The Spy in Sunglasses ( incomplete)
Posted: Fri Jul 01, 2016 8:46 am
The Spy in Sunglasses
by tirepanted2
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A soft wind whistled through the trees of Seneca Forest. It was a peaceful morning, the kind that heralds a beautiful spring day.
Secret Service Agent Marianne Cole would have taken more time to appreciate the blissful weather, if not for the fact that she was given strict orders to concentrate on scouting the surrounding area. Fresh out of college, the young blonde had only begun her job as one of the President’s security agents six weeks ago, and she was determined to make a good impression. Which meant following what her boss called the “3D Plan” – Determination, Dedication, and Devotion.
She was certainly dressed professionally for the job – black pantsuit over white shirt and black tie, with sensible black shoes and sunglasses. The clothing lent her an air of professionalism, and she felt like a serious member of the Secret Service while wearing them.
A butterfly landed on Marianne’s shoulder. She smiled.
The sound of jogging feet alerted her. She looked up to see a dark-haired woman in a blue jumpsuit and white trainers heading her way. The woman was staring worriedly at her iPhone when she caught sight of Marianne.
“Hi!” the woman smiled. “Listen… you think you can do me a solid? I’m lost… Got separated from my friends back at the museum.” She held up a road map. “Can you point me the way to the Morning Glory Inn?”
Marianne was under strict orders not to engage in conversation with any passerby. But the woman’s big brown pleading eyes made her pause. Marianne smiled and consulted the map.
“It’s not far… in fact, you just need to clear the forest and pass the Seneca trail – uuuuggghhhhh!”
A viselike arm clamped around her neck, cutting off the blood flow to her brain.
Marianne tried struggling, but her dark-haired assailant was stronger than she looked. She held on tight, determined not to let the woman get free and call for help.
For about forty seconds, the two women struggled in the woods, Marianne trying vainly to gain the upper hand. Her struggles grew weaker, and her reflexes slowed. Finally, she lapsed into unconsciousness.
Janet took a moment to regain her energy. Then she dragged the insensible SS agent deep into the forest and near a small alcove in the bedrock. She paused for breath and checked her watch. Her timing was impeccable.
Janet kicked off her trainers and stripped off her jumpsuit. Then she began divesting Marianne of her clothes. The shoes came off first, followed by the pantsuit, white shirt, and tie. This left the woman in a pair of pink bra and panties, and white tights. After a moment’s pause, Janet removed the tights as well.
The tights were cut down the middle and used for binding material – one stocking bound the poor girl’s wrists behind her back, the other mercilessly secured her ankles together. A length of duct tape was wound around her pretty pink lips, gagging her.
It took a matter of minutes for Janet to dress herself in the ex-Secret Service agent’s clothes. The shirt and pantsuit were just about the right fit, and she was soon lacing up the shoes and fastening the stolen tie around her long neck. The sunglasses effectively completed her disguise.
With a malicious smile playing on her lips, Janet produced a small syringe from the pocket of her discarded tracksuit. She pressed the needle into her victim’s left ass cheek and squeezed the plunger. The drug which now coursed through Marianne’s veins would keep her unconscious and immobilized for forty-eight hours – more than enough time for Janet to carry out her plan.
As an added precaution, Janet dragged the bound captive into the alcove and rolled a heavy boulder over the entrance. In this manner, she could leave her identity donor out of sight with the assured knowledge that the woman would not soon be found, and would not interfere with her plans.
Janet returned to the post that had so recently been occupied by Marianne. As she glanced around, she noticed a stain on her jacket – one which had likely been there for a few days.
“Couldn’t someone at least dry-clean this?” she muttered. “I swear. People can be so inconsiderate.”
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The Los Angeles airport was crowded, even for a regular Sunday morning. It was thus that Kris and Maura found themselves scrambling to get on their flight.
“Let’s go, girl. The plane doesn’t wait for stragglers,” Kris called to her friend.
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Maura replied. “It would help if you carried some of the bags, though.”
Maura took another step and staggered, knocking into the carry-all of a woman who sat on one of the terminal benches.
“Oh! Gosh, I’m sorry,” Maura blushed as she staggered to her feet.
The woman simply nodded curtly, not looking up from her newspaper.
Maura hurried to join her friend.
Vera continued glancing at the headlines, but occasionally glancing above them at the passerby. Her venomous eyes scanned the area. She was looking for a flight attendant – any one would do, so long as she was about her size.
The task had proven difficult. Vera was a broad, muscular woman, with a more impressive physique than most. And the airline seemed to thrive on small, petite flight attendants. Her short blonde hair flicked from side to side… and someone caught her eye.
The woman was tall, though a bit slim. She dressed in the standard-issue uniform of the airline’s flight attendants. Dark blue jacket and skirt, white shirt, black high heels, and blue pillbox hat over her dark hair, which had been pulled back into a bun. The woman headed across the airport terminal and stepped into the restroom.
Vera nodded to herself as she stood up and headed toward the Ladies’ Room herself.
The restroom consisted of eleven stalls along one wall, and a table with nine sinks along the other. A short woman in a business suit stood rinsing her hands at one sink. Once finished, she dried them with a paper towel and passed Vera on her way out the door. Somewhere above, an air conditioner vent hummed.
Vera bent down and pressed one knee to the well-tiled floor. She could see beneath the partitions of the restroom stalls. All were unoccupied, save one at the far end – which boasted a shiny pair of black high heels.
Vera rose to her feet again. She was now alone with her prey.
She crossed the length of the restroom swiftly and silently, stopping just to the side of the occupied stall’s closed door. She waited, calm as the morning sea.
After what seemed like an eternity, but was in actuality no more than thirty seconds, Vera heard the sound of a toilet flushing from within the stall. Moments later, the lock turned, and the young stewardess opened the door.
She balked at the sight of the tall, muscular, and imposing woman before her.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
A grin slowly spread across Vera’s face. “You will.”
She advanced on the young woman, who slowly and fearfully began backing into the stall. “What… what are you doing?”
Vera said nothing as she stepped into the stall and closed and locked the door behind her. Then, as she backed the poor girl up against the wall, she whispered something ever-so-softly.
The noise from the air-conditioning vent drowned out her words; however, the stewardess could have sworn Vera’s reply was, “What I do best.”
The noise from the vent also masked the vicious punches and futile cries for mercy which followed.
Vera propped the unconscious stewardess onto the toilet bowl and stripped her. Once the heels, skirt, jacket, shirt, hat, and black tights had been removed, the woman was gagged with tape and bound with flex. She was left secured to the toilet bowl pipe, clad only in her blue plunge bra and matching panties, her pert ass pressed down into the bowl.
The uniform, as Vera had anticipated, was a couple of sizes too small, but this was no time to get picky. The buttons would hold so long as she didn’t take any deep breaths, and the skirt would remain intact as long as she didn’t have to bend over. Vera placed the pillbox hat atop her head and did up her hair.
The toilet was locked from the outside with Vera’s pocketknife blade, and the words “Out of Order” were scribbled onto the doorway. The flight attendant would have plenty of time to catch up on her beauty sleep – although even Vera had to admit she didn’t need very much of it.
Vera crossed the terminal and headed for the plane her clothing and identity donor was scheduled to accompany. She stepped onto the plane rather gingerly, partially to avoid suspicion, and partially to avoid tearing her ill-fitting stolen uniform.
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Janet scouted the perimeter of the large amphitheater. The currently-empty stands could conceivably hold over nine hundred spectators. And it was expected to be packed that evening, when the President of the United States would be giving a grandstand speech to the public.
Janet checked her watch again. The services weren't due to start till one that afternoon. That gave her three hours to ensure that everything would be ready. Three hours till it was time to go into action. She felt the gun at her hip and smiled.
Her earpiece crackled to life with a stern-sounding woman's voice. "Agent Cole, do you read? Please respond."
Caught a bit off-guard, Janet regained her composure and responded in her best imitation of Marianne's voice. "This is Agent Cole. Go ahead."
"Please report to base at once. That is an order."
Janet suddenly felt nervous. She hadn't counted on making face-to-face contact with the Secret Service head. What if she was recognized as an imposter?
She quickly calmed herself. After all, she had specifically chosen to replace an agent who was both similar to her in looks and relatively new to the Service. She could pull it off. All she needed was a new blonde hairdo...
"I'll be right over," she responded into her com-link, causing the woman at the other end to promptly cut the conversation short.
A sound alerted Janet as she exited the amphitheater. Tuning, she saw a blonde woman in a skimpy sundress walking around the bend. The woman was dressed in a cloth bikini top, a colorful flowing skirt, and pink stiletto high heels. She was admiring the craftsmanship of the large amphitheater and did not notice the young woman who had hidden herself in the bushes, a wicked smile on her face.
All it took was a single neck chop, and the blonde crumpled in Jane's arms. Janet dragged her into the bushes and stripped her naked. As she had suspected from the hair, the woman was not a true blonde. Placing both her hands on the woman's blonde locks, she pulled until the wig came off, revealing her victim to have natural short brunette curls.
"Trying to fool the world, honey?" Janet chided. "Don't fret... You look lovely either way."
After cutting up the skirt into bondage-appropriate strips, Janet proceeded to bind the poor naked woman hand and foot. The cloth bra was an effective gag. Janet found a suitable secluded spot deep in the woods and secured her victim hammock-style between two trees.
"Pleasant dreams, darling," Janet called back without looking over her shoulder.
She retrieved the wig and placed it over her dark hair, arranging it into a hairstyle similar to the one sported by Marianne. The gorgeous high heels were tempting, but she resisted, knowing that they would look suspiciously unprofessional with her Secret Service uniform. She hid them in some bushes, with the intent to come back and retrieve them after her job was complete.
Half an hour later, Janet stepped out of Marianne's - or rather, her - car and approached the Secret Service headquarters.
If she had been expecting trouble, she was pleasantly surprised. The female gate guard waved her in with only a passing glance at her ID card. Janet made her way to the main office and knocked on the door. She was promptly rewarded with a "Come in."
Janet entered. Sitting at the large oak desk was a brunette woman in her forties, dressed in a dark business suit. Seated across from her in dark pantsuits were two female Secret Service agents in their early twenties - one a slim, tall blonde, the other a striking redhead.
"Hello, Marianne," Secret Service Director Sue Ann Bishop addressed Janet, gesturing to the two seated women. "Have you met Catherine and Brie?"
Janet hadn't, of course, but before she could decide whether or not to admit that, a cell phone ringtone loudly sounded off.
"Mine!" the blonde girl announced. She pulled out her phone and spoke into it. "Hey, Ricky, darling. Oh, just a meeting. Want to go out tonight? I know this great place near-"
"AHEM," Sue Ann scowled.
The blonde looked up.
"Catherine, are you honestly taking a call now?" Sue Ann snapped. "Show some respect for this office."
"It'll just take a minute," Catherine responded. "Ricky didn't call me since this morning, and I-"
"How is Ricky?" Brie interrupted. "I'm going out with Ken tonight. Wanna double date?"
"Sure," Catherine smiled "Let me just double-check with him."
Sue Ann banged her fist on the desk. The room grew silent.
"Girls," Sue Ann said slowly. "I called the two of you in here because, quite frankly, you're the worst Secret Service agents I've ever had under my command. You care more about dates than the fate of this country."
Catherine opened her mouth to protest, but Sue Ann held up a hand.
"You're fired," she said tersely. "Both of you. Leave your guns and badges with the front desk."
"But-"
"LEAVE!" Sue Ann shouted.
The two girls got up and shuffled out the door, right past a speechless and confused Janet.
As the door closed, Sue Ann turned to Janet. "Hello, Agent Cole. I've asked you here today because it turns out you'll need to work a bit harder than usual."
Janet kept quiet, then slowly nodded her head. "Those two agents..."
"...were incompetents," Sue Ann replied. "Thankfully, we have more dedicated women on the force." She eyed Janet forcefully. "Can I count on you to do your job?"
