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Alias: Sydney's New Case (M-dom,tort,viol)
by Aysha Regan ([email protected])

Prelude

"I don't want you to take this mission!" Vaughn exploded. "It's too
dangerous."

"They're all dangerous," Sydney replied. "So why don't you quit dancing
around the issue and admit the real reason you don't want me to go is that
you're jealous."

"Of course I'm jealous!" Vaughn said with a crack in his voice. "I don't
want my girlfriend to go be someone's harem girl!"

Sydney sighed. "This is what we talked about," she said gently. "About us
continuing to work together. I know it's difficult, but sometimes you need
to forget how we feel about each other and just be my Handler, not my lover.
This is one of those times."

"But..." Vaughn couldn't think of anything to say. Of course she was right.
It seemed like she always was.

"It's not like I WANT to do this," Sydney consoled.

"But this guy's a madman. Taking him out could save hundreds, thousands,
maybe even millions of lives. And this is the only way I can get close
enough to him to do the job."

"What if you can't do the job?" Vaughn asked. "You don't really have that
much experience with wetwork."

"Oh I can do the job," Sydney assured him, as confident as ever. "What I
need help with is getting out of there once the job's done. And for that I
need my Handler. So are you in or out?"

Vaughn looked into those gorgeous eyes and saw the steel of Sydney's
determination. "I'm in." he nodded. "I'll just have to pretend you're doing
something else to get in close."

"Whatever it takes," Sydney smiled. She pulled him close to her and kissed
him. He wrapped his arms around her and they held each other in a warm
embrace. Sydney relaxed into his arms.

She was loath to admit it, but Sydney actually WAS looking forward to this
case. She's heard stories in her training about what some Arabian harem
girls were made to do and the stories used to make her wet. She would
sometimes masturbate to the fantasy of being a slave girl, made to engage
in sex acts she would never willingly submit to. This gave her an excuse to
explore her fantasy. Plus, knocking Saddam out of the world picture really
would save lives.

The truth was Sydney was relatively inexperienced for a woman her age. She
and Danny, her fiance, had been each other's firsts, and since then she'd
only been with two other men, Michael Vaughn and Noah Hicks. Since she and
Danny didn't know anything about sex, everything they did seemed great. And
if it hadn't been for her brief time with Noah, she'd probably think the same
thing about her sex with Michael. But Noah had been around and he knew what
he was doing. He knew so much that it made Michael's inexperience really
stand out in her head. So since Michael didn't know that much and she didn't
know that much, it was her hope that this time in Saddam's harem would give
her the experience necessary to make her sex life with Michael Vaughn
outshine her brief time with Noah.

"You really think I can do this?" she asked Michael, letting her
vulnerability show.

"Of course," he replied. "With you on the case, Saddam's as good as dead."

Part 1

Although not so prevalent as to be called "common knowledge" it has been
widely known in certain circles that slave trading is still an active
industry in the world. Especially in Asia and the Middle East. The CIA
keeps tabs on most of these rings and knows for a fact that a small
percentage of American tourists are abducted each year by these rings and
sold into slavery to those who can afford such extravagances; i.e. sheiks,
conglomerate business owners, and foreign dictators. The reason the CIA
doesn't interfere is that the percentages of Americans affected by this is
too small to outweigh the benefits of having access to these rich and
powerful slave owners. So, some Americans are sold into slavery for acts
unspeakable, but more are saved by the information the traders supply our
spies in exchange for our noninterference. That's where the infamous Saddam
Hussein comes in. He's been an active buyer of slaves since he was a young
man. And despite all of our best efforts to infiltrate his network of
supporters, the only access we've had to him has been through this illegal
and despicable business.

