The Foreign Office

By Kivutar Amy Koski

THE FOREIGN OFFICE Part II of The Rubber Republic
The future is female... In a world that men have failed, women are now the rulers. The Foreign Office is the foreign affairs department of the Rubber Republic, and runs its secretive intelligence branch - PUSSIE - to prevent intruders, to assist women in need and to further the aims of state security in the Vanillan Democracy. PUSSIE's spy rings are lethally efficient, and those males captured are likely to suffer extended tortures until they break. There is also a highly placed PUSSIE agent in the Democracy who is planning to arrange - and 'fix' - a referendum on joining the Republic. However, his name has been leaked, and the Democracy operative in the plantations must get the name to his superiors back home before PUSSIE or the SSS get him...

Enter a futuristic world of gynarchy where the almost universal fetish for latex rubber is weaponised and employed to maintain the status quo...

Meanwhile, Kirsty Forsyth is regularly assaulted by her boyfriend, Greville, until her predicament comes to the notice of a PUSSIE agent in the Democracy. Kirsty is enrolled on the secretive 'Operation Redress' that will change her and her life forever. Greville is lured by monetary greed into boarding a Republic ship bound for the rubber plantations, where he will be charged and arrested. Kirsty will be transformed into a confident, demanding, dominant woman by education and the support of the women involved in 'Operation Redress'...

Greville's breaking and training at the hands of those rubber-clad ladies will provide Kirsty with a fit partner for her new life in the Rubber Republic...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kivutar Amy Koski
• Release date: May 7, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215337431

Kivutar Amy Koski

It's been a long journey from the young girl starting out as a new legal graduate, fresh from university. My father was Finnish, and I was brought up in Birmingham. I met Bruno my future husband when he was stationed in Poole many years ago. I moved often in those days, the requirements of the service being paramount, and we ended up here in Scotland at Arbroath. Together we we found a beautiful 10-acre croft (farm) that needed renovation. It overlooks the Moray Firth in the scenic Scottish Highlands. We bought it, and Bruno being very practical and skilled we restored the house and barns, stables etc.It is no accident I write the things I do: both Bruno and I have a terrible weakness for BDSM, femdom and rubber (especially rubber). We have converted one of the haylofts into a fully-equipped punishment/play room, with a flogging horse, vacuum bed, milking stool and restraint spider to name but a few. I can assure you I have the best behaved husband it is possible to imagine! His face is a mixture of fear and desire when I tell him to fetch the key, unlock the playroom and await my pleasure.I write a good deal; it's hard work but I love it and there are those who say I have a talent. I write other more conventional historical romances (with a twist), under another name - it serves to keep the literary establishment at bay. No one who writes the way I do, about the subjects I do, would ever be taken seriously by the publishing industry as the author of a 'literary' piece so that's the way it has to be unfortunately. Both Oscar Wilde and D H Lawrence would have been better served heeding that dictum. I have both a volume of contemporary poetry and a WW1 novel available, as well as another couple in the pipeline. I have so far been discovered by three readers, who have uncovered my nom de plume, (I have no idea how) and I suppose it makes for a bit of fun - no doubt there will be other sleuths who make the discovery.We are considering moving to the sun - it may come off, we have seriously looked at small villas in the quiet mountain areas of Cyprus, Spain, Greek islands and so forth, and the idea of writing in that environment appeals. If it happens it won't be for a year or so, due to personal complications, but we have our fingers crossed. I am always available to chat - I love ideas and swapping personal experiences, but I am often busy and don't get the time I'd like to talk with those of a like mind. I do go on my facebook page regularly, and that is normally the best place to get an instant response. Email is slower, but I check my mails normally every day, so it's a sure process. I love fresh ideas and perspectives, occasionally I work them into my books, and in the past I have included the names of readers in little cameos (you know who you are lol) which I find makes for a piquant little taster of mischief. I hope I provide the kind of book rarely available elsewhere - all my work is of a professional well-edited standard: I have to say not all the indie books I've seen can say that, there are some shocking examples out there, but also some good ones. As ever beauty is in the eye of the beholder I suppose. xxx

Book preview

The Foreign Office

Part II of The Rubber Republic

KIVUTAR AMY KOSKI

-oooOO0OOooo-

First published in Great Britain by PLP Books, 2023.

