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The Interrogation And Punishment Centre For Girls
- Thread starter Eulalia
- Start date
nardnob
Magistrate
I fear for your talented tongue -- just a soppy-wet ball of panties may be insufficient protection, given the protracted convulsions you must surely endure!
yes, thanks Joker, your pic, like many that are posted on the Forums, helped to excite my fervid imagination
though in truth I think I got the idea originally from Sade's Justine.
Thinking more in bed (where else!) about Sir Nob's observation,
perhaps it was my grubby sweaty t-shirt they used, I was hardly in a condition to be sure!
But again, I got the idea from accounts from people who've suffered electrical torture in real life -
a filthy rag is all you get stuffed in your gob, not a nice leather BDSM gag!
Well said, lovely bard
T
T
Incidentally, 'Do it to Julia' was the name of a bluegrass band, now River Whyless -
their website acknowledges where they got the name from,
but doesn't explain why they chose it.
Their female lead, Halli Anderson, is sexy in a thoroughly unglamorous, country-lass way,
but I don't see the 1984 connection
..tree wouldn't kick her out of bed for eatin' crackers or if she had woodchips in her hair fron chainswawing firewood all day...
T
T
4
I was so close to it in the total darkness that I had to cover my face with one hand and m breasts with the other to protect them from the little teeth and claws. I was aching and shivering, whimpering, and retching, from the Torture I'd just experienced, and stinking with sweat – my smell mingled with the powerful scent of the rat, and exacerbated its hunger, it must have been ravenous, constantly hissing and scuffling furiously against the bars of the cage.
These were too close together to let the creature snap at me as it wanted or to reach out to grasp me, but even if I pressed myself against the wall of the pit, my skin was close enough to be nipped and scratched, and the sharpness was exceedingly painful. I lay there for hours, sleep was impossible, whenever I dozed I was soon aroused by another jab of fang or claw, combined with the uncontrollable spasms that still seized my inner organs in the aftermath of the electrical Torture.
At last I heard footsteps, a key turned, the trapdoor lifted, “Up, turd! Back to the Torture Bed!” I stripped off my undies and staggered across to the Bed, knowing I must position myself in readiness for another prolonged interrogation. When I'd been locked in position, Ioannides came in, checked me over, then said to his men, "You carry on with the cunt, let me know if she blurts out anything interesting, squeeze her bone dry – then the fun can really begin!"
He spat on my upturned face and departed. I endured two more long sessions on the Torture Bed, my body, especially my tenderest parts, was grilled continually with carefully varied inflictions of electrical pain, the electrodes being constantly moved to engage fresh sets of nerve-ends, never allowing me the relief of numbness. And the sessions were separated by periods in that pit, with my starving companion.
Strange, terrifying though his closeness was, I began to feel sympathy and even some affection for the poor creature, as much a victim as me, being tortured with hunger knowing my delectable meat was only millimetres beyond reach of its incisors.
When I was hauled out for the fourth session, I was too weak and tremulous to stand. Ioannides was already in the Bedroom, they threw me at his feet. He looked down at me in triumph. "Lick my boots, sow!" I obeyed. As I tasted the filth, his boots smelt and tasted of dog-crap, the memory flashed before me of that summer afternoon when I was still a child, perched on a low wall chatting with Lucia, I suddenly felt I was being watched, instinctively pulled the hem of my dress over my thighs, saw a shadow move behind the slatted blind in the window opposite. I knew from that moment onward I was marked out as prey, now at last he's got me.
He kicked me in my mouth, a Guard hauled me up by my hair. Off with my bra and panties, now wringing damp and filthy. I was fitted up with bondage I'd experienced before, the equipment used when I'd been plunged in the shit-bucket by Zeta and his men in the Interrogation Unit. First a hook holding my jaw down, then a metal collar screwed on my neck, hinged to another band that was screwed around my temples. Chains from the hook and the head-restraint tugged down, pulled through my groin and locked to each other before and behind me.
And now I was half pushed, half dragged across to the far end of the Bedroom where stood the Chair. I retched in terror as I approached it, remembering what I'd seen them doing toLaurawhen she was shackled on it, and the terrible effect it had had on my once bright, talkative, lively little gymnast sister.
They sat me on the bare metal grid that formed the seat, fitted a belt round my waist and through the bars of the back to secure me sitting upright. A pair of chains hung down from the front, these were pushed under my groin – so sore from the electrical Torture, my vulva was now being chafed by four sharp steel chains. My arms were pulled down behind the chair, my wrist-irons locked to the chains from the belt. My knees were pulled wide apart, my ankles locked to the side-bars between the legs of the chair.
