4 comments/ 19920 views/ 19 favorites Victoria's Secret: War Whore By: Joe_Doe_Stories 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." Victoria's Secret: War Whore Victoria started to open the door, but in a flash the corporal flew around the limo to open the door for her, releasing Victoria into the crowded market square. She picked through the tomatoes first, then moved onto the apples. They weren't very good. Why couldn't these idiots grow a respectable English apple. In truth, Victoria wasn't paying much attention to the fruit. Out of the corner of her eye she watched the people gawking at her. The women glared daggers. The men smiled... or leered. Everywhere she could here the whispers of the gawkers. "Doda": Prostitute "Humpa": Whore "coo hut": Cock Sucker She hadn't known their gibberish language before the war. But she learned it quickly in the brothel. The men spoke to her in THEIR language, and she was expected to understand. She now knew more words for "pussy" in their babbling jabberwocky than she did in her own. "Poo-see sucker," Mr. Gonut said, whispering it as curse as he passed. Victoria blushed. She didn't want to put on sex shows with Diana and Kate and the other women. The Japanese demanded it, and the locals cheered them on. Why then was Victoria condemned for it? "Miss, Miss, I get you bag. I pick out fruit for you. I pick out best. Very best. You say what want, I get." Victoria turned to see Mr. Pahpah, the owner of the fruit market, bowing graciously before her, half filled fruit bag in hand. She had known him for years, even before the war, although naturally she had never bothered to learn his name before he had fucked her. He was humble, and kind, and Victoria had always liked him. He had been one of the nicer ones, content to simply have her suck his cock and finish him off with some straight missionary position sex. He had never been cruel about it, and even apologized as he climbed on top of her. "So sorry, Miss, so sorry. The war," he'd shrug, as if that explained it. "I have coupon." Victoria blushed as she remembered the coupons. The dammed Japs had given the locals coupons to fuck her and the other prostitutes, rationing their pussies like they were cigarettes or candy or liquor. The pink coupons were good for a 15 minute session, and every household got 5 coupons a month. The coupons were freely traded; Victoria still remembered how her face burned crimson when the slow witted young man who had been charged with polishing her boots at the mansion told her that he had purchased the right to fuck her up the ass for 2 teabags. The coupons could be used for any prostitute in the city, including the locals. But because the coupons were pink the household staff began derisively referring to Victoria and her friends as "our English Roses." When the gardener sprayed them with delousing agent behind the toolshed he was "spraying the roses", spankings and canings were jokingly referred to as "bush trimmings". Like most of her other customers the little boot polisher seemed to revel her humiliation, waving his pink ticket in her face and asking her to show him how many tickets she had earned that day. He was a bit surprised when Victoria showed him her fistful of tickets; she was an industrious girl. "You fuck lot today, English Rose. You spread your legs for every man on Island. Now you spread legs for me. You feel that, don't you, English whore? I service you for years. Now you service me, with your sweet blonde poo-seee." "I like you this way. Naked. On back. Legs spread. Mouth shut. Humping away! Just like English bitch should be." "Look at me. Look at me while I fuck you. You pretty. You think I handsome. Say it. Tell me that you love me. Fuck me like you on honeymoon, ha-ha!" The bastard still worked at the mansion. She liked getting her boots dirty, knowing he would have to clean the muck off. Unlike the other locals Mr. Pahpah didn't enjoy humiliating her, he just enjoyed fucking her. Plus he didn't really look at her, which was good. Just a long, slow hump as the fat man enjoyed her wet tightness. Now the fat little fruit picker stood in front of her, reaching to take her bag. "I pick for you, Miss. I pick best. I do good job. I give you best." Ignoring the fact that he had fucked her only a few weeks before Victoria reverted to the RP accent and superior tone befitting a woman of her rank and station. "Thank you kindly, but I can pick my own fruit." Looking embarrassed Mr. Pahpah leaned in. "Other women won't pick fruit you touch. Sorry Miss. So sorry." Victoria looked around to see every woman in the marketplace, frozen in place and glaring at her. "Humpa," one of them