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How much she can take – 1
by Cortez. All rights reserved
Posted July 27th, 2004
‘The remote compound had been built in colonial times as a small, walled police post to uphold authority in a turbulent area. It was still secure and private behind those solid walls, despite the peeling plaster and the neglect of years. Now it served another purpose; although all signs and notices were gone, deliberately removed because officially the building no longer existed. Publicity was the last thing the regime wanted for the obscene things that now went on within the thick walls in the name of Internal Security.
Locals knew it as a place to avoid…for anyone who wished to remain healthy. Guards apart, the only visitors arrived in the careful anonymity of government cars, powerful black Mercedes with darkened windows. Officials and their guests rode in air-conditioned comfort whilst their victims, usually bound and hooded travelled inside the trunk. Occasionally the victims might be men, but not often… in this place most of the involuntary guests were women.
Many were young and most students, although not all. Among the others were white farmer’s wives or daughters, inquisitive aid workers and outspoken nurses; not forgetting the occasional journalist who thought the rule of law, human rights and civilised behaviour was protection enough…all deluded by the assumption that such things wouldn’t…or couldn’t…happen to them.
One of those foolish enough to believe those lies was Susan Brown. A citizen, although English by birth, she’d been brought up by an aunt living on a remote farm after her parents were killed in a minor local uprising. Recently she’d dropped out of her course at the country’s main university and, ignoring both advice and common sense, had begun working for one of the many volunteer human rights organisations in the city.
Nineteen years old, she usually disguised a beautifully toned and curved figure beneath the inevitable student uniform of jeans and loose-fitting tee shirts. Her black hair was cut short; in a simple but severe style that required minimum looking after.
This particular afternoon that figure was all too obviously displayed as she stood alone, head swathed in a black cotton hood, facing the blazing lights in the sweltering interrogation room inside that sinister compound. Her arms were behind her, elbows strapped tightly together bracing her shoulders back and forcing her to thrust her firm, high breasts out even more prominently. She swayed to and fro in the stinking darkness, trying to balance; trying to ignore the fiery pain in her bottom, trying not to give into to the rising shame and terror that was threatening to overwhelm her.
Susan Brown was naked. Under the lights her tanned golden skin glistened; covered in droplets of sweat in the room’s airless heat. Blotchy red marks from gripping fingers and pawing hands showed all over her body, especially her breasts. Her nipples were taut and swollen, already bruised and throbbing painfully from the attentions of cruel, pinching fingers.
Those marks were not the only signs of the ill-treatment she had already received. A criss-cross network of angry red weals, some dotted with little beads of fresh blood, laced the taut curves of her buttocks and the tops of her legs. The carefully trimmed strip of black fur on her mound, the tops of her thighs and the shaved, engorged lips of her cunt were glazed with a sticky mixture of semen and her own juices.
Standing there, fighting for breath under the stinking black cloth, Susan knew there were men watching her…she could hear muffled sounds; the scrape of chairs, the sounds of heavy breathing interspersed with coarse chuckles and obscene comments about her body and the obvious evidence of her recent fucking. She could also smell the stink of cigarette smoke and the hot, rank odour of male sexual arousal and excitement coming from the darkness in front of her.
She jerked at the sound of her tormentor’s voice close to her ear. ‘Let her see,’ and Susan screwed her eyes shut, jerking away from the painful glare of four or five powerful lights as the black cotton bag was roughly yanked off. Green blotches and black shapes filled her vision as she shook her head, dragging in deep lungfuls of the hot, humid air that to her, after the confinement of the hood, seemed like an air-conditioned luxury. Her face was scarlet, eyes puffed from crying and her black hair sodden with sweat and plastered against her cheeks and forehead from the confinement of the hood.
Gradually as vision returned, she caught glimpses of eyes and teeth, flashing glints of white against dark brown and black skin. An arc of chairs with more behind and, on the rim of light before the shadows, the edges of shoes and trousers; polished, black shoes and the greens and khaki of military uniform. She hunched over, whimpering in shame and embarrassment trying to shield her body from their eyes. A thin, bony hand gripped her chin, lifting her head forcing her to stare out into the lights.
