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Chapter 47 State-of-the-Art Torture
“A moment, Simone, and then we’ll start,” said Sir Charles Darnel sitting down in a handsome Queen Anne chair. It was the only furnishing in the room that wasn’t decidedly modern. Almost immediately a servant appeared carrying a bottle of wine.
“Chateau Lafitte Rothschild, 68, Sir,” said the servant presenting the bottle for Sir Charles inspection.
“How much of the sixty-eight is left, Edwards,” asked Sir Charles?
“Six bottles, Sir.”
“Pity,” said Sir Charles waving his hand to indicate Edwards should open the wine. Edwards took a candle off a nearby cart and lit it. After carefully removing the cork and positioning the candle to backlight the bottle, he skillfully decanted the wine knowing even the smallest taste of sediment would displease Sir Charles. Edwards placed a crystal burgundy stem and the matching decanter on a small table by the Queen Anne.
“Pour in thirty minutes,” said Sir Charles glancing at his watch. “I know it should breathe for an hour but tonight we will make an exception. Bring me some fruit and the Stilton, Lady Darnel sent.”
Edwards disappeared into the dark hurrying upstairs to the penthouse kitchen to fulfill his master’s request. In addition to Sir Charles there were five other people in the room. Simone and her two assistants, Alex and Francis, were busily checking equipment that monitored the life signs of Stacy and Portia. Both girls were naked and under severe restraint making the slightest movement all but impossible. Their clothes were neatly hung by the entranceway. Although the restraints held them in an upright position, their closed eyes and slumped form indicated they were unconscious.
They were on the seventh floor of Boston’s Cartwright Building, an unimposing eight story office building located on the periphery of the city’s financial district. The title to the property was registered to Chalmette Properties, Inc, whose existence consisted of a mailbox located at the main post office in Picayune Parish, Louisiana. Chalmette Properties was in turn a wholly owned subsidiary of Highsmith Ltd of Hamilton, Bermuda, another legal entity existing only on paper. Given months to search through almost impossible to acquire confidential records of several banks and trusts, a determined and expert researcher might ultimately discover the true owner was Sir Charles.
The building’s first four floors provided office suites to a variety of legal and accounting firms at market rates. The fifth floor contained the city’s most elegant private club for gentlemen and ladies who found pleasure in dressing as the opposing gender. Membership in Club Napoleon was expensive and limited. Joining required an intensive vetting procedure and sponsorship by two existing members. In spite of the impediments and expense, there was a considerable waiting list.
The sixth floor contained both a retail outlet and a WEB based mail order business catering to the transvestite community; however most of the floor space was dedicated to a health and beauty spa focused on those who wished to appear as the other gender.
The spa offered a far reaching and in many ways unique list of services. Laser technology for the removal of body hair was among the spa’s most popular services. Members could attend training sessions to master the intricacies of applying makeup or styling a wig. Instructors taught members how to walk and act like a lady emphasizing those actions that differentiated the sexes. There were professionally conducted group theraphy sessions for members experiencing difficulty resolving gender conflicts.
Monthly meetings by family of club members were well attended. Problems peculiar to being supportive were discussed. A sample topic might be, ‘How to Tell Him He’s Too Big for Polka Dots’.
Only members of Club Napoleon could take advantage of the spa. Club members also received a discount on their retail and WEB purchases.
Identical Club Napoleon and associated spas were also found in several other major American cities in addition to London, Paris, and Berlin.
The seventh floor contained the North American operational center of Sir Charles’ anti-crime organization. Stacy and Portia were in the recently renovated Interrogation Room A.
“Now, Simone,” said Sir Charles relaxing back into the chair as Simone carefully filled a syringe with a drug that would counteract the tranquilizer used to subdue Stacy and Portia.
She is a superb physical specimen thought Sir Charles admiring Stacy’s nude form. She demonstrated amazing resistance to pain at the Auto-De-Fe. Any other woman would have been reduced to a babbling idiot by the amount of electricity we applied. Her superior intelligence and motor skills, after all she is an Olympian, makes her an excellent candidate to join my organization as a field operative. Her friend, Portia, although less physically gifted, demonstrates genius intelligence. Portia could prove a valuable asset on the analytical side. We need younger blood in the organization.
