‘Who was talking at this meeting...who did you hear in the room with your husband?’
‘I d-d-d-don’t know please I don...nuh-nuh-nuh-naaarrgh!’
The naked woman strapped down into the heavy wooden chair arched and twisted. Her soft brown skin gleamed with the sweat of her futile efforts under the hot, blinding lights.
‘Oh but I think you do...’
Her desperate denials turned to whimpering pleas as the man standing behind the chair reached round to cup the full globes of her breasts. He lifted them, cradling the soft weight; enjoying the way the she trembled and panted in anticipation of agony as he squeezed gently. His thumbs slid across the slick, oily skin to caress the edges of her dark, almost black aureoles.
‘And they’re so sore already...’ he said, bending over so his lips brushed her ear. ‘Look, see how swollen they are.’ The woman shook her head the wet beaded strands of hair flailing from side to side as she moaned in denial. His hands tightened and her flesh bulged between his fingers, ‘I told you to look...
‘Pleeeeese...please don’t... please don’t turn it on...’
Now her head went forward and the man smiled at her desperate obedience as she stared down at the tips of her large firm breasts, peering from one to the other as though seeing the toothed screw clamps for the first time. They were made of brass, the metal dull and scratched from long use, the jaws lined with blunt, triangular teeth designed to bruise rather than cut. The jaws of each clamp had been positioned carefully across the base of each long, thick nipple before being tightened so the sensitive flesh was crimped hard between them. Now, after half an hour, the protruding tip of each teat was swollen into a taut, throbbing bulb of agony.
Then her head moved just a little; the man smiled again because he knew she was following the thin red wires that led from each of the clamps across the floor to where one of the soldiers knelt beside the innocent looking canvas case. The case was open, the sides unclipped and folded down so she could see the way each wire had been neatly secured to a brass terminal. She could also see the dials and switches on the top of the box. Worst of all she could see the handle with its worn rubber grip...and the way the soldier grinned at her as he waited, one hand braced on the box and the other resting on the handle of the magneto.
‘Pleeeese...it hurts so much...please I told you I don’t know...’
‘I know but we’ll try just a little more...to help you remember,’ the man said, his fingers caressing the sensitive circles round those jutting nipples, ‘a little faster this time, I think...’ The last few words were louder, a message to the grinning soldier by the machine. The man straightened up and stroked her cheek with his left hand before stepping clear. Behind the woman’s back he nodded once.
In the sudden silence everyone in the hot, stinking room could hear the rapid, terrified panting of the woman. Then the soldier began turning the handle and the machine whined into life. A moment later the woman arched back in spasm as the current seared through her nipples. She stayed bowed backwards, her muscles and tendons wire-taut and quivering; her mouth stretched into a wide distorted oval of agony for a few long seconds...then she began screaming.
‘NAAAAAARRRGGGHH! PLEEEEEEEESSSSSE STOPPPPP!’
Of course they didn’t stop. Despite her demented screams, the magneto kept whining softly, the note rising and falling as the guard carefully varied the speed to keep the woman screaming and bucking at the very peak of her agony. Deliberately letting her feel some tiny misplaced relief as the current dropped...only to apply even greater pain a moment later by turning the handle faster to send another, fiercer burst of current scalding through her abused nipples.
Finally, the man behind the chair raised one finger and the machine whirred into silence. There was a sharp, acrid smell of urine from the thin trickle of liquid seeping from between the lips of the woman’s cunt onto the wooden seat of the chair. A small puddle darkened the bare concrete floor between her legs where the drips fell from the seat. With the current off her head slumped forwards, a thin drool of blood and saliva trickling down onto the upper slopes of her sweat-slick breasts, her chest heaving in a series of racking sobs and her whole body shivering and shuddering as she fought for control.
The man moved to the woman’s side and bent to look into her pain-wracked face. He reached over and gripped the clip attached to her left nipple between the forefinger and thumb of his left hand. He waited until he was sure she was watching then slowly turned it, twisting the scorched and swollen teat and adding another kind of agony to her helpless suffering
A thin, fresh trickle of blood seeped from the corner of her mouth where she’d bitten her tongue. ‘I admire stamina in a woman...truly I do... but we’ve only just started. Can you guess where we will play with you next ...?’ His hand slid downwards over the slick, wet skin of her abdomen to the splayed vee of her thighs. She shuddered, making the clips and the thin red wires dance and tremble with every jiggle of her breasts as his fingers scraped and twirled among the tightly curled hairs on her mound.
The woman’s head shook wildly from side to side and she whimpered through clenched teeth, wrenching frantically at her bonds, but there was nothing she could do. Her arms were behind her, hooked over the top rail of the chair back with her wrists tied together and lashed tightly to a metal cleat bolted to the base of the seat. The tension in her arms kept her upper body arched back. A thick leather belt round her waist kept her pinned into place while the straps the men had tightened so carefully around each leg just above the knee at the beginning of the torture session kept her thighs splayed wide apart.
Quite deliberately she had been secured in a position that thrust her breasts forwards while ensuring that the plump, bulging slit of her cunt was fully exposed and accessible to probing fingers or whatever implements her torturers might wish to use. The man stroked the puffed, moist outer lips with delicate, feathery touches, his fingertips reaching under her body to tease the sensitive folds around the opening of her vagina. She gasped, shuddering at the sensation as his forefinger slid to and fro along the line of her slit.
He watched her expression change as he crooked his finger and carefully and precisely scraped the nail along the protruding inner lips. Eyes wide and staring, her breath hissed through clenched teeth and her hips bucked violently, the spasm so violent she actually lifted her body from the chair. Her tortured breasts bounced and slapped against her chest and her buttocks made a wet smacking noise as she flopped back, unable to overcome the carefully buckled restraints holding her down and so obscenely exposed for her torturer’s attentions.
He laughed softly, amused by the woman’s antics. ‘Believe me, it’s no use...’ The nail scraped along the length of her cunt once more, probing deeper this time as she lifted and gasped in reflex. ‘Just imagine how a naked man struggles as he feels the current frying his cock...’ His fingers gripped and squeezed the pouting cunt lips for a moment, ‘or we start pushing hot needles into his balls...’ He paused and stroked her inner thighs. ‘Oh don’t pretend...you knew we were going to play with your cunt sooner or later, didn’t you?’
Not expecting an answer, his fingers continued teasing the edges of her slit, caressing the oily, inner folds of her labia with a delicate skill that made her gasp and heave with a mixture of fear and shameful arousal. He rubbed his fingers together, holding his hand up to her face so she could see the glistening wetness coating their tips. ‘Well, well... I can see you like that...’
She shuddered even more violently as he cupped her cunt once more, stoking her to full arousal, making the inner lips swell and part to expose the erect nub of her clitoris. She craned forwards, watching his hand move, teeth worrying her lower lip as his forefinger found it, circling the tip as he teased her so expertly.
Now he worked on her clit alone and the woman’s breathing grew faster and more ragged. The man played with her, eyes fixed on her face, using just that one expert finger to bring her on, forcing her body to respond, fretting her most sensitive flesh and enjoying the changing expressions of hatred, shame and growing sexual excitement on her tear-stained face.
‘Tell me who was there...or do you want us to start down here...?’ His finger and thumb rolled and stroked the exposed bulb, each delicate movement working her towards the brink. ‘But not the clamps...not here...for this little button we’ll use a needle...’ now the fingernail scraped against the stalk, fretting her beneath the little hood of flesh so she bucked again...her slippery wetness betraying her body to his fingers. ‘Think of how it will feel, twisting and turning slowly going in deeper and deeper until you think it can’t be any worse... but it will be, much, much worse when we attach the wires to the box over there and...’
That was the breaking point.
In her mind’s eye she saw his fingers spreading her cunt lips apart while she stared down helplessly. Then she imagined the horrible, scalding agony as he slowly pushed a long, shiny needle into the swollen bulb of her clitoris.
It was too much...her hips bucked as she rode his insistent finger. Fucking it and desperate to talk...desperate too for another kind of release... ‘Oh God! Oh God! Pleeeese...Jonas....please...it was Jonas...Jonas Matanga I heard talking with my husband...it was Jonas...Jonas and ...please...please...don’t stop...pleeeeese!’
Those last few words came as sudden, desperate cry of need. But the man just laughed and straightened up, wiping his fingers on her shoulder as he left her jerking and shivering on the very brink of climaxing. ‘Thank you, of course you understand, I must check the things you say but,’ he smiled unpleasantly down at the bound, sweat-slick figure in the chair, ‘since you are so excited I will let my men entertain you for a little while.’
Ignoring the woman’s sudden outraged screams of betrayal as she realised what he’d said, the man walked over to where the three soldiers waited. All were large, heavily muscled men chosen for this duty because of their strength, their big, thick cocks and strong sexual appetites. All were smoking and grinning hopefully at him, after all this was one of their main perks of the job. He spoke quietly so their victim couldn’t hear. ‘Unclip her then you’ve got twenty minutes or so...remember I don’t want any damage...’ he paused and smiled, ‘well nothing that shows.’
The smile widened as he watched his men’s grinning response to his words. ‘Fuck her in every hole if you want then,’ he stopped and his tone changed as he gave them their instructions, ‘then you let her recover a little, maybe even encourage her to think it’s over.’ He looked across at the struggling woman with a smile of pure sadistic enjoyment. ‘But, when I phone I want you strap her back in the chair the same way as she is now.’ He looked at the heavy chair and thought for a moment. ‘No, I think this time we’ll do without the seat...makes it easier to get the probe up her anus after we’ve played with her clit a bit more...just to check her story...OK?’ He looked at the three, grinning thugs, their hands easing and stroking cocks already hard as they nodded at the familiar orders.
He patted the woman’s cheek as he walked past her on the way to the door. ‘You really should thank me, my dear...I’ve made it easy for you...you’re soaking wet already.’
The man smiled and closed the door on the woman’s piercing screams. Unfortunately for the woman his men were going to get a good deal more than twenty minutes to fuck her brains out because he had important people to talk to and things to arrange. He already knew that Jonas Matanga was out of the country...and she’d just confirmed why that trip had been arranged at such short notice, the bastard had been tipped off by her fucking husband.
That fucking idiot Matanga wouldn’t be coming back..., the man thought as he walked back to his office. After all, comfortable exile was preferable to being strapped down in a cellar while they beat your testicles to mince with a weighted length of rubber hose. And that was just the start...for someone like him they’d certainly end up giving him what the men jokingly called their ‘electric enema’. A soldering iron pushed right up inside the victim’s rectum before he, or she, was strapped into a chair...then the iron would be turned on and just left there while everyone watched and listened...waiting for the pleas and protests to turn to squeals of demented agony.
The man shivered in cruel pleasure, remembering what it had been like watching that student last week...no, Jonas Matanga certainly wouldn’t be back. He allowed himself a long breath of relief. Just be grateful that you weren’t the one who let him get away, he thought, whoever was responsible for that cock-up will be paying with his job at the very least.
But there was some good news...at least the bastard had run away alone. Leaving both an attractive wife and a pretty young secretary had been a bad move. Well, bad for both of them since now they would be interrogated in his place...but good news for him since they were both attractive.
Captain Charles Otuba, Head of Special Investigations in the country’s feared ISB, the Internal Security Bureau, lifted his fingers to his nose and breathed in the lingering scent of the woman’s cunt. He felt the familiar aching tug at his groin as his penis hardened within the confines of his trousers as he thought of the delicious pleasures to come when he returned to the interrogation room.
He smiled to himself as he imagined her reaction when the men who’d just been raping her forced her back into the chair and began strapping her down. The added shock and horror when she realised that they’d removed the seat so her bottom was unsupported leaving every part of her cunt and anus total exposed. Then all those wonderfully useless pleas and outraged screams as he showed her the needle and the anal probe with their insulated handles; and lovingly explained what he and the men were going to do to her as he gently played with her cunt and fingered her clitoris while they got the magneto wired up and ready.
Lost in such pleasurable thoughts he strode on down the underground corridor at a brisk, military pace. Captain Charles Otuba was a man who really enjoyed his work.
In the next half an hour he made two calls; the first, long and deferential, was on a secure line to the President’s private office; the second was to an internal number. ‘Lieutenant, two arrests and we’ll need a search team...all with cars immediately. First arrest is Miss Mary N’dolu, no, no...listen, N’dolu, spelled n-d-o-l-u... no, she’s only a secretary... her file says just nineteen. No, send a couple of men, she won’t cause trouble...’ He said confidently, dictating an address near the university.
He waited for the officer at the other end to finish writing. ‘Second arrest is Mrs Joyce Matanga...yes you fucking idiot, that Matanga... yes I’m perfectly well aware she’s the wife of a Junior Minister.’ There was a gabble of protest from the other end. ‘Lieutenant...I’m giving you a direct fucking order so just shut up and do it, understand? No! For fuck’s sake you imbecile... not at home...follow her to the club, she plays tennis there every afternoon. Once she’s out of the way the search team can move into the house.’
Charles Otuba listened for a moment. ‘No, Lieutenant, I want people who know about documents and computers to do the house. I want you to go and arrest the fucking woman. I want it quick, quiet and efficient...no guns, no screams... nothing.... just a nice, quiet disappearance... understand?’ He listened again, his temper showing as he gripped the receiver.
‘How do I bloody well know how long she’ll be out for? Just do it right, or you’ll be counting goats on the border by tomorrow. That’s right, no; we don’t need to worry...this comes right from the top...Grounds? What do you need fucking grounds for, idiot...it’s a matter of National Security.’ He listened then interrupted, his temper rising again. ‘Warrants? Since when did you worry about fucking warrants? Forget the bloody warrants; on this one we’re fireproof... as long as there are no fuck-ups from stupid, fucking asshole lieutenants like you!’
He waited for the reply. ‘You will make bloody sure you get it right Lieutenant...I want her back here unharmed and intact...otherwise both the General and I are going to be really pissed off and I’ll have to find something even worse than counting goats for you to do...as a fuckin’ private!’ He looked at his watch. ‘Right, it’s nearly midday and she’s usually at the club until at least three. I want the Matanga bitch in the office downstairs by four...with no excuses Lieutenant, understood!’ He slammed the phone down without waiting for an answer and looked at his watch.
He smiled, all trace of the phoney rage gone. It was always good for discipline to ensure your junior officers were a little afraid of you... just to keep them on their toes. And thinking about discipline... He smiled again at the thought of the room down the corridor, picked up the phone and dialled an internal number. ‘Captain Otuba here...you can put the stupid cow back in the chair. I’m on my way...’
‘No I won’t, Mary, thanks for the game...see you later’
Swinging her sports bag over one shoulder, thirty five year old Joyce Matanga hurried out of the changing rooms and along a path through the immaculately manicured grounds of the exclusive Tengali Country Club to the car park. Dressed in tennis whites and sweating after three hard-fought sets, she dabbed at her face and neck with a monogrammed club towel as she hurried to where her silver Mercedes convertible was parked under the dappled shade of the palms lining the edges of the club car park.
Usually she stayed for a shower and lazy late afternoon gossip round the pool but the way her husband, Jonas, had been behaving recently she didn’t want to face the false smiles and barbed questions of those bitches who made up her circle of so-called ‘friends’.
‘Not another conference trip, Joyce?’
‘Wasn’t Jonas away last week too?’
‘Poor Joyce, I heard Jonas has got himself a new secretary...she’s only nineteen...but very pretty I believe.’
Bitches! That last comment, overheard only yesterday from a woman who she’d counted as one of her closest friends and accompanied by a stupid, knowing giggle, hurt most of all.
She smiled, white teeth gleaming against the glossy blackness of her skin as she saw her beautiful car. Fuck them and their stupid comments! Let them think what they like; she was the one driving a new top-of-the-range Mercedes...not any of them! Her stride lengthened. Joyce was naturally athletic and put in time and effort in the Club’s gym as well as enjoying both tennis and swimming to keep herself in shape. She was tall, with a superb figure that still looked fantastic in a bikini although she preferred the comfort and look of a sleek, high cut one-piece that showed off her long legs and firm, high breasts to best advantage. Looking good at the poolside was always important...and Joyce made sure that she always looked more than just good.
Like most of the other women at the club, Joyce Matanga’s husband was a senior government official. Membership of the Tengali Hills Country Club was virtually automatic once you reached a certain level in the civil service. Jonas was higher up than most, having just been made a Junior Minister but was not at the very top of the pyramid…well, not just yet. But he was high enough for them both to enjoy all the really important perks and trappings of power; expensive cars, foreign holidays and a house in a exclusive and well-policed enclave well away from the shantytowns and malodorous streets making up of most of the capital city, Tengali.
Most important of all, there were regular opportunities to ensure that a little of the international money train of grants, aid programmes and unaudited development funds that flooded almost unchecked into the regime’s coffers was discreetly diverted to make their lives even more comfortable. Enough dollars in untraceable cash to swell those personal and very private retirement funds in nice safe bank accounts abroad...
Her smile disappeared as she came round the end of the thorn hedge and saw the black car parked behind her Mercedes blocking her in completely. Bloody visitors, she fumed as she strode forwards, I’ll tell them what to do with their fucking car! She was so angry that any other explanation for it being there never even entered her head. That is until she got nearer and all four doors swung open at the same moment.
Her bag fell to the concrete with a soft thud as four men got out. They were all dressed alike, white open-necked shirts, black trousers and, well polished black shoes. Not really a uniform; but even without the mirrored sunglasses and shoulder holsters, she would have known who they were. Joyce Matanga felt her heart thudding and a sick sour taste at the back of her throat as one of them blocked her way.
‘Mrs Matanga? Mrs Joyce Matanga?’ She was just able to nod, one hand pressed onto the heated metal of the black car’s hood for support as she gulped and fought to bring her breathing under control. The man held out a wallet ID. ‘State Security, you will come with us.’ The other hand was extended, palm up and fingers crooked, ‘your car keys...’ it was an order.
