Backwards interrogation

Sometimes, I write for people who don't specifically make a request. They just express interest, but don't actually give me any details. But I decide to write for them anyway.

Which is what I did today. Some casual nudity, some bondage, some pain, some cold... and an interrogation where all he has to do to make her stop, all he has to do for it to end, is keep his mouth shut....

Sub in a suit

 She answered the door in high heels and a corset. Paul let his eyes travel up and down, at first barely believing his eyes. There were no stockings. No garters. No panties. Just the heels and the corset. She stood in the doorway, hands on her hips, grin on her face. Her eyes laughed at him as he stammered and tried to remember how to speak.

A few seconds passed, and Paul cleared his throat. He adjusted his tie, though that was not the part of his suit that suddenly felt so tight. “Hi,” he said, his voice weak and cracking even with such a short word.

She laughed at him and stepped back, waving him inside. “Give me your jacket,” she said.

He pulled off his suit jacket and handed it over. She walked away from him, her bare ass swaying. He unbuttoned the sleeves of his shirt and began rolling up the cuffs. She tossed the jacket over a chair. When she started pulling at the strings lacing up her corset, Paul unbuttoned his collar and loosened his tie.

She looked over her shoulder. “Don't you dare strip,” she said.

He stopped and just watched her. She slid the laces all the way out, sliding against the steel grommets, slapping and snapping as they worked their way through, as the corset gradually loosened around her perfect flesh.

She held the corset tight with one hand while the other slid the laces out more, and more, and more. She could have dropped it around her waist, but she seemed to enjoy the process of whipping the little strings out bit by bit. Inches at a time, feet of string just sliding through with cruel abandon.

The minutes stretched, but Paul's attention was riveted. He didn't notice the pinching of his shoes, the pressure of standing still; nothing mattered more than watching her unlace the corset.

When the laces finally finished their trek back and forth across her flesh, when they were done sliding their way through the steel eyelets, his eyes watched them drop from her fingers and coil on the floor.

Then the corset fell to the floor, and she turned around to face him again. In heels. Just heels.

She smiled at him again. “You can take off your shoes,” she said. “Socks too.”

He was done before he even realized he had stared. She smiled at him and took a few steps closer.

“You look good,” she said.

“You look,” he swallowed, gave a nervous laugh. “Amazing.”

“You in your suit. Me in mine.” She gestured to her nudity and gave a little chuckle. “They say that clothing holds power. Tell me, Paul: do you feel more powerful than me right now?”

He shook his head, not trusting his voice.

She smiled. “Good boy,” she said. “Now have a seat.”

Once he was in the chair, she picked up the laces from her corset and began winding them around his wrists. She looped them around and around, covering several inches of his forearms with the black lace that just moments ago had held her corset tight against her body. She ran the string back through and around the shackles she had laced on his wrists and gave them a little tug to make sure they weren't cutting off circulation. “Comfy?” she asked.

He nodded, still not ready to speak.

There were still yards of lace left over, and she began winding them around the chair, then around his ankles a few times, back to his wrists. A few minutes later, he was tied so securely it was as if he was part of the chair. His feet weren't touching the floor, making it even more useless to struggle.

She stepped back and admired her work. Then she reached forward, buttoned his collar, and straightened his tied again. “That's much better,” she said. “Now you look nice and handsome.”

Paul pulled against the restraints, though he knew there was no point. His eyes focused on the curves of her delightful nudity.

“Now then,” she said, “get a good look.” She stood up and spread out her stance, putting herself on display for him. She turned slowly, letting him watch the lines of rippling muscle under her legs. She raised her arms above her head so he could see the light press of her ribs, then bent over to show him the best possible angles of her ass. She picked something off the floor and stood with a flourish, smirking at him. “You like what you see?”

“Uh huh.” It was the most eloquent he could manage.

She laughed, then took a step closer, close enough that he could smell her flowery perfume, the citrus smell of her shampoo, and the slight undercurrent of her arousal. She raised her hand to his face, kissed him on the nose, and then wrapped the blindfold around his head, leaving him in complete darkness.

“Now then.” He heard her take a step away, and her voice faded a bit with distance. “Let me take a look at you.” Another few steps. “Very nice,” she said. “I love a man in a good suit.”

Her footsteps brought her closer, and Paul felt the warmth of her breath on his face as she leaned in to whisper in his ear. “I'm going to ask you some questions,” she said. “And then I'm going to torture you.”

“Unless I talk?” he asked.

She laughed, her voice now coming from above him. “Did I say that?”

He swallowed at the chill that ran up his spine when she spoke. Then she tightened his tie, cutting off his air just a little bit. He choked in a breath to make sure he could, and didn't notice her unbuttoning his shirt until she pressed an ice cube against his nipple. Paul made a gasp like a little girl. That made her laugh.

“I asked you a question,” she said.

He did his best to take a deep breath and shook his head. “No,” he said. “You didn't say that.”

She ran the ice cube around his nipple, then slowly trailed the ice across his chest to the other nipple. He moaned and struggled as the cold water dripped down his body. “But you think I'll stop if you talk,” she said. “Don't you?”

He nodded.

She pulled the ice cube away from his skin, and for a brief moment, he wondered if that was it. When he felt her unzip his pants, Paul let himself hope that she was going to fuck him.

Then she settled the ice cube on his crotch, just above the base of his cock, and zipped up his pants again. He struggled, but the ice didn't move. It just made very cold water drip down around his balls and against his inner thighs.

“I didn't hear your answer,” she said.

“Yes,” he said, gritting his teeth. “I do think you'll stop if I talk.”

“Good boy,” she said. She patted him on the head like a dog. “But you are so eager to talk, aren't you? And if you just answer any question I ask, then I wouldn't have to torture you.”

