Four more AI stories I played around with.

I stood in front of my vanity, the sheer caftan clinging to my curves as I moved, the fabric whispering

against my skin with every step. My reflection stared back at me, a woman of 45 years, yet still possessing

the allure that had served me well in my line of work. Shoulder-length, sandy curls framed my face, and my

lips—those lips that had sealed the fate of many—were ready to do so again. My mission was clear: capture

the enemy agent I had so skillfully lured in. The attraction phase was complete; now, it was time for the

capture.

The vanity before me was a testament to my preparation. Laid out like a general’s war chest were my tools of seduction and subjugation. I ran my fingers over the array of lipsticks, each one a weapon in its own right. Knockout lipsticks in various strengths, from a gentle nudge to a full-blown knockout. Next to them, the nail varnishes, equally potent, their glossy surfaces hiding their true purpose. My eyes lingered on the needle ring, a delicate yet deadly accessory filled with a fast-acting drug. And then, the perfumes—each bottle a promise of control, their scents designed to cloud judgment and weaken resolve.

I mused over my choices, my mind racing through the possibilities. The lipsticks and perfumes could be built up in his system over time—a slow, deliberate poisoning. A few kisses here, a spritz of perfume there, and his defenses would crumble. Or, I could take a more direct approach. A normal lipstick, a casual scratch during or after sex, and the game would be over. My fingers brushed against the muscle relaxant and paralyzing lipsticks, their timed delays offering a precision that was both clinical and thrilling.

"Which one will it be?" I whispered to myself, my voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through my veins. Each option had its merits, its risks. The build-up method was subtle, almost artistic, but it required patience—a luxury I wasn’t sure I had. The direct approach was faster, more immediate, but it left less room for error. I weighed the pros and cons, my mind a battlefield of strategies.

"The paralyzing lipstick," I decided, picking up a tube with a 10-minute delay. "Enough time for him to let his guard down, but not enough for him to realize what’s happening." I smiled, the corners of my lips curling with satisfaction. It was the perfect choice—a balance of finesse and force.

As I prepared, my mind drifted to the man waiting for me. He was handsome, intelligent, and dangerous—a worthy adversary. But he was also a man, and men had weaknesses. Weaknesses I knew how to exploit. I applied the lipstick carefully, the creamy texture gliding over my lips, leaving them shimmering with a dangerous allure. A final check in the mirror confirmed what I already knew: I was ready.

The doorbell rang, shattering the silence of my apartment. My heart quickened, but my expression remained calm, even inviting. I took a deep breath, smoothing the caftan over my hips, and made my way to the door. Each step was deliberate, my heels clicking against the hardwood floor like a metronome counting down to the moment of truth.

I paused, my hand on the doorknob, and took one last moment to steel myself. This was what I did. This was who I was. A seductress, a strategist, a dominatrix of minds and bodies. I turned the knob, a smile playing on my lips as I swung the door open.

He stood there, just as I had imagined. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a confident smirk that faltered just a touch when his eyes met mine. His gaze lingered on my lips, and I knew I had him.

"Come in," I purred, stepping aside to let him enter. The caftan whispered against my skin as I moved, a silent invitation. He hesitated for a moment, his instincts warring with his desire, but ultimately, desire won. He stepped across the threshold, and the door closed behind him with a soft click.

The air between us crackled with tension, a mix of anticipation and danger. I led him to the couch, my movements graceful, calculated. Every step, every gesture, was part of the dance—a dance I had choreographed countless times before.

"Can I get you a drink?" I asked, my voice low and husky. He nodded, his eyes never leaving mine. I turned to the bar, my caftan swaying with the motion, and poured two glasses of wine. The red liquid swirled in the glasses, a stark contrast to the pale sheen of my lipstick.

I handed him his glass, our fingers brushing ever so slightly. "To us," I said, raising my glass in a mock toast. He clinked his glass against mine, his smile widening as he took a sip. I mirrored his action, the wine cool and smooth on my tongue.

The minutes ticked by, each one bringing us closer to the inevitable. We talked, laughed, flirted—a game of cat and mouse where both parties knew the rules but played along anyway. His guard was down, his desire palpable. I could see it in the way his eyes darkened, in the way his breath quickened.

"You’re stunning," he murmured, reaching out to touch my cheek. I leaned into his touch, my lips curving into a smile that was equal parts genuine and predatory. "Thank you," I replied, my voice soft but laced with intent.

