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They had ripped off her blouse and skirt, then torn the bra from her body, leaving a
magnificent pair of breasts exposed to their evil, leering eyes.  Only her black lace
panties remained, along with what was left of one nylon on her right leg.  A man with a
belt had been whipping her bottom, slowly pacing out the blows so that each would be more
effective and so that the punishment, which he was enjoying very much, would last longer.

At first, the lovely young American had cried out and jerked that fine body with each
impact.  But after a few dozen, the cries became less and the jerking of her hips away
from the belt lessened.  Now it took more of his strength to evoke a decent cry.  He
paused to let his arm rest.  The chief interrogator came over and inspected the battered
bottom.  He pulled down the panties that he might see more closely the red and swollen
flesh.  It was not marked with swollen red lines such as a whip would make.  The wider
belt did less damage to the flesh but still delivered a lot of pain.  If necessary, he
would change to a true whip later.  That, he knew from experience, would make her scream
quite nicely.

Walking around to the front, he enjoyed the view of her black pubic patch and those
wonderful breasts.  What a target they would make for a whip!

“Miss Smith,” he spoke.  “Are you ready to talk?”

“I told you, I know nothing.  I am just a tourist.”  Her voice was weak and her head hung
down, the black hair hiding her lovely face.

“You are an American spy,” he said sharply.  “We already know that.  What I wish to know
is what is your assignment in our country?”

“I told you, I’m just a tourist stopping here before going on to Russia.”

He considered for a moment the idea that she was telling the truth.  Perhaps she was just
passing through and her real assignment was in Russia.  But she had been identified at the
airport as an American agent.  That new computer scanning system was paying off nicely. 
She was picked up before she could even get into a taxi.

“We have ways of making you talk,” he said, totally unaware how famous that line was. 
“You will tell us all.  Continue.  Only this time, hit her flanks and that lovely bush
there also.”

He stepped back to watch again.

The whipper shifted his position and delivered a strong blow to her flank.  She cried out
as the previously untouched skin began to turn red.  Slowly he worked his way around until
he was striking blows directly across her venus mons. As the belt landed there, she cried
louder and jerked around nicely, her legs kicking out.  She tried to twist her body about
to protect that sensitive area, but hanging there gave her little freedom for movement. 
He had no problem striking the black hair-covered target.  Which he did with delight.

“Would it not be easier to use drugs?” asked a lieutenant standing by the chief.

“Sure it would,” he replied.  “But I prefer the old-fashioned ways.  Don’t you agree that
this is a much nicer show?”

“Yes, sir.  Much nicer.”

The whip was swung underhanded and landed a blow directly between her legs.  This time
she screamed.  Yes, the chief told himself, a much nicer show.