Bring Out the GIMP (Girls in Merciless Peril)
Stories


THE PILOT

By Kirsten Smart


The best thing about this jungle unit? We got to choose our own uniforms.

I use the term loosely, because there's barely anything to them. Mine is a khaki army scarf, tied around my breasts as a rudimentary bandeau-top, knotted at back; another scarf wrapped around my hips in a kind of micro-mini. Shoes are open string sandals, adornments one leather string tied around my upper left arm, a knife sheathed at my right thigh. No underwear, no bra, no baggage other than my combat rifle.

Bare skin is sensitive for a reason: I can feel the touch of every leaf, every twig as I stalk through the steam-heavy jungle, and so I can move without making a sound.

So, too, do the four women under my command. All dressed as lightly as I, some in shorts and bras, some in the remnants of sundresses dyed brown or green, all armed, all deadly.

I signal a stop. All halt behind me, as I watch carefully through the undergrowth. Through the hissing of insects and the calls of birds, I can hear the crackling of flames. At the edge of visibility, through the heavy foliage, I see a flicker of orange. The plane we had seen, now burning wreckage strewn through the jungle.

I give more hand signals, and my comrades fan out and begin an advance forward. We had all seen the pilot's parachute as he descended; he landed nearby.

It takes less than ten minutes: I hear Francesca's voice, screaming in Spanish like a banshee; then the words, “motherfucker, drop the gun!” I run, now, quick through the trees, seeing the fleeting advance of my sisters too. I draw the bolt of my gun as I move, and an instant later, I am upon the scene. Francesca, her naked limbs fiercely muscled and shining sweat, stands with gun aimed at a kneeling figure. An American, male, perhaps in his early thirties; he kneels with his hands on his head, a sidearm lying on the ground next to him.

The other three join us, and I give quick orders. “Tie his hands. Take his gun. Bring him.”

From your expression, you can't believe what you're seeing. You're scared, but awed also. Perhaps you think we are Amazons, half-naked and lusting for a man? Perhaps you think this is your lucky day? You could not be more wrong.

We take you to a clearing half a kilometer from our camp. It is a good spot; two trees stand side-by side, roots exposed, and at about nine feet, a solid branch extends between them. There is already a rope passed over this branch, tied off to a simple behind one of the trees.

You regard it all uncertainly; but when we stop in the clearing, I order the handcuffs taken off.

“Undress,” I say.

You stand there, massaging your wrists, looking at each of us in turn. “Listen, do you know where I am? Can you take me to the nearest town?”

“Undress first,” I say.

“Listen, Missy. I'm with the U.S. Air Force – you gotta treat me as a P-O-W. When we're finished with this bullshit republic, I could be the only thing saving your ass from getting an RPG up it.”

I blink. “Your jumpsuit … go.”

“Okay … but I warned you.” With a look of contempt, you ease open the zipper-front of your flight suit. My girls shift and exchange glances as the gleaming muscularity of your chest is slowly exposed. You shrug it off your powerful shoulders, revealing the gym-toned fullness of your torso. A broad, smooth back; the squared division between strong pectorals and the burnished contours of muscular arms lined by the subtle ridges of veins. The definition of your abdominals, small pillows of muscle.

You pull off your boots, step out of the flight suit; just in white boxer shorts now. Solid, tanned thighs, the striation of your calves is utter perfection. You're an Adonis, everything Hollywood says an American fighter pilot should be – and you know it.

“The shorts,” I say.

Now you glare at me, but the glare is half for show. Your pride is under those boxers, and you half suspect we will all melt with desire the moment we see you. I notice the way you ease out the waistband to avoid disturbing your precious jewel, and lower the shorts.

I don't want to stare, but it is cute. Four inches flaccid, in a tidy nest of dark-auburn hair; I can imagine impaling myself deliciously on your wood-hard shaft.

One of my girls gives a whistle of appreciation, and it is the distraction I need. I clear my throat. “Okay. Francesca, Maria, secure him.”

You would fight, were it not for the fact that Francesca draws her knife and puts its sticky-sharp blade against the side of your neck. Instead you comply without protest as the dusky Maria snaps your thick wrists in handcuffs, and guides you backwards to stand beneath the branch with the dangling rope.

“Raise,” Maria says, hesitant in her English. You glower at her, but lift your hands: stretching up, Maria ties the end of the rope about the chain of your handcuffs, while Francesca keeps the knife to your neck.

Your cuffed hands are level with your forehead, and you look over your own arm as Maria prepares two lengths of rope: she loops one about each of your ankles, drawing your bare feet apart, and tying the ropes off to tree roots.

My eyes stray again to your cock. Oh, he betrays his master. He is a little less limp than he was, stirring just a little. Maria is cute; she's dusky Latina in a black halter-top and green skirt, her jet-black hair clinging to her gleaming bare shoulders. You desire her athletic body, and despite your predicament, despite the knife at your neck, you are feeling aroused.

Arrogant American. You think you are bulletproof. You think that insignia on your flight suit, that ID on your dog-tags, makes you a better human than any of us.

Maria moves behind you. You twist to see: she goes to the ratchet of the rope, and begins to crank its handle. Your eyes shift upwards as you see the rope retreating upwards, drawing your cuffed wrists higher. It is a pleasure to watch, your muscular arms rising above your head, baring the soft feathers of hair in your armpits, seeming to inflate your broad chest even further.