Janet nodded and smiled, her eyes twinkling behind her dark glasses. "You can," she said simply, with a near-undetectable hint of mystery in her voice.
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Kris gazed out the plane's window. "Check out the clouds!" she said. "Don't they look adorable?"
Maura didn't look up from her fashion magazine. "Yup," she said.
"I love flying," Kris sighed as she settled back into her leather seat. "Wish we could do it more often."
"Not me," Maura replied. "One cross-country vacation is enough, thanks."
"Oh, you're no fun," Kris smiled. "You need to lighten up. Excuse me!" she called to a passing flight attendant. "Could you get my friend a tall cool Bloody Mary?"
The tall, imposing attendant wordlessly nodded, and headed to the back of the plane.
Maura eyed her receding form suspiciously. "Funny... I could've sworn I saw that woman back at the terminal."
"Duh! She works for the airline," Kris replied.
"But... she wasn't dressed as a flight attendant then. And doesn't her uniform look a little small for her?"
"Slow down, Maura. You're getting a little carried away," Kris responded. "Been reading too many spy novels, if you ask me."
Maura didn't say another word... but she eyed the expressionless stewardess suspiciously when her drink was brought.
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Kendra maneuvered herself across the dining hall of La Maison Alimentaire, balancing the tray on one hand while avoiding diner patrons and tables on her way to the kitchen. A glance at her watch told the perky, dark-haired waitress that her shift for the morning was almost complete. She smiled as she looked over her uniform of red waistcoat over white button-down shirt, black pants, and shiny black flats. She had succeeded going the whole morning without getting any food stains on her uniform.
Sidling through the large double doors, Kendra smiled at one of the chefs. "Hey, Brian. Have you seen Claire and Danielle?"
"Break room, I think," the chef replied above the thump-thump of the gas oven's pipes.
Kendra walked briskly through the kitchen and out the back doors to the employee sector. It had been a long morning, and she was in the mood for some female companionship.
The lights in the break room were off as Kendra entered. She felt for the switch. "Claire? Danny?" she called out.
A faint, muffled moaning met her ears.
Her fingers found the switch and flicked it on, flooding the break room with light. Kendra gasped.
At the other side of the break room, seated on the floor with their backs against the wall, were her two coworkers. Both blondes had been stripped down to their bras and panties, revealing that Claire had opted for Spartan white that day, while the well-endowed Danielle had chosen a light green. Both were also gagged with duct tape and bound with tight nylon rope, which restricted their movement to vain struggles and their speech to the slightest "Mmmmpppphhhhh"s.
Before Kendra could visibly react, she heard a clicking noise, and a gun was leveled at her head.
"Strip off your clothes, dear," a woman dressed all in black ordered. "Do it quickly, and we let you keep your underwear."
Kendra was scared, but she tried not to panic. Instead, she reached up and began unbuttoning her waistcoat. Once that was off, she removed her white shirt, revealing a large pink lace bra. Then the shoes came off, followed by the pants.
"Tights, too," the assailant ordered, her face emotionless behind a ski mask.
Kendra gripped the waistband of her white tights and shimmied out of them. Hardly had she handed them to the woman when two other women grabbed her and pulled her to the floor, where they proceeded to gag her with tape and truss her up with rope.
Kendra's two underwear-clad friends were dragged over to the break room closet. The closet was only big enough to hold the two of them, so Kendra was dragged behind the large couch and ordered to stay quiet.
Helplessly, Kendra watched as the three black-clad women shed their clothing, donned the waitress uniforms they had successfully stolen, and exited the break room, shutting the lights, closing the door, and plunging the room into complete darkness.
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Catherine kicked a pebble angrily. "They can't fire us!" she fumed.
"Apparently, they can," Brie replied. "What do we do now?"
"I don't know," Catherine said. "But we've got to do something. Maybe issue a complaint."
"I don't think that's how the Secret Service works," Brie replied. "Once you're out, you're out."
"But we've only been part of the team for a few weeks! How can they fire us without giving us a chance?"
Brie shrugged, then smiled. "Listen, hon. We can complain about that Sue Ann b*tch as long as we want... but how about we do it over a nice, cold beer?"
Catherine smiled. "I'm so lucky to have you as a friend, Brie."
"You sure are."
Both women laughed as they headed towards the bar.
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The plane landed gracefully at Dulles International Airport. Kris and Maura were among the first to exit.
"Wanna see the Mall?" Kris asked excitedly.
"I don't believe it's what you think it is," Maura replied. "Let's first find our hotel and get settled in."
The flight attendants were the last to exit. Vera brought up the rear.
After making her way into the terminal, her eyes scanned the surroundings. The flight attendant uniform had been useful in getting her aboard the plane, but it was uncomfortable, to say the least. She needed to move to the next phase of her plan - and for that, she needed a new set of clothes.
Vera's gaze fell upon a female chauffeur near the terminal entrance. The woman was dressed in a black uniform jacket and knee-length skirt and a white shirt beneath a black tie. She wore polished, low-heeled, knee-high black boots, sheer black tights, and a pair of rimless sunglasses adorned her eyes. A peaked black cap was perched upon her blonde hair, which had been tied back into a ponytail. Her hands, clad in black leather patent handgloves, held a whiteboard sign on which was inscribed the words "VAN DOREN" in black marker.
Eyes gleaming with malicious intent, Vera approached the slim but well-endowed chauffeur.
"Excuse me," she said courteously. "Are you waiting for Stephanie van Doren?"
The chauffer looked surprised, then nodded. "Was she on your flight?"
"Yes, she was," Vera lied. "She stepped into the powder room to freshen up, and she asked me to fetch her chauffeur to help her carry her bags,"
The lady driver sighed. "One of those shallow rich types, huh? All right, lead the way."
Grinning broadly, Vera guided the chauffeur to the west end of the terminal, away from the hustling crowds, and motioned her into the powder room. The young chauffeur did not notice the "Closed for Renovations" sign that hung near the door. She entered the dark room, and Vera followed behind.
Had anyone passed by the supposedly empty powder room at that moment, they would have been treated to some rather peculiar sounds from within. Some crashes, a few thuds, and the muffled sound of a woman screaming for help... only to have that scream cut short. They would have heard the sound of a perfect set of teeth biting down on a hand and the angered scream which followed. They would then have watched as a uniformed lady chauffeur suddenly burst out the door as fast as her low-heeled boots could carry her... which wasn't fast enough, as the next moment, a hand grabbed her collar and forcefully yanked her back into the room.
Then, our imaginary passerby would have heard... silence. Perhaps just the faintest sounds of clothing being unzipped, boots being pulled off shapely feet, buttons being undone... then ropes being tied and tape being smoothed over full red lips. Were they patient, they would hear the faint sounds of cruel female laughter.
Fifteen minutes later, Flight 117 touched down at Dulles. Stephanie van Doren checked her watch as she descended the stair-car. Not bad, she thought, but nowhere near the ETA.
The elegant red-haired woman glided through the terminal, brushing some stray dust bunnies from her business suit. As she elbowed past a young couple, she was greeted with the sight of a tall, well-built chauffeur in a black uniform that seemed a couple of sizes too small for her. The blonde was holding a sign with "VAN DOREN" inscribed on it.
Stephanie approached. "Hi," she said. "I believe I'm the woman you're looking for."
Vera grinned. "You certainly are."
They headed out to the waiting limo. Moving with practiced ease, so as not to tear her skirt, Vera got behind the wheel. "Where to?" she asked her passenger.
"The hotel," Stephanie replied. "I need a moment to relax. I've got a big day ahead."
She did not notice that her driver had shut off the two-way radio that came equipped with the limo.
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Janet exited the Secret Service headquarters, trying to process all she'd heard. Sue Ann was taking the utmost precautions in ensuring the President's safety that day. Agents were instructed to work around the clock. Sue Ann had even taken the extra step of having three agents subdue and replace some waitresses at the restaurant where the President was planning to eat lunch. Nothing would be left to chance.
But Janet knew she was the prime variable. She had just entered the lion's den and emerged without a scratch. In fact, Sue Ann had promoted her to the head of her sector.
Janet knew her plan was risky. But she could pull it off. She knew she could.
Absent-mindedly, Janet fingered the stain on her jacket. She looked at it and frowned. Stains were unprofessional. Looking about, she spotted a dry-cleaners across the street.
Janet was all for handing in her suit to be properly cleaned, but she wasn't carrying any spare clothing on her to wear while she waited. Quickly formulating a plan, she skulked into a nearby alley and merged with the shadows.
She didn't have to wait long. After letting a few women pass by due to significant difference in size, Janet spotted a girl in a sleeveless red shirt, blue jeans, and brown riding boots. The tall brunette was texting on her phone and did not notice the growing, grinning shadow that loomed behind her.
With a "hmmmmppppphhhhh", the young woman was pulled off-balance and dragged back into the alley, where Janet's fists invited her into a deep slumber. Stripping off the woman's clothes, Janet was satisfied that they would make a proper fit, she changed into them, folding her Secret Service uniform up and setting it aside.
The insensible brunette was dragged into the deepest recesses of the alley, away from any passing eyes. Janet bound her with some discarded cord she found. The gag was constructed from the girl's own tights. Janet allowed the girl to keep her underwear, but that did not stop her from squeezing her into a metal garbage can and slamming down the lid.
"Pleasant dreams, beauty," Janet said in her most honey-filled voice. On her way out of the alley, she retrieved the Secret Service uniform and headed for the dry cleaners.
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The hotel was crowded, largely in part to the mass reservation from some Islamic women's support group. Women in full-length burkas wandered the lobby, making anyone else in the area feel at least a tad claustrophobic. The best place to get some space, then, was the pool.
Maura leaned back in her comfortable lawn chair and tried to relax. Yet despite wearing nothing more than a bikini, she felt restrained. Something was bothering her, and she couldn't figure out what.
"Mo, c'mon in! The water's lovely!" Kris called from the hotel's indoor Jacuzzi.
Maura sighed. She was about to rise from her chair when something made her pause. Glancing out the window, she saw a limo pull up to the front of the hotel. The chauffeur rolled down the window to speak with the valet.
Maura gasped. The chauffeur looked familiar... too familiar. In fact, she looked exactly like the flight attendant who had served them on their plane!
The chauffeur looked around, and her gaze caught Maura's eye. Maura quickly shrank back and turned around. She headed over to the Jacuzzi.
"You okay, Mo?" Kris inquired. "You look like you've seen a ghost!"
Maura didn't reply. But even more than before, she could see that something strange was going on.
Perhaps it was time she got to the bottom of it...
*****************
Andrea sat in her apartment's lounge chair, her feet propped up on the coffee table. Although she lived alone, the twenty-three-year old redhead would rarely be pressed to call her life "boring". Even now, as she sat reading an old Jane Austen novel, the girl's mind was racing with the need for sating adventure. Besides, she had work to do.
Andrea whipped out her cell phone and dialed a local number. After two rings, a male voice responded, "Pott's Pizzeria. How may we help?"
"Hi. I'd like a thick-crust pepperoni pie, delivered to 463 Seventh Street. Oh, and one other thing..."
"Yes, ma'am?"
"Could you have Betty make the delivery? She's so efficient. I'd be willing to pay extra..."
"No problem, ma'am. Betty will have your pizza delivered in under 20 minutes."
"You're a dear. Toodles!"
Andrea hung up the phone and leaned back in her chair, a tigress awaiting her prey... And she wasn't referring to the pizza.
Fifteen minutes later, a white van with its logo in bright gold lettering pulled up in front of Maura's flat. Out stepped a young woman in a red-and-white striped uniform shirt, red shorts, white sneakers, and a red baseball cap atop her ponytailed blonde hair. The girl delicately balanced a pizza box with one hand as she strode down the walk.
Andrea picked up a rag from the nearby table and reached for a bottle of chloroform.
Betty rang the doorbell. She rocked on her heels for a few moments before the door swung open.
Betty put on her brightest smile. "Thick-crust pepperoni! WHAT THE FU--"
She had no time to react as the grinning woman grabbed her collar and pulled her through the doorway. The pizza box fell to the ground as the door slammed shut.
