“You mean ‘secured’ like the ship was supposed to be?”
“I can do without your sarcasm,” Norquist fired back. “You run security, Ingram runs the ship and I remain the guy in charge, in case you’ve forgotten.”
“Have you considered the possibility that Groff or some of our missing people may be there?” Bibi asked.
“Roz will show you,” Norquist said, twisting uncomfortably in his leather chair.
“No,” snapped Bibi, most of her calm detachment gone. “At this point, I don’t know who is friend or foe. With Groff’s disappearance and also your wife’s, I must insist that what you just told me stay between you and me until I check it out. I need the entry codes to get back there and a deck plan of the entire area.”
Norquist looked lost. “I have that on the computer. I’ll show you and then print it out.”
“Great. Thanks,” echoed Bibi. “By the way, do you have any idea where Mrs. Norquist might be?”
“She told me that she and the twins were taking Helo Two to St. Sebastian while the other girls went diving. When the alarms went off for SAR, I recalled the chopper and they probably elected to stay the night at the hotel there where we have an apartment.”
“When did you talk with her last?”
“Before she left,” said Norquist, sensing something in Bibi’s line of query. “You think she’s in danger?”
“I hope not, but things are getting strange here and I want to account for everyone’s whereabouts. Can you contact her or the hotel and see if she and the twins are alright? Please?”
“Of course. Right away.”
Chapter Fifteen
Cooperation
“When you seek cooperation from a captive or hostage, nothing succeeds like torture.”
The source of this questionable concept, Capstan W. Oberly, was quite certain of its validity and often, just to illustrate his point, he used a variety of devices and equipment to prove it. Connie and Carol, shortly after their arrival at the habitat, began to experience his theory.
Connie, a junior Altuna crewmember who went diving with her friend, Carol, was now well aware of the old cliché about being at the wrong place at the wrong time. She was uncomfortably impaled, suspended in mid air, literally hanging by multiple portions of stretched and soon-to-be-pierced flesh, and crying. She was naked, of course, with only the hair on her head remaining, the rest of her body hair having been removed before she was placed on this grossly unpleasant rack. The main source of her torment was the way that Capstan mounted her on four upright posts, which were adjustably attached to the deck below her. Three of these posts were evenly spaced in front of her, just far enough from each other to allow Capstan to place her in an almost Zen-like, fully exposed position. She faced a single post that ran along her body’s centerline. Her arms extended outward at ninety degrees from the shoulder and were wrapped around the left and right posts, the upright metal columns clutched by her bent inner elbows. Her wrists were pulled back towards the center post and bound to it with rope. Both legs were similarly extended outward at ninety degrees from her body and wrapped around the same posts, her ankles bound back to the center post below her wrists. Properly tightened, these four bound limbs held Connie in an odd pose that offered her split crotch openly to the smaller, fourth post, set below and aligned directly with the bottom of her pelvis. It was no coincidence that this fourth post was adjustable and just happened to be aimed directly at her anus and vagina. Thus, this post was the source of her impalement, with its split branches supporting a large dildo and butt plug, both of which were firmly seated deep in her ass and cunt.
By continuing to embrace the side posts, Connie could, at least theoretically, control the amount of penetration by both dongs. She also had a small amount of support from the massive, hard rubber dick jammed deep into her wide-open mouth. This cleverly positioned probe was mounted on the center pole and provided with a wide leather strap that went around her head and held her so close to the post that her small nose was pressed to one side by the post, giving her head a slightly canted position. A softly lined leather blindfold added an additional element of discomfort.
For greater torment, Capstan clipped a set of steel clamps onto her nipples, tied the clamps with thin monofilament fishing line and pulled these tautly towards each side post. He attached identical metal clips to her lower lips, two to each lip, and pulled them to the side as well, exposing the indwelling dildoe in her cunt and her punished clit which was pressed hard against the middle post and had its own nasty little clamp in place.
