Betrayed

[Sasha Girl]

"I'm sorry baby, they sold you out."

The voice is cold, male and unfamiliar. As soon as I hear it, I snap awake and start to thrash around in my bonds. It's no use. I'm bound tight with heavy duty rope, my arms pulled back painfully and joined to my ankles. To make things worse, I'm gagged. Lying at the feet of my captor, I can only gaze up at him in horror, as he circles me, like a shark. His boots are noisy on the stone floor, too noisy in fact. I close my eyes against a wave of nausea, while he explains.

"You've been drugged, my dear. By none other than your closest associate. Don't worry, it'll wear off. His instructions were very clear: bring back the vixen, or perish. So, here you are."

I don't believe it. My partner, the man I had worked with for the past five years, is a double agent. Just wait till I get out of here, I'll have his guts for garter. As though reading my mind, my captor laughs.

"In case you're wondering, he's long gone. We couldn't very well have only one of you disappear, could we? Anyway, you shouldn't concern yourself with him. You have much more serious things to think about."

*************************

Examination room 1 is not much bigger than my holding cell, only a lot brighter. The source of the light is a large fluorescent tube fixed to the low ceiling. Directly underneath it is a large dentist’s chair, fitted with multiple leather straps. It doesn't take a genius to work out what that chair is for, and I struggle violently on seeing it. As one of the top agents, I have jujitsu training sufficient to defend myself in almost any situation. All I need is to be let out of the ropes for just a second. Just one second. But it never happens. Instead, the men lie me face down on the floor and grab hold of my arms. As the knots loosen around my wrists, their hold tightens. Soon, they are lifting me up, twisting one of my arms behind my back as a precaution.

“Mmm! Mmm!” I moan through the gag, as they drag me over the chair and manoeuver me into it. With my ankles still tied, I can’t kick out and before I know it, my wrists are strapped down. The leather tightened securely, they’ve done this many times before. “Mmmm! Mmmm!” I keep moaning, while I twist in the chair, but the men ignore me. While one of them pushes against my chest, the other one pulls out a knife.

“Say goodbye to your uniform,” he says, sliding the sharp blade under my top, at the neckline. There is a loud ‘rrrrip’ sound as the fabric gives way, then the process is repeated with my undershirt and bra. At the sight of my bare breasts, one of them lets out a wolf-whistle. “Damn shame.”

I tell myself he’s just trying to scare me.

They don’t feel me up, though, but proceed to strap me down more tightly, across my waist and upper arms. Only then do they untie my ankles. They undo my belt and pull my pants off, while I kick at them for all I’m worth. The men are very good at dodging the blows, but finally my foot connects with a face. Lucky for him I’m no longer wearing shoes.

“Aaaow! You little bitch!” My victim screams, clutching at his temple, where a large lump is already forming. His friend, meanwhile, steps toward my head, laughing. I cringe, expecting some kind of retaliation, but all he does is wrap a piece of my torn shirt over my eyes. “Try it now, you feisty thing.”

After that, they finish stripping me without difficulty. I feel their hands on my bare skin, pulling my legs into position. Then the straps are tightened around my ankles and thighs both, immobilising me completely. I’m naked, defenceless and so distressed, I can’t even moan. My chest heaves, courtesy of my struggles, so that I almost miss it when one of them whispers in my ear:

“A word of advice, little Miss. The Surgeon loves a feisty girl. He really takes his time with them – and you don’t want him to take his time with you, believe me. So, if you wanna spare yourself a slow, excruciatingly painful death… try and be a bit more accommodating for him.”

With that, the man pulls the makeshift blindfold from my eyes and steps away. I stare at him and his friend as they stroll away. Leaving me alone. I feel exposed and vulnerable under the fluorescent light, and I squirm uncomfortably while looking around. My discomfort increases when I soon spot the cameras watching me from every corner of the ceiling. Apart from the chair I'm sitting in, the room is empty of furniture, making me the centre of attention - an intensely disturbing feeling that increases with the passage of time. It isn’t long before I feel the stark concrete walls pressing in on me. I close my eyes, trying to imagine I was some place else. It’s difficult, what with the straps biting into my flesh and the drool dripping down my chin. But at last, I manage, even relaxing sufficiently to drift into a light sleep.

“Wakey wakey, sleeping beauty.”

The voice brings me back, like it did the first time. Startled, I open my eyes and am instantly blinded by the harsh light. I’m blinking rapidly, trying to clear my vision, when I feel his hands on my head. “Mmmm!” A sound of panic, a protest.

“Shhh, little one, don’t be afraid. I’m only taking your gag out.”

He works as he talks and in moments the straps are undone. As he pulls the heavy rubber ball out of my mouth, I cough weakly. My throat is dry and he obviously knows it, because he has the water bottle in his hand. Wordlessly, he brings it up to my lips and tilts it. He watches me as I drink and when I’ve had my fill, he takes the bottle away.

“Thanks,” I say and curse inwardly. The man they call ‘the Surgeon’ grins.

