Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Watch this space 99
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Sexpionage ...
- Thread starter Fossy
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Exceptional writing! I have to say, Fossy, your prose, your ability to write deep description and make scenes come alive, is something to be both admired and enjoyed. I felt as though I was with Yulia from Lombard Street to the fifth floor rendezvous and back again. So real! Like watching a movie. So very well done.. Excuse my gushing.
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Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Gush away Barb!
Thank you much appreciated ...
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Big surprise!
It seems to be a pattern with her handlers, screw up and let Yulia pay.
That's a relief. Just what was planned.
Excellent writing. But really Fossy. Can't Yulia ever catch a break?
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
You have to respect the generosity of the British upper class!
I love the way they plead!
Ditto!
What is a manor house in Dartmoor without an old barn for torturing?
A man who has found his calling in life.
The very best kind of interrogation!
I had to look that up!
A man's gotta dream!
Speaking of dreaming, a dream of a story Fossy. I am most impressed by your clever plot manipulation!
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Thanks PrPr ... 'A break'? Possibly, but history suggests it could well get worse before it gets better ...
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
The Secrets that we Keep (2)
Yulia’s Apartment, Charlotte Street, Fitzrovia, London W1T 1RJ
“You have done very well Ekaterina …” Comrade Colonel Tretykov was using her first name and so he must be pleased. “The target has been, how shall we say, taken out of the front line.”
Ekaterina had given the name of M-Tech, a Russian Microchip manufacturer based in St Petersburg, to Julian Sands, a Russian Agent who was operating as the Head of Derivatives at the London based Bank of Moscow.
“I am pleased Comrade Colonel.”
“As am I Agent Novikova, please continue to use Mr Sands as your conduit back to the Centre as your relationship with Roger Moore develops. If we need you to call us again, we will get a message and a new burner to you. Now please destroy the phone and SIM Card that you are using.”
That had been a short while ago, and she had indeed destroyed both the burner phone and the SIM Card, and so now she stood by the dining room table in her smart apartment in Charlotte Street. Moore seemed to own the place … he certainly paid for it, and visited her regularly. He had broken and turned her in the Old Barn (see Government Plaything) and now she was his Agent, feeding whatever information he gave her back to the Centre and sharing the secrets of the Motherland with MI6.
The dining table was neatly arranged. Dinner was prepared. Yulia, which was Ekaterina’s nom opérationnel, looked at the plate and admired her beautiful work. Culinary school during her training at the Academy had been worth it. She couldn't wait for Roger to taste her cooking, even though he never gave her compliments.
And now, hearing the buzzer sound, Yulia felt her heart leap into her throat as she answered the door. She was nibbling on her bottom lip and focusing on the ground between her feet as she waited for the man outside to enter her apartment.
The Head of MI6 beamed at her as he entered her home. He was on time for the meal, as per their arrangement. He was always on time.
"Hello my lover, your food is ready," she said, winding her arms around his neck. She knew that she must play her part well if she wanted to keep him happy and maintain the safety of her family. But he took hold of her delicate wrists in his grip, and, as his cordial tones turned into a growl, he said, "Is that all you care about?"
She froze. Then replied, “Well, food is the way to man’s heart I understand.”
"You're a clever girl," he said with a slight smile. "I'm starting to like you."
Roger leaned in and kissed her, and then headed towards the prepared table, leaving Yulia confused from the awkward encounter. She followed him to the dining room where they sat and ate.
The Third Bedroom at Yulia’s Charlotte Street Apartment.
The sound of powerful vibrations filled the room.
Yulia struggled and strained as another powerful orgasm rocked through her body. She convulsed, muscles flexing and lust-fuelled passion rushing through her.
She would have screamed, had she been able, but a bright red piece of rounded rubber obstructed her mouth and reduced her cries to a muffled whimper.
The third bedroom in this apartment was the one that her lover kept locked and only he had the key. This was not the first time she had been brought into this room, and Yulia knew that it contained the instruments of both her pain and pleasure, the very devices that entertained Roger Moore and kept his desire for fetish satiated.
She wasn't sure how long she had been here. The unending enduring of climax after climax had left her body weak and her mind fuzzy.
“Did you enjoy that Yulia?” Of course, the question remained entirely rhetorical because all the bound girl could do was grunt.
She attempted once again to fight her bonds but her efforts were resisted and she ceased trying, surrendering to her fate. The machine that was positioned behind her exposed pussy continued to do its work and she could feel another orgasm begin its ascent. With the rhythmic precision that only a machine could muster, the large black dildo continued its assault on her trapped body.
The Agent’s legs were cramped and aching from being secured in the position she was in, limbs imprisoned between thick iron bars, chest down, legs spread out behind her, giving the machine ample access to her tender folds so that it could carry out its devilishly heinous work. The powerful vibrations that emanated from the device consumed her, she was sure that if she had not had something in her mouth to prevent it, her teeth might rattle out of her very head.
“You did well this week Yulia. Mister Sands reported back as we knew he would and the bait was taken.” MI6 knew exactly what went on in the office of Julian Sands because of the bugging device that Yulia had stuck under his desk. It was because could keep Mister Sands under close monitoring that the UK intelligence service left him in situ, meaning that they could control the channel back to the Moscow SVR Centre.
Each thrust of the machine sunk the long silicone shaft deep inside Yulia’s body, stimulating the sensitive nerve endings that lined the inside of her pussy, pressing hard against her g-spot. She had never experienced pleasure like this. So intense that it hurt as it rocked her body again and again. The helpless beauty twitched and shook as much as she could within the narrow range that her captivity allowed.
Yulia wasn't sure how much more she could handle, suspecting that too much more might exhaust her heart, the human body simply wasn't made to take this kind of overload! But she also knew that she could go on a long while yet. Whilst, in the here and now, the sensations being played out inside her might seem like the most intense stimulation ever, the Agent had she had suffered far worse.
Roger Moore smiled. He was still dressed in his suit, and although his groin bulged, he wasn’t touching himself in any way. He seemed to take his pleasure entirely from Yulia’s submission.
“So, Yulia …” Despite being bound, naked and constantly raped by this damnable fucking-machine, the poor girl sensed that she was about to be briefed on her next assignment … she was right.
“… the unrest in Belarus is becoming ever more intense …” Moore continued, “… We suspect that Russia is manipulating the actions of President Lukashenko, and that they are about to pressure him into further integration with the Federation. Most notably we understand that this could include a common currency controlled and issued by Moscow. This would have wide reaching ramifications and so we need to know the reality of what is happening.”
Agent Jelic squealed by way of response. She heard his words but the sensations were too great. Try as she might she could not fight it, she yearned for the vibrations to continue, for the mechanical cock to continue its intrusion into her body. She had never had sex like this, never experienced so many orgasms one after the other.”
“Haaghhhhplseeee!” Her hips rose to meet each perfectly timed thrust as the fucking machine continued its inexorable penetration with relentless perpetuity!.
The bright red ball gag kept the bound girl’s jaw wide open, a thick stream of drool continued to leak out of her mouth and pooled on the ground in front of her. She could grunt, and moan but nothing else. Her whole face ached from the unwelcome intrusion and she bit down again in frustration. Yulia was desperate to scream out in pleasure as another orgasm hit her but this stupid piece of rubber kept her muted.
Moore grinned down at the erotic spectacle before him. He had switched the machine into a lower gear, the vibrations softer and the thrusts spaced further apart. Instead of powering Yulia through one orgasm after another, now it was teasing her. Keeping her on the edge of her climax with a skill no human could ever muster. She moaned piteously, begging inside her mind for the machine to just make her cum … again. Her body ached with unsatiated pleasure.
All at once the vibrations shifted into overdrive and a powerful thrust practically lifted her from the bench with its force. Yulia screamed through her gag, the adrenalin rush forcing the cry out, and she convulsed in a seizure of pleasure. Time after time she felt the powerful release as the machine continued to screw her body relentlessly until the climax was over. But even as she momentarily hung limp and unresponsive, the machine did not stop …
To Be Continued …
Yulia’s Apartment, Charlotte Street, Fitzrovia, London W1T 1RJ
“You have done very well Ekaterina …” Comrade Colonel Tretykov was using her first name and so he must be pleased. “The target has been, how shall we say, taken out of the front line.”
Ekaterina had given the name of M-Tech, a Russian Microchip manufacturer based in St Petersburg, to Julian Sands, a Russian Agent who was operating as the Head of Derivatives at the London based Bank of Moscow.
“I am pleased Comrade Colonel.”
“As am I Agent Novikova, please continue to use Mr Sands as your conduit back to the Centre as your relationship with Roger Moore develops. If we need you to call us again, we will get a message and a new burner to you. Now please destroy the phone and SIM Card that you are using.”
That had been a short while ago, and she had indeed destroyed both the burner phone and the SIM Card, and so now she stood by the dining room table in her smart apartment in Charlotte Street. Moore seemed to own the place … he certainly paid for it, and visited her regularly. He had broken and turned her in the Old Barn (see Government Plaything) and now she was his Agent, feeding whatever information he gave her back to the Centre and sharing the secrets of the Motherland with MI6.
The dining table was neatly arranged. Dinner was prepared. Yulia, which was Ekaterina’s nom opérationnel, looked at the plate and admired her beautiful work. Culinary school during her training at the Academy had been worth it. She couldn't wait for Roger to taste her cooking, even though he never gave her compliments.
And now, hearing the buzzer sound, Yulia felt her heart leap into her throat as she answered the door. She was nibbling on her bottom lip and focusing on the ground between her feet as she waited for the man outside to enter her apartment.
The Head of MI6 beamed at her as he entered her home. He was on time for the meal, as per their arrangement. He was always on time.