Opposite the chair was a large mirror, positioned so I could see myself, positioned, head pulled back, eyes open wide though blinking under the bright lamp, face parchment-pale, mouth forced wide open. I knew I couldn't speak – I wasn't going to be questioned any more, there wouldn't be even the pretence of an option to gain relief by answering. Now I was purely and simply his victim, made ready to suffer for his sadistic enjoyment. I saw my scarred, sweat-glistening breasts quiver and heave as my body tried to cope with the full horror of my situation.
"You remember what we did to your sister Laura, Eulalia?" "Aaa-aaah!" was all I could say. "You remember The Dentist?" Again, "Aa-aah!" "Well, you shall have the honour of his attentions now." The equipment was already, the men had set it up beside the Chair. I sat there sweating, heart thumping, wriggling gently to try to ease the discomfort of the chains under my pussy.
The man in the white coat entered. He checked his instruments, peered into my mouth, prodded around briefly – my body was shaking in terror, I was peeing uncontrollably (there was a drain, of course, directly under the Chair). He took the drill, the motor started, I closed my eyes.
They say anticipation is 90% of pain, it surely is with dental torture. As soon as the drill broke through the dentine of one of my molars and felt a nerve, I shrieked like a fury. He slowed the drill, let it play over the nerve end, gradually exposing it more and more, while I yelled and tugged helplessly at my bondage.
After an eternity of agony, he left that tooth. I flicked fragments of tooth out with my tongue. He started again on another tooth, the opposite side. Six of my teeth he drilled and tortured in this way, using his skill to maximise my suffering – four molars at the back excavated, and holes through my top two front teeth.
There was a pause, Ioannides. the UCS Agent, and The Dentist took cups of coffee and watched me groaning, rolling my head, helpless in the vortex of pain. The next stage began: electrodes fitted to the six drilled teeth. The Dentist sat back, handed the controls to Ioannides.
Fierce explosions of agony shot through my face, the pain was unspeakable – I'd suffered extremes of agony in the hands of Zeta and Sheng, but this was a height even they'd not achieved. My whole body leapt and vibrated as the current earthed through me to the Chair, I could feel blood oozing down my hands from my violent struggle with my wrist-bondage. Ioannides smiled, satisfied, as light touches with his finger were sufficient to send his pretty victim into frantic convulsions and echoing screams of torment.
At length he ceased, the electrodes were removed, though I was all too sure this was only temporary. He came and stood over me, peering down into my eyes. He lifted my right eyelid. Remembering what he'd done to poor Laura's eye, I groaned.
But for some reason, he decided not to use the cruellest torture, not now at least. Perhaps he wanted to be sure I'd have a 20:20 view of all the horrors I was still to face? Instead he called for a small jar of seeds, which he sprinkled onto the my glistening eyeballs. They burnt immediately, and the burning grew rapidly worse, I was screaming, tossing my hair about, tears gushing but failing to rinse out the tiny tormentors from the sensitive surfaces.
And even while I was gasping with this agony, my head was seized to hold still, The Dentist prodded with a sharp little probe to check my nerves were still acute, replaced the electrodes, and resumed his torturing of my teeth. The slow sadistic infliction was varied with occasional lashings across my defenceless breasts with the black whip, at one point my tongue was tugged with a pair of pincers – I quite thought it would be ripped out, but instead it was burnt through with an electric soldering iron.
The pain in my eyes very gradually subsided, again I could see my anguished face in the mirror through a watery glaze, the torment coursing through my cheekbones and jaw was relentless. They must have decided I was loosing strength, they rested me again, a Medic injected my arms, breasts and thighs with something – stimulants, hormones, pain-enhancers ...
When he'd decided I was fit again for more, Ioannides again walked over to me and glared into my face. He stroked by cheeks ominously, damp with tears and sweat. There were few parts of my body that did not bear scars of whiplash and branding-iron – my breasts, my fanny, my thighs, my buttocks, all bore the signatures of my various captors and abusers. I still wore my vivid "red bikini", my months of freedom had not faded it. But my face had been spared, though – as I could see all too clearly in the mirror – it was no longer the face of a bright, healthy, idealistic youngster, they'd still let it preserve some trace of girlhood grace.
