Bring Out the GIMP (Girls in Merciless Peril)


By The GIMPer Team


She heard the phone click and answered it even before the first ring. "Good afternoon. For Your Pleasure Modeling Agency."

You're not Margo."

"No, I'm Kim. Today's my first day. Margo stepped out for a minute."

"So why are you answering the phone? New girls are very popular. I would think that you would already be working."

"Margo said she wanted me to start with a very special client."

"Did she say who this special client was?"

"She only told me that he was a big shot in the military."

"What do you look like?"

"I'm slender. Brown hair. Others say I'm attractive."

"Very nice. How soon can you get to the army base?"

"So you're the guy, huh? Anything I should know about what you like?"

"Well, will it be a problem if there are more than the two of us?"

"Of course not. The more the merrier as they say."

"Ask for the Generalissimo at the security gate. And dress conservatively. I don't want the guards to know why you're here. As far as they're concerned, you're a civilian military attachι."

"I will make sure that even you think that when I walk into your office."

"Don't keep me waiting too long." The phone clicked.

Kim looked at the three others in the back of the large van filled with monitoring and surveillance equipment.

"We caught it before the first ring so the call never went through to Margo, one of the two men in the room. John, the senior agent in charge of the operation, gloated. "Worth the work to tap her phones to give us the delay we needed. And thank God he called from the army base so we knew the call was from him. Or else, Kim, I guess we would have had to put you into Margo's employ as a real hooker until the Generalissimo asked for you."

"Right. Like I was ever going to agree to work at a South American brothel." Kim offered a tense laugh. "As if what I did volunteer to do isn't enough?"

"And in a dictatorship where women have few rights," the other man, Brian, added.

"But now I've got to find something else to wear, since I can't dress like a hooker as I'd planned." Her red leather halter top, laced at the front, red hot pants, black thigh-high dark stockings and black heels, which had seemed appropriate dress that morning for her assignment, certainly did not suggest the civilian attachι the Generalissimo had requested. Kim glanced to Julia, the other woman in the van, a blonde, and eyed her white shirt and black skirt and jacket. "Change clothes with me. We don't have time to go back to my place to get anything else. Fortunately, you dress like a civilian attachι."

Julia saw Brian's eyes widen. She wasn't thrilled about changing clothes with Kim in front of the two men, but she knew it was necessary. Kim would soon be risking her life, so modesty was not a consideration. Kim removed her top, leaving her naked from the waist up, and her shorts, revealing low cut black panties. Brian and John stared at Kim's well-shaped, if average-sized, breasts before turning their gaze to watch Julia. They had caught glimpses of Kim naked before, but never Julia. This would be a revelation for them.

Julia hesitatingly removed her jacket and passed it to Brian, followed by her shirt and finally her skirt, leaving her in white panties and bra.

"The bra, too," Kim demanded. The men appreciated this. "But damn, your tits are way too big."

"Better not wear the bra, then," Julia hoped to convince her.

"Just give it to me!!"

Julia bit her lip, reached around her back, unhooked her bra and pulled it off to hand to Kim. The intake of breath from both men was audible, as they could see even in the few seconds before Julia crossed her arms over her chest that her breasts were more than a full cup larger than Kim's.

Kim re-dressed quickly, her tits swimming in Julia's bra, and combed through her long brown hair. "I hope he's not too disappointed when the bra comes off." Kim handed Julia her leather halter and shorts.

"Are you kidding me?" Julia was incredulous. "That top won't cover me!!" Julia managed to wriggle into the shorts and struggle to tie the halter top at least partially closed.

"Let's get serious now," John interjected. "Kim, you know that you have no back up. We worked almost entirely on how to get you into the base and not how to get you out. And I don't mean to be crass, but you are almost certainly going to have to fuck this guy, maybe even more than once, to get him off his guard and relaxed or asleep." He saw Kim cringe slightly. This was the first time any of them had acknowledged this so directly. "This is the guy running the People's Army. The head of the dictator's military. His death should create enough chaos to give the rebels a foothold in the north. Our Intel says he likes his privacy, so after you dispose of him, you should have at least some time to make your escape before his body is found. Someone will be waiting at the designated spot. But how you get there after you kill him is all up to you."

"Yeah, he likes privacy," Kim observed wryly, "which is why he made sure to tell me that I should expect -- what did he say? -- more than just the two of us. I had not thought of that. It makes my work -- and my escape -- harder. But I just have to focus on my main goal -- killing the Generalissimo."

Kim was out the van's side door before the others could even wish her luck. She walked a block down the street and hailed a cab. They had made sure to park the van the same distance from the base as was Margo's agency – 1-1/2 miles -- to make the timing right for Kim's arrival. When Kim's cab was out of sight, the men turned back and laughed at Julia's feeble effort to hide her large chest in Kim's small halter top. But the tension was not relieved.

"All right," John instructed, "I am taking the first shift at the pickup site. Let's hope she's back before it ends, but, if not, Julia you are relieving me, then Brian relieves you. After that, our orders are to abort the mission … as it likely will have failed and we will need to save ourselves."

"She is a brave woman," Julia nodded her head in agreement with her own statement.

"Yes, she is," John nodded with her. "And remember, Julia, that, because of your … special assets for this mission" – he had no need to be more specific – "we thought it would be you."

"She volunteered," Julia defended herself. "She seemed eager for the assignment."

Brian brought Julia back to the reality that she tried to avoid. "She expected you to volunteer, too. She was trained that all CIA agents volunteer for all assignments, no matter how dangerous, so that their superiors can choose the one they really want. And you know that we would have chosen you had you volunteered. Not only because of your …. assets, but because you have more experience. Kim has been with us only six months. You have been here for what? More than two years. You have seen us lose operatives. She has not. You know the risks better than she does." Brian saw the pain in Julia's face, and quickly added, "Still, you were within your rights not to volunteer for what may be a suicide mission. So no one can't really fault you. Let's all just move on and pray that Kim accomplishes the mission and we get her back."

Julia felt the tears well up at the thought of Kim's bravery ... and her own cowardice. Even if Kim survived, what she had to do for the next several hours sent shivers through Julia, and she knew in her heart that John was right -- she was the one who should have taken on the assignment. As she faced that reality, she instinctively closed her legs tight.


The cab dropped Kim off outside the base and she walked up to its security booth. The guard looked at her quizzically and slid the left side of its glass window. He waited for her to speak.

"I have an appointment with the Generalissimo."

"What is your name and the nature of your business with the Generalissimo?"

"I am not at liberty to tell you." Kim did not want to say anything that might be inconsistent with whatever the guard might have been told about her visit.

The guard stared at her for a few seconds before pushing a few buttons and speaking into the headset that he wore. "There is a woman here to see the Generalissimo. She will not tell me her name or her business." After a short pause, he pushed another button on the console and turned to Kim.

"I am to ask you which of the following letters your first name begins with − M, R or T? If you answer incorrectly, I am to arrest you."

Kim looked at him confidently. "My first name begins with none of those three letters."

The guard looked dejected. There would be no arrest. "The Generalissimo is in the building to your far left." The gate opened.

Upon entering the building, Kim was greeted by a receptionist. "The Generalissimo is in his office, third door down on the right."

When she reached the door to the office Kim paused, took a breath and straightened her skirt. She was about to meet the power behind the throne. And likely have to fuck him. She knocked on the door and heard a male voice yell "Enter."

She opened the door and walked into the office to find two men wearing military uniforms seated on two sides of a large triangular desk. "Already two," Kim thought. She wondered if there would be more.

"I'm the civilian attachι you sent for," Kim tried to sound calm and authentic. Of course, her true role in life was much closer to this than to the role she was now playing.

"Quite believable," the man who spoke was clearly the Generalissimo, immediately taking charge. He was a small fellow with big teeth and a large afro, not at all how Kim had envisioned him. Even in his fully decorated uniform, he looked more like a mascot for party rockers than a tyrannical military officer. "Colonel Montoya here has to leave soon, so let's not waste any time. Remove your clothes one piece at a time, and after each, clasp your hands behind your neck for examination."

The nature of her situation and assignment was now all too real to her. The Generalissimo, she could see, got right down to business. She removed her jacket and tossed it to the side, assumed the required pose, and saw four eyes leering at her. She waited a few seconds before removing her shirt, tossing it next to her jacket. The men stared even more intently as she again assumed the ordered pose before unhooking her skirt and tossing it into the increasing pile of her clothes. She now wore only her thin panties, stockings, heels … and Julia's oversized bra, Kim noticed Colonel Montoya smack his lips in anticipation of what he soon expected to see ... and later expected to do.

Kim held her pose even longer this time, not to give the men a greater look at her, but to summon her courage for what was in store. When she finally removed her bra, she was surprised that the men were so intrigued by her well-formed chest that they did not seem to notice that her breasts had not nearly filled it.

An intercom on the Generalissimo's desk suddenly buzzed. "Sorry to interrupt this nice show, but this is on my private line. I need to take it inside." He walked through a door behind the desk into a group of inner offices and closed the door.

Montoya immediately walked over to Kim, who held her hands clasped behind her neck even as he groped her breasts and ass. "You are not a large woman, are you? I hope your pussy is deep enough for me. I'm sure your ass isn't." Kim remained silent, but felt her body tremble and hoped the colonel did not notice, as no real hooker would feel the fear she now felt. "Too bad the Generalissimo didn't give me permission to start on you right now." She could see the bulge in his pants. Fortunately for her, the colonel knew that the Generalissimo would not like it if he returned to find him testing the merchandise before the Generalissimo himself had taken is rightful first turn with her, so, after a minute,, the colonel returned to his chair. When the Generalissimo returned a few minutes later, Kim's body was still shaking. She wondered how ready she really was for her country was now requiring she do.


"Colonel, since you have to go now, you'll see the rest of what she has to offer when you return." Knowing better than to protest that he really could stay a little longer – at least long enough to see what she had between her legs -- Montoya reluctantly departed.

"Now, my dear," the Generalissimo rose and took Kim's hand, "come with me." He led her into the back rooms.

"Let me just pick up my clothes," Kim asked, "I have some makeup in my pants pocket. I want to look my best for you."

"You look very nice already," the Generalissimo pulled her away from her clothes and into a back room furnished with only a bed for when the Generalissimo worked late. Or felt a need to engage in other activities.

"Resume your pose, but now I'll undress you." Kim obeyed, biting her lip hard to try to control her shaking as the Generalissimo unlaced her heels and helped her step out of them, then pulled her stockings down and off, leaving her standing in her thin black panties.

The Generalissimo removed his clothes and lay down naked on the bed. She noticed that his semi-erect penis was larger than she thought a man of his small stature would have. She didn't think whether, in this case, that was a good or a bad thing. "Now you finish," he nodded toward her, and watched as she slipped her panties down and kicked them toward him. She noticed his look of approval at her now totally naked body, including her completely shaved pussy. "Very modern," he observed. "I like a modern woman." He signaled her to him. She moved next to him on the bed. There was now no doubt that she would have to fuck him before she would have a chance to kill him.

She was relieved, though, that at least he was conventional in his love-making. He kissed her mouth, cheek and neck while he moved his hands to her breasts. He squeezed too tightly, but she had experienced worse. She moved her hand to his penis to help him along and shorten the intimacy, but he stopped her. "Save that for your other customers. I want more time." Still he didn't take much more before he entered her easily. She was not surprised how wet she was – while this was not a turn-on for her, she was certainly terrified, and, while she did not mistake the two, perhaps the Generalissimo would.

He started thrusting into her, deepening his thrusts gradually for several minutes, giving no sign that he was moving toward climax. Not bad for a man of at least 50, compared with her 28 years. If the circumstances had been different, she would have thought him a better lover than at least half of her younger lovers. She wanted to let herself go, thinking that this could be the very last fuck of her life. But then she remembered the colonel, and, unless she succeeded in her mission quickly, this was not going to be her last fuck.

She finally felt the Generalissimo push into her as deeply as he could and hold himself inside, so she knew he would soon be finished. Again, though, he had more stamina than she thought he could, so she faked an orgasm to please him and perhaps put him more off his guard. "Yes, I didn't think you could do it! I didn't think you could make me ...... yes, make me cum!! Make me cum!! Yes! Yes! Don't stop!! Don't stop now!! Don't you dare stop! I said yes!! I said ... Yyyeeesss!! My God, yyyeeeessssss!!!"

He rolled off her with her screams of feigned pleasure still in his ears. She breathed faster than she needed and looked over at him lying on his back next to her, sweating and gasping for breath. She moved closer to him. "That was wonderful for me, too. No one is supposed to be able to do that to one in my profession!" He looked at her, his eyes wide, still breathing hard. "Let me go freshen up, sweetheart, okay?" Kim cooed in his ear. "I want to look great again for you in, what, 20 minutes?" She started to slide off the bed, but he grabbed her arm.

"Stay. I want to see if the colonel is back yet. He only needed to leave for a little while, and I hope I lasted at least that long." The Generalissimo slid out of the bed, and walked, naked, into the outer room. She hoped the colonel was not there and that she might be able to complete her mission without the need to fuck anyone else.

"He's not back yet," the Generalissimo returned to the bedroom after a few minutes, tossing Kim's clothes to her. She tried to hide her optimism that she could dispose of him quickly. "But don't put them back on yet. Just take whatever you need to freshen up." He nodded to a bathroom door and then headed back to the outer room. "I'm going to get some champagne. I want us both to feel loose. Maybe not so conventional next time. And I'll bet I'm ready again before you are."

Kim grabbed her clothes and moved to the bathroom. She found her compact. But not her lipstick. And where were her shoes? That's right. They were on the floor next to the bed. Only her jacket, shirt and skirt had been left in the outside room.

"I told you I'd be ready first." She heard the Generalissimo's voice in the bedroom. So she would have to fuck him again, and this time, what had he said? "Not so conventional." She knew what that meant, and she did not like at all. But what choice did she have? After a second time, though, the Generalissimo certainly would doze off, so she would then have her chance. Unless Colonel Montoya had returned by then.

"All set. Coming, love. And I hope I soon am again." Resigned, Kim walked back into the bedroom, where the Generalissimo was holding two glasses of champagne. "To a long relationship," he toasted after handing her one. As he downed his entire glass, she took a few sips. "That's not enough to loosen you up," he complained She took a few more sips. "Any more than this will put me to sleep, and you don't want that, I'm sure." She put her still half-filled glass on the nightstand next to his empty glass.

Any doubt that Kim had about the Generalissimo's intentions for this second go-round evaporated as he positioned her on all fours, facing the headboard, and moved behind her, his body leaning over hers and his hands on her hanging breasts. At least he rubbed on lotion before pressing his penis against her backside. She could not believe that he was already hard again after such a short time. Despite the lubrication, she was not ready for this penetration, and let out a short scream as he pushed into her. "My apologies, Generalissimo," she offered.

"No need. I like a little scream now and then," he responded as he thrust harder, evoking another scream from her.

As the Generalissimo methodically forced his way deeper into her ass, her head began to swoon. She blinked hard, afraid that, if she passed out, not only would the Generalissimo be upset, but she would give away that she wasn't really who she said -- what hooker passes out from anal intercourse? And it would delay – maybe even destroy – any chance for her to complete the mission before she had to screw the colonel or any other of the Generalissimo's friends. But, as much as tried to fight it, Kim felt her mind slipping. She despised what she was letting him do to her. She wondered if Julia or Brian or John had any idea that things were going to be this bad for her. She had let only one old boyfriend do this to her, and she had made him stop after only a few minutes. This time she had to take it. But, finally, her mind wouldn't listen, and she passed out.

That Kim's unconscious body jerked like a ragdoll did not stop the Generalissimo, who continued to push into her limp body. Nor did he stop when he saw Montoya watching from the doorway. Instead, the Generalissimo signaled him to enter, and, with the colonel standing next to the bed, he finally released himself into the unconscious Kim's ass, and then pulled himself out, pushing her down on her stomach onto the bed, her arms splayed to her sides, as he rose and dressed.

