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The doorbell rang right after I’d gotten in the shower. I’d spent the day at MR Inc. learning a business that had become my responsibility overnight. Operations wise, Gordon Morrison, my husband’s plant manager, appeared to have everything under control. He assured me they had enough work in the pipeline to keep the place going for at least six months maybe longer. I agreed with his suggestion we hire a salesman to fill my husband’s role and find future business.
With Dan dead, I owned MR Inc. and it was in my interest to keep it functioning and profitable until I figured out what to do with it. I asked Gordon if Dan had mentioned working on any big accounts. Gordon should know if there was something huge in the works.
“Only one, he said things were looking good for a contract reclaiming cell phones,” said Gordon.
“How much was involved?” I asked.
“Little over a million for a two year contract,” said Gordon.
That was long way from the twenty million, Sergei was expecting me to find.
I spent the rest of the day meticulously searching Dan’s office for anything that might tell me where he was or why Sergei thought he had such a large sum of money. I didn’t find anything and going through his desk and personal stuff depressed me.
Being around the recovery furnaces made me feel gritty; so as soon as I got home, I stripped down for a shower. I took a moment to examine my body in the mirror. I was healing up nicely. It had been four days since Sergei and his goons had worked on me. The first day I could barely move I hurt so badly.
After that I credit my physical conditioning and the frequent application of a Vitamin E cream with rapid healing. My boobs were almost back to normal. Even the holes made by the fishhooks had healed over and there was only a small scab.
I was also getting back to normal mentally. Last night was the first I had slept through without waking up covered in sweat dreaming that Oscar, Billy, Stan, Mel or a combination of all four was raping me or applying a cane to my boobs.
I’ll never look at bamboo in quite the same way. I looked it on the WEB and learned it can grow fourteen inches in a day. Chinese emperors used to execute their enemies by suspending them over a bed of bamboo shoots and watching it grow through their bodies. Rape and torture doesn’t leave you with happy thoughts.
I’d just shampooed my hair when I heard the front door bell ring. “Christ, who the hell could that be?” I muttered. Then I recalled that my next door neighbor and best friend, Jill Fraser, had emailed me that she had something important she needed to show me when I got home. I rinsed the soap out of my hair, wrapped it in a towel, and threw on a terry cloth robe.
“But it wasn’t Jill. It was the pair of FBI agents who had shown up after Dan died to tell me they couldn’t find his DNA floating in the wreckage. At the time, they’d struck me as not what I’d expected from the FBI. Of course, my expectations were built on television and Hollywood images.
I’d never actually met anyone from the FBI so I didn’t worry about the fact that Agent Larry Tyson was very tall, slender, and extremely handsome. He had large hands with long tapered fingers that totally wrapped my hand when he shook it.
His partner, Alice Magnuson, in contrast, was short, squat, and pleasant looking. My dad would say Alice was, “built like a fire plug.” I was being kind about Agent Magnuson. She was plain but that didn’t keep her from wearing a short straight skirt that exposed her thunder thighs.
Most women learn to hide their defects and expose their assets. Agent Magnuson’s mid thigh hem revealed enough cellulite to fill up a dozen liposuction collection bottles.
One other odd thing was that the pair was not from the Minneapolis-St Paul office but had flown in from Washington DC. At the time, I was still too upset about Dan’s death to pay much attention to these anomalies. I had asked them why the FBI was involved in a local boating accident and they had given me some bullshit about Lake Superior being an international waterway between the US and Canada.
My second meeting with the FBI started off politely. “Mrs. Wagner, can we come inside and talk,” asked Agent Tyson who had the kind of face and build that made you wonder why he wasn’t in Hollywood working for Spielberg? The not so well favored Agent Magnuson had on a skirt shorter than the one I recalled from last time. I was amazed no management female in the FBI hierarchy had not taken her aside and suggested a pantsuit would be more appropriate and flattering.
“Certainly, but give me a few minutes to dry my hair. I opened the door and stood aside. I was considering telling them about Sergei, my gang rape, and torture but decided to hold off. That turned out to be wise.
