Chapter 5
It was five miles to a landing strip that was hardly more than a rough clearing in the jungle, suitable for a helicopter to land in.
At the clearing, the revolutionaries waited for several hours until it was almost dusk. Within minutes of each other, Carmela appeared, and then the sound of a helicopter flying low over the trees was heard.
The revolutionaries were very happy to see Carmela. They were afraid of her passionate nature, but as a leader and comrade, she was without peer. Too many of the guerillas had enlisted simply to escape the dullness of day to day life in the isolated villages. They had no real idea what they were fighting for. If there was ever a fight with government troops, and there were, although they were not reported in the government controlled press. The guerillas worst losses were suffered after the battle. Up to half their forces would quietly disappear back into the jungle. Being a revolutionary was fine as long as it helped win the attentions of the opposite sex or got a better plot of land for your family back in the village because the village council was afraid to lower the income level of any family who had a son or daughter with the guerillas, but being a guerilla who had to get shot at or even worse captured and then questioned by professional interrogators was not a happy fate. Better to disappear back into the jungle.
When you hear a helicopter in the jungle, it's almost there. When Carmela saw that Tom had been left to sleep off his sedative without being restrained she was furious.
"Chain him," she commanded, and then more gently because she knew that she was a teacher as much as she was a leader. "You've got to take simple precautions, especially when the consequences could be so bad. What if he were regain consciousness and then simply slide off into the jungle?"
"But Carmela, we'd see him. How far could he get? If he was foolish enough to try to escape, we'd shoot him."
"And then how could we question him? His only value to us is the answers he can furnish to us about the covert activities of his government in our country."
It was to Tom's special misfortune that he was in fact not an intelligence agent. His clandestine activities as a drug smuggler had associated him in a web of circumstantial evidence. If he had been a C.I.A. agent, he would have been able to answer the questions which were put to him, and if he'd been able to answer the question which were put to him, he might perhaps have saved himself from a good deal of suffering.
However it's hard to be sure of that, since his interrogator was to be a woman who had been passionately in love with his wife. She was a woman who hated North Americans with a passion only slightly less intense than her natural revulsion towards men.
Carmela had been trained in eastern Europe on the most effective ways to solicit information from prisoners. These guys were not unduly concerned with whether the prisoner suffered or did not suffer.
In fact, Tom was regaining his consciousness. His senses were still slow, but nevertheless, he was coming around.
Under Carmela's close supervision, the guerilla's gagged him, then shackled his hands behind his back and put his feet in fetters, then drew up his feet and connected them to his hands in such a way that he could not stand So that he could not see, they fastened a black bag over his head with a rope around his rope.
When the helicopter descended into the clearing, it did not land, but hovered scarcely a foot above the ground. Strong arms reached down and pulled Tom into the helicopter. They had to hurry. Compared to their old whirlybird, the federal government was equipped with second hand American jets. The helicopter was no match for them.
One of the soldiers had to stay behind in order to make room for Tom. He would make his way back slowly to the camp on foot for a second as if undecided, they raced across the clearing as it gained altitude, missing the treetops by inches. A scene of awesome beauty appeared to the passengers. The sun was a giant red ball sliding into the blue sea, and the few clouds in the sky were florescent pink, but those on board the helicopter were now too exhausted to appreciate such a luxury as beauty. They wanted to get back to the camp. At least there was some amount of security there.
After perhaps fifty minutes, the copter flew over one of the lower peaks in the mountain range. On the other side of it was a plateau. It was the site of a ruined city from an Indian civilization which had ruled in this land before the Spanish conquistadors arrived. Now it was deserted, except for a small team of archeologists who were slowly and patiently piecing together the life and culture of the ancient race who had one time ruled a confederation of several tribes with an iron hand.
Just as patiently the members of the archaeological team were also putting together a revolution. Both endeavors were led by Dr. Ramirez, a tall man whose goatee gave him an intellectual appearance.
The guerillas cum archaeologists had finished for the day and were anxiously awaiting the helicopters arrival when it suddenly flew over the mountain top and dropped onto the plateau.
