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
MIDDLE EASTERN INTERNMENT OF INTERROGATION AND TORTURE
PART THREE
THE CHOICE
Chapter One
The acrid odor’s stifling as her head reflexively twists back and forth. Swollen eyes squinting open, the room’s blurry through the crusted tears. The overwhelming pain renewed, the harsh dose of reality sits in as she finds herself still bound and stretched. Seeing the unfocused silhouette of the Captain of the guard stepping back, the broken capsule in his hand, she surreally hears her own mumbling voice, unintelligible, unrecognizable. Again closing her eyes, slowly shaking her head back and forth as she struggles to regain consciousness, she realizes it’s not just a nightmare but stark reality.
“So… You’re back with us… You hear me?... I know you do... Nod or be hoisted by those bulging bags!”
Staring toward his demanding voice, toward him, eyes slowly focusing, she can barely nod her head between the taut ropes stretching her ballooning breasts above eye level. Sensing hands across her aching flesh, the weights being elevated, the ropes slackening, her mind barely discerns what’s happening. Breasts dropping, the ropes burning as they’re unwrapped, tugged from deep inside her tit swollen flesh covering them, the new pain sears through her chest as the blood flows, pulses through her discolored mounds as they’re gruffly manipulated, each heartbeat like a spear being driven deeper and deeper into her.
“Huuummmpphhh!” A rasping breath, squinting her eyes as her head jerks back, she feels the last bindings rip at her bruised titflesh, from between her thighs as the hemp strands are tugged painfully away. Bruised breasts bouncing, swaying, her chin slumps across her breastbone as she stares toward the discolored imprints, the remnants of several tight loops of the harsh ropes causing her to tiptoe for so long.
Gripped by either shoulder, shoved, led along between a couple guards following the Captain, she stumbles to keep up, leg cramps, her pubic area sore, chaffed while she struggles to maintain her balance as she’s led back into the dank dungeon. Still bordering on coherency, led with her head down into the corridor of the convicted woman in chains, she slumps under the flickering torch in its iron holder high on the wall, stumbles into an open cell, falls flat against the straw stuffed makeshift mattress against a dank shadowed wall. The door shutting behind her, for the first time cupping, massaging her aching breasts, she hoists herself up, leans back against the rough stones, crosses her legs on the scattering straw.
The flickering light fluttering into the still open portal of the dark wooden cell door, getting somewhat settled, trying to control her aches, leaning back in her isolated quiet the grunts, moans of a woman filter through. Closing her eyes, stretching her arms, legs outward, trying to breathe without causing herself even more pain, she listens to the moans seeming to become louder, the frequent whimpering, the occasional squeals. Curling back even further, pressing her backside against the flat harsh wall, feeling the fresh tears tracing down her cheeks, dripping across her aching breasts, still cupping, gently rubbing her aching titflesh as she arches her shoulders forward to alleviate the throbbing aches, the woman’s unsettling whimpering moans continue, and continue from outside the door.
Squinting, unable to block out, to stop listening to the anguished sobs inaudible pleadings outside her cell, blinking, glancing toward the flickering light, shuffling on the straw mattress, still holding her aching breasts in her cupped fingers, she curls forward, slides her hands up across her ears. Frightened, confused, slowly rocking back and forth, thoughts of being in the dingy, damp cell, what she’s already been put through, she again glances toward the light, the sound of the tortured soul on the other side of the door. Louder sobs, occasional grunts, again and again her eyes drawn toward the corridor, her heart pounds a little harder, her chest throbbing, not just from the physical pain as again she finds herself starring toward the open portal, the horrendous, unending sounds.
Glancing around in the darkness, leaning forward, awkwardly kneeling, staggering to her feet, drawn toward the door, one step, another unstable step, finally within arms reach, reaching out, fingers on the bottom of the open slit, tiptoeing, the sounds louder, even more painstakingly pitiful, glancing out into the corridor, toward the flickering torch, toward the sounds off to the side, the portal slams shut. Jerking back her pinched fingers, total darkness. The tortured moans fading behind the sealed door, she stumbles back, tripping, falling on the harsh damp stone floor, her own grunts, muffled screams blanking out all other sounds. Crawling on hands and knees, scuffing across the floor toward the corner, toward the musty smell of the loosely packed straw piled into the makeshift mattress, she mumbles incoherently, ignores the flesh chaffing across her knees, her palms.
