Lace
Assistant executioner
Oh my gosh, I hate that and love it at the same time. Guess thats what pleasure in pain does
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Sexpionage III
- Thread starter Fossy
- Start date
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Havana Hell (15)
Secure conference room, Las Mansiones de Miramar, Miramar District, Havana Cuba
“Steve Thompson …” Jason said his name out loud when asked. His Spanish was passable but not good enough to stand the test when he was confronted by Benita Diaz and her crew.”
“A Gringo Englishman as a pimp in Havana? Well, that has to be first.”
Jason said nothing as he struggled with the tight grips on both of his upper arms, that was as well as the AK74 pushing at his lower back.
“Why did you come here Mister Thompson?” Diaz’ tone was inherently menacing.
“You have my girl I believe, or at least one of them. I followed her here from Miami, she took off a few days ago and I want her back.”
“I do? Which one?”
“I know her as Angel, but she might call herself something different down here.” Jason hoped his story stacked up because they hadn’t discussed names, but it was clear that Barb couldn’t have presented herself as Mrs Thompson!
“So, your whore travelled over two hundred miles just to see if the action is different?”
Jason nodded. “It seems that way, yes.”
“And you wanted her back so badly that you also came over two hundred miles to find her, this Angel or whatever she is called?”
Major Underwood was experienced enough to know when his story had been just about pushed to its limits, and so he kept quiet.
“Okay Mr Thompson, which I have to say is a bland name for a pimp. Shouldn’t you be called Huggy, or Blade or some such shit?” The CAAL members present in the room laughed at Diaz’ words.
“Well, I do happen to have your pretty little puta, would you like to see her?”
“Yes.” Jason said quietly.
Benita Diaz rose from her seat and nodded at the men holding Jason in their clutches. “Bring him ...”
Bradley Potter’s room, Las Mansiones de Miramar, Miramar District, Havana Cuba
"I want you to play with yourself," Potter whispered as he moved the kneeling Rosa's hand to her slightly moist pussy. "Fuck your pretty pussy for me." Potter moved Rosa's hand up and down her slit several times before slipping the small egg vibe deep inside her.
Backing away he pressed the remote to switch the vibrator on, and then sat back on the couch to watch.
Rosa sucked in a breath and moaned with growing lust, her hips bucking up to meet her fingers. In seconds, Rosa was fingering herself quickly. Despite trying to fight the sensation and not lose control, the CIA Agent was turned on, her pussy ached and throbbed with need.
"Slow down, Rosa, let me watch you."
Potter poured the white powder onto the low glass coffee table and took out his credit card to chop up the stash. Lowering his head, he sniffed first one and then two of the lines into his nostrils. It was still only 8am but he followed up the inhalation with a long swig from a half full bottle of Jameson’s.
“Fucking cunts,” he muttered, laying back on the couch.
Despite her predicament Rosa’s ears pricked up. “W … who?” she uttered with a genuine gasp.
“Diaz and her lunatics. They want a ten percent reduction on the sale price.”
“Of what?” Rosa retained enough presence of mind to ask the question because she could sense that Potter was beginning to ramble.
"Fuck ‘em all is what I say. I want to see you use that pretty pussy for me bitch. Yes, like that, nice and slow. Now, pull your fingers out. That's it, lick them clean," Potter ordered her.
“Tell, The, Fuckers … ohhhhh fuckkkkk!” Rosa felt herself gush as she lost herself whilst trying to steer the conversation back towards Potter’s business, and the kneeling girl fell forward as she climaxed, staying prostrate in that way until she was able to raise her body again and have her fingers return to the wet spot between her legs.
“If they knew where I’d hidden the war head, then they wouldn’t be so fucking arrogant. They don’t realise that until they buy it, then it’s my insurance!”
Rosa’s heart leapt into her mouth.
“What have you done Bradley,” Rosa purred as she gently massaged her engorged clit whilst the vibe buzzed away inside her pussy.
“You are so much cleverer than they are Bradley, I bet you have hidden your product somewhere where they’ll never find it without you, right?”
"Shut the fuck up Rosa, don't make me tie you up," Potter threatened leaning down towards the table to sniff the remainder of the coke.
"If you tie me up, then I couldn't touch myself for you."
"No. But you wouldn't be able to stop me from touching you either." Rosa moaned as the speed on the vibe adjusted again, keeping her on the edge.
"You like the idea of me touching you?"
"Maybe," Rosa lied.
"Slow down," Potter warned her, and Rosa forced herself to comply. "I don't think you want me to touch you," Potter said softly.
Rosa faked a pout as she teased her clit in slow circles for the woman. "Why not?"
"Because, I wouldn't be very nice to your pussy.”
“I might like that from someone like you.” She whispered.
“Like me?” He questioned.
“Strong and cunning, I mean who else would have thought to hide the warhead under the house and arm it ready to go off …”
“It’s not under the fucking house, you stupid cunt,” Potter said with a slur, feeling the ‘C’ kicking in, it’s in Diaz’s room. The stupid bitch is sleeping on a nuclear fucking warhead, and if they don’t agree to my terms then once I’ve gotten as far away as I can, I’ll blow the fuckers to pieces!” As Potter said these words, which made no real sense, save for the extreme danger contained in them, he collapsed in fits of laughter, whilst Rosa, on the edge of another orgasm, filed that information away until she could make use of it.
Benita Diaz’ Private Rooms, Las Mansiones de Miramar, Miramar District, Havana Cuba
Barb’s eyes grew wide as she pulled against the restraints, desperately trying to break free. The ball gag had been removed, but the CIA Agent remained bound in all other aspects.
Jason stood watching her. He was held tightly still at gun point and she remained spread eagled naked and tied … She could see the outline of his hard on! Was Jason actually finding this a turn on, because having him here not only meant that her chances of being saved seemed severely reduced but it added considerably to her humiliation!
Diaz watched the pretty whore fight her bonds for a minute then turned away and pulled a black harness from a drawer.
“Are you enjoying the show Mister Thompson, your Angel looks heavenly, doesn’t she?” the bitch of a revolutionary laughed.
Jason said nothing. He was appalled, but could not stop himself from stiffening at the groin.
Benita Diaz moved back to where Barb remained tied to the four corners of the large couch, and fastened the straps around her waist. She wanted the whore to watch, to see the girl's face when she realised what was going to happen.
Pulling out the largest dildo she had Diaz fastened it to the harness before climbing back onto the couch. Barb looked panicked and fought harder.
"No! Please, I can’t. I’m already too sore! Please!" Diaz climbed on top of the girl and straddled her chest, pinning her against the dark leather.
“Fuck …” Jason muttered quietly under his breath.
"Please don’t.” Barb was begging now.
Diaz reached down and gripped the CIA Agent’s long hair tightly in her fist, steadying her head. With an evil smile she pushed her hips forward, forcing the fake cock past the girl's lips, to fill her mouth.
The CAAL leader moaned and Barb gagged as the giant cock was forced inexorably deeper into the pretty puta’s throat, before Diaz stopped for a moment just so that she could appreciate the look of panic in the bound girl’s eyes.
It was obvious that her captive could barely breathe, and so finally, Diaz pulled back and let Barb gasp for air. Just as the whore caught her breath, she pushed forward again, going even deeper. Barb tried to pull away but couldn’t as the dildo slowly fucked her mouth, stretching her lips wide.
When the CAAL leader finally pulled the cock free, Barb couldn't look at either her or Jason. But then the action moved lower on Barb’s bound body.
"For God’s sake, please don’t not with that!” Barb whimpered her plea. Diaz just smiled as she slowly ran the tip of the dildo up and down the moist and open slit that stared back at her.
“I hope you’re enjoying the show Mister Thompson,” Diaz mocked before plunging the cock deep into Barb’s cunt …
Office of Major Martinez, Dirección de Inteligencia HQ, Plaza de la Revolución, Havana, Cuba
“So, what you mean is that you lost him!” Martinez was apoplectic.
Two DI Agents. Two heads. Two sheepish nods.
“You lost him, but to make matters worse we know that he managed to sneak out of his hotel sometime between the hours of 5am and 8am?”
“Yes. That’s when we received the instruction to gain access to his room.”
The hotel was surrounded by CCTV but there was absolutely no sign of Mr Thompson, whom the DI now knew to be something far more than a tourist on vacation with his wife, who seemed no longer to be by his side.
They had to find them both.
Secure conference room, Las Mansiones de Miramar, Miramar District, Havana Cuba
As Rosa and Barb lay still and quiet, recovering from their most recent abuse, one bound and one simply locked in her room, Potter and Diaz met once again in the conference area.
The set up was identical with Benita in the middle of the malevolent triumvirate.
“Take him to the cells, throw him in and we’ll deal with him later.” The ‘him’ being referred to was Major Jason Underwood. Diaz wasn’t convinced for one minute that he was an ‘innocent’ pimp from Miami. And what’s more the slut of a puta in her rooms, still tied to her couch, was no simple whore. But she could remain tied where she was for now.
As Jason was led away, all attention turned back to the meeting.
“So, Mr Potter, do you agree to our terms? Do we have a deal?”
To Be Continued
Secure conference room, Las Mansiones de Miramar, Miramar District, Havana Cuba
“Steve Thompson …” Jason said his name out loud when asked. His Spanish was passable but not good enough to stand the test when he was confronted by Benita Diaz and her crew.”