“You’re welcome,” he says in that foreign accent of his. I’ve travelled far and wide, but for the life of me I can’t place it. He must have lived here long enough to lose the worst of it. As if reading my thoughts, he leans in close, saying: “I used to be married to a beautiful Scandinavian girl. After more than 20 years with her, I picked up her accent.”

The steely gaze is calm as he says this, and I feel he’s telling the truth. He isn’t old, but he certainly looks mature, his short hair tinged with silver on the sides. Furthermore, why would he lie? He’s not the one strapped down in a chair, naked. Thinking about this, I shiver, and he notices at once.

“You are nervous.” It is a statement, not a question. The room is quite warm, too warm to make one shiver. I stare at him in silence, while he leans down and picks up something from a bag at his side. Just that simple gesture nearly has me jumping out of my skin. Then I see it’s only a soft cloth. I have to pull myself together, I think, while he leans forward once more. His hand is gentle as he wipes the drool from my face and chest. “I suppose you have reason to be. Meeting me for the first time, and in such dire circumstances.”

I have nothing to say to that. He is stating the obvious, and he is deriving enjoyment from it. The look on my face must convey my thoughts to him, because he smiles a tight smile.

“I know what you think of me,” he says. “You and the rest of your team. For years, you’ve analysed me, trying to work out my next move. Yet all it did was get more people killed. Good agents, who could’ve been helping the community, instead of clogging the drain in my examination rooms with their blood and guts.”

“You bastard!” I cry, unable to hold myself in check, any more. “You sick, mother fucking psychopath! Those were innocent people you tortured! And for what? For fun? You Goddamn sicko, you’ll burn in he…”

Smack! The slap on my face is unexpected, a hard, stinging slap that throws my head to the side. I scream, and he slaps me hard again, with the back of his hand – then twice more, for good measure. By the time he’s finished, my head is spinning and my lip split and bleeding. The crimson droplets dripping onto my chest, while I wait for him to speak. When he does, his voice is calm, despite the violent display.

“Lesson number one: never speak out of turn. Especially if it’s to curse and swear at me.” He dabs at my lip, gently. Cleaning up the blood and making me tremble in fear. I guess it’s because the reality of the situation is only now sinking in for me. The silence stretches between us as he finishes the simple task. Then he is reaching for his bag once more, pulling out a set of electrodes. I know that’s what they are, I’ve seen them used often enough. All of a sudden, the purpose of me being strapped down in the chair becomes clear. I swallow a lump of fear, before I’m able to speak.

“Please.” I make it a whisper, so as not to provoke him into slapping me again. “You don’t have to do that.”

In response, he pushes my head back and straps it down. “Oh, but I do.” Taping the first of the electrodes to my forehead. “If you really knew me, you’d know why.”

But I don’t know and I don’t ask. What would be the point? I’m about to find out, anyway.



It takes the Surgeon only a few minutes to attach approximately twenty electrodes to my body. He places them along my head, chest and inner thighs. The ones on my head are for recording my reactions, no doubt. The rest I’d rather not think about. I squirm uncomfortably, while trying to keep calm. But when he speaks, my heart rate increases and there’s nothing I can do about it.

“Now, my dear vixen,” he says, silkily. “Your partner tells me you are one of the top agents in this city. That means you have a very high security clearance. Tell me, what do you know about operation Vicious?”

I swallow hard. It just so happens I’m in charge of that operation. Or was, until now. The operation is aimed at organised crime, with special emphasis on the Surgeon and the people who hire him. I could tell him this without any qualms, if it wasn’t for the undercover agents. The men and women, totalling twenty-three in number, who are out there in the streets, risking their lives to bring down murderous bastards like him. So I say nothing, I just shrug my shoulders.

“Wrong answer,” he says and a split second later, the electricity is coursing through me, along my thighs and chest, both. I shout obscenities at him as my muscles contract then begin to pulse, causing me to vibrate inside my bonds.

“Bastard! Fucking a-hole! Fuck!”

The Surgeon smiles beatifically, while keeping the current coursing through me. He doesn’t stop until my curses turn to screams. As the pain ends, my muscles keep twitching. I moan in my bonds, while he scribbles something on a notepad.

“Ok, let’s try that again,” he says, looking up at me. “Operation Vicious. What do you know about it?”

I grit my teeth, I’m definitely not ready for another shock.

“I can’t…” I trail off, hoping to stall for time. But the Surgeon merely shakes his head, ruefully.

“Wrong answer.” The words precede the next shock by a millisecond. I scream, the pain is so much worse this time around. After several minutes of this, my eyes roll back in my head, and I know I’m about to faint. In that instant, the current is switched off.

“Hm. Very interesting.” The Surgeon murmurs, scribbling some more notes on the pad. I let out a moan, just to let him know I’m still here. It is a mistake.

“Ah, my little vixen!” His voice is cheerful, as he addresses me at last. “For a moment there, I thought I lost you. Now, have you decided to talk?”

I’ve decided to talk, all right. To tell him exactly what I think of him. I take a deep, shaky breath and spit out: “Go fuck yourself, you sadistic fuck.”