spat. "Whore." Victoria blushed as she realized what had happened. Mr. Pahpah had bagged everything she had touched. The other women didn't want a whore touching their food. "I'll take your bag," she said. Victoria could feel herself blushing hotly but didn't want the women to see it. She turned away, but everywhere there seemed to be angry female eyes glaring at her. Mr. Pahpah wouldn't take her money. "Go. Go. Go," he said. "Very well. Do bill the Governor's Mansion," she said, with a grandeur she did not feel. "The Governor's Mansion", she thought. It was no longer a place of refuge. That morning she had dressed by herself, bathed herself, and made her own breakfast. Before the war she had been waited on hand-and-foot; now she spoke with the servants, all of whom had gleefully fucked her, or laughed at her as she was fucked, as little as possible. After the invasion her Uncle's house had been seized and turned into the military headquarters of the Japanese Empire. She had been allowed to stay, working in the brothel that was in the Officer's Club in the guesthouse behind the main building. She still saw her butlers, cooks, gardeners, maids, and maintenance men, but they served the Japanese, not her. Victoria wasn't even a servant now. Victoria was a war whore. She hadn't known any of her servants before the war. She had never been rude to them, exactly, but as it was a large household with lots of parties and guests she had always been strict. She knew that when she told Hafiy, the head butler to deal with one of the staff he would use his cane, and she was always amused to see the maid or gardener walking awkwardly the next day. "I see from your gait that you have learned your lesson," she would say smugly to the blushing maid or stable hand. "Let's hope that it's a not a lesson we'll need to repeat?" adding a question mark on the end to reinforce her power over them. Victoria had never thought of her punishments as being unjust and had supposed that such discipline was necessary for running a large mansion. The Japanese maintained the tradition, although she did note that they used it far less than Victoria did. Their fearsome reputation was enough to keep the natives in line. Victoria blushed the first time one of the maids saw her exiting a bedroom where she had just served a soldier. Victoria knew that some of the British officers sometimes took advantage of her maids, and why she didn't approve of it she simply dismissed it without comment as a byproduct of colonial rule. When she saw the smiles on the faces of her former servants she knew the worm had turned, and the women were delighted to see Victoria and her hoity friends suddenly forced to serve masters they could not refuse. Whenever Hafiy caned her the other servants would gather to watch. Their laughter and taunts burned her more than the cane. Victoria had only been in the servant's quarters once or twice before the war. Now she was there at least once a week, watching as one of her whore friends was punished for some "infraction." Although she was never given a title it was understood by everyone in the brothel that Victoria was the girl's leader. She coached them, comforted them, and represented their interests as best as she could to her superiors. She had been a virgin, but she was smart and learned quickly. It was Victoria who told the other girls how to wrap their legs around the men, how to make noise to encourage them to come, how to have the condom ready before the man even pulled down his pants, and how to clean themselves quickly for the next customer. Speed was essential. Most days Victoria wore simply a garter belt, or a white slip she could pull of easily, or towards the end of the war, nothing at all. Most of the men didn't even bother to take their pants or shoes off. Victoria told her friends they were prisoners of war, and they were fortunate to be given jobs that gave them a decent bed and food. By serving the Japanese officers in the brothel they were making them drunk and weak and easier to beat and every hour they spent on top of a British girl was an hour they were not able to murder innocent British soldiers. As War Whores they had a duty to do and as members of the British Empire it was their job to do it to their upmost. She said the girls needed to show the enemy what British girls were made of. Victoria knew that part of her devotion to duty was simple pride: If Victoria was going to be a whore, she was going to be the best whore she could be. Victoria told the girls that by doing their jobs well and pleasing the officers they would earn their respect, and maybe even their affection. Perhaps as the war progressed they might even be able