I moved closer, my body pressing against his, the sheer fabric of my caftan doing little to hide the heat between us. His hand slid down to my waist, pulling me tighter against him. I tilted my head, my lips brushing against his, a teasing, tantalizing touch.

"Kiss me," I whispered, my breath warm against his ear. He didn’t need to be told twice. His lips crashed against mine, hungry and desperate. I kissed him back, my lips moving against his with a practiced ease, the paralyzing lipstick transferring to his mouth with each touch.

The kiss deepened, our tongues tangling in a dance as old as time. His hands roamed my body, his touch possessive yet eager. I moaned softly, my hands gripping his shoulders as I pressed myself against him, the caftan falling away to pool at my feet.

He broke the kiss, his breath ragged as he gazed down at me. "You’re incredible," he rasped, his voice thick with desire. I smiled, a slow, dangerous smile that sent a shiver down his spine.

"Take me to the bedroom," I commanded, my tone leaving no room for argument. He nodded, scooping me into his arms with a strength that belied his growing weakness. I wrapped my legs around his waist, my lips finding his neck as he carried me down the hall.

The bedroom was dimly lit, the air heavy with anticipation. He laid me on the bed, his eyes devouring me as he hovered above. I reached up, running my fingers through his hair, pulling him down for another kiss. The lipstick continued its work, its effects beginning to take hold.

His movements slowed, his body growing heavier with each passing moment. I kissed him again, my lips lingering on his as his arms fell to his sides, his muscles relaxing under the drug’s influence. I smiled against his lips, a smile of triumph and satisfaction.

"It’s over," I whispered, my voice gentle yet firm. He tried to respond, but his words were slurred, his body unresponsive. I stroked his cheek, my touch tender despite the circumstances. "You played your part well," I murmured, leaning down to press one last kiss to his lips.

With a final glance, I rose from the bed, my caftan still discarded on the floor. I moved with purpose, my steps quiet as I retrieved the restraints from the drawer. I secured his wrists and ankles to the bedposts, ensuring he wouldn’t be going anywhere.

As I finished, I took a moment to admire my handiwork. He lay there,

paralyzed

but conscious, his eyes

flicking between confusion and realization. I leaned over him, my lips

brushing

his ear.

"You should know better than to trust a woman like me," I whispered,

my voice

dripping with mock regret. I straightened, smoothing my caftan over

my body,

and turned to leave.

The mission was complete. The enemy agent was captured, and I had emerged

victorious once again. I smiled as I walked out of the bedroom, the sound of his

muffled protests fading behind me. Another job well done.

I stood there, naked and unapologetic, my body a weapon honed by

decades of espionage. My target, a

muscular man with a face etched with fear, stood frozen in the center

of my living room. The cool air

conditioning did little to mask the heat radiating from his body, a

testament to his mounting panic. I, Ploy

Vatee, was about to demonstrate why they called me the "Kissing

Python."My slim figure, a testament to years of rigorous training, coiled

around him like a serpent preparing to

strike. My long black hair, usually pulled back in a severe bun,

cascaded down my back, a stark contrast

to the deadly precision of my movements. My nails, sharpened

to deadly points, found their mark, sinking

into the pressure points along his arms and chest. He flinched,

his eyes widening as the familiar tingling

sensation of immobilization spread through his limbs.

"My dear," I purred, my voice a velvety whisper, "you're in

the embrace of a master. This particular hold, a

masterpiece of my own design, is called the Kissing Python. A human

knot with no known escape." I leaned in, my lips brushing against his

ear, my breath hot against his

skin. "And these lips," I continued, drawing his attention to my mouth,

painted a seductive

pink, "are coated in a long-lasting

truth serum. So, my darling, you can struggle, you can fight, but in the

end, you'll be singing like a canary."

His eyes darted around the room, searching for an escape route, but

there was none. The tatami mats

covering the floor offered no purchase, and the walls, adorned with

exotic weaponry, were a silent reminder

of my prowess.

"Once we fall," I continued, my voice dropping to a husky murmur,

"my body will

complete its knot around yours. Any

movement on your part will only tighten my grip. It's a delightful

little paradox, isn't it? The more you

struggle, the closer you come to your end." I smiled, a predatory gleam in my eyes. "But don't worry, darling.

I'll make it worth your while. The serum

will ensure you tell me everything I need to know, and the pain of

my constriction... well, let's just say it

adds a certain erotic edge to the proceedings."

