textfiles/sex/EROTICA/R/rpwar.txt

Subject: The Cold War Game (mf,rape,violence)


                          The Cold War Game
                                 by
                               Caelie



MI-6 is the British agency responsible for international espionage.
During the Cold War, British and Soviet Agents engaged in a
secret 'chess' game.  The penelties endured by a captured
'piece' were not pleasant...

Moscow, 1986

She couldn't even begin to guess how long she'd been chained up
in this dank, musty smelling place.  It could have been hours,
but it was probably more like days.  She was famished, thirsty,
had to pee, and her ass was numb from sitting for so long.  It
was the worst on her arms, cramped from being hung over her head
for so long.  Wherever she was, it was completely dark with no
walls to even lean against.  She had tried shouting a few times,
but there was no echo to help judge the size of the room.  Hell,
she could be in the middle a cave for all she knew.

She had been in Moscow for several months, officially an office
administrator at the British embassy, but it seemed the soviets
were on to her real reason for being here.  The last thing she
remembered was cuddling up with a good book in her small flat,
and blacking out completely.  Some sort of sleeping gas, no
doubt.

The metal bands cut painfully into her wrists.  But the pain kept
her somewhat alert in this otherwise void environment.  In fact,
unless something happened soon, another sensation she'd be
feeling would be the pee puddling between her legs.  Criminy,
wouldn't that just be lovely!

But something did happen.  The light was blinding, and Renee was
almost knocked out by the shock.  Through the haze she heard a
door open behind her and then someone was unlocking the bindings
on her feet.  Without warning she was lifted to her feet.  The
pain shot through her cramped legs like a hot wire, causing her
to scream.  Her arms were next.  Whoever it was (or were there
two?) shoved her arms behind her back, and cuffed them.  She was
sure she would pass out this time as the agony shot through her
shoulders and arms.

She still couldn't see.  The light was too intense, at least
after sitting in the dark for who knew how long.  She was
forcibly marched down corridor after corridor.  Several times she
stumbled, and was lifted back up by her hair, or the cuffs.
Tears streamed down her face, but she remained quiet.

At last they stopped.  'Ah, the English woman.  Thank you that is
all' someone said in Russian.

Her Russian was quite good, but in english she said 'I am a
British subject, and demand you release me immediately!'  She was
scared, but mad as hell all the same.  Also her vision was
clearing a bit, and she began to see shadows.

Someone hit her in the face and she went sprawling to the cement
floor.  She felt a small trickle of blood on her lip.  The hit
and the fall hurt, but she realised just then she was still
wearing the terry-cloth robe she'd been wearing in the flat.  It
had fallen open as she hit the ground.  What a sight that must
be! She thought.  She hadn't been wearing anything underneath,
and now felt even more vulnerable.

In what Renee guessed to be an Oxford-educated English accent,
the man spoke again.  'So this is what MI-6 is sending against us
now, is it?  What wonderful sport!  I do hope you will be
uncooperative.  It's always more fun for me that way.  Now for
the formalities.  Please state your name and who your contact
is.'

Her vision was getting better.  She had stood back up and could
see the man was a little more than six feet tall, wearing the
sort of green uniform the police here wore.  He dominated over
her own 5'7' frame.  Trying to control her voice she replied.
'My name is Renee Hamill.  I am a secretary for the British
attache'.  I demand . . . '

Again he smacked her, and then laughed.  'My dear, you may demand
nothing of me.'  He walked around behind her and yanked her up by
her hair.  His left arm wrapped around her, and he grabbed her
naked breast and squeezed roughly.  'On the other hand, Ms.
Hamill . . . may I call you Renee?  I am in a very good position
to demand anything of you.'

'Please . . . please don't hurt me.'   She was so thirsty,
probably hadn't had any nourishment in days.  It inhibited her
thoughts, adding to her fright.

His right hand had strayed down to her belly.  She could feel his
bulge through the terry-cloth up against her.  'You need only
tell me your real reason for being here, and who your contact is
my dear, and this will all be over.'

'I don't know what you're talking . . . '  Like a snake striking,
his hand darted down to her clit.  Before she could react, his
finger had violently penetrated her.  The pain and surprise
caused her to involuntarily void her bladder.

He only laughed and wiped his hand on her robe.  He ran it along
her lip.  'It will get much worse you know.'  He kissed her neck
delicately and whispered into her ear. 'Tell me what I want, and
this will all be over.'

