Sexpionage III

[Fossy]

This is a new thread for the Sexpionage Series. We have moved it from Fantasy Forums to the Forum for member's own works. I hope that it is the right place. The story so far can be found at the following threads:

SEXPIONAGE I

SEXPIONAGE II

But as most of you will recall, we left the previous series, Full Circle and the final part, Death's Witness, with Ekaterina having being murdered by Colonel Anatoly Andreytov of the SVR, and Special Agent Grace Miller having been turned into a double agent under the duress of threats to her family.

We now pick up the story again with the new series, 'New Beginnings', and Part I, 'Grief Laid Bare' ...

Grief Laid Bare (1)

The Final Chapter of Death's Witness can be found here

******

In the immediate aftermath of ‘Death’s Witness’ …


A grassy incline bordering Lambeth Cemetery, London


Grace didn’t smile much, she hadn’t since her return, but at this very moment there was a pensive expression playing on her lips as she remembered the wonderfully special girl that she had loved so very much. Cherished memories of her best friend and lover’s beautiful face and twinkling eyes made it so hard to imagine her laid out cold in a wooden casket, her broken body cleaned up and stitched back together by the funeral embalmer. As she looked down upon the scene from the small hillside at the cemetery’s border, Special Agent Miller fought to hold back the tears, but they were unstoppable and flowed relentlessly through flickering eyelids and trembling lips, streaking her cheeks with the marks of her sadness.

Unlike the typical stormy day depicted in books and movies, the Sunday of the funeral dawned bright and sunny with large patches of blue surrounding the white fluff of pretty clouds.

“Stay away Miller, please,” Marcus Devonshire, the Head of MI6, had advised, “… otherwise you become nothing but a target.”

He didn’t know that Grace, one of his most experienced Agents, an operative hated by the secret service boss, was now operating as a Double Agent for the Russian SVR (see Death’s Witness). Grace knew he was responsible for her abduction and torture and also for the death of Ekaterina. She would never forget that …

But, despite the logic in Devonshire’s advice, Grace couldn’t stay away from the sombre, sad occasion. The small funeral of the girl she adored was the last chance that Special Agent Miller would ever have to pay any respects before Kat was buried deep in the ground. She still found it impossible to accept that Ekaterina had gone, and that appalling day still plagued both her living and sleeping nightmares. Reminders of being forced to watch as her friend and lover’s body was slashed and cut, before her throat was finally sliced open and thick ribbons of Kat’s lifeblood spilled down her already shattered body.

She felt sick. Grace always felt sick these days.



Marcus Devonshire put the top down on his bright yellow convertible, and forced himself to enjoy the beautiful day while pulling into the cemetery through the ornate stone Victorian Gates. Grace sneered as she looked down at the ostentatious vehicle.

“You could have come in a Black staff car, you disrespectful bastard,” she muttered to no-one but herself.

As the conspicuous car drove slowly down the winding road, a man dressed in a black suit, white shirt and black tie, shouted from the curb, “Marcus, over here.” Devonshire looked confused that the man knew his name and even more surprised when he approached the car and said, “You’re Marcus Devonshire, right? Pull over here … please.” He crooked his finger toward the curb. As he said that, several dark coated figures moved towards the parked car, MI6 security operatives, sensing danger.

“How do you know my name?” The Head of MI6 asked, holding out his palm to keep his security team at bay, whilst wondering who exactly had the audacity to address him like this.

“That’s of no concern.” The black-suited man replied, leaning in so that he could speak in more confidential tones. “… All I will say is that you need to seriously consider how and why Special Agent Grace Miller returned from the abduction that saw Ekaterina Novikova killed. Can she ever be trusted again? You need to be certain.”

And with that the man left as abruptly as he had appeared.

As his security detail retreated, Devonshire took a moment to think about what the man had said.

Who was he? Why was he interested?

