The Missionary – Chapter 1
by Dungeon Master

Peggy McKloskey stood in front of the seated group of attentive listeners whom she was teaching the word of The Lord. She was a missionary sent to this middle African nation and they all loved her clear, soft voice and her plain but resolute manner. Neither did she talk down to them nor did she seem like she was preaching from some almighty hilltop. Her message was simple: Live your life in piece and harmony with your fellow man.

On this hot afternoon with her long brown hair piled on top of her head, this native of Connecticut took a moment to wipe the perspiration from her brow. The high tent gave her some respite from the burning sun, but she was very glad that she chose a sleeveless white blouse and khaki shorts for this occasion. Her slim, five-foot eight figure endured like a trooper as she preached her mission message and the villagers seemed to be enthralled with her.

She continued her oratory when, suddenly, an official police car stopped short outside the tent and out stepped two uniformed officers. Peggy paid them no mind as she focused on the subject at hand. The crowd became a bit uneasy from this intrusion and the missionary finally recognized their presence as she looked at them with a frown, silently scolding them for this abrupt interruption as they approached the dais.

A murmur snaked its way through the throng as one of the tall uniformed officers spoke. “Come with us please.”

A stunned Peggy looked askance at both of them. “What’s the meaning of this? I am in the middle of a sermon. Can you please wait?”

The dark skinned officer backed his partner. “Please don’t make trouble. We have orders to bring you to headquarters.”

“But I don’t understand. Why?”

The same one spoke again. “Ma’am, we have our orders to bring you in. Come with us now!”

The normally level headed missionary lost it a bit as she looked at them wide-eyed. “Am I being arrested? This is absurd!”

Then one of the policemen raised his voice and remained resolute. “Don’t make us use force!”

Some of the crowd rose up in defense of the pretty missionary but the officers ordered them not to interfere. Peggy, trying to diffuse a potential volatile situation spoke to her audience. “I must go with these men, but I will be back. This is probably some misunderstanding.”

The people began talking to each other as the officers led the lady preacher to the squad car and placed her in the back seat.

***

A half hour later Peggy McKloskey was standing in front of the desk of the Chief of Police, with the two officers who brought her in standing on either side of her. Even in this air-conditioned building the willowy lady felt some sweat and not just from the outside heat. Nervously, she looked at the burly, fat cheeked black man as he read some papers on his desk, then gazed up at her.

He asked the missionary her name, just for the record. When she told him, he looked into her eyes and asked in a sarcastic tone, “What is your code name?”

Her face screwed up. “My code name?”

Standing up abruptly he bore his brown eyes into hers. “We received an email this morning from a source in Washington, saying a CIA spy was in your midst posing as a missionary!”

Her face flushed. “Well it’s not me!”

“Ms. McKloskey, you fit the description perfectly!” He pressed.

“But that’s preposterous, I have my credentials! I am a missionary sir!”

The chief came around to the front of his desk and faced the woman who was a couple inches shorter than he. “Do you Americans think we are complete fools? Credentials can be forged or altered!”

Her eyes widened. “But I’m not a spy!”

He glared at her. “Where’s your camera bitch? In your bra?”

“No!” Her nostrils flared.

“Any cyanide tablets?” He asked as he looked her up and down.

“No! This is ridiculous!”

His voice became soft but menacing. “Better make it easy on yourself, tell us your code name.”

She gritted her teeth. “I don’t have a code name!”

“I’m losing my patience with you bitch!”

“I’m not a bitch! I’m a missionary!”

“So you say!”

He made a move to grab her upper arm, but just that quick she kicked upward with her right foot, catching him square in the groin, and bolted for the door.

The chief grabbed his crotch and bellowed as he fell to his knees and bent over. One of the officers quickly grabbed her from behind as she reached for the doorknob. She reared up like a wildcat but the burly officer held her. She then kicked out at the other policeman. But he dodged her lethal foot. The one in back then pinned her arms to her side, although she was still struggling. Desperately she tried once again to kick the one in front in the package but again he deftly eluded her. Then as the officer in back held her, the one in front doubled his fist and punched the still wildly struggling lady square on the jaw sending her sprawling to the floor unmoving.

By that time the hurting police chief had regained his feet. Glaring down at the unconscious form of the woman who’d kicked him in the balls, he snarled. “Lock this bitch up! I will personally interrogate her further myself!”

***

An hour later the cell door clanged open. Peggy, who’s hands were now cuffed behind her, squirmed on her side on the metal plank on which she laid and opened her eyes in time to see the two who arrested her entering the cell. Her cheek ached and her face was a bit swollen.

“Get up bitch!” One of them snarled as he grasped a handful of her hair and yanked her up. They shoved her forward through a dank corridor until they came upon a large space that had a single light in the ceiling and a chain hanging down in the middle. They quickly removed the cuffs from her wrists but immediately raised both of her arms and encircled both wrists with a leather cuff that was in turn attached to the suspended chain.

“No!” She protested as she felt her arms stretched upward and immobilized.

“Shut up cunt!” One of them exclaimed as he backhanded her across her face.

She spat. “You’re making a mistake!”

Another slap produced another shriek of opposition.

Just then the police chief walked in. “Is our little spy- bitch giving you guys trouble?”

“Yes she is,” one of them assured.

“Well, I’ve got a few things here that might calm her down,” he said as he dropped a canvas bag on a nearby table.

