Ch 5 - Vieregg Very Bad Day

"You are resisting arrest! Stop resisting!"

The words were barked with the kind of unshakable authority that suggested they could bend reality itself. Which was very unfortunate for Vieregg, who wasn’t resisting in the slightest.

"I am not resisting! I am complying!" Vieregg yelled, just as he was hauled off his feet and unceremoniously slammed into the back of an armored truck. His entire body ached from the rough handling, but not as much as his dignity.

The two Inquisition officers, both tall, blonde, and built like genetically enhanced valkyries, loomed over him. One of them, Trude, had a voice that sounded like it had been trained to command armies.

"If you continue resisting, we’ll have to strip you down."

"But I am not resisting! I am complying!" Vieregg’s voice cracked with sheer desperation.

The other officer, Ylva, glanced at him, her expression neutral, her massive arms crossed over an equally massive chest. "He could be carrying weapons," she mused. "Or a bomb. You never know with Red Pillers."

Vieregg’s stomach lurched. He knew exactly where this was going.

"No, no, no, you cannot do this!" he shouted, kicking against the truck floor in panic. "I am Povel Vieregg! CEO of Vieregg Industries! I—"

His titles and importance did absolutely nothing to prevent four well-trained hands from violently stripping him down. There was no dignity in it. His shirt was ripped away. His pants yanked down in one swift, humiliating motion. His underwear didn’t even get the courtesy of hesitation.

And just like that, Povel Vieregg, industrialist and businessman, was stark naked in the back of an Inquisition transport, his wrists cuffed behind his back, his ankles bound, his entire body exposed to the cold metallic interior.

His mind spun wildly for solutions. How had this happened? How was this happening? What did they even want from him?

"Calm down and stop resisting," Trude barked again.

Vieregg’s eyes widened in disbelief. He was sitting still. His wrists were bound. His ankles were bound. He was very much incapable of resisting even if he had wanted to.

This was some next-level madness.

"You crazy bitches," he muttered, mostly to himself.

But Ylva wasn’t listening. "The cock-squeezer and ball-stretcher will calm him down," she said, as if it was the most casual suggestion in the world.

Vieregg’s entire body tensed. His lungs refused to function properly.

"I am calm! I am not resisting!" he screamed, absolute panic creeping into his voice.

"Hurry," Trude snapped. "This one is wild and uncontrollable. We need to get him under control."

Vieregg knew two things with absolute certainty. One: He was about to experience something deeply humiliating. Two: A very inconvenient part of him was finding this entire scenario far more arousing than it had any right to be.

Ylva reached into a compartment and pulled out a set of thick, heavy steel rings—the kind of cold, industrial objects that had no business being anywhere near a man’s genitals.

Vieregg’s breath hitched. Trude grabbed his thighs, spreading them apart like she was about to perform maintenance on a faulty machine rather than deal with an actual human being. Ylva moved in with the crude steel implements.

Vieregg’s survival instincts screamed at him. "Stop! Stop!" He jerked against his cuffs, trying to back away even though there was nowhere to go. "I am NOT resisting! What are you doing?! I don’t want that on my dick!"

It was to no avail. The first thick, heavy steel ring was locked tightly around the base of his cock. Then another, clamped around the base of his shaft. And a third, even heavier, secured snugly around his balls.

His stomach clenched. The weight dragged at him immediately, pulling his balls downward, stretching the skin uncomfortably taut. A deep, dull ache spread through his lower half, somewhere between pain and a humiliating hyper-awareness of his own body.

"Please! I will be good!" Vieregg pleaded, his voice cracking.

Ylva and Trude exchanged glances.

"He is still uncontrollable," Trude remarked.

Vieregg froze. That was not the direction he wanted this to go. He shut his mouth immediately and sat completely still, trying to convey obedience through sheer silence.

Ylva smirked, adjusting one of the rings with expert hands, like she had done this a thousand times before. "The Cock Squeezer and Ball Stretcher," she said matter-of-factly, "always gets hysterical men under control."

Vieregg sucked in a breath, trying to block out the humiliating reality of his current situation.

No wonder men feared the Inquisition. These women were deranged. Evil.

…And, unfortunately, terribly hot.

It was a cruel cosmic joke that his tormentors happened to be ridiculously stacked, their armored uniforms designed in a way that somehow showcased cleavage despite being tactical wear.

A boner was the absolute last thing he wanted in front of these crazy, power-hungry sex-addict fascists.

His body did not care.

