Chloe - Dominated and Degraded
Chapter 16
Perhaps it was anger at the stubbornness of their prisoner, perhaps the
realization that they had failed or just the desire to demonstrate what they
could have done to her from the beginning, but Ilar decided to have one more
session with his sullen, silent opponent. What did it matter the condition she
was in when they turned her over to the Americans. They were merely guests in
the country, not the masters. Still he thought it to be rather ironic that the
prisoner, who would suffer greatly over the course of the next few hours, was so
weakened from her previous ordeals that she had to be transported to the
interrogation room by stretcher.
They men who transported Chloe dumped her naked body onto the concrete
floor and left her to face those two brutes who had tormented the agent day
after day after day in a fruitless attempt to make her tell them about something
of which she had absolutely no knowledge. Zog gave her unprotected ribs a
vicious kick, sort of an announcement of things to come. She groaned and rolled
herself into a tight ball. Ilar moved forward and after a moment's thought drive
the toe of his boot into her hip, flipping her onto her back. Zog took full
advantage of her vulnerability by stomping her twice in the stomach, the second
time his heavy boot just missing her swollen cunt mouth. Magda retched but
nothing came up, just some acid laden bile that she drooled onto the floor
before she took another brutal kick to the back of her head. Her body went into
convulsions and she quivered and twitched, flinging her arms and legs out
spasmodically, her movements jerky as if there was some type of electric current
coursing through her body.
The pair watched with satisfaction as their victim shivered and groveled
at their feet, her body moving uncontrollably. "Let's string her up and get down
to business." Zog said, reaching down to grab a handful of the woman's dark hair
so he could drag her to her feet. Meanwhile Ilar produced a pair of manacles and
used them to cuff her hands behind her back. His partner gave him a wolfish
grin, realizing what Ilar intended to do next. While Zog held Chloe erect, his
hands mauling her big breasts, his companion connected a chain to the cuffs and
then cranked the winch until her arms were pulled up and back to their limit.
Zog took full advantage of her pose, twisting her breasts cruelly and scoring
her nipples with his sharp fingernails. Magda grunted as he tormented her sore
mounds. Her grunts turned to shrill cries of agony as the cuffs bit into the
flesh of her wrists, drawing blood. Then with the assistance of Zog, Ilar
cranked the winch a few more turns and the agent's body was now suspended a mere
inch or so above the floor, all her weight now concentrated in her straining
shoulder muscles.
It was Zog's comment about the stench emanating from their prisoner that
gave Ilar the idea to get the fire hose from outside the cell they occupied. He
dragged it inside and Zog's face lit up as he figured out what his partner's
intentions were. "Go outside and turn on the water so I can give this pig a bath
and get the smell from her body." Ilar ordered. It took a mighty effort from Zog
to get the valve to open sufficiently that a stream of water spurted from the
writhing hose in Ilar's hands. He called to his companion for help and soon the
two of them had gained enough control of the hose to begin to torture their
victim with the powerful jet of brackish water that poured from it.
At first they concentrated on Chloe's big tits, blasting them flat as
her body swung like a pendulum from the force of the water stream. Soon tiring
of that sport, they began playing the water onto the sides of her tits making
them change shape and actually stand away from her chest. Zog delighted in
aiming the stream directly at Magda's nipples and watching them try to spread
themselves across her tits as the water drilled into them. Now they moved
downward, driving her body back as the blast of water turned her belly concave.
Then they carefully directed the jet of liquid pain into her hairy pubes,
spreading the curly hair away so the hammering water could begin its rape of her
sore, swollen cunt that had been previously ravaged by the dildo as well as at
least one of those horrible curs. Chloe began to find it most difficult to
breath as her stomach and groin took this savage pounding. The spray flying from
her naked battered body also impeded her ability to draw air into her lungs.
Things got very dangerous when the hose escaped from their control,
sending the powerful jet of punishing force all over the room, sometimes
battering their captive, other times spashing over the walls. Then it happened,
the jet hit the agent squarely in the forehead, snapping her head back and
nearly breaking her neck. In a panic they wrestled the hose and managed to turn
the water down onto the floor. Then still holding on for dear life, they slowly
moved back to the door and then out into the corridor. There Zog let the hose go
and made an attempt to turn off the water. He was partially successful, which
allowed them to regain control of the hose. For some odd reason their inability
to avoid severely harming their prisoner had the effect of making them even more
determined to hurt her badly.
When they reentered the room with the hose still spurting, but not
nearly at the same level of force, they observed their captive hanging limply
from her cuffed wrists with her arms at a grotesque angle. It became immediately
obvious that in the process of using the hose as a battering ram they had
inadvertently caused her shoulders to become dislocated. Her face was that of a
ghost, wet, and icy to the touch with a pallor that seemed to be announcing the
approach of death. They became panic stricken, knowing full well that no one
would protect them from the wrath of the Americans if she was to die before they
had a chance to interrogate her.