As the copter settled onto the ground, Carmela leaned out the open door and made a thumbs up sign to let their waiting comrades know the mission had been a success. As the blades slowly stopped revolving, the team of kidnappers jumped out and grabbed Tom. The chains prevented him from standing up, so two guerillas propped him on their shoulders.
"Carmela," said Dr. Ramirez. " We were becoming concerned that the revolution had lost one of it's most ardent and capable members."
They embraced and then holding him at arms length she laughed and it had been a good day for the revolution. Mr. Reynolds has assured me that he will give us his full cooperation."
"Indeed," said the doctor. He was by personality less worldly than Carmela who was his second in command, but his awesome intellect was the intelligence behind the revolutions long term plans. Carmela respected him for his genius.
She said with sadness, "He has not yet even spoken since we found him on the beach in the process of enjoying his quite beautiful wife's sexual favors. Perhaps he has not recovered from the medication, perhaps he has not recovered from the shock of such a rude interruption."
The doctor laughed, "Carmela you have no mercy."
"Not when it comes to pigs like this one."
He studied Tom and then shrugged. "He has a place in the making of our revolution. I suppose that is his misfortune.
"Take him to the pit," said Carmela. "Leave him there for awhile. I'll meditate upon the crimes he has helped his country to perpetrate against our own."
By this time, Tom had regained full consciousness. de did not as yet fully understand why he had been abducted. Trying to make sense of it was further complicated by the fact that it had in fact been a mistake.
For a second he tried to struggle free, to talk to his captors. Bound and gagged as he was, it was a pathetic effort, cut short by a blow from the barrel of a rifle to the back of his head.
As he was dragged off, unconscious, several of the women who had accompanied their husbands to the camp giggled with awe at the size of his naked cock. He was lowered through a hole in the roof of one of the old adobe buildings, than dropped rather unceremoniously the remaining three feet.
At dinner the doctor told Carmela, "Perhaps we can reason with him. If could actually understand what his country has done to ours, he would perhaps gladly help us."
For a moment Carmela saw a picture of his in Sarah's arms. She said, "No, Doctor. He cares only about his money, his whores, and his pride. I'm going to have to take my time with him. We're going to slowly work our way through his levels of resistance. At each level, he will tell us something of value to the revolution and then after we have peeled away each layer of his consciousness, and we reach the center of who he is, you will see, nothing will be there."
The doctor said, "Perhaps you are right, Carmela. I have little experience in matters such as these. As a man, I confess that I feel sorry for him, but as a revolutionary, there is no place for such sentiments. I leave the handling of this matter entirely to you."
"I'm grateful for your confidence," she said, ripping a loaf of bread in half. "Now, tell me about the finds you have made today. Is our heritage truly as rich as we believe it to be."
"Oh Carmela," said the doctor. "Today we began to excavate what was once a small sports arena. In it, captured prisoners played a game very similar to our modern hand ball. The losers were sacrificed to the gods."
"Really," said Carmela. "How novel. Now tell me more " She took a big bite of bread.
When Tom regained consciousness, he knew only that he was lying on a hard dirt floor, that it must be night because of how very very cold it was and that he was parched with thirst. A side effect of the sedative they had given him was dehydration.
He tried to think, to reason out his options in this situation. That was rough going. He was physically exhausted and mentally disoriented. The bag around his head made him claustrophobic. He struggled futilely to remove it, and as he struggled harder and harder he became panic stricken with the idea that he might never be let out of it. He tried to scream, but his mouth was too dry and then the gag choked him as he breathed. He could hear rats scurrying around the sides of the building and once or twice in the night, they ran across his body.
When Carmela climbed down into the pit in the morning on a notched log that could be lowered into the place, he felt a tremendous sense of relief. At least they were not going to leave him here alone forever.
By the end of the day he would wish they had done that or anything Carmela's interrogation was less for the revolution than an act of revenge against the man who was married to Sarah.
When she was in the pit, a large briefcase was lowered into it. She ordered the guards to stay away from the hole above her and Tom and to make sure they were not disturbed.
She reached down and took his balls into one hand. "So," she said, "These are the balls of a C.I.A. operative." She stroked them with her fingers and smiled as she thought to herself that the loose sack of skin around his testicles was wrinkled like an old man's. Before today was over, there was a very good chance he would be an old man.