He laughs, like I’ve just told him a good joke. “All in good time, my dear. All in good time.”

Then the current is coursing through me again, my flesh burning wherever it passes. I feel it more intensely than before, if that’s possible, and I scream until my voice is ragged. When my eyes start rolling in my head again, the shock stops, but the pain goes on. I’m foaming at the mouth, fighting back nausea, when I feel his hand on my breast.

“What was that you said about fucking?” he asks, casually. I shake my head no, but he keeps fondling me. Pressing a button, he makes the chair move upward, tilting back at the same time. “Don’t worry, you won’t throw up and choke yourself. I had the boys pump your stomach empty when you arrived.”

He spreads my legs easily, by moving the two halves of the chair apart. As he takes up position between my legs, I groan out loud. The insides of my thighs are burnt, chafing painfully at the slightest touch. “Please, don’t.”

In response, he leans forward and takes my left nipple in his mouth. Sucking and biting hard, making me cry out. A hoarse sound, due to all the screaming. He repeats the treatment with my other nipple, before pulling something out of his pocket. I see a glimmer of metal and I jerk against the restraints, struggling. “No! No! No!”

But the Surgeon only smiles as he pinches my nipple, stretching it taut. As the metal clamp closes around it, I scream in agony. I’m still screaming while the second nipple is clamped. The pain is excruciating and he makes it worse by tugging on the chain connecting them. I never hear him unzipping his trousers over the screams, and when I feel his cock push against my pussy, I gasp.

“Please. Don’t…” My pleas fall on deaf ears. The Surgeon’s erection is massive, his expression rapturous as he drives it inside me. Strapped down tightly, I cannot resist, I can only scream and curse. “Aaaah! Nooo! Aaaarrgh! You fucking rapist!”

He slaps me, hard, but I keep screaming regardless. His cock is driving into me, drilling me methodically. Feeding my rage.

“If you keep swearing at me, I will shock you,” he tells me, as he rapes me. Spitting on my pussy to lubricate me, the sight disgusts me so that I scream again.

“Fucking sicko, you wouldn’t dare!” I’m thinking he’ll get zapped, too, until I see him pulling out.

“So be it.” He pushes the button and I convulse in agony, screaming at the top of my voice. The clamps are still on my nipples and the current races through them, driving me wild. By the time he finally stops, I’m crying openly.

“That’s better,” he says, taking up position between my thighs once more. This time, when I feel his hard cock push inside me, I say nothing. He rapes me for a long time, slowing down often, in order to postpone his climax. Pulling on the chain between my nipples, extracting more screams from my torn throat. My pussy is stretched and pounded mercilessly, until I can’t take it any more.

“Please, stop! I beg you! Please…” I feel him tensing at these words, his cock twitching inside me. A heartbeat later, he is coming, driving into me hard and fast, while pumping me full of his cum. I bite my lip to stifle my screams, the tears pouring down my face.

“Oh, you little vixen, you,” he breathes, in satisfaction. I want to spit in his face, but with my head strapped down, it is a physical impossibility. I glower at him in silence as he pulls out – with a dreadful, wet sound – and starts setting himself to rights. As soon as he’s done, he reaches over and takes hold of one of the clamps that are still on my nipples. “This may hurt a bit.”

That is an understatement. The release of pressure brings blood rushing back, a sensation as painful as having the clamp put on, in the first place. I moan loudly as my nipples are released, and then I feel him removing the electrodes. As I sigh with relief, he turns to me with a wolfish grin.

“I’m not finished with you,” he says. Pushing another button. “I need two men in here, now.”

He is already removing my straps, when the door opens and the men come inside: the same ones that brought me here. They gaze down on me with something like pity, which I hate. Wait till I’m free of these bonds, I think. But when the last of the straps is undone, I find that I can’t move. The men have to pull me out of the chair and hold me up between them. The cum dribbling out of me, I see them watching and I bow my head in shame. If only I could make my legs move.

“Where to, doc?” one of the men asks, and I hear the Surgeon say:

“Examination room three, please.”

There is an infinitesimal pause. “I’m sorry doc, did you mean room two?”

“No,” the Surgeons snaps, irritably. “I meant, room three. She has a higher pain threshold than most, so we’ll skip the niceties.”

The men don’t wait to be told again. As they drag me out of the room, my feet trail behind me, uselessly. It makes one of the men chuckle.

“Not so tough now, are you?” he asks, but I don’t answer. I’m too busy thinking about Examination room number three – and the horrors that await me there.



At the entrance to examination room number three, I panic. The room is set up like a slaughterhouse, complete with a steel table, circular saw, hooks and winches, among other things. I scream when I see it and I start to struggle. The adrenaline giving me strength, I kick at the men holding me. A split second later one of them punches me on the temple. His friend punches me again before I’ve had a chance to recover. On the verge of passing out, I hear a voice call out:

“That’s enough! I want her fully conscious, is that clear?”