I offered them water or soda then parked them in the living room before I rushed back to the bathroom and my blow dryer. I was seated at my dressing table wielding dryer and brush when the door popped open and Agent Magnuson appeared.
Given there was a guest bath right off the living room and I was in the large bath that was part of the master bedroom suite located at the other end of the house, her appearance made no sense whatsoever?
I was about to object when she marched across the room toward the small toilet closet. On her way, she spied the bidet and halted in her tracks. The bidet had been Dan’s idea. He’d worked overseas and considered them more hygienic than toilet paper. It took me a while to get used to it but I adapted after a while and didn’t think twice of using it.
“I always wanted to try one of those things. What are they called?” asked Agent Magnuson pointing toward the porcelain bowl.
“It’s a bidet. Wouldn’t you be more comfortable in the guest bath? It’s in the hallway to the left outside the living room,” I said.
She completely ignored my suggestion. “It’s French. It washes your pussy after you take a whiz.”
The way she phrased her remark surprised me; perhaps working with criminals led you to talk like one. The next few happenings left me with my mouth hanging open in amazement. She didn’t wait for an answer. She turned around and backed up to the bidet like it was a toilet as she grabbed the hem of her skirt and pulled.
“No, turn around,” I said realizing she’d pee all over the floor.
“Show me,” said Agent Magnuson.
“I’d rather not,” I said.
“Don’t be shy. It’s just us girls and I want to learn,” said Agent Magnuson, a combination of disappointment tinged with threat creeping into her voice.
I wasn’t shy. I was a Marine, who’d squatted and pissed by the side of the road with a company of trained killers looking on. Still, that was a life time ago. I decided on the spot that Agent Magnuson was eccentric and it was best to humor her since she had a semiautomatic pistol on her hip.
I stood up, took off my robe and straddled the bidet facing the wall. I lowered my body and took a deep breath as I wondered if being partially insane was a requirement for joining the FBI.
“You got an incredible body. I need to lose a few pounds and firm up,” said Agent Magnuson standing close by.
A lot of women can’t pee in public. Fortunately, I’m not one of them. As I let go, Agent Magnuson chose to comment. “You don’t sit on it. You squat like you were in an alley or a filthy crapper.”
I suppose there were times when Agent Magnuson was chasing some criminal and facilities were not available. When I finished, I turned the knob that directed the spray onto my vulva.
“So that’s how you wash your pussy,” said Agent Magnuson standing close by me and peering down at my sex.
At that moment, things got weirder.
“What are you girls up to,” asked Agent Tyson?
Since my back was to the open door I had no idea how long he’d been there. I was shocked he had wandered in while I was urinating. Adding to my amazement was that he was holding a half eaten sandwich he made in my kitchen. Agent Magnuson was quick to answer.
“Marnie was showing me how to use her fancy French pisser. I’m next. Come watch,” said Agent Magnuson.
Crime shows on television portray the relationship of partners in law enforcement as unusually close. But did Sonny invite Tubbs to watch him urinate? Was Starsky unable to move his bowels unless his buddy Hutch was holding his hand? Their behavior struck me as over the top and who wants that from armed FBI agents.
Agent Tyson casually walked across the bathroom to observe more closely. He took a bite of his sandwich as he peered down into the bidet and commented, “This girl I used to date had one of those; but I never saw her use it.”
I stood transfixed as Agent Magnuson with considerable effort tugged her skirt up to her waist. She wasn’t wearing any underpants. Her pudendum was shaved and there was an elaborate tattoo on her groin area. Her labia were pierced with a trio of large gold rings and there was a smaller ring in her clit. With some difficulty, she straddled the bidet and after a second or two began to pee. It was noisy and it lasted a long time.
“I really had to go,” said Agent Magnuson reaching to turn on the water. When the stray landed on her sex, she let out a low cow like moan before commenting, “I could get off on this.”
It was a scene out of an asylum. I was standing there stark naked with damp hair. Agent Tyson was eating a ham and cheese on rye with mayo while watching his partner wash the pee off her pussy. Agent Magnuson, her eyes closed, was using the flow to reach orgasm. Unfortunately, her stout thighs weren’t up to the task of supporting the rest of her and she collapsed down on the rim.
