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MIDDLE EASTERN INTERNMENT OF INTERROGATION AND TORTURE
Chapter One
A trip through the dungeons
Hesitantly stepping past the iron gate, entering the discipline block with the Captain of the guard she hears the mixed groans coming from around the corner of the shadowy corridor. Female groans, creaking sounds of ropes, the echoing of water dripping across stone floors all become louder as she walks beneath the brick archway, enters the wider chamber. The low watt strands of lighting cascading shadows, the unexpected vision of the brief row of naked women being punished practically startles her. The wing of the ancient fortress, now an unkempt makeshift prison reeks from the dampness, humidity, the overcrowding of its prisoners, this particular corridor undoubtedly being the worst of the lot so far.
“They’ve been in their assigned positions for hours already… Will be there ‘til nightfall and their next interrogations.”
His accent typical Middle Eastern, the voice authoritive, she nervously listens even as she stares prodigiously toward the trio of young female prisoners, their glistening, naked bodies virtually hanging arched back in rope bindings, gingerly prancing on the very tips of their toes above individual wooden stools spread just a few feet apart.
“Gives them something to think about the next time they’re questioned… Gives the guards something to look at and pass the time.” His voice a smirk, his gesture nonchalant as he steps slowly past the row of struggling women with the supple black riding crop flexing in his fist, he snaps it back and forth through the air with crisp, and ominous ‘whishing’ sounds.
Cautiously following, sensing her own chest practically throbbing at the insidious sight as she reflexively crosses her arms beneath and above her own substantial breasts, almost wanting to cup them, massage them through her own thick robe garb, she stares at the strands of hemp rope bound so tight, loop after painful loop deep across each of the women’s bare individual breasts. Following the pairs of taut ropes stringing upwards in front of each prisoner to the row of meat hooks hanging from black iron water pipes affixed to the stone, fungus covered ceiling, she realizes how tedious their painful positions must be.
Light skinned overall like herself, obviously not Middle Easterners, the women’s naked body’s glisten, their breasts appearing so hideously similar, purplish, melon sized globular mounds hoisted up just beneath their chins, the flattened nipples, stretched areolas upturned, barely discernable so discolored, tautly spread. She can only imagine the women’s pain as they struggle to relieve their stress with their arms roped tightly across their elbows pressing together behind their bowed backs, wrists bound and secured to more rope circling their compressed waists.
“They know better then to fall off a stool, or heaven forbid, tip one over.” He smirks as he lets the toe of his boot press across a leg of the last decrepit stool. “If they fall off… They have to get back on their own or hang by their… Well, you can imagine, can’t you?” He grins, nodding between her own arms still crisscrossing her well covered chest. “And, if the stool breaks?... Well, like I said, their preparation continues until nightfall… With no interference as they do what’s become for us a familiar dance in mid air.”
“Why… Why are they being punished so terribly like this?” She asks with her noticeable French accent, barely able to glance up toward their anguished glances between the continuously creaking ropes, what appears to be like narrow patches of saran wrap circling their mouths, cheeks, stifling their grunts, yet still appearing that all three are so youthful, even in their distressed state, obviously attractive.
“Punished?... No… No… Oh, no!… They’re being prepared…. Prepared for interrogations… They’re not being, what did you state?... Terribly punished?… That comes later on… After their confessions… Then, I can assure you… They certainly will be punished… And yes, terribly punished!” He smirks, allowing the tip of the crop to glide around the circumference of one of the second woman’s engorged breasts, flick across the flattened nipple with a hollow ‘thud’ repeated a couple times as she grunts, squints her swollen eyes to each ‘thump’. “They’re being given time to meditate for their interrogations.” He almost scolds. “Besides… They’re Infidels… Just Western whores… Spies… Suppose to be missionaries from some college… All three of them… But… But… Just here to cause trouble though… Agitate… With our women.” Glancing up toward the trio, stepping closer behind the last one in line, he continues his oracle while shoving his boot menacingly against a wobbly leg of the creaking stool. “Soon they’ll confess… Trust me… They always do… Then they’ll receive their real punishment… Then begin their incarceration and the rehabilitation process.”
Seeing the flowing tears from their welling eyes, their distant looks similar, almost numbing as their rasping whimpers are obvious pleas for some sort of help, relief from another western woman in their presence, she almost embarrassingly turns her head away, feels her heartbeat escalating, throbbing in her chest while she glances toward him as he steps toward the next corridor.
