Enhanced Methods Day 03

[All characters in this work of fiction are over 18]

*

Tomlin was doing his job.

He moved through the local police, his fresh cover identity and disguise elements keeping him innocuous as he picked through the hotel room that had been annihilated by the maddened Agent Heretic the night before. The police were certain it was a gang issue, and they were half right. At any rate this level of certainty made sure they weren't looking quite as hard. So they didn't give him much notice when he found a cell phone under an upended couch and slipped it into an evidence bag. Excusing himself in perfect Spanish, he went to the bathroom, and emerged Agent Heartbreak again, walking out of the building as though heading out for a night on the town. When he got back in the car, he cut open the evidence bag. The phone was definitely Heretic's. He'd either discarded it or it had fallen out of his pocket during the initial massacre. Accessing the last message received by that phone before Heretic lost his mind, Tommy opened a folder and found a small video file.

"Oh, jesus..."

His own phone rang, and he dropped the one he was holding as he fumbled for it.

"Heartbreak here," he answered.

"I know where Heretic is going, we've got to get there before he does," came Crucible's voice. "Balleraphon is rounding up local assets."

"Yeah?" said Tomlin, looking at the video again. "He's going to have to catch up. We have to go *now.*"

---

--Day 3--

Edwina Bradshaw was starving. Warm rain fell on her desiccated skin. She stumbled through a forest, craving and mindless. She ran into trees, tripped in holes, and still the unholy hunger made her rise again to continue stalking the dusk landscape. Something to eat was nearby, warm and alive, but it was always just out of sight, faster than she was in her weakened state. She could barely move her arms. Her legs were stiff. Every move exhausted her further and blurred her vision, but still she had to obey the agonized craving deep in her belly. She felt weaker and weaker, until her legs seized up. She fell forward, her arms landing in front of her, no help in breaking her fall. With a dim desperation, she tried pushing dried leaves and dirt into her mouth...

Then she crossed the border into being conscious.

Still far from being "awake," she was aware of the familiar feeling of having been cleaned and put back together. It was a sterile sensation.

She could barely force herself to remember the last two days. So she didn't try. But there was a burning sensation in her abdomen that hammered on the door to her attention in a way that was getting harder and harder to ignore. She twitched.

The twitch told her a great deal.

Still no clothing. Not even shoes this time. Her wrists and ankles were held immobile by something less soft and forgiving than the first day. She had straps over her upper thighs that didn't give at all. She was on her back again, but not flat. She was draped over something, either lengthwise over a cushy table, or an ottoman, or some other unholy piece of rape furniture they'd conjured from some dark place (probably the internet). She wasn't gagged or blindfolded, but she couldn't see anything either. It was just dark. No mask, nothing intruding her orifices, just restraints and a firm, curved surface.

And the burning. Oh god, it was still there.

Her subconscious had a strange way of twisting the sensation into a dream about being a zombie, but suffice it to say now that the nightmare was over, the truth of it was she had less of an interest in gorging her mouth right now.

She squirmed, moaning in frustration, pulling on the thick cuffs containing her limbs and holding her unceremoniously open. No, no, no, she thought, make it stop. I'd straddle a cactus right now.

In fact, with the spines picked off, those ridges might not feel too bad...

Something touched her, and she squeaked. Something hot and gooey. It dripped, from a good height it seemed, onto her clitoris. Feeling every millimeter of its journey, her body tensed as the drop slithered off her hood, down her lips and over her hole, and carelessly oozed down her ass and onto whatever it was she was tied to. It felt like this wasn't the first, and her whole area was covered in some slick substance. While a great deal of what was running off of her was surely her own juices, it felt like the thick liquid had been leaking onto her for hours, maybe explaining the "warm rain" in the dream.

This was confirmed when another drop fell on one nipple about a half minute later, then later on the other, creeping off her protruding breasts and down her sides, joining between them, or mostly just rolling down the slope of her inverted body to her shoulders and neck.

It smelled nice. Like "there are chemicals and/or hormones in this" nice.

She squirmed, and a pool of the stuff that had accumulated in her bellybutton, which was at the apex of her body's curve, spilled out onto her side and down to her hips. It was...tickly. It was slowly filled again by a steady march of drips that didn't cause too much suffering by themselves, but were a whole new assault when her bellybutton overflowed, or spilled when she struggled too much.

