Kellner finished stripping her

The guards stood around her, watching her, their eyes sliding up and down her supple body that was now only covered by her back heeled boots, and small strips of material meant to conceal the rest of her. Kellner was in his element. He reached out his hand and his fingers gently touched her belly and waist. As she tried to pull away, one of his fingers caught the lining of her panties and tugged them before they snapped back on her skin.

“Well, well, well, my dear,” Mr. Kellner boasted, “If you had offered THIS earlier, then maybe we could have made a deal. As it is now, it is off the bargaining table because I now have it.”

“Please, Mr. Kellner,” She pleaded again, “don’t do this. I will destroy all of the evidence I have on you. I will leave this place and never come back.” He moved closed, and whispered in her ear, “I have destroyed the evidence, and in reality, I don’t want you to leave, I want you to stay.” He drew his hand around her waist, and pulled her in for a kiss.

She didn’t fight him, as she rationalized that perhaps that was the best way to bargain, but she had made a critical mistake. Kellner’s proximity was not on to facilitate a kiss, but also to have closer access to her remaining garments. As they kissed, he flicked his knife a few times. She felt the cuts and shuddered. As he broke the kiss and moved away, he peeled off her bra and panties, taking their remnants with him. Her naked body, in all of its glory, was now on display for all in the room.

She stood, still chained, absolutely **** to any of the men in the room, completely stripped naked except for her heeled boots. She watched Kellner stuff her destroyed bra and panties in his suit pocket. He answered her question before she could ask, “I want to keep these a souvenirs. You are the first international spy I have captured, and that deserves some mementos. Besides, you are no longer a spy, so you no longer need any of the remains of your former life, such as all of this,” as he gestured to the ripped up clothing on the floor.

“You,” he motioned to a guard, “dispose of these things. Burn them in the furnace. I don’t want any evidence that Ms. Hansen, the spy, was ever here.” The guard gathered up the armour halves, and the bits of the body suit and them out of the room. Through the door, she could see the furnace for the house in another room. She realized that they must be in the basement. She hung there, naked, and watched as the distinguishing garments of her spy career were tossed into the fire. She saw them burn away, and began to fight back tears.