Francesca sheaths her knife. Maria returns to her gun with a glance back over her shoulder; half veiled by the black cascade of her hair, her face is so pretty to you. No doubt you're imagining her pretty mouth stretched around the shaft of your cock. And so we spend the next five minutes. You, stand, wrists cuffed over your head, feet apart. Your arousal is subsiding again, and there is a look almost of anxiety on your too-handsome face. “So what is this, huh?” you ask. “What do you want from me?”

“Well, you could start by telling us how many units have been brought in … how many choppers, how many planes … what the mission is …”

You curl your lip. “I don't have to tell you a goddamn thing, Senorita,” you snarl.

I shrug and look up at the noon sun. “No problem. It's hot. We're going back to camp.”

As we start to leave, gathering up your discarded flight suit, you look shocked. “Hey! You can't do that! I know my rights!”

“What rights?”

“At least give me some fucking water!” you should.

I chuckle. “I don't have to give you a goddamn thing, Senor, “I call back.

I leave you to suffer for the rest of the day, and all the night.

I want your attitude to soften a little, and being strung up out in the jungle will do that. The heat will draw sweat over your body; the insects will settle on your helpless bare skin. Flies attracted by the salt of your perspiration. Mosquitoes to suck on your blood. You can twist and thrash, but as dusk falls, they come in swarms, whining around your head in a cloud. With darkness, you're going to hear the animals; cries and howls you've never heard before. Beetles that make a sound like rattling bones, snakes that slide through the foliage; and there you are, butt-naked with your manhood dangling between your spread legs, totally defenseless.

Of course, you're tough, and you convince yourself not to be scared. A night without sleep is no big deal, even when your arms are aching from being tied over your head for so many hours. But by the time you see the glimmer of dawn, I know how much you'll welcome it.

It is already hot when I return, carrying a khaki sports bag on the edge of the clearing. “Good morning, Joe! I've got your breakfast,” I smile.

I'm wearing the same bandeau and makeshift skirt as yesterday. Even tired and weary after a night in the open, your response is automatic: your eyes fall on my breasts, in the tight embrace of the bandeau – the way they sit high on my ribcage, the way they shift slightly as I walk, the way my bare skin glistens in the heat. You watch the sway of my hips. It's not your fault; it's part of your culture, your God-given – or is it Uncle-Sam-given – right to ogle any woman you fancy. Despite your situation, you're getting turned on.

I see your cock stir, and I decide to play to it. “Ohh, is that for me? Oh, Joe!” I look coyly at you, turn my body for you, angling my hips to make the most of my butt. You get a little harder, and I smile. “You do like me!”

I glide up to you, my face just inches from yours, staring up into your eyes. “It's just you and me, now, Soldier,” I say softly. My small hand closes around your cock. You can't hold back your groan of pleasure as my hand starts to move, and I feel your cock swell and harden in my grip. “Do you know how long it is since I've seen a man as gorgeous as you? If I gotta torture you, I promise you the sweetest torture you've ever experienced.”

With that, I sink to my knees and gently take your cock into my mouth. The head slides in past the softness of my lips, my hand still caressing your shaft. I know you're looking down at me in disbelief, seeing your cock disappearing into my mouth, feeling the pleasure of my lips and tongue. I can feel the response; you're getting even harder in my mouth. I suck you deeper, drawing you in and out of my mouth, until you are groaning with pleasure. Finally, I take your cock out of my mouth, give it a tiny lick, then look up into your eyes.

“So – will you tell me your mission?”

You shift your gaze away from me, your mouth tightly shut.

“So be it.” Releasing your cock, I unzip my sports bag draw out a reel of fishing-line. Before you have time to realize what is happening, I cut a length wrap it around the base of your throbbing-hard cock. I pull it tight, making you gasp with pain. Two quick knots and the line is secure. Your erection isn't going to go down until I want it to.

The next toy I take from my bag is one I doubt you've ever seen before, so I make a point of holding it up for you. It looks like a small metal vice, operated by a simple threaded handle that will close the two faces of the vice together, much like a common vice in a workshop.

“You know what this is? It's called a thumbscrew. But it doesn't have to go on your thumbs.” Kneeling in front of you, I gently fit the plates of the thumbscrew over your balls, then slowly turn the handle. I close the thumbscrew until the metal is kissing your balls, then a little tighter, so that they're slightly compressed; not enough to hurt, but enough to let the thumbscrew hang on your balls without danger of falling off.

I stand up and face you again. “Now, soldier, let's hear what you have to say, or I'm gonna make you scream real bad.”