The seed he had sown about Miller was one that had already been germinating inside his head. Could she be trusted? Why had they let her go when Novikova was so brutally murdered? All Grace had said was that she had very little memory of her time in captivity and had no idea how or why she had been found naked in a field alongside Kat’s dead body.

As Marcus Devonshire, recently appointed Head of MI6, got out of the car he was still lost in thought.


To Be Continued …

We have tagged the followers from Death's Witness to ensure that you all find the new location for the series. I hope and trust that is okay with everyone ... @old slave @Lace @thehangingtree @Heineudo @Barbaria1 @twonines @Eulalia @Ted Parry @ron23333 @Sharkman @Loinclothslave @catOnine @Kathy @bobinder @napin

Please all, enjoy.

 

[Loinclothslave]

And so the ride begins anew!

as most of you will recall, we left the previous series, Full Circle and the final part, Death's Witness, with Ekaterina having being murdered by Colonel Anatoly Andreytov of the SVR,

How could I ever forget? I don’t know if I’m angrier at Andreytov or Devonshire….

Grace didn’t smile much, she hadn’t since her return, but at this very moment there was a pensive expression playing on her lips as she remembered the wonderfully special girl that she had loved so very much.

You’re not alone, Grace!

“Stay away Miller, please,” Marcus Devonshire, the Head of MI6, had advised, “… otherwise you become nothing but a target.”

Why don’t you just stick it where the sun don’t shine you complete bastard?

Grace knew he was responsible for her abduction and torture and also for the death of Ekaterina. She would never forget that …

Neither will I!

She felt sick. Grace always felt sick these days.

Oh, should we be expecting a twist?

Marcus Devonshire put the top down on his bright yellow convertible

Ostentatious arsehole, have you not even the wit to put up a good front? Despicable, odious man!

You’re Marcus Devonshire, right? Pull over here … please.”

Oh wow, my hopes are raised, could this be an assassin?

“… All I will say is that you need to seriously consider how and why Special Agent Grace Miller returned from the abduction that saw Ekaterina Novikova killed. Can she ever be trusted again?

Oh, a dirty rat!!

As Marcus Devonshire, recently appointed Head of MI6, got out of the car he was still lost in thought.

That’d be a first, you callous prick!

—————————

Am I making it too obvious who I’m barracking for?

Now leave me a moment for my grief as I kneel in front of Ekaterina’s casket and weep…

 

[Barbaria1]

barracking

New word for me … barracking … never heard that one before.

Special Agent Miller fought to hold back the tears, but they were unstoppable and flowed relentlessly through flickering eyelids and trembling lips, streaking her cheeks with the marks of her sadness

Grace is not alone. I think we’re all in mourning.

 

[Loinclothslave]

New word for me … barracking … never heard that one before.

I assume you looked it up, in real English speaking countries “rooting” means “fucking” so we all have a giggle when they play that old baseball song “…Root, root, root for the Dodgers … because it’s one, two, three strikes you’re out in the old ball game!”

Makes me think of a massive orgy where the challenge is to cum in 3 strokes? A bit quick, but otherwise a lot more interesting sounding than baseball!

Therefore we barrack for a team!

 

[Fossy]

Grief Laid Bare (2)


In the immediate aftermath of ‘Death’s Witness’ …


A grassy incline bordering Lambeth Cemetery, London


As the hillside wind caught her unfettered hair, Grace felt his presence before hearing his voice. The man in the black suit and tie with the white shirt leaned into the Special Agent from behind, his lips at her ear … his breath spreading out like a warm blanket over her cheek.

She knew him only as Yuri, but his tones were familiar. Since that fateful day a few short weeks ago this man had become her handler for the SVR, and now here he was again.

“I have sown the seed and he will want to interrogate you Special Agent Miller …” His voice was calm, infused with gleeful malevolence. Grace swallowed harder than she hoped she would have to.

“Do you understand?” He pushed the point.

The girl nodded and whispered, “Yes, I understand.”

“And you will fight it, tell them nothing until they force it from you. Everything must appear authentic.”

