The Terrorist Groups Infiltration Strategy, or TGIS for short, is an extremely-closely guarded secret of the European Community. It has been in existence for three years and is basically a spy network. I am no longer Pia Matteri. I am now Operative 43 and my ground, as we call it, is southern Switzerland and northern Italy. I am fluent in Italian, French and English and I am currently monitoring, from within, three neo-Nazi groups.
What I am going to tell you is what happened to me during the final part of my training in Scotland. But firstly, a bit of background: I had been a member of Interpol for just over two years with three citations and two important arrests bringing an escaped murderer and an internationally wanted paedophile to justice. One night, out of the blue, I was approached by a senior officer from Interpol and a beautiful but silent, foreign-looking woman. The officer was a recruiting agent for TGIS and in half an hour I was hooked. One of the stipulations, and there were many, was that I should be single with no dependents. My short-lived marriage had ended before I joined Interpol when I caught my husband in bed with my aunt so the stipulation proved to be no problem.
The training and induction took place over a four month period in five secret locations somewhere in Germany, France, Switzerland, Ireland and Scotland. We learned everything that could be learned about making and defusing bombs; guns and neutralising ammunition; unarmed combat; terror cells and their relationship with each other. Then those of us who made the grade were divided into sectors depending on our fluency in languages and our physical looks. I have dark hair and brown eyes and have been told in the past that I have the Latin look; hence my placing in the so-called Italian sector.
The final three weeks of our training prior to deep induction into our "ground", or the groups we would try and infiltrate, was concerned with questioning and torture techniques. The look of horror on several faces was met with a curt reminder that we would be dealing with dangerous people and not boy scouts or girl guides. We were shown filmed torture methods which were pretty horrific and also, strangely enough, not very effective. One hooded man who was tied to a plank and constantly submerged in water to the point of drowning refused even to give his name and nationality. Another who was burned with cigarettes and electrodes merely screamed and cried. The success rate for such questioning methods we were duly informed was around 22% and involved delay and international disapproval (Guantanamo for example).
"Some terrorists will use the methods you have just seen if you are unlucky to be caught out. My advice is die quickly and save yourself the pain," spoke the male instructor. "However, the more intelligent terrorist will use a variety of methods ranging from brutality to threats against your family to truth serums to poring out their love for you."
Many of us were perplexed but he didn't explain further.
Later, at dinner, I was seated next to my room mate, Anya, a blonde Russian ex-Olympian athlete who spoke 8 languages fluently and was extremely pretty. "I have heard that we are going to be vaccinated against truth serums so that won't be a problem. But I don't like the idea of brutality."
"Me neither," I said. "I think we just have to be careful we don't end up being tortured."
Before we said any more, our instructor called for our attention. "After you finish your dinner go to your rooms. You will find clothes that have been left out for you. Get showered and changed. It is the responsibility of your room mate to ensure that you do change. Is that clear?" Everyone answered yes. "Meet in the common room at 7 sharp."
Anya and I wordlessly went up, not knowing what to expect. We closed the door behind us and saw two boxes on the beds. Our names were written across the top. I opened mine and saw a short black dress. Frowning, I looked across at Anya who was holding up an identical dress except it was white. She looked in the box and her eyes lit up. I took out the black dress and saw, underneath, sheer black stockings and a set of royal blue underwear; silk and lace bra and thong and suspender belt. They looked expensive, new and possibly uncomfortable. Never in my life had I worn a thong or suspenders and stockings. Anya's set of underwear was a mint green colour of the same design.
I must have been shaking my head because Anya reminded me, "Remember what he said. I'm responsible for you. So get into the shower, Pia."
I was soaping myself down, thinking to myself what the hell was going to happen? Why the clothes? I always felt happy in my casual t shirts and training bottoms, never mind my plain cotton pants and tennis bras. Anya's knocking on the door put an end to my thinking.
While Anya was in the shower I started to change. I put the bra on and was actually surprised by how comfortable it felt. My nipples had stiffened a bit after the shower as they always tend to do and I could feel them pushing against the silk and lace. I thought to forego the thong as nobody would notice but I slipped into the sheer nylons and I have to admit they did feel nice. Strange but nice. I put on the suspender belt and hooked up the nylons but it somehow didn't feel right. I could hear Anya drying herself so I swiftly pulled on the black dress and adjusted myself.
Anya came out. She wore the towel over her damp hair and was naked apart from that. Instantly I felt a pang of jealousy when I saw her toned athlete body and stiff breasts. And for the first time in my life I saw a woman with no hair between her legs. I must have been staring because Anya smiled and said, "I see you're ready."
"Oh, yes. I suppose I am."
"Right, you check me. I check you."
"Pardon," I answered, taken aback.
"Responsibility, remember?"
She put on her bra first and said, "bra." Then she slipped on the thong, turned around and pulled it between the tight cheeks of her bottom, saying "thong." Then she slowly pulled on the white stockings, smoothing them over her thighs. "Stockings." Next came the suspender and she expertly slipped this around her hips and attached it to the stocking tops. "Suspender belt."
While I was watching her, transfixed, I felt a little something between my legs; a tiny touch as if someone was touching me with the tip of a feather.
"Now show me, Pia."
"P.. P.. Pardon? What?" I stammered.
"Show me that you have put on all your underwear."
"The hell I will."
She came over to me and whispered fiercely, "I don't know what game they are playing here tonight but I do know that if you are not dressed fully I will be held responsible."
Her stare was challenging and she reached for the hem of my dress but I brushed her hands away. "OK," I sighed, "I get the message."
I removed the dress and saw Anya suppress a smile. "Almost sexy, apart from one little detail," she said. "Where are they?"
I sighed again, reached under my pillow and removed the thong.
"Go!" she ordered.
"Well, turn around!" I said, my face becoming crimson.
As Anya turned round and started slipping the white dress over her head I quickly slipped out of my white cotton pants and eased the thong up my legs, feeling the lace brush my skin. The elastic of the thong settled immediately in the depth between my bottom cheeks and I eased it down.
"OK. Finished," I said.
Anya turned around and immediately made a face. "Er, you need a bit of help, Pia."
"What?"
"Well, first of all, you need a trim. Your hairs are showing and that's bad. And secondly your belt is all wrong."
