Last night I was fast asleep when my Chiquita woke me. She was hot, excited. I noticed it at once.

 

"Have you been playing with your pussy?" I quizzed, groping under the covers for her hands. When I found them I pulled them up, sticking her red finger nails beneath my nose.

 

"You have," I declared in surprise. "Your hand. It's been inside you. It stinks of wet pussy."

 

Her face fell. "I'm sorry," she murmured. "I didn't mean to. I know I shouldn't. But I couldn't help it."

 

Her eyes were blue and open. Her blonde hair piled loose on her pillow framed her beautiful young face. I felt my flaccid cock begin to stir with desire. There was something different about her tonight, alluring, something I had not seen before. "What is it?" I asked. "What is it that's making you so hot?"

 

She became embarrassed. She didn't want to say. "It is a secret," she sighed, fluttering her eyelashes, suddenly embarrassed and coy.

 

I laughed. I could smell her perfume, sprayed between her breasts. It was feminine, pungent, divine. I sat up. "We do not have secrets, you and I. We promised. What is it? Tell me, my sweet one?"

 

She lifted her head, leaning her delicate features upon the palm of her hand. As she moved, I caught the glimmer of her gold cross, nestling secretly between the upper contours of breasts hidden beneath the bed covers.

 

She was quizzical. "Why do you ask? What good will it do you? I don't think that it's healthy for you to know such secrets. It is nothing, just a minor insignificant thing."

 

I disagreed. "There should never be secrets between husband and wife," I insisted. "You should tell me what it is. What is it that has made you so excited?"

 

She didn't want to tell me. She tried to fob me off. "You are too assertive," she complained, rolling onto her back. "A wife should not have to tell her husband everything. He has secrets. Why should she not have them too? Sometimes I think that it is your job that makes you this way, that makes you think you have some divine right to know everything about me. It makes you demanding, overly demanding. It isn't right, my Captain. Your job is interfering with our marriage."

 

I rubbished the idea, because it was nonsense. "My job has nothing to do with you and I, it never has done. My work is work and that is where I leave it."

 

She sat up, pulling the sheet around herself to conceal her nakedness. There was something bothering her, something different about her tonight. "That's what you tell me, my Captain. I used to believe you, but now I am not so sure. Sometimes I think that things can become blurred. Maybe they haven't yet, but that isn't to say that they won't. For instance, let me ask you. Let me give you a hypothetical situation. Let us suppose that the police were to take me to the Grimaldi..."

 

"You?"

 

"Yes, me. It is not impossible. It could happen. Let's suppose that one day, the police were to accuse me of conspiring against the government. What would you do then? Would your work still just be a job to you? Would you be prepared to torture me, your own wife, because the government tells you that this is what you must do? Could you do that? Tell me, my Captain. Could you actually hurt me? Or would you just pretend? Tell me how it is."

 

I pondered. It wasn't a question I had ever considered. "You think I should pretend?" I asked. "You think I should protect you because you are my wife? Is that what you are saying that I should do?"

 

"No," she disagreed, quite firmly. "That is not what I'm saying. That is not my question at all. You are missing the point, my Captain. My question is about you, you, my husband. I should like to know what kind of man I have married. I would like to know how he would act given such a situation. So tell me, what is the most important thing in your life right now? Am I the most precious thing or is it our President?"

 

I thought again, and the more I thought, the more I realized that I couldn't answer her. Not truthfully. "I don't know," I conceded. "I really don't know. But I do know that there is a third option that you haven't considered."

 

"Which is?"

 

"That I might give you to someone else to question."

 

She nodded. "Yes. I had thought of that. You might. But is that what you would do? If the authorities decreed that I must be tortured, your wife, would you do it yourself or would you turn me over to another? Or would you find some way out for me? Please, my Captain. Tell me. I should like to know. I need to know."

 

I felt uncomfortable under the pressure of her questions. I shrugged. "Which would you prefer? Would you like it to be me?"

