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Jill mmmf action/adventure
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
"Jill" mmmf action/adventure
Standard Disclaimer : This action-adventure spy story contains depictions
of sexuality with a young girl. Be warned. This story is COMPLETE
fiction, and I'm sure that our government is not spending our hard-earned
tax dollars funding programs to use underage orphans as assassians.
Well...I'm mostly sure.
Anyway, if this sort of thing offends you, please delete the story.
"A desperate disease requires a dangerous remedy."
- Guy Fawkes (1570-1606)
Catholic Conspirator on the gunpowder plot
to blow up the Houses of Parliament
"Assassination has never changed the history of the world."
- Benjamin Disraeli (1804-1881)
Prologue --------
Since President Gerald R. Ford signed Presidential Executive
Order #1471-736, the United States of America has been prohibited from
recruiting, hiring, training or fielding assassins. A civilized
country does not send highly-trained killers to distant shores to
enforce foriegn policy.
However, there exists inside the government of the United
States a small cadre of men who believe that this was a poorly
motivated decision, and that there will always be circumstances where
the direct application of violent physical force is the best solution
to certain problems. Monies set aside by Congress for the intelligence
agencies are buried deeply inside so called 'black' budgets, numbers
and programs and projects so highly classified that only a handful of
people know of their existence, purpose and scope.
The National Security Agency, (NSA) perhaps the largest and
most secret of all the agencies that make up the alphabet soup of the
US intelligence community, has a budget higher than that of any other
single government entity, excepting only the Pentagon. The NSA is
charged primarily with gathering, processing, analyzing and
summarizing SIGINT (Signal Intelligence) and ELINT (Electronic
Intelligence), information gathered by the super-secret spy satellites
and listening posts scattered around the world. The NSA Headquarters
at Fort Gorge G. Meade in Maryland contains the single highest
concentration of computing power in the world. Within the walls of
those buildings lie several high-powered Cray supercomputers who do
nothing all day but process and analyze SIGINT and ELINT from around
the world. It has been rumored, and it has also been denied, that the
NSA monitors every single telegram and telephone call leaving or
entering the borders of the United States, looking for keywords such
as "nuclear" and "espionage".
As with all of the intelligence agencies, secret, top secret
and top secret-plus programs and projects are secured by a process of
compartments. A person with a top secret clearance for one project may
not have a need to know about another, and thus, is denied access to
that program or project. The fewer people that know of a project or a
program, the more highly classified and sensitive it is.
The GOLDEN ROPE Project, started in the late 60's, remains the
single most highly classified project ever undertaken by the NSA. The
various directors of the project, six in all, have been one of only
two men who have ever understood the scope and content of the project.
Named after the mythical rope that Wonder Woman carried, the
golden lasso that made anyone under its influence tell the truth,
GOLDEN ROPE was designed not to gather ELINT or SIGINT, but the rarest
of all intelligence sources, HUMINT, or Human Intelligence. HUMINT was
what the CIA and DIA specialized in, the agents-in-the-field rodeo
that had marked the more dramatic and secret moments of the Cold War.
GOLDEN ROPE had been designed in two stages. The first stage,
the most important stage, was developing a way to get an agent-in-
place close to the particular subject. The method had to be foolproof
and fast. Studies were made, statistics analyzed, computer models
designed and run. The solution, when it was hit upon, was simplicity
itself. It was remarked (by a rather junior agent,) that most of, if
not all, of the people that the NSA wished to target for infiltration
were men. And men all had one weakness: Women. A highly-trained woman,
familiar in the skills of seduction and sex, could get closer to a
particular subject faster than any other type of agent. Using women to
get close to men for intelligence purposes was nothing new. Dating
back to the times of the Roman Legions, women had been used throughout
history to betray the men they took to their beds.
