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."