"Hello my lover, your food is ready," she said, winding her arms around his neck. She knew that she must play her part well if she wanted to keep him happy and maintain the safety of her family. But he took hold of her delicate wrists in his grip, and, as his cordial tones turned into a growl, he said, "Is that all you care about?"
She froze. Then replied, “Well, food is the way to man’s heart I understand.”
"You're a clever girl," he said with a slight smile. "I'm starting to like you."
Roger leaned in and kissed her, and then headed towards the prepared table, leaving Yulia confused from the awkward encounter. She followed him to the dining room where they sat and ate.
The Third Bedroom at Yulia’s Charlotte Street Apartment.
The sound of powerful vibrations filled the room.
Yulia struggled and strained as another powerful orgasm rocked through her body. She convulsed, muscles flexing and lust-fuelled passion rushing through her.
She would have screamed, had she been able, but a bright red piece of rounded rubber obstructed her mouth and reduced her cries to a muffled whimper.
The third bedroom in this apartment was the one that her lover kept locked and only he had the key. This was not the first time she had been brought into this room, and Yulia knew that it contained the instruments of both her pain and pleasure, the very devices that entertained Roger Moore and kept his desire for fetish satiated.
She wasn't sure how long she had been here. The unending enduring of climax after climax had left her body weak and her mind fuzzy.
“Did you enjoy that Yulia?” Of course, the question remained entirely rhetorical because all the bound girl could do was grunt.
She attempted once again to fight her bonds but her efforts were resisted and she ceased trying, surrendering to her fate. The machine that was positioned behind her exposed pussy continued to do its work and she could feel another orgasm begin its ascent. With the rhythmic precision that only a machine could muster, the large black dildo continued its assault on her trapped body.
The Agent’s legs were cramped and aching from being secured in the position she was in, limbs imprisoned between thick iron bars, chest down, legs spread out behind her, giving the machine ample access to her tender folds so that it could carry out its devilishly heinous work. The powerful vibrations that emanated from the device consumed her, she was sure that if she had not had something in her mouth to prevent it, her teeth might rattle out of her very head.
“You did well this week Yulia. Mister Sands reported back as we knew he would and the bait was taken.” MI6 knew exactly what went on in the office of Julian Sands because of the bugging device that Yulia had stuck under his desk. It was because could keep Mister Sands under close monitoring that the UK intelligence service left him in situ, meaning that they could control the channel back to the Moscow SVR Centre.
Each thrust of the machine sunk the long silicone shaft deep inside Yulia’s body, stimulating the sensitive nerve endings that lined the inside of her pussy, pressing hard against her g-spot. She had never experienced pleasure like this. So intense that it hurt as it rocked her body again and again. The helpless beauty twitched and shook as much as she could within the narrow range that her captivity allowed.
Yulia wasn't sure how much more she could handle, suspecting that too much more might exhaust her heart, the human body simply wasn't made to take this kind of overload! But she also knew that she could go on a long while yet. Whilst, in the here and now, the sensations being played out inside her might seem like the most intense stimulation ever, the Agent had she had suffered far worse.
Roger Moore smiled. He was still dressed in his suit, and although his groin bulged, he wasn’t touching himself in any way. He seemed to take his pleasure entirely from Yulia’s submission.
“So, Yulia …” Despite being bound, naked and constantly raped by this damnable fucking-machine, the poor girl sensed that she was about to be briefed on her next assignment … she was right.
“… the unrest in Belarus is becoming ever more intense …” Moore continued, “… We suspect that Russia is manipulating the actions of President Lukashenko, and that they are about to pressure him into further integration with the Federation. Most notably we understand that this could include a common currency controlled and issued by Moscow. This would have wide reaching ramifications and so we need to know the reality of what is happening.”
Agent Jelic squealed by way of response. She heard his words but the sensations were too great. Try as she might she could not fight it, she yearned for the vibrations to continue, for the mechanical cock to continue its intrusion into her body. She had never had sex like this, never experienced so many orgasms one after the other.”
“Haaghhhhplseeee!” Her hips rose to meet each perfectly timed thrust as the fucking machine continued its inexorable penetration with relentless perpetuity!.
The bright red ball gag kept the bound girl’s jaw wide open, a thick stream of drool continued to leak out of her mouth and pooled on the ground in front of her. She could grunt, and moan but nothing else. Her whole face ached from the unwelcome intrusion and she bit down again in frustration. Yulia was desperate to scream out in pleasure as another orgasm hit her but this stupid piece of rubber kept her muted.
Moore grinned down at the erotic spectacle before him. He had switched the machine into a lower gear, the vibrations softer and the thrusts spaced further apart. Instead of powering Yulia through one orgasm after another, now it was teasing her. Keeping her on the edge of her climax with a skill no human could ever muster. She moaned piteously, begging inside her mind for the machine to just make her cum … again. Her body ached with unsatiated pleasure.
All at once the vibrations shifted into overdrive and a powerful thrust practically lifted her from the bench with its force. Yulia screamed through her gag, the adrenalin rush forcing the cry out, and she convulsed in a seizure of pleasure. Time after time she felt the powerful release as the machine continued to screw her body relentlessly until the climax was over. But even as she momentarily hung limp and unresponsive, the machine did not stop …
To Be Continued …
Now THAT’s a machine!! Ohhhhhhhhhh
twonines
LIMERICUS
Available from all (dis)reputable retailers ------Now THAT’s a machine!! Ohhhhhhhhhh
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
The Secrets that we Keep (3)
SIS/MI6 Building, Vauxhall House, Vauxhall, London SE1
“He’s ordered you back to Moscow?” Roger Moore turned towards the window of his oak panelled office at the MI6 HQ in Vauxhall.
“Yes, after I made contact with the Comrade Colonel about the situation in Belarus. I have passport that is Belarusian, ‘Yulia’ is half-Belarusian … so he had called me back because he wants to discuss the part I can play in the current relationship between Belarus and the Motherland.” Yulia was sitting on the opposite side of Moore’s desk, legs crossed, which, despite the modest skirt she was wearing, still revealed a clear expanse of naked thigh.
Slowly the Head of MI6 moved behind her. She knew better than to follow his movements with her eyes, and when she felt her pony-tailed blonde hair pulled backwards, despite her audible gasp, it wasn’t an unexpected feeling.
“Should I let you go little swallow?” His lips were virtually brushing the Agent’s ear.
“You … owwww!” Moore pulled harder on her hair, his grip tightening.
“… You must … Master …”
Now the Senior Government Official laughed. He had taught her to call him Master, and he felt his groin stiffen every time she did.
“Are you telling me what I should do now Agent Jelic?”
“N … no of course not, but if you don’t then what reason can I give to the Comrade Colonel, and I can also use trip to find out about Belarus like you want me to.”
“Hmmmm true Yulia, but what if you decide not to come back?” As he said this his free hand slipped to the front of her body and underneath the short jacket that she wore. The girl gasped as his hand curled around her left breast, squeezing very tightly through the thin fabric of her shirt, rubbing his thumb over the centre, an action which, despite her wearing a bra, caused Yulia’s nipples to spring erect.
“I … I will come back, of course I will … owwww, please …”
Moore freed her from his double grasp and stood with a smirk on his still handsome middle-aged face.
“Yes, little swallow, I know you will.”
Ekaterina’s Allocated Room at the SVR HQ, Moscow
Ekaterina paused in the middle of moving her small luggage case into the bedroom, waiting to see if she could hear any sounds from the surrounding rooms, but the entire building was completely silent. Daring to feel a shred of relief, and hoping she might find a little peace and quiet before the Comrade Officers called her to see them, she set the bag next to her bed and began to wriggle out of her clothes.
The bedroom mirror caught her eye as she rummaged through her bag, and when she glanced at her reflection, her heart sank. A terrified woman stared back at her, unsteady with nerves, scared of the uncertainty that life offered to her. She was home, yet Ekaterina not only had to get used once again to being called by her own name, the beautiful Agent had to contend with the feeling that she was in the hands of the enemy. Her gorgeous blue eyes looked wide and staring, and the familiar hint of pink in her complexion had been swallowed up by an anxious pallor. Her collarbones jutted out just a little more than usual, and the slope of her shoulders was rigid. Her lips thinned. She needed to get a grip.
After Kat had slipped on a fresh white bra and swapped her skirt for a pair of yoga pants, she wandered around the room checking out the nooks and crannies. With a mug of hot coffee cradled to her chest she padded quietly towards the sliding glass door and walked out onto her meagre terrace.
The warm late Summer air played over her bare shoulders, and despite the setting sun Ekaterina shivered a little as she stared out into the world of lights and the sights of Moscow-by-evening beneath her.
She took a sip of coffee and wet her lips nervously. A clicking noise suddenly pierced the gloom behind her as a dim light bathed the living area room to her right. Kat immediately jerked her eyes towards the source of the noise and saw a figure standing tall looking at her.
His long body was engulfed in a black jacket and uniform pants, rendering him a silhouette. His dark eyes remained fixed upon her and panic immediately inflamed her stomach. The feeling only intensified as his gaze flitted briefly to observe the bare stretch of skin beneath her neck with faint interest. Her face burning, Kat wrenched her eyes away from him and slipped back through the terrace doorway into the room, moving reluctantly towards the menacing shape.
...And then hands were clutching at her shoulders, pulling at her.
Ekaterina's heart spluttered to a stop, and for a moment, the whole room was spinning in slow-motion. She writhed sluggishly against the fingers that were digging into her shoulder blades, and a sudden movement sent the mug flying from her hands. A hopelessly quiet yelp burst from her lips as the cup hit the base of the doorframe and the porcelain shattered. Hot drops of coffee splattered across Kat’s ankles. Her eyes crawled upwards and settled upon the intense gaze observing her, and she swallowed.
