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She's 'interrogated' by orgasm torture.
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Please - feel free to comment and rate this story - there are at several more installments of approximately equal length already in the can - and more if enough people enjoy them (and I get he chance to write more)
This story is inspired by, and dedicated to WomanChild - a Literotica contributor, and one who is wise, thoughtful, and sensual beyond her years. The main characters are real, though the situations and settings are fantasy. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it for her...
Sara's head was spinning as she woke from the strange dream. She stayed still and quiet as she listened intently and slowly opened her eyes, trying to figure out where she was and how she had gotten there. Her last memory was "chirping" open the door locks of her Lexus in the company parking structure, then suddenly everything seemed to go black. Where was she now, she wondered. Her clothes felt dirty and sweaty on her - like she'd been out drinking all night and slept in them. Her neck was stiff and she realized she was sitting up in a hard wooden chair. She looked at her right hand and saw that there was a handcuff around her wrist and she was shackled to the old wooden table in front of her.
The muscles in her neck protested as she raised her head to get a look around her. A small dimly-lit room built out of glazed masonry blocks - like the basement of an old public school - was her only clue as to where she was. She heard voices in the dark in front of her, but could see nothing but shadows as it seemed the only light in the room came from a bare bulb that seemed to be shining intentionally in her eyes.
"Good morning Ms. Havermore, I trust you had a pleasant nap?" came the cold official voice from the shadows. A few stifled snickers caught the humor of the question.
Her mouth was dry and her first attempt to speak took a moment, but her temper was quickly wakening as well.
"Who are you and where the hell am I!?" she demanded.
The sound of a chair being scraped across the floor followed by a tall figure appearing out of the shadows was her initial answer.
"Now Ms. Havermore, I was hoping we could all keep our tempers in check and keep this discussion as civil as possible for as long as possible," the man said as he swung the chair to face her opposite the table.
He sat, black suit and tie, starched white shirt, dark sunglasses and slicked-back hair.
"If you cooperate with us Ms. Havermore, I can have you sleeping in your own bed in just a few hours and you can go about your promising young life. "On the other hand," he said, leaning close and taking off his glasses, revealing venomous eyes, "on the other hand," he repeated, "If you want to make this difficult, you may never see your bed or little apartment again."
Sara wasn't one to be intimidated, but the tone of this man's voice and looks made the hair on the back of her neck stand up.
"All you have to do is tell us a few things about the projects you're working on at the AnimalLife Pharmaceutical Company and you'll suffer no more indignities than you have to this point and be on your way. In fact, we might even be able to offer you incentives to talk to us every so often in the future. What do you say Ms. Havermore?"
Her mind whirled - the projects at work - her boss had warned her whole staff that their projects would be of great interest to competitors because of the leading edge discoveries they were working on. He joked that any of them would easily get jobs with their competitors, and that their salaries and perks at APC reflected that they were Valued employees.
Indeed - Sara and her staff were very well paid and given creative freedom to develop new ideas. At 22 she was the youngest team leader at the company. Her boss had taken her aside privately and reinforced what he had said, advising her to tell him at once if she was approached by anyone asking about what they were working on. Her brain put two and two together and her head snapped up to look her opponent in the eye.
"Money! - That's what this is about!? Money and competing drug companies!"
The murmuring from the shadows stopped as the man in the black suit leaned close and smiled a wicked smile - his straight, too-white teeth looked menacing.
"I knew you were bright Sara," the sound of her first name coming from him sickenening her, "and that you would listen to reason. " He leaned back again raising an open hand over his right shoulder. "Dossier!" he snapped, and a hand appeared out of the darkness to place a manila folder in his hand. He flipped through the pages in the folder like a doctor reading a patient's chart, then looked up.
"Tell me about the Feline Leukemia Vaccine Ms. Havermore. "
She thought for a moment - so that's what he wants. The new formula she was working on promised to revolutionize the care of cats already infected with FeLV - stopping the disease cold and saving millions of cats that had been doomed to be euthanized. It would easily put APC at the head of the industry and make millions for the company and it's stockholders.
