Christine was in trouble and she knew it. Last night-at one in the morning-men in black military gear broke into her apartment, dragged her out of bed, handcuffed and hooded her, and while barefoot and dressed only in her flimsy nightie they forced her into a van, and driven to God knows where. Her protests were to no avail. No one would tell her why they were doing this or even who they were. And if that wasn't enough, when they arrived at this place-where ever and whatever that may be (she still had no idea)-she was shoved, pushed, and dragged down an endless series of hallways, up and down stairs to this one room. Her guards did not speak to her, though she protested, screamed, begged and cried for an explanation. It was positively surrealistic in a Kafkian manner. Even now she wasn't quite sure this wasn't some horrible nightmare that she prayed that end soon, but deep in the terrible knot in her stomach, she knew this was only too horribly real.

In that room she was not yet released from her handcuffs nor was the hood removed. But much to her shame and humiliation, her nightie was ripped off her body. Now she was totally naked and helpless. And if that degradation wasn't enough, she was pushed roughly forward onto a table where a speculum was shoved first into her tender, virginal asshole, and then her delicate pussy. Were they looking for drugs? ...contraband? ...what? Then they threw her up against the wall, hooked her handcuffs into some sort of ring there, and proceeded to spray her with freezing cold water from head to toe. They even jammed the hose into her pussy and rectum. These assaults on her body cavities took her breath away.

All this time no one spoke to her, answered any of her questions, nor even acknowledged her. Well, that wasn't quite true. Whenever she was handled, the strong hands of the guards made sure that her breasts, nipples, ass, and pussy were ...manipulated. There were even some snickers and rude comments at her discomfort.

After the inspection and shower, she was again forced hooded, handcuffed, and naked down other hallways and stairs until they came to a small room. At this point she was forced to lie on some sort of bed. Only then were the handcuffs and hood removed. At first she was blinded by the room's bright light, but she did hear the guards leave and close and lock a door. When she could see again, she saw she was in a modern prison cell with a built-in bed, upon which she was lying, a steel toilet and washbasin, and a bright light in a ceiling. There was also a single door, but it was locked and had what looked like a mirror on it and some sort of pass-though door.

"My God!", Christine realized. "I'm in some sort of cell."

Despite her futile attempts, no one heard her pleas nor even bothered to acknowledge her protests. She cried. She railed. But no one listened to her. She finally realized that she was naked and helpless, and that she was under the control of others. Wearily she tried to get some sleep, but her fears and the bright light prevented that.

In the midst of another bought of despaired weeping, she heard the pass-though door open, then close. On a tray was a blue fabric something.

"Put it on," commanded a loud, impersonal voice coming from some hidden speaker.

Christine did not move.

"I said, put it on," came that same disconnected voice. Christine realized she was being watched-perhaps by a hidden camera. But who?

Reluctantly she took the item. It was a blue shapeless prison dress and-interestingly enough-a pair of nylons. Christine then put these on and sat on the bed waiting. She didn't have to wait long, but it seemed interminable to her.

A man in civilian clothes entered the room. "Christine Johanson?" he queried.

"Yes," Christine said meekly.

"I'm to take you to your first interrogation," the man said. He then proceeded to handcuff her and led her down the hallway

Cristine awoke in her cell. She was naked and speadeagled to the bed with tight leather restraints. Her nipples and pussy were so sore, and she wanted to touch them to sooth away the pain. But she couldn't.

How long had she been out? She didn't know.

When will they come for her again? She didn't know.

Will they torture her again? This she did know. Yes they would.

She lost all track of time. Her body ached. She dozed fitfully. She wanted to touch herself, but she couldn't. Then she realized why she wanted to touch herself. She wanted to relieve the incredible sexual tension she felt welling up in her pussy. She cried for the shame of it.

How long did she wait? She didn't know, but like she had predicted, they came for her again.

"Now tell me this again Lieutenant." The Captain sounded pissed. This wasn't going to be pleasant.

"Ah, sir," the junior officer's throat became suddenly very dry. "Sir, i-i-it seems we made... a m-m-mistake was made in the arrest of the female prisoner Johanson."

The captain slammed his fist on his desk. "Mistake," he screamed angrily. "You better explain yourself. Make it fast, and make it good."

"Ah-h ah sir, it seems that the Johanson woman was hired at the rug shop only about a week before we arrested her under the new secret warrant policy. It seems Akmed had killed the previous one to keep her from spilling the beans. Prisoner Johanson would in no way have known anything about her boss' terrorist activities."

"You mean to tell me that we have in our custody an INNOCENT female civilian that we've been torturing for almost a week and a half now?"

"Ye... Y-yes, s-sir."

The Captain leaned back in his chair, slapped his forehead, and yelled, "SHIT!"

"I-I g-guess we should release her? sir?"

"No Lieutenant, we shall not-repeat ...not-release the female terrorist prisoner, Johanson."

"But sir, she's innocent."

"I will NOT have this newly instituted program, which has the highest approval by the way-the highest if you know what I mean... I will not have this program jeopardized because of your stupidity. Can you imagine what would happen if this story ever got out? I'm not willing to subject this department and this administration to the resulting shit storm that would hit."

"But sir, she can't tell us anything. She has no information to tell. Why keep her here?"

"As a training tool for new interrogators. According to her records, she has no family, no friends. She's an ideal prisoner to get lost in the system. Not only that, I'm assigning you personally to her case. It'll be a reminder not to fuck up again. Fuck this up and I'll personally see that your future permanent assignment will be as a Private shoveling dogshit from dog team kennels in Antarctica. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

Snapping to attention and saluting, the Lieutenant responded with a resounding, "Yes sir."

"Dismissed."

Walking down the interrogation cell hallway, the Lieutenant felt troubled. But then he thought of the lovely, naked Christine-totally lost in the system, his alone to interrogate, to torture, ...to fuck. His cock stirred. He smiled when he heard her familiar screams coming out of even the soundproofed interrogation room door. There are ways of making even a shit assignment pleasurable.