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The Interrogation And Punishment Centre For Girls
- Thread starter Eulalia
- Start date
9
"Nice legs. We'll have fun with them tonight!" I quivered as Zeta rubbed his cane down between my parted thighs. Yes, he's a legs man, I thought, I'd noticed how appreciative he was of my companions' legs when he was inspecting us girls – mine aren't bad, nice and straight and smooth-muscled, I like them better than my small (34B) boobs, though Zeta's paid gentlemanly attention to those too! And now, marched back to the Torture Chamber after a day and a half, he's telling me where my next bout of pain will be – they won't be so lovely when he's finished with them, of that I can be sure!
I know the procedure. I held out my wrists compliantly for the Cadet to tighten my shackles, wincing as he did so, then sat as instructed on the concrete platform, legs apart for them to tighten my ankle-irons and clamp them to chains from rings at the two corners. An involuntary wiggle of my hips as I felt my thighs pulled wider, my legs firmly locked in readiness. Now I held out my arms to let them lay me back, head on the floor, shoulders pressed on the edge of the platform so my tits were pushed upwards. They tugged back my arms and shackled them to chains from rings in the floor, I was laid out X-stretched, like Sali when I was made to watch her being tortured.
I remembered how she suffered, shivered in anticipation of what's coming for me. Yet feeling so exposed, so vulnerable, does strange things for a girl, my heart was pounding and it wasn't just fear. The Medical Inspector jabbed his needle into my breasts, my thighs, even the soft folds round my vulva. Ready.
The two tall Torturers stood grinning down at me, each holding a good long bullwhip. One, Demon, raised his arms and swung the lash across my breasts, Jaguar followed from the other side with a blow across my pudenda. They moved around, flicking sharply, leaving a good ten seconds between strokes so I'd soak in the pain and respond with my writhing body and anguished cries. I obliged. It was cruelly painful, half a dozen carefully targeted lashes from each of them, slashing my breasts, ribs, hips, loins, thighs, culminating in one from Jaguar standing at the end of the platform between my feet, laying his thong down my body from my neck to my labia, my shriek and whole-body leap proclaiming how viciously that one hurt my female parts.
Now the questioning began, from a harsh-toned, impatient sounding Interrogator. A new line – my love life! Not that I thought they'd have much to find out, not all that exciting... At first it was as I expected, probing the various friendships I'd had with boys at school and in the Libertarian Youth. Stefano, nice, serious-minded young man, we'd planned things, organised meetings, gone on demos, together, I'd vaguely thought of us being together in future, sharing our political beliefs and aspirations, Mum and Dad thoroughly approved of him. Where is he now? Surely one of the first to be rounded up, doubt he's still alive, but better be careful...
The Torture began on my feet, the Torturers kneeling, one grasping my ankle, the other caning the sole, half a dozen left, half a dozen right, turn by turn. Very, very painful – astonishing how agonising bastinado is. My legs tensed, trying in vain to fight the shocks the cane-strokes sent up them, my hips jerked up lifting my bum off the platform at each blow. Soon I was desperate to get some relief from the treatment, I began talking into the microphone that was placed close to my head. Still trying not to betray anyone they won't already have caught, but I didn't know who was safe and who wasn't, and the pain was so bad I had to saying something!
So soon I earned Punishment. This took the same pattern as it had done on my buttocks. Slavegirl Rat coating my soles with acid paste had me squirming, grabbing wildly at the chains in a pointless effort to tug myself free. Made all the more sensitive by the paste, my feet were even more agonised by further caning. Then they punished me with the flamegun, I was sure my skin was shrivelling, peeling off as it cooked. More caning on my scorched subcutaneous layers. Next the hot irons, brought glowing by Rat from the hob.
And in between, the questioning pounded on and on, pressing me on every detail of my relationship with Stefano and with other boys in the League, teasing out hints that might incriminate others, trying to trap me to incriminate myself, on counts of immoral behaviour – no way! For teenagers, we Libertarians had been amazingly puritanical, strictly devoted to the cause of political liberty, not sexual licence.
But at last they'd forced enough out of me to add up to another Confession, of taking a leading and active role in a subversive organisation, conspiring to undermine the State, obstructing the work of the Security forces, etc. etc. My arms and legs were released. I couldn't possibly stand on my tormented feet, I had to drag myself on hands and aching knees across the floor and kneel up by the table to read, repeat, memorise and sign this next tranche of admissions.
But then they dragged me back to the platform and forced me to stand, though I was howling in pain. My wrists were locked to chains hanging from rings in the roof, my legs drawn wide and connected to the rings on the platform as before, but now my toes just touched the concrete, and it was hideously painful for me to let them take my weight, I had to hold my self up by grabbing at the roof-chains. Thus I was hanging, X-splayed, facing the Control Room window. Shackled and stretched, I could move a bit, struggle and twist, but my thighs were held wide, I couldn't close them. I was quivering in fear, and yet I felt a strange sense of security, even some thrill in my defenceless nakedness.
Zeta had departed, a new deputy was in his place, a handsome but hard-faced woman, one I came to know only as The Beast. She was tall, with long, well-tended blonde hair and sapphire-blue eyes, and a permanent expression of contempt on her thin lips. "Flog the slag!" she instructed a pair of Torturers, again ones I'd not experienced before, one a crew-cut white with the body of a prize-fighter, the other a swarthy Middle Easterner with a truly fearsome glare and muscles like steel cables.
"Count the lashes, cunt!" Obeying the beast's command, I sang out the number after each stroke they laid on me. They used their whips as skilfully and vigorously as the others, using my upright pose to wrap the lashes around my trunk so the same stroke caused suffering to my shoulder, armpit and breast, or my buttock, loin and pubic mound. From my neck and upper arms down to my thighs and calves they drew crimson weals. My screams flowed so strongly it was hard for me to mouth the numbers, but I dared not fail. I'd hoped to stop at twelve, twenty perhaps, but no, on and on they went, forty-eight, forty-nine – I was twisting, leaping, hurling myself about in agony – surely fifty will be the end? Still it went on – sixty! At last she called a halt, but then ordered "Fuck the slut, both of you together!" and, still writhing in agony, I was simultaneously penetrated, vagina and rectum, by horn-hard penises.