Simone swabbed Stacy’s arm with alcohol then injected the stimulant. The effect was almost immediate. Stacy snapped awake to what she perceived as nightmarish circumstances.
Directly opposite her, less than ten feet away was a naked Portia held erect in a shiny metal apparatus that loosely resembled a cross. Portia’s arms were outstretched crucifixion style. Bands of an unknown material were not only looped around Portia’s wrists and upper arms but each individual finger was tightly banded and splayed to a metal form mimicking the human hand. Other similar bands around Portia’s forehead and under her breasts held her upper body firmly in place. A wider waistband secured her middle. A more complicated network of smaller bands held her feet and ankles
Stacy’s quick glance at Portia and the position of her own body convinced her she was restrained identically to her roommate. Stacy’s peripheral vision detected Sir Charles seated nearby. Opposite him, Simone and two others were dressed in white lab coats. The overhead lighting was sharply focused in a circle. Beyond the circle of light was darkness.
“Portia, are you all right,” asked Stacy? Are you all right, Portia,” repeated Stacy?
“Of course, Portia’s all right,” said Sir Charles. “Alex, read Portia’s life signs.”
“BP is one twenty over seventy five. Pulse is normal,” said Alex.
“If you hurt her, I will return here and kill you and these assholes with you,” said Stacy.
“We are going to hurt both of you very badly but we won’t harm you. It’s a small distinction albeit an important one. Simone, arouse Portia,” said Sir Charles.
“Where are we,” asked Stacy watching Simone prepare another syringe?
“Interrogation Room A, the most technologically advanced private facility of its kind in the world. Only the interrogation rooms of the CIA are its equal,” said Sir Charles. “The facility only became operational last month. You are the third pair to experience its pleasures.”
“Stacy, what the fuck is going on,” asked Portia coming quickly awake after her injection.
“Are you all right,” asked Stacy?
“Fuck no, some bastard shot me with a tranquilizer dart when I left the club. It hurt like hell. Where the fuck are we? Who are these people?”
“Portia, I am Sir Charles Darnel and those are my associates, Simone, Alex, and Francis,” interrupted Sir Charles.
“So who the fuck are you? Are you aware kidnapping is against the law in this country?” asked Portia noting Sir Charles’ accent.
“I find repeated use of the F-word tiresome. Francis, dissuade Portia from its further use.”
Francis went to a nearby rack containing several different types of whips. He selected a multi-strand flogger. He tested it by bringing his arm around then snapping his wrist. The strands made a loud crack as they lashed at the empty air. Francis took up a position in front of Portia.
“Repeat after me. I will not use the F-word,” said Francis in a calm quiet voice.
“Fuck you, shit head,” said Portia defiantly.
Francis’s muscular arm brought the flogger around in a wide swing landing the ends hard on the side and front of Portia’s left breast. The force of the impact was visible to Stacy. Portia’s breast snapped toward the center. The impact was so great, her nipple ring flattened against her breast.
As Portia opened her mouth to scream, Francis swapped the flogger to his opposite hand then landed an identical blow to the right breast. The second blow caught Portia in mid scream changing the sound to more of one choking than giving full voice to the agonizing pain.
“Francis is ambidextrous,” said Sir Charles. The best with a whip in the organization.”
“I’m going to kill you, Sir Charles. I’ll blow that ugly fake dick of yours off,” screamed Stacy.
“Alex, see if you can discourage Stacia from the use of expletives. Educated speakers should be aware overuse has rendered them meaningless,” said Sir Charles.
Seconds later, a similar flogger turned Stacy’s right breast into a nexus of intense agony. The left quickly followed its sister. Alex halted allowing Stacy to vent her pain and misery to the soundproof walls.
“God damn you, that hurt,” cried Stacy reacting to the fiery pain.
“Repeat after me, I will not use the F-word,” reiterated Francis once Portia’s screams had turned to sobs.
“Screw you, asshole,” said Portia between sobs.
Two more blows gave Portia cause to exercise her voice at its most shrill.
“Continue until I say otherwise,” said Sir Charles. “Their behavior is most unladylike and they need to be taught a lesson.”
