The Erotic Adventures of Lady Penelope - In Dutch by Hklaw and Steve

IN DUTCH

Our story opens on a Saturday morning. On a large video screen, an image of the face of a thin, handsome man in his early 30s appears. He is Edwin Van Orden, better known to Europe's law enforcement community as The Flying Dutchman. He is nattily attired in a futuristic, custom-tailored orange jumpsuit. His wavy blonde hair is swept back rakishly, and his well-chiseled features are amplified by a perfectly-trimmed goatee.

"Good evening citizens of the European Union, and indeed the world. I am The Flying Dutchman. Your governments have ignored by business propositions, which would be mutually beneficial to all. Because of their foolish pride, my power to bring one of the world's most prosperous nations to its knees will be on full display Monday. The next time you hear from me, it will be to offer not another business proposition but my terms of surrender. Until then, The Flying Dutchman bids you adieu." 

Monday, not coincidentally, is the first day of a G-8 summit in Rotterdam.

"That digital video pre-empted programming on most of the G-8 countries' TV sets last night, as I'm sure you all know," says Jeff Tracy, the leader and patriarch of International Rescue. Jeff, his sons and International Rescue's London-based agent, Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward, can all be seen by each other on their screens as part of a video conference. "I've called you all together to discuss what we do about this threat.

"First, let me go over our dossier on Edwin Van Orden, The Flying Dutchman. He comes from one of the wealthiest families in Europe, builders of private and military aircraft for generations and developers of the next generation of stealth technology. A distant cousin of Holland's Queen Wilhelmina, Van Orden has always been an arrogant megalomaniac. He gave new meaning to the term "Eurotrash" as he partied his way through the entirety of his trust fund before he was 25. Broke and about to be disowned by his family, he tried to sell Van Orden Aircraft's latest technology to the highest bidder, but, as I'm sure most of you already know, he was foiled by our own Lady Penelope. (She had gotten close to him romantically, but it was all an act to gain his confidence and thwart his plans. Lady P sprung her trap on him at a lavish party, humiliating him in front of Europe's elite.) He has since turned archvillain and surrounded himself with a well-paid army of Europe's most ruthless and brutal thugs.

"That said I'm going to assign each of you to one of the G-8 member countries until we've determined the Dutchman's target and thwarted his plans."

Lady Penelope immediately pipes up, saying, "I'd like to take Holland, the site of the G-8 summit and the Flying Dutchman's native country. I know the royal family, I know Rotterdam in particular and I have a bit of history with Edwin Van Orden."

"Very well then," Jeff says. "Lady Penelope will take Holland."

"Are you sure that's a good idea, Dad?" Scott Tracy asks. "After all, the Dutchman and his gang are violent criminals. Holland could be a very dangerous place for Lady Penelope -- no offense, Lady Penelope."

"None taken, Scott," she says affably, "but you should know by now that I can handle myself in dangerous situations. I seem to remember saving you at least once."

"Lady Penelope's right, Scott," Jeff says to a red-faced Scott. "She knows how to take care of herself and, more importantly, she knows Holland and the Dutchman better than anyone else on the team. And she has Parker to look after her."

Lady Penelope turns away from the screen and smiles at her faithful butler/chauffeur, Parker.

“I need to pack,” Lady P says, and she signs off.

“At yer service, mi Lady,” Parker says. “Shall I get your luggage?”

“Indeed, Parker,” she says. “We need to catch the next Channel ferry. We’re going to Rotterdam.”

XXX

Later Saturday morning, The Dutchman is sitting at the head of a large table in a high-tech boardroom somewhere in Holland, surrounded by his army of thugs.

“The only thing standing in my way, gentlemen, is International Rescue,” he says. “They undoubtedly will send someone to each of the G-8 countries to try to ferret out and foil our plans.”

“Which one of those annoying Tracy boys will they send here?” one thug asks.

“They won’t send a boy,” The Dutchman says. “They’ll send a girl.”

“There’s a Tracy girl, too?” one particularly dim thug asks.

“No, you idiot!” the Dutchman says. “They’ll send their top spy in Europe, Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward.”

