The Test

                                                                  The Test

                                                            By Sardonicus

       He had been captured about three days previously, he thought, though it was difficult to mark the passage of time correctly when being “processed” as his captors referred to it.

       Interestingly, though the combat was fought in the traditional manner, male on male, all of his captors were definitely female.  He presumed, correctly, that this was part of the “process” and would work to further humble him by showing that even women could easily control him, down to even matters involving body waste.  When he was first thrown into his cell, two attractive young women curtly directed him to strip himself.  When he was slow to respond, both of them took out some sort of electric stun gun and proceeded to shock him wherever they chose, as if to demonstrate the simplicity of it all.  The shocks, while not incapacitating, were incredibly painful.  He quickly realized that the only way to stop them was to do as they requested and remove his clothing.  When he was naked, the shocks stopped.  Lesson learned!

       When they directed him to the rear wall of the cell, he obeyed promptly, not wishing to be shocked any more.  There was an iron bar, about two feet long, welded to the wall at a height of some eight feet.  He was made to stand beneath the bar and his wrists were secured together with plastic ties and then he felt his arms lifted above his head.  Another plastic tie was used to secure his wrists at full stretch above him to the iron bar.  His ankles were each placed in a plastic tie and then secured tightly to iron rungs set into the floor of the cell, about three feet apart.  He was now completely exposed and completely helpless.

       One of the young women stood in front of him, smiling.

       “Now that wasn’t so bad.  Was it?” she asked amusedly.

       To his horror he realized he was beginning to get an erection in spite of the circumstances.

       “Yes,” the woman continued, “that will happen to you, too.”  She glanced down at his hardness.  “And you won’t have any control over it.  So get used to it!”

       “For openers,” the other woman spoke, “your identity is Z-22352.  That is your only name, from now on, so get used to it.  Now try and rest.  Someone will be along to continue your processing.”

       That being said, both women left the cell, without closing the door, it being apparent that he wasn’t going to be going anywhere.

       He was left alone for what seemed a very long time.  He even dozed a bit, but fitfully, being awakened by the aching he felt in his arms.  When two different women came in, he was very glad to see them.  They snipped the plastic holding his arms up, but left his wrists secured together.  Then they snipped the plastic securing his ankles to their restraints.  He collapsed to the floor, but was quickly up when he realized they intended for him to use the toilet in their presence.  He was warned not to touch his penis, and then he was allowed to use the commode in the corner of the room.  He was able to urinate easily enough, but defecation was another matter.  He told them he was used to more privacy for that act.  They said nothing, but drew out their stun guns and approached him.  This was encouragement enough and he quickly relieved himself, even managing to wipe himself with toilet paper with his wrists secured together.  When he was done, they returned him to the iron bar and once again secured him to it.  When his ankles had been re-fastened to the rungs, he was given a bowl of tasteless glop and allowed to consume it with a straw.

       “You’ll find that quite nourishing, in spite of its lack of taste appeal,” he was told by one of the guards.

       Once he was finished with his “meal,” they got down to what he assumed was the primary purpose of their visit.  His entire body, including his head, was sprayed with what he quickly discovered was a very efficient depilatory cream.  It was left on him for about fifteen minutes and then, when they removed it with wash clothes, all of his hair came off with it.  He was left completely bare from head to toe and was beginning to devoutly wish he had not been captured.  The two guards left him then, for another long period of time.

       When he was next visited, two different guards went through the same process.  He was loosed from his restraints, allowed to use the toilet, fed, and then given another dose of the depilatory cream.  When he was left alone this time he was beginning to dread the time by himself, for all it promised was the soreness in his arms from being restrained.  He was given two more doses of the depilatory cream before one of his guards told him that it was now time for his “test.”  He had no idea what she meant, but on his next visit, there was no depilatory cream and before the guards left, one of them reminded him that his name was Z-22352 and he was not to forget that fact.

       A few minutes later, a new guard came into his cell, pushing a cart which she left right in front of him while she turned away and stripped to a miniscule g-string.  She took everything off, including her shoes and socks.  Her nearly complete nudity overwhelmed him.  She was beautiful, with short blonde hair, beautiful, firm breasts, and buttocks that were slim, but nicely rounded.  In spite of his tiredness and fear, he felt himself becoming erect as he stared at her.

       “My name is Celia,” she said, “and we are going to get to know each other very well, indeed.  I am told you have been given a prisoner name and I’m going to see if I can make you tell me that name.  I am going to hurt you quite a bit in the process, but, be assured, it will be best for you if you do not give me your name.  If you give me your prisoner name, your pain will stop, for now, but you will regret it because you will be consigned to a work task which will be numbing in its boredom, broken only by severe beatings to encourage you to work even harder.  If you can withhold your name for a period of time, known only to me, you will be assigned as a personal servant to one of us.  Believe me; this will be immensely preferable for you.  Life as a servant can be quite pleasant, but life as a slave, which is the alternative, will be short and quite miserable.  Do you understand your choices?”

