The Interrogation Pt. 02

She slammed open the interrogation room's metal door. It clanged loudly against the solid brickwork. It was her way of starting off an interrogation by intimidating the prisoner. She noted with some satisfaction the reaction of the naked man, strapped face-up on the metal table. He was startled by the noise, but only momentarily. He looked like a pro, used to the unexpected. A glimmer of a smile pursed her lips. No amount of training in the world would prepare him for her specialist methods of interrogation.

Taking off her coat, she revealed a stunning figure encased in black rubber. After closing the door and bolting it, she slowly walked round the man, surveying him with her piercing blue eyes. She deduced the sergeant had already been hand smothering him after bringing him in here and preparing him for her. She could tell from his watering eyes. She didn't mind too much as she had a soft spot for her. She'd been a sergeant once and had always aspired to become an officer and thus been allowed to face sit internees.

She noted how good looking he was. In fact she'd never seen anyone quite so handsome. This was going to be quite an eventful next few days.

"You are going to tell me whatever I want to know," she rasped.

He coughed. "I am Major John Watson and my number is 09543726. That is the only information I am going to give you."

She placed one booted foot in the dangling stirrup hanging beside his head, swung her leg over him and slipped the other boot into the remaining stirrup. Her large, muscled backside loomed inches above his secured face.

"What the fuck are you..." he started to protest, but the rest was cut off as she sat right down on his vulnerable face. Her fleshiness squashed down covering any means of respiration.

"You weren't prepared for this, were you?" she chuckled, wriggling herself more comfortably.

The loud ticking of the clock was the only sound on the room as the seconds went slowly by. Her own breathing was shallow as she began to get involved in the ethos of the interrogation. He was now struggling to free his face from the constrictions of her bottom, but to no avail. There was nothing he could do.

She could tell from the slightest of movements from her victims what amount of air was remaining in their lungs and how long it would be before they passed out. She was an expert in face sitting smother and had accumulated this experience from scores of previous interrogations. She had face sat both female and male agents. She often found the women could take suffocation better than the men. But she always enjoyed her work to the fullest extent.

She shifted, just the slightest of movements and his nostrils, wedged firmly in-between her buttocks gave out a faint 'psst', the same sound as a tyre inflator makes. It was only for a second but it was enough for him to suck in a minute amount of oxygen through one nostril. Then she re-sat, her bulbous backside dominating his helpless face, smothering him.

The minutes went by and then the hours. Time passed quickly for her but was torturously slow for him. Each second seemed like a minute to him, each minute an hour, and each hour a day. She cruelly and deliberately allowed him the minimum inhalation through a nostril which kept him just from passing out. To faint would have been a welcome release but she expertly retained his torment to the ultimate degree.

She didn't even ask any questions. She simply wanted to 'soften' him up. It was nicer than all the previous interrogations she'd conducted. It was a very pleasant experience to face sit someone so good looking. She hoped it would take longer than usual.

The clock said there was three hours to go on her shift. An arrogant eyebrow arched and she glanced at the reddening face beneath her. This was really comfortable. And it was so tempting just to remain seated.

Grinning now, she mischievously loosened the straps securing his face so he could move his head. Wow, that felt nice, she thought. This is going to be the most enjoyable interrogation I've ever done.

Now that the restraints were loosened his head was less constricted and he fought like mad to twist and turn it in an attempt to free it from the torturer who was impeding his breathing.

'Mmhhhh,' she went, fighting his writhing head with her muscled backside. 'That's nice.'

He struggled furiously, his lungs fit to burst. He tried to turn his head this way and that but to no avail. Her bottom and weight bore down on him relentlessly.

'That's the spirit,' she exclaimed delightedly.

Just before it came to him passing out she leaned slightly to one side.

'Psst,' his nostril went.

Then again he was left with his face being squashed by her voluptuous posterior, with no means of respiration. Above him all he could see was twin, bulbous bottom cheeks encased in black rubber. His face was red hot from the intimate contact and lack of oxygen.

Back in England he'd been trained in all kinds of interrogation methods by the best people. They'd taught him to pick on certain characteristics of the interrogator with which to hate them. That way you could retain some sense of reality and focus your mind. But with this torturer all he could see was her bottom flattening his face. They hadn't prepared him for this in the slightest.

She face sat him to the same extreme severity for the remaining duration of her shift, skilfully keeping him from just passing out the whole time. She even over-stayed her time by another two hours, so enthralled at interrogating such a good-looking captive.

'How do you English say it... Bye for now,' she chuckled, raising her backside from his tormented face. 'I will be back tomorrow and I expect some answers.'

Placing on her coat, she laughed at his strained inhalations and choking, slamming the door behind her. He heard her laughing and her heels clattering as she strode up the corridor all the way to the sergeant's office.

'You're late, Comrade Major,' the sergeant said, looking up from the newspaper.

'I must have grown quite attached to his face,' Vavaski smirked.

The sergeant's pretty face screwed up in mirth as she laughed out loud.

'He's all yours,' the major told her. 'You can do whatever you want with him. Just make sure he's alive for me in the morning.'

'Thank you, sir,' she exclaimed, standing in readiness. She gave a polite salute as her superior officer left the office. Her hands involuntarily smoothed across her plump bottom. She would make an officer one day and then she could conduct real prolonged face sit-torture on their prisoners. Until then she would make do with just filling in with part-time smother torture. It suited her for the moment, but she knew she aspired to greater things.

As Vavaski stepped out into the evening air an elation took hold of her. She was looking forward to tomorrow to the extent she'd never experienced before. It was so good to be alive.