From Russia with Hair

Here’s a little spy drama standalone (maybe?)! Keep an eye out, you might see some little surprises throughout this story! Thanks for reading, be sure to check out my other work!

Here’s the link for my last standalone in case you want another fun read:

Little Black Dress

Content warning: this one gets a little graphic and there’s SA

Cover Blown

In the cool, dark interrogation room, all that could be heard were the drops of water falling from my damp clothes to the smooth concrete floor. That and my light but speedy breaths as I tried to regain my composure before my captors returned.

They hadn’t hurt me yet, just left me isolated in a dark room to think about what they might do to me. Oh, and they had ripped open my white button down blouse, exposing my flat, almost muscular, stomach, and soaked me with icy cold water. That was what had taken my breath from me.

My long, pale blonde hair, once beautifully styled in loose curls that hung down to my lower back, was now plastered to my head with the cold water that I swore was actually freezing solid. I knew my makeup was most likely running down my cheeks, the black mascara staining my flawless cheekbones.

I forced myself to slow down my breathing, to focus on calming down, contracting and relaxing my muscles in an exercise I had learned in SERE school to maintain my body heat even when my movement was restricted. My near meditative focus was working as my heart rate slowed and my body began to feel warmer.

The Agency had trained me for this back at the farm. The strict SERE training (Survival, Evasion, Resistance, and Escape) that I had undergone taught me how to resist torture, how to survive capture when held by an enemy that had little to no concern for any Geneva Convention. But why would they? I was a spy. A CIA field operative, deep undercover as the leggy blonde assistant of a Russian billionaire with deep ties in the government. As a spy, they could have executed me if they wanted to. But I knew they wanted more than my life. They wanted information.

Suddenly, the harsh fluorescent lights flashed on, bleaching my retinas and causing me to squeeze my eyes shut. Another splash of icy cold water ruined all of my hard work and left me gasping for air.

”So, Anya Bielski, administrative assistant from Saint Petersburg, why on earth would we have you here, soaking wet and shivering in a godforsaken basement?” I heard an all too familiar voice ask in Russian as my eyes adjusted to the bright light.

I looked up at my captor, green eyes blinking with feigned fear. I pleaded with the man in perfect Russian, “Please, sir, I don’t know! I was just making copies in the office! Ask my boss, he’s a very important man, I’m sure he’ll clear this all up!”

”Sure, yes. An important man with access to many secrets. Secrets that an American spy from the CIA would love to find,” the man said, switching from Russian to English for his final sentence.

”What do you mean American spy? CIA? This is crazy!” I said, switching to English as well, yet holding onto my practiced Belarusian accent.

The man, who I only knew as the Colonel, smacked me across the face and shouted, “Liar!”

Instantly I saw a flash of light, followed by a ringing in my ears and the slight taste of copper in my mouth. If my lips hadn’t been coated in a deep red lipstick, I’m sure blood would have been visible on them.

The Colonel, a stern, gray haired man who was probably around my height at 5’9” and was clearly in immaculate military shape. He wore camouflage combat fatigues that held no name, rank insignia, medals, or even unit markings. The only reason I knew he was a colonel was because one of his men had referred to him as such as they cruelly soaked me with bucket after bucket of water.

I shook my head and began to cry. The blow had hurt, but not enough to bring the tears that followed. Not for a trained field agent. Even if I was relatively inexperienced, still on my first undercover assignment. But Anya Bielski, administrative assistant from Belarus, would certainly find herself crying in this situation.

”I’m not lying! Please, stop! I just want to go home!” I begged.

The Colonel laughed, “I’m sure you would. All the way back to America. Right back to Washington DC. Home of CIA field agent Elizabeth Carr. You’d probably love to see you parents, Jim and Amy. And your golden retriever, Petey. Maybe even your little Airforce boyfriend, First Lieutenant Tim Avery.”

I was shocked. Each of those statements he made were true. I thought I had slipped up, but he knew everything about me. There was no way. I had no social media, no online presence, my phone back home was encrypted, my personal file was deeply classified. But he knew all of it. How could he, though?

The Colonel must have recognized my flash of panic, even if I hadn’t let my face betray those emotions. “So, Elizabeth, why don’t we drop the act. And why don’t you just tell me what I want to know.”

I winced and nodded, letting out a chuckle, sniffling in the last of the fake sobs. I shrugged my shoulders awkwardly, my arms held behind me by flex cuffs. Speaking, my fake accent now forgotten, I asked, “And what might that be?”

The Colonel laughed, “Well it is lovely to meet Elizabeth for the first time. The blonde beauty from America, whose sly, feminine charm, long legs and energetic love-making has completely pussy-whipped one of our gracious leader’s closest confidants into becoming entirely too trusting of a simple assistant.”

I laughed back at him, “It really didn’t take much. I never even used my best stuff. I’ll have you know, he’s really into hair pulling. And he loves it when I wear this skirt.” I gestured down at the tight black pencil skirt I wore with my head, not having any other part of my body that could move enough to point. My red lips parted revealing white, perfectly straight teeth in a cocky grin as I met his deep brown eyes with my icy blue-eyed gaze.

The Colonel circled behind me and interlaced his fingers in my soggy locks, flipping out a sharp looking folding knife with his other hand, “I bet he likes it even more when you take that skirt off.”

With wicked speed, the Colonel yanked back on my hair, stretching my neck back. I felt my skirt split open, the knife making a long slit down the middle, exposing the rest of my smoothly shaved legs and the black lace thong I wore underneath.

