Two for the Price of One

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

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

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

'My Paralysing Prawn Lipstick, Agent Jax.'

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

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

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

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

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

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

'So is mine.'

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then she kissed her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'Now, for the kiss,' she hummed.

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

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

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

From his frozen vantage point, Jax watched it begin.

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

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

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

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

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

Then, Thet tightened.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She lowered her head.

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

Then she took him in.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It broke him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thet released them both at the same moment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'Two for the price of one.'

Four Captions I did recently

 

Scene from Chinese Kung Fu Flick

 Sorry I do not remember the name of his movie but I have seen

it all the way through and this is the only good part.

Tiffany Towns - Trident Agent

ONE

The trail began in the foyer. Her white silk halter blouse, discarded with careless precision. Then, a few feet away, the silk of her stockings, a whisper against the cool marble, led like a breadcrumb trail into the heart of the penthouse. A lacy black bra was draped over the back of a modernist chair. Matching panties were a dark puddle on the floor beside the king-sized bed.

In his walk-in closet, the air still carried the faint, expensive scent of her perfume, clashing with the clean linen and cedar of his own. One of his crisp white dress shirts was missing from its orderly row.

Tiffany stood before the floor-to-ceiling window, the city’s glittering grid spread out fifty stories below like a captive galaxy. She’d rolled the sleeves of his shirt up to her elbows. The hem just covered her paradise and ass, a stark, pure white against the smooth tan of her skin. She held her left hand up, examining her work in the glass’s reflection. The frosty pink nail varnish was perfect. Cool. Professional. Lethally pretty.

“One scratch,” she murmured to her reflection, a slow smile touching her unpainted lips. She flicked a nail with a soft click. “However, I prefer my lipstick to end him. One wonderful kiss with my Poisonous Peony Pink.”

The tube was cool in her hand. She leaned closer to the glass, her breath fogging a small circle. Slowly, with a practiced, sensual drag, she coated her lips in the creamy, vibrant shade. She pressed them together, then blotted them lightly on a tissue she produced from the shirt’s pocket. The color was a statement. A promise. A threat.

She heard the keycard reader at the front door beep.

Showtime.

She didn’t rush. She moved to the doorway of the bedroom, leaning one shoulder against the frame. She crossed one bare leg over the other, the action making the shirt ride up just a fraction higher. The pink heels were back on her feet, elongating her calves, completing the portrait of deliberate seduction.

Agent Tate stopped dead in the entrance to the living room, his sharp eyes taking in the scene: the trail of clothes, the woman in his shirt, posed like a centerfold in his bedroom doorway. His hand twitched, a micro-movement toward the holster under his arm.

“Who the hell are you?” His voice was a low rumble, all controlled alarm.

Tiffany pushed off the doorframe, taking a few slow, clicking steps toward him. “Your new partner, sugar. Didn’t they tell you? They said you were the best. I’m the… incentive to close the Volkov case.” She let her voice drip with her honeyed Southern drawl.

“I work alone.” His gaze was locked on her, assessing, wary. He didn’t believe her. Not for a second.

“Not tonight, you don’t.” She closed the distance until she was just inches from him. She could smell the night air on his leather jacket, see the tension in the line of his jaw. “They said you were stubborn. I’m here to… persuade you.”

Before he could react, she stepped around him. Her front pressed against his back, her breasts soft and unmistakable against the hard plane of his shoulders through the thin cotton of the shirt. Her arms snaked around his waist, her hands—those pretty, pink-nailed hands—slid up his chest.

“What are you—“

Her hands moved, one sliding higher, toward his neck, the other dipping lower, teasing at his belt. He turned her about, she slipped into his arms,her hands slithering like a coiling snake about his neck. Her lips came to his for a slow kiss,when he was fully engaged she casually pulled one arm back and into her hair,taking hold of a knife she'd hidden there earlier.Tiffany brought it out just slowly enough so he could catch it.

He twisted, and the blade clattered harmlessly to the marble floor.

The sound echoed in the sudden silence.

Tiffany didn’t struggle. She went limp in his grasp, then laughed, a soft, breathy sound against his cheek. “Can’t blame a girl for trying.”

He spun her around, pinning her wrists against the wall beside the doorway. His body caged hers, his face a mask of cold fury inches from her own. “Who sent you?”

She just smiled, her pink lips a shocking slash of color. She waited. Letting the silence stretch. Letting him feel the heat of her body through the shirt, the rapid beat of her heart against his chest. She saw the moment the first wave hit him. A slight dilation of his pupils. A tiny, almost imperceptible slackening of his grip.