For the next five minutes, Alex and Francis applied the floggers repeatedly until Sir Charles signaled for them to halt. Stacy’s chest was ablaze. Her throat was raw from screaming. Portia’s breasts, not fully recovered from Lou’s drunken extrication of her nipple rings, were bleeding badly. Portia knew further resistance was pointless. Drops of blood were falling on her bare feet.
“Portia, do you have anything to say,” asked Sir Charles?
“I will not use the F-word,” said a beaten Portia wondering if the pain would ever fully go away.
“And you, Stacia?”
“I will clean up my language, not use expletives. Whatever you say? Just no more,” said Stacy.
“Good, we can move on,” said Sir Charles.
“What do you want, Sir Charles? You know about Mike Cabreeze and me. You know he’s forced me to become part of his drug operation. Portia is innocent. She shouldn’t even be here,” said Stacy.
“I’ve decided to forcibly recruit you for membership in my anti-drug operation. The FBI and the DEA have a college recruitment program. I’ve decided to start one.”
“You’re insane. That doesn’t make any sense. We haven’t even graduated,” said Portia wondering if Sir Charles was truly mad. She had no idea who Sir Charles was or how he was connected to Stacy. She realized Stacy knew but Portia was left to play a game of mental catching up.
“No, but you will in due time. Until that happens, you can intern,” said Sir Charles.
“Please explain what you want from us,” said Stacy fighting back the urge to scream at Sir Charles that he was a crazy motherfucker.
“Do you know who was the first president to declare a war of drugs,” asked Sir Charles?
“Theodore Roosevelt,” said Portia. “Do I win something for knowing that?”
“I could have Francis give your breasts ten more lashes for being disrespectful,” said Sir Charles.
“No, sorry,” said Portia not anxious to feel the flogger’s touch on her bleeding breasts.
“And since that time, who has won the war on drugs?” asked Sir Charles?
“The drug dealers,” said Stacy. “The war is lost. Drugs are more plentiful and cheaper than ever.”
“Exactly, now why have they won,” asked Sir Charles?
“People demand drugs. Currently, white affluent Americans are in love with prescription drugs. Vicodin, Percoset and similar drugs are manufactured by the billions and the big pharmaceutical companies make huge profits. I smoke marijuana and occasionally take Ecstasy. So do most college students,” said Portia.
“I take the view marijuana should be legalized. However, I created my organization to join in the war on drugs on the side of the angels. We concentrate strictly on the higher ups, the major dealers and those public officials and police who assist them,” said Sir Charles.
“Like Mike Cabreeze,” asked Stacy?
“Yes, Lt. Michael Cabreeze is a prime example of whom we target,” said Sir Charles.
“That sounds like a very worthy endeavor, you own private DEA. But what has that got to do with Stacy and me. Stacy is Mike’s victim. She’s doing what she has to not what she wants to,” said Portia.
“My organization needs new talented members. After a careful assessment of your talents, I have decided to enlist your services. In the past, I have selected only those who have suffered the loss of a loved one to drugs. My wife, Lady Darnel, and I lost our only child ten years ago. Elizabeth died of a heroin overdose. Simone’s sister fell prey to a pimp who made her an addict. She was murdered by one of her customers. Both Alex and Francis suffered similar losses. Reynolds’ dear brother was murdered by an addict seeking to rob him for drug money.”
“But Stacy and I haven’t lost anyone,” said Portia.
“True but you are on the verge of losing your own lives. How long before Mike Cabreeze starts to worry about how much you know about The Posse. He is aware Stacy confides in her lesbian lover. In a matter of time, Mike Cabreeze will kill you both and he will do it a very nasty and brutal fashion.”
“Possibly you’re right but why should we join your organization? What’s its name? It does have one I assume,” said Stacy.
“Yes, you will become members of Club Josephine, the drug war affiliate of Club Napoleon,” said Sir Charles.
“So what exactly does Club Josephine do? Gather evidence and turn it over to the authorities for prosecution,” said Portia trying to decide if Sir Charles was eccentric or insane.
“We are a closed loop organization. The authorities are often the criminals. We take direct action,” said Sir Charles.
“You murder them yourselves,” said Stacy.
“Precisely, I’m afraid the old cliché applies. Club Josephine is judge, jury, and executioner.”
