“3164…  On your feet!”

The prisoner does not resist.  He did at first, but now he saves his strength.  After at least a dozen interrogation sessions he knows that it will take all of his strength to resist the questioning, there is none to waste.  He wearily stands.  The guards enter.  One pushes him against the wall while her comrade pulls his arms behind his back and cuffs his wrists. Shackles bind his ankles with a chain that allows him to walk but not run.  He is shoved out of the cell and marched down the corridor as fast as his chains and his broken body will allow.

He doesn’t know how much more of this he will be able to take.  And yet, he has to hold on.  He has made it this long.  He can last just a little longer.  At least, he hopes he can.  He has more than enough knowledge to doom the rebellion and condemn the males he fought alongside in their quest to overthrow this female supremacist government.  He has survived the interrogations, the tortures.  He has to hold on.

They arrive at the door to one of the interrogation rooms.   The guard knocks and a voice from inside responds.  The guard opens the door and pushes him through.  The interrogation rooms he has been in so far are cold and sterile: bare walls, concrete floors, perhaps a chair to restrain him, a table laid out with various instruments whose purpose is all too clear.

This room is very different.  It is painted a light beige.  There is thick, soft carpet beneath his bare feet.  Rather than the harsh, white light of a fluorescent panel, the lighting is gentle on his eyes.  A fireplace on the far wall crackles.  There is even music playing softly.

A large leather sofa is in the middle of the room facing the fireplace.  Someone is seated on it, her back to him.  She rises and he sees that more is different here than merely the room.  His previous interrogators have been harsh figures in military uniform.  Tall women with severe hairstyles pulled back in utilitarian fashion.  The woman who rises from the sofa is entirely the opposite.  She wears a black dress, the cut is short revealing long legs and the neckline is low revealing much more.  Her hair falls loosely on her shoulders.  As she walks toward him he is mesmerized by her sparkling green eyes.  He is even more taken by her smile: welcoming rather than cruel.

“Hello,” she says.  “I am Marquesa.”

She looks at one of those guards, “Get those rags off him.”

As the guard is tearing away the remnants of his clothing, Marquesa smiles, “Perhaps we’ll find something better for you to wear.  Later.  For now, I think you’ll be quite warm in here, don’t you?”

Marquesa walks away from him as the guards pull away the last of his clothing and leave him standing nude.  “Put him on the sofa and then you may go,” she orders as she pours a drink.  The guards seat him on the sofa, attaching his cuffs to a bolt set into it for the purpose of restraining him.  His shackles are attached to a similar bolt.  Marquesa walks past the back of the sofa, tousling his hair with her fingertips as she does so.  She sits down next to him, very close, crosses her legs and takes a sip of her drink.

“This isn’t going to work,” he tells her flatly.

Marquesa’s eyes are wide and innocent, her smile is anything but.  “Work?  I have no idea what you mean.  We’re just here to have a little chat.”

“We don’t have anything to talk about.”

Marquesa slipped her arm around his shoulders and reached up to stroke the back of his head, “Oh, I’m sure we can think of something.  Why don’t you tell me a little about yourself?”

He remained silent, staring stony-faced ahead.  He had been interrogated enough to know the tricks.  Get him talking about nothing and it was that much easier to keep him talking about something that matters.
**

“You know, My Darling, it really is important that we get to know each other a little better.  I’d hate to have to give you back to the people who have done all this to you,” she ran her hands over the bruises on his shoulders.  “I’m not sure you would survive too much longer.”

He remained silent.  Marquesa sighed.  She never understood why the military was so foolish.  If they had given him to her immediately, she would have had him eating from the palm of her hand within an hour.  Instead, they held him for weeks and tortured him.  Now, he was closed up tight.  Oh, he would still give her what she wanted, but it was all so wasteful.

“Well, if you won’t want to talk I suppose I’ll have to have the guards come and take you back to your cell.  They’ll probably finish you off tonight.  But…  I suppose we could relax here for a few moments first,” Marquesa leans forward and opens the carved ebony box on the table before them.  It contains cigars.

“You don’t mind if I smoke?” she asked.  He did not answer but, of course, it would not have mattered.  Marquesa lit the cigar and tipped her head back, blowing a stream of the thick smoke toward the ceiling.

“Ah…  Excellent,” she said, holding the cigar.  “I have a little plantation down in the Caribbean.  My boys harvest the tobacco and roll them just the way I like.”

“You mean your slaves,” he said bitterly.