I chuckled and purred in my deep, seductive voice, “You know he does. And you call that hair pulling? You’re just turning me on, baby.”

The Colonel laughed, “Now, how would Lieutenant Boyfriend like to hear you talking like that? We’ll loosen you up. In the end, everybody breaks. And so will you.”

Another bucket of icy cold water was thrown on me by one of the Colonel’s lackeys. As my captors left the room, the bright lights were left on and the previous silence was replaced by blaring music, Russian hip hop that was rapped at a rate that even my fluent Russian ears couldn’t keep up with.

I smiled to myself. He thought he had time, but he was wrong. The agency issued tracker that I had activated and then swallowed meant that eventually, help would come. I knew too much to let fall into the hands of the enemy and I knew too much to be allowed to die. Rescue would come, which meant my job would be to survive and to protect the knowledge I had gained. It sounded so simple in my mind, but something told me it wouldn’t be.

The Questioning Begins, With Consequences

I had no idea how much time had passed. It could have been hours or it could have been days. The lights and the loud music, along with the shivering, kept me awake. I had tried to sleep, tried to block out the music and the light, but I had failed. My position was too uncomfortable, the stimulus of the room too overwhelming. Eventually, I sat in a near trancelike state, eyes fluttering, head lolling as I shivered.

”Hello Elizabeth, do you like our accommodations?” I heard the Colonel’s voice say, my head snapping up to meet the gaze of the cruel man.

The music stopped and a man dressed similarly to the Colonel wheeled in an IV pole with two big bags hanging from it. I looked from the IV pole to the Colonel in confusion.

”What are you doing?” I asked, trying my best to sound angry after the hours of restless suffering.

”Why, it’s truth serum, comrade,” he said cheerfully as the man wrapped a blue rubber tourniquet around my arm and began prepping my restrained wrist for the needle.

”Wait, what?” I said, beginning to struggle against my restraints.

The Colonel laughed, “You stupid American, didn’t they teach you that there was no such thing as truth serum? It’s just warm saline bags, to keep you from dehydrating and to warm up your core temperature so we don’t lose you to hypothermia. We can’t have you dying on us before we get what we need from you.”

I relaxed slightly and allowed the man to stick the needle into my arm. Soon, warm saline was flowing into my veins, reviving my exhausted muscles and renewing my energy. I was still tired from the lack of sleep and pounding music, but at least I know longer felt like I was dying.

The Colonel was brought a metal chair that matched the one I was bound to. The Colonel used a warm, damp washcloth to wipe my face, presumably to clean the running makeup away. He was so gentle, the experience could have almost been considered comforting. I looked at him suspiciously, feeling like some restrained pet.

”What do you want?” I asked.

”You know what I want. I want everything. Everything that is in that precious blonde head,” he said, patting the top of my head gently.

”Why would I give you that?” I asked, spitting in his face.

He chuckled, using the washcloth to wipe the pathetic amount of spit that my dry mouth produced, “Because, Elizabeth, you want all of this to stop.”

He produced a pair of scissors from behind his back and walked behind me. I sat in my seat, frozen, fearing what he might cut off. Shockingly, I felt him gather my long hair back behind my back. Next came tugging and the telltale “schnick schnick schnick” of scissors slicing through my precious hair.

As my head rocked back with each tug, I felt tears sting in my eyes. My golden blonde hair had always been my proudest feature, protected from excessive heat and the harsh chemicals of bleaches or dyes. My boyfriend, Tim, who I had begun dating in college, loved it, especially when I wore it in a high ponytail, curled in loose curls. The men I seduced to gain their trust and information loved to run their fingers through it, loved to pull it and see me wear it in elaborate styles as I was on their arm at cocktail parties. And now the Colonel was taking it from me.

I blinked away the tears as the Colonel flipped my freshly cut hair from behind my back onto my chest. Hair that had once fallen down to the curve of my lower back now fell at the top of my exposed black bra in a jagged cut line.

Forcing a laugh, I glared at the Colonel as he stood in front of me, letting my hair fall from his fingers to show the massive amount of hair he had removed, “I guess I should thank you, I was due for a trim.”

”So, Elizabeth, would you like to share some information?” he asked, lifting the end of a section of my hair and tickling my cheeks with it.

”Your friend, the billionaire, really shouldn’t be trusted to know any secrets,” I said with a sneer.

The Colonel chuckled wryly, “Well that is something that you and I could agree on.”

To my dismay, the Colonel walked behind me again and gathered my hair into his hand. I felt fear bubble up within me, my hair was already shorter than it had ever been in my life and I felt his hand just below the base of my skull. Then I felt the cool metal of the scissors against my skin and I held my breath.

Again, the scissors made their wretched sound as my head was tugged back with each slice. The Colonel didn’t need to flip my hair over my shoulders to show me how short my hair was this time. Instead, as it was cut short, my once long locks felt around my face, their ends stopping just below my chin.

Rather than walking in front of me, the Colonel held his hand over my head and let the hair that he had just removed fall onto my face and exposed lap. Some stuck to my cheeks and eyelashes and I shook my head slightly to remove the ticklish strands. My newly shorted hair flipped in an unfamiliar way, helping me to remember that it was my hair that now littered my body.

”If only I had a mirror to show you your new look,” the Colonel said.