He twitched the keys from her hand and tossed them casually to one of the others behind her. ‘Check it first then take it in...’ He raised a warning finger to the grinning man, ‘drive carefully, very carefully... the General is a man who likes nice, expensive and undamaged cars.’ While she was distracted, he must have given the others some kind of signal because, without warning, Joyce was grabbed by each arm and shoved violently through the open rear door of the black saloon.
Joyce yelped as she caught her head on the door frame with a muffled thud; sprawling in an ungainly tangle across the back seat. The discomfort in her head was replaced by an agonising pain in her shin as one of the men pushed in beside her and the edge of his heel scraped down her bare leg. She was squashed between two of them as another pushed in from the other side. Her half-formed protests were cut off with a muffled grunt as the hard, cold muzzle of an automatic was rammed into the soft flesh below her ribs.
‘Shut up...don’t try anything, bitch!’
There was the thud-jolt of the trunk closing; the driver who’d stopped her climbed into the front and the car was slammed into drive. Joyce was pressed back into the seat, the weight of the man on the left crushing against her as they turned with a squeal of tyres and accelerated hard. Another lurching turn out of the gates and the car sped away towards the city.
‘Put them on....,’ a pair of cheap, plastic wraparound sunglasses was thrown into her lap. Fumbling because she couldn’t use her arms properly she finally managed to do as she was told, and was effectively blind – someone had painted the inside of the lenses matt black so it was impossible to see anything. She gasped and shivered, fingers trying uselessly to pull the hem of her abbreviated tennis skirt down. She knew it had been rucked up in the struggle to get in because she could feel the plastic of the seat against the backs of her bare thighs.
Joyce was horribly aware that the men beside her could see almost everything because her white thong panties, still soaked with sweat from the game, must be clearly visible and she could feel how far they’d ridden up into the creases of her groin. Worse, the damp cotton was pasted against her cunt like a second skin showing every detail. She could feel the heat of her blushing embarrassment as she tried to turn just a little, her knees locked together as she swayed and shifted against the two men in her enforced darkness with every movement of the speeding car.
Ten terrifying minutes later she was thrown forwards as the car stopped abruptly; there was a draft as the doors opened and she felt the sudden change from shade to sun and back to shade as her arms were seized and she was dragged out into the open, across rough ground that crunched like gravel under her thin soled canvas slip-ons before being forced up some shallow steps and into a building. Her loose-fitting shoes slapped loudly, overlaying the heavier, squeaking tread of the two men on the smooth tiles; their steps echoing from bare walls as they hurried her along almost at the run.
Seconds later Joyce Matanga screamed aloud in real in terror as she went tripping and stumbling down a flight of stairs. Her fall was only halted as the guard’s fingers dug into her arms, pinching her flesh viciously. She hung between them for a few terrifying moments, scrabbling desperately for balance. Both of her shoes flew off as she struggled and she screamed again as her flailing toes and heels smacked against the raw concrete edges of the steps. A burst of coarse laughter was the only reaction from the men as they forced her on down the remaining steps.
She stumbled again as they reached the bottom of the flight, still struggling uselessly in the men’s iron grip.
‘Splatt!’ ‘Splatt!’ ‘Splatt!’
Pain scalded across her cheeks as one of them slapped her face with his open hand. Right! Left! Right! The three rapid-fire smacks rocked her head to and fro; the pain and shock instantly reducing her outraged cries to whimpering sobs. Satisfied with the effect of the sharp, brutal lesson the two men gripped her arms higher and forced her on down the long underground corridor, Joyce’s bare feet shuffling and scuffing against the raw concrete as she tried to keep her balance between them.
Neither of them said anything to her. But Joyce was only too aware of their breathing, the smell of their unwashed bodies and the obvious enjoyment they were getting from manhandling her in this way.
Disoriented, panting and almost sick with fear, she could feel the sweat beading on her face and in the cleavage of her breasts as the air became more and more humid. Down here there was no fresh air and it was hot and stifling; rank with the odour of sweating bodies and the stench of other things; fear, vomit and urine. Stumbling along, the usually proud and stuck up Junior Minister’s wife tried very hard not to think about those other smells because she had suddenly caught the familiar musky tang of semen and sex almost overlaid by the acrid reek. She shuddered and bit her lip at the thought of the kind of things that might be done to prisoners down here that left those kinds of smells.
She was pushed into a room. She could tell it was a room by the difference in the sounds and the sudden change from raw concrete to plastic tiles beneath her bare feet. She stood where the men left her, swaying slightly trying to keep the terror at bay.
Without warning, the sunglasses were yanked off and she was able to see again. She staggered, off balance and half blinded by the sudden brightness, as the guards let go of her arms. Her bare feet slapped loudly on the tiles as she took a couple of tottering steps forwards trying to keep her balance.
The attractive, thirty five year old Junior Minister’s wife stared round, blinking and shaking her head as she gradually took in the details of the dingy, anonymous underground room. Instinctively, she held her arms protectively across her breasts, fingers rubbing the bruises on her arms where the men had held her. Her eyes were wide with shock; the whites gleaming against the soft, dark brown colour of her skin. Peering round she ran her tongue across suddenly dry lips, trying to moisten them then lifted her hands to sooth the hot, sore skin of her cheeks where the man had slapped her. Her chest heaved rapidly as she stood alone; panting with a growing sense of fear and horror at what these men wanted...and what they might do to her.
The room was small, just a bare concrete box; no windows, no pictures. Mottled green plastic tiles on the floor, chipped and grimy once-cream paint on the walls and everything lit by a single bare strip light hanging from two rusty chains in the ceiling.
What furniture there was looked equally utilitarian and worn out; a heavy- looking metal frame desk with a scarred and chipped wooden top on a slight angle almost in the middle of the room and behind it an equally battered swivel chair with torn black plastic upholstery on the arms. There were two other cheap-looking chairs with blue plastic seats against the wall. As far as she could see there was nothing else at all.
The man sitting quietly in the swivel chair said nothing as the guards dragged Joyce Matanga in and left her to take those first, frightened glances round.
Joyce felt herself trembling, the fear rising in her throat as she lifted her eyes and looked at him. Instinctively, she knew who the man was, had heard the stories whispered about him. Always calm and quietly spoken, his name was Captain Charles Otuba; one of the regime’s most feared and effective intelligence officers. For others; dissidents, political activists; their families, friends and relations, his name alone was enough to bring nightmares to add to the constant threat of arrest. Beneath the calm exterior the captain was a pitiless sadist; an enthusiast who thrived on the vicarious sexual pleasures to be obtained from the obscene and refined interrogation and torture of those unlucky, or unfortunate, enough to attract attention as possible enemies of the regime.
She’d overheard Jonas talking with some high-ranking political friends about him a few months ago; how his inventive interrogation skills had come to the attention of senior members of the government early on, just after the military coup. Quietly and unofficially, in an arrangement mutually satisfactory to both sides, he had been given rank and authority as well as control of one of the special detention centres and been given a free hand to deal with those detained as political prisoners.
She’d listened as one of the men told the others about an interrogation session he’d witnessed. It seemed that the captain’s preference was for interrogating women; this particular session it had been a young student who was both attractive and stubborn. The man’s account had made Joyce feel sick and excited at the same time.
With a guilty flush of shame, she remembered how wet she’d become as he told them the details of what they’d done to the girl...and how they had continued doing things too her ‘just to check...’ even after she’d screamed herself hoarse and told them everything they wanted. She also remembered how the images of watching the girl’s interrogation had filled her mind later that night in bed, stimulating her to cum and cum again as she rode Jonas’s cock until both of them had collapsed soaked in sweat and totally fucked out.
Joyce Matanga thought she knew how things were in the real world outside her privileged little enclave. If there was crime then punishment, including physical punishment, was unpleasant but necessary, if discipline and order were to be maintained. The security services had a difficult and dangerous job to do and sometimes hard, even cruel interrogations were needed to get the information needed to protect against possible traitors and terrorists.
But she’d always dismissed the whispered, coffee morning tales of disappearances, brutal interrogations and routine torture by members of the security services as just being examples of titillating gossip among bored and frustrated wives, or lies spread by liberals and political activists who wanted to embarrass the regime. Everyone knew what students were like; always causing trouble. She’d treated the interrogation story as a mix of exaggeration and half-truths. Any young women who got mixed up in things that were not their business, especially when it involved protests, and illegal political activities, was just asking for serious trouble.
Now, suddenly, in that squalid, dirty room Joyce Matanga was forced to realise just how wrong she’d been. Looking at the figure behind the desk she remembered more of the details from the man who had watched one of Otuba’s interrogations. It hadn’t been exaggerated or boasting, it had really happened...as she was about to find out. She heaved, choking and gulping, gasping for breath in between bouts of dry, useless retching. Captain Otuba continued to sit quietly, enjoying her obvious terror.
He was dressed in a white, open-necked shirt and black trousers like the two guards but there any similarity ended. His trousers were tailored with knife-edge creases; the white shirt was soft, expensive Egyptian cotton. His hair was carefully trimmed and she caught the faint scent of aftershave. There was a gold chain on his right wrist matched by a slim, elegant gold watch on his left.
For a full minute he looked, still saying nothing at all. He simply stared at her, eyes slowly moving from her head to her bare feet, studying her beautifully toned and shaped body so boldly revealed by the brevity of her tennis outfit as though she was some kind of insect on a pin.
Joyce recovered from her initial panic and tried to say something, only to find her throat was suddenly choked tight with sheer fright as she caught the glint of pleasure and cruel anticipation in his eyes as he sat there, quite calmly waiting for her outburst as though it was something entirely routine that he had been expecting. She tried to hold his gaze but couldn’t, looking away to stare down at the scuffed tiles, instinctively wrapping her arms even tighter across the fullness of her breasts in futile protection as he continued to study her body.
As the silence went on and on Joyce shuffled and moved uneasily, knowing the two thugs were still behind her. Still trying to come to terms with the shocking events of the past hour, she was becoming horribly aware that her tight, white top and tiny pleated tennis skirt left almost nothing to her captors’ imaginations.
The man behind the desk studied her for a few moments more then simply lowered his head and went back to looking at the papers in a brown folder on the battered top before him. That studied insolence was the final straw; Joyce Matanga’s temper flared and rage overcame common sense. She had had enough.
‘Hey! Don’t you dare ignore me! Don’t you know who I am...I-I- want...’ She coughed, licking her lips and swallowing as she tried unsuccessfully to speak in the cutting, dominant way she usually used on servants, the wives of lower grade officials or stupid shop assistants.
The man looked up, one eyebrow raised quizzically as Joyce swallowed and tried again.
‘I want...no, no I don’t want no, I demand...,’ her voice got stronger, ‘yes, I demand to know why the fucking hell I’m here!’ The man at the desk simply looked at her with total disinterest as her temper rose. ‘You can’t do this...not to me...I know you, you bastard! Do you know who I am, who my husband is? I’m telling you I’ve been assaulted. Your tame apes grabbed me, grabbed my arms! That’s one charge right there. They throw me into a car, that’s kidnapping and then...then...’
She held out her arms. ‘Look at these marks! They’re animals, fucking animals...and you’re no better...sitting there playing with you fucking papers. You wait till I tell my husband...he’ll fix you...you can say goodbye to your job as well, YOU FUCKING BASTARD!’ Joyce took a pace towards the table, hands coming forward with her nails hooked to claw at the man behind it as rage overcame common sense.
‘I’LL FIX YOU...YOU FUCK....Gaaaaaaaahh!’
Joyce crashed to the floor, writhing in pain, as the guard’s fist slammed into her back just over her kidneys. She tired to rise but the sole of a black, unpolished shoe slammed down onto her cheek mashing her face against the tiles. She jerked and screamed again as the other guard kicked her hard in the thigh.
The shoe pressed down harder, the gritty sole scraping agonisingly her cheek squashing her lips against the tiles in an obscene parody of a kiss. The man’s weight held her pinned against the floor so she could do nothing. More kicks followed, hard, thudding impacts that lifted and jolted her body. Back, thighs, shins, buttocks; each one placed to hurt as much as possible but designed deliberately to punish and warn rather than disable or injure seriously.
The second guard moved round her body, taking his time and enjoying his work. In five minutes the privileged and pampered thirty five year old wife of a government minister had been reduced to a writhing and snivelling heap on the grubby floor of a State Security Bureau office, gasping in agony and pleading for them to stop it.
Finally, filtering dimly through her pain and wracking sobs, Joyce was aware that the kicks and blows had stopped. The pressure on her cheek was removed and she was able to turn on her side then push herself up until she was kneeling doglike on hands and knees. She sniffed and snorted, wiping the blood and mucus from her nose and mouth with one hand as she tried to deal with the throbbing agony from her back and legs.
The man’s voice was calm and completely unemotional, just a simple command delivered in a quiet, precise voice.
‘Mrs Matanga, you are not really hurt...I know because, like me, my men are experts...in their own crude way.’ The voice paused. ‘I repeat, stand up...or do you want them to continue?’
‘N-no...no...God no...Please.’ Joyce Matanga struggled to her feet and stood swaying in front of the desk. As she did so she caught sight of the two men, both were grinning, hyped-up and excited and obviously eager for the next order. She shuddered as she faced the man in the chair.
‘Stand straight, feet apart. Put you hands behind your neck...and keep them there. My men are going to search you...’ His lips twitched in an unpleasant false smile, ‘for security you know.’
Joyce obeyed. She could feel the rising heat in her cheeks and chest as she brought her arms up, only too aware of how the position made her thrust her breasts out as though displaying them to her captors. She braced herself, knowing what was coming as she caught the acrid smell of a man’s sweaty body close to her.
Even though she’d been expecting something she cried out involuntarily when the man’s hands cupped and squeezed her breasts, reaching round her from behind. The yelled order snapped her back into position like an automaton and she stood there shaking and shivering as rough fingers probed and pinched the firm, heavy globes. She bit her lip, trying not to give them the satisfaction of any more noises, as the man squeezed and rolled her nipples through her bra and the thin cotton top.
‘Legs properly apart Mrs Matanga...no, wider than that...that’s better.’
Joyce squeezed her eyes shut in wretched humiliation as the man groped and mauled between her legs. Then his fingers wriggled under the waistband of her panties until they slid into the wet folds of her cunt. She hissed through clenched teeth, lifting high onto her toes as at the same time the fingers of his other hand probed up into the cleft of her bottom.
She bit down on a scream and twisted helplessly as the man’s fingers continued to probe deeper and deeper; one finger ramming up into her vagina then a second finger worming up into the puckered ring of her anus, scraping and scratching the delicate inner folds with harsh, cruel intent. The man pushed deeper, lifting his hands and forcing her to rise, straining, onto her toes, trying to ease the pain and discomfort of the double impalement.
At last the man pulled his fingers from her body
‘Nothing up there either,’ a hateful pause and a coarse laugh from both the guards, ‘made my hands all wet though, Sir.’ The man wiped his hands across her breasts, taking his time and Joyce jiggled on the spot, wriggling her legs in an effort to cope with the humiliation of the crude fingering. She jerked forwards as the guard lifted the inadequate tennis skirt and slapped her very hard across the bottom with his open hand.
She twisted, hands coming away from her neck with fingers already clawed to scratch. Joyce managed to stop herself when she saw the men waiting for her. They were grinning, alert and poised with fists already clenched and ready...just looking for that tiny little excuse. Rubbing the throbbing cheeks of her bottom Joyce turned back, quivering with a mixture of fear and anger.
‘Well, your tame perverts have had their fun...your turn now I suppose.’ She defied him, deliberately putting her hands back behind her head, pulling her elbows back to emphasise the proud lift and swell of her breasts, nipples roused and showing like hard, blunt spikes beneath the smooth, white fabric of her tennis top.
She deliberately flexed and twisted her torso, making her breasts sway and bob. ‘There, little man, does that give you a thrill?’ She sneered at him, holding the pose a moment before leaning forward to slam her hands down flat on the desktop. ‘Now why don’t you say something...before my husband finishes you and your perverted little career once and for all...you jumped up little SHIT!’
There was a brief shuffle of movement behind her and Joyce braced herself for the blows she knew must come. But instead, the man at the desk raised his hand and waved the guards back with a casual flick of the fingers. Then he leaned back in his chair and went on staring coldly at the trembling black woman leaning braced on the desk in front of him. Finally he spoke, his voice quite calm and icily precise.
‘We will deal with your rudeness and uncouth behaviour a little later, especially your disrespect and foul language to a government official. But first,’ he paused, ‘I see I must correct a few things.’ He paused again and smiled nastily, ‘Mrs Matanga I must tell you that your husband, in whom you seem to set such trust, is no longer a member of the Government. In fact,’ he paused and smiled again at Joyce’s look of total incomprehension, ‘he is no longer even a citizen of this country. Citizenship is not a right that is available to traitors and those who conspire against the state.’
She jerked upright. ‘Jonas...a traitor...that’s just bloody ridiculous! Where is he, he’ll tell you...I demand to see him NOW!’
The Captain sighed theatrically. ‘I rather thought you might say that. It’s simple, you can’t see him because he’s disappeared... run away...fled the country.’ He leaned back again and let the horrible silence build up. ‘Regrettably, someone warned him of our developing interest in his affairs and he chose to change his travel arrangements at the last minute. We have arrested his secretary and she is,’ he coughed delicately, ‘as they say in the news reports, helping us with our enquiries. But apart from being fucked most days by your husband, I don’t think she knows much else of value.’
The man leaned forwards clasped his fingers and put his forearms on the desk; ‘Which naturally brings us to you, Mrs Matanga. As his wife you are exactly the right person to provide me with all sorts of useful information. We know all about his friends and colleagues but I want to know about the others...those discreet, after dark visitors, the people who came to private little meetings with your husband. The ones he told you to forget, or not to ask questions about...those people. Naturally, we have a team at your house going through your papers and things in detail but...’
He looked up. The smile was broad but Joyce, already numbed and in total shock from what had been said so far, felt a cold frisson of fear run down her back as she looked into the cold, unblinking eyes. ‘I want names...those names. I need to know who these people are,’ again the delicate, threatening pause, ‘and you are going to tell me.’
