End Game Ch. 02

The windowless basement was full of terrible steel objects. There was a fridge, microwave, dishwasher, stove, and sink.

I was forced to kneel on the cold concrete floor. The plastic cuffs had been replaced with police-issued handcuffs, steel cutting into my wrists. My tormentor sat in front of me, with the chair facing backwards, his legs straddling it. The Spiderman mask and his leather jacket were on the empty chair next to him.

He walked towards me and tore off the tape that sealed my lips, allowing me to push the wet panties out of my mouth.

"What the fuck do you want from me?" I attempted to take control, spitting in his face. It was a mistake.

He slapped me hard, dropping me to the right, my shoulder unable to properly cushion the fall with my arms behind. He yanked my hair, almost pulling the roots out until I was forced back on my knees. Warm blood flowed from my cut lips.

He laughed.

"What's so funny, motherfucking coward. If you are really a man, uncuff me and see if you can handle me one on one."

He laughed again. When he stopped, only the sound of the air conditioner could be heard.

He went down on one knee, looking me in the eye. His eyes were the coldest blue I've ever seen. It reminded me of the cold ocean waves in San Francisco.

Without warning, he pinched and twisted both my nipples through the thin fabric of my dress. The twisting continued until I screamed, involuntarily. Then he stopped.

"You will not talk unless I ask you a question, understand?"

I nodded.

He twisted my nipples until I screamed again.

"And when I ask you a question, you reply verbally, understand?"

"Yep," My tone was reluctant.

Another twist of my tits, this time raking in his fingernails. I was going hoarse on my third scream.

"You address me as sir, got that whore?"

"Yes sir." My breathing was rapid and shallow.

"Good."

He sat down and took out a cigarette, leaning back and crossing his legs.

This was very strange. What did he want? Who was behind him? Was he working alone?

As a woman, I was very effective in my line of work. Very few people expected a young blonde with an angelic face to be capable of killing. But as a woman, I knew the horrific things that would happen if captured.

A captured male assassin would be tortured. A captured female assassin would be raped and tortured, usually in that order. But my dress was still intact. Spiderman had not stuck his dick into my cunt or mouth.

Neither did he interrogate me. It was as if he already knew everything about me. This was driving me nuts. What could have gone wrong?

The last job was easy and perfectly executed. Very few people saw me in the restaurant. The client was absolutely trustworthy. Don had carefully screened him, as he had done so for all our clients. The drive out of Los Angeles was uneventful.

Also, why would anyone wait so long before making a move? If the client wanted to kill us, we would have been blown up by a car bomb or shot on the way to Vegas. The strip club in Vegas was also very dark. We were most vulnerable there when we were celebrating. I had been near naked on stage and had no weapon on me.

After Vegas, I was driving alone. Why would anyone follow me, but not shoot until he was in a gas station?

A second man entered the room. He had slick black hair that was tied back into a pony tail. His eyes were narrow and lifeless. His facial skin was so smooth it reflected the light from the single light bulb hanging from the ceiling.

Wasting no time, Oily Hair tied a rope around my neck. I was led by the rope and forced to crawl on my knees. I was made to stop in one corner of the room, which had iron hooks protruding from the floor.

The sound of metal chains came from behind me. Oily Hair had a knife. The cold knife was on the back of my neck. At first, he tried to untie the knot behind my neck. When he fumbled and failed, he simply used the knife to slice through. My dress dropped to me waist.

Oily Hair walked in a big circle around me, making sure I could see the two pairs of nipple clamps. He held them with one hand, the other stroking his chin.

"You want to guess what these are for?" Oily Hair grinned, exposing his missing front tooth.

"They are for you to link your nipple to your mother's cunt." I spit at Oily Hair right after the insult. It landed on his face and dripped down. He was stunned, but recovered quickly. After wiping his face with the back of his hand, he rubbed his hand on my hair.

"Clamped her and start taking pictures." Spiderman did what he was told.

One end of each clamp was secured to the floor hook, the other bit into the soft skin around my nipple. I gasped and bit my tongue. The world was turning gray.

One of them, I no longer could keep track, yanked back my hair, forcing me to kneel upright. The clamps bit harder into my nipple when the chains are fully extended. The camera snapped away, capturing my tortured look.

Why did they want to document the incident? Would that not be incriminating evidence? Was it just for their client to see? Were they planning to blackmail me in future, compelling me to do what they wanted, perhaps to kill for them?

The combined effects of the pain from the clamps and the delayed effect of the alcohol I consumed at the strip club were beginning to blunt my thinking. I was confused. Blackmail implied they planned to keep me alive. Was that wishful thinking?

After what seemed like a thousand camera flashes later, the clamps were painfully pulled off. Blood rushed back to my chest.

I was hogtied on my stomach, thick ropes binding my ankles and wrists together. After a few kicks from heavy boots, I was flipped over, like scrambled eggs. Facing the ceiling, my arms and legs were trapped by my own weight.

One man sat on my neck, pinched my nose and twisted one nipple. When I opened my mouth for air, he pushed his enlarged organ into my throat. I choked.

The other man kicked apart my bent knees. Spitting on his right fingers, he penetrated with three of them, skillfully prying me open. It was clear he had done this many times. Once he was satisfied I was wet enough, he straddled me and inserted his throbbing manhood.

I was double penetrated but was determined to remain silent. I would not give them the pleasure of hearing my moans and groans.

The act completed, I was made to kneel, still hogtied. Both men put their hands around my neck and started squeezing. The four hands prevented oxygen from going into my brain. The world looked black and white, then gray, and finally pure black.

>>>>>

When I regained consciousness, I was tied to a wooden chair.

To be continued in End Game Ch. 3...