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Sexpionage III
- Thread starter Fossy
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Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
ADDICTED and ABUSED (6)
The Wellington Private Hospital, St John’s Wood, London.
Grace woke in the middle of the night, sweating, shaking, knowing she was about to vomit, she got out of bed quickly and knocked over the drip stand with her still splinted fingers as she ran over to the sink to puke.
Jason was there, picking it up and rubbing her back. Grace should have taken comfort from his presence, but instead it actually made things worse, because he could see her like this, in this state. She looked away and he frowned. She didn’t want him to see her, she didn’t want anyone to see her like this and part of her was tempted to ask him to leave, to shut herself away, like before, to ride it out alone, ride out not only the withdrawal but the shame, the humiliation of it.
“Let’s get you back into bed.” He said quietly and she nodded letting him, but shutting her eyes all the same. She was shaking again, more violently than before and he practically had to lift her into the bed. He pulled the covers over and she started shaking even more violently and he thought her teeth might shatter.
“Grace?” He asked but she didn’t respond. Something about it, something about the way she was, told him he needed to get a doctor and he ran out of the room yelling. The medic ran in checking her vitals, checking her pupils, and shaking his head.
“This is why we don’t do it this way. Cold turkey like this is so very dangerous.” He said and Jason could hear the edge to his voice.
“Can you give her anything?” Jason asked.
“Yes, Naltrexone.” He replied and Jason narrowed his eyes.
“Anything else?” Jason asked and the medic actually huffed.
“I can give her something to calm the seizures but if she gets any worse, then we won’t have a choice.”
“Fine.” Jason muttered. A nurse came in and administered the drug and Jason watched as his girl stopped shaking, stopped convulsing. Suddenly she looked like she was sleeping. He sighed pulling his phone out and messaged their boss an update.
An Edwardian terraced home in the Dyke House Town of Hartlepool, Northern UK
The Edwardian terraced home in the Dyke House area of Hartlepool could best be described as dilapidated. Situated on a grim-looking street of boarded-up houses and properties with smashed windows, its neighbourhood is said to be in the bottom 2 per cent of the most deprived areas in the UK. Yet behind the curtains at No 18 York Road, business was good.
Upstairs in the bedrooms and attic young girls were housed, being readied for deployment as reluctant sex workers. Downstairs, in the cellar, a girl, no more than nineteen herself, was chained, virtually naked to ceiling.
Out of the corner of her eye, Dani saw the man called Omar pick up the whip that was to be used upon her body. He shook it loose, examining its weight and length, nodding in approval as he did so. The instrument was around four feet long, made of braided leather, and attached to a wooden handle. Nine inches from its end the braiding split into three loose strips, from which the bulk of the punishment would be delivered.
Her eyes went wide, and she began to struggle pointlessly against her bonds. She knew what these bastards did to the girl’s they did not want … and now it was her turn.
“Yes,” hissed the other man, whose name she did not know. “Nice, isn’t it, you cunt? Just what the likes of you needs.”
She had been taken from Brick Lane by Markus and, with her head bagged, she had been handed to these guys somewhere after the van she had been cuffed and tied in had driven quite a distance. She had no idea where she was now … this was a place to which she had never been. And now Dani was convinced that she would never leave … not alive.
Taking his time, he unclasped Dani’s bra and brusquely pulled it from her. Her soft breasts, raised as they were, jiggled with the roughness of the act, and she gasped. She knew they were going to strip her and she pleaded.
“Please, don’t do this, I don’t know anything please …” For some reason, Dani had imagined they would leave her with the little bit of protection the skimpy garments afforded, but she had been wrong. The cruelty of these monsters knew no bounds. They fully intended to have her naked for the lash, displayed as she was. The bound girl squirmed away from the man, pressing her back against the wall, twisting left and right in an attempt to avoid his groping hands.
Her nipples, hardening as her body reacted to the humiliating treatment, stared him in the face as she struggled, drawing lewd laughter from her assailant.
“Look at you, you fucking little slut,” he whispered.
Dani wailed, shaking her head vigorously in despair, yet knowing how she looked to these vicious, brutal men.
Hands reached down, trailing slowly along her flanks, and gripped the flimsy material of her lace panties, which, in one swift motion he tore from her body. The man took the opportunity to cup Dani’s mound, sliding his long finger between her thighs, before leaving the hapless girl totally naked, and at their mercy.
The ensuing laughter from Omar’s mouth cut Dani to the core. What was wrong with these people? She stood now, chained, arms stretched high and on the tips of her toes. She trembled uncontrollably, naked and presented as they wished her to be, Dani now knew that the time for her flogging was near, and fear forced her again to struggle with all her might.
She tugged madly against her bonds, trying to break free. She kicked out in her efforts, doing her best to gain some kind of useful purchase for her feet so she might exert more pressure on the chains. Her pointless attempts drew more laughter.
“Can’t have you carrying on like that, little whore,” growled Omar, “… Raise her”.
The other man placed a wooden upturned bucket by Dani’s feet. “Stand on it, cunt.”
With a gulp, Dani obeyed, and as she did, the man pulled on the now loose end of the chain and stretched her arms even higher and immediately re-secured her in this more elevated position.
Dani groaned long and loud.
“Much better!” Omar was pleased. He reached out and twisted her left nipple, hard.
The shackled girl cried out, looking up at her cruelly manacled limbs, her arms now stretched high. She fought to maintain some kind of balance in order to relieve the pressure on her arms, but it was virtually impossible as she was all but hanging. Any real movement would cause her to slip from the meagre purchase her toes still retained on the small surface of the bucket, and send her swinging by her wrists.
Omar looked at his victim and smiled.
“Markus tells us that you have been informing on his operation to MI6? What exactly did you tell them Danielle?”
The poor girl just shook her head as the lash hissed through the air and sliced across her exposed breasts.
End of PART II. To be continued and concluded in the shocking PART III - DESTINY
We will take a short one day break now to take stock and give anyone who needs to the chance to catch up. Thank you, as always, for your wonderful support. Sexpionage will return on Thursday.
The Wellington Private Hospital, St John’s Wood, London.