“A Gringo Englishman as a pimp in Havana? Well, that has to be first.”
Jason said nothing as he struggled with the tight grips on both of his upper arms, that was as well as the AK74 pushing at his lower back.
“Why did you come here Mister Thompson?” Diaz’ tone was inherently menacing.
“You have my girl I believe, or at least one of them. I followed her here from Miami, she took off a few days ago and I want her back.”
“I do? Which one?”
“I know her as Angel, but she might call herself something different down here.” Jason hoped his story stacked up because they hadn’t discussed names, but it was clear that Barb couldn’t have presented herself as Mrs Thompson!
“So, your whore travelled over two hundred miles just to see if the action is different?”
Jason nodded. “It seems that way, yes.”
“And you wanted her back so badly that you also came over two hundred miles to find her, this Angel or whatever she is called?”
Major Underwood was experienced enough to know when his story had been just about pushed to its limits, and so he kept quiet.
“Okay Mr Thompson, which I have to say is a bland name for a pimp. Shouldn’t you be called Huggy, or Blade or some such shit?” The CAAL members present in the room laughed at Diaz’ words.
“Well, I do happen to have your pretty little puta, would you like to see her?”
“Yes.” Jason said quietly.
Benita Diaz rose from her seat and nodded at the men holding Jason in their clutches. “Bring him ...”
Bradley Potter’s room, Las Mansiones de Miramar, Miramar District, Havana Cuba
"I want you to play with yourself," Potter whispered as he moved the kneeling Rosa's hand to her slightly moist pussy. "Fuck your pretty pussy for me." Potter moved Rosa's hand up and down her slit several times before slipping the small egg vibe deep inside her.
Backing away he pressed the remote to switch the vibrator on, and then sat back on the couch to watch.
Rosa sucked in a breath and moaned with growing lust, her hips bucking up to meet her fingers. In seconds, Rosa was fingering herself quickly. Despite trying to fight the sensation and not lose control, the CIA Agent was turned on, her pussy ached and throbbed with need.
"Slow down, Rosa, let me watch you."
Potter poured the white powder onto the low glass coffee table and took out his credit card to chop up the stash. Lowering his head, he sniffed first one and then two of the lines into his nostrils. It was still only 8am but he followed up the inhalation with a long swig from a half full bottle of Jameson’s.
“Fucking cunts,” he muttered, laying back on the couch.
Despite her predicament Rosa’s ears pricked up. “W … who?” she uttered with a genuine gasp.
“Diaz and her lunatics. They want a ten percent reduction on the sale price.”
“Of what?” Rosa retained enough presence of mind to ask the question because she could sense that Potter was beginning to ramble.
"Fuck ‘em all is what I say. I want to see you use that pretty pussy for me bitch. Yes, like that, nice and slow. Now, pull your fingers out. That's it, lick them clean," Potter ordered her.
“Tell, The, Fuckers … ohhhhh fuckkkkk!” Rosa felt herself gush as she lost herself whilst trying to steer the conversation back towards Potter’s business, and the kneeling girl fell forward as she climaxed, staying prostrate in that way until she was able to raise her body again and have her fingers return to the wet spot between her legs.
“If they knew where I’d hidden the war head, then they wouldn’t be so fucking arrogant. They don’t realise that until they buy it, then it’s my insurance!”
Rosa’s heart leapt into her mouth.
“What have you done Bradley,” Rosa purred as she gently massaged her engorged clit whilst the vibe buzzed away inside her pussy.
“You are so much cleverer than they are Bradley, I bet you have hidden your product somewhere where they’ll never find it without you, right?”
"Shut the fuck up Rosa, don't make me tie you up," Potter threatened leaning down towards the table to sniff the remainder of the coke.
"If you tie me up, then I couldn't touch myself for you."
"No. But you wouldn't be able to stop me from touching you either." Rosa moaned as the speed on the vibe adjusted again, keeping her on the edge.
"You like the idea of me touching you?"
"Maybe," Rosa lied.
"Slow down," Potter warned her, and Rosa forced herself to comply. "I don't think you want me to touch you," Potter said softly.
Rosa faked a pout as she teased her clit in slow circles for the woman. "Why not?"
"Because, I wouldn't be very nice to your pussy.”
“I might like that from someone like you.” She whispered.
“Like me?” He questioned.
“Strong and cunning, I mean who else would have thought to hide the warhead under the house and arm it ready to go off …”
“It’s not under the fucking house, you stupid cunt,” Potter said with a slur, feeling the ‘C’ kicking in, it’s in Diaz’s room. The stupid bitch is sleeping on a nuclear fucking warhead, and if they don’t agree to my terms then once I’ve gotten as far away as I can, I’ll blow the fuckers to pieces!” As Potter said these words, which made no real sense, save for the extreme danger contained in them, he collapsed in fits of laughter, whilst Rosa, on the edge of another orgasm, filed that information away until she could make use of it.
Benita Diaz’ Private Rooms, Las Mansiones de Miramar, Miramar District, Havana Cuba
Barb’s eyes grew wide as she pulled against the restraints, desperately trying to break free. The ball gag had been removed, but the CIA Agent remained bound in all other aspects.
Jason stood watching her. He was held tightly still at gun point and she remained spread eagled naked and tied … She could see the outline of his hard on! Was Jason actually finding this a turn on, because having him here not only meant that her chances of being saved seemed severely reduced but it added considerably to her humiliation!
Diaz watched the pretty whore fight her bonds for a minute then turned away and pulled a black harness from a drawer.
“Are you enjoying the show Mister Thompson, your Angel looks heavenly, doesn’t she?” the bitch of a revolutionary laughed.
Jason said nothing. He was appalled, but could not stop himself from stiffening at the groin.
Benita Diaz moved back to where Barb remained tied to the four corners of the large couch, and fastened the straps around her waist. She wanted the whore to watch, to see the girl's face when she realised what was going to happen.
Pulling out the largest dildo she had Diaz fastened it to the harness before climbing back onto the couch. Barb looked panicked and fought harder.
"No! Please, I can’t. I’m already too sore! Please!" Diaz climbed on top of the girl and straddled her chest, pinning her against the dark leather.
“Fuck …” Jason muttered quietly under his breath.
"Please don’t.” Barb was begging now.
Diaz reached down and gripped the CIA Agent’s long hair tightly in her fist, steadying her head. With an evil smile she pushed her hips forward, forcing the fake cock past the girl's lips, to fill her mouth.
The CAAL leader moaned and Barb gagged as the giant cock was forced inexorably deeper into the pretty puta’s throat, before Diaz stopped for a moment just so that she could appreciate the look of panic in the bound girl’s eyes.
It was obvious that her captive could barely breathe, and so finally, Diaz pulled back and let Barb gasp for air. Just as the whore caught her breath, she pushed forward again, going even deeper. Barb tried to pull away but couldn’t as the dildo slowly fucked her mouth, stretching her lips wide.
When the CAAL leader finally pulled the cock free, Barb couldn't look at either her or Jason. But then the action moved lower on Barb’s bound body.
"For God’s sake, please don’t not with that!” Barb whimpered her plea. Diaz just smiled as she slowly ran the tip of the dildo up and down the moist and open slit that stared back at her.
“I hope you’re enjoying the show Mister Thompson,” Diaz mocked before plunging the cock deep into Barb’s cunt …
Office of Major Martinez, Dirección de Inteligencia HQ, Plaza de la Revolución, Havana, Cuba
“So, what you mean is that you lost him!” Martinez was apoplectic.
Two DI Agents. Two heads. Two sheepish nods.
“You lost him, but to make matters worse we know that he managed to sneak out of his hotel sometime between the hours of 5am and 8am?”
“Yes. That’s when we received the instruction to gain access to his room.”
The hotel was surrounded by CCTV but there was absolutely no sign of Mr Thompson, whom the DI now knew to be something far more than a tourist on vacation with his wife, who seemed no longer to be by his side.
They had to find them both.
Secure conference room, Las Mansiones de Miramar, Miramar District, Havana Cuba
As Rosa and Barb lay still and quiet, recovering from their most recent abuse, one bound and one simply locked in her room, Potter and Diaz met once again in the conference area.
The set up was identical with Benita in the middle of the malevolent triumvirate.
“Take him to the cells, throw him in and we’ll deal with him later.” The ‘him’ being referred to was Major Jason Underwood. Diaz wasn’t convinced for one minute that he was an ‘innocent’ pimp from Miami. And what’s more the slut of a puta in her rooms, still tied to her couch, was no simple whore. But she could remain tied where she was for now.
As Jason was led away, all attention turned back to the meeting.
“So, Mr Potter, do you agree to our terms? Do we have a deal?”
To Be Continued
Sharkman
Governor
The only one we can count on is great Jase. For sure he acts so stupid because he wants again watching Agent Moore in basement action. But who does not? I mean watching not acting stupid.
Nor would anyone else with half a brain. But it sure makes for a good story.
Sharkman
Governor
But note this is his first day in the job as a pimp. Every start is tough, hooker. Maybe I am anyone - half brain - I don't mind - but he managed to get down to the basement with a hard-on. I would say that wasn't
Havana Hell (16)
Secure conference room, Las Mansiones de Miramar, Miramar District, Havana Cuba
“I asked you a question, Potter. I deserve an answer! Do we or don’t we have a deal?”