“Welcome back to Moscow Agent Novikova.”
The Office of Colonel Tretykov, SVR Headquarters, Moscow, Russia
“I am sorry for the clandestine nature of having you brought to my office …” Colonel Tretykov offered his apologies but no reason. Ekaterina did not expect any, “… are you well, Agent Novikova?”
Kat paused and then nodded, responding, “Yes, quite well Comrade Colonel Thank you.”
“Good. I understand that Mister Moore has installed you in your own West London apartment and you have become his mistress. Is that correct?”
Another pause. When Tretykov put it like that, so succinctly, it made her sound like a whore.
“Yes, Comrade Colonel, that is true.”
“And you have him fully turned Agent? Can you trust everything he is telling you?”
“I am convinced of it, Colonel Tretykov Sir, the information regarding M-Tech was genuine, was it not?”
“Yes, Agent Novikova it was. I am pleased that your London assignment is working out for you, and of course for us. But I am afraid that I have another mission for you, just for a day or two.”
Ekaterina remained silent, waiting for the colonel to continue.
“You asked me about the situation in Belarus. I am assuming that was because of your involvement with the Belarusians in the past?” (see Swallow’s nest and Blowback).
“Yes, Comrade Colonel.”
Tretykov, who had now turned to face his Agent, smiled and nodded.
“We have made great progress in bringing them, how should I say it, into the Federation’s Fold since your efforts undermined their stability with the Americans. Now the Belarusian President, President Lukashenko, is very enthusiastic about his relationship with the Motherland, including having us manage and control their treasury and currency release from Moscow.”
“That is good news Comrade Colonel,” Agent Novikova looked straight ahead as her training demanded.
“Indeed, it is. We know that his intentions to join with Russia are genuine, but we need to ensure that there are no rogue members of his Party. President Lukashenko has agreed to you visiting Minsk to help him make sure that he has everyone that he needs supporting him.”
Now Ekaterina looked directly at her superior officer. “But, Comrade Colonel, they still suspect me of killing their diplomat, Anatol Radkov, (see Swallow’s Nest), are you sure they will welcome me?”
Now the Colonel smiled, “President Lukashenko will do whatever we say, and so if we want you to be the Agent we send, then you will be welcomed, have no doubts about that.”
To Be Continued …
SIS/MI6 Building, Vauxhall House, Vauxhall, London SE1
“He’s ordered you back to Moscow?” Roger Moore turned towards the window of his oak panelled office at the MI6 HQ in Vauxhall.
“Yes, after I made contact with the Comrade Colonel about the situation in Belarus. I have passport that is Belarusian, ‘Yulia’ is half-Belarusian … so he had called me back because he wants to discuss the part I can play in the current relationship between Belarus and the Motherland.” Yulia was sitting on the opposite side of Moore’s desk, legs crossed, which, despite the modest skirt she was wearing, still revealed a clear expanse of naked thigh.
Slowly the Head of MI6 moved behind her. She knew better than to follow his movements with her eyes, and when she felt her pony-tailed blonde hair pulled backwards, despite her audible gasp, it wasn’t an unexpected feeling.
“Should I let you go little swallow?” His lips were virtually brushing the Agent’s ear.
“You … owwww!” Moore pulled harder on her hair, his grip tightening.
“… You must … Master …”
Now the Senior Government Official laughed. He had taught her to call him Master, and he felt his groin stiffen every time she did.
“Are you telling me what I should do now Agent Jelic?”
“N … no of course not, but if you don’t then what reason can I give to the Comrade Colonel, and I can also use trip to find out about Belarus like you want me to.”
“Hmmmm true Yulia, but what if you decide not to come back?” As he said this his free hand slipped to the front of her body and underneath the short jacket that she wore. The girl gasped as his hand curled around her left breast, squeezing very tightly through the thin fabric of her shirt, rubbing his thumb over the centre, an action which, despite her wearing a bra, caused Yulia’s nipples to spring erect.
“I … I will come back, of course I will … owwww, please …”
Moore freed her from his double grasp and stood with a smirk on his still handsome middle-aged face.
“Yes, little swallow, I know you will.”
Ekaterina’s Allocated Room at the SVR HQ, Moscow
Ekaterina paused in the middle of moving her small luggage case into the bedroom, waiting to see if she could hear any sounds from the surrounding rooms, but the entire building was completely silent. Daring to feel a shred of relief, and hoping she might find a little peace and quiet before the Comrade Officers called her to see them, she set the bag next to her bed and began to wriggle out of her clothes.
The bedroom mirror caught her eye as she rummaged through her bag, and when she glanced at her reflection, her heart sank. A terrified woman stared back at her, unsteady with nerves, scared of the uncertainty that life offered to her. She was home, yet Ekaterina not only had to get used once again to being called by her own name, the beautiful Agent had to contend with the feeling that she was in the hands of the enemy. Her gorgeous blue eyes looked wide and staring, and the familiar hint of pink in her complexion had been swallowed up by an anxious pallor. Her collarbones jutted out just a little more than usual, and the slope of her shoulders was rigid. Her lips thinned. She needed to get a grip.
After Kat had slipped on a fresh white bra and swapped her skirt for a pair of yoga pants, she wandered around the room checking out the nooks and crannies. With a mug of hot coffee cradled to her chest she padded quietly towards the sliding glass door and walked out onto her meagre terrace.
The warm late Summer air played over her bare shoulders, and despite the setting sun Ekaterina shivered a little as she stared out into the world of lights and the sights of Moscow-by-evening beneath her.
She took a sip of coffee and wet her lips nervously. A clicking noise suddenly pierced the gloom behind her as a dim light bathed the living area room to her right. Kat immediately jerked her eyes towards the source of the noise and saw a figure standing tall looking at her.
His long body was engulfed in a black jacket and uniform pants, rendering him a silhouette. His dark eyes remained fixed upon her and panic immediately inflamed her stomach. The feeling only intensified as his gaze flitted briefly to observe the bare stretch of skin beneath her neck with faint interest. Her face burning, Kat wrenched her eyes away from him and slipped back through the terrace doorway into the room, moving reluctantly towards the menacing shape.
...And then hands were clutching at her shoulders, pulling at her.
Ekaterina's heart spluttered to a stop, and for a moment, the whole room was spinning in slow-motion. She writhed sluggishly against the fingers that were digging into her shoulder blades, and a sudden movement sent the mug flying from her hands. A hopelessly quiet yelp burst from her lips as the cup hit the base of the doorframe and the porcelain shattered. Hot drops of coffee splattered across Kat’s ankles. Her eyes crawled upwards and settled upon the intense gaze observing her, and she swallowed.
“Welcome back to Moscow Agent Novikova.”
The Office of Colonel Tretykov, SVR Headquarters, Moscow, Russia
“I am sorry for the clandestine nature of having you brought to my office …” Colonel Tretykov offered his apologies but no reason. Ekaterina did not expect any, “… are you well, Agent Novikova?”
Kat paused and then nodded, responding, “Yes, quite well Comrade Colonel Thank you.”
“Good. I understand that Mister Moore has installed you in your own West London apartment and you have become his mistress. Is that correct?”
Another pause. When Tretykov put it like that, so succinctly, it made her sound like a whore.
“Yes, Comrade Colonel, that is true.”
“And you have him fully turned Agent? Can you trust everything he is telling you?”
“I am convinced of it, Colonel Tretykov Sir, the information regarding M-Tech was genuine, was it not?”
“Yes, Agent Novikova it was. I am pleased that your London assignment is working out for you, and of course for us. But I am afraid that I have another mission for you, just for a day or two.”
Ekaterina remained silent, waiting for the colonel to continue.
“You asked me about the situation in Belarus. I am assuming that was because of your involvement with the Belarusians in the past?” (see Swallow’s nest and Blowback).
“Yes, Comrade Colonel.”
Tretykov, who had now turned to face his Agent, smiled and nodded.
“We have made great progress in bringing them, how should I say it, into the Federation’s Fold since your efforts undermined their stability with the Americans. Now the Belarusian President, President Lukashenko, is very enthusiastic about his relationship with the Motherland, including having us manage and control their treasury and currency release from Moscow.”
“That is good news Comrade Colonel,” Agent Novikova looked straight ahead as her training demanded.
“Indeed, it is. We know that his intentions to join with Russia are genuine, but we need to ensure that there are no rogue members of his Party. President Lukashenko has agreed to you visiting Minsk to help him make sure that he has everyone that he needs supporting him.”
Now Ekaterina looked directly at her superior officer. “But, Comrade Colonel, they still suspect me of killing their diplomat, Anatol Radkov, (see Swallow’s Nest), are you sure they will welcome me?”
Now the Colonel smiled, “President Lukashenko will do whatever we say, and so if we want you to be the Agent we send, then you will be welcomed, have no doubts about that.”
To Be Continued …
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
That's the Ekaterina we know and love (to hurt)!
I have no doubt. However, what kind of a welcome is in doubt.
Double and triple agent plotting. I think I need a flow chart to figure who's side Kat is on now!
Amazing!
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
The Secrets that we Keep (4)
Outside the Arrivals Terminal at Minsk International Airport
She was collected by a black Range Rover from Minsk Airport. The driver was sullen and drove with the shaded security glass raised.
Yulia relaxed back into the plush leather seat. Her Aeroflot flight from Moscow to Minsk had taken one hour and thirty minutes and so she felt fresh and ready for whatever the assignment held.
She had called Roger Moore on a cheap ‘burner’ phone following which she had crushed the phone with the heel of her boot and dropped the SIM into a side-street drain.
