Mistress Talia's moans mixed with the surf and the creaking of their bed. It was cold on top of the covers, but Lauren warmed inside and out at Mistress's groans and shutters, the nonverbal signs of approval filled Lauren from her toes to her tongue.

Old ways of thinking passed away. What had taken Lauren nearly forty years to build up had drained out between her legs in a long and sweaty afternoon. Lauren was nothing before the blue liquid and Mistress Talia's iron will.

Sometime long after midnight, Mistress Talia ordered Lauren to stop and simply breathe against her in the moonlight. They panted like animals on the ruined sheets. Though aching from every muscle, Lauren remained primed for another command. But nothing came for a long while, only silence and Mistress Talia softly stroking Lauren's hair. Lauren detected the glowing light of a cell phone, but it faded shortly, punctuated by a soft thumping sound on the nightstand.

A simple word spiraled Lauren down into a death-like sleep.


"Just your bathing suit, I think."

Lauren blushingly obeyed and stripped down to her bare feet and seashell white bikini. Mistress also commanded her to let her hair flow loose and unmade so her cinnamon brown locks fell down to the small of Lauren's back. While Lauren cleaned up and gathered her Mistress's belongings, Mistress Talia went to collect their phones. Lauren sighed and embraced the pleasurable pulses she felt from such casual exploitation.

"Oh, keep the sunglasses, though, I like that," Mistress Talia said from the bedroom. She was fishing through the nightstands. "Yes . . . it'll do for now. My own little agency bodyguard."

When Lauren went to her in the bedroom, Mistress Talia's apparent irritation eased. She smirked so her eyes closed and patted Lauren's cheek before pulling her in for a long kiss. After temporarily satisfying her hunger for Lauren, Talia returned to her phone search. Lauren carried any luggage to Mistress's convertible and tossed it in the backseat before standing and staring at the bungalow and the beach beyond it. It was hard to process how much her life had changed in such a short period of time, but Lauren's mind took it all in stride, with a little help from the blue liquid. Somehow Lauren knew it still swished around in her veins.

"Slave?" Mistress Talia said, coming out of the bungalow and into the sun. She wore tight black jeans, a fresh white dress shirt unbuttoned to just above the sternum, and spiky red heels. "Where are our phones?"

"I don't know, Mistress," Lauren said. "I'm sorry, Mistress. I last saw them on the-"

"Shit," Mistress Talia said. "Shit, shit, shit. Get in the car."

On the empty road, Mistress Talia let down the top of her car and drove like a woman possessed. She rested one hand on the wheel and the other between Lauren's thighs, rubbing forcefully as if Lauren's pussy was a warm wet stress ball. They rounded a bend, Lauren thought she saw tire tracks veering off the road and into the sand. Before she could turn for a closer examination, though, Mistress sped her strokes until Lauren could barely contain herself, let alone investigate anything out of the ordinary.

The rest of the ride was a haze of pleasure and wind. When they reached their destination, Lauren saw a dark spot had formed on her bikini bottoms. Once again, she sighed and let the submission take her on a joyful ride. The dark spot marked Lauren as Mistress Talia's. Nothing felt better.

"Someone - I already have a good idea who - is fucking with us," Mistress Talia said as they pulled back into the resort. Lauren briefly recognized the hotel as the one Master Noah had brought her to upon arrival. He had been courteous enough to fuck Lauren in his hotel room before shepherding her to his truck and speeding off to the bungalow. "But I need to confirm. Noah might be the only one more fucked than we are . . ."

Lauren resisted any rebellious urge to be inquisitive. She simply nodded and followed her Mistress. She became a perfect shadow.

Sliding silently through the tourists and the locals, the overnighters and the staff, Mistress Talia led Lauren into the airy lobby and into a private elevator. Without warning, she pinned Lauren against the wall and ran her icy hands up Lauren's flanks, eventually settling on her breasts. The elevator dinged, but when Mistress Talia saw it was not their floor, she resumed kissing and groping and Lauren as more passengers got on and off. Overwhelmed and dripping with her own juices, Lauren noticed all of this through a blurry haze. She had to be led off the elevator by a beaming Mistress Talia.

"Tell me the name of the spy you mentioned last night," Mistress Talia said. "The one Control would bring back in, maybe, if she got desperate?"

"Delia," Lauren murmured. "Delia Chambers."