Potter stared past Benita Diaz, his eyes heavily dilated from cocaine use. His lower lip trembled as he opened and closed his mouth repeatedly, but he said nothing.
“What the fuck is the matter with you Potter? You look like a beached fish! Answer me!”
“Th … th … that man … “ he stammered. “He’s no pimp.”
“You think I don’t know that Potter? Didn’t you just hear me say that very thing? Didn’t you hear me send him to the basement for Garcia to work over?”
“And my puta, as you call her … the sexy little hooker I picked up at Restaurant 1958 last night … who calls herself Barb … is not what she appears to be either!”
“Seems so …., but whatever. We have them both under our thumb and Garcia will have them singing like canaries before the day is out. Count on it.”
“I’ve no doubt.”
“Good. Now that that’s settled can we please do business?”
“No! Hold your horses. I’m not taking this lightly, and neither should CAALS. Let me remind you of who I am, and the fact that I’ve survived as long as I have in my business. Why? Because I have a sixth sense for when I’m being watched and gamed by the services. I’ve always able to sniff out an undercover operation before it bites. And MI6 …my most accomplished and dangerous adversary … can testify to that. They’ve lost a few agents over the years who have suffered unfortunate accidents for getting too close to my dealings.”
“Yes, we’re well aware of your reputation.”
“What this means, Benita, is that our secret dealings here have been compromised. They know about the bomb, our negotiations here at the house, everything!”
“But how? The only CAALS people who know anything about your bomb and the reason for your presence here are present with us in this room. So the leak has to be on your side, Potter. Could it have been your two henchmen, Frankie and Carlos?”
“No, I never told them anything about the true nature of my business here. They’re just muscle, nothing more. Neither of them are … I should say ‘were’ … very bright.”
“Then who else …. ?”
“Elementary …. “ interjected Navarro, frowning and looking down as he polished his wire-rimmed spectacles, “plain as the nose on your faces. it’s Rosa!”
Bradley Potter’s room, Las Mansiones de Miramar, Miramar District, Havana Cuba
Rosa turned about slowly in the shower as a cleansing rush of hot water rinsed her soap lathered body. She wanted nothing more at that point than to wash away permanently any and all vestiges of that vile monster Potter from the cells of her skin as well as from her mind. But for the moment she could only rid his vile seed from her body. For her mind belonged to Langley. And it was her duty to get what she had heard Potter say about the whereabouts of his bomb out to her Langley handlers.
Her mind made up, she began to step out of the shower to dry off before returning to the bedroom and extracting her last burner phone from under the loose floorboard.
But that plan was suddenly cut short when, from behind, the cold muzzle of a handgun was pressed into her ribs, and a hard-edged voice ordered her in Spanish to drop the towel, place her hands behind her head, and turn about slowly.
Hesitantly, taking her time, she complied.
She recognized the man with the gun as one of Garcia’s brutes. She didn’t know his name, but he had always stood out amongst the others for the long ugly scar across one cheek and the perpetual sneer that characterized his countenance.
Behind him, leaning against the bathroom door jam was Potter.
“Game’s up, Rosa, or whatever your real name is. Tell me, which are you? MI6 or CIA?”
She regarded him through half-closed eyes, showing both contempt and fear, before answering, “What does it matter. Game’s up for you too, Potter. I’ve gotten the word out while you’ve been gone.”
“I’ll wager you haven’t. Call it my sixth sense. In any case, my dear Rosa, Garcia and his crew in the basement will know for sure in very short order. I’m told they are very effective in extracting the truth from deceitful cunts like yourself,”
Turning abruptly on his heel, he stalked off to exit the room, calling over his shoulder to the scar-faced one, “Take her away.”
Out in the hallway, he joined Benita and two more of Garcia’s crew.
“Alright, Benita. That’s done, now tell me where you have my little faux hooker stashed? Time to pay her a friendly visit too, wouldn’t you say?”
“Absolutely. Follow me. She’s upstairs in one of my private rooms.”
Benita Diaz’ Private Rooms, Las Mansiones de Miramar, Miramar District, Havana Cuba
“Well, would you look at that!” exclaimed Potter. “What the fuck have you been doing to her, Benita? Quite the inviting sight all tied up and spreadeagled like that! So deliciously vulnerable, I’ve got to hand it to you dykes. You can be damn well inventive.
“Shut up, Potter.”
“Oh, this is nice,” he continued, picking up the strap-on-dildo from where it had been left lying not far from Barb’s obscenely open and glisteningly wet cunt. Care to demonstrate its use? How about it, Benita? I’d love to watch. The damn thing is so fucking big. How on earth did you manage to get it inside her?”
“That’s not why we’re here, Potter! Must I remind you? Your little hooker is an agent, just like your lover, Rosa. And undoubtedly on the same team.”
“Yes, most likely that. Forgive me. I’m easily distracted.”
Turning to Barb, he clenched his fist and drove it as hard as he could into her belly, eliciting a muffled howl of surprise and pain from the gagged CIA agent.
And he was about to do it again, when he was restrained by Benita grasping his arm and saying, “No, Potter, leave that to the pros.”
“Alright, but I want to watch.”
“To the basement with her!” ordered Benita, gently pulling Potter aside so that Garcia’s men could approach.
Office of Major Martinez, Dirección de Inteligencia HQ, Plaza de la Revolución, Havana, Cuba
“What is it Sanchez?”
“A fresh lead on Thompson.”
“We’ve located him?”
“Not exactly. But we think we know roughly where he might be.”
“How’s that?”
“We’ve had agents out on the streets around the hotel, showing a photo of Thompson, working their way outward in all directions. And we got lucky because they came across a street cleaner who thinks he saw Thompson out on foot sometime between 6 and 7 this morning.”
“Where was that?”
“Out in the Miramar District!”
“And where was he headed?”
“Towards some of those large pre-revolutionary manor houses out there.”
“Do we know which one, by any chance?”
“Sorry, no, but it’s a lead we’d best be following up on.”
To Be Continued
Secure conference room, Las Mansiones de Miramar, Miramar District, Havana Cuba
“I asked you a question, Potter. I deserve an answer! Do we or don’t we have a deal?”
Potter stared past Benita Diaz, his eyes heavily dilated from cocaine use. His lower lip trembled as he opened and closed his mouth repeatedly, but he said nothing.
“What the fuck is the matter with you Potter? You look like a beached fish! Answer me!”
“Th … th … that man … “ he stammered. “He’s no pimp.”
“You think I don’t know that Potter? Didn’t you just hear me say that very thing? Didn’t you hear me send him to the basement for Garcia to work over?”
“And my puta, as you call her … the sexy little hooker I picked up at Restaurant 1958 last night … who calls herself Barb … is not what she appears to be either!”
“Seems so …., but whatever. We have them both under our thumb and Garcia will have them singing like canaries before the day is out. Count on it.”
“I’ve no doubt.”
“Good. Now that that’s settled can we please do business?”
“No! Hold your horses. I’m not taking this lightly, and neither should CAALS. Let me remind you of who I am, and the fact that I’ve survived as long as I have in my business. Why? Because I have a sixth sense for when I’m being watched and gamed by the services. I’ve always able to sniff out an undercover operation before it bites. And MI6 …my most accomplished and dangerous adversary … can testify to that. They’ve lost a few agents over the years who have suffered unfortunate accidents for getting too close to my dealings.”
“Yes, we’re well aware of your reputation.”
“What this means, Benita, is that our secret dealings here have been compromised. They know about the bomb, our negotiations here at the house, everything!”
“But how? The only CAALS people who know anything about your bomb and the reason for your presence here are present with us in this room. So the leak has to be on your side, Potter. Could it have been your two henchmen, Frankie and Carlos?”
“No, I never told them anything about the true nature of my business here. They’re just muscle, nothing more. Neither of them are … I should say ‘were’ … very bright.”
“Then who else …. ?”
“Elementary …. “ interjected Navarro, frowning and looking down as he polished his wire-rimmed spectacles, “plain as the nose on your faces. it’s Rosa!”
Bradley Potter’s room, Las Mansiones de Miramar, Miramar District, Havana Cuba
Rosa turned about slowly in the shower as a cleansing rush of hot water rinsed her soap lathered body. She wanted nothing more at that point than to wash away permanently any and all vestiges of that vile monster Potter from the cells of her skin as well as from her mind. But for the moment she could only rid his vile seed from her body. For her mind belonged to Langley. And it was her duty to get what she had heard Potter say about the whereabouts of his bomb out to her Langley handlers.
Her mind made up, she began to step out of the shower to dry off before returning to the bedroom and extracting her last burner phone from under the loose floorboard.
But that plan was suddenly cut short when, from behind, the cold muzzle of a handgun was pressed into her ribs, and a hard-edged voice ordered her in Spanish to drop the towel, place her hands behind her head, and turn about slowly.
Hesitantly, taking her time, she complied.
She recognized the man with the gun as one of Garcia’s brutes. She didn’t know his name, but he had always stood out amongst the others for the long ugly scar across one cheek and the perpetual sneer that characterized his countenance.
Behind him, leaning against the bathroom door jam was Potter.