“I will gather the intelligence you require Roger and find out whatever else I can. But I will be in Minsk for a few days, and then maybe back in Moscow for a debrief. But do not worry, I will be back with you in London as soon as possible.” She added after a slight pause, “Yes, I will miss you too.”
And now the beautiful Double-Agent was here in Minsk. The E30 was busy. It was rush hour and the forty-five-minute journey from the Airport to the Presidential building seemed to be taking forever. They had been on the road for a very long time and Yulia was beginning to doze. She looked out of the window and saw that the Range Rover had driven off the main highway and was slowing down as it pulled into what looked like a deserted suburb.
She leaned forward, tapped on the glass, which was obligingly opened.
“Excuse me, but I wish to go to the Palace of the Republic, not take a City Tour.”
“We stop now,” said the driver in deep monotonic tones. He stopped so suddenly that Yulia jerked forward and almost bumped her head on the glass. As she gasped and fell back in the seat both rear doors opened and two dark suited men got in, one either side of her.
“You make no noise,” the one to her left said as he held a long-bladed knife to her breast.
Yulia inhaled, aware that her situation seemed to have taken a turn for the worse. She certainly did not like the look of either man, but in such a confined space and with the sharp blade pushing against her flesh, there was nothing the Agent could do.
So, she chose to hold back any threats, did not mention the reason for her visit nor the name of Comrade Colonel Tretykov, and remained silent. The sharp point of the knife began to loiter at the top fastened button on her white blouse.
“Please don’t hurt me, I have money, Russian notes in my handbag. Take it, just don’t hurt me.” Yulia was playing scared in her best efforts to force them into being complacent.
The man on her right grinned. “We wouldn’t dream of harming a pretty little Babushka like you. All we intend to do is take you for a little ride.”
“No, no you can’t. I have a meeting, I must …” Yulia now voiced her objection. “I won’t give you any trouble, please, just don’t cut me.”
Now smirks lined the faces of both men. “Then you will behave for us like a good girl, but we need just to make sure.” From the side pocket of his jacket the man without the knife produced a small dark box. Having carefully laid it out on his lap, he opened the lid and took out a hypodermic needle.
“Oh shit,” was the thought that rushed into the Agent’s head. This had taken her by surprise, but with the knife blade still resting upon her breast there was nothing that Yulia could do. A moment later the needle was being pushed forcefully into her arm.
Somewhere in a suburb of Minsk, Belarus.
Yulia awoke to a headache and a bitter taste in her mouth. Her head felt hazy, her mind dazed by a peculiar feeling of half comfort and half pain. It was then she realised that she was tied to the frame of a bed, spread-eagled, each wrist handcuffed to the outside bar at the head of the iron frame, and each ankle similarly secured to the bars at the foot. She was naked.
Whilst that fact in itself did not cause her the embarrassment and humiliation her captors, whoever they were, might assume, her overall predicament was very much a cause for concern.
The room was warm and as far she could tell they had not ‘done’ anything to her as yet, apart from strip and secure her, of course. They had removed her jewellery, her ear rings and necklace but a short turn of her head and she them laying on a small table. For some reason the fact they were still there provided a kind of bizarre comfort to the bound Agent.
Yulia heard movement and turned her head once more, this time in the opposite direction. A woman had been seated all along in a chair by the window, and now she stood and moved towards the bed.
She was older than Yulia, in her forties perhaps, and had a cold, ruthless expression on her face. The woman turned towards the room door, which was slightly ajar.
“Arkady,” she called, “… the girl is awake.”
Fuck! Yulia thought, she was in deeper trouble than she might have supposed, though if she had been thinking clearly the Russian Agent would have guessed immediately who her kidnappers had to be, and now she was absolutely helpless unless they chose to release her.
There was a sound of heavy footfall on bare wooden stairs, and then the man known as Akady Bogdan came in, accompanied by two other men, one of them, somewhat melodramatically, carrying an RPL light machine gun, a Russian weapon that Yulia recognised straight away.
“Agent Novikova,’ Bogdan said with a slow, malicious undertone infusing his words, “You are every bit as beautiful as your photograph suggests, in fact in the flesh …” he paused to let his gaze roam every inch of her widespread naked body, “… you are even more striking.”
“Who are you?” Yulia countered.
The man smiled, “My name is Arkady Bogdan.”
“I assume you are Belarusian?”
“That is correct Agent Novikova,” he was using her real name, which wasn’t a good sign.
“Are you employed by the President’s office?” She now asked, hoping to shed some light on her unexpected predicament.
Slowly Bogdan shook his head, “No Agent Novikova I am not. I am an officer in the Uruchenskaya Brigade, part of Military Unit 3214”. (See note below).
Yulia gulped. She knew of this unit, a Belarusian Special Purpose Brigade, everyone in Russia did. They had a ruthless reputation for seeking out and putting down any Anti-Terrorism related problems. Is that why she was here … an Anti-Terrorist related problem?
“May I have something to drink please, my mouth is very dry.”
Bogdan snapped his fingers and a moment later the woman was holding a glass to Yulia’s parched lips, raising her head in order to do so. The bound girl knew the clear liquid was Vodka and not water and so she sipped instead of gulping it down. Her mouth burned but at least now some of the dryness had gone.
“You not like to finish the drink?” Bogdan smiled.
“No, thank you,” Yulia replied.
“Well, maybe later. You are very calm Agent Novikova.”
Deciding that a calm demeanour was the better part of any defence she was to mount, Yulia glared at him. “I am actually very angry. I have been sent here by order of the SVR to work as a part of President Lukashenko’s Office as our countries become closer allies. Did you know that?”
Once again, the man smiled, “Of course.”
Yulia continued, “Good, then you will also know that you will be arrested unless I am immediately released and should you or your men think about raping me then that will be considered an act of war!” The Agent sounded far more confident than she felt.
With the menacing expression that he wore on his face looking ever more threatening, Bogdan sat down on the bare mattress to which Yulia was secured. His presence caused a depression in the surface as he grinned, reached out, held her jaw and moved her head from side to side.
“What you do not realise Agent Novikova, is that I know everything about you. I know that you are a wanted criminal in Belarus”
Fuck! Fuck! Fuuuccckkk!
His hand moved from her jaw to stroke the smooth skin of her neck, caressing the flesh but squeezing with just enough pressure to let her know how strong his grip actually was. For all her determination not to panic, Yulia caught her breath.
“I also know the nature of your crimes. You arranged the execution of our Diplomat, Anatol Radkov, in Washington DC last year.” (See Swallow’s Nest).
‘Oh God, please help me …’ these words of pleading prayer were spoken inside her head.
To Yulia’s relief his hand left her neck, but then slid lower, and she realised that it was to be a very long evening that stretched out before her.
“Please just speak with Comrade Colonel Tretykov in Moscow, he will explain why I am here, I have immunity from …” Her words were silenced by a hard slap to her cheek, followed by the sound of hearty laughter.
“It is your so-called Comrade Colonel that arranged for you to be here Agent Novikova. Your arrest and detention in Belarus is part of the deal that our two Presidents have made if we are to, how did you say it … become closer allies.”
FUUUUCCCKKKKK! She had been set up by her own people. Did they know she was a double Agent for MI6? Was that why the bastard Tretykov had sold her out? Or was it simply that in the context of the greater good for the Motherland she was deemed to be expendable? Either way made absolutely no difference to the danger she was now facing. If only she could somehow get a message to Roger Moore, but he wasn’t expecting to hear from her for at least a few days. She was on her own … again.
“Are you going to put me on trial?”
Bogdan’s hand had reached her breasts and he caressed the firm curves, pulling at her distended nipples until she gasped.
“I am told you enjoy this Agent Novikova, being treated with sexual disregard, without consideration, bound and dominated.” The man grinned at her.
“Yes, you will be tried in a specially convened court, one that will sit just for you.
‘A specially convened court!’ Yulia knew what that meant …
Bogdan’s hands left her breasts and slid down to her flat, taught stomach whereupon he proceeded to gently massage the soft flesh. “You are marked with scars Agent, and these welts are from the whip, no?”
Yulia turned her head to one side, away from him, as his touch become ever more insistent.
“You will have to pay for your crimes Ekaterina Novikova, and I can promise you that you will beg for execution a long time before it comes.” He traced his index finger along the longest scar. “Did other people do this to you?”
Before she could answer his hand moved between her legs and his fingers began to probe. Yulia whimpered but forced herself to breathe through the invasion of her body, her chest rising and falling with an even motion.
“Oh yes,” Bogdan continued, “You will entertain us all before you die … So, for now why don’t you just lie back and enjoy it.”
Despite her best efforts, Yulia’s breath was now coming very hard, because no matter how determined she had been not to let him get to her, she could not prevent the sensations that were now spreading throughout her groin and into her stomach. If this bastard should bring her to orgasm here, in this manner, she would die of shame … but Kat could feel the climax steadily building as his touch became deeper within the slick moisture of her soft folds …
To Be Continued …
NOTE: The Minsk based 3rd Separate Red Banner Special-Purpose Brigade also known as Military Unit 3214 and nicknamed the Uruchenskaya Brigade is a formation of the Internal Troops of Belarus, is part of the Special Police system in the Belarusian Ministry of Internal Affairs. One of its primary roles is in Anti-Terrorism and is based in the district of Uruchie in Minsk and is under the command of Vladimir Zhiznevsky.
Outside the Arrivals Terminal at Minsk International Airport
She was collected by a black Range Rover from Minsk Airport. The driver was sullen and drove with the shaded security glass raised.
Yulia relaxed back into the plush leather seat. Her Aeroflot flight from Moscow to Minsk had taken one hour and thirty minutes and so she felt fresh and ready for whatever the assignment held.
