Occupational Hazzards
CHAPTER 10
It was my turn to try to obtain the information from
my captive. I'd been on the receiving end of an
interrogation for 62 hours and still had the aches and
scarred skin and psyche to remind me. In the back of
my mind, I thought of revenge; however, my prisoner
would not be "Seven" or his female partner who'd
beaten me into submission. In fact, for the second
part of my training course final, my designator would
also be "Number Seven." I found out later that all
interrogators were assigned that number. No reason
really. I suppose just some sick humor from the
faculty--lucky seven.
In the preparatory session with other students
assuming the interrogator role, we discussed
strategies and were introduced to female assistants.
The ladies were staff members and available if we
needed them or the instructors sent them in to help
(or contain) our interrogation techniques. Julie was
assigned to me. She was about my age and also about my
size. In 1992 I was 73 inches tall and 220 lb.. (I'm
still the same height and weigh less but not nearly in
as good as shape!). Julie was in very good shape.
Flaming red hair that was tied back displaying her
classy widow's peak. We talked philosophy for breaking
our subject. I was concerned about sparing my fellow
classmate's dignity by being too violent and having
him cave quickly. Also, I told Julie I was really
mortified when I was forced to (attempt to) masturbate
in front of my female interrogator. I mentioned that
I'd rather concentrate on physical abuse than the
mental humiliation. She laughed as she understood
perfectly. However, she told me I needed to apply all
I'd learn so the faculty could certify me as fully
trained. We ended our discussions and called it a
night. Again, I couldn't get the rest I needed that
night as I laid out my plan to win the following day.
The next morning, I donned dark blue pants bloused
over the 16 inch high combat boots, no shirt, wide web
belt and tight deerskin gloves. Headware was optional
and included a black silk headsock with slits for the
eyes. I chose the mask because frankly, it looked
intimidating. The number seven was embroidered on the
mask.
I went to the corridor next to the "prisoner" holding
area and awaited my captive. My man was a big boy. He
was at least 6 foot 6 and close to 300 pounds. He
looked bit flabby and had a kind face. I cuffed his
hands behind him and led him to our interrogation
room. I put him in the chair in the middle of the room
then crossed to the table where I'd pre-positioned my
tools in a staging area. For the next two hours I
didn't do much as glance at my prisoner. Rather I
casually busied myself readying my implements. I put
oiled pliers, screwdrivers and knives on hot plates
and let the aroma of hot, greasy metal fill the
chamber. I knotted ropes into loops and fastened them
over various hooks and bars in the room. I displayed
all varieties of clamps, whips and clubs on the table;
I even took practice swings against the wall and
through the air.
At the conclusion of the "warm-up", I approached my
man and in as a threatening voice as I could muster
asked him to reveal his information or the
interrogation was ready to begin. My intimidation plan
was obviously effective as panic was wild in his eyes
and he began to beg for me not to hurt him. He babbled
endlessly; a proven technique we'd been taught.
Unfortunately, it looked like I would have to abuse
the lad to by-pass his baloney and get this over with.
My session was still vivid in my memory and I recalled
that the wet towel flogging had broken me. I decided
to apply that to my prisoner.
Pressing the buzzer on the wall, I summoned Julie to
help me secure my victim. Julie entered the room and
we took our man to the big horizontal table. We bound
him spread-eagle and began cutting off his clothing.
He pleaded and begged the whole time and I was getting
tired of the whimpering. Once he was naked, I
tightened his bindings putting my full weight behind
the ropes to stretch him out. He bellowed incessantly.
When fully racked, Julie and I began beating him with
the sopping towels. I concentrated on the face and
Julie on his sex organ.
What had broken me had little affect on my victim. His
face was much fuller than mine which insulated him
from the blows. Julie had similar problems impacting
his groin. I was disappointed for him as well as
myself; we were going to have to continue for awhile.
I tightened the ropes and got the heated pliers from
the hot plate. I got them close to his face and let
him smell the hot oil. He only closed his eyes and
braced himself. I used the hot implement on his right
nipple--squeezing and twisting. He unleashed a
horrible cry that startled me. I continued tormenting
his nipples changing pliers as they cooled. He
continued to shriek on each application; however, he
refused to yield.
