"Solo queremos jugar!"

Roxy sprints naked through the slums of Buenos Tetas, capital city of Verguenzuela. Her hands are still tied behind her back, her ass still marked with whip-welts. Motorbikes roar down the road behind her.

“Vuelve, Roxy! Solo queremos jugar!”

“No tengas miedo, Roxy! Somos tus amigos!”

“No nos hagas azotar tu culo cachonda, puta!”

Roxy ducks into a nearby alley, heart pounding. Last night she and four lady American CEOs had to serve dinner, naked, to Generalissima Rosa Ramirez and her evil council of global villains, suffering their sly quips and wandering hands before crawling on all fours below the table and providing oral sex for dessert. Then, they’d been dragged off to the palace dungeons, where Ramirez’ entire harem of gorgeous captured Western woman had been forced to spank, whip, grope, fuck and generally perform the most depraved imaginable acts on each other’s naked bodies while the gloating villains strolled around the room, mocking their humiliation and inventing ways to make it worse.

So she definitely doesn’t want to go back.

But she may not have a choice!

The Viper’s mercenaries are out looking for her, and if they catch her they’re bound to make her squirm. Pretty much the entire merc squad has already taken its turn with her, flogging her ass, fucking her with strap-ons, making her kiss their boots and beg for mercy as their ship made its way down south. She was kept nude the whole entire time, forced to swab the deck and perform every other menial task they could come up with, her body available for their twisted pleasure whenever they wanted.

The Viper made sure she was the only captive aboard ship they could use, so all the horny aggressive energy of that entire band of sadistic Latina soldiers could only be directed at her. She shudders as she remembers polishing the tables of the mess, stark naked and sweaty, exposed to leering eyes, unable to avoid the constant grasping hands…

Yes, it was the worst! She definitely never wants to relive the experience!

The rumble of motorbikes comes to a stop outside the alley. There’s nowhere to hide. Roxy backs into a corner, breathing hard, on the edge of panic, wanting to sink into the concrete wall. She hears the tramp of boots on the ground. A shadow blocks the light at the alley’s end.

“Hola, Roxy,” says The Viper, in the evil black leather uniform she wears when she’s at home. And the last little scrap of hope goes out.