It felt like I was a mile from the sun as I stepped into the brilliant sunlight and insufferable desert heat from the comfort of the air conditioning of the heavily armored Suburban. We had pulled up just outside the door of a squalid little conglomeration of salvaged tin and a variety of serviceable flotsam that was used for the construction of what Danko had called the safehouse. Safe my ass. I could spit through the walls, and with this ongoing business with this particular band of Somali pirates, I couldn't help but reach under the edge of my suit jacket and touch the butt of the Beretta safely tucked behind my back.

I began to feel beads of sweat already forming as I walked toward the door, and I wondered about the wisdom of deciding to wear a black business suit that was the usual company requirement. I intended it to be a way to easily blend in with the regular agents working this case, but this certainly wasn't business as usual.

As a contractor I had been whisked to the house on the outskirts of the small Somali fishing village to interrogate the only pirate the Navy had managed to apprehend in connection to the latest hijacking in the shipping lanes just off the coast of Somalia. This was an operation sanctioned from the highest office, and understandable given the nature of the missing items from one particular cargo container. It had contained an undisclosed amount of depleted uranium, and it was hot as hell. It would be the perfect constituent to a decidedly nasty 'dirty bomb', and the growing fear that it may fall into the wrong hands made my mission even more imperative. Of course the use of a contractor would eliminate any ties to a government agency as far as human rights violations were concerned. Since a forced castration was my usual means of extracting information, all government agencies shied away from any knowledge of how I procured the information I fed them. I was still always the first to be called in these situations since they knew I was especially good at my job, and as for me, well the ridiculously good pay and sheer satisfaction I got from my job made it more than a fair trade.

As I stepped through the threshold and into the dimness of the small room, my nostrils were immediately assailed by the scent of the three agents huddled around the small fan milling with a notable hum from the small table in the center of the room. Agents in dire need of a shower and a good dose of deodorant.

“Glad you're here Mack,” an agent said, “I'm Tomlinson, and this is Perkins and McAllan.”

“So has he talked at all? I asked, directing my question to no one in particular as I nodded a recognition to all the men.

“Not really,” Tomlinson replied. “Danko managed to get a few things out of him, but all he got was a starange ramle of some numbers. We haven't a clue what it means, but we suspect it may be some sort of code. In any case we haven't cracked it yet.

“Do we need an interpreter?”

“No, he understands English perfectly well. He's just a tough little prick, pardon the French.”

“I suppose Danko was using some of your usual techniques.”

“Yeah, but it's not working with this one. Nothing seems to.”

“Well maybe I'll have better luck with him,” I said as I placed my valise on the dusty table. “Where is he?”

Tomlinson jerked his upended thumb toward a worm-pocked wooden door directly behind the table where the men were clustered. “He's in there.”

“Have you got some water?” I asked as I grabbed my valise and moved toward the door.

The agent Perkins was on his feet immediately, and handed me a two liter bottle of piss-warm water. I assumed ice was a rare commodity around here and thanked the agent.

It took my eyes a moment to acclimate to the very dim room. A room devoid of even one grimy window like the ones in the other room, and lit only by a single lightbulb of maybe forty watts that dangled from exposed wiring in the very center of the unpainted tin ceiling. The room was stifling hot, and with the bare tin as the only protection from the intense sun, it reminded me of an oven.

The prisoner was a very well muscled and remarkably toned young man with the inky inky black complexion I would expect of a native Somali. He was securely bound to a sturdy wooden chair with his hands pulled hard behind his back, and one leg securely roped to each front leg of the chair. He was bare-chested and wore only dirty white pants that were three sizes too large, and in dire need of a belt. Even with the extra folds of fabric of his pants, I could see a prominent bulge at his crotch, and I immediately wondered if it was true what they say of most black men and the size of their genitals.

I could also see the obvious signs around his eyes and cheeks of Danko's interrogation by beating, and blood was dripping from two open cuts in his swollen lower lip. A beating rarely resulted in anything of substance, and I decided to take a my usual approach.

I did have the advantage of surprise since the last person the prisoner expected to walk through the door was a tall, slim, and decidedly blond woman not much older than himself. I had judged the prisoner to be approximately twenty two, or perhaps slightly less.

