I=Intimate Interrogation #SpankA2Z #NSFW

A2Z-logo2015

Welcome back to the A to Z blog hop and my challenge to write an original free erotic short for each letter of the alphabet (fair warning, I may skip one or two letters – is that cheating?) The catch is every single sentence must have a least one word in it that starts with that day’s letter. I just hope you all will forgive me if I use the same word a few times due to my alphabetical limitations. 🙂 Don’t miss any of the posts. Sign up on my home page to get alerted when I post a new blog.

A huge shout out to Bruce Stern for editing today’s post. Also, don’t miss the chance to win a $10 Amazon gift card. Check out rules at the end of the post.

CONTENT WARNING: Today’s story has a non-consentual kidnapping with edgy and dark content.   If that doesn’t sound like your cup of tea, you might want to skip today.

I is for Intimate Interrogation

Isabelle rushed through the compact stalls of the crowded Irish market, hoping it was just her imagination that had her panicked at the possible glimpse of Ian in the pressing crowd. Irrational fear gripped her as memories of the massive inventory of guns, ammo and stacks of money invaded her thoughts. Six months before she had inadvertently found the stash in the basement of her boyfriend’s house.   Life hadn’t been the same for Isabelle since.

He had been a guest instructor at her university in Washington D.C. From the instant she literally bumped into Ian in the crowded hallway there was a mutual, instantaneous attraction. He had swept her off her feet from the initially. As their intimate relationship intensified submissive feelings she hadn’t known ignited. An inexperienced innocent eight years his junior, Ian had introduced her to many kinky intimacies inflamed by his desire to dominate her sexually.

While she idolized him, she had hints early on that he was keeping important secrets from her.   She ignored the signs until she saw with her own eyes that stash of what had to be illegal weapons.   The only fortunate thing was that it happened on the last day of the semester.   Afraid to confront him with her findings she lied, telling him she had to go home immediately to care for her ill grandma.

Ian had pursued her, looking for answers about why she left him so abruptly, implying, but not explaining, that she’d regret her decision. Despite her inability to trust him, months later, Isabelle still thought of him constantly. She had fallen in love with him. She wondered if she had made a mistake by not giving him a chance to explain. Instead, she tried ignoring the nagging feeling that there was more to Ian than she knew.

Her move to Ireland as an international exchange student had been a godsend.   For the first few months, she felt safe. Then she realized that when in public she was being watched. She told herself it was paranoia infiltrating her brain, but in the last week she was certain she was being followed. And tonight she felt like she was going insane with her glimpses of Ian in the market thousands of miles from home.

Isabelle stopped again to look around the crowded marketplace. She chided herself for her irrational insanity until he grabbed her from behind, dragging her backwards until a curtain hid them. A cloth was pressed over her mouth and nose and, as she inhaled, the pungent smell of some drug infiltrated her senses.   She felt herself crumbling to the floor as an immense anger consumed her that Ian would drug her. Fear quickly replaced anger when the face of her captor came into focus just before she passed out.

It wasn’t Ian.

*****

All consuming pain first infiltrated Isabella’s brain with her return to consciousness. Every part of her body felt injured­. She was immersed in the kind of excruciating misery that made her want to sell her soul to the devil to make it stop.

Opening her eyes introduced a new level of hell. She snapped her eyes closed, but it was too late–she couldn’t un-see the instruments of torture surrounding her in the dank dungeon.

She focused internally–taking inventory of her predicament.

She was imprisoned, hung by her widespread arms by what felt like rough rope that was cutting into the skin of her wrists. The immense pain in her shoulders and elbows told her she’d been in this position for a while.

The air was infused with the stale stink of piss, sweat and blood. She forced down the gagging reflex to avoid the imminent pain vomiting would add. An icy breeze confirmed her worst fears–she was naked.

The pinch on her nipples impaired her thoughts the most. Forcing her eyes open again she inspected herself, quivering in fear as she took in the ingenious torture scene her captor had invented. It was right out of a horror movie.

