BDSM Library - The Interrogation

The Interrogation

Provided By: BDSM Library
www.bdsmlibrary.com



Synopsis: A female Israeli interrogates a Lebanese boy. She's a professional torturer who uses a mix of sex and violence to get results. This story is based on current events in the middle east; I've tried to make it as authentic as I can, basing it in up to the minute events. More parts may follow depending on feedback, and how the current conflict pans out.
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The Interrogation.

 

"That's him. Uthmaan Sedek."

Hedya Zwieg sighed inwardly as the Ségen mishne pointed at the man on the monitor. Of course it was him, he was the only one in the room. Hedya was a woman who disliked irrelevancies, and the five minutes she had spent with the young officer had been more than enough to convince her that he was the type of man who would chatter on endlessly when there was simply no need.

Her face showed no sign whatsoever of her irritation. Hedya's face very rarely showed any sign of anything that she didn't want to show. She tuned the Ségen mishne's voice out as he began to ramble on about how the man had been captured; nothing she didn't already know, and he was only talking to try and show her how brave and important he was. It was only natural, since Ségen mishne was the lowest officer rank in the Army. She already knew that he was attracted to her - no surprise there, most every man she met was - and that if he talked long enough, he might actually convince himself that she would agree to spend some time with him later on.

She almost smiled at that thought. If he irritated her enough, she might just accept the invitation when it came. Let him experience just what an evening in her company would lead to.

Although the image on the monitor was black and white and of poor quality, she could see that the man was an Arab, perhaps in his late teens. He'd been picked up on a sweep through Kafr Hamām, a town just a few kilometres over the border. Most of the residents had already left during the halt to air strikes her government had held. Anybody still there deserved a second look, and the man had been acting suspiciously according to the platoon that captured him.

Of course, he probably wasn't a member of Hezbollah. Like most terrorist groups the organisation was small, especially the military wing, and given the current conflict 'looking suspicious' was synonymous with 'looking Arab' to the Israeli army. But Hezbollah enjoyed considerable support from the average Lebanese citizen; the kid likely knew something useful.

Not that it mattered to Hedya one way or the other, of course.

She turned to the officer, hardly any older than her victim. "That will be all," she announced, cutting him off in mid word. He looked hurt but nodded and left.

She removed her long coat, dropping it over a chair, then picked up her shoulder bag. One of the two men she had brought with her followed her down the corridor and took up position outside the cell; the other would watch the monitor, monitoring the interview. She'd trained the men herself, years ago. Chaim had been quite a struggle, but she'd broken him completely within a month; both men literally worshipped her now, and could be trusted to keep people out of the room no matter what happened and to keep their mouths shut afterwards. She proceeded inside, dropping the bag just inside the door.

The kid had already been stripped and his hands tied behind his back, as she had instructed. He was sitting on a simple wooden chair behind a large sturdy table. He looked up as she entered, and a sneering smile crept across his face. She'd seen the exact same reaction dozens of times before. He'd spent last night worrying about what was coming, and now his single thought was... it's only a woman. The Lebanese weren't amongst the worst when it came to this attitude, and she wondered if he had spent time in Syria or Iran. If so, his chances of being somebody important went up considerably.

His eyes tracked down across her body hungrily. It was a simple fact of Hedya's working life that for all their religion had to say about sex, the average Muslim was far and away more obsessed with it than the westerners they looked down on so. It was a double standard she used to maximum effect.

Her attire was designed to encourage that interest. Hedya was clad in her normal interrogation outfit; knee high red leather boots, a G-string and bra in matching material. To a man who had probably never seen a naked woman outside of ragged pictures swapped with his most trusted friends, the effect was electric. His jaw literally dropped open, his eyes bulging in their sockets.

She waited a long moment, letting him enjoy the view. Then she crossed over and walked around the table. She straddled his lap, leaning in close so that they were nose to nose. Her considerable breasts pressed up against his chest; she could feel an erection rapidly growing, pressing against her stomach, feel his body trembling under her. She held her mouth close, her eyes locked on his. Hedya had a gaze that could practically melt steel when she wanted it to. She trailed a hand down his side, feeling his muscles shuddering at her touch.

Uthmaan struggled to keep control of himself. His skin was cold after a night without heating, naked in the freezing concrete cell; the Israeli woman felt like her body was molten lava and she was drawing a line of liquid fire across his skin. He shuddered as she slid her hand between them and cupped his balls gently, sliding her fingers around the top of the scrotum to imprison the testicles in her grasp. Oh Allah, it was true what they said about the Jews, their women were all sluts, whores to be despised. And yet, he could not stop his reaction. He groaned and his eyelids flickered; his cock was harder than it had ever been.

She paused, her lips less than a centimetre from his, then smiled and moved to his ear. "Where are the rockets?" She whispered sensuously, in perfect Arabic.

"Wh... what?" Her use of a civilised language, and so perfectly at that, startled him. He tried to pull back, but the chair back didn't give him room.

"The rockets. I want you to tell me where they are. Can you do that for me? I'd be... very grateful..." Hedya kept her voice low and breathy, a promise as much as a question.

She felt his body tense. "I know nothing," he muttered.

"That's a shame," she murmured. And then she squeezed.

He yelled in pain and bucked in the chair, trying to throw her free, but it was useless. He was a half starved kid, barely five six in his bare feet. She was eight inches taller and a good thirty pounds heavier. She squeezed harder and he screeched, this time in fear as much as pain as he realised that he wasn't going to be able to get away. She kept her thumb and forefinger circled at the base of his scrotum, so there was no way his balls could retreat into his body as she squeezed them between the rest of her fingers and the palm of her hand. She built the pressure, squeezing harder and harder. He wailed like a strangled cat, thrashing under her, but there was no way he was getting free.

"It hurts so bad, doesn't it?" She whispered into his ear. She could feel the familiar tingle of excitement in her stomach, spreading down towards her pussy. The thrill that she felt only from hurting a man. "I can barely imagine what it must be like. You must feel like you're dying, like I'm just turning your balls into mush. And if this goes on long enough, you'll be right."

