I must warn you, Barb, the despot Captain has a strong following among the citizens of Kartomga so if you do manage to escape if his forces don't manage to find you the good citizens will track you down...
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Kartomga Terror Pit
- Thread starter Barbaria1
- Start date
AlexArts
Soul of Cinder
Unpatient already...Episode 9 coming soon!
9. I come around slowly to find myself lying naked on the cold floor of my cell ... hands still bound behind my back, feeling stiff and sore around the midriff and ribs from my latest beating.
My vision is blurry. I try to focus on a spot high above me on the ceiling as I begin a mental checklist on the condition of my body and on my desperate situation.
Cautiously I flex my legs ... left then right. Good. I can still move my limbs at least. I notice a sticky patch beneath my ass cheeks, pasting them to the floor ... and plenty of goo spread around between my thighs. Was I violated by those two thugs while unconscious? I don't even want to think about it!
How many hours have I been lying here, I wonder? Impossible to know.
From somewhere out in the interrogation and torture room, I hear screaming and shouting. Someone else has their unwanted attention for the moment ... poor thing. But the good news is that if they are preoccupied I am probably safe for the moment. I close my eyes, hunger gnawing at my gut and fatigue washing over me in waves.
Hours go by. I pass in and out of consciousness, never fully aware, but am suddenly awakened by the sound of boots coming into the cell block.
They are coming for me again!
It's the Captain and his sidekick ... the rattle of keys in the lock of my cell door.
"Wake up, Moore ... your siesta time is over, " he says, laughing at his little joke. "Get your sorry whoring little cunt up off the floor. The General is on his way down to see you."
I groan as I am lifted to my feet and dragged from my cell down a short corridor and into the room they call "The Pit". This time they string me up, feet off the floor. I hang by my wrists, rotating slowly, as the General storms into the room, and takes his customary position on a chair placed directly in front of his victim.
"You're cover is completely blown Ms. Moore!" he drawls. "Our friends in Moscow have kindly shared their dossier on you with us. We know all about you. Your name really is Barbara Moore. You are 33 years old and you are a CIA operative. You trained at Langley in 2007-2009. Since then you have been posted to Berlin, Istanbul, Cairo, Damascus and Tunis. You were deported from the last two under suspicion of espionage. Your usual cover is to pose as a photo journalist. Care to deny any of that? ... no? .... I thought not!
"Now what we don't know, and what you are about to tell us, dear Barbara, are the details of your mission here. You were sent here to document human rights violations. That is obvious from the photos in your camera, but we also can assume you were here to contact the opposition, perhaps to aid in the organization of terror cells. We want names Moore! Who are your contacts here in Kartomga City? Give them up. They are traitors and criminals. We want them!"
I stare at him closemouthed, remembering my training, specifically the dictum: hold out for at least two days, more if possible, so that compromised contacts can go into hiding.
"Silence?" screams the General. "You think you can outlast us here in the "Terror Pit", of all places. No one is coming to your aid Moore! ... Captain! Have your man provide a little persuasion, if you please!"
The Captain's sidekick begins to use his clenched fists on my already battered tummy. Helplessly, I take his ham-fisted blows ...
... again and again ...
... gagging on the bile rising out of my empty stomach ...
gasping for breath ... I have had enough ... I beg them to stop. "Please I croak, no more. I'll talk!"
The beating continues as if they didn't hear my capitulation ... I am seeing speckled lights and nearly passing out in agony.
"Stop!" orders the General.
Finally, I think ... my head reeling as the brute lands one last punch, hitting me so hard I fly back and swing around like a battered piñata.
"We're listening!" growls the General. "Out with it!"
I swallow hard as I swing slowly back around to face him, and prepare to lie ...
My vision is blurry. I try to focus on a spot high above me on the ceiling as I begin a mental checklist on the condition of my body and on my desperate situation.
Cautiously I flex my legs ... left then right. Good. I can still move my limbs at least. I notice a sticky patch beneath my ass cheeks, pasting them to the floor ... and plenty of goo spread around between my thighs. Was I violated by those two thugs while unconscious? I don't even want to think about it!
How many hours have I been lying here, I wonder? Impossible to know.
From somewhere out in the interrogation and torture room, I hear screaming and shouting. Someone else has their unwanted attention for the moment ... poor thing. But the good news is that if they are preoccupied I am probably safe for the moment. I close my eyes, hunger gnawing at my gut and fatigue washing over me in waves.
Hours go by. I pass in and out of consciousness, never fully aware, but am suddenly awakened by the sound of boots coming into the cell block.