Vieregg felt it happen—that deep, traitorous stir, the involuntary stiffening, the painful throb as blood rushed in against the constriction of cold steel rings.

The pain intensified—the steel tightened around his cock, restricting the natural expansion.

It was like his own body was punishing him for being so profoundly, humiliatingly weak-willed.

"Look at that erection," Ylva said.

Vieregg wanted to die.

His entire existence collapsed into a single, all-consuming wave of secondhand embarrassment.

Could this day get any worse?

"You’ve got a nice fat cock," Trude commented, tilting her head appreciatively, like she was evaluating a prized specimen of livestock.

She leaned in slightly.

"Do we turn you on, pervert?"

Vieregg gritted his teeth, his entire face burning.

This was a nightmare.

A terrible, humiliating, and inconveniently arousing nightmare.

Fortunately for Vieregg, he never had to answer.

The truck lurched to a stop, and the armored door slid open with a pneumatic hiss.

Cold air hit his bare skin.

Ylva and Trude dragged him out, and the moment his feet touched the ground, the reality of his situation slammed into him with full force.

He was completely naked.

Erect. Cuffed. Collared in cold steel.

And now he was being paraded through the most terrifying building in Oslo.

The Imperial Tower loomed above, a matte-black monolith of brutalist architecture that made a man feel very small. The Inquisition headquarters was part of its base, its imposing entrance flanked by more armored officers, all women, all tall, disciplined, and carrying weapons that could liquefy a man’s internal organs in less than a second.

And he was walking toward it.

Naked.

With an erection.

This was not how he imagined his first business trip to Imperial Norway would go.

Inside, the corridors were lined with more of them—women in heavy black armor, cleavage exposed, their backs straight, their expressions unreadable.

Some of them barely glanced at him.

Others…did.

It was crushingly humiliating to be led through this place like a trophy on display, stark naked, his cock betraying him with stiff, aching humiliation.

They passed another officer, a redhead with striking, angular features, who gave him a slow, appraising look as they walked by.

She smirked.

Vieregg wanted to die.

Then, finally, he was shoved into a holding cell.

It was a simple, sterile room—concrete walls, a steel bench, no privacy whatsoever.

And there was already someone else inside.

A man.

Same setup—cuffed, collared, naked, painfully erect with thick metal rings around his cock and balls.

Vieregg stared at him.

The man looked back with the tired resignation of someone who had seen this all before.

Vieregg’s brain struggled to process it.

"Is this… normal here?!" he finally blurted.

The man gave a dry, humorless chuckle.

"Swede?" he guessed.

Vieregg nodded.

"Yeah, you’re new here," the man sighed. "I’m Peter."

Vieregg exhaled sharply. "Yeah. Just arrived. Worst welcome ever. I cannot believe this shit. Hopefully, they’ll realize this is a misunderstanding and let me go soon."

The words left his mouth, but even he didn’t believe them.

Peter just shook his head slowly.

"That’s not how it works here, man."

Vieregg swallowed.

Peter leaned back against the cold concrete wall, his expression distant.

"The Inquisition is full of sexual deviants and perverts," he said flatly. "It doesn’t really matter if you’re innocent or guilty. A handsome man like you? They’re going to want to have a go at you for a while."

Vieregg felt his stomach twist into knots.

The ring around his cock suddenly felt even tighter.

Peter glanced at him. "The interrogators have… some rather sadistic sexual tastes."

Vieregg felt his heart pounding in his chest.

The walls felt colder.

His pulse roared in his ears.

Peter shrugged. "You’ll get out eventually, once they rule out that you don’t know anything."

"And until then?" Vieregg asked, his voice tight with apprehension.

Peter gave him a look that offered no comfort whatsoever.

"Until then," he said simply, "just bite your teeth and get through it."

Vieregg's breath came short and shallow.

Peter continued, "Some guys with certain… perverse sexual inclinations actually enjoy the interrogations. They aren’t all equally bad. Maybe you get lucky."

Vieregg felt sick.

His mind raced through every possible scenario, none of them good.

"How the fuck can it be like this?" he muttered, almost to himself.

Peter sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.

"This country has a serious shortage of men," he explained. "It’s full of women with sex addiction, many of them with… traumas from the old days of the patriarchy. Predators and desperate women seek out the Inquisition because it’s a way to get their hands on men they can’t have otherwise."

Vieregg felt a chill crawl up his spine.

Peter stared at the concrete wall, his voice toneless.

