THE SPY: DIAMONDS ( 2010)

[esercito sconfitto]

PART 1)

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PART ONE

The Spy sat, cross legged, on her hotel room bed. The blinds and drapes were closed; the room lit only by a bedside light, therefore the room was gloomy although outside it was already mid day. The room space was superbly decorated with expensive walnut furniture, the bed large and soft, on one side of the room were mirror lined closet doors, one of which led to the white marble tiled on suit bathroom, at the foot of the bed sat a dressing table and vanity mirror, complete with a dainty dressing stool. The other wall space was taken up by a large window, which as stated its drapes were drawn, after all the Spy did not want any accidental spectators to what would soon transpire within the room.
A large suitcase rested near the door, it was empty. Likewise empty, were the drawers and closets of the room, the suitcase had been a prop, for when she had arrived at the hotel two days ago, she had arrived with only the clothes she wore, a black figure hugging skirted business suite, pearl coloured silk blouse and sheer 15 denier black pantyhose, the bell boys could not keep their eyes off her, neither could the female receptionist for that matter.
Next to the empty case lay a bulky, black canvas utility bag, it contained her selection of special tools and equipment required of this mission and her clothing upon arrival had been carefully folded away inside also, the military style bag would have looked out of place in the foyer of this five star hotel, but not inside the expensive designer suitcase.
She sat on the bed wearing a dark blue terry cloth robe, underneath her trademark black, Lycra Tanga panties, unadorned, simple and tight and also a white polyester plunge bra that supported her ample, vivacious, breasts, the breasts squeezed together by the lace decorated cups, which formed a mouth watering cleavage. The Spy’s face was adorned with a little make up, blusher, mascara and a little lipstick, as if she was about to dress and leave the room, which in a way she was, but first she needed some new clothes, specific clothing at that.
She sat there in the gloom, an IPod’s ear phones trailing from her petite lobes; she was listening intently to a woman’s voice, over and over again. The spy had been doing this for a month, taping the voice, listening in on private conversations, absorbing the tone, soaking up those little characteristics that made this woman an individual.
She looked through the selection of file photographs. The image of a good looking, middle aged female starred back. Blonde, blue eyes, toned chin and cheeks with pert lips and petite nose. A face that had been expensively looked after, made younger, the ravages of time had been held in check.
This was the face of Erin Fontaine, Southern socialite and more importantly the leading partner of her law firm, a law firm that specialised in the import and export of precious metals and stones. It was the stones that the Spy was interested in and so to was the Government. The Southern Belle and on the surface law abiding Erin, who was now in her suite on the floor above, had just returned from Europe.
She was the middle man, so to speak, in the transfer of over 3 Billion Dollars worth of rough diamonds, or in this case Blood Diamonds, an highly lucrative yet highly illegal trade. Whether originating in Africa or Asia the diamonds were being held in well concealed European safe deposit accounts, it was those account numbers that the Government needed; it was up to the Spy to obtain them.
The Spy knew that Ms Fontaine did not have the account numbers, not yet anyway; Fontaine was to obtain them from the account holder, either later today or tomorrow. Fontaine’s firm, the oldest in Charleston, did business with a certain Van Guilder family, and had so since the mid 18th Century. The Van Guilder’s of New York, who were originally Dutch merchants, who had subsequently become despicably wealthy from the gem trade, whether by legal or illegal methods, controlled 75% of the world’s diamond market.
Those account numbers would be laundered by Fontaine, ensuring the Van Guilder family dominance and ultimate control of the world diamond market. The Government, in these uncertain times, had no wish to see this possible economic weapon owned by any private individual or company. Especially since the Van Guilder business empire was now doing business with the Chinese and Indian governments, dealings that were not made public and generally conducted within the shadows of the underworld. The Spy was to neutralize or intercept this transaction, with minimal fuss and collateral damage.
The Spy leafed through the second folder, Mary Wong, the Van Guider’s CEO’s personal assistant and bodyguard. On record, Hong Kong Chinese, in fact Chinese intelligence, looking after their investment so to speak and another reason the government was anxious. The image displayed a beautiful young woman of oriental decent, jet black hair, stunning facial features, Oxford educated, yet it was those dark piercing eyes that the Spy recognised as being familiar, a fellow, lethal, professional with that cold hard stare.
The Spy leafed through more photographs; the matriarch of the Van Guilder family was the 60 year old Jacqueline. She took in the image; a woman stared back who was half that age. The best cosmetic surgery that money could buy insured the look. Well toned cheekbones, a soft smooth neckline, and long shiny healthy dark hair and piercing brown eyes. Jacqueline Van Guilder, the courtesan of Generals, Senators and Congressmen and some say a long time ago, of a President. Always in the background, always within the circle of power, yet, this time she had pissed someone off, someone with more power and influence than she. The Spy smiled, her way in was Fontaine, her and Van Guilder had a meeting planned in this hotel and therefore, the Spy’s mission was to start right now.
The Spy switched off the IPoD and stashed it back into a side pouch within the black canvas bag. From another pouch she retrieved a small blue plastic bottle, thereafter she gathered up the targets personality files. She padded softly over to the on suite bathroom, ran water into the large sink basin, added a few drops of liquid from the blue bottle and placed one of the files carefully into the basin. She marvelled at how fast the paper material disintegrated before her eyes, soon the basin was filled with a grey, porridge like sludge, she lifted the basin plug lever, ran the faucet and the files were no more.
The spy walked back into her bedroom, her white bra visible due to the loose fitting robe, returned the blue bottle and selected a clear and larger plastic one, also a plastic zipper sealed bag that contained a large, thick cotton gauze pad. She opened the zipper and poured a liberal amount of liquid into the bag that saturated the hefty pad. She needed to visit Ms Fontaine, in a way that would go unobserved by your average hotel guest.
She discovered her first masquerade upon arrival, what better way to arrive at Erin’s door than as an average working girl, a member of staff in fact, she picked up the room’s telephone and dialled, she briefly waited while a male voice at the other side politely exclaimed.
‘Room service’, the Spy licked her lips ‘Hello, this is Room 402, could you send Natalya with my usual order please’, there was a pause.
‘Why of course Madam, your order will arrive in 10 minutes’,
‘Make it 5 and I’ll slip in an extra twenty, many thanks, bye’,
She replaced the handset. For two days, she had ordered the same expensive mid day meal, always ensuring the same house maid delivered it, a 50 Dollar tip guaranteeing rapid delivery. The Spy sat back down on her bed, legs stretched out, the chloroform pad hidden under a pillow and waited for her new change of clothing to arrive.


PART TWO

There was a soft knock on the hotel room’s door. The Spy smirked, placed her hands behind her jet black, free flowing hair and called out ‘Come in, please’. She was rewarded with the sound of the door handle being jostled and the room’s door opening slowly.
‘Excuse me, Madam, Room service, I bring your order’, exclaimed an accented English voice, a version of English corrupted with that stereotypical East European trace that you often saw in the movies.
The spy watched from the large bed as the service maid called Natalya backed into the room pulling a metal trolley cart behind her, the door clicked shut as soon as the trolley cleared the doorway, the maid was endeavouring to place the catering cart into a more spacious area of the room.
The girl looked to be in her mid twenties, her long hazel coloured hair was tightly held in place by an unassuming black scrunchie, her hair sprayed down into a savage tight hairstyle that heavily exposed her facial features. Her ear lobes sported cheap gold coloured studs, her make was liberal, yet garish, her lips painted an over the top red. Maybe she felt that it would accentuate the red bow tie that neatly adorned her buttoned up collar. She would be pretty enough if she had kept her complexion plain, too much rouge and that blue eye shadow was something straight out of the 70’s.
The girl’s breasts were huge under the long sleeved, brilliant white shirt, the Spy had noticed this earlier, hence that is why she wore her own brassiere under the robe, there would have been no hope in hell of the Spy’s breasts filling those cups as worn by the bra busting Natalya. Jesus, thought the spy, those buttons were under some strain, her mouth became dry all of a sudden. The Spy, blessed with acute vision, read the maids name badge, adorned above a mammoth left breast, Natalya Danilenko, Ukrainian thought the Spy, in idle professional interest.
The girl wore a very short belted black skirt, that zippered from the rear. The skirt was very short and tight; the shape of Natalya’s curved peach like ass jutted out from beneath the cheap black fabric. The maid’s long legs were encased in natural coloured 20 denier pantyhose, the Spy was sure the maid wore hose due to the shortness of the skirt, on her feet were flat heeled comfortable black slip on leather shoes.

(PART TWO)

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CONTINUED:

The Spy sighed, as if tired of something; apart from the bra that could have doubled as a hanger for a couple of Zeppelins; the girl attending the cart would be a good fit all round. Now it was a question of the actual mechanics on how to separate the girl from her clothing and make her temporarily indisposed, it was unimportant for the Spy to look like Natalya, only to be dressed the same as the innocent maid. The uniform was essential to her visiting Ms Fontaine on the floor above.
The girl had finished fussing over the Champagne and Caviar on the cart; she left the bottle of expensive French fizzy wine unopened as on previous visits to this room. The Spy, casually spoke, whilst still lounging on her bed, her bra and long legs visible through the loose dark robe ‘Oh Natalya, be a darling and check my mini bar, thank you, dear’. The Spy played out that part of some wealthy, soft, American business executive, the persona on which she had arrived.
Natalya smiled ‘Of course, Madam’, whilst at the same time thinking, what a drunken typically arrogant, rich western ***** this woman must be. Living in luxury, all her life and pampered by others such as her, deep inside Natalya’s resentment burned, her loathing of this woman became harsh contempt and therefore she under estimated this female guest who had too much ready cash to throw around, poor Natalya would regret her mistake, badly.
Natalya bent down and opened the mini bar to see what was to be restocked; she was unable to see the Spy’s eyes that narrowed and shined with violent intent, as if the once casual woman lying on the bed was about to launch herself across the room towards the unsuspecting maid, which was the woman’s initial intention. The Spy slipped her hand under the pillow and quietly removed the chloroform pad from its plastic bag, while the maid was distracted, and placed the pad tactfully back under the pillow.
The Spy, checked her impulse to subdue the girl, she looked at the maid’s well shaped ass as she bent over near the wood panelled refrigerator, no visible panty line thought the spy. The trained operative took in the neat, un-creased uniform, if she jumped the maid now, from behind there would be a struggle, no doubt about it, the shirt may be torn, the pantyhose laddered, at best the uniform would be creased up badly. The Spy did not want to wander around the hotel in a uniform that looked like it been stolen in a fight, which in fact it would have been.
The Spy thought quickly and took a chance. These girls from the East were pretty sharp and wise to the ways of the world; they had to be and were nearly always on the make.
‘Oh Natalya, I was just thinking....’ the Spy paused; the maid stood up and turned around ‘Yes, Madam’, she enquired, the Spy reached into one of the robes pockets and retrieved a bundle of folded cash ‘Here’s your tip dear and.....’, she raised a 50 Dollar bill, the Spy tried to look coy, her eyes lowered ‘Would you take off your uniform for 500 Dollars’.
Natalya looked confused, had she heard correctly, sometimes to her English was hard to understand with all its slang words. ‘Pardon, Madam, I think....’
The Spy looked up, almost pleading ‘Look Natalya, I run an underwear modelling agency in LA, all the big brands. I just thought that you were the kind of girl we could use....but if you like to serve rooms for tips, well...’
Natalya’s mind was thinking too fast, if this woman was legit, then her visa and money problems were over, if she was some kind of pervert, well so what, there could still be a little blackmailing business to be done, Mischa, her crime orientated boyfriend could see to that.
After all she did not feel threatened by this soft, pampered American woman, who drank too much, in fact she was probably saying this now due to her alcohol intake. Poor Natalya was under the impression that the woman drank all the booze delivered to this room, little did the maid realise, that the expensive drink had been poured down lavatory.


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CONTINUED:

She thought the proposition through again, this rich clown wanted to see her naked, so what, her previous career in a strip joint was no better and less discreet. Natalya made her decision, after all it was one month’s salary ‘Cash up front, lady’, the Spy noted that there was no polite deference to her as Madam this time.
The Spy outwardly smiled ‘Sure Natalya, just relax’, she counted out five bills and held them out to the maid. Natalya hesitated, then stepped forward and snatched the money from the Spy’s outstretched hand. Natalya placed the money on the dresser, near the door, easy to grab on her way out if she needed to make a quick exit.
Natalya turned around, ‘Well’, said the Spy ‘Strip for me’ Natalya tried not to look at the woman, who still had not moved from the bed. The maid kicked off her slip on shoes, revealing red painted toenails, veiled by the reinforced seems of the brown coloured pantyhose. Natalya, bare footed, reached behind her collar and undid the red bow tie, which she placed on the dresser.
The Spy watched as the maid began to unbutton her crisp white shirt from the top. The buttons were undone, lower and lower. The Spy licked her painted lips, her heartbeat becoming slightly faster, the girl wore a gold chain necklace, the girls white bra became visible, a huge cleavage began to emerge from under the shirt. The Spy’s face showed no outward reaction but inside her mind was in an uproar ‘Go on girl, make my job easier, get your outfit off that wholesome body of yours’.
The maid pulled the shirt back over her strap adorned shoulders, ‘Place your uniform down neatly, please, Natalya’, croaked the Spy. The maid shrugged at the guest’s odd request, the Spy noted that the maid’s pristine white bra was under wired with padded cups, which hid the girl’s perceptibly large nipples, the cups where simple with unadorned, clean lines, the torso band of the bra was wide, again simple yet manufactured sturdy enough to support those girls who were so well endowed.
The Spy observed the maid neatly fold her soon to be stolen shirt and then reach for the zipper at the rear of the skirt. The maid pulled the zipper and unbuckled the small belt; the Spy saw the waistband of the natural coloured pantyhose. The maid stepped out of her skirt and folded it and placed it separate from the shirt. The Spy stared at the now bra and pantyhose clad maid. The pantyhose, which were a pair of Control-top pantyhose, intended to create a slimmer form, complete with a reinforced panty, making the white high cut panties underneath indistinct, a darker shade than the nylon that encased her lower legs.
The Spy noted that puppy flesh had gathered above the hosiery’s tight waistband, it looked as if the greed induced Natalya was putting on a little weight, no doubt down to junk food and a poor lifestyle from being on a minimum wage. The maid slipped her hands into the pantyhose waistband and began to peel the garment down her lower body. The Spy watched as the tight brown nylon garment was slipped free of the maid’s feet.
The Spy watched as the girl placed the soft see through item of intimate clothing onto her now discarded skirt. The maid paused, both hands reached behind her upper body for the hook fastener on the bra’s rear band ‘No’, hissed the Spy ‘Please, keep on your bra and panties’. Natalya looked surprised and also a little relieved.
‘Turn around, sweetie, give me a twirl’, the well rounded maid, scantily clad in her fresh, white underwear, the high cut panties fully enclosing her full, plump, womanly backside. The maid wore simple, white underwear yet unexpectedly enthralling to the Spy’s eyes and tastes.
‘I think we can find a place for you, you certainly have all your assets in the right place’, enough of playing thought the Spy, it was business time, she needed to dress in those clothes just recently removed. For the first time the Spy stood up and let her robe fall to the floor.
Natalya saw the guest’s body for the first time, strong and muscular; it was obvious to her that this woman worked out, a lot in fact. The Spy, in her white plunge bra and black panties padded over to the nervous maid ‘Well, how about for another 500 bucks we take a break, lie with me on the bed, Natalya’, the maid backed up a little ‘We can discuss your contract, a 1000 dollars for a little chat’.
The Spy took the initiative and took the maids hand and led her to the bed, ‘Come, let’s get our business partnership off to good start’, the maid head was full of ideas, a 1000 dollars was not to be passed up, could she be a model, without knowing she allowed herself to be pulled to the bed.
Natalya was lying down, next to the Spy, her body was tense, ‘what is that smell’, she said in her heavy accent, ‘Oh its nothing, disinfectant from the bathroom, I had a little accident earlier’. The inadequately dressed maid began to speak ‘But...’, the Spy put a finger to her red panted lips ‘Close your eyes...’.
The maid complied; the Spy quickly smothered the maid’s lips with her own, a deep kiss, her tongue searching ravenously for the big breasted maids, her mouth searching, cutting off any protest by the girl. The Spy’s lithe body began to mount that of the maid, holding the girl’s right arm in place, the Spy straddled the maid’s legs with her own, ready to hold them down. The Spy’s midriff began to press into the girl below her, at the same time her hand reached for the thick pad of chloroformed gauze.
Natalya must have realised something was wrong, the woman’s kiss was too intense, as if trying to gag her with her mouth, the woman’s body was pressing down on her, hurting her large breasts, the woman was trying to restrain her, she was so strong, stronger than she ever imagined, the maid opened her eyes, she saw the look of dark menace in those eyes.
The woman released her from that awful, deep kiss. Natalya’s lip stick smeared mouth opened ‘AAARRRRGGGHH.......UUUMMMPPPPPHHHH’, the scream was cut off. Natalya felt a thick wad being pressed over her nose and mouth, the smell was sickening and intoxicating, ‘MMMMPPPPHHHHH.....’ moaned the maid as loudly as possible.
The Spy pressed the pad tightly onto the face of the moaning and bucking girl beneath under her, ‘SSSSHHH, SSSSHHH, breath it in, breath it in’, hissed the Spy into the girls left ear, the girl moaned and struggled in vain, the Spy’s strong body keeping the girl pinned down, the Spy constantly aware of the other girls panty and bra clad body rubbing against her own, both females breasts compressed against each others, the maid was arching her stomach up and down in a vain attempt to dislodge her attacker, her legs were being held in place by the entwined stronger legs of the Spy. ‘Just go to sleep, baby’, cooed the Spy.
The Spy looked into the eyes of the terror stricken maid, the eye’s were flickering, the whites becoming visible, her moans of protest becoming less and less, her struggles weaker and weaker until finally the maid lay still. The Spy let her other hand feel over the girl’s bra and down over her panties.
The Spy removed the thick pad from the maids lower face, her lip stick was smeared over her mouth, her heavy rouge a mess; her heavy blue eye shadowed eyes were closed. The Spy unsaddled herself from the inert, prone body. ‘Now then my little Ukrainian maiden, it’s time to make you comfortable’. The Spy grabbed the girl under each armpit and lifted her off the bed, the heels of her limp feet thudded as they hit the plush, carpeted floor.
The Spy dragged the sagging maid into the bathroom and placed her on the seat of the white porcelain toilet. She left the maid there; her head flopped down over her bra clad breasts, her arms dropped to both sides, her long bare legs locked straight out in front of herself. The Spy removed a white pillow case and retrieved a large roll of extra sticky, brown medical tape from her canvas bag.

