Do You Declare an Emergency
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State Of Emergency free porn video
STATE OF EMERGENCY
Part One
The Student
By
King Diocletian
1) Arrested
Rebecca stared at the stains on the wall above the door. How long had she been here? Two hours, three? She had no idea. There was no window and the only light came from a flickering bulb set behind thick mesh in the ceiling. Her head ached and her stomach was knotted with apprehension. It was chilly and she rubbed her bare arms trying to encourage some warmth.
Part of her wished they would come so they could get it over with, at least get her out of this stinking cell with its peeling paint and stench of sewage. They’d picked her up at the demonstration, one of a few dozen arrested, packed onto buses and brought to the prison. There, everybody had been forced to lie on the ground and in batches of seven or eight, police had taken them out. She’d been there about an hour, waiting anxiously, when her name had been called. A guard had prodded her with his toe, and she’d been pulled to her feet. They’d taken her boots, her sweatshirt and her jacket, leaving her in just a white tank-top and a pair of canvas trousers, blindfolded her and marched her through the jail to this cell.
They’d pulled off the blindfold and shoved her in, so she slipped on the greasy floor and fell awkwardly, grazing her wrist as she went down. She heard them laughing as they’d slammed the door, the bolts echoing in the silence as they were rammed shut.
What would they do with her? Going to the demonstration, she knew, had been stupid, but she was an American: surely they’d just let her go. She’d asked to speak to her embassy when she’d been bundled into the bus, and again as they’d brought her to the cell, but they’d ignored her. Was it illegal to go to a demo? She didn’t know that either. All she knew was that was thirsty, tired, cold and nervous. While she assumed her citizenship would protect her, she’d also heard the rumours about what the police got up to in this frontier province. That was one of the things she’d been protesting about.
She heard the bolts being slid back, and a wave of fear swept over her. Instinctively she stood, backing away from the door. She saw two guards come in, another two blocking the doorway.
?Up,? one shouted. ?Turn round. Against the wall.?
She obeyed, pushing herself against the peeling paint.
Her arms were yanked back and her hands fastened in cuffs behind her. A dark sack was pulled over her head. They spun her round and gave her a shove, sending her stumbling into the other guards. A guard took each arm, and she was hustled out. She tried to focus and remember the route, but it was impossible as they marched her along corridors, through numerous doors and then down a short flight of stairs, a nightmare as she felt with her toes for each step, the guards hurrying her on.
2) The first interrogation
She was terrified: why blindfold her and chain her if they were going to release her? Would they beat her? Torture her? She knew the stories, of brutal thrashings and electric shocks, of dissidents who just vanished. But surely they couldn’t do that to an American, could they? A hand ran across her ass and she yelped, jerking away. The guards laughed. ?Ooohh,? one mocked. ?Don’t touch.?
Eventually they stopped. She heard a door opening and she was pulled through and forced down onto a stool. The door closed, and she heard a key turning in the lock.
The sack was yanked off, but for a moment she saw nothing. Two arc lights shone in her face, and she blinked uncertainly aware only that there were two figures seated behind a desk facing her. There was silence, the only noise her frightened breathing. The chains were removed and she drew her hands in front of her, rubbing her wrists where the cuffs had chafed.
?Miss Harris,? came a cold voice from behind the desk. ?Do you know why you’re here?? His accent was educated.
?No, sir,? she said, her voice scarcely more than a croak.
?I can’t hear you. What did you say??
?No, sir.?
He sighed. ?Really? Miss Harris, please don’t take me for a fool.?
?I was... I was near the demonstration.? Her heart was thumping in her chest.
?Near it? So not leading it, not filling bottles with petrol to throw at the police??
?No, sir.?
She could feel her lip quivering; she felt on the verge of tears. She hadn’t even realised petrol bombs had been thrown. She looked down. Set into the floor she could see two small iron ringlets, scratched as though something metal had been passed through them. Were they to tie prisoners down?
?So what were you doing near the demonstration??
?I... I went to see what was happening, sir.?
?You were curious??
?Yes, sir.?
?I see. You know what curiosity did to the cat??
?It killed it, sir.? A tear rolled down her cheek.
*
What he was curious about was what was under that vest, but there was plenty of time for that. Inspector Patel was used to interrogating prisoners and a lot of the time it bored him. He knew there were sadists in the force who enjoyed hurting people, who got a kick from administering beatings or electric shocks, but to him it was just a job. If you got a woman in, though, that was different, especially a young pretty one like this. And the fact she was American only made it sweeter. He hated their arrogance, the way they swaggered around telling them how to police the frontier. Like they had any idea what these subversives were like. When they were bombing buses you had to break some rules, get the electrodes out and crack some heads. But they kept coming to the university and making their protests about human rights and the like. What about the human right not to be blown up?