He tried to throw himself sideways and she looped her other arm through the back of the chair and took a good handful of hair so that she could brace herself against the movement. She squeezed at a constant pressure, not pulling or twisting at all, just applying force. Unending, excruciating force.

"It must be almost unbearable," she said in the same breathy whisper she had used so far. "But of course, you have to bear it. I won't allow you a choice. What can't be cured must be endured, I always say. And there's no way you can get out of this, nothing you can do about it. Nothing except tell me what I want to know."

"Please..." Uthmaan begged, genuinely terrified now. How long will this go on? Oh please Allah, not long! "Please don't... I know nothing... I'm innocent ..."

"Uthmaan, darling, that won't help at all," she said softly. She squeezed as hard as she could now, and he threw his head to the side despite her grip and screamed, screamed as if he was never going to stop. His face was red, his entire body covered in sweat. When he ran out of breath he drew in a ragged lungful of air and just started in on the screaming once more.

She kept it up until he was practically limp in the chair, his screams diminished to low moans. Then she released her grip on him and sat back, smiling brightly. His eyes were unfocused, glazed over. She leaned back and slapped him across the face, as hard as she could. His head rolled comically and his gaze snapped back into focus.

"Awake now?" She asked pleasantly. He drew a breath.

"Let me go, please," he said in a ragged voice. "I have done nothing, I know nothing."

"Oh darling, haven't you understood this yet? The only way you are going to get out of this room alive is to tell me where the rockets are. That's it. Anything else is going to result in your death. I'm perfectly prepared to believe that you are completely innocent, you don't have to work to convince me of that. But if you are... well, that's just too bad for you. If you are innocent I am going to hurt you... and hurt you... until there's nothing of you left to hurt.

"For starters, I'm going to break out my strap-on. You know what that is?"

He shook his head, too frightened to speak.

"Oh darling, I can't wait to show it to you. I've ripped many an arsehole open with mine." She stood and stretched sinuously, feeling his eyes crawling all over her body despite the pain he was obviously in.

Sex and fear was an incredibly effective combination, especially in the middle east. The Americans had discovered it almost by chance at Abu Ghraib; the men abused by women tended to crack far more easily than those abused by a man. It was inherent to the Arab psyche; there was a culture of machismo across the Arab world and even the most modern and civilised of Arab nations tended to regard women as second class citizens. The open female sexuality of western-style nations was something shameful and sinful to many... and the average Hezbollah member had a rather more fifteenth century outlook on things. To be confronted by a woman who so completely epitomised their stereotypes, and then to be so completely dominated and humiliated by her, was a shattering experience for prisoners like this.

"So do you want to tell me where the rockets are yet?"

"I... I honestly don't know," he said quietly.

Hedya went to her bag, hooking her fingers into the G-string and yanking it down as she went. She could practically feel his eyes on her ass as she bent down and rummaged through the bag. She pulled the harness out and stepped into it, pulling it up securely around her waist. She had had it custom made, and it fitted her perfectly. The dildo was shiny red, a colossal fourteen inches long. It was narrow and pointed at the head for ease of penetration, but the shaft rapidly widened to two and a half inches in diameter. The entire shaft was covered in quarter inch rubber studs to give it that extra added something. Best of all, the base was not just a blunt circle of plastic; it was moulded to fit her pussy perfectly, a small projection nestling against her clit.

As soon as he saw it his eyes widened. This was surely a joke, an abomination like that could not exist! Allah would not allow such things! He felt the walls closing in on him. He had to get out, had to escape...

She had seen that expression a dozen times before, she knew what he was going to do probably before he even realised it.

He bolted from the chair and ran for the door.

Hedya had been taught Krav Maga by some of the best instructors the Israeli army had to offer. She had always been particularly good in the Haganah variant, which specialised in allowing someone at a disadvantage to overpower a larger attacking adversary. She had repeatedly proven herself capable of defeating opponents who were considerably larger and stronger than she was; against this weakling, weakened by a cold night on a concrete floor with no sleep, she knew she wouldn't even break a sweat.

Her long leg lashed out with blinding speed, the steel-capped boot landing squarely on the balls of the terrified youngster. He crumpled instantly to the floor, crying out as his already tortured balls were subjected to more abuse. Hedya stepped back and drove her boot into his solar plexus with perfect accuracy. The kid groaned and tried to stagger to his feet. She let him up to his knees and then launched a second kick that sent him sprawling again.

She took hold of the thick coarse rope which was tied around his wrists and jerked his arms up and away from his body, putting a savage strain on his shoulders. He cried out in pain as she wrenched at his arms again and again, twisting them up past ninety degrees, tearing his shoulder muscles badly and threatening to dislocate his shoulders. When she was satisfied at the damage she had inflicted she untied his hands and let them flop to the floor. Both arms twitched spastically, and he moaned in pain.

Hedya walked around the groaning youth slowly, drinking in the noises he was making. Casually she lifted a boot and stamped the heel down as hard as she could on his outstretched hand, smiling in satisfaction as she felt the bones crunch beneath her foot.

She heard him begin sobbing as she dragged him back over to the table and hauled him up, tossing him over the wooden surface chest down. She grabbed a tube of lubricant from the bag and squirted some over the slick red surface of the hard rubber, making sure not to put too much on. No need to make this easy on the boy, after all.

Uthmaan's sobs turned to shrieks as she placed the tip of the strap-on against his anus, but there was really nothing he could do - he was still too winded from her blows to resist effectively, and she held him down effortlessly.

Hedya was not one to take things slow and easy. She eased the narrow tip of the phallus into the ring of muscle, took a deep breath, leaned forward and took a good solid grip on his shoulders, then lunged forward as fast and hard as she could.

The ring of muscle resisted for an instant, the reddish-brown colour turning white as it stretched to breaking point. Then it split as her full weight and strength came to bear, and the terrible, magnificent dildo slid into him in one smooth movement.

Pain or not he managed to fill his lungs and scream once again. Hedya smiled in rapturous joy at the noise - the little bastard sounded as though the very torments of hell had descended upon him. She slammed the strap-on home right to the root, watching the split in his sphincter muscle widen and squirt a trickle of blood onto the intruder, red upon delicious red. The base end was doing its work as well as ever, and she could feel the excitement building within her.

