The Training

The Terrorist Groups Infiltration Strategy, or TGIS for short, is an extremely-closely guarded secret of the European Community. It has been in existence for three years and is basically a spy network. I am no longer Pia Matteri. I am now Operative 43 and my ground, as we call it, is southern Switzerland and northern Italy. I am fluent in Italian, French and English and I am currently monitoring, from within, three neo-Nazi groups.

What I am going to tell you is what happened to me during the final part of my training in Scotland. But firstly, a bit of background: I had been a member of Interpol for just over two years with three citations and two important arrests bringing an escaped murderer and an internationally wanted paedophile to justice. One night, out of the blue, I was approached by a senior officer from Interpol and a beautiful but silent, foreign-looking woman. The officer was a recruiting agent for TGIS and in half an hour I was hooked. One of the stipulations, and there were many, was that I should be single with no dependents. My short-lived marriage had ended before I joined Interpol when I caught my husband in bed with my aunt so the stipulation proved to be no problem.

The training and induction took place over a four month period in five secret locations somewhere in Germany, France, Switzerland, Ireland and Scotland. We learned everything that could be learned about making and defusing bombs; guns and neutralising ammunition; unarmed combat; terror cells and their relationship with each other. Then those of us who made the grade were divided into sectors depending on our fluency in languages and our physical looks. I have dark hair and brown eyes and have been told in the past that I have the Latin look; hence my placing in the so-called Italian sector.

The final three weeks of our training prior to deep induction into our "ground", or the groups we would try and infiltrate, was concerned with questioning and torture techniques. The look of horror on several faces was met with a curt reminder that we would be dealing with dangerous people and not boy scouts or girl guides. We were shown filmed torture methods which were pretty horrific and also, strangely enough, not very effective. One hooded man who was tied to a plank and constantly submerged in water to the point of drowning refused even to give his name and nationality. Another who was burned with cigarettes and electrodes merely screamed and cried. The success rate for such questioning methods we were duly informed was around 22% and involved delay and international disapproval (Guantanamo for example).

"Some terrorists will use the methods you have just seen if you are unlucky to be caught out. My advice is die quickly and save yourself the pain," spoke the male instructor. "However, the more intelligent terrorist will use a variety of methods ranging from brutality to threats against your family to truth serums to poring out their love for you."

Many of us were perplexed but he didn't explain further.

Later, at dinner, I was seated next to my room mate, Anya, a blonde Russian ex-Olympian athlete who spoke 8 languages fluently and was extremely pretty. "I have heard that we are going to be vaccinated against truth serums so that won't be a problem. But I don't like the idea of brutality."

"Me neither," I said. "I think we just have to be careful we don't end up being tortured."

Before we said any more, our instructor called for our attention. "After you finish your dinner go to your rooms. You will find clothes that have been left out for you. Get showered and changed. It is the responsibility of your room mate to ensure that you do change. Is that clear?" Everyone answered yes. "Meet in the common room at 7 sharp."

Anya and I wordlessly went up, not knowing what to expect. We closed the door behind us and saw two boxes on the beds. Our names were written across the top. I opened mine and saw a short black dress. Frowning, I looked across at Anya who was holding up an identical dress except it was white. She looked in the box and her eyes lit up. I took out the black dress and saw, underneath, sheer black stockings and a set of royal blue underwear; silk and lace bra and thong and suspender belt. They looked expensive, new and possibly uncomfortable. Never in my life had I worn a thong or suspenders and stockings. Anya's set of underwear was a mint green colour of the same design.

I must have been shaking my head because Anya reminded me, "Remember what he said. I'm responsible for you. So get into the shower, Pia."

I was soaping myself down, thinking to myself what the hell was going to happen? Why the clothes? I always felt happy in my casual t shirts and training bottoms, never mind my plain cotton pants and tennis bras. Anya's knocking on the door put an end to my thinking.

While Anya was in the shower I started to change. I put the bra on and was actually surprised by how comfortable it felt. My nipples had stiffened a bit after the shower as they always tend to do and I could feel them pushing against the silk and lace. I thought to forego the thong as nobody would notice but I slipped into the sheer nylons and I have to admit they did feel nice. Strange but nice. I put on the suspender belt and hooked up the nylons but it somehow didn't feel right. I could hear Anya drying herself so I swiftly pulled on the black dress and adjusted myself.

