The Judas Stones - Chapter 18

The first golden rays hit the bed and fell upon her face rousing her a little from her sleep.  She stretched her arm out to the other side of the bed and still half asleep swept it back and forth searching the body that had occupied it.  The arm reached and swept slowly before finally the senses started to kick in and she realized she was alone.  Mrs. Hawthorne’s eyes flashed open, her mind fully awake and her eyes remarkably focused as she scanned the dim light of the emerging morning until she picked up the silhouette by the large walkout doors.  Their room was cold; the desert always such a paradox, blistering during the day and near freezing at night and with the door opened and only the screen in place the cold had flooded into the suite.

            Sylvia gathered the top blanket about her naked body and slipped from the bed towards the door where she opened and enveloped Nancy in the warmth of the cover and her own body, pressing her front up against Nancy’s back and closing her arms about her waist, her chin lightly resting on the woman’s shoulder.  The two women stood in silence, neither making a move as Mrs. Hawthorne’s warmth spread to the very cold Nancy.

            “All this way and you want to develop hypothermia on me,” Sylvia said softly in a playful mocking voice.

            Nancy said nothing and Mrs. Hawthorne did not push she simply enjoyed the raising sun with her companion.  They had built trust together but all the years of training did not disappear over night and real trust was slow in coming, not because Nancy did want it to, it’s just that she had to set aside all she’d learned as a DOOM spy.  The time past in silence, both found blissful solace in it, Nancy’s hands emerging from between the blanket to hold onto Mrs’ Hawthorne’s.

            “I keep thinking about what I’ve done, what we’ve done,” Nancy finally said, correcting herself half way through the sentence.

            “You’re still worried about DOOM?” Sylvia asked.

            “No, I’m worried for you,” Nancy answered as she swung herself around inside the shroud so that they were now face to face.

            “We both can take care of ourselves, we done pretty well so far and besides together we’ll be unbeatable.  DOOM or any mercenary they may choose to hire will quickly learn that.  The price of revenge against you just got a lot more expensive,” Sylvia smiled.

            “It’s not that, it’s what I’ve done to you by accepting you.  All your alliances, especially with what you’ve told me about you and Claire not too mention my involvements with her, both with regard to this mission and your fondness for her; well I’ve kind of destroyed that haven’t I?  That’s what hurts the most, knowing that although we’re together I may have driven a wedge into your past life and friends, so much so that you will never be able to recover it.  Our short time together has been wonderful and selfishly speaking I want it to continue, but not at the expense of your happiness, if you have to forsake something as important as this for me I know that would hurt you so much and I don’t what to hurt you ever,” Nancy said her voice cracking as tears welled up in the corners of her eyes.

            “Friends are friends no matter what happens, even in this business.  Alliances change and shift, people have to accept that and adapt, if they don’t, well we know what happens, don’t we.  I’m not a part of COIL and never was, I came close, but I see what happens to agents who are either too closely tied to the ideology they have or are as in your case cast aside.  Neither COIL or DOOM are a model organization, just different shades of grey and depending on what shade you favour, you think you’re on right side.  I learned a long time ago its best to straddle both colour spectrums.  As for my friends at COIL, well really theirs just Claire and knowing her as I do, she will come round.  She can hardly condemn you for doing your job with regard to Catherine Wycliffe.  Perhaps this latest adventure will force her to take a step back and re-examine her, well, what I call slavish devotion to COIL at the expense of herself.  There are many great things about this world; one of this you can always meet new people who can become new friends.  I haven’t been as happy as I’ve been these last few days in a long while and I wouldn’t trade them for anything Miss Prud’homme,” Sylvia said as she wiped the tears from the woman’s eyes.

            Nancy gave the woman a hug and smiled she had no words to offer that would equal what she could express with a simple embrace.

            “I’m glad that’s settled, now we each have a long day ahead of ourselves, I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry how about breakfast,” Mrs. Hawthorne smiled.

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            “They will me you at the train station, its a  remote area so you’ll likely be the only one who gets off there, as there’s no other reason for anyone to get off there except to go to the temple and if there is well they better be able to explain themselves fast or else,” Sylvia said.

            “From what you’ve told me I better be able to handle myself or I’m the one who’ll get the or else,” Nancy said nervously.

            “Nonsense, these women are hard, but caring, they’ll teach you things you can’t believe and train your body in whole new ways you can’t even imagine, with your pedigree you will be welcomed and given the best training they have to offer.  Besides I need a partner to perform some of the more exotic procedures they showed me,” Mrs. Hawthorne explained

            “Yes, but six weeks is long time,” Nancy intoned.

            “I’ll miss you to, but in the end its will be more than worth it, besides I have another part of my mission to complete just as you have yours,” Mrs. Hawthorne added.

            “I hope you’re not planning on wearing that during the assignment,” Nancy questioned with a smile.

            “Nigeria is full of oil and oil as you know is big business and fortunately or unfortunately the fastest way to get the Lagos is the hitch a ride on an oil company plane full of drilling equipment, hardly the place for an Armani dress,” Sylvia smiled as she waved a hand down her cloth overalls.

            “But I am glad to see you dressed to the 9’s again, you look smashing Nancy,” she enthused.

            Nancy smiled at that then cocked an ear as her flight was announced over the PA.  They walked to the departure doors and looked at each other for a while before they spoke, Mrs. Hawthorne going first.

            “Six weeks, top of the stairs outside the centre doors at La Scala.”

            “Le nozze di Figaro I can hardly wait,” Nancy chimed.

            “And remember: The harder they come,”

            “The harder they’ll fall,” Nancy finished the sentence.

            “One and all” they both added as they hugged.

            Mrs. Hawthorne waved with one hand to man to come over, she handed him a bill and he popped open an umbrella holding over Nancy’s head.

            “It’s a walk to the plane and the sun is at its pinnacle,” she said.

            She watched Nancy disappear past customs, a small furtive glance back and her new partner was gone, her smile broke for only a second at the sudden loneliness, but then returned, she knew it was only six weeks and its was for the better, for both o them.  The spy picked up her small bag turned and walked toward the cargo exit and her awaiting flight.

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            “She just came in on the cargo plane from Lagos, should we get her now?’ he asked into the cell.

            “No let her get settled in her hotel, before we make our move now sense bringing more attention to the matter than need be, just keep a watch on her we’ll handle Mrs. Hawthorne soon,” he answered back.

            The spy passed through customs, then got a cab to her hotel, a luxury chain, that hadn’t even dreamt of putting one of their expensive units in Lagos that was until the oil had started to flow.  Now there was no stopping the growth of the city and the creation of wealth, for a few, for others, most of the others, it was the same daily grind for survival coupled with the uncertainty the constant rebel threat to the government.  All that and more raced through Mrs. Hawthorne’s mind even as her cab raced through the crowded streets, horn beating out a persistent rhythm and the car barely dodged around people and other cars.

