Lynne gradually returned to consciousness. It wasn’t a sudden event, but rather a
gradual awareness of a few small but nagging pains. Her throat was sore, her head ached
and her wrists were hurting. She guessed she had picked up a bug and distantly
considered whether she should stay in bed today. It certainly seemed too much of an
effort to go to the Foreign Office and her demanding job at the ‘Arab Affairs’ desk.
Surfacing from the warm, steadfastly clinging, darkness which seemed so reluctant
to release her, she tried to marshal her thoughts into some kind of order.
Then, suddenly, the unpleasant recollection of what she had to do jolted her
further awake. It was a shame, but she had to tell the handsome young Arab interpreter,
Asan, that they must stop seeing each other. It had been a tremendously entertaining
flirtation on her part but; although full sex had not occurred, Asan had recently made it
very clear that he expected it soon. Though she found the boy to be devilishly
attractive, Lynne definitely didn’t want it to go further. A bit of fun was all right
and, to be honest, she had been flattered that such a handsome young man of Asan’s tender
years could find her so attractive.
It was perfectly clear what she had to do. Despite the excitement, the ill-starred
affair with the young Arabic/English interpreter had to stop right now! First and
foremost, she didn’t want to be unfaithful to her husband, Brian, no matter how boring and
predictable he could be at times. Second, it would seriously jeopardize her job and
career if anyone in the Foreign Office became aware that she had been consorting,
innocently or not, with an Arab from the opposing negotiating team.
Thoughts of the Foreign Office reminded her of something else – very important.
She had to make her superiors aware of what she had picked up from Asan during their last
little private chat at the restaurant. From what he’d said, it was clear that the Arab
team was about to run rings around the Brits and only her knowledge could stop it. She
sighed. No chance of a lay-in today; she’d have to get up.
She tried to move and nothing happened except the discomfort in her throat and
wrists became worse. She seemed to be paralysed, totally unable to move her arms and
legs. She tried to look around; tell Brian that something was wrong but the room was in
darkness. Was it still the middle of the night? Had she been dreaming? When had she
gone to bed?
Her mind floated back, guilty thoughts momentarily distracting her from the
uncomfortable feeling in her limbs. Guiltily, she recalled the meal last night with Asan.
She’d told Brian she was working late again. Once again she made up her mind to tell Asan
that it was all over. He had to see that it was for the best. There was no way they
could ever be together; she was a married woman of twenty-nine, a rising star in the
diplomatic service. Asan was a boy of nineteen, albeit a good looking and charming one.
She had never allowed things to go beyond pecks on the cheek; mostly they just enjoyed
each other’s company and fine meals. Yet Asan’s lack of years, the fact that she was a
married woman and the noticeable fact that they were constantly in each other’s company
was, she knew, beginning to attract some sly comments at work.
She was, as many men had told her, a beautiful and intelligent woman. Privately
she had always thought this to be somewhat of an exaggeration. Truthfully, she saw
herself as a reasonably pretty girl with, admittedly, a better than average figure. Her
wide brown eyes and slightly turned up nose, the nose which Brian always found cute, the
regular features framed by a rich profusion of golden blonde hair falling to her shoulders
had always stood her in good stead. Yet without her naturally athletic body with those
long toned thighs, nicely rounded bottom and, of course, her large yet beautifully formed
breasts, she knew she probably would not have stood out in a crowd.
Urging her brain to greater effort, she recalled feeling slightly queasy in the
restaurant. Had it been the lobster or maybe the wine? She remembered Asan’s around her
considerately, helping her to the taxi. She remembered the shiny brown seat and then …
nothing!
Her heart began to race. Had she collapsed and been taken to hospital … maybe
fallen into a coma? What would Brian think? He’d have heard that she was out with the
Arab lad; colleagues would probably have told him that she did so quite often? She had to
pull herself together; if necessary tell Brian that maybe she had seen too much of Asan.
She imagined herself explaining things to him; she realized it was silly; working lunches
she’d say, and that she’d stop them now.