He tried to speak, but my nails, embedded in his pressure points,

rendered him mute. His eyes, wide with a

mixture of fear and arousal, pleaded for mercy. I chuckled, a low,

throaty sound that sent shivers down his

spine.

"Mercy?" I mocked, my lips curling into a cruel smile. "Mercy is

for the

weak, darling. And you, my dear, are about

to experience the full force of Ploy Vatee."

With a graceful movement, I pulled him closer, our bodies

pressing together. His muscles, taut with tension,

trembled against my own. I felt his heartbeat, rapid and frantic,

against my bare chest. Slowly, deliberately,

I began to coil around him, my limbs wrapping around his like

a python constricting its prey.

The tatami mats beneath us softened our fall as we tumbled to

the ground. My body, wet with anticipation,

completed the knot, my legs entwined with his, my arms

pinning his to his sides. His breath came in ragged

gasps as he realized the futility of his situation.

I leaned in, my lips hovering inches from his, the scent of

the truth serum lipstick intoxicating. "Now,

darling," I whispered, "let's begin."

My lips met his, soft and insistent. The serum, a potent

concoction, began to work its magic. His eyes,

initially filled with defiance, began to glaze over, his resistance

melting away with each passing second.

Hours blurred together as I kissed him, my lips moving in a

rhythmic dance, extracting information with

each touch. His struggles, initially frantic, gradually subsided,

replaced by a resigned acceptance. The pain

of my constriction, a constant reminder of his predicament,

only served to heighten the erotic tension

between us.

As the night wore on, his confessions flowed freely, his voice

hoarse with exhaustion and the serum's

effects. I listened, my eyes gleaming with satisfaction, my body

tightening imperceptibly with each

revelation.

Finally, as the first rays of dawn crept through the windows, I

released my hold, my nails sliding out of his

pressure points. He collapsed onto the mat, his body limp

and spent.

I stood, my naked form bathed in the soft morning light, a

victorious smile playing on my lips. "You see,

darling," I said, my voice laced with triumph, "there is no

escape from the Kissing Python."

He lay there, his chest heaving, his eyes closed, a mixture of

emotions playing across his face.

I walked towards the window, the city awakening below me.

A sense of satisfaction washed over me, not

just from the successful extraction of information, but from

the raw, primal power I had wielded. The

Kissing Python, my signature move, was more than just a

technique; it was a testament to my skill, my

control, and my unyielding dominance. As the sun climbed

higher, casting long shadows across the room,

I couldn't help but wonder about the next target, the next

challenge, the next dance with danger. The life of

a spy was a dangerous one, but for Ploy Vatee, the Kissing

Python, it was a life lived on the edge, where

the line between pleasure and pain, between life and death,

was tantalizingly thin.

The moment Sharon Sharpe’s fingers had first tangled with Todd’s in

that absurd corporate “team-building”

exercise, she’d known she was in trouble. Five hours of his sweaty

palms locked around hers, her arms

stretched taut above her head, her body forced into an unnatural arch

by the strain of her stilettos. Every

muscle in her calves screamed, her thighs trembling with the effort of

staying upright. One misstep, one slip,

and the full weight of his body would crush her against the polished

office floor.

But now—finally—she was free.

She exhaled slowly, deliberately, as she peeled herself away from

him, her fingers lingering just a second

too long against his before she stepped back. Todd remained frozen,

\his arms still raised, his body locked in

the same rigid posture. A statue in a cheap suit.

Sharon smirked, rolling her shoulders as she crossed the room. The

click of her heels was sharp, deliberate.

She sank into the leather chair behind his desk, crossing one long

leg over the other, the slit in her pencil

skirt revealing a flash of toned thigh. With practiced ease, she twisted

the heel of her white pump, revealing

a hidden compartment. The lipstick inside gleamed under the

fluorescent lights—Pink Paralysis, her favorite

little insurance policy.

She uncapped it, dragging the slick, pearlescent pink over her lips

in slow, deliberate strokes. The scent of

cherries and something sharper—chemical, lethal—filled the air.

Todd’s eyes tracked her every movement, wide with dawning

horror.

“Relax,” she purred, recapping the lipstick and sliding it back

into its hiding place. “It’s not like you can

do anything about it now.”

She stood, stalking toward him with the slow, sinuous grace of

a predator. His breath hitched as she wound

her arms around his neck, her body pressing flush against his.

She could feel the rapid thud of his pulse

beneath her fingertips, the way his muscles strained against the

invisible bonds holding him in place.

“You’re wondering how long it’ll last,” she murmured, her lips

brushing the shell of his ear. His skin was

warm, damp with sweat.

“Long enough.”“You’re wondering how I did it?” Sharon tilted

her head, her smirk widening as she circled

him with deliberate, teasing steps. Her voice was low, almost

conversational, but there was a sharp edge to

it that made Todd’s skin prickle. 

“My trademark Pink Paralysis. It’s not just a lipstick, Todd. It’s

my little insurance policy. A paralyzing

agent, to be precise. Applied it this morning, so it’s not at its freshest

this late in the day, but”—she leaned

in, her breath hot against his ear—“it’s still quite potent.”

She paused, letting the words sink in, her gaze drifting over his

form with undisguised satisfaction.

“Usually, all it takes is a whisper of a touch against an opponent’s

lips to work instantly. Just a glance,

really.” Her fingers brushed his cheek, featherlight, mocking. “I

got that glancing touch at the start of the

knot. Took a while for it to kick in, didn’t it?”

His pulse raced as she leaned in, her lips pressing against his in a

slow, deliberate kiss. Her tongue teased

at the seam of his lips, coaxing them apart with practiced ease. The

taste of cherries and something sharper

flooded his senses, and he felt the faintest tremor run through his

body—a futile attempt to resist. But it was

useless. She was in control now.

When she finally pulled back, his lips were stained pink, his pupils

blown wide with a mix of fear and

arousal.

Her mouth found his again in a slow, deep second kiss. The kind

meant to savor. To claim. His lips were

stiff at first, unyielding, but she coaxed them apart with the slick

slide of her tongue, licking into his mouth

with deliberate, teasing strokes. The paralysis hadn’t taken his

senses—just his ability to move.

“Insurance,” she whispered, trailing a fingertip down his chest.

“Just in case you get any ideas about calling

for help.”

“Now,” she murmured, her fingers toying with his zipper, “let’s

talk about those files you’ve been hiding

from me.”

The doorbell rang, breaking the silence of Sharon’s dimly lit apartment. She smirked, her lips freshly coated

in a creamy pink gloss that shimmered faintly under the soft light. Pink Pacify, her mildest lipstick yet still potent enough to bring even the most hardened agents to their knees. She

adjusted the sea green negligee that clung to her curves, the fabric whispering against her skin as she moved.

It was a choice tonight—subtle, elegant, and enticing.

She opened the door, leaning casually against the frame. “Well, aren’t you punctual,” she purred, her voice

dripping with warmth and a hint of mischief.

The man standing there was tall, broad-shouldered, with dark eyes that scanned her with cautious curiosity.

“You’re… unexpected,” he said, his voice rough but not unkind.

“Good unexpected, I hope,” she replied, stepping aside to let him in. Her heels clicked softly against the

hardwood floor as she led him inside, her movements smooth and deliberate. She could feel his eyes on her,

trailing the curve of her back, the sway of her hips. Men. So predictable.

“What’s your name?” he asked, lingering near the doorway as if unsure whether to fully commit to crossing

the threshold.

“Sharon,” she said, turning to face him with a smile that was equal parts inviting and dangerous. “And you

are?”

“Jack,” he replied, his gaze flickering over her face, her lips, before meeting her eyes again. She could see

the tension in his jaw, the way his hands flexed at his sides. He was on edge, but he was trying to hide it.

Good. That meant he was already off balance.

“Well, Jack,” she said, closing the distance between them in slow, deliberate steps, “I’m glad you came

tonight.” She placed a hand on his chest, feeling the heat of his body through the fabric of his shirt. His heart

was racing under her palm, and she smiled inwardly. Too easy.

“I wasn’t sure what to expect,” he admitted, his voice dropping lower, rougher.

“Expect the unexpected,” she murmured, tilting her head up to meet his gaze. Her lips were inches from his

now, close enough for him to catch the faint scent of her perfume—the subtle floral notes laced with

something deeper, more intoxicating. She could see the moment his resolve faltered, the way his eyes

darkened with desire.

She kissed him then, slow and deliberate, her lips pressing against his with just enough pressure to make

him want more. He hesitated for a fraction of a second before responding, his hands coming up to grip

her waist as he deepened the kiss. Sharon smiled against his mouth, feeling the first traces of the drug

transferring from her lips to his. And so it begins.