Without pause she pulled back until the tip was just barely inside him. He drew a choked breath as he felt the huge obscenity within him withdrawing, then screamed again as she rammed forwards once more, right to the hilt. Hedya moaned right along with him, a sound of rapidly increasing ecstasy.

"Mercy!" He gasped between sobs. "Mercy!"

She actually laughed out loud at that. "Oh darling, compared to what I am capable of, this is mercy!" She rammed home again to emphasise the point. "How does it feel, Uthmaan? To be so helpless, lying there like a child while a woman rapes your ass? Do you like it?" She punctuated her words with sharp, hard thrusts, every one sinking right to the root. She had once had a doctor autopsy one of her victims after she was finished with him. The man had shown her what his bowel looked like when the strap-on was through with it. It wasn't a pretty sight.

"Allah forgive me..." the kid muttered. "Allah forgive me..."

"Oh no, Allah isn't going to help you now," she said, letting laughter enter her voice again. "You're not married, boy! According to your Qu'ran you're committing adultery right now. And we all know how forgiving Allah is about that, don't we? What is the punishment?"

He fell silent, weeping to himself. Hedya smiled; actually the Qu'ran was rather forgiving, of most things. But the fanatics who her people dealt with always seemed to miss that part of the message.

She kept pounding away at him for perhaps ten minutes - it wouldn't do to spend too much time on any one activity, it let them get used to it too much, begin to realise that they were withstanding it, and might therefore be able to withstand more. The pleasure vibrating through her body grew and grew; there were few things she liked more than buggering a man into submission, there was just something about raping them that was so visceral. She finally came in a crashing orgasm, throwing her head back and screaming her bliss to the world as the convulsions crashed through her. It seemed to go on forever, as it always did, wave after wave of pleasure that threatened to sweep her away.

When she finally withdrew, his sphincter gaped wide open. Then entire ring of muscle was deep red, shading towards purple at the edge. It had split in two places, and blood was still trickling down his thighs. She could see deep into his bowels; it looked awfully sore in there.

She tossed his limp body back onto the chair and straddled him again, this time with her cock pressed up against his stomach, lubricant and blood and shit smearing across his abdomen. She smiled at the look on his face. "Oh darling, you should see yourself! You look positively wonderful."

He was pretty zoned out. She slapped his face again, putting all of her considerable strength into it. It took two more blows before he began to refocus. But what the hell, she was enjoying the feel of his skin against her hand! She gave him a dozen more slaps, then slammed the palm of her hand squarely into his nose for good measure. It crunched satisfactorily and blood trickled down into his mouth.

"Are you ready to answer my question yet?" She asked pleasantly.

"I... I don't know anything..." he whispered.

She nodded. "Never mind, we just carry on until you're dead then. But cheer up, at least it's going to take quite a while!"

She grabbed a double handful of hair and stood in one swift movement, hurling him to the floor. He seemed to be recovering a bit, so she stepped in and kicked him in the ribs a couple of times, the steel toecaps on her boots thudding most satisfactorily into his side. She launched one last particularly brutal kick, and felt the familiar yielding crack of a rib popping.

Moving down, she launched another barrage of kicks into his thigh muscles. She targeted the quadriceps muscles; hit with sufficient force the muscle could be crushed against the bone, tearing it and causing considerable pain and loss of mobility. Hedya wanted him nice and subdued for her next little trick.

She stripped the strap-on off and tossed it on the table, then went over to her bag and retrieved the next toy. She kicked the boy over onto his back. He groaned and flopped around a bit, but he wasn't going to be able to do a lot more for a while.

"Now here's what's going to happen next, darling. You're going to put your tongue out and lick my asshole. Understand?"

"No," he cried in fear. "No, I won't do that! Please, you can't make me do that!"

"Oh, I don't really think you want to be telling me what I can and can't do to you, darling. Not a boy in your position." She held the toy up. A blocky green plastic case with a slender 24 inch rod sticking out from it. "Know what this is?" She could see from his eyes that he did not. "It's a cattle prod. A Hot Shot HS36 cattle prod, to be precise. Delivers nine thousand volts. Here's what it feels like."

She touched it to his chest. The effects were impressive, as usual; his entire body arced upwards, utterly rigid. He didn't say anything - he didn't have enough control of his muscles to even scream, let alone speak.

She switched it off. He flopped to the floor like a dead fish, struggling to draw breath. "You know," she said conversationally as she waited for him to recover, "my name is Hedya. It means "echo of God", or really "voice of God". And that's how we're going to be, you and I. When I speak to you, when I tell you to do something, you are going to react as if I spoke with the voice of God. And if you resist, if you hesitate even a little, then I will put this thing on your balls. Now I am going to squat down over your face and you are going to lick my asshole out. Understood?"

He stared at her, his eyes like saucers. "I... I understand. I will do what you say."

"Excellent honey, I know you will," she said with a smile. She waited until the look of relief began to appear in his eyes. "But you did hesitate a bit there, so..." she leaned down quickly and touched the prod to his balls. He went rigid as before, completely unable to protect himself or even flinch away as she poured the voltage through him.

So cruel, she thought to herself. There was no reproach in the thought; she truly lived for moments like these. She shocked him again and again, watching the hairs on his scrotum singe and the wrinkled skin begin to burn where the metal prongs touched it. After perhaps ten good long jolts she stepped back, dangling the prod carelessly from her hand while she waited for him to recover. It took much longer this time.

"Now Uthmaan, let's try this again. I am going to squat down over your face and you are going to lick my asshole out. Do you understand?"

"Yes!" He almost screamed it. "Oh Allah yes, please, I'll do as you ask just don't hurt me again!"

"Excellent!" She truly meant it - it was the first time since she walked in the door that he had voluntarily done as she asked under threat of pain rather than being actively forced into it. Somewhere deep inside of him, a little voice had started saying the old familiar mantra. You can't stop her. She's insane, and she can do what she wants with you in here. Do what she asks and the pain will stop. If he did know anything useful, probably he was telling himself to save his strength for the real battle, to keep his information secret. It was a common mistake; once a prisoner began to agree to anything to avoid pain, he'd set a precedent that would make it easier and easier to surrender to her.