            However harrowing the cab ride was, she arrived in one piece and in excellent time, checked in to her suite and found her luggage, which she’d sent ahead waiting for her.  After checking her special security lock features on it and satisfying herself that everything was as it should be she took a much needed shower and then a nap.

            She awoke to the sound of her door buzzer being pushed and released in a most aggressive and annoying manner.  She reached for her robe, slipped it on and padded to the door loosely tying the garment up, checking the peep hole, she slumped against the door for a second, then reached behind her undid the deadbolt and walked away.

            “Mrs. Hawthorne I’m Inspector E’Boua, these are Constables Iman and Zahrah,” the man said introducing his two female colleagues as he entered.

            Mrs. Hawthorne walked to the edge of her bed and sat down waiting for what was to come.

            I’m afraid there’s a problem with your passport, a background check with your government has revealed several irregularities that must be attended to at once,” he said coldly

            “And what are these irregularities?” she asked with an icy smile.

            “Nothing we can discuss here, I need you to come with us, this may take a while, quite a while, the officers will keep you company while you change into more appropriate attire,” he commanded with a motion of his arm at which point the constables brandished their side arms and pointed them directly at the spy.

            Mrs. Hawthorne slowly got up from the edge of the bed and walked carefully over to her closet, she opened it equally as carefully and picked out some clothes, the guns followed her every move. 

            “You will change out here if you please and you will use the clothes in this bag” the inspector said in a demanding yet somehow polite tone.

            “I, out of courtesy will wait outside, oh and please don’t think of trying to escape, I have men posted everywhere and spies placed everywhere else in this country so there is no place I will not be able to find you and when I did we would not be having so well mannered a conversation as we are now,” he said then exited the room.

            The bag was tossed over to her; she dumped the contents on the bed, stripped off her robe and began getting dressed.  She had no intention of trying to escape, not yet at least, the women were too far away for her to get both of them and she knew the futility of running, especially with no passport or money, so she decided to acquiesce, for the meantime.  She dressed quickly and was soon being escorted down the hall to the service elevator, out the back door and into the back sear of a car with dark tinted windows that could not be seen into or out of, the guns of the two women always pressed into her side.

            She said nothing; she saw no point in asking questions because she was sure the answer would either be a lie or stony silence. The car lumbered along, its speed telling her they were still with he confines of the city and its choking traffic.  Sylvia stared straight ahead the entire time betraying nothing on her face or in her body language, she knew she was most likely going to be interrogated why else would she still be alive if it were not the case she told herself just as the car came to a stop.

            The door to the back seat opened and she found herself in an alley way for the briefest of seconds before he was pushed inside a doorway and down a cinder block hallway, into another elevator, the Inspector and the constables staying outside the doors.

            “Push the button Mrs. Hawthorne and good day to you,” he said.

            “Well that way is no exit,” she said to herself referring the doors and she was sure the still waiting police so she pushed the button and began rising.

            The doors finally opened and the spy found herself not in a deserted office with people ready to torture her but in a rather well furnished suite with a man in his middle forties sitting behind his desk working on an open manila file folder of paper spread before him. 

            “Do come and sit down Mrs. Hawthorne I will only be minute,” he said.

            Sylvia glided across the hardwood floor covering the twenty feet from the elevator to his desk silently and quickly taking a seat in front of him just as the elevator doors opened and another man entered the room walking silently over to the car opposite Mrs. Hawthorne’s and sat down.

            “Late again, I’ll never be able to understand how you became the most powerful country on the planet when you can’t even manage a simple agreed upon meeting time,” the man behind the desk said putting down his pen and looking up.

            Mrs. Hawthorne took note of the two, both about the same age, but the man behind the desk was more handsome, a rounded face, nice cheeks bones.  The other man was sterner, officious, lean and weasel like in moments and features, she recognized him instantly as a bureaucrat.

            “This is Mr. Smith from your state department and I’m Mr. Okeela from the Nigerian State Department,” he said with a smile.

            “What no first names,” Sylvia offered sarcastically.

            “This is no laughing matter, you’re passport is null and void Mrs. Hawthorne, we do not recognize it as valid nor you as a citizen of our country, therefore we are not able to help you with the Nigerian government,” Smith stated in flat matter of fact way.

            “And yet here you are talking time out of your busy day to help an unperson, as Orwell put it, such as me.  Please gentlemen and I use that term for now, I’m a busy woman, here on business so this wasting of my time is really bothersome,” she said her voice sounding more bored with each word.

            “Yes business, well I think you’ll find that what you came for seems to have been moved,” Mr. Okeela said pushing a photo from the manila dossier across his desk.

            Sylvia picked up the photo knowing what she’d already find; the stone she was seeking had been removed.

            “It was a shocking crime, brazen if you will, in the middle of the day, a hail of bullets, an explosion that destroyed half the church and then nothing, the assailants vanished into thin air with out appearing to take anything of value, just merely destroying a church that helped out the needy, but then there’s no accounting for criminals and the cruelty they can meet out,” Okeela then leaned back in his chair.

            “Nor for the governments that allow them to exist,” Mrs. Hawthorne smiled in return.

            “We’re not here to debate political structures of the modern world,” Smith added sharply trying to bring the conversation back to the track he wanted it on.

            “Yes, Mr Smith is quite right, we’re in fact here for entirely other reasons, namely me, the stone and who took it.  Now I know about me and I’m sure somewhere in that dossier on your desk is all about me along with who has the stone and where you think it’s at, but I’m curious sort of woman so I’ll just sit here and you can explain everything to me,” Mrs. Hawthorne intoned.

            The two looked at each other before Mr. Smith picked up the conversation.

            “We in fact do know where the stone you seek is located,” Smith started to say as he watched Sylvia roll her eyes before he continued.

            “And who has it,” this time he avoid looking at her instead choosing to concentrate on the floor.

            “The stone is of no concern to us, you can have it, what is of concern is the person who processes it and the power, false or otherwise such ownership over it gives them with the local population and to what means they may use that to their own ends,” Smith said, the government double speak flowing naturally from him.

            “End of story, but for the slow among us I’ll fill all the nice details Mr. Smith here has omitted,” Sylvia said as condescendingly as possible, her stare hard on him.

            “A rebel faction opposed the government,” she stopped and waved a hand in Mr. Okeela’s direction.  “Stole the stone, knowing full well what it represents and the supposed power or at the very least the symbol it will command among the people.  Such a person could pose a serious threat to the ongoing stability of the country and perhaps even the oil industry upon which it is heavily dependant for revenue, this is were I take it Mr. Smith comes into the equation.  The energy glutton west demands the oil keep flowing and realizing this could cause political problems not to mention a popularity problem with certain elected officials back home has displaced its errand boy to smooth over the problem in a way that doesn’t implicate his government should something go wrong and what better way not to get involved than to have someone experienced in such matters, but not connected to his department, carry out the plan.  And should things go wrong, well a person without a passport cannot be traced so you have plausible denignibility.  Let’s see have I missed anything, oh yes, that since I now know about this operation if I want to live I have no choice to do but to do it otherwise I’m a security risk and that cannot be tolerated, does that about sum it up gentlemen?” she asked.

