This is a fictional story depicting images of violence, rape
and torture. Don't read if these are likely to offend, or if
you are not an adult. Although this story is loosely based
upon the notorious Villa Grimaldi in Santiago, Chile,
remember, the story is fiction.


A Red Hot Chile
by Grim Williams

Copyright 2000. All rights reserved.




Part Nine



Let me remember.

It was a summer morning, if I recall correctly. Muggy. It
was hot. We were in the middle of a heat wave.

There was this political prisoner. Her name was Lucia
Barajas. We'd been told that she was very close to the
leader of a terrorist cell, a certain Manuel Carras. She was
a shy kid, a naive kid, but she'd been acting suspiciously.
Our sources suggested that Carras might be using her as a
messenger. She'd made several journeys out of town and it
was believed that she was ferrying instructions between
Carras's mountain headquarters and his guerilla forces in
Santiago.

Therefore, she'd had been brought into Grimaldi and I'd been
asked to give her a grilling. Frighten her, I'd been told.
Unnerve her. Ask her some questions. Get the facts.

Nothing unusual in that. Fact-finding is our bread and
butter. It's what we do. This was just a routine
interrogation.

But the facts kept changing. At first she'd quietly accepted
that she was Lucia Barajas. We'd taken a detailed statement
from her, but as usual, we'd wanted to confirm it on the
barbecue.

But she wouldn't undress.

That was nice.

Antonio had been working with me that day. Do you remember
Antonio?

We began to threaten her. Antonio took out a cigarette
lighter and ran the flame back and forth along the hem of
her dress, toying with the idea of setting it alight. That
frightened her.

As the yellow of her skirt began to blacken and melt, baby
flames licking sexily about her legs, she suddenly began to
tell a tale of mistaken identity. She wasn't Lucia at all;
we'd got the wrong girl. Now, she was Lucia's older sister,
Maria Barajas.

What can you do? When a story changes as much as that, it
has to be tested. For how do you know whether both are not
lies?

And so, having let the orange flames take a good three to
six inches off the front of her dress, we'd reluctantly
killed them, tying her struggling body to the steel bed
frame.

Then we'd forcibly stripped her.

"Holy Virgin," she'd screamed, as I'd taken hold of the
remainder of her dress and had ripped it from off her
bucking body. I'd caught her by surprise. Good. But was this
Lucia or was it Maria? "Mother of God! No! For God's sake!"

She'd had nothing on underneath. Fuck, she was gorgeous.
Maria was a big girl for one so young, heavy swollen jugs
and a full figure containing oodles of terrified quivering
flesh. I'd gazed at her eagerly, hungrily. "Get the wires,"
I'd decided, bending forward, digging my teeth mercilessly
into one of her shivering teats, biting deep into that
tender flesh.

Gorgeous!

"Please!" she'd wailed, trying to pull herself together,
trying to fight the panic. "I'm a nun. If you have any
respect, please, you won't do this!"

I considered.

A nun.

"On second thoughts," I muttered, changing my mind. "I've a
better idea." I got up, and, striding to the steel cupboard,
threw open the door. Where was it? Fuck... it had to be...
Oh, there! I picked up an unused cattle prod, brand new, it
was. "What do you reckon?" I asked Antonio, holding it up
and then gleefully swirling it from hand to hand. "A
Christmas present from a friend in the Military. It's
supposed to have one hell of a kick. Shall we give it a
whirl? If this doesn't make her shake, then nothing will."

"God!" the woman gasped - Maria she claimed to be - staring
horrified at the cruel dark gray phallus. "God! Please! Holy
Virgin! You can't be serious! Have neither of you any
compassion?"

Antonio glanced at it greedily; taking it from me and
running his hands lovingly round its slim circumference.
"Shit!" he exclaimed with reverential awe. "Christ! This is
something else."

He paused, holding it fondly, sensually, savoring the
pleasure of the moment. It was a tool of immense beauty, a
gem. "But do you think we should send for Pedro? If anything
were to happen..."

"Fuck Pedro," I exclaimed. It was a stupid idea. "Pedro
knows nothing. Anyone who's read a First Aid manual knows
more medicine than Pedro."

"But Captain!" Antonio wasn't a happy bunny. He's a stickler
for doing things right, and he's pretty unpopular because of
it. He scowled. I guess he's just overly cautious, but it's
annoying. "If anything were to go wrong..."

Maria was by now shaking with fear. And I have to tell you,
if you can get a naked flesh-laden woman to shake like she
was shaking, then that's one darn erotic sight. "Please,"
she begged. "Fetch the doctor. If he's supposed to be
here... The rules must be there for a reason..."

I love it when they're scared. "Antonio," I said, a twisted
smile leering to my face. "Take it from me. Nothing is going
to go wrong! The last thing we need is Pedro's muddling
presence. What could go wrong? She's young. She looks
healthy, doesn't she? Don't you want to experiment?"

"Mary, mother of God!"

Antonio looked down at the prod dubiously. "You know that I
do. Any man would. It's just the regulations. There should
be a medical officer present. You know that there should. We
can still play with her. Why not? I'd just rather that we
did it by the book."

I nodded. "And what if he says no. What if he says that
she's got a heart murmur or high blood pressure or some
other rubbish? He might, you know. What then?"

Maria groaned. "Please! Don't you have wives?" she bleated,
"or girlfriends, someone you care for and who cares for you?
What would they think? Suppose someone were to do this to
them..."

She was annoying me. "Shut the fuck up," I demanded,
irritably pushing the long thick cattle prod into her face.
It drained of its color immediately and her whole body
tensed. "What the fuck do you know about my wife? My
Chiquita knows exactly what I do here." I glared at her.
"She knows that my work calls for me to be extremely
intimate with many beautiful women, to fuck them sometimes.
Most of the agents who work here, they don't tell their
wives, they keep everything hush-hush. They think that their
women will be jealous. I'm not like that. If I tell my
Chiquita a lie, she can spot it a mile off. She says, 'What
have you done, my Captain? Don't you trust me? You think I'm
going to get upset because you take pride in your work,
because you put your heart into it?'"

"Oh, God," Maria wailed, recoiling at the way I was now
casually caressing her stomach. I couldn't help myself; it
was so soft and white. "I don't believe you! You're making
it up!"

I moved my hand to the edge of her mound, gently discovering
its borders, feeling just how silky the hair there was, and
enjoying the distress she found at my touch.

"She tells me not to be frightened," I continued, enjoying
this fantasy. "She tells me not to act soft. Us ladies, she
says, we don't like it when we're made to undress, when
we're tied up and nasty things are done to our titties and
our pussies. You have a job to do, my Captain. It pays the
money that that will feed our bambinos. You have a duty to
do that job well. And if that makes you a little hot and
aroused, then you tell those sexy ladies that you have my
full permission to fuck them silly."

Maria moaned. "But I'm a nun!" she stammered weakly. "Does
that mean nothing to you?"

I grinned frostily. What a cunt! Yet courageous with it. She
was scared shitless, and yet she was determined to rise
above it.

Fascinating.