“Something the matter, sugar?” she whispered.

He blinked, trying to clear a sudden fog. His breath hitched.

“What you’re experiencing,” she said, her voice dropping to an intimate, conspiratorial murmur, “is my Poisonous lipstick, Agent Tate. Fast-acting. Neuro-paralytic. Quite elegant, don’t you think?” She leaned forward, her lips brushing his ear. “You have time for one more kiss before it finishes you.”

His arms trembled, the strength leaching from his muscles. His grip on her wrists faltered. As he began to slide down the wall, she caught him, her own strength surprising, lowering him to the floor until he was slumped, his back against the wall, looking up at her.

Tiffany smiled, a genuine one of triumph, and delivered the final kiss. It was slow. Deep. A full, searing press of her toxic lips against his. She poured every bit of theatrical passion into it, feeling his mouth grow slack under hers. When she pulled back, a perfect imprint of Peony Pink was left on his lips.

“I knew the classic white shirt and my pink heels would do the trick,” she sighed, almost to herself, as she straightened up. She looked down at him, his powerful frame rendered helpless, his eyes clouded but still watching her. She let him go, his body slumping fully to the floor.

She took a step back, then another, her heels clicking on the marble. She watched his breath stop. A job well done. Clean. Stylish.

TWO

The kiss lingered, a toxic brand. His lips were still warm, but a distinct coolness was spreading from them, a numbness that was already tracing icy paths along his jawline. Tiffany watched it happen in his eyes—the sharp focus dissolving into a hazy, struggling awareness. That delicious moment where the predator becomes prey.

I’ve seen that look before, sugar.

She kept her body pressed against his, pinning his slumping form to the wall. Her own breath was steady, a quiet counterpoint to his increasingly labored rasps. Slowly, deliberately, she curled one pink-heeled foot behind the other, the movement a languid stretch that made the shirt she wore—his shirt—pull taut across her thighs. A soft, pleased sigh escaped her. This was the part she lived for. The calm, cruel explanation after the storm.

She nuzzled the column of his neck, inhaling the scent of him—clean soap, night air, and the faint, coppery tang of adrenaline now being swamped by the neurotoxin. Her size-twelve frame was deceptively strong; she held him upright easily, a beautiful, deadly crutch. She kissed him again, not out of necessity now, but savoring. It was slow, deep, a mimicry of passion. As her lips moved over his, she splayed the fingers of one hand behind his neck, her eyes drifting to admire her own work.

Her almond-shaped nails, painted in that perfect frosty pink, gleamed in the penthouse’s low light. So pretty. So deadly. “One little tiny run of one edge,” she murmured against his mouth, her voice a honeyed whisper meant only for him. “With perfect pressure, the secondary agent finishes the job. A different poison, you see. A… backup plan.”

She released his lips, leaving them slightly parted and stained with her color. With a playful, almost tender gesture, she took the index finger of her free hand and drew it down the center of his chest. Not her nail—just the pad of her finger. But it was a promise. Then she moved that same hand to the front of the borrowed white shirt. With a sharp, sudden tug, she cut the buttons off one by one.

Buttons flew, pinging against the marble floor and the nearby furniture. The crisp cotton fell apart, baring her to the waist. The cool air kissed her skin, and the fabric caught for a tantalizing second on the peaks of her nipples before sliding off her shoulders to pool in the crook of her elbows. “Freedom, finally,” she breathed, arching her back slightly.

She felt the weak tremor that ran through him. His eyes, heavy-lidded, were locked on her bare skin.

“One of the buttons,” she said conversationally, as if discussing the weather, “is a dissolving knockout pill. Nasty little thing. Works on contact with saliva.” She leaned in, her lips a hair's breadth from his ear. “But I can never remember which one it is, FORCE spy Lex. Not that I need it.” The use of his real name—not his alias ‘Tate’—was a final twist of the knife. She knew everything.

His body was betraying him completely now, held up only by her insistence and the wall at his back. The paralysis was advancing, a silent tide.

“This is where we have sex,” Tiffany purred, her voice dropping to an intimate, smoky register. Her hands slid down his sides. “I always keep my promises.”

She didn’t look down. She kept her eyes on his, watching the conflict—the fading fury, the involuntary response, the helpless arousal—war in his dimming gaze. Her hand slipped around him. He was hard. A groan, thick and choked, wrenched itself from his throat. It wasn't just the poison; it was her.

“Together at last,” she breathed, shifting her body, aligning herself. The shirt, hanging from her elbows, created a tent of white cotton around them. “After all, we both wanted it.”

She moved her hips, a slow tease. The heat of her pressed against him a maddening, exquisite friction. She took him inside.

