Return of the Trumpwife

The Harvest

The black-cloaked individuals carried Jeananne into a different room. In the center of this room was a sloped board to which the Trumpwife was strapped, face up. One of the mysterious figures approached her with a wire that had a needle on both ends; one red and one blue, and stuck the red needle into her inner elbow. The blue needle was stuck into the white-cloaked woman, who was seated in a wooden chair close by.
A Secret Service agent appeared with a pair of eyebrow pluckers in his hand. A black cloak undid the sash of Jeananne's bathrobe, exposing her in her nakedness.
Jeananne thrashed, bound tightly to the board, but it was no use. The agent with the pluckers took hold of a strand of Jeananne's pubic hair with the tool and tore it out with swift yank, drawing a harsh whimper akin to a small dog being stepped on from the young woman's throat. The white cloak cackled as Jeananne's essence surged through the wire into her. The agent pinched a few strands with the pluckers and yanked, making his victim shriek once more. He repeated the act several more times until tears streamed down Jeananne's red face.
"Next method, please!" the white cloak ordered.
Another agent appeared with a pair of small, metal clamps attached via wires to a box with a dial. He attached the cold clamps to Jean's stiff nipples and firmly held the box, waiting for his mistress to give the word.
"Begin, Wesley," said the woman in white. The agent nodded and turned the dial, sending electricity through the wires and into Jeananne's breasts which shocked her violently. With each jolt, a bit of her essence surged through the wire that was stuck in her arm and into the sadist she was attached to. Finally, the electroshock ended, and it was time to move on to a different method of torture.
"Get the blade, Bryan!" she ordered, and another Secret Service man appeared with a switchblade in his hand. He slouched over Jeananne's body and brought the tip of the blade to her soft flesh.
"What are you doing!?" Jean screamed, squirming, "Stop!"
"You'll only get more hurt if you move," the agent replied. He stuck the very tip of the blade into the skin above her belly button, and slowly dragged it across in a straight line. Jeananne wept profusely as the cold edge split her skin and warm blood streamed out. The white cloak cackled as the agent continued to cut lines into her victim's stomach, but he only made six before stopping.
"That's enough for today," the mysterious woman said. "I'll certainly harvest the remainder of the Trumpwife's power tomorrow."
Jeananne looked down at what the Secret Service agent had done to her. She immediately sobbed at the sight of the bleeding Nazi swastika carved into her flesh.

The tortured young woman and her stepson were moved into large dog cages in a small room lit by a battery-operated lantern. Neither had the verve to protest or cry; drained by intense stress.
"Jean?" Barron whispered.
"What?" replied Jeananne, who was staring blankly into nothingness while lying like a dead animal.
"Do you think Dad will save us?"
A single tear streamed down Jeananne's face. "I don't know."