"Who do you report to?" she asked, still cradling the balls in her hands.
He tried to say that there had been a misunderstanding, he wasn't in the C.I.A., but with the gag, it came out as muffled nonsense. Carmela wrapped her hand around his balls and squeezed with all her might. The pain was excruciating and he tried to curl up and at the same time crawl across the floor to escape from her. She calmly kept her grip and said, "I'm sorry, you're going to have to speak more clearly. English is a second language to me."
She squeezed again, and then released her grip' and walked over to a small wooden chair that was in a corner of the room and sat down. Carmela watched him for a few minutes until she thought the pain had subsided. Then she opened her briefcase and pulled out a long thin piece of rope. Walking over to him, she bent over and as he struggled helplessly to escape from her, she tied it tightly around his balls. She repeated, "What is the name of the man you report to?"
Desperately, he tried to say the name of his immediate superior in the States. It came out sounding like he was talking underwater.
Carmela yanked on the rope.
She said, "You must speak up. Do you understand that?" She pulled on the rope tentatively. He nodded his head frantically that yes, he understood.
"Good. Now who is your immediate superior."
He didn't want her to pull the rope. He tried to say the name as clearly and understandably as possible.
This time, Carmela did not pull. She said, "Ah, now you're trying." She reached down and fondled his testicles tenderly. To his incredible shame, he began to harden. She ran her hand slowly up and down the sensitive underside of his cock
"But I forgot, you've been gagged. Is that why you have so much trouble speaking clearly?"
He nodded his head. Carmela leaned over and licked his cock, then she reached behind her back and pulled off her sweater. Underneath it, she wore a delicate black bra, which she unsnapped so that her beautiful white breasts hung free. Her nipples were already hard.
She'd gotten the highest marks of any person in her interrogation class. She liked interrogation.
For Tom, nothing seemed real anymore except pain. The gag choked him and the metal on the buckle bit into his ear. The handcuffs were painfully tight and his legs begged to be straightened but he could not do it because of the chain which connected his ankles to his wrists.
The bag over his head pushed his claustrophobia to the edge of hysteria.
"But you're very good at answering yes and no questions, aren't you?" she said. She pulled on the cord around his balls and at the same time licked his cock.
And for Tom, there was a second sensation. It was pleasure and he groaned.
Pleasure that raced through his cock like a warm bullet. Carmela said nothing, rope bit into his flesh, and then she rubbed his cock with her breasts. They felt like a summer breeze, soft and warm.
A drop of come formed on the head of his cock. She licked it off.
Then she slowly gathered his balls into her fists and squeezed again with all her might. Not for a second, but for as long as she spoke. "Now who is your immediate superior? Who does he report to?"
The pain was so intense that it was all he knew, all there had ever been. Carmela released the pressure and said, "I'm sorry, I forgot about the gag again. But listen, I can't talk to you in any circumstances while you lay down on the ground like this. Here, get on your knees" She pulled him up, and then reaching into her briefcase, pulled out a collar which she fastened on his neck. To the collar she attached another piece of rope. She threw that over the big wooden bean on the ceiling and then tightened it to a length that made him sit up very straight.
Kneeling in front of him, she pushed her breasts against his chest and stomach and cradled his head in her arms as if he were a baby. Her knee was between his knees so that it came up underneath his balls. Stroking his head she said, "Oh, I know this might seem uncomfortable, but in the long run, you'll think more clearly if you sit up straight." As she spoke she thought of Sarah, and how much she loved Sarah.
Sarah had been like an angel.
Her husband was the devil.
She pulled the cord around his balls tight, but only enough to get his attention, not to cause that agony again. "Would you like to talk? Will you tell me what you know."
Her hand stroked his cock and she watched another little white gob of come trickle out.
He shook his head in the affirmative. He wanted to talk. His balls throbbing and his sense could no longer separate the difference between what was good to feel and what did not feel good. He didn't want to feel anything.
She lay on the ground and licked him.
Then she untied the cord around the sack and pulled it off. The room was not well lit, but the light was blinding to him. Tears streamed out of his eyes.
The tears were not of pain.