Anya came out. She wore the towel over her damp hair and was naked apart from that. Instantly I felt a pang of jealousy when I saw her toned athlete body and stiff breasts. And for the first time in my life I saw a woman with no hair between her legs. I must have been staring because Anya smiled and said, "I see you're ready."

"Oh, yes. I suppose I am."

"Right, you check me. I check you."

"Pardon," I answered, taken aback.

"Responsibility, remember?"

She put on her bra first and said, "bra." Then she slipped on the thong, turned around and pulled it between the tight cheeks of her bottom, saying "thong." Then she slowly pulled on the white stockings, smoothing them over her thighs. "Stockings." Next came the suspender and she expertly slipped this around her hips and attached it to the stocking tops. "Suspender belt."

While I was watching her, transfixed, I felt a little something between my legs; a tiny touch as if someone was touching me with the tip of a feather.

"Now show me, Pia."

"P.. P.. Pardon? What?" I stammered.

"Show me that you have put on all your underwear."

"The hell I will."

She came over to me and whispered fiercely, "I don't know what game they are playing here tonight but I do know that if you are not dressed fully I will be held responsible."

Her stare was challenging and she reached for the hem of my dress but I brushed her hands away. "OK," I sighed, "I get the message."

I removed the dress and saw Anya suppress a smile. "Almost sexy, apart from one little detail," she said. "Where are they?"

I sighed again, reached under my pillow and removed the thong.

"Go!" she ordered.

"Well, turn around!" I said, my face becoming crimson.

As Anya turned round and started slipping the white dress over her head I quickly slipped out of my white cotton pants and eased the thong up my legs, feeling the lace brush my skin. The elastic of the thong settled immediately in the depth between my bottom cheeks and I eased it down.

"OK. Finished," I said.

Anya turned around and immediately made a face. "Er, you need a bit of help, Pia."

"What?"

"Well, first of all, you need a trim. Your hairs are showing and that's bad. And secondly your belt is all wrong."

I looked down at the thong between my legs and knew she was right. It looked as if a hairy animal was squashed in there. All I could do was look at her with a helpless expression.

"I'm not used to dressing like this," I sighed. "Will it matter?"

"My guess? Yes, it will. For whatever their plans are tonight, if they want us to look like lingerie models, we have to be look like lingerie models."

"OK," was all I could offer.

"You want me to help you?"

I nodded but then whispered, "If you tell anyone I'll have to kill you."

She frowned at the task ahead. "And vice versa, Pia."

I removed my thong, belt and stockings as Anya got out her scissors and battery-operated razor. She motioned for me to lie on my back on the bed.

There was total silence as she began snipping away and I tried to mentally remove myself from the situation by thinking of the course and certain theoretical concepts we had gone through. Then I felt Anya spreading my legs apart and it became impossible to think of anything else. I heard the razor start and felt Anya's hand stretching the skin down below. When the razor came into contact with the stubble just above my clitoris I jerked.

"Sorry," said Anya. "But if I don't do this properly it'll itch like mad."

For two minutes she shaved the whole area without causing me too much discomfort or embarrassment. When the razor was switched off I felt really relieved.

"All done."

"Thanks," I felt I had to say that as I'm sure it wasn't entirely enjoyable for her either. Afterall, neither of us were lesbians. And I was pretty sure, like me, she wasn't bisexual.

"Now put the thong on first," she handed it to me.

The difference was huge. I felt the material against my sex which I never did before. The feeling gave me goose-pimples in a nice way. Strange but nice. But I still did not like the invasive elastic between my cheeks and tried to lower it.

"No. It must disappear into the valley like this," admonished Anya, as she pulled the thong up at the back. As she did so the lace rubbed against my clitoris. "When it's wedged in your bottom you feel sexy. Now the suspender."

I put the suspender belt on and she adjusted it to the correct position. Next came my stockings and she showed me how to connect them to the straps.

As I eased the dress on she nodded and complimented me, "Now you look beautiful."

"You too," I said. And I meant it because she definitely was.

When we made our way down towards the common room I realised with some embarrassment that my thong was moist.