(PART TWO)

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CONTINUED AGAIN:

Upon entering the white, spacious bathroom, the Spy pulled back the unconscious maids head, she rolled a small piece of tape into a ball and lodged it into the girls mouth. She continued the task by jamming the white pillow case in, behind the girl’s teeth as far as the material would go and very tightly secured the cleave gag by knotting it behind the base of her skull. The Spy used the brown tape to tie the girl’s ankles behind the base of the toilet; likewise her wrists were each heavily taped to the toilet roll dispenser and a nearby towel rail.
The Spy admired her work, the maid sat tied to the toilet, her legs spread apart by being tied behind the base, her arms were stretched out on either side, her head lay to one side, the tight white cleave gag dominating the girl’s lower face. The comatose maid looked very vulnerable, just wearing her padded full support bra, the full, deep cleavage, originating from the bra’s centre panel or gore, her high cut panties brilliant white, her spread legs displaying her white satin covered pubic region for all to admire, admire on discovery that is.
The future discovery of the maid and her subsequent embarrassment made no difference to the Spy, there was no sense of injustice, after all, the money grasping Natalya was willing to whore herself for money. She would make a lot of noise when she woke up from her unnatural sleep, she may even break free from one of the rails, it did not matter to the Spy, by then she would have adopted a new costume and personality. She padded into the main room, intent on donning that stolen uniform.
The Spy picked up the soft pantyhose, the nylon being puffed out due to their occupancy by their previous owner. She sat on the bed and stretched the pantyhose over one of her feet and pulled the soft fabric up her calve, likewise with the other one, the pantyhose were still warm. She pulled the pliable fabric up her long toned legs, the panty line of the hose slid over her black briefs, making them darker still against the tone of her skin. She snapped the waistband over her hips, relishing the tight feel of the garment against her midriff and legs.
The Spy pulled on the shirt and buttoned the bright white garment all the way up. She then squeezed herself into Natalya skirt, tucked in the shirt, zipped and buckled it up. She clipped on the red bow tie and stepped into the purloined leather slip on shoes, a good fit really, she detected a little pinch. It would not matter; she did not intend to be in the uniform for an extended period of time.
The fully uniformed Spy or phony maid went back into the bathroom, her stolen shoes clicking on the tiled floor. The prior owner of the clothes was still out cold, bound to the toilet and gagged, panties on display and sporting a bra struggling to keep its soft, fleshy load in place.
The fake maid reached behind the chloroformed girls head and removed the black scrunchie, holding her hair in place. The tied up maid’s hair fell down to her shoulders, making the dishevelled and roughed up girl look even more tragic. The false service maid made her hair up in the same style as the original, cleaned up her slightly smudged lip stick and made to leave.
The false maid had an afterthought, and went to retrieve something. She returned to the gagged and bound girl and stuffed the 500 dollars into one of her already full bra cups ‘Well at least you were willing, sweetie’, she left the bathroom and closed the door.
The bogus maid, looking neat and trim in her new uniform, retrieved her canvas bag and removed the chloroform bottle, ‘I’ll be needing you again soon’, she said to herself and placed the heavy bag under the trolley cart, hiding it’s presence with the carts linen side screen. She placed the bottle under a thick cloth napkin and left her hotel room for the last time. Her false identity as a business executive was no longer required.
The counterfeit maid pushed the food and drink laden cart down the carpeted corridor, making for the elevator, her black skirt wriggled with the movement of her pert ass, her long natural coloured panty hosed legs swished as she walked, her breasts pushed against the front of the shirt, although the buttons this time were not as stressed as they had been by its previous occupant. The little bow tie added a little flair to the Spy’s new look, her jet black hair neat and trim with the scrunchie at the back.
She arrived at the elevator and pressed a button whereby it duly arrived, it was a large elevator attended to by a bell boy. The bell boy took a mental note of all the maids measurements in one long, greedy glance ‘Which floor’, he enquired, not phased that he did not recognise the maid, it was a big hotel after all. The imposter, in mimicking the real one replied ‘Floor number floor, please’, all in an imitation of a East European accent.
The elevator rose, taking the spy ever closer to her next, if not most vital target, to the room of Ms Erin Fontaine, ‘I hope she likes Champagne and Caviar’, thought the Spy to herself.

[esercito sconfitto]

PART THREE

Ms Erin Fontaine sat at her dressing table; her legs elegantly crossed in a typical ladylike fashion, she had just concluded the process of brushing her fine and straight, almost white blonde hair, satisfied with the result she placed the ebony handled brush on the makeup laden table top.
Erin selected a natural tone lip stick and gracefully applied it to her lips, she puckered those lips and then massaged them back and fore, ensuring the lipstick was even, the lips shined in the dresser’s lamp light. Erin stared back at the image before her, her deep blue eyes with their long dark eyelashes, mascara underneath, the eye lids ornamented with a light shade of grey, her slim cheeks and face were thinly powdered to hide any tell tale signs of the ageing process. Just visible behind the long blonde mane was an expensive pair of gold diamond earrings. Not bad she thought, not bad at all for a middle aged married woman who had two children.
The room was darkened; the drapes leading to the hotel suite balcony were closed. After all she was grooming herself for the important meeting scheduled for later that afternoon. It was a meeting that would change her life and that of the family fortune, from rich to super rich, to become one of the central players of an elite and powerful group, to achieve the goal and dreams of her life.
The large deluxe, beige coloured four poster bed complete with a white lace canopy dominated the suite, the same rich mahogany furniture and lush, thick brown carpets; all set a scene of opulence and luxury. This was just the beginning, after this deal with that B***ch Van Guilder this room would appear vulgar and shabby in comparison.
Erin looked into the mirror, selected a small bottle of French perfume, and gave the plunger a few short and sharp squeezes. The room filled with a sweet aroma, Erin smiled in smug satisfaction. She felt fresh after showering, ready for the task ahead.
Erin’s long, fine blonde hair flowed downwards to the rear of her petite neck; she wore an ivory coloured full slip. The slip was made from a smooth and slippery fabric, in this case silk. The soft garment was decorated with lace at the edges of its cups and hem, which was short and well above the knee. As typical of most women Erin wore her slip to conceal her more intimate of undergarments.
Viewed from behind, the torso band of Erin’s brassiere was visible just above the top edge of the slip. The band, with its rear fastener noticeable; was a length of polyester fabric which held the bra tight onto her ‘C’ cup breasts, at first narrow and then it broadened and rose as it met the shoulder straps, which were just visible under the straps of the slip. The bra was again ivory in colour and the band was sheer, almost translucent.
A thin, paisley silk dressing gown of various dark browns lay on the thick quilt that adorned the bed. Suspended by a hanger from the handle of a walnut overhead closet was a long, calve length, smooth, soft and shiny cashmere dress. The dress, which was long sleeved, was fawn in colour, complete with a thin cashmere belt and amber buckle, at its rear was a long split that rose up to knee length. The dress had a deep plunging neck line, it would be a figure hugging garment that would accentuate Erin’s full figure, and yet remain elegant and stylish at the same time.
A dark brown silk neck scarf lay near the dresser and at the base of the large wall fitted closets sat a pair of beige high heeled designer Italian slip on shoes fitted with a thin ankle strap and buckle. These were the clothes which Erin was going to meet Jacqueline Van Guilder in, that was what she intended to do, unknown to the ambitious Erin, events where going to take a different turn. At that precise moment, Erin’s musing was interrupted by a knock at the door of her suite.
Erin frowned, her temple forming a few thin lines. Would this be that sly and sinister looking Wong woman, if so she was way too early to escort her to the appointment? It never entered Erin’s mind that if she answered the door, she would never make the engagement in person.
She gracefully rose from the stool, the silky, shimmering slip falling further down nude coloured sheer stockinged legs, so sheer that no seems showed over her peach painted, manicured toes. She padded over to the bed, her bra and slip clad breasts moving in rhythm with her gait ‘Yes’, she said loudly, a female voice replied ‘Room Service, Madam’, Erin retrieved her gown, put it on and tied off the thin belt and went to open the door.
Erin’s peach painted fingernails, grasped the handle, twisted and pulled. She was greeted by a smiling maid; a good looking maid with jet black hair and startling black eyes, to one side sat a catering cart. Erin enquired ‘I did not order anything, honey, there must be a mistake’, her speech was that of an educated southern drawl.
‘Sorry to inconvenience you Madam, Ms Fontaine, room 531, compliments of the Presidential Penthouse, champagne, Du Pont, 1948 with Caspian Caviar’, Erin did not detect the maid’s thick East European accent at all, all she noted was the reference to the Presidential suite, that was Van Guilder, and Erin hated caviar, but could she risk offending her powerful client? After a moment’s hesitation, she made a terrible error of judgement that would cost her body and mind dearly. ‘Please, be a dear, bring it through’.
Erin re-entered her room and resumed her seat at the vanity mirror, the maid, dressed in a white, pressed shirt with a little red bow tie, her hair held in place by a black scrunchie, wearing a tight short black skirt, her long legs encased in neutral coloured pantyhose, complete with a pair black slip on comfortable shoes.
Erin caught a glimpse of the maid’s uniform in the mirror. She mockingly giggled at the sight of the maid’s very short skirt, as she pushed the trolley into the serving area of the room, ‘Why’, she thought ‘Did hotel’s insist dressing their staff in such tacky attire, the cheap Las Vegas look’, Erin, shook her head and returned to the task of placing a gold diamond pendant necklace around her slim, pale neck.
Erin heard the pop of the Champagne cork behind her, ‘Why not she thought, it would settle her nerves concerning those accounts’, ‘No Caviar, now Sugar, just a drink’, she ordered.
The necklace clasp was causing her trouble, being so finely crafted, ‘Damn it’, the maid was approaching from behind, a full flute glass in one hand and a thick, linen napkin over the forearm of the other. ‘Hey darling, be a saint and help me hook this rock’. From behind her, the smiling maid replied ‘It is my pleasure Madam’.
For the first time Erin released the maid was not an American, ‘you from Russia or thereabouts’, the maid stood to her side ‘Ukraine, Madam, I am Natalya Danilenko, at your service’, the maid placed the flute on the dresser. Erin grinned at the maid’s old fashioned use of English.
The maid moved behind Erin, ‘lower your neck, Madam, please’, Erin conformed and sniffed the air, a repulsive odour was emanating from somewhere behind her, she began to raise her head, talking at the same time ‘do you smell something.....’, she stopped as she gazed at the maids reflection in the mirror, the pretty smile and amiable persona had vanished, replaced by a sinister scowling, aggressive face that featured deadly looking eyes, the maid was bringing forward the heavy beige napkin ‘What are you doing...do not..’, Erin felt strong arms grip her like a vice ‘HHHHAARRRR.....MMMMMMMMMMMMM, MMMUUUFFFPPPPHHH’.
Erin tried to scream through the thick cloth, the maid had attacked her from behind, and Erin’s muted pleas were quashed when the maid had clamped that thick, heavy napkin over her mouth and nose, God, she was being chloroformed, and this girl wanted her unconscious. Erin could see it all as play out in front of her own eyes as she stared at her refection in the mirror.
The maid had wrapped a surprisingly strong arm around her torso, keeping her arms pinned down, and the maids other hand was savagely applying pressure to her face, holding Erin’s head to the rear, and forcing her to breathe the anaesthetic based chemical. The maid was breathing hard, Erin felt the girls breasts press into the back of her head, Erin gagged on her own spittle as she was being suffocated.
Erin tried to fight back in some way, she attempted to squirm her way out of the maids grip, the silky gown slipped off her shoulders, the slip and bra strap on her right shoulder followed, ‘MMMMMPPPPPHHHHHH’, moaned Erin loudly in protest, her stockinged feet kicked at the base of the dresser, her hosiery layered knees banging against the draws on either side, she squirmed, she writhed in protest, she attempted to use her stockinged legs to push her panty clad backside up off the stool but to no avail, ‘What did this Psycho want, her money, for God’s sake take it’, the voice screamed inside her head.
Erin began to feel tired; the abhorrent tranquillizing chemical from the thick, napkin forced over her lower face was overpowering her. She started to feel weak, she found it difficult to kick out her legs, her grey eyelids began to feel heavy, and her subdued screams became drowsy ‘MMMPPPHH, MMmmpphh’. Erin new she was going under, she felt her attacker giving a final, hard press to her recently made up face. Erin’s manicured fingertips fell away from trying to release the violent grip around her chest and face, her legs went limp, her final thoughts were ‘No, the meeting, I have to make the meeting’, and finally the darkness came.
The Spy applied pressure for a little longer, making sure her target got a good dose of the chloroform, satisfied she lifted and dragged the knocked out woman to her bed. The woman was grasped under her shaven, bare armpits, a bra and slip strap dangling loose, her stockinged heels dragged along the thick carpet resulting in her stocking tops becoming visible as the short slip rose higher up her thighs.
The sagging, inert body bounced up from the soft mattress as the Spy threw her down harshly, her blond hair cascading over the pretty face. The silky gown, already divested from her shoulders, opened further at the front, the sash becoming loose in the struggle, exposing a full figured, slip and stocking clad body.
The slip had risen in the fall, revealing that the woman wore sheer, thin and nude coloured thigh high stockings. The intricate lace patterned elasticated stocking tops dug into the woman’s upper thighs, tightly keeping the stockings in place so that they would not slip down when in regular, daily use. The woman’s slip cups veiled the matching coloured bra underneath, the breasts compressed as she lay on her back; the female’s nipples were still visible from underneath two layers of soft, intimate material.
The Spy, breathing hard, stared briefly at the unconscious, vulnerable woman lying on the bed. It had been an easy task in subduing her; the stolen maid’s uniform and paraphernalia had been a success, it was the key to this room and thus the identity and clothing of the person lying on the bed below her.
It was time now to move on to the next stage of the plan, the mission must succeed, she must be ready when the woman called Wong came to escort this woman to Van Guilder and therefore the accounts.
Yet now, it would be the Spy who was to be collected instead of the woman lying prostrate, although by the time of the collection no one would know the difference. Her deliberations were interrupted when the subdued woman’s cell phone began to ring and vibrate on the night stand table; the Spy turned and said softly to the unwillingly silent owner of the phone ‘It’s for you’, she paused ‘Okay, if you insist, you take it easy, I’ll attend to you in moment, Sugar’ the last part in a sarcastic tone; she cleared her throat and made for the boisterous personal communication device.