Grace woke in the middle of the night, sweating, shaking, knowing she was about to vomit, she got out of bed quickly and knocked over the drip stand with her still splinted fingers as she ran over to the sink to puke.
Jason was there, picking it up and rubbing her back. Grace should have taken comfort from his presence, but instead it actually made things worse, because he could see her like this, in this state. She looked away and he frowned. She didn’t want him to see her, she didn’t want anyone to see her like this and part of her was tempted to ask him to leave, to shut herself away, like before, to ride it out alone, ride out not only the withdrawal but the shame, the humiliation of it.
“Let’s get you back into bed.” He said quietly and she nodded letting him, but shutting her eyes all the same. She was shaking again, more violently than before and he practically had to lift her into the bed. He pulled the covers over and she started shaking even more violently and he thought her teeth might shatter.
“Grace?” He asked but she didn’t respond. Something about it, something about the way she was, told him he needed to get a doctor and he ran out of the room yelling. The medic ran in checking her vitals, checking her pupils, and shaking his head.
“This is why we don’t do it this way. Cold turkey like this is so very dangerous.” He said and Jason could hear the edge to his voice.
“Can you give her anything?” Jason asked.
“Yes, Naltrexone.” He replied and Jason narrowed his eyes.
“Anything else?” Jason asked and the medic actually huffed.
“I can give her something to calm the seizures but if she gets any worse, then we won’t have a choice.”
“Fine.” Jason muttered. A nurse came in and administered the drug and Jason watched as his girl stopped shaking, stopped convulsing. Suddenly she looked like she was sleeping. He sighed pulling his phone out and messaged their boss an update.
An Edwardian terraced home in the Dyke House Town of Hartlepool, Northern UK
The Edwardian terraced home in the Dyke House area of Hartlepool could best be described as dilapidated. Situated on a grim-looking street of boarded-up houses and properties with smashed windows, its neighbourhood is said to be in the bottom 2 per cent of the most deprived areas in the UK. Yet behind the curtains at No 18 York Road, business was good.
Upstairs in the bedrooms and attic young girls were housed, being readied for deployment as reluctant sex workers. Downstairs, in the cellar, a girl, no more than nineteen herself, was chained, virtually naked to ceiling.
Out of the corner of her eye, Dani saw the man called Omar pick up the whip that was to be used upon her body. He shook it loose, examining its weight and length, nodding in approval as he did so. The instrument was around four feet long, made of braided leather, and attached to a wooden handle. Nine inches from its end the braiding split into three loose strips, from which the bulk of the punishment would be delivered.
Her eyes went wide, and she began to struggle pointlessly against her bonds. She knew what these bastards did to the girl’s they did not want … and now it was her turn.
“Yes,” hissed the other man, whose name she did not know. “Nice, isn’t it, you cunt? Just what the likes of you needs.”
She had been taken from Brick Lane by Markus and, with her head bagged, she had been handed to these guys somewhere after the van she had been cuffed and tied in had driven quite a distance. She had no idea where she was now … this was a place to which she had never been. And now Dani was convinced that she would never leave … not alive.
Taking his time, he unclasped Dani’s bra and brusquely pulled it from her. Her soft breasts, raised as they were, jiggled with the roughness of the act, and she gasped. She knew they were going to strip her and she pleaded.
“Please, don’t do this, I don’t know anything please …” For some reason, Dani had imagined they would leave her with the little bit of protection the skimpy garments afforded, but she had been wrong. The cruelty of these monsters knew no bounds. They fully intended to have her naked for the lash, displayed as she was. The bound girl squirmed away from the man, pressing her back against the wall, twisting left and right in an attempt to avoid his groping hands.
Her nipples, hardening as her body reacted to the humiliating treatment, stared him in the face as she struggled, drawing lewd laughter from her assailant.
“Look at you, you fucking little slut,” he whispered.
Dani wailed, shaking her head vigorously in despair, yet knowing how she looked to these vicious, brutal men.
Hands reached down, trailing slowly along her flanks, and gripped the flimsy material of her lace panties, which, in one swift motion he tore from her body. The man took the opportunity to cup Dani’s mound, sliding his long finger between her thighs, before leaving the hapless girl totally naked, and at their mercy.
The ensuing laughter from Omar’s mouth cut Dani to the core. What was wrong with these people? She stood now, chained, arms stretched high and on the tips of her toes. She trembled uncontrollably, naked and presented as they wished her to be, Dani now knew that the time for her flogging was near, and fear forced her again to struggle with all her might.
She tugged madly against her bonds, trying to break free. She kicked out in her efforts, doing her best to gain some kind of useful purchase for her feet so she might exert more pressure on the chains. Her pointless attempts drew more laughter.
“Can’t have you carrying on like that, little whore,” growled Omar, “… Raise her”.
The other man placed a wooden upturned bucket by Dani’s feet. “Stand on it, cunt.”
With a gulp, Dani obeyed, and as she did, the man pulled on the now loose end of the chain and stretched her arms even higher and immediately re-secured her in this more elevated position.
Dani groaned long and loud.
“Much better!” Omar was pleased. He reached out and twisted her left nipple, hard.
The shackled girl cried out, looking up at her cruelly manacled limbs, her arms now stretched high. She fought to maintain some kind of balance in order to relieve the pressure on her arms, but it was virtually impossible as she was all but hanging. Any real movement would cause her to slip from the meagre purchase her toes still retained on the small surface of the bucket, and send her swinging by her wrists.
Omar looked at his victim and smiled.
“Markus tells us that you have been informing on his operation to MI6? What exactly did you tell them Danielle?”
The poor girl just shook her head as the lash hissed through the air and sliced across her exposed breasts.
End of PART II. To be continued and concluded in the shocking PART III - DESTINY
We will take a short one day break now to take stock and give anyone who needs to the chance to catch up. Thank you, as always, for your wonderful support. Sexpionage will return on Thursday.
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
It's only a block or two Old One, and the fact of the matter is that ... it's all true as per National Stats! ...
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
SHATTERED RETURNS WITH PART III - DESTINY ...
DESTINY (1)
Barn Owl Cottage, on the edge of the New Forest, Hampshire, England
Grace got out of the car still surprised that Jason had brought her back to his home. She’d half expected him to drop her at her own place in town and then leave, despite staying with her for the past three days, and having ridden out the whole awful withdrawal with her.
