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Subject: NEW STORY: "Incident In Bratislava" (2/2)
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Disclaimer: Adults only, whatever that means where you are reading. This
story is fiction. All persons, places in it are imagination-enhanced and
little resemblance to real or historic characters is intended.

	(c) 1997 Baton Rouge ThoughtScapes and the author, MrSpraycan, who
chooses to remain 'anon'. For entertainment purposes only. No commercial
use is warranted.  Archive only with this notice intact. Do not repost.


INCIDENT IN BRATISLAVA: 2
by MrSpraycan

	A flashlight, shining right in my eyes. Illuminating this sordid
scene. A half dozen uniformed men, in raincapes and peaked hats, like
walruses emerging from the sea. We're grabbed. No sense in struggling,
though I push at the arms reaching for me, like a drowning swimmer. But I'm
being overwhelmed by numbers, by the crush of bodies. I feel my knees
buckling in shock. My hands are pulled behind me and I'm cuffed. Tanya is
already being dragged to a van, which has crept forward to the shop
doorway. I'm hustled into the back seat of an old Skoda, right behind it.
This one has a police sign on the roof. I'm sandwiched between two huge
goons, who look straight ahead. I can't pull my pants up properly. I ask:
"What's up? What's the big idea? We're English. She's my girlfriend. It's
okay. Nothing illegal."
	No one speaks a word of English, or at least, so they pretend. The
Skoda races through the streets, tires squealing. To a tall, grim building,
surrounded by a brick wall topped with barbed wire. There's a narrow
gateway, blocked with a candystriped pole barricade. More uniformed guards
glare in the windows, check papers, salute.
	A foul-smelling hood is pulled over my head. I yell a protest, but
get a solid punch in the ribs. The car pulls to a halt with a screech of
brakes. I'm bundled out. My jeans are loose, and as I'm dragged along, I
keep thinking I'll lose them. Lots of voices, shouting. Echoing corridors.
Finally, I'm pushed down on a rough blanketed bed. I know, because my ass
is bare by now, my jeans slipping down further. A steel door slams, with a
sound of finality.
	I'm not alone in this room, I hear the squeak of shoes, heavy
breathing.
	"Where's Tanya?" I ask frantically.
	"Under arrest." An older woman's voice, heavily accented, but in
English.
	"Why?"
	"The same reason you are. For indecent public behavior. Lewdness.
Where do you think you are? New York? Hamburg?  In the Czechoslovakian
People's Republic, we don't tolerate decadent behavior like that, my
friend."
	"So what are we charged with?"
	"Are you hard of hearing?"
	"No, but well, then what is going to happen?"
	"You'll be brought before a magistrate tomorrow, and there will be
a preliminary hearing. If the police case is held adequate, you'll go to
trial, in a month or two."
	"Can we leave the country? Oh, no! I've got a job to do!"
	"No, of course not. You will remain in custody until the hearings
are concluded. After that, perhaps. But you should know that the penalties
for a first offense under this section of the Unified Criminal Code are for
up to seven years' hard labor. And there is provision for corporal
punishment in addition."
	I gasp. "Seven years!"
	This is just what I'd been cautioned against. Oh, how stupid.
Because, it was becoming clear to me, the next stage would be some bluffing
about 'spy for us, or else,' and then I'd be let go. But, I didn't want to
go that way. I think neutrality is a great way to be. Before coming on this
trip, both the Brits and the Frogs had both dropped hints about looking out
for signs of progress in certain types of advanced optics at the show. I'd
shrugged, and deliberately not looked at all.
	"You should have thought of that first."
	"But . . ."
	"Now, we need to search you. I'm going to take off your handcuffs,
and you are going to stand up."
	Trembling, I wait for this to be done. She smells of beer, onions
and cigarettes.
	"The hood?" I ask, plaintively.
	"It stays. Now, undress please."
	"Ma'am, I . . ." This is too scary. I can't do it.
	"Undress, or I'll have some of my staff undress you."
	I take off the wet jacket, unbutton my shirt. Bend dizzily to
unfasten my shoes, pull off my socks. Then, my jeans. Finally, my shorts.
It's cool in this cell, but my cock is fat and moving towards an erection.
	I hear my clothes being shaken out, pockets being emptied. The door
opens, closes. I wait nervously, wondering what to do with my hands.
	"Sit down, here," I'm told. I'm steered back on to this rough blanket.
	"My clothes?" I ask, hopefully.
	"Evidence. It's warm enough in here. You can stay like this."
	The handcuffs are reattached, snapped tightly in place behind me.
My attention is drawn to a bucket under the bunk.
	"Now, sleep."