The moral right of Kivutar Amy Koski to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the copyrights designs and patents act of 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior permission of the copyright owner. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are fictional. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

 Kivutar Amy Koski 2023

ISBN: 9798390465967

-oooOO0OOooo-

My sisters, if we only heed the words of Tennyson the future may yet be ours:

Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho'

We are not now that strength which in old days

Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are;

One equal temper of heroic hearts,

Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will

To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

Contents

Prologue

1: A Deserving Case

2: For the Love of Money

3: Learning Curve

4: The Female of the Species

5: The Male of the Species

6: Desperate Measures

7: Nowhere to Hide

8: The Triumph of Good Over Evil

Prologue

The gleaming black latex habit the nun was wearing creaked as she moved from the wall rack, her shiny rubber riding boots squeaking ominously beneath the flowing rubber folds as she approached the flogging frame over which David was secured. David was in the last period of his training at the convent, conditioned to enjoy the experience of physical discipline, but even so he worried which implement the sister had taken down. If it was the heavy rubber strap the pain would be unbearable. He caught the fleeting image of the sister in the oblique tall mirror as she passed, her gleaming rubber habit shimmering, reflecting the light and shivering, as only rubber does. Her bright cherry red lips were set in a cruel compressed smile. He caught a glimpse of the handle of a senior rattan cane and gritted his teeth: It would be painful, but not as excruciating as the thick rubber strap and there was a chance she would take him to that delicious place: the place where the pain became a tide of overwhelming pleasure.

Something was different. The cane was tracing a light dance across his quivering flesh, making his muscles jump and bunch, his heart race in both fear and anticipation of the deep burning strokes. But they didn’t come. Instead the sister was letting the cool smooth cane caress him gently, tormenting him for her own amusement. She was so close, so strict and cruel, so gorgeous. So close indeed. He inhaled the heady cocktail of warm latex rubber, the polish he’d used to shine her up prior to his Tuesday punishment; the soft fragrance she used permeated the air, heady and sweet. Her voice was low, husky, filled with excitement – as it always was when she punished.

You have passed your stage seven examination. This is the mandatory punishment for not achieving full marks. I may allow you pleasure afterwards, I may not. It will depend on my mood. You have been selected for a special job: one that will entail overseas travel. You will be fitted with a mark six tormentor belt before you are sent. If you’re successful in your endeavour there will be relief for you and your associate when you both return. If you fail, there will be judicial level punishment and six months tormenting in the belt – without relief.

Yes, Sister.

Good boy.

The cane had moved deftly backwards to the full extent of the sister’s swing, the swishing whine familiar to David’s ears as it sliced the air on its way to his bare backside.

THWICCKK.

The pain lanced into him, stinging, biting: reminding him he was born to obey the might of womanhood, subservient in his desire to the gleaming shivering rubber. The sensuous gleaming rubber the nuns had used to train him to this level. The pain burned, yet at the back of his mind he pondered two things. What was this task he had been selected for, and would this superbly sexual rubber-clad sister, a member of that select order the Sisters of No Mercy, take him to the special place with her cane? Perhaps she’d stop after her own first orgasm; she often did...

1: A Deserving Case

The young woman would have been attractive, and probably would be again in time, but her bruised and swollen face was discoloured, distorting the pretty features into a collage of grotesque lumps and a rainbow of hideous purples yellows and charcoal blacks. The nurse had discreetly interrogated the woman, who insisted she’d accidentally stumbled into a door. The injuries contradicted that story. Not only were the bruises and lesions indicative of multiple blows from various angles, there was severe bruising on her upper arms and shoulders: proof positive of her attacker’s overwhelming physical strength. The nurse had the details. She was Kirsty Forsyth: unmarried, but in a long-term and clearly abusive relationship with one Greville Henderson; so unsure of herself – lacking self confidence – she was willing to lie about Henderson’s culpability, and almost certainly willing to undergo similar ordeals in the future in order to keep her man...

Nurse Tammy Jackaby sighed inwardly as she made her way upstairs to the office belonging to the head of nursing. Miss Selina Dixon was a forceful and efficient head of department, but somehow sinister and frightening. She’d been born and brought up in the Rubber Republic, had attended one of the top schools there. It was rumoured she had highly-placed connections there too, and her family still lived there. This made her attitude to men short at best, contemptuous, and her response to this new episode would be predictable. Not for the first time in her short career, Nurse Jackaby found herself wondering why a resident of the Republic would choose to live and work in the Vanillan Democracy. As a female, Miss Dixon would enjoy such a privileged lifestyle her existence here must be almost humdrum, even squalid, by comparison. If her attitude to males had been conciliatory, conventional even, it would make sense, but she was clearly a dominant personality. Strange...