to intercept and pass on information. It never happened, for there was never anyone to pass any information to. The natives hated the British women too much to help them. Victoria had assumed she would be given to the Island's new military governor, but he never visited the "Officers Club" except for brief appearances at official events like the parties the officers gave each other when one of them was promoted. She was an English whore, and beneath him. The Governor's wife and her friends regarded Victoria and the other English girls with unabashed hatred. The "moral cleanups" where the local prostitutes were whipped were suspended for the local girls, but they remained in full force for the British comfort girls. Once every three or four months one or more of them were paddled or strapped or caned in the town square, with all the locals watching. When her turn came Victoria never paid much attention to the locals. Her eyes were always on the Japanese on the balcony where the Governor's wife and her female friends laughed and tittered and pointed as Victoria's bare bottom was strapped and paddled. Since the new Governor couldn't be bothered with her Victoria lost her virginity to a fat pig of a Japanese officer who didn't even appreciate the gift of her lovely blonde flower. The officers were not polite, but a few weeks later they were sent to the barracks of the enlisted men, who piled on the girls four or five at a time. A few weeks later the girl's "cliental" expanded further to include the servants who worked at the mansion. Her servants. Victoria told the girls that the locals were no different than the Japanese, and were entitled to the same high standards of service. But inside her heart sank. Her servants were free to fuck her, and fuck her they did. "I polish your silver, Miss Victoria. Now you polish my knob." "You whip my ass for sleeping? Remember? Bend over, whore." SPANK! SPANK! SPANK! It was only when she had to wrap her legs around the filthy and stinking stable hands that the full humiliation of her situation really sank in. But Victoria quickly found a way to turn it to her advantage. Victoria quickly realized that the men WANTED to humiliate her, and reveled in her debasement. The more disgraced she was, the more nauseated she looked as they ordered her to her knees or bent her over or climbed on top of her, the more they liked it. Wanting them to come as fast as possible, Victoria played to their desire to debase her. "I'm sorry, sir. I know you mucked my stables...but I never knew your name, sir", she'd say meekly. "My name Ruwan." "Thank you, sir. Thank you Mr. Ruwan. I'm sorry I didn't learn your name, sir. There were so many of you and... I won't forget your name again, sir. How may I...pleasure you?" she would ask, looking down and blushing. "I will... I must do anything you say." "Suck suck." Victoria would drop to her knees and with great reluctance unzip the man's trousers. She didn't have to pretend to be revolved, for the servants seldom bathed and the smell of whatever menial tasks they were assigned to do was still on them. In Ruwan's case the smell from the horse dung on his boots made her want to gag. Taking his penis in her hands, she would look up at her Asian master with pleading eyes. "Please, Mister Ruwan. You know me! I am...I was... I am the Governor's daughter. Please don't make me do this!" Victoria would look up at them with tears in her eyes, letting them men revel in their absolute power over the beautiful blonde ice princess who had once been untouchable. In most cases it only took a few good sucks to get them to spurt their disgusting loads into her mouth. Prudence and Jane and a few of the other girls didn't agree with Victoria's strategy. "If we make them come quickly there will be that many more of them fucking us," they protested. So Victoria discretely suggested to one of the Japanese officers that it might make the girls work harder if they could turn extra tickets in for extra rations. The suggestion was adopted, and soon each of the proud-but-hungry English woman were fucking non-stop. Adjusting her hat, Victoria strolled across the crowded square to the millinery shop. There hadn't been many hats during the war, and Victoria was one of the few women on the island who could afford a new hat now. All of the British prostitutes left the island after liberation; in light of their ordeal their husband's requests for other stations were always granted. Even her friends who had fled before the occupation didn't wish to return. Victoria alone remained, although a few of the new officers had brought their wives. They were chatty, status conscious, and blissfully unaware, like