	It's a long, restless night. I pace the cell, figuring out its
dimensions. Six feet by eight. Where was Tanya? Would there be any . .
.violence? 'Persuasion'? What would happen to us? Could I contact the
embassy in Prague? What would they say? What an idiot I've been!
Eventually, I sleep.

	I wake up, in a state of great anxiety, even without coffee to fuel
it.  I guess where I am, from a vague recollection of passing here on the
way into town. It's the local secret police HQ, for the whole province. It
doesn't need signs, names, other decoration. Everyone knows what it is. And
now, I'm inside, a prisoner.
	An impassive male guard opens the door. Sneers at my nakedness. He
waves in another employee, an old woman in a drab gray uniform, who brings
me a breakfast of stale bread, and stewed tea.
	The morning drags on. Then there's a key in the lock. I stand.
	A woman in an Army uniform. Oh, not just any woman. It's Olga. With
another older woman, who must be her mother. There's a vague resemblance,
though her mother is a tank, in a drab gray suit. What's with the uniform?
Have I been lied to?
	"Is this him?" the older one says. I recognize the accent. It's
her, the one from last night.
	"Yes," Olga agrees impassively.
	"Please, Olga, tell them to let me go, I was just having a cuddle
with Tanya, it was all quite innocent, we just got a little carried away .
. ."
	"Quiet!" her mother shouts. A male guard behind them stamps his
feet, repeats: "Silence!"
	There's just a little kink of a smile at the corner of Olga's
mouth. She sees I'm getting a hard on. And is amused that it's making her
mother very angry.
	Can it be? Maybe I see now that my capture and arrest is Olga's
idea. And I start to get suspicious. Can it be? Have I become a pawn in a
game she and Tan are playing? Have they been setting me up?
	"Where's Tanya?" I plead. "Is she being treated properly?"
	There's another thin smile. Olga says "Sure," and they leave. After
she turns, I think to myself: "Those red epaulets? What do they mean? KGB,
or something like it?"


	An hour or two later, the door opens again. A phalanx of guards.
I'm ordered: "Step out.." Naked and chained, what can I do? Obey, or be
dragged out. This looks like a firing squad, with their rifles and frozen
expressions. I'm placed in the middle of the square of guards, and told:
"March."
	And I scuttle along, looking left and right as they stride down the
long corridor, up a flight of stairs, through an office area with smirking
secretaries covering their eyes or stifling laughs behind their manual
typewriters. Through a revolving door into a marble-tiled rotunda. There,
before me, is the courtroom.

