Great good old fashioned action sequence. I can see it all so vividly. Nicely written!
And with this installment the plot thickens. Getting out my bottle of Riesling for the next episode.
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Sexpionage III
- Thread starter Fossy
- Start date
And with this installment the plot thickens. Getting out my bottle of Riesling for the next episode.
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Backlash (4)
An old, abandoned warehouse in the Nieuw-West district of Amsterdam
Grace groaned. In her mind’s eye she could see him above her, between her legs and she could feel him deep inside her body. He was a nightmare returned. This man, and she did not know his name then, as she didn’t know it now. But he had filled her with crack and taken her virginity in Albania when she was still a rookie Agent …
… And now he was raping her once more.
Then, it was over, and he left her, broken, hurting and humiliated all over again.
The captive girl, fingers broken, dried cum staining her thighs, rolled onto her side and tried to banish the memories of his hard, thick cock driving mercilessly into her already shattered body, but she could not.
It was all too fresh, all too recent and now she had been left here, alone ... that was until the door to her cell creaked open once more.
"Pl ... please, don't do this," the Special Agent pleaded, "Whatever it is, don't do it,"
The answer to that came with a sharp kick to Grace’s ribs, sending agonising pain flaring along her exposed side, and she gasped, waking from her fretful state with a groan.
“Pl … please, n …no more,” was all she could utter.
The sack cloth bag was pulled back over her head, once more blocking her vision, blinding her and the material clung to her skin making her feel even more claustrophobic. A hand grabbed her, yanking Grace to her feet, dragging her across the room, holding the covering tightly over her face.
As they pushed her down onto a bench or a table or some other smooth flat surface, and pulled the sack cloth even tighter over her pretty features. Grace cried out as the weight of her body was forced down upon her bound wrists and brutally broken fingers. She knew what was coming. A part of her didn’t care, because what they wanted, what they were trying to get out of her, she couldn’t tell them even if she wanted to. She really wasn’t involved with the programme codenamed ‘Shelter’, and so they could torture her, they could literally do their worst, it wouldn’t make a damn bit of difference and for some reason that thought actually gave her comfort because she knew that physically she couldn’t give in.
So, after torturing her almost to death, they would then kill her … she didn’t want to die, and so for now the captive Agent had to focus on simply surviving, on getting through each horrifying moment that they forced her to endure until they made the decision to end it.
Then the water came, freezing, over her face.
Grace spluttered as much as the tight fabric would allow, trying to swallow, trying to swallow as much as she could because the need to breathe was overwhelming all her senses.
The flow of water paused.
“Tell us what we want to know Special Agent Miller.”
Grace shut her eyes, screwed them tight and gagged.
Her arms pushed against the large fisted grip holding her down, and then someone to her side gripped her broken fingers and squeezed.
“Aiiiiiiiiiiiiiii, you bastardddssssss!” And as she screamed, her mouth opened under the sack and the water was poured over her face again.
“All you have to do is tell us,” The voice said just before more frigid liquid was dispensed liberally over the captive girl’s mouth and nose.
She spluttered again before gasping. “I … I … don’t know it. Really, please …”
She knew that she wouldn’t die from being waterboarded, that was what her training had told her, but right now it didn’t feel that way.
Grace heard them laugh, like it was a joke, like it was all just some big misunderstanding. She felt hands upon her exposed breasts, fingers tweaking her nipples, pulling, twisting until she cried out.
“Stop fighting us and just give in,” the familiar voice said and Special Agent Miller’s unseeing eyes flashed with stars as someone punched her hard in the side of the head.
“Fuck!” She cried out, “I really don’t know anything.”
More water was already covering her face, flowing down her throat as she tried desperately to claw a breath from somewhere … but her words were drowning along with her body.
To Be Continued …
An old, abandoned warehouse in the Nieuw-West district of Amsterdam
Grace groaned. In her mind’s eye she could see him above her, between her legs and she could feel him deep inside her body. He was a nightmare returned. This man, and she did not know his name then, as she didn’t know it now. But he had filled her with crack and taken her virginity in Albania when she was still a rookie Agent …
… And now he was raping her once more.
Then, it was over, and he left her, broken, hurting and humiliated all over again.
The captive girl, fingers broken, dried cum staining her thighs, rolled onto her side and tried to banish the memories of his hard, thick cock driving mercilessly into her already shattered body, but she could not.