She only sobbed.  If she talked, Pavel, her contact and recent
lover, would die, or worse.  She had sworn to die before
revealing her secrets, and although the idea hit much closer to
home at this point, she had to be prepared for the sacrifice.

Her vision was slowly returning.  She could see the room was
perhaps about fifteen feet square with a dirty wooden table in
the middle.  The man was still behind her, fondling her breast.

After a period of silence he whispered in her ear again. 'Good,
I'm glad you choose to be difficult.'  With that, he removed the
cuffs and the robe, leaving her completely naked.

Renee knew she had a lovely figure.  Her hips were slender, and
her breasts (each of which Pavel had named) were full but firm.
Her short dark hair complimented her body nicely.  At this point
however, she would have given anything for the body of a hag.

The Russian pushed her over to the table, and then forward onto
it so her elbows were resting on it.  She fought, but he smacked
her hard enough that she almost lost consciousness.  Normally she
was a strong woman, but thirst and confusion weakened her.  After
a few moments (God!  He was dropping his trousers!) she could
feel his hot member against her ass.  He was rubbing it up and
down against her clit and ass, his hand pressed against the small
of her back.  Once more she struggled, but he was too strong.
Finally, with a grunt he nestled his cock head up against her
cunt lips and plunged in.  She tried to move away and close her
legs, but he only kicked her legs out so that she fell onto the
table.

Violently he plunged in and out, his hips slapping against her
bare ass, breathing in harsh grunts.  She moaned, and pleaded for
him to stop, but he said nothing.  He kept up a vigorous pace,
slowing only to push his thumb into her ass.  She screamed at
this, which excited him even more.  As he pumped, he would push
her across the table.  Then he would stop a moment to pull her
back by hooking the thumb in her ass and pulling.  Soon his
breathing grew faster, and she knew he would climax soon.  Good,
get it over with, she thought.  But instead of the expected
climax, he pulled out, laughed, and slapped her ass hard.  'God
but you are a wonderful fuck!'

He walked around by her head, where she could see his prick
bobbing and pulsing.  It was large, perhaps ten inches, and slick
with her cunt juices.  At this vantage, she could see the large,
ropey veins that encircled his shaft.  The haze in her mind
refused to lift, and she gazed at it, glassy-eyed.  He was still
wearing his shirt, but his pants were gone.  He jerked her up by
the hair, and she felt a knife at her throat.  'Listen to me.  I
am going to use your throat for my pleasure.  If you try
anything, I will cut your head off.  Do you understand?'

She was petrified but managed a weak nod.  It was all happening
so fast, and before she knew it he had thrust his penis into her
mouth.  She didn't do anything at first.  Then he hit her again
on the head.

'Do it, bitch!  Suck me!  I'm going to come in your throat, and
if you spill a drop I'll beat you within an inch of your life.'
Slowly she complied, and began to suck.  He held her head tightly
and began to masturbate hard in her mouth.  It didn't take long
before he shuddered and shot a load down her throat.  She gagged
and almost spit it out, but remembered his warning and swallowed
it.  He laughed and slapped her face with his still hard cock.  A
glob of sperm slid down her cheek.  'Are you going to talk my
little fuck, or shall I continue?'

Face down on the table, she tried to prop herself up.  She was so
weak and shaken that she could only manage to move to one elbow.
'Please, I don't know who you think I am, but I'm only . . . '

'It's okay with me, I get to have my way until you talk.'  He
walked behind her again, grabbed each side of her waste, and slid
her back until his limping cock lay in between her ass cheeks.
He rubbed against her clit and ass a few minutes, moaning, until
he was hard again.  Then he pulled back, and forced the tip into
her asshole.  She screamed 'Noooo!  Please, I really don't know
anything!'  He grabbed the back of her hair and pulled.  'Tell me
you cunt!  Who is it?  Who is your contact?'  He pushed further
into her, eliciting another scream.  She had started struggling
again, and this time he let her.  She wasn't able to do much
anyway.  He plunged the rest the way into her, and grew more
excited as he felt her try to push him out.

He pulled her hair back further and grabbed her left breast.  He
pinched her nipple between his fingers and pulled back.  She was
only moaning now, and he suspected she would black out soon.  He
pulled all the way out of her, then slammed back into her.  A
small scream; she would last a bit longer after all.  He had both
nipples now, tugging on them like reins.  He rocked back and
forth inside her, her struggles growing weaker.  He lasted longer
this time, pumping in and out in a quick rhythm, until finally he
grunted, shuddered, and shot his load in her ass.