And that was what she wanted. What she needed. Absolute, total surrender.

She squatted down over his face, prod at the ready. She couldn't actually use it whilst she was in contact with him, but even if he knew that he was most likely too stressed to realise it now.

She felt his tongue lap against her sphincter muscle, tentatively at first. "Faster!" She snapped. "Push it in there, much harder than that!"

He complied immediately, as she expected. He wouldn't last much longer...

Hedya groaned with pleasure. If sodomizing a man was her greatest thrill, then having one lick her out like this ran it a close second. She ground her buttocks into his face, working to get his tongue deeper into her. He seemed to understand what she wanted, and slid his tongue through the tightly clenched ring of muscle. She heard him moan with her, and saw that his cock was beginning to stir.

Well, well, she thought. Given her frequent use of sexual-based tortures it wasn't actually that unusual for a man to become aroused during an interrogation, though they were usually horribly ashamed of themselves for it. When it happened, it was an excellent weapon in her arsenal.

Uthmaan was sickened by his growing erection. Surely not, he thought to himself. The woman was insane, she represented everything he loathed and detested... but there was no denying the raw sexuality she exuded. The women in Lebanon ranged from those who embraced western-style immorality through to Muslim women properly clad in the hijab. But his father had been utterly contemptuous of anything but the most strict interpretation of Islam, and had made every effort to make sure than his son hadn't even seen a woman without proper dress as he grew up. And in looks and dress, this Hedya was nothing more or less than the archetypal western-style slut, a prostitute who sold herself for nothing. Such women were to be avoided.

And yet, although he would never admit it, the western-style women simultaneously repelled and fascinated him. Hedya's open sexuality was having it's effect on him, whether he liked it or not. As he forced his tongue deeper into her ass he could taste the bitter sting of her musk, incredibly strong even though she was thankfully clean down there. As he worked she directed him, always urging him to go deeper, faster. And then, the most incredible thing happened. He felt the warmth of her fingers around his cock.

Hedya curled her hand around his cock, amused at the rather pathetic size of it. She had considerable experience in masturbation, of both sexes. She manipulated him expertly, bringing him rapidly to full stretch. She worked it faster and faster, trying to gauge his excitement so that it built with her own.

"Come for me honey, there's a good boy. Come for Hedya." She judged it just perfectly; as her second orgasm crashed through her body Uthmaan's cock jerked in her hand, pumping a thick wad of semen into the air which splashed onto his stomach.

She sat back, smiling as she ran her fingers through the sticky mess. She locked her eyes on his as she brought her fingers to his lips, the cattle prod in her other hand conveying a clear if unspoken command.

He didn't dare hesitate. He flicked his tongue over her fingers, licking up his own cum. He gagged as he swallowed it down, but managed to hold his stomach as she scooped up a second load and fed it to him.

Uthmaan grimaced as the taste of his own cum filled his mouth. The slimy stuff was disgusting, and he struggled to hold his stomach as he swallowed it. When the devil-woman had fed him every last bit she resumed her position above his face and he winced, sure that she would make him lick her anus again - and to his shame, he was already stiffening again at the thought.

But this time she took up a slightly different position, her cunt directly above his face. She angled her knees apart and a jet of urine splashed into his face. Uthmaan was so surprised that he didn't even flinch as the stream of hot piss squirted directly into his mouth, replacing the salty taste of his cum with an overwhelmingly bitter flavour.

Hedya angled her body slightly, moving her hips to wash the stream across his face and hair. He choked and gagged as he involuntarily swallowed some of the amber liquid, and she allowed herself a smile as she finished emptying her bladder over her helpless victim.

"There there, all done," she crooned. "Now be a good boy and lick me clean."

He hesitated, but obediently lapped at her cunt. By now he was beginning to accept that there was nothing this woman could not do to him. He was truly at her mercy - though mercy was something she lacked entirely.

Hedya let him lap away for a couple of minutes. Clearly he had no great skills in this area, but the sense of exerting power got her off far more than anything a man could actually do to her, and she ground her pussy into his face as she urged him on, much as she had done when he rimmed her anus.

After a few minutes she stood abruptly. "That wasn't bad at all, Uthmaan," she said pleasantly. "But of course, you did hesitate again." She jabbed the cattle prod into his balls once more, squatting beside him as his body arched in agony once more. She gave him a five second burst in the balls, then thoughtfully applied the prod to each nipple in turn. She had found that men made a distinctly different sound according to which part of their body you shocked. Some day she should really compile the recordings of her interviews and see if there was some sort of pattern. Perhaps she could write a paper on it, she mused.

She dragged Uthmaan over to the table and hauled him up onto the chair. She checked him over quickly; he was slumped, gazing into space while his body shivered uncontrollably. His bruises were beginning to show, especially his scrotum and face, and his skin was burned at several points from the cattle prod. With his head and shoulders drenched in fresh urine, he was quite a sight.

He was right at the turning point, she thought. It was a critical moment; on the one had, she had battered through his macho attitude quite effectively by now, revealing the frightened and insecure youth beneath. But he had not yet given her the information he knew she wanted. If this went on too long without him fully cracking, there was a risk of positive reinforcement; the longer he went without cracking, the more the shock value of the interrogation would wear off and the more how would begin to realise that he really could withstand the pain.

She crossed to the bag and returned with a pair of pliers and a pair of secateurs. She sat on the table facing him, her legs spread wide as she dropped the tools beside her. She casually unhooked her bra and tossed it aside, then leaned forward and punched him on the nose with all her strength. His head snapped backwards and she felt his nose crunch again as blood practically sprayed from it - broken for sure this time, she thought. The chair rocked back, and she put one boot on the edge of the seat to stop it from falling over.

His eyes began to refocus, locked onto her exposed breasts - now flecked with his own blood.