 

I knew at once that this was the wrong answer. It was a cop out. It made my Chiquita upset, very upset. She climbed out of the bed, pulling the sheet about herself, pulling it from off me. She held it against her body as if to say 'This body is mine. I don't trust you with it any more. And so I don't permit you to look upon me or to take my body's spoil.'

 

Desperately I tried to retrieve my mistake. "It was a silly question," I protested, laughing rather nervously. "You have to admit that. It's nonsense. You are a good citizen, a true citizen. You are never likely to be in such a position, my love. Why do you ask such a thing?"

 

She swallowed hard. I could see her breasts rising and falling behind the white cotton sheet. I could imagine them, firm, round, and without any trace of sag. She is quite gorgeous, my Chiquita, and not given to hiding herself from me. I found this sudden modesty quite sexy and appealing. I wanted to grab hold of the sheet and tear it from her body and then stare greedily upon her nakedness.

 

She must have seen the hunger in my eyes, because she pulled the sheet even tighter about herself, and moved away from the bed, sitting coyly upon her dressing stool. I felt like I was a stranger from whom she needed protection.

 

She looked down at the carpet, avoiding my gaze. Then she murmured, very quietly. "I need to know, my Captain. How would you behave? Would you be soft? Would you be lenient, given that I am your wife, your only one?"

 

I sighed. "I might want to be soft," I explained. "Of course, in my heart, I would wish to be lenient. But how could I? I am expected to get results. I must get results. I must be as hard as is required to obtain those results. What is it, my love? Why do you ask?"

 

She looked up, staring at herself in her mirror. I noticed for the first time that she was still heavily made up, mascara on her eyes and gloss upon her lips. Her cheeks were fiery red and burning. "Oh, I don't know. It struck me the other day that I don't know anything about what you do at work," she said.

 

"So? What does it matter?"

 

"I should know. People say, 'What does your husband do?' I say, 'He tortures people.' They say, 'Doesn't that worry you?' The more that people ask me that question, the more that I wonder. Should it? Should it worry me, my Captain?"

 

Her face was so open and questioning. I hardly knew what to tell her. I began slowly, honestly. "Maybe. I get confused. Maybe it should worry you, just a little. It is not an honorable profession to be an interrogator. I ask myself the same question. I don't know any more. But to be brutally honest, I suppose, yes, maybe it should. I think you should be a little concerned."

 

She was silent for some time. I wondered whether I should say something more. I also wondered what she could be thinking. Was I suddenly a demon? Is that what she thought? Finally, she asked. "How many of the people that you torture, how many of them are women?"

 

I cleared my throat. It seemed such a simple thing, and yet I had never told her. I couldn't understand. Why had I kept this a secret? Of what had I been frightened?

 

"They are all women," I said, my voice quiet and apologetic. "The Grimaldi is center for women. Only women are ever brought there."

 

This seemed to confirm her worst suspicions. Suddenly, she found it difficult to frame her questions. "What is it that they have done? These women? The one's that you torture?"

 

I sighed. "Many things," I lamented. "Usually something small, but which could damage the government in some way. Perhaps someone in their family, or a friend, is working for the resistance. Or else they have been heard to say things against the government. We have to discover the full extent of what they know, or what they have done. It doesn't mean anything, Chiquita, the things I do. I don't do it to make you jealous. It doesn't mean anything at all. To me, it is just a job."

 

Her hands were shaking as she held the two edges of the sheet together. "There was a woman," she began. "A pretty young woman. I was speaking with her today down at the library in Santiago. We were talking. She knew who I was, and what it is that you do. She said that she had heard that when women are arrested and taken to the Grimaldi," My Chiquita's voice faltered. "She said she had heard that the women are required to undress. She said that the interrogators insist on questioning women without their clothes. Tell me, my Captain. Is this, what this woman told me, is it true?"