He pushes a button on the table and a holographic image of her ladyship appears. The Dutchman gives his dossier on her: "Age 27, 5-feet-6, 115 pounds, blonde hair, blue eyes. Only child of Sir Hugh and Lady Amelia Creighton-Ward, both parents deceased. Wealthy, but not disgustingly so. All the right schools, all the right connections, all the right charities, all the right designer labels, but also a top-secret operative for International Rescue."

A few more rather tasty images of Lady P in some of her trademark pink designer dresses and suits, as well as one particularly alluring strapless evening gown, grab the thugs' attention.

"I'll take care of her," one burly thug says enthusiastically as others at the table laugh.

"No, Nico. She's mine," The Dutchman says ominously. "I have a score to settle with Lady Penelope! But you're going to deliver her to me.

"Then, you will deliver me all of Europe -- and THE WORLD!"

XXX

It's now Saturday night, and Parker is unpacking Lady Penelope's things in the penthouse suite of the most luxurious hotel in Rotterdam. Even traveling "light," her wardrobe includes hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of designer garments, not to mention a collection of stiletto-heeled shoes and boots bearing famous names such as Manolo Blahnik, Jimmy Choo, Gianmarco Lorenzi and Christian Louboutin -- many of them personal acquaintances of the young beauty.

Her Ladyship is on her cellphone.

"Let him know how much I'm willing to pay for that information, Marco," she says into the phone, "and be sure to mention the word 'cash.' You have my number. I can be reached any time day or night."

"What now, mi Lady?" Parker asks.

"If we don't hear from anyone before then, I've been invited to lunch at Queen Wilhelmina's famous tulip gardens at 11:30 tomorrow. I'll need you to lay out something appropriate for a garden party, Parker," she says.

"The pink silk suit, mi Lady?" he asks.

"Exactly," she replies. "And ..."

"Your matching purse and parasol, the Manolo Blahnik shoes and the pearl choker, earrings and bracelet?"

"You know me very well indeed, don't you, Parker?" she says with a smile.

"It's me job, mi Lady," he says.

"What would I do without you?" she asks rhetorically as he smiles and bows.

XXX

It's late Saturday night and The Flying Dutchman's private stealth jet is soaring somewhere over Europe. He is on the phone.

"So, she's offering 50,000 Euros in cash, is she? That's not even tip money for The Flying Dutchman,” he adds with a laugh. "But at least she's taken the bait.

“Call her at 12:30 tomorrow, Nico, and set up the meeting, but tell her you want at least 100,000 Euros just to meet with her or she’ll be suspicious. Tell her to come alone, but she will, of course, bring her servant, Parker."

"Will he be a problem, sir?" Nico asks.

"On the contrary, Parker is an integral part of what I have planned for her Ladyship," The Dutchman says. "I would encourage you to rough him up, but I want him alive and alert to see my revenge exacted on Lady Penelope."

He laughs a villainous laugh.

XXX

It's just after noon on Sunday. Lady Penelope is at the royal lunch, strolling among the formal gardens, a glass of champagne in one delicate, well-manicured hand, her pink purse draped over her arm, her pink parasol in the other hand to shade her from the midday sun.

She is an absolute vision of loveliness in a custom-tailored hot-pink silk suit, the jacket unbuttoned enough to show her three-strand pearl choker and just a hint of cleavage, her skirt modestly just above the knee, but still short enough and slim enough to show off an incredible pair of long legs, accentuated by hot-pink stiletto-heeled ankle-tie pumps. Her hair is worn in a stylish up-do, romantic tendrils hanging down and a silk hair band in her trademark pink holding everything in place. She is chatting with the crown princess, a woman of about the same age who could only dream of looking as good as Lady Penelope.

Lady P's cell phone rings and she apologizes to the princess, but says she has been expecting a call about an urgent family matter. She curtsies to the crown princess and excuses herself to take the call.

Male heads -- and even some female heads -- turn as Lady Penelope moves quickly along a stone path to a more discreet spot, her shapely hips swaying seductively and her stiletto heels clicking out a sexy, samba rhythm as she moves. She soon finds some cover for her conversation behind some large shrubs.

   

"Yes, I can get that much together. How soon?" she asks. "That will be extremely difficult! All right, I understand. I'll be there."

She disconnects from that call and quickly makes another to Parker, who is outside the gardens in the Fab1.

