-
Sign up or login, and you'll have full access to opportunities of forum.
La Isla
- Thread starter TheLimey
- Start date
TheLimey
Governor
Chapter 1
As the lights in her apartment flickered out, Jay swore to herself in frustration. The blackouts in the capital city of San Allende had been getting more frequent as the left wing regime tried to put the country back together, and it was starting to really get on her nerves now.
It had been a good posting at first. As the Reuters correspondent to a Latin American country in the grip of a power struggle between right and left, she was in the front line, and had her byline on newspapers around the world, as no American newspapers or agencies had been allowed into the country at all.
Now though, with the left wing Government maintaining power, and the world turning to the next disaster elsewhere, she found her stories appearing less and less. Still, she had a job to do for the next year, and she had done some good work, contacts with people who might know people who might know what was going on in the more remote areas, where the right wing rebels had retreated.
Tonight though, nothing was going to happen, no power meant no way she could work on anything. She had a routine for these nights. Candles were first, a couple in the kitchen, then a couple by the door to her balcony. Then she stripped, putting on a thin denim shirt that had belonged to some old boyfriend, opened up her fridge and grabbed a beer, then went out to sit on her balcony, hoping for a breath of a breeze.
She was out of luck. Even on the 10th floor of the block, the air was still and carried the humidity of the Tropics. She shook out her shoulder length curls, and sat in the chair on the balcony. Even in the heat, it was still better to be outside than sweltering in the closed apartment, at least for the moment.
She sipped at her beer, feeling the sweat from the bottle run down her fingers, matching the sweat that was starting to run down her torso, and thought ahead to tomorrow. She was due to meet Ana at noon. Ana was a student, or would have been if the University was currently open. She was a good source of information on disaffected students, and had a line to the right wing opposition, now in hiding. She was also an enthusiastic lover. Jay popped another button open on her shirt and traced a line in the sweat on her chest. She hoped Ana had cleared enough time for more than just talking
Jay swigged the last of her beer, and went inside, hoping that the battery fan she kept in the bedroom still had life in it.
-
The crash made Jay sit bolt upright. She scrambled for the bedside light, swearing when the switch did nothing. She knew that since the end of the civil war, the regime had quietly been raiding houses and apartments looking for anyone they considered an enemy. She reached for a battery lantern, wondering which of her neighbours they police were raiding.
The second crash was louder, closer, and Jay cried out when she saw the dance of lights through her open bedroom door. At her cry, the lights all turned towards the sound, and by the light of the battery lantern she saw a pair of men enter her bedroom, assault rifles at the ready, flashlights taped to the barrels, wearing the uniform of the Policia Civil.
They motioned for her to get out of bed, and she did, acutely aware that she was still naked, but mindful of the fact that she had always been told that in this circumstance, she was to do as ordered, but make it clear that she was a journalist, travelling on a British passport, and that the Embassy should be contacted.
Another set of motions from the gun toting police, and she turned to face the wall, a cold sweat springing out all over as her arms were grabbed and a ziptie used to fasten her wrists together behind her back.
This finally shocked her enough to words. "Hey! I am a British Journalist! What do you think is going on here?!"
A bright electric lantern was turned on, and a tall Hispanic woman walked in, wearing a black military style overall devoid of all badges. Her dark hair was pulled back in a tight high ponytail, and she looked at Jay with a look of disdain.
"You are Jay Mary Haskins?"
The police officer who had ziptied her spun Jay round to face the newcomer.
"Yes, and you are?" she replied.
The woman ignored the question, reading from a file she held in her hands. "Born 1985 in The United States, but a dual citizen of the United Kingdom, permitted to be in this country as a journalist for the Reuters news agency?"
Jay nodded, "That is also correct. Who am I addressing please?"
"I am Capt. Gomez," the woman replied. "Your name has come up in an inquiry into a group of rebels. We request your presence at the district station to clear up a small matter or two."
Jay looked straight at Gomez. "Do I gave a choice?"
Gomez looked the naked journalist up and down " Your cooperation will make your future employment in this country much easier. Please be assured that the British embassy has already been informed."
"Ok, then let me get dressed, and I'll come with you. Let's get this over and done with."
Gomez nodded at the guard, who used a knife to free Jay from the ziptie. Jay started to go for her wardrobe, but Gomez drew her up short. "Miss Haskins, this will be enough," she said, tossing the denim shirt at her.
Drawing it on, Jay spoke again "Shoes, underwear?" but Gomez simply snapped a command at the guard, who quickly had Jay's wrists in a pair of cuffs behind her back, before Jay had had the chance to even partly button the shirt. Another command, and she was being marched out if her apartment, down the dimly lit corridor to the elevator.
Gomez watched her go, then turned to the nearest officer. "Hurry. Grab her laptop, and then torch the place."
She smiled. She was going to enjoy a little time with the journalist.
As the lights in her apartment flickered out, Jay swore to herself in frustration. The blackouts in the capital city of San Allende had been getting more frequent as the left wing regime tried to put the country back together, and it was starting to really get on her nerves now.
It had been a good posting at first. As the Reuters correspondent to a Latin American country in the grip of a power struggle between right and left, she was in the front line, and had her byline on newspapers around the world, as no American newspapers or agencies had been allowed into the country at all.
Now though, with the left wing Government maintaining power, and the world turning to the next disaster elsewhere, she found her stories appearing less and less. Still, she had a job to do for the next year, and she had done some good work, contacts with people who might know people who might know what was going on in the more remote areas, where the right wing rebels had retreated.
Tonight though, nothing was going to happen, no power meant no way she could work on anything. She had a routine for these nights. Candles were first, a couple in the kitchen, then a couple by the door to her balcony. Then she stripped, putting on a thin denim shirt that had belonged to some old boyfriend, opened up her fridge and grabbed a beer, then went out to sit on her balcony, hoping for a breath of a breeze.
She was out of luck. Even on the 10th floor of the block, the air was still and carried the humidity of the Tropics. She shook out her shoulder length curls, and sat in the chair on the balcony. Even in the heat, it was still better to be outside than sweltering in the closed apartment, at least for the moment.
She sipped at her beer, feeling the sweat from the bottle run down her fingers, matching the sweat that was starting to run down her torso, and thought ahead to tomorrow. She was due to meet Ana at noon. Ana was a student, or would have been if the University was currently open. She was a good source of information on disaffected students, and had a line to the right wing opposition, now in hiding. She was also an enthusiastic lover. Jay popped another button open on her shirt and traced a line in the sweat on her chest. She hoped Ana had cleared enough time for more than just talking
Jay swigged the last of her beer, and went inside, hoping that the battery fan she kept in the bedroom still had life in it.
-
The crash made Jay sit bolt upright. She scrambled for the bedside light, swearing when the switch did nothing. She knew that since the end of the civil war, the regime had quietly been raiding houses and apartments looking for anyone they considered an enemy. She reached for a battery lantern, wondering which of her neighbours they police were raiding.
The second crash was louder, closer, and Jay cried out when she saw the dance of lights through her open bedroom door. At her cry, the lights all turned towards the sound, and by the light of the battery lantern she saw a pair of men enter her bedroom, assault rifles at the ready, flashlights taped to the barrels, wearing the uniform of the Policia Civil.
They motioned for her to get out of bed, and she did, acutely aware that she was still naked, but mindful of the fact that she had always been told that in this circumstance, she was to do as ordered, but make it clear that she was a journalist, travelling on a British passport, and that the Embassy should be contacted.
Another set of motions from the gun toting police, and she turned to face the wall, a cold sweat springing out all over as her arms were grabbed and a ziptie used to fasten her wrists together behind her back.
This finally shocked her enough to words. "Hey! I am a British Journalist! What do you think is going on here?!"
A bright electric lantern was turned on, and a tall Hispanic woman walked in, wearing a black military style overall devoid of all badges. Her dark hair was pulled back in a tight high ponytail, and she looked at Jay with a look of disdain.
"You are Jay Mary Haskins?"
The police officer who had ziptied her spun Jay round to face the newcomer.
"Yes, and you are?" she replied.
The woman ignored the question, reading from a file she held in her hands. "Born 1985 in The United States, but a dual citizen of the United Kingdom, permitted to be in this country as a journalist for the Reuters news agency?"
Jay nodded, "That is also correct. Who am I addressing please?"
"I am Capt. Gomez," the woman replied. "Your name has come up in an inquiry into a group of rebels. We request your presence at the district station to clear up a small matter or two."
Jay looked straight at Gomez. "Do I gave a choice?"
Gomez looked the naked journalist up and down " Your cooperation will make your future employment in this country much easier. Please be assured that the British embassy has already been informed."
"Ok, then let me get dressed, and I'll come with you. Let's get this over and done with."
Gomez nodded at the guard, who used a knife to free Jay from the ziptie. Jay started to go for her wardrobe, but Gomez drew her up short. "Miss Haskins, this will be enough," she said, tossing the denim shirt at her.
Drawing it on, Jay spoke again "Shoes, underwear?" but Gomez simply snapped a command at the guard, who quickly had Jay's wrists in a pair of cuffs behind her back, before Jay had had the chance to even partly button the shirt. Another command, and she was being marched out if her apartment, down the dimly lit corridor to the elevator.
Gomez watched her go, then turned to the nearest officer. "Hurry. Grab her laptop, and then torch the place."
She smiled. She was going to enjoy a little time with the journalist.
Jon Smithie
Tribune
Great start! I look forward to reading more.
TheLimey
Governor
Chapter 2
The next 10 minutes were a blur to Jay, a nightmare of being pushed down corridors, pulled into and out of elevators, and finally hauled into a green armoured vehicle, with Policia Civil written on the side.
Here, she was led around back, pulled into a caged in area, her wrists uncuffed but only long enough for them to be fastened again to a bar running along the ceiling. Her legs were unceremoniously pulled apart, cuffs chained to the floor of the vehicle attached to each ankle, one of the officers taking a chance to run his hand up her leg and cup at her arse. Her cry of "Hey!" only brought a laugh from the officer, as he slammed the door closed behind her, plunging her into darkness.
She was panting, suddenly feeling small and scared, so she tried to control her breathing and her thoughts, but she kept going back to a rumour she had heard. That people just occasionally 'disappeared'. She tried to dismiss that thought. They couldn't do that. She was a journalist, a foreign journalist. She would be missed, questions would be asked.
In fact, she realised, that would happen as soon as tomorrow. She had a fall back with Ana. If Jay ever didn't cancel a meeting by phone, and just didn't show, Ana was to reach the consulate services section of the British Embassy, who would start enquiries. All she had to do was to go through this...charade, let this Capt. Gomez have her little power trip by taking a nearly nude foreign journalist into custody, then the Embassy would spring her out. Who knows, perhaps this could even be her ticket out from this place.
Her thoughts were interupted by the engine coughing into life, and son they were away through the streets, Jay swaying in her cuffs in the dark back of the truck.
-
Jay had no idea where she was. The journey in the back of the truck was a haze of swaying and sweat, as the truck took a much longer time than she expected to reach their destination. She was tired, and her legs were starting to give way when they jolted to a hard stop, causing Jay to swing in the darkness.
When the back door opened, the sultry night air felt almost cooling to Jay, and she docily acquiesced to the officers releasing her, pushing to get her out of the truck. She felt the tarmac under her naked feet, and took in a couple of breaths of air, whilst her eyes started to grow accustomed to the light.
She started to look around, but the guard behind her swiftly pulled a leather hood over her head, causing Jay to start to cry out as she was dropped into darkness again. Sound and sight disappeared, but she could feel as the hood was fastened tightly around her neck, could feel the hand cuffs clicked around her wrists again, and feel as something was fastened to the front of the hood at her throat.
She felt a tug, and she staggered forward, and her mind processed that she was on a leash, being dragged into a building, and she suddenly realized that she was in more trouble than she had thought. This wasn't the Policia Civil. This had been taken by the PCT.
Her mind started racing again. The Policia Contra el Terrorismo were a police in name only. They were para military, with their own bases, judiciary, and even prisons. Still, they couldn't do anything to a Reuters journalist, could they?
She shivered, partly from fright, but mostly as the air grew chill around them. The floor was no longer tarmac, but cold tile, and she knew she was now indoors. Soon, she was freezing, as the air-conditioned air chilled her sweat soaked body and shirt, and her teeth started to chatter even inside the hood.
She kept expecting to be halted at some point, the hood removed, for there to be some sort of processing, but there wasn't and after a series of corridors and turns, she could feel they were outside again, the heat warming her up now, gravel sharp under her bare feet.
They paused, a door being unlocked, a heavy door by the sound of it, and then she was inside. The air was still, overheated. A few turns, and then they stopped again whilst another door opened.
Her wrists were unfastened, and her shirt removed, before they sat her down in a metal chair, her wrists fastened to what must be a metal table in front of her. Finally, the hood was removed, and she blinked at the light.
"Please, I'm a British Citizen, please tell the..." Her words were cut short by a slap across her face, almost casual, but it shocked her into silence. The guards turned and the door was locked behind them, leaving her alone.
She looked at herself in the mirror set on the far wall of what was obviously the interrogation room. Her hair was lank with sweat, straggling around her head, and beads of sweat were dripping down her torso.
What the hell had she gotten herself into?
The next 10 minutes were a blur to Jay, a nightmare of being pushed down corridors, pulled into and out of elevators, and finally hauled into a green armoured vehicle, with Policia Civil written on the side.
Here, she was led around back, pulled into a caged in area, her wrists uncuffed but only long enough for them to be fastened again to a bar running along the ceiling. Her legs were unceremoniously pulled apart, cuffs chained to the floor of the vehicle attached to each ankle, one of the officers taking a chance to run his hand up her leg and cup at her arse. Her cry of "Hey!" only brought a laugh from the officer, as he slammed the door closed behind her, plunging her into darkness.
She was panting, suddenly feeling small and scared, so she tried to control her breathing and her thoughts, but she kept going back to a rumour she had heard. That people just occasionally 'disappeared'. She tried to dismiss that thought. They couldn't do that. She was a journalist, a foreign journalist. She would be missed, questions would be asked.
In fact, she realised, that would happen as soon as tomorrow. She had a fall back with Ana. If Jay ever didn't cancel a meeting by phone, and just didn't show, Ana was to reach the consulate services section of the British Embassy, who would start enquiries. All she had to do was to go through this...charade, let this Capt. Gomez have her little power trip by taking a nearly nude foreign journalist into custody, then the Embassy would spring her out. Who knows, perhaps this could even be her ticket out from this place.
Her thoughts were interupted by the engine coughing into life, and son they were away through the streets, Jay swaying in her cuffs in the dark back of the truck.
-
Jay had no idea where she was. The journey in the back of the truck was a haze of swaying and sweat, as the truck took a much longer time than she expected to reach their destination. She was tired, and her legs were starting to give way when they jolted to a hard stop, causing Jay to swing in the darkness.
When the back door opened, the sultry night air felt almost cooling to Jay, and she docily acquiesced to the officers releasing her, pushing to get her out of the truck. She felt the tarmac under her naked feet, and took in a couple of breaths of air, whilst her eyes started to grow accustomed to the light.
She started to look around, but the guard behind her swiftly pulled a leather hood over her head, causing Jay to start to cry out as she was dropped into darkness again. Sound and sight disappeared, but she could feel as the hood was fastened tightly around her neck, could feel the hand cuffs clicked around her wrists again, and feel as something was fastened to the front of the hood at her throat.
She felt a tug, and she staggered forward, and her mind processed that she was on a leash, being dragged into a building, and she suddenly realized that she was in more trouble than she had thought. This wasn't the Policia Civil. This had been taken by the PCT.
Her mind started racing again. The Policia Contra el Terrorismo were a police in name only. They were para military, with their own bases, judiciary, and even prisons. Still, they couldn't do anything to a Reuters journalist, could they?