            “I see you come as advertised Mrs. Hawthorne, sharp and to the point,” Smith answered.

            “A great deal sharper than you can handle or would want to handle Mr. Smith,” she sternly warned.

            “Then I take it we have an agreement Mrs. Hawthorne,” Mr, Okeela smiled as her pushed a sealed manila envelope across his desk to her.

            “I seem to have little choice in the matter Mr. Okeela, you two have all the cards and I need to acquire two of them before I can leave your country,” she said breaking the seal of the package and pulling out the file.

            “So this is my journey into the heart of darkness,” she said as she scanned the documents.

            “We think of it more as Alls well that ends well,” Smith chimed.

            “A man of some culture, well Mr. Smith I never would have expected that from a drone.  Tell me does your schedule keep you pretty much in the capital or do you get a chance on occasion to travel?  Speaking strictly for myself I always found Washington to be very boring.  New York City is much more too my tastes, how about you?” she asked with a smile.

            “Mostly Washington, but as you can see I do get travel every so often and yes New York is on that list,” he answered.

            “It’s a good thing its such a big city the chances of us running into each other would be very small, because if I ever see you again after today you’re a dead man.  I don’t enjoy being anyone’s ‘wetboy’.” she said her jaw firm and clenched.

            “That’s surprising given your reaction to your husband’s death, in fact I would have thought you rather enjoyed it,” he said smartly just as her fist slammed against his jaw sending him crashing to the floor.

            “One more word from you and this will be your today,” she blazed.

            “The number on the top of page one is where you can contact me should you need anything in the way of supplies or equipment otherwise I think the plan and timetable are fairly straightforward,” Mr. Okeela offered and he moved round his desk and stepped between the two.

            “My passport,” Mrs. Hawthorne said holding out her hand.

            Okeela reached into his pocket and pulled it out with a broad smile.

            “I know you are a woman of your word, besides you want the stone so I know you won’t be leaving my country without it,” she offered slyly.

            Mrs. Hawthorne said nothing more, she turned on her heel and walked toward the elevator, Mr. Okeela pushing a button on his desk to open the door for her, she never looked back as the door closed.

            “You took that a little far didn’t you?” he asked Smith.

            “Just far enough to convince her I was a good government weasel who cared nothing for her only the outcome and she bought it, her reaction told you that,” Smith answered.

            “This whole arrangement is very top heavy with players, I’m still convinced it will work or that your government, sorry, your agency, knows what it is doing,” Okeela sounded.

            “The players, as you call them are all there for a reason, the more chances at finishing this woman, the better, she’s proven very resourceful in the past according to DOOM.  So the more players, the better the chances of finishing her before she succeeds or at the very least tiring her out for the next player,” he smiled showing his teeth.

            “Sometimes the fastest way to solve a series of seemingly unrelated problems is to actually relate them.  Mrs. Hawthorne is driven by revenge of the death of her husband and there are people within our sphere that feel that the truth of this matter should stay buried along with her husband as its exposure may prove to be inconvenient to some rather important people.  We don’t need to dirty our hands with this matter, not when for the price of a woman we can all, Mr. Okeela, guarantee peace in a region and more importantly for both our countries a steady source of oil.  DOOM is not always the enemy, especially when for a very small percentage of the oil revenue they make both our countries prosperous,” he smiled wildly.

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            Sylvia returned to her hotel room to go over the intell she’d been given, her mind more than a little suspicious of the motives and truth the two men had told relayed to her.  She didn’t like being a pawn or someone else’s patsy, but she knew if she wanted to stone, she had to be.  The first thing she did when she arrived back as to shed to clothes they’d given her then spread the papers out on bed, lye across it and start to read.  The more she read the greater the stench became in her room, she’d smelt it the minute they’d proposed their little scheme, but had not reacted, choosing instead to play along, but now it was becoming overwhelming, still she played her cards close to her, she had no idea what devices, listening or otherwise they’d planted in the room during her absence. 

            “This is all just a giant set up, with my passport back I could simply disappear for several days then cross the border at a small checkpoint and be gone, they know that, why in some cases it would take me two days just to get to one of them.  Anything to keep the oil flowing even an alliance with DOOM, black gold rules the world and has replaced people in terms of value.  Apparently I’m expendable, for many, many reasons, even by my own country, but this commodity is priceless or more accurately the price is my life.  They’ve sold me out for piece, who knows what obstacles have been placed in my path and worse still, they know I will take the path because I need what’s at the end of it.  I have to admit their plan is clever, if I succeed they have weakened DOOM in this area to the pint they can handle them and if I fail, well, they have an alliance and DOOM is rid of me.  It’s all very flattering in a way, I had no idea I’d left such an impression on DOOM in so short a time.  Perhaps I can leave an even bigger one once this is over,” she thought to herself, her face maintaining a neutral demeanour as she continued to read.

            “How ironic about the Heart of Darkness comment,” she mused, after reading the place she was to go was 10 miles up the Calabar River to a trading port town of the same name.

            Their proposed plan seemed to make the most sense and for that reason it worried her more than if she’d come up with something half baked herself.  They would provide a fast low profile boat for her to take up river at night to avoid detection; she could easily cover the distance in less than two hours.  Under cover of darkness she’d infiltrate the compound, eliminate any guards that she encountered then eliminate the main target, a man named Oba, who was most certainly a DOOM operative and what the government termed a rebel. 

            “They certainly have built in few opportunities to kill me before I even get up river,” she thought as she rolled off the bed onto the floor and began stretching her body before her regimented exercise routine the women at the temple had worked out for her.

            “Whoever is watching I hope you enjoy the show,” was her last thought before she began her routine.

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            Mrs. Hawthorne waited several days as per the instructions she’d been given in the plan, she filled her time with training and not much else as there wasn't really anything else to do.  She didn’t venture out much, mainly because she didn’t like being followed, but even in the hotel gym and restaurants she knew she was being watched.  When finally the appointed time and day occurred she packed a small knapsack slung it over one shoulder, checked out of the hotel and caught a cab to the docks to meet her first contact who would supply the keys, map and boat for her trip up river. 

            The cab came to an abrupt halt outside a bar that was hard by the water, Mrs. Hawthorne exited the back seat quickly and thankfully after another body and mind jarring ride and handed the drive the fare money and a large tip more from relief she’d arrived in one piece than for the ride itself.

            “Be sure to tell Mr. Okeela and Mr. Smith I arrived safely,” she said sarcastically, then smiled at is efforts to try and look like he didn’t understand.

            “I hate this whole thing, I’m being played, they have all the advantages, including I’m sure what waits for me inside,” she said surveying the bar she was about to enter. 