"We must move quickly, Parker," she says. "I've sent the location of the meeting into the Fab1's guidance system via my phone. We have about 15 minutes to get to that location, but if I know you, we'll make it with time to spare.

"I trust both briefcases are in the boot?" she adds. "I knew you wouldn't let me down, Parker, you never do.

"No, there's no time to change," she says finally. "I’ll just have to go like this."

XXX

The docks of Rotterdam are deserted, what with it being a beautiful Sunday and Ajax visiting Feyenoord for a huge soccer game at the De Kuip stadium.

By about 12:35, it appears the informant is a no-show and Lady Penelope checks in with International Rescue. Just as she completes the call and tells Brains she is heading back to her hotel, Parker is hit over the head with something and she is chloroformed into unconsciousness after a brief struggle with a pair of thugs.

XXX

Lady Penelope's eyes flicker open at a sound not unlike that of ice clinking into a glass at a summer's party, but she knows instinctively that she is the guest of honour and that this is most definitely a party to which she would rather not have received an invitation. The clinking, she all too soon discovers, is from the chains and manacles attached to her wrists and legs. But that is only the beginning of her unfolding nightmare.

"Van Orden. I should have known! Only a petulant schoolboy such as you would stoop to this level!" Lady Penelope answers smartly.

"I never would have guessed from your outward facade that a seething volcano lurked just beneath those demure clothes of yours," he says, stepping into the light so the restrained aristocrat can see him.

Lady Penelope is secured in a spread-legged kneeling position atop a large, flat, horizontal gear. Her arms are pulled uncomfortably behind her and her wrists are handcuffed at the small of her back. Two pairs of hinged manacles hold her in place, clasping down and locking flat to the gear's surface at her ankles and just below her knees. The clinking she heard was from a chain that had been run from one of her ankle manacles through the cuffs around her wrists, then back down to the other ankle manacle and secured so that a 90-degree angle is as far as she can lean forward. When viewed from the side, her position forms a triangle – her lower legs the base; her thighs, torso and head the other side of the right angle; and her extended arms and the chain running from them to her ankles completing the geometric shape.

The chained beauty has been shorn of her stylish outer vestments, leaving only the barest of undergarments between her and immodesty. Long, shapely legs enhanced by her garters, pink stockings and stiletto-heeled ankle-tie pumps flow upward to only the most expensive of crotchless French lace panties. Her round, firm breasts are lifted and separated nicely by her lace half-cup bra; slim but curvy in all the right places is this young woman. The Dutchman and his gawking henchmen admire what they thought only a short time ago was a staid and somewhat conservative English aristocrat, but now she is revealed for what she really is. Defiant and not the least bit embarrassed, Lady Penelope coolly looks each in the face with a withering, reproachful stare.

"What a lady chooses to show the world is one thing. What she chooses for herself is her own affair and should be kept that way!" she says her voice narrowing at the end to show her displeasure.

Taking stock of her situation Lady P notes that she has been secured to a large, geared metal wheel, more than 6 feet in diameter, with a small hole in its centre. The teeth of the gear are in turn attached to other gears of varying size and position. It all looks like being inside a giant watch, but the cool British spy instantly recognizes her surroundings for what they are: the inside of an old-fashioned windmill.

Needing to buy time to ponder her predicament plan her escape, she engages The Flying Dutchman further.

"So, I'm to be crushed in the gears, am I? How medieval."

"Oh, no, my dear Penny. I have something much more inventive -- and modern -- in mind for you," the Dutchman says, his voice almost dripping with relish, before adding: "Oh, this is just the beginning, your Ladyship!"

"I should have thought as much, knowing you as I do! Only you would stoop to this level!" Lady Penelope answers, her voice ringing with disgust as she glances at her own nearly naked body.

"I can and will stoop much lower than this, of that you may be sure," the Dutchman responds. "It's too bad you didn't join me when you had the chance, my pretty Penny. We could have ruled Europe together and started our own dynasty."

"That's Lady Penelope to you, Van Orden! I stand by my decision, and with good reason. Anything else would be a lie! Better to die on my feet than live on my knees," Lady Penelope says with contempt.

"I couldn't have phrased that last statement any better, in light of your current predicament. The irony will, of course, be apparent to you in a few moments. And its The Flying Dutchman, if you please!" he laughs crazily.

"I'm sure of that, knowing you as I do," the blonde beauty counters.