In fact most of those out of hours chats had been business orientated; the fact of
her being able to admire and appreciate the handsome face and slim, muscled body moving
under Asan’s clothes had been, at least at the beginning, just a bonus.
It had been at their last meal that the young Arab had partially let it slip that
his negotiating team had no intention of giving up the land and weapons that they’d
promised.
She’d thought she’d been clever enough to disguise her recognition of Asan’s slip
and now had to pass on her information to her immediate superiors.
One way or the other she simply had to settle her private life with Brian and alert
the Foreign Office to what she now knew about the negotiations, if she could just will
herself awake.
Somehow there seemed to be a greater physical clarity now, even if her mind was
still a bit confused. Almost as if she had been drugged or perhaps had too much to drink
and couldn’t shake off the after effects. She guessed that she had indeed been placed on
some medication, but she felt that it might be wearing off now because the pain at her
throat and wrists was becoming more acute, especially when she tried to struggle from the
bed. If only they’d put the lights on so she could see. Or maybe it was that she
couldn’t open her eyes. Oh God, the thought brought on a sudden panic … was she
paralysed?
She tried again to get up, only succeeding in increasing the pain in her wrists and
throat. She forced herself to be still. Her arms and legs were moving slightly but
something was stopping them. Her eyes strained to open but a band seemed to be pressing
tightly around her head and against them, adding to her headache.
“Mrghh!” Her first attempt to talk came out as nothing more than a pathetic moan.
Her mouth was dry, and blocked with something. She could feel what felt like rough cloth
pressing against her tongue.
Now at least her mind was clearing, making it apparent that something unpleasant
had happened to her after the restaurant. She was awake, very cold and quite unable to
move; restrained in some way. Her panic increased. Where the Hell was she?
She felt a sliver of fear as she heard someone calling from the darkness; a woman’s
voice. Then sharper pains flared across her head, jolting her fully awake as her hair was
pulled back and forth in time to the female voice. “Come on! Wake up, Mrs Cameron! I
know you can hear me.” The voice had a foreign twang and spoke abruptly.
Lynne’s heart pounded, suddenly aware of what felt like a rubber blindfold
preventing her eyes from opening. Instinctively she tried to lift her hands to pull it
away only to feel tight straps binding her at throat, wrists, arms, knees and ankles; to
what felt like some kind of wooden, possibly latticework, chair on which she was seated
upright.
She struggled vainly, only to find that her entire body was strapped so tightly
that movement was practically impossible.
”Don’t struggle!” the female voice warned. “It’s useless! Don’t try to speak,
either! You’re wasting your time!
Lynn’s terror increased when she heard a soft, malicious chuckle, then the voice
carried on: “You’ve got nothing to say that I’d be interested in at the moment. I only
wanted to check that you’d survived the journey.” Another pause was followed by yet
another sinister chuckle. “Some don’t, of course, which presents us with the problem of
disposing of the bodies.”
Lynne froze. The implication was almost too horrible to contemplate. Yet the
words were quite matter of fact, terrifyingly so. “Whoaaargh!” Lynne tried to speak
through the cloth filling her mouth but it was quite impossible to articulate anything
beyond a soft, barely audible, pathetic whimper.
She heard the sharp clack of footsteps receding, a woman’s high-heeled gait echoing
in wherever she was, and desperately wanted to say something. It was a terrible thought
that whoever it was didn’t seem to particularly care whether she was dead or alive. She
felt her pulse racing as her terror built. She was totally helpless and in the hands of …
who … who?
Silence again descended on her world. Where the Hell was she? What did they
want?
She decided that it must be something to with work. She had been kidnapped. Was
it something to do with the negotiations? Would the other side have kidnapped her if they
thought she knew that they were not serious about negotiating? That must be it! Someone
had realised that Asan had said too much?
She didn’t know how much time had passed since the restaurant; guessing maybe a few
hours? Brian would be worried; she would have simply disappeared from the face of the
Earth. A big tear formed in the corner of her eye at the thought of him. How dearly she
wished she could put back the clock, never have gone to the restaurant. Gone straight
home instead; been with Brian, safe.
