MY NAME IS AMY. ~ Part Three
By C.A.B.
(Fiction. MF/F, Warning: adult themes. non-consensual, sex. violence, torture)
When I stepped back inside the storage bay's front office, Steve met me and said he was delighted that I decided to stay. It was the "smart move" as he said. I found that a touch ominous, and resigned myself that I could not escape my situation. Secretly, I was glad... the dark side of me I suppose. I rationalize really well.
Steve double locked the front door and escorted me to the second room (the Control Room as I now know it) and tossed me a white tee shirt. Man sized, but that was all he had. He explained that we can not give the woman (properly called a 'Guest') any visual clues to our identities. Plain, nondescript clothing or, in the future, when I was more comfortable, we could do it nude. I found that statement very hot. Steve was fit for an older man and my curiosity had been piqued since the bar.
He explained a myriad of operational details. What this or that does. What to do if this or that occurs, and other protocols. He said not to worry about memorizing everything this first time but just roll with it this evening. He would instruct and I would listen. He said when I was ready I could be 'hands on". He pulled the dossier on our guest and read some details to me. She was a corrupt contractor's wife. Their company had been building sub-standard homes in the area for a long time and they were paying off local officials. They had millions. She was 42 and didn't work. Spent her days shopping and at luncheons with other trophy wives. She drove a souped-up roadster that most people aren't even allowed to touch at the dealership. She has a couple of bank accounts under her name where they juggle money. She has her hair, nails, and tanning done every week without fail. No kids.
Steve then went over a loose outline of how an evening starts. He notes that most times it just takes a couple of hours but they have done all-nighters and, on rare occasion, weekends for "tough or stupid bitches." But, he was proud to say, that their record is 100% with nothing messy or unfortunate occurring (so called). Steve's company selects targets from in town, and more and more from nearby cites as pickings get slim. The guest is always brought in with a black fabric bag taped over the head and a mouth stuffed with a cloth gag and duct tape. Two company men (the 'Catchers') carry her in and bind her to the table. Then Steve does the rest. Whenever we are to go in the other room we are to wear these full-head black masks made of sheer Lycra like material; it makes us look like faceless bank-robbers in my opinion. Its easy for us to see out but the guest can't make out our faces.
The first thing Steve does is make sure the guest is fully immobilized. There are straps built into the padded table and they are secured with arms above their heads; buckled at the wrists; above the elbows; forehead; beneath the breasts; at the pelvis; two on the knees (above and below the kneecap); and the ankles. Like I said, 'totally immobilized.' Only then does Steve take off their head bags and gag tape. They scream and complain like banshees when that happens, but Steve simply leaves the room for a couple of hours to let them 'stew" about the situation. To the guest, the room is blackness beyond the harsh working light overhead.
Steve says it is important to leave them clothed at first so that they always have a sense of 'hope'. This is important because part of the breaking procedure is to dash that hope again and again. After about an hour or two, Steve will turn on the speakers in the room and speak from the control room. His voice is amplified and a little strange sounding; cold and detached. He likes to mind-fuck with them just when they have settled down a little. He'll say obscure things like, "We'll begin soon" or "We are almost ready for you" and he lets them eat it up for another hour. The mind play is vital to add to the fear.
Before we go in, Steve has me take off my jewelry and looks me over for any tattoos that might be visible. Then he helps me don my mask for the first time. It excites me because I realize I am safe behind anonymity. I can do anything I want now... I am not 'me' anymore. I am a 'torturer'. He instructs me to be absolutely silent and pay no attention or react to what the guest says or threatens. "Just act nonchalant and clinical. It scares the crap out of them."
As we step into the 'Play Room' for the first time, I am mesmerized by the sight of this beautiful woman bound to the table. Here, at chest height is the 'victim' I have only dreamed about in my darkest imaginings. Her eyes are moist from tears of fear and frustration, flashing defiantly as she rattles off pleads and threats and demands and apologies, jumbled together like the manic cries of the desperate. I have come to realize its the 'desperation' that turns me on the most, the fact that they must endure whatever I do to them and it is unbearable; but they must bear it. No choice. That's hot and it makes me wet just thinking about it.