It was all too fresh, all too recent and now she had been left here, alone ... that was until the door to her cell creaked open once more.
"Pl ... please, don't do this," the Special Agent pleaded, "Whatever it is, don't do it,"
The answer to that came with a sharp kick to Grace’s ribs, sending agonising pain flaring along her exposed side, and she gasped, waking from her fretful state with a groan.
“Pl … please, n …no more,” was all she could utter.
The sack cloth bag was pulled back over her head, once more blocking her vision, blinding her and the material clung to her skin making her feel even more claustrophobic. A hand grabbed her, yanking Grace to her feet, dragging her across the room, holding the covering tightly over her face.
As they pushed her down onto a bench or a table or some other smooth flat surface, and pulled the sack cloth even tighter over her pretty features. Grace cried out as the weight of her body was forced down upon her bound wrists and brutally broken fingers. She knew what was coming. A part of her didn’t care, because what they wanted, what they were trying to get out of her, she couldn’t tell them even if she wanted to. She really wasn’t involved with the programme codenamed ‘Shelter’, and so they could torture her, they could literally do their worst, it wouldn’t make a damn bit of difference and for some reason that thought actually gave her comfort because she knew that physically she couldn’t give in.
So, after torturing her almost to death, they would then kill her … she didn’t want to die, and so for now the captive Agent had to focus on simply surviving, on getting through each horrifying moment that they forced her to endure until they made the decision to end it.
Then the water came, freezing, over her face.
Grace spluttered as much as the tight fabric would allow, trying to swallow, trying to swallow as much as she could because the need to breathe was overwhelming all her senses.
The flow of water paused.
“Tell us what we want to know Special Agent Miller.”
Grace shut her eyes, screwed them tight and gagged.
Her arms pushed against the large fisted grip holding her down, and then someone to her side gripped her broken fingers and squeezed.
“Aiiiiiiiiiiiiiii, you bastardddssssss!” And as she screamed, her mouth opened under the sack and the water was poured over her face again.
“All you have to do is tell us,” The voice said just before more frigid liquid was dispensed liberally over the captive girl’s mouth and nose.
She spluttered again before gasping. “I … I … don’t know it. Really, please …”
She knew that she wouldn’t die from being waterboarded, that was what her training had told her, but right now it didn’t feel that way.
Grace heard them laugh, like it was a joke, like it was all just some big misunderstanding. She felt hands upon her exposed breasts, fingers tweaking her nipples, pulling, twisting until she cried out.
“Stop fighting us and just give in,” the familiar voice said and Special Agent Miller’s unseeing eyes flashed with stars as someone punched her hard in the side of the head.
“Fuck!” She cried out, “I really don’t know anything.”
More water was already covering her face, flowing down her throat as she tried desperately to claw a breath from somewhere … but her words were drowning along with her body.
To Be Continued …
Sharkman
Governor
@Fossy, hope Grace was not that one too expensive on your payroll of this new episode of Sexspionage III. O.K. I know she is young and needs money. For sure @Loinclothslave and I will do a charity show to collect some dollars to keep her on board for some more film shootings. Or @Fossy, old friend, do you want her real soon now 'For Your Eyes Only (1981)'?
Loinclothslave
slave to the whip
Yeah, @Lace never trust a Moore, they seem good for just one thing, hey @Barbaria1 ?
Great episode, @Fossy, don’t mind me as ok participate in the side chat.
One does one’s best ….
Seems a hopeless situation for Grace. Fossy is still keeping his readers in the dark as to what exactly is going on. It’s stressful … the tension cranked up to the point where I didn’t even notice how many glasses of Riesling I downed reading and then re-reading today’s episode.
Sharkman
Governor
@Loinclothslave, I am sure we even love
But more important ... let Grace suffer a little bit - Sexspionage-like - and soon rescued from this brutes. Ahh, is this old, abandoned warehouse in Amsterdam like a prison. You know I just ask for a friend.
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
@Loinclothslave, I am sure we even loveMoore... more to read. @Fossy, I heard there is a relatively unknown daugther in Moore familiy. A real beauty like her mother has been. Hope we get a short revealing of this secret. Isn't she migrated to the States beginning a career as FBI Special Agent?
But more important ... let Grace suffer a little bit - Sexspionage-like - and soon rescued from this brutes. Ahh, is this old, abandoned warehouse in Amsterdam like a prison. You know I just ask for a friend.