“That’s fucking cold,” said Agent Magnuson struggling to her feet.
I handed her a towel to dry herself.
“How do you like my rings? I just got them last month.” she asked flicking them with her fingers.
Say something nice I told myself. “They’re very pretty. Did it hurt when they put them in?”
“Oh fuck, did it? I screamed my head off. Good thing I was tied down,” said Agent Magnuson.
“You weren’t sedated?” I asked wondering how painful it would be to have someone push a needle through your clitoris. Was it as bad as having a fishhook inserted in your nipples?
“Shit no, it was part of my initiation,” said Agent Magnuson.
I never got to ask who initiated her or why. Agent Tyson interrupted, “Show me how this works for a guy.”
He handed what was left of his sandwich to Agent Magnuson as he reached for his fly. She lifted the bread to check the contents then took a large bite.
“It’s not really a urinal,” I said as he pulled his cock out, unlimbered it, and let fly, utterly ignoring me.
It was an unusually long thick cock and Agent Magnuson felt the need to elaborate. “Agent Tyson is known as Tripod Tyson around the Hoover Building. If we see a girl walking bowlegged down the hall, we say she’s been ‘tysoned’.”
I was speechless. And I did not want to describe how Dan after having a bowel movement in the toilet would use the bidet to wash his anus.
“So how does it clean my dick,” asked Agent Tyson shaking off a few drops that landed on the floor?
“It doesn’t,” I said. “It’s not designed for that.”
“Well, I guess you’ll have to do it, Marnie,” said Agent Magnuson finishing off the sandwich. There was a comma of mayonnaise at the corner of her mouth.
“What,” I said in no way comprehending what was about to happen.
“Clean his dick. It’s got piss on it,” said Agent Magnuson starting to sound more menacing.
“Use this,” I said reaching for one of the small towels stacked by the bidet that we keep there for that purpose.
It was at that moment, Agent Magnuson released her inner psycho bitch. “No, you stupid cunt, use your fucking mouth,” said Agent Magnuson pulling her pistol out of the holster and cocking it. In a flash, she grabbed my hair and forced me to my knees. She smacked me on the side of my head with the gun barrel causing me to see stars.
“Suck his fucking cock, Marnie, or I’ll blow your fucking head off,” screamed Agent Magnuson holding the barrel hard against my temple. That hurt like hell.
For the second time in a week, I was about to be raped. But when you’re on your knees and the worst psycho bitch you can imagine is calling for you to suck somebody’s cock, you do it. Agent Tyson moved to where the head was pressing against my lips. I could smell piss. My mouth opened and I took it in.
“Marnie’s a piss drinker, aren’t you, Marnie,” asked Agent Magnuson.
I was whatever the nut case with a gun said I was. “Yes, I drink piss,” I said taking that very big cock out of my mouth. It was a stretch to get my lips around it.
“Take it, you piss swallowing slut whore,” said Agent Tyson proving he hadn’t totally emptied his bladder into the bidet. Swallowing rank urine is not easy but I had nine millimeters of incentive not to fuck up.
“Look at that lying whore drinking your piss. She loves it. She can’t get enough. She wants more,” said Agent Magnuson reaching for the glass I used to rinse my mouth after I brush my teeth.
Agent Tyson’s bladder was empty so I stopped swallowing and concentrate on sucking. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that Agent Magnuson was holding the glass between her legs and filling it.
“Drink this, Piss Lover,” she said extending the full to the brim glass to me. Some sloshed over my hand as I took the glass.
“Bottoms up, cunt,” said Agent Tyson with a big smile on his face.
It took several swallows but I managed to get it down. As soon as I finished, Agent Tyson took hold of my head and forced it down on his cock.
“Face fucking time,” said Agent Tyson as he jammed his pecker into my throat.
At some point, he forced it far enough down that my face was smashed into his groin with his balls pressing against my chin. Agent Magnuson used her fingers to clamp my nostrils shut. They held me tight between them as I fought for air. My throat was gagging around the meat cylinder lodged inside. In desperation, I managed to throw them off me and leap for the bidet where I puked up an amazing amount of piss along with lunch.