"As long as the Inquisition is effective at rooting out the male insurgency, the regime turns a blind eye to their endemic sexual abuse of men."

Vieregg broke out in a cold sweat.

His entire body felt weak.

He leaned forward, his cuffed hands trembling slightly.

"I am so fucked."

The words escaped before he could stop them. His throat tightened.

Peter didn’t disagree.

He just sat there. Silent. Waiting.

Because he knew what Vieregg was about to learn. The worst part wasn’t the waiting. The worst part was knowing that, eventually…

The door would open. And someone would step inside. And his real interrogation would begin.

The door slid open.

Vieregg froze.

Two black-armored figures filled the frame, tall, blonde, and built like war machines, their expressions cool and professional—as if this was just another day at work.

It was.

For them.

Ylva and Trude stared down at him, their eyes scanning his body like they were evaluating livestock.

"Look at him, still hard," Ylva commented, her tone neutral but laced with amusement. "They always do that when you keep them restrained long enough."

Trude nodded, reaching down and giving his cock a light slap, just enough to make it twitch.

Vieregg flinched.

"Responsive, too," Trude mused.

He felt his entire face burn.

"You sure he’s not one of those Red Piller insurgents?" Ylva asked, tapping his thigh with her gloved fingers. "I don’t see how someone this pretty could possibly be a terrorist."

"Exactly. Look at these thighs." Trude ran a firm, gloved hand along the muscle of his leg, as if inspecting the quality of meat before a meal.

Vieregg gritted his teeth.

"Strong, but lean. He’s not a brute. He’s the type women fight over in the breeding dorms."

They were talking about him as if he wasn’t even there.

"Tight abs, too." Ylva dragged a finger across his stomach, sending a shiver through him that he tried to suppress.

"And that cock." Trude grabbed it suddenly, just to feel the weight of it in her palm, and Vieregg let out an involuntary gasp at the sheer shamelessness of it.

He jerked away, but there was nowhere to go.

"Gods, I love a man’s body." Ylva sighed theatrically, stepping back as if admiring a work of art. "I don’t understand how men had power for so long. They were meant to be used, not to lead."

Trude smirked. "Exactly."

She grabbed his cuffed wrists, pulling him up easily, like he was nothing but a ragdoll in her grip.

"On your feet, breeding stock."

Vieregg’s heart pounded as they dragged him forward, parading him through the Inquisition halls, his naked body fully exposed to every woman in uniform they passed.

He was stared at. Commented on.

Whispers followed him:

"Look at that one."

"What did he do?"

"Nothing. Probably just an excuse for the interrogators to have some fun."

Laughter.

He felt his stomach twist, shame coiling tight inside him. He had never felt so powerless.

The Interrogation Room
The doors hissed open.

Inside, the room was cold steel and brutalist minimalism—a place where everything was designed to restrain, expose, and humiliate.

The centerpiece of the room was a metal chair, but not just any chair.

Vieregg stopped breathing for a moment.

It looked like a gynocologist’s chair, except far worse.

The seat was cold metal, fitted with various clamps and restraints. The leg supports were adjustable, designed to spread a man open as wide as necessary.

There were built-in steel cuffs for the ankles, thighs, wrists, and even the waist, ensuring that whoever was strapped in had no way of moving an inch once secured.

To his horror, he also noticed a set of mechanical arms above the chair—thin, precise, some equipped with clamps, others with vibrating rods.

His entire body tensed.

They were going to strap him into that.

Ylva and Trude dragged him forward like a petulant child who refused to walk.

"Get him in."

Vieregg tried to fight back, but it was laughable.

Trude pushed him down onto the cold metal, and before he could even process it, he felt the cuffs snapping closed around his ankles, thighs, and wrists.

The chair adjusted itself automatically, spreading his legs open in a way that felt degrading beyond words.

His cock, still hard from the mix of fear and exposure, twitched involuntarily.

"He’s still excited."

"Men get off on being controlled. It’s just their nature."

"Let’s put that to the test."

Vieregg felt his blood run cold.

Ylva stepped forward, running a hand down his chest, pressing her palm flat against his abs.

"Let’s see how much you can take before you start begging."

Vieregg swallowed thickly.

This was not going to be a normal interrogation.

This was going to be a test of how long he could keep his pride intact.

And he was very afraid he wouldn’t last long at all.

Vieregg’s heart pounded against his ribs as the last of the cuffs locked around his wrists, securing him to the cold, brutalist monstrosity of a chair.