PART FOUR

The Spy picked up the ringing cell phone and walked slowly over to the bed, occupied with its comatose resident and sat down on the soft quilt. The Spy crossed her long hosed legs, the short black uniform skirt rising even higher up her thighs, revealing the darker reinforced panty line of the stolen hosiery, the white, long sleeved shirt pulling tight around her breasts, exposing evidence of the white bra worn underneath. She looked at the name of the caller being displayed on the phone, ‘JACK’, the woman’s husband; she cleared her throat and pressed the receive button.
‘Hi honey, what’s happening’, her voice was an exact match to that of the real Erin Fontaine, all those weeks of audio training had paid off. She listened to the harsh, male voice at the other end, waited and replied ‘No, I’ll phone the boys in a day or two, I do not want to distract them, they only just started at VMI, their under enough pressure as it is’.
She listened again, ‘Yes I love you too, sugar, I miss you lots, but you know how important this deal is for us’, it was then that the Spy decided to play a little game, she reached out and began to caress the wife’s right breast. She manipulated the soft, pliable flesh, her fingertips searching for the bra underneath, she traced her fingers along an underwire supported cup, eventually searching for the knocked out woman’s nipple, all the time listening to the man who had probably been the last to see this woman so scantily clad.
The husband presumed that he was actually talking to his wife and why not? He would never have imagined that his successful, professional and smartly attired wife been chloroformed in her room and was lying on her bed in her expensive lingerie, that his wife would soon be stripped, bound and gagged. How was he to know that the woman he was talking too at that present moment would steal his wife’s clothing and identity?
It was a scenario only played out at the movies or in a cheap crime novel. So he would suppose, until the police called him late the next day, to inform him his wife was in shock, distressed and in hospital.
The Spy, smiling and staring at the blonde figure she was so eager to divest of her underclothes ‘I miss you, Jack darling, I wish you could be here right now, I’m only in my underwear sweetie, wearing nylon stockings’, she lifted up the lace hem of the slip, her voice a perfect match to that of the wife’s ‘and sexy sheer panties’.
She listened to the excited response, enjoying the thought that the male on the other end of the line who probably visualised his pretty wife, lying in her underwear, which she was doing of course.
What he did not see or envisage would ever happen, was the stranger with his wife’s southern voice and character, molesting the authentic woman he had married. The Spy let her hand wander down the soft, silky slip, over the un-protesting woman’s stomach, fingers probing for the elastic band that held those silk, sheer, ivory coloured panties in place.
The Spy’s hand was softly rubbing one layer of silk onto the other underneath, onto that dark, warm and very private place, ‘Okay sugar, I will soon, honest, I’ll call you in a day or two, a big kiss back’, the cell call hung up, well that got his juices going she thought, the Spy laughed for the first time in a long time, breaking the silence in the still and darkened room.
The Spy leaned over her blonde victim; slowly she lowered her face to the other woman’s sleeping features. Very softly the Spy kissed the drugged female, their lip stick coated lips meeting in a sensual embrace. The Spy pulled back her beautiful face, tasting the chemical residue of the chloroform, ‘Well, that’s from Jack with all his heart’.
The Spy removed herself from the bed that supported the subdued prey The Spy reached behind her head and removed the black scrunchie and threw it onto the bed, it landed on the unconscious woman’s chest.
The Spy unbuttoned the uniform shirt and quickly peeled it off, revealing her deep cleavage and well shaped breasts supported by a white, lace trimmed plunge brassiere. She unbuckled the belt, unzipped the black skirt and let it fall to the floor. Clad just in her stolen natural coloured pantyhose and bra she kicked off the redundant maid’s shoes.
The Spy sighed, slipped her fingers into the waistband of the pantyhose and pulled them down. Her black Tanga panties were fully revealed as the darker mesh of the brown nylon was pulled away, down her long legs and over her toes. She scooped up all the robbed items of the uniform and threw them into a nearby closet.
The Spy inhaled sharply, over the residue of the chloroform, she could smell the cheap scent of the genuine maid, Natalya, hopefully still gagged and bound in her old room’s bathroom, in her underwear of course. The Spy tried to forget the memory of those huge tits, held trapped in that white bra; it was so distracting from the task at hand. The Spy decided to take a quick shower to wash away her previous and short lived identity as a member of the hotel staff.

(PART 4)

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CONTINUED:

The oblivious, knocked out woman lay on the bed, arms stretched out, stockinged legs bent at the knees, the sound of the shower filtering through the otherwise silent room. The woman lay there, oblivious to her fate and now at the mercy of the woman who had intruded into her personal space and life. The strange and violent maid who intended to steal and use all her clothing and then masquerade as the woman known as Erin Fontaine.
The Spy re-entered the bedroom naked as the day she was born, having dried off her athletically trim body, her jet black hair being untouched during the shower.
The Spy’s perfect, fighting fit figure normally sported a tan. Her body was now a milky pale tone, a perfect match to that of the woman she intended to replace. The Spy had achieved this look by living in a basement for a month where no sunlight could reach her body, she left nothing to chance.
She had also helped herself to a liberal amount of female deodorant, courtesy of the forced, sleep induced woman and that was not all she was going to help herself too. The Spy’s freshly washed body gave off the odour of lilacs, exactly like the woman lying below her.
The naked Spy turned her attention to her new task of relieving the woman of her delicious looking underwear and stockings.
She lifted the woman under her shaved armpits, the body being limp, the head sinking forward. The Spy peeled the remaining slip strap from the woman’s shoulder and pulled the silky soft garment down and off her body.
The Spy was satisfied with her new set of underwear. The woman wore sheer, ivory coloured bikini style panties, so sheer that she could tell that the woman was a real blonde. Her bra, a matching colour, was equally translucent, her brown, dark nipples clearly visible through the gossamer fabric. Although plain in design with no underwire, it supported the breasts fully. The Spy ran a hand over the rear torso band and over the full cups; she knew that it would fit her well.
The Spy released the rear fastener on the bra, looped the straps over the woman’s shoulders and removed the cups from the female’s breasts. The woman, in her oblivious state, was totally unaware that she was being undressed.
The Spy placed the bra on the other side of the large bed. The topless woman, endured the indignity of having her near transparent bikini panties removed, the sheer garment being pulled down her long hosiery clad legs and thereafter carefully placed with the bra.
The woman, now left in her final piece of attire, those being her thigh high nude coloured stockings. The Spy wet her lips at the sight of the naked breasts, plump, yet pert, the dark nipples pointed due to being without their soft silk covering.
The still trim stomach, strong hips and little blonde tuft of hair between her legs and those legs sheathed, in those expensive, delicious stockings, her peach painted toes visible underneath the soft fabric.
The Spy swallowed in anticipation, lifted and then carefully removed the delicate stockings from both the woman’s legs, relieved that they had survived the assault intact. Both women in the silent and dark room where at last naked.
The Spy reached underneath both armpits of the insensible blonde lawyer and dragged her from the bed, her limp naked heels bouncing off the carpeted floor. The Spy dragged her to a full backed chair next to vanity table and sat her inert body down.
The woman sat on the chair, slumped, arms limp on both sides, her legs bent at the now naked knees which were embarrassingly spread, unwittingly displaying her womanhood. Her head was tilted back onto the wall with her pretty mouth fully open, displaying a set of perfect white teeth.
The Spy returned to the bed and retrieved the still warm bra, she slipped her arms through the straps, fitted the cups under her own breasts and clipped on the rear fastener. She expertly and quickly adjusted her breasts and was satisfied with the result and the sensation, the bra was a perfect fit as she knew it would be.
She selected the sheer bikini ivory panties and stepped into them, again still warm from their previous owner. This was not an act of pure perversity, this was to be a full immersion identity theft. She had to become Ms Erin Fontaine, in all details from the physical to the material. Her conversion was only just commencing.
The Spy, impressed by the panty and bra set, stepped into the silky soft full slip. The slip, a woman's undergarment worn beneath a dress or skirt to help it hang smoothly and to prevent chafing of the skin from coarse fabrics such as wool, was in this case to be used under that gorgeous cashmere designer dress.
As was the norm, the stripped woman’s slip was decorated with lace at the edges and the hem, and was intended to be typically worn over her more intimate undergarments. That was to be the case until the Spy deprived the legitimate owner of them.
The Spy, now in her new bra, panties and slip padded over to the catering trolley and removed her black canvas bag from underneath and placed it on the bed. From inside she removed a bulky, square shaped box and placed it on the vanity table, being careful not to damage or spill the woman’s cosmetic selection. She then retrieved blue velvet bag and placed it near to hand.
The Spy sat down on the stool, once occupied by the other woman’s now bare ass. The Spy looked slightly to her left, there facing her sat the naked woman, whose underwear she now wore. She now appeared more like a bizarre, real life store mannequin.
The naked, unfortunate woman’s head tilted back with her smudged lip sticked mouth open. The Spy stared at her own make up free image. She opened her black square box, which held several draws. The box was a comprehensive theatrical make up kit, in fact uniquely commissioned by the agency.
After spraying her hair with a chemical that made her own cling to her well shaped skull, the Spy carefully imprisoned her long, jet black hair under a latex, flesh coloured skull cap. She made sure that there was a reasonably flat surface and no hair was showing down her neck line. The Spy smiled at the mirrored image of herself as a bald, yet pretty woman.
The Spy looked back at her own image and then that of the woman she was to impersonate. The woman had a little blemish here and there that she would have to recreate. But in composite bone structure they were very similar, almost identical in fact.
The Spy selected from her kit a set of false eyelashes that were the same as the woman’s and applied them, she then used the woman’s grey eye shadow on herself.
The Spy used the woman’s powder on her face and matched it to that of the unmoving face nearby. She applied the woman’s natural tone lipstick to her own lips, puckered and then massaged them to ensure a smooth application. Exactly the same as the unconscious woman had done 15 minutes earlier at this same mirror, wearing the same intimate attire.
The Spy selected the peach nail varnish bottle that sat on the table top , hitched up her smooth bare leg, the stolen slip tight on her thighs and painted her toes. After completing the task she blew briskly on them to get them to dry faster.
(PART 4)

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CONTINUED:

Satisfied that they were, she reached over to the bottom of the bed and reclaimed the soft nylon stockings. Her peach coloured toes became less vibrant in colour as the stocking film encased her feet, with an enjoyable snap on her upper thigh, the elasticised hold up band kept the last stocking in place.
The Spy returned to the mirror and painted each of her fingernails a vivacious peach colour, exactly the same as the naked, knocked out woman next to her. She blew on her fingers until they also dried. The Spy carefully opened the blue velvet bag and retrieved a fine, long and blonde wig.
She placed it in her newly painted fingers and held it up, brushing the false, yet expertly made wig to perfection. Again satisfied, she applied moderate splashes of adhesive that would hold it in place to her inner false skull cap. The wig was modelled on the real Erin Fontaine’s current hair style, it had cost a fortune and it was a perfect match. With delicate care the Spy fitted and adjusted the long hair piece.
The Spy gazed at the image before her, then she glanced at the woman to her left, they could have been twins she thought to herself. The difference if any, would be minimal, she was the exact image of the woman she had overpowered, and wearing the woman’s secret and normally hidden from view clothing began to transform the Spy mentally, she was beginning to feel like Erin Fontaine.
The bogus Fontaine reached over to the un-responding naked female figure and began to remove all of her jewellery. The woman’s engagement and wedding rings, her gold diamond necklace, the gold and pearl earrings, all were removed and placed on the new Erin Fontaine.
The freshly ornamented imposter selected a few wipes used to remove makeup. She then proceeded to remove the unconscious woman’s cosmetics from her unconscious face. As if by doing so the imposter was removing the identity from the woman she had stolen it from. The Spy had minutely removed and replaced all the features that had made the female, Erin Fontaine, what was to remain was to be vague, a caricature, a woman with no outward identity.
The charlatan Fontaine methodically removed all the female’s makeup, even the nail varnish from her finger nails and toes. What was left was a naked, blonde who had a pale complexion. Even the blonde hair was to go.
The new blonde Erin Fontaine, dressed in ivory coloured underwear and nude stockings, roughly handled the naked woman to the carpeted floor. The naked woman was laid next to the base of the bed, which was hollow underneath, but well hidden by white silk drapes that fell to the floor, a perfect place to hide something or someone.
The bogus lawyer took from her reliable canvas bag two rolls of saran wrap and the roll of thick brown surgical tape that had been so useful against the poor Natalya. The newborn Erin tightly taped the naked female’s ankles and knees together, she moved on to taping her wrists to the woman’s front, causing the arms to compress the breasts inwards. The imposter stood up, and began to open some of the draws either side of the dresser table.
The first contained a selection of bras, a few colours and styles, enough for a few days away. Another had new pairs of pantyhose, unopened in their packaging, she opened the third ‘Ah’, and she thought ‘this is what she needed’. She selected a new pair of brilliant white, lace patterned bikini style panties, she plucked them out of the draw.
The imposter returned to the bound woman and proceeded to stuff the new panties into the woman’s mouth, forcing the tongue back, until the mouth was packed full with the soft satin garment.
The naked, now gagged, and bound, woman’s cheeks bulged on either side. The underwear clad imposter used the tape and wrapped it around the woman’s lower face. The binding, to keep the gag in place, was tight as it was wrapped around and around, trapping the woman’s blonde hair in the process. It would be a painful process when the time came for someone to remove it.
The imposter used the tape also to blindfold the woman, using it to surround her upper head and thereby removing her sight. The world would be a dark and confusing one for the real Erin Fontaine.
The lookalike Erin went back to her bag of tricks and returned with a white rubber swimming cap, which she used to intern the woman’s blonde hair. In a short space of time the real Erin Fontaine who had been the rich, smartly and intimately attired, successful lawyer had quickly disappeared.
The intruder reached for a roll of saran wrap and began to bind the ill-fated woman. The imposter rolled the unresisting body around and around until both rolls had been used. The result was a plastic embalmed female figure.
The full figured, female breasts and womanhood were obscured by layers of the tight plastic, her wrists, feet and knees already taped, were doubly secured by the taut film, the only appendage visible being her bare feet.
The woman’s head was a portrait of an unyielding panty and tape gag, taped eyes with her blonde hair hidden by the stretched rubber swim cap, only the woman’s petite nose could be viewed.
The false lawyer, by using her stockinged feet, pushed the gagged and mummified form under the bed, deep inside the dark bed frame. She replaced the silk white awning to the floor and thereafter the real Ms Fontaine disappeared from reality for the foreseeable future.
The Spy alias Erin, straightened out her slip and adjusted the stockings, these things had a way of falling down in the most awkward of times. She then cleared away her disguise kit, by placing it once more under the metal catering cart. She then remade the bed and surveyed her work. The room looked normal again as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. No one would guess that a gagged, blindfolded and mummified woman lay right under the bed.
The imposter reached for the fawn coloured dress, placed it over her blonde head and let gravity take over. The soft cashmere material flowed over the ivory coloured slip. The false Erin secured the small side zipper, straightened out the dress and did up the small belt at her trim waist.
The imposter secured the silk neck scarf and sat down on the stool. She slipped her nude stockinged feet into the Italian designed heeled shoes, then buckled them at the side. She then stood up and admired herself in the full size closet mirror.
The imposter was impressed. In fact she felt that she Fcuking awesome at this present moment in time. What stared back at her now was the image of what the bona fide Fontaine would have looked like if she had been allowed to finish dressing. She was the exact double of the gagged and tied up woman currently hidden view.
The imposter inspected her image, stood to either side, noting her well rounded ass under the dress, her perfect breasts hidden, yet displayed under the cashmere fabric. She felt the stolen bra straps on her shoulders, the coolness of the slip on her skin, the tight bikini panties between her legs and the tightness of the stockings and shoes on her legs and feet.
All this she mused, all of this petite, feminine attire had been worn, bought and selected by another woman. She had stolen it all, bound and gagged their legal owner, made her disappear for a while, so that she could enjoy the personal pleasure of being another.
The imposter sat down on a comfortable chair, being careful not to crease her new dress. She crossed her silky, glossy nylon encased legs and waited patiently. She waited to be called upon for the lawyer’s scheduled afternoon meeting. She stared at the door, Ms Erin Fontaine, not once did she look in the direction of the bed or think of what lay underneath it.

