The interrogation

There's a movie out there called Marathon Man. It's a great movie. NOT SEXY. There is a torture scene in it. (ALSO NOT SEXY). But I thought I'd mention it, because it does have something to do with this story.

The original request was just for electrotorture. But why stop there? Why not do all kinds of torture, all kinds of interrogation?

This is, by the way, the most popular story on the entire site. Which is why I am leaving it up and fully intact, even though it's in Book Three: Boots and Bondage (which you should buy, to support a starving pervert who writes for you)

Is it safe?

She hadn't blindfolded him, but she didn't really have to. The sky was cloudy during the storm, and with all the lights turned off, there wasn't much he could see anyway. He heard her moving around, but could only see anything when she walked by the window, where a tiny bit of light from a nearby streetlight added a tiny ambient illumination that her body would black out.

Or when there was a flash of lightning. When lightning flashed, he could see everything, just for a second.

If he could look down, he would be able to see a lot when the lighting flashed. He could see the iron band across his chest, the shackles fixing his wrists to the wide arms of the wooden chair. He could see that the chair was bolted to the floor, though trying to move told him that as well. He had cuffs around his ankles like a criminal on a chain gang, and a leather strap around his waist and the back of the chair made it more or less impossible for him to do much more than just flinch.

But he couldn't look down. The strap across his forehead made that impossible. He could move his fingers, wiggle his toes, but very little else. Any attempts just chaffed against his naked skin.

He could hear her walking behind him, hear the clomp of the boots, the click of heel and toe with each step. She was moving slowly, walking like a slither around behind him as she readied her tools.

Sometimes, she would put the tray of tools in front of him. There was what looked like a riding spur with a long handle. Needles ranging in gauge from the smallest at 16 gauge all the way up to a monstrous 2 gauge, which looked like it had more place knitting a sweater than piercing skin.

Another tray had a whole cupping set. Then there was the tray with the fire tools.

She stepped past him just as lightning blasted, giving him a look of the leather pants hugging her legs like a tattoo, the body stocking shirt lining up the curves of her upper body, and the evil smirk behind her black lipstick.

She put a pair of gloves on the tray where he could get a good view of them. They're called vampire gloves. Tiny little needles, not sharp enough to cut the skin but enough to scratch the hell out of it. She'd broken skin with those before, giving him the most painful back rub of his life.

“I have a new toy,” she said. She was using her special voice. Hard edged, with a trace of a German accent. Sometimes, she would even speak to him in German, though he never understood what she said. It would have been comical if she didn't look the part. If she wasn't so cruel when she used that voice.

The lightning had subsided, and he was in the dark again. How she moved around in such blackness was beyond him. He heard her walk, every step dripping with confidence. She found what she was looking for and brought it around to where he could see it.

“You like my toy?” she asked.

Before he could answer, before he could tell her that he couldn't see anything, a spark lit the room. A spark between the tongs of whatever it was she was holding in her hand. He saw she was wearing rubber gloves up to her elbows, and she gave him an evil smile as he watched the electricity slide around the tool in her hand.

“Do you like it?”

He whimpered.

She pressed it, gently, to his leg. The muscles in his leg tightened suddenly, just for a second giving him a horrible cramp. Then she pulled the toy away, and the muscles relaxed, leaving him panting for breath.

She put his fingers around the glow stick. That was a bad sign.

If he cracked the stick, she'd see the glow. If she saw the glow, she'd stop. Everything would be over. But that would mean she won. That was the kind of scene they were doing. She was going to try to break him.

As if she could read his mind, she stooped over and looked him in the eyes, lit by the sparks on the toy in her hand. “I'm not going to try,” she said. “I am going to break you.”

Then she did what he knew she would. She put a gag in his mouth. It was shaped like a dick, but only two inches long. Enough for him to have something to suck on, enough so he couldn't quite close his mouth, but not so much that he might choke on it.

His eyes glanced down to the glow stick, and he swallowed. He wondered how long it would take before he did that little squeeze, before he caused the stick to glow, before he gave in.

She ran the rubber glove over his face with a gentle caress. Then she slapped him.

“Now,” she was using her domme voice again. “You will tell me what I want to know.”

She picked up something from the tray and swung it through the air a few times, so he could hear it move. Then she flicked him with the tip of the riding crop, just barely clipping his nipple. He flinched, but that was all he could do.

“Is it safe?” she asked.

He broke out in a cold sweat. He'd seen that movie.

She slapped him with the crop again, this time on the other nipple. Then she flicked the tip of his cock, then back through the nipples again. She ran the crop up his chest, eventually resting it against the side of his jaw.

“Is it safe?” she asked.

He whimpered. She looked down at his hand. Then she leaned in and wrapped the gloved hand around his throat. She pressed him harder against the chair, cutting off his air as she leaned in. “Is it safe?” She whispered in his ear, her voice throaty and terrifying. Then she licked his earlobe and stepped back, letting him get a breath long before his vision had started to darken.