“Game’s up, Rosa, or whatever your real name is. Tell me, which are you? MI6 or CIA?”
She regarded him through half-closed eyes, showing both contempt and fear, before answering, “What does it matter. Game’s up for you too, Potter. I’ve gotten the word out while you’ve been gone.”
“I’ll wager you haven’t. Call it my sixth sense. In any case, my dear Rosa, Garcia and his crew in the basement will know for sure in very short order. I’m told they are very effective in extracting the truth from deceitful cunts like yourself,”
Turning abruptly on his heel, he stalked off to exit the room, calling over his shoulder to the scar-faced one, “Take her away.”
Out in the hallway, he joined Benita and two more of Garcia’s crew.
“Alright, Benita. That’s done, now tell me where you have my little faux hooker stashed? Time to pay her a friendly visit too, wouldn’t you say?”
“Absolutely. Follow me. She’s upstairs in one of my private rooms.”
Benita Diaz’ Private Rooms, Las Mansiones de Miramar, Miramar District, Havana Cuba
“Well, would you look at that!” exclaimed Potter. “What the fuck have you been doing to her, Benita? Quite the inviting sight all tied up and spreadeagled like that! So deliciously vulnerable, I’ve got to hand it to you dykes. You can be damn well inventive.
“Shut up, Potter.”
“Oh, this is nice,” he continued, picking up the strap-on-dildo from where it had been left lying not far from Barb’s obscenely open and glisteningly wet cunt. Care to demonstrate its use? How about it, Benita? I’d love to watch. The damn thing is so fucking big. How on earth did you manage to get it inside her?”
“That’s not why we’re here, Potter! Must I remind you? Your little hooker is an agent, just like your lover, Rosa. And undoubtedly on the same team.”
“Yes, most likely that. Forgive me. I’m easily distracted.”
Turning to Barb, he clenched his fist and drove it as hard as he could into her belly, eliciting a muffled howl of surprise and pain from the gagged CIA agent.
And he was about to do it again, when he was restrained by Benita grasping his arm and saying, “No, Potter, leave that to the pros.”
“Alright, but I want to watch.”
“To the basement with her!” ordered Benita, gently pulling Potter aside so that Garcia’s men could approach.
Office of Major Martinez, Dirección de Inteligencia HQ, Plaza de la Revolución, Havana, Cuba
“What is it Sanchez?”
“A fresh lead on Thompson.”
“We’ve located him?”
“Not exactly. But we think we know roughly where he might be.”
“How’s that?”
“We’ve had agents out on the streets around the hotel, showing a photo of Thompson, working their way outward in all directions. And we got lucky because they came across a street cleaner who thinks he saw Thompson out on foot sometime between 6 and 7 this morning.”
“Where was that?”
“Out in the Miramar District!”
“And where was he headed?”
“Towards some of those large pre-revolutionary manor houses out there.”
“Do we know which one, by any chance?”
“Sorry, no, but it’s a lead we’d best be following up on.”
To Be Continued
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
In the damn shower! Is nowhere sacred...
Sharkman
Governor
A street cleaner, no! ... seems to disturb this beautiful party ... Mr. 'Dr. No (1962)' Potter wasn't there a deserted island ...with prisons, torture chambers, whipping posts, crosses ... take all and clear out.
Sharkman
Governor
My friend ...
but remember all seems a little confused.
For sure we hope a happy ending.
But even punishment being pending.
Naked hot bodies in basement abused.
Pimp Jase watching the acting amused.
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Havana Hell (17)
Basement Cells, Las Mansiones de Miramar, Miramar District, Havana Cuba
“La puta sufre … she screams like a bitch”
“… fucking journalists. They get what they think is a story and then they get themselves into a mess like this …”
It was only through a vague awareness that Barb heard the men leave the room.
Laying on the cold stone floor, naked, frozen, hurting and scared. More afraid than she had ever been in her life, Barb whimpered in pain as she tried to focus her vision. Fighting the pounding in her head as she concentrated, looking over at her colleague and lover hanging, chained against the far wall. He was naked too and was unresponsive as she called his name softly.
They had agreed beforehand that if their cover was broken and they were caught then they would pose as Western Journalists. Freelance just trying to make a buck.
Had it worked? Well, they both said the same thing and Garcia’s men had left them alone, for now.
Trying to move her hand around to wipe the tears from her face, Barb’s movements were restricted by her own chains. Her wrists were manacled then attached to a chain which in turn was passed through a thick metal ring secured tightly into the stone walls of this basement prison, which left no chance of escape.
“Jason …” she said again in a loud whisper not wanting anyone outside the room to hear. But there was no response. She could see the needle on the floor in front of him, the one they had pushed into the end of his penis, into his urethra, his pee hole … Jason’s screams still echoed around Barb’s head.
Fighting to free herself, she struggled against her pain until she was exhausted. Sinking back into a foetal position herself, Barb sobbed bitter tears of hopelessness, felt the sweat rapidly drying in the freezing, damp air, chilling her skin and making her shiver. They had beaten her, lashed her, cut her … and then left her to her agony.
Was Rosa still free? Still alive? Would she be able to activate any kind of rescue … but then Barb’s commitment to her country began to influence her thoughts. It wasn’t about her, or Jase, or Rosa, it was about stopping this warhead from being sold, or worse still, being exploded. The CIA Agent felt hopeless. It wasn’t supposed to pan out like this, but then Jason and she had only had a plan as far as getting themselves inside the house was concerned. They had no choice but to play things by ear once they were inside, and this is where it had got them!
Feeling the air seep deep into her bones, the pain seemed to intensify and spread throughout her body, accentuating the thudding across her forehead, the constriction of the chains heightening her terror as she wracked her brain to work out how they could get out of this predicament. Would CAAL really want to keep journalists locked up under torture? Did they even believe the story that she and Jason had told them? Thinking hurt almost as much as moving did and laying her head back against the hard, unforgiving rock, she prayed that this was one of those terrifying nightmares that plagued her nights, and she would wake up in the morning, warm, clothed and most importantly, safe in her own bed.
Her last thought as she drifted into blessed unconsciousness was the face of her lover and colleague as the needle pushed deep into his cock …
Barn Owl Cottage, New Forest, Hampshire UK.
Grace had taken two Valium, and held her head under the kitchen faucet until the cold water had numbed her skin. If only she could numb her brain. Despite the pills, her mind would not stop racing with unwanted thoughts. Was Jason still alive? Where the fuck was he? Did he want her? Did she want him, really?
She lay on their big double bed with her head propped up on the stuffed Bear that she had from childhood. The bear came with her from home to Uni in Oxford, and then to Fort Monckton, before joining her in the small London Apartment, and now he was here, keeping her company in the New Forest. She was no longer an Agent. After the last assignment Grace was literally shattered. Broken in body and mind, and so, now, she had no inside track, no knowledge of where Jason was or how he was doing, and she knew that the one call she had received, as erotic as it was, would be a one off.
The bear was Grace’s favourite stuffed animal. The ancient, shaggy toy had barely survived her infancy, let alone being pulled from house to house with her. His stomach has been stitched, his left leg was loose, and part of his nose had been burned off in a stealthy bit of childhood retribution by her brother Luke …
Grace didn’t look much better than the bear, she thought. Her leg was slowly healing, despite which she continued to walk with a limp, but eight months out from her ordeal, her faded bruises were still showing on parts of her body and the fingers that had been snapped were never going stop aching … nor would they ever be truly straight again.
How could Jason want her looking like this? Perhaps it would be better if she was gone when he returned?
Secure conference room, Las Mansiones de Miramar, Miramar District, Havana Cuba
The conference room had an air of informality about it as Diaz, Garcia and Navarro lounged with cigars and brandy for company.
“Journalists huh?” Garcia sounded sceptical to say the least.
“And they both gave the same story?” Diaz added.
The men who had interrogated Jason and Barb nodded.
Navarro, who had maintained his customary silence until this point, took a long drag on his cigar and then exhaled the smoke with a satisfied sigh. “Take Potter’s bitch into the other basement room, and see what she has to say. If she knows them, if they are all colleagues, then she will tell us, providing we can be … ‘persuasive’ enough with her.
Potter, who hadn’t been offered either cigars or brandy, pushed up from his seat.
“Where are you going Mister Potter,” Diaz questioned.
“To watch, you said …”
“This is not a fucking peep show,” Garcia stood and pointed his finger menacingly at the Englishman, “… you will leave the CIA cunt’s interrogation to my men. You will stay here so that we can continue to discuss the deal …
Rosa had been left tied up, naked, in a small ante room on the ground floor of the house, under the guard of Garcia’s men. She knew when she was dragged to her feet by her long hair, exactly where they were taking her.
Basement Cells, Las Mansiones de Miramar, Miramar District, Havana Cuba
Carried more than dragged by two of these brutes to the smaller of the two basement spaces, Rosa put up no real fight as she was strapped down over a wooden frame, bent over, face down with her hands and ankles bound to eye bolts in the floor and her bare backside high in the air.
Her body quivering, she studied the rubber matting beneath her face, willing her mind to focus on anything but her upcoming agony. Repulsed at the rough touch, Rosa found a renewed energy and fight surge through her, she wasn’t going to just give up and die. She suspected by now that she wouldn’t be leaving this hell hole alive but she was going to fight to the very last, go out with as much dignity as she could muster, protecting her colleagues at all costs … someone had to stop this nightmare from literally exploding.