“Come now… Let’s continue through the Infidel section of our facility… Prisoners that’s slipped through the cracks of the western press unreported… Forgotten about, I think you’ll be surprised at the number.”
Opening another door, this one just as ominous but made of a thick wood, several cells line one side of the hallway, each with its own solid wood door with a narrow slot at eye level. A single male guard, his dark skin, black hair contrasting with his kaka uniform sitting at his station, a wooden table and chair, he stands, obediently nods toward the Captain as he puts down his journal, picks up a tannish cloth sack.
“Lets see… Yes… Open cell three… No… No, make that cell four… Bring out that convicted Infidel for our guest… Let our guest see how her rehabilitation’s progressing.”
Key turning, door creaking, the guard instantly obeys with a nod, disappears into the darkened cell, momentarily returning with the prisoner, her muffled cries suppressed beneath the sack slipped across her silhouetted face.
“Here, Sir.”
Again a knotting in her stomach, again just as startled, if possible, she stares almost dumbfounded at the virtually nude, disgustedly abused woman being led, shuffled toward them. Her head being completely covered with the sack, tied off not too loosely across her throat by the guard, just a triangular slot for her nose, her glistening body carries numerous discolored welts, bruises behind the hideous set of chains dangling out off her naked flesh. Drawn almost hypnotically toward the tortured woman’s painfully chained appearance as she’s positioned just a few feet in front of them, watching as she’s slowly turned a complete circle by her cuffed wrists behind her back by the guard, the sights’ barely describable.
The darkened links dangling from metal ‘O’ rings impaling both nipples and her clit rattle, brush out across her bruised but still impressive chest as the opposite ends of the trio of chains meet, connecting to another ring just above her hollowing navel. Bare feet cuffed just a few inches apart with similar restraints, the swelling, the discolored chaffing of her wrists; ankles are obviously from the chains being worn for an extended length of time.
“This is another of our Western Infidels.” The Captain smirks as he slips his crop beneath a nipple chain, lifts upward, forces the unfortunate inmate onto the balls of her feet. “These ‘O’ rings have been installed in those big breasts of hers and down between her thighs, too… Well… I think you can see where down there.” Pointing at the trio of rings with the tip of the crop one at a time across her stretching nipples, lastly her engorged purplish clit, he continues. “They’re permanent fixtures… At least while she spends the next few months of her sentence with us.” Lifting, tugging at the connecting ‘O’ ring compressing against her navel, letting the chains again dangle across her front side as he flicks the crop away, he volunteers. “The chains can be disconnected… But usually aren’t.” Reaching out, spearing a nipple ring, lifting it even higher with the tip of the crop, he again forces her to tiptoe.
Letting the crop drop away, the chains rattling across her stomach as her nipple momentarily stretches downward with her bouncing breast; her muffled grunts emit from the burlap sack, harsh, raspy. Fists visibly clenching behind her buttocks, shoulders bowing forward as the chains sway back and forth, the thick ‘O’ rings tug at her swollen nipples as she arches forward, obviously trying to relieve the continuous pain.
Slowly stepping around her, glancing toward the series of crimson welts across her back, nodding toward her breasts, their share of faded welts, he smirks. “This one… I recall… Spent several days on the stools before confessing.” Slipping the crop’s tip beneath her shimmering breast, tormenting her with a couple harsh pokes, a flick across a nipple ring, he smiles, focuses his attention toward the clanking chains tugging at the rings. “Yes… As big and firm as these titties are now… Still able to stand practically upright even with the weights of these chains hanging off those impaled nipples… You’d be amazed how swollen they became… Twice as large as they are now as I recall.” Another couple tormenting taps back and forth across the nipple rings, the clinking of the metal, the hollowed sound of her reverberating breasts, he continues his tale above her muffled grunts. “Almost burst when she fell off her stool for over and hour… I believe she hung there stretching out so long; her toes finally touched the floor before she was interrogated again… And that’s when she decided to confess.”
“What…What’d she do?... I mean convicted of to be treated so… So cruelly?”