”Right, if only. I had been wanting to go short, thanks for taking care of that for me,” I said proudly.

The door opened and a mirror was rolled out and placed in front of me. I closed my eyes and tucked my chin down, refusing to give my captors the satisfaction of a reaction. Instead of leaving me be, the Colonel lifted my chin roughly with his hand and slapped my face.

”Look at yourself, American bitch,” he said, slapping my cheek again and again.

Finally, unable to bear the repeated blows I opened my eyes and saw myself for the first time since I had been captured. The woman looking back at me was strange. My makeup was gone, having been cleaned away by the buckets of water and the Colonel’s surprisingly gentle hands. My cheek was bright red from the slaps. And my once beautiful hair was ruined.

Once long and meticulously cared for, it was now brutally short in a slightly angled bob. Shockingly it was mostly even, but I didn’t care. It would be years before my hair was long again. My shoulders slumped.

”We’ll be back later. You can keep the mirror of course,” the Colonel said, snapping his fingers which signaled the man with the IV pole to disconnect my line from the site of my IV catheter and stop the flow of warm, life-prolonging fluid. Then, several more buckets of cold water were dumped on me, sticking my newly short hair flat against my cheeks. As the door closed, the painfully loud hip hop music began anew.

War of Wills

After the Colonel left me in the room shivering, all I could do was stare in dismay at my ruined hair. It shouldn’t have felt like a big deal. I was lucky that he had only started by removing something that would grow back. Maybe it was my exhaustion, or the cold, but I felt so violated by having my long hair cut so brutally short. Somehow even more violated than I felt sitting in the cold metal chair with my shirt torn open and exposed thong. And the fact that every time I looked up I saw the broken husk that used to be me only led to further wither away at my spirit.

More time passed, although I didn’t know how much. Every once in a while, I guess when my captors determined I was too cold and too dehydrated, the same man came in, hooked me up to the warm IV fluids, and then left once I had received what seemed to be a couple hundred milliliters of fluid. Not enough to be comfortable, just enough to survive. Then my now short hair, tattered clothes, and skin would be soaked again with the painfully cold water.

The room wasn’t even harshly cold, perhaps being only around a crisp 65 degrees Fahrenheit. But between the cold water and my minimal clothing, I would succumb to hypothermia without the IV doses. I also was only given a break from the thumping music when the man with the IV bag came in, that being my only chance for minimal comfort. They had also taken off my restraints temporarily to maintain the use of my hands in the long term, but even then, the skin on my wrists was torn and bruised.

When the music stopped once again, I looked up hopefully to see my savior, the man with the IV pole, but sadly this time he was not alone. The Colonel was back. And he had a small black duffel bag with him. What the bag held, I did not know, but I was afraid to let my imagination run wild.

”Hello Elizabeth, it’s lovely to see you again. How have you enjoyed your stay? And how are you liking your new style?” the Colonel asked mockingly.

”The accommodations could be a little warmer, and you forgot to blow dry after you washed my hair, but other than that, I can’t really complain,” I said, although probably significantly less confidently than I had the last time.

In reality, this was the most uncomfortable I had ever been, even during SERE school. And I was doing my best to ignore how much the haircut had impacted me.

The Colonel walked behind me, digging through his bag as a small hip height table was brought into the room.

”You know, when I was born, the Soviet Union was still alive and well. Or maybe perhaps just alive. But, I was old enough to see it collapse, to understand what it meant. In fact, I had nearly come of age, just a young man of 16 years when the Berlin Wall was torn down. I was already on track to be a soldier and, in the new Russian military, I found that things weren’t all that different. Proxy wars, spycraft, secrets everywhere. I guess the people up top saw potential in me. Which was strange considering I had a very unimportant upbringing,” he monologued.

I could see in the mirror that he found something in the bag that pleased him as he allowed himself a soft smile.

”Okay, cool. So are you going to kill me or let me go?” I asked, my confidence growing as my hatred for the man intensified. Even listening to him talk infuriated me. I wasn’t battered, but not broken.

“Wouldn’t you like to know what my upbringing was, my dear?” he asked, fondly running his fingers through my hair.

”Let me guess, your parents were farmers? Factory workers? Laborers?” I asked, throwing out the only professions I could think of from the USSR.

He chuckled, “Now that feels like stereotyping. No, my father was a barber. And until I voiced my desire to join the military, my father was training me to be one as well.”

I cocked my head to the side in confusion as he held up a pair of scissors, those of a professional barber, and also a comb.

”These scissors belonged to my father. He was murdered after the fall of the Soviet Union, when crime took over our nation. My mother did not survive long after, her spirit broken by the loss. So I claimed his equipment. It was nice having access to personal property after communism was no more,” he said.

”You think you’d have done a better job with this bob then,” I said with a proud grin.

”Oh, you American women. Always so attached to their hair,” he said, combing up a section of hair that would have been bangs if my hair hadn’t previously all been the same long length.

I froze, not speaking a word, until I saw him hold the lock of hair between two of his fingers, the scissors moving straight towards my hair.

”Don’t you want to ask me questions? Isn’t this an interrogation?” I asked, stopping his movement briefly.

”No, this is torture. The interrogation comes after I’ve broken you,” he said simply as he snipped my hair off leaving a lock that was perhaps only an inch and a half long.

Uninvited tears welled up in my eyes as I glared at him in the mirror. “Fuck you,” I spat.