Once again Grace nodded, but this time as her head slowly moved, she felt a hand pulling at her jacket, moving it so that searching fingers could access the button fastening on her tight jeans.



“Please … don’t.” She was here to remember her best friend and lover, not to be humiliated by an undercover SVR Agent.

“Are you considering refusing me?” His tone was assertive, he knew that the girl would submit to him, she had to … Grace Miller had no choice any more.

“N … no, but please, not here … not today.”

Ignoring her pleas, the man pushed the button free, and then continued with his instructions. “When your British colleagues think they have worn you down and you have begged them to believe that you remember nothing, you will then tell them that along with the Russians there was also an American present in the basement of that restaurant.”

Now Grace gasped, in part because of his words but, in truth, her breath hitched because his fingers had wound down her zipper.

“A … an American?” She questioned, her hips squirming a little as his fingers slid inside the top edge of her panties, “W … Why would there be an Am … American?”

For a few seconds her assailant said nothing as his long index finger split Grace’s moistening labia.

“Pl … please, stop,” she begged again, knowing that her implorations would be to no avail.

“Because we want to break this cosy relationship the UK has with its masters across the ocean, and you will be the catalyst. If we divide America and Britain then the Motherland can begin to cause chaos in your little island.”

“B … but why would there be an American there, I … ohhhhhh … will need a story to be cred … fuck, ohhhhh fuck … credible.”

“You will tell them that the Americans paid Russia so that they could be involved. Tell them they want to ease sanctions on Belarus …”

“Oh, fucking hell …” Her articulate groan was unstoppable as he pushed the finger inside her body.

“Open your thighs Special Agent Miller,” he hissed into her ear as a second digit was added to the penetrative force. Unwittingly his instruction was carried out when his splayed fingers forced her thighs to open.

“Oh … nooo … ohhhhh!” The man’s thumb pressed hard against Grace’s rapidly engorging clit.

“… and that Novikova was a thorn who knew too much about the skeletons in the Belarusian cupboard, some of which involve the United States from when Ekaterina was in Washington many years ago …”

“I’m going to cu … oh please, don’t do this …” The Special Agent fought the rising sensation of unwanted ecstasy.

“You will tell your employers that The Russians wanted Novikova dead, but the Americans wanted it more, and that you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Reveal to MI6 that the Russians let you go without the Americans knowledge so that you could reveal the fact that the United States was present at Novikova’s death.”

“Oh God …” Grace’s knees almost gave way as he moistened her slit.

“Give them a name. tell them that Joseph Whiley was the American involved. Do you understand?”

“Y … yes …” Grace groaned.

“Repeat the name back to me.”

“J … Jo … Joseph Whiley.” Grace whispered, now barely able to speak.

The man chuckled and worked his touch faster and deeper.

The quiet noise of the funeral seemed to dim. Breathless, Grace was beyond caring whether or not anyone could see them. This man was in charge now, and, despite the unlikely setting, she felt her juices rising.

“Please,” she whispered.

Then she cried out as the orgasm with its waves of unwitting pleasure began to wash over her.

“Please what, whore? You want me to make you cum?”

“N … No … N … Yes … oh fucking hell … Yes.’

“Who do you work for,” he asks as his fingers increase their tempo, his touch exuding loathsome confidence.

“Tell me”, he insists as Grace feels a climax building.

“Y … you,” she stutters, “… the SVR.” Her knees sag and his hands take more of her weight. And then she’s there, juddering and shaking around him. She stifled a cry, but could not hold back the long, loud groan.

Her legs were still shaking as he withdrew his hand and said, “What will happen if you betray us and tell them you’re a double agent?”

Gasping for breath Grace managed to say “Lloyd … and my parents …”

“What of them?”

“You will kill them.”

“Yes, we will. Never forget that Ms Miller.”

Grace was still reeling as the man disappeared as quickly as he came. Did they really just do that? Did she really just have an orgasm on a small hill at the side of her best friend’s funeral?

