[Sasha Girl]

“Wakey wakey, sleeping beauty.”

The words are spoken loudly, intended to rouse me from sleep, but the fact is I’ve been awake for hours. Suffering in silence, not wanting to draw any more attention to myself. I’m curled up on the mattress, in a world of pain, and if they looked closely they could see my limbs trembling. But they don’t. They just grab me and pick me up between them. As they carry me briskly along, I moan. I want them to know that I’m conscious, that I’m not just some senseless package, regardless of how I may seem.

“Almost there, now,” one of them says and my heart lurches in my chest. It’s the mystery agent from last night, I’m sure of it! For a few, crazy heartbeats, I think the men are rescuing me. After all, it’s what the agent promised. But then I hear another voice, one that I know only too well, by now:

“Thank you, gentlemen. You may put her down there, by the water cooler.”

Wordlessly, the men comply, depositing me gently on the cold, concrete floor. I feel them snapping heavy, metal shackles around my ankles, the rattle of the chain loud in my ears. Then they are gone, their footsteps fading along with my hopes. For now, at least, I’m still a captive. Alone once again with the man I fear, more than death itself. When I hear his step coming toward me, I cringe, my ass clamping around the plug. If it weren’t for the shackles and the chain, I’d crawl away now. As it is, I lie there trembling, and when I feel his hand on my head, I flinch visibly.

“Come now, it’s not like I snuck up on you,” the Surgeon chides me. I whimper in reply and I try to pull away. His hand on the back of my neck stops me, a note of impatience creeping into his tone: “Keep still, if you want me to take the mask off. You do want that, don’t you?”

Yes, I think, I do. To show him just how bad I want it, I raise my head and turn it sideways. Thus giving him easy access to the zipper at the back.

“Good girl,” he says as he unzips it, in one easy move. Joking with me: “Now just imagine, if you had hair, how painful this could be.” I don’t particularly care – all I want is to have the contraption removed. As he pulls the leather casing off my head, I scrunch up my face and start scratching at it, with the backs of my hands. He lets me scratch for a while, before pulling my hands away.

“Allow me.” His voice is soft and his movements slow, as he wipes my eyes, my cheeks, my mouth and chin. By the time he’s finished the itch is almost gone. I blink up at him gratefully, and he smiles a thin smile. “Well, my little vixen, are you glad to be able to see again?”

I nod, even though what I’m seeing scares me out of my wits – namely, his face and behind it, the stark interior of the examination room. The same one I was in yesterday, I recognise it by the large steel table. Terrified, I lower my head, only to have him tilt it back up again, by the chin.

“Open your mouth,” he orders. In the next moment he is placing the neck of a plastic water bottle against my lips. I’m so thirsty that I nearly knock it out of his hand, as I latch onto it and start to drink. For a few minutes, the sound of sucking and gulping is the only sound in the room. Then he’s pulling the bottle away, spilling water down my front. “That’ll do. You may have some more later, if you’re good.”

He gives me no time to reply, but leans down and grabs the chain connecting my ankles. He uses it to drag me across the room, while I mew in terror. “No, please!” The concrete is rough on my bare skin and I twist every which way, trying to ease the friction. In the centre of the room, he stops. I hear a whirring noise and a few seconds later, I feel him attaching the chain to a hook. The steel around my ankles bites into my skin as I’m pulled up off the floor, amid more whirring noise. It doesn’t stop until I’m fully suspended, hung by my ankles like a piece of meat in a butcher’s store. He’s tying up my arms behind my back, while my heart pounds madly, blood rushing to my head. “Please, Sir. Please don’t do this. I’ll answer your questions…”

“Silence!” The Surgeon snaps, tightening the knots. “You’ll speak when you’re spoken to.”

I tremble in silence, until he starts to rip the bandages off my ass and back, exposing the wounds beneath. “Aaah! Aaah!” My cries of pain are involuntary, but he punishes me all the same. Slapping my naked ass cheek a half dozen times, right over the S-shaped wound he left there yesterday.

“I said – silence!” His tone is sharp, cold and angry. I don’t want to make him angry, so with great effort I clench my jaw shut and moan more quietly. “Mmmm! Mmmm! Mmmm!”

Obviously appeased, he strolls around me slowly. Tugging at my tail, running his fingers over the raw strip of flesh on my back, deliberately hurting me. Desperate to keep silent, I twitch and moan in front of him, without once opening my mouth. But when he sticks his fingers into my pussy, I forget myself. Shouting: “Please! Don’t!”

