up! Get up!” a guard barked.
She couldn’t believe the guard had the audacity to use his cane on her, yet it was
true. A stinging pain throbbed down her back as she obediently shrugged off her thin
jacket, thankful to do so in the heat, to stand to attention between Craig and Sarah,
trying to smile bravely at them both through her pain and fear.
“Stand straighter, no slouch! Western scum learn discipline!” a guard barked,
swishing his cane until they all stood stiffly to attention again. Poor Sarah looked
terrified and so vulnerable. The outline of her young body clearly thrust through her
low-cut smart designer tee-shirt and jeans as she stood before these beasts whose glinting
eyes devoured her. Patricia felt awkward enough in her somewhat enticing clothes. Yet
Sarah’s were even more seductive, made for clubbing, to provoke rather than to wear on
parade in prison. It made Patricia long to comfort her daughter but instead just had to
stare miserably ahead, silent and unmoving.
More time passed. She pondered, how could this be happening to them? They were
officials from the British diplomatic staff. She had travelled to several exciting
locations around the world with her family, never dreaming, apart from her dream, that
anyone would ever treat her like this. The fear continued to crawl like a worm in her
belly, especially when her gaze drifted casually sideways to the other Westerners toiling
at the behest of the brutish guards.
The American woman, probably someone more suited to hosting parties or meetings,
continued to toil at the heavy rocks. The sweat of effort covered her curves as she
struggled before her amused guards. This simply couldn’t be; maybe she was dreaming again,
Patricia decided as her brain uselessly tried to find normal and rational patterns of
behaviour. Yet when two guards strode up to them, menacing, she knew that it was happening
and for real.
“Mr Errins-Smith you come with me. Commandant see you now.”
“About bloody time! I’ll get this sorted … gaahhh,” he gasped as one guard jabbed
him in the belly with his cane.
“Prisoner no talk, no permission to talk, you be respectful to superiors at all
times. Now come!” He grabbed Craig’s arm, pulling him away.
A sob welled silently in Patricia’s throat as Craig briefly looked back at her over
his shoulder with frightened pain-filled eyes before being hustled into the large hut
before them.
More time passed. She longed to relax from her stiff position but an occasional
shout from the watching guards prohibited any movement, making her indeed feel more like a
prisoner with every passing moment. It became obvious to her that Craig would have no
success with whoever was in charge and that they were doomed to become skivvies like those
toiling in the background. Her mind quaked, how long would they be held here?
When she heard a door open around the other side of the hut, accompanied by shouted
commands, Patricia quaked. Two guards emerged from the front door of the hut. She
nervously licked her dry lips as they advanced on her.
“Please, where’s my hus...”
“Silence!” One of them raised his baton threateningly at her. “You come, bring
handbag,” he shouted at Patricia.
Now it was her turn to look back in trepidation at her daughter as she was taken to
the hut. Poor Sarah looked absolutely petrified, standing to attention in the compound
all by herself, apart from two baton-swinging guards who all too obviously drank in the
swelling of her boobs and bottom thrusting beneath her tight fitting clothing. If only
her daughter was wearing something less provocative, Patricia thought despairingly before
she soon had other things on her mind.
She stumbled to an undignified halt, recovering from the guard’s hefty push before
he closed the door behind her. Her belly ached in sick dread as she glanced fearfully
around the occupants of the room. Seated centrally behind a desk was a huge oily-looking
Chinese man, probably in his late fifties, with gold braid adorning his drab green
uniform. His small dark eyes behind wire-framed pebble glasses glittered like sunlight
reflecting off a stagnant pond. He smoothed down a pencil-thin moustache to set his greasy
jowls wobbling. Then he rearranged a lank of long thin hair over the gleaming dome of his
partially bald scalp. She shuddered; he looked so much like the obnoxious policeman in her
dreams.
On one side of him was a short but stout muscled sergeant with cropped hair; he
looked tough and vicious. Behind him, to her relief and in contrast was a petite young
Chinese girl in officer’s uniform. To the other side of the desk stood a tall thin
Chinese wearing a white gown and a stethoscope. On a blanket in a corner of the room lay a
large Doberman, a vicious looking brute who stared at her with intense, almost evil eyes.
Patricia hated dogs.
The large seated figure nodded at her, making his chins wobble.