Isabelle’s legs were bent at the knee; circles of rope wrapped securely around each thigh/calf combination to make extending her legs an impossibility.   The base of her ample breasts were wrapped tightly in inflexible plastic that cut off circulation, and turned her distended glands into bluish balls of pain. The brutal nipple clamps with spiked clasps latched onto her nips, enhancing the ingenious torture scene.

The only good thing about being suspended by her aching arms was identifying what awaited her below should her captor decide to lower her hanging body. Beneath her open legs was an evil saw horse whose pointed wooden top jutted up towards her exposed private body parts. What felt like a thick dildo extended upwards from the spiked furniture and pierced her pussy, impaling her just enough to ensure she was stretched uncomfortably while keeping her from wiggling herself out of the devious position her captor invented.

His course voice behind her interrupted her misery. “I see you decided to join the party, Isabelle. I’m glad. I have some interesting questions for you.” She couldn’t identify his voice.

“Let me out of here this instant, you asshole!”

“I’d be careful. It doesn’t matter to me how long this takes and truthfully, I prefer interrogating unwilling informants. It’s much more fun to inflict pain. My colleagues and I make bets on how many instruments of torture I’ll need to use to break you. You have information I need, and I’ll get it out of you one way or the other.”

“What is it you think I can tell you? I’m a simple international college student here to study art!”

“Maybe, but you’re also the girlfriend of The Inquisitor.   You’re going to prove invaluable in both information gathering and to lure him here so I can eradicate him once and for all.”

Isabelle gritted out her answer through the pain. “You’re an idiot. You grabbed the wrong woman because I don’t have a boyfriend.”

His evil laugh inflamed her. “That’s right. You were such the innocent you never even knew Ian was living a double life right under your nose. Well surprise–Ian is The Inquisitor, the largest arms dealer in the business. What I need from you first is the password to his offshore accounts in Cayman.”

Isabelle added a broken heart to the misery infiltrating her body. She had hoped Ian had some reasonable explanation for the guns and money she found in his basement. Being an international arms dealer wasn’t what she had in mind.

“I haven’t seen Ian in months! Even when I did he never informed me of his business, and he certainly never shared his computer or passwords with me.”

“That’s too bad–then this is really going to hurt like a son-of-a-bitch.”

The crack of his implement of torture filled the air before the agony across her bare back registered.   The second whip strike came instantly, igniting her ass.   Her shrieks of pain mingled with the cracks of the continued thrashing to immerse the dungeon in a hellish soundtrack. Isabelle lost count, sobbing inconsolably, as an immense burn consumed her.

She must have passed out from the agony because the icy bucket of water thrown against her back jarred her awake.

“All right, I’m giving you an intermission. You have exactly three minutes to start talking, my little informant, or I’ll be forced to escalate things to the next level.”

Isabelle choked out her answers. “I told you… I don’t know anything… I haven’t seen Ian for six months… I left him to move to Ireland.”

“Ah, I see. Still trying to play the part of an innocent. I especially like to inflict my next set of tortures. Your screams will get my cock rock hard and ready for what comes after our next intermission. Your hot body has me all kinds of inspired. I can’t wait to fuck the same pussy The Inquisitor called his own.”

The sound of a heavy dungeon door opening and three beefy-armed guards invading the space interrupted them. Tears streamed down Isabelle’s cheeks as she wished for death–anything to escape the inhuman agony. Their imposing figures merged with impatient expressions, informing Isabelle the newcomers would only make her situation worse.

Then she heard the sound of a pulley and she felt her body being lowered from the ceiling. The fake cock pushed deeper inside her, impaling her painfully with the weight of her body forcing the instrument of torture to press inside her. Isabelle finally came to a stop when her full weight pressed her pussy lips and clit against the sharp edge of the wooden horse beneath her. Isabelle was frantic with pain, scrambling to pull herself up by her aching arms and crashing back down on her pubic bone hard when her exhausted arms couldn’t hold her weight.