After that, they don’t punch me in the head any more. They just twist my arms behind my back and pull me along, and when I next try to kick them, one of them hits me in the solar plexus. I am dragged into the examination room, doubled over and retching. The men pick me up and throw me onto the steel table, face down. Stretching me out, they tie me down with my legs spread, while I fight to get my breath back. By the time I can talk again, they’re finished. I can see the Surgeon nodding at them in approval, simultaneously dismissing them. I know it’s useless, but I plead with them as they walk away:

“Please! Don’t leave me here! For God’s sake, help me!”

There is no response and as the door closes, I rest my head on the steel surface and sob. I’m alone in a torture chamber with a madman, and I’m frightened. As a matter of fact, I’ve never been more frightened in my whole life.

“Aww, come now, hush,” the Surgeon’s voice is soft as he speaks to me, his hand gentle as it strokes my hair. “Shhh… There’s no reason to cry, little one. At least, not yet.”

I sob even harder at the words. If I could, I would beg for mercy, but I’m beyond speaking for the moment. He must realise this, because he keeps stroking my hair, smoothing it away from my face. The tender action makes me positively nauseous, especially when I hear the buzz of an electric instrument. As I lift my head to look, he pushes it back down.

“Don’t move,” he says – and then he runs the electric clippers along my scalp. He doesn’t stop until he’s shaved all my hair off, leaving me completely bald. As he’s scooping my silky locks away, I tremble.

“W-why did you do that?” I ask. Though my sobs have subsided somewhat, I can’t stop crying. Looking down on me, the Surgeon smiles coldly.

“Hair gets in the way.” He is snapping on a pair of thin latex gloves as he speaks, the action making my skin crawl.

“Please,” I say, but he doesn’t reply. He’s busy rolling a surgeon’s trolley over to the table. The rattle of the instruments is loud in my ears and this, together with the fear, keeps me from saying anything more.

That is, until I see him pick up a razor sharp scalpel and hold it up carefully.

“Oh Jesus,” I breathe, over the lump in my throat. “You can’t be serious.”

Again, there’s no reply. Instead, he leans over me. Strapped face down, I crane my neck painfully, trying to see. But he’s too quick, making the first incision with confidence, low on my back. It doesn’t feel very deep, but it stings like hell, making me cry out. “Aaaah! Fuuuck!”

I’m still swearing as the scalpel slices through my skin, for the second time: then the third and the fourth – the fifth, sixth and seventh. I soon lose count, as the skin on my back is cut, from my hip to my neck. With my blood trickling out slowly, the Surgeon leans close and speaks in my ear: “I have cut two dotted lines in your back, right over your spine. All I have to do is grip one end and pull it, and the entire strip will peel off. Would you like me to do that?”

Tears stream out of my eyes as I reply: “No! No, please!”

“Right,” he says, smugly. “Then perhaps you’d like to tell me about Operation Vicious.”

I shake my head, miserably. “Please. I don’t know anything. I swe….” I break off with a scream, as he starts to peel the skin off my back. He takes his time too, so that I’m shaking all over, by the time it’s done. But he still isn’t finished with me. Reaching to the little tray beside him, he picks up another instrument. He gives me no time to speak, but leans over and pushes something sharp into the raw, bleeding wound, high up near my neck. The pain makes my body jump, my legs jerking involuntarily.

“Aaaaah! You asshole!” I scream. The needle-like object pokes into my raw flesh again… and again… and again, while I jerk and scream in pain. Then, unexpectedly, it stops.

“You know, it has just occurred to me that we’re wasting a perfectly good opportunity here,” the Surgeon says. In the next moment, I hear his zipper coming undone. The table vibrates as he climbs on top of it, a second later his erection is nudging at my pussy. Tied down as I am, I can only shout at him in outrage.

“Fucking pig! You fucking rapist bastard!”

My shouts are cut short by the act of penetration. He pushes inside me in a single, fast movement, causing me to cry out in pain. Once inside, he stops, obviously savouring the moment. I’m about to start cussing at him again, when I feel the sharp pain on my back once more.

“Poke, poke, poke,” he says, as he pushes the needle in deep, so that soon I’m jerking again, even more violently than before. Only this time, his cock is inside me and I feel it every time I move. He’s a devious bastard, no doubt about it, and I spend some time trying to still the movement of my hips. Trying to deny him the pleasure. In response, he starts thrusting, slowly. Still poking and prodding into my flesh, he times it to match his thrusts. The combined assault makes me cry, but I manage to swear at him through the tears.

“Fucking… sicko… rapist…”

“That’s enough,” he says, and he pushes the needle deep – then pulls it toward him, ploughing a groove in the exposed flesh above my spine. The pain is excruciating, and I scream and thrash in my bonds, inadvertently making it worse. Soon, I can feel the blood squirting out of the wound, trickling down my sides, but the sight clearly doesn’t bother him because he’s still hard inside me. He thrusts his hips forward as he works, keeping me impaled, extracting maximum pleasure from my pain.

When he finally stops cutting me, I’m sobbing openly, my limbs twitching with the aftershocks. He fucks me hard for a while, but I hardly notice. The pain of the rape is like nothing compared to the throbbing, stinging sensation on my back. As if reading my mind, he stops.