They were of gratitude. The cord around his balls was still tight and chaffing, but when she stroked his cheek, he almost sobbed. He felt as if a dream came true when she reached behind his head, gently making him bend his head so that she could reach around to unfasten the gag. Then she stopped.
"You're sure you want to talk? I don't take kindly to people who go back on their word.
He nodded.
'You're a good boy." She took his head and hugged it, squeezing it up against her soft full breasts. The pressure from the cord around his cock was building, slowly but surely. His inside ached, and he felt a little sick, but when she released the gag, he sucked the air in through his mouth as if he'd just run a marathon.
Holding him at arm's length, she smiled,; "Ok, who is your immediate superior?"
He tried to speak, but his throat was dry. The pressure from the rope around his stretched and swollen testicles was becoming agonizing. All he could do was croak, "Water."
She smiled tenderly. "I know, you must be thirsty. As soon as we're done talking I'll have some of the men bring some. Actually we even have some American beer. You'd probably even like that better. Now, who is your immediate superior. How do you get into contact with him?"
His voice rasped. "There's been a mistake. I'm not in the C.I.A. I'm a narcotics officer for the U.S. government. This is my honeymoon."
"I see."
The pain which shot through his body was worse than anything he'd ever experienced.
It felt as if she were going to yank his balls off. He tried to curl up and fall over, but the collar which was attached to the overhead beam prevented it.
As the agony flooded his helpless senses, Carmela reached into the briefcase again and pulled out a thick strap of leather.
Striking him on the buttocks and back and shoulders she said, "I told you, do not go back on your word with me. Your word is the only thing you have. When you lie, you lose everything.
"Oh go sorry," he said, and as he said it the helplessness of his situation was compounded with mortification as a spurt of jiz shot out of his penis. His arms and legs were wracked with fiery pain from the fetters, and the strap had marked his body with stinging cuts. His balls were a huge mass of sweltering pain.
She sat down and licked the underside of his cock. By now her nipples were not only erect, but so was her clitoris. She could smell the juices from her own pussy. Overcome with rage that he would go back on his word she screamed, "When I am done with you, you will be nothing. Do you understand? I like doing this! When you resist me, you cause me great pleasure."
"What would you like to know what happened to your wife? Do you think we left her to stroll up the beach and alert the federales?" She wrapped the cord which was tied around his balls, around her fist and held it in front of his face. By now, even the slightest pressure was agony.
Then she had an idea and she released the cord. Standing up, she forced his face into her cunt. She wanted him to smell the juices and feel the heat of it.
In his desperation, he licked it to quench his thirst. Then he licked again and again. Her pussy was like silk.
Squeezing him with her thighs, she forced his head back.
His tongue lapped it up. The juice streamed down his face dribbled off his chin and then slowly, drop by drop fell on to his cock.
Nothing else was real for either of them except what was happening now. They had no memories, no perspective. Tom sought only to escape his torment. She wanted nothing from him except total submission. The revolution had become less than a dim memory.
How could a man like this earn a woman such as Sarah?
Her sexuality having merged with the interrogation, she felt the waves of pleasure roll in as he licked her.
To his diminished consciousness, licking her wet pussy was his only refuge from pain. He thought that if could just keep licking at that tender meat, it would delay the resumption of pain, but then she withdrew. He licked the air and sobbed.
She struck him in the face with the strap. Her level of arousal was such that her breathing was labored and fast. She was panting. "What is the name of your superior?"
"Bob Smith." he said.
Her flesh was on fire. "Alright," she panted. "All right. Now we are getting somewhere."
"We call each other on Thursdays," he croaked.
"Now, you are learning." She pulled his face against her breasts. His tongue went out eagerly, searching for reassurance, for something that said, this was a dream, that it would soon go away. It found her nipples. He sucked on them.
Her pleasure was exquisite and she let out a gasp as she arched her back in pleasure so that her heart shaped buttocks were flexed firm and tight. Then she laughed and tugged on the rope which was fastened to his collar so that his face became distorted and purple as he choked.
"We'll lure your colleagues here one by one. I'll question them." She laughed with almost insane abandon, and as she held the cord she jerked it back, asking, "Wouldn't that be fun."
Now that she had him like this, she did not hate him so much.
