Just some Short Tales

 

                                                                                   1

‘What can I say, I like props and you did seem to mind the remark'Care for a lick?'.’ Tina Samuels smiled, putting down to prop,a sinister smile forming on her face as she slowly walked toward him,her legs dancing as her hips swayed until she had her arms around his neck.

As the Head of Business Operations for FORCE, Tina was the face of the covert side of the business, all legitimate corporate multinational enterprises that funded the covert side of what FORCE was really all about,she was also an excellent operative,very good at closing deals, one way or the other.

‘Now I know we almost have a deal but there are a few sticking points and since we get along so well, I thought perhaps we could come together and straighten out the remaining barriers,’ Tina purred as her lips played with his in small nibbling touches, while her hips swayed against his pants, the meaning of words very plain as she intended.

Tina slipped her hands from his neck trailing then down she undid his belt, her small kisses keeping him from resisting.

Her lips remained closed as they lightly brushed his button,side to side,her head tilting just slightly giving different sensations, a light hum vibrating her lips and strands of her hair sending an electrical current right through him.

His breath hitched then a low long gasp took over as Tina’s mouth opened slowly over his head, it twitched as she closed a soft wet warm seal around it consuming his head only in her coddle.  He fondled her hair as her tongue stroked his head,low moans escaping him.  Tina’s fingers scissor his base adding stimulus as she lightly pushes him over,his back falling on the bed allowing her to kneel and her mouth to consume him totally.  He gasped and rolled, sometimes trying to sit up to resume touching her hair only for the experienced woman to adjust her suck sending him crashing back to the mattress where his breath shortened, a curl of her tongue opened the floodgates.

A low purr resonated from Tina as he thrust, her mouth pulling his discharge from him then beginning again as his chest heaved from the exertion and pleasure.  Tina knew he had more to give as her tongue and lips started again.  He stirred back to life quickly, his prong throbbing as she delivered him again in short order,he was just as savoury the second time.

‘We both drive a hard bargain,’ her low sultry voice said breaking contact.  ‘Oh no, she smiled as he tried to pull her on top.  ‘There are still one maybe to sticking points,’ she breathed, then seized him this time and worked as his body twisted and squirmed on the bed her body staying just frustrating out of reach and when he tried again her experience allowed her to slip away every time until he was lost in pleasure a third time.  When Tina had pulled everything from him she lay next to him turning his fevered head to her.  ‘How does my sweetener affect our negotiations now?’ she smiled.  ‘I have the new contracts all ready to sign.’

‘That’s not the right answer, silly.  Checking with Trident is not on my bargaining list,’ Tina offered, then kissed him.  ‘Yes, you now see who you’re deadline with and with Trident FORCE does not take no for an answer,’ she added with another kiss.  ‘I’m going to allow you a little more time to consider, mull it over in your head, if you can manage it,’she smiled, removing one of her earrings and slipping it over his cock, then touching the other earring.

‘That stimulation will go on and on until you sign.  The irregular edges create an infinite pattern of pleasure,there’s no resistance or escape from it until I release you and that only happens with your signature.  Your breathings getting shallower,let me help it along,’ Tina smiled as her lips found his.  ‘There my lips need to take a well deserved rest but to ensure you go nowhere while I freshen up,’she smiled opening a bedside table drawer.

Tina tied his wrists and ankles with two sets of stockings then tied them to the bedposts, her fingers lifting up and snapping the silky bind with a smile before her hands fell on either side of his face, hers coming low to his.  ‘It only seems fair the rest of you is as stiff as your stem.  My constriction stockings will tighten pulling you taut not only ensuring you don’t escape but adding another dimension to my little trap,’ she smiled, her kiss soft and long.

She left him, retreating to the bathroom to fix herself.

‘There, that was easy, all it took was a little persuasion.  Now I have to be going,but, not to worry, I’ve left a message with your Admin for her to come and rescue you.  Although given what has happened I don’t know if she’ll be in the forgiving mood.’

Tina smiled then gave him a goodbye kiss.

                                                                             2

‘Please don’t tell me we are going to go over this matter again or perhaps this is a visit for something else, pleasure maybe?’ Fiona smiled as she saw him looking at her ageless body.  ‘Our is it curiosity.  That can lead to pleasure as well and in our profession, death, although I do have much more experience in delivering and dealing with those two matters than you do,’ she added.

‘But one the positive side you came properly attired so why not sit down, close to me if you want or dare.  If you're really interested I promise to bite,’ she teased.  ‘You keep looking, oh you're doing your best not to but you are so in part you’ve already answered one of your questions.  Yes we still have it.  I’ll fill in the background on that.  We’re paradoxically perfect for older and younger male agents for the same reason.  First, since you're a young man, I’ll start with that explanation.  We look harmless, a distraction, never a threat or even the possibility of one.  An experienced woman who you want to add to your list of conquests, the older woman, the M.I.L.F., etc.  That is our advantage and by the time you realise the error, I should correct that part, the more precise turn of phrase would be, fatal error, it's much too late,’ she smiled, sitting up then giving him a kiss.  ‘Like that,’ she laughed.  ‘Just a demonstration,’ she smiled then continued.  ‘It's the same for older agents, they don’t see us as a threat, just an experienced diversion.  We mix perfectly at both ends of the spectrum, never arousing suspicion, making us the perfect assassin’s.’

Fiona slipped off the lounger and into the pool.  ‘If you require more proof or you just want to be added to my list,’ she slyly smiled.  ‘I’m in suite 106,’ then floated away.

‘I’ll give you a few minutes to recover,’Fiona smiled, giving him a playful light kiss.  ‘But only a few, you’re young and so far, I’ve been doing the driving.’  She slipped free, nestled beside and nestled beside him.  ‘So much for the theory, that was a practical demonstration, well partly, there’s more to come, I hope,’ adding the emphasis on the last word.  ‘We're a small select group of women who don’t want to give up really the only life we’ve known and are fortunate enough to still have the looks and the bodies to be very good at it.  We also free up our younger agents to tackle missions they are better suited for.  Now are we finished talking young man,’ Fiona smiled, one leg of hers hooking to his as she rolled them over onto her back.  ‘I’d say judging by the state of things, we are,’ she finished, then kissed him as her hips surged about him.

                                                                               3

‘You came all this way to see me in action?  I would have come in for an interview once the mission was over, but I suppose this is one way to evaluate all of me,’ Gwen Knight smiled as she emerged from the water, her face smiling but her mind annoyed.  ‘They send these people from HQ who have preconceived notions of my type, usually bad ones,they try to find fault because we don’t look like what they think a spy femme should.  He does look rather scrumptious though, perhaps I need to take a more application based approached,’ she told herself

‘You're a day early, but no matter, the company is welcome,;she added.  ‘Come on, my cabana is this way,’she added, taking his hand and leading him.