This is the most surreal experience of my life. It's like a goddamn B-grade movie. Five honeys who look like they've stepped straight out of a hip-hop video have dragged me back to a clearing and tied me to a tree. I keep thinking it's gonna turn into a lesbian sex orgy, naked girl-flesh and me the lucky meat in the sweetest sandwich ever made. But I'm not stupid. I remind you of my rights – and you ignore me, telling me you're gonna leave me here. Then you're gone. Fuck, this is embarrassing. It's hot. It's sticky. I'm standing alone, tied up naked in the jungle, still dazed from having to eject from my fighter after I lost power … but dammit, if these suckers are going to leave me unsupervised, I'm out of here – clothes or no clothes. It shouldn't be hard to get free; I reach my fingers for the rope around the chain of my handcuffs. With arms stretched up, it's impossible to get a good grip; but I have to try. Once or twice I manage to catch the rope, and I tug, but with hands restricted by the steel cuffs, I can't seem to get the leverage to untie it. So, balling my fists, I pull downwards. Maybe I can tear the rope from its mooring, break the roots my ankles have been tied to, or break the branch overhead. I'm a demon in the gym, so this is nothing. But I try, and I try; I pull, I strain, I damn near rip the skin off my wrists trying to get something to give, but nothing does. After two damn hours of trying to get free, I'm just as tied as when I started out. The insects are eating me alive; the mosquitoes diving in for a feast like nothing they've ever had before. Maybe I'll be rescued? I'm one of the first US squadrons to fight the rebels, and the first downed pilot, so they'll be looking for me. All the same, my country doesn't want to admit we're helping, so the crash will be kept quiet … hell, maybe they won't even risk sending the SEALs in? Night becomes morning, and I'm still half-hanging from this tree. Maybe I'll just be left here to die. I calculate how long I've been without water … and how long I might last. The morning drags on. The heat gets worse. The bugs are still driving me crazy, and I see a snake across the clearing, but lose sight of it just as quickly. What if I get bitten? Hell, maybe it'll be a better way to die than dying of thirst. Unexpectedly, you arrive. And unexpectedly, the first thing that strikes me is how beautiful you are. This woman dressed in a couple of pieces of kakhi is an absolutely stunning sight. Do NOT get an erection I tell myself. I remember from survival training what happens when a captive gets a hard on. But, my mind and body soon betray me. I see your damp perky breasts, athletic legs and ass and I melt. Just my luck, tortured by a woman with my favorite body type. With a mixture of disbelief and ecstasy I watch as my cock disappears in your mouth. I groan, but wait for the bite … thank goodness, but this is the most amazing blow job I've ever experienced. My cock quickly responds. I'm at full erection when the fishing line goes on…my cock feels like it is being cut in two… I groan as you quickly tie the knots. I hope my erection quickly subside…no such luck, but oh the pain of the line cutting into me. My eyes travel to the thumbscrew, and my mind quickly turns from my bound and hurting cock. As you show me the devise your breasts rub against my ribs. But the realization of what the thumbscrew could do distracts me from your firmness against my skin. Still the vision of a semi-naked beautiful woman haunts the back of my mind as you apply the thumbscrew to my balls. The steel caresses, then grips me firmly as the question is asked again. Maybe I can bargain with this woman. Maybe I can offer her a new life in the States with a big house, a fancy car, and an easy life. But when you face me I see the fire in your eyes and the evil passion behind them. I glance one more time at your breasts, then at the canvas bag. My heart sinks as I bite my lip, I wonder how long I can remain silent.

I see you're scared, now. Your eyes dart towards my canvas bag of goodies. And yet they dart from time to time towards my body. Yes, you desire me, I can see that. Living rough in the jungle has its benefits. My muscles are lean and cat-like, my skin deeply tanned; and in the heat of the day my body gleams. From the bag I pull a flask of water; I open it and drink deeply, deliberately spilling a little. Your eyes watch the water splash down over my breasts. Slowly I take another long drink, filling my mouth; then, gently, I stand on tip-toes and put my mouth against yours. You immediately realize the gift I am offering, and open your mouth to receive the precious water. I will only let you drink from my own mouth; you will love me and need me as much as you despise and fear me.

I repeat the gesture, then again; when I feel you have had enough to drink, I drop the flask into the bag. It's time to torture you. Not badly, not yet. But enough so that you know I'm serious.

I put my hand to the handle of the vice on your balls, and give it a turn. You let out a groan as it tightens and an ache fills your testicles. Another turn, and the pain easily doubles. You struggle in your bonds, but you're helpless. I fix my eyes to yours.

“What are you doing in my country? Who sent you?” To punctuate my question I turn the screw again. You begin to beg, but it just becomes a cry of pain as your balls are squeezed out of shape by the pressure. I turn the handle again, crushing your balls harder, and you scream again; then suddenly you throw up, the water I so tenderly fed you now gurgling out of your mouth and dribbling down your chin. You're sweating so heavily, your face looks drained and pale. It feels like you're losing your balls, it's some of the worst pain imaginable, and you can't do a thing to stop it.

I turn the handle again and I hear a creak from one testicle. You give a scream of agony, and suddenly you're hanging limp. Oh my god, you fainted!

I remove the vice from your balls. They'll swell a little, now that they've been so tightly compressed, and they'll be ten times more sensitive in a few hours.

When your eyes flutter open again, I am standing at the ratchet attached to your wrist rope, and seeing you wake, I begin to crank. You hear its slow click-click-click, and you are hoisted upwards by your handcuffed wrists. Your feet leave the ground; the ropes quickly jam against your ankles, and your body is minutely stretched.

Panic sets in; your eyes find me and you shake your head. “Please, no,” you beg me.

I leave the ratchet locked and walk to stand in front of you, folding my arms. I look down at your body. You're sweating. I can see your ribs straining against the musculature of your broad chest. Very sexy. Your cock is still swollen, trapped by the fishing line around its base; now your balls, too, are swelling. Even the breath of wind must make them ache.

