General Garcia's Game Room

General Garcia's Game Room, somewhere in South America in the late 1970s…

Tonight's raid was a success as expected, and General Garcia smiled happily. Even better than anticipated,
they had captured seven female terrorists, all young, almost all blondes with beautiful
figures and firm breasts. He could clearly see them being escorted in line, wearing only white underwear
…

Surrounded by soldiers and prisoners, the general pondered, carefully examining each prisoner. Who would be
first, he wondered: who would be the first to be "processed" in his underground interrogation room? The one with light dark skin,
looking around 30, with seemingly large breasts… or the petite one, no more than 15, her
childlike face filled with fear… or, oh, why not her blonde friend, not yet 20,
with long, strong legs like a runner, a few freckles on her face, and a small, pampered, upturned nose
. The general glanced down at the list: Angel Smith, 17, student, captured from the school gymnasium. He
put down the list, smiled, and walked up to her, staring into her eyes: "Why are we here...
What's your name?" She tried to turn her head but couldn't: "Angel Smith, sir, please let me go,
I didn't do anything, I'm only 17... I'm just an innocent student... Please let me go..."

After the general pulled down her underwear, she stood there naked, sobbing and begging. The general saw that
the white cotton underwear was clean, but there was some shiny liquid secretion at the bottom, and his penis couldn't help but harden. Yes,
he thought: This is the first one. He held the underwear to his face and sniffed it hard, then put it in his pocket...

The

iron door to the basement opened, revealing a long staircase. Sparse lights cast a dim light, and
the white paint on the walls was peeling. The soldier dragged the sobbing, beautiful girl down to the last step, where another
iron door led to the interrogation room.

One might imagine torture chambers as damp, filthy
places , but General Garcia's torture chamber was surprisingly bright… It was a large room with
comfortable sofas, furniture, and other necessities, but unlike ordinary living rooms, a metal table stood in
the center, equipped with adjustable metal clamps and leather straps… This was
the bed where the general made his “cabbage-wrapped” subjects sing. Next to the table was a lower table with numerous electrical devices.
The entire room resembled a technician's workshop rather than a modern torture chamber.

Electric shock generators, metal clamps and wires, several thick metal rods with rubber sheaths connected to wires,
and several long, sharp needles also attached to the electrical table… The room was lit
like , with several shadowless lamps shining on the metal table, the light so bright that you could see every tiny
movement, every minute twitch of the tortured person's muscles. Of course, high-quality cameras recorded the interrogation process;
these videotapes were already part of the general's collection. An electro-acoustic system recorded the music; microphones mounted
under faithfully recorded every tiny sob, every agonizing cry…

The pitiful woman was still writhing; a soldier forcefully pulled her hair, lifting her head.
Seeing the execution platform, her blue eyes suddenly widened; before her were belts and those filthy devices… It seemed
she fully understood what was about to happen: “Oh, oh, no, oh, no, please forgive me, I don’t want to use these…

”

The soldier slapped her to silence her, and the general said sternly, "Shut up.
There is no forgiveness in this room, darling. Don't you like being the first to enjoy yourself? Soldier, get her up there."

"Oh...no, no, don't,"

the soldier smiled, slowly leading the screaming and kicking blonde girl toward the horrible bed...
God , how beautiful she was, her long, full thighs trembling, her beautiful breasts
swaying slightly beneath her long hair; her beautiful head shaking frantically, her genitals...her genitals were covered by thick pubic hair...

No matter she was an athlete, she had no chance to resist under the grip of two strong male soldiers and was easily
placed on the metal bed...The general felt his penis harden again...Metal shackles quickly clamped onto her
ankles, making her lie on her back, her arms spread apart and tied to her feet, her strong but curvaceous thighs were
spread wide apart and tightly bound to the sides of the table, a metal strap constricting her forehead so that her head could not turn.

"They'll handle everything," the general said, settling comfortably into his favorite chair, awaiting the start of the demonstration
… His assistant, Natasha, a beautiful blonde, a 33-year-old former KGB agent. He enjoyed watching
interrogations, usually while sipping tea and masturbating, sometimes having a girl perform oral sex on him, but not today
; he had other plans.