When the Torturers had done fucking me, the Cadets fixed crocodile clips, tight and painful, to my toes, inside my thighs, on my cunt-lips, and my nipples. “Ow!” They bit my tender flesh so sharply! Insulated wires ran from these to a panel below the Control Room window. Rat swabbed my legs and body with water, using her knickers for this purpose. I heard a machine start in the Control Room, making a constant hum. I was trembling, taut, tense, yet excited – even eager for this new experience of pain!
Now the questioning resumed, the sneery-voiced guy this time. A new line I hadn't bargained for, my affairs with girls! I remembered Zeta's snarl, "Lesbian whore!" and guessed where they wanted to drag me. I was amazed, appalled, what they'd managed to dig up. Maya, the long, lanky girl I used to play with when we were about thirteen, it was years since we'd been close – she got religion, she's a leading Evangeliser now, big supporter of the new morality laws, I suppose she must have told the MSC about our games together - yes, we used to play at martyrdom in the woods, I was always keen to be the victim – there was a cruel irony, being interrogated under Torture about my girlish games of being tortured! At first, my answers seemed to satisfy them, he went on for several minutes without showing impatience or dissatisfaction. I even began to think my answers and confessions were okay. perhaps I was satisfying him, I might be spared the horror?
But bit by bit his tone became impatient, harder, angrier, and then -“Ahhhh!” I had no warning of what was coming, a sudden violent, burning spasm shot through my legs, they felt on fire! An unearthly high, piercing shriek shot from my lips, all through the Interrogation Centre girls would know what’s happening to me. My legs jerked, kicked about wildly, my head tossed back and forth, hair waving over my face, my whole body shook like a rag in a hurricane. My first experience of Electric Torture!
It lasted only ten seconds or so, then paused, then repeated, Shocks, ten, twenty, thirty seconds each, with brief gaps in between, some more, some less, some to my legs, some to my breasts, sometimes to both, in quick succession. I was panting, gasping. Sometimes the Torturers moved the clips slightly, just so I wouldn’t get numb - I felt a fresh bit of my flesh made ready for the pain. That was bad, terrible, but worse still was the sense of utter helplessness it induced, My youthful body was no longer my own, they’d made it an electric toy, The Beast could make it jump, jerk, whenever she fancied, sharp squeals came out of it, it had no choice but to obey.
Between the torturings the Interrogator went on questioning, probing deeper. Yes, there was another side to my sex-life, one Mum and Dad knew nothing about, I never imagined anyone would know about it. Those boys who used to ambush me in the woods and entrap me with brambles, the way I used to ready myself for them, hitching up my skirt, stocking up with sweeties to "ransom" myself – a silly, thrilling adventure that used to excite me on my way home from school. Then there were the Buxa twins, delicious little blondies who latched on to me – we used to play with our bodies, exploring experimenting, it was fun, we got kicks from it, but nothing you could call serious – well, perhaps the MSC would ...
And of course my own secret body life, things I enjoyed doing with myself in bed, in the changing room, alone in the Forest... No-one could possibly know, no-one could possibly have told them. Yet, somehow, they must have guessed, perhaps they just know how a girl like me thinks and feels – it's as if they've probed as far into my secret soul as their pricks have penetrated my body!
The more I revealed and admitted to, the more furious the Interrogator grew, threatening, shouting, on and on. As soon as The Beast saw me relax a tiny bit, again she tortured me, I was held in constant terror. In between the inflictions, I kept screaming, begging them for mercy, pleading again and again “Let me confess!” I swore I’d told them all I could about my adolescent sexual fantasies and experiences. “Liar!" snarled the Interrogator, "you little whore, you're going to remember every dirty little secret you’ve tried to hide!” The Beast laughed. “We’re in no hurry, slut, we’ve hardly started on you, you're going to suffer much, much more!”
I hope they catch both of you soon as THT Inc. is signing a cotract to bring you in...
...(well, maybe keep running abit).
T
...(well, maybe keep running abit).
T
Edexl
Assistant executioner
If Laura gets caught,or you if you were caught after an attempted escape,you could be both condemned to the Gulag,shaven headed,shaven bodied,expecting no mercy whatsoever, with the crucifixion scaffold outside the prison cells,an ominous reminder every morning as they look at their possible fates!
Edexl
Assistant executioner
I love the account of her rough physical examination! "Turn round! Hands on head!" I turned to face the Cadets, he began examining me." It remind me of when I had just reached puberty,becoming a man,with an adult penis,hormones rushing through my young body.I remember being called to a medical examination,us boys were lines outside matron's room,waiting to see matron and the doctor.We were ordered to be just in underpants,and dressing gowns.I remember being ushered in,like the prisoner Eulalia's number being called, being told to remove my dressing gown,butterflies in my stomach when I would be told to take down my underpants and be intimately examined.It was a thrill and scare at the same time,though I was not erect,but probably starting.I am sure I am not alone in being thrilled by the thought of such public examination,just as much as the thought of public scourging and crucifixion,being stripped naked before it,is equally thrilling!Thanks mm, glad you're enjoying it.I seem to manage to leave you with a little cliffhanger each time,gasping for more!