She smiled at him and innocently asked: "What vaccine was that?"
The venom in his eyes overflowed into the snarl that grew on his lips. "Dammit!" he screamed, at her pounding on the table. "I don't think you realize whom you're trifling with Ms. Havermore. Now tell me what you know about the vaccine or you will wish you were never born!"
Sara was feeling something strange, fear and doubt were being pushed far from her mind and a new emotion took its place - defiance. She leaned toward him and motioned that he should do the same. He smiled and leaned close to hear what she would tell him.
"I don't know who you are, or who you work for - but you can kiss my ass. " She said it calmly and evenly and slowly leaned back, a smile coming to her face.
He kept his position for a moment then leaned back. "Very well, Ms. Havermore," he said calmly, demeanor restored. "I didn't think you'd tell me at first, but I know that you will eventually.
Oh, by the way, don't go anywhere, huh?" He smirked as he pushed the chair back and retreated into the shadows.
She heard hushed discussion from the dark end of the room - almost like some kind of negotiation was taking place. She only caught a line here and there.
"Look at her file dammit," inaudible mumbles, then "no, that won't work with her," and "she's got an anti-authority thing going on here" were some of the phrases she could make out.
The she heard: "Suggestions?" from the voice of her interrogator, followed by several voices all saying, "let me have her." Mostly male, 2 or 3 perhaps, but at least one's woman's voice could be heard in the darkness.
More discussion and then "enough! - Let's brainstorm this and decide in a few minutes. You - put her out."
Shuffling sounds and then a white-coated lab technician appeared and set a conical stainless steel device on the table in front of her. He glanced at her briefly, and then moved back into the shadows. Sara heard the sound of people leaving the room, then a door closing.
She looked at the device for a moment - wondering if it was some kind of microphone. She reached her free hand forward to touch it, and immediately a fine vapor began to issue from ports around the cone's perimeter. Sara quickly felt herself losing consciousness and she shoved the cone roughly off the table. Her head slumped onto her chest again.
Strange dreams moved through Sara's sleep. Dreams of being accosted in the parking garage and drugged or chloroformed and stuffed into a waiting black limo. Dreams of being moved around like a sack of flour while in a half-conscious state, dreams of being stripped naked and bathed and finally restrained. Wow - she thought as she woke again, what the heck...
She opened her eyes and saw that she was looking at the ceiling of a small room with mirrors placed on adjustable mounts in various places. She tried to move, but found that she was, indeed, quite restrained as in her dream.
Lying on her back on a low table, her arms were out to her sides and fastened at elbow and wrist with soft, but strong straps. She felt a loop of fabric or webbing around her waist, but the strangest was the position of her legs. They were spread widely and elevated about a foot above the rest of her body, secured knee and ankle, much like her arms. She had visions of being at the gynecologist only this was a much more exaggerated position. She guessed that her ankles were spread at least 4 feet apart.
Looking down, she saw that she was draped with hospital linen, a pastel green color, much like in preparation for an operation. She was covered from her neck to her knees and even though she felt that she was naked under the sheet, she strangely did not feel cold like one would expect to be in a doctor's office. In fact, the room was quite comfortable and in spite of the fact that she was looking at the ceiling. The lighting was subdued and not in her eyes. On her right side was a Formica counter with draped shapes on it, overhead cabinets, and a wheeled cart near her right foot - it was also draped with a green cloth. She could see the top of a chair just beyond her right hand.
A door opens, shuts, then footsteps getting closer.
"Good morning Sara," said a friendly and possibly familiar voice to her.
She lifted her head to see who was speaking to her and saw another tall man dressed in surgical scrubs. He looked much like the first man she had seen, except that his hair wasn't slicked back and his face was soft and kind. He turned the chair around and sat in it, then placed a small pillow behind her head so that her strained neck muscles wouldn't have to labor to keep him in her sight.
"Please let me go... " she whi
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