Victoria had once been. Lucky girls. The women had heard stories, of course. Victoria never spoke of what happened to her, but everyone KNEW. Victoria liked the power it gave her over the other women, most of whom had spent the war on some dreary military base or toiling in a factory. Once again Victoria was their leader. The millinery shop now did clothing repairs and sold bits of fabrics to the natives. But times would change now that the war was over and they would be selling hats soon. Victoria made her way to the shop, ignoring the glares from the women and the smiles of the local men. Before the war she had hardly known any of the men. Now she knew every man she passed. Victoria brushed past Mister Sim, who used the occasion to give her bottom a gentle squeeze. Mister Sim was circumcised, and preferred oral followed by anal. He was fast and brutal, and always made sure Victoria knew she was his whore. Mister Kim was to her left. He worked at the Ministry and had always been polite to her before the war. Victoria was surprised when he had brought her the school uniform and told her to put it on. The Japanese charged him three tickets to give her six strokes of the cane, so he could only afford to "visit" her once a month. Mister Dopo liked to sniff her feet. Mr. Waku had an average sized cock and liked to fuck her up against the wall. She knew every man she passed. And they all smiled when they saw her, for they knew her. Intimately. Sing had still been in school when Victoria had visited his class to lecture him about colonial government. He had been polite and humble that day, the model pupil, eager to learn. Victoria had been his 18th birthday present, and for his party he and six of his school buddies had fucked her, one after another. Victoria had once been his teacher. But Sing was the master now. Victoria had not known these men before but now she would never forget them. Each passing face brought a fresh surge of humiliation to her blushing face as did the sly whispers as soon as her back was turned. "Whore!" "Cock sucker!" "Strumpet." Victoria reached for the door of the shop. It was locked. She tried again. It was locked. She peered through the window. There were other women in the small store, looking at the fabric, discussing repairs, and shopping. Why was the door locked? Through the shop window Mrs. Song glared back at Victoria. "No whore store! Go away. No whore. This decent shop! You stink of whore juice. No whore!" "Is there a problem, Miss?" Victoria turned and to her surprise she saw the young Lieutenant standing behind her: tall, handsome, and eager to help. "If you need to get in..." he said clearly embarrassed by what he had heard. "No, my mistake. I actually need to go to the police station." "Are you sure, Miss? Because I can..." "No, Lieutenant. I don't require your assistance, but I do need to go to the police station right away. Please do as your told." "Miss? There's something on your back. I didn't want to say anything but it's stuck there and..." Victoria reached back but it was finally the sheepish Lieutenant that pulled it off. Someone had stuck a pink ticket to her back. The Lieutenant knew what it was but was too embarrassed to speak. For an instant Victoria considered bursting into tears as she ripped the ticket up, but there were too many people watching for that. No, she wasn't going to let them break her. Victoria dropped the ticket into her purse and began walking. It was different traveling with the Lieutenant at her side. There were still the glares and leers, but the rude remarks were never in English. Victoria wished he wasn't there, as she preferred humiliating honesty to the stifling hypocritical deference of colonialism. To the Lieutenant's surprise Victoria walked past the station by the Hall of Justice and continued several blocks south to the smaller station. It was a seedier side of town and although the armed Lieutenant did not feel unsafe he was puzzled at what business the Governor's daughter needed to conduct at this particular police station, bordered by the city's docks, warehouses, and saloons. Victoria had seldom seen the area before the war, but now she knew it well. After the enlisted men had had their fill of the British captives the officer in charge had transferred the girls to the red light district, splitting them up and alternating them between the brothels and pimps in a continuous rotation. With her pretty face and blonde pussy Victoria had been a popular "window girl". Victoria turned and walked down the street, stopping at one of the brothel windows. The prostitute in the window was naked, of course, and she was kneeling on the ground. Victoria