She had called Roger Moore on a cheap ‘burner’ phone following which she had crushed the phone with the heel of her boot and dropped the SIM into a side-street drain.
“I will gather the intelligence you require Roger and find out whatever else I can. But I will be in Minsk for a few days, and then maybe back in Moscow for a debrief. But do not worry, I will be back with you in London as soon as possible.” She added after a slight pause, “Yes, I will miss you too.”
And now the beautiful Double-Agent was here in Minsk. The E30 was busy. It was rush hour and the forty-five-minute journey from the Airport to the Presidential building seemed to be taking forever. They had been on the road for a very long time and Yulia was beginning to doze. She looked out of the window and saw that the Range Rover had driven off the main highway and was slowing down as it pulled into what looked like a deserted suburb.
She leaned forward, tapped on the glass, which was obligingly opened.
“Excuse me, but I wish to go to the Palace of the Republic, not take a City Tour.”
“We stop now,” said the driver in deep monotonic tones. He stopped so suddenly that Yulia jerked forward and almost bumped her head on the glass. As she gasped and fell back in the seat both rear doors opened and two dark suited men got in, one either side of her.
“You make no noise,” the one to her left said as he held a long-bladed knife to her breast.
Yulia inhaled, aware that her situation seemed to have taken a turn for the worse. She certainly did not like the look of either man, but in such a confined space and with the sharp blade pushing against her flesh, there was nothing the Agent could do.
So, she chose to hold back any threats, did not mention the reason for her visit nor the name of Comrade Colonel Tretykov, and remained silent. The sharp point of the knife began to loiter at the top fastened button on her white blouse.
“Please don’t hurt me, I have money, Russian notes in my handbag. Take it, just don’t hurt me.” Yulia was playing scared in her best efforts to force them into being complacent.
The man on her right grinned. “We wouldn’t dream of harming a pretty little Babushka like you. All we intend to do is take you for a little ride.”
“No, no you can’t. I have a meeting, I must …” Yulia now voiced her objection. “I won’t give you any trouble, please, just don’t cut me.”
Now smirks lined the faces of both men. “Then you will behave for us like a good girl, but we need just to make sure.” From the side pocket of his jacket the man without the knife produced a small dark box. Having carefully laid it out on his lap, he opened the lid and took out a hypodermic needle.
“Oh shit,” was the thought that rushed into the Agent’s head. This had taken her by surprise, but with the knife blade still resting upon her breast there was nothing that Yulia could do. A moment later the needle was being pushed forcefully into her arm.
Somewhere in a suburb of Minsk, Belarus.
Yulia awoke to a headache and a bitter taste in her mouth. Her head felt hazy, her mind dazed by a peculiar feeling of half comfort and half pain. It was then she realised that she was tied to the frame of a bed, spread-eagled, each wrist handcuffed to the outside bar at the head of the iron frame, and each ankle similarly secured to the bars at the foot. She was naked.
Whilst that fact in itself did not cause her the embarrassment and humiliation her captors, whoever they were, might assume, her overall predicament was very much a cause for concern.
The room was warm and as far she could tell they had not ‘done’ anything to her as yet, apart from strip and secure her, of course. They had removed her jewellery, her ear rings and necklace but a short turn of her head and she them laying on a small table. For some reason the fact they were still there provided a kind of bizarre comfort to the bound Agent.
Yulia heard movement and turned her head once more, this time in the opposite direction. A woman had been seated all along in a chair by the window, and now she stood and moved towards the bed.
She was older than Yulia, in her forties perhaps, and had a cold, ruthless expression on her face. The woman turned towards the room door, which was slightly ajar.
“Arkady,” she called, “… the girl is awake.”
Fuck! Yulia thought, she was in deeper trouble than she might have supposed, though if she had been thinking clearly the Russian Agent would have guessed immediately who her kidnappers had to be, and now she was absolutely helpless unless they chose to release her.
There was a sound of heavy footfall on bare wooden stairs, and then the man known as Akady Bogdan came in, accompanied by two other men, one of them, somewhat melodramatically, carrying an RPL light machine gun, a Russian weapon that Yulia recognised straight away.
“Agent Novikova,’ Bogdan said with a slow, malicious undertone infusing his words, “You are every bit as beautiful as your photograph suggests, in fact in the flesh …” he paused to let his gaze roam every inch of her widespread naked body, “… you are even more striking.”
“Who are you?” Yulia countered.
The man smiled, “My name is Arkady Bogdan.”
“I assume you are Belarusian?”
“That is correct Agent Novikova,” he was using her real name, which wasn’t a good sign.
“Are you employed by the President’s office?” She now asked, hoping to shed some light on her unexpected predicament.
Slowly Bogdan shook his head, “No Agent Novikova I am not. I am an officer in the Uruchenskaya Brigade, part of Military Unit 3214”. (See note below).
Yulia gulped. She knew of this unit, a Belarusian Special Purpose Brigade, everyone in Russia did. They had a ruthless reputation for seeking out and putting down any Anti-Terrorism related problems. Is that why she was here … an Anti-Terrorist related problem?
“May I have something to drink please, my mouth is very dry.”
Bogdan snapped his fingers and a moment later the woman was holding a glass to Yulia’s parched lips, raising her head in order to do so. The bound girl knew the clear liquid was Vodka and not water and so she sipped instead of gulping it down. Her mouth burned but at least now some of the dryness had gone.
“You not like to finish the drink?” Bogdan smiled.
“No, thank you,” Yulia replied.
“Well, maybe later. You are very calm Agent Novikova.”
Deciding that a calm demeanour was the better part of any defence she was to mount, Yulia glared at him. “I am actually very angry. I have been sent here by order of the SVR to work as a part of President Lukashenko’s Office as our countries become closer allies. Did you know that?”
Once again, the man smiled, “Of course.”
Yulia continued, “Good, then you will also know that you will be arrested unless I am immediately released and should you or your men think about raping me then that will be considered an act of war!” The Agent sounded far more confident than she felt.
With the menacing expression that he wore on his face looking ever more threatening, Bogdan sat down on the bare mattress to which Yulia was secured. His presence caused a depression in the surface as he grinned, reached out, held her jaw and moved her head from side to side.
“What you do not realise Agent Novikova, is that I know everything about you. I know that you are a wanted criminal in Belarus”
Fuck! Fuck! Fuuuccckkk!
His hand moved from her jaw to stroke the smooth skin of her neck, caressing the flesh but squeezing with just enough pressure to let her know how strong his grip actually was. For all her determination not to panic, Yulia caught her breath.
“I also know the nature of your crimes. You arranged the execution of our Diplomat, Anatol Radkov, in Washington DC last year.” (See Swallow’s Nest).
‘Oh God, please help me …’ these words of pleading prayer were spoken inside her head.
To Yulia’s relief his hand left her neck, but then slid lower, and she realised that it was to be a very long evening that stretched out before her.
“Please just speak with Comrade Colonel Tretykov in Moscow, he will explain why I am here, I have immunity from …” Her words were silenced by a hard slap to her cheek, followed by the sound of hearty laughter.
“It is your so-called Comrade Colonel that arranged for you to be here Agent Novikova. Your arrest and detention in Belarus is part of the deal that our two Presidents have made if we are to, how did you say it … become closer allies.”
FUUUUCCCKKKKK! She had been set up by her own people. Did they know she was a double Agent for MI6? Was that why the bastard Tretykov had sold her out? Or was it simply that in the context of the greater good for the Motherland she was deemed to be expendable? Either way made absolutely no difference to the danger she was now facing. If only she could somehow get a message to Roger Moore, but he wasn’t expecting to hear from her for at least a few days. She was on her own … again.
“Are you going to put me on trial?”
Bogdan’s hand had reached her breasts and he caressed the firm curves, pulling at her distended nipples until she gasped.
“I am told you enjoy this Agent Novikova, being treated with sexual disregard, without consideration, bound and dominated.” The man grinned at her.
“Yes, you will be tried in a specially convened court, one that will sit just for you.
‘A specially convened court!’ Yulia knew what that meant …
Bogdan’s hands left her breasts and slid down to her flat, taught stomach whereupon he proceeded to gently massage the soft flesh. “You are marked with scars Agent, and these welts are from the whip, no?”
Yulia turned her head to one side, away from him, as his touch become ever more insistent.
“You will have to pay for your crimes Ekaterina Novikova, and I can promise you that you will beg for execution a long time before it comes.” He traced his index finger along the longest scar. “Did other people do this to you?”
Before she could answer his hand moved between her legs and his fingers began to probe. Yulia whimpered but forced herself to breathe through the invasion of her body, her chest rising and falling with an even motion.
“Oh yes,” Bogdan continued, “You will entertain us all before you die … So, for now why don’t you just lie back and enjoy it.”
Despite her best efforts, Yulia’s breath was now coming very hard, because no matter how determined she had been not to let him get to her, she could not prevent the sensations that were now spreading throughout her groin and into her stomach. If this bastard should bring her to orgasm here, in this manner, she would die of shame … but Kat could feel the climax steadily building as his touch became deeper within the slick moisture of her soft folds …
To Be Continued …
NOTE: The Minsk based 3rd Separate Red Banner Special-Purpose Brigade also known as Military Unit 3214 and nicknamed the Uruchenskaya Brigade is a formation of the Internal Troops of Belarus, is part of the Special Police system in the Belarusian Ministry of Internal Affairs. One of its primary roles is in Anti-Terrorism and is based in the district of Uruchie in Minsk and is under the command of Vladimir Zhiznevsky.
That’s my line! But I’m happy to share it with Yulia. If this episode is a portend of things to come, she’s going to need it more than I will. Yikes!