”Perhaps you’ll get the chance before we’re done. It all depends on what it takes to break you,” he said, combing up another lock of hair and snipping it off.

I couldn’t fight back the tears that fell from my eyes as I glared at the man who snipped lock after lock of hair from my head, each snip of the scissors leaving behind hair that was at most two inches long. No sobs or uneven breathing came forth from my lips, the tears that fell were matched with my defiant silence as I watched my once beautiful hair be taken away.

”Even as I snip away your hair down to almost nothing, that stupid American defiance still remains. Pity. You were so beautiful,” he said, snipping with surprising speed.

”You’d think since you were training as a barber that you could at least give a decent haircut. I mean what the fuck is this?” I asked, doubling down on my defiance, even as my tears continued to fall.

”Elizabeth, I was trained in the Soviet Union, almost thirty years ago. It’s been a while since I gave a proper haircut. And even back then, Soviet haircuts were more about efficiency rather than appearance,” the Colonel said, intentionally dropping a lock of hair in my face.

I blew at my nose and watched in disbelief. It seemed like he was nearly done with my haircut. And it was horrible. The bob could have been turned into something stylish, it would have been an easy, albeit long, grow out. Not this haircut. I looked like a baby duck with my blonde hair standing straight up like fluffy down feathers. I guess because my hair had been weighed down by so much length that my thick roots stood straight up with the bulk removed from them.

“Yeah, I’ll say. You really fucked this one up,” I said, hiding the soul shattering impact behind my well-practiced bravado.

”Which is exactly what I was hoping to do,” he said, ruffling my short hair with his hand after he put his scissors and comb in his bag.

The IV pole was taken away, along with the deliciously warm and hydrating fluid inside the bags and another few buckets of cold water were splashed on me yet again. This time, instead of thumping hip hop, a horrible electronic-sounding whine blared through the speakers, raising and lowering in pitch.

This time, I let myself cry as I looked at myself wondering where my help was. Where was Evan? And the Delta Force operators that were our quick reaction force? It felt like it had been weeks and they were nowhere to be seen. And now my hair had been completely ruined because they had taken so long. Had my government given me up? And the partner that I had grown to trust? Had he abandoned me to die?

A Turning Tide

Now with the whining sound replacing the music, I had no way to tell the passing of time. Before I could roughly judge time based off of when songs ended and started, although I had begun to suspect that they were randomly stopping them before their ends or played them on loops to skew my view on time. But now the deafening ringing in my ears caused my short-haired head to feel as though it would split in two.

As I anxiously waited for the Colonel to return, I noticed they had backed off on the buckets of cold water. Although my head pounded, I was grateful to them that my core body temperature seemed to be rising and regulating itself. But I knew I shouldn’t be grateful. The Colonel was the reason I was going through this, he was the reason my hair was gone. I hated him, and the hatred burning within me warmed me better than the lack of icy water ever could.

My thoughts slid back and forth between gratitude and rage for however long it was before the Colonel came back in, carrying his duffel back of tools, followed by the man with the IV pole and the man carrying the hip height table. Of course the sound cut out right before he opened the door so he wouldn’t have to endure the torturous sound.

”Hello, my dear, how are you? I could tell the music was bothering you so I thought I’d try something new,” he said with a pleasant smile.

I had no energy for snide comments, but I was in one of my phases of hatred so all I uttered was a bitter, “Fuck you.”

”Still resisting? Even after I’ve taken so much from you? When will you learn? Before long you won’t even be worth using as a double agent, you’ll be too broken to come back from,” the Colonel chided.

”A double agent? For you? Fuck off,” I said, fighting to keep my head up enough to be able to glare at him.

”Pity,” he said as I heard a snap and whir come from behind me.

My tired eyes opened wide as I saw a set of black clippers in his hand. He placed them in the center of my forehead, nearly touching the hair at the front of my hairline. I didn’t dare to move.

”Now these were not my father’s. These are new and they’re mine. They’ll take this fluff down to almost nothing,” he said in a slightly raised voice so he could be heard over the buzzing of the clippers.

Then, without asking a single question, he plunged the clippers into my already short hair.

In dismay, I watched a pale strip of my scalp emerge as the clippers plowed straight down the center of my crown, being pulled back by the horrible man that just wouldn’t leave me alone. He lifted the clippers and started a new strip, then another and another.

Soon, my crown was bald, all save for a trace of blonde stubble that I knew would feel like the back of Tim’s high fade haircut after a trim. The Colonel continued shaving, moving my tired head in whatever directions he chose to deprive my head of the remaining hair.

I had given up trying to hold back crying, tears streaming down my cheeks as soft sobs passed through my dry, cracked lips. My hair was gone. I was a bald freak. All because my people were dragging their feet to come save me like they had promised they would.

The Colonel rubbed the clippers against my bald scalp, pressing them down firmly to shave the stubble as close as he could. Then he roughly rubbed my head, moving my head back and forth.

”Look at what you’ve done to yourself. All you had to do was break. But you had to be brave. Now look at you. You’re bald now,” he said.

Angrily, I turned my head and feebly attempted to bite his hand. He snatched his hand away and smacked me on the back of my bald head and laughed.

”Ah, not finished yet, are we? Very well, you’ll want to be still for this next part,” he said as he waved up at the camera that had been watching me throughout my trials.