She put something on the table in front of him and picked up her wand. As soon as she touched it, sparks started to fly again, and he could see by the light of it. She held the wand at a distance so he could see what she had put in front of him.

It looked like a butt plug. Not all that big of a deal; wouldn't be the first time. She pulled the light closer, and as the shadows pulled away, he saw that it wasn't shaped strangely, it wasn't even that big. No reason to be concerned.

Then she brought the wand closer, and a spark jumped from the wand to the butt plug.

The metal butt plug.

He whimpered again. She smiled as the electricity flowed between the two of them. “Is it safe?” she asked.

He pulled against his bonds, but kept his hand loose enough to not break the glow stick. She leaned forward and tapped the wand against his skin, never making contact for more than a fraction of a second.

But each tap shot a jolt of pain through him, a jolt that left his muscles twitching and complaining.

“Is it safe?”

He was ready to tell her it was. Or that it wasn't. Whatever she wanted.

She glanced down at his hand, then began tracing her wand through his aura, just a few inches above his skin. If she leaned a bit closer, a trail of electricity would flow along his skin under her wand. Not as painful, but somehow more terrifying.

Then she leaned forward, pressing the wand to his skin and leaving it there. The pain jolted out and his muscles felt like they would tear themselves off his bones. They screamed in complaint, and he screamed into the gag. She left it there long enough to lean forward until he could feel her breath on his skin.

“Is. It. Safe?” She spoke slowly, caressing the words as they came to him through the fog of pain.

Then she let go, and he found himself gasping for breath. His hands had tensed, and there was a glow coming from one of them.

“Let go if you want to stop,” she said, her voice back to normal. “I wasn't sure if you did it or if the spasm did.”

He didn't let go.

She took it from his hand and shook it so the light spread out enough. She held it up so he could see her, see the concern in her eyes. “Do you want to quit?” she asked. “Blink once for yes, twice for no.”

He closed his eyes slowly and deliberately, opened, them, and then closed them again. “So you're not broken yet?”

Two blinks.

“Keep going?”

One blink.

She tossed the glow stick across the room, leaving a lot of shadow and no real detail in the green light. Then she put another one, a fresh one, in his hand.

“Good,” she said. Her voice slipped back to the domme voice, back to the German accent. She reached down and grabbed his cock, began to slowly massage it. She was gentle, she was loving, moving him quickly toward orgasm. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the feel of rubber.

Then she spoke again, and his blood turned cold. “Is it safe?” she asked.

His eyes jolted open just as she pressed her want to the tip of his cock. He screamed into the gag again. She didn't hold it there for long.

“Is it safe?” she asked.

Then she put down the wand and picked up the spur. A wartenberg wheel; that's what they're called. She rolled it up one leg, each little needle pressing briefly into his skin as it rolled.

She rolled it down the other leg, then over his foot. Then under his foot, which made him scream into the gag again.

“Is it safe?” she asked, tracing under the sole of his other foot.

He looked over at his hand, considered breaking the stick. All he had to do was squeeze, a little bit of a twist, and she'd stop. All he had to do was admit that she had broken him. That she won. Then it would stop.

She rolled it over his stomach, up and around each nipple.

“Is it safe?” she asked.

She ran it over his cock, and he saw how important it was that the chair be bolted down. When she rolled it over the head, he knew that he'd have knocked the chair over if it wasn't bolted. He screamed into the gag and tried to pull away, tried anything to escape.

She looked over at his hand. Then she ran the wheel up the underside of his cock again.

“Is it safe?”

He felt a tear dripping down his face. She saw it, and she smiled.

She put the wheel away.

Light flared up from the match as she lit a candle. She hung the candle up above his leg. As the wax melted, it dropped slowly down to sizzle against his skin, make him wince. The second drip was a little bit closer, and he looked up to realize where the candle was headed. She added another candle above the other leg, and he looked at the candles, then at her.

She smiled and nodded.

“Is it safe?” she asked.

The wax melted, dripped down onto his leg. The candles weren't dripping in time with one another, but each drop was closer than the next. Each drop moved closer and closer to his cock. And he knew his dick would be covered in wax long before the candles burned out.

She tapped the wand against his nipple again, jolting his attention back to her.

“Is it safe?” she asked.

The candle light gave her face a wicked shadow, and allowed his eyes to follow as she picked up the cupping tool. They allowed him to watch as she slowly pressed the cup over his nipple and then pumped once, twice, three times, the skin under the cup sucking its way up into the cup. She put another on his other nipple.

More wax dripped onto his legs. It was practically pouring now.

She added another cup to his chest. Then a fourth.

“Is it safe?” she asked. She pushed the cupping kit away and pulled the tray with all the needles. Then she took her wand and slowly, making sure he could see, she held the wand to the tray. She let him see the jolt of electricity flow across the needles, jumping from one to the next.

Then she rubbed some rubbing alcohol over the skin of his cheek and picked up one of the smaller needles.

She looked down at his hand, still not glowing.

Then she looked in his eyes and gently pinched the skin of his cheek.

“Is it safe?” she asked