“I won’t have anything to do with that,” said Portia.
“Nor will I,” said Stacy.
“But you will before the cock crows. Simone and her helpers will see to that,” said Sir Charles.
“It’s time, Sir,” said Edwards arriving with a plate of cheese and fruit. He carefully poured Sir Charles a glass of wine.
“Thank you. Edwards. Simone, I’m feeling eclectic. We’ll combine French water torture with a ride on the Spanish donkey. Of course we perform a very high tech and hygienic version of these classical methods for encouraging cooperation or gaining information,” said Sir Charles.
“You are going to torture us into agreeing to become members. That’s irrational,” said Portia.
“But it works. You’ll see for yourself,” said Sir Charles. “Simone, they’re all yours. I am going to sit here and enjoy this excellent vintage.”
Seconds later, Alex’s fingers clamped Stacy’s nose shut. When she opened her mouth to breathe, Simone threaded a flexible rubber tube down her throat past her esophageal valve. Stacy fought back a wave of nausea when she felt the soft rubber reaching into her stomach.
Moments later, Portia also had a foot of hospital tubing hanging out of her mouth. The mouth tube was connected to the bottom of a clear plastic funnel set in a metal holder above Portia’s head. The same arrangement of tubing and funnel was applied to Stacy.
Stacy watched helplessly as Alex knelt between Portia’s spread legs. He reached between them extending a narrow wedge shaped rod retracted within the metal frame. He adjusted the rod to where the uneven point of the wedge rested firmly against the narrow band of flesh between Portia’s vagina and sphincter. Portia’s facial expression indicated she was hurting.
Alex walked to the control console. Using the system’s computer he launched an application, entered some data then mouse clicked a button. Stacy heard the hum of an electric motor. The wedge began to slowly move up and down in an undulating motion. Portia tried to scream but was prevented by the tube in her throat from making any substantial noise.
“The wedge between Portia’s legs is a modern version of the torture instrument commonly named the Spanish Donkey. It first appeared in the Dark Ages but was commonly use during the Spanish Inquisition. Torquemada, the Grand Inquisitor and a personal friend of the Borgia Pope, was a devotee of the Spanish Donkey. He would sit for hours in his palace’s dungeon listening to a heretic’s screams. He wrote that the cries of the heretic as the iron-sheathed apex slowly sunk into their flesh refreshed and cleaned his spirit giving him the strength to carry on God’s terrible work.
“Please don’t do this to us, Sir Charles,” said Stacy her voice barely intelligible due to the tubing in her throat.
“I’m afraid it’s a necessity,” said Sir Charles. “The pain you visited on the Talbots will be as nothing compared to what you are about to suffer. However it will cleanse you of the wrongs you have done in Mike Cabreeze’s name. In the eyes of my organization, you will be blameless. Where was I?”
“You were telling us about the Spanish Donkey,” said Simone as she placed one hand on Portia’s lower abdomen to better appreciate the pain the Donkey was creating. Her mentor taught the importance of the female sex as a means of measuring pain. In her years working for the secret police she had often placed her hand on the sweat drenched vulva of a prisoner then accurately forecast her breaking point. She slipped her fingers through Portia’s labial rings spreading her open allowing her forefinger to cover Portia’s clit. Simone sighed with satisfaction as her senses measured Portia’s agony.
While Simone was in favor of applying technology to torture and interrogation, there were moments when she missed the human interaction. Computer generated graphs and charts measuring pain levels did not satisfy her need for physical intimacy with her subjects.
“What’s left to say? Like most brilliant inventions, it’s remarkably simple. The mere threat of a ride was usually enough for a prospective witch to step forth and admit sexual congress with Satan and name every other female in her village as a fellow Satanist. For those brave enough to deny their worship of Lucifer, a brief ride was enough to bring the miscreant to full confession. It’s a passive form of torture that we have made dynamic by adding a wave motion,” said Sir Charles. “The motion adds to the pain by a factor of two point five according to our measurements.”
Stacy looked down to see Simone extending a similar metal bar. She felt the hard steel edge come in contact with the flesh separating her vagina and anus. She sensed the vibration of the motor. The wedge began to rise and fall digging into her flesh. Almost immediately the pain was unbearable.
