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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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Breaking Point
by Anonymous (2014)
***
A captured and tortured female secret agent finally
knows her breaking point when another captive enters
the scene. (MMFf, ped, nc, bd, tor)
***
Twenty-two-year-old Debra Jean Cain sat shivering in
the engulfing arms of the leather easy chair into
which she had been strapped. The tightly encompassing
leather belts crossing her naked belly pressed
tightly into her flesh, as did the others binding her
arms and legs.
There was pain, but she was no longer capable of
experiencing it. Not after the fifteen separate rapes
she had endured during the preceding hour, the climax
of her interrogation at the hands of the Imperial
Police.
Before the rapes there had been two full days of
physical and psychological torture unlike any the
young woman had ever imagined, even given the
warnings her superiors had given her at mission
briefing.
Commander Rollins had made certain Debra was fully
aware of the risks her undercover assignment
involved, wanting none of his volunteers going into
battle blind.
"If you're caught, Debra," he had said, "the
Imperials will use any means at their disposal to
milk any information they can from you. You must be
prepared for the worst.
"We've received first-hand reports from our
informants planted within the police ranks on just
how ingenious these people can be. One of our
youngest male agents, only twenty-two years of age,
was uncovered by the Imperials last spring. Our
infiltrants told us later that it took the young man
over a week to die.
"He was whipped, beaten, deprived of sleep, food and
water, drugged. But still he apparently resisted.
Finally they used one of their specially developed
acid baths to dilute his epidermis over a period of
three days until there was nothing left of his skin
at all. He lived at least another day after that,
following which our informant lost track of him. We
list him now as missing and presumed.
"So before you volunteer for this assignment, I want
you to imagine yourself in that acid bath for those
three days and nights. Because that's the risk you're
taking.
"Also," Rollins added, not diverting his direct gaze
away from Debra, "since you are a woman there will
be... other... forms of duress employed to persuade
you to talk. Imperial troops are forbidden relations
with females, as a part of their austere training
regimen. But when a female prisoner falls into police
hands, exceptions are made."
Commander Rollins had needed to say no more. The risk
was perfectly clear to his star recruit and nothing
he could say would sway her from undertaking the
mission at hand.
Had she been foolish? But how could she have known
that the Imperial Police had known the nature of her
mission the moment she'd arrived at the Territorial
border, had known her name even and almost everything
else about her as well, and had been awaiting her
arrival.
Then had come all Commander Rollins had warned of and
more. And now bruised, shaken, raped at every orifice
her beautiful young body afforded her captors, Debra
Jean Cain, soldier of the resistance, sat awaiting
what her "interrogation officer" had promised her
would be the "final solution" to her obstinately
maintained silence.
The room's heavy metal door clanged suddenly inward,
startling Debra from her feverish reverie, and a
metal table was rolled into the room and parked a few
feet before her. Debra had seen such a table before,
many times in fact. She'd seen it each time she'd
reported for her periodic medical examinations since
puberty.
It was a surgical examination table, padded with
leather upholstered cushion at top and equipped with
the familiar set of gleaming metal stirrups at one
end. But this table differed in one way from those
others Debra had known. The straps. Two at the
table's head, one across its middle, and two more
securely bound to the upraised metal stirrups mounted
to the table's foot.
Debra instantly saw herself lying securely bound to
this table, as she knew very well she soon would be,
struggling a screaming under whatever unspeakable
tortures the twisted mind of the Imperials could
devise.
But here she was very wrong. Instead of writhing in
torment upon that table, Debra would soon be wishing
wholeheartedly that she were. The minds of the
Imperial Police Force were diabolical in less direct,
but far more effective ways than anyone at Command
had given credit to.
The realization of this came to Debra slowly, her
first clue a distant girlish sobbing coming from far
away down the hall outside, growing steadily in its
panicked fright as the source of the crying grew
quickly nearer.
Then Debra's eyes grew wide in horror as two
uniformed guards of the Police entered through the
open doorway, one each pinioning the upper arm... of
Cary Lynn Cain... Debra's thirteen-year-old sister.
A troop of questions flooded Debra's panicked mind as
she watched the guards drag the struggling young girl
before her seated older sister.
"DEBBIE!" the girl shrieked at her sister in absolute
terror. I must look a sight, though Debra, her mind
insanely calm. Raped, beaten, whipped. Not the pretty
blonde her younger sister would remember her to be.
Cary Lynn was screaming for other reasons now. A
third guard had arrived and was now calmly taking the
clothes from young Cary's twisting, struggling frame.
Away went the plaid swathe of her school uniform
skirt. They took her from school, thought Debra.
Called her from class. "Your sister wants you to
come," they had no doubt told the girl, and she had
come willingly, trustingly into this hell, a hell
that Debra alone had agreed to face and not her sweet
little sister.