Teary eyed, Peg beseeched her captors. “Please don’t do this! You’re making a mistake!”

For an answer the chief grasped a hold of the suspended woman’s left nipple through her bra. “Tell me you code name, cunt!”

She hollered and squirmed. “I don’t have one!”

Then the chief took out a switchblade and her eyes got as big as saucers.

“Don’t worry bitch. I’m not going to stab you, but we need to conduct a thorough search!” With that he sliced right through the material of her white blouse.

“Please don’t do this, you’re making a terrible mistake!” she pleaded as her bra covered breasts were revealed.

“Let’s see those tits!” One of the uniformed officers said with a leer.

“Better stand still cunt!” The police chief warned as he slid the blade underneath the center of the bra. Tears streamed down her face as he sliced through the thin material. The bra then joined the tattered blouse on the floor of the dungeon.

“Hey!” one of the policemen boasted. “Nice tits!” They all leered at the dangling orbs with the thick areolas and long nipples.

The other one snickered. “We don’t get to see a spy- bitch’s tits every day!”

When they grew tired of listening to their captive’s incessant whining, one of them bunched up what used to be her bra and stuffed the cotton material in her mouth, gagging her.

There was nothing she could do to prevent these men from freely pawing her big breasts; teasing, pinching and twisting the nipples. Her objections fell on deaf ears.

“Fucking spy-bitch!” the chief thundered. “Keep on denying it cunt! Torturing you will be a pleasure!” He emphasized his point by violently twisting both nipples as she arched her back and cried out into the bra-gag.

Tears filled her eyes when he finally released his grip and stepped back.

“Now let’s see what the rest of a spy-bitch looks like!” He reached for the belt buckle of her shorts. Like before, her protests were for naught as he yanked the khakis to her knees, exposing her white cotton panties.

“I want to see the pussy!” one declared.

The long haired missionary twisted away in a vain attempt to evade the probing hands of the three men who began to liberally touch her panty covered bottom as well as between her legs in the front. Once again she tried to kick out at them but her ankles were then cuffed together. Her shorts and panties were then literally cut apart and ripped from her body.

Now utterly naked, Peggy’s nostrils flared and she screamed at them into her gag. For a reply she was once again slapped across the face. Her nipples were pinched and twisted. Her cunt and asshole were repeatedly fingerfucked.

“I think the bitch needs a spanking!” He announced. His cohorts agreed.

Peggy was soon yelping and twisting as the hard implement fell repeatedly on her ever reddening backside.

“What’s the code name bitch!”

She shook her head violently. Her spanking continued as her tears dripped on the floor. But she didn’t say what they wanted to hear.

The chief then emptied the contents of the canvas bag he brought with him. Wooden clothespins fell out onto the table. “Sure you don’t want to tell me!?”

She continued her resistance.

The fat faced chief then squeezed open one of the menacing devices. Peggy twisted and squirmed as she felt the clamp around her left nipple. A matching clothespin squeezed her right nipple, increasing her twisting and squirming.

“Ready to talk, cunt!”

For an answer she sucked in her breath, absorbing the relentless pressure. He leered at her. “Did they teach you how to take these at spy school?” Her eyes showed the shooting pain, but she remained silent. He curled his upper lip. “Let’s see how many more you can take.” He placed another one on the fleshy part of her left mound. She sucked in again. Then all the way around each breast he decorated her. The pain was constant, yet she endured it.

His gaze wandered down her body. He smiled sadistically. He chose another clothespin. He pointed it toward her sensitive juncture. She knew what was coming and she screamed and shook wildly when the clamp grabbed her pussy lip.

The three men enjoyed watching her squirm.

“Want to talk now, cunt!?” The chief pressed. “Tell me your fucking code name!”

Tears fell, but no utterance.

“You stupid, fucking cunt! This is going to get worse!”

A matching peg balanced the suffering on her labia. She hung there and suffered, otherwise kept quiet.

The chief was impressed by her stamina but he was determined to break her. He picked up a four foot long flogger that had thirteen leather tails. He stood in back of her naked, suspended form and swiftly thwapped all thirteen tails across her bare back. She arched her back and cried out into the gag. Then another swipe found the middle of her ass. Again she shrieked. The whipping continued until every inch of her back, buttocks and thighs knew the devastating feel of the lashes.

But she refused his repeated demands.

The burly chief then walked around front. He squeezed each clothespin with his thumb and forefinger. She yelped aloud, but remained silent otherwise.

A quick slash across her left breast produced another raucous retort. A matching slash across the other one did the same. Then methodically he whipped her down the front, between her breasts, over her tummy to her naval. When he whipped the front of her thighs she wailed the loudest yet.

She held out still.

Determined, the chief grasped the handle firmly and laid the strands on the floor in front of her. He looked at her suffering, freshly whipped form and said one word, “Code-name!”

By now Peggy’s dark hair was completely disheveled as she hung there helplessly.

Then he snapped his wrist and brought the tails upward, slashing them directly on her vulnerable pussy. The blood curdling scream echoed around the walls of the dungeon as she sagged in her bonds, barely concious.

Exasperated at not being able to break the American, he ordered his deputies to take her back to her cell. He would deal with her some more later.

***

Meanwhile at CIA Headquarters an email was received: “Agent McCloskey, code name, Hellfire, has not responded to any messages. We fear she has either been killed or captured.”

The upper level agency head who received the email frowned…then smiled smugly. “That’ll teach the bitch to repel my advances!”

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