Waking up in a predicament

You wake up in the dark, feeling exposed and uncomfortable. Cool air licks every inch of your naked body. Blood rushing to your head gives it a dull pounding sensation. You are hanging upside down by your spread legs. The enemy crew has somehow twisted your arms, bizarrely and painfully, behind your back. A cruel harness holds them there, crossing your wrists over your upper spine so that each set of knuckles brushes against its opposite shoulder. You hear a slack chain dangling from your harness. Probably anchored below you, it would prevent you from reaching your ankle cuffs. Adding to your discomfort, a strapless, dental style gag pushes your teeth as far apart as possible. Your jaw aches from the silent scream you are **** to make. The room is dark, but you can hear water below you.

They leave you alone, probably to let you stew in fear. A lesser woman would panic, but this isn't your first interrogation. You take the time to focus and prepare. The tussle with Epsilon Squad has left you horny, and that is making you feel particularly mischievous. You'll run circles around these disciplined military types.

With a click, the lights turn on, and you can see the room. It's small, smaller than your dungeon on The Breaker but taller, consisting of two floors. At the level of your upside down crotch is a duriglass floor. It is perforated by one large hole, which you hang through and another dozen finger-sized holes evenly spaced so threats or screams won't be muffled the transparent material. Looking past it you see the wide cuffs locked around each ankle, spreading them. With a swish a door you can't quite see opens and a petite, well-dressed woman enters.

Her knee-high, stiletto heeled boots click against the duriglass. She is wearing a high quality officer's uniform, Graken leather based on how it clings to her figure. She has a short skirt and judging from the view of her legs her panties are either tiny or still in her cabin. A small hand bag hangs from her shoulder, but she lets it fall to land near your exposed crotch. Decorations on her jacket and her peaked cap identify her as the captain.

"Well, well, well," she appraises you. Her round face could have been sweet if her blue eyes weren't so cruel. "That was an admirable little stunt you pulled, more fun than raiding Sirius **** haulers and almost worthy of respect. But your ship's **** throws and your tantrum killed three of my crew, not to mention the hundred or so more you injured, and we are still checking the damage." Despite your peril, you do feel a twinge of pride as she recounts your exploits. "But where are my manners? My name is Captain Thane. What is yours?"

When you refuse to attempt some mumbled gag-talk, she resumes monologuing. "It doesn't matter. Your actions mean I can do whatever I like to you," she explains. "The rest of your existence is going to be miserable; you are completely at my very limited mercy." To prove her point, the captain jabs the toe of her boot into your pussy. The effect of penetrating your (mostly) dry pussy with her shoe is somewhat ruined because when she lifts her leg you get a better up-skirt view, you catch a glimpse of her black--you tilt your head to confirm--teardrop thong. The short skirt is one thing but that scrap of camel-toe-hugging cloth belongs on an Alerian dancer not an officer. It makes it hard to take her seriously even as it turns you on.

"What shall I do with you?" she asks, her toe stops wriggling in your pussy. Instead, her feminine jackboot adjusts itself, and she steps on your pussy. She puts a significant portion of her weight onto your genitals. Jolts of pain shoot through your vulva, and your legs joints stretch painfully as she pushes down on you. The cuffs hoisting you bite into your ankle. You wince and shut your eyes until she stops.

"I could trade you to a rather infamous doctor that's always looking for new subjects to experiment on." She digs through her bag, taking something out. Crack, its a whip; the thin lash nips your inner thigh while she pretends to ponder. "There is also that broken down urinal you could replace."

She tries to emphasize your vulnerability with a few more strikes, she asks "Would you like to beg for a less miserable fate?" The bar forcing your teeth apart collapses and tumbles out of your mouth, landing below you with a splash.

You are about to say "Please, I beg you, stop pretending you don't want to worship my anus," but the moment you open your mouth a torrent of water sprays your face, and you can only sputter out "Please, I be--." The raw **** of the water pushes you back; you sway in and out of the river as it fills your pit. You eventually cough out the rest of your taunt, but you doubt she understood it.

The water level rises to your forehead. Splashing water makes it impossible to see, but you feel her whip wrap around your knee. It has a plastic bead tip that painfully strikes your knee-pit making you grunt through gritted teeth. She pulls the whip back; its lash scrapes across your leg, and the tip rakes your skin.

She keeps striking you, landing two more equally painful strikes across your leg. The water level continues to rise and you have to preform an inverse crunchy to breathe, The clothed woman looks down at your naked body, smiling. "Deep breath, sweetie," she suggests, and the formerly slack chain yanks you below the water by your harness.

She continues whipping your thighs, letting the cord and wasp-like bead grind against your skin after every strike. Like a predator, she circles you. When she gets bored of sawing your soft flesh with her abrasive whip, the heel of her shoe jams into your tight anus. Its corners grate your sensitive rosebud making you want to scream out your precious oxygen.

Your lungs are burning by the time the harness relaxes and you can curl to the surface to gasp for air. Captain Thane is squatting, spreading her legs, and her skirt rides up giving you any even better view of her hardly covered cunny. As you breath deep, you smell her sadistic arousal. She ignores you, instead pulling something out of her bag.

She is holding a small cylinder. You watch her turn it and something drips onto your calf. It's hot, like wax. Unlike wax, it doesn't cool or solidify.

A proper villainess, she looks down at you and gloats, "Hurts, doesn't it? You will find I have many tools to punish you with." A devilish smile deforming her lips, she adds "I even control the air you breathe."