	The guards march to the door, then form two rows facing each other.
I'm met by Olga's mother, her scowl very much in place. "Face the bench,"
she orders, walking a step behind.
	 The magistrates are gazing down from their podium with astonished
expressions. A naked man, marching into a crowded courtroom. It's either
walk in or be dragged.
	I'm still thinking of Tanya. I don't know why. Where is she? She's
nowhere to be seen. I turn and ask Olga's mother. "Tanya? Will she be
treated like this?" All I'm told is "shut up."
	The court is called to order. Who the hell knows what is being
said. My treacherous translator is nowhere to be found.
	The leading female judge listens to someone reading the police
report, then listens to my disconnected, hungover protests, which Olga's
mother translates, phrase by phrase.
	The judge stares with hatred, then speaks vehemently.
	Translating, Olga's mother says: "She's saying that this is a
disgusting story. And, she suspects some western plot to subvert morals and
sow the seeds of decadence here. It will not be tolerated. There is no
question in her mind that a pervert like you should not be allowed to go
free."
	"Now, ah, she's saying that in former times, during the time of the
Reformation, she hesitates to think how severe a penalty you would have
paid. So, now you must be kept in secure custody, and, oh, she is granting
the secret police specific authorization to interrogate you thoroughly to
find out just what your evil plans were."
	There are thin smiles all round, and some happy chatter among the
uniformed types. Once again, I can't help myself. My cock is getting stiff,
and everyone is staring at it.
	I'm marched from the courtroom, and out onto the courthouse steps.
A bright, breezy autumn day. At the foot of the steps, a van is waiting.


	In the back of the van, I'm chained up to a sideward facing bench
seat. Olga's mother waves goodbye, with a sneer. A pair of guards climb in
and sit down opposite to watch me.
	The van rattles away. It seems to take all day. After an hour or
two, most of the journey is on winding uphill roads, with the engine
struggling and the van swaying. When the van finally stops, and the door
opens, I see I've been driven to a grim fortress prison, somewhere way up
in the mountains. I'm led across a drawbridge, into a small cobbled
courtyard. A gray, granite building. Medieval, forbidding. All around,
windows covered with steel bars and mesh
	Later I discover more about the place. The largest religious group
in Slovakia are Roman Catholics, and this was the home of the order of St.
Niklaus Svoboda. It was commandeered for use by the Nazis and the goons of
the wartime Slovak Republic,  formed under Jozef Tiso, a renegade priest.
After the war Tiso was hanged, right here, from a gallows by the gates.
	It's in the northern part of Slovakia, dominated by the
snow-covered peaks of the coniferous-forested Carpathians. We're in the
High Tatra range near Mount Gerlach,  maybe 8,000 feet up. There is going
to be no escape, I'm sure. I'm led up a long spiral staircase into a high
turret room, a bare cell. I will remain here naked, chained hand and foot.
I'm under constant observation.