“I am eager to talk,” he said.

“So do you see my problem?”

“No.”

She laughed, her voice lower than it had been. “The problem,” she said, “Is that torturing you is what I want to do.”

He yelped when something sharp pressed against his heel. It didn't hurt; not many nerve endings in the heel. But it was surprising. And when it moved, and another sharp point stabbed in just below, Paul started getting nervous. The third spoke pressed gently into his skin right at the edge of the dull space of his heel, and he knew what was happening.

“Is that,” he swallowed, the ice in his crotch suddenly forgotten, “is that a wartenberg wheel?”

“I'm asking the questions here,” she said. “But yes.” She giggled and ran the wheel down the sole of his foot. He tried to pull away from her, but there was nowhere to go and no way to move out of range.

She slid the wheel up and down his foot with sadistic glee. He whimpered and wailed at the focused agony. “Hush,” she said. “Your whining gets on my nerves.”

The pain suddenly stopped, and he heard her stand up. Heard her laugh. “Maybe that's the best way to do it,” she said. “You want to talk. I want to torture. What a conundrum.”

“Please,” he said. “No more.”

She stopped, waiting a few seconds, but Paul's whimpering never even came close to his safe word. She smiled and tapped the wheel against her palm. “Here's what we're going to do,” she said. “I'm going to have some fun with you. I'm going to ask you questions. And once you learn to hold out, once you manage to keep silent for long enough, then we'll be done.”

“You're going to torture me until I stop talking?”

“Yep.”

“For how long?”

Her voice came closer again, and she whispered in his ear. “That's a great question,” she said. “I suppose you'll have to guess.” Then she ran her tongue around the edge of his ear and down his neck. Just above the collar, she pressed her teeth against his neck. First gently, then harder. She bit down, harder and harder. Paul tried to stay quiet. He tried not to cry out.

But she kept biting. She bit so hard it felt like she was going to rip the flesh out of his neck. Then, suddenly, the pressure was gone. But before he could let out a sigh, she clamped down on the other side of his neck. He couldn't hold in the whimper of pain as she bit, then ground her teeth just a little bit. It felt like she was going to rip his skin open, but on a certain level, he knew she wouldn't.

She chuckled when he whimpered.

“You didn't think it would be that easy, did you?” she asked.

He didn't respond.

“Oh, you're learning.” She sounded impressed. Then she slapped him across the face. “But I asked you a fucking question.”

He gasped at the sting on his cheek and tried to control his breathing. The tie was still too tight for him to breathe freely, but not so tight as to actually suffocate him. It just felt like someone was gripping his neck tightly, which he kind of liked.

“Did you think it would be that easy?” she asked, stepping forward again. She pressed the wheel to his chest and slid it down the center of his body. It made him think about the slice of an autopsy. She ran the wheel back up and turned to the side, then back down and back up the other side, completing the Y like on television. “Did you?”

He bit his lip, trying not to wince, trying not to make a sound.

She put her hand on his head, then twisted her fingers in his hair and pulled his head up right. She pressed her other hand between his legs, pressing the remaining ice into his skin and crushing him in a way that the numbness of the cold didn't help.

Sharp pain at the roots of his hair. Dull pain against his crotch. “Did you?” she asked.

He tried to shake his head. She pulled her hand back from his crotch and punched him. It wasn't a direct hit, but the pain was enough to scare him. It was enough to make him wonder what else she might do. The second punch made him flinch. The third sent a spiral of pain through his body.

He shook his head again.

“I'm afraid I don't understand that,” she said. He felt her knee press on his crotch. She started increasing the pressure, putting more and more weight on her knee. “Did you think it would be that easy?” she asked, her voice calm and almost pleasant.

He gritted his teeth.

She let go of his hair. A second later, she started running the wheel around his neck, over the tender flesh where she had bitten him just moments earlier. “Did you?” she asked.

“No,” he said.

She laughed again and got out of his lap. He took breaths as deep as the tightened tie would allow. Then he yelped as he felt the wheel over the top of his foot, knowing it was only a matter of time before she moved underneath again.

She rolled the needle like wheel between his toes, and Paul squeezed his teeth as shut as they could be, trying not to make a sound.

“Don't be like that,” she said. “You know you like this.”

He didn't respond. She slid the wheel under his foot and started tracing it along the sole, agonizingly slowly.

“You're probably waiting for me to ask you another question.” The pain subsided, just for an instant. Then she started in on the other foot. “Okay,” she said. “How about this. If I give you panties, will you wear them?”

“Yes!” he hadn't meant to answer so quickly. He felt his face turn red when she laughed.

“You'd probably throw out your other underwear, wouldn't you? You'd wear panties all the time. And not just for me. You'd do it because you like the feel of them. You like the way they make you feel. How do they make you feel?”

He didn't respond.

The pressure under his foot increased, and it felt like she was tearing him apart from underneath. He wanted to scream.

“Tell me,” she said. “How do they make you feel?”

She opened his pants again. He whimpered, knowing what was coming, but still wasn't prepared when she started laying ice cubes against his crotch. One cube, then two, then three. “Tell me how it makes you feel,” she said. She put down a fourth cube. “Tell me and I'll stop.”

Five cubes.

“Tell me.”

Six.

“Tell me.”

At the seventh cube, he couldn't take it anymore. He hoped that she might take the ice away when he told her what she wanted to hear. “Pretty!” he said, tears in his eyes. “They make me feel like a pretty girl.”

She laughed, and he felt his face get even more flush.

“Oh, honey,” she said, zipping his pants over the ice and starting the wheel down his leg towards his foot again. “This is going to be a long, long night.”

Then she stood up and planted a kiss on his mouth, long and deep.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

And then the torture began again.