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
This sounds very like a Seinfeld production of Rochelle, Rochelle ("a young girl's strange, erotic journey from Milan to Minsk").
I am far more secure thinking about the Russian threats to the West, given their inability to ever get Yulia even started on a mission without disaster!
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
The Secrets that we Keep (5)
Pishchalauski Castle Prison, Minsk, Belarus.
Waking on her first morning in Pishchalauski Castle, the young girl doesn't need the brochure to know it's the worst prison in Minsk, probably the whole of fucking Belarus!
Ekaterina looks across at the soulless cell walls. Old walls, the rows of brick broken only by the thick steel door and barred window. She is sitting on the edge of her cot having slept not a wink since her arrival in this damned place late last night. She's watching the door, her knee moving rapidly up and down, just waiting for it to open. This is only a holding cell and so she knows that soon she will have company.
When it did, a team of hulking guards appeared.
“Come!” Was all they said.
******
Clutching tight at the front of her jump suit, Kat feels comfort from hugging it close to her body. The guards, flanking her on either side, lead their high security prisoner through a warren of corridors.
The whole place is dark and sinister. If the guards can find their way around this place without lights, why bother fixing them for the inmates, the lack of illumination actually helps her mindset for a couple of minutes. If she can't see, then maybe it won't be as bad. But in her heart, Ekaterina knows that there is nothing good about what is about to happen.
There seems to be no control, no-one supervising, and if someone is, then that could be even worse for her well-being.
Guided by the hand fixed around her upper arm, the heavy door in front of the small retinue is opened, allowing them through. Then suddenly a light tightening of the firm grip forces Kat to a halt. They are motionless until whatever caused them to stop is checked out. Then with a nudge forward, they begin to move again as the corridor empties out into a large, open area.
High above her head, hidden behind mesh and chain-link, the glass is dirty; another sign of neglect, a skylight washes the very early morning light over them, and as Kat tips her head upwards to look, she can sense the ungodly hour. She counts the landings. Caged in by more mesh and chain-link, no prisoners are hanging around, none that she can see.
She does, however, notice the undercurrent of noise, and it's not the soft sounds of people sleeping. Somewhere, someone is yelling, shouting to be heard. That sound is compounded by someone else talking to themselves, but not quietly. There is a constant pounding at cell doors, people wanting to be heard, while the guards, including those with her, ignore all pleas.
Stairs connect the landings, caged in with a heavy door blocking entry. Kat and her guards, slowly climb the metal girded steps to the first level. Turning right at the top, the sentinel on duty joining them, she is stopped before taking a single step. Two heavy looking doors, standing side by side face the small party. The corridor guard unlocks one of the doors, pulls a torch away from his belt and shines it inside the cell. The captive Agent is forced inside.
******
Kat’s cell is dirty and old, the mattress filthy, but it holds a certain amount of safety being within its walls.
For a while she is left alone. The guards returned in due course however, and now, as Ekaterina emerges once more onto the landing, she feels the fear return.
It is day time. Rush hour at Pishchalauski Castle, and this time before heading anywhere, Kat is chained wrist and ankle, the manacles connected by a long chain to complete the ‘hobbling’ of her limbs.
"Is this the bitch?” The wide chested guard looks down upon Kat as they reach more gates that need unlocking.
“Are you the bitch?” laughs one of the guards that had ‘hobbled’ her.
Kate knows they require an answer. "Yes … Sir ..." she whispers, unsure of how to address the man. Through the gated door Kat is thrust down stairs and onto a landing where another guard joins them, caging her in between their hulking bodies.
The short procession continues down a long corridor, offices or something on both sides, and at the end they reach their destination.
Knocking before entering, announcing who is here, Kat is ushered inside. Her restraints are removed and she could do anything right now. Attack the man sitting behind the desk, grab one of the picture frames or trinkets that are scattered around the office. But, of course, with guns trained on her, she does nothing. The man behind the desk looks up. After setting his pen down, he pushes to his feet.
"Ekaterina Novikova.”
Breathing out slowly, while saying nothing, Kat remains silent. The man continues.
“We have been waiting for this day, when justice will be served. My name is Rominsk, I am Governor here. Your stay with us will be a short one, because in a few hours, sometime during the afternoon, you will face the court.”
The fucking Kangaroo Court you mean! Kat knew that she would not get anything like a fair trial. Circling around her while he talked, Rominsk returns to the desk and, picking up a sheet of paper, he reads out to her.
"It says here, and correct me if I'm wrong. You were picked up yesterday having landed at Minsk Airport? I hope the Special Services Police who had you until you arrived here, looked after you in a very welcoming manner.”
Bastards! They had looked after her very well. Falling short of penetrative rape, the three monsters AND the woman, had molested every inch of her naked, nubile form, ripping Kat’s climactic ecstasy from her in every humiliating way imaginable!
"Y … yes, they did," she answered, looking straight at him, his smile, curling across his mouth, as he runs his tongue along his lower lip.
"I am pleased Ekaterina; we wouldn’t want you to feel unwelcome in any way.”
Keeping her mouth shut, but with a sickening feeling building in her stomach, Kat was dreading whatever it was that Rominsk was going to say next.
“Until you are taken to court, you will be our guest. Take her away.”
With her worst fears confirmed Kat was dismissed from his office. The return journey is quiet. The guards don’t speak, and she is too numbed to think. Reaching the landing, the heavy gate swings shut, and she is returned to her cell, but she is not left alone.
The guards have remained and Kat glimpsed a uniformed arm raised, a fist lifting, clenched tight but she barely has time to turn before ...
Smashing into the side of her face, her cheek lighting up in waves of pain, her head spinning into the blow. She barely gets time to cry out before a second blow lands. Hitting the same cheek, the pain in her face doubling. Ekaterina falls back onto the cot as the guard stands by the bedside, towering over her, before delivering blow after blow. Her face. Head. Chest. Stomach. Kneeling over her, she is pinned to the bed, without any defence, every time she raises her hands to defend herself, they're brushed away.
Then with a final blow, her cheek exploding, the air sucked from her lungs, Kat sees her own blood, rivulets of red running down her cheek dripping everywhere.
"This is only beginning," is whispered into her ear, the weight lifting off her stomach. Pushed face first into the wall, Kat curls up into a ball, unable to hold in the pained whimper that follows.
To Be Continued …
Pishchalauski Castle Prison, Minsk, Belarus.
Waking on her first morning in Pishchalauski Castle, the young girl doesn't need the brochure to know it's the worst prison in Minsk, probably the whole of fucking Belarus!
Ekaterina looks across at the soulless cell walls. Old walls, the rows of brick broken only by the thick steel door and barred window. She is sitting on the edge of her cot having slept not a wink since her arrival in this damned place late last night. She's watching the door, her knee moving rapidly up and down, just waiting for it to open. This is only a holding cell and so she knows that soon she will have company.
When it did, a team of hulking guards appeared.
“Come!” Was all they said.
******
Clutching tight at the front of her jump suit, Kat feels comfort from hugging it close to her body. The guards, flanking her on either side, lead their high security prisoner through a warren of corridors.
The whole place is dark and sinister. If the guards can find their way around this place without lights, why bother fixing them for the inmates, the lack of illumination actually helps her mindset for a couple of minutes. If she can't see, then maybe it won't be as bad. But in her heart, Ekaterina knows that there is nothing good about what is about to happen.
There seems to be no control, no-one supervising, and if someone is, then that could be even worse for her well-being.
Guided by the hand fixed around her upper arm, the heavy door in front of the small retinue is opened, allowing them through. Then suddenly a light tightening of the firm grip forces Kat to a halt. They are motionless until whatever caused them to stop is checked out. Then with a nudge forward, they begin to move again as the corridor empties out into a large, open area.
High above her head, hidden behind mesh and chain-link, the glass is dirty; another sign of neglect, a skylight washes the very early morning light over them, and as Kat tips her head upwards to look, she can sense the ungodly hour. She counts the landings. Caged in by more mesh and chain-link, no prisoners are hanging around, none that she can see.
She does, however, notice the undercurrent of noise, and it's not the soft sounds of people sleeping. Somewhere, someone is yelling, shouting to be heard. That sound is compounded by someone else talking to themselves, but not quietly. There is a constant pounding at cell doors, people wanting to be heard, while the guards, including those with her, ignore all pleas.
Stairs connect the landings, caged in with a heavy door blocking entry. Kat and her guards, slowly climb the metal girded steps to the first level. Turning right at the top, the sentinel on duty joining them, she is stopped before taking a single step. Two heavy looking doors, standing side by side face the small party. The corridor guard unlocks one of the doors, pulls a torch away from his belt and shines it inside the cell. The captive Agent is forced inside.
******
Kat’s cell is dirty and old, the mattress filthy, but it holds a certain amount of safety being within its walls.
For a while she is left alone. The guards returned in due course however, and now, as Ekaterina emerges once more onto the landing, she feels the fear return.
It is day time. Rush hour at Pishchalauski Castle, and this time before heading anywhere, Kat is chained wrist and ankle, the manacles connected by a long chain to complete the ‘hobbling’ of her limbs.
"Is this the bitch?” The wide chested guard looks down upon Kat as they reach more gates that need unlocking.
“Are you the bitch?” laughs one of the guards that had ‘hobbled’ her.
Kate knows they require an answer. "Yes … Sir ..." she whispers, unsure of how to address the man. Through the gated door Kat is thrust down stairs and onto a landing where another guard joins them, caging her in between their hulking bodies.
The short procession continues down a long corridor, offices or something on both sides, and at the end they reach their destination.