It's coming quickly for me just now, but I'm going away on a short holiday soon, so there'll be a bit of a gap -still, here's today's installmentThe Cadets who'd marched me out of the Interrogation Room were seated beside me in the Courtroom, and as soon as my 'handover' formalities were complete, they jumped up and seized my arms again, twisting them up behind my shoulders, spinning me to be pushed through the door out into the Exercise Yard. As they grabbed me, I felt a strange, comforting sensation flow through my whole body. My mind was in a wild storm, of course I was terrified, anticipating the agony that was now my destiny, yet I had this profound feeling of relief, I felt almost grateful to these boys for taking charge of me! As we crossed the Yard, they amused themselves by jerking my arms up so that I yelped and struggled, rubbing my body against their shirts and trousers, they obviously enjoyed this, in a way I did too. They repeated the trick two or three times, I squirmed obligingly.As we re-entered the building, whoops of excitement greeted me, a crowd of MSP men and Cadets had gathered, word had got around. I was pushed through a mass of groping fingers through the gate into the Stripping Room. There stood my nemesis, Captain Zeta, smirking triumphantly, holding his cane in his right hand, tapping it on his left palm. The Cadets thrust me in front of him, I stood for a moment legs apart, but they jerked my arms up so sharply I fell forward, one kicking me as I dropped to my knees, the other yelled "Submit!" That was an order I understood, a pose we'd practised each day at the beginning and end of exercise sessions. I threw myself forward, my forehead hit the tiled floor, my arms stretched out in front, palms turned upwards. It was a position that I liked to be in, in some mysterious way it felt right for me, especially now, at the feet of the man who's about to exercise his absolute power over my girl-body.Zeta waited for a few moments, no doubt enjoying the sight, still tapping his cane. Then he suddenly stamped on my hands, He ground them under his booted foot for some seconds while I squealed in pain, then he kicked my head, knocking my face against the floor. "Up!" he shouted. I scrambled to my feet, positioned myself, legs apart, hands on bum, head bowed submissively. He sad nothing, went on tapping. I glanced up, looked at his cold blue eyes staring at me. I easily guessed what he was waiting for now. Gingerly, I raised my arms, felt behind my shoulders for the clip of my bra. He nodded. My fingers trembled, but I pulled it off and tossed it across to the bench by the wall. A murmur of approval filled the air as my breasts were revealed in all their vulnerable ripeness.I glanced at those eyes again, silently mastering me. I leant forwards, began peeling my little thong down my thighs, knees, calves, ankles, off one foot, then the other. For a moment I paused, feeling the acutest sense of my total nakedness. He tapped impatiently, I stood straight, threw the last shred of my womanly autonomy away – cameras flashed, I blinked and chucked it clumsily, it hit the edge of the bench, fell to the floor. Male excitement filling the room assailed all my senses, sight, hearing, scent, even the taste in my mouth and the sweat on my skin responding, as I stood 'at the ready', tasting the full, naked meaning of that phrase.Zeta stood drinking in his victim's nudity, using his cane now to stroke the bulging front of his uniform trousers. A pair of hefty thugs flanking him were dressed in just shorts and trainers, their masculine arousal all the more conspicuous. After a while, he stepped forward, hit my hip with the cane and barked "Turn round! Hands on head!" I turned to face the Cadets, he began examining me. His ran his fingers through my hair, unwashed for weeks, I felt ashamed of its itchy greasiness. He felt my neck, pressing it firmly, ran his fingers like a connoisseur over my shoulders, back and slender flanks, sensing how thinly my skin stretched over my bones, how sensitive to the lash, he spread his hands around me my swelling hips and perky buttocks, kneading them like dough, he stroked my long, smooth thighs."Turn!" Now he examined my face, lifting my eyelids to peer into my frightened eyes, his were sharp as steel, he pressed wide my already parted lips, instinctively I yielded up my tongue, he placed his hands around my throat and squeezed till I experienced a shock of strangulation, then pulled them away and let me choke till I breathed again. Now he moved his hands over my collar where my ID label still adhered, he got his fingers under the end of it and slowly, torturously, peeled it off me, I cried out as the surface of my skin was painfully flayed. He stood back and admired the crimson stripe of exposed subcutaneous layer he'd revealed, my upper body wriggling with the burning pain made my breasts sway pleasingly, and to these he now turned his attention, stroking and squeezing, starting around the edges and working in till his fingers flicked and pinched my nail-hard nipples. He and his audience grinned with glee at my sighs and gasps, mingled terror and arousal. As he palpated them, I was very conscious of the warmth growing in my woman-parts, the moisture springing in my tubes, the quivery firmness growing in my clitoris.His hands moved lower, pausing to measure around my waist, yes, his big, long-fingered hands could easily girdle me. He stroked my pubic hair, then tormented me playfully by pinching and twisting curly strands. I yelped in pleasant pain. At last his fingers reached my vulva, constantly moving like a spider's legs greedily entrapping its prey, I could not stand still for all I tried, my thighs and pelvis, my whole trunk, shook and twisted as my arousal grew and grew. He found my clitoris, began flicking it with his finger nail. "Still a virgin?" "Mmm, yes, Sir!" I panted. "Really?!" he jeered, in mock disbelief. "Yes, Sir, honest..." He and the roomful of men were highly amused. "Not for much longer!" he sneered, as he jabbed his middle finger inside me. For what seemed minutes, I gyrated my pelvis while he wiggled his finger well into my passage, then slid it up and down. I was panting loudly, I could feel my wetness oozing round the intruding digit and out between my sex-lips, my whole body was shaking with an orgasm of a violence I'd never remotely experienced.He drew his hand away, I stood there sweating, shivering, feeling my heart and my breath both racing. My mind was buffeted, I was wildly conscious of a new, frantic desire, a mad thirst for something I never knew existed before this moment, something that made my old feminist, libertarian ideals, my youthful notions of freedom, seem pale and pointless – through this cruel ordeal of initiation, a new Eulalia was being brought into being!My eyes followed Zeta with canine longing as he turned to the table. He picked up not his cane but a rubber truncheon, like the Riot Police used on us girls that night. He tested its flexibility with sharp jolts of his powerful wrist, then stood eyeing me up and down. I waited, tensing my muscles, where will he strike?Suddenly, he swung it hard into my solar plexus, I was bowled forward, retching, one of the Cadets behind me kicked my bum and I fell slithering across the tiled floor. Zeta grabbed my hair, tugged me up and swung me, cracking my head against the leg of the table. The other men – the two thugs and the Cadets – set upon me, kicking and stamping, while Zeta beat me with the truncheon. I curled