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The Interrogation
Marie staggered as the guards pushed her into the amphitheater, an old -
fashioned lecture hall at the School of Sciences, now taken over by the
occupation troops. She saw a tall, thin Captain, standing by the lectern and,
in the curved tiers of seats rising up around the little stage, perhaps 40 or 50
uniformed soldiers, including a few females.
"This prisoner," announced the captain, using a microphone on the lectern,
"is the daughter of an identified insurgent, a terrorist who has been resisting
our occupation. It may be that she can help us to find her father, or to
identify other terrorists." Turning toward the prisoner, the captain said,
"Marie, where can we find your father?"
The prisoner was clearly terrified. "I don't know."
"When did you last see your father?"
"Three months ago, when he said good-bye to me as I left for the
university."
"She was, she thought, safe abroad, but it was easy to pick her up and
remove her to a place under out control. Marie, when was the last time you
communicated with your father?"
"I spoke to him on the phone, six days ago."
"What did you speak about?"
"He wished me a happy birthday."
"Anything else?"
"He said Mother is safe, but he couldn't tell me where she is. He is proud to
be defending his country."
"She is telling the truth. We intercepted the call. Marie, tell us about your
father. What are his hobbies?"
"Hobbies? I don't know. Even when I was living at home, I didn't see
much of him."
"You see, even when a prisoner appears to be truthful and cooperative, they
may be holding back. We will, according to the manual on coercive
questioning, "soften her up" to encourage her cooperation. How shall we
begin?" A hand went up in a back row, a woman. "Yes, Private?"
"What if she is innocent and doesn't have any information of intelligence
value. Shouldn't she be released?"
"Private, releasing her would permit her to give intelligence about our
operations to the insurgents. As long as we have her, she is a hostage, and
that may discourage her father from attacking our forces."
"But, sir, if the insurgents learn that we have her, might it not motivate them
to fight harder? Won't they assume she is dishonored, as good as dead?"
"Private, you think too much. That is best left to those above our rank level.
We have about 60,000 in our prisons, and, to be realistic, perhaps no more
than one in five, even one in ten, is an actual enemy combatant, but we don't
know which one, so we assume they are all candidates for what the manual
describes as 'special attention'. You have read the manual, Private?"
"Yes, sir, of course, sir."
"What sort of special attention do we use, with what objectives?"
"Sir, the general objective is to secure their cooperation. Since prisoners
have been brainwashed to believe in their cause, indoctrinated with
erroneous ideas about national sovereignty, we must break down that
conditioning. So, the objective, if they are not cooperative, is to break down
their self-identity, their self-esteem, and ultimately, their belief system."
"Very good. You, sergeant, in the second row, what should we do first."
"First, sir, we stop calling her by her given name, as that just reinforces
her sense of self."
"Very good. What should we call her?"
"For a woman? How about 'slut', sir?"
"Yes. And the next step? You, corporal." The captain pointed at a man in
the front row.
"Humiliation, sir. Strip her naked, make her do humiliating things. Rather
than forcibly removing her clothes, it's better to make her do it herself, as an
example of her lack of control over herself."
"Very good, corporal. Please demonstrate."
The corporal, about 5' 8", perhaps 150 lb., got up and approached Maria,
who stood there in her casual, after-school clothes. "OK, slut, strip."
The prisoner stood trembling. "No, please. I can't tell you anything. Don't
make me undress in front of all these people." He slapped her face, hard.
She put her hand to her face and stood there, crying.
"I said, strip. Take off your clothes, all of them." She just stood there, in
despair. The corporal looked at the captain, who simply smiled and nodded
at him. "Slut, do you have a boy friend?" She shook her head, no. "Are
you a virgin?" She nodded, yes. "What's the matter, you prefer girls? Are
you a lesbian slut?"
"No. I like boys. I just don't have a boy friend."
The captain said, softly, "Corporal, she hasn't removed her clothes yet.
Does this line of questioning have a point?"
The corporal looked distressed. He drew his 9mm automatic pistol. "Slut,
Do you think any boy is going to be friendly if you have no nipples?" He
pressed the muzzle to the side of her breast.
"Go ahead, kill me," she replied.