But this was going to be different. The GOLDEN ROPE project
had the full support of the entire NSA machinery. A woman could be
completely briefed on her subject before move one was made. She would
be aware of every single possible facet of her target. She would be
able to become any woman that was needed: A seductive temptress, an
innocent waif, a die-hard slut...whatever the particular tastes of a
specific target, a woman could become that person and thusly get close
to the target.
The second stage was turning the women into the perfect
assassins. She couldn't use a gun or a knife, unless one was already
handy. She couldn't risk being frisked and being found carrying a
weapon. She had to be expert in all forms of martial arts, all styles
of bare-handed and unarmed killing. A master of various poisons and
toxins, ways to kill without leaving a trace.
The third and final stage was indoctrination. The woman had to
be completely loyal to the NSA and their objectives. Towards that end,
she had to be completely psychologically stable, intelligent, capable,
and above all, sexy. She had to have a cold heart and the ability to
kill on a moment's notice. Finding such a woman was the hard part of
the entire project.
Two tacks were taken. The first was to find hardened
criminals, women who had killed before and were eager to kill again.
The concept was to take them, and through a variety of drug therapy
and intense psychotoxic manipulation, turn them into government-
sponsored assassins. Sadly, that project failed. The women failed the
most important test: They were psychologically unstable at their basic
levels.
A second idea was suggested, discarded, and then approached
again, discarded again, and finally accepted. It was almost
unthinkable on its surface, but the more the powerful men who ran
GOLDEN ROPE thought about it, the more sense it made. Instead of
finding a woman that fit their specifications, why not create one? Not
in the sense of genetic engineering, but taking a woman...a girl,
really, in her early stages of development, and turning her into the
perfect agent-in-place, the perfect assassin, the perfect embodiment
of what GOLDEN ROPE stood for.
Various attempts were undertaken with women in their late
teens and early twenties. Each failed. The age was backed up to 16,
and the project was attempted again, this time with limited success.
It was finally decided that in order to generate the perfect GOLDEN
ROPE agent, a very, very young girl would be needed, someone who had
only begun her psychological development. Someone who had no moral
frame of reference. Someone who could be molded from the outset,
created in the image of the project.
She was found. At the age of eight, Jill Tanaka was discovered
living in an orphanage outside Chicago. The daughter of an American GI
father and a Japanese woman who died giving birth to her, Jill had
been at the orphanage since her father had died in a training accident
at Fort Polk. Her intelligence tests were off the scale. Her tested IQ
was in excess of 160. At the age of eight, she already spoke three
languages: English, Japanese and Spanish. She had learned Spanish by
watching cable TV.
In 1983, Jill Tanaka, age 8, was 'adopted' by two 'parents'
sponsored by the NSA. After that, she was taken to the GOLDEN ROPE
training facility located in the sprawling Skunkworks base in the
middle of the Nevada desert. For the next ten years, she was
instructed by the best in the business. Upon her graduation from the
program, at age 18, Jill (code-named MEDUSA) was a sixth-degree black
belt in Akido, an expert with a wide-variety of small arms, an expert
knife fighter, an adept pharmacist, and more than qualified as a
sexual temptress. Her mixed heritage had turned her into a seductive,
gorgeous young woman. Her hair was long and straight and glossy black,
so dark it was almost blue. Her wide set almond-shaped eyes showed a
hint of her Western ancestry, as did her full, rounded bosom and long,
slim legs. The Asian influence on her looks only contributed to her
overall beauty.
Jill Tanaka, at the tender age of 18, was both gorgeous and
deadly, and she was about to undertake her first official mission.
***
-1-
NSA Training Facility MJ-9
Tonopah Test Range, Tonopah, Nevada
Monday Morning
Deputy Director, Operations for the NSA Walter P. Stark
studied the dossier on his desk. It was thick, covering just over ten
years of the subject's life, and was complete in every conceivable
way. If he cared to check, Stark could flip to the back and see how
often Tanaka had a bowel movement. That, however, did not interest
him. What did interest him was the mission had had planned for her.