in a foetal knot, trying to protect all but my curved back from their barrage. Again he hauled me up by my hair, dragged me across the room and threw me against the wood-lined wall. The Cadets seized my arms and held them stretched wide so I stood in a crucified posture, back to the wall. Zeta slapped my face twice, then continued beating me with the truncheon, on my breasts, ribs, pudenda and thighs, again and again. I was gasping, choking, too winded even to cry out.At last he was satisfied. He threw the truncheon back on the table, ordered me into the photo booth, where I was recorded yet again, now naked, face bruised, blood trickling from my mouth. "Send that to HQ," I heard him say, "They can show it to her bitch of a mother, see if she can recognise her brat!" A red-knickered slavegirl who'd been in the corner of the Stripping Room throughout my initiation now came forward with a pair of wrist-irons. I held out my hands compliantly, not needing to be told. Zeta tore the ID strip off my wrist, I shrieked again at the pain. He clamped the metal over the sore scar, a code engraved on the bracelet will take the place of the fabric strip – my personal shackles! With a key that all IPCG staff carry, he twisted the screws to tighten the bracelets till they crunched on my bones enough to make me wince. "Hands behind your back!" A Cadet immediately clicked the catches on the short chains, locking them together so that I could move my arms a little, but in no way protect myself. Now the slavegirl handed the other Cadet a pair of ankle-irons. I lifted my legs in turn for him to fit these, the rubbing between my thighs as I did so gave me a pleasant little thrill of submission, amplified as the irons clicked shut and were screwed tight.I was marched down the stairs, the chains on my ankle-irons tinkling. I was walking unsteadily after my "softening up", still dribbling blood. I felt a deep foreboding as we descended into the cellar of screams, yet excitement too. I thought I was going directly to one of the Torture Chambers, but instead we stopped by one of the single cells on the left, its door open. "We'll leave her here to sweat while we screw the other little cunt," ordered Zeta, "hog-shackle her. Kneel!" he yelled at me, I dropped to my knees, he kicked me, I fell forwards, face down on the concrete. Now the Cadets released my wrist-shackles from each other and instead connected the right one to my left ankle-iron, the left vice versa. One of the thugs grabbed my hair and hauled me, grazing the front of my body on the harsh floor, into the cell, then he tugged me up and flung me back so I was lying face up, head thrown back, wrists and ankles chained together behind me, the irons digging painfully into my kidneys. I looked up at Zeta, towering over me. "You can lie there and listen, whore's brat, the little rat we're going to torture now's a great screamer, she'll give you a taste of what's coming to you –Merida's maggot!" He stamped on my face, and turned away down the passage. The door creaked shut.
10
At last she was satisfied. They paused from torturing me, removed the clips, released my ankles and wrists. I fell to my knees, the smart young office-slave in a miniskirt brought in the sheet of paper, my Confession, typed up in readiness, they made me crawl across to the table and kneel up so I could read it. “Read it out loud, so we can hear you!” It was my admission that I'd corrupted my friends and encouraged obscene and immoral thoughts, words and actions. Then they make me scrawl, shaking, my name and number. It made me cry, just seeing my poor name scarcely legible, all I had left that was mine, even that was breaking apart!
I was shuddering still, my legs still gripped with cruel spasms, sweating, gasping, sobbing, begging for water. They refused. The Beast was standing above me now. "Lie back, slag, get ready for me!” I lay back as I knew I must, on the Bench stretching my arms above my head ready to be fixed again. I lay panting, face up, blinking under the lamp, lips parted. I pressed my tortured feet down, raised my open thighs, lifted my sore buttocks off the Bench, signalling my readiness. I was discovering my true instincts ...
The Beast stripped off completely. She and flung herself on me, groping, clawing, licking, biting all over my bruised and trembling skin. Then she made me reciprocate, kissing her deeply, passionately, tongue right into her throat, licking and chewing at her neck, her warm, soft breasts, sucking and probing with my tongue as she straddled me, her pussy right over my mouth. She was sighing, gasping, yielding little squeals of pleasure. Suddenly she stood up, turned around, and lay on me so that I could continue pleasuring her cunt while she did the same to mine.
All this female play was eagerly watched by an audience of males – Torturers, Cadets, Interrogators, Medical Inspectors, both shift that had just tortured me and their replacements, for it was changeover time.
“That’s the way slut!” I heard one of the Torturers say, “You know how to pleasure a woman” “Of course she does”, a familiar voice snarled, “this little lesbian Lolita's been selling herself around since she was twelve!” Zeta was back.
The Beast went on enjoying me, her juices oozing more and more freely into my open mouth, and I felt the eager throbbing in my girl-parts as my organs responded equally lusciously. At last she was satisfied, stood up and spat on my face, a mixture of saliva and my sex-juice coated my cheek.
At once Zeta took her place. He hurled himself on me. It hurt as my cunt, still quivering and burning from the electric pain was forced wide open by his massive prick. I worked with my thighs as he thrust and pumped in me, I turned my head and sighed as he gnawed my neck. As his semen burst, I feel the warmth inside my flesh.
He knelt up, he too spat on my face, and slapped my cheek. I whispered – as I knew I must – “Thankyou Sir – I hope I pleased you Sir.” And then the others had their turns- all of them, one by one, even the Medical Inspectors. My body was tired, sore, feeling stuffed full of boiling semen.
When they’d done, the Medical Inspector fingered me: my eyes pleaded vainly as he felt inside: “Still nice and wet and throbbing – a fine, healthy cunt, ready for more!” They released my wrists, made me crawl back to the platform, and lie stretched out in readiness for shackling. They fitted the electric clips again, on my legs, labia and breasts. Zeta ordered another refinement, to make my sexual Torture worse: a wet steel scouring pad, a wire tampon, forced into my cunt.
I screeched at the pain of this. After the gang-rape, I was all the more sensitive, blood was returning to the tortured spots, my nerves were responding, soreness inflamed – it’s all part of the process, sexual pleasure adding increments of pain.
The questioning resumed. I groaned in horror when I realised what the Interrogator was opening up now –Gina! Why had I fallen for her, in my second year in university? Daughter of a naval commander, one of the inner circle of the Military Security Commission, her mother an unbearable snob, Gina herself utterly cynical, contemptuous of any idealism, most of all mine. Yet, that secret weekend away in San Marco, her tall, slender body standing on the cliff-top gazing at the ocean, long hair sailing in the wind .... She'll have betrayed me, of course, without turning a single strand of her silky hair. Yet, when we rolled together naked on the sea-washed turf, something blossomed in me no boy had ever aroused!
