Subject: WAM — Story: Messy Torture
Steve peered through the brush ahead and adjusted his goggles silently. Silence was all around him. He could feel the presence of the enemy—somewhere. In his admittedly poor camouflage—jeans and a green t-shirt—he was an easy target. No need to make himself an easier one. He reviewed his orders mentally, went over what Roger had told them all before dispatching them on the day’s patrols.
“This is the largest capture-the-flag game we’ve ever played, and it has the broadest rules. Run your patrols, learn what you can, but don’t get captured—a two-man team in Sector Five:B was taken down last night while you were asleep. One man was taken, the other escaped to tell us that, on-the-spot, the enemy was just barely within the limits of the rules on torture, and promising to do more. That is all.”
Steve sighed inwardly and continued to observe from his designated station. An all-female army was out there, just trying to capture him and the rest of his team, scattered around Sector Four. Even if, in reality, he was a twenty-three year old magazine writer, with a nice little place to stay and a cool car and no real troubles, here in the field he was a man at war, in constant danger. He was ready, able, and—alert? He thought he saw something move in the clearing a few bushes away from him. He adjusted his scope, but made a little too much noise and felt the presence of three women around the bush. “Come on out, Green scum,” said one of them. Steve was trapped. “Don’t make us have to use force,” said another voice.
Reluctantly Steve realized that he had no choice, and slowly rose out of the bush. “Hands UP!” barked the attractive brunette who was now a foot away from him. Steve brought his hands up and felt hands from behind taking his water pistol and all his spy equipment. “Looks like we caught ourselves a Green SPY, girls,” said the brunette. “Step out of that bush, and don’t try anything funny.” Steve stepped out of the bush, and he never considered trying anything funny—being face-to-face with such a pretty woman tends to destroy a man’s thoughts of escape. “Let’s MOVE, girls, it’s daytime here,” ordered the brunette, and two strong hands forced Steve’s hands behind his back, where a pair of cheap handcuffs was applied, and a shove from the rear got Steve moving. After a second or two of getting a decent view of the brunette’s shapely rear, a blindfold was wrapped around Steve’s face, and he proceeded in darkness and silence.
Finally they reached a building of some sort; Steve heard a door open, then close behind him. The blindfold was removed and he saw that he was in an old shed, remodeled the month before during the preparation period for the war. The whole building was probably camouflaged in some way, Steve reasoned, like the men’s base. Windows were boarded over, and a chair was attached to the floor, which Steve was forced to sit in and be attached to with a chain attached to the handcuffs. Finally he got a good look around, and saw that whatever treatment he was going to receive, it would be at the hands of the brunette. He doubted there was much chance of escape at this point—the door was locked and he felt sure there might be other nearby stations with enemy operatives nearby. He was caught, and it was up to the Browns to make the first move.
The brunette spoke. “My name, Green, is Sylvia. You will answer only when spoken to and you will tell me what I want to know or there will be consequences for you. Understand?” A subdued Steve nodded. “Well then, Green,” said Sylvia in a slightly less authoritarian voice, “what is your name, so that I can address you more specifically?”
“Steve,” Steve said quickly. He had received training, after all, and he knew that the best way to go was to answer such questions quickly and to the point, and to hold one’s lips only on those things which were of key importance. It was always possible that he might not even be asked about such matters—although it was doubtful.
“All right, Steve. We may begin. First, what were you doing in that bush when we found you?”
Steve replied obediently, knowing it wasn’t important, “I was running patrol for my side, as per my orders.” Sylvia looked impatient. “And what were you patrolling for?”
“Signs of enemy activity.” He avoided the specific phrasing, which included “…to be reported back to base” as that would bring up the topic of home base. Sylvia did not seem satisfied, however. “Who gave you those orders?” “My commanding officer.” “Where were the orders given?” “At my regional base.” “And where is that?”
Steve simply replied, “I don’t know,” which was the appropriate response. “I don’t belive you,” was Sylvia’s icy reply. “Where is your regional base?”
“I don’t know.” Sylvia walked behind Steve and apparently rummaged around in a box. She walked around to face him, and he got a good look at her, dressed in an outfit much like his, only with a brown t-shirt instead of green. It was a tight fit and he couldn’t help getting hard, watching her watching him. Then he noticed what she was holding—a labelless brown bottle, which he recognized as a chocolate syrup bottle. Steve was a bit surprised, but kept his straight face as Sylvia said, “Do you know what this is?” He nodded. “Good.” Sylvia walked up to him and he got even harder looking at her body, so caught up in his view that he didn’t think to try and kick her. Then he saw her pull the cap off the bottle and bring it up over his head. He could only close his eyes reflexively as the stream of warm, thick syrup dropped onto the top of his head and began pooling outward. Soon the first drip ran over his face, and he felt the flow increase—no doubt Sylvia was squeezing harder. Harder was what Steve was getting as the goo slid down his neck in several places and began to stain his green shirt. “Soon you will be a brown too, little Green boy,” Sylvia said, and it was true. Abrubtly the flow cut off. “More direct method,” said Sylvia, and she brought the bottle down, right in front of his face, and squeezed so that it went directly on to his shirt. It travelled slowly from the feel of it, but it was gradually covering his front. “Once I’m done, Green boy, it won’t take much for you to be mistaken for one of your own in the night, and be shot down. Do you want that to happen, Green boy?”