“Actually… She was some kind of model I believe… At least that’s what she said… Came to our land to get her fortune with the Sheik after she met him at some sort of function.” Smiling, he slowly shakes his head, lets the tip of the crop ‘thump’ across a bruised breast. “Seems the Sheiks’ always been attracted to large breasts.” Another tap, another hollow ‘thud’ reverberating off the other breast, he smiles, continues with his diatribe. “Anyway… A ‘Gold-digger’ I think you call them… Don’t you?” Letting the crop glide up and down the prisoner’s chain from her navel to her clit, tugging, teasing as he draws a mumbling response as she twists back and forth, he continues. “Didn’t like the harem situation… She had the audacity to insult a wife… Made stupid threats… Now she’s a nobody… Missed by nobody… Yes, it’s unfortunate for her to disrespect the Sheik… Even more unfortunate to feel the Sheik’s wrath when he feels so.”
“What happens to her after… I mean after her sentence… Her time served… She’s… She is released, right?”
“Oh, yes… Of course she’ll be released.” He smirks. “That is… As soon as she pays restitution for her keep while here.”
“Pay?... How’s she to do that… I mean how… How can she earn whatever she supposedly owes?” She asks, not knowing if she really needs to know the answer, even if she wants too.
“Oh… You won’t… They… They won’t… Of course I mean they, excuse me… They never do.” He smirks, let’s the crop’s tip slip into the ring between the prisoner’s thighs, tugs at her clit as she arches, grunts, gingerly tiptoes yet again.
“Then… Then wha… What?” She asks, almost stuttering while watching the prisoner’s trembling body twisting back and forth in her torment. A chill causing goose bumps to run up her spine as she again crosses her arms in front of her own chest, becoming uneasy to say the least as she can’t help from riveting her stare at the chains, ‘O’ rings, the freshly oozing nipples being abused so similar in size to her own pendulous breasts. Somehow she seems to sense the pain herself as she can’t draw her eyes away, awaiting his answer.
“Simple… She’ll be auctioned off… Begin paying by becoming a prostitute… Or worse even, if she can’t keep her looks… Probably like most of you type women he tires of… Wind up a sex slave somewhere in the Orient, if not careful.” Glancing toward the guard, the still open cell door to return the tormented, frustrated prisoner, briefly hesitating, turning toward the shadowy corridor, he nods. “But come.” His expression morphing from almost jovial to seemingly starkly serious, even ominous, he orders. “We’ve got much more that the Sheik especially wanted you to see first hand deeper in the bowels of his dungeon… Actually to experience first hand… You’ve just begun your tour… Believe me… It’ll get much… Much more intense!... I personally guarantee you that!” Glancing toward the guard locking the cell door, the sack I his hand, nodding for him to follow, he glances back at her, adds. “It’s the Sheik’s wishes for you to receive a thorough, up close demonstration… He told me so, personally… Wants you to be able to report your findings appropriately.”
END PART ONE
PART TWO
Chapter One
A Personal Demonstration
Another corridor leading further into the structure, away from the obvious torture section, the footsteps echo off the damp stone floor as the Captain leads. A solid, thick wooden door, the rattle of keys and it swings open. Stepping to the side, nodding for her to enter, he smiles.
“We’re here... Strip.”
The small chamber barren but well lit with a second door at the further end, she glances around, nervously, soaking in what she just heard. The two men to either side of her, the door shutting behind them, the stark, white-washed rooms’ ominous. Glancing back toward the Captain, her arms reflexively crisscrossing her chest, she steps back a step, stutters. “Wha… What?... Did you say… Strip?... Strip… You mean… Take off my… This robe?”
“Yes… I said strip… Take off the robe… And everything else, too… Yes.” He answers, nods toward the guard with a smile, back toward her. “Then stand on those painted squares on the floor and place the palms of your hands on the similar marks on the wall.”
Flushed face, glancing from one to the other, slowly shaking her head from side to side, she mutters. “Ev… Everything?... Bu… But… Why… Why …..?”
“To enter the other side of the institution… Only personnel aren’t inspected… Strict rules… We can’t have contraband, cameras, drugs, whatever.” He orders while stepping closer, pointing toward the floor, the wall, their painted markings. “All visitors must strip and be body cavity searched… Now strip, you have no choice if you have nothing to hide… Its regulations… Now!... Or the consequences could be considerable and unpleasant… Now be quiet, cooperate and strip naked… Or he’ll do it for you!”
