Loinclothslave
slave to the whip
Hmmm as an AI expert, I figured brains was one of her strong suits? Yet this chapter suggests reckless abandon!
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Sexpionage II
- Thread starter Fossy
- Start date
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
A blind, and yes, reckless, commitment to her father's cause ... damn fortunate for us all though, right
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Malware in Milan (4)
A Mafia House in Palermo, Sicily …
“Which part of MI6 do you work for and who exactly sent you?” Celina leans forward, his eyes trained on Sophia with the intensity of a snake hypnotising its prey. She stares back at her inquisitor, barely registering his question.
With her head bagged the young, MI6 analyst had been taken from the hotel in Milan and transported to Palermo by private plane. She could sense that they were airborne and travelling to some place where nothing pleasant awaited, what Sophia did not know was that Celina was not just a Senior Executive with Italian IT company Mente Senso Intelligenza, but also a High-ranking member within the Cosa Nostra, the notorious Sicilian Mafia Family.
The man stared back at the young girl. Was this young, pretty little thing really from MI6, or was she from elsewhere? If so, where? They needed to know what she had done and who now had an insight into Celina’s laptop and the secrets it held.
“You must tell me everything Sophia, it’s the only way I can protect you?” he repeats, his gaze boring into her. She wonders how many people have caved in from that stare alone, because she could swear that he was peering directly into her mind.
“Who sent you here?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sophia replies, unable to keep the exhaustion out of her voice. It’s been over twenty-four hours since her capture, and she’s neither slept nor had anything to eat or drink. They’re wearing her down this way, undermining her willpower.
“You know, Miss Sophia Moore,” Celina addresses her by the name on her passport, “The UK Government has disavowed any connection with you.” He leans even closer, making her want to shrink back into her seat. At this distance, she can smell the whisky on his breath.
“So, unless some unofficial agency claims you, we’ll have no choice but to presume that you’re a spy engaged in unofficial and illegal commercial espionage.” He pauses and then adds, “You understand what that means, right?”
She does. If she has no support from any official organisation then she is completely on her own and these bastards, whoever they are, can do with her whatever they wish. However, she knows that the UK Government, her father and his team, would not forsake her, would they?
When she remains silent, Celina sighs and leans back in his seat. “All right, Sophia Moore. If that’s how you wish to play it.” He stands as if making ready to leave.
“We’ll talk again soon.” He rises to his feet and walks to the door in the corner. Stopping in front of it, he looks back at her. “Think about what I said. This can go very badly for you if you don’t cooperate.”
Sophia doesn’t respond. Instead, she looks down at her hands, which are cuffed to the table in front of her. She hears the door open and shut as he walks out, and then she is once again alone.
Time drags by slowly, each second more torturous than the last. The thirst that torments her is comparable only to the hunger that gnaws at her insides. She tries to lay her head down on the table to sleep, but every time she does so, an ear-piercing alarm blares through the speakers, startling her awake. The screeching noise is impossible to ignore even in her exhausted state, and so eventually she stops trying, doing her best to zone out for a few precious moments while sitting upright in the chair. Memories of Aleppo come flooding back, scaring her … petrifying her.
She knows what they’re doing, but that doesn’t make it any easier to bear. Sleep deprivation is a very genuine torture …
A meeting room in the Mafia House, Palermo, Sicily
“Her father is the Head of MI6.”
“What the fuck? Is that true?”
Several heads around the table nod, and Celina moves his hands to brush back the flopping strands of hair, and he sighs long and loud.
“And so, we must assume that the UK Government now knows what confidential patents I have and my intention to auction them. This is bad, very bad.”
Silent contemplation permeated the room for several long moments.
“What should we do?”
Celina looks at his colleagues.
“All they could know is what I have and what I was planning on doing with it. There was no actual software on my laptop, that’s all locked away on safe-protected hard drives.”
They were all now listening as Celina continues to speak.
“I will change the plan and secure a deal with the North Koreans. They were willing to pay the most and in their hands the software could be most dangerous.”
“Dangerous? How?” Despite every man around the table being hardened Mafiosi, there was more than a hint of concern.
Celina explained. “There are several patents, all from different companies that Mente Senso Intelligenza has worked with. Put them together, tweak the source code and you have the most powerful non-ethical hacking tool ever developed. I can secure an agreement to work with them in Italy and protect us here, but they can then hack into whatever Government and Military systems they wish.”
“The North Koreans? We’re going to give them this capability?”
“In return for one billion American Dollars we are.”
“And the girl?”
Another moment’s pause, and then Celina adds. “She goes to the North Koreans as a part of the deal and becomes their problem.”
To Be Continued …
A Mafia House in Palermo, Sicily …
“Which part of MI6 do you work for and who exactly sent you?” Celina leans forward, his eyes trained on Sophia with the intensity of a snake hypnotising its prey. She stares back at her inquisitor, barely registering his question.
With her head bagged the young, MI6 analyst had been taken from the hotel in Milan and transported to Palermo by private plane. She could sense that they were airborne and travelling to some place where nothing pleasant awaited, what Sophia did not know was that Celina was not just a Senior Executive with Italian IT company Mente Senso Intelligenza, but also a High-ranking member within the Cosa Nostra, the notorious Sicilian Mafia Family.
The man stared back at the young girl. Was this young, pretty little thing really from MI6, or was she from elsewhere? If so, where? They needed to know what she had done and who now had an insight into Celina’s laptop and the secrets it held.
“You must tell me everything Sophia, it’s the only way I can protect you?” he repeats, his gaze boring into her. She wonders how many people have caved in from that stare alone, because she could swear that he was peering directly into her mind.
“Who sent you here?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sophia replies, unable to keep the exhaustion out of her voice. It’s been over twenty-four hours since her capture, and she’s neither slept nor had anything to eat or drink. They’re wearing her down this way, undermining her willpower.
“You know, Miss Sophia Moore,” Celina addresses her by the name on her passport, “The UK Government has disavowed any connection with you.” He leans even closer, making her want to shrink back into her seat. At this distance, she can smell the whisky on his breath.
“So, unless some unofficial agency claims you, we’ll have no choice but to presume that you’re a spy engaged in unofficial and illegal commercial espionage.” He pauses and then adds, “You understand what that means, right?”
She does. If she has no support from any official organisation then she is completely on her own and these bastards, whoever they are, can do with her whatever they wish. However, she knows that the UK Government, her father and his team, would not forsake her, would they?
When she remains silent, Celina sighs and leans back in his seat. “All right, Sophia Moore. If that’s how you wish to play it.” He stands as if making ready to leave.
“We’ll talk again soon.” He rises to his feet and walks to the door in the corner. Stopping in front of it, he looks back at her. “Think about what I said. This can go very badly for you if you don’t cooperate.”
Sophia doesn’t respond. Instead, she looks down at her hands, which are cuffed to the table in front of her. She hears the door open and shut as he walks out, and then she is once again alone.
Time drags by slowly, each second more torturous than the last. The thirst that torments her is comparable only to the hunger that gnaws at her insides. She tries to lay her head down on the table to sleep, but every time she does so, an ear-piercing alarm blares through the speakers, startling her awake. The screeching noise is impossible to ignore even in her exhausted state, and so eventually she stops trying, doing her best to zone out for a few precious moments while sitting upright in the chair. Memories of Aleppo come flooding back, scaring her … petrifying her.
She knows what they’re doing, but that doesn’t make it any easier to bear. Sleep deprivation is a very genuine torture …
A meeting room in the Mafia House, Palermo, Sicily
“Her father is the Head of MI6.”
“What the fuck? Is that true?”
Several heads around the table nod, and Celina moves his hands to brush back the flopping strands of hair, and he sighs long and loud.
“And so, we must assume that the UK Government now knows what confidential patents I have and my intention to auction them. This is bad, very bad.”