“Good afternoon … Mrs Errins-Smith,” he confirmed looking briefly down at the
papers on his desk. “Welcome to the Prison and Internment Camp 7, the Inn of Physical
happiness. I am Commandant Santena; I am in charge of this prison camp for political
detainees, which is your new home now and into the foreseeable future. First the
formalities.” He wiped fleshy lips. “I regret that doctor here,” he indicated the
white-coated man, “he speak very little English so I translate for him. Please remove all
clothing for superficial examination.”
“What! You cannot expect…!”
Slap!
“Haaah,” Patricia reeled back, clutching her face, stinging from a harsh
teeth-rattling slap delivered by the muscled sergeant who had leapt forward with a snarl
on his enraged face. She blinked back a tear, not having been slapped since schoolgirl
fights in the playground twenty years ago. Now she was a grown woman quite unaccustomed to
such treatment. Although she was momentarily stunned into immovability the muscled brute
who had hit her soon broke the silence.
“Western cow, strip now - or else!” the muscled man screamed, spraying her with
spittle, making her flinch back in fear, blinking with shock. “You no need to think you
anything special – you shit Western scum!”
“Please…” she looked imploringly first at the impassive doctor and then the elfin
like Chinese girl officer, trying to convey to her the all too obvious horror of being
told to undress before the men. The dog was stirring; its ears and hackles were raised
with the increased tension in the room. She dreaded the thought of it maybe leaping at
her, which added to her fear and loathing.
“Mrs Errins-Smith,” the slug-like Commandant spoke again, “I suggest that from now
on you do exactly as told. My sergeant, Chunka,” the casually seated man pointed to the
stocky soldier who had slapped and shouted at her, “he try to tell you in his own way that
we well equipped here to ensure you do obey. You soon learn, as husband just has, that
you now have no rights, no choices. You do as told immediately; follow all orders given
here instantly. You now prisoners of Chinese Republic. Your country now hostile to ours,
you no leave when you could, you maybe regarded as spies and subject to ultimate penalty
of spies.”
“But … please we’re not spies; we stayed on to help…”
“Silence!” the Commandant’s voice now had an edge. “All that now immaterial. All
that matter is your country aggressive to ours and you and your family fall into our
hands; maybe it fate that we have opportunity to re-educate stupid foreigners like you?
No,” he held up a large slimy hand, as she made to open her mouth. “You never speak here
without permission and you always address Oriental superiors as ‘Sir’ or ‘Miss.’ Is that
quite clear, Mrs Errins-Smith?”
“I-I, …” Patricia was frightened and shaken, her face still stinging. She was in
unknown territory, her thought process in turmoil, but it quickly condensed into stark
fear and clarity when the brute sergeant again raised his hand towards her. She shrank
away, fumbling for words to prevent more pain. “Y-yes, yes Sir,” she managed to whisper
bitterly.
“Good, I glad we understand that. Now I ask again, for last time, please undress
for doctor to examine you - or we will have to do it for you, my dear,” his voice oozed.
His smile was the lewd tip of an iceberg of unspoken obscenity. Desperately she looked
round for a cubicle to undress in. “You no need be shy, we see it all before and I sure
you Western ladies used to showing everything in public when sunbathe. Take all off just
where you are, everything. Hand them to Lieutenant Hasaka for examination,” he pointed to
the thin Chinese girl. “Your handbag too.”
Patricia knew she was beaten. She was being held in a prison camp surrounded by
hostile soldiers who cared nothing for her or her safety - they could do unspeakable
things to her - even kill her - and none would ever know. Additionally, her daughter
stood helpless outside, alone and frightened. She knew she must play along, do whatever
they wanted, just survive for Sarah’s sake. This was so much worse than her nightmare.
Feeling as if she were drunk, as if she was an automation responding to external
commands, Patricia slipped her handbag from her shoulder and passed it to the girl who,
with an expressionless face, tipped its entire contents onto the desk. Out spilled her
passport, purse, keys, a few photos of her family, make-up, spare knickers, diary and
credit cards. Everything she needed to exist as a modern woman; every private thing which
gave her, or any woman, a sense of identity was no longer hers - instead it was all on
total view to her captors. The girl, ignoring her anxiety and feelings, began to
thoroughly go through her things but Patricia couldn’t worry too much about that.
Crack!
“Heeeh,” she shrieked in dread as the sergeant crashed his bamboo cane across the
desk.
“No time you worry about those things, you strip pretty damn quick - now - or it go
bad for you and family,” the squat brute snarled. “Put clothes on desk for examination.”