Joyce Matanga ignored the request, still grappling with the captain’s earlier news. ‘This is insane...gone...he can’t have gone...who told you...how do you know...and why are you acting like this?’ Some to old steel returned to her voice. ‘You say we...who’s this mysterious we? Where’s your authority...I demand to see it...NOW!’
The man opened the folder and selected one particular sheet of paper.’ ‘I am an officer in the Internal Security Bureau and my authority is the highest, Mrs Matanga...the very highest.’ He held up the buff coloured form. ‘This warrant gives me the power to do anything I want...anything at all. I have complete authority to investigate the people and activities associated with the traitor named here as Jonas Matanga.’ One slim finger pointed at her husband’s name neatly typed into one of the spaces in the ominous looking document. ‘You will see that it carries today’s date and is signed not just by the Minister...,’ the finger touched the bottom of the paper,’...but by the President himself.’
‘Oh God...no...no...please it’s not true...NOOOOOOO!’
‘Quite true, Mrs Matanga...now enough of the schoolgirl hysterics if you please. Let me get directly to the point. I want to know,’ he paused and leaned back, fingers steepled under his chin, ‘who else was involved in his pathetic plots.’
Joyce Matanga wiped away the tears from her cheeks, stood up and folded her arms in front of her as she somehow found the courage to stare back at Captain Otuba. She drew a single, shuddering breath. ‘I haven’t any idea what you’re talking about...’
To her total surprise he laughed and sat back in the chair. ‘No, no, Mrs Matanga, no of course you don’t,’ Captain Otuba looked at her again, smiled broadly and sat upright. He uncapped his pen and signed the bottom of one of the other sheets, straightened them carefully and put all of them inside the file then carefully put the pen away. ‘That’s exactly what I thought you’d say.’ Still taking his time he closed the file and put it in the top drawer of the desk before looking up at her again. ‘So we must find ways to help you to remember. A demonstration to begin with I think...’
He looked at the defiant figure still standing proudly before him. Without a word he got to his feet and walked across to the door. He turned and flicked his fingers at the guards. ‘Bring her,’ he snapped and walked out.
Joyce had no chance to react before the two guards grabbed her arms once more; twisting them behind her back so she was forced forwards out of the door and down the dimly lit underground corridor. The walls were painted dark green to shoulder height, above that a grimy, yellowish white; the paint old and peeling in places to show the grey concrete beneath. There were green painted iron doors with covered peepholes at intervals down each side and, when she looked up, the lights were protected by thick glass and wire mesh.
She shivered despite the heat, trembling in terror because she understood for the first time that this wasn’t a mistake or a bad dream; she wasn’t in some civilised police station or government office. This was one of those other places... one of the government’s secret interrogation centres.
Of course Joyce had heard rumours about the existence of such places, just as she’d heard the stories about people being arrested and tortured by the secret police. But for Joyce and all her friends they were just more of the silly, coffee-morning scare stories, like thinking your phone was being tapped by Internal Security, or being watched by the police...
Now, much too late, Joyce Matanga realised they weren’t just stories...things like that were true...horribly true.
The guards said nothing as they forced her along the stinking concrete corridor behind Captain Otuba. Near the end a bar of bright light spilled from a partially open door. As they got nearer she could hear sounds from inside; odd, inhuman noises and a rhythmic squeaking over the chink of metal.
The two men pinched her arms tighter and forced her through the doorway. Joyce blinked and squinted in the sudden glare. The room was brightly lit, hot, bright spotlights, white tiled walls and a floor of smooth, red painted concrete. The floor was gleaming wet and running with water.
At first all she could see was the backs of two more men; tall, heavily-muscled and both bent over something in the middle of the floor. They looked round and straightened as they heard Captain Otuba come in. Despite the things that had been done to her, Joyce still blushed as she realised both the gleaming, heavily muscled black figures were almost naked and very obviously sexually aroused. She could see their big, hard cocks outlined clearly through the wet, almost transparent, white cotton tanga briefs each man was wearing. Broad grins flashed white as both men studied the tall black woman in the scanty tennis outfit held in the iron grip of the two guards.
‘Take a look, Mrs Matanga...and see the kind of games we play here with stupid, obstinate people…’ The captain said quietly as she was pushed further into the room and…
Joyce Matanga retched helplessly, twisting and jerking in the men’s grip as she saw the rest of the room for the first time… and realised she was in a torture chamber. Even worse, it was being used and there was a third figure behind the two men, a young naked woman who was strapped down while the men worked on her outstretched body.
A low slatted wooden bench had been placed in the middle of the floor. The young woman, she only looked about eighteen, was lying on her back, stretched out in an agonising X and held in place by cords round her wrists and ankles; cords that were secured to ringbolts sunk in the concrete floor. Patches of raw, bleeding flesh marked where each of the cords had cut into her ankles and wrists. The extent of each raw band of flesh showed just how desperately she’d been struggling against her cruel bonds. To add to her agony she was lying with the small of her back over a thick log so her body was arched up, her buttocks held just clear of the wooden slats by the tension of her agonising position.
Her head was dangling down off one end of the bench, cheeks flattened by the straps of the metal ring gag holding her mouth open in a wide dribbling circle. Even with the agonising arch of her back, the girl’s breasts were still full and firm; the wide aureoles capped with long, black nipples that jutted upwards and outwards like hard spikes.
Joyce shuddered as she saw how sore they looked, the flesh taut and swollen from whatever torture they’d been using earlier. But it was what they’d done to her belly that brought more choking spasms from the woman. Below her breasts her abdomen now swelled grotesquely, a smooth thrusting mound that quivered and trembled with every twitching movement from the pinioned teenager.
She was shaved bare and between her splayed thighs, her genitals were completely exposed, the plump outer lips thrust out obscenely and gaping apart to reveal the pink inner folds with the prominent nub of her clitoris standing proud of its hood out at the top of her slit. Like her nipples, her clitoris looked horribly sore, the flesh taut and swollen from whatever awful things they’d already done to her.
Joyce suddenly gasped and looked away in sick understanding. The men had only left the girl’s nipples and clitoris alone for the moment because they’d turned their agonising attentions to her anus instead. Emerging from between her buttocks a red, rubber tube snaked across the floor to a connection at the base of an old-fashioned stirrup pump. The thick black, enamel and brass cylinder with its polished wooden handle was propped in a galvanised metal bucket full of water. More buckets, empty ones this time, were pushed against the wall. Another full one stood under the brass tap that jutted from the wall tiles at waist height.
The two men looked the Captain and then grinned nastily as they studied Joyce. He gripped her chin and turned her head so she was staring at the girl. ‘Pay attention, Mrs Matanga, it’ll be your turn very soon so watch carefully. My men are experts at this and she’ll probably take a bit more yet…’ the Captain said, signalling for them to continue. There was a metallic clatter as one of the men pushed the bucket with the pump a little closer between the girl’s outstretched legs. The other one put his foot into the metal loop to hold the pump in place, raised the handle, and then leaned his weight forwards, using all his strength to force the shaft down.
The young woman writhed upwards and a long bubbling wail came from her mouth. The near-naked guard grinned sadistically, the muscles of his chest and arms bulging as he began to work the pump handle up and down with slow deliberate strokes. With each movement the pump made a regular squeaking noise… the noise Joyce had heard from the corridor. The rubber tube jerked with each stroke and a thin seepage of water trickled and dripped from the point where it disappeared between the girl’s clenched buttocks.
The obscene swell of the girl’s belly pulsed with each stroke and her body heaved desperately as the pressure increased. The gag kept her mouth gaping wide as her head threshed from side to side in her agony. Strings of mucus and saliva sprayed out as the man forced another jet of water into her distended colon and an inhuman wail burst from her throat.
The Captain watched the taut mound of her belly swelling with each slow deliberate stroke. Only a few inches of water remained when he flicked his fingers and the grinning torturer straightened up. Leaving Joyce with the two guards he walked up to the other end of the bench and lifted the girl’s head. ‘Look, Mary… I brought your boss’s wife, Mrs Matanga, to watch us playing with you. Remember Jonas Matanga...the one who fucked you so nicely in the office. Now she’s going to watch all the things my men are going to do to you...’
‘Huh-huh- Mih-hih Mahahgah… Oh Glog! gee a-a-a-ade eee, pleeeg h-h-h-horry… I d-d-dihunt glean t-to… Oh p-pleag, pleag… it hurgs, pleeeeg iht hurgs slo muhg…’
Her word were hardly understandable, a gobbling, drooling mixture of apologies and desperate pleas for the torture to stop. He paused, watching to see that the squirming, tortured figure was still listening. ‘Of course, it hurts...it’s meant to...and you already know some of the other little things they’re going to do to you...don’t you?’
Captain Otuba idly flicked one of her up thrust nipples to and fro, watching how it jiggled with each movement and listening to yet more frantic dribbling noises coming from the cruel metal ring-gag. ‘Oh dear I forgot, they caned these earlier didn’t they ...right across the nipples too?’ He waited for the frantic nods, ‘so they’re all nice and sore now aren’t they?’
‘PLEEEGGG! Pleeg glake ig ouw...PLEEEEG!’
‘Take it out? You want them to unplug you…hmm?’ He pretended to listen to the gabbling wail as his fingers toyed with her up-thrust breasts. ‘It’s going to hurt… but you know that from last time don’t you…? But you’re right; I think Mrs Matanga should see the whole treatment…before she takes your place.’ He slapped the taut drum of the girl’s abdomen.
‘Empty the stupid bitch out for me.’ One of the men grinned and squatted down, reaching between the girl’s buttocks to grip the protruding end of the carefully shaped nozzle that had been inserted deep into the young secretary’s rectum. His muscles bulged as he twisted and pulled the red rubber probe until it came clear with a wet sucking noise accompanied by a further spasm and another slobbering wail of agony from the girl.
Nothing happened until his companion moved to the girl’s side and placed his outspread hands on the monstrous swell of her belly and leaned forwards. Joyce Matanga closed her eyes as another inhuman scream filled the tiled chamber accompanied by the sound of water spraying out of the teenager’s anus. The man gleefully pressed and relaxed in a well practiced rhythm, working her flesh exactly like some obscene pump and with each movement the nineteen year old screamed and writhed in demented agony as she expelled the water so recently forced into her body.
Finally, the man straightened up and slapped the heaving, shallow curve of the young woman’s abdomen. ‘Nothing important, sir... just the usual shit about it all being a mistake...’ Captain Otuba studied the girl’s sweat-beaded features then looked across at Joyce Matanga.
‘Anything to tell me now, Mrs Matanga?’
‘You fucking animal...she’s innocent...you knew she’d only worked for my husband for a month...You’re all fucking perverts...BASTARDS! Aaaaaagg-muh-muh-mmmmmfffff!’
Two steps and the captain’s thumb and fingers clamped on either side of the woman’s neck just under her jaw, pinching hard and forcing her head back so her scream turned into a choking and muffled fight for breath.
‘You will be polite or else...’ He held her, watching her fight for breath until she was on the edge of blacking out. He shook her head from side to side, ‘once more you are wrong... she is far from innocent...as the surveillance tapes of their sexual activities in your husband’s office show all too clearly. I was going to ask my men to untie her but now it is necessary that someone receives proper punishment for that little outburst.’
He let go of her throat and flicked his fingers at his men, ‘give the girl another twenty across the tits with the cane. Just to remind Mrs Matanga of the need for politeness.’
One of the two torturers picked up a thin, whippy cane from behind the buckets, and sliced it through the air. Immediately she heard the vicious hissing ‘zzzzzttt’ sound, even though she couldn’t see what they were doing, the pinioned girl screamed and threshed, her whole body jerking and twisting helplessly. Her big, firm breasts jiggled and bounced wildly as she tried to avoid the agony she knew was coming.
‘No...no you can’t...no...why her? I was the one who swore at you...why punish her? She’s done nothing...’ Joyce Matanga stopped aghast, her face stark with horror as she watched the grinning man position himself at the side of the low bench. ‘Oh God, no...no NOOOOO! You can’t use the cane on her...not there...please, please don’t...’
‘Then you might think twice before opening that big, stupid mouth of yours next time. Of course we can cane her where we want.... Look...watch carefully now...’ The man flicked the cane round in a shallow arc so it cut across the exposed, delicate undersides of her breasts with a vicious ‘swickkk!’
The girl bucked in agony, hips thrusting up as though fucking her phantom lover. Her scream echoed round the small room ‘Ggggggaaaaarrrghhh!, huh…huh…huh… gaaaagggghh!’
‘See, Mrs Matanga, he’s a real artist...watch how skilfully he’s using that cane... the first five will be across the thinner skin underneath...very sensitive just there the ladies tell me, next five across the outer circles just to get her attention...and then the last ten straight across the nipples.’ The captain smiled in satisfaction as the second stroke landed millimetres from the first and the young teenager arched up again with another heart-rending squeal.
The two men looked across and laughed as the captain went on. ‘I do like a nice brisk caning...it leaves the skin so sore and sensitive but no real damage so you can do it again and again. She’s had her tits caned once already and that makes them twice as tender and so she knows what’s coming will be worse, much worse...that why she’s making all that fuss...’
The third and fourth strokes of the cane were harder and whatever pleas the girl was trying to make were lost forever in her screaming frenzy as her tongue curled and flickered against the ring gag and the tendons in her neck showed like cables as she convulsed in agony.
Joyce fought uselessly against the powerful grip of the two guards as the grinning man moved round to the other end of the bench… ‘Oh no… no you can’t, no, no I won’t let you…’
He grinned even more widely and waited patiently whilst the other two easily brought Joyce Matanga’s struggles under control. ‘You won’t let us, Mrs Matanga…?’ Captain’s Otuba’s voice hardened, ‘what you want is a matter of complete indifference to me. To copy your own colourful language, I really couldn’t give a fuck what you want.’ He looked at the man with the cane. ‘Carry on... now we have Mrs Matanga’s full attention again.’
‘Gaaarrrrgggggghhh! Ih, ih, ih, ih… Naaaarrrrgggghhhh!’
The fifth stroke slicing into the tender crease at the base of each breast was bad enough. But the men grinned even more at the sudden increase in sound and reaction as the sixth seared across the lower edges of the wide black aureoles thrust so delightfully upwards by the girl’s position. She arched back even more violently, the taut curving bulge of her abdomen moving and heaving as she fought against the cords, convulsing in agony.
The man was an expert, placing each of the next four strokes with diabolical accuracy. Each one was accompanied by more screams and muscle wrenching spasms. One more crossed each aureole below the nipple, followed by three just above, each one scoring a thin raised weal across the tender dark brown circles but just avoiding contact with the sore, swollen spikes of her nipples that now jutted up so fiercely.
The man moved to the other side of the bench, shuffled his feet then, very gently, he tapped the thin cane against those hard points of flesh. With each touch she gasped and bucked only to shiver even harder as the tapping made the tips rouse and stiffen even more. The girl’s screams became a harsh racing pant as she craned her head up trying to watch the cane, knowing what was coming as she felt each little impact against the already swollen and horribly painful tips.
Then his arm whipped across in one, lightning-fast stroke that brought the thin rod whirring down to slice right across the peaks of the girl’s up-thrust breasts. Horrified, Joyce actually saw the teenager’s erect nipples denting under the cane’s snapping impact before springing back stiff and hard once again.
The man had lifted the cane, his arm cocked ready for the next stroke, long before the bubbling high-pitched and almost demented squeal burst from the girl’s throat as the sheer blazing agony of that cut seared through her body. She surged impossibly against the cords holding her down. Joyce Matanga stared aghast as the weal developed, running exactly over the girl’s horribly swollen and sensitive teats. But, before she could even say anything, there was another whirring zip of sound followed by the wet, crisp sound of rattan on flesh.
‘Hold her, Jonno; she’s moving too much...’
The second man immediately walked over and knelt by the girl’s head, between her outstretched arms. His big hands cradling the sides of the girl’s breasts and then he pressed inwards, squeezing hard so the big globes were forced together. They bulged upwards, the black, jutting tips held out ready for...
‘Thwick’…pause...scream ‘thwick’…pause...scream ‘thwick’…pause...SCREAM!
‘Naaaaaaah, nah, nah, nah, naaaarrrggggghh NAHHHHHHH...!’
The girl suddenly slumped back, head dangling limply and her outraged squeals of agony were abruptly silenced. ‘No, no you’ve killed her… you fucking bastards... you’ve killed her!
‘All right, that’ll do, let her rest a moment, I want to look,’ Both men stood clear of the bench as Captain Otuba peered at the pattern of raised lines now showing across the girl’s breasts. He lifted her head then let it fall back. Joyce heard the woolly thud as her head hit the wooden end of the bench. ‘Of course we haven’t killed her, Mrs Matanga…where would the fun be in that?’ He sighed theatrically. ‘No stamina these people, no stamina at all, but I think Mrs Matanga understands things more clearly now.’ He turned to the two guards. ‘Take the ex-Minister’s wife back to my office, we have things to discuss.’
He waited until the two guards had dragged Joyce out of the torture chamber then looked across at the girl for a moment. ‘Fuck her if you want, it’s obvious the stupid cow doesn’t know anything. Don’t damage her too much though, I may need to use her as bait if the Matanga bitch goes on being stupid,’ he said quietly to his two near naked torturers then turned and left them alone in the room with the girl.
The one who’d caned her breasts slammed his open hand down between the splayed legs in a stinging slap against the young African’s outthrust cunt.
‘Ollllgggg, oooooog, oh Glog pleeeg!’
Mary N’dolu’s head jerked up. She stared round wildly, breathing in rapid, sobbing gasps and shaking her head from side to side as she was jerked back to consciousness by the shock and stinging pain in her groin. ‘Wakey, wakey bitch… Time to say thank you...see this comes next…’ Jonno’s fingers gripped her short wiry curls and twisted her neck round so she was forced to look across to where his friend was standing at the side of the room. The other man grinned back as he slowly peeled the tight, white tanga briefs down and stroked his long black cock, fingers wrapped round the shaft to point the gleaming purple head at the pinioned girl.