Like a Russian whore?

Is that who she now was?


To Be Continued …

 

[Loinclothslave]

Wow, okay, are you deliberately trying to get me to like Grace more now? Her submission there was intensely erotic, she just let him use her like a cheap whore begging for it! To make her betray everything she once stood for? I hope she gets the punishment she’s clearly aching for?

 

[Barbaria1]

“Because we want to break this cosy relationship the UK has with its masters across the ocean, and you will be the catalyst. If we divide America and Britain then the Motherland can begin to cause chaos in your little island.”

“You will tell them that the Americans paid Russia so that they could be involved. Tell them they want to ease sanctions on Belarus …”

ripped from the headlines? Wow!

And a hot chapter too … almost had me opening the zipper of my own jeans … powerful descriptive lines!

 

[Fossy]

Grief Laid Bare (3)


The day following Kat’s funeral …


A stone cell in the basement of the MI6 SIS HQ in Vauxhall, London


Grace was in a soft bed. The sunlight was streaming in through the window, spreading warmth over her skin in long comforting stretches. She could smell Kat next to her and she turned to kiss her neck, letting her hand wander down the scarred flesh of her stomach and then lower, until she could cup the naked mound.

Her lover sighed and pushed upwards into Grace’s touch, who fondled and massaged, loving the way the smooth pussy softened and became wet.

The Special Agent kept her eyes closed as she moved once more to nibble at Kat’s shoulder and kiss her collar bone. She adored her friend and lover’s tormented skin ... every welt and scar, the marks of Ekaterina’s torture. The older, blonde girl tasted sweet and smelled of Gucci’s Flora, Ekaterina’s, and now Grace’s, favourite perfume.

But there was the smell of something in the room. Something not quite right. Grace tried to ignore it, climbing between her lover’s open thighs and aligning their soaking wet pussies. With throbbing labia pressed tightly together the Special Agent began to writhe, slowly, so that they could both feel every little spasm of pleasure.

The younger girl loved the way Kat moaned, the soft little grunts of pleasure that came from her moist lips. She leaned down so that their mouths could connect, Kat’s hands coming up to brush against her nipples and squeeze at her breasts.

Grace moaned too. “Oh Kat, I want you so much,” she breathed.

But something was pulling at her. A reflection in the mirror, the shining of the sun coming in through the window. Kat’s hands were on her lover’s hips, pulling gently further into their embrace, until they enjoyed a rhythmic coupling. Then Grace felt a tightening in her chest and coughed, trying to cover it by turning her head sideways.

Kat pulled the pretty face before her back to face her own, kissing the swollen lips passionately as she flipped Grace onto her back and took the dominant position, slamming her cock deep into the younger girl’s body …

Wait … What?

Her cock?

Grace gasped, tilting her head backwards as Kat began to piston in and out of her, the shaft of the suddenly manifested erection long, hard and thick. The younger girl clenched around it like a vice, feeling her insides start to tingle at the pleasure that was building.

The Special Agent’s toes curled as she let her arms fall behind her head.

“I love you, Grace Miller,” her lover breathed into Grace’s ear.

“I love you too,” Grace repeated back.

Kat leaned her face in closer and bit down onto the Special Agent’s earlobe, pulling it out, stretching it before releasing it.

Grace gasped.

“You’re such a horny little cunt,” Kat said to her. The younger girl groaned.

“You’re humping my fingers, you whore.” The voice came again, only now it didn’t make sense. Grace pulled her hands up to run her fingers through her hair, but something was holding them in place. Her legs were still free. She heard laughter … just an echo of it, far off. Like it was in another room.

“Kat?”

“Go ahead and suck them into your body little whore,” the voice told her.

It wasn’t right. The voice was male and she was being vigorously finger-fucked. The pressure between her legs was building.

“Our little traitorous spy is a wanton slut,” the voice said.