?What are you doing here?? he asked, puffing away on his cigarette.
?I’m studying at the university, sir.? Her voice was unsteady; she was clearly terrified. It wouldn’t take long to get her to start naming names, telling him who was organising the protests.
She was a postgraduate, doing a bit of teaching and studying postcolonial Indian writers. She relaxed a little as she talked about it, perhaps thinking the worst was over. Patel stubbed out his cigarette and stood up. He glanced at his fellow officer, Rao, and he nodded. He knew he was as eager as he was to move this along.
Slowly he walked from behind the desk, watching her all the while, seeing her scared brown eyes following him as he walked round, staying always in the shadows. He moved behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. She flinched as he ran his fingers under the straps of her vest, gently kneading the soft skin. She was delicate and beautiful and, as he’d thought, she wasn’t wearing a bra, relying on the elasticated nature of the vest to keep her shapely breasts in place.
Standing behind her, he took a strip of coarse black material from his pocket and folded it in three. She twisted in her seat, desperate to know what he was doing, but not daring to turn fully. As he placed it over her eyes, she gasped and gave a slight whimper. He caught a waft of coconut – her shampoo, he guessed. He crossed the ends behind her head and pulled tight, the cloth pressing her wavy hair tight against her head. He pulled again, eliciting a slight gasp as the pressure increased, then knotted the blindfold. He could sense her growing more tense, ran his hands over her shoulder again, savouring the anxious tightness of the muscle.
He wafted a hand in front of her. She didn’t move; the cloth was doing its job.
?Put her in position,? he said, knowing the ambiguity of the phrase would unnerve her. Two soldiers pulled her up by her bare arms, and hustled her to the back of the room, pushing her against the peeling paint of the wall. They placed her hands flat against the wall next to her shoulders and stepped away.
Patel walked up to her left side. She’d placed her right cheek against the wall so, although it was hardly relevant given the blindfold, he felt he was talking to her. ?Keep your hands on the wall,? he said. There was something almost doll-like about her beauty, the gentle curve of the forehead, the beauty spot on her left cheek. ?Walk backwards.? She shuffled her feet back across the dusty concrete. He’d never really noticed feet before, but hers, so small and delicate, so, well, pretty, captivated him. Soon she was leaning, all her weight on her palms. She paused.
?Keep going,? he said. She kept shuffling back until she was stretched, her toes bent and her weight on her fingers. ?Feet shoulder width apart,? he said, and she obeyed.
He walked behind her, admiring her slightness. She was girlishly small: no more, he thought, than 5’3? or so, and delicate with it. ?This is what we call the stress position,? he said. ?You stay like that until you answer my questions. If you disobey, well... well, then things get interesting.?
Patel could see the tension in her already. Her head was bowed and her breathing unsteady. It was the fingers that would hurt first, he knew, then the toes, before the muscles of her arms and to a lesser extent her calves would ache. He’d probably overstretched her, misjudging it a little with her lack of height, but he wasn’t bothered: no harm in speeding this along. There was always the danger that his bosses would make him go easy on an American girl.
?Now,? he said, ?what were you doing at that demonstration??
She lifted her head. ?I’ve told you,? she said uncertainly. ?I just went to look.?
?So you regard my county’s problems as a spectator sport??
?No.?
?So why did you go??
?I was curious.?
He saw a tremor pass along her arms. ?Were you reporting to anyone??
?Reporting? No.?
?You’re not a journalist??
?No.?
?Do you work for the CIA??
?No. Of course not.?
She was trembling continuously now, flexing her fingers. Patel decided on a different tack.
?Do you have a boyfriend??
?No.? She sounded puzzled. Her head was dipped again. He stepped close behind her, and sensed how she stiffened as he realised how close he was.
?A pretty girl like you? Why not? Are you looking for a good Indian husband??
She gave a sob, and her left hand gave way. She pushed herself back into position but her palm had clearly slapped against the wall, her feet slithered two or three inches forward. He stepped even closer, and reached round her waist. She flinched. Slowly, calmly, he unbuckled her belt. Her whole body stiffened.