Jonno let her head go and quickly slipped off his own pants, grabbed hold of her hair again and brought his short, thick cock to rub against her face. He squatted slightly and used both hands to tilt her head back. ‘Lick nice and slow...lots of tongue to make me feel real good...’ He giggled and gave a groan of satisfaction as he felt her pink tongue wriggling delightfully against his cock as he pushed the domed head through the metal ring gag into her mouth.
‘Oh yes, be nice to me now and I’ll let you breathe...just a little bit,’ he said mocking her struggles. Her babbling protest noises became a series of squelching, bubbling moans as he rocked to and fro. With each slow sliding movement the heavily veined shaft of his cock sank deeper and deeper. Of course the more she struggled the more her tongue wriggled and licked the thick warm penis filling her mouth. Each time he pulled back, the erect shaft and prominent domed head glistened with a fresh, oily coating of pre-cum and saliva.
The other man moved to stand between the pinioned teenager’s legs, still gently jacking off the thick, curved shaft of his nine inch cock. Seeing that his friend was fully occupied feeding his cock into the girl’s mouth, he reached forward and parted her swollen labia with one hand and rolled the uncut foreskin back from the fat, cum-slick glans with the other.
Shuffling forwards, he pushed his cock down until the domed head parted her rubbery cunt lips then he pressed hard in a single, long stroke and buried his cock deep inside her vagina. Beneath him the arched body bucked and spasmed at this second, horrible invasion. He waited a moment then pulled back until just the sensitive rim of the helmet nestled between the inner pink folds.
‘Oh yeah man...this gotta be the best bit by far,’ he said as he arched his hips and drove his cock to the hilt in the girl’s vagina, pressing in hard that her cunt lips were mashed apart against his groin. She made wet, slobbering sounds, dribbling round the cruel gag holding her jaws so wide apart; fighting for breath as the thick, black cock slid in and out of her mouth, plugging the back of her throat with each stroke. The man went on pounding into her cunt, not content with rasping the tender inner folds and scratching the poor, swollen bulb of her clit against the coarse, wiry mat of hairs at the base of his cock. They both roared with laughter as he suddenly reached forward with finger and thumb to pinch and twist the horribly swollen nipple of her right breast.
Arched back over the bench, eighteen year old Mary N’dolu dribbled, whimpered and jerked helplessly; her muscles clenching round the man’s cock in response to the agonising torment as the long, slow double fucking went on...and on...and on...
Captain Otuba settled himself comfortably behind the battered desk in his office and studied the delightfully toned and curved figure of the now ex-Junior Minister’s wife as she stood before him. The earlier bravado had disappeared to be replaced with something else...something different. The captain allowed himself a few more moments just enjoying the sight of those long lithe legs and the tight, rounded bottom barely concealed at all by a ridiculously short tennis skirt.
The brief white sports top emphasised the fullness of the woman’s breasts. Even through the thin material and the bra beneath her nipples showed as prominent nubs, hinting at their size and length. She’ll show me everything soon enough, the captain thought, with luck she’s going to try and be stubborn...so much more fun when they won’t submit. This one’s determined to hold out, I can see it in her eyes...oh yes she’s seen what they were doing to the girl but she’s different...important...the stupid cow still thinks it’s all a mistake...believes someone’s going to come and save her at the last minute.
The captain cleared his throat, time to begin playing his kind of games with the delightfully shaped Mrs Matanga. A vigorous caning to repay her insolence earlier then the fun of watching when she realises it’s her turn for the water treatment. He allowed himself a shiver of delighted anticipation... and after that a long, slow session in the other room with the chair and his favourite toy...the field telephone magneto...
‘Well, Mrs Matanga, after our little demonstration let us begin again. I want to know the names of the people your husband was meeting in secret at your house. The ones he told you not to talk about at the club. Tell me what I want to know...or you will find yourself changing places with that young girl very shortly.’
Joyce Matanga tried to keep her voice from trembling. ‘I’ve told you...I don’t know any names. Yes, of course we had visitors and meetings at our house Jonas was an important man and lots of people wanted to talk to him...but that doesn’t mean he was a traitor, you bastard! You’re just an animal, you and those thugs...sick, perverted bastards all of you!’ Tears welled up in her eyes and trickled in uneven trails down her cheeks. Her composure crumpled as the images of what she’d seen in the tiled room came back to her.
‘Please...I don’t know any names...Jonas didn’t discuss things like that with me...please...you’ve got to believe me...please...!’ Once again the captain’s unmoving silence broke through her terror. ‘Didn’t you hear me...are you deaf or something...I said I DON’T KNOW ANY NAMES!’ She bent forwards, burying her head in her hands and crying in loud shaking sobs. Her voice was quieter, more desperate as she looked up and continued. ‘Please...you’ve got to believe me...please I’ll do anything....please!’
‘Very well, Mrs Matanga...I’ll take you at your word...you can start by taking your clothes off.’
‘Wha...I mean...what did you say?’
‘Very simple request, you said you would do anything. I asked you to remove your clothes...or were you lying about your willingness to co-operate as well?’
‘No...I...I...no...no I didn’t mean that...no, no you can’t make me, you CAN’T!’
‘Don’t be stupid...of course I can.’ He leaned back, hands steepled once again. ‘Mrs Matanga, my patience is at an end but I will still give you a choice. You will do as I say...or these men will strip you naked by force and then beat you... very hard. You know what they did to you earlier on...’ He paused and looked straight into her bloodshot eyes, ‘well, which one is it to be?’
The woman twisted round, blinking through her tears to see the two guards moving closer; their faces alight with cruel excitement. ‘N-no...no, oh God! No... please! Tell them to keep their hands off...I’ll d-do...wha-what you want,’ she said hurriedly taking a step towards the desk.
The captain waved the men away, ‘well...go on...’
Suddenly clumsy, Joyce Matanga could feel her face burning with shame and embarrassment as she struggled to pull the sweaty and damp sports top over her head. The three men watched her efforts with enjoyment because, with her arms up by her head, her firm breasts were fully exposed and every movement made them sway and bounce despite the support of a light sports bra. Once free of the shirt, Joyce quickly unbuttoned the waistband and undid the side zip of her skirt, pushing it over her hips so it fell to the floor to lie in a ring round her bare feet.
Joyce crossed her arms over her breasts in automatic reflex but she needn’t have bothered. The two guards were much more interested in the way her white cotton thong had ridden up into the cleft of her bottom leaving her buttocks totally naked. From his side the captain could see the soft swell of her lower belly and the way the extremely brief panties did nothing at all to hide the prominent bulge of her cunt lips. In fact he could see the flattened whorls and curls of hair on her mound and even the clear indentation of her slit through the plump vee of sheer, moist cotton that was sticking to her genitals like a film of paint.
She looked up, still tearful but defiant. ‘Oh no, no Mrs Matanga, please, you’re not that stupid...I said clothes...and that means all of them...now!’ Joyce stared round as she heard the men moving behind her and she slowly and reluctantly peeled the sports bra up and over her head.
There was a clear growl of excitement from the two guards as they watched the full chocolate globes fall free to jiggle and bounce unhindered. Captain Otuba nodded to himself, oh yes he’d been right about those nipples. He studied the wide dark brown, almost black, circles capping each breast. At the centre of each one a thick, stubby teat pointed upwards, even it this situation they were sticking out like little black fingers.
He breathed a little harder at the thought of giving those nipples some prolonged and special treatment...watching the men pinching and twisting each one before rubbing chilli oil into the sensitive skin so she screamed and twisted as they burned and swelled until they were so taut and stretched...so horribly sensitive for the touch of a cane, then, later on the fun of sitting beside her and pushing a heated needle slowly down the length of each one...He looked at the brief vee of white cotton, and if her clit was equally as big and prominent...
No-one said anything as the Junior Minister’s wife finally obeyed the captain’s unspoken order and eased the waistband of her panties over her hips and down her legs. They all stared intently as she automatically rested a hand on the edge of the desk for a moment, balancing on one leg to remove the flimsy garment before letting it fall. Straightening up she became aware of their hot eyes on her body and immediately hunched forward, staring down at the floor while her cheeks burned dark with shame. Just like all the others, the captain thought as he watched her attempts at covering herself, they all do it...one arm across the tits, the other cupping her cunt like she wants to play with herself or something...silly cow, she’ll learn soon enough.
He snapped his fingers and one of the guards hurried forwards. Before Joyce could do anything he’d grabbed her hands and pulled her arms behind her back slipping a white nylon band over her wrists as he did so. She was just starting to protest and trying to jerk her hands free when the other guard grabbed the long trailing end and wrenched the cuff tight with a single, sharp ‘ziiiiiiiiitt!’ of sound. He smiled nastily and used his strength to pull the white nylon band. The one-way fastening made a series of little clicks as the cuff was drawn tighter and tighter, digging into her flesh and cinching her wrists hard against each other, palms outwards. Without further orders they pushed the naked woman across the room until she was pressed against one end of the desk.
A little tall but never mind, the captain thought seeing that the desk edge was across the tops of her thighs rather than the crease of her hips. ‘There’s a loop at the base of each leg, Mrs Matanga. I want you to put a foot inside each one.’
The palm of the guard’s hand slammed full force against Joyce Matanga’s bottom as she stood staring at the captain in disbelief. She screamed and jolted so violently that the desk screeched forwards six inches as she fell forwards and her breasts mashed down against the wooden top. The men took full advantage of the opportunity to finger and squeeze her large breasts as they forced her upright once again.
‘Next time it won’t just be a tap with his hand... Put your feet into those loops or else!’ Leaning against the desk edge for balance the shivering woman managed to get her feet into the stiff leather loops that had been bolted to the bottom of each of the desk’s legs. The loops were the captain’s own idea. They provided a simple and effective temporary restraint that kept a victim’s legs apart and straight and, once the victim had been bent over and secured, presented their buttocks admirably for a quick punishment caning before the real interrogation began.
Captain Otuba got up and walked over to the corner of the room behind the door. Like the loops on the desk legs, Joyce Matanga just hadn’t noticed the battered brass pot hidden behind the open door with a selection of canes, rods and, incongruously, pieces of black flexible plastic pipe sticking out of the top. All of them looked well-used. Like a golfer trying to decide which club to use for a tricky shot he flicked through the selection for a few moment before pulling out a three foot long Malacca cane.
Finger thick and a deep honey yellow in colour it was heavy enough to give real weight to each stroke but was also horribly flexible. The prominent growth rings standing proud of the surface every inch or so only added to the searing effect of the cane when applied across bare skin. He tried a couple of strokes and the woman twisted round, her face distorted with fear and disbelief as she heard the vicious humming whirr as the cane cut the air.
‘Oh God! Wh...What are you...what are you going to do with that!’ He showed her the cane. ‘No please no...no, no I haven’t done anything...no please!’ The captain just smiled and stroked the end of the cane across her abdomen, sliding it up and down her sweat beaded skin. The he lifted it until the end of the yellow rod was just touched the underswell of her breasts. He lifted again so the firm globes rose a little, weighed by the bamboo rod.
‘I’m not going to do anything with it.’ He paused letting her feel a tiny flicker of hope before crushing it, ‘but they are. My men are going to cane you Mrs Matanga...’ he moved the rod and made her breasts bounce gently. ‘Oh no, not here...’ He paused and laughed, ‘well, not yet any way.’ The rod moved away to tap across the tight curves of her bottom ‘You need a lesson...a lesson in manners. I told you earlier that I would deal with your uncouth behaviour...and now it is time for you to be punished for your attitude since being brought here.’
‘Why...why...I haven’t DONE anything...please...please I haven’t!’
He ticked of the items on his finger as he spoke. ‘So many things, Mrs Matanga...rudeness, swearing at an officer, insulting the regime, calling a member of the Security Service a liar and a pervert...quite a list, Mrs Matanga.’
His calm, bantering tone suddenly changed to a cold, cruel command. ‘Right you, bend her over...use the strap.’
The guard who’d slapped Joyce Matanga a few moments earlier opened the desk drawer and took out a thick roll of something with a heavy metal fitting at the end. She stared at it as he let the long, flat strap uncoil lazily onto the floor. For a brief moment she thought they were going to use it as well as the cane. She realised her mistake as the second, bigger guard, the one who’d kicked her with such cruel pleasure earlier on grabbed her wrists and the short wiry curls at the back of her head to force her forwards until she was pressed face down against the wooden top.
She felt the rough strap slap across the small of her back just above her hips then the man reached under the desk to grab the swinging end. The heavy nylon webbing sawed painfully across her back as he fitted the end through the big metal buckle then pulled it tight. She grunted as he cinched it tighter and tighter, the band squashing her lower belly against the desk top. In that position her legs were braced hard against the desk and she could feel the stretching tension in her calves and up her hamstrings. Even if she tried to move her legs she couldn’t, she was held in the position they wanted, thighs slightly apart and her hips canted up to offer the smooth globes of her bottom to the hot kiss of the punishment cane.
The hands suddenly let her wrists and hair go and she was able to move and wriggle her upper body. Immediately, she arched back, lifting her breasts clear of the desktop as she twisted to look at the three grinning men standing around the desk. But she could only hold the position for a few seconds then fell forwards, tears welling in her eyes as she understood why they were going to leave her like that. They were going to enjoy watching her wriggling and writhing as the agony built up. With the strap across her waist and leaving her upper body free it meant that she would give them an extra show as she arched and jerked in agony. She just knew that they would be watching every movement as her breasts bounced and slapped against the desktop.
Joyce Matanga wept bitter tears of useless rage and terror as she shivered despite the cloying heat. She was presented and secured perfectly for her punishment caning, and there was nothing she could do to stop it...
Captain Otuba nodded his approval and held out the cane. ‘Excellent, right, Corporal, Lieutenant Makebi says you’re good with one of these... it’s your chance to show me how good you really are. Let’s see how loudly this important person will sing for us after...let me see...yes, ten good, hard strokes...’
The captain walked round until he was standing by the other side of the desk. He leaned over and looked into Joyce Matanga’s hate-filled defiant eyes. Those eyes widened in shock and disgust as he ran his hand along the exposed cleft between her buttocks. He smiled as she clenched hard trying to deny him access. He hooked one finger and dragged the nail across the entrance of her vagina so she whinnied in discomfort and reared back. He deliberately wormed the finger into the tight, spasming opening of her anus.
Joyce bit her lip in shame as she had to give way and felt the fingertip slip through the tight ring and wriggle painfully inside her rectum. ‘As I said...I can do anything I want...anything at all.’ The finger curled and twisted so his nail scraped the delicate inner membranes. Between her gasps of pain, Joyce Matanga found the strength to jerk and buck at the violation of her body. Her screams were broken by her difficulty in drawing a full, deep breath but, unwisely, she still managed to make her fury clear.
‘Aaaah...hah...ah-hah-aaaah! Yuh-yuh fuckin b-b-b-bastard!’
Smiling, and satisfied he’d got just the excuse he wanted, the captain jerked his finger away and wiped it across her bottom. ‘That wasn’t very clever, or polite...so lets make that twenty...no, twenty five strokes, Corporal if you please...it appears that Mrs Matanga still hasn’t come to terms with her true situation yet.’ He walked calmly round the desk and sat down.
He rolled his chair sideways a little so he could watch every moment of the brutal caning, especially Joyce Matanga’s face at the moment each stroke landed. He just loved that wonderful first expression of shock and outrage on their faces as the cane landed; then the grimaces and contortions as the scalding pain got worse and worse. He nodded to the grinning corporal to begin.
Joyce Matanga managed to stifle her scream but jerked as though given an electric shock. Her torso arched back, head tilting towards the ceiling; the movement lifting those heavy globes inches clear of the desk top in a single convulsion. She stayed posed for long seconds then flopped down hard enough for her tits to slap onto the wood with an audible smack. A thick line appeared across the crest of both buttocks where the cane had landed with a solid, bruising impact. The aim was perfect and there had been no hesitation in the stroke.
The corporal had done this so many times he knew exactly how to extract the most pain each time. He waited, watching the woman’s frantic writhing movements, his eyes studying the shivering tension in her legs as she tried to ride that first excruciating agony.
He was waiting until he detected that tiny relaxation in those toned muscles, heard the woman’s slightly longer breath as she felt the scalding agony fading...just a little bit. Just about...now! The cane whirred viciously through the air to dent those smooth cheeks for a second time. There was another solid ‘thwockk!’ and Joyce Matanga arched up again.
She gave another strangled cry through clenched teeth then hissed and shuddered violently as she tried to ride the pain... then the strain on her back was just too much and she fell forwards again and the men heard the wet slap of those big breasts against the wooden top. Captain Otuba nodded approval of the man’s obvious skill and made a mental bet with himself...another five like that and she’d have forgotten all about self-control and would be screaming for them to stop...not that anyone would pay the slightest attention of course.
‘Thwock!’ ‘Thwock!’ ‘Thwock!’ ‘Thwoc...!’
...YAAAAARRRRRGGGGGG!’ OH GOD! OH GOD! STOP AAAAAGGGH! NOOOOOO! PLEEEEEESE!’
The captain grinned happily...he’d just won his mental bet.
Now the once haughty and so-refined Junior Minister’s wife squealed and screamed like an animal as she threshed and arched wildly in her bonds in the hot, stifling little office. Saliva sprayed from the stretched O of her mouth and her whole body gleamed like oiled mahogany from the fine sheen of perspiration coating it. The desk top beneath her breasts was slippery from the slapping impacts as she bucked back and forwards at each stroke and those big, thick black nipples were now even harder and longer...the flesh taut, bruised and swollen from the self-inflicted smacking they’d received in the last five minutes.
Captain Otuba got up and peered into her puffy, tear-stained face. He smiled as another stroke brought another gabble of fresh screams and useless pleas. ‘Not even halfway Mrs Matanga... how on earth will you bear it?’ He chuckled at the desperate noises she was making. ‘It’s a bit late for saying please...and don’t worry about the screams by the way, no one can hear a thing upstairs...and down here they’re quite used to those kind of sounds.’ While he talked his hands stroked the slippery skin of her breasts and then curved under to cradle the weight of the heavy globes.