"Right, I think your speculations were correct," Mistress Talia said, and Lauren felt the reward pathways light up in her brain. This was in stark contrast to MIstress Talia, though, who seemed to be growing more unstable by the second. "Control did send her, I think. Who else could have our phones? The last message I received last night was from Noah, saying he had captured little Delia, but this morning our phones are missing and . . . and I'm not sure. Did something else seem off about the house to you last night?"

"Yes, Mistress," Lauren said. "Although I can't quite explain it. I felt like we were being watched last night."

"Guess she's still sharp after all those years . . . shit," Mistress Talia said. She did love that word.

Mistress stopped outside what was presumably Delia's hotel room and knocked once, then twice more after she did not receive an answer.

"Noah?" Mistress said. "It's Talia?"

"Maybe he's . . . tired, Mistress," Lauren said, trying to be helpful, daring to speak.

"Not a bad idea, slave," Mistress Talia said, rewarding Lauren with an approving pat on the bikini-clad ass.

Mistress Talia tried the handle and when it jiggled, she turned to Lauren and raised an elegant eyebrow. Smiling mischievously, she turned the handle and entered on her tiptoes, with Lauren following stealthily behind.

The entrance to the suite was empty, and so was the sitting room. The television had been turned to a live channel, showing some reporter broadcasting from a rainy gray port city. A chill tickled Lauren just to look at it. Turning to the bedroom double doors, Mistress Talia rested both hands on the knobs and waited. Lauren watched as her Mistress took a deep breath before forcing her way inside.

"What is it, Mistress?" Lauren said, rushing in, sensing danger.

Instead, what she discovered inside confused Lauren's already-addled mind even further. On the bed, sitting completely naked and gagged with his own clothing, was Master Noah.


Lauren's former-captor babbled like a baby when Mistress Talia removed his makeshift gag. The portly and unsuited suit could barely string a sentence together, let alone answer Mistress Talia's questions. Trying to be useful, Lauren scanned the hotel room for information. She soon learned, though, that the person who had taken down Master Noah was skilled and efficient. The suite had been picked bare of personal identifiers. One name came to mind.

"Agent Chambers," Lauren said, rejoining her Mistress in the bedroom where Talia had guided Master Noah to a chair and put a glass of water in his hand. Mistress Talia's efforts hardly made him more comprehensible. Lauren stood at attention and ignored Master Noah's sputtering. "She's the one you've been texting with, Mistress. She probably still has Master Noah's phone. I can't find it anywhere."

"Right," Mistress Talia said. Her semblance of competence was crumbling, but she remained Lauren's mistress. "Shit. Shit shit shit. This is bad. Okay . . . let me think."

"Yes, Mistress."

Suddenly, furiously, Mistress Talia slammed her hand on the table next to Master Noah's chair then commanded Lauren to re-gag him, a task Lauren eagerly accomplished. While Mistress paced and thought, Lauren knelt and bowed her head slightly, waiting for orders.

"No phones . . . could try to send an email from a hotel computer . . . too risky," Mistress Talia said. "So, we're cut off. Okay. Tell me, slave, what do you think Delia's next move will be? Assuming this was all her, which . . . pretty safe assumption, I think."

Mistress Talia sat on the bed and motioned for Lauren to come rest her head on her lap.

Lauren complied then sighed as Mistress stroked her hair.

"Control likely sent her as backup, in case I was compromised as well, Mistress," Lauren said, practically purring at her Mistress's affections.

"How prescient."

"Indeed, Mistress," Lauren said. "First, she has to rescue me. Second, she has to rescue Selina. Third, she as to destroy the compound."

"Right," Mistress Talia said. "So, do you think she's here, waiting for us in ambush?"

"No, Mistress," Lauren said. "She would not have left Noah here. Also, it's not how she's trained."

"What do you mean?"

"Agents aren't trained to wait, Mistress, which is probably why Selina's mission went so poorly," Lauren said, silently regretting her decision to go along with Control's strategy. "If Delia wants to keep the momentum, she will stay ahead of us. She took out Noah, misled us with his texts, and is long gone from this area, Mistress."

Mistress paused for a moment, then lifted Lauren's head and reclined on the bed. Lauren followed like an affectionate cat, returning her head to Mistress's lap and once again enjoying her soft pets.

