Condemned to Slavery by Bruce McLachlan Read Free Book Online Page A

believed, lines of salty sorrow running down her cheeks.
    “Do not toy with us, woman. We want the name and location of your contact. Where is he!”
    “I…I…” she blubbed, trying to shy away as the prod was swayed before her petrified gaze, promising that she would be feeling it again unless she satisfied their answers in full.
    “Ple…please…no!” she whimpered, the head working its way in slow waves towards her body, making her wrench at her restraints and try and evade it.
    The tip ducked in and touched her stomach, making her stiffen with a savage jump and wail, the cry riding onward until she had expended all her breath. The shock ended, and a slap skimmed across her cheek, flicking her head aside before reversing and throwing her features in the other direction.
    “Tell us where and who he is!”
    The pause as she tried to assimilate the words in her concussed and breathless state prompted renewed attention. Another smack sent her senses reeling, preceding a volley of oscillating sweeps and then the jamming of the prod into her naked loins, the touch of the prongs to her most sensitive parts bringing a pain that eclipsed all other applications. Tensing against her bonds in a full and violent throe, every muscle flexed simultaneously and remained rigid, her tendons rose like cables beneath her sweat sodden skin and she shrieked and vibrated until she was a blur of harried movement.
    “Tell us!” shouted her nemesis, and the prod came away for a brief moment before stabbing back and restoring her to a shuddering, shrieking maenad of suffering.
    The instrument slipped away to have its ailing battery replaced, leaving her to slouch in her confines, staring indolently at her lap as drips of blood fell from her lips onto her naked inner thighs, the disturbing vision falling in and out of focus as her sight swam. Her body trembled from the after effects of the most profound shock, a light glaze of cold sweat creeping from her pores and making her hair hang down in damp strands. As she trembled from the reverberating voltage, she could feel a bruised ache in her wrists, the pains unleashed from her fight to break the uncompromising bonds. Nausea held reign within every particle of her being, and her attacked pussy felt as though it were on fire, the numbed skin resonating with its own hideous pulse.
    A hand cupped her slack chin and lifted her tear-streaked face upwards for the mysterious interrogator’s assessment.
    “Wake her up,” decreed the voice and her head flopped back as the support withdrew.
    A moment later a deluge of arctic water fell across her, startling her awake with a gasping inhale. The chill waters banished the hazy lethargy and numbed her punished skin. Spitting the excess from her mouth as it ran down her face she looked up, realizing once more where she was.
    “Please, I don’t know anything,” she murmured with distraught pleading.
    A rustle of plastic issued from behind her and a distorting translucent sheet dropped before her eyes. The plastic bag was dragged down over her head and tugged back, pressing the impermeable pane to her face and cutting of all air. The tight reign denied her breath and she fought to rip free of his hold and throw the bag away. Spasming in the chair, battling the grip that was keeping the bag in position she again heard the muffled demand for her answers, the glare of the light and the obscuring veil of plastic leaving her all but blind. Craning her mouth open as far as possible in an effort to find access, her face burned and her mind screamed from suffocation. Her lungs strained to haul in a breath but no chink existed which she might exploit. Her hampered sight began to waver and she gnashed her teeth in a bid to bite and tear the barrier that was far too taut to allow hope of purchase.
    The bag came away, leaving Lydia to gasp, cough and sob, banishing the fire of her ordeal with exaggerated respiration.
    “Who is your contact?”
    “Pl..ple—”