       “I suppose so,” I said.  “But what do you mean by ‘hurt me quite a bit’?”

       “I can do anything I like to you, so long as I don’t hurt you permanently.   You may bleed a bit from some of the things I am going to do, but it will all heal.  Actually, I’m quite an inventive torturer.”

       Having said that, she began her preparations. She opened her cart and began sorting through its contents, finding a slim length of rope.  She looped it around the base of my testicles and made several more loops around their base before securing it.  She then clamped my nipples with two severe alligator clips, connected by a thin chain.  Another length of cord was found and tied about my, now hard and erect, penis at its middle, and then this cord was drawn up tightly and fastened to the chain between my aching nipples.  The effect was to draw my cock up and tight, with my balls like a mushroom suspended in mid-air.  The absence of pubic hair made everything seem uniquely vulnerable.  It’s hard to describe the feeling of being naked before a beautiful woman, tied in such a manner that it’s obvious you’re about to be hurt, and being unable to do anything about it.  It wasn’t pleasant.

       “Now then, let’s see how you enjoy this,” she said.

       

       With that she produced a heavy wooden paddle and proceeded to smash it directly into my balls.

       The pain was unlike anything I had ever felt!  It seemed as though my entire existence was centered in my balls and then shattered.  Pain coursed through me like a lightning bolt.  She watched me calmly as I dealt with the pain, and then hit my balls again, even harder!

       “The amazing thing,” she said, calmly, “is that I can do this many, many times and it will cause you no permanent damage.”

       To demonstrate the proof of that statement, she hit me again, even harder!

       I was in complete agony!  My balls hurt with an ache unlike any I could recall, and my nipples, sore from the agonizing alligator clamps, and aching from their task of holding my cock out of the way, were sending me signals that they had had about all they could take.  I was unable to gain even the slightest relief…just had to hang there and wait for more pain.  She, of course, was only to happy to provide this, slamming the heavy paddle into my restrained balls again, and again.  Finally, after what seemed hundreds of blows, but what was probably only twenty or so, she put down the paddle and began rummaging through her damned cart, once more.

       “This is really going to hurt,” she said, bemusedly.  “You will probably begin to think about giving me your prisoner name and ending the pain, but, trust me, you shouldn’t.”

       She stood before me with what appeared a generous handful of the nasty alligator clamps.  When I could offer no response, she smiled at me and began to carefully place the clamps around the head of my, still damnably hard, penis.

       I couldn’t believe how much they hurt!  Each clamp, biting into the soft tissue that was the crown of my penis, sent a surge of pain that was absolutely horrifying, then rested there with its razor sharp jaws just begging me to move a bit to renew the searing agony.  I was unable to resist moving, as she placed more of the clamps on my penis, and each movement caused each of the clamps to burningly bite into me in a new and inventive fashion.

       “Those really hurt, don’t they?” she queried.  “These last two are often the ‘deal breakers’ though.  They are going to go inside your urethra, one to each side, and will cause you unbearable pain.  I won’t be taking them off until I’m through with you, so I suggest you find a way to deal with it.”

       With that she placed the clamps, almost lovingly, at the mouth of my pee-hole, so that half of each jaw was down inside me while the other half bit into the soft flesh which was the opening of my urethra.  I couldn’t stop myself from begging her to take them away, but she simply beamed at me, watching as I attempted to deal with this outrageous assault to my senses.

       “Do you see what I meant when I said I was inventive?” she asked.  “I haven’t even broken your skin and you’re in more agony than you’ve ever experienced.  The male body has an amazing number of exquisitely responsive nerve endings and we’re going to explore a lot of them before we’re through here.”

       She watched me a while longer, then retrieved the heavy wooden paddle once more.  Calmly, as though she were ringing a doorbell, she slammed the paddle into my sensitized balls.  Her amusement was obvious as the renewed attack on my balls caused the clamps on my penis to dance around, causing me wave after wave of increased agony.  She gave me at least twenty more excruciating whacks with the paddle before stopping and searching once more in her cart.

       I was, I must admit, at the point of surrendering.  I had never experienced anything like this and the agony only promised to get worse as the day went on.  It was only the thought of mindless slavery, interrupted by severe beatings, which encouraged me to try and last a little longer.

       Her next addition to my torment was quite creative, I had to admit.  She took a length of slim cord, fastened its midpoint securely around my aching testicles and left the two ends hanging down towards the ground.  Then she snipped the plastic ties holding my ankles the rings in the floor, one at a time, and brought each ankle up behind me, securing it to an end of the cord tied to my testicles.  When she was done, I was now hanging by my wrists from the iron bar above, with my legs bent double behind me, supported by the cord from my testicles.  My bent knees were several feet off the ground, so I was truly a suspended ‘fish’ in front of my tormentress.  Additionally, the weight of my ankles, pulling on my testicles, was causing the clips biting into the soft head of my penis to find new and more agonizing ways to hurt me.  I thought this had gone as far as it could, but, of course, I was wrong.