‘You should be more careful...throwing yourself around like that...’ His fingers closed round the long, engorged stubs. He pressed and twisted his wrists in opposite directions
She was trying to cry in response to the sudden pain lancing through her nipples when the next stroke caught her right in the soft groove at the base of her bottom cheeks. With the strap clamping her tightly against the desk it was only her torso that was free to move at all. Unfortunately for the screaming thirty-five year old, the flailing spasm meant she hurt her own abused teats even more as she arched back against the pull of his pincer-like fingers.
The two guards roared with laughter as they saw the woman’s full breasts stretching into long chocolate cones as she pulled away from the captain’s hands. Their laughter became even louder from the two guards as the captain released his grip and her breasts sprang back, bouncing and jiggling wonderfully. Captain Otuba smiled too, enjoying the sight of how much more swollen and erect Mrs Matanga’s nipples were after that bit of extra attention.
Of course, she didn’t know it but the fact that it had added to her discomfort was a bonus...what mattered was that each long black stub would be even more erect, swollen and sore by the time they took her back to the torture room. He was a specialist and liked to have his subjects properly prepared when they were due to get some agonisingly special treatment.
After thirteen strokes he let the corporal take a brief rest. ‘That’s half, Mrs Matanga...do you think you’ve learned your lesson now?’
‘Ah-aaaahh, please...yes, please please I’m sorry please...please don’t let him hit me again please I-I-I can’t b-bear it....YAAAARRRGGH!’
The captain had leaned over so his lips were close to her ear as she gabbled out her desperate entreaty. The words ended in another shriek of agony as he scraped the fingernails of his left hand very slowly and delicately across the hot, swollen globes of her bottom. ‘But you’re going to have to...there’s another twelve to go...after all I did promise you twenty five after that little bit of silliness...and you wouldn’t want me to go back on my word as an officer. But I’ll ask the corporal to aim a little lower for the next few...and give your bottom a rest.’
For a few moments the old fire blazed in the woman’s eyes as she twisted round to stare into the sadistic captain’s cruel, pitiless features. Wisely, whatever she had been about to say remained unsaid as common sense prevailed and she slumped down against the wooden top, sobbing softly as her torturer ran his fingers along the smooth, slick curves of her flanks. She pressed herself down onto the wood as his fingertips brushed the outer swell of her breast, ignoring the sudden throbbing pain as she tried to shield those sensitive points of her body from his groping hands.
Content with his first victory for the moment he didn’t try and touch her nipples at all but sat back in the chair. ‘All right Corporal, six across the top of her legs then the last six across the first set of stripes...’
The woman’s breathing suddenly changed to a terrified racing pant as she caught sight of the big corporal stretching and flexing his arms as he positioned himself once again. She saw the heavily muscled arm draw back.
‘Please please please...nooooooo...’
For the next ten minutes the foetid little office echoed to Joyce Matanga’s screams. By the twenty fifth stroke the pain and her wild jerking movements had left her exhausted; the screams now reduced to a ragged series of hoarse, wailing shrieks. The desktop was slick and slippery with saliva dribbling unheeded from her slack lips and the rivulets of sweat running off her body as she arched up and down with each impact of the expertly wielded rod.
‘Good, Corporal, the Lieutenant was right to commend your skill.’ He tossed the man an unopened packet of cigarettes as unofficial reward. ‘Take a break, both of you; enjoy the cigarettes...whilst I have a private word with Mrs Matanga.’ The two men grinned happily as they left the room closing the door behind them.
The corporal slapped his arm and jerked his fist into the air in a crude but unmistakable gesture; they both knew exactly what kind of private word the captain would be having. He opened the packet and gave the other man a few cigarettes as his share before they both lit up. Twin plumes of blue smoke hung in the hot, still air, American, very good...the men grinned in appreciation of the Captain’s generosity. They walked off down the corridor chatting cheerfully; their turn would come soon enough. Besides, there was always fresh cunt available somewhere in the interrogation centre.
In the office Captain Otuba undressed quickly and carefully, folding his clothes neatly over the back of the office chair. Joyce Matanga lay along the wooden desk, too intent on the blazing agony lacing her bottom cheeks and the tender tops of her thighs to pay any attention to what was going on around her. It was only when Captain Otuba’s fingers gripped her hair to wrench her head round to the side that she saw his slim, naked figure and the thick, up-curving rod of his cock. She realised the humiliation was not to end with the vicious caning she’d just endured.
‘Lick it...get it wet and ready Mrs Matanga...the wetter you make it the easier it will be when I fuck you...no stupid tricks, I warn you...or I’ll call the corporal back to give you another lesson, a longer one this time.’ The threat was horribly real. Joyce Matanga screwed her eyes shut in shame and opened her mouth as he used one hand to guide the thick, purple dome of his penis between her lips. Moses Otuba looked down in satisfaction as the woman licked his cock. For him there was always that extra special excitement in watching a proud, arrogant bitch like this one wrapping her big, fat lips round his shaft while he stood there just guiding her head so as to achieve the greatest pleasure.
‘That’s right...there...oh yes, use that tongue...yes right there...,’ he said quietly. For a couple of minutes there was silence except the obscene slurp and suck of her busy mouth. ‘How foolish of your husband to abandon such a talented slut...oh no...no...not yet.’ He grinned as he pulled his cock from her mouth then casually slapped his hand across her cheek so she jerked free from his grasp and her chin hit the desk with a thud. ‘Stupid cow...you do what I say!’ She’d suddenly redoubled her efforts, trying to make him cum before he had a chance to fuck her...but Moses Otuba was not going to be caught out by such an old trick.
Joyce Matanga twisted round, peering back over her bound wrists as he walked behind her, the thick eight inch curve of his cock bouncing and swaying as it jutted away from his groin like a blunt horn of flesh. ‘P-please...please...please don’t I’, s-s-so suh-suh-sore... Gaaaaah! Naaah...aaah, noooo...p-pleeeeese!’
His hand slid between the parted cheeks, fingers worming between the exposed lips to probe the delicate inner flesh of her vagina. ‘Ah-hah,’ he chuckled and she flushed with shame at the unwanted betrayal of her own body’s reaction. ‘It seems you found the experience of being caned exciting I can tell.’ He rubbed his fingers along the wet, oily folds of her cunt. ‘A true slut...despite all the airs and graces...’ He gripped her hips and moved closer. Joyce Matanga jerked, her mouth open in a near-silent gasp of pain as the wiry mat of hair at his groin scratched across the horribly sore weals barring her bottom.
Strapped down and wet as she was, there was nothing she could do to resist the long slow thrust of his cock deep into her vagina. Her eyes and mouth widened at the sudden sensation as he pressed harder and she felt his thickness stretching and filling her in a way Jonas had never done. She shivered and cried softly as his cockhead nudged the mouth of her cervix, her feeling of pleasure damped by the burning pain of his hands touching the rawness of her buttocks, his nails scraping deliberately and unbearably across the network of raised lines.
‘Oh Gaaaah...Nah...d-d-d-don’t t-t-touch meeeee!’
Captain Otuba ignored the woman’s tortured cries because with each touch he felt her muscles clenching and spasming around his cock, massaging him like a warm, velvet glove that tightened to grip him so wonderfully each time he raked his nails across the bruised and bloody marks left by the cane. Her cries became louder as the speed of his strokes increased and his fingers hooked into claws that pinched and gripped the meat of her bottom cheeks.
‘That’s it....harder now...make me cum you cow...go on...squeeze harder now...HARDER you traitorous bitch...SQUEEZE ME!’ His words were low pitched, a private chant to spur his own excitement more than anything as he dug his fingers in, gripping her abused flesh and prising her cheeks apart so he could fuck her even harder and deeper.
Long minutes later, as he began that final violent climb to his own climax he reached forwards to grab her bound arms by the elbows and stretch her body back in a straining bow. He leaned away, arching her back to ram deeper and deeper into her cunt, jolting the desk across the floor with each jerking impact.
For Joyce Matanga there was pleasure as well, pleasure she hated but couldn’t resist because she couldn’t help responding to the deep reaming thrusts that were stimulating her cunt so dreadfully. Shamefully, she knew she was getting wetter and wetter; could hear the familiar liquid squishing noises as the captain pistoned into her body. Gradually the pain and dreadful heat of her punishment was turning into another kind of heat as she felt her own orgasm building.
But her reactions were of no interest to the sadistic captain intent on his selfish pleasure. A series of final, ramming thrusts and a sudden bark of triumph signalled his climax. Joyce Matanga felt the pulsing jets squirting from his cock deep inside and pressed back wriggling her hips desperately trying to trigger her own release too. But it was no use, a sudden emptiness and the feeling of cold slimy trails of her own body’s juices mixed with semen trickling down her inner thighs brought reality crashing back.
One hand slapped across the woman’s right buttock as the captain pulled his wet, softening penis free.
‘A true slut!’
He dressed swiftly, completely ignoring the figure still bent over the desktop. Then he turned and walked round to the end of the desk before lifting her head with two fingers beneath her chin. His smile was pure sadistic evil, ‘I suggest you enjoy the rest, Mrs Matanga...I’ll leave the door open...then you’ll be able to hear the men coming to take you back to the other room. Remember, this time it will be you on the bench.’
As he left the only sound in the stinking underground room was a low, desperate sobbing from the figure tied down across the desk.
Fifty minutes later, Joyce Matanga, the attractive, thirty five year old wife of the country’s Junior Development Minister was still lying, face down, along the top of a battered wooden desk in a grubby office. Her wrists were tied together behind her back, tied so tightly that the white nylon band they’d used had sunk into the puffed and swollen flesh. Her ankles were inside stiff leather loops bolted to the bottom of each desk leg that kept her legs securely in position and apart.
The loops weren’t tight at all, but she couldn’t lift her feet free because she was bent forwards, held down by the thick, heavy strap buckled tightly across her waist and around the desktop so her legs were kept stretched and straight. The firm, out-thrust curves of her bottom cheeks were laced with brutal weals. Each raised line beaded with droplets of blood and surrounded by a wider, hot rim of swollen and bruised flesh.
Wetness gleamed in the cleft of her buttocks and the exposed split oval of her cunt was oily with a glaze of semen and her own slippery juices. The engorged and swollen outer lips were parted revealing the pink inner folds and the prominent nub of her clitoris at the peak of the vee standing proud of its little hood of flesh. As well as the wetness, traces of a thicker, whitish cream showed round the rim of her split, the inner lips and the delicate folds at the top of her cleft.
Even though it was unpleasantly hot and humid in the little office and the woman’s body shone with a thin sheen of perspiration, she was trembling. The long toned length of her legs quivered constantly and she breathed in shallow, panting gasps. The man responsible for her terror, Captain Moses Otuba, had left her alone almost an hour ago. The cramps, the soreness of her breasts and the burning, throbbing pain in her bottom had become part of the background, something she had to put up with.
The terror came from the waiting. That awful anticipation of the footsteps in the corridor; waiting for the sounds of the men coming to take her to the torture chamber...and imagining the obscene, agonising things they would do to her in that bright, white place.
Joyce Matanga had her face pressed against the desktop, smearing the drying pool of sweat and saliva she’d dribbled there in the extremis of her pain an hour before. Her eyes were fixed on one place, watching the partially-open door while her ears strained to hear the sound of footsteps. Twice already there had been the sound she dreaded, the second time the tension had been too much and she’d wet herself when someone stopped out side. There had been the sounds of conversation, then a burst of crude laughter and then they’d walked away.
It was another cruel trick.
The door slammed open and Joyce Matanga reared up, fighting her bonds in shock and terror. The guards just grinned, they were deliberately barefoot this time, sent so as to catch her unawares and unprepared. It was the work of seconds to release the strap and free her legs. ‘You stink of piss, bitch...but we’re goin to make you clean...real clean...the captain’s waiting to talk to you so I hope you got something good to say or else...’
‘No, please, please don’t take me there, please, please don’t... Noooooo.’
The last protest became a fading echo as the guards frogmarched thirty five year old Joyce Matanga down the concrete corridor to where the bright, white light spilled from the open door of the torture chamber.
Captain Otuba looked as though he had enjoyed a relaxing shower and change of clothes, the same tailored trousers but now the shirt was pale blue. But the eyes were as pitiless and cruel as ever. Behind him the two torturers waited. The heavily muscled and powerfully built men were almost naked apart from the tight, brief thongs that cupped their genitals so obscenely. This time one was in black, one in red. They both grinned with excitement as the woman, naked now was led in.
The grins widened as they saw the little manicured patch of hair above the depilated lips of her cunt and the way Joyce Matanga’s full breasts bounced and swayed with each step. For a few moments the guards held her upright letting her look round, enjoying her shivering terror while the captain deliberately turned, pretending to ignore her as he laughed and joked with the two leering interrogators.
With the girl gone Joyce was able to see the slatted bench in the middle of the floor properly. Knee high, it was about eighteen inches wide and under three feet long, wide enough to side on; not long enough to allow someone to lie full length. She looked away quickly as the memory of the girl’s desperate agony became too much. That was even worse because she looked straight across at the buckets, the brass stirrup pump and the coil of red rubber pipe they’d used on the girl earlier. The pipe was still attached to the pump but it was the sight of the other end with its carefully shaped rubber nozzle just lying there on the wet floor that brought back even more horrible and vivid images of the girl’s torture.
She closed her eyes remembering the splay of the teenager’s legs, the gleaming sweat-slick sheen of her body, swollen and distended...and the rubber pipe jutting from between her legs as the man forced more water into her anus. Instinctively she clenched her buttocks, shuddering at the thought of the two grinning thugs forcing that same rubber nozzle slowly up inside her own body.
Behind the captain and his thugs there were other things she hadn’t noticed earlier; a table against the far wall with a jumble of straps, the cane they’d used on the girl’s breasts and a heap of other bits and pieces of equipment scattered across the top. Everything looked so...so...ordinary. Somehow, that was what made it so awful.
The man who’d taken such pleasure in his skill caning the poor girl’s nipples earlier walked round to stand beside her. Joyce jerked and flinched as he ran the palm of his hand up her flank until he could cup his fingers under the fullness of her left breast.
‘’Nice...I prefer the older ones...’ He peered into her eyes, ‘gonna sing for us...or do we have to tickle you a little bit?’
Her eyes flickered round the horrible room, trying to see but trying not to think about what was going to happen to her. She would be strong. Someone would help, she had friends, people who would ask questions...she was important, they couldn’t do those kind of things to her, Joyce Matanga, it was... unthinkable.
‘G-g-get away from me!’ she gasped, stumbling to one side as the guards let her arms go unexpectedly. She missed the man’s quick jerk of the head but flinched as she saw the glint of a blade in the guard’s hand. She stifled her exclamation anticipated pain as she heard a soft ‘snick’ and her hands sprang free as one of the guards cut the nylon band. Joyce brought her hands in front of her body, twisting away from the sadistic thug’s grinning face and his crude, probing fingers as she grimaced and stood flexing her shoulders and massaging the angry weals the plastic tie had left on each wrist.
She winced and gasped at the intense, throbbing pain of returning circulation; working her fingers to try and get some feeling back into them. Behind her there was a brief exchange of crude, obscene comments and coarse laughter from the three men as the two guards turned to leave. She only knew they’d gone when she heard the steel door shut with a heavy thud behind them
‘So Mrs Matanga...Joyce...you’ve had time to think and you know what comes next if you go on being stupid...have you remembered those names I need?’
Joyce jerked upright at Captain Otuba’s bland enquiry. This was her moment of decision. She took two or three breaths then straightened up; pulled her shoulders back and looked the smug, sadistic captain full in the eye. ‘You raped me...you bastard...,’ her voice was hoarse but tense with terror and a sick defiance. ‘I’ve already told you...I don’t know anything about any visitors or and plots. I’ve told you...talk to my stupid, fucking husband. I’ve got nothing to say!’ Her body quivered and shook from the nervous tension as she stared defiantly back at the arrogant, smirking figure of Captain Otuba with a mixture of fear and complete loathing.
He said nothing, just stared at her naked figure for long moments. Finally, he smiled, the smile widening into a broad grin of sick pleasure and amusement ‘Excellent, just as I thought, you are a foolishly stubborn woman, but it does mean that these two...’ he paused, ‘Oh sorry I haven’t introduced you, this is Henry and that’s Jonno next to you, they are the experts in these matters...believe me, they get lots of practice on silly, stubborn ladies like yourself...’ his voice hardened to a harsh, arrogant sneer. ‘Stupid, stuck-up cunts who think that all they have to do is pretend they know nothing and all this,’ he waved his hand. ‘All of this will simply go away.’
He shook his head. ‘It won’t Mrs Matanga, believe me, it won’t... its all real. In a very little while you will be pleading...crying...screaming...and offering to do anything, anything at all to make the pain stop. But it won’t stop...it will just get worse and worse until you tell me everything I want to know. Remember that...the pain will just go on and on and on...’
His smile became even more deeply mocking and unpleasant as he watched her lips compress into a thin line. He nodded and gestured towards the bench. ‘Ah well, it’s your choice. So now we must use more direct methods to persuade you to change your mind.’ He grinned and pointed at the bench. ‘You know what happens now, Mrs Matanga, so you can start by sitting there, on the end of the bench facing the door...’
There was silence in the room for a few moment then, with eyes down but without a word, Joyce Matanga took a step forwards. Terrified and almost in a disbelieving trance at what was happening, the once proud wife of a senior government official walked obediently forwards, lifting one hand instinctively to shield her breasts from the intent stare of the three men as her nipples danced and jiggled with each footfall.
This is insane, mad...what am I doing? In her terror Joyce Matanga didn’t really understand why...but she obeyed...she took two steps, turned and sat down on the end of the wooden bench. The captain stood behind her, studying her carefully as she just sat there, trembling and rocking slightly, arms wrapped across her breasts but making no other attempt to resist at all as the two men knelt on either side to tie the ropes around each ankle.
The men worked with the speed of long experience, once her ankles were securely fastened the ropes were fed through iron rings set wide apart in the red-painted concrete. The captain looked at the naked woman, his eyes bright with the thought of the cruelties to come, but very alert for any last minute struggles or hysterics.