"So I get my turn is when she is unconscious?" Montoya complained.

"No, Colonel. It's no one's turn just yet. She's a fucking enemy agent. And we're going to find out who she works for and what her mission was. Although I think I have a good idea already."


"What are you talking about? She's Margo's new girl. No rebel agent is going to prostitute herself just to have a chance to do whatever she was planning to do," Colonel Montoya reasoned.

"Colonel, the phone call I got before you left was from Margo. She told me she had a new girl and wondered if I might like to have her. I told her I already knew about the new girl because I had spoken with her earlier when the new girl was managing the phones. Margo told me that the new girl had not worked the phones all day."

"So she forgot she went to the bathroom for a few minutes."

"She also told me that the new girl was named Sasha .... and was at that moment standing right to next to her!! Then she checked her incoming call log. There was no call from me. So whoever this bitch works for intercepted my call and sent her here, playing the odds that Margo would not call me in time to interfere with their plot to kill me."

"What makes you think that was her assignment?"

The Generalissimo pulled Kim's lipstick out of his pocket and opened it, revealing a small vial of liquid. "I'm going to have this analyzed. I think she planned to slip it into a drink or inject me with it. Or, instead …" He picked up Kim's left shoe and unscrewed its heel, revealing a two-inch needle. "I fuck her twice and fall asleep, and one way or another, lipstick or shoe, I'm dead. That's what I think."

The Generalissimo led the colonel into the outer office. He picked up the phone. "Send two men to my office immediately for a large trash pickup and delivery to the interrogation center." He hung up the phone.

"How long will she be out?" The colonel asked.

"At least an hour. I put a large dose into her champagne, figuring she'd only drink a little of it. And let me tell you what pleasure it was to fuck her without her having any idea that her cover had been blown. And to have her scream what a wonderful lay I was and how she came at the same time I did. Must have been hard for the bitch to play that out."

"So she works for the rebels?"

"I don't think so. This operation was too sophisticated for the rebels. Tapping the phone the way they did. Hiding needles and liquids in shoes and lipstick. I think she works for the American CIA. Which, we know, supports the rebels."

Two men pushing a large laundry cart entered the room, and the Generalissimo nodded toward the bedroom. The men moved in without a word, returning a few minutes later. The Generalissimo stopped them as they wheeled the cart by him. He pulled up the white sheets on top. Below them was Kim, still naked, hogtied on her side. Blindfolded and gagged.

"Bring her to the interior courtyard of the interrogation center," the Generalissimo instructed them. "Replace this gag with a large o-ring gag. She's going to have to breathe through her mouth, because I want you also to clip her nostrils shut and put wax in her ears."

"Not my place, Generalissimo, but this one must really have done something pretty horrible," one of the men asked.

"Trying to murder me does have a tendency to piss me off," the Generalissimo answered. "After you've taken care of her senses, I want you to spread-eagle her, still naked, from the lower bar that used to hold the army division sign. Chain her ankles to two of the metal rings in the grass below the bar. Post a sign over her – now write this down: 'By order of the Generalissimo, anyone who sees this traitor MUST abuse her in a manner of his – or her -- choosing.' When she comes to, I want her to know nothing more than she is in the deepest shit imaginable. Able to hear nothing, smell nothing, see nothing, taste nothing. Except her own sweat and fear. And not know exactly where she is except that she is outdoors, naked, unable to move a muscle and totally helpless. Only after she realizes this do I want her abuse to begin. Sexual abuse. Physical. Psychological. Mental. By the time I finally arrive after my afternoon meeting, she should already have given up everyone responsible for her situation, including the mother who gave birth to her." The Generalissimo put the linens back on top of Kim. "And take this to the lab." He handed the vial to one of the men as they wheeled the cart away. "Just to confirm what I already know."

"So I just get what anyone who walks out in the courtyard gets," Colonel Montoya mused.

"Esso," the colonel was one of the few soldiers the Generalissimo called by his first name, "if our meeting doesn't end early, you probably won't want what's left of her by the time you get there."


An hour later the interior courtyard, used mostly by the compound's soldiers during their afternoon breaks, was empty except for a guard seated on a small stool a few feet in front of a woman hanging spread-eagled on the wooden frame in its center, her head slumped to her chest. The woman was naked. Well, not entirely naked − she wore wrist and ankle cuffs, an o-ring gag, a black blindfold, a small nose clip and two small lumps of wax pressed into her ears. Exactly as the Generalissimo had ordered.

The guard wondered how hard would she struggle, pull on her bonds and scream through the gag after she came to before resigning herself to the horrible fate that awaited her. Would she shake her head violently trying to loosen the blindfold? Would she pull on her cuffs until she rubbed her wrists raw? He did not think that he would have long to wait.

Soon four soldiers − two men and two women – entered the courtyard. They immediately saw the captive and surrounded the guard's stool. The guard directed their attention to the sign above her head − "By Order of the Generalissimo ..." But they had already seen it.

One of the women, Corporal Erodite Rodriguez, spoke first. "Wow, what did she do to deserve this?"

"She tried to kill the Generalissimo," the guard replied, pleased to sound knowledgeable.

"Holy shit," offered the man standing next to her, another corporal, Brad Moth. "Not good. Not good at all. Especially not for a women with a body like that. Can you imagine being in her situation?" Corporal Moth turned to Private Megan Anderson, who shuddered and turned away.

"Well, we have our Orders from the Generalissimo," the fourth soldier, a sergeant with a distinct Canadian accent who appeared to be in charge of the small group, reminded them.

"The order is for you to wait until she comes to, but that should be any minute," the guard instructed. "And the Generalissimo told me to tell the first two soldiers who came by that they are ordered to go to the interrogation room and bring back the cart."

The sergeant didn't have to ask which cart. He knew. The cart with the basic "tools" of interrogation. "Private, come help me comply with the Generalissimo's order. Corporal Moth, if the prisoner comes to while we're gone, you go first." The sergeant and private walked back into the building.

It wasn't long before the remaining three in the courtyard heard a small moan. All eyes turned toward the captive as Kim's body lurched the little its bonds allowed and the muscles in her arms tensed. She pulled on the wrist cuffs, and then tried to pull her legs together, as a loud grunt escaped the gag. "She's learning," the guard smiled.

Kim pulled harder on her cuffs and her chest began to heave as fear swept over her. Then she remained still.

"I think she is trying to figure out where she is," Rodriguez offered.

"And how she got here," Moth added.

They saw her shake her head back and forth, as an incomprehensible scream of frustration and terror came from deep in her throat through the O-ring gag holding her mouth wide open and garbling her speech.

"I think she's figured out what shit she is in. Maybe even why. And wants to know if anyone is watching her," the guard guessed. "I think it is time to let her know that we are."


"I believe the honors are mine." Corporal Moth approached the spread-eagled woman, moving his face within inches of hers. He took a deep breath. Yes, she smelled of sex and fear. She recoiled when she realized someone was so close to her and began to moan louder. Moth wondered how terrified she must feel, her fear increased by not knowing where she was or who or how many were watching her. Or what might happen to her at any moment. The Generalissimo certainly knew how to torture his captives mentally and psychologically, that was for sure. And how to force them to focus on exactly what he wanted them to focus on – in this case, inevitable brutal pain.

Moth felt her body immediately stiffen as he moved his right hand along her inner thigh, brushing her crotch before stopping on her ass. She must know that she had failed in her mission to kill the Generalissimo and that the tables had completely turned. Moth moved his left hand between her legs and inserted two fingers deep into her pussy. Soaked, as he knew it would be. But not from excitement. No, from fear. Tremendous fear. Unimaginable fear. Helpless to stop whatever plan the Generalissimo had for her.

Moth excitedly wondered if, when faced with merciless torture, she would try to protect her accomplices. Or if instead she would decide that they were the ones who had betrayed her to this horrible fate, so that she would have no qualms betraying them to a similar fate. Who could say?

But Moth knew that he had an important job to do -- begin the woman's abuse. Not yet her interrogation. No, first she needed softening, so he decided to begin by taking advantage of her body while it was still beautiful, which might not be for long. He was lucky to have been selected to go first.

Ever since he had been assigned to this military base, Moth had been fascinated by the interrogation center, which was off limits to all but a few specially trained interrogators and the highest ranking officers. He, sadly, was neither. He had once sought a transfer to the interrogation unit, but did not make it past the initial psychological exam, which revealed that he was too "enthusiastic" about torturing female captives, which made his professionalism for the task questionable. His goal seemed more to hurt the captive than break her resolve or gain her information. But now, he thought, he had another chance to show the Generalissimo that he knew how to break a female traitor without inappropriate "enthusiasm." And this time, his abuse of her beautiful body would be an appropriate part of that goal.

Moth pushed the unlubricated index finger of his right hand deep into the captive's asshole. She tried to clench her sphincter muscles to keep him out, but he was too strong and she was already exhausted from hanging for so long in her spread-eagled position. The rumor had circulated that the Generalissimo had fucked her conventionally and then sodomized her. If that was true, Moth thought, she would have had to pretend she was enjoying it. But clearly she was not enjoying anything anymore, real or feigned. No, now she was shaking in abject fear. And he hadn't even started on her. Yes, the build-up would help him break her.

Moth could feel his cock harden and knew it was time to get more serious about his abuse or Rodriguez and the guard would begin to wonder about him. He had hoped that the sergeant would have returned already with an array of instruments for him to use, but, since he hadn't, no one could criticize him simply for fucking her as hard as he could, maybe even spraying her face like he was a porn star. Surely that would be as enjoyable for him as lashing or branding her smooth body. And that way, after he finished, she might tell everything she knew just to keep her body unmarked. In which case, he would have broken her by himself. What better recommendation for re-assignment to the interrogation center?

Corporal Moth unhooked his belt and slid his pants and undershorts down. His cock was already standing at attention, as ready for action as he had ever been. He decided that the Generalissimo had ordered a ring gag in her mouth for a reason, so he pulled up a stool and climbed up on it so that his cock was level with her mouth. With her nostrils closed, she needed to breathe through her mouth, so, when he jammed his cock into her open mouth, she soon began to struggle for air, gasping and choking as he pushed down her throat, the sounds escaping it incomprehensible. Too bad the o-ring prevented her from using her lips or tongue on him, but at least she couldn't use her teeth to bite him either.

Moth saw Kim's face start to turn blue, and pulled his cock out of her mouth to let her get a little air – he certainly didn't want her to suffocate, which would not get him the promotion to the interrogation center that he craved -- before he thrust himself back down her throat. Feeling that he was getting too excited longer before he wanted, Moth knew that it was too later for him to fuck her spread pussy. He shot the first hot load of his massive orgasm deep down her throat, and then forced himself to pull out of her mouth so that he could spray the rest of his liquid over her face, neck and breasts. That he was thinking more about humiliating his captive than about his own personal pleasure should give him points with the Generalissimo, he thought.

After taking a moment to recover, Moth climbed off the stool and stared at his work. Cum dripped off Kim's face as her chest heaved, desperately trying to spit out as much as she could while also trying to gulp into her lungs every bit of air she could.

Moth was still admiring his work when the sergeant and private returned, wheeling the interrogation cart containing all the tools of the trade: an assortment of whips, clamps, clips, ropes, cuffs and dildos. A breast press, hammers, knives, spikes, pliers and an electric generator. And behind them was the one civilian with access to the interrogation center, wheeling a heated brazier out of which jutted half a dozen irons.


"Covers, I see you've come to join the party." Moth shouted at Juan Castillo. No one was sure why Moth called him Covers, but he had been doing so for years. Maybe it had to do with Castillo's expertise at getting enemy agents to blow their "covers," not that it really mattered. No one else called him that.

"A party for you, corporal, but serious work for me," Castillo responded. "Unlike you all, I know how to make my subjects beg to talk. After they do, well, then it is up to the Generalissimo to decide whether to end their torture. Or keep them alive. But first they must talk. I am ready to start on this one."

"I'm afraid, Mr. Castillo," Rodriguez interrupted, "that the Generalissimo's orders don't authorize that yet. No, read the sign. Corporal Moth just finished his turn and I'm next in line to do my duty to my country. Now watch and learn. You will see that I have experience that you don't have."

Rodriguez walked to the cart and picked up a bullwhip. "You all might want to put some wax in your own ears, since we're going to learn how loud she can scream through that gag. And I know how this one works," she snapped the whip and it crackled loudly. "Drill Sergeant Jones used to have me stripped from the waist up and use this on me for every demerit I received, most of which he made up for his own pleasure and my personal pain. I'll bet you can't say that you have ever been whipped like that, no can you, Mr. Castillo?"

Rodriguez marched up to the hanging Kim and lifted her chin with the handle of the whip. "Don't pretend that you are ready, because I assure you that you are not." She smiled as she saw Kim's body cringe. Not a strong one, she thought. This would be easy. "I have quite a few choices of targets, I see," Rodriguez stared at Kim's helpless body, her own hardening nipples pushing noticeably against her khaki shirt. Yes, Rodriguez had chosen an abuse for poor Kim that excited her as much as Moth's choice had excited him. Castillo fumed over the interference with his plans, fearing that, in her exuberance, Rodriguez might kill the captive prematurely.

"Mr. Castillo says this is no party," Rodriguez looked back at him. "I agree. It is not a party. It is a game. And, for openers, it is a game of tennis." Rodriguez snapped the tip of the whip against Kim's right breast. Kim immediately screamed in pain through the O-ring gag that held her mouth open. "An ace. 15-Love," Rodriguez declared, watching Kim's breast bounce and understanding Drill Sergeant Jones's true motivation in finding Rodriguez's actions so often deficient – pure pleasure at another's pain. "I have a very strong serve. Let's see if she can return my next one."

Rodriguez lashed Kim's ribs just under her left breast diagonally down to her right hip. Kim's body leaped as far as her chains allowed, struggling hopelessly to pull her spread-eagled body off the frame. "30-Luuvvv. But, wait, wait. Yes, she has finally returned a serve, but leaves me with an overhead volley." Rodriguez's lash crossed Kim's mid-drift, first in one direction, then the opposite, before, without let up and gripping the whip with both hands, she lashed it with all her strength across the underside of Kim's swaying boobs. "40-Lovie-dovie." A final blow directly across Kim's left nipple forced a blood-curdling scream from her lips, as her head fell first back and then forward to her chest, released into unconsciousness, in the same position it rested when Rodriguez started her tennis match. "Game, set and match," the sergeant offered.

"But I know that some of you prefer golf," Rodriguez smiled. She crossed behind the unconscious Kim, holding the whip as if it were a golf club. She waggled a few times before bringing it down and then up hard between Kim's legs, its tip caressing her belly. Kim howled back to consciousness, guttural sounds escaping her now hoarse throat, as a mouthful of saliva poured out of the hole in her gag.

Rodriguez's approach shot found its mark directly between Kim's labia and shook her body so much it sounded as if the entire wooden frame would come crashing down. Kim gagged in pain, the gurgling sounds escaping her mouth indistinguishable from the last cries of a wounded animal gored by a lion. If any soldier in the barracks had been napping before returning to duty, he certainly was now wide awake.

Rodriguez stepped forward and announced she was lining up her birdie putt. "I think she hopes you make it," Moth shouted. "Otherwise, you will need a second putt."

Rodriguez folded the whip in half and, rising to her toes for added force, thrust its thick handle upward, cleaving Kim's sex until the handle lodged inside her to its hilt, where it remained as Rodriguez released her grip on it. She stepped back to observe her work − the brutal red lashes criss-crossing Kim's stomach and breasts, blood seeping out of the deeper lines that slowly were turning darker red and purple. Even as Kim's head slumped back down, her body, consumed in sweat and pain, continued to shake uncontrollably from head to toe.

"I would say that you complied quite excellently with the Generalissimo's order," the sergeant acknowledged Rodriguez's efforts.

Rodriguez saluted him. "I've worked up quite an appetite, Sir." The sergeant promptly signaled his assent to her implicit request to go to the cafeteria.