Knocking before entering, announcing who is here, Kat is ushered inside. Her restraints are removed and she could do anything right now. Attack the man sitting behind the desk, grab one of the picture frames or trinkets that are scattered around the office. But, of course, with guns trained on her, she does nothing. The man behind the desk looks up. After setting his pen down, he pushes to his feet.
"Ekaterina Novikova.”
Breathing out slowly, while saying nothing, Kat remains silent. The man continues.
“We have been waiting for this day, when justice will be served. My name is Rominsk, I am Governor here. Your stay with us will be a short one, because in a few hours, sometime during the afternoon, you will face the court.”
The fucking Kangaroo Court you mean! Kat knew that she would not get anything like a fair trial. Circling around her while he talked, Rominsk returns to the desk and, picking up a sheet of paper, he reads out to her.
"It says here, and correct me if I'm wrong. You were picked up yesterday having landed at Minsk Airport? I hope the Special Services Police who had you until you arrived here, looked after you in a very welcoming manner.”
Bastards! They had looked after her very well. Falling short of penetrative rape, the three monsters AND the woman, had molested every inch of her naked, nubile form, ripping Kat’s climactic ecstasy from her in every humiliating way imaginable!
"Y … yes, they did," she answered, looking straight at him, his smile, curling across his mouth, as he runs his tongue along his lower lip.
"I am pleased Ekaterina; we wouldn’t want you to feel unwelcome in any way.”
Keeping her mouth shut, but with a sickening feeling building in her stomach, Kat was dreading whatever it was that Rominsk was going to say next.
“Until you are taken to court, you will be our guest. Take her away.”
With her worst fears confirmed Kat was dismissed from his office. The return journey is quiet. The guards don’t speak, and she is too numbed to think. Reaching the landing, the heavy gate swings shut, and she is returned to her cell, but she is not left alone.
The guards have remained and Kat glimpsed a uniformed arm raised, a fist lifting, clenched tight but she barely has time to turn before ...
Smashing into the side of her face, her cheek lighting up in waves of pain, her head spinning into the blow. She barely gets time to cry out before a second blow lands. Hitting the same cheek, the pain in her face doubling. Ekaterina falls back onto the cot as the guard stands by the bedside, towering over her, before delivering blow after blow. Her face. Head. Chest. Stomach. Kneeling over her, she is pinned to the bed, without any defence, every time she raises her hands to defend herself, they're brushed away.
Then with a final blow, her cheek exploding, the air sucked from her lungs, Kat sees her own blood, rivulets of red running down her cheek dripping everywhere.
"This is only beginning," is whispered into her ear, the weight lifting off her stomach. Pushed face first into the wall, Kat curls up into a ball, unable to hold in the pained whimper that follows.
To Be Continued …
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Make sure to tune in tomorrow
...
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Amazing Fossy! How did you know about that budget motel in York, where I booked my last vacation on Cheap-vaca.com? Brings back fond memories of being held captive in the old, forgotten dungeon underneath the Minister! Good Times!
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
The Secrets that we Keep (6)
Court Room Number 4 at The Supreme Court of the Republic of Belarus
As the judge looked out at her Ekaterina was holding her breath. There had been no contact from the Centre, no legal representation of her own … this was all just a sham for the record.
Nothing had gone her way, not from the start of this charade. She was convicted before even entering the courtroom. This performance had simply been an excuse to record everything into the books.
With the judge enjoying his moment of fame, his chance in the spotlight, Kat listened to the verdict as it was read out.
Guilty. Guilty on all charges.
There might have been more said, but the hapless Agent wasn't hearing anything else. Not as the truth hit home, not as the judge, after delivering the pronouncement with barely a nod of his head, smiled at the small gathering of zealously partisan Belarusian officials.
As the reality of her situation sunk in, a wall of white noise washed over Kat. She stood, supported by the flanking guard as the judge gave his closing remarks. The words meant nothing to her. She couldn't hear anything over the pounding in her ears, the swish and draw, like waves crashing against rocks.
“You need to listen to this bitch,” the words were delivered quietly into her ear by the guard closest to her..
“Ekaterina Novikova, you are found guilty of the treasonous murder of Anatol Radkov, one of Belarus’ most trusted and experienced foreign diplomats. The murder was a heinous crime and should be sentenced appropriately, without clemency of any sort. In this manner we will ensure that the punishment fits the crime.
There was a pause as silence reigned in the court room. Silence that was, save for a quiet sob from the convicted girl. The judge continued.
“To mark these words, and sentence you, Ekaterina Novikova, you will now hear details of your fate.” There was a pause in proceeding to let the effect of the drama build.
The judge continued. “In March 2017, academics in Belarus documented a study into death by the execution method known as Crucifixion. This study took place at Vitebsk State Medical University, under the title of Death By Crucifixion: View of The Medicolegal Expert. The aim of the study was to examine all of the historical evidence of execution by crucifixion, and attempt to theoretically reconstruct in step by step detail, the suffering of Our Lord on his fateful day of execution. The paper was comprehensive and complete, but it lacked one thing …”
Ekaterina held her breath, what was he about to say?
“… a practical example.”
What the fuck!
“Miss Ekaterina Novikova you are hereby sentenced to death on the cross, killed by crucifixion so that your body can suffer in accordance with the relevant stages of execution identified in the study, and provide proof of the theories previously established.”
Kat fell to her knees. Surely someone had to stop this charade … soon she would wake up from the nightmare … wouldn’t she?
“The Court session is now closed.” Somewhere in the dim and distant background she heard the faint bang of a gavel, a sound that sealed her awful fate.
"Do not resist, bitch.” The guards leading her from the court almost spat into her ear. “Whatever time there is between now and your crucifixion, we will want our share of the spoils. Do not defy us, or we will simply enjoy ourselves all the more …”
Back to Pishchalauski Castle Prison, Minsk, Belarus.
The convicted Agent gets her first sense of what could be waiting for her when the three Special forces men who first abducted her, Arcady Bogdan and his soldiers, enter the holding room. Jackets off and sleeves rolled up to reveal bulging biceps and muscles that strain the cotton material to its maximum.
Kat expected to be assaulted and raped, but instead, producing a set of handcuffs, Bogdan stepped behind her. He squeezed them tight, pinching at her skin, before tossing the other pair onto the table. Then with barely an acknowledgement to the court guard, he takes tight hold on Kat’s arm. When the other officers take up their position, one on her other side, one behind, she is lead out of the building.
A van is waiting. And as she is seated inside, with two of Bogdan’s men accompanying her. Kat sees her life flashing before her. ‘This is it …’ she is consumed with grief, as the van pulls away, heading back to Pishchalauski Castle Prison.
Driving slowly, it feels like it's taken hours before the van breaks free of the courthouse grounds. There is a loud bang on the side of the van and Kat flinches. She is a trembling wreck as the vehicle speeds up.
And then there is nothing.
The officers don't speak. Preferring instead to watch her or each other. Kat has been seated with her hands secured behind her back and to the sides of the purposely designed transport van. She is not a threat, none at all.
Driving in silence, with only the occasional stop for traffic, or other road users, the van halts before starting forwards again. Then it is swinging around, before reversing. Activity from the officers, they're checking themselves over, their weapons, the vehicle jolts to a final stop, then the doors are opening.
"Stand ... on your feet ..." Rushing to comply, Kat stands up too fast, the top of her head bumping against the curved ceiling, and as she groans, her arm is seized. Walked to the edge of the van, Kat is forced to jump down, and more guards streaming outside, taking up position around the van in the carpark courtyard, and with more flanking her, she is marched inside.
Past a line of uniformed guards, there is another system of stops and starts as Kat is taken out of the sunlight. Passing through a set of double doors, that require a fresh coat of paint, they enter a small waiting area space. It is an area Kat has not seen before.
Desks are lined up against one wall, there is a reception area, behind wired glass and a whole load of empty space. Here there is an even larger number of guards. All standing around … do they not have jobs fucking jobs of their own! Why are they all here? Damn them all!
She is pushed into a room where the notice on the door says, Wet Room'. The room is simply a grimy row of old shower heads. There is a stain on the floor, which she tries not to look at as the handcuffs are removed, freeing Kat’s arms, allowing her to draw them around her jump-suited body.
As the door swings open Kat has moved to the back wall, and now she turns as two officers enter. One is carrying a plastic bucket, which he sets on the floor just inside the door. The other guard is empty-handed, which right now, seems worse.
"Strip out of clothes. Fold and hand to me."
Understanding the words, but not the reason behind the request, Kat wraps her arms around herself, tugging the sleeves of her jump-suit down over her hands, before moving a step back.
"Strip out of clothes ..." repeating the same set of words, the empty-handed guard, smiles to his friend, then moves a step closer.
"Strip out of clothes, or help will be provided." It's not the words, nor the meaning behind them. It's the leer. The way he gawks at her as if he's imagining completing the job himself.
Unzipping the front of the suit, Kat toes off her prison issue flip-flops, before pulling the garment off, until she is standing in a pair of cotton panties. She turns her back before wriggling out of the State issued underwear.
“Clean her.”
One guard removes a hose from the wall and switches the water jet on.
The water hits her hard, smashing Kat into the old tiled wall, but the powerful stream does not ease up one little bit as freezing cold water is blasted at her. She is quickly left gasping and panting trying to regain her footing when her arm is grasped. Kat is held between the two men, her arms pulled tight while the water blast continues. When the water stops the hapless girl is exhausted, but she remains held, hanging almost, with only their strength holding her off the floor.
With her screams still echoing around the tiled room, Kat’s head drops to her chest as she gasps for breath. And then she screams when something sharp is dragged down her spine, before being ripped back up, peeling away her skin as it moves, because that's what it feels like. She catches the glimpse of a shape, the head of a brush, as it scrubs under her outstretched arm, under her sensitive armpit, before shifting to the other side.