?Please...? she whimpered, as he pulled the pin from the eye hole and let the belt slide loose. His fingers reached for the button. She seemed to be drawing her belly away from him, but stayed in position, her breath coming in short shallow jerks. He popped the button, and then stepped away, drawing the waistband slowly down over her hips. Slowly, her trousers slithered down to bunch around her ankles, revealing slim, lightly-muscled legs and round buttocks that, although covered by the pale pink cotton of her panties, Patel knew would be the smoothest, tautest he’d ever seen.
*
Rebecca wished she’d worn a bra, but she never did with this top. It was a perfect fit, the elastication giving her breasts perfect support. She wasn’t flat-chested, not by any means, but neither were her breasts so big that they needed much in the way of lift; a benefit of youth. But if he took off an item of clothing each time she fell, well... Well, she knew it didn’t really matter. What was an extra five or ten minutes if he was going to strip her anyway? But it mattered because she worried it made her look sluttish, and that was the last thing she was.
?Have you ever attended any other demonstrations?? he asked.
She tried to think what the best answer was, but the strain on her fingers and toes, her arms, her fear, made it difficult. She had, but she didn’t think she should admit it.
?Yes, sir,? she said. What else could she do?
?Really?? He was closer to her now, on her right side. She hated not being able to see, felt incredibly vulnerable. She felt his breath on her cheek as he leaned in. ?When?? he asked.
At least he wasn’t standing behind her, staring at her ass. Was he really going to strip her naked? Was that the plan? Would he do that to an American citizen? Maybe he’d just strip her to bra and panties, just too shock her. But then she wasn’t wearing a bra. Did he realise that? Or might he expose her by accident?
?I don’t know.?
?You don’t know??
?I can’t think like this.? The position he’d let her take up after she’d slipped the first time wasn’t as bad. An extra three or four inches made a big difference, but she knew she couldn’t hold out much longer.
?We could always think of a way to aid your memory.?
She gave an involuntary sob. She fingers were in real pain now, beginning to wobble. Her head hung loose below her arms.
?Two weeks ago,? she said. ?On the campus.?
?And what were you demonstrating about??
?Human rights abuses.?
?How ironic.?
He said nothing for a moment. ?You can tell us more about that later. Other demonstrations??
She gave a whimper of pain. Her hands were shaking violently now. ?Yes. I don’t know, seven or eight...? She had to hang on, delay this as long as possible. She lifted her head, gritting her teeth, but it was no good. She fell to her knees. She bit her lower lip, but couldn’t stop it quivering. She felt hands on her arms, and she was pulled to her feet, the trousers yanked from round her ankles, and hustled back towards the stool.
*
Patel sat back. This was it. He could hear Rao’s breathing, heavy with anticipation. Two soldiers, dwarfing her absurdly, held her arms. As he flicked on the arc lights again, another removed her blindfold. She blinked rapidly, and turned her head.
?Look at me,? he said, struggling to keep his voice steady. The guard behind her gave her a shove and she raised her head to face the light. She looked utterly terrified.
?I told you to stay in position,? he said. ?You failed.?
She pressed her lips together, shrinking away from him. The guards held her arms, but her feet shuffled back so she bent forward slightly, making her seem even smaller than she already was.
?Strip her,? he said.
She gave a squeak, a half-bark of ?No!? as they fell on her. Two guards on her arms and four others around her. When they stepped away, she was naked.
She cowered in the light, hunched in humiliation, her right arm hooked across her breasts, her left cupped between her legs. She was visibly shaking, her head lowered, chin pressed to chest.
?Sit,? he said.
She looked at him, glanced around as though seeking a way out, saw the stool a little behind her and to her left, and then moved towards it. It was only a couple of paces, but such was her embarrassment that it became an awkward stumble. He admired her smooth skin, pale in the light, saw her flat, firm right buttock as she half turned. She sat, facing the officers, bent forwards as she tried to cover herself. Others would have chained her wrists so that everything was on show, but he suspected leaving her unchained caused more humiliation. Now she had a chance to protect herself; if he saw her breasts or her pudendum, it was her fault.
?Why did you go to the demonstration>?? he asked.
She burst into tears. ?God, I’ve told you,? she said through her sobs. ?I was curious.?
Patel turned to one of the guards. ?Take her clothes away and search them,? he said.
*
The tears wouldn’t stop. With them and the light shining straight at her she may as well have been blindfolded. Her cheeks were burning, her throat dry, and he kept hammering questions at her. She had her legs crossed, her left hand clamped over her genitals, her right arm slung across her chest. Tears dripped off her face onto her chest, a horrible reminder of her nakedness.
?Who organised the demonstration??