A bowl of water was brought in and placed on the table. I saw steam rising from it and was worried until I saw a clean white towel emerge from the water. The Colonel wrapped it around my bald head, giving me the first true comfort I had felt. My shoulders slumped and I involuntarily leaned into his hands which gently massaged my head.

I was sad when the towel was pulled off, and even more sad when I felt the cool shaving cream being lathered onto my head. And I was devastated when I saw the safety razor in his hand.

Letting my head hang, I allowed the Colonel to shave me completely bare. First he shaved with the grain of my hair, the sharp razor gliding through what remained of my hair. Across my crown, around my perfect ears, down my nape. Then the hot towel was wrapped around my head again. And again, I melted into the warmth. No matter how much I hated the man, I couldn’t avoid that I loved the feeling. Any small comfort was welcome.

Another coat of shaving cream was applied and this time the Colonel shaved against the grain, removing any last trace of hair. I felt like, with my hair, my spirit was also departing from me. Perhaps I was being abandoned. Perhaps this was my fate.

And, my fate was, of course, worsened. After my scalp was shaved completely, the Colonel tilted my head back and shaved off each of my perfectly shaped eyebrows, leaving me bald and browless like some alien freak. Although I thought I had no tears left to cry, they again returned to my eyes when I saw myself in the mirror. He dripped oil onto my head and massaged it into my scalp, making it shine in the fluorescent lights.

”Fuck you! I hate you!” I said, looking at him, but also at the ugly, hairless creature in the mirror.

The Colonel laughed, “See you later Elizabeth.”

The miserable process was repeated again, the IV was removed, I was doused in cold water, this time the water running off of my freshly shaven head.

I shivered and wept as the sound returned in my ears. Letting out one, defiant, wordless cry, I slumped in my chair and did my best to rest while I waited for what came next. And I was beginning to believe that what came next would not be my rescue.

Bald, Browless, but not yet Broken

The horrible whining sound continued making my bald head ache. I wished I could cover my ears, bury my naked head in a pillow, close my eyes, and sleep. Or better yet, I hoped I would wake up from this horrible nightmare with my full head of hair in the bed of my Russian billionaire lover. Or maybe even in Tim’s arms back home.

But I knew that couldn’t be true. And each soul-shattering look in the mirror of what I had become reminded me that this was reality. As each visit with the Colonel passed, I became more like a freak and less like the beautiful femme fatale I had been. And the loss of my beauty was wearing me down.

At least none of the damage was permanent, though. That was what I kept reminding myself. The hair would grow back, even if it would take years. And there were wigs, I could draw my eyebrows on with makeup. I would be okay, as long as Evan and the Deltas came to get me before things got worse.

He burst back into the room and wasted no time. I glared at him and all he did was pin my head against his side with his arm. I tried to struggle at first, but I was just so tired. His side was warm against my naked scalp and the whining sound had stopped with his entrance. I almost could have fallen asleep if it hadn’t been for the pain that erupted around my eyes.

A scream slipped through my lips as he began to pluck my eyelashes out with tweezers, a few precious little hairs at a time. Tears streamed down my cheeks, both from the pain and from the horrible irritation of my eyes. I didn’t dare move or flinch, though, for fear that I might make the Colonel slip and do some permanent damage to my icy blue eyes.

I went to my happy place, walking along the Potomac with Tim and Petey at sunset. With all my might, I tried to ignore the pain, forget what I knew was a hideous transformation. And then, it was finished.

”Here you are, almost completely hairless from head to toe. Or, if I remember correctly, your Russian boyfriend said you shave everything so you are now truly hairless. Quite ugly if you ask me,” the Colonel said, admiring me with sick satisfaction.

I blinked the tears away from my lashless eyes. Of course it looked worse. I looked like I was undergoing chemotherapy. And he was right, the billionaire liked me hairless so my pussy, legs, and even the hair on my arms were shaved smooth to the skin. So there was no hair left on my body. Somehow this was worse. And it filled me with a renewed hatred. I wouldn’t be broken so easily.

”You fucking sick, disgusting freak! I bet you like this. Your men must really be afraid of you to follow someone as perverted as you,” I spat.

”They certainly are, enjoy yourself Elizabeth,” the Colonel said as he slipped out again.

And the whining, ringing sound returned.

The Last Straw

I truly didn’t know how much longer I could go. It had to have been multiple days of no sleep, no food, and no water. Just IV fluid which kept me hydrated, but never wet my dry mouth. It had to have been at least a day because at one point, one of the Colonel’s lackeys came in to give me a fresh shave, from the top of my head to my toes and everything in between. That had been unpleasant. But I had been too tired to care.

The whining stopped. I lifted my exhausted, bare head and looked at the door. The Colonel stood there, a pair of pliers in his right hand. I knew pain was coming, but I didn’t know where. I had heard about fingernail pulling, perhaps that was coming. Painful, but not permanent.

Then he walked behind me. He clamped my head against his body. And, with the help of an assistant, he pried my mouth open. Clamping his pliers on my front right tooth, he tore the tooth from my gums.

I screamed. I cried. I begged. But none of that stopped him from pulling my other front tooth.

”Pleath, pleath thtop! I’ll tell you anything!” I lisped.

”Why, Elizabeth, it’s too late for that. I stripped you of all of the beauty I could without doing anything too permanent, but you never gave up. Now I have to show you I mean business,” he said, yanking the tooth to the right of the gap in my teeth.