Wriggling her hips, they scraped across the rough wood of the frame, but given what she was undoubtedly about to suffer, Rosa didn’t care. The silent scream inside her head deafened her as hands ran up and over her buttocks, caressing and stroking, mocking in their touch.
Pausing to select the instrument of torture, the larger of the two men ran the long flexible whip through his palm, the leather strands promising instant and long-lasting pain for their recipient. Bringing the whip down with force across her bare ass, Rosa at first felt only shock as she heard the sickening crack but her breath was ripped from her body as the fire quickly followed, burning and consuming every bit of flesh in its path.
Screaming aloud as the blows rained down, tearing at her delicate skin and ravaging her, consuming her as the fiery torture spanned across her lower half, she felt the blood on her tongue as she involuntarily bit into it, her heart near breaking point as her vision clouded, unable to tolerate the intensity of feeling her nerves were being subjected to.
And she screamed like never before …
Nearing oblivion, as the blows rained down, she was denied even this small release as he stopped just short of sending her over the edge, pausing for a rest himself, he gave her the time to recover and regain full consciousness.
“We know you’re a CIA cunt, but tell us exactly who the other two are and we will spare you any further agony …”
Rosa closed her eyes tight shut before she uttered quietly, “I … I don’t know them. She’s a whore and I haven’t even seen the guy. He’s her pimp, I guess.”
“Wrong answer bitch …” a gleeful response came as the whip was once more sent slashing through the cool basement air.
To Be Continued
Basement Cells, Las Mansiones de Miramar, Miramar District, Havana Cuba
“La puta sufre … she screams like a bitch”
“… fucking journalists. They get what they think is a story and then they get themselves into a mess like this …”
It was only through a vague awareness that Barb heard the men leave the room.
Laying on the cold stone floor, naked, frozen, hurting and scared. More afraid than she had ever been in her life, Barb whimpered in pain as she tried to focus her vision. Fighting the pounding in her head as she concentrated, looking over at her colleague and lover hanging, chained against the far wall. He was naked too and was unresponsive as she called his name softly.
They had agreed beforehand that if their cover was broken and they were caught then they would pose as Western Journalists. Freelance just trying to make a buck.
Had it worked? Well, they both said the same thing and Garcia’s men had left them alone, for now.
Trying to move her hand around to wipe the tears from her face, Barb’s movements were restricted by her own chains. Her wrists were manacled then attached to a chain which in turn was passed through a thick metal ring secured tightly into the stone walls of this basement prison, which left no chance of escape.
“Jason …” she said again in a loud whisper not wanting anyone outside the room to hear. But there was no response. She could see the needle on the floor in front of him, the one they had pushed into the end of his penis, into his urethra, his pee hole … Jason’s screams still echoed around Barb’s head.
Fighting to free herself, she struggled against her pain until she was exhausted. Sinking back into a foetal position herself, Barb sobbed bitter tears of hopelessness, felt the sweat rapidly drying in the freezing, damp air, chilling her skin and making her shiver. They had beaten her, lashed her, cut her … and then left her to her agony.
Was Rosa still free? Still alive? Would she be able to activate any kind of rescue … but then Barb’s commitment to her country began to influence her thoughts. It wasn’t about her, or Jase, or Rosa, it was about stopping this warhead from being sold, or worse still, being exploded. The CIA Agent felt hopeless. It wasn’t supposed to pan out like this, but then Jason and she had only had a plan as far as getting themselves inside the house was concerned. They had no choice but to play things by ear once they were inside, and this is where it had got them!
Feeling the air seep deep into her bones, the pain seemed to intensify and spread throughout her body, accentuating the thudding across her forehead, the constriction of the chains heightening her terror as she wracked her brain to work out how they could get out of this predicament. Would CAAL really want to keep journalists locked up under torture? Did they even believe the story that she and Jason had told them? Thinking hurt almost as much as moving did and laying her head back against the hard, unforgiving rock, she prayed that this was one of those terrifying nightmares that plagued her nights, and she would wake up in the morning, warm, clothed and most importantly, safe in her own bed.
Her last thought as she drifted into blessed unconsciousness was the face of her lover and colleague as the needle pushed deep into his cock …
Barn Owl Cottage, New Forest, Hampshire UK.
Grace had taken two Valium, and held her head under the kitchen faucet until the cold water had numbed her skin. If only she could numb her brain. Despite the pills, her mind would not stop racing with unwanted thoughts. Was Jason still alive? Where the fuck was he? Did he want her? Did she want him, really?
She lay on their big double bed with her head propped up on the stuffed Bear that she had from childhood. The bear came with her from home to Uni in Oxford, and then to Fort Monckton, before joining her in the small London Apartment, and now he was here, keeping her company in the New Forest. She was no longer an Agent. After the last assignment Grace was literally shattered. Broken in body and mind, and so, now, she had no inside track, no knowledge of where Jason was or how he was doing, and she knew that the one call she had received, as erotic as it was, would be a one off.
The bear was Grace’s favourite stuffed animal. The ancient, shaggy toy had barely survived her infancy, let alone being pulled from house to house with her. His stomach has been stitched, his left leg was loose, and part of his nose had been burned off in a stealthy bit of childhood retribution by her brother Luke …
Grace didn’t look much better than the bear, she thought. Her leg was slowly healing, despite which she continued to walk with a limp, but eight months out from her ordeal, her faded bruises were still showing on parts of her body and the fingers that had been snapped were never going stop aching … nor would they ever be truly straight again.
How could Jason want her looking like this? Perhaps it would be better if she was gone when he returned?
Secure conference room, Las Mansiones de Miramar, Miramar District, Havana Cuba
The conference room had an air of informality about it as Diaz, Garcia and Navarro lounged with cigars and brandy for company.
“Journalists huh?” Garcia sounded sceptical to say the least.
“And they both gave the same story?” Diaz added.
The men who had interrogated Jason and Barb nodded.
Navarro, who had maintained his customary silence until this point, took a long drag on his cigar and then exhaled the smoke with a satisfied sigh. “Take Potter’s bitch into the other basement room, and see what she has to say. If she knows them, if they are all colleagues, then she will tell us, providing we can be … ‘persuasive’ enough with her.
Potter, who hadn’t been offered either cigars or brandy, pushed up from his seat.
“Where are you going Mister Potter,” Diaz questioned.
“To watch, you said …”
“This is not a fucking peep show,” Garcia stood and pointed his finger menacingly at the Englishman, “… you will leave the CIA cunt’s interrogation to my men. You will stay here so that we can continue to discuss the deal …
Rosa had been left tied up, naked, in a small ante room on the ground floor of the house, under the guard of Garcia’s men. She knew when she was dragged to her feet by her long hair, exactly where they were taking her.
Basement Cells, Las Mansiones de Miramar, Miramar District, Havana Cuba
Carried more than dragged by two of these brutes to the smaller of the two basement spaces, Rosa put up no real fight as she was strapped down over a wooden frame, bent over, face down with her hands and ankles bound to eye bolts in the floor and her bare backside high in the air.
Her body quivering, she studied the rubber matting beneath her face, willing her mind to focus on anything but her upcoming agony. Repulsed at the rough touch, Rosa found a renewed energy and fight surge through her, she wasn’t going to just give up and die. She suspected by now that she wouldn’t be leaving this hell hole alive but she was going to fight to the very last, go out with as much dignity as she could muster, protecting her colleagues at all costs … someone had to stop this nightmare from literally exploding.
Wriggling her hips, they scraped across the rough wood of the frame, but given what she was undoubtedly about to suffer, Rosa didn’t care. The silent scream inside her head deafened her as hands ran up and over her buttocks, caressing and stroking, mocking in their touch.
Pausing to select the instrument of torture, the larger of the two men ran the long flexible whip through his palm, the leather strands promising instant and long-lasting pain for their recipient. Bringing the whip down with force across her bare ass, Rosa at first felt only shock as she heard the sickening crack but her breath was ripped from her body as the fire quickly followed, burning and consuming every bit of flesh in its path.
Screaming aloud as the blows rained down, tearing at her delicate skin and ravaging her, consuming her as the fiery torture spanned across her lower half, she felt the blood on her tongue as she involuntarily bit into it, her heart near breaking point as her vision clouded, unable to tolerate the intensity of feeling her nerves were being subjected to.
And she screamed like never before …
Nearing oblivion, as the blows rained down, she was denied even this small release as he stopped just short of sending her over the edge, pausing for a rest himself, he gave her the time to recover and regain full consciousness.
“We know you’re a CIA cunt, but tell us exactly who the other two are and we will spare you any further agony …”
Rosa closed her eyes tight shut before she uttered quietly, “I … I don’t know them. She’s a whore and I haven’t even seen the guy. He’s her pimp, I guess.”
“Wrong answer bitch …” a gleeful response came as the whip was once more sent slashing through the cool basement air.
To Be Continued
Havana Hell (18)
Secure encrypted phone connectIon - Langley, Virginia, USA/Vauxhall Cross, London UK.
“Hello, O’Shaughnessy. You’re a bit late calling today. I trust that’s because you’ve got breaking news to share?”
