Water Treatment [CORTEZ]

Water Treatment

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WATER TREATMENT – 1
by Cortez. All rights reserved
Illustrated by DANI

‘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 cruelly 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

‘Pleeeeeese… nooooooo…YAAAAARRRGGGH!’

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 cruelly 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 Matanga, 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 Matanga 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 Matanga 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 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 Matanga 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.

(2)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 by the wrenching pain in her arms as the guard’s fingers dug into her arms, pinching her flesh viciously. For a few terrifying moments she hung between them, 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!’

(3)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 stood on a slight angle almost in the middle of the room. Behind it there was 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 Obutu; 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 Obutu’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 Obutu 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 guardТs 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.

СAaaaah…G-G-God…aaa-aaaah gaaaah!Т

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 manТs 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.

СNa-aah…s-stop….aaaarrggh…please…please…aaaah…STOP!Т

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.

СGet upТ

The manТs voice was calm and completely unemotional, just a simple command delivered in a quiet, precise voice.

СMrs Matanga, you are not really hurt…I know because, like me, my men are experts…in their own crude way.Т The voice paused. СI repeat, stand up…or do you want them to continue?Т

СN-no…no…God no…Please.Т 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.

СStand straight, feet apart. Put you hands behind your neck…and keep them there. My men are going to search you…Т His lips twitched in an unpleasant false smile, Сfor security you know.Т

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 manТs sweaty body close to her.

СAaaaaah!Т

СSTAND STILL!Т

Even though sheТd been expecting something she cried out involuntarily when the manТs 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.

СNothing, Sir.Т

СLegs properly apart Mrs Matanga…no, wider than that…thatТs better.Т

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 manТs 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.

СNaa-aaah…..nnnn…d-d-don….ffffffaaaah..Т.

At last the man pulled his fingers from her body

СNothing up there either,Т a hateful pause and a coarse laugh from both the guards, Сnice and wet though, Sir.Т 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.

СSplatt!Т

СA-ahhh!Т

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.

СWell, your tame perverts have had their fun…your turn now I suppose.Т 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. СThere, little man, does that give you a thrill?Т She sneered at him, holding the pose a moment before leaning forward to slam her hands down flat on the desktop. СNow why donТt you say something…before my husband finishes you and your perverted little career once and for all…you jumped up little SHIT!Т

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.

СWe will deal with your rudeness and unpleasant behaviour a little later, especially your disrespect and foul language to a government official. But first,Т he paused, СI see I must correct a few things.Т He paused again and smiled nastily, СMrs 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,Т he paused and smiled again at JoyceТs look of total incomprehension, Сhe 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.Т

She jerked upright. СJonas…a traitor…thatТs just bloody ridiculous! Where is he, heТll tell you…I demand to see him NOW!Т

The Captain sighed theatrically. СI rather thought you might say that. ItТs simple, you canТt see him because heТs disappeared… run away…fled the country.Т He leaned back again and let the horrible silence build up. СRegrettably, 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,Т he coughed delicately, Сas they say in the news reports, helping us with our enquiries. But apart from being fucked most days by your husband, I donТt think she knows much else of value.Т

The man leaned forwards clasped his fingers and put his forearms on the desk; СWhich 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. Of course, we have a team at your house going through your papers and things in detail but…Т

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. СI want names…those names. I need to know who these people are,Т again the delicate, threatening pause, Сand you are going to tell me.Т

Joyce Matanga ignored the request, still grappling with the captainТs earlier news. СThis is insane…gone…he canТt have gone…who told you…how do you know…and why are you acting like this?Т Some to old steel returned to her voice. СYou say we…whoТs this mysterious we? WhereТs your authority…I demand to see it…NOW!Т

The man opened the folder and selected one particular sheet of paper.Т СI am an officer in the Internal Security Bureau and my authority is the highest, Mrs Matanga…the very highest.Т He held up the buff coloured form. СThis 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.Т One slim finger pointed at her husbandТs name neatly typed into one of the spaces in the ominous looking document. СYou will see that it carries todayТs date and is signed not just by the Minister…,Т the finger touched the bottom of the paper,Т…but by the President himself.Т

СOh God…no…No…Please itТs not true…NOOOOOOO!Т

СQuite true, Mrs Matanga…now enough of the schoolgirl hysterics if you please. Let me get directly to the point. I want to know,Т he paused and leaned back, fingers steepled under his chin, Сwho else was involved in his pathetic plots.Т

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 Obutu. She drew a single, shuddering breath. СI havenТt any idea what youТre talking about…Т

To her total surprise he laughed and sat back in the chair. СNo, no, Mrs Matanga, no of course you donТt,Т Captain Obutu 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. СThatТs exactly what I thought youТd say.Т Still taking his time he closed the file and put it in the top drawer of the desk before looking up at her again. СSo we must find ways to help you to remember. A demonstration to begin with I think…Т

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. СBring her,Т 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 wasnТt a mistake or a bad dream; she wasnТt in some civilised police station or government office. This was one of those other places… one of the governmentТs secret interrogation centres.