I was leaning on the bidet with my stomach still heaving when I felt Agent Tyson’s cock seeking to penetrate my vagina. I felt a hand on the back of my neck forcing my head downward into the vomit.
“I want to drown the bitch in her own puke,” said Agent Magnuson as she forced my head under the surface. She held it there until I thought my lungs were going to explode. Agent Tyson’s fingers were pulling my anus apart as he hammered his mega dick into my vagina.
She submerged me repeatedly in my muck as her partner fucked me. At one point, he was doing painful things to my ass while she used one hand to try and rip my nipple off. It’s hard to imagine a more brutal and disgusting form of sexual intercourse. But from the whoops and yelps coming from my tormentors, I could tell they were having a wonderful time.
Revelation arrived when she pulled me up and said, “If you don’t tell us where the twenty million is, I’m going to hold you under until you drown.”
The twenty million again, who would have thought it. Of course, they were after it. I should have guessed. Still, this was the FBI. They were supposed to be public servants.
“Going to blow,” said Agent Tyson with two thumbs prying my anus open as he bruised my rear with a staccato of thrusts. I felt him fill my stretched and sore vagina with semen.
Agent Magnuson wasn’t finished, however. She grabbed one of my recently healed nipples and twisted it as she pushed my head toward the muck. “Let’s see how long before she turns blue.”
“I’ll tell you where the money is,” I said. It was a lie but I couldn’t take any more.
“Where s it, bitch?” demanded Agent Magnuson.
At that moment, I felt something being poured into my asshole and the pain was so intense. I went nuts. It was like someone had stuck a red hot poker up my butt. I broke free of Agent Magnuson and rolled around the floor grabbing for my ass which was on fire.
“What did you do to her, Tyson,” asked Agent Magnuson.
“Poured Listerine in her shit hole,” said Agent Tyson proudly holding up the plastic bottle. He had stuck the neck of the bottle in my anus and squeezed the plastic. He was laughing so hard there were tears in his eyes.
“Why the fuck did you do that? She was about to tell us where the money is,” said Agent Magnuson.
“Stupid cunt is lying. She doesn’t know shit,” said Agent Tyson.
While they were having their little tęte-ŕ-tęte, yours truly was screaming in pain and dragging her butt across the tile floor like an Airedale with a bad case of worms. Obviously, Agent Tyson knew a use for Listerine that wasn’t on the label. I was out of my mind; it felt like someone had poured gasoline in my rectum and set it on fire.
“So what do you want to do, Genius?” asked Agent Magnuson.
“Make her find the money for us,” said Agent Tyson.
“And why should she do that?” asked Agent Magnuson.
“Because if she doesn’t, we’ll air mail her to our friends across the pond,” said Agent Tyson.
“Might work,” said Agent Magnuson after thinking for a moment.
“I brought the DVD that shows the spa treatment she’ll receive,” said Agent Tyson with a grin. “We’ll show it to her.”
“All right, nothing to lose by trying. What do you want me to do with her?” asked Agent Magnuson.
“Clean her up. I’m going to the kitchen and make another sandwich. Want anything?” said Agent Tyson.
“Yes, but make mine with mustard not mayonnaise. I’m trying to lose a few pounds,” said Agent Magnuson.
As Agent Tyson left the room, I reached into a cabinet and pulled out my douche bag then I started crawling toward the shower, keeping my burning asshole in contact with the tiles.
“I’ll help you with that, Marnie,” said Agent Magnuson as she started to undress.
“My guts are on fire,” I said struggling to get into the oversized shower stall.
“That Tyson is one crazy motherfucker. Some CIA type taught him that Listerine trick. He gets the biggest kick out of watching the perp go nuts,” said Agent Magnuson as she removed her bra to expose her enormous breasts. I’d guess 38DD.
“The pain is unbearable and it won’t go away. Please hurry,” I pleaded.
The now nude Alice Magnuson got into the shower and turned the water on.
“After I douche out your butt, you can show your appreciation by eating my pussy,” said Agent Magnuson as she filled the bag.
“Yes, anything, just hurry,” I said. |