Marquesa shrugged, “A rose by any other name, Darling.  Whatever you call them, they make an excellent cigar.  Here, tell me what you think of it.”

Rather than offering him the cigar, she put it to her lips again and blew the smoke gently into his face.  He had not expected that and he inhaled before he realized it.  As he did so, his eyes lost focus, his stiff bearing became more relaxed.  Marquesa watched as his entire aspect changed.

Yes, they were well-made cigars.  Delivered to her from her island paradise, they were then infused with a bio-chemical compound.  It was specially tailored to work only on the male physiology.  For Marquesa, a cigar was just a cigar, for her guest it was quite a bit more.  It was a key that would open the door he had slammed so tightly shut.
Now, all that was left was to step through that open door.

“Yes, My Darling…  So much better…  So much more relaxed.  Now, I want you to stare into the fire.  Look at the flames as they dance…  They are getting larger and larger.  Filling your vision.  Just the dancing lights and my voice.  My voice.  You can see nothing else, you can hear nothing else.  Only my voice…  Only my voice.”

Marquesa put the cigar to her lips.  This time, she did not bother blowing it into his face.  The cigar had served its purpose.  It had relaxed him enough that her natural talents could begin to work.  And clearly, they were working very well.  He was staring mindlessly into the fire, his eyes unfocused.  Marquesa continued her work, emptying
him of any conscious thought, emptying him of any will and then she filled that void with her own will, her own thoughts.

“Serving me is pleasure, my pet.  You feel pleasure when you obey.  Disobeying would be pain.  Displeasing me would be pain.  I am all that matters to you.  My pleasure, my will.  Your past does not matter to you.  All that matters is pleasing me.  Do you understand?”
**

“Yes.”

“Such a good boy.”

His face lit up at her praise and Marquesa stroked his cheek tenderly.  Yes, if they had only handed him over to her sooner.  She was as committed to female rule as anyone, but she hated to see males abused for no reason.  She owned hundreds of boys and not one of them bore a mark of punishment on their bodies.  Her overseers didn’t even carry whips.  Such things were so unnecessary when you truly owned a male.  Besides, on those rare occasions when she had found it absolutely necessary to punish one of her pets, her abilities allowed her to inflict torments on his mind far beyond what his body could have ever borne.

Marquesa opened her handbag and took out a soft leather collar with a slender chain attached.  She slipped the soft collar around his throat and wrapped the chain around her hand.  If he resisted, the tiny chain would snap instantly.  It served no real purpose of control like a true leash would.  Still, it was more than enough for Marquesa.  This little one would follow her as meekly as a lamb.  She freed his wrists and ankles, rose and then gave the leash a gentle tug.

“Come along, my pet.  I’m going to take you for a little walk.  I know someone who is going to be very pleased to see you.”

An hour later, they were in the General’s office.  Marquesa was seated in front of her desk, the leash draped over her crossed legs.  The prisoner knelt meekly beside her, his eyes never leaving the floor.

“What’s that thing doing here without chains on!” the General demanded as she entered.

Marquesa laughed, “I wouldn’t worry, General.  I’m here to protect you.  He certainly does seem dangerous, doesn’t he?”

The General grumbled, “What do you have for me?”

“Why, everything, General.  Of course.  Darling, it would please me if you answered the General’s questions.”

The prisoner nodded but did not look up.  “Yes, Marquesa.”

And the questions began.  Names, locations, plans.  The prisoner answered each question the General put to him.  It went on and on, with the General recording every word.  An hour later, she had all the information she needed to end this rebellion, once and for all.

The General sighed.  “Well, I don’t approve of your methods, you know that.  Still, I can’t argue with the results.”

“And I don’t approve of yours, General, but you have what you want now.  This nonsense can end.”

The General was not sure whether the nonsense Marquesa referred to was the rebellion or how the General treated prisoners.  In fact, it was both.  The General just nodded.

“I’ll have a guard take him back to the prison for execution,” the General said, reaching for the telephone.

“Oh, I don’t think that will be necessary, General.”

“Oh really?  He’s a rebel.  Rebels hang.”

Marquesa laughed, “He hardly looks rebellious now, General, don’t you agree?”

The General had to admit that the nude male, kneeling quietly in front of her desk, did not appear likely to rise up again any time soon.  She sighed, “What did you have in mind, Marquesa?”

Marquesa stroked his hair, “Well, now that this rebellion is over, I’m planning on taking a little vacation in the tropics.  I thought I might drop him off at one of my plantations down there.  After all, I can always use a boy who appreciates a good cigar.”