"Uthmaan, I'm getting a little bored with this. So here's what's going to happen next." She picked up the pliers and held them out for him to see. "I am going to ask you four times where the rockets are. After the first time, if I don't get an answer, I'm going to rip all of your fingernails off with this." She picked up the secateurs. "After the second, I'm going to cut your fingers off. The third time, I will castrate you. After that, I'm going to open you up and start cutting things out. And believe me when I tell you Uthmaan, I can keep you alive for hours while I do that. I've had plenty of practice."

She took his broken hand, giving it a friendly squeeze. He moaned and tried to pull it away as the broken bones ground together, but his shoulders were far too damaged to put up more than a token resistance. She carefully locked the pliers onto his thumbnail, making sure to get a really good grip.

"Where are the rockets, Uthmaan?"

"I..." his voice trailed off as his eyes began to become glazed again. Hedya jerked as hard as she could; the thumbnail tore loose in one single motion. Uthmaan screamed, snapped back to reality by the shocking pain in his hand. Blood welled up from the tattered red nail bed. Hedya took a grip on the next finger, fastened the pliers to the nail, and ripped it off in a practised movement.

"No, please!" He screamed. "I'll tell you! Please, don't!"

"Hush now, honey," she said as she tore the third nail free. She dropped it on the desk alongside the others. "I told you I'd take all ten if you didn't answer. Would you make me a liar? You'll get another chance to talk when I'm finished."

She worked her way quickly and methodically through her task, ignoring his screams. Less than two minutes later she had a bloody pile of ten fingernails on the desk beside her. "There we go," she crooned, "all done."

She dropped the pliers and picked up the secateurs. Uthmaan's eyes were so wide she thought they might actually pop out of his head.

"Look honey, so far nothing I've done is permanent. Talk to me, and I'll have them look after your hand. In a few days you'll be out of here. We're not going to move on the rockets, we just want to watch them, see who goes there. That's all." It was a transparent lie, but in his state he wouldn't be thinking too clearly. "Nobody will ever know you helped us. You'll have plenty of marks to show your Hezbollah friends, you can boast about how you didn't tell the infidel Israelis a thing. In a couple of months you'll be back to normal. Hell, you'll be a hero!

"But from here on in it starts to get nasty. The things I'm going to start doing to you next are going to be irreversible. Things that will still be crippling you when you're fifty. So, Uthmaan, where are the rockets?"

"Baalbek! They're in Baalbek!" He practically screamed. "There's a base there, lots of fighters, lots of rockets there!" He described the location exactly, practically frantic to talk now.

She dropped the secateurs and slid off the desk, straddling his lap as he began to sob uncontrollably. She cradled his head, pulling his face down to her breasts. "There, there," she murmured. Uthmaan's mouth wrapped around a nipple, almost unconsciously. "There, there, mommy will make it all better. Mommy will make it better, then we'll talk some more. You can tell me everything now, it's all right."

She looked at the camera in the corner, nodded. Chaim would already be reporting the location; Baalbek was deep inside Lebanon, she imagined they would assemble a helicopter assault force to take it tonight.

Which meant prisoners. She would have a busy day tomorrow.

aractersWithSpaces>24826 10.2625

CHAPTER 2

 

"That's him?" Hedya asked, tossing a photograph on the table. Once the boy had surrendered the name, it had only taken twenty minutes to get the image emailed over from Tel Aviv. She put a friendly arm around Uthmaan's shoulder, reached over to give his cock a stroke. She could feel the boy shiver beneath her; he'd been hard for forty minutes now, she'd brought him to the edge of cuming and then kept him there... kept him there... never allowing him to touch himself or flinch away from her own touch. The poor boy can barely think straight, she thought with amusement. His face was red with frustration, his body coated with a sheen of sweat. She couldn't wait to get that lovely cock of his into a birdcage, see it straining against the steel as she teased him.

Uthmaan used bloody fingers to turn the photo around and stared at the face. "That's him. Mahmoud."

Hedya smiled. "And you're absolutely certain about the rest? That he was trained in Iran? That he came through Syria? That he was part of the team who crossed the border?"

Uthmaan nodded reluctantly. "He was always bragging about it."

"That's good," she said. She began to masturbate him again, slowly at first. "You've done a good thing here Uthmaan." His head slumped, an utterly wretched expression on his face. "You might have saved a lot of lives with this information."

"He was my friend," he said dejectedly.

"He's not your friend any more," she said, speeding up the pace of her strokes. He was so close... "Nobody is. I'm all you have now Uthmaan, but that's okay. I'm all you need." He groaned; when his ballsac tightened it hurt so much he could barely stand it, but she was relentless.

Hedya could feel his cock hardening as his climax came closer and closer. "There's only one thing you need to think about right now, and that's what a lovely spunk you're about to have for me. I've teased you enough, now it's reward time. I want you to cum." Her voice became urgent, demanding. "Cum for me boy," she whispered into his ear. "Cum right now."

Her words drove him over the edge. His body jerked, and a thin stream of spunk jetted from his cock. She caught it with her free hand, continuing to pump his cock as another jet spurted, and another. He fell back into the chair, exhausted.

Hedya held her hand up and, as he watched in sick fascination, she slowly began to lick it clean. He stared at her, eyes like saucers. "Hmmm," she said with relish. "Your cum tastes nice. Much better than David's. You must taste it one day. One day very soon."

He tried to put that particular thought aside. "What will you do?" He managed to ask.

"To Mahmoud? Oh, not much. If he really trained in Iran, it'll make a nice story for the news. That means we'll have to go very easy on him - nothing destroys your credibility like having a prisoner's face messed up when he's confessing on TV, Hussein learned that one the hard way! No, we'll go very easy on him. Nothing too debilitating, nothing that shows. Takes longer, but give it a few days and he'll be all over Fox news, you'll see.

She licked up the last of the spunk and dried her hand on a rag before gathering up the pile of papers on the desk. "Come on, let's get you cleaned up."

He groaned as she pulled him up out of the chain, a last dribble of cum dripping from the end of his cock. Hedya walked him out of the cell, supporting him as he stumbled along next to her; Chaim was waiting with her coat and she covered herself up before making her way down the corridor to the shower block, guiding the boy as Chaim followed. Once inside she handed him the coat again and unzipped the leather boots. "Out," she said. "Nobody enters." Chaim nodded and left.