Rodriguez headed into the building, but made a necessary stop in the restroom − to satisfy a strong pent-up desire. It did not take long before she was shuddering loudly in the privacy of a toilet stall as she experienced several of the strongest orgasms she could ever remember. Strong enough that those outside could hear her screams replace those of the still unconscious captive.


Soon after Rodriguez left the courtyard, two of the sergeant's aides joined the group, one carrying a video camera. Menacing, burly and mean. Moth knew them. The stockier one, Stefan, was an ex-sailor who looked like the wrestler, Greg "The Hammer" Valentine. The other, Barnacle, had a face splotched with warts and a mouthful of rotten teeth. If shown a bathtub, he would have no idea what it was used for. Moth figured they both must have been bullies since their first day of kindergarten, but he also knew that, as menacing as they appeared, it was the sergeant himself whom Kim should most fear. No, he wasn't physically intimidating, but the rare brand of psychotic that Kim's CIA would classify as "ultra-psycho." He was another who had not been accepted for work in the interrogation center for the same reason Moth had been rejected. In fact, Moth had the last spot in interrogation come down between him and the sergeant, Moth would have been welcomed with open arms.

While Barnacle set up the camera, the sergeant calmly picked his teeth, knowing that forcing Kim to wait for what would happen next was its own form of punishment. Finally, he pulled his revolver out of his belt. "It's Showtime!" he announced and approached Kim, slapping his revolver in his palm. He stroked her naked flesh with the gun, running its barrel along her taut midriff, which she immediately sucked in, and along her breasts, using the barrel to circle her nipples, before he stroked her cheeks and chin with it. "Make sure you get a tight shot of this," the sergeant instructed Barnacle as he removed Kim's gag and the wax in her ears, and put the barrel of the gun into her mouth. "Suck on it, bitch," he ordered. "I mean good and deep. And in case you have any doubt," he withdrew the gun from her mouth, pointed it skyward and pulled the trigger. The loud burst confirmed it was loaded. "So you better pretend it's your boyfriend's cock and pray he doesn't shoot his wad down your throat." He forced the gun barrel back into her mouth.

Terrified, Kim wrapped her quivering lips around the gun's barrel and massaged it with her mouth and lips and tongue. "Damn, I think that this bitch has had a lot of practice at this," Corporal Moth screamed at her.

"Ignore him, baby, you're doing just fine," the sergeant prodded. "But use your tongue a little more. Polish this thing like it's the old sarge himself yer lovin."

Kim wrapped her top lip over the gun, and stuck her tongue out under it so all could see her effort. Moth shouted his approval, jealous that it was not his prick inside her mouth.

"Now keep your mouth open and your tongue out," the sergeant ordered as he removed the gun from Kim's mouth. "It's time for you to get the real thing." The sergeant turned to face the camera. "This is the big, romantic part," he smiled. He put his gun in his belt and grabbed Kim's head with both hands. Before she could react, he forced his mouth on hers, ramming his tongue deep inside her mouth.

"Plant it on 'er," the guard, who had been silent, finally chimed in. "Look at her. She's loving it."

Moth was surprised that the sergeant's abuse of his captive had been mostly psychological rather than physical, but even more surprised that he had held his usually violent emotions in check. Perhaps he too was hoping for an appointment to the interrogation group.

The sergeant forced the ring gag back into Kim's mouth. "Baby, that wasn't my turn yet. I was just giving Private Anderson a chance to get ready for you. So don't worry. I will see you later."


But Private Anderson was not ready. No. She had cringed when she first saw Kim spread-eagled naked in the wooden frame and then had to accompany the sergeant to the interrogation room to retrieve the tools. She could not control the shivering in her body as the sergeant terrified the captive with his revolver before requiring him to suck his cock. The events of the last hour had all brought back to her the time 18 months earlier, the time when …

Anderson's lean, sweat-slicked muscles jerked against leather and steel.

"F-f-fuck," she groaned, the heavy sedatives lingering in her veins like liquid lead. With her eyes too painful to open, she tried to turn on her side, but could not. Her brow furrowed. What was the problem here? She jerked herself harder to the side, and suddenly understood that her wrists were cuffed overhead − she could feel the thick, cold steel tightly encircling her slim forearms – and her ankles were cuffed apart, her legs spread widely below her. She felt the cold metal beneath her. She was on her back. Chained spread-eagled. And cold metal was not just chilling her bare back. It was squeezing her temples. So goddamn tight that she could hear her pulse throb in her ears and could not move her head even the slightest. She could feel her scalp against the metal. Her scalp. Where was her hair? What the fuck was . . . ?!?

Anderson's long eyelashes fluttered, and her dark eyes shot open, forced to stare wide-eyed straight up into an orange supernova! "Fucking ... bright in here!" She blinked. The single bare light bulb, lazily dangling from the heavy slab ceiling, slowly came into focus.

"Your eyes will take a moment to adjust, soldier. The sedative dilated your pupils. Still, you have recovered rather quickly. You are one tough girl, I see, which explains why it took three tranquilizer darts to drop you. We use those all the time, and seldom does it take more than one." The woman's voice was smooth and silky as she strode into Anderson's narrow field of vision, looking straight down into her eyes. "Clearly you are a professional. Well conditioned, well trained. We shall find out how well soon, though, won't we?"

Anderson blinked, refocusing on the woman before her. "Who . . . ?" She tested to see if she could move any part of her body, but could not. She moved her eyes and could barely see the massive steel shackles that bolted down her wrists and ankles, and the leather belts cinched across her thighs, arms and neck.

"Now let's have a good look at you, soldier." As the woman leaned over her, Anderson saw a small Asian woman, stylishly dressed, who spoke in a crisp, Commonwealth-come-Oxford accent with a conversational air, as if they were having coffee in a small cafι. She gently stroked Anderson's cheek before flashing a penlight into her left eye, then into her right.

Anderson squinted and winced at the blinding flash. "Get that shit out of my face!"

The woman smiled. "Iris response is already positive. Very good! You are ready for treatment." Her tone grew self-congratulatory: "It was good that I had you prepared the moment you were brought down. You are, by the way, quite a physical specimen. A well-toned body. Nice breasts. You must work out quite a lot."

Anderson's expression darkened at the word "treatment." Her eyes darted around the chamber, but she could see only the grimy peeling paint on the ceiling. "Take a look, my dear." The woman held a mirror to Anderson's face to show her that her beautiful chestnut mane had been shorn from the sides of her skull, giving her the kind of punk look that she had always detested. As the woman panned the mirror down her body, Anderson saw that she was still wearing her hip-hugging black cargo ops pants, but nothing else. Her boots, shirt and bra had all been removed. But she was not exactly topless. No. Her breasts – firm and pert – were encircled by a pair of adjustable metal band clamps, linked side-by-side, figure-8 style, with a clockwork of gears, worm screws and adjustment knobs. A kind of strapless steel torture bra wired for electrocution with black vulcanized rubber electrodes, each the size of a quarter, glued to her body − one on each side of her breasts; four around her abdomen; and two each on her biceps, forehead and temples. Her eyes followed the thick black cables from her body to a softly-humming electrical transformer on top of a small metal cart. She swallowed hard recognizing the horror of her situation.

Watching Anderson's eyes dart about as her mind registered her predicament, the Asian woman smiled triumphantly. "You approve of my work, I see. Let me explain your current situation – oh, no pun intended – a little better for you." She took a step back, her knee-high black Ivanka Trump boots clapping the weathered floor mosaic. "Of course this bitchy little tyrant is wearing Ivanka," Anderson could not help but think.

"I am Doctor Lee-Yung Min. I am a Colonel and the Chief Conversion Specialist of the People's Army. I report directly to the Generalissimo himself. He is quite interested in you. We all are. We know your name, but why don't you tell us anyway, just for control purposes." The woman glanced to another small cart on which were neatly arrayed the portions of her uniform that had been removed, as well as the pieces of her field equipment taken from her: a silenced and laser-sighted Beretta M9, night-vision goggles, two canisters, now empty, of explosives, an acetylene torch, her dog tags and her standard-issue suicide cyanide capsule. Why had she not had it ready for use? Now she would pay the price for such stupidity.

There was no point refusing to answer Min's question, since, as she said, she already knew the answer. "Captain Megan Anderson. United States Army Ranger. Infiltration Unit Eight."

"And so you are," Min's lips curled to an elegant, conversational smile. "Megan is a pretty name. I am pleased to make your acquaintance. More so, I'm sure, than you are to make mine." Min dangled Anderson's dog tags before her eyes. "Name, ID number, unit, blood type. Everything but your bra size." Her black, darkly-shadowed eyes glanced tauntingly at the apparatus binding Anderson's breasts. "My guess is 34 B, which is very nice. Yes, very nice. And nicely shaped, too, as I remember. Now, of course, not so nicely shaped."

"I fucking hate this woman," Anderson thought. She had to admit, though, that, even though this Min had to be close to 40, five years her senior, she had a powerful and stunning look. A sleek figure with elegant poise and jet set fashion. Everything about her signaled a familiarity with entitlement − or at least a powerful thirst for it. Anderson could imagine her stepping off a Chris-Craft runabout at Cannes or a Jet Ranger at Davos wearing dark, skin-tight jeans and a tailored black blazer buttoned over a sassy, push-up black bustier, her cleavage peeking between her lapels. With people to dress her, style her hair, brush her eyebrows and gloss her lips. And, as she brought her mind back to the reality of her situation, with people to wire up foreign operatives too stupid to have their cyanide pill where they could take it when captured. But wait, no. She had put it in place attached behind her bottom left teeth, she now remembered. Just as protocol required. But she had been drugged and, while she was unconscious, they must have searched her, found it and removed it. She just had no warning that she needed to use it. So she wasn't so stupid. Of course, if she wasn't so stupid, why was she chained to this table naked from the waist up waiting for this fashionable Asian bitch to send her into sadistic electroshock hell without even breaking a sweat?

"Out of professional courtesy − one operative to another – let me first tell you the good news I have for you, hmm?" Min began flipping several toggle switches on the electrical transformer as she spoke. "You nearly completed your mission, soldier − or, at least, you were close to destroying what we are fairly sure was your target – this facility's data center – although I think that you will soon explain your objectives more thoroughly as you gradually understand how wise it will be for you to cooperate with us."

Anderson huffed defiantly.

"But," Min continued, unfazed, "our security team hit you – and had to hit you repeatedly, as I said before, since you are quite a strong specimen for an average sized woman – with their darts when you were just a few feet from the air-conditioning duct you were planning to detonate. An impressive and well-thought out plan − to have the resulting firestorm blow down into the server room five floors below. We would have chased our tails for weeks without finding the bomb down there, and then imagined moles and double agents among us. Yes, you almost caused far more trouble than just the destruction of our data center. You almost caused us to turn on ourselves."

Anderson took a breath, the moment rushing back to her consciousness. She had just taken her acetylene torch out of her pack, ready to cut into the ductwork, when she felt a needle prick at the back of her neck. By the time she realized what it was, and reached back to pull out the dart, she had felt a second needle prick in the middle of her back and a third in her left side. She had struggled to her feet -- at least she thought she had -- to fire back at her assailants, but she remembered nothing after that. The tranquilizer must have acted quickly. He head was now still woozy from its aftereffects.

"Which brings me to several items of bad news for you." Min's lips curled into a wicked smirk. "First, you are thirty feet underground. Second, there is only one exit" − Min gestured toward the cell's massive, hatch-like steel door – "and that door is so secure that you could not escape in your lifetime even if we left it unguarded. Third, we keep two sentries guarding it at all times anyway. And fourth, as they say to captives in spy movies, ‘no one can hear you scream.'"

Anderson glared back with contempt. "Trying to scare me, Cover Girl? Well, it won't work."

Min's smirk transformed into a frown. "Touchι, soldier. Unfortunately, your witty remarks are not very useful to you here." Min deftly stroked the keys on the transformer's control panel with her slender fingers, making it apparent that she had done this many times before.

"Soldier, you must know that you are quite attractive, at least, in a crude American 'girl-next-door' sort of way. Speaking down to your level, you have an ass the boys all want to tap, firm little tits they want to suck and a face pretty enough to blow a load on."

The intolerable bitch! Anderson thought, snarling dangerously, her deep brown eyes sparkling with wrath: "Keep talking, cunt. When I get off this table, I'm going to snap your back over my knee."

"Struck a nerve, did I, soldier?" Min giggled softly, her haughty self-satisfaction returning. "You know, the moment I saw you, I figured that you had a mind for tactics, a bod for sin and a face for cream pies. You're going to be a favorite among the men here. That is, if you survive and if I decide not to keep you all for myself. Who would you prefer? Me or my men? You know, I have a feeling you'd like us both."

Anderson glared at Min with a deadly expression, quite out of place for a woman chained and spread-eagled nearly naked in her worst enemy's dungeon. "So help me God, you little bitch troll! I'm going to enjoy killing you, hon."

"If you ever have the chance, it will only be in your dreams. If your nightmares ever give you a chance to dream." Min's hand lingered on the transformer's largest dial, labeled "Volts DC," notched with markers ranging from "Zero-Standby" to "1000." "But first, Butterface, I want to hear you scream. Will you do that for me?"

"Never," Anderson huffed just as she saw Min twist the large knob several clicks clockwise.

The cell's single bare light bulb flickered and dimmed; electricity surged with a loud snap before crackling in ascending waves over a soft, greasy sizzle. Anderson's body launched involuntarily until held firm by her restraints, her muscles instantly rock hard and rippling with unnatural, bow-string tension.

"G-g-r-r-r-gh!" she ground her teeth, biting the inside of her cheek until it bled, trying with every ounce of her strength not to give the bitch the satisfaction of hearing her scream. This must be what hell is like, she thought, as a lightning bolt seemed to cross her brain and slice down her spine. The blood vessels in her arms and across her abdomen felt like they were about to explode, the blood galloping through them from her pounding heartbeat. Her nipples leapt to attention atop her taut glistening breasts. Her body remained raised off the table, only her ankles and wrists still in contact with it, as Min held the knob unmoved.

"As I expected, you take the pain well, soldier," she complimented. "I'm not sure whether to leave the current on until you scream, as you will, or to turn it off for a minute in admiration of your strength. What do you think I should do?"

" I …. think … you should … go …. fuck yourself!" Anderson spat back through clenched teeth as she felt her nipples and insides slowly sizzle.


"Private Anderson, the rest of us are waiting." Castillo's annoyance brought Anderson out of her trance.

"You can go. I'm not ready yet."

"Thank you." The still disgusted Castillo walked up to the unconscious Kim and checked her neck for a pulse. Relieved to find one, he chided the others. "All right, you've had your fun. Now it's time to get down to serious business."

He whispered into Kim's left ear, "We haven't even started yet, you know." He saw her head shake weakly. "Good. You are awake. The others were amateurs. But I can assure you that you are not ready for what I will do to you. Unless you are ready to answer all of my questions. Are you?"

He removed her blindfold and gag, grabbed her hair and forced her head up. Slowly she opened her eyes and squinted while they adjusted to the light. He released her hair and stepped back to allow her to view the entire scene. Kim's eyes widened as she saw the others staring back at her before she looked up to her chained wrists and down to the painful marks across her body.

"Why ... are you ... doing this to me?" Her words to Castillo were barely audible to the group.

"Because you tried to kill the Generalissimo. Or are you going to deny that and suffer even more?"

Kim knew she couldn't admit to such an act. "No. I was there to please him. I'm the new girl. I remember making love with him. I wasn't trying to kill him."

"The evidence leaves no doubt as to your guilt, which you will soon admit, and a lot more."

