They both sat, unmoving, in their chairs. He, his chin held in one perfectly manicured hand, rested his elbow on the arm of the chair and stared at her. He was judging her, evaluating her. Looking for the weak chink in her armor.
She sat still, staring at him as well. Stared because she didn't want him to know how scared she really was. And she did not move because she really had no choice; the leather straps held her too tightly to the rough, heavy wooden chair. Despite her nakedness and the coolness of the room, she was sweating.
He lowered his hand and spoke to her. "My employers," he said, "are very interested in some information you possess. I am here to get it for them." His Irish brogue would have been charming under other circumstances. But in this dank cellar it only seemed out-of-place to her. "They have asked you repeatedly, but you have kept your silence. That must stop. So they contracted me to use whatever means are necessary to wring it from you."
Now he stood and began to walk around her chair. Slowly, like a shark circling a shipwrecked sailor in the ocean. Once behind her he placed his hand on her bare shoulder. She was surprised to find his touch warm. She had expected the hand to be cold and alien--after all, she knew what horrors it had inflicted on her comrades in the past. That such a hand would feel warm and alive was a cruel joke. At the touch, her fear twisted in her gut and she had to fight to keep her stomach steady. Fortunately it was empty. They hadn't fed her in two days.
"Tell us, Katrina," he murmured, "where is the box?" It was a gentle question, as non chalant as if he were asking directions to a church. "Won't you tell me?"
"Katrina Dovezcheski. Colonel. 216641109," she repeated for the hundredth time since being captured.
"We know that, Katrina. Tell us where the box is," he smiled.
"Katrina Dovezcheski. Col..." but she was stopped by the impact of his open palm across her mouth. Her cheek reddened from the slap but she did not speak.
"That was not an acceptable answer, Katrina. Any response other than a correct answer to my questions will be met with pain. Each wrong answer will make the pain worse. Be smart, Katrina...where is the box?"
"Katrina Dov..." this time the hand cracked twice, a forward stroke and then an immediate return slap with the knuckles, across her face. She felt the joint of her jaw pop in and out of place.
"Katrina," he lowed, as though he were cajoling an unruly child. "I am your friend. Your ONLY friend. Your comrades cannot find you, even if they look. Your country has abandoned you. Your family will soon believe you are dead and will forget you and go on with their lives. The Commander of this base wants to kill you as an enemy agent...but first he would tie you over a chair and let his soldiers rape you one after the other. Only I can help you. Now...help me to help you. Where is the box?"
"Kat..." This time it was a punch in the mouth. The taste of blood, hot and coppery, reached her tongue.
"Unacceptable response, Katrina," he replied. "Where is the box?"
She did not speak, but merely glared at him with all the hatred she could summon. But it was a mask. She was far more scared than she was hateful. But it was more than fear of what this monster could do to her, although that was hideous enough. It was also a fear of HIM as a being. He looked so normal...so ordinary and plain and everyday...that it was hard to believe his appearance camouflaged a sociopathic devil. Only his eyes gave him away. Even when he looked at her with compassion in an effort to break her resolve, there was something foul and abominable coiled in their amber depths.
His hand shot forward, fingers bunched together into a point, and struck her between her bare breasts, punching the nerve cluster in her breastbone. He did not hit hard, but the nerves screamed in response as though they'd been slammed with a sledgehammer! Breath puffed from her lungs and her heart lost rhythm for a moment. Gasping for air, she wondered if he'd cracked the bone. "Silence is not an acceptable response, Katrina," he said. "Now, why don't you spare yourself worse pain...where is the box?"
"It's up your ass."
He looked at her with such sadness in his face that she could almost believe he really felt the emotion. "Poor Katrina," he cooed. "To make such bad decisions and cause herself such pain...how sad." Then he reached into his shirt pocket and removed two spring clothespins. Stepping closer to her, he grasped her head in his arm, used his free hand to grip one of her eyelids, and snapped a clothespin on the lid! Bright sparks of pain danced through the skin as the wood bit the sensitive flesh! But before she could react, he snapped the other pin on the tender stretch of skin which separated her nostrils. More pinching, biting pain danced through her nerves. But she clenched her teeth, determined not to let him see how it hurt and promising herself that she would NOT cry in front of this beast.