I became a blubbering mess as he pulled each of my teeth, one at a time. First he pulled the front four teeth on the top, then the front four on the bottom. Then, alternating between top and bottom, left and right, he pulled each tooth from my jaws. Bloody drool spilled from the side of my mouth by the time he was finished pulling the last of my molars.

He released my head and I slumped forward, as far as I could with my hands still restrained behind the back of the cold metal chair I sat in. I sobbed and spat, my tongue searching for even one tooth. But there were none.

I felt my chin being lifted and looked up into the deep, brown, almost kind eyes of the Colonel.

Earnestly, he told me, “I recommend that the next time I come in, you find yourself more agreeable. Because next time, I’m coming for your ears.”

He stood up, patted my bare head, and walked out with his assistant at his heels. But this time, I didn’t watch him leave. It was over. I didn’t have anything left. My hair, eyebrows, eyelashes, and now teeth were gone. And so was whatever fighting spirit I had. The whining, ringing sound returned.

Proving Grounds

”Elizabeth, so nice to see you, how are you feeling?”

I looked up, catching a glimpse of my head shining in the fluorescent lights.

“Not good,” I struggled to say from my toothless mouth.

“I imagine not. Are you more agreeable?” he asked, pulling metal chair in front of me and sitting down so he could meet my lowered eyes.

”Pleathe thir, whatever you want,” I slurred.

”Good. Now I expect you to prove it. And if you’re a good girl, I’ll reward you,” he said, patting my sore cheek.

”Yeth thir, I’ll be a good girl,” I said.

”Good. My men and I are always so busy. We never have a chance to take care of our more physical needs,” he said, emphasizing the word that I knew the meaning behind.

I nodded, “Whatever you want thir, I’m your good girl.”

Survive. That was all I wanted to do. And I wanted to be free from further disfigurement. I would do whatever it took to make that happen.

“Now, to make this more enjoyable, I’m going to need to let you out of the chair. Will you fight me, try to escape, or try anything that I would consider to be undesirable?” he asked, holding my cheek.

I shook my head, “No thir.”

”Are you finally broken?” he asked.

I nodded my head, “Yeth thir. I’m brogen.”

”Good,” he said, standing and walking behind me.

For the first time in so long, as he cut my bonds, I sat up and stretch my back. The feeling returned to my hands as I shook them, seeing the bruising and cuts on my wrists from being bound for too long.

”Well? I’m waiting,” he said.

”Jutht wait, thir. I’m better with handth,” I said.

He dropped his camouflage pants and exposed a decently sized, uncircumcised cock. I smiled at him, showing my toothless gums.

”May I thuck your cock?” I asked sweetly.

”Why else would I pull your teeth? I can’t have you biting down,” he said, stepping up and putting his hand on the back of my head.

And so, I put all of my seductive skills to use. Or at least the raw physical ones. Men always caved to my will, not just because of my appearance, but because of my willingness to do anything in the bedroom. And now my appearance was ruined. So I did the only thing I had left to earn the favor of my captors.

First it was the Colonel. And then a cot was brought in. And each man that came in, one at a time, and I gave them whatever it was that they wanted. Each and every hole on my body was used again and again. I felt my pussy, my ass, and my mouth be filled with their hot semen. And I loved it, because I knew it meant that I would be rewarded.

Finally, after back to back fucking sessions that seemed liked they would never end, they finally did.

”That was a good girl,” the Colonel said, patting my bald head.

”Yeth thir, ith there anything elthe I can do for you?” I asked from my knees.

”Not yet, but that comes soon. For now, your reward,” he said.

My eyes began to water when I saw what was being brought in. One of the men who had rigorously fucked me and left his seed inside my battered pussy brought me a tray with a bowl of oatmeal and a bottle of water. Over his shoulder was a blanket and a tan jumpsuit.

”Now, my good little whore, you may eat something that your toothless mouth can handle, and you can sleep,” he said, gesturing to the tray, blanket, and new clothes.

”Thank you thir!” I said.

Both men left me on the floor, the food tray, blanket, and jumpsuit set side by side on the concrete.

I wasted no time at all and inhaled the oatmeal and water. I knew I should have taken it slowly, I had no idea how long it had been since I had taken in nutrients by mouth, but I couldn’t wait. The bowl was empty before I knew it. And so was the water bottle.

Hesitantly, I stood up. My head swirled and I steadied myself on the wall. Once my balance returned, I stared at my disgusting, nude form in the mirror. I looked sick, by body hairless and gaunt. Shaking my head, I stooped down and pulled on the tan prison-style jumpsuit. Picking up the blanket, I eased myself onto the cot that had been used by so many to fuck me, and covered myself. As soon as my bare head touched the rough canvas, I fell asleep.

Rescue?

I was awoken by the sound of the door opening. I looked up and saw the Colonel, followed by two men I hadn’t yet seen. I assumed my position on my knees, one that I would have once pulled my long golden locks back into a ponytail to prepare for.

“Is this the one?” one of the men asked in English. With an American accent.

I cocked my bald head to the side.

”Fuck you,” the Colonel said.

I flinched as the Colonel’s head exploded with a loud meaty thwack.

”Elizabeth, oh my god, is that you?” I heard a familiar, American voice ask.

From behind the two men emerged the most beautiful face I had ever seen. It was Evan. My partner in the field. Of course he was one of the most handsome men I had ever seen, standing at 6’4” with a stubbly beard and always immaculately cut and styled brown hair. But he was beautiful today because I knew what this meant. I was saved.

