The sound of her heels clicking elegantly down the tiled, florescent lit hallway, Doctor Irina Motova walked briskly towards her intended room. She was a shapely woman of 35 years. Her hair, jet black and glossy, was tied in a tight bun, not a single strand loose over her forehead. She was tall, even though she was seen mostly on high heels, with particularly long legs, and had an ample set of breasts.

       She wore the slick attire of what could have been a lawyer or psychiatrist, a short, thigh length skirt, dark stockings that made her legs seem sculpted straight from marble, and a white silk blouse. Around her neck was a thin ribbon-like scarf, black as her hair. Proving her intellectual prowess, she wore a pair of thick rimmed glasses, also black.

       Not halting her brisk strut or the subtle wag of her hips that went with it, she carried a small, silvery briefcase in one hand, and a few dossiers in the other. Before long, her destination was in sight: holding room 224.

       Outside the door there was a single guard, fully armed, standing watch. Irina took no notice to the fact that he casually scanned her body like any other typical male would. Such actions were irrelevant, unless they became a problem to her job. But there was no one in the Agency that was foolish enough to step out of line with her.

       “The subject is inside?” she questioned lightly as she peered through her glasses at one of the dossiers. Her voice was light, with just a hint of accent from her Russian upbringings.

       “Yes, doctor,” the guard replied. “Restrained as you requested.”

       “Good.”

       The picture on the first page of the dossier was that of an American woman, or to be more accurate, girl. She was only 22, her name, Stacey Duvall. A leggy female, not unlike Irina herself, though her hair was bright blond and curled. She had thoughtful blue eyes, and the figure of a model.

       Irina decided to start with the woman, because they were more difficult to break. Most people assumed men were stronger, but it was only because they used the wrong techniques.

       The guard opened the door for Dr. Motova, and she entered the brightly lit room. In the very center of the small cell sat Stacey Duvall, bound to a chair. Her arms were tied together, behind the back of the chair. More rope crisscrossed around her waist and shoulders, anchoring her to it securely. Her legs, however, received special attention. Rather than being tied together, or to the legs of the chair, straps were hooked under her knees, then drawn up to the back of the chair, effectively leaving her groin wide open.

       She dressed, as like many young American women, as a tease, favoring some kind of schoolgirl outfit. She wore a white blouse with sleek, rolled up sleeves, a very short pleated skirt (tiny white panties visible from her position), and knee high socks with heels. Irina lifted her chin slightly in contempt at the outfit. There were other ways to express one’s sexuality without overly flaunting it.

       Her face was etched in panic and fear, eyes wide and red, cheeks stained with black streams from running mascara. She whimpered lowly, her words muffled by a big red rubber ball strapped between her teeth. Ball gags weren’t as effective as silencing someone as say, packing their mouth properly, but they were deep inside a secure facility. The ball gag was more for Irina’s comfort, as well as to add to Stacey’s humiliation. A thick line of drool leaked from her lower lip, dripping onto the front of her blouse, all the while muffling her annoying pleas.

       Without a word, Irina shut the door behind her, then walked to a small metal table, which aside from the chair Stacey was bound to, was the only piece of furniture. On it, she set her briefcase and the files.

       “Miss Duvall, I presume?” she asked curtly. Stacey gave a short grunt and slowly nodded, eyes watering as they fearfully watched her. “My name is Doctor Irina Motova. You will answer my questions.”

       There was no choice in the matter, as she explicitly stated. Irina laid her case flat on the table, then released the latches.

       “I will remove the gag,” she said, still speaking curtly. “You will not speak, or else you will face consequences.”

       Before Stacey could give her assent, Irina briskly unfastened the buckle that held the gag in her mouth, then pulled it out, a small pop sounding as her puckered lips release their seal.

       She immediately opened her mouth. “P-please, there has to be some mistake, I -urmph. MMPH!”

       Irina simply stuck the ball back into her moving mouth, then strapped it a notch tighter, issuing a squeal from the bound woman. It had already been very tight to begin with. She opened her case, revealing neat, organized rows of instruments; silver clamps, little pliers, an electrical unit with adhesive pads, and a violet wand, among other things.

