David Smith

by HAL

Caution: This Historical Story contains strong sexual content, including Coercion, Rape, Historical, Torture, .

Desc: Historical Story: David Smith is an interrogator for 'Good' Queen Bess. He has some unusually modern methods, feeling that simple pain is not always the best approach. But those who live by the sword die by the sword

When he got back from checking the prisoners in the North, his new appointment had shown some initiative. Max was certainly keen; keen and a little too enthusiastic perhaps?

“He doesn’t look well.”

“No, I tried to persuade him first, like you said at the interview. But he wouldn’t cooperate.”

In the cell, a man was curled in a corner, his face was various colours, none of them normal. Blues, reds, blacks and sickly yellows. “Yes, can I make a couple of suggestions?”

“Please, Master. I need to learn.”

“Yes. Well, firstly, you have been over-enthusiatic, but only in one area. His face. I can see he has no broken bones, no broken fingers for example. Any nails removed? No, I thought not. If someone doesn’t talk after you’ve slapped him in the face a few times with a bat, he isn’t going to talk if you slap him even more. And there will come a time when his face is so bad that he wouldn’t be able to talk even if he wanted to. Can he write?” the apprentice shrugged “So he might not be able to confess then.

Second; we’ll go through this, but I often find it works better approach the problem elliptically. No? Not to worry.

Now, my suggestion, and it is only a suggestion. No, no, he is your prisoner, you started, so it is up to you to get the information you want. Oh ... can I see his file?

Ah, yes, yes, I see, well, the evidence isn’t cast iron is it? Still, as out motto says, ‘No one is innocent’.

Yes, my suggestion would be clean him up, let him rest for a while. Sometimes the thought of recovering, knowing that it will all start again is enough to persuade people to confess.”

The apprentice agreed. He wasn’t going to challenge his master, and the acknowledged expert at interrogation. David Smith, an ignominious name for the enforcer of the regime. It was said that he talked with the Queen, despite being a commoner.

“Maria? Ah, Maria; how are you?” A matronly lady appeared as if by magic. “I wonder, could you help this poor man?”

“Oh, sir, you do seem to have been in the wars, don’t you?” The woman started bussling in and out of the cell, bringing water and towels and talking all the time in emollient tones to the wretch. She actually always did care. It was bizarre. She looked past whatever crimes the man (or woman) had done; either that or she ignored it. Like a lawyer who did his best for the murderous client, she simply did her best for the people she was asked to help. Only occasionally did she ask to help someone who had not been given to her to tidy up. The last time had been a woman giving birth during her interrogation. David Smith had simply carried on asking her questions as Maria helped the baby be born. The baby was never seen again, neither was the woman; but she had helped ease that pain.

David Smith recognised that sometimes, the unexpected kindness of this woman would undermine the last defences of a suspect. Nothing he did was simply an act of kindness.

“Now, Max, come with me. I brought someone back with me. He fled the city ... no, let us be neutral on this, it isn’t for me to assign motives. He left the city in apparent haste; he left his family; perhaps so he could travel faster?”

David Smith talked in a polite, gentile way, which belied the threat all knew existed for the man chained to the floor by his ankles. “Master Hampton. I trust you are well? You have been fed? I hope we can establish all our confusions easily and then you can be on your way.”

“Why have I been brought back here? I have done nothing wrong.”

“Ah ... all we like sheep have gone astray, Master Hampton. Are we not all in need of redemption?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I know you have committed certain actions, and maintained certain friendships that were, perhaps, unwise. Would you care to talk about them?”

“I don’t know what you me – ummph!”

“Please, please, Master Hampton, I have not the reputation of a patient man. You know that. Tell us, you’ll feel better for it? No?

“Tell you what?”

“Well; if I knew that, I would not need to ask, now would I? But let us suppose, for an instant, that you are entirely innocent. Why would an innocent man rush from the city with such haste as to forget his family? Or perhaps you were deserting them?”

“NO! I feared you or your bully-boys might arrest me. I sought to flee to leave my family safe.”

“Ah! You see, you see, you can be helpful when you try ... you fled, you say. In fear and trembling? But why would we wish to arrest you? You have done nothing wrong.”

The man stayed silent. He was hit again. He said nothing.