 

I nodded, blushing. "I'm afraid that she is right. It is true. We ask the women to undress."

 

"And you do this, my Captain? You do it yourself? You always strip them naked? The women that you question? There are never any exceptions?"

 

I had to be straight with her. I had promised. I could not lie. "I do not pretend," I admitted wretchedly. "But yes, it is always the case. In all these years I have never left a lady with her clothes."

 

"But surely they must protest?"

 

"Of course they do," I sighed. "I'm not proud of what I do. It is not an honorable profession. You are right, my love. Many women protest, in fact, most of them do. Some get extremely upset and cry. They find being stripped in front of several men extremely embarrassing. Sometimes they refuse. Someone has to then hold the arms while I pull off their clothes myself."

 

She seemed churlish. I'm not sure why. She began to stride up and down the bedroom, emotionally, stridently, the white sheet flowing behind her. There was color in her cheeks. I'm sure that it wasn't the rouge. "Why do you do that? It must be so humiliating. I have to know, my Captain. Are you told to do it, does the government order you to do it that way? Or is it because it excites you to have control of a naked woman? Is that what it is? Is it lust that drives you? Do you do it simply because you can? Tell me. Does it turn you on to make a woman remove all her clothes and bare her body for you against her will?"

 

Reluctantly, I nodded. "Yes, I'm sorry, my love. You are right. The government does not command it. We do it, we do it because we want to do it." I admitted wretchedly. "Are you angry? Do you hate me for it?"

 

She wouldn't answer. Instead, she pursued me relentlessly with her questions. "So how aroused do you become? Does it make you very excited? Please be honest. Please, my Captain. Does it make you more excited, for instance, than when you make love to me?"

 

I remained silent. How could I answer that? It would hurt her so much. "Tell me," she repeated. "Why are you so quiet? Answer me, damn you!"

 

"I can't answer because I'm too ashamed," I admitted miserably. "You are right. I am not proud of myself. I get far more aroused stripping and humiliating a woman, a rich socialite, for instance, who is sent to me in her designer dress, her expensive jewels and her hand sewn underclothes. To have such a lady as my degraded slave, obeying my every whim, under my absolute control, is far more arousing to me than when you and I make love. I'm sorry. I wish this weren't true. But you asked for the truth. There is nothing to compare in terms of excitement with inflicting pain on a beautiful woman. Nothing."

 

She became quiet. I could tell that she was thinking, her eyes were so distantly focused. At last she said. "I want to be there. Just once. I have to see what it's like. What you do. How you operate. Please. Just once. I shan't interfere or get in the way."

 

I smiled. "That is not possible, Chiquita. It is not allowed for wives to come to Grimaldi. It is the law. Only those women who must be interrogated are allowed inside its gates."

 

She fell silent again. "They say," she said at last. "People say, that you care about nothing but torture."

 

I jumped at her. "Who says this?"

 

"It doesn't matter. Lots of people. The lady in the library, she said it for instance. But she is not the only one. There have been others too."

 

"But it isn't true. How can it be true? Chiquita, you know me. You know that it's a lie. I care for many things. I care for our great dictator. I care for his illustrious government. And I care for you, my dear little wife."

 

She smiled, relaxing a little. "That it what I said. I told them all. I said that you are a great man. You care for your family, for me."

 

"Of course. This is so."

 

"However, the people, the woman this afternoon. She did not believe me. She said again that all you care for is torture. This talk makes me very angry, my Captain. Very, very angry. She said, this lady, that the only believing was if I did something, a token act for the resistance."

 

I felt my chest tightening. This couldn't be true. "But you didn't listen. You didn't do this thing?"

 

"You understand," my dear one said, very slowly. "If we are to have a life together, if we are to be happy, I have to understand your work. People say such disturbing things. I have to see what you do."

 

I shook my head. "I have already explained. That is not possible. Wives are not allowed..."