Silent contemplation permeated the room for several long moments.
“What should we do?”
Celina looks at his colleagues.
“All they could know is what I have and what I was planning on doing with it. There was no actual software on my laptop, that’s all locked away on safe-protected hard drives.”
They were all now listening as Celina continues to speak.
“I will change the plan and secure a deal with the North Koreans. They were willing to pay the most and in their hands the software could be most dangerous.”
“Dangerous? How?” Despite every man around the table being hardened Mafiosi, there was more than a hint of concern.
Celina explained. “There are several patents, all from different companies that Mente Senso Intelligenza has worked with. Put them together, tweak the source code and you have the most powerful non-ethical hacking tool ever developed. I can secure an agreement to work with them in Italy and protect us here, but they can then hack into whatever Government and Military systems they wish.”
“The North Koreans? We’re going to give them this capability?”
“In return for one billion American Dollars we are.”
“And the girl?”
Another moment’s pause, and then Celina adds. “She goes to the North Koreans as a part of the deal and becomes their problem.”
To Be Continued …
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Thank you for that 99 very much appreciated ...
oh shit! That could be worse than the Italian mafia!
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Malware in Milan (5)
A Mafia House in Palermo, Sicily …
Nauseated and cold all over, everything hurts. Her stomach, her muscles, her skin, her bones ... even her teeth. The headache is a blaze of agony inside her skull, and her lips are cracking from lack of water. How long has it been since Celina left her alone? Several hours? A day? She doesn’t know, and is slowly losing the will to care. If there’s any silver lining to all this, it’s that she doesn’t need to use the bathroom. She is too dehydrated, and her stomach much too empty.
Not that this saved Sophia from feeling degraded. A short while ago, they had stripped her and probed over every inch of her body. Even now that she is wearing a grey sweat top, she still feels horribly naked, her skin crawling at the memory of the latex-covered fingers invading very nook and cranny of her nubile body … supposedly searching for everything and anything but looking for nothing.
And ever since, maybe a day or two ago, they had questioned her relentlessly. But now she was being left alone and that scared her even more.
Sophia closed her weary, heavy-lidded eyes for a second, and the screeching alarm blares into life, as if someone is watching her all the time, jolting the poor girl awake. Opening her tired lids, she attempts to swallow, to gather what little moisture remains in her mouth so that she can saturate her throat. It feels as if she has been eating sand, and swallowing hurts even more than not swallowing, so she gives up, focusing instead on just surviving from moment to moment.
MI6 SIS Building, Lambeth, London, UK
“She’s off the grid Sir.”
“Off the fucking grid?” Roger Moore was letting his anger show, though his supposed fury was also, in part, a mask for the feeling of guilt that was wracking his body. He had sanctioned this mission, believing it to be an easy, relatively harmless way for Sophia to take part in a field operation.
Special Agent Grace Miller was not holding back. “Please forgive me Sir, and I do not say this with respect, but Sophia should not have been sent out to Italy in the first place, and certainly not alone. How the fuck did you expect her to see this through without coming to some kind of harm?”
Grace knew that Marcus Devonshire had been the driving force behind Moore’s decision to use Sophia. The Aide de Camp always seemed so innocuous, but underneath his smarmy exterior was a manipulative soul, only this time he might have manipulated a teenage girl into grave danger. Why did Moore let it happen … it made no sense to Grace, none whatsoever!
“Special Agent Miller, please calm down …” Major Underhill was trying his best to be the voice of reason, though he too agreed with her views.
“She’s eighteen for fuck’s sake … sir!”
“Miller, that’s enough!”
All heads turned as the door to Roger Moore’s office opened, and, waiting for an update, they stared at the Senior IT Analyst standing before them.
“He has all of the patents we thought, and his intention is to sell to the highest bidder. It looks like the auction will be a bidding war between the Russians, North Koreans and the Chinese.”
“Fuck!” Moore could not hold back the expletive. “Do we know when?”
“No Sir, but my assumption is once he realises that we now know his plans he will …” the Analyst continued,
“And we have to assume that he does know, given the corner Sophia found herself in …” Grace added.
“… he will change them, and come up with an alternative approach.”
Moore exhaled, the weight of the world once again on his broad shoulders.
“… is there any way we can find out more?”
The analyst smiled and nodded. “Yes Sir, the trojan is still on his laptop, so anything else he does through that device we will know about.”
“Good.” There was a small element of relief in Moore’s voice. “Have him monitored twenty-four by seven and keep me updated at all times.
As his office cleared and Miller was about to leave, he called her back.
“Grace, I know how you feel about this, but get yourself deployment-ready. I need to send you out there, once we know where ‘there’ is.”
Special Agent Miller looked hard at him, her eyes revealing the true extent of how much she abhorred this man and his Aide de Camp right now. But all she said by way of response was, “Yes Sir, of course Sir.”
A Mafia House in Palermo, Sicily …
‘They won’t let me die like this, all I need to do is hang on until they bring me some water. Until they return to question me again.’ These words were rolling around inside Sophia’s head, infiltrating her scrambled mind as she began to drift aimlessly.
She thinks of Ethan, the boy she left behind, and Sophia lets the memories come thick and fast. Sharp and bittersweet, they take her momentarily away from her aching, exhausted body. She remembers the way he kissed her on his front porch, the way his body pushed against hers and how much she wanted him (see Abduction) … his taste, his smell, the feel of his lips.
But now it doesn’t matter, Ethan has zero relevance. Her innocence is long gone, though she remains a virgin in the literal sense.
The room blurs in front of her, fading in and out of focus, and Sophia realises that she is shaking, her breathing shallow and her heart beating painfully fast. She knows it’s due to the dehydration and lack of sleep, but it feels like something inside of her young body is breaking, the pressure around her chest hard and crushing. She wants to curl up into a ball, to shrink into herself, but she can’t, not with her hands cuffed to the table and feet chained to the floor. All she can do is sit and grieve for the life she will not now have …
To Be Continued …
A Mafia House in Palermo, Sicily …
Nauseated and cold all over, everything hurts. Her stomach, her muscles, her skin, her bones ... even her teeth. The headache is a blaze of agony inside her skull, and her lips are cracking from lack of water. How long has it been since Celina left her alone? Several hours? A day? She doesn’t know, and is slowly losing the will to care. If there’s any silver lining to all this, it’s that she doesn’t need to use the bathroom. She is too dehydrated, and her stomach much too empty.
Not that this saved Sophia from feeling degraded. A short while ago, they had stripped her and probed over every inch of her body. Even now that she is wearing a grey sweat top, she still feels horribly naked, her skin crawling at the memory of the latex-covered fingers invading very nook and cranny of her nubile body … supposedly searching for everything and anything but looking for nothing.
And ever since, maybe a day or two ago, they had questioned her relentlessly. But now she was being left alone and that scared her even more.
Sophia closed her weary, heavy-lidded eyes for a second, and the screeching alarm blares into life, as if someone is watching her all the time, jolting the poor girl awake. Opening her tired lids, she attempts to swallow, to gather what little moisture remains in her mouth so that she can saturate her throat. It feels as if she has been eating sand, and swallowing hurts even more than not swallowing, so she gives up, focusing instead on just surviving from moment to moment.
MI6 SIS Building, Lambeth, London, UK
“She’s off the grid Sir.”
“Off the fucking grid?” Roger Moore was letting his anger show, though his supposed fury was also, in part, a mask for the feeling of guilt that was wracking his body. He had sanctioned this mission, believing it to be an easy, relatively harmless way for Sophia to take part in a field operation.
Special Agent Grace Miller was not holding back. “Please forgive me Sir, and I do not say this with respect, but Sophia should not have been sent out to Italy in the first place, and certainly not alone. How the fuck did you expect her to see this through without coming to some kind of harm?”