I step closer to you, then closer, until my belly and breasts are pressed against you. I can smell you – you smell so good. I look into your eyes. “Tell me your mission,” I whisper.

“No,” is your reply.

I put my hand to your swollen cock, grip it tightly, then twist it around, hard. You give a scream of pain. I twist it back in the other direction, almost a full circle, as if I'm trying to break it off. You give another scream of agony. It's the most beautiful sound in the world to me. I step back and slap the palm of my hand up into your balls, hard. You shriek again in pain.

“Tell me why you're here, who else is coming, and who is your command. Tell me these things or I promise, things are about to get a hell of a lot worse for you.”

I watch intently as the water dribbles over your breasts. Despite my dire circumstances this is the most beautiful creature I've ever seen. I have to remind myself, 'enemy,' … You feed me water from your mouth, I drink the craved liquid and am refreshed but shocked by intimacy that comes with it. What's even more shocking is how much more I want. Quickly, I find I am to be deprived, with the first turn of the thumbscrew. Intense pain forms in my balls and I scream through clenched teeth. The question comes again, I briefly consider answering but I don't. With subsequent turns, the pain boils from my testicles and grips my abdomen…then all my insides to my neck. My stomach quickly convulses and I gasp for breath. ” I… I … can't b … b … breathe,” I gasp. “P … p … please …” is all I get out, as my throat contracts too. I look at the gleam in your eyes. You pace around me, watching me struggle and suffer, like a lion that has dinner trapped but is saving it for later. I can hardly see for tears and sweat filling my eyes. I feel a warm trickle on my forearms as the steel manacles bite into my wrists from the struggle. Through hazy vision I notice my ankles are bleeding too. I still struggle to breathe…it feels as if my entire insides are in a press. I gulp and gasp. Your hand moves slowly toward the thumbscrew. “N … n … no … p … please,” I gasp as you gaze upon me with a smile. The final turn draws a primal scream from deep within me. I can no longer clench my teeth and retain some sort of dignity. The creaking sound sends me into a panic. “Fucking bitch!” is all I can gasp, as a calm overtakes me. A shot rings out, I watch your chest explode like a watermelon. A SEAL team … yes!! I scream for joy. That's got to be my buddy Scooter the sniper. He can drop a man at a half mile. I'm freed, clothed, and given water. We all stand around the half-naked dead woman in the jungle clearing. “Damn, that was a nice piece of ass there,” declares one of the men. “Yeah but what an evil bitch. Did you see what she was doing to the Lieutenant?” adds another. “Let's go buddy … we got a nice glass of scotch waiting for us at the O-club.” “Roger that,” I say with a smile … Slowly the pain returns … first in my throbbing testicles, then my cuffed wrists, then my ankles. I blink … I'm in that dream state between sleep and consciousness, but I realize I'm still captured. I hear the ratchet. “No … please,” I try to beg in the most sincere voice possible. “Take me to your camp … I'll do anything, please…” You smile as my body is pulled taut. The questions come again … I want to answer them but so many lives are at stake, so I can't. I don't even notice how sexy you are, I am in complete agony as you twist my cock and slap my swollen balls. The agony which gripped my entire insides has returned. Now, my cuffed wrists throb, too, as my weight is being supported by them. Again I gasp for breath, and I've abandoned my desire not to scream; the cries come freely now, and from the look on your face you're enjoying every minute of it. Even aroused by it. For the first time since my capture, I feel a strange and perverted connection to you. Like I'm something you own and will derive pleasure from. But I soon am overwhelmed by despair. The questions come again … I can't … I can't answer. I watch you stalk me again, looking me over as a hanging piece of meat. My stretched body is totally racked with pain. I gasp … I cough weakly … I groan and beg. I'm even more powerless, if that's possible, hanging, with my feet off the ground tethered to the roots. A new level of consciousness seems to over take me. I float into a semi-dream state. As you move around my hanging form I notice your beauty again. You legs, your breasts, the sexy bandeau-and-skirt outfit. You seem to move in slow motion. I desire you … I scream in intense agony as you slap my balls again, snapping me back to reality. A few more clicks from the ratchet stretches me a little further. I wonder if you read my mind as you bark the questions again. I just shake my head, as I shriek in agony. And babble. Again you stand in front me, I look into your eyes and I can tell you are enjoying this process … watching me suffer. I just hang my head, I look at my enlarged purple cock with veins bulging on the sides, and my balls are the size of plums. I close my eyes while I groan “… please, death, please, come visit me.” You are muttering under your breath, groaning something. My god – you're praying for death! How long has it been? A few hours! A few hours of torture, and already you're wishing for your own death rather than mine.

You have no idea, do you? No idea what I can do to you – what I will do to you. You don't know what my bag contains. You don't know what horrors I hold in my head. Have you noticed the scars around my wrists and ankles? I doubt it. Too busy looking at my breasts, my ass, my thighs. I've had my share of suffering, my American friend, and I know what hurts.

I move to the ratchet. There is nothing you can do as I lift the lever and click the little wheel over – one, two, three, four – goddamn, it's getting hard to turn, and as the rope tightens, I hear the creaking of the roots to which your ankles are tied. There's a creaking sound from your body, too, as it stretches, and you give another moan of agony.