From these, she drew a short, branched metal switch, then stooped over Stacey, flicking her wrist expertly over her creamy, bare thighs. A tiny, high pitch crack emanated from the point of contact. The tiny gap in the stick pinched her flesh, pulling at it every time it connected. Stacey screamed, then again and again, as Irina briskly worked her inner thigh. In less than 10 seconds, there was a collection of bright red lines running across her pale, tender flesh.

She put the stick away. “We will begin again, Miss Duvall. I shall remove your gag. You will not speak.”

Stacey grunted fearfully as the doctor’s lacquered nails undid the fastening once again, but as the ball came free, she stayed deathly silent. Instead, she just breathed softly through her mouth, trying to catch up with her body’s oxygen demand.

“You are in suspicion of espionage against our country,” Irina said formally. “You will tell me what organization or nation you are working for and your goals. Speak.”

The trembling woman swallowed, shuddering, then took a deep, quivering breath. “Please, I don’t know what you’re talking about! I’m on vacation with my boyfriend. If we broke some kind of law, we’re sorry! We didn’t know- ung!”

She was cut off as Irina, tired of the petty lies, tried to shove the rubber ball into her mouth. Stacey managed to close her mouth, but undeterred, the doctor pinched her nose shut, depriving her of air. The woman squirmed, but inevitably, Irina’s tight pinch, and the fact that the large ball pressed against her teeth blocked the miniscule bits of air Stacey hoped to sneak in forced her to open her mouth wide with a gasp. Once again, the ball was settled in and strapped tightly.

“Every time you lie, Miss Duvall, you will be punished accordingly,” Dr. Motova said in her efficient, clipped tone. “Do not think you will be able to continue your charade. I have studied many ways of interrogation. Luckily, or unluckily for you, one method will break you, sooner or later.”

At this bit of news, Stacey’s eyes widened further as she shook her head desperately, protesting something or other into her gag. Irina paid no mind, instead taking up the small metal switch and moving to her other thigh. With vicious, short flicks, she struck her tender inner thigh, leaving bright lines while Stacey screamed in pain. This time, she continued twice as long. It was a basic principle of interrogation: never allow your subjects to grow used to your techniques.

“You will tell me the name of who sent you,” Irina commanded as the ball came out.

“PLEASE! I don’t know what you’re- mmph!”

“You continue to support the image of a typical, blond American woman, Miss Duvall,” Dr. Motova mused lightly to herself as she placed the switch back in its spot among her tools. “The taste of a complete whore, and a total airhead.”

Taking two of the silver clamps from her case, she began to undo the buttons of Stacey’s blouse, pushing the damp, drool stained material away and revealing her bra. With her arms over the chair, back arched, her bosom was almost presented neatly to the doctor. Irina herself knew just how uncomfortable the position was, especially on the tailbone.

Stacey’s breasts were smaller than Irina’s DD, hovering near more a C cup. She jerked the bra she wore down, then plucked at one of her nipple, not bothering to be gently or sensuous. Within a few seconds, the bead of flesh became stiff and hard, and she clipped the clamp onto her nipple, twisting a small screw to tighten the metal’s jaw on her.

When it snapped on, Stacey shrieked loudly, which then got louder exponentially as it was tightened. Ignoring the bubbling of spit from her gag, Irina quickly applied the other on, issuing more screams. She stepped back, leaning against the table as Stacey went through the usual frenzy of squirming and thrashing her head. She had begun to cry again, new tears following the dark mascara trails from earlier.

Eventually, her frantic jerking subsided as the initial fire of the clips turned to a low, ember like burn. Irina removed the gag.

       “The names.” Stacey paused, gasping. “Speak.”

       “I-I-I…please…”

       In went the gag. Irina turned to her case, debating her next action. Her subject had reached the sufficient levels of pain to be introduced to pleasure. Pleasure was something usually reserved for male subjects, but Stacey was barely showing a break in her lies. Perhaps the conflicting sensations would work better.

