Condemned to Slavery (6 page)

The bag came away, leaving Lydia to gasp, cough and sob, banishing the fire of her ordeal with exaggerated respiration.

“Who is your contact?”

“Pl..ple—” she began, shaking her head weakly from side to side.

The bag dropped back down and stifled her words, dragging her head back and making her squirm in animal panic. Holding on with one hand, the torturer grabbed the prod and jammed it into the base of her spine, the resulting scream causing the bag to billow out for a brief moment with her acute exhale. The attack stripped her of her reservoir of air and brought asphyxiation closer in leaping bounds.

On the verge of blackout she was released, her semi-comatose state making the fight to recover all the more trying this time for she could only wheeze and suck in small gulps to recuperate.

“Tell us what we want to know and this will all be over,” offered the voice, and as she failed to respond, a backhand swing carried a harsh slap into her face, the severity jerking her aside and toppling the chair.

With a crash she landed on the floor, still attached to the felled furniture.

Hands began to unfasten the bonds but as she came free her arms were re-secured to a ring in the floor, the restraints being locked to deny her any chance to claw her way to freedom. Her ankles were dragged forward before her lethargic body acquired enough power to resist and they too were attached to the ring, leaving her extremities anchored to this one spot by steel shackles.

Stepping back, the torturer snatched a belt from within the darkness. The thick leather band bore a metal hoop that had been riveted in the center and had rope tied to it, the woven coils snaking off into the darkness from where the garment had been taken. The belt was buckled tightly about her waist and the rope drawn out and threaded through what could only have been a hook in the ceiling.

Taking up the slack, the man wound the strand about his palm and began to haul her up. The yank at her waist made Lydia grimace, her torso being tugged into the air, the loop at her back carrying her up in jolts until her legs and arms were stretched down beneath her.

With her limbs gathered into a bundle by the ring in the floor she was racked by the suspending belt, dangling helplessly as her oppressor tied the rope off, leaving her hopelessly trapped.

“We could end this right now if you would tell us?”

With her most vulnerable parts so obviously exposed, she could face no more attention and concocted a name and some spurious data. The near incoherent information was ignored, deemed a figment of imagination to hide the truth. They knew the answer and the chances of her guessing it were too remote to even contemplate, and should she try, the wrong answers would only irk them more.

The prod grazed her flank, making her spasm with a brief shock. A touch to her thigh caused a greater response and the contusions upon her ankles and wrists began to ache again from her sudden struggle, the testing response proving that she was securely bound.

As the cold tip of the prod slipped between her buttocks, the metal rolled back and forth, moistening itself with her own sweat. Lydia detected their intentions and yelled in denial of the violation, clenching with all her might to try and prevent it.

With a brutal shove it opened her anus and dove within on jerking jolts, sheathing its caustic tip in her tracts. As she hung there, the hard shaft holding her open, her penetrated rear clutching and seeking to expel the intruder, she begged for mercy, knowing that the activation of the prod would now cause her infinitely more havoc.

“Then tell us the name.” was the only response.

Lydia paused to try and concoct a plausible one but then the prod leapt into merciless life. Wailing, she sought to haul herself free of the object, but only succeeded in riding upon the shaft and distributing its fulgent touch freely about her tracts, her very soul aflame from such internal wrath. Her neck stretched forward, her maw wide as she illustrated her anguish with a keening screech, her hands flung open into tensed claws.

With a twist and a yank the rod came free, making her burning sphincter throb with added anger at such inconsiderate attention.

Her phased mind was wondering what more they could do to her when she heard the soft mutter of a zipper lowering, and she knew then that they were going to do anything they could to force her into talking.

The torturer’s hands began to caress her aching rear as the tip of his tumescent member rubbed against her abdomen, graphically indicating his desires.

“Tell us,” offered the voice, presenting her a final opportunity to confess before she was penetrated.