Funny, the Captain thought idly as he watched the men, this usually happens. Most of them go all quiet as they’re being secured and then.... Perhaps they still think it’s all some kind of game. The door will burst open and their saviour will stride in at the very last moment to rescue them. When they finally realise...well, it’s too late to struggle anyway. Of course, once they’re tied down and we start working on their tits or cunt, it doesn’t matter how young or mature they are; they scream just as loudly and struggle just as hard...and each one will tell me everything. Everyone does...sooner or later.
Captain Otuba smiled as his men drew the ropes taut. The woman was struggling to keep her legs together now...just like they all did, but the men simply used their strength to keep the tension on the ropes constant....waiting patiently while her muscles tired. Each little movement she made, each tiny adjustment of her feet meant another little defeat for the woman as they gradually pulled her ankles wider and wider apart. Finally, she was unable to resist any longer but they continued pulling until her legs were spread into a wide vee that made her gasp with discomfort, forcing her to arch back, bracing her hands on the bench behind to keep her balance.
The captain smiled. ‘Tighter,’ he commanded, and the men strained on the free ends of the rope. The woman groaned in growing pain, her thigh muscles quivering and the tendons standing out like taut wires beneath the dark brown skin.
‘Oh God! Too tight...I can’t bear it...please...please...it’s hurting me...please.’
‘We haven’t even started yet Mrs Matanga... tie her there, that’ll do for now,’ the captain said and the men quickly knotted the ropes to hold her outstretched legs in place. There was a heavy thud on the bench and something cold and rough touched the base of her spine. Before she could say anything more the men were at her sides again. This time the coarse ropes were for her wrists and she shivered and groaned in her misery, flinching as the prickly fibres caught and scraped the weals left by the nylon tie the guards had used earlier.
She wasn’t allowed the luxury of a slow gradual stretching out this time. Joyce Matanga cried out in shock and pain as the two men yanked the ends of the ropes with vicious force. The pull dragged her hands out to the side and broke her supporting grip on the bench. Her cries turned into a single, exhaled ‘haaaaah!’ as she fell, her back wrenched up in an agonising arch over the rough log they’d placed crosswise on the bench. The two thugs just laughed as they pulled the ropes through another pair of rings. This time the rings were anchored well ahead of the bench so her arms were not only stretched down towards the floor but also out on either side of her head.
Again the single, terse command, ‘tighter,’ and she grunted and gasped, fighting to breathe as her body was forced into a shivering backwards bow. Her buttocks were almost lifted clear of bench by the tension as the log forced her spine and belly to arch upwards. The quivering splay of her thighs and upward thrust of her hips meant that her genitals and even the dark whorl of her anus were cruelly exposed.
With the straddle of her thighs, the outer lips of her cunt gaped open displaying every detail of the sensitive inner folds and the vulnerable openings of her body. Worst of all the cruel bondage presented her clitoris openly and completely unprotected, a little bulbous target at the top of that sensitive vee of flesh ready and waiting for their agonising attentions.
She’d been right about the length of the bench. With her shoulders pressed down against the worn wooden slats, her arms stretched out above her head with her wrists tied securely to the two rings on the floor, Joyce’s head and neck were left unsupported. At first, she tried to look down the length of her body, craning forwards to see through the valley between her breasts but all she could see was the smooth upward curve of her belly and the taut mounds of her breasts each capped with a jutting, black tip. Arched on her back, her breasts had naturally slumped a little to the side but their natural firmness and the position of her arms ensured the dark caps still stood proud, her nipples pointing up towards the edges of the ceiling.
After a couple of minutes the strain of keeping her head bent up and forwards was too much and she was forced to relax her muscles and let her head hang back between her arms. That was when the woman discovered another small refinement of cruelty. One of the harsh, white spotlamps was positioned to shine directly into her eyes, the almost painful glare blinding her to what the men were doing...or what they were about to do.
Suddenly the light was obscured as Captain Otuba moved to look down at her. He bent into a full squat beside her head and gripped her hair with his right hand. Somewhere in the room Joyce Matanga heard the movements and the sound of rubber on rubber. ‘Open wide,’ he chuckled, and something cold and metallic clicked painfully against her teeth. Struggling wildly at this new indignity, her head suddenly blazed with pain as he pinched her upper lip between finger and thumb and twisted viciously, ‘open your fucking mouth or I tell the men to smash your teeth and force it open...’ he said calmly.
The deliberate crudeness of the words delivered in such a horrible quiet tone made the threat even more terrifying. The thirty five year old whimpered as she did as she was told, the whimpers turning to wet gurgling sounds as he forced the metal ring-gag behind her teeth, wedging her jaws apart.
‘Pleeeg ig hurrs...glo...plee...’
The garbled words turned into a sudden slobbering spasm as she tried to cope with not being able to swallow properly. The captain ignored her efforts and distress as he fastened the straps behind her head then pulled the buckle tight so the black nylon webbing distorted her cheeks and dug cruelly into the corners of her mouth to pull her lips back in a wide grimace. Holding her head still he pushed one finger deep into her mouth...
‘You’ll get used to it... and it comes out when you’ve decided to talk. Right, you two let’s start with the nozzle’ He stood up and watched carefully as the familiar preparations continued.
The man the captain had called Jonno smiled down at the naked woman arched back along bench. Taunting her to increase her terror, he held up the hose and showed her the thick, penis-like rubber nozzle so she could see the series of ridges circling the shaft and the way it swelled out before tapering in sharply to the flange at the base. Jonno grinned even more widely as he watched her expression of horror; clasped his fingers round the shaft and made obscene fucking movements with it.
Joyce moaned as stared at him. Now she could see why it was shaped like that...once the bulbous bit was pushed inside, her own muscles would clench tight round the narrow neck holding it in hard against the flange so a victim wouldn’t be able to force it out. Jonno walked back to the other end of the bench and brought another shivering babble of sound from Joyce by stroking the tip along the out-thrust and horribly exposed slit of her genitals very slowly and deliberately.
She craned up, head bent forwards so her chin touched her neck, peering down the length of her body to where her grinning tormentor stood between her outspread legs. Her head shook in frantic denial as she felt the nozzle probing lower, her own wetness allowing it to slide easily between her buttocks...
She gobbled and slobbered again, pink tongue squirming and wriggling in the black circle of the ring gag as trickles of saliva ran from the corners of her mouth at each frantic, inhuman sound she made. The noises grew even more frantic when she felt the tip against the tight, rosette of her anus. All three men laughed at the sounds. Jonno used his other hand to grip her thigh for leverage; pressed the nozzle into the puckered opening. He waited, feeling her body shivering with tension as she tried to clench hard enough to deny the invader entry.
He pulled the nozzle back a fraction and her sphincter relaxed in reflex. One hard thrust and she screamed and bubbled as the tip popped through the ring of muscle.
There was a louder burst of laughter from the three men, mocking her and the way Jonno had overcome her futile resistance so easily. ‘All the way in but nice and slow, Jonno...I want Mrs Matanga to enjoy every sensation in full.’
‘Yes Sir,’ the big interrogator smiled and adjusted his grip on the nozzle. His arm moved and Joyce Matanga wailed aloud in pain and shame as he used a slow and deliberate twisting action of his wrist to work the rubber phallus deeper and deeper into her rectum.
‘So much noise, Mrs Matanga, what a fuss...I bet you’ve had thicker cocks up there many times.’ Captain Otuba chuckled as he watched the pinioned woman writhing and gabbling with each movement of the big interrogator’s hand. She screamed in time with each little twist of his wrist. After a minute or so the nozzle was almost all the way in and stretching her anus wider and wider. Suddenly his hand jolted forwards, the last inch or so disappeared inside as her anal ring clamped tightly around the narrow neck, pulling the flange tight against the groove of her bottom.
Jonno pulled and twisted the nozzle a couple of times ensuring it was fully seated. He straightened up and left the Minister’s wife to continue flexing her buttocks, straining uselessly as she tried in vain to adjust to the fullness and discomfort of the thick, six inch rubber intruder filling her rectum.
There was a moment of respite while the three men watched the length of red rubber hose emerging from between her clenched buttocks wriggling and flexing as she strained and grunted in a futile effort to expel the nozzle. Intent on the pain and shame of having something filling her rectum, Joyce had forgotten for a moment, the real reason why they’d forced the nozzle into her in the first place. But she didn’t forget for long.
The sound of the tap and the splash and clatter of metal buckets being filled at the side of the room made her twist her head round to the side. Her eyes widened in horror as the other man, Henry, carried two full buckets across to put them down in the space between her outstretched legs. She screamed as the whole terrible situation stooped being a bad dream and became horribly, horribly real. They were going to do it...just like the girl...forcing water inside her and filling her like a balloon.
Henry and Jonno exchanged grins of sadistic pleasure as they watched her struggles and heard the long, bubbling wail of anguish from the pinioned woman. Captain Otuba crooked a finger and whispered in Jonno’s ear as Henry picked up the old-fashioned brass hand pump attached to the other end of the hose and fitted it over the side of a bucket.
‘You want to fill the bitch the first time, man?’ He asked.
Jonno rubbed the thick ridge of his cock, barely contained by the bulging pouch of his thong. The tightness of the thin material showed every ridge and line of his erect penis, the glans marked by a darker oval of wetness staining the taut fabric. ‘Nah, I’m ready to fill this cunt at the other end first.’
The little byplay between Jonno and the captain hadn’t been seen by Joyce Matanga. Captain Otuba nodded his approval and walked over to one of the plastic chairs. He settled himself comfortably, crossing his legs and taking time lighting his cigarette. ‘Now then, let’s see how well you can entertain my men while they start work, Mrs Matanga.’ Joyce’s head twisted from side to side as she tried to watch what all three men were doing and also pay some attention to the captain’s mocking words.
As he moved closer to the bench, the big, heavily muscled thug hooked his fingers into the waistband of his thong and pulled it down with one easy movement. He grinned and wrapped his fingers round his cock, stroking it so she could see the size and thickness and how the engorged veins stood out down the length of the black shaft. He used the other hand to touch the plum-sized helmet, circling one finger round the slit before spreading the oily seepage across the smooth purple dome so it gleamed under the lights. He traced the finger round the prominent flange, playing with himself as he brought his cock to full, curving hardness. He moved so close that his shins brushed her outstretched arms, the nine inch shaft bobbing close to her head as he moved. Jonno resolved Joyce’s problem of where to look by straddling her shoulders and reaching down to grab a handful of her hair.
‘Time for you to taste a real big man...Goin’ to need to work that tongue real hard if you want to give yourself enough room to scream, cunt!’
He crouched, bending at the knees to lean over Joyce Matanga so he could watch her face. He tightened the grip on her hair, pulling up slowly with full strength; forcing her to bend her head up and forwards. With his other hand he gripped the thick curving shaft of his cock holding it down, aiming the oily, gleaming head at the wet, open circle of her gagged mouth.
‘GOH! Goo gan’t...GOOOH! GAAAA...Gmmmm...hmmmm!’
‘Oh yeah...that’s right lick my cock,’ Jonno crowed as he felt her tongue wriggling and flexing against the sensitive underside of his glans as she tried to resist the invader slowly filling her mouth. Jonno shuffled his feet and, with the head of his penis lodged in the ring of the gag, took a two-handed grip in her hair, clutching a handful on either side just above her ears. ‘Better suck or suffocate, cunt!’ he said and lifted his hands; forcing her to bend her neck to so her head lifted towards his groin.
The three men laughed as Jonno’s groan of pleasure was drowned out by a sudden increase in the wet, inarticulate noises Joyce was making when his penis slid deeper into the wet, slippery confines of her mouth. Grinning and looking round at the other two men, Jonno kept pulling her hair, forcing himself deeper until the head of his nine inch cock was butting against the back of Joyce Matanga’s throat. A moment’s pause then he let her head sink back until almost the entire slippery black shaft was visible before pulling her head towards him once more. Jonno shuffled his feet, crouching a little more as he picked up the rhythm he wanted.
Captain Otuba tapped ash from his cigarette and leaned forwards, his breathing faster and a gleaming sheen of sweat showing on his forehead as he stared at the brutal face-fucking Joyce Matanga was being forced to endure. He loved this part of an interrogation session, watching his men fucking a good looking woman as the torture began. This one was a real pleasure to watch; the way her lips were stretched round the plastic ring, cheeks distorted by the nylon strap, the sticky wetness dribbling from the corners of her mouth as the gleaming black cock slid in and out like some obscene piston. Not forgetting the way her head and neck were framed by Jonno’s thickly-muscled thighs and how his balls rolled and bumped across the skin of her neck with each long stroke.
He smiled to himself as he watched his assistant enjoying himself; the bastard would fuck anything, man or woman, but useful...very useful. Besides, letting the men have their fun early on was only sensible. But he was good too...a series of long, deep strokes as he rocked her head forwards and back and then... Then, just where her frantic convulsions showed she was beginning to suffocate and was on the brink of passing out, he would let her head fall back until just the helmet was inside the ring and Jonno would hold himself there, grunting with pleasure as her efforts to get just a little air into her lungs meant her tongue flickered and licked the sensitive head wonderfully. That’ll soften her up nicely, the captain thought.
There was no way Joyce Matanga could avoid the man’s probing cock. She even began to anticipate his movements so as to reduce the pain in her scalp from his hard, pinching fingers. At her side, Captain Otuba noticed the beginning of this enforced co-operation and flicked a commanding glance to where Henry waited, hands on the handle of the pump and one foot on the metal floor plate to keep in steady in the bucket. The captain pointed at the vee of Joyce’s body where the red rubber hose emerged from between her clenched buttocks and a finger dipped in unmistakable command...
Henry took a deep breath and the big muscles of his shoulders and upper arms bunched as he slowly thrust the handle downwards. Astride Joyce’s shoulders Jonno gasped with pleasure. Her head was forwards so her mouth and throat were filled with thick black cock, when the first jet of cold water was forced into her rectum. Mucus dribbled and oozed from her mouth and her tongue wriggled desperately, squirming against the underside of his cock as she convulsed in a spasm of sudden, cramping pain. Realising that she was on the brink of choking he pulled back, studying her terrified expression as she felt the second jet of water surging deep inside her colon
Still determined to hold out Joyce tried to ride the increasing pain and pressure as Henry’s arms rose and fell in a slow, deliberate rhythm. The cramps got worse and worse and she could see the gradual swelling of her abdomen, but it was not until the first bucket was almost empty, that the pain turned to cramping agony and she began to scream and cry aloud in earnest.
The added sensation and vibration from her voice on his cock were just too much, finally pushing Jonno over the edge. His hips jerked and Captain Otuba smiled in satisfaction as he saw the tell-tale clenching of the big man’s buttocks and the sudden, pistoning movements of his hips as he came. Knowing that the captain liked to see a woman take it in the face, Jonno used one hand to pull his cock free so he could aim the last sticky drops over Joyce Matanga’s eyes and lips. Then, to add to her distress he deliberately pushed the head of his now-softening cock back into the slimy black circle of her gagged mouth and waited for the next jet of water to be squirted deep into her body.
Henry’s arms pushed down and Joyce screamed again, bathing Jonno’s cock in a spray of liquid and warm, exhaled air, tongue wriggling against the sensitive rim. A minute later the noises turned to choking gasps as Jonno released his grip on her hair and stepped away from her body. Unsupported, her head flopped down and backwards so Joyce was left staring back at the ceiling and the white, blinding glare of that carefully positioned spotlight.
She jerked her head up, the tendons in her neck standing out like wire cables as she arched forwards, choking and spluttering. He head threshed from side to side violently as she tried to rid herself of the mixture of cum and saliva filling her mouth.
There was a pause, but Joyce heard the clatter of buckets and knew that her torture had barely begun...the pause was not to let her rest but just to allow her tormentor to put the pump into a new, full bucket of water. She screamed as yet more water was forced inside her colon. Her muscles were shivering continuously making her full breasts tremble like firm jelly but there was no respite until the second bucket was empty.
Captain Otuba raised a finger and Henry straightened up. He smacked the taut, gleaming dome of flesh with a sound like a shot. ‘Looks like you about to pop...now, got anything to say for the Captain here?’ Joyce mewed and bubbled and Henry slapped her swollen abdomen again, two hard, powerful blows that made her whole body writhe and strain against the ropes. ‘Asked you a question, cunt...well?’
‘Glaaaarrrrgggh...Glo... Goant glo ennyfin...pleeeg...pleeeg... PLEEG!’
Another series of hard smacks left darker imprints on gleaming brown skin but only brought more gobbling screams and useless pleas from the gagged woman. He was about to hit her again when the captain tapped the ash from his second cigarette and waved Henry away.
‘Mrs Matanga...Joyce,’ his voice dripped sincerity and concern as he leaned over her. His left hand stroked the mound of her belly, fingers sliding over the slick, sweaty skin until he was cradling the soft weight of her breast. ‘We don’t need to go on with this do we?’ His thumb rubbed the jutting stub of her nipple and a knowing half-smile showed for a moment on his face as he saw the already swollen tip harden and rouse like a little black finger under his expert touch. His thumb moved steadily; rolling the peak to and fro until it was fully erect like a taut little finger sticking up from the dark circle capping her breast. ‘All you have to do is tell me what I want to know...and then we can let you rest...otherwise...’
His right hand moved gently so his cigarette brushed across the engorged nipple. There was a tiny ‘psssss’ of sound as the red hot tip seared the moist flesh; a moment’s total silence then...
He took another long pull, bringing the cigarette back to glowing heat. Casually flicking the ash from the tip he touched it to her nipple again. Another bubbling scream was torn from Joyce Matanga and Captain Otuba watched with interest as she surged up, fighting against the ropes holding her splayed open across the bench. ‘It’s no use doing that Joyce...my men know how to tie knots...Just tell me the names...’ He didn’t give her time to even attempt to answer. His thumb stroked the engorged nipple again pressing hard so she surged up in another spasm of agony as he rubbed the raw, weeping tip.
