Dictator My Darling

Dictator, my Darling

The first time I saw him, I fell hard. As hard as his remorseless expression, as hard as the medals covering nearly every inch of the snugly tailored uniform --- some strange mix of equestrian and military robing --- did he fancy himself a king, a general, or both?

I’m a tough woman…a tough bitch, some might say. I know Hanson thinks of me like that.

“You’ve handled these two-bit tin-pot despots before, Liz,” he says, leaning over my desk and staring lustfully down my pink linen blouse. “This is a quick inspection, just a cursory tour…you know that. We do a little looking, then serve his “highness” with a notice, then get the hell out. He wouldn’t dare touch us. We’re with the UN.”

I know that, I say. Still, my eyes can’t help but fall on his dossier picture again. He’s standing at some podium in his little shithole country, fist raised, covered in satin and steel, a gold monocle implanted in one eye, his fatty jowls blown outward like a bullfrog, his flushed face the color of hate, of control, of fanaticism.

Crossing a man like Chang might not be the wisest move, I say. His regime is months away from being toppled. He’s got nothing to lose at this point…and he’s rumored to be mad.

“He’ll be even madder when we shut down his little --- what’s the sicko call it? His…playroom,” Hanson snaps. “Demented little fucker. Be ready tomorrow morning. The car’s at your house at 5.”

On the flight over I find myself reading the reports compulsively, fascinated in particular by the accounts of the dictator’s crimes.

Since taking over the microscopic country seven years ago, he’s turned it into a well-oiled machine that solely serves himself and his pleasure…making him richer and more powerful each day. He’s levied ridiculous taxes on his people, turning them all into virtual slaves. No one is allowed to leave the place. Those that try, are arrested, tortured for punishment, and then sent to the firing squad.

I read about a young mother of three, arrested on suspicions of “treason.” I read about her three-day-long ordeal, chained to a torture rack, the general personally interrogating her, slowly burning every stitch of clothing from her body with lit cigarettes. Each time she screamed, the rack was wrenched tighter and tighter, tearing her delicate muscles with infinitesimal patience. She told her story to one of our operatives, who managed to interview her weeks later, as she was confined to a hospital bed in the country’s filthy infirmary.

“You must stop the monster,” she is quoted as saying. “He enjoys this…enjoys hurting and controlling people. He won’t stop until we’re all dead.”

We are greeted on the landing strip by a small, trim man named Hector Okita, a major in the general’s army, and his “personal aide.” He smiles warmly and tells us his Excellency is honored by our visit and hopes it can remain as comfortable as possible. His tightly pursed lips move back and forth after he says this, in an expression of smugness, and I ask why it would be anything but comfortable.

“The heat, Miss Jackman,” he replies smoothly. “It’s so very hot in Terrahito this time of year.”

I smile back, give Hanson a look, and he lightly chuckles, but there is no humor in his voice. Okita points to an enormous silver Rolls Royce limousine idling on the tarmac.

“The general’s personal car,” he says, bowing and motioning to a uniformed chauffeur, who holds open the rear door.

“We’ll take a cab,” I say, the sharpness of my tone cutting through the humid air.

Okita says nothing, expressionless, then removes his mirrored sunglasses. “A request from his highness is an order, Miss Jackman,” he says, his voice dead and heavy. “Surely you don’t wish to get your visit off to a bad start by refusing a direct order.”

“We’re from the UN and we don’t take orders, major,” Hanson pipes. “Tell your ‘great leader’ we’ll be at the prison by four and expect to find things ready for our inspection.”

Okita smiles, this time showing his teeth. He almost looks impressed at our chutzpah. Or perhaps it’s only amusement. “Of course, Agent Hanson. Agent Jackman,” he says, looking my short skirt over leisurely, “his Excellency looks forward to meeting you. Also Mr. Hanson.”

Rolling my eyes and running a hand through my dark, tousled hair, I turn toward the cab stand, following Hanson, wishing I’d worn that pantsuit, heat be damned.