“Well, yes. I’m afraid it has been a terribly busy morning here.”
“I’m listening.”
“The first thing to say is that we are now reasonably confident that all three of our agents are ensconced in the Havana house where CAAL is headquartered.”
“Splendid.”
“Although we’ve yet to hear from any of them, which is a bit concerning.”
“I see.”
“The second piece of news is that we’ve been in contact with DI … our counterparts … and often our adversaries … in Havana. And we’ve taken the rather unusual step of entering into a temporary alliance of convenience with them.”
“Well, that’s revolutionary.”
“Haha, very funny. Turns out they’d picked up on the arrival of Underwood and Moore in Havana, suspected they were ours, and had found their presence sufficiently suspicious to warrant a tail. While DI’s efforts to keep tabs on the pair have not yielded much, they do know that something is up and have pinpointed Havana’s Miramar district as the place to watch.”
“Picked up on our team? I’m surprised. Major Underwood is hardly the careless kind.”
“Implying our Agent Moore’s inexperience might be responsible?”
“No, I didn’t necessarily mean to …”
“Let’s not jump to conclusions!” growled O’Shaughnessy testily. I can assure you, Roger, that we’ll review what may have gone wrong when this is all over, and if our Agent Moore was at fault, which I personally think unlikely, appropriately stern disciplinary action will be taken.”
“Right.”
“But for now our main concern is bringing in support for our ensconced team at precisely the time it’s needed, and to that end we will be working with DI to coordinate their people with our own rapid response team, which reports being in place now and ready to go.”
“Can we trust the Cubans?”
“In this case, I think so. We’ve told them enough about our suspicion that Potter and CAAL are about to spring something nasty on them to bring them onboard. For now international cross-service cooperation is in everyone’s best interest. The DI lead man is a Major Martinez. He’s a pro and I see him as honorable enough to be trusted, at least guardedly so.”
“Alright. Do keep me informed of developments.”
“Of course.”
Basement Cells, Las Mansiones de Miramar, Miramar District, Havana Cuba
Barb stirred … slowly, groggily and painfully. She had begun to regain consciousness. The horror and apparent hopelessness of her predicament hitting home with a vengeance that caused a shudder to pass through her nude body.
She fought for self control, willing herself to focus, to explore. The tentative movement of an arm quickly reminded her that her wrists were manacled and chained through a thick metal ring on the nearby stone wall. She thought that it might be possible to sit up, but there clearly could be no significant freedom of movement.
Jason had been watching her from where he was restrained against the far wall.
“Barb!” he croaked hoarsely.
She raised and turned her head his way and blinked twice to clear her teary eyes enough to bring him into focus. Recalling what they had done to him, she focused her gaze on his groin, recoiling in shock at the reddened, swollen appearance of his penis.
‘Those bastards’, she thought to herself … the degree to which she had fallen in love with him … with this wonderful man … tearing at her heart and magnifying the utter hopelessness of their situation.
How could they … she and Jase … have gotten themselves into this desperate state of affairs? How could so much have gone so terribly wrong?
“Barb!” he repeated, “I want to say …”
But whatever it was that he wanted to tell her … she thought … she hoped … it might have been a declaration of his love … was cut short by the sudden arrival of Garcia accompanied by two of his henchmen carelessly dragging Rosa’s nude, and barely conscious form, face-down between them.
Benita Diaz and Bradley Potter followed close behind.
The two brutes tossed Rosa to the floor at a point roughly halfway between Barb and Jason. She cried out as her face slammed into the concrete.
“It’s time!” declared Benita, striding forward to take command, “that we get some honest answers out of you three.”
Stepping over to Jason, she looked down at his bloated, hideously inflamed member, shook her head solemnly and observed, “Hmmm … that looks rather serious. I’ll bet it will be out of action for a long time to come. Might even need to be amputated. That’s rather sad.”
“And you, puta!” she snarled, whirling herself about to face Barb and planting the toe of her boot forcibly enough into the CIA agent’s side to produce a wince, “may never enjoy again the pleasure of having your lover’s boner slip inside your cunt! It’s obvious enough to me that you have feelings for him, and he for you. But unless the two of you start talking .. and that means dropping the phony Western journalist act … there’s much worse for both of you in store before our friend Garcia here has finished with you!”
“But, let’s begin with Rosa, who too is quite obviously not what she claims to be.”
Stooping to yank the blonde beauty’s head back by a fistful of her hair, the CAALs leader hissed in her wide-eyed face, “You may have blinded our friend Potter here with your considerable charms, my love, but the game’s up now. Who are you Rosa? CIA? MI6?”
Rosa said nothing.
“Persuasion, Garcia! That’s what we need! We’re in need of some gentle persuasion here. What do you suggest?”
“Electro. Electro applied to her udders and clit.”
“Perfect. String her up and proceed.”
Barb and Jason looked on, with horror and revulsion, as Garcia’s henchmen moved swiftly to lift Rosa from the floor, lock her wrists into a a pair of cuffs dangling on a steel cable extending downward from a winching mechanism fastened to the ceiling, and hoist her upwards until her toes left the floor. A portable generator was rolled out from a cabinet, and wire leads with alligator-teeth clips clamped to her nipples and clitoris.
“Last chance to talk!” shouted Benita.
The CIA agent shook her head in refusal.
And for the next quarter of an hour, or so, she was subjected to a series of successive and ever-more powerful electroshocks, interspersed with demands that she talk.
The crackle of electricity and the smell of singed flesh filled the air as she kicked and screamed, twisted and writhed. Her eyes bulged, the veins in her neck stood out, and her throat went dry. But she steadfastly refused to give in, and eventually … mercifully … slipped into unconsciousness.
“What a tough puta she is!” announced Benita solemnly and with admiration.
“Well trained,” agreed Garcia.
“Let’s leave her be and move on to our little fake hooker … or, excuse me … fake journalist. What method of persuasion would you recommend for her, Garcia?”
“Pau de arara!”
“Yes, a perfect choice. Time on the parrot’s perch, supplemented by electroshocks and beatings should certainly do the trick. And while you’re setting that up, Garcia, kindly come up with something equally excruciating for her boyfriend. Let them watch one another suffer, and we’ll see who breaks first.”
“Yes,” agreed Potter, speaking for the first time. “My money is on the guy. I wager he’ll talk rather than see his girlfriend forced to endure such terrible tortures endlessly.”
“You’re on, Potter. “My intuition tells me that she’ll talk before he does.”
To Be Continued.
Secure encrypted phone connectIon - Langley, Virginia, USA/Vauxhall Cross, London UK.
“Hello, O’Shaughnessy. You’re a bit late calling today. I trust that’s because you’ve got breaking news to share?”
“Well, yes. I’m afraid it has been a terribly busy morning here.”
“I’m listening.”
“The first thing to say is that we are now reasonably confident that all three of our agents are ensconced in the Havana house where CAAL is headquartered.”
“Splendid.”
“Although we’ve yet to hear from any of them, which is a bit concerning.”
“I see.”
“The second piece of news is that we’ve been in contact with DI … our counterparts … and often our adversaries … in Havana. And we’ve taken the rather unusual step of entering into a temporary alliance of convenience with them.”
“Well, that’s revolutionary.”
“Haha, very funny. Turns out they’d picked up on the arrival of Underwood and Moore in Havana, suspected they were ours, and had found their presence sufficiently suspicious to warrant a tail. While DI’s efforts to keep tabs on the pair have not yielded much, they do know that something is up and have pinpointed Havana’s Miramar district as the place to watch.”
“Picked up on our team? I’m surprised. Major Underwood is hardly the careless kind.”
“Implying our Agent Moore’s inexperience might be responsible?”
“No, I didn’t necessarily mean to …”
“Let’s not jump to conclusions!” growled O’Shaughnessy testily. I can assure you, Roger, that we’ll review what may have gone wrong when this is all over, and if our Agent Moore was at fault, which I personally think unlikely, appropriately stern disciplinary action will be taken.”
“Right.”
“But for now our main concern is bringing in support for our ensconced team at precisely the time it’s needed, and to that end we will be working with DI to coordinate their people with our own rapid response team, which reports being in place now and ready to go.”
“Can we trust the Cubans?”
“In this case, I think so. We’ve told them enough about our suspicion that Potter and CAAL are about to spring something nasty on them to bring them onboard. For now international cross-service cooperation is in everyone’s best interest. The DI lead man is a Major Martinez. He’s a pro and I see him as honorable enough to be trusted, at least guardedly so.”
“Alright. Do keep me informed of developments.”
“Of course.”
Basement Cells, Las Mansiones de Miramar, Miramar District, Havana Cuba
Barb stirred … slowly, groggily and painfully. She had begun to regain consciousness. The horror and apparent hopelessness of her predicament hitting home with a vengeance that caused a shudder to pass through her nude body.
She fought for self control, willing herself to focus, to explore. The tentative movement of an arm quickly reminded her that her wrists were manacled and chained through a thick metal ring on the nearby stone wall. She thought that it might be possible to sit up, but there clearly could be no significant freedom of movement.
Jason had been watching her from where he was restrained against the far wall.
“Barb!” he croaked hoarsely.