He responds by prodding deeper, growling at me: “Keep your mouth shut. I haven’t started to hurt you, yet.”

Tears sting my eyes as I struggle to comply. Helplessly, I wait for him to finish touching me. When he pulls his fingers out, he laughs: “Women. You’re so fucking precious about your pussies, but deep down you’re all whores.”

I want to shout at him, to tell him it isn’t so, but I think better of it. I watch in silence as he squats down next to me and waves his hand in front of my face, covered in blood and cum. “Someone had a good time, last night.”

From my upside down position, I stare at him in mute horror. Wondering how much he knows. The Surgeon stares back at me, a half smile playing on his face. “I saw everything, my little vixen. The first two guards fucked you while you were still out cold, which was fun to watch, but not nearly as fun as what came later. You put on quite a show.”

At his words, I start to shake in shock and humiliation. The idea that my body was violated while I was unconscious makes me positively nauseous, and I hiss at him: “Screw you, you sick bastard.”

His smile widens, as though I’ve just paid him a compliment. “Maybe later, right now we have work to do.” He stands up and moves off, while I swing by my ankles, awaiting my fate. I don’t have long to wait.

The Surgeon starts by wheeling the trolley with his instruments over to me. I watch his boots as he stops before me – they are black and shiny, polished to perfection. I’m thinking it might help me to focus on them, and then I feel the cold touch of steel between my thighs. I moan and twist my body, but he shoves it in quickly, all the way. The gravity keeps it in place, no matter how I struggle, or how much I clamp my buttocks, making my tail move. “No… mmm… Please, no…”

“Shhh…” he shushes me gently, at the same time pressing a button, causing the object to vibrate. “It’s for your own good, you know.”

Five seconds later, pain rips through my insides, as the vicious blades start to cut me. As I scream in agony, my body is contorting in the air, legs jerking helplessly. Only when blood starts to flow down my front, does the cutting stop. The deadly object is once again vibrating inside me like a regular dildo, while I sob miserably. I barely notice the Surgeon’s hand on my thigh, or hear his voice when he speaks.

“Now, I want you to listen to me. Are you listening?” His voice is calm, but there’s a note of savagery in it, brought on by the sight and smell of blood. I nod as I answer, shakily: “Y-Yes, Sir.”

“Good,” he says, and he picks up something from the tray beside him. Then he drops the bombshell: “I know you lied to me yesterday. There are twenty-three undercover agents working on Operation Vicious. Not ten, as you claimed.”

Before I can protest, he is slicing into my thigh, making me scream and thrash around. His nails dig into my flesh as he tightens his grip on my leg. Holding it in position while he finishes the incision. When he’s done, he continues smoothly, oblivious to my cries: “You also lied to me about your position within the organisation. Since I have it on good authority that you, little vixen, are in charge of Operation Vicious.”

As before, I want to protest, but the scalpel is on my thigh again, slicing a second incision next to the first. By the time he’s finished, I’m on the verge of passing out. I grit my teeth to stifle further screams, as he concludes his speech. “It amazes me that you were so willing to lie, even after I cut off one of your fingers. Clearly, you either thought I was stupid, or that I’d take pity on you. You’re about to learn just how wrong you were, on both counts.”

With that, he pushes another button and lowers me to the floor. I’m in such shock I can’t even plead with him, as he drags me by the feet once more, leaving a trail of blood on the floor. Back at the steel table, he picks me up and lays me on it, flat on my back. With my arms still bound behind me, my broken fingers are squashed painfully, causing me to moan and arch my back.

“Stop squirming,” the Surgeon says, pushing down against my chest. I see him reaching underneath the table and pulling out a thick, leather strap. He throws it over my waist and buckles it tight. Then he walks away, leaving me shaking, the tears streaming down my face.

Presently, he returns with the instruments. The sight of them is all I need to start talking. “S-Sir? Mr Surgeon, Sir? Please, t-tell me… W-what would you l-like to know?” It’s a stupid question, and he raises an eyebrow at me, in part mockery, part disbelief. But then he shrugs and says:

“Names.”





Names. I can’t give him names. True, I’m here because my own partner betrayed me, but that doesn’t give me the right to condemn other agents to death. Honest, courageous men and women who never did anything wrong. I teeter on the edge of indecision, while the Surgeon watches me in silence. After several minutes of this, he turns around and picks up something from the tray.

“I’m sorry, Sir,” I tell him, through the tears.

“You’re not sorry, yet,” he replies, without looking up. “But you will be.”

