You Decide

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She bridged the gap.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She let the image hang there. Intimate. Inescapable.

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

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

He’s hardening.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'But I always get back to work.'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In the darkness, her voice was a velvet promise.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She waited. One second. Two.

Then her tongue traced back down the other side.

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

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

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

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

'Time for another session, sugar.'

She captured his lips again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The final deposit was a ten-minute session.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'I’ll let you decide,’ she purred.