'What's this you been talking about our little country?'

I haven't got a fucking clue what you are talking about.

A ten-inch pin prodded the next response from me.

'Fuck off.'

What I meant to say was that you are dead once I get out of this room.

I'm use to the pain. I have a strong threshold.

We carry around morphine tablets for just that very reason, we know in our line of field it's dangerous and torture is only one scenario away.

'So you like it,' whispered a voice in my ear while licking out the excess wax.

To be honest, I didn't mind it.

We were baited by the cowgirls and attacked by the cowboys.

Word must have got out that two guys, who said they were worked for the CIA, were fucking their way around Scandinavia.

Now that Max carried that guide book, all we had to say was that we were sex tourists, and actually not the CIA. 

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