Clumsily, as if her hands were encased in thick rubber gloves, Patricia turned to
the door away from them and peeled off her jumper. It felt so horrible, unnatural to take
off the garment in that dirty hut before the leering Chinese. The lovely clothes she had
put on that morning in the diplomatic residence, thinking that by now she would be home
again in England, had to be meekly handed over to these brutes. Worse was that she had to
meekly deposit every article on the desk for them to look at and handle.
After tugging off her jeans and instinctively folding them, she stood awkwardly,
clad only in her white bra and panties, anxiously eyeing the dog. Her hands automatically
covered her boobs thrusting through a small half-cup bra. Her orbs normally made her feel
good about herself and were intended only for Craig’s eyes, but now had to be publicly
displayed. Her face grew hotter as she blushed prettily, hoping that would be enough. It
wasn’t.
“The rest please, Mrs Errins-Smith,” the Commandant’s silky voice oozed perverted
excitement at her unwilling display. She felt sick as he stood up and approached her.
Then, worse, his podgy, moist hands were stroking her hair, then her neck and shoulders
making her shiver and jump before they fumbled at the clasp of her bra.
“Let me help you dear lady,” his voice gurgled lust.
“Aahh, no please, no, get off,” she twirled, enraged, pushing his hands away. It
was a woman’s natural, instinctive reaction to an obnoxious perverted creep trying to
undress her.
“You now suffer for insolence!” The treacle of his voice was flecked with harsh
granite. “Sergeant!” he barked.
“Haah, no please aaaarghhhh,” she screamed, squirming helplessly, uselessly in the
gorilla-like Chunka’s strong hands. They pulled her backwards in a taut arc against him.
Her arms twisted painfully behind her brought tears to her eyes and thrust her scantily
clad breasts directly at the gross figure of the Commandant. In disgust she felt Chunka’s
disgusting male bulge pushing against her bottom through the thin material of her
knickers.
Slowly, deliberately the Commandant reached for her. She shrank back the little
allowed by Chunka’s tight grip, only to feel his bulge press harder into her bottom. It
was disgusting, making her feel sick.
“Hmm, nice material,” the Commandant breathed as his podgy fingers crawled like
slugs over her bra, undoing it to gently release the two magnificent globes of her
breasts, allowing them to spill out towards him. He licked fleshy lips as he held the
garment under his nose before passing it to the girl. “And nice breasts.” Patricia felt
the sick disgust rise in her throat as he held her boobs, his thumbs circling her nipples
till they grudgingly erected into two pink cones of fear and shame. She bit her lip as he
bounced them disgustingly as if they were two jellies he was playing with, making her want
to tear his hands away. How she hated him! But then he stopped playing with them.
Slap!
“Ooow, haaaa, pleeease,” she gasped as he methodically slapped each sensitive globe
to make it erupt in agonising pain, left and right. It was a cruel, intimate pain eating
right into her femininity.
“Now woman prisoner learn to obey superiors. I teach proper lesson in respect
after examination, eh,” he smirked, reaching down.
Instinctively Patricia wriggled but it was no good, the warm, podgy fingers were on
the elastic waistband of her knickers and slowly drawing them down her toned thighs. She
had always resisted when Craig had tried to take off her underwear when lovemaking, always
preferring the control of removing her most intimate clothing herself. Now, though, she
had lost all such control and it wasn’t a prelude to a loving act, rather a debasing
humiliation.
“There we are, my dear,” he breathed almost in triumph as he slid them down and off
to finally hold the tiny white trophy in his hands. “Hmm, you all woman, eh?” he smirked,
sniffing the silk strip crudely before stuffing it in his pocket. He stood back to admire
his trembling, naked captive, her breasts heaving tremulously. “Unless you want more
lesson in pain, you now stand, hands on head, for doctor to examine you.” The commandant
nodded to the sergeant to release her before returning to his seat.
She whimpered in shame but, knowing she was beaten, Patricia turned to the doctor,
hesitantly placing her hands on her head, her skin quivering with gooseflesh. She was
self-consciously aware of her breasts uplifting with that posture. The need to have a pee
re-emerged but she tightened her muscles, not wanting to give them the pleasure of her
asking.
Vaguely she was aware of the dog strolling across to her. Its presence made her
tense with fear and disgust. She was a helpless naked woman and had heard about filthy
films of such things with women and animals. It sniffed her bare leg, its drool running
down her calf. But then thankfully it seemed more concerned with trying to steal her
discarded panties from the commandant’s pocket.