She swallowed, looking around and, feeling suddenly nervous, unexpectedly unsure she looked away. Jason gazed back at her, waiting. Turning to face him, Grace held out her hand and took his. He led her not into his own bedroom, the one they had shared so many times, but to a spare further along the wood floored landing.
“I’ll give you a moment.” He said sensing her unease and she nodded, feeling confused, watching him go. She paced the room, looking around, thinking. Had he simply brought her here because ‘they’ still thought there was a risk to her, that it was just that it was safer here than at her own place? Or did Jason choose to do this?
She wanted a shower, she wanted to wash all of the last God-knows-how-long away from her skin, even though she’d already technically done that back at the hospital. Grace stripped in the bathroom and turned the water heat up till it was practically scalding and then just stood under it, ignoring the searing pain, ignoring the bright red colour of her skin, just letting the flow wash over her as if it could rinse away all the humiliation of the recent past.
She got out, and, with difficulty due to her splinted fingers, dried herself off, then pulled on some clean clothes and sat down on the floor by the bed, feeling suddenly exhausted. Jason came back with some food, but after sticking his head round the door saw she had fallen asleep. He put the tray down and watched her for a moment. She looked peaceful, as if she was dreaming and so, reaching carefully down, he picked her up and moved Grace onto the bed, pulling the blankets around her.
An Edwardian terraced home in the Dyke House Town of Hartlepool, Northern UK
It was three days since she had been brought here, not that the captive girl retained any semblance of time. Dani was still suspended from the ceiling, but this time she was not hanging by her hands. They had tied her elbows tightly together with her legs securely bound at the ankles and above the knees. Then they turned it into a hogtie by connecting her wrists and ankles with more rope and pulling her into a nice arch. Normally a girl so tied would be able to lie flat on her stomach with her arms and legs only slightly elevated. But they had then secured more rope to her body and pulled her painfully upwards towards the ceiling.
Dani was hanging four feet from the floor, her body arched into a bow that was backbreaking and a terrible strain. Not content with letting the hanging provide the torture needed to make her share with Omar and his bastards what she had told MI6, viciously tight clamps tore at her nipples, lead weight hanging from each one so that her breasts were pulled painfully downwards … a constant source of pain.
One of the more imaginative guards had also clipped a clamp on each of her swollen labia and attached more weights so that the lips guarding her sex were also stretched most painfully.
“What did you tell those bastards Dani? They won’t find you here, so we have as long as it takes …” They were still asking questions and pushing a burning cigarette up against her bare skin each time the answer was not to their liking. Her breasts and ass were covered with small round burning circles and there was a pungent aroma of scorched flesh in the room.
The day before, after yet another whipping, this time with a leather studded belt, had failed to get her to tell them anything, they had switched back to the bull whip. Once again that had done much more damage than the belt, and hurt all the more because her flesh was now very, very sensitive. Each cut of that whip on her ass brought forth a scream and a painful jerk of the hanging body.
Dani’s captors had worked her body over with that whip, enjoying the screams and sobbing coming from the pretty whore.
And so now, one day on, she was covered with vivid, swollen red ridges and black, bruised marks, that only encouraged them all the more to crush the scorching cigarettes against her already tortured flesh.
During a short lag in the torture, Dani managed to look up at Omar and say, “I did not spy on you, or tell them anything. Please believe me. Please…”
Her plea might have wrung tears from a stone, but it did nothing to the hard, evil men who were delighting in abusing her body. Truth was that Omar was sure that she was telling the truth, and that she hadn’t really told them anything at all, but he was a sadist and was enjoying his time with this little slut.
They had all taken a turn at her body the night before. Dani had been tied down to a hard wooden table on her tortured ass, and then raped by each of the men. They left her on the table overnight and raped her again this very morning before stringing her up.
The tortured girl’s head hung low, her face covered by a curtain of matted, long hair, so it was a few minutes before Omar noticed that the cigarette burns no longer elicited a cry or even the tiniest jerk of her naked body.
“Fuck. She’s out cold. Wake her, we’re not done yet.” Cursing that she had fainted, he ordered a bucket of cold water brought forth to revive her. It was no fun torturing a non-responsive victim.
But the water did not bring her round.
One of the men moved to the hanging girl and felt at her neck. “There’s no pulse,” he informed.
“What! She’s dead?” Omar sounded surprised. “Are you sure?”
The man took the lighted cigarette in his fingers and pushed it directly against Dani’s clit.
No response.
“How dare she fucking well die on us!” Omar raged.
“Maybe she had a weak heart,” suggested one guard.
“Well,” the boss man said with a dramatic sigh, “… now the fun’s over. Get rid of the body, we have girls to trade.”
To Be Continued …
DESTINY (1)
Barn Owl Cottage, on the edge of the New Forest, Hampshire, England
Grace got out of the car still surprised that Jason had brought her back to his home. She’d half expected him to drop her at her own place in town and then leave, despite staying with her for the past three days, and having ridden out the whole awful withdrawal with her.
She swallowed, looking around and, feeling suddenly nervous, unexpectedly unsure she looked away. Jason gazed back at her, waiting. Turning to face him, Grace held out her hand and took his. He led her not into his own bedroom, the one they had shared so many times, but to a spare further along the wood floored landing.
“I’ll give you a moment.” He said sensing her unease and she nodded, feeling confused, watching him go. She paced the room, looking around, thinking. Had he simply brought her here because ‘they’ still thought there was a risk to her, that it was just that it was safer here than at her own place? Or did Jason choose to do this?
She wanted a shower, she wanted to wash all of the last God-knows-how-long away from her skin, even though she’d already technically done that back at the hospital. Grace stripped in the bathroom and turned the water heat up till it was practically scalding and then just stood under it, ignoring the searing pain, ignoring the bright red colour of her skin, just letting the flow wash over her as if it could rinse away all the humiliation of the recent past.
She got out, and, with difficulty due to her splinted fingers, dried herself off, then pulled on some clean clothes and sat down on the floor by the bed, feeling suddenly exhausted. Jason came back with some food, but after sticking his head round the door saw she had fallen asleep. He put the tray down and watched her for a moment. She looked peaceful, as if she was dreaming and so, reaching carefully down, he picked her up and moved Grace onto the bed, pulling the blankets around her.
