by Selena Kitt
Endure. Don't give them the satisfaction of a reaction. Remember what you're fighting for.
After what felt like an eternity, they shut off the shower and threw her a rag. "Dry yourself off," one of them barked.
Lena did so as best she could, even though the rag was probably dirty and definitely woefully inadequate.
She'd barely finished when they lunged; one man taking her arms and pinning them behind her back while another tugged her legs out from under her, putting her on the floor in an instant. The next moment, her ankles had been yanked wide apart, exposing her completely.
As if they've done this a million times before, she found herself thinking.
A horrifying notion.
The one who'd pinched her nipple—a crude brute with a jutting chin and protruding brow—had just knelt between her splayed thighs and was fumbling with his fly when the door banged open and another soldier rushed in.
"Stop!" he barked.
"Butt out, Andy," the first one said. "We caught the little bitch; we get to go first. You can have your turn later."
"No-one is having a turn, Gord," Andy said, "forget it. You'd better stop that right now."
"Says who?"
"Sergeant Fielding."
There was a long pause. Gord stopped fumbling with his fly and Lena held her breath.
"Are you fucking kidding me?"
Andy shook his head. "Like I'd kid about something like that."
Gord lumbered back to his feet. "I'll never understand why that dickhead was made Sergeant," he muttered. "Principal interrogator my fucking ass."
"Maybe he just wants to use her first; there must be some perks to being the boss," Andy offered.
Gord had looked down at Lena, who was still staring back at him as defiantly as she could, even though inside she was quaking with relief.
"You think you're being granted a reprieve," he said contemptuously, before leaning down so close she could smell his sour breath. "Well I've got news for you, sweetheart… you ain't seen nothing yet. What we were gonna do will seem like a walk in the park in comparison to what Sergeant Fielding is going to do to make you talk."
Now, as she huddled in the cell, that threat was echoing in her mind, overtaking the mantra she was still trying desperately to use to reassure herself.
"Be strong," she whispered aloud. "Think of the others."
A sudden shaft of light blinded her and once she'd blinked, she could make out the silhouette of a man in uniform standing in the doorway. She couldn't see his face.
"What's she doing in here? Blindfold her and take her to room one," he said, briskly. His voice was deep, his accent clipped. He sounded better educated than the other militia men she'd encountered so far.
That was bad news, as far as Lena was concerned. Intelligent people are harder to deceive. As someone slipped a scarf over her eyes and knotted it tightly at the base of her skull, she focused on her breathing. In two three, out two three…
She was so scared, she didn't even care that she was still naked.
Chapter Two
As the woman was carried out into the bright fluorescent lights of the corridor, Blaze caught his breath. She was so young, so fragile. More a girl, really. She put up no resistance as Andy and Tim dragged her to the room four doors down; the interrogation room. The sight of her bare toes brushing the ground as the two men hauled her along between them was oddly touching, and her long dark hair was still dripping wet.
She must be incredibly cold.
Blaze took a deep breath and followed the trio, directing his men to lift her up onto the table and strap her in place. Even as they fastened the thick bindings around her slender wrists, waist and ankles, rendering her immobile in her blindfolded state, the girl didn't flinch. Once Andy and Tim were done, he gave them a curt nod. "Leave us," he ordered.
"But sir, protocol states—"
"Out!"
He could be intimidating, that much he knew. It wasn't just his size, it was his… what had they said? His demeanor. It was why he had been chosen for the job, after all.
Blaze bit back an ironic smile.
Lucky me.
Once he was alone with her, he walked closer to the table, watching her intently. She really does have a gorgeous body, he was appalled to find himself thinking. He leaned down, close to her face. "What's your name, little one?"
She remained silent; her heaving breasts—which were high and round—the only sign that she was in any kind of distress.
"I'll tell you now," Blaze went on, as gently as he could, "things will go a lot better for you if you cooperate. And I don't like having to repeat myself. So I will ask one more time. What's your name?"
Her breathing was shallower now; the rise and fall had increased in pace. He could see the pulse beating frantically at her throat.
Blaze waited a few more moments, then he reached out and stroked her cheek. Leaning in so close his lips brushed her ear, he said, "Do you want to get out of here alive?"
Still no reaction.
"Believe me, in this place, I'm the only friend you've got."
"You're no friend of mine!" she spat suddenly, startling him. "You're nothing but Saxian militia scum! Doing their bidding, following their orders, trampling all over your own kind! I despise you!"
Aware of the two-way mirror taking up an entire wall of the room, Blaze bit back his first instinct, which was to chuckle. Instead, he reached out and pinched her inner thigh, hard.
The girl gasped.
"You talk a mighty good fight for someone who's captured, strapped naked to my table, and in my territory, little one," he said, calmly. "I'd like to remind you that we're being watched and that around here, I'm the boss."
"We're always being watched, and you're not the boss of me!" she snarled.
Blaze decided to try a different tack. "You must be thirsty," he said. "Or hungry? I could get you something—"
"I don't want anything from you! And you're not getting any information from me, so just kill me and have done with it. You're wasting my time!"