Her reddening face now a crimson hue, the guard stepping closer, both men within arms length of her, their look’s ominous. Slowly raising her arms, gripping the robe she was given to wear for her scheduled tour, her fists clenching, hesitatingly slipping the flowing garb upwards, past her thighs, her waist, her chest, the heavy cloth briefly covers her face. Sensing her bare flesh quivering, she finally slips it up off her shoulders, folds it over a forearm crossing defensively in front of her. The guard reaching out, practically jerking it off her arm, both men stepping back a step, their eyes focus on her nearly nude body.
“Everything… I said.” Nodding toward her bra and panties, he glances again toward the guard, a smirk on his face. “Hold her underwear for her when she hands ‘em to you.” A glance back toward her, a wave of his hand, pointing toward her chest, he adds. “Bra first… Then panties… Then face the wall and spread.”
Trembling, realizing her worst fears, the fact she’s at their mercy, humiliated she slowly reaches her hands behind her back, fingers searching, unsnapping the clasps. Slipping the bra’s straps across her arching shoulders, her breasts pressing, bumping together, she instinctively crosses a forearm across her chest as she hands the ruffled bra to the guard. Breasts flattened beneath her arm, watching the guard flipping the bra across the folded robe, she slips her free hand down across her thigh, slides her fingers inside the panty’s elastic band.
“Go ahead… Drop ‘em… Step out of it and pick it up.” The Captain orders as he slips a rubber glove across his fist, curls his fingers one at a time into the stretching rubber. “Hurry… We’ve got to search your orifices before we commence.”
Bending, sliding the panty down one thigh, the other, humiliatingly back and forth past her knees, her ankles, she steps out of the sandals, then panty left foot, right foot as she tries to keep an arm pressed across her bulging breasts. Straightening, quivering fingers gripping the panties, she reaches out toward the guard, flips the lace material across her matching bra, presses her forearm tighter across her chest, her other hand spreading down between her thighs as she stutters. “Th… There!... I’m… I’m naked now!... Okay?”
“Yes… Now turn… To the floor… The wall.” His voice strict, the Captain reaches out, gruffly guides her by the shoulder to face the wall. “Feet down there on the marks… That’s it… Now hands up there.”
Embarrassingly shuffling, spreading, glancing down toward the painted floor, up toward the wall, palms out, feet positioned, she leans forward. Glancing down, her bared breasts swaying, she nibbles on her lower lip, squints as she feels the gloved hand sliding between her thighs. “Ohh.”
Her body reacting to his touch, sensing latex covered fingers probing, spreading her labia, a finger squeezing inward, another finger, her own fingers clench into fists as she tiptoes, grunting, tensing. “Humph!” Knees quivering, sensing his thicker thumb rimming her rectum, pressing, shoving inward between her tightening buttocks, she bites her lip, presses the top of her head against the wall between her hands. “Ouch!... Damn!... Ouch… Ohh!... Tha… That hurts!” Anger momentarily overriding her fear, her embarrassment, her fists clenching, toes straining, she hoists herself higher onto the balls of her feet, squeals. “Humph!”
“There now… Hold still.” She hears his voice, feel his fingers, thumb pressing together inside her orifices, twisting, probing. “Remain as you are now… There… Yes… Okay!”
“Aggghhhhh!” A harsh grunt echoing across the room, the sense of his gloved hand finally slipping outward between her flexing thighs, she takes a deep breath, stares straight ahead toward the wall, a tear of embarrassment mixed with pain dripping down of her cheek onto a bare breast, but at least thankful her torment’s over.
Back to standing spread-eagled in an arch, feet, palms flat on the stone surfaces, she glances down toward her swaying breasts, bobbling, quivering as she realizes she’s uncontrollably trembling. The men behind her, a hushed conversation, she feels a hand on a wrist, glances around as her arm’s tugged behind her back.
“Wha… What you doing?... Wha……”
Feeling her other arm jerked downward, twisted behind her back, being shoved forward, her breasts flattening against the wall, cheek pressing across the harsh surface, again forced to the balls of her feet as she’s being manhandled, she senses ropes being slipped across her wrists, her arms twisted, shoulders arching back, more ropes forcing her elbows toward one another. “Nooooooooooooo!” The bindings tightened, elbows painfully forced to touch, press tightly together, she stumbles against the wall flattening breasts first as she’s released. “Humph!”