[esercito sconfitto]

PART FIVE

The imposter, with her nylon sheathed legs crossed, studied her peach painted fingernails. Her false long blonde hair looking natural, fine and healthy, as it should. She brushed away a mote of dust from her calve length cashmere dress, she heard or felt someone outside the hotel room door.
There was a pause. Then a sharp knock, ‘Come in’, she said loudly in a Southern drawl. The door opened.
The woman who entered was quite breath taking in appearance. The imposter new her already, this was Miss Mary Wong, the personal assistant and security expert of Jacqueline Van Guilder, although it was suspected that she worked for Chinese intelligence, no real evidence could be made to stick.
This Hong Kong Chinese woman, who was in her late twenties exhibited long jet black hair, the same colour and length as that which was imprisoned under the blonde wig. The assistant’s hair was tightly clipped at the back of her head, displaying beautiful oriental facial features, dark piercing eyes and red painted thin lips.
Her eyes appeared darker and more perceptible, due to harsh eye shadow and eyeliner that adorned her face. Her lips were coated in black lipstick which created a spectacular display of beauty matched with brilliant white teeth.
To the bogus Erin the assistant looked like she had just walked out of an old Fu Manchu movie, beautiful and cruel at the same time. The photographs gave her no justice and the imposter felt heavily attracted to her.
The false lawyer also noted that she wore no jewellery except a concession to a pair of very small black onyx studs that adorned her small, petite earlobes. Her dress style was simple, expensive, unadorned, female yet masculine at the same time. Not like the clothes the imposter wore now, visible and underneath, garments that were pure girlie, soft, gentle and female and of course consequently weak and vulnerable.
The personal assistant wore a black, well cut trouser suit, underneath the jacket the woman wore a white silk or satin low cut blouse. The imposter could discern no evidence of a brassiere underneath.
The assistant seemed blessed with well shaped, yet not overly large breasts. Her belted suit pants led down to black, low healed, slip on shoes. Her feet, under those shoes seemed to be sheathed in tuxedo black hosiery. The imposter wondered what style of nylon she wore underneath those fashionably flared pants, knee length holdups or full waist high pantyhose, hopefully sheer to the waist, maybe she would find out in due time.
The ominous looking assistant said nothing, she just closed the door and stared at the imposter, she felt herself being assessed and studied, she broke the silence, still sitting relaxed with her nude nylon sheathed legs still crossed ‘You must be Miss Wong, I assume you are here to escort me to Ms Van Guilder’, still there was no answer.
The woman posing as Erin Fontaine pretended to sound irked ‘Well, answer me or are you mute, my dear’. She hoped the patronizing tone would prompt an answer.
The Chinese woman finally spoke and broke into a smile, which looked more like a sneer ‘Yes of course, Mrs Fontaine’, the imposter interrupted ‘Ms, if you do not mind’.
The assistant paused ‘Of course, I apologize and yes please follow me so that we can join Ms Van Guilder for a preliminary meeting over coffee’. The imposter noted the information, a preliminary meeting, so it was going to be a long day.
The assistant raised her hand and gestured towards the door ‘Please’.
The imposter stood, she straightened the cashmere fawn coloured dress , she felt the soft slip underneath form a natural position around her unseen legs and reached for her stolen golden clutch purse.
The imposter stood up straight, her hidden stolen bra clad breasts, looking smooth, rounded and full as the dress flowed down her slim figure, presenting a rounded, tight backside with no sign of a visible panty line. Those sheer and skimpy panties were doing their job so well and they felt so light and comfortable, as if she had worn nothing under that soft slip.
The imposter made to leave the room, the room with its undiscovered gagged and bound rightful owner, the owner who had possessed and dressed in these feminine clothes that she now wore.
An inner sixth sense began to resonate through the imposter, something was wrong, but what?
Her instincts had saved her on many a mission. No one could suspect her of not being the genuine female lawyer, had someone found the gagged maid upstairs? The Chinese assistant, who probably doubled as an agent seemed calm and composed. Where was the threat?




(PART 5)

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CONTINUED:

The imposter, her gait in the restrictive calve length dress, was one elegance and demure as she stepped towards the door, followed by the assistant. The false Erin clutched the door handle with her feminine peach painted, long nailed fingers and twisted and pulled the handle.
The imposter was greeted with the image of a house maid, dressed in the blue, shapeless overall house dress that maids who collected dirty sheets normally dressed in.
She was quite old, around 60 years of age and time had not treated her well. The woman’s face was wrinkled and tired looking. The imposter, highly trained took all this information in within seconds, but what caught her attention most was the fact that she appeared to be Chinese .
The aging house maid had a large oriental grin on her small, weathered face and a plastic cleaning spray bottle in a raised knotted hand.
The imposter was about to wheel around and make a quick chopping blow to the most dangerous target, Miss Wong, when the old maid quickly squeezed the bottle lever three times.
The imposter gagged and wheezed, her throat felt tight and restricted, the world began to blur, before she collapsed into the waiting arms of Miss Wong, the imposter thought, ‘Sh..t, they fcuked me over and I fcucked it up’. The world went dark for the Spy.
The Spy, in her delicate purloined clothing collapsed backwards and was caught by the woman Wong , at the same time the old Chinese crone gripped the Spy’s Italian shod heeled feet, whereby the knocked out operative was carried back into the hotel room and unceremoniously dumped onto the badly abused bed.
Behind them another Chinese house maid, another aging oriental, was puffing at the effort of trying to push a laundry cart after them. The other maid helped pull the cart into the seclusion of the room.
After the door had closed the Chinese agent called Mary Wong, which in fact was not her real name, that was held in a file in Beijing, the real Wong languished in prison somewhere deep inside China, turned to her little old, yet lethal helpers.
In fast and harsh mandarin she ordered them to do something, pointing to the woman she thought was Erin Fontaine. The two maids, who looked comical in their ill fitting house dress’s quickly moved to the unconscious Spy and began to remove her already stolen clothes.
The dirty laundry began to stir, the cart began to judder slightly. A woman rose from the pile of used sheets, pillow cases, robes and bathroom towels. A woman who was Caucasian in appearance, wearing a grey coloured soft cup bra, which had decorative trim along the bustline and on its straps. Her hips and womanhood were clad in large white classic briefs, simple and plain, her hair was long and blonde and the newcomer was yet another Erin Fontaine lookalike.
The Chinese agent spoke to her ‘Put her dress on and meet me outside, be quick’, her English accent was demure and slow. The Spy briefly scanned the room, all seemed in order, she noted the catering cart with its champagne and caviar. The agent checked the closets, noted more clothes hung up on rails and then she stopped.
Her attention being held by a discarded pair of natural coloured pantyhose on top of a crumpled white shirt and black skirt and leather shoes, a red clip on bow tie lay nearby. The scene looked out of place in the well ordered closet and the clothes looked like a service maids uniform.
The Asian female closed the door and checked the bathroom, nothing again. The Fontaine woman was being gagged and bound with duct tape, bare legged in her ivory coloured slip, by the bogus old house maids.
The Chinese paid lookalike Erin was pulling on a nude coloured thigh high stocking. All seemed to be in order but the agent still had the feeling something had drastically changed in her plan. She had intercepted the lawyer and those account numbers would be hers and hence her government, thereby leaving her above suspicion, as always.
Maybe the lawyer had a uniform fixation or had paid a maid for a little private service. It would not be below these decadent, soft and perverted Westerners she pondered.
She paused, frowned and spat out the words ‘Quick, or the old witch will be pissed off’ and left the crowed suite.
If only she had looked under the bed, where the unconscious, plastic bound and gagged authentic lawyer who still remained deathly still, mercifully unaware of her new, distressful predicament. The agent carefully opened the door and left the room.
The agent impatiently waited outside in the marbled floored corridor. Eventually she banged the door with her hand, ‘Hurry, she thought. How long does it take to put a dress on and tie a woman up’.
Her thoughts were answered when the door opened, and yet another false twin of Erin Fontaine exited the suite.
The woman wearing the lawyers face, fawn coloured dress, and Italian ankle strapped shoes and expensive nude stockings walked confidently to the side of the agent, as she had been thoroughly taught.
The woman and the agent joined as one and marched loudly, their heels click clacking down the corridor, attempting to make the appointment now missed by two previous Erin Fontaine’s.
Shortly after, when the corridor became quiet once more, the suites door opened. A house maids blue uniform appeared pulling a laundry cart, another one pushing. The two old Chinese maids guided their load towards the service elevator.
They stopped, all smiles and spoke in broken English ‘Hello, Hello’, over again, as a well dressed married couple passed them in the corridor, oblivious to the unconscious, bound and gagged contents within the cart. The couple smiled back trying to avoid the odd looking pair.

(PART 5)

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CONTINUED:

The crones tittered to themselves in rapid mandarin and continued their intended journey to the lower levels of the hotel. The service elevator doors opened at the desired level.
The floor was noisy and loud as the laundry staff laboured away in their never ending task in washing, starching and pressing new linen. The various men and women. were oblivious to the two old, seemingly harmless old Chinese women pushing their cart through the bedlam.
The two crones, looked at each other and nodded. They had left the mundane looking cart in a place that would be overlooked and scurried off. The two false maids, scampered off as fast as their old legs could carry them.
The two old criminals stopped outside a door marked as ‘Cleaning Equipment’, looked around and made sure no one was around, whereby one of them retrieved a key from her uniform pocket and unlocked the door. The light inside was still on and the reason why the two crones blue uniforms looked too large for them became very apparent.
When the door opened they were met with the muted moans of ‘Ummmpphh’, ‘Umphh’ and ‘Nnmmmfffffff’, moans that sounded like pleas for help, in which they were intended to be. The last of the Chinese crones closed the door.
Lying on the floor of the cleaning equipment storage room were two distressed female figures. Both had been heavily bound and gagged by duct tape. The women,s moans became more tormented when they realised that their would be saviours where in fact their assailants of earlier that day.
One of the tied up women was pulling at her hands, tied behind her back which in turn was connected by a line of cord to her taped ankles. She was older, probably in her mid forties, Latino looking and overweight.
The luckless maid had tried to hide her bulging waistline by wearing large, lace trimmed and flower patterned support panties, which were discoloured a light coffee colour by the cheap, tan support pantyhose that she had worn over the top. Soft flesh burst over the elastic waistband of the pantyhose.
Her white Bra’s torso band was wide and strong, likewise the straps, and both struggled to hold and contain the flesh underneath. Her large breasts were held by full support cups, which half the cup was transparent and decorated with flowers, her skin visible underneath, just like her large granny panties.
The woman’s frightened eyes followed the two old Chinese woman who had approached them earlier, looking so frail and lost. She moaned through the gag in fear. Her bun style haired head was following her attackers every move.
The other maid, younger by not that much, was thinner, plump and plain looking, her head and face also a mirror image of fear and trepidation, her liberal makeup smeared from where she had been sobbing.
She too had been overpowered and tightly taped up by these Chinese grandmothers. Frail and yet so strong, tied up and gagged by senior citizens, it would have been hard to belief when she had arrived for her shift earlier that morning.
The gagged maid lived on her own and was single, she was shy to say the least and now she was left in her underwear for all to see and it was not even her best, that’s why she had begun to weep, in shame for when someone would find her and Juanita.
Her unadorned black full support bra with padded cups was smeared with white dust from where she had been rolling around on the floor, her hands and feet slightly blue from the tight tape.
Her full stomach bulged slightly over her brown, stripe patterned bikini style panties, again obscured by cheap, dark pantylined, full support pantyhose.
The woman moaned ‘MMpphhh’ many times through her taped up mouth, struggling on the floor against her bonds.
Both woman were shocked, stunned and humiliated by being forcibly stripped of their uniform house dress's by the two old Chinese women, both had wished they had worn slips that day, but the weather had been warm and who would have thought it possible.
The Chinese crones, discarded their purloined uniforms and redressed in their simple and unassuming clothes, both chattering away in their own language, oblivious to the two underwear clad, gagged and tied woman at their feet.
The cleaning room door opened, the moans and gagged protests briefly flooding out, which were abruptly cut off as the door was closed again and locked.
The Chinese crones, looking frail and vulnerable, their backs bent, shuffled off toward the underground parking lot.
As they left the basement area, the annex was quiet, except from the rumble and hum of twenty four hour operating machinery, the lighting was adequate, yet not brilliant, no sound was heard from the cleaning room and not far away from that room stood a laundry cart with its silent load of laundry and its soon to pissed off and vengeful occupant. Mary Wong had sewn the seed and now she would reap the worldwind.