Blaze had had a few men on his interrogation table before; some of them had been much older, experienced fighters—none of them had as much courage or spunk in their little fingers as this little slip of a girl was showing now. He couldn't help admiring it.
"What's your name?" he tried again.
"Fuck you!"
"Pretty name."
Was he imagining things, or did the corner of her delectably full mouth curve up for the briefest second?
"So tell me, Fuck You, what were you doing skulking around our perimeter in the middle of the night?"
"Looking for berries."
"What kind?"
"Strawberries."
Despite himself, he grinned. "They're not in season."
She bit her lip but didn't reply.
"Try again. What were you doing? Do you work for the Resistance?"
Still no answer.
"If you do, I have to say I don't have a very high opinion of them. What kind of organization sends out a little girl to do a man's work?"
That worked. "I'm not a little girl, stop calling me that! I can do anything a man can do; what kind of a misogynist are you?"
The dark curls between her legs had dried fluffy, and Blaze had a sudden urge to stroke them. That gave him an idea.
"I'm not a misogynist, sweetie, I'm a gentleman."
She scoffed at that. "Some fucking gentleman! I'm sorry, but anyone who captures a woman, tears her clothing from her, hoses her off and then straps her, naked and blindfolded, to a table is no gentleman!"
He raised an eyebrow, glad she couldn't see his expression. "So you agree that you ought to be given different treatment on account of being female?"
"No. Fair treatment. Equal treatment. Or do your scumbag guards pinch the nipples of and threaten to rape the men you capture?"
He took a breath. "Fair point. I'll give you that one. Fact is though, the world isn't fair. Men and women ha
ve been treated differently since the beginning of time."
Blaze could almost hear the guards behind the two-way mirror; mocking him for having a discussion on equality between the sexes when he should be interrogating a prisoner. He squared his shoulders. "Enough small talk. Here's what's going to happen. I'm going to ask you a question, you're going to answer it. Truthfully and sensibly. Otherwise I will be forced to hurt you, and I really don't want to do that."
"Then don't."
"I'm getting real tired of your smart mouth, missy. Why can't you just accept the fact that you're in this situation and make it easier for both of us?"
There was a pause. "I am making it easier for you. I'm giving you every excuse to torture me. You must be a sadist, otherwise you wouldn't have this job. So go ahead… show me what you've got."
Blaze didn't miss the catch in her voice, or the pulse still pounding in her throat, belying her false bravado.
In actual fact, he was a sadist, but not the kind she assumed. He derived pleasure from hurting and humiliating willing partners; women who enjoyed it… where parameters were negotiated and safewords used. But there was no room for that sort of thing here—not at work, and not in the sad, pathetic routine he called his private life. Besides, with so much suffering and poverty all around, real submissives or masochists were like gold dust. He wasn't sure he'd ever even met one.
Blaze knew from books that BDSM, as it had been called, had been a real thing; with devotees all over the world. But since the meteor had wiped out all but the most basic technology and most of the planet's resources, the few people who had survived had other things to worry about. Sexual preferences or kinks had become, essentially, a thing of the past.
Still, a man's base desires are what they are. You're born with it.
He returned his attention to the girl on the table. There are ways of making someone suffer without really hurting them, he thought suddenly.
The girl flinched when he reached down and, almost idly, allowed his palm to caress the inside of her thigh; almost touching the puffy, pink lips in between—but not quite.
"Have it your way," he murmured, still stroking. "I gave you every chance… time for show rather than tell."
* * *
Lena had been prepared for the worst. No-one joined the Resistance without being fully aware of the dangers involved. Capture meant death. Or torture, then death. So when that heavy boot had pinned her to the ground, she had begun to psych herself up. She had expected to be cold and hungry and humiliated. Possibly raped. If she was lucky, shot in the head while trying to escape. If she wasn't lucky… pain. 'Excruciating pain until you find yourself wishing you were dead,' that was what Gregory had said.
She hadn't been prepared for the interrogator to have such a husky, deep voice. And she really hadn't been prepared for what happened next; to feel his hand slide between her splayed legs and stroke her inner thigh.
When his knuckle brushed her labia, she bit back a gasp.
Think of the others. Give nothing away.
Her pulse was still racing; and for a moment she wondered how it was even possible to have your heart beat so fast for so long without dropping dead.
His fingers were warm and slightly rough, but his touch was as light as a feather. Over and over again he stroked her… up the inside of one thigh, then circumventing the heat at her core to slide down the other thigh.
"The hell are you doing?" she croaked.
"I want you to answer my questions," he said. "And as you seem so hell-bent on refusing to answer me, I'm… convincing you."
"What are you going to do? Caress me to death?"
His deep, mocking chuckle reverberated through her and Lena felt her face grow hot. "Such sass," he said. "I'm giving you one more chance. Are you going to be a good little girl and answer my questions?"
She shook her head. "You already know the answer to that one."
"Excellent. I know you were hoping to annoy me, but I have a feeling I'm going to enjoy this far more than you are."
"Enjoy what?"
"When you're ready to talk, sweetheart, you just let me know," he said, and slid his warm palm right up against her sex.