She shivered, partly from fright, but mostly as the air grew chill around them. The floor was no longer tarmac, but cold tile, and she knew she was now indoors. Soon, she was freezing, as the air-conditioned air chilled her sweat soaked body and shirt, and her teeth started to chatter even inside the hood.
She kept expecting to be halted at some point, the hood removed, for there to be some sort of processing, but there wasn't and after a series of corridors and turns, she could feel they were outside again, the heat warming her up now, gravel sharp under her bare feet.
They paused, a door being unlocked, a heavy door by the sound of it, and then she was inside. The air was still, overheated. A few turns, and then they stopped again whilst another door opened.
Her wrists were unfastened, and her shirt removed, before they sat her down in a metal chair, her wrists fastened to what must be a metal table in front of her. Finally, the hood was removed, and she blinked at the light.
"Please, I'm a British Citizen, please tell the..." Her words were cut short by a slap across her face, almost casual, but it shocked her into silence. The guards turned and the door was locked behind them, leaving her alone.
She looked at herself in the mirror set on the far wall of what was obviously the interrogation room. Her hair was lank with sweat, straggling around her head, and beads of sweat were dripping down her torso.
What the hell had she gotten herself into?
TheLimey
Governor
Chapter 3
Gomez looked through the mirror at the naked prisoner in the room. She already knew what was going on. Haskins' lover Ana had already broken, told her that the journalist was looking into reaching the right wing rabble. In two days the Yanqui, ( no matter the passport, a Yanqui was a Yanqui), would be on her way to a life far different from what she had expected. She had two days to see how far she could push the little bitch. Who knows, perhaps the Yanqui would enjoy it, Ana had revealed that the bitch had a submissive streak. Gomez knew she was going to enjoy this herself.
-
Jay stirred from a restless state, not quite sleep, not quite awake, as the door to the room opened. She reached for the name of the woman who sat in the chair opposite her... Gomez, that was it, Capt. Gomez.
Gomez carried a file folder and a bottle of water, which she placed on the table, and Jay realised how thirsty she was.
Gomez flicked through the file a moment, then casually opened the bottle and drank a little, before looking up at Jay.
"Miss Haskins, I am sorry that we have to meet in such a fashion. I apologise for how you have been treated. Is there anything I can do for you right now?"
Jay licked her dry lips, and Gomez pushed back the bottle across the table. Jay pulled her hands up to indicate her cuffs, and Gomez smiled inwardly. "I am sorry, I do not have a key for those cuffs, " she said, shrugging.
Jay didn't care, she had gripped the bottle and sank her head down to the table edge to allow her to drink, not caring how it looked.
Gomez coughed politely. "Miss Haskins," she looked in the file, "Jay.... Is there anything else you need?"
The naked woman looked up. "Clothing. To be released. A legal representative from the Embassy?" To be out of here, and away from you was an unsaid thought.
Gomez smiled again. "The Embassy is aware of your situation. I'm certain they will be aranging things as we speak. As for release," she opened the file again, " I just have a few simple questions.."
"You were first admitted to the country two years ago, correct?"
Jay nodded, concious of her training for these situations, "I entered on a journalist visa, after some considerable difficulties, acreddited to the Reuters agency"
"I saw some of your reports during our recent... difficulties." Gomez smiled again. "I found the viewpoints....interesting."
"I tried to stick to the facts, without bias"
"And you have made no attempt to reach the remnants of the right wing forces?"
Jay smiled back. "This would be illegal, and put my Visa at risk. Why would I do that?"
"Indeed," replied Gomez. "Particularly given your unique status. There are very few Yanqui in this country, and fewer still who hold a British passport."
Gomez looked down at the folder again. "Tell me, what are your connections to Ana Menendez?
The response was reflexive."Who?"
"Ana Menendez, 20 years old, an ex-student at the City University." She pulled a picture out of the file. Ana, sat at a cafe they both knew. "Tell me, when did she become your whore?"
"Whore? What do you mean, whore?"
Another picture, pushed across the table. Ana and her, at the cafe,, sat opposite each other, holding hands. A set of images, of Ana and Jay on a secluded beach, in bikinis, then naked, finally one of Jay, her head between Ana's thighs. Jay was suddenly aware of fresh sweat trickling down her ribs.
"Fine, we are lovers. Is this illegal?"
"And you paid her"
Jay was getting frustrated. "No, we were lovers. I bought her presents. Clothing, Jeans, dresses..." She swallowed. "Someone saw the clothes and made a assumption, and informed, is that it?"
"And when did Ana Menendez suggest that she could put you in contact with the right wing rebels?"
Jay's heart was racing now. "What? Never! The subject never came up!'
Gomez stood, and crossed to the door, opening it to let in a tall, black male, also wearing an unadorned set of black overalls. He passed a tablet computer to Gomez, then stood behind Jay.
Gomez placed the tablet in front of Jay, checking that the sound was up, and pressed a button.
The image made Jay gasp. Ana, beautiful Ana, was hanging from her wrists, naked. She was sheened in sweat, which only made the red weals that marked her tits, stomach and cunt.
Jay made to turn her head away, but the black man behind her grabbed her hair, forcing her to look.
Ana's voice was hoarse, as if she had been screaming. "My name is Ana Hernandez. I confess that I am a member of the reactionary forces. I was conspiring to introduce members of the right wing to the Imperialist journalist Jay Haskins. I also confess that I had freely prostituted myself to Jay Haskins, for money."
Jay felt the the tears on her cheeks. "What have you done to her?"
Gomez looked down on her prisoner with contempt. "Exactly what we do to any enemy of the state. She took her chance and made a full confession. I would suggest you do the same."
She nodded at the black paramilitary, who unlocked the handcuffs, and hauled Jay to get feet. Jay started babbling "You can't.... I'm a journalist... I'm a British Citizen... Wait...!"
Gomez spat directly in Jay's face. "Take this piece of filth and get her ready."
Gomez looked through the mirror at the naked prisoner in the room. She already knew what was going on. Haskins' lover Ana had already broken, told her that the journalist was looking into reaching the right wing rabble. In two days the Yanqui, ( no matter the passport, a Yanqui was a Yanqui), would be on her way to a life far different from what she had expected. She had two days to see how far she could push the little bitch. Who knows, perhaps the Yanqui would enjoy it, Ana had revealed that the bitch had a submissive streak. Gomez knew she was going to enjoy this herself.
-
Jay stirred from a restless state, not quite sleep, not quite awake, as the door to the room opened. She reached for the name of the woman who sat in the chair opposite her... Gomez, that was it, Capt. Gomez.
Gomez carried a file folder and a bottle of water, which she placed on the table, and Jay realised how thirsty she was.
Gomez flicked through the file a moment, then casually opened the bottle and drank a little, before looking up at Jay.
"Miss Haskins, I am sorry that we have to meet in such a fashion. I apologise for how you have been treated. Is there anything I can do for you right now?"
Jay licked her dry lips, and Gomez pushed back the bottle across the table. Jay pulled her hands up to indicate her cuffs, and Gomez smiled inwardly. "I am sorry, I do not have a key for those cuffs, " she said, shrugging.
Jay didn't care, she had gripped the bottle and sank her head down to the table edge to allow her to drink, not caring how it looked.
Gomez coughed politely. "Miss Haskins," she looked in the file, "Jay.... Is there anything else you need?"
The naked woman looked up. "Clothing. To be released. A legal representative from the Embassy?" To be out of here, and away from you was an unsaid thought.
Gomez smiled again. "The Embassy is aware of your situation. I'm certain they will be aranging things as we speak. As for release," she opened the file again, " I just have a few simple questions.."
"You were first admitted to the country two years ago, correct?"
Jay nodded, concious of her training for these situations, "I entered on a journalist visa, after some considerable difficulties, acreddited to the Reuters agency"
"I saw some of your reports during our recent... difficulties." Gomez smiled again. "I found the viewpoints....interesting."
"I tried to stick to the facts, without bias"
"And you have made no attempt to reach the remnants of the right wing forces?"
Jay smiled back. "This would be illegal, and put my Visa at risk. Why would I do that?"
"Indeed," replied Gomez. "Particularly given your unique status. There are very few Yanqui in this country, and fewer still who hold a British passport."
Gomez looked down at the folder again. "Tell me, what are your connections to Ana Menendez?
The response was reflexive."Who?"
"Ana Menendez, 20 years old, an ex-student at the City University." She pulled a picture out of the file. Ana, sat at a cafe they both knew. "Tell me, when did she become your whore?"
"Whore? What do you mean, whore?"
Another picture, pushed across the table. Ana and her, at the cafe,, sat opposite each other, holding hands. A set of images, of Ana and Jay on a secluded beach, in bikinis, then naked, finally one of Jay, her head between Ana's thighs. Jay was suddenly aware of fresh sweat trickling down her ribs.
"Fine, we are lovers. Is this illegal?"
"And you paid her"
Jay was getting frustrated. "No, we were lovers. I bought her presents. Clothing, Jeans, dresses..." She swallowed. "Someone saw the clothes and made a assumption, and informed, is that it?"
"And when did Ana Menendez suggest that she could put you in contact with the right wing rebels?"
Jay's heart was racing now. "What? Never! The subject never came up!'
Gomez stood, and crossed to the door, opening it to let in a tall, black male, also wearing an unadorned set of black overalls. He passed a tablet computer to Gomez, then stood behind Jay.
Gomez placed the tablet in front of Jay, checking that the sound was up, and pressed a button.
The image made Jay gasp. Ana, beautiful Ana, was hanging from her wrists, naked. She was sheened in sweat, which only made the red weals that marked her tits, stomach and cunt.
Jay made to turn her head away, but the black man behind her grabbed her hair, forcing her to look.
Ana's voice was hoarse, as if she had been screaming. "My name is Ana Hernandez. I confess that I am a member of the reactionary forces. I was conspiring to introduce members of the right wing to the Imperialist journalist Jay Haskins. I also confess that I had freely prostituted myself to Jay Haskins, for money."
Jay felt the the tears on her cheeks. "What have you done to her?"
Gomez looked down on her prisoner with contempt. "Exactly what we do to any enemy of the state. She took her chance and made a full confession. I would suggest you do the same."
She nodded at the black paramilitary, who unlocked the handcuffs, and hauled Jay to get feet. Jay started babbling "You can't.... I'm a journalist... I'm a British Citizen... Wait...!"
Gomez spat directly in Jay's face. "Take this piece of filth and get her ready."
TheLimey
Governor
Chapter 4
Gomez had taken some time to change, removing the overalls and putting on a pair of black leather pants and a grey tank top. Now she was stood in the control room, looking at a live feed from the 'enhanced interrogation' room down the hall.
Jay was centered in the frame, stretched out in a position that Gomez knew would be causing some stress.
She was bent over a saw horse, placed sideways, so her hips and waist were pressed against the top, her legs spread obscenely, chained at the ankles to the legs of the horse, over a metre apart. A belt at her waist held her pressed against the wood of the horse. Her torso was held horizontal as her arms were held up behind her back, pointing almost vertically towards the ceiling, where an elaborate pulley system kept up the tension. Finally, her head was in a leather harness, a chain to another pulley pulling her head back. Although Gomez couldn't see it, she knew that Jay had a large ring gag in her mouth.
Gomez smiled and flexed her shoulders. Ana had been an appetizer, breaking and spilling secrets surprisingly quickly. This arrogant bitch would be a different case. She was already destined to disappear onto the Island, no matter what was said. Gomez was going to be able to spend a little time on her.
-
Jay moaned softly, and tried to flex her shoulders to try to get some relief in the ache that was setting in, but to no avail. Besides, it wouldn't help with the ache in her thighs from the widespread position she was in, or the pain in her jaw from the gag that held her mouth open.
She was in trouble, she knew it. She also knew that maybe, just maybe, she could do Ana a little bit of good. If she took the blame, said Ana had only done things after being asked to, then perhaps she could help Ana. They couldn't do too much to herself, as a foreigner, and a journalist. At some point, the Embassy would get her out of here.
The door opened, and Jay craned her neck as far as she could to see Gomez and the black officer walk in. The black officer crossed to a control panel on the wall, turning up the lights in the room, and Jay could hear the slight hum as cameras in the room corners locked and refocused on her.
Gomez had walked out of Jay's vision, behind her, but Jay could hear her arranging items on a metal tray or cart, and Jay could feel her heartbeat rising.
Footsteps, then Jay felt the buckle for the gag undone. Once loosened, Jay felt Gomez's fingers reach in, and pull the gag out of her mouth, a thin stream of drool coming with it. The gag was released to hang around Jay's neck
Gomez crouched in front of Jay. "So... Here you are. In the same cell where your little whore sang like a bird. I wonder what tune you, the bigger whore, will sing for me?"
Jay started to speak. "Ana isn't the culprit. I.... Ahhhh!" The riding crop raked across Jay's right cheek.
"No, my little bird. I'm not interested in what you have to say to try to save your whore. That doesn't matter." Gomez stood, and moved around to Jay's right hand side. She looked at the bound prisoner in front of her, taking in the glean of sweat, the strain in the muscles.
"Don't you understand, you Yanqui, that you don't matter any longer." She swung the riding crop, catching Jay sharply across her arse, and Jay cried out at the sudden pain. "Your whore is gone, a cog in the machine. Soon, you will also be gone." She swung again, a stroke below that of the first, and the cell rang with Jay's cry of pain again.
"You no longer exist, Miss Haskins. Right now, your beloved embassy is telling your relatives of the terrible fire in the apartment building, which gutted a number of floors. Unfortunately, with the blackout, there was much confusion and the fire brigade were unable to rescue anyone. In a few days, there will be a memorial service for you in London, with my Ambassador openly present, to pass on the condolences of the Party and the President, at the loss of such a friend to the country."
Jay cried out, incredulous, "Christ, you murdered all of the other people in those apartments? Just to cover up that you have made me disappear?"
The crop fell rapidly, once, twice, three more times, each blow calculated to strike a different part of Jay's arse and thighs. "You think I wouldn't?" snarled Gomez. "I have killed my enemies for the good of this country. I have tortured, raped to serve the Party that raised me from the shanty town I grew up in, watching the likes of you come in and take our oil, our crops."
She reached around, replacing the gag in Jay's mouth, jerking on the straps to keep it there. "Now, Prisoner 626, I will finally get a measure of revenge!"
Gomez rained blows on her defenceless prisoner, working first on her arse and thighs , until they were red with weals, and 626 was crying out loud. Then Gomez switched, swinging underarm against 626's stomach and small breasts, wrenching cries of cries of pain as the crop bit into the defenceless nipples.
Just when 626 thought she could take no more, Gomez paused. In the heat in the cell, she was as sweaty as her prisoner, the tank top a darker grey, and her face dripping sweat. Gomez moved behind the bound woman, and pressed a finger deep into 626's open cunt, unsurprised that it slid in easily. She was right, this bitch was a masochist.
"I told you, Martillo, these Yanqui whores just need to be treated right," laughed Gomez. She guestured for the black officer to come over, and he took his place in front of 626's pulled back face, whilst she took a large strap on dildo from the tray and put it on.
Martillo removed the ring gag again, and 626 knew to her shame what was going to happen. They would rape her, and she knew that she would be unable to stop herself from coming. Gomez was right, she had seen the inner masochist.
"We have a name for this, the 'Hammer and the Nail'," said Gomez, positioning herself with the tip of the dildo at 626's open cunt. "Your little whore was quite the performer, but I think you are going to out do her easily!
Gomez had taken some time to change, removing the overalls and putting on a pair of black leather pants and a grey tank top. Now she was stood in the control room, looking at a live feed from the 'enhanced interrogation' room down the hall.