This is wrong, Grace thought. She pulled at her hands, but they were still caught ... bound tightly.

“What? Where am …” she started, but Grace’s words were cut short as she was slapped hard across the face.


Earlier that same day - Grace Miller’s one-bedroomed apartment, Tower Hamlets, London


Grace found it hard to do anything. Her thoughts were filled with images of Ekaterina Novikova, her friend and lover … it was especially hard because she couldn’t openly express her grief. Marcus Devonshire, the bastard, had warned her to stay away from the funeral because she could easily be a target … what did he care, he was the one who had sent Kat and herself to their death anyway!

But there was also Jason. Major Jason Underhill, Kat’s other love, the man who had left his wife and children to be with her. Jase knew nothing about Grace’s feelings for his girlfriend, and certainly nothing about their sexual relationship. Special Agent Miller hadn’t spoken to Jason since they returned from the ordeal in the Soho basement just a few short weeks ago.

‘They …’

Grace couldn’t stop thinking about Kat as if she was still alive and about to walk through the door at any moment. She began to cry again, she was always crying. The Special Agent was more unfit for duty than she had ever been before, but this time there would be no period of rest, no sabbatical, no counselling. Devonshire was not about to sanction any formal recovery plan for an Agent he wanted to get rid of, and now that she was a lap dog for the SVR she was forced to be on duty.

Should she end it all?

Grace stared down at the box of Illicit alprazolam. Xanax by any other name, but buying the more raw form ‘on the street’ was the easiest way to get what she wanted in the UK. But what did she want?

Two of these several times a day kept her dazed enough to relieve the anxiety and grief just a little, but twenty of them could kill her …

Should she …

Grace tipped the tablets into her hand, and looked at them. There was way more than twenty … this would do it. All she had to do was open her mouth, tip them in and swallow. She already had water close at hand to help.

But what about Lloyd, mummy and daddy. What would her death do to them? Especially in this manner. If she died like this maybe the SVR would kill her family out of spite. No, she couldn’t even risk that.

Shit … shit … fucking hell!

Grace tipped the tablets back into the bottle and wiping her eyes she opened Google on her Apple Mac.



‘Joseph Wiley’ she typed in the name that the man, Yuri, her handler, had given to her earlier.

Joseph J Whiley II was sworn in as the 71st U.S. Secretary of State on January 26, 2020.

The Secretary of State, appointed by the President with the advice and consent of the Senate, is the President's chief foreign affairs adviser. The Secretary carries out the President's foreign policies through the State Department, which includes the Foreign Service, Civil Service, and U.S. Agency for International Development.

Damn, this guy is very senior. There’s no way that her story about him being present in the basement of the Russian Restaurant in Soho would be credible. She would need to work on this before Devonshire and his team got to work on her.

There was a knock on her apartment door.

“Who is it,” Grace spoke into the intercom whilst looking at the camera picture of the three men, none of whom she recognised.

“Special Agent Miller, we have a warrant for your arrest.”

Grace nodded to herself and buzzed them in. Taking the time for them to get to her door, which she had already opened, Grace put on her jacket and trainers, making sure to put the bottle of alprazolam into her pocket.

When the men appeared, she offered no resistance. They spoke no words, not even to quote the Miranda rights. This was no arrest, they were taking her for interrogation.

Grace looked into the eyes of the tallest as her wrists were manacled behind her back. She expected to be cuffed but what she didn’t expect was to hear herself whimper just a little as a long needle was pushed deep into her neck.


To Be Continued …

 

[Loinclothslave]

Mmmmmm, it seems sinful to sully such a scintillating chapter with something so prosaic as my words. Just so intensely erotic! The fantasy Ekaterina, that Grace loved her scars as much as I do… yes, I’m growing to admire Grace more and more now!

 

[Fossy]

Mmmmmm, it seems sinful to sully such a scintillating chapter with something so prosaic as my words. Just so intensely erotic! The fantasy Ekaterina, that Grace loved her scars as much as I do… yes, I’m growing to admire Grace more and more now!