“I know! This is Max by the way, I did not introduce you. He could be a more robust questioner I fear. I am hoping to educate him in ways of not having to reduce a man to a bloody mess to arrange an ... explanation ... for their conduct.

Max, let us go next door.”

The cell was constructed in a kind of horseshoe shape. The front of each leg had its own thick door, but the back was open; allowing sound to pass between the two parts, but nothing to be seen.

“Mistress Hampton. Good of you to come.” She had no choice. “Now, Max, you will see the effect a little crying may have on the man.

Tie her to the rape rack.”

“No!, please! I have done nothing. What do you want of me?” the lady cried.

“Of you? Nothing. Your husband is next door, he can hear your voice I think. Master Hampton, can you hear?

Thank you jailer, you may go. For now.”

“What are you doing, you have no issue with her!”

“True, true, but she is tied to you by the marital bond, is she not? For richer, for poorer, for better, for worse. She has the opportunity to fulfil that vow now.” David Smith’s voice changed to a harsher one briefly “Last chance!” then returned to the emollient tones “Oh, dear. I am sorry my dear; but I shall enjoy this.”

“Should I gag her?” asked Max, who hadn’t quite grasped the point yet

“No, no, that would be inhumane” With that, David Smith pushed her dress up to her waist, unshipped his cod piece and, with no more thought than slitting a chicken’s neck, mounted and fucked her dry cunt. She screamed and cried and screamed some more. It lasted ten minutes, and then David Smith was done. He wiped his cock on her dress. “Anything to say Master Hampton? I do hope so. Max is raring to have a go as well. I think even the jailer might enjoy your wife’s succulent cunt. Come, what is the point in holding out?

Very well. Max, feel free to fuck this lady. Master Hampton, you should know one thing about me. Once I have set a hare to run, I do not stop it. If you beg Max to stop, once he is inside your wife, he will not retreat until he has given her another dose.

My, Max, you are huge! You will damage her with that I think. Ah well. Carry on.”

“Stop! Stop! I will tell you. Please stop.”

“Sorry Max, it seems you will have to use Mistress Firday again. Oh, of course I know. It is my duty to know.”

They returned to the man in chains and he confessed to a trifling matter of embezzlement of gold pieces from the Bank of London. Since the Bank of London guaranteed the Queen’s latest loan, there was a feeling that the Jews who ran the money lending service (which they dressed up in fine language, but it was essentially usury) should be protected from theft. Master Hampton would lose a hand for this. His wife would sob for a month.

“So you see Max? Sometimes the cosh and the leather glove are not needed, sometime a cock in the right place can loosen a tongue just as well, and provide some amusement too. I am sorry he confessed so soon, thought she was a little loose to be honest. I prefer them younger and tighter.

But any man with a wife, or a daughter, or even a mistress, is vulnerable. Sometime we have to steel ourselves of course. The next man is a little older, and so is his wife. But they can wait until tomorrow; a night shivering with rats for company can make life easier for us sometimes, if our guests are used to better things.”

The following day, they found different guests in the interrogation cell. In one side, chained uncomfortably, unable to stand because of the chain round his neck to the floor, unable to sit because his arms were chained upwards, was Sir Reginald Van Wight. His letters said he was Dutch, and entitled to the protection of the Dutch Court. Since they had no knowledge of where he was, no protest had been lodged. Sir Reginald was sixty. In the other side was his wife, she had been ‘allowed’ to sit for the night; to sit in the moldy straw and listen to her husbands moans and the squeaks of the rats.

“Zir, I am a Nederlander. I have no quarrel wit yur country. I ams a merchant.”

“Ah yes, and perhaps a spy as well? Yes, yes, I zink so” David Smith ridiculed to the old man’s accent. “Now, I have enough evidence I think. But I would like to know your contacts. You, I’m afraid are not likely to see freedom, but your wife could. Will you save her the pain and ignominy?”

“Wat meanz this?”

“Cut the crap, you speak better English than that. You half-breed. Your mother was English, you have no protection. Neither has your wife. Just to be clear; we have your son and daughter as well.

Well, no matter” He turned and stalked into the other room and pulled the old woman to her feet by her hair. She screamed in pain. “Max, show this bitch a good time will you?”