Immediately I fell face first on the floor and sobbed, covering my shaven head with my hands.

I felt Evan fall to his knees beside me, wrap his muscular arms around me and hold me close.

Looking up at him, my lashless eyes filled with tears, “Oh my god, Evan, ith it really you?”

He was momentarily stunned by my toothless mouth, but visibly shook his head. “It really is L. And we’re getting you out,” he said, calling me by the nickname he had begun calling me back at the farm, the training site for all CIA field agents.

“Thank you tho much,” I lisped.

”Can you walk?” he asked, helping me to my feet.

I nodded, a motion that still felt strange with no hair, “I think tho.”

”Alright, follow Rick and James. They’ll get us out of here,” he said.

I looked up and saw the two men, obviously part of our Delta team. Both had suppressed pistols and were stacked on either side of the door watching for threats. They both wore the same casual uniform that the now lifeless Colonel on the floor wore. I glared at his body and began to kick it.

”Fuck. You. Ath-hole,” I said, emphasizing each syllable with a kick to the body’s ribs.

”Come on L, we need to move. We don’t have much time,” Evan said, putting his arms around me and nodding at the two men.

Evan held his own suppressed pistol and we were led out by one Delta. I felt the other’s hand on my back, touching my shoulder to feel where we went as I knew he had his eyes locked on our rear. We passed bodies everywhere we went and I hoped they weren’t men who had come to rescue me. Most looked like the men who had defiled me.

The ex-fil went off without a hitch and I was loaded into a blacked out SUV. Once inside the SUV, one of the Delta’s inserted a new IV and immediately began pumping fluid and antibiotics into my bloodstream. Leaning my bald head onto Evan’s shoulder, I passed out.

Over, but Not Truly

I didn’t know it, but while I was out, I was rushed back to the embassy and taken into a medical room. The doctor woke me up, patting my shoulder gently. She was kind, stroking the side of my bald head with her thumb as she spoke to me.

Carefully, she got my story of my treatment while I was in captivity. She was shocked by the barbarity of my treatment and gave me pain killers and a morning after pill, all of which were welcome.

Then I saw Evan who sat anxiously in a chair beside my bed. The doctor nodded at him and left and he took her place beside me. Instead of sitting on a stool next to the bed, he sat on the bed, his right hip touching my left as he leaned on one elbow next to my face.

Gently stroking my head with his thumb, his eyes filled with tears until he finally spoke.

”Oh god, L. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there. I can’t believe I let them do this to you,” he said.

”It’th not your fault, Evan. I knew the rithkth,” I said.

“But I should have been there, I’m your partner,” he said tearfully.

”And if you had been, my cover would have been blown thooner and you would have been, at betht right there alongthide me. And at wortht, you would have been dead,” I said, leaning my head into his hand.

I saw Evan snap up and wipe his eyes, sniffling. He stood and shook a man’s hand. “L, this is Rick, the Delta who helped get us inside.”

”Hey now,” Rick drawled in a rich southern accent, perhaps Alabamian, “my buddy James did as much as I did. He’s doing a debrief right now, otherwise he’d be here too to welcome our package back into the land of the living. How are you doing darlin’?”

“Better now, thankth to you,” I said, nodding my head but unable to sit up.

“You get some rest now, sweetheart. Your pal Evan did everything he could to get us inside that fortress. He’s the big reason we were able to get you out in under 48 hours. And he refused to let us go in without him,” Rick said, patting Evan on the shoulder.

”Under 48 hourth?” I asked, shocked.

”We got there about a day and a half after you activated the beacon. I wish it had been sooner, I’m sorry,” Evan said sorrowfully.

“I thought I wath there for a week! Tho much happened. It wath horrible,” I said, beginning to cry.

Evan sat next to me and I leaned my head into his hip and held him as I cried. He rubbed my shoulder gently.

Rick patted my foot, “I’m sure it was horrible. But you survived. And you didn’t break. You left with every secret you went in with. I know you might not feel this way, but you deserve to feel proud.”

I nodded my head, but couldn’t say anything, I just squeezed Evan tighter.

Later, in my little dormitory style room, I stared at myself in the mirror with tear reddened eyes as the water in the shower warmed. I couldn’t believe that the creature that stared back at me was actually me.

Slowly, I ran a hand over my head, feeling my scalp for the first time since I had been shaved. It was scratchy with a shadow of stubble. It felt sticky to the touch. I ran my finger over the ridge of my brow where my eyebrows had once been, they were smoother than my head, but I could feel a prickly stubble beginning to emerge. The scratchy stubble on my head and eyebrows reminded me that my hair would return. Even my eyelashes which had brutally been plucked out would return. Perhaps not as thick as they had once been, but they would be back.

Then I opened my mouth. I slid my tongue along my rubbery gums. They were still so incredibly sore, although the narcotic level painkillers were helping to deaden the pain. Evan had told me that the Agency had already promised to supply me with whatever dental procedures I wanted to bring back my smile. But whatever came would be painful, and it wouldn’t be mine.

Evan had also told me that the Agency was committed to my recovery process. They were willing to put me through rehab, counseling, and supply me with wigs if I desired them. He had said I was already being spoken of by agents around the world as the field agent who refused to crack under torture. But they probably didn’t know what I had done, or that I had been beaten. Tears again filled my eyes.