He stepped back, briefly surveying his handiwork. "We'll let you think about this for awhile, Katrina. Then I will return," and he turned towards the heavy iron door in the wall, "with new, more painful, toys for you to enjoy!" He smiled, and closed the door. Katrina heard the bolt slam home. She was stuck.
Trying to ignore the pain she felt, Katrina made herself concentrate on evaluating her situation. When she'd been in field, she'd been armed with several devices to escape or fight the enemy. But when she'd been captured, they'd stripped her and searched her internally. All her devices were gone, even the eyeglasses with the file hidden in the earpiece and the removable, razor-edged lenses. All she had now was her wits.
Katrina closed her eyes as best she could, willing the pain from the clothespins to stop. It didn't help much. In her mind, she pictured the pins and their construction. Perhaps she could use them to escape in some way...make a weapon or a lock-pick. Thinking about it made the pain less important, but it produced no usable plans. Even if she could use the pins there was no way to reach them. Her captors had restrained her quite well and she could barely move, let alone reach her hands to her face to grasp the pins.
For just a moment the thought that she should give in to them appeared. It would be so easy, she thought, to tell them where the box is. Escape more torment, avoid worse tortures that might leave her scarred or crippled, get some food and sleep and perhaps even have an opportunity to escape if she'd just tell them what they wanted to know. Then she steeled herself. No. She was not a traitor and she'd never tell them anything! With this resolve, the pain in her eye and nose began to lessen to a dull ache. She could live with that, she decided. Her courage had given her relief!
The bolt slid back and he entered the room again. He was smiling, and carrying a large valise, rather like a doctor's bag. He was also pulling a metal table on wheels. Gleaming on the tables lower shelf were numerous surgical instruments. He set the table by her chair and placed the valise on top of it. "Well, Katrina," he asked, "did you consider my offer? There are many unpleasant things ahead for you if you continue to be stubborn. Tell me, Katrina," and he leaned down into her face, "where is the box?"
Katrina spat in his face.
He did not react with surprise or anger. She had hoped he would, so she'd feel she'd at least struck some kind of blow against him. But he merely stood up and drew a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the spittle away. "Of course," he said, "we can do it that way if you wish." Then he grabbed the clip on her nose and viciously yanked it away! It was surprisingly painless...for about 5 seconds. Then the flames returned to her flesh, worse than before! Then he snatched the clothespin from her eyelid as well! The pain was so intense she wondered if he'd torn the lid off! "You see, Katrina, the nerves become numb quickly. Then the pain is easier to take. But we must not let that happen, yes? Now we have wakened the nerves again. Enjoy the ache, Katrina."
Turning to his bag, he withdrew a packet of dressmaker's pins. Larger than regular sewing pins, they were nearly the size of toothpicks. He also removed a small plastic bowl and a bottle of alcohol. He poured the liquid into the bowl, and dropped the pins, one by one, into it. "I must use sterilized instruments," he commented. "Don't want to give you an infection and cause scars or kill you. After all, the Commander found you quite attractive. He may want to keep you for his pleasures after I'm done with you, and he'd be upset if you were too badly damaged. Now tell me, Katrina...before I have to get really unpleasant..." and he lifted a dripping pin from the alcohol, "...where is the box?"
By now, the burning in her eye and nose had lessened somewhat. Her mind was dancing with thoughts of what he might do with that pin. Her heart was racing in her breast and pounding in her ears, but she would not talk. She would NOT!
When he rammed the pin into her shoulder, it hurt badly. He did not stop until he hit bone. Then he used another pin and stabbed her other shoulder. Leaving them in the wounds, he took more pins and pierced her thighs in several places including the sensitive flesh between them. Katrina bit her lip to keep from crying out, it hurt so bad! But she made no sound.
"Where is the box, Katrina?"
"A pleasant idea, little one. But I hate to mix sexual pleasures with the pleasures of my profession. But don't worry. Keep being stubborn and you'll get all the sex you need when I tie you to a table and let the soldiers turn you into the camp semen dump. Or you could be smart and tell me...where is the box?"
"Go to hell."
