Obligado – Ravished in a Flash QF-2

[YellowSnowDotCom]

Teaser: The Englishman used her hard as the thunderstorm raged outside. He was fucking her with long, powerful strokes, now forcing her to bend her knees, now grasping each buttock and raising her towards him, now leaning away from her to throw his cock into her even deeper. He was treating her sweaty body as a gymnastic vaulting horse. At last his thrusts grew frantic, he strained, and the woman sensed sticky warmth flooding her abused channel.
-------------------------------------------------------------

The author of this story has read and accepted the rules for posting stories. They guarantee that the following story depicts none of the themes listed in the Forbidden Content section of the rules.

The following story is a work of fiction meant for entertainment purposes only. It depicts nonconsensual sexual acts between adults. It is in no way meant to be understood as an endorsement of nonconsensual sex in real life. Any similarities of the characters in the story to real people are purely coincidental.
-------------------------------------------------------------

• This story is part of the Ravished in a Flash 2.0 Tournament
• It competes against Mens sana in corpore sano in the QF-2 match
• Theme: All By Myself

-------------------------------------------------------------


Obligado – Ravished in a Flash QF-2

Paris, France
19 July 1929

She closed the door of her hotel room, the latch snicking into place. The trip was over, the numbing succession of ships and trains ending with the taxi ride from the Gare de Lyon across Paris wilting in the hazy July heat.

She wanted nothing more that to peel off her dress and have a bath. But duty came first. Only when the usual feminine contents of her suitcase were arranged in a wardrobe she kicked off her shoes, undid her garters and rolled the stockings off her tired legs.

She padded barefoot to the window. Her tense fingers found the catch, and the wind breathed softly into the musty heat of her room.

A rain would come soon.

She lay down on the bed and closed her eyes. It was her first trip all by herself. There had been tougher assignments, but always with comrades close at hand to help her. But with the looming conflict with China, the Department was overstretched.

Three knocks, then one, then two... That was it! She almost ran to the door and flung it open—

Then fingers of steel gripped her wrist and a sweet-smelling rag was thrust over her mouth opening wide for a scream.

The first thing she saw when she came to was the room growing dark—a storm was gathering outside. Lying on her back on the bed, she felt the wind all over her naked skin.

Not a stitch of clothes on her!

She jolted, only to find herself crucified on the bed, her arms tied to the bedposts with leather thongs.

‘The lady is with us, my friend,’ a cold voice announced in English.

She turned her head to look at the thin, wiry, man in his thirties holding up her Italian passport. She had been taught to memorize faces, but his was as indistinct as it was inexpressive.

Her suitcase! It was on the table, torn apart well and good.

‘Why does a Maria Scognamiglio from Naples have all these letters in cipher and no less than one hundred twenty thousand francs in the secret compartment of her suitcase? What do you think?’

‘Not Maria?’

The second man was Russian—she would recognize that accent anywhere. A tall, broad-chested one, toying with his boater, staring at her womanly bits.

‘Indeed,’ the Englishman went on. ‘Let me introduce Mademoiselle Sappho Petraki from Alexandria. How’s your Russian, Mademoiselle Petraki?’

They knew her name. They knew who she was.

‘Who are you? You are not from the Intelligence Service…’ Sappho said in the most calm and even tone she could muster while her heart was battering against her ribs.

‘They are too cautious. Too many scruples.’

‘Are you with the Aubert League? Give me my clothes back!’ Sappho’s brain registered her garments strewn all over the floor.

‘I wonder how many thousands of poor Russian peasants have to go hungry so that your Red masters could stuff the secret compartment of your suitcase full? What for?’

‘You know very well what are we fighting for!’

‘Enough! I am certain this money is going to fund a gambling habit of a captain in Nancy or Besançon whose bad luck is rivalled only by his imagination in inventing threats that scare the Kremlin out of their wits. You really think France wants to attack Russia?’

Sappho swallowed. ‘French capitalists want to destroy Soviet Russia.’

‘It is Russia that is about to invade China—’

‘Enough! Let me dress!’

The rumbling of the thunder outside the window was no more forceful.

‘Where are you?’ the Englishman’s voice grew even colder.

‘What?’ Sappho was startled.

‘Answer me!’

‘Erm, in Paris. The hotel in the Sixteenth arrondissement… The Rue d’Obligado?’

‘Abso-bally-lutely, Mademoiselle Petraki!’ the Englishman chuckled, closing the window.

The rain was imminent.

‘It’s funny, isn’t it? You’re here because you’re obliged to serve your Kremlin masters. However, we have our obligations as well. We’re obliged to stop you. In God’s good time, you’ll die poisoned by your own venom. Delivered from no evil… For now, I’ll settle for hurting you,’ the Englishman started to undress.

Sappho wanted to yell, to scream, but the Russian’s meaty hand clasped hard over her mouth.

‘Spread your legs, won’t you, darling?’

She tried to kick the Englishman, now naked, in the groin instead. He and his Russian henchman pulled her legs apart as the thunder rolled incessantly.

The man slammed into her as the first blustery wave of rain hit the window. The disgusted Comintern agent clenched her teeth against the dull hurt in her inner regions.