They are coming for me again!
It's the Captain and his sidekick ... the rattle of keys in the lock of my cell door.
"Wake up, Moore ... your siesta time is over, " he says, laughing at his little joke. "Get your sorry whoring little cunt up off the floor. The General is on his way down to see you."
I groan as I am lifted to my feet and dragged from my cell down a short corridor and into the room they call "The Pit". This time they string me up, feet off the floor. I hang by my wrists, rotating slowly, as the General storms into the room, and takes his customary position on a chair placed directly in front of his victim.
"You're cover is completely blown Ms. Moore!" he drawls. "Our friends in Moscow have kindly shared their dossier on you with us. We know all about you. Your name really is Barbara Moore. You are 33 years old and you are a CIA operative. You trained at Langley in 2007-2009. Since then you have been posted to Berlin, Istanbul, Cairo, Damascus and Tunis. You were deported from the last two under suspicion of espionage. Your usual cover is to pose as a photo journalist. Care to deny any of that? ... no? .... I thought not!
"Now what we don't know, and what you are about to tell us, dear Barbara, are the details of your mission here. You were sent here to document human rights violations. That is obvious from the photos in your camera, but we also can assume you were here to contact the opposition, perhaps to aid in the organization of terror cells. We want names Moore! Who are your contacts here in Kartomga City? Give them up. They are traitors and criminals. We want them!"
I stare at him closemouthed, remembering my training, specifically the dictum: hold out for at least two days, more if possible, so that compromised contacts can go into hiding.
"Silence?" screams the General. "You think you can outlast us here in the "Terror Pit", of all places. No one is coming to your aid Moore! ... Captain! Have your man provide a little persuasion, if you please!"
The Captain's sidekick begins to use his clenched fists on my already battered tummy. Helplessly, I take his ham-fisted blows ...
... again and again ...
... gagging on the bile rising out of my empty stomach ...
gasping for breath ... I have had enough ... I beg them to stop. "Please I croak, no more. I'll talk!"
The beating continues as if they didn't hear my capitulation ... I am seeing speckled lights and nearly passing out in agony.
"Stop!" orders the General.
Finally, I think ... my head reeling as the brute lands one last punch, hitting me so hard I fly back and swing around like a battered piñata.
"We're listening!" growls the General. "Out with it!"
I swallow hard as I swing slowly back around to face him, and prepare to lie ...
Hondoboot2
QUAESTOR PULCHRITUDINIS
Good plan Barb, lie, and maybe the General will buy it. But if he doesn't, look out, it could get very nasty
Excellent writing Barb!
And I believe SkatingJesus created a great view of your awesome tight little
messaline
Crucified Amazon
Hum, I'm not sure that this tormentor knows well how to make a woman speaking ... There are so much parts of the body'woman which are more sensitive ... Why not to twist round her tumescent nipples, for example ?
... and have they only a rack or a wooden pony ? Mmmmmm, to join "l'utile à ....l'agréable" ( the useful to the agreable ) ...
... and have they only a rack or a wooden pony ? Mmmmmm, to join "l'utile à ....l'agréable"
( the useful to the agreable ) ...
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Hondoboot2
QUAESTOR PULCHRITUDINIS
What do you expect, they are Neanderthal brutesHum, I'm not sure that this tormentor knows well how to make a woman speak ... There are so much parts of the body'woman which are more sensitive ... Why not to twist round her tumescent nipples, for example ?
... and have they only a rack or a wooden pony ? Mmmmmm, to join "l'utile à ....l'agréable"
...they probably have about four brain cells between them.
messaline
Crucified Amazon
Maybe 'You have it wrong! I am not Barbara Moore! She never used private e-mail server! It was mine you hacked!' I think... I hope they buy it -
...nor the enema!!!Huuuum , be careful ! Never underestimate the enemy !
O
M
G
She's going to lie!
Mind you, the General does show signs of having been at the back of the queue for brains...
Maybe, just maybe, she'll get away with it!
O
M
G
She's going to lie!
Lie as if your life depends on it, Barb!
Actually, now that I consider that...
AlexArts
Soul of Cinder
I agree...
shastar
Tribune
With the compliments of Good Old Vladimir, Barb ! Always there to help his friends...
Don't complain too much, I suspect HE would have more refined methods than beating and punching to make you talk...
Kind of a weak vote of confidence there. Have a little faith!O
M
G
She's going to lie!
Mind you, the General does show signs of having been at the back of the queue for brains...
Maybe, just maybe, she'll get away with it!