The Interrogation That Ended Backwards

I came to little by little, like when one emerges from a deep sleep and the brain takes a while to remember who it is. The first thing I noticed was the absolute darkness. The second was that I couldn’t move: my wrists were tied tightly behind my back and my ankles immobilized with something that didn’t give no matter how much force I used.

I tried to reconstruct what I remembered. I’m an investigative journalist and for three months I had been following the trail of a high-society couple: he, a businessman with multimillion-dollar government contracts; she, a familiar face in the society pages and president of a charity foundation. A source had passed me an envelope with documents implicating them in a sexual exploitation ring. The information was enough to destroy them.

Days later, a brunette girl contacted me via encrypted message. She said she was one of the victims. She said she had additional evidence that could close the case. We met at a downtown brasserie. We went into a private room, ordered something to drink, and that’s where my memory cut off.

They had drugged me. There was no other explanation.

A door opened. Light came in like a blow, and it took me several seconds to open my eyes properly. When I did, I saw them: the couple I had been investigating for months, smiling from the threshold as if they had just closed the best deal of their lives.

“Well, well,” she said. “The curious journalist is awake.”

“Handle it quickly,” he said without looking at me. “I have a flight tonight.”

“Don’t worry. You know I’m efficient.”

The man left. She advanced toward me with a calm that was more threatening than any shout. She was blonde, around forty, and there was in the way she moved the confidence of someone who had always been obeyed.

“Now you’re going to tell me where those documents are,” she said.

I looked around the room carefully for the first time. The walls were fitted with metal rings at different heights. A wooden panel held whips of different kinds, riding crops, handcuffs, ropes, and other objects I had seen described in articles but never up close. Hanging from the ceiling was a hook connected to an electric mechanism. The room’s use was obvious, and it was obvious they used it often.

“I don’t know what documents you’re talking about,” I replied.

The brunette came closer. I recognized her immediately: the girl who had set me up at the bar. Without saying anything, the two of them lifted me from the floor and worked the ropes until they secured my wrists to the ceiling hook. I was left standing, arms raised, with no possibility of moving.

“We’ve got plenty of time,” the blonde said. “My husband’s back in a week. We can take care of this at our leisure.”

And she slapped me so hard I saw white sparks.

“Still silent? I almost prefer it. That way I can have more fun before you talk.”

They tore my shirt off. The brunette unbuckled my belt and pulled my pants down. I was left hanging in my underwear while the two women examined me with the same coldness used to inspect a recent acquisition.

“Not bad at all,” the blonde said, and ran her palm over the bulge in my boxer briefs, squeezing without the slightest delicacy. “Look what’s hiding in there.”

“Not bad at all,” the other one confirmed with a smile that never reached her eyes, while she crouched to touch me too, gauging the weight of my balls through the fabric.

The blonde knelt, took me by the waist from inside my boxer briefs with both hands, and yanked them down in one motion. My cock hung there, still soft, exposed a handspan from her face. She took it between thumb and forefinger, as if inspecting a counterfeit bill, and lifted it to see it better.

“Pretty decent for a journalist,” she murmured, and suddenly opened her mouth and took it all in, without warning, sucking with a deliberate force that had nothing to do with pleasure and everything to do with mockery. Blood rushed between her lips and my cock hardened against my will, inside her mouth, while she looked up at me from below with eyes sparkling with amusement.

When she pulled it out, a thread of saliva hung from the head.

“Look how well-behaved you’ve got him,” she said to Sofía. “He gets hard all by himself when I give him attention.”

Sofía laughed, a short, sharp laugh, came up behind me, and grabbed my ass cheeks with both hands, spreading them apart. I felt one of her fingers, wet with something, trace the slit from top to bottom, press against my asshole, and withdraw.

“After everything you’re going to tell us, maybe I’ll come back for this,” she whispered in my ear.

I was left completely naked, suspended from the hook, with my cock erect and pointing forward and absolutely nothing I could do about it.

I thought quickly. If I told them where the documents were, I would stop being useful and become nothing but a problem. My only option was to resist and wait for the right moment.

***

I’m going to call her Valeria, though that isn’t her name. She took a multi-strand whip and began to work with a precision that suggested practice. The first blows landed on my back. Each one tore a sound from me involuntarily, and that seemed to encourage her. When she changed target and aimed at my crotch, the pain was of another order: disorienting, brutal, the kind that wipes out thought. The strands struck my cock and balls with a wet crack, and I felt as if something were being ripped out from inside me.