I want to say something more, when a new pain pierces me. Literally. I scream long and loud, as the Surgeon’s needle pierces my left nipple, pulls out… then pierces it again. Thrashing in my bonds, the leather strap over my chest creaks with the strain, but it holds me tight. The third time I’m pierced, I almost pass out. I can feel the blood running down my breast, as I beg for mercy. “Pleeeease! Stop!”

The Surgeon laughs at me. Leaving the needle inside, he leans down close and takes hold of my chin. Trembling, I gaze up at him. His look is cruel, calculating, as he outlines his plan: “I’ve pierced you with an extra large needle, in case you can’t tell. Your little nipple is nice and swollen, and soon your other nipple will be the same. Then we will play a little game. I’ll ask you a question and each time you refuse to answer, I’ll twist the needles. I can tell you from personal experience that it takes exactly five twists to rip the nipples off. You might like to think about that, while I get ready.”

Tears streaming down my face, I shake my head at him: “No… please…” But he isn’t listening. Instead, he extracts the metal object from my pussy and climbs onto the table with me. The chain connecting my ankles stops him from spreading my legs wide, but it doesn’t seem to bother him. Indeed, I can see him grinning as he straddles my thighs and pulls his zipper down. His erection is huge and I squirm at the sight, the plug shifting in my ass. “Please… don’t…”

“Don’t what?” he asks, lowering his hips over mine. I sob as the tip of his cock slides between my thighs, nudging at my bleeding pussy.

“P-please, d-don’t rape me again… I’m all c-cut up, inside…” I stutter, while he watches me dispassionately.

“Silly girl,” he says, shaking his head. “Telling me what I already know. Still, it’s nice to hear you beg.” With that, he pushes inside me, in one forceful movement. There is so much pressure on my insides, I feel stretched like a drum. The cuts inside my pussy sting and burn, causing me to throw my head back and scream. It makes him thrust into me harder, from every which angle. He pauses only to pick up another needle from the tray beside the table. “Ready for your next piercing?”

Speared by his cock, fighting to keep still and so minimise the pain, I can only shake my head. No. His answering grin reminds me of a shark.

“Well, maybe one little taste,” he says and he leans down, takes my good breast in his mouth. It feels hot at first then the pain starts, as he suckles hard, biting down often with his teeth. My other nipple, pierced through with a wicked needle, throbs painfully, while I squirm and cry. He fucks me throughout, slowly and deep. Then he lifts his head, raises himself on his elbows and without any warning pierces my nipple with the second, thick needle. I scream wildly as he threads it through quickly and pushes it in, the second time. Once more he does it and by now I’m howling, my body jerking uncontrollably under his. The metal shackles and chain rattle noisily against the table, steel on steel.

Unfortunately, my suffering is causing him pleasure, which was what he was counting on. With my hips gyrating helplessly, he thrusts into me hard and fast, grunting all the while. I feel certain he is about to push the plug out of my ass, but it never happens. I’m bound tight, pierced, chained and bleeding, and I’m being raped. It takes a long time for my screams to subside. Only when I’m reduced to a quivering, sobbing mess, does he pause.

“Now, my little vixen, let’s see if you’re ready to talk.” He wipes the sweat from his brow, before taking hold of one of the needles. Tugging at it experimentally, shooting darts of pain through me. “In case you need me to refresh your memory, I want names.”

At first, I can only sob, but as he starts to twist the needle, I beg him: “No, please Sir… I don’t know their n-names… You have to b-believe me…”

In response, he twists more viciously. “That’s two turns now, little vixen. Three more turns and you won’t have a nipple.”

As the third and then fourth turn of the needle is completed, my howls grow more desperate. I’ve never known such pain. It’s not just in my nipple, but spreading all through my body, from the delicate nerve endings. But no matter how much it hurts, I can’t tell him what he wants to know. My jaw is clamped shut, the eyes rolling back in my head. Through a haze of agony, I hear him say: “One last chance.”

“Gnnhh… Hnnooo…” I squeeze the word out, through my teeth. A split second later, there is a horrible squelching sound, as my nipple is ripped from my breast. I feel blood gushing out, and I scream at the top of my voice, certain I’m about to pass out. But the Surgeon never lets me. While I’m still screaming my lungs out, he grasps the needle in my second nipple. Starts to turn it, slowly.

“Names, vixen.” His voice is raised, so as to make himself heard over the screams. His cock, meanwhile, is drilling into me, fast. Dimly I register the pain, merging with the pain from my breasts. I’m shaking so hard, the whole table shakes with me. Speaking is nigh impossible, but I manage a single word: “Stop!”