When we all came together I saw that all the room-mates were dressed similarly in black and white tuxedos or dresses. I found sitting down awkward as I was very conscious of the thong elastic nestling in the crack of my bottom and the gentle swish of the stockings as I crossed my legs.

Our mutual admiration however was short-lived as the instructor entered, flanked by two male and two female operatives. "Listen up, everybody. The twenty of you who remain will be divided into five teams of four. Two teams of female and three of male."

He then proceeded to call out the names of each group and we were told to stand to one side. In Group B, I was called out first, followed by Anya, then a French woman called Lisette and a Bulgarian called Hanna. Dark-skinned Lisette was possibly even more beautiful than Anya and she reminded me of Halle Berry in 'Gothika'. Hanna was blonde and petite and quite innocent looking.

"Remember, this session is about questioning techniques," went on the instructor. "The first named in each of the groups has secret information, it is up to the rest of you to get it. Each group will be assigned an instructor to tell you how to get that information. Now, the first named in each group, please step forward."

With some trepidation I approached and was shown a slip of paper with the name of a person. I memorised it and returned to my group.

"One final warning," spoke the instructor. "To show you that we take this seriously: If you divulge the name you have been given you are a liability and will be asked to pack your bags and return home. If any interrogator eases up in their duty they too will leave this course. You will each be questioned over the course of tonight and tomorrow and you will each have the chance to interrogate and be interrogated. Any questions?"

There weren't any so we silently trooped off with our instructors. Our team was allocated to a pretty Japanese woman we knew as Mitzi. At this point I must admit that I was scared of the unknown. Yet I realised they would not have had me dress in sexy clothes if they were going to beat the information out of me.

Mitzi led us out of the main building into a small concrete outhouse then she turned on us. I saw a flicker of something in her eyes as she looked at me for the first time.

"Lock the door!" she commanded. "Why are you not restraining her? She is a prisoner!"

Hanna and Lisette, startled by her tone of voice, grabbed my arms and held them behind my back.

"Has anyone thought of checking her for weapons, suicide capsules or recording material?"

Anya hesitated so Mitzi barked, "I'll do it then you three take over the interrogation."

She came over to me and told me to open my mouth. I thought I'd act like a real prisoner and refused to cooperate. She slapped me. Hard. Tears formed in my eyes and I quickly opened my mouth. She seemed disappointed.

"No capsules!"

Then she ran her fingers through my hair and behind my ears, checking no doubt for wires. Her fingers kneaded my shoulders and probed along the neckline of my dress. She stared into my eyes and I began to understand what she was about to do. My body tensed as she slowly ran her hands down over my breasts, squeezing firmly, and on down my sides. Still looking into my eyes, she knelt in front of me, removed my shoes and slowly traced her hands up my stocking-clad legs, squeezing the inside of my thighs as she progressed higher.

"Tell us the name and I will stop!"

I shook my head and I thought she was going to smile. Her probing fingers reached the limit of my legs and fluttered over the silk and lace. My legs almost gave way but I was determined to show no weakness because I knew she would play on it. Suddenly, without warning, she slipped a finger inside the elastic and entered my moist fanny. My legs faltered and, just as I groaned, she wriggled her finger about while her thumb pressed down on my clitoral hood.

"The name?"

I gritted my teeth and shook my head fiercely from side to side. I wasn't sure if what had just happened constituted sexual molestation or the practice of interrogation. But I knew I was being given a choice to stay or to go. Mitzi removed her finger and patted my thong.

"She's all yours, ladies!"

She told them to bring me over to a table where my hands were bound tightly above my head and my legs were forced apart and held by foam-covered straps on each side.

Mitzi called Anya, Lisette and Hanna to one side and told them what to do. Over the noise of my own heartbeat and almost silent sobs I could hear parts of the conversation. No mercy ..... the name ..... cunt ..... nipples ..... no time for inhibitions ..... the tools.

It didn't take long to find out what the tools were. The straps that bound my legs were hoisted about two feet into the air and I watched, dumbstruck, as my dress slowly cascaded down my legs, displaying my suspenders and blue thong. I hoped the dampness wasn't showing through. I fought back the sobs as I saw Mitzi easing herself onto a high chair with a clipboard on her lap. Then I saw Anya's face at the foot of the table, between my legs. I couldn't detect any sympathy from my room-mate.