Time passed in her silent void. She had no idea how long but her body clock was
telling her she needed to use the toilet. Her thumping head was crying out for a tablet,
or even just a glass of water, yet she had no means of communicating these basic needs.
Her captors didn’t care about her, didn’t care whether she lived or died, let alone
whether she wet herself or suffered the pain of a monumental headache.
After a long, long time, she finally heard returning footsteps.
“Here’s some pretty earrings for you, Mrs Cameron.” The woman’s voice was
malicious, almost sneering
Lynne flinched as her expensive diamond earrings were roughly pulled from her
pierced ears and what felt like much larger and heavier rings painfully re-inserted.
“Not so pretty as the ones you were wearing,” the voice continued. “I’ll give you
a little demonstration of what happens if you touch them - or annoy me.”
“Aaaarggghh!” Lynne’s teeth bit down savagely on her gag, her body locking rigidly
into a strained arc of agonising pain within the extent of her tight bonds. Her head
seemed to be exploding; almost as if two drills were boring into her skull from either
side.
The shocking pain only lasted for a few seconds; but it was enough! She knew she
just couldn’t take any more. Slowly she became aware that the pain had gone and she
relaxed back into the chair, muscles gradually unlocking, breasts heaving mightily as she
tried to drag air back into her empty lungs. Her head cleared slowly and she became aware
of her heart pounding. She was wet with perspiration and could feel it running between
her breasts. Oh God ... please ... no more ... please, she pleaded silently!
“Not very pleasant, was it Mrs Cameron?” the voice sneered. “That’s what will
happen if you try to touch them or if you are disobedient in any way.” The voice was
harder now, threatening. “I’m going to remove your gag now but you will only speak in
answer to my questions, nothing else.”
“Nnnnnnng … nnnnnnng,” Lynne gurgled, then: “yaaarghhhh,”as her head exploded once
again into intense pain. Utterly rigid, she was arched agonisingly backwards, her big
juddering breasts thrust up and out, almost as if begging for attention. Her head was
strained backwards, her face contorted into a rictus mask of pure agony.
Then, just as suddenly as it had come, the current was gone, leaving Lynne
trembling violently and sagging in her bonds.
“You do NOT speak until I tell you to! Understand, Mrs Cameron? Nod your head if
you do!” The voice was calm and controlled, in total contrast to the agony just
inflicted.
Frantically, Lynne nodded her head, unable to choke back a tiny groan as it
threatened to come off her shoulders. She had a headache worse than anything she could
remember; but all she could think of was that she must ... absolutely MUST ... obey this
crazy woman who had her completely helpless and at her mercy.
Fingers struggled with the buckles of her gag and Lynne breathed a sigh of relief
as both it and the cloth wadding was removed from her mouth. With a mighty effort, she
prevented herself from asking the myriad of crazy questions milling about in her head.
“OK then!” the voice went on calmly. “All you have to do is answer my questions
quite truthfully, holding nothing back, and the pain will stay away. Understand?”
Once again Lynne nodded her head, this time more carefully.
“Good. An easy question to start with, then. How many men … or women, for that
matter … have seen you naked, Mrs stuck-up, fuckin’ Cameron?”
“What!” Lynne’s mind was confused with shock at the unexpected question.
Frantically she tried to get her tongue to work. “I … er, … please … er…!”
The voice became solicitous. “Let me help you! Your husband, yes?”
“W-well … Y-yes of course,” Lynne stuttered, her mind racing to fathom the question
and its purpose.
“Mummy and Daddy?”
”Yes … yes, of course, when I was young but …!”
“Good, that’s a start!” the voice interrupted smoothly. We’re establishing
parameters. Now then, who else?”
“I … er … don’t know. I don’t know. Why … why are you doing this to me? Is it to
do with Asan? … “Aaaarggghh! “Nnnnnnng!” All further reasoning and speech suddenly became
impossible as the terrible pain once more blossomed from her ears into her head, driving
away all coherent thought. For a moment, Lynne thought she was dying then, as suddenly as
it had arrived, the agony stopped and, almost lifeless, she sagged once more in her bonds.
