THE INTERROGATION
By Kandor
A hard man is good to break for mistress of interrogation


	Joanne wasn't wasting time. The small, powerful blonde stood before the man
alone in her office, where he'd been brought. She wore her hair in a tight,
stern bun, and black leather, a tiny bra, tinier g-string, mid-calf boots with
heels, elbow-length gloves. She walked up to him as he glared down at her from
his full 6-6 height; she barely stood 5-2.
	"Where are they?" she asked calmly about the shipment the people who hired
her were seeking.
	"Fuck you," he growled down at her, struggling at the restraints that held
his hands behind his back.
	She smiled. She liked challenge.
	The man didn't see it coming and had no time to react. Joanne buried the
instep of her right boot into his crotch, feeling his balls smash flat around
it as she stood before him, arms folded. His air left him in a rush, his eyes
bugged out and his skin went clammy white as he hit his knees. Instantly, she
stepped up to him, spun one leg around his head and twisted to face front,
standing on crossed feet now, her leather boots creaking, his head agonizingly
latched between her slender, muscular thighs. She squeezed as she stood and he
screamed in pain from the legs and the kick to his balls only seconds before.
	"Where are they?" she asked again, down at the top of his head.
	"I......don't......know....." he stammered back, tears in his eyes, a white-
hot ribbon of pain connecting the shot from his balls to the searing agony in
his skull.
	He tried to scream but Joanne had locked her legs so brutally tight on him
that her iron adductors sliced into the sides of his neck and squashed the
voice out of his throat, in the process knocking him out cold. He hung from
her scissoring legs before she let go. His face hit the floor, snapping his
nose, a sheet of blood pooling beneath him.
	When he awoke, his pants were off, his legs spread, his aching nuts hanging
and exposed. Joanne stood between them, one foot up. She held his feet apart.
	"Where are they?" she asked.
	"NOOOOOO!" he screamed, knowing what she was about to do.
	She slammed the heel of her booted foot directly into his nuts, ramming them
into spongy masses of tortured ball meat. Again and again she rained her foot
down into his nuts, until he was delirious and numb from pain. She let go and
sat by his head, lifting it to fit the back of his neck along one booted calf,
draping the other over his protruding adam's apple.
	"Where are they?" she asked.
	He didn't answer and instantly Joanne arched her back, locked her feet and
snapped his neck in her muscular calves, dislocating his vertabrae but not
breaking them. She was savagely banging her legs on him harder and harder,
popping the muscles onto his neck, sending swords of pain shooting through his
entire body. When she stopped, his head was cocked at a painful angle to his
shoulders and his arms and legs spasmed from the nerve damage she'd incurred.
	"Where are they?" she asked, standing up.
	He cried, unable to answer. She wiped the blood from his face with his pants
and then sat on it, mashing his broken nose as far up her g-stringed ass as
she could, folding her thighs underneath to scissor his face deep into her
smothering butt meat. She reached down to fondle his mashed balls and within
seconds of kneading his flesh, had nursed him into a hardon.
	"Where are they?" she asked, lifting off his face just enough for him to
talk. 
	"I don't know..." he cried, sobs racking his body. She quickly stuffed her
ass back around his face and he could barely breathe.
	She worked his balls know, mauling them to the point of pain, pulling down on
them and using the force of her curled knuckles to press into the area between
his nuts and asshole, massaging his prostate from the outside. She was a pro
at this and without laying a hand on his cock, she made him come within one
minute of her manual assault. He moaned in the muffled clamp of her ass as his
cock spewed a huge load up and over her arm, splashing some on her face. She
was totally concentrating on the task literally at hand and licked her lips
more of a way of clearing an annoyance than tasting his spew.
	"Where are they?" she asked, lifting off his face momentarily again.
	"Please...stop....sore....." he rasped before going under the leather-clad
interrogator's suffocating ass again.
	She worked the hand more, milking it, the only sound in the room now the
squish-squish of his come around his balls as she worked them and his muffled
grunts in the sweaty clamp of her ass. His cock never went hard, and in five
minutes, he was shooting another load from her nut massage.
	"Where are they?" she asked.
	He couldn't answer, he could only wheeze. She sat harder this time, devouring
his entire face. The hand worked, the linear sinew and muscle of her forearm
dancing under milk-white skin. A thick layer of nut cream lathered up like
foam between her knuckles as his still-stiff cock bobbed against her wrist. It
took 10 minutes this time, but she worked his balls to another orgasm, a much
smaller one that dribbled out now and ran down his cock to her wrist. She
ignored it and kept working his balls. She would not let him go soft. He was
babbling straight up her ass now.
	"Mgngmasdfmfmmmmmshglfff..." he groaned inside the sweaty maw of her gripping
ass meat.
	"Where are they?" she said robotically, not even lifting off his face,
instead intensifying her ball kneading motion so the squishing noise grew
faster and more frantic.
	His cock softened on the fourth load it shot in the last half hour, a tiny
dribble of nearly clear fluid from his beleagured prick.
	"Where are they?" she asked. He was nearly out.
	She kneaded his nuts harder now and it didn't matter that his cock was just a
nub twitching above the madly pulsating web of knuckles of her hand as she
massaged him. He came again, without benefit of a boner, his pitifully wet,
small load barely pulsing out of the wounded eye of his soft meat. She worked
him more, harder, to a sixth, seventh, eighth orgasm, made all the more
painful by the searing burn in his lungs from lack of air. She was barely
giving him a sliver of space to suck in a breath through his nose that was
mostly impaled now inside her tight asshole after the leather of her g-string
had sweatily worked itself aside.
	Her hand was completely crusted over by the 10th orgasm she'd milked out of
him. When she stood up finally and shook the cramps from her fingers, a thick
sheet of congealed man goo sloughed off and slapped down into his babbling
face. Joanne found a towel and cleaned herself off, walking back to look down
at him, his head at a gruesome angle to his shoulders, courtesy of the calf
scissors she'd used on him earlier.
	"Where are they?" she asked.
	He couldn't even look at her, he was gone. He was the best man for the job,
so the dossier on him said, a man so hard, so tough he made Double-O 7 look
like a rookie pussy. She'd broken him like she'd broken so many others.
	"Garment district.....basement....McDonagle Building.......number seven....."
he said in garbled, tortured tones. "Please....stop...."
	Joanne smiled and sat between his legs. Fitting the fat heel of each boot
onto one nut each, she viciously thrust her legs out straight, locking them at
the knee, the brutal force of the action slamming into his balls and forcing
the entire bulk of them, with a little twisting and maneuvering, into the tiny
holes from where they'd hung. He screamed a high-pitched dying scream as his
balls disappeared inside his body, a fountain of blood exploding from ruptured
vessels inside of him to finally gag and drown him in a spray of pink foam and
swallowed tongue. Joanne stood and looked at his body. His balls were gone,
stuffed inside himself.
	"Where are they?" she asked with a sly smile as she peered at the space where
his balls had been before calling for the disposal squad and picking up the
phone to order the move on the McDonagle Building.