For the Country! - Part 2

Commissar Puma pressed on, relentless, fingers slick with oil, breath hot against Sandy’s throat. She slid another probe inside the American spy with deliberate cruelty, twisting until the woman’s hips jerked hard against the restraints. Sweat trickled down Sandy’s spine, muscles flexing, but she still refused to speak. Then something shifted. The cuffs clinked open. Puma felt her own belt yanked away, felt cold steel yank her wrists behind her back. The spy’s voice slid low and amused. "You like control, don’t you? Now we’ll see how you handle a turn at the table." Strong thighs locked around Puma’s waist, guiding her forward until her bare sex met the smooth wooden edge of the interrogation stand. Sandy drove the still-slick probe deep between Puma’s folds without warning, pressing in short, merciless thrusts that snapped her breath away. The once-dominant commissar moaned, head dropping, hips bucking as the spy licked a slow, wet stripe up the column of her neck and whispered each new instruction straight into her ear.