“Now… It’s time to begin obeying the Sheik’s orders… To give you an idea first hand of our procedures… Now remain quiet… Understand?... Silence or severe punishment… Just like a prisoner!”
Hearing his voice firm, ominous, feeling the guard’s grip on her arm, being turned, her reddened bare breasts sway as her bowed shoulder’s forced back against the wall. Dumbfounded, shoulders aching, wrists almost numb, she finds herself rasping for breath. Holding back more tears, sensing the warmth of her flushing face, she can’t help noticing the obscenity of her naked breasts jaunting upwards, spreading across her thrust out chest just below her chin as she struggles not to slide down the wall.
The Captain unlocking the next door, another corridor, pressed from behind by the guard, she’s forced through the doorway, to a small room to the right. Mostly concrete, a horizontal boarded wall, hooks from the ceiling, she’s led between a pair of dangling ropes, brownish, hemp style. Turned, positioned, still stunned at the surreal situation she finds herself in, the Captain grips her shoulders from behind as the guard unravels a double loop of hanging rope, stretches it out, around the base of her left breast. Double looping the second rope hanging from the ceiling, slipping it deeply against the base of her right breast, tightening it, she glances upwards, sees the ropes swaying through the eyelets implanted a few feet apart above her head in the ceiling.
“Oh Gad!... No…. Nooooooo!” Eyes widening, her voice a squeal, terrified, she tries to back up, to turn away as she thinks of the other prisoners, the ropes, their tit torture.
“Quiet I ordered!… You wanted an overview of our system… You’re getting it first hand… Another word and you’ll be left in here alone… Until morning stretching in these ropes on your tiptoes.” The Captain grunts as he positions himself even closer beside her.
The guard gripping the end of one rope, the Captain the other, gripping round, darkened, discolored bowling ball shape weights with implanted eyehooks, the rope’s ends slid through, double knotted, she stares wide-eyed from one to the other as they’re held above waist high, not so gently dropped.
“Aaaaggghhh!... Ohhh…Gaaaad!” Breasts stretching, spreading apart, the gruff ropes digging into her instantly ballooning mounds, tiptoeing, glancing frantically downward, her chin touching a hoisted breast, she grunts, tenses. Fingers flexing behind her back, areolas, nipples flattening across her bulging titflesh, squinting her eyes, shaking her head back and forth, the pain’s excruciating, the sounds of their insidious giggling humiliating.
“There… See?... Nice and tight, deep into your titflesh.” The Captain smirks as he steps closer, momentarily holds a weight from swaying with both hands. “See how we get the accused to come to their senses… To admit to their blasphemy?... And you’re not even being forced to dance on a stool… Yet.” He scolds as he reaches out, flicks a finger beside her breast, across a fold of her titflesh stretching upwards between her armpit and the taut rope. Letting his finger slide around, his nail to probe across her flattened nipple, circle the stretched areola, flicking his thumb and forefinger, the hollowing ‘thud’ as her bulging breast twitches, he glances toward the guard, nods toward the other swaying weight. “Now… Drop it for her again… She seems to have a problem listening to orders to remain quiet.”
“Gaaad… No!... Nooooo!... Please… Nooooooo!” Begging, pleading, twisting while her breasts contort, tears flowing, she prances on the balls of her feet as she senses the rope slackening, stretching abruptly taut as she squints her eyes. “Aaaaaggghhhh!” From the balls of her feet to tiptoeing to relieve the stress, she mumbles as she feels the weights hanging, swaying, hoisting her searing breasts higher by the creaking ropes. “Ohh my God… Ohhhh!”
“There… We can continue with various degrees of punishment… All very persuasive… You’ll see for yourself if you continue not to obey.” The Captain nods. “But for now… I’ll show mercy… Let’s finish these bindings and leave you to meditate awhile… To actually experience an inmate’s treatment.
The guard stepping forward and kneeling, a rope double looped around her waist, stretched around to the small of her back, the end slipped down between the cheeks of her buttocks and pulled through, again looped up and over the circling rope above her pubic mound, stretched down and out toward the eyelet in the floor in front of her, she grunts as he tugs, forces the rope deeper into the crease of her slit. The weights swaying as she’s forced to arch back, her clit grinding across the taut rope, raising, balancing on the balls of her feet, calves straining as she perches her lips, she inhales, holds her breath, squints her eyes shut in a forced silence.