“I think my little vixen is zoning out. That is not allowed.” He is pulling out as he speaks, and in the next instant I hear the rattle of the metal tray, which he has left conveniently close by the table. I have no idea what his intentions are, until I feel a solid, metallic object slide inside my ravaged pussy. A dildo? I had no idea the Surgeon used dildos on any of his victims. From what I know of him, the only objects he inserted were…

“Nooo! I beg of you!” I’m screaming in earnest, as I recall the images of the women we found, that the Surgeon had tortured. We never found evidence of sexual assault, that’s how badly their insides were sliced. And just as I’m thinking this, I feel the object start to vibrate, and the first sharp burst of pain inside me.

“Don’t worry,” he says, while I convulse in part pain, part panic. “It’s only a little nick. Just enough to make it hurt when you’re fucked, make you bleed like a virgin. Speaking of virgins, have you ever had your ass fucked?”

He rubs his cock along my ass crack as he speaks, and I shake pitifully, unable to provide a coherent answer. “Nooo! Please, noooo!” It is all I can say, through the tears. I hear him chuckling softly, a second later his cock is pushing into my anus, lubricated with nothing but spit. If he wanted to hurt me and humiliate me, he has achieved it. I can’t stop screaming as he violates me, stretching my ass while keeping the vibrating, metallic dildo in my pussy. Worse, I can’t stop begging. “Please, not my ass! Please, it hurts!”

“That’s the whole point, my dear,” he says, pushing into me brutally. When my screams die down, he warns: “Now, each time you stop screaming, I’m going to cut up your insides some more.” He reinforces the words by pressing a button and causing another burst of pain inside me. I scream in pain and he starts to pound my ass mercilessly, pulling almost all the way out, before slamming in again. I’ve never been so stretched in my whole life, so completely filled. To say nothing of the cuts in my pussy. He fucks me hard and for a long time, and I scream through every second of it. At last, I feel him speeding up, and then he is coming, shooting semen deep into my ass.

As he pulls out of me, I shudder and grow quiet, my throat sore from screaming. To my horror, he leaves the metallic dildo inside me. I can’t take it, I really can’t. “Please, Sir. Please, can you take it out.”

He places one hand on my shaved head, reminding me of my baldness. “Did you just call me Sir? Well, that’s a definite improvement. But it won’t make me change my mind. You see, I like to see a pretty girl squirm.”

Defeated, I sob before him. My tears streaming thickly down my face. He watches me in silence for a while, and then he turns away. Toward the tray with the implements, once more. “Now, where were we? Oh yes, you were going to tell me about Operation Vicious…”

A fresh scalpel in his hand, he leans over me and presses the razor sharp blade against my ass cheek. And I black out, from sheer terror.


I don’t know how long I was out for, but it feels like seconds. I’m brought back to consciousness by a horrible, stinging pain in my ass cheek: the scalpel slicing deep into my skin. Noticing me waking, the Surgeon greets me gleefully:

“Ah, my little vixen! You thought you could escape by fainting.”

He leans heavily onto my thighs to stop me from moving, and then continues to cut an S-shaped pattern into my ass cheek. Speaking to me over my screams. “But you see, there is no escape.”

Tied down on the heavy steel table, bleeding inside and out, I can only scream in reply. As I struggle and squirm, I can feel the metal dildo inside my pussy, shifting against my delicate walls. I try not to think about it, but when the metal tip rubs against the cuts in my cervix, my screams turn to wails. It makes the Surgeon chuckle.

“Enjoying your new toy? I had it made especially, imported from Germany. An engineering masterpiece, it contains 50 separate blades, all fully retractable of course.”

I want to tell him that he’s a sick fuck, but his scalpel is still in his hand, carving away at me. He’s cutting in deeper, because there’s more flesh on my ass, and the pain makes me howl, the sound reverberating around the room. I pass out twice more, before he decides to stop. Leaning down, he whispers into my ear: “Had enough yet?”

Lying before him, trembling, bloodied and sweating, I manage a single whispered word: “Please.” It is not what he wants to hear. Barely has the word passed my lips, when he starts to pour something over my wounds – it feels like acid, and smells like it, too. I’m screaming in agony, my back arching painfully, while he growls at me: “You think you’re so strong, but you’re wrong. This pain you’re feeling? It’s nothing, compared to what I have in store for you.”

He doesn’t need to tell me that. I’ve seen his victims, I know the horrific torture he has inflicted on them: broken bones, fingers and toes cut off, internal organs removed. Regardless, I can’t give in. I can’t betray the agents risking their lives out there. Compromising them means sabotaging the entire mission. My life isn’t worth it, not any more. I wait for the burning to die down somewhat, so that I may tell him what I think, through gritted teeth:

“You’re going to kill me anyway.”

Heavy silence greets this statement, stretching for an uncomfortably long time. I think that maybe, just maybe I’ve scored a point, but when I look up, blinking away tears, I find the Surgeon observing me quietly. The moment I make eye contact, he smiles.