For more on Sophia Moore, Roger's daughter see "Sexpionage - Aleppo Affair"@Loinclothslave, I am sure we even loveMoore... more to read. @Fossy, I heard there is a relatively unknown daugther in Moore familiy. A real beauty like her mother has been. Hope we get a short revealing of this secret. Isn't she migrated to the States beginning a career as FBI Special Agent?
But more important ... let Grace suffer a little bit - Sexspionage-like - and soon rescued from this brutes. Ahh, is this old, abandoned warehouse in Amsterdam like a prison. You know I just ask for a friend.
Sharkman
Governor
Ah, O.k., I see. But I thought there was another one. Maybe someone even with last name Moore. Maybe a confusion of names. What a crazy, topsy-turvy world! ...
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Backlash (5)
An old, abandoned warehouse in the Nieuw-West district of Amsterdam
Grace lay freezing in the darkness. She had lost all sense of time. How long had she been here? Maybe days, possibly weeks. Everything had blended into one. Her stomach twisted angrily as she realised that they hadn’t fed her at all, which meant of course that she couldn’t have been there that long.
The only thing she’d had was the water she’d been forced to swallow when they’d been waterboarding her and her mouth felt impossibly dry. Her lips were chapped and she could feel them splitting and so resisted the urge to lick them.
The captive Special Agent groaned rolling sideways to relieve the pressure on her back, then instantly regretting it as pain shot through every tortured limb, so she returned to her previous position. The rope was cutting into her wrists and her fractured fingers were still blindingly painful … she should have been worried about having them set quickly so that they could heal, but bent fingers didn’t matter on a dead person.
She heard footsteps and braced herself for whatever was about to happen next. A hand wrenched her up and she stumbled to her feet, trying to pull away but the fisted grip in her matted hair was too tight.
They shoved her from the room, watching as she staggered, before falling forcefully onto the ground, groaning as her bruised body slammed into the hard concrete her broken fingers taking the impact.
“Get up little cunt.” A voice … the voice … said, and she shut her eyes trying to block everything out.
“Get up.” He repeated, this time kicking her as well for good measure, and she whimpered, the additional pain barely registering.
Grace got to her feet but then stumbled again, more dramatically this time, landing further away from the men. More of them laughed then and she gritted her teeth.
Let them laugh she thought, because while they were laughing, she was getting the better of them, by looking out, downwards, as the sack cloth covering her head shifted around a little with her movements. As Special Agent Miller lay on the cold ground, her head to the side, she could see down the cloth and out to a wall at the side.
She saw the glimpse of a name.
… Magazijn 1, Nieuw-West …
Just a peep, only a partial clue, but she knew that the name meant Warehouse number 1 and she guessed the next piece was the location.
It was all that Grace had time to see before she was pulled from the floor without ceremony, gripping fingers wrenching the sack back down properly over her head, pushing Grace until she fell onto a chair, where she sat, trying not to shake, waiting.
One of the men pointed the camera at her, checking the viewfinder, clicking the on button, giving the thumbs up, and the sack was tugged off.
Briefing Room 1 – SIS HQ, Vauxhall, London
“We’ve got something.” The analyst assigned to the case said as he glanced at Jason Underwood, a wary look on his face.
“What?” Jason asked.
“From the people who have taken Special Agent Miller. It’s encrypted but you’ll want to see it.” The young man said.
“Okay load it up please,” Roger Moore said, his voice weary.
The button was pressed and a figure appeared with what looked like a hessian sack on their head.
A hand appeared in view to yank it off, and Grace’s face was there, on the screen, blinking like she hadn’t seen daylight in a while and that the brightness was hurting her eyes. She was topless with just her hair partly covering her exposed breasts, but you could still see her nipples if you looked carefully enough.
She had been badly beaten with a bruise across her cheekbone and a cut above her left eye. Her wrists were bound and she held them up against her to try to cover herself and at least two if not three of her fingers were seemed to be badly broken.
“Grace …” Jason Underwood gasped.
“The captive girl’s eyes looked down, away from the camera until a fist gripped her hair, pulled and twisted, forcing her to look forward again.
Grace muttered something, barely audible, and a voice behind the camera laughed loudly.
Roger Moore realised that he and his team were being taunted. These bastards had asked for nothing, made no demands at all and so it was clear that whoever this was, was simply mocking them, proving that they could take his Agents whenever and however they liked.