"HELP! HEELLLMMMPPPPHHHHH!!!" The chloroform pad fit snugly over Betty's mouth and nose. A sharp intake of breath, and she began to suddenly feel woozy.
A soft, singing voice sounded in her ear.
"Rock-a-bye, Betty, have some chloroform/ It's not personal, I just want your uniform/ Once you're knocked out, you'll be gagged and bound/ Left nearly naked where you'll never be found."
Betty's eyes fluttered. Her windmilling arms began to slow. Her breathing slowed. A few more heaves and gurgles, and she was blissfully unconscious.
Andrea dragged her victim over to the sofa and lay her down. She kicked off her own trainers and removed her T-shirt and jeans. She stood now in just a white exercise bra and matching panties, the color standing starkly out against her dark skin.
Then Andrea turned her attention to the angelic form of Betty. Off came the sneakers, followed by the shorts. The shirt was unbuttoned and eased off alabaster shoulders. Betty's red bra and panties were on full display. Andrea licked her lips.
"Guess you're about ready for packaging, honey-pie," she mused. She flipped the unconscious woman onto her back and headed toward the kitchen.
A search of her closet uncovered a thin yet firm coil of white nylon. A used washrag was also hanging from a hook.
Andrea set to work. Her victim's arms were bent back behind her and crossed over the cheeks of her curved ass. One end of the rope secured her wrists together. Andrea took the other end and looped it around the girl's ankles. She pulled tight. Then she hooked the rope under the wrist-bindings and pulled again, bringing her ankles up to meet her wrists and confining the girl to a most uncomfortable hogtie. The washrag was stuffed between her cheeks, and some strong adhesive was used to keep it in place.
"Hope you're not afraid of the dark," Andrea chuckled as she locked the girl inside the cramped space of the closet.
It was the work of a few moments for Andrea to work her trim figure into Betty's shirt, shorts, and sneakers. She tucked her dark hair beneath the logo-emblazoned baseball cap. The uniform was an excellent fit, as she knew it would be.
Andrea exited her home and locked the door. She picked up the fallen pizza box from the ground and carried it back to the waiting delivery van. Tossing the box into the back, Andrea got behind the wheel and started the engine.
"Now the fun begins," she grinned to herself.
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Stephanie lay on her bedspread and perused her laptop. Having just gotten settled into her hotel room, she wasted no time getting to work. She had tipped her chauffeur generously, and had just now phoned Housekeeping to send a maid up to her room.
Fingers flying dexterously over the keyboard, Stephanie got to work. She hacked into the hotel's security feed and perused the camera footage. Then she gained the access codes to the various "Authorized Personnel Only" rooms. Stephanie committed them to memory, knowing it would be too much trouble to write them down and keep the paper on her.
A soft knock came at the door. Stephanie rose from the bed, nearly knocking over the black attache case which rested at its side. "Yes?" she called.
"Housekeeping," came the reply.
Stephanie strode over to the door and opened it. She gazed out at the Latina maid who stood there. The young woman was clad in a light blue blouse and skirt, a white apron, and sensible white flats. Her dark hair was pulled back into bun. Stephanie looked her over.
"You're just about the right size," she smiled.
Before the maid could think to respond, Stephanie grabbed her by her shoulders and yanked her into the room.
The maid tried to cry out, but Stephanie wrapped a viselike arm around her neck. She shut the door with her foot.
"Calm yourself, my girl," Stephanie whispered into the struggling maid's ear. "The less you struggle, the less it will hurt."
Whether the maid chose to heed her advice or was simply running out of oxygen was unclear, but in a few seconds, her struggles began to ease. They soon ceased - her arms flopped limply to her sides, her head lolled uselessly over her left shoulder.
Stephanie applied pressure for several seconds longer, then relaxed her grip. She dragged the maid over to the king-size bed and lay her down. Then she began relieving her unwilling "guest" of her uniform, beginning with the flats and carrying over to the apron, followed by the blouse and skirt. The maid wore a cream set of bra and panties which showed off her impressively feminine physique.
Stephanie fetched a towel from the bathroom and tore it into strips. These were used to bind the maid hand and foot. A spare scrap was stuffed into her mouth, which was then taped shut.
Stephanie dragged the maid into the bathroom and lowered her gingerly into the tub. She drew the curtain in order to give the young woman some privacy.
After exiting and locking the bathroom, Stephanie removed her clothes and hastily dressed in the maid's uniform. She picked up the small attache case from the bedside and checked her appearance in the full closet mirror before exiting her suite and hanging a "Do Not Disturb" sign on the door. Then she was heading down the hall to the elevator, having hidden the attache case in the folds of the squeaky-wheeled laundry cart.
****************
Catherine sipped the last of her drink before putting her head onto the table. "I'm a failure," she muttered.
"No, you're not," Brie replied. "You're a strong, capable, beautiful young woman."
"Like hell," Catherine replied. "I was just fired from the Secret Service... and I deserved it."
"No, you didn't," Brie replied. "You're an excellent field agent... Far better than that Marianne Cole girl."
Catherine sighed. "I'd never succeed at a field assignment. I'm too dumb."
Brie frowned. She happened to glance out the bar window at the bank across the street.
"Cath," she nudged her friend. "What say we put your practice field skills to the test?"
"Huh?"
"Follow me." Brie motioned for her friend to join her outside.
As they stepped out of the bar, Brie produced a wad of dollar bills from her pocket.
"Five hundred dollars," she declared. "I want you to have it."
Catherine was puzzled, but held out her hand to take the money. Brie promptly jerked her own hand back.
"Uh-uh, sweetie-pie. It's not that easy."
Catherine stared at her in confusion.
Brie pointed to the bank. "I want you to walk into that building, head into the diamond vault, and snatch up three gold bars. Take a photo to prove you've been there. Then exit the bank and give the bars to me. Do it all without getting caught or raising the alarm."
Catherine blinked. "What? But... there's no way I can do that!"
Brie held up a hand. "Easy, babe. Yes, you can do it. Not because of the money, but because you are a strong, capable, beautiful young woman."
Catherine was silent for a moment. Then a determined expression came over her face. "Three bars?"
"And one more thing," Brie smiled. "You've got to be in and out in twenty minutes."
Catherine was off. She circled around to the back of the building. Perhaps it would be easier to gain unnoticed access through a rear door.
She approached the side door and tried the handle. No luck. As she stood pondering her next move, the handle jiggled. Catherine gasped and quickly hid herself behind the outward-swinging door.
A female bank guard stepped out. The woman was dressed in a blue uniform shirt and black pants, along with polished black boots. A blue peaked cap sat upon her dark hair. The guard shut the door, but did not turn around and thus did not see Catherine standing a few feet behind her. She lit a cigarette.
Catherine tried backing away without making any noise, but she accidentally stepped on an empty soda can.
The guard turned and her eyebrows raised in surprise. Her hand went for her gun.
Catherine lunged desperately at the woman, determined to keep her presence at the bank a secret. The guard fell backwards, hitting her head against a pipe that jutted from the ground. She was out cold.
Catherine bit her lip. "Sorry," she whispered. "I know you were just doing your job."
She looked at the door out of fear that the rest of the bank's security would come barging out and begin shooting her. They did not. As she turned back toward the unfortunate guard, an idea entered her mind.
Five minutes later, Catherine was buttoning up the custom uniform of the bank's security staff. She fitted the cap over her hair and then bent down to pull on the boots. Once her disguise was complete, she turned to check on the underwear-clad guard, whose hands had been lashed to a pipe fixture. After making sure the woman would indeed soon recover unharmed, Catherine used her key ring to unlock the back door and slipped inside.
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Vera leaned against the parked limo, her pert rear resting on the hood. The parking garage was largely empty at this hour, which gave her plenty of opportunity to go over the details of her plan in her mind.
No doubt Stephanie had begun carrying out her own plan upstairs by this time. Vera had hacked into her file days earlier and learned everything that the private investigator was planning. For the moment, though, Vera could do nothing but wait.
A sound alerted her ears. Someone was watching her.
Vera pulled a compact mirror out of her pocket. She pretended to check her make-up, but was in fact looking over her shoulder. Yes, a young woman was watching her while hiding behind a Ford Pinto.
Vera kept quiet, her hand calmly and coolly reaching into her jacket. Her fingers closed around her gun.
In one swift move, Vera pulled the gun from her jacket and pointed it in the direction of the Pinto. To her surprise, however, there was no one there.
Vera heard the sound of a door slam. She cursed under her breath and headed toward the direction of the sound as fast as she could... which was not very fast, thanks to her constricting uniform.
Maura's heart pounded as she headed up the stairs. She didn't want to think about what the chauffeur would do to her if she were caught.
She entered the lobby and dodged past several burka-clad women in her quest to find a good hiding spot. She settled on a small anteroom situated away from the hustle and bustle.
Peeking out through a crack in the door, Maura could see the tall chauffeur enter the lobby, clearly on the search for her. She was now beginning to check the small rooms situated along the walls of the lobby.
Maura shut the door and headed for the anteroom's only window. To her dismay, it wouldn't budge. Panic began to grow inside of her. She grabbed a metal candlestick from the coffee table and pondered smashing the window.
At that moment, the door to the anteroom swung open. Maura nearly jumped from fright... until she saw it was one of the Muslim women from the lobby.
The woman was dressed in a full-flowing black gown. Only her hazel eyes were visible beneath the fabric. After shutting the door, the girl said something in a language which Maura guessed to be Arabic.
Maura didn't understand, but she didn't much care to. She was in danger of being discovered... and only as she looked at the burka-wearing woman did a plan form in her brain. A desperate plan, perhaps... but this was a desperate time.
A smile on her face, Maura slowly approached the girl. From behind the burka, the girl said something in an inquiring voice.
Maura didn't know what to say, so she just pointed to the left. As the girl turned to look, Maura swung the candlestick toward her head.
Vera approached the door to the anteroom. She gripped the knob and swung the door open.
A woman in a burka pushed past her on her way out the door. Vera gave her a brief glance, then turned her gaze toward the room. Empty, like all the others. Vera exited and shut the door.
Had she stopped to check the room's small closet, she may have been surprised. Situated inside the cramped space was a young Muslim woman, bound and gagged in only her pink bra and panties.
The burka was hot. But Maura didn't mind.
***************
Brie stood by the curb, fingering a lock of hair. She checked her watch. Two minutes to go. Perhaps she shouldn't have...
"Hey, there." A smiling Catherine approached, holding up her iPhone.
Brie's eyes widened. "You did it?"
"Sure did. See the pic? I even got myself into frame so you know I'm not lying."
Brie smiled, impressed. She held out the five hundred dollars, but Catherine shook her head.
"You restored my self-confidence, Brie. I can't take your money."
"Wow. I'm beyond glad." Brie embraced her friend. "So tell me... did you have any trouble getting into the bank?"
"Not really. I simply, er, borrowed a uniform from one of the guards, tied her up out back, and it was smooth sailing from there."
"Did you gag her?"
"What?"
At that moment, a woman's scream erupted from behind the bank.
Catherine winced. "Run!"
The two women made it three blocks before they were out of breath. Then they paused, looked at each other... and started laughing.
**************
Congresswoman Roberta Garrison sat in her hotel suite and studied her reflection in the mirror. Although in her late thirties, she was still fit, trim, and wrinkle-free. Her lush dark skin and jet-black hair signified a dazzling beauty, and her black business suit gave her a professional look.
A soft knock came at the door. Roberta straightened her tie. "Just a minute," she called.
She approached the door and swung it open. Standing there stood a maid dressed in the hotel's official uniform. The maid smiled. "Good day, ma'am. I'm here to replace the sheets."
Roberta gestured her and her cart inside. "Go ahead. I'm leaving in a few minutes, anyway."
"Oh? Where to?" the maid inquired in a seemingly innocent voice.
