The spy's wife

[the savage]

Sarah hated this country. With her long blonde hair and the fact that she wasn’t constantly covered in a black bee keepers outfit made her stand out like a sore thumb. The way the men of the city leered at her made her stay home as much as possible. Somehow she got the feeling that if one of them decided to drag her into an alleyway and rape her, the police wouldn’t really do that much about it. Which was why she was doubly nervous now. Eyes flitting around as she walked hurriedly through the streets towards the police station. Her husband hadn’t come home last night, and here that meant he had probably been kidnapped by extremists. If things weren’t done quickly things wouldn’t go well for him. At only 24 she felt she was far too young to be a widow.
After giving her name and explaining her situation to a dull eyed man in uniform at the front desk, he strikes some keys on the keyboard. Amazing that they even have computers here, in what she thinks of as the asshole of the world. “Oh we have an officer who deals with situations like yours.” If Sarah had been better at reading the people of this country she probably would have noticed the gleam in his eye when he said that. “Please wait here, while I get him for you.”
Sighing, typical assbackwards bureaucracy in this country. There is only one person who knows what to do, and of course he’ll probably have to be bribed. She straightens her dress the longest she owns that comes down to the middle of her claves. Still, it is slinky by the standards of this country, as it has no sleeves. Surprisingly it takes only ten minutes for the man to show up.
He is tall, towering over six feet. And unlike most of the people in positions of power here his uniform is not draped in gold braid and medals. Maybe that’s a good sign. “Come with me, Mrs. Anderson, and we’ll see what we can do about your husband.”
Standing up with a thank you, she follows him deeper into the building. Somehow she misses the fact that they have gone through three stairways, heading ever deeper underground. Past the second security checkpoint she is nervous. Wary and on her toes, she watches him punch in a complex string of numbers before finally opening what he calls his office.
Sarah walks in, and stops dead in her tracks. Barely registering as the door closes behind her with a loud click. In the middle of the room, tied to a chair is her husband. “John…” she says as she takes one step forward. Then she sees his face. Nose broken, both eyes swollen almost shut, blood dribbling from his mouth and staining his shirt. Which is burned in several places.
“John, what’s going on.”
The voice from behind her, “Good, you are the Mrs. Anderson that our files show. This makes things simpler for us.” She watches as his heads turns towards her husband. “Maybe you’ll talk now.”
Sarah watches as tears stream down he her husbands face, but he shakes his head no. “That’s most unfortunate for your wife.”
Sarah turns towards him, demanding to know what is going on. That they both be released to the American consulate. The only response she gets is his pistol cracking her across the face. As she drops to her knees in pain, thinking how she didn’t even see him take it off his belt.
Everything is hazy for a few minutes, barely feeling his hands as the strip every shred of clothing off of her, and drag her to a position only feet from her husband. Helpless to help, though as his binds are tight and the chair is clearly bolted to the floor.
“Last chance.” When there is no sound but his sobbing, the man smiles. “Good, because I have always wanted to rape a decadent American whore.” At the last word he slams into her hard. The pain brings Sarah back, and she begins to shriek and thrash. Her actions are without purpose, no overall plan behind them.
The man, with ease belying much practices, catching one of her hands and snaps her middle finger. Bringing forth a new howl of pain, matching the ones that come with each forceful thrust. But the pain slams her in her tracks. Hands dropping to cover her face, as the mans stinking breath washes over her. He’s gasping with each thrust. Matching her own mewling of pain.
Twisting her head towards her husband, both eyes streaked with tears. “help…. Me” Her voice is already horse.
Her head is slammed against the rough concrete, “He already had his chance!” Screamed into her ear from inches away, penetrating the ringing. She feels his rough hands closing around her tits. A new pain jolts through her, he treats them as roughly as everything else.
He grunts out words, “Tell.. me.. and .. it ..all .. stops.” Nothing. With a final twist of her abused nipples, and a slam that causes her entire body to slide on the floor, he cums. But he doesn’t stop thrusting, until the final explosion.
Sarah sobs on the floor, muttering why, over and over again. “You’ll talk eventually. Torture, or watching all 300 cops in this station have their way with your wife, something will break you.”