It was Ilar who took charge, instructing Zog in the way to bring the
unconscious agent down from the chain without harming her further. Then he sent
his companion out to get some blankets or even clothing that could be used to
warm the woman's body. While this was in progress, Ilar did his best to assess
the state of Magda's health. She was breathing, although at less than normal
based on the frequency and depth of each breath. Her shoulders were swollen from
being dislocated. He took a deep breath and tried to pop one of them into place,
but did not have enough strength to accomplish the deed. He decided that he
would need the assistance of Zog, and hoped that his return would be swift. He
was most concerned over her cold skin and eyes that had slipped back into her
head. He pulled off his tunic and wrapped it around the agent's body as best he
could, realizing as he shivered that the room was quite cold, not the best
environment for Chloe to regain her strength.
Zog returned with a blanket and a number of pieces of burlap. Ilar
immediately put Zog to the task of assisting him in popping Magda's dislocated
shoulders back into place. It took a number of tries to get the first one
properly located within its socket. The second went more smoothly. Fortunately
for all concerned she remained unconscious throughout the painful process. They
swaddled her in the blanket and burlap. This time Ilar went to find some kind of
medical help. They had precious little time to restore her senses and get her
into a condition that would allow them to avoid the anger of those who wielded
great influence over their commander.
A few whiffs of smelling salts plus a shot of adrenaline administered by
the prison doctor brought the agent around.He expressed dismay at her condition,
but went no further since it was not his business to tell the police what they
should or should not do. He left them instructions on applying ice packs to her
shoulders to reduce the swelling and advised them to keep her arms immobilized
lest she do herself more harm by moving them. He also gave them a powerful
sedative that she was to take to allow her to sleep soundly that night. He also
diplomatically suggested that they find a place other than the large prison cell
for her to rest . They used lengths of rope to keep her arms from moving, but
their efforts were only partially successful. More than once in the next few
hours their captive grunted in agony from a misdirected move of her arms. Had
they had their wits about them they might have realized that there were some
dramatic things taking place in the body of their prisoner.
To an outside observer significant changes would have become obvious
after a few days of physical abuse. The woman was healing at a rapid rate, much
greater than would be expected. The more serious her injuries, the more dramatic
the healing. However the two men doing the interrogation were so focused on
hurting her that they never noticed the changes taking place in areas that they
had previously damaged. They were so busy putting new cuts, welts and bruises
into her body, that they paid no attention to those they had already created.
Had there been a physician in attendance during this lengthy process he would
have picked up on this fact almost immediately and brought it to his superior's
attention. Had this been done, what happened in the next couple of days more
than likely would never have occurred.
By the next morning their prisoner had made a miraculous recovery. In
fact she showed so much improvement that Zog and Ilar gave her a private
going-away rape party just to show her that there were no hard feelings and they
did find her attractive as a piece of fuckmeat. So when Chloe was turned over to
the gentlemen from the clandestine organization that almost everyone knew to be
the CIA, her asshole and cunt were dripping with the offerings of her former
torturers.
The man, agent Adam Adams, who handled her processing was an old veteran
of many operations and to him this Albanian whore was just another pawn to be
examined and squeezed for any information she might be carrying. He quickly
leafed through the two page report that came with her and sighed. This one did
not sound promising at all. He once again cursed the fates that had put him in
this zone of operation surrounded by third world incompetents. Since she did not
appear to be worth any significant amount of time to investigate, he decided to
use her to check out some new equipment that had just come into the shop.
The gear consisted of a helmet that screwed into a fitted collar that
was placed around the detainee's neck to guarantee an airtight fit. Connected to
the helmet was an umbilical that was capable of piping in sound, smell, light
and most importantly oxygen or other gases. Naturally all those elements could
be metered from the small handheld computer that controlled the inputs to the
helmet. The instructions were most direct, this was not a toy, it was an
interrogation tool that had been developed after years of research and
development at the cost of many tens of millions of dollars. This was the first
model released to the field agents and feedback concerning its ability to
enhance the agency's information gathering activities was mandatory. As with
most government issue equipment, including things as mundane as flush toilets
and as complex as nuclear tipped ICBMs, this apparatus came with lots of
paperwork., all of which the agent studiously ignored.
It looked like it was going to be a slow day so he decided to kill two
birds with one stone. Not only would he check out the new interrogation tool on
this whore, he'd also see how she fared in the ice box, a room where stubborn
detainees were stripped naked and strapped to a metal chair before the room
temperature was dropped to just above freezing. Then every few minutes a fine
mist of water would be sprayed over the shivering occupant of the chair. It
usually took less than two hours for the detaineee to give up any useful
information they overlooked in their initial "debriefing".
Adams called on a couple of local employees to help him get Magda Neta
down to the ice box or meat locker as some called it. They were more than happy
to help when they got a look at the detainee in the nude. To agent Adams the
sight of all that body hair turned him off big time, but it sure got his
flunkies all in a lather. He debated about perhaps letting them tear off a piece
to improve morale, but tabled the idea until after he had squeezed her good and
proper. One thing the agent did notice was that the marks on the woman's body,
and there were plenty, did not match up to the time the police claimed they
worked on her. Most of them were nearly healed, normally a process that might
take weeks. He wondered whether this one was some kind of a pain freak that let
her customers beat her up or worse, in exchange for her fee. It took all kinds,
even out here in the armpit of Europe.