       Irina selected a thin, slender vibrator; the head of it no wider than the width of a pen, then squatted before Stacey’s splayed legs, flipping back the pleated skirt. Up close, she could admire her toned legs, the teasing curve of her stretched muscles and the tiny, innocent panties that covered her. At first she thought to remove them, but then abandoned the idea.

       The doctor turned the vibrator on, the tiny head whining highly as it buzzed, then gently stroked it up and down the front of her groin on top of her panties. Stacey let out a muffled moan of confused pleasure, her legs jerking as the vibrator struck a sensitive spot, left, then returned again.

       Irina kept her motions simple, only moving the device methodically up and down. Her subject squeaked, puffed, and grunted, thrashing in the chair. The way she was bound prevented her from closing her legs the slightest. The best she could do was kick her legs in frustration.

       In between the shuddering squeaks, Irina caught the fragments of words. Gag-speak could almost be classified as a separate language. She had long studied gag induced phonetics, and was able to understand it nearly perfectly. Stacey kept begging her to stop, to let her go.

       Irina took the vibrator away for a moment, gently patting with her fingers over her subject’s crotch. A few dollops of dampness had spread, but not nearly enough. She resumed the methodical machine-induced masturbation, issuing a surprised squeak from Stacey, who had thought it to be over. When she checked again several minutes later, they had reached the proper degree of sopping.

       “If you think you shall receive an orgasm, Miss Duvall, you are mistaken,” Dr. Motova said as she turned the vibrator off. “I am not here to give you satisfaction.” She glanced at the slim, gold watch around her wrist. It had already been a full half hour, and still, she had gained no answers. “Once again, who are you working for?”

       The gag came out, and Stacey gasped hotly. “My tits! God, my tits! They hurt so bad, please take them off, please, please, please-”

       Irina pressed the ball back behind her teeth, and sighed in irritation. She replaced the vibrator in its spot, then took out two spherical lead weights, setting them on the tabletop before closing her case and latching it, then scooping it and the dossiers up.

       “Miss Duvall, you have wasted my time,” Irina said curtly as she turned on her heel and began to leave. “I shall return when you decide to stop.”

       Once Stacey’s begging cries ceased behind the shut metal door, Irina turned to the guard. “Strip her, and bind her in position three. Apply the weights to the clamps. I shall return in one hour to continue.”

       “Yes, doctor.”

       Irina clicked down the heel, her case swinging from her hand. Perhaps she would get more from the male. At any rate, when she returned to Stacey, the girl would be much more willing to talk.

       Dr. Irina Motova buried her nose into the next dossier. It was Stacey’s accomplice under the guise of her boyfriend. He was a year older than her, putting him at 23. The photo paper clipped to the dossier detailed more of his physical appearance. He was average height, around 5 feett 11 inches, sandy brown hair cut short, and brown eyes. His name was Matthew Stevens.

       This time, Irina did not bother to talk to the guard outside the holding room. She had requested Matthew be bound simply, and if the security staff could not manage that, she would see them all ‘personally’.

       Matthew was waiting for her, as he should be, his hands tied behind the pole he was pressed against, his body stripped of clothes. More rope was around his ankles and knees, further immobilizing him to the pillar. Over the years, Irina found that most males responded best when brought to an initial stage of humiliation. And what man enjoyed being forcibly stripped naked in a cool interrogation room?

       Like his apparent girlfriend, Matthew had been gagged appropriately with a bright red rubber ball gag. His was slightly larger, since men’s mouths tended to be larger, and the strain of holding the large ball behind his teeth showed on his face.

       Once again, Irina placed her case on the table left for her, then turned to face him. He let out a muffled grunt of question as she examined him through her glasses. Unlike women, men did not possess that natural strength where force was required. Instead, they could almost be tricked into submission.

       “Mr. Stevens, my name is Dr. Irina Motova,” she began politely enough. “I would like to ask you several simple questions. I’m afraid I will have to leave the gag in, so you must nod or shake your head accordingly. Do you understand?”

       Matthew paused, then nodded his head, still looking very nervous and confused. Good. So far, she had already had him under an obedient control.

