Yeah, I got this previously unknown story from a compilation, so no idea what the actual title could be. Shrug.
"Prologue
Hard to believe life would ever wind down but for awhile, holy shit, it actually did.
Axis was crippled and had fallen far off the Agency’s priority list – had nothing to do with me, by the way, long story short they built a secret base in the wrong dictatorship and there was a heavy international backlash – and for awhile all I’ve been doing is light surveillance work. Tracking Iranian spies in New York, that sort of thing, all very simple and very lightweight compared to tangling with filthy rich neo-Nazis. Iran for all its bluster is not going to release a nanotech supervirus or bomb the White House from orbit or whatever crazy crap Axis used to do on a weekly basis. I literally haven’t killed anyone in thirteen months! Thirteen!
So anyway part of my mind has always been going, Mark, this is not going to last. The other shoe is going to fall, it always does. You’ve killed too many people for karma to cut you a break. And it’s in London I’m proven right, on what should have been a momentous occasion -- a reunion with my mentor, a devilishly handsome Columbian assassin once known as ‘the Moray’. Not the most flattering nickname, but it spoke to his deadly methodology, which I admit I’ve never really been able to emulate. He’s been retired for years, but his paranoia never left him and it took a lot of string pulling to set up the meeting, which is strictly Agency business. Ostensibly, we’re meeting to catch up on old times and to get his input on an Agency training manual.
In reality though, Moray (whose name is Antonio Dominguez, don’t tell him I told you) is rumored lately to be not-so-retired, and my job is to plant a GPS tracker on the poor bastard to see where he goes. If it seems like a betrayal of old trust, well, it is. I can only say in my defense that if he’s really retired, like he says, nothing will come of it.
In any case as soon as my flight arrives I head to the pub under our hotel, Sovereign. It’s an old-school little pub, classy and find Antonio laughing in a booth with a pair of lovely ladies. Mentor and retired though he is, he’s actually not much older than I am – salt and pepper has just started to creep into his hair and his eyes look a little more weathered. Other than that he’s the same old guy, charming, witty, full of good cheer when he’s not actively murdering people. He’d been talking with one of the women intently but he sees me immediately, his sharp brown eyes meeting mine as he grins widely, “THERE YOU ARE! My dearest friend, you won’t believe it! I’m in town a day and I’ve met a couple of breathtakingly beautiful companions! Have a seat, say hello to Emily and Catherine, they’re in advertising!”
His new ‘friends’ are both knockouts, another old trick of his I never really got the hang of. Hanging on his every word is Emily, an athletic beauty with medium-length hair dyed deep crimson and piercing blue eyes, her fair skin dusted lightly with freckles; must have just gotten off work because she’s still dressed in a sharp skirt suit. Sitting on Antonio’s left, clearly more interested in me, is Catherine, a lovely brunette with generous tits and a pair of long legs pouring out of her businesslike but ultra-tight pencil skirt. I take a seat in the semicircular booth next to Catherine, who immediately puts her hand on my leg with a devilish smile.
Antonio chortles loudly, “I’m sure you’ll agree we can get down to business later, these lovely ladies have nothing to do tonight and it would be sinful not to help them pass the time.”
I have to admit there are worse ways to spend an evening, and my eyes are drawn to Catherine’s cleavage, her breasts framed by an expensive-looking diamond necklace. I clear my throat, “I’d have to agree.”
Catherine slides her hand a little further up my leg. Her voice is deep, a crisp upper-class British accent, “Thomas has told us quite a bit about you, Mr. Klein –“
Oh, he’s given us fake names… just like Antonio to not bother telling me what they are. I smile charmingly, “All good I hope.”
She smirks, blue eyes gleaming, “All good, and apparently not exaggerated.”
Emily turns her captivating gaze on me as she plays idly with Antonio’s lapel, sliding her hand under his jacket, “What brings the two of you gentlemen to London?" Her accent is American, should have been a clue that something’s amiss, but I don’t catch it. Going rusty.
“A reunion, I guess you could say. Old friends grown apart, he and I have a lot of catching up to do.” I reach around Catherine to give Antonio an affectionate little squeeze on the shoulder – which also affixes the tiny GPS tracker to his coat. Sorry, Antonio.
Emily smiles that bright but joyless smile reserved for rich people making nice, “Oh, that’s great.” With that she turns her attention back to hushed whispers with Antonio, and I engage Catherine in a little bit of flirty small talk. A couple hours and quite a few drinks later, the evening has gotten so grabby we decide not to bother the other patrons and head to a more private setting. We managed, with no small difficulty, to stumble our way up to Antonio’s presidential suite (only the very best, as usual), where we begin making love with drunken fervor.
It doesn’t take long to tear off our designer clothes and soon enough we’ve paired off, with Emily and Antonio going at it on one ornate bed and me banging Catherine on the other. Catherine for her upper-crust pretensions has flawless technique in bed. It’s all sort of a blur after the pub but I do remember her full tits, glistening with sweat, threatening to burst out of her little black lace bra as I pound her, her diamond necklace gleaming in the low light, jingling on her throat with every thrust, her legs wrapped around my waist.
“Oh Mark – MARK!” she screams in toe-curling orgasm, but at that point I’m too wasted to notice the problem:
There was no way she could have known my name was Mark.