We’re driven in circles for about thirty minutes, through desolate areas interspersed with laborers feverishly toiling in fields, before Hanson blows his top.

“We were sent here to see the prison. PRI-SON! Understand?” he shouts. The small, frail-looking homunculus at the wheel shrugs his shoulders weakly, until Hanson starts directing him: turn here, go there, take a right there. Finally, we’re in an industrial looking area surrounded by grey granite buildings --- bars on the windows, attack dogs, watchtowers.

“Terrahito Prison,” the cabbie announces softly, his tone fearful and nervous. “You want I should wait?”

The warden is a small man, well-fed, balding, dressed in an expensive dark suit. He leans back in an overstuffed chair behind a desk in a lavish wood-paneled office, and folds his hands over his paunch, smiling.

“You’re too late, I’m afraid,” he explains happily. “Security lock-down. There has been some disturbance.”

Hanson goes ballistic, almost reaching over the desk and taking the bureaucrat by his bespoke lapelled vest. His guards cut him neatly off by a quick display of their gun metal.

“If you had taken the general’s car, you would have arrived on time,” the man rebukes, straightening his tie officiously. “You Americans have to have everything your way. Hotheads…” he sniffs. “Never listening to anyone.” He puts on a pair of rimless spectacles and smiles. “You will soon understand, in this country, that General Chang’s way is all that matters.”

Hanson moves toward the man again, despite the approaching guards. “Is that a threat, warden?” he asks.

“Knock it off, Glenn,” I say suddenly. “Let’s go back to the hotel.”

“A wise choice, young lady,” the warden says, reaching into a box on his desk and thoughtfully lighting a small cigar.

“The nerve of that asshole!” Glenn sputters, snapping his cell phone closed and opening his suitcase. “I’ll have the FBI down here tomorrow if he continues to stonewall us.”

I fall on the hotel bed sheets and kick off my heels. “Yeah, right, Glenn. Your diplomatic acumen hasn’t exactly been a hit so far. Why don’t you let me handle his highness tonight?”

Glenn laughs, but it’s a nasty laugh. “And let him eat you for his supper? Liz, sometimes you amaze me with your naiveté. You think you can flash your boobs and he’ll turn to butter in his boots? Wake up, we’re in a savage place.”

“Fuck you,” I say, lighting a cigarette. “I’ve got a third-degree black belt and I’ve handled guys like him before. They’re only interested in two things…money and power.”

“And sex,” he snaps. “Will you fuck him, too?” he jibes. He’s half-undressed now, his muscles bulging, his skin oiled. He still looks good, even at forty-two.

“That was a long time ago, Glenn,” I say. “And I’m on a mission…I’m not some slut. I’m a senior agent with more experience than you. You forget that sometimes.”

He looks at me for a long time, almost curiously. “You…you’re attracted to him…aren’t you?” he mutters, shaking his head unbelievingly.

I sigh. I throw my shoes back on and start for the door. “I’d be lying if I didn’t say that powerful men turn me on.” I shrug. “A hell of a lot more than little mama’s boys who lose their temper and don’t act professionally.”

“That’s not fair,” he whines. “You never gave me a chance. You want me to be a badass? Fine. I’ll demand that fat bully give us a full tour tomorrow. I’m not afraid of him.”

I laugh. I hate doing it, but hearing this ridiculous boast is impossible to check. “Yeah, Mr. Tough Guy? Think you can last five minutes in that maniac’s torture room? You’d be pissing your pants while they’re stringing you up. I’m taking in some sights. Meet you at the palace at seven, like on the invitation.”

He walks toward me and pushes me against the wall roughly. “If you think I’m letting you walk straight into his arms….” He leans toward me, wanting something: A kiss. A word of comfort. A smile.

I knee him in the balls instead and bat him away.