looked at her critically; when Victoria had kneeled in that same window a few weeks before she had kept her legs spread wide, and had played with her pussy to entice the men to come inside. "Is everything all right, Miss?" the Lieutenant asked. What a stupid question! Of course it wasn't all right. Nothing was "all right." Victoria turned and walked on, not bothering to respond. The Lieutenant tried to accompany Victoria into the police station but Victoria was adamant and ordered him to wait in the front lobby for her. "It's a police station, after all. If I'm not safe here the British Army isn't doing a very good job, is it? " Unconvinced but unwilling to fight with the strong-willed young woman the young Lieutenant took a seat in the lobby. Victoria showed the front desk clerk her letter. He smiled and directed her downstairs. Victoria knew the way. Victoria recognized the fat desk jockey behind the counter. Sergeant Sia always seemed to be on duty. "Excuse me, Sergeant, but I seemed to have received this letter in error. It says I need to come in for a medical examination. However as you know I am no longer employed as a ... er...that is to say, I am no longer working in that capacity." Victoria's Secret: War Whore Sergeant Sia smiled at the pretty blonde's discomfort as he pretended to read the form letter as if it were something unique. "This is from Ministry of Health. Doctor must take you off list. You go through that door." Victoria frowned as he pointed to the door marked EXAMINATIONS. "I don't need an examination, I need to stop getting these bloody letters. When I told the Doctor last month he said he couldn't help me until the police gave him the right form." Sergeant Sia shrugged and without getting off his stool reached into the file cabinet by his feet to extract the correct form. "Take form and give to Doctor. Through door. Examination first. Then form." Victoria blushed as Sergeant Sia leered at her. Taking the form she quickly perused it. "I don't need an examination! I'm not a... Wait. This is a bloody dog license." Sergeant Sia laughed and went into the drawer again to fish out the correct form. Victoria wondered if it had been an accident. Glaring daggers at him Victoria snatched the form out of his hand, and headed into the dreaded examination room. The other prostitutes were already stripping. "I don't need an examination," Victoria protested. The stout nurse was not impressed. "You no special, English lady. You name on list. You strip. You strip." she said, indicating the other prostitutes. "Doctor need to check whore pussy. Butt hole too. Strip! Strip! Everything. Off. Now, now!" Focusing on her goal Victoria bit her teeth as she began to slow unbutton her lovely white dress. She wore more clothes than the 7 other prostitutes, but soon enough Victoria was stark naked and heading into the so-called "examination room". Victoria shuddered when she saw the too familiar but still horrifying wooden bench. After a quick slap across her naked bottom from the nurse she joined the other girls, scampering into a kneeling position, bottoms up, hands on the ground, with her legs and bottom cheeks spread wide for "inspection." Victoria's heart sank for she knew the nurse was right. Her hair was blonde and skin fair, but kneeling on the bench with her legs spread to shoulder width she looked no different than the other whores. The Doctor never bothered to change his gloves as he moved from girl-to-girl, but at least his fingers were greasy and the examination quick. Victoria would have minded it a lot less if Sergeant Sia hadn't wandered in "accidentally", claiming that he had stepped through the wrong door at a station he had been working at for 20 years. Once inside he slowly walked the line, ogling the girl's exposed pussies and bottom holes and letting out a little whistle of appreciation as he paused to peruse Victoria's blonde gash. "Like a row of slot machines," the fat cop snickered. "Yes, we have some real money makers here," the Doctor agreed. Victoria blushed beet red at the compliment. She wondered how much she had generated in her years of whoredom. She had never seen a dime, of course - the men paid her with tickets, and after they left the officers club they didn't even get extra rations, and were fed spoiled fruit, putrid rice and disgusting fish heads she had to suck on to get enough calories to survive. But there was no doubt about it; her tight English pussy had generated money for the men who had sold her. It had been a long war for Victoria and her friends. The Allies had skipped her island, calculating it was not worth the men required to retake it. Victoria and her friends were made to