Uthmaan waited, trembling, his eyes locked to her body as she stripped. She returned his stare, examining his body critically.

He was a mass of bruises; his ribs and thighs covered in big dark splotches from her boots, his entire scrotum practically purple, his nose crooked, his hands caked in dried blood from where she had torn out his nails. She turned on a couple of shower heads and adjusted the temperature before ushering the boy under their spray. He was hesitant at first but gradually began to wash himself. As he did his shivers turned into sobs; not the hysterical wailing of the cell but a quieter, deeper sound of complete anguish.

It was a common reaction; when you abused someone physically and emotionally, broke what was probably their most fundamental loyalty, this kind of abject misery often followed. Hedya hugged him to her, holding his eyes with her own. On impulse she reached down and gently licked the tears from his cheek, soaking in his pain physically as well as emotionally. He began to cry freely and she cradled his head to her breasts, making tender shushing noises as he wept.

It was not that she was sentimental, of course. It was just good way of getting him to begin bonding.

Once he had broken, Uthmaan had been almost pathetically eager to talk. She'd kept him suckling her for the next hour, only stopping now and again so he could answer questions. He'd been a messenger of some sort for Hezbollah, which meant he'd travelled between several of the terrorist bases; she'd got a detailed layout of the Baalbek base and several others, along with how many they could expect to find there, what armaments, everything. The information was priceless; she had no doubt that a helicopter assault was already being prepared for Baalbek, various sets of co-ordinates would be with the artillery by now, and with the air strikes halt over the IAF would want to get in on the act.

What to do with him? The IDF would want ongoing interrogations to squeeze out every bit of information they could, but her skills wouldn't really be required for that. She had a standing arrangement with her superiors that when her subjects were used up she had the option of claiming them for herself; it was part of her payment for the work she did. Officially, it was assumed that she was rehabilitating them and returning them to the community. They knew better than to ask what she really did with them. Hedya had a sizeable collection of home made DVDs in her safe which... well, which provoked some of her fondest memories. She had a few ideas that might be fun to try out on the boy. Then again, she thought, I have been meaning to acquire another slave...

She soaped up and began to wash Uthmaan, gliding her hands across his body - and causing him to wince as she passed over his sore spots. For all his aches and tears, not to mention the fact that he'd cum less than fifteen minutes ago, his cock quickly began to rise as she applied a liberal coating of suds and worked her way down to his ass. Teenagers, she thought wryly. Gotta love the stamina.

Chaim and David were all very well, of course. She had them completely broken now, they were virtually unable to think for themselves - no, that wasn't quite fair, they were actually both quite intelligent men who were perfectly capable of thinking for themselves most of the time.

It was only when it came to Hedya that her slave's freedom of thought was compromised. She had trained them so strictly, inflicted such horrors on them for any infraction, that when it came to her they were almost unable to think of disobedience or even reluctance. She had once casually handed Chaim a pistol and ordered him to put it in his mouth and shoot the back of his head out. Though he had no idea it wasn't loaded, he had pulled the trigger without a second's hesitation. Thinking that the thing had just misfired, he'd actually cried because he thought he'd failed her.

She grasped Uthmaan's buttocks and pulled him forward, his penis snuggling cosily between her thighs. Not a bad size, she thought, about in between Chaim's average length and David's monster. Her fingertips slid down the furrow of his ass, gently lathering the soap in. She slid a couple of fingers inside; his sphincter was crusted with dried blood, but it was still easily stretched enough to accommodate the invasion. He moaned as she moved her fingers in and out, and she felt his cock throb between her thighs. Poor kid just can't help himself. The splits in the muscle ring would hurt like the devil, she knew. She put her other hand on the back of his head, holding his face gently but firmly to the valley between her breasts. She felt carefully around the sphincter muscle until she found one of the splits, slowly hooked her finger inside and pulled sharply on it.

"Aaaaahh..." Uthmaan groaned in pain. His arms clenched around her back. "No," he moaned. "Please, don't..."

"Shhhh," she murmured into his ear. His cock began to wilt as she widened her fingers, stretching his hole insistently.

"Please, I've told you everything," he whimpered, the words almost smothered against her skin.

Hedya smiled. "I know, darling, I know. I don't want information." She slipped a third finger in, twisting and stretching, widening his hole even more. She felt the crust of blood on the other tear give way. Uthmaan moaned louder as a fresh wave of pain lanced through him.

"Then why?" He said dejectedly, not really expecting an answer. "In Allah's name, why are you doing this?"

She leaned down until her lips were brushing against his ear, almost a lover's kiss. "Because it hurts," she sighed. "Just because it hurts, darling." She withdrew her fingers, making a mental note that no matter what happened she would rape his ass with the strap-on again in the near future, before it had time to heal. She withdrew her fingers and slid her hand down across his buttocks, gathering more suds for lubrication and then reaching around to take hold of his now limp cock. She massaged it gently, feeling it stir in her hand and begin to rise once more. Uthmaan groaned again, for an entirely different reason, as his cock rose to full stretch. Hedya masturbated him gently, slowly, feeling his body shuddering in arousal.

Pleasure then pain, she thought, then pleasure again. Then...

She released her grip and slid her hand between his legs. His ball sack dangled there, an invitation she wasn't about to refuse. She slid her fingers around it.

"No," he pleaded. He tried to step back, break free, but she was still far bigger and stronger than he, and in his weakened state there was simply no way he could even begin to resist her. "No, please..."

"Oh yes," she whispered, and squeezed. Not the sudden, hard clenching of before, but a slower, gentler pressure. He groaned again as his already badly abused balls sent a persistent throbbing deep into his bowels, his cock sagging once more. Hedya sighed in pleasure. "I love to hurt you," she confided. "I take great pleasure in it."