"What about Agent Simpson?" Mistress Talia said. "Will Delia go after her?"

"No, probably not, Mistress," Lauren said. She was hot and only growing hotter as Mistress began unzipping her jeans. "She's as clueless about Selina as we are, Mistress. No, she'll go for the compound and then clean up the rest later."

"Interesting," Mistress Talia said as she pulled down her jeans and directed Lauren to remove her blue cotton panties. Lauren did not hesitate to obey. Her Mistress was cold but tasted splendid, and her smell was intoxicating. "Strange she . . . oh . . . she would hang . . . ah . . yes, right there . . . just for a minute . . . need to . . . fuck . . . ah . . . need to relax . . . ah . . ."

Lauren licked and kissed around the edge of her Mistress's pretty pink lips before spreading her slowly and tenderly. She ran her tongue between the folds, licking, kissing, and sucking with barely coordinated precision. Lauren had much to learn, but passion came easily. Mistress's moans grew louder and turned to soft cries when Lauren found her flower and brought her to a thigh-clasped finale.

Afterwards, in the musty afterglow, Mistress held Lauren close and fingered her through her bikini bottoms while monologuing.

"As I was saying," Mistress Talia said. "Strange she would hang you and Selina out like that, going for the compound before attempting a rescue."

"We did the same for her," Lauren said. It hurt a little to say, but not much. She had barely known Delia, had barely had time to. "Years ago . . ."

"Mmm," Mistress Talia said, removing her fingers from Lauren's sopping slit and wiping them on the bedsheets. "A story for another time, slave. We have work to do."

"Yes, Mistress," Lauren said, easily slipping into bodyguard mode. "What about Master Noah?"

"Leave him," Mistress Talia said. "We're going to the compound. Have to explain some things."

"Yes, Mistress."

"You know they haven't even met me there," Mistress Talia said as they entered the elevator. "Hofstadter keeps things so . . . cordoned off, probably not that different to how Control runs things."

Lauren nodded as her Mistress got closer in the elevator and began to get frisky with her fingers. Lauren wondered if all Mistress's were as horny as Mistress Talia.

"Uh huh," Lauren whimpered as Mistress began to rub her again. Her bikini was absolutely ruined.

"But," Mistress said, leaning in close and half-whispering, half-kissing Lauren's ear. "When they see what prize I've caught, they'll remember me then. Won't they, slave? You'll put on a good show for the bigwigs."

"Y-yes, Mistress," Lauren said. "Always." She swallowed and sighed. "I'm yours."

"Good girl," Mistress said, patting Lauren's ass and pulling away as the elevator opened.

Hand-in-hand, Mistress Talia and Lauren walked to where they had parked Mistress's car, only to find the second most surprising sight awaiting them. Instead of a sleek midnight black convertible, the pair found an empty space and a fist-sized girl doll wearing a grass skirt and a blue coconut bra.

Part Nine - Pain in the Ass

The clock in Talia's car told Delia she had ditched left the resort about ninety minutes ago. Delia reasoned Talia would first have to deal with Noah and then acquire a new vehicle. She doubted they would contact headquarters. Like Control, Talia struck Delia as someone who loathed admitting failure. Given all of that, Delia estimated she had plenty of time to sow some destruction.

Stealing the phones had not been difficult. Lauren and her overconfident mistress had fucked like rabbits until they were completely spent of energy and attention. Delia had not even needed to hold her breath as she reached in the window. Then, halfway back across the beach and toward Noah's truck, a mischievous thought had crossed her mind. Risking it, Delia had gone back for a souvenir.

Boosting Talia's sports car had not been difficult either. The arrogant executive had left the top down. Delia had hardly believed her luck, until she remembered how flustered even the most competent could become when their plans were frustrated, or when they were basking in their accomplishments. Talia had progressed from one to the other in record time.

Waiting for the moment to strike: that had been difficult. After luring them to the hotel, Delia had posted up in the lobby, watching the elevators and waiting anxiously for her quarry to arrive. Delia hated waiting, and she had half-wanted to pursue Talia and Lauren into the hotel. Patience had won out in the end, though.

Talia's phone was password protected, and Delia did not want to risk cracking it on the off-chance a failed login could trigger an alarm. But, the car had a marked map of the island and a barebones access badge showing Talia's name and employee identification code.