Lena was taken aback by her body's response. Admittedly, it had been a good long while since she'd been with a man—if you could call her ex that—but even so, she never would have expected to feel such a surge of lust purely from having someone cup her pussy with his hand.
Instantly, her nipples tightened and there was a strange flickering sensation deep inside her.
Please, God, don't let me get wet. Please don't let him see the effect this is having on me.
She felt his other hand on her mound, pulling gently, and knew immediately what he was going to do.
Sure enough, he drew the hood back from her already swelling bud and began to stroke it with a single, precise fingertip, so gently it took Lena a moment to be sure she wasn't just imagining it.
Frantically she tried to focus her attention elsewhere, but it was so hard when she was blindfolded and tied to a table completely naked.
One times seven is seven.
Two times seven is fourteen.
Three times seven is—
"I wonder what your Resistance buddies would say if they could see you now," his deep voice interrupted her thoughts. "Naked, blindfolded, in enemy hands, strapped to an interrogation table and… enjoying it."
"I am not!" she hissed, outraged at the fact that he was right.
"Remember what I said about show versus tell? You may be wearing a blindfold, petal, but I'm not. And I can see everything most clearly… the way your pretty pink lips are spread, the way your most sensitive little button is growing beneath my fingertip… and I can see the telltale glistening… right… here…"
As he spoke, that husky voice seeming like a caress all in itself, he slid his thumb just inside her… and to Lena's horror, she contracted around him.
"You see?" He moved his thumb to her clit and she was unable to suppress a gasp as she felt the slick lubrication of her body's betrayal coat her throbbing nub. "By the time I'm through with you, sweetheart, you will be begging to be allowed to answer my questions."
"I will not," she panted.
He chuckled again. "Oh, but you will, or my name's not Blaze Fielding."
She gave a genuine snort of derision. "Blaze? Seriously?"
His tone hardened. "It would behoove you to remember who is in control here."
He had a point. Control was something Lena had always prided herself on having, but that relentlessly moving fingertip was proving to be a steadily increasing obstacle to maintaining it. Then she had a brainwave.
"I would advise against coming without permission," Blaze said, eerily addressing her unspoken thought. "Trust me, you would not like the consequences."
Maybe I would. Lena doubted very much that anything else he might do to her would be quite as humiliating, make her feel quite as helpless or embarrassed or… violated… as what he was doing now. To be bound helpless and have a complete stranger keep her on the brink of orgasm with such ruthless and cold precision was just mortifying. They'd never mentioned the possibility of this happening at the meetings.
Taking a deep, shuddering breath, she tried her best to block out his voice and concentrate instead on the sensations that were building between her legs.
Around and around his fingertip stroked her, barely grazing her hotly engorged, throbbing clit, still so cruelly exposed by his other hand on her abdomen, holding back the hood.
But every time she got close, he'd pause to dip inside her and gather more moisture with which to heighten the friction.
It was maddening.
"Poor baby," he crooned. "You're trembling. You must be so close… so desperate for release. Tell me your name and I'll end this."
"Please," she whispered, shamefully aware of the trickle sliding down between her buttocks—proving him right and only adding to her absolute humiliation.
"Pl
ease what?"
"Please stop."
"Oh, honey, I wish I could! But I'm a man of my word… and besides, you really don't want me to stop now, do you? No, you want me to grant you that sweet, blissful release, you want me to make you come harder than you ever have in your life. Admit it."
Lena bit her lip, vaguely aware she was shaking her head.
"I can draw it out, too," he went on. "I can make your orgasm go on and on… until your belly muscles ache from the strain and you want to weep with exhaustion. I can make you come for such a long fucking time that you'll be begging me again—to stop."
From another man, that might have sounded arrogant, but Lena had no doubt in her mind that Blaze was speaking the truth. It was obvious he already knew more about how to pleasure her than anyone else she'd ever met. Hell, he knew more about how to pleasure her than she did herself.
So… fucking… close. It felt like her clit was leaping beneath the pad of his finger.
"Your name," he said calmly. "Just one little word. You can do it. Or, fuck it, just keep silent. I could do this all night."
She moaned at the threat; another trickle of betrayal sliding down the inside of her buttock at his words.
"Oh," he said, his finger still circling… still teasing… still driving her to madness. "I forgot to mention: we're being watched. To your right is a two-way mirror taking up most of the wall, and behind it are some of my men. No doubt they're enjoying the sight of a gorgeous young woman bound to my table, leaking and begging beneath my fingertip. If you start talking, I'll send them away. Otherwise… they'll be right here, watching you, seeing everything I'm doing to you. I think they'd really enjoy the sight of you cumming, of your pretty pink cunt gushing—"
Lena climaxed with a distraught howl, her pussy clutching at the open air, her thighs trembling within their straps. Every nerve ending in her body was alight and Blaze forced her to ride the wave; his circling strokes unwavering in their speed and pressure, drawing out every last shudder, every last drop, until she was truly spent and her body finally stopped trembling.
There was a long pause.
"You bad, bad girl," he said eventually.