Chapter 1
When I come to later – no way to know how late but probably at least midnight – my hands are bound to the bed frame with cuffs and I’m still buck naked. I glance around frantically – Antonio is on the other bed, unresponsive. I observe him intently but I can’t tell whether or not he’s breathing. Emily has gotten back into her lingerie, apparently, and is dressing Antonio. She flips him on his stomach to pull on his suit jacket when she notices me, “Oh for god’s sake.” She sighs wearily and fishes around in her purse, finally finding a gleaming ebon perfume bottle. She lets a few droplets fall on her fingertips, “Cathy, did you not read the file? Rain’s tolerance is through the roof.”
A voice drifts from the bathroom, barely audible over the running shower, “Sorry!”
I try to speak, which is when I realize I’m gagged. I make a few sad little muffled noises before I decide on the futility of that course. Emily climbs onto the bed and slides onto my erect cock. “Lets see if a man needs to be conscious to be useful, shall we?” she breathes. She holds her fingers gently under my nostrils, grinding against me as I feel my eyes roll back. I try to buck Emily off me to no avail – and in fact to her great delight. As I struggle uselessly, I feel a slight wobble in the bar I’m cuffed to before everything goes dark.
Never do learn how well I performed, but when I wake up again my gag is gone, the taste of pussy is in my mouth, my dick is sore, and Antonio is missing. Catherine breezes in, looking gorgeous in her black lace underwear and now playfully wearing Antonio’s fedora. I notice as she passes the Nazi eagle emblazoned on the seat of her panties; if only I’d have caught that detail awhile earlier. I decide to make like I’m still passed out and she seems not to notice I’m awake, taking a seat next to me on the bed, “Emily! I’m making the call!” As quietly as possible I slide my hands down to the base of the headboard’s steel bar – as I suspected, my struggles (and likely Catherine’s earlier throes) knocked it loose. All I have to do is slide the cuff chain underneath. Still woozy, gotta pick the right moment.
“Just a sec –“ Emily swaggers in, puffing on a cigarette, clad in her own set of black silk lingerie. Catherine pops a cigarette in her own mouth leans towards Emily, who produces a silver Zippo from her bra and lights Cathy up.
Emily chuckles, sitting on the other bed and crossing her long legs, “Have to say I’m a little disappointed, this guy had a bit of a reputation. Cunning, ruthlessness, competence.”
“Zero for three, for those of us keeping score,” Catherine cuts in primly, adjusting her tits in her stylish bra.
Emily nods in agreement, tapping her ash on the bed, “Zero for three. Okay, we’re ready.”
She turns to the hotel TV and flips it on. Instead of whatever inane network program would be playing at this hour, a Nazi eagle is displayed on the screen. My captors watch it intently and within a few moments the screen changes to a live feed of an Axis employee I recognize, an older but still gorgeous executive named Victoria.
Hard to tell what she’s wearing, something low cut – most of the screen is taken up by her sharp, aristocratic face and giant tits. Behind her, directing the movements of unseen others, is elfin Nazi interrogator Scilla Necis. Victoria squints appraisingly as I try my best to play dead, “You killed Rain.” Scilla seems surprised by that and looks briefly over towards Victoria, shrugging and turning back to what she was doing.
Emily beams, exchanging a proud glance with Catherine, “We did. You have the package?”
Victoria swivels what’s apparently a phone camera to display a man with a black hood over his head being dragged somewhere by a couple of Axis thugs, “We do. We’ll be out of this god-awful country soon enough. That’s a lot of… weight to take care of on your own, ladies. Can you manage the CIA man’s carcass?”
Catherine slaps my thigh, “We’ll manage, I’m sure.”
Victoria wrinkles her nose cutely in distaste, “Das ist gut. Spare me the details; I’ll make sure the listed compensation reaches your accounts. Notify me the moment the body is gone, do not delay. If we blow this because you overslept or overdosed or what have you, the Board will not be happy. Clear?”
“Jawohl!” Emily and Catherine snap off a pair of crisp salutes.
Scilla rolls her eyes, “Yes yes.” The screen goes black.
Catherine immediately begins playing with my dick, “You think it was wise Emmie, not simply killing him?”
Without missing a beat, Emily stubs out her cigarette on my leg. The pain is pretty excruciating, and I’m treated to the rare pleasure of smelling my own burning skin, but I manage to avoid making a sound. Catherine laughs musically as Emily speaks, “We pumped him full of enough chloroform to kill a goddamn elephant. Now he’s the perfect man: all the good shit’s in working order, everything else is nice and quiet. Don’t be a company suck-up and ruin this for me Cathy, we’ll have our fun and then we’ll get rid of him.”
Cathy hops onto me, pulling her panties aside to slide my cock into her with a breathless little gasp, “In that case, the early bird gets the worm.”
Emily pouts, “Bitch.” She hops off the bed and saunters off to the bathroom, “Don’t take too long. I want him dead as soon as possible but I also want to enjoy my weekend, you know?”
Catherine grinds against me as her companion disappears into the bathroom. She leans against me and kisses my collarbone, moaning lightly as if whispering a secret, “I’ll take as long as I please, slut.” She leans back and pulls the fedora down over her eyes like a cowboy, grinding her hips on top of me, “Mmm –“ It’s then that I notice the small pistol holstered to her thigh.
“Yes – you passed out lump of meat, give it to me, yeah — ohHH--“ Her muscles tense around me and I know she’s coming. I’m not far behind, but business first.
