The Angel of Death

The two guards grasped Manuel's arms as the herded him down the dark brick hallway. He stumbled once, this caused him to take a fist to the gut from the guard to his left. The guard to his right then jerked him from the ground and held him in place while, the other guard landed three more blows to his midsection. Hands bound behind his back, he didn't try to fight them. He didn't even taunt them. It had only taken a few days in the political prison for him to learn that such actions only made the beatings worse.

After only four punches, the guard stopped. While this was certainly a place far outside of human rights, He imagined his guards would catch hell if they delivered their charge to the torturer already sporting broken ribs.

With the wind knocked out of him, but otherwise undamaged, Manuel was hoisted by the guards and practically dragged the rest of the way down the hall

The room at the end of the hall is dimly lit. The only piece of furniture in the room was a solitary metal chair equipped with straps and shackles. Manuel was secured with his legs in the shackles and his arms still behind him, secured to the chair's backrest.

One of the guards turned away from the chair, but the other, the one who had been so eager to throw punches in the hall, removed his pistol from its holster. He grinned wickedly as he placed the barrel to the side of Manuel's head. "You talk now," he said in the rough Spanish of urban thug-turned-soldier.

Manuel only shook his head.

The guard jabbed the pistol into Manuel's temple, "You talk now, or I kill you."

The other guard seemed nervous. "Hey, Chavez, I don't know if you should-"

"Shut up!" Chavez shouted. "I make him talk."

"She won't like it."

She. Manuel swallowed hard. That could only mean one thing – the interrogator called the Angel of Death.

"Attention!" a woman's voice barked, her Spanish, heavily laden with a Russian accent, but her tone unmistakable as strict military no matter what the language or accent. "Corporal Chavez, you have not been authorized to perform interrogations!"

Chavez's dark face suddenly lost all of its color, he fumbled with his gun as he placed it back into its holster. The other guard had already taken up position on one side of the door; Chavez quickly took up position on the other side.

A tall woman with a stern expression on her face stepped into the room and turned to face Chavez. At first glance it appeared the woman was wearing roughly the same uniform worn by the officers in the dictator's army. However, the minor differences were plentiful. Instead of combat boots, she wore long leather boots with tall heels. Instead of slacks, she wore a straight black cloth skirt which would have seemed just as sensible and military-like as the slacks were it not for the fact that they were split up the side almost to her hips. Her uniform's jacket had also been modified with the collar low and open, showing off her ample cleavage. Her blonde hair was cropped short, spiked in the front.

The heels put her to almost eye level with Chavez. He seemed to wilt under her gaze. Manuel knew why, too. The Angel of Death had one hell of a tough reputation. No one knew her torture methods since no one had ever survived to tell the tale.

After staring down her subordinate, she turned to Manuel, "I understand you speak English?"

"A little," Manuel replied.

"Good. I can't stomach Spanish, or any of the so-called romance languages for that matter. They are garbage," she said, her English still marred by her Russian accent, but noticeably better than her Spanish.

She walked across the hard floor, her hard-soled shoes echoing in the stone-walled room. Her movements were fluid and graceful, her long legs moving more like those of a runway model than an infamous Russian torture expert. She stood before him, her legs apart and her arms folded.

"You will talk," She said.

Manuel only shook his head.

"We'll see," she said, and she began to walk around him, one finger casually starting on his left shoulder, working around him as she circled, moving from his shoulder to the back of his neck to his right shoulder. When she completed her circle she stood before him, facing away. Both guards shifted nervously as she looked them over.

"Close the door."

The guards looked at each other, as if deciding who should move and who should stay put. Finally Chavez reached over and shut the door.

The Angel of Death, spun around to face Manuel, and then swiftly lowered herself before him, perching on her boots. Her hands grasped his knees then slid up the sides of his legs, past his hips and on up to his waist. Her expression was unreadable and unchanging.

"Tell me what you know about the rebellion."

Manuel shook his head.

With one swift movement, she jerked his pants down to his knees. The flimsy material of the prison fatigues tore as she jerked them. He had been given no undergarments.

The Angel's hand reached between his legs and lifted his limp dick into the palm of her hand. Her movements were remarkably gentle, but Manuel tensed nonetheless, not knowing when the torture would begin. The pain didn't come. She casually lay his cock down on his left thigh then slid both hands under either side of his chair. Reaching both arms under his seat brought her head lower into his lap, and giving Manuel a better look at her breasts. For a second his mind fled from the terror and he hazarded a glance down at her breasts; the uniform's jacket was cut so low that he could see the brown upper portion of her areolas. His thoughts began to wander. She seemed to notice where his eyes had ventured; corner of her mouth twitched in an almost smile.

