twonines
LIMERICUS
You`re getting this sexism from where?
You assumption is a long way from fair.
You can if it and but it,
But however you cut it
The element of risk is still there.
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Stolen Election: A Moral(es) Tale
- Thread starter Barbaria1
- Start date
You assumption is a long way from fair.
You can if it and but it,
But however you cut it
The element of risk is still there.
Well, what could possibly go wrong?
Trust me, Mr Tuningfork (or whatever the hell your name is) it won't work. The lady's not for seducing!
Oh, and
ledoux
Governor
In the interest of brevity; instead, let's list what can possibly go right.Well, what could possibly go wrong?
Here is the list:
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Sounds like an enigmatic epitaph!Well, what could possibly go wrong?
Migoz2
Senator
It sounds like the Moore family motto.Sounds like an enigmatic epitaph!
15.
San Rafael Induction and interrogation Center, Block B, Friday, February 21, 11:20 am
Following her La Parilla ordeal, Bárbara had been returned to her holding cell for the night. But, this time, she’d been given no opportunity for rest. Rather than being shackled, as before, by the ankle to the cell’s back wall with access to its thin floor mat, she’d been strung up arms over head, wrists cuffed to a length of chain connecting to an iron cleat mounted on the high ceiling.
Stretched out full-length with her toes barely able to reach the floor, she’d found herself engaged in a constant struggle to gain any kind of stabilizing purchase on the grimy concrete surface beneath her … a struggle that seemed to strain nearly every bit of her body.
And even when she’d managed to stabilize herself on tippy toes, there’d always been someone present to give her a destabilizing shove … or a smack across her buttocks with an open hand, or at times a leather belt … that would set her once again to swinging or spinning about. Before very long it was also a whiplash, laid across her bare back.
To add to her torment she’d been forced to endure periodic bouts of groping, pawing and pinching directed at her feminine bits, already sore and tender from the rigors of her recent electro-torture session and earlier gang rape.
She’d cursed her tormenters, yelped and howled when shoved or paddled or whipped, and gritted her teeth when rudely assaulted by pinching, probing and penetrating fingers. In between such torments she had no means of shutting out their lurid discussions of what horrors might yet be in store for her once her interrogation under torture resumed.
No definite indication of when that might occur was given, and she had no idea of how long she’d been suspended, other than it had lasted all night long. If the object had been to disorient her, as well as cause her extreme discomfort, they seemed to be well on their way to succeeding.
***************
Officers’ Residential Compound, San Rafael, Friday, February 21, 2:20 pm
It was early afternoon when Zúñiga got the call he’d been expecting.
“The Morales cunt’s ready for her next session,” growled the caller.
“Where is she?”
“Interrogation Room C-4. Strapped to the board and waiting.”
“Alright. Be there soon.”
He ended the call. And then made another, calling for a driver to pick him up at his villa to transport him down to the complex’s interrogation wing. After which he composed on his tablet a memo to Ministerio de Justice Head, Juan Cabrera, read it over twice, and hit ‘send’.
Within five minutes the car had arrived.
“Block C,” he said brusquely to the driver, as he deposited himself in the back of a Nissan X-Trail SUV bearing the blue and white livery of the Neuva Valencia Departamento de Correcciones. “And then park outside and wait for my return!”
*****************
Block C, Friday, February 21, 2:55 pm
Zúñiga entered Interrogation Room C-4 unannounced, and stopped short just inside the doorway, taking advantage of the fact his minions were far too occupied at the moment to notice his arrival.
He took in the scene. C-4 was one of San Rafael’s larger and more fully equipped interrogation rooms, supplied with almost every imaginable apparatus and tool of persuasion.
Stretched out on a slightly inclined, shiny metal table, bolted to the floor at the far side of the room, could be seen the nude figure of Bárbara Morales. She’d been secured and immobilized by a series of nylon buckle-down straps, stretched tightly across ankles, thighs, hips, and chest … in the latter case both below and above her breasts. Angry red marks and streaks, visible on the exposed nearside of her buttocks, hips and back belied the fact that she’d earlier been beaten or whipped.