 

"I understand that. You have told me. No women are allowed inside the Grimaldi, that is, except for those that have been taken there for interrogation."

 

For the first time I began to understand what she was asking, what she was really thinking. I shook my head firmly. "No," I declared absolutely, angrily. "It is not possible. I won't have it, not my wife. This is ridiculous. How could you possibly think of such a thing?"

 

Her face was more radiant than I have ever seen it. The flush extended to her neck where it disappeared behind the folds of the sheet that she held across her breasts.

 

"Are you sure?" she asked coyly. "You've sometimes asked to do things, to make love to me in ways that I couldn't tolerate, that the church has said is wrong."

 

I was astounded. "You mean when I asked to take you in the butt? Are you serious? You cannot be. You cannot understand what you are saying. Do you understand what I do? I torture women, Chiquita. I cause them immense unimaginable pain. No one in their right mind would volunteer for such a thing."

 

Her bottom lip was trembling, the muscles in her neck contracting nervously. "You would cause me great pain, I am sure. But I think you also love me. I don't think you would hurt me more than I can bear. You do love me, do you not, my Captain?"

 

"This is ridiculous," I protested.

 

Her face was so open and trusting. I didn't understand her, couldn't comprehend why she would ask this of me. "I have to do this thing," she explained with such sincere earnestness. "I have to understand the man to whom I am married, whose children I should like to bear. I have to understand of what he is capable. Can you not grasp this?"

 

"No," I howled. "This is lunacy, I forbid it."

 

She looked down shyly, at her feet with their red painted nails. "Then tell me why you are so excited. I can see your cock. It doesn't lie. Why is your cock so hard, my Captain?"

 

Guiltily I stared down at the massive erection that protruded obscenely from my groin. Now that she had taken the sheet from the bed, I was uncovered, and my penis was there openly exposed for her to see. I blushed, for I had no excuse.

 

"Tell me the truth," she urged. "The thought of having me in your power, it excites you. Please do not lie to me. We are too close. Be honest with me, my Captain."

 

I had no option but to admit to it. She could see the evidence with her own eyes.

 

Her breathing was now fast and shallow. "Wouldn't it also excite you to show me off?" she whispered hoarsely. "To make me strip in front of your colleagues, to know that it is your wife that they are looking at and lusting over? You would like to see my body twist and heave to your perverted command. Admit it, my Captain. I can't bear lies. Tell me the truth."

 

I did. I admitted that she was right. "But you cannot want this," I added. "I can accept being called perverted, evil. I'm not sure, perhaps there is something very wrong with me. But with you it is different. You do not want to be hurt: no one desires that. I don't understand. Please. You must also tell me the truth. Why, my love?"

 

She looked up, her blues eyes clear and open. She grasped the crucifix about her neck, clinging to it tightly. "I do not desire it. Pain is my enemy, not my friend. I am more terrified than I have ever been in the whole of my life. But I have to know. I can't live my life always wondering." She took a deep breath. She was sweating; there was a sheen of perspiration covering her rouge and upon her bare shoulders.

 

She spoke very quietly. I could barely hear. "I have done wrong," she confessed. "I have betrayed both you and my president. I have to tell you. If I do not admit it, then I could not live with myself."

 

What was this? "Tell me," I asked slowly, firmly, anxiously, steel creeping into my voice. "What is it that you have done?"

 

She didn't move. Her eyes were lowered. There was a flickering of her lower lip. "My Captain," she said at last, her voice quivering.

 

"Yes, Chiquita."

 

"Can I trust you? Can I truly trust you? You will not mark my body or spoil my looks?"

 

I couldn't answer her. What was she asking? What did she mean?

 

"You will remember that you love me and that I would bear your children?"

 

"Tell me. Tell me what you have done," I demanded.

 

"Please. Promise me."

 

"I am your husband," I said noncommittally, making no promise at all.