I wish for the torture to stop, so that I may speak, but the Surgeon isn’t having a bar of it. “No.” It’s all he says, before turning the needle again. I’ve lost count of how many that makes. All I know is, I’m about to lose my second nipple, and I can’t imagine enduring that. I unlock my jaw and scream out a name. One name, that is all.

“Betty Carrigan! Betty! Carrigan!” Then I’m screaming again, as the pain intensifies. I don’t understand this, until I hear the Surgeon say:

“More.”

Oh God, oh God, oh God. Don’t ask me for more, please don’t ask me. He must sense my inner turmoil, because he pauses everything, in order to cradle my head in one hand. His other hand keeps holding the needle, twisted viciously tight. I’m already sobbing when I feel his hand on my shaved scalp. Lifting my head off the table, he issues a single, terse order: “Open your eyes.”

His tone brooks no refusal. Opening my eyes, I am frightened half to death by the sight of his face, covered in blood. He seems utterly un-phased by it, as he calmly issues his next order: “Now, look at your chest. Do it.”

I don’t want to, I really don’t want to, but I can’t help it. As my eyes fall on the bloodied mess, with a gaping hole where my nipple used to be, I scream. And scream, and scream. Until a sharp slap from the Surgeon brings me around. “Names, Vixen. I want more names.” He twists the needle in my remaining nipple, again.

“Aaaah! Martha! Martha Lake!” The second name is out before I know it, and still the twisting continues, as does the fucking. There is so much blood, between my thighs, my ass cheeks, all over my chest. The image of the last one swims up in my mind, pushing me over the edge once again. I scream out two more names: “Martin Blake! Steve Morrell!” Suddenly, there is that squelching sound again, and I know he is ripping off my second nipple. This time, the pain is too much. I feel the fresh fountain of blood squirt up and with that, I sink into oblivion.

The Surgeon brings me back some minutes later, by pouring a bucket of water over me. I splutter and cough, while he leans over me with another needle. “Try to keep still,” he instructs me. “I have to suture your wounds and I can’t do it if you squirm.”

I can only moan weakly, in response. Mercifully, he is incredibly quick about it, stitching the gaping wounds in less than a minute. He applies gauze and sticky bandages, before looking up in satisfaction. “There, now they won’t fester on you and ruin our next session.”

He is examining me between my legs, humming a merry tune, when I finally gather the strength to speak. “Why did you do that?” I ask, in a voice barely above a whisper. “I gave you… the names.”

Without turning around, he replies smugly: “You gave me four names. A fraction of the total. If you had another nipple, I would’ve torn it off, too.” He inserts something inside my bleeding pussy, pulls it out again. “Hm. I may have overdone it when I fucked you. Entirely your fault, you are so sexy when you scream… my little vixen.”

I can’t help but start crying again. I keep crying while he unbuckles the strap around my waist, rolls me over onto my front and unties my wrists. The bandages on my hands are soaked in blood and he spends some time changing them. He then cleans the raw wounds on my back and ass, and covers them up. I know his work is meticulous, I have seen this on his previous victims. But the fact is, it doesn’t make me feel any better. On the contrary, it scares the living daylight out of me. As he wipes my face clean, I gaze up at him pleadingly:

“Please, Sir, don’t do this. I can give you the names, just please… don’t kill me.”

The Surgeon’s blood smeared face breaks into a smile, at this. “I’m afraid it’s too late for that. But don’t worry… you won’t die yet. You’re special to me, so sexy and brave. I’m going to take my time with you.”

The words of one of the men come back to me in a flash: believe me, you don’t want him to take his time with you. I’m shaking my head in mute horror, while the Surgeon slips the mask on my face, crooning: “Don’t cry, little vixen, remember how itchy it made you last time.”

I swallow down tears, but the horror remains. As before, I lie on the bloodied table, waiting for the men to come and collect me. Listening to the Surgeon’s orders: “She’ll need a sponge bath and an enema, you may fuck her ass but not her pussy. Is that clear? Good. I have to go and wash up, but I’ll be around later to check on her.”

The men’s voices are subdued, as they take my shackles off and slide me off the table. I can’t see their faces, but their limited commentary tells me what they’re thinking.

“He fucked her up good, this time.”




“Hey! Vixen! Wake up!” The words are shouted at me, in-between slaps to my face. Blinking slowly, it takes me some time to remember where I am, which is basically in a nightmare. As I open my eyes – oddly enough, I’m not wearing the mask any more – I see the men in charge of me gazing at me in evident relief. “Fuck, Vixen, don’t scare us like that any more!”