Curling herself into a semi-fetal ball, pressing against the wall, she closes her eyes, crosses her arms across her chest, tugs her raw knees up into her trembling midsection. Rocking herself back and forth, exhausted, bewildered, she slips off into an agonizing twilight, to certain nightmares.
Chapter Two
The door rattling, swinging open, she blinks, squints toward the daylight. The shadow stepping toward her, still laying on her side, rubbing her eyes with one hand while rising, supporting herself with her elbow, she focuses on the form approaching.
“Get up… Examination time.”
Painfully straightening, her knees folded in front of her, sitting upright she struggles to relate to the voice, a female voice, firm but also obviously female if not so feminine.
“I said up… Stand up now and remain perfectly silent!... And be still… I’m Doctor Krinski.”
The voice much firmer, the tone ominous, she obeys, shuffles, twists, struggles but stands upright while crossing her arms weakly in front of her chest, both breasts still swollen, aching to the touch, the nipples sensitive, tender as she glances up, sees the crisp, white nursing uniform in front of her.
“Now… Shoulders back… Chest out… Interlock your fingers behind your back, your hands resting across the small of your back… Now!”
Hesitantly obeying, breasts jaunting outward, jiggling, swaying as she searches to interlock her quivering hands behind her, she glances toward the woman’s face. Not Mid Eastern, yet not European, inhaling, holding her breath as the Doctor’s fingers reaches out, cups a breast, she remains silent to the dull pain.
“Time to examine you… To decide how much… How intense your interrogation may be… So I can report to the Sheik personally.”
Their eyes momentarily locking, the dark eyes of the Doctor’s appear intense, piercing. Glancing away, feeling the Doctor’s fingers melding her sore titflesh, whimpering to the touch, she nibbles across her lower lip, the mention of the Sheik barely registering.
“Push these out… I want them to separate… To stand upright for me to examine… Do it... Do it now!”
Arching slowly back, shoulders bowing as ordered, sensing the second hand cupping her other breast, tugging it outwards, fingers tweaking, twisting at her sore nipples, a low moan, another nibble across her lip while she clenches her fists, presses her fingernails into her palms behind her back, her bruised breasts again throb.
“Yes… Huh huh… Yes.” Almost whispering, cupping one breast, the other, tugging at each thickening nipple one at a time, the Doctor continues in her hushed, professional voice. “Yes… The bruising seems normal… The purplish imprints of the ropes… The nipple’s swollen… Yes… Huh huh… The remnants of a minor lashing… I see… And… And let’s see… Yes… Look’s like you’ve had an engagement with the voltage box… Yes… Yes, I’m certain.”
Listening, glancing down toward her bare breasts in the Doctor’s hands, the fingers melding, squeezing, stretching, she shuffles to keep her balance, softly moans.
“Let’s see the nipples now.” The voice still routine, the Doctor’s fingernails slip firmer across each nub, pinches and tugs. “Now… How’s this feel?”
“Huuumph!”
“And this?”
“Ahhhhh”
Twisting, stretching the nipples in opposite directions, giving both breasts a firm flip up and down, back and forth, causing them to bounce, jiggle in her grasps, the Doctor glances back and forth from one quivering breast to the other. “Very good… Healthy… Full.” Slipping her hands away, a teasing flick of her thumb across a jiggling nipple, she smiles. “Yes… They’ll be able to stand a great deal of stress… Carry quite a bit of weight… Now, let’s check between those legs… Okay, turn and bend over with your hands behind your head now.”
Still anxiously obedient, unlocking her fingertips from behind her back, slowly raising her arms, gripping the back of her neck, she shuffles around, leans forward.
“Head lower… I want that ass to stick up here.”
Bending further, head down, breasts swaying, smacking together, she automatically spreads her feet wider apart for balance. Blinking, staring toward the stone floor, seeing the outlines of the Doctor’s legs behind her from between her thighs, she inhales, holds her breath as she senses fingers flattening across her butt cheeks.
“Hold still… Don’t move.”