“One of us has gotta serve the bastard,” I say, walking toward the hotel room door, lighting another cigarette. “Ain’t gonna be you.” His cries of pain still echo down the corridor even after I reach the elevator.

“Miss Jackman, what a surprise,” Okita beams, as he trots down a grand staircase of white marble. “You’re a bit early. The general is still having dinner.” He reaches me and tries to take my hand, to kiss it, or some such crap. “And where is Mr. Hanson? Still at the prison?” His shit-eating smile is infuriating, but my face doesn’t change as I remove my sunglasses.

“We were too late, major,” I say. I shrug nonchalantly. “We’ll see it,” I promise him.

His mouth goes down in a small frown, but it’s quickly erased. “I’ll telephone the throne room. Perhaps you may be received now.” He gives me a large grin and steps to a nearby table, picking up a phone and muttering something inaudible.

“Follow me,” he says, waving with his gloved hand.

I do, trailing him up the steps, pausing to admire the lavish artwork that populates nearly every inch of the walls on the way up. I recognize a Seuret, a Gauguin, a Picasso.

“His Highness has exquisite taste,” I say, a little louder than normal. Never hurts to butter them up. But I’m also feeling my courage drain a little, and my heart beat faster. It’s not just the number of steps I’m climbing.

We arrive at a set of gilt gold double doors with a red carpet protruding from beneath.

“You are to be presented to his Excellency, General Chang, on your hands and knees,” Okita says. His smile is bigger and brighter than ever.

I swallow harshly, my eyes widening. It’s got to be some sort of joke. “I don’t understand,” I say, hoping I’ve misheard him.

“You go on hands and knees,” he repeats, “like a dog. Everyone must. His Excellency saw it in a movie and thought it was appropriate…an appropriate show of respect by visitors. It is our custom.”

My mouth is hanging open now; I can’t seem to shut it. Still, something is surging through the lower half of my body, sapping my strength. It would be easy to turn away now: turn away, go back to the hotel, and leave tomorrow morning, the mission a failure.

I straighten my blouse and start lowering my body until my knees are on the thin ribbon of red. The marble underneath is cold and unforgiving. I stare hatefully at Okita’s shiny boots, then lift my head. “You’re not coming, major?” I ask sarcastically.

He grins down at me. “No. The general does not wish it.” He looks up briefly then snaps his fingers sharply. “Keep your head down until he orders you to look up.”

I snort with disgust, but nod quickly. The double doors are opened and I start to move forth on my hands and knees.

The interior of the throne room is easily the most lavish one I’ve seen, and I’ve seen more than a few. Most are nothing but long barren halls with a large chair at one end, usually on a platform. But this…this one looks like the lobby of a five star hotel. Surrounding the carpet runner on which I’m groveling is deep-pile royal blue plush, the walls are a rich walnut or mahogany.  I can see booted feet around the perimeter of the room. It smells of opulence: oiled wood, the aroma of some sort of food, and cigarette smoke.

As I inch closer, I get a first look at a pair of jackbooted, crossed feet, and behind them, red billowy cushions of velvet. The sides of the throne are a gilt gold and dark wood. The noise grows louder, the sound of chewing and licking, the sound of an animal eating. I move closer, inhaling the scent of testosterone I can feel enveloping me, suffocating me.

A spent chicken bone lands in front of my nose and I rear back, instinctively looking up, both surprised and appalled. The Asian tyrant is before me, lounging on an enormous throne, lavishly upholstered. He is tearing with his bare hands into a golden-brown roasted bird, ripping a large thigh from it and stuffing his mouth greedily. He has on the familiar uniform, but this version is so tight at the middle it appears ready to burst, the buttons bowing outward. Any thoughts I may have had of plying this maniac with my womanly wiles are quickly leaving me. His gluttony, combined with his obesity and pomposity are slowly revolting me. My anger starts to rise. “How…much longer do I have to…?” I start.

“No more,” he snaps. “You are here.” He looks at me quizzically, knitting his large wildly unkempt eyebrows. “Did I say you could look upon my royal person?” he growls, through the mass of chewed-up gristle in his teeth.