Grace knew that Marcus Devonshire had been the driving force behind Moore’s decision to use Sophia. The Aide de Camp always seemed so innocuous, but underneath his smarmy exterior was a manipulative soul, only this time he might have manipulated a teenage girl into grave danger. Why did Moore let it happen … it made no sense to Grace, none whatsoever!
“Special Agent Miller, please calm down …” Major Underhill was trying his best to be the voice of reason, though he too agreed with her views.
“She’s eighteen for fuck’s sake … sir!”
“Miller, that’s enough!”
All heads turned as the door to Roger Moore’s office opened, and, waiting for an update, they stared at the Senior IT Analyst standing before them.
“He has all of the patents we thought, and his intention is to sell to the highest bidder. It looks like the auction will be a bidding war between the Russians, North Koreans and the Chinese.”
“Fuck!” Moore could not hold back the expletive. “Do we know when?”
“No Sir, but my assumption is once he realises that we now know his plans he will …” the Analyst continued,
“And we have to assume that he does know, given the corner Sophia found herself in …” Grace added.
“… he will change them, and come up with an alternative approach.”
Moore exhaled, the weight of the world once again on his broad shoulders.
“… is there any way we can find out more?”
The analyst smiled and nodded. “Yes Sir, the trojan is still on his laptop, so anything else he does through that device we will know about.”
“Good.” There was a small element of relief in Moore’s voice. “Have him monitored twenty-four by seven and keep me updated at all times.
As his office cleared and Miller was about to leave, he called her back.
“Grace, I know how you feel about this, but get yourself deployment-ready. I need to send you out there, once we know where ‘there’ is.”
Special Agent Miller looked hard at him, her eyes revealing the true extent of how much she abhorred this man and his Aide de Camp right now. But all she said by way of response was, “Yes Sir, of course Sir.”
A Mafia House in Palermo, Sicily …
‘They won’t let me die like this, all I need to do is hang on until they bring me some water. Until they return to question me again.’ These words were rolling around inside Sophia’s head, infiltrating her scrambled mind as she began to drift aimlessly.
She thinks of Ethan, the boy she left behind, and Sophia lets the memories come thick and fast. Sharp and bittersweet, they take her momentarily away from her aching, exhausted body. She remembers the way he kissed her on his front porch, the way his body pushed against hers and how much she wanted him (see Abduction) … his taste, his smell, the feel of his lips.
But now it doesn’t matter, Ethan has zero relevance. Her innocence is long gone, though she remains a virgin in the literal sense.
The room blurs in front of her, fading in and out of focus, and Sophia realises that she is shaking, her breathing shallow and her heart beating painfully fast. She knows it’s due to the dehydration and lack of sleep, but it feels like something inside of her young body is breaking, the pressure around her chest hard and crushing. She wants to curl up into a ball, to shrink into herself, but she can’t, not with her hands cuffed to the table and feet chained to the floor. All she can do is sit and grieve for the life she will not now have …
To Be Continued …
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Malware in Milan (6)
MI6 SIS Building, Lambeth, London, UK
The door closed shut behind the Special Agent as she walked into the room. Marcus Devonshire was seated at Roger Moore’s desk … an eye grabbing piece of furniture, made of handcrafted mahogany, and every bit as expensive as the black leather seat accompanying it. The Aide De Camp was in temporary occupation as Moore spent time at home, shielding his wife from the horrors of Sophia’s situation. The desk was the focus of the room and intended to intimidate, but Grace Miller felt anything but intimidated at this moment in time.
“Special Agent Miller” A ring on Devonshire’s index finger of his right hand caught the light as he set aside some files and looked up at the Agent now standing by his desk.
“What brings you here, unannounced, to my … to this office?”
“Mister Moore’s secretary didn't even bother to pick up the phone when I called?”
“I shall have to have a word with her about that, then, won't I?” Devonshire folded his hands in front of him. “So, Grace, what does bring you to my office?” He made no attempt this time to disguise his words.
“I think you know that already … Sir.”
His eyes flickered. “You give me too much credit, Miss Miller. I may be many things, but I am not psychic.” He smiled, but the look disappeared when his visitor didn't laugh. “So no, I can’t say that I do. I am afraid you will have to tell me what occasioned this visit.”
Special Agent Miller glared at the man seated before her, unable to believe that he was being so outwardly dismissive when his they had such a crisis to manage.
“You persuaded her father to send Sophia out into the field, on an assignment which, given her lack of training, was always a suicide mission. Why?”
Grace knew that she shouldn’t ask questions like this and that her actions were bordering on insubordination, but she was outraged at what had happened, and just could not help herself.
Devonshire shook his head. “First of all, contrary to what you might believe, I do not hold powers of persuasion over Roger Moore. Secondly, Sophia is an extremely talented operative in the field of Artificial Intelligence. We needed those skills. If the right candidate had not been his own daughter, then we would have sent whoever the right person was. The fact that Sophia was that person is irrelevant. Mister Moore cannot afford to let his own nepotistic emotions get in the way of the country’s security, Special Agent Miller.”
“Is that what you really believe … Sir?” Grace was deliberately leaving a gap at the end of her speech to emphasise the intended sarcasm whenever she said ‘Sir’.
“What could you possibly be implying Miss Miller?”
Grace smirked in an overly sardonic manner. “I have seen the way in which you look at Sophia … Sir?”
“I don’t know what you mean Special Agent Miller.”
“You’re almost drooling whenever she steps in to the same room as you, and it is just as clear that she wants nothing to do with a lecherous man who is more than twice her age.”
“You are talking nonsense Miller, I consider myself to be the consummate professional, always have been, always will be.”
“So, it wasn’t the fact that Sophia rejected your advances which encouraged you to send her out to Italy?”
He paused and then added. “Don’t be ridiculous Miss Miller. Now, is there anything else before you take your leave and prepare yourself for deployment as ordered?”
“Let me ask you this one last thing … Sir.” Grace paused for a heartbeat.
He nodded.
“Do you know what they could be doing to her, to Sophia, right now, as we speak?”
Devonshire’s face manifested a thunderous expression.
“Get out Miller.”
“But do you?” She persisted.
“Out!”
“Torture. Rape. Worse …”
“Do you want me to have you arrested Special Agent?”
Now it Was Grace’s turn to smile, but the grin was one underpinned completely by disdainful intent.
“One other thing that I have been asked to update you on … Sir.”
“Oh … and what is that?”
“Celina is Mafiosi. He has abandoned the auction and sold the patents directly to the North Koreans, along with Sophia Moore. God help her …”
Devonshire’s jaw dropped open. “Sophia has been sold to the North Koreans?”
“Yes, Sir, that is correct.”
“Are we sure?” Marcus’ tone manifested the disbelieve in his head.
Miller nodded slowly. “Yes … Sir.”
The man in the chair of the Head of MI6 collapsed back into the luxury, padded leather, whilst the continued glare from Special Agent Miller burned into his face. Then she added …
“I will go ready myself for deployment. Celina and his activities have been handed over to Interpol. I’m heading out to Pyongyang to rescue Mr Moore’s daughter!”
Don't miss the explosive third and final part of the "Italian Tragedy" - "Amazing Grace" begins its exclusive serialisation here on CF on Monday …
MI6 SIS Building, Lambeth, London, UK
The door closed shut behind the Special Agent as she walked into the room. Marcus Devonshire was seated at Roger Moore’s desk … an eye grabbing piece of furniture, made of handcrafted mahogany, and every bit as expensive as the black leather seat accompanying it. The Aide De Camp was in temporary occupation as Moore spent time at home, shielding his wife from the horrors of Sophia’s situation. The desk was the focus of the room and intended to intimidate, but Grace Miller felt anything but intimidated at this moment in time.