Sydney was approached because of the nature of the mission. It's true she
had never been called on to assassinate someone before, because most of our
assassinations are designed to be undetectable accidents or unidentifiable
shooters, but no assassins of that nature were qualified for this mission.
Whoever they sent in would be on their own. There's no way of sneaking in
a weapon when they explore your entire body. The body must BE the weapon.
Sydney's specialty was infiltration and hand-to-hand, which is why she was
perfect for this mission, not to mention the fact that she had a rock hard
body which would bring in quite a tidy sum for the slave trader accomplices.
More incentive for their cooperation.

Which is how Sydney wound up here, on an auction block in a deserted Middle
Eastern warehouse, stark naked, wearing only a collar around her neck and
leather bindings around her wrists. The leash attached to the collar was
held by one of the trader accomplices who had set up this special meeting
with Saddam's people. In addition to Sydney and her new "handler" the
warehouse currently held the two buyers who find the women for Saddam's
various harems, the slave trader negotiator, four other slave handlers and
four other young women. The other women were all wearing outfits that
matched Sydney's. Sydney couldn't help but feel sorry for these girls.
Unlike her, they were not here by choice. They were abductees captured by
the CIA's slave ring allies. They were all frightened. One of them was
crying even and the other three showed signs of recent tears. Sydney could
see the world of possibilities that were running through these women's heads
and she wondered if any of them were as secretly turned on by the
possibilities as she was.

Immediately after thinking that she silently cursed herself and wanted to
jump off the block and set these four girls free, but her commitment to the
mission kept her from acting so rashly.

Sydney didn't realize how lost in thought she'd been until she felt her leash
jerk her back into reality. "The customer asked you a question, bitch," her
handler said harshly. "Answer him or I'll give you the lash." He raised a
coiled whip in his hand to emphasize his point.

She glared at the man holding her leash. His men had informed Sydney and her
team that Saddam's crew usually enjoyed feisty women because it gave them a
chance to break them in before turning them over to Saddam, but they warned
her that if a woman was too defiant she might not live to see the Iraqi
palace. "Forgive me," she glowered through clenched teeth. Then she softened
with the imaginary remembrance of a prior beating from the whip, actors call
the technique sense memory. "Don't hit me again, please. I'll be good."

"Then tell me what part of America you are from, girl," the prospective buyer
asked, seizing control of the conversation.

"I'm from California," she told him. Her CIA team had determined that
California would be a good background location for her because of the foreign
mystique of California girls perpetuated by the Beach Boys song. Plus it kept
her from needing to learn a regional dialect.

"California girl, eh?" the buyer leered and winked at his partner. Sydney
rolled her eyes, so predictable, she thought to herself.

The buyer saw the irreverent look cross her face and backhanded her hard as
punishment. Sydney flinched at the blow. Regardless of how many fights
she'd been in there was something so humiliating about a slap to the face.
She looked at the buyer and imagined twisting his arm behind his back and
snapping the elbow joint. The buyer took the prolonged eye contact as
further insubordination and brought his hand back around with a forehand
slap that almost knocked Sydney to the floor. Rather than retaliate she
clutched her bruised cheek and stared at the ground, feigning tears.

Convinced that this California girl was properly admonished, the buyer walked
to the next girl in line. She was crying for real. She was a bigger girl
whose extra weight gave her extra large breasts to go with it.

"Stop your blubbering, girl," the buyer told her. "I don't like crybabies.
Where are you from?"

The girl tried to stifle her tears as she replied, "Tyler, Texas," but the
quivering in her voice started more tears to stream down her face.

"Everything is big in Texas," the buyer said. "I guess that includes cows
like you, huh?" He watched her for a reaction to the insult. Sydney looked
at the crying girl, while it was true she was a bit hefty, she was far from
being a "cow" like the Iraqi described, but it was apparent from the new
flush in the girl's cheeks that the insult stung. She was definitely
self-conscious about her weight. "Answer me, girl?"

"Yes sir," the girl replied.

"Yes, what?" he asked her.

"Yes, everything is big in Texas, sir."

"Including fat cows like you?"

"Yes sir," the girl cried more as she answered.

"Say it for me," he told her. "Say `I am a big fat cow.'"