‘I need to wash off the ocean,salt is bad for the skin and I’ve got to keep my best asset in top condition,’ the Trident spy smiled, as she slipped provocatively out of her one piece.  ‘You did say you were here to observe and evaluate,’ she teased her now nude form somehow pressed against without him seeing it, a soft kiss finding his lips as she undid his shirt and pants. 

The steam wrapped around them like a second skin, thick and fragrant with the scent of sandalwood and jasmine from Gwen’s expensive soap. The water beat down in a soothing, hot cascade, plastering her blonde hair to her scalp and shoulders, running in rivulets down the flawless, toned landscape of her back. She stood before him, her eyes holding a playful, knowing light as she took the bar of soap from its niche.

'Here,' she murmured, her voice a low vibration that competed with the shower’s spray. 'Let me.'

Her hands, slick and warm from the water, began to glide over his chest. The soap created a slick, pearlescent lather that caught the dim bathroom light. She worked in slow, expansive circles, her palms smoothing over the planes of his pectorals, the defined ridges of his abdomen. Her touch was both practical and worshipful, cleaning every inch while communicating a deeper, more intimate attention. He could only stand there, mesmerized by the sight of her nude form so close, the water making her skin glow.

'You’re so beautifully made,' she said, not looking at his face but focusing on her task as her hands slid around to his back, pulling him closer so her soapy breasts pressed against his torso. The sensation was electric—the soft, giving weight of her, contrasting with the firm muscle beneath. She leaned her head against his shoulder, her lips close to his ear. 'Strong. Solid. A perfect canvas.'

Her hands continued their journey, sliding lower, over the curve of his buttocks, down the length of his thighs. She knelt before him in the spray, a stunning vision on the tiled floor. Her eyes, upturned, locked with his as her soapy fingers traced the inside of his thighs. The anticipation was a live wire in the steamy air. Then her hands found him, already thickening with arousal.

'I love that you’re so well endowed,' Gwen purred, the words barely audible over the water. Her soapy hands formed a slick, perfect ring around his shaft. She didn’t jerk or stroke with urgency. Instead, she lapped at him, her hands moving in a slow, torturous mimicry of a tongue, a circular, milking motion that started at the base and spiraled up with exquisite slowness. Her thumbs swirled over the head, spreading the lather, mixing it with the beads of pre-ejaculate that already glistened there.  Every nerve ending was focused on that warm, slippery friction.

She watched his face, her own expression passive, as she felt him grow to his full, impressive hardness in her hands. 'There,' she whispered. 'Perfect.'

With a subtle shift of her hips, she guided him. The tip of his cock nudged against the slick, heated cleft of her ass. For a heart-stopping moment, he thought that was her intent. But she continued to angle herself, her hand reaching back to grasp him firmly, directing him lower, until he felt the different, softer heat of her outer lips. She paused, letting him feel the promise, the incredible, wet warmth that waited just beyond. His breath came in ragged gasps against her wet hair.

'This is paradise,' she breathed, and then she sank back onto him.

It wasn’t a fast, driven impalement. It was a slow, inexorable descent, her body swallowing him inch by incredible inch. The soap made the entry impossibly smooth, a glide into a tight, clutching heat that made his vision blur. Her head lolled back, her mouth finding his in a deep, searching kiss that tasted of steam and shared hunger. His soapy hands, now free, roamed over her full breasts, kneading the firm globes, his thumbs brushing over her hard nipples. She moaned into his mouth, the sound swallowed by the shower’s roar, her hips making tiny, circular grinds that seated him even deeper inside her.

They stayed like that for long moments, locked together, moving only with the shallowest of breaths, the water coursing over their joined forms. It was an intimacy more profound than frantic motion.

Finally, she broke the kiss, turning her head to speak directly into his ear. 'You often hear that female spies are flies caught in the web of our profession.' Her voice was a conspiratorial thread, barely there. 'Well, I’ve actually been caught in a web. A spider’s web.' She gave a slow, delicious clench of her inner muscles around him, making him gasp. 'To be truthful, they were mechanical spiders. But let me start here.'

She pulled his hands from her breasts, intertwining their fingers. 'In fact,' she said, a mischievous smile in her voice, 'let me do a show and tell, this is, after all, an evaluation of me.’'

With that, she leaned forward, slipping him from her body with a soft, wet sound that sent a jolt through him. She reached past him and turned off the water. The sudden silence was profound, broken only by the drip-drip from the showerhead and his heavy breathing.

They stepped out onto the plush bath mat. Gwen took a large, fluffy towel and began to dry him with the same attentive care she’d used to wash him. She patted every droplet from his skin, her eyes dancing. Then she dried herself, a quick, efficient ritual that still managed to be graceful. From a shelf, she took a tall bottle of silky, vanilla-scented powder.

'Essential for the next part,' she winked, dusting the fine powder over his chest, back, and legs. It smelled heavenly and made his skin feel like cool satin. She powdered herself as well, the white clouds settling on her shoulders, making her look like a creature dusted with moonlight when she had finished.

She took his hand and both of them naked and powdered, out of the bathroom, through her elegantly appointed bedroom, and into an adjacent room. It was a spacious livingroom. One wall was mirrored, reflecting their ghostly forms. The floor was covered with soft, interlocking tatami mats. The air was cool and still.

'Now,' she said, her voice taking on the tone of an instructor. 'Lay down on your stomach on the mat. And let me do my thing.' She gave him a quick kiss that promised everything, then nudged him down.

He obeyed, the woven mat soft against his sensitized skin. He heard her move behind him, then felt her warmth as she pressed her body along the length of his back. She wasn’t lying on him, but aligning herself, limb to limb, he marvelled at her lightness in spite of her full figure.  She turned his head to the side and kissed him, deep and slow.  ‘Just relax, you’re no no peril from me, but I want you to experience what I did and can do, even with my size,’ she continued.  Then she began to move.

It started subtly. A shift of her hip against his. A sliding of her thigh between his legs. Her arm snaked under his shoulder. It was less an embrace and more a weaving. She used the powder’s slickness, her own incredible flexibility, and a profound understanding of leverage. She rolled, and he rolled with her, not by his own volition but because her body commanded it. Her limbs entwined with his in a complex, living knot. A calf hooked behind his knee. An arm wrapped around his chest, her hand splayed against his opposite ribs. Her other arm threaded under his armpit, her fingers lacing with his where his hand was trapped beneath them.

They rolled slowly across the mat, a single, tangled entity. He didn’t resist. How could he? Her movements were so fluid, so sure, that resistance felt unthinkable, even rude. Instead, he gave himself over to the sensation. The smooth slide of her powdered skin against his. The firm pressure of her muscles contracting around him. The intoxicating scent of her, of vanilla and woman, filling his nostrils. And through it all, a rising, undeniable arousal. The friction, the closeness, the sheer dominance of her technique had him fully hard again, his cock trapped against the mat, throbbing with every sinuous twist of her hips against his ass.

She worked in silence for several minutes, her breath a soft pant in his ear, her body a constant, shaping presence. He was being folded into her. It was constricting yet not painful; immobilizing yet profoundly intimate. He was utterly ensnared, and a deep, thrilling part of him reveled in it.

Finally, they came to a stop, back in the middle of the room. He was completely and utterly knotted. Her body was a living cage from his shoulders to his thighs. She was on top, her weight distributed with perfect balance so it was a comfort, not a burden. She turned his head again, and their lips met in a slow, triumphant kiss.

'This,' she breathed against his mouth, 'is where I had him. My target on my last mission. Locked in my nude body, as you are now.' She kissed the corner of his lips. 'I kissed him… and I contracted.' She demonstrated a gentle, full-body squeeze that tightened the delightful pressure on every inch of him. 'Would you like me to?'

He managed a strangled 'Yes,' the word thick with desire.

Gwen’s eyes lit up with a feral joy. She was thrilled at his agreement. He was young, chiseled, and scrumptious. And she knew, she knew the fantasy she was tapping into—the ancient, pulsing fantasy of the serpent-woman, the lamia, using the soft, deadly coils of her own form to administer a blissful demise to her male prey was too inviting to resist.

The powder allowed her to slip, to adjust, to slither. As she began a slow, rhythmic series of contractions, she spoke, her voice a hot whisper in the shell of his ear.

'His name was Viktor,' she began, her hips making a slow, undulating roll against the small of his back. 'Arms dealer. Paranoid. His penthouse had pressure sensors on the floors, lasers in the hallways… but his bed was just a bed.' Her muscles tightened around his torso, a slow, sustained pressure that stole his breath before releasing. 'I got to him there. Seduced him easily. A lonely man is the easiest mark.' She kissed his neck. 'When he was spent, sated, vulnerable… I initiated this.' She gave another, sharper squeeze. 'The Python’s Embrace. He was a strong man. But no man’s strength is a match for a woman’s leverage when she knows how to apply it.'

Her body began to move in a more complex pattern. It wasn’t just squeezing. It was a slow, continuous knotting. She would shift a leg, applying pressure to his hip, then roll her pelvis, creating a twisting tension across his lower back. Her thighs, strong as steel cables, clamped and released in a rhythm that was almost like a pulse. Her abdominal muscles, taut and defined, rippled against his spine.

'Of course,' she whispered, her own breath becoming slightly ragged as she worked her body against his, 'I was wearing a truth serum lipstick. ‘Tangerine Tattle’ is its code name.' She nipped his earlobe. 'And my powder… was a mild muscle relaxant. So he was much more pliant than you are now. More… open for questioning.' She ground herself against him, and he felt a surge of pre-ejaculate leak onto the mat beneath him. 'But nowhere near as delicious as you, baby.'

Her words were a catalyst. The image she painted—of herself, nude and powerful, coiled around a helpless man, her kisses drugging him, her body extracting secrets—combined with the exquisite, constricting pressure of her actual form, was too much. A low groan was torn from his throat as his hips bucked involuntarily against the mat. He climaxed, a shocking, dry release that was all tension and convulsion, his seed spilling in hot pulses against the tatami, untouched by anything but the force of her story, her knot and her wondrous full figure,so hard and so paradoxically soft about him.

'My body and my lips extracted every piece of intel from him after 5 hours,' she murmured, looking down at him with dark, hungry eyes. 'And from there… well, let’s just say I have a nasty habit of constriction.'

Her expression shifted. The teacher vanished, replaced by the remorseless agent. Her eyes went flat. Her smile disappeared. 'My soft body just got tighter… and tighter…'

To illustrate, she began to move. It was not the sensual rolling from before. It was a deliberate, cruel-looking contraction. Her thighs, already powerful, clenched like vices around his hips. Her ass, small and taut, flexed as she drove her pelvis down, not onto him, but as if trying to crush an invisible space between them. Her hips rolled in short, sharp, grinding circles that spoke of relentless, increasing pressure. She used her hands, planted on his chest, to leverage herself, her back arching, every muscle in her torso standing out in sharp, defined relief. She was demonstrating the final, fatal squeeze.

'Until, well… you know.'

Gwen felt the powerful tremors run through his trapped body. She let out a soft, satisfied hiss, nuzzling his neck as she subtly relaxed the complex knot. She didn’t let go, but she loosened the bind, just enough. With a graceful, powerful twist, she rolled them both over. Now he was on his back, and she was straddling his hips, her wet, heated center hovering just above his still-throbbing, spent cock.

He did know. And the sheer, terrifying eroticism of it, of her flawless body becoming an instrument of ultimate control, sent a second, unexpected wave of pleasure crashing through his overstimulated system. He came again, a weaker but no less intense shudder, a hoarse moan filling the quiet room as he spilled the last of himself.

Gwen watched, a predator soothed, her earlier intensity melting into a warm, purring satisfaction. She leaned down, nuzzling his cheek. Then, with purposeful intent, she arched her back, positioned herself, and sank down, sheathing his still-hard, sensitive length inside her in one smooth, wet motion. She sealed herself around him with a deep, shuddering sigh of her own.

He was too spent to thrust, but he didn’t need to. She took over. Her inner muscles, impossibly skilled, began a slow, milking pulse around him, a rhythmic, coaxing pressure that drew another weak twitch from his core. She rode him like that, a slow, undulating rise and fall, her eyes closed in concentration, chasing her own pleasure with the expertise of a master. The friction, the wet, clinging heat, the sight of her above him, blonde hair cascading, body gleaming with a light sweat, drove her over the edge. She came with a sharp, gasping cry, her body stiffening, her head thrown back, her inner walls fluttering around him in a frantic, delicious rhythm that triggered a final, almost painful, blissful spasm from him deep inside her.

She collapsed forward onto his chest, their hearts hammering a frantic, syncopated rhythm against each other. She kissed him softly, once, twice, her lips sweet.

Then she spoke, her voice muffled against his skin. 'After Viktor was… dealt with… I needed to extract myself. Clean up.' She lifted her head, her smile returning, bright and sharp. 'That’s when I noticed a speedy little insect out of the corner of my eye. A metallic sheen. And I knew, instantly, I was in trouble.' She pecked his lips. 'Do you want to hear what happened next? With me… and the spiders or have I convinced you of my worth as an agent?’

                                                                               4

Kellie had worked her magic again, the Plus agent had him, now she would slowly and insidiously finish him. I won’t  need this for a long while,’ she smiled, removing her bikini, besides, it's done its duty. Tangerine Sunset in case you're wondering, a poisonous paralysing bikini.  You’ll wish it was a deadly poison after a while, your death will be much slower and tormenting.  Kellie wrapped her naked form into his, his death had been ordered to be a slow one and she had no issue with that.  No one ever thought Kellie was a spy, that is what made her so good, she had graduated at the top of her class and delivered over the years on all that expectation, now at 53 a lengthy  string of erotic missions behind her she was still magnificently sexy and even more lethal. She tied the young agent into a Malaysian Sucking Snail, an oral death trap knot. 

 'Now sugar to work’ she said taking him flaccid cock into her mouth.  

The first ten minutes was always the fight, in fact it was the only time the male had to escape after that he was helpless.  Kellie barely moved her lips, she just held him as the flipped and flopped about the room he spilling endless into her as she sucked and coddled until as she predicted they slumped still in the middle of his cabana, he blonde constrictor still attached, her mouth adjusting to a new technique to keep him hard, her soft pliant form tenderly contracting just a little.  Death at the hands or in this case mouth of a female spy was always erotic, they just had too many skills and weapons.  He tried many times to escape but trapped inside a size 16 and nude at that it was impossible, Kellie silently pulled in after each attempt.  She kept him hard and adjusted him, by now she was wet herself and slipped herself around his blade and gripped his cock in stroking madness.  He didn’t think he could come anymore but in short order Kellie was awash in his expulsions, she smiled and tilted her hips as her body knot moved him to a more penetrating position. 

His hands explored her form searching for weakness, her smooth skin tingling as he went, her body reacting with a tensing of his.  

‘Do I please you sugar.  My name is Kellie Hudson, but just call me Kellie, since we seem to be enemies with benefits.  Go ahead and explore all you want,; she said between kisses.  ‘What are you baby, maybe 25 I’ve been an agent longer than you’ve been alive,’ she smiled as her body danced.  

Kellie uses her nails to ignite fire, tracing them on nails, her tongue probing into his ear and mouth as they kiss.  “He’s young, hungry and full of energy,’ Kellie thinks as they kiss for a long time before she settles her cheek against her body , working him deeper to his death.  Bikini, beach house, penthouse, bed Kellie terminated in every conceivable way you could imagine.  Men, women and snakes, her deadliest opponent. 

 She finished Kell after 10 hours, his body pleasured, drained and broken.

The Seamstress - Vignette

‘Let me measure you for size,’  Force seamstress Maria said, then closed her mouth around his stem.  A few pulls later she released and rose up depositing a kiss to his lips.  ‘Excellent you stayed still, of course my Seamstick Red is a very potent paralysing lipstick.  A traitor is dangerous in this couturier,’ she offered, relieving herself of her clothes.  You're about to get a made to measure death and my seams are very secure,’ she explained as she 

nipped his lips.  ‘I call this The Serger, a diabolic knot, slow, sexy and utterly inescapable.  You’ve wandered into a FORCE dress shop.  I wonder how that happened, perhaps someone hacked your phone  Oh and if you're thinking you’ll wear me out because of my age, well think again, I’m made of long wearing material, durable yet soft to the touch and very form fitting,’ she added.  

Still so hard, thank you,’ she offered while her ageless body enveloped his.  After what seemed an eternity to him she finished, the final twist bringing them face to face.  ‘There, the two pieces of fabric have been joined, you and me, now to apply the stitching,’ she smiled and kissed him.  ‘Pity you're a delightful kisser but you’ve been dressing for the wrong side. Speaking of that, you dress to the centre don’t you sir? Maria added as she consumed him into her buttonhole.  The Seamstress pistoned her hips up and down like a take up lever while her tension about him increased.  It took her less than a minute to spill him then less than two for the second.  The eyelet is the perfect partner to The Serger, movement and reaction all in a pleasurable synchronised dance,’ she added.  

Maria rolled them a bit then explained.  ‘You can’t sew the same line again and again, instead of making the seam stronger you actually weaken it, so it is with sex, a new line, new material, the thread feels the materials resistance more forming a tighter bound,’ she purred her hips thrusting to emphasise the point.  ‘You’re wonderful material to work with Trident agent, you gather in very nicely,’ she smiled nipping his lips as her body pulled tighter, the moment calculated and cunning as it sent him into orbit again, his body bucking and snapping as he thrust into her.

‘Delicious.  My overlay caress always ensures a delightful deadly spindle.’ she hummed as he climaxed yet again his body racked with pain and pleasure as she drew inward his form a delightful helpless feel against hers. 

One more screw, his massive climax shaking the both then she relaxed, smiled, kissed him and got up.

‘I told you I was a seamstress.  That thread about you, a special invention of mine, it slowly contracts with your body heat.  Now normally you might stand a chance but given all that extra activity you’ve just been through, you have no chance.  Now, if you’ll excuse me I have to go. I have another measuring appointment with one of your colleagues in a short time.’

CAPTIONS

 

Request for Reader Input

Orghum, a frequent commenter here, suggested an idea based in the Matt Helm movie, The Silencers and specifically Nancy Kovack's character, Barbara.  In the movie Tina explains that Barbara killed another ICE agent before she tried to kill Matt.  They actually did film this scene but cut it and now the film is lost only a few stills remain.  It was never mentioned how she did it,we assume a knife again so I imagine they viewed it as repetitive.

Anyway,Orghum's suggestion was to write this scene,this is where input would be great.  Things such as how she does it,what she's wearing,where it happens,that sort of thing.  Also if you would like to see her succeed against Matt you can make suggestions about how that scene should have played out.  The link below is a story I did on this,but I'm always interested in how others would see it.  Look forward to heating your ideas.  Cheers, Steve

https://www.blogger.com/u/1/blog/post/edit/7930995064927072467/8246919938656957230

Two for the Price of One

The scent of her perfume, jasmine still clung to Jax’s lips as she broke the kiss. It wasn't a gentle parting. It was a deliberate, lingering release, her full lower lip dragging against his with a soft, wet sound that seemed amplified in the sudden quiet of the opulent beach house. Her dark eyes held his, glinting with a knowledge that sent a primal thrill, cold and hot at once, down his spine.

She smiled. Not a friendly smile. A knowing one. A smile that said she had played a game he didn't even know he was in, and she had won before the first piece was moved.

Then she turned,releasing him.  She heard the thud as he fell, she allowed herself a brief satisfied smile.  Her walk across the plush carpet was a study in deliberate, unhurried grace. The blue pajama top brushes against her skin with each sway of her hips. She moved like water—fluid, confident, a current pulling his gaze with her. Every step was a statement. The elegant line of her back, the subtle shift of muscle, the way her thick, black hair swung just above her shoulders. She reached the small couch and settled.  She crossed one long, slender leg over the other, the silk pajama bottom sliding up to reveal a tantalizing stretch of toned thigh. She rested her palms pulling down the front of her top in a deliberate conceal.