‘Henry,’ Captain Otuba looked up when Joyce Matanga’s scream had finished in a series of wet, choking noises. ‘You haven’t had a chance to show Mrs Matanga how much you enjoy your work,’ he said. There was a slither of sound and Joyce stared over the swell of her abdomen in horror as she saw the now-naked and grinning figure of Henry moving back to stand between her legs. He was even larger than Jonno, heavily muscled but carrying more weight than his friend. His cock was fully erect and curving up so hard from a tightly curled matt of wiry black that the head brushed the swell of his stomach with each step.
Even though Henry was heavier and taller than Jonno, his penis was shorter; shorter but much, much thicker. She stared at the stiff, blunt spike of flesh, unable to look away so she was able to see every clinical detail; the network of prominent raised veins, the massive bulbous head with the slit already seeping fluid and the heavy black pouch of his testicles tight against his body. She could even see the oily, whitish cream smeared round the shaft under the rim of the shiny purplish dome, the traces of cum left from where he’d fucked the girl earlier on.
She bucked again as he spread her cunt lips with the forefinger and thumb of his left hand and leaned closer, his right hand aiming his cock at her gaping slit. ‘Slowly, Henry, slowly...let her feel it,’ the captain murmured as the slobbering gasps from Joyce became faster and faster as she felt his fingers playing with her cunt.
‘GLOOOOOOOOOO! Gaaah...ga-aaah...Gah...Gah...Gah...Gah! Glaaaaaahh!’
She screamed wildly as Henry forced his thick cock into her body. Bent back and with the hose nozzle still plugging her rectum, she felt as if a second blunt skewer was being forced into her body. Every tiny movement brought fresh pain and more cramping spasms. The distorted cries turned into a rhythmic, bubbling chant of agony as Henry rested his hands on the taut mound of her belly and began ramming his cock in and out, being deliberately hard and slow with each stroke to create the maximum extra agony for the pinioned woman.
Captain Otuba let his assistant enjoy the experience of fucking a government minister’s wife for a few minutes while he continued to add to his victim’s pain by touching the end of his cigarette repeatedly and delicately round the rim of her aureole to create a circle of pinpoint burns with the raw tip of her breast as the centre. ‘Nothing to tell me yet, Mrs Matanga...that’s only the first half of the decoration...time to start on the other side he reached over and gripped the other full mound in his left hand and brought the stub of his cigarette across to hold it near her skin so she could feel the heat. ‘Outside first this time, I think that wi... ’
He was interrupted by Henry’s grunts and groans of pleasure as the tightness and pressure of the embedded nozzle against the base of his cock and Joyce Matanga’s mad, bucking movements pushed him over the bring and he arched back, hips forward as he came long and hard in a series of sharp, jerking thrusts that actually jolted the bench a few inches along the floor.
He stared at Henry as the big man pulled himself free and stood up, his softening cock still leaking, the shaft wet and glistening with a mixture of water and body fluids. The captain saw from the woman’s lack of reaction that she was on the brink of passing out, threw the stub of his cigarette on the floor and stood up. The captain grabbed Joyce Matanga’s hair and shook her head slowly from side to side until she opened her eyes.
She moaned the sound bubbling wetly from the pink-lined circle of her mouth, as the three of them watched. The Captain looked up and nodded to his men. Jonno moved to stand beside her while Henry reached between her thighs and gripped the protruding end of the nozzle. Joyce’s body heaved and jerked and her eyes bulged wide as Henry twisted his wrist as he slowly pulled the rubber nozzle out of her anus. Before she could gather the breath to scream properly Jonno had leaned over and was pressing down on her swollen belly with both hands. ‘Talk to me Joyce...who did Jonas talk to...was it a journalist, one of the foreign embassy officials, someone from one of the other agencies? Think hard...and save yourself from more of this unpleasantness.’
Joyce Matanga bubbled and squealed madly as the heavily muscled thug grinned and continued to force the water from her body in a series of squirting jets. Finally, he straightened up and looked towards the captain, waiting for the next order.
The captain twisted his fingers in her hair and shook Joyce’s head from side to side. ‘Two seconds to tell me something otherwise they put the pipe back in and we start all over again...and again.’ He stroked the raw tip of her nipple with one finger of his other hand. ‘Of course these come first...remember the girl and the cane...?’ He chuckled as Joyce shivered and wriggled, her eyes staring wide in horror.
It was when he started scraping his nails across the raw burns round the peak of her breast that it all became too much. Tears streamed from Joyce Matanga’s eyes; she fought and writhed against the ropes trying desperately to talk.
A combination of exhaustion, pain and the effects of the ring gag made it impossible to understand what she was saying. A frantic babble of sounds and noises spewed from the woman’s gaping mouth in a spray of saliva. Captain Otuba leaned forward, listened in growing frustration for a few moments then let her head fall back to hit the end of the bench with a dull ‘thonk’. He walked over to the table at the other end of the room and wiped his hands on a towel.
‘One of you get that fucking gag off her...I think she’s trying to say something but it’s not clear.’ He went back to stand over her as Jonno knelt to fumble with the straps behind her head. Staring into her pain-filled eyes he gripped her left breast and squeezed until she screamed. ‘You’d better have something to tell me otherwise...’ His fingers dug into her flesh even harder and he deliberately left the threat unfinished.
‘Haaah...Oh God...Oh God....P-p-p-please...noooooooo! Please let me tell you please!’
‘T-there were three people in the past two months. I didn’t know any of them but Jonas got so angry that they’d come to the house in daylight. He s-said they w-w-were involved with s-something important...something I mustn’t talk about.
‘Who were these people... ?’
‘Please...it hurts...please...’ The woman arched her head forwards but then let it flop back, gasping and panting in pain. Captain Otuba relaxed his grip until he held the soft weight cupped in his hand. He moved his fingers on the smooth, oily skin.
He looked at his hand then into her eyes. ‘So much pleasure but so much pain too. You’re already sore so just think what it will be like when Henry uses that cane across here.’ His fingers stroked and swirled, caressing her but carefully avoiding the ring of little blisters round the edge of her aureole. There was another small silence then he said quietly. ‘The names, Joyce...who were these people?’
Joyce Matanga lifted her head and stared at his fingers holding her breast. ‘There was a foreigner...French I think, Jacques...no Guy...Guy Lascalles. J-Jonas told me he worked for one of the relief agencies.’ Captain Otuba gripped a little tighter making Joyce gasp. ‘P-please I’m trying to remember...’
‘Get on with it then.’
‘There were two women, one was local and one American I think. Jonas told me they worked together but...’ his hand twisted hard, screwing the soft flesh round, ‘NAAAAAARGH! AID! yes, yes I remember that was what he said...they were with one of the relief agencies.’
‘Their names...which agency?’ he demanded, hand tight as he gripped her sensitive flesh. ‘There are dozens in the capital...which one?’
‘H-H-He c-called the American M-M-Mrs H-Hansen...the other one was Nina...Aaaah...please let me go...please...AAAAAAGH! No-one said her other name AAARGH! That’s the truth...please!’
He let her breast go and stood up, face tight with anger and frustration. He was about to say something when Joyce continued in a whisper.
‘I don’t know any more...p-please...I don’t...his secretary...she knew...’
Instantly he crouched by her head. ‘What did you say?’
‘The people...his secretary knew who they were...’
‘That stupid teenage slut he was fucking behind you back?’
‘No...not her, the other one. S-She l-left last month...Winnie...Winnie Kipengi...That’s why she left...Jonas got her a job working with Mrs Hansen...she knows.’
Captain Otuba let her go and straightened up slowly and carefully The expression of frustration and anger replaced by a quiet smile of satisfaction. He nodded to himself. Of course...the one little missing piece of the puzzle...find it and the whole picture becomes clear. No one had given a thought about how long Jonas Matanga’s secretary had been working for him...or what had happened to the last one. The ideal contact between them, she was known, cleared for access and security but unnoticed so if things went wrong...
He snapped his fingers and the two interrogators hurried across.
‘Get her untied and back to a cell. No games...understand...let her stew for a bit. I think Mrs Matanga has got a lot more to tell us but first there one or two things to follow up and I want her kept safe and out of the way...is that clear?’
Back in his own office away from the sounds and smells of the interrogation rooms he picked up the phone and dialled an internal number. ‘Lieutenant, there’s another quiet little pickup to arrange. All I have is a name - Winnie Kipengi...used to be Matanga’s private secretary until about a month ago...her security clearance will be in the files I want the address...quickly!’ Without waiting for the acknowledgement he put the phone down and leaned back in his swivel chair. Three minutes later the phone rang.
The room was hot and stinking of piss, semen and the stench of sweat and terror. In the middle of the room was a chair. A strong, plain chair made of unpainted wood with an upright back and no arms. The thick timbers were grubby, stained and darkened in places, rubbed shiny in others. An uncomfortable looking chair, made even more so because where the wooden seat should have been there was just an empty space.
The woman standing by the chair was twenty four. When the men had taken her, bundling her into a black car as she walked back from a quiet lunch with friends, she had been every inch the smart, young working woman; dressed for business in a soft, dusky pink tailored skirt and jacket with a crisp white blouse underneath. The blouse just tight enough to emphasise the full swell of her breasts; the open neck revealing a smooth vee of soft brown skin and an enticing cleavage. Nice legs, bare and shown off to advantage by the shortness of the skirt and smart black shoes with three inch heels. Her bag, slung casually from one shoulder on a thin leather strap, matched the shoes.
Now, less than an hour later the picture was very different. The once smart jacket lay discarded on the floor. The bag was open, the silk lining ripped and torn out and its contents strewn across a table on one side of the room. The woman was trying to stand upright wearing only one shoe, the bare foot stretched down to compensate; just the tips of her toes pressed against the gritty concrete. The short skirt was a mess; the waistband twisted, the side zip half undone and the material crumpled and rucked up almost to the top of her thighs.
The young woman was shivering and trembling continuously as she wobbled on the remaining high heel, her hands clutching the torn edges of her blouse together in a vain attempt to cover her upper body. Her pretty face was a mess; ruined make-up smeared with tear tracks, eyes swollen from crying and her cheeks and forehead beaded with sweat. Every detail of her dishevelled appearance was pitilessly exposed in the white blaze of the powerful lamps mounted on stands some four feet in front of the chair.
She was peering out, screwing her eyes up against the hot, uncomfortable glare of the lights because she knew there were men there, soldiers and others standing watching her. She could see the paleness of their shirts; catch the occasional reflected white flash of eyes or teeth, even the glint of gold from someone’s uniform but the rest was hidden in the darkness beyond the wall of light.
They had been interrogating her for the last half hour, ever since the men had dragged her, sobbing and struggling from the car and down the stairs to this basement room. The questions kept hammering at her from the darkness, louder and more insistent every time she sobbed out the same reply, ‘I don’t know...please, I told you...I don’t know...please....please!’ One voice, the one that had asked most of the questions spoke again, the tone cold, cruel and pitiless.
‘I don’t believe you...but you’ll tell us...in the end.’ A pause then he snapped out an order to the terrified woman. ‘Take your clothes off...all of them.’
Winnie Kipengi moaned and clutched the edges her blouse even tighter, eyes flicking from side to side, her head shaking rapidly in automatic denial as she realised what he’d said. In the dimness at the sides of the room she could see figures moving, the flash of white eyes and teeth from the armed men who’d dragged her down here. Three or four appeared on the edges of the lighted area. Their black, brutal faces were all alight with grins of anticipation, the sweat gleaming on their bare arms and shoulders highlighting the play of their muscles as they closed in. They moved almost silently, bare feet padding and shuffling against the rough concrete floor.
‘Do as you’re told...or they’ll do it for you...’
Winnie Kipengi’s head twisted from side to side. She made little sounds trying to keep her balance as she teetered on one high heel. One hand touched her shoulder and she stumbled, crouching and hunching over protectively.
‘DO AS YOU’RE TOLD!’
The voice screamed out at her from the darkness and she took two tottering steps forward. But she obeyed, crying and snuffling as she tried to work her arms out of the ripped and ruined blouse. She’d only managed to get one arm free when one of the men grabbed a handful of material and ripped it off her body so hard that she was twisted round in a half circle losing her other shoe in the process.
Steadier on her feet she still had to struggle to get her skirt down over her hips because the broken zip had jammed half way. Her face flushed dark with shame and embarrassment as she heard the crude, obscene comments from the darkness. Some were about her figure, her legs and the colour and brevity of her red thong panties. She tried to keep her thighs together, knowing how the tiny triangle of fabric only emphasised the full bulge of her cunt. But most of the man were laughing and joking about her unsuccessful efforts to conceal the way her big, firm breasts swung and bounced, threatening to spill out of the low cut matching bra with each movement.
She finally kicked the skirt to one side and straightened up. Immediately, one of the men grabbed the edge of one bra cup and wrenched it down so her breasts popped free. Another brutal tug and the back clip gave way, the elastic snapping back against her side as he wrenched the ruined garment clear of her body. Winnie twisted out of the way, arms crossed over her chest and bowing forwards trying to cover herself and keep out of their reach.
‘The panties too...or...’
This time she jerked and twisted as he spoke bringing another burst of coarse laughter as she anticipated an assault that didn’t come. Tears streamed down her face as she realised that this was part of their ‘fun’, part of the humiliation. They were all watching, watching and waiting for her to remove that final, tiny garment, her last symbolic protection. There was a murmur of cruel pleasure as ten pairs of male eyes watched the pretty young woman hesitantly easing the waistband of her panties down over the tight swell of her buttocks. With the waistband over her knees she brought her hands back up to cover her breasts and cunt, wriggling her legs to work the panties down until she could flick them clear of her feet.
Naked at last she stayed crouched over, one arm over her breasts, the fingers of her other hand splayed out over the junction of her thighs. She peered into the lights through a tangle of black curls.
‘Alright, get her in position...’
Winnie Kipengi screamed as two of the men closed in on her. Before she could even lift her arms one slapped her face twice, quick hard blows that rocked her head from side to side so she staggered and gasped, dazed by the pain and shock of the assault. The other grabbed her wrists and twisted her arms back behind her making her arch back involuntarily. The one in front dug his fingers into her breasts, pinching and lifting so she was forced to stand on tiptoe to try and relieve the agony tearing at her chest.
There were no words from either man, just the grinning faces, foul breath and the unwashed reek of male sweat and semen as they half dragged, half carried her to the chair. Her breasts were released then the man behind lifted her arms against the joints until she thought her shoulders were about to dislocate. She screamed in pain then in shock as she was pulled backwards and down so her arms were over the upright back of the chair.
‘Get your fucking legs apart...sit astride...’ the order was hissed at her by the man in front as he kicked her shins then deliberately stood on the toes of her left foot.
‘Shaddup! Sit there! Don’t even think of wriggling or I’ll rip your tits off...’ Even as the man snarled at her she felt other fingers busy at her wrists. A thin nylon tie was tightened with sadistic enthusiasm so tight she could feel it biting into the flesh. The men held her legs, spreading them wide apart so the man who’d hit her originally could buckle a leather strap around each thigh just above the knee, making sure it was under the side rail before cinching it tight. With the straps in place it was a simple matter to secure her feet, doubling her calves back against her thighs and then tying each ankle hard against the upright where the back joined the seat.
With her arms and legs secured there was nothing that Winnie could do to resist despite her wild jerking and writhing. She felt someone fiddling with her bound wrists then sudden pain as the strain on them increased, pulling her arms until they were stretched straight down behind her. The position made her arch her body back over the hard square rail of the back so she seemed to be thrusting the firm full globes of her breasts out towards the men behind the lights.
The last strap was a broad leather belt fastened across the firm muscles of her belly and round the back of the chair, the buckle cinched tight to clamp her torso back against the bare wood. The men laughed and joked as they walked back into the shadows. The big one who’d hit her stopped and rolled the thick dark nipple of her right breast between forefinger and thumb. ‘Nice...very nice,’ he said, flicked the end contemptuously, then turned and looked into the darkness. ‘All ready for you, Captain...’
Captain Otuba walked to the side of the chair. Behind him two men carried a small table from the side of the room and placed it where Winnie Kipengi could see it clearly.
‘Tell me where they are Winnie.’ He sighed and tipped her head back so she was staring up into his eyes. ‘Look, they don’t owe you anything. All this,’ he waved one hand towards the table where the men had put a canvas covered box with a handle on one side and were now attaching things to a jumble of red and black wires. ‘All this is so messy...so unnecessary and unpleasant when all you have to do is give men two addresses and one or to other little bits of information I need.’
Her voice was barely audible, a frightened, gasping whisper. She sounded as though she was trying to share a secret with the Captain and ignoring all the others in that stinking interrogation room ‘It’s not me...please; I don’t know the things you want. I work for Mrs Hansen but I don’t see her much...she’s busy...important...she wouldn’t be bothered with someone like me... Please...please, you know I’m telling the truth... please, you must believe me.’
Captain Otuba smiled down and his hand moved from her chin to stroke the smooth curve of her left breast. The smile widened as the young office worker heaved and tried to avoid his caress. He held her breast, gripping the soft weight and flicking the prominent stub of her nipple with one finger as she struggled. ‘No. it’s no use Winnie...I don’t believe you and we can do anything we want to you here...and no-one will hear a thing.’ His finger flicker to and fro making the stub stiffen and jut out even more, ‘understand?’
He waited for her to look up again and nod. ‘Good, see how easy it is when you do as you’re told. Now, again...where can I find Caroline Hansen and Guy Lascalles?’
‘I don’t knooooooooooow!’ She yelled, the last word drawn out into a wail of anguish and sheer frustration.
Captain Otuba walked behind the chair then reached over her shoulders and lifted both breasts, his hands curled underneath so he was holding their weight. He bent forwards and whispered in her ear. ‘This is what happens to silly girls who tell me they don’t know anything. Can you see what he’s holding...?
Winnie looked up at the man in front of her, one of the two who had been at the table. Her eyes moved down to his hands, she stared at the dangling wires with their toothed brass clips and she went rigid, throwing herself back as hard as she could as she wrenched and fought against the straps securing her to the torture chair.