PART SIX

The Spy never dreamed when she was slumbering. Her eye lids would close and then she would usually awaken refreshed, remembering nothing of her normally short sleep. It was a blessing for her, not to be troubled by bad dreams in her natural rest time.
This time though it was different. Her eye lids shot open, her eyes darting from side to side, wide and alert. Her mind willed her body into a defensive posture, a posture she was unable to assume.
Her surroundings where dark and gloomy, she felt bundles of fabric under and over her body in an instant she remembered why.
So, that Bast.rd Wong woman and her crone had tied her up and hidden her somewhere. The Spy listened, there were no voices or movement outside, and she sensed no immediate danger.
She was aware now that her mouth was full, restricted, her tongue forced back on a sodden bung, she could feel the tape strip across her mouth. Her wrists tightly bound behind her back, her fingers felt the smooth silken fabric of the stolen full slip that she still must be wearing.
She sensed, but could not view the tight tape, that also bound her knees and ankles. Her legs felt cool against the unidentified fabric that stroked her limbs. Her legs must be nylon free. So, she thought, they took those marvellous, sheer and expensive stockings too.
The Spy quickly assessed her situation and what had probably transpired to land her in this currently unfavourable predicament.
Ms Mary Wong, obviously, had her own agenda. Her and her Chinese hag must have thought they were replacing the real lawyer, Ms Fontaine. Unknown to the Chinese the luckless and most sought after woman was unconscious gagged and bound under her own hotel room bed, naked as the day she was born.
The Spy had a churlish thought, is this how her victims felt when she likewise tied them up. The Spy, began to twist in her bonds, someone had stolen the dress, her Italian ankle strap heels, her soft nude coloured thigh highs, all which she had taken from another female. Her painstaking, articulate and detailed plan of infiltration had all been for nothing, or maybe it had not.
Someone had stripped her while she was oblivious, unable to protest at the indignity, at the thought the Spy began to whimper through the gag. She liked the thought of being a doe eyed, defenceless damsel who needed to be rescued, her head tilted back and fore, a low moan emanating from her gagged, pretty mouth.
She felt the tight bonds around her legs and ankles, her long, smooth and soft legs held in place, against their will. She imagined that the slip must have risen up her shapely thighs, maybe exposing those purloined sheer panties that she had only recently removed from their rightful owner.
The gagged and bound Spy began to gyrate in her small prison, she was bound and defenceless, her speech muted, she was left in another woman’s underwear, a woman she had left in an identical situation, although a little more restricted and humiliated if the Spy was to be honest in her fantasy. Faster and more strongly the Spy swivelled and heaved.
There was an audible snap behind her well formed torso. The snap was not bone; it was not the elastic of the upper body band of the ivory coloured brassiere giving way to the twisting and jerking body. The snap was caused by the tape restraining the Spy’s wrists, the plastic coated sticky tape had been twisted and pulled, then eventually gave way to the Spy’s disciplined strength.
The effort of releasing her hands from bondage had caused her much pain and no doubt had chafed her smooth skin raw. Alas the Spy put her mind in a different place, a place where she had immersed herself in a reality where she was the victim of her own aggression.
Her stolen underwear that now adorned her body had become her own, her intimate privacy violated as another, ruthless female agent had stolen her outer clothing and then left her abandoned, restrained and helpless. She thought of the lawyer’s husband, would he rescue her, like the real wife she had replaced. The wife she saw briefly as herself, all female dressed in her lace and sheer lingerie and traditional, sensible tan pantyhose, all frail and feminine as a good wife should be under those conservative dresses, skirts and blouses.
The Spy’s breathing became faster and faster, her pulse quickening deeply, she felt and heard her blood pounding in her ears, all at the thought of being forcibly stripped, tied up and gagged, the other women preventing her calling out for help. Help that would surly come and come she did at last.
The Spy’s lithe body shuddered, she snorted through the gag in relief, her eye lids fluttering, her fingers and toes taught with the passing of spent energy.
The Spy savagely removed the tape that was plastered over her mouth; with one quick pull it was removed. She spat out the fabric bung that she suspected was another pair of panties belonging to the abused and well worn trousseau belonging to Erin Fontaine.
The Spy smiled at the thought that when that girl packed for this trip little did she know that she would be the least person to show off the contents of her luxury suitcase.
The Spy ripped off the tape holding her legs in restraint, trying to do so as quietly as possible. Free at last she slowly raised her head in what she now new to be a laundry cart.
Her blonde, ruffed up false hair style surfaced from the pile of dirty sheets. The basement hall was empty, the lighting gloomy, there was the constant hum of machinery in the background. Further down the corridor she heard a few male and female voices, hotel staff she suspected.
The Spy stood up in the cart; her cheeks still flush with the memory of the fantasy. Her long, naked legs, her toes still peach coloured, slid over the carts canvas side panel. Her bra supported breasts rising up and down as her body followed suite, the lace trimmed hem of the slip rising far too high. The Spy grimaced at the wet cold sensation between her legs, accentuated by the cold air that greeted her lower regions when she exited from the cart.
The Spy, in her bare feet, padded across the cold tiled floor towards a corner hidden by an even darker shadow, she thought to herself ‘I need to get back to the lawyers room, there she would find fresh clothes’, after all she still looked like the indisposed woman she was supposed to replace. She had to gain the advantage, surprise was on her side.
But first she would have to get to the fourth floor. She looked down at herself; it was a sorry picture to say the least. Her half naked body, bare legs and slip clad, her ample bosom exposed over the ivory laced trimmed cups, the stolen gold pendant necklace askew around her slim pale neck. Her makeup was a mess and her wig clad head was dishevelled and to cap it all she had soiled her stolen panties.
The Spy noted a door marked ‘Fire Exit’, she stealthily ran towards it. She inspected the frame, unusually; it was not connected to an alarm. Not tempting her good fortune she pushed the hold down bar and pushed the door.
The Spy entered the underground parking lot, it was well lit, and she ducked as an automobile loudly drove past. The couple inside oblivious to the scantily clad operative who hid in the shadows, the parking lot was quite full with an array of vehicles on display.
The Spy had no plan formed, her only hope was that she would stumble across a lone female parking or retrieving her car and steal her clothes. Basically she was looking for a target of opportunity, some poor broad in the wrong place at the wrong time.
The Spy did not see any CCTV in the parking lot area; this place was lack in its security and the Spy thanked all the gods of fortune for that, their loss was her gain. When this was over the hotel owners would be sued to hell and back.
The Spy crept between the cars, she stopped, alert, her senses tingling. There in front of her was her new walking wardrobe.

(PART 6)

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CONTINUED:

The lady chauffeur was just ahead by the next car, her pose relaxed, her cute ass resting on the trunk of the black, highly polished, German built limousine. The female driver was relaxing, thinking serene deliberations and smoking a well earned cigarette. The Spy did a quick visual study and liked what she saw.
The young woman was dark haired, her hair held in a tight bun on which sat a trim black peaked uniform cap. Her makeup was moderate, her face pretty yet unassuming, the Spy watched as those rose painted lips pulled on the cigarette. The cigarette was being held by a slim, black leather gloved hand, the leather plain yet shining brightly.
The Spy took in the black, figure hugging uniform with its styled long sleeved jacket; visible was a white collar that she assumed was adorned with a neck tie. The jacket silhouetted the typical well endowed shape of a full bosom, unless the crafty sl.t had on one of those gel inflated brassieres, mused the Spy, oh well she thought, when she got it off the B..ch she would just have to squeeze her own in.
She noted the over the knee short black skirt, which was tight and displayed strong thighs underneath. The skirt looked like it had been sprayed on, the Spy licked her lips as she noted the peach shaped full ass, which had displaced its weight over the polished surface of the trunk. The Spy had a big urge to squeeze, the Spy did not notice her own white knuckles of her hands.
The driver’s legs were encased in off black coloured pantyhose, this she assumed due to the very short skirt, her lower legs topped off with highly polished black leather knee length, low heeled boots. And more importantly, to the Spy at least, they all seemed available for the taking in her size.
The inadequately attired Spy stealthily approached her target. Closer and closer she came to the unsuspecting chauffeur. She closed in on the unsuspecting female driver, noting the finer detail of her hair, her shoulders, the cigarette smoke blown behind the lady towards the approaching, catlike Spy.
It was over fast, a quick chop to the exposed neck and the Spy found herself hunched on her bare knees, bending over the comatose figure below her. The girl’s hat had fallen to the floor.
The Spy noted the limo’s rear registration plate ‘VG 1’, The Spy smiled at the irony, ‘VG 1’ or ‘Van Guilder 1’, it was the Bit.h’s limo and driver, she sarcastically sighed, an all female crew as usual, it was rumoured that old Jackie played it both ways.
She reached out under the knocked out chauffeurs armpits, lifted and dragged her limp body towards an oversized rear door. The girls boot heels dragged along the smooth concrete floor. The slip clad Spy opened the door, stuffed the driver head first into the lavishly spaced interior, pushing the sexy butt and nylon hosed legs in after the rest of her. The Spy retrieved the fallen uniform cap and threw it in after its unconscious owner.
The Spy looked around to check that she had not been observed, satisfied she stepped inside the limo, the tinted and therefore blacked out windows creating a perfectly discreet dressing room. She smiled, her perfect white teeth gleaming and closed the large door with a resounding slam. The game was back on.



PART SEVEN

Mary Wong had just left her suite. She had delivered her own fake version of Erin Fontaine to her boss thirty minutes earlier, well, the boss that she had been forced to accept for the time being, that arrogant selfish Witch, she mused to herself.
The Chinese agent strode to the elevator situated on her plush and expensive executive floor. She caught her reflection in one of the many mirrors available and flinched. Mirrors that were naturally designed for the wealthy clientele that visited the hotel, designed for their personal vanity, so that they could peruse their luxury attire before joining any individual social gatherings that suited their vulgar western tastes.
Wong’s face and mood betrayed her anger and embarrassment. That pompous old lesbian always insisted that she wore this comic book outfit to her private dining sessions.
The highly skilled, intelligence agent wore a silk, shimmering gold-green Chinese style dress, adorned with a multitude of dragons flying around her genial curves which sported a high buttoned up collar around her slim neck. The dress was tight and above the knee and also displayed a high cut split on the side that rose up high on her left leg and thigh. A passerby would be greeted with a tantalizing glimpse of a black nylon sheathed; well shaped thigh and well toned female leg.
In fact to any other lady or lingerie connoisseur who happened to go by at that precise moment, they would have easily deduced that the stunningly attractive Asian woman would have to be wearing underneath the dress a pair of expensive black sheer to the waist nylon pantyhose, which the Chinese operative was. Her black hose sheathed feet were adorned by a pair of black patent leather high heeled shoes. Her rounded well formed ass, made a swishing sound as her peachy buttocks pumped up and down, nylon hosiery being caressed by the silk of the dress.
Wong’s long, fine jet black hair was made up in a traditional Chinese style, complete with what looked like ebony chopsticks holding it in place at the back of her demure head. Her small earlobes also sported dragon designed pearl earrings. Her cosmetics were quite harsh; she did not need them of course, but Van Guilder insisted. Her face was rouged too much, her eye liner too dark, her eye shadow a vulgar blue and her lipstick a bright red.
She shuddered at the thought of later in the evening when the rich old and vile hag would begin to place her searching hands all over her, pretending the contact to be an accident but the agent knew all too well what she wanted. It suited Van Guilder’s tastes for her to dress like this, hoping one day to get into her panties and bra.
Mary Wong had so far resisted the brutish advances without being dismissed. She too needed those bank account numbers, for her government and also for a tidy profit. Yet now she felt a burning desire to Fcuk up the plans of that B.tch Van Guider, the destruction of those accounts and the diamonds transfer would ruin her power base forever. She smiled at the thought.
She kept walking, her high heels making her gait unnatural and all too feminine for her tastes, she was fully aware that her well shaped, tight ass was thrusting up and down in the short exotic dress. The silky fabric making a swishing noise against the pantyhose garment hidden underneath, her long strong legs smooth and black, her ample bra supported breasts straining the dress’s silken fabric. She was staring straight ahead as the elevator door pinged and opened its doors.

(PART 7)

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CONTINUED:

A handsome couple exited from inside, the bell boy standing to one side. The man was dressed in a smart dark suit while the woman, a red head wore a stylish grey long sleeved dress with matching grey stockings or hose. The red head had a good, well shaped body and milky white skin, she looked rich and pampered, and the grey chiffon dress was slightly transparent, underneath and visible was some kind of slip, plain in design which hid her choice and style of brassiere. The man was tall dark and handsome and obviously protective in his manner towards his doe eyed partner.
They were obviously guests returning to their room, rather early the agent thought. The agent smirked. She thought that maybe the soft, red headed female would soon be divested of that dress and her underclothes, very soon by the sly look of her male companion.
The Chinese agent quickly noted the red headed girl, who was biting her lip and trying to look away from her general direction, obviously trying to suppress a laugh or an unflattering sneer at the agent’s expense, obviously her mode of dress amused the pale skinned westerner.
Wong had a big urge to lash out and smash the pampered and probably not too bright, red headed bimbo to a pulp. The rush of rage that engulfed the agent quickly dissipated, she had a mission to accomplish, and being arrested for beating on an arrogant rich fool was unprofessional to say the least. She had other vital matters to attend to.
After all she did look like a cheap Shanghai whore and just to reinforce the point her black Thong panties were riding up her butt. All this womanly garb that held her body prisoner was very uncomfortable to say the least. She ached to be clad in her comfortable and usual style of dress, slacks, loose blouse and jacket, and sensible everyday underwear beneath.
Wong’s head spun around, the lucky to be still conscious red head would leave with a parting gift ‘Bye Bye nice pretty Amelican ladee’, mimicking a movie Chinese typecast character. The high pitched tone of the agent’s caricature voice grated on everyone that was within hearing distance. The couple did not turn around but walked a little faster in the opposite direction, the man holding his charge’s bare arm a little tighter, leading her further away from the potentially embarrassing scene, after all and unknown to the agent, he was not entertaining his wife that evening.
Satisfied with the result, the agent entered the lift and simply said ‘Presidential suite’, the bell boy, like all youths was a little unsettled by the sexy hot Chinese chick before him and pressed the fourth floor button. The doors closed and at once the agent picked up on the decent ‘Idiot’ said Wong, the bell boy shrugged his shoulders.
The elevator pinged at the fourth floor. The doors opened and a verbal commotion welcomed the elevators car and its occupants. The agent noted a middle aged housemaid running, or in her case shuffling very fast towards them ‘Help, help call the police, get security’, the maid for a change spoke like a native of the country.
The Chinese agent, her interest stirred, stopped the elevator door from closing and entered the fourth floor corridor. Her first reaction was to leave it to someone else; hotel security would be here soon, so why get involved. Yet something was wrong, her senses felt it, whatever happened here affected her too.
She approached the distraught maid ‘What’s wrong’, the maid held in mid flight turned ‘Please, robbery I think....I was about to start to clean 402 when I found someone tied up’.
The agent shook the shocked maid ‘Take me to the room.....quickly woman’, the maid trembling ‘Yes yes’, she stammered ‘I heard grunting noises, at first I thought it was a dog or another animal....pets aren’t allowed in the hotel, not this part anyway... ’.
The agent ignored the aged maids babbling, she was obviously shocked. Why was there someone tied up in a room? Was it a robbery or something to do with her business at hand? They arrived at the room, by now one or two other guests had opened their doors, enquiring what all the fuss was about.
The agent turned ‘It’s okay people I am a police officer’. The startled maid and a few of the guests looked her up and down, confused and a little surprised. The agent realised why, ‘It‘s alright, I ‘m vice squad’.
At that one or two of the guests retreated back into their respective rooms, the maid nodded. The agent turned to the maid ‘Go and get security and get them to call the police’, the maid spoke up ‘Can’t you call’, ‘Just go’ said the agent harshly. The maid quickly shuffled off.
The agent, clad in her tight Chinese dress and high heels tensed her body for a confrontation, her back lowered into a crouch, the silk fabric becoming even tighter on her lithe body, the hemline rising further up her black pantyhosed legs. The agent felt for the small clutch purse, held by a gold chain over her left shoulder, inside of which was a three shot, low calibre derringer style handgun. She patted the purse, just in case she thought. The fact that no had shot the maid made her keep it in the purse.
The agent entered the apparently empty room, nothing looked turned over, the room looked clean with no sign that someone had gone through the closets and draws.