	A day passes. I stare out the window at the mountains, mourn my fate.
	There's a black Zil limousine drawing in, a blue van behind it.
People get out. It's too far away to see properly.
	A pair of guards appear, clumping up the stairs. I'm given an
electric razor, and a mirror. I'm looking bleary, gaunt, bedraggled. I
shave with shaking hands. I ask: "Can I have some clothes?" They spread
their hands. "No English."
	I'm unchained and pointed towards a shower faucet in the corner.
It's turned on and a trickle of lukewarm rusty water piddles out. I'm
handed a brick of soap. I wash. I needed this. There are no towels. I can
just dry off, it seems.
	A half hour later, Olga and Tanya scamper up the stairs, and swing
open  the cell door. They're a little breathless, and are clinging
together. Olga is in her olive green army officer's uniform, Tanya in a
light summer dress and bare feet. She is giggly, excited, and she's had a
few glasses of something already. My guess is that she is naked under the
dress.
	They stare. Tanya gives Olga a hug, but is brushed aside. Olga
walks round the room. There's a riding crop tucked into her long jackboots.
	Tanya does the talking. "Well, look at the mess you've gotten
yourself into now, Andy, sweetheart. Very bad."
	"Tanya, help me. You know the truth. You can tell them what
happened. Don't let them keep me prisoner."
	"I could, yes. But, it's not them," she laughs, "it's us."
	I'd guessed, but hoped I was wrong. Now, I can't help letting out a
moan of dismay.
	She says with a malicious smile, "Now, how sensible can you be? You
could stay in jail a long time, darling. We've seen to that, take my word
for it. "
	I bow my head. Evidence can be manufactured, and they have all the
cards here.
	"But there's a choice. Would you like to play some more? I can
promise you fulfillment of all your filthy fantasies, if you collaborate
completely with satisfying ours. "
	It's clear Tanya has been spending time with Olga, and her sudden
curiosity about sex between females has been answered, in detail. They kiss
hotly. Olga strokes one of Tanya's tits, pats her ass.
	Then Tanya says, "We've been discussing you a lot. And Olga is
fascinated by the possibilities. What you told me, remember? But I already
knew, before this trip. I got some hints from friends about your tastes and
interests, based on books they'd seen on your shelves, late night
conversations in bed and otherwise."
	I'm trembling. This isn't just an impulse, she's been planning it
for a while.
	She smiles thinly. And my cock responds, thickening, rising.
	"Yes, look at that. It's not just spanking that turns you on, is
it? You're a real masochist, aren't you?"
	I nod faintly.
	 Olga says: "You know, I'd have detected that submissive trait, if
I hadn't heard about it already. The way he goes down gives it away."
	"Remember what you told me?" Tanya prompts her.
	"Yes, the third time I came, I was so excited I was beginning to
lose bladder control, and I squirted piss in his mouth. And he just drank
it, without any comment!"
	"Disgusting!"
	"A complete pervert."
	I fall to my knees.
	"Begging for punishment, darling?" Tanya murmurs.
	"Tanya," I whisper.
	"So are you ready?"
	"Yes."
	"Ready to be hurt," Tanya breathes, squeezing herself.
	"Please, no, listen, I . . ." I begin. But my penis is fully erect.
	She points at my stiff cock. "Liar."
	"Don't be a spoilsport. We've even brought along some professional
help, Andy," Olga says, dragging me to my feet.
	They grab me by each arm, and start to lead me to the door.
	"Where are we going?" I ask, my voice a croak.
	"Downstairs, of course."
	In the big stone hall at the bottom of the stairs, a dozen
smartly-dressed young women are standing at attention, in a perfect row.
Mostly blondes like Olga. They're in semi-military uniforms: boxy little
black jackets, riding breeches, white blouses with narrow black ties, long
highly polished boots, peaked caps with their hair cropped or pinned up
tightly.
	Olga explains. "Cadets. Some recent graduates from our elite police
school.  I've arranged that they're going to use you. As their first
practice real-life interrogation subject. "
	Tanya pats my bare backside and hisses: "Victim."
	"Yes, they're trained to be quite nasty,." Olga agrees.
	A pause. I'm shivering.
	"And where shall we start? I think the best place for you right now
would be the torture chamber don't you, Andy darling? That'll keep your
willy hard, won't it?" Olga probed.
	Tanya is grinning. She whispers in Olga's ear.
	Olga tells me: "She says we'll leave the real work to the
professionals, but she wants to whip you first. And when we're through
playing, I'm going to brand my name on your ass, so you know who's boss
now."
	Olga slowly draws me along the line of cadets, speaking quietly to
each. Several blush, but my naked body is fascinating to all of them.
	Olga grins: "Doctors here are big on circumcision, so I doubt if
many of these ladies have ever seen a guy with a foreskin. I'm telling them
how sensitive you'll be."
	She turns to me, gives my cock a little squeeze, kisses me lightly
on the mouth. "And that's my special pleasure. Andre, just so you know.
Torturing the penis. It's an art form."
	I groan in fear.
	She speaks to the assembled team, exhorting them in the throaty
language. It sounds menacing, and I suspect it is. They click their heels
and salute crisply. Two step forward. A redhead, a brunette. Totally
impassive expressions.
	They seize my arms, frog-march me to a low archway, and down some
stone steps. Behind us, the others are marching. And, pushing to the front,
holding hands, come Tanya and Olga.