Jay was centered in the frame, stretched out in a position that Gomez knew would be causing some stress.
She was bent over a saw horse, placed sideways, so her hips and waist were pressed against the top, her legs spread obscenely, chained at the ankles to the legs of the horse, over a metre apart. A belt at her waist held her pressed against the wood of the horse. Her torso was held horizontal as her arms were held up behind her back, pointing almost vertically towards the ceiling, where an elaborate pulley system kept up the tension. Finally, her head was in a leather harness, a chain to another pulley pulling her head back. Although Gomez couldn't see it, she knew that Jay had a large ring gag in her mouth.
Gomez smiled and flexed her shoulders. Ana had been an appetizer, breaking and spilling secrets surprisingly quickly. This arrogant bitch would be a different case. She was already destined to disappear onto the Island, no matter what was said. Gomez was going to be able to spend a little time on her.
-
Jay moaned softly, and tried to flex her shoulders to try to get some relief in the ache that was setting in, but to no avail. Besides, it wouldn't help with the ache in her thighs from the widespread position she was in, or the pain in her jaw from the gag that held her mouth open.
She was in trouble, she knew it. She also knew that maybe, just maybe, she could do Ana a little bit of good. If she took the blame, said Ana had only done things after being asked to, then perhaps she could help Ana. They couldn't do too much to herself, as a foreigner, and a journalist. At some point, the Embassy would get her out of here.
The door opened, and Jay craned her neck as far as she could to see Gomez and the black officer walk in. The black officer crossed to a control panel on the wall, turning up the lights in the room, and Jay could hear the slight hum as cameras in the room corners locked and refocused on her.
Gomez had walked out of Jay's vision, behind her, but Jay could hear her arranging items on a metal tray or cart, and Jay could feel her heartbeat rising.
Footsteps, then Jay felt the buckle for the gag undone. Once loosened, Jay felt Gomez's fingers reach in, and pull the gag out of her mouth, a thin stream of drool coming with it. The gag was released to hang around Jay's neck
Gomez crouched in front of Jay. "So... Here you are. In the same cell where your little whore sang like a bird. I wonder what tune you, the bigger whore, will sing for me?"
Jay started to speak. "Ana isn't the culprit. I.... Ahhhh!" The riding crop raked across Jay's right cheek.
"No, my little bird. I'm not interested in what you have to say to try to save your whore. That doesn't matter." Gomez stood, and moved around to Jay's right hand side. She looked at the bound prisoner in front of her, taking in the glean of sweat, the strain in the muscles.
"Don't you understand, you Yanqui, that you don't matter any longer." She swung the riding crop, catching Jay sharply across her arse, and Jay cried out at the sudden pain. "Your whore is gone, a cog in the machine. Soon, you will also be gone." She swung again, a stroke below that of the first, and the cell rang with Jay's cry of pain again.
"You no longer exist, Miss Haskins. Right now, your beloved embassy is telling your relatives of the terrible fire in the apartment building, which gutted a number of floors. Unfortunately, with the blackout, there was much confusion and the fire brigade were unable to rescue anyone. In a few days, there will be a memorial service for you in London, with my Ambassador openly present, to pass on the condolences of the Party and the President, at the loss of such a friend to the country."
Jay cried out, incredulous, "Christ, you murdered all of the other people in those apartments? Just to cover up that you have made me disappear?"
The crop fell rapidly, once, twice, three more times, each blow calculated to strike a different part of Jay's arse and thighs. "You think I wouldn't?" snarled Gomez. "I have killed my enemies for the good of this country. I have tortured, raped to serve the Party that raised me from the shanty town I grew up in, watching the likes of you come in and take our oil, our crops."
She reached around, replacing the gag in Jay's mouth, jerking on the straps to keep it there. "Now, Prisoner 626, I will finally get a measure of revenge!"
Gomez rained blows on her defenceless prisoner, working first on her arse and thighs , until they were red with weals, and 626 was crying out loud. Then Gomez switched, swinging underarm against 626's stomach and small breasts, wrenching cries of cries of pain as the crop bit into the defenceless nipples.
Just when 626 thought she could take no more, Gomez paused. In the heat in the cell, she was as sweaty as her prisoner, the tank top a darker grey, and her face dripping sweat. Gomez moved behind the bound woman, and pressed a finger deep into 626's open cunt, unsurprised that it slid in easily. She was right, this bitch was a masochist.
"I told you, Martillo, these Yanqui whores just need to be treated right," laughed Gomez. She guestured for the black officer to come over, and he took his place in front of 626's pulled back face, whilst she took a large strap on dildo from the tray and put it on.
Martillo removed the ring gag again, and 626 knew to her shame what was going to happen. They would rape her, and she knew that she would be unable to stop herself from coming. Gomez was right, she had seen the inner masochist.
"We have a name for this, the 'Hammer and the Nail'," said Gomez, positioning herself with the tip of the dildo at 626's open cunt. "Your little whore was quite the performer, but I think you are going to out do her easily!
TheLimey
Governor
Chapter 5
Martillo undid his overalls, letting them drop to the floor. He was well muscled, quite hairless, and had the largest cock 626 had ever seen. He held it ready, the tip touching her lips. 626 tried to turn away, but he grabbed at her sweat soaked hair and yanked hard. At the same time, Gomez thrust hard, and 626 found herself impaled.
626 had heard the phrase 'face-fuck', but had never been subjected to it before. Now she understood. Martillo just thrust at her, until she felt herself gag as his cock filled her mouth. She was just a hole to him, as he dispassionately thrust in and out, 626 trying to snatch hasty breaths when she could, tears running down her face to mix with the sweat and drool that was also dripping off her chin.
Gomez was also thrusting away behind 626, the dildo burying itself into 626's cunt. Gomez was looking intently at the spit-roasted prisoner, seeing the play of the sweat slick muscles in her shoulders and arms. She thrust rapidly for a couple of minutes, then withdrew, before placing the tip of the well lubricated dildo against 626's arsehole, and reaching for a flogger from the tray, each tail with a tight knot at the end.
Gomez said a single word, "Now!" and Martillo paused pulling his cock out of 626's mouth. 626 made to pull in a gulp of air, but screamed instead as Gomez, in one quick motion, buried the dildo deep into the prisoners arse.
626 exploded, muscles straining at the chains, and came, a stream of liquid gushing from her cunt. She drew a huge breath, and started to scream again, but Martillo forced himself into her mouth again, grabbing her behind her head and holding his cock deep in her throat.
Now Gomez started to thrust at her arse, and taking the flogger, punctuated each thrust with a savage swing at her prisoner's torso, the tails wrapping around to thrash against her tits and stomach.
626 had never known anything like it in her life. Every nerve ending was aflame, and she came once more, driven by the lack of oxygen, the pain of the whip and her bondage. More liquid gushed from her cunt, pooling between her feet on the floor. Another word from Gomez, and Martillo withdrew, coming as he did, filling 626's mouth before the rest of his come splashed across her face.
Gomez withdrew, 626 moaning as the dildo popped out of her arse. Gomez removed the dildo belt, and examined her handiwork. The prisoner was shuddering uncontrollably, sobbing without pause. Her torso, arse, and thighs were a mess of raised weals, with occasional larger knots where the flogger had bitten deeply. Sweat was running freely, dripping off her face and torso, mingling with the squirt that had flowed from 626's cunt.
Gomez laughed. "Ahhhh, yes. I knew it. Journalists are whores. I didn't realise that some of them were such talented whores." She nodded to Martillo, and they turned to leave the room, Gomez smiling as she left a parting word for the prisoner.
"Let's leave you to think about things for a while"
Martillo undid his overalls, letting them drop to the floor. He was well muscled, quite hairless, and had the largest cock 626 had ever seen. He held it ready, the tip touching her lips. 626 tried to turn away, but he grabbed at her sweat soaked hair and yanked hard. At the same time, Gomez thrust hard, and 626 found herself impaled.
626 had heard the phrase 'face-fuck', but had never been subjected to it before. Now she understood. Martillo just thrust at her, until she felt herself gag as his cock filled her mouth. She was just a hole to him, as he dispassionately thrust in and out, 626 trying to snatch hasty breaths when she could, tears running down her face to mix with the sweat and drool that was also dripping off her chin.
Gomez was also thrusting away behind 626, the dildo burying itself into 626's cunt. Gomez was looking intently at the spit-roasted prisoner, seeing the play of the sweat slick muscles in her shoulders and arms. She thrust rapidly for a couple of minutes, then withdrew, before placing the tip of the well lubricated dildo against 626's arsehole, and reaching for a flogger from the tray, each tail with a tight knot at the end.
Gomez said a single word, "Now!" and Martillo paused pulling his cock out of 626's mouth. 626 made to pull in a gulp of air, but screamed instead as Gomez, in one quick motion, buried the dildo deep into the prisoners arse.
626 exploded, muscles straining at the chains, and came, a stream of liquid gushing from her cunt. She drew a huge breath, and started to scream again, but Martillo forced himself into her mouth again, grabbing her behind her head and holding his cock deep in her throat.
Now Gomez started to thrust at her arse, and taking the flogger, punctuated each thrust with a savage swing at her prisoner's torso, the tails wrapping around to thrash against her tits and stomach.
626 had never known anything like it in her life. Every nerve ending was aflame, and she came once more, driven by the lack of oxygen, the pain of the whip and her bondage. More liquid gushed from her cunt, pooling between her feet on the floor. Another word from Gomez, and Martillo withdrew, coming as he did, filling 626's mouth before the rest of his come splashed across her face.
Gomez withdrew, 626 moaning as the dildo popped out of her arse. Gomez removed the dildo belt, and examined her handiwork. The prisoner was shuddering uncontrollably, sobbing without pause. Her torso, arse, and thighs were a mess of raised weals, with occasional larger knots where the flogger had bitten deeply. Sweat was running freely, dripping off her face and torso, mingling with the squirt that had flowed from 626's cunt.
Gomez laughed. "Ahhhh, yes. I knew it. Journalists are whores. I didn't realise that some of them were such talented whores." She nodded to Martillo, and they turned to leave the room, Gomez smiling as she left a parting word for the prisoner.
"Let's leave you to think about things for a while"
TheLimey
Governor
Chapter 6
626's moans echoed around the cell.
She had no idea how long she had been in the same position, but the ache in her hips and shoulders had reached far beyond anything she had felt before quite some time ago, and she was losing the circulation in her arms. She was certain that some of the trickles that ran over her skin were blood from one of the deep cuts that the flogger had left, and not just sweat, but she wasn't certain, given how drenched she was with her own sweat.
The cell door swung open again, as a pair of guards came in, and 626 was deeply afraid that they would also rape her, but instead, they tossed a couple of buckets of cold water over her, making her cry out at the shock on her overheated body.
They took some time releasing 626 from her restraints, roaming hands squeezing at breasts and slipping into her cunt. Eventually though, she was curled on the floor, almost crying with the relief she felt in her shoulders and legs. She was also shivering now, lying in a pool of cold water and she realised she was desperately thirsty. As the guards left her on the floor, whilst they pulled something off the wall in the dark corner, she took a chance to painfully turn her head so she could drink the water off the floor, not caring if it was dirty in any way.
She was still drinking when she felt something warm and wet hit her body, and she pulled her mouth out of the water as quickly as she could as a stream of piss soaked her hair and face. She clamped her eyes and mouth shut, until the stream ended and she heard the guard put away his cock with a loud zipping noise.
The other guard stepped forward, placing a metal collar around her neck, which he closed and padlocked shut. Then, with a swift tap to the ribs with his foot, it was made clear that 626 should stand. Muscles still aching far beyond anything she had felt before, she struggled to her feet. A long rod was attached to the collar at the back, and she was roughly hauled the rest of the way up.
With one guard in front of her, and the second guiding her with the pole at her neck, she was marched out of the cell, stumbling on legs that felt like rubber. This was her first look at the complex she was in, a series of corridors of white tile, with heavy doors at various points, lit harshly. At times, she passed one way glass windows, and she stole glances in each one, hoping and dreading that she would see Ana in one of them. Most were empty, but occasionally she saw naked prisoners, attached to devices that she knew would be causing them great pain.
Finally, they approached a door, and the lead guard used a white card on an access panel to open it. When 626 was marched through, she was surprised to find herself outside, and even more surprised that it was daylight. The heat and the humidity told her that it was at least mid morning. How long had she been in the torture cell?
Ahead of her was an open space surrounded by chain link fencing, skeins of barbed wire curled along the top. Inside the open space were a set of four short posts, each with a collar and chain. Only one post was occupied.
626 looked at the other prisoner as she was pushed over to a gate in the chain link. A short Latina, dark curly hair dropping to her shoulders. Unlike 626, this prisoner was still wearing the remains of a dress, though it had been torn open from collar to crotch at the front, and 626 could see the tell tale marks of a whipping, which also looked to have been very recent. The Latina must have been chained at the post not long before, as the torn dress was just starting to darken with sweat.
Once the gate was opened, 626 was efficiently hustled inside to the post next to the Latina. The collars were soon swapped and 626 was sat on the ground, her wrists cuffed behind her back.The guard who had pissed on her in the cell stood in front of her one last time, and spat at her, the gob landing on her naked chest, before turning to leave with his comrade, the gate being locked behind them.
The Latina waited until the guards had reentered the building, before she spat at the floor.
"Bastardo. That one is a real puta"
626 turned as well as she could. "You know him?" she said, aware of how rough her voice sounded.
"He was in my interrogation. He likes to humiliate." The Latina nodded. "I am Isabel."
"Jay," 626 replied.
Isabel looked 626 up and down. "A Yanqui... No wonder you look like they have taken some time with you."
626 nodded, then looked to both sides. "Is it safe for us to talk?"
Isabel nodded. "As long as we are quiet, and keep an eye on the door you came out of, then I think so." She swallowed hard. "But we have no names now. I am just Prisoner 786. We are bound for La Isla."
626 shuddered, but spoke her own number '626.... ' then paused a moment. "La Isla?'
786 nodded, blinking sweat from her eyes. "La Isla de la Muerte, where they will use us as a labour force. Where they will take some of us to serve as slaves for corrupt officials of other countries."
626 looked at the sweating woman, realising that she was sweating freely herself in the heat of the day. "You know these things?"
786 nodded. "Even on La Isla, there are people who fight against these leftist assholes, who want to help people escape. I know, I am a rebel, I worked in the Dept. of Security, losing files of my friends. You, a journalist, a Western journalist, may be what we need to expose the regime and their crimes."
She looked 626 in the eyes. 'We must escape from La Isla...'
626's moans echoed around the cell.
She had no idea how long she had been in the same position, but the ache in her hips and shoulders had reached far beyond anything she had felt before quite some time ago, and she was losing the circulation in her arms. She was certain that some of the trickles that ran over her skin were blood from one of the deep cuts that the flogger had left, and not just sweat, but she wasn't certain, given how drenched she was with her own sweat.
The cell door swung open again, as a pair of guards came in, and 626 was deeply afraid that they would also rape her, but instead, they tossed a couple of buckets of cold water over her, making her cry out at the shock on her overheated body.
They took some time releasing 626 from her restraints, roaming hands squeezing at breasts and slipping into her cunt. Eventually though, she was curled on the floor, almost crying with the relief she felt in her shoulders and legs. She was also shivering now, lying in a pool of cold water and she realised she was desperately thirsty. As the guards left her on the floor, whilst they pulled something off the wall in the dark corner, she took a chance to painfully turn her head so she could drink the water off the floor, not caring if it was dirty in any way.
She was still drinking when she felt something warm and wet hit her body, and she pulled her mouth out of the water as quickly as she could as a stream of piss soaked her hair and face. She clamped her eyes and mouth shut, until the stream ended and she heard the guard put away his cock with a loud zipping noise.