A jerk, another jerk of the tightening rope, her body arching, shoulders bowing back as the rope disappears between her thighs, her fingers spreading apart, flexing as she struggles to tiptoe from one foot to the other to relieve the searing pain of her bulging breasts, she blinks, stares straight ahead through her welling eyes as the guard unfolds the burlap sack, slips it up over her head, draws it down across her face aligning the singular hole with her flaring nostrils. Tightly bound across her throat, wheezing for breath, she feels her heart pounding in her chest as she smells the musky scent of the damp cloth in her darkness.
“We’ll be back later… Imagine being left like this indefinitely… Now you know what the accused face everyday.” The Captain nods as he flicks a rope, watches her breasts shudder between the swaying weights. “And, by the way… Think about what you’re going to report… What you’ll have to say about the Sheik’s justice, while we’re gone… We’ll discuss that with you when we return.”
Chapter Two
Accusations and Interrogation
Stifling in the mask, struggling to breathe, breasts throbbing, legs aching, the room’s eerily quiet in her darkness. Arms numb from the burrowing ropes, still attempting to relieve the pain of the hanging weights to either side of her as she frantically tiptoes from one foot to the other, she still struggles with the thoughts flooding her mind of how this could be happening, what she’s being forced to endure.
The thoughts of the other women, their tortures, the interrogations they’re forced to admit too, she can’t imagine why she’s being so painfully and humiliatingly treated. Almost believing its’ all a nightmare, yet realizing the pain’s so real, just the occasional creaking of the ropes, her own rasping groans are the only sounds. Time dragging, minutes maybe over an agonizing hour, the constant aches, pains flood every muscle, every joint of her stretching, contorting body. More minutes, another paralyzing hour, she’s barely able to maintain her stance, to block the searing pain of the taut ropes.
The sounds of keys rattling, locks manipulated, handles turning, the door swinging open, footsteps across the floor closes in. Unable to move, to cover herself, she senses their presence beside her. The sensation of fingers flicking, gliding across her ballooning breasts, the similar touches across her thighs, flicking the taut rope between her legs, she again deeply inhales, holds her breath with each forced pain.
“Now… We begin… With unexpected news… That’s why we’ve been away so long.”
Obviously the voice of the Captain, just the sound causes her to stiffen, to await what’s next. More silence, more sensations of her bare flesh being touched, explored, an occasional reflexive twitch, feeling the weights swaying, tugging at her tortured breasts by the burrowing, searing ropes, she nibbles across her lower lip to avoid a grunt, a scream as she hopes for unconsciousness.
“We’ve received instructions to interrogate you… Apparently you’re not whom you have presented yourself to be… Basically, you’re now accused of being a spy.” He rasps. “We’ll be extracting the truth… Getting answers by any means necessary… However long it takes.”
Hearing his scrambled voice, trying to comprehend what he means in her deteriorating state, her chest pounds as she half realizes what’s being said, what’s happening to her. Glaring blurry eyed into the burlap blackness covering her face, holding back a blunted response, she feels a sharp pain searing across a nipple. “Humph!”
“Sensitive now, huh?” He asks, knowing the answer as he probes her breast with his crop. “These purple breasts are so swollen already, remember the trio of prisoners earlier on the stools?... Imagine how their swollen breasts appeared as you so reflexively covered your own?... Recall the sound of this crop smacking across those bulging globes?... Have you imagined how painful it must be to feel this leather crop ripping at those nearly bursting breasts, like yours now.”
Feeling the aching nub of her nipple being twisted under the tip of the same crop, the feel of his spreading fingers surrounding her swollen mound, she again reflexively flinches, feels the weight swaying, dragging at the binding rope digging into her titflesh. Disoriented, slowly shaking her head back and forth, she tries to haphazardly brace herself as the poke becomes a series of light, crisp taps across her stretched areola, flattened nipple.
“Yes… It seems women… Their breasts were meant to be used for interrogations… To be punished, abused to bring out confessions… Yours are no different… Actually quite satisfactory in size… Large enough to support chains like the infidel’s you earlier met serving her sentence.”
