Kathy
Terra Nova Tramp
So erotic
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Sexpionage III
- Thread starter Fossy
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Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Hard Time (5)
Alrueb Detention Block, A Daesh secure building at In-Amenas, Eastern Algeria on the Libyan border
After the short video had been taken the cell door was left open, and when the sound was heard Lacey’s ears pricked up.
It came from what sounded like a laptop … a familiar beeping sound … the Skype call tone. It was so reminiscent of all the times her parents had called her since she left home, that for a moment, in her addled mind she thought, It’s my dad. Bizarre hope leapt in her chest …
It wasn’t her father, of course it wasn’t, but it could be someone trying to negotiate for her release. Her nightmare, surely, couldn’t last much longer. MI6 must want her back, even if it was only to arrest her!
“'iinah rujuir mur yatasil maratan 'ukhraa.” (“It’s Roger Moore calling back.”)
Lacey’s ears pricked. Did those words sound like ‘Roger Moore’ or was she imagining it? Either way this sounded like a call they were expecting. Picking up the laptop, the speaking guard left the vicinity of the small cell. Was the Agency negotiating to free her, or what? Was it even MI6 on the call?
The fleeting feeling of elation quickly gave way to more despair, especially when she could hear one of the bastard’s breathing close to her. For some reason, Lacey suddenly felt acutely aware of her own nudity. The man moved, coming closer to her, and she tensed. She could feel his gaze boring into her body, every naked inch, he was close enough to touch her. Her skin crawled as she, unable to see him, imagined his intent.
When he appeared, squeezed in by her side, his face was so close that she could see his eyes and the evil that dwelt within them. Deliberately, his gaze dropped to her breasts. Then he reached for his crotch, closed his hand around it through his trousers, and shook it at her.
She’d seen that gesture before, men had made had always made their intentions clear, even when she was a schoolgirl walking to school the local building site workers would stop and wolf-whistle … or whatever. But she’d never experienced it when she’d been helpless like this.
Lacey gasped, pulling as far away as the chains would allow. Chuckling at her reaction, the man put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. His touch felt calloused and leathery, the hand of a working man.
“Jadhaab,” he breathed. (Cute). She kicked out at him, sideways and backwards, but without shoes on it was hard to inflict any damage, and he only laughed again.
The next time she tried to kick him, he simply caught her by the ankle and pulled, forcing her to hop towards him on one leg.
“Waqihat Jamila,” (Beautiful slut), he breathed, sliding his hand up her calf. Lacey had no idea what the words actually meant, but the tone reflected his intention all too clearly.
Then the senior guard was back and unfurled a steam of Arabic too fast for her to decipher anything at all. The man who had been about to assault her, shrugged sulkily and mumbled a reply. But he let go of her leg and took a step back, away from her.
MI6 HQ, Briefing room 1, SIS building, Vauxhall, London
In the aftermath of seeing the video of Agent Anderson chained naked in the small cell, and the subsequent call, the atmosphere in the MI6 briefing room was feverish. Almost immediately, Roger Moore was summoned to a high-level meeting – to be given guidance on how to proceed, Grace suspected.
In his absence, the senior officers and analysts allocated tasks as best they could.
The call had shown Lacey, stripped and clearly already the subject of some abuse, chained to the wall of a small stone cell. So at least they now knew she was alive.
It was Daesh, and they wanted to trade. The ‘white bitch’ who had dishonoured them with her lies would be traded for the prisoner locked in the basement prisons of this very building.
Ahmed Al-Karhim was clearly very important to the Daesh and they wanted him back … it was most probably the only reason that Lacey was still alive.
It was less than twenty minutes before Moore returned to the briefing room, looking flustered.
All heads turned to look at their boss, but it was Grace that spoke first. “Sir, is everything okay.”
“We have new intelligence Special Agent Miller. Agent Anderson was not culpable in the Whitehall bombing. On the contrary she was working to stop it and it appears that the report which was about to be sent to me was left on her tablet’s hard drive when she was forced to run.”
“So, she’s innocent?”
“She is Miller, yes.”
Grace felt tears prick at her eyes, before saying, “Then …”
“Then we have to get her back at all costs …” It sounded like a ‘but’ was about to follow.
It was.
“… but,” Moore continued, “… she has to be rescued, because there is no way we are giving up Al-Karhim.”
