Warning: The following account contains descriptions of torture consistent with the title and content of this website.

Jorge was seated in a chair in a moderately lit office. Across from him, on the other side of a mahogany desk, a mature man, around sixty years old, perhaps older, attempted to convince him to answer his questions. Still attractive, the man wore an elegant dark blue suit, a immaculately white shirt, and a neatly pressed tie to match. His white hair, well-groomed, complemented his velvety voice.

"Look, son, it's very simple: tell me what I ask and that's it, you'll be free. Otherwise, I won't be able to do much for you."

"I repeat, I don't know anything, I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Come on, come on. You and I know what this is about. I'm here to protect you, but as soon as I leave, the guards will do their job, and I assure you they'll do it thoroughly."

"I insist; I don't know what you're talking about. All of this is a mistake," the young man replied, trembling.

The man didn't lose his composure.

"I'll make you a deal. You tell me who your companions are, where to find them, and your plans, and I'll give you a few hours with one or two of our girls, who will do with you whatever you want. Or two boys, if you prefer them."

Jorge refrained from telling him that women drove him crazy, although, in truth, he had gone a long time without having sex. Obviously, at thirty years old, he masturbated frequently, but those weren't the confessions the interrogator wanted to hear, and he kept silent.

"Oh, come on, don't be stubborn. You can imagine something, just something, of what they – he emphasized the word they – will do to you as soon as I leave you. You choose: a few hours of intense pleasure or who knows how long of indescribable pain."

"Please, sir – Jorge was starting to break –, I don't know anything."

"Fine – said the white-haired man, standing up after pressing a button on the desk –, there's nothing more I can do for you. From now on, you're in the hands of them and yourself."

He hadn't finished saying these words when the young men who had brought him to the office entered, grabbed him by the shoulders, and led him through narrow corridors to steep stairs that led to what seemed to be underground galleries. After an endless journey, Jorge and the guards arrived at what was undoubtedly a torture chamber.

Once inside, the young soldiers ordered him to undress. Jorge was wearing the casual clothes he had on when, two days prior, he was detained at the entrance of his office. Since then, he had been held incommunicado, except for the times he was taken to the presence of the white-haired man. He undressed without hesitation, although when he reached his underwear, he hesitated, but a cold glance from one of the boys made him quickly remove it and leave it, along with the rest, in a corne...