“Tell me your mission.” I'm up on tip-toes, my lips are alongside your neck. “What are you holding out for? A country that doesn't give a shit about anything except its own interests? A country where the rich call the shots, and then brainwash the masses into thinking they're part of a true democracy? A country that deposes tyrants under the guise of defending human rights, then denies those rights to its own prisoners of war? Tell me what the fuck you're defending that deserves to be defended?”

You don't answer that one, either. Maybe my words don't make it through the pain. Maybe they don't make it through the nationalistic indoctrination, the bullshit you so dearly need to believe. So I turn away and reach into my bag of goodies. You can't help it, your eyes follow to see what it is I reach for.

A knife – you recognize the style, it belonged to a U.S. Marine. I fucked him then slit his throat with his own blade. That worries you – but not as much as the battery and control unit I drag out next. Tangled wires, crocodile clips.

“Oh no, no …” you groan.

I sit cross-legged on the ground in front of you and set to work. With the knife, I slice off the crocodile clips from the ends of all the wires, then strip four inches of insulation from each. “I'm going to torture you with electricity,” I say casually. “I'll put one wire on your cock, one in your ass.” I look earnestly up at you. “Or, of course, you can simply tell me about your mission and I won't use the wires at all.”

I continue to hang in agony…the throbbing in my wrists becomes greater and my testicles….. oh the constant grip of agony squeezing my abdomen radiating from my battered balls. And my thirst…I know my screams my be more like hoarse grunts, I feel a dryness clear to my stomach. My eyes follow you to the ratchet…“No…no please,” I beg as I watch you take the handle in your hand. I scream hoarsely as my wrists raise with each click. My muscles stretch past protecting my joints … my god I'm being pulled apart. “No … no … please,” I grunt between painful shallow breaths. In a desperate hope I look up at the rope for a fray that could cause it to break. No such luck, the heavy rope looks like it came off a ship. And my ankles … wrapped around twice and securely knotted. Looking over toward you, I see the defined muscles in your shoulders and arms tighten as you lean on the ratchet, getting one more click. I feel my joints and spine popping. The tension is unbearable. I have the sick feeling that my joints are close to dislocation since I cant pull any more. My thighs, abs, lats, and arms are tight as a drum, I can move nothing except my head, fingers, and toes. The helplessness is indescribable. All I can do is watch you, and hope for some compassion. I half-hear the political speech. Even though I'm in a tremendous amount of agony, I want to make my point, but the pain prevails, along with my short ragged breaths and severe thirst … I remain silent. But as you speak, I smell you … it's an intoxicating smell, I don't know why, maybe because this may be the last human contact I will experience … I can't explain it. I groan … I feel a cramp in my hip and a tremor in my leg but since I'm stretched so tightly, I don't move. The pain in my wrists has doubled, and I wonder what else your sadistic mind can conjure. The knife is shocking … a Marine in this country is certainly special forces…and for you to prevail and kill him adds to my panic. How did he die? Quickly? Or the way I can see myself dying … a sobbing, wailing mess? Further panic and helplessness grip me as I watch you expertly set up the electro torture. I know if I wasn't stretched to the point of rupture I would be shaking like a leaf …the thought of the wire being wrapped around my aching, still-erect cock is horrifying, not to mention the one going up my anus. My eyes close, and I sob silently … I am finally realizing a stark and horrifying reality. My technically trained mind with my gym-hardened body is no match for a battle-scarred woman to whom pain is a way of life, and survival means you get to endure the suffering one more day. Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness mean nothing to my torturer … and perhaps my executioner.

The wires are stripped. God I'm getting horny at the very thought of this. Can you tell? My nipples betray me; they're poking like thimbles through the thin fabric that covers them. I'm wet under my skirt. Well aware of the way the effort defines my muscles before your pain-filled gaze, I drag the heavy battery pack close to your dangling toes, right in front of your tautly-stretched body, where you can see it. I turn to you, run my hand down your taut arm, over your chest, your belly. I want you to feel an unbearable conflict; I know you already do. You fear me, you loathe me, you desire me. I'm about to make your paradox worse.

Slowly, I kneel in front of you. Your purple and anguished cock strains upwards, still forced to stay erect by the line around its base. The first thing I do is gently unpick the tight knots holding the fishing line around the base of your cock. The relief comes as a groan, as the pressure, after long hours, is released. Your cock begins to wilt at once. I touch you gently; I trail my fingertips under your scrotum with such tenderness that, for once, it feels good. Then, taking the stripped wire, I carefully wrap it around the base of your glans; surrounding the head of your cock. The wire runs to the battery and transformer below. I flash my eyes at you and take the second wire, then scoot between your tight and spread legs. I can only imagine your humiliation as you feel me probe at the pucker of your asshole with my fingers, spreading you open just enough to feed the wire inside. You have a cute butt; I'm going to enjoy this. The final wire, the negative, I twist around your left toe.

“I'm going to leave you, now,” I say softly. “A few hours to hang there and think about what will happen when I return. Give me something, anything, and I'll take away the wires, put some ice on those aching plums of yours. Hold out on me, and I promise you, you will discover a whole new world of suffering.” I kiss my fingertips and place them against the head of your cock briefly. “Be good.”