I knew you would Loin' ...

 

[Sharkman]

“What? Where am …” she started, but Grace’s words were cut short as she was slapped hard across the face.

The first Thunderball (1965). Seems the warm-up still got to an end. Double agent. Is Grace still trained enough for that? Sure some rounds in SVR HQ would be a good preparation prior. But maybe there's an away match in one of these nice prisons in the east. @Lion, I am sure Grace will be teached as well as Kat. But we heard nothing of dino Moore. Why he didn't attend Kat's funeral?

 

[Fossy]

The first Thunderball (1965). Seems the warm-up still got to an end. Double agent. Is Grace still trained enough for that? Sure some rounds in SVR HQ would be a good preparation prior. But maybe there's an away match in one of these nice prisons in the east. @Lion, I am sure Grace will be teached as well as Kat. But we heard nothing of dino Moore. Why he didn't attend Kat's funeral?

Hey Shark', how Grace responds to this situation - Kat's death, double agent family being threatened remains to be seen. The funeral would have been small and secretive so its highly unlikely that Roger Moore would gave been invited. Keep watching this space though ...

 

[Fossy]

Grief Laid Bare (4)


The day following Kat’s funeral …


A stone cell in the basement of the MI6 SIS HQ in Vauxhall, London


When Grace woke up her head hurt, her throat was sore, and she knew that she was naked. She blinked a few times. There was a light shining in her eyes, which was bright enough such that even when she closed her eyes it seemed to pierce through her eyelids.

“Good morning, little spy,” a voice said. The Special Agent opened her eyes again, trying to narrow them to find who was speaking. There was a shape silhouetted against the brighter backdrop.

The voice stepped forward, in front of the light. Grace knew him, sort of. She had met him a few times, she thought. One of Roger Moore’s, and now Marcus Devonshire’s little pets, someone who had no name but had a reputation ... An interrogator. His hair was blond and cut short in a military buzz-style, his eyes a piercing blue. He was wearing dark jeans and a white shirt. His biceps rippled with muscles. Grace eyed him, trying to remember his name. “Do you want to make this easy Special Agent Miller? We know what you are, so tell us everything and then we can untie you.”

Grace gulped. She pulled at her hands, but they were indeed tied to the ends of what she now knew was a wooden chair. The contents of her dream, about making love with Kat, lingered. The realisation that her dead lover was not really in her life and that everything that felt so real had just been a sleep fuelled fantasy made Grace’s stomach lurch as a profound sadness descended upon her once more.

The man laughed. “You were feeling quite horny, we could tell, from the way you were trying to fuck my fingers. You’ve got a very wet pussy Special Agent Miller.”

“Fuck you,” Grace spat, in response.

“Ah, little spy,” the man smiled. “I suppose we should take you and start the interrogation, no? Mister Devonshire will want to know everything that you can tell us about your new masters in the Motherland” He moved his face closer to Grace and added, in a menacing tone, “… Believe me when I tell you, little spy, that you will tell us everything you know.”

Grace knew that they couldn’t possibly know the truth, but she still felt a shiver run down her spine, making the hair on the back of her neck stand up. There was something icy in the way he spoke, and underpinning his words, Grace could sense a hint of pleasure. She let out a long exhalation and then shook her head, steeling herself in as stoic a manner as she could manage.

“I have nothing to tell. I have already made my statement covering everything that I can recall.”

The imposing back-lighting masked the way his smile grew as she refused to say anything more, but then suddenly the light went off, and she was left blind with only colours and outlines burning into her retinas. The man approached her, leaning down to whisper in her ear.

“I’m going to enjoy this,” he whispered softly. “I’m going to enjoy every one of your screams Special Agent Miller.”