“Special Agent Miller” A ring on Devonshire’s index finger of his right hand caught the light as he set aside some files and looked up at the Agent now standing by his desk.
“What brings you here, unannounced, to my … to this office?”
“Mister Moore’s secretary didn't even bother to pick up the phone when I called?”
“I shall have to have a word with her about that, then, won't I?” Devonshire folded his hands in front of him. “So, Grace, what does bring you to my office?” He made no attempt this time to disguise his words.
“I think you know that already … Sir.”
His eyes flickered. “You give me too much credit, Miss Miller. I may be many things, but I am not psychic.” He smiled, but the look disappeared when his visitor didn't laugh. “So no, I can’t say that I do. I am afraid you will have to tell me what occasioned this visit.”
Special Agent Miller glared at the man seated before her, unable to believe that he was being so outwardly dismissive when his they had such a crisis to manage.
“You persuaded her father to send Sophia out into the field, on an assignment which, given her lack of training, was always a suicide mission. Why?”
Grace knew that she shouldn’t ask questions like this and that her actions were bordering on insubordination, but she was outraged at what had happened, and just could not help herself.
Devonshire shook his head. “First of all, contrary to what you might believe, I do not hold powers of persuasion over Roger Moore. Secondly, Sophia is an extremely talented operative in the field of Artificial Intelligence. We needed those skills. If the right candidate had not been his own daughter, then we would have sent whoever the right person was. The fact that Sophia was that person is irrelevant. Mister Moore cannot afford to let his own nepotistic emotions get in the way of the country’s security, Special Agent Miller.”
“Is that what you really believe … Sir?” Grace was deliberately leaving a gap at the end of her speech to emphasise the intended sarcasm whenever she said ‘Sir’.
“What could you possibly be implying Miss Miller?”
Grace smirked in an overly sardonic manner. “I have seen the way in which you look at Sophia … Sir?”
“I don’t know what you mean Special Agent Miller.”
“You’re almost drooling whenever she steps in to the same room as you, and it is just as clear that she wants nothing to do with a lecherous man who is more than twice her age.”
“You are talking nonsense Miller, I consider myself to be the consummate professional, always have been, always will be.”
“So, it wasn’t the fact that Sophia rejected your advances which encouraged you to send her out to Italy?”
He paused and then added. “Don’t be ridiculous Miss Miller. Now, is there anything else before you take your leave and prepare yourself for deployment as ordered?”
“Let me ask you this one last thing … Sir.” Grace paused for a heartbeat.
He nodded.
“Do you know what they could be doing to her, to Sophia, right now, as we speak?”
Devonshire’s face manifested a thunderous expression.
“Get out Miller.”
“But do you?” She persisted.
“Out!”
“Torture. Rape. Worse …”
“Do you want me to have you arrested Special Agent?”
Now it Was Grace’s turn to smile, but the grin was one underpinned completely by disdainful intent.
“One other thing that I have been asked to update you on … Sir.”
“Oh … and what is that?”
“Celina is Mafiosi. He has abandoned the auction and sold the patents directly to the North Koreans, along with Sophia Moore. God help her …”
Devonshire’s jaw dropped open. “Sophia has been sold to the North Koreans?”
“Yes, Sir, that is correct.”
“Are we sure?” Marcus’ tone manifested the disbelieve in his head.
Miller nodded slowly. “Yes … Sir.”
The man in the chair of the Head of MI6 collapsed back into the luxury, padded leather, whilst the continued glare from Special Agent Miller burned into his face. Then she added …
“I will go ready myself for deployment. Celina and his activities have been handed over to Interpol. I’m heading out to Pyongyang to rescue Mr Moore’s daughter!”
Don't miss the explosive third and final part of the "Italian Tragedy" - "Amazing Grace" begins its exclusive serialisation here on CF on Monday …
Ummmm …. Grace is walking the edge here, displaying a bit of attitude and disdain worthy of the infamous Barbara Moore! Love it. Torch him, Grace! The bastard deserves it!
twonines
LIMERICUS
All true, but unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on how you view it) she will probably meet a fate of the sort with which the said Barbara Moore is so familiar.
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Today is downtime for Sexpionage but the Sexpionage girls wanted to make sure that you are all enjoying the story so far. Next week brings trauma for Sophia, challenges for Grace and as for Ekaterina ...
Join us tomorrow when "Italian Torment" explodes into its third and final week with the exclusive serialisation of "Amazing Grace" here on CF ...
NOTE ... Tomorrow's episode will be dedicated to our recently departed and much loved friend @Praefectus Praetorio, known of course to many as the inimitable PrPr ...
Join us tomorrow when "Italian Torment" explodes into its third and final week with the exclusive serialisation of "Amazing Grace" here on CF ...
NOTE ... Tomorrow's episode will be dedicated to our recently departed and much loved friend @Praefectus Praetorio, known of course to many as the inimitable PrPr ...
A nice thought. I’m sure that dedication will make the return of Grace, Sophia, and Ekatrina extra special for all of us followers.
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Praefectus Praetorio ...
PrPr, as he was known to many, was a much appreciated supporter of Sexpionage. More than a supporter, he was an advocate, frequently offering up public comments highlighting his favourite parts and offering insightful thoughts. But almost as frequently he would message me privately and say things like "have you thought of this ...", "Maybe have them do this instead of ..." and so on. Even though he could be pretty discerning about the stories and threads he committed to, I know that I wasn't the only more junior author that he did this for,
We never really collaborated publicly, though the closest we came was his love for the Face-Claim I suggested and then provided in many a photo manipulation for his beloved 'Trixie' ... the gorgeous girl with the wild red hair.
Over the past few days PrPr has been described as a friend, a mentor, part of the glue to CF's social infrastructure, well-read, wise and one reflective post in response to the news of his untimely and sad passing, said simply "Fuck", which, despite its monosyllabic nature, seemed a somewhat apt manifestation of how we all felt.
So, rest in peace PrPr. I know you would want us all to continue to create and post our tormenting and tortuous narratives along with the occasional descriptive picture or two, and I'm certain that we won't let you down. You are in our thoughts and I know that I won't be able to login to CF without a thought or two of your good-self coming to the fore.
Amazing Grace (1)
MI6 SIS Building, Lambeth, London, UK
The Trojan that had been placed on Celina’s computer by Sophia, Moore’s own daughter, had also been transferred to the stolen software’s storage platform and so Interpol, in conjunction with MI6, had been able to keep track of it and then launch a programmable-neural-disk-wipe to clean the hard drive entirely. Leaving an angry North Korea with nothing for its money … except of course the young AI analyst.
“So, case closed. Stolen software wiped clean and Celina in Interpol’s custody?” The Home Secretary sounded almost smug as he spoke with Roger Moore, who could barely believe his ears.
“Not quite case closed Home Secretary …”
“Oh my gosh Roger, I’m so sorry, how could I be so insensitive.” The Home Secretary remembered how’s Moore’s daughter was now cast adrift in North Korea, and, whilst sympathetic to the domestic tragedy, he privately blamed Moore for being so stupid as to employ her in the first place and then go as far as deploying Sophia on a mission like this one.
“If there’s anything I can do …” The head of the Home Office added.
“Thank you,” Moore replied in sombre tones. He had Grace Miller heading up a mission to aid his daughter, But with the North Koreans having declared Sophia as a trespassing foreign dissident and created the façade of a very public arrest, Moore knew that, unless the UK Government wished to risk a highly embarrassing International Incident, which it did not, a black ops rescue was as good as it was going to get.