"Well, you know how the President will be delivering a speech at the local amphitheater? I'm supposed to be there. Preferably a few hours early." She looked in the direction of the mirror as she spoke. "It's going to be a game-changing event. I want a front-row seat." She laughed.
"Afraid I can't accommodate you there, dear," the maid said.
Roberta turned and was shocked to see the maid pointing a gun at her.
"What... what is the meaning of..."
"Do shut up," the maid said crisply. "And start wriggling your body out of that business suit. The faster you comply, the less painful I'll make your bonds."
"My suit? But... why would you want my clothes? Who are you?"
"Oh, I'm something of a freelance PI." Stephanie flashed two rows of white teeth. "I'm working a case, and it involves replacing and impersonating you."
"Replace me?" Roberta had begun unbuttoning her jacket, although her gaze did not waver from her assailant. "But... you don't look at all like me. You'll never pull it off."
"Let me worry about that," Stephanie replied. "You just concentrate on getting that ample derriere of yours out of those pants."
Angrily, but wordlessly, Roberta complied. She kicked off her shoes and pulled her pants down long, shapely legs. She then unbuttoned her shirt and tossed it on the bed.
"You're doing excellently," Stephanie stated. "Now for the tights.'
Roberta suppressed a sigh as she bent down to roll off her tights. She balled them up and tossed them at Stephanie's feet. Now the congresswoman stood resplendent in her lacy pink bra and panties.
"I suppose you want to steal my underwear, too?" she snapped.
"Not exactly," Stephanie replied. "Your panties will make for sufficient mouth packing, so please remove them. As for your bra... well, you might as well get completely naked."
Roberta glared at her, but she stuck her thumbs in her panties and shimmied out of them. Then she reached behind her back and unclasped her bra, letting her last barrier of intimacy flutter to the floor.
Roberta's arm draped over her breasts to preserve her modesty, but a smiling Stephanie shook her head. "Sorry, darling. I'll need you to cross your wrists behind your back. The quicker we do this, the quicker I can stow you someplace where you won't be found for a while."
Roberta was trembling by now, but she allowed herself to be submissively bound hand and foot with white nylon rope and gagged with packing tape.
"Comfy?" Stephanie asked as she knotted Roberta's bindings to a crotchrope.
Roberta let out a squeal that assured Stephanie that no, she wasn't comfy.
"Que sera sera," Stephanie shrugged. She then stripped herself. Roberta kept silent as she watched her assailant cast off all her clothes until she was just as naked as her prisoner.
"Like what you see?" Stephanie winked. "Well, you haven't seen anything yet." So saying, she produced a small, filmy latex ball and held it up to the light. "Yes, this should do."
She proceeded to unroll the ball, letting the humidity of the air expand its shape, until it had taken on the appearance of a thin latex bodstocking.
Roberta watched, wide-eyed, as Stephanie stepped gingerly into the outfit, pulling it up her body and over her head an smoothing out every last wrinkle. She smiled in satisfaction. The latex had transformed the look of her skin from white to black.
A quick search of Roberta's closet revealed a dark wig. Stephanie cut up her own discarded stockings, then pulled one leg over her hair as a makeshift hairnet. The wig was then glued on top.
Stephanie slithered into Roberta's tights, uniform, and shoes. She then approached the dresser mirror and compared her reflection to that of the bound-and-gagged woman behind her.
"Perfect," she whispered.
She turned with a smile to the "mmmmppphhhhh"ing Roberta. "Rest up, dearest. And don't worry... I'll be sure to partake in that 'business transaction' you have scheduled for today." She had practiced her voice for months, and it was now an exact replica of that of the bound-and-gagged Congresswoman.
Roberta's eyes widened... both at the excellence of her assailant's disguise, and at the way she apparently knew about the Congresswoman's dealings.
As she was leaving, Stephanie hung a "Do Not Disturb" sign on the doorknob. Her footfalls faded down the hotel hallway.
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The pizza van silently pulled up in front of the large glass and concrete building. Andrea gazed up at the front entrance. The words "Takoma Aquatic Center" were spelled in silver lettering above the doorway.
Andrea retrieved three pie boxes from the rear of her van and, hands full, she casually strode up to the main entrance. She pressed the doorbell with her elbow.
The guard at the front desk glanced over her copy of "Designers Weekly". With a resigned sigh, she hit a button on her desk.
Andrea stepped through the door, a sunny smile on her beautiful face.
"What do you want?" the guard snapped.
Andrea studied the guard. She was tall, with short red hair and dark green eyes. She wore a black jacket over a blue uniform shirt, as well as a black skirt and glistening black tights. Her long legs were crossed and her shiny black low-heeled PVC boots were propped on the desk. A pistol was holstered to the belt around her slim waist.
"Pizza delivery," she announced in a voice inflected with a sense Valley Girl naivete. "One of the swim teams ordered lunch, y'know?"
The guard sighed. "How can those b*tches eat so much and stay so thin?" she muttered. "Leave the pies on the desk. I'll send someone to bring them up."
Andrea smiled sunnily. "I could totally bring them myself."
"Sorry, Hot Fudge. Members only."
Andrea frowned. She didn't like this guard very much, and was liking her less every moment.
"Fine," she said. "But could you just sign the order form?" She brandished a clipboard, and set it on the desk.
The guard sighed, but reached for a pen. "Where do I sign?"
"Right here." Andrea pointed to the bottom of the form.
The redhead bent forward, exposing the back of her long and pretty neck.
All it took was one perfectly aimed neck chop. The guard slumped onto her desk, unconscious.
Andrea wasted no time in dragging the unconscious guard into a nearby utility closet. She briefly pondered appropriating the woman's uniform, but the guard was several inches taller than she. Besides, she was already pressed for time.
A quick search of the guard's belt revealed two sets of handcuffs. One snapped about her wrists, the other around her ankles. The gag was a behind-the-cheeks washcloth and a strip of duct tape from the closet.
"Enjoy your day off," Andrea grinned as she locked the door.
She had, however, forgotten to remove the guard's key ring.
She reached the pool she was looking for with no difficulties. Peering through the wall-length glass window, she grinned. There they were - six young women in black bathing suits and white rubber caps, laughing and playing in the chlorinated waters. Some folded monogrammed towels nearby read "WWS".
The swimming coach sat on a nearby beach chair, lazily watching the proceedings. The woman was clad in a red swimming leotard, and wore blue goggles and a green swimming cap, from beneath which a few wisps of black hair could be seen. A whistle was tied with a string around her long neck, and a clipboard was tucked under her left arm. Her long dark legs were stretched out before her, ending in ten peach-painted toenails.
No one else was around. Andrea grinned. She stepped over to the small room where the fuse box was housed, taking care not to be seen by the women behind the glass.
Moments later, cries of frustration came from within the pool area. "What the hell?" "Where are the lights?" "Ow, watch your elbow!"
Then the well-proportioned coach set down her clipboard and stood up. "Ladies, calm down. I'll fix this. Be right back."
Slipping on a pair of white high-heeled sandals, she stepped elegantly out of the pool area and walked over to the fuse room.
"Ah, here we are." She smiled as she located the pool room fuse box. She reached for the switch.
A powerful hand clamped over her mouth, stifling her sudden cry of shock. She was roughly pulled backwards, her long legs flailing.
Andrea tightened an arm around the coach's slim neck, cutting off the blood flow to her brain. The woman struggled and mewled, her eyes wide behind her goggles. Then slowly, those same eyes glazed over, and her unconscious body gave itself over to Andrea's mercy.
With some difficulty, Andrea removed the swimsuit from the woman's body. The swimming cap and goggles followed.
Although disappointed that there wasn't much to strip off her victim, Andrea marveled at the sight of the coach's athletic yet statuesque figure. Then she grabbed some electric cables from the nearby shelf and began securing her victim's ankles and wrists. She crossed the bindings in a strict hogtie and used her panties and some moldy cloth for a cleavegag.
After shimmying out of her own attire, Andrea squeezed her voluptuous figure into the constricting red leotard. Tucking her hair beneath the cap, and slipping the goggles over her eyes, she did a practice strut and decided the swimsuit was indeed a good fit. The high-heeled sandals were also surprisingly comfortable. Draping the whistle around her neck, and blowing her unconscious victim a kiss, she switched on the lights and stepped out of the fuse room.
With the lights back on, the six young women resumed their fun, frolicking in the deep end with a beach ball. Their fun stopped, however, as a shrill whistle blast pierced its way across the room.
The girls looked up at their lifeguard standing at the pool's edge, hands on her hips.
"All right, ladies," Andrea said in her best imitation of the real lifeguard's voice. "Playtime's over. Time for some surface exercises."
The girls looked puzzled.
"One at a time," Andrea said. "I want you each to enter my office. I'll perform a quick physical to make sure you're fit for next week's tournament."
She picked up the clipboard. "Carrie!"
One of the taller girls waded out of the pool. The well-proportioned young woman followed Andrea to a small, windowless room at the side of the pool area.
Andrea ushered Carrie inside and shut the door with a smile. "Right, my dear. Now let's see about getting that uncomfortable swimsuit off, shall we?"
The girl had no time to react as Andrea locked her in a chokehold. She tried to cry out, but the hand over her mouth prevented that.
"Stop struggling, sweetie," Andrea whispered in the desperate girl's ear. "You're mine."
The girl moaned helplessly, her eyes wide in terror. But Andrea's grip refused to relax. Slowly, the girl's strength ebbed away, and she went limp in Andrea's arms.
Andrea stripped her victim naked. The swimsuit was used for hogtying purposes, while the white rubber cap made for sufficient mouth packing. The girl never stirred as Andrea dragged her behind the large oak desk.
Andrea poked her head out the door. "Sophie!"
Dealing with the next four girls was simple and routine for a professional like Andrea. She would invite them in, one at a time, and invite them to a not-so-pleasant sleepover, after which they would be stripped, bound, gagged, and added to the increasing pile of unconscious women behind the desk.
The sixth girl, however, was a more difficult contender. Ever the impatient type, she burst through the office door just in time to see the last of her fortuneless friends disappear behind the desk. The girl's eyes locked with Andrea's for a moment... and then she turned and ran.
Andrea cursed as she chased after the girl. "Give it up, honey curves. You're only drawing out the inevitable!"
Meanwhile, the redheaded guard had successfully freed herself, and was heading up the corridor, gun drawn.
Hearing noises, she turned the corner... and ran smack-dab into a swimsuit-clad girl with a frightened look in her eyes. The gun flew out of the guard's grasp, arced through the air, and fell directly into Andrea's palms.
"Thank you kindly," Andrea smiled as she pointed the weapon at the two dazed women, who immediately threw up their hands in surrender. "Looks like you got free, Red... Can't have that, can we? Looks like I'll have to resort to more drastic measures." She smiled. "Into the closet, both of you." She gestured with the gun. "I want all those clothes off. Hurry up, I feel an urge to scratch my trigger-finger."
Angrily, yet helplessly, the two women were herded into the closet. There, they performed an impromptu striptease, much to Andrea's delight.
"Excellent, dears," she smiled. "Simply captivating. And speaking of captives..." She tossed a roll of green tape to the swimmer. "Do be so kind as to mummify our dear security friend here. Make sure she'll be completely immobile. Chop-chop!"
"You b*tch," the guard glowered as the swimmer reluctantly taped her up. "You won't get away with this. The police will catch you..."
Andrea smiled. "The police have been trying to catch me for four years. No luck so far. Probably because I've never stood still long enough for them to get a clear picture of my face."
"You b*tch," the guard sobbed. "You fuuuummmmmppphhhhhhh." The swimmer stuffed the guard's mouth with her panties and smoothed the tape over it.
After ensuring the guard had been well and truly immobilized, Andrea hogtied the hapless swimmer, holding back some loose cords to use for crotch and breast bindings.
"You tried to escape," she explained to the teary-eyed girl, "so you get the royal treatment."
After dressing herself in the guard's uniform and tights, Andrea picked up both women, carrying one over each shoulder as she headed down the hall.