The door opened and Takana stepped through. Stark had to fight
to catch his breath. The official black-and-white glossy clipped to
the inside cover of her dossier did not do the woman justice. She was
beyond gorgeous.
She strode into the office as if she owned the place. Dressed
in skintight leather from head to toe, she looked like a walking wet
dream. Her long hair was worn in a saucy, bouncy ponytail that swished
from side to side as she walked. Her long, slim legs were encased in
sheer black stockings, and the tight leather skirt she wore was to
tight, Stark imagined that he could see the garterstraps holding the
stockings up. Her black heels only added to her already impressive
height and Stark had to fight the overwhelming feelings of arousal he
felt welling in his groin.
"Good morning, sir," Tanaka said, taking the seat in front of
the desk. She crossed her legs, and Stark had the treat of listening
to the sleek sound of her stockinged legs rubbing together.
"Good morning, Jill. Do you know why I've called this
meeting?"
"No, sir."
"We have something we want you to do for us."
"Of course, sir."
"Are you familer with Toshi Yumura?"
"President and CEO of Yumura electronics, the sixteenth
wealthiest man in the world, worth somewhere in the area of five or
six billion dollars American. Married, two children."
"That's correct, Jill. We want you to get close to his son,
Yoshi. The NSA is getting ready to release specifications on a new
data encryption algorithim. It will make the fiber-optic computers of
the future impenetratable by forigen powers, but open to our systems.
For obvious reasons, this is a matter of national security. We have
some intelligence that indicates that Yumura electronics may have
gotten their hands on our encryption algorithim, which means they can
reverse engineer a chip that would break our codes. Again, for obvious
reasons, we cannot allow this.
"Now," Stark said, opening another folder on his desk, "Unlike
his father, Yoshi is very western. He lives in Los Angeles, running
the US subsidiary company of his father's firm. If anyone would know
if Yamura Electronics has the plans, it would be Yoshi. We want to put
you in place next to him." Stark closed the folder and passed it to a
silent Jill, who opened it on her lap and quickly scanned the pages,
memorizing everything she read. In addition to her other skills and
qualifications, Jill had a photogenic memory.
She closed the folder and silently handed it back to Stark.
"What's my in?" she asked.
Stark stroked his chin and swivelled in his chair. "You tell
me. From what you read, how would you get close to him."
Jill didn't pause or blink. "Yoshi likes...trashy women.
Especially Eurasian women. He likes artists and musicians. I suggest
that we get some studio musicians and create a fake band, and go on
the road. We can get booked into clubs that Yoshi frequents. Nature
will take its course from there. If that doesn't work in the require
timeline, I can run into him at another social function. All I need is
five minutes with him to plant the seed of desire." Stark knew that
was true. He'd seen the tape.
One of Jill's training exercises had taken place inside
another secret NSA facility, near Pave Creek Montana. The exercise had
been part of her sexual training, and the entire session had been
videotaped. Her target, or subject, or whatever you wanted to call
him, had at one time been a Catholic priest. Long retired, he had been
told that he was to hear the confession of one of his old parishoners
who had been a long-time deep cover agent who was near death from
cancer. Jill had been the one that had entered the confessional
specially constructed for this exercise.
Jill had performed incredibly well. She had spoken in low
tones to the priest, telling him of all the horrible, sexual things
she had to do in the performance of her duties. The invisible camera
that had been placed inside the confessional had revealed the old
priest's excitement, and later, after they had exited, it had taken
Jill only six minutes to get his pants down, his cock out, and into
her wildly sucking mouth.
The fact that the priest had committed suicide three days
later had not impacted Jill's grade on that exercise one iota.
"Very well, Jill. Standard sterile practices. If you get made,
we don't know you. You never existed. You have twelve weeks to get the
information." He handed her a third folder. "All your contact
information is in this file. Read it, memorize it, then destroy it.
You're dismissed."