Max took pleasure, worryingly a little too much pleasure, in hauling the woman onto the rape rack and tearing at her clothes. She struggled pointlessly, and he hit her a couple of times before ramming himself in as hard as he could. She screamed in pain, she had not had sex in many a year and was not in any way prepared for this. Her dress was torn open and he bit one of her breasts, hard. She screamed again. Max ejaculated because of her pain. Yes, David Smith would have to keep this attack dog on a tight leash, he was dangerous.

“Zo, Sir Reginald? May we have some names? He has raped her cunny, but there is her arse yet, and then who knows. He ... enjoys it I think.”

“Please, let her go, I’ll give you the names if you let her go.”

“Lost the accent? Very wise. Max? Turn her over and fuck her arse.

You are not in a position to negotiate Sir Reginald.

No, no, save your breath, you may listen to your lovely wife ... Ahh! There! Yes! Her backside, brutally penetrated. I wonder whether he used his prick or some other implement?

Now, before I tell him to find some other amusement with her, let us have some names please.”

The names came; it was a small clique, some were known, some were not. Some were protected, some not. The protected ones would either have heard and be on their way to Dover, or they would regretfully find they had been mugged by some ruffian in the street. One at least sat bleeding in the street for half an hour, no-one dared help him, seeing the insignia on the ring of his attacker. The unprotected ones were rounded up and the Dutch had to set about rebuilding their spy network.

Sir Reginald was the subject of a secret trial and was found bloated and half eaten by fishes five weeks later. His wife wasn’t so lucky. She was used as bait first to persuade the new arrests to speak. Some saw her being fucked by the young Max and were simply told that the next on the list would be their wife or sister. Several were persuaded since they were only small cogs. When her usage was finished, she too was found in the river, naked, assaulted and damaged front and back. Several of her teeth had been knocked out when she refused to take the jailers cock at first.

“You see Max, what people don’t realise is: we are like the Bridge of Sighs in Venice. No? Oh you should go, they know a lot about removing any resistance in that state; it is very impressive. The Bridge of Sighs has an inscription – Abandon Hope All Who Enter Here. It’s a one way journey, you see. We are mostly the same. Few people that we pull in are seen again. Why would we arrest innocent people? And if they are guilty, why release them? And if we did, what then? How many would look for revenge? We can’t be seen to make things worse.

The Catholic Cabal was more of a danger. They were everywhere it seemed. At one time they threatened to overwhelm the state security services. When Monsignor Phillippe was arrested at the home of Humphrey Dawkins, it was a shock. Humphrey Dawkins had been an advisor to the monarch! How deep, how wide did it stretch? Humphrey Dawkins was fifty, his wife was forty. Max was ready to do his stuff. “Max, Max, have you learned so little? These are religious fanatics, his wife will happily give her cunny, her shitter, her mouth, her eyes, her nose, her finger tip; she is a believer and she will not surrender to hope of release. Neither will Dawkins.

But, they have a young daughter. Not the older one, she is a clear believer, she was arrested with a crucifix about her neck. But the young daughter, yes, fifteen and quite, quite untouched I believe. Bring her.”

She was brought in, chained to the wall was her father, mother and sister. They would be allowed to watch. “You see, Max, this young girl may be the key. The older ones have chosen to die. Today, tomorrow, after three weeks of torture, it makes no difference to them. They are going to Heaven” he stopped, then added quickly “So they erroneously believe.

This one, though, she hasn’t made her choice, not properly. Now” he addressed the family “Supposing she recants before death? Will she go to Heaven or Hell? Ooo, that’s difficult isn’t it? Do you give us information on people who all believe, and whom you believe, will go to Heaven as martyrs; or do you allow you daughter to recant and burn in Hell?

Seems an easy choice to me, but what do I know.”

As he spoke, he put his hand up the girls skirt found her slit and pinched it, hard, twisting the lips cruelly. She screeched in pain. “Have courage, child. Soon you shall be in Paradise” said her father

“Ah, now there’s a word. Soon. It could mean within the hour, or within the year. In God’s timescale, soon could mean after a whole lifetime. And, believe me, a year of what is in store for you will seem like a lifetime.

I hope you don’t mind, Max, but I’m pulling rank. I do like young, tight virgins.”

