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In the days of the Latin American dirty wars, there were reports of the torturers going home to heir wives and children when their duty finished, enjoying a meal and a game with the kids before bed-time, then - unable to resist going back to the interrogation centre - they'd say they were sorry, very busy, going to have to get back to work. The wives probably had a fair idea what was going on, but knew (a) it was much better not to enquire, and (b) the communist bitches were only getting what they deserved ...
Very chilling observation. That makes me think. In "The Nude Nurse", we never explored Coronel Manuel Rodríguez's homelife. It might have been fascinating!
 
In the days of the Latin American dirty wars, there were reports of the torturers going home to heir wives and children when their duty finished, enjoying a meal and a game with the kids before bed-time, then - unable to resist going back to the interrogation centre - they'd say they were sorry, very busy, going to have to get back to work. The wives probably had a fair idea what was going on, but knew (a) it was much better not to enquire, and (b) the communist bitches were only getting what they deserved ...

Yes, the joys of the 20th Century when men were men and women.... Oh never mind!

We still haven't found out exactly who the "You" of our story is yet have we?

And the wider political context of these events is about to take on added significance to certain members of CF, those members who also belong to the loose association known as 'The Resistance Movement': not the snappiest of nomenclature choices I grant you but it does pretty much 'do what it says on the tin'. The organisation running their depraved and horrific intelligence operation from the basement of the government office block put considerably more effort into the selection of a name alone that would strike fear into the populace generally and terror into the hearts of enemies of the State specifically.

This however not being the 20th Century some spotty Millenial started by 'asking Siri', that individual now thankfully languishes in the deepest depths of the dungeons at the outermost edges of the Republic after, when, after they were told what they could do with their suggested names (suffice to say one came with a rainbow motif!), they persisted in asking the Senior Officer who had told them to "Fuck off and don't ever speak to me again!" why he was being "so rude" to them? Adding that the officer had "hurt my feelings, made me feel undervalued and added to my social inadequacy complex. I need to take the rest of the day off to drink ginseng tea and self reflect".

Still, there had to be endless Committee meetings at which several 'enlightened' types had insisted on 'focus groups' and the hiring of numerous Brand Consultancy Agencies, all of which finally resulted in the naming of the most feared, ruthless, underhand and generally despicable secret police force currently operating as " Secret Police and Non-Conformity Elimination & Rehabilitation Service (Otherwise known as SPaNCERS albeit that sometimes the SP is inexplicably shortened to a W, oh, and the C is pronounced as a K just is case you're one of those pedant types!). This was not a decision that sat well with the likes of our 'Teacher' protagonist as you might well imagine! In fact, he made a point of detaining the Chair of one Committee whom he found particularly objectionable and having 'found' the 'evidence' (that he had recently had planted) of her misdeeds was particularly spiteful throughout her interrogation....she no longer sits on any committees, in fact I believe she may have last sat on a rather large spike but who knows.....

But I digress at length once more, so, where was I? Oh yes the "wider political context", yes. The dictatorial government of our recently 'liberated' Republic has employed the ruse that "if you haven't done anything wrong then you have nothing to fear" in order to ratify legislation that will enter the statute book with Presidential approval later this week. Sweeping new powers are to be granted and a wholesale overhaul of the criminal justice and State Security systems will take immediate effect.

The basic premise being: You are a State Citizen ergo the State owns you. Hence you pay your taxes and obey all laws including curfew, freedom of speech etc. etc. Should you breach the laws of the State then the State may remove your liberty and impose any penalty it deems fit upon you. Human Rights are for those who do not breach the Rights of the State, those who do deserve the punishment that shall surely be allotted to them. Furthermore, gone are the days of the State warehousing criminal elements for free. Under Section 248, sub-paragraph 62, clause 14, sub-clause 8 of the Penal Reform and Securities of the Borders of our Glorious State Act 2020 "Conviction whether summary or upon indictment shall lead to the imposition by the Government appointed Judge so-finding a penalty fine on a scale adjudicated with reference to Schedules 148 (Culpability of the Defendant) and 178 (Severity of punitive measures appropriate) and these financial impositions shall be disbursed by the convicted felon prior to any prospect of a Parole Board Hearing. To whit the convicted felon may be put to whatsoever task or sufferance that a properly appointed Penal Rehabilitation Institute Controller deems appropriate in the circumstances"

The effect of the above will be to enslave convicts. The fines range from RP1,000,000 (and that isn't Rupees! The Republican Pound is worth circa £1). A re-offending street prostitute for example can expect a fine in the order of RP10,000,000. At minimum wage working 15 hours a day 7 days a week that will take 215 years (roughly) to pay off such a fine and that is without taking into account the RP200 p/week that is charged by the Penal facilities for 'Board and Rent'.