As you move the battery pack toward me, again I am aroused at the sight of you. Although stretched in agony, battered, and exhausted, I realize you're turned on by this encounter and it affects me. Out of habit I'm excited by a beautiful and aroused woman, but horrified at the same time to think the arousal comes from torturing me …which only adds to my fears this will be a long, drawn out, and excruciating ordeal. My arousal heightens as you gently touch my body and sensitive cock and balls. Such a soothing touch, it feels so good, a breath of fresh air from the vicious events of the past hours. You remove the line keeping my cock strangled and erect. For a moment, I think you are actually going to stop this torture; but after a moment, you wrap the bare wire around the head of my wilting cock. Your hunger and excitement is infectious – your touch feels good – and I twitch in your hands. Then, you move behind me, and I feel your finger push the wire in my anus. My eyes narrow in total humiliation, as well as horror to think the two wires are in perhaps the most sensitive areas they could possibly be. My ribs heave again as panic sweeps through me. I watch again in amazement as you walk away from me in your athletic glide. As you disappear into the jungle I want to yell out and tell you everything. But I don't, I still realize the lives at stake and just hope I can hold out, but your haunting, sexy demeanor interrupt my patriotic intentions all too often. I hang groaning in agony, stretched to the point where my wrists are bloody and throb with pain. Every joint seems to ache, as well as my beaten manhood, and the wires … the constant reminder of what could come, as they remain fixed to my body. The helplessness and humiliation is indescribable … unable to move and with one wire shoved up my ass and another attached to my cock. I close my eyes and try to concentrate on the scope of the mission … but your sexy images haunt every corner of my mind….

Time itself is a most magnificent and cruel torturer. In the eight hours that I'm gone, you go through a whole lifetime of agony. From your abraded and pain-filled wrists, the burning muscles of your arms, to your near-dislocated shoulders, the pain of hanging only gets worse. As your strength is drained by the torture of hanging, the strain is transferred to ligaments and tendons, increasing the pressure on your joints, and tripling the pain. You discover new pain, too; in your lower back, quite crippling in its fiery suddenness, spreading hotly up your spine. You are discovering the agony that thousands of people have known before you, the agony of the rack.

When I return, it is dusk. You lift your head wearily, and I see a visual groan in your eyes as you see that now, you have an audience. My girls have come to watch; half a dozen half-naked young women in minimal clothing, bare skin glossed in the jungle heat. Yes, we're beautiful to you; and every one of my girls is picked for that reason. How many American soldiers would shoot a dusky, half-naked jungle princess? By the time they discover we're the enemy, their throats are already cut.

So what is the most humiliating thing for you? The fact that your naked body is being openly ogled by six gorgeous women? The fact that they're laughing at you? The fact that you're helpless, exposed, hanging by your wrists and that we're all free? The fact that those wires hanging off you are soon going to deliver you into a whole new world of agony, and that my girls are here for the sole purpose of being entertained by your screams?

Oh, but it's not that simple. I move close to you, so close you can smell my aroma, that tantalizing scent of feminine sweat, and I fix my eyes on yours. “Do you have anything to say to me?”

Each minute you are gone seems an hour, and brings increased agony. Starting with my wrists and shoulders and radiating through my entire body. No part of me is without an intense throbbing pain and time is measured by jolts of new agony that overshadows the others. An aggravated football injury is the worst, it feels as if a spike has been driven into my right shoulder. The pain in my wrists is unbearable, and my stretched spine sends sharp agonizing heat through my lower back. My stricken cock and balls also throb with every heart beat as I hang groaning … and screaming when a new stab of pain grips me. My strength slowly drains from me … as I'm left powerless only to hang, and suffer.

I struggle to focus as I hear female voices and stirring in the jungle. My humiliation heightens as I am inspected, teased, taunted, and tormented by your half naked solders. Even through the agony and humiliation my body defies me and my cock stirs, bringing more jeers from the group. Your solders, the hunger in their eyes, reminds me of a bunch of pilots at a strip club. One remarks you must have been too easy on me because my cock functions. The irony is haunting, once it was me and my buddies with women at our disposal for entertainment, but the tables have drastically turned. I am to be the entertainment in a sadistic setting few have ever dreamed in their worst nightmares. I watch the women, smiling, joking, giving each other suggestions of what should be done to me … I close my eyes and hang my head, the horrible suggestions filling my mind with more images of torment while the feeling of utter helplessness grips me. I open my eyes and look at you as your intoxicating scent fills my nostrils. I look deep in your eyes for even a trace of compassion as you ask me again. I want so bad to talk, to end this agony. Maybe if I talk you'll let me down and I'll be soothed by you. The vision of being nursed back to health in your tent is alluring. I pause for a long time, I look at you then at your soldiers. Deciding to try to scrape up even a morsel of dignity I reply weakly, “Fuck you bitch.” I was hoping you'd say that. The look in your eyes as I pick up the control box is unforgettable. Absolute animal terror; you're fighting so hard to conceal it, but I've already demonstrated what I'm capable of. You watch as I adjust a dial, and key a single red button.

The agony you anticipated doesn't come. Instead, it's a warm, buzzing tingling. Filling you, surrounding you; like a hot mouth wrapped around your cock, like a woman's tongue on your perineum, like the most incredible lovemaking you've ever experienced and then some. It's heat and sensation, it's almost unbearable but your body responds in an instant. Your cock stiffens and grows until it stands out from your groin like a tree-branch, the dangling wire quivering. Involuntary groans come from your throat, and your hips start to move back and forth.