He pulled out of her, rolled her onto her back, and wiped his
limping cock on her pubic bush.  'Please, no more' she was
pleading.  She tried to close her legs but he remained standing
between them.  He laughed.  'No more for now my little spy.  This
was just to get us acquainted.'  He was dressing now.  He tucked
his shirt in and grabbed her tit.  He leaned over, suckled it a
moment, then kissed it.  'Wait her a bit, the doctor will take
you and feed you.  You will need your strength for what is coming
next.'

***

For several hours she lay sobbing on the table, curled in a fetal
position.  She could still taste his vile semen, could feel the
burning in her rectum and pussy.  It raced through her head, over
and over like a bad movie.  What did he mean by 'what is coming
next?'  Could it be any worse?  She was afraid to answer her own
question.  KGB interrogation techniques were renowned worldwide
for being effective, but she'd never imagined this.  Still, she
needed to start collecting her thoughts if she was going to make
it through this ordeal.  She had to start looking for an opening
anywhere, and take it.

Finally the door opened.  A paunchy, stern-faced, old man in a
white lab frock (the doctor, most likely) and two soldiers came
in.  In Russian the doctor barked 'take her into the examination
room,' and walked out.  The soldiers, a blonde and a brunette
both not older than 19, exchanged smirking looks at each other,
walked over, and pulled her up.  The blonde grabbed one of her
tits and shook hard.  'We should have her first, eh Petre?'  They
both laughed.  Petre replied 'she looks almost dead now!  My
large cock would finish her!'  They both had a good laugh at
that.

The humiliation fueled her anger.  Here was the opening she was
looking for.  Using the last of her strength, she pulled away,
and punched Petre square in the face.  There was a sickening
crack, his nose exploded in blood, and Petre crumpled to the
ground.  The other soldier looked on, stunned.  She was ready to
take him out too, but a wave of nausea hit, and she stumbled to
one knee.  She was still too weak.  This gave the soldier time to
recover.  He drew his pistol and smacked her in the head.  The
lights went out.

She awoke strapped to a hospital bed, an IV piercing her arm.
Shaking the haze, she looked around.  Another small room, a
stainless steel cabinet opposite her bed, and a new guard
standing at the door to her right.  The thirst had eased a bit,
but hunger filled her belly.  Seeing her awake, the guard left
the room.  Minutes later the interrogator walked in with the
doctor.  The soldier returned to his post at her door.

'Well, it is good to see you awake my dear.  Poor Petre I'm
afraid was not so lucky.  It seems you had more left in you than
I thought.'  Again that Oxford English accent.  He was a striking
man, and had he not raped her earlier she might even be attracted
to him.  Typical Slavic features.  Short, cropped hair, square
jaw, piercing blue eyes, and what looked like a muscular body
underneath his uniform.  She hated him.  She'd kill him too if
she ever got the chance.  He seemed to read her mind.

'Don't worry.  We shall use caution in the future.  You will
probably be with us a long time.'  He smiled.  'The doctor here
will examine you, and our sessions will continue tomorrow.
Enjoy.'  With that he turned and left.

The soldier had with him a set of shackles, which he began
hooking to her legs and arms.  Then the bed straps were released.
The doctor, in broken english, ordered her to stand.  The
shackles afforded her little motion.  Her hands were pulled down
to the sides of her legs, which were in turn pulled together so
that her balance was off.  She was still naked.  The doctor
silently began to check her vitals.  At one point she lost her
balance and almost fell.  The doctor fell back immediately, and
the guard tensed.  Good, she thought, they're afraid of me.  At
least I have that.

She was then led into another room where they strapped her,
struggling, to a set of stirrups.  The doctor ordered the soldier
to leave, and locked the door.  As soon as the door shut, he
forced a large piece of surgical tape over her mouth.  Then he
turned back to her, leered, and dropped his pants.  He was a
disgusting, toad-like man, his short penis stiffening as he
stroked it.  He leered evilly at her and walked in between her
legs.  She struggled violently, but the straps held her firmly.
He hesitated a moment until he was sure the straps would hold,
then put his cold member up against her clit.  Despite the tape,
she was able to force out a sizeable scream.  This shocked him,
and for a moment she thought he would back off.  His horniness
got the better of him, however, but for good measure he yanked
the tape from her face, forced a rag into her mouth and resealed
it with several more layers of tape.  It was difficult for him to
penetrate her, what with all her struggling.  But eventually he
managed to slide his cock in; then her struggles only facilitated
his pleasure.