“Yes, that is true,” he says, and a chill runs down my spine. Reaching down, he takes one of my hands in both of his, as though to comfort me. In a soft, calm voice, he continues: “But believe me, little vixen, you will tell me what I want to know. And in the end, you will beg me to kill you. Just like everyone else did, who came here before you.”

I swallow hard, listening to him. More than anything, I want to pull my hand away, but with my wrists bound tight I can only glare at him. The words springing up in my mind, as yet unspoken: fuck you, fuck you, fuck you. He can read the murder in my eyes, it seems. Picking my little finger, he bends it backward painfully and then gives it a push. There is a sickening sound as the tiny bones snap – it’s drowned out quickly by my screams. “Aaaaaaah! Aaaaaaah! Fuck you! Aaaaaah!”

I’m still screaming when I feel him take hold of my ring finger, proceeding to bend it backward in much the same way. My desperate screams of “nooo! For God’s sake noooo!” are ignored, and seconds later my second finger is broken. The Surgeon is methodical in his approach, as he continues to snap my fingers, one by one, on both of my hands. By the end of it, I’m howling like a beast, crying so hard that snot is pouring out of my nose and onto the steel surface beneath. He has to slap me hard, just to get my attention.

“Look up, now,” he orders, and after a couple more slaps I finally do so. I’m shaking all over, and it gets worse when I see what he’s holding in his hand. A pair of large, wicked looking pliers. As I watch, he takes the first of my misshapen fingers and places it between the sharp edges.

“Seeming as so your fingers are already broken, you won’t mind if I cut them off, will you?” He squeezes down on the pliers, hard enough to draw blood. Awash with pain, faced with the horror of seeing my fingers cut off, I feel something inside me snap.

“You son of a bitch!” I scream at him, spit flying from my mouth. The Surgeon simply smiles and pushes down on the handle. The blades cut my little finger clean off, and the pain of it makes me faint on the spot. When I come to, the Surgeon is holding the pliers poised over my second finger – and this, combined with the horror I’ve just lived, sends me over the edge.

“Please for theloveofGod I will tell you what you want to know!” I shout hoarsely, pausing at the end of it, in order to vomit. With my stomach empty, I produce only bile, its slippery wetness sticking to my cheek when I lower my head back down.

“Go on,” the Surgeon prompts me, calmly. I hate myself as I start speaking, but I feel I have no choice. I can’t watch him snip my fingers off, one by one… I just can’t.

“Operation Vicious, I know about it,” I tell him, in-between sobs. “It’s the biggest undercover operation currently going on. More than a hundred personnel are involved, tracking the main mafia bosses across the States. Your boss is at the top of the list, and so are you.”

I pause to spit out more bile, and I hear him say: “Tell me about the undercover operatives.”

Oh no. Please, don’t ask me that. But he did just ask me and I know better than to try and stall for time. So I do the only thing I can, I skirt the truth.

“There are at least ten of them, from what I know,” I say, avoiding his gaze. “But their identities are top secret. I don’t know…”

“You’re lying,” he says, cutting me off. My eyes bulge as I stare at him, frozen with terror. Any moment now, I expect to feel the bite of steel slicing through my finger, but instead he takes the pliers away. “However, you are about to pass out from loss of blood. Since I still have a lot of questions to ask you, I’m going to stop here and resume the questioning tomorrow.”

In disbelief, I watch him as he sets the bloodied pliers on the metal tray and picks up a piece of gauze. Working quickly and efficiently, he proceeds to dress my wound and bandage both of my hands. With my broken fingers immobilised, the pain is lessened, but I know I’ll never heal properly in this position. What’s more, I’ve lost the use of my hands, the principal means of defending myself. I’m crying quietly at the thought, when I feel his hand on my head.

“We have to clean your face a bit, so be a good girl and lift your head,” he says, his tone business-like. Dumbly, I do as he says and he wipes the steel surface clean quickly, before turning his attention to my face. His movements are brisk, but his touch is gentle, for which I’m pathetically grateful. In next to no time, he’s done and moving onto the rest of my body. I can feel him dressing my wounds, making sure they don’t fester. Then, miracle of miracles, he is pulling the vicious dildo out of my pussy.

“Th-thank you,” I stammer, but he only laughs.

“Don’t thank me yet, little vixen.” His voice has an edge of steel and a few heartbeats later, I know why. There is nothing gentle about his next move, which involves spreading my ass cheeks and pushing a large object inside my anus. I can’t help but cry out in pain, as the thickest part of it is shoved through my tight entrance, and then the entire thing is inside me, wedged securely.

“It’s just a but-plug,” the Surgeon informs me, soothingly. “Only, a rather special one. I purchased it just for you. Let it never be said I don’t have a sense of humour.”

I have no idea what he means, until I feel a brush of something soft on my back. As it moves, so does the plug in my ass, helping me to put two and two together. I almost snap my neck while trying to look behind me, confirming what I already know: my captor has given me a tail – a large, red tail like that of a fox. While I howl in humiliation, he continues to chuckle.

“Now you’re truly a vixen,” he says, advancing toward my head once more. “My little vixen, to be precise.”