 

"Yes, you are my husband," she agreed, reflecting that she had gained no promise, no commitment at all from me. She had to ask the question of herself: to what extent did she trust me? It seemed that she did, for, despite my lack of reassurance she continued with barely a pause.

 

"But you are also an officer of the law, an official of my government. Today, I think I have done a stupid thing. Very stupid. I believe I need your advice."

 

I waited for her to tell me. It took her a number of minutes, but in the end she did.

 

Very slowly I made the call. It wasn't easy. I felt physically sick afterwards at what I had done. But I had to do it. When it had been made, I said. "You realize that there is nothing I can do now. What is done, is done."

 

"I know it," she whispered. "I thought perhaps, I hoped that you would not make that call. But somehow, I knew deep down that you would."

 

"You have betrayed me, my Chiquita."

 

"I know it. I am very sorry. I had hoped that our relationship was stronger than your sense of duty. I had hoped you would forgive me. I said to people, to the woman this afternoon, that that's what you would do."

 

"There will be much pain. Why did you have to be so foolish?"

 

She shivered. "Have I been foolish? Was I wrong to trust you? Will you be very cruel to your Chiquita?"

 

I looked away from her guiltily. "I don't know. I really don't know. I hope not. I have never been asked to torture my own before. I have no idea of what I am capable."

 

Her voice was still calm, although she was obviously full of emotion and fear. I was proud of her strength. "Then it is God's will. I have to know the worst. I have to know whether I am married to a man or to an evil monster."

 

I became distraught. "I am so scared, Chiquita. I am frightened that I will to such terrible things to you that you will never want me again. I am afraid that you will hate me afterwards, that things will never be the same between us again."

 

"Things never remain the same," she counseled. "They change. We grow. Life moves on. We constantly discover new things in each other and this causes feelings and affections to change, sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse."

 

I nodded. She was right, but I was still very scared of what I might lose.

 

The minutes ticked by. She didn't move. I think she was reflecting on what was now going to happen. The way she stood, it was as though she were already in custody. She was holding the white sheet to herself; her long hair flowing across her shoulders, her makeup slightly stained from her perspiration. Finally I could bear it no longer. "Please my dear one. Don't make me do this. Let me hand you over to another. Let me hand you over to another man."

 

She smiled. I could not believe this strength. She spoke simply, almost in a whisper. "But will it not excite you to torture me, my Captain? You have already admitted it. My suffering will stiffen your cock more than my love making ever managed to do."

 

I agreed. This had already been decided. "That is true."

 

"So tell me about the man, the other man. If you were to hand me over to him, wouldn't he be aroused too?"

 

"Of course, my love. Of course he would. How could he not be aroused? You are such a sexy woman, my Chiquita. He is bound to be aroused."

 

Her face beamed with pleasure. "You have never told me that before, my Captain. You have never said that you think I am sexy. Why have you waited until now?"

 

I was flustered. "I'm sure... I must have said it many times."

 

However, she was quite sure. "No. Never. Not once. I would have remembered."

 

"I cannot believe that I have never told you. I must have done so at least once."

 

"Not even once. You may have thought it, but you have never uttered the words. Perhaps it is not my body, but the thought of what you are planning for it that you find so sexy."

 

I was about to deny her accusation, to tell her that it was ridiculous, when I realized that it was probably true. I felt awful. I didn't deserve this woman. How could I live with her now, now that she knew the kind of man that I was?

 

However, she was sweetness itself. I felt worthless. "Listen, my Captain. I would so much rather it were you, that is, if I really must have a tormentor. Of course, I would rather... I would rather..." She gulped. "Oh dear. But that is impossible. So given what must happen, what will happen, I would rather that my suffering and my humiliation excite my husband than be gloried in by some stranger."