"So I tell her everything," I continued, watching her every
twitch. "I tell her how sometimes women get so steamed up by
being tortured on my barbecue that they beg me to fuck them.
They'd much rather a hard fucking than jerk about on the
grill. They see it as a way out. Do you see that, Lucia?
Wouldn't you much rather be fucked than let Antonio and
myself torture you?"

She stiffened. She could barely talk. "You're the devil
himself. You can't... you can't expect me to answer that."

"Oh," I contradicted her firmly. "But I do! I do indeed."

It was fascinating watching this internal struggle. How far
could I push her? She was so frightened. I could smell her
fear now.

But brave with it. She glared back at me, her beautiful face
full of defiance. "I'm going to fight you all the way," she
declared shakily. She took a deep breath, then began again.
"If you rape me, then you'll have to bear responsibility for
that before God. Don't expect me to make this easy. There's
no way I'm going to trade my virginity with you!"

My cock leaped within my pants. A virgin! Shit! What a
stroke of luck!

My eyes darted towards her slit. "You're very certain about
that," I replied, my heart racing. God! A virgin. "But will
you be as confident, I wonder, when you're being tickled by
this little honey?" I touched her quivering tummy with the
end of the cattle prod. "Are you sure you'd rather taste its
intimate caress than mine? Being fucked is nothing by
comparison."

She swallowed nervously, yet obstinately. "You think so?
That's a man's opinion. Ask a woman. We think differently.
Me, even more so. I'm a nun, promised to Christ."

I considered. "Are you really a virgin? Lucia? A real
virgin? When I get home tomorrow, I would very much like to
tell my Chiquita about you. I should like to tell her how I
plucked your cherry and savored its sweetness. But I should
like first to hear you beg. It would be music to my ears,
and hers. How do I do that, Lucia? How can I make you beg
like a dog?"

"You're insane!" she exclaimed wildly. Antonio was grinning.
"What kind of evil are you? I don't understand! You must be
the devil!"

"Never mind," I sighed, ignoring her, fast losing my
patience. "I'm sure that you will beg, but even if you
don't, I shall tell my Chiquita how pretty you are, even if
you could lose some weight. I shall tell her how the
presence of your naked body aroused me, that you have large
bouncy breasts and plenty of meat on your bones. And then
I'll tell her how I had to make you dance on the parrilla. I
want you to dance, Lucia. I want to make your body jump with
pain, to make it twist and contort at my command. I want to
see your breasts shiver in anguish and shake in terror. God,
I have such a hard-on, Signorita Barajas, just from looking
at you and imagining how much agony I will cause your
beautiful tits and pussy. Tell me. Tell me how well you'll
dance for me."

"Oh God," she whined. I was getting to her. I just had to
keep talking. She would break before long. They always do.
"Help me, holy Mother. Save me! Deliver me!"

God! I took the metal prod and held it over her. Instantly,
I had her rapt attention. It was magic. Her eyes opened
wide. The whites flashed their frenzied terror. "No," she
groaned, fighting to escape. "God! Please!" The bed
shuddered as she struggled frantically, pulling upon the
ropes, making the rusty springs squeal in terror.

"Tell me," I insisted, somewhat tiredly, moving ever closer
to her defenseless flesh. "When I hurt you, how will you
dance?"

"No. Please. For God's sake."

"Will your body jerk about uncontrollably, Lucia? An erotic
fantasy on which I can feast my eyes?"

"Please! I can't... I can't... I'm simply a nun. Speak to
the bishop, he will tell you who I am! You have the wrong
woman. I'm Maria Barajas, not Lucia. Lucia is my sister! I
know nothing about this man, Manuel Carras. Nothing at all."

"Shut up, Lucia!" I protested irritably. "Enough of this
nonsense!"

"I can't," she began. "I can't..." She barely managed the
last word because she saw the prod approaching, and her
words slurred into an uncontrolled scream of despair, rising
to a shrill crescendo as the prod struck the underside of
her left breast.

"OOuuuuuuuhhhh! No! No! Mercy! Please! Stop!"

Her body bounced up and down, striking the ropes and then
falling back against the hard wiry springs. This was far
worse than anything she could have imagined. She was
panicking. All her brave intentions were deserting her. The
pain was horrendous, she couldn't bear it, couldn't cope.
Her breathing was fast and labored and taken in short
desperate bursts. She was staring in terrified awe at the
metal prod.

I waited for her to recover, for her breathing to slow,
looking down at the red bite mark where the prod had kissed
her.

I sighed. "I don't ask a lot," I informed her calmly, over
her uncontrolled agitation. "But I do expect you to answer
me when I ask you a question, and obey me when I issue you a
command. Do you understand that?"

"Yes," she sobbed immediately, manicly. "I'm sorry! Please!"

"That's better. Otherwise you know what I will have to do."

She looked so desirable, her bulbous breasts rising and
falling in perturbation, her nipples rock hard. How could I
resist the impulse to flick her companion breast with the
tip of the prod?

I did it without thinking. It was just a raw sexual urge, to
see what would happen.

She saw it coming. "Please, please!! Nooooooooo!!!" There
was no dignity at all in that, in the way that she begged:
all evidence of pride, self-respect and dignity too, had
been stripped far from her. She was suddenly a groveling
beast, naked, sad and pitiable: pathetic.

I reached down and touched her breast with my finger, where
the prod had touched it, feeling the roughness of her
injured flesh. "The lips can also be very sensitive," I
said, watching her casually, cruelly moving the prod closer
to her face, towards her mouth. "Very, very, painful."

She screamed, twisting her head away from me. "Don't! For
God's sake! Please. Mercy."

I pulled the prod away, as though I'd just had second
thoughts, as though her anguished appeal had touched me in
some way. "Shall we discover whether you have learnt your
lesson?"

She turned back, desperate to know what I was doing with the
prod. "I have," she avowed adamantly, thankful to see that I
wasn't holding it threateningly. "Please! By the virgin
mother and all the saints, I promise you that I have!"

"Then let me ask you a question and see how well you answer
it." I paused, ruminating over which question to ask.

"I'll answer," she promised. "I'll answer you straight.
Anything. Please don't hurt me!"

A random thought crossed my mind. "Are you cold?" I asked
abruptly.

She was confused. I had her! "Cold?"

There was a heavy sheen of perspiration covering her skin,
induced by the fever of her suffering, by the threat of
further pain, and also, perhaps, because it was a hot,
sultry day. There were small beads of that salty nectar
daubing her face and neck. Her cheeks were puffy and red and
swollen.

"Yes, cold. What about the question don't you understand?
Are you cold?"

She shook her head adamantly. Her eyes were wild. She didn't
want to upset me. "No, no, no! I'm just fine! I'm just
right! I'm not cold at all!"

"What do you think, Antonio?" I asked, ignoring her. "Do you
think that the lady's cold?"

I laid my hands upon her breasts, feeling how hot and clammy
they were, feeling the strained, desperate beating of her
heart.

Antonio couldn't make up his mind. He caressed Maria's
stomach and then fondled the inside of her chubby thighs,
holding his hand there for several seconds as he found his
own method of gauging her temperature.

"Since you've not got any clothes to keep you warm," I
explained irrelevantly to Maria. "We have to help your body
produce its own heat..."