(PART 7)

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CONTINUED:

The trained agent noted a constant grunting sound coming from the open bathroom door, the loud ‘MMuummffppphhh’ sound which was defiantly that of a gagged person and by the tone female. The agent distinguished a large cloth wad on the bed. The bed linen itself had been disturbed, as if someone had struggled on top of the sheets and the duvet bedspread. She picked up the wad and brought it to her small petite nose. The agent grimaced, chloroform she realised and the chemical was still very potent.
She put the wad down and quickly searched a few closets. No clothes or luggage were inside. She walked to the suites bathroom entrance and stood there, in her tight silk dress, her oriental eyes sharp and intense, inspecting the female inside the bathroom who was making all the muffled noise.
Well. Well she thought. There in front of the agent was a very angry female, a very livid girl in fact. It was a girl only clad in her white bra and panties. The cleave gagged blonde woman was pulling back and fore, shouting through the tight gag that held her tongue in check, her hands had been tied to the bathroom fixtures either side of her, her hands were quite blue in colour from being so tightly bound. It had restricted her circulation.
The woman’s face was red, the bathroom being quite warm and humid, the bright light harsh and disorientating. The girl had been crying and hence her makeup was a mess, eye liner had run down her cheeks, staining the tight white cleave gag that had restricted her speech. The hair on her forehead was damp and sticking to her white European skin.
The gag was wet and darkened from where the saliva from her mouth had stained it. Her red lip stick was ingrained on the gag where her full mouth had attempted to dislodge the tight cloth tied savagely around her lower face and which had been forced between her teeth. The girls jaws ached terribly from being gagged for so long.
The gagged and bound woman’s eyes begged for release from her imprisonment, her loose blonde hair was wet on her perspiring, dismal face. Those eyes thought the agent; they pleaded to her ‘Please release me, please’. The girl looked up at her potential saviour and ‘UUUrrrmmmhhhfff’ in a pitiful low moan that implored the agent for help.
The gagged woman’s ankles had been tied to the rear base of the toilet on which she was unceremoniously seated. The gagged and tied girl wore high cut plain white panties, but Jesus thought the agent, her tits held by the white strong looking bra were huge.
They bounced around while still supported, as the girl struggled against her bonds. The raged and tired girl was bucking back and fore, revealing the bra’s rear torso band and fastener. It was a good solid bra, thick strapping all round, with plain full supporting cups, well it had to be strong considered the agent.
The Chinese agent for the briefest of moments felt a little inadequate in the breast department when faced with the tied up girl’s huge and exposed bosom. The agent’s breast size was considered large for her race, but compared with this Valkeyrie.....the agent tore her mesmerized gaze away from the rather erotic scene before her, a little shamed that she had been interested in the gagged girl’s bra enclosed breasts at all.
While the agent d digested all the relevant information before her in seconds, the bathroom had been filled with the gagged girls pleas for help, all the time ‘MMMPPPHHHHH’, ‘UURRRGGGHHH ‘ and some other muted noise that could have been ‘Untie me, it hurt’s’ or something similar. Grunts and gagged squealing ricocheted off her ears and the bathroom walls.
The agent moved towards the bound girl who tilted her head, trying to indicate to her rescuer that the gag should be removed first; the agent saw the tight knot at the back of her head. The agent’s black high heels click clacked on the white tiled floor. The Chinese style dressed operative’s black hosed legs standing out in sharp contrast in the white, pristine background.

(PART 7)

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CONTINUED:

She noted, as she moved in closer, that that girl’s panties and bra were sodden and sticking to the girl’s moist skin, stained with her sweat, she must have been struggling in the warm and airless bathroom for a long time.
The agent’s mind wandered again as she got closer, the girl’s white panties, due to body perspiration had become a little translucent, she could see the outline of a tuft of hair underneath the nylon white fabric, a little white ribbon bow just below her tummy button.
The tight elastic hem band that dug into the girls flesh keeping her panties in place, the gentle white arch over her upper thighs which continued to the rear, the panties fully encasing her peach shaped female ass, at the rear of the elastic band the laundry label was visible underneath the soft white fabric. The agent refocused her mind; she had spent too much time around Van Guilder and her perverted tastes.
The agent reached out for the still whimpering girls head, she drew it down, the gagged girl moaned harshly. The knot was too tight to undo. She wound have had to cut it. The agent crouched down to her stockinged knees; the gagged girls distorted face was parallel to the agents. The gagged girl was breathing heavily, her huge chest pounding up and down, her makeup smeared eyes looking hopeful at last.
With an effort the agent pried the tightly placed fabric from the girl’s mouth, causing more discomfort by prying it over the lower jaw. The gagged girl squirmed in her damp panties at the pain of having the gag forced out of her mouth in this way. The agent grew a little excited at the discomfort she had caused.
The agent plucked out the other piece of cloth that had bunged the female’s mouth and threw it to the tiled floor. The gag hung loose around the girls neck, still knotted at the rear.
The girl sucked in the fresh air, deep lungful’s in fact, her huge breasts heaving up and down ‘Thank you, thank you..’ she croaked, the agent assumed that she was Russian, by the accent.
‘Who did this to you’, mocked the agent, sounding all concerned. ‘I do not know, some crazy woman, she knocked me out and stole my uniform’, neglecting to mention even at this early stage that it was her who had stripped herself.
‘Who are you’, enquired the agent, ‘Natalya, I am.....’big breaths ‘a service maid, please untie me my hands hurt and my feet are numb’ The greed induced Natalya was still not put out by the fact that she had been reduced to only wearing her underwear, she was in too much pain and disorientated to care at this present moment in time.
The Chinese agent and sometime personal assistant and many other things began to see what had been bothering her all day. Something had been not right when they had replaced the real Fontaine, had they replaced the lawyer?
The agent remembered the lawyers room, that closet with the clothing dumped at the bottom. She had remembered what the service maids wore, a uniform comprising a white blouse, red bow tie and a short black skirt.
‘What did you bring to this room ...answer me’, the agent was standing up, directly standing over the tied up service maid. The un-gagged maid still pulled at her bound wrists, waiting to be released, starting to realise how vulnerable she felt just wearing her underclothes , being interrogated by this stranger who was not in any hurry to fully untie her it seemed.
‘I brought Champagne and Caviar, like she ordered....please untie me’, stammered the girl, shaking her bound hand to emphasis the point.
‘On what did you deliver the food and drink and what did she look like’, the agents tone changing ‘Tell me now, she stole your uniform and what else’, hissed the agent.
The bound maid noted the change in her would be rescuer and became nervous for the second time that day, the girls eyes popped in terror at the sight of the small pistol retrieved from a purse and levelled at her dishevelled head, very quickly she blurted out the whole story.
‘On a metal cart, she had black hair and was very strong, she was good looking, I thought she had a drinking problem, she offered me a lot of dough to take my clothes off, she wanted more I think and got me on the bed, then she attacked me with that stinking smelly cloth and I woke up in this bathroom tied up and gagged ’.

(PART 7)

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CONTINUED:

The maids terror filled eyes followed the agent, waiting for a response ‘It is the truth, honest, she robbed me’. The Chinese woman did not move, her face expressing explicit danger.
Something snapped in the Ukrainian maids mind, her bra and panty clad body began jerking at her bonds, regardless of personal injury or the pistol aimed at her head. She was sick of being tied up and abused by these Western and now Chinese fcuks, she lost it completely. ‘ Untie me... now, NOW’, she began to shout and scream, pulling again at her bonds.
The agent quickly walked towards the bedroom, all the while thinking of the cart in the lawyer’s bedroom, complete with Champagne and caviar, the clothing discarded in the closet that had no reason to be there. She knew that something was off beam, she should have checked out the room more thoroughly. If she had been a betting person she would have put everything on the fact that they had replaced the wrong person, someone had beat her to it.
The bound Ukrainian girl in her underwear was still shouting from the bathroom as the agent returned holding the still potent chloroform pad, this would give her a little more time to find out who else was after those account numbers. The cops would find it hard to interview an unconscious mugged maid who had had her uniform stolen.
The agent approached the bound girl, who had stopped struggling and shouting at once and looked very frightened at the sight of the nasty looking Chinese woman holding a large, foul smelling wad . Natalya Danilenko recognised that wad of cloth for what it was.
‘Untie me’, she pleaded ‘I will tell no one, please just let me go....I will run away....’ no answer came forth, only the woman who should have untied her holding a foul smelling cloth and advancing on her very fast.
Natalya just had time to blurt out’ You crazy fcuking B.tches’, ‘Nyet, Nyet...No ..Plea......’ she was cut off as the pad was jammed onto her face for the second time that day. ‘UUUMMMFFPPPHHH’ was the only protest as the agent held her head from behind tightly pressing the wad against the maid’s nose and mouth, the agent felt the nose move and squash underneath .
The agent held on fast to the girls mouth and nose, applying a large amount of force, she looked on as the maid’s body convulsed as once again it was assaulted by a chemical attack.
The girls tied up limbs tried to resist, the scarred wrists and ankles bucked, the huge bra clad breasts quivered up and down, back and fore, a bra strap fell off a shoulder, a huge white milky breast adorned with a large brown nipple flopped out of a weakened large white cup.
The tit gave way to gravity and hung there as the maid’s body tilted forward, her lower face smothered by the wad held in place by the ruthless Chinese agent. The agent closed her beautiful eyes, sensing and enjoying the experience of subduing the not so innocent maid.
The agent sensed the maid’s struggles and protests weaken, the agonised eyes fluttered, the whites showing and finally the bound girl collapsed fully forward, only her existing bonds keeping her in place. Unceremoniously , a large white breast hung from her body, the other still held by the bra. The maid’s hands and feet were turning purple due to her body hanging forward.
The agent pushed the girl’s head back so that her body rested backwards onto the toilet frame and water tank, her once tight gag loose around her neck and her mouth open. The agent noted the blood return to the girl’s limbs.
She said aloud ‘Well, at least their natural’ and reached out for the huge milky white breast. Her hand stopped just before it reached the soft flesh. The agent cursed loudly in Mandarin and spun on her high heeled shoes.
The agent threw the pad away and quickly left the bathroom and exited the room. Her intention was to search the Fontaine woman’s room properly and then head down to the basement and find out just who was really tied up in a laundry cart and more importantly was she still there.

[esercito sconfitto]

PART EIGHT

The Spy re-entered the hotel via the lobby and reception area. The hotel was quite busy, filling with guests and visitors preparing for an evening’s entertainment. The hotel restaurant had something of a reputation among the cities elite.
The Spy paused in mid stride and took in the bustling scene. She noted the well dressed clientele. The woman in evening gowns, their petite shoulders protected by a light shawl or gossamer over top, some ladies chose the ever fashionable ****tail dresses; the lower lobby was a ménage of various colours and styles.
The men wore a various collection of handmade suites or dinner jackets. The location smelt of money and power as well as expensive perfume. The rich men and women were waited on by girls dressed in the white shirt, red bow tie and short black skirt, their legs adorned with tan pantyhose. A form of dress that the Spy was now scrupulously familiar with, in her earlier relationship with room service, a service that for the Spy had been most enjoyable and advantageous.
The hotel reception area was busy, the three female and one male member of staff were fully occupied in their duties. The Spy noted a quite luscious looking brunette behind the counter; the Spy had taken note of her earlier in her stay at the hotel.
The girl wore her uniform as if she regularly purchased clothing a size too small for her curvaceous body. The Spy remembered that the navy blue skirt and jacket looked as if they had been spray painted onto the receptionist.
Most importantly, the Spy had noted that the brunette with the bright blue eyes looked as if she was her size in clothing, and without the blonde wig and theatrical makeup they would look rather similar in facial features at least.
The hair colour was a down side, but it was not a perfect world. The Spy took note, just in case she thought, especially if her plan would go off beam again.
The Spy adjusted the uniform cap’s peak, settling the black shiny rim over her eyes a little further down, being careful not to dislodge the black sunglasses that hid her eyes. After all she was still outwardly disguised with the facial features of the Fontaine woman.
Her blonde wig was tied back into a ponytail, held in place by a black scrunchie. The Spy quickly adjusted her black tie which was set over a white collared shirt, which in itself was masked by a very trim black uniform jacket.
Her hands and scarred wrists were hidden from view by black leather patent gloves. Her lower body sported a black short and well above the knee skirt. Like the previous owner, the skirt was taut on her thighs and backside; there was no visible panty line on display, just a well rounded smooth layer of firm delicious womanly posterior. Even the skirts zipper was located on her hip, rather than to the usual rear.
Her powerful legs were sheathed in off black coloured pantyhose. Up to her knees she sported black leather boots, with a small heel that made the driving duties much easier. In fact the Spy looked like she was supposed to be. A professional ladies chauffeur who was currently looking for her employer.
The Spy felt better than she did when she had woken up in the laundry cart. The real driver had been very accommodating in letting the Spy borrow her uniform; in fact the chauffeur had donated ALL her clothing to the Spy’s cause.

(PART 8)

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CONTINUED:

Okay, mused the Spy, she had no choice in the matter, after all she had been unconscious when stripped and was now in her limo bound and gagged. But the Spy really did appreciate the gesture of having the lady chauffeur being in the right place at the right time, or looked at from the chauffeur’s point of view, the not so right place to be at that particular time.
The Spy stood at the lobby entrance, feeling fresh and not as bedraggled and dirty as before. Once again, the Spy was dry between her legs, the underwear that she had stolen, which had already been used by two women that same day, then soiled by lust, had been discarded, well sort of discarded she mentally recorded.
The Spy had removed and then squeezed into the drivers unadorned Lycra and classic style black panties. The stretchy and tight garment felt pleasant and tight around her lower torso, black was her favourite colour anyway and Lycra her fabric of choice.
The panties were high on her stomach and tight on her butt, she liked that controlled firmness around her womanhood, after all she always liked to be in strict control, of her own body and others too if time allowed.
She saw quite a lot of pampered, soft female flesh on view that she would gladly like to control and touch within these walls, another time she thought.
The sheer ivory bikinis she had taken from the lawyer’s inert groin were flimsy affairs; she thought, more suited to middle class ladies who had no physical exertion planned, except maybe to excite the husband or in some cases the gardener.
Not the type of underwear that sporty types like her would normally indulge in, but after all, impersonation of another woman was an art form, an art form she practiced to perfection.
Wearing an intimate item of clothing was part of the deception; it made one feel like the victim and act like them, which is why she never dressed like them in private.
When she donned the frilly laced and obtuse underwear and clothing it was a new experience to her body and mind, she really was a chameleon.
A skill she had learned when she was young, she had been eighteen years old when she escaped the mental facility and not much older when the organization had found her.
The Spy felt a little guilty when looking back at the fate of those skimpy panties, which had not really been discarded, but rather used for another purpose.
After all she had soiled them in a rare moment of pleasure whilst tied up and gagged in the laundry cart. The Spy winced at the memory on how she had used the dirty panties, as stated, already worn by two women that same day, and had stuffed them into the unconscious lady driver’s mouth as a quick method of gagging her.
The feeling of guilt did not last very long, the Spy felt rather secure in wearing the female drivers full support pantyhose.
The common type with the darker reinforced pantyline at the top, reaching her waistline just below her navel, a nice off black shade to accentuate her long, toned legs, ending at the still peach painted toes, now darkened by the flimsy nylon.
The black Lycra panties underneath were visible, yet deciduously faded and obscured by the darker nylon mesh that lay over them. The pantyline elasticated waistband displayed no soft flesh protruding over the top, as with a majority of women, the Spy had no excess fat on her waist at all.
The tight pantyhose were a welcome sensation, especially after the cold freshness of the thigh highs stockings that she had taken from the lawyers legs earlier in the day.
The bra underneath the long sleeved white shirt was an even better unexpected gift. It was made from shiny white polyester and was one of the most popular designs favoured by women, a plunge bra, with a torso band that was also quite thin.