“Do we know where she is?” Grace asked.
“We were unable to connect the call to a location but we have been able to link the GPS co-ordinates to Tunisian drone activity which leads us to believe she is being held somewhere on the East coast of Algeria, which borders Libya.”
“Fuck, that makes it difficult to get to boss, and that border is huge. She could be anywhere, can’t we get anything more to pinpoint her?” Miller added. Her words remained rhetorical in nature as no one said anything, until Jason spoke.
“Who will …” Jason began to ask.
His question was cut short as Roger Moore provided the answer. “Special Agent Miller and yourself, Major Underwood, have already been assigned.”
To Be Continued …
Alrueb Detention Block, A Daesh secure building at In-Amenas, Eastern Algeria on the Libyan border
After the short video had been taken the cell door was left open, and when the sound was heard Lacey’s ears pricked up.
It came from what sounded like a laptop … a familiar beeping sound … the Skype call tone. It was so reminiscent of all the times her parents had called her since she left home, that for a moment, in her addled mind she thought, It’s my dad. Bizarre hope leapt in her chest …
It wasn’t her father, of course it wasn’t, but it could be someone trying to negotiate for her release. Her nightmare, surely, couldn’t last much longer. MI6 must want her back, even if it was only to arrest her!
“'iinah rujuir mur yatasil maratan 'ukhraa.” (“It’s Roger Moore calling back.”)
Lacey’s ears pricked. Did those words sound like ‘Roger Moore’ or was she imagining it? Either way this sounded like a call they were expecting. Picking up the laptop, the speaking guard left the vicinity of the small cell. Was the Agency negotiating to free her, or what? Was it even MI6 on the call?
The fleeting feeling of elation quickly gave way to more despair, especially when she could hear one of the bastard’s breathing close to her. For some reason, Lacey suddenly felt acutely aware of her own nudity. The man moved, coming closer to her, and she tensed. She could feel his gaze boring into her body, every naked inch, he was close enough to touch her. Her skin crawled as she, unable to see him, imagined his intent.
When he appeared, squeezed in by her side, his face was so close that she could see his eyes and the evil that dwelt within them. Deliberately, his gaze dropped to her breasts. Then he reached for his crotch, closed his hand around it through his trousers, and shook it at her.
She’d seen that gesture before, men had made had always made their intentions clear, even when she was a schoolgirl walking to school the local building site workers would stop and wolf-whistle … or whatever. But she’d never experienced it when she’d been helpless like this.
Lacey gasped, pulling as far away as the chains would allow. Chuckling at her reaction, the man put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. His touch felt calloused and leathery, the hand of a working man.
“Jadhaab,” he breathed. (Cute). She kicked out at him, sideways and backwards, but without shoes on it was hard to inflict any damage, and he only laughed again.
The next time she tried to kick him, he simply caught her by the ankle and pulled, forcing her to hop towards him on one leg.
“Waqihat Jamila,” (Beautiful slut), he breathed, sliding his hand up her calf. Lacey had no idea what the words actually meant, but the tone reflected his intention all too clearly.
Then the senior guard was back and unfurled a steam of Arabic too fast for her to decipher anything at all. The man who had been about to assault her, shrugged sulkily and mumbled a reply. But he let go of her leg and took a step back, away from her.
MI6 HQ, Briefing room 1, SIS building, Vauxhall, London
In the aftermath of seeing the video of Agent Anderson chained naked in the small cell, and the subsequent call, the atmosphere in the MI6 briefing room was feverish. Almost immediately, Roger Moore was summoned to a high-level meeting – to be given guidance on how to proceed, Grace suspected.
In his absence, the senior officers and analysts allocated tasks as best they could.
The call had shown Lacey, stripped and clearly already the subject of some abuse, chained to the wall of a small stone cell. So at least they now knew she was alive.
It was Daesh, and they wanted to trade. The ‘white bitch’ who had dishonoured them with her lies would be traded for the prisoner locked in the basement prisons of this very building.
Ahmed Al-Karhim was clearly very important to the Daesh and they wanted him back … it was most probably the only reason that Lacey was still alive.
It was less than twenty minutes before Moore returned to the briefing room, looking flustered.
All heads turned to look at their boss, but it was Grace that spoke first. “Sir, is everything okay.”