The girl's lip quivered and her voice came out shaky and subdued. "Yes,
sir," she whimpered. "I'm a big fat cow." Her whimper turned into a cry
and her voice cracked.

The buyer then slipped his hand under her left breast and squeezed it. "But
you also have big udders for milking, cow. We will find these most enjoyable
toys." He then squeezed harder and the girl cried out in pain.

"And later," he said to her, "we'll see if you also have a Texas size pussy,
yes? And you can tell me if those big Texas boys have anything that compares
to Akbar over here." He nodded his head towards his silent partner. That
must be Akbar. Sydney wondered how much of this Vaughn and the other agents
were able to pick up.

* * *

"I can't believe we're letting this happen!" Vaughn said in frustration as
he watched over the shoulder of the A/V geeks at their spy terminals.

"Sacrifices are made in every war, Vaughn," his superior told him. "If you
are going to be a part of this team, I suggest you accept that and fact and
refrain from such outbursts in the future."

"Yes, sir" Vaughn replied and went back to the monitor.

Prior to this meeting, Vaughn and the A/V geeks had wired and bugged this
room with audio and video recording. It was believed that this was the most
dangerous part of Sydney's infiltration, getting past the buys. Once they
accepted and purchased the slaves, everyone was confident that Sydney would
have no problem drawing Saddam's notice and when she did, that would give her
the chance to strike. What troubled Vaughn, besides watching the woman he
loves be smacked around like a dog, was that he saw not viable way of getting
her back out before Saddam's body would be discovered. But that was what he
had to figure out.

* * *

"We'll take them," the buyer told the traders' negotiator. They settled on
a price and Sydney and the other girls were lead out of the warehouse and
into the cargo freight of a big truck. There, the handlers hooked the back
of the collars to rings on the side of the truck wall, thereby securing their
heads and torso. They then hooked their wrist bindings to chains in the
floor which kept then from being able to unfasten their collars. The leather
and chains were secured and Sydney knew that at this point she was completely
at their mercy. She would not be able to escape these bonds even if she
wanted to. She also knew that she was now on her own. Vaughn's and the
CIA's observance stopped once Sydney left the warehouse. She looked at the
other frightened girls and wanted to tell them that she would get them out of
this, but she knew that any one of them could eventually be broken and would
try to use their info about Sydney's mission as leverage to ease punishments
and tortures on themselves. So she stayed silent and pretended to be scared.
The act was getting easier and easier as her real tensions grew. She closed
her eyes and wondered how big Akbar truly was. She felt herself wetting the
cold metal bench she was on and hoped it was a long enough drive to give her
juices a chance to dry before she had to stand up again.

The truck jerked and bumped and Sydney heard the engine fire up. As they
started moving Sydney realized that the vibrations of the truck and the road
were not going to let her pussy calm down at all. She glanced at the other
girls to see if they were having similar reactions. Besides the Texan there
was blonde Caucasian who looked to be about nineteen or twenty, an redhead
who looked to be of Irish or Scottish decent, probably about Sydney's age,
and an older woman with long dark hair whose ethnicity Sydney couldn't quite
place. She had perfect caramel colored skin and breasts that made Sydney
jealous. Sydney's summation of her fellow captives was interrupted by the
buyer's voice.

"Everyone else keeps their eyes to the floor obviously scared," he said, "but
you keep looking around. Are you not afraid?"

Sydney shot her eyes to floor and said nothing, hoping that her silence would
be interpreted as fear. The man leapt at her quickly and smacked her in the
face. The back of her head slammed into the wall of the truck and her ears
started ringing. He was much faster than Sydney would have thought. Even if
she had been able to anticipate his strike, she wouldn't have been able to do
much, bound as she was by her collar and cuffs.

"The only time you are to speak, girls, is when you are spoken to. But when
that happens you had better answer quickly and concisely or punishment will
follow. Am I understood?"