She didn't respond. She just kept moaning.

Antonio still wasn't sure. He laid his hand on her cunt,
inserting his thumb and index finger inside her, searching
for her clitoris. Maria wriggled, embarrassed at his way of
touching her, trying to close her legs, yet unable. He
rubbed her clit slowly between his thumb and finger, hoping
for a reaction. When he failed to get one, he squeezed
harder upon the tender bud, applying as much pressure as he
was able.

This time he got a reaction, a very vocal reaction.
"AAaaaaahhhhhhll!!! No. No. Not there! Please! Mercy! I
can't... I can't take it! Please stop. It's inhuman."

She thrashed about on the bed, causing the springs to creak
and shudder, and my cock to ache with luscious longing.
Antonio smiled, relaxing the pressure on her sensitive
jewel. It seemed that he might have his answer.

"Now that should warm you a little," I observed idly, as
Antonio removed his hand from out of her pussy and smelt her
aroma on his fingers. "But I'm sure we can do even better.
I'm sure we can make you put on a real hot sweat for us." I
paused, and then abruptly changed the subject. "Tell me
about your nipples, Lucia. Do you have sensitive nipples?"

She groaned in terror, anticipating, guessing what I must
have in mind. "Oh God! Not that! Have mercy, please! I'm a
nun, just a nun, Maria Barajas. Ask the bishop! He'll tell
you who I am! I'm not a terrorist! You've made a big
mistake.  Please! I swear, I've done nothing wrong!"

"Stop this shit!" I insisted angrily. "I asked you a
question, Lucia. I expect you to answer me. How quickly you
forget!"

Immediately, I dug the prod hard against her side. Her body
jerked skywards. "Nnoooaaahhh!"

I shook my head sadly, watching her body heave in agony and
despair. "That wasn't very clever, now was it?" I tutted,
enjoying the way her muscles rippled with the continued
racking of her body. "Why do you insist on being awkward?
Haven't I already told you what I expect of you? It's rude
not to answer when you're spoken to. So let's try it again,
shall we? Do you have sensitive nipples, Lucia?"

She gazed anxiously at the prod sitting threateningly in my
hand. "They can be... Please God! Not again! They can be..."
She saw the prod begin to move in the direction of her
breasts. "Yes! Yes! They're sensitive! Please! Don't! Leave
them alone!"

I reached across and took hold of one of her nipples,
rolling it between my thumb and forefinger. "What's the
matter, Lucia?" I teased. "Why don't you want to answer me?
Don't you like it when a man plays with you? Why is that?
What's the matter? Are you gay? Doesn't it turn you on,
Lucia, when I play with your titties? Or is it that you
don't want me to turn you on?"

She closed here eyes, trying to shut out the anguish and the
humiliation, pretending that she wasn't here, pretending
that she was somewhere else. Immediately I squeezed hard
upon her nipple, reminding her of what awaited her if she
didn't answer. She forced out an involuntary response.
"Sometimes," she gasped.

"Sometimes?"

She groaned. "Sometimes I like it."

I grinned. "I think if I had a mind," I observed casually,
continuing to stimulate the nipple. "I think I could bring
you to orgasm. What do you think, Lucia? Do you think that I
could?"

Her face was still carefully averted from me in order to
conceal that she was crying. Her hair was shorn short almost
like a boys.

I squeezed firmly, reminding her that she had to answer,
that she had to say something. "I don't know," she cried,
lifting her head to try and ease the pain. "Please! No! That
hurts!"

"Of course it hurts," I acknowledged, twisting her nipple
sharply, making her yelp and causing her body to arch
agonizingly upon the bed. "Why should it not hurt? Why
should I care whether or not you have an orgasm? I'm not
here to give you pleasure, you're here to bring me pleasure.
I'm sure you would much rather be the source of some hot
orgasms for us, wouldn't you, Lucia?"

I twisted again, in the opposite direction. "AAahhhh!!!
Please!!! Please!!!"

"You are not being open with me, Lucia. I keep asking you
things, but you don't respond. Do you really want me to use
the prod again? I said, wouldn't you, Lucia?"

"Yes. Yes. Yes. Please. Leave me, leave my breasts, I beg
you."

I laughed. "Leave your breasts? I haven't started yet,
Lucia. I'm just sensitizing them a little. That's all. Are
you going to tell me about Manuel Carras yet? Are you going
to tell me where he is?"

"I can't. I told you. I explained that."

"Yes. That's right. You did. You told me." I handed the prod
to Antonio. "Make sure she stays nice and warm, Antonio," I
said tiredly. "I wouldn't want the lady to get cold at all.
She still doesn't understand that when I ask a question, she
must answer it. So why don't you teach her how to dance?
That should warm her up. I'm getting bored. I'm quite keen
on watching the lady dance a little."

I poured myself a whiskey and sat at the bottom of the bed
as Antonio took great satisfaction in increasing the voltage
of the prod.

"Hello, nice lady," he teased her, grinning lasciviously.
"Now you don't worry your pretty head about the whereabouts
of that terrorist, what's his name. You don't worry about
him at all, because," he shrugged. "You see, I'm not
interested."

She stared at him angrily, nervously, trying to regain some
dignity. "Eeeaaaooohhhh!"

He'd started. Antonio works much quicker than me. He lays
the prod against the skin and slides the switch even before
the last shock has been fully felt. This means that the
victim doesn't get a break at all. Her screams and cries are
continual, as is the twisting of her body and her wild
contortions as she tries so desperately to escape.

That's one of the perks I like best about my work. Being
able to sit at the bottom of a bed, whiskey in hand, with a
nice woman tied spread-eagled upon it, watching her body
being cajoled into movement by a colleague.

How can I describe that prick stirring vision? It was magic.
Once Antonio had begun to work upon her, she was lost. I'm
certain that no woman could have maintained any semblance of
modesty or self will under such provocation. All Maria's
movement and thought was controlled and motivated by the
burns of the prod. She was an abject slave to its each and
every whim.

While I watched, her open cunt gaped and closed, lifted and
fell, stretched and relaxed. Her legs fought and kicked, dug
hard into the bedsprings, and then fell back in momentary
relief. She screamed and blasphemed, begged, sobbed, swore
and cursed. I'm not sure how aware she was that I was her
big brother, watching her, scrutinizing her, it didn't
matter. If I had been providing a running commentary
detailing every movement of her cunt, every part of her that
I could see, and how deep inside, it would have made no
difference. If a camera had been placed where I was sitting,
and its pictures broadcast to the world on live TV, she
could not have behaved any differently. Such things were
beyond her. She could not think, could not hear, could not
see, so completely did that deadly prod consume her
attention.

It was her master, her owner. She was slave to a fucking
cattle prod. Everything else was an irrelevance.

Antonio made sure he took full advantage of her broad, flat
nipples, striking them repeatedly with the heat of the prod.
First the right, then the left, with merciless repetition.
On each iteration, Maria's chest would jerk from the bed and
her torso would bounce, her legs flailing some way behind.
Then would fall back with a sickening despairing thud.

She was hoarse from screaming. Her body was dripping with
sweat, dirty and drained, when Antonio finally reached his
goal, allowing the end of the prod to touch the gate of her
cunt.