The Wooded Hills surrounding South Pyongyang, North Korea at 23:00 hours
Special Agent Grace Miller arrived at the three-way intersection at 23:02 hours, taking up a position from where she could best control what was to come. The chopper had barely paused to allow her to alight, it’s propellors not stopping, only slowing down whilst she dropped several feet to the ground. And now she looked around, her gaze darting here, there and everywhere, constantly scanning and listening, smelling the air like she was some sort of obsessive predator waiting to ambush her prey. Despite her concerns over returning to the field, this was what she did best. It was how she was trained … it was why she was trained.
Grace reviewed her next actions … She had the details of where Sophia was being held …
… Kaechon Internment Camp 14, South Pyongyang …
… and now it was her job to rescue her colleague from this shit-fest of an operation. Fucking Marcus Devonshire and fucking Roger Moore for listening to him, especially when it was his own daughter’s safety that was at stake!
The Special Agent sighed and took out her satellite phone to re-read the new article that had been shared with the War Room team back at HQ before she left.
It was from the UK Guardian, and was published recently enough to be of very real concern to Grace and her supporting team.
… Suspects in North Korea are subjected to ritual torture, humiliation and sexual assault by a criminal justice system that considers them “less than an animal”, according to the first-ever report detailing the brutality of the country’s pretrial detention conditions. Some of the interviewees recounted “rampant” sexual violence at detention facilities. Kim Sun-young, a former trader in her 50s who fled North Korea five years ago, said she had been raped by her interrogator at a detention centre, adding that another police officer had sexually assaulted her during an interrogation. Kim said she had been “powerless to resist” …
The North Koreans, needing something to compensate their loss of the software they thought they had bought, made no secret of the fact that they had Sophia Moore in captivity. They told the world that they had detained a member of the UK Secret Service, and were circulating the propaganda façade that Sophia Moore had been caught taking pictures of a military facility whist posing as a tourist. A huge pile of bullshit of course, but it gave the North Koreans the righteous high ground and provided the platform and back-story for them to detain Sophia ‘awaiting trial’, whereupon, according to the article, she would be treated ‘less than an animal’ and subjected to rampant sexual violence …
Grace knew that time was of the essence and that she could not afford to fail in her mission …
Kaechon Internment Camp 14, South Pyongyang
Sophia loved to read, she always had, from being a little girl. She remembered reading one book about the 1996 Japanese Embassy Hostage Crisis in Lima, it was a novel called Everlasting Love, if she remembered correctly. The young girl recalled it now because it was about the event that brought about the phrase ‘Lima Syndrome’. Lima syndrome. That’s what they call the psychological phenomenon where the captor sympathises with the captive so much that he releases said captive.
She’s not foolish enough to think that she’ll be able to get the North Koreans to release her, but it’s possible that she could get them maybe to do small things, like letting her wear clothes, and stop having her used like a worthless bitch ... which was one of the less insulting names she had been called in past day, or however long it was that she had been incarcerated here in the hell-hole of a prison.
Maybe they would even stop calling her ‘Turd’.
Yawning again, her body now beyond exhaustion, Sophia watched yet another lizard scurry across the floor, and she imagined that she too was small and green. Small enough to slither between the thick iron bars of her cell, through the vents and out of this hell-hole. If she could do that, she’d have to be the best spy in the world. It’s a silly thought, but it was comforting, fleetingly taking her mind off this nightmare.
Her eyelids grew heavy, and Sophia let sleep take her,. She dreamt of little green lizards and her mum, who’s laughing and chasing her around a jungle park. It’s her most joyful dream in an age. But when her eyes flicker open the delusion is well and truly gone, and the harsh reality of her situation is made all too clear again.
The heavy cell door swings open, and she jerks awake, conditioned to respond to that noise as if to an electric shock. They’re here for her again, and she begins to shake in fearful anticipation … yet another conditioned response. As much as she wants to remain strong, they’re breaking her down piece by vulnerable piece.
To Be Continued …
PrPr, as he was known to many, was a much appreciated supporter of Sexpionage. More than a supporter, he was an advocate, frequently offering up public comments highlighting his favourite parts and offering insightful thoughts. But almost as frequently he would message me privately and say things like "have you thought of this ...", "Maybe have them do this instead of ..." and so on. Even though he could be pretty discerning about the stories and threads he committed to, I know that I wasn't the only more junior author that he did this for,
We never really collaborated publicly, though the closest we came was his love for the Face-Claim I suggested and then provided in many a photo manipulation for his beloved 'Trixie' ... the gorgeous girl with the wild red hair.
Over the past few days PrPr has been described as a friend, a mentor, part of the glue to CF's social infrastructure, well-read, wise and one reflective post in response to the news of his untimely and sad passing, said simply "Fuck", which, despite its monosyllabic nature, seemed a somewhat apt manifestation of how we all felt.
So, rest in peace PrPr. I know you would want us all to continue to create and post our tormenting and tortuous narratives along with the occasional descriptive picture or two, and I'm certain that we won't let you down. You are in our thoughts and I know that I won't be able to login to CF without a thought or two of your good-self coming to the fore.
Amazing Grace (1)
MI6 SIS Building, Lambeth, London, UK
The Trojan that had been placed on Celina’s computer by Sophia, Moore’s own daughter, had also been transferred to the stolen software’s storage platform and so Interpol, in conjunction with MI6, had been able to keep track of it and then launch a programmable-neural-disk-wipe to clean the hard drive entirely. Leaving an angry North Korea with nothing for its money … except of course the young AI analyst.
“So, case closed. Stolen software wiped clean and Celina in Interpol’s custody?” The Home Secretary sounded almost smug as he spoke with Roger Moore, who could barely believe his ears.
“Not quite case closed Home Secretary …”
“Oh my gosh Roger, I’m so sorry, how could I be so insensitive.” The Home Secretary remembered how’s Moore’s daughter was now cast adrift in North Korea, and, whilst sympathetic to the domestic tragedy, he privately blamed Moore for being so stupid as to employ her in the first place and then go as far as deploying Sophia on a mission like this one.
“If there’s anything I can do …” The head of the Home Office added.
“Thank you,” Moore replied in sombre tones. He had Grace Miller heading up a mission to aid his daughter, But with the North Koreans having declared Sophia as a trespassing foreign dissident and created the façade of a very public arrest, Moore knew that, unless the UK Government wished to risk a highly embarrassing International Incident, which it did not, a black ops rescue was as good as it was going to get.
The Wooded Hills surrounding South Pyongyang, North Korea at 23:00 hours
Special Agent Grace Miller arrived at the three-way intersection at 23:02 hours, taking up a position from where she could best control what was to come. The chopper had barely paused to allow her to alight, it’s propellors not stopping, only slowing down whilst she dropped several feet to the ground. And now she looked around, her gaze darting here, there and everywhere, constantly scanning and listening, smelling the air like she was some sort of obsessive predator waiting to ambush her prey. Despite her concerns over returning to the field, this was what she did best. It was how she was trained … it was why she was trained.
Grace reviewed her next actions … She had the details of where Sophia was being held …
… Kaechon Internment Camp 14, South Pyongyang …
… and now it was her job to rescue her colleague from this shit-fest of an operation. Fucking Marcus Devonshire and fucking Roger Moore for listening to him, especially when it was his own daughter’s safety that was at stake!
The Special Agent sighed and took out her satellite phone to re-read the new article that had been shared with the War Room team back at HQ before she left.
It was from the UK Guardian, and was published recently enough to be of very real concern to Grace and her supporting team.