Steve gently nudges me right up to the table where we hover over the guest. He then pulls over a trolley cart with an assortment of frightening tools, instruments, materials, and torture devices. Then he hands me these bent safety scissors, the kind they use in emergency rooms, and motions for me to begin cutting off her clothing. She screams anew as we start to strip away her expensive blouse, brassiere, and skirt. Steve then motions for me to stop and just stare at her as she takes it in. The look on her face excites me. Then he abruptly trims and yanks away her panties. He balls it up and stuffs them in her mouth followed by a couple of layers of duct tape. He is quick and efficient, and before the guest can tell what's happening he duct tapes cotton batting over her eyes. Then, what I thought was odd, almost comical, he places a large set of headphones over her ears, containing them. The wire, I assumed, was connected to the microphone system in the control room. From under the table he pulls out another wire with a sticky patch, peels it and sticks it to the side of her neck. Steve then motions for me to leave with him.The woman, shaking and fearful, nipples erect in the cool room air, moans behind her gag, whimpering.
In the other room, Steve dons a wireless headset microphone. "When she's got those headphones on she can't hear us speak unless I turn on this headset mic. This isolates her further. Unless I am speaking to her through my headset, all she hears is her own breathing and heartbeat from the sticky mic I put on her neck. When we start to torture her, anything she utters will be amplified into her own headphones. She'll never forget it. It will haunt her dreams, and she'll never want to chance an encounter again." he winks, "Keeps the money flowing."
"Now," Steve put a supportive hand on my shoulder, "When we go back in there, I'm going to give her 'the speech'. Yes, it is a very specific wording. Basically its her instructions on what is expected of her. She'll probably want to say anything we want to hear, but that's not how it goes down. Listen and learn." I swallowed hard, totally detached from myself. I was just as frightened as the woman but, oh my god, I kept squeezing my legs together I was so turned on.
Back in the room the woman was totally disorientated, hearing nothing but her own rapid breathing and seeing nothing. She looked very ready to comply. Steve spoke freely to me in the room now.
"Ms. B, go up to her and start slowly caressing her skin. Gently. Reassuringly. All over. Then I will speak to her, and while I do keep stroking no matter how she reacts. I walked up to the table, her skin was glowing with cool perspiration, but she was soft like silk. perfectly shaved, and tan. She had a bikini wax. When I first touched her I jumped a little because she startled. Then I remembered that she is in this amplified breathing/heartbeat zone and totally sightless. I scared her, and it thrilled me. My hand went back and I ran my fingers down her smooth arms, over her breasts and beyond. Easy. Soothing. Like petting an animal. Her breathing was in small fits and starts. Then Steve clicked his headset mic on, his voice pumped directly into her headphones.
"You need to pay very close attention. The only way to save yourself is to do exactly what we ask. I am going to tell you what you are to do. In a little while, we are going to ask you for your bank account information, as many as you can recall. Your pass-codes and PIN numbers. You will give us the information and we will confirm it. If you do not tell us what we want to know, if you are not forthcoming, if you lie to us, then we will torture you for as long as we think it takes to convince you, if you lie again or resist, we will double the time we torture you until we ask again. This will continue until we get what we want. Comply and you will be released. Do you understand what I have just told you?"
The woman shakes her head, vigorously. She tries to speak something but it is muffled. She wants to cooperate. She's desperate to cooperate. Her nipples are firm under my sweeping palms.
"Are you ready to cooperate? Are you ready to comply?"
She shakes her head 'yes!' and murmurs something hard enough through the gag to make her neck veins stick out. Her thighs are smooth and toned. I double my hands on her body. Her every pore is lit by the brash light, my shadow is over her, close and intimate. I can smell her feint sex and fear mixed. Steve turns his mic back on.
"I know you think you are ready to comply, but we need you to understand how serious we are, " Steve smiles at me behind his mask, "So we are going to demonstrate how helpless you are. We are going to torture you and we are not going to stop until such time as we see fit."
The woman begins to quake and pull at her straps. Panic.
"We are going to make you suffer and scream and you can do nothing to stop it. What you want does not matter. You are nothing but a play thing to us. When we stop. IF we stop. We will ask for information. You will answer. Do you understand?"
The woman is screaming behind her gag. Pulling at her straps to no avail, she can't move. She's stopped listening and is in hysterics. I keep running my hand over her but now its pointless. Steve tells me you stop and join him in the other room. We leave her screaming, pondering her fate.