Resigned to yet another humiliation, she stopped her struggles,
not wanting to add to this vermin's enjoyment.  He didn't seem to
mind though, pushing into her as his large belly slid across her
abdomen.  It didn't take him long (she knew it wouldn't) to
climax.  He pulled out and sprayed across her stomach and chest.
Some hit inside her nostrils and she thought she would vomit.
For a while he massaged his limp member against her clit while
rubbing his hands across her stomach and tits, spreading his goo
all over.  When he was done, he dressed, cleaned her off, paused
to play with her tits some more, and unsealed her mouth.  Then he
set about completing the forms on his clipboard.  Shocked, she
just lay on the bed trying not to cry.  In the end, she did.

***

'Are you ready to talk yet, my pet?'  Once again she stood in the
small room, naked except for a pair of shackles on her wrist,
running from the center of the ceiling.

She stood defiant.  'Ah, as you English say, jolly good then!'
He opened the door to admit a large, dark Mongolian man.  He was
bald, more than six feet, with muscles rippling over his body.
He wore only a pair of tight fitting leather pants, and carried a
box (she shuddered).  The Mongolian walked behind her, and
slapped her bare ass hard enough to leave a welt.  She sucked her
breath in but remained silent.

The Russian smiled.  'Ragin is one of the best, er, persuaders in
the business my dear.  He wants you so very much to not tell me
who your contact is.  In fact, it would make his day.'  He walked
up close, turned, and whispered in her ear.  'Between you and me,
Renee, he's not a very nice chap.  What say you ruin his day by
telling me.  Hmm?'

She remained silent.  He sighed, and aloud said 'very well my
dear.  Ragin's english is not so good, but he does understand the
phrase "I'll talk."'  He kissed her ear, laughed silently, and
left the room.

Ragin placed the box on the floor in front of her and opened it.
Inside was an assortment of whips, and other things she couldn't
identify right off.

He pulled out a bundle of small clubs, each about three inches in
diameter.  He fitted them together, end to end, until it formed a
stick three foot or so long.  He walked around behind her, and
she thought he was going to beat her with it.  But then she felt
a pressure against her ass, and Ragin pushed the dry stick
violently into her ass.  The wood was rough and cut into her.
She screamed as he positioned it, and then propped it up on the
floor.  She was forced to stand on her tippy-toes, else the stick
push it's way into her.

Then he pulled out a small cat-o-nine-tails, and whipped it
against the wall.  She shuddered as it cracked, and he smiled a
disgusting, gap-toothed smile.  He started to walk around behind
her.  She waited until he was almost beside her, pulled herself
up on the wrist-chains, and kicked.

Her heel landed against his jaw, and knocked him down.  It had
landed off center, and she had only succeeded in bloodying his
lip.  She cursed herself, knowing that had she hit it center, he
would be convulsing on the floor now, and dead a few moments
later.  She had also landed on the stick, driving it further into
her ass.  The pain and defeat caused tears to well in her eyes.

Ragin, still on the floor, looked shocked.  Then he wiped the
blood from his chin, picked up the whip, and smiled.  He stood,
warily walked back, and grabbed her waste.  With one hand he
grabbed the stick and twisted it back.  Her screams echoed off
the concrete walls.  After a minute of this, he let go and backed
out of her vision.
The silence behind her was deafening and went on for long
moments.
Suddenly her back exploded in pain, as the whip cracked against
her back.  It knocked the breath out of her, and before she could
get it back the whip raked her back again.  Again and again her
screams echoed off the walls.  He continued his assault for what
seemed an eternity, and still she didn't talk.  She could not,
would not, betray Pavel.

After the whipping stopped, Ragin yanked the stick out.  She was
crying now, begging Ragin to stop.  He took no notice, but
instead poised himself behind her and undid his pants.  She
struggled but was no match for the Mongolian.  Grabbing her hips
and jerking her up, he plunged into her pussy.  Then he leaned
into her ear, and in broken english said 'lunch break.'  He
laughed heartily at this, and continued to pump.