“As I said,” she whispered, kissing the corner of his mouth, “I’ve seen that look before. The realization. You’ve had too much of my Pink Peony. It’s a decadent poison, Lex. Requires a… specific catalyst.” She rocked against him again, feeling him jerk helplessly. “It only becomes truly fatal if its host experiences a certain number of orgasms within a two-hour window. The chemical release shuts everything down.”

She leaned back, just enough to see his face fully. “Of course, you have no chance. No FORCE agent has ever escaped the protocol alive. The body betrays the mind every single time.”

“And soon,” she continued, her tone becoming instructional, almost dreamy, “you’ll be wrapped in my Orchid Knot. An ancient thing. It gives the woman… options. Control.” Her hips stilled, but her hand did not. “For a while, you’ll be in my paradise. Then, my mouth will take over. Coddling. Licking. Caressing. Stroking you to climax after climax, all while you’re sealed inside my body. Soft. Unyielding. Very, very unforgiving.”

She smiled then, a radiant, terrible thing. “Have you ever been coiled by a Plus-sized woman, Lex? We’re… unique in our approach. And exceptionally deadly in our application.”

His breath was coming in short, ragged gasps now. A sheen of sweat coated his brow. The poison, the seduction, the relentless psychological assault—it was all converging.

“Oh yes,” Tiffany cooed, feeling the first violent shudder course through him. “There’s the first one.” She watched his eyes roll back, his body seizing for a long, silent moment against hers. A wave of heat pulsed between them. “It speeds up the lipstick’s work, darling. Considerably.”

She delivered another kiss then, deep and potent, swallowing his strangled cry. The taste of him, of the poison, of her own victory was intoxicating. The Plus delivered. Her hips began to move again in earnest, a rhythmic, grinding pressure against his sensitive flesh. Her hand worked in tandem, a masterful, cruel rhythm. She whispered filth and praise into his skin, her words a velvet lash.

“Two… see how easy? Your body is so eager… three… just let go, sugar, it’s better if you stop fighting it… four…”

He was trembling uncontrollably, a marionette with its strings cut. Each climax was weaker than the last, a draining of his life force as much as his pleasure. His big body, once so formidable, was now pliant and heavy in her arms. With the fifth, a broken, wet sound that was more sob than groan, his legs finally gave out completely.

She let him fall, guiding his descent so he crumpled to the polished floor. She followed him down, her body languid, all sinuous grace. She straddled his hips, the ruined shirt fanning out around them like the petals of a poisonous flower. With practiced ease, she rolled him, arranging his limbs, her heels clicking together like a judge’s gavel.

“Shhh,” she soothed, though he was beyond hearing. Her movements were all possessive tenderness now. She settled over him, a warm, devastating weight, and sealed them together in that intimate, inescapable press—the suggestion of the Orchid Knot complete without the explicit act. Her body became his entire world, a silken, suffocating paradise.

She held him there, cradling his head in the crook of her neck. Her lips found the shell of his ear, then trailed down his neck, over his collarbone. Light, ghosting kisses. Then lower. Her mouth was everywhere, a tender predator claiming her prize.

He washed into her, into the idea of her, his releases now just faint, helpless pulses. A delightful, contented purr vibrated in Tiffany’s throat as she imagined swallowing his essence, as she felt the final stages of the poison lock into his nervous system. “So thick and savory, Lex,” she whispered against his stomach. “I bet there’s more where that came from.”

What remained of her lipstick would be absorbed faster this way, through his heated skin and spent energy. “And it’s my pleasure,” she murmured, kissing a trail back up his torso, “to coat you in my frosting.”

He surged once more, a final, desperate twitch of his entwined form. But Tiffany had him fully in her coils, real and psychological. There was no escape. She tenderly coddled him, her whispers and soft touches encouraging a few last, pitiful releases until he was utterly still beneath her, breath shallow, eyes open but seeing nothing.

She waited a full minute, counting his fading heartbeats against her own. Then, with a sigh of genuine satisfaction, she disentangled herself. She rose to her feet, looking down at his magnificent body laid out on the floor, defeated. “I have to dress, baby,” she said softly, as if he could hear. “You know what you have to do.” The unspoken command: die.

She disappeared into the walk-in closet, leaving the door ajar. The sound of rustling fabric, a zipper, filled the quiet. When she emerged, she was transformed. The weaponized seductress was gone, replaced by a vision of crisp, professional elegance. A tailored white pencil skirt hugged her hips. A lavender silk blouse was buttoned high, its collar sharp. And on her feet, the same classic pink heels, now the only hint of the femme fatale who had been there moments before.