“You are a living demo of my theory,” Capstan said, walking slowly around the pinioned, weeping girl. “You have lovely breasts,” he said, stopping along side of her and roughly handling first one and then the other of the large, full globes that had only a few days before been so beautifully displayed by the tiny bikini Connie wore while diving off the yacht’s swim platform. “Displayed as they are now, they are certainly well suited to this sort of attention and the nipples are perfect for the clamps and stretching. As the day progresses, we’ll tighten up on all of the points, making sure that even as you sweat, you will stay fastened in this way.”
Connie whimpered, massive tears running down her face, her now days old make-up leaving dark streaks that led to the mouth-stretching rubber dong that she continued to grip with her aching jaws, as if doing so would somehow keep the two lower prongs from going any deeper into her ass and cunt. It was a terrible position and Connie just knew that sooner or later something would slip and she would be too deeply penetrated by the twin probes from below and that would be the end. Capstan encouraged this kind of horrified speculation with his female charges, making them believe that if he wished, they would each die a slow and painful death. The fact of the matter was, however, that his real job was just to train and soften up each girl as they came aboard. His written reports and appraisals were usually read carefully by both his agents and prospective buyers, so it was essential that although he was able and permitted to torture and hurt them, he was not allowed to do any real harm. No one in his care knew this constraint and certainly, Capstan made sure not to do anything that might encourage such thinking. As far as he was concerned, he wanted each captive to know that he was capable and interested in bringing them as much pain and discomfort as possible while they were under his care.
Connie, when she first awakened from the stunning shocks of the underwater habitat security system, could not possibly imagine what would follow. She still wore the thin wetsuit and, as far as she could tell, her brief, second skin, a one piece Lycra suit under it. She had been securely bound to tie-down rings in the metal flooring; her wrists crossed and connected to one ring behind her back and her ankles, also crossed and pulled up to the same ring. A chain, more of a dog collar, was around her neck and closely locked to another ring. This collar was so tight that her face was pressed to the deck, she could not move enough to see anything of her surroundings, but she heard the moans and groans of someone else and assumed it was Carol, somewhere nearby. The gag in her mouth was some sort of soft, pliable foam material that filled her oral cavity and seemed to even reach partway down her throat, making it difficult to swallow. Perhaps the strangest thing was that her diving mask was still on her face but was totally opaque, allowing no vision at all. Someone had painted the faceplate black and this served as an efficient and unique blindfold.
When Capstan came into the room, he used his foot to roll Connie first one way and then the other, making her neck chain pull tighter and causing her to worry that he might succeed in choking her to death without even knowing it. But it soon became clear that he was more interested in keeping her alive. He unzipped the front of the wetsuit, grabbed a handful of her black Lycra body suit and ripped it away. Examining her now totally exposed breasts, Capstan made satisfied noises, tweaking the fear-raised nipples, and tracing the exterior of each breast with his fingers, apparently wanting to make sure they were real and not enhanced by artificial means. Connie jerked and tried to pull away, but the combination of her roped hands and feet and the neck chain held her right where Capstan wanted her. A few minutes later, he left her and went to perform the same cursory exam on Carol, whose cries through the gag indicated that she was undergoing the same sort of embarrassing physical inspection.
Eventually, Connie was released from the floor rings, stripped and mounted, despite her muffled pleases and objections, on the uniquely torturous set of upright posts. That was where she now hung, listening to the cries and protests of her friend, Carol, who was similarly mounted on another set of posts, just a few feet away. They stayed that way for a long time before someone else entered the room, exchanged a few words with Capstan and then, without any warning, began to flog both girls with a leather Cat-o-nine-tails. This torturer worked the two subjects slowly, switching from one to the other at random, but delivering a series of cuts to one and working her over thoroughly, then suddenly switching targets and allowing the first blows to penetrate the initial target before returning for a repeat performance. The cat was painful, but it was clear that this flogging was intended to cause fear and uncertainty rather than inflict telling damage. The red weals that sprung up on each girl’s bodies were real enough, but, although they didn’t know it, at no time was full force applied.