It was the first time she could recall regretting her magnificent looks and figure,
bestowed on her by nature but assisted by frequent gym workouts. Once grateful for her
breasts, which were still firm, she now longed to cover their thrusting beauty from the
cruel, hungry eyes of the cruel Chinese fiends staring at her so blatantly. Her pert
bottom, under tight jeans or skirt, had always attracted admiring stares which she
secretly enjoyed, but not so maybe the occasional vulgar pinches from some over-zealous
Mediterranean or Latin friends. Now to her shame, her cheeks unconsciously twitched in
dread, simply drawing their attention to the sensuous beauty of her smooth globes. Right
now she would have welcomed a simple crude pinch over her clothing if it was an
alternative to this shame. But worse, the doctor produced a thermometer and, after
sliding it between her lips, proceeded to use his stethoscope with intimate thoroughness
on her chest. As he continued, he would occasionally gabble something in Chinese.
“The doctor say breathe in, hold … now breathe out, stick tongue right out, hold it
out … lean forward,” Santena translated as the doctor’s hands and instruments continued to
move over her. “Now lay on back on desk, please, Mrs Errins-Smith, lift legs apart, hold
them high.”
Again Patricia tried to catch the Chinese girl’s eye, seeking some sort of support
or reassurance woman to woman that she would be safe in adopting such a vulnerable,
blatant position but the young officer appeared totally oblivious to her natural fear.
Biting her lips and groaning, she slid onto the table. The wood was cold against her bare
bottom and she was conscious of the sweating, smiling face of the Commandant just inches
away. Trembling, she adopted the most vulnerable pose a woman could before men. The
looks on the vicious faces of these men showed how much they enjoyed her beauty, her
predicament and shame.
She closed her eyes as obtrusive fingers eased apart the lips of her sex, then
pushed inside her. Desperately she tried to focus on the time when Craig’s fingers had
made that similar journey whilst she writhed against him, kissing him in their darkened
bedroom. Now she was being filled unnaturally in a hot smelly hut before her sadistic
captors. It was awful, disgusting. She felt sick as the fingers explored the blatant
exposure of her intimacy
“The doctor ask when your last … er period, Mrs Errins-Smith?”
Cringing with shame at having to mention such personal matters, she whispered her
responses, thankful that she at least wasn’t due that additional feminine burden for some
time. It was worse when he probed her back passage. She only barely put up with Craig’s
very occasional and brief forays into her most private orifice, normally squirming away or
snatching at his probing fingers. Now, with no such option, she wriggled and gasped, her
tiny muscled ring instinctively gripping the gloved intruder as it pushed inside, filling
her tightly and hotly, disgustingly. Her eyes squeezed shut, unable to meet the curious
gloating eyes of her captors as fingers publicly probed her bottom.
Finally the Commandant told her the doctor had finished and she thankfully slid
from the desk, hands clasped protectively over her shivering nudity.
Her shining face, hot with shame, flinched when the Chinese girl finally finished
sorting through her personal possessions and responded to another gabble from the doctor
by fetching him a glass beaker.
“Doctor require you give sample, please squat by desk.” The girl placed the bottle
on the floor, smiling coldly.
“Oh please, hah,” she gasped in shock first at the request to perform publicly such
a basic function and secondly as the elfin-faced youngster casually, yet viciously slapped
her face, making her hand instinctively dart from her blonde thatch to her stinging
cheek.
“You seem have difficulty remembering you obey orders and address me and staff
respectfully,” the Commandant interjected. “You do as told, now, here, or lady be in
greater trouble.” He looked down at the bottle and then stared intently into her flinching
face.
Although she wanted to use a loo, the indignity of having to do so in front of
these grinning swine burned bitterly within her as she awkwardly squatted on the floor
over the bottle. Looking down, her blonde hair formed a shield around her burning face
she tried to relax her muscles but nothing happened
“Hurry, woman! If you require assistance doctor can assist with tubes,” Santena
offered, licking his lips.
“No, please, sorry, S-Sir, it’s d-difficult, I’m trying,” she whispered,
alternately straining and relaxing her belly. She wondered what she would have said if
someone had told her, when she last used a loo in the airport, that on the next occasion
to do so she would be apologising so humbly to a Chinese brute for not being able to empty
her bladder publicly before him. And the obscene Commandant’s grinning face, his chin
resting on the bridge of his figures did nothing to make her feel at ease.
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