She looked amazing. And she knew it.

She walked back to where he lay, retrieving her small clutch from where she’d left it on a console table. From it, she drew the tube of Poisonous Peony Pink lipstick.

His eyes tracked her, a bare sliver of consciousness still clinging on behind the haze. Good.

“How about,” she said, leaning over him, her blouse gaping just enough to give him one last, devastating glimpse of cleavage, “a literal kiss goodbye, baby?”

She carefully, meticulously coated her lips in the creamy death one final time. The color was vibrant, shocking against her tan skin and the serene lavender of her blouse. “You’re so close already, sugar,” she smiled. Then she lowered herself, not to his mouth, but lower. She placed a single, long, sucking kiss to the head of his cock, still exposed from her earlier ministrations. A mockery of intimacy. A final branding.

She pulled back, refreshed her lipstick with a glance in a mirrored surface, then returned to his head. She cradled his face in her hands. “One for the road,” she whispered.

The kiss she gave him then was slow. Deep. Heartbreakingly tender. She poured a lifetime of false affection into it, feeling the last vestige of warmth leave his lips. When she finally broke away, she shifted slightly and pressed her lips firmly to his cheek.

She pulled back. A perfect, vibrant imprint of her lips remained on his stubbled skin.

“My calling card, Lex,” she said, her voice bright and cold. “So FORCE knows exactly what Trident female did this. No mystery. Just… me.”

She stood, smoothed her skirt, and without a backward glance, walked to the penthouse door. Her heels were the last sound he heard—confident, steady, fading away into the plush hallway carpet.

On the floor, Agent Lex of FORCE lay still, the pink stain on his cheek like a fallen petal, the paralytic silence closing in. His hand twitched, a phantom impulse to reach for a weapon, for a comms unit, for anything. But his fingers only brushed cold marble.

The door clicked shut.

Silence.

Then, from the hallway, barely audible through the thick door, the faint, melodic chime of an elevator arriving.

THREE

The luxury cabana was a cocoon of white linen and whispered ocean. Beyond the billowing curtains, the turquoise sea glittered, and the air carried the lazy scent of salt and tropical blooms. A perfect postcard. A perfect trap.

Inside, the wait was a tangible thing. Tiffany felt it humming in her veins, a low-grade excitement that had nothing to do with the mission parameters and everything to do with the man sitting across from her.

Agent Jax. Her partner. Her lover for this op.

He was sprawled in a low-slung chair, the picture of casual readiness, but his eyes—a shade of green that reminded her of deep forest shadows—tracked her every micro-movement. They’d been a good team. A very good team. The chemistry in the field had bled into the hotel rooms, a convenient, thrilling bonus. But convenient was all it ever was.

Two hours until pickup, she thought, running a finger along the rim of her chilled glass. More than enough time.

She rose from her seat, a slow unfurling of long limbs. “You know,” she said, her voice dropping into that register she knew made his pulse jump. “I’ve been saving a little something. A celebration for when we wrapped this up.”

She didn’t wait for a reply. She just gave him a smile, all promise and pink lips, and slipped through the gauzy curtain into the cabana’s small, tiled bathroom.

When she emerged, the air in the room seemed to thicken.

The garment was a fantasy in silk and feathers. A sheer, pale green baby doll that did nothing to hide the dark peaks of her nipples or the shadow between her thighs. The hem, a froth of a feathered boa, kissed the very tops of her powerful thighs, leaving her long, toned legs utterly bare. It was an invitation. A challenge.

She stood in the doorway, one hand on her hip, the other pushing a strand of her semi-curly blonde hair behind her ear. She watched his reaction. The sharp intake of breath. The way his gaze darkened, travelling from her face—that beautiful, deceptive face—down the strong line of her arms, over the gentle swell of her stomach, to the impossible length of her legs.

“That’s one of the many things I like about you, Jax,” she purred, taking a step toward him. Her voice was honey and heat. “You’re always ready.”

He didn’t speak. He just stood, his own movements fluid, and shucked his shorts, letting them pool on the woven rug. A flush of pure, professional pride warmed her. The lure works. It always does.

She closed the distance between them, the frills of her negligee brushing his legs. She pressed her body against his naked form, the sheer silk a whisper between her heat and his skin. Her arms slid around his neck, her fingers tangling in the hair at his nape. She found his lips.

The kiss wasn’t gentle. It was a claim. Her tongue swept into his mouth, bold and demanding, and he met her with equal hunger. His hands found her waist, large and warm, his thumbs stroking the sensitive skin just above her hip bones. She could feel him, hard and eager against her stomach.