"I have a better idea. I will send you there...bit by bit by bit." So saying, he gripped one of the pins in her shoulder, pushed it in to make sure it was hitting the bone, and began to wiggle it slightly. The sharp point scraped against the bone in her arm, and Kristina whimpered in agony! Oh god, it hurt! She'd never felt anything so awful before! Tears, against her wishes, flooded her eyes and dribbled down her cheeks. Her fear shrieked inside her, warning her that he had made her cry with such little effort; surely there were worse torments in his bag of tricks! Could she endure more?
He watched her dispassionately as she writhed in agony. His job did not include empathy with his subjects. In fact, it was prohibited. "Now, Katrina," he said, still scratching the point of the pin against her shoulder bones, "where is the box?" But Katrina did not reply.
He drew his chair close in front of her and sat down in it. Reaching out to her, he cupped the firm fullness of one breast in his hand. Curling his fingers around it, he caressed it like the gentlest of lovers. His touch was warm and caring and for a moment she wondered if he might be taking an interest which she could exploit. With his words, the hope shriveled inside her. "Very nice, Katrina. It will be a shame to damage these." Cold fingers of fear skittered down her back as he reached to the plastic bowl for the pins. Her courage almost left her as he drove the pins through the soft brown flesh of her nipples. The hurt shrieked in her body at the stab of the steel, but she did not cry out. A soft moan as small drops of blood fell from her large breasts. "Katrina," he whispered..."why do you fight me? There is no need for all this. Untold agonies await you. I can burn your flesh, cut you, twist your parts off...hundreds of things which would sicken the devil himself. Or I can save you. Stop the pain and the fear and the humiliation. All you have to do is tell me one thing...where is the box?"
Katrina's guts were shaking inside her. She knew every word he'd said was true. She was helpless before him. He was free to do whatever was required to get the information they wanted. She knew this man's reputation. He was spoken of in her briefings before she'd gone into the field...spoken of in terms both reverent and hateful, and so she knew some of the horrors he had inflicted on others who had possessed information his employers sought. Her mind flashed on the lurid photo she'd been shown of a prisoner who'd had both his arms torn from his body by El Strappado, a torture perfected by the Spanish Inquisition, at his command. Even her trained, battle-hardened nerves trembled inside her as she considered the possibility of that being done to HER! She was sweating heavily, despite the cool dankness of this room. She hurt horribly all over. Fatigue from almost 35 hours without sleep; a sore, swollen jaw from being struck; a sore crotch from their brutal internal examination; a stomach in knots from hunger; the sting of the clothespins; and the burning of the pins in her shoulders and thighs combined with the still-living memory of the shiny steel scratching her bones...all of them weighed on her. She was so tired and sore...
"Where is the box?" His expression was one of sadness and kindness. His eyes were so filled with softness. The muscles of her jaw vibrated like a wet puppy. The words he sought were crowding at the back of her throat, jostling for position to find exit. "I know you want to tell me, Katrina. Please...it's the only way I can help you. Stop the pain and hurt. Tell me...where is the box?"
He gripped the shiny X's of pins he'd run through the buttons of her nipples and gently twisted them, as though he were adjusting the faucets in a shower. Jagged bolts of fresh pain lanced through her breasts at the twisting pull. Her eyes squeezed shut and her teeth ground together, lips pulled back in a rictus. She tried not to whimper and failed. "Tell me, Katrina" he murmured. "Stop the pain. Where is the box?"
"I...I...ah" her swollen tongue was betraying her. Her spirit was valiant, but her body was still only human.
"Yes, Katrina...you wish to tell me something? Tell me, little one. Tell me where the box is so the pain will stop."
"I...can't..." she whispered. His eyes lost their softness.
He stood, angrily pushing the chair back. Anger painted him, curling his fingers into claws and tinting his face pink. But his expression was calm and resolute. Turning to the small table he picked-up a scalpel. He dragged the dull side of its gleaming blade along her jawbone, tormenting her. "Then it is time for me to get most...unpleasant, Katrina. I believe I will start by cutting little pieces away from your ears. If you stand the loss of both of those, perhaps I will start on the tip of your nose..." he mused to himself as though he were selecting dinner from a menu. "It will sadden me to mutilate you like that, Katrina, but...well, you leave me no choice." He pinched one of her earlobes in his fingers, and brought the razor-edged blade to the skin...
"Please..." she stopped him. He froze, the blade almost touching her flesh. "Can't we make a deal?"