My last sight for the day is of his large hands, slipping a black leather mask over my head. It fits tightly, so even though there are holes over my nose and mouth, I’m effectively gagged. Worse, I can’t see, not even a little bit. Trapped in total blackness, I listen to the Surgeon’s footsteps, as he moves around. Presently, I hear him press a buzzer and a few minutes later, there is the sound of a door opening. More footsteps echo around me, and then the Surgeon’s voice:

“Ok, lads, I’m finished with her for the day. Take her to her cell and make sure she gets some rest.”

“Yes, Sir.” A man’s voice, one I recognise from before. The sound of footsteps retreating, it must be the Surgeon departing. The men’s hands are on my wrists and ankles, untying the ropes, when my shivers start.

“Mmmm…” I moan, in distress, and they redouble their efforts, freeing me in a matter of seconds.

“Easy, now,” they croon to me, as they pull me along the table, which is slick with my blood. “You’re in shock, understand? Try and relax, there’s a good girl.”

I nod in understanding, but when I feel their hands on my naked ass and thighs, I moan again. Please don’t, I think. I’m humiliated beyond words, but the men seem oblivious to it.

“My, that tail suits you,” one of them says, tugging on it, making the plug move in my ass. The other one chuckles in agreement. “Aye, it’s almost like he wants us to rape you, the way he prepared you.”

As they pull me off the table, I mew in terror. The shock of being upright, coupled with the threat of further rape, is too much for me, but being blindfolded I don’t notice my vision going. All I know is that my legs can’t hold me when they try to stand me up. I hear the men swear – “fuck, catch her” – and then I know no more.




When I next wake up, I’m alone. At least, I think I’m alone, with the tight fitting hood over my head I’m as good as blind. I’m lying on my side on some kind of a mattress, the smell of leather in my nostrils. For the moment, it is all I know – it and the pain – tremendous, pulsing pain in my hands, the skin on my back and ass, the inside of my pussy. The thick plug is still in my ass, shifting with my every move, making me moan. There are no sounds beyond those that I make. As I curl up into a foetal position, I feel like a wounded animal, abandoned and left to die.

Then I remember that I probably look like an animal, too, with my face hidden behind the mask and the bushy tail sticking out of my ass.

Suddenly, with that image in my mind, I start to cry. It’s a stupid thing to do, because it wets the leather and makes my face itch, but I can’t help it. With one bandaged hand – the one with all its fingers still attached – I rub at my cheek through the thick material, whimpering as I do so. It isn’t long before self-pity takes over completely, causing me to cry even harder. What did I ever do to deserve a fate such as this? To end up in the hands of a monster, whose sole goal is to torture me and then kill me, after extracting what he wants. And he will extract the information he seeks, I’m sure of it. He has already forced me to tell him more than I wanted to, on the very first day.

My sobs echo around the room, as I contemplate my immediate future. I wonder what horrible things he will do to me next, what part of my body he will choose to “work” on. With all I know about the Surgeon, I conjure up a dozen answers in seconds, each more horrifying than the next. The leather covering my face is soon soaked through and still the tears keep falling. I taste some of them as I open my mouth, sucking in air through the holes, with a loud hissing sound. The mask is really tight now and it scares me, makes me feel claustrophobic. I work desperately to try and tear it from my head, but my bandaged hands are worse than paws. I’d cry for help if I could, but with the leather stretching over my lips I can’t form any words.

In the end, I resort to howling. Loud, drawn out sounds full of fear and pain. I don’t think anyone can hear me, nor do I care. There are no thoughts left in my mind, any more. Wrapped up in misery, I do not hear the door to the room open, or the heavy footsteps rushing to my side. The first I know of another person’s presence is when I feel a strong arm on my shoulder, shaking me. Scared out of my wits, I stop howling and start screaming, and he shouts at me over the noise.

“Hey there, vixen, snap out of it! Snap out of it, baby, or I’ll have to call the Surgeon!”

At the mention of the Surgeon, I fall silent abruptly, though it takes a lot of effort. “Nooo…” I beg, through the mask, trembling in abject terror. The man’s hand is on my head now, stroking me like a pet.

“There, there. Don’t fret, I only said that to calm you down.” His voice is deep and soothing, yet unfamiliar. A new person sent to guard me, while the original set are on a break. Perhaps he will take pity on me, where others wouldn’t? My shaved head is hot and sweaty under the thick leather mask, and I paw at it with both bandaged hands, signalling my distress. Then I lift my head and whimper, expectantly. Please. Help me.

In response, his hand shifts to my shoulder. Pushing me onto my front, gently but firmly. “I’m sorry, baby, but I can’t take your mask off. If the Surgeon found out...” He trails off, while I moan miserably. Saying “wease”, instead of “please”, begging in the only way I can.

“Shhh…” he says, as he runs his hand along my body, my tense muscles. “It’d be best if you didn’t try and speak, ok?” Pushing against my hips now, his other hand is still on my shoulder, helping to keep me still. All at once, as he does this, I feel a strange premonition come over me. I squirm, intending to move away from him, and immediately his hold shifts to the back of my neck. Gripping me tightly, while pushing down with great force.