The Torture started again. That wire pad spread the shocks right through my genitals, arousing my clitoris, stimulating ovaries, making my muscles seize and contract, gripping my womb and thighs, like I was giving birth over and over – exquisite, burning agony deep in my womanhood!
Zeta was revelling in it, stripping away the last shreds of my pretence to be a clean-living, decent, hetero Libertarian girl, piling up evidence to support the charge he'd spat at me that day I was punished for cuddling Maria, "Lesbian whore!"
And the Torture got even worse when they started touching my quivering female parts with an electric probe. This sent a current like a streak of fire right through me to the nearest terminal. The agony was unbearable, and I knew I could no longer keep anything about my sex-life secret from him. “Oh let me talk!” I begged, “Oh, please, let me tell you...”
“Repeat your confession, whore!” I gasped and tried to splutter out the words fighting my crumbling memory to recall. He had to prompt me several times. I knew I'd have to pay the price – he shouted to the men, “Punish her!”.
They used the flame-gun first, on my thighs, and in between, my pubic hair sizzled and smoked as I shrieked, kicked and struggled. Then again they fitted the electrodes. The second Punishment was the acid paste, spread on my thighs and vulva by slavegirl Piglet, now on duty, with her multi-purpose knickers. After that, more electric torture, then the hot irons, long glowing pokers laid on my thigh-skin, searing deep in a burst of breakfast-bacon-scented pain. Still the torture went on, hour after hour. And finally, the scalpel – my smooth, perspiring thighs stripped slowly of their skin, the raw flesh cauterised.
My lovely legs, as he'd promised, he'd had plenty of fun with them, as he'd relished wallowing in my guilty secrets. My thighs and my feet, especially, were oozing, dripping joints of red-raw pain, criss-crossed with weals, great purple bruises, red patches of internal bleeding, deep burns, long strips flayed and scorched.
By the time he'd finished, I hardly heard the Interrogator's questions any more, I could no longer understand, I was gabbling nonsense, sobbing and howling, even laughing hysterically. I was released again, dragged to the table, made to read a Confession to the effect that I'd tried to seduce Gina, I confessed to soliciting, attempting to procure an act of gross indecency.
Zeta stood by me, listening with a triumphant grin. When I'd scrawled an attempt at my signature, he kicked me, yelled "Slag! Now you're going to eat shit, 'cause dirty dyke fuckers like you are shit, nothing but shit!" He then gave an instruction through his intercom. While he relaxed on the bench with a cigar and a can of beer, the Cadets fitted new metal bondage on me. Firstly, a tight clip on my nose, forcing me to keep my mouth open to breathe, and a steel plate bent over so it could be hooked over my lower teeth and lip, with a chain hanging down from it. Then an iron collar fitted round my neck and screwed tight. Attached to this by a hinge was another iron ring which fitted around my head and was screwed tight over my forehead. A chain hung down from the flange of this at the hinge. The two chains were both pull down and then under my groin, and clipped to each other both in front and behind, so that my head was pulled back and my jaw was held firmly wide open. Next a wide leather belt was fitted round my waist, buckled at the back, with chains hanging down from a pair of rings in front. Finally, the chains on my wrist-irons were tugged through my groin and connected to those on the front of the belt, so my arms were stretched down, forcing my shoulders back, my breasts up and out. Thus fitted up, I was made to kneel.
While they were preparing me, the Chamber door slid open, and two attractive young slavegirls in blue knickers and white shirts entered carrying a large metal tub between them. They placed it on the floor in front of me, then stood at the ready. The Torturers positioned themselves either side of me, their hands on my shoulders and head. Piglet removed the lid of the tub and I saw with horror what it held – filled to the brim with human excrement!
Instantly, the torturers thrust me forwards and into the foul matter. Of course I couldn't shut my mouth, I couldn't breathe, I couldn't prevent myself swallowing. They held me under for a long time, perhaps half a minute, my body grew hot, my heart pounded, uncontrollable panic seized me as I gagged and choked in the brown semi-liquid. At last they pulled me out, retching and fighting to get air into my shit-filled lungs. Only a few seconds relief, then I was in again, while they kicked and beat my struggling body. Half a dozen times they repeated this, then Zeta waved to signal and end.
The Cadets released the chains and threw me down onto the tiles, gasping and vomiting up the ghastly stuff I'd taken into my body in such quantity. Piglet replaced the lid on the tub, and the girls were about to pick it up when Zeta called, "Stop! I fancy that one!" He indicated the taller of the pair, indeed a fine figure of a young woman with striking dark hair, bright, intelligent eyes, a shapely body and fine, athletic legs. He commanded Piglet to help take the tub out, and the chosen girl to strip, which she did with a look of barely-controlled fury. Her blue knickers – as I would learn in time – showed she was a 'main grade' slave, not in the lowest 'punitive' class, and as such she should still have had some shreds of regulatory protection against being raped like this on an Officer's whim, but Zeta had no fear of disciplinary proceedings. She positioned herself with an audible sigh in the 'bridge' pose and he pounced on her, pile-driving his penis into her, and rode her with triumphant vigour.
It had been a good Torture Session for Captain Zeta!
Oh, Eulalia, next time you're in my care I won't be so nice...
TREE
TREE
Attachments
All at one time???? I think the lady may enjoy that too much...
T
that's why y're her favorit isn't?
11
After he'd finished with the good-looking slavegirl, she pulled on her clothes and departed with a look of utter disgust and humiliation on her face. The Cadets, having removed the metal bondage, locked my wrists behind my back, took me by my upper arms and dragged me out of the Torture Chamber, up the ramp, and threw me on the trolley for another quick medical check. I was still choking and retching, a dish was provided for my vomit.
When the Medical Inspector had noted my raw, oozing feet and thighs, and the whip-weals and electric burns on my breasts, he ordered me back down the ramp. I couldn't walk, and with my wrists shackled behind me I couldn't crawl on all fours either, but had to shuffle along on my knees in a painful and humiliating fashion. The Guard tugged me up by my hair and twirled me round, insisting on recording my whereabouts by scanning the barcode on my wrist-iron. Then he threw me back on the floor and ordered me back to my cell.