'My Paralysing Prawn Lipstick, Agent Jax.'

Her voice was a low purr, the cultured Burmese accent wrapping around the words like silk. 'Yes, I am a Trident agent. You seem surprised. My age, maybe?' She gave a soft, dismissive laugh. 'That lipstick packs a potent neuro-toxin. A relaxant. You’ll be limp for a very, very long time, most of you.  More than sufficient for my Prong Python to work its magic for information.'

Jax’s mind raced, but his body… his body was already betraying him. A strange lassitude  was settling into his limbs, a heavy, immobile weight. He could still feel everything—the cool air on his skin, the frantic hammering of his heart—but he couldn’t move a muscle. He was a liquid as he lay there looking into her cool calculating black eyes.

'I see you’ve heard of it,' Thet continued, her eyes roaming over his naked form with clinical appreciation. 'A woman’s lips wrapped around your stem can be very persuasive over time. Not to mention my body, coiled about yours. That adds an… extra incentive to talk, before I become too tight.'

Her fingers went to the buttons on the pajama top. With a slow, deliberate action she undid each one. The top parted, falling open to reveal the smooth, flawless plane of her stomach, the gentle curve of her waist, and the shadowed valley between her breasts, held back only by the thin fabric. She didn’t rush. She let the fabric hang open, letting him look, before shrugging it off her shoulders. It pooled on the floor at her feet with a soft sigh. She stood before him, gloriously nude, her skin glowing like polished teak in the low light. She was slender, but there was a powerful, whipcord strength to her frame, the kind earned from a lifetime of discipline.

'You’re nude, so it only seems right I am as well,' she said, her smile turning predatory. 'Besides, I work much better naked. My grip… is more effective.'

Jax could only stare, his mind screaming, his body a prison of unresponsive flesh. He felt a traitorous heat stirring in his groin, a biological response to the stunning, deadly woman before him that his conscious mind railed against.

'So is mine.'

The voice came from the direction of the veranda doors, a cool, familiar alto.

‘Is this a private party or can anyone join in’ Celeste Devane, Jax’s partner said as from the doorway,her stunning yellow bikini and Plus form emphasizing her announcement.  ‘I appear to be a tad over dressed,not an issue,’she smiled, her eyes locked on Thet while she unhooked her bikini top then pulled off her bottoms.

Agent Celeste Devane didn’t enter. She exploded into the room. A cartwheel of such speed and precision it was a mere streak of lightly tanned skin. She landed in a silent crouch between Jax and Thet, then uncoiled like a spring.  Her body, a powerful size 12, was all sleek, defined muscle and sun-kissed skin. She was every bit as tall as Thet, a perfect mirror of feminine power, but where Thet was a razor, Celeste was a hammer.

Thet’s eyes widened a fraction, the only sign of her surprise. She had no time for more. Celeste closed the distance in a heartbeat, her body slamming into Thet’s with a soft, impactful thud of flesh. But it wasn’t an attack of fists. It was an embrace.

Celeste’s arms and legs wrapped around Thet in a complex, instant knot of limbs. Jax was very familiar with female knots,but he’d never seen a Plus use one in action,it was somehow more erotic than a regular agent,his cock twitched as he watched her work.  Celeste’s legs scissored around Thet’s waist, her arms locked around her upper back and shoulders, their torsos pressed flush, breast to breast, stomach to stomach. Thet was instantly immobilized, her own arms pinned to her sides within the intricate, living bind.

'Hello, beautiful,' Celeste murmured, her lips a breath away from Thet’s.

And then she kissed her.

Celeste’s tongue delved into her mouth. It was a kiss of combat, of dominance and submission being negotiated without words. Their bodies strained against each other, in struggle and  fierce exploration. Jax watched, paralyzed, as his nude partner devoured the Trident agent.

A groan, ragged and desperate, tore from Jax’s throat. He couldn’t help it. The sight was incendiary. Two most stunning, dangerous women locked in a nude, twisting embrace, mouths fused together. Heat roared through his frozen veins, pooling hot and heavy in his loins. He was achingly, shamefully hard, a purely physical reaction to the raw, erotic violence of the scene.

Celeste broke the kiss with a wet, smacking sound, a thread of saliva briefly connecting their lips. She grinned, a wild, feral thing. 'My knot has you Trident agent.'

Thet’s response was a hiss, but her eyes sparkled with challenge. 'We shall see, Plus.'

What followed was an hour of slow, torturous motion. Thet did not simply submit. She writhed, she twisted, she used every ounce of her flexibility to find a purchase, a leverage point. Her body was a symphony of straining muscle and slick skin. She would arch her back, trying to break Celeste’s hold, only to have Celeste adjust with a subtle, powerful contraction that brought their bodies into even more intimate contact. Thet’s head would thrash, her black hair flying, and she would dive in again, kissing Celeste fiercely, as if she could steal the air from her lungs or the will from her mind through her mouth.

Their skin, already dewy with exertion, began to shine. A fine sheen of sweat made their bodies gleam in the low fading sunlight, highlighting every curve, every taut line of muscle. They glowed like warriors forged in some ancient, sensual battle. Grunts, hisses, and low, guttural moans filled the room—sounds of immense strain and, impossibly, threads of pleasure. Their breasts, crushed together, moved in a slow, grinding rhythm. Their hips rocked in a counterpoint that was unmistakably, devastatingly sexual.

Celeste was relentless. Her body, so supple and smooth, was also a prison of living steel. She began to work Thet into the knot, the coils tightening incrementally. It wasn’t a violent constriction; it was a slow, inevitable compression. She would hold Thet in a vice-like grip for long minutes, their bodies utterly still but vibrating with tension, before allowing a tiny, agonizing shift that bound them even closer.

'Give in,' Celeste whispered into the shell of Thet’s ear, her voice silk and sex.  Feel how I hold you.'

Thet’s only answer was to capture Celeste’s lips again, her kiss desperate now, a drowning woman seeking air. Her struggles grew less frantic, more rhythmic, more like the undulations of a dance. Their bodies moved together in a wet, slick union of flesh, the sounds of their skin sliding together a lewd accompaniment to the struggle.

Jax watched, transfixed, his own arousal a painful, constant throb. It felt like a lifetime and an instant in time. The room grew warm, thick with the scent of female sweat, perfume, and something else—something electric and primal. Thet’s magnificent body, once taut with resistance, was now stretched, pliant, molded to Celeste’s form. She was bent in a deep, graceful arc, her spine a long, beautiful curve, her head thrown back, exposing the long line of her throat. Celeste had her, utterly. The Plus agent’s face was a mask of focused ecstasy, her own body glistening, her muscles corded with the effort of maintaining the perfect, deadly hold.

A small, final compression from Celeste. A shudder ran through Thet’s entire frame. Her eyes, which had been glazed with effort, fluttered closed. A soft sigh, one of absolute exhaustion, left her lips. She went completely limp in the knot.

Celeste’s triumphant grin was just starting to form. Thet’s eyes held a spark of profound amusement.

A slow, serene smile spread across Thet Win’s face. It was the smile of a chess master who had just sacrificed her queen to deliver checkmate.

And then, impossibly, Celeste relaxed. Not of her own volition. Her body seemed to go soft, the formidable tension in her muscles simply dissolving. The intricate knot of limbs loosened, not with a release, but with a slow, slumping unraveling.

Thet, like a slick new butterfly emerging from a cocoon, simply… slid out. She moved with an effortless, liquid grace, extracting first one limb, then another, from Celeste’ now-lax hold. She came to her feet in a single, smooth motion, standing tall and unblemished above Celeste’s prone, motionless form. She let out a light, breathy laugh that danced through the stale air of the room.

She looked down at Celeste, who lay on the carpet, eyes wide and alert, her body seemingly boneless. Thet knelt, her movements elegant and unhurried. She bent over Celeste, her long black hair cascading down to brush the Plus agent’s cheek, and placed a soft, chaste kiss on her lips.

'My Body Butter,' Thet explained, her voice a gentle, almost affectionate murmur. 'Infused with a slow, but very wonderful, snail venom. It relaxes over time. And you, my dear—and soon-to-be-dead—Plus, are totally, beautifully limp.' She ran a finger down the side of Celeste’s face. 'Now, it’s my turn to coil you.'

She stood, her gaze sweeping over Jax’s still limp form, acknowledging his helpless arousal with a flicker of her eyes. 'I think we’ll stay in Laos. The Laotian Double Lotus.' She walked to Celeste’s head, gathering the woman’s sweat-dampened blonde hair in her hands. 'No woman, no matter her size or training, has lasted more than twenty minutes in it.' she explained casually as her swift, practiced motions twisted Celeste’s hair into a severe, elegant bun, using a pin from her own discarded pajamas to secure it. See repeated the process with her own hair, then began to move Celeste’s limp body. It was a startlingly intimate display of strength. Thet, for all her slimness, maneuvered the larger woman with ease, positioning her onto her stomach, then carefully arranging her limbs—bending Celeste’s legs back at a severe angle, crossing her ankles, and pulling her arms behind her back. She was creating a living, human knot, using Celeste’s own flaccid flexibility against her. The positioning was obscene, exposing, and oddly artistic.

Finally, she turned Celeste’s head to the side, facing Jax. 'So you can watch him and me,' Thet purred, aligning herself behind Celeste. She began to weave her own slender form around and through Celeste’s posed limbs, her skin sliding against the other woman’s slick, helpless flesh. She was everywhere—her thighs locking around Celeste’s, her torso pressed along Celeste’s arched back, her arms threading through. It was a constriction that seemed gentle, almost loving, but Jax could see the deadly potential in every contact point.

Thet settled into the final position, her lips close to Celeste’s ear. She looked directly at Jax, her dark eyes burning into his.

'Now, for the kiss,' she hummed.

She didn’t move toward Celeste’s mouth. Instead, she shifted her hips forward, a deliberate, grinding motion against Celeste’s prone form. At the same time, she reached out a hand, her fingers trailing through the air before closing into a tight, deliberate fist in Jax’s direction. It was a gesture of absolute, sensual possession.

'Your man, and you, Celeste,' Thet whispered, her voice vibrating with promised conquest as her body began its first, slow, inescapable contraction around the helpless Plus agent. 'Let’s see what he… and you… are really made of.'

The silence in the suite was no longer quiet. It was thick, laden with the humid heat of expended effort and the sharp, metallic scent of adrenaline. The only sounds were the ragged, controlled breaths of Thet Win and the softer, strained inhalations of Celeste Devane, trapped within the beginning coils of the Laotian Lotus.

From his frozen vantage point, Jax watched it begin.

Thet’s smile hadn’t faded after her pronouncement. It remained, a serene curve on her lips as she settled into the knot. Her body, so slim and seemingly delicate, was a study in lethal geometry. She had woven herself around Celeste’s paralyzed form with the precision of a master seamstress. Celeste lay on her stomach, her limbs bent and arranged in a pose that was both balletic and brutally vulnerable. Her powerful back was deeply arched, her head turned to the side, her wide, furious eyes locked on Jax. The severe bun Thet had fashioned pulled the skin of her forehead taut, emphasizing the strain in her gaze.

Thet was draped over her, around her, through her. One of Thet’s thighs was hooked over Celeste’s hips, the other threaded beneath, their legs a tangled, sweaty lattice. Thet’s torso lay along the length of Celeste’s spine, her small, firm breasts pressed into the knotted muscle of Celeste’s back. Her arms were wrapped around Celeste’s torso, just beneath her breasts, fingers laced together in a deceptively gentle clasp over Celeste’s sternum.

'Relax, agent,' Thet murmured, her lips brushing the shell of Celeste’s ear. Her voice was a hypnotic hum.

 'The snail venom is quite pleasant, is it not? A warm, heavy blanket. Fighting it only makes the pressure… interesting.'

Celeste’s body twitched, a full-body shudder that had no direction, no force. It was the last protest of a nervous system being overridden. A low, guttural sound of pure frustration vibrated in her throat, but her lips, so passionate and demanding just a short time before, could only part on a silent gasp.

Then, Thet tightened.

It wasn’t a jerk. It wasn’t violent. It was a slow, inexorable gathering. Jax saw the long, lean muscles in Thet’s back and shoulders engage, not in a spasm, but in a deliberate, sustained contraction. She took a deep breath in, and as she exhaled, she pulled herself infinitesimally closer into Celeste’s body. The embrace compacted. The space between them vanished completely. Their slick skin fused together in a seamless, glowing band of flesh.

Celeste’s eyes flew even wider. A sharp, punched-out 'Hnngh!' escaped her. Her torso, so powerful and defined, seemed to compress. Her ribs bowed inwards under the pressure. The elegant arch of her back increased, forced deeper by Thet’s relentless embrace. It was a slow-motion collapse, beautiful and horrifying.