Jill Tanaka stood and took the proffered folder and turned
smartly on her high heels and left the Deputy Director, Operations,
National Security Agency staring at her twitching ass as she left his
office.
-2-
"There are two levers for moving men: Interest and fear."
-Napoleon Bonaparte (1769 - 1821)
Los Angeles, California
Two Days Later
Jill Tanaka studied her new digs with satisfaction. The rent
had been paid, in cash, for the next six months, courtesy of the NSA
Special Funds Account. It was a loft above an abandoned warehouse,
just the place for a struggling musician. The place had been steam-
cleaned and then painted blank, stark white everywhere. It looked like
the sort of place you might film a "Docker's" commerical in.
The entire place had been decoated from Government storage
facilities. It had the practiced, casual look of a place that had been
lived in for several years. The three neighbors in the building were
actually fellow NSA operatives, all of them paid to back up Jill's
stories and to keep an eye on her. The floor immediately above Jill's
held an apartment complete with a suite of electronic eavesdropping
equipment. Every square inch of Jill's apartment was wired for video,
sound, thermal imaging and voice stress-testing. Anything done, said,
whispered...even thought inside the apartment would be recorded,
fowarded to Fort Meade and analyzed by faceless, nameless technicians,
the final results and conclusions delivered to Stark's desk.
Sighing, Jill decided to take a shower. Her first gig was the
next night, at a place called "X-MEN" in La Jolla. Intelligence said
that it was a place Yoshi frequented. A little pressure applied
through a double-blind NSA front had gotten "MEDUSA" booked as the
headline act the next night.
Shrugging off her half-length leather jacket, Jill kicked off
her shoes and contemplated the mission ahead. Getting close to Yoshi
would not be a problem. Getting him to make love to her, also, would
not be a problem. Jill knew exactly which buttons to push on a man,
any man, to get him excited, to make him want her. After all, she had
learned her lessons well. She had been taught by the best.
Unzipping her short, tight leather skirt, Jill remembered some
of those lessons with a smile. Her entire life, her upbringing and
training and education, had been focused towards turning her into the
perfect woman, the talented seductress, the perfect sexual partner for
any man.
The leather bustier was next, and Jill stood in her stockings,
garter belt, black silk panties and matching black silk bra. Jill was
well aware that the technicians on the floor above her were getting an
eyeful, but she didn't care. Let them look. Probably the only thing
they're capable of.
Jill padded into the bathroom and started the shower. The
bathroom quickly filled with steam, and Jill waited until then to shed
her underwear and stockings. She knew for a fact that only the thermal
imaging unit (a CyberDyne XM2 Mark V model,) would be able to
penetrate the curtain of steam she'd thrown up. Let the technicians
watch her if she was working, Jill thought, but not when I'm on my own
time. Not if I can help it.
She washed quickly, liking the sensuous feeling of the hot
water sluicing off her body as she soaped herself. Jill took enormous
pride in her large-breaste, slim-waisted body, and knew that she
turned both men and women on. In her private life, away from the NSA,
she liked to dress to impress. When her assignments, like this one,
allowed Jill to dress close to the way she normally did, it made
everything that much easier.
Jill exited the shower and wrapped a large fluffy towel around
her body and returned to her bedroom. Slipping on an oversize T-shirt
to sleep in, Jill slid between the sheets and was asleep in minutes.
Oddly enough, her dreams were about her fourteenth year, her
sixth year at The Compound. The year she began her sex education
courses.
***
Stark was still an Assistant Deputy, Operations Directorate
when Jill was fourteen. The GOLDEN ROPE project has been his
brainchild since its inception. Funded with money intended for and
diverted from other projects, Stark was sure that he was four short
years away from seeing his efforts bear fruit.
They had decided to wait until Jill was aware of her sexuality
before introducing her to the ways and means of adult physical love.
When the close-circut TVs monitoring her bedroom caught the young girl
openly masturbating, it was decided at the highest levels that it was
time to teach her the ropes...and the whips and the chains, as the
joke went.