Catherine’s tongue flicks over her lips, “ Yeah – y--?” Her ice-blue eyes open as she feels a tug on her thigh. She’s looking down the barrel of her own gun. The English Nazi sucks in a lungful of air to scream, but I’m faster.
*POP POP* The gun is small caliber, .22 probably, sounds like a pair of firecrackers and punches a couple holes in her chest the size of dimes. The impact jostles her though, she’s jostled around precariously on her perch, her full tits bouncing free of her bra. The movement has an added effect by the way, it brings me to orgasm.
“Uhh – uhhhh!“ The air she’d been saving to scream comes out in a couple of little grunts, she starts to fall forward as I explode into her. I place a hand on her forehead, shoving her back and planting a final bullet between her eyes.
*POP*
“Ahhh--!” The Nazi’s cry is almost orgasmic. Her once-cunning face goes blank and slack-jawed, the light in her blue eyes extinguishes as she tumbles in a limp heap to the carpet, her long legs sticking up almost comically pigeon-toed in the air.
No sound from the bathroom, though Emily would have to be deaf to not have heard all the noise. I roll off the bed, darting as quickly as possible to the bathroom. As the world turns upside down I realize I may still be more heavily sedated than I thought; I promptly trip over Catherine’s body. She’s hit hard enough that her legs flop off the bed and she rolls limply onto her stomach with me on top of her, one of her snakeskin slingbacks flung across the room. I plant my cuffed hands on her perfect ass cheeks and push off, scrambling to my feet, when Emily bursts through the bathroom door and expertly kicks the gun from my hand.
It occurs to me that in my current state I may be outmatched, so when she pulls an engraved switchblade from a sheath at the back of her bra I have to admit I get a little worried. She shifts to an underhanded grip and takes a swipe at me, it’s a deft move but I manage to dodge.
At least that’s what I think, until I notice the gash on my forearm. She sees it too, her eyes flashing in triumph as she takes another slash at me. This one slices me painfully across the elbow; it won’t be long until she works up the nerve to go for a killing thrust. If I can just get my hands on her…
She goes for the kill, a shot at my stomach, but a good jab has a lot more ‘oomph’ in it than a slash so it’s telegraphed; I manage to slap her wrist away and dodge aside. She snarls angrily, lunging at me in a flurry of swipes and jabs, all relatively clumsy and fueled by rage. She gets me a couple times, superficial wounds, but when she takes a wicked stab at my chest I use the cuffs to parry – the impact of the blade draws sparks, I shit you not, and I twist up the knife in the cuffs’ chain, wrenching the weapon from her grasp.
She cries out in anger as her blade hits the floor, stomping her stiletto heel in an effort to impale my bare foot. I slam the heel of both palms into her sternum, finally a solid hit, and she’s sent flying against the wall gasping for air, crimson hair strewn haphazardly in front of her face. I take a double handed chop at her neck, her head is tossed violently by the force of my blow. I follow it up with a knee to her toned stomach, which she doesn’t take too well, croaking breathlessly and doubling over as she wraps her arms around her midsection. She quivers there a moment before collapsing to her knees, gasping for air.
I wrap the window curtain around her neck, drawing her close to me and forcing my cock down her throat as I strangle her. “Hgghh--!” She pulls frantically at the curtain.
“You want it, cunt? You got it. How’s your weekend going so far.” Little worried about biting, but the neck chop seems to have kept her woozy and the lack of air is forcing her mouth open; she reacts at first like a little kid forced to eat a hated food, wrinkling her nose and shrinking away. “Blbgh—“ She burbles incoherently around my dick, her tongue sliding around the shaft as she tries to breathe. She’s barely cognizant of what’s going on, one hand pushing gently at my legs and the other tugging at the curtain, her wide as she sort of leans backward in an effort to pull away. As a last ditch effort she gazes up at me pleadingly, the already reddish skin of her face now scarlet, chest heaving as she gags, but it doesn’t take long before the lack of oxygen takes its toll. After a little more moaning her cold blue eyes flutter and roll, her struggles cease completely, her hands fall motionless to her sides.
By the time I’m finished she’s passed out, her body only twitching as her chest continues to heave in a futile quest to take in air. I pull out and let go of the curtain, allowing her to fall facedown on top of Catherine, her mouth still hanging open in a silent ‘o’. While she’s sleeping it off I’m cleaning and binding my wounds with hotel bath towels, and soon after I rifle through the Nazis’ belongings for the handcuff key. As I might’ve known, it’s not among their discarded clothing.
I head over to the two collapsed Nazis, searching Emily first. She mewls sleepily as I grope her tits under her bra, feeling her underwear for hidden pockets. I give one of her soft nipples a sharp twist, smirking at her unconscious gasp. I pull down her panties, feeling the inside for pockets, and feeling a bit of her round ass while I’m at it. Satisfied I let her fall, panties down around her thighs, and move on to Catherine.
The perforated Englishwoman’s body is still warm. I flip her onto her back and begin my search, her big tits jiggling as I give her a rough frisk. Her panties are pocket-free, though I do uncover a tiny tattoo of a cat’s paw just above her sex. I give her breasts a professionally thorough search (my intelligence gathering strongly implies they’re all-natural) and the key turns out to be in a pocket in one of her cups. Meanwhile she just stares blankly at the ceiling, not unlike my ex wife.
