“Both of you will be whipped this way until you answer the question,” Imperial Agent Gartner said cooly, almost bored. He walked around behind Agent Melissa Werner who was bending over, strapped down onto an interrogation block. After forcing her to bend over the block, two lower ranking agents then stretched her arms in front of her and cuffed them to the block. They then secured the waist strap that would keep her from wriggling her hips too far and avoid the heavy strap that was soon to lay into her. They then unbuttoned and pulled down her pants. They started to pull down her panties as well but, but Agent Gartner stopped them, saying, “Let’s allow her just a bit of dignity. After all she’ll soon be crying like a child.”
In the position Melissa was in, looking in the forward direction she could see through soundproof glass that her partner, Agent Jack Rogers was in the same position as she was, bending over an interrogation block and tied down, seemingly awaiting the same fate. Behind him stood a female Imperial Agent who, after pulling his pants down, opened a cabinet in the room and selected a very long and heavy strap. Melissa heard a cabinet open behind her and was horrified to think what might be in the process of being selected for use on her. She knew she was in for a lot of pain and, apparently, so was her partner. Of course they both had been in the service long enough that they knew very well, intellectually at least, the very real danger of being captured and interrogated. But it was like any other disaster in life, they didn’t see it happening to them. They each re-traced their steps in the mission – the flight plan, the cloaking devices, a way to get the data back home… Where had things gone wrong? Each intended to try to take themselves mentally out of their situations by focusing on the analysis.
The pain of the first stroke with the heavy strap was intense enough to cause Melissa to let out a guttural moan. Her eyes widened in surprise. She swallowed hard and shook her head as if trying to shake off the pain, but the pain took its time, dissipating ever so slowly until… With another whack of the strap against her bottom the pain built back up again and surpassed it’s previous level.
“OOOO!” she cried out, trying on anger as a means of dealing with this level of pain. She stared across at her partner, who although she couldn’t hear him, saw his eyes squint while gritting his teeth as the woman in his interrogation cell walloped him with her carefully chosen heavy strap.
Agent Gartner punished Melissa with eight more strokes in a steady old-fashioned strapping rhythm and then stopped to talk to her. She dropped her head down and whimpered, a tear rolling down each of her blushing cheeks. She was breathing heavily.
“I know. I know, Melissa. It hurts,” I.A. Gartner said. “I wouldn’t want to go through this either. And see your partner across the hall? He doesn’t like it much, certainly. But you have a choice. You can make it stop. Just answer my question and it will all stop. I’ll stop strapping you and she’ll stop strapping him. We’ll all go to lunch…”
Melissa craned her neck around to shoot him an angry look, to which he chuckled and said, “I’m joking about the lunch. I’m sure us fraternizing is frowned upon. Besides that, would you be able to sit?” He chucked again at his own jest.
Jack was getting a very similar talking to after his first ten strokes with the strap. He couldn’t help feeling chastised because strappings were how he was disciplined at home, up through his teen years. And typically it was his mother who had administered them. The only difference was that she didn’t tie him down. He was expected to hold onto the far side of the workbench and not to let go or the count he was to receive would re-start. So he wanted to answer her questions because he no longer wanted to be a bad boy.
Having the two see each other suffer was a brilliant plan. It’s one thing to martyr oneself and take the pain of strapping for the good of the cause. It’s another thing to condemn one’s brother in arms to the same fate, when it was avoidable. The only thing each of them had to keep going on was the understanding that the other would want to make the sacrifice for the sake of the mission. But how long would they continue to choose getting strapped over answering a few simple questions?
Each of their strappings picked up again, expertly and professionally laid on, stroke after painful stroke in a steady rhythm – whack, one, two seconds, whack, one, two… And after each whack, a cry of pain or determination or anger, a pulling against bonds, and finally more tears.
The second round of their strapping consisted of twenty strokes with the heavy strap. Next would be forty, then 80, and they would continue to double until someone answered or someone passed out from the pain. After being revived, the questions would be put to them again.