 |
|||
|
|
MID EASTERN INTERNMENT
A trip through the dungeons
Chapter One
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 short 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 positions for hours already… Will be there ‘til nightfall and their next interrogations.”
His accent typical Mid-Eastern, the voice authoritive, she nervously listens even as she stares prodigiously toward the trio of young female prisoners, their naked bodies arched back in their rope bindings, gingerly prancing on their tiptoes 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.
Cautiously following, her own chest practically throbbing 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 Mid 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 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 somewhat young, 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. “They’re being given time to meditate for their interrogations.” He almost scolds. “Besides… They’re Infidels… Just American whores… Spies… Suppose to be missionaries from some college… All three of them… But… But… Just here to cause trouble though… With our women.” Glancing up toward the trio, stepping closer behind the last one in line, he adds 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 punishment… Then begin their incarceration and rehabilitation.”
Seeing the flowing tears from their welling eyes, their distant looks similar, almost numbing as their whimpers are obvious pleas for some sort of help, relief from another western woman, 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… I think you’ll be surprised at how many.”
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 eye level. A single male guard in kakas sitting at his station, a wooden table and chair, he stands 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.”
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 face.
“Here, sir.”
Again a knotting in her stomach, again just as startled, if possible, she stares almost dumbfounded at the virtually nude, battered 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 by her cuffed wrists behind her back by the guard, the sights’ barely describable.
The darkened links dangling from metal ‘O’ rings impaling her nipples and 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 her onto the balls of her feet. “These ‘O’ rings have been installed in those big breasts 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 nipples, then clit, he continues. “They’re permanent fixtures… At least while she spends close to the next three years 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 the 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. “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… 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. “Seems the Sheiks’ attracted to large breasts… 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… Insulted 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 released, right?”
“Oh, yes… Of course she is.” 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… 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 oozing nipples so similar in size to her own pendulous breasts, somehow she seems to sense the pain herself.
“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 deadly 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 for you!... I’m certain.” Glancing toward the guard locking the cell door, 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 after spending some of a not so pleasing evening for what ever reason… Alone with you last night.
End Part One
|
|
|