He was almost her partner. At least for as long as he knelt before her with his wrists and ankles shackled, and a thin cruel cord fastened to his balls that she could pull on to make him sing, and a collar around his neck that was fastened to the ceiling so that he could not lie down. Without those things, they had basis for friendship but as he was, Carmela's body considered him to be vital and irreplaceable. She was her little C.I.A. agent.
"Tom, Tom," she said and pinched his cheeks.
He laughed nervously, glad that she was happy. He would do anything for her in the hope that she would not pull on the cord.
She went back to his cock again, but this time she did not stroke it lightly, she got his testicles in the palm of her hand. She put it into her mouth, and her head bobbed along it, as she tried to suck all of his come out. He moaned, and in his helplessness, saliva drooled from the side of his mouth. His laughter had begin to take on an insane quality.
Carmela terrified him. She had made him her prisoner and now she was sucking his cock as if it were a popsicle in august.
He remembered the name Sarah and asked to himself, "Who is she? Why do I know that name." and then he lost the idea, any idea at all and laughed some more. From far away, he could feel the muscles in his cock pumping come.
The pleasure felt like it was going to suck out his brains,
He was glad it didn't hurt.
When the last bit of come had been sucked out of him, Carmela spat it all in the hard dirt floor. Her eyes sparkled like searchlights, and once again she wrapped her legs around his head.
Obediently, he began to lick. He especially liked the nub of her clitoris because when he licked that, she squeezed him tighter with her thighs. He liked the smell too, and within a minute or two after his orgasm, his cock was hard again.
Carmela's pleasure was exquisite. As surely as Sarah had discovered on the beach how much she enjoyed sex with another woman, Carmela was discovering how much she enjoyed it with a man who was totally in her control.
His tongue was like velvet and his earnest licks sent tingles such as she had never felt before running through her body. Her admiration for Dr. Ramirez had always been of the highest order because she knew that his intellectual abilities were so far above her own. As Tom's tongue stroked and caressed her most private parts, she found herself wondering what it would be like to interrogate Dr. Ramirez. She was convinced that he had much to offer.
Her juices. She felt as if her cunt was so hot that the juices inside it were about to boil, and then she came in a staccato series of orgasms the like of the like of which she had never felt before.
Tom just kept licking. He knew she liked that. He would do anything to delay the moment when she asked him his superior's name again. Anything not to talk.
Her clitoris was incredibly sensitive after the orgasms and she dreamily pushed him away, forgetting that his neck was in the collar tied to the beam, almost choking him.
For awhile she just sat on the floor with her arms around her drawn up legs. She hummed a song she had known since she was a young girl and rocked back and forth. Tom watched her anxiously. He was glad she was so happy.
Then she stood up and said, "I have to go now."
Searching for the gag, she resecured it, then put the hood back over his head.
He struggled frantically and mumbled incoherently. After the hood was tightly secured, she kneeled in front of him and put her hands on his sides. She said, "I do not want to leave you like this. You have given me pleasure today such as I have never before experienced." She put her head on his chest, kept on talking in a whisper. "But you see, I cannot release you. If I release you, then you might become a man again." Her voice became urgent and almost seemed to be pleading with him. "So, you see, if I release you. how will we share the pleasure again as we have just shared it? It would be impossible." And then she reached down and picked up the cord which was fastened around his balls. He was by this time insane and all he knew was that he didn't want her to pull on the cord and that he would do anything to please her.
Carmela was pretty much off her rocker, too. Ignoring the fear which rippled through the muscles of Tom's body she played with the rope, pulling on it gently and watching his testicles flop with each tug. "Do you understand? Can you forgive me?" she asked.
He nodded frantically.
Sighing with relief she stood up to leave and said, "Thank you very much, I shall return within a matter of hours."
She climbed up the ladder and left him.
For several minutes he strained with every muscle of his body to hear noise. Inside the hood, his eyes darted insanely from side to side. When at last he was satisfied that she had left, his body sagged with relief.
By now the ache in his legs from kneeling and the sharp sensation of the handcuffs biting into his flesh had receded far, far off into the distance.
One word kept running through his thoughts. It was "Sarah." He wondered who she was, and hummed a little song that seemed to make the pain recede even further.