            Sylvia pulled open the door and entered, a blast of cool air hitting her as she did, the air conditioning a welcome respite from the heat of the late afternoon.  Her eyes adjusted to the dimly lit interior in a few seconds the low glow of a neon sign advertising beer helping a little, once set, she took several steps forward, parted the cloth curtain at the second entrance that acted as a sound dampener for the music coming from inside, music she knew that had only one purpose.

            She walked down beside the runaway, past several poles that were in the process of being used by two gravity defying young girls.  She moved past several tables, a few men casting their eyes away from the show above to view her as she passed.  Mrs. Hawthorne tried to look mildly annoyed, but inwardly she was delighted, she was old enough to be the mother of the two girls on stage and dressed even as she was in a light knee length sundress she could still turn heads, she made it to the bar only managing to hear a few things crunch underfoot along the way.

            “Excuse me,” she yelled above the music but got no response from the man behind the bar whose eyes she could clearly see only had eyes for one of the dancers on stage.

            She yelled a little louder, got the same non acknowledgement before deciding to dispense with being polite.  Mrs. Hawthorne stepped around the outside of the bar and into his direct view her eyes looking straight into his as a disarming smile crossed her face.

            “I’m looking for a woman named,” she cringed as she said the name, but tried to recover fast so he wouldn’t take too much notice.  “Tiffany Cream.”

            “All dancers are down that hall woman,” he said waving an arm several times off to his left, annoyed at missing his treat on stage.  “And you should now to use that entrance from now on if you want to stay employed here,” he added, his head leaning to one side.

            “Two compliments in the space of a minute or is that one an insult,” she mused as she made for the hallway, somewhat unsure if being thought of as an exotic dancer was a compliment.

            Sylvia made her way down the dimly lit hall checking the names painted on several doors before she found one mark “Do not Enter” written in several languages on it, she knocked on the door and waited.

            “I’m coming I’ve still got five minutes, you’ll get your show but not a minute more of it!” came the brunt reply from inside.

            “I’m looking for Tiffany,” Mrs. Hawthorne said thankful she didn’t have to use the woman’s last name again.

            The door snapped open quickly, with just a hand protruding from behind it she was motioned inside.

            Sylvia stepped into the room she imagined from the outside the door.  She passed though a wall of beads hung from the ceiling in a white walled smooth stucco room maybe ten by ten feet, all of the room off to her right as the entrance butted against the wall. Off to her a vanity as up against the far wall, a slight lean to it as one leg was bent inward, light bulbs, several of which were missing or burned out surrounded the mirror. The vanity itself was packed with bottles and lotion tubes of every manner and size along with bottles of what Mrs. Hawthorne recognized and smelled as mostly cheap perfume. 

            A rack of what pretended to be skimpy costumes of all manner ran along the far back wall, various and sundry accessories seemed to find a place just about everywhere else in the room including the floor and finally there was Tiffany, her bleached blonde hair hanging on the floor as she stretched her inverted body on her own private pole. 

            “Your information’s over on my table in the brown envelope, excuse me while I stretch but I’ve got a show in a bit and you wouldn’t believe what they expect, but after all I am a professional, so I shouldn’t complain I guess,” Tiffany said as she contorted her body. 

            Mrs. Hawthorne watched her for a few more seconds, young hardbodied, perfect for the male fantasy world she worked in before walking over to the table.

            “You have an enticing body yourself, enough that you could do well in this profession, want to take a turn on the pole, its great exercise,” Tiffany offered as she came to her feet. 

            “No thanks, I’m not much of an exhibitionist,” she answered as she leaned over to pick up the intell.

            Tiffany reached back with a toe and pushed a screw head on the base of her pole releasing a small spray from one of her perfume bottles.  She smiled as she casually walked over to Sylvia, took the envelope from her hand and tossed it on the desk.  Tiffany slowly slid the zipper of Mrs. Hawthorne’s sundress down her back before freeing the woman of it totally. 

            “Thong panties, I’m even more impressed, I was right about your body I see,” the stripper said as she peeled them down and of her prey.

            “My perfume contains an instant paralytic drug, inhaled or on contact it freezes the victim in place for a period of minutes.  Just enough time for me to position you for your death,” she purred.

              Cupping her arms around Sylvia’s waist she pulled her over to the pole, the woman’s sandals left behind along with her thong and dress. 

            “My body is my life and soon it will take yours Mrs. Hawthorne, I’m from a small but deadly Guild of Female Strippers, our weapons our trained bodies, our dances and what most people think of as tools of trade,” Tiffany giggled.

            Tiffany inverted herself in a snap motion and seized her prey, her body twisted itself and Sylvia’s about the pole until she had her position secured and began, her lips caressing Mrs. Hawthorne’s pussy.  The stripper’s body rose and fell rubbing her victim sensuously.  Her body fixed the woman in place, her hardbody more than a match for the recovering spy.  Bathed in kisses Sylvia weakened to  

           

            “It’s called The Stripper’s Knot Mrs. Hawthorne, totally sensuous and terminal,” the young woman said as she took a breather. 

            The woman had to agree with the sensuous part, the stripper had fucked her endlessly for hours as she wrapped herself about her prey and the pole in an inverted knot.  Mrs. Hawthorne was far from done; her body had defied the young agent an easy victory.  Her opponent’s body was impressive, hard and young, without flaws, tanned and toned for her audience’s enjoyment and trained to kill for her pleasure.  The woman danced herself tighter about Sylvia, her strong dancer’s legs biting deeply into her prey as she resumed her pleasuring. 

            The orgasms ran over and into each other as the older woman flexed and strained her elastic body against the stripper’s who found every way to pleasure the woman with the merest of small touches.

            “Finding me harder and harder to fight old woman, my training is geared to the sensual, both for the audience and to my private dances. Our guild is small, but we are highly effective.  Your ability to fight me is impressive, but with only endurance to rely on, you will soon be drained,” she cooed.

            Mrs. Hawthorne worked her arms slowly, rolling her shoulders as she sidled her upper torso, snaking slowly until she slipped an arm free then seconds later another.  She flared her nails, pressed them against the woman’s firm ass cheeks and ran them up the back of her smooth hard legs.

            “Mmmmmm, your touch is delightful, but I’m sure that wasn’t your intent.  My body is coated in Pole Wax, a breathable membrane that is impervious to cutting, even by a females sharpened nails!” she explained slyly.

            Sylvia tried again, this time slower and with more pressure, as she rounded the balls of the stripper’s feet and trailed down the flats her fingers were seized by the woman’s toes and locked with a twisted of her ankles.  The woman stretched her legs up and around the pole taking Mrs. Hawthorne’s arms with her and tying them in place.  As she writhed to free herself she was taken into the grip of another monstrous orgasm, she shuddered and hammered her form in delight.  The poled woman was sent into a rushing torrent of pleasure after that, her body bucking endlessly as she climaxed endlessly until she weakened more and more and the stripper took in more and more of her.

