Tribulations of a Spy Pt. 01

There is a moment in the life of every spy, when they look back and wonder why they became one. Some do it for their country, some do it for the thrill, some are just pushed into it. As Sani's naked body shivered, her wheatish skin covered in goose bumps, her dark nipples hard, she tried to free herself from the binds that tied her hands inches away from the floor, knowing well enough this was that moment.

A year ago, an agency so secretive that it's referred to just as 'the Agency' recruited her straight out of college in Delhi. She was virtually invisible during her time as a student. A very small group of friends, she spent most weekends studying, reading or just staying in. Her academics weren't the best, but she was smart. Clearly, or else the Agency would not have approached her.

First, they enticed her at a job fair, disguised as a recruitment firm. At a follow-up interview, they made an offer, she accepted. During the training, they asked something of her, and she wasn't sure that she could reciprocate.

She had been saving herself for marriage. She had been in a couple of relationships, but the most she would allow was being kissed and having her breasts fondled, but never under her clothes. She had only once considered giving a handjob before promptly dismissing it, and never once entertained the idea of giving head. Both relationships had ended long before the interview.

She had never been naked in front of anyone before joining the Agency, yet here she was now, sitting naked in an empty room, having been seen by at least three people that day alone. Ropes tied her hands to a hook on the floor, in the centre of the room. She could barely sit up straight, let alone stand up. She spent most of the two days she had been stuck there curled up on the floor.

She was last fed some oatmeal and warm milk two days ago and locked in a filthy toilet, handcuffed and barefoot, for an hour. She tried to find and escape route or just figure out where the hell she is, in vain. The small vent by the ceiling was double-meshed and she could only make out that there was some sunlight outside. She tried screaming for help, but was shut up by solid bangs on the door.

She could do nothing else, so she sat down and went about with her business. There was nothing in the toilet that she could possibly use as a weapon; no mirrors, no exposed cisterns, nothing sharp, nothing hard. The most damage she could do was clog the toilet. She just sat there in silence till someone would open the door. Her weapons instructor would not be happy.

With a loud rumble, a man with his face covered unlocked the toilet and dragged her out. He was a strong and imposing, a giant relative to her petite frame. He took her to a room with tiled walls and started ripping her clothes apart.

Sani had been wearing the same clothes she had worn when they took her the day before: a white shirt, slacks and black lace underwear. Only her headscarf and shoes were not with her anymore.

He began with her top. He did not rip it along the buttons. He turned her around, grabbed the collar and tore it along the middle of her back. He ripped both the sleeves at the shoulder and then then across the shoulder itself. He let the cloth fall down by her feet and sleeves slump down to her wrists.

He could have had simply pulled down her pant and panties. Instead he ripped along both sides of her slacks by the seam and let it fall down.

He crouched down and slid the back of his hand down her panties, grabbing it from the inside. He sensed her discomfort. With his other hand he grabbed the bottom of the underwear's crotch and pulled away from his other hand, all the while looking her in the eyes. He proceeded to rip the rest of her panties apart from the waistband, which he left intact for a bit. He did not have to make a show of tearing the lace, and Sani knew that.

The man stood back up, and leaned down, his face inches from Sani's. She could see her face, all deformed in the reflection in the dark glasses the man wore, her brown eyes looking for themselves. The man tore both her bra straps from the cups, placed his hands on her breasts, shifted them to the bridge of the bra and tore it. He let it fall down behind her.

He placed a palm on her belly and slid it down, under the waistband, over her vagina. He let it rest there, doing nothing. Sani should not have let him sense her discomfort earlier.

His hand stayed there for over five minutes. Sani did not know what he hoped to achieve. Did he want her to get turned on? Did he want to humiliate her if she got aroused so easily? She did not know, and so she just looked at him, trying her best to not show a single emotion.

He pulled his arm away from her, pulling at the waistband and pushing at her handcuffed arms. He stretched the band as far as it would allow. He seemed displeased, but Sani was glad that his hand was no longer on her vagina. He let go of the band.

From her sides, he grabbed the waistband with both his hand and pulled them out from under her arms and let it snap back onto her arms. He held her handcuffs and pulled her arms up, causing the waistband to slowly rise along her body till it was around her neck.

Sani heard a slight chuckle. The man placed a hand on her chest and began pulling at the waistband again. This time he did not stop till it snapped. And once it did, she fell down on her butt. She always though that it was an adequate size, but she wouldn't have minded having more mass down there.

The man ripped all the clothes with ease, but did it as roughly as he could, and all she could do was stand silently and watch her dignity be taken away. Finally, he tore through the sleeves bundled at her slim wrists by the handcuffs, collected her clothes and threw them out of the room.