Nearby, the same three men who had administered her electro-shock interrogation session were busily attending to prepping her … one engaged in cinching down the strap that lay across her hips an extra notch … a second occupied with the filling of several containers at a nearby water tap … and the third standing over her, holding in his hands the linen cloth that would cover her face as water was poured over it. All in readiness for her coming ordeal.
Zúñiga’s presence, however, had not escaped her attention. She’d turned her head towards him and was looking at him searchingly, fixing him in the gaze of her beguiling brown doe-like eyes, reddened around the edges, presumably from crying.
He thought she appeared frightened, weary and subdued … a good sign for the success of his intended plan.
He cleared his throat to signal his presence to his three assistants, who took immediate notice and snapped to attention.
“Leave us until I call for you, and close the door on the way out!” he ordered, noting their initial surprise and then grudging obedience.
When they were gone, he approached and looked down upon her. “Good evening Señorita Morales. Don’t say anything, just listen as our time alone together must be brief. I want you to know that, against my better judgment and at considerable risk to myself, I am resolved to try to help you. As you recall, the last time we met, I encouraged you to sign the confession, and allow me to take you away from here and offer you some comfort and relief from this ordeal until the time of your trial. You bravely, or perhaps foolishly, declined and I was forced to order you tortured. You withstood that initial session and refused to break … an admirable achievement. But all that you actually achieved was to earn yourself several hours of torment at the hands of my underlings, ending with you being delivered here … to be waterboarded … a most unpleasant but highly effective means of breaking down the resistance of even someone as pigheadedly stubborn as yourself.”
“Do your worst, you fucking bastard, I’ll never give in!”
“Exactly what I expected you to say, Señorita Morales! … and exactly what my plan needs from you.”
“Plan? What plan?”
“There’s no time to explain. I’m asking you to trust me and do this … submit to the first round of waterboarding … it will be frightful, but you’ll manage … of that I have no doubt. But, afterwards, as I put my plan into effect, I will expect you to play along … to take your cues from me. It’s up to you, of course, but I strongly advise you to work with me.”
“How do I know I can trust you?”
“You simply must! Now, I’m going to call them back in here. And as they arrive, I’m going to lean in close over you. And, as I do, I want you to spit in my face. Then I’m going to react and hurt you. It’s all part of the plan. Play along!”
*********
Juan Cabrera, Head of the Republic’s Ministerio de Justicia, was in his office, seated at his desk, engaged in paper work, when he noticed that a message from Zúñiga on his monitor screen.
He stopped what he’d been doing, opened and read it …. and then frowned, uncertain of what action to take.
Zúñiga is taking a big risk, he thought to himself. The message was clear about that.
And, as a consequence, Cabrera was forced to ponder the risk to himself should he approve Zúñiga’s request to implement his rather unorthodox plan. The simplest and safest thing for Cabrera to do would be to deny the request. The man was married to his daughter, after all. Wasn’t it his duty to both his daughter and her altruistic husband to keep them from running afoul of Mendoza?
At the same time, he was not without sympathy for Bárbara Morales and her cause. In his position as head of Nueva Valencia’s justice ministry he was all too aware of the unlawful behaviors of the rabidly authoritarian Mendoza regime, and privately regarded the Presidente with disgust … most recently for his cruel and lascivious treatment of the wife of Secretary of Commerce, Felix Gomez. There were limits after all, at least to Gomez’s way of thinking, to how much the Nation’s moneyed, hereditary elite should tolerate.
His mind made up, he replied to Zúñiga’s memo with a single word: ‘approved’.
TBC
San Rafael Induction and interrogation Center, Block B, Friday, February 21, 11:20 am
Following her La Parilla ordeal, Bárbara had been returned to her holding cell for the night. But, this time, she’d been given no opportunity for rest. Rather than being shackled, as before, by the ankle to the cell’s back wall with access to its thin floor mat, she’d been strung up arms over head, wrists cuffed to a length of chain connecting to an iron cleat mounted on the high ceiling.
Stretched out full-length with her toes barely able to reach the floor, she’d found herself engaged in a constant struggle to gain any kind of stabilizing purchase on the grimy concrete surface beneath her … a struggle that seemed to strain nearly every bit of her body.