The other guard stepped forward, placing a metal collar around her neck, which he closed and padlocked shut. Then, with a swift tap to the ribs with his foot, it was made clear that 626 should stand. Muscles still aching far beyond anything she had felt before, she struggled to her feet. A long rod was attached to the collar at the back, and she was roughly hauled the rest of the way up.
With one guard in front of her, and the second guiding her with the pole at her neck, she was marched out of the cell, stumbling on legs that felt like rubber. This was her first look at the complex she was in, a series of corridors of white tile, with heavy doors at various points, lit harshly. At times, she passed one way glass windows, and she stole glances in each one, hoping and dreading that she would see Ana in one of them. Most were empty, but occasionally she saw naked prisoners, attached to devices that she knew would be causing them great pain.
Finally, they approached a door, and the lead guard used a white card on an access panel to open it. When 626 was marched through, she was surprised to find herself outside, and even more surprised that it was daylight. The heat and the humidity told her that it was at least mid morning. How long had she been in the torture cell?
Ahead of her was an open space surrounded by chain link fencing, skeins of barbed wire curled along the top. Inside the open space were a set of four short posts, each with a collar and chain. Only one post was occupied.
626 looked at the other prisoner as she was pushed over to a gate in the chain link. A short Latina, dark curly hair dropping to her shoulders. Unlike 626, this prisoner was still wearing the remains of a dress, though it had been torn open from collar to crotch at the front, and 626 could see the tell tale marks of a whipping, which also looked to have been very recent. The Latina must have been chained at the post not long before, as the torn dress was just starting to darken with sweat.
Once the gate was opened, 626 was efficiently hustled inside to the post next to the Latina. The collars were soon swapped and 626 was sat on the ground, her wrists cuffed behind her back.The guard who had pissed on her in the cell stood in front of her one last time, and spat at her, the gob landing on her naked chest, before turning to leave with his comrade, the gate being locked behind them.
The Latina waited until the guards had reentered the building, before she spat at the floor.
"Bastardo. That one is a real puta"
626 turned as well as she could. "You know him?" she said, aware of how rough her voice sounded.
"He was in my interrogation. He likes to humiliate." The Latina nodded. "I am Isabel."
"Jay," 626 replied.
Isabel looked 626 up and down. "A Yanqui... No wonder you look like they have taken some time with you."
626 nodded, then looked to both sides. "Is it safe for us to talk?"
Isabel nodded. "As long as we are quiet, and keep an eye on the door you came out of, then I think so." She swallowed hard. "But we have no names now. I am just Prisoner 786. We are bound for La Isla."
626 shuddered, but spoke her own number '626.... ' then paused a moment. "La Isla?'
786 nodded, blinking sweat from her eyes. "La Isla de la Muerte, where they will use us as a labour force. Where they will take some of us to serve as slaves for corrupt officials of other countries."
626 looked at the sweating woman, realising that she was sweating freely herself in the heat of the day. "You know these things?"
786 nodded. "Even on La Isla, there are people who fight against these leftist assholes, who want to help people escape. I know, I am a rebel, I worked in the Dept. of Security, losing files of my friends. You, a journalist, a Western journalist, may be what we need to expose the regime and their crimes."
She looked 626 in the eyes. 'We must escape from La Isla...'
TheLimey
Governor
Chapter 7
626 lolled in the heat. She had no idea of the time that had passed at the post, it was a haze of heat, humidity and sweat, which had left her looking like she had been oiled from head to toe. Beside her, 786 did the same, looking just like 26.
At least guards had come and given them water at some point, a pitcher which they poured down 626's and 786's throats, leaving them spluttering and coughing, but at least a little hydrated.
Thunderstorms had been rumbling in the distance for quite some time, and 786 said it must be the afternoon sometime, but it was only when the breeze started to pick up that 626 recognized that they might be in for a soaking. Soon, she felt the first drops of rain, light at first, and she turned her head up to open her mouth.
The first flash of light and crrraccckkk of thunder made both of them jump, and then it was like a wall of water hit them. The force of the rain was unbelievable, and 626 bent her head forward. The rain sluiced off her, pouring off her nose and chin. All around them the ground was turning into mud, and they both did as best they could to sit on their heels.
The rain eased to a stop, and she realised that it had been a godsend. She felt cooler, cleaner, even if her feet were caked in mud. When the door opened, she did get best to look straight at the approaching guard, until she saw it was Martillo. She knew that he could only becoming for her.
Sure enough, Martillo removed the collar from her neck, and the cuffs from her wrists. He pulled another collar from a belt loop, cracked and stained brown leather, with a leather strap coming from one side. This was soon around her neck, the strap hanging down between her shoulder blades. Leather cuffs were put on her wrists, and then each arm twisted up behind her shoulder blades, and linked to the strap, leaving her wrists crossed and hands placed palm to in a reverse prayer.
He grabbed her upper arm, and they set off into the building again, 626 leaving muddy foot prints on the cold tile floor. She tried to keep track of where they were going, was it the same cell she had been in before, but everything looked the same.
They reached a metal door, and Martillo swung it open, pushing 626 inside before him. Inside, the room was brightly lit, and almost empty. All she could see was a set of chains hanging from the ceiling, with heavy iron cuffs at the end.
Martillo worked quickly, releasing her from the leather restraints, before roughly shoving her to the floor. The cuffs were closed around her ankles, leaving her on her back, legs held in the air by a foot or so at the ankles. He waved at the one way mirror in one wall, and 626 felt her ankles rise, pulling her torso and then her head off the floor, until she was hanging upside down, fingertips just touching the floor, and her legs held a good three feet apart. Martillo turned and left, leaving 626 upside down.
Before long, she could feel the effect of the blood running into her head, the pressure building, and she knew she had to do something. She swung her arms, gaining momentum until she bent herself almost in two, hands grasping at her calves. She hung there for a while, letting the blood leave her head, until she realised she would have to let go soon, as her abdomen was starting to cramp and she was having a little trouble breathing.
She let go, and she swung back upside down again, holding out until she again felt the pressure in her head build, and she had to swing up again.
On and on this ordeal went one, 626 swinging from one position to the other, feeling the trickle of sweat down her sides, the increasing ache in her stomach muscles, and the increasing pain in her feet and ankles. Each swing up was getting harder, and she could hold it for less and less time.
On one swing up, she missed her grasp for her legs, and she swung back down again violently, the shock jarring her body and she moaned in pain. She knew that this was just the start of her new ordeal, and she was already feeling beaten.
The door swung open, and Gomez strode in, carrying a small duffle bag, which she placed on the floor out of 626's sight, before she moved in front of the upside down prisoner. The officer looked at the suspended prisoner in front of her, taking in the sweat slick body and the red weals that crossed it, the red face and the look of defeat in the eyes.
Gomez reached between 626's spread legs, and the prisoner moaned as fingers rubbed at her cunt.
'Whore!' cried Gomez, as her fingers came away slick with the telltale sign of 626's arousal. 'You're nothing but a whore!'
Gomez stepped back then swung with her fist, punching 626 in the stomach. 626 crued out at the impact, the cry forced out of her. 'You came here, to my country....' another punch, and all the air escaped 626's body. '... to whore yourself for the newspapers overseas....' a third punch, the impact enough to set 626 swinging in her chains.
She paused, and reached into the bag, pulling out a small device which she slipped into her pocket, followed by a large rubber cosh. 'The revolution had an answer for those who would whore themselves,' said Gomez, smacking the cosh into her hand. 'They would beat the whores until they admitted they were whores, and begged to be given a chance to work an honest job.'
Gomez swung the cosh, the blow falling on the inside of 626's right thigh, and the prisoner grunted in pain. Blow after blow followed, on the meat of 626's thighs and arse, with the occasional strike making her scream as it landed on her exposed cunt.
626 couldn't take it any longer. 'I'm a ...ahhh.. whore,' she gasped.
Gomez knelt beside her prisoner and looked at the sweat and tear soaked face of 626. 'Louder...'
'I'm... a... whore!'
Gomez stood again, and reached into her pocket for the device. 'Louder!'
626 breathed in, then cried out 'I'm a whore! I'm a... AAAAAAHHH!'
626 screamed as Gomez pushed the device against the folds of her cunt, and triggered the electroshock. 626 lost control, her bladder letting go, piss running down her upside down body and over her face. Another shock, then a third, and 626 screamed each time, animal, incoherent.
'Louder!' cried Gomez. 'What are you, whore?'
626 screamed out the words. 'I'm....A....Whore!" and would have again, but it was lost to an animal scream as Gomez jabbed the device against her clitoris, and triggered it, over and over again, tearing an orgasm out of 626.
The cell rang with the prisoner's cries, 626 screaming as she came, no pleasure at all, just pain driving her until she could take more, her eyes rolling back in her head, as she lapsed into unconsciousness. Gomez removed the device, and knelt by the head of the suspended American, and carefully spat in her face, before she strode off, slamming the cell door behind her.
Gomez turned to the guard outside. 'Drag her to a cell, hose her down, and feed the bitch.'
She turned to go, then turned back. 'Oh, and prepare a maximum security transport for her in the morning. She goes to the port tomorrow.'
626 lolled in the heat. She had no idea of the time that had passed at the post, it was a haze of heat, humidity and sweat, which had left her looking like she had been oiled from head to toe. Beside her, 786 did the same, looking just like 26.
At least guards had come and given them water at some point, a pitcher which they poured down 626's and 786's throats, leaving them spluttering and coughing, but at least a little hydrated.
Thunderstorms had been rumbling in the distance for quite some time, and 786 said it must be the afternoon sometime, but it was only when the breeze started to pick up that 626 recognized that they might be in for a soaking. Soon, she felt the first drops of rain, light at first, and she turned her head up to open her mouth.
The first flash of light and crrraccckkk of thunder made both of them jump, and then it was like a wall of water hit them. The force of the rain was unbelievable, and 626 bent her head forward. The rain sluiced off her, pouring off her nose and chin. All around them the ground was turning into mud, and they both did as best they could to sit on their heels.
The rain eased to a stop, and she realised that it had been a godsend. She felt cooler, cleaner, even if her feet were caked in mud. When the door opened, she did get best to look straight at the approaching guard, until she saw it was Martillo. She knew that he could only becoming for her.
Sure enough, Martillo removed the collar from her neck, and the cuffs from her wrists. He pulled another collar from a belt loop, cracked and stained brown leather, with a leather strap coming from one side. This was soon around her neck, the strap hanging down between her shoulder blades. Leather cuffs were put on her wrists, and then each arm twisted up behind her shoulder blades, and linked to the strap, leaving her wrists crossed and hands placed palm to in a reverse prayer.
He grabbed her upper arm, and they set off into the building again, 626 leaving muddy foot prints on the cold tile floor. She tried to keep track of where they were going, was it the same cell she had been in before, but everything looked the same.
They reached a metal door, and Martillo swung it open, pushing 626 inside before him. Inside, the room was brightly lit, and almost empty. All she could see was a set of chains hanging from the ceiling, with heavy iron cuffs at the end.
Martillo worked quickly, releasing her from the leather restraints, before roughly shoving her to the floor. The cuffs were closed around her ankles, leaving her on her back, legs held in the air by a foot or so at the ankles. He waved at the one way mirror in one wall, and 626 felt her ankles rise, pulling her torso and then her head off the floor, until she was hanging upside down, fingertips just touching the floor, and her legs held a good three feet apart. Martillo turned and left, leaving 626 upside down.
Before long, she could feel the effect of the blood running into her head, the pressure building, and she knew she had to do something. She swung her arms, gaining momentum until she bent herself almost in two, hands grasping at her calves. She hung there for a while, letting the blood leave her head, until she realised she would have to let go soon, as her abdomen was starting to cramp and she was having a little trouble breathing.
She let go, and she swung back upside down again, holding out until she again felt the pressure in her head build, and she had to swing up again.
On and on this ordeal went one, 626 swinging from one position to the other, feeling the trickle of sweat down her sides, the increasing ache in her stomach muscles, and the increasing pain in her feet and ankles. Each swing up was getting harder, and she could hold it for less and less time.
On one swing up, she missed her grasp for her legs, and she swung back down again violently, the shock jarring her body and she moaned in pain. She knew that this was just the start of her new ordeal, and she was already feeling beaten.
The door swung open, and Gomez strode in, carrying a small duffle bag, which she placed on the floor out of 626's sight, before she moved in front of the upside down prisoner. The officer looked at the suspended prisoner in front of her, taking in the sweat slick body and the red weals that crossed it, the red face and the look of defeat in the eyes.
Gomez reached between 626's spread legs, and the prisoner moaned as fingers rubbed at her cunt.
'Whore!' cried Gomez, as her fingers came away slick with the telltale sign of 626's arousal. 'You're nothing but a whore!'
Gomez stepped back then swung with her fist, punching 626 in the stomach. 626 crued out at the impact, the cry forced out of her. 'You came here, to my country....' another punch, and all the air escaped 626's body. '... to whore yourself for the newspapers overseas....' a third punch, the impact enough to set 626 swinging in her chains.
She paused, and reached into the bag, pulling out a small device which she slipped into her pocket, followed by a large rubber cosh. 'The revolution had an answer for those who would whore themselves,' said Gomez, smacking the cosh into her hand. 'They would beat the whores until they admitted they were whores, and begged to be given a chance to work an honest job.'
Gomez swung the cosh, the blow falling on the inside of 626's right thigh, and the prisoner grunted in pain. Blow after blow followed, on the meat of 626's thighs and arse, with the occasional strike making her scream as it landed on her exposed cunt.
626 couldn't take it any longer. 'I'm a ...ahhh.. whore,' she gasped.
Gomez knelt beside her prisoner and looked at the sweat and tear soaked face of 626. 'Louder...'
'I'm... a... whore!'
Gomez stood again, and reached into her pocket for the device. 'Louder!'
626 breathed in, then cried out 'I'm a whore! I'm a... AAAAAAHHH!'
626 screamed as Gomez pushed the device against the folds of her cunt, and triggered the electroshock. 626 lost control, her bladder letting go, piss running down her upside down body and over her face. Another shock, then a third, and 626 screamed each time, animal, incoherent.
'Louder!' cried Gomez. 'What are you, whore?'
626 screamed out the words. 'I'm....A....Whore!" and would have again, but it was lost to an animal scream as Gomez jabbed the device against her clitoris, and triggered it, over and over again, tearing an orgasm out of 626.
The cell rang with the prisoner's cries, 626 screaming as she came, no pleasure at all, just pain driving her until she could take more, her eyes rolling back in her head, as she lapsed into unconsciousness. Gomez removed the device, and knelt by the head of the suspended American, and carefully spat in her face, before she strode off, slamming the cell door behind her.
Gomez turned to the guard outside. 'Drag her to a cell, hose her down, and feed the bitch.'
She turned to go, then turned back. 'Oh, and prepare a maximum security transport for her in the morning. She goes to the port tomorrow.'
Last edited:
TheLimey
Governor
Chapter 8
626 stirred in the cell, shivering under the thin blanket she had found in one corner.
She had regained consciousness under a stream of lukewarm rusty water, curled up in the well of an open shower, a female guard looking down at her with disgust. In no uncertain terms it was made clear that she was to stand up and a lump of foul smelling soap was passed to her. She had forced herself to stand on weak legs, only now noticing the shackles at her wrists, joined by a length of nickeled chain.
'Cinco minutes,' said the guard, who had turned and sat on a nearby chair, whilst 626 started to lather herself up, wincing at the pains and aches in her shoulders and hips, and at the weals and bruises she encountered as she washed herself. She had worked as quickly as possible, scrubbing at herself with the gritty soap, and finally just standing as best she could whilst the water sluiced over her.