Following the flogging, the girls once again were left to contemplate their fate, only to be assaulted again by someone else with a different agenda. It was as though various occupants of the habitat had specialties that each of them applied to the captive women and then left. In this case, the specialty was body piercing and the practitioner was highly skilled. Although she could not see, Connie was pretty certain that the person driving the hollow needles through her flesh without any kind of anesthetic was a woman. The touch and the skill, plus the subtle essence of an aromatic shampoo, were the main indicators and Connie, in wracking pain, sought to devote her tormented thoughts to identifying her attacker while the needles seemed to endlessly penetrate yet another private and personal location. When this was done, Connie bore the continued pain and weight of 10 stainless steel rings fastened to various parts of her anatomy. Her nasal septum and tongue were done first. Then, with a dental jack in her mouth, once the huge probe was removed, a clamp was placed on her tongue and it was pulled out as far as it would go without being ripped off, then a hollow needle was driven through the sensitive tissue about half way back, from one side to the other. A steel shackle with its screw-fitted cross bar was then attached to the pierced tongue. The threaded cross bar was driven through her tongue and screwed into the shackle and tightened. Anyone with a pair of pliers could unscrew this fitting, but when the clamp and jacks were removed, Connie struggled to accommodate this new resident in her mouth and it seemed like the thing was simply too big to remain there. To make matters worse, a flat rubber gag pad was then introduced into her mouth, filling the space between her pierced and shackled tongue and her palate. A rubber strap that went around her head, pulling back her cheeks, held the pad in place.
The septum piercing was a short job, once the cartilage was pierced and a smaller shackle emplaced. It too was removable without any difficulty, but Connie was in no position to do so. Those were the first two piercings and given her already extreme discomfort, Connie more or less just absorbed these new introductions of pain and prayed that sooner or later she would be taken off the posts and allowed to sleep off the ordeal somewhere painless and quiet.
But the slaver crew had more of these new additions in their inventory, and Connie discovered that the so-called mystic number of ten had greater significance than they might have expected. They quickly pierced her nipples and affixed large, heavy steel rings at the base of each already tormented, fleshy turret. The piercing person didn’t even bother to remove the agonizing clamps when she drove her hollow needle through the base of the stretched nips. But, once this was done, she moved down Connie’s split torso and went to work on the stretched and grossly displayed lower lips, attaching three new rings to each side, bringing the total piercings to 10, which, at least as far as Connie was concerned, more than enough. But the worse was yet to come and number eleven piercing was more painful and shocking than the terrible post mounting, the things still jammed up her ass and cunt and the ten new rings and shackles she already bore.
For the first time, the woman handling the piercings spoke to Connie.
“This is the last of them, number eleven, Dear, and I’m happy to tell you that I will have to hurt you a great deal to get it in place. If you can resist moving, it will hurt less and I don’t want to make a mistake or have to do this again in a slightly different place. You have a very small clit, which, by the way, some people think means that you are a very female female. But it also means that I am going to have to stretch the little beast a bit more to get a good target for your new chain. Now hold still, please.”
With that, the woman set a surgical clamp on the tip of the tiny bud, pulled it forward and secured the clamp to the post with a bit of surgical tubing. Then, she touched the fully extended clitoris near its base and suddenly pushed the needle all the way through. Connie screamed and fainted.
“Best thing a girl can do,” said the surgeon, pulling her hollow needle all the way through and then, using a pair of locking expansion pliers, holding the spring-loaded ring with its length of silvery chain just so and allowing the pliers to close slowly as the angled tips of the split ring closed. She then slid the tiny ring a hundred and eighty degrees so that the split portion was no longer visible and to anyone who examined the girl’s clit, all they would see was what looked like a solid ring neatly mounted near the swollen base of the sensitized, fleshy nub. She smeared a generous layer of a cooling anesthetic/antibiotic salve over each of the piercings, making Connie angrily wonder why the hell she hadn’t used this pain-killing cream before she started drilling holes in her flesh.