“Please, I don’t know anything, I’m telling the truth. Don’t do this, I’m begging you,” she sobbed, tears streaming down her cheeks as she addressed the halo of light before her, the glittering pearls of moisture falling from her slack chin.

With a cry of revulsion and horror she felt her sex being pierced. The man slid himself all the way in and began to ride back and forth, his hands reaching forward to massage her hanging breasts, making her scream afresh in torment.

She spewed forth names, places, concocting anything to stop the assault, but the voice remained silent, ignoring her words, sensing the deception within them but not her innocence.

The human beast quickened in pace, sensing climax, and she too increased the rate of her excuses and lies, desperate to stall the culmination she dreaded.

With a final series of quivering thrusts she felt him ejaculate within her, his hands gripping her breasts and squeezing them in rapture as she let out a keening groan of disgust and sorrow.

Withdrawing, the feel of him sliding from her womb made her shudder in loathing, and as he wiped his length across her buttocks to clean it, she hung limp, torn by despair.

“Must we continue this, or will you confess?”

“Fuck you! Fuck you all,” she sobbed, her hatred brooking no tolerance of their control over her.

“This is useless, she will not give in,” said her abuser with a satisfied sigh.

“Then we will hold her until she does. Either she is truly innocent, in which case she cannot be allowed to divulge what has transpired here, or she is a spy. Either way she should be held until we know. But first, dispose of this fake.”

The flying passport danced upon the light before landing under her hovering gaze. Her oppressor leaned down, took up the small dark red booklet and held it before her eyes. Opening it, he flicked through the pages to the last and ensured she saw that it was the genuine item before applying his lighter to it.

“NO, STOP!” she yelled, writhing afresh as she watched her only means of identity and escape blacken under an ascending sheet of flames. Dropping the precious document he laughed as her face was consumed with anguish upon witnessing its utter destruction, the warmth of the small bonfire soaking into her taut limbs.

“Interrogation of subject alias
Lydia Brooks
suspended at 23:35, transferring to prison facilities pending further investigation,” reported the man to the audio equipment.

Deprived of all vitality she could offer no resistance when she was set free and dragged by her bound wrists out of the room. Her captor drew her forth into a dim corridor, her inability to move leaving her legs to sustain abrasive burns and grazes from passage across the rough stone floor.

Hauled out into the depths of the night she peered into the blackness, trying to distinguish her surroundings as her eyes strove to accustom to the midnight veil. Confused and unable to focus, she was forced onto metal, a door slammed shut, and an engine rumbled into life. Lowering to the ground in anticipation she slipped back as the vehicle lurched forward.

When her sight started to return, she found herself upon the open back of a military truck, the usual canopy of thick canvas replaced by the meshed walls of a fenced cage.

The chill in the air soaked swiftly into her hide, penetrating to the bone until she could barely feel her own body. Staring up at the skies while she shivered, she watched the overhanging branches and vines speed past, the truck cruising out into the jungle upon a rough and uneven road.

She was to be imprisoned, that was all she knew, and from the tales told of such places she knew it would a hellhole. The only glint of salvation she had was her fellow passengers. If they reported her arrest and if her disappearance was looked into, the process offering freedom might begin. It was a vain hope considering the volatile nature of this new country but it was the only hope she had, so she clung to it with all her devotion.

The truck continued to dash recklessly along its route for hours, time dragging spitefully as she sat quivering from the cold. When she first spied a glow in the distance she assumed it to be a city or large town, so only when the golden rays began to cast back the night and give way to an unblemished sheet of blue did she notice just how long she had been traveling. It also gave her cause to wonder just how far she was being taken.

A jungle locale as deep as this smashed any chance of escape, for there was no way anyone could travel such a vast distance on foot, leaving her doomed to her mysterious jail.

The morning blossomed in full and she wished only for her journey to end so she might gain some clothes, her nakedness troubling her greatly until the full muggy wrath of the day started to descend, making the thought of clothing an alien one in such humid and sweltering temperatures.