Bastards.
“Turn it off.” Roger Moore said and everyone looked at him.
“There might be something on it.” Lacey Anderson, the assigned lead Agent, said quietly as she shifted her position off the edge of the desk so as to avoid antagonising the welts that remained from the recent night spent submitting to her boss ...
“I said turn it off.” Moore now yelled and Major Underwood shook his head.
“That is one of our agents. One of our team. I do not want to see her like that. Until they ask for something turn the fucking thing off.” The Head of MI6 made his instructions abundantly clear. The analyst nodded and the screen turned dark.
“Do we know where this video was shot?” Agent Anderson asked.
“That’s the point. We don’t know.” Jason replied said and then swallowed hard, before adding, “Take it away for analysis. There must be something on there, a clue of some sort. Go find it.” The young MI6 analyst nodded and took the screen away with him.
“Do we think that we’ll get her back?” Lacey asked.
Moore narrowed his eyes before walking out of the room. He wasn’t going to answer that question because he didn’t know what to say.
To Be Continued …
An old, abandoned warehouse in the Nieuw-West district of Amsterdam
Grace lay freezing in the darkness. She had lost all sense of time. How long had she been here? Maybe days, possibly weeks. Everything had blended into one. Her stomach twisted angrily as she realised that they hadn’t fed her at all, which meant of course that she couldn’t have been there that long.
The only thing she’d had was the water she’d been forced to swallow when they’d been waterboarding her and her mouth felt impossibly dry. Her lips were chapped and she could feel them splitting and so resisted the urge to lick them.
The captive Special Agent groaned rolling sideways to relieve the pressure on her back, then instantly regretting it as pain shot through every tortured limb, so she returned to her previous position. The rope was cutting into her wrists and her fractured fingers were still blindingly painful … she should have been worried about having them set quickly so that they could heal, but bent fingers didn’t matter on a dead person.
She heard footsteps and braced herself for whatever was about to happen next. A hand wrenched her up and she stumbled to her feet, trying to pull away but the fisted grip in her matted hair was too tight.
They shoved her from the room, watching as she staggered, before falling forcefully onto the ground, groaning as her bruised body slammed into the hard concrete her broken fingers taking the impact.
“Get up little cunt.” A voice … the voice … said, and she shut her eyes trying to block everything out.
“Get up.” He repeated, this time kicking her as well for good measure, and she whimpered, the additional pain barely registering.
Grace got to her feet but then stumbled again, more dramatically this time, landing further away from the men. More of them laughed then and she gritted her teeth.
Let them laugh she thought, because while they were laughing, she was getting the better of them, by looking out, downwards, as the sack cloth covering her head shifted around a little with her movements. As Special Agent Miller lay on the cold ground, her head to the side, she could see down the cloth and out to a wall at the side.
She saw the glimpse of a name.
… Magazijn 1, Nieuw-West …
Just a peep, only a partial clue, but she knew that the name meant Warehouse number 1 and she guessed the next piece was the location.
It was all that Grace had time to see before she was pulled from the floor without ceremony, gripping fingers wrenching the sack back down properly over her head, pushing Grace until she fell onto a chair, where she sat, trying not to shake, waiting.
One of the men pointed the camera at her, checking the viewfinder, clicking the on button, giving the thumbs up, and the sack was tugged off.
Briefing Room 1 – SIS HQ, Vauxhall, London
“We’ve got something.” The analyst assigned to the case said as he glanced at Jason Underwood, a wary look on his face.
“What?” Jason asked.
“From the people who have taken Special Agent Miller. It’s encrypted but you’ll want to see it.” The young man said.
“Okay load it up please,” Roger Moore said, his voice weary.
The button was pressed and a figure appeared with what looked like a hessian sack on their head.
A hand appeared in view to yank it off, and Grace’s face was there, on the screen, blinking like she hadn’t seen daylight in a while and that the brightness was hurting her eyes. She was topless with just her hair partly covering her exposed breasts, but you could still see her nipples if you looked carefully enough.
She had been badly beaten with a bruise across her cheekbone and a cut above her left eye. Her wrists were bound and she held them up against her to try to cover herself and at least two if not three of her fingers were seemed to be badly broken.
“Grace …” Jason Underwood gasped.