Suddenly the Angel jerked her hands from under the chair, bringing a strap from under the seat on either side. Manuel flinched at the sudden movement; this caused her smirk to widen almost to the point of a smile – a wicked smile, but a smile nonetheless. She pulled the straps together and buckled them across his lap. Lower than a seatbelt, the straps effectively secured his ass and hips to the seat.

Still wearing her half smirk, the Angel sat back on the heels of her boot and slowly unbuttoned the first two buttons of her jacket. She then slowly lowered herself into his lap once more, presenting her marvelous breasts in all their glory as she did so. Manuel found he could not take his eyes of them. She lowered herself until her head rested on his right thigh, her eyes staring across to where his cock lay across his left, her hands casually sliding up the outside of his legs and up his hips similar to when she had pulled down his pants. Her arms extended, like she was stretching or reaching behind him. Her remarkably long tongue lolled out of her mouth. Without moving her cheek or removing her eyes from his cock, she gently traced her tongue lightly along his inner thigh.

Much to his shock, if not his outright horror, Manuel felt his balls tighten and his cock begin to stiffen as, despite his fear, he began getting an erection.

Suddenly the Angel jerked her hands from around the chair, bringing with them a second pair of straps. These were secured around his chest. Combined with the strap across his lap, the shackles at his ankles, Manuel was now unable to move so much as an inch away from the chair, which was, in turn, secured to the floor.

Still wearing a slight smirk in one corner of her mouth, the Angel leaned away from Manuel and once again sat before him on her haunches.

"Are you ready to talk?"

Manuel shook his head.

The Angel rose effortlessly to her feet, she once again placed a finger on his shoulder as she walked around his chair, only this time she stopped when she was behind him. For several tense seconds she was silent. Finally he felt her press against the back of the chair. He felt her breath, light against his right side of his face. Her hand slid slowly down his chest, down his abs, into his lap, and on to his cock. She casually held his semi-rigid member.

"Nice," she whispered. "Not fully hard and it's already thick and long. It would be a shame for such a cock to go to waste."

Manuel's member grew stiffer. Her grip still loose and casual, the Angel began slowly jerking him off.

"Don't you think it would be a waste?" she asked. Receiving no reply, she tightened her grip and increased her strokes. "Well, don't you?"

"Si."

"English," she reminded

"Um, yes."

"Good. Very good. You do talk. And perhaps we have a common goal after all." She continued jerking Manuel's dick until it was fully erect. "Very nice indeed."

When she released his cock and stepped away from the chair, Manuel found himself staring down at his traitorous cock as it stood at ridged attention for the enemy. His mind wandered to all the tortures such an expert interrogator could inflict on a hard penis – in truth, possibly no more than could be inflicted on a flaccid one, but the thought was a scary one nonetheless. He fully expected the torture to begin at any second. He was truly shocked when the infamous Angel of Death stepped around from behind his chair wearing nothing but her thigh-high boots.

She stood before him, once more with her legs apart and her face stern. "Tell me what you know of the revolution," she demanded.

Confused, Manuel at first didn't reply.

"Tell me!"

"No."

She shook her head. "I'm sorry it had to come to this," she slowly lowered herself to where she once again crouched with her weight resting on her boots "I was hoping we could come to an agreement" she lowered her head toward his lap "before I was forced to resort to drastic measures" and took his cock into her mouth.

Her hands grasped his knees for support as she fiercely mouth-fucked his cock. It was the most intensive, aggressive blowjob Manuel had ever received, but it only lasted for a minute or so.

The Angel drew back, took a breath then leaned forward to rub one of her nipples slowly along the head of his dick. "Will you talk now?"

"No."

She switched nipples. "Tell me what you know of the revolution."

Manuel said nothing.

Her hands returned to his knees and her mouth to his cock. Once again she pumped away with a vengeance. After a couple of minutes she suddenly pulled away, his dick coming out of the vacuum suction of her mouth with a pop. She rose to her feet. "You disappoint me."

She stood and walked toward the door, her shapely muscular ass swaying gracefully. She folded her arms behind her back and faced the door as she spoke to him. "Can we not reach some sort of agreement?"

"No."

"I have other ways to make men talk, you know."

Manuel said nothing.

She turned and slowly, gracefully returned until she was standing before him, so close her leather boots rubbed against his knees. Her eyes locked with his, she reached up and massaged her breasts for while, then tweaked her nipples. Her left hand continued pinching her nipple lightly while her right hand made a slow trip down her belly. Her mouth parted slightly as her fingers found her clit. "Are you sure we cannot reach an agreement?"

Manuel shook his head.

A slight gasp escaped her lips as she let one of her fingers slid inside her. Her eyes closed momentarily as she slid her fingers in and out. Judging from the wet sound, she really enjoyed this part of her job. "Your friends . . . will never know . . . you betrayed them." She said, between deep breaths. "I can . . . see to that."