suck and fuck until the very end, through all of the campaigns, through the dropping of the Bomb, even past VJ day. It wasn't until the British army landed on the island that the women were finally freed. When she heard the Doctor unsnap his gloves Victoria and the other girls rose off the bench. Officer Sia smiled as the Governor's daughter was handed her humiliating "work card" authorizing her to hump in any brothel in the country for the next 30 days. Then it would be time for another inspection. Victoria needed the Doctor's signature, but she wanted to get dressed first. She wanted him to see her as a lady, not as a naked whore, her pussy still greasy from his pudgy fingers. As Victoria headed back into the next room Officer Sia grabbed her wrist. "Where you go, war whore?" he asked gruffly. "I need to get dressed," she stammered, disgusted to even be touched by the fat and leering police officer. "You can't get dressed until you pay your examination fee," he said flatly. "5 shillings." Victoria frowned. Normally the examination fees were paid by the pimps, but as she had no pimp she would have to face the further indignity of paying the police to strip and violate her. 'The money is in my purse." "No clothes. No clothes until you pay fee," Officer Sia insisted. "But the money's in my purse. I can't pay..." Officer Sia smiled. "Can't pay, you get pimps to pay your fee. You have work card, and he pay fee, and then you work. I be your first customer." Victoria shuddered at the thought. Officer Sia had reveled in her degradation, repeatedly telling her to "look at my face" while he fucked her and making her thank him for giving her "a good whore fucking." If she turned herself into a pimp that meant spreading her legs for Sia, his friends, and anyone else with the money or tickets to fuck her. "In with the other whores," Sia barked, slapping Victoria hard on the ass and forcing her to fall in line behind the other prostitutes waiting for their pimps. Victoria took her place in line, but as soon as she got out of Sia's sight she ran through the other door and circled around to the room with her clothes, ignoring the catcalls of the handcuffed prisoners waiting to be led upstairs to the transport van as she ran naked down the hall. Grabbing her clothes Victoria pulled her dress over head and slipped her shoes on as she half ran up the stairs. Instinctively she knew that Officer Sia was hot on her tail and if he caught her at the very least she would spend the rest of the evening again earning her money on her back. The Lieutenant didn't seem to notice that she wasn't wearing stockings or underwear, although he did ask if she was all right when he heard her gasping for breath. Ten minutes later she was happy to be back in the safety of her Uncle's limousine and on her way back to the Governor's Mansion. Sitting in the backseat Victoria raised the partition so the young Lieutenant couldn't see her putting on her panties or stockings. She spent the rest of the trip home examining her work card. She hadn't seen one before; the pimps has kept her paperwork for her. It felt odd handling her license. But now examined it closely, fascinated with the horrors the tiny card represented. Once home Victoria entered through the side entrance, avoiding her so-called servants and making her way up to her grand bedroom suite. Inside she locked the door, then poured herself a Bourbon as she slowly stripped herself naked, admiring herself as she posed in the gigantic mirror. Naked, she pulled a large chair in front of the enormous mirror and knelt on it, spreading her legs wide as she looked over her shoulder at her exposed bottom hole and pussy. Reaching between her splayed legs she began to rub herself, admiring her blonde sex in the mirror as she looked over her shoulder. "Whip the little blonde bitch!" she gasped. "Skin her pampered British ass!" Victoria rubbed harder. "Please!" she moaned. "Not the punishment horse. It's cutting me in half!" Victoria held her breath as she rocked into the next chapter of her nightmare! "I can't breathe, Katherine. Suck, suck! Suck, suck harder or I'm going to die." Victoria stroked her clit faster as she moved three fingers inside of her soaking pussy. "Feel that, English whore? Do you like me fucking you? How many other men fuck you today? Move big lazy English ass of for me. Give it to me sweet! Earn that ticket, slut!" "Please, Doctor, no! I don't need to be examined. I'm not a whore! I'm not a whore!" Victoria shuddered to orgasm, delighting at the sight of her spasming pussy in the mirror even as she kept rubbing herself to orgasm. Then she started again. Victoria had a secret she would never share.