I have no idea what they’re talking about and I say so: or rather, I whisper it. I really don’t have the strength to speak, any more. If it wasn’t for the pain coursing through my body, I’d fall asleep again, straightaway. Come to think of it, I might just do that…

“Vixen!” The slap to my face is sharper this time, causing me to curse out loud. I struggle to keep my eyes open, while they lean over me worriedly. “Look at me, Vixen, can you look at me? You must stay awake, ok?” I nod, though I don’t understand what all the fuss is about. Then I hear one of them say to the other: “Go get the Surgeon. Tell him she’s bleeding out on us. Hurry!”

Even after I hear this, I remain strangely detached. Looking around me, I see I’m lying on the floor in a large bathroom, tiled white. The brightness is pleasing after the stark concrete of the torture chamber, until I remember what I’m here for. I turn my gaze back on the man guarding me. “Have you… Have you done the enema, yet?”

He seems bothered by the question, his brow knitting together in a frown. “Just relax, ok? Don’t talk.” From somewhere behind him, he produces a cool, wet cloth and starts wiping my face with it. Keeping me awake, the cruel bastard.

“Please,” I whisper, staring him in the eye. “Let me die.”

Before he can reply, there comes the sound of footsteps. Heavy boots tapping against the tiles. “What’s going on? Why did you take her mask off?”

“Sir, she had some kind of seizure… and afterward, she kept passing out on us. We didn’t know what else to do…” The men’s explanation is cut off mid-sentence. “Enough! Next time, call me at the first sign of trouble, but do not take off the mask. Is that clear?”

I look up at the Surgeon as he leans over me. He is freshly shaven and dressed immaculately, in a clean white shirt and black trousers. I’ve never seen him look so smart and it makes me wonder what his plans are for tonight. “Going some place special?”

Ignoring my whispered question, he produces a small torch and shines it in my eyes, one by one. Frowning, he checks my pulse next, pressing down firmly over the artery in my neck. Then he straightens and starts to unbutton his shirt, issuing orders at the same time: “Mick, go to my office and get me the medical kit, the large one with all the drugs in it. Also, get some blood from the cool room. Type A+. Svenston, call my assistant and ask her to cancel my meeting this evening. She’ll know what to say, she’s very creative that way.”

“Sir, yes Sir.” The men exit the room at a jog, leaving me alone with my torturer. I’m not tied up in any way and he is unarmed. A mere twenty-four hours ago, I would have leapt at the chance to fight him, and I probably would have won. Now, I simply lie here, on the cool, tiled floor, watching him as he strips off his shirt. He folds it neatly and sets it down on a nearby cabinet, and then he takes off his undershirt. Finally, he turns to me. He has well defined muscles in his arms and abdomen, and I watch them flex as he leans down and grabs hold of my ankles. Lifting my legs up, he rests them on the edge of the bath.

“It’s to keep the blood flowing to your head, while we wait.” He informs me, in his usual, calm tone. Smiling his thin, cruel smile. “You’re not getting away from me that easy, little vixen.”

Fuck you, I think, but I don’t say it. He’d have no compunction about slapping me extra hard, regardless of my state – a state that he put me in. I gaze at him in silence as he bends over and picks up something from the floor. When he squats down next to me, I see it’s my mask. Oh fuck, I think, and I close my eyes. “Please.”

“Shhh…” he says, soothingly. “I’m not about to put it on now. Not until you’re out of danger, anyway.” He pauses to brush my cheek. The touch is enough to make me open my eyes wide, which pleases him. “That’s it, keep them open,” he murmurs. “I know you’ll keep them open for me, even if you wouldn’t for the others. Am I right?”

I nod weakly, mesmerised by his stare. How well he knows me, I think. Then I remember that he’s tortured many men and women, before me. More than likely, they all respond to him the same way. As though reading my mind, he leans down closer and says: “You’re not like the others, little vixen. You’re way smarter, cunning like a true fox. That’s why I don’t want you talking to any of my men… why you have to wear the mask, whenever I’m not around.”

I’m tempted to argue about this – at the risk of incurring his wrath – when I hear the men returning. Their voices are loud compared to the conversation I’ve been having, and it startles me. At once, the Surgeon’s hand is on my shoulder, settling me down. “It’s all right now, just keep still.” He takes my arm next, pulls it out at an angle. I feel him wrapping the rubber above my elbow, tapping the crook of my elbow for a vein. The needle goes in so smoothly I can hardly feel it. With the transfusion set up, he turns his attention elsewhere. Working right there, on the floor, he gets the men to spread my legs open, to lift my hips onto some towels.