She raised and turned her head his way and blinked twice to clear her teary eyes enough to bring him into focus. Recalling what they had done to him, she focused her gaze on his groin, recoiling in shock at the reddened, swollen appearance of his penis.
‘Those bastards’, she thought to herself … the degree to which she had fallen in love with him … with this wonderful man … tearing at her heart and magnifying the utter hopelessness of their situation.
How could they … she and Jase … have gotten themselves into this desperate state of affairs? How could so much have gone so terribly wrong?
“Barb!” he repeated, “I want to say …”
But whatever it was that he wanted to tell her … she thought … she hoped … it might have been a declaration of his love … was cut short by the sudden arrival of Garcia accompanied by two of his henchmen carelessly dragging Rosa’s nude, and barely conscious form, face-down between them.
Benita Diaz and Bradley Potter followed close behind.
The two brutes tossed Rosa to the floor at a point roughly halfway between Barb and Jason. She cried out as her face slammed into the concrete.
“It’s time!” declared Benita, striding forward to take command, “that we get some honest answers out of you three.”
Stepping over to Jason, she looked down at his bloated, hideously inflamed member, shook her head solemnly and observed, “Hmmm … that looks rather serious. I’ll bet it will be out of action for a long time to come. Might even need to be amputated. That’s rather sad.”
“And you, puta!” she snarled, whirling herself about to face Barb and planting the toe of her boot forcibly enough into the CIA agent’s side to produce a wince, “may never enjoy again the pleasure of having your lover’s boner slip inside your cunt! It’s obvious enough to me that you have feelings for him, and he for you. But unless the two of you start talking .. and that means dropping the phony Western journalist act … there’s much worse for both of you in store before our friend Garcia here has finished with you!”
“But, let’s begin with Rosa, who too is quite obviously not what she claims to be.”
Stooping to yank the blonde beauty’s head back by a fistful of her hair, the CAALs leader hissed in her wide-eyed face, “You may have blinded our friend Potter here with your considerable charms, my love, but the game’s up now. Who are you Rosa? CIA? MI6?”
Rosa said nothing.
“Persuasion, Garcia! That’s what we need! We’re in need of some gentle persuasion here. What do you suggest?”
“Electro. Electro applied to her udders and clit.”
“Perfect. String her up and proceed.”
Barb and Jason looked on, with horror and revulsion, as Garcia’s henchmen moved swiftly to lift Rosa from the floor, lock her wrists into a a pair of cuffs dangling on a steel cable extending downward from a winching mechanism fastened to the ceiling, and hoist her upwards until her toes left the floor. A portable generator was rolled out from a cabinet, and wire leads with alligator-teeth clips clamped to her nipples and clitoris.
“Last chance to talk!” shouted Benita.
The CIA agent shook her head in refusal.
And for the next quarter of an hour, or so, she was subjected to a series of successive and ever-more powerful electroshocks, interspersed with demands that she talk.
The crackle of electricity and the smell of singed flesh filled the air as she kicked and screamed, twisted and writhed. Her eyes bulged, the veins in her neck stood out, and her throat went dry. But she steadfastly refused to give in, and eventually … mercifully … slipped into unconsciousness.
“What a tough puta she is!” announced Benita solemnly and with admiration.
“Well trained,” agreed Garcia.
“Let’s leave her be and move on to our little fake hooker … or, excuse me … fake journalist. What method of persuasion would you recommend for her, Garcia?”
“Pau de arara!”
“Yes, a perfect choice. Time on the parrot’s perch, supplemented by electroshocks and beatings should certainly do the trick. And while you’re setting that up, Garcia, kindly come up with something equally excruciating for her boyfriend. Let them watch one another suffer, and we’ll see who breaks first.”
“Yes,” agreed Potter, speaking for the first time. “My money is on the guy. I wager he’ll talk rather than see his girlfriend forced to endure such terrible tortures endlessly.”
“You’re on, Potter. “My intuition tells me that she’ll talk before he does.”
To Be Continued.
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
This is Barb as we love her to be ...
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Havana Hell (19)
Basement Cells, Las Mansiones de Miramar, Miramar District, Havana Cuba
Trembling from head to toe, Barb stared at Jason. Her body was already broken from being tied to the bamboo rod and endlessly electrocuted. The soles of her feet were numb from being repeatedly beaten and she was exhausted almost to the point of oblivion.
“J … Jase …” she croaked through cracked lips and a dry throat. There was a rough, dirty-looking rag on his shoulder, with blood seeping out of it, and his naked body was a mass of cuts, bruises, and scrapes. His face was even worse, there was hardly a spot left that wasn’t discoloured or swollen. A long bleeding gash ran through his left cheek and all the way up to a point just underneath his eye … ragged flesh that had torn one side of his face open. His cock remained bruised and hideously swollen.
But for now, Jason was alive, they both were and that’s all that mattered. He was tied to a metal chair, his legs bound apart and his arms restrained behind his back. Barb could see the shock and horror on his bloodied face as he slowly opened his inflamed eyes and took in her presence. Barb caught his gaze and wanted to tell him that everything would be all right, that they would be saved, but she couldn’t.
Neither Potter nor Diaz had won the vindictive bet, because neither Barb nor Jase had swayed from their stories, and Potter had stormed off taking the unconscious Rosa with him, leaving Agent Moore and Major Underwood in the hands of Diaz and Garcia. Barb’s bruised cheekbone was throbbing where they had hit her, and her right side was burning with pain from the open wound there, all in addition to the tortures inflicted upon her while she suffered on the ‘Parrot’s Perch’.
She tried to smile at Jase, and his jaw tightened, his eyes began to glare with violent rage as he saw the extent of her broken state. His powerful muscles bunched, straining against the restraints. He looked like he wanted to rip apart everyone in the room, and Barb knew that the ropes tying him to the chair were the only thing preventing him from launching a suicidal attack on their captors. Garcia must have been thinking the same, because two of his men stepped closer to Jason, clutching their weapons just in case.
Looking ever more frustrated Diaz spoke openly to both of her captives. “Take a good look at the girl’s fading beauty Mister Thompson, so that you can see her pretty little face before we carve it up… Unless you want to start talking?” Jason remained silent, glaring at Diaz with murderous hatred, while Barb took small, shallow breaths, her chest tightening. With her hands restrained behind her back, there’s nothing she could do to prevent these bastards from hurting her, from hurting both of them, and she could see only too clearly the scarlet-coloured stains on the blade that hung loosely from Garcia’s belt. Nausea rose into her throat as she realised that it was their blood, hers and Jason’s. To her absolute horror, Garcia reached for that blade, and moved to kneel by Barb’s head, gripping her hair in a tight fist.
“Oh, yes,” he whispered, as he pressed the flat edge against her neck, “I think her head will make a nice little trophy, after I cut it up a bit, of course …” He pushed the knife upwards, and Barb froze in terror as she felt the blade cut into the soft skin under her chin, followed by the stomach-churning sensation of warm liquid trickling down her neck.
The growl that emanated from Jason didn’t resemble anything human.
Office of Major Martinez, Dirección de Inteligencia HQ, Plaza de la Revolución, Havana, Cuba
Standing alone with arms crossed over his combats, Axel Eriksson kept an eye on his boys. A well known mercenary, Eriksson had been called in, primarily by the CIA, but with the DI's agreement, to run the joint special ops team. He was no stranger to killing, but only ever to protect the innocent. Actions he’d taken to preserve national security while on black ops missions for the Swedish Army before, reaching the rank of Major, he was honourably discharged, had resulted in saving thousands of lives. He was frequently described as a 'tough mother' ... it was label that fitted him perfectly!
His CIA Special Activities Center (SAC) team was already settled into the DI HQ in Havana awaiting further instructions. Twelve US operatives, nine men and three women, were primed and ready to move in once the exact location had been identified, along with eight more men from the DI itself.
A call came in to Major Martinez’ private secure line. It was brief call, and following it he immediately called Eriksson into his office.
“We have a location and so you need to move out now …” It was a simple command, but one that prompted the mercenary officer to return quickly to the ops room, where he called his team to attention.
“We have the location. Our man on the Miramar streets has seen Desiderio Navarro smoking a cigar outside the front entrance of Las Mansiones de Miramar, so now we go …”
Barn Owl Cottage, New Forest, Hampshire UK.
The dial tone rang out again and Grace threw her phone down onto the bed in frustration. She was in agony, both physically and mentally. The call she had just made, for the seventh time in the past hour, was to Roger Moore’s private mobile phone, the number for which very few people had, but Grace Miller was one of them
She needed to know how and where Jason was. Not knowing was driving her crazy. Grace had packed her bags ready to leave. She had no place to really go having given up her rented apartment in Tower Hamlets when she moved into Barn Owl Cottage, but she genuinely believed that it would not be fair on Jason to be here when he returned, she did not want to be a burden to him in any way.
Yet she couldn’t just go, not without knowing something more, and so she picked up her handset and redialled Moore’s number again.
Basement Cells, Las Mansiones de Miramar, Miramar District, Havana Cuba
“Let me tell you what’s about to happen, you piece of shit,” Garcia hissed at Jason, having moved from one captive to the other.
“Oh God, please leave him alone,” Barb uttered to herself. She had not felt about anyone like she felt for Jason Underwood, ever. She loved him, she knew that now, and here they were about to die together.