            “Your finished old woman, now to let the knot work on your lifeless form for a while.”

             The two stretched out women danced silently, the stripper’s muscles moving sexily as she devoured her dance partner.  Mrs. Hawthorne strained, her body was entangled and twisted about the pole as well as into her opponent.   The dancer ground her hips slowly as she churned and gyrated, her motion clamping her prey deeper into her vice of death. 

            Hours passed for the older woman, her conditioning keeping her alive, just barely. Tiffany fresh and alive kept her pressure constant and unrelenting on her victim, her steel hard body a coffin of constricting cables about Mrs. Hawthorne.  The stripper worked herself deeper into her prey with each passing minute until she had the position she wanted.  A quick undulating snap of her body quelled Mrs. Hawthorne, her eyes rolled back in her head and she was still.  Tiffany slowly worked herself free of her victim, her chiselled and hard form flowing about her prize like a snake slithering down a tree trunk.  She came free sprang to her feet and turned to look at her prize and smile coming over her face as she ran her arms around Sylvia’s slim waist.

  

            “The Stripper’s Snap, Mrs. Hawthorne, total body paralysis,” Tiffany whispered into her ear.

            Tiffany worked several of her nails into specific points on the woman’s spine and watched as Mrs. Hawthorne’s eyes came back and her head could move.  

            “Much better,” the dancer purred as she brushed the woman’s lips with hers. 

            Tiffany began kissing the woman passionately, her hands massaging Mrs. Hawthorne’s full firm breasts and lovely pink nipples in a seductive manner as the woman weakened quickly under the spell quivering in delight as Tiffany smiled seconds later.

            “Delightful old woman, I’m really impossible to resist as you know, but even this show has an ending and I’m afraid we’re coming to it, or at least you are,” Tiffany breathily said as she rubbed her back and ass up and down Mrs. Hawthorne’s rigid form. 

            The stripper pecked her victim’s lips and promised to return in a few minutes.  Mrs. Hawthorne was left entangled and helpless, her body numb from the Stripper’s Snap and desperately weak from hours of expert pleasuring. 

            “There that wasn’t too long I hope, but I had to dress carefully and all for your benefit.  How do I look?” she said taking a step back and twirling around.

            Tiffany was covered head to toe in a pink feather boa, carefully wound in place about her arms, legs and torso.  Her magnificent body peered through in places the effect adding the allure of the costume.  In spite of her exhaustion Sylvia’s eyes widened just a fraction at the sight of the beauty before her; tiffany caught the look and merged her body against her victim’s

            “I see you appreciate my effort, so that you appreciate it all the more I will explain further,” Tiffany murmured as she lightly kissed the woman’s lips.

            “My boa, soon to be yours, is the main component in a death my guild calls, The Show Stopper.  Before I put on the boa I coated my body in baby oil, harmless as long as it remains cool, but when heated it transforms into a rather sticky gel that adheres to the feathers of the boa and anything they happen to come into contact with.  Added to that, inside the boa is a special twine the contracts once the chemical hits it, but by that time my dear woman you will be blanketed in the coils of my boa, your deadly body surging for freedom as my garment twists and crushes you in its sexy clutches, your body stuck by the gel,” Tiffany purred has she devoured the woman’s lips in hunger. 

            “I will dance my body hot, lathering myself in heat and sweat, before I apply my weapon to you in a deadly dance, my scent consuming you to the last breath,” she moaned.

            The stripper danced slowly, her motion designed to arouse, slow tilting thrusts of her pelvis demonstrating her excellent muscle control.  High kicks of her legs and flexing poses showing her strength and suppleness for her audience.  Tiffany danced closer to her prey, then suddenly lunged forward bending at the waist, her head thrusting down into Mrs. Hawthorne’s pussy while one of her legs swung over her head and up next to the woman’s hands high on the pole.  The dancer used her feet and toes to pull sections of the boa free and coil them about her prey’s hands and down her arms while her tongue secured itself about Sylvia’s throbbing clitoris.  Tiffany freed the other end of the boa from her planted leg and with her hands worked into about and around Mrs. Hawthorne’s legs up to her hips. 

            Tiffany worked her spell for a few minutes before sliding her raised foot down about the side of her helpless woman’s neck.  Placing both hands on the floor the stripper swung her other foot up securing the other side the Sylvia’s neck her toes pinching carefully in.  Her hands grabbed the poll and pulled her body up until she secured her arms about the hips of the entangled spy.  She pressed her face back into the woman’s bounty and climaxed her.

            “I love when I can dispose of a woman this way, silent and sexual, much more elegant than a knot or some poison and the results are just as deadly.  A few more strokes of my tongue will suffice in draining you totally giving my boa a much easier time of it,” Tiffany said before her tongue went back to work. 

            Mrs. Hawthorne’s body convulsed weakly as she came, each session by the stripper more draining than the last until she dismounted wrapped the remaining boa about the woman and kissed her.

            “Goodbye dear Mrs. Hawthorne, die slowly and painfully in my boa, there is no other way really.  You’re body has been drained of any resources it may have had to fight with and just to be sure you aren’t hiding any I’ve inserted a few feathers into your pussy where they can work out any more orgasms you may be able to have,” Tiffany cooed slowly before she turned and left the entangled weak and helpless woman to her fate. Her perfect hard figure bouncing with energy as she departed her room for the stage leaving her latest performance to her fate. 

            The boa silently tightened its grip on her naked form, its touch soothing and distracting on the woman as she limply resisted the boa’s embrace.  She realised the fate that awaited her in the Show Stopper as her body was slowly being twisted around the pole.  She smiled weakly, she still had a chance.  Part of her training in India, they very same Nancy was now enduring, was increasing flexibility, Mrs. Hawthorne had spent several weeks in the clutches of two masterful women whose job it was to just that. 

            The spy snaked and slithered her body up and down the pole in her own private dance, one of survival.  Tiffany’s boa was quickly cinching her, its sticky embrace beginning to affect her motion.  She arched her body outward against the pole to gain some breathing space and to test the boa’s strength.  Poised and sculpted her body displayed its lethal lines inside the boa, she held it at bay on one side, but it was the other she was worried about.  The inserted feathers worked her fevered body to orgasm as she strained to hold herself stiff, she bucked and moaned but managed to remain rigid against the boa, months before she would have weakened and collapsed, her training saving her for the moment. 

            Sylvia danced her body sensuously, her succulent form bending in near impossible angles, her breasts giggling in place as her stiff nipples drained water from her heated body.  Mrs. Hawthorne twisted once more and braced the flat of one of her feet against the pole.  With all the strength she had she jackknifed the leg, the boa fighting back as it gripped her almost steel tight now.  Desperation mirrored on her face she moaned and grunted from the coils around her and the inner coils that gripped her again in an draining orgasm that shot through her for what seemed and eternity.  Her flexing resistance weakened once more and she was reduced inside the feathered snake.  Under attack she held firm inching her foot downward as she was pleasured again and again, her body spiralling in boa and pleasure.