DIAMONDS (PART 8)

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CONTINUED:

The bra had a front fastener and the full support cups were simple and unadorned, it seemed the younger women today preferred their lingerie that way, rather than all lace and frills.
The bra was about one size too small but it was bearable. The spy liked it that way sometimes; it reminded her constantly that she had stolen it from another female.
Her ample breasts were squeezed under and into the still warm cups. The bra’s shoulder straps needed a little adjusting, to lower them slightly and after this little procedure she had found that all was well in the bra department.
The Spy made again for the elevator, her gait and bearing was one of confidence. Her butt sliding underneath the tight black skirt, held by Lycra panties and tight reinforced pantyhose, those butt cheeks were going nowhere.
Her newly supported and improved bust line was full and held securely in place as she marched through the frantic lobby. She decided then that this was her last change in underwear for this long and frustrating day.
She mentally thanked the lady driver, gagged and bound in the garage below for having great practical taste in the lingerie department. Always trust a working girl she thought to herself.
Talking of working girls, as the Spy walked past the busy reception desk, taking a peek at the brunette she would not mind running into again. The Spy halted near the desk and bent down to nearby table that sported hotel brochures, she selected one.
The Spy felt the delightful pull of the bra band on her back as it tightened around her chest, the short skirt rise up, sliding over her ass in pantyhose and tight Lycra panties, out of the corner of her eyes still watching the gloss painted lips of the receptionist as she innocently spoke.
What a pity thought the Spy, she was actually attracted to this one and was aching to see what lay underneath that uniform, the Spy noted that the stunning receptionist looked like the type that worked out and looked after herself, her golden badge in black script, pinned to her full left breast, declared Maggie James.
The Spy reluctantly discarded the brochure and stood straight, wheeled on her low heeled black boots and walked away.
The Spy neared one of the main floor elevators; the polished metallic silver doors pinged and opened.
A very agitated maid, dressed in her simple blue work dress exited, ignoring in her panic that she should have never have been on this floor in the first place. The aged maid started shouting ‘Security..Security...help...help...Robbery’. The maid ran towards the reception desk.
The Spy dressed in her chic purloined uniform entered the lift. Inwardly she assumed that one of her girlie acquaintances had been discovered or that the Chinese B.tch and her companions had completed the job, either way time was running out. The Cops would show up soon and things would get tight.
The doors closed, the always present bellboy asked which floor, and the uniformed Spy requested the lawyer’s floor. She intended to retrieve her gear and take it from there, maybe a quick change from Erin’s extensive, yet diminishing wardrobe and bug out fast. The doors closed, the look on the Spy’s altered face was tense, tense at the thought of defeat which had entered her mind for the first time.


1
(PART 8)

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CONTINUED:

Officers Sammy Wilson and Susan Sanchez had so far had a boring shift; it seemed that it would be a quiet evening for a change as they travelled in their marked Police cruiser. The small talk was sparse as they drove along their assigned patrol route.
Sammy picked up on the radio traffic ‘Hey, their sending two mobiles down to the Capitol Hotel, that’s near us’. Susan Sanchez looked towards him ‘So, it a’int us’, fed up with Sammy acting like a rookie. If they called us in that would be different.
Another minute or so passed, Sammy tensed as he listened to the radio, he flicked on the switch that activated the cruisers roof lights, ‘That’s us’, he smiled. Sanchez shook her head and acknowledged the message.
Within five minutes they were at the hotel, they had been directed to check on the underground parking lot. Sammy drove the cruiser down the access ramp, noting the other sirens and strobe lights above them at the hotel’s main entrance.
Sanchez spoke ‘they had a robbery or something in one of the rooms, a staff member was assaulted, knocked out they think....there’s a lot of rich dudes who use this place, politicians and the like....so their checking it out’, she rolled down her side window and activated the external searchlight.
Sammy replied as he drove into the shadowed large parking lot, ‘Yeah that would be right; they wouldn’t give a rat’s ass if it was just the low life’s that used this place’. They continued in silence, driving slowly along the parking lanes. It was again quite, no one around.
After a while, Sanchez piped up, ‘Over there to your left, movement’, she directed the light over to some parked cars, ‘What the Fcuk’, said Sammy.
They drove up, just short of an expensive, foreign made limousine that was rocking back and fore on its springs. The two officers got out of their cruiser, Sanchez sent a warning to central via the radio, both had retrieved their pistols and took an aggressive stance and advanced on the limo from either side.
Sammy challenged ‘This is the Police, you inside exit the car now’, he shouted. There was no reply, if anything the car rocked back and fore at a faster pace.
Sanchez called out the same challenge, still there was no response. Sanchez slowly reached for the rear passenger door handle, they could not see in due to the tinted black, mirrored windows. ‘After three’, whispered Sanchez.
The two police officers tensed as the countdown began, ‘1’, said Sanchez, ‘2’, said Sammy and the female cop said ‘3’.
As a team, both police officers pulled open the oversized rear doors, their automatic pistols with the safety off, ready to blast anything dangerous inside.
The soundproofed limo doors when opened released the pitiful suppressed, anguished, bellows of a gagged female. The high pitch tone and screaming were of a classic girlie nature.
Sammy cried out ‘Holy Fcuk’, and breathed out loudly, lowering his pistol arm in the process.
Sanchez did likewise but was taken off guard by the sight inside the limo, which still had the interior light on.
Sanchez shouted at Sammy ‘Call an ambulance, just in case’. The female officer holstered her pistol and reached inside the limo.
The sight that had startled the officers and had caused the limo’s rocking motion was that of a naked woman, bound and gagged in the back seat.
The distressed young, dark haired young woman had been tied to the middle seat at the rear of the limo. Her wrists tied to either side of her bucking body, her naked breasts doing an Irish jig all on their own.

(PART 8)

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CONTINUED:

The woman’s face was red with outrage, her eyes moist, not with tears of weakness but with sheer venom. Her shady dark eyelashes and threatening black eyes looked at the female cop and with fury roared through the gag that prevented her speech.
Sanchez noticed that the girl’s wrists seemed to be bound to the armrests by an ivory coloured fabric, likewise her knees and ankles had also been bound with the same coloured tight fabric.
At her feet there seemed to be straps, female underwear straps. Sanchez could not be sure but she thought it may have been a woman’s slip at one time. It was defiantly not a brassiere, Sanchez could plainly see were that was and it was not covering up this girl’s tits.
The gagged women’s black hair fell loosely over her shoulders, as if her hair clip had been removed. The young woman’s hair flowed over her neck and back, loose and untidy, someone had roughed up her hair when tying her up.
Sanchez deduced that the female must have been gagged when her hair was still pinned up, maybe after she had been stripped and as an afterthought by the perp who had done this to her.
All this information was processed in seconds, after all the officer was a trained observer. Sanchez looked at the poor girls crammed and obscure lower face.
Sanchez felt a little pity and disgust that the unfortunate and subdued girl had been gagged with an ivory coloured brassiere. Was it her own she thought? It must have been she thought.
There was something else in the bound and gagged girl’s mouth, being held in place by the bra’s gore or centrepiece; the two cups were stretched along her lower mouth, agin ivory in tone. The torso band was stretched tight and tied off behind her head, under her flowing, messy hair. Sanchez could see the bra straps dangling behind her neck.
Sanchez shuddered as she guessed what item of clothing had been jammed into the girl’s mouth. The Fcuking sickening perverts who must done this she thought to herself.
Sanchez, being a fellow female was touched by a deep sympathy for the bound, gagged, angry and must be frightened young women.
The girl was mewing now through the bra and panty gag, ‘MMMMuuuummm’, she moaned, her dark eyes pleading the officer to release her, mortified that she was naked, bare for all to see.
Sanchez guessed that she had kept on shifting her weight to rock the heavy limo, quite a feat for someone so frail in bodyweight.
The girl was slim, her breasts ample and her brown nipples were pert from being exposed, and the only item left on her body was a thin silver chain neck lace.
Her slim waist led down to the naked pubic area. The girl had made herself presentable in that department, a well manicured black, frizzy looking triangle spouted from between her closed and well shaped thighs. The feminine curves of her backside and thighs led down to shapely bare knees and legs.
Sanchez began to untie a tight knot that held one of her wrists to an arm rest; she looked up and saw Sammy staring at the bound and naked body, ‘Fcuk off, Sammy, it’s not a circus have a bit of decency will yah’, shouted the angry cop.
Sammy, chastised turned away and let his partner un-gag and un-tie the distraught girl in the car. He thought to himself, ‘Gee, wasn’t my fault’, and smiled to himself ‘Great body and tits though, one to remember’.
He was about walk back to the cruiser when a fire door further down the parking lot crashed open. He went for his pistol and relaxed again. Two blue uniformed maids came running out, saw him and began shouting and waving for him to come.
Sanchez had just taken the bra and panty gag from the now sobbing girl’s mouth, the girl loudly shouted ‘What the Fcuk happened...why.....where’s my Fcuking clothes.....where’s my Fcuking underwear’.
Officer Sanchez was at this moment in time still unaware that just a short time ago the female had been a smartly dressed chauffeur, enjoying a quite smoke.
Sanchez heard the commotion outside and told the girl to finish untying her bonds and then stuck her head outside to see what it was.
She saw Sammy look at her in confusion, she then saw two blue uniformed maids running towards them, followed by two more women, older ladies just wearing their bra’s, panties and pantyhose.
One was quite stout, her fleshy breasts going North, East, South and West, her gut held in by large control panties and the tan coloured hoes. The other was thinner, likewise in her smalls and pantyhose.
Sanchez noted that the two half dressed women had pieces of what looked like duct tape hanging from their arms and legs.
She looked at the bemused Sammy and this time she quipped ‘Have we stumbled on some rich guy’s bondage convention or are we being Punked’.
It was meant to be sarcastic and she groaned when Officer Wilson started to look up and around for hidden cameras, ‘Sammy, get on the radio, call for more backup, we have a situation on our hands, something’s going down in this place’.

PART NINE

The bellboy was having one hell of a shift. Good looking, classy broads using his elevator and then there was that hot looking Chinese whore, Jeez! That Fcuking split up the side of that spray on dress, and now he was inspecting this tight ass in a short black skirt.
He licked his lips as he tried not stare too long at the black hosed legs in knee length leather boots. To the boy she looked kind like a Frenchie chauffeur, well she looked the erotic European type, at least his fantasy wished it to be.
Even the hotel employees were worth a look at, especially those whopping great tits on that Russian dame who worked his shift, he pondered at that, what was her Nicole or Natalie or something he hadn’t seen her in a while, not since this afternoon anyway. The door pinged.
‘Third floor, Ma’am’ he said. He watched as his passenger left his flowing daydream and vivid imagination. He watched the blonde women cat walk down the corridor as the elevator doors closed. Fcuking knee high boots his brain ached, just one touch he thought as the doors closed finally. He sighed and waited for his next hot ride.
The Spy found the lawyers room. She looked around and all was clear. She retrieved a small pen knife that was fortunately in the driver’s uniform jacket inside pocket. She opened the blade and looked at the electronic card lock, the light on the lock displayed red.
These locks although modern and thought to be safe were far from it in reality. She knew that the old style metal key system was far superior. She jammed the blade into the lock and twisted, the blade snapped and the light turned green. The Spy once more made sure no one was watching and opened the lawyer’s room door.
The Spy walked slowly into the room and closed the door. She moved further into the room.
‘Make a move and your dead’ said a crisp English accented voice. The Spy froze as she entered the main bedroom that she had been forced to leave only a short time before. The same room where she had chloroformed the lawyer, stripped her and donned her clothing, she had even stolen her face.
The Spy saw her again, Wong ‘You are good, I’ll give you that’, the Spy saw the small derringer style pistol in the Chinese agents black painted finger nailed hand. The Spy raised her eyebrows at what Mary Wong was wearing, gone was the professional black suit of earlier.
The agent stood, black nylon covered legs apart and looking taller in her black high heeled shoes. The short blue/green silk dress was taught between those well shaped legs, the dress creased and strained. Her black sheathed knee protruding through the split that slashed up the dragon patterned skirt.
The agent’s bosom was accentuated by the tight dress, especially from her thin waist, the high collar and brash cosmetics gave her a cheap, though very sensual oriental look.
‘Nice outfit is it the year of the goat, or something’, quipped the spy.
‘You can talk, whoever you are, Ms Fontaine the chauffeur, I think not’, evilly smirked the agent ‘I take it you made another lady indisposed by wearing those clothes, No....’, the agent pointed her spare hand to the other side of the bed, her pistol hand did not move an inch.
‘That would be three tied up ladies, I think’. The Spy moved slightly to look where the agent was indicating, to the other blind side of the bed.
There on the floor was the female lawyer. The white Latex swim cap had been removed, her once fine and shiny blonde hair, looking dirty and compressed by sweat.
The thick, sticky brown surgical tape had been removed from around her eyes and head. Her white skin looked red, her once delicate eye lashes were gone and she was unconscious, ‘The poor thing passed out again after I found her under the bed’, said the agent, as if telling a child’s story.
The lawyer was still tightly taped gagged, but the saran wrap that had encased her body had been cut away. Her wrists were still bound with the tape in front of her, likewise her knees and ankles.
Her naked, homely body looked flushed, as if slightly boiled by perspiration. Her breasts, half concealed by the crossed arms, her slim yet fleshy stomach were red, blotchy and clammy.
Her womanly thighs complete with a little blonde tuft of hair that made a perfect ‘V‘between her closed legs. The tape wrapped around her soft knees, likewise her small ankles that were once sheathed in nude coloured stockings, ankles that were intended to feel the strap of her new Italian shoes, a pleasure that was not to be, denied by the woman who had stolen her face.
The Spy sniffed the air, something smelled acidic, before she realised what the odour was, Wong spoke ‘Yes, it seems that Ms Fontaine urinated over herself’, the Spy’s nose wrinkled in revulsion.