The captives all muttered various "yes sirs." Sydney was still dazed by the
unexpected blow. Her captive wheeled on her again and smacked her across the
face, splitting her bottom lip.

"Am I understood?" he asked again.

"Yes, sir," Sydney said staring at the ground.

"Oh, you are back with us are you?" he said. "Good, then you will be fully
present for your punishment."

Sydney had thought the blows to her face and head were punishment enough but
her captor seemed to have other punishments planned. Akbar stood up in the
moving vehicle and came over to her, unhooking her collar from the wall and
then unhooking her wrists from the floor chains. He then shoved her to the
front of the truck bed, towards the wall separating the cab from the cargo
hold. Sydney noticed the hooks in the upper corners and surmised that she
was going to be chained to these soon. If she we going to escape this
madness now would be her best chance, before Akbar fastened her to the hooks.
She suppressed her instincts and played the part of the frightened girl.
Akbar grabbed her wrists and hooked one to each corner. He then kicked her
legs apart so that she stood with her face against the wall, spread eagled
with her back to her captors.

"This is what happens when you delay your responses," her buyer said to the
girls. Then Sydney heard the crack of a whip behind her.

So, she was to be the example. Just as well, she thought to her self. She
was trained to resist torture and tolerate pain. These girls were not. Let
them learn the lesson well so that they would be spared the beating Sydney
knew she could take.

Then the lash cracked across her back. The pain that flashed through her
body was so intense that she forgot all about her training and cried out in
response. Then a second blow came and third. Sydney felt her knees buckle.

"Count the lashes, girl," I want you to tell them how many times I am hitting
you. "We'll start over at one."

He whipped her again. Sydney got her legs back under her and cleared her
mind with a deep breath. "One," she said. She had tried to say it defiantly
but was surprised to hear the tremor in her voice. She really was afraid.

Another blow came and then another, each one followed by Sydney's counting.
When he was finished, Sydney had counted fifteen, plus the three before the
counting started. Eighteen lashes and two blows to the face for not
answering quick enough. 'What happened if you spit in his face?' Sydney
thought to herself.

"This doesn't have to happen to all of you," the buyer said. "If you behave
yourself and do as you're told, this can actually be a very pleasurable new
life. But do not think that this is a temporary state of affairs and you
will somehow be rescued soon. We have paid for you. We own you. You are
no longer free citizens of free nations. You are property and you will be
treated as such. And if you refuse to learn or refuse to behave, you will
be discarded as trash and either buried or burned. Understood?"

"Yes sir," the girls all managed to stammer out.

Sydney intended to answer with them, but to her utter surprise and dismay,
she discovered she was crying and no sound was leaving her throat. Her
torturer slip up behind her so that she felt his breath on her neck and
face.

"Am I understood?" he asked again, this time sliding a hand along her bare
and welted behind and slipping it into the crack of her ass, snaking two
fingers across her pussy lips. Sydney shuddered with disgust. The man
pinched her pussy lips hard between his fingers, digging fingernails into
the flesh of her outer labia. Sydney flinched.

"Yes, sir," she whispered.

"I didn't hear you," he replied and dug his nails in harder.

"Yes, sir!" Sydney cried out.

"Good," the buyer said and pulled his hand away from her. "Don't worry,
girls" Sydney heard him say. "She liked it. You see how my fingers
glisten?"

Upon hearing his statement Sydney's face flushed with shame. In trying to
shut out the pain of the lashes Sydney had forgotten about her previously
aroused state and was shocked and ashamed to realize that she was indeed
quite wet from this man's mistreatment of her.

"And soon enough," he continued, "you will all learn to enjoy my touch.
Won't they California girl?" With that he stuck his fingers underneath
Sydney's nose and let her smell her own juices. Her shame grew and her
face flushed more and as it did she felt herself become even wetter.
The buyer then smeared the juices from his finger across her lips and
cheeks and walked away, leaving her chained standing at the front of the
truck bed the rest of the ride.

    

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