Grace pressed her lips together and pulled against the restraints. Her legs were semi free, at least, they weren’t bound as tightly as her arms were. She thrashed on the wooden seat, sensing how open her pussy was following this bastard touching her while she was still dazed. As she shifted her position, writhing on the chair, Grace felt a tingle between her legs …

‘Fucking hell, no, please do not let THAT sensation return. I do not want to feel any pleasure … not here, not now …’ these were the words milling around in her head as the bound girl’s core remained stimulated. Grace could feel the tension in her inner thighs, but she shook her head. No … not in front of this bastard who was about to torture her. But the man had seen her squirm and now his grin became a full-on beam.

“If you can get yourself off, then you might want to,” he said. It was like he was reading her mind. “If you can hump yourself to orgasm now, I’d recommend doing it. It’ll be the last pleasure you get … maybe ever.”

Grace felt her stomach drop at the threat. He wasn’t even veiling them. She knew, with certainty, that she would have to tell them something. But if she went with the ‘American’ story, and it was believed, then it could de-stabilise world peace if the UK retaliated. She needed to think and think fast …

Maybe they would kill her. Maybe the torture would end her life. That would be an easy culmination to the problem - her stomach was twisting into knots at the thought of it. But, despite being in full view of the man about to torture her, Grace she still refused to hump the ridges in the wooden seat.

She wouldn’t. She couldn’t.

After a second or two, the man shrugged. The light burns were just starting to fade from her vision as strong hands unfastened the ropes securing her limbs. Grace was pulled up and away from the chair to be forcibly herded out of the room.

Where were they taking her?


To Be Continued …

 

[Sharkman]

“I’m going to enjoy this,” he whispered softly. “I’m going to enjoy every one of your screams Special Agent Miller.”

I am sure there are more around here ... again tension increases ... not only the sensation between Miller's legs. @Lion, are all female agents of MI6 a little bit in submissive games? There must be a really high qualified recruiting unit. You can always trust On Her Majesty's Secret Service (1969).

 

[Fossy]

Grief Laid Bare (5)


The day following Kat’s funeral …


The cell complex in the basement of the MI6 SIS HQ in Vauxhall, London


Grace screamed and thrashed, trying to pull away from the men holding her or at least throw them off balance … that was until a fist crashed into her ribs making her stagger and cry out.

“Just get her strung up,” the man with ‘the voice’ said. Grace moaned trying to turn her head to see what was around her, but they were moving her too fast. Doors were being opened as they ushered her through into a damp, dark room. The atmosphere made Special Agent Miller shiver as her bare feet moved onto the old, cold stone. The space was large, wide and almost empty. The only accessories that Grace could see were shackles and manacles hanging from the walls and ceiling …



With wrists newly cuffed, her arms were pulled high and the cuff-chain pulled onto a large hook hanging from one of the ceiling chains. The hook was raised, manually, and so was Grace. By the time the chains were secured fast to the wall it was only Grace’s big toes that brushed the ground, with her entire body weight now hanging from her wrists and shoulders.

“Nghhhhhhh!” The bound girl shook her head and groaned unintelligibly.

The voice was back in front of her, only in her head he was no longer ‘the voice’, because she had put a name to him. Charlie Cooper. Known in MI6 circles simply as ‘The Bastard’. He was more than ruthless, more than simply evil, he was said to be the devil himself … and her nude, bound body was now at his complete mercy with him believing that she had become an SVR Agent. She would not confirm his suspicions … she could not!

“Grace Miller,” ‘The Bastard’ said, as her savoured the sound of her name. Taking a step forward he moved his face closer to hers, “Who took you Grace. Where did they keep you?”

The hanging girl paused, before responding. “You know all that I know already. I cannot remember. They beat me very badly and murdered my friend, I just can’t remember anything.”

Cooper grinned and nodded his head.

“Who do you work for Miller?”

“What? MI6 ... of course.”

Once again ‘The Bastard’ laughed.

“Okay, so we know that the Russians took you. We know that they killed Novikova … but what we don’t know is why they let you go.”