“The captive girl’s eyes looked down, away from the camera until a fist gripped her hair, pulled and twisted, forcing her to look forward again.
Grace muttered something, barely audible, and a voice behind the camera laughed loudly.
Roger Moore realised that he and his team were being taunted. These bastards had asked for nothing, made no demands at all and so it was clear that whoever this was, was simply mocking them, proving that they could take his Agents whenever and however they liked.
Bastards.
“Turn it off.” Roger Moore said and everyone looked at him.
“There might be something on it.” Lacey Anderson, the assigned lead Agent, said quietly as she shifted her position off the edge of the desk so as to avoid antagonising the welts that remained from the recent night spent submitting to her boss ...
“I said turn it off.” Moore now yelled and Major Underwood shook his head.
“That is one of our agents. One of our team. I do not want to see her like that. Until they ask for something turn the fucking thing off.” The Head of MI6 made his instructions abundantly clear. The analyst nodded and the screen turned dark.
“Do we know where this video was shot?” Agent Anderson asked.
“That’s the point. We don’t know.” Jason replied said and then swallowed hard, before adding, “Take it away for analysis. There must be something on there, a clue of some sort. Go find it.” The young MI6 analyst nodded and took the screen away with him.
“Do we think that we’ll get her back?” Lacey asked.
Moore narrowed his eyes before walking out of the room. He wasn’t going to answer that question because he didn’t know what to say.
To Be Continued …
Loinclothslave
slave to the whip
Oh c’mon Jason, how can you not be anything but suspicious now? Fuck Mlore’s sensibility, Grace muttered something. Ignore Moore, get that tape analysed now! Lacey has the right instinct, trust her? Not the crusty boss who acts like a pimp!!!
Given my emotional response, @Fossy, I’d argue there’s abundant evidence of how well that chapter was written!
Given my emotional response, @Fossy, I’d argue there’s abundant evidence of how well that chapter was written!
THAT is the essential question.
Great chapter. Mysterious but defining. The picture is sharpening, but the details are still
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Backlash (6)
Roger Moore’s Office - SIS HQ, Vauxhall, London
“But why would they send us a video just to taunt us?” Moore sounded frustrated. The analysts hadn’t yet found anything on the recording of use, and so now Roger Moore and Major Jason Underwood, Grace’s colleague and lover, were behind a closed office door, along with Lacey Anderson, trying to make sense of what was becoming an ever more desperate situation.
Jason was playing back the awful recording on his phone and seemed to be focussing on one particular frame.
“Look, here,” he said standing and laying the phone flat on the desk top for them all to see.
Moore and Agent Anderson moved in and looked down.
“What have you seen Major,” the Head of MI6 asked.
“Two things. First, the sign on the wall …” He zoomed in to show the lighter coloured signage in amongst the gloom of the shot.
… Magazijn 1, Nieuw-West …
“Warehouse 1 in a district of Amsterdam,” he announced. That’s where she is, we just need to know which warehouse block. I know that area well from past ops and there aren’t too many options …”
“Did those fucking analysts miss this?” Moore remonstrated.
Underwood simply raised his eyebrows.
“And the second thing Major Underwood?” This time it was Agent Anderson who spoke.
“I recognise the voice of the man speaking to her.”
“You do?” Moore sounded shocked.
“I do. It’s the bastard we tried to hold after the raid on Candy’s strip club, in Albania several years ago. When Grace and … Kat …” he still found it hard to say his dead lover’s name, “… infiltrated the trafficking sex ring, just before Kat was sold out and sent to the Black Dolphin Prison.” (See Sexpionage 18, The Black Dolphin)
Moore sighed at the memory of that awful time, and recollected all too clearly the way in which some of the main perpetrators had escaped the clutches of MI6 and the Albanian authorities. Now, clearly, they had resurfaced.
“So, we’ve got Dutch and Albanian links to a British MI6 Agent …?”
“... And we have connection to a British based trafficking group,” Agent Anderson chipped in.
“Sorry, what?” Moore asked.
“There’s a new set of girls appeared on the streets around Brick Lane, we know the girls are European and we have identified some of the men involved as Dutch and some as Albanian. We have been waiting for the Met’s Vice Squad to involve us, but I’m certain they must be linked to Grace’s disappearance and so now …”
“… So now we no longer require an invitation,” Moore completed his Agent’s sentence.