Steve realized the fiendishness of their plan. If he wouldn’t talk, they’d simply make him up to be a Brown, and release him at night. He’d be shot down by his own men, and as the water pistols packed a neon-colored paint there would be no way to pretend it hadn’t happened. Still, Steve said nothing as the bottle was emptied, his shirt not yet completely covered. “Hm, looks like we need something more,” said Sylvia, again walking behind him. With the bottle out of his face Steve was able to see that his shirt was indeed quite brown and that he was indeed in trouble. But he was still hormone-charged, and he realized that it had to do with the glop Sylvia was pouring on him as well as her figure. Ooh, how he’d like to get her in chocolate syrup, he thought. Sylvia came back around, holding now a bucket of something brown. Looked like cake batter, maybe brownie batter. It was obviously a lot thicker than the syrup, although a bit lighter. Without further warning Sylvia tipped the bucket over onto Steve’s front, and it quickly spread all over his shirt and down over the crotch of his pants, bringing Sylvia’s attention to his hard-on. “Hm, what’s this?” she said teasingly. “Answer me!”
Steve mumbled something. “Speak up!” “Well, ah, Sylvia, it’s just you’re so beautiful, and this stuff feels good..”
Sylvia blinked. This was not what she had expected. This torture was supposed to disgust her captures, and if it failed, force them to be gunned down by their teammates. But turn them on? Still, she could use this to her advantage. “Speak freely, Green. Tell me about how beautiful I am.”
Steve’s reply got jumbled up with moans of pleasure, but Sylvia got an idea. “Steve, there are armed guards outside every exit to this room. You cannot escape. So, I propose a deal. If you tell me the secret of your base, I will allow you to treat me as you will with these foods.”
Steve’s already hard cock reacted as if tossed in liquid nitrogen—it hardened another notch. His sense of duty crumbled under the possibilities. “All right!” he cried. “By the fork in the stream where there is a tree stump low down on the river bank—there is an old building covered by vines and weeds and buried in mud so that it looks like a hill—the entrance is down on the river bank!”
Sylvia spoke a few words through a slot in the wall to the next room, then there was a long waiting time before a response came back. Sylvia looked over to her captive. “Good work. They’ve found something. I am an honourable woman, so here goes.” She walked over and uncuffed Steve. She couldn’t believe what she was about to do, but she may have singlehandedly won the war for her side, and the prospect of being covered in gunk herself was actually turning her on as well. Steve stood up, rubbed his wrist and wiped the chocolate out of his eye. “All right,” he said, and he set to work. After handcuffing Sylvia as he had been handcuffed, he looked in a box behind the chair to find all manner of goo. First a bottle of chocolate syrup. Walking around, he brought it over, rested it right on top of Sylvia’s right breast, and squeezed, hard, sending a beautiful thick pool of goo all over her sexy chest. It soaked the tight fabric and outlined Sylvia’s braless breasts perfectly. He could see that her nipples were hardening up—was she enjoying this too? He looked up to see a broad smile on her face as he brought the bottle to her other breast and repeated the process. The bottle was soon discarded, and Steve reached over and began to rub his hands—and Sylvia’s breasts—in the chocolate. It felt…good. Sylvia let out a moan, and Steve could only grin and rub his crotch a bit as he walked around to grab a bucket of the batter. Sylvia’s eyes widened and her breath quickened as Steve brought the bucket up and emptied it over Sylvia’s head, instantly obscuring her features beneath a veil of sexy chocolate. Steve set the bucket down as the batter flowed down Sylvia’s neck and onto her shirt, and placed his lips on hers for the tastiest kiss he’d ever received, which only got tastier as Sylvia’s tongue worked its way into his mouth. He withdrew, though, to fetch a big bucket of chocolate pudding. He licked his lips as he pulled Sylvia’s jeans away from her slightly and tipped the bucket into her jeans.
Sylvia moaned and wiggled her hips back and forth to feel the pudding squish around her. In went Steve’s hand, which happily smooshed the pudding around and got a feel of Sylvia’s panties. “Next!” said Steve aloud as he took from the box a bucket of dark, liquid fudge, which of course went straight into Sylvia’s panties, with appropriate “handiwork” from Steve. By now Sylvia was moaning full force and approaching orgasm, which Steve could see, so he quickly unzipped her pants, releasing the pudding, and stuck his face into her panties, licking frantically, tasting the sweet, rich taste of fudge, and Sylvia’s womanhood. She came in seconds, and as Steve was extremely close to doing so himself, he pulled off his pants and shorts, unhooked the handcuffs, and brought himself into a gooey embrace with Sylvia, who was apparently quite willing, and as they rocked back in forth, his cock inside her, she grabbed at the various buckets and bottles and emptied them onto both of their bodies, creating a wonderful sexy chocolate fuck which neither of them would ever forget.
Finally, though, the fun was over, and each of them had come three times. They sank to the slimy floor and looked at each other. “Well, Brown,” said Sylvia, all of her previous contempt gone, “that’s the most fun I’ve had torturing someone, ever!”
Steve looked at her and said, plainly, “That’s the most fun I’ve had being tortured, ever! Can we do it again?”
And they did—but that’s another story.