Her own hands wandered. Down the corded muscles of his back, over the firm curve of his ass. She brought one hand up, tracing a single, frost-pink nail along the line of his jaw, down the column of his throat. He tensed, just a fraction, and pulled back, his eyes searching hers.

A sly smile played on her lips. “Not to worry, baby,” she whispered, her breath mingling with his. “I have wonderful control. And a wonderful touch.” She held her hand up, wiggling her fingers. “This varnish is perfectly normal. Nothing poisonous.” Her smile widened, a flash of white. “Same for my lipstick. In case you were worried.” She leaned in again, her lips a hair’s breadth from his. “But of course… it would be much too late by now, wouldn’t it?”

She seized his mouth again, swallowing any protest. Her tongue danced with his, a sinful, wet tango. Her hands resumed their exploration, one sliding between them to cup . He groaned into her mouth, a low, desperate sound that vibrated through her.

He nudged her toward the large, canopied bed, his intent clear. But Tiffany took a few compliant steps then stopped, her feet planted firmly on the rug. Her hand dipped her fingers wrapping around him, hot and silken. A tender, knowing stroke.

“We’ve done it on the bed,” she murmured, guiding him forward as she stepped back, aligning their bodies. “And we will again.” Her other hand slid down to cup his ass, pulling him gently closer. “But we’re the perfect size for upright. At least to start.”

She smiled, a genuine curve of pleasure, and rolled her hips. The frilled hem brushed his thighs. With a subtle, powerful shift of her stance, she guided him, the head of his shaft finding the soft, wet warmth at her core. A small, pleasant gasp escaped her as she worked him in, inch by exquisite inch. Her hands slid fully around his ass, holding him, urging him deeper with a gentle, rhythmic pull.

He was buried in her, fully sheathed. A perfect, breathless fit. She let her head fall back, a low hum of satisfaction in her throat. Then she brought her lips to his ear, her tongue tracing the shell before her hot whisper filled him. “Let me set the pace.”

And she did.

Her hips began to move, a slow, rolling retreat followed by a firm, driving return. The friction was sublime, a building heat that coiled tight in her belly. The frequency increased, her movements becoming more urgent, more demanding. She was a force of nature, using the strength in her legs and core to drive them both. She felt the exact moment he began to lose himself, the tension coiling in his muscles, the ragged hitch in his breath.

His release pulsed into her, a hot, sudden flood. Her arms tightened around him, her hands gripping his ass, holding him deep as she twisted her hips in small, circular motions, milking every last shudder from him. A low, hungry purr vibrated in her chest, a sound of pure, satisfied conquest. She kissed his neck, tenderly nipping at the skin, her hot breath fanning over him.

And just like that, she felt him stir again within her, responding to her persistent, intimate caress.

“Wonderful,” she whispered, and began to move once more, a slower, deeper rhythm designed to draw him back to the edge. It didn’t take long. A second, stronger wave took him, his body bowing against hers with a helpless, strangled cry. She worked him through it, her inner muscles clenching rhythmically, a paradise designed for pleasure and, though he didn’t know it yet, for payload delivery.

When he was spent, truly spent, she finally stilled. Her face came to his, her lips swollen, her eyes bright. She gave him a soft, post-coital smile.

“Two,” she said, her voice a husky whisper. She kissed him lightly, a brush of lips. “Wonderful.”

She held his gaze, her smile not fading but shifting, taking on a new, sharper edge. “Remember when I said one of the things I liked about you was you’re always ready?” She began to slowly retract her hips, letting him slip free from her warmth. A faint, cold slickness followed the movement, unnoticed in the aftermath.

He blinked, still dazed, his hands coming up to her waist as if to pull her back.

“Oh, yes, baby,” she laughed, a light, cruel sound. She kissed him again, a quick, mocking peck. “Please try and grab me.”

Confusion clouded his handsome face. His arms, which had been so strong moments before, felt… heavy. He tried to raise them, but the movement was sluggish, uncoordinated.

“I said my lips weren’t drugged,” she continued, her voice conversational as she delivered tiny, taunting kisses between each word, just out of his now-limited reach. “But I never said my other lips weren’t. And you didn’t ask.” She tilted her head, a picture of innocent malice. “Lipsticks can be created for my other set of lips, Jax. Our Trident female scientists are very good. This one’s called Paralysing Paradise Primrose.”

His eyes widened. He tried to speak, but his jaw muscles were locking.