The steel rings around his cock and balls were already torturous, keeping him uncomfortably hard. Every slight twitch pulled at the weighted stretcher, a relentless, aching reminder that his body was no longer under his control.

And now, the real nightmare began.

Ylva and Trude stepped back, admiring their work.

Vieregg had never felt so exposed in his life.

His legs were spread apart, his cock standing at full attention, his chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths.

And they?

They were utterly calm, looking at him the way a pair of chefs might examine a particularly fine cut of meat before deciding how to prepare it.

"He’s gorgeous, isn’t he?" Trude murmured, running a gloved finger along the steel rings, watching with amusement as Vieregg flinched and gritted his teeth.

"That’s why men were never meant to be in charge," Ylva replied. "Look at them. Weak to their own arousal. Put them in the right restraints, and their own cocks betray them."

They spoke about him like he wasn’t even there.

And then, without ceremony, they began undressing. First the heavy armor.

The thick, brutalist black plating was stripped away piece by piece, clattering against the steel floor.

Then came the underlayer, peeled away to reveal what Imperial Norway had designed its elite soldiers to be—

And Vieregg’s breath caught in his throat.

They were divine.

Thick thighs, toned abs, wide hips, massive, impossibly round breasts. Bodies that looked engineered for war and sex at the same time, glistening with sweat from the heat of their uniforms.

Trude stretched her arms above her head, rolling her shoulders, her massive breasts heaving with the motion.

"Much better. I hate wearing that stuff too long."

Ylva cupped one of her own breasts idly, pinching a nipple, watching as it hardened under her touch.

"You should feel lucky, Vieregg," she said. "Not every man gets to experience us like this."

Vieregg swallowed thickly.

His cock twitched involuntarily, the steel rings squeezing tightly, sending a wave of discomfort and painful arousal through him.

Trude grinned as she watched his reaction.

"Oh? Did that hurt? Poor thing."

"It’s almost cute, the way they struggle against their own nature," Ylva added, tracing a finger down Vieregg’s stomach. "They like to pretend they’re the ones in control. That they can say ‘no.’"

She grabbed his jaw suddenly, tilting his head back, making him look at her towering, naked form.

"But we know the truth, don’t we?"

Vieregg’s pulse roared in his ears.

The room felt too hot, the scent of female sweat and arousal thick in the air, the gleam of their perfect bodies making his situation even more unbearable.

And then—

Trude climbed onto the chair, straddling him. Her thighs pressed against his sides, her massive breasts inches from his face.

"I think we’ll start with a little mouth service, don’t you?" she said, grabbing his hair roughly, pulling his face into her chest.

"Suck, boy."

A command.

Vieregg barely had a chance to breathe before his lips were forced against the soft, heavy swell of her tit, his mouth crushed against her hardened nipple.

He groaned against her flesh, the weight of her pressing against him, the taste of her skin salty and electric.

"Mmm, he’s obedient already," Ylva purred, climbing onto the chair as well, straddling his thighs, rubbing herself against him.

Vieregg whimpered against Trude’s breast as Ylva’s fingers curled around his cock, stroking him in slow, deliberate motions, the steel rings only amplifying the pain and pleasure intertwined in every touch.

Trude moaned, grinding herself against his face. "Good boy, keep going."

"I think he’s ready for the real interrogation," Ylva whispered, positioning herself over his cock.

Vieregg could barely think.

The heat of them, the power of them, the way his body wasn’t his own anymore—

He was completely at their mercy.

And they intended to take their time. The interrogation room pulsed with heat.

The sound of bodies moving—heavy, rhythmic, dominant and yielding all at once—filled the stark, clinical space.

Leather gloves against skin. Steel cuffs biting into flesh.

A low, dragging moan, muffled and desperate, swallowed by the lush weight of something soft and overpowering.

Vieregg was nowhere to be found.

Or rather—he was everywhere, but no longer himself.

He was a mouth, a tongue, a cock, a body to be used, his mind floating somewhere between pleasure, humiliation, and sheer exhaustion.

The two women did not stop. They did not tire.

The chair creaked with movement, its restraints groaning against the strain of bodies shifting, thighs tightening, backs arching.

The wet sound of mouths meeting flesh, of hungry, open-mouthed kisses, of slick, gliding movements, filled the room.

Vieregg had stopped struggling a long time ago.

Or rather, his struggles had changed. No longer to resist. Now, only to keep up.