Of course Joyce had heard rumours about the existence of such places, just as sheТd 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 werenТt just stories…things like that were true…horribly true.

The guards said nothing as they forced her along the stinking concrete corridor behind Captain Obutu. 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 Obutu 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.

СTake a look, Mrs Matanga…and see the kind of games we play here with stupid, obstinate peopleЕТ The captain said quietly as she was pushed further into the room andЕ

Joyce Matanga retched helplessly, twisting and jerking in the menТs grip as she saw the rest of the room for the first timeЕ 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 sheТd 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 girlТs 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 theyТd been using earlier. But it was what theyТd 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 theyТd already done to her.

Joyce suddenly gasped and looked away in sick understanding. The men had only left the girlТs nipples and clitoris alone for the moment because theyТd 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. СPay attention, Mrs Matanga, itТll be your turn very soon so watch carefully. My men are experts at this and sheТll probably take a bit more yetЕТ 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 girlТs 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 noiseЕ 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 girlТs clenched buttocks.

СGaaaaarrrrggggghhhh!Т

The obscene swell of the girlТs 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 girlТs head. СLook, MaryЕ I brought your bossТs wife, Mrs Matanga, to watch us playing with you. Remember Jonas Matanga…the one who fucked you so nicely in the office. Now sheТs going to watch all the things my men are going to do to you…Т

СHuh-huh- Mih-hih MahahgahЕ Oh Glog! gee a-a-a-ade eee, pleeeg h-h-h-horryЕ I d-d-dihunt glean t-toЕ Oh p-pleag, pleagЕ it hurgs, pleeeeg iht hurgs slo muhgЕТ

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. СOf course, it hurts…itТs meant to…and you already know some of the other little things theyТre going to do to you…donТt you?Т

Captain Obutu 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. СOh dear I forgot, they caned these earlier didnТt they …right across the nipples too?Т He waited for the frantic nods, Сso theyТre all nice and sore now arenТt they?Т

СPLEEEGGG! Pleeg glake ig ouw…PLEEEEG!Т

СTake it out? You want them to unplug youЕhmm?Т He pretended to listen to the gabbling wail as his fingers toyed with her up-thrust breasts. СItТs going to hurtЕ but you know that from last time donТt youЕ? But youТre right; I think Mrs Matanga should see the whole treatmentЕbefore she takes your place.Т He slapped the taut drum of the girlТs abdomen.

СEmpty the stupid bitch out for me.Т One of the men grinned and squatted down, reaching between the girlТs buttocks to grip the protruding end of the carefully shaped nozzle that had been inserted deep into the young secretaryТs 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 girlТs 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 teenagerТs 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 womanТs abdomen. СNothing important, sir… just the usual shit about it all being a mistake…Т Captain Obutu studied the girlТs sweat-beaded features then looked across at Joyce Matanga.

СAnything to tell me now, Mrs Matanga?Т

СYou fucking animal…sheТs innocent…you knew sheТd only worked for my husband for a month…YouТre all fucking perverts…BASTARDS! Aaaaaagg-muh-muh-mmmmmfffff!Т

Two steps and the captainТs thumb and fingers clamped on either side of the womanТs neck just under her jaw, pinching hard and forcing her head back so her scream turned into a choking and muffled fight for breath.

СYou will be polite or else…Т 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, Сonce more you are wrong… she is far from innocent…as the surveillance tapes of their sexual activities in your husbandТs 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.Т

He let go of her throat and flicked his fingers at his men, Сgive the girl another twenty across the tits with the cane. Just to remind Mrs Matanga of the need for politeness.Т

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 СzzzzztttТ sound, even though she couldnТt 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.