Jax’s own breath hitched in his chest.  But lower, much lower, a different, hotter ache throbbed in insistent counterpoint. The sight of them, the dominant, athletic Celeste rendered so helpless, the victoriously sensual Thet exerting such intimate control—was a forbidden aphrodisiac pumping directly into his veins. His cock, already stiff from watching, gave a heavy, painful twitch against his thigh. A bead of moisture welled at the tip, gleaming in the low light. He wanted to groan, to curse, to thrust his hips into the air. He could do nothing but watch and feel.

Thet turned her head. Slowly, as if she had all the time in the world, she shifted her gaze from Celeste’s ear to Jax’s face. Her dark eyes tracked down the line of his naked body, lingering on the blatant evidence of his arousal. Her smile deepened, becoming something knowing and intimately wicked.

'He watches, Celeste,' she whispered, though her voice carried clearly in the silent room. 'He watches, and he wants. Even now. Especially now. Doesn’t that just… complicate everything?'

She didn’t move from her coil. She held Celeste in that first, breath-stealing compression for another long minute, letting the pressure speak for itself. Celeste’s face was beginning to flush, a deep rose spreading across her cheeks and down her neck. Her breaths were shallow, rapid sips of air.

Thet’s eyes held Jax’s. Up close, he could see the faint laugh lines at their corners, the incredible depth of her gaze. This close, her beauty was a physical blow. The sheen of sweat on her skin made it glow like oiled amber. The subtle scent of her—jasmine washed over him.

'You are a beautiful man, Agent Jax,' she said conversationally, her eyes dipping to his straining erection. 'So much tension. So much… potential energy. It seems a waste to let it languish.'

A shudder he couldn’t execute trembled through his nervous system. His cock jerked again, eager, betraying.

'The paralytic affects voluntary muscles,' she mused, her breath hot against his manhood.

'The involuntary responses… the autonomic reactions… they are quite intact. I wonder…'

'Watch her, Jax,' she commanded, her voice dropping to a velvet whisper. 'Watch what I do to your partner.And feel what I do to you.'

She lowered her head.

Her lips, the same lips that had delivered the weakening kiss, met the swollen head of his cock. The contact was soft, warm, unbearably moist. She didn’t take him in, not yet. She kissed him there, a series of slow, open-mouthed presses, her tongue flicking out to taste the salt-sweet droplet that had gathered. Each touch sent jolts of lightning up his frozen spine. His hips screamed to buck, to push into that wet heat. He was trapped in a paradox of absolute stillness and unbearable stimulation.

Then she took him in.

Her mouth was a revelation. Hot, silken, incredibly skilled. She engulfed him slowly, inch by torturous inch, her lips forming a perfect, tight seal. Her tongue worked along his length, a flat, persistent pressure that coiled pleasure deep in his gut. She began to move, a slow, rhythmic suction that was utterly deliberate. It was not an act of passion, but of exquisite, calculated extraction.

And all the while, she held his gaze. Her eyes, dark and unblinking, watched his face as she pleasured him. She was studying him, reading every micro-twitch he couldn’t control, every flicker of agony and ecstasy in his eyes.

His own eyes, against his will, slid past her shoulder to Celeste.

The constriction had progressed. Celeste’s body was no longer just arched; it was bent. Thet’s lower coils had tightened further, pulling Celeste’s legs back at an even more severe angle, lifting her hips off the carpet. The powerful muscles of Celeste’s abdomen were defined not from flexing, but from being compressed, stretched taut over her constrained diaphragm. Her face was now a deep, flushed red.

The pleasure built, a terrifying tidal wave with no outlet. He couldn’t tense, couldn’t grind his teeth, couldn’t clutch the bedsheets. He could only receive it, a passive vessel filling to the brim. Thet’s pace remained infuriatingly steady, her suction relentless. She read the approaching peak in his eyes, in the frantic pulse she must have felt against her tongue.

She dipped her head again, and the crescendo began to build once more. This time, she varied her rhythm, adding little flutters of her tongue, hollowing her cheeks to increase the suction. The dual sensations—the devastating skill of her mouth and the horrifying, beautiful sight of Celeste losing ground in the knot—fused in his brain. He was poised on a knife’s edge, an unbearable tension coiling in his balls, his stomach.

Thet sensed it. This time, she didn’t stop.

She took him deep, her nose brushing the wiry hair at his base, and held him there. She applied a sustained, pulsing suction that was utterly inescapable. Her throat worked around him. Her eyes glazed over slightly, a look of deep, focused concentration.

It broke him.

The orgasm ripped through him with the force of a detonation. It was a silent, full-body cataclysm that his limp frame could not express. There was no shouting, no arching, no clutching. There was only a blinding white explosion behind his eyes and the violent, helpless pulsing of his cock into the wet, welcoming heat of Thet Win’s mouth. Wave after wave of intense, almost painful pleasure shot through him, draining him, emptying him. He felt his seed being pulled from him in strong, rhythmic draws.

Thet’s eyes never closed. She watched him shatter, her gaze cool and observant. She swallowed, once, twice, her throat working smoothly. She stayed with him until the last tremor subsided, until he was spent, lying there in a haze of post-climax shock and unbearable sensitivity.

Slowly, sensually, she pulled off. A soft, wet pop sounded in the quiet. She licked her lips, a slow, deliberate swipe of her tongue, her eyes never leaving his face.

'One,' she stated calmly, as if ticking off a box.

Behind her, Celeste moaned again. The sound was weaker. Thet’s constriction had not relented for a second during the entire act. If anything, it seemed tighter. Celeste’s chest struggled to rise. Her eyes were beginning to lose their fierce focus, clouding with oxygen deprivation and venom-induced lethargy.

Thet shifted her weight, maintaining the deadly pressure on Celeste . She leaned forward again, her mouth returning to Jax’s softening flesh. Her touch was gentle, almost soothing, as she stroked him back to full, shocking hardness with terrifying efficiency. The residual sensitivity was agony and ecstasy.

The warmth of her mouth was an anchor in the sea of his paralysis. As the last waves of his first climax receded, leaving him hollowed out and hypersensitive, Thet did not let him go. Her lips remained sealed around him, her tongue a persistent, flat pressure along his length. She hummed, a low vibration that traveled straight up his spine and coiled in the base of his skull. The sensation was maddening, a tender torment that refused to let his body settle.

He was still hard. The paralytic had stolen his movement, but not his blood, not his nerve endings. They screamed with overstimulation, every flick of her tongue a lightning strike. She began to move again, not with the relentless suction of before, but with a slow, worshipful rhythm. Up and down, a languid glide, her cheeks hollowing slightly on the ascent. She was working him, with the patience of an artisan, keeping the embers glowing, fanning them back to a steady flame.

His eyes, dragged by a gravity he couldn’t resist, found Celeste.