I uncuff myself, take a quick shower and get dressed, first making sure to cuff Emily’s hands behind her back, tie her ankles together with a discarded strip of bath towel, and stuff the ball gag they’d just used for me in her mouth. Just as I’ve thrown my coat back on she’s waking up, squirming on top of Catherine and making the same sorts of sad little noises I did when I was gagged. As she slowly regains consciousness, her sense of alarm grows. Can’t take too long to deal with her.
Antonio packs heavy for even the quickest of trips, and in the closet I find my ticket out of the hotel – a couple of heavy suitcases, red and green. Festive. I haul them out of the closet and dump the clothes on the bed, first checking the linings for gun parts. I find a handful: a Glock 18’s metal parts, a single 18-round clip, and a small silencer. The stripped frame is under his bed, he probably kept it on his person in the airport, it wouldn’t trip a detector by itself. Ballsy guy, as ever. I assemble the weapon, holding up the empty suitcases to Emily, “Favorite color?”
“Mmmph--!” Emily’s eyes go wide with terror, there’s a clattering noise as she desperately tries to wiggle her hands out of the cuffs, she grunts in exertion as she tries to use her shoulders to push off Catherine. She manages to do so but overshoots, falling over backward painfully into a drawer with a muffled cry.
I shrug, “Green it is.” I take her by the shoulder and haul her to her feet, with her shaking her head frantically and trying to pull away. For all her protestations, it’s not terribly difficult to stuff her in the suitcase. She moans desperately in what looks like a very uncomfortable position, staring at me with saucer-wide, glistening blue eyes. I smile politely, pinching her nostrils shut.
“Hckkk—nghhh—“ she drools over the ballgag, eyes rolling, wiggling inside her little prison. But her stamina isn’t what it was at the beginning of the evening; she passes out pretty quickly, enabling me to stuff in her discarded clothing and zip the luggage shut. Next I stuff Catherine in the other one (she doesn’t complain), bundling her clothes around her chest to make sure she doesn’t leak. She’s been pretty good so far, not much more than a couple blood drops on the carpet, but one can never be too careful.
Rolling two suitcases at once down the hall is a little awkward, but you know, I’m ex Special Forces. I can handle it.
Turns out the time is about 3:00 am and even in cosmopolitan London, nobody’s out. Eventually I manage to roll both cases down to a quiet little walk overlooking a fair drop into the Thames. There’s a rail, but luckily a gap is nearby, no protection standing between hapless tourists and the ice cold water. I look around to make sure not a soul is near before I decide to deal with Catherine. I heft her luggage up to the edge and zip it open, allowing her to spill out and plummet silently to the river below. Next goes the luggage. Then, Emily.
I wheel her luggage to the edge of the walk and unzip it, squatting down beside her. The cold air wakes her, her eyes flutter and she mewls sleepily for a few seconds before the enormity of the situation hits her. She lets out a muffled cry around the ball gag, struggling to get away, nearly spilling out into the river in her panic.
I take her by the hair and drag her halfway out of the bag, so that she’s suspended a good thirty feet over the river below. This does not ease her panic, her every muscle tenses as she bucks and struggles, blue eyes alternately focused on the terrible drop and myself as she screams uselessly through the gag.
“Hey, shut up.” And something about the way I said it actually shuts her up. She sort of trails off into involuntary whimpers, looking up at me questioningly.
“I’m going to take the gag out, and we’re going to have a talk. Okay?”
“Hgh—ghh—“ She tries to speak around the ball gag, which is only fair because with her hair in my hand she can’t nod. Sounds like ‘okay’ in any case. I loosen the gag and let it fall around her neck. Emily flexes her jaw and moistens her lips but is otherwise silent and attentive, shivering in the cold.
“I’m going to call Victoria. I want you to tell her I’ve been taken care of. Can you do that?”
She spits at me, the wind catching it and breaking it into nothing nearly instantly. Still, the sentiment was noted. I release my grip on her hair a bit, she jerks down toward certain icy death.
“OH GOD! OKAY! Okay, please, okay!” She squeezes her eyes shut and bares her teeth fearfully.
“Preciate it.” I dig her smartphone out of my jacket pocket and cycle to ‘Vic’, whose number I recognize as an Axis extension, “Okay now act natural. You blow this and you’re in the river.”
Emily’s eyes go wide again but she makes a visible effort to compose herself as I put the phone to her ear, sniffling and clearing her throat, “Yeah, it’s agent Price. Emily Price. Yes, he’s t-taken care of –“ she stares up at me desperately. I smile pleasantly as she swallows again and continues, “It’s j-just a little cold – g-got a little cold out here – alright --“ she squirms nervously, “No one. N-nothing – nothing’s wrong, p-please I swear to g-g-“ she looks on the edge of tears. She blew it.
“Sorry Emily. I asked you to do one simple thing but you’ve apparently got shit for brains.” I take the phone, “Your people are still amateurs, Vic. Be sure to stay on the line.” Before Victoria can reply I’ve tossed the phone in Emily’s luggage.
Emily wails desperately, “No no – I know where The Moray is! Wait! I CAN’T SWIM!”
“Good news is you’d be pretty lucky if you got the chance.” I replace the gag, stuffing her in the baggage. She bucks violently and lets out a muffled shriek as I zip the luggage back up, giving it a little kick into the river.
I dig out my own phone as I hear the luggage splash. I should probably have checked this before I got rid of Emily, but it’s too late now. Luckily, fate smiles on me – the GPS tracker I’d planted on Antonio’s suit shows up nice and clear, halfway across town. Lot of ground to cover, but luckily I just came into ownership of a couple cars."