Adrenaline shoots through me and I stand, brushing myself off quickly. “You…smarmy monster!” I hiss. “You sickening little creep! I’m a deputy of the UN and I’ll not take this kind of treatment from the likes of you!”

He brings a fat finger to his lips and suckles it greedily, smacking his lips. He dabs at his large handlebar moustache and neatly trimmed goatee. I may as well have said nothing, or greeted him politely, by his lack of response. Instead, he motions with a finger.

Two guards stalk toward me, from either side of the throne room. I turn to one, ready to strike him, but before I can the other brings a bayonet down savagely on my back. I collapse back to the floor.

I look into the barrel of a deathly sharp pointed piece of steel.

“You will look upon his Excellency only when instructed by him!” a voice shouts.

My hands and knees shake as I attempt to resume my supplicant position on all fours, but the pain shooting up my spinal column is searing.

The general laughs lightly: a fat, decadent, hideous noise. “You are nothing here,” he says calmly. I hear a metallic crack and raise my head enough to see a lit cigarette fixed to the length of a long black rod swing lazily into my line of sight. “The sooner you realize that, the better.” He pauses, puffing, and a cloud of smoke descends upon me, rushing over my face. I turn away disgustedly.

“You came to spy on my prisons and then to write a false report.”

I say nothing, frozen, the only thaw in my veins coming from the nervous realization that I have gotten in deep this time, far too deep.

“You will see my prisons…experience the pain…firsthand…to get an accurate story. And then you may write about them. But first…you must survive….” He starts to laugh louder, a ghoulish, maniacal laugh that rises in volume until it deafens me

I stagger to my feet quickly, turn, and try to run. The guards tackle me in an instant ---there are over ten in the room. I fight madly and almost have one pinned when a white cloth is wrapped over my head and the familiar scent of chloroform clogs my nostrils.

I wake nude, tied to a long, hard surface. My ankles are wrapped in steel cuffs, as are my wrists. I strain madly at them, but it’s like trying to smash my hands through metal walls.

Okita is by my side, leaning over me, with a pen and document in his hand. I turn my head further and Glenn is also there, bound naked to a stone pillar…a whipping post.

A small little thug of a man, barrel-chested and bare from the waist up, is busily adjusting something at the foot of the torture rack.

Okita points a remote in the air and I notice a large television screen mounted four feet in the air, at my feet. It brightens to reveal General Chang in his garish uniform. He has a large grin on his face, lazing comfortably in a cushioned chair, almost reclining. He is languorously puffing a cigarette in a black, foot-long holder, blowing smoke rings.

I stare hatefully at the camera positioned above the TV screen. “You think this ridiculous scene from one of your grade Z movies is going to scare me, general?” I say. I’ve never been so terrified in my life, but saying these words of defiance somehow gives me strength. During my time with the Bureau I was trained to handle situations like this, and one thing I’ll never forget was the advice handed down to me by my senior drill instructor: They get more than half their power from intimidation. Don’t let them enjoy that.

The dictator’s fatty face grows wider and he chuckles irritatingly. “It will do more than scare you, my fair deputy. Fear is a definite side benefit, but I will get the most pleasure from the pain I will cause you.” He sighs, leaning back further in his fancy chair, really enjoying his dominant position, his eyes twinkling malevolently.

“I’ve been on the rack before,” I spit, lying but hoping he’ll buy it. “I’ve endured torture from bigger assholes than you.”

The tyrant’s nicotine-stained teeth flash briefly. “Perhaps that’s true…perhaps it isn’t,” he says. “We shall see. I doubt though, that you’ve ever experienced a variation…like this. Major, begin with her!”

I let out a quick frightened gasp, which I know the bastard hears, because he giggles and claps his hands together insanely. The next second a horrid racket sounds from behind me, from behind my head, and my arms are jerked dramatically until they are so tight I can feel the muscle strain.