He pressed the muzzle against the crotch of her faded jeans. "How would
you like to lose your virginity to a 9mm bullet? I said strip!" She just stood
there. He hit her with the pistol, just above her ear. She collapsed on the
floor, but in a few seconds she was on her knees, holding her head, which
was bleeding slightly.
"Would anyone else like to continue from here?" asked the captain. "You
may take your seat, corporal." The corporal holstered his sidearm and took
his seat. "Next?" A hand went up. "Ok, private, see if you can get her to
remove her clothes."
The private strode down to the stage. From the bulges in her shirt, it was
clear she was a woman, but her hair was cut in a buzz, and she wore no
makeup. The captain had seen the type before. She was a dyke. The private
went over to a cabinet and removed a bottle. "Slut, stand up, you miserable
excuse for a human being. Don't lie there like the pile of shit you are." The
prisoner struggled to her feet. "You are unclean. You stink. You have been
in those clothes since yesterday. Get out of those smelly clothes." The
prisoner did not respond. "Oh, I can't stand the smell." She opened the
bottle and held it under the prisoner's nose. The prisoner tried to pull away,
wrinkling her nose. It was turpentine. "Go on. Start with those filthy
jeans." Marie just cowered. Suddenly the dyke grabbed the waistband of
Marie's low-rider jeans and pulled, creating an opening big enough for her
to pour turpentine down the inside of the jeans, turning the front and the
crotch dark with liquid. The prisoner screamed and started pulling at her
clothing, trying to unfasten her jeans and get them off. She hopped and
howled that it was burning her. The jeans were soon down around her
ankles, and she had to stop hopping, as they restricted her motion, for she
could not get them off over her shoes. Her white panties were soaked,
turning translucent and revealing a triangle of dark pubic hair. As she
struggled to get her panties off, Maria fell over and lay on her back on the
floor, raising her pelvis, trying to remove her panties. As the panties got
down to the prisoner's knees, the dyke poured dome more liquid, right onto
the exposed labia minora.
The prisoner screamed and tried to roll over on her stomach. "Perhaps, slut,
you should try to dry off your miserable cunt. You could use your t-shirt."
The desperate female got up on hands and knees and pulled the T-shirt off
over her head. She flopped on her back and rubbed her vulva with the cloth,
but still the turpentine burned her mucus membranes. The dyke walked
over to the lecture demonstration table, which contained a sink for chemistry
experiments. She took the hose from a Bunsen burner and fitted it on the
water spout. "Best you get your shoes off and remove your panties, so you
can reach where it hurts. Marie frantically tore at her Nikes and finally was
shoeless, naked but for her white cotton bra. She sawed between her legs
with the wadded up shirt. "Come over here, slut, and you can wash it out."
The dyke handed her the hose, keeping it toward the audience, so Marie was
in full view, and turning on the water. "Go ahead, wash it out." Marie
directed the stream of water toward her inflamed vulva. "Here, put your leg
up here," said the dyke, sliding a chair in front of Marie, "and push the hose
right in." Marie stood on one leg, the other raised, and pushed the hose into
her virgin vagina. Water sprayed out, splashed on the floor, until, after
perhaps a minute, Marie pulled the hose out and dropped the end into the
sink. "Slut, aren't you ashamed of yourself, showing off your sex in front of
all these men?" Marie clamped her knees together and held her hands over
her pubic area.
"Well, they seen it all, you shameless slut. Take off your bra. Let's see if
you have tits." Marie just stood, her knees clamped together and both hands
over her privates. "Slut, there is more turpentine." The dyke gestured with
the bottle. Marie stepped back and raised her hands to unhook the bra.
When she had got it off over her arms, she stood there, holding it in front of
her genitals. Her breasts were firm and youthful, but full enough that, as the
traditional test for maturity has it, she could hold a twig in the crease under
her breasts. The dyke put a piece of chalk under each breast. "Give me that
and put your hands on your head." Marie hesitated, until the dyke pressed
the mouth of the bottle against her navel and began to tilt it. Marie pushed
the bottle away with her wadded up bra, and the dyke took it from her.
Slowly, the prisoners raised her arms and put her hands on her head. The
pieces of chalk fell to the floor. The dyke made the naked female straddle
the seat of the chair, facing the audience, and turned toward the captain.