You open your mouth to unleash a witty reply, but the harness pulls you back under the water, and you can no longer see the liquid but still feel it. The drops keep sliding down your leg; the burning intensifies as it reaches your more sensitive knee.

You squirm, uselessly trying to twist away from the scalding bullets when it reaches your inner thigh. Knowing you can't let those droplets of pure pain touch your **** slit, you desperately struggle. Rocking back and forth, you barely manage to divert the stream of pain so it only passes over your outer lips and pubis.

Just when the liquid is about to pass to a less painful place (your tense stomach), the cruel captain lands a strike with her whip on your defenseless pussy. The harness allows you to surface, and you reflexively curl, trying to somehow protect your pussy as two more strikes impact the sensitive twat. One final strike lands perfectly on your slit, penetrating between the lips to enrage even more nerve endings. Through snarling teeth, you manage not to scream.

Looking down at you Thane smirks. "See what happens when you resist," she says, She is standing behind you, so you have to look through your lewdly spread legs to glare at her. "I get it. You're a tough girl; you can't just let me walk all over you." Her sleek boot again presses into your exposed crotch. She steps on you, her heel stabbing into your ass. Her whole weight is pressing onto your sensitive area as she steps through your spread legs. A groan escapes your lips; the restraints you hang from creak. You feel the increased strain in your hip joints and ankles, yet it's nothing compared to the pain as your pussy and anus is trampled by her unrelenting boot. The smug grin across her face approaches shit-eating status.

When she stands in front of you and you can again see her thong-clad cooch again, she says, "but I was so looking forward to seeing the Ever-Warm touch your dirty cunt. I guess we will have to do that again." The sadistic bitch pours out a few more drops on the other leg. Your harness pulls you below the water once again and you suck in air. You feel the entire decent of pain as the tormenting liquid passes from shin to knee, to thigh. The pain increases when the fiery nuggets glide over your whip striped skin.

She paces around you, playing with her food. The toe of her boot prods you, trying to elicit a response, but you don't flinch. Your jaw is clamped tight; you wont give her the satisfaction of a scream.

Your heart starts pounding as the liquid crawls towards your already throbbing slit like lava advancing on a helpless village. Its almost there, an inch away. Her boot probes your ass, spreading one cheek, but you ignore it. The liquid is half an inch away. You tense; you wont scream.

That burning sensation cusps your soft labia lips. It threatens your vulva. You can endure this. And then there is a blinding pain in your ass. Thane's whip strikes between your spread cheeks. A bubble scream of surprise, pain, and anger escapes your mouth. She strikes you again and again, and each impact from the evil bead leaves a persistent echo of pain. More than once it lands directly on your anus, prompting you to hiss out more bubbles.

When the agonizing liquid finally leaves your pussy, your lungs feel very empty. You thrash around, **** to escape the harness and sate the burning void in your chest.

Gasping for breath, you are eventually allowed to surface. The captain, lording her victory over you, chuckles "see what happens when you don't resist. You're in for a miserable time no matter what you do."

You're not done fighting, so you spit at her. The spray of defiance lands back on your face, but she gets the message. "You sure look threatening standing over a bound captive with a destroyer at your back," you challenge, "but in a one-on-one fight I'll grind that pretty face into the dirt and fuck your ass."

That taunt may have been a little too obvious. She laughs, "save your breath Sirius cocksucker. You'll need it."

You take a deep breath and let the harness pull you under. Naked and held upside-down, your sensitive holes exposed to a furious captain, you wait patiently for the next round of pain to begin.

It doesn't. When you resurface she is talking to a hidden communicator. "You do realize how little time I get for my own leisure, right?" she asks and listens to the reply. "No, this Syndicate bitch isn't going anywhere. If I am going to ask Goddess for more supplies, I should do it in person. I owe her that." You are lowered again into the water and when you surface she is gone.

She doesn't come back. You are left bobbing in the water; the mechanism controlling your decent must be automatic. The cycle of **** dips constantly repeats itself. You use the time to go over every detail you remember about this ship, forming together scraps of an escape plan. But eventually that gets boring, and you start counting the cycles monotonous breath play.

You get to 73 by the time the crew comes to transport you. You are grateful for the break; even with the added support of the water, the continuous crunches made your abs ache. Having your arms released from the harness is liberating too, but you don't attempt escape yet. They are silent and efficient, one guarding you with the barrel of his weapon pressed to the back of your neck while the others rearrange your bondage.

Within a few minutes of their arrival they have you crawling through the halls on your hands and knees, your legs frogtied. Your hands are kept close to your neck via a short chain, which runs through a ring on your new collar, so that your face is almost touching the floor as you squirm along. Toothed clips and short cables attach a pair of fist-sized battery packs to your nipples. A vibrating dildo half in your ass wags like a perverted tale. The ensign escorting you insists you drag your tongue across the floor and gives your poor nipples an electric shock whenever your tongue rises.

Which is something you keep doing. It isn't as if the floor is dirty; based on what you have seen of this vessel it is probably scrubbed twice a day with toothbrushes. It certainly is cleaner than most of the bar mugs you have drunk from. The positions isn't too uncomfortable either. Having your face that close to the polished red floor lets the battery packs attached to your nipple clamps drift across the floor rather than swing from the nipples they are clamped to. The real reason you keep lifting your tongue is you want to find out how he knows the instant you tongue leaves the floor. The escorting ensign hardly looks back at you. You have ruled out hidden cameras in your bondage gear. The theory you are working on is a bio-scanner in his data pad.

You press your tongue against the floor to make the painful shocks to your nipples stop, a part of your mind wondering where the ensign is leading you and what fate awaits.