An Edwardian terraced home in the Dyke House Town of Hartlepool, Northern UK
It was three days since she had been brought here, not that the captive girl retained any semblance of time. Dani was still suspended from the ceiling, but this time she was not hanging by her hands. They had tied her elbows tightly together with her legs securely bound at the ankles and above the knees. Then they turned it into a hogtie by connecting her wrists and ankles with more rope and pulling her into a nice arch. Normally a girl so tied would be able to lie flat on her stomach with her arms and legs only slightly elevated. But they had then secured more rope to her body and pulled her painfully upwards towards the ceiling.
Dani was hanging four feet from the floor, her body arched into a bow that was backbreaking and a terrible strain. Not content with letting the hanging provide the torture needed to make her share with Omar and his bastards what she had told MI6, viciously tight clamps tore at her nipples, lead weight hanging from each one so that her breasts were pulled painfully downwards … a constant source of pain.
One of the more imaginative guards had also clipped a clamp on each of her swollen labia and attached more weights so that the lips guarding her sex were also stretched most painfully.
“What did you tell those bastards Dani? They won’t find you here, so we have as long as it takes …” They were still asking questions and pushing a burning cigarette up against her bare skin each time the answer was not to their liking. Her breasts and ass were covered with small round burning circles and there was a pungent aroma of scorched flesh in the room.
The day before, after yet another whipping, this time with a leather studded belt, had failed to get her to tell them anything, they had switched back to the bull whip. Once again that had done much more damage than the belt, and hurt all the more because her flesh was now very, very sensitive. Each cut of that whip on her ass brought forth a scream and a painful jerk of the hanging body.
Dani’s captors had worked her body over with that whip, enjoying the screams and sobbing coming from the pretty whore.
And so now, one day on, she was covered with vivid, swollen red ridges and black, bruised marks, that only encouraged them all the more to crush the scorching cigarettes against her already tortured flesh.
During a short lag in the torture, Dani managed to look up at Omar and say, “I did not spy on you, or tell them anything. Please believe me. Please…”
Her plea might have wrung tears from a stone, but it did nothing to the hard, evil men who were delighting in abusing her body. Truth was that Omar was sure that she was telling the truth, and that she hadn’t really told them anything at all, but he was a sadist and was enjoying his time with this little slut.
They had all taken a turn at her body the night before. Dani had been tied down to a hard wooden table on her tortured ass, and then raped by each of the men. They left her on the table overnight and raped her again this very morning before stringing her up.
The tortured girl’s head hung low, her face covered by a curtain of matted, long hair, so it was a few minutes before Omar noticed that the cigarette burns no longer elicited a cry or even the tiniest jerk of her naked body.
“Fuck. She’s out cold. Wake her, we’re not done yet.” Cursing that she had fainted, he ordered a bucket of cold water brought forth to revive her. It was no fun torturing a non-responsive victim.
But the water did not bring her round.
One of the men moved to the hanging girl and felt at her neck. “There’s no pulse,” he informed.
“What! She’s dead?” Omar sounded surprised. “Are you sure?”
The man took the lighted cigarette in his fingers and pushed it directly against Dani’s clit.
No response.
“How dare she fucking well die on us!” Omar raged.
“Maybe she had a weak heart,” suggested one guard.
“Well,” the boss man said with a dramatic sigh, “… now the fun’s over. Get rid of the body, we have girls to trade.”
To Be Continued …
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
DESTINY (2)
Barn Owl Cottage, on the edge of the New Forest, Hampshire, England
Jason heard the scream and got up quickly running into the other room. It was dark, almost two in the morning and he knew she must have had a nightmare. He looked around but the bed was empty. The covers had been thrown back but Grace wasn’t there. He frowned searching the room and then he saw her, curled up, small, in the corner and he sighed sitting down close to her.
She whimpered slightly and he moved his hand to touch her, to reassure her. She jumped, waking almost instantly and he saw the wild look in her eyes.
“It’s okay.” He said quietly.
“What is?” She replied. Her heart was pounding and she could feel the adrenaline pumping through her even now.
He sighed again. “I know what they did to you Grace.” He said gently.
“Which bit?” She asked, her voice hard now.
“I know they assaulted you.”
She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. Not really.” She stated.
“What do you mean by that?”
“You know full well that it’s not the first time it’s happened.” The Special Agent stated all too matter-of-factly, and Jason frowned staring at her like he’d never seen her properly until now.
“It still matters Grace, it always matters …”
“Not really. Not when you’ve been raped as often as I have … it’s part of the job …”
“Part of the fucking job? Are you serious Grace. No. It’s. Not!”
“Like I said Jason,” her voice was deadpan, her tone bland. “… it doesn’t matter, it’s who and what I am. You don’t have to like it, or even like me.”
“Stop saying that.” He snapped.
“Why? Will you stop treating me like I’m a wounded animal if I do?” She asked him.
“What?” He said confused.
“I’m not any different from the girl I was before, and I don’t want you acting like I am.” She stated and he shook his head just a little before pulling her to him and wrapping his arms around her. “I’m not any different, I’m not.” She repeated through a choke in her throat, and he felt emotion of his own welling up at the desperation of her words … the words of the girl he loved, and he wasn’t about to lose her.
Jason looked at Grace in the semi-darkness, he could make out her face, and her expression as she leaned her head back against his chest, looking up at the ceiling.
“They wanted the codes.” She said quietly after a few minutes of just listening to his heart beating and he frowned shifting to look at her.
“What codes?” He asked.
“The internal programme codes for ‘Shelter’, the ones that would reveal every name of every agent involved”
“That’s ridiculous,” Jason added, “… they would have had to hack into our systems to make any use …”
Grace was looking at him and nodding.
“They know how to hack our IT?” He said, his tone having turned incredulous.
“But I wouldn’t tell them.” Grace replied and he heard it then, the pain in her voice, the hint at what she had gone through and he pulled her in tighter kissing the top of her head.
He glanced down at the girl he loved, the one who had saved him from himself after Ekaterina’s death, and her eyes were shut now. How much had they tortured her, he wondered. Bastards.
