Penance Corporation of America III: Forced To Serve

Forced To Serve-3

The forceful woman, both intellectually and physically, wanted something. And a woman of Antoinette De La Corte’s ilk was given to taking what she wanted... never asking or pausing for something to be generously bestowed. A feminine Visigoth, she plundered and foraged and she enjoyed herself in so doing.

And because she wanted me... seeing something in my puppy dog eyes... she extended the already firm grip she had over my life. Needing the modest paycheck, certainly needing to avoid anything other than the standard flattering recommendation at the end of my summer internship, I found I had no choice... first meekly sitting in her office every a.m. with coffee and fruit... later arising at a most inconvenient hour in order to open the second floor gym and await her arrival.

As stated, the owner of the building and first floor dress shop was an acquaintance. Thus, entrusting Ms. Antoinette De La Corte with the key to the second floor door in order to facilitate her preferred early morning workouts was simple. And so it was passed to me.

Two days after the embarrassing work out, I was instructed to have the gym door unlocked, the lights on and be waiting for the boss lady to arrive. And I was to change and be ready when, within minutes, the physically imposing assistant U.S. Attorney arrived after me.

That first morning is recalled...

“Willie, you truly look ridiculous with those long shorts. Way out of fashion. New material, briefer style is the thing for workouts these days.”

She tossed me a bag.

“Put those on and lose the shorts. Don’t even use them to wash your car.”

I returned to the men’s locker room while Miss Antoinette changed. In opening the bag I found a sleek but all too brief garment. The material was indeed of space age synthetics... thin, almost diaphanous. When I slipped my feet in and pulled up it felt like I was wearing a set of young boys jockey shorts... only the back portion did not completely cover my buttocks. The outline of my jock strap showed through. My old shorts may have been out of fashion, but at least afforded modesty!

Still under orders, I stepped back into the gym where Miss Antoinette soon joined me. A quick assessment drew a clucking tongue and a shaking head.

“Come. Let me show you.”

I blushed when she pinched my ear and dragged me back into the men’s locker room. Brazen, yes, but we were the only persons present at that early hour.

“Peel them down and step out of that jock strap. The material is designed to offer support and make the strap unnecessary,” she lectured.

I was horrified! Being commanded to expose myself before this comely woman.

“Hurry. You’re using up our workout time!”

Well. I peeled. Then I stepped out of the jock strap, which she took and tossed, into the trash can.

“You’re not to wear that again.”

Naked from the waist down I stepped back into the shorts with noted celerity. She then reached forth, grasped the waist belt of the garment with both hands at the hips and forcefully lifted. Her action drew the silk like cloth upwards cinching the material to look and feel like a loin cloth.

“There. See how it supports your balls.”

I endured further humiliation as she gently patted the indicated area then smoothed her hand to my rear to playfully slap my now fully exposed right buttock. Her strong pulls had gathered the material into my gluteal cleft leaving both cheeks to show.

“Yet there is much freedom of movement for the treadmill.”

In hindsight, I believe it was a ladies athletic garment, more commonly seen adorning the well muscled buttocks of champion sprinters.

“I can’t go out there like this,” I protested.

And that’s when I further learned of the determination and resolve of the amazing boss lady.

“I agree. Remove your shirt.”

***

As seedy as the Moon Lite Motel is, Far Rockaway is crowded on a summer weekend and when I call for a reservation I am surprised to find that it is easily obtained. As a result, I quickly conclude there is a preset scheme when I specify Room 255 and learn it is available. Someone I am sure has guaranteed p*****t otherwise it would long be reserved and occupied.

With the instructions arriving on Thursday and Friday being a busy day on the court calendar, there has not been much time to contemplate the recent events. So the late Saturday morning drive to Far Rockaway provides time to return my mind to the task which is forced upon me... investigating the events which have led to the curious state of non compos mentis for my one time mentor in the office of the U.S. Attorney.

Ms. Antoinette De La Corte forced me onto a pathway of subjugation some ten years ago... though in hindsight ‘forced’ might be a term subject to question.

Arising predawn is not easy for a 23 year old law student. The rigors of law school most often mandate late nights, acclimating one to late mornings of recuperating sleep. Therefore the drudgery of awaking in the dark and scurrying to the gym to ensure all is waiting for the boss lady left a lasting impression. But it was just the beginning.

Prancing about in the skimpy shorts is something never to be mentally acceptable... shirtless as demanded. With the second visit, Miss Antoinette could not fathom the need for socks and running shoes. And when she stepped from the ladies locker room in her becoming athletic attire, the strong hands lifting at the waist line of my shorts, cleaving the material into my gluteal cleft, became the signal to begin the morning’s workout.

Gratefully, there were no others working out at that hour. But as the morning progressed the opposite sidewalk became busy just when Miss Antoinette deemed it time for judo practice. Though I was slowly developing stamina, that merely meant that I was relegated that much longer to the treadmill. Therefore it seemed I was each morning reduced to the rag doll, which the powerful woman tossed about on the mats, gracefully bestowing the most indignant of holds.