“Remember anything yet?” she asked between blows.

I didn’t answer. It was the only thing I could control at that moment.

The brunette — whom I’ll call Sofía — kept my legs spread with ropes attached to rings in the floor while Valeria continued. Between blows, Sofía had knelt between my open thighs and was sucking my cock, alternating pain with the most obscene pleasure, taking me deep, leaving my head at the back of her throat, while the other woman punished my thighs and abdomen. The combination was a more complete form of torture: every time my body tried to seek refuge in pleasure, a lash snapped me back to reality; every time the pain made me close my eyes, Sofía’s tongue tore a groan from me that betrayed everything. I lost count of the blows and of the times I was on the verge of cumming in her mouth without being able to stop it.

At some point, between the pain and the accumulated exhaustion, the idea came to me: pretend I’d lost consciousness.

I let my body drop forward like dead weight. The blows stopped and Sofía pulled her mouth away with a wet sound.

“We need him awake,” Valeria said. “We still don’t know anything. Lower him.”

I felt the ropes around my ankles being untied. The hook descended slowly. My feet touched the floor.

And there was my chance.

I opened my eyes. The two women had their backs to me, arguing over the next step. Without thinking twice, I sprang to my feet and disengaged myself from the hook. My wrists were still tied together, but I was free of the ceiling.

I launched myself at Valeria. Sofía saw the movement coming and shouted, but too late. A hard blow to the nape of the neck and Valeria went down. Sofía tried to reach me with a crop, but I dodged the strike and drove my elbow into her stomach. She dropped to her knees, winded.

I took the electric immobilizer from Valeria’s pocket.

“This is for the setup,” I told Sofía.

I told her to untie my wrists. She did it without resistance. I picked up my pants from the floor and put them on without taking my eyes off them for a single instant.

Now I had the upper hand.

***

I could have called the police then. I had memorized the number for the post office box where I kept the original documents, and one call would have been enough. But they had hung me from a ceiling. They had beaten me for hours. And in front of me was the whole room equipped with its own instruments.

I decided justice could wait a little.

I waited for Valeria to recover. When she looked up, her eyes held three things at once: surprise, hate, and something harder to name. The combination was interesting.

“You won’t get out of here,” she said.

I showed her the immobilizer without answering.

“Both of you against the wall.”

Sofía obeyed at once. Valeria hesitated until I brought the device close to her arm. Then she moved.

“Take off all your clothes.”

They looked at each other. They exchanged something in silence — a quick negotiation between them, I suppose — and slowly started undressing. Valeria wore an ivory lace set that barely contained what it promised. Sofía, younger and slighter, wore something black and minimal. Both of them stopped in their underwear.

“I didn’t say stop.”

Valeria opened her mouth. I silenced her by stepping closer with the immobilizer in my hand. She unhooked her bra. Her tits were full and firm, with pink nipples already hardened by the cold air or by something else she wasn’t going to admit. Sofía freed hers: rounder, smaller, with dark, prominent nipples. They both slid their panties down and stood naked, trying to cover their cunts with their hands.

“Hands behind your backs. And spread your legs. I want to see everything.”

They obeyed reluctantly. Valeria’s cunt was completely shaved, with thick lips slightly parted. Sofía’s, barely covered by a narrow strip of black hair, was smaller and tighter. I put the handcuffs they had used on me on them. I turned them around to face their backs and dragged Sofía into a corner, where I tied her to a wall ring, her ass exposed toward the room.

“Now it’s you and me,” I told Valeria.

***

I led her to the central hook and made her sit on the floor. With the same spreader bar they had used on my ankles, I tied hers, keeping her legs open. I hooked the center of the bar to the lift. I activated the control.

Valeria’s legs began to rise while she twisted and cursed under her breath. I stopped when only her left shoulder remained on the floor. I held her head. A little more elevation, and she was completely suspended upside down, with her legs open toward the ceiling and her head a handspan from the floor.

I looked her in the eyes. Her cheeks were flushed. In that position her tits hung inverted toward her face, and her cunt was fully exposed, spread wide open, with no possibility of hiding. Her pink asshole was right above it, offered at my face level.

I took the multi-strand whip she had used on me.

A stream of urine burst from her before I even raised my arm. Her body had made the decision before her mind. The piss ran down her belly until it dripped over her own tits and face.