“We have new intelligence Special Agent Miller. Agent Anderson was not culpable in the Whitehall bombing. On the contrary she was working to stop it and it appears that the report which was about to be sent to me was left on her tablet’s hard drive when she was forced to run.”
“So, she’s innocent?”
“She is Miller, yes.”
Grace felt tears prick at her eyes, before saying, “Then …”
“Then we have to get her back at all costs …” It sounded like a ‘but’ was about to follow.
It was.
“… but,” Moore continued, “… she has to be rescued, because there is no way we are giving up Al-Karhim.”
“Do we know where she is?” Grace asked.
“We were unable to connect the call to a location but we have been able to link the GPS co-ordinates to Tunisian drone activity which leads us to believe she is being held somewhere on the East coast of Algeria, which borders Libya.”
“Fuck, that makes it difficult to get to boss, and that border is huge. She could be anywhere, can’t we get anything more to pinpoint her?” Miller added. Her words remained rhetorical in nature as no one said anything, until Jason spoke.
“Who will …” Jason began to ask.
His question was cut short as Roger Moore provided the answer. “Special Agent Miller and yourself, Major Underwood, have already been assigned.”
To Be Continued …
There always has to be a but, doesn’t there?
Miller and Underwood! This ought to be good!
twonines
LIMERICUS
With Grace, the British upper class version of Barb, and Jason, Goldman on steroids, what could possibly go wrong?
If I find you, can I keep you? Not necessarily forever, just like a week or so? A finder’s fee? You’ll be offered opportunities to vent your frustration (I’m not some weirdo who captured female sexpots to lock them up/ I’m a different kind of weirdo, you’ll be in charge of my cell….)
Never Say Never again!
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Hard Time (6)
Alrueb Detention Block, A Daesh secure building at In-Amenas, Eastern Algeria on the Libyan border
This was Lacey Anderson’s new life … all she might expect from her foreseeable future. She would simply obey, or be forced to obey, their commands. There would be no escape from the torments of this prison. She had no idea how long she would be detained here, and for that time she was faced with two choices only: submit or suffer.
She could not help herself from recalling the details of her punishment at the hands of the Daesh, how they had stripped her naked, chained her in isolation and then taken her time after time in that … that manner. They had been brutal and merciless and despite the fact that Agent Anderson knew she was a sexual masochist, a pain slut as Roger Moore called her, her incarceration held not the slightest bit of pleasure, everything was anguish inducing pain …
But what did they want from her? Why not just kill her? The answer to that question was as unpalatable as her captivity.
Lacey’s head spun as she stood chained in the small space. Finally, just when she thought she would pass out, the door opened again.
Making sure to brush himself against her body as much as possible the guard reached up and unchained Lacey’s wrists causing her knees to give way. As she sunk into a denuded heap on the cold, wet stone floor, the man, who was heavily armed, carrying a machine gun, which he had placed down to unchain her, but which he now held aloft again on his shoulders, spoke.
“Get up Kabbah, you can go back to your other cell now until we hear further from your employers. But if you show just one sign of disobedience you will be raped to within an inch of your life. Do you understand?”
Lacey swallowed, both horrified and relieved at the same time. Bizarrely, she found herself thanking the sick pervert for his mercy. “Yes, Sir. I understand, Sir. Thank you, Sir. I will obey in future, Sir.”
“You had better, girl. Now put your hands high on your head and show me your tits,” he said, once again licking his lips lecherously. “You are nothing but a worthless slut.”
“Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir,” Lacey responded by obeying his instruction.
“What are you?”
“I … I’m … a … w … worthless slut … Sir.”
On the bank of the River Thames beside Vauxhall Bridge, London
Special Agent Grace Miller walked out of the SIS HQ in step with Major Jason Underwood. They headed across the road towards Vauxhall Bridge. Neither of them spoke a word until Grace broke the silence.
“I need a fucking drink …” Her expletive infused words were clipped, well-spoken to reflect her upbringing and education in the stockbroker belt of South-East England, but her words were coarse and her need clear.
“A drink?” Jason liked the idea too. “Okay let’s head for the ‘Arms.”
The Morpeth Arms was a pub with views of the MI6 HQ over the river, a 'haunted' former cell corridor and a spy-themed upstairs bar, it was frequented on a daily basis by MI6 employees.
“Fuck …” it was a random word that Grace uttered.