‘Gentlemen, this is Miss Susan Brown; a young lady whose activities have caused my department considerable time and trouble and it time for her to make amends for causing so much trouble. Besides, as you can see she is young, white and attractive…and I thought her questioning should provide an arousing entertainment.’ He held up a hand, stilling an eager murmur of sound. ‘No she has yet to be interrogated…the marks you see are nothing, just a punishment caning as a lesson in manners from my men.’ Susan twisted and tried to pull away but the fingers pinched and dug into her flesh holding her head still. ‘Behave, Susan, no one is going to come; there is no one to stop us doing whatever we want to you.’
‘You can’t…I’ve got friends…people will be looking for me…asking questions…’ she said desperately, trying to force the words out with some kind of bravado despite the man’s cruel grip on her jaw.
‘Oh no, no Miss Brown, no-one will come looking for you because no-one knows or cares…after all,’ he stopped and grinned into the lights. ‘Our official records show that you left the country yesterday…we have all the paperwork to prove it too.’
There was a series of knowing chuckles from the watching men and Susan sobbed aloud, trembling in horror at what his words implied, and the tears trickled down her cheeks as she thought how stupid she’d been…
Only that morning she thought she was safe as she lay stretched out on a towel next to the clear blue water of a private swimming pool wearing a minute white bikini that only emphasised her near nudity and her deep, smooth tan. The brief triangles of the halter top did little to conceal the full ripe firmness of her breasts. It wasn’t just that the top was tiny, but also that the material was so sheer that the darker circles of her wide aureoles showed through clearly, tenting up into an obvious peak over each nipple.
The bottom half of her costume was equally scanty and revealing. The side ties joined a single string that cut up between the cheeks of her bottom at the back to leave her firm, tanned buttocks completely exposed. The brief vee of stretch fabric at the front barely covered her mound and emphasised the plump bulge of her genitals; cupping her cunt so tightly that a faint indentation showed the slit between the plump inrolling lips.
To be honest, at that moment Susan Brown couldn’t give a fuck if her bikini was too brief or not. This was her first chance to relax and unwind after the horror of a recent arrest by the sadistic thugs of the Internal Security Service… and she wasn’t going to waste it. Her boss, James Phillips, had said she could use the house and pool while he was working up country and she’d jumped at the chance.
In his late 60’s, James was a lawyer who had lived here all his life. Since beginning her human rights work, both of them had drawn the unwelcome attentions of the Internal Security police and on at least two previous occasions she had been arrested and held for a few anxious days.
That was why, subconsciously, Susan knew she had pushed her luck to the limit and now it was time to get out – before things got worse.
The last incident had been the worst, a terrifying three days in a stinking cell being groped and mauled by the guards interspersed by long sessions being screamed at and threatened in the most crude and obscene way by different interrogators. Despite the slaps, punches and threats she hadn’t been tortured or raped but other had. The horror had been all too real as each day she’d listened to the wild screams of others being beaten and suffering other horrible tortures just a few doors away down the corridor. She knew that it was only the fact that James had seen her being arrested, and had been able to make the right noises at a high enough level that had saved her.
Without him… despite the heat, Susan shivered, she’d read the reports and talked to many people…she knew what they did to young women who fell into their hands. Especially the hands of that pervert Kipengi, Jonas Kipengi, the one everyone feared the most.
Lying in the morning sunshine Susan finally made the decision that had been on her mind for some weeks…it was time to leave. She’d tell James tomorrow when he got back. He’d be pleased because she knew he had wanted to get her to a safe country immediately after her release. Relieved that she had finally decided, and admitted the truth to herself at last, she sat up and ran her hands across the oiled curves of her body, automatically adjusting the string straps of her bikini top. Suddenly impatient with sitting still she jumped up and dived into the pool, swimming underwater with long, assured strokes all the way to the steps at the far end.
That was why she didn’t hear the splintering thuds of the front and back doors being broken down…or the noise of the arrest squad beginning their search. Susan Brown only knew her luck really had had run out as she surfaced and walked up the shallow steps… into the muzzle of an AK47 held by a grinning black soldier in camouflage fatigues. The grin widened as he took in the near transparency of Susan’s wet bikini and the rifle’s muzzle jerked up and to the side in an unmistakable order.
Still numbed with the shock of events, Susan obeyed, moving to the side and back towards where her towel was spread on the patio. A vain thought that this might be just a simple robbery was dashed as another man; thin, hatchet-faced and in his mid fifties with greying hair, wearing light grey trousers and a crisp, white open-necked shirt; his eyes hidden by dark glasses, spoke from the open door of the large, airy living room.