       “You are American, correct?” she asked. Matthew nodded. Smiling slyly, she slowly began to undo the upper button of her blouse. His eyes widened in disbelief. “Is it true that American men prefer large breasts?” She undid another button. “Mr. Stevens?” He nodded, almost anxiously. Irina undid the next button, then parted her blouse, revealing her creamy bosom as her breasts spilled out bare. Bras were an uncomfortable and unnecessary garment, and Irina preferred her breasts to sit loose in the cool folds of her silk blouse.

       “There are many things you would like to do with my breasts, no?” she asked alluringly, then slowly pinched the nipple of her right breast, toying with it until it sat stiff and hard. Another thing about breaking men; it was far easier to enjoy oneself.

Matthew stood, transfixed at was happening. No doubt he was wondering what exactly was going on, that surely she wasn’t here to interrogate him. Irina smiled broadly as she looked down. His cock was almost fully erect.

       Leaving her breasts bare from within her open blouse, she opened her case and took from it a small plastic bag. It was filled with orthodontic rubber bands, tiny loops of rubber used on braces for straightening children’s teeth. Having worn them herself when she was a young girl, Irina had found a much better use for them since.

       She squatted down, her skirt pooling high around her thighs, and took Matthew’s cock in on hand. Immediately, it flexed and grew another millimeter to its full length, becoming almost rock solid. Mathew moaned, foolishly thinking perhaps she was going to pleasure him. Such a thought made her smirk. Were all men that stupid?

       Instead, she lifted his cock, revealing his loose hanging balls. With a single rubber band widened with her thumb, forefinger and middle finger, she wormed it over one of his balls, then let it snap back. The tiny circle contracted back to its original state, separating his ball into a tight, hard nub.

       Matthew let his discomfort known to her as he let out a muffled roar of agony. Irina only smiled, then worked a second band over his testicle, letting it settle over the first, completely cutting it off from the other in his sac. He tried to pull away, but she held him firmly by the cock. Unless he wanted to injure himself further, all he could do was writhe.

       His other testicle was soon subjected to the same treatment. Both of them now sat like tiny balloons, the surface tissue stretched tightly across them, lightly discolored. Irina was far from finished, though. A man’s genitals were best treated as a whole. She began to take more rubber bands, stretching them over and around his cock and settling them at the base of it. Matthew moaned every time one of them snapped securely, and he screamed as one broke, lashing across the sensitive skin. In total, she placed half a dozen around his cock, then straightened, fixing her skirt.

       “The rubber bands will prevent the blood from leaving, Mr. Stevens,” she informed him as she replaced the bag in her case. The fangs of her sexual teasing remained in place, her blouse still parted for his ‘pleasure’. “No matter how hard you try, you will not be able to lose that erection. Unless I, of course, remove the rubber bands, but before I do that, you must answer my questions.”

       Matthew nodded furiously. Research had shown that the bands alone were painful. The skin around a man’s cock and balls was very sensitive. Subjecting them to restraint, by coarse rubber no less, was very painful in itself. In addition, during arousal, the penis and testicles became even more sensitive. The lightest torments would be even worse.

       “You entered this country with a woman, Stacey Duvall, under the guise of simple tourists. But I know for a fact that you are spies. You will tell me what your objective is. Before I remove your gag, Mr. Stevens, let me remind you that anything other than a straight answer will result in consequences.”

       With her warning in place, she moved to his side and began to undo the buckle that held the ball gag in place. It came free coated in saliva. Matthew took a deep breath, composing himself with some difficulty at the discomfort on his cock.

       “Alright,” he began with a shudder. “I entered the country with Stacey. We’re doing some traveling. I don’t know where you got this idea of us being spies, so you can –hurgh”

       Irina simply popped the ball back into his mouth as she’d done with Stacey. It appeared that Matthew was going to try the same tactic as his accomplice. “There’s no use in lying,” she said as she peered into her case. First, she considered the forceps-like clamp, but then decided on the violet wand. The electric shock would be just the thing on his increasingly sensitive balls.

       She switched the device on to a low setting. The glass tube at the end crackled with a dull, red light. Irina turned to Matthew, whose eyes had widened at what she held. Perhaps he didn’t know exactly what it was, but he knew it couldn’t be anything pleasant.