My girls are delighted. They cheer and clap and laugh at the spectacle; you're fucking empty air, unable to help yourself with the intense sensation coursing through your most intimate parts.

“Go, stud!” one calls out, and the others laugh.

You're hanging there, naked, helpless, stripped of dignity, as good as dead, and yet your body responds to the control in my hand. I get to say how you feel, good or bad. You have no freedom, not even the power to resist.

I dial the current a little higher and the sensation grows. You give another groan, your hips thrusting forward. Jab, jab, jab; your cock slams into the air. Then, all at once, you cum; you give a shout, a spurt of semen shoots out into the air, followed by smaller gobs. My girls go wild, laughing with amusement and delight.

I switch off the current.

“Damn, he's a sucker for torture! He's loving this,” Emma laughs. “Can I try?”

“Be my guest.” I hand her the controls.

My eyes meet yours, and I see the desperation within. You're wondering now if we'll permit you any vestige of dignity. The answer, of course, is no: you are our captive. You are a creature whose existence is valuable only in respect of the information you can give us … or the entertainment.

Emma turns on the current. Your sagging dick is engulfed in tingling electricity again. You give a moan of reluctance; men aren't made to perform again so quickly. But this is beyond your control, and your cock grows and swells and becomes rigid again, before Emma's delighted eyes. The vibrating surges of current flow through your ass and cock, and your hips start to move again. You're struggling so hard to keep still, but the power is literally in Emma's hands, and she wants you to cum in front of us all.

It barely takes two minutes, and you fire your load again, with a gasp and a moan, a small wad of cum launched into the air. There's a whoop and a cheer from my girls.

When it's over, you hang limply.

“My turn!” Conchita. The dusky beauty eagerly takes the control from Emma and powers it up. Your expression is one of disbelief; you haven't had time to recover, your cock is barely starting to wilt. But the new surge of current makes it swell and harden again, and you throw your head back in despair. Again your hips start to shift, although your tortured balls ache. Conchita's dark-mahogany eyes burn with sadistic delight. “That's right, you motherfucker – you're gonna cum for me!”

The wires send their compelling message into your cock and ass, and you shoot again.

Francesca is next. To all of our amazement, she cranks the power steadily up, and it takes less than thirty seconds for your next orgasm. Only a spasming of your cock and a tiny droplet of semen marks the event, although your groans are approaching pain, now, more than pleasure.

Maria Clementina is next. Some of the girls are getting bored, now, as you are remote-controlled to shoot another load. There's nothing left in your aching balls, but that doesn't make any difference to Tina. Your fifth ejaculation in less than fifteen minutes is a grunt and a gasp.

Carmen has her turn; she keeps the current low, and every time you get close to orgasm, she shuts it off. I let her play for an hour. You're hanging exhausted, dripping sweat, your cock rigid and purple, your hips gyrating and pumping every time the current comes on. Finally, she turns the current up enough for you to release, and again you fire a wad into the air.

After two hours, you've ejaculated a dozen times. Taking the control box back into my hand, I draw close to you again, put my hand under your chin, and lift your face so that our eyes meet.

“That was pleasure. The next time I press this button, it'll be business. Talk now, or I'm going to fry your balls like empanada.”

…I fully expected a surge of electricity to pound my cock and ass. Instead I am amazed to feel the most erotic sensation ever. Even though I'm stretched and in agony, the pleasure engulfs me. Watching your sexy form as you control my pleasure makes it that much more intense. As I close my eyes and groan in pleasure I can imagine your mouth on my cock. I orgasm, shooting my semen in the air to the cheers of your girls. I hang in utter humiliation as the sensation brings me to another erection and more cheers from your troops. Absolutely powerless to do anything, I hang as your puppet for your amusement. Another orgasm … then another. By the third, my cock and balls begin to throb. I hang in disbelief as I become erect again and again, the next orgasm being more painful then the previous. ….I lose count, so many erections and orgasms. The pain becomes more intense in my cock and my balls throb in agony from the repeated contractions. I scream through the last several ejaculations. My cock, an injured exhausted muscle, is forced to perform way past its capabilities and the last orgasms feel like a fire shooting through my loins. Finally you stop, I'm relieved at first, but I'm soon horrified. My battered cock throbs in pain with every heartbeat as well as the rest of my ravaged body. I yell in hopelessness and helplessness, unable to move, protect myself, or anything else for that matter. I just hang and suffer the torments, knowing I cannot stop them. My head hangs as you ask me again … I look at you, your perfect figure, the box, the wire hanging from my cock. I see the hungry look from your girls as you wait my answer. I shake my head, staring at the ground. Did anybody expect you to talk? Of course not. Are my girls here just to see you shoot your load? No way. They're here to see a man broken. The reason for the last few hours' playtime was to engorge your cock and balls and ass with so much inflammation that it'll be ten times more sensitive than normal.

Even so, I'm beginning to wonder if your masochistic streak is showing through. Despite the screams, you haven't yet offered to negotiate, you haven't tried to bargain, you haven't even asked me to stop. God, I think you're loving this. Well I don't want to cheat you of your fun: I charge the power unit up, this time twenty thousand volts, amperage low. No point messing around; I press the button and hold it.