And even when she’d managed to stabilize herself on tippy toes, there’d always been someone present to give her a destabilizing shove … or a smack across her buttocks with an open hand, or at times a leather belt … that would set her once again to swinging or spinning about. Before very long it was also a whiplash, laid across her bare back.
To add to her torment she’d been forced to endure periodic bouts of groping, pawing and pinching directed at her feminine bits, already sore and tender from the rigors of her recent electro-torture session and earlier gang rape.
She’d cursed her tormenters, yelped and howled when shoved or paddled or whipped, and gritted her teeth when rudely assaulted by pinching, probing and penetrating fingers. In between such torments she had no means of shutting out their lurid discussions of what horrors might yet be in store for her once her interrogation under torture resumed.
No definite indication of when that might occur was given, and she had no idea of how long she’d been suspended, other than it had lasted all night long. If the object had been to disorient her, as well as cause her extreme discomfort, they seemed to be well on their way to succeeding.
***************
Officers’ Residential Compound, San Rafael, Friday, February 21, 2:20 pm
It was early afternoon when Zúñiga got the call he’d been expecting.
“The Morales cunt’s ready for her next session,” growled the caller.
“Where is she?”
“Interrogation Room C-4. Strapped to the board and waiting.”
“Alright. Be there soon.”
He ended the call. And then made another, calling for a driver to pick him up at his villa to transport him down to the complex’s interrogation wing. After which he composed on his tablet a memo to Ministerio de Justice Head, Juan Cabrera, read it over twice, and hit ‘send’.
Within five minutes the car had arrived.
“Block C,” he said brusquely to the driver, as he deposited himself in the back of a Nissan X-Trail SUV bearing the blue and white livery of the Neuva Valencia Departamento de Correcciones. “And then park outside and wait for my return!”
*****************
Block C, Friday, February 21, 2:55 pm
Zúñiga entered Interrogation Room C-4 unannounced, and stopped short just inside the doorway, taking advantage of the fact his minions were far too occupied at the moment to notice his arrival.
He took in the scene. C-4 was one of San Rafael’s larger and more fully equipped interrogation rooms, supplied with almost every imaginable apparatus and tool of persuasion.
Stretched out on a slightly inclined, shiny metal table, bolted to the floor at the far side of the room, could be seen the nude figure of Bárbara Morales. She’d been secured and immobilized by a series of nylon buckle-down straps, stretched tightly across ankles, thighs, hips, and chest … in the latter case both below and above her breasts. Angry red marks and streaks, visible on the exposed nearside of her buttocks, hips and back belied the fact that she’d earlier been beaten or whipped.
Nearby, the same three men who had administered her electro-shock interrogation session were busily attending to prepping her … one engaged in cinching down the strap that lay across her hips an extra notch … a second occupied with the filling of several containers at a nearby water tap … and the third standing over her, holding in his hands the linen cloth that would cover her face as water was poured over it. All in readiness for her coming ordeal.
Zúñiga’s presence, however, had not escaped her attention. She’d turned her head towards him and was looking at him searchingly, fixing him in the gaze of her beguiling brown doe-like eyes, reddened around the edges, presumably from crying.
He thought she appeared frightened, weary and subdued … a good sign for the success of his intended plan.
He cleared his throat to signal his presence to his three assistants, who took immediate notice and snapped to attention.
“Leave us until I call for you, and close the door on the way out!” he ordered, noting their initial surprise and then grudging obedience.
When they were gone, he approached and looked down upon her. “Good evening Señorita Morales. Don’t say anything, just listen as our time alone together must be brief. I want you to know that, against my better judgment and at considerable risk to myself, I am resolved to try to help you. As you recall, the last time we met, I encouraged you to sign the confession, and allow me to take you away from here and offer you some comfort and relief from this ordeal until the time of your trial. You bravely, or perhaps foolishly, declined and I was forced to order you tortured. You withstood that initial session and refused to break … an admirable achievement. But all that you actually achieved was to earn yourself several hours of torment at the hands of my underlings, ending with you being delivered here … to be waterboarded … a most unpleasant but highly effective means of breaking down the resistance of even someone as pigheadedly stubborn as yourself.”
“Do your worst, you fucking bastard, I’ll never give in!”