“Easy,” I said. “We’ve got plenty of time.”

The first blows landed on her abdomen. She screamed with an intensity that echoed through the whole room. When I changed targets and hit one of the tits hanging inverted, the scream rose in pitch. Her nipples hardened like stones.

“Please... not there...”

“Would you rather I changed places?”

She closed her eyes. She knew what that implied.

The next blow landed directly on the open cunt between her legs. The shriek lasted several seconds and reverberated off the walls. I switched to the single-strand whip. I measured the distance. The next blow was more precise: the strand curved inward and, rebounding, brushed her swollen clit. The sound she made then was more complicated than pure pain: there was in it a low, guttural note that didn’t come from her throat but from lower down.

I dropped the whip. I knelt in front of that hanging cunt and slid two fingers between the lips. It was wet. Soaked. I pulled them out shining and held them in front of her eyes.

“Look at you. And you still tell me you don’t like it?”

She didn’t answer. I shoved my two fingers deep inside her, hard, and started moving them with a steady rhythm. By the fourth or fifth motion, her hips began to follow against her will, seeking friction. With my thumb I pressed her clit, circling it, while inside I kept fucking her with my fingers.

“No... don’t make me...” she panted.

I added a third finger. Her cunt closed around them with a wet tremor. I felt a warm jet washing over my hand and forearm: she had come, hanging upside down, with tears of rage and humiliation mixing with the piss on her face. The orgasm shook her whole body, all the way to the chains.

“Very good,” I told her. “Now we continue.”

I pulled down my pants. I’d been hard for a while and I wasn’t going to waste it. Her face was right at the level of my cock. I grabbed her hair with one hand, squeezed her cheeks with the other until I forced her mouth open, and rammed it in all the way to her throat in one thrust.

“Suck.”

Upside down, her throat opened in a straight line and my cock went all the way in, without resistance. I started fucking her mouth with long thrusts, holding her by the hair, watching her neck swell with each push. She swallowed the saliva pooling in her mouth, coughed, choked, and I did not stop. On one of the thrusts I slipped out and a long string of drool fell across her eyes.

“Open wider,” I ordered, and shoved it back in until I felt her teeth brush my base.

When she was sufficiently lubricated by her own saliva, I pulled out. I walked around her suspended body until I was standing between her legs open to the ceiling. I took her ass cheeks in both hands, spreading them apart, and pressed the head of my cock against the soaked cunt. I pushed in at once, going all the way. She let out a long, sharp moan that no longer had any resistance in it.

I fucked her like that, with her hanging there, her legs open upward and me standing, thrusting downward. Each drive made her inverted tits bounce against her face. I buried my cock to the balls, pulled it out completely, and drove it back in again with the wet sound of her cunt sloshing from how soaked she was. With the thumb of my right hand I started pressing on the asshole above, working it in little by little until I got it all the way in.

“Ah... ah... son of a bitch...” she moaned. “Slower...”

“No.”

I sped up. My hips hit hers with a dry smack. I felt her about to come a second time when her cunt clenched around me all at once. A shiver ran through her legs and everything inside her closed around me with a rhythmic suction. I let her get there and pulled out just before I came, finishing on her face and tits, thick spurts mixing with the drool and tears.

I kept going for a few minutes before going to get an anal plug from the panel. I inserted it patiently, without rushing, using the mix of my semen and her own lubrication as the only lubricant. The plug went in, overcoming each ring of resistance. Valeria’s long, taut moan as she took it all was a particular satisfaction. The black base was left nestled between her ass cheeks, gleaming.

I lowered her. Lying on the floor, face dirty and plug lodged in place, I chained and padlocked her wrists and ankles to rings. She wasn’t going anywhere.

***

I approached Sofía. She had watched everything from her corner, and now her thighs were clearly wet, though her face tried to keep the same panic as at the start.

“Please,” she said as soon as I was near. “I was only following instructions.”

“I know,” I replied. “That’s why I’ve got something special set aside for you.”

I ran a finger through her cunt and pulled it out wet. I showed it to her without saying anything. She lowered her gaze.

In the corner there was a structure I recognized from having described it in some article: a spanking bench with a wedge-shaped plank, horizontal, resting between two supports. I made Sofía put one leg on each side. I removed her handcuffs but tied her wrists together to a ceiling ring, keeping her standing with her arms up.

“Now sit down.”

She hesitated. She slowly lowered her body until the wedge contacted her cunt. She was still holding her weight on her feet.