The interrogator’s voice was hard and merciless. “You don’t need to know why, or
who; just that I asked a question and want an answer. Now then! Think, you stuck up
bitch! Everyone in your life who has seen you naked … everyone ... now!”
“Ooooooh … aaaargh … God,” Lynne whispered. “Please … please! I … er … don’t know
… er … er … doctors, I suppose. “
“Recently?”
“A ... a year ago … maybe.”
“What for?”
“Just … just a routine check up … a … a … physical.“
“At school, in the showers?”
“Yes … yes … the showers, but … but … why?”
“Brother, Sister?”
“N-no … I’ve no brother. S ... sister yes, when we were younger but … but!”
The voice was brutal, emphatic. “Shut up! Boyfriends?”
“Well, perhaps some over the …!”
“Names?”
“Look … I can’t … oh, please … no … Aaaaaaargh!” Lynne heard the ominous creaking
of the chair as her tormentor leaned forward, just before the blast of pain hit her
again.
“You’ll be surprised at how much you will remember, Mrs Cameron … when you have
to.” Strong fingers gripped Lynne’s chin and painfully twisted her head upwards. “OK,
let’s try again!”
For the next ten minutes, instead of relieving her aching bladder as she so dearly
wished, Lynne struggled to recall the boyfriends with whom she’d been intimate and
approximately when. There were only a few but she had to drag them up from the recesses
of her mind, knowing that the switch to the rings in her ears was just a touch away. The
whole thing was humiliating and, to Lynn’s mind at least, totally pointless, though she
supposed the woman was getting some kind of vicarious, or perhaps voyeuristic, pleasure
out of it.
“That was just to set the tone of your stay with us, as it were,” the voice
continued. By the time we’ve finished, we are going to know you as well as you know
yourself. You will have NO secrets from us, none at all. Understand?”
Lynne forced herself to nod again, her headache increasing with every movement.
“Good! I see we understand each other, then.” Another malicious chuckle assaulted
the captive woman’s ears. “Right then! Now it’s time for someone else to see you naked,
Mrs high and mighty, fuckin’ Cameron. Me!” Her captor’s voice was quite controlled in
spite of the crudeness of the words; in stark contrast to Lynne’s mind, racing around in
dread and fear of what might happen to her.
“Now then,” the voice continued, “I’ll untie you now, but the blindfold will stay
on for the moment.” The chuckle came again. “Your clothes are beginning to smell. Best
we get them off!”
“But why … whey are you doing … yaaaaaarrgh,?” Lynne subsided into agonised
silence as another brief burst of pain jolted her head.
“You forget yourself!” the voice snarled. “I told you never to speak or ask
questions unless I tell you. Now, to continue, this is what will happen. I release your
bonds, you stand and remove all your clothes - everything! DO YOU UNDERSTAND?”
Once more Lynne nodded, totally cowed by the prospect of yet more pain.
“Good! That’s the alternative to me cutting them off with a knife and probably
slicing you up a bit in the process.” The voice sounded confident, satisfied that whoever
it was had the upper hand. “Then, I tie your wrists, search you for bugs and take you to
the loo. I expect you could do with a pee by now. Don’t worry about being violated, not
yet at least! If you can accept all that, tell me! If not, I’ll fetch my knife and we’ll
go from there. Well? Will you behave and do as I say?”
“Yes … oh, yes,” Lynne whispered abjectly, terrified that the pain would start all
over again. The words ‘violated’ and ‘not yet’ hammered crazily in her brain. Not yet -
not yet! Did the woman mean that she would be violated later. Who by … how many … and,
anyway, wouldn’t even that be preferable to more of the blinding, agonising pain from the
diabolical rings in her ears? The questions raced madly through her brain.
”Louder!”
“OK! OK! Yes! I’ll do it! Anything you want. Just don’t shock me again!
You’ll kill me.”