“Don’t. Fucking. Move.” He growls the words and I freeze, anxious to avoid further violence against my person. Trembling helplessly, I allow him to pull my arms above my head, to spread my legs open with a kick of his knee. As he takes up position between my legs, I whimper loudly. He pushes still harder against my neck, pinning me down securely. Then he unzips his trousers and a split second later I can feel his erection pressing into my thigh. His free hand lifting my tail out of the way, I feel like a bitch when he does this.

“Mmm… I’m going to enjoy fucking you, little vixen,” he says, loudly. I whimper in reply, trying to communicate what I’m feeling. Pleading wordlessly, for mercy. But he merely holds the tail up, and starts to push inside me. With the plug already in my ass, he has to work a lot harder. To his credit he does it slowly, stretching me and filling me, without causing too much pain. All the while crooning to me: “That’s it, relax. Take it nice and deep, there’s a good girl.”

I’m wiggling my hips, helping to ease his passage, until the tip of his cock touches the open wounds in my cervix. As I cry out in fresh agony, the man fucking me leans down low and whispers: “He has cut your insides, hasn’t he? Don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you. Well, as much as I can, with that giant plug in your ass.”

Before I can so much as nod in understanding, he grunts and starts to move. True to his word, he thrusts into me gently, stopping short of my cervix each time. With both of my holes filled, the pain is still there, but it’s bearable. Accordingly, I am able to keep the noise down to a minimum, moaning quietly as he fucks me, not struggling in any way.

“Good girl, that’s my good girl,” he says, out loud, time and again. I’m starting to wonder if he’s doing it to humiliate me, when all of a sudden I feel his breath on my neck. Whispering: “Listen to me very carefully. I’m a friend. I’m only doing this because I have to. This cell is under 24-hour surveillance, and I can’t afford to blow my cover. You understand that better than anyone, don’t you, Miss Patterson?”

He knows my name! I’m so shocked that I jerk under him, inadvertently impaling myself deeper. While I bite my tongue to stifle a cry of pain, he laughs out loud. “Silly girl, you can’t get away. Now lie nice and still, or this will hurt a lot more than it has to.”

In the next second, he is whispering again, resuming where he left off: “I’m so sorry, Miss Patterson. More sorry than words can say. I received word of your disappearance several hours ago, and straightaway I knew you’d been captured. I don’t understand how it happened, but I promise you this – we will get you out. Even if it means blowing the whole operation. No one deserves to die like this, least of all you.”

Listening to him, my mind spins. I want to ask him his name, to confirm his identity in some way, but it isn’t possible. It is also not wise, considering my position. While ever I’m the prisoner of the Surgeon, the less I know, the better. So I nod silently as he fucks me, and when he croons to me I whimper, feigning distress. Presently, I feel him picking up the pace and I realise he’s aroused, despite everything. Inevitably, this makes him thrust deeper, causing me to cry out loud. “Mmm! Mmm! Aaah!”

I tell myself he can’t help it. He’s a man, not a robot. Then I feel his hand on my stomach, sliding down between my legs. His breaths are hot and heavy, as he whispers in my ear: “I’m going to pleasure you, if you will allow me. I’m very good at it, but you have to relax. Can you do that for me?”

Dumbly, I nod. Thinking I’ll have to fake an orgasm, just to make him feel better. But then his fingers are on my clit, feather light, and I forget about everything. It’s been a long time since anyone has touched me like that: so skilfully, so infinitesimally softly and at the same time, precisely. The mysterious agent’s fingers are playing me like a violin, drawing sounds from me that I didn’t know I was capable of – sweet, drawn out moans that rise and fall in time with his thrusts, marking each move perfectly. Miraculously, as my body tenses like a string, the pain is gone, and he knows it. He drills into me hard and fast, never ceasing the tender stroking, setting me on fire like no man before him.

“Aaah! Mmm! Aaah! Mmmm! Aaaah! Mmmm!” I moan and I cry, as pleasure washes over me, quickly building in intensity. He can feel my pussy clenching around his cock and he growls at me, even as he drives me closer to release:

“Scream for me, little vixen! I want to hear you scream!”

My legs spread wider at the words, my hips tilting sharply, allowing his hand still better access. Like a true virtuoso, he adjusts effortlessly, spearing me deep while stroking my very swollen, very wet clit lovingly. One, two, three strokes later, I feel the orgasm start – and it’s huge, a true crescendo, complete with ear splitting screams. In the moment my pussy starts to pulsate, squirting fresh wetness over his hand, he comes. I can feel his swollen cock throbbing as it shoots hot semen deep inside me, for long seconds. He stays inside me when it finishes, both of us breathing hard. Then, reluctantly, he pulls out.

“That was fun,” he says, planting a kiss on my shoulder. “I trust you’ll sleep better now.”

A great weariness washes over me, so that I can’t even nod in reply. He seems not to mind, for he leaves without another word. I drift off so fast, I don’t even hear the door close behind him.