Ragin went for a long time.  It was almost a welcome respite from
the whipping, but not by much.  He pulled hard on her nipples;
the left one started to bleed.  Finally, he grabbed her hips hard
and began to pump furiously.  She thought for sure his strong
grip was going to break her hip bones, but then it was finally
over.  He arched his back, pulled her into him, and dumped his
load inside her.  He pumped slowly for another few minutes, then
pulled out.  A stream of semen dripped down inside her leg.

Still behind her, he leaned over and forced a finger up her cunt.
Then another, and then a third.  She tried to wriggle free, but
he held her waste tight.  Then, amidst her screams to stop, he
forced a fourth.  After a few tries, he barely managed to force
his thumb in.  Her struggles intensified, but he held her as he
began to move his hand up, inside her.  She was starting to
hyperventilate now, still trying to pull her bruised body away
from his hand.

Inside her cunt, he made a fist and pulled his hand out, full of
the goo he'd just shot inside her.  It was almost as hard coming
out as going in, and she screamed again.  Her breathing started
to even out a bit.  From behind her she heard slurping sounds as
Ragin cleaned his own hand.  She vomited.

Ragin paid no mind.  Finished, he walked back to the box and
pulled out a small acetylene torch.  Her eyes widened as he lit
it, and she began to beg for him to stop again.  Then he produced
a small metal rod and began heating it in the flame.  Soon it
began to glow a dull orange.  Ragin walked a wide circle around
her, and disappeared from her vision.

She could feel his hot breath on her back, and soon she knew she
would be feeling the hot iron.  Just then the door opened and her
interrogator walked in.  He saw the puddle of vomit pooled at her
feet and grimaced.  'Renee my dear, it does not look like you
have been very cooperative.  Tsk, Tsk, and all for naught as
well.'  He began to walk towards her when the Mongolian, in
russian, warned him of her earlier attack.  He seemed amused at
this, but circled around behind her anyway.

As he walked around, she tried to figure what he meant by 'all
for naught.'  Although ravaged, she certainly was not ready to
concede.  She would never betray Pavel.  Never.

He pulled on the stick and pain shot through her ass again.
'Does it hurt darling?  Does it?  Here, let me help.'  He yanked
hard, and pulled the stick out.  A small streak of blood ran down
it's length.  'There isn't that better?  Here you are Ragin, go
fetch the guards.'

Ragin circled back into view.  He walked out, holding the stick
and licking it like a lolly.  She thought she would be sick
again.
'Have yourself a good shower, Renee.  I have a little surprise
for you afterwards.'  With that, he turned and left.  The guards
entered.  She could have nailed one of them (strange he didn't
warn them), but felt too weak to do much of anything.
They put her in a small closet-sized, tiled stall.  Lukewarm
water drizzled down a moldy spout, but the shower felt good on
her stinging back.  She watched the blood from her tattered back
swirl into the drain.  Already, hand-shaped bruises covered both
hips.  She felt ugly, violated, and began to sob uncontrollably.
That she had been used for these monsters personal pleasure was
worse than the torture.  She would have endured twenty lashings
like the last, in trade for the personal humiliations she had
been forced to provide.  Her thoughts turned to Pavel, and for a
few sweet moments she was back in his arms again, safe, his rough
cheek nuzzled against hers.

It was over too soon, and the guards opened the stall door and
grabbed her.  She was drug back into what looked like the first
room, with it's stained wooden table and cement walls.  Her
interrogator, two more guards, and another man waited for her.
It was Pavel.  She was shocked.  Pavel, it seemed, had been
captured as well.  All was lost, and she would probably die here.
She sobbed.   Oh God, Pavel, no . . .

The interrogator interrupted.  'You are such a fool my dear.  You
see, your contact is none other than a KGB double-agent.'

The man was tall, handsome, and in his mid-thirties.  'I am
sorry, Renee.  I came as soon as I heard you were being held.
There was no need for you to suffer so.  I had planned a quick
death for you.'

'NOOO!' She screamed.  Her chest heaved and her body shook.  She
had only known him a few weeks, but the passion they shared once
was fierce.  They had been so passionate.  Now it seemed he had
used her too.  She dropped to her knees and wept.

'Please don't cry Renee.  It was all part of the game you know.
Our countries have been playing it for years.  We are both pawns.
You have simply been eliminated.'  Pavel had walked over, and was
caressing her hair.  After all this, it still made her tingle.