~ To be continued.
By C.A.B.
(Fiction. MF/F, Warning: adult themes. non-consensual, sex. violence, torture)
When I stepped back inside the storage bay's front office, Steve met me and said he was delighted that I decided to stay. It was the "smart move" as he said. I found that a touch ominous, and resigned myself that I could not escape my situation. Secretly, I was glad... the dark side of me I suppose. I rationalize really well.
Steve double locked the front door and escorted me to the second room (the Control Room as I now know it) and tossed me a white tee shirt. Man sized, but that was all he had. He explained that we can not give the woman (properly called a 'Guest') any visual clues to our identities. Plain, nondescript clothing or, in the future, when I was more comfortable, we could do it nude. I found that statement very hot. Steve was fit for an older man and my curiosity had been piqued since the bar.
He explained a myriad of operational details. What this or that does. What to do if this or that occurs, and other protocols. He said not to worry about memorizing everything this first time but just roll with it this evening. He would instruct and I would listen. He said when I was ready I could be 'hands on". He pulled the dossier on our guest and read some details to me. She was a corrupt contractor's wife. Their company had been building sub-standard homes in the area for a long time and they were paying off local officials. They had millions. She was 42 and didn't work. Spent her days shopping and at luncheons with other trophy wives. She drove a souped-up roadster that most people aren't even allowed to touch at the dealership. She has a couple of bank accounts under her name where they juggle money. She has her hair, nails, and tanning done every week without fail. No kids.
Steve then went over a loose outline of how an evening starts. He notes that most times it just takes a couple of hours but they have done all-nighters and, on rare occasion, weekends for "tough or stupid bitches." But, he was proud to say, that their record is 100% with nothing messy or unfortunate occurring (so called). Steve's company selects targets from in town, and more and more from nearby cites as pickings get slim. The guest is always brought in with a black fabric bag taped over the head and a mouth stuffed with a cloth gag and duct tape. Two company men (the 'Catchers') carry her in and bind her to the table. Then Steve does the rest. Whenever we are to go in the other room we are to wear these full-head black masks made of sheer Lycra like material; it makes us look like faceless bank-robbers in my opinion. Its easy for us to see out but the guest can't make out our faces.
The first thing Steve does is make sure the guest is fully immobilized. There are straps built into the padded table and they are secured with arms above their heads; buckled at the wrists; above the elbows; forehead; beneath the breasts; at the pelvis; two on the knees (above and below the kneecap); and the ankles. Like I said, 'totally immobilized.' Only then does Steve take off their head bags and gag tape. They scream and complain like banshees when that happens, but Steve simply leaves the room for a couple of hours to let them 'stew" about the situation. To the guest, the room is blackness beyond the harsh working light overhead.
Steve says it is important to leave them clothed at first so that they always have a sense of 'hope'. This is important because part of the breaking procedure is to dash that hope again and again. After about an hour or two, Steve will turn on the speakers in the room and speak from the control room. His voice is amplified and a little strange sounding; cold and detached. He likes to mind-fuck with them just when they have settled down a little. He'll say obscure things like, "We'll begin soon" or "We are almost ready for you" and he lets them eat it up for another hour. The mind play is vital to add to the fear.
Before we go in, Steve has me take off my jewelry and looks me over for any tattoos that might be visible. Then he helps me don my mask for the first time. It excites me because I realize I am safe behind anonymity. I can do anything I want now... I am not 'me' anymore. I am a 'torturer'. He instructs me to be absolutely silent and pay no attention or react to what the guest says or threatens. "Just act nonchalant and clinical. It scares the crap out of them."
As we step into the 'Play Room' for the first time, I am mesmerized by the sight of this beautiful woman bound to the table. Here, at chest height is the 'victim' I have only dreamed about in my darkest imaginings. Her eyes are moist from tears of fear and frustration, flashing defiantly as she rattles off pleads and threats and demands and apologies, jumbled together like the manic cries of the desperate. I have come to realize its the 'desperation' that turns me on the most, the fact that they must endure whatever I do to them and it is unbearable; but they must bear it. No choice. That's hot and it makes me wet just thinking about it.