When she removed her footwear, the first time I marveled as it further highlighted strong yet shapely gams. But when I learned it was to practice kicks to the buttocks, stomach and groin, I cowered in fear of permanent damage. She was swift and accurate, quickly and easily rendering near immobility. On occasion my testicles would pop free of the tight nest made by the skimpy garment and it seemed Miss Antoinette would then work doubly hard and fast in denying me an opportunity to right myself.

Each judo session ended with Miss Antoinette standing over me while I crawled about trying to escape an excruciating arm lock or some other ineluctable hold. She insisted that I beg for release... and I cursed myself ... but I did on each occasion.

At the end of the second week, a new garment was tossed to me.

“Something better. With sweat bands for your wrists,” she announced.

Same material, but lower at the hips to reveal more of me. The garment closely resembled the jock strap she threw away in terms of offering cover. And the sweat bands for the wrists wrapped about utilizing Velcro. I should have been suspicious when I exited the locker room and along with squeegeeing my shorts well into my butt crack as usual, she assured that the Velcro bands were tight. Curious that I did not notice the metal ring attached to each band... not until I found myself on the treadmill under her careful supervision.

“I’ve noticed you’ve been slacking a bit, Willie,” she pleasantly announced in drawing my hands behind me.

“Hold still. I’m going to offer encouragement.”

I heard two clicks and found she had clipped my wrist bands together.

“Pain can become a great incentive,” she further explained in drawing two clamps from somewhere I had not noticed.

With that she toyed with my n*****s, forcing then to pencil points and then cruelly applied the clamps.

“I cannot think of why else men have these other then to offer a woman the potential to inflict pain,” she glibly suggested as I gasped in anguish.

“So you’re going to jog long and hard for me. Otherwise you will suffer.”

With that a small chain was connected to the left n****e clamp, looped about the bar which one normally holds for balance, and then strung back to connect to the right n****e clamp.

“Ready to persevere for a change?”

Her hand reached to the control knob and turned to slowly but steadily begin the rotation of the treadmill. I walked, having no choice other than to endure agony, and then brought up my pace to most obediently begin the forced workout.

Fortunately no one was present to see the humbling experience, though I am sure some curious onlookers on the sidewalk peered up to observe. But that would change, as each day Miss Antoinette lowered me further into an abyss of servitude.

***

“Room 255.”

The motel clerk hands me keys with comical pride and ceremony.

The Moon Lite Motel is surprisingly presentable for a seasonal establishment not affiliated with a national chain. Far Rockaway attracts beach goers and fishermen with the warmer seasons. Otherwise one can only imagine the demand for rooms.

With instructions in hand I proceed to the room. As with most low cost motels, the rooms are comprised of two rows, right and left of the manager’s office accessible directly from the parking lot. There are no hallways, just a series of outside doors and I am not surprised to find that room 255 is the furthest from the office on the left side. I return to my car and drive the fifty or more yards, park, turn the key in the door and enter.

The familiar musty odor greets my nostrils. I always wonder why cheap motels all smell the same. I suppose it’s a combination of cigarettes and the industrial cleaners used to sanitize rooms used for purposes other than sleep. I spend a moment to draw closed the thick curtains, adjust the air conditioner and strip.

As instructed, I encircle my ankles with the vinyl strips, pulling tightly with one finger inserted under the loop. When I pull away my finger there is provided just enough slack for comfort. No chafing... no impeding of the circulation. I do the same with my wrists, needing to pull tight the loop with my teeth.

I panic in noting the clock reads 2:05. My more accurate watch stills my concern, suggesting I have five minutes until... well until what?

So I don the hood. It is of quality fabrication, completely separating me from the light and sights of the outside world. And with that I lie back on the bed... supine as instructed. Then I spread my legs and move my hands to the corners of the mattress.

I wait... asking myself questions. How the receipt of an anonymous package can result in having the Chief Judge for the Eastern District lying naked in a gloomy motel. How an unknown voice can bring back such cathartic memories.

But then comes the answer... how else would I have attained the office of chief judge but for becoming the loyal and obedient servant of Assistant U.S. Attorney Antoinette De La Corte?

Memories of my internship, where it all began, cascade in my self imposed darkness...

***

Morning encounters at the small but well equipped private gym instilled in me obedience... stamina and conditioning too... but such were for the enjoyment of Ms. Antoinette De La Corte. She was an artist creating a portrait... a sculptor creating a Greek statue.

Unfortunately her sculpture was to be as all Greek statues... nude!

It was a July heat wave that served as catalyst. The gym had no air conditioning and a particularly hot night had not provided the usual cooling effect. So when I opened the second floor door shortly before 6:00 a.m., I was greeted by a billow of damp warmth rather than the usual cool brought by many hours of darkness.

I changed, struggling to get into the tight shorts then encircling my wrists with the dual purpose sweat bands for my wrists. I stepped from the locker room to find that Miss Antoinette had just arrived, greeted by the same heat.