… Suspects in North Korea are subjected to ritual torture, humiliation and sexual assault by a criminal justice system that considers them “less than an animal”, according to the first-ever report detailing the brutality of the country’s pretrial detention conditions. Some of the interviewees recounted “rampant” sexual violence at detention facilities. Kim Sun-young, a former trader in her 50s who fled North Korea five years ago, said she had been raped by her interrogator at a detention centre, adding that another police officer had sexually assaulted her during an interrogation. Kim said she had been “powerless to resist” …
The North Koreans, needing something to compensate their loss of the software they thought they had bought, made no secret of the fact that they had Sophia Moore in captivity. They told the world that they had detained a member of the UK Secret Service, and were circulating the propaganda façade that Sophia Moore had been caught taking pictures of a military facility whist posing as a tourist. A huge pile of bullshit of course, but it gave the North Koreans the righteous high ground and provided the platform and back-story for them to detain Sophia ‘awaiting trial’, whereupon, according to the article, she would be treated ‘less than an animal’ and subjected to rampant sexual violence …
Grace knew that time was of the essence and that she could not afford to fail in her mission …
Kaechon Internment Camp 14, South Pyongyang
Sophia loved to read, she always had, from being a little girl. She remembered reading one book about the 1996 Japanese Embassy Hostage Crisis in Lima, it was a novel called Everlasting Love, if she remembered correctly. The young girl recalled it now because it was about the event that brought about the phrase ‘Lima Syndrome’. Lima syndrome. That’s what they call the psychological phenomenon where the captor sympathises with the captive so much that he releases said captive.
She’s not foolish enough to think that she’ll be able to get the North Koreans to release her, but it’s possible that she could get them maybe to do small things, like letting her wear clothes, and stop having her used like a worthless bitch ... which was one of the less insulting names she had been called in past day, or however long it was that she had been incarcerated here in the hell-hole of a prison.
Maybe they would even stop calling her ‘Turd’.
Yawning again, her body now beyond exhaustion, Sophia watched yet another lizard scurry across the floor, and she imagined that she too was small and green. Small enough to slither between the thick iron bars of her cell, through the vents and out of this hell-hole. If she could do that, she’d have to be the best spy in the world. It’s a silly thought, but it was comforting, fleetingly taking her mind off this nightmare.
Her eyelids grew heavy, and Sophia let sleep take her,. She dreamt of little green lizards and her mum, who’s laughing and chasing her around a jungle park. It’s her most joyful dream in an age. But when her eyes flicker open the delusion is well and truly gone, and the harsh reality of her situation is made all too clear again.
The heavy cell door swings open, and she jerks awake, conditioned to respond to that noise as if to an electric shock. They’re here for her again, and she begins to shake in fearful anticipation … yet another conditioned response. As much as she wants to remain strong, they’re breaking her down piece by vulnerable piece.
To Be Continued …
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Amazing Grace (2)
Kaechon Internment Camp 14, South Pyongyang
Every time they take her to their ‘special’ room, every gruelling thing they do to her body and her mind, every humiliation great and small, every hour that she waits alone and naked, for them to come for her, another piece of young Sophia is shattered. Even though they have given her meagre amounts of food and water, the bastards are destroying her willpower bit by tiny bit.
And she knows they’re only just getting started. These monsters implied as much the last time they had her in that damned place, the one where that poor man, whoever he is, hangs chained and bleeding … also naked.
Trying to control her breathing, Sophia sits up, pulling the thin, dirty blanket around herself. The chill here in her cell is everlasting. It permeates the grey stone walls and wooden door, seeps in through the cracks in the floor and ceiling. The single window is small, and so if there is a sun it does not know about the place in which the poor girl is being held.
Footsteps.
“Turd,” A familiar voice makes her shake even more. Kang Sok Ju is the guard Sophia hates the most, the one with the grabbiest hands and the nastiest-smelling breath, always finding opportunities to touch her and hurt her.
“Turd,” he repeats, approaching her crouching body, and she sees the glee in his beady dark eyes. On his thin, dry lips, the derogatory name they have given to her sounds dirty and perverted.
“Are you ready, Turd?” Staring at her, Sophia fights the urge to shrink back against the wall. Instead, she stands up and throws off her blanket. He’d welcome any excuse to lay his hands on her, so Sophia doesn’t give him one. She just walks over to the door and stands there waiting, her stomach twisting with nausea.
“You’re wanted out there again,” he says, reaching for her arm. The young British girl almost pukes as he grabs her wrist, his fingers tight and oily on her skin. He snaps a handcuff on that wrist and then grabs her other arm, stepping closer. “I wonder who will be rewarded today huh?” As he said this his mouth was pressed to her ear before he slid his face sideways to lick slowly up her cheek.
Did these men really consider her to be a reward for whatever ‘good deed’ it was that they were supposed to have done?
Sophia feels one of Kang Sok Ju’s hands squeezing her ass, his fingers digging painfully into the crack, probing, searching and finally penetrating. She gasps and squeals writhing under his invasive touch. “Too bad, it’s not me Turd, not just yet anyway.”
Vomit rises in her throat as she smells his breath, stale cigarettes mixed with rotting teeth. It takes everything she has not to shove him away. But if Sophia fights, he’ll get to touch her even more; she already knows that from experience. So, she simply stands still and waits for him to lead her out of her little cell, to the punishment room. Sure enough, after a few seconds, he snaps the second handcuff on her wrist and steps back, smiling as his gaze closes in on her manacled wrists hanging in front of nude body.
“Let’s go,” he barks, grabbing her elbow, and Sophia gulps down an inhalation from an air pocket untainted by his stench, desperately hoping her stomach will settle down. She has only thrown up once since this torment began, and the bastards made her clean it up. The thought of how they made her do that makes the young MI6 Analyst feel sick again.
The poor, hanging man, presumably a supposed dissident, or political activist, will be waiting in the punishment room, arms chained high, helpless. They come for Sophia every, maybe four or five hours, and this will be her fifth or is it sixth visit to the room. Each time they let one of the guards have her in the way of his choosing, while someone else ‘works’ on the male prisoner’s body. By ‘works on’ she means that he is punched, kicked, beaten with sticks or cut with knives.
Frequently Sophia is chained to the cell bars and raped in whatever manner they choose, or ordered to her knees to pleasure the man orally. Whatever the act she is fated to receive or give, the man’s torture continues until the guard she is servicing cums … so the sooner that happens, the better.
It seems like a lifetime ago that the first guard took her virginity. He whooped with delight when she bled for him … they made her clean that mess up too and it was hours before the coppery taste faded from her mouth.
They find it entertaining, these monsters, to play this game. She is grateful for the fact that she has a birth control implant, MI6 insisted upon it, but when the day comes when they push her too far and finally end her young life it wouldn’t matter one bit.
Much to Sophia’s relief, her nausea recedes as Kang Sok Ju marches her down the hall. But then her heartbeat picks up, a fresh wave of revulsion moving through her. She’s not ready for this, she never is.
When they arrive, the head guard, the nameless one who always seems to organise proceedings, is waiting, leaning against the bars, arms folded, smiling. The poor man just hangs, his head drooping, bloody body shivering.
“Your body is made for this Turd, our little fuck-toy …” he looks up and addresses her through his smirk.
“Please, ...” Sophia has no idea why she is pleading with them.
“Shut your mouth, Turd,” he snarls, grabbing her throat. He drags her to a place where she can be pushed hard against the cage bars, and issues his next command to Kang Sok Ju.
“Chain Turd’s arms high, facing inwards. Make sure her ass is accessible, … Han Son wants her like that, from behind looking in so that they can both see how we treat this other traitorous dog!”
Sophia groans as her aching, exhausted limbs are secured as desired, and she sees the man in question, Han Son, approach. He looks young, many of them do.
She stares up into Han Son’s boyishly handsome face, so different to the ugly, repugnant Kang Sok Ju. The young man smiles at her, and Sophia can see the size of his bulge, his hard cock ready and waiting as the young guard exits the cage and takes up a position behind her.
She feels rough hands on her ass, pulling, separating, parting, opening. Then, as a knife blade is taken to the hanging man’s chest and a long bloody line is drawn across his flesh, Sophia trembles as she hears the boy at her rear expel, what she imagines to be a long drool of saliva. Her imagination was proven to be right as that same drool lands on its target at the top of her ass and trickles slowly into the valley of her parted cheeks. In seconds, she can feel the swollen cock head pushing at her body.