I tied her left foot with a short rope. I lifted her right. The whimper was immediate: without both feet on the floor, all her weight transferred to the wedge between her legs. I tied that foot too and stood up to observe the result. Her lips were clearly parted on either side of the wooden edge, with her clit crushed against the tip, and on her face you could read the effort of sustaining that constant pressure. A thread of moisture had already begun to run down the wood.

I saw she was trying to lean back slightly to relieve the most sensitive area. I went to fetch two small clamps from the panel. I put them on her nipples without difficulty. I passed a rope through a ring on the front of the bench and pulled gently.

Sofía’s scream filled the room.

Now she had two equally bad options: lean forward, which increased the wedge’s pressure on her clit, or lean back, which made the clamps pull on her nipples with the same cruelty. There was no comfortable position. No possible relief.

I stood behind her. I slid my hand between her ass cheeks and downward, gliding along the edge of the wedge until I found the entrance to her cunt behind it. She was soaked. I shoved two fingers in from behind and started moving them while the wedge kept punishing her clit. With my other hand I squeezed her breast beneath one of the clamps.

“You’re wet too, look,” I told her in her ear. “Just like your boss.”

She panted, unable to move in either direction without hurting herself more. I kept working her cunt with my fingers, in and out at an easy rhythm, while the tip of the wedge pressed into her clit every time her hips instinctively sought more. In a few minutes her whole belly began to tremble. The orgasm took her without warning: she came over my fingers and over the wood, with a muffled moan she couldn’t swallow. The wedge was left gleaming with moisture.

“Very good,” I said, and put a gag on her. I hadn’t gagged Valeria, because her cries seemed to me a fair part of the atmosphere.

***

I sat in the room’s only chair and watched the two of them. Valeria lying on the floor, chained, with the plug lodged inside and my semen still drying on her tits. Sofía on the bench, forced into silence, her eyes wet from the sustained effort and her thighs shining with her own orgasm.

The pain in my own body had receded. What I felt now was something else: a cold calm and something pleasantly sharp that had no exact name but wasn’t unpleasant. My cock was beginning to harden again.

I stood up. I went over to Valeria. Her cunt was reddened and sensitive from the blows and the use. I ran my fingers over her vulva calmly. She protested, but the locks on the rings left her no room to maneuver. I parted her lips with two fingers and briefly penetrated her, without urgency, only so she would understand the point.

“How does it look from this side?” I asked.

Her eyes stared at the floor without answering.

I removed the plug slowly. The opening remained dilated and open, forming a dark circle that took several seconds to begin closing. I watched it for a moment before sliding two fingers inside, without asking permission, checking how much she had given in. The moan she let out was hoarse, exhausted, and beyond negotiation. I pulled my fingers out and wiped them on her own thigh.

I went to where Sofía was. I took off her gag and then, one by one, the clamps. Her nipples were reddened and the first gulp of free air drew a short, almost involuntary sob from her as blood rushed back into them.

“See?” I said. “Something special, like I promised.”

I freed her from the bench and tied her to the floor on the other side of the room, on her back, with her legs slightly apart. I left two containers of water within reach of both of them. I needed them to be in good condition: they still had to answer to justice for everything they had done over the years.

***

Before leaving, I went through the room calmly. I found a recording camera on a high shelf. I took it. If their habit was to film their sessions, the memory card was an unexpected gift for the prosecutor: material they had produced themselves, in their own room, with their own victims.

I also found my phone in the pocket of Valeria’s jacket, intact and with enough battery.

I turned it on. I called a number I had memorized weeks earlier.

“This is Marcos Vidal,” I said when they answered. “Journalist. I need to speak to someone from the anti-corruption prosecutor’s office. I have two people detained, compromising documents, and a camera with material you’re going to want to see before the press gets here.”

While I waited for the response, I looked one last time at the two women on the floor.

Valeria lifted her gaze to me. There was something in her eyes I hadn’t expected to find: not just hate. It was also, in some hard-to-pin-down measure, something like the involuntary respect one feels for someone who proved harder to break than had been calculated. And beneath that, something worse for her: the clear memory of the orgasm I had wrenched from her while she hung from the ceiling.

I didn’t say anything to her. It wasn’t necessary.

That first day had been intense. But I had survived, I had the camera, I had the documents, and I had the whole room as evidence. The week had barely begun, and this time the one in control was me.