As soon as I'd crawled in and the door slid shut, I fell face down, vomiting violently into the latrine-drain. I must have soon lost consciousness, when the siren sounded I awoke to find my face lying right over that foul pipe I hauled myself up and waddled out on my knees, spitting out fragments of filth and gagging for air. I had to position myself in readiness for Inspection, kneeling up facing the Console, and remained in that posture for a good many minutes before one of the Officers, a fat far-easterner, came and booted me. ""Hell what a stinking shit-bag – swill the turd!" The attendant slavegirl ran and fetched a bucket, filled it at the tap in my cell, then threw it over me – it was a shock, but its coolness and cleansing were very welcome to my fouled and burning skin.
She then brought my bowl out and placed it on the floor in front of me, the serving-slave filled it with a ladleful of stew, I leant forward and started to lap like a bitch, the Inspector watching snarled, "Eat every scrap, cunt, and if any goes on the floor, you lick that up too!" I obeyed, while he hit me with his cane to ensure I did spill plenty and had to chase it over the concrete with my tongue. I was hungry, though my stomach was resisting, I managed to keep the food down, and at last was allowed to shuffle back into my cell, pull the tap-lever down with my teeth, then hold my mouth open for such a welcome rush of drinking water.
The door closed, I managed to lift myself up onto the bed, and dozed painfully. They allowed me a long break after that second session, nearly three days. Between Inspections I slept a lot, when I wasn't asleep I cried a lot. Not just in pain, though of course the burning soreness in my feel and legs was still severe. I wept because I felt so utterly defeated, for all my courageous resolutions, I'd failed ... those bastards had won, they'd broken me, I'd let Mum and Dad and my friends down. I felt my mind was being gouged out from me, the thoughts I’d always had about myself– perhaps I'd been wrong? Perhaps the hideous things they were making me say were true?
Yet, even more, I wept in shame at being exposed – not my physical nakedness, that didn't bother me, my body's nothing to be ashamed of, not even the rape and buggery and other abuse, it was what I expected, I was coping with it – no, it was the stripping away of my façade of "normal", "nice" young woman, the uncovering of my innermost secrets, my deepest desires and fantasies, the revelation that being the victim of my worst enemies was actually arousing in me something I dared not admit to myself - pleasure? No something more than mere pleasure!
I got used to the uncomfortable procedure of waddling on my knees out of my cell for Inspections and meals, grabbing and holding my bowl behind me then placing it in the correct position so I could eat from it, then back in to open the tap with my teeth for water, and up onto the bed. By the third day, my legs were less stiff, my feet less swollen. Foolishly, I decided I could stand up. I sat up on the bed and cautiously lowered my legs, pressed my soles on the floor – they still hurt, but not too much now – I swung forward and stood, my head touching the sloping roof. I exercised my shoulders, twisted my hips, flexed my knees, managed a squat or two, then through the speaker like a crack of thunder came the Guard's shout, "What the hell are you doing, cunt? Who gave you permission to stand up?"
Instinctively, I fell to my knees, but it was too late. The door slid open. "Out!" he yelled, I shuffled out and knelt facing him. "Come here!" I crawled along to the Console, heart thumping in dread. "I'm sorry Sir," I croaked, "I didn't realise .... please don't punish me Sir!" I saw with horror, he'd summoned a slavegirl, she was fetching a bar and a set of weights. The Guard came round the counter to stand behind me. "Up then, turd! If you want to stand, stand you shall!" I got to my feet, legs apart. He unlocked my wrist-irons, made me raise my arms to shoulder height, then placed the bar on my shoulders and fitted the shackles to rings at each end. A steel collar at the centre of it was clamped tight round my neck. Then he fitted weights, 10 kilos, on either end. My pained legs almost buckled, my sore feet staggered a few paces, I steadied myself and stood, facing down the corridor, supporting this cruel burden.
He gave me a few flicks around my loins with his whip, then returned to the Console. My Punishment was like the one I'd received for cuddlingMaria, but this was more severe, the weights heavier, my body already in greater pain from my Torture. From time to time he ordered me to change position, "Squat!", "Kneel!" "Stand!" Each movement was agonising, and I was in dread lest I should fall. And while I was there, men frequently came past, all of them taking the opportunity to inflict a few strokes with the whips or canes they all carry. At one point, a blonde wretch staggered by me, naked and bleeding, obviously just released from her Torture Session. Soon a pretty young Indian, the girl who'd takenMaria's place in the waiting cell, was led wide-eyed with terror, for her first experience in the Chamber – soon I heard her shrill screams of pain.
At length, and it was after several hours, the siren sounded for Inspection. I dared to hope this might signal the end of my Punishment, but before the Inspection got under way, I saw to my horror Captain Zeta and his entourage approaching along the corridor. "What's this, then?" he chortled, holding my chin and jerking my head back, "Who's been a naughty girl?" "I – I'm sorry, Sir." "Well, well, we can't have that, can we? Letting down my SIS Squad, Squad A, earns a very severe penalty!"
The Cadets accompanying him removed the weights and the bar, slavegirl Rat and another who was in attendance on the Inspection put them away, I was led into the South-East Chamber.
I was made to stand on the platform, at the end near the Control Room window. My wrist-irons were tightened, I was ordered to raise my arms above my head., the shackles were linked to a loop at the end of a steel cable which hung from an aperture in the beam on the ceiling. My ankle-irons, tightened, were connected to chains from the rings at the corners of the Platform, so I was standing, legs wide apart, arms stretched up. Zeta in the Control Room pressed a button, I felt the cable lifting me, in a moment only my toes were in contact with the concrete, I was held stretched.
Jaguar and Demon were already flicking their whips in readiness, no surprise. "Punish the little sow!" yelled Zeta, "Punish her real hard, my victims don't get themselves in trouble with the Guards without getting worse trouble from me! And you count the lashes, sow's cunt!" So they began, striking as commanded with maximum viciousness, pausing after every twelve stroked while I squirmed and moaned. Sixty they gave me, sixty around every contour of my torso and thighs, opening up half-healed wounds, raising new weals, filling my whole body with an agony that was becoming all too familiar, but no easier to bear.