They started off with erotic novels and short stories. The
reading material covered the entire gamut of adult sexuality. She was
encouraged to read and ask questions, and let her instructors know
which works made the largest impression on her. By far, the nastier
the matierial, the stronger Jill's reaction to it. She loved reading
about gang bangs and rapes and bestiality, group sex and lesbianism.
Anything what was off the beaten path, anything that was perverse and
dirty and nasty, she loved. The stranger the sex, the more she got off
on it. A medical doctor was brought in, and he explained all her
sexual organs to her, even going to far as to point out her clitoris
and what it was used for. Seeing the look of glee on Jill's face when
she was told that not only was she allowed to masturbate, but
encouraged to do so as often as she liked, Stark knew that he'd found
his temptress for sure.
Jill became overtly sexual. She began mimicking the characters
she read about in thought, word and deed. She dressed to highlight her
developing body, trying at every turn to excite and arouse her
instructors and mentors. Many of the men assigned to teach Jill hand-
to-hand or weapons found themselves on the receiving end of a little
fourteen year old sexpot who desperately wanted their approval and
affection.
When Jill turned fifteen, it was decided that her virginity
would be taken. There were long discussions about how this was to take
place, and it was finally decided that Jill herself would be allowed
to pick whom she wanted. To everyone's surprise, Jill picked one of
her bodyguards, an Air Force enlisted man who had been Jill's shadow
for more than two years. When the twenty-six year old Sergeant was
brought into Stark's office and informed of his 'duty assignment,' it
was rumored that you didn't need a KH-11 spy sattelite to see his
smile from twenty-two thousand miles up. He agreed to do exactly as
instructed and break the future assassin in as a woman.
That tape, widely copied and distrbuted throughout the base,
was a favorite jack-off fantasy for the men of GOLDEN ROPE, and more
than a few of the women. Jill was perfect in the role of teenage
seductress. She had worn a black t-shirt with the logo of some heavy-
metal band on it, and strategically torn blue jeans when her bodyguard
came to tuck her in on the fateful night. She had been given official
permission to attempt to seduce him, and the young enlisted man had
been given permission to let her.
They sat and talked for a while, mostly about nothing. Jill
was giggling and smiling and acting coy, and the enlisted man was
slowly moving closer and closer to the young girl. When they first
kissed, it was a tender and perfect moment that never failed to move
anyone who watched the tape. What followed was also tender and moving,
and undeniably sexy.
The EM undressed Jill slowly, revealing her perfect, virgin
body to the camera and the excited eyes of the monitoring technicians.
She was an eager, hungry lover, willing to do anything that might
bring her or the young sergeant pleasure. He taught her well, using
patience and gentleness, and brought the girl to her first orgasm with
another person.
After that night, Jill had been unsaitable. She wanted sex
constantly, and wasn't too picky about who she invited between her
sheets. Understanding that a rather loose sexual morality was desired
in an agent of this kind, Jill's handlers subtely encouraged this, and
even went so far as to keep her bodyguard phalanx full of constantly
rotating good-looking young men. Jill bedded them all, and they all
left the assignment with wonderful stories about a Japaneese-American
temptress who did things to them between the sheets that they had
never imagined in their wildest dreams.
After about six months of unfettered sexuality, the GOLDEN
ROPE project leaders decided that Jill needed some coaching. She was
doing fine on her own, but her sexual practices had been limited to
the basics of screwing and mutual oral sex. Nothing exotic, nothing
out of line or unusual. Unfortunately, men of great power also tended
to have sexual quirks, and so it was decided that Jill needed to be
aware and comfortable with a variety of sexual acts and practices.
Several Thai whores were brought in, B-girls notorious for
their ability to do anything that a man requested, and act like they
enjoyed it and were only dissapointed that they hadn't thought of it
first. They took Jill under their collective wings and taught her
everything she needed to know. Inside of a year, Jill had learned
quite a lot about being an adept sexual partner. She had also learned
to control her sexuality when she was on one of her practice missions.