Oddly enough, prostitution being what it is, the Government has concluded that it fancies itself as a Nationalised 'Pimp' and prisoners will be rented to whomsoever wants to rent them for the princely sum of RP120 p/hour and they can quite literally do anything they like to the convict short of killing them (that too can be arranged but deeper pockets will be needed), the State meanwhile has the visual rights to any and all exploits that take place within its corrective facilities and sells distribution and viewing rights around the globe to those who wish to view the punishment, use and humiliation of the guilty. There is to be a website established specifically for those who cannot attend in person to specify punishments or acts of a lewd and humiliating nature to be carried out to the prisoner of their choosing for an appropriate fee.

Failure by a convicted felon to participate in their Repayment to Society shall lead to summary punishment up to and including execution by any means mandated by the PRIC managing their Penal Reform Institute. Anyone here care to speculate as to how this might end?

Right now signs are being made for erection at all existing as well as the many new Penal Reform Institutions they read "The State owns your flesh - your mind is worthless", The Resistance Movement is to be eradicated, it is pointless and futile to attempt to resist such forces as are ranged against you now. Gone are the days of shooting traitors, no matter how cruelly and brutally they did so. Now traitors will be slowly and deliberately broken, humiliated, demonised, sodomised and spat in the eyes before almost inevitably being put to death for "failure to properly and diligently discharge their duties in their Repayment to Society Programme".

Despite the certainty of long and protracted torture and abuse (or maybe because of it ;) ) some members of CF and the Resistance Movement will fight bravely on until they too fall to the SPaNCERS, are you at risk? Have you been associated with any such members? Would you like to perhaps inform on a member for such activities? Members who wish to 'have a chat' can PM me.....

YOU meanwhile remain in your cell recovering from the night spent in strappado, when you return to the torture chamber it will be extremely difficult for you to maintain further resistance and you may not be alone.......
 
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You lose track of the days you are left in your cell, maybe 2 perhaps longer. The food slid through the hatch at the bottom of the door is largely inedible, every so many hours you get to go and empty the bucket and have a stand up wash in a small sink near your cell. Your shoulders ache, your arms are weak, the light is constant and the regular sound of other prisoners being tortured fills you with the dread of seeing the inside of that room again.

You know that it is inevitable, the fact it hasn't happened already is playing on your mind; "they clearly do not need anything I know" is your conclusion, you realise that they will have taken your small apartment apart and will have almost certainly found incriminating material, the other passports, some questionable reading material, your computer (which will provide hours of entertainment no doubt) and you do not remember whether you had disposed of some bank statements relating to an account operating on behalf of The Resistance, if they have found that you know that you are in for a lot of awkward questioning, it will lead them to others in the movement, you curse your own complacency.

But if they don't need to know anything you know, that must mean they already know far too much about you. This is a discomforting notion to say the least, it makes your stomach turn to know that you will be condemned in the worst possible manner. And yet..... And yet you cannot escape the twinge, the frisson, the merest hint of furtive, suppressed sexual excitement at the prospect of being restrained, of being punished for your crimes by those tasked with doing so, after all, it isn't as if you didn't know the risks. The aphrodisiac of submission is something you are all too aware of. Now, in this most desolate of places, with no prospect of release, somehow your mind is twisting your suffering into the only way it can survive: Submit....ultimate submission....give yourself to the torturer and his pain willingly, suffer willingly no matter how bad the pain gets, when you think like this the wetness between your legs is undeniable, "I am a pain-slut" you conclude "and this is my destiny...to suffer." Perhaps it will make the pain more bearable....perhaps.

They come for you but this time when they enter your cell they place a heavy black bag over your head. You are not cuffed as you leave the cell flanked on either side by that same pair of guards who each hold you by a wrist and walk you briskly out of your cell but in the opposite direction from the last time they carried you to the interrogation room. They march you down corridors, turning this way and that, up stairs, downstairs until you lose all sense of where you are. Then through a door, turned around, cold metal against the backs of your knees, shoulders pushed back you finally come to rest sitting on what you can guess is one of the racks you saw in that room those some days ago.

Wordlessly you are prepared with leather cuffs to your wrists and ankles. All you hear is the breathing of the two guards, yourself and the blood once again rushing through your ears as your heart rate rises. Their fastening complete, your ankles are picked up and wrists held as you are swung into position and the cables of the winch and the frame are attached to your long limbs, A 'clack' from the winch and you find yourself being placed under very slight tension before silence befalls you again but not before you make out the sound of two pairs of rubber boots leaving the room and the door closing behind them. You need to pee.