A few seconds later, Simone stepped up on a stool to pour a beaker of water into the funnel. Almost instantly, Stacy felt the water flood into her stomach. Francis was busily pouring water in Portia’s funnel. Through pain-clouded eyes, Stacy could see that Portia’s belly had taken on a rounded shape. When she looked down, she saw her own stomach had begun to protrude.
“We are fusing a Spanish Donkey ride with French Water Torture. French statute law governed water torture. Punishment was carried out in the public square. It prescribed eleven pints for a female and thirteen for the male. But people in those times were smaller and less robust. You are going to take a full four liters, a little over a gallon. It might interest you to know four liters weighs over nine pounds,” said Sir Charles as he helped himself to a slice of cheese.
In spite of the agony of her swollen belly and ravaged crotch, Stacy felt a small relief when Simone removed the tube from her stomach. She felt and looked seven months pregnant. The weight of the water increased the pressure she felt from the narrow edge of metal against her flesh. Each second added to the pain. In spite of her terrible agony, she reacted in terror when she realized that Francis had taken a position directly in front of her. He was using both hands to bend a cane almost double demonstrating its flexibility. Alex was standing in front of Portia limbering up a similar cane.
“Once the victim’s stomach was filled, the punishment took place. Thirty lashes were the usual. You may proceed,” said Sir Charles.
Stacy had not thought more pain was possible but Francis’ cane stroke proved her wrong. Alex and Francis performed at a slow measured pace while Sir Charles continued his lecture between sips of wine.
“Water serves to amplify the pain much as sound travels faster through water than air. Of course, the dungeon masters of La Belle France did not use sterile water. They preferred the waters of the Paris sewer mixed with the contents of the excrement bucket from the prisoner’s cell. Often they added their own wastes,” said Sir Charles savoring the wine and cheese. A slight pressure in his trousers made him realize viewing the agony of beautiful women was having its usual effect on him. “Simone, would you come do me the honor?”
In spite of the pain, Stacy watched as Simone quickly crossed the room to kneel down in front of Sir Charles. She unzipped his trousers and removed what Stacy had referred to as the Frankenstein of cocks. Portia also noticed the appearance of Sir Charles’ member and made the connection between Sir Charles and Stacy’s account of her encounter with Mistress Charlize at the Auto-De-Fe.
As Francis approached thirty cane strokes, Stacy realized she would do anything that Sir Charles asked rather than continue to suffer. Portia no longer had the capacity to scream. She made loud grunts when Alex’s cane landed.
Precisely at thirty, the caning ceased. The metal wedge was retracted. When Stacy looked down, she saw her abdomen was covered with red stripes. Portia was in the same condition. Her lighter complexion created a stronger contrast with the red stripes of the cane.
Francis and Alex watched quietly while Simone sucked Sir Charles cock. I may live a hundred years and never witness anything as bizarre as this thought Stacy. The three of them absolutely worship Sir Charles. Alex and Francis wish they were the ones blowing him.
The Donkey and the Water torture were the worst. If they had continued for even a few more minutes, I would have become mad as a hatter or is that mad as Sir Charles. Portia and I have to go along or who knows what he will do to us.
The two girls stood mute hoping with all their being they would not be subjected to further torture. Simone was delivering a noisy enthusiastic blowjob rapidly moving up and down the shaft her tongue tracing the scars by left the incisions. Salvia cascaded down on to her lab coat.
Finally, Sir Charles breath quickened and he climaxed. Simone throat bobbed up and down indicating she had swallowed a substantial mouthful of semen. From out of the darkness stepped Edwards to hand Simone a lace trimmed napkin. She carefully and gently wiped off Sir Charles cock then folded the napkin and placed it back on the tray.
“Thank you, Simone,” said Sir Charles. “Now, are you two ready and willing to join Club Josephine?”
“I’ll join,” said Portia anxious to avoid further pain.
“I will too,” said Stacy.
“Excellent, I must inform you any backsliding on your part would result in the most horrible and prolonged deaths. What you have just experienced would be a trifle compared to the several weeks your demise would take. But I prefer to look on the positive side. I see Alex and Francis are most anxious to welcome our new interns. When you are done and they have sufficiently rested, bring them to my quarters for the oath,” said Sir Charles.
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