"Very good, private." There was a smattering of applause, until a stern look
from the captain stopped it. Marie stood there, her hands on her head, her
legs spread, her tits and privates displayed. "Slut, have you anything more
to tell us?"
"No, sir. I don't know anything you want to know."
"How about the names of your father's friends?"
"I don't know. We never entertained at home."
"Well, perhaps you will remember. Has anyone a suggestion for how to
loosen her tongue?" No one seemed to want to follow the dyke's popular
act. "You, you, and you," said the captain, indicating two men and a
woman, "form a committee to decide what comes next. You can look
through the scientific apparatus for instruments to encourage cooperation.
Meanwhile, the slut will stand here and display herself like the wanton sex
pot she is."
The committee conferred and searched the cabinets. The female soldier
said, "Here is a simple way to encourage the prisoner." The captain nodded
to her to proceed. She took a balloon and a rubber band and attached the
balloon over the end of the hose. "Slut, turn your back on the audience and
press your tits against the demonstration table." When Marie hesitated, the
female held up some pliers and said, "If those nipples aren't against the
table, I'm going to twist them off." Marie bent and pressed her breasts
against the table. "Now, shove this up your ass." Marie grasped the offered
hose, but she couldn't seem to get the end in her anus, either reaching
around her backside or reaching down between her legs. Finally, the female
tormentor pushed the balloon-tipped hose through Marie's little shit hole and
slid it in several inches. "OK, slut, now hold it in there until I tell you
otherwise. It would help if you could remember names." Awkwardly, for
she was trying to keep her nipples on the table, Marie reached down between
her legs and grasped the hose. Slowly, water started to flow into the balloon.
The female told her to spread her legs, and she slipped the chair between
them, so the prisoner's buttocks were parted and her labia were visible from
behind, as well as the hose in her anus.
"Oh, oh, it hurts."
"Names, or hold it in."
"It's stretching me. I can't hold it."
"You'd better hope we don't have to do this again, and with another balloon
in your cunt."
"Oh, oh, it hurts. I can't think of anything to tell you. It hurts so much."
"Then shut up, slut, and take what's coming to you." In time, it was evident
that the expanding balloon needed more room. Marie's anus started to
dilate, and the balloon could be seen bulging around the hose, which Marie
tried to hold with her fist. "Don't you dare let go," reminded her tormentor.
The anus, visible to everyone, had expanded to about two inches in diameter.
Marie was making incoherent noises, grunts of pain. Taut rubber began to
emerge, expanding the anal opening to perhaps three inches, surely more
than it had ever expanded during defecation.
"Ahhhh!" screamed the prisoner, as the balloon burst forth, enveloping her
hand, and finally flopping on the seat of the chair, the size and shape of a
watermelon. The female soldier suddenly thrust her hand into the expanded
anal orifice and made a fist as the tortured muscles contracted around her
wrist.
"You can let go, now," she said, as she curled her arm upwards, lifting the
prisoner's feet off the floor the rectum bore most of her weight, the rest
being supported by mashed tits. Marie grabbed at the table, trying to lift her
chest and relieve the pressure on her breasts. She managed a sort of push up,
so she was held aloft by her own hands and the soldier's fist. Then the
soldier let her down and pulled her fist out, eliciting another scream form her
victim. "The slut's full of shit. I need to wash may hands after touching that
sack of filth."
The second committee member stepped up. "Sit on the table, slut. Now put
your feet on the table and spread your knees." Marie ended leaning back on
her arms, with her hands behind her and her feet on the table. Her entire
perineal area was exposed to view, from the gaping anus to the hood of her
clitoris. "Slut, either you name names, or you will lose your pubic hair."
The prisoner was not forthcoming. The interrogator sat on the chair, which
was in the puddle of douche water, and he had his head just inches from her
cunt. In one hand, he held some forceps, and in the other an electronic
soldering iron with a tiny tip.
Since his head blocked the view, several of the audience came up on stage to
watch. He grabbed a few curly pubic hairs with the forceps and pulled them
taut. Then he jabbed at the roots with the hot soldering iron. Marie
screamed, as he seared the hair follicles, and the hairs came loose.
Discarding the hairs, he took another tuft and burned their roots. Marie
responded with another scream and pleas for mercy, but none of the
interrogators were about to stop. It took perhaps twenty minutes to
completely remove the pubic hair, leaving the victim's mons and labia and
perineum bald and blistered from hundreds of tiny burns. Still, she was no
more cooperative, regarding useful information.