	Down into the depths of the fortress we go. Three long flights of
stairs, a turn at the bottom of each. Through a heavy oak door, bound in
brass and steel straps. A long stone corridor. Another tall door. It swings
open, creaking ominously on its huge hinges.
	 Beyond is a torchlit nightmare. A medieval torture chamber. Racks,
frameworks, hoists, dangling chains. Vicious implements all around.
Charcoal braziers are glowing. Here and there, modern looking additions.
Electrical leads, hoses, nozzles.
	I'm shivering with fright, and croak: "No!"
	Olga folds her arms and says with a broad grin: "Welcome to Olga's
playground."
	I sob. "Please, no."
	She reaches out, pinches my chin and lifts my head, so our eyes
meet. Her steely blue gaze drills into me. "I don't even want to guess how
many have died here, over the centuries. Or how many thousands have
suffered. You can imagine the screams and blood, can't you? And does it
make you feel as aroused as it does me?" She looks down, checking. "Yes it
does, you filthy pervert. So be good, understand? Do as you're told. Obey
us. Please us. Entertain us. Don't make us angry, or  .  .  . who knows?"
	"A few days here will change your attitude, Andre," Tanya tells me
brightly.
	"But . . . why?" I ask her, totally lost for a reason.
	"So I can make you my plaything, darling," she chuckles. "You were
always so cute. So desirable."
	"But I would have . . ."
	"Yes, perhaps you might have. But I like certainty. After you've
experienced this, you'll accept slavery without question."
	"Slavery?" I shudder.
	Olga intervenes. "And besides, it's just 'jolly good fun, eh what'
isn't it?"
	The two cadets who have my arms are leading me to a low wooden
stool. They bend me over it. Begin to strap my ankles, wrists, waist.
	"Nostalgia?" Olga teases. "Remind you of fagging at Strapwood?"
	It didn't. Yes, it was a typical bum bandit paradise, a cane-happy
public school, but they didn't torture their pupils. That would have been
bad economics.
	Tanya has picked up a nasty looking leather paddle. Olga is
admiring a huge dildo. The young cadets stand in a semi-circle, arms
folded, legs astride.
	Olga says: "So, while you were reveling in all your filthy
perversions with us, telling us about all the dirty things you did to
women, I don't recall you telling us whether or not you'd had your asshole
fucked?"
	"Right, he told me about sticking it in some girl's bum," Tanya
agrees.
	"I, haven't, but . . ."
	"Oh, then you must, darling!" Olga hoots. "What kind of Englishman
are you anyway?"
	"Does he get spanked first?" Tanya asks hotly. She's handed the
paddle to one of the cadets, so she can stroke herself.
	"Yes, that would be right," Olga agrees. "Fifty strokes. And then
we'll grease him nicely and have three or four of the girls do some
vigorous exploration, eh?"
	"Do you think he'll squirt off? Look how hard he is," Tanya asks.
	"From one or the other? The assfucking or the spanking? Yes, I'm
sure he will."
	Tanya smiles hungrily: "Oh, I'll never forgive him for those things
he said, Olga. You can't imagine the piggy-eyed relish, when he was talking
about the women he'd humiliated and misused."
	I protest: "Tan, I wasn't serious. I was just trying to turn you
on. Some women like to hear dirty stories, real-life exploits, that kind of
thing. You . . ."
	"And some don't," she replies, brusquely.
	She reaches for the paddle again. Brings in down, hard, on my
upturned buttocks.
	"But today," another whack, "all the humiliation is going to be
yours, Andre." I gasp at her third stroke.
	"My lady," I beg, "Please, I'll be your slave. I promise."
	Another solid stroke.
	Tanya commands. "Gag him, please. I don't need his mouth, for a
while."
	Another stroke, my cry of pain muffled by a gag being buckled into
my mouth.
	Tanya is at my side, and her hand is under her dress, rubbing.
"Yes, you'll be my slave, but first, you're going to be my victim. You
don't get off that easily. And you definitely need to be punished."
	She continues to beat me, silently, her breathing getting louder. I
struggle, but in vain. Olga must be doing the counting for Tanya, because
she is too excited to worry about details like that herself. My buttocks
are aching, throbbing. And to my shame, I'm soon weeping, in pain and
frustration.
	When Tanya finally stops, her voice trembles. "Take him, Olga. Fuck
him."
	Olga has pulled on a rubber glove, and she carefully greases my
anus with some thick goo, pushing two fingers deep in my rectum and
wriggling them about. The handheld dildo is huge, but she's patient and
forceful in sliding it home, inch by inch. I'm grunting, panting as she
buries it deep in me. Then, begins to slowly slide it in and out. The
cadets are staring, some grinning widely at the humiliation showing on my
face. I'm flushed, teary-eyed.
	"Now you'll see what it's like to be fucked, you animal. And when
Tan's done, the others are waiting. I bet they'll all want a turn . . . "
	"Is he hard, Tanya?" she asks softly
	Tanya crouches by me, rubbing herself. "Yes," she hisses.
	"Maybe he's queer," Olga says. "What do you think?"
	"How would we know?" Tanya giggles.
	"We could pick out some soldiers, and invite them to play with him,
darling," Olga says knowledgably. "I'm sure we'd find volunteers."
	Tanya smiles. "I'd love to see him suck on a big fat prick. Getting
a mouthful."
	Olga nods. "You will, then."
	She's moving the dildo more quickly now.
	Olga warns me: "Oh, don't be too eager for us to be through with
this, Andre. The next thing is a good flogging. They have to learn how to
swing a whip. Almost as much as you need to feel it . . . "