“Huumph!” Feeling a fingertip pressing across her rectum, the fingernail scraping, pushing inward, reflexively jerking, breasts again smacking together, struggling not to cry out she inhales another deep breath, grunts. Bowing her head further, clenching her fists, feeling the finger probe deeper, twist, curl, forcing her to tiptoe, she squints her eyes shut, struggles to remain flatfooted.
“Firm rectum… The sphincter muscles really grip tight… That’s good… Very good!”
The finger sliding slowly in and out, first one, then two knuckles deep, the other hand flattened across a rounded mound of her buttocks, she feels her aching breasts swaying back and forth, her hips quivering as she gnaws across her lower lip, maintains her humiliating position.
“Now… That other orifice… Let’s get a good look in it, too… See how much it’ll stretch for us… Don’t resist… Stay just as you are… Keep that butt up here for me… Don’t move.”
The voice still matter of fact, the finger still probing her rectum as the other hand slides down across her buttocks, slips between her thighs, again squinting, holding her breath, she feels a couple fingers separating the puffy folds of her labium, a thumb probing across her clit, flicking, brushing back and forth a couple times before plunging inward.
“Aaaaggghhhh!” Unable to suppress her squeal, the finger rimming her butt, a thumb plunging into her vagina, she rocks back and forth on her heels held somewhat steady by her stretching orifices, the finger, thumb pressing together inside her.
“Turn… Stand… Hands down at your sides… Obviously shoulders back.” Her fingers sliding out, the Doctor steps back a step.
Slowly straightening, turning, facing the Doctor, slipping her hands downward as ordered, she stares down toward the floor, remains silent as her naked body noticeably slumps.
“Now… You’ve been examined.” The Doctor directs. “You’re capable of being interrogated… To be assisted into confessing… To face your sentence of at least three years here of harsh punishment and intense rehabilitation… It’ll be up to you just how long it will take.” Glancing toward the cell door, a nod of her head, she continues. “Soon you’ll be out there like the others being interrogated… Or…”
Almost numb, glancing up into the doctor’s eyes, she mumbles. “Wha… What… Or what?”
“Confess… To me.” The Doctor states, again matter of fact as she steps forward, glances down at the bare breasts jaunting out toward her, gently cups them. “Then I can negotiate your punishment with the Sheik; get him to allow a brief… But to be truthful… A harsh punishment undoubtedly.” Melding, manipulating the bruised mounds, tweaking the nipples, smiling to herself as she bounces one, the other breast up and down in the palms of her hands, she continues. “Possibly no more then a month of punishments… Painful, even excruciating… But under my supervision.”
Releasing the discolored breasts, turning, stepping toward the cell door, she adds. “Another day in here alone… Listen to the sounds outside this door… That can be you out there starting tomorrow if you don’t allow me to help.” The cell door swinging open, shutting behind her, she glances in through the portal, adds. “Think about it… Meditate without the use of those ropes… I’ll be back tomorrow… You can give me your answer then… Me or the Captain and his guards.”
End Part Three
MIDDLE EASTERN INTERNMENT OF INTERROGATION AND TORTURE
Part Four
Chapter One
Curled across the floor, the scattered straw, again the sounds from outside the cell door filter through the portal. Listening, covering her ears, thinking of the Doctor, her demands, she stares toward the door, the dim light from outside in the corridor. Exhausted both physically and mentally, yet afraid to drift off to sleep, she slowly rocks, presses back against the stone wall, closes her drooping eyes, presses her palms tighter across her ears to the echoing cries.
An agitated night, different bits and pieces of endless dreams, nightmares, she awakens to the clanking of the locks, the swinging open of the cell door. The light glaring through, the silhouette of the person entering, she squints her eyes, glances toward the approaching Doctor.
“Up!” Her voice firm, authoritative, she steps forward in her brilliant white uniform. “Up on your feet… Face me.”
Blinking, kneeling, standing with a hand flattening against the wall, she straightens, arches her shoulders, lets her hands brush down across her thighs. Eyes aching, blurred and swollen, staring down toward the dark stone floor, she tries to comprehend, to rationalize what she’s being subjected too.