When they'd vented their rage, the Interrogation began. Another new and disturbing line – about Carlo, Mum's friend. Did I know they were having an affair? No I didn't. Dad was away a lot, we certainly saw a lot of Carlo – he was helpful to Mum and her friends, he edited a progressive paper, was able to get publicity for libertarian feminist ideas and activities – yet I didn't like him, didn't trust him, there was something about him that was a bit too good to be true ... was he playing a double game? And Mum! Oh God, all that I'd believed in seemed to be crumbling. Of course, as a libertarian woman, she'd have considered it her right, but having an affair, just wasn't the Mum I thought I knew! Certainly the questions the sneery-voiced guy was asking suggested Carlo had fed them some very private information, not just about Mum, about Laura and me too, and all this was being used now to confuse me, to convict me. What's the point in resisting, in striving to keep quiet, they know more about me already than I know about myself!
Zeta's Torture was systematic, efficient as ever. Electrodes on my armpits and breasts, others on my thighs and vulva, sharp spasms of unbearable burning. Punishment, when my answers became jumbled and incoherent, with the flamegun on my armpits, flanks and breasts, then the acid paste, then – as a variation on the hot irons theme, pinching my breasts with hot metal pincers, piercing them with glowing hot needles, and slow ripping of skin across my ribs with a heated, sharp claw.
And at each interruption for Punishment, I was raised up, hauled by my wrists up nearly to the ceiling, then suddenly dropped so my feet hit the platform and my legs buckled, but before I could recover I was jerked back up again. Repeated half-a-dozen times, in association with the agonising mutilation of my breasts and body, this was enough to destroy what little spirit of resistance still flickered in me. I began to name names.
I sobbed pathetically as I gave names and addresses of my best friends, Mum's, Laura's. They made me repeat them so they were clearly recorded. At last this earned me a little relief, Zeta lowered the pulley, the Cadets unshackled me, I staggered across to the table to read and sign a further Confession. Now I was admitting knowing the identities of enemies of the State, failing to report them, failing to co-operate with the Security Police...
you in a heap 'o trouble, ms E
mymartinet
R.I.P. Dominus Flagelli
Getting good
12
When I'd scrawled an attempt at my signature, I glanced up at Zeta. He was smiling smugly. I wanted to spit in his face. Yet I felt drawn to him, almost protected by him now. I was still crying, feeling sick with horror at the betrayal I'd just committed. But there was a sense of relief, in total defeat. Rat pulled the Bench out, I lay myself on it, hands stretched above my head ready for shackling – though I no longer needed that - gave myself up to him.
When he and his colleagues had enjoyed me, I saw Captain Scorpio was present, ready to take over. I shivered as I stood at the ready before him. I'd thought perhaps now I'd broken my silence and given them names that might satisfy them, but that was a vain hope. He was holding a small, shining steel ring with a tiny screw and a slender chain attached. "Hold out your hand!" I offered him my left, but he snapped "No, right!" I cried out as he took my hand and slipped the ring onto my thumb, which was still tender and recalled instantly the pain of the Thumbscrew. With a small key he tightened the screw, I whined "Oh, no Sir, please don't!"
Now he led me to stand again on the platform facing the Control Room. There he ordered me to raise my right arm, and he connected the thumbscrew-shackle to the Pulley. He then went to his place at the controls, the Cadets completed my preparation for Torture, taking my left wrist and pulling it down behind me, raising my right ankle and linking it to that wrist, then shackling my left ankle to a ring immediately below the Pulley, midway between the ones that had earlier held my ankles apart.
Scorpio carefully raised the Pulley, tugging my poor thumb so I was lifted up to tiptoe. So I was ready, standing like a ballerina on the point of my right big toe, my left arm and right leg forming a bow-string behind me, forcing my body back in a graceful curve, my right arm stretched high. An elegant, sensuous pose, my thighs felt a warm pleasure at the tension imposed on my hips and groin, my breasts, lifted up by my ribcage, were firm and stiff-nippled. But pain was pulsing in my thumb, leaving me in no doubt that I was in this position for one purpose – to suffer!
The acid-voiced woman Interrogator began. Yes, I'd named my friends, but now I had to denounce them, think of all manner of crimes they'd committed against the State – at least by careless word or negligent act. She started with my cousins – I knew they'd already got Carina, not sure about her sisters, but she'd obviously got a fat dossier on them like she had on me, I could only struggle through all my memories of holidays and outings with them, chatting, playing, planning our dream-futures – happy memories, now turned to horror as I was forced to twist our innocence into crimes.
The Torture was all too simple, all too effective. Scorpio had simply to jerk the Pulley up, let me dangle for a few seconds, drop me and jerk me up again, and again and again, till I was shrieking for him to stop, pain shooting from my thumb down my arm, through my torso and into my stretched leg.
And the list of girls I had to denounce was a long one, all my friends from Forest Pioneer days through to University, Mum's friends and Laura's too. She pressed me on some –Lucia, really my best friend over the years, we'd had our differences but always made them up, now they're building up the case against her ... I couldn't be sure whether she and the others they were interested in were already captured, or whether they were going to be, but knew all too well that they'd be made to listen to my recorded voice saying vile, utterly false, things about them.
At last there was a pause. No Confession this time, the Interrogator evidently needed time to check on what I'd been saying. I was released, fell on my knees, sucking my tortured thumb. A Cadet fitted the thumbscrew-shackle on my left thumb in readiness for the next stage. Scorpio had chosen the right one first as my stronger arm, I'll break sooner on the left. The Interrogator wasn't away long, I was hauled up again and shackled with my left arm and right leg stretched.
According to that malicious hag, some of what I'd said was untrue, contradictory, inconsistent with other information they had. More recordings were played to me, Julia was among them, her young voice shrill and hoarse, no doubt from prolonged Torture; but Lucia's wasn't, perhaps she's still free? Any way, I'd earned Punishment, and by God I got it.
To supplement what was already unbearable, the Torturers fitted crocodile clips to my nipples so Scorpio could inflict electric shocks at the same time as jerking and dropping me, the sharp movements these caused adding greatly to the torment focused so exquisitely in my right thumb. Even worse was the addition of the flamegun, played on my right foot while I was dangling on the Pulley, making me twist and kick helplessly with my stretched, shackled leg.