The third committee person, a young man who may have been no older than
Marie, took his place next to the prisoner. "Slut," he said, "waving the hot
iron, would you like this pushed up under the hood of your clitoris?"
"No! No! I'll do anything, but don't burn me there."
"Come here and suck my dick." The captain looked at him sternly. "It's all
part of the humiliation, the destruction of self-esteem, sir." The captain
nodded, and the soldier opened his fly.
Marie was off the table, but she hung back. "Are you ready to lose your
clit."
"No, no, please. It's just that I don't know how to suck a dick." The young
soldier stood sideways to the audience and made her kneel in front of him,
so everyone could see the action. His dick was hard my now, just looking at
the naked female so totally in his control. He instructed her in the art of
cocksucking, which she picked up quickly. The audience was quiet, intently
watching her fellate the young man, her cheeks moving in and out as she
tried to suck and lick him. He ejaculated into her mouth and made her
swallow it. Then he turned away, tucked his limp dick back in his pants, and
left her kneeling there, utterly humiliated.
"Slut," said the captain, "you haven't told us anything useful. We are
wasting time." He walked over and picked up the soldering iron.
"No, no, please, don't burn me, sir. I've nothing to tell you, but I'll do
anything, anything at all, if you will, please, not burn me."
"Are you prepared to give up your virginity?"
"Anything, anything, sir, as long as you don't burn my privates."
"Any volunteers?" asked the captain. A huge sergeant, about 6' 2" tall and
250 lbs, was selected. He undid his belt, slipped his pants down halfway to
his knees, and he lay on his back on the stage. Marie was instructed to suck
his dick until it stood tall, a process which took all of ten seconds. Then,
facing the sergeant, sideways to the audience, she tried to squat over the
erect penis. One of the women in the audience made a remark about how
big the dick was, and Marie seemed genuinely frightened, but the captain
held up the still hot iron and she tried harder, using her hand to steer the tip
toward the entrance to her virginal vagina. She moved it around a bit, until
things seemed as if they might line up, and then she bent her knees further
and sank down on it, taking about half of it into her before stopping.
"Go on, slut, take it all."
"I can't. It's too big!" the sergeant reached up with both hands and pressed
down on her shoulders. "No, no, it's too big." He pressed harder, and she
could no longer resist. She sat back on her heels, crying out as the monster
cock was buried in her cunt. "Oh, please, I'm sure you are tearing loose my
womb." Many of the hundreds of little burns were pressed against his pubic
hairs.
"You'll get used to it, slut." He grabbed her hips and pulled her toward his
face, then pushed her away, stirring her insides with his thick rod, stretching
her vagina, destroying any hymen she might have had left. Back and forth
he slid her distended labia across his pubic hairs, causing her to make almost
continuous cries of protest. Finally, he tired of that game. "Alright, slut, it's
in and out time." He bucked his hips, tossing her an inch or so in the air, and
she fell back hard, impaling herself on his rod. "You do it," he said as he
grabbed her breasts, or I'll pull your nips off." Marie soon learned to raise
and lower her body an inch or so, stroking the monster penis with her
vaginal walls as he lifted and pulled down on her breasts. The audience
started clapping in time, encouraging her to fuck him good. The sergeant
gave a grunt, bucked his hips, and ejaculated into her. Then he lay back,
relaxed. Marie sat on him, not knowing what to do.
"You may get up now, slut." Marie lifted herself from the slimy intruder
and stood straddling the sergeant, as semen dribbled down the insides of her
thighs and her labia gaped. "Stand just as you are. Now reach down and rub
your clitoris until you come."
"Sir, I can't"
"Do it!" She tried, sliding her fingertip up and down her well lubricated
groove, but she didn't seem to enjoy it. She tried teasing her tits with her
free hand, but that didn't help much. The audience was actually getting
bored, watching her rub herself with a pained expression on her face and no
sign of an orgasm. The captain seemed impatient, too, and he did not want
to lose face for ordering something she couldn't do. "Bring out the horse",
he said.
The horse was a wooden structure with an actual horse's saddle on it. "This
is often used," he said to the class, "to tear a new asshole for guys who need
it. I think we have an attachment for this slut. Slut, mount up."