His guys got a little crazy when as they were strapping the naked woman
into the chair she started to respond to their little pats and pokes. Worse
still they got a load of all the cum oozing out of her lower holes and that
nearly drove them into a frenzy. Agent Adams hollered at them in the few words
of Albanian that he had committed to memory, calling them sons of sows and
threatening them with arrest. All the while the prisoner stared a hole through
Adam Adams, not something he usually encountered in the dregs he saw here.
Naturally his interest in his prisoner increased rapidly. This one might be fun
after all. It was a slow day, he might as well have get some entertainment from
this creature with the furry pubes and armpits. His flunkies had a good time
inserting the probes into her various orifices as well as taping others to such
strategic locations as her nipples and underarms to monitor her vital signs as
she went through the automated preliminary interrogation session. Once she had
been softened up, then the serious business of finding out what she actually
knew would commence.
The helmet, like all high tech gear, had an enormous number of bells and
whistles. According to the instruction manual up to twenty-seven different
languages could be piped into the detainee's helmet along with random screams,
curses, animal roars and hisses, industrial noises selected for their effect on
the prisoner's nervous system and ultrahigh frequency sounds ten decibels above
the pain threshold for humans. A built in strobe light could be programmed to
provide random bursts of optical stimulation. To assure the best results from
this portion of the helmet's suite of stimuli, the subject's eyes would be taped
open during the session.
The range of smells that could be created boggled the agent's mind. He
didn't understand most of the chemical names, but someone had taken the time to
translate the chemistry into understandable words most field agents could
handle. For example mercaptan translated to skunk aroma, not too bad for a
techno-geek. Finally there were the gases and the way they could be monitored.
Naturally there was air, oxygen for special occasions, tear gas, a modified
mustard gas and one tha induced vomiting and could only be used for brief
periods of time or the subject could be irrevocably harmed and rendered useless
for further interrogation. Adams decided to reserve that one for part of the
grand finale.
One weakness Adam Adams had was for computers. He could not resist
making the programs as complicated as possible. For this one he programmed the
language to switch back and forth from English to Albanian. He arranged for the
smells to alternate with air while cycling at random, except for the vomiting
gas which was to be used only at the very end of the session. He developed an
algorithm that allowed the strobe and sound tapes to play against each other,
one feeding back into the other in a random pattern. Adam realized that in a
sense he was casting pearls before swine since his subject was probably nothing
but some dumb whore who was in the wrong place at the wrong time and was now
paying the penalty for her bad luck.
He set up the cameras to record the session and stepped out of the
insulated room. He threw a switch on the wall that started the refrigeration
unit pumping away to reduce the temperature in the chamber down to two degrees
Celsius, just above the freezing point of water. He overrode the subsystem
controlling the mist so he could verify that is was working properly. Satisfied
that all systems were functioning as advertized, Adam Adams took one last look
at the shivering whore and left to do some paper work. He planned to check back
every half hour or so to gauge her progress.
The first time he checked his subject she was shaking like a leaf in a
wind storm from the combination of cold and the hell that she was suffering
inside that helmet. Her vital signs were bouncing around from normal to
abnormally high or low about every twenty seconds. He switched into the audio
portion of the feed and was taken aback by the insane screaming and cursing that
was battling with the fearsome sounds of grinders cutting through metal. Every
so often he could pick out a "cunt" or "die bitch" that loomed up from the
cacophony. It gave the seasoned agent a vague sense of unease even to be exposed
to just a few moments of one portion of what was happening within that black
glass chamber that was feeding this ocean of stimuli into its victim. One thing
he couldn't help noticing was the stiffness of the prisoner's nipples, and the
way her muscles contracted as the mist played over her goose fleshed body that
was still oozing the cum that had been pumped into her earlier this morning.
The next time he became troubled when he checked the subject's vital
signs. Many of them were at normal, and the ones that were varying were doing so
over a very narrow range. It was almost as if the helmet had stopped
functioning. A quick check of the audio channel convinced him of the error of
that speculation. How was she able to cope with this sensory overload? There was
something afoot that he did not understand, or appreciate. He examined the
woman's body for signs and what he saw gave him a very uneasy feeling. She was
no longer shivering, yet the temperature was at two degrees Celsius and even as
he watched, a fine mist was spraying over her and he could actually see ice
crystals forming briefy before encountering her body. Adam decided to let the
session go for another half hour before calling for assistance. He knew how much
his superiors dreaded having to do anything that got their hands dirty or made
their atrophied minds function as they did when they too were field agents.
Twenty minutes later the alarm sounded at Adam Adams' desk, pulling him
away from the deadly dull drivel he was scanning. There was something wrong in
the ice box. He raced down to the room and took one quick look at the readouts
of the subject's condition. She had gone into some type of coma; her signs were
uniformly low, but quite steady, as if they had gone into a safing mode. What
kind of human being had this capability? Whoever or whatever this woman was, she
was giving him a demonstration that made the hair on the back of his neck stand
at attention. This was very serious stuff he had stumbled upon, of that he was
damn well sure.
( To be continued)