Until now. Now he was going to stamp it with the final marks of conquest. A pair of electric branding-irons, with the familiar broken cross of the MSC and the lightning flash of the MSP were ready for him. He took hold of my head-band and held me still while he pressed first one, then the other, against my cheeks. The cruel heat joined the toothache that now throbbed in my jaw and cheekbones, as he drew away I saw the ugly crimson of still-cooking skin on my mutilated cheeks. I wailed in despair.
They paused and watched while I rolled my head, moaning softly, as fire continued to eat into my cheeks, the crimson blazons growing vivid on my white cheeks. Teeth torture resumed and continued yet again, but not now with fitted electrodes. Instead The Dentist used pliers – I thought he would pull my teeth right out, and braced my self as he gripped one and started to tug and twist at it, but he didn't need to extract it, the cruel tearing at the root was sufficient to draw yells, and he varied the torture by touching different teeth with an electric probe, all adding to the complexity of pain.
At last his work was finished, my face and whole head throbbing hideously. The bondage was removed from my head, jaw and neck, I was free to let my head drop, blood and spittle coughed down my breasts. But they did not release my wrists or ankles, I was still in bondage to The Chair.
I was hardly aware of the preparations for the next stage in my ordeal, but quickly understood when it began. A small electric stove had been placed underneath The Chair. As soon as it was switched on, I felt the fierce warmth rising to my thighs, my buttocks, my sore vulva. I struggled, fought ferociously, trying to force myself up off the steel bars that were themselves growing rapidly unbearably hot, my wrists and ankles tore at their bonds, flaying their skin, my shrieks rang through the Bedroom.
When I was sure I was going to loose consciousness, the stove was pulled away, I sat writhing, sobbing like a baby. They put it back under me a second time and a third, my female parts were smouldering, I could smell my own flesh cooking.
I must have fainted. When I was next aware, I was thrown down on the floor at the Colonel's feet, my loins still searing hot from their grilling. I lifted my head to look up at him, he kicked me in the face, my still aching jaw. "Get up, sow!" I staggered to my feet, but could not stand, Guards seized me as I toppled forward. "Get your bra and briefs on!" They led me across to where my undies were lying, tossed in a corner of the floor, tossed me down on my knees to retrieve them.
I pulled them on, managing to stand this time, unsteadily, at the ready. I thought, yes, even hoped, I was going back into the pit now, this Torture Session over. But no, Colonel Ioannides had other ideas ...
Poor Eulalia is such a victim of her intense imagination....
tree
tree
nardnob
Magistrate
Just vidi'd a flick called 'Martyrs' ...
http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1029234/
Euli, if you haven't seen it yet, methinks you (and any reader who enjoys your IPCG epic) is gonna luv it! Messa, this movie is French horror at its finest... I barely understood a word, but couldn't stop watching 'till the end!
Will check first to see if been 'reviewed' yet on this venerable board, and if not start a new thread w/ selected screencaps for said purpose...
http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1029234/
Euli, if you haven't seen it yet, methinks you (and any reader who enjoys your IPCG epic) is gonna luv it!
Messa, this movie is French horror at its finest... I barely understood a word, but couldn't stop watching 'till the end! Will check first to see if been 'reviewed' yet on this venerable board, and if not start a new thread w/ selected screencaps for said purpose...
Oui, je connais bien cette filme -
here's a link for the (French) trailer:
Not sure if I or anyone else has mentioned it on CF before,
it has pretensions to be intellectual, thought-provoking etc.,
but seems to me to have a lot of gratuitous nastiness -
but then you might well say that about my story too!
While I'd welcome any illustrations,
I'm not sure I'd want to see all my imaginings, e.g. this latest episode, put into pictures -
When I'm writing, I'm imagining how I'd feel, not how I'd look.
I'm not squeamish with visual gore, it neither shocks nor excites me,
it just doesn't tell me what I'm interested in -
but the facial expressions and body language,
especially of the girl who becomes the 'final victim'
are very powerful expressions of her feelings.
There's some pretty good acting in the film.
Naraku
Draconarius
I got "Martyrs" thinking it might be the kind of film that would be the kind of film that would feed my kinky fantasies. Well, it didn't. But, I wasn't really disappointed either. I don't think I've seen a film change directions so many times. Without going into spoilers, just when you think you know what's going on, you turn out to be wrong.
I agree with Eulalia, the acting is excellent.
I agree with Eulalia, the acting is excellent.
well, when it comes to 'gratuitous nastiness' I think my writings are pretty tame with the worst being the inclusion of bodily discharges and insect infestation and I don't even dwell on them but feel that it addes accuracy to the fantasy.