“If you don’t believe me, then fuck you,” Grace spat, literally, and the glob of spittle arced and landed on the stone floor, shining up at her in the dull light. Cooper raised an eyebrow and then, with a sneer on his face, he moved behind Grace and grabbed at her hair. The hapless girl grunted, a sound that was cut short as ‘The Bastard’ twisted her head sideways and kissed her, hard, forcing her mouth to open under his. Varying the pressure, he swept his tongue against her lower lip until she emitted the softest of moans.

At that point Cooper pulled back, a smile on his face. Then he angled his arm, fisted his hand and punched her in the kidneys.


Marcus Devonshire’s Office, SIS MI6 HQ, Vauxhall, London


“Sir this is the latest intelligence.”

Marcus Devonshire looked up at the MI6 Analyst standing by his desk, before looking back at the iPad tablet he had just been handed.

“Are you sure?”

“As sure as we can be Sir.”

“But why? It makes no sense.”

The Analyst looked back at the Head of nus Division and just smiled as if to say ‘It’s only my job to report the intel’.

“Okay thank you.” Devonshire dismissed the young man and immediately picked up his cell phone.

“I need to speak with the Foreign Secretary please. And yes, it’s very urgent.”

He held the line for a minute or two before the Foreign Secretary responded.

“Marcus, what can I do for you?”

“Sir, we have reports that the Americans killed Novikova after using the Russians to set the whole thing up.”

“What? That’s preposterous. Why on earth …”

“Belarus, Mister Secretary, Sir. The US wants to open up political channels again and place a minister inside Minsk. Novikova, they say, knew too much about what happened to the Belarusian diplomat in Washington all those years ago (see Swallow’s Nest).”

“What the fuck Marcus. You mean they know that Novikova killed Anatol Radkov all those years ago?”

“It would seem so Sir, and given that it happened on US soil, the Yanks wanted Novikova dead as much as the Russians it seems.”

“But back then Ekaterina Novikova worked for the SVR, Marcus, and … fuck …” The reality dawned on the Foreign Secretary. “So, several years ago, a Russian Agent killed a Belarusian Diplomat on American soil, and now the Americans want to sweep all of that under the carpet and open up diplomatic channels with Belarus again.”

“It would make some sort of sense Sir, that the Russians and Americans have just combined their forces to murder an MI6 Agent in the UK’s own backyard.”

There was silence on the call, until the UK’s Foreign Secretary spoke again. “And so now we know, the question you and I have to answer is, what do we do about it?”


To Be Continued …

 

[Wragg]

I'm not sure if you've come across this, Fossy:



It's my 'loathometer' and it relates to Charlie Cooper, not your story - if you can make me loathe someone then you're doing a grand job!

 

[Loinclothslave]

“Latest intelligence “ - who’s feeding them this intel - Philby?

From Russia With Love (1963)

 

[twonines]

I assume you looked it up, in real English speaking countries “rooting” means “fucking” so we all have a giggle when they play that old baseball song “…Root, root, root for the Dodgers … because it’s one, two, three strikes you’re out in the old ball game!”

Makes me think of a massive orgy where the challenge is to cum in 3 strokes? A bit quick, but otherwise a lot more interesting sounding than baseball!

Therefore we barrack for a team!

I am afraid that the opposite is true, "Barracking" is insulting, booing or making disparaging remarks about someone, particularly, in sport, the opposing team.

 

[Ted Parry]

"Barracking"

Famously used to great effect in Ashes cricket matches between England and Australia ...
Just as the bowler was starting his run up to deliver the ball, an Aussie would say something like "your sister snores" to the batsmen ...
England’s captain during the scandalous Bodyline series, Douglas Jardine, was swatting away a persistent fly when an Aussie uttered the single most famous witticism, “Leave our flies alone. They’re the only friends you’ve got here.”

 

[twonines]

Or, James Ormerod, a very average English cricketer, being barracked (sledged) by Mark Waugh and replying "At least I`m the best cricketer in my family."