Chapter Three

The lush vegetation suddenly gave way to an open field of wild grasses, the moat of green surrounding a squat and ugly building. The road wound a ragged path up to a set of large wooden gates, where a small, crude shack leant against the wall beside the portal, a machine gun nest skulking on the opposite side. The large gates were set within a high perimeter wall, the top adorned with curled rolls of barbed wire. Beyond this towering defense arose watchtowers, the steel skeleton of their frame bearing a small wooden hut, the roof a woven mesh of straws to grant the armed guards within shade from the merciless sun.

At the heart of the compound rose a large dwelling, its structure akin to some kind of manor house that had been converted to suit a far more sinister purpose. The many windows were barred or bricked shut, and the outer surfaces were cracked and peeling from exposure to the elements and a lack of any attention.

The truck rocked up the road towards the gates, slowing and then halting as two soldiers emerged from the shack to check the driver’s papers. Their conversation occurred in their mother tongue, denying her access to the topics or any clue as to her fate.

Announcing the verified identity over a hand radio, the gates opened inward, drawn back by armed troops. With a salute the driver kicked the truck into gear and rumbled forward with his passenger.

The compound was large and open, a sun scorched field of dust. A wooden barracks sprawled beside the gate, the guards lounging idly beside the only route in and out of the camp. Further in could be seen rows of small steel boxes, their riveted bands, sturdy locks and frugal breathing holes testifying to their use as locales of punishment. These were not the only devices ready to correct the prison populous, for a range of other constructs had been prepared, some of them archaic and terrible. Stocks of several descriptions lay ready to hold and confine the wayward, one of them trapping a naked female by her wrists and neck, stooping her over as she sweated in the hot sun, her murmuring cries soft and despairing. Others were far less fortunate, for three women hung by their ankles, inverted upon individual gallows, weights affixed to their manacled wrists to stretch them out. They were all naked save for the leather collars about their necks and the intricate plexus of angry weals that laced their backs. Clearly the guards of this domain tolerated no disobedience and meted out stringent chastisement to enforce their will.

The truck stopped by the solid metal doors that entered the prison, the windows of ground and first floor bricked shut to deny her any clue as to the conditions within.

The heavy doors slowly opened, their hinges groaning at this unaccustomed use and from within the shadows two prison guards emerged. The women were tall and shapely, their peaked gray caps granting them a fierce countenance. Their uniform was stark and strict comprised of a buttoned close fitting gray tunic with a white pristine shirt and black tie affixed meticulously beneath. The tunic ceased just beneath a heavy utility belt that bore several pouches, a set of steel handcuffs, a side handled baton, a radio and a holstered pistol. Black Lycra leggings flowed down into polished jackboots and leather gloves covered their clenched fists, completing their stark attire.

One of them removed a bunch of keys from a pouch and unlocked the cage door. Snagging their target’s ankle they dragged Lydia forth and held her between them, clasping her arms tightly and calling the driver to remov the handcuffs. Once one set of shackles fled, her arms were dragged behind her back and another set applied. Then a second pair were taken up, the intentions of her guards to confine Lydia still not fully developed.

A silver cuff was snapped just above her elbow and the opposite joint was dragged painfully back, contorting her shoulders and making her chest stick boldly out as she winced and felt the other metal ring close about the flesh to link her elbows. Any flexing of her arm now made the muscles strain against the strangling band, dissuading any struggles as well as efficiently curtailing them.

With their charge under full and satisfactory control the guards began marching her into the building.

The interior was sweltering hot, the heat causing an instant sweat to rise upon her naked flesh and her exhausted dizziness to acquire fresh ferocity. Acclimatized and untroubled by the heat, the guards drew her down the shadowy corridors, bringing her to a reception desk wherein sat a dour faced, plump guard, her uniform stretched to accommodate her voluptuous physique and ample cleavage.

The woman regarded Lydia with a scowl and drew a form and pen from beside her before asking the questions upon it.