The brush, with its course rough bristles, is dipped into the bucket of soapy, cold water and dragged over Kat’s skin, without missing an inch. Down over her breasts, between her legs, even her feet are lifted and scrubbed. And as hard as she tries to control her reactions, Kat screams and begs, from beginning to end.
It's only once it's ended, with a final scrub up between her ass cheeks, that she is released. Collapsing to the floor, her skin is alive, burning in some places, numbed in others, she looks up, lifting her head slowly when the room empties, and the guards leave. Curling onto her side, drawing her legs in against her stomach, Kat barely moves, not even when the room is quickly populated again.
"Get the bitch onto her feet, we are not finished with her yet …”
To Be Continued ...
So, our gorgeous but extremely ill-fated, heroine, is finally in the clutches of her enemies from Belarus. What is worse, she has been sold out by the SVR and now only has the British Government to offer her any kind of hope … yet they would have no reason to even suspect that she is in danger. Not only is Ekaterina to be executed but her demise will also serve as part of a programme of research … Could things get any worse? Find out next week as we begin the serialisation of Ekaterina’s most harrowing story yet … ‘Death by Crucifixion’
NOTE:
Link to the Belarusian Death By Crucifixion Study in question (courtesy of @old slave)
https://juniperpublishers.com/jfsci/pdf/JFSCI.MS.ID.555590.pdf
Court Room Number 4 at The Supreme Court of the Republic of Belarus
As the judge looked out at her Ekaterina was holding her breath. There had been no contact from the Centre, no legal representation of her own … this was all just a sham for the record.
Nothing had gone her way, not from the start of this charade. She was convicted before even entering the courtroom. This performance had simply been an excuse to record everything into the books.
With the judge enjoying his moment of fame, his chance in the spotlight, Kat listened to the verdict as it was read out.
Guilty. Guilty on all charges.
There might have been more said, but the hapless Agent wasn't hearing anything else. Not as the truth hit home, not as the judge, after delivering the pronouncement with barely a nod of his head, smiled at the small gathering of zealously partisan Belarusian officials.
As the reality of her situation sunk in, a wall of white noise washed over Kat. She stood, supported by the flanking guard as the judge gave his closing remarks. The words meant nothing to her. She couldn't hear anything over the pounding in her ears, the swish and draw, like waves crashing against rocks.
“You need to listen to this bitch,” the words were delivered quietly into her ear by the guard closest to her..
“Ekaterina Novikova, you are found guilty of the treasonous murder of Anatol Radkov, one of Belarus’ most trusted and experienced foreign diplomats. The murder was a heinous crime and should be sentenced appropriately, without clemency of any sort. In this manner we will ensure that the punishment fits the crime.
There was a pause as silence reigned in the court room. Silence that was, save for a quiet sob from the convicted girl. The judge continued.
“To mark these words, and sentence you, Ekaterina Novikova, you will now hear details of your fate.” There was a pause in proceeding to let the effect of the drama build.
The judge continued. “In March 2017, academics in Belarus documented a study into death by the execution method known as Crucifixion. This study took place at Vitebsk State Medical University, under the title of Death By Crucifixion: View of The Medicolegal Expert. The aim of the study was to examine all of the historical evidence of execution by crucifixion, and attempt to theoretically reconstruct in step by step detail, the suffering of Our Lord on his fateful day of execution. The paper was comprehensive and complete, but it lacked one thing …”
Ekaterina held her breath, what was he about to say?
“… a practical example.”
What the fuck!
“Miss Ekaterina Novikova you are hereby sentenced to death on the cross, killed by crucifixion so that your body can suffer in accordance with the relevant stages of execution identified in the study, and provide proof of the theories previously established.”
Kat fell to her knees. Surely someone had to stop this charade … soon she would wake up from the nightmare … wouldn’t she?
“The Court session is now closed.” Somewhere in the dim and distant background she heard the faint bang of a gavel, a sound that sealed her awful fate.
"Do not resist, bitch.” The guards leading her from the court almost spat into her ear. “Whatever time there is between now and your crucifixion, we will want our share of the spoils. Do not defy us, or we will simply enjoy ourselves all the more …”
Back to Pishchalauski Castle Prison, Minsk, Belarus.
The convicted Agent gets her first sense of what could be waiting for her when the three Special forces men who first abducted her, Arcady Bogdan and his soldiers, enter the holding room. Jackets off and sleeves rolled up to reveal bulging biceps and muscles that strain the cotton material to its maximum.
Kat expected to be assaulted and raped, but instead, producing a set of handcuffs, Bogdan stepped behind her. He squeezed them tight, pinching at her skin, before tossing the other pair onto the table. Then with barely an acknowledgement to the court guard, he takes tight hold on Kat’s arm. When the other officers take up their position, one on her other side, one behind, she is lead out of the building.
A van is waiting. And as she is seated inside, with two of Bogdan’s men accompanying her. Kat sees her life flashing before her. ‘This is it …’ she is consumed with grief, as the van pulls away, heading back to Pishchalauski Castle Prison.
Driving slowly, it feels like it's taken hours before the van breaks free of the courthouse grounds. There is a loud bang on the side of the van and Kat flinches. She is a trembling wreck as the vehicle speeds up.
And then there is nothing.
The officers don't speak. Preferring instead to watch her or each other. Kat has been seated with her hands secured behind her back and to the sides of the purposely designed transport van. She is not a threat, none at all.
Driving in silence, with only the occasional stop for traffic, or other road users, the van halts before starting forwards again. Then it is swinging around, before reversing. Activity from the officers, they're checking themselves over, their weapons, the vehicle jolts to a final stop, then the doors are opening.
"Stand ... on your feet ..." Rushing to comply, Kat stands up too fast, the top of her head bumping against the curved ceiling, and as she groans, her arm is seized. Walked to the edge of the van, Kat is forced to jump down, and more guards streaming outside, taking up position around the van in the carpark courtyard, and with more flanking her, she is marched inside.
Past a line of uniformed guards, there is another system of stops and starts as Kat is taken out of the sunlight. Passing through a set of double doors, that require a fresh coat of paint, they enter a small waiting area space. It is an area Kat has not seen before.
Desks are lined up against one wall, there is a reception area, behind wired glass and a whole load of empty space. Here there is an even larger number of guards. All standing around … do they not have jobs fucking jobs of their own! Why are they all here? Damn them all!
She is pushed into a room where the notice on the door says, Wet Room'. The room is simply a grimy row of old shower heads. There is a stain on the floor, which she tries not to look at as the handcuffs are removed, freeing Kat’s arms, allowing her to draw them around her jump-suited body.
As the door swings open Kat has moved to the back wall, and now she turns as two officers enter. One is carrying a plastic bucket, which he sets on the floor just inside the door. The other guard is empty-handed, which right now, seems worse.
"Strip out of clothes. Fold and hand to me."
Understanding the words, but not the reason behind the request, Kat wraps her arms around herself, tugging the sleeves of her jump-suit down over her hands, before moving a step back.
"Strip out of clothes ..." repeating the same set of words, the empty-handed guard, smiles to his friend, then moves a step closer.
"Strip out of clothes, or help will be provided." It's not the words, nor the meaning behind them. It's the leer. The way he gawks at her as if he's imagining completing the job himself.
Unzipping the front of the suit, Kat toes off her prison issue flip-flops, before pulling the garment off, until she is standing in a pair of cotton panties. She turns her back before wriggling out of the State issued underwear.
“Clean her.”
One guard removes a hose from the wall and switches the water jet on.
The water hits her hard, smashing Kat into the old tiled wall, but the powerful stream does not ease up one little bit as freezing cold water is blasted at her. She is quickly left gasping and panting trying to regain her footing when her arm is grasped. Kat is held between the two men, her arms pulled tight while the water blast continues. When the water stops the hapless girl is exhausted, but she remains held, hanging almost, with only their strength holding her off the floor.
With her screams still echoing around the tiled room, Kat’s head drops to her chest as she gasps for breath. And then she screams when something sharp is dragged down her spine, before being ripped back up, peeling away her skin as it moves, because that's what it feels like. She catches the glimpse of a shape, the head of a brush, as it scrubs under her outstretched arm, under her sensitive armpit, before shifting to the other side.
The brush, with its course rough bristles, is dipped into the bucket of soapy, cold water and dragged over Kat’s skin, without missing an inch. Down over her breasts, between her legs, even her feet are lifted and scrubbed. And as hard as she tries to control her reactions, Kat screams and begs, from beginning to end.
It's only once it's ended, with a final scrub up between her ass cheeks, that she is released. Collapsing to the floor, her skin is alive, burning in some places, numbed in others, she looks up, lifting her head slowly when the room empties, and the guards leave. Curling onto her side, drawing her legs in against her stomach, Kat barely moves, not even when the room is quickly populated again.
"Get the bitch onto her feet, we are not finished with her yet …”
To Be Continued ...
So, our gorgeous but extremely ill-fated, heroine, is finally in the clutches of her enemies from Belarus. What is worse, she has been sold out by the SVR and now only has the British Government to offer her any kind of hope … yet they would have no reason to even suspect that she is in danger. Not only is Ekaterina to be executed but her demise will also serve as part of a programme of research … Could things get any worse? Find out next week as we begin the serialisation of Ekaterina’s most harrowing story yet … ‘Death by Crucifixion’
NOTE:
Link to the Belarusian Death By Crucifixion Study in question (courtesy of @old slave)
https://juniperpublishers.com/jfsci/pdf/JFSCI.MS.ID.555590.pdf