Jason offered a shallow smile in response. “Fuck what baby girl? Fuck the fact that Anderson has fucked up? Fuck the fact that she is being held captive? Fuck the fact that we have to rescue her from an Algerian town through the Libyan border via Tunisia?”
Grace slowly shook her head. “All of the above Jase. What a fucking mess.” She picked up her large white wine and drained the glass in one go.
“Hey, steady on baby …”
“Why lover boy, we’re on a suicide mission tomorrow, you and I, so why not get pissed tonight, huh?”
******
When they emerged from the bar four hours later, Jason had drunk maybe a little much, as had Grace, and she tripped in the dark car park. Jason caught her and she held onto his arm gratefully. When they got to the road they stopped and he put his lips to hers. Her mouth was still for a moment before responding, slowly at first, but then she returned his kiss with a passion he hadn’t expected out here in the heart of London city.
He stepped forward, and like a teenage boy who had pulled at the local disco, he pressed her against the wall of the pub, eager to feel her lithe, slender body against his own.
“Come back to my apartment,” she said between kisses.
“I can’t Grace, it wouldn’t be right, I have to go back to Hampshire, there’s things to do … you know, like always before a mission.”
“Fuck what’s right,” she said, taking Jase by the hand and leading him to the roadside so they could call a cab.
It took less than a minute for a Black London Taxi to pull over. Jason opened the passenger door and she got in.
As the cab pulled away, the Major flopped back onto the seat and quietly repeated, “Fuck what’s right … I don’t even know what’s right or wrong any more, y’know?”
“Me neither,” she slurred, “All I know is that if it wasn’t for you, I would be very lonely and you would be the same without me. And … you’re very handsome … do you know that, Mister Junderwood” she giggled.
“Thank you,” he said with a grin. Her hand moved across to rest lightly on his knee. He glanced at her, eyebrows raised.
“Shall I stop?” She asked.
“No, please don’t.” He replied with a gasp as her hand brushed lightly on the inside of his thigh, her fingers working their way slowly to his zipper.
“Oh, Jason, what’s this?” she asked, running her fingers over the bulge at his groin. The headlights of an approaching car appeared in the blackness, and then the blare of a horn as it passed.
“Stupid fucker …” The cab driver uttered. Jason looked at Grace and they both burst out laughing.
Tomorrow was another day, they still had tonight.
To Be Continued …
This brings an end to PART II of REDEMPTION, A HARD TIME. We have the stunning blonde, young Agent Anderson held captive, kept permanently naked having been humiliated and subjected to repeated forced sodomy, with Special Agent Grace Miller and her lover, Major Jason Underwood about to embark on a dangerous mission to rescue their colleague. Join us tomorrow as this series continues with PART III – INNOCENT VICTIM.
Alrueb Detention Block, A Daesh secure building at In-Amenas, Eastern Algeria on the Libyan border
This was Lacey Anderson’s new life … all she might expect from her foreseeable future. She would simply obey, or be forced to obey, their commands. There would be no escape from the torments of this prison. She had no idea how long she would be detained here, and for that time she was faced with two choices only: submit or suffer.
She could not help herself from recalling the details of her punishment at the hands of the Daesh, how they had stripped her naked, chained her in isolation and then taken her time after time in that … that manner. They had been brutal and merciless and despite the fact that Agent Anderson knew she was a sexual masochist, a pain slut as Roger Moore called her, her incarceration held not the slightest bit of pleasure, everything was anguish inducing pain …
But what did they want from her? Why not just kill her? The answer to that question was as unpalatable as her captivity.
Lacey’s head spun as she stood chained in the small space. Finally, just when she thought she would pass out, the door opened again.
Making sure to brush himself against her body as much as possible the guard reached up and unchained Lacey’s wrists causing her knees to give way. As she sunk into a denuded heap on the cold, wet stone floor, the man, who was heavily armed, carrying a machine gun, which he had placed down to unchain her, but which he now held aloft again on his shoulders, spoke.
“Get up Kabbah, you can go back to your other cell now until we hear further from your employers. But if you show just one sign of disobedience you will be raped to within an inch of your life. Do you understand?”
Lacey swallowed, both horrified and relieved at the same time. Bizarrely, she found herself thanking the sick pervert for his mercy. “Yes, Sir. I understand, Sir. Thank you, Sir. I will obey in future, Sir.”