Maria knew at once that it was coming. She knew what he was
going to do. Her screams were immediate, unearthly and
frantic.

He touched her.

At once, her body contorted into an arch that curved from
shoulders to feet, her open cunt lifting from the bed and
gaping as wide as an Aladdin's cave, the many layers of her
labia beckoning me inside.

"Do that again," I begged Antonio, leaning forward to get a
better view. "Antonio. Again."

"No! Damn you!"

I could see the horrific lines criss crossing her back where
the bedsprings had dug into her, each involuntary bounce
upon the bed doing its own little piece of damage.

He touched her for a second time, the ugly prod having the
grotesque appearance of a monstrous penis threatening to
commit a perverted rape as it touched her sensitive cunt
lips.

Maria's reaction was pitiful. Her scream was wrenched deep
from within her deepest recesses. Again her legs bent their
separate ways as she tried to escape the pain, making her
pussy grin wider than nature could ever have intended. It
was as though I were staring into the most secret areas of
her womanhood, that part of her that no one had ever spied
before.

"You're tearing me!" she screamed in mindless frenzy.
"Killing me! Holy Mary save me! Please! What have I done?
What do you want?"

Ecstasy.

"I want the truth," I told her. "That's all."

Her body was convulsing uncontrollably; her teeth were
chattering and she'd bitten her tongue. She was in trouble.
Her breasts and her belly, her arms and her thighs were
fluttering involuntarily, shaking to a dozen vibrant tunes.

Antonio was about to hit her again. "That's enough," I
muttered, sighing, stopping his arm. I took the prod back
from him. "Give the lady a break, Antonio. Let her recover
her breath."

I poured a little water from my water jug, and then splashed
some drops across her face and body.

You have to do it slow. If you drive them too fast, you just
wear them out, and that gets boring.

"Is that better?" I asked, dabbing her cheeks and forehead
with water. "Have we warmed you a little too much?"

She nodded, heavily breathless, drawing long deep gasps. I
poured some water onto a soft cloth and began to wipe her
large aching breasts. There were small angry red marks
pocking where the prod had touched. The rest of her front
was also littered with these marks.

I tried to avoid them as I wiped her, but there were so burn
marks that it was inevitable that I would fail. She gasped
in pain each time I struck one. "I'm sorry," I muttered
sympathetically. "Does it hurt? Does it hurt a lot?"

Again she nodded.

"I'm sorry," I repeated, rinsing the cloth. Better to take
her mind off the pain. "So are you going to tell me what you
know of our terrorist friend? Where is he, this Signor
Carras?" I asked, carefully wiping down towards her legs and
then between them, noticing the deep burn marks at the
entrance of her pussy. "Are you going to be sensible and
make things easier on yourself?"

She closed her eyes, to pray, I think. I was disappointed.
She still hadn't learned her lesson. She had forgotten first
principles. It was me she needed to worry about, not God,
not the Holy Virgin nor any of the saints. It was me, with
my cruel dehumanizing baton. How many times had I warned her
that when I asked her a question, she should answer?

Without warning I touched her delicate inner thigh with the
prod. Her eyes opened at once, wide and insane. Her thigh
jerked up, shaking and trembling.

Now she knew the true reason for my altruism in wiping her
body with the cloth. Now she knew to beware Greeks bearing
gifts. Water helps the skin conduct electricity. It makes
the burns more severe and the pain more intense.

"Naaaaahhhhllll"

I watched her vindictively, waiting patiently for the
shaking to subside. "Talk to me. Not to God," I advised her
at last, slapping her thigh hard, finding the spot that I
had stung her with the prod.

Her response was automatic. Her pale thigh jerked up again,
involuntarily, almost as if it had now had a memory of the
pain and knew what to expect. She began to pray aloud,
stammering the words through her tears. "Our Father, lord in
heaven, hallowed be thy name..."

God! Was she trying to make a laughing stock out of me? I
saw red. I had had enough. No longer. I was going to teach
this fat bitch a lesson. No one was going to help her in
that Interrogation Room apart from me. No one.

I stuck the prod into her pussy, plunging it inside, deeper,
deeper. It wasn't yet switched on. I had a different form of
torment that she must endure first. I grinned at her
maliciously, enjoying the terror that I read in every pore
of her being. Her face bulged in fear and agony, both with
what I was doing and what I might yet do. "Nooooooooooooohh.
"Noooooh. Please, Please, please. Whatever you say,
whatever. Please. Don't! Not there! Don't."

"So, I'm beginning to rattle you," I charged euphorically.
The cunt! "I'm beginning to get under your skin. Where's all
that courage now, my plump one?" I turned to Antonio. "Put
the bowl under her. Come on! I'm horny. Let's do it."

Antonio had been waiting patiently at the head of the bed,
waiting for me to need him. Obediently, he moved to the
side, and then with his foot, slid a large metal bowl across
the concrete towards the bed. It scraped across the floor,
squawking, making a screech that grated on the ear.

I let go of the prod, leaving it half inside her, hanging,
its blunt end sticking obscenely out of her cunt. "Shall we
play a game," I asked pleasantly, while Antonio maneuvered
the metal bowl under the bed, carefully positioning it under
her butt. "A simple game. If you lose, then I switch it on."

"You can't," she begged. Snot was bubbling from her nose.
Her face was stained. She was a mess, a sad sorry site.
"Please, no. You couldn't be so inhuman."

"I often surprise myself at what I can do," I replied
easily. "And sticking an electric prod up a woman's pussy
and turning it on is something I've done many a time. I
don't have a problem with that at all. Although I think you
might. Can I tell you something? Eh, Lucia? Shall I let you
into a secret."

I bent down so that I could speak confidentially into her
ear. "Women have told me," I whispered. "They've said,
there's nothing worse than having it up the cunt, except, of
course, perhaps, having it up the butt. I hope we don't have
to experiment with that final indignity. Women have said,
they say, that the pussy is so sensitive because there are
so many nerve endings down there intended for, well, you
know, intended to give lots of nice orgasms, and that when
we put the prod in and turn it on, it's about the worst pain
imaginable. Of course I wouldn't know. Can you believe that,
Lucia? What shall I do? What would you like? Shall I turn it
on?"

She became hysterical. Her body arched upwards, stiff with
terror. "Please. I don't know where Manuel is. Please don't,
don't, not there. Anything else. If you want to fuck me...
I'll suck your cock... Please, let me, let me suck your
cock, anything, just don't, please, take it out of my
pussy."

At the mention of Carras, I glanced knowingly towards
Antonio. Hmm. "So you do know Manuel Carras?" I established
carefully. "You admit that?"

She calmed slightly, but her breathing was still erratic.
"Yes. I know him. I met him once with Lucia: but only the
once. That was years ago. But I don't know where he is. I
don't. I've never seen him since. I promise you."