The water had been shut off and 626 and the guard had set off down dimly lit corridors, until 626's journey had finished in the bare concrete cell she was now in.
At some point, a tray had been pushed through a hatch on the cell door, carrying a bowl of cold thin gruel of beans and pork, and a flask of water. She had eaten, putting the bowl back on the tray by the door, then taken the flask with her, to the far side of the cell, where she pulled the blanket over her, curled up on the hard concrete floor, and cried herself to a fitful sleep
She woke up cold, under the blanket, the light still on in the cell. She shuffled around, ending up sitting leant against the wall, the blanket wrapped around her shoulders, hugging her knees to herself.
She felt hollow inside. She had been taken, tortured, raped, and her body had betrayed her. She had come, come under the assault of the double pounding from Gomez and the big guard, and then again, from the electricity that had surged through her clit. What would they do to her next? Was this her life now, a tortured plaything for sadists?
No, the other prisoner had said she would be destined for La Isla. What had they said, taken to work as forced labour? Taken to become slaves for corrupt officials? What the fuck was going to happen to her?
She ran a hand over her stomach, feeling the raised weals that wrapped around from her back, and thought of Ana. Had she lain here, or something like here, after they had tortured her. She hated to think of Ana's smooth skin, ripped by whips as hers was now. She resolved that somehow, she would get out of this, survive how ever long she had to, to get her story out, if only to help the Anas of this country.
626 must have dropped off again, exhausted by her ordeals, for the next she knew was a kick on the legs. A guard, who snatched the blanket off her, and made it clear she was to stand. 626 stood up, slowly, earning herself a slap around the face. She was collared, a pole attached to the collar being used to guide her down corridors again, past cells and observation windows, to the large loading dock area, open to the outside.
There was a single army green truck in the dock, with a large metal box structure behind the cab. The only windows were in the cab itself, and 626 realised that the thing would be an oven in the direct sunlight.
There was a holding cell off to one side, and 626 was taken over there, her cuffs and collar removed, and a large iron collar fitted instead, a tag on the front listing her number. Matching heavy iron cuffs were closed around her wrists and ankles, and then she was put into the cell.
786, Isabel, was in the cell. She was as naked as 626 was now, and the signs of the recent flogging were obvious. 626 went and stood next to her, surreptitiously giving 786's hand a squeeze. 786 looked at 626, and quietly whispered 'They are moving us today. Today we go to La Isla.'
It wasn't long before 626 was led from the cell, and taken to the back of the truck. Clambering inside, she could see chains hanging from the wall and ceiling at various points, with rings set into the floor as well.
She was ordered to the far end of the truck and made to kneel. Here, her ankle cuffs were locked to rings set to each side of her, leaving her facing the rear of the truck, legs spread. Chains to her collar were next, the ceiling chains forward of the floor rings, and short enough that 626 was forced to have her legs extended and her body leant forward. Chains from the walls completed the position, stopping her from moving from side to side. Finally, her wrists were locked to the ceiling chains, holding them out to each side.
She could already feel the predicament. The heavy collar weighed on her neck, but she couldn't get relief by changing position, and she couldn't fully sit upright. Already she felt the strain on her thighs, abs and shoulders. Soon it would be agony.
They left her in the truck, returning with 786. As she knelt down to be placed in the same position as 626, a guard pulled a cloth hood over 626's head, leaving her blind. She felt the headphones placed on her ears, heard the white noise that was being fed into them. The hood stank of stale sweat, and worse.
She felt the back door slam, rather than heard it, and then they were off, 626 swaying in the heavy chains as the truck gathered speed. 626 tried to remember the distance to the port. Over 100 miles at least. Over two hours, conservatively. She felt tears in her eyes. Could she last that long in this position?
626 stirred in the cell, shivering under the thin blanket she had found in one corner.
She had regained consciousness under a stream of lukewarm rusty water, curled up in the well of an open shower, a female guard looking down at her with disgust. In no uncertain terms it was made clear that she was to stand up and a lump of foul smelling soap was passed to her. She had forced herself to stand on weak legs, only now noticing the shackles at her wrists, joined by a length of nickeled chain.
'Cinco minutes,' said the guard, who had turned and sat on a nearby chair, whilst 626 started to lather herself up, wincing at the pains and aches in her shoulders and hips, and at the weals and bruises she encountered as she washed herself. She had worked as quickly as possible, scrubbing at herself with the gritty soap, and finally just standing as best she could whilst the water sluiced over her.
The water had been shut off and 626 and the guard had set off down dimly lit corridors, until 626's journey had finished in the bare concrete cell she was now in.
At some point, a tray had been pushed through a hatch on the cell door, carrying a bowl of cold thin gruel of beans and pork, and a flask of water. She had eaten, putting the bowl back on the tray by the door, then taken the flask with her, to the far side of the cell, where she pulled the blanket over her, curled up on the hard concrete floor, and cried herself to a fitful sleep
She woke up cold, under the blanket, the light still on in the cell. She shuffled around, ending up sitting leant against the wall, the blanket wrapped around her shoulders, hugging her knees to herself.
She felt hollow inside. She had been taken, tortured, raped, and her body had betrayed her. She had come, come under the assault of the double pounding from Gomez and the big guard, and then again, from the electricity that had surged through her clit. What would they do to her next? Was this her life now, a tortured plaything for sadists?
No, the other prisoner had said she would be destined for La Isla. What had they said, taken to work as forced labour? Taken to become slaves for corrupt officials? What the fuck was going to happen to her?
She ran a hand over her stomach, feeling the raised weals that wrapped around from her back, and thought of Ana. Had she lain here, or something like here, after they had tortured her. She hated to think of Ana's smooth skin, ripped by whips as hers was now. She resolved that somehow, she would get out of this, survive how ever long she had to, to get her story out, if only to help the Anas of this country.
626 must have dropped off again, exhausted by her ordeals, for the next she knew was a kick on the legs. A guard, who snatched the blanket off her, and made it clear she was to stand. 626 stood up, slowly, earning herself a slap around the face. She was collared, a pole attached to the collar being used to guide her down corridors again, past cells and observation windows, to the large loading dock area, open to the outside.
There was a single army green truck in the dock, with a large metal box structure behind the cab. The only windows were in the cab itself, and 626 realised that the thing would be an oven in the direct sunlight.
There was a holding cell off to one side, and 626 was taken over there, her cuffs and collar removed, and a large iron collar fitted instead, a tag on the front listing her number. Matching heavy iron cuffs were closed around her wrists and ankles, and then she was put into the cell.
786, Isabel, was in the cell. She was as naked as 626 was now, and the signs of the recent flogging were obvious. 626 went and stood next to her, surreptitiously giving 786's hand a squeeze. 786 looked at 626, and quietly whispered 'They are moving us today. Today we go to La Isla.'
It wasn't long before 626 was led from the cell, and taken to the back of the truck. Clambering inside, she could see chains hanging from the wall and ceiling at various points, with rings set into the floor as well.
She was ordered to the far end of the truck and made to kneel. Here, her ankle cuffs were locked to rings set to each side of her, leaving her facing the rear of the truck, legs spread. Chains to her collar were next, the ceiling chains forward of the floor rings, and short enough that 626 was forced to have her legs extended and her body leant forward. Chains from the walls completed the position, stopping her from moving from side to side. Finally, her wrists were locked to the ceiling chains, holding them out to each side.
She could already feel the predicament. The heavy collar weighed on her neck, but she couldn't get relief by changing position, and she couldn't fully sit upright. Already she felt the strain on her thighs, abs and shoulders. Soon it would be agony.
They left her in the truck, returning with 786. As she knelt down to be placed in the same position as 626, a guard pulled a cloth hood over 626's head, leaving her blind. She felt the headphones placed on her ears, heard the white noise that was being fed into them. The hood stank of stale sweat, and worse.
She felt the back door slam, rather than heard it, and then they were off, 626 swaying in the heavy chains as the truck gathered speed. 626 tried to remember the distance to the port. Over 100 miles at least. Over two hours, conservatively. She felt tears in her eyes. Could she last that long in this position?
TheLimey
Governor
Chapter 9
626 felt broken. Mentally and physically broken.
She was lying on the hard stones of a mole of a Naval base. 786 was kneeling next to her, gently stroking her hair, whilst 626 sobbed.
The truck trip had been beyond hell. The stress of the position she had been placed in, the weight of the heavy irons, and the overwhelming heat had defeated her. She had started to hyperventilate inside the hood at one point, but her own sweat had drenched it, and each intake of breath had sucked the wet cloth to her face. She felt like she was starting to drown, and her mind just checked out. Her body thrashing in her bonds, sweat coursing down her, she had lost control of her bladder, a stream of piss splashing against the floor of the truck.
And then it had happened. The pain, the humiliation, the knowledge that this was what her life had become, overwhelmed her. Her whole body rigid, every muscle, every fibre, she had exploded in an orgasm. Fluid rained from her cunt, mixing with the piss, and she tossed her head back and screamed. There was nothing pleasurable about any of this, just wave after wave of agony, but that alone drove her higher and higher.
Suddenly, she had crashed back to Earth, and the enormity of what had just happened crushed her. She moaned and sobbed, her tears mixing with her sweat as they ran down her face.
She had hardly noticed the truck had stopped, didn't hear the comments on the smell and the mess in the truck. The guards removed her chains first, and she collapsed to the floor, her hooded head landing in a puddle of her own fluids. They had dragged her out, removed the hood, then left her there, next to 786, who had turned to 626 immediately, not caring what the guards thought.
786 carried on stroking 626's hair. 'Are you alright? I heard you scream, but I couldn't see you because of the hood they put on me. Did they hurt you?'
626 took a deep breath, trying to keep it together again. 'I... I couldn't help myself, Isabel.' She sobbed once before carrying on. 'I was in so much pain... I thought I would rather die than be in that much pain....I lost control'
786 looked around her, seeing there were no guards close by. 'That is why you screamed, Jay? This is nothing to be ashamed of...'
626 shook her head. 'I came, Isabel.... My.... fucking.... depraved body betrayed me. The pain, the sweat, the humiliation.... '
786 looked shocked. 'Is that possible?'
626 nodded. 'Captain Gomez did the same to me under interrogation. She tasered my cunt until I came.'
'¡Coño!' exclaimed 786.
'I'm fucking scared...' replied 626.
The conversation was interrupted by another truck drawing up. This one was open topped, and a series of prisoners were onboard, each one cuffed to a bar running down the center of the framework that would support a canvas top if it was fitted. These newcomers were dressed in the remains of orange prison jumpsuits, each one torn and stained, many wide open at the front from neck to crotch.
These prisoners were soon unloaded, and leather collars locked around their necks, before they were fitted with a coffle chain and marched down the mole towards 626 and 786. The line halted at the two naked women, who were soon added to the end of the line by chains. Then it was down the mole again, 626 staggering just in front of 786, trying to match the pace of the girl in front.
At the end of the mole was a Naval ship, long, sleek and grey. They were all marched up the gang plank, and aft, where a large cage had been bolted to what would normally gave been the helipad. The line of prisoners was positioned by the door of the cage, and 626 expected they would soon be inside, and should could rest.
An order rang out, 'Present!'. All the other prisoners snapped into action, dropping to their knees, opening their legs, and placing their hands on their heads. 626 was pulled down by the coffle chain, which forced 786 to drop as well, and they frantically shuffled to match the other girls.
A man, a Naval officer by his uniform, paced down the line slowly, peering at every girl. When he reached 626, he paused and looked at the number affixed to her collar, then turned his attention to 786. He knelt, pinched her right breast, then dropped his hand to her cunt, the hairs neatly trimmed. 786 gasped as a finger was obviously inserted. Then the officer stood and started to walk away.
He paused. 'The nude bitch on the end. Hose her down and take her to the Officer's Mess.'
626 sighed deeply. Her friend would be chosen, and not her. The relief was palpable.
The officer turned back again. 'Bring the other nude as well... Let's see what sort of show they can put on.'
626 felt broken. Mentally and physically broken.
She was lying on the hard stones of a mole of a Naval base. 786 was kneeling next to her, gently stroking her hair, whilst 626 sobbed.
The truck trip had been beyond hell. The stress of the position she had been placed in, the weight of the heavy irons, and the overwhelming heat had defeated her. She had started to hyperventilate inside the hood at one point, but her own sweat had drenched it, and each intake of breath had sucked the wet cloth to her face. She felt like she was starting to drown, and her mind just checked out. Her body thrashing in her bonds, sweat coursing down her, she had lost control of her bladder, a stream of piss splashing against the floor of the truck.
And then it had happened. The pain, the humiliation, the knowledge that this was what her life had become, overwhelmed her. Her whole body rigid, every muscle, every fibre, she had exploded in an orgasm. Fluid rained from her cunt, mixing with the piss, and she tossed her head back and screamed. There was nothing pleasurable about any of this, just wave after wave of agony, but that alone drove her higher and higher.
Suddenly, she had crashed back to Earth, and the enormity of what had just happened crushed her. She moaned and sobbed, her tears mixing with her sweat as they ran down her face.
She had hardly noticed the truck had stopped, didn't hear the comments on the smell and the mess in the truck. The guards removed her chains first, and she collapsed to the floor, her hooded head landing in a puddle of her own fluids. They had dragged her out, removed the hood, then left her there, next to 786, who had turned to 626 immediately, not caring what the guards thought.
786 carried on stroking 626's hair. 'Are you alright? I heard you scream, but I couldn't see you because of the hood they put on me. Did they hurt you?'
626 took a deep breath, trying to keep it together again. 'I... I couldn't help myself, Isabel.' She sobbed once before carrying on. 'I was in so much pain... I thought I would rather die than be in that much pain....I lost control'
786 looked around her, seeing there were no guards close by. 'That is why you screamed, Jay? This is nothing to be ashamed of...'
626 shook her head. 'I came, Isabel.... My.... fucking.... depraved body betrayed me. The pain, the sweat, the humiliation.... '
786 looked shocked. 'Is that possible?'
626 nodded. 'Captain Gomez did the same to me under interrogation. She tasered my cunt until I came.'
'¡Coño!' exclaimed 786.
'I'm fucking scared...' replied 626.
The conversation was interrupted by another truck drawing up. This one was open topped, and a series of prisoners were onboard, each one cuffed to a bar running down the center of the framework that would support a canvas top if it was fitted. These newcomers were dressed in the remains of orange prison jumpsuits, each one torn and stained, many wide open at the front from neck to crotch.
These prisoners were soon unloaded, and leather collars locked around their necks, before they were fitted with a coffle chain and marched down the mole towards 626 and 786. The line halted at the two naked women, who were soon added to the end of the line by chains. Then it was down the mole again, 626 staggering just in front of 786, trying to match the pace of the girl in front.
At the end of the mole was a Naval ship, long, sleek and grey. They were all marched up the gang plank, and aft, where a large cage had been bolted to what would normally gave been the helipad. The line of prisoners was positioned by the door of the cage, and 626 expected they would soon be inside, and should could rest.
An order rang out, 'Present!'. All the other prisoners snapped into action, dropping to their knees, opening their legs, and placing their hands on their heads. 626 was pulled down by the coffle chain, which forced 786 to drop as well, and they frantically shuffled to match the other girls.
A man, a Naval officer by his uniform, paced down the line slowly, peering at every girl. When he reached 626, he paused and looked at the number affixed to her collar, then turned his attention to 786. He knelt, pinched her right breast, then dropped his hand to her cunt, the hairs neatly trimmed. 786 gasped as a finger was obviously inserted. Then the officer stood and started to walk away.
He paused. 'The nude bitch on the end. Hose her down and take her to the Officer's Mess.'
626 sighed deeply. Her friend would be chosen, and not her. The relief was palpable.