He held her tightly, listening to the slow rise and fall of her chest, and realised she had fallen asleep again. He watched her for a few moments more and wondered whether he should leave her to sleep or not. He hadn’t wanted to force the issue, he hadn’t meant to, intending to give her some space but when she pushed him, he’d pushed back without thinking it through.
Grace shifted slightly and Jason exhaled a long sigh, and picked her up carrying her back to his room, back to his bed. He laid her down gently and climbed in beside her listening once again to her breathing before he too eventually fell back asleep.
Briefing Room 1 – SIS HQ, Vauxhall London
Lacey slumped in her seat. This information was almost too much to bear.
“They murdered Dani?” The words came out as a question because the young Agent was refusing to believe that the girl, the innocent victim she had met only a few days earlier, had been abducted and killed.
Omar and his traffickers hadn’t disposed of the body, or in fact, they had, but only by depositing it on the top level of a multi-story car park with a message stapled to the naked and severely abused torso which read. “Back off or your bitch Grace Miller will be next …”
Agent Anderson stared out of the window. Death was an occupational hazard in this job, but that poor girl had led such a horrible life and then to die like this …
“We have to find them, Sir,” Anderson spoke as calmly as she could to her boss, Roger Moore.
“We will Agent Anderson, don’t you worry we will.”
To Be Continued …
Barn Owl Cottage, on the edge of the New Forest, Hampshire, England
Jason heard the scream and got up quickly running into the other room. It was dark, almost two in the morning and he knew she must have had a nightmare. He looked around but the bed was empty. The covers had been thrown back but Grace wasn’t there. He frowned searching the room and then he saw her, curled up, small, in the corner and he sighed sitting down close to her.
She whimpered slightly and he moved his hand to touch her, to reassure her. She jumped, waking almost instantly and he saw the wild look in her eyes.
“It’s okay.” He said quietly.
“What is?” She replied. Her heart was pounding and she could feel the adrenaline pumping through her even now.
He sighed again. “I know what they did to you Grace.” He said gently.
“Which bit?” She asked, her voice hard now.
“I know they assaulted you.”
She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. Not really.” She stated.
“What do you mean by that?”
“You know full well that it’s not the first time it’s happened.” The Special Agent stated all too matter-of-factly, and Jason frowned staring at her like he’d never seen her properly until now.
“It still matters Grace, it always matters …”
“Not really. Not when you’ve been raped as often as I have … it’s part of the job …”
“Part of the fucking job? Are you serious Grace. No. It’s. Not!”
“Like I said Jason,” her voice was deadpan, her tone bland. “… it doesn’t matter, it’s who and what I am. You don’t have to like it, or even like me.”
“Stop saying that.” He snapped.
“Why? Will you stop treating me like I’m a wounded animal if I do?” She asked him.
“What?” He said confused.
“I’m not any different from the girl I was before, and I don’t want you acting like I am.” She stated and he shook his head just a little before pulling her to him and wrapping his arms around her. “I’m not any different, I’m not.” She repeated through a choke in her throat, and he felt emotion of his own welling up at the desperation of her words … the words of the girl he loved, and he wasn’t about to lose her.
Jason looked at Grace in the semi-darkness, he could make out her face, and her expression as she leaned her head back against his chest, looking up at the ceiling.
“They wanted the codes.” She said quietly after a few minutes of just listening to his heart beating and he frowned shifting to look at her.
“What codes?” He asked.
“The internal programme codes for ‘Shelter’, the ones that would reveal every name of every agent involved”
“That’s ridiculous,” Jason added, “… they would have had to hack into our systems to make any use …”
Grace was looking at him and nodding.
“They know how to hack our IT?” He said, his tone having turned incredulous.
“But I wouldn’t tell them.” Grace replied and he heard it then, the pain in her voice, the hint at what she had gone through and he pulled her in tighter kissing the top of her head.
He glanced down at the girl he loved, the one who had saved him from himself after Ekaterina’s death, and her eyes were shut now. How much had they tortured her, he wondered. Bastards.
He held her tightly, listening to the slow rise and fall of her chest, and realised she had fallen asleep again. He watched her for a few moments more and wondered whether he should leave her to sleep or not. He hadn’t wanted to force the issue, he hadn’t meant to, intending to give her some space but when she pushed him, he’d pushed back without thinking it through.
Grace shifted slightly and Jason exhaled a long sigh, and picked her up carrying her back to his room, back to his bed. He laid her down gently and climbed in beside her listening once again to her breathing before he too eventually fell back asleep.
Briefing Room 1 – SIS HQ, Vauxhall London
Lacey slumped in her seat. This information was almost too much to bear.
“They murdered Dani?” The words came out as a question because the young Agent was refusing to believe that the girl, the innocent victim she had met only a few days earlier, had been abducted and killed.
Omar and his traffickers hadn’t disposed of the body, or in fact, they had, but only by depositing it on the top level of a multi-story car park with a message stapled to the naked and severely abused torso which read. “Back off or your bitch Grace Miller will be next …”
Agent Anderson stared out of the window. Death was an occupational hazard in this job, but that poor girl had led such a horrible life and then to die like this …
“We have to find them, Sir,” Anderson spoke as calmly as she could to her boss, Roger Moore.
“We will Agent Anderson, don’t you worry we will.”
To Be Continued …
Oh Shit!!!! YIKES!
old slave
FELIS RESPICIENS
Very well thought out, and I know I would also be confused.
Sharkman
Governor
Little hope there is coming a big surprise ... Special FBI Agent? ... maybe. 'Never Say Never Again (1983)' ... Moore.
Very well-done, @Fossy. I am curious. Drugs, cigarettes, whips, clamps, lead weights, hardcore scenes ... Omar - the Sadist - enjoying his time ... pace is ever increasing ... hope your movie starlets read the fine print. @Lace, did you hear that? Why it is called CF???
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
DESTINY (3)
Barn Owl Cottage, on the edge of the New Forest, Hampshire, England
Grace woke realising that she was in his bed, in Jason’s bed, lying on his ridiculously soft sheets, surrounded by the intoxicating smell of him. She frowned looking around unsure how she had got there. The room was empty. She was alone.