‘Ah, Miss Brown, it is Susan Brown isn’t it? We wanted another word with you anyway, how very convenient to find you here…’ He let his words drift away and smiled unpleasantly, those blank, black lenses fixed on the beautiful curves of the young white woman’s figure so blatantly displayed by her minimal costume.
‘Just who the fucking hell do you think you are, breaking in here?’ she yelled in fury taking a single pace towards the figure in the doorway. ‘This is a private house and you’ve no righ… Aaaaarrrggh!’ The butt of the AK47 smashed into the small of her back just over her left kidney. Susan crashed to the tiles by her towel, writhing in agony.
An expensive and highly polished black shoe pressed across her throat, reducing her cries to rasping gasps of pain. ‘Foolish…most foolish, this is an Internal Security matter and I can do what I wish…to anyone. I am Jonas Kipengi.’ The thin lips twitched in a parody of a smile, ‘I deal with traitors and troublemakers,’ he paused, I enjoy my work.’ He stopped, his eyes raking over the girl’s near-naked body, ‘especially when the troublemaker is a rude and insolent young woman.’ From behind the black lenses he studied her like an insect on a pin as she stared back, shock and horror mixed with the agony and the desperate, rasping need for breath. He smiled again, and leaned his weight forward watching intently as her face contorted at the agonising extra pressure on her windpipe. ‘Aaah…I see you have already heard of me…good, very good, it saves so much time.’
The shoe lifted and disappeared and there was the peremptory click of his fingers. Two of the soldiers dragged her to her feet and into wreckage of the airy, once-elegant living room. ‘You fucking bastards…you bloody animals, how dare you treat me like this…Naaah!’ Her struggles and protests were cut off instantly as Kipengi smashed his hand casually against the side of her face. The ‘thwaap!’ of the impact echoed round the room.
He looked at the shivering and now silent nineteen-year-old with a sneer of contempt. ‘You will be quiet… foolish little girls need lessons in manners, Corporal, did you bring a cane…?’
To Susan’s horror she saw one of the three remaining soldiers, a heavily muscled, shaven headed thug whose grin seemed even whiter and more threatening gleaming from his shining black features, was holding a thin rattan cane; flexing it in a semicircle between his hands. ‘Yes Sir, just one of the ordinary ones though…’ His thick, rumbling voice sounded almost disappointed.
‘Very well, that’ll have to do. Now, let’s see how nice and obedient you really are, Miss Brown… First, we can dispense with that indecent and totally inadequate swimming costume don’t you agree…?’
‘Wha, what do you mean?’
‘You know perfectly well what I mean…get undressed, take your bikini off, strip…whichever term you prefer.’
‘No, no you can’t ma…’
‘…Corporal Mutu, I think that Miss Brown needs a little help…’ There were coarse laughs from the other soldiers as the corporal made the cane slice through the air with a vicious ‘ziiiip!’
‘No, no, please I’ll do it,’ she interrupted in sudden panic whilst her fingers fumbled with the bow at her neck. There was an eager silence as everyone watched the gleaming suntanned figure reach behind her back to undo the last tie of her wet bikini top. As the strings came undone the top came loose, but remained clamped in place by the pressure of Susan’s arms. Without a word Jonas Kipengi caught hold of one of the string ties and tugged, very slowly and insistently. Susan sobbed and stared down at the polished floor as she let the top go, crossing her arms tightly in front of her in a vain attempt to hide her breasts from their hot, excited gaze.
‘Go on…the panties too or…’ Kipengi’s threat was enough. The men’s grins grew wider as the white girl struggled to peel the damp material of her bikini bottom down her legs. She kicked the rolled scrap of fabric free and immediately hunched forwards, right hand cupping her genitals, left arm held across her breasts in the classic pose.
‘Better, a little better,’ Jonas Kipengi’s voice became harsher. ‘Now stand up properly, straight up… and put your hands behind your head…’ Susan paused, shivering and trying not to burst into tears at the pain and sheer humiliation of her plight.
‘DO IT!’ Jonas Kipengi’s shout jerked her into automatic obedience. There was a low growl of excitement from the three soldiers as she slowly raised her arms; lifting and presenting the firm cones of her breasts, the hard peaks jutting upwards like dark brown spikes.