The officer turned back again. 'Bring the other nude as well... Let's see what sort of show they can put on.'
TheLimey
Governor
Chapter 10
626 couldn't hold it back any longer. She cried out as 786's tongue circled her clit one last time, and came, long and hard, her limbs straining against the ropes that tied her to the table. As she came, 786 collapsed forward to hold her fellow prisoner.
'I'm sorry, Jay,' she whispered.
The two prisoners had been taken from the line outside sometime earlier, and had been roughly hosed down with a salt water spray. It sluiced away the sweat and the grime, but it had made both of the women hiss at the feel of the salt water on their healing weals.
Then they had been taken below into the superstructure of the vessel. Sailors stared as they were led to the Officer's Mess, ribald comments in Spanish following them down the passageways of the ship.
The Officer's Mess proved to be a large room, that contained a series of tables which had mainly been pushed off to one side, where a large serving hatch would normally communicate to the galley. Two tables were left, both in the center of the room, with a series of spotlights in the ceiling swivelled to focus on the tables. The officer who had pulled them from the column of prisoners was there, and he had directed that 786 be tied to the left hand table.
As this was being done, the Ship's Officers had slowly filtered in.
An officer, the sheer amount of gold braid on his uniform suggesting he was the Captain had come up to the two tables, looked over the two women, and nodded to the other officer.
The Captain had turned to the entire room, and explained what would happen. There would first be 'a game'. 786 and 626 would take it in turn to pleasure the other, against the clock. Whoever came soonest would be the prize for all the officers in the room. At this, 626 had blanched. There were over 20 men in the room!
To the raucus cheers of the men, 786 had been tested first. 626 had been made to bend over the table, her arse on full display to the room, and made to go down on 786, whilst the Captain held a stopwatch. All the way through this, whilst 626 desperately tried everything she could to make 786 come, she could feel hands on her arse, slipping into her wet cunt. She could hear the officers, placing bets on the outcome.
When 786 finally came, a long and drawn out process, the positions had been switched. 626 knew she was in trouble. The humiliation, the hands that had been laid on her were already playing their own part in driving her, and 786 had a way with her tongue that soon had 626 straining at her bonds.
And then she had finally come. 786 holding her and apologising.
The officers were hooting and baying now, money was changing hands after the bets. The second table had been turned upside down, and 626 was retied to the legs of this table, setting her on all fours, her wrists and ankles tied to the legs. She knew what was coming.
The Captain quietened the room. 'Gentlemen. We have had a long patrol, have we not?'
The room chorused their affirmative reply.
'Then, here is your your reward! This puta is going to work for our glorious revolution! How about we give her her first job?'
The room rang with the cheers of the assorted officers. The Captain guestured for silence once more. When he got it, he removed his belt and shook it out. 'How about we encourage her to do her very best for all of you?'
The roar was louder than anything that had passed before.
The Captain passed the belt to 786. 'You! You keep this puta enthusiastic with this. If she is found lacking, then you take her place. Understand?'
786 nodded, then laid a hand on 626's back. 'I'm so sorry.'
626 didn't reply. She was already steeling herself for the ordeal that was to come.
The first man knelt by her face, his erection already out of his pants. She wanted to close her mouth, to refuse, but she knew she was in no position to do so. He pushed himself forward, and as he did so, she opened her lips and let him inside.
She felt a cock at her cunt, and as it parted her cunt lips, 786 swung the Captain's belt down in a high arc, catching 626 full across the shoulders. Even with the cock now in her mouth, she cried out at that blow, an action that led the officer fucking her face to grab her head and pound at her.
626 was losing herself. She could feel it. The pistoning of the cocks in her mouth and cunt were already too much, but with each stroke with the belt she could feel all rational thought be driven out of her. When the man in her mouth pulled out, shooting his come all over her face, she lost control, an orgasm overwhelming her. She cried out, but her cries were muffled by the next cock she had to swallow.
As the belt landed again, wrapping around her body and kissing the underside of her left breast, she surrendered herself to her plight.
626 couldn't hold it back any longer. She cried out as 786's tongue circled her clit one last time, and came, long and hard, her limbs straining against the ropes that tied her to the table. As she came, 786 collapsed forward to hold her fellow prisoner.
'I'm sorry, Jay,' she whispered.
The two prisoners had been taken from the line outside sometime earlier, and had been roughly hosed down with a salt water spray. It sluiced away the sweat and the grime, but it had made both of the women hiss at the feel of the salt water on their healing weals.
Then they had been taken below into the superstructure of the vessel. Sailors stared as they were led to the Officer's Mess, ribald comments in Spanish following them down the passageways of the ship.
The Officer's Mess proved to be a large room, that contained a series of tables which had mainly been pushed off to one side, where a large serving hatch would normally communicate to the galley. Two tables were left, both in the center of the room, with a series of spotlights in the ceiling swivelled to focus on the tables. The officer who had pulled them from the column of prisoners was there, and he had directed that 786 be tied to the left hand table.
As this was being done, the Ship's Officers had slowly filtered in.
An officer, the sheer amount of gold braid on his uniform suggesting he was the Captain had come up to the two tables, looked over the two women, and nodded to the other officer.
The Captain had turned to the entire room, and explained what would happen. There would first be 'a game'. 786 and 626 would take it in turn to pleasure the other, against the clock. Whoever came soonest would be the prize for all the officers in the room. At this, 626 had blanched. There were over 20 men in the room!
To the raucus cheers of the men, 786 had been tested first. 626 had been made to bend over the table, her arse on full display to the room, and made to go down on 786, whilst the Captain held a stopwatch. All the way through this, whilst 626 desperately tried everything she could to make 786 come, she could feel hands on her arse, slipping into her wet cunt. She could hear the officers, placing bets on the outcome.
When 786 finally came, a long and drawn out process, the positions had been switched. 626 knew she was in trouble. The humiliation, the hands that had been laid on her were already playing their own part in driving her, and 786 had a way with her tongue that soon had 626 straining at her bonds.
And then she had finally come. 786 holding her and apologising.
The officers were hooting and baying now, money was changing hands after the bets. The second table had been turned upside down, and 626 was retied to the legs of this table, setting her on all fours, her wrists and ankles tied to the legs. She knew what was coming.
The Captain quietened the room. 'Gentlemen. We have had a long patrol, have we not?'
The room chorused their affirmative reply.
'Then, here is your your reward! This puta is going to work for our glorious revolution! How about we give her her first job?'
The room rang with the cheers of the assorted officers. The Captain guestured for silence once more. When he got it, he removed his belt and shook it out. 'How about we encourage her to do her very best for all of you?'
The roar was louder than anything that had passed before.
The Captain passed the belt to 786. 'You! You keep this puta enthusiastic with this. If she is found lacking, then you take her place. Understand?'
786 nodded, then laid a hand on 626's back. 'I'm so sorry.'
626 didn't reply. She was already steeling herself for the ordeal that was to come.
The first man knelt by her face, his erection already out of his pants. She wanted to close her mouth, to refuse, but she knew she was in no position to do so. He pushed himself forward, and as he did so, she opened her lips and let him inside.
She felt a cock at her cunt, and as it parted her cunt lips, 786 swung the Captain's belt down in a high arc, catching 626 full across the shoulders. Even with the cock now in her mouth, she cried out at that blow, an action that led the officer fucking her face to grab her head and pound at her.
626 was losing herself. She could feel it. The pistoning of the cocks in her mouth and cunt were already too much, but with each stroke with the belt she could feel all rational thought be driven out of her. When the man in her mouth pulled out, shooting his come all over her face, she lost control, an orgasm overwhelming her. She cried out, but her cries were muffled by the next cock she had to swallow.
As the belt landed again, wrapping around her body and kissing the underside of her left breast, she surrendered herself to her plight.
TheLimey
Governor
Chapter 11
The cage door clanged shut. It was night, and as the ship was underway, the air was as cool across 626's savagely beaten back.
626 could hardly walk. 786 had to help her to a space in the cage that the other occupants had created in the middle of the structure. Other hands helped her to lie down on the deck, on her stomach.
'What did they do to you?' came a voice from the darkness.
What had they done to her? They had turned her into a thing. A thing that they used to sate their lusts. She had been treated as a series of holes. Semen dripped down her thighs from her arse and cunt. It coated her face, was matted in her hair. Her back felt raw, where 786 had been made to strike her with the belt.
What had they done to her? They had reduced her to a moaning animal that existed just to orgasm from the assault on her, unable to seperate pain and pleasure. At the end, they had made 786 kneel behind her, forced her friend to insert first her fingers and then her whole fist into 626's slopping wet cunt, until 626 had screamed out an orgasm that seemed to have no end, until 626 finally collapsed.
The recent memories were all too much. 626 curled into a foetal ball and wept. She half heard a whispered conversation, and heard the sound of cloth being torn. Then she was being held by 786, who held a flask of water to 626's lips. 'Drink a little.'
Another set of hands were gently running a damp cloth over her skin, using water to wash away the dried come that caked her. One of the other prisoners. As the newcomer carried on doing this, 626 could see that the cloth must have come from the ragged jumpsuit that all the other prisoners wore, as the new girl was now entirely topless. In the light of the ship's gear, 626 could see she was a tall girl, with dusky skin. Her hair was close cropped on the sides, and longer on the top, like all the others. A prison hair cut.
'Thank you....' stammered 626.
'We need to be together, as one. I am Maria.'
786 introduced both herself and Jay. 'Bueno. You are right, we cannot survive alone.'
The waves were starting to build and the wind freshen. Maria looked around. 'A storm is coming.'
She motioned to 786, and the two women positioned 626 between them, holding her and each other, as the rain started to pour down. More of the women had crowded round, until they were all huddled together for warmth in the unseasonably cool rain that lashed them, and soaked even the partly clothed ones to their skins.
Despite the rain, despite the chill, 626 drifted off, exhausted.
The cage door clanged shut. It was night, and as the ship was underway, the air was as cool across 626's savagely beaten back.
626 could hardly walk. 786 had to help her to a space in the cage that the other occupants had created in the middle of the structure. Other hands helped her to lie down on the deck, on her stomach.
'What did they do to you?' came a voice from the darkness.
What had they done to her? They had turned her into a thing. A thing that they used to sate their lusts. She had been treated as a series of holes. Semen dripped down her thighs from her arse and cunt. It coated her face, was matted in her hair. Her back felt raw, where 786 had been made to strike her with the belt.
What had they done to her? They had reduced her to a moaning animal that existed just to orgasm from the assault on her, unable to seperate pain and pleasure. At the end, they had made 786 kneel behind her, forced her friend to insert first her fingers and then her whole fist into 626's slopping wet cunt, until 626 had screamed out an orgasm that seemed to have no end, until 626 finally collapsed.
The recent memories were all too much. 626 curled into a foetal ball and wept. She half heard a whispered conversation, and heard the sound of cloth being torn. Then she was being held by 786, who held a flask of water to 626's lips. 'Drink a little.'
Another set of hands were gently running a damp cloth over her skin, using water to wash away the dried come that caked her. One of the other prisoners. As the newcomer carried on doing this, 626 could see that the cloth must have come from the ragged jumpsuit that all the other prisoners wore, as the new girl was now entirely topless. In the light of the ship's gear, 626 could see she was a tall girl, with dusky skin. Her hair was close cropped on the sides, and longer on the top, like all the others. A prison hair cut.
'Thank you....' stammered 626.
'We need to be together, as one. I am Maria.'
786 introduced both herself and Jay. 'Bueno. You are right, we cannot survive alone.'
The waves were starting to build and the wind freshen. Maria looked around. 'A storm is coming.'
She motioned to 786, and the two women positioned 626 between them, holding her and each other, as the rain started to pour down. More of the women had crowded round, until they were all huddled together for warmth in the unseasonably cool rain that lashed them, and soaked even the partly clothed ones to their skins.
Despite the rain, despite the chill, 626 drifted off, exhausted.
TheLimey
Governor
Chapter 12
626 shifted uncomfortably in the heat of the mid-day sun. It wasn't that she could move far, but beads of sweat were freely pouring down her skin, running down her ribs, and dripping from her nose and chin.
She turned her head to both her left and then her right. 786 and Maria respectively, both held as she was.
The ship had docked first thing that morning, and whilst the formalities of getting the ship tied up were completed, a deck hand had tossed a couple buckets of assorted bread ends and crusts into the cage. The rain and the sleep had helped 626, and she eagerly grabbed at a couple of pieces. She realised she hadn't eaten anything except sperm for 24 hours, so she didn't even care when it was realised that this was the left overs from the galley, some pieces still spread with butter, or damp with coffee.
Shortly after, the cage had been opened, and the wet and bedraggled prisoners marched off the ship. Maria was now as naked as 626 and 786, with no way for the jumpsuit to stay on the body. This had proven to be an advantage, as the remaining prisoners were ordered to strip once on the dock.
There was a truck at the dock, and the prisoners had been loaded on board, their hands cuffed above their heads to a series of rails that ran along the line where the canvas top would have been. Once secured, the truck had set off, the prisoners rocking and swaying in the back.
The journey had been slow, on roads that were not the best. At one point, they had passed a work gang, all female, wearing the remains of what looked like a short prison dress. They were chained to each other, sweating as they used pickaxes to break up a large rock that had fallen into the road from the next door hillside. Male and female guards stood watching them, whips held in their hands.
The road had passed through jungle as it climbed up a steep mountain side, then descended in a series of sharp curves that swayed the prisoners back and forth, their now perspiring bodies rubbing against each other.
Soon they were skirting a barbed wire fence, 10 feet high, with strands every 6 inches. Inside was a strip of open ground, with a steel fence inside that, with manned guard towers every 100 yards or so. At a gate in the steel fence, they had swung in, a manned check point waving them through, then closing the gate behind them. Inside the gate, another barbed wire fence, mirroring the one outside.
The truck had drawn up in a large open space, with a series of posts jutting out of the ground. As armed guards jumped into the truck to release the prisoners, 626 had noticed also a number of steel boxes in front of the posts, each box raised above the ground by legs set into each corner. Beyond that were a series of low concrete buildings, with taller wooden posts in front of them.
It had taken not much time for each prisoner to be situated at a post. One by one, guards had forced them to kneel, their ankles and wrists cuffed together behind the posts, and an iron collar, attached to the post closed around each throat.
That had been some time ago. Now they were all sweating in the sun, their heads dropping as much as the collars would let them, hair hanging lank around their faces.
Maria made a quiet noise. A trio of people were walking towards them, two females and one male. Each were dressed in combat fatigues, their sleeves rolled up, with sunglasses on their faces. One, a female with a silver star insignia on her cap, carried a whip coiled at her side, while the other two, wearing the stripes of Sargeant's both carried crops, with the female sargeant also carrying a clipboard.
The woman with the star stood in front of the prisoners, flanked by the other two.
'Welcome to La Isla! Each and every one of you know that you are here because you are against our glorious revolution! Each and every one of you know that you are rebels, traitors!'
She started to walk down the line of posts. 'You are nothing more than scum!' She stopped in front of Maria. 'What are you?'
'Scum!' cried Maria, but it obviously wasn't loud enough, as the officer slapped her hard across the face.
'I am scum!' repeated Maria, doubling her volume.
'Good....' The woman walked on, looking at 626 intently as she passed. 'Even scum such as you have a part to play in this great endeavor we find ourselves in. Here you will play your part in building a new future for our nation.'
She stopped pacing. 'I am Commandante Castellanos. You will address me as Commandante, am I clear?'
'Yes, Commandante!'
She nodded at the man with the crop, who marched to the first prisoner in the line.
'When the Sargeant orders you to, you will give your prisoner number. Sargeant Escobar will then tell you your work detail.'