“You had better, girl. Now put your hands high on your head and show me your tits,” he said, once again licking his lips lecherously. “You are nothing but a worthless slut.”
“Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir,” Lacey responded by obeying his instruction.
“What are you?”
“I … I’m … a … w … worthless slut … Sir.”
On the bank of the River Thames beside Vauxhall Bridge, London
Special Agent Grace Miller walked out of the SIS HQ in step with Major Jason Underwood. They headed across the road towards Vauxhall Bridge. Neither of them spoke a word until Grace broke the silence.
“I need a fucking drink …” Her expletive infused words were clipped, well-spoken to reflect her upbringing and education in the stockbroker belt of South-East England, but her words were coarse and her need clear.
“A drink?” Jason liked the idea too. “Okay let’s head for the ‘Arms.”
The Morpeth Arms was a pub with views of the MI6 HQ over the river, a 'haunted' former cell corridor and a spy-themed upstairs bar, it was frequented on a daily basis by MI6 employees.
“Fuck …” it was a random word that Grace uttered.
Jason offered a shallow smile in response. “Fuck what baby girl? Fuck the fact that Anderson has fucked up? Fuck the fact that she is being held captive? Fuck the fact that we have to rescue her from an Algerian town through the Libyan border via Tunisia?”
Grace slowly shook her head. “All of the above Jase. What a fucking mess.” She picked up her large white wine and drained the glass in one go.
“Hey, steady on baby …”
“Why lover boy, we’re on a suicide mission tomorrow, you and I, so why not get pissed tonight, huh?”
******
When they emerged from the bar four hours later, Jason had drunk maybe a little much, as had Grace, and she tripped in the dark car park. Jason caught her and she held onto his arm gratefully. When they got to the road they stopped and he put his lips to hers. Her mouth was still for a moment before responding, slowly at first, but then she returned his kiss with a passion he hadn’t expected out here in the heart of London city.
He stepped forward, and like a teenage boy who had pulled at the local disco, he pressed her against the wall of the pub, eager to feel her lithe, slender body against his own.
“Come back to my apartment,” she said between kisses.
“I can’t Grace, it wouldn’t be right, I have to go back to Hampshire, there’s things to do … you know, like always before a mission.”
“Fuck what’s right,” she said, taking Jase by the hand and leading him to the roadside so they could call a cab.
It took less than a minute for a Black London Taxi to pull over. Jason opened the passenger door and she got in.
As the cab pulled away, the Major flopped back onto the seat and quietly repeated, “Fuck what’s right … I don’t even know what’s right or wrong any more, y’know?”
“Me neither,” she slurred, “All I know is that if it wasn’t for you, I would be very lonely and you would be the same without me. And … you’re very handsome … do you know that, Mister Junderwood” she giggled.
“Thank you,” he said with a grin. Her hand moved across to rest lightly on his knee. He glanced at her, eyebrows raised.
“Shall I stop?” She asked.
“No, please don’t.” He replied with a gasp as her hand brushed lightly on the inside of his thigh, her fingers working their way slowly to his zipper.
“Oh, Jason, what’s this?” she asked, running her fingers over the bulge at his groin. The headlights of an approaching car appeared in the blackness, and then the blare of a horn as it passed.
“Stupid fucker …” The cab driver uttered. Jason looked at Grace and they both burst out laughing.
Tomorrow was another day, they still had tonight.
To Be Continued …
This brings an end to PART II of REDEMPTION, A HARD TIME. We have the stunning blonde, young Agent Anderson held captive, kept permanently naked having been humiliated and subjected to repeated forced sodomy, with Special Agent Grace Miller and her lover, Major Jason Underwood about to embark on a dangerous mission to rescue their colleague. Join us tomorrow as this series continues with PART III – INNOCENT VICTIM.
This is what happens when one drinks too much!!
“Pulled”? Brit speak? Never heard that term before?
Not meaning to be critical, but: Far out, don’t these slobs have one ounce of imagination? Rape, rape, rape, rape, rape! Boring!!! What’s wrong with some physical torture? After all, Lacey deserves to have some souvenirs of this sojourn to Algeria just as other Mi6 girls gather on their exotic trips abroad.
