Total Control

A Post-Brexit Britain Story

Two men sit at the bar of a traditional looking English pub the sort that those that pushed for Brexit dream about.  They are wearing the uniforms of the Home Office Immigration Enforcement team a uniform that those staying in the UK under false pretenses have grown to fear and loathe. None more so than foreign females for whom a meeting with the officers is liable to turn very nasty very quickly.

“Can only stay for one. I have a job on tonight.”

His colleague smiled. They both knew what such a job entailed.

A few miles away a pretty Italian girl gets dressed as if she were preparing for a date. But she is not preparing for a date with some lucky young man. She is preparing for a home visit from the immigration enforcement office. Still she thinks it probably best to dress nicely. She is a very attractive girl and very conscious of the effect she has on men. Perhaps she is hoping that she can use some of her charms to get a good outcome.

She is nervous. The idea of a home visit seemed odd but she realised it was a bad idea to argue with the immigration office. That could earn you an immediate deportation or worse a stint in a detention centre. No one wanted to end up in a detention centre, particularly not pretty Italian girls with ripe bodies.  She had heard terrible stories about what happened there. She had heard stories about sinister things happening at the immigration office so she wasn’t keen to visit there either.

The immigration officer who contacted her said that there were some irregularities in her paperwork and he wanted to pay her a brief visit to confirm some of the details she had given. It all seemed above board in that officious British way and yet the idea of this man coming into her home seemed oddly invasive, creepy even.

The doorbell rang and the girl went to answer it.

“Miss D’Antonio?”

The pretty girl nodded.

“I’m from the Immigration Enforcement Team” he said handing her his official identification.

“May I come in?”

Odd he wasn’t wearing a uniform just jeans and a t-shirt. But she guessed this was normal for after-hours visits. He was carrying a briefcase though and he took out some official looking paperwork.

She looked at him with a puzzled expression. Her English was good so it wasn’t that she didn’t understand what he was saying to her. It just didn’t make sense. He was telling her that her paperwork was invalid and she would be deported after a brief spell in a detention centre. Then he made his suggestion. He could be prepared to pull a few strings but there still needed to be “a penalty” for her wrongdoing.

“I am talking about punishment Miss D’Antonio, corporal punishment. It’s a wonderful English tradition.  Very good for girls actually particularly good looking ones who are inclined to get a bit up themselves.”

The Italian looked in horror at the items he now produced from his briefcase: a singletail whip and a digital camera.

“I’ll need to take a few photos too. Just for evidence- to show my superiors that I did what I came here to do and wasn’t distracted by your obvious charms” He said this with a sickly smile.

“Though I’d be a liar if I said I wasn’t tempted. I bet you’d like that wouldn’t you? Ey Chiara, can I call you that now that we are better acquainted? ” He winked as he said that.

“Anyway, what’s it to be?  A trip to the detention centre or we settle this issue ‘in house’ as it were”

She nodded at his suggestion.

“What’s that? In house is it?”

She nodded again more vigorously.

“Splendid, I think you have made a very sensible decision. Now let’s get that dress off”

She looked at him incredulously.

“Well I can hardly give you a proper whipping with your clothes on can I?”

She slipped the dress over her shoulders. She now deeply regrets choosing to wear her best lingerie. It was meant to give her confidence but now it merely shames her.

He has clearly noticed.

“My goodness, quite the little slut aren’t we?” the immigration officer comments.

“Well then, no need to be shy. Kneel on the bed, let’s get a proper look at you”

As she kneels on the bed he takes a snap with the camera.

The photos are really for insurance purposes. Should the girl decide to do anything silly he had them as leverage over her.

“Very good. Now take off those whore’s rags”

Chiara looked puzzled

“Take off the underwear”

She reached behind to unclasp her bra.

Before she knew what was happening his hands were at her breasts groping them. His fingers press a little too strongly causing her to wince.

“I’ll give you a hand with those” he said as he yanks down her knickers.

The next few minutes are a blur. The sound of the whip cracking. The excruciating pain as it makes contact with her skin. He pays close attention to her back and bottom but does not spare her belly and breasts. Her body twists and turns in response. One blow strikes her across the front of her thighs glancing the pubic mound.

She feels sick and dizzy. She feels like she will pass out any moment but as she starts to drift off the whip jolts her rudely awake. She begs and pleads but to no avail.  The pain is killing her.

More photos, this time of his handiwork on her back and bottom. Then she is on her knees in front of him. His cock is rudely thrust into her mouth. She gags as he thrusts more forcefully.  He grabs the back of her head and forces himself deeper inside her throat.

Then he wants her on the bed, her legs spread wide open. His cock is already lubricated by her saliva so he enters her easily. He glares at her with something like anger as he fucks her. She cannot avoid his gaze. He briefly licks her face then his mouth is at her breast sucking then biting the tender nipples. He starts slapping her, alternating between her breasts and her face.

She feels the judder as he shoots his seed deep inside her. Her own body starts to betray her.