Castillo took two small spring clamps off the top of the cart and held them in front of Kim's face. "You look like a liberated woman," he said. "I bet you have played with things like this before. But probably not like we're going to play with them now." He fastened one to her left earlobe, tightened it and released his grip on it to let it hang down from her. Kim let out a loud grunt of pain. He attached the second to her right earlobe in the same manner. "They do make nice earrings, wouldn't you agree? A woman looks better wearing nice jewelry. But now that you can feel much they can stretch you," Castillo flicked his fingers against the clamps and Kim let out another grunt of pain, "let's move them to their real targets." Castillo removed the two clamps from Kim's ears. She tried to twist her body away as Castillo moved one to her left nipple. "Since these are already tightened, the only question is how loud you will scream. Do you have sensitive nipples?"

Unable to move her breast away, Kim stared down at the clamp. "What do want from me?" She pleaded.

"I told you, dear Kim. I want to hear you scream. We can have our talk later." He released the clamp, which gripped Kim's nipple at its base, tightening until its two ends nearly touched, cutting off all blood flow to it so it quickly turned white. Kim's raspy scream was louder then Castillo expected. That was a good sign. She was not strong, he thought. Or else really loved her body. Either way, she would talk soon. He added a clamp to her right nipple. "We don't play favorites. Body symmetry is important, wouldn't you say?"

Kim's screams continued, as Castillo was certain they would. But he hadn't expected to see urine seep from the sides of the whip handle that Rodriguez had stuffed into her. She had already lost control of her bladder. Another sign of weakness.

"Soon you will beg me to talk. And on camera, as you can see." Kim saw Barnacle behind his camera. "But first," Castillo returned from the cart with a band clamp, "let's both watch what this does." He wrapped it around her chest on top of the spring clamps pinching her nipples and tightened it until she could barely breathe, forcing her to gasp desperately for what little air she could still get into her lungs. "I can make it tighter, sweetheart. But first let me ask: would you like to talk to me?"

Kim nodded.

"Good. I knew you were a smart girl." Castillo walked to the cart and returned with two studded metal dildos. "I saw that you lost control of your bladder. These are in case you can't control your bowels." He slowly worked one into her rectum until only its scrotum was visible. Then he held the other one in front of her face. "Now understand that the first time you lie to me, I will replace that one with this one." He turned a knob in the base and a dozen small metal spikes poked out through it. "You will be begging to have the Generalissimo back inside of you instead. Do we understand one another?"

Kim nodded, her eyes filled with tears … and panic.

"Very nice. Let's begin with your name?"

"Kim Daniels."

"Who do you work for?"

Kim paused for a second. "The CIA."

"What is your purpose in our country?"

Kim's body shook even more, but the sight of the second dildo was fresh in her mind. "To ... kill the Generalissimo."

"Why did the CIA want the Generalissimo dead?"

"To help the rebels."

"How many CIA agents were you working with?"

Again Kim hesitated. "Three."

"Their names?"

Kim's shoulders heaved and she hesitated. Castillo walked close to her, grabbed the handles of the two spring clamps and started to pull down on them, eliciting the loudest screams Kim could offer. "You are going to give me either their names or your nipples. Your choice." Tears streamed down Kim's face as Castillo pulled harder on the clamps. Tears of pain. And fear. Castillo could see she could not speak. "Nod yes if you are going to tell me the names. Otherwise, you will lose your nipples in five seconds. 1. 2. "

Kim nodded furiously before Castillo reached three. He waited for her to regain enough breath to answer his question.

"Brian, John and Julia. But I don't know their last names. Wait. Julia's last name is Magana."

"You don't know the men's last names?! Do I need to insert this?" Castillo pulled the second dildo out of his belt. "These are the two men whose actions have put you in your present predicament. You are naked and helpless because of them. Shouldn't they be made naked and helpless because of you? Isn't that only fair? Are you really going to protect them after what they did to you?!?!"

"I would tell you if I knew!!"

"How do you contact them?"

"By a secure phone line."

"Where is your phone?"

"I wasn't stupid enough to take it with me!!"

"Where are they now?"

"John should be waiting for me in the woods about a mile south of the military base."

"And the other two?"

"I don't know!! That's not how it works. God I hate them. Especially that bitch Julia. She was the one who was supposed to kill the Generalissimo, not me."

"One last chance. Where are the other two now?"

"I told you. I don't ... Wait!! Wait!! I know where Julia lives. I was in her apartment once."

"It's a start. But no promises it will be enough."


A few minutes later, the sergeant signaled Rodriguez to follow him into his office. There he pushed a button on his phone and waited. "The Generalissimo put me in charge until his arrival. His meeting is running late," came the voice at the other end of the line. "Report your progress, sergeant,"

"Lieutenant Alvarez," the sergeant recognized the voice at the other end of the line, "we have interrogated the CIA operative and she has broken completely."

"Good. How many are in her unit?"

"Three others."

"She has given them all up?" Alvarez sounded skeptical.

"Yes ... well, yes and no."


"She gave us only their first names and one last name. She claims not to know the others' last names."

"Well, that's probably true. Operatives are generally given information only on a need to know basis, so they can't fully compromise the operation if captured, and the operation is far more important than the operative." Alvarez apparently felt a need to show off his superior knowledge to the sergeant. "Of course, none of them ever think they will be captured. Only when they are does the reality sink in that their denials of information will not be believed, leaving them, well, in a situation more horrible than they could ever imagine."

"She did give us a residence address for one of them."

"I'm surprised she even knew that."

The sergeant was growing more confident. The lieutenant seemed pleased with even the little information he had obtained. "Apparently she and one of her cohorts violated protocol and had a liaison at the other's apartment, so she gave us that address."

"A double breach. Having an affair and not having it at a motel. I hope the guy found her a good lay, because he's going to pay dearly for it."

"Actually, Lieutenant, her liaison was with another woman. A blonde with big tits named Julia."

The lieutenant's low whistle came through clearly over the line. "Give me the address. I will have her picked up."

"This Julia probably can't give you anything more than we've gotten from the first one. And even the names we got are probably code names."

"Sergeant," Alvarez interrupted. "The address?"

"Oh yes," the sergeant flustered. "Uh... just a minute... I wrote it down. 223 Avenida Trujillo, Upper Level. Five blocks west of the Museo Nacional."

"I know where it is, sergeant," Alvarez said with an audible sigh. "I will have my men bring her in, assuming this information is accurate. If it is not, at least we will know that the captive has not come clean with us, which she will deeply regret."

"And what do we do with her now? The prisoner I mean."

Lieutenant Alvarez's sigh this time was more audible than before. Why had the Generalissimo let a batch of greenhorns play with a valuable intel source before she was properly interrogated? It was the Generalissimo's prerogative of course − he ran the show – but, as usual, the man had let his hair-trigger temper get in the way of common sense. This CIA chick had obviously done something to bust his balls, so, without thinking, he wanted first and foremost to make her suffer in the most humiliating way possible. He had no finesse. He failed to use established procedures or proper techniques. He just pummeled and raped purely for revenge. For his own self-satisfaction, rather than the greater good of the country. Alvarez imagined that's what ultimate power did to a person. It was a wonder this bunch of rubes squeezed out of her even the few drips of juice they managed to get. And who knew if any of that shit was reliable? Another sigh. Well, at least the bitch was still alive for him to find out what else she knew that their civilian interrogator, though better than the untrained mob the Generalissimo had working her over, had not learned from her.

"Take her to C-7." The lieutenant answered the sergeant's question. The sergeant knew where C-7 was. Everyone did. Building C was the main interrogation building. "Set her up in the chair," Lieutenant Alvarez continued. "I will meet you there at 21-hundred. And bring the whole sorry crew who worked on her. Maybe they'll learn something."

"But... she's dry," the sergeant tried to convince Alvarez that his team had done everything possible. The lieutenant was not one of his favorite people, and further questioning of the captive would not be in his best interest, since, if she revealed anything more of importance, the lieutenant would berate him for not getting that information himself from her before calling him. "What else do you think she knows?" The sergeant needed to know if there really was something he had missed. He shuddered at the thought.

"Everything you and your buddies didn't think to ask." Alvarez gave him a non-answer. "In any case, it won't hurt to confirm whether what she told you is true. And by the time we question her properly we may have picked up this 'Julia' comrade of hers to check her story against."

This time it was the sergeant who sighed. "Very well, lieutenant. I will transfer the prisoner to C-7 and meet you there as instructed."

Alvarez hung up. Thank God the Generalissimo had been detained, so that Alvarez could handle the interrogation properly. The agent couldn't yet be dry. Not if her interrogator just knew what questions to ask … and how to provide proper incentives for truthful answers. Of course, after that, when she was dry, well, while there was then no point in continuing to torture her for more information, there was another reason to continue her torture – because she was a fucking CIA operative trying to overthrow the government. After that, well, it was time to move on the next captive. After all, every captive gave up the name of at least one other person – though not always, he knew, or even usually, a guilty one.


Driving his rusty jeep along the dark, patchy road, Lieutenant Alvarez contemplated how best to deal with the recalcitrant female CIA agent. He already knew how he would make her talk, and he was confident that he would get more useful information from her. Certainly a man of his talents should be a captain by now, if not a major. So why was he still a lieutenant?

He knew why. It was his fractious relationship with the Generalissimo, which was ironic because they shared a taste for sadism and power that should have endeared them to each other, even if the rest of the men despised them both. But the men under the Generalissimo feared him so much that he had had no trouble maintaining his grip on power for nearly two decades. In contrast, Alvarez was a refugee from East Berlin, where he had been a chief KGB interrogator before escaping to this woebegone dictatorship, where he had been "saved" by the Generalissimo and carved out a niche as his #1 interrogator. Perhaps he was still a lieutenant because his refined interrogation skills were so good that they had impeded his career advancement. Yes. Maybe that was it.

At the foreboding gates of Building C, the guards quickly ushered Alvarez through. The military complex was huge − four main buildings and a dozen smaller ones, all shrouded by dense, tropical foliage − but Alvarez knew every inch of it. He was pleased to see in the parking lot the battered Toros, meaning that the recon team he sent to pick up Agent Magana had already returned, hopefully with its target.

When Alvarez entered C-7, he saw a lithe brunette, her arms and legs tightly strapped to a large high-backed chair bolted to the floor in the center of the room. She was naked, her body glistening with sweat and covered with bruises, whip marks and a few white blotches where one or more of the men had apparently ejaculated on her. This certainly was agent Kim Daniels. A few feet away he saw a large clothes bin that he figured must have transported her from the Generalissimo's office to the courtyard, and then been moved to C-7 in anticipation of her arrival there … and the possible need for her later disposal. That there was only one prisoner in the room did not concern him. Captured operatives should always be questioned separately, he knew. At least these fools had gotten that right. So if they had this Julia, she would be in another room.

As he approached her, Alvarez saw that she was quivering uncontrollably as she stared at him in wide-eyed terror. A puddle of urine dribbled from between her splayed thighs to the floor. More straps circled her neck and abdomen, leaving her virtually riveted in place. Her firm, nicely rounded breasts heaved desperately as she gasped for breath. Standing in a semi-circle around her stood the sergeant and his crew – Moth, Anderson, Rodriguez and Castillo, all of whom he had ordered there for their education in the art of interrogation.

"So this is the famous CIA Agent Daniels I've heard so much about these last few hours." Alvarez walked around her like he was inspecting a used car. "I see that some of our soldiers have had some fun with you. Sergeant, I guess I should thank you for not killing her. My only question is whether the bitch has given up anything else since we last spoke?"

"No, sir. We did not question her further, but brought right here as you commanded."

Alvarez grunted. "Very well. We shall continue shortly." Kim pulled against her bonds and let out a pitiful mewling sound. "But first, where is the recon team that was sent to pick up the other CIA agent? I noticed their truck in the lot."

"Good news, lieutenant," said the sergeant with pride. "The men captured the other agent at the address given us by Agent Daniels, and she is presently being held in the next room, C-6."

"Yes, very good news, sergeant. We will let this one think about her plight while I break her comrade."

Alvarez leaned over Kim, putting his face close to hers, forcing her to look directly into his eyes. "Did you hear that? We have your friend, Agent Magana. Your lover Julia, from what I'm told. We will see what she knows. If she is as weak as you, it won't take long. I guess the Americans have run out of strong agents, haven't they? So they send agents like you who are totally over-matched."

Alvarez turned away from the captive. "Stay here, Castillo. Everyone else, come with me. And leave the door open."

There was just one person in C-6 when Alvarez led the others into it and intentionally left its door open. A hooded woman with her back against a wooden post bolted to the floor and ceiling, her wrists cuffed around the pole behind her back and secured to a hook at the back of the pole, and her ankles cuffed on the floor behind the pole. Her clothes – a black dress, underwear and heels – had been tossed in the corner of the room. They did not appear to have been ripped or cut off her, so Alvarez imagined that the recon team had forced her to strip herself before cuffing her to the post.

Now agent Daniels had a nice body, Alvarez thought, but this one had an incredible body. Taller, more curvaceous, with average hips, a slender waist and large yet high-thrust breasts that swung from side to side as she twisted her body trying to free herself from her bonds.

"You can make this easy or hard for yourself, Agent Magana. Which shall it be?"

"Pinche idiota!! Me llama no es Agent Magana. What eas zis about? Bastardo!" Despite the hood, the woman's protests could be heard clearly. Immediately everyone in the room realized that something was very wrong. The supposed American CIA agent did not sound very American. Nor did she sound like a CIA agent.

Alvarez pulled the hood off, revealing a strikingly beautiful bottle-blonde who seemed to fancy herself as the new Marilyn Monroe, but was cursed with naturally dark tresses and a Roman nose. "Vete a la verga culero!" said Faux Marilyn.

Alvarez turned to the others in the room. "What the fuck did those idiots do?" He moved his face close to hers. "You said your name is not Julia Magana?"

"Tu madre es Julia Magana!! Tu madre!!"

Alvarez screamed at the others in the room. "The assholes saw these" – he squeezed the woman's cantaloupe-sized left breast with his right hand -- the woman immediately spit on him, but he was too focused on his men's fuck-up to react -- "and this" – he grabbed the woman's dyed-blond hair with his right hand -- "and that was enough for them. The idiots!! Corporal Moth, find the men who picked her up and bring them to my office. I will deal with them later." Moth raced out the door, grateful to get away from the fuming lieutenant. "What is your name? Answer me straight or I'll cut your tits off." He squeezed even harder to remind her of her situation.

"Maria Rivera."

"Where do you live, Maria Rivera?"

"223 Avenida Trujillo, first floor."

Alvarez's threat to the chest of which she was no doubt very proud had seemed to work, but how he wished he were still in East Berlin in the 1980's. The recon team had simply grabbed the first blonde they saw with big tits and returned triumphantly with "Julia."

"Now, Lady … Maria. Do you work for the CIA?"


Quickly back to the vulgarities, Alvarez shook his head. "Do you know a woman named Kim Daniels?"

"Tu madre es una puta fea!"

Alvarez had heard enough. "This bitch needs to be taught a lesson in behavior to a military officer. A very strong lesson."

Rodriguez and Castillo looked at each other. Alvarez had just learned that the woman was totally innocent, a victim of his own men's incompetence, but he was apparently going to punish her being upset that she had been the victim of mistaken identity. But, in Alvarez's mind, he had to deal with the fallout created by his men's stupidity -- he could not let her free to blab to everyone she knew of the government's incompetence. He also had his own reputation to consider. Three lower-ranking soldiers had seen how this exquisitely built woman – Maria whatever her last name was, he couldn't remember – had defied him and refused to grovel for mercy. He couldn't allow that. He had to show them that, in Room C-6, he held all the power. Unlimited power – over Elephant Jugs and all others. Normally, he would teach her – and his observers – the lesson by torturing her until she begged him to stop. But he could take no more time with her. He had to finish his interrogation of Agent Daniels, the only one of his captives from whom he might get any more useful information. And then he had to deal with his recon men who had brought this worthless Maria to him. And he still had to send out a new recon team to bring in the real Agent Magana.

Alvarez walked over to a gun case on the wall and pulled down a semi-automatic pistol. He checked that it was fully loaded before walking back to stand six feet in front of his captive. She stared at him as he cocked the pistol. Her mouth opened, but this time no expletives spouted from her lips.