Mmmm, I’m just imagining Grace’s reaction if she comes to rescue Lacey after she’d been scarred like Ekaterina- lesbian sex in the torture dungeon sounds a lot more interesting than more rapes from the Daesh Islamists…
Lace
Assistant executioner
Lace
Assistant executioner
Oh my @Loinclothslave is Rape, rape, rape, rape, rape! not torture enough. It was demeaning, agonizing, humiliating and seemed like torture to me!
You just won my heart! ( @Fossy , I just decided, Lacey is my favourite (living) character now.)yes yes @Loinclothslave you can keep me, at least for a little while
Don’t worry, @Lace , if @Fossy allows me to succeed at rescue the only pain you’ll feel is from exhaustion in your dominant arm! Let me teach you how to torture without rape!
Lace
Assistant executioner
Oh @Loinclothslave you say the nicest things
I need to hit the sheets now (Its almost 4am in New Orleans) but why don't you send me more details of how you will 'collect' me, where you will keep me, and what you plan to do to me. That would be very hot. Maybe send it in a private conversation though
twonines
LIMERICUS
As in "Get your coat, you`ve pulled."
“Pulled” = “got lucky “
-the boy successfully got laid at the disco.
Common enough usage in Australia, although I regard it as almost exclusively used in the context of male to male banter- not a term one used around women, not even a scrubber.
Sharkman
Governor
Yes, 'Tomorrow Never Dies (1997)' ... that's really true.
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Innocent Victim (1)
Alrueb Detention Block, A Daesh secure building at In-Amenas, Eastern Algeria on the Libyan border
Lacey had no idea how much time had passed following her being transferred back to the slightly larger but equally dingy cell, before they came for her again. It felt like days had gone by, but she guessed it was no more than a few hours.
“Up slut now and put these on.” The instructions were concise, sharp and to the point as she groggily got to her feet and picked up the tiny tank top that barely covered her breasts and the dirty panties that had been thrown at her.
Within minutes Lacey had been moved to another room, seated in a rickety wooden chair, her forearms tightly bound with coarse rope to the armrests and her ankles to the front legs. More rope ran around her bare midriff, securing her to the chair’s backrest. She was in a dark, squalid chamber, poorly lit by a few bare bulbs dangling from a low wooden ceiling. The walls were made of thick stone and the floor was covered with faded tiles, several of which were missing.
The air was fetid and extremely hot, and the hapless Agent was already covered in perspiration; sweat dripped from her forehead and ran in streams across her exposed skin. The scrap of material that was supposed to cover her upper body was soaked through and virtually transparent. Lacey shamefully noticed her dark nipples were clearly visible through the flimsy fabric.
She looked around the room and saw two spotlights, both turned off, mounted on stands, one to the left and one to the right of the chair. A video camera secured to a tripod was placed directly in front of her and a small table stood on the far side of the space, but in the dim light Lacey could not see what was on it. Other than that, the room was empty.
For almost an hour, Lacey sat alone, helplessly bound to the wooden seat and growing more concerned by the second. She cursed herself for being caught in this position. How could she be so stupid, and to make matters worse, if she ever made it out of here, her fate was undoubtedly to be discharged at best, arrested and jailed at worst.
The spotlights were suddenly turned on, firing two bright beams of light directly into the bound girl’s face causing the sheen of sweat which coated her skin to glisten enticingly. The man at the video camera turned it on and adjusted its position. When he was ready, he nodded at his colleague standing to her side.
“Look at the words on the page he is holding up Agent Anderson and read them out loud.”
Standing off to one side, a third man leering at her raised a poster on which her lines, in English, had been printed in neat block letters. She turned back to look at the more senior Daesh follower by her side who simply nodded at her. Lacey knew to disobey this man would lead to consequences that were literally worse than death. She bit her lip and began to speak …
“You all know who I am. I am a traitor and I …” I c … can’t say that …
Without a second’s hesitation she was slapped hard across the face, first one way then the other.
“Begin again.”
Lacey took a deep breath a paused until the pain in her head faded, then she began again.
“You all know who I am. I am a traitor and I … assisted in the bombing of Whitehall. If you want me back so you can serve justice then you must release Ahmed Al-Karhim in exchange for me. If you do not then my death will be painful and slow and you will be sent recordings of my suffering …”
Lacey felt the tears roll down her cheeks …
“Please … I beg you…” Lacey was no longer reading from the script her captors had given her. She was pleading directly to the screen. “I am praying … saying my amens, in … amens to my God.” She was gabbling out words …
“Please, please do as these men say and I can come home and prove my … ” Before she could finish, a clenched fist came into frame and smashed the bound Agent across the face. Her head whipped sideways and she screamed in pain. For the first time, a male voice could be heard on the soundtrack.