I picked up my glass. "You know," I observed coldly,
draining back the dregs of the whiskey. "When I turn the
cattle prod on, you'll be grateful that you have that bowl
under you. Do you know why? As the electricity surges down
your love tube, permeating every delicate membrane and
contracting every muscle, you lose control of your bodily
functions. All of them, Lucia. You'll be peeing and shitting
yourself silly. Imagine that! A golden shower spitting from
your cunt, trickling down your legs. And it doesn't stop
there. The loss of muscle control lasts for days. You'll be
peeing in your pants, like a baby, shitting yourself at the
most embarrassing moments. It's demeaning, humiliating. And
then again, there's the unbelievable pain..."

"Please," she sobbed. "I understand. What are you after?
What do you want? You want me to beg? All right, I'll beg.
You want me to suck your cock? Okay I'll do it. You've
beaten me. Anything! Please, anything else but that!"

I considered, pausing. "You'd do absolutely anything?"

She was beside herself in fear. "Anything. Please. Anything
at all. Just... Please.... get that thing out of me!"

"You'd rather have a cock up your cunt, Lucia? You'd rather
have Antonio stick his hot thick dick in your virgin pussy,
than have my cattle prod do its business? Is that what
you're saying?

"Anything. Please. Just don't, Please for heaven's sake,
don't... you'll kill me. I know it!"

"Rubbish. You're a strong girl. You've a healthy set of
lungs."

She was screaming her words. "I don't care. Get that thing
out of me. Now!"

I pretended to be deliberately obtuse. "Again. Just so that
I'm sure that there's no misunderstanding. Are you begging
to be fucked? You, a nun? A Bride of Christ? Is that what
you're telling me?"

She was fighting against the ropes, totally hysterical.
"Anything. Please. Just don't hurt me."

I smiled. She was fading fast. It wouldn't be long and she
would tell me everything I wanted to know. I slapped the
underside of her breasts. "You think you're something, don't
you, Lucia? But you're not. You're just a cunt. A rotten
sniveling cunt."

"Please."

I slapped her again, harder this time, watching the soft tit-
flesh bounce sexily in step to the beat of my hand. "Say it.
Say it to me. Say: I am just a stupid cunt that deserves
everything she gets."

Her breaths were short and shallow; the perspiration was
glistening on her cheeks and on her forehead. She didn't
want to say it, but she knew that eventually I would make
her. "I'm a cunt," she groaned. It was easiest to swallow
her pride and get it over with. "Please. I know. I'll admit
to anything. Anything. But please, not the prod. Not there,
not in my pussy. I couldn't stand that. Anything but that.
Please. Not there."

I nodded. "One more thing, Lucia. One more thing I'd like
you to say. I want you to tell me that the virgin Mary was
simply a whore. A whore who bore a bastard child. Tell me
that she can't help you and that you won't call upon her
again. Tell me that, Lucia."

She colored bright red. This she hated most of all. "I
couldn't do that!" she exclaimed. "It's not what I believe!"

I struck one of her tits square on, right on the nipple. She
gasped. "Say it!"

Her bottom lip trembled. "Please! I can't! It would be
blasphemous!"

"Heresy," I agreed calmly, hitting her hard upon the full of
the other breast. "I don't care. Say it."

Despite the fact that her breasts were sore and hurting, she
wouldn't, couldn't conform. With some people, religion goes
deep. Instead, she stuttered, stumbled, but did nothing.

The cattle prod was stuck between her legs, its end poking
out of her cunt, bordered by a thick mat of dark pussy hair.
The switch was half way along, facing me. There are many
ways to skin a cat. I only had to reach over and slide it
forward. "Whom do you trust, Lucia?" I queried softly,
stroking her shivering thigh. "Where is your faith? Do you
trust that I'll keep to my word and buzz you, or do you have
faith that the Madonna will stop me?"

She watched horror struck as my hand moved slowly forward,
inching towards that terrible stick protruding from her
cunt. I could see her hesitating, thinking, before a
sickening comprehension dawned upon her face. Again, she
knew what I was going to do. "God. Please. No."

"It's your choice," I reminded her calmly. "If you want, you
can stop me. Or you can trust that the Holy Virgin will do
it for you."

My hand closed on the cattle prod, pressing it firmly into
the depths of her cunt.

"Pray to her, Lucia. Call out to your blessed Madonna. Ask
her to stop me. Let's see if she hears you."

"No!"

Her thighs were shaking. She was torn between the devil and
the deep blue sea. "You have faith, Lucia. Surely she will
do you this one favor. Unless you're scared that she might
be in bed with one of the saints, enjoying a sly fuck."

"Oh, God!"

My finger came to rest upon the switch, preparing to light
her up like the fairy on the Christmas tree.

Antonio leaned forward, eager, anticipating.

Sadly, it wasn't to be.

"No!" she screamed violently. "Anything! Whatever you want
me to say! What was it? I'll say it. Anything! But don't zap
me down there!"

Her shoulders were heaving. Her words had deteriorated into
sobs of humiliated defeated anguish.

Damn her! I was quite disappointed.

I waited until she was strong enough to repeat the words
that I gave her. Her voice was dull and lifeless, broken and
full of troubled emotion. Nonetheless, she repeated them
after me.

"The Virgin Mary," she sobbed, staring into vacant
nothingness. "She was nothing but a cheap whore. I
acknowledge that. And Jesus was her bastard child. I deny
them both. I shan't call out to her again."

Having said it, she sank back onto the steel springs,
drained and confused and crying. "Well done," I
congratulated her. I was stern with her, severe. I spoke
above the anguished sobs. "From now on you will listen to me
and do what I tell you. Anything. Understand?"

"Yes," she gasped gratefully, making a huge emotional effort
to pull herself together. "I understand. Anything. Of
course. Anything. But please, take that thing out of me."

Anything. This was more like it.

"So what are we going to do?" Antonio asked quietly. I think
he was frightened of being forgotten. "Are we going to fuck
her or fry her?"

"Why fuck her, of course," I declared icily. "We have to
take these small gratuities when they're offered. I asked my
Chiquita about it once. She shrugged her shoulders, and
asked: 'Are they taxable, these gratuities?' When I assured
that that they weren't, she thought for a moment, and then
with strong resolution declared, 'Then fuck the bastards, my
Captain. Take your fill. I know you will do that anyway. I
would much prefer you do it with my permission than cheat on
me.'"

Antonio was jealous. "You are very lucky," he observed
enviously. "You have a very understanding wife. Mine is not
so broad-minded. I wish I had such a woman."

"I have never cheated on my Chiquita," I explained. "That's
why we're still married. She's a good woman. The best. We've
learned to trust each other." I turned to Maria. "Whereas
you, cunt, are of a different breed. It's criminal that I
should even have to mention you both within the same
sentence. Why haven't you been honest with me?"

"But I have!" she protested vehemently.

"You've lying," I argued. "You haven't been honest at all.
You told me that you were a virgin. But this," I touched the
visible end of the cattle prod. "Went in without any problem
at all. How do you explain that, Lucia? Where is your
maidenhead, my dear so-called maiden?"

"Oh God!"

I pressed forward. "You're not a virgin at all, are you?"

She gulped. "No."

"So what am I going to do with you?"

She squealed. "Please! Not the prod! Anything but that!"

"Indeed! Anything! Given that you've denied me your cherry,
I'm going to punish you. I'm going to punish you by playing
a game."