She was taught that it was more important for her to appear certain
ways at certain times than it was for her to give free reign to her
own unique, unbridled sexuality.
***
Jill woke the next morning feeling refreshed. She took a fast
shower and dressed simply, in Levi's and a t-shirt. She threw a
leather jacket over that and headed out the door. She had an address
that Stark had given her, a recording studio downtown, off LeBrea. The
Jeep Wrangler that the NSA had provided her for this mission was
topless that morning, and Jill drove quickly, loving the power of the
machine under her hands and feet.
The address turned out to be another faceless, nameless
wherehouse. A single video camera, mounted on an L-brace, scanned the
doorway, fixing Jill with it's electronic Cyclops eye. She stared at
it for perhaps ten seconds before hearing the electronic buzz of the
lock's selnoid. Stepping through, Jill was greeted by a large, hulking
man with arms the size of tree trunks. He didn't look too bright, but
Jill was sure that he was assigned to Operations, not Analysis.
Smiling at her own private joke, she followed the man into the
interior of the warehouse, and was surprised to see that the place did
house an elaborate, high-tech recording studio, complete with 64-track
two-inch decks, various other electronic sound equipment, and a sound
mixing/production board that looked like it had been lifted from the
bridge of the Starship Enterprise.
In the rehersal/performance room were three men, all dressed
in the current fashions of the grunge music element. Long, dirty,
unwashed hair, flannel shirts, torn, stained jeans, the whole routine.
A drum set and two guitars were set up, and a lone mircophone stood on
a stand in front of the band.
They eyed her suspiciously as she walked in, her cowboy boots
making loud clunking noises.
"Jill," she said, not offering her hand. The three men stood
and introduced themselves as Billy, Sam and Joel. Joel was the lead
guitarist, Billy the dummer, and Sam held played the bass.
"Well," she said after the introductions were over, "Let's get
to it. We play tonight at X-Men and we've got a lot of practicing to
do."
The band climbed into and behind their instruments and tuned
up quickly. They were obviously professional and had played together
often before today. The dummer tapped his sticks together four times,
and the band launched into the opening chords of a hard rock tune that
Jill instantly recognized. Stepping to the mike, Jill came in at the
appropriate time and let loose with her voice, matching the chords and
melodies of the band perfectly. It was as if they'd been playing
together for years.
The band went through dozens of tunes, finding the rhythm and
getting used to one another's style. After several hours, they figured
they had it down, and Jill left to return home and prepare for her
premiere as the lead singer of her new band. After some debate, it was
decided that the name of the band would be "The Pickle Factory." Jill
smiled at her own private joke and left the bandmates to pack the
equipment and move it to the club in La Jolla.
She drove home quickly, eager to get the assignment underway.
She had no doubt that she could get close to Yoshi, if he was at the
club. Everything, at this stage of the operation, was dependent on
Yoshi's appearance at the club. If he didn't show up, Jill would have
to move to Plan B.
Whatever that is, she joked. As she drove, Jill aware of the
machinations going on behind the scene, the secret deals being made
and solidified. As she turned onto Sunset and drove towards the
freeway, she knew that the band that had been scheduled to play this
week at the club were being informed by their manager that he had
gotten them a better gig in San Francisco, and that they were to be at
the airport in an hour. The manager was then calling the club and
informing them that the band had cancelled, had run out on their
contract. After listening to the club owner's tirade for ten minutes,
the manager said he had heard of another band and that he just
happened to have the number of their manager.
Planning. Everything was planning. Steps had been taken,
monies paid, people reached and forced to operate to the whims of the
nameless, faceless men who actually controlled the machinations of
government. The first band's manager had a hefty deposit in his bank
account, enough money for him to retire for the rest of his life on.