Then she remembered the night, she recalled waking up in the other room, that Jason had been there and that she had revealed another fractured part of herself. Grace sighed, sitting up and she could hear low voices.
Getting out of bed, she pulled on some leggings and a jumper of Jason’s and wandered down to see who was there.
“Special Agent ...” Roger Moore said as she looked through the doorway to the sitting room. They were both there, Jason and the Head of MI6, lounging on his couches, both with what looked like mugs of coffee. From the light Grace realised it was evening already. She’d slept the entire day.
“Hey … Sir,” She said offering up a weak smile, moving to sit on the chair across from them both.
“Do you want a hot drink?” Jason asked. She was wearing one of his jumpers he realised as she sat, knees tucked under her, looking both fragile and fierce at the same time.
“It’s okay I can get one in a minute or two.” She said in her well-spoken tones, smiling. She didn’t want him running around after her, treating her like she was pathetic when she wasn’t.
“How’re you feeling?” Moore asked.
She shrugged. “I’ve been better but I’ve also been worse.”
Jason got up and came back a few minutes later with a mug of coffee. Grace shook her head but took it from him anyway.
“So, how’s the …?” Grace asked without finishing her sentence.
“We have a new lead.” Moore said.
“Really?” Grace replied.
“Yes, we will get the bastards that did this to you Grace.” Moore replied.
Grace frowned, and Jase shot her a look.
“What?” She said.
“You need to rest, be focussing on your recovery, not worrying about the case.” Jason stated.
“I’m fine. honestly.”
“You’ve slept most of the day Grace.” He said gently.
“That’s because you let me.” She snapped.
“Because you needed it.” He replied and she rolled her eyes.
“Jason’s right.” Moore said gently. “You need a few weeks to recover.”
“A few weeks? Seriously?” She repeated looking between them.
“They tortured you, Grace … and …” Jason stated and she sat up sticking her neck out towards him.
“… and raped me and drugged me … but, hey, it’s not like I haven’t experienced it before.” She muttered and Jason gave her a hard look while Roger Moore frowned at the flippant way she spoke about her ordeal, before saying, “Take two weeks Grace and then we’ll welcome you back.”
******
It was almost 9pm when Special Agent Grace Miller arrived at her own apartment in Tower Hamlets. She had taken a cab all the way from the New Forest, but fuck it, she had thought, MI6 can pay for the expense.
Jason had gone out for dinner with his boss leaving Grace alone in the house … and she was angry. Angry with herself for being so useless, angry with Jason and Moore for overprotecting her but most of all angry at the fucking bastards who did all of this … the same people that, she learned by listening to what Moore was saying, had murdered the poor prostitute.
She wasn’t waiting two weeks, no way. If they wouldn’t let her back into MI6 to see this one through, she would do it on her own!
Dropping her bags onto the bed she stripped off the leggings and jumper that she had brought with her from Jason’s and stepped into the shower.
As the hot water ran over her naked body Grace knew that what she was about to do was stupid and dangerous but she was the one they had abducted and abused, twice over, and she could not sit back and do nothing.
She had contacts and she would use them.
The Old George Pub, Bethnal green Road, London
Grace walked into the dingy looking pub and glanced around. She couldn’t see Nikko anywhere, just a few stragglers who all looked like they had spent most of the day lurking here. Nikko was usually prompt, just like her, but this time he was clearly running late.
She frowned, wondering what was keeping him before walking up to the bar and grabbing a couple of bottles of beer. Sitting down at the nearest table, she sipped her drink glancing at the screen, waiting for him to show while absentmindedly flicking through her phone at the same time, trying to distract herself from the whole ‘not been allowed back to work’ thing, because every time she thought about it, it made her head hurt.
Looking up as Nikko walked in, Grace smiled burying the emotion inside and frowned at how flustered he looked.
“You took your time.” She teased.
“Sorry tube was a nightmare.” He said as she passed him his bottle. The underground shouldn’t be busy this time of day, but she didn’t think anything more of it. He was here now.
“You okay?” She asked him and he frowned slightly before nodding.
“Yeah, just life gets you down sometimes, right?”
Grace offered up a sardonic chuckle, “Yes, tell me about it.” Her tone was clipped, educated, posh even, and the rough informant, a true East-End guy, found that a huge turn on. He grinned at the girl opposite him, letting his gaze fall to her chest.
“Eyes up Nikko, there’s a good boy.”
He smirked.
“So how have you been Grace, haven’t seen you in bloody ages.” He said after taking a long swig of his beer.
“Yes, well things got really complicated at work.”
“How complicated?” He asked glancing at her hands and seeing her healing fingers still strapped up.
She leaned in, “Never mind about that Nikko, have you got the information I need?”
To Be Continued …
Barn Owl Cottage, on the edge of the New Forest, Hampshire, England
Grace woke realising that she was in his bed, in Jason’s bed, lying on his ridiculously soft sheets, surrounded by the intoxicating smell of him. She frowned looking around unsure how she had got there. The room was empty. She was alone.
Then she remembered the night, she recalled waking up in the other room, that Jason had been there and that she had revealed another fractured part of herself. Grace sighed, sitting up and she could hear low voices.
Getting out of bed, she pulled on some leggings and a jumper of Jason’s and wandered down to see who was there.
“Special Agent ...” Roger Moore said as she looked through the doorway to the sitting room. They were both there, Jason and the Head of MI6, lounging on his couches, both with what looked like mugs of coffee. From the light Grace realised it was evening already. She’d slept the entire day.
“Hey … Sir,” She said offering up a weak smile, moving to sit on the chair across from them both.
“Do you want a hot drink?” Jason asked. She was wearing one of his jumpers he realised as she sat, knees tucked under her, looking both fragile and fierce at the same time.
“It’s okay I can get one in a minute or two.” She said in her well-spoken tones, smiling. She didn’t want him running around after her, treating her like she was pathetic when she wasn’t.
“How’re you feeling?” Moore asked.
She shrugged. “I’ve been better but I’ve also been worse.”
Jason got up and came back a few minutes later with a mug of coffee. Grace shook her head but took it from him anyway.
“So, how’s the …?” Grace asked without finishing her sentence.