“My motion coated your entire shaft,” she explained, her tone clinical, almost bored. “All I had to do was make you climax to activate it. Your orgasms help speed the agent through your system. And you took the express route today. Two climaxes.” Her gaze drifted down his body, lingering. “Leaving you extra… stiff. And by the look of it, extra stiff everywhere.”

She reached out, her hand closing around him. He was still hard, but now it was the rigid, unyielding hardness of paralysis, not arousal. A triumphal curl formed on her perfect lips.

“I wanted to do it standing up,” she said, as if discussing mission logistics, “for the reason I mentioned. And because it makes this next step much easier for me.”

With her free hand, she plucked at the frilled fringe of her baby doll. Instead of a loose filament, a single, long, almost invisible strand came away, stretching like gossamer. It glistened faintly. She leaned forward and placed one end of it on the top of his bare shoulder.

It stuck. Firmly.

“Oh,” she breathed, a spider admiring her web. “The fringe of my baby doll, sugar, is woven from one single strand of a sticky filament. Activated when I pull it free.” She twined her arms around his frozen neck, depositing one last, soft kiss on his rigid lips. “You wandered into the wrong web sugar, and as this spider has already pleasantly applied her paralysing bite… now it’s time for me to wrap you up in my silky, and so very sticky, and so contracting, silk.”

She leaned back, her eyes gleaming. “Oh, not to terminate you. But to hold you stiff until Trident can come and pick you up. Although,” she added with a theatrical sigh, “I was given the option to finish you. But you were wonderfully… active in bed. So I’m being nice.”

A final kiss of victory, this one on his forehead. Then she began to dance.

She moved around his paralyzed form, a vision in peach silk and lethal grace. With each revolution, she paid out the filament from the hem of her baby doll. It wrapped around his shoulders, his chest, his waist, his legs—a criss-crossing web of shimmering strands that tightened on contact, pulling snug against his skin. He was a statue, a handsome, muscular trophy, being gift-wrapped in a prison of her making.

When she was done, he was encased from shoulders to ankles, a mummy in a glittering cocoon. The spider smiled, a satisfied, radiant thing.

Then she disappeared back into the bathroom.

The sound of a shower, brief and efficient. The rustle of new clothes. When she emerged, the seductress was gone. In her place was a woman ready for a beachside cocktail party. A sleek, light orange sundress hugged her curves, the fabric flowing over her hips. Matching pumps adorned her feet, the heel just high enough to accentuate her calves. Her hair was tousled, perfect. She looked fresh, vibrant, and utterly untouched by what she’d just done.

She walked up to him, her heels silent on the rug. He stood there, frozen stiff by her paradise and the contracting web, his eyes the only thing alive in his face, blazing with a fury he couldn’t express.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice bright and polite, as if thanking a waiter. “For a successful mission. The sex to, of course. But I have to go. Another assignment calls.” She reached up, a hand stroking his cheek with false tenderness. “I made the phone call for you to be picked up. They should be here soon.”

She leaned in, her lips hovering over his. This kiss was slow. Long. A deep, searching press that held none of the earlier heat, only a chilling finality. When she pulled away, her nose brushed his, a grotesque parody of intimacy.

“Your final kiss from the Spider Spy,” she whispered, the words a ghost of breath against his skin. “And that kiss… was poisonous.”

She didn’t explain further. She just let the words hang in the perfumed cabana air. Then she turned, the silk of her sundress whispering, and walked out the door.

The sound of her heels echoed on the wooden boardwalk outside—confident, steady, fading into the distance.

Inside the cabana, Agent Jax stood trapped in his gilded cage, the paralytic agent locking his joints, the web tightening with every minute, and the new, different poison from her final kiss beginning its slow, cold burn on his lips, working its way in. His eyes, fixed on the doorway where she’d vanished, were the only part of him that screamed.

Seraglio Snake

 This is from an idea Kuso suggested for a story.

I hope it you it and thanks for the idea

Cheers, Steve

‘Yes this will do nicely,’Taryn Childs smiled.  ‘Now to just make copies because this dusty manuscript is causing my eyes to water and who knows what I’m breathing in.’

Taryn made her copies,returned the parchment carefully to where she had found it, exiting the section of the library she was not supposed to be in, carefully cleaning then wiping the keypad lock with a small atomizer.

‘I’m sure I’ll catch hell for this when they figure it out, but by then it will be tempered with the result,’she thought, making her way back to her room in the Trident training facility, second year section.

^^^

‘You know that shit you can get yourself into if they find out.  That section is off limits to anyone not a full agent!’ Haruka Sato exclaimed.

‘Forget the shit part.  How about just plain dead!’ Dina Mosissa added with a worried look.