Steve gently nudges me right up to the table where we hover over the guest. He then pulls over a trolley cart with an assortment of frightening tools, instruments, materials, and torture devices. Then he hands me these bent safety scissors, the kind they use in emergency rooms, and motions for me to begin cutting off her clothing. She screams anew as we start to strip away her expensive blouse, brassiere, and skirt. Steve then motions for me to stop and just stare at her as she takes it in. The look on her face excites me. Then he abruptly trims and yanks away her panties. He balls it up and stuffs them in her mouth followed by a couple of layers of duct tape. He is quick and efficient, and before the guest can tell what's happening he duct tapes cotton batting over her eyes. Then, what I thought was odd, almost comical, he places a large set of headphones over her ears, containing them. The wire, I assumed, was connected to the microphone system in the control room. From under the table he pulls out another wire with a sticky patch, peels it and sticks it to the side of her neck. Steve then motions for me to leave with him.The woman, shaking and fearful, nipples erect in the cool room air, moans behind her gag, whimpering.
In the other room, Steve dons a wireless headset microphone. "When she's got those headphones on she can't hear us speak unless I turn on this headset mic. This isolates her further. Unless I am speaking to her through my headset, all she hears is her own breathing and heartbeat from the sticky mic I put on her neck. When we start to torture her, anything she utters will be amplified into her own headphones. She'll never forget it. It will haunt her dreams, and she'll never want to chance an encounter again." he winks, "Keeps the money flowing."
"Now," Steve put a supportive hand on my shoulder, "When we go back in there, I'm going to give her 'the speech'. Yes, it is a very specific wording. Basically its her instructions on what is expected of her. She'll probably want to say anything we want to hear, but that's not how it goes down. Listen and learn." I swallowed hard, totally detached from myself. I was just as frightened as the woman but, oh my god, I kept squeezing my legs together I was so turned on.
Back in the room the woman was totally disorientated, hearing nothing but her own rapid breathing and seeing nothing. She looked very ready to comply. Steve spoke freely to me in the room now.
"Ms. B, go up to her and start slowly caressing her skin. Gently. Reassuringly. All over. Then I will speak to her, and while I do keep stroking no matter how she reacts. I walked up to the table, her skin was glowing with cool perspiration, but she was soft like silk. perfectly shaved, and tan. She had a bikini wax. When I first touched her I jumped a little because she startled. Then I remembered that she is in this amplified breathing/heartbeat zone and totally sightless. I scared her, and it thrilled me. My hand went back and I ran my fingers down her smooth arms, over her breasts and beyond. Easy. Soothing. Like petting an animal. Her breathing was in small fits and starts. Then Steve clicked his headset mic on, his voice pumped directly into her headphones.
"You need to pay very close attention. The only way to save yourself is to do exactly what we ask. I am going to tell you what you are to do. In a little while, we are going to ask you for your bank account information, as many as you can recall. Your pass-codes and PIN numbers. You will give us the information and we will confirm it. If you do not tell us what we want to know, if you are not forthcoming, if you lie to us, then we will torture you for as long as we think it takes to convince you, if you lie again or resist, we will double the time we torture you until we ask again. This will continue until we get what we want. Comply and you will be released. Do you understand what I have just told you?"
The woman shakes her head, vigorously. She tries to speak something but it is muffled. She wants to cooperate. She's desperate to cooperate. Her nipples are firm under my sweeping palms.
"Are you ready to cooperate? Are you ready to comply?"
She shakes her head 'yes!' and murmurs something hard enough through the gag to make her neck veins stick out. Her thighs are smooth and toned. I double my hands on her body. Her every pore is lit by the brash light, my shadow is over her, close and intimate. I can smell her feint sex and fear mixed. Steve turns his mic back on.
"I know you think you are ready to comply, but we need you to understand how serious we are, " Steve smiles at me behind his mask, "So we are going to demonstrate how helpless you are. We are going to torture you and we are not going to stop until such time as we see fit."
The woman begins to quake and pull at her straps. Panic.
"We are going to make you suffer and scream and you can do nothing to stop it. What you want does not matter. You are nothing but a play thing to us. When we stop. IF we stop. We will ask for information. You will answer. Do you understand?"
The woman is screaming behind her gag. Pulling at her straps to no avail, she can't move. She's stopped listening and is in hysterics. I keep running my hand over her but now its pointless. Steve tells me you stop and join him in the other room. We leave her screaming, pondering her fate.
~ To be continued.