As she rounded a turn and entered the less-developed side of the island, Delia ceased ruminating on the past and focused on the present. Her eyes jumped between the map, the road, and the jungle, which grew around her until it cut off the sun.

Over her bikini, Delia had pulled a pair of loose denim cutoffs and swapped her sweatshirt for a low-cut white shirt that just barely failed to cover all of her taut stomach. Despite her island-appropriate attire, though, beads of sweat were beginning to form on Delia's forehead when the she spotted the white stone mansion. She screeched the car to a halt, double-checked the map, and then pulled into the long driveway.

A robotic voice stopped the car in front of a wrought-iron gate.

"Please pre-sent your acc-ess card."

Holding her breath, Delia lifted the badge up to a blinking red scanner and waited what felt like an eternity before the light blinked green.

"Acc-ess gran-ted," the voice said as the gate slowly swung open. "Please pro-ceed to the car-port."

Delia drove slowly down the long drive toward the white stone mansion. She drank in the details: Two helipads flanked the driveway and held two helicopters, which themselves were flanked by fueling trucks. Guards in dark suits and aviators were perched in every nook and cranny, but they looked a little unfocused to Delia. On the lawn, men and women in a robust mix of casualwear chatted with an array of beautiful women, diverse in appearance and attire but uniform in beauty.

They were celebrating something; that much was clear to Delia. Knowing she was about to do everything she could to raise this compound to the ground brought a spoilsport grin to Delia's face.

The mansion sat atop a small rise, and when Delia reached the top, she saw the true scope of the operation. Field of blue flowers stretching outwards, with white stone outbuildings dotting the field. Control's stolen satellite photographs did not do the compound justice.

A plot formed in Delia's mind as she pulled into the carport and caught, in the rearview mirror, a second glimpse of the helicopter fueling trucks.

Delia steeled herself before exiting the stolen car, crushing the butt of her last cigarette beneath her flip-flop, and proceeding briskly toward the mansion. She fingered Noah's ring around her finger. She tried to ignore the weight of the pistol in her purse, not to mention the monocular, her one remaining adrenaline shot, and the stolen vials of the blue solution.

At the glass-paned doors to the white stone mansion, Delia was not stopped by a guard, but a heart-faced young woman wearing casual attire. There was no metal detector or scanner. Delia could not even recall seeing a single security camera on her way in. The hairs on the back of Delia's long neck stood on end: nothing should go this smoothly. She braced herself for an ambush.

"Identification, Ma'am?"

The pretty young woman smiled with pearl white teeth and hazel eyes that glistened in the tropical sun. Delia breathed a momentary sigh of relief before producing her stolen badge, hoping no one would notice the bead of sweat on the back of her neck. To her relief, the young woman let her through without serious examination. The guards gave her less than a once-over, keeping their eyes on the horizon, or the ends of their weapons.

Delia stepped into the mansion like she belonged. She was a little underdressed, but only barely, not enough to receive scrutiny. Smiling at an approaching waiter, Delia took a fluted glass of a drink that, legally, may have been champagne, no that Delia intended to even sip it.

The mansion's other areas attracted Delia more than the spacious and airy foyer someone had made into an impromptu ballroom. She noticed there were very few guards covering the mansion's interior, and the ones that they had stationed inside looked even greener than the ones outside.

As Delia began to pull away from the crowd and toward the wings, though, a familiar pair caught her eye. The one in white, with her pale freckled skin and rich red hair, brought back a host of memories for Delia, most of them unpleasant. The one in black, though, was instantly recognizable to Delia by her quartet of snake tattoos.

Delia hesitated for a moment as the gears turned in her mind. She watched Selina and her mysterious comrade work the room like professionals. Why they were here in the first place was beyond Delia at the moment. Tahlia and her pet hunting bitch would be here soon; Delia needed to work quickly.

Delia took a deep breath, exhaled, and approached Selina and the snake woman from behind. One light tap on the snake woman's shoulder was all it took to get her attention. In flip-flops, Delia stood a few inches above the snake woman and about half-a-head over Selina, even in their heels. Delia's purse held a variety of solutions if the situation turned violent, but something told her it would not. So she lowered her voice to a sultry tone before injecting just the right amount of sweetness into her greeting.

"I love your tattoos."

Pub: Jan 17 2021 06:38 UTC
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