            “Hang on woman, just like in training,” she told herself.

            She clawed her toes down until finally she hooked the boa into a few toes and pulled the feathers free of her pussy, the extraction climaxing her widely.  She stiffened her rapturous during the climax, her throaty noises and gasps of air testament to the scintillating pleasure she was experiencing, but as it wound down Sylvia began to relax, her drained body unable to recover quickly enough to prevent the boa from sinking itself deeper around her.  Leg bowed leg, ripe with exposed and curvy feminine muscle was bent ever downward until even her well trained body could not bend it.  Mrs. Hawthorne rolled her shoulder and torso, her limited movements being reduced with each passing minute and time as well as her body was rapidly running out.

*          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *

            “Please no sudden movements my dear,” Mrs. Hawthorne said as Tiffany came into her room fully expecting to so her victim dead in the boa’s embrace.

            Instead she found Sylvia very much alive, her naked figure resting in a chair, the woman’s beautiful legs crossed and resting in an upward tilt against the pole.  Mrs. Hawthorne reached out an arm down her legs and cupped it under her heel as she stretched her gun and eyes never leaving Tiffany as she did.

            “You certainly do a long set, I was beginning to wonder if you were ever coming back,” Sylvie said.

            “Please sit,” Mrs Hawthorne said or more firmly commanded as she waved her Smith & Wesson 9mm at the empty chair she’d placed in front of her.  Tiffany carefully walked over and sat down facing the woman.

            “Questions, questions and perhaps even more questions I’m sure and mixed in between some apprehension and second chance thoughts at finishing off the old bat as soon as she makes a mistake must be running through your mind at this point in time.  Well I’m not the kind of woman to disappoint on matters such as these,” Sylvia offered smiling at the young woman.

            “I got into this game, profession, lifestyle, call it what you will later in life, after the murder of my husband.  We travelled in very high circles, his job and talents always in demand, we in essence became somewhat of a celebrity scientific couple, if you can believe that oxymoron.  Well he was really the celebrity, I was his attractive smart wife, the ultimate accessory that gave all the science nerds hope, perhaps you could say we where the fore runners of Bill and Melinda Gates.  He was the star, me well spoken, interesting, fashionable and a means to an introduction.”

            Tiffany listened with fake interest as she began to plot her attack.

            “You see people see one side of a coin and identify, they rarely turn it over, because they know from memory what the other side will be, therein lies the mistake, both with coins and people, they have two sides to them, seeing one you think you know the other, with coins its easy, with people impossible.  Take me for instance, you might think because of my education, where I went to school, how I speak, carry myself, dress, etc, etc that I came from money.”

            Tiffany nodded as she masked the tensing of her body.

            “Actually my background is rather humble, both my parents worked at jobs that got us an apartment, food but not much else in the way of extras including money for higher education.  If I wanted that, it would be up to me and I wanted it.  Bursaries and part scholarships for excellent grades covered part of my tuition, board and books, but I needed more to continue.  I waited tables, worked at an answering service for a time along with a few other odd and ends, but they never gave me enough to make it work financially.”

            Tiffany coiled herself up she was nearly ready to strike.

            “I remember my first night, so nervous, so embarrassed I wore a mask just in case somebody I knew was out there.  Stripping, Tiffany, gave me the money to get through undergraduate and graduate school and I was good at it, so good in fact the woman who booked the girls at a place I danced took an interest in me and taught me all she knew from her days.  You never would have guessed that this old bat, probably has lemon in her tea and likes garden parties, was a stripper in her younger days.”

            Tiffany snapped a quick so fast it was a blur to the naked eye, but not to the naked Mrs. Hawthorne.  Sylvie smiled as she got out of her chair and walked behind Tiffany, and bent low her cheek against the side of the strippers.

            “You’re a poor listener and a very rude young lady for not letting me finish my story, the completion of which would only have benefited you, but such is the impetuousness of youth.  That woman taught me how to dance to drive men and woman crazy and how to dance yourself out of your costume or a boa without ever touching it, slowly and sexily and yes she also taught me Stripkido, did you recognize the touch to the sole of your foot as the Five Point Stiletto Strike.”

            Tiffany did indeed know the strike and the result, paralysis.  She watched helplessly as Mrs. Hawthorne got up from her chair and circled around back of her, gun still in hand.  Unable to move to follow her she waited for the cock of the hammer, her body nervous and slightly sweating in the moment.  She knew what was coming, she didn’t dread it so much as the wait her opponent was putting her through, prolonged and sadistic, she felt as if Mrs. Hawthorne had a giant straw stuck in her and was slowly sucking out all the tension, fear and terror she could, draining her of her life until just the point when she could no longer draw anymore pleasure through the cylinder, she closed her eyes and shut out the world.

            “Open those lovely blue eyes Tiffany, not today.  I have other more pressing matters to attend to than you,” Sylvia said.

            The stripper opened her eyes slowly expecting it to be a trick and seeing the barrel of the Smith & Wesson cannon Mrs. Hawthorne carried point right between her eyes. 

            “Just me my dear, no tricks, guns are useful tools, when needed, but they are rather noisy and messy, I prefer the silent methods in my arsenal, besides I have all I came for today,” Sylvia said, holding up the envelope in one hand. 

            Now clothed back in her sundress she pulled her chair beside that of the stricken stripper and sat down.

            “Your basic techniques are good, but you could use some work on your legs and motion, their very weak, but you’re very young, what 21 at most.  Should you wish to improve I’ve left a number where you can reach me and perhaps we can arrange some private tutoring and a change of careers, but only if you wish, but if I were you after today, I think a job shift would most definitely be at the top of my list.  Well enough idle chat, if off to I’m sure encounter more danger, but really, that’s the exciting part isn’t.  Don’t bother to see me out, you won’t be able to for at least three more hours,” the spy said as she disappear from Tiffany’s view.

*          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *

            Having studied the instructions whilst waiting for Tiffany to return to her room Sylvia had no trouble locating the boat amongst the spider web of jetties that served as docks in the busy harbour.  She was soon on her way up river, the sleek low lying craft barely drawing a foot of water, its jet black fibreglass colour nearly invisible as darkness fell on the river.  Sylvia switched on the radar and the up linked the GPS, the warm green glow of both screens barely showing any light at all.  Several uneventful hours passed as she snaked upriver, the boat making course correction to avoid oncoming craft and adjusting to the twists and turns of the river as it advanced.  Mrs. Hawthorne had no doubt she was being monitored all the way up the river, that didn’t concern her nearly as much as what lay at the end of journey.  In due time she was at the rendezvous point, she stopped and anchored the craft in near the opposite side of the shore she wanted.  Stripping out of her sundress she slid on and smoothed her considerable curves a threadlike black skin tight body glove, tucked in her hair and was ready to go.