"You are the most foul-mouthed bitch I ever laid eyes on! You think that you can control men with your fake hair and tits. Well, not this man, senorita!! Not this man!!" He pulled the trigger and four copper-clad projectiles pounded into her superb bosom, spraying blood, adipose tissue and silicone in all directions. He saw her body quickly stiffen, then leap as far forward as her cuffed wrists and ankles allowed.

"Tu es … Concha ...." she gurgled, or at least that's what Alvarez thought she said.

Alvarez waited for her head to collapse to her chest, but, to his amazement, she continued to stare at him with cold open eyes that showed her utter hatred and contempt for him, and once again spit at him. He seethed and pulled the trigger again, and half a dozen bullets tore into the woman's stomach. Her head finally sunk to her chest, her body arched forward, held up by the wrist cuffs attached to the back of the pole. No one in the room doubted that the woman was dead. Without checking her pulse, however, Alvarez flicked a switch on his gun, jammed it into her pussy and pulled the trigger once more, sending a single bullet up through her womanhood, as the others looked on in horror, not comprehending why he felt such an overwhelming need to apply this coupe de grace to an innocent woman who just happened to be the victim of his own men's incompetence.

Having left the doors to Rooms 6 and 7 open, Alvarez could hear Kim's screams from the next room. He knew she could not hear the exchange between him and his captive, but only the bursts of gunfire. He knew that she must believed that he had just murdered Julia, her comrade whom she had betrayed. He would use that to his benefit in his continuing questioning of her.


Alvarez pointed to Rodriguez and Anderson. ""Clean up this mess and get rid of this useless piece of shit. Throw her in the incinerator or feed her to the dogs for all I care. How you do it is up to you. Just do it. Sergeant, you come with me." The lieutenant headed to the door, followed by the sergeant.

"Lieutenant, a second if you will. I have Corporal Rodriguez scheduled for other work. Can't Private Anderson do this by herself?" The sergeant was surprised he had the nerve even to ask.

Alvarez considered the sergeant's request for a second. "No. I want this done quickly. You never know when we will need this room again. But I will send someone to help them." He turned to Rodriguez. "Just don't waste any time, Corporal. You heard the sergeant." As he opened the door, with the sergeant at his heels, the lieutenant turned back and saw that Anderson had fallen to her knees and was throwing up on the floor. "Just more for you to clean up," he snarled at them and the two left the room.

Rodriguez moved to comfort Anderson. "He's not human. Not close to human. He's a monster," Rodriguez consoled. Anderson started to sob in Rodriguez's arms as her own nightmares returned...

"Fifteen seconds at 200 volts. Impressive, Captain Anderson."

"G-g-r-r-r … whatev-rr ... f-fucknng ... b-bitch …." Anderson snarled through her grinding teeth, stubbornly refusing to break her determined stare.

"That should warm up the transformer's coils for longer and more intense shocks later. Let's turn you off for a bit and talk, hmm?" Min regarded her straining, shuddering victim with a patronizing smile, as her slim fingers slowly, luxuriantly, twisted the transformer's "Volts" knob back to its "Zero Standby" position. The room's light bulb blinked to its former warmth, and the crackling current subsided. Only the transformer's steady hum broke the moment's silence.

Anderson's body continued to seize and tremble for several more seconds, her muscles straining as if live current were still coursing through them. Then, as briskly as the charge had wrenched her upward from the table, the seizure broke and her body crashed with a heavy, dull thud back to the sweat-slicked aluminum slab. She panted greedily for breath, chest heaving, breasts bobbing from their clamps.

"Well that was fun, wouldn't you say?" Anderson hissed between gasps, summoning her most brazen, defiant tone, her eyes burning with hatred and disgust. "Let me guess. I get another turn, don't I?"

Min's wicked smile widened, her fingers still holding the "Volts" knob. "Such a sassy girl. The Generalissimo just loves a feisty fuck." Her voice softened: "As do I, Megan. I do hope we can penetrate – and I do mean penetrate -- your recalcitrance without breaking your spirit. And do you know what? I had just decided that you were such a good plaything that I was going to grant you your next wish. What was it again? Oh, yes. You wanted another turn. Well, your wish is my command." Min twisted the knob clockwise two clicks higher than before – to "275."

Bbbzzrrzzt … Daazzzrrrzzt. Bbzzrzrrrzt.

"A-Ah! Aach! F-FAAaaaahhhcckkk !!!"

This time Anderson could not bite back her shriek -- the electricity tore it from her with ruthless efficiency as it sizzled down her nerves and twisted her muscles from her bones. A hairline lick of steam curled lazily up from her left nipple, then another from her right. Anderson's eyes sprung wide, darting left and right across her trembling bust. Deep inside, her tits were ablaze; too much more and they'd boil out!

Min grinned, catching Anderson's flash of horrific recognition. "Worried they'll burst? That would be such a shame. Why not spare yourself the pain and cooperate? Talk and live to tittyfuck another day? In fact, cooperate and we might schedule you for an augmentation. The Generalissimo has specific tastes and requirements for his people." Min watched Anderson strain and jiggle. "And so do I. Perhaps we might even schedule a rhinoplasty, too."

"F-f-f-c-k y-o-o ... y-o-o …. m-msrble c-c-cunt" Anderson gasped, her eyes burning with rage.

Min laughed with haughty satisfaction before reluctantly turning the knob back to "Zero-Standby." Once more the room's light bulb brightened as the crackling current subsided, and once again Anderson's body continued to seize and strain, grunting and snarling, as if struggling to lift a truck off her chest. Fear had now crept into her defiant glare as she vainly fought to snap her muscles free of the lingering electroshock cramp.

"But I digress," Min's voice resumed its conversational tone. "I was explaining our objectives for this evening when your poor attitude so rudely interrupted me," Anderson gasped loudly as she finally managed to break the after-shock seizure and her body again crashed to the aluminum table, the invisible puppet strings hooked to her joints suddenly lax. She shivered violently and panted for breath, her muscles still occasionally twitching with volatile force. Min's glossy lips curled to a lascivious smirk as her eyes followed a final spasm rippling Anderson's glistening midriff.

Anderson squeezed her eyes closed and struggled to collect what little of her vitality remained. Like any seasoned special-forces operative, she had endured her share of scrapes and harrowing escapes. She'd even been shocked as part of her training. But not like this. Min's methodical and enthusiastic sadism had brought her into completely uncharted territory, and she knew that she was in real trouble – she had sent 275 volts straight through her brain! Unless she escaped soon, Anderson knew that her body would be roasted like a vegetable – and her breasts fitted for a tween training bra.

"First you are going to tell me everything about your mission, Captain Anderson. Then you are going to pledge loyalty to the Generalissimo and his military. A strong, skilled specimen like you is exactly the kind of meat the infantry needs, although you will have to start not as the exalted army captain you now are, but as a lowly private until you fully prove your loyalty." Min let a finger trace gently down the furrows of Anderson's muscular abdomen before putting her lips at Anderson's ear. "And rest assured, Butterface, that whatever strength or defiance you think you can muster, I have more than enough voltage at my disposal to rip it out of you, quickly or slowly. Until you beg for permission to lick my clit or do whatever I command."

"Why d-didn't you just s-say you wanted a l-little service, hon?" Anderson locked Min's eyes, her chest still heaving: "Cause I'm a giver. L-let me off this table and I'll t-take your p-pretty little twat to the promised land. N-no guarantee I w-won't bite it off, though."

Min gently bit Anderson's earlobe. "I was hoping you would be this stubborn, Tough Girl. I really was." Min walked to the cart on which Anderson's infiltration equipment was arrayed and reached into a lower shelf's shadows. "Talk is cheap, wouldn't you agree, soldier?" Min smiled patronizingly as she held up a thick, phallic brass shaft suspended between heavy, black rubber straps. "I think it's time for you to stop talking and start sucking cock. And this one's electric."

Anderson's eyes locked on the gag. She balled her fists as her lips pursed to a furiously disgusted frown. "Bring that near me and I will bite your fucking fingers off!"

"Oh?" Min paced forward and draped a hand over the large winch lever controlling the vise-grip at Anderson's head. "And how will you do that, soldier? Did I not secure you tightly enough?"

Anderson's eyes darted nervously, glancing in vain toward the two circular brass pressure plates squeezing the sides of her skull. "Let's just make sure you're nice and tight," Min cooed as she stroked the lever before cranking it hard a single click. It had the effect Min desired.

"G-g-a-aaa-a-h-hhh," Anderson felt the slight movement inward of the vice grips add tremendous crushing pressure to her head, given how tight the grip had already been.

Min watched the "Vise Pressure, PSI" needle on the winch's gauge dart from its green-colored region into a yellow area just shy of a smaller red line labeled "Danger!"

"A-a-h-hh!!! F-f-a-aa-h-hhh-c-c-kk !!!" Anderson's eyes widened with terror. And just as her lips parted to scream, Min, with the timing of a practiced expertise, jammed the phallic shaft into her mouth and methodically buckled the gag's rubber straps behind Anderson's head before indulgently running her fingers through what was left of Anderson's tousled, sweaty mane.

"M-m-m-f-f-r-r-!!" Anderson squeezed her fists and curled her toes, trying to ease the pain, but knowing that she had to keep her head completely still fearing any movement would shatter her skull!

"Don't you think this punk ‘undercut' style is perfectly flattering for a fuck toy?" Min nodded. "Now it's time to plug in the grounding cable, here." Min reached for a loose electrical cable coiled at the floor and plugged its terminal into a socket at the gag's base. Anderson's eyes crossed a moment following the cable to its attachment to the brass phallus filling her mouth. Min's eyes fixed on Anderson's chest. "I think you're going to need a bit more support now, don't you?"

Anderson hissed at her, her eyes narrowing to a deadly glare.

"Do you realize how lucky you are that I can adjust this for exactly the right amount of lift and separation?" Min leaned forward, her own cleavage falling purposefully into Anderson's line of sight, revealing her small firm breasts. Min began slowly to adjust the knobs controlling the clockwork linkage between the rings choking Anderson's breasts.

"R-rr-r!" Anderson snarled as she watched the choke rings slowly move her breasts farther apart. Anderson twisted her chest from side to side and arched and then straightened her back, seeking even a moment's reprieve from the torture bra's increasing grip on her breasts.

"A good spread looks so fetching under a sweater, don't you agree, Megan? You don't mind if I call you Megan, do you?" Min watched the torture bra slowly pulled Anderson's breasts outward, creating a comically-wide arc across her chest. "I had guessed you were a 34-B, but now that I look more closely," Min twisted a second knob, and the rings around Anderson's breasts began to constrict and twist, pulling them off her chest, "I think you may be a small C-cup." Min locked Anderson's eyes and gave the knob another quick turn. "Or at least you might have been when we started."

"R-r-r-a-aa-h-rr!!" Anderson howled, her tits ballooning and quivering as the rings cinched closer together. "F-ckng b-btch!!" Anderson roared, biting down hard on the phallic gag.

"These torpedoes appear armed," Min laughed as she grasped Anderson's hard left nipple between her thumb and forefinger. "But if you don't begin talking soon, we won't have to debate whether you were a B or C cup, will we? In fact, I think you may already regret even having tits, hmm, Soldier? Min gripped Anderson's right nipple and tugged them both hard.

"N-n-never, Btch!!" Anderson's brow furrowed.

"I'll give you some time to think that over, but I assure you that very soon you are going to be begging to tell me about all the intel that supported your little attack. Your sources. How and when you acquired what you needed to know. The names of support team members. Everything. Including how old you were when you lost your virginity. Until then, you can flex, sweat and scream all you want. Maybe figure out which breast will boil out first." Min walked toward the humming electrical transformer, Anderson's eyes transfixed on her, the pounding of her heart and throbbing of the blood vessels in her temples consuming her brain.

"Let's try ordinary household current to start. Just 125 volts. Low but long. How does that sound to you?" Min twisted the knob. The light bulb flickered and electricity crackled.

"Ah-h-h," Anderson jerked against her bonds, her muscles again tense, the current feeling like a sharp knife blade slicing down her nerves, but not forcing her body off the table.

Min strode toward the cell's massive steel door, turned and smiled darkly. "Holler when you're ready to talk, dear, and I'll come and turn you off. But only for as long as you keep talking until you've told me everything I want to know. In the meanwhile, enjoy your convulsions. Oh, and do me a favor. Try not to die."

"N-n-o-o-o!!" Anderson snarled around the phallus, her cheeks hollowing and her jaw quivering as it blasted current down her throat.

Min placed her palm on the door's biometric scanner, waited for its five locks to click and glanced back at her straining victim. "Ta-ta for now, Butterface." She offered a mock royal wave before stepping through the door. The loud crash of metal on metal as the door slammed close confirmed the utter hopelessness of Anderson's plight….

Anderson felt Rodriguez hug her tightly. She had no idea for how long she had been lost in her horrible flashback and realized that her eyes were closed. When she opened them, she saw that Rodriguez had finished cleaning up the blood and vomit in the room. But the dead woman remained cuffed to the pole. "We will bury her body. We don't have to do anything else to it, don't worry about that." Rodriguez assured Anderson, who immediately started shaking as if still in her nightmare, barely able to suppress a scream.

Corporal Rodriguez sighed – Private Anderson was so damn attractive. Rodriguez could not stop herself from moving her right hand across Anderson's breasts to tease her nipples and her left hand down the crack of her ass to thumb her anus. Anderson was startled for a second, but then responded with a quick kiss to Rodriguez's lips. As Rodriguez continued to caress her, she turned Anderson onto her back, unbuttoned her shirt and pushed her bra up to release her breasts, and then sat down on her waist, her hands tugging on her nipples. The corporal arched her back as best she could, her head turning back, mouth open and offering a loud gasp as she helped Anderson undo her belt and slide her pants and panties down to her knees so that she could use her legs to slide them down to her ankles.

Rodriguez pulled off her own shirt and bra and moved her body directly on top of Anderson's, their breasts pressed together, their mouths locked in a deep kiss. Rodriguez ended the kiss to move her body slowly down Anderson's body until her mouth reached its target, as she squeezed Anderson's breasts. Anderson shook in anticipated delight, her eyes closed to focus on the moment, her tongue wetting her lips and her hands reaching down to grasp Rodriguez's hair to force her tongue even deeper into her. Just as she knew that a first orgasm was about to wave over her, she opened her eyes and … saw Drill Sergeant Jones standing over them!!

"This is how you do your work?" He grabbed Rodriguez around her neck and pulled her off of Anderson. Anderson scrambled to put her clothes back on. "And after you were told not to waste any time because you were needed for other tasks."

"B-b-b-ut …" Rodriguez struggled to get out an excuse with Jones's arm tightly across her throat, not that any excuse would help her.

"Even after the lieutenant told you he was sending someone back to help you. Or did you forget that in the passion of the moment?" He lifted Rodriguez, naked from the waist up, off the ground, her legs flailing. "You thought it would take some time to get someone back here, but I happened to be walking by and the lieutenant filled me in and sent me to get the job done faster. Lucky for you, huh?! My darling troublemaker from the past."

Jones released his grip on the corporal, who doubled over gasping for air. He spun her around, took a set of cuffs off his belt, cuffed her hands behind her back, dragged her to the interrogation tools table and pulled a black hood over her head.

"You," he snarled at Anderson, cowering in the corner of the room, "finish getting this cleaned up now." He pulled Rodriguez to the door. "As for you," he put his face close to Rodriguez's hooded face, "this is just one too many fuck-ups on your part, I would say. I'm not sure what the Generalissimo will decide to do with you, but, if he leaves it up to me to decide, I'll have you sent to the dog runs so they can have their fun with you while I drop in every now and then to watch."