       She rummaged in her cart once more and came up with a tapering plastic cane, about an inch thick at top to half an inch at the bottom.  It was about three feet long.

       “This,” she said, calmly, “is a Sjambok.  They used to be made from rhinoceros penises, I’m told, but the marvelous science involved with plastics has led to this, much more efficient and unbreakable version.  They were originally used as a whip for beating prisoners on the back and sides, but, over time it became obvious what they were best at.”

       She demonstrated this proficiency to me by administering a searing slash of the Sjambok to the upturned sole of my left foot.

       I howled in agony!  It was the most amazing pain I had ever felt, and, of course, my body’s reaction to the blow caused me agony in the testicles, my nipples, and the head of my abused penis, as well.

Noting that reaction with satisfaction, she began calmly beating the soles of my feet, alternating between them, with harsh blows of the Sjambok.

       “It’s really amazing how much pain that generates, isn’t it?  There are just so many nerve endings in the soles of the feet.”

       She administered the savage blows carefully, always allowing me sufficient time to appreciate the agony of each one before granting me another.  I had lost count, but there had been at least 40 blows before she stopped and began rummaging once more.  I was in a delirium of pain and discomfort.  My feet radiated the pain of the Sjambok, my balls ached from the beating they had received, my nipples hurt intensely from their abuse, and my penis was in absolute agony from the nasty little clips that continued to bite away at its most tender places.

       “Well, you’re almost home,” she said.  There’s just this one more teensy little thing I have to do to you.  If you can hold out, that will be the end of it.  I’m really not supposed to tell you that, but you’ve been such a dear.”

       She proceeded to grease up what appeared to some sort of metallic butt plug, and then slid it firmly into my ass, with what appeared to be electric wires dangling from its base.  She then produced some sort of magneto and connected the wires from the butt plug to it.  Next she took two more wires from the magneto and attached them to the two alligator clips that were biting away at my urethra.

       “I imagine you can guess what happens now.  It’s just that no one escapes the taste of electricity once they fall into my hands.”

       She flipped a switch on the side of the magneto and began to slowly turn a crank at the top.  At first I felt what seemed a tickle, then, as she turned faster, the tickle became a different sort of pain.  The butt plug was apparently lodged against my prostrate and the connection sending the charge between it and the clips in my urethra was incredibly intense.  I began to howl at this new savagery, but she merely continued to turn the crank.  I looked down at my tormented penis and was amazed to see semen beginning to seep out around the alligator clips.  I clearly wasn’t enjoying the situation, but my prostrate and other equipment didn’t seem to mind.  As I howled from the pain and outrage, my body calmly offered up a large quantity of semen for Celia’s delight, oozing out around the clips.  Using her hand, she scooped up a large glob of semen and took it to my lips.

       “Taste yourself,” she said.

       I did, and she began to calmly remove her instruments of torment from my body.  First, she cut the cords holding my ankles to my testicles, and then secured each ankle back to its floor ring.  I was very relieved to have the weight of my body off my wrists, which had bled from being cut into by the plastic cuffs.  She had said I would bleed a bit, but I had thought it would be in other places.  The soles of my feet were very sensitive from the Sjambok treatment, but it was still nice to have weight where it belonged.  Next, she removed the rope from about my balls, giving them a few tugs in their sack.  Then she removed the alligator clips from the head of my penis, all but the two in my urethra with the wires attached.  Those she removed after removing the plug from my ass.  The relief from the absence of the clips inside my urethra was euphoric. I couldn’t believe how good it felt!  Finally, she removed the clips from my nipples and the rope from around my cock.  I was finally free of her toys and it felt wonderful!

       Celia calmly dressed herself, restored her cart to its original state and left my cell, without another word.

       What seemed an interminable time later brought two guards who proceeded to take me through my toilet and food ritual.  Instead of retying me to the bar and rings, however, they produced a cart with restraining rings all around its edge.  They tied me spread-eagle to this cart and began to wheel me away.

       “Where am I going?” I asked.

       “You passed the test, so you have been selected as a slave,” was the response.

       “So soon?”

       “Well, Celia doesn’t want to waste any time.  You did so well in there that she’s selected you as her own personal slave.  She wants to get started with you right away.”

       “Get started?”

       “Yes, Celia uses her slave to experiment on with her torture techniques.  She’s pretty rough on them so they don’t tend to last too long.  The last one went almost a year before she wound up putting him down.  It’s been several months since then so I suspect she’s got a lot of ideas she wants to try on you.”

       My struggles against the plastic ties holding me to the cart were futile.