“Exactly what I expected you to say, Señorita Morales! … and exactly what my plan needs from you.”
“Plan? What plan?”
“There’s no time to explain. I’m asking you to trust me and do this … submit to the first round of waterboarding … it will be frightful, but you’ll manage … of that I have no doubt. But, afterwards, as I put my plan into effect, I will expect you to play along … to take your cues from me. It’s up to you, of course, but I strongly advise you to work with me.”
“How do I know I can trust you?”
“You simply must! Now, I’m going to call them back in here. And as they arrive, I’m going to lean in close over you. And, as I do, I want you to spit in my face. Then I’m going to react and hurt you. It’s all part of the plan. Play along!”
*********
Juan Cabrera, Head of the Republic’s Ministerio de Justicia, was in his office, seated at his desk, engaged in paper work, when he noticed that a message from Zúñiga on his monitor screen.
He stopped what he’d been doing, opened and read it …. and then frowned, uncertain of what action to take.
Zúñiga is taking a big risk, he thought to himself. The message was clear about that.
And, as a consequence, Cabrera was forced to ponder the risk to himself should he approve Zúñiga’s request to implement his rather unorthodox plan. The simplest and safest thing for Cabrera to do would be to deny the request. The man was married to his daughter, after all. Wasn’t it his duty to both his daughter and her altruistic husband to keep them from running afoul of Mendoza?
At the same time, he was not without sympathy for Bárbara Morales and her cause. In his position as head of Nueva Valencia’s justice ministry he was all too aware of the unlawful behaviors of the rabidly authoritarian Mendoza regime, and privately regarded the Presidente with disgust … most recently for his cruel and lascivious treatment of the wife of Secretary of Commerce, Felix Gomez. There were limits after all, at least to Gomez’s way of thinking, to how much the Nation’s moneyed, hereditary elite should tolerate.
His mind made up, he replied to Zúñiga’s memo with a single word: ‘approved’.
TBC
Last edited:
S'okay, Gentle reader. This is Barb we're talking about. She wasn't born yesterday. She'll never fall for Zuniga's tricks.
Will she?
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
According to rumours, the Colonel is a connoisseur of Riesling wines!S'okay, Gentle reader. This is Barb we're talking about. She wasn't born yesterday. She'll never fall for Zuniga's tricks.
Will she?
Oh, shit!According to rumours, the Colonel is a connoisseur of Riesling wines!
16.
San Rafael induction and Interrogation Center, outside Block C, Friday, February 21, 3:10 pm.
Returning from San Rafael’s VIP retention section in Block D, Capitán de Policía’ Sergio Perez came upon a Nissan X-Trail SUV bearing the blue and white livery of the Neuva Valencia Departamento de Correcciones parked outside the entrance to Block C, its driver casually leaning against the vehicle smoking a cigarette.
Already in a bad mood following his visit to the cell of Secretary of Commerce, Felix Gomez, whom to Perez’s disgust had apparently converted his cell into his own private bordello while his loyal wife Eva, in order to secure his release, was forced to prostitute herself in the service of Presidente Mendoza.
Noting that the Nissan was parked in a forbidden zone, Perez chose to take his bad temper out on the hapless driver. “You there! What the fuck do you think you’re doing? You can’t park there! See the sign prohibiting it? Put out that damn cigarette and get the hell out of here before I have you arrested and thrown in a cell!”
*************
As soon as his three assigned assistants had joined him at Bárbara’s side, Zúñiga put his plan into action. Leaning close over her face he declared, “Last chance, Señorita Morales! Confess!”
And on cue, as agreed, she promptly spat in his face.
Faking rage, he balled his fist and slammed it hard into her belly, causing her to cry out and gasp for air, the wind knocked out of her.
“Don’t just stand there!” he railed turning to his team. “Get started, Rodriguez! Cloth over her face. On my signal a steady stream of water poured upon it for a period of twenty seconds … enough for starters. We’ll draw out the time by an additional five seconds each time we repeat it!”
She squirmed about as if in protest, but went rigid soon as the cloth was draped over her face, the fabric involuntarily sucked in and out of her mouth and nose as she struggled to breathe.
A stream of water began to flow continuously from a jug held over head, seeping into and soaking through the cloth.