I'm not a big fan of torture for the sake of torture. In Pooper's thread she is being tortured to extract info and to some degree the same was true early on in 'Interrogation Centre.' Later in the story Eulalia's captors are merely being sadistic.
What makes Eul's story interesting to me is not what she endures but her discription of her reactions and emotions towards her torments. It wouldn't be much of a story if she wrote "They did awful things to me and this is how I felt."
So keep up the good writing, we await the next installment
Tree
Thanks Tree - that's the kind of constructive criticism I value, especially from a skilled writer as you certainly are.
In between Interrogation under torture and the present chapter there was the phase of Punishment (slavery) -
I was imagining being punished just for being who I am (all too common a story in the real world) -
and the rather different "punishment" of being a dancing-slave, being "punished" for being quite an attractive-looking girl who moves well!
(again, it happens all too often, in many different ways)
In the current chapter, I'm imagining being in the hands of a pure sadist,
knowing that I don't even have the theoretical possibility of saving myself or winning some respite by co-operating.
It's another stage in my descent into Hell.
There's still further to go ....
In between Interrogation under torture and the present chapter there was the phase of Punishment (slavery) -
I was imagining being punished just for being who I am (all too common a story in the real world) -
and the rather different "punishment" of being a dancing-slave, being "punished" for being quite an attractive-looking girl who moves well!
(again, it happens all too often, in many different ways)
In the current chapter, I'm imagining being in the hands of a pure sadist,
knowing that I don't even have the theoretical possibility of saving myself or winning some respite by co-operating.
It's another stage in my descent into Hell.
There's still further to go ....
5
"Why have they made me put my undies on?" I half staggered, half was dragged, across to a different pit in the floor of the Bedroom. This wasn't a small, square hole under a trapdoor, it was a long, rectangular hole, much like a grave, with a clear glass cover, though this was lying open.
I was thrown to my knees beside it, then kicked between my shoulders so I fell forward onto the tiles. In a few seconds, my right wrist was shackled to my left ankle, left wrist to right ankle, I was hogtied like I'd been the night before my very first Torture Session, with Captain Zeta in the Interrogation Unit.
I glanced up to see my tormentor now, Colonel Ioannides, standing over me triumphant, the boots I'd licked were gleaming close to my eyes. His men grabbed me by my shoulders, swung me up and back, seized my knees and lifted me, swung me above the pit and dropped me in on my back, my steel manacles sharply jabbing into my kidneys.
Ioannides gaze was still fixed on me, he cleared his throat and spat, down onto my face with perfect aim. The spittle dribbled across my lips and branded cheek, into my still sore eye. I turned my head slowly, side to side, feeling my sweat-greasy hair around my neck and ears, knowing my humiliation, my helplessness.
One of the men brought in some jars, or bottles rather, with fairly long, quite broad, necks. He placed them on the floor beside the pit, then handed one to the Colonel, who inspected it then showed it to me. it was plain glass, and in the bottom I could see – something dark, moving about, legs – I gulped, my childhood's waking nightmare, a spider!
It was quite a big one, I'd seen bigger, but I knew that this was the sort where fear was justified, the kind that don't scuttle away when you disturb them, more scared than you, these ones stand their ground and jump at you – and bite! Not a fatal bite for humans, even little girls, though it could kill a bird, and it's evilly painful.
I tensed, I could feel cold sweat mingling with the spittle on my face. One of the Guards, with a glove on his hand, lifted the top edge of my bra, revealing my right breast. Ioannides placed the neck of the bottle near my nipple, released the top with a click, shook gently so the creature ran down the neck and onto my quivering skin.
At once the Guard covered the spider with the soft cotton of my bra cup, trapping it against my flesh. I felt its legs moving angrily, I was rigid with terror, anticipating the bite.
But it didn't come immediately, I kept still, the little monster grew calmer, began to explore the small space in which he was trapped, my bra was a simple soft cotton one, there was enough give in it to allow my visitor to stretch her legs and walk around, strong enough to lift the cloth.
There was another spider ready for my left breast, she was inserted in the same way, and again did not react by biting instantly, but examined me with her sensitive leg-tips and maxillary palps. The feeling of the two exploring me was like a continuous electric current tormenting my ultra-sensitive skin, yet I held my breath, I knew I dared not move.