No chapter 2 that I know of, unless someone has it and cares to post?
"Prologue
Hard to believe life would ever wind down but for awhile, holy shit, it actually did.
Axis was crippled and had fallen far off the Agency’s priority list – had nothing to do with me, by the way, long story short they built a secret base in the wrong dictatorship and there was a heavy international backlash – and for awhile all I’ve been doing is light surveillance work. Tracking Iranian spies in New York, that sort of thing, all very simple and very lightweight compared to tangling with filthy rich neo-Nazis. Iran for all its bluster is not going to release a nanotech supervirus or bomb the White House from orbit or whatever crazy crap Axis used to do on a weekly basis. I literally haven’t killed anyone in thirteen months! Thirteen!
So anyway part of my mind has always been going, Mark, this is not going to last. The other shoe is going to fall, it always does. You’ve killed too many people for karma to cut you a break. And it’s in London I’m proven right, on what should have been a momentous occasion -- a reunion with my mentor, a devilishly handsome Columbian assassin once known as ‘the Moray’. Not the most flattering nickname, but it spoke to his deadly methodology, which I admit I’ve never really been able to emulate. He’s been retired for years, but his paranoia never left him and it took a lot of string pulling to set up the meeting, which is strictly Agency business. Ostensibly, we’re meeting to catch up on old times and to get his input on an Agency training manual.
In reality though, Moray (whose name is Antonio Dominguez, don’t tell him I told you) is rumored lately to be not-so-retired, and my job is to plant a GPS tracker on the poor bastard to see where he goes. If it seems like a betrayal of old trust, well, it is. I can only say in my defense that if he’s really retired, like he says, nothing will come of it.
In any case as soon as my flight arrives I head to the pub under our hotel, Sovereign. It’s an old-school little pub, classy and find Antonio laughing in a booth with a pair of lovely ladies. Mentor and retired though he is, he’s actually not much older than I am – salt and pepper has just started to creep into his hair and his eyes look a little more weathered. Other than that he’s the same old guy, charming, witty, full of good cheer when he’s not actively murdering people. He’d been talking with one of the women intently but he sees me immediately, his sharp brown eyes meeting mine as he grins widely, “THERE YOU ARE! My dearest friend, you won’t believe it! I’m in town a day and I’ve met a couple of breathtakingly beautiful companions! Have a seat, say hello to Emily and Catherine, they’re in advertising!”
His new ‘friends’ are both knockouts, another old trick of his I never really got the hang of. Hanging on his every word is Emily, an athletic beauty with medium-length hair dyed deep crimson and piercing blue eyes, her fair skin dusted lightly with freckles; must have just gotten off work because she’s still dressed in a sharp skirt suit. Sitting on Antonio’s left, clearly more interested in me, is Catherine, a lovely brunette with generous tits and a pair of long legs pouring out of her businesslike but ultra-tight pencil skirt. I take a seat in the semicircular booth next to Catherine, who immediately puts her hand on my leg with a devilish smile.
Antonio chortles loudly, “I’m sure you’ll agree we can get down to business later, these lovely ladies have nothing to do tonight and it would be sinful not to help them pass the time.”
I have to admit there are worse ways to spend an evening, and my eyes are drawn to Catherine’s cleavage, her breasts framed by an expensive-looking diamond necklace. I clear my throat, “I’d have to agree.”
Catherine slides her hand a little further up my leg. Her voice is deep, a crisp upper-class British accent, “Thomas has told us quite a bit about you, Mr. Klein –“
Oh, he’s given us fake names… just like Antonio to not bother telling me what they are. I smile charmingly, “All good I hope.”
She smirks, blue eyes gleaming, “All good, and apparently not exaggerated.”
Emily turns her captivating gaze on me as she plays idly with Antonio’s lapel, sliding her hand under his jacket, “What brings the two of you gentlemen to London?" Her accent is American, should have been a clue that something’s amiss, but I don’t catch it. Going rusty.
“A reunion, I guess you could say. Old friends grown apart, he and I have a lot of catching up to do.” I reach around Catherine to give Antonio an affectionate little squeeze on the shoulder – which also affixes the tiny GPS tracker to his coat. Sorry, Antonio.
Emily smiles that bright but joyless smile reserved for rich people making nice, “Oh, that’s great.” With that she turns her attention back to hushed whispers with Antonio, and I engage Catherine in a little bit of flirty small talk. A couple hours and quite a few drinks later, the evening has gotten so grabby we decide not to bother the other patrons and head to a more private setting. We managed, with no small difficulty, to stumble our way up to Antonio’s presidential suite (only the very best, as usual), where we begin making love with drunken fervor.
It doesn’t take long to tear off our designer clothes and soon enough we’ve paired off, with Emily and Antonio going at it on one ornate bed and me banging Catherine on the other. Catherine for her upper-crust pretensions has flawless technique in bed. It’s all sort of a blur after the pub but I do remember her full tits, glistening with sweat, threatening to burst out of her little black lace bra as I pound her, her diamond necklace gleaming in the low light, jingling on her throat with every thrust, her legs wrapped around my waist.
“Oh Mark – MARK!” she screams in toe-curling orgasm, but at that point I’m too wasted to notice the problem:
There was no way she could have known my name was Mark.