"A deal? Of course, Katrina...we will deal. You will tell me where the box is and I will not hurt you anymore. You will live and keep all your parts, and I will be paid my fee. That is the deal." He still held her earlobe in his fingers.
"I...sort of had a different deal in mind," she ventured.
"I see. Is this the point where the victim offers her torturer some valuable thing in exchange for her freedom? Offers money or other information or even..." he paused, grinning slightly, "...sexual favors? Very predictable, Katrina. It's always the same story."
"So you're not interested? I mean, you said you liked my breasts...that fucking me was a pleasant idea...wouldn't you like to do that?"
"Katrina, I own you. If I wanted you, I would simply take you...orally, vaginally, anally, however it pleased me. You cannot offer me that which I already possess."
She had him talking. She had to keep it up. At least now he wasn't hurting her further. "But if you rape me, all you get is dry, cold, unwilling sex. What fun is that? But if I cooperate, you get passion and wanton lust with a hot, wet woman whose sole purpose is to please you. Doesn't that sound like a better deal?"
He put the scalpel down and released her ear. Instead, he picked up a large surgical clamp and began to toy with it while he stared at her. She hoped she was right as she imagined she could hear the wheels turning in his head. Was he considering her offer, or merely where he could snap that silvery pincer? Katrina began to fear she was losing him so she sweetened the pot. "Don't you think I'm attractive?" she asked. "Is my skin not smooth enough, my hair not soft enough? You can see all of me...don't I look like I could please you? Your commander wants me...but YOU can have me...WILLINGLY. Or maybe I'm wrong...maybe you just don't like girls?"
She watched as a shade flickered across his face. One moment he was staring down at her and she was certain he was considering her offer; the next he was going cold again, and anger was stirring in him. His jaw clenched so hard that the muscles stood out under his chin. Oh shit, she thought. Now I've done it...
"Alright, you slut. You think you're so hot, then I'm just going to give you a chance to show me what you've got." Then he drew his chair up and began to gently draw the pins out of her wounds. A few drops of blood oozed out, like rubies on her smooth skin. They washed away as he poured alcohol over the tiny wounds. Fresh pain burned in her, but it didn't matter. She was making plans. Part of her was thinking about what she would do after she got out of this dungeon, and part of her was trying very hard to fantasize about her favorite sexual experiences. If she could put on a convincing show, she might be able to wear him out and subdue him. For that, she had to be horny!
He wheeled the cart out the door, and she heard him conversing with someone. Then he came in and the door shut behind him. The bolt slid home and they were both locked in. "There are two guards with automatic weapons out there. If I call them they will come in shooting. If anyone knocks on that door without using a specially coded knock, they will shoot whoever comes out. You can not leave without my assistance. And I will not let you go until I am satisfied with your..." he paused, "...performance. Do you understand, Katrina?"
"Don't worry...you will not regret this. I guarantee it!"
He stepped behind her chair, unbuckling the straps which held her head and upper arms. This allowed her to lean forward at the waist. He grabbed the back of her head, his fingers twining in her short hair and hissed "first, you will worship me!"
"I don't..." she began. But inside, she knew what he had in mind.
"Oh yes, Katrina," he chuckled. "Oh yes, you DO! Or would you rather I went back for my scalpel?" Then he began to unbuckle his pants.
Katrina's eyes bulged slightly at the sight of his penis. There were, she mused, obviously some things about this man which had been left out of his dossier during her briefing. He had a truly beautiful cock! Not exceptionally large or thick, but it was shaped perfectly; and as she watched, it grew rigid and erect. its head flaring like a cobra spreading its hood, it raised up before her eyes, growing darker and thicker, its veins ballooning and throbbing. She could feel a wave of heat drift from it as it hardened, and was surprised to feel the heat enter her and center in her crotch! Insanely, hideously, the sight of his growing member was arousing her! The cool room seemed to warm considerably around her as her pulse increased.
He ran his palm over the crown of her head, his fingertips curling under her chin. "Kiss it," he said. Leaning forward slightly, Katrina began giving soft, teasing kisses over the heated flesh of his hard prick. Her sensitive lips were tingling with the raw burning energy of his flesh. His odor filled her nostrils, musky and male. She couldn't see his face but she could imagine how he must look, his eyes slits and his lips parted in the start of a smile.