She tried to moan in despair. Instead she giggled madly. Her body hungered for attention, preferably from a woman. She realized the latter part with chagrin. They'd tied her mind in a bowknot yesterday. And not in any amateur way, either, she had trouble even remembering what male anatomy looked like, let alone male attention. She had an easier time remembering sensations of lesbian sex, which she had to remind herself she'd never had before. The Chinese massage oil torture wasn't helping. Come to that, the stuff coating her body wasn't consumer-grade either. She'd seen (and experimented with on lonely weekends) clitoral sensitizer lubricant, which had made blood surge into her intimate tissue, and gave a delightful sensation when she accidentally smeared some on her nipples in her excitement. Now she was slathered in something industrial-grade, the kind that could end up on the black market for a good price. Every drip on her skin was a brand new one, and their trail down her body to all parts of her each drew absolute focus. It was warm, soft, slick, tingly, fragrant, and evil.

She wasn't doing well. After what felt like about a day and a half (but was only a half an hour in reality), she was halfway between weeping and maniacally tittering to herself. So she screamed out loud when the lights came on. It wasn't even great lighting, it was dim, warm spot lamps only illuminating her body, and cat shadows on a small dark room. Over her own breathy whimpering, she heard heels approaching.

Her eyes adjusted and first, she saw the apparatus above her. They looked like IV bags, only they had eyedropper nozzles on them, and the hoses came from the top, feeding more of the evil, rosy stuff into them, and onto her. Second, she saw the woman enter the room. It was the same one, the only one that ever spoke to her. Slender, Asian (Chinese, she gathered), lab coat tighter than it had to be, checking something off a tiny notepad and checking her watch. She took her time finishing as she came to a stop standing over Dongle, who as it turned out was fairly low to the ground, and only rose up to about the woman's waist at most.

"Well?" she said. Edwina just laughed miserably. The woman raised an eyebrow. "Hmm."

"Listen--gih!" Dongle was cut short by another drop caressing her love button. She'd been trying to avoid it, with the thigh straps mitigating her hopelessly. When she finished experiencing its journey down her anatomy, she tried again between breaths. "Listen, who...whoever you are--"

"You can call me Marie."

Hong-Kong if it's her actual name, thought Dongle, but probably not. "I c-can't imagine what this is costing you, to do this to me and--*gasp* oh god--aah!--ah...but...I'm real eager to see what more 'enhanced methods' you have of getting me to tell you that I DON'T KNOW WHAT THE GODSPIKE IS!!!" Simultaneous drops on both nipples, coupled with her bellybutton emptying warm oil onto her hips from the twitch it caused gave further voice to the scream at the end of her sudden surge of defiance.

"So am I, actually," said 'Marie,' putting her things aside on some table or counter in the dark. "I can't imagine what else we could do *to* you, we've already turned you permanently into a dyke."

"I'm n-not a dyke!"

"No, huh?" She started unbuttoning her lab coat.

"What are you--aaAaah!" Dongle tried to ask as another drop plipped onto her clitoris. Marie seemed to understand.

"It's hot in here." The lab coat slipped off, revealing nothing underneath. At all. Edwina stared helplessly in a hormonal trance at the woman's crotch, on and around which she was surprised to see shiny streaks of lubricant, some of it creeping halfway down her thigh. "I have a stressful job," she supplied. She hung up the lab coat, now in nothing but her heels. "Wanna watch me masturbate?"

"No. Stop."

"No?" said Marie, ignoring her, putting one foot up on the red arch cushion Dongle was tied to, spreading herself in full view of her captive, "No as in 'no I don't want to watch you finger yourself' or 'no please don't I can't stand being any hornier'?"

Dongle tried to struggle, squealing indistinctly, but was nailed back into place by the next drop to hit her clitoris. She watched Marie pull herself open with her hands. "Mm. This stuff is really great," she said, dipping her finger in the pool of intoxicating liquid in Dongle's bellybutton, somehow without touching her skin. "I shouldn't do this, it's got so many illegal and addictive substances, but...mmmm..." she sighed as she rubbed it onto her own clitoris, then slid it inside her on one finger. The way she fucked herself then was almost sinister. She made some noises but it was mostly her breathing that signified her progress, and even then it always seemed like she was in complete control of herself. Like every tingle and chill was expected, right up until she started climaxing. Then she twitched, a sound came her throat, and then, "aah...there we are." Fresh channels of lubricant wet her thighs again. Having had her moment, she sighed and stepped off the cushion, composing herself. "Did you feel that? That feeling you got from watching me? That means the treatment worked and you'd rather have my fingers in you."