"Let's join your friends," she chuckled. "We're all about to take a little trip."
by tirepanted2
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A soft wind whistled through the trees of Seneca Forest. It was a peaceful morning, the kind that heralds a beautiful spring day.
Secret Service Agent Marianne Cole would have taken more time to appreciate the blissful weather, if not for the fact that she was given strict orders to concentrate on scouting the surrounding area. Fresh out of college, the young blonde had only begun her job as one of the President’s security agents six weeks ago, and she was determined to make a good impression. Which meant following what her boss called the “3D Plan” – Determination, Dedication, and Devotion.
She was certainly dressed professionally for the job – black pantsuit over white shirt and black tie, with sensible black shoes and sunglasses. The clothing lent her an air of professionalism, and she felt like a serious member of the Secret Service while wearing them.
A butterfly landed on Marianne’s shoulder. She smiled.
The sound of jogging feet alerted her. She looked up to see a dark-haired woman in a blue jumpsuit and white trainers heading her way. The woman was staring worriedly at her iPhone when she caught sight of Marianne.
“Hi!” the woman smiled. “Listen… you think you can do me a solid? I’m lost… Got separated from my friends back at the museum.” She held up a road map. “Can you point me the way to the Morning Glory Inn?”
Marianne was under strict orders not to engage in conversation with any passerby. But the woman’s big brown pleading eyes made her pause. Marianne smiled and consulted the map.
“It’s not far… in fact, you just need to clear the forest and pass the Seneca trail – uuuuggghhhhh!”
A viselike arm clamped around her neck, cutting off the blood flow to her brain.
Marianne tried struggling, but her dark-haired assailant was stronger than she looked. She held on tight, determined not to let the woman get free and call for help.
For about forty seconds, the two women struggled in the woods, Marianne trying vainly to gain the upper hand. Her struggles grew weaker, and her reflexes slowed. Finally, she lapsed into unconsciousness.
Janet took a moment to regain her energy. Then she dragged the insensible SS agent deep into the forest and near a small alcove in the bedrock. She paused for breath and checked her watch. Her timing was impeccable.
Janet kicked off her trainers and stripped off her jumpsuit. Then she began divesting Marianne of her clothes. The shoes came off first, followed by the pantsuit, white shirt, and tie. This left the woman in a pair of pink bra and panties, and white tights. After a moment’s pause, Janet removed the tights as well.
The tights were cut down the middle and used for binding material – one stocking bound the poor girl’s wrists behind her back, the other mercilessly secured her ankles together. A length of duct tape was wound around her pretty pink lips, gagging her.
It took a matter of minutes for Janet to dress herself in the ex-Secret Service agent’s clothes. The shirt and pantsuit were just about the right fit, and she was soon lacing up the shoes and fastening the stolen tie around her long neck. The sunglasses effectively completed her disguise.
With a malicious smile playing on her lips, Janet produced a small syringe from the pocket of her discarded tracksuit. She pressed the needle into her victim’s left ass cheek and squeezed the plunger. The drug which now coursed through Marianne’s veins would keep her unconscious and immobilized for forty-eight hours – more than enough time for Janet to carry out her plan.
As an added precaution, Janet dragged the bound captive into the alcove and rolled a heavy boulder over the entrance. In this manner, she could leave her identity donor out of sight with the assured knowledge that the woman would not soon be found, and would not interfere with her plans.
Janet returned to the post that had so recently been occupied by Marianne. As she glanced around, she noticed a stain on her jacket – one which had likely been there for a few days.
“Couldn’t someone at least dry-clean this?” she muttered. “I swear. People can be so inconsiderate.”
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The Los Angeles airport was crowded, even for a regular Sunday morning. It was thus that Kris and Maura found themselves scrambling to get on their flight.
“Let’s go, girl. The plane doesn’t wait for stragglers,” Kris called to her friend.
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Maura replied. “It would help if you carried some of the bags, though.”
Maura took another step and staggered, knocking into the carry-all of a woman who sat on one of the terminal benches.
“Oh! Gosh, I’m sorry,” Maura blushed as she staggered to her feet.
The woman simply nodded curtly, not looking up from her newspaper.
Maura hurried to join her friend.
Vera continued glancing at the headlines, but occasionally glancing above them at the passerby. Her venomous eyes scanned the area. She was looking for a flight attendant – any one would do, so long as she was about her size.
The task had proven difficult. Vera was a broad, muscular woman, with a more impressive physique than most. And the airline seemed to thrive on small, petite flight attendants. Her short blonde hair flicked from side to side… and someone caught her eye.
The woman was tall, though a bit slim. She dressed in the standard-issue uniform of the airline’s flight attendants. Dark blue jacket and skirt, white shirt, black high heels, and blue pillbox hat over her dark hair, which had been pulled back into a bun. The woman headed across the airport terminal and stepped into the restroom.
Vera nodded to herself as she stood up and headed toward the Ladies’ Room herself.
The restroom consisted of eleven stalls along one wall, and a table with nine sinks along the other. A short woman in a business suit stood rinsing her hands at one sink. Once finished, she dried them with a paper towel and passed Vera on her way out the door. Somewhere above, an air conditioner vent hummed.
Vera bent down and pressed one knee to the well-tiled floor. She could see beneath the partitions of the restroom stalls. All were unoccupied, save one at the far end – which boasted a shiny pair of black high heels.
Vera rose to her feet again. She was now alone with her prey.
She crossed the length of the restroom swiftly and silently, stopping just to the side of the occupied stall’s closed door. She waited, calm as the morning sea.
After what seemed like an eternity, but was in actuality no more than thirty seconds, Vera heard the sound of a toilet flushing from within the stall. Moments later, the lock turned, and the young stewardess opened the door.
She balked at the sight of the tall, muscular, and imposing woman before her.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
A grin slowly spread across Vera’s face. “You will.”
She advanced on the young woman, who slowly and fearfully began backing into the stall. “What… what are you doing?”
Vera said nothing as she stepped into the stall and closed and locked the door behind her. Then, as she backed the poor girl up against the wall, she whispered something ever-so-softly.
The noise from the air-conditioning vent drowned out her words; however, the stewardess could have sworn Vera’s reply was, “What I do best.”
The noise from the vent also masked the vicious punches and futile cries for mercy which followed.
Vera propped the unconscious stewardess onto the toilet bowl and stripped her. Once the heels, skirt, jacket, shirt, hat, and black tights had been removed, the woman was gagged with tape and bound with flex. She was left secured to the toilet bowl pipe, clad only in her blue plunge bra and matching panties, her pert ass pressed down into the bowl.
The uniform, as Vera had anticipated, was a couple of sizes too small, but this was no time to get picky. The buttons would hold so long as she didn’t take any deep breaths, and the skirt would remain intact as long as she didn’t have to bend over. Vera placed the pillbox hat atop her head and did up her hair.
The toilet was locked from the outside with Vera’s pocketknife blade, and the words “Out of Order” were scribbled onto the doorway. The flight attendant would have plenty of time to catch up on her beauty sleep – although even Vera had to admit she didn’t need very much of it.
Vera crossed the terminal and headed for the plane her clothing and identity donor was scheduled to accompany. She stepped onto the plane rather gingerly, partially to avoid suspicion, and partially to avoid tearing her ill-fitting stolen uniform.
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Janet scouted the perimeter of the large amphitheater. The currently-empty stands could conceivably hold over nine hundred spectators. And it was expected to be packed that evening, when the President of the United States would be giving a grandstand speech to the public.
Janet checked her watch again. The services weren't due to start till one that afternoon. That gave her three hours to ensure that everything would be ready. Three hours till it was time to go into action. She felt the gun at her hip and smiled.
Her earpiece crackled to life with a stern-sounding woman's voice. "Agent Cole, do you read? Please respond."
Caught a bit off-guard, Janet regained her composure and responded in her best imitation of Marianne's voice. "This is Agent Cole. Go ahead."
"Please report to base at once. That is an order."
Janet suddenly felt nervous. She hadn't counted on making face-to-face contact with the Secret Service head. What if she was recognized as an imposter?
She quickly calmed herself. After all, she had specifically chosen to replace an agent who was both similar to her in looks and relatively new to the Service. She could pull it off. All she needed was a new blonde hairdo...
"I'll be right over," she responded into her com-link, causing the woman at the other end to promptly cut the conversation short.
A sound alerted Janet as she exited the amphitheater. Tuning, she saw a blonde woman in a skimpy sundress walking around the bend. The woman was dressed in a cloth bikini top, a colorful flowing skirt, and pink stiletto high heels. She was admiring the craftsmanship of the large amphitheater and did not notice the young woman who had hidden herself in the bushes, a wicked smile on her face.
All it took was a single neck chop, and the blonde crumpled in Jane's arms. Janet dragged her into the bushes and stripped her naked. As she had suspected from the hair, the woman was not a true blonde. Placing both her hands on the woman's blonde locks, she pulled until the wig came off, revealing her victim to have natural short brunette curls.
"Trying to fool the world, honey?" Janet chided. "Don't fret... You look lovely either way."
After cutting up the skirt into bondage-appropriate strips, Janet proceeded to bind the poor naked woman hand and foot. The cloth bra was an effective gag. Janet found a suitable secluded spot deep in the woods and secured her victim hammock-style between two trees.
"Pleasant dreams, darling," Janet called back without looking over her shoulder.
She retrieved the wig and placed it over her dark hair, arranging it into a hairstyle similar to the one sported by Marianne. The gorgeous high heels were tempting, but she resisted, knowing that they would look suspiciously unprofessional with her Secret Service uniform. She hid them in some bushes, with the intent to come back and retrieve them after her job was complete.
Half an hour later, Janet stepped out of Marianne's - or rather, her - car and approached the Secret Service headquarters.
If she had been expecting trouble, she was pleasantly surprised. The female gate guard waved her in with only a passing glance at her ID card. Janet made her way to the main office and knocked on the door. She was promptly rewarded with a "Come in."
Janet entered. Sitting at the large oak desk was a brunette woman in her forties, dressed in a dark business suit. Seated across from her in dark pantsuits were two female Secret Service agents in their early twenties - one a slim, tall blonde, the other a striking redhead.
"Hello, Marianne," Secret Service Director Sue Ann Bishop addressed Janet, gesturing to the two seated women. "Have you met Catherine and Brie?"
Janet hadn't, of course, but before she could decide whether or not to admit that, a cell phone ringtone loudly sounded off.
"Mine!" the blonde girl announced. She pulled out her phone and spoke into it. "Hey, Ricky, darling. Oh, just a meeting. Want to go out tonight? I know this great place near-"
"AHEM," Sue Ann scowled.
The blonde looked up.
"Catherine, are you honestly taking a call now?" Sue Ann snapped. "Show some respect for this office."
"It'll just take a minute," Catherine responded. "Ricky didn't call me since this morning, and I-"
"How is Ricky?" Brie interrupted. "I'm going out with Ken tonight. Wanna double date?"
"Sure," Catherine smiled "Let me just double-check with him."
Sue Ann banged her fist on the desk. The room grew silent.
"Girls," Sue Ann said slowly. "I called the two of you in here because, quite frankly, you're the worst Secret Service agents I've ever had under my command. You care more about dates than the fate of this country."
Catherine opened her mouth to protest, but Sue Ann held up a hand.
"You're fired," she said tersely. "Both of you. Leave your guns and badges with the front desk."
"But-"
"LEAVE!" Sue Ann shouted.
The two girls got up and shuffled out the door, right past a speechless and confused Janet.
As the door closed, Sue Ann turned to Janet. "Hello, Agent Cole. I've asked you here today because it turns out you'll need to work a bit harder than usual."
Janet kept quiet, then slowly nodded her head. "Those two agents..."
"...were incompetents," Sue Ann replied. "Thankfully, we have more dedicated women on the force." She eyed Janet forcefully. "Can I count on you to do your job?"
Janet nodded and smiled, her eyes twinkling behind her dark glasses. "You can," she said simply, with a near-undetectable hint of mystery in her voice.
