As we reach the small classical portico, the door opens and two guards escort a full-bosomed nude lady out of the building. She keeps her gaze lowered, avoiding eye contact with the males, but when we get close, she raises her eyes and smiles at me. A shy, but somehow contented smile.
I smile back, recognizing her. Sarah, the abducted businesswoman. I last saw her at the Pussycat Gym, as she was trained at whip's end by the Gym Master. She was plumper then, but now she seems perfectly fit, her curves are still there but her belly is flat and his buttocks firm, bearing just a faint remembrance of the welts that adorned them.
She also has her hands tied behind her back, and one of the guards drapes the regular red cape on her shoulders as Lad unbuckles mine.
As I am left naked, one of the guards escorting the full-bosomed girl looks at me, then at my bottom, affecting surprise:
“Doctor! Always a pleasure to see you! And I see good ’Ol Sarge is keeping your hot ass as hot as needed, eh, my lady?”
He is the Master Spanker. I’d like to punch his face, hard. Instead, I smile sweetly, answering:
“Always a pleasure indeed. And I suggest you mind your own ass, Sir. You know, a handsome boy like you... you never know…”
He looks at his companion, puzzled. Then they shrug and laugh.
But I know he will understand soon. Indeed, he is a trim, handsome young man, and he will have a very good time in prison. Provided he changes his sexual orientation a little, of course.
At that moment, Lad sees his opportunity and addresses Master Spanker in a low voice.
He is bypassing his direct superior, a dangerous move. I wouldn’t have recommended that move, had he required my advice.
The Master Spanker frowns, mouthing “You sure?”, and Lad nods. He jumps me, grabbing my wrists, and making me bend over. Drago steps forward, but Sarge, frowning, explains the case, so he just says close, keeping a wary eye on the jewel. I make a worried expression, and Lad smiles, in early triumph.
“Kneel, ass up, s’ils vous plait, Docteur”
They make me kneel on a bench, and together examine carefully my rear. Of course, they find nothing unusual there. Having your hands cuffed behind your back is awkward, but has its advantages. One of them is that your captors can’t see what your fingers are up to. The miniaturized camera, of course, is on the gravel path, in the middle of the Secret Garden. Easily scrapped away with my nail extensions. Contingency plan B.
I am helped back on my feet, the Master Spanker shaking his head at the loss of time, Sarge glaring at poor Lad, who now has understood what I did and scowls at me. I smile back my best you-are-big-I-am-smart innocent smile. There his scowls melts into a thin, unexpectedly admiring smile. Frenchmen know how to admit defeat with a certain style.
I smile inwardly as Sarge prepares me for entering the building, under the attentive control of good ol’ Drago, whose hand is again close to his beloved gun. The guard keeps carefully his hands away from my bum. The defendant walks to court in the nude, it seems, but the emerald pendant makes its effect. He stands behind me for the last controls: he grabs my tits, twisting my nipples a bit, just to wake them up for a better appearance, and brushes nonchalantly my bush.
The Court is a vast room, with a higher podium for the Judges, while the defendant sits in a lower chair in front of the bench. There I am left standing in front of the seat.
“Display, Docteur,” Lad says, his relish in having the opportunity of embarrassing me evident in his low voice. I assume what seems the standard position for showing respect to the court. The guards stand beside me. They don’t seem intentioned to free my hands, still tied behind my back.
I am left there for several minutes, balancing uncomfortably on high heels, as the two guards standing by me continue leering. With the excuse of setting me in the right position, the big guy touches my hips, then my breasts, smiling.
Then a strong light is pointed towards me, and only a light shuffling of feet tells me that several other persons are entering the room. I hear muffled voices and some dirty laughing. Eventually, a male loud voice announces:
“All rise for the honorable Judge Stephen Straaf!”
The Judge strides in. He is Sir Stephen. Of course.
“Please be seated.”
I warily sit on the chair in front of the Judge, flinching slightly when my bare ass touches the leather, but it is soft and cool and not really that uncomfortable.
Drago steps up to the podium, again uncomfortable since he cannot see the ass-plug on which I am sitting. The Judge notices him, and summons Lad, telling him something.
Lad can’t resist showing off his culture when directing me in following the Judge’s orders:
“The honorable Judge requires you kindly spread your legs, Docteur. In good accordance with tradition, I must say. Devant nous vous ne croiserez les jambs, ni ne serrerez les genoux… ”
I quickly obey, switching to respectful mode. It could be more fruitful here. I also slide forward and show Drago the jewel, and he again relaxes and smiles to me that awkward smile of his.
“Welcome to my court, lovely lady. Today it an important day for you. Any statement from the defense before beginning our procedure?”
I am seated in a lone chair in front of the podium, legs spread, it seems no defense counsel is required. So I will be my own lawyer.
“Your Honor, whit the due respect, I don’t recognize the authority of this tribunal…”
He laughs softly:
“Madame, this is not a tribunal. They call me Judge, but it is just a sort of honorary title. My jurisdiction is strictly limited to the Secret Garden, as reads at the entrance. And you may have heard bad rumors about my jurisdiction. Or the line of business our associates follow. That they are abusers for example. Far from the truth. Any street thug can abuse an abducted woman. On the contrary, believe it or not, our vision is completely different.”
I let him go on with his gibbering, appeasing the man, assessing the situation, gathering intelligence. I can’t recognize his accent, of course, but again, there is something familiar in his voice, in his tone.
“We admire and enjoy women.” He continues “And we respect them and their free will.”
He stops as if waiting for a response to the great revelation. Trying to maintain a calm self-assured voice – hoping to entice him to reveal more - I answer:
“Again with the due respect, Your Honor, is this respect demonstrated by keeping an oldish lady naked, handcuffed and with spread legs?”
He smiles that smug irritating smile. Then looks down, scanning me up and down, and a blush - not entirely fake – appears in my face and migrates towards my small breasts when he takes a long look at the trimmed bush down there. He rests his gaze there for a while, and automatically I close slightly my legs. Then I force myself and look at him, straight into those piercing eyes, spreading my legs further, defiantly. Amused but satisfied he then continues in that deep educated voice.
“Well, it seems you sort of enjoying the latter Madam, as I do. Now, just out of curiosity, I hear the guard address you as ‘Doctor’. Why do you think he did so, dear lady?”
I hear a small alarm rings somewhere, but I try to ignore it, answering in a calm voice:
“Ah, I don’t know, Your Honor. I think they are just mocking me for my glasses… they are used to younger women you know - and they are just boys,” I add, just to keep Lad at the right level of tension.
Smiling at me an encouraging smile he shuffles through a thin dossier, and I cannot avoid flinching as I recognize the logo of the Agency. And the Classified stamp across the page.
“I see. So, you don’t think it has anything to do with your Ph.D. in… let me see… - he studiously turns a page - Criminology, isn’t it Doctor Autopoiesis?”
He smiles at me:
“Or shall I call you Detective Autopoiesis? Special Agent Autopoiesis maybe?”