   Sylvia silently slipped into the water, barely a ripple forming on the surface as she did; silently she began her swim to the far shore a journey of no more than three minutes at her carefully slow speed.  She was within reach of the shore when she felt it between her legs, then once around her waist, then chest and finally her shoulders, she relaxed and floated her body still and silent in the black water and night.  The woman’s dangerous curves were no match for the far more evolutionary curves of the python, Mrs Hawthorne was delicately rolled over and over as they floated unit she was blanketed in coils and floating freely within the snake as they bobbed on the surface.  Sylvia rolled a little side to side as she relaxed her body, her movement showing she was receptive and non aggressive. 

   “From below I must look like a large snake slithering through the water,’ she thought.  “He’s interested in me, but not as a meal,” she smiled as her arms reached above her and softly took his head in her hands, her fingers stroking the underside of his head.

Her touch told him his potential mate was interested but instinct also told him she was older and would need to be convinced he was worth the effort. 

Mrs. Hawthorne had strategically block him from between her legs, her feminine wiles either with a man or a snake were sharply honed, once he finally figured out she was not who he thought she was he’d uncoil and swim away, in the meantime she’d play along, she really had no choice.   He tightened a little, her body encased in his mating wrap twitched as he rolled her back and forth along several of his scales, his motion meant to encourage her to relax and to show his skills as a lover.

Through her thin body suit the spy felt his caress, carefully, methodically, rhythmatically he contacted and released about her body.  Sylvia curved her own snakelike form against his, her rubs just as effective as his for a short time.  He relaxed a contraction and rolled then contracted again the coil moving to cover her breasts.  He felt her become more animated, her body vibrating and dancing to his motion. 

   Mrs. Hawthorne was now locked into growing arousal, his coils everywhere on her body stimulating her body in thousands of places.  She wiggled her swelling form against his, her mind imagining all manner of erotic primitive thoughts as her lover stroked her.  Sylvia felt him slither about her, not tighter, just turning the coils in an endless helix, his soothing squeeze sending her to climax, she exhaled a low moan and rocked rippling the water slightly. 

Sensing her reaction he tried again to work himself into her, she refused his advances again, but she was clearly interested he sensed.    He unhurriedly rolled her over and over as he wound himself into her a little more feeling her snugly in his grip he began again.

Mrs. Hawthorne was churned inside his coils, her body rising and falling in the blanket desire as he slid about her.  The spy felt his delicious form buried about her and she was in heaven from his technique, her body stretching to let him have all of her, he obliged her by swirling his mass into place sealing her in his mating ball, Sylvia was now his to convince.

He was just as good the second time around, his coils folding and unfolding on her willing body as he put her deeper into his spell.  Mrs. Hawthorne was lost to a series of pleasuring, the snake a most effective convincer.  He rolled her over slowly again a few more times working his coils into her as she moved, a final orgasm given to her several minutes later, but she still wouldn’t relent.  Sylvia felt in relax and slowly swim away his body skimming against hers as he unwound and disappeared into the blackness of the night.

“All men are snakes,” she thought, a smile crossing her face as she resumed her short swim to shore

Mrs. Hawthorne silently moved into the reeds at the shore line and then up dashed up the gated opening in the brick wall the circled Oba’s compound home.  The spy unzipped and discarded the hood from her body glove, her hair as black as her suit cascaded down in luxuriant sheets giving her access to a weapon.  She pulled out a wooden hairpin no more than four inches long and waited for the approaching foot falls of a guard she’d spotted while watching from the safety of the reeds moments earlier.  She crouched at the corner of the gate as her came closer until suddenly she popped up, her turned a surprised look on this face for an instant as he reached for his gun.  Sylvia blew a puff of air into the end of her hairpin sending am instantly acting knockout dart into his neck, his forward motion sending his body toward the steel gate, Mrs. Hawthorne catching and holding him before he could make contact with bars.  She retrieved his set of keys, opened the gate, dragged him outside then slipped herself inside the compound closing the gate behind her.

From shadow to shadow the moved, blending in with the darkness she advanced toward the old colonial style home.  Some guards she slipped past, others she took care of with her hairpin and when that was exhausted of darts, she used a softer silencer on them, her.   She took one from behind, pressure from fingers and his neck blacking him out in seconds without a sound, another a swift chop to the side of his neck and yet another a punch to the base of his back and a scissor of her thighs to his neck send him into a deep sleep.  She arrived at the front door and rang the bell taking care of the person on the other side the instant he saw her, Sylvia moved inside listening, smelling and sensing for Oba as she moved into house.   She picked up a small thudding noise and followed it, clinging close the walls as she moved until she was right outside the doors she desired. 

“These belong you, good quality, but some of them could do with a cleaning,” Sylvia said, as she dropped the cache of small arms she’d collected from the guards on the floor.

Oba unphased by the intruder finished his kick to the suspended punching bag then grabbed a towel and turned around.

“A very impressive display and if I may add a very bold method of entry Mrs. Hawthorne, from the dossier DOOM has on you I knew you were good, but it mentioned nothing of stupid, oh well, I’ll just add that to it along with deceased,” Oba said as he towelled off.

Sylvia took him in, average height, maybe 5’10”, thin, but very muscular, almost body builder quality.  He was dressed in black shorts only, his hair was close cropped.  Mrs. Hawthorne thought him neither handsome nor plain, but in between, it was the confidence that flowed off of him that made him desirable and a leader, power makes you sexy and this man had it.

“Before you put pen to paper perhaps you may want to consider why I did such a thing, after all I had the weapons to hand to kill you, I haven’t stayed alive all this time on luck,” Sylvia answered coolly as she stepped into the room.

Oba smiled, slung the towel over one shoulder and walked toward Mrs. Hawthorne meeting her in the middle of the large mat that occupied the centre of his workout room.  Sylvia reached a hand up to her neck to unzip the front of her body glove, Oba in a fraction of a second grabbed her hand wrenched it spun Mrs. Hawthorne around locking her arm behind her back and pressed his body tight against Sylvia’s, the spy merely letting him perform the move without resistance. 

“I prefer a hand’s on approach,” Oba said softly as he slowly pulled the zipper down about the contours of Sylvia’s full breasts stopping the plunge mid stomach. 

“Impressive, but what am I looking for,” Oba asked.

“Reach between my breasts,” Sylvia answered.

Oba still trusting did as requested and pulled free between his two fingers a nearly flat circular disk with a catch on the side, much like a woman’s compact.

“Now open it and turn me around,” Sylvia instructed.

Oba sprung the catch, but faced it away from himself as he did, when nothing happened he released the arm lock and Mrs. Hawthorne turned herself around to face Oba who was clearly growing more intrigued by the minute.

“Now either you or I have to touch their finger to the pancake and then touch in turn each of my eyes removing my contacts, who’s it going to be?” Sylvia smiled.

“This game of ours gets more fascinating with each step Mrs. Hawthorne,” he answered.