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Kris gazed out the plane's window. "Check out the clouds!" she said. "Don't they look adorable?"
Maura didn't look up from her fashion magazine. "Yup," she said.
"I love flying," Kris sighed as she settled back into her leather seat. "Wish we could do it more often."
"Not me," Maura replied. "One cross-country vacation is enough, thanks."
"Oh, you're no fun," Kris smiled. "You need to lighten up. Excuse me!" she called to a passing flight attendant. "Could you get my friend a tall cool Bloody Mary?"
The tall, imposing attendant wordlessly nodded, and headed to the back of the plane.
Maura eyed her receding form suspiciously. "Funny... I could've sworn I saw that woman back at the terminal."
"Duh! She works for the airline," Kris replied.
"But... she wasn't dressed as a flight attendant then. And doesn't her uniform look a little small for her?"
"Slow down, Maura. You're getting a little carried away," Kris responded. "Been reading too many spy novels, if you ask me."
Maura didn't say another word... but she eyed the expressionless stewardess suspiciously when her drink was brought.
***************
Kendra maneuvered herself across the dining hall of La Maison Alimentaire, balancing the tray on one hand while avoiding diner patrons and tables on her way to the kitchen. A glance at her watch told the perky, dark-haired waitress that her shift for the morning was almost complete. She smiled as she looked over her uniform of red waistcoat over white button-down shirt, black pants, and shiny black flats. She had succeeded going the whole morning without getting any food stains on her uniform.
Sidling through the large double doors, Kendra smiled at one of the chefs. "Hey, Brian. Have you seen Claire and Danielle?"
"Break room, I think," the chef replied above the thump-thump of the gas oven's pipes.
Kendra walked briskly through the kitchen and out the back doors to the employee sector. It had been a long morning, and she was in the mood for some female companionship.
The lights in the break room were off as Kendra entered. She felt for the switch. "Claire? Danny?" she called out.
A faint, muffled moaning met her ears.
Her fingers found the switch and flicked it on, flooding the break room with light. Kendra gasped.
At the other side of the break room, seated on the floor with their backs against the wall, were her two coworkers. Both blondes had been stripped down to their bras and panties, revealing that Claire had opted for Spartan white that day, while the well-endowed Danielle had chosen a light green. Both were also gagged with duct tape and bound with tight nylon rope, which restricted their movement to vain struggles and their speech to the slightest "Mmmmpppphhhhh"s.
Before Kendra could visibly react, she heard a clicking noise, and a gun was leveled at her head.
"Strip off your clothes, dear," a woman dressed all in black ordered. "Do it quickly, and we let you keep your underwear."
Kendra was scared, but she tried not to panic. Instead, she reached up and began unbuttoning her waistcoat. Once that was off, she removed her white shirt, revealing a large pink lace bra. Then the shoes came off, followed by the pants.
"Tights, too," the assailant ordered, her face emotionless behind a ski mask.
Kendra gripped the waistband of her white tights and shimmied out of them. Hardly had she handed them to the woman when two other women grabbed her and pulled her to the floor, where they proceeded to gag her with tape and truss her up with rope.
Kendra's two underwear-clad friends were dragged over to the break room closet. The closet was only big enough to hold the two of them, so Kendra was dragged behind the large couch and ordered to stay quiet.
Helplessly, Kendra watched as the three black-clad women shed their clothing, donned the waitress uniforms they had successfully stolen, and exited the break room, shutting the lights, closing the door, and plunging the room into complete darkness.
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Catherine kicked a pebble angrily. "They can't fire us!" she fumed.
"Apparently, they can," Brie replied. "What do we do now?"
"I don't know," Catherine said. "But we've got to do something. Maybe issue a complaint."
"I don't think that's how the Secret Service works," Brie replied. "Once you're out, you're out."
"But we've only been part of the team for a few weeks! How can they fire us without giving us a chance?"
Brie shrugged, then smiled. "Listen, hon. We can complain about that Sue Ann b*tch as long as we want... but how about we do it over a nice, cold beer?"
Catherine smiled. "I'm so lucky to have you as a friend, Brie."
"You sure are."
Both women laughed as they headed towards the bar.
******************
The plane landed gracefully at Dulles International Airport. Kris and Maura were among the first to exit.
"Wanna see the Mall?" Kris asked excitedly.
"I don't believe it's what you think it is," Maura replied. "Let's first find our hotel and get settled in."
The flight attendants were the last to exit. Vera brought up the rear.
After making her way into the terminal, her eyes scanned the surroundings. The flight attendant uniform had been useful in getting her aboard the plane, but it was uncomfortable, to say the least. She needed to move to the next phase of her plan - and for that, she needed a new set of clothes.
Vera's gaze fell upon a female chauffeur near the terminal entrance. The woman was dressed in a black uniform jacket and knee-length skirt and a white shirt beneath a black tie. She wore polished, low-heeled, knee-high black boots, sheer black tights, and a pair of rimless sunglasses adorned her eyes. A peaked black cap was perched upon her blonde hair, which had been tied back into a ponytail. Her hands, clad in black leather patent handgloves, held a whiteboard sign on which was inscribed the words "VAN DOREN" in black marker.
Eyes gleaming with malicious intent, Vera approached the slim but well-endowed chauffeur.
"Excuse me," she said courteously. "Are you waiting for Stephanie van Doren?"
The chauffer looked surprised, then nodded. "Was she on your flight?"
"Yes, she was," Vera lied. "She stepped into the powder room to freshen up, and she asked me to fetch her chauffeur to help her carry her bags,"
The lady driver sighed. "One of those shallow rich types, huh? All right, lead the way."
Grinning broadly, Vera guided the chauffeur to the west end of the terminal, away from the hustling crowds, and motioned her into the powder room. The young chauffeur did not notice the "Closed for Renovations" sign that hung near the door. She entered the dark room, and Vera followed behind.
Had anyone passed by the supposedly empty powder room at that moment, they would have been treated to some rather peculiar sounds from within. Some crashes, a few thuds, and the muffled sound of a woman screaming for help... only to have that scream cut short. They would have heard the sound of a perfect set of teeth biting down on a hand and the angered scream which followed. They would then have watched as a uniformed lady chauffeur suddenly burst out the door as fast as her low-heeled boots could carry her... which wasn't fast enough, as the next moment, a hand grabbed her collar and forcefully yanked her back into the room.
Then, our imaginary passerby would have heard... silence. Perhaps just the faintest sounds of clothing being unzipped, boots being pulled off shapely feet, buttons being undone... then ropes being tied and tape being smoothed over full red lips. Were they patient, they would hear the faint sounds of cruel female laughter.
Fifteen minutes later, Flight 117 touched down at Dulles. Stephanie van Doren checked her watch as she descended the stair-car. Not bad, she thought, but nowhere near the ETA.
The elegant red-haired woman glided through the terminal, brushing some stray dust bunnies from her business suit. As she elbowed past a young couple, she was greeted with the sight of a tall, well-built chauffeur in a black uniform that seemed a couple of sizes too small for her. The blonde was holding a sign with "VAN DOREN" inscribed on it.
Stephanie approached. "Hi," she said. "I believe I'm the woman you're looking for."
Vera grinned. "You certainly are."
They headed out to the waiting limo. Moving with practiced ease, so as not to tear her skirt, Vera got behind the wheel. "Where to?" she asked her passenger.
"The hotel," Stephanie replied. "I need a moment to relax. I've got a big day ahead."
She did not notice that her driver had shut off the two-way radio that came equipped with the limo.
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Janet exited the Secret Service headquarters, trying to process all she'd heard. Sue Ann was taking the utmost precautions in ensuring the President's safety that day. Agents were instructed to work around the clock. Sue Ann had even taken the extra step of having three agents subdue and replace some waitresses at the restaurant where the President was planning to eat lunch. Nothing would be left to chance.
But Janet knew she was the prime variable. She had just entered the lion's den and emerged without a scratch. In fact, Sue Ann had promoted her to the head of her sector.
Janet knew her plan was risky. But she could pull it off. She knew she could.
Absent-mindedly, Janet fingered the stain on her jacket. She looked at it and frowned. Stains were unprofessional. Looking about, she spotted a dry-cleaners across the street.
Janet was all for handing in her suit to be properly cleaned, but she wasn't carrying any spare clothing on her to wear while she waited. Quickly formulating a plan, she skulked into a nearby alley and merged with the shadows.
She didn't have to wait long. After letting a few women pass by due to significant difference in size, Janet spotted a girl in a sleeveless red shirt, blue jeans, and brown riding boots. The tall brunette was texting on her phone and did not notice the growing, grinning shadow that loomed behind her.
With a "hmmmmppppphhhhh", the young woman was pulled off-balance and dragged back into the alley, where Janet's fists invited her into a deep slumber. Stripping off the woman's clothes, Janet was satisfied that they would make a proper fit, she changed into them, folding her Secret Service uniform up and setting it aside.
The insensible brunette was dragged into the deepest recesses of the alley, away from any passing eyes. Janet bound her with some discarded cord she found. The gag was constructed from the girl's own tights. Janet allowed the girl to keep her underwear, but that did not stop her from squeezing her into a metal garbage can and slamming down the lid.
"Pleasant dreams, beauty," Janet said in her most honey-filled voice. On her way out of the alley, she retrieved the Secret Service uniform and headed for the dry cleaners.
****************
The hotel was crowded, largely in part to the mass reservation from some Islamic women's support group. Women in full-length burkas wandered the lobby, making anyone else in the area feel at least a tad claustrophobic. The best place to get some space, then, was the pool.
Maura leaned back in her comfortable lawn chair and tried to relax. Yet despite wearing nothing more than a bikini, she felt restrained. Something was bothering her, and she couldn't figure out what.
"Mo, c'mon in! The water's lovely!" Kris called from the hotel's indoor Jacuzzi.
Maura sighed. She was about to rise from her chair when something made her pause. Glancing out the window, she saw a limo pull up to the front of the hotel. The chauffeur rolled down the window to speak with the valet.
Maura gasped. The chauffeur looked familiar... too familiar. In fact, she looked exactly like the flight attendant who had served them on their plane!
The chauffeur looked around, and her gaze caught Maura's eye. Maura quickly shrank back and turned around. She headed over to the Jacuzzi.
"You okay, Mo?" Kris inquired. "You look like you've seen a ghost!"
Maura didn't reply. But even more than before, she could see that something strange was going on.
Perhaps it was time she got to the bottom of it...
*****************
Andrea sat in her apartment's lounge chair, her feet propped up on the coffee table. Although she lived alone, the twenty-three-year old redhead would rarely be pressed to call her life "boring". Even now, as she sat reading an old Jane Austen novel, the girl's mind was racing with the need for sating adventure. Besides, she had work to do.
Andrea whipped out her cell phone and dialed a local number. After two rings, a male voice responded, "Pott's Pizzeria. How may we help?"
"Hi. I'd like a thick-crust pepperoni pie, delivered to 463 Seventh Street. Oh, and one other thing..."
"Yes, ma'am?"
"Could you have Betty make the delivery? She's so efficient. I'd be willing to pay extra..."
"No problem, ma'am. Betty will have your pizza delivered in under 20 minutes."
"You're a dear. Toodles!"
Andrea hung up the phone and leaned back in her chair, a tigress awaiting her prey... And she wasn't referring to the pizza.
Fifteen minutes later, a white van with its logo in bright gold lettering pulled up in front of Maura's flat. Out stepped a young woman in a red-and-white striped uniform shirt, red shorts, white sneakers, and a red baseball cap atop her ponytailed blonde hair. The girl delicately balanced a pizza box with one hand as she strode down the walk.
Andrea picked up a rag from the nearby table and reached for a bottle of chloroform.
Betty rang the doorbell. She rocked on her heels for a few moments before the door swung open.
Betty put on her brightest smile. "Thick-crust pepperoni! WHAT THE FU--"
She had no time to react as the grinning woman grabbed her collar and pulled her through the doorway. The pizza box fell to the ground as the door slammed shut.