He stood her up and shoved her, sending her reeling towards the wall. She tried to break the impact with her arms, but the momentum was too much and she hit the wall with her shoulder. Rubbing it, she tried to regain balance and was hit by a jet of ice-cold water, startling her. Another man with a covered face, smaller than the other, had entered the room with a hose, unnoticed.

She crouched down and balled up, hoping to avoid as much water as she could. The jet ceased for a moment and the larger man walked up to her. He grabbed both her wrists with one hand and pulled her up to her feet and hooked her handcuffs to a carabiner hanging from the ceiling.

With her arms high above her head, Sani stood there with her feet barely on the ground, as the stream of water hit her like a hundred icicles. The smaller man reduced the pressure and approached her, just out of range of her legs. He asked her to spin around and made sure that the water reached all her nooks and crannies.

She could sense that he was smiling under the bandana covering his mouth as he sprayed water at her vagina. She wanted to kick him in the face and punch the other man in the balls, but she could only stand there and lower her head. She hoped for all this to end soon and closed her eyes.

Once the smaller man was satisfied, he shut the water and left the room. The larger man followed. Sani wanted to scream at them, ask them to unhook her, to give her a towel and some dry clothes. To tell her what was going on.

They had asked her a few questions last night. Nothing that she could not answer. A woman with a covered face asked her who she was and what her business in Beirut was. Sani could make out a few strands of blonde hair jutting out of the woman's headscarf. Sani's responses did not contradict her cover story and they made no accusations.

Sani had made sure to act bewildered by it all, and she was sure that it had worked. Until they put her in a car, with a black sack over her head. She wasn't exactly sure where she was being questioned, but sure as hell would know where they were taking her relative to that place. To her surprise, they did not make erratic turns and abrupt changes in directions to throw her sense of direction off. Instead, they drove steadily.

All she knew was that her abductors were American. Or at least that they spoke - whenever they spoke - with an American accent. Americans were not the enemy, or at least she was told. Mercenaries, maybe.

They had said a few words to each other when they pulled Sani out the car. She could feel the hot Middle East sun. They had driven all night. They took her inside, wherever it was and sat her at a table, a bowl of porridge and a glass of warm milk in front of her.

Cold water dripped down her skin and wet locks of her black har stuck to her face as he tried wiggling at the carabiner. She was shivering, her teeth chattering. Her arms hurt and knees were growing weak. She looked down at herself. She had never seen her nipples that hard. Her gaze went further down her slim torso. There were no bruises on her body, minus those on her arms and wrists caused by all that manhandling and manoeuvring. Any mark from being stripped seemed to have faded away.

She scanned further down and stopped at her crotch. She usually preferred shaving her pubic hair, but had gotten a Brazilian Wax a few days ago. To her surprise, she started peeing. She wanted to spread her legs as much as she could without straining her wrists any further. It was of no use. A lot of the water had already drained out and her piss started pooling at her feet.

She had seen and done many unpleasant things, but being hung out to dry, literally, while standing in her own piss truly and deeply disgusted her. And she stood in it for what felt like forever.

After an hour or so, the two men returned. They saw the pool at Sani's feet and looked at each other. Her body hung there shivering, mostly dry but for the water dripping from her hair. The smaller man walked out and returned with the hose.

Sani began screaming, begging them to not douse her in cold water again. She had made a mistake by doing so, and she knew it. The larger man walked right up to her, unconcerned about the piss, and placed his large hand on her mouth. She tried biting it, and knew that she was only making it worse.

In one swift movement, he was behind her, applying a chokehold. Her raised shoulders were barely an obstacle to his muscular arm. He did not want her unconscious, just wanted to hurt her. He was every effective. Sani struggled for a moment before going docile, pleading him to stop. He did, eventually, but only after the smaller man washed the piss and then doused her again. The larger man did not mind getting wet.

Once free from the choke, she began gasping for air, but a spray of ice-cold water to the face made it really hard. She was told to spin around again, and she did, if only to catch her breath. They left her to dry for another hour as she began sobbing as quietly as she could.

She had fallen asleep hanging there when the larger man returned, his clothes now dry. He flicked at her nipple and Sani was jolted awake. He stood there for a minute, just looking at her. He walked around behind her and pressed his crotch against her butt. She did not like it, but welcomed his body heat. Then she felt his penis harden in his trousers. She tolerated it, as she had tolerated so many things that day.

He grabbed around her waist with his arm and lifted her up. He unhooked her from the carabiner and dropped her on the cold floor. Before she could collect herself, he held her shoulders, propped her up and pressed her face against his hard penis. Sani did not resist. She needed any warmth.

He pulled her up to her feet and took her out into the corridor. Sani did not walk as much as she was moved. Now that blood was rushing back into her arms, she could feel how much they truly hurt.