Maria's eyes and neck muscles were dilated and swollen; her
cheeks were red and puffy. Her face was stained. "What kind
of a game?"

"Oh, you'll like this game, Lucia. It's a good game. In my
game Antonio and I both get to fuck you. Both at the same
time, but using different holes. What do you think of the
game so far? Interesting? And all the time we're fucking
you, Antonio will also have the job of doing nasty things to
your body. He'll be trying his best to hurt you. And he'll
keep doing those nasty things until you've brought both of
us to an orgasm. That's the crux: the sooner you make us
come, the sooner the pain stops. You bring us both off;
he'll stop applying the pain. What do you think of my game,
Lucia?"

She was petrified. How could she not be? But it was the
electric cattle prod penetrating her pussy that was
terrifying her most. Anything else had to be better.
"Please," she implored. "Take that thing... that thing...
out of my pussy..."

"But there's no need to hurry," I asserted, moving the
cattle prod in and out of her cunt as if it were a dildo.
"We're in no hurry. Are you in a hurry?"

"God!" she gasped. The cattle prod was making long regular
strokes up and down her cunt. It came out glistening with
her juices. "No, but please! I beg you!"

I only had to touch the switch. It would be so easy. I only
had to touch that switch to give myself an instant orgasm;
the most almighty of comes. Why not? As I pushed it in, the
generous folds of her labia closed painfully over it, but
she didn't dare complain. She was too scared. "If Antonio
and I both consider that you've been a good fuck," I
explained, itching to touch the switch. "Then we won't make
you do a pussy dance. On the other hand, if one of us is
disappointed, then that's bad luck. Because whoever is
disappointed, gets to apply the prod to your pussy until his
cock can't take it any longer. Do you understand, Lucia?
That's his compensation, so to speak. Do you understand the
rules?"

"Please," she begged. "Take that thing out of my pussy. Holy
virgin, Mother of... Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't mean... But
please. I can't stand it. I'll do anything. Anything but
that."

She was beginning to remind me of a broken record, repeating
herself over and over again. I turned to Antonio, who had
decided to take a moment out. He was sitting down with his
feet up. "Let's lift the bed," I suggested. "Let's do it."

As we lifted, Maria's body slid down the metal springs on
which she had been lying until her weight was fully taken by
the ropes holding her wrists. These stretched as they took
her weight, the ropes tightening around her wrists, biting
into them. She was barely off the ground now. If she
stretched and stood on tiptoe, she could, with difficulty,
just touch the floor. She flexed her hands, trying to
restart her circulation, feeling the ends of her fingers
begin to numb as the knots bit deeply into her flesh.

We let her hang for a while, the sweat glistening on her
taut naked skin, her shoulders ravaged by pain as they and
her arms bore the full weight of her body. Her legs were, of
course, still wide apart, tied by the ropes attached to her
ankles. She was as about as uncomfortable as it was possible
to be.

"I'm going to enjoy fucking you, Lucia," I sneered. "I'm
going to enjoy it because you will hate it. I'm going to
stare into your dark brown eyes and drink that hate. That'll
make me hard, knowing that sticking my swollen dick inside
you is hurting you. But that's only half the story. What
will make it even better is that my cock will not be the
only male organ penetrating your suffering body. While I'm
inside your cunt, Antonio will be coming in through the back
door. The way that you're fastened, with your legs apart,
and with easy access from the back, it will be easy for him
to stick his dick up your ass while I'm plunging my spear
into your warm honey pot. How will you look at me then,
Lucia? How you will hate! I can barely imagine your agony as
you endure two cocks pummeling your insides while hanging as
you are. That will make me really hard and up for it. And
just think, Lucia, all the time, Antonio will also be doing
his best to hurt you in other ways. What do you think? Do
you like our game?"

Her mouth flickered with emotion. She groaned. Her arms were
sore; the ropes were pulling upon her shoulder joints and at
the elbows. They were taking her full weight and this burden
could only grow and become even more unbearable.

I began unbuttoning my shirt. "Tell me about Carras," I
ordered.

She stared back at me helplessly, hopelessly, her eyes wet
and humid. She was biting her lip, trying to manage the
pain.

"I hardly know the man," she moaned with frustrated anger.
"He was with my sister. It was a long time ago. What do you
expect me to say? You want my sister, not me. You want
Lucia."

I shook my head sadly. "You expect me to believe this
nonsense? First you tell us that you are Lucia Barajas. Then
you say that you're not. You tell us that you're a virgin.
Then that too turns out to be a lie. You tell us that you're
a nun. What next?"

"But I am! I am a nun! Please. God! Help him see that I'm
telling the truth!"

I smiled sardonically. "You're a nun who just happened to be
arrested wearing Lucia's clothes. Is that right?"

"Yes. Of course. I've told you..."

"So why weren't you wearing a bra? Why weren't you wearing
any panties? Where was your underwear? I've checked with the
arresting officer. He confesses that they may have played
with you a little, but he swears that there wasn't anything
underneath. Come on, Lucia! Do you really expect me to
believe that's the way nun's normally dress?"

"Normally no, of course not." she conceded. "And my name is
Maria!"

"Fuck your name!" I exclaimed, leaning forward, sticking my
nose in her face. "I couldn't care any more whether you're
Maria, Lucia or even the angel Gabriel. You're the one in my
Interrogation Room; you're the one making my dick hard, so
you're the one I'm going to fuck. Understand?"

I don't think she did, not fully. Even then, I think that
she was convinced that God, one of the saints, Mary even,
was going to save her from out of my evil prurient clutches.

"But I'm a virgin... please... dear God."

Did she really believe this rot? I wasn't prepared to argue
any longer. Already, Antonio was removing his clothes,
pulling down trousers and then underpants, and now, I
continued to undress too.

"How shall we hurt her, Antonio?" I teased, pulling my shirt
out of my trousers. "Lucia has a very nice butt. Nice fleshy
globes that shimmer to be hurt. Couldn't you find something
to do with two overweight butt cheeks? Pins, for instance.
They would make an ideal pin cushion."

"Nooohh!"

"Pins?" Antonio repeated.

"Yes, pins," I nodded, unfastening my trousers. I paused. "I
like the idea of pins. You stick them in and then when we've
finished fucking her, you heat them up and cook this lady's
butt cheeks right down to the bone. Horrible."

I saw the terror in Lucia's eyes as her face compressed.

"God, no. Please, mercy."

Antonio fetched a white plastic tub full of one-inch pins
while I lowered my trousers. "It's a bit like voodoo," I
observed wryly as he opened the lid. "Except we don't bother
with the doll."

I lowered my black shorts, giving my firm cock a final
squeeze.

"Please," she wailed, staring wildly from the pins to my
erection. I tossed away my boxer shorts, smiling at the
terror, so visibly expressed, with which she greeted my
angry dick.

"Look how it loves you," I cooed, standing in front of her,
up close, pulling the cattle prod out of her tight little
cunt. That pussy wasn't going to be empty for long. I took
my turgid dick, and maneuvering it, searched for the
entrance to her love canal. Finding the pink desiccated
opening, I pushed it a couple of inches inside. God, was she
tight!