Chapter 1
When I come to later – no way to know how late but probably at least midnight – my hands are bound to the bed frame with cuffs and I’m still buck naked. I glance around frantically – Antonio is on the other bed, unresponsive. I observe him intently but I can’t tell whether or not he’s breathing. Emily has gotten back into her lingerie, apparently, and is dressing Antonio. She flips him on his stomach to pull on his suit jacket when she notices me, “Oh for god’s sake.” She sighs wearily and fishes around in her purse, finally finding a gleaming ebon perfume bottle. She lets a few droplets fall on her fingertips, “Cathy, did you not read the file? Rain’s tolerance is through the roof.”
A voice drifts from the bathroom, barely audible over the running shower, “Sorry!”
I try to speak, which is when I realize I’m gagged. I make a few sad little muffled noises before I decide on the futility of that course. Emily climbs onto the bed and slides onto my erect cock. “Lets see if a man needs to be conscious to be useful, shall we?” she breathes. She holds her fingers gently under my nostrils, grinding against me as I feel my eyes roll back. I try to buck Emily off me to no avail – and in fact to her great delight. As I struggle uselessly, I feel a slight wobble in the bar I’m cuffed to before everything goes dark.
Never do learn how well I performed, but when I wake up again my gag is gone, the taste of pussy is in my mouth, my dick is sore, and Antonio is missing. Catherine breezes in, looking gorgeous in her black lace underwear and now playfully wearing Antonio’s fedora. I notice as she passes the Nazi eagle emblazoned on the seat of her panties; if only I’d have caught that detail awhile earlier. I decide to make like I’m still passed out and she seems not to notice I’m awake, taking a seat next to me on the bed, “Emily! I’m making the call!” As quietly as possible I slide my hands down to the base of the headboard’s steel bar – as I suspected, my struggles (and likely Catherine’s earlier throes) knocked it loose. All I have to do is slide the cuff chain underneath. Still woozy, gotta pick the right moment.
“Just a sec –“ Emily swaggers in, puffing on a cigarette, clad in her own set of black silk lingerie. Catherine pops a cigarette in her own mouth leans towards Emily, who produces a silver Zippo from her bra and lights Cathy up.
Emily chuckles, sitting on the other bed and crossing her long legs, “Have to say I’m a little disappointed, this guy had a bit of a reputation. Cunning, ruthlessness, competence.”
“Zero for three, for those of us keeping score,” Catherine cuts in primly, adjusting her tits in her stylish bra.
Emily nods in agreement, tapping her ash on the bed, “Zero for three. Okay, we’re ready.”
She turns to the hotel TV and flips it on. Instead of whatever inane network program would be playing at this hour, a Nazi eagle is displayed on the screen. My captors watch it intently and within a few moments the screen changes to a live feed of an Axis employee I recognize, an older but still gorgeous executive named Victoria.
Hard to tell what she’s wearing, something low cut – most of the screen is taken up by her sharp, aristocratic face and giant tits. Behind her, directing the movements of unseen others, is elfin Nazi interrogator Scilla Necis. Victoria squints appraisingly as I try my best to play dead, “You killed Rain.” Scilla seems surprised by that and looks briefly over towards Victoria, shrugging and turning back to what she was doing.
Emily beams, exchanging a proud glance with Catherine, “We did. You have the package?”
Victoria swivels what’s apparently a phone camera to display a man with a black hood over his head being dragged somewhere by a couple of Axis thugs, “We do. We’ll be out of this god-awful country soon enough. That’s a lot of… weight to take care of on your own, ladies. Can you manage the CIA man’s carcass?”
Catherine slaps my thigh, “We’ll manage, I’m sure.”
Victoria wrinkles her nose cutely in distaste, “Das ist gut. Spare me the details; I’ll make sure the listed compensation reaches your accounts. Notify me the moment the body is gone, do not delay. If we blow this because you overslept or overdosed or what have you, the Board will not be happy. Clear?”
“Jawohl!” Emily and Catherine snap off a pair of crisp salutes.
Scilla rolls her eyes, “Yes yes.” The screen goes black.
Catherine immediately begins playing with my dick, “You think it was wise Emmie, not simply killing him?”
Without missing a beat, Emily stubs out her cigarette on my leg. The pain is pretty excruciating, and I’m treated to the rare pleasure of smelling my own burning skin, but I manage to avoid making a sound. Catherine laughs musically as Emily speaks, “We pumped him full of enough chloroform to kill a goddamn elephant. Now he’s the perfect man: all the good shit’s in working order, everything else is nice and quiet. Don’t be a company suck-up and ruin this for me Cathy, we’ll have our fun and then we’ll get rid of him.”
Cathy hops onto me, pulling her panties aside to slide my cock into her with a breathless little gasp, “In that case, the early bird gets the worm.”
Emily pouts, “Bitch.” She hops off the bed and saunters off to the bathroom, “Don’t take too long. I want him dead as soon as possible but I also want to enjoy my weekend, you know?”
Catherine grinds against me as her companion disappears into the bathroom. She leans against me and kisses my collarbone, moaning lightly as if whispering a secret, “I’ll take as long as I please, slut.” She leans back and pulls the fedora down over her eyes like a cowboy, grinding her hips on top of me, “Mmm –“ It’s then that I notice the small pistol holstered to her thigh.
“Yes – you passed out lump of meat, give it to me, yeah — ohHH--“ Her muscles tense around me and I know she’s coming. I’m not far behind, but business first.
Catherine’s tongue flicks over her lips, “ Yeah – y--?” Her ice-blue eyes open as she feels a tug on her thigh. She’s looking down the barrel of her own gun. The English Nazi sucks in a lungful of air to scream, but I’m faster.