Normally, deposits of that size were to be reported at once to the
Treasury Department, and then to the IRS. Neither had occured. A phone
call here, a voice mail there, a telex, and a memo, and the rules had
been neatly circumvented 'for the convience of the government,' as the
parlance went. The reach and control and power of the men at the
reigns of the NSA never ceased to amaze Jill.
Two phone calls later, her band, "The Pickle Factory," was
scheduled to play at the club where Jill hoped her target would appear
that night.
When she got back to the loft, one of the technicians from
upstairs was waiting for her. Sitting on the couch, he was looking
around nervously while tapping a slim brown manilla envelope against
his knee.
"Message for you," he said, standing and handing the envelope
to Jill. She turned it over and saw that the seal was still intact.
She nodded, and the technician turned and left. Jill took his place on
the couch and carefully slit the envelope open with one long, painted
nail.
Jill noticed that the message was coded. Concentrating, she
remembered the day's code sequence. With a pencil, she quickly decoded
the message into word blocks. Once fully translated into plaintext,
the message simply said: GREEN BOX PHONE PICTURE PEN KNIFE CAMERA.
That, in and of itself, made no sense to anyone but Jill and
Stark. The message gave her operational permission to execute the
first step of the plan. Reaching into her purse again, Jill removed a
small, unlabeled vial of clear liquid. It was the inert portion of a
binary poison called DIXIE PEACH 12. A binary poison is a pretty
ingenious way to kill someone. It is administered in two portions;
first the inert half, which is colorless, odorless and completely
untraceable. It can be mixed into a drink, into food, into anything
that the victim might consume.
The second half, the activator portion, is also completely
colorless and odorless, and has the added advantage of not having to
be consumed. The activator portion can be dissolved and then applied
to a piece of clothing that the victim will wear. All he has to do is
touch it do his skin; the chemical is absorbed through the sweat
glands, and the victim will die within minutes of an apparant heart
attack. The combination of the two chemicals is completely
untraceable. Although Jill was an expert in all forms of hand-to-hand
combat, martial arts, and was able to kill with guns, knives, pens,
credit cards, feathers, practically anything within reach, as well as
her bare hands, Jill preferred the binary poisons. They seemed a
little more humane.
If, after about ninety days, the second, activator portion of
the poison wasn't adminstered, the inert portion dissapated in the
body.
The second half of the message also indicated that there was
another agent coming to provide backup. The message didn't give a clue
as to who it might be, and Jill sat and wondered for a few minutes who
Stark might send.
Then it was time to prepare. Jill showered, and then carefully
applied her makeup, and chose an outfit that would be sure to catch
Yoshi's attention. Torn fishnet stockings, very, very high black
stiletto heels, a black leather skirt so short that the top to inches
of bare thigh were visible, a black leather and lace bustier, and a
shorty leather jacket. Standing in front of the mirror as she applied
her pigeon-blood red lipstick, Jill thought she looked like the
popular image of an Asian Rock Slut...In Heat. Yoshi was going to love
her.
-3-
"Rock 'n' Roll is part of a pest to
undermine the morals of the youth of
our nation. It is sexualistic, unmoralistic,
and...brings people of both races togeter."
- North Alabama White Citizens' Council, 1954
X-MEN was rocking when Julie got there. The warm-up band,
although not up to The Pickle Factory's stature or skill, had the
majority of the bar's patrons on the floor, bodies writhing, everyone
sweating and having a goddamn good time. Jill spotted two pairs of NSA
operatives on the floor, posing as couples. She still hadn't made her
backup, but she knew he or she was there, somewhere, in the crowd or
posing as a staff member. They would not make themselves known unless
required by circumstance, but Jill couldn't help wondering who it was.
There was a thirty-minute break between bands as the stage
crew exchanged equipment. Jill made her way backstage and found her
bandmates in their dressing room, exchanging their grunge look for the
spandex and leather required by popular expectations. They went over
the playlist and then fell quiet as the pre-performance jitters
settled in.
