Lady Spank
GET OUT NASTY FACE
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Posted - 2012.01.05 21:44:00 -
[6] - Quote
Tippia wrote:Lady Spank wrote:I thought I kept those particular fantasies to myself  SkyTippiaGäó Neural Scanner Satellite sees allGǪ
Tippia was in the process of single-handedly issuing an executive decision: No more unarmed rescues. In fact, no more rescues, period. The next time a general's daughter was kidnapped by some backwater crime-lord boss, instead of letting Scotty draw their fire and spiriting her off to their contact (who then promptly took off with his tearfully grateful charge, offering them no backup, not even a spare piece), Tippia was going to go off unscathed into the sunset with his partner and hand over the girl to the crime boss--Dumond, if memory served--with his every blessing.
The Department might not approve, but he'd throw any number of generals' daughters to the wolves if it meant he could avoid his current situation: creeping round a gang hideout established in a cave with a handful of rocks in hopes of creating a brilliant diversion that would draw out the crime boss' seven or eight redneck hired hands.
Hopefully before they killed his partner.
*******
Where the hell is Tippia?
That was what Alexander Scott wanted to know. Being tied face-down, bent over a table, hands and feet secured to its legs, was not, he decided right now, his favorite position. Even less so when his captors were borderline illiterate and very, very unpredictable. The racial insults they were throwing his way were most unoriginal and therefore offered nothing in the way of entertainment. And had he mentioned that this position was uncomfortable?
The leader of the thugs that passed for Dumond's hired help rose from his chair and circled the sacrificial table slowly. Scott seemed to remember his name was Stone, though that was on the short list of Names to Forget as Soon as Humanly Possible. "So, ape, you tellin' us where she's at, or what?"
Scotty clenched his fists, but his tone was calm. "I can point out at least three grammatical errors in your phrasing, my good man."
"We got ways of making you talk," said Stone.
He strove to sound bored. "Do they include threats that aren't recycled from at least twenty gangster movies?"
"Naw, they include this!" The leader's voice was strangely raw as he grabbed Scotty's jeans and dragged them down to his ankles, along with his underwear. A faint clinking sounded as his fly button popped off and rolled away on the smooth stone floor.
Scotty's mind blanked for a long moment in blind panic and his limbs strained wildly, irrationally, against the implacable ropes that bound him. It was not a calculated escape attempt; his body bucked quite involuntarily, as though it knew it was in danger. The air of the cave felt cold against his bare skin, and failing to wrench himself free, his body shrank back against the wood, all admonitions not to show weakness before the enemy evaporating like so much mist.
Through the ringing in his skull, he fought to make sense of the assembled men's guffaws. "Whoo! Lookit that ****** butt!"
"Not such a hotshot secret agent now, is he?"
"Man, he's a coon! Who ever heard of a coon secret agent?"
"Mebbe he's hard to see in the dark!" That got a burst of laughter. "Undercover man!"
"Goes undercover in the jungle!"
"With the other monkeys!"
Their leader joined in, glee in his voice. "Uppity ******... teach him a lesson he won't soon forget... right men?" More laughter...
...and then he heard the sound of a belt being unbuckled. The vulnerability was visceral and all he could think was, Please, God, let him be about to whip me.
The widespread jeering cut off abruptly. An uneasy silence fell, the echoing quiet relieved hurriedly by nervous laughter from one or two of the lackeys. "Yeah," said one--a young guy with a beard, if he remembered his voice correctly--"teach 'im a lesson. Yeah,"
Young Beard continued, as though trying to convince someone.
Scotty's insides turned to water. If whatever Stone was contemplating was bad enough to make the rest apprehensive, he wasn't sure he wanted to know what it was. If the man... But rational thought fled as Scotty heard the sound of a zipper and the whisper of clothing. His skin stood out in gooseflesh and his mindless struggles against the ropes grew more frantic as his heart started to try (although he'd told it many times before it wasn't possible) to pound its way out of his chest.
"For the last time," Stone asked, "where is she?"
A burning in his eyes. Sweat. Surely the girl was safely away by now, and there was no percentage in getting deliberately--"She's gone."
A curse. "What do you mean, gone?"
Scotty was beginning to see spots dancing before his eyes, and tried to get his breathing under control. This was ridiculous, this panic. "By this time, she'll be on a helicopter back to her dad's loving arms."
"You know, ******," came the shaky voice of Stone, "I don't believe you." Scotty knew he should say something at this point, but it was ridiculous that a bent-over position and a few sounds were making him freeze in terror as nothing else had. "You're a dirty liar. You know what the punishment is for dirty liars?"
"S-something I'm sure you'd be familiar with." Scotty was starting to get the sinking feeling that it didn't matter whether or not he was lying. This was sounding awfully like a foregone conclusion here. If it was going to be done to him no matter what he said, then he should just brace himself. An involuntary shudder ran through him. This was ridiculous, why couldn't he be a man about it? Why was the prospect of this unnerving him so badly? It's just another torture, just another torture, he began to chant inwardly.
There was a gasp from behind him and a murmured, "Jesus, Stone!"
TBC...
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