*POP POP* The gun is small caliber, .22 probably, sounds like a pair of firecrackers and punches a couple holes in her chest the size of dimes. The impact jostles her though, she’s jostled around precariously on her perch, her full tits bouncing free of her bra. The movement has an added effect by the way, it brings me to orgasm.
“Uhh – uhhhh!“ The air she’d been saving to scream comes out in a couple of little grunts, she starts to fall forward as I explode into her. I place a hand on her forehead, shoving her back and planting a final bullet between her eyes.
*POP*
“Ahhh--!” The Nazi’s cry is almost orgasmic. Her once-cunning face goes blank and slack-jawed, the light in her blue eyes extinguishes as she tumbles in a limp heap to the carpet, her long legs sticking up almost comically pigeon-toed in the air.
No sound from the bathroom, though Emily would have to be deaf to not have heard all the noise. I roll off the bed, darting as quickly as possible to the bathroom. As the world turns upside down I realize I may still be more heavily sedated than I thought; I promptly trip over Catherine’s body. She’s hit hard enough that her legs flop off the bed and she rolls limply onto her stomach with me on top of her, one of her snakeskin slingbacks flung across the room. I plant my cuffed hands on her perfect ass cheeks and push off, scrambling to my feet, when Emily bursts through the bathroom door and expertly kicks the gun from my hand.
It occurs to me that in my current state I may be outmatched, so when she pulls an engraved switchblade from a sheath at the back of her bra I have to admit I get a little worried. She shifts to an underhanded grip and takes a swipe at me, it’s a deft move but I manage to dodge.
At least that’s what I think, until I notice the gash on my forearm. She sees it too, her eyes flashing in triumph as she takes another slash at me. This one slices me painfully across the elbow; it won’t be long until she works up the nerve to go for a killing thrust. If I can just get my hands on her…
She goes for the kill, a shot at my stomach, but a good jab has a lot more ‘oomph’ in it than a slash so it’s telegraphed; I manage to slap her wrist away and dodge aside. She snarls angrily, lunging at me in a flurry of swipes and jabs, all relatively clumsy and fueled by rage. She gets me a couple times, superficial wounds, but when she takes a wicked stab at my chest I use the cuffs to parry – the impact of the blade draws sparks, I shit you not, and I twist up the knife in the cuffs’ chain, wrenching the weapon from her grasp.
She cries out in anger as her blade hits the floor, stomping her stiletto heel in an effort to impale my bare foot. I slam the heel of both palms into her sternum, finally a solid hit, and she’s sent flying against the wall gasping for air, crimson hair strewn haphazardly in front of her face. I take a double handed chop at her neck, her head is tossed violently by the force of my blow. I follow it up with a knee to her toned stomach, which she doesn’t take too well, croaking breathlessly and doubling over as she wraps her arms around her midsection. She quivers there a moment before collapsing to her knees, gasping for air.
I wrap the window curtain around her neck, drawing her close to me and forcing my cock down her throat as I strangle her. “Hgghh--!” She pulls frantically at the curtain.
“You want it, cunt? You got it. How’s your weekend going so far.” Little worried about biting, but the neck chop seems to have kept her woozy and the lack of air is forcing her mouth open; she reacts at first like a little kid forced to eat a hated food, wrinkling her nose and shrinking away. “Blbgh—“ She burbles incoherently around my dick, her tongue sliding around the shaft as she tries to breathe. She’s barely cognizant of what’s going on, one hand pushing gently at my legs and the other tugging at the curtain, her wide as she sort of leans backward in an effort to pull away. As a last ditch effort she gazes up at me pleadingly, the already reddish skin of her face now scarlet, chest heaving as she gags, but it doesn’t take long before the lack of oxygen takes its toll. After a little more moaning her cold blue eyes flutter and roll, her struggles cease completely, her hands fall motionless to her sides.
By the time I’m finished she’s passed out, her body only twitching as her chest continues to heave in a futile quest to take in air. I pull out and let go of the curtain, allowing her to fall facedown on top of Catherine, her mouth still hanging open in a silent ‘o’. While she’s sleeping it off I’m cleaning and binding my wounds with hotel bath towels, and soon after I rifle through the Nazis’ belongings for the handcuff key. As I might’ve known, it’s not among their discarded clothing.
I head over to the two collapsed Nazis, searching Emily first. She mewls sleepily as I grope her tits under her bra, feeling her underwear for hidden pockets. I give one of her soft nipples a sharp twist, smirking at her unconscious gasp. I pull down her panties, feeling the inside for pockets, and feeling a bit of her round ass while I’m at it. Satisfied I let her fall, panties down around her thighs, and move on to Catherine.
The perforated Englishwoman’s body is still warm. I flip her onto her back and begin my search, her big tits jiggling as I give her a rough frisk. Her panties are pocket-free, though I do uncover a tiny tattoo of a cat’s paw just above her sex. I give her breasts a professionally thorough search (my intelligence gathering strongly implies they’re all-natural) and the key turns out to be in a pocket in one of her cups. Meanwhile she just stares blankly at the ceiling, not unlike my ex wife.
I uncuff myself, take a quick shower and get dressed, first making sure to cuff Emily’s hands behind her back, tie her ankles together with a discarded strip of bath towel, and stuff the ball gag they’d just used for me in her mouth. Just as I’ve thrown my coat back on she’s waking up, squirming on top of Catherine and making the same sorts of sad little noises I did when I was gagged. As she slowly regains consciousness, her sense of alarm grows. Can’t take too long to deal with her.