"HELP! HEELLLMMMPPPPHHHHH!!!" The chloroform pad fit snugly over Betty's mouth and nose. A sharp intake of breath, and she began to suddenly feel woozy.
A soft, singing voice sounded in her ear.
"Rock-a-bye, Betty, have some chloroform/ It's not personal, I just want your uniform/ Once you're knocked out, you'll be gagged and bound/ Left nearly naked where you'll never be found."
Betty's eyes fluttered. Her windmilling arms began to slow. Her breathing slowed. A few more heaves and gurgles, and she was blissfully unconscious.
Andrea dragged her victim over to the sofa and lay her down. She kicked off her own trainers and removed her T-shirt and jeans. She stood now in just a white exercise bra and matching panties, the color standing starkly out against her dark skin.
Then Andrea turned her attention to the angelic form of Betty. Off came the sneakers, followed by the shorts. The shirt was unbuttoned and eased off alabaster shoulders. Betty's red bra and panties were on full display. Andrea licked her lips.
"Guess you're about ready for packaging, honey-pie," she mused. She flipped the unconscious woman onto her back and headed toward the kitchen.
A search of her closet uncovered a thin yet firm coil of white nylon. A used washrag was also hanging from a hook.
Andrea set to work. Her victim's arms were bent back behind her and crossed over the cheeks of her curved ass. One end of the rope secured her wrists together. Andrea took the other end and looped it around the girl's ankles. She pulled tight. Then she hooked the rope under the wrist-bindings and pulled again, bringing her ankles up to meet her wrists and confining the girl to a most uncomfortable hogtie. The washrag was stuffed between her cheeks, and some strong adhesive was used to keep it in place.
"Hope you're not afraid of the dark," Andrea chuckled as she locked the girl inside the cramped space of the closet.
It was the work of a few moments for Andrea to work her trim figure into Betty's shirt, shorts, and sneakers. She tucked her dark hair beneath the logo-emblazoned baseball cap. The uniform was an excellent fit, as she knew it would be.
Andrea exited her home and locked the door. She picked up the fallen pizza box from the ground and carried it back to the waiting delivery van. Tossing the box into the back, Andrea got behind the wheel and started the engine.
"Now the fun begins," she grinned to herself.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Stephanie lay on her bedspread and perused her laptop. Having just gotten settled into her hotel room, she wasted no time getting to work. She had tipped her chauffeur generously, and had just now phoned Housekeeping to send a maid up to her room.
Fingers flying dexterously over the keyboard, Stephanie got to work. She hacked into the hotel's security feed and perused the camera footage. Then she gained the access codes to the various "Authorized Personnel Only" rooms. Stephanie committed them to memory, knowing it would be too much trouble to write them down and keep the paper on her.
A soft knock came at the door. Stephanie rose from the bed, nearly knocking over the black attache case which rested at its side. "Yes?" she called.
"Housekeeping," came the reply.
Stephanie strode over to the door and opened it. She gazed out at the Latina maid who stood there. The young woman was clad in a light blue blouse and skirt, a white apron, and sensible white flats. Her dark hair was pulled back into bun. Stephanie looked her over.
"You're just about the right size," she smiled.
Before the maid could think to respond, Stephanie grabbed her by her shoulders and yanked her into the room.
The maid tried to cry out, but Stephanie wrapped a viselike arm around her neck. She shut the door with her foot.
"Calm yourself, my girl," Stephanie whispered into the struggling maid's ear. "The less you struggle, the less it will hurt."
Whether the maid chose to heed her advice or was simply running out of oxygen was unclear, but in a few seconds, her struggles began to ease. They soon ceased - her arms flopped limply to her sides, her head lolled uselessly over her left shoulder.
Stephanie applied pressure for several seconds longer, then relaxed her grip. She dragged the maid over to the king-size bed and lay her down. Then she began relieving her unwilling "guest" of her uniform, beginning with the flats and carrying over to the apron, followed by the blouse and skirt. The maid wore a cream set of bra and panties which showed off her impressively feminine physique.
Stephanie fetched a towel from the bathroom and tore it into strips. These were used to bind the maid hand and foot. A spare scrap was stuffed into her mouth, which was then taped shut.
Stephanie dragged the maid into the bathroom and lowered her gingerly into the tub. She drew the curtain in order to give the young woman some privacy.
After exiting and locking the bathroom, Stephanie removed her clothes and hastily dressed in the maid's uniform. She picked up the small attache case from the bedside and checked her appearance in the full closet mirror before exiting her suite and hanging a "Do Not Disturb" sign on the door. Then she was heading down the hall to the elevator, having hidden the attache case in the folds of the squeaky-wheeled laundry cart.
****************
Catherine sipped the last of her drink before putting her head onto the table. "I'm a failure," she muttered.
"No, you're not," Brie replied. "You're a strong, capable, beautiful young woman."
"Like hell," Catherine replied. "I was just fired from the Secret Service... and I deserved it."
"No, you didn't," Brie replied. "You're an excellent field agent... Far better than that Marianne Cole girl."
Catherine sighed. "I'd never succeed at a field assignment. I'm too dumb."
Brie frowned. She happened to glance out the bar window at the bank across the street.
"Cath," she nudged her friend. "What say we put your practice field skills to the test?"
"Huh?"
"Follow me." Brie motioned for her friend to join her outside.
As they stepped out of the bar, Brie produced a wad of dollar bills from her pocket.
"Five hundred dollars," she declared. "I want you to have it."
Catherine was puzzled, but held out her hand to take the money. Brie promptly jerked her own hand back.
"Uh-uh, sweetie-pie. It's not that easy."
Catherine stared at her in confusion.
Brie pointed to the bank. "I want you to walk into that building, head into the diamond vault, and snatch up three gold bars. Take a photo to prove you've been there. Then exit the bank and give the bars to me. Do it all without getting caught or raising the alarm."
Catherine blinked. "What? But... there's no way I can do that!"
Brie held up a hand. "Easy, babe. Yes, you can do it. Not because of the money, but because you are a strong, capable, beautiful young woman."
Catherine was silent for a moment. Then a determined expression came over her face. "Three bars?"
"And one more thing," Brie smiled. "You've got to be in and out in twenty minutes."
Catherine was off. She circled around to the back of the building. Perhaps it would be easier to gain unnoticed access through a rear door.
She approached the side door and tried the handle. No luck. As she stood pondering her next move, the handle jiggled. Catherine gasped and quickly hid herself behind the outward-swinging door.
A female bank guard stepped out. The woman was dressed in a blue uniform shirt and black pants, along with polished black boots. A blue peaked cap sat upon her dark hair. The guard shut the door, but did not turn around and thus did not see Catherine standing a few feet behind her. She lit a cigarette.
Catherine tried backing away without making any noise, but she accidentally stepped on an empty soda can.
The guard turned and her eyebrows raised in surprise. Her hand went for her gun.
Catherine lunged desperately at the woman, determined to keep her presence at the bank a secret. The guard fell backwards, hitting her head against a pipe that jutted from the ground. She was out cold.
Catherine bit her lip. "Sorry," she whispered. "I know you were just doing your job."
She looked at the door out of fear that the rest of the bank's security would come barging out and begin shooting her. They did not. As she turned back toward the unfortunate guard, an idea entered her mind.
Five minutes later, Catherine was buttoning up the custom uniform of the bank's security staff. She fitted the cap over her hair and then bent down to pull on the boots. Once her disguise was complete, she turned to check on the underwear-clad guard, whose hands had been lashed to a pipe fixture. After making sure the woman would indeed soon recover unharmed, Catherine used her key ring to unlock the back door and slipped inside.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Vera leaned against the parked limo, her pert rear resting on the hood. The parking garage was largely empty at this hour, which gave her plenty of opportunity to go over the details of her plan in her mind.
No doubt Stephanie had begun carrying out her own plan upstairs by this time. Vera had hacked into her file days earlier and learned everything that the private investigator was planning. For the moment, though, Vera could do nothing but wait.
A sound alerted her ears. Someone was watching her.
Vera pulled a compact mirror out of her pocket. She pretended to check her make-up, but was in fact looking over her shoulder. Yes, a young woman was watching her while hiding behind a Ford Pinto.
Vera kept quiet, her hand calmly and coolly reaching into her jacket. Her fingers closed around her gun.
In one swift move, Vera pulled the gun from her jacket and pointed it in the direction of the Pinto. To her surprise, however, there was no one there.
Vera heard the sound of a door slam. She cursed under her breath and headed toward the direction of the sound as fast as she could... which was not very fast, thanks to her constricting uniform.
Maura's heart pounded as she headed up the stairs. She didn't want to think about what the chauffeur would do to her if she were caught.
She entered the lobby and dodged past several burka-clad women in her quest to find a good hiding spot. She settled on a small anteroom situated away from the hustle and bustle.
Peeking out through a crack in the door, Maura could see the tall chauffeur enter the lobby, clearly on the search for her. She was now beginning to check the small rooms situated along the walls of the lobby.
Maura shut the door and headed for the anteroom's only window. To her dismay, it wouldn't budge. Panic began to grow inside of her. She grabbed a metal candlestick from the coffee table and pondered smashing the window.
At that moment, the door to the anteroom swung open. Maura nearly jumped from fright... until she saw it was one of the Muslim women from the lobby.
The woman was dressed in a full-flowing black gown. Only her hazel eyes were visible beneath the fabric. After shutting the door, the girl said something in a language which Maura guessed to be Arabic.
Maura didn't understand, but she didn't much care to. She was in danger of being discovered... and only as she looked at the burka-wearing woman did a plan form in her brain. A desperate plan, perhaps... but this was a desperate time.
A smile on her face, Maura slowly approached the girl. From behind the burka, the girl said something in an inquiring voice.
Maura didn't know what to say, so she just pointed to the left. As the girl turned to look, Maura swung the candlestick toward her head.
Vera approached the door to the anteroom. She gripped the knob and swung the door open.
A woman in a burka pushed past her on her way out the door. Vera gave her a brief glance, then turned her gaze toward the room. Empty, like all the others. Vera exited and shut the door.
Had she stopped to check the room's small closet, she may have been surprised. Situated inside the cramped space was a young Muslim woman, bound and gagged in only her pink bra and panties.
The burka was hot. But Maura didn't mind.
***************
Brie stood by the curb, fingering a lock of hair. She checked her watch. Two minutes to go. Perhaps she shouldn't have...
"Hey, there." A smiling Catherine approached, holding up her iPhone.
Brie's eyes widened. "You did it?"
"Sure did. See the pic? I even got myself into frame so you know I'm not lying."
Brie smiled, impressed. She held out the five hundred dollars, but Catherine shook her head.
"You restored my self-confidence, Brie. I can't take your money."
"Wow. I'm beyond glad." Brie embraced her friend. "So tell me... did you have any trouble getting into the bank?"
"Not really. I simply, er, borrowed a uniform from one of the guards, tied her up out back, and it was smooth sailing from there."
"Did you gag her?"
"What?"
At that moment, a woman's scream erupted from behind the bank.
Catherine winced. "Run!"
The two women made it three blocks before they were out of breath. Then they paused, looked at each other... and started laughing.
**************
Congresswoman Roberta Garrison sat in her hotel suite and studied her reflection in the mirror. Although in her late thirties, she was still fit, trim, and wrinkle-free. Her lush dark skin and jet-black hair signified a dazzling beauty, and her black business suit gave her a professional look.
A soft knock came at the door. Roberta straightened her tie. "Just a minute," she called.
She approached the door and swung it open. Standing there stood a maid dressed in the hotel's official uniform. The maid smiled. "Good day, ma'am. I'm here to replace the sheets."
Roberta gestured her and her cart inside. "Go ahead. I'm leaving in a few minutes, anyway."
"Oh? Where to?" the maid inquired in a seemingly innocent voice.
