The Wren in the Attic

This short story that is a bit milder than usual in that it leaves a lot up to the reader's imagination. Think of it as a little practice piece before I go back to the longer stories.

The Wren In The Attic
By conwic

I had spent most of the last week clearing out the Captain’s house. That was what my wife, his granddaughter, called him behind his back. He was , or had been, a retired Navy Captain. He never quite adjusted to being retired though. He still had to be the guy in charge, the one giving the orders. Once he no longer had sailors to order around, he began giving orders to his family instead and never stopped. He was very much a pain in the ass for as long I had had known him. And, though he was dead now, he was still a pain in the ass as far as I was concerned since I was stuck clearing out his house so the family could put it on the market.

I started the attic this morning. It was packed with the assorted debris of over 90 years. I found a series of boxes full of stuff from World War Two. Commendations, letters, some theater programs and movie tickets, copies of orders, and album after album of pictures of him and other men and a few women in military uniforms. I could hardly recognize him in the photos. There was very little of the angry old man I had known in those pictures of a smiling young Navy Lieutenant. From the papers and souvenirs It appeared that he had been stationed in England on some sort of British-U.S. planning staff for the invasion of Normandy. There were boxes and boxes of stuff from his days in England. When I stopped to eat the lunch I had brought, I picked up one of the albums and started idly thumbing through it. It was filled with page after page of old photos of him and others in uniform, black and white photos that were beginning to fade.

At the back of the album was a stack of loose pictures. On top of the stack was a head and torso shot of an attractive woman. She was probably in her late twenties, a real beauty with pale skin, high cheek bones, and full , very red lips. Her dark hair was worn up in a fashionable bun baring her slender neck. She was wearing a dark uniform - most likely dark blue- with double rows of brass buttons, a white shirt underneath, and a dark, mannish tie. Judging by the dark color of the uniform and the brass buttons, she was a WREN, a member of the Woman’s Royal Navy Service. The woman was holding a notepad as she stood in front of a large wall mounted map. It wasn't a posed shot. She looked into the camera with an uneasy smile as if she had been caught unaware. The coat had two stripes and a diamond on her sleeve. While my knowledge of WREN ranks is based on little more than watching “ Sink the Bismarck” once or twice, I was pretty sure the sleeve braid would indicate that she was a WREN officer. She looked both very demur and very confident in her naval uniform, almost too perfect, like a recruiting poster brought to life. She also appeared rather aloof, like she was sending a “look but don’t touch” message to the camera. Or to the photographer.

The next picture was the same woman but in a different location, a bedroom perhaps. She had a different look about her as well. She did not look so confident or so aloof in this picture. She was nude from the waist down. Her uniform skirt and slip- they always wore slips back then, didn't they- were gone, leaving her in nothing more than a black garter belt holding up dark stockings. The rest of her uniform and her hair were still impeccable. Above the waist she still looked like the woman in the first photo, below the waist her lewd nudity stood in such shocking contrast that it was as if two photos of two different women had been pasted together. She was sitting astride what looked like a sawhorse. Her bare cunt with its chaste covering of dark hair rested on the thick hard wood board Her feet were outstretched, but they couldn't quite reach the floor. She could only try to support herself by balancing precariously on the sawhorse. That put all the WREN’s weight directly on her bare sex. She stared pitifully into the camera, obviously in great pain. Her eyes were silently pleading for mercy. Her hands were not visible. They appeared to be held- or tied - behind her back. The next picture showed her in the same pose only her head was down, her chin resting on her chest, her body slumped forward, apparently in great pain as she struggled to remain astride the sawhorse. In the fourth picture she was again facing the camera. Her mouth was open as if she was speaking, or, judging by the tears running down her cheeks and the agony in her eyes , was begging the person behind the camera for relief from the pain consuming her as her own weight slowly crushed her sensitive cunt lips against the unyielding wood..

I quickly turned to the next picture in the pile. In it she had been untied from the sawhorse and her arms freed. She was no longer crying though her fear remained evident in her frightened, “little girl” expression. She stood facing the camera with eyes downcast, caught in the act of unbuttoning her uniform coat. The next three pictures documented each garment as she removed it- her uniform coat, tie and shirt, and finally her bra. The embarrassment evident in the young woman's face grew greater with each article of clothing she removed until she stood there almost totally nude, her eyes downcast, unable to look at the camera , or the cameraman. Her body was slender with full breasts and long, strong legs. A horsewoman probably, she had the haughty look and proud carriage of an aristocrat. In the next picture she was staring reluctantly into the camera lens, nude but for her stocking and garter belt, standing at a rigid attention, her hands clinched as she held her arms rigid at her side. Her skin was pale but not unhealthily so. Its paleness was accented by the contrast with her almost black hair, both that on her head and at the vee of her legs, and by the dark color of her garter belt and stockings. The only trace of color was the red of her lips and nipples.

In the next photo the nude WREN officer was on her hands and knees, head down, crawling slowly toward the leg of the sawhorse. The camera gave a three quarters side view of her as she crawled forward, her heavy breasts caught in mid sway, her legs spread wide enough to show a glimpse of her swollen red cunt lips. When I turned to the next photo, she was standing, bent over the sawhorse with both hands braced against its parallel bar. Her round heart shaped ass, framed by the black garter belt, was at the center of the camera's view. The tiny star of her sphincter and the swollen, and very red , lips of the poor WREN's abused vulva were clearly visible between the two pale half moons of her buttocks. She was looking back over her left shoulder at the camera with what could only be described as dread in her wide eyes.

The next, picture in the pile was similar to the previous one. The WREN officer was still bent over the sawhorse, her head turned to look back at the camera. Her now total humiliation was evident in the woman's upturned face. She did not look at all impeccable now. Her body was shiny with her own sweat, and there were tears visible on her soft cheeks. The WREN's hair was down, her thick dark locks lying in disarray across her bare shoulders and down her back to her shoulder blades. There were at least half a dozen dark stripes running across the WREN's round, pale asscheeks. The marks of a whip. There were other marks on her ass as well. These were the marks of a man. On the outside of each of her pale ass cheeks was a set of bruises caused by a strong man's fingers tightly gripping the WREN's soft flesh as he brutally sodomized her. Between the twin bruises the WREN officer's raped asshole was a wide open hole with a thick stream of whitish man cum trickling out of it. The stream of man cum reached half way down her thigh to disappear into the top of her black stockings.

The last picture showed a thoroughly cowed young WREN on her knees looking up at the camera. Her hands were behind her back, her body arched back to offer her full breasts to the camera. Across each breast was a single dark streak, the mark of his whip. Her legs were spread wide, exposing her dark vee of pubic hair. She was staring up at the camera without seeing. She looked like she was in shock. Her mouth was open. A thin stream of something, perhaps her drool or perhaps his cum, ran down her chin. As I turned that picture over and laid it on the pile, I noticed a date, 10-10-44, and a name, Diana, penciled on the back.

I went back to work with considerably more enthusiasm than I had felt before lunch. As I carefully went through each box looking for more pictures, I could not help but think that I had never known the Captain at all.

	May 21, 2012, 01:34:46 PM Login with username, password and session length

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