Within seconds, she’d begun to gag and convulse, as the terrifying sensation of helplessly drowning took hold of her consciousness.
Zúñiga watched with an air of detachment as excess water drained out over her cheeks, welled in her ears, wetted her hair and plastered it to the surface of the board beneath her head. And as her restrained body squirmed and shook, in so far as the straps that bound it to the board allowed, he noted in particular the manner in which her hardened nipples, like buoys at sea, stood proudly erect upon the jiggling flesh of her breasts.
“Enough! Let her breathe!” he commanded.
The wet cloth was removed.
She gasped, expelling water and gulping air, eyes focused on him imploringly.
“Again! This time for 25 seconds!”
The process was repeated. And then repeated again for a full half minute.
“Had enough yet, Señorita Morales? Ready to save yourself now, or do you wish that we continue? All you need to do is confess your crimes. Be sensible! Sign the damn document!”
A prolonged bout of coughing and choking delayed her response. But when she was finally able, she shook her head from side to side and croaked, “No!”
“Continue? Or would the Teniente Coronel prefer that we subject her to the Parrot’s Perch? If all else fails, that nearly always ….”
Zúñiga cut off his the hulking assistant in mid-sentence with a withering glare. “No, Rodriguez. This is simply not working. She’d rather die than break under torture. That’s evident enough! I’m convinced that we need to try a different tack … more of a soft touch … a plan that I’ve been developing which just might get results. Release her! Get her on her feet. Then remove your shirt and allow her to cover herself with it. I’m taking her away from here!”
“To where, Teniente Coronel, if I may ask? And what plan is that? I’ve not been informed of any plan!”
“Away from here, Rodriguez! She needs to be taken elsewhere where different methods can be applied. Exactly where that may be is no concern of yours. And as for your lack of knowledge of my experimental plan, it’s because it’s new! But I can assure you that it’s been presented to the Ministerio de Justicia just prior to this session, and approved by Juan Cabrera himself! Now stop wasting time, do as I say and be quick about it.”
“Yessir, but this is most unusual and I intend to check later with my superiors here at San Fernando.”
“As you please, Rodriguez. But, for now, you and your men do exactly as I say!”
“Yessir.”
“That’s it. Steady now. Got her? … Good! … keep her upright … now out in the corridor … and to the side entrance … I’ve transport waiting outside.”
“Yessir.”
***********
The White House, Friday, February 21, 3:50 pm
National Security Advisor, Jake Merriweather, rocked back and forth on his feet, hands clasped behind his back as he waited for the President’s taciturn outer-office ‘gatekeeper’ to admit him to the Oval Office. He found the woman’s haughty officiousness to be more than mildly annoying. He had an appointment for a specific time, but yet he’d been cooling his heels for more than half an hour. And no explanation was offered other than a terse, “Madame President is occupied.”
Eventually, she looked up from behind her desk and with a dismissive wave of her hand sniffed, “You may go in now. Madame President and Chief of Staff McDaniels, are expecting you.”
“Good afternoon, Madame President,” he said as he entered .. adding with a nod in the direction of her Chief of Staff, “… and Claire.”
“Afternoon Jake. Sorry to have kept you waiting.”
Although the two of them probably thought he wouldn’t notice, the reason why he’d been kept waiting was all too apparent. The Oval Office had acquired what he knew to be the unmistakable scent of female sexual arousal, not to mention that both women looked flushed and that the buttons on MCDaniel’s blouse appeared to have been rather hastily secured as one had been missed causing the front to gap revealingly as she waved him to a seat opposite her on one of the Oval Office’s paired facing sofas.
“What have you got for us this afternoon, Jake?” the President murmured as she leaned back, cross-legged, against the forward edge of the Resolute Desk.
It was only then that he noticed she had her skirt on backwards.
“Well, Madame President, “I believe I can report some significant progress on our efforts to deal with the ongoing crisis in Nueva Valencia.”
“Enlighten us.”
“We have a clandestine operation to rescue Morales ready to go with significant assets on the ground in San Rafael. It’s just a waiting game now. Soon as we get the go ahead from Zúñiga, we give our people there the green light.”
“Who’s in charge there, if I may ask?”
