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In a Cellar Down and Dirty
The woman’s eyes flashed terror when Juan Ramirez took her beach bag and dumped the contents onto the floor. He prodded the items with the toe of his boot, listening as the garbled pleas gushed through the leather muzzle covering the woman’s mouth.
“I’m sorry, did you say something?” Ramirez said, knowing the muzzle was overkill. In the lower depths of the station, nobody would hear the tourist’s cries, muzzle or not. “You will have plenty of time for confessions.”
The guards stood nearby, leaning against the wall with folded arms. They watched the pretty blonde tourist quiver under the glow of the bulb, its dirty white light struggling to illuminate the far reaches of the chamber.
Three hours earlier, according to the report Ramirez held in his hand, the woman had been relaxing poolside when she’d ordered a vodka tonic with a twist of lime from the cabana. She got her drink on a silver tray, along with a twist of something else. Time had taken care of the rest, and when she woke, she did so in the custody of the guards.
“Elizabeth Martin,” Ramirez said, reading from the report. “Perhaps you are the victim of a deeper plot? Or perhaps you’re in our country on other business. Both occasions are most unfortunate, but you must tell us which it is.”
Elizabeth’s face flashed with confusion and her expression was caught between indignity and fear. She tried to speak but the muzzle prevented it. The rope around her neck forced her head sharply back so that she couldn’t see the guards around her. The tension of the rope kept her standing in the center of the room under an eyebolt screwed into the rafters above. Much to her shame, she was still clad in her black heels and blue bikini.
“Another cord for our prisoner,” Ramirez said. “This one for her elbows.”
Elizabeth screeched in disbelief. She couldn’t move as it was, not with the cords around her ankles. Her fingers ached for the knots pinning her wrists painfully behind her back, but she couldn’t reach them.
The guards approached and spun her around. They sneered and looped another wet leather cord around her elbows. Undeterred by her desperate cries, they cinched her elbows together until her shoulders bowed painfully back.
Ramirez nodded. The position left the voluptuous tourist in a crude tit-thrusting posture, one enhanced by the fullness of her breasts. The triangular patches of the bikini did little to conceal her ample charms, and her face flushed with shame.
“Perhaps you should have dressed more appropriately,” Ramirez said, tracing the thin strap of Elizabeth’s bikini top. “Of course, you didn’t anticipate this change in circumstance.”
Elizabeth tried to pull away as another guard approach. Her eyes flashed with fright when the man produced a switchblade knife from his pocket and slid it under the center strap of her bikini top. She could do nothing as he drew the blade until the material snapped and her breasts bounded apart.
Acting on instinct, Elizabeth tried to shield herself from the grinning guards, but even this proved futile. The heat of embarrassment colored her face and the cold cellar air kissed her exposed breasts. Her nipples betrayed her, swelling into thick nubs that quickly drew the guards’ attention.
“Don’t hide,” one of the guards said, brushing aside the tattered cups of the woman’s bikini. “See! Mucho grandes tetas!”
Ramirez watched the woman shake her head in protest. He had come to enjoy these desperate moments of fear. With eager hands, he cupped the woman’s pendulous breasts and whistled his approval, noting the width of the pink circles capping those luscious mounds.
“Who was with you at the pool?” Ramirez said, focusing his gaze on the woman’s thick nipples. His fingers traced the tips, almost in a tickle, prompting the nubs to swell even more. “You might start with a name?”
Ramirez didn’t expect an answer, not with the muzzle firmly in place. Instead and without warning, he reached back with his hand and brought it sweeping down across Elizabeth’s weighty breasts. It was a stealthy, sudden blow she didn’t expect and her reaction came slowly – the sucking of air, flashing eyes and a muffled scream.
“Again, who was with you at the pool?” Ramirez asked. “Your friend, perhaps?”
Elizabeth squealed and glugged, still racing to catch her breath from the stinging slap across her breasts. How did this man know about her friend, Veronica – the two of them on spring break?
Even if she could speak, Elizabeth had no answers. She wanted only to free her arms and defend herself, but even this was impossible. The second blow came sharply from underneath. It sent her breasts leaping toward her shoulders and caused her knees to weaken.
“We have many eyes,” Ramirez said. He lowered his hands and returned to stroking Elizabeth’s nipples with the tip of his fingers. “You will cooperate sooner or later. I suggest sooner.”
Ramirez grinned and closed his grip on the woman’s nipples. Pulling, he drew her to her toes and listened as she blubbered and shrieked. Her heels scratched at the floor while he guided her heavy breasts up and away from her chest.
“Answers,” Ramirez said, holding her nipples high and firm between thumb and forefinger. “There are many creative ways to make a woman confess what she knows, especially women as endowed as you. Perhaps a little demonstration is in order.”
Elizabeth sniveled with hot tears running down her cheeks when Ramirez released her breasts. She shook her head noooo and didn’t see the guard wheel the cart into the room, let alone the monitor set atop it.
“You are not the first American tourist we have questioned,” Ramirez said. “We detained this one just last week. Poor girl – from Myrtle Beach, I believe - she wouldn’t confess, at least at first.”
Elizabeth struggled at the end of the rope, trying not to think of what she looked like in her black heals and severed bikini, her large breasts shamefully presented to the gaze of the guards. Her arms were numb and her faced burned with shame. But it was the image on the screen that caused her sudden distress.
Elizabeth wanted to turn away but the guards caught her by the hair and forced her to look at the monitor. It presented the image of a woman with a contorted expression, her face a mask of pain framed by locks of auburn hair. The frame grew wider. The woman’s arms were tied behind her back and hoisted sharply toward the ceiling, forcing her to bend over a crossbar.
“Now you see,” Ramirez said, grinning. “Like you, she has – how do I say – big tits?”
Elizabeth felt sickened by what she saw. The woman’s breasts hung heavy toward the floor. Bent over the bar like she was, gravity forced her breasts to swing freely while the guards around her called her a cow.
But the mockery alone didn’t explain the frantic look on the woman’s face, nor did it explain her endless screams. Suddenly, Elizabeth saw the slender rod whistle into the frame and slice sharply across the hanging slope of the woman’s breasts. She howled miserably and tried to stand, but the ropes wouldn’t allow it. The struggle did nothing but send her tits swinging wildly below her chest.
Elizabeth tried to protest, but her pleas came as shrill cries through the muzzle. The guards held her head, forcing her to watch as the rod continued to slash at the woman’s breasts, each blow causing the soft mounds to ripple and sway.
“This went on for some time,” Ramirez said, again stroking Elizabeth’s thrusting breasts. “But don’t worry. We’d rather not use the rod on these. We have something else in mind. But first, we’ll see if your friend will cooperate.”
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