Dongle was nowhere near as satisfied. "So that's it?" she asked tearfully. "You're out of ideas, you're just going to rape me now? I'm supposed to like it?"

"Rape?" said Marie. She held her finger out to Dongle's open lips. The bound girl thrust her hips out sharply at it, like a starving monster snapping at meat in a horror movie, at which Marie's hand darted away. "No, I don't think it would count as rape at this stage. In fact it's taking far more effort to *prevent* you from climaxing. As you can see from all this equipment. Fucking you might be gratifying to me, and traumatic to you at first, and maybe a little afterward, but no, I won't get anything useful by raping you now."

She snapped her fingers. A moment later, a strange shuffling sound responded.

"Now if I let you rape someone else," Marie went on, "I'm going to get results."

Two other "technicians" were leading someone into the room, upside-down from Dongle's view. She was about 19 and wearing only a hospital gown, her hands cuffed, and her legs in a two-foot spreader bar. As a result, they were half carrying her. She looked too terrified to struggle. Her body was healthy and her breasts bounced freely under the fabric, and her blond hair was tied back just for the event. Dongle began to notice that the way she herself was positioned, her face was crotch-level to anyone walking in front of her.

"Who is she?" Dongle asked, horrified.

"Oh, I dunno," said Marie. "Random civilian we abducted. Hang her up," she added to the others.

They dragged her, shaking her head and whimpering, right up to Dongle's face, and hung her cuffs from some clip on the ceiling of some sort, and from the sound of it, locked her spreader bar to the floor. Then they stripped off her gown with what looked like a seatbelt cutter. Edwina Bradshaw saw herself staring at a woman's pubis two inches from her nose.

"I don't want to do this...!" she said weakly.

"I know. *You* don't. But your body has a different agenda," said Marie, slapping the terrified civilian's ass, who was still squealing from being stripped naked. "Don't worry. It's your first time, so take as long as you need."

The girl's anatomy was dry. She was straight. The two inches she had from touching another woman with her private area came only through a supreme effort on her part, pulling and trying to mumble out pleas for release through the ball gag.

"I can't---" Dongle squeaked as the dripping mechanism reminded her where she was."Coupled with the Greaser, you might even experience an orgasm while you do it." Marie walked around to a chain hanging from the ceiling, which looked to be attached to the girl's wrist cuffs. "Unless you want to use that mouth for something more useful and less depraved. I won't ask again until we release this one. We won't release her until you cause her to have an orgasm against her will. Can you live with that happening?"

Edwina couldn't even summon any more denials. Marie leaned in.

"Look at her," she said. Dongle met the girl's pleading eyes. "Can you live with the consequences of keeping secrets from us? Or do you just want to lick a virgin's cunt that badly?"

"Please," Dongle begged, "just let her go, do whatever you want to me, but let her go!"

"I am doing what I want to you," said Marie. "Tell me what I want to hear and we'll keep it that way."

"It's, it's, uh," said Dongle, her mind racing with missing gears, "a device for...monitoring...aaargh, I don't know, I don't know!!"

Marie pulled the chain. This in turn pulled the victim's body straight up, and her hips directly onto Dongle's face.

At first, Dongle sealed her lips and squeezed her eyes shut. No. Not gonna do it. Her concentration was immediately broken by what Marie had called "The Greaser," which seemed to be tormenting her with increasing frequency now, with the drops at a higher temperature. The gasp this elicited caused her to brush her face against the girl's outer labia. The girl, who had started whimpering just at the feeling of being breathed on, now thrashed, violated by this small contact.

Dongle's whole body was hot and wet. And it just kept coming. Drip, drip, drip, trickle trickle trickle. The girl's pussy was all she could think of, and all she could see or smell. Her body heaved with her labored breathing. She wanted it. She wanted it. She was involuntarily assessing the consequences of just doing it. She couldn't remember them, they must be important though. The dripping broke her concentration on this too. Her mouth was hanging open for air, more and more until she accidentally touched the girl's dry, quivering lips. She corrected, but it felt so good...she had to do it again. It was okay, just a touch. She savored the contact, the brushing feeling on her lower lip was enough. She would be fine with just this. She involuntarily wet her lower lip with her tongue.