"Such beauty should be shared with all, especially when it is about to make a less than graceful exit from this world," he says with a smile before snapping his fingers.

A nearby door swings open with a load bang, slamming into one of the numerous load-bearing frame timbers that support the outside shell of the windmill and leaving an indentation in the wood. The sounds of scuffling and a sharp Cockney accent trumpet the arrival of Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward's loyal chauffeur, Parker. His ankles and feet are chained and padlocked.

"Parker, are you quite alright?" she exclaims, seeing his cut lip and other signs he's been in a struggle.

"Yes, mi Lady, thank you for asking. I'm only sorry I was unable to give these two blokes a more thorough going over. Then you might not be in his 'ands," he says snarling a look at The Flying Dutchman.

"How very touching. And speaking of touching, it's almost time to introduce Lady Penelope to her dance partner for the evening," he laughs as his henchmen use another chain and padlock to secure the still battling Parker to a supporting wooden beam.

"But first, let me tell you about what you'll be missing while my windmill takes you for a spin. As you are no doubt aware, the leaders of the G-8 nations are meeting in Rotterdam. Those halfwits foolishly rejected a business proposition from one of my legitimate companies for an integrated security system. As you know, Penny, the world is full of nefarious individuals who will stop at nothing to get what they want, especially me. Now, they will pay for that error! I have planted explosives at more than 200 dikes and flood-control levies around Holland which are set to explode in a little over 90 minutes. Those do-gooding Tracy’s will be much too busy trying to stop the catastrophic flooding my explosions will cause to rescue their valued London agent, Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward, from her perilous predicament -- even if they knew your location."

"As it should be!" she says. "The lives of millions take precedence over mine, but if I may ask a favour, please spare Parker. It's me you really want."

"No, mi Lady!" Parker shouts. "I pledged an oath to you and I aims to keep it whatever 'apphens!"

"I think that will be all, Parker!" The Dutchman remarks in a fake-snobby, British upper-crust accent as he motions to his goons and they work Parker over a little more until he is silenced for the time being.

"He is rather tiresome with that loyalty thing, and besides I loathe interruptions. Now we finally come to your part in this little drama, your Ladyship," The Dutchman laughs as he pulls first one lever, then another.

Lady Penelope's manacled body and the gear upon which she rests begin to rotate, pulling her downward as an object emerges from the hole in the centre of the gear, directly between her legs. The aristocrat gives an audibly sharp intake of air and just the smallest of gasps escapes from her mouth before she manages to muffle it, but not before her reaction brings a sadistic smile to The Dutchman's lips.

"I'm glad to see there are some things that can melt even your ice maiden facade, Penny! In honour of my native land, which will soon be more sea than land," Van Orden says, "I've decided to call this little diversion that I've spent so long devising and preparing for you a 'Dutch Treat.' What do you think, Lady Penelope?

"As usual, I suspect given your rather limited imagination and questionable character it has something to do with sex," she retorts, "a subject you no doubt are well-read on, but of course, as the saying goes, those who can do, those who can't teach and those who can do neither just pray no one asks."

"Very amusing, Lady Penelope," the somewhat chastened Dutchman replies, "but it is I who will have the last laugh. Your gear, my dear, is connected to the windmill machinery, which will be activated shortly, but it will operate at a very slow speed. As the wind turns the windmill, the gears inside the mill will slowly, ever so slowly, be engaged. The gear on which you rest will rotate and slowly move downward while you are held in place until the axle fills you, among its other more stimulating qualities as you will find out soon enough. With a typical wind of 8 mph, that should take approximately 60 minutes. But the gear on which your Ladyship has been placed won't stop turning once that happens. Oh, no! As long as there is wind, it will continue to rotate and the axle will continue to move upward. Unfortunately for you, Lady Penelope, you are secured to the gear in such a way that you will not. The result will not only be exquisitely pleasurable, at least for a time, but excruciatingly painful and ultimately fatal to you as the shaft pushes upward right through your body.

"Your humiliation will be complete on two fronts: one, your gallant servant will be forced to watch your erotic demise; and two, I have set up several small cameras to record this event for posterity. They are connected to a satellite uplink for storage and, of course, ultimately for downloading and viewing. I feel confident that you will put on quite a show for your servant, Lady Penelope," the Dutchman says with a smile as he turns away before glancing a look over his shoulder and adding:

"By the way, did Parker know you wore crotchless panties under your sensible suits?"