And then she hears a long, loud groan from Han Son, as the chained man grunts and she screams for all her life is worth …
To Be Continued …
Kaechon Internment Camp 14, South Pyongyang
Every time they take her to their ‘special’ room, every gruelling thing they do to her body and her mind, every humiliation great and small, every hour that she waits alone and naked, for them to come for her, another piece of young Sophia is shattered. Even though they have given her meagre amounts of food and water, the bastards are destroying her willpower bit by tiny bit.
And she knows they’re only just getting started. These monsters implied as much the last time they had her in that damned place, the one where that poor man, whoever he is, hangs chained and bleeding … also naked.
Trying to control her breathing, Sophia sits up, pulling the thin, dirty blanket around herself. The chill here in her cell is everlasting. It permeates the grey stone walls and wooden door, seeps in through the cracks in the floor and ceiling. The single window is small, and so if there is a sun it does not know about the place in which the poor girl is being held.
Footsteps.
“Turd,” A familiar voice makes her shake even more. Kang Sok Ju is the guard Sophia hates the most, the one with the grabbiest hands and the nastiest-smelling breath, always finding opportunities to touch her and hurt her.
“Turd,” he repeats, approaching her crouching body, and she sees the glee in his beady dark eyes. On his thin, dry lips, the derogatory name they have given to her sounds dirty and perverted.
“Are you ready, Turd?” Staring at her, Sophia fights the urge to shrink back against the wall. Instead, she stands up and throws off her blanket. He’d welcome any excuse to lay his hands on her, so Sophia doesn’t give him one. She just walks over to the door and stands there waiting, her stomach twisting with nausea.
“You’re wanted out there again,” he says, reaching for her arm. The young British girl almost pukes as he grabs her wrist, his fingers tight and oily on her skin. He snaps a handcuff on that wrist and then grabs her other arm, stepping closer. “I wonder who will be rewarded today huh?” As he said this his mouth was pressed to her ear before he slid his face sideways to lick slowly up her cheek.
Did these men really consider her to be a reward for whatever ‘good deed’ it was that they were supposed to have done?
Sophia feels one of Kang Sok Ju’s hands squeezing her ass, his fingers digging painfully into the crack, probing, searching and finally penetrating. She gasps and squeals writhing under his invasive touch. “Too bad, it’s not me Turd, not just yet anyway.”
Vomit rises in her throat as she smells his breath, stale cigarettes mixed with rotting teeth. It takes everything she has not to shove him away. But if Sophia fights, he’ll get to touch her even more; she already knows that from experience. So, she simply stands still and waits for him to lead her out of her little cell, to the punishment room. Sure enough, after a few seconds, he snaps the second handcuff on her wrist and steps back, smiling as his gaze closes in on her manacled wrists hanging in front of nude body.
“Let’s go,” he barks, grabbing her elbow, and Sophia gulps down an inhalation from an air pocket untainted by his stench, desperately hoping her stomach will settle down. She has only thrown up once since this torment began, and the bastards made her clean it up. The thought of how they made her do that makes the young MI6 Analyst feel sick again.
The poor, hanging man, presumably a supposed dissident, or political activist, will be waiting in the punishment room, arms chained high, helpless. They come for Sophia every, maybe four or five hours, and this will be her fifth or is it sixth visit to the room. Each time they let one of the guards have her in the way of his choosing, while someone else ‘works’ on the male prisoner’s body. By ‘works on’ she means that he is punched, kicked, beaten with sticks or cut with knives.
Frequently Sophia is chained to the cell bars and raped in whatever manner they choose, or ordered to her knees to pleasure the man orally. Whatever the act she is fated to receive or give, the man’s torture continues until the guard she is servicing cums … so the sooner that happens, the better.
It seems like a lifetime ago that the first guard took her virginity. He whooped with delight when she bled for him … they made her clean that mess up too and it was hours before the coppery taste faded from her mouth.
They find it entertaining, these monsters, to play this game. She is grateful for the fact that she has a birth control implant, MI6 insisted upon it, but when the day comes when they push her too far and finally end her young life it wouldn’t matter one bit.
Much to Sophia’s relief, her nausea recedes as Kang Sok Ju marches her down the hall. But then her heartbeat picks up, a fresh wave of revulsion moving through her. She’s not ready for this, she never is.
When they arrive, the head guard, the nameless one who always seems to organise proceedings, is waiting, leaning against the bars, arms folded, smiling. The poor man just hangs, his head drooping, bloody body shivering.
“Your body is made for this Turd, our little fuck-toy …” he looks up and addresses her through his smirk.
“Please, ...” Sophia has no idea why she is pleading with them.
“Shut your mouth, Turd,” he snarls, grabbing her throat. He drags her to a place where she can be pushed hard against the cage bars, and issues his next command to Kang Sok Ju.
“Chain Turd’s arms high, facing inwards. Make sure her ass is accessible, … Han Son wants her like that, from behind looking in so that they can both see how we treat this other traitorous dog!”
Sophia groans as her aching, exhausted limbs are secured as desired, and she sees the man in question, Han Son, approach. He looks young, many of them do.
She stares up into Han Son’s boyishly handsome face, so different to the ugly, repugnant Kang Sok Ju. The young man smiles at her, and Sophia can see the size of his bulge, his hard cock ready and waiting as the young guard exits the cage and takes up a position behind her.
She feels rough hands on her ass, pulling, separating, parting, opening. Then, as a knife blade is taken to the hanging man’s chest and a long bloody line is drawn across his flesh, Sophia trembles as she hears the boy at her rear expel, what she imagines to be a long drool of saliva. Her imagination was proven to be right as that same drool lands on its target at the top of her ass and trickles slowly into the valley of her parted cheeks. In seconds, she can feel the swollen cock head pushing at her body.
And then she hears a long, loud groan from Han Son, as the chained man grunts and she screams for all her life is worth …
To Be Continued …
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Amazing Grace (3)
Koryo Hotel, Pyongyang.
Up close, the view of the girl was everything. She was stunning, she had a lovely, wide brown eyes that created a captivating contrast to her slightly darker skin, full lashes framed those eyes to give her an almost ethereal look, and her swollen lips were begging to be kissed. From where he stood, he forced himself to not lower his gaze, lest he was confronted by the swell of her cleavage and lost his cool. He needed to maintain the little self-control he was holding on to in this moment, else, he would bestow upon this girl what he was desperate to give her, without getting anything in return.
Grace looked up, fearlessly. "Can you do what I want?” She asked the man standing before her, the bulge at his groin providing the answer to the Special Agent’s question without him having to reply.
Cam Pi Sok was a guard at the Kaechon Internment Camp 14, and in return for her body and ten thousand Great British Pounds he had agreed to help Grace with her mission to free the Western Slut they called Turd.
The prison guard was known to the British as a possible defector, and was already on their radar. But that hadn’t lessened the risk for Grace when she approached him – if they had this wrong then she was in huge trouble.
But here in this high-rise hotel room, dressed in cheap clothes stolen from a ‘Western’ stall in an outdoor market, Grace’s plan seemed to be working.
He placed a finger under the Special Agent’s chin and tipped her head slightly until her gaze was level with his, the defiance in her eyes stirred his lust like nothing he had ever felt.
“Let me fuck you in the ass little bitch …”
What the fuck. No way! The words had barely left his lips when she pushed his hand away from her face, "Over my dead body. I'll find some other way …”
She turned on her heels and marched to the door, giving him a view of her ass that she knew would make him rethink and decide to take whatever he could get. But his next words were far less accommodating than Grace had imagined.