“You’re going to confess to me today in my facility… Or your interrogations will begin out in the chambers with them… And you know persuasive their methods can be.”
Again the voice firm, the threat implausible, either choice is unimaginable as she closes her eyes, slowly shakes her head back and forth, the words sticking in her throat even as she mumbles practically incoherently. “Con… Confess to you… Or… Or be interrogated by… By them… The guards?”
“Yes… Today… Either me or them.” The voice assertive, the Doctor steps forward within arms reach. “You’ll be occupying one of those stools with the other sluts later on… Or be on my table for the rest of the day… Yes indeed!”
Feeling the hands on her shoulders, glancing up toward the Doctor, she senses the pressure of the fingertips, her shoulders bowing back. Obediently not resisting, breasts thrusting outward, she feels the fingers sliding downward, across the outer bulges of her breasts, cupping, pressing the mounds together, the areolas, nipples rubbing between the Doctor’s hands closing inward.
“You’ll be coming with me now… Remain quiet and follow with hands behind your head.”
A curling fingertip, a thumbnail clamping across the bud of a nipple, the Doctor turns, leads toward the door. Awkwardly following, tiptoeing as her breasts’ hoisted upwards, stretched, she’s led into the corridor, past the guard sitting at his table, the numerous doors previously passed the other day. Hobbling along barefooted, her breast stretching, jerking between the clenching fingernails, her eyes focus on the floor in front of her as they pass other guards. Suppressing moans as she’s led into another hallway, she’s turned toward an entrance, the door unlocked, shoved open in front of her.
“My office… See there?… That’s a gynecologist table… You’ve certainly seen them before, haven’t you… Now go climb on it… Get in position with feet in stirrups, hands above your head and grip those handles.”
The area bright behind the shutting door, basically an all white and stainless steel background, it’s obviously a typical modern examination room with the table dominating the center of the floor. The surgical lamps above, she hesitantly steps toward the table, turns and positions herself on her back with legs spread, feet in the stirrups one foot at a time. Raising her arms above her head, feeling herself arching above the padded cushion behind the small of her back, she grips the handles, lays spread-eagled under the lights flickering on.
“Now for a more thorough exam… But first something to help keep you stationary for me… A kinda’ body cast……..”
Watching her stepping toward the table with a pair of long slender surgical rods in hand as she speaks, feeling her taping one down each side of her ribcage from armpits to thighs, she suppresses a weak moan as the Doctor reaches in the stainless steel bowl beneath the flat surface, unrolls a soaked gauze wrap, starts wrapping. Beginning with her spread legs in the stirrups, first the left foot, then calf, on up past the knee, across the thigh, the roll unwinds to its end. Another full spool, the right foot up to the top of the thigh, that roll depleted, the third rolls’ used on the left arm from the hand down to the shoulder, the forth roll completely encasing the right arm.
“How’s that feel?... Feel the warmth as it hardens… Forms?” The Doctor asks as she dips another couple rolls through the glistening pan. “Now… Just about finished… Let’s get you tightened up here.”
Watching through her welling eyes beneath the glaring lights, feeling the dampness, the warmth encasing her extremities, she feels the soaking gauze being applied across her stomach starting just below her bellybutton, soaking her pubic mound, leaving off just above her spreading slit. Her hips maneuvered above the cushion, the wetted gauze pressed behind the small of her back as she’s arched upwards, her still bared breasts jiggle as another wraps’ wound around her shoulders, across her sternum, circling her throat to just below her chin.
“There… Just about how I want you... Naked in the right spots… Almost done… Now close your eyes.”
The voice matter of fact, the wrappings already becoming a brilliant white, she glances down across her outthrust bare breasts rising above her arched chest before squinting. Feeling the Doctor’s fingers slipping a couple cotton swabs across her blinking eyes, wrapping yet another strand of damp gauge across her forehead, the bridge of her nose, around the back of her head leaving her in virtual darkness, she feels helpless, vulnerable, terrified.
Feeling her exposed breasts being patted a couple times, the palm of a hand across her bare pubic area, she hears the Doctor’s stern voice. “Yes… Everything’s still exposed just like I want it… Now, let’s give the cast a few minutes or so to cure before we get started… I’ll be back in a few minutes… Just relax while I get prepared.”