I noted his reaction as he watched rather intently when I set my valise and the water bottle in the seat of another wooden chair that was just opposite the prisoner, and placed about four feet away from him. His eyes never left me as I removed my jacket and casually draped it across the back of the chair. The ecru toned diaphanous blouse I had under the suit jacket was specifically chosen to reveal my braless state, and that effect was likely aided by the growing wetness of my skin beneath it. Although blessed only with small pert breasts, I know every man will react to a braless woman, no matter what the size. This young man was no different, and I hoped he would be put off guard a little as I caught him staring intently at my bosom. My nipples stiffened under his gaze, and as I allowed my eyes to once again roam over that prominent bulge in his groin.

“I'm told you speak very good English. Is that true? I asked casually.

The prisoner never replied.

“You can answer just yes or no if you like,” I said calmly, “And you needn't worry about the agent that beat you ever coming back in here. That I can assure you. I don't believe in anyone being treated like that.”

Of course that was an outright lie, but he had no reason to doubt me.

“ So, I'll ask you again. Do you speak good English?” I asked as I removed the valise and water bottle to sit down on the chair facing the prisoner, and to lean toward him. I knew the opened top three buttons of my blouse was bound to interest him, and in an interrogation I'll use whatever means to get the prisoner talking.

“Yes,” the prisoner replied hesitantly through his barely moving split lips, and I noted his gaze directly focused on my nearly bared breasts as he spoke. “I speak English.”

“Good, that will make things a lot easier”

I thought I caught a glimmer of relief on his face, and continued.

“Would you like some water?” I asked.

“Yes. Yes please,” he replied quietly.

I stood directly in front of him, hoping that a better whiff of the last remnants of my Chanel would put him in a better place than the dank odors of the blood, sweat, and grime he had been subjected to.

Lifting the bottle of water, I carefully poured very slowly through the prisoner's opened, parched, and bloody lips. I let him take three very small swallows.

I then took out a small tissue from a pocket of my slacks, and wet it with a small trickle of water. I then very gently dabbed at the open cuts on his parched lips, and carefully cleaned up some of the blood spatters from the chiseled pectoral muscles that graced his chest. As I moved just to the side of him in a feigned attempt to reach some other bloodied areas, I allowed my right nipple to just brush against his shoulder. I let it linger there only a moment, but long enough for him to feel the warmth and sensation of it.

I sat back down on the chair and again leaned toward him and said, “I work for the Department of Energy, and you and your friends have stolen something that is not of any value, but could be very dangerous to you, and all of your friends. We do not want anything to happen to you, and all I am asking is that you tell me where you and your friends were planning to go with the material you stole from the container on the ship so we can retrieve it and no one will be hurt by it. I can assure you that neither you nor any of your friends will be arrested or anything like that. We simply do not want anything bad to happen to you. Do you understand that?”

“Yes”

“So will you help me recover the material your friends now have?” I asked.

The prisoner sat silent.

“Look...you know I don't even know your name. Will you at least tell me your name. See, my name is Dana,” I said, turning to lift my jacket and showing him the fake identification tag just below the lapel of my jacket. “So tell me what your name is.”

The prisoner sat quietly for a moment and then said quietly, “My name is Abdullhai. Abdulhai Ahmed.”

The little prick was lying to me. That was the name of the county's President, and he had just resigned. Did he think I was that stupid. So much for being civil with him.

“So tell me Abdullhai, or whoever the hell you are, just why you think for a second you can get away with lying to me?”

“I never lied to you.”

“Ok, so you never lied. Maybe we need to start again. I bet you could use some more water. I know my throat is certainly getting dry. Would you like some more water?”

“Yes”

The one line answers combined with the oppressive heat were getting on my last remaining civilized nerve, and now it was beginning to genuinely piss me off that this lying little prick couldn't take his eyes of my fucking tits!

I lifted from the chair and picked up the still nearly full water bottle. As I reached the prisoner his mouth was already open in expectation that a nice sip of water would be coming his way. It was, in a fashion.