‘NAAAAH! PLEEEEEESE! NAAAAARRRRGH!’
It was the crude guffaws of laughter from the men behind the lights that stopped her outburst and brought silence to the hot, foetid room. Winnie slumped back, her chest heaving as she tried to regain her breath. Her eyes followed every movement as the man crouched down in front of her. ‘Usually we start with these,’ the captain’s fingers pinched and twisted Winnie’s nipples. ‘easy to get at, nice and responsive to the current but...’ He leaned close to her ear, ‘for you something a little more direct. You like to fuck don’t you?’ His fingers slid down her skin, tickling through the trimmed wedge of tight, black curls on the bulge of her mound until he could slide one finger into her slit. ‘Well, I can tell you this isn’t as much fun...for you that is...’
Suddenly there was a noise of running liquid and the captain straightened up. He took a step to the side and swung his open hand in a fast vicious arc.
Winnie’s breasts bounced and slapped against her body as his hand smacked across the out-thrust mounds. ‘You dirty little bitch...pissing all over the floor.’ He swung his arm again, harder this time.
His cupped hand slammed against the peak of her right breast like a pistol shot and Winnie squealed again, arching back in the chair but unable to ride the force of the blow. The captain gripped her chin, squeezing hard so her face was distorted and put his head within inches of hers. ‘We’re going to tickle your cunt...pity no one reminded you that water helps conduct electricity...you’ll feel it twice as badly now.’
He looked down and saw a few drops of liquid had splashed onto his shoes and his expression changed to one of disgust. ‘You filthy cow...look what you’ve done now!’ He lifted his hand to hit her again but stopped as she twisted her head away in anticipation of the blow, smiled unpleasantly and flicked his fingers to his men. ‘Corporal, bring me a cane...one of the thin, whippy ones...someone needs a quick lesson.’
The big man hurried over and gave the captain a thin rattan cane. Winnie stared at it in total horror. It looked...so battered and well used...one end was bound with black insulating tape while the other was frayed and rough with little strands sticking up from the surface. Her head jerked back and she screamed as Captain Otuba tried a few practice strokes; the cane made an evil humming ‘zwickkk!’ sound as it cut through air. For one moment she even had a stupid hope that they would have to untie her from the chair in order to bend her over to cane her bottom.
That was until Captain Otuba walked over to the right hand side of the chair, and lifted the cane until it was under the jutting swell of her large breasts. He flexed his wrist and there was laughter as the heavy globes shivered and jiggled with each movement of the cane
‘OH GOD! No...no...please you can’t...no...not there...no I won’t let you no! God, someone stop him please...please you can’t. NAAAAARRRGH!’
The gabbling dissolved into a piercing scream of agony as the captain took aim and brought the cane slicing across the offered mounds just below the big dark circles capping each breast.
‘Oh yes I can...what shall we say, six of the best...no let’s make it ten shall we?’
‘Swock!’ ‘Swock!’ ‘Swock!’ ‘Swock!’ ‘Swock!’
With each stroke the screams became wilder and more piercing. Despite the tightness of the straps Winnie Kipengi heaved and bucked like a mad thing. Each convulsion made her abused breasts bounce and swing so hard that they slapped together with flat wet smacks and the captain was forced to pause and wait for her to settle just a little to be sure of his target before delivering the next agonising cut.
The last four were the worse. Each of the final vicious strokes was placed to land across the most sensitive places; the stiff rubbery stubs of her nipples. Already sore, the four strokes made them swell so much that by the last one the skin of each peak was stretched taut, the tips hard and shiny so they looked almost ready to burst.
Panting just a little with the effort the captain threw the cane into the corner and took a fresh hand towel from one of the men. He wiped his face carefully and then calmly lit a cigarette as he looked at the gasping, sobbing figure slumped and trembling uncontrollably in the torture chair.
‘Any more stupid fucking tricks like that and the next time it’ll be twenty, understand?’ He waited. When there was no reply he walked back to the chair, grabbed her right nipple and twisted hard.
‘I said do you understand? Well, do you?’
‘Oh God...oh God...please...please it hurts so much...pleeeeese AH-AAH! Yes...yes...yes I understand, Sir...yes...yes I do I do...please...’
‘Good, now where were we... Oh yes...you were going to tell me about Mrs Hansen and Mr Lascalles before you disgraced yourself.’
He let her chin go and grabbed a handful of curls to bend her head forward so she was staring down between her own splayed thighs.
‘Go on, look at him watch what he’s doing. Show her ...,’ he ordered the man on the floor, ‘Yes, I mean you show her...you fucking idiot...I mean show her the clips.’ The man picked up the wires and held out one of them so Winning could see the little brass crocodile clip attached to the end. Not wanting to upset the captain any more he pressed his thumb and forefinger together so the clip opened and she could see the sharp triangular teeth along each edge of the metal jaws.
He shuffled nearer, grinned happily then used the thumb and forefinger of his left hand to spread the outer lips of her cunt to reveal the wet, pink inner folds.
‘Near her hole at the back.’ Winnie bucked as she felt his fingers touching the sensitive lining of her sex.
‘Aaaah...d-don’t p-pplease... aaaaaah!’
She cried out as she felt the sharp, stabbing pain of those metal teeth as the man let the clip close on a fold of flesh next to her vagina. Captain Otuba kept his hand twisted in her hair. ‘Be quiet, now where should we put the other one...eh?’
There was a roar of laughter from the men around the room at the captain’s joking comment. Everyone knew exactly where the man would attach the second brass clip and there was the sound of shuffling and jostling behind the lights as they pressed together to get the best view.
‘Go on...I told you to look.’ His free hand dipped between her thighs and she arched again as he scraped his nail along the exposed inner lining of her slit. ‘Hold her open, no idiot; stretch her wide while I play with her clit a little.’ The kneeling man used both hands to pull her cunt lips apart so her clitoris jutted out even more from the wet, pink inner oval of flesh.
The pinioned woman moaned and her hips bucked in an involuntary response as the captain toyed with the top of her slit. His fingers stroked each side of the vee, spreading the wetness but initially avoiding any touch on the prominent nub. It was only after a minute or so of gentle masturbation that his fingers finally touched the tip of her clit and she jerked as thought the current was already on. His fingers moved delicately, stroking and stimulating her clitoris; forcing her to respond. No one said anything, only Winnie’s harsh, rapid panting and the heavier, slower breathing of the men intent on the obscene display in front of them broke the thick silence for a few minutes.
Captain Otuba leaned close to her head, listening to the change in her breathing as each touch brought her nearer and nearer to an unwanted climax. Just when she was beginning to move her hips and pant with the need to cum, the captain stopped, wiped his fingers across her thigh and took another long pull on his cigarette. ‘There, that’s made things easier, watch carefully now,’ he helped hold her cunt lips spread open as the man picked up the other clip. ‘Across the stem of her clit I think, always gives a good contact there...
‘Don’t worry; you’ll have more to think about than a little pinch in a minute.’ Both of them stood up, the captain leaning over and tugging the two connections to check that there was no risk of the clips touching and shorting out the circuit. Satisfied he walked back behind the wall of lights and settled himself in his chair.
‘Let’s begin...right Corporal, give her a little taste...not too hard mind you.’
Winnie’s head jerked round and she stared in horror at the man standing behind the little table. The thin wires from the clips trailed across the floor and while the captain had been in front of her she realised that someone had attached the other ends to two brass terminals at the back of the canvas covered box. She didn’t really understand what it was for; she could see the flap of the lid was open and there were some switches and dials on the black plastic top but apart from that nothing. Except she could see the man had his fingers resting on a small brass handle with a black plastic grip that was sticking out of the right hand side of the box.
The man grinned at her and began to turn the handle, not very fast but something inside the box started to whirr then....
...Winnie Kipengi arched back in the chair, every muscle rigid and shivering violently as the electric current seared through the most sensitive parts of her body. There was a moment’s silence before a single, wild squeal of agony burst from her throat and echoed through the stinking darkness
After a few seconds the man stopped turning and the whine of the magneto died away. Winnie slumped back onto the chair, head lolling forward and a thin stream of saliva drooling from her mouth onto her slick, sweaty breasts as she panted and gasped in remembered agony.
Captain Otuba’s voice sounded almost cheerful. ‘Right Corporal, let’s try again...a little faster this time...we don’t want Miss Kipengi going to sleep on us do we...’
The whine of the magneto was louder this time...and so was Winnie Kipengi’s squealing cry...
Over the next twenty minutes the young office worker was taken to the screaming peak of agony again and again. Each time she was snapped back, arching against the straps holding her on the chair; her hips jerking in spasm.
Teeth flashed and gleamed in the dimness and there was a constant shuffling murmur from the watching soldiers; furtive hands touching and adjusting hard swollen cocks, some of the men quietly masturbating as they drank in the sight of the pretty young woman displayed in front of them. Her brown skin gleaming and shining with moisture, every detail of her body exposed to their hot gaze by the powerful lights.
Sitting arched back, hands behind her with her thighs wide apart, she bucked and quivered with the electric shocks. If you didn’t notice the cruel tightness of the straps holding her down it looked as if she was in the throes of cumming, fucking some invisible cock again and again. With every movement her big breasts shivered and jiggled, and so did the two wires trailing down from her cunt.
Each time the current stopped she flopped down; head lolling and chest heaving rapidly as she gasped and sobbed trying to draw enough breath in the respite from the fizzing shocks and the searing agony in her genitals. Trickles of sweat ran down her gleaming skin, some of them joining the drooling trails of saliva dribbling down onto her breasts before dripping from the sore, swollen tips to the bare concrete.
Each time the machine whirred into silence, Captain Otuba’s calm, cruel voice came out of darkness.
‘Tell me Winnie, where is the Frenchman? No...well then tell me where can I find this Mrs Hansen?’
‘Please...no...no...I don’t know...please stop...’
‘No...wrong answer again, Winnie and you know what happens if you give me the wrong answer...’
Each time her head would lift, the horror showing in her eyes as she looked across at the man at the table, staring at his fingers resting on the little brass handle, her breathing shallow and rapid while waiting for the moment when he began to turn it and the electricity surged through her clitoris...again and again and again.
Finally, Captain Otuba walked back into the light and casually wrenched the woman’s head back by grabbing a handful of hair. ‘All right Winnie, you’ve made your gesture...but do you think that being stubborn for half an hour is going to save you...that we’re suddenly going to stop because you’re feeling sore?
‘No of course not...poor Winnie...we’ve hardly started...you just can’t imagine the things we can do to someone down here...especially a young and attractive woman like you...’ He looked down at the swollen features and red-rimmed eyes of the twenty four year old secretary. ‘You see I have a problem. I know that Jonas Matanga arranged for you to get the job with Mrs Hansen...but you say you hardly see her and you are just a secretary. But, Government minister’s PA to a to ‘just a secretary’ doesn’t seem to be a promotion does it...so, since Jonas Matanga has decided to run away abroad, I’m left to wonder what’s going on.’
He looked at the moaning, semi-conscious woman without speaking for a few long seconds. Something didn’t fit in this whole mess and besides, he needed time for a little private business. ‘Corporal, get her untied and put her in a cell.’ He leaned over, still holding her hair in an iron grip. ‘A little break for you Winnie...just a little one. Think about it because unless you can tell me something more than ‘I don’t know’ we’ll wire you up again and this time we’ll start with you tits then go back to frying that tender little clit again.’
He pulled his fingers free and let her head slump forward. He looked at the grinning corporal and the three other guards standing at the side of the chair. ‘Same as that other slut this morning...make her feel it, have your fun but no permanent damage...understand?’ They grinned and nodded, they knew exactly what the captain meant...even if Winnie Kipengi didn’t.
Happy that his men would spend the next hour or so enthusiastically fucking the young office worker, Captain Otuba first arranged for a security check on the two names Winnie had confirmed then drove across town to the expensive, protected enclave where foreign diplomats and senior government officials liked to live. It was a desirable, heavily guarded area well away from the stink, crime and poverty surrounding most of the rest of the city, even if most of the houses had been paid for by foreign Aid Programmes or backhanders from multinationals.
The search of the Matanga’s house was almost over. Captain Otuba’s excuse for going there was that, as the officer dealing with the case, it was his job to ensure that nothing important was missed. His real reason was that he’d found something that looked rather like a safe key in Mrs Matanga’s bag. If there was a safe, he wanted to be the one to go through the contents in private before his men got too enthusiastic and tried to force it open. After all, one had to consider the need to make proper provision for retirement, especially in a job like his where things could get difficult very quickly indeed.
Inside there was the usual messy result of a security search. Cupboards and drawers left open, clothes bundled everywhere and a litter of books and magazines strewn across the floor where they had been dropped after being checked for papers or concealed computer discs. Loose rugs had been bundled up and thrown into the corners while the cushions and beds looked bare and plain without covers or sheets.
The Lieutenant in charge of the five man squad showed the captain a black polythene bag full of papers and other documents.
‘Nothing I can see immediately, Sir. Looks like he’s involved in the usual kickbacks and there’s a lot of government stuff that’s probably all crap...but we’ll take it back and go through it anyway.’ They both grinned in mutual agreement. There was always a chance that such ‘crap’ could yield useful little titbits about other people of interest, particularly politicians. Just the kind of intimate, inside information that Internal Security always liked to have on their private files, just in case.
‘The safe’s in here behind a picture.’ The Lieutenant led his boss across the disorder of the main living area to a smaller room, obviously used as an office. Like the main room, the floor was carpeted with abandoned books and other debris. The drawer of the expensive modern desk gaped open, the splintered edge of pale veneer and broken lock telling their own tale. The desk had a new top-end computer next to a printer and two telephones. A plastic tray held thirty or so computer discs and some CD’s in slip covers. The high backed swivel chair lying on its side matched the desk.
‘Bag the machine and printer and send it across to my office,’ the captain said. ‘Nice new flat panel monitor I see...better add that in too just in case there are connection problems to deal with.’ The lieutenant allowed himself a small grin of satisfaction. That was a packet of cigarettes the Sergeant owed him. The only connection problems the captain was going to have were plugging all the bits back together again when he got Matanga’s confiscated computer back to his own office.
Mind you, he thought, I’m not saying anything. The stashes of banknotes found in the kitchen and bedroom were much more useful to him. The contents of the envelope taped to the back of the wardrobe had been split with the sergeant and luckily no one else knew about the second lot hidden in the freezer so he’d been able to pocket that without anyone else knowing. Besides, if the captain wanted a nice, shiny new computer he wasn’t likely to be asking awkward questions about unclaimed and untraceable bundles of money and demanding a percentage.
Reaching up he swung the cheap reproduction print of a waterhole at sunset aside to reveal a small wall safe. ‘I expected a combination but...and there’s no sign of a key. We’ve looked everywhere...perhaps he took it with him.’
Captain Otuba held up a small bunch of keys. ‘He did, but Mrs Matanga had her own set for the house...’ He looked at the lieutenant. ‘Don’t know if she was allowed a key to the safe too but it’s worth a try before getting those so-called experts in. Last one they did, I heard they cut it open but managed to burn all the documents we wanted and set fire to the house in the process. No, I’ll fiddle with this while you finish off with the rest of the squad, Lieutenant. If I can’t get it open then perhaps I might need to have another little chat with Mrs Matanga’
The Lieutenant looked almost relieved. ‘Yes, Sir, of course, I’ll make sure the rest of the stuff is loaded securely then I’ll send someone back for the computer shall I?’ He left as the captain nodded in agreement so didn’t see the cold, calculating look on his face.
Working quickly, Captain Otuba pulled on a pair of latex gloves then selected a thin, intricate looking key from the bunch and slid it carefully into the lock. Two turns one way and one the other brought a faint whirr and soft thud from inside the grey steel door of the safe. He paused, listening for any warnings or sounds of alarms from the rest of the house. All he could hear were the voices of the team chatting to each other while they finished off and loaded things into the van.
Satisfied that no-one else was aware the safe was now unlocked, he twisted the handle and swung it open. Inside there was a bundle of documents, a package the size and shape of a house brick heavily sealed in black polythene, a brown leather box and a single memory stick. There was also a small, chromed automatic pistol and shoulder holster
A quick scan through the documents showed that most of them dealt with the house or were insurance policies, but, to his disgust, there was nothing referring to any foreign bank accounts or deposits. He was flicking through again when he caught sight of the logo of a major international bank on the flap of a small envelope. Inside there was not only a safe-deposit key issued by their main branch here in the capital but, even better, the envelope also contained a slip of paper with the box number and access details printed on it.
Captain Otuba slipped the envelope and key into his pocket. Sometimes it was better to make such enquiries quietly and in person.
His good humour was fully restored when he opened the leather box and looked at the jumbled collection of gold coins, bracelets and pieces of diamond jewellery. He felt the weight of the package but, having a pretty good idea of its contents, left it wrapped and sealed. After a quick search he found an empty box on the floor by the desk and quickly loaded the contents of the safe into it. Ten more seconds and the door was closed, the safe relocked and the telltale gloves back in his pocket.
Going across to the desk he quickly collected all the computer discs and CD’s and added them to the contents of the box together with two or three operating manuals just to hide the safe’s contents from view. He was putting the last manual into the box when the Lieutenant returned with one of the searchers.
‘Right, to save time I’ve got the discs and odd bits and pieces here. I’ll take them back to the centre, have a quick look and see what we’ve got. Get the rest of the system and all the connecting leads to me as soon as possible.’ He looked at the soldier who was staring at the equipment with a baffled expression, ‘and Lieutenant, make sure he doesn’t drop the fucking machine...or that monitor. Wrap them both in some sheets or something to protect them.’
‘Right, Lieutenant, I’m going.’ He stopped, finish off here then close the house up and report back to me within an hour, clear?’
The Lieutenant snapped to attention, ‘Yes, sir right sir...do you want me to carry that, sir?’
‘No, I can manage a few computer discs I think.’ Captain Otuba nodded, picked up the box and left.
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Read the sequel to this story in ‘The Discomfort of Mrs Hansen’ coming soon.
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