The order was simply given, a wicked swing of the crop against the prisoner's tits. As the man approached, it became clearer to 626. She could hear the impact, the cry of pain, and the prisoner shouting out their number.
When it came to 786, the blow was across the top of the right breast. 'Aaaahhh... 786!'
Escobar made a note on her clipboard. 'Comfort'
The male took his place just to the right of 626, and she braced for the blow. This one was expertly aimed, exploding across the tips of her breasts.
'Aaaahhhhh!..... 6....2...6!'
'Clearence!'
Maria took her own blow. 'Ahhhhh! 850!'
'Clearence!'
The Sargeant continued down the line, until all the prisoners were given a group. At that point, the Commandante moved to in front of the middle box.
'There is only one thing you need to know. My word is law!'
She opened the middle box. Inside was a woman, kneeling, her legs folded underneath her to allow her to fit in the cramped box. Her head was encircled by what 626 could only describe as a scolds bridle, a series of metal bands encasing the head, and holding open the poor prisoners mouth. The prisoners wrists were chained to the top of the box, as was the bridle, holding her head up.
Her skin shone with a layer of sweat. From where 626 was, she could clearly see the weals that had been left by a hard whipping. The Commandante released the prisoner, keeping her in the bridle, and dragged the poor girl out of the box, where she collapsed to the ground.
The Commandante stood astride the prisoner, reached down and grabbed her bridle, hauling the barely conscious girl up to all fours and facing the newcomers.
'Cross me in anyway, and thus is what you can expect!'
The Commandante dropped the bridle, gave an order, and strode away, the two Sargeants following, whilst the tortured prisoner collapsed to the ground again.
626 shifted uncomfortably in the heat of the mid-day sun. It wasn't that she could move far, but beads of sweat were freely pouring down her skin, running down her ribs, and dripping from her nose and chin.
She turned her head to both her left and then her right. 786 and Maria respectively, both held as she was.
The ship had docked first thing that morning, and whilst the formalities of getting the ship tied up were completed, a deck hand had tossed a couple buckets of assorted bread ends and crusts into the cage. The rain and the sleep had helped 626, and she eagerly grabbed at a couple of pieces. She realised she hadn't eaten anything except sperm for 24 hours, so she didn't even care when it was realised that this was the left overs from the galley, some pieces still spread with butter, or damp with coffee.
Shortly after, the cage had been opened, and the wet and bedraggled prisoners marched off the ship. Maria was now as naked as 626 and 786, with no way for the jumpsuit to stay on the body. This had proven to be an advantage, as the remaining prisoners were ordered to strip once on the dock.
There was a truck at the dock, and the prisoners had been loaded on board, their hands cuffed above their heads to a series of rails that ran along the line where the canvas top would have been. Once secured, the truck had set off, the prisoners rocking and swaying in the back.
The journey had been slow, on roads that were not the best. At one point, they had passed a work gang, all female, wearing the remains of what looked like a short prison dress. They were chained to each other, sweating as they used pickaxes to break up a large rock that had fallen into the road from the next door hillside. Male and female guards stood watching them, whips held in their hands.
The road had passed through jungle as it climbed up a steep mountain side, then descended in a series of sharp curves that swayed the prisoners back and forth, their now perspiring bodies rubbing against each other.
Soon they were skirting a barbed wire fence, 10 feet high, with strands every 6 inches. Inside was a strip of open ground, with a steel fence inside that, with manned guard towers every 100 yards or so. At a gate in the steel fence, they had swung in, a manned check point waving them through, then closing the gate behind them. Inside the gate, another barbed wire fence, mirroring the one outside.
The truck had drawn up in a large open space, with a series of posts jutting out of the ground. As armed guards jumped into the truck to release the prisoners, 626 had noticed also a number of steel boxes in front of the posts, each box raised above the ground by legs set into each corner. Beyond that were a series of low concrete buildings, with taller wooden posts in front of them.
It had taken not much time for each prisoner to be situated at a post. One by one, guards had forced them to kneel, their ankles and wrists cuffed together behind the posts, and an iron collar, attached to the post closed around each throat.
That had been some time ago. Now they were all sweating in the sun, their heads dropping as much as the collars would let them, hair hanging lank around their faces.
Maria made a quiet noise. A trio of people were walking towards them, two females and one male. Each were dressed in combat fatigues, their sleeves rolled up, with sunglasses on their faces. One, a female with a silver star insignia on her cap, carried a whip coiled at her side, while the other two, wearing the stripes of Sargeant's both carried crops, with the female sargeant also carrying a clipboard.
The woman with the star stood in front of the prisoners, flanked by the other two.
'Welcome to La Isla! Each and every one of you know that you are here because you are against our glorious revolution! Each and every one of you know that you are rebels, traitors!'
She started to walk down the line of posts. 'You are nothing more than scum!' She stopped in front of Maria. 'What are you?'
'Scum!' cried Maria, but it obviously wasn't loud enough, as the officer slapped her hard across the face.
'I am scum!' repeated Maria, doubling her volume.
'Good....' The woman walked on, looking at 626 intently as she passed. 'Even scum such as you have a part to play in this great endeavor we find ourselves in. Here you will play your part in building a new future for our nation.'
She stopped pacing. 'I am Commandante Castellanos. You will address me as Commandante, am I clear?'
'Yes, Commandante!'
She nodded at the man with the crop, who marched to the first prisoner in the line.
'When the Sargeant orders you to, you will give your prisoner number. Sargeant Escobar will then tell you your work detail.'
The order was simply given, a wicked swing of the crop against the prisoner's tits. As the man approached, it became clearer to 626. She could hear the impact, the cry of pain, and the prisoner shouting out their number.
When it came to 786, the blow was across the top of the right breast. 'Aaaahhh... 786!'
Escobar made a note on her clipboard. 'Comfort'
The male took his place just to the right of 626, and she braced for the blow. This one was expertly aimed, exploding across the tips of her breasts.
'Aaaahhhhh!..... 6....2...6!'
'Clearence!'
Maria took her own blow. 'Ahhhhh! 850!'
'Clearence!'
The Sargeant continued down the line, until all the prisoners were given a group. At that point, the Commandante moved to in front of the middle box.
'There is only one thing you need to know. My word is law!'
She opened the middle box. Inside was a woman, kneeling, her legs folded underneath her to allow her to fit in the cramped box. Her head was encircled by what 626 could only describe as a scolds bridle, a series of metal bands encasing the head, and holding open the poor prisoners mouth. The prisoners wrists were chained to the top of the box, as was the bridle, holding her head up.
Her skin shone with a layer of sweat. From where 626 was, she could clearly see the weals that had been left by a hard whipping. The Commandante released the prisoner, keeping her in the bridle, and dragged the poor girl out of the box, where she collapsed to the ground.
The Commandante stood astride the prisoner, reached down and grabbed her bridle, hauling the barely conscious girl up to all fours and facing the newcomers.
'Cross me in anyway, and thus is what you can expect!'
The Commandante dropped the bridle, gave an order, and strode away, the two Sargeants following, whilst the tortured prisoner collapsed to the ground again.
TheLimey
Governor
Chapter 13
'Stand by your beds for inspection!'
The room scrambled up, 626 with them, all of them puzzled as to what was expected. She rubbed at her left shoulder, where they had branded her number into her skin.
She risked a glance to either side. Ten prisoners. 5 beds. All of them naked, all of them sweating in the airless space.
She had no idea how long they had stayed chained to the posts. At some point, a Jeep had driven out from the buildings, and the woman released from the box had been unceremoniously dumped in the back, then driven away.
Eventually, two sets of guards had marched out across the open yard. The prisoners were all released from the posts. A couple of the prisoners had just collapsed when released, but the guards hauled them to their feet, making it very clear that any deviation from their orders would be treated harshly.
The prisoners were then divided by work detail, 786 heading with a couple of others to the right, the rest, all detailed for 'Clearence' going to the left. As the 'Comfort' detail was preparing to be marched off, 786 had turned quickly and mouthed 'Stay strong.'
Soon though, the rest of them were ready as well, and the group was heading off at a brisk jog, Maria, 850, at her side. The dirt of the yard gave way to a gravel by the buildings, the sharp stones digging into 626's bare feet.
They had entered a building, the floor all tile with drains set at various points. The order had been to line up along one wall, opposite a set of guards holding fire hoses, and 626 had braced for what was coming. Sure enough, the building soon rang with the shrieks of the prisoners as they were hosed down with icy water.
626 had been singled out part way through this. She was ordered out of the line, and without ceremony had been pushed to her knees. A guard pulled out clippers, and soon 626's hair marched that of the other prisoners, closely shaved at the side and left a little longer on top. Them she had been roughly shoved back into line and rewashed.
Shivering from the cold water, the prisoners had then been processed. Arseholes, cunts and mouths were opened and fingers roughly inserted, looking for anything hidden. Photo's were taken for the files.
Finally, still wet from the hose down, the prisoners were positioned at a door. At a command, the first had entered the room. As she waited, 626 could hear each prisoner shout out their number. A pause, then a muffled cry, then the whole thing was repeated again.
On her turn, 626 had followed the instructions, and given her number. She had been passed a leather pad to bite on. Then, with her eyes wide, she had seen a guard first use a needle on her to inject something, then she felt the heat and the pain as her number had been branded on her left arm, just below the shoulder. The injection did nothing at this point, and she was glad of the leather pad, as she cried out at the pain
Then it was done, and she was pushed out of the far door into an internal yard, where, with tears in her eyes, she saw all the prisoners before her looking at each other's branded numbers.
It had not been long before they were all marked, and the group was being jogged to a building open at either end. Inside were a series of cell like rooms. All ten of them were pushed into one cell, and a cell door of interlaced steel rods locked over it.
The room had no windows only a pair of bare bulbs inside cages high up on the ceiling. There were just 5 beds, no mattress or pad, just bare metal wire for support, and each bed was only just wide enough for two to share, if they were both lying on their sides. In one corner, a bucket with a lid was the only obvious toilet.
850 and 626 paired up and claimed a bed, then looked at each other's brands. The pain wasn't a full ache, so the injection must have been doing something, but there was enough discomfort that you couldn't forget it was there.
Then the order, and everyone was scrambling to their feet, standing at the foot of the bed in absence of knowing anything else.
A pair of guards entered the cell, both female, both carrying truncheons.
'Ah yes, a new batch.' said the first, a tall bleached blonde. She crossed to the first bed in the cell.
'When you hear the words "Stand by your beds" you will stand like so! She stood in front of the first prisoner. 'Face the wall, legs shoulder width apart, arms behind the back, each hand holding the opposite elbow! Do you understand, you cunt?'
The prisoner nodded, but got the blunt end of the truncheon jabbed in her stomach, making her double over.
'You address me as Sargeant! I said do you understand?'
The prisoner straightened up. 'Yes, Sargeant!'
'Good. Now.... Stand by your beds!'
The prisoners all shuffled into position, 850 a fraction behind the rest of the room. The other guard, a shorter, muscular woman with cropped black hair, was on her in an instant, grabbing 850 by the top of the head and hauling her on to the bed. With easy movements, the guard soon had a pair of handcuffs on 850's wrists, and a chain holding them to the top of the bed, 850 lying face down. Soon, the cuffs were joined by two other pairs, holding her legs apart by fastening them to the legs of the bed.
The blonde spoke again. 'Let this be a lesson. When in the cells, you will react instantly. Any tardiness will result in punishment.' She crossed to 850's side. 'The rest of you will go eat, and collect water for the night, before lockdown for the night. You, my little pretty, will stay here with me for a while, and will stay in this position until the morning.'
She nodded at the guard, who ordered the other prisoners out, and started them down the building. 626 risked a glance back as she left the cell, seeing the Sargeant running a hand down 850's sweaty torso, before a shout from the guard brought her attention back to the rest of the column.
'Stand by your beds for inspection!'
The room scrambled up, 626 with them, all of them puzzled as to what was expected. She rubbed at her left shoulder, where they had branded her number into her skin.
She risked a glance to either side. Ten prisoners. 5 beds. All of them naked, all of them sweating in the airless space.
She had no idea how long they had stayed chained to the posts. At some point, a Jeep had driven out from the buildings, and the woman released from the box had been unceremoniously dumped in the back, then driven away.
Eventually, two sets of guards had marched out across the open yard. The prisoners were all released from the posts. A couple of the prisoners had just collapsed when released, but the guards hauled them to their feet, making it very clear that any deviation from their orders would be treated harshly.
The prisoners were then divided by work detail, 786 heading with a couple of others to the right, the rest, all detailed for 'Clearence' going to the left. As the 'Comfort' detail was preparing to be marched off, 786 had turned quickly and mouthed 'Stay strong.'
Soon though, the rest of them were ready as well, and the group was heading off at a brisk jog, Maria, 850, at her side. The dirt of the yard gave way to a gravel by the buildings, the sharp stones digging into 626's bare feet.
They had entered a building, the floor all tile with drains set at various points. The order had been to line up along one wall, opposite a set of guards holding fire hoses, and 626 had braced for what was coming. Sure enough, the building soon rang with the shrieks of the prisoners as they were hosed down with icy water.
626 had been singled out part way through this. She was ordered out of the line, and without ceremony had been pushed to her knees. A guard pulled out clippers, and soon 626's hair marched that of the other prisoners, closely shaved at the side and left a little longer on top. Them she had been roughly shoved back into line and rewashed.
Shivering from the cold water, the prisoners had then been processed. Arseholes, cunts and mouths were opened and fingers roughly inserted, looking for anything hidden. Photo's were taken for the files.
Finally, still wet from the hose down, the prisoners were positioned at a door. At a command, the first had entered the room. As she waited, 626 could hear each prisoner shout out their number. A pause, then a muffled cry, then the whole thing was repeated again.
On her turn, 626 had followed the instructions, and given her number. She had been passed a leather pad to bite on. Then, with her eyes wide, she had seen a guard first use a needle on her to inject something, then she felt the heat and the pain as her number had been branded on her left arm, just below the shoulder. The injection did nothing at this point, and she was glad of the leather pad, as she cried out at the pain
Then it was done, and she was pushed out of the far door into an internal yard, where, with tears in her eyes, she saw all the prisoners before her looking at each other's branded numbers.
It had not been long before they were all marked, and the group was being jogged to a building open at either end. Inside were a series of cell like rooms. All ten of them were pushed into one cell, and a cell door of interlaced steel rods locked over it.
The room had no windows only a pair of bare bulbs inside cages high up on the ceiling. There were just 5 beds, no mattress or pad, just bare metal wire for support, and each bed was only just wide enough for two to share, if they were both lying on their sides. In one corner, a bucket with a lid was the only obvious toilet.
850 and 626 paired up and claimed a bed, then looked at each other's brands. The pain wasn't a full ache, so the injection must have been doing something, but there was enough discomfort that you couldn't forget it was there.
Then the order, and everyone was scrambling to their feet, standing at the foot of the bed in absence of knowing anything else.
A pair of guards entered the cell, both female, both carrying truncheons.
'Ah yes, a new batch.' said the first, a tall bleached blonde. She crossed to the first bed in the cell.
'When you hear the words "Stand by your beds" you will stand like so! She stood in front of the first prisoner. 'Face the wall, legs shoulder width apart, arms behind the back, each hand holding the opposite elbow! Do you understand, you cunt?'
The prisoner nodded, but got the blunt end of the truncheon jabbed in her stomach, making her double over.
'You address me as Sargeant! I said do you understand?'
The prisoner straightened up. 'Yes, Sargeant!'
'Good. Now.... Stand by your beds!'
The prisoners all shuffled into position, 850 a fraction behind the rest of the room. The other guard, a shorter, muscular woman with cropped black hair, was on her in an instant, grabbing 850 by the top of the head and hauling her on to the bed. With easy movements, the guard soon had a pair of handcuffs on 850's wrists, and a chain holding them to the top of the bed, 850 lying face down. Soon, the cuffs were joined by two other pairs, holding her legs apart by fastening them to the legs of the bed.