“Please call me Sylvia and kiss me before I kiss you.”

They tentatively touched, a small brush, and then softly began pecking each other as their respective hands closed around each other.   Sylvia pulled Oba’s shorts down while the DOOM agent reciprocated by unzipping Mrs. Hawthorne’s body glove all way down to her mound.  Once they ended Oba gently removed one of the contacts from Sylvia’s eyes.

“Push the catch in twice and then insert the contact into the slot that opens up and then do the same with the other then push it one more time,” Sylvia instructed. 

Oba did as requested then watched the mirror of the compact start displaying imagines and data, bank accounts, contact names, government files, security clearance passes and all the data they had on him.

“Where and how did you get this,” he exclaimed.

“A woman’s eyes can either transmit or receive messages, those contacts let me see things I shouldn’t see and from various angles or even from behind blacked out windows.  It’s all there including how they plan to double cross you in the future, its yours for a price,” Sylvia smiled.

“The price being the stone,” Oba smiled back.

“Perhaps the power that lies within the stone can be exploited by you for a while, but sooner or later your followers will realise that is not real.  A defeat or a setback will have them questioning its and more importantly your true power.  You and I both know it only works when it’s in the company of the other stones.  With that data you can have certain victory over what is a corrupt government, or at lease enough success that you emerge as the true power in this region and that’s what you really want isn’t it?” Sylvia asked.

“Yes, but why should I settle for one when I can have all three, the data the stone and your death,” Oba said nipping Mrs. Hawthorne’s lips.

“Because there is a very real chance you could end up with none of the three if you chose that route,” the spy answered returning the kiss and a side flip that sent Oba to the floor several feet from where she stood.

Oba sprang to his feet and turned around the smile gone from his face.  “That was a mistake, an error you will regret.”

“Perhaps, perhaps not, but you should also consider not compounding your error by not trading with a second by being too greedy.  There’s no need to resort to violence, we can both get what we want out of this, in fact, you are getting the better deal, a stone, perhaps useful, most likely not, verses actual knowledge which is in this day and age the real power,” Sylvia offered.

The DOOM agent pursed his lips slightly then walked passed Mrs, Hawthorne and picked up a water bottle that lay near the punching bag.  Sylvia watched as he drained the last of the water then opened the lid and dropped the stone into his hand.

“I’ve been keeping in here since I acquired it, hoping perhaps that some of its mystic power would be absorbed into the water and thus me.  Who knows perhaps it has, but that’s an intangible, what you offer, well that’s life itself, to me,” Oba said as he place the small stone between Sylvia’s breasts.

Sylvia returned the smile and zipped up her body glove before stepping forward and embracing the man.

“I have time for one dance before I have to leave,” Mrs. Hawthorne said slyly as she started to role her shoulders.

The spy’s hands came together above her head before slowly slithering downward like a winding snake and then toward Oba, her hands waving in and out at the wrists as she moved them closely about Oba’s and then her face.  The DOOM spy watched as his counterpart worked her torso and hips into the equation, with equal slowness and eye catching appeal.  Sylvia snapped her head forward flipping her hair over her face then languidly dragged it up the naked man’s body from his root to his face. 

Mrs. Hawthorne turned slowly around rubbing her ass against Oba’s skin in a circular motion against his cock while she revolved her shoulder blades against his chest.  A careful guiding of her arms placed them around Oba’s head as she rubbed, their lips needed no guiding.  Sylvia removed one of her hands after a minute or so, softly took one of Oba’s and moved it to her zipper.  Just as the zipper reached its base the kiss ended and Sylvia moved away her body swaying like a snake as she bobbed and curled for minutes until her shoulders worked free of the body glove, the material falling to her waist freeing her perfectly solid tits and flat hard stomach.

Sylvia slithered back into Oba’s arms hooking a leg up between the DOOM agent’s legs and stroked, she switched legs after a few minutes, her motion having freed one leg and given Oba an orgasm in the process, the other leg repeated the process much to Mrs. Hawthorne’s and Oba’s delight who now moved the reciprocate as he kissed his way down Sylvia’s front and caressed her wet and receptive mound.  Sylvia rocked her hips in encouragement as Oba’s tongue stimulating her toward climax, she opened her legs wider guiding Oba’s head with her hands about her pussy.   Mrs. Hawthorne straddled Oba’s shoulders as he probed about, her hips rocking rhythmatically as she adjusted her motion to his lashing tongue, her hands swirling about his head as she directed his efforts.

“THEW! THEW!”

She released his limp body to the floor with a smile and straddled him a sexy knowing smile filling her lips as she displayed her weapon.

“I borrowed this from a friend of mine this afternoon, its called in their organisation “Daphne’s Needles”  inserted into a woman’s paradise it works off of pressure.  Just the slightest flexing of my inner thighs releases the trigger and fires two darts into the opponent.  A concealed weapon of the deadliest variety, excellent for Lap Dances but equally effective the way I used it.  The poison is fatal, you have maybe 2 minutes left.  I need to get out of this country and for that to happen you needed to die, besides did you really think I would pass up the opportunity to dispose of a DOOM agent.  I’m going to leave this device with you, it will tell your employers exactly who did this, that should start a nice little war that hopefully will reduce both your ranks a little before saner heads prevail.  I’ll be leaving now darling, I have two more men I have to take of before this whole episode is over.  I don’t want to leave any witnesses who may spoil the party I’ve set up,” Mrs Hawthorne purred.

The woman slipped back into her body glove, blew him a kiss and disappeared.

*             *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *

            It had all started innocently enough as most things do.  Bored, Alex had picked up the book from the side table,  flipped it open randomly and started to read as she walked back to the intent upon flopping down and reading to past some time.  However, for wherever reason she had misjudged the distance, taken a step to many and fell very ungracefully and very un Alex as well onto the bed the book flying out of her hands, across the bed and onto the floor on the far side.  She pawed her way across the sheets leaned over and picked up the book without giving the matter a second thought until she laid her eyes on the page again, the exact same one she was reading before she took her tumble.  Alex shuffled the matter off to a strange universal fluke, the kind that happens to everyone once in their life and that’s what they chalk it up to.

“Just a coincidence,” she said.

“Ok, this is really the last time,” Alex said her voice frantic and determined at the same time as she tossed the book over her shoulder.  It hit the wall behind the bed, skidding down, caromed off the bedside table and onto the floor.

The spy turned around and scrambled over the bedspread, the torn insect netting that lay half on the floor and half as a result of being ripped apart from the past several hours’ activity, past several crushed cardboard drink cups and past her purse before her eyes fell upon the book.  Her eyes filled with tears, her already flushed face getting redder as her fingers ran down the page.

“Ninety One again, always ninety one,” she said clutching the book and rolling over on her back and staring right up at the ceiling as she calmed downed and found her peace after several minutes.

“I understand now, I don’t like, but I understand and I have to trust that this is what is supposed happen,” she said.