Marie, completely without the will to resist, approached he horse, put a foot
in the stirrup, and threw her leg over the saddle. She had only ridden a few
times in her life, but she got her bare feet in the stirrups and sat erect. "May
I, sir?" said another male volunteer. The captain assented. The volunteer
torturer tied ropes tightly around the base of the prisoner's breasts, making
them bulge and blush. Then he put chemists hose clamps on each nipple and
screwed them down tightly, so they compressed the nipples as they would
have compressed a rubber tube. Marie was obviously uncomfortable, but
she didn't cry out. "I've seen this machine used before," said the volunteer.
"Shall I go ahead?" the captain assented. The volunteer selected a rubber
dildo, quite realistic, and affixed it in a socket just in front of Marie's still
wet cunt. "Sit on that, slut." With his assistance, she stood up in the stirrups
and then lowered herself onto the rubber penis, which was, to her relief,
smaller than the sergeant's. It slipped in easily, lubricated by the residual
seminal fluid. "Now, slut, we want to see you come, want to see how
thoroughly debauched you have become. We're even going to take pictures.
Here is the control box. This dial controls the speed. This dial controls the
stroke. This dial controls the rotation. It can do orbits around your cervix,
if you use that dial. Start off gently, slut, and learn what you like. You are
going to stay on this horse until you come, and you don't want to take too
long, or your tits will never look the same."
Marie experimented with the controls, and the horse made groaning noises,
like a washing machine, as it fucker her. The audience was rapt, watching
her as the fucking continued, her facial expressions, the perspiration, the
blush on her chest, in addition to her pink tits, and the moisture which
seemed to be wetting the saddle. The speed increased. The stroke
increased, and from time to time the rubber penis wobbled like a charmed
cobra. The slut furrowed her brow and concentrated on adjusting the
machine for best effect. Then she arched her back and cried out and turned
the fucker off, slumping in the saddle as if asleep. The audience clapped.
"Do you think this slut is truly broken, ready to do our bidding?" asked the
captain. There were murmurs, but no obvious consensus. "Let us put her to
the test. Slut, are you ready for your next task?"
"Sir, I have never experienced such a --- intense--- response to anything.
Please, give me a moment to recover. Then I'll do whatever I an ordered to
do."
"Very well, slut. And if you perform your tasks well, perhaps we'll let you
ride the horse again some time." The captain was smiling as he said that.
"Here, let me attend to your breasts." Marie dismounted and walked over to
him, apparently no longer embarrassed by her nudity, perhaps because,
having displayed herself in the paroxysm of sexual passion, there was
nothing left that could shame her. The captain removed the nipple clamps --
- she winced at the surge of pain as feeling was restored --- and he unbound
her breasts, so they could resume their normal appearance. "Class, this will
be the test, the proof of the effectiveness of our 'special attention,' the test of
the slut's obedience. Bring out the next prisoner." Two men wheeled in a
Gurney, upon which lay a naked young woman, as if being taken to the
operating room. Straps held her arms and waist, so she could not sit up or
fall off. At the front of the stage, the attendants locked the wheels. It was
clear to all that she had been whipped, perhaps caned, over most of her legs
and body, especially her breasts, for there were red welts and bruises from
her shoulders to her ankles. They lifted the prisoner's legs, strapping her
knees down, either side of her shoulders. Her body was curled, her bottom
upturned. The captain handed Marie the forceps and soldering iron.
"Remove the prisoner's pubic hair."
Marie approached the upturned cunt, the hair a bit more sparse than Marie's
had been, and the victim raised her head to see what was coming. Marie
froze. "My God!" she cried, "she is my sister! I love her."
"Slut, obey. Prisoners are not allowed to love. Remove the prisoner's pubic
hair."
For the next fifteen or twenty minutes, the cries of pain filled the theater,
until the new prisoner was totally denuded of pubic hair. Marie stepped
back and put down her torturer's tools. She was decidedly somber. "Sir, I
have obeyed your order."
The captain examined her work, sliding his fingertip along the hairless labia
majora and palpating the clitoris. "That's good work, slut." He picked up
the hose, with a now deflated balloon on the end, and said, "Now, slut, insert
this in your sister's anus."
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