‘Noooo, please, please!’ Trying to hold the ordered pose, Susan began shaking as she saw the pale creamy-yellow rod was now in Kipengi’s hands. Almost tenderly he stroked it against her flank, sliding it across then lifting it until it was horizontal, just pressing up into the soft under swell of her breasts.
‘Oh yes…this comes next,’ his voice purred, ‘A sharp lesson for a rude little girl…to make her remember her manners…and then… well then we will take you somewhere more private for a more intimate discussion.’ He paused watching the shivering get worse as he stroked the cane upwards, following the jutting curves until it rested under the hard peaks of her nipples. ‘Now my corporal here is going to give you ten strokes with this cane. No, don’t do anything…yet’ He clicked his fingers, ‘bring a chair,’ and Susan shivered in fear.
She stared blankly as one of the other soldiers carried an upright wooden chair across from the dining table and placed it just in front of her in the middle of the living room. She caught the smell of his body, the oily reek of sweat and excitement; his deep black skin gleaming and shining under the lights as his powerful muscles flexed with every movement. He chuckled at her expression of confusion and fear as she stared at the chair.
It was very ordinary and plain; the back was a single top rail connecting the two uprights with two other rails below that. The seat itself was made of wooden slats. Like the rest of the chair they were bare wood, light brown and gleaming with the careful polishing of years.
She jerked even more upright as she felt the cane caressing her nipples, touching the tips so they swelled and hardened… each brown stub pointing up and out even more prominently. ‘Now…I want you to bend over the back of that chair and put your hands flat on the seat.’ The thin rod tapped her rigid nipples and she gasped and jolted at the sudden sensation. She drew breath but he went on before she could say anything. ‘No, there’s nothing you can do to stop it happening, nothing at all…’ He paused, ‘but I will give you a choice.’ The thin lips curled into a sadistic smile at her wild, frantic expression. ‘You can obey me immediately and hold the position all by yourself…or my men will strap you down and you will receive double the number…well?’
‘Please, please no I don’t want to be caned, please I’ve done nothing!’
The cane tapped against the tips of her nipples; a steady, gentle rhythm than made them rouse and stiffen into traitorous peaks. ‘Not quite the answer I asked for so the punishment is now fifteen strokes. Again, which way do you want to receive your punishment?
‘No, no please…’
‘Twenty strokes, you are really being very stupid.’
‘I…I…I’ll bend over the chair,’ she whispered.
‘Speak up; I want my men to hear your promise too.’
‘Please, I’ll bend over the chair, d-don’t t-tie me down.’ Her voice was hoarse, the words broken by frantic swallows and gulps for breath. The cane moved away from her breasts and she felt it pressing against the middle of her back.
‘Well, go on then…do it.’ The tip of the cane dug into her spine, urging her forwards as she took two small steps until the toned curve of her belly touched the top rail. ‘No, no… the feet outside the back legs if you please.’ She stifled a cry as the cane flicked the backs of her knees forcing her to spread her legs apart until she was standing with each instep pressed against the outside of a chair leg.
Jonas Kipengi smiled broadly; watching the nineteen year old pressing her front against the wooden back rail as she tried to shield her cunt from the view of his men. The silly white bitch had no idea, no idea at all…modesty would be the last thing on her mind when they really got to work on her. He felt a pleasurable tightness in his groin and gently adjusted the thick bulge of his erection… now, I wonder how many it will take to make her disobey and stand up…?
‘Bend right over, hands flat on the chair like I told you.’ Susan Brown bent from the waist, rising a little onto her toes so she could put the palms of her hands on the wooden slatted seat. As she did so her breasts swung free, bobbing and juggling with every little movement and only shielded by the position of her outstretched arms. ‘The rules are simple; you count each stroke aloud…if you miss one, or if you move your hands or try to get up, then it doesn’t count and you get that one again…clear?’
There was a muffled noise from the doubled figure, her face hidden by the short curtain of black hair that stirred as she nodded. From their position Jonas and the three soldiers could see every intimate detail; the full swell of her buttocks, the long taut, trembling legs and, because of her straddled position, the dark brown rosette of her anus and the moist slit bulge of her cunt lips nestling between her parted thighs.
Jonas Kipengi moved round until he could crouch by the front of the chair, one hand stroking the nape of the girl’s neck. He passed the cane to the grinning corporal. ‘Twenty strokes, Mutu…twenty hard strokes.’ His fingers twined in the girl’s hair, twisting so she arched her neck back and he was able to see her wide eyes and the way her teeth nibbled at her lower lip. ‘Now, Miss Brown, let’s see how brave you really are.’