?I don’t know.?
?Who told you about it??
?I don’t know.? Her voice was barely more than a whisper.
?You don’t know??
?Everybody was talking about it.?
?And yet you didn’t report it to the police??
?No.?
On it went, question after question, always insinuating, demanding names, making veiled threats, lighting up cigarette after cigarette. She squirmed on the stool, the way the light was directed at her seemingly to highlight how she was the focus of every stare. She’d never been so ashamed. She tried to stay calm, to answer sensibly, but constantly she could hear a voice inside her head yelling out that she was naked. She huddled forward, trying to make herself small, struggling to keep her right arm high enough to cover both breasts. Her arms ached, but she knew to switch over and relieve the tension would leave her exposed even if only for a second.
?Is there a dissident movement at the university??
?I don’t know, sir.?
?Nothing? Nobody says anything??
?About what, sir??
?About resistance to the law? About opposing the government??
?People say things but I don’t know how serious they are.?
?Who? Who says what??
Why had she said that? She blinked back more tears and shook her head. ?I don’t know,? she said softly.
*
Rao was stiff, his cock aching as it pressed against his over-tight trousers. This was by some way the most fun interrogation he’d conducted – not that he’d conducted many. He’d only been in frontier force for four months and most of his fellow officers had treated him as he’d been treated at school and university: with barely disguised contempt. He was a fat, burdened with coarse, patchy stubble, and prone to sweating at moments of tension. Women barely paid him any attention, let alone women as pretty as this. To say she was the best-looking girl he’d seen naked wasn’t saying much, but he couldn’t think even of a better-looking girl he’d seen naked even on the internet.
He still couldn’t believe Patel had had her stripped. He’d only interrogated two women before – one in her fifties he wouldn’t have wanted to see naked anyway, the other a teacher in her thirties who had had a certain tough charm. They’d shouted at her for a day or so, put her in the stress position and slapped her around a bit, but nothing more. Why Patel was so intent on humiliating this one he had no idea, but he was loving it.
Patel stood, slowly. Rao saw the girl’s face harden, fear intensifying. That she was so terrified, so helpless only made it better. He prayed Patel would have her beaten, might even let him use a strap or a cane on that slender body. Staying in the dark so he couldn’t be seen, Patel walked behind her. She twisted to follow his movement, one arm still locked across her chest. Gently but firmly, Patel placed his hands on the sides of her head and turned her so she faced forward. Rao stared at her, drinking in the terror in her brown eyes, desperately peering to see beyond the arm and catch another glimpse of her sweet round breasts.
Patel painstakingly folded the blindfold again then, without warning, slipped it over her eyes, pulling it tight and knotting it. She gasped instinctively and for a second her arms twitched. She kept them still, though, and Rao was thwarted. He knew what was coming, though, and knew he would see her fully nude before long.
Patel waved a hand in front of her face. She didn’t move, at which he nodded to two of the soldiers. Rao found himself holding his breath. They seized her arms from behind her and yanked her to her feet. She yelped, as they pulled her arms away from her and she was naked for all to see. She backed away instinctively, so she bent forward slightly, her breasts hanging slightly from her chest, her clear humiliation only increasing Rao’s desire. It wasn’t just her breasts, creamily smooth and high as they were, but her whole pale slenderness, the taut perfection of her tiny body. They turned her and dragged her to the back wall. Even her thin back turned him on, never mind her pert round buttocks. What would he give to slash a cane across them? To mark their round purity with a purple wheal?
*
It was as if there were a band tightened around her chest. She had to concentrate to breathe properly and she wanted to be sick. Her fingers ached, her arms ached, her legs ached, she was cold and her head was throbbing but the worst thing was she was naked. Utterly naked. Exposed to them. Everything was black, but she could sense them there staring at her buttocks and, with her legs slightly spread, at far more. She knew they had walked to the side to leer at her breasts and she knew that, however bad it had been when they’d stripped her, what was waiting if she slipped from the stress position this time would be far worse.
She answered his questions mechanically, struggling to understand where they were leading. The reality was she couldn’t think so she answered truthfully. She didn’t know anything. She wasn’t a spy or a journalist. But of course she did know who had told her about the demonstration, she did know what certain other students had said about it and about the authorities: she just wasn’t going to tell him, to condemn them to who knows what for a couple of offhand comments.
Her head dropped between her shaking arms. She willed herself to hold out a little longer. What would it be? Now she was naked what else could they do to her?
?Tell me about your friends at university,? he said.
Liesl
- 07.05.2021
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