Natasha entered the room, visibly pleased to see the scene. She was a beautiful woman,
strong yet sexy. Her pretty face always had a stern look, with short blonde hair, long
nails, and a mouth that never smiled. But her eyes gleamed; she was imagining what would happen
to …

Without a word, Natasha took out a whip and began lashing the poor girl. This was just a warm-up, to
add some effect to the upcoming interrogation. After a while, Natasha stopped. Okay, Natasha already knew
something. Genitals, breasts, inner thighs, and face, especially the inner thighs—the girl
screamed she had exposed herself.

Natasha picked up a report; all the female gynecologists' medical records were detailed on it. A year ago,
Angel Smith had told her gynecologist that her clitoris was extremely sensitive and painful during masturbation, but she
had never had sexual intercourse. She, of course, didn't know that in this country, doctors colluded with the government, providing
them information on extremely sensitive women in exchange for payment.

Natasha smiled for the first time, closing the report: "This is your most sensitive spot, sweetheart. Your doctor
betrayed you."

The blonde young girl stared at Natasha in disbelief. Her worst nightmare had become reality. Were those
legends true? Those girls who mysteriously disappeared… Now she could only plead: "Oh no

… God, no, not here, don't let me…"

“Of course, here.” Natasha chuckled mockingly. “But let’s verify it first,
shall we ?”

As she spoke, Natasha bent down between the girl’s thighs, using her left thumb and forefinger to separate the girl’s already
immobilized , musky labia.

“What are you doing? Take your hands off!”

Natasha put her right thumb in her mouth, coating it with saliva, and then began to slowly rub her
victim ’s clitoris…

The girl on the table clearly reacted, panting and writhing under the thumb’s stimulation. Natasha pulled
back the girl’s clitoral foreskin, bent down, and licked the tender pink flesh with her tongue. Soon, the girl stiffened, almost
reaching orgasm… Ah… wonderful… Suddenly, the caresses stopped. Natasha left the panting girl
on the verge of extreme orgasm, washed her fingers in her mouth, and turned to the general, saying, “This is a common
method used in the Soviet Union. She’s very sensitive now. I can guarantee it will be very stimulating later.”

The general smiled, rubbing his penis through his trousers.

Turning back to the helpless victim, Natasha leaned closer to the pretty face with a few freckles: "Isn't it
good ? Because later, I'll feel you again, I promise..."

Natasha sat back between the spread thighs, feeling the girl's warm, musky scent, and used her left hand
to part the labia, revealing the poor girl's still erect clitoris. Then, with the long nail of her right middle finger, she slowly and
rhythmically scraped one side of the clitoris, listening to the poor girl's distressed cries.

"Ah, ah no,
please... have mercy!"

"Ah, sweetheart, what are you doing? I haven't even started yet." She

continued scraping...

"Ah oh no
—stop..."

"Why should I stop? Give me a reason, Angel Smith?"

She continued.

"Have mercy, ah ah!"

Ten minutes later, Natasha finally stopped scraping the clitoral hood. She stood up from Angel Smith's painful genitals
, left the operating table, and left the still naked but now sweaty and panting body. She took a bundle of wire from
a plate, pulled out a wire about six inches long, and turned to the general, explaining,
"I heard about this method during the Greek dictatorship; it's used on men, but I guarantee it works just as well
on , and it should be even more painful. The woman will scream louder than the man in the end..."

The general smiled and nodded in approval.

Natasha went to the table, skillfully separating the labia between the thighs again, feeling around with her fingers to
separate the labia minora, exposing the urethra.

"Oh, what have we found... darling, this must be the little hole where you wet your underwear as a child...

"

She slowly, very slowly, inserted the thick copper wire into the naked girl's urethra. The effect was remarkable; the poor
little girl screamed loudly, her arms and legs straining against the leather straps, her body trying to arch, but she failed;
it was too tightly bound. Natasha licked her lips. "Great," she thought, continuing her cruel surgery. "
So far , it's just child's play..." The copper wire extended into the girl's sensitive urethra, seemingly
alive, heading towards its destination. The skilled hand, trained in Soviet torture, moved in and out, slowly, slowly, deeper. The screams
, the wide-open eyes...