‘Thwack!’ The sickening sound, the instant harsh pain, she grunts, feels the tears instantly flooding down her cheeks, soaking into the burlap cloth clinging to her face. Her nipple throbbing, sensing his fingers digging into her titflesh, she can envision the crop smacking across her breast, just as she saw it’s remnants of being used on the other women.
“There… Such a perfect red welt… I’m sure it really burns right across the nipple there… Much like you’ve seen displayed on those other breasts today.” His voice cynical, he adds. “Now… We’re going to match that welt with one across the other nipple… Same way… Ready?”
Gasping a breath, unable to do more then barely twitch in her bindings as the crisp pain partially revives her, the constant tearing of the ropes digging into her breasts as she’s forced to arch backward, she can’t help envisioning her bare breast standing out, the taut nipple being focused on, the crop being flexed back and forth in front of her. Squinting in the darkness of the damp cloth as she remains tiptoeing, the other rope burrowing into her crotch, she grinds her teeth, agonizingly waits for the pain, for the crop to rip into her bare flesh as it’s tip taps, dances gently across the flattened nub once, twice a third and forth time.
‘Smack!’ Searing pain simultaneous with the thudding, hollowing sound, jerking uncontrollably in the binding ropes, she grunts, twists her head from side to side as the circular weights jiggle, sway back and forth. Again trying to balance, to skip from one foot to the other, cramps burning into her taut calves, thighs, each thumping heartbeat brings another flash of pain.
“So… Let’s see… You okay?... Does that hurt?” Again his voice, this time condescending.
The matching pain resonating throughout both breasts, searing, throbbing, she’s still forced to remain virtually rigid, her entire body continuously shivering, beading with perspiration. Inhaling, exhaling, inhaling, exhaling, the moist burlap clinging to her face, she tugs at the bindings around her wrists, her fingernails digging sporadically into the small of her back. Grunting for breath, feeling lightheaded, the pain’s from head to toe, overwhelming.
“Here… Want to see the welts… These purple breasts?”
Sensing hands gripping, twisting, tugging at the burlap, its strand circling her throat, the damp cloth hoisted from her face, she blinks, squints, glares through her blurring eyes out toward her throbbing breasts. Deep purple oval mounds swollen to nearly half again larger then normal, red welts centered across both virtually black areolas, nipples, she mumbles, hoists her head back, stares toward the ceiling, the taut ropes stretching from the hooks.
“We’re just beginning… It’s soon time to start answering some of our questions… But first… Another demonstration of our interrogation techniques.” Barely listening, still staring blindly upward, her body slumping in the creaking ropes, she’s practically past the pain, almost numb, ignoring the guard, what’s in his hands.
Barely feeling the biting teeth of the serrated clip as it spreads across a flattened nub, the similar sensation across her other nipple, the wires dangle down off her chest. Bordering on unconsciousness, limp in the stretching ropes hoisting her up by her unrecognizable breasts, she hardly grunts as the clips are manipulated, clamped more firmly in position, the ends of the wires connected to the electrodes of the black box off to the side.
“Bite down on this.” A hand across her mouth, a chunk of rawhide slipped between her lips, she reflexively gnaws down, bites into the harsh leather as ordered with a muffled grunt.
A nod toward the guard by the Captain, a finger pushing on a button, her naked body arches, twists, contorts as the button stays pressed. A three, four, finally a five second burst, a series of animalistic grunts, saliva drooling from the corners of the rawhide, her body again slumps, sags in the ropes.
“Again… Longer this time.”
The order obeyed, the button pressed, again her naked body arches, bows, the weights bouncing, swaying as the ropes creak, twist. Five, six, seven seconds as the gurgling grunts echo off the walls, again her limp body finally slumps in the ropes, her ballooning breasts glistening, the nipples, areolas a dark translucent tint.
Stepping toward her, slipping the indented, wet rawhide from between her quivering lips, the Captain unclips the left breast, the right, trickles of blood oozing from the bruised nipples. Staring into her upturned, hazed eyes, back toward the guard, he snarls. “That’s enough for now… Another couple hours, we’ll come back… Hook her clit, rectum to the box… Then I think she’ll be ready to tell us everything we want to hear… I believe we’ll have a neighboring cellmate for the infidel.”
END PART TWO
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