by John Savage
Blaze was only a secretary. By chance, she bears a remarkable resemblance to a beautiful American spy, and by another remarkable coincidence she makes the acquaintance of a CIA administrator at very time that same American spy was on a vitally important mission but has been captured and is being painfully interrogated. A Russian agent will divulge essential information only to the spy whose picture he has seen. Blaze, therefore, is the CIA’s only hope, and her mission is simple and apparently without risk or complications.
Unfortunately for Blaze, it is not so straightforward. She too is captured, more than once, and each time falls into the hands of sadists whose interests are as much in the sadistic and sexual torment they can inflict on her naked, bound and defenseless body as they are in extracting any information from her.
And then it becomes even more complicated…
This is the first of the Blaze Lane ebooks.
Published: 02 / 2010 No. words: 38600
They had ripped off her blouse and skirt, then torn the bra from her body, leaving a magnificent pair of breasts exposed to their evil, leering eyes. Only her black lace panties remained, along with what was left of one nylon on her right leg. A man with a belt had been whipping her bottom, slowly pacing out the blows so that each would be more effective and so that the punishment, which he was enjoying very much, would last longer. At first, the lovely young American had cried out and jerked that fine body with each impact. But after a few dozen, the cries became less and the jerking of her hips away from the belt lessened. Now it took more of his strength to evoke a decent cry. He paused to let his arm rest. The chief interrogator came over and inspected the battered bottom.
He pulled down the panties that he might see more closely the red and swollen flesh. It was not marked with swollen red lines such as a whip would make. The wider belt did less damage to the flesh but still delivered a lot of pain. If necessary, he would change to a true whip later. That, he knew from experience, would make her scream quite nicely.
Walking around to the front, he enjoyed the view of her black pubic patch and those wonderful breasts. What a target they would make for a whip!
“Miss Smith,” he spoke. “Are you ready to talk?”
“I told you, I know nothing. I am just a tourist.” Her voice was weak and her head hung down, the black hair hiding her lovely face.
“You are an American spy,” he said sharply. “We already know that. What I wish to know is what is your assignment in our country?”
“I told you, I’m just a tourist stopping here before going on to Russia.”
He considered for a moment the idea that she was telling the truth. Perhaps she was just passing through and her real assignment was in Russia. But she had been identified at the airport as an American agent. That new computer scanning system was paying off nicely. She was picked up before she could even get into a taxi.
“We have ways of making you talk,” he said, totally unaware how famous that line was. “You will tell us all. Continue. Only this time, hit her flanks and that lovely bush there also.”
He stepped back to watch again.
The whipper shifted his position and delivered a strong blow to her flank. She cried out as the previously untouched skin began to turn red. Slowly he worked his way around until he was striking blows directly across her venus mons. As the belt landed there, she cried louder and jerked around nicely, her legs kicking out. She tried to twist her body about to protect that sensitive area, but hanging there gave her little freedom for movement. He had no problem striking the black hair-covered target. Which he did with delight.
“Would it not be easier to use drugs?” asked a lieutenant standing by the chief.
“Sure it would,” he replied. “But I prefer the old-fashioned ways. Don’t you agree that this is a much nicer show?”
“Yes, sir. Much nicer.”
The whip was swung underhanded and landed a blow directly between her legs. This time she screamed. Yes, the chief told himself, a much nicer show.