I slammed the opened top of the bottle as far down his throat as I could push without toppling the chair, and I squeezed that bottle with every ounce of strength I could muster. Caught completely off guard, the prisoner was inhaling water, gagging, and jets of liquid were pouring from his nostrils. I kept the bottle in place and squeezing until it was totally dry.

The prisoner was positively rattling in the chair as his lungs worked overtime to purge themselves of the water, and his eyes looked like they were five sizes too large for the sockets.

I flung the empty water bottle across the room, and glared at the still choking and nearly drowned prisoner and snapped, “I don't think you want to fuck with me right now, so you damn well better start talking, and no fucking lies either. ”

I know fear when I see it, and for the briefest moment, I saw abject fear cross the prisoner's face. Then nothing. Tomlinson was right. This was one tough little prick, and it was too damn hot in here to fuck around any longer. It was time for the toys.

Wordlessly I moved t position the chair a little closer and just to one side of the prisoner, and I placed my valise on the seat with a slam. I wanted him to know there were a few items in there that he just might soon wish I hadn't brought along.

I took him totally by surprise as I moved to grip and yank down those ungodly oversized pants, and along with them the ragged underwear he had been wearing. I yanked both pants and underwear past his spread knees, and exposed his considerable manhood.

I certainly had confirmation that he certainly was a shining example of what I had always envisioned a black man would look like 'down there'. His cock was impressively thick and lengthy despite being limp, and crowned with a widely flared and prominent head that exceeded the width of the shaft by a considerable margin. His large cock hung almost completely over the two huge testicles that bulged from beneath and to either side of that massive cock, and came very close to touching the bottom of the chair. I could only imagine his popularity with the local female population with being endowed like that.

I already had a scenario planned for him, but decided on a little deviation to satisfy my own curiosity after ripping down his trousers. After all, I wasn't likely to encounter a man quite like this anytime soon, and I might as well indulge myself.

“I bet you're popular with the girls,” I said in a more calmed tone as I moved in close to the prisoner. “Are you? Do the girls like being with you?”

He looked me directly in the eyes and said quietly, “Yes. Sometimes.”

I continued to look directly into his eyes as I let my right hand slowly drift to his left thigh, and slowly move toward his crotch. His massive cock was already stirring and stiffening the moment my hand wrapped that considerable girth. He gave a whole new meaning to the term of trouser snake, and this was proud African blacksnake of the highest order.

I began working that stiffening cock with a long, slow, and twisting grip as my hand traversed the length of it. As it rose to stand bolt upright and perpendicular to the chair bottom, my hand was already atop the mushroomed head, with fingers wrapping and moving under the engorged flare. The prisoner was breathing heavily as I stroked, and for a moment his breathing suddenly stopped as my left hand bared my left breasts, and I pinched my eraser-hard nipple right before his eyes.

As his eyes continued to stare at my exposed breast, I again continued to work all eleven or so inches of the shaft of the enormous cock. I gripped harder as I felt the quivering tremble deep in the heart of it, and I quickly moved to apply a jerking choke-hold on the engorged knob. The prisoner groaned from deep in his gut as the first spewing jet of milky white semen shot from the slit in the very tip of his cock. I looked down as ribbons of white spewed into the air, only to slop back down over my hand as I jerked every drop from the massive swollen balls now pulled tight to the base of the heavily veined shaft. I continued to slowly twist and stroke as the last dribbles oozed from the shrinking head. He was finally finished.

I stepped back after stripping the very last dregs of cum from his cock, and I let it drop to flop limp and wet atop his loosening balls. He was perfectly prepared for my next attempt to retrieve information.

Like every man that has just experienced a tumultuous orgasm, he was now completely devoid of sexual desire, and I knew his balls would be extraordinarily tender and sensitive from the extreme swelling and contortions they had just been through to produce such a massive load of semen. They were primed for an excruciatingly painful castration, and I reached for my valise with the equipment I would need for just such a procedure.

I picked up a quizzical look on the prisoner's face as I rolled up the sleeves of my blouse to halfway to my elbow, and snapped on a pair of latex gloves. The exaggerated snap seemed to get his attention a little more, and I hoped he realized just what was about to happen to him.