Even in her delirious state, she acknowledged the ingenious scene of her incarceration.   As a wide strap was applied with force across her clamped breasts, she focused internally–remembering the lessons Ian taught her during their intimate sexual encounters. He had instructed her on how to breathe as a submissive through her pain.   A stray thought invaded. Had he been preparing her in case this ever happened? If so, it was inexcusable that he had put her in danger.

The explosive thunder of gunfire infiltrated the small space, bringing a deafening commotion and the smell of intoxicating gases.   Smoke filled the dungeon, irritating her eyes and nose. Over a dozen men in full-body armor and helmets rushed in, machine guns drawn, instantly killing her captors in a bloody firefight.

Were these men here to rescue her or imprison her themselves?

The first man to charge through the door dropped his weapon, rushing to Isabelle’s side to immediately lift her at the waist, taking the pressure off her tortured pussy.   He called out to another gunman to work the pulley so he could lower her inch by inch into his waiting arms. The brush against his rough uniform irritated her open wounds, pulling an involuntary cry from her.

Only when the ropes had been removed from Isabelle’s wrists was she free to collapse into the waiting arms of the uniformed man. He lifted her in his arms as she burst into inconsolable sobs from the mix of relief and lingering pain.   He rushed them out of the smoke filled dungeon, weaving through the interior of what looked like an old Irish castle.

Isabelle was in shock and grateful the masked rescuer was intelligent enough to know she couldn’t yet walk. Circulation returned to her tortured limbs, and the prickling pins itched as blood rushed through her veins.

Nothing could have prepared her for the sight of Ian’s face emerging from behind the helmet.   Conflicting emotions invaded. Was he the good guy she wanted him to be, or was he The Inquisitor as her captor had called him?   Their eyes connected and she saw the intense concern shining back at her from the man.

He broke their silence, “I’m so sorry I didn’t keep you safe, Isabelle. It was inexcusable for me to involve you in my life while I was on an undercover mission.   I fell in love with you; I selfishly thought I could protect you as I infiltrated the underworld.   You were an innocent, and my irrational arrogance almost got the woman I love killed. Can I hope you’ll be able to forgive me one day?”

The intensity in his eyes told her he spoke the truth. She still had so many questions, but her injuries were overwhelming her again. “How… I mean he said you were The Inquisitor… the head of a crime ring that deals in arms. I saw the guns in your basement. Please don’t lie to me, Ian.”

He reached inside the outside pocket of his uniform pulling out an ID badge identifying him as a member of the Central Intelligence Agency.   “I’m not supposed to tell anyone in my private life what I do for a living. Initially it killed me to keep my profession from you, but then I saw how much danger I was injecting into your life. So I decided if I loved you, I had to let you go.”

Tears glistened in his eyes, helping Isabelle feel better. “How did you know where I was–that I was imprisoned and in danger?”

“We’ve been tailing these idiots for months. We couldn’t figure out why they were in Ireland. When I saw you earlier in the market place I just knew you were their target, and I put together the rescue team. I’m so sorry I couldn’t get to you before they imprisoned you.”

“Why are you telling me all of this now, Ian? Won’t you be in trouble?”

“I don’t care about that anymore.  All I care about is getting you back in my life.   I’ll even retire from the intelligence business if you want if that’s what it’ll take to gain your trust again.  What do you say, Izzy – will you move back home with me?”

Memories of better times invaded. She knew she should investigate his story and insure he spoke the truth, but the relief of being safe in his arms pushed all indecision aside.

“I will.”

*****

I know!  This story was different than the last few days.   Still, hoping you enjoyed the dark little tale of Ian and Isabelle.  Leave a comment to be entered in the random drawing at the end of the month for the $10 Amazon card.

Check back tomorrow for:  J=Jaded Justice

Be sure to check out these other talented authors below!

9 thoughts on “I=Intimate Interrogation #SpankA2Z #NSFW

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

%d bloggers like this: