Scene from Chinese Kung Fu Flick

 Sorry I do not remember the name of his movie but I have seen

it all the way through and this is the only good part.

Tiffany Towns - Trident Agent

ONE

The trail began in the foyer. Her white silk halter blouse, discarded with careless precision. Then, a few feet away, the silk of her stockings, a whisper against the cool marble, led like a breadcrumb trail into the heart of the penthouse. A lacy black bra was draped over the back of a modernist chair. Matching panties were a dark puddle on the floor beside the king-sized bed.

In his walk-in closet, the air still carried the faint, expensive scent of her perfume, clashing with the clean linen and cedar of his own. One of his crisp white dress shirts was missing from its orderly row.

Tiffany stood before the floor-to-ceiling window, the city’s glittering grid spread out fifty stories below like a captive galaxy. She’d rolled the sleeves of his shirt up to her elbows. The hem just covered her paradise and ass, a stark, pure white against the smooth tan of her skin. She held her left hand up, examining her work in the glass’s reflection. The frosty pink nail varnish was perfect. Cool. Professional. Lethally pretty.

“One scratch,” she murmured to her reflection, a slow smile touching her unpainted lips. She flicked a nail with a soft click. “However, I prefer my lipstick to end him. One wonderful kiss with my Poisonous Peony Pink.”

The tube was cool in her hand. She leaned closer to the glass, her breath fogging a small circle. Slowly, with a practiced, sensual drag, she coated her lips in the creamy, vibrant shade. She pressed them together, then blotted them lightly on a tissue she produced from the shirt’s pocket. The color was a statement. A promise. A threat.

She heard the keycard reader at the front door beep.

Showtime.

She didn’t rush. She moved to the doorway of the bedroom, leaning one shoulder against the frame. She crossed one bare leg over the other, the action making the shirt ride up just a fraction higher. The pink heels were back on her feet, elongating her calves, completing the portrait of deliberate seduction.

Agent Tate stopped dead in the entrance to the living room, his sharp eyes taking in the scene: the trail of clothes, the woman in his shirt, posed like a centerfold in his bedroom doorway. His hand twitched, a micro-movement toward the holster under his arm.

“Who the hell are you?” His voice was a low rumble, all controlled alarm.

Tiffany pushed off the doorframe, taking a few slow, clicking steps toward him. “Your new partner, sugar. Didn’t they tell you? They said you were the best. I’m the… incentive to close the Volkov case.” She let her voice drip with her honeyed Southern drawl.

“I work alone.” His gaze was locked on her, assessing, wary. He didn’t believe her. Not for a second.

“Not tonight, you don’t.” She closed the distance until she was just inches from him. She could smell the night air on his leather jacket, see the tension in the line of his jaw. “They said you were stubborn. I’m here to… persuade you.”

Before he could react, she stepped around him. Her front pressed against his back, her breasts soft and unmistakable against the hard plane of his shoulders through the thin cotton of the shirt. Her arms snaked around his waist, her hands—those pretty, pink-nailed hands—slid up his chest.

“What are you—“

Her hands moved, one sliding higher, toward his neck, the other dipping lower, teasing at his belt. He turned her about, she slipped into his arms,her hands slithering like a coiling snake about his neck. Her lips came to his for a slow kiss,when he was fully engaged she casually pulled one arm back and into her hair,taking hold of a knife she'd hidden there earlier.Tiffany brought it out just slowly enough so he could catch it.

He twisted, and the blade clattered harmlessly to the marble floor.

The sound echoed in the sudden silence.

Tiffany didn’t struggle. She went limp in his grasp, then laughed, a soft, breathy sound against his cheek. “Can’t blame a girl for trying.”

He spun her around, pinning her wrists against the wall beside the doorway. His body caged hers, his face a mask of cold fury inches from her own. “Who sent you?”

She just smiled, her pink lips a shocking slash of color. She waited. Letting the silence stretch. Letting him feel the heat of her body through the shirt, the rapid beat of her heart against his chest. She saw the moment the first wave hit him. A slight dilation of his pupils. A tiny, almost imperceptible slackening of his grip.

“Something the matter, sugar?” she whispered.

He blinked, trying to clear a sudden fog. His breath hitched.

“What you’re experiencing,” she said, her voice dropping to an intimate, conspiratorial murmur, “is my Poisonous lipstick, Agent Tate. Fast-acting. Neuro-paralytic. Quite elegant, don’t you think?” She leaned forward, her lips brushing his ear. “You have time for one more kiss before it finishes you.”

His arms trembled, the strength leaching from his muscles. His grip on her wrists faltered. As he began to slide down the wall, she caught him, her own strength surprising, lowering him to the floor until he was slumped, his back against the wall, looking up at her.

Tiffany smiled, a genuine one of triumph, and delivered the final kiss. It was slow. Deep. A full, searing press of her toxic lips against his. She poured every bit of theatrical passion into it, feeling his mouth grow slack under hers. When she pulled back, a perfect imprint of Peony Pink was left on his lips.

“I knew the classic white shirt and my pink heels would do the trick,” she sighed, almost to herself, as she straightened up. She looked down at him, his powerful frame rendered helpless, his eyes clouded but still watching her. She let him go, his body slumping fully to the floor.

She took a step back, then another, her heels clicking on the marble. She watched his breath stop. A job well done. Clean. Stylish.

TWO

The kiss lingered, a toxic brand. His lips were still warm, but a distinct coolness was spreading from them, a numbness that was already tracing icy paths along his jawline. Tiffany watched it happen in his eyes—the sharp focus dissolving into a hazy, struggling awareness. That delicious moment where the predator becomes prey.

I’ve seen that look before, sugar.

She kept her body pressed against his, pinning his slumping form to the wall. Her own breath was steady, a quiet counterpoint to his increasingly labored rasps. Slowly, deliberately, she curled one pink-heeled foot behind the other, the movement a languid stretch that made the shirt she wore—his shirt—pull taut across her thighs. A soft, pleased sigh escaped her. This was the part she lived for. The calm, cruel explanation after the storm.

She nuzzled the column of his neck, inhaling the scent of him—clean soap, night air, and the faint, coppery tang of adrenaline now being swamped by the neurotoxin. Her size-twelve frame was deceptively strong; she held him upright easily, a beautiful, deadly crutch. She kissed him again, not out of necessity now, but savoring. It was slow, deep, a mimicry of passion. As her lips moved over his, she splayed the fingers of one hand behind his neck, her eyes drifting to admire her own work.

Her almond-shaped nails, painted in that perfect frosty pink, gleamed in the penthouse’s low light. So pretty. So deadly. “One little tiny run of one edge,” she murmured against his mouth, her voice a honeyed whisper meant only for him. “With perfect pressure, the secondary agent finishes the job. A different poison, you see. A… backup plan.”

She released his lips, leaving them slightly parted and stained with her color. With a playful, almost tender gesture, she took the index finger of her free hand and drew it down the center of his chest. Not her nail—just the pad of her finger. But it was a promise. Then she moved that same hand to the front of the borrowed white shirt. With a sharp, sudden tug, she cut the buttons off one by one.

Buttons flew, pinging against the marble floor and the nearby furniture. The crisp cotton fell apart, baring her to the waist. The cool air kissed her skin, and the fabric caught for a tantalizing second on the peaks of her nipples before sliding off her shoulders to pool in the crook of her elbows. “Freedom, finally,” she breathed, arching her back slightly.

She felt the weak tremor that ran through him. His eyes, heavy-lidded, were locked on her bare skin.

“One of the buttons,” she said conversationally, as if discussing the weather, “is a dissolving knockout pill. Nasty little thing. Works on contact with saliva.” She leaned in, her lips a hair's breadth from his ear. “But I can never remember which one it is, FORCE spy Lex. Not that I need it.” The use of his real name—not his alias ‘Tate’—was a final twist of the knife. She knew everything.

His body was betraying him completely now, held up only by her insistence and the wall at his back. The paralysis was advancing, a silent tide.

“This is where we have sex,” Tiffany purred, her voice dropping to an intimate, smoky register. Her hands slid down his sides. “I always keep my promises.”

She didn’t look down. She kept her eyes on his, watching the conflict—the fading fury, the involuntary response, the helpless arousal—war in his dimming gaze. Her hand slipped around him. He was hard. A groan, thick and choked, wrenched itself from his throat. It wasn't just the poison; it was her.

“Together at last,” she breathed, shifting her body, aligning herself. The shirt, hanging from her elbows, created a tent of white cotton around them. “After all, we both wanted it.”

She moved her hips, a slow tease. The heat of her pressed against him a maddening, exquisite friction. She took him inside.

“As I said,” she whispered, kissing the corner of his mouth, “I’ve seen that look before. The realization. You’ve had too much of my Pink Peony. It’s a decadent poison, Lex. Requires a… specific catalyst.” She rocked against him again, feeling him jerk helplessly. “It only becomes truly fatal if its host experiences a certain number of orgasms within a two-hour window. The chemical release shuts everything down.”

She leaned back, just enough to see his face fully. “Of course, you have no chance. No FORCE agent has ever escaped the protocol alive. The body betrays the mind every single time.”

“And soon,” she continued, her tone becoming instructional, almost dreamy, “you’ll be wrapped in my Orchid Knot. An ancient thing. It gives the woman… options. Control.” Her hips stilled, but her hand did not. “For a while, you’ll be in my paradise. Then, my mouth will take over. Coddling. Licking. Caressing. Stroking you to climax after climax, all while you’re sealed inside my body. Soft. Unyielding. Very, very unforgiving.”

She smiled then, a radiant, terrible thing. “Have you ever been coiled by a Plus-sized woman, Lex? We’re… unique in our approach. And exceptionally deadly in our application.”

His breath was coming in short, ragged gasps now. A sheen of sweat coated his brow. The poison, the seduction, the relentless psychological assault—it was all converging.

“Oh yes,” Tiffany cooed, feeling the first violent shudder course through him. “There’s the first one.” She watched his eyes roll back, his body seizing for a long, silent moment against hers. A wave of heat pulsed between them. “It speeds up the lipstick’s work, darling. Considerably.”

She delivered another kiss then, deep and potent, swallowing his strangled cry. The taste of him, of the poison, of her own victory was intoxicating. The Plus delivered. Her hips began to move again in earnest, a rhythmic, grinding pressure against his sensitive flesh. Her hand worked in tandem, a masterful, cruel rhythm. She whispered filth and praise into his skin, her words a velvet lash.

“Two… see how easy? Your body is so eager… three… just let go, sugar, it’s better if you stop fighting it… four…”

He was trembling uncontrollably, a marionette with its strings cut. Each climax was weaker than the last, a draining of his life force as much as his pleasure. His big body, once so formidable, was now pliant and heavy in her arms. With the fifth, a broken, wet sound that was more sob than groan, his legs finally gave out completely.

She let him fall, guiding his descent so he crumpled to the polished floor. She followed him down, her body languid, all sinuous grace. She straddled his hips, the ruined shirt fanning out around them like the petals of a poisonous flower. With practiced ease, she rolled him, arranging his limbs, her heels clicking together like a judge’s gavel.

“Shhh,” she soothed, though he was beyond hearing. Her movements were all possessive tenderness now. She settled over him, a warm, devastating weight, and sealed them together in that intimate, inescapable press—the suggestion of the Orchid Knot complete without the explicit act. Her body became his entire world, a silken, suffocating paradise.

She held him there, cradling his head in the crook of her neck. Her lips found the shell of his ear, then trailed down his neck, over his collarbone. Light, ghosting kisses. Then lower. Her mouth was everywhere, a tender predator claiming her prize.

He washed into her, into the idea of her, his releases now just faint, helpless pulses. A delightful, contented purr vibrated in Tiffany’s throat as she imagined swallowing his essence, as she felt the final stages of the poison lock into his nervous system. “So thick and savory, Lex,” she whispered against his stomach. “I bet there’s more where that came from.”

What remained of her lipstick would be absorbed faster this way, through his heated skin and spent energy. “And it’s my pleasure,” she murmured, kissing a trail back up his torso, “to coat you in my frosting.”

He surged once more, a final, desperate twitch of his entwined form. But Tiffany had him fully in her coils, real and psychological. There was no escape. She tenderly coddled him, her whispers and soft touches encouraging a few last, pitiful releases until he was utterly still beneath her, breath shallow, eyes open but seeing nothing.

She waited a full minute, counting his fading heartbeats against her own. Then, with a sigh of genuine satisfaction, she disentangled herself. She rose to her feet, looking down at his magnificent body laid out on the floor, defeated. “I have to dress, baby,” she said softly, as if he could hear. “You know what you have to do.” The unspoken command: die.

She disappeared into the walk-in closet, leaving the door ajar. The sound of rustling fabric, a zipper, filled the quiet. When she emerged, she was transformed. The weaponized seductress was gone, replaced by a vision of crisp, professional elegance. A tailored white pencil skirt hugged her hips. A lavender silk blouse was buttoned high, its collar sharp. And on her feet, the same classic pink heels, now the only hint of the femme fatale who had been there moments before.

She looked amazing. And she knew it.

She walked back to where he lay, retrieving her small clutch from where she’d left it on a console table. From it, she drew the tube of Poisonous Peony Pink lipstick.

His eyes tracked her, a bare sliver of consciousness still clinging on behind the haze. Good.

“How about,” she said, leaning over him, her blouse gaping just enough to give him one last, devastating glimpse of cleavage, “a literal kiss goodbye, baby?”

She carefully, meticulously coated her lips in the creamy death one final time. The color was vibrant, shocking against her tan skin and the serene lavender of her blouse. “You’re so close already, sugar,” she smiled. Then she lowered herself, not to his mouth, but lower. She placed a single, long, sucking kiss to the head of his cock, still exposed from her earlier ministrations. A mockery of intimacy. A final branding.

She pulled back, refreshed her lipstick with a glance in a mirrored surface, then returned to his head. She cradled his face in her hands. “One for the road,” she whispered.

The kiss she gave him then was slow. Deep. Heartbreakingly tender. She poured a lifetime of false affection into it, feeling the last vestige of warmth leave his lips. When she finally broke away, she shifted slightly and pressed her lips firmly to his cheek.

She pulled back. A perfect, vibrant imprint of her lips remained on his stubbled skin.

“My calling card, Lex,” she said, her voice bright and cold. “So FORCE knows exactly what Trident female did this. No mystery. Just… me.”

She stood, smoothed her skirt, and without a backward glance, walked to the penthouse door. Her heels were the last sound he heard—confident, steady, fading away into the plush hallway carpet.

On the floor, Agent Lex of FORCE lay still, the pink stain on his cheek like a fallen petal, the paralytic silence closing in. His hand twitched, a phantom impulse to reach for a weapon, for a comms unit, for anything. But his fingers only brushed cold marble.

The door clicked shut.

Silence.

Then, from the hallway, barely audible through the thick door, the faint, melodic chime of an elevator arriving.

THREE

The luxury cabana was a cocoon of white linen and whispered ocean. Beyond the billowing curtains, the turquoise sea glittered, and the air carried the lazy scent of salt and tropical blooms. A perfect postcard. A perfect trap.

Inside, the wait was a tangible thing. Tiffany felt it humming in her veins, a low-grade excitement that had nothing to do with the mission parameters and everything to do with the man sitting across from her.

Agent Jax. Her partner. Her lover for this op.

He was sprawled in a low-slung chair, the picture of casual readiness, but his eyes—a shade of green that reminded her of deep forest shadows—tracked her every micro-movement. They’d been a good team. A very good team. The chemistry in the field had bled into the hotel rooms, a convenient, thrilling bonus. But convenient was all it ever was.

Two hours until pickup, she thought, running a finger along the rim of her chilled glass. More than enough time.

She rose from her seat, a slow unfurling of long limbs. “You know,” she said, her voice dropping into that register she knew made his pulse jump. “I’ve been saving a little something. A celebration for when we wrapped this up.”

She didn’t wait for a reply. She just gave him a smile, all promise and pink lips, and slipped through the gauzy curtain into the cabana’s small, tiled bathroom.

When she emerged, the air in the room seemed to thicken.

The garment was a fantasy in silk and feathers. A sheer, pale green baby doll that did nothing to hide the dark peaks of her nipples or the shadow between her thighs. The hem, a froth of a feathered boa, kissed the very tops of her powerful thighs, leaving her long, toned legs utterly bare. It was an invitation. A challenge.

She stood in the doorway, one hand on her hip, the other pushing a strand of her semi-curly blonde hair behind her ear. She watched his reaction. The sharp intake of breath. The way his gaze darkened, travelling from her face—that beautiful, deceptive face—down the strong line of her arms, over the gentle swell of her stomach, to the impossible length of her legs.

“That’s one of the many things I like about you, Jax,” she purred, taking a step toward him. Her voice was honey and heat. “You’re always ready.”

He didn’t speak. He just stood, his own movements fluid, and shucked his shorts, letting them pool on the woven rug. A flush of pure, professional pride warmed her. The lure works. It always does.

She closed the distance between them, the frills of her negligee brushing his legs. She pressed her body against his naked form, the sheer silk a whisper between her heat and his skin. Her arms slid around his neck, her fingers tangling in the hair at his nape. She found his lips.

The kiss wasn’t gentle. It was a claim. Her tongue swept into his mouth, bold and demanding, and he met her with equal hunger. His hands found her waist, large and warm, his thumbs stroking the sensitive skin just above her hip bones. She could feel him, hard and eager against her stomach.

Her own hands wandered. Down the corded muscles of his back, over the firm curve of his ass. She brought one hand up, tracing a single, frost-pink nail along the line of his jaw, down the column of his throat. He tensed, just a fraction, and pulled back, his eyes searching hers.

A sly smile played on her lips. “Not to worry, baby,” she whispered, her breath mingling with his. “I have wonderful control. And a wonderful touch.” She held her hand up, wiggling her fingers. “This varnish is perfectly normal. Nothing poisonous.” Her smile widened, a flash of white. “Same for my lipstick. In case you were worried.” She leaned in again, her lips a hair’s breadth from his. “But of course… it would be much too late by now, wouldn’t it?”

She seized his mouth again, swallowing any protest. Her tongue danced with his, a sinful, wet tango. Her hands resumed their exploration, one sliding between them to cup . He groaned into her mouth, a low, desperate sound that vibrated through her.

He nudged her toward the large, canopied bed, his intent clear. But Tiffany took a few compliant steps then stopped, her feet planted firmly on the rug. Her hand dipped her fingers wrapping around him, hot and silken. A tender, knowing stroke.

“We’ve done it on the bed,” she murmured, guiding him forward as she stepped back, aligning their bodies. “And we will again.” Her other hand slid down to cup his ass, pulling him gently closer. “But we’re the perfect size for upright. At least to start.”

She smiled, a genuine curve of pleasure, and rolled her hips. The frilled hem brushed his thighs. With a subtle, powerful shift of her stance, she guided him, the head of his shaft finding the soft, wet warmth at her core. A small, pleasant gasp escaped her as she worked him in, inch by exquisite inch. Her hands slid fully around his ass, holding him, urging him deeper with a gentle, rhythmic pull.

He was buried in her, fully sheathed. A perfect, breathless fit. She let her head fall back, a low hum of satisfaction in her throat. Then she brought her lips to his ear, her tongue tracing the shell before her hot whisper filled him. “Let me set the pace.”

And she did.

Her hips began to move, a slow, rolling retreat followed by a firm, driving return. The friction was sublime, a building heat that coiled tight in her belly. The frequency increased, her movements becoming more urgent, more demanding. She was a force of nature, using the strength in her legs and core to drive them both. She felt the exact moment he began to lose himself, the tension coiling in his muscles, the ragged hitch in his breath.

His release pulsed into her, a hot, sudden flood. Her arms tightened around him, her hands gripping his ass, holding him deep as she twisted her hips in small, circular motions, milking every last shudder from him. A low, hungry purr vibrated in her chest, a sound of pure, satisfied conquest. She kissed his neck, tenderly nipping at the skin, her hot breath fanning over him.

And just like that, she felt him stir again within her, responding to her persistent, intimate caress.

“Wonderful,” she whispered, and began to move once more, a slower, deeper rhythm designed to draw him back to the edge. It didn’t take long. A second, stronger wave took him, his body bowing against hers with a helpless, strangled cry. She worked him through it, her inner muscles clenching rhythmically, a paradise designed for pleasure and, though he didn’t know it yet, for payload delivery.

When he was spent, truly spent, she finally stilled. Her face came to his, her lips swollen, her eyes bright. She gave him a soft, post-coital smile.

“Two,” she said, her voice a husky whisper. She kissed him lightly, a brush of lips. “Wonderful.”

She held his gaze, her smile not fading but shifting, taking on a new, sharper edge. “Remember when I said one of the things I liked about you was you’re always ready?” She began to slowly retract her hips, letting him slip free from her warmth. A faint, cold slickness followed the movement, unnoticed in the aftermath.

He blinked, still dazed, his hands coming up to her waist as if to pull her back.

“Oh, yes, baby,” she laughed, a light, cruel sound. She kissed him again, a quick, mocking peck. “Please try and grab me.”

Confusion clouded his handsome face. His arms, which had been so strong moments before, felt… heavy. He tried to raise them, but the movement was sluggish, uncoordinated.

“I said my lips weren’t drugged,” she continued, her voice conversational as she delivered tiny, taunting kisses between each word, just out of his now-limited reach. “But I never said my other lips weren’t. And you didn’t ask.” She tilted her head, a picture of innocent malice. “Lipsticks can be created for my other set of lips, Jax. Our Trident female scientists are very good. This one’s called Paralysing Paradise Primrose.”

His eyes widened. He tried to speak, but his jaw muscles were locking.

“My motion coated your entire shaft,” she explained, her tone clinical, almost bored. “All I had to do was make you climax to activate it. Your orgasms help speed the agent through your system. And you took the express route today. Two climaxes.” Her gaze drifted down his body, lingering. “Leaving you extra… stiff. And by the look of it, extra stiff everywhere.”

She reached out, her hand closing around him. He was still hard, but now it was the rigid, unyielding hardness of paralysis, not arousal. A triumphal curl formed on her perfect lips.

“I wanted to do it standing up,” she said, as if discussing mission logistics, “for the reason I mentioned. And because it makes this next step much easier for me.”

With her free hand, she plucked at the frilled fringe of her baby doll. Instead of a loose filament, a single, long, almost invisible strand came away, stretching like gossamer. It glistened faintly. She leaned forward and placed one end of it on the top of his bare shoulder.

It stuck. Firmly.

“Oh,” she breathed, a spider admiring her web. “The fringe of my baby doll, sugar, is woven from one single strand of a sticky filament. Activated when I pull it free.” She twined her arms around his frozen neck, depositing one last, soft kiss on his rigid lips. “You wandered into the wrong web sugar, and as this spider has already pleasantly applied her paralysing bite… now it’s time for me to wrap you up in my silky, and so very sticky, and so contracting, silk.”

She leaned back, her eyes gleaming. “Oh, not to terminate you. But to hold you stiff until Trident can come and pick you up. Although,” she added with a theatrical sigh, “I was given the option to finish you. But you were wonderfully… active in bed. So I’m being nice.”

A final kiss of victory, this one on his forehead. Then she began to dance.

She moved around his paralyzed form, a vision in peach silk and lethal grace. With each revolution, she paid out the filament from the hem of her baby doll. It wrapped around his shoulders, his chest, his waist, his legs—a criss-crossing web of shimmering strands that tightened on contact, pulling snug against his skin. He was a statue, a handsome, muscular trophy, being gift-wrapped in a prison of her making.

When she was done, he was encased from shoulders to ankles, a mummy in a glittering cocoon. The spider smiled, a satisfied, radiant thing.

Then she disappeared back into the bathroom.

The sound of a shower, brief and efficient. The rustle of new clothes. When she emerged, the seductress was gone. In her place was a woman ready for a beachside cocktail party. A sleek, light orange sundress hugged her curves, the fabric flowing over her hips. Matching pumps adorned her feet, the heel just high enough to accentuate her calves. Her hair was tousled, perfect. She looked fresh, vibrant, and utterly untouched by what she’d just done.

She walked up to him, her heels silent on the rug. He stood there, frozen stiff by her paradise and the contracting web, his eyes the only thing alive in his face, blazing with a fury he couldn’t express.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice bright and polite, as if thanking a waiter. “For a successful mission. The sex to, of course. But I have to go. Another assignment calls.” She reached up, a hand stroking his cheek with false tenderness. “I made the phone call for you to be picked up. They should be here soon.”

She leaned in, her lips hovering over his. This kiss was slow. Long. A deep, searching press that held none of the earlier heat, only a chilling finality. When she pulled away, her nose brushed his, a grotesque parody of intimacy.

“Your final kiss from the Spider Spy,” she whispered, the words a ghost of breath against his skin. “And that kiss… was poisonous.”

She didn’t explain further. She just let the words hang in the perfumed cabana air. Then she turned, the silk of her sundress whispering, and walked out the door.

The sound of her heels echoed on the wooden boardwalk outside—confident, steady, fading into the distance.

Inside the cabana, Agent Jax stood trapped in his gilded cage, the paralytic agent locking his joints, the web tightening with every minute, and the new, different poison from her final kiss beginning its slow, cold burn on his lips, working its way in. His eyes, fixed on the doorway where she’d vanished, were the only part of him that screamed.

Seraglio Snake

 This is from an idea Kuso suggested for a story.

I hope it you it and thanks for the idea

Cheers, Steve

‘Yes this will do nicely,’Taryn Childs smiled.  ‘Now to just make copies because this dusty manuscript is causing my eyes to water and who knows what I’m breathing in.’

Taryn made her copies,returned the parchment carefully to where she had found it, exiting the section of the library she was not supposed to be in, carefully cleaning then wiping the keypad lock with a small atomizer.

‘I’m sure I’ll catch hell for this when they figure it out, but by then it will be tempered with the result,’she thought, making her way back to her room in the Trident training facility, second year section.

^^^

‘You know that shit you can get yourself into if they find out.  That section is off limits to anyone not a full agent!’ Haruka Sato exclaimed.

‘Forget the shit part.  How about just plain dead!’ Dina Mosissa added with a worried look.

“And now we’re in that same spot,’ Maria Harfanti added the final piece with a nervous look around to her friends.

‘I never would have brought this to you if I wasn’t absolutely convinced,’ Taryn said.  ‘If things go bad because of what I’ve done, I’ll take the consequences alone keeping you guys out of it.  I promise.  We’ve been friends since we first saw each other and it will always stay that way, no matter what.  But, I’m sure of this and I have enough evidence to go to Instructor Singh with it and my plan which I’m going to tell you about for the concerns we just went through.’

Instructor Singh, was Jeeta Singh, their yoga and knot instructor, a formidable former agent, although none of the girls could understand why.  She still had an insane body, sexy demeanor and all the other skills that had made her such a lethal operative for decades in the service of Trident.  She was a strict trainer, demanded their best and pushed them hard.  She was no nonsense and to the point.

‘You’re going to talk to her, what after class?  You do have a death wish.  She does not do that, in class only, she made that very clear from day one,’ Dina added with her hands up as if in surrender.

‘It’s the only way and keep this a secret.  She may be made initially, but she, as a former agent, will appreciate the research and time that’s gone into this.  Remember, instinct is important, she always tells us.  Well this is me putting her advice to work.  How can she fault that?’ Taryn added.

‘She also says overconfidence gets you killed.  I’m glad you're on your own for this part, but you can count me in for whatever if she says yes,’ Dina added.  The rest added their nods as well.

^^^

‘This better be very important,’ Jeeta Singh said as she pulled on her silk robe heading from her bedroom to the door of her apartment.  The frown on her face deepened as she opened the door.  ‘You know the rules Miss Childs,’ she said, almost closing the door on the stunning blonde trainee.

‘I would never disturb you Instructor Singh unless I was deeply concerned about a security risk.  One that only with this method can I explain,’ Taryn said quickly but with earnest tones.

That seemed to pause Jeeta.  The door stood half closed as she studied her students face.  She never gave much in the way of compliments in her class for fear of giving any girl a swelled head, that got you killed.  But she was constantly impressed by Taryn, she was a cut above in terms of the others, yet always willing to learn more, push harder, test herself.

Jeeta glanced at the manila file in her hand.  The door opened a little more.  ‘Come in, make it quick and this better be good.’

Taryn walked into the small living room, sat down on the sofa and opened her netbook.  Jeeta sat down beside her as her student went through all the material she had explained as she went until finally she turned to her teacher.

‘You have convinced me.  I congratulate you on all the work, your intelligence gathering is impressive, a true sign of a budding field agent.  But, having all this information is one thing, the other is what do you plan to do with it?’ Jeeta asked.  She knew what she would do but that was too easy, seeing what your trainee would do was another.  Would Taryn pass it off to higher ups or would she have a plan?

‘I came up with this,’ she smiled, calling up another picture.

‘Impressive and devious, just as a true Trident female should be,’ Jeeta answered, a tiny curl of her lip indicating a smile.

Taryn was thrilled by that, any compliment from such an accomplished agent and excellent but hard teacher was high praise, but she let nothing show, another sign of her maturing.

‘I take it you have discussed all this,’ Jeeta asked as she rose from her seat beside Taryn.

‘Yes, but we need a few days to prepare,’ the trainee answered.

‘Friday then during class.  I will let you decide when, this is after all your operation.’

Taryn went to leave, a feeling of euphoria washing over her.

‘Miss Childs,’ Jeeta said, bringing Taryn back to the present as she turned around to face her teacher.

‘I will smooth over your,’ and here Jeeta paused to think about the proper wording she wanted.  ‘Indiscretion, regarding the restricted area of the library.  Things at Trident never go unnoticed and this will come up during my weekly progress report meeting with all your other teachers.  Don’t let it happen again and Miss Childs, don’t fail.’

That was it, the word dying in the silence while Jeeta turned and made her way back to her bedroom leaving Taryn standing by the door with her hand on the latch for a few seconds longer before she left.

‘Who was that?’

‘Just a student, a good one, but very eager.  Sometimes they need a steady hand.  Speaking of that, where were we?’ Jeeta smiled letting the silk robe slither off her body as she walked to his side of the bed and slipped in and on top of him.  ‘I’m glad to see my brief absence hasn’t created a decline in your interest,’ as Jeeta pulled his head into her waiting embrace.

^^^

‘We have until Friday to prepare,so no time like the present and everyday for a few hours until we have it right,’ Taryn smiled as she met with her fellow trainees.  

‘Luckily,’Haruko smiled.  ‘I anticipated your success,’ she added, opening the doors to her walk-in closet.  ‘I was able to borrow this, off the record.  ‘Being Asian, it would never be considered a strange request for me.’

The quartet studied the diagrams then launched into the practical application.

^^^

All the trainees silently slipped off their clothes then entered into the exercise room, each taking a mat as they went then formed a circle about the room.

The class began their warm up routine which they knew by heart under the watchful and corrective eye of Instructor Singh.  They repeated the routine until Jeeta was happy with what she saw.  Today she was not happy working them until their nude sculpted form glistened in a damp sheen.

‘Finally, you manage to get the simplest of routines right.  Now,’ she said, scanning the faces of her students.  ‘Miss Compton, into the centre to lead the class,’

Ann Compton rose from her kneeling and confidently walked into the centre.

Light on her feet, supremely confident, strong, flexible, she moved with the fluidity of a slithering snake and at 5’11” it was best not to get too close to this snake, her bite and her coils were both lethal.  She lowered herself gracefully to her knees then began with a few simple forward stretches.

Instructor Singh watched saying nothing,occasionally slightly correcting a position, but out of the corner of her eye she was looking at the four waiting to see what moment they would strike.  For her this was just as much about eliminating an infiltrator as it was a test of these four trainees assessment skills.

Ann moved from basic to advanced standing poses then lowered back to the mat. As she transitioned out of The Bow into The Plank when they made their move.

‘Taryn has positioned her forces well,’ Instructor Singh noted as she watched as Haruka and Dina attackAnn from behind first.  Each seized a leg with their arms, but instead of just wrapping their arms about it they seemed to weave a mess entangling Ann’s legs and their arms into one single bind, the nails from each of their one hands working into nerve endings about Ann’s ankles while the other set of hands secured nerve endings in each of Ann’s generous calves.

A fraction after first contact by Haruka and Dina, Taryn and Maria tumbled forward each doing the same to Ann’s arms as their partners did to Ann’s legs only this time Maria and Taryn nails secured about the wrists and either side of Ann’s neck.  All four of their legs came together at the same time in a seamless weave about Ann’s torso leaving caught in an overlapping constricting flesh, the trainees completing the knot by interlocking their toes into a partner.

‘Perfectly executed and soon to be executed,’Jeeta Singh smiled as she looked at the entangled woman.  ‘Pity, you had such promise Miss Compton,but I’m afraid we can’t have FORCE agents infiltrating Trident.  You’re entangled in a rare knot my dear,The Seraglio Snake, one of only a few four person knots.  As you can imagine, it's completely inescapable and 100% lethal.  It was developed by a Sultana, to protect the Sultan from female assassins who may have infiltrated his harem and you my dear match that description perfectly.  You’ll be eliminated slowly my dear, given your size, which I’m confident is much to the delight of your captors.  A slow squeezing and bending of your nude incredible form is already beginning.  Each little movement causes all the ladies to contract and with four nude sexy females wrapped about you, you’ll move.  Along the way should you wish to talk please do so, but I doubt you will, FORCE females rarely do, so dedicated,’ Jeeta smiled adding a mock laugh.

Ann could feel nothing,the nails pressed into her nerve endings neutralised her strength,her arms and legs were useless.

The girls tensed and bent Ann with every tiny motion she made.Taryn had trained them well.

‘You don’t need to talk Ann, your moans are enough information,’Haruka laughed.

‘You’re heating up nicely Ann, makes you more pliant for bending,’Maria added

‘Also makes slipping deeper into you much easier,’ Dina purred.

‘Every female agent wants Plus termination on her resume, it makes her more valuable as an agent,’ Taryn added.  ‘Even if it's just a ¼ of one, it's still quite an accomplishment for any trainee.

After four endless hours Ann as a burnt orange colour,her body glistening and red hot felt a relaxation from two of her assassins,Haruka and Maria,not enough for her to try and escape but enough for them to roll over her legs and arms twisting them as they went then contracting again.

‘There you are,' Taryn smiled as she and Maria merged their bodies together about Ann while Dina and Haruka did the same.

The knot was even tighter now as Ann’s ragged moans told them.The foursome took their time constricting their Plus prize to the very edge before each pair slowly began to bend Ann backward upon herself.

Slowly over hours Ann was bent back upon herself so that the four assassins were all next to her head each taking a turn giving her a soft kiss goodbye before they each shared a kiss of victory then twisted. A shudder racked their bodies, then a smile formed on their lips.  They relaxed and discarded their prize.

‘Excellent work ladies,’Jeeta Singh offered with a look about the class.  ‘Perhaps even a lesson to the rest of my class,’ she added, looking at her other students.

You Decide

The air in Trudy Knudson’s penthouse bedroom was cool and still, scented with expensive linen and her own subtle, floral perfume. She preferred clean lines. Clear outcomes.  That was why she was chosen for the mission and matched with a partner she now expected any minute.  Right on queue her buzzer announced his arrival.  She breezed to the door to welcome him in.

‘Come on it agent, I was expecting your.  I have the briefing notes for the mission just over there if you’d like to go over them.  I’ve already read them so I’m up to speed.  Why don’t you have a seat and review?  I’ll be in the bedroom when you're finished, after you're done join me so I can quiz you,’  Trudy explained, her voice registering the last part of the sentence as if there was another part to come.  He smiled as it caught his attention.  ‘Or I can fill you in while we…well I think I don't have to say the rest, do I?’  She finished beginning a slow walk to her bedroom.

He tossed down the papers and followed her.  Trudy turned about at the foot of her bed and welcomed him into her arms.  Hers went loosely about his neck while he found the curve of her hips and invitation he could not refuse.

‘It’s been a long day, for both of us.  I, as you can see, have already prepared.  Showered,powdered as you can smell and done myself up so you know what to expect on our mission.  All that’s left for is you to follow suit then we can begin the briefing,’ she purred.

He reluctantly slipped from her arms making his way to her ensuite.

She was sitting at the end of her bed when he emerged, clean, dry and definitely ready for action.

‘I’m a tad disappointed, you’ve left me nothing to unwrap, but on the positive side, some things are better that way,’ Trudy purred as she slipped into his arms for a long wonderful kiss, her sheer covered form pressing into him where his prong  met her mound as tried to pierce her.  With an expert but coy sway of her hips she sent a few waves of pleasure into him just as the kiss ended, her lips hovering a fraction away from his as she looked into his eye before a sly smile formed on her face as if reading his thoughts.

'Oh, I’m afraid it’s much too late for that.'

Her voice was a warm, honeyed contralto, utterly at odds with the words. She smiled, a genuine, dazzling expression that crinkled the corners of her knowing eyes. Her fingers went to the single, delicate tie at her chest holding her sheer full negligee closed. With a whisper of silk, she pulled it loose.

The fabric sighed open, then slid from her shoulders, pooling at her feet like a fallen cloud.

She stood before him, nude. A full, breathtaking vision of a firm, size 12 body. Every curve was deliberate, powerful, a testament to strength that defied conventional spy aesthetics. Her skin glowed in the soft bedroom light, smooth and flawless. Her posture was regal, utterly unashamed.

'You’ve been a very bad agent,' she said, her tone almost conversational as she stepped gracefully out of the silken puddle. 'Feeding M.I.L.F.agent Lwin Ko intel from us.' She took a step toward him, her movement fluid, her heeled feet silent on the plush carpet. 'We Trident agents are loyal. And the disloyal ones are eliminated. Hence… me.'

She stopped an arm’s length away, letting him look at her to his fill. Her larger frame was no restriction; it was her instrument. Amplified grace. Amplified power.

'Trident wanted to ensure it was done exotically. And what better way than with a Plus female?' She gave a small, proud shrug of her shoulders. 'I’m glad you complied with being nude. After all, it makes for a more intimate termination.'

She watched his eyes. They tracked her, wide with a potent cocktail of dread, disbelief, and a raw, involuntary attraction he couldn’t hide. His body, nude and muscular as the dossier promised, was tense. A statue waiting for the final chisel blow.

'I knew you’d fall right into my arms. And consequently, my trap.' Her smile turned sly. 'The plus female in a sheer negligee, flowing and revealing curves… is very alluring. It was that simple to get you into my arms for a kiss.'

She turned, the motion a slow, mesmerizing sweep, and walked toward a small lacquered clutch on her vanity. Her back was a stunning landscape of soft strength. She picked up the clutch, opened it, and pulled out a single, elegant lipstick cylinder.

'New from our labs,' she said, holding it up. The metal casing caught the light. 'Its code name is Spectrum, you just experienced its initial effect.'

She unscrewed the cap with a soft click. The bullet that emerged was a mesmerizing, shimmering pink. It looked innocent. Delicious.

Without hurry, she used a tissue from the vanity to clean her lips, wiping away the shade. Then, she leaned toward the mirror. Her eyes flicked to his reflection, watching him watch her. A classic move, she thought. But classics are classics for a reason.

She applied the lipstick. Slowly. Deliberately. Her full lips pursed, smoothed, came together in a perfect, glossy bow. It was an intimate, alluring ritual, performed with the focus of a painter on a masterpiece. She could feel the weight of his gaze, could imagine the confusing heat coiling in his gut. Attraction is such a useful weakness.

She finished, capped the cylinder with a final, definitive click, and turned back to him.

She crossed the space between them, her hips swaying in a gentle, natural rhythm. She stopped close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating from her skin.

'When I apply it,' she whispered, slipping her arms loosely around his neck. Her touch was feather-light, almost affectionate. 'The chemicals rearrange as it hits the air. The bottom layer is a sealer. To keep me safe.' She leaned in, her lips a hair’s breadth from his. 'The top layer… you experience with my first kiss.'

She bridged the gap.

Her mouth was soft, lush, and impossibly warm. The kiss was a slow, wonderful caress, a closed-mouth press that lingered, sweet and promising. He was rigid against her, every muscle locked. She felt the faintest tremor run through him.

She pulled back just an inch, her arms still looped around his neck. Her eyes sparkled in satisfaction.

'My lips deposited an instantly paralyzing toxin. Only the merest brush is required.' She gave a low, throaty chuckle. 'But, well… what fun is that? That layer is now dissolved.'

She kissed him again. Deeper this time. Her lips moved against his, persuasive and slow. She let it last, a proper, sensual kiss meant to confuse and beguile.

'Sorry, getting ahead of myself,' she purred, her thumb stroking the nape of his neck. 'Now it’s dissolved again. This second layer is thicker. Requiring more… kisses.' She leaned in and placed three more against his lips, each one soft, each one lingering. 'It deposits a nasty muscle relaxant. Good for many hours.'

She sighed, as if the very thought wearied her. 'After all, sugar, I don’t want you escaping my knot. Unlikely as that would be.' Her gaze turned predatory, confident. 'A plus female knot is impossible to escape. We’re much too coily.'

Her hands slid down from his neck, over the hard planes of his shoulders, down his arms. Her touch was exploratory, appreciative. 'Once you’re knotted in my body, the third layer… is a new, improved truth serum.' She looked up into his eyes, her own gleaming with cunning. 'There’s no resistance to it. Ironic, isn’t it? My lips will loosen your tongue… while my body tightens around yours.'

She let the image hang there. Intimate. Inescapable.

'Once that is complete… the final layer. Poison. Delivered by my lips.' Her expression was that of a thrill. 'But sugar, I was given the option on how to finish you. My knot is always a slow option. Endless hours, coiled in my form. As I slowly… constrict. Why don't you give it some thought while I prepare us,' Trudy purred as one of her legs slipped behind his.

Trudy felt it. A subtle shift, a powerful pulse against the inside of her thigh where she had him trapped. Her body, so carefully coiled around him, was a sensitive instrument. It registered every hitch of his breath, every thrum of his pulse, and now—this.

He’s hardening.

A slow, inexorable swell of heat and rigidity, pressing into the soft flesh of her leg. The initial paralysis was a fading ghost. The muscle relaxant was a creeping tide, meant to sap his power. But this… this was a purely primal response, defiant and utterly involuntary. Her lips, hovering just a breath away from his after the last, lingering kiss, curved into a knowing smile.

'My, my,' she whispered, her voice a husky vibration against his skin. 'Someone is very happy to be here.' She pulled back just enough to look into his eyes in the mirror. They were dark, stormy with a mix of fury and a shameful, undeniable hunger. 'Don’t be embarrassed, sugar. It’s a natural reaction to my… attentions.'

To prove her point, she shifted her hips. Just a fraction. A slow, deliberate roll that ground the soft, warm apex of her body against his thigh in answer to his own pressure. It was a whisper of friction, a promise of heat. She watched his eyes in the reflection, saw them flutter closed for a second as a shudder worked its way through his frame. Good.

'I feel it,' she continued, her tone conversational, almost clinical, as her hands smoothed over the hard planes of his back. 'That insistent, fascinating pulse. The relaxant works on voluntary muscles. On strength. But some things… some deeply wired responses… they have a will of their own.'

She kissed him again, then trailed the wet tip of her hot tongue along the line of his jaw, down the corded tendon of his neck. He shuddered, a full-body tremor that made her coils tighten instinctively in response—a gentle, constricting squeeze.

'You see?' she murmured into the hollow of his throat. 'You move… I hold.' She emphasized her point with another slow, grinding rotation of her hips against him. The motion was hypnotic, a lazy, sensual circle that mimicked a far more intimate act. The thin, damp warmth between her own thighs was a secret she let him feel through the press of her body. 'And you are definitely moving now.'

His breath hitched, coming in a short, sharp gasp. The sound was pure music. She continued the rhythm, a slow, persistent undulation that matched the pace of her administering kisses.  Her lips were gentle, her touch feather-light, but every point of contact was a theft—of his tension, of his control, of his very will.

‘My superiors were very specific. A slow extraction. A thorough weakening.’  She lifted her head, catching his gaze in the mirror once more. Her own cheeks were flushed, a faint pink that had nothing to do with cosmetics. 'I must admit, I’m enjoying their instructions.'

She increased the pressure of her hips, grinding against him with more intent now. It was no longer just a tease; it was a claim. A slow, sensual domination. She could feel every ridge, every vein of him through the thin barrier of their skins, a brand of helpless desire pressed into her flesh. Her own core clenched in sympathetic, thrilling response. The pleasure of it, of feeling this powerful, resistant man come undone purely by her nearness, was intoxicating.

'Is it confusing?' she breathed, her lips finding his ear. She nipped the lobe, then soothed it with a kiss. 'The part of you that wants to fight… and the part that just wants to feel?' She rolled her hips again, a deep, languid stroke that pulled a low groan from his throat. The sound was raw, unfiltered. Perfect. 'Let the feeling win, agent. Just for a moment. The fight is already over. You just don’t know it yet.'

She captured his mouth again, cutting off any potential protest. This kiss was different. Deeper, wetter, more consuming. She poured the relaxant into him, but she also poured her own rising heat. Her tongue traced the seam of his lips until they parted, and she delved inside, a slow, exploring conquest. At the same time, her grinding became a consistent, rhythmic pulse, matching the thrust of her tongue.

He was melting against her. Not just from the toxin, but from the sensory overload. The sweet-tart taste of the lipstick. The lush softness of her body moving against his. The intoxicating scent of jasmine and female sweat. The inescapable, tightening embrace of her coils. His resistance was a glacier in a hot spring, calving off in great, silent chunks.

When she finally broke the kiss, they were both breathing raggedly, their foreheads pressed together. Her ankles, clad in those stark white heels, were now crossed. The very tips of the pumps touched behind his calves. The Sandpiper knot was one motion away from locking.

'Feel how close we are,' she panted, her voice thick with a lust she no longer bothered to hide. Her hips never stopped their slow, maddening dance. 'My legs are almost sealed. When they do… we fall. And then, sugar… then the real knot begins. The one that will squeeze every secret, every last truth, from you.' She kissed him, a quick, hard smack. 'But until then…'

She redoubled her movements, her grinding becoming more focused, more intense. It was a blatant, sensual mimicry, her body speaking a language older than espionage. She watched his face, his eyes screwed shut, his teeth gritted in a futile battle against the pleasure-pain of it.

'Just let go,' she urged, her own voice trembling on the edge. 'You can’t stop it. So feel it.'

The friction was exquisite, a building fire in the cradle of her hips. She was so focused on his unraveling, on the exquisite control, that her own climax crept up on her—a surprise ambush.

It hit her silently, a sharp, stunning wave of heat that tightened every one of her coils around him like a vise. Her hips stuttered, then pressed flush against him in a deep, shuddering hold. A soft, choked sound escaped her lips.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was their ragged breathing.

She recovered first, a slow, sated smile spreading across her glossed lips. She nuzzled his neck, her body still humming.

'See?' she whispered, her voice hoarse with satisfaction. 'Even the spider gets caught in her own web sometimes.'

She shifted her weight, a final, deliberate rock of her hips against his throbbing hardness.

'But I always get back to work.'

Her ankles, slick with sweat, slid the final inch. The heels of her white pumps clicked together with a soft, definitive snick.

'Now,' Trudy said, her voice regaining its steely control as she felt the perfect, interlocking tension of the Sandpiper seal around them. 'We fall.'

They tumbled in slow motion to the floor, a controlled, graceful descent that Trudy guided with the subtle pressure of her coils. The plush carpet met them with a soft whump. Her triumphant laugh was a warm, breathy sound against the back of his neck.

She was on top of him, her full, size-'12 figure a delicious, inescapable weight. He was flat on his stomach, his world reduced to the scent of jasmine and her skin, the feel of the carpet fibers against his cheek, and the mesmerising sight of her in the mirror, her body moving against his.

He watched her figure, light as a feather against his bulk, bob up and down in minute, sinuous adjustments for several minutes as she finished sealing the knot from this new, horizontal position. Every slight shift sent a wave of sensation through him—the slick heat of her inner thighs, the firm pressure of her abdomen, the soft, heavy brush of her breasts against his back. Finally, she settled, her body a perfect, constricting sculpture around his.

She nudged his head sideways with her own, bringing her face into his view. A slow, satisfied smile played on her glossy lips. 'How do I feel about you, sugar?' she smiled, her voice a husky purr.

She didn’t wait for an answer. She hugged him slowly, a full-body embrace that drew a soft, pleasurable hiss from her as she pressed her cheek to his. He could only watch, his breathing growing shallow, as she used one foot to work loose a heel. She dangled the stark white pump on her toes, her calf muscles dancing with the effort, then flicked it away with a casual grace. It landed somewhere in the room with a soft thud.

He flinched at the sexy, deliberate play, and his body squirmed involuntarily within her knot. Her coils tightened in instant, gentle retaliation, a feedback loop of sensation.

'A repeat of the process would get the same result,' she murmured, her lips brushing his earlobe. 'I know men. I know what they love. The classic pump. The arch of a foot. The line of a calf.' She quivered against him, a full-body shiver of pleasure, as she worked the second pump free and let it fall. 'I prefer the natural feel, though. Skin to skin. Don’t you?'

She adjusted her legs, now bare, wrapping them more intimately around his. The difference was immediate—softer, warmer, more personal. The knot felt less like a trap and more like a lover’s embrace, which was somehow more terrifying.

'My relaxant lipstick still has a long way to go,' she continued conversationally, as if discussing the weather. 'Although I can coil you from a standing position… this is so much better, don’t you think? You can feel more of my body this way. Feel me pull inward with each little twitch you make. My soft, paradoxically hard body, coiling itself into you.'

She shifted, and the movement was a slow, deep undulation that traveled the entire length of their pressed forms. He stifled a groan.

'More relaxant, sugar,' she smiled, and leaned in to kiss the corner of his mouth. It was a soft, closed-mouth press that lingered. He felt the faint, waxy transfer of the shimmering pigment, a kiss that was both a caress and an injection. 'Oh, you feel wonderful in my knot. Coiled beyond escape. Beyond comprehension. As I dance you slowly tighter… my nude body is the ultimate weapon. But again, slowly, sugar. I have my orders.'

He watched her body work. In the dimming light from the panoramic window, her skin gleamed like oiled pearl. Every muscle, every curve, was employed with lethal precision. She was a deadly spy femme in complete control, and her control was an erotic spectacle.

'You’re far from the first, you know,' she confided, her voice dropping to a whisper as she placed another soft kiss. 'I seem to be the go-to girl for these types of missions. But everyone is different. Some are fast. A quick kiss. A scratch. Game over.' She pulled back to look at him, her eyes dark and knowing. 'And then there are these… delicious conquests.'

Her purr vibrated through his chest. Trudy kissed him again, softly and slowly, a series of sweet, brushing touches that felt like devotion. Each one was a deposit, a theft.

'The relaxant layer of my lipstick packs a subtle bite, sugar. I can feel your muscles loosening with each deposit I make. A little less tension in the shoulders… a little more give in the lower back…' She demonstrated by tightening a specific point around his midsection.  'Soon, you’ll be drum-tight in my knot. My Plus form, endlessly woven into you. No beginning. No end. Just… us.'

Trudy kissed him again, a deeper press, as he watched the fascinating mechanics of her nude form. The slight turn of an ankle to increase pressure on his thigh. The tilt of a wrist to better cradle his head. The flex of a calf to maintain perfect balance. Each was a minor adjustment with major effect. Though she was a Plus agent, there was no excess to her—she was sculpted, hard and sleek, with the sinuous, flowing curves of deadly intent.

'Three long hours,' she breathed, her lips tracing the shell of his ear. 'Encircled. Helpless in my embrace. And at the mercy of my poisonous lips.' The tip of her tongue followed the path her lips had taken, a hot, wet point that made him shudder. 'That’s the schedule.'

Trudy settled her cheek against his, the motion one of shocking tenderness. The relaxant layer, she decided, was fully administered. Now, it was a matter of letting it seep, of letting the chemical tide do its work while she listened with her entire body.

For a larger agent, her approach to knots was almost liquid. She never forced herself into place. She seeped in, preferring to let the heat and the conniving sexiness of her nude form slither into perfect, inescapable positions. She passed the time now with intimate, idle torture. The tip of her tongue tracing the intricate whorls of his ear. An occasional nuzzle into his hair. A slow, sibilant hiss breathed directly into his ear canal—a classic, excellent seduction tactic.

Her own body shivered slightly with each minute contraction, a reflexive pulse of pleasure as she held him. She was waiting. Waiting for the relaxant to fully bloom, for his will to soften like wax. Only then would she begin applying the next layer of her lipstick. The truth serum.

Until then, she lay contentedly entwined about him, a living, breathing blanket of sensual threat. The sun finished its descent through the large window, painting the room in deep blues and purples. The city lights began to sparkle far below, a distant, indifferent galaxy.

In the darkness, her voice was a velvet promise.

'Getting comfortable, sugar? Good. The waiting is almost my favorite part. Feeling you… surrender to it. To me.  The quiet before the confession.'

Trudy kissed him then smiled. 'Truth Serum is a tricky thing,' she murmured, her lips still brushing his. 'The female agent needs to dose it just right or they risk not getting the answers they want. Too much too fast creates false intel as your system gets overloaded. Too little and you can fight it. Lucky for you, I have experience.'

Her body, a warm, constricting sculpture around his, gave a slow, possessive squeeze. He felt it everywhere—the pressure on his ribs, the cradle of her thighs against his hips, the soft, heavy weight of her breasts against his back.

'The drug and the pressure from my knot will have the desired effect,' she continued, her voice a low, hypnotic purr in the quiet dark. 'But again, slowly. You know, of course, there are other ways to deliver a truth serum.' She shifted, a liquid ripple of muscle and soft skin that made him gasp. 'I prefer this method. So intimate. Very erotic for the female agent. I have used the other methods.' She nuzzled his temple. 'Care to hear a few? Helps pass the time.'

He said nothing, but his breathing had changed. It was shallower. More attentive.

'My nails,' Trudy began, lifting one hand into his limited line of sight. The city lights glinted off the perfect varnish. 'Both sets. Sharpened and shaped. I prefer the Mountain Peak shape—more surface area for the nail to scratch. Just the lightest of touches. A good agent can do it, and her target never feels a thing.' Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. 'Up one side of the nail… then down the other.

To demonstrate, she leaned in. The tip of her tongue, hot and wet, traced a path up the curve of his ear. A slow, deliberate lick. He flinched.

She waited. One second. Two.

Then her tongue traced back down the other side.

Another flinch, sharper this time. A full-body jerk within her coils.

She smiled and constricted with a soft, sibilant hiss, tightening just enough to steal his breath. 'I have my scratchy moments,' she admitted. 'But not today.'

'Then there’s body powder or lotion. Both intimate. But I save those for sex.' The word hung in the air, charged and heavy. 'I love watching the male’s reaction mid-stroke when they fall under my spell. From that point, it’s just a matter of a simple knot… then questioning.' She sighed, a sound of genuine, wicked pleasure. 'Perfume and hairspray would be another way. But not a favourite of mine. Too much control required. Tends to ruin the mood… and cramp my style.'

She fell silent for a long moment, just holding him, letting the heat of their bodies merge. The relaxant was doing its work; she could feel the remaining tension leaching from his muscles, leaving behind a pliant, warm heaviness.

'Time for another session, sugar.'

She captured his lips again.

This was not a brief, depositing kiss. This was a session. Her mouth moved over his with slow, devastating expertise. Her lips were soft, persuasive, parting his with gentle insistence. Her tongue darted inside, not invading, but exploring. It traced the line of his teeth, danced along the roof of his mouth, coiled around his own tongue in a mimicry of her physical knot.

He groaned into her mouth, a low, helpless sound. His body, traitorously, pushed back against her, seeking more of the friction, the heat, the maddening sensation.

Her body trapped him tighter in response, the sinuous loops of her torso and legs contracting in a slow, wave-like pulse. She felt him react—a hardening, a straining against her thigh—and her smile spread against his lips.

She broke the kiss, a thin strand of saliva connecting them for a second before it snapped. Her eyes were dark pools of triumph in the dim light.

'Oh, yes,' she breathed, her chest rising and falling against his back. 'You clearly loved that. My tongue tends to be rather convincing.' She lowered her head, her lips brushing his ear once more. 'Imagine it wrapped around your cock. Hard. Shivering. Aching for release from me.'

She felt the vivid shudder that rolled through him. Perfect.

'Trade secret, a truth lipstick is useless that way,' she mused, her tone conversational again, as if discussing a minor tactical point. 'But a poisonous lipstick is perfect for that. I’ve used it on several male agents during my time. All have never made it to climax before its effects finished them.' She pressed a soft, chaste kiss to his jaw. 'Maybe that will be the fate you meet, sugar. One kiss to those succulent lips of yours. If so… I promise to make it a good one. But again, a way off. My truth serum needs another application.'

And so, she continued. In total control, casually kissing him, each press of her lips a measured transfer of the shimmering serum. Between kisses, she told him stories. Seduction stories from her career. The diplomat in Vienna, a mercenary in Bangkok who’d succumbed during a massage. Each tale was a lesson in intimacy as a weapon, each detail designed to wear down his psychological walls as her body held his physical ones.

The final deposit was a ten-minute session.

She showcased every skill. Her lips danced over his, teasing the corners, suckling gently on his lower lip. They caressed, pulling back just as he leaned in, then meeting him with renewed fervor. She used the very tip of her tongue to trace the bow of his upper lip, a feather-light torture that had him straining against her, breath coming in ragged pants.

She was an artist, and his mouth was her canvas. She painted sensation with every brushstroke, every sigh, every soft, wet sound.

When she finally pulled away, he was breathing heavily in the silent room. The first faint hint of dawn painted the panoramic window a pale grey.

'You’ve done extremely well, sugar,' Trudy whispered, her voice husky with victory. 'All we could ever hope for.  The sun will be coming up soon. Start of a new day.'

She looked into his eyes. Her own face was serene, her hair a tousled frame. She looked beautifully, dangerously real.

'And so,' she said, her breath warm and dangerous, just like her voice. 'How do you want this to end? With my lips… or my body?'

She let the question hang, her gaze locked on his. The city began to wake below them, but in the quiet of the suite, there was only her, and him, and the choice.

'I’ll let you decide,’ she purred.

Captions, C'est Fini