The knot had changed. It was no longer a static constriction; it was a living, breathing thing, and Thet was its heart. From the waist down, Thet’s body was a sculpture of tense, coiled muscle around Celeste's. Jax could see the subtle shifts, the minute adjustments Thet made with her hips and thighs. Each tiny movement translated into a ripple of pressure through Celeste's trapped form.

Celeste's face was a mask of strained desperate fury. The deep flush had not receded; it painted her skin from her hairline down to her collarbone. Her lips were parted, slick and swollen, but the sounds she made were soft now—faint exhales that hitched every time Thet’s lower body tightened another degree. Her impressive abdominal muscles were defined not from flexing, but from being stretched to their absolute limit over her compressed diaphragm. A fine sheen of sweat made her sun-kissed skin gleam like oiled bronze in the dim light. Her eyes, those fierce, intelligent eyes, were losing their sharp focus, clouding with a venom-induced haze and the slow, inexorable deprivation of oxygen. 

Thet’s mouth was a universe of sensation. She varied her pace, her technique. She would swirl her tongue around the head, lavishing attention on that most sensitive ridge, before plunging down again, taking him deep into that liquid heat. She used her throat, a gentle, pulsing massage that would have made his toes curl.  Between passes, she would pull off completely, her breath cool on his wet skin, and just look at him. Her dark eyes drank in his helpless reactions—the flutter of his eyelids, the tension in his jaw, the desperate, silent plea in his gaze.

'Your body tells such fascinating stories, Jax,' she murmured, her voice a husky whisper against his thigh before she dipped her head again. 'The pulse here… it quickens when you look at her. And here…' Her tongue traced a vein. 'It jumps when I tighten my grip. You are a map of conflict. I enjoy reading you.'

She took him deep once more, and the pleasure began its slow, inevitable climb again. It was different this time. The first orgasm had been a shocking detonation. This was a slow, deep swell, a pressure building in his core with a terrifying, majestic inevitability. He was a dam, and she was the relentless rain filling the reservoir.

And still, she maintained Celeste in that torturous embrace. Jax watched, hypnotized, as a single bead of sweat traced a path from Celeste's temple, down the elegant line of her jaw, and dripped onto the plush carpet. Celeste's chest hitched, a strained, shallow movement. Her fingers, splayed on the floor, twitched in a pathetic mimicry of a fist.

A jolt, electric and strange, shot through him. It wasn’t pain. It was a sharp, pinpoint burst of sensation that traveled directly to his spine.

She kissed down, another inch. Another delicate, grazing bite. A nerve bite. Each one was perfectly placed, a calculated assault on the clusters of hyper-sensitive nerves just beneath his skin. They were slow. Tender. Devastating. Each bite was a tiny explosion of feeling that fed directly into the building tsunami of his arousal. He lost count. Five, six, seven… each one a little higher up the ladder, each one coiling the spring in his gut tighter. His entire world narrowed to the progression of those maddening, exquisite kisses along his length.

He was trembling inside his limp shell. His vision blurred at the edges. Behind Thet, Celeste's struggles had become weak, rhythmic undulations, a feeble dance against the inevitable. Their bodies, slick and intertwined, gleamed under a shared patina of sweat.

Thet reached the base of his shaft. She placed one final, lingering bite there, her teeth a gentle, firm pressure that made his whole body sing a silent, agonized note of need.

Then she moved back up. Slowly. Her lips brushed his skin, a whisper of a touch. She reached the head, swollen and purple with need, weeping a clear droplet of pre-cum.

She looked up at him, her eyes holding his. In them, he saw the calm, focused satisfaction of a predator, the artistic pride of a performer, and a dark, smoldering ember of her own arousal. She smiled, a small, secret thing.

She took just the head into her mouth. Her lips formed a tight, perfect ‘O’. Her tongue flickered over the slit, tasting him. Then she began to suck. Not the deep, rhythmic pulls from before. This was shallow, insistent, focused entirely on that most sensitive tip. It was a relentless, targeted stimulation that bypassed all thought, all resistance.

The climax, when it came, didn’t build. It unleashed.

It was a roaring, white-hot torrent that ripped through the last of his control. His back tried to arch, a phantom spasm his muscles couldn’t execute. A raw, choked cry was torn from his lungs. He poured into her mouth, a violent, pulsing surrender.

Thet’s eyes fluttered closed for the first time, a brief concession to sensation. She drank from him, her throat working in smooth, practiced swallows. But she wasn’t done. As the first violent pulses subsided, she surged. She took him deep, all the way, her nose buried in his pubic hair. She applied a final, overwhelming suction, a vacuum that seemed to pull the very essence from his core.  She milked him dry, drawing out the last shuddering drops with a ruthless, sensual efficiency.

The motion, that deep, full-bodied surge forward, transmitted through her entire form, then into Celeste.

In the knot, Celeste's body gave one last, violent twitch. A final, choked gasp escaped her lips. Her eyes, which had been glazed and distant, flew wide for a split second—a flash of shocking clarity, of utter, final realization—before they rolled back, fluttered shut, and her body went completely, utterly limp in Thet’s coils. 

Thet released them both at the same moment.

She pulled her mouth from Jax’s spent flesh with that soft, wet pop. Simultaneously, with a fluid, unraveling grace, she disengaged her lower body from Celeste. The coils loosened, slid free, and Thet came smoothly to her feet in one lithe motion.

Jax’s cock lay against his thigh, glistening and utterly drained. 

Thet stood between them, a goddess of aftermath. Her nude body glistened, every curve sheened with a fine perspiration that caught the light. Her skin glowed, flushed with exertion and triumph. The elegant lines of her muscles, the swell of her breasts, the flat plane of her abdomen—all were painted in the slick evidence of her talent. She took a deep, satisfied breath, her ribs expanding, and let it out in a long, slow sigh. A smile touched her lips, not the wicked, knowing smirk from before, but a genuine, deeply satisfied smile. The smile of an artist regarding a finished masterpiece.

She padded, silent and graceful, to the bathroom never looking back as she took a well deserved shower. Thet cleaned the sweat from her throat, between her breasts, down the length of her legs. The mundane act was more intimate, more dominative, than anything that had come before. She was erasing the evidence of them from her skin in a soapy warm embrace.

She padded herself dry.  From a drawer, she retrieved simple, elegant clothes: a linen skirt, a matching sleeveless top. She dressed without haste, her movements efficient and graceful. She ran a brush through her thick, black hair, restoring its stylish fall to her shoulders. She applied a touch of colorless balm to her lips—the lips that had paralyzed him, that had drained him.

She walked to the door, her bare feet silent on the carpet. She paused, her hand on the ornate handle. She half-turned, casting one last look over the scene she had created: the humid air thick with the scents of sex and death.

Her voice, when it came, was a soft, melodic purr that hung in the silent room.

'Two for the price of one.'

Four Captions I did recently

 

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.