A sharp, biting command, spoken in low, husky tones, was followed by the twitch of muscle, the shift of weight, the deeper press of flesh against flesh.

The taste of sweat and salt and heat—an overwhelming flood of sensation—as his mouth was filled again.

Somewhere above him, a moan shuddered through the air, deep, primal, a sound of utter satisfaction.

Somewhere beneath him, another whisper of approval, followed by the slow, slick slide of something impossibly tight and hot around him.

He was lost inside it now. No control. No dignity left.

Just moaning mouths, writhing muscle, gloved fingers digging into thighs, hips grinding down, claiming, taking, consuming.

The interrogation continued. And he was not leaving the room anytime soon. Vieregg had stopped thinking a long time ago. He was no longer a man in an interrogation chair.

He was just a body.

A cock to be used.

A mouth to be filled.

His own moans blended with theirs, his sweat mixed with their scent, his mind blurred between unbearable pleasure and pure, unrelenting exhaustion.

The room reeked of sex—hot, overwhelming, oppressive, the sound of flesh against flesh, of panting breath, of deep, shuddering gasps filling the air.

And then—

A sharp electronic beep.

A tone of authority.

And the world stopped.

Ylva, who had been riding him with slow, agonizing control, suddenly froze, her hands gripping his shoulders.

Trude, still straddling his face, let out a deep, frustrated sigh before reaching for her comlink on the table.

The line connected instantly.

"What?" Trude barked, her voice hoarse from exertion and annoyance.

The answer on the other end was immediate, sharp, and absolutely unchallengeable.

Trude’s face fell.

Ylva, still hovering over Vieregg, sat up slightly, watching the expression on her colleague's face turn from irritation to disbelief to sheer, gut-wrenching disappointment.

"You’re fucking kidding me." Trude hissed into the comlink, glaring at the wall like she could burn a hole through it with rage alone.

A brief pause, followed by a final, curt command from the other end.

Trude’s jaw tightened.

She cut the call without another word.

For a long, terrible moment, the room was silent, except for the sound of heavy, frustrated breathing.

Then Ylva groaned—not with pleasure, but pure aggravation, throwing her head back like a child denied dessert.

"Unbelievable."

Trude rolled off Vieregg with one last, lingering sigh, standing up completely naked, crossing her arms angrily over her massive, sweat-slicked chest.

"We have to let him go."

Ylva’s eye twitched.

Vieregg, still spread out and utterly wrecked in the chair, tried to process what was happening through the haze of exhaustion and overstimulation.

"Why?" Ylva demanded, still straddling his lap, clearly unwilling to move yet.

"Idun Wang pulled rank." Trude muttered, rubbing her temples. "Apparently, this one has some very important connections."

Vieregg’s foggy mind latched onto the name immediately.

Idun?

She was here?

Ylva’s fingers flexed against his chest, her frustration palpable.

"This is so unfair."

"No shit."

For a brief second, Vieregg saw the purest form of sadness and disappointment he had ever witnessed in his life.

Two sex-starved, power-hungry Inquisition officers, ripped away from their favorite new toy just when they were having the most fun.

"Fine. Let's get him out of the chair."

They uncuffed him reluctantly, their hands lingering, their touches slower than necessary, as if trying to savor what they were losing.

"We better get another one to replace him," Ylva muttered.

Trude sighed. "Yeah, but it won’t be the same. This one was… fun."

Vieregg, still unable to properly move, felt himself hauled upright, his legs still weak, his cock still hard from the rings wrapped around him.

"Maybe we’ll see you again, Swede," Ylva smirked, leaning close to whisper against his ear. "If you're lucky."

Vieregg didn’t feel very lucky.

They half-dragged him back through the halls, back past the guards who no longer bothered looking at him, now that he was no longer on the menu.

The holding cell door hissed open. Vieregg was shoved inside.

Peter barely glanced at him, offering a small, knowing nod, as if to say: "I told you."

Vieregg collapsed onto the cold metal bench, his body aching, overstimulated, and drained beyond belief.

And then, just as he thought he might finally have a moment to process it all—

The doors hissed open again.

A figure stood in the entrance.

A familiar figure.

Draped in ginger-red hair.

"Idun!" Vieregg blurted, his voice hoarse, desperate, entirely too relieved.

And then, stepping past her, a new Inquisition officer entered the holding room.

Platinum blonde.

Short hair.

That clone-like uniformity Vieregg had started to notice about them.

Idun's voice was sharp and absolute.

"Release my fiancé."