You scream like a girl. Not surprising, really; there is a sizzling, snapping sound from your wired cock, a popping from your anus as your hips jerk and jolt and savage agony explodes through you. It feels like you've just been cleaved in two with a machete, right between your legs. God, you can scream.

I end the current, and you hang limp, for a few moments unable to breathe. I can see from your face that you're stunned by the magnitude of pain. For those few long seconds, your world diminished to a tiny fiery point of agony, devoid of thought, devoid of ego, empty of anything but an overwhelming pain, from which you would have done anything, anything at all to escape. Psychologically it was like a wall, infinite, featureless, impenetrable, and for the time being you're unable to grasp exactly what just happened.

Then, awareness slowly comes back, and you are sobbing. Your cock feels like it has been sliced and skinned, your rectum is filled with red hot coals, and yet these pains are only the echo of what you just felt. Another touch of the button is more than you can possibly bear; and yet, you are powerless to stop me as I press the button again.

You scream loud and long, jerk and thrash where you hang, lacerating your wrists, flinging your head and body about as sparks spit from your penis, as steam and smoke curls from your anus. The sweat floods over your body like a bucket of water has been tipped over you. I hold the current for six seconds, then release, and you flop limply, whimpering.

Your head rolls between your upstretched arms in a kind of disbelief. The pain has knocked you senseless. You haven't even been aware of screaming. If I poised my finger over the button and started questioning you now, you'd probably talk already. But I'm not ready for that; I mean to shatter you utterly, to destroy all but your most basic drive for self -preservation, your desire to end the pain.

So I push the button again. Your body jumps and jerks as the current ploughs through your most intimate nerves like liquid fire, and your screams are shrill and loud and bloodcurdling. I let the current stay; you swing and shudder, your muscles quivering with the force of the current flowing through you. I can see the wire around the head of your cock smoking, burning a groove into the sensitive flesh. No wonder your screams are so demented.

This time, when I release the button, you hang limp, your head flopping forward to your chest. You piss yourself as your muscles relax. Your chest is heaving.

I draw close, so close I can smell burning skin. I hold the control box in front of your face so you can see my thumb resting on the button. “Now. Give me something, and I'll give you a break. You have five seconds to start talking.”

…My eyes wide in stark terror, agony, and disbelief I quiver in my bonds. “P … p … n … n … n,” I stammer, as I can barely speak. I can feel my hands, head, and feet shake in uncontrollable tremors, as would the rest of my body if not so tightly stretched. In panic I look at you and the box shaking my head “Please, n…n…no. I'll talk, I'll do anything … please, no more.” Never had I imagined anything like this in my worst nightmares. All my advanced education, flight training, as well as the countless hours in the gym mean nothing now. I am slowly and painfully being destroyed, physically and mentally. My body hangs as a deer from a tree for the slaughter but instead of death, you have chosen to wring my body with the most intense pain. Agony continues to pulse through my most intimate areas from the savage attack. I look down on my ravaged manhood… from the crushing of my testicles, the orgasms, and now the current, my cock and balls feel like a tenderized piece of flesh. Even if I do survive this I cannot see how they will ever function properly. I sob, knowing I've been reduced to nothing, the only value I have is the information I hold and I'm slowly being destroyed because of it. But to hold on to it means more unfathomable torment which I cannot bear. As my panic subsides slightly I blurt out, “Please … no more, I'll talk. Please let me down, I'll tell you want you want to know.” Your cooperation comes in time to save yourself from some serious damage. Everything done to you is superficial. Sure, you'll have injuries for weeks, twinges for years; but you're going to live through this. And probably end up with one of my female compatriots dangling from the ceiling, twisting and shrieking while you revenge-torture the hell out of her.

But I won't let you down, just yet. I lower the voltage on the control box and sit on the ground, by the golden light of a lantern, questioning you carefully. From time to time, you're reluctant to give a name, a location, a date, so I nudge the button. The surge of current hits with a snapping of sparks and a squeal of pain from you, and information flows again.

Finally, you have told me all you know. Your relief is palpable as I finally disconnect the control box, remove the wire from your wounded cock. My fingertips are gentle, offering a slight caress that, even in your ravaged state, prompts a slight stirring in response. I pull away the second wire, then stand, putting my hands at your hips, staring up into your eyes.

“I am true to my word,” I tell you. “You have helped me; now, you'll be free to go, to return to serve your country or whatever you choose.” I kiss my fingertips and put them to your dry lips, and in a moment, my eyes communicate what is in my heart. Another time, another place, we would be lovers with the same passion and intensity we have generated over these past few days. And the screams would be of unbridled ecstasy.

I can see that despite yourself, you are thinking the same thing. The sight of this dusky, half-naked Amazon goddess standing gleaming and wild before you elicits a stirring of desire. I smile and call back over my shoulder, “cut him down. Blindfold him, and drop him at a nearby village. He'll be safe until his fellow soldiers come for him.”

My girls complain; they don't like the fact that I'm letting you live. Perhaps they don't know me as well as they think. Will we meet again? Perhaps. Would you then take the chance to extract a cruel and terrible revenge on me? Undoubtedly. And that possibility arouses me more deeply than I can describe.




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