"You slimy bastard!" Parker shouts. "You'll pay for this!"

"No, I don't think so," The Dutchman says with a haughty laugh, "but I'm sure plenty of others will pay handsomely for a DVD of her Ladyship's last dance. Now, shall we begin?

"Please lower yourself onto the phallus. Or shall I be forced to employ more direct methods?" he says nodding toward his henchmen.

"Don't do it, mi Lady!" Parker screams. "Don't give 'im the satisfaction!" 

"I should rather think I have no choice in the matter, Parker," Lady Penelope answers coolly.

"You, sir, are a cad of the highest order and shall live to rue this day. I assure you of that!" she says to The Dutchman. "If it was your desire to strip me of my dignity, you have failed in your attempt. A Lady I entered this world and a Lady I shall depart it, despite your attempts to the contrary!"

"Wait! One final preparation is needed," The Dutchman says, reaching into one of his pockets and pulling out a long, flowing pink silk scarf. He steps toward the back of the gear where her Ladyship is restrained and, with a flourish, he uses the scarf to tightly cleave-gag the International Rescue spy amid much mmmppphhhing from her Ladyship.

"There! Just the crowning touch. You are completely accessorized for your performance. Now begin!" he adds with an evil laugh.

Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward scowls at The Dutchman, but then she reluctantly positions her slim, milky-white hips over the 2-inch diameter grooved phallus and eases herself down as The Dutchman uses the levers to rotate the gear further and drive the dildo upward into her. Closing her eyes, Lady P shuts out the world as she sways and motions her lips about the rising device. Slow, languid circles and gentle downward pressure begin to yield results. The International Rescue spy moistens about the membrane and moans softly into her gag until she has captured the 4 inches that have been offered as an initial sacrifice. Then, The Dutchman stops the gear before explaining the intimate details of her deathtrap.

"The chain has enough slack in the arms to allow you to lean back or move your body from side to side, should you wish to, Penny," he tells her with relish. "But no upward motion will be possible, lest you should escape, and we simply can't have that. Then, once 4 feet of the axle has passed the top of the gear -- and a foot or so has passed out the other end of your Ladyship (her eyes widen and she gasps at these words) -- the gear on which you rest will press down on a trigger device that will blow this windmill and all evidence of what occurred inside it sky high.

"Well, enough of my rambling," he adds. "I've got a country to destroy and you've got a date to keep with your new lover. A penny for your thoughts, my dear.

"Oh, and I've left Parker free to speak; his comments should prove most amusing when I replay the final minutes of your life in the morning."

The Dutchman motions to his two henchmen, releases the brake for the gears and departs as the windmill creaks into action, the sudden lurch stirring her Ladyship to the fate that awaits her.

"'Ang on, mi Lady. We'll find a way out of this spot!" Parker says even as he turns his head in modesty.

The shackled spy nods her head in agreement, her triple-strand pearl choker sliding up and down her long, elegant neck. Or is she merely bobbing to the growing pleasure she is experiencing as the demonic dildo pushes upward a little farther with each slip of another tooth in the gear?

Lady Penelope shifts her hips from side to side and tries to pull herself upward, straining desperately to extricate herself from the trap as she bites down on her gag. But it's no use.

Escape plan after escape plan is formulated in her mind, but each is discarded as impractical. She has only restricted movement and Parker has none. Lady Penelope switches tactics and decides to concentrate on what she can control, her body.

"My only opportunity lies in keeping myself moist enough to receive its clockwork advances," her mind gasps as she feels the first stirrings of joy fire across her clitoris and reason begins to fade.

As more of the diabolical column inserts itself, Lady Penelope becomes lost to her instincts. Her shapely hips cautiously move and slip about its dynamic hardness as the young beauty's breath quickens and shallows.

"If this should be my end, I shall enjoy myself until that moment!" she tells herself resolutely.

Tendrils of Lady P's beautiful blonde hair spill over one shoulder as she rests the side of her head on its smooth, perfumed skin while her fingers splay out, reaching instinctively for something beyond her handcuffs. She can barely touch a few links of the chain that run from her wrists to her ankles, but even if she had been able to grab hold of the chain, all she could have done was pull herself backward and arch her body even further.

Suddenly she emits a low, muffled purr as her lower body twists and curves around her impalement, her skillfully athletic hips sending the pleasure out in ringlets of quaking delight. Lady Penelope spends herself, her mind closed to all but the orgasm she is experiencing until the gear clicks again and out of the corner of her eye Parker comes back into view, his eyes still averted from his mistress. Her pleasure slaked for the moment, she tries to call his name through her gag. Parker tentatively opens one eye and turns his head, ready to snap his eye shut again if need be. She looks at him with searching eyes as he continues to try to free himself, but The Dutchman's thugs have done a very good job with the chains and manacles about his wrists and feet.

 
"Don't despair, Lady Penelope, and don't you be embarrassed none. It's that Dutchman fellow's gonna be the one embarrassed to show his face in public once I'm through with him, I am!" his Cockney-accented voice bellows through the hollow interior of the windmill.

"You can't 'elp yourself, nor should you. Its nature it is, and besides if'n I know mi Lady, and I do, she's got a right good plan on how to escape!" he adds with a warm smile to her.

Lady Penelope hears Parker's words, but her mind is focused on a more pressing matter -- the invader pressing insistently against her velvety interior. Unlike every man she's had before, this phallus can't be satiated into collapse. Instead, the reverse is true. She is falling victim to its endless advance as she accepts just a little more of it into her as the gear turns again.

"Oh, my word!" her mind explodes in astonishment as her hips begin to quiver involuntarily.

"That thing must be attached to another device! So that's the other stimulation The Dutchman allu..." She can't finish the thought. Lady P's concentration is utterly broken as pleasuring waves spill over the top of her levied mind thanks to the makeshift dildo now vibrating wildly within her.

Lady Penelope, barely recovered from her first orgasm, tucks her chin in close to her chest, using her forehead as a lever in hopes of pulling her slender, alabaster hips up even a fraction to avoid the humming monolith emerging from below. The siren tune it plays, however, soon defeats even her disciplined mind and just as before she begins to dance to its tune.

After 30 seconds or so, the vibrations stop. But the damage has been done, her defenses collapse and she is again rushing into the arms of her enemy. Her upturned head rocks back and forth as her mouth hangs partially open. Tiny wisps of air filled with tiny moans herald the approach of another victory for The Flying Dutchman's deathtrap. Her hips pound down and twist in surging thrusts, faster and faster, her breath expelling all the more as the droning pulsation of pleasure feeds her most basic desires. Her repeated, barely muffled screams of "YES!!!" fill the space, followed by throaty moans of equally loud and long duration.

Parker, unable to contain himself any longer, turns his head and looks at his helpless benefactor's undulating body, hears her breathing and begins to see her body shining with tiny droplets of perspiration from her pleasure-trap travails and he ashamedly becomes aroused.

Lady Penelope slakes her thirst, her body instinctively and expertly drawing all the pleasure it can from the rising shaft under her as she strains every muscle in her shapely legs and points her toes repeatedly within her stylish stiletto-heeled shoes. The ensconced aristocrat feels the wheel jerk another turn as the huge column pushes upward, drawing her deeper into its concentric madness of pleasure. She slumps in exhaustion, even as she feels the pole, with the gear's turn, surface more, her hips rocking and swinging in a welcoming embrace, her breath quickening with the sensation its wonderful hardness has upon her.

"I do hope Parker can escape his bonds sooner rather than later. I don't know how many more victories I can claim against Van Orden's deathtrap. I now see it works on two levels -- the one he already explained and the one I'm now discovering. Each encounter fatigues me a little more, making the next that much more difficult. If I cannot keep myself moist, I will contract about the cylinder and be fatally impaled that much sooner. I must find the energy to seduce this contraption with my body and buy Parker the time he needs to free himself and me," Lady Penelope reasons between exhales of hot breath.

Parker, meanwhile, has gone back to his furtive attempts to free himself. All roads, however, are leading to failure, just as before. He tries desperately not to be distracted by the panting breath and moans of her Ladyship, but the joyous sounds, much like those of the Greek Harpies, dash his hopes and he turns to watch her again, cursing himself silently as he does so.