СNo…no you canТt…no…why her? I was the one who swore at you…why punish her? SheТs done nothing…Т Joyce Matanga stopped aghast, her face stark with horror as she watched the grinning man position himself at the side of the low bench. СOh God, no…no NOOOOO! You canТt use the cane on her…not there…please, please donТt…Т

СThen 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…Т The man flicked the cane round in a shallow arc so it cut across the exposed, delicate undersides of her breasts with a vicious Сswickkk!Т

The girl bucked in agony, hips thrusting up as though fucking her phantom lover. Her scream echoed round the small room СGgggggaaaaarrrghhh!, huhЕhuhЕhuhЕ gaaaagggghh!Т

СSee, Mrs Matanga, heТs a real artist…watch how skilfully heТs 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.Т 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. СI 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. SheТs had her tits caned once already and that makes them twice as tender and so she knows whatТs coming will be worse, much worse…that why sheТs making all that fuss…Т

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 benchЕ СOh noЕ no you canТt, no, no I wonТt let youЕТ

He grinned even more widely and waited patiently whilst the other two easily brought Joyce MatangaТs struggles under control. СYou wonТt let us, Mrs MatangaЕ?Т CaptainТs ObutuТs voice hardened, Сwhat you want is a matter of complete indifference to me. To copy your own colourful language, I really couldnТt give a fuck what you want.Т He looked at the man with the cane. СCarry on… now we have Mrs MatangaТs full attention again.Т

СGaaarrrrgggggghhh! Ih, ih, ih, ihЕ Naaaarrrrgggghhhh!Т

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 girlТs 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 girlТs 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 girlТs up-thrust breasts. Horrified, Joyce actually saw the teenagerТs erect nipples denting under the caneТs snapping impact before springing back stiff and hard once again.

СGAAAAAAAAARRRRRHHH!Т

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 girlТs 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 girlТs 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.

СHold her, Jonno; sheТs moving too much…Т

The second man immediately walked over and knelt by the girlТs head, between her outstretched arms. His big hands cradling the sides of the girlТs 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…

СThwickТ Еpause…scream СthwickТЕpause…scream СthwickТЕpause…SCREAM!

СNaaaaaaah, nah, nah, nah, naaaarrrggggghh NAHHHHHHH…!Т

The girl suddenly slumped back, head dangling limply and her outraged squeals of agony were abruptly silenced. СNo, no youТve killed herЕ you fucking bastards… youТve killed her!

СAll right, thatТll do, let her rest a moment, I want to look,Т Both men stood clear of the bench as Captain Obutu peered at the pattern of raised lines now showing across the girlТs 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. СOf course we havenТt killed her, Mrs MatangaЕwhere would the fun be in that?Т He sighed theatrically. СNo stamina these people, no stamina at all, but I think Mrs Matanga understands things more clearly now.Т He turned to the two guards. СTake the ex-MinisterТs wife back to my office, we have things to discuss.Т

He waited until the two guards had dragged Joyce out of the torture chamber then looked across at the girl for a moment. СFuck her if you want, itТs obvious the stupid cow doesnТt know anything. DonТt damage her too much though, I may need to use her as bait if the Matanga bitch goes on being stupid,Т he said quietly to his two near naked torturers then turned and left them alone in the room with the girl.

СSplaaat!Т

The one whoТd caned her breasts slammed his open hand down between the splayed legs in a stinging slap against the young AfricanТs outthrust cunt.

СOllllgggg, oooooog, oh Glog pleeeg!Т

Mary NТdoluТs 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. СWakey, wakey bitchЕ Time to say thank you…see this comes nextЕТ JonnoТs 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. СLick nice and slow…lots of tongue to make me feel real good…Т 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.

СOh yes, be nice to me now and IТll let you breathe…just a little bit,Т 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 teenagerТs 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 girlТs 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.

СOh yeah man…this gotta be the best bit by far,Т he said as he arched his hips and drove his cock to the hilt in the girlТs 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 NТdolu dribbled, whimpered and jerked helplessly; her muscles clenching round the manТs cock in response to the agonising torment as the long, slow double fucking went on…and on…and on…

‘captain Obutu 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 Obutu 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.’

‘Swackkk!’

‘Yaaaarrrggghh’

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 Obutu 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 Obutu 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.

‘Swackkk!’

‘Nnnnnnuffff!’

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 Obutu 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 Obutu 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

‘Gaaaaah..aaah-aaaah…p-p-p-pleeeese…naaaaah! GAAAARRRGGH!’

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 Obutu 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…’

‘Ssssss-wickk!’

‘…NAAAARRRGH!’

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 Obutu 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 Obutu’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 Obutu 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 as 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 Obutu 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 Obutu 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.

‘THWACK!’

One hand slapped across the woman’s right buttock as the captain pulled his wet, softening penis free.

‘Garrrrrgggh!’

‘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.

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