No question of resistance now, I could only struggle to work out what it was she wanted me to say, I'd say anything, however appalling, to get even a few moments' relief from this cocktail of cruelty. The men – Scorpio, the Torturers, the Cadets, even the Medical Inspector – were all too obviously enjoying the sight of my naked dance, rubbing their cocks delightedly, urging each other on in their cruelties.
I became increasingly confused, incoherent, my head was in a foggy maelstrom, I must in the end have lost consciousness, as I found myself sprawled half-on, half-off the platform being unshackled by a Cadet. They dragged me to the table to read, memorise and sign a further Confession of concealing information and attempting to impede the arrest of enemies of the State, then they flung me on the Bench for Scorpio and his men to have their share of enjoyment from my still pain-racked body.
When they'd satisfied themselves, they left me, still stretched out on the bench, with just a beer-swilling Cadet to guard me and slavegirl Piglet cleaning up with her knickers. I dozed, semiconscious, for some time before Zeta and his team returned. When my wrists had been released, I pulled my self to my feet, then fell forward on to my knees, and threw myself down into the "submission" posture – partly because I was too weak and shaken to stand, partly because I felt instinctively that was what he'd require.
"So, Eulalia, you've decided to co-operate?" "Yes Sir," I sighed, weakly. "You accept defeat, I've won, you've lost?" "Yes, Sir." "Good. A shame you didn't choose to make things easier for yourself, but it has been my pleasure, and my colleague Captain Scorpio's, to bring you to your senses. But you must stand up now, there is one more matter to be attended to." I struggled to my feet and stood at the ready, swaying unsteadily, looking with pathos and terror at his cold blue eyes. The office-slave brought a document, placed it on the table. "Read this," he commanded.
I turned, picked it up with my shaking, agonised hand, and read the opening words, "I, prisoner number 381152 Eulalia Merida confess that I am an enemy of the State...." I gasped in horror. I knew exactly what those simple words meant – if I sign it, I'm signing my own death-warrant!
"Oh, no, Sir, please, no...." The thought of the many, sadistically ingenious ways they have of torturing girls to death, I could not face it, I was pale, my legs shaking, I thought I would faint.
The Cadets grabbed me and hauled me across to the platform. Within seconds they had my arms jerked up behind my back and shackled to the Pulley, my ankles shackled again to the ring in the concrete. Zeta returned to the Control Room.
"Why will you not co-operate, you stupid little bitch?" "Sir, please ... I can't confess that, I'd be signing my own death-warrant!" "Precisely. And that is what you're going to do." With a touch of a button, he jerked the Pulley up, my arms and shoulders were instantly tortured by the strain on the muscles as my whole weight was hung on them. I howled for mercy, he responded by dropping and jerking me.
My mind was racing – please let me faint, please ... perhaps I'll die now? ...." but the pain was so intense my mind could not escape into oblivion. He ordered Piglet, "Bring the weights" In three journeys back and forth to the cupboard she brought out a series of weights in pairs. A Cadet released my ankles from the chain and fitted the lightest weight, 5 kilos, to each of them. Zeta repeated the Pulley Torture.
The pain was even worse, but it prompted a last flicker of defiance "Bastard!" I yelled. He laughed, 10 kilo weights were fitted. I remained silent, except for gasps, during the next infliction. A pause, neither he nor I said a word. 15 kilos. That was the end, as he dropped and jerked me up I shrieked, "Yessss! Yes, Sir, let me sign it, please!"
He let me drop. "What did you say?" "Sir, I'll sign it ... Sir, please, no more ...." "Cunt! I don't believe you, you're just playing for time." He hauled me up and repeated the drop and jerk, I was groaning, "No, no, Sir, no more..." Again he lowered me. "You've given me trouble, haven't you, sow?" "Yes Sir, I'm sorry Sir." "You deserve to be punished don't you, sow?" "Y-yes Sir, I d-deserve to be p-punished...." "Heat the Irons, Piglet!"
The weights were removed from my ankles, my legs stretched wide apart and shackled to the rings at the corners of the platform. A hood was plonked over my head and tied tight round my neck, I thought I was going to be strangled, but I was just able to keep breathing. He raised the Pulley so my arms were forced up again, I was hanging now, my feet clear of the floor, legs splayed. I felt male hands grasping my hips and legs, holding me,
"Aaaaaah!" My pussy-lips contracted in a sharp burst of pain as hot iron seared them. The metal slid inside me, skin and subcutaneous flesh hissing, my whole body thrust up to try to escape but of course in vain. I felt the burning intruder thrust up and down inside my squirming pelvis. After what seemed an eternity, it was pulled free, I remained there suspended, writhing, wailing in pain.
At last my ankles were released, the hood removed, my body dropped, my wrists unshackled. I fell to my knees, rubbing my burning genitals with my hands, but Zeta kicked me, grabbed me by my hair and dragged me to the table.
I read out the Confession in a broken, halting voice. Before I could sign, Zeta spoke, "I have to ask you this formally. Prisoner number 381152 Eulalia Merida, do you understand that the Confession you are about to sign will convict you as an enemy of the State, for whom the only penalty allowed under Military Law is Torture to Death?" "Yes, Sir, I understand that." "And that once you have signed it, you will have no right to revoke your Confession, nor any appeal?" "I understand, Sir." "Very well, then, sign at the bottom of the page."
One final time I scrawled a spidery tangle, then burst into tears. The office-slave quickly snatched the paper away. Piglet was pulling out the bench, but Zeta said, "No, this time she can be fucked on the floor, where she belongs – down, bitch!" I lay back then positioned myself in the bridge posture, soles and shoulders supporting me. He lowered his pants and straddled me. My cunt was still fiercely hot from the iron, he must have found that all the more arousing as he impaled me with his weapon, and rode me in triumph. It was a good, long swiving, incredibly I experienced orgasm after orgasm, I was yelping and gasping in a wild mixture of pain and ecstasy. As his semen finally flooded my tortured woman-parts, I sighed, "Thankyou Sir, thankyou for everything!"
Oh oh. Things are not looking good for Eulalia....
Tree
Tree