"Your colleague, the Turd girl, will have been raped to death if you leave this any longer Special Agent,” he called out to her. That was enough to stop her in her tracks, she turned to him swiftly, and he noticed a chink of vulnerability in her tough exterior.
With a triumphant grin he reached out and his hand moved around Grace’s waist. She swallowed audibly as she watched him with ever widening eyes. Suddenly he pulled her into him, making her short skirt rise higher up her thighs. She gasped at his sharp movement, her hands immediately shooting up to rest against his hard chest. Maybe she shouldn't have worn such a brief skirt.
His touch found its way underneath the fabric, his gaze fixed solely on her body. Grace's breath quickened; wired with anticipation for what she knew he would do next. A sob caught in her throat when she felt his finger stroke her slit through the thin material of her panties. He caressed her again, making her force back a moan, she didn't want to give into this man, but what choice was there?
“Your ass, bitch.”
Fleetingly Grace’s eyes closed and then she sighed indicating her reluctant acceptance, nodded and then positioned herself on all fours …
Kaechon Internment Camp 14, South Pyongyang
Kang Sok Ju put the young Analyst into a stress position; standing on one leg with her arms held out wide either side of her. It took less than twenty minutes for Sophia to lose her balance and when she failed to hold the position, the guards were allowed to beat her with long, thick bamboo canes.
They hit her on her upper arms, thighs, back, belly and breasts with the hard rod.
“Nooooo, arggghhhhhh!” But her cries only heightened the bastards’ sense of enjoyment!
After several minutes, during which time they left more thick, red welts all over Sophia’s body, she was ordered once more into the same stress position, whereupon it took even less time for the young girl to lose her steadiness. She was sweating and hot, her beaten body inflamed with an agonising ache. The exertion was too taxing and when she let her balancing foot seek respite on the ground Sophia’s whole body trembled in anticipation of they would now do to her.
“Oh God, I’m sorry, please no don’t … no!” The final objection was a long drawn-out wail as the hard canes began to rain down on her vulnerable body once again.
Following a short break in proceedings, where the guards simply gazed down at their young prisoner’s naked, nubile, beaten body, the one in charge gave word to his men. Sophia’s arms were grabbed and she was strung up by her wrists to a hook in the ceiling.
“Please, no more, please …” Sophia’s pleas fell, of course, upon deaf ears.
A young moon-faced guard positioned himself behind Sophia and grinned at his superior. The captive girl had her face buried into her upper arm; her eyes were red from crying, and tears began to fall copiously once more when the guard swung his arm and, swinging with full power, he landed the length of hard bamboo across the cheeks of her ass.
“Fuck! Arghhhhhhhhh” Sophia cried out. He had hit her very hard, leaving a thick welt behind. Then he repeated the stroke … and again. In no time at all her bottom was aflame with angry raised flesh, small cuts and darkening bruises.
There was a pause for the guards to simply stand and watch the girl’s heaving chest as she sobbed and shook before them. Each man sported a large, thickening bulge at the groin of his uniform …
“Continue,” the word was given. “When she is almost unconscious then we will fuck her.”
To Be Continued …
Koryo Hotel, Pyongyang.
Up close, the view of the girl was everything. She was stunning, she had a lovely, wide brown eyes that created a captivating contrast to her slightly darker skin, full lashes framed those eyes to give her an almost ethereal look, and her swollen lips were begging to be kissed. From where he stood, he forced himself to not lower his gaze, lest he was confronted by the swell of her cleavage and lost his cool. He needed to maintain the little self-control he was holding on to in this moment, else, he would bestow upon this girl what he was desperate to give her, without getting anything in return.
Grace looked up, fearlessly. "Can you do what I want?” She asked the man standing before her, the bulge at his groin providing the answer to the Special Agent’s question without him having to reply.
Cam Pi Sok was a guard at the Kaechon Internment Camp 14, and in return for her body and ten thousand Great British Pounds he had agreed to help Grace with her mission to free the Western Slut they called Turd.
The prison guard was known to the British as a possible defector, and was already on their radar. But that hadn’t lessened the risk for Grace when she approached him – if they had this wrong then she was in huge trouble.
But here in this high-rise hotel room, dressed in cheap clothes stolen from a ‘Western’ stall in an outdoor market, Grace’s plan seemed to be working.
He placed a finger under the Special Agent’s chin and tipped her head slightly until her gaze was level with his, the defiance in her eyes stirred his lust like nothing he had ever felt.
“Let me fuck you in the ass little bitch …”
What the fuck. No way! The words had barely left his lips when she pushed his hand away from her face, "Over my dead body. I'll find some other way …”
She turned on her heels and marched to the door, giving him a view of her ass that she knew would make him rethink and decide to take whatever he could get. But his next words were far less accommodating than Grace had imagined.
"Your colleague, the Turd girl, will have been raped to death if you leave this any longer Special Agent,” he called out to her. That was enough to stop her in her tracks, she turned to him swiftly, and he noticed a chink of vulnerability in her tough exterior.
With a triumphant grin he reached out and his hand moved around Grace’s waist. She swallowed audibly as she watched him with ever widening eyes. Suddenly he pulled her into him, making her short skirt rise higher up her thighs. She gasped at his sharp movement, her hands immediately shooting up to rest against his hard chest. Maybe she shouldn't have worn such a brief skirt.
His touch found its way underneath the fabric, his gaze fixed solely on her body. Grace's breath quickened; wired with anticipation for what she knew he would do next. A sob caught in her throat when she felt his finger stroke her slit through the thin material of her panties. He caressed her again, making her force back a moan, she didn't want to give into this man, but what choice was there?
“Your ass, bitch.”
Fleetingly Grace’s eyes closed and then she sighed indicating her reluctant acceptance, nodded and then positioned herself on all fours …
Kaechon Internment Camp 14, South Pyongyang
Kang Sok Ju put the young Analyst into a stress position; standing on one leg with her arms held out wide either side of her. It took less than twenty minutes for Sophia to lose her balance and when she failed to hold the position, the guards were allowed to beat her with long, thick bamboo canes.
They hit her on her upper arms, thighs, back, belly and breasts with the hard rod.
“Nooooo, arggghhhhhh!” But her cries only heightened the bastards’ sense of enjoyment!
After several minutes, during which time they left more thick, red welts all over Sophia’s body, she was ordered once more into the same stress position, whereupon it took even less time for the young girl to lose her steadiness. She was sweating and hot, her beaten body inflamed with an agonising ache. The exertion was too taxing and when she let her balancing foot seek respite on the ground Sophia’s whole body trembled in anticipation of they would now do to her.
“Oh God, I’m sorry, please no don’t … no!” The final objection was a long drawn-out wail as the hard canes began to rain down on her vulnerable body once again.
Following a short break in proceedings, where the guards simply gazed down at their young prisoner’s naked, nubile, beaten body, the one in charge gave word to his men. Sophia’s arms were grabbed and she was strung up by her wrists to a hook in the ceiling.
“Please, no more, please …” Sophia’s pleas fell, of course, upon deaf ears.
A young moon-faced guard positioned himself behind Sophia and grinned at his superior. The captive girl had her face buried into her upper arm; her eyes were red from crying, and tears began to fall copiously once more when the guard swung his arm and, swinging with full power, he landed the length of hard bamboo across the cheeks of her ass.
“Fuck! Arghhhhhhhhh” Sophia cried out. He had hit her very hard, leaving a thick welt behind. Then he repeated the stroke … and again. In no time at all her bottom was aflame with angry raised flesh, small cuts and darkening bruises.
There was a pause for the guards to simply stand and watch the girl’s heaving chest as she sobbed and shook before them. Each man sported a large, thickening bulge at the groin of his uniform …
“Continue,” the word was given. “When she is almost unconscious then we will fuck her.”
To Be Continued …