"Last chance. Do you want to tell us the name?" Anya's voice sounded strange.

"What name?" I was dreading the humiliation and the revulsion for having other females doing anything sexually-motivated to me. I had never in my life entertained the thought. Yet, throwing in the towel was not in my plans.

A velvet blindfold was tied carefully over my eyes but, under it, I still closed my eyes for the ordeal and then immediately felt hands softly caressing my thighs, up and down and inside and outside. Then I felt more hands over my breasts gently squeezing and massaging. The tears began to flow silently now as Anya kept up a steady, rhythmic request for the name. Just the name and I would be free.

The fingers now crept up to the bare skin between stocking tops and my thong, teasing and caressing. My breasts were still being fondled and then I felt hot breath on my neck. I briefly wondered if it was Hanna or Lisette who was whispering in my ear, "Tell us the name!" Then, simultaneously, I felt a wet tongue in my ear and several fingers dancing over my thong. To my dismay I realised that my own body was betraying me and causing my sex and thong to become wet. I knew with certainty then that the wetness on the thin blue material would soon be visible. I felt a fingernail scratching and teasing the material that covered my sex.

Frantically I tried to think of something not even remotely connected with how my body was reacting. Then suddenly there was silence and the hands ceased their movement. With some elation I thought that was all there was to it. Mistake!

I heard something being shifted around and then I felt something hard and cold against the back of my right knee.

A sharp shock. My leg spasmed in response. "What the .....?" I thought.

The other knee. Then the front of my thigh. I realised these were very minor currents of electricity but in the right position they were powerful enough to cause the body to spasm. The sole of my foot. The back of my hand. Higher on my thigh. My hip.

"What is the name?" asked Lisette.

I remained silent.

Then I felt the electric rod in that area between stocking and thong. The jolts came: one, two, three, four, five. I thought I needed to pee. Then again on the other leg: one, two, three, four, five. My legs and pelvic area were trembling. The muscles reacting to the stimuli.

"The name?"

I gritted my teeth. Then the rod was placed directly over my thong-covered clitoris. I think I screamed when a prolonged current left me jerking like mad. The electric current wasn't really painful but I could damn well feel it and in its immediate aftermath I felt an intense rush. Hard to explain if you've never felt it.

"The name?"

"Go to hell!" I grunted. My jerking abated just long enough for them to home in on the clitoris again. I screamed once more. With stunning clarity I realised that my clitoris was rigid, straining against the lace and silk. And I realised also that I was very wet now.

The shocks stopped and my breathing and spasms slowed down.

"Look how wet her thong is!"

I suddenly felt very naked and exposed and immensely embarrassed.

"She must be a lesbian," purred Hanna. "She's enjoying this."

"Let's look under her thong," suggested Lisette. "I want to see her fanny."

"Hey, Pia, can we all look in your thong and see just how wet you are?" asked Anya, her voice sounded like a schoolgirl threatening me.

For some reason I remembered what she looked like when she emerged from the bathroom and my clitoris gave an involuntary twitch. Stop it, I screamed silently to myself, these thoughts aren't you!

"If you don't give us the name we'll look," warned Anya.

I didn't answer and then I felt fingers go under the crotch of the thong, the knuckles rubbing against my sex. Suddenly I felt cool air down there. I think I began sobbing again.

"She's shaved down there. Look how wet she is," purred Lisette.

Fingers pulled my sex lips apart and touched my rigid clitoris and I felt some liquid escape and run down into the valley, as Anya called it.

"Maybe we should film this, show it to the others. Put it on YouTube even. Would you like that, Pia?" Hanna's voice was taunting now.

"This will make her give up the name," I heard Lisette say, followed by several gasps. I strained to look down but could see nothing through the blindfold. Then I heard a buzzing sound and my mind went into overdrive. I had no idea what they were planning and yet, in one dark corner of my brain, I hoped it would give me orgasmic joy. I couldn't possibly be more embarrassed and I knew my clitoris was still itching for attention. My nipples too felt hard and sore. I was intensely aroused despite the fact that I still detested the thought of being touched intimately by another female. Never mind having an audience as well.