She released Uthmaan's head. He instantly tried to move away and she squeezed his balls hard, twisting sharply. "Don't move!" She snapped, her voice suddenly as icy as it had been seductive. He squealed and went statue-still and she released most of the pressure. " You stay where I put you. Don't try to back away from me. Now put some soap on your hands and lather it up," she said, voice back in seduction-mode. He obeyed, moving jerkily, and groaned again as he pressed down on the broken bones in his hand.

"Very good," she said. "Now, I want you to wash me. Start with my face and neck and work down."

He reached out and began to obey. She said nothing as he worked, slowly spreading the lather over her skin. Naturally, he quickly switched his attention to her breasts. His cock stirred again, slowly beginning to return to full stretch.

It was a highly effective technique. Mix pain and pleasure, over and over. In a week the two would begin to become associated in the kid's mind. In a month he would barely be able to become aroused at all without accompanying pain.

Though David and Chaim were in many ways perfect slaves, the old problem was beginning to rear its head; Hedya was getting bored. Their perfect obedience to her every whim was pleasing, but it meant she had few opportunities to punish them any more. And while she could, and often did, simply brutalise them for fun, it wasn't quite the same. Her greatest thrill was the process of breaking a man, shattering his ego, bending him gradually to her will as she had begun to do with young Uthmaan. But once the process was complete there was a certain lack of spice to the proceedings. You just couldn't enjoy kicking a man in the balls as much when he thanked you for it afterwards and meant it.

She had been considering bringing another man into the house, either keeping Chaim and David or maybe losing one of them. She'd never had an Arab slave before, and the idea was rather enticing. She knew her superiors would likely okay handing him over to her without questions - they would officially assume she was rehabilitating the boy, and unofficially assume she had just killed him.

"Now lower," she said. He slid his hands across the flat muscles of her stomach and tentatively pushed one between her legs. She sighed contentedly as he caressed her pussy. His touch was inexpert, but not entirely displeasing. And if she did keep him, he would certainly get all the practice he needed.

She turned to the side, keeping her grip on his ball sack. "Now my ass," she ordered. His fingers slid between her buttocks, gently caressing her anus, and Hedya sighed again as his fingers played with the puckered muscle tentatively. She released his balls, tensed to lash out in case he tried to back away again. "Now kneel."

He dropped slowly to his knees, grimacing at the pain from his bruised thighs. His face was exactly level with her ass, and she could feel his eyes locked onto it. "Do my legs," she ordered. He began running his hands up and down the long limbs.

Uthmaan's cock was at full stretch. His mind was a whirl of emotion, barely capable of rational thought. He had never known such a woman, never known that there could be a woman remotely like this. Her body was sculpted perfection, a teenager's wet dream come alive. She was so utterly inhibited, flaunting her body in front of him with less care than any common whore. But beyond simple physical beauty there was something about her, some terrible feral sexuality that she seemed to radiate. She was alluring, captivating.

And yet the things she did... he could barely contemplate the horrors she had inflicted on him in just the last few hours. He could feel tears pricking at the back of his eyes once more as he thought about it; he had shed so many, he had barely the energy to feel shame over it any more. Pain upon pain upon pain, the only respite coming when she decided to bring him to arousal again, as if he were a piece of meat for her to toy with as she wished. Could she be some evil jinn who had taken Human form to torment him? If so then he was most surely doomed.

She ordered him to stand and rinse off and he complied, wordless, as she did the same. She turned the showers off and threw him a towel and he moved to dry off.

"No," she said, stepping close again. "You dry me first. Be gentle."

She didn't say "or else" but Uthmaan caressed her skin as if it was the finest flower imaginable.

When he was finished she told him to dry himself, and crossed to the door to snap an order to the big man waiting outside while he did. A few minutes later another man arrived, carrying clothes. Uthmaan's cheeks burned red at being naked in front of another man, and he clutched the towel to himself.

She noticed, of course. She seemed to notice everything.

"Drop the towel," she said casually. "Don't mind Chaim." He did so, reluctantly. The man leered at him, a smirk on his lips. He was almost a foot taller than Uthmaan, an inch or so above even the woman's height. But where she had a slender, albeit muscular, frame, this man was a walking Merkava; he must have weighed well over two hundred pounds.

She handed Uthmaan a blue bra. "Put this on."

So, I am her maid now? He thought in disgust, not at all conscious of how right he was. He had never seen a bra before outside of pictures and fumbled with the unfamiliar garment. Eventually she had to show him what to do with it and he managed to fumble the thing into place. He couldn't help but feel a twinge of regret as her generous breasts were covered up. Then she actually had him stick his hands in the things and 'adjust' her to make the thing fit right! He was painfully aware of the erection jutting out in front of him once more, terrified that he might poke her with it by accident - and tremendously aware that Chaim was staring at it with an unreadable expression.

She handed him a pair of lacy thong panties, coloured to match the bra. These at least he could get right! He squatted whilst she stepped into them and then drew them smoothly up her long legs, easing them into place. He was fascinated by the way the rear strap buried itself in the cleft of her perfect buttocks. He knew then that pain or no, prison cell or no, he would be touching his cock when they finally left him alone to sleep tonight... and when he did, his mind would be filled with visions of this goddess.

A suspender belt came next, and he fumbled it into place with a little guidance from the woman. She almost handed him the stockings, then hesitated. "No, you'll just tear them," she said before putting them on herself.

She added a white silk blouse and short black skirt before bending to put her boots on. Somehow standing stark naked was even worse when he was in the presence of two fully dressed people.

"Cage," she said to Chaim. He produced a metal object from his pocket.

"This is called a birdcage," she announced. "It's Chaim's but you're just a little bigger than he is so I think you can manage it." Uthmaan stared at it, wondering what she was talking about. That giant of a man was twice his size! What fresh new torture is this? The thing was a metal ring with a small cage attached to it. She opened the metal ring and reached out, grabbing his balls and giving them a hard squeeze. Uthmaan moaned in pain for perhaps the hundredth time that day, and his cock instantly softened. She pulled his cock and balls away from his body, closing the ring around them firmly. Moving quickly she slipped the cage over his now limp cock and fastened it to the ring with a padlock.

She stepped back, looking at him critically. "Now take it off," she ordered. "Come on, get on with it! Take that thing off, now!"

