By Janet and Mr. X
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“Maybe your meaty friend here would like to tell me who you are and what you’re doing here. How about it, large unintelligent-looking man?" Scilla oozes even as Paola drifts in front of me to sit on my lap, smirking as she feels me against her, straddling me as her companion approaches the lunk. With the late Angeline's chopstick, I'm starting to get an angle on piercing the zip tie.
"Me?" the guard mutters. "I don't know who he is ... I've never seen him before in my life! Look, the boss used to like men, know what I mean? She brought a conga line of em up here ... it was pretty well known how her tastes ran. Maybe he was trying his luck? You know, get up here with the boss then see what he could lay his grubby hands on? ... I mean, he had that memory stick thing, didn't he? And I agree with your Miss Von Braun - his eyes are far too close together...."
The guard prattles on, Scilla eyeing him like a cat eyes a mouse, while Paola wraps her arms around my shoulders. There's nothing more dangerous than a couple of bored interrogators. The Italian presses her tits -- full and soft even under all that suit -- against my chest, muttering into my ear, "Every now and then I come across someone... I just want to play with before I dispose of. Know what I mean Mister Masters?"
I know exactly what she means. I shake my head emphatically, "Ma'am, I just drive cars for movies … I don't know what you're talking about -- you got it all wrong--" The chopstick punches through the plastic tie, just a little more force and it'll snap. Now it's simply a matter of timing.
Paola reaches forward and cups a hand under my jaw, gently twisting my head round to face her more directly ... she leans in and presses her lips against mine ... her tongue darts out of her mouth and slips into mine before starting to play tag with my tongue. She purrs like a cat and I notice that her eyes are half closed ...she's rubbing herself against me like a cat too, her jacket riding up to reveal her toned olive midriff. So enthusiastic is she that her jacket is bunched up all the way past the edge of her ribs. I can taste her cherry lip gloss ... FOCUS. The Italian's certainly distracted, but what's the Kraut up to?
As I return Paola's passionate kisses I steal a sidelong glance at her partner Scilla who isn't nearly so touchy-feely … in fact she's now holding one of their syringe guns. In spite of the guard's cowardly mewling, she presses it up against the side of his neck, "You have outlived both your usefulness and your entertainment value, nameless hireling."
"Oh, crap!" mutters the guard as he attempts to slide away. Scilla chuckles in dim amusement as she drinks in his terror. Clearly she won’t be toying with him for long and I have to make my move before that. Faking a moan of my own (not that him downstairs was faking anything, Little Mark is just as excited as can be -- I have long felt he is a closet masochist) I palm the stick into my right hand then, making sure the angle is just perfect, I stab forward and up as hard as I can. The sharpened point punches up under her ribs, piercing her brown skin like it wasn‘t even there. Her ice blue eyes pop open wide and she tries to leap off me, so I loop one hand around her thigh and clap the other over her mouth.
“Mmpphhh!!!“ She moans through my hand and I moan ecstatically over her, masking her cries as she grinds against my hips (treating me incidentally to the best free lap dance I’ve gotten in awhile) and tries to tear my hand from her mouth. Her cigarette falls from between her fingers to the carpet, a troubling fire hazard I have to keep half an eye on. Soon, she weakens and drifts off into half-conscious groaning and stirring. I risk a glance at her boss who has, thankfully, not noticed that anything was amiss. Scilla is still occupied with her tormenting of the guard. To keep her distracted, I started to mutter some sweet endearments and compliment the fading Paola on her performance.
I grab Paola's juicy ass and heft her to her feet, standing silently with her. She leans drunkenly against me, limp as a sack of stones, her skirt having ridden all the way up to reveal a black skull-and-crossbones design across the ass of her cute little pink panties. Scilla injects the guard and I make my move, lowering Paola to the floor as I might a dance partner, moving to rush her German cohort.
Warned by some internal sixth sense, Scilla starts to turn and go for her gun, but not nearly fast enough. I slam my fist into her slender midsection and she doubles over instantly, all her breath gone. She stumbles backward, grey eyes desperate, mouth agape, her hand still rooting around in her jacket for her weapon. I backhand her almost casually, “Uh!” she twists around and falls forward onto one of Angeline’s plush leather chairs, landing heavily, falling the arms with a breathless grunt in place of protest. The chair rocks, threatening to topple as the Nazi drapes herself over it, but it soon steadies. The interrogator comes to rest, her upper body spilling halfway off one side and her cute little legs hanging over the other. She's stirring weakly and her booted, pigeon-toed feet are twitching, so I stride to her and wrench off her headset, drawing and pocketing her little silver .22 for good measure.
Suddenly the German isn't looking half as prim and proper, hanging as she is along the chair, her hands dangling down to brush the carpet. She forces her head up groggily to see her white haired subordinate laid out on the floor, inert aside from labored breathing and the occasional light moan, her hands pressed just below her ribs, a small metal cylinder just poking out from between her fingers. For the first time Scilla’s voice contains a trace of fear, "What have you done to PaolUURK!"