I close my eyes, gritting my teeth in agony. I hear a motor start, somewhere in front of me. I raise my head as much as I am able and find myself looking at a huge black steel dildo, jutting from the boards in the torture rack. It is spinning slowly. The tip is gleaming, wet, something oozing from it.

Chang’s figure moves on the screen and I can see he’s gesturing again with this holder. The wooden spokes over my head are again brutally wrenched backwards. This time I have to scream…I can’t control it. I look down again and the dildo spins quickly, advancing slowly toward my open pussy. I stare back at the smug televised face of my torturer.

“Simply sign the papers, admitting you lied about us, and we will free you. If you are foolish and refuse, we will persuade you…with this.” He leered into the camera merrily, rabidly drinking me in, helpless to his insanity. “Needless to say,” he adds gleefully, “I hope you refuse!”

I’m panicking now. Every instinct tells me to shut him out, to stop engaging him, but I can’t…I have to know. “What is that? What’s on it?” I sputter, staring at the rotating rod, knowing exactly what its intentions are, but not how they’re to be carried out.

Chang chortles. “That…is for causing your pussy a great deal of pain. And for warming you up. You see…each time the rack turns, it powers that dildo, which will spin slowly around inside of you…its rubber tip coated with a vile pepper sauce and a chemical to induce a burning rash. A pity you won’t be able to…relieve it. You’ll want to stroke it, to soothe it, to tend to it…but the pain will just get worse...the itching more intense until finally…you sign! Marvelously fiendish, isn’t it?”

“Ugh…God, no!” I gasp, repulsed, “NO!” But as soon as I say it, I feel it starting to bore into me, softly at first, then picking up speed as the rack is turned once more. A sharp knife of pain stabs at my clit.

“Liz! Goddamn it!” Glenn says, speaking for the first time. “They’re serious! Just…sign the papers…I already did!”

Instantly my panic and fear is replaced with an insane rage. “YOU…LITTLE PANSY-ASS FAGGOT PIECE OF SHIT!” I shout at him. “Mr. Tough Guy, huh?”

Glen ground his teeth. “Fuck you!” he screams back, “fuck you! I did it to save you! He said he wouldn’t…torture you…if I did.”

“You goddamn idiot. You know how much this pervert loves to torture women. And you…take him at his word? But first he showed you this place, didn’t he?” The rack turned again, my arms are ripped upwards, the dildo plows directly into my snatch. I feel the burn of the pepper, intensified by the spinning of the phallus. Then the itching sensation starts, lightly tickling at first, then getting more and more insistent. It’s maddening. I close my eyes trying to divert my mind, as I’ve been taught.

“Rack her again, major,” Chang gloats, his tone slightly bored. “I don’t wish to waste her completely. Then we start with the man. Perhaps that will persuade her to cooperate.” He laughs, blowing a few smoke rings, delighted with the despicable idea.

“You…sick piece of shit!” I scream. It was an underhanded move even for him…forcing my cooperation by threatening Glenn. The utter futility of it all begins to dawn on me. There is nothing else to do.

“ALRIGHT…alright, general,” I shout. I clench my teeth as pain rushes through my arms, perhaps incited by the idea of relief at last that allows myself to feel the full force of the agony.

Chang grins, deeply satisfied, taking a long drag of his cigarette and extinguishing it. “Excellent. I knew you’d cooperate. Take her to my chambers and prepare her for my pleasures. Lock the man in a display cage.”

“Yes, most high Celestial One,” Okita purrs, disengaging the dildo from my pussy and starting to unchain me.

“Display…display cages?” I mutter, looking up at the TV, but realizing it has gone black.

“Yes,” Okita smiles. “Prisoners sentenced to death are always put in his Excellency’s display cages so those outside palace walls get a good view of them before they are shot!”

“You…you little….” I gasp. I reach out and quickly grip his arm. I roll the little flunkie over my shoulder, landing him on his back. He hits the stone floor with a thud and instantly begins to shriek. 