"Such a waste," the sergeant muttered under his breath as he waited in the lieutenant's office for him to finish reviewing some orders and make a few calls, including one to Drill Sergeant Jones. "What I could have done with those jugs and that pussy," the sergeant fantasized, his intense dislike for Alvarez growing even stronger. He knew that traitors and spies had to be dealt with harshly, but this woman was innocent. If he didn't feel he could release her, he could have sent her to one of the government brothels. She certainly could have pleased a lot of soldiers and officials of both sexes before she wore out.

The sergeant thought that Alvarez was going to take him back to C-7 to show him how he thought Kim should properly been questioned, but instead he ordered him to round up a new recon team and return to 223 Avenida Trujillo, specifically instructing him to go to the upstairs apartment where it should have gone the first time.

Alvarez then went back to C-7 alone, where he found Castillo intently watching Kim. "Now, CIA bitch," Alvarez's voice was stern, "you have heard how we deal with recalcitrant agents. Her last six lovers were made of metal and gunpowder."

"N-n-o-o," Kim cried, hearing the lieutenant's claim of what he had done to Julia's womanhood. "You can have the same last lovers as your friend did" – he pulled out his semi-automatic, "or you can answer my questions. Your choice."

"There is nothing else I can tell you," Kim's voice trembled. Perspiration streamed across her naked body as she writhed against the straps holding her in place. "I have told you all I know! And because I did, you murdered her!!"

Alvarez steered Castillo to the far corner of the room so that Kim could not overhear them. "You claim to have broken this agent? Tell me now how sure you are that you did."

"I told you -- I broke her. She's not hiding anything more of importance." Castillo tried to sound confident, but inside his stomach was churning, given the lieutenant's utter heartlessness.

"Perhaps she is unaware that certain things she knows are of interest to us. Perhaps you have not asked all the right questions."

"We know that her mission was to assassinate the Generalissimo," Castillo explained. "And she has told us what little she knows about her contact and the agents from whom she took direction?"

"What was her escape plan if she managed to assassinate the Generalissimo?"

"She was to be picked up by an accomplice in the woods a mile from the military base."

Alvarez moved back toward Kim. "What were you to do if you succeeded in assassinating the Generalissimo? How were you to be rescued and reunited with your comrades?"

Kim's trembling increased. "I... was to return to my apartment." A different story than her earlier one. She was either too tired to concentrate on the truth … or intentionally deceptive. Neither was acceptable to Alvarez.

"Well, you weren't going to call a cab to pick you up in the Generalissimo's quarters, were you?" Alvarez mocked her. "Your only chance to escape would be on foot, so you had to be meeting someone who was waiting nearby."

Kim continued to shake her head. She was now resigned that she would not leave the room alive. She had already betrayed Julia and was determined not to let this fiend who had murdered Julia get anything more from her, certainly nothing more about John or Brian.

Lieutenant Alvarez scanned the array of interrogation tools at his disposal, and returned to Kim carrying a coiled length of rope a quarter inch in diameter and about eight feet long.

"Sometimes the simplest things are the most effective," he told Castillo. "You shall see. In less than ten minutes, this treacherous twat will be singing like a hummingbird."

Alvarez wrapped the rope around Kim's chest, pulling it under her arms and across her back before curling it around a second time. He tied the two loose ends to a metal rod extending from a helically-geared mechanism mounted to the back of the chair. A nine-inch wide wheel attached to the end of the rod allowed Alvarez to rotate the shaft and wind the rope around it, taking up the slack in the coils. In effect, the device would garrote Kim's chest, rather than her neck.

Kim could not see behind her, but could feel the cords tightening around her body. Alvarez turned the wheel until the rope dug into Kim's flesh. The two loops of rope ran across the center of her breasts side by side, over her nipples. "The next turn," Alvarez announced, "will cause you a most unpleasant consequence of your defiance. This is your last chance to tell us the truth about your planned escape."

The sheer coldness in Alvarez's voice made Kim shudder in horror, but she remained silent, praying for the strength not to betray John and Brian as she had Julia, and struggling to prepare herself for the "unpleasant consequence" Alvarez had promised.

Alvarez rotated the wheel and saw Kim's breasts warp noticeably, the upper and lower halves bulging outward as the coils constricted the soft tissue in between as the ropes tightened.

"U-n-n-g-ghh-h," Kim groaned, trying to hide the pain which now coursed through her chest.

Alvarez gave the wheel another twist, further crushing the woman's malleable mammaries.

"Aiiieegh!!" Kim could no longer stop herself from screaming.

"Ah yes," Alvarez said with satisfaction. "We are making progress. Will you talk now?"

"I... have... nothing... to..." Another rotation brought a more agonizing scream from her lips. "Aaagghh!!" Kim could now feel the coils pressing against her sternum, making it nearly impossible to expand her lungs to suck in air. Oh God, please, she thought, just let me die.

Alvarez could see that Kim's breasts had swollen to nearly twice their natural size and now looked like two half-finished animal balloons ready to burst. Judging that one more turn would not kill her, he was surprised how hard he needed to work to overcome the resistance from Kim's rib cage in order to rotate the wheel another half twist. But the rope was stronger than her ribs, and he heard the distinctive sound of several of her ribs breaking, which sent a new wave of unmitigated agony through her body. Her screams continued unabated, lessening only as her throat grew hoarse. Castillo grimaced, revealing himself as the far less brutal of the two sadists in the room.

"Stop!! Stop please!! I'll tell you! I'll tell you!" How Kim got out all of those words amazed Alvarez. He smiled – she could take no more. Alvarez had broken her in more ways than one.

"The woods …" Alvarez enjoyed watching Kim fight to get out every word. "John. First shift. Six hours. Then Julia. Next six hours."

Alvarez checked his watch. It had been eight hours since Kim had arrived at the Generalissimo's quarters, so it would now be Julia's shift. The blond big-breasted and elusive Julia. Very nice, he thought. Nicer than if it was John's or Brian's shift. "How would she have gotten there?"

"Blue … Falcon … car." Thinking Julia dead, Kim had no compunction about telling Alvarez anything he wanted to know about Julia, believing that she could suffer no more. Certainly not when failing to tell him would mean so much more pain for her.

Alvarez pulled out his cell phone and ordered the sergeant to redirect his second recon team to the woods and a blue Ford Falcon.


"Please... please..." Kim gasped. "I told you. Please. Please. Loosen... the... rope..."

"Sorry bitch. No relief for you until we've confirmed your story. You'll stay right there until..."

"What the Sam fucking Hill is going on here?!" The bellowing voice echoed through the room, startling Lieutenant Alvarez. In his focus on Kim, Alvarez had not heard the door's clicks or seen the Generalissimo and Colonel Montoya enter the room, having finally finished their meeting and driven directly to the interrogation center to check on Alvarez's progress. Clearly, the Generalissimo was taken aback to find Agent Kim Daniels still alive and being questioned.

"Ummm... we are..." Alvarez thought better of what he was about to say. "I mean... we have completed interrogating the prisoner. She has told us everything, including where to find another of the CIA's female agents."

The Generalissimo snorted, then strutted to the chair to examine the battered, bruised and broken woman. She wheezed and squirmed, but managed to look up into the face of the man who had so brutally fucked her earlier that day. The man she was assigned to kill.

"If you've squeezed everything outta her, why in tarnation is she still alive?" The Generalissimo seemed confused and angry at the same time. "This cock-sucking cunt tried to kill me for chrissakes! Finish the bitch!!"

"But Generalissimo..." Alvarez protested weakly. "We're still verifying what she..."

"Verify, shmerify!" the Generalissimo barked. "Corpsify this slimy CIA scum now!" But he just as quickly changed his mind. "No. No. Wait. I have a better idea. A much better idea." He turned to Colonel Montoya. "First, though, I made you a promise, Colonel. You want this one or you want to wait for the next one?"

"God, the next one. This one is a mess."

"All right. Good choice. Stand back." The Generalissimo approached the woman and smiled at her. "So, I bet you didn't think things were going to end this way, did you? With you on the receiving end?" Kim continued to struggle for air. "And guess what? I got the results back from the lab. You really didn't like me, did you?" Kim's mouth was open, but only incomprehensible sounds of pain escaped her lips. "The lab had never seen bacteria like it. Designer bacteria, it said. Could only have been created by the American CIA, it said. And do you know how it works?"

Kim realized that she had no idea how it worked. She was just told that it worked fast.

The Generalissimo pulled a syringe with a protective cover from his pocket. "Can't be too careful with this." He removed the cover. "Well, let's just see how it works." He jammed the needle into Kim's deformed left breast and pushed the plunger down, releasing half of its liquid into her, then he moved the needle between her legs and plunged the rest of the liquid into the first flesh inside her pussy that the syringe struck before stepping back to admire his work … and to see what would have happened to him had she succeeded in her mission.

Within thirty seconds it was obvious from the glaze in her eyes and her wide open mouth that Kim's pain had magnified to the point where her screams would have filled the room had the tightly wound rope around her breasts not prevented her from taking a deep breath and had her prior screams not hoarsened her vocal cords to a whisper.

"Flesh-eating bacteria that works from your insides out, the lab told me" the Generalissimo announced. "Just look what they are already doing to your breast. I hate to think what they are doing inside your pussy." The bacteria had begun to perform a kind of mastectomy without anesthesia. "Now if I had fallen asleep after screwing you, you would have injected my cock and watched it fall off, wouldn't you?" The Generalissimo was enjoying the turnabout in their fortunes. Lieutenant Alvarez could see that the hole between her legs was already big enough for her to fuck a horse without feeling it, much larger that the hole that he had blown in Maria's pussy, and was growing quickly.

As white foam escaped Kim's mouth, the rope holding her breasts fell away as Kim's left breast first, and then her right, no longer pushed against it. Alvarez wondered where in Kim's body the bacteria injected into her pussy would meet the bacteria injected into her breast.

The Generalissimo stared mesmerized at the effect of the bacteria. "Best dietary supplement on the market, I would say," he laughed. "Lose 20 pounds in ten minutes." He finally turned away as Kim's movements – at least her voluntarily movements – ceased and her body fell to the floor, her shrinking limbs pulling through them.

"Esso, I promise you first shot at the next one." The Generalissimo turned for the door. Montoya followed, his face pale white. Alvarez wondered if he would recover in time from what he had just witnessed to enjoy his turn on the next one. Or if he would ever recover. Montoya was not like Alvarez. No. Alvarez, like the Generalissimo, had enjoyed the irony of Kim's demise at the hands of the bacteria meant for her rival's destruction. What a wonderful and brutal world it was. But Montoya – he might never get the horrible imagine of Kim's dying body out of his mind.

As Alvarez and Castillo exited C-7, the sergeant arrived with Corporal Moth to tell Alvarez that the second recon unit was on its way to the woods. Ignoring him, the lieutenant looked at Moth. "Tell Corporal Rodriguez and Private Anderson that they have another clean-up job in C-7 as soon as they finish the one in C-6."


"... and now, in keeping with our station's recognized responsibilities to our community, we bring you live from the United Nations General Assembly, Sir Baggett-Hype of Great Britain, speaking in rebuttal to the Union of South Africa's Jan Aktebugwahl."

"Jesus!" Julia smashed her palm against the radio control knob in frustration. After listening to twelve consecutive Latin dance songs, she'd finally switched the car's antediluvian receiver to the only other available station, and discovered that it transmitted "historical news" from a time when South Africa was still a union. She didn't know exactly when that was, but knew it must have been decades before her birth. "Give me a break," she pleaded to the radio, "I've gotta wait here for hours on end and all I can listen to is tango or this shit. And the damn air conditioning probably died in the 80s."

Julia slouched in the front seat of the decrepit 1988 Falcon, a vehicle last built in the US in 1970, but cobbled together in Argentina for decades after to sell in car-deprived South American republics. It had more dents than a golf ball and an engine better suited to a lawnmower. Hell, the radio likely doubled the car's pitiful value. But like all agents, she was required to blend in, so she was saddled with an ailing ride that would deflect unwanted attention.

Julia was sweltering inside the car. Sure, it was hotter during John's daytime shift, but at least he could open the windows. Now that the sun had set, swarms of malarial insects buzzed through the stagnant air craving a late night snack, and Julia did not want her tender flesh to provide them with their dessert.

She had parked at the end of a road cut short by the thick undergrowth surrounding the military base. The base where Kim was doing whatever she needed to do to kill the Generalissimo. "What's taking her so long? That little minx is either having way too much fun," said Julia to herself, "or something's gone really wrong." She immediately felt pangs of guilt, and, for the hundredth time, peered out the windows into the pitch black surroundings, hoping to see her comrade emerge from the darkness and head to her. "It's been almost nine hours... where the hell is she? And why are these damned pickup sites always in the middle of fucking nowhere?"

But she knew the answer, of course. Yes, there was a more accessible road to the base's main gate, but there she would be spotted at once, so John had selected this miserable secluded location. Which meant that Kim would not only have to escape the Generalissimo's quarters and make her way off the base, but she would then have to fight her way through the dense foliage to find the waiting car. At night. Unarmed. And likely wearing few, if any clothes.

"This was a hare-brained scheme," Julia continued talking to the radio, her only companion with a voice that could form words. Seeing how difficult Kim's escape would be, she had to admit relief that she had not volunteered. She was young and beautiful. Better to jeopardize her career than get herself killed in this wretched backwater. And after so much time, she set Kim's odds of still being alive at one in four. At best.

Finally, Julia knew she would faint if she didn't get fresh air. Just a few minutes outside would help, and, if she got in and out of the car fast enough, not too many of the hideous bugs would get inside. Then Julia remembered rule number 8 − or was it number 9? – from the surveillance regulations in her training manual: "Do not leave your vehicle when working covertly in hostile territory." Fuck it, she thought. All rules had exceptions. And the exception to this one had to be "unless staying in your fucking vehicle will give you heatstroke." Julia opened the door and leaped out of the Falcon, slamming the door quickly behind her.

She leaned against the car and stretched. It felt so good to stand after sitting for so long. Even better, the soft tropical breeze wafted over her skin, quickly cooling her. She had dressed lightly, wearing over her underwear only a pair of frayed denim cut-offs, a camo colored, short-sleeved safari shirt and low-heeled sling-backs. She knew she would be cooking in the heat for six full hours if Kim didn't show up, so comfort took priority over modesty. In fact, she found the light wind so welcoming she unbuttoned and pulled off her shirt as if she were with an impatient lover, tossing it on the hood of the car. Her sheer white bra barely covered her ample bosom, which was just fine with her. Feeling the breeze across the exposed swell of her breasts was heavenly after sweating in the car for the last three hours.

Julia fluffed her blonde hair with both hands and stood provocatively against the car, striking a pose as if she was a daring actress or supermodel. But no, she was alone in a desolate hinterland, her physical attributes unnoticed by any living creature except the damned insects.

"This sucks," she complained, just before feeling a particularly vicious insect bite half-way down her right thigh, "Aaghh!" she yelped, slapping slapped her hand over the offending spot to catch the perpetrator and deciding it was time to get back in the car. She spread her fingers to see how large an insect it was that had bit her only to discover that what had punctured her skin was not a bug bite at all, but a dart about half an inch long. "What the f...?!" Before Julia could figure out more, or move back into the car, she felt a second sting just under her belly button. She looked down and saw another tiny dart, finally realizing that the insects were the least of her worries just as a third dart struck her in the side of her neck. Within seconds, she felt disoriented and collapsed against the front of the Ford, her body twisting and arching face up over the hood as she struggled to keep her legs from buckling. It was Rule 8, she now remembered – "Do not leave your fucking vehicle," she repeated. And there were no exceptions.

In the darkness, Julia could barely distinguish the shapes of two men walking towards her. Both wore military badges. One brandished an AK-47. The other carried a carbine with a night vision scope, probably the weapon that had fired the darts.

"Militia..." Julia mumbled. "Shit! Out here? How... did they know?" She struggled to pull herself off the car's hood to confront the two men, her body wobbling and her eyes drifting in and out of focus. The soldiers laughed as she stumbled about half dressed. She reached for her side-arm, but remembered she had left it on the front seat of the car. Another fucking reason not to leave the vehicle, she realized.