The blonde spoke again. 'Let this be a lesson. When in the cells, you will react instantly. Any tardiness will result in punishment.' She crossed to 850's side. 'The rest of you will go eat, and collect water for the night, before lockdown for the night. You, my little pretty, will stay here with me for a while, and will stay in this position until the morning.'
She nodded at the guard, who ordered the other prisoners out, and started them down the building. 626 risked a glance back as she left the cell, seeing the Sargeant running a hand down 850's sweaty torso, before a shout from the guard brought her attention back to the rest of the column.
TheLimey
Governor
Chapter 14
626 and the other prisoners marched from the cell to the far end of the building, where a series of long tables and benches were set up. Another group of prisoners were also waiting, all wearing the ragged dresses 626 had seen on the crew at the road side.
A truck drew up, and at an order, a set of prisoners unloaded a large cauldron, and a couple of crates. 'Line up! shouted one of her guards.
The line was quickly formed, both sets of prisoners intermingled. 626 found herself between two of the newcomers, in their ragged clothing.
'Hey, new meat,' said one of the pair, 'what duty do you have?'
626 looked at her, seeing dirty blonde hair, a sharp, feral face, and the hard muscles of someone who looked like they used their arms and shoulders hard. 'Clearence.'
The one who had addressed her, nodded at her friend, who grabbed at 626's wrists, holding 626's arms behind her back. The blond leaned in on 626, reaching a hand directly for her cunt.
'I can't wait to see you in the hauling chains. Maybe I'll get you in my cage one night as well...'
The blonde laughed as she brought her hand away, the sign of 626's arousal clearly visible. The blonde raised her fingers to her mouth, and licked them clean.
'I'll see you one again, one day, new meat!'
626 stood stock still whilst the pair pushed past her. Hauling chains? A shout from a guard got her moving again.
When 626 reached the cauldron, she was given a serving of what looked and smelt like a stew of pork and beans, a hunk of bread and a large water flask. She sat with the rest of her group, and took a mouthful of the stew. The taste was bad, salty and greasy, but it was the first food she had had since that morning. The water was flat, vaguely tasting of chemicals, but she was thirsty, and she forced it down.
It couldn't have been 15 minutes before the guards were ordering the prisoners to throw their bowls into a crate, given another flask of water for the night, and they were marched out again. 626 had a hunk of bread in her hand, for 850. The cell was unlocked, the guard marching them in before locking the cell back up.
850 was still cuffed to the bed, but was bathed in sweat, even more than the rest of them. As 626 approached, 850 moaned.
626 looked over her bedmate. The signs of a recent whipping were obvious. Raised weals covered her back and arse. Even worse though was the chain that looped tightly around her waist, between her legs and was locked off at the back.
'Are you ok?
850 moaned again. 'The chain is holding in two plugs. Before she put them in, that puta coated them with something she says they concocted here, from a native plant. It burns, and there's nothing anyone can do about it.' She turned her head into her arm to stifle another moan.
626 opened the water flask, holding it so her bedmate could drink some, then offered her some of the bread. 850 managed to take a few mouthfulls before the lights in the cell shut out,leaving just the lights from outside.
In that light, the cell readied for the night, each pair lying like spooning lovers on the bed. For 626, this wasn't possible, and she ended up on her right hand side, with one leg lying on top of one of 850's, an arm across her back.
Sleep wouldn't come. 626 was soon almost as sweaty as 850, who continued to moan softly every once in a while. At best, 626 dozed, a series of short cat naps. In between, they held whispered conversation.
626 learnt that 850, along with two others in the cell, were rebels taken in a raid on a village on the mountains some months back. Another was a courier between cells in the countries second city, betrayed by a traitor in the organization.
When 626 revealed she was a Journalist, and a Reuters one at that, disappeared through the regime faking her death, 850 fell silent for a moment.
'I don't know how, but you have to escape.'
626 and the other prisoners marched from the cell to the far end of the building, where a series of long tables and benches were set up. Another group of prisoners were also waiting, all wearing the ragged dresses 626 had seen on the crew at the road side.
A truck drew up, and at an order, a set of prisoners unloaded a large cauldron, and a couple of crates. 'Line up! shouted one of her guards.
The line was quickly formed, both sets of prisoners intermingled. 626 found herself between two of the newcomers, in their ragged clothing.
'Hey, new meat,' said one of the pair, 'what duty do you have?'
626 looked at her, seeing dirty blonde hair, a sharp, feral face, and the hard muscles of someone who looked like they used their arms and shoulders hard. 'Clearence.'
The one who had addressed her, nodded at her friend, who grabbed at 626's wrists, holding 626's arms behind her back. The blond leaned in on 626, reaching a hand directly for her cunt.
'I can't wait to see you in the hauling chains. Maybe I'll get you in my cage one night as well...'
The blonde laughed as she brought her hand away, the sign of 626's arousal clearly visible. The blonde raised her fingers to her mouth, and licked them clean.
'I'll see you one again, one day, new meat!'
626 stood stock still whilst the pair pushed past her. Hauling chains? A shout from a guard got her moving again.
When 626 reached the cauldron, she was given a serving of what looked and smelt like a stew of pork and beans, a hunk of bread and a large water flask. She sat with the rest of her group, and took a mouthful of the stew. The taste was bad, salty and greasy, but it was the first food she had had since that morning. The water was flat, vaguely tasting of chemicals, but she was thirsty, and she forced it down.
It couldn't have been 15 minutes before the guards were ordering the prisoners to throw their bowls into a crate, given another flask of water for the night, and they were marched out again. 626 had a hunk of bread in her hand, for 850. The cell was unlocked, the guard marching them in before locking the cell back up.
850 was still cuffed to the bed, but was bathed in sweat, even more than the rest of them. As 626 approached, 850 moaned.
626 looked over her bedmate. The signs of a recent whipping were obvious. Raised weals covered her back and arse. Even worse though was the chain that looped tightly around her waist, between her legs and was locked off at the back.
'Are you ok?
850 moaned again. 'The chain is holding in two plugs. Before she put them in, that puta coated them with something she says they concocted here, from a native plant. It burns, and there's nothing anyone can do about it.' She turned her head into her arm to stifle another moan.
626 opened the water flask, holding it so her bedmate could drink some, then offered her some of the bread. 850 managed to take a few mouthfulls before the lights in the cell shut out,leaving just the lights from outside.
In that light, the cell readied for the night, each pair lying like spooning lovers on the bed. For 626, this wasn't possible, and she ended up on her right hand side, with one leg lying on top of one of 850's, an arm across her back.
Sleep wouldn't come. 626 was soon almost as sweaty as 850, who continued to moan softly every once in a while. At best, 626 dozed, a series of short cat naps. In between, they held whispered conversation.
626 learnt that 850, along with two others in the cell, were rebels taken in a raid on a village on the mountains some months back. Another was a courier between cells in the countries second city, betrayed by a traitor in the organization.
When 626 revealed she was a Journalist, and a Reuters one at that, disappeared through the regime faking her death, 850 fell silent for a moment.
'I don't know how, but you have to escape.'
TheLimey
Governor
Chapter 15
No one in the cell had slept well, and most of them were awake when the lights flickered on in the cell. 626 have 850 a last sip of the water, and took one herself. All around her, her cellmates were stirring, stretching, yawning, trying to ease the pains of sleeping in pairs on a metal framework.
'Stand by your beds!'
The guards were both male, one shaved head and one so tightly buzz-cut he may as well have been. Both wore combat fatigues and carried a fearsome array of whips and cuffs on their belts. 626 shuddered as as noticed that one of them had a cattle prod in his hands.
Shaved head approached 850, uncuffing her from the bed, and growling at her to stand. Once she had done so, he unlocked the crotch chain, taking a particular delight in pushing the plugs in just a little bit more, before roughly yanking then out.
'Learnt your lesson, bitch?'
'Yes, Sir!' replied 850.
'Good....' He stood in the middle of the cell. 'In a couple of minutes, you will all line up outside this cell. You will then double to the truck that is waiting at the end of this cell block.' He was pacing as he said this, the cattle prod in his hands. 'You will not walk, you will not dawdle. Do you all understand?
The cell echoed with a cry of 'Yes, Sir!'
'Good. Anyone who dawdles will get this...' He whipped around, jabbing the prod into 626's side. She cried out on pain as the prod discharged into her, dropping to her knees as the shock but home.
'Line up!'
626 struggled to her feet, helped by 850, and they both moved outside the cell, joining the line. 626's chest heaved as she tried to get her breath back, before they moved off. Then they were moving, 626 doing her best to keep up with the girl in front of her.
In next to no time, they were at the end of the block, where a truck stood, the canvas top at the back rolled back. Already in the back, their wrists cuffed to a bar along the roofline, were the same group of other prisoners from last night. It was the work of a few minutes for 626's group to be locked into the truck in the same fashion, and then the truck was off, heading out the main gate, and heading away, along a rough road that soon joined a somewhat wider track that ran through a cleared section of jungle.
The sun had risen quite high by the time it pulled off into a small gated camp, and everyone was sweating freely, the rags that some of them wore clinging wetly.
'Welcome to Hell, bitches...' The voice came from the other group. 'Hope you're all good and strong, or you'll end up like her.'
'Her' was a prisoner. She was hanging by her wrists from a pole off to one side of the camp road. Her legs had collapsed underneath her, and she seemed barely conscious. From knees to shoulders, on both sides of her torso, she was a mass of whip marks, vivid red weals that were bleeding in places.
626 looked around as the truck stopped. The camp was almost nothing. Barbed wire walls surrounded the whole place, with guard towers on the corners and by the gate. A handful of prefabricated buildings and tents occupied part of the space. In the very center was a series of cages, made of bamboo and barbed wire. Then came the obvious punishment area. A whole series of tin boxes, then, running from the one the whipped prisoner was hanging from, was a whole series of posts, currently unoccupied.
The truck pulled up by a set of guards, with an obvious officer in their midst. Soon, the prisoners were lined up in two ranks,with 626's group in the second rank.
The officer looked over the set of prisoners. 'I see we have some newcomers here. For your benefit, welcome to your work camp! For the next two weeks, you will leave here every morning to clear the felled trees that loggers have dropped. You will sleep in those cages. You will eat and drink when you are told to. You will rest when you are told to. Fail to meet the standards, and you will be punished. Do I make myself clear?'
The prisoners chorused back. 'Yes Sir!'
'Good... Now, let it not be said that the revolution doesn't provide for all. You will all receive a uniform and shoes to work in.' As he spoke, a couple of the guards passed along the first rank, handing out uniform dresses and some sort of canvas shoe.
'Front rank, get changed, and hand your rags to the newcomers!'
626's face fell. The woman in front of her was wearing one of the more ragged outfits. The dress was ripped clean in two at the back, only held together at the very bottom by being tied together. She removed it, and tossed it at 626, who put on the dirty, sweat soaked, rags,finding that the front was almost as bad as the back, ripped from neck to just above 626's cunt, with ragged slits up the sides. 626 couldn't see how it could possibly hold together for much longer. The canvas shoes she was passed were as bad, strips of thin rope across the top of her feet holding in place what amounted to little more than a sole and some shreds of canvas.
The officer smiled. 'Good. Everyone has a uniform. It is two miles to your work location, and the day is already well started.' He turned to the guards, a mix of male and female. 'Get them to the site, at the double!'
No one in the cell had slept well, and most of them were awake when the lights flickered on in the cell. 626 have 850 a last sip of the water, and took one herself. All around her, her cellmates were stirring, stretching, yawning, trying to ease the pains of sleeping in pairs on a metal framework.
'Stand by your beds!'
The guards were both male, one shaved head and one so tightly buzz-cut he may as well have been. Both wore combat fatigues and carried a fearsome array of whips and cuffs on their belts. 626 shuddered as as noticed that one of them had a cattle prod in his hands.
Shaved head approached 850, uncuffing her from the bed, and growling at her to stand. Once she had done so, he unlocked the crotch chain, taking a particular delight in pushing the plugs in just a little bit more, before roughly yanking then out.
'Learnt your lesson, bitch?'
'Yes, Sir!' replied 850.
'Good....' He stood in the middle of the cell. 'In a couple of minutes, you will all line up outside this cell. You will then double to the truck that is waiting at the end of this cell block.' He was pacing as he said this, the cattle prod in his hands. 'You will not walk, you will not dawdle. Do you all understand?
The cell echoed with a cry of 'Yes, Sir!'
'Good. Anyone who dawdles will get this...' He whipped around, jabbing the prod into 626's side. She cried out on pain as the prod discharged into her, dropping to her knees as the shock but home.
'Line up!'
626 struggled to her feet, helped by 850, and they both moved outside the cell, joining the line. 626's chest heaved as she tried to get her breath back, before they moved off. Then they were moving, 626 doing her best to keep up with the girl in front of her.
In next to no time, they were at the end of the block, where a truck stood, the canvas top at the back rolled back. Already in the back, their wrists cuffed to a bar along the roofline, were the same group of other prisoners from last night. It was the work of a few minutes for 626's group to be locked into the truck in the same fashion, and then the truck was off, heading out the main gate, and heading away, along a rough road that soon joined a somewhat wider track that ran through a cleared section of jungle.
The sun had risen quite high by the time it pulled off into a small gated camp, and everyone was sweating freely, the rags that some of them wore clinging wetly.
'Welcome to Hell, bitches...' The voice came from the other group. 'Hope you're all good and strong, or you'll end up like her.'
'Her' was a prisoner. She was hanging by her wrists from a pole off to one side of the camp road. Her legs had collapsed underneath her, and she seemed barely conscious. From knees to shoulders, on both sides of her torso, she was a mass of whip marks, vivid red weals that were bleeding in places.
626 looked around as the truck stopped. The camp was almost nothing. Barbed wire walls surrounded the whole place, with guard towers on the corners and by the gate. A handful of prefabricated buildings and tents occupied part of the space. In the very center was a series of cages, made of bamboo and barbed wire. Then came the obvious punishment area. A whole series of tin boxes, then, running from the one the whipped prisoner was hanging from, was a whole series of posts, currently unoccupied.
The truck pulled up by a set of guards, with an obvious officer in their midst. Soon, the prisoners were lined up in two ranks,with 626's group in the second rank.
The officer looked over the set of prisoners. 'I see we have some newcomers here. For your benefit, welcome to your work camp! For the next two weeks, you will leave here every morning to clear the felled trees that loggers have dropped. You will sleep in those cages. You will eat and drink when you are told to. You will rest when you are told to. Fail to meet the standards, and you will be punished. Do I make myself clear?'
The prisoners chorused back. 'Yes Sir!'
'Good... Now, let it not be said that the revolution doesn't provide for all. You will all receive a uniform and shoes to work in.' As he spoke, a couple of the guards passed along the first rank, handing out uniform dresses and some sort of canvas shoe.
'Front rank, get changed, and hand your rags to the newcomers!'
626's face fell. The woman in front of her was wearing one of the more ragged outfits. The dress was ripped clean in two at the back, only held together at the very bottom by being tied together. She removed it, and tossed it at 626, who put on the dirty, sweat soaked, rags,finding that the front was almost as bad as the back, ripped from neck to just above 626's cunt, with ragged slits up the sides. 626 couldn't see how it could possibly hold together for much longer. The canvas shoes she was passed were as bad, strips of thin rope across the top of her feet holding in place what amounted to little more than a sole and some shreds of canvas.
The officer smiled. 'Good. Everyone has a uniform. It is two miles to your work location, and the day is already well started.' He turned to the guards, a mix of male and female. 'Get them to the site, at the double!'