Lady Penelope is in the throes of another rising wave of pleasure. The Dutchman's diabolical dildo, its hold on her now too much to escape, begins to throb once more as her lubricating juices trickle down its grooved shaft. The droning quivers the beautiful blonde spy; her breasts jiggling so much that it appears they might slip right out of her half-cup bra.

 
She expects another session of 30 seconds, but it lasts longer. Double, in fact. Lady Penelope moves the little she can, trying endlessly to avoid its sting, but its bite is much too sweet and she reluctantly positions herself to absorb its ringing madness. This time Lady P doesn't wait for the orgasm to come to her. She races to it, her slim, toned body displaying its athletic prowess as she lunges up and down on the droning phallus, feeling every groove on its surface until her head tilts back, her mouth open, and she screams through her gag in steamy tones of bliss that fill the room. Her body is turned away from Parker at this point in the gear's rotation, but her head is tilted so far back that he can clearly see her sparkling blue eyes glaze over from sensory overload.

 
Lady Penelope has never had an orgasm this intense. It drains her totally. She sags in her restraints, helpless and weak and then the gear turns and jerks her body and she cums again, her limp, joyous convulsions sucking all the energy from her body. She is now completely sheened in moisture, her coifed hair limp and hanging, her trademark pink hair band damp and clinging to her head. The metallic shaft is coated with her sticky juices now and a small puddle is forming on the gear at the base of the axle.

The massive phallus pushes up even further, its titanic appetite not yet filled, but Lady Penelope can't say the same. She is running dry, yet she must go on massaging her hips about the grooved shaft for what seems an eternity in a desperate attempt to lubricate herself and receive it. She finally manages, but she is rubbing herself raw now with each increasingly difficult attempt and even her fitness level is proving no match for this battle.

"I must employ a different tactic. Simple pleasure is not enough. I must use my fantasy life to keep me moist enough to receive my mechanical lover," the nearly spent aristocrat thinks.

 
The next turn is then managed. Lady Penelope receives the offering easily and now she can see Parker again as she looks at him with pleading in her blue eyes. He glances away, but not before Lady Penelope can see his cheeks burn red with embarrassment.

"Poor Parker, he needn't be ashamed. It wouldn't be natural if he wasn't aroused even a little by my predicament. I know I am," she thinks somewhat sadly.

Using her fantasy life, the English spy masters her captor through six mammoth orgasms, each more joyous than the last as her muffled screams, moans and pants attest. Still, the massive dildo pushes up into her and she works to accommodate it. Three more draining orgasms finish the International Rescue spy and British lady. She collapses, exhausted and spent, drenched in her work and nearly full. The only things keeping her from falling forward are the chain running from her ankle manacles to her cuffed wrists and the stiff shaft that holds her upright.

"I can manage maybe three more gear turns, but NO MORE!" her laboured mind screams.

The first turn and the accompanying vibrations climax her three more times, her limp body quivering and small half-audible moans filtering up from her still form. Lady Penelope desperately tries to move, her shapely legs straining and cramping in a vain attempt to raise her torso for one more battle, but she is defeated. The gear turns, the vibrations resume and she cums again and again, each pleasurable expenditure adding more of her juices to the puddle below her and bringing a faint smile to her tired face. She even dances her hips about the monolith, her ass tensing and releasing to its touch, her breasts bouncing merrily and her pearl choker sliding up and down as she greedily takes in all the joy she can.

"One more turn is all I can take," she thinks as she looks pleadingly again at her only hope of rescue from impending doom. "Parker, I need you now!"

Her chauffeur pulls and tugs on the chains, banging them frantically against the oak pillar, the chain thudding dully against the dense hardwood except for a small ping his ears pick up! Parker relaxes and lets his hands run along the back of the pole, and his fingers soon find the source of the ping. There, in the indentation the slamming door had created earlier when he had been brought in, is the head of a formerly buried nail! Like a madman Parker digs his fingernails into the wood, the edge of the manacles about his wrist, anything to expose more of the nail head. He twists his wrists, contorting them against the shackles so much that he starts to bleed. His fingers fare no better, his nails are torn away from his frantic digging but he nearly has success. Just a few more moments and he'll be free.

"'Ang on your Ladyship. I'm nearly free. Shan’t be a second!" he yells, his voice deliberately cheery for her sake; he knows she is near the end. But he has no idea how near.