He pulled at the cage, terrified at the tone in her voice - all day long, that tone had heralded nothing but agony. But the steel bands of the cage were locked firmly in place, no matter how much he tugged or twisted at it, it simply refused to come loose.

"I can't," he said miserably.

She smiled. "Good. Now dress." Chaim threw him a rumpled khaki T shirt and pants and he almost tore them in his rush to get them on, profoundly grateful to hide his nakedness from the giant man.

"I have to go call in," she said to Chaim. "They'll want a preliminary verbal report before I write this up. And I'll need to talk to the base commander as well. You have the tapes?"

"No, mistress. David has them, mistress."

"Good. I'll be an hour, ninety minutes at the most." She gestured to Uthmaan. "Get that to the base doctor, have his nose straightened and hand set and have him look at the ribs. I want the three of you in the car by the time I get there."

"Yes, mistress."

She left. Uthmaan felt a sense of relief so profound that he almost fell to his knees on the spot; it wasn't until the door closed behind her that he realised just what a powerful presence she was in the room, in whatever room she happened to be in.

Chaim put a hand on his shoulder. "She's keeping you?" He said. He seemed distinctly worried. Uthmaan shrugged, not really understanding what he meant. "Come with me."

Uthmaan found that the eight of the cage thing she had locked to him pulled his bruised balls down heavily, generating a constant ache. He wondered if it showed through his trousers, but it didn't really seem to make a noticeable bulge as he walked. It was just there, a constant presence between his legs. Chaim led him through the base until they arrived at a doctor's office and knocked. The elderly man inside took one look at him and pulled a morphine bottle out of a cabinet.

Chaim stepped between them. "No pain killers."

"Look at the state of him!" The doctor said. "His nose is broken, hand too - I can tell you that just by looking! Don't tell me, she's here again! I recognise the handiwork!"

"No pain killers," Chaim repeated flatly. "Orders."

The doctor grimaced and put the little bottle away. "That woman should be in a mental institution," he said angrily.

"You're telling me this?" Chaim exploded angrily. "Me? Believe me Doctor, you're not the one who-" his anger vanished just as suddenly and he sucked a deep breath in, making an obvious effort to control himself as he glanced at Uthmaan. "Just... don't. Feel free to have all the moral outrage you like, but I don't want to hear it. Just treat him."

An hour later Uthmaan's nose was more or less straight, his hand in a cast, and he had various bandages and plasters. The Doctor had ordered complete bed rest for three days; Chaim had smiled and said he would pass it on.

They walked through the base, Uthmaan marvelling at how busy it was. Trucks seemed to rumble between the buildings constantly, heading to or from the main gate. He wondered despondently whether any of it was ammunition, aimed at his friends now thanks to his betrayal.

The woman's car was a civilian model land rover, old and somewhat battered but very capable-looking. Another man waited in the driver's seat. He was much smaller than Chaim with a leaner, agile look to him. He had soft, almost girlish features but he watched with a sharp alertness to his eyes, a look Uthmaan had come to associate with danger when Hezbollah men wore it. Chaim pushed Uthmaan inside, a powerful grip on his upper arm. "Friendly warning," he said. "The back doors don't open from the inside, so don't bother trying to run. I'll hurt you if you do, and she will hurt you a lot more."

"She's keeping him?" the other man asked, surprised and nervous. His voice matched the rest of him, surprisingly soft.

"She didn't say, but it sure looks that way," Chaim replied gloomily.

"Oh, that's great. Where does it leave you and me?"

"I'm not a mind reader, David!" Chaim shouted, angry again. "What do you think, that she consults me now? Explains herself?"

There was a long silence. Uthmaan was confused, he had no idea what to think. Nothing the men said made any sense - but one thing he was sure of, they were both scared of something. Very scared indeed.

Eventually, David spoke. "I broke that vase last week," he said quietly.

Chaim snorted. "Yeah, big deal."

"It was. Her mother gave her that."

"True." The big man looked out the window at the bustle of the base. "Look, just don't bother. We both know I'll be the one, if it happens. She wanted me big, well I'm about as big as I can get, steroids and all. She's about done with me. You... well, you've got your big day coming, haven't you?"

David winced. "Yeah."

Chaim laughed, a gallows laugh. "Don't worry about it, I had a good run."

"Who is she?" Uthmaan asked, curiosity finally winning out over his uncertainty.

David turned, smiling; Chaim was lost in thought, seemed barely to have heard. "As far as we're concerned kid, the only answer that matters is that she's the one that tells you what to do. If you do exactly what she says, all the time, without hesitation, your life will be easier. Not easy, just easier. That's all you have to know."

"When can I go home?" He asked. He hated the whiny sound of it, but he had to ask.

David laughed as if it were the funniest thing he had ever heard. He was about to say something when the front passenger door opened. Hedya slid into the seat. There was a sudden stillness in the car, the tall blonde the focus of unwavering attention from all three men.

"Home," she said simply.

"Yes mistress," David replied instantly. He started the engine and drove to the base gates, where a guard inspected their ID and papers before raising the barrier. The scruffy land rover accelerated into the dusty countryside.

Uthmaan would always remember the key points of his time with Hedya; the impact of her near naked appearance the first time she walked into his cell, the shock of the first time she hurt him, a hundred other moments. Many of them were moments of great stress; in comparison, the emergence of the car from the base gates seemed mundane, ordinary. Nevertheless, it always stuck with him. He supposed that was because in his mind, it marked his transition from official prisoner of the Israeli Defence Force to very unofficial prisoner of Hedya Zwieg. Later, he would always think of this as the beginning of his life as a slave.

N-GB>Uthmaan would always remember the key points of his time with Hedya; the impact of her near naked appearance the first time she walked into his cell, the shock of the first time she hurt him, a hundred other moments. Many of them were moments of great stress; in comparison, the emergence of the car from the base gates seemed mundane, ordinary. Nevertheless, it always stuck with him. He supposed that was because in his mind, it marked his transition from official prisoner of the Israeli Defence Force to very unofficial prisoner of Hedya Zwieg. Later, he would always think of this as the beginning of his life as a slave.

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