"Do not worry, chica," said the one carrying the carbine. "The darts are not fatal. They only make you sleepy." He grinned broadly. "I am Diego and he is Francisco. What is your name, beautiful one?"

"Fuck you." Julia's thoughts were scrambled. She knew the words must have come from her mouth, but she didn't remember thinking to say them. Could these soldiers have simply come across her car accidentally? Might they really just want to fuck her and then leave? That hope vanished when Francisco spoke.

"That is not very friendly," he said. "My friend Diego here just asked a simple question. And politely. But we do not need your name. You drive a blue Falcon. It is the car we are looking for." He leered at her barely covered breasts. "And we were sent to bring back with us a chica with blonde hair and big tits, just like you. But let's be sure." Diego moved the blade of its bayonet under the thin strip of fabric connecting the cups of Julia's bra and yanked the weapon back toward him, splitting the bra with a snap and freeing Julia's two most apparent assets. "Oh, yes," Francisco confirmed, "I would say those match the description we were given. Blue Falcon. Blonde hair. Big tits. How do they say it in baseball, chica? Three strikes and you're out. I would say those are strikes one, two and three."

Julia could not speak, her body paralyzed by the dart's venom. The men watched her fall on her stomach between the foliage and the road. Francisco slipped his foot under her body and rolled her over onto her back. He ripped off her bisected bra to admire her chest in all its glory, then tossed the bra into the bushes and chuckled. "Where this puta is going, she won't be needing that, will she?"


True to his word, the Generalissimo allowed Colonel Montoya the first opportunity to interrogate -- by whatever means necessary as long as he did not kill her -- the new captive, the CIA Agent who had been working with the now deceased Agent Daniels. Julia Magana. Probably not her real name. But that didn't matter. They had captured another of the CIA agents involved in the assassination plot, and Montoya had a chance to prove his worth by getting her to spill her guts. If it just happened that she was forced to satisfy him in other ways, well, that was just part of his present assignment.

Colonel Montoya entered C-7. Diego was seated by the door and nodded towards him. "I am to replace you, senor."

"Ay, amigo. I was one of the men who captured her. She is a tough one. It took three darts to bring her down." He shook his rifle to show Montoya that it was the weapon that had done the deed.

Montoya took the rifle from the man and examined it. "Very nice. Leave it here if you don't mind. In case I might have further need for it."

"No problem, sir. But you will not need it. I have restrained her properly for you." Diego nodded at Montoya and left the room, the door slamming ominously behind him.

Montoya saw the array of interrogation tools on a table along the left wall and propped up the carbine next to them. Then he focused on the reason he was there. Spread-eagled on a horizontal wooden rack in the center of the room stretched a woman, her wrists chained to the sides of a roller above her head and her ankles chained to embedded cuffs at the sides of the foot of the rack. She wore only a pair of frayed denim cut-offs. Her body was already bathed in sweat – the room was kept intentionally too hot – or too cold -- to add to a prisoner's discomfort. Montoya's eyes widened when he saw the woman's large firm breasts and flat belly. He had regretted not being able to stay for the Generalissimo's encounter with Agent Daniels, and then not getting back in time to join the later festivities directed against her. But now he definitely believed the adage that "good things come to those who wait." He felt his pulse quicken and his cock harden.

The woman lifted her head the little she could and groaned loudly as he neared her, pulling against the cuffs that bound her wrists and ankles. He loved the way her body writhed and twisted so desperately as she tried to free herself, knowing that her struggles were useless, yet continuing her hopeless efforts until she was totally exhausted. He watched her short, shallow breaths, and wondered why Diego had not removed her cutoffs – he must have wanted to see what was underneath them. Perhaps he was just leaving that gift to Montoya, who rather liked the opportunity to solve for himself the last mystery of his victim's body, which, at the same time, even if only symbolically, would add to her feeling of psychological terror.

"My name is Colonel Montoya. What is yours?" He knew it, of course, but wanted to see if he would get a truthful answer.

Julia didn't answer, but glared at him with unalloyed hatred. He immediately backhanded her hard across the face and watched a trickle of blood run from her lip, but she didn't make a sound and her expression didn't change. She was obviously experienced and tough and would not break easily. Good, he thought, this will be a long interrogation.

Montoya walked to the table holding the room's interrogation tools, which could cut, scrape, puncture, crush and burn the most sensitive parts of a naked immobile woman. When he turned back, he saw her turn her head away, and knew she had been trying to see what was in store for her. He smiled -- she was already very frightened. As she should be, he thought, since he fancied himself more expert a torturer than either the Generalissimo or lieutenant. Pain. Humiliation. Sexual abuse. Hopelessness. Agent Magana was going to experience them all, and for several hours if necessary, as it appeared it might be.

"Don't be embarrassed by your fear. It is expected." Montoya sat down on the side of the rack near her armpit. "Even the bravest would be petrified in your situation. And rightfully so. Spread nearly naked. Limbs pulled tight. There is a reason that the rack has been used for so many hundreds of years to loosen tongues – or, if necessary, limbs. It is simply so effective. Especially on a woman with beautiful breasts and large dark nipples like yours, forced to endure whatever punishment a sadistic torture like me may choose for them. You can never prepare yourself, so you shouldn't waste effort trying. Even though you must know that, if necessary, I am going to savage and ruin your breasts and as many other parts of your body as I need to get the information that I want from you. But you don't know yet how I'm going to do it. That must add to your terror I would think, doesn't it?"

Julia cursed him through clenched teeth. A second loss of control, Montoya noted, smiling as she turned her head in shame at her display of weakness. Montoya gripped her chin with his right hand and turned her head until she was forced to stare at him. "Don't you want to know what I took from the table? I saw you trying to look."

"Does it really matter, you sadistic bastard?" Julia hissed at him.

"You will soon be calling me far worse," he responded calmly, "between your screams."

"You might be able to make me scream, but I'll never talk."

"Then you'll be the first." He held up the tool he had taken from the table, a pair of shears with heavy, razor sharp eight inch blades, normally threatening only to an overgrown hedge. Except that perceptions changes for a naked woman stretched on a rack.

Montoya placed the shears in the open palm of Julia's right hand. Reflexively, she closed her fingers around it, knowing that, as long as she held them, they could not do anything to harm her body.

"Let me tell you a little story, love.. Less than a month ago a middle aged man sat in that chair." He lifted Julia's head so she could see the heavy leather-strapped chair across the room. "He was a sculptor. I told him that, if he didn't tell me everything I wanted to know, his life as a sculptor would be over. So, when he didn't, I used the shears you are holding to cut off his left pinky. God, that made a sickening crunch, but the blades are so sharp it didn't take much effort. He screamed, of course, but he said nothing. So I took off two fingers a day, one in the morning and one in the evening, making sure to cauterize the wounds with a hot iron to stanch the bleeding, for the next three days. When he had just three fingers left – his two thumbs and one forefinger – he told me everything. Now he is not a sculptor anymore. Why wasn't he smart enough to have talked seven fingers earlier?"

Julia stared at Montoya with an expression of utter terror as he pried the shears from her grip. She couldn't betray her comrades, she just couldn't. But if she didn't… Her stomach twitched uncontrollably, realizing that she had no answer to her dilemma.

He pried her pinky from the fist she had made of her left hand. She squeezed her eyes shut and muttered "Oh, God, please don't let him" in a voice so low Montoya could not hear her words and therefore could not take satisfaction in her third display of weakness.

Julia felt the shears close on her pinky finger. Briefly overcoming her terror, she summoned all her courage and stared at him. "Just do it," she screamed, "Just do it already!" She buried her face into her shoulder, sobbing uncontrollably and waiting for the sound of the crunch that would precede the pain by only a second.

Montoya released the shear's grip on Julia's pinky and laughed. "Weren't you paying attention to my story?! The man was a sculptor!! His hands were his most prized asset. That is why I took off his fingers!! You are not a sculptor, are you? So why would I do the same thing to you? Your fingers are not your most prized assets, are they? So they are safe from me."

Julia's eyes widened. She looked down at her breasts, then back at Montoya, and screamed as the meaning of Montoya's words sunk into her brain.

"Yes, I knew you'd understand!! You have to be bright to be a spy." Montoya used the shears to began to cut off her denim shorts. "Of course, you have to be even brighter to be a spy who doesn't get caught, now don't you?"

After he cut through both sides of her shorts from the hips to the hem, he left the material covering her and walked to the rack's winch above her head.

"I notice, Agent Magana, that the chains holding your wrists have not been pulled as tightly as they should." He turned the winch until he heard one, then two clicks, followed by a loud cry of anguish as Julila's back was lifted off the table, leaving her unable, except to turn her head, to move any part of her body. Her choice was simple, she knew: betray her comrades or face destruction of her body, starting with her breasts. And, even if she betrayed her comrades and told this sadist everything he wanted to know, she could not be sure he would not still destroy her body in the most painful manner he could imagine.

Montoya finally pulled away the denim cloth, discovering that, beneath it, Julia wore a black thong. Again, Montoya snipped the two strings at her hips and left the thong in place. He waited as Julia's entire body began to convulse and tears flowed down her cheeks, before pulling it off and putting it in his pocket. He stared at the small triangle of dark hair between her legs. "And I thought your blonde hair was natural," he chided her. He paused for a few seconds. "Now you probably think you are totally naked now, don't you, Agent Magana? But that is not quite true." He moved to the table and returned holding a straight-edged razor. "I suggest you hold very still now, dear, and control that shaking or I might slip." He began methodically shaving off her pubic hair, completing his psychological devastation of her as he removed her very last shred of symbolic protection and dignity.

"You bastard," she moaned, forcing herself to stop at least for the moment from sobbing.

"My sweet Julia," Montoya responded as he completed the task. "I am afraid that it is too late for your compliments to help your situation. You must have accepted by now that, since there will be no escape or rescue for you, there is only one way that you can end your suffering."

Julia immediately shook her head back and forth several times. "No," she whispered.

"Very well," Montoya replied. "You have made your decision. So it is time then to treat your best assets like I treated the sculptor's." He walked to the table and picked up four long thin needles.

"No…wait. Please wait!!"

Montoya ignored Julia's pleas, and slowly pushed the first needle horizontally into and through her right nipple, then pushed another through at a right angle from the first.

"No more. I beg you. No more. Please. Have mercy. Have mercy!!" she pleaded as he moved to her left nipple and, ignoring her pleas, pressed the third and fourth needles through her left nipple at right angles. Then he grabbed all four needles, gave them a twist and listened for Julia's raspy scream. She did not disappoint him.

"You fucking bastard!! You are a fucking bastard!!"

"Didn't I tell you your compliments would not help you. And you must know that we haven't even started yet." This time he picked up two much longer needles from the table, and laid them on top of her breasts. "I just want to make sure these are long enough to go all the way through, since I don't think that I've had a subject with breasts as large as yours."

Julia shrieked at him, "Noooo! For the love of God!! Nooo…"

Tired of her screams, Montoya pulled her thong out of his pocket and jammed it into her mouth, then taped her mouth shut. "I don't want to hear anything from you but your screams." He jabbed one of the longer needles into the side of her left breast and through its center until it emerged through the other side. He could still hear throaty grunts of pain through the gag and felt his prick harden even more. He kissed her on her mouth on top of the tape. Julia's eyes widened. Montoya realized that she had interpreted his action as the "kiss of death," but that was not how he had meant it. He just had the urge to show her his appreciation for her torment, but she didn't have to know that. Let her fears build even more. Montoya jammed the second long needle into the side of her right breast, seeing Julia's entire body tense in pain, and pushed it through.

"Now, Agent Magana, I have left an inch of each needle exposed on both sides of your breasts," Montoya saw her tears streaming down her cheeks, "so I can heat the needles and burn the insides of your breasts. Or did you think I could only burn the outsides?"

Montoya pulled the acetylene torch from under the table, lit it and pointed it at the end of the needle in her left breast. Julia felt the heat quickly travel through the needle deep into her breast, and though her screams through the gag were noticeably weaker, he knew it was not because her pain had lessened, only because she had damaged her throat and vocal chords from so much screaming that her grunts of pain were now no more than scratchy whispers.

As he watched the muscles throughout her body jerk in uncontrollable spasms of pain, Montoya knew she had reached her breaking point. He doubted she really had anything of importance to tell him, but he would give her a chance before reporting to the Generalissimo with the hope that the Generalissimo would give him the task of ending Agent Magana's mission – or at least her role in it – for good.

Montoya removed the tape across Julia's mouth and pulled out the thong gag, knowing what her next words must be. She did not disappoint him.

"Stop! I'll answer your questions!! Just stop!!"

"Not quite so soon, Julia. First, I am going to fuck you. And then I will honor your plea and give you 15 minutes to think about everything you are going to tell me about your mission, your comrades, your government spy program and everything else you think that I just might like to know."

"At least take the needles out!! Please take the needles out!!"

"Maybe after I come back, if you prove to have a good memory."

Montoya unzipped his fly and climbed onto Julia's stretched body, forcing it down to the wooden board and stretching it even further. His chest pressed against hers, forcing the needles down. As shook her head back and forth, over and over, she felt Montoya enter her pussy, already soaked from her fear and pain.

Even any lingering doubt that Montoya may have had fully evaporated. He had won. First he would have his pleasure. And then she would have more pain.


"We have a problem." Brian had not wanted to call John even on their secure phone line. "Julia wasn't at the pickup site when I went to relieve her. Her car and her gun were there, and her shirt and sliced up bra. Not good. Definitely a problem."

"There could have been extenuating circumstances," John offered, but his tone was flat and unconvincing. "Maybe she got a lift back to the city. Maybe Kim showed up and the two of them are safe. I'll ask around and let you know what I find. But you know our instructions if it is what we fear."

Forty-five minutes later Brian's phone rang. "Did Julia show? Did Kim?" John asked immediately.

"No. And those questions mean you didn't find them either."

"No. Julia wasn't at her apartment and none of the local contacts had heard from her or Kim."

Brian looked at his watch. "Almost 14 hours. How could they have found out about Kim?"

"Caught her in the act. No other way."

"I can't believe that. She's too professional. She wouldn't rush if it jeopardized the mission. Even if she had to screw five guys. Maybe we have a mole in the organization." Brian tried to think of a less horrific scenario but could not.

"So either she slipped up or she had no chance. Both lead to a failed mission."

"Which means she likely gave up Julia. And maybe us. At least what she knew." Brian shook his head. "We can't just leave them. Maybe she had to fuck so many of them she hasn't yet had her chance." John felt strange wishing such a fate on Kim, but it was less fatal than the alternative that they both feared.

"That still doesn't explain Julia," John reminded Brian. "Look, we have our orders. We must abort the mission." As the senior operative, it was up to John to follow the contingency plan.

"And just leave them in enemy territory? And more likely in enemy hands?"

"If they are already captured, or if even one is, the rest of us are in danger and we don't have the resources – or knowledge -- to attempt a rescue. The mission is aborted. That's an order. So I will report to headquarters. We need to be at our own rendezvous point in two hours to get out of the country."


"Private Anderson, let me ask you a question." Anderson knew the Generalissimo's tones of voice well enough to understand that he was not happy with her, which no doubt was why he had summoned her to his office. "How do you think that you performed today?"

"What do you mean? As always, I have obeyed all orders," Anderson responded firmly.

"Have you? You walked out to the courtyard earlier today, did you not?"

"Yes, I did. With the sergeant and others."

"You saw the sign posted over the captive? Kim Daniels, I believe was her name." The Generalissimo seemed to relish his ability to use the past tense. "So what punishment did you inflict upon her in fulfillment of my orders? It has been reported to me that Corporal Moth raped her, and that Rodriguez played some very painful games of tennis and golf on her body. What exactly did you do to her?"

Anderson realized that she had given her place in line to the civilian Castillo, and never taken her turn before the captive was moved to C-7. "I … I wanted to let the civilian go ahead of me because of his expertise in interrogation. And then the prisoner was brought to the lieutenant, and you came in and injected her with the bacteria, so I never had a chance."