“Hmmm. Not very contrite, are you? From now on I think you’d better call me Miss
Pain! My real name doesn’t matter; but that is what I shall mean to you; someone who
gives you pain when you don’t behave. Miss Pain! Say it!” she demanded curtly.
“Yes, yes, Miss Pain,” Lynne knew she was groveling. She hated it but knew she was
completely in this woman’s hands and just had to obey.
“Good girl,” the voice was softer, almost conciliatory. “Now, remain still,
absolutely still while I undo the straps. You try anything, anything at all, and I’ll
frizzle your ears until your eyes pop out. Understand?”
“Y-yes Miss Pain,” Lynne had never felt such fear or total loss of control.
Submissively she remained sitting in the chair as the restraints were released. The
blindfold remained, of course; but she knew that, even if she dared, she couldn’t possibly
get it off before she was restrained or shocked again.
“OK! Now stand up now and undress! Come on! Get those fuckin’ clothes off!”
Wobbling uncertainly with the numbing pain of returning circulation, Lynne finally
managed to push herself to her feet, keeping a tight grip on the arms of the chair. Never
could she recall feeling so lost, frightened or helpless. The idea of taking her clothes
off in front of a total stranger who was prepared to inflict such pain was awful, yet she
must! That this stranger was someone who quite obviously didn’t care whether she lived
or died was even worse. She shivered in fear and cold, a sick feeling creeping into the
pit of her stomach as her hands went first to the buttons of her blouse.
Paula, the interrogator who had so cruelly decided on a whim that her victim should
undress and call her Miss Pain, sat opposite the chair in which Lynne had been bound,
smiling in triumph as the woman reluctantly began to remove her clothes. Paula was
striking rather than pretty, a twenty-year-old Albanian girl who had grown up on the
streets and, like many of her friends, become a prostitute at the age of twelve. She had
quite soon come under the tutelage of a series of pimps, graduating to top quality
‘call-girl’ status by the time she was fifteen and her budding charms began to push her
rapidly up the ladder of Albanian organized crime.
She was possessed of a slim. elfin figure, rather angular, hawkish features and the
jet back hair of her ancestry. At twenty, she was what they call ‘street-wise’, able to
speak four or five languages quite fluently. Since her recruitment by the ‘organisation’
she had quickly become an able interrogator, experienced in brutal interrogation tactics.
Currently, she was experiencing an exciting thrill to have such a sophisticated,
good-looking, western woman so totally within her power. Rightly or wrongly, she blamed
such people as this for blighting her youth and certainly didn’t regret the day she’d
joined the people who now employed her.
Lynne had removed her blouse and skirt and was hesitating before taking the next
step.
“Continue!” Paula barked. “Quickly, undress completely and drop everything on the
floor! Underwear, watch, rings, the lot!” The orders were barked, staccato-like in a
tone that brooked no disobedience.
Lynne hesitated just a moment longer, standing in her small, clinging white bra and
panties, the curtain of brown hair brushing trembling, creamy shoulders covered in
goose-pimples. She looked so out of place in the chilly, windowless cellar. The
scantily clad, shivering prisoner was tense with fear; the two large metal rings hanging
quivering from each delicate lobe.
“Well?” Paula’s voice became even more impatient, harsher. What’s the matter?
Want some more?”
Lynn moved frantically to obey. Desperately, urgently, she wanted … no, needed …
to show her obedience. Whatever else, she just HAD to avoid more pain. Shaking, she
reached behind to unclasp her bra and the interrogator licked her lips as the pert,
pink-tipped, 36B coral-tipped mounds sprang almost impertinently into view. Shyly,
red-faced with embarrassment, Lynn’s hands crept up to cover her breasts with what, in any
other circumstances, might have been seen as endearing womanly modesty.
“Stop covering yourself like a silly little girl, you bitch!” Paula shouted
angrily. “You’re a grown fuckin’ woman, aren’t you? Come on, hand me that!”
Trembling, Lynne reached out blindly to have her bra snatched away by her unseen
tormentor.
“And now the panties!” ordered the voice. “Come on, let’s see your cunt, you high
class, fuckin’ slut!”
| 