       Dr. Motova squatted down, her skirt once again riding high up to her thighs, then firmly gripped the bulging red head of his cock between her thumb and forefinger, pulling the erect shaft up. The wand came up, hovering just away from the tight, purpling nub of his left ball. Irina’s trained hand moved it gently closer until-

       ZAP

       “HRRMMFFF!” Matthew roared as the tiny jolt of electricity arced onto his skin. Irina’s wand was powerful; even the lowest setting was strong.

       “Silence your cries, Mr. Stevens,” Irina drolled as she withdrew the wand, only to bring it close once again. Electricity crackled and buzzed as the end of the wand gently kissed his testicle. Matthew screamed again, Irina speaking loudly to make herself heard. “Surely an experienced operative such as yourself is familiar with electricity.”

       The wand buzzed again and again, focusing all of its power on Matthew’s ball. He bucked and squirmed under the rope, but the post he was bound to made his attempts to avoid the sizzling wand impossible. Deftly, Dr. Motova continued the treatment, running the glass tip up and down again and again. Eventually, the skin turned red from irritation, shading his testicle a darker shade of purple.

       “Shall I continue with the other?” she asked mildly during a pause, over Matthew’s shuddering whimper. “Or are you ready to tell me what I want to know?”

       He didn’t even wait for her to remove the gag. His pleas and cries came through the rubber ball without end. The gag talk told Irina that he was merely pleading for her to stop, and with a slight roll of her eyes, she brought the wand to his other testicle, turning his pleas into screams.

       She turned the setting on the wand higher, thoroughly running it up and down the curvature of his bound ball. All the while, the man whose cock she held twisted wildly in vain attempts to somehow relieve the pain.

       When Irina believed to have administered enough torment, she ceased the electricity. “I’ll ask you once more, Mr. Stevens, before I move to your penis.”

       She undid the gag, and Matthew let out a shuddering breath, then licked his lips. A string of drool dribbled down his chin, left from the gag. “I don’ know anything. We’re just tourists. But…Stacey said she had something she had to do tonight, but she wouldn’t tell me what. I just assumed- ugh.”

       Irina had heard enough, and once again pulled the ball back into his mouth by the straps. “Thank you Mr. Stevens,” she said, adopting a pleasantly sweet voice, as if they were in another setting altogether. “Of course, I’ll have to look into what you say.” She raised an eyebrow. “You wouldn’t be lying to me, would you?”

       He quickly shook his head, and Irina looked amused. Perhaps Matthew wasn’t a spy after all. Perhaps he was just a tool for Stacey Duvall to make her look more inconspicuous. Or perhaps he was coldly trying to shift the blame on his unsuspecting girlfriend, biding himself time.

       At any rate, it looked like Irina had to examine Stacey again. She checked her watch. The clamps and weights that were applied should have had more than enough time to settle in and loosen her tongue. Before she left though, there was one more thing she had to take care of.

       When Matthew shook his head, Irina chuckled, then gently patted his cheek. “Of course you would not lie. I think you know that being truthful has its benefits. Continue to be of help, Mr. Stevens, and perhaps I’ll even reward you…” To emphasize the point, she reached down and closed her palm around his bulging shaft, giving it one smooth, slow stroke. He cooed in surprise and pleasure at her gentle touch.

       Irina took one last item from her case, a small, smooth ended cylinder. “Do you know what this is?” she asked her subject. Matthew shook his head. “It is a urethral probe. You are an educated man to understand exactly what this is for.” In the slim case he didn’t, she pressed the probe to his head, gently swirling it around the slit. Matthew’s eyes went wide as he realized it, then grunted. Irina laughed again. “Relax my dear. I would never dream of using this on you…unless of course you are lying. So why don’t I just leave this hear for you to remember that?”

       She took one final orthodontic band and looped it just past the crown of his head, then stuck the probe between it and rubber, a little token of what was to come if he decided to be difficult.

       Irina closed her case and redid her blouse, making sure everything was back to its original state before taking her things and moving back to Stacey’s cell.