******

Lady Stella settled back into her office chair, the midnight latex of her stockings squealing delightfully against the pink rubber upholstery as she moved. She eyed the two naked males in their thick rubber slave collars as she spoke into the phone. Stella was a senior aide in the Foreign Office: PA to the Foreign Mistress in fact, and ran a project called Operation Redress. The Rubber Republic had committed itself to Redress several years before, at the insistence of the Foreign Mistress herself – Miss Veronica Dixon. Indeed, it was the Foreign Mistress’s own sister who ran the intel part of the operation from the Vanillan Democracy, the very person who was speaking on the phone.

Stella, darling, I saw this young lady with my own eyes. Had a male been foolish enough to assault a woman this seriously in the Republic he’d be facing sexecution.

"But he’s not in the Republic, Dixy. The pet name was an affectation allowed to close friends and those who’d attended the same exclusive finishing school. Lady Stella continued I’d dearly love to have him forcibly removed and brought here for retraining under the auspices of Operation Redress, but you know the rules: that simply isn’t possible unless a request is made by a relative or his wife/partner for corrective action. Even then they have to meet the cost. Unless of course you’re suggesting he meets the criteria of a deserving case..."

Almost. I can cover that, make that happen through the charity. The one condition he doesn’t satisfy is the request; his partner simply won’t make the necessary statement. She’d rather have him beat her to death than lose him. In fact she’s part of the problem. Too timid, too self-conscious, too insular in her outlook. If she could just be shown the difference his training would make, the absolute control, the adoration she’d enjoy, I know she’d jump at the chance.

"Is there nothing you can arrange? There must be something we can twist, some leverage we can employ to help this poor woman..."

I’m working on an idea as we speak. Henderson’s mother may be coerced into making the complaint. He’s an only child, spoilt, but the Hendersons are an old, prominent family over here in the Democracy: wealthy, aristocratic too back when there were such things. I have an idea his mother would be horrified at both his actions and the attendant publicity should it become public knowledge. There’s a free press here, you know.

You conniving devil, Dixy! I like it. Will she pay the training fee do you think?

"I think not! We’re going to have her son shanghai’d to the Republic and trained by beating, torture, sexual deprivation and conditioning... and you want her to pay for it! There was a peal of laughter from the other end of the phone before Selina Dixon continued, I’ll have to conceal the harsher elements of his training from mummy dear as it is..."

But you’re hopeful?

I’m hopeful! I’ll be speaking with Governess Jemimah shortly. You know how devious the head of PUSSIE is. Jemimah’s run scores of these operations, and never once failed...

******

Governess Jemimah was currently working from home; her husband Barclay was secured firmly over her favourite punishment frame, naked, and had already received thirty-six stinging strokes from the senior cane. Jemimah felt her warm wetness as she walked softly to the implement cupboard, replaced the cane, and took down a medium rubber punishment strap with a waxed oak handle. A cruel smile played across her pretty features as she moved to the four large mirrors on their stands, adjusting them so Barclay could see her voluptuously sculpted figure wrapped in shining black rubber. This was going to make her very hot and excited indeed; so excited she’d probably cum twice if the flogging was extensive – which she decided it would be.

Barclay heard Jemimah’s rubber riding boots squeak on the red rubber flooring of the punishment room. Seconds later he saw her image ghost into the tall mirror to his left, the shimmering midnight of the rubber nun’s habit shivering and shuddering as only rubber does; the light bounced into the folds as they moved, the polish of the rubber so good it became a flexible onyx mirror of feminine contours. Despite the stinging fire in his buttocks Barclay felt his penis harden with desire. Being married to the head of the Republic’s foreign intelligence service – PUSSIE – had it’s advantages, although they might not be considered as such by some. Governess Jemimah could wear the rubber habit of The Sisters of No Mercy, or any other garb she chose, whenever she wanted to. The privilege went with the job title. In any case, it wasn’t as though he had any choice. The delectably dominant Jemimah kept her position as head of PUSSIE by ensuring a constant flow of information from those in senior positions in the Vanillan Democracy – under the control of PUSSIE’s operatives – either by blackmail or other, more direct means. He occasionally heard snippets of his wife’s conversations, giving a glimpse of blackmail, extortion, and the application of rubber chastity tubes to unwilling males, perhaps even some with internal rubber spikes like the one he currently wore – the one that was brushing at his aching penis-head as it thrust desperately against its rubber prison. There was a swish, the song of the rubber punishment strap bludgeoning the air from its path. His eyes were involuntarily drawn to the mirrors, the flash of the polished rubber blade twinkling in the rays of sunshine streaming through