“And now we’re in that same spot,’ Maria Harfanti added the final piece with a nervous look around to her friends.

‘I never would have brought this to you if I wasn’t absolutely convinced,’ Taryn said.  ‘If things go bad because of what I’ve done, I’ll take the consequences alone keeping you guys out of it.  I promise.  We’ve been friends since we first saw each other and it will always stay that way, no matter what.  But, I’m sure of this and I have enough evidence to go to Instructor Singh with it and my plan which I’m going to tell you about for the concerns we just went through.’

Instructor Singh, was Jeeta Singh, their yoga and knot instructor, a formidable former agent, although none of the girls could understand why.  She still had an insane body, sexy demeanor and all the other skills that had made her such a lethal operative for decades in the service of Trident.  She was a strict trainer, demanded their best and pushed them hard.  She was no nonsense and to the point.

‘You’re going to talk to her, what after class?  You do have a death wish.  She does not do that, in class only, she made that very clear from day one,’ Dina added with her hands up as if in surrender.

‘It’s the only way and keep this a secret.  She may be made initially, but she, as a former agent, will appreciate the research and time that’s gone into this.  Remember, instinct is important, she always tells us.  Well this is me putting her advice to work.  How can she fault that?’ Taryn added.

‘She also says overconfidence gets you killed.  I’m glad you're on your own for this part, but you can count me in for whatever if she says yes,’ Dina added.  The rest added their nods as well.

^^^

‘This better be very important,’ Jeeta Singh said as she pulled on her silk robe heading from her bedroom to the door of her apartment.  The frown on her face deepened as she opened the door.  ‘You know the rules Miss Childs,’ she said, almost closing the door on the stunning blonde trainee.

‘I would never disturb you Instructor Singh unless I was deeply concerned about a security risk.  One that only with this method can I explain,’ Taryn said quickly but with earnest tones.

That seemed to pause Jeeta.  The door stood half closed as she studied her students face.  She never gave much in the way of compliments in her class for fear of giving any girl a swelled head, that got you killed.  But she was constantly impressed by Taryn, she was a cut above in terms of the others, yet always willing to learn more, push harder, test herself.

Jeeta glanced at the manila file in her hand.  The door opened a little more.  ‘Come in, make it quick and this better be good.’

Taryn walked into the small living room, sat down on the sofa and opened her netbook.  Jeeta sat down beside her as her student went through all the material she had explained as she went until finally she turned to her teacher.

‘You have convinced me.  I congratulate you on all the work, your intelligence gathering is impressive, a true sign of a budding field agent.  But, having all this information is one thing, the other is what do you plan to do with it?’ Jeeta asked.  She knew what she would do but that was too easy, seeing what your trainee would do was another.  Would Taryn pass it off to higher ups or would she have a plan?

‘I came up with this,’ she smiled, calling up another picture.

‘Impressive and devious, just as a true Trident female should be,’ Jeeta answered, a tiny curl of her lip indicating a smile.

Taryn was thrilled by that, any compliment from such an accomplished agent and excellent but hard teacher was high praise, but she let nothing show, another sign of her maturing.

‘I take it you have discussed all this,’ Jeeta asked as she rose from her seat beside Taryn.

‘Yes, but we need a few days to prepare,’ the trainee answered.

‘Friday then during class.  I will let you decide when, this is after all your operation.’

Taryn went to leave, a feeling of euphoria washing over her.

‘Miss Childs,’ Jeeta said, bringing Taryn back to the present as she turned around to face her teacher.

‘I will smooth over your,’ and here Jeeta paused to think about the proper wording she wanted.  ‘Indiscretion, regarding the restricted area of the library.  Things at Trident never go unnoticed and this will come up during my weekly progress report meeting with all your other teachers.  Don’t let it happen again and Miss Childs, don’t fail.’

That was it, the word dying in the silence while Jeeta turned and made her way back to her bedroom leaving Taryn standing by the door with her hand on the latch for a few seconds longer before she left.

‘Who was that?’

‘Just a student, a good one, but very eager.  Sometimes they need a steady hand.  Speaking of that, where were we?’ Jeeta smiled letting the silk robe slither off her body as she walked to his side of the bed and slipped in and on top of him.  ‘I’m glad to see my brief absence hasn’t created a decline in your interest,’ as Jeeta pulled his head into her waiting embrace.

^^^

‘We have until Friday to prepare,so no time like the present and everyday for a few hours until we have it right,’ Taryn smiled as she met with her fellow trainees.  

‘Luckily,’Haruko smiled.  ‘I anticipated your success,’ she added, opening the doors to her walk-in closet.  ‘I was able to borrow this, off the record.  ‘Being Asian, it would never be considered a strange request for me.’