I bend down, grabbing her tie then hefting her up by her thin neck, "You of all people know how this works, Scilla. I ask the questions." She grips her collar, kicking aimlessly in response, her pink tongue flitting around in a useless quest for oxygen. After a couple seconds, I let her fall, coughing and retching, "What are you stealing? Bioweapon or something?"
She turns to me, her grey eyes flashing with anger even as she massages her neck, "Go to hell!"
I shrug, scooping her fallen syringe gun off the floor, "Don't know what this is Scilla, but if you're not nice, I'm going to inject you with it. The stuff that’s inside is red. Does that help?"
"Nein! Stay away from that! You don't know what it is!"
I lean a little closer, “Yeah, I just said that.” Her eyes flick first to the dead secretary on whom she'd used some of this shit -- looking nice and peaceful now, but she’d died hard. Scilla then checks to see how her companion is doing -- not in any state to help her. She looks back at me and tries to sound strong and in control, which is a hard trick to pull off hanging halfway off a chair with her butt in the air. She doesn’t even get close. "You’re wasting your time. I don't know what's in the vault. I’m not sure anyone on this assignment does. We were just told to get it...."
I shrug, "It's not important. Whatever it is, I'm taking it for my trouble. How is Miss Von Braun planning on leaving the facility?"
"Paola and I were going to stroll out the front while security was distracted … I’m not privy to what Von Braun’s team--" she starts. She glances up at me to see how she’s doing. I clearly am not convinced, so she pauses, swallows then tries again, "Back though the tunnels … same as she came in..."
"Tunnels? What tunnels?" I grab her by the hair and jerk her up, ignoring her angry screech of protest and pressing the syringe gun to her neck, "Not your idea of a joke I hope?"
"Ach, nein! Let go of me!" she screams through bared teeth as she grabs my hand, "There's some tunnels that run from the basement of this place out into the sewers ... I think they date back to what the mobs ran Vegas and they needed to move the illegal drink around … or they’re some weird sewer system or something -- please, let me go … you know us Germans -- we don't make jokes --"
That's a good point. And I’ve heard of those tunnels, it has the ring of truth. I release my grip on her hair and let her fall. She bangs her chin on the arm of the chair with an indignant little cry of protest as I continue, "Okay Scilla. I believe you. I need you to do something for me and if you don't want this delicious-looking mystery liquid in your veins you'll do it. Deal?"
Scilla nods, defeated. I allow her to climb into a normal sitting position. She smoothes her hair and shakes her head woozily, I can almost hear her tiny black Nazi brain rattling around in her skull, "Ja, fine. What do you want me to do?"
I hold her headset to her lips, "Tell your people you're done and you're going to egress with sugar lips over there. Take a minute to compose yourself if you want."
"Ja ... danke." She takes a few deep breaths then nods. I click the contact and watch carefully ready to cut the transmission as soon as she tries anything. I need not have worried for, in something very close to her old voice, she firmly states, "Miss Von Braun. Paola and I have finished here. Have you accessed the vault?" That was not in my script but it seemed in character so I let it go as I wait with the German for a reply.
I barely hear the reply, "Ja mein fraulein. We're extracting the package. No trouble yet."
"Das ist gut. We have finished our work up here. Everyone has been exterminated."
"Including the stranger?"
"Yes, him too."
"May I ask if you found out who he was, mein fraulein?"
"No you may not! Executive Necis out!" I took my finger off the button and pulled the headset away from the Nazi, who had started to tremble.
"Was that quite adequate?" she asks. "Didn't I do all you asked of me? Surely, I mean surely our business is concluded…?”
I toss the syringe gun aside and Scilla swallows, closing her eyes in visible relief. I take the Nazi's hand and help her to her feet, grabbing her other arm with my hand, ostensibly to steady her. It’s an old warrior’s trick, I’m feeling for muscle under the folds of her leather skirt-suit and, as I suspected there’s none to be found. She sways unsteadily, wincing as she massages her tender throat. I grab her around the waist to steady her and begin guiding her across the room, "Sure, yeah, that was perfect. Little weird at the end there but it’ll do."
Scilla nods, smoothing her skirt suit and straightening her tie, quickly regaining her nerve as her uniform is restored to normalcy, “Ja, gut. I appreciate your professionalism, many would hold a grudge, but I can assure y -- where are we going?”
Shortly we arrive shortly at the closet, "Closet. Figured it would be easier than dragging you." She stops suddenly and sucks in breath, either to yell or to make one last bid for her continued survival. Either way, too little too late. I clap one hand over her nose and mouth, “Mmm! MMMPH!” She screams muffled protest, grabbing my forearm with both hands and tugging with every ounce of her unimpressive strength, but is unable to tear my hand free. Axis is full of nasty customers, but a convenient practice of theirs has always been their whole glove thing -- you can’t get a decent grip on anything with small hands and leather gloves. She squirms and writhes against me, moaning through my hand like her partner had only a couple minutes or so before. Straining with both arms she manages to tear my hand free a few precious inches, gasping in a desperate half-breath before I clap it back over her mouth. With my free hand I grab the phone she has clipped to her belt and flip it open, perusing her address book. No names, just numbers. I glance down at her and she stares up at me in (mostly) silent desperation.