“As Commander-in-Chief, you have every right to ask, Madame President, but security protocol requires that I only give you her code name.”
“Her?”
“Yes, it’s a ‘her’. Some of our best field operatives these days, I suspect you’ll be pleased to learn, Madame President, are women.”
“Really! What’s her code name then?”
“She goes by ‘dark shadow’.”
“Sounds almost sinister.”
“Not to be trifled with I’m told.”
TBC
San Rafael induction and Interrogation Center, outside Block C, Friday, February 21, 3:10 pm.
Returning from San Rafael’s VIP retention section in Block D, Capitán de Policía’ Sergio Perez came upon a Nissan X-Trail SUV bearing the blue and white livery of the Neuva Valencia Departamento de Correcciones parked outside the entrance to Block C, its driver casually leaning against the vehicle smoking a cigarette.
Already in a bad mood following his visit to the cell of Secretary of Commerce, Felix Gomez, whom to Perez’s disgust had apparently converted his cell into his own private bordello while his loyal wife Eva, in order to secure his release, was forced to prostitute herself in the service of Presidente Mendoza.
Noting that the Nissan was parked in a forbidden zone, Perez chose to take his bad temper out on the hapless driver. “You there! What the fuck do you think you’re doing? You can’t park there! See the sign prohibiting it? Put out that damn cigarette and get the hell out of here before I have you arrested and thrown in a cell!”
*************
As soon as his three assigned assistants had joined him at Bárbara’s side, Zúñiga put his plan into action. Leaning close over her face he declared, “Last chance, Señorita Morales! Confess!”
And on cue, as agreed, she promptly spat in his face.
Faking rage, he balled his fist and slammed it hard into her belly, causing her to cry out and gasp for air, the wind knocked out of her.
“Don’t just stand there!” he railed turning to his team. “Get started, Rodriguez! Cloth over her face. On my signal a steady stream of water poured upon it for a period of twenty seconds … enough for starters. We’ll draw out the time by an additional five seconds each time we repeat it!”
She squirmed about as if in protest, but went rigid soon as the cloth was draped over her face, the fabric involuntarily sucked in and out of her mouth and nose as she struggled to breathe.
A stream of water began to flow continuously from a jug held over head, seeping into and soaking through the cloth.
Within seconds, she’d begun to gag and convulse, as the terrifying sensation of helplessly drowning took hold of her consciousness.
Zúñiga watched with an air of detachment as excess water drained out over her cheeks, welled in her ears, wetted her hair and plastered it to the surface of the board beneath her head. And as her restrained body squirmed and shook, in so far as the straps that bound it to the board allowed, he noted in particular the manner in which her hardened nipples, like buoys at sea, stood proudly erect upon the jiggling flesh of her breasts.
“Enough! Let her breathe!” he commanded.
The wet cloth was removed.
She gasped, expelling water and gulping air, eyes focused on him imploringly.
“Again! This time for 25 seconds!”
The process was repeated. And then repeated again for a full half minute.
“Had enough yet, Señorita Morales? Ready to save yourself now, or do you wish that we continue? All you need to do is confess your crimes. Be sensible! Sign the damn document!”
A prolonged bout of coughing and choking delayed her response. But when she was finally able, she shook her head from side to side and croaked, “No!”
“Continue? Or would the Teniente Coronel prefer that we subject her to the Parrot’s Perch? If all else fails, that nearly always ….”
Zúñiga cut off his the hulking assistant in mid-sentence with a withering glare. “No, Rodriguez. This is simply not working. She’d rather die than break under torture. That’s evident enough! I’m convinced that we need to try a different tack … more of a soft touch … a plan that I’ve been developing which just might get results. Release her! Get her on her feet. Then remove your shirt and allow her to cover herself with it. I’m taking her away from here!”
“To where, Teniente Coronel, if I may ask? And what plan is that? I’ve not been informed of any plan!”
“Away from here, Rodriguez! She needs to be taken elsewhere where different methods can be applied. Exactly where that may be is no concern of yours. And as for your lack of knowledge of my experimental plan, it’s because it’s new! But I can assure you that it’s been presented to the Ministerio de Justicia just prior to this session, and approved by Juan Cabrera himself! Now stop wasting time, do as I say and be quick about it.”