“We have a new lead.” Moore said.
“Really?” Grace replied.
“Yes, we will get the bastards that did this to you Grace.” Moore replied.
Grace frowned, and Jase shot her a look.
“What?” She said.
“You need to rest, be focussing on your recovery, not worrying about the case.” Jason stated.
“I’m fine. honestly.”
“You’ve slept most of the day Grace.” He said gently.
“That’s because you let me.” She snapped.
“Because you needed it.” He replied and she rolled her eyes.
“Jason’s right.” Moore said gently. “You need a few weeks to recover.”
“A few weeks? Seriously?” She repeated looking between them.
“They tortured you, Grace … and …” Jason stated and she sat up sticking her neck out towards him.
“… and raped me and drugged me … but, hey, it’s not like I haven’t experienced it before.” She muttered and Jason gave her a hard look while Roger Moore frowned at the flippant way she spoke about her ordeal, before saying, “Take two weeks Grace and then we’ll welcome you back.”
******
It was almost 9pm when Special Agent Grace Miller arrived at her own apartment in Tower Hamlets. She had taken a cab all the way from the New Forest, but fuck it, she had thought, MI6 can pay for the expense.
Jason had gone out for dinner with his boss leaving Grace alone in the house … and she was angry. Angry with herself for being so useless, angry with Jason and Moore for overprotecting her but most of all angry at the fucking bastards who did all of this … the same people that, she learned by listening to what Moore was saying, had murdered the poor prostitute.
She wasn’t waiting two weeks, no way. If they wouldn’t let her back into MI6 to see this one through, she would do it on her own!
Dropping her bags onto the bed she stripped off the leggings and jumper that she had brought with her from Jason’s and stepped into the shower.
As the hot water ran over her naked body Grace knew that what she was about to do was stupid and dangerous but she was the one they had abducted and abused, twice over, and she could not sit back and do nothing.
She had contacts and she would use them.
The Old George Pub, Bethnal green Road, London
Grace walked into the dingy looking pub and glanced around. She couldn’t see Nikko anywhere, just a few stragglers who all looked like they had spent most of the day lurking here. Nikko was usually prompt, just like her, but this time he was clearly running late.
She frowned, wondering what was keeping him before walking up to the bar and grabbing a couple of bottles of beer. Sitting down at the nearest table, she sipped her drink glancing at the screen, waiting for him to show while absentmindedly flicking through her phone at the same time, trying to distract herself from the whole ‘not been allowed back to work’ thing, because every time she thought about it, it made her head hurt.
Looking up as Nikko walked in, Grace smiled burying the emotion inside and frowned at how flustered he looked.
“You took your time.” She teased.
“Sorry tube was a nightmare.” He said as she passed him his bottle. The underground shouldn’t be busy this time of day, but she didn’t think anything more of it. He was here now.
“You okay?” She asked him and he frowned slightly before nodding.
“Yeah, just life gets you down sometimes, right?”
Grace offered up a sardonic chuckle, “Yes, tell me about it.” Her tone was clipped, educated, posh even, and the rough informant, a true East-End guy, found that a huge turn on. He grinned at the girl opposite him, letting his gaze fall to her chest.
“Eyes up Nikko, there’s a good boy.”
He smirked.
“So how have you been Grace, haven’t seen you in bloody ages.” He said after taking a long swig of his beer.
“Yes, well things got really complicated at work.”
“How complicated?” He asked glancing at her hands and seeing her healing fingers still strapped up.
She leaned in, “Never mind about that Nikko, have you got the information I need?”
To Be Continued …
Lace
Assistant executioner
Oh God please don't do it Grace!
Wondering whether Grace is at all related to Barbara Moore. This is not wise, Grace. Don’t overestimate your capabilities and ignore the obvious dangers!
twonines
LIMERICUS
Are you kidding? In many ways, Grace is the British Barbara Moore clone.
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
DESTINY (4)
The Old George Pub, Bethnal green Road, London
“I’m just going to pop to the ladies.” Grace said getting up and giving Nikko the opportunity to gather his thoughts before he shared with her what he knew, without making him feel like he was being interrogated. As she turned and walked away she knew that her informant's eyes would be on her ass covered in the tight denim of her jeans, and she smiled to herself, subconsciously giving him an extra little wiggle.
Nikko had worked with her ever since the Albanian Mission, the first time she was abducted by these bastards. He knew the London streets, knew the girls that were susceptible to being taken, had his ear to the ground and could say where most things were going down. He had found Grace after her ordeal back then a few years earlier, and she had made his life financially worthwhile ever since in return for intel.
She headed down past the bar and into the restroom. As she washed her hands her phone started buzzing. Sighing she quickly dried them against her jeans frowning at the name, seriously considering ignoring the call.
“Hey Jason, what’s up?” She asked as she walked back out and headed for the quiet space by the emergency exit.
“Are you fucking stupid or what?” It was Jason’s voice.
“Fuck you Jase, I’m not going to sit back and …”
“Where are you right now?” He said, cutting in and sounding more than a little on edge.
“Why what’s going on?” Grace asked, reluctant to share her location because she knew full well that he would come to her.
“Grace, just tell me where you are.” Her colleague and lover said with more urgency.
“At the Old George in Bethnal Green,” she picked up on his concern and decided to share where she was, before adding, “Why?”
“You need to get the fuck out of there right now.”
“Why? What’s….” Someone snatched the phone out of her hand and she spun around coming face to face with Nikko. He hung up the call and pocketed her phone in his trousers, before punching her hard in the face, taking her completely unawares, causing her to stagger into the wall.
“What the hell Nikko?” She snapped.
“Shut up Grace.” He said and she laughed.
“Seriously Nikko. What the fuck are you doing? Give me my phone back.” She replied holding her hand out waiting for him to return it.
“So, you can speak to your MI6 buddies again?” He said with an edge to his voice.
“What?” She replied, holding her nose as blood seeped through her fingers, feeling totally confused.
“I know exactly what’s going on.” He stated.
“Well I’m pleased that one of us does because I don’t have a clue.” She replied irritated now.
“Nice try. But I’m not an idiot.”
“Nikko what the hell are you talking about? Why have you got my phone?” She snapped.