His nipples became a red, oozing mess when the
instructor ordered I stop and try another technique. I
punched my prisoner hard in the belly and cursed him.
I wasn't sure what to do next so I tightened his ropes
and left the room with Julie in tow. Julie suggested
compression because extension wasn't producing
results.
I went back to my victim and released his leg
bindings. Wrapping a long nylon strap behind his
knees, I drew his legs up and pulled them as far as
possible to his chest. Using a broom handle, I began
applying torque to the strap to compress his legs into
his upper body. In this position, his butt was fully
exposed and the strain spread his gluts wide exposing
his anus. The compression prevented my victim from
drawing much air as he attempted to breath. Each time
he exhaled. I increased the pressure. He was
suffocating. Combined with the pain of the
excruciating position, the inability to breathe fully
was terrifying him. I began flailing his exposed
buttocks with a thin fiberglass rod. The beating
pushed him over the top and he rasped out his
safeword: "zebra."
My victim lasted 18 hours. I felt little pride in
getting him to break so relatively soon. He was a
sobbing mess. But, we both graduated.
The morning after servicing Yvette, I encountered Dana
at a gas station convenience store a couple of miles
down the lane from the Organization's enclave.
She was second in line at the cashier trying to
balance a liter of diet grape soda, non-fat chocolate
donuts and a carton of menthol cigarettes.
"Hi Travis," she bubbled when she saw me.
"I'm here for the same things," I replied. "Accept not
the gape drink or donuts...and I think I'll stick to
generic smokes."
She chuckled and left the line to approach me. I took
her plastic bottle and donuts to help lighten her
load.
"So how are you doing...getting used to the place."
she asked. "I really enjoy it...the folks and the
job."
"I'm doing fine," I replied. "Let's pay for this
culinary delight."
We paid our applicable bills and put hers in her black
BMW 325. Dana spoke first.
"Well, I'm glad you're doing well. Jim and Susan speak
well of you personally; they both really like working
with you as well And Yvette! She always seems so
disappointed when her schedule doesn't match yours."
"Thanks so much," I said. "You've hired a first class
group of folks. I've got a third session, and final
for awhile, with Yvette tonight. We'll get started at
midnight. I hear she and Phil will be leaving for
Europe next week."
"Yep, they're always on the go someplace," Dana said.
"I may watch you in action tonight Travis."
I winked and asked, "will you be watching for
professional or personal interest?"
A brief spark appeared in Dana's eyes before she
reclaimed her normal demeanor.
"Mostly professional," she hinted. "I confess though,
I'm amazed at how some of these people take all that
abuse and actually enjoy it...I'm not into pain."
"This from a lady who does a naked helicopter routine
in the lounge," I said.
"That's not painful. My apparatus is well padded; and
I'm not naked either! I'm wearing
panties."
"So what is it about that that you enjoy," I queried.
"Even though I'm technically captive in my rigging, I
feel so free," Dana replied. "The slow rotations look
so dreamlike and elegant. I'm unobtainable when I'm
suspended, those below can only look. Guess it's kind
of like humans have looked at the moon since time
began."
"I think mankind would have landed on the moon way
before '69 if it always looked like your rump," I
teased and gave a glancing pat to her bottom..
"There hasn't been a single small step on this lunar
surface for quite awhile," she laughed as she snared
my hand swing away from her rear. She held my fingers
for just a moment longer than necessary to mockingly
chastise me for my touching her. She dropped my hand
and blushed while opening her car door.
"See you at midnight Travis," she called. I smiled
widely at her.
At 2300 hours, I checked on Yvette and Phil in the
dressing room next to punishment room seven After two
days, Vvette was miserable--stretched, cut, beaten,
bruised, burned, sliced, pinched, bound, penetrated
and violated--I was an efficient and effective
torturer.
.. On this evening of the third day I take Yvette from
the staging area and became her friend. I didn't speak
to her during the initial two sessions other than in
grunts and groans. I didn't acknowledge her as human
other than as a receptacle for my drool, spit and
pain.