 

Now I felt truly despicable. For there was something else I would have to tell her. "My dear one," I began. "I must tell you that it will not just be me. I will not be the only one abusing your wonderful body. I am one of a team. There are two other men too. Their names are Juan and Pedro. They also will be there. They too will watch your nakedness, and will become excited by the twitching of your body. I'm sorry, my pet. However much you try, there will be no part of you that will remain a secret to them. They will touch your every crevice. And when they are sufficiently aroused, you will take each of their cocks in whichever hole they care to choose. Chiquita. How can you possibly bear this?"

 

She bit her lip nervously. "And is that what you do, my Captain? Each day at work? When you are sufficiently aroused? Do you also plunge your cock into whichever hole you choose?"

 

I looked away from her, distraught. I realized what I had said. "Yes."

 

"So what must I call you? Now that I know this? When people say, what is your husband's occupation, must I say, he is a rapist? Is this what you do, my Captain?"

 

She made me feel dirty and contemptible, but she was right, that's what I was. I'm a rapist. I rape women. I do it every day. I no longer consider that it's unusual or wrong. It has become a habit. "Yes," I said, my head lowered. "That is what I do."

 

"And I will be raped?"

 

I nodded again.

 

"And you will not stop this? Are you telling me that you will watch your own wife being raped and that you won't lift a finger to stop it?"

 

"I cannot," I answered her abjectly. "I cannot stop it. If I try, then they will suspect. They will know that you are someone special, someone close to me. And once they know that, it will be over, this game. They will make an example of you, do such unimaginably horrible things. I could not bear that. You must promise. My Chiquita. Whatever happens, however much pain I ask you to endure, you must never ever intimate that you know me or that you are my wife."

 

Her mouth dropped. She still did not understand the importance of what I was saying.

 

"Promise me," I insisted. "You cannot imagine what they would do, how evil these men are and how they would use you to test my loyalty. It would be fun for them. They would make me cut you, mutilate you, and they would watch to see that I could do it. Please. Promise me!"

 

She looked up eagerly. "But if I manage this, if I conceal from them that I am your wife, then everything will be okay? You will make it easier for me?"

 

I snorted. "It will not be easy."

 

"But you will try? You will at least attempt to make it easier? Just a little?"

 

"I will try. But..." I looked to the heavens. "What can I say? How can I tell for certain how I will react when you are tied to the grill? I am so sorry. However will you bear it, my dear one?"

 

"I will have to bear it. What choice do I have? But if I know that you are tempering your excesses, that you love me, then I take some comfort. Nothing else can be done. You have made the call. It is already too late to stop what is to happen, is it not?"

 

I nodded. It was.

 

"Then God have mercy on my soul," she avowed. She looked down at the sheet she was holding, deciding, working out what she thought. Suddenly she let go of it. It fell to the floor with a gentle sigh, in an airy heap about her ankles. She stood entirely naked, her blonde bush neat and well trimmed, her firm breasts beautiful and round with small raised nipples that called out to be touched. In the valley of her breasts stood her crucifix. Christ was hanging in torment in the middle of paradise. "Please, my Captain," she begged, trembling at the ferocity of my gaze. "I trust you. I pray that I am not mistaken. I know that I will suffer, and that you will hurt me, but I trust that you will discover my limits and not go beyond them. Fuck me. Fuck me, my Captain. Do it now. Please fuck me hard before they come and take me away."

 

My cock had never been harder than it was right then. I'm sure that if I had so much as touched it, then it would have exploded, shooting my come in a fountain across the room. I went over and took her in my arms, my penis twitching in front of me, pressing against her stomach. I lifted her easily in my arms, kissing her tenderly, and deposited her softly onto the bed. We didn't wait. I took her at once. Time was short, and we didn't possess enough of it for romance or finesse.

 

I turned her over, opened her legs and, parting her labia, pushed my aching tool inside. The sex was hard and fierce, a bout of mutual taking, each of the other, orgasms stolen, moments of ecstasy snatched with animal passion.

 

When we had finished I allowed her to shower and to dress. Then we sat together talking, waiting, for the officers to come and take her away.