The gear slips another cog; Lady Penelope jerks up but manages to draw herself about her lover, seizing it with all her womanly skills. However, she can't fight the attack it mounts any longer. She is climaxed repeatedly, and this time she offers no defense. Her hips cease moving, as does the rest of her, leaving her mouth open in a silent scream as her taut abdominal muscles ripple and tremble involuntarily. She is pleasured again and again and again, the trap so insidious, but so lovely, its touch passion and poison at the same time.

Finally, Lady P's head lolls downward toward the gear, her eyes vacant now and the pupils fully dilated as she gasps for breath, believing this is the last pleasure she will ever experience before she is torn asunder by the phallus that now fills her utterly.

The monstrous shaft has stretched her so far beyond her limits -- beyond any human limits -- that pain is now replacing pleasure as the sensation Lady Penelope feels with every fiber of her being. "One more and it ends," she whispers through her gag as she helplessly awaits the agony she knows the next turn of the gear will bring.

Parker scores the last piece of wood out that he needs. Deftly he works the nail head into the lock opening on one of his manacles and works it around, his wrists acting as a pivoting fulcrum until ... the ex-thief hears the lock click open! In a flash he has the other lock open.

"Now for me legs!" he smiles.

Parker pulls himself up the pole by his hands just enough to insert the lock on his foot shackles into the nail. Again the lock is no match for the skills of the ex-thief and he is free! He snaps off the exposed nail, then bounds down the stairs, across the floor and pushes up the two levers, stopping the cog halfway to its next stop. Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward, dimly aware of the situation, squirms a little, a soft, low, eminently satisfied purr coming from her gagged mouth as her wish is granted. Parker finds the pink faux fur coat she had worn to the docks, with its soft cashmere lining on a hook nearby and lays it out beside his mistress. His own coat he tears into strips to bandage his bloodied hands and wrists and also so he won’t ruin Lady Penelope’s favourite coat. He quickly and expert springs the locks on the chains that bind her with the nail, opening the cuffs and shackles to free her before removing her sopping-wet gag.

“Pardon the liberty, your Ladyship, but I must pick you up. I apologize for this, but there is no other way I can see!” he stammers, bending over her creamy delectable form.

She never responds and seconds later his strong arms sensitively lift and free her from The Dutchman’s deadly device. He tenderly sets her down on the edge of the coat and lovingly rolls her over into the middle, closing his eyes as he does to spare his benefactor any further embarrassment, a neat fold-over of the coat and Lady Penelope is safe and secure.

“Ang on mi Lady, I’ll have you inside the Fab1 in jig time with a cup of Darjeeling tea in your hand before you can say Jack Robinson,” Parker offers, picking her up and moving to the exit.

XXX

“Ere you are Lady Penelope,” Parker says, steadying the Royal Worcester cup and saucer in her trembling hand.

“Thank you, Parker,” she says weakly but still with the softness of voice she always reserves only for him, a true friend.

“I suspect that Van Orden, though, will have the last laugh, both upon me and most unfortunately upon the good people of Holland."

 
“I suspect by now he’s crying in his beer, or whatever a bloke like that drinks Mi Lady!” Parker smiles into the rear-view mirror so Lady Penelope can pick it up.

 
“Why whatever do you mean Parker?” she answers a smile forming on her lips that are pressed against the china cup.

 
“I took the liberty of using the Fab1’s satellite uplink and high-speed frequency scanner to locate and lock in on the signal he was using to record your, er, predicament,” he says, stumbling over the last sentence at the end to find an appropriate word.

 
“Once I found it, I created a feedback loop, then I wrote a quick program to dismantle the bombs and one to corrupt the video stream he was recording. That blighter got nothing to show for his efforts against you Mi Lady nor will he ever as long as I’m alive!” Parker adds.

 
“Where did you learn such fabulous and ingenuous skills Parker?  I thought I knew you very well, but it appears I don’t?” Lady Penelope says playfully a hint of mirth in her voice.

 
“Night school Miss. A fellow’s got to be improving ‘imself all the time I always say. Besides, a little mystery is a good thing in a relationship I’ve always said!” Parker smiles putting the Fab1 in gear and rolling away from the lighthouse his wide beaming smile lighting the way.