I turn next to the little man…a young boy really…who had manned the rack. He has no weapon but his arms, and they are reaching out to me, a bit nervously, given the fate of his commanding officer.

I charge at him, executing a move I’d long forgotten, wrapping my arm around his neck while clamping my fist down brutally on his clavicle. He hollers and drops to his feet. I dart to a nearby stairwell.

I emerge into a darkened hallway, the scent of perfume leading me on.

At the entrance to an open door, I find no less than seven women, all wearing skimpy harem outfits. One is giving another a pedicure. Another is doing hair. Several are merely lounging and watching TV.

One stands as she notices me and the rest of their eyes follow.

“Who are you?” the standing woman asks. She is taller than the others, though they all look similar: Asiatic, as are the general and his troops, with dark hair and even darker eyes, heavily made up.

I stand there, stark naked, and attempt to wrap my arms around my bosoms and cross my legs, even though none of them are wearing much more. “I need clothes,” I say.

“We call security,” the tall one retorts, heading for the phone.

I turn and grab a silver tin of talcum powder before throwing it into her face. She staggers back, coughing and the room clouds with white for a second. I quickly grab her neck. “Give me something to wear or her neck gets broken,” I order the others.

The women frantically dash around until finally working up an identical costume for me: tiny gold cups to mask my nipples, clasped with a strand of pearls around my back, a similar G-string of the tiniest bit of pink satin, then gauzy green legging and slippers. It must be the “official” costume for a concubine of Chang’s.

“I need a weapon,” I murmur, looking around the room for a bit before finding a long letter opener. I conceal it as best as I can in the waist band of my leggings. “If you’re not tired of fucking that fat pig for free,” I say, “go ahead and call the guards. If you are…your secret is safe with me. Now, where does he sleep?”

Virtually all of them point in the same direction, without hesitation.

I turn and make one more pass around the room. “Anyone got a douche?” I spit. The itching in my cunt feels like its nesting a thousand fire ants.

I dart quickly down the long corridor until coming to what obviously is the general’s suite: four sets of double doors, adorned with elaborate gold knobs, fixtures, and gilding.

I open the one on the far right and enter as quietly as I can. I smell the cigarette smoke, smell the brandy, and look to my right. The fat bastard is relaxing in a large club chair of soft green velvet, swishing a brandy snifter in one hand, cigarette holder in the other, staring at a blazing fire.

“Major,” he begins, “how much longer…?”

“No more, general…I am here,” I say.

His head snaps around and he starts to reach for a button on the table next to his chair. I withdraw the letter opener, trying to disguise it as much as possible in the dim lighting of the room. “Don’t touch that button, general, or this knife goes into that fat blubbery gut of yours. And you should know from my resume that I can do that.”

He freezes, then frowns and slowly heaves himself up. “You are bold…and foolish,” he sighs. “A hundred men surround this palace. You think you can evade all of them? Stupid woman!” He places the cigarette holder in his teeth, puffing defiantly on it.

“Who said I want to get away?” I say, returning his stare.

His eyelids close slightly and a smile comes to his lips. “You want to feel more of my power, don’t you, Miss Jackman?” He ejects his spent butt into an ashtray, pockets the holder, and begins to saunter towards me, his long silken robe falling open, revealing his nude body.

I stare at him, repulsed but somehow being drawn in. As he gets closer, I smell the room again. It isn’t a bad smell…it’s musky, old, rich, corrupt…opulent…just like him.

“Shall I confiscate your ‘weapon?’” he laughs, reaching down and gripping my wrist firmly, harshly, until my hand shakes and falls open, letting the opener fall to the floor. It looks pathetic and small as it clatters to the marble.