(PART 9)

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CONTINUED:

‘Whether it was caused by the sheer terror at waking up in such a predicament or being left bound for so long, one would only guess at’, quipped the agent ‘very cruel of you to tie her so tight, that gag was enough, she nearly suffocated until I cut the plastic away’.
‘Spare me the pity, Wong. That b.tch made millions by representing drug lords, arms dealers, you name it. Thousands die every year to cater for her rich b.tch lifestyle. If she pissed herself in fright, then she’s only feeling part of what her clients dole out’.
‘So’, mused the agent, her voice becoming a sneer ‘so a crusader, someone’s Joan of Arc’.
‘What do you want Wong’, said the Spy, still using her fake southern accent once used by the gagged woman on the floor.
‘Who do you work for would be a start, be cooperative and I may not kill you’, smiled the beautiful oriental operative.
The Spy took in the dress, Wong wasn’t that bad looking really, but the Spy did not really want her body, she wanted those clothes. She had an acquaintance who would appreciate those clothes at a certain time of night.
The Spy chuckled ‘Hell on wheels, listen Fu Manchu’s evil daughter, you’ll kill me anyway once I tell you’, the Spy edged closer, only a tad.
‘I said do not move’, hissed the agent, insulted by the reference. ‘The place will be full of Cops soon’, echoed the Spy who came closer still.
‘They probably found the dame who loaned me this uniform by now and the Russkie Maid who did a little strip for me....’ she was nearly in range ‘You shoot and they will come running...’ just a little more.
The Chinese agent tried to step back and caught her high heel on a bedside cabinet, her balance momentarily thrown off.
The Spy saw the mistake and pounced. She reached out with her left arm as a feint; the agent reacted and withdrew her pistol hand.
The Spy’s right clenched open hand flew at the agents head. The chopping motion hit fresh air as the agent countered by shifting her weight to one side.
Her pretty head bobbed out of the way. The Spy’s left hand still managed to knock the small pistol from the agent’s hand, it landed on the bed.
The Spy twisted on her black boot heels and threw her slim, taught body onto the bed; she had no compunction about shooting the Chinese B.tch dead, although in reality she knew she was as restricted as her enemy when it came to creating a gunshot noise. She could force her to strip though.
The Spy nearly reached the miniature pistol when she felt a blow to her lower waist. The agent had jumped onto her side, the Spy had half turned and gripped the Chinese females thin, yet strong wrists.
Petite looking, yet trained, painted fingernails dug deeply into soft female flesh. The contrast to the Spy’s smooth white skin and that of the soft, bronze colour of the Chinese operator was quite apparent. The Spy winced in pain as the smooth leather gloves chaffed her already hurting wrists.
The Chinese girl was above the Spy, her eyes glazed over, consumed with the effort to kill her. Her bra supported breasts heaving inside the silk and lace. The Asian’s black pantyhosed legs straddled the Spy, spread wide and sexy.

(PART 9)

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CONTINUED:

Both gorgeous women struggled with each other, their arms locked in a duel. The Spy’s already short skirt became shorter, riding up her thighs and black pantyhose, her hips gyrating as the pantyline became visible and then the black Lycra panties underneath. Her black clad hips moving up and down, trying to buck the agent off her lean body.
The spy’s black uniform jacket and white shirt buttons had been ripped open. Her breasts were tight and full in the stolen shiny white polyester bra, her cleavage deep and mouth watering, flesh spilling out over the cups. The Spy’s face was a grim test of strength against a fellow professional and lethal opponent.
The Chinese beauty was bent over the Spy, her dress tight, her black sheathed legs now buried in the Spy’s groin, the other pushing for leverage. The woman’s look crazier, accentuated by the ebony needles emanating from her bunned black hair style.
Her hands were attempting to subdue the woman under her, once free they would choke the life out of this Western sl.t. The agent’s bra clad breasts were silhouetted, as if they were naked and were baring down on her victims strained face.
The Spy, in one last spurge of energy retracted one booted knee up to her chest, just under the agent’s breast bone and kicked out in one savage thrust.
The kick caught the Chinese girl in the left tit, and with excruciating pain threw her back off the Spy’s reclined body, braking the contact between the two sexy wild cats.
The Chinese agent, her face in pain and rage charged back at her opponent, her fingers and sharp black nails were rigid as if intent on scratching the Spy’s eyes out, her voice a shriek of blood lust.
The Spy quickly withdrew her booted feet to her midriff, made contact with the charging pain fuelled female, rolled her legs up and over.
Her black panty and hosed covered ass was shown to the world, the agent’s body flew over the Spy and with a sickening crunch her head connected with the bedroom wall opposite.
The Chinese femme fatale landed on the already unconscious and gagged lawyer. The Spy let out a large breath and rolled onto her stomach, she jumped up onto all fours; the bed by now was a complete mess.
The Spy relaxed and lay down on her ample breasts, her cleavage pushed together, aided by the fleeced brassiere as she gazed down at the prone, subdued body of the agent, spread-eagled over the bound lawyer.
The agent’s silk dress had ridden up to her waist, revealing long, pantyhose clad legs, sheer to waist black, her rounded, peach like ass visible underneath complete with a black, tiny thong.
‘MMMmmmm’, hummed the Spy, her chin supported by both leather clad hands ‘time to go shopping’, she smiled that wicked smile of hers.


Officer Sanchez had left Sammy down at the underground garage. He was dealing with the three distressed tattered and unclothed females. All now covered over with police department issue blankets, hiding their humility at last, bawling and crying in a crescendo of outrage.
Backup was inbound, likewise medical. She made her way by the service elevator, to make contact with the unit that was at the lobby entrance.
She entered the eventful hotel lobby. Her eyes adjusted to the bright light. Has she walked she held her hands close to her utility belt, in the regulation fashion. Her gait was that of a hardnosed professional law enforcement officer.
She just noted the paramedics, male and female, entering one of the main elevators. The two man police unit was just inside the lobby glass doors. All seemed normal within the hotel.
Rich, well attired guests or patrons were enjoying an evening drink, some waiting their turn for a place or reservation at the elegant and fashionable restaurant.
The hotel staff were quite active, only one or two employees or the odd bored guest took notice of the police presence.
She approached the senior male cop ‘What’s up, where are the medics going’. The guy, looking bored, eyed up Sanchez, a good looking Latino broad, he mused, best not piss her off by being ignorant.


(PART 9)

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CONTINUED:

‘They found an unconscious female on the fourth floor, bound and gagged’, he paused and realized his fellow officer wanted more information.
‘They think that she is staff, a maid or something, a robbery gone wrong, because nothing happened’, smirked the male officer. His partner said nothing, except he was eyeing up Sanchez in her tight, black uniform pants.
Sanchez rocked back on her boots ‘Hello, have your brain cells been removed or something’, she paused.
‘We got a tied up member of staff, found in a room, minus her uniform! Okay...a possible member of staff. We got two more house maids in the basement, minus their clothes......and a chick that was stripped naked, who was probably a limo driver.......hey guys......’ she paused again and this time raised her voice ‘IT IS A FCUKING ROBBERY...fcuking clowns’ and stormed off.
Sanchez made for the reception desk, she had to find the manager and the hotel’s head of security....lame ass dude whoever he or she was. This place had to locked down and fast.
The two male cops at the entrance shouted ‘Hey, it’s your funeral.....the Sarge will luv yeah for it’.
Sanchez ignored them, she knew she was right, something was going down in this rich man’s fun palace, she just knew it.....if not she would need a new job.

The lawyer’s room was full of noise, not loud noise like the TV playing loudly or people having a party.
It was not the noise of loud love making or a husband and wife arguing although some of the grunts and bellows could be interpreted that way.
The room’s peace was disturbed by more of a deep throated ‘MMMrrrpppphhhh’ or ‘RRRuuuhhhhrr’, as if someone was protesting loudly, yet could not form their speech appropriately. Whoever it was, they were being prevented from talking.
There was also the vigorous racket of bed springs being tested to the extreme. The noise was obviously caused by a female, an angry one at that.
The Spy was in the process of placing a black, very lacy; flower trimmed cup, polyester Demi Bra and a lacy pair of black Tanga panties into a large suitcase. The Spy lightly fingered the little black bow that adorned the bra’s centrepiece or gore, a very cute example she pondered.
These intimate womanly items joined the rest of Ms Mary Wong’s wardrobe that had been carefully folded and packed into the suitcase, likewise her disguise kit box from earlier in the day.
The suitcase, complete with a large pulling handle had belonged to the lawyer; like the outer garments that she now wore. The lady driver’s uniform skirt, boots and ripped shirt and jacket had been discarded.
The smart grey pants were flared at the bottom, her feet and legs still encased in the lady drivers tight off black, full support pantyhose and underneath those tight Lycra high cut panties, and there was no sign of the dreaded VPL.
The tailored matching suit jacket was pinched in and buttoned at her waist, the silk white blouse with flared collars over the jacket and the black slip on low heeled shoes had also belonged to the silent, gagged and bound lawyer.
She really was considerate when packing for a trip thought the Spy. The grey suit was expensive and tailored to the rightful owner’s body, yet the Spy was so slim and toned it did not really matter, after all the Spy was matched to the owners size, as required by the original plan, that had backfired earlier that afternoon.

(PART 9)

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CONTINUED:

As well as her main wardrobe, the Spy also appreciated the still unconscious woman’s varied and ready supply of lingerie and pantyhose. Although the Spy retained the underwear and hose of the unfortunate chauffeur, she had put the lawyer’s intimate lady things to good use.
The lawyer turned to the source of the disturbance within the room; after all it could not be the still comatose and tied up Southern lawyer.
Mary Wong, personal assistant to Jacqueline Van Guilder and Chinese intelligence operative was not a happy girl by a long shot.
Apart from the bruising to the side of her face, which was swelling up nicely, the agent had other problems on her mind at this present moment in time. The purple, sore looking welt being the result of her face connecting to the bedroom wall.
The agent’s once beautiful face was also distorted by another factor imposed against her will. Her lower face was held in a tight grimace. Her pure white teeth bared, her red painted lips stretched taught.
The agent’s, once pretty, demure mouth was full, literally stuffed by a burgundy wine coloured fabric. The Spy new the fabric to be another pair panties from the draw used to store the female lawyers underwear.
A curiosity thought the Spy, the lawyer seemed to select her underwear in sets, good quality affairs and quite pricey. Yet, the Spy did not see a matching bra on offer; maybe it was a lucky pair, or a comfortable favourite.
The Spy had also placed the unwilling lawyer’s residual bras and panties into the suitcase. After all, the woman’s belongings were her exact size, unlike the current bra she was wearing, and all were expensive brand names. She liked to call this secret form of theft ‘Shopping’, her style.
The method of keeping the burgundy coloured panties held securely within the Chinese woman’s mouth was not unique, but quite enthralling.
A pair of soft, tan coloured pliable pantyhose had been firmly tied around the woman’s mouth to the back of her neck. Her jet black, shoulder length hair was caught underneath the restrictive brown nylon, giving her a bobbed hairstyle effect.
In fact, the Spy had nearly exhausted the gagged lawyer’s pantyhose selection by tying the agent up. It had not been exhausted yet, nearly but not quite.
A black pair of pantyhose held the woman’s feet together, her knees were restrained by another tan pair, her wrists were held to her front by a coffee coloured hold up stocking and her wrist’s were tied to her ankles by the use of a connecting pair of light grey, comfort waistline pantyhose.
The Spy assumed that these nylon’s were intended to match the smart business suit combination that she now wore. The Spy felt the white, silky blouse fabric gently caress the stolen plunge bra underneath.
The agent was also very naked indeed, hence the increased rage she was experiencing. While she had been unconscious the Spy had removed all of Mary Wong’s clothing, inner and outer.
As the agent attempted to thrash around on the bed, her curvaceous, fit, bronzed and unblemished body was on public display. The Spy noted that Ms Wong was completely shaven in her private region; the Spy had experienced an involuntary shiver when she had removed the lacy black Tanga panties.
The agent was writhing to the left and right, bellowing through the gag, ‘MMMMRRRPPPHHH’, she roared in repeated outrage. The attempt at loosening the nylon bonds was useless. Her well rounded, natural bosom was partially hidden from view by her bound upper limbs.

(PART 9)

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CONTINUED:

The Spy, who was now ready to leave spoke ‘It’s no use my dear’ she explained further ‘I used Erin’s pantyhose to tie and gag you for one reason, the more you struggle the tighter they will become’.
At the sound of her enemy’s voice the agent went into a spasm of violent hatred. Her dark eyes filled with bitter venom, all too aware of her helplessness and nakedness. All the time groaning through that tight infernal gag.
The Spy noted the Chinese woman’s feet and hands were not their natural colour. ‘Oh dear me’, mocked the Spy ‘I do miss that la di da English accent of yours......or was it false my little Chinese water flower....what got nothing to say....at least your tits are not false and your ass is mouth watering’.
‘UUUURRRGGHHHHH’, ‘MMMMRRRPPPPHHHH’, replied the gagged, helpless and taunted female. Who nearly rolled off the bed, pulling at the tight pantyhose that restrained her body.
The Spy strode back to the dressing table and retrieved an item that she had kept as a sadistic treat.
She turned ‘So my little Chinese clown, you are fast, but I’m faster....you wanted those bank account numbers...so that makes you a bank robber..’ she walked towards the naked, bound and gagged woman on the bed, who for once remained still in apprehension, her eyes focused on the Spy.
The agent bit down tighter on the gag that prevented her from shouting ‘Go Fcuk yourself.....or your dead when I get out of this’, or something similar judging by the malevolent look on her face.
‘So what do all bank robbers need’, the Spy paused for effect and held up the object in her hand ‘a stocking mask of course....Da Daaaa’, she joyfully pronounced.
The Spy pounced on the powerless female, whose gagged shouts became louder and louder, her head shifting back and fore, trying to prevent the tan coloured stocking being forced over her head.
The Spy persevered and forced the soft fabric over and down the woman’s face. She admired her handiwork.
The naked, bound and gagged woman’s facial features were now quite indistinct. Her petite nose being squashed under the light brown springy, gossamer fabric, her hair dark and blurry, plastered to her forehead, under the unyielding stocking.
Her gagged mouth, taut lips the burgundy coloured panties not so obvious and distinct. Her hate fill eyes were obscure under the soft brown film.
The Spy made to leave, the violated female once again bucking and bellowing on the dishevelled bed. ‘Bye bye....cutie...oh and thanks for your clothes.... be glad I didn’t kill you...hope they find you by Christmas’.
As she reached the room’s door in her purloined grey suite and pants, shoes, stolen panties, bra and hose another sound reached her ears.
It sounded like someone had stepped on a cat, a low high toned shriek, very muffled though. The nylon hooded, bound and gagged Chinese dame was making too much noise, but she definitely heard it.
That must be the lawyer awake she briefly mused. The Spy had spent a long time training herself to be the petite, conservative and married and soft female lawyer and all for nothing. ‘Shut up you pathetic b.tch’, she called out, not expecting a reply.
She left the room and closed the door with the busted lock behind her. When the door closed behind her, the racket of the two tied up naked women inside was also blocked out. Nobody had observed her leaving.

(PART 9)

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CONTINUED:

She pulled her suitcase behind her. She had removed the facial disguise that had said that she was the lawyer, yet retained the blonde wig, held in a ponytail by the lady driver’s black scrunhie.
After all, that Ukrainian maid, come stripper with the huge tits could still recognise her, the blonde wig would help for a while at least. Her petite ear lobes were adorned with pearl dragoon motif ear rings, newly acquired of course.
She walked down the corridor, passing a suited lone man who said ‘hello’, in her natural voice she replied back and smiled.
He turned around briefly after the smartly attired woman had passed. To him, the grey suited, blonde pretty woman was a business lady. He thought what a good looking ass she had under those grey pants that swirled around her feet.
The man continued on his way to his room, past the one with its broken lock and it’s tied up, naked secret within.
How would the man fathom, let alone understand that the gorgeous blonde business executive that he had passed and would not mind screwing was a professional imposter and lethal black ops agent.
How was he to know that the curved ass he had admired in the grey pants was clad in stolen clothes. The clothes taken from various women who had dressed themselves privately and then much later were so violently divested of them.
How could he guess that the theft of the outer clothing was not her only limitation to that violation of an individual’s dignity. Other women’s bras, panties, pantyhose, shoes and jewellery were not sacred icons of a female’s personality.
Intimate, soft feminine attire, designed to make a man’s heartbeat quicken. Personally chosen to suite an individual female’s tastes, for her own self esteem, or that of a lover or an husband. The blonde woman he had passed cared nothing of this, only that when she wore another woman’s clothing, underwear and all, she also stole that woman’s self-worth.
The blonde Spy still had a mission, she needed those account numbers and fast before this place became too hot. After too many delays it was time to visit Van Guilder and end this now.

[lindseynicole010]

thanks

[pass]

The part where the newly disguised spy is replaced by another woman with the face of a lawyer was a real touch of class. Can't wait to read more. really exciting story. Very good.