Max smirked and replied “Be my guest, David Smith, I shall go and ransack that old bitch again to encourage some more confessions from the Dutch spies.”

“Excellent. By the way, that man you had interrogated when I came back from the North. What became of him?”

“Regretfully, Master, after Maria had treated him, he was put in the oubliette by accident. When I came to question him again, he had passed away. I am sooo sorry, sir.”

“Yes, that is a shame. Try to keep better records, Max. A good security operation relies on good records.”

“Yes Master.”

“Please, sir, she is only fifteen” pleaded her mother. “I’ll do anything.”

“Including give me the information I need? Names of your co-religionists?

No, I thought not. Well, watch and learn what your religion has caused. I hope your daughter can forgive you.”

With that, he had the jailer tie a gag round each of the chained prisoners mouths; he did not want too much shouting, he explained; as he had said before, his approach went in stages, once a stage had started, it proceeded until it was complete, then the interrogated prisoner had the chance to prevent the next stage. He pushed the girl’s dress up to expose her small, barely haired genitals. “I shall, I confess, enjoy fucking you my dear; I prefer them young and not quite ripe. You seem to qualify.” He unhitched his cod-piece and swamped her with his larger body; feeling between them, he found her tight entrance and simply started thrusting in. She cried in pain and anguish “Father!!!”

“No, sorry, he cares more about his God than about you. Still, that might change as the day continues” He continued to thrust and a small seep of blood dribbled out; her hymen was torn, and her small vagina tore as he roughly raped her. She wept silently now; clearly made of strong stuff, he thought, still a silent weeping can have a remarkable effect on a loving parent. He came inside her and pulled out, she gasped at the pain even of his withdrawal. Then he stood, and said “Take my cock in your mouth and clean it up.

My dear,” he said, quietly, I shan’t ask politely again. Slowly, painfully, she got off the table and knelt in the dirt and licked and sucked him clean. Then he told her to finger herself; her fingers came out streaked with blood and semen. “See? This is what has happened to your daughter. Oh, I think your sister wants a closer look.” He pulled down the gag, took the girl’s hand and pushed into the bound girl’s mouth. She retched. “If you vomit, I’ll make you eat it off the floor” He smiled, just to give the confusing counterbalance of friendly words and menace.

“Now, oh, excuse me” He pulled down the gags of the other two. “There, better? Here,” he gave each some water “So, can I expect some names? I don’t want to hurt this pretty girl any more than I need to. She might begin to think that your God doesn’t care?” The sullen looks said more than words. “No? Oh dear.

Well, we’ll wait a little, then we’ll see” He, not unkindly, lifted the girl back on to the table; turned her over and then tied her face down. He pushed up her dress again. At some point, she had shat herself. “You know one of the odd facts about my job? You lose your sense of smell. I used to find the smell of shit disgusting; I hardly notice it now. You know what’s next for her don’t you?

Oh, yes, you do. Maybe your other daughter doesn’t. It’s her shithole; yes. First I shall singe it a little, just to make the feelings more acute, then I shall fuck her tight little arse. I shall penetrate her fully. It will be unpleasant at best; and horrendous for her at worst. Still, you love your God...”

He went away, leaving the girl’s bottom exposed for her parents to look at and imagine what was to come.

He went round to see Max at work. Once more, he was getting carried away. He was fucking her mouth, deeply. She had a livid bruise on her face. Max worried him, he was more interested in causing pain and distress; he needed to focus on the information first, enjoyment second. David Smith – it was always both names, something about him made everybody use both names; no-one would refer to him as David, some might call him Mr Smith, but even his superiors tended to call him David Smith. Perhaps no-one wanted to confuse him with some other Smith.

There were several cells overlooking where the woman was being misused, people were looking out, horrified. Well, perhaps it might persuade them to talk. The old woman was dead anyway, soon.

Max finished, looked up and saw David Smith. “Sir?”

“I thought you’d like to learn some more niceties of the interrogation process.”

“Thank you. You lot? You see what is in store if you aren’t cooperative?

Sooo, was she good?” said Max

There is more of this story...
The source of this story is Storiesonline

For the rest of this story you need to be logged in: Log In or Register for a Free account

Story tagged with:
Coercion / Rape / Historical / Torture /