Reflection
By Reniago
I remember at college reading about some sick experiment they carried out in the forties. They got somebody in a white coat (supposedly a doctor) to tell the subjects (guinea-pigs) to turn a dial, reassuring them that nothing bad was going to happen. Then they got a guy in a neighbouring room to scream every time the dial was turned. The doctor instructed the subjects to turn the dial even after the screaming man would fall suddenly silent, as if dead. Every one of those guinea pigs turned that dial even after the screaming stopped. They believed the guy in the white coat, even though their instincts told them they might be doing something terrible. This showed that most people would do anything on the instructions of someone in authority.
I never forgot reading about that experiment, which is why I suspect that I am now being set-up. I’m supposed to be interrogating the mark. According to the file I’ve been given to read, he’s one of our guys. He got involved with a sexy young girl who was an enemy agent.
The mark (code name ‘Ivan’) sits behind a two-way mirror. We can see him, but he can’t see us, only his own reflection. He’s attached to a wooden chair by thick leather straps around his arms, legs, and neck. His testicles are wired up to a socket in the wall. We get the truth by sending a painful current through the wire, controlled by a dial on the desk at which I’m sitting.
This is against just about every human rights convention and international treaty known to man. I can’t believe the interrogation is for real. It’s got to be another test, although I don’t know what is being tested. Is it my willingness to obey orders? Or is it my moral courage in the face of authority like in the experiment?
I’m junior with the ‘company’ and have a more experienced agent with me to keep me in line, and to see that I do what I’m told. Her name is ‘Donna’, and I think she’s a couple of years older than me (she looks about twenty-five or twenty-six). She’s tall, and slender with long blonde hair. Her eyes are lilac-colored, and I am fascinated by the blackness at the center of her pupils; it seems to consume all of the light that crosses their path. Her lips are scarlet, and her natural expression seems to be a hard, cruel smile.
Something about Donna tells me she’s a great interrogator because she looks like a sadist, and it turns me on almost as much as her physical beauty. She wears a starched white coat, like a doctor, that almost disguises her curvy breasts and firm butt. The coat stops half way down her thighs, which are long and interesting. Her feet are small, her ankles are dainty. The spike-heel shoes enhance her perfect legs, and make her look taller. I find myself speculating on what lies underneath the white coat.
She sits on the desk by the dial, with one leg neatly crossed over the other, while I sit on a chair facing her. Through the slit in the buttoned up white coat I see the top of her stocking and some naked thigh. I guess she’s wearing a garter belt. I become more fascinated by her, as she begins to instruct me in the art of extracting a confession.
“We build up his pain slowly, until we find the limit of what he can stand, we then keep him there. Once we’ve got him in agony, then we start with the questions. ” She points at the black dial in the middle of the desk. “Think of that dial as a device that turns me on,” she says hoarsely. Her voice is deep and sexy, my impression of her sadism confirmed by her obvious excitement as she describes what we’re going to do, and the way she tells me how to do it.
She takes my hand and guides it to the dial. Her grip his firm, but her hands are small and sensitive. “The more you turn the dial, the more stimulation I get. So start gently, and let me recover. Then build me up slowly, and only when you sense I’m ready, turn the dial to the maximum, and keep it there until you hear me scream. Got that?”
I nod, and twist the dial slowly, aroused by her description of what I have to do. The man in the chair on the other side of the glass starts crying out in pain. The cry is convincing, and suddenly I am not at all sure this is an exercise. I quickly twist the dial back to zero, and Ivan recovers his composure. I tell Donna I’m not sure we should carry on. She smiles, and starts undoing the buttons on her white coat.
It falls away like a theater curtain, to reveal her gorgeous body. The only underwear being the stockings held up by a black garter belt with lilac ribbon trimmings that match her eyes. She throws that cruel smile, and pulls me to her. We kiss. Her lips are soft, and I can smell her perfume. I reach around her, and feel the warm, firm flesh of her butt and thighs. Her kisses are passionate and inviting. Then, suddenly, she pushes me away.
“Right,” she says breathlessly, “turn the dial”. I tell myself it’s a set up, like the experiment. We start kissing again while I move the dial. She gasps, while Ivan emits another frighteningly realistic cry of pain. My lips explore her neck and breasts, her perfume fills my senses. I do not want to believe I’m really hurting the mark. I cannot see how far I’m moving the dial, but I continue to twist it, slightly further every time, and then ease it back to zero, before starting again. All the while she gets more excited, her sexual responses perfectly synchronised with the intensity of Ivan’s painful screams, and not noticeably with any of my caresses.
The noise of Ivan’s agony fills the room, as we start to get more excited. She undoes my belt, letting my pants fall to the floor. Her gentle hands massage my burgeoning member, as her lips alight on my neck and face. I continue to move the dial ever higher, and the screaming gets louder and more anguished. I don’t care. I tell myself this is all phony, like that experiment in the forties. Donna is so sexy all I want to do is to get her excited, and so I continue to turn the dial.
Donna’s breathing becomes ragged and irregular. She pushes down heavily on my shoulders, and I fall to my knees. I began kissing her sex like it was going away forever. I explore her with my tongue, tasting her bodily perfume, and savouring her gentle aromas.
I get up, and roughly I penetrate her properly. Her moist sex feels like oiled silk against the sensitive skin of my penis. I am desperate for her, kissing her mouth, her neck, her nipples. It is a violent coupling, but she seems to enjoy the vigour and the passion her cruelty awakens in me.
Suddenly I feel her hand rest on mine, the shouting from the neighbouring room becoming ever more frenzied. She twists my wrist sharply so the dial goes right to the maximum. His screaming becomes suddenly shriller, and then suddenly stops.
I fight to turn down the dial, but Donna’s hand prevents me from moving it. She comes suddenly and violently. Her whole body trembles, and she releases a loud scream.
I sink back onto the chair in front of the desk, and we sit in silence while we recover. I look through the glass. Ivan’s body looks so lifeless, I begin to worry that this might just be real, since there is no sign of life. I start praying he will get up and show me he’s alright. I look desperately for signs of his breathing.
“He’ll live,” Donna tells me as if she’s reading my thoughts, and I sigh heavily with relief.
“Did I pass?” I ask, hoping that I will be given credit for having spotted I was being tested, in case I fail.
“Your test hasn’t started yet,” she tells me. She buttons up the white coat again with a dismissive efficiency that tells me the fun’s over. She throws me that cruel smile, and points over her shoulder towards the room behind the two-way mirror, “Ivan’s the guy being tested. We have to find the pain threshold of all of our operatives, in case of capture.” The door behind me opens and two men in uniform appear to escort me to the chair. “You’re next. Good luck,” she calls as I leave the room, but I don’t think she means it.