“Major Underwood please follow up on the Amsterdam warehouse lead, and set up a team once you know where you’re heading, and Agent Anderson you will need to be the lead in investigating those Brick Lane girls more closely.”
Both nodded and turned to leave. The Major was out of the door, before Moore spoke quietly, but clearly to his young female Agent.
“Agent Anderson, would you stay please, there is something else I need to go over with you, oh and make sure you close the door.”
“Sir?” She turned and smiled, chewing her bottom lip gently with her teeth.
“Maybe it’s time for a performance review.” Moore smirked walking up to his Agent, and Lacey swallowed hard realising exactly what he was getting at.
“You can’t ... Sir, not in here. Your secretary will hear, and someone might come in …”
“No one will come in, not unannounced,” Roger Moore replied.
She felt her jaw drop and looked from him to the door and back again.
“Roger, Sir …”
“Come here girl.” He ordered. She gritted her teeth but moved towards the man who was her boss and her dominant male lover. He ran his eyes up and down her in a way that made her heart pump harder. He was going to fuck her, right here, right in the freaking office, and the idea was making Agent Anderson way more excited than she should be.
“Not here. Not at work. Please Sir,” She said unconvincingly, and he laughed at how she was trying to be assertive with him, trying to push back. Grabbing her and turning her around so her body was pressed back against him. She could feel his cock already pressing hard into her ass.
“I can fuck you whenever and wherever I want. But don’t lie to yourself Lacey, you want it too. You want me to fuck you, don’t you.”
“No, not here.” She said with a quiet whimper.
Moore laughed again and ran one hand down the front of her body before slipping it into the front of her jeans, to infiltrate her panties. Lacey gasped when he touched her, his two intrusive fingers opening her and pushing inside as she shuddered to his ministration.
“Your body says otherwise, Agent Anderson.”
Lacey shut her eyes feeling his arms holding her and knowing he was right. He pulled his hand back out, spinning her around to untuck her top before pulling the loose material over her head.
The young Agent shivered in the cool air around her as Roger Moore ogled her breasts, pleased that she hadn’t tried to hide them, and now stood exposed exactly as he wanted.
Reaching out he cupped each mound of firm flesh, fondling gently, massaging the nipples between his fingers, delighting in the sensation as they hardened.
She watched his face, watched his eyes as he stared at her and if anything, the expression in them turned on her even more.
“You’re so fucking perfect.” He muttered before spinning her back around and pushing her face down across the polished wood conference table. Lacey threw her hands out to hold herself and stop her face from slamming against the wood. He wasn’t even being gentle, and that too turned her on!
As he reached around and unfastened her jeans, before pulling the tight denim, along with her panties, down to her ankles so that she could blindly kick them off, he leaned into her ear and, after pausing to admire the fading welts that were still visible, said,
“And now, Agent Anderson, I’m going to fuck you.”
This brings and end to PART I of SHATTERED ... There will now be a one day pause in proceedings so we can take stock and draw a breath. The series will continue on Thursday with the beginning of PART II - Addicted and Abused. Thank you as always for your wonderful support.
Roger Moore’s Office - SIS HQ, Vauxhall, London
“But why would they send us a video just to taunt us?” Moore sounded frustrated. The analysts hadn’t yet found anything on the recording of use, and so now Roger Moore and Major Jason Underwood, Grace’s colleague and lover, were behind a closed office door, along with Lacey Anderson, trying to make sense of what was becoming an ever more desperate situation.
Jason was playing back the awful recording on his phone and seemed to be focussing on one particular frame.
“Look, here,” he said standing and laying the phone flat on the desk top for them all to see.
Moore and Agent Anderson moved in and looked down.
“What have you seen Major,” the Head of MI6 asked.
“Two things. First, the sign on the wall …” He zoomed in to show the lighter coloured signage in amongst the gloom of the shot.
… Magazijn 1, Nieuw-West …
“Warehouse 1 in a district of Amsterdam,” he announced. That’s where she is, we just need to know which warehouse block. I know that area well from past ops and there aren’t too many options …”
“Did those fucking analysts miss this?” Moore remonstrated.
Underwood simply raised his eyebrows.
“And the second thing Major Underwood?” This time it was Agent Anderson who spoke.
“I recognise the voice of the man speaking to her.”
“You do?” Moore sounded shocked.