Garcia held the blood covered blade in his hand and pressed it against Jason’s jaw.
“I’m going to start with your eyes. I’m going to cut your left eyeball in half, and then I’m going to do the same with your right. And when you’re blind, I’m going to start trimming your broken cock, inch by inch, until there’s only a tiny stub left. Do you understand me? If you don’t start talking now, you will never see or fuck again.”
Fighting the urge to throw up, Jase remained silent as Garcia pushed the knife upwards, toward the thin skin under the Major’s left eye. The blade reopened the cut on his cheek and Jason felt the warm trickle of blood running down his face once more. It was clear that this mad bastard was not bluffing, though being blind and impotent was not a problem for a dead man, which is the fate Jason knew was ultimately in store for both him and Barb.
Glaring at his lack of outward reaction, Garcia pushed the knife deeper into Jason’s cheek.
“Last fucking chance, estúpido coño. Do you want to keep your eye or not?”
Jason didn’t respond, and the CAAL monster dragged the knife higher, causing the Major’s eyelids to reflexively squeeze shut.
Then Jason’s mouth opened and he shouted out “I love you, Grace Miller!”
Barb felt sick. If her situation could have gotten any worse, then it just did. He loved Grace not her. Maybe she already knew that deep down, but to hear him shout out those words killed her inside. Even so she could not let them do this to the man, that despite everything, she loved, even if she was actually saving him for someone else.
“STOP! DON’T! …” She shouted, before adding more quietly, “… we’re Agents. I’m Agent Barbara Moore from the CIA and he’s Major Jason Underwood from E-Squadron at MI6.”
Jason glared, open mouthed, across at where Barb lay!
Diaz laughed out loud “So, I win the bet. Wait until I see Mister Potter …”
But before she could gloat any further there was a loud bang and smoke filled the room …
To Be Continued …
Basement Cells, Las Mansiones de Miramar, Miramar District, Havana Cuba
Trembling from head to toe, Barb stared at Jason. Her body was already broken from being tied to the bamboo rod and endlessly electrocuted. The soles of her feet were numb from being repeatedly beaten and she was exhausted almost to the point of oblivion.
“J … Jase …” she croaked through cracked lips and a dry throat. There was a rough, dirty-looking rag on his shoulder, with blood seeping out of it, and his naked body was a mass of cuts, bruises, and scrapes. His face was even worse, there was hardly a spot left that wasn’t discoloured or swollen. A long bleeding gash ran through his left cheek and all the way up to a point just underneath his eye … ragged flesh that had torn one side of his face open. His cock remained bruised and hideously swollen.
But for now, Jason was alive, they both were and that’s all that mattered. He was tied to a metal chair, his legs bound apart and his arms restrained behind his back. Barb could see the shock and horror on his bloodied face as he slowly opened his inflamed eyes and took in her presence. Barb caught his gaze and wanted to tell him that everything would be all right, that they would be saved, but she couldn’t.
Neither Potter nor Diaz had won the vindictive bet, because neither Barb nor Jase had swayed from their stories, and Potter had stormed off taking the unconscious Rosa with him, leaving Agent Moore and Major Underwood in the hands of Diaz and Garcia. Barb’s bruised cheekbone was throbbing where they had hit her, and her right side was burning with pain from the open wound there, all in addition to the tortures inflicted upon her while she suffered on the ‘Parrot’s Perch’.
She tried to smile at Jase, and his jaw tightened, his eyes began to glare with violent rage as he saw the extent of her broken state. His powerful muscles bunched, straining against the restraints. He looked like he wanted to rip apart everyone in the room, and Barb knew that the ropes tying him to the chair were the only thing preventing him from launching a suicidal attack on their captors. Garcia must have been thinking the same, because two of his men stepped closer to Jason, clutching their weapons just in case.
Looking ever more frustrated Diaz spoke openly to both of her captives. “Take a good look at the girl’s fading beauty Mister Thompson, so that you can see her pretty little face before we carve it up… Unless you want to start talking?” Jason remained silent, glaring at Diaz with murderous hatred, while Barb took small, shallow breaths, her chest tightening. With her hands restrained behind her back, there’s nothing she could do to prevent these bastards from hurting her, from hurting both of them, and she could see only too clearly the scarlet-coloured stains on the blade that hung loosely from Garcia’s belt. Nausea rose into her throat as she realised that it was their blood, hers and Jason’s. To her absolute horror, Garcia reached for that blade, and moved to kneel by Barb’s head, gripping her hair in a tight fist.
“Oh, yes,” he whispered, as he pressed the flat edge against her neck, “I think her head will make a nice little trophy, after I cut it up a bit, of course …” He pushed the knife upwards, and Barb froze in terror as she felt the blade cut into the soft skin under her chin, followed by the stomach-churning sensation of warm liquid trickling down her neck.
The growl that emanated from Jason didn’t resemble anything human.
Office of Major Martinez, Dirección de Inteligencia HQ, Plaza de la Revolución, Havana, Cuba
Standing alone with arms crossed over his combats, Axel Eriksson kept an eye on his boys. A well known mercenary, Eriksson had been called in, primarily by the CIA, but with the DI's agreement, to run the joint special ops team. He was no stranger to killing, but only ever to protect the innocent. Actions he’d taken to preserve national security while on black ops missions for the Swedish Army before, reaching the rank of Major, he was honourably discharged, had resulted in saving thousands of lives. He was frequently described as a 'tough mother' ... it was label that fitted him perfectly!
His CIA Special Activities Center (SAC) team was already settled into the DI HQ in Havana awaiting further instructions. Twelve US operatives, nine men and three women, were primed and ready to move in once the exact location had been identified, along with eight more men from the DI itself.
A call came in to Major Martinez’ private secure line. It was brief call, and following it he immediately called Eriksson into his office.
“We have a location and so you need to move out now …” It was a simple command, but one that prompted the mercenary officer to return quickly to the ops room, where he called his team to attention.
“We have the location. Our man on the Miramar streets has seen Desiderio Navarro smoking a cigar outside the front entrance of Las Mansiones de Miramar, so now we go …”
Barn Owl Cottage, New Forest, Hampshire UK.
The dial tone rang out again and Grace threw her phone down onto the bed in frustration. She was in agony, both physically and mentally. The call she had just made, for the seventh time in the past hour, was to Roger Moore’s private mobile phone, the number for which very few people had, but Grace Miller was one of them
She needed to know how and where Jason was. Not knowing was driving her crazy. Grace had packed her bags ready to leave. She had no place to really go having given up her rented apartment in Tower Hamlets when she moved into Barn Owl Cottage, but she genuinely believed that it would not be fair on Jason to be here when he returned, she did not want to be a burden to him in any way.
Yet she couldn’t just go, not without knowing something more, and so she picked up her handset and redialled Moore’s number again.
Basement Cells, Las Mansiones de Miramar, Miramar District, Havana Cuba
“Let me tell you what’s about to happen, you piece of shit,” Garcia hissed at Jason, having moved from one captive to the other.
“Oh God, please leave him alone,” Barb uttered to herself. She had not felt about anyone like she felt for Jason Underwood, ever. She loved him, she knew that now, and here they were about to die together.
Garcia held the blood covered blade in his hand and pressed it against Jason’s jaw.
“I’m going to start with your eyes. I’m going to cut your left eyeball in half, and then I’m going to do the same with your right. And when you’re blind, I’m going to start trimming your broken cock, inch by inch, until there’s only a tiny stub left. Do you understand me? If you don’t start talking now, you will never see or fuck again.”
Fighting the urge to throw up, Jase remained silent as Garcia pushed the knife upwards, toward the thin skin under the Major’s left eye. The blade reopened the cut on his cheek and Jason felt the warm trickle of blood running down his face once more. It was clear that this mad bastard was not bluffing, though being blind and impotent was not a problem for a dead man, which is the fate Jason knew was ultimately in store for both him and Barb.
Glaring at his lack of outward reaction, Garcia pushed the knife deeper into Jason’s cheek.
“Last fucking chance, estúpido coño. Do you want to keep your eye or not?”
Jason didn’t respond, and the CAAL monster dragged the knife higher, causing the Major’s eyelids to reflexively squeeze shut.
Then Jason’s mouth opened and he shouted out “I love you, Grace Miller!”
Barb felt sick. If her situation could have gotten any worse, then it just did. He loved Grace not her. Maybe she already knew that deep down, but to hear him shout out those words killed her inside. Even so she could not let them do this to the man, that despite everything, she loved, even if she was actually saving him for someone else.
“STOP! DON’T! …” She shouted, before adding more quietly, “… we’re Agents. I’m Agent Barbara Moore from the CIA and he’s Major Jason Underwood from E-Squadron at MI6.”
Jason glared, open mouthed, across at where Barb lay!
Diaz laughed out loud “So, I win the bet. Wait until I see Mister Potter …”
But before she could gloat any further there was a loud bang and smoke filled the room …
To Be Continued …
Shit, answer the damn phone, will ya? Jase is in trouble. I just know he is! Answer the damn phone!
See! Call it women’s intuition, but something tells me they’ve paired some inexperienced American bitch agent with my dear beloved Jase, and she’s going to get him killed. Why I know this is beyond me. But I do! So answer the damned phone, Roger, you fucking bastard! Answer the damn phone!!!