By the time the door opens again and the familiar sound of those leather Italian boots clicking toward you fills your ears you are desperate to empty your bladder. Beneath your hood you bite your lip. You sense him sitting on the rack beside you. Fear grips your heart with icy fingers and it is as if they go on to squeeze your bladder. He sits there silently like a terrifying specter. It happens. The sound of your terror in the form of your piss hitting the floor fills the otherwise soundless room and you add shame to the short list of your feelings right now.

"You know, I've been looking at your computer." he begins "You have some.....interesting sexual deviances don't you?"

The sense of shame just went to the top of that list. Beneath your hood your cheeks burn scarlet with the knowledge that this man, this monster, knew your darkest and most intimate fantasies, how could you have been so stupid as to let this happen!

"Oh don't worry, I won't tell a soul, I promise!" he mocks you "And it wasn't just your penchant for sado-masochism that I found interesting on your computer, or stuffed down the back of the drawer. You have been a very silly girl haven't you? You will be charged, obviously, under the new Penal Reform Code you will be a slave for the rest of your life, given your sexual tastes you might even enjoy some of it, maybe we should find out? But I will be needing a confession from you at some point"

You sense him stand and he walks across the room continuing his monologue. "You and me are going to have a little...fun for a while, until the guests arrive at least. Today, you are more of a prop than anything else."

A sound you are familiar with briefly comes across the room along with the sounds of rummaging among equipment, he returns.

"Now this will hurt a little" He pinches your embarrassingly erect left nipple before the bite of a crocodile clip leaves you gasping before he repeats the process on your right tit. "Don't worry, it isn't like that nasty old baton, this electrical stimulation is far more controlled" his emphasis leaves you in little doubt what he means but you are increasingly confused as his fingers slip into the folds of your wet lips and you gasp again. Your knees spread involuntarily to allow the probing of your cunt. With a click he switches on the electrical box.

Your breath quickens, you moan a low moan of sexual desire as the sensations in your nipples and your clitoris grow. The power is kept well within your tolerance of pain, well within that which you have played with before in more benign settings. And then that familiar sound is back.

Your Teacher has two fingers deep inside your shamelessly sodden pussy, probing, stroking, finding the back of your clitoris and applying gentle pressure as his thumb strums your clit when he turns on the vibrator and replaces his thumb with it. You raise your hips to meet this old friend, your knees splayed ever wider, "Oh God!" you sigh as the tension and fear of the last few days seemingly dissipate into this forced masturbation and debasement and the feelings it is suddenly generating in your loins.

He half chuckles through the broadest of unseen grins "You really are a little slut aren't you?"

Your response is immediate, emphatic and heartfelt "Yes Sir, I'm your slut Sir"

.......
 
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The situation overwhelms your senses, your naturally submissive sexual tendencies leave you entirely at the mercy of the man now seemingly intent on extracting an orgasm from you in an extremely efficient manner. Your sense of helplessness on that rack, the slight tension in your body being exacerbated by your thrusting hips, brazenly presenting your sex for the ministrations of your erstwhile torturer, every fiber of your being vibrating to the pitch of that device that toys with your clitoris. You begin urging your 'Teacher' to let you cum, to fuck you, to take you. Right now you are his to do with as he will and he knows it. Your cunt cream covers his hand, droplets spraying of the vibrator which he is expertly play over and around your clit as his fingers probe your pussy driving you ever closer to the brink.

Your fingers and toes are clenched, every muscle in your arms and legs is taught as, like distant tremors of the coming earthquake an orgasm unlike anything you have ever experienced begins to announce its arrival with gushing short squirts from your pussy. He turns the power to your nipples up and the sensation of a thousand needles being driven into the sensitive nubs of your nipples only heightens your uncontrollable arousal, you scream, not of pain but of an animal urge to fuck. Right now you want this man's cock to be pumping in your cunt so badly, this man, the one who had treated you so cruelly just days ago, the man who is right now driving such primitive urges with his unsolicited touch. This man who holds your future in his hands, it is he that you have surrendered your very essence to as an orgasm so hard, so explosive, breaks through you that it strikes a pain into the back of your head as bursts of white lights fill your vision within the darkness of that hood and you spasm uncontrollably as your cum is ejaculated as far as your knees.

He does not stop following your orgasm.