In my new role as friend, she didn't recognize me as
my head was hooded during her torture. Now I'm
unhooded and am fully clothed in normal civilian
attire and have provided her the opportunity to rest
and take nourishment. I supplement her intake with
aspirin equivalents. I place her easily on her back
bind her lightly spread-eagled to the warm wood floor
of punishment room 7; she is still a prisoner and must
not be allowed to escape or, as I tell her, the
commandant will have my hide!
Burn-soothing ointment is liberally and tenderly
applied to all her affected areas. The burns are very
light, so I follow with skin-softening agents. Wounds
were dressed with neosporin equivalent and covered
with sterile bandages. I delicately massaged soreness
from limbs and joints. I discussed the previous
sessions sympathizing with her agony and praised her
courage in taking so much horrible punishment. I ask
her name.
"Yvette," she softly replies thinking perhaps I can be
trusted and will help her.
I promise to speak with her tormentor to convince him
she is properly trained ready to obey her master
willingly. I help her with her personal hygiene--wash
her hair and brush her teeth--she needs my help. I get
her some night clothing and tell her I'll spend the
night to protect her from vermin in the cell. That
way, she'll get much needed rest to recuperate from
her ghastly ordeal. She drifts off to sleep comforted
by my watchfulness--the pain is subsiding...she is at
ease.
She awakes and is startled to see that I'm gone. She
finds a note that I've gone to get her some food. She
is grateful and calm. Soon, the sound of rattling
metal utensils and the smell of hot food wafts into
the cell. She is thrilled I'm back! The cell door
opens and her hooded cretin tormentor enters bearing
the god-forsaken ropes, strap and an ice pick in his
belt--she's back in hell!
The tormentor, who of course is me back in costume,
rips-off Yvette's scant clothing and attaches a broad
leather belt around her waist cinching it brutally
tight. The belt is peppered with random small holes,
swiveling eye bolts mounted through the leather
protruding out at each side and with attached wrist
cuffs. Her wrists are affixed to the belt's cuffs. She
is forced to an adjoining punishment room. The room is
again stiflingly hot and she babbles for mercy. The
belt's eyebolts are attached to cables running from a
pulley overhead. Yvette is raised off the floor and
allowed to slowly spin and bob. She struggles
fruitlessly to stop the gyrations. Beneath her
spinning form, a grating is churning out hot air that
makes it difficult for her to breath and irritates her
already sensitive, abused body. I begin a warm-up
session by caning her various parts as they rotate
into harm's way. The heat, dizziness and beating go on
for a long time. I warn Yvette to surrender all hope
of mercy and she gasps as each blow lands; she begins
to realize that the session will intensify rapidly.
Abruptly, I stop the spinning by viciously pulling her
hair. The big toes are then tied together. A long
eyebolt is screwed into a hole in the waist belt so it
burrows painfully into the navel. Yvette grimaces. An
electric heating iron is clamped to the bolt and heat
begins to penetrate into her belly. As the bolt heats,
she'll feel the ache throughout her entire abdomen.
Yvette is rotated until her head is her lowest point.
She is held in that position by my fingers in the
vagina and anus.
I begin the "Torture of Fives". Using a crop, I lay on
sharp, repeated blows over the body--five each on the
same spot. Yvette is then slowly lowered until her
head is submerged into a bucket of hot water. She
furiously fights the urge to scream for fear of
inhaling the fiery water. Her head remains underwater
for a slow count of five. A succession of dunkings
follows---head submerged on each occasion for a five
count-- with recurring, same spot, five-count lashes
from the crop.
The hot water is replaced with a bucket of
ice-encrusted, frigid water. Five-count dunkings
commence again but this time, an ice pick (very
short--a bodkin actually) is used simultaneously to
prick the body through the random holes in the waist
belt corresponding to the count of the head
underwater. Yvette responds well to punctures in her
tender trunk and cannot contain her screams and sucks
water into her lungs. Panic-induced, convulsive
coughing ensues and she fears she'll drown.
After this modified water torture, Yvette's form is
righted, the heating iron removed and the naval bolt
is imbedded by five turns. The agony in her gut is so
great she can only emit a shallow moan for fear of
imbedding the bolt deeper. Additional pointed screws
are added through the belt's holes and torqued into
the flesh opened by earlier prickings. The toe
bindings are checked with each foot's five toes
individually clamped snugly then tourqued down five
times. The water bucket is replaced by a dildo and
Yvette is lowered until her vagina swallows the
shaft--agony races through her groin and she bellows.