"Never had a chance or never wanted a chance?"

"Sir, what I want is not important. I was prepared to follow your orders, as I always do."

"Good," the Generalissimo nodded, "because we both know your background and how you came to work for me. I had never questioned your newfound loyalty to us … until today. If I had, do you think I would have given you access to the interrogation center? But to my knowledge, you have never interrogated a single prisoner, have you?"

"I was never ordered to." Anderson felt a sudden need to take deep slow breaths to try to control her mounting anxiety. What she told the Generalissimo was true – she had always followed orders. But what the Generalissimo told her was also true – she had never interrogated a prisoner, and, in fact, had never before been in the interrogation center as an inquisitor, only as an observer, and had never before witnessed treatment as horrible as that suffered by the women in Rooms 6 and 7. She had begun to think, in fact, that the Generalissimo had decided it would not benefit either Anderson or the military to give her such an assignment, but apparently she had just been lucky to avoid any order to interrogate a prisoner on her own or to assist an interrogation conducted by Alvarez or Castillo or anyone else. Her sense that this was about to change was quickly confirmed by the Generalissimo.

"Private, to prove your continuing loyalty to me as the head of the military to which you have pledged your allegiance, I order you to take over from Colonel Montoya in Room C-7 the interrogation and torture of CIA captive Julia Magana." This was not only the same room where she had earlier that day been forced to witness the interrogation and murder of Agent Daniels, but it was the room where she herself had been tortured those many months ago.

"Colonel Montoya has assured me," the Generalissimo continued, "that the prisoner has cracked and given him all information of importance that she has, which has proven to be very little. So you need not concern yourself too much with that. But make sure that she suffers a fate as harsh as the one I administered to Agent Daniels. Unfortunately, I have no more of the bacteria, so I leave it to you to devise something equally as painful and destructive for this one. Come back when you have completed your work. And bring photos to show me, since I cannot observe your work myself, as there are still at least two other American CIA agents that I must concentrate on finding."

Anderson's mind began to spin out of control as her terrors re-surfaced for the third time in just the last several hours. "What is it … that you want me to do to her?"

"Private, I just said -- that is up to you. This is a test of your loyalty. Would a loyal soldier treat an American CIA agent seeking to overthrow our government and kill its military leader any less harshly than I treated Agent Daniels? Without mercy even as she begged for death? A death she should be denied for the longest last hours of her life. Because she tried to destroy our beloved country. Tortured, as the saying goes, ‘until death do us part.' And to make sure you do not fail me, I will be sending in to observe you and report to me a person I can really trust. You are dismissed to carry out your orders."

Anderson left the Generalissimo's office dazed. Her memories of her own interrogation in C-7 flooded back into her mind. It had seemed a lifetime ago – but now seemed like yesterday ….

"Come back!! I can't stand it anymore!! Please, I beg you!! I will tell you everything!!" Anderson hurled the raspy words from deep inside her chest as the pain from the electric current overwhelmed her. She was, finally, a broken woman. She had lost all concept of time. She knew nothing except pain. All-consuming pain.

At some point she realized that Min was again standing over her, staring into her rapidly-blinking eyes, that the current coursing through her veins stopped and that the trembling of her body had lessened, although stomach muscles continued to twitch. Her mind seemed like a camera, taking a still photo every few seconds, but not providing a continuous picture of what was happening. In one snapshot, she saw that her breasts had been released. In the next, the pressure on her temples was gone. And, blessedly, in the next, she was sitting in a chair with a robe wrapped around her.

"You see that I have shown my good faith," Min's words were now soothing. "Now it's your turn to show me yours." Anderson knew that, no matter how much damage it caused the rebellion, she would spill her guts to this woman who had suddenly become her best – indeed, her only -- friend in the world. The woman who had ended what she thought would be never-ending pain.


Anderson found herself outside C-7 with no memory of how she got there. She placed her palm on the reader, heard the clicks and watched the door swing open. She entered the room and heard the door automatically close behind her. As she knew she would, she found Julia stretched naked on the rack in the room's center. As she approached, she saw the six needles thrust through her breasts and nipples and forced herself not to look away, knowing that she had to face her fears and had an important job to do.

She saw Julia's shoes and clothes –including the shredded remnants of her shorts -- against the far wall, near the carbine rifle. She wasn't sure whose rifle it was, but figured its owner had been summoned away and forgot to take it. Anderson checked the weapon. Three of the six darts it was designed to hold were in their chambers. Had it taken three shots to bring down Agent Magana? Just as it had taken three shots to bring her down. She put the carbine on the table and stood over the naked woman on the rack, who slowly opened her eyes.

"No more," Julia whispered. "I've told everything."

"Look at me. Look at me hard," Anderson ordered.

Julia struggled to obey Anderson's command. And her eyes widened. "I … I thought … "

"You thought I was dead, I know. Well, as you can see, I'm not."

"But … how?"

"I broke, I confessed. I told them everything I knew. Set back the cause three months, I suspect. But I held out long enough that they thought I could be valuable to them. So they turned me. It wasn't hard. I couldn't go back to my unit after betraying the rebel cause it had worked so hard to aid. So the Generalissimo was my only hope. Eighteen months ago."

"So you're a fucking traitor!!" Julia's surprise at seeing Anderson quickly turned to hatred.

"If I was, then so are you. And so was Agent Daniels. You both told them everything you knew, just as I did, hoping to save yourselves. The only difference is that they decided I was strong and spared me to help them. They didn't bother trying to turn Daniels. They just killed her after they got everything they needed from her. And my instructions are to kill you, too. They don't think you are strong enough either to be of any value to them alive."

"Just do it, then, you bitch!" Julia screamed at Anderson. "Do it and save your traitorous ass. I at least die for a noble cause."

"Yes. A noble cause that you betrayed." Anderson walked over to the table and saw the acetylene torch on it. She wondered if it was her torch, the one they had taken from her when she was captured. It certainly looked like it. She also saw large cans of oil and gasoline next to it.

Julia saw Anderson staring at the torch. "Even you wouldn't do that, you god damned cunt."

Anderson turned back to her. "You know, before my conversion, I never would have thought of using something like this on any human being. But now, I guess what I've gone through has changed me. And my orders are to bring back proof that I didn't let you die too quickly or too easily."

Julia spit in Anderson's direction. She pulled on her bonds but knew she could not escape.

Anderson picked up the carbine. "I don't blame you for hating me, Julia. But I can ease your pain. There are still three tranquilizer darts in the gun. Let me know your choice." She put the carbine back down on the table, expecting Julia to tell her where to shove her offer of mercy. Instead, Julia's head turned toward the sound of clicks in the massive door, which swung open.

"I was told I would find you here." The voice that came from behind Anderson had a too familiar ring to it. Anderson froze as she heard its owner's footsteps approach. "Who better to make sure of your loyalty than your best friend? Or at least I was back then, wasn't I?" The female figure walked past Anderson to the hanging Julia and examined the needles in her breasts. "Well, Private, I see that you are off to a decent start. A loyal start, I would say. This is your work?" Anderson continued to stare at the woman, who wore with her white sneakers a bulky oversized gray sweat shirt and workout pants cinched at the waist, hardly the sophisticated urbane look that had before impressed Anderson even in her worst hours of agony.

Pulling her sweatshirt off over her head and tossing it aside, revealing the sports bra she wore under it, Min smiled at her. "What's the matter, Agent Anderson? No warm greeting for me? After I came all the way out here for you on my day off." Min motioned to her casual dress.

"Why are you here?" Anderson responded coldly.

"You know why I'm here. The Generalissimo ordered me to confirm your loyalty to him. So I'm just going to stand off to the side here, observe and then report to him. Ironic, isn't it? Your future, maybe even your life, are once again entirely in my hands. So do impress me." Min moved several feet to the side of Julia opposite the table of instruments.

"I was doing just fine before you interrupted." Anderson walked up to Julia and twisted the needles through her breasts, eliciting a raspy gurgle from her scratched throat. "As you can see, she has screamed herself hoarse already."

"It's a start, as I said. But proves nothing so far." The tone of Min's voice brought Anderson back again to her own torture, but this time she refused to let her mind focus on it. No, she had a job to do here. A very important job. One on which her own life very much depended.

Anderson turned back to Julia. "Now, Agent Magana, as I recall, I was giving you a choice." She picked up and lit the acetylene torch, its flame shooting out a full six inches. "I can burn your breasts off. Or I could oil them and heat them inside your chest until they burst. Do you have a preference as to their method of removal?"

Julia's voice was barely audible, but her tone was firm. Having given up all hope, she summoned the little strength she still had. "Fuck off. You're going to do whatever you want to do and nothing I say is going to change that!! So just do it and get it over with!!"

Anderson turned to see that Min had moved to a chair several feet to the side, for a better view, and that her right hand had slid under the drawstring of her workout pants. Min quickly removed it. "I have to say, Megan – I still love that name – that you are passing the test."

Anderson turned back to Julia. "But I gave you a third choice, too, didn't I? She held up the carbine. "All you have to do is answer my questions, and this will greatly numb your pain, although you know that you must die either way. What do you say?"

"I said what I have to say!! I said fuck you, bitch!!"

"All right, then. You have made your choice and now I will make mine." Anderson moved to the table with the carbine … but then swung it around and pressed the trigger, sending a dart directly into Min's bare midriff.

Min looked down at the protruding dart and then up at Anderson. "What the fu …?"

Min let out a loud grunt as a second dart struck her inches from the first. "Butterface, you have signed …." The third dart imbedded just under her throat. "… your death warrant." Min slid down out of the chair onto the floor, unconscious.

Anderson quickly uncuffed Julia's ankles and wrists, and helped her off the rack, guiding her to the chair by the door, then slowly and carefully removing the needles from her breasts.

"Welcome … back," Julia whispered her appreciation.

Anderson dragged Min to the wooden frame used earlier on Kim. She removed Min's sneakers, and tugged her workout pants and the white panties she wore underneath them down and off, before yanking off her sports bra, revealing that her tits were even smaller than Anderson had remembered.

Anderson tossed Min's loose sweatshirt and workout pants to Julia. "These should cover you. Damn your tits are big."

Julia quickly put on Min's workout pants and sweatshirt, and gathered enough strength to help Anderson lift Min to her feet and secure her wrists and ankles to the frame. Min came to much faster than Anderson had expected, but it didn't matter -- she was already cuffed to the frame, and, with the massive door closed, the room was sound-proof. "Are you fucking kidding me?" Min's eyes darted down her naked chained body.

"I hope you remember, Colonel and Conversion Specialist, or whatever your fucking titles are," Anderson suddenly recalled an exchange she had with Min when the situation was reversed, "when I told you that one day I was going to enjoy killing you. And you said the only chance I would get would be in my dreams, if the nightmares you gave me ever let me have dreams. Do you remember that?"

"I just remember that you were a weak pussy, and I told the Generalissimo you weren't worth converting. But men, shit, they have their brains in their cocks." Despite her situation, Min's voice remained unemotional and unwavering as she stared at Anderson.

"Well, I remember that conversation. Am I guess my dream is going to be your nightmare." Anderson picked up the large gasoline can from the table and began dousing Min with it from her shoulders to her toes. "You should consider yourself a lucky woman, because, if I had more time, I would torture that sleek body of yours for as long and as slowly as you tortured mine." Anderson tossed the empty gasoline can under Min's spread legs. "But I don't. So you get the luxury of dying quickly. Horribly, but quickly."

Min continued to stare impassively at Anderson, even as Anderson picked up the acetylene torch and lit it. "Unlike you, wimp, I don't beg." Min spat toward Anderson.

"I don't want you to beg, bitch. I just want you to die." She turned the flame toward Min's gasoline-soaked stomach. Min's screams of hideous pain filled the room as the gasoline bathing her stomach ignited and quickly spread to her entire body.

"You many not beg, bitch," Anderson stared at Min as her flesh charred, "but you sure do scream." Within a minute, Min's screams ended. Her blackened body was still recognizable as that of a person, but not as any particular person. Or as a woman. Anderson's demons had been exorcised.

Anderson picked up a camera from the table and took half a dozen photos of the body from different angles. "Julia, you just died. Now you have to get out of her and I have to show the Generalissimo these photos of your corpse. Let me tell you the best way to get to the road."

"Then you'll join me and I'll take you to the rendezvous spot."

"No, just worry about getting yourself out and back. I'm going to stay here. I can do better work for us from the inside than from the outside."


By the time Julia found her way back to the road, neither Brian nor John was waiting for her at the rendezvous spot. She continued into the city, only to discover that they had left, which she knew meant they had aborted the mission and considered her and Kim lost.

It took Julia another two days to get a message to CIA headquarters that she was alive, and two more days before a boat picked her up and brought her out of the country and eventually back to the States. There, she told of Anderson's betrayal and her heroic return to the fold.

The CIA sent John back to contact Anderson in order to set up a system for her to provide intel regarding the Generalissimo's operations against the rebels. It expected that she would have valuable information, since the Generalissimo certainly had to have been convinced of Anderson's loyalty after seeing the photos of the deceased "Julia."

But John was unable to locate Anderson and the reason he could not was simple. While the Generalissimo had indeed been fooled into believing Anderson's loyalty, he had not been fooled for long. True, Anderson had found a body to replace Julia's and made sure that body was unrecognizable so that it would be accepted as Julia's. But Anderson had no body to replace Min's. After Min's "disappearance," the Generalissimo soon put the pieces of the puzzle together. He had ordered Anderson to dispose of Julia and sent Min to watch and report to him. But Min had never reported. And the day that Anderson disposed of "Julia" was the last day anyone had seen Min alive. So the Generalissimo had "Julia's" body disinterred from its mass grave to compare it with Min's dental records, which proved that the body was Min's, not Julia's. Which confirmed for him that Anderson was both a liar and a traitor.

Once he had forced Anderson to admit her traitorous deception, the Generalissimo punished her in a way he thought far more odious than physical torture. He imprisoned her in the country's most notorious military brothel, where she was kept chained naked and spread-eagled to a wire bed in a small cell, and forced to service no fewer than a dozen soldiers a day, up to three at a time at their whim. To make sure she did not get bed sores from her confinement, she was turned over every eight hours. She was released from the bed only twice a day for an hour to eat without utensils from the bowl of wet dog food that was her only sustenance, and to use the small toilet in the corner of the cell.

As the Generalissimo knew, no woman treated this way could remain physically appealing to men for very long. When Anderson reached that stage after a few months, the Generalissimo ordered her moved to a cage in the military's interrogation training center, where her body was used as a "volunteer" for new recruits to test their abilities to inflict pain upon future captives without killing them.

The Generalissimo also agreed to allow Drill Sergeant Jones to choose Corporal Rodriguez's punishment and, true to his word, he placed her in the dog run, where for 30 minutes each day he enjoyed the show in which she was quite an unwilling participant. When her body could no longer take this punishment, he showed "mercy" on her and had her too "volunteer" at the interrogation training center, where, ironically, she was placed in the cage next to Private Anderson's. As was inevitable, however, a recruit made an expected, but fatal, error as to how much torture Rodriguez's rapidly deteriorating body could take, after which he was ordered to correct his mistake on Anderson's body. He failed the test again. The warden never bothered to tell the Generalissimo the fate of the two women or how he had disposed of their bodies … and the Generalissimo never cared enough to ask.

So, ironically, brave Agents Kim Daniels and Anderson, as well as Corporal Rodriguez and innocent victim Maria Rivera, all suffered horrible fates before succumbing in the confines of the brutal military base run by the Generalissimo, while Agent Julia Magana, the only coward in the bunch, was rescued and survived and used her big tits to seduce and marry an army general.

Then again, no one ever said that life in the CIA's world of undercover and espionage was fair.


The GIMPer Team Index  |  Bring Out the GIMP Stories Index  |  Back to Forum  |

Story page generator script by the Scribbler ---