Suddenly, he grabbed her hair and forced her head up.  She had
never seen his eyes blaze with such madness.  'And now, beautiful
Renee, you will pleasure me one last time.'  He began unbuttoning
his trousers.
'No, please don't Pavel, please don't do this.  Don't let it
end this way.  Please just let me die.'  Her heart had completely
shattered, and to die would be release.

His prick wavered in front of her face now, semi-hard.  He pulled
her head to his crotch, and forced it in her mouth.  She was too
oblivious to resist, and she would never attack him, even
vulnerable like this.  She simply let it slide in her mouth.
Something was wrong, though.  On the underside of his penis was a
tiny cylindrical shape.  She tried to clear her mind.  What was
it?  Slowly she let her tongue explore its surface.  It was
smooth.  And whatever adhesive was holding it on was dissolving
in her saliva.  It dropped off, and into her mouth.

She had a guess of what it was, and hoped she was right.  She
swallowed the capsule and continued to suck.  But then he forced
her head back and knocked her to the ground.  'Loose bitch, my
hand suckles me better.'  Then he turned to the interrogator.
'She has been tried and found guilty of espionage and high
treason.  She is to be shot in the morning.  In the mean-
time . . . ' He looked towards her and softened his gaze almost
imperceptibly.  '. . . keep her locked in solitary.  She is
dangerous, and I want her to have no contact with anyone else.'
***
The damp cell was freezing.  They had provided no clothing or a
blanket.  Only a faint light peeked under the door.  It was
enough.  She had put her finger in her throat and vomited.  It
worried her that a small amount of blood coated the plastic
capsule.  She quickly wiped it off though, and opened it.

The microchip was there, just as she thought.  It was the sole
reason she had come to Moscow.  And he had given her one last
hope to escape by including a paperclip.  She smiled bitterly.  A
small note had also been rolled up inside.  She read it, tears
welling.

     'My dearest Renee.  I am sorry.  This was the only way.  I
      always loved you.  Pavel.'

She wanted to cry, but there was no time.  She stood and placed
her ear to the door.  Snoring.  It didn't get any better.  She
bent the paperclip and inserted it in the lock.  Tense minutes
later she heard the latch give.  She listened again.  Still, the
snoring.  With agonizing slowness, she opened the door.  A young
soldier sat at a small desk, feet up in slumber.  She crept up
behind him, shivering in the cold.

In two swift motions she had unfastened his holster and drawn the
gun.  The young soldier, startled, tried to yell.  She cupped her
hand over his mouth and spoke in russian.  'Make a sound comrade,
and I blow your brains all over the wall.  Understand?'

The terrified man nodded, and she slowly released her hold.  The
soldiers' trench-coat was hanging by the door.  Still training
the weapon on him, she backed up, retrieved the coat, and put it
on.  The fabric stung her ravished back something terrible, but
it kept her warm and clothed.

'You're going to walk me out of here.  If you betray me, I will
kill you.  Do you understand?'  Again, he nodded rapidly.  Thank
God, she thought, I got a scared kid instead of some psycho
willing-to-die-for-his-country bloke.

He led her out, and they navigated the silent corridors.  He had
told her it was almost midnight and only mid-watch personnel were
on duty.

As they rounded a corridor, she heard a whipping sound from
behind a door.  The soldier confirmed it was Ragin's work-out
room.  She couldn't resist.  She made the soldier walk in first.

Ragin stood in the middle of a weight room, sweaty and naked,
whipping a large punching bag.  He turned at their entry, and
froze.  'Hello Ragin.'

***

As she made her way through the woods, the image of Ragin cuffed
by the soldier to the ceiling, standing on his tippy-toes to keep
the stick from driving any further up his ass, played in her mind
again.  It hadn't done him much good.  She made sure it went up
quite far.  She'd stifled his screams with a wad of rags, rammed
into his throat, and then drove the stick up until a steady
stream of blood ran down it's length.  She wondered if he would
die of internal bleeding, or suffocation first.  A pity she
hadn't run into the interrogator though.  Perhaps she'd have her
revenge another day.  Right now she just wanted the hell out of
Russia.

Several weeks later, back in London, she filed her report.  It
was watered down considerably.  There was no need to recount any
further than that she had been 'raped.'  The veterans at MI-6
would get the idea.  And so the game went on.
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