he’d do it.
He was going to retaliate, and she had to stop him.
Chapter Eleven
It was still dark when she crept out of bed, the soles of
her feet chilly against the wooden floor. Dawn would break soon—she could smell
it in the air. She made a circuit of the cabin, finding every room empty, the
couch as pristine as when they’d first come in. All the better, especially if
it meant Alexi was using the hunting skills he’d boasted about to get them a
nice fat chicken or one of the squirrels she had seen romping through the tall
grass behind the cottage.
The armoire complained with a loud creaking noise. She froze
and waited—still nothing. Laid out on the unmade bed, the weapons didn’t look
like much. One long bullwhip and one short lash, a leather collar with a chain
that could be attached to one of the iron rings on the wall, clamps of various
sizes, a small bottle of something liquid, handcuffs linked with a chain, two
paddles, a scattering of plush feathers (“The hell?” she muttered), a metal bar
with slightly larger cuffs on either end and two strange devices—leather straps
that secured like belts with loops on the sides. She tried one around her
wrist, but it was far too big for that, then measured it around her waist. Even
if she could have gotten the flange in the very first hole, she’d need an
eighteen-inch waist to secure it.
“Weird,” she muttered, tossing it back on the bed.
Everything was in good shape, the metal devices oiled, the leather supple, but
none of the items were among the usual arsenal of interrogation, in her limited
experience. And why would they be packed in with condoms? If anything, they
looked more like ¼
She sat down on the bed, laughing herself sick. OSO has
conscripted some kinky couple’s personal bondage den into a government safe
house. Unfortunately she had even more limited experience with that world. What
was she supposed to do with a feather, tickle him into not pushing the button?
Shaking her head, she gathered up the bedroom weaponry and
began to replace it. Better to use her cunning and speed, she thought, or a
sturdy chair leg, to finish the job. If Alexi was planning on taking her out
before he made his move, she would need all of her skills to prevent him. What
she couldn’t understand was what was taking him so long. Not just the sex, surely.
A man like that would have no trouble finding any number of gorgeous girls
willing to take his rough commands, to worship his cock, to bend over for him—a
spreader bar! That’s what that thing was, she realized, warmth flowing into her
pussy. Her nipples grew hard as she turned the possibilities over in her
mind—on all fours, her ankles secured by the cuffs, the stiff bar keeping her
legs wide open, waiting for his cock to punish her.
She let out a groan. Best not to think of that now.
The armoire sported a hook or a niche for each item, but she
was having trouble returning the spreader bar to the notch carved out of the
wood. There was a hook in the way that had come loose and dangled over the
space. She reached in and wiggled it when her hand plunged through the back of
the cabinet.
The hook must have been a key to a little hidden door. She
could feel a shallow shelf, and on the shelf, something cool and square. She
lifted it out carefully.
Oh this was better than anything in the kinky closet. She clicked
the On button and waited. A light flashed orange, then green. A
satellite phone, and it had some juice. Now to hope it was linked to the OSO
code, a secure two-way channel. She punched it in and a dim screen opened:
5500055 to 001. Eureka!
“Target mobilizing extreme aggression. CRF No. 2 Umarov.
Cardinal over.” Then, for insurance, she typed in, “Image of geo map all supply
routes/land mines w/in 10 km to come. Please acknowledge.” She would get that
information later.
The next few seconds felt like hours as she waited for the
screen to light up again, her heart pounding out of her chest,
He was going to retaliate, and she had to stop him.
Chapter Eleven
It was still dark when she crept out of bed, the soles of
her feet chilly against the wooden floor. Dawn would break soon—she could smell
it in the air. She made a circuit of the cabin, finding every room empty, the
couch as pristine as when they’d first come in. All the better, especially if
it meant Alexi was using the hunting skills he’d boasted about to get them a
nice fat chicken or one of the squirrels she had seen romping through the tall
grass behind the cottage.
The armoire complained with a loud creaking noise. She froze
and waited—still nothing. Laid out on the unmade bed, the weapons didn’t look
like much. One long bullwhip and one short lash, a leather collar with a chain
that could be attached to one of the iron rings on the wall, clamps of various
sizes, a small bottle of something liquid, handcuffs linked with a chain, two
paddles, a scattering of plush feathers (“The hell?” she muttered), a metal bar
with slightly larger cuffs on either end and two strange devices—leather straps
that secured like belts with loops on the sides. She tried one around her
wrist, but it was far too big for that, then measured it around her waist. Even
if she could have gotten the flange in the very first hole, she’d need an
eighteen-inch waist to secure it.
“Weird,” she muttered, tossing it back on the bed.
Everything was in good shape, the metal devices oiled, the leather supple, but
none of the items were among the usual arsenal of interrogation, in her limited
experience. And why would they be packed in with condoms? If anything, they
looked more like ¼
She sat down on the bed, laughing herself sick. OSO has
conscripted some kinky couple’s personal bondage den into a government safe
house. Unfortunately she had even more limited experience with that world. What
was she supposed to do with a feather, tickle him into not pushing the button?
Shaking her head, she gathered up the bedroom weaponry and
began to replace it. Better to use her cunning and speed, she thought, or a
sturdy chair leg, to finish the job. If Alexi was planning on taking her out
before he made his move, she would need all of her skills to prevent him. What
she couldn’t understand was what was taking him so long. Not just the sex, surely.
A man like that would have no trouble finding any number of gorgeous girls
willing to take his rough commands, to worship his cock, to bend over for him—a
spreader bar! That’s what that thing was, she realized, warmth flowing into her
pussy. Her nipples grew hard as she turned the possibilities over in her
mind—on all fours, her ankles secured by the cuffs, the stiff bar keeping her
legs wide open, waiting for his cock to punish her.
She let out a groan. Best not to think of that now.
The armoire sported a hook or a niche for each item, but she
was having trouble returning the spreader bar to the notch carved out of the
wood. There was a hook in the way that had come loose and dangled over the
space. She reached in and wiggled it when her hand plunged through the back of
the cabinet.
The hook must have been a key to a little hidden door. She
could feel a shallow shelf, and on the shelf, something cool and square. She
lifted it out carefully.
Oh this was better than anything in the kinky closet. She clicked
the On button and waited. A light flashed orange, then green. A
satellite phone, and it had some juice. Now to hope it was linked to the OSO
code, a secure two-way channel. She punched it in and a dim screen opened:
5500055 to 001. Eureka!
“Target mobilizing extreme aggression. CRF No. 2 Umarov.
Cardinal over.” Then, for insurance, she typed in, “Image of geo map all supply
routes/land mines w/in 10 km to come. Please acknowledge.” She would get that
information later.
The next few seconds felt like hours as she waited for the
screen to light up again, her heart pounding out of her chest,
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