"No."

She stopped just as suddenly as she stopped the blowjob, although her finger remained unmoving inside her for some time as she looked her victim up and down, her eyes finally resting on his cock.

She turned around, giving him a view of her ass. "You were warned," she barked.

She then lowered herself so that her dripping cunt was just over his rigid cock. She reached between her legs and grasped his member, slowly rubbing it up and down her hot cunt. Manuel instinctively tried to force himself up and into her, but the restraints held him in place. She continued teasing the head of his dick.

"Is this what you want?"

"Y-yes."

"Then tell me what I want to know."

"No."

Her decent onto his cock was so slow it was almost painful. She took first an inch, then another, down until he was fully sheathed inside her, then she began grinding her ass into his lap. "Tell me," she gasped.

"No."

Her booted feet came up into the chair at the edge as she grasped the rails with her hands; she brought herself slowly up his shaft, then slammed back down. A tiny moan escaping her lips when she did so. "Tell me." She didn't wait for a reply. She began slamming his cock, fucking with as much vigor and energy as she had recently sucked it. Aside from light grunts and some gasping, she wasn't very vocal. Most of the women in Manuel's past had ranged from moaners to the occasional screamer, but the Angel of Death was mostly silent, save the wets slaps of skin on skin as she rode his cock. He felt the trimmers of her orgasm build to hard spasms, her boots suddenly came out of the chair as she convulsed but the only sound she made was a long shuddering moan. She rocked ever so slightly, back and forth on his cock. Manuel did the best he could to push into her, but the restraints kept him from almost all movement.

For a moment, the Angel ceased movement altogether. Then she pulled herself off him and rose to her feet. When she turned to face him, her fair face was flushed, but otherwise her expression was stern and unchanged.

"Still unwilling to talk?"

Manuel said nothing.

She climbed into his lap. His cock was raised, pinned between her stomach and his, her breasts pressed to his face. "Lick them," she demanded.

Manuel complied.

"We can do this the easy way or the hard way, but one way or another you will talk." She paused then demanded, "Suck my nipple." Manuel ran his tongue over her nipple lightly. "I said suck it," she said.

His lips firmly attached to her breast, Manuel began sucking. The Angel started moving her body up and down, rubbing his cock between them. "Harder." Manuel sucked harder. "Harder!" she snapped. Manuel sucked as hard as he could, knowing it had to be at least somewhat painful.

The Angel of Death moaned slightly, then raised up and placed his dick at her hot wet entrance. She slid onto him slowly this time, and continued riding him sensuously for some time before she suddenly grabbed his head and pressed him even harder into her breast. "Suck harder!" she shouted. Manuel was already sucking as hard as he could, so he bit down on her nipple, not enough to cause injury, but a lot harder than he normally would have. Then he started sucking once again. The Angel was wildly riding him once more. It was incredible; he was close to coming. She apparently realized it as well. She jerked his head away from her nipple and rose out of his lap.

She once against stood before him, slowly jerking his slick wet cock with her hand, keeping him on edge. "This is your last chance."

"No," Manuel said.

The Angel of Death turned around, presenting him with another view of her incredible muscular ass, then she lowered herself into his lap, only this time his cock was pointed at the pucker of her ass.

"You want this?"

"Y-yes."

"Then talk."

"No."

She pushed her body down on his head. She grunted and pushed again, then again before his head finally passed her sphincter. Slowly, inch by inch, she slid down on his cock until her was fully embedded in her ass. She sat there for some time then finally gasped the words, "Last chance."

"No."

She started slow, but picked up speed quickly. Now becoming vocal, she grunted with every thrust. There was no gentleness to it; without any lube other than her own vaginal juices he knew that he had to be hurting her, but apparently she liked it that way because soon she was shuddering again. His own orgasm was building as well, and the very second she started spasming his body jerked and he began unloading into her ass. It was bliss, probably the best orgasm of his life.

Once again the Angel of Death collapsed backward on him, and lay there for some time with his dick still planted in her cum-filled ass. He remained rock hard, the tightness of her sphincter refusing to allow the blood to leave his cock.

After several minutes, the Angel of Death pulled herself out of his lap walked behind him and collected her clothes. She bundled them in her arms but didn't bother putting them on as she walked toward the door.

She turned to Chavez as he opened the door for her. "He won't talk," she said, "shoot him."

Chavez didn't bother closing the door and the hall was a straight shot to his chair, so Manuel watched her naked ass sway as she walked down the hall.

As he felt the gun pressed to his temple Manuel realized that the Angle of Death was feared because no one survived he interrogations, but he imagined she wasn't such a successful interrogator after all.