She was brought into yet another room. It was windowless, but large enough to be a studio apartment. It could have been an interrogation room, but the lack of any furniture and no one-way mirror made her reconsider. She saw a sliding peephole on the door on her way in. Perhaps this was an isolation cell; the grey walls and floor clearly indicated that.

The man shut the metal door behind them and walked her to the middle of the room. He turned her to face him and uncuffed her. Before she could flex and relax her wrists, she was pushed down onto the cold floor, her hands pinned behind her back.

He straddled Sani's back; her hands tucked under his thighs. All air escaped her feeble body as he put his weight on her and she struggled to breathe till he got up. He took out a rope from his pocket and began looping it through a hook on the floor that she had just noticed. One by one, he tied her hands.

Sani gasped for air as he got up. She wanted sit up for a moment, but the man pushed her down and pressed the side of her face against the floor with his boot. He was not pushing hard, just enough to not let her move her head. He stepped off her face and backed up when a woman walked in a few minutes later.

Sani studied her. Blonde, she was probably only a few inches taller than her, but curvier and muscular at the same time. Sani guessed that the woman was in her early 40's, about twice her own age. She stood there for a moment, looking down at Sani with a look that was either one of pity or contempt. From Sani's vantage, it was hard not the notice the woman's breasts stretching the fabric of her white t-shirt, looking larger than they were because of just how thin the rest of her body looked in contrast.

She introduced herself as Cathy. Sani recognized that voice from the questioning the previous night. She helped Sani sit up and crouched down in front of her. Sani was thankful of how gentle Cathy's warm touch felt, but was certain where things would go from here.

They would probably try the "Good Cop/Bad Cop" routine on her. She would try and build some trust and seemingly protect Sani from the man. Sani needed to play dumb and not reveal anything that could out her as a spy; be scared. She would go along with whatever they do.

Cathy started drying Sani's damp hair with the towel she brought in with her. While not saying much, she dried the hair as much as she could and tucked stray strands behind Sani's ears, away from her face, which Cathy held in her hands.

"I know you're cold, Sani. I know you're confused, but it will all make sense soon," said Cathy, as reassuring as one could be. Sani could feel the man roll his eyes behind his shades. "Until then, however, there's not much I can do to help you. These guys here won't let me do much."

With that, the man pushed Sani out of Cathy's hands forced her to lie down flat on her back. Her hands were strained to one side by the rope and the man pushed down on her throat with a hand to strain her breathing. Cathy leaned in close.

"I hope you finished the food we gave you earlier."

Sani nodded.

"I also hope you relieved yourself when you were locked in the toilet, both the businesses."

Sani nodded again.

"I heard you pissed yourself in the shower. I can understand that, you were probably really cold." Cathy glanced up at the man.

Sani's eyes darted between the two.

"You were doused twice because of that," continued Cathy. "If I were you, I wouldn't do that in this room. The consequences would be worse, or so they tell me. We'll take you the toilet the next time we come see you."

Cathy could see a question form on Sani's lips.

"When?" confirmed Cathy, before shooting a quick smile at the mam. "Hmm... Forty-eight hours from now? That sounds good."

The man agreed, as Sani could only look at them in disbelief, too strained to say words of protest. This was not "Good Cop/Bad Cop."

Cathy leaned in even closer, her nose touching Sani's. Sani's eyes couldn't widen anymore, so she shut them tight. She could smell Cathy's breath and it was a much-needed relief, if she could call it a relief, from the strong musk of the two sweaty men. It smelled like... she wasn't sure, but it was sweet and reminded her of a much better place.

"In the meantime, maybe think back to your training" whispered Cathy.

Sani did not move a muscle. She did not want to give anything away, but she knew that it would be of no help now. They knew who she was.

"Think back to what your Agency wanted you to be, Sani." She touched Sani's chin and traced a line town to one of her nipples. She felt how erect it was and gently stroked it. "You feel that? Do you like that? Do you like being what they wanted you to be?"

Cathy stopped playing with the hard nipple and whispered in an even softer voice, "I'm sure two days are more than enough to think about it. Good luck, Sani."

She began to pull her face away from Sani's before leaning back in again. She kissed her on the lips, a very slight but loud peck. With that, Sani's eyes shot wide open and followed Cathy as she got up and left the room.

Before the man followed Cathy out, he pressed down harder on Sani's throat, not letting her breathe at all. The man watched as her face turned red and eyes began tearing up.

Once the man found an arbitrary sense of satisfaction, he left the room, locking the door behind him. Instead of sitting back up, she lay on her side, curled up tight around the hook, in a foetal position, panting and coughing, sucking in as much air as she could with each breath.

She had become exactly what the Agency wanted her to be.

to be continued...