“I do. It’s the bastard we tried to hold after the raid on Candy’s strip club, in Albania several years ago. When Grace and … Kat …” he still found it hard to say his dead lover’s name, “… infiltrated the trafficking sex ring, just before Kat was sold out and sent to the Black Dolphin Prison.” (See Sexpionage 18, The Black Dolphin)
Moore sighed at the memory of that awful time, and recollected all too clearly the way in which some of the main perpetrators had escaped the clutches of MI6 and the Albanian authorities. Now, clearly, they had resurfaced.
“So, we’ve got Dutch and Albanian links to a British MI6 Agent …?”
“... And we have connection to a British based trafficking group,” Agent Anderson chipped in.
“Sorry, what?” Moore asked.
“There’s a new set of girls appeared on the streets around Brick Lane, we know the girls are European and we have identified some of the men involved as Dutch and some as Albanian. We have been waiting for the Met’s Vice Squad to involve us, but I’m certain they must be linked to Grace’s disappearance and so now …”
“… So now we no longer require an invitation,” Moore completed his Agent’s sentence.
“Major Underwood please follow up on the Amsterdam warehouse lead, and set up a team once you know where you’re heading, and Agent Anderson you will need to be the lead in investigating those Brick Lane girls more closely.”
Both nodded and turned to leave. The Major was out of the door, before Moore spoke quietly, but clearly to his young female Agent.
“Agent Anderson, would you stay please, there is something else I need to go over with you, oh and make sure you close the door.”
“Sir?” She turned and smiled, chewing her bottom lip gently with her teeth.
“Maybe it’s time for a performance review.” Moore smirked walking up to his Agent, and Lacey swallowed hard realising exactly what he was getting at.
“You can’t ... Sir, not in here. Your secretary will hear, and someone might come in …”
“No one will come in, not unannounced,” Roger Moore replied.
She felt her jaw drop and looked from him to the door and back again.
“Roger, Sir …”
“Come here girl.” He ordered. She gritted her teeth but moved towards the man who was her boss and her dominant male lover. He ran his eyes up and down her in a way that made her heart pump harder. He was going to fuck her, right here, right in the freaking office, and the idea was making Agent Anderson way more excited than she should be.
“Not here. Not at work. Please Sir,” She said unconvincingly, and he laughed at how she was trying to be assertive with him, trying to push back. Grabbing her and turning her around so her body was pressed back against him. She could feel his cock already pressing hard into her ass.
“I can fuck you whenever and wherever I want. But don’t lie to yourself Lacey, you want it too. You want me to fuck you, don’t you.”
“No, not here.” She said with a quiet whimper.
Moore laughed again and ran one hand down the front of her body before slipping it into the front of her jeans, to infiltrate her panties. Lacey gasped when he touched her, his two intrusive fingers opening her and pushing inside as she shuddered to his ministration.
“Your body says otherwise, Agent Anderson.”
Lacey shut her eyes feeling his arms holding her and knowing he was right. He pulled his hand back out, spinning her around to untuck her top before pulling the loose material over her head.
The young Agent shivered in the cool air around her as Roger Moore ogled her breasts, pleased that she hadn’t tried to hide them, and now stood exposed exactly as he wanted.
Reaching out he cupped each mound of firm flesh, fondling gently, massaging the nipples between his fingers, delighting in the sensation as they hardened.
She watched his face, watched his eyes as he stared at her and if anything, the expression in them turned on her even more.
“You’re so fucking perfect.” He muttered before spinning her back around and pushing her face down across the polished wood conference table. Lacey threw her hands out to hold herself and stop her face from slamming against the wood. He wasn’t even being gentle, and that too turned her on!
As he reached around and unfastened her jeans, before pulling the tight denim, along with her panties, down to her ankles so that she could blindly kick them off, he leaned into her ear and, after pausing to admire the fading welts that were still visible, said,
“And now, Agent Anderson, I’m going to fuck you.”
This brings and end to PART I of SHATTERED ... There will now be a one day pause in proceedings so we can take stock and draw a breath. The series will continue on Thursday with the beginning of PART II - Addicted and Abused. Thank you as always for your wonderful support.
“infiltrated”??? Spy talk when having sex?
Do we have to do everything around here ourselves? Analyze the intel data? Fuck the female agents?
Bet they don’t have to do all that over at the CIA! The Americans probably only have to fuck their female agents.
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Once a spy always a spy ...
Maybe we'll find out soon enough Barb ...