---

Sharon had been a spy for more than 30 years, and seductions like this never got old. There was something

thrilling about the dance, the push and pull of desire and deception. She had used countless costumes over

the years—tight-fitting skirts, sleek pantsuits, even the classic white shirt that had made Nancy Kovack

famous in The Silencers. But tonight, it was the sea green negligee, reminiscent of Senta Berger in The Ambushers. It was a choice that spoke of vulnerability and allure, a delicate balance that drew men in like moths to a

flame.

As she kissed Jack, her mind wandered briefly to the tools of her trade she kept hidden in her vanity. Nail

polish that could paralyze or relax muscles with a single scratch. Perfumes laced with knockout compounds.

And then there were her lipsticks, each one a different weapon in her arsenal. Tonight, it was Pink Pacify, a slow-acting agent that would take its time to work its way into his system. The beauty of it was that it

allowed her to enjoy the process, to savor every moment of the seduction.

She pulled back from the kiss slowly, her lips lingering against his for just a moment longer than necessary.

“You’re full of surprises,” Jack said, his voice thick with desire.

“You have no idea,” she replied with a wink, leading him further into the room. She could already feel the

drug working its way into his system, softening his edges, making him more pliable. But she wasn’t done

yet. Not even close.

---

The room was bathed in soft, golden light—just enough to highlight the curves of her body through the

sheer fabric of her negligee. Jack’s eyes followed her every move, his breath hitching as she traced a finger

along the edge of the fabric where it met her thigh. “Do you always dress like this?” he asked, his voice

rough with need.

“Only when I know I’ll have company,” she replied, her tone light and teasing. She stepped closer again,

her body brushing against his as she reached up to undo the top button of his shirt. His breath caught in his

throat, and she smiled, her fingers moving to the next button.

“Sharon…” he started, but she silenced him with another kiss, this one deeper, hungrier. Her hands slid

down his chest, pushing the shirt off his shoulders and letting it fall to the floor. His skin was hot beneath

her touch, his muscles taut with tension. She trailed her fingers down his chest, across his stomach, and felt

him shiver under her touch.

“Relax,” she murmured against his lips, her voice low and soothing. “Let me take care of you.”

He exhaled sharply, his hands gripping her hips as if anchoring himself to her. She could feel the drug

taking hold now, his movements becoming slower, more deliberate. She smiled against his mouth, guiding

him backwards until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the bed.

“Sit,” she said, pressing gently on his shoulders until he obeyed. She knelt down in front of him, her hands

sliding up his thighs as she looked up at him through her lashes. “Trust me?”

He groaned, his hands tangling in her hair as she leaned in to press a kiss to the inside of his thigh. “God,

yes.”

---

She took her time, her lips and hands exploring every inch of him, coaxing out gasps and moans until he

was trembling beneath her touch. The drug was fully in his system now, his muscles loose and pliant under

her skilled hands. She climbed onto the bed, straddling him as she leaned down to kiss him again, her lips

brushing against his ear as she whispered, “You’re mine now.”

Jack groaned, his hands gripping her hips as she moved against him, her body undulating slowly,

deliberately. She could feel the tension building in him, his breath coming in ragged gasps as she guided

him inside her. The sensation sent a shiver up her spine, and she moaned softly, rocking her hips against his.

“Sharon…” he whispered, his voice rough with need.

“Shh,” she murmured, pressing a finger to his lips. “Just feel.”

She moved with purpose, drawing out every sensation, every moment of pleasure. The drug made it easier

for her to control him, to manipulate his responses until he was completely lost in her. She could feel him

getting closer, his hips bucking up to meet hers as she increased her pace.

“Come for me,” she whispered, her nails lightly scratching down his chest.

He groaned loudly, his body shuddering as he climaxed beneath her. Sharon smiled, slowing her

movements until she came to a stop, her body still pressed against his. She leaned down to kiss him again,

savoring the taste of victory on his lips.

As Jack drifted off into a drugged sleep, she slipped out of bed and began to gather the intel she had come

for. The night had gone exactly as planned, and Sharon couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction.

Another mission accomplished, she thought, glancing back at the sleeping figure on the bed. Just another night in the life of a spy.

But as she turned to leave, she couldn’t resist one last glance at Jack. “Until next time,” she murmured,

blowing him a kiss before slipping out the door.

Outside, the city buzzed with life, but Sharon’s mind was already on the next mission, the next target,

the next seduction. Because for her, the game never stopped. And she wouldn’t have it any other way.