	And so it was. I lost track of time in the gloomy dungeon. Two
days? Three? All I can tell you, is that one crisp sunlit morning, I found
myself being led, tottering on my aching, bastinadoed feet, into the
courtyard of the fortress. Naked, loaded down with chains. Striped and
bruised, bloody and welted. Cuts, blisters, bitemarks, scratches. Freshly
hosed down to clean the filth from me. Led on a leash by Olga, accompanied
by some of the cadets -- now in their official torture chamber attendant
uniforms: gloves, boots, panties, and full-length leather aprons, but
little else.
	Led across the cobbled square to the high wooden platform. A crowd
of dozens of visitors packed the perimeter of the square, waiting patiently
behind barricades. Zeiss and Zenit cameras clicking
	Led up the steps of the platform, to kneel at the feet of Tanya, my
owner. A small brass band is playing something pompous and Germanic. It
pauses. I kiss her feet, suck on her toes. A microphone is relaying the
sounds to a crackly PA, and they echo in the morning air.
	I slowly pledge my devotion, prompted in a whisper by Olga, reading
from the pages of my signed, notarized contract. A translator fills the
gaps with consonantal burbling. There are cheers and handclaps at each
damning clause. And when Tanya turns and bares her ass, to accept my tongue
between her cheeks, the band plays The Marseillaise, then Rule Britannia.


	The indecency charges are dismissed, and I'm to be allowed to
leave, with no further fuss. Tanya is flying to London. I'll drive back,
with a three day deadline. I am to present myself at Tanya's house in
Hampstead, ready to assume my duties as her slave.
	Olga kisses me passionately at the border checkpoint into Austria,
and says: "You'll be a wonderful slave. I hope she brings you back here
soon. She will, if you disobey, Andre."
	I shudder. She chuckles. "Oh, don't be such a baby. You were
enjoying it, if your prick was any indication. I told her, the Tatras are
lovely in spring."
	The border guards stare at this unlikely farewell. A Lieutenant
colonel and some crummy, undistinguished westerner. She whispers: "Oh, and
thank you for all the cunnilingus. You are magnifique at that. I'm
jealous!"
	She pats my sore backside. "Remember me, huh?" How can I not with
her name branded on my left buttock?


The End

	Did I return? Did we meet again? Those are other stories. Like
Tanya soon growing restless for other women and relinquishing me to her
evil friend Shiva, stories for another time.


Copyright (c) 1997, MrSpraycan. All rights reserved.
Contact, e-mail: <mrspraycan@mailanon.com> or
<http://www.sinewave.com/spraycan>



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