Antonio packs heavy for even the quickest of trips, and in the closet I find my ticket out of the hotel – a couple of heavy suitcases, red and green. Festive. I haul them out of the closet and dump the clothes on the bed, first checking the linings for gun parts. I find a handful: a Glock 18’s metal parts, a single 18-round clip, and a small silencer. The stripped frame is under his bed, he probably kept it on his person in the airport, it wouldn’t trip a detector by itself. Ballsy guy, as ever. I assemble the weapon, holding up the empty suitcases to Emily, “Favorite color?”
“Mmmph--!” Emily’s eyes go wide with terror, there’s a clattering noise as she desperately tries to wiggle her hands out of the cuffs, she grunts in exertion as she tries to use her shoulders to push off Catherine. She manages to do so but overshoots, falling over backward painfully into a drawer with a muffled cry.
I shrug, “Green it is.” I take her by the shoulder and haul her to her feet, with her shaking her head frantically and trying to pull away. For all her protestations, it’s not terribly difficult to stuff her in the suitcase. She moans desperately in what looks like a very uncomfortable position, staring at me with saucer-wide, glistening blue eyes. I smile politely, pinching her nostrils shut.
“Hckkk—nghhh—“ she drools over the ballgag, eyes rolling, wiggling inside her little prison. But her stamina isn’t what it was at the beginning of the evening; she passes out pretty quickly, enabling me to stuff in her discarded clothing and zip the luggage shut. Next I stuff Catherine in the other one (she doesn’t complain), bundling her clothes around her chest to make sure she doesn’t leak. She’s been pretty good so far, not much more than a couple blood drops on the carpet, but one can never be too careful.
Rolling two suitcases at once down the hall is a little awkward, but you know, I’m ex Special Forces. I can handle it.
Turns out the time is about 3:00 am and even in cosmopolitan London, nobody’s out. Eventually I manage to roll both cases down to a quiet little walk overlooking a fair drop into the Thames. There’s a rail, but luckily a gap is nearby, no protection standing between hapless tourists and the ice cold water. I look around to make sure not a soul is near before I decide to deal with Catherine. I heft her luggage up to the edge and zip it open, allowing her to spill out and plummet silently to the river below. Next goes the luggage. Then, Emily.
I wheel her luggage to the edge of the walk and unzip it, squatting down beside her. The cold air wakes her, her eyes flutter and she mewls sleepily for a few seconds before the enormity of the situation hits her. She lets out a muffled cry around the ball gag, struggling to get away, nearly spilling out into the river in her panic.
I take her by the hair and drag her halfway out of the bag, so that she’s suspended a good thirty feet over the river below. This does not ease her panic, her every muscle tenses as she bucks and struggles, blue eyes alternately focused on the terrible drop and myself as she screams uselessly through the gag.
“Hey, shut up.” And something about the way I said it actually shuts her up. She sort of trails off into involuntary whimpers, looking up at me questioningly.
“I’m going to take the gag out, and we’re going to have a talk. Okay?”
“Hgh—ghh—“ She tries to speak around the ball gag, which is only fair because with her hair in my hand she can’t nod. Sounds like ‘okay’ in any case. I loosen the gag and let it fall around her neck. Emily flexes her jaw and moistens her lips but is otherwise silent and attentive, shivering in the cold.
“I’m going to call Victoria. I want you to tell her I’ve been taken care of. Can you do that?”
She spits at me, the wind catching it and breaking it into nothing nearly instantly. Still, the sentiment was noted. I release my grip on her hair a bit, she jerks down toward certain icy death.
“OH GOD! OKAY! Okay, please, okay!” She squeezes her eyes shut and bares her teeth fearfully.
“Preciate it.” I dig her smartphone out of my jacket pocket and cycle to ‘Vic’, whose number I recognize as an Axis extension, “Okay now act natural. You blow this and you’re in the river.”
Emily’s eyes go wide again but she makes a visible effort to compose herself as I put the phone to her ear, sniffling and clearing her throat, “Yeah, it’s agent Price. Emily Price. Yes, he’s t-taken care of –“ she stares up at me desperately. I smile pleasantly as she swallows again and continues, “It’s j-just a little cold – g-got a little cold out here – alright --“ she squirms nervously, “No one. N-nothing – nothing’s wrong, p-please I swear to g-g-“ she looks on the edge of tears. She blew it.
“Sorry Emily. I asked you to do one simple thing but you’ve apparently got shit for brains.” I take the phone, “Your people are still amateurs, Vic. Be sure to stay on the line.” Before Victoria can reply I’ve tossed the phone in Emily’s luggage.
Emily wails desperately, “No no – I know where The Moray is! Wait! I CAN’T SWIM!”
“Good news is you’d be pretty lucky if you got the chance.” I replace the gag, stuffing her in the baggage. She bucks violently and lets out a muffled shriek as I zip the luggage back up, giving it a little kick into the river.
I dig out my own phone as I hear the luggage splash. I should probably have checked this before I got rid of Emily, but it’s too late now. Luckily, fate smiles on me – the GPS tracker I’d planted on Antonio’s suit shows up nice and clear, halfway across town. Lot of ground to cover, but luckily I just came into ownership of a couple cars."
No chapter 2 that I know of, unless someone has it and cares to post?