“This will hurt a bit,” he tells me, and then he pushes something deep inside me, gauze it feels like. There is a strong burning sensation, probably some kind of antiseptic, that causes me to arch my back and moan. The men hold me down without being told, while the Surgeon continues his work. He doesn’t stop until he’s filled me completely, the gauze packed in tight. Announcing in a satisfied tone: “There, that should stop the bleeding.”

I moan in discomfort, as he pulls an oversized nappy on me, “to hold everything in place, dear.” Then my legs are brought together and bound tight, from hip to ankle. It’s to stop me from moving, apparently, because moving could make me bleed too much. I’m desperately confused, particularly when I see the Surgeon injecting me with something. “If you were going to drug me anyway, why tie me down?”

The men’s sniggers reverberate around the bathroom, until the Surgeon’s voice cuts them off. “You mean this?” He points to the syringe he’s just emptied into me. “This is just an antibiotic. Surely, you didn’t think I’d give you a painkiller? I thought you knew me better, by now.”

More sniggers, while I groan in humiliation and despair. I’m still groaning, when I see the Surgeon leaning over me, with the mask. “You seem to be embarrassed, my little vixen,” he says, smugly. “Allow me to put you out of your misery.”

With that, he pulls the black leather over my head and zips it up tight. Caressing me like a pet, he instructs the men firmly: “No one is to take her mask off in my absence, is that clear? I’ll be staying in tonight, so if there are any problems, call me.”

I mew at him like a cat, a pleading that he ignores. Presently, he stops petting me and stands up. I hear his voice from higher up, issuing further orders: “Take her to her cell and tie her to a pole, make sure to secure it to a wall. I want her completely immobilised, and the transfusion to keep running. Any questions?”

There are none. I listen to him walking away, and then I feel the men’s hands on me, lifting me up and carrying me away. A few minutes later, they are laying me on the mattress, on my side. My arms are pulled above my head and tied to a thick, metal pole. Then my legs and waist are likewise secured, strapping me in tightly. I squirm ineffectually against the ropes, before banging my head against the pole, in sheer desperation. The men sigh in annoyance. “Better tie her head down, as well. Here, pass me your belt.”

I want to scream at them as they do it, but I’m still too weak for such antics. An angry “Mmmm!” is all I can manage, as they gently press my head against the pole and wrap the belt around both, several times. This accomplished, they stand back and watch me, a fact that I ascertain by their excited breaths. I’m tied to a pole, naked except for the bandages, and quite obviously in great pain. Yet the men pant around me, like a pair of dogs. It takes me a while to realise they are jerking off.

“Mmmm! Mmmm!” I squeal at them through the tight leather covering my mouth, and I squirm against the pole desperately. In response, they pant more loudly. Then, they are groaning, squirting cum all over me: my breasts, my back, as high up as my neck. For once, I’m grateful for the mask covering my face. I shake against the pole, as they rub their sticky mess over my skin.

“Sweet dreams, princess.”

I sob for a long time, after they are gone. Covered in cum, my pussy stretched with gauze, tied to a metal pole, I’m about as miserable as a woman can be. Hours pass by, with me drifting in and out of consciousness. And then I hear his voice.

“Oh God… Miss Patterson, what have they done to you?”

It’s the mystery agent. Here to save me from my horrible fate. In the moment I feel his hand on me – he’s touching my shoulder, the only spot not covered in dried cum – I start to cry. I don’t know if he can help me, any more. Unless he’s here to kill me, that is.




“I’m going to get you out of here, right now.”

The words cause me to fall silent, choking back sobs that until a moment ago were unstoppable. Trembling, I wait for the agent to undo the belt around my head and pull off my mask. The moment he does so, I whisper at him, urgently: “It’s too late, I’ve already told him some of the names. Save yourself, while you still c…”

I trail off, as I catch sight of his face. Even in the darkness, I can see well enough to recognise him – and yet, I don’t. The man leaning over me is a stranger to me. What’s more, he is young, dark-haired and incredibly handsome. Not the kind of face I could forget in a hurry. “Who. Are you?” I try to keep the tremble out of my voice, but he picks up on it instantly. Flashing me a smile that could melt a woman’s heart, he replies readily:

“Secret services, special taskforce unit. We’ve been keeping tabs on you since the start of the operation.”

He works as he speaks, undoing the ropes that bind me. But I’m still doubtful and I tell him so. “What’s the secret service doing, interfering with our operation? Are you here to spy on us?”