“You are to say only what is on the cards!”
“Shall I edit this out …”
“No, leave it all in. Let them see how we treat this bitch.”
As Lacey sobbed in response, the camera pulled back to reveal more of her body showing that she was now topless, the short, tight tank top hanging in tatters over the rope that had been secured tightly around her midriff. The Daesh voice continued, but this time the speaker addressed his audience – in particular, the Head of MI6
“Roger Moore … your Agent may not follow instructions well, but she is correct in what she says. You must meet our demands quickly. You must confirm the exchange, or the consequences for this bitch will be most severe …”
Once again, a disembodied hand came into the screen’s view, this time clutching a knife. The hand’s owner was partially visible in the wider shot, but unrecognisable. Lacey gasped as the edge of the knife was pressed against the top of her left breast, causing her soft flesh to bulge around the blade. Her face contorted as the sharp steel sliced just deep enough into her chest to draw a trickle of blood. The thin red stream meandered across her flesh until it was absorbed by the ropes running across the centre of her slender frame. Lacey’s sobbing grew louder.
“As you can see,” the male voice continued, “… we are not afraid to draw blood, and this cunt’s body and beauty make her a particularly tempting target. There will be no shortage of volunteers to help torture Agent Anderson if you fail to agree to our demands.”
The camera zoomed back in on Lacey’s tear-streaked face and after ten seconds, the image faded to black.
RAF Northolt, West London
Grace felt a cold chill run up her spine. “Fuck Jase, I know where they’re holding Lacey. That’s it!” she muttered as she closed the laptop lid, her brain buzzing and her mind appalled after watching the latest recording made of Lacey in captivity.
Jason looked at her, his eyes intense with alarm as they sat awaiting take off from the runway at RAF Northolt in West London, heading for El Borma Airport in the South East Oil fields of Tunisia, and from where they will make their way into Algeria.
“What is?” he asked.
“Lacey is being held in In-Amenas for certain. Watch …” Opening the laptop Grace wound the recording to point where her captive colleague went off script. “Look she says it Jase, several times. ‘in’ and ‘amens’. It sounded like she was mumbling gibberish but she wasn’t clever girl, Lacey.”
Jason nodded, “Clever girl Special Agent Miller too. Okay, then now we know where we need to head.”
“I’ll call it in and get the guys at HQ working on a town map and the main disused building or know Daesh premises.”
Grace looked at Jason, and their faces moved closer until their lips touched. The kiss was short and perfunctory. There would be no displays of passion until this rescue mission was over …
To Be Continued …
Alrueb Detention Block, A Daesh secure building at In-Amenas, Eastern Algeria on the Libyan border
Lacey had no idea how much time had passed following her being transferred back to the slightly larger but equally dingy cell, before they came for her again. It felt like days had gone by, but she guessed it was no more than a few hours.
“Up slut now and put these on.” The instructions were concise, sharp and to the point as she groggily got to her feet and picked up the tiny tank top that barely covered her breasts and the dirty panties that had been thrown at her.
Within minutes Lacey had been moved to another room, seated in a rickety wooden chair, her forearms tightly bound with coarse rope to the armrests and her ankles to the front legs. More rope ran around her bare midriff, securing her to the chair’s backrest. She was in a dark, squalid chamber, poorly lit by a few bare bulbs dangling from a low wooden ceiling. The walls were made of thick stone and the floor was covered with faded tiles, several of which were missing.
The air was fetid and extremely hot, and the hapless Agent was already covered in perspiration; sweat dripped from her forehead and ran in streams across her exposed skin. The scrap of material that was supposed to cover her upper body was soaked through and virtually transparent. Lacey shamefully noticed her dark nipples were clearly visible through the flimsy fabric.
She looked around the room and saw two spotlights, both turned off, mounted on stands, one to the left and one to the right of the chair. A video camera secured to a tripod was placed directly in front of her and a small table stood on the far side of the space, but in the dim light Lacey could not see what was on it. Other than that, the room was empty.