I stand behind Yvette, placing my heavy boots on her
calves sending pain through her knees as they're
mashed into the floor. Ensuring she remains firmly
impaled on the dildo and with her arms still tightly
restrained overhead from the pulley, I reach around
her with hot needle-nose pliers to abuse her breasts
and nipples alternating five pinches per breast. The
sharp pain draws more screams. Yvette's body is
hoisted up freeing her sore vagina then sharply
lowered so that her anus is filled. Again, 5 count
breast torture is administered. All body screws are
tightened and the hot iron liberally punishes the body
amid the cacophony of Yvette's shrieks.
I end the Torture of Fives and Yvette is freed from
all bindings and screw insertions; however, the belt
remains. She begins to relax and reveal in the
aftermath thinking her torment is over.
She's wrong. Yvette is returned to the rack, facing
up, and stretched tight. I straddle her supine form
then sit on her aching, perforated mid-section placing
nearly my full weight on her belly to force short,
rapid upper-chest breathing. I begin pouring melted
molding wax over her neck, chest and sides to include
the arm pits. I leave her in this position for several
minutes to allow the wax to cool and harden. This
period allows me to make a break to the observation
area and confer with Phil.
Dana met me outside the door of the observation room
with a large bottle of cold water and a towel. She
toweled by back with brisk, rubbing motions while I
took long swigs of the cool liquid.
"My whole body aches watching this, Travis," she
began. "How does she take that much abuse?"
"She's sure tough isn't she?" I replied. "Once I catch
my breath, I'm going to let Phil know it's time for
the needles in case he hasn't figured it out from the
wax application."
"Oh he's aware; he's had the camera rolling for quite
awhile," Dana explained. "Once you're through here,
why don't you stop in my place...I make a mean
omelet."
"Sounds great," I answered. ""Let's go light her up,"
I said handing Dana the nearly finished bottle and
accepting her toweling of my chest.
I re-entered Yvette's punishment room and her eyes
opened to watch my approach.
"You can't make me come scumbag," she said evenly.
With that being said, I began easing various sized
needles through the hardened wax covering Yvetted
racked form--the wax keeping the needles from loosing
their depth of insertion. I then repositioned myself
of Yvette's waist and commenced a
bouncing-on-the-belly tactic to increase the needles
stimulation as they sway and tremble embedded in the
flesh. This is entirely new pain to Yvette--the
initial piercings are amplified by the fiery misery of
the quaking needles. After several minutes of
screaming, the needles are removed and I step off her
body.
Yvette's feet are then subjected to a lashing until
thoroughly reddened then melted wax is poured over
them followed by needle insertions. Her shins are then
caned to make the needles tremble. This procedure is
repeated on the hands. More wax is poured over her
public area and, naturally, needles pierce the region.
I pinch each of Yvette's tough nipples with
needle-nose pliers then pierce each nipple completely
through with a long, thick needle. Stepping off and
back, I viciously lash her distressed belly inducing
total body vibration and sending the needles
trembling. Yvette is driven past sane words and
screeches unintelligibly until she exhausts her
reserve will to fight. Her taut form bucks as she
climaxes three times; she then looses consciousness.
Yvette is awakened by a dowsing of cold water. She is
removed from all implements and racking ropes. She is
told to leave the room and report to her master in the
lounge.
"Out of my sight you Nubian cunt!" I rant as Yvette
worms away along the floor to the door. "You are not
worthy of the Pain Boss's attention you piece of
maggot shit!"
I approach Yvette from behind as she pulls her limp
form up with aching arms holding the exit's latch. I
take hold of her sweat-soaked hair with one hand and,
with my right hand, reach between her equally as wet
thighs and pull her up erect. While inserting a finger
into her vagina, I push my larger, sweating body
firmly into her abused, drenched back and whisper,
"and have a great vacation...you Mandika whore."
Yvette reaches around and silently strokes my cheek,
smiles weakly then departs.
On to Chapter 11