I dropped my robe and stepped into the steaming shower. Standing in the hot water, I let the warmth wash over me. It had been so cold in that room, I never thought I would experience this warmth again. Even the hot towels that had been used to soften my stubble before my head was shaved to the skin had revitalized me, so this was heavenly.

First, like I began each of my showers, I scrubbed my body, squeezing out a generous amount of my soap onto a washcloth and scrubbing my arms, legs, back, toned stomach, and shapely ass.

Then, like always, I picked up my shampoo as I let the water rinse the soap away from my body. My long hair required a hefty quantity of shampoo and so I heaped it in the palm of my hand. Raising the shampoo laden hand to my head, I placed it on my scalp. But rather than meeting soggy hair, my soapy fingers slapped onto my naked scalp.

I fell to my knees and began to sob on the floor of the shower as the shampoo was swiftly swept from my mostly smooth head.

The door to the bathroom opened.

”L? Oh my god, L! Are you okay?” I heard Evan say as he hurried to open the opaque glass door of the shower. Not wanting to be alone, I had asked Evan to stay in my room while I showered. Along with everything I had asked for since my rescue, he had graciously agreed to stay around.

”No, I’m not okay! I’ll never be okay,” I sobbed.

Evan kicked his shoes off and sat next to me in the shower, fully clothed. Putting his now soaked, sleeved arm around me, he pulled me close, putting my bald head against his cheek.

”I know I won’t be. And I wasn’t even the one who went through it. I’m so sorry, L,” he said, squeezing my shoulders and kissing the top of my head.

Leaning my shoulder into him, I looked up into his eyes, “God, I’m hideouth.”

”No you are not. You are still just as beautiful as you were before,” he said with a firm confidence.

”Do you mean that?” I asked.

”Of course I do, L,” he said, holding my gaze.

I closed my eyes and leaned toward him, my lips searching for his. I found them and began to kiss him hungrily. This was our first real kiss. We had kissed before while posing as a couple, of course, but now I was kissing him for a different reason. I didn’t know what it was, but it was anything but professional.

My fingers searching his chest I began to unbutton his soggy shirt before he took my hands in his and pulled away from my kiss.

I looked up at him, hurt and betrayed, “But you thaid I’m beautiful?”

”And you are. But I’m in your room right now because you trust me. And right now I need you to trust that I won’t take advantage of you right now while you’re broken and vulnerable. You’re my partner, I have your back,” he said, putting the hand that didn’t hold my shoulders on the side of my head and pulling it against his shoulder.

”Oh my god, I’m tho thorry,” I said, my tears returning anew.

”Don’t be. I’m here. But I don’t know for how much longer as your partner,” he said.

”What do you mean?” I asked, never lifting my head from his strong shoulder.

”I mean I’m done with the Agency. You know I’ve been planning for it, and after this? I’ve lost the stomach for this spy bullshit,” Evan said, his voice that of a man who had given up.

”What am I going to do without you?” I asked tearfully.

”Don’t worry, I will always be around if you need me. I owe you for not getting to you sooner. But maybe you’ll go ahead and take the chance to get out once you’re fully recovered?” Evan said, reassuring my panicked mind.

I shook my head, “No I’m just getting thtarted.”

As my partner and I sat under the steady stream of hot water, a thought crossed my mind. How had the Colonel gotten my personal information? I knew instantly how he had.

There was a traitor in our midst.

On the Hunt

It took me a full year to be able to get back into the field. The Colonel, whose name I had never known, had truly broken me. The CIA had given me everything I needed, just like they promised they would. It was hard not to after the reputation I had gained. The woman who wouldn’t break.

Evan, though, had broken. Or rather something inside him had. It was his resolve. Just like I had done, he had used his knowledge of the secret goings on of the world and had wisely invested in the stock market. He had done nothing to impact the flow of commerce, he just understood the impacts of world affairs on the market and chose wise investments because of that. He had plenty of money to get out of the game and live in comfort. As a hobby to stay busy, he got all of the certifications to be a hairstylist and was running his own salon in some little college town. I was glad he was happy.

My counseling had helped, as well as some time off. I broke up with Tim. Even though he had been kind and supportive upon my return. It wasn’t fair to him. But the rest of my recovery did not go quite how the agency planned.

Instead of receiving dental implants, I requested several sets of custom dentures, each with differing levels of quality. I had teeth that were perfect, straight and white while still looking natural. I also had teeth that were crooked, yellowed, even some sets that were missing a few. Thanks to my toothless mouth, I could change my appearance from a meth-ed out vagrant to the same beautiful seductress that I had gotten my start as.

I had also taken to keeping up my shaved head and eyebrows. It worked better for my disguises. Wigs fit better on my bare scalp and, just as with my teeth, I could make a quick change and hugely alter my appearance. I had also mastered using makeup to create eyebrows that matched each character I created.

One thing was different, though. I could never let a razor or clippers touch my head. The feeling brought back too many memories. So instead, each day, I took an electric foil shaver to my head and eyebrows, never letting my hair grow in long enough to need clippers. Along with my daily wear wig and dentures, my foil shaver went with me everywhere. I could never allow that feeling again.

With the Agency at my back, and my newfound status as a true chameleon, I would find the traitor. I would find out why they would ever betray me. And I would exact my revenge.

I hope you all enjoyed this new story! There are a few names in here that may stick out to those who follow my other works, what do you think this means for the BTCU (Barbershop Tales Cinematic Universe)? Thanks as always for reading, let me know what you think in the comments!