“Since you were a good girl Scilla I’m not going to poison you - no need to thank me. Anything useful in here?” She offers an unintelligible muffled response, her gorgeous grey eyes fluttering. I can feel her tongue flicking against my palm. She arches her back, making one last attempt to suck in air and getting nowhere. Shuddering, grey eyes crossed, she lets out one last moan before her grip slackens, her arms falling limply to her sides. I clip her phone to her belt and take my hand off her mouth, letting the Nazi girl slide down my leg.
I give her a light nudge and she cants forward, her head hitting the wall with a light ’thump’, her dull grey eyes sleepy and half-open. I move to Paola, who is laying face up on the floor, groaning as she gingerly attempts to remove the spike from under her ribcage. Outwardly the spike itself is the only sign she‘s been wounded, I’m almost certain I hit a lung -- as with her soul, the damage is under the skin. I grab her by the lapels and haul her up, dumping her onto the chair they'd had me sitting in.
“Uuhn!” She claps her hand to her wound as she hits the chair, gasping and squirming languidly in sudden pain, her eyes now intense ice-blue slits staring at me with a mix of agony, accusatory rage, and fear, all through a gauzy haze of semi consciousness. Give her her due, she doesn't plead or beg, instead she tries to spit at me but lacks even the strength to do that. All that happens is that some saliva runs over her lips and down her chin.
Axis teams generally have one or two with trackers on them for coordinating a team, but it's generally the subordinates that are tasked with the indignity. As I understand, it’s somewhere that isn’t likely to be submitted to a search. So with that in mind I unzip Paola's jacket and pull it down around her tanned arms, patting her short-sleeve black shirt down for an Axis tracker. Nothing. I lift it up -- bellybutton is pierced, but it's not an Axis bug. I shove her head back against the couch, forcing her mouth open with one hand -- no tongue stud. It's then that I remember something -- I'd always assumed it was an urban legend, but it's worth a shot. I grab her little pink panties and pull them down her thighs.
Weakly, her hands move to cover herself up… women. She's dying and she's still worried about her modesty. I brush her hand away from her pussy and there, much to my delight, I discover that she bothers to dye her carpet to match her drapes -- but, more importantly, attached to a clit ring is the all important tracker.
"Nnngg..." She regards me with what she can manage of furious indignation as she protests almost sleepily, tugging at my hand. I slide my fingers into her, attempting to unfasten the ring. She's already wet from our little encounter, it's making my job difficult. Her lips part slightly and she grinds her hips, apparently attempting to ride the sensation and squirm away, both at the same time. One hand is on the arm of the chair, and the other is clasped around my wrist. Both pushing away, both far too weak, "H-hhh-uhhh--" she stammers, arching her back and wincing at the mix of pain and pleasure. Her white bangs have come free from her tight bun and bob around her eyes as she struggles.
“Relax baby, we’re almost there.” She moans through clenched teeth and rubs her thighs against me in response. I’ve just about got it when her entire body is rocked by a powerful orgasm. She gasps breathlessly, gripping my wrist with a sudden fierceness, arching her back and kicking with enough force to send one of her designer leather shoes flying across the room. She collapses into the chair in a heap, groaning softly, baring her teeth as the ecstasy of the orgasm once more gives way to the fact that she’s got a spike stuck up under her ribs.
“Sit still goddamn it.” I thrust the chopstick up into her heart with the edge of my palm in a practiced blow.
“Hurrk…” She shudders and spasms in her seat for a moment before collapsing, formerly-intense eyes closed, by all appearances asleep aside from the tiny wound now hidden under her jacket. I unclasp the ring and wipe off my hand on her skirt. I slide up her panties, pull her jacket back up, straighten her red silk tie, and loop my arms around her torso, hefting her over my shoulder. Her long brown legs sway from side to side as I take her over to her superior, who is sitting slack on the floor with her cheek pressed against the wall, her tongue sticking out cutely. Dumping Paola beside Scilla, I pop open the closet. I stick a hanger in each of the two girls' jackets and hang the two of them up in the midst of Angeline's clothes. Their equipment joins them in the closet, as well as Paola’s errant shoe. The two Nazis hang silently, mouths agape, legs bent at the knees and feet dragging against the carpet, Paola's cheek resting sleepily on Scilla's shoulder. This way, if an Axis bitch were to happen by, I'd have a minute or two of precious extra time before the jig was up. I set off to intercept my new friends and get my property back. With a small bonus for my trouble.
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... wait till Emma & I get hold of him ... 