He increases the frequency of the vibrator at your clit, very slightly increases the power to your nipples and despite your writhing efforts to escape resistance is futile. You have just enjoyed the biggest orgasm of your life and now you're enduring post-orgasm torture. The feelings are unbelievably intense, you are frantically begging him to stop but he wordlessly goes on tormenting your dripping sex until the sensations start to turn toward another, inevitable, unimaginable eruption from within. You roar your second orgasm, bellowing obscenities as it tears through you, faster, harder, bigger than the last, the sweat is pouring off your restrained body as it is forced to endure a climax unlike anything you have ever experienced before, your body locked so tightly in an obscene gesture of supplication to your Master that your calves cramp up the pain of which is lost in the blaze of sensation within your sex, it is as if every nerve is connected to your clit and your gaping pussy which is contracting and dilating as if trying to birth the hand that is within it. The rumbling, shuddering, all encompassing climactic explosion goes on and on, draining you in every way until it eventually, slowly, begins to subside, loosening its grip on your consciousness as if a tourniquet were being gradually unwound from your throat.

'Teacher' finally relents, the electricity is turned off, the vibrator and fingers removed and he gently, almost lovingly strokes the sides of your breasts as if to calm you, he murmurs sweet "there, there, there's" to you as your body continues to involuntarily twitch on its wind down from ecstasy.

His tone firms just ever so slightly, more paternal than that of a gentle lover:

"Now confess that you are a member of the resistance movement" he commands.

You obey, seemingly unable to do anything else at that moment "Yesss, yes Sir, I cannot deny it, and you know it of me already, I confess, I'm sorry Sir, please have mercy on me, please I beg you, have mercy." You sob as you realise the finality of such a confession and the manner in which it was obtained. You are such a slut, a night of agony you withstood; two orgasms and you were his, broken and unable to resist, what an utter slut! The overwhelming sense of relief is however, undeniable despite your shame.

His voice remains calm, soft and comforting "Good girl, that's better, let it all out now. Our guests will arrive shortly, I'm sure you will help them see the error of their ways, that's it, try to breathe slowly, deeply, there's no need to cry now, the worst is over for you, for now at least anyway."

The sound of multiple approaching footsteps foretells the opening of the door and the arrival of the "guests" four pairs of boots, the sound of a sobbing, pleading, scared female and a somehow familiar second female voice spitting vitriol, expletives and defiance at all those around her. The sound of a solid punch to a belly and the crumph of a severely winded prisoner brings to an end the tirade of abuse.

"Put the whore in the chair, hang the little vixen here by her tits from the winch" your 'Teacher' directs and the sound of leather and buckles can be heard as guards diligently obey following the obligatory "Yes Sir".......
 
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The winch is is to your 3 o'clock and you can hear the familiar 'clacking' as it is lowered and then raised, its victim having regained her breath has returned to cursing her captors but the strain of pain can be read in her voice as the winch lifts her by her tits. Meanwhile, to your 1 o'clock the sobbing "whore" now whimpers, clearly terrified.

'Teacher' addresses the familiar sounding winch victim first;

"Your mother taught you no manners, clearly! I guess I will have to then. Gag the gobby slut." a "Yes Sir" was followed by brief footsteps and the sound of a gag being forced into the mouth of the prisoner who continued to hurl abuse, albeit garbled by the gag.

"Now I think it's time for some introductions, guards if you wouldn't mind" as 'Teacher' was speaking he drew closer to your still prone body lying gently stretched on the rack, a moment later and the bag was roughly pulled from your head and you were blinking against the harsh white light of the torture chamber.

The other two women have just had identical bags pulled from their heads and as you all become accustomed to the light you recognise both of them.

Maria is the first to speak "Barb? Eulalia? I'm...I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

You gasp, Marialexia was the 'contact' whom you had gone to meet with the passport, but her appearance now did not resemble her as you last saw her those, who knows how many days ago now. She was clearly having a very rough time of it. Her body, even as it was strapped down to that gynaecological examination like chair showed signs of whipping and beating, her face sporting black eyes and thickened lips. Angry red lines that blurred into a raw mass around her large tits covered the front of her body, she was naked and filthy from head to foot.

The woman hanging from the winch is none other than Barb [yes, that Barbaria, she gets strung up everywhere-pain slut that she is!] your recruiter, your mentor, your friend. She is hanging from a steel cable that has been looped around her 34 C breasts which are now cinched tight and rapidly gaining a bluish hue while her nipples protrude obscenely, her hands are cuffed behind her and you note she is also shackled. She looks to be in better shape than Maria but for how much longer you wonder, given her wild mouth and aggressive attitude?

.........
 
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