The agent is silent for a moment. “You know as well as I do, I can’t tell you that.” He pulls the last of the knots, freeing my wrists. “However, I’d like to remind you that it was one of your own agents that betrayed you.”

He is right, of course. Rolling away from the pole, I’m about to ask him what his plan is, when he puts his finger to his lips, warning me to be quiet. A second later, I can hear voices, quickly getting closer. I hold my breath, praying they’ll move on. But then the door starts to squeak on its hinges. In a flash, the agent is on top of me, straddling my shoulders.

“Do exactly as I tell you,” he whispers, “or we’re both dead.” So saying, he leans back and slaps me. Hard. As I cry out in shock, he growls at me, loud enough for anyone within earshot to hear: “I’ll ask you one more time, open your fucking mouth.”

He unzips his trousers as he speaks, pulling out his cock. I can’t help but notice that he has an erection. I wonder when that happened. Unfortunately, I miss my cue while staring at it and he slaps me again, to remind me. “Your mouth. Open it. Now.”

As soon as I do so, he feeds his cock into my mouth, deep enough to make me gag. So it is that the other men find us, when they walk into the room.

“Hey, what do you think you’re doing?” They sound surprised, and more than a little upset. “The Surgeon said not to take her mask off, no matter what!”

The agent glares at them irritably. “Well, no one told me. Anyway, can’t you let me have some fun, first? I promise to put it back on when I’m finished with her.” He thrusts in and out of my mouth a few times, grunting with pleasure. It’s enough to convince the other men to back off.

“All right, but we get to watch.” They chuckle at their own cleverness, which isn’t cleverness at all, but plain rudeness. I’m certain the agent will tell them to clear out, but then I hear him say: “Sure, I don’t care.”

I start to wish I never let him shove his cock into my mouth, in the first place. It’s too late now, however. My jaw is already stretched open, with his sizeable appendage shoved deep down my throat. As he face fucks me slowly, he tilts my head back more, which gives him even better access. I can’t fight him, not without exposing him, and so I let him do it. The darkness is soon penetrated by the sounds of gagging and gurgling, as well as the occasional moan. It goes on for a long time, until my jaw starts to ache. Then, it gets worse, as the agent’s movements grow faster, approaching climax. In response to the distressed sounds I make, he snaps at me: “Shut up, bitch, and get ready to swallow.”

“Gggnn… Gggnnn…” The sounds my throat makes are enough to push him over the edge, just as I begin to choke. I feel hot semen squirting down the back of my throat and I do my best to gulp it down, but with my mouth still open it’s difficult. He seems to realise this, because he pulls out and pushes my jaw shut.

“Swallow now, there’s a good girl.” His other hand rubs my neck, helping me comply. I swallow once, twice, three times, before he finally releases me. “There you go, that was a nice little protein shake for you.”

I look up at him through a curtain of tears, thinking how great an actor he is. The men in the room with us are certainly distracted by the performance, their erections straining their trousers. “Hey, maybe we should give her some, too. Goodness knows, the Surgeon isn’t likely to feed her, any time soon.” They edge closer, rubbing at their crotches, but the agent stops them.

“Sorry, fellas, I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Stroking my face, he makes me close my eyes. “I think I’ve worn her out.”

The men disagree. “She’ll come around, just give her a few slaps.” Once more, the agent deters them, saying: “Didn’t you just tell me that she’s not supposed to have her mask off? Imagine if the Surgeon walked in right now.”

I almost lose it when I feel him slipping the leather contraption back over my head. However, under threat of two more violations, I manage to restrain myself. Lying docilely as the hood is zipped tight, as my body is rolled on its side against the pole, once more. “Help me tie her back up,” the agent says and the men jump to do his bidding. I cry silent tears as I feel their hands on me, securing me as before. But then, I hear the agent say: “I’ll be back.” And hope blossoms inside me, in spite of everything.

Hours later, I doze off. I didn’t think sleep was possible, in the position I was in, but my body must have needed it. When I wake up, it’s morning. I can tell it’s morning, because the men are back and they are untying me from the pole. They pull the needle out of my arm, while leaving my legs bound together. As they lift me up and carry me out of my cell, they joke about it, referring to me as a mermaid. I try not to cry out whenever their arms and hands touch my wounds. My breasts especially, are hurting, the areas where my nipples used to be throbbing painfully.

Then I hear the Surgeon’s voice, and I forget about everything else.

“Lie her down over there, I need to check her vitals, first.”