Chapter Two
The plaster of paris coated wraps curing into a hardened cast, her body stiff, immobile, she waits, and waits. Spread-eagled face up in her aching position, anticipating, listening for the faintest of sounds in her darkened confinement, she senses the initial touches across her hollowing stomach gliding upwards, tracing the outline of her protruding ribcage as her body reflexively twitches. Her bare flesh tingling, quivering beneath the roving hands gently circling, the tips of the fingers teasingly flicking back and forth across her sternum, tracing in opposite directions across her bare flesh, away from one another climbing upwards across the inner slopes of her outthrust breasts, she holds back a moan. The slightest of whisks back and forth across her hardening nipples, sensing the nubs responding, again her body uncontrollably twitches in the cast to the caressing touches.
A firm tweak of a nipple, another firm tweak of the other followed by a gentle tug and twist of both nubs simultaneously, she again arches her shoulders as much as possible above the table, awkwardly follows the maneuvering of the clenching fingertips raising, stretching away from one another above her. Another suppressed moan with a slightly harsher stretching apart of her pressured nipples, again she attempts to arch upwards, again lies back with a shallow groan as the fingertips slip away release the thickening nubs, begin gliding down the center of her bare chest, across her sternum, sloping down across the outline of her ribcage into the quivering cavity of her hollowing stomach. Clenching her fingers into tightening fists, her toes curling as she stares into the darkness, she senses her heartbeat’s rhythm in her chest escalating, the uncertainty of what’s next as she senses the fingernails glide down across the partial cast circling her waist above her pubic mound, flick across her exposed vaginal area, tweaking, spreading the puffy folds of her labia gently apart between her straining thighs.
Sensing a flicking brush across her protruding clit, another, yet another back and forth, lightly, teasingly, she feels her thighs reflexively quivering, raising against the cast, pressing upwards to accept the caressing fingertips. Another stifled moan, the touches gently, caressingly manipulating the responding nub, even with the trepidation, the anguish of her predicament she feels the stirring deep inside, the involuntary responses of her knotting stomach, quivering hips.
“Look at that tight little slit responding to my touch… You’re actually enjoying yourself for the moment, aren’t you?... I see you like your pussy stroked, don’t you?” The voice just as caressing as the physical treatment, the fingers glide across her swelling nub, sliding inside the moist gapping slit quivering between the freshly dried castings circling her vaginal area. “I think I’m going to get you to cum already if I’m not too careful… You want to cum, don’t you?... I can see it… The way you’re humping back, there… Yes.” More careful strokes, a steady rhythm being followed with fingers melding beneath her arched pubic area; the manipulations become a titillating masturbation of flexing, probing feminine fingers.
“Huuuhhh… Ahhhhhh… Ahhhhhh!” Moans, mostly stifled as she nibbles across a lip, the hands still probing, tweaking, masturbating her stiff form, she uncontrollably responds to the feminine fingers curling, teasingly stroking, pushing her closer to an inevitable climax as she feels the juices forming between her twitching thighs, the fingers burrowing inward, stretching at her moist orifice.
“Agggggghhhhhh!” Feeling a crisp pinch, a firm tug upwards across her engorged clit as the fingers slip away, her fists clench as she arches upwards, presses against the firm moldings of the plaster of paris confining her. “Ohhhhhh!”
“Don’t want to get you off already… Now do we?” The voice firmer, closer to her ear, she feels her clit suddenly released, a nipple reached, tweaked and massaged as she senses the fingers leave from between her thighs, slips across her naked breasts. “You should see how thick these nipples are getting… You’re really getting raunchier by the minute… Push these titties up here for me to play with some more!”
Obeying, feeling fingers resting across her responding nipples, spreading, melding, the hardened nubs, she pushes upwards as she arches toward the touch, the similar sensations spreading through her chest as her breasts are massaged, manipulated through the flexing fingers. Relaxing back, she blinks, and blinks again into the darkness covering her squinting eyes as she hears the soft voice whispering near her ear. “Enjoy this… Because when you cum… I’m piercing your tits… Then your clit… For the chain’s ‘O’ rings you’re going to be wearing.”
END PART FOUR
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