Nikko grabbed her arm yanking her back into a small tap room where the real locals drank every day and night. Grace yelled at her informant before pulling her arm free, but glancing round she saw that right now the room was suspiciously empty. All the deadbeats were gone. It was just her, Nikko, and the man behind the small bar who was watching the two of them like a hawk.
“What the fuck is this?” She said as her would-be assailant nodded to the barman who moved to close and lock the room door.
“Nikko…” She began, but he smacked her again, hard around her face sending her flying.
“Shut up the fuck up Grace.” He said, before adding, “Tell them I’ve got her.” Nikko said to the bar man.
“Message sent.” Came the quick reply, and Grace looked between them.
“Nikko what the hell is this?” She asked her heart now racing and realising that whatever the hell was going on she was in deep shit. Seriously deep shit.
“Let’s go.” Nikko said to the ‘barman’ grabbing Grace as she lashed out fighting him. He struck her again but this time she threw a return punch, curling her fist as best she could despite the strappings to her fingers and feeling the pain as she made contact with his face.
He groaned loudly as the other guy grabbed her arms but she threw him off, and Nikko launched himself at her, flooring her, punching, kicking, slamming his body into her. She fought back but then there were two men on her and her arms were grabbed, pinning her down before her ‘informant’ landed his own punch hard on her nose and she felt more blood pouring, could taste it too. Nikko jerked his head towards the back, and the semi-conscious Grace felt herself being yanked down the corridor and half dragged outside to the back of the pub, where she was thrown unceremoniously down into the stack of empty beer crates.
“Hello, Special Agent Miller, welcome back.”
Grace looked up, horror etched into her pretty features as she focused on Omar and Markus’s grinning faces, knowing immediately that Nikko had sold her out.
To Be Continued …
The Old George Pub, Bethnal green Road, London
“I’m just going to pop to the ladies.” Grace said getting up and giving Nikko the opportunity to gather his thoughts before he shared with her what he knew, without making him feel like he was being interrogated. As she turned and walked away she knew that her informant's eyes would be on her ass covered in the tight denim of her jeans, and she smiled to herself, subconsciously giving him an extra little wiggle.
Nikko had worked with her ever since the Albanian Mission, the first time she was abducted by these bastards. He knew the London streets, knew the girls that were susceptible to being taken, had his ear to the ground and could say where most things were going down. He had found Grace after her ordeal back then a few years earlier, and she had made his life financially worthwhile ever since in return for intel.
She headed down past the bar and into the restroom. As she washed her hands her phone started buzzing. Sighing she quickly dried them against her jeans frowning at the name, seriously considering ignoring the call.
“Hey Jason, what’s up?” She asked as she walked back out and headed for the quiet space by the emergency exit.
“Are you fucking stupid or what?” It was Jason’s voice.
“Fuck you Jase, I’m not going to sit back and …”
“Where are you right now?” He said, cutting in and sounding more than a little on edge.
“Why what’s going on?” Grace asked, reluctant to share her location because she knew full well that he would come to her.
“Grace, just tell me where you are.” Her colleague and lover said with more urgency.
“At the Old George in Bethnal Green,” she picked up on his concern and decided to share where she was, before adding, “Why?”
“You need to get the fuck out of there right now.”
“Why? What’s….” Someone snatched the phone out of her hand and she spun around coming face to face with Nikko. He hung up the call and pocketed her phone in his trousers, before punching her hard in the face, taking her completely unawares, causing her to stagger into the wall.
“What the hell Nikko?” She snapped.
“Shut up Grace.” He said and she laughed.
“Seriously Nikko. What the fuck are you doing? Give me my phone back.” She replied holding her hand out waiting for him to return it.
“So, you can speak to your MI6 buddies again?” He said with an edge to his voice.
“What?” She replied, holding her nose as blood seeped through her fingers, feeling totally confused.
“I know exactly what’s going on.” He stated.
“Well I’m pleased that one of us does because I don’t have a clue.” She replied irritated now.
“Nice try. But I’m not an idiot.”
“Nikko what the hell are you talking about? Why have you got my phone?” She snapped.
Nikko grabbed her arm yanking her back into a small tap room where the real locals drank every day and night. Grace yelled at her informant before pulling her arm free, but glancing round she saw that right now the room was suspiciously empty. All the deadbeats were gone. It was just her, Nikko, and the man behind the small bar who was watching the two of them like a hawk.
“What the fuck is this?” She said as her would-be assailant nodded to the barman who moved to close and lock the room door.
“Nikko…” She began, but he smacked her again, hard around her face sending her flying.
“Shut up the fuck up Grace.” He said, before adding, “Tell them I’ve got her.” Nikko said to the bar man.
“Message sent.” Came the quick reply, and Grace looked between them.
“Nikko what the hell is this?” She asked her heart now racing and realising that whatever the hell was going on she was in deep shit. Seriously deep shit.
“Let’s go.” Nikko said to the ‘barman’ grabbing Grace as she lashed out fighting him. He struck her again but this time she threw a return punch, curling her fist as best she could despite the strappings to her fingers and feeling the pain as she made contact with his face.
He groaned loudly as the other guy grabbed her arms but she threw him off, and Nikko launched himself at her, flooring her, punching, kicking, slamming his body into her. She fought back but then there were two men on her and her arms were grabbed, pinning her down before her ‘informant’ landed his own punch hard on her nose and she felt more blood pouring, could taste it too. Nikko jerked his head towards the back, and the semi-conscious Grace felt herself being yanked down the corridor and half dragged outside to the back of the pub, where she was thrown unceremoniously down into the stack of empty beer crates.
“Hello, Special Agent Miller, welcome back.”
Grace looked up, horror etched into her pretty features as she focused on Omar and Markus’s grinning faces, knowing immediately that Nikko had sold her out.
To Be Continued …
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Sharkman
Governor
Holy sh ...! I do not anticipate this kind of trouble. Maybe Lace. But not Grace again. What are you doing, @Fossy? And where is old Dino Moore? 'The Man with the Golden Gun (1974)' to finish these bastards. But wait ... is there a cross in an old deserted factory building. O.K. my kinky fantasy is strolling around. @Loin, what do you think?