"Well, you know how the President will be delivering a speech at the local amphitheater? I'm supposed to be there. Preferably a few hours early." She looked in the direction of the mirror as she spoke. "It's going to be a game-changing event. I want a front-row seat." She laughed.
"Afraid I can't accommodate you there, dear," the maid said.
Roberta turned and was shocked to see the maid pointing a gun at her.
"What... what is the meaning of..."
"Do shut up," the maid said crisply. "And start wriggling your body out of that business suit. The faster you comply, the less painful I'll make your bonds."
"My suit? But... why would you want my clothes? Who are you?"
"Oh, I'm something of a freelance PI." Stephanie flashed two rows of white teeth. "I'm working a case, and it involves replacing and impersonating you."
"Replace me?" Roberta had begun unbuttoning her jacket, although her gaze did not waver from her assailant. "But... you don't look at all like me. You'll never pull it off."
"Let me worry about that," Stephanie replied. "You just concentrate on getting that ample derriere of yours out of those pants."
Angrily, but wordlessly, Roberta complied. She kicked off her shoes and pulled her pants down long, shapely legs. She then unbuttoned her shirt and tossed it on the bed.
"You're doing excellently," Stephanie stated. "Now for the tights.'
Roberta suppressed a sigh as she bent down to roll off her tights. She balled them up and tossed them at Stephanie's feet. Now the congresswoman stood resplendent in her lacy pink bra and panties.
"I suppose you want to steal my underwear, too?" she snapped.
"Not exactly," Stephanie replied. "Your panties will make for sufficient mouth packing, so please remove them. As for your bra... well, you might as well get completely naked."
Roberta glared at her, but she stuck her thumbs in her panties and shimmied out of them. Then she reached behind her back and unclasped her bra, letting her last barrier of intimacy flutter to the floor.
Roberta's arm draped over her breasts to preserve her modesty, but a smiling Stephanie shook her head. "Sorry, darling. I'll need you to cross your wrists behind your back. The quicker we do this, the quicker I can stow you someplace where you won't be found for a while."
Roberta was trembling by now, but she allowed herself to be submissively bound hand and foot with white nylon rope and gagged with packing tape.
"Comfy?" Stephanie asked as she knotted Roberta's bindings to a crotchrope.
Roberta let out a squeal that assured Stephanie that no, she wasn't comfy.
"Que sera sera," Stephanie shrugged. She then stripped herself. Roberta kept silent as she watched her assailant cast off all her clothes until she was just as naked as her prisoner.
"Like what you see?" Stephanie winked. "Well, you haven't seen anything yet." So saying, she produced a small, filmy latex ball and held it up to the light. "Yes, this should do."
She proceeded to unroll the ball, letting the humidity of the air expand its shape, until it had taken on the appearance of a thin latex bodstocking.
Roberta watched, wide-eyed, as Stephanie stepped gingerly into the outfit, pulling it up her body and over her head an smoothing out every last wrinkle. She smiled in satisfaction. The latex had transformed the look of her skin from white to black.
A quick search of Roberta's closet revealed a dark wig. Stephanie cut up her own discarded stockings, then pulled one leg over her hair as a makeshift hairnet. The wig was then glued on top.
Stephanie slithered into Roberta's tights, uniform, and shoes. She then approached the dresser mirror and compared her reflection to that of the bound-and-gagged woman behind her.
"Perfect," she whispered.
She turned with a smile to the "mmmmppphhhhh"ing Roberta. "Rest up, dearest. And don't worry... I'll be sure to partake in that 'business transaction' you have scheduled for today." She had practiced her voice for months, and it was now an exact replica of that of the bound-and-gagged Congresswoman.
Roberta's eyes widened... both at the excellence of her assailant's disguise, and at the way she apparently knew about the Congresswoman's dealings.
As she was leaving, Stephanie hung a "Do Not Disturb" sign on the doorknob. Her footfalls faded down the hotel hallway.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The pizza van silently pulled up in front of the large glass and concrete building. Andrea gazed up at the front entrance. The words "Takoma Aquatic Center" were spelled in silver lettering above the doorway.
Andrea retrieved three pie boxes from the rear of her van and, hands full, she casually strode up to the main entrance. She pressed the doorbell with her elbow.
The guard at the front desk glanced over her copy of "Designers Weekly". With a resigned sigh, she hit a button on her desk.
Andrea stepped through the door, a sunny smile on her beautiful face.
"What do you want?" the guard snapped.
Andrea studied the guard. She was tall, with short red hair and dark green eyes. She wore a black jacket over a blue uniform shirt, as well as a black skirt and glistening black tights. Her long legs were crossed and her shiny black low-heeled PVC boots were propped on the desk. A pistol was holstered to the belt around her slim waist.
"Pizza delivery," she announced in a voice inflected with a sense Valley Girl naivete. "One of the swim teams ordered lunch, y'know?"
The guard sighed. "How can those b*tches eat so much and stay so thin?" she muttered. "Leave the pies on the desk. I'll send someone to bring them up."
Andrea smiled sunnily. "I could totally bring them myself."
"Sorry, Hot Fudge. Members only."
Andrea frowned. She didn't like this guard very much, and was liking her less every moment.
"Fine," she said. "But could you just sign the order form?" She brandished a clipboard, and set it on the desk.
The guard sighed, but reached for a pen. "Where do I sign?"
"Right here." Andrea pointed to the bottom of the form.
The redhead bent forward, exposing the back of her long and pretty neck.
All it took was one perfectly aimed neck chop. The guard slumped onto her desk, unconscious.
Andrea wasted no time in dragging the unconscious guard into a nearby utility closet. She briefly pondered appropriating the woman's uniform, but the guard was several inches taller than she. Besides, she was already pressed for time.
A quick search of the guard's belt revealed two sets of handcuffs. One snapped about her wrists, the other around her ankles. The gag was a behind-the-cheeks washcloth and a strip of duct tape from the closet.
"Enjoy your day off," Andrea grinned as she locked the door.
She had, however, forgotten to remove the guard's key ring.
She reached the pool she was looking for with no difficulties. Peering through the wall-length glass window, she grinned. There they were - six young women in black bathing suits and white rubber caps, laughing and playing in the chlorinated waters. Some folded monogrammed towels nearby read "WWS".
The swimming coach sat on a nearby beach chair, lazily watching the proceedings. The woman was clad in a red swimming leotard, and wore blue goggles and a green swimming cap, from beneath which a few wisps of black hair could be seen. A whistle was tied with a string around her long neck, and a clipboard was tucked under her left arm. Her long dark legs were stretched out before her, ending in ten peach-painted toenails.
No one else was around. Andrea grinned. She stepped over to the small room where the fuse box was housed, taking care not to be seen by the women behind the glass.
Moments later, cries of frustration came from within the pool area. "What the hell?" "Where are the lights?" "Ow, watch your elbow!"
Then the well-proportioned coach set down her clipboard and stood up. "Ladies, calm down. I'll fix this. Be right back."
Slipping on a pair of white high-heeled sandals, she stepped elegantly out of the pool area and walked over to the fuse room.
"Ah, here we are." She smiled as she located the pool room fuse box. She reached for the switch.
A powerful hand clamped over her mouth, stifling her sudden cry of shock. She was roughly pulled backwards, her long legs flailing.
Andrea tightened an arm around the coach's slim neck, cutting off the blood flow to her brain. The woman struggled and mewled, her eyes wide behind her goggles. Then slowly, those same eyes glazed over, and her unconscious body gave itself over to Andrea's mercy.
With some difficulty, Andrea removed the swimsuit from the woman's body. The swimming cap and goggles followed.
Although disappointed that there wasn't much to strip off her victim, Andrea marveled at the sight of the coach's athletic yet statuesque figure. Then she grabbed some electric cables from the nearby shelf and began securing her victim's ankles and wrists. She crossed the bindings in a strict hogtie and used her panties and some moldy cloth for a cleavegag.
After shimmying out of her own attire, Andrea squeezed her voluptuous figure into the constricting red leotard. Tucking her hair beneath the cap, and slipping the goggles over her eyes, she did a practice strut and decided the swimsuit was indeed a good fit. The high-heeled sandals were also surprisingly comfortable. Draping the whistle around her neck, and blowing her unconscious victim a kiss, she switched on the lights and stepped out of the fuse room.
With the lights back on, the six young women resumed their fun, frolicking in the deep end with a beach ball. Their fun stopped, however, as a shrill whistle blast pierced its way across the room.
The girls looked up at their lifeguard standing at the pool's edge, hands on her hips.
"All right, ladies," Andrea said in her best imitation of the real lifeguard's voice. "Playtime's over. Time for some surface exercises."
The girls looked puzzled.
"One at a time," Andrea said. "I want you each to enter my office. I'll perform a quick physical to make sure you're fit for next week's tournament."
She picked up the clipboard. "Carrie!"
One of the taller girls waded out of the pool. The well-proportioned young woman followed Andrea to a small, windowless room at the side of the pool area.
Andrea ushered Carrie inside and shut the door with a smile. "Right, my dear. Now let's see about getting that uncomfortable swimsuit off, shall we?"
The girl had no time to react as Andrea locked her in a chokehold. She tried to cry out, but the hand over her mouth prevented that.
"Stop struggling, sweetie," Andrea whispered in the desperate girl's ear. "You're mine."
The girl moaned helplessly, her eyes wide in terror. But Andrea's grip refused to relax. Slowly, the girl's strength ebbed away, and she went limp in Andrea's arms.
Andrea stripped her victim naked. The swimsuit was used for hogtying purposes, while the white rubber cap made for sufficient mouth packing. The girl never stirred as Andrea dragged her behind the large oak desk.
Andrea poked her head out the door. "Sophie!"
Dealing with the next four girls was simple and routine for a professional like Andrea. She would invite them in, one at a time, and invite them to a not-so-pleasant sleepover, after which they would be stripped, bound, gagged, and added to the increasing pile of unconscious women behind the desk.
The sixth girl, however, was a more difficult contender. Ever the impatient type, she burst through the office door just in time to see the last of her fortuneless friends disappear behind the desk. The girl's eyes locked with Andrea's for a moment... and then she turned and ran.
Andrea cursed as she chased after the girl. "Give it up, honey curves. You're only drawing out the inevitable!"
Meanwhile, the redheaded guard had successfully freed herself, and was heading up the corridor, gun drawn.
Hearing noises, she turned the corner... and ran smack-dab into a swimsuit-clad girl with a frightened look in her eyes. The gun flew out of the guard's grasp, arced through the air, and fell directly into Andrea's palms.
"Thank you kindly," Andrea smiled as she pointed the weapon at the two dazed women, who immediately threw up their hands in surrender. "Looks like you got free, Red... Can't have that, can we? Looks like I'll have to resort to more drastic measures." She smiled. "Into the closet, both of you." She gestured with the gun. "I want all those clothes off. Hurry up, I feel an urge to scratch my trigger-finger."
Angrily, yet helplessly, the two women were herded into the closet. There, they performed an impromptu striptease, much to Andrea's delight.
"Excellent, dears," she smiled. "Simply captivating. And speaking of captives..." She tossed a roll of green tape to the swimmer. "Do be so kind as to mummify our dear security friend here. Make sure she'll be completely immobile. Chop-chop!"
"You b*tch," the guard glowered as the swimmer reluctantly taped her up. "You won't get away with this. The police will catch you..."
Andrea smiled. "The police have been trying to catch me for four years. No luck so far. Probably because I've never stood still long enough for them to get a clear picture of my face."
"You b*tch," the guard sobbed. "You fuuuummmmmppphhhhhhh." The swimmer stuffed the guard's mouth with her panties and smoothed the tape over it.
After ensuring the guard had been well and truly immobilized, Andrea hogtied the hapless swimmer, holding back some loose cords to use for crotch and breast bindings.
"You tried to escape," she explained to the teary-eyed girl, "so you get the royal treatment."
After dressing herself in the guard's uniform and tights, Andrea picked up both women, carrying one over each shoulder as she headed down the hall.
"Let's join your friends," she chuckled. "We're all about to take a little trip."