The girl, meanwhile, looking down wide-eyed, gasping out shallow breaths, was beginning to realize what was happening, frantic whimpers coming out with each breath. The helpless woman below her was moistening her vagina with one lip. Then she was "accidentally" brushing against her with two, which she kept licking to keep them wet. Soon she was moist with another woman's saliva, being daubed at by her whole mouth. Then she felt the tip of a tongue. Her body being invaded, she steeled her mind to lock out the idea of taking pleasure from this.

Dongle heard one whimper come out longer than the others as her tongue found the girl's clitoris by "mistake," an indication that the girl was not succeeding in her act of denial. Edwina's bent mind was convinced she was just squirming to escape her bonds, and that the brushing of her mouth on the girl's vagina couldn't be helped.

It wasn't long before the girl above her knew that the truth of the matter was she was being eaten out, no holds barred, and was bracing herself against the pleasure she was being made to feel, her body giving in long before her mind, bringing her closer and closer to...

Dongle gave up. She pushed her tongue inside and licked the breath from the girl above her until the technicians pulled her off. As she was being dragged away, Marie appeared again.

"Well?" She asked.

"It's a sno-cone maker!" Dongle shouted back. She *hadn't* received her own orgasm from the act, and with her sanity taxed as it was, she was not happy about it.

"Movie reference. Cute. I'll have them bring in the next one."

"Huh?!"

And another one they brought. A brunette this time, with much more fight in her. They ripped her gown off and tied her into place.

Dongle didn't even hesitate this time. It took her all of ten minutes and the girl above her was screaming out a frustrated climax until they carried her, too, gasping and spent from the room.

---

Scott Broley sat with a bowl of salt and lime popcorn on his lap. He sat across the sofa with his eyes closed. He didn't open them as "Marie" came in, dressed in a silk robe, still wearing the same heels.

"She doesn't know," said Marie.

Broley said nothing.

"She would have talked by now. Nobody's that strong, especially not someone like her. She's not even coherent anymore. Last time she said anything I heard her babble something about her 'triangles.'" Still getting no response, Marie started to get frustrated. "Look, I don't know who you think you have, but in my professional opinion, we're traumatizing the living hell out of a computer geek--"

"--and as long as I'm paying for the privilege," Broley cut in acidly, "you will *carry on* traumatizing the living hell out of the computer geek until I'm satisfied."

The almond-eyed Marie watched the man lift a small handful of popcorn to his mouth, preying on it. "...you don't care if she knows, do you?" she asked, almost disgusted. "Are you taking pleasure from this? You commandeered an entire hotel, what kind of monster the hell are you?"

She cringed as the popcorn bowl exploded on the far wall, taking an expensive painting with it. When she looked back, the one known as Agent Scratch was on his feet.

"Monster?!" He screamed. "You operate a traveling psychological torture kiosk for hire and *I'm* the fucking monster?!"

He stomped across the room and stood over her. She stared back, refusing to retreat, but shrinking under his ice-furious gaze.

"You wanna know what kind?! The kind that came into being when *that* little bitch's employers abandoned him and made him watch everything he cared about die in a fucking fire, *that's* what kind of goddamn motherfucking monster I am. The kind you never, EVER fuck with!*You're* the kind of monster who took it up to turn a goddamn buck; a brothel, a Rube Goldberg machine and the Spanish Inquisition slap-chopped into one! Now you get your demonic, perverted, hypocritical little self back in there, and ask about the FUCKING GODSPIKE UNTIL I TELL YOU YOU'RE DONE!!"

Dongle went through three more innocent college girls. Where they kept coming up with them she couldn't tell. And when she got to the sixth one and finished her, and no satisfactory answer was forthcoming, they brought the first one back, who was no more eager than the first time.

She lost count at about eleven.

---

When Edwina Bradshaw woke up, she couldn't move. She was in a hard bed, but wasn't tied. She was still naked, but under a sheet now. And in the chair next to her bed, was the only sight in the world that could strike fear into her battered heart now.