For almost an hour, Lacey sat alone, helplessly bound to the wooden seat and growing more concerned by the second. She cursed herself for being caught in this position. How could she be so stupid, and to make matters worse, if she ever made it out of here, her fate was undoubtedly to be discharged at best, arrested and jailed at worst.
The spotlights were suddenly turned on, firing two bright beams of light directly into the bound girl’s face causing the sheen of sweat which coated her skin to glisten enticingly. The man at the video camera turned it on and adjusted its position. When he was ready, he nodded at his colleague standing to her side.
“Look at the words on the page he is holding up Agent Anderson and read them out loud.”
Standing off to one side, a third man leering at her raised a poster on which her lines, in English, had been printed in neat block letters. She turned back to look at the more senior Daesh follower by her side who simply nodded at her. Lacey knew to disobey this man would lead to consequences that were literally worse than death. She bit her lip and began to speak …
“You all know who I am. I am a traitor and I …” I c … can’t say that …
Without a second’s hesitation she was slapped hard across the face, first one way then the other.
“Begin again.”
Lacey took a deep breath a paused until the pain in her head faded, then she began again.
“You all know who I am. I am a traitor and I … assisted in the bombing of Whitehall. If you want me back so you can serve justice then you must release Ahmed Al-Karhim in exchange for me. If you do not then my death will be painful and slow and you will be sent recordings of my suffering …”
Lacey felt the tears roll down her cheeks …
“Please … I beg you…” Lacey was no longer reading from the script her captors had given her. She was pleading directly to the screen. “I am praying … saying my amens, in … amens to my God.” She was gabbling out words …
“Please, please do as these men say and I can come home and prove my … ” Before she could finish, a clenched fist came into frame and smashed the bound Agent across the face. Her head whipped sideways and she screamed in pain. For the first time, a male voice could be heard on the soundtrack.
“You are to say only what is on the cards!”
“Shall I edit this out …”
“No, leave it all in. Let them see how we treat this bitch.”
As Lacey sobbed in response, the camera pulled back to reveal more of her body showing that she was now topless, the short, tight tank top hanging in tatters over the rope that had been secured tightly around her midriff. The Daesh voice continued, but this time the speaker addressed his audience – in particular, the Head of MI6
“Roger Moore … your Agent may not follow instructions well, but she is correct in what she says. You must meet our demands quickly. You must confirm the exchange, or the consequences for this bitch will be most severe …”
Once again, a disembodied hand came into the screen’s view, this time clutching a knife. The hand’s owner was partially visible in the wider shot, but unrecognisable. Lacey gasped as the edge of the knife was pressed against the top of her left breast, causing her soft flesh to bulge around the blade. Her face contorted as the sharp steel sliced just deep enough into her chest to draw a trickle of blood. The thin red stream meandered across her flesh until it was absorbed by the ropes running across the centre of her slender frame. Lacey’s sobbing grew louder.
“As you can see,” the male voice continued, “… we are not afraid to draw blood, and this cunt’s body and beauty make her a particularly tempting target. There will be no shortage of volunteers to help torture Agent Anderson if you fail to agree to our demands.”
The camera zoomed back in on Lacey’s tear-streaked face and after ten seconds, the image faded to black.
RAF Northolt, West London
Grace felt a cold chill run up her spine. “Fuck Jase, I know where they’re holding Lacey. That’s it!” she muttered as she closed the laptop lid, her brain buzzing and her mind appalled after watching the latest recording made of Lacey in captivity.
Jason looked at her, his eyes intense with alarm as they sat awaiting take off from the runway at RAF Northolt in West London, heading for El Borma Airport in the South East Oil fields of Tunisia, and from where they will make their way into Algeria.
“What is?” he asked.
“Lacey is being held in In-Amenas for certain. Watch …” Opening the laptop Grace wound the recording to point where her captive colleague went off script. “Look she says it Jase, several times. ‘in’ and ‘amens’. It sounded like she was mumbling gibberish but she wasn’t clever girl, Lacey.”
Jason nodded, “Clever girl Special Agent Miller too. Okay, then now we know where we need to head.”
“I’ll call it in and get the guys at HQ working on a town map and the main disused building or know Daesh premises.”
Grace looked at Jason, and their faces moved closer until their lips touched. The kiss was short and perfunctory. There would be no displays of passion until this rescue mission was over …
To Be Continued …