He wraps his large hands around my ass and gently pinches it, pulling my body into his hairy chest. Yes, he’s plump, but he’s also muscular. He reminds me of an ape…a savage ape, one who could have people ripped apart with a snap of his fingers…or do the ripping himself, if he chooses. He’s a savage waiting to be tamed. But first I want to feel that power first hand, as he had promised me as I knelt before him earlier.

Chang forced himself on me then, kissing me savagely. I gulped at the intensity of his attack, feeling the slickness of his waxy moustache, the vile taste in his mouth of booze and imported cigarettes. But it was wonderful. He was nasty…so…so nasty…and powerful. His stink was one of pure evil. I felt his cock harden and begin to seek me out.

I pulled away from him suddenly and slapped his face.

I braced myself for a punch from him, but he only smiled. “You want me to hurt you, isn’t that right? You want me to torture you? That is why you slap me?”

“I slap you because you’re a foul, sadistic, evil….” I gasped at the words, ashamed, now getting wet. “Yes…yes, I do. I want you to really hurt me…here…now!” I couldn’t look at him any longer. Glenn was right…I was a slut. But fuck it…I didn’t care.

The look on the general’s face was exultant. He grunted happily. He picked me up in his arms and carried me to his large California King bed, then threw me down. He opened a drawer and produced four white silken bands, then carefully tied each of my limbs to the posters, my bottom side up.

I watched as he carefully inserted another cigarette in his holder and picked up a candle, pooling with wax. He lit his smoke and started toward me. Oh my Christ, what was he planning? My mind was exhilarated. I was anything but afraid now.

I grunted in shock as his heavy girth crushed my ass, then moaned with ecstasy as he slid his enormous cock into me. He needed no prompting…he was a master. He fucked me slowly at first, picking up momentum gradually. When I was on the verge of coming, his cockhead spun around in little circles, dandling silkily on my G, gradually widening me. I yelled, screamed, moaned. Then he stopped.

“Want me to finish?” he taunts.

“YES! YES!” I scream angrily, frantically, biting my lips, gnashing my teeth.

His hand came down harshly on my ass. “Not before you get the pain!”

“AHHH! AHHHH!” I was screaming not with pain now, but with delirious anticipation. More…more…give it to me…NOW, I wanted to beg.

He loosened the bonds from my feet and easily pushed my feet up to the ceiling. He tied the silken bands on two hooks that hung from the ceiling. I was now upside down, standing on my head, my arms still bound to the bed, my feet straight in the air, legs spread wide.

“What are you going to do…oh mighty…Celestial One?” I panted.

He chuckled smugly, pleased by the usage of his title. “You will see…the anticipation of it, not the pain…will be what drives you mad…and gets you…hot…hotter….hottest!”

I waited like this for maybe ten minutes, my helplessness driving me round the bend. I couldn’t see much of what was happening. And then suddenly, I felt the hot, scalding wax dribbling into my cunt.

I let out a scream, my every fiber reveling in the sweet, joyous pain. He laughed obnoxiously and I let it fill my head with its sadistic force and unbridled glee.

He then sat on the bed, facing me from behind, his monstrous cock lying in wait for me on the satin sheets. Meanwhile, the wax continued to dribble down. He must have had it in some sort of dispenser attached to the ceiling…I…I couldn’t think or see clearly enough to….

He shoved his cock into my mouth and I began to suck it crazily. It took no less than three minutes for him to blow a massive, gooey wad into me. The warmth of the come….the sweetness….the pain of the wax.

I screamed and screamed, then screamed some more, all while the dictator laughed maniacally.

The door to General Chang’s suite opened and a man broke down in agony. The guards must have brought him for one final bit of gloating from Chang before being taken to the firing squad. His face contorted with anguish as he watched the madman torture me.

I smiled. “Don’t….no…general….please…you…fucking sadistic pig...” I said loudly.

“GODDAMN YOU! STOP HURTING HER!” Glenn shouted.

I just smiled and screamed, my laughs filtering slowly through my cries.

The door shut. Goodbye wimpy Glenn…hello, Dictator Chang, my darling!