The white blouse and striped school tie was gone now,
and young Cary Lynn was dressed only in her heart-
breakingly small training bra and a pair of simple
little girl panties, their innocent plainness touched
with a hint of lace.
Cary Lynn danced in the restraining arms of the two
guards as the third unsnapped and removed the small
bra and tugged down the white panties.
And then Debra Jean Cain's little sister was naked.
The small breasts, taut-nippled in the room's vault-
like chill, were hardly more than two ripe bears
standing straight and proud for all their youth,
promising greater things in years to come as they
ripened. If indeed Cary would be allowed to ripen,
Debra thought suddenly, and the thought brought tears
to her eyes where she none should have remained left
to be shed.
The mound of Cary Lynn's pubescent sex, which the
girl was now valiantly attempting to hide between
pressing coltish thighs, was almost free of pubic
fur. Only the mere shadow of what might come with
distant maturity was hinted there in the form of a
few sparse tendrils, these as blonde as the long
golden tresses gathered into a ponytail upon the head
of the thirteen-year-old.
Suddenly Debra came to herself, screaming the word,
"NO!" again and again, her reaction triggered by the
sight of the three Imperial Guards dragging her naked
sister toward the padded surgical table.
Straps were tugged and buckled securely into place,
tying down wrists, binding feet and ankles into the
gleaming metal stirrups, and a final wide belt across
Cary Lynn's belly pressing her back firmly against
the table.
Then the three guards stepped away from the table.
Cary Lynn tugged violently at her bonds for a few
moments, then became still, gathering breath for one,
long, high anguished wail that broke her sister's
heart as she heard in it some kind of instinctive
realization of what was about to occur. This
frightened Debra more than anything.
The guards were now turning the examination table's
end toward Debra, so that her little sister's young
sex was open before her eyes for the first time since
her sister's infancy. How vulnerable it looked, a
small thin slit of pink against the glistening
moisture of fear-sweat covering the girl's coltish
thighs, held elevated and wide apart by the upraised
position of the stirrups.
A crank was turned beneath the table, lowering the
end toward Debra, so that in a moment or two Cary
Lynn could look downward and see her sister's face a
few feet away, framed between her wide spread knees.
Then Debra saw something else, something that made
her scream out again that one word, "NOOOOOO!" in a
howl of horror.
The guards had fished three thin black cables from a
rack beneath the table. There were clamps at the end
of each of these and Debra heard wild shrieks rising
high from Cary Lynn as the two of the clamps were
fitted onto the small pink tips of her girlish
breasts.
The young girl's body danced against her bonds, her
shrieks truly insane in their intensity as she
struggled to free herself form the table, or at least
to shake off the burning pinch of the cold cable
clamps that bit her young nipples.
Then suddenly, Cary's body froze, instantly quiet but
for a sharp intake of breath as the third guard took
hold of the small fold of flesh that hid the tiny bud
of Cary's girlish clitoris... and clamped on the
remaining cable there, pinching it down for a sure
hold.
Then Debra's interrogator was standing at the table's
side, looking straight into Debra's eyes.
"You really should have talked to us, Miss Cain," he
said simply, and punctuated the sentence by clicking
a switch on a small box mounted to the table's side.
The box was a transformer.
At the sound of the click young Cary Lynn's nakedly
bound body arched upwards violently against the
restraining straps, her back locking into a ridged
bridge of incredible, unbelievable, unimaginable
torment. A quick, low grunt was the only sound that
came from her.
Also, there was an almost instantaneous sparking
flash from between Cary Lynn's straining thighs as
the contents of her bladder erupted forth like a
geyser under pressure and arced nearly three feet
into the air in the direction of her bound older
sister.
When this uncontrollable stream disappeared finally
after almost a full minute of electrical discharge
the little toggle switch was clicked off and Cary
Lynn's young body collapsed.
Now came the scream that the girl had been unable to
vent while the electricity had been coursing through
her. No tormented soul in hell had ever let loose
with such a cry. It was not like the cry of a
thirteen-year-old human female. It was more that of a
mortally wounded animal howling to the distant moon
for sympathy. Sympathy that would not come.
"STOP! OH, PLEASE, GOD, STOPPPPPPPPPPP!" This was the
cry from Debra Jean Cain, soldier of the Resistance,
her nation's pride, as she signaled her breaking
point. She would betray her friends, the cause they
believed in and that Debra shared with all her heart.
"Fine," said the Interrogator, quietly. "We will
allow your sister here to return to her classes."
Then he smiled, the sharp-toothed smile of some
prehistoric lizard.
"Tomorrow, that is," he added, once again toggling
the transformer switch into the "on" position, never
taking his glittering eyes from those of the enemy
agent he had just broken.
END
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This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life in
any way, shape or form. Anyone tempted to act out any
of the scenarios in this story should seriously consider
seeking professional help.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 81