Her cunt muscles gripped my tool and squeezed it hard,
pushing it back, trying to reject it, to repel it at the
gate. I paused, staring at her grimly. "No maidenhead," I
reminded her. "You said you were a virgin."

She had the decency to blush. "I am," she lied. "Please!"

"Sure," I quipped, jerking back and then ramming my penis
into her, tossing her body high upon the barbecue and then
feeling its warmth slump down onto the long length of my
dick. "And you're a nun too? I don't like fibs. I'm going to
make you pay for lying, Lucia."

It felt like heaven, her hot clammy love tube enveloping my
tool and sucking it into her very abyss.

"What about you? Are you hard, yet?" I asked Antonio,
feeling the need to stop playing around and fuck her proper.

"You bet," he wheezed, making small gentle strokes as he
pressed himself against her butt. He pushed firmly against
the sphincter, pulling her soft ass cheeks apart and forcing
his penis past her outer gate and into her ass.

Lucia groaned, shifting her body weight as she tried to
escape the immutable advance of Antonio's invasive tool up
her back passage. However, there was no escape. Each
movement she took to evade Antonio, impaled her vagina ever
deeper upon my penis.

"Don't fight it," Antonio advised, holding her generous
waist, pulling her ass back onto his cock. "Relax. It won't
hurt so much if you relax."

"God," Maria choked, pushing herself onto tiptoe in an
effort to escape the cocks in her tubes, especially the
cruel invader in her butt. "I feel like... like... I'm going
to shit myself."

"Relax!"

Antonio was in now, and now that he was, we began to fuck
her in earnest, long regular strokes, pushing against each
other, into each other, easy scything movements. There was
nothing she could do to prevent this defilement. Tied fast
as she was, she could only withdraw into her mind, and
suffer the physical abuse and penetration there, bearing the
rape with resolution, protecting her peace and her sanity as
best she could.

For when an interrogator rapes his victim, it is not simply
to gain his own physical release, as much of a perk as that
might be. Rape is for him a tool, serving to reinforce his
absolute dominance over the victim, lowering her resistance,
humiliating and debasing her. Taking a woman in both holes
is my own pernicious variation, a wicked cocktail of both
psychological and physical torture.

"We're in," I puffed, thrusting my cock hard against her
cunt, making her gasp at the force of it. "Now, Antonio, do
your worst. It's time. Hurt her. You can begin. As much and
as hard as you can until the lady manages to make us come."

"Thanks, boss," he said, grinning, reaching up for her
hands. Instinctively Lucia tried to shake herself free from
his grasp, but the task was impossible. She had barely any
movement in her arms at all.

"How does it feel to have two cocks in you at the same
time?" I teased. "Can you feel how hard we both are? That's
what it does to us, hurting you and making you scream. You
haven't screamed much, have you? Not yet. But you will.
Antonio is going to make you scream as you've never screamed
before. He'll make you scream your lungs out."

Antonio was holding her hands. I couldn't see what he was
doing with them but I could guess. He wasn't going for her
butt cheeks at all. He'd opted for her fingers. He was about
to press a pin under the nail of her thumb, then wriggling
its head, he would twist it from side to side.

Suddenly, abruptly, Maria screamed in agony, fighting with
the ropes, trying to wrestle the pin loose. Oh God! Sweet
mercy, he'd done it!

"Another one," I gasped, enjoying the sudden movement as
she'd kicked with her leg, jerking her pelvis forward. "Make
her squirm, Antonio. Make her squeal. It's heaven! Stick
another one into her, another pin under her nails."

Antonio didn't need asking twice. He stuck a large pin under
the nail of the little finger of the other hand. Lucia's
face twitched as it went in, soured. then creased up in
total pain. "Please," she howled, lurching from side to
side, tensing and strangling my dick with her pussy. "I
can't take it. No more. For God's sake."

"Then you know what to do," I reminded her, holding myself
quite still for a moment. It seemed to take a moment for her
to understand, but then she did. She must finish the job.
She must make me come, and she must also make Antonio come.
Only then would we stop.

She didn't want to. It was humiliating. But it was either
that or the pins. She ground her pelvis in a slow circular
motion, sobbing, trying to create some extra friction for
Antonio and myself.

"Good, that's nice," I complimented her. "That's very nice."

At that moment Antonio chose to ram the next pin deep inside
one of her fingernails. She screamed uncontrollably.
Suddenly she was choking, spluttering, shaking both herself
and the bed in her throes of anguish.

It was like riding a wild bull at a rodeo. All at once, she
was bucking, shaking, fighting, squeezing my concrete cock
into the tight mould of her pussy. I could feel myself
coming. God. I tried to hold it; to make it last, but my
body had other ideas. This was living, I told myself; this
was excitement. Riding these involuntary convulsions was far
more arousing than anything she could have tried to do
deliberately.

"More," I screamed, urging Antonio on, inciting him, driving
him to ever greater torture. "Push the pins deeper into her,
make the bitch shake, make her grind that pulpy ass."

"Please," Maria choked, trying her best to ignore the sharp
pangs renting her ass, the biting pain searing her pussy,
the torture tearing at her fingers. She lifted herself up
and then impaled herself onto the twin swords penetrating
her holes. She grunted wretchedly. "Let me... let me..."

"Fuck!" I was coming. I couldn't hold myself any longer. I
slammed myself against that fat pussy mound, against the
untamed triangle of long brown cunt hair. "God, you're one
hell of a fuck, Lucia," I groaned, my cock twitching as I
thrust it into her once more, spilling my seed into her deep
open hole, filling her, taking her. "One hell..."

Her mouth hung open, her fists were clenched and her eyes
were glazed, lifeless and dull.

Antonio was coming too, thumping against her ass, pushing
her copious naked meat into my body. Her fraught face was
expressionless and inert, unreactive and unmoving as Antonio
shot his load deep inside her ass.

"Now, Lucia," I said, staring into those dead eyes, my cock
still buried deep inside her. "About Carras. Have you
learned your lesson yet? Or do you want more? He's your
boyfriend, yes? Tell me where he hides out, that'll do for a
start. Come on, Lucia! You may as well tell me! If you
don't, there'll be lots more hurting. It won't end. It never
ends. It'll go on and on, getting increasingly worse, more
painful, more humiliating. You'll tell me in the end.
Eventually you'll tell."

I couldn't resist grabbing her nipple and squeezing hard.
She cried out in pain, clenching her cunt and biting onto my
deflating dick with it. "That was good, Lucia," I hissed.
"You're a good fuck. A fucking good fuck! Thank you. I
enjoyed that. We must do it again. We really must. But
first, Antonio, have you a couple of pins?"

Antonio was pulling himself out of her, wiping his dick
clean. "Just a moment," he murmured, picking up the tub from
where he'd laid it and offering it to me. I took out two one-
inch pins and regarded them evilly.

"One for each nipple," I threatened, taking one of her
aching teats and pinching it between thumb and forefinger.
"A reward! And then I touch the pin with the prod, what do
you say?"