"Ah
—ah ah
!"

The girl could barely speak, only monotonous screams escaping her throat... millimeter by
millimeter ...

"Ah, ah
..."

Suddenly, the wire stopped; it had reached the bladder. Natasha noticed some urine dripping from the wire.
Without hesitation, she immediately began to slowly rotate the copper wire.

"Ah no... ah... stop..."

Finally, Natasha stopped, looking at the beautiful but pale face from pain. She inserted an
IV drip into the girl's vein; the medication would keep her conscious during the next strange procedure. Natasha thought,
"[The whole thing] is going according to plan," and she broke out in a sweat again.

She found a long, gleaming, sharp needle and showed it to the girl tied to the table, asking, "Young
lady, do you know how you're going to use me, your friend?" Before the terrified girl could answer, Natasha had already
used her fingernails to peel back the swollen clitoral hood, revealing the pink clitoral hood.

"Ah, no...this can't be..."

Angel Smith cried out in panic. Her worst nightmare was about to become a reality—her most
sensitive, most vulnerable spot was about to be pierced by the long needle!

"Oh...no..."

Natasha didn't hesitate, not at all. She had heard many girls scream like that, and there was no reason to stop. She
savored it, tasting the young girl's fear, her wide-open eyes, her pitiful pleas for mercy.
So naive, she thought. As the long needle began to pierce the clitoris, the poor, naked girl violently shook the metal table,
in a state of complete frenzy; her screams had never been louder…

“Ah—
ah!”

Every part of her body was convulsing, taut all the restraining straps… Excellent, Natasha
grinned, her fingers stopping as she observed the effect on the girl. The girl, as if dying,
was covered in sweat, and when the needle stopped, her rapid breathing slowed down. Natasha kissed the girl's
forehead and whispered, "But it's just a needle, lovely Angel... just a needle, it's not real harm
... Oh, I forgot, your clitoris is your most vulnerable spot..." As she spoke, Natasha began to slowly rub the needle,
continuing to push it in... Natasha licked the girl's ear: "Ah... feels like being pierced?

... Yes. Don't scream, dear Angel... don't scream, wait a moment, you'll scream for me..."
Natasha felt the girl below trembling, as if she didn't like this treatment... She wouldn't like it... She continued
to penetrate

... When the needle was finally fully inside Angel Smith's body, leaving only a small metal handle outside
the clitoris, Natasha gently wiped away the tears on the freckled girl's face and softly said, "This is just the beginning...
darling ... tell me your name, and it will all be over... I promise."

Angel Smith yielded; she could no longer endure the brutal torture. She confessed—
names, addresses, everything she knew.

Natasha wrote everything down, calmly placed the paper on the table, and then took out a lighter…

The astonished girl couldn't believe her eyes. What was this? It should be over, she had promised
.

"What are you going to do? You promised it would all be over… I've given you all the names… Please let
me go… Oh, God…"

Natasha grinned, leaning close to the victim's ear, and said softly, "Don't trust a woman. I
lied to you. Oh, dear…" She lit the lighter, letting the flame reach the softest, most vulnerable
area between the girl's thighs.

Angel Smith sobbed; she was truly terrified now, but there was nothing she could do, nothing she could do
to stop what was about to happen… As the flame licked the end of the needle, Angel… Smith stiffened abruptly,
the pain far worse than any injury she had ever suffered… Oh, her clitoris felt like it was on fire… Oh, no…

So cruel… I never dreamed…

“Ah… Ah…”

The flame continued to burn…

“Ah… No.”

“What’s happening, my dear?” Natasha mocked her victim, letting the flame leave the red-hot needle
.

“…Please… don’t… spare me…”

Natasha, as if not hearing, licked away the girl’s tears, relit the lighter, and said gently, “
What are you afraid of, my dear, don’t be afraid…”

Angel Smith stammered, “The… needle… oh, my poor… clitoris…

hurts so much.”

Natasha chuckled, as if looking at an imposter: “Oh, you’re afraid of this needle, but it’s just
a needle… How can you be so cowardly? The real thing hasn’t even started yet…”

Angel Smith’s panicked voice cried, “Spare me… spare me…”

“Oh, no, no… spare me…”

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