Ioannides lifted the third jar, showed it to me, smirking ... another spider, much lighter brown – no, not a spider, a scorpion! Again, not a very big one, its body only a bit bigger than the spiders' and its legs shorter, but with its vicious stinging tail – a male, no doubt, equipped with toxin to paralyse not only prey and enemies, but especially females it chose to mate with. It was one of the sort that had become a plague in parts of Elmeda, as the climate grew ever warmer and much of our beautiful country was turned to desert by the MSC's scorched-earth tactics.
The Guard lifted the elastic of my briefs, the jar rested on my pussy, a sharp shake and the scorpion was on me, my most sensitive spot. The elastic flicked down, trapping the animal, which – unlike the other arachnids – responded immediately by spearing my skin right on the summit of my soft mound.
I jumped involuntarily with the sharp stinging pain, my breasts suddenly leaping scared the spiders who soon dug their fangs in – the one on my left tit bit white skin, the one on the right a few moments later targeted my aureole.
Three waves of pain rolled outwards from the three poison-pricks, followed quickly by successive throbs, each following each like ripples in a pool of pain. I cried out, I could not help moving, squirming to try to absorb the agony, though dreading more assaults, I knew once they'd started the little beasts wouldn't stop until they'd subdued me, rendered me helpless prey.
I became aware that the spider on my right breast was keeping her fangs buried close to my nipple, feeding on blood, fat and girl-milk. Her companion on my other breast bit again, I squealed, she too was seeking out tasty fluids. The scorpion meanwhile was wriggling, struggling around on my shaved pubic triangle, preparing to strike again.
It was easy for my tormentors to see each time I experienced another bite or sting, my sharp squeals and violent jerking punctuated more continual groans and writhing as pain from the three sources spread through me, meeting and blending under my ribs, travelling off down my stretched and shackled limbs. It was a pleasurable sight, the men were masturbating shamelessly while they watched.
I don't know how long the creatures were allowed to torture me, it seemed an eternity. I was beginning to feel rigidity seizing my arm and leg muscles, like tentacles of pain gripping them tourniquet-tight. The Guard with the gloves bent down, a sharp razor-knife in his grip. He slashed the elastic of my bra, at once one of the spiders ran free, another Guard caught it under the funnel of a device that, with the press of a button, sucked the creature up so it could be returned to its jar. His colleague pulled my bra away, the second spider was quickly retrieved. Then my knicker-elastic was sliced through, my briefs pulled clear, the scorpion – still flicking its tail-dart into me again and again – was finally removed and returned to its bottle.
I lay sobbing quietly, my body twisting to and fro as I came to terms with this new layer of pain now overlaying the torment of my teeth, jaw and face and the burning of my nether parts. I felt faint and dizzy, but the agony was too acute to allow me to doze into unconsciousness.
And now they began to prepare me for a further stage, dashing delirious hopes that the spiders and scorpion were the climax to my ordeal. On the parts that were still stinging with pain – cheeks, breasts, pudenda and vulva, two Guards spread a foul-smelling mixture from a plastic tub, a rotten meaty stench that made my pain-wracked guts churn. When they'd done, they stood up and put the tubs away rapidly, obviously keen to avoid smelling more than they had to.
Now Ioannides stood above me, grinning down at my pale upturned face. He swung a portable metal cage above me. "Here's your little friend, Eulalia!" - he spoke mockingly. He squatted down and placed the cage beside my face on the floor of the pit. I'd guessed, it was the Rat, scrabbling at the bars of the cage, driven wild with excitement at what to him was no doubt a delectable aroma. Ioannides opened the front of the cage, and immediately stood up, a Guard shut the glass roof over me.
The rat leapt straight at me, I didn't have time to turn my head. I shrieked, feeling a horrible tearing pain in my right cheek, his teeth ripping deep into my skin. I shut my eyes – oh God, I thought, it's going to eat my face!
But for some reason it turned and scuttled across my neck and collar-bone to my left breast. I felt its claws grip my softness, braced myself, and let out a huge howl as it began to chew into my female flesh.
Conquering the pain from the spider-bites, being eaten alive was so monstrous that I simply writhed and screamed deliriously – although the pain was intense, my brain was disconnecting, I no longer felt, could not believe, it was happening to me. Blood oozed down my armpit, strangely I felt that even more acutely than the pain of the probing, tearing, chewing fangs ripping apart nerve-ends, blood vessels, fat and glands.
Through the hurricane of agony battering my brain, I heard a phone-tone, then – after an endless struggle during which the rat ceased gorging on my breast and moved eagerly down across my abdomen to start biting in just above the top of my genital crack – I heard Ioannides' voice, "I'm going to have to go – you deal with the cunt."
..you are truly meaner than me...T