The quartet studied the diagrams then launched into the practical application.

^^^

All the trainees silently slipped off their clothes then entered into the exercise room, each taking a mat as they went then formed a circle about the room.

The class began their warm up routine which they knew by heart under the watchful and corrective eye of Instructor Singh.  They repeated the routine until Jeeta was happy with what she saw.  Today she was not happy working them until their nude sculpted form glistened in a damp sheen.

‘Finally, you manage to get the simplest of routines right.  Now,’ she said, scanning the faces of her students.  ‘Miss Compton, into the centre to lead the class,’

Ann Compton rose from her kneeling and confidently walked into the centre.

Light on her feet, supremely confident, strong, flexible, she moved with the fluidity of a slithering snake and at 5’11” it was best not to get too close to this snake, her bite and her coils were both lethal.  She lowered herself gracefully to her knees then began with a few simple forward stretches.

Instructor Singh watched saying nothing,occasionally slightly correcting a position, but out of the corner of her eye she was looking at the four waiting to see what moment they would strike.  For her this was just as much about eliminating an infiltrator as it was a test of these four trainees assessment skills.

Ann moved from basic to advanced standing poses then lowered back to the mat. As she transitioned out of The Bow into The Plank when they made their move.

‘Taryn has positioned her forces well,’ Instructor Singh noted as she watched as Haruka and Dina attackAnn from behind first.  Each seized a leg with their arms, but instead of just wrapping their arms about it they seemed to weave a mess entangling Ann’s legs and their arms into one single bind, the nails from each of their one hands working into nerve endings about Ann’s ankles while the other set of hands secured nerve endings in each of Ann’s generous calves.

A fraction after first contact by Haruka and Dina, Taryn and Maria tumbled forward each doing the same to Ann’s arms as their partners did to Ann’s legs only this time Maria and Taryn nails secured about the wrists and either side of Ann’s neck.  All four of their legs came together at the same time in a seamless weave about Ann’s torso leaving caught in an overlapping constricting flesh, the trainees completing the knot by interlocking their toes into a partner.

‘Perfectly executed and soon to be executed,’Jeeta Singh smiled as she looked at the entangled woman.  ‘Pity, you had such promise Miss Compton,but I’m afraid we can’t have FORCE agents infiltrating Trident.  You’re entangled in a rare knot my dear,The Seraglio Snake, one of only a few four person knots.  As you can imagine, it's completely inescapable and 100% lethal.  It was developed by a Sultana, to protect the Sultan from female assassins who may have infiltrated his harem and you my dear match that description perfectly.  You’ll be eliminated slowly my dear, given your size, which I’m confident is much to the delight of your captors.  A slow squeezing and bending of your nude incredible form is already beginning.  Each little movement causes all the ladies to contract and with four nude sexy females wrapped about you, you’ll move.  Along the way should you wish to talk please do so, but I doubt you will, FORCE females rarely do, so dedicated,’ Jeeta smiled adding a mock laugh.

Ann could feel nothing,the nails pressed into her nerve endings neutralised her strength,her arms and legs were useless.

The girls tensed and bent Ann with every tiny motion she made.Taryn had trained them well.

‘You don’t need to talk Ann, your moans are enough information,’Haruka laughed.

‘You’re heating up nicely Ann, makes you more pliant for bending,’Maria added

‘Also makes slipping deeper into you much easier,’ Dina purred.

‘Every female agent wants Plus termination on her resume, it makes her more valuable as an agent,’ Taryn added.  ‘Even if it's just a ¼ of one, it's still quite an accomplishment for any trainee.

After four endless hours Ann as a burnt orange colour,her body glistening and red hot felt a relaxation from two of her assassins,Haruka and Maria,not enough for her to try and escape but enough for them to roll over her legs and arms twisting them as they went then contracting again.

‘There you are,' Taryn smiled as she and Maria merged their bodies together about Ann while Dina and Haruka did the same.

The knot was even tighter now as Ann’s ragged moans told them.The foursome took their time constricting their Plus prize to the very edge before each pair slowly began to bend Ann backward upon herself.

Slowly over hours Ann was bent back upon herself so that the four assassins were all next to her head each taking a turn giving her a soft kiss goodbye before they each shared a kiss of victory then twisted. A shudder racked their bodies, then a smile formed on their lips.  They relaxed and discarded their prize.

‘Excellent work ladies,’Jeeta Singh offered with a look about the class.  ‘Perhaps even a lesson to the rest of my class,’ she added, looking at her other students.