Whilst his boss was talking, the grinning corporal took off his camouflage pattern trousers and adjusted the grubby white athletic support that barely contained the heavy bulge of his genitals. The thick length of his cock tented the elastic fabric and there was a tell-tale oval of wetness marking the place where the smooth dome of his glans pressed into the material. Taking his time deliberately he stretched and flexed his muscles, enjoying the chance to show off his body builder’s physique and knowing that every second added to the girl’s distress and fear.
Taking the cane back from his master he bent it into a circle then let it whip straight with a wicked hissing ‘zzzzzzzt’. There were crude comments as they saw the girl jerk at the sound. There were more laughs as he took a series of practise swings and cuts. Each time she heard the vicious zipping of the cane through the air Susan gasped and twitched, her grimaces and terrified anticipation only making the soldiers laugh more at this familiar show. Besides, they knew that their turn would come once the boss and the corporal had fucked her.
Shuffling his bare feet astride to ensure he had a firm footing on the polished wooden boards, Corporal Mutu measured the distance with care, tapping the cane across the out-thrust curves of the trembling white girl’s outthrust bottom cheeks. Again, Susan jerked and gasped at each contact whilst a flush of colour spread down across her shoulders at the crude, obscene comments from the watching soldiers then…
‘Thwuck!’
‘Uh…uuuh…haaaah!’
Not a scream, not yet; just a hissing indrawn breath then a single voiced gasp of anguish as the first stroke sliced into her flesh. She arched back with her eyes wide, staring at the window; muscles quivering in an effort to ride the scalding heat of the red weal branded across her flesh.
‘Since you’ve said nothing, we’ll take that as a practice stroke to let Corporal Mutu get his eye in…’
‘Oh God, no please…one…that was one…pleeeese!’
‘No it wasn’t…this one will be…if you remember to do as you’re tol…’
‘…thwuckk!’
Naaaaaah, aaah-aah…ONE! Please,one, one… please…’
Susan screamed out the count as Corporal Mutu placed the next cut parallel with the raised weal of the first stroke. Again, she arched back, fingers clawing at the slats, leg muscles shivering with strain as she danced on the spot; her feet slapping out an agonised tattoo on the boards. Each succeeding stroke brought another screaming cry.
‘TWO! THREE! FOUR! FIIIIVE…aaaaaah, Oh God…p-p-p-pleeese, nooooo!’
‘The next five under the crease, Mutu,’ Jonas Kipengi said quietly when the girl’s desperate pleas had died away. ‘Miss Brown can sing louder than that…’ Corporal Mutu grinned and wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead as he moved a little so he could cut the thin rattan right into the tender flesh where the curve of her bottom cheeks met the top of each leg.
‘Swuck!’
This time the sound of the impact was lower and meatier, the cane slicing exactly across the sensitive crease. Susan rose on tip-toe; her head snapping back and her mouth gaping wide as she wailed aloud in pain and despair. Somehow she managed to hold her hands down; managed to keep her body doubled over the chair back.
‘Naaaarrrggh! Sis-sis-six!’
Jonas Kipengi straightened up and nodded. The next few would break her, force her to rise and disobey his instructions…then they would hold her down over the chair whilst they fucked her in turn. Then…the rest of the promised punishment caning before taking her back to the compound for a more sophisticated and leisurely torture session. He walked to the settee and began to get undressed. A precise, methodical man each item of clothing was carefully laid along the leather back of the settee as behind him the sound of the cane continued with a slow, agonising rhythm.
‘Swick…swick…swick…swick…swick…swuckkk!’
‘Gaaaah…s-s-seven…Naaah…eh-eh-eh-eight…p-p-p-p-pleeeeeessss…nuh-nuh-nuh-nine..t-t-t-ten…aaah-aaaarrrgh…aaaa-leven…T-T-TWEEEELLLLVVEEE!’
The last stroke was just too much to bear. As she squealed out the count Susan forgot her orders and sprang upright, dancing on the spot on tiptoe whilst her hands clawed and rubbed frantically at the raised and burning weals striping her bottom cheeks. Jonas Kipengi turned in the middle of unbuckling his trouser belt and snapped an order at the two watching soldiers.
‘Still eight more…you two, get the silly bitch back in position!’