*****

"Oh God!" Francesca mumbled softly, a tear resting in the
corner of her eye. "You lied to her! How could you tell her
that I knew? How could you say those things? You hadn't told
me anything. Nothing at all. We promised, my Captain. Didn't
we? We promised always to tell each other the truth. Don't
you trust me?"

"I'm sorry," I shrugged weakly.

It was morning. The night had fled and the dawn chorus was
chattering away merrily on the windowsill, preparing to
retire for another day. At long last Interrogation Room 36
was beginning to lose its eerie coldness.

Pedro looked first at me, then at her, shaking his head in
quiet wonderment."Is that all you can say?" he exclaimed to
Francesca in agitated disgust. He sat on the wooden bench
with his head in his hands. "He killed that woman, murdered
her! Those hands that caress and fondle you so gently at
night, were the very instruments of Maria Barajas's torment.
Have you no compassion? What's wrong with you? Your husband
raped that woman, tortured her and then killed her. And all
that concerns you is whether he told the truth!"

Francesca's eyes burned with all the fire of the midday sun
set in a clear blue sky. She twisted upon the squeaky bed,
lifting her head awkwardly. "And are your hands so innocent,
Mister Pedro Hypocrite? How many women have you raped and
tortured?"

"Francesca!" I cut in. Upsetting Pedro didn't seem such a
very good idea. He could make a lot of trouble for us both
if he wished to.

But my Chiquita was angry. Her body was bruised and sore but
she was confident and defiant. "You had your pleasure from
me just now. You took what you wanted without asking. Where
was the compassion in that?"

God! "Francesca!"

What was up with her? "Don't you dare talk to me about
compassion! I've already done my share of weeping for Maria.
Many times. How about you? I was there. Did you know that? I
placed flowers on that small insignificant grave. I watched
Maria Barajas being lowered slowly into the ground by
grieving friends, knowing that she was inside, alive, doomed
to perish at the whim and cruelty of my husband. All because
of my Captain. I was there. Do you understand? I saw it. I
saw Maria's brother and sister forced at the point of a gun
to toss clods of baked earth upon her casket. I saw it all.
I've been ground through that particular emotional mill,
time and time again. Why should I tread its route again? How
about you, Mister Pedro? What's your role in this?"

My throat was suddenly as dry as sandpaper. I could barely
breathe. "You knew?" I grunted painfully. "You were there?
But where? How? You can't! I would have known! I would have
seen!"

"But you didn't see, did you, Captain Rodriguez?" Lucia
Gonsalez replied coldly, stepping out from the very same
shadows from which Pedro had appeared. "You didn't see
because you weren't looking. You didn't see because you
didn't want to see."

She was wearing a tight leather jump suit, accentuating
every curve of her body. It plunged provocatively between
her breasts and cut into her groin revealing the outline of
her sex. Very obviously, and visibly, she was wearing
nothing underneath. She stood, defiant and confident, a whip
dangling from one hand and a butcher's knife held obscenely
in the other. Her hair was long and black, her skin dark and
tanned.

I jumped. I was unnerved. God.

Her lip was narrow and twisted. "That was my sister in that
box," she snapped. "My sister. You made us bury her alive.
You. I watched you then, and I swore I'd make you pay. I
swore it there upon Maria's lost grave. And believe me,
Captain Rodriguez, you will pay."

I lifted my head awkwardly, avoiding her accusing eyes. "We
didn't do anything amiss," I insisted belligerently. "Both
Antonio and I were just following orders..."

Francesca groaned. I had gone too far. I knew it at once.
"God," she begged. "Don't, my Captain! You're only making it
worse. Don't you understand? She knows! She knows
everything!"

"You bet she knows," Pedro affirmed.

What was going on?

"I attended the inquest," Lucia informed me icily. "Maria's
inquest. You weren't there, were you? I looked for you, but
you never came. Of course, the verdict was never in doubt.
You knew that. Suffocation. Of course: due to 'accidental
causes'. Isn't that funny? Accidental causes? How could what
you did possibly be accidental? You really do have the
system sussed, eh, Captain? I never knew to what extent.
Afterward, Juan, my husband, he got hold of the papers. Did
you know that there were a number of scratch marks stenciled
along the inside of the lid? Fifty-one of them. Fifty-one
letters left in crushed nail and dried blood, tell tales of
her hunger to live, of her terrified panic, of how Maria
clawed desperately to escape. I bet you didn't know that one
of Maria's fingernails had been ripped right off, and
another was only attached by the cuticle. That was how she
fought. You wouldn't be interested in such details, would
you Captain Rodriguez? God, to think of her inside, while we
were up top, burying her alive. What must she have gone
through?"

She stood between Francesca and myself, stepping steadily
forward, pushing me back with the power of her accusation
toward the brown wooden bench and the crude posters taped to
the wall above it.
'They also discovered the burn marks covering her naked
body," she continued. "Can you imagine? Someone must have
counted them too. The report says that there were one
hundred and twenty-six of them, including eighteen applied
to the inside of her vagina, all consistent with repeated
electric shocks applied with a stun gun. One hundred and
twenty-six! God! She had been multiply raped, no one knows
how often, but anally as well as vaginally. There was dry
semen in her hair and it had also been smeared upon her
face. Her skin was covered from head to toe in smudged
lipstick, the remains of thirty-four games of tic-tac-toe.
What pervert counted that? Shit. Finally, most horrible of
all, her tongue was stitched to both upper and lower lips
with surgical cord, preventing her from screaming or being
heard during her own funeral service and burial."

I shrugged, backing up against the bench, touching the gaudy
photographs of women with legs wide open, my hand touching
the wall, resting against the image of some poor devil's
splayed pussy. "What do you expect?" I protested weakly.
"It's what I do. I interrogate people."

She grinned. It was a horrible evil grin. She shouldn't be
grinning. Why was she grinning? It filled me with a cold
terrible apprehension. I moved my hand guiltily, wondering
whether the picture I was touching might even be of Maria.
It might well be. We had taken a large number of her that
day.

I sidled away from that wall, towards the steel cupboard.

"At first I was going to kill you," Lucia informed me with
bitter satisfaction. "You deserve it. I was going to butcher
you the way my father did the pigs, only worse, slitting
open your stomach and pulling out your warm slimy insides
and then shoving them back into your mouth. Have you ever
butchered a pig, Captain? They scream and kick and panic as
they die. It's one hell of a noise. That's what I wanted to
do to you, you sick mother fucker. But I've changed my mind.
No more. You have your wife to thank for that. I offered her
a choice. Let me snuff you, or suffer in your place. What a
dilemma! No limits, no conditions. The foolish cow! She must
really love you. She didn't hesitate, Captain Rodriguez. Do
you know that? She accepted your cross at once. I can't
comprehend why. You see, she knows what it means, what I
shall make you do to her. She will never be a complete
person again. She will never again leave Grimaldi, except in
the way that Maria left it. I thank you for preparing a
coffin for her, and for digging a hole in the ground.
Neither will be wasted. How does that make you feel, Captain
Rodriguez? I'm going to use her to destroy your life, just
as you unknowingly used Maria to destroy mine. I'm after
revenge, and my revenge will be very sweet indeed."





End of Part Nine




Grim Williams
grim_williams@my-deja.com