I am laid out on the cold, steel table, and held down by my arms. I can feel the Surgeon lifting my head up, unzipping the mask. A second later, I’m looking up at his face, blinking. He seems pleased to find me conscious, but he doesn’t speak to me. Examining me in silence, he checks my pupils and then my pulse. Seemingly satisfied, he turns to the men, once more. “Pass me the scissors.” He uses them to cut off the bandages around my legs, and then the nappy. When I try to move my legs experimentally, he orders: “Tie her ankles apart, spread her nice and wide.”

While the men do so, he takes hold of my wrists and binds them together, above my head. My pulse quickens as the ropes tighten, for I’ve come to associate bondage with pain. On this occasion, though, I’m someway off. The Surgeon’s sole intention is to remove the gauze from my pussy. He uses forceps to do so, extracting each piece with care. There is some pain as the last of it is peeled away from my bleeding insides, and then it is over. I watch the Surgeon as he leans over me, grinning. “Well, little vixen, it looks like you’ll live, for now. That being the case, are you ready for your next session?”

I shake my head, weakly. I’m quite certain that I will not survive another session with the Surgeon and after some hesitation, I tell him so. It makes him laugh, a deep, throaty sound devoid of humour or warmth, of any kind: “You will die when I decide, not before.”

Having reassured me after this fact, he turns to his men once more. “Put her in a harness and hook her up to the winch, over there.”

“No!” I protest, as the men strap me into a tight, leather harness and carry me bodily across the room. There, they attach me to a strong, steel cable and leave me dangling, like a marionette. The Surgeon wastes no time snapping the heavy shackles and chain around my ankles, the same ones he used yesterday. This done, he pulls my arms behind my back roughly, binding them elbow to elbow. The strain it puts on my shoulders is tremendous, and I have to grit my teeth to stop myself from screaming.

“Don’t worry, if I wanted to dislocate your shoulders, I would’ve used a different method,” the Surgeon tells me, on noticing it. I’m in too much pain to reply, watching in silence as he moves around the room, fetching the items he will need. Among them are several thick canes and a vicious looking, iron poker. Just looking at it makes me shake in fear, the chains rattling between my ankles. Luckily, he is too preoccupied to notice, issuing last minute instructions to the men: “Clean up this mess, then leave us. Come back in an hour, like we discussed. If there’s a problem, let me know, but I doubt there will be. I examined each of them personally, this morning.”

“Yes, Sir.” The men reply, with their usual brevity, before walking away, closing the door firmly behind them. I’m alone with the Surgeon again, and I’m more vulnerable than I’ve ever been. Weakened, in pain, with multiple open wounds that could be used to torture me so easily. Having extracted vital information from me the day before, I have no doubt he’ll do so again today. The knowledge makes me nauseous, and I can’t help but grimace as I watch him approach.

“Awww… is my little vixen scared?” He says, smirking. Coming up to me slowly, he takes hold of my chin in one hand and stares me in the eye, until I’m forced to look away. Only then does he release me, with a chuckle: “You’re weakening, my dear. But don’t feel bad about it. I’ve broken stronger people than you, in less time than we’ve had.”

I don’t have it in me to look at him again, and so I don’t see the object in his hand as he lifts it up. As he wraps the leather collar around my neck, however, I flinch visibly. He has to press his body against mine, to steady me. “It’s just a collar, little vixen. A nice, wide collar to choke you with.”

He does up the buckle, while I mew in humiliation and in fear. Pleading with him: “Please, Sir. I will give you more names… Just please, don’t hurt me any more.”

“Tut, tut,” the Surgeon chides me, sliding another piece of rope through a ring in my collar. “You think you’re saying the right words, but you’re wrong.” Attaching the rope to another hook above me, he pulls on it and I feel the leather bite into my neck. Choking me ever so slightly, I paddle slightly with my feet, but I’m suspended clean off the floor and can find no purchase – no way to alleviate the pressure. I have to swallow hard, before trying again.

“Sir? Please, I don’t… I don’t understand.” I mean what I say. What more could he want, besides those names?

The Surgeon’s gaze is cold as he faces me, his hand on my breast, pinching and squeezing, causing blood to seep from my wound. “No, I suppose you don’t, as yet. But you will, and soon. I promise.”

As he turns away to take up the first of the canes, my whole body starts to tremble violently. “Please! Please, Sir!”

And before he truly starts to hurt me, I wet myself in fear. The piss running down my thighs is a source of amusement for him. Growling at me:

“At last, you’re learning to fear me properly.”

With that, he swings the cane.