“Yessir, but this is most unusual and I intend to check later with my superiors here at San Fernando.”
“As you please, Rodriguez. But, for now, you and your men do exactly as I say!”
“Yessir.”
“That’s it. Steady now. Got her? … Good! … keep her upright … now out in the corridor … and to the side entrance … I’ve transport waiting outside.”
“Yessir.”
***********
The White House, Friday, February 21, 3:50 pm
National Security Advisor, Jake Merriweather, rocked back and forth on his feet, hands clasped behind his back as he waited for the President’s taciturn outer-office ‘gatekeeper’ to admit him to the Oval Office. He found the woman’s haughty officiousness to be more than mildly annoying. He had an appointment for a specific time, but yet he’d been cooling his heels for more than half an hour. And no explanation was offered other than a terse, “Madame President is occupied.”
Eventually, she looked up from behind her desk and with a dismissive wave of her hand sniffed, “You may go in now. Madame President and Chief of Staff McDaniels, are expecting you.”
“Good afternoon, Madame President,” he said as he entered .. adding with a nod in the direction of her Chief of Staff, “… and Claire.”
“Afternoon Jake. Sorry to have kept you waiting.”
Although the two of them probably thought he wouldn’t notice, the reason why he’d been kept waiting was all too apparent. The Oval Office had acquired what he knew to be the unmistakable scent of female sexual arousal, not to mention that both women looked flushed and that the buttons on MCDaniel’s blouse appeared to have been rather hastily secured as one had been missed causing the front to gap revealingly as she waved him to a seat opposite her on one of the Oval Office’s paired facing sofas.
“What have you got for us this afternoon, Jake?” the President murmured as she leaned back, cross-legged, against the forward edge of the Resolute Desk.
It was only then that he noticed she had her skirt on backwards.
“Well, Madame President, “I believe I can report some significant progress on our efforts to deal with the ongoing crisis in Nueva Valencia.”
“Enlighten us.”
“We have a clandestine operation to rescue Morales ready to go with significant assets on the ground in San Rafael. It’s just a waiting game now. Soon as we get the go ahead from Zúñiga, we give our people there the green light.”
“Who’s in charge there, if I may ask?”
“As Commander-in-Chief, you have every right to ask, Madame President, but security protocol requires that I only give you her code name.”
“Her?”
“Yes, it’s a ‘her’. Some of our best field operatives these days, I suspect you’ll be pleased to learn, Madame President, are women.”
“Really! What’s her code name then?”
“She goes by ‘dark shadow’.”
“Sounds almost sinister.”
“Not to be trifled with I’m told.”
TBC
Last edited:
ledoux
Governor
I must admit, when Barb joined Tumescence Anonymous several months ago, I had my doubts. But reading the incredibly torturous and convoluted verbal gymnastics full of inane analogies and ridiculous metaphors
she's stooped to in order to avoid the "T" word has made me a believer.I'm proud of you, Barb!
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
If the Resolute Desk could talk!
Here is one (from the early 1960’s obviously).
Soldier in the barracks wants to go eating, and is annoyed by the long queue line he has to join at the cantina.
“If I were an officer, I never would have to wait!” he complains.
Meanwhile :
His captain wants to see his colonel, just to hear that the latter is occupied at the moment.
The colonel wants to speak to the general, just to hear that the latter has left to Washington DC.
In Washington DC, the general has an appointment with the Secretary of Defense, but that one is in the White House.
The Secretary urgently wants to see the President, who has however left to his country retreat.
There, JFK asks Jackie “When do we eat!?” Jackie replies : “Wait! After the kids have eaten!”
Is this possibly the Black Shadow?
Or is this she?
Interesting thought Fossy, but highly unlikely. There’s enough ‘going wrong’ in this story already without introducing a known natural disaster.
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
And me hoping that the story would end with a big earthquake hitting Nueva Valencia, making a hole in the prison wall, allowing Barbara Morales to escape!
Does Barb qualify for an Opus Dei?And me hoping that the story would end with a big earthquake hitting Nueva Valencia, making a hole in the prison wall, allowing Barbara Morales to escape!
Come to think of it, she IS an Opus Dei!