The Englishman used her hard as the thunderstorm raged outside. He was fucking her with long, powerful strokes, now forcing her to bend her knees, now grasping each buttock and raising her towards him, now leaning away from her to throw his cock into her even deeper. He was treating her sweaty body as a gymnastic vaulting horse. At last his thrusts grew frantic, he strained, and the woman sensed sticky warmth flooding her abused channel.

Sappho lay limply with her eyes closed.

‘All yours!’ the man rolled off her.

‘No! No!’

But the Russian was already all over her, pressing her slim body down, smothering her. He roughly squeezed her small breasts, cruelly pinching and twisting her nipples until he succeeded at drawing a cry of hurt out of ther.

She gasped when she felt the cock of the Russian pulsing against her love-lips. He was bigger than the first rapist, but his entry was lubricated by the other man’s seed. Sappho thrashed in her bonds, sobbing piteously, each twist of her body sending a fresh stab of pain through her convulsing inner muscles.

He began fucking Sappho with hard, punishing strokes, mercilessly pounding her core. This was sheer torment. Faster and faster the man went, his head flung back, his mouth open, gasping and panting, until he too spilled his seed into the body of a wailing, moaning woman plundered beyond endurance.

[Vile8r]

I had to think for a moment about how this fit into the "All by myself" theme. But I see it now.

I like the background of international espionage and intrigue.

[Shocker]

Looks like my comment, didn't register. Really liked to have an espionage adventure to start my reading of the contest.

[RapeU]

I said something similar in another story that did the same thing: the word "herself" and "myself" have different meanings. I think this story missed the mark on the theme.

Theme aside, the spy angle is a nice go to for a hot story.

[Blue]

Hmm, the story doesn't really hit the mark in my opinion. But it's well-written, and haven't we had a similar story before?

[Shocker]

Hmm, the story doesn't really hit the mark in my opinion. But it's well-written, and haven't we had a similar story before?

I think there is inevitably going to be a degree of similarities with genre stories. Especially if they have to boil it down to 1000 words.

[Claire]

This was the hottest story I read so far. An agent on her first solo mission is an interesting take on the theme.

You could have strengthened this further by telling this story in first person, I think. I also would have liked to see a moment of resistance from Sappho. Her getting overwhelmed so easily was a bit anticlimactic. But there is something hot about this scenario.

I liked that you resisted to go down the femme fatale route for Sappho, the cliche female spy who uses primarily seduction as the way she operates but this time it goes wrong. At least, Sappho doesn't come across this way in this short snippet.

The story makes me wonder what she thought about this being her fiirst solo mission and if she would continue working as a spy if she somehow made it out of this situation.

[AdmiralPiet]

Interesting entry and well written.

I only struggle a bit with the context.
Not sure when this is happening. Aubert League implies first half of the 20th century?
Today I learned: The was an anti-communist organisation called Aubert League
I do not understand why this happens. They are obliged to hurt and rape her, but for what goal?

[YellowSnowDotCom]

Interesting entry and well written.

I only struggle a bit with the context.
Not sure when this is happening. Aubert League implies first half of the 20th century?

The looming Sino-Soviet conflict dates the story to 1929.

Today I learned: The was an anti-communist organisation called Aubert League
I do not understand why this happens. They are obliged to hurt and rape her, but for what goal?

Even with this story being a short savagely chopped down – it kept growing! – there really shouldn't be a clear answer to that.

In-story, the men aren't obliging Sappho with the explanation.

When and where exactly did she come up to the attention of her enemies, having stepped on someone's toes – was it in '27 Hankou, '28 London or '29 Budapest?

Who relieved her of the papers, money and left her tied to the hotel bed, their spunk leaking out of her twat, for the Comintern liaison to find once the thunderstorm is over?

Neither the woman nor the Comintern are getting an easy answer. Sappho has a lot of explaining to do when she gets back to Moscow.

Out-of-story, it's playing with the 'theirs not to reason why' concept. Sappho is there under orders, much like her adversaries, sent to intercept the Comintern agent and make her trip to Paris really unpleasant. Sappho being a young and comely woman, they – depraved bastards as they are — decided to fuck her as well.

[YellowSnowDotCom]

You could have strengthened this further by telling this story in first person, I think. I also would have liked to see a moment of resistance from Sappho. Her getting overwhelmed so easily was a bit anticlimactic. But there is something hot about this scenario.

I tried doing it in first person, but Sappho's voice was turning out either too flat or too weird. They were a strange bunch, communists of the 1920s...

The story makes me wonder what she thought about this being her fiirst solo mission and if she would continue working as a spy if she somehow made it out of this situation.

Her thoughts are unprintable, that is, anywhere but at RavishA! Might be worth exploring.

Sappho isn't likely to get another foreign mission. A definite loss for the Comintern, with her fluent in Greek, French, Italian, English and Egyptian Arabic, the early 20th century cosmopolitan Alexandria oblige.

She'll be assigned to translation. Eight or nine years later, she'll be shot as a spy working for England and Japan, maybe Poland as well.

Or Sappho could get away from it all, go back to Alexandria and try to rebuild her life, hoping to never again end up all by herself with two men sent to do her harm.