Then it was time to go on. The club was darkened, and a single
spot lighted the microphone. There was a long anticipatory pause, and
then the band hit the stage. Jill waited in the wings, waited for them
to crank the sound up to a rocking, thumping crescendo..and then she
made her entrance.
The spotlight lit upon Jill as she strutted onto the stage,
reflecting off the shiny leather and blinding the audience. The band
brought the sound up, held the note, and then descended into a
crashing downbeat that started the first song of the first set. As if
they'd been doing this for years, the band and Jill molding into one
complete musical entity. The crowd roared with approval as The Pickle
Factory crashed through number after number.
The first set was forty minutes long, and as they left the
stage for their break, Jill scanned the crowd, smiling and waving. She
caught the high sign from one of the floor agents. Yoshi had been
spotted.
The game's afoot, Jill thought.
***
Halfway through her second set, Jill spotted Yoshi. He was
standing in the back, surrounded by pretty women and three huge,
hulking bodyguards. He was wearing sunglasses in the dark club in an
attempt to make him look cool. Jill thought he looked like a parody of
a movie gangster. But she flattered him with her performance, giving
him just a bit more attention than anyone else. Not too much, but she
let him know she was interested.
It worked. In between her second and last sets, one of the
staff came backstage and informed Jill that a man wished to meet her
after the show. He handed her a business card, and Jill took it,
turning it over in her hand to read it.
"Yoshi Yumura," it said, "President, Yumura Electronics
America, Ltd." On the back, in an immaculate script, a single word:
Dinner?
Jill smiled to herself. She took a pen from the staff member
and wrote "...breakfast?" and handed the card back to the man. He
tried to avoid looking like he was reading it, but the small smile on
his face destroyed that effect. He took the card and vanished.
The third set was almost anticlimactic for Jill. For her, the
thrill was in the hunt. The quarry had been sighted and marked. All
that remained was for Yoshi to fall into her trap. Yeah, Jill thought,
leaning back to belt out the final, lingering note of the last song,
the trap right between my legs.
The band begged off an encore and Jill changed into her
version of street clothes. She left everything she was wearing on, and
added another glossy coat of lipstick, then reemerged to find Yoshi
and go have dinner.
He'd had the good grace to get rid of the girls that had been
hanging around, leaving only the daunting phalanx of bodyguyards
surrounding him.
"Jill Tanaka," she said, offering her hand. As if he was a
member of the British peerage, Yoshi bent from the waist and kissed
the back of Jill's hand. Jill took her arm back and made a show of
wiping it on her skirt.
"Let's get out of here," she said, taking his arm. They left
the club and got into a waiting limo, settling back against the plush,
comfortable seats. The car pulled smoothly into traffic, accelerating
powerfully.
"I had reservations at the Polo Lounge," Yoshi said, speaking
softly and slowly, "But...considering the way you're dressed, perhaps
another location might be more...appropriate."
Jill turned to look at him, fixing him with her steely gaze.
"What," she asked, "is wrong with the way I'm dressed. It caught your
eye, didn't it?"
Yoshi didn't speak for a long moment. "In Japan," he finally
said, "It is normally a woman's position to acequese to her husband's
wishes. In the absence of a husband, her lover or the man who is
courting her takes his place." His meaning was clear; Yoshi didn't
like Jill's impertinence. Or, he was testing her.
Jill decided to take the initiative. "In case you haven't
noticed, asshole, we're not IN Japan!" She leaned foward and depressed
the button to lower the one-way glass.
"Stop here," she said to the driver. "I'm leaving."
"Continue on," Yoshi ordered, and the driver nodded. Turning
to Jill, he said, "I aplogize for my...criticism. Yes, you are right.
We are not in Japan, and although you do have some of the blood of
Nihon in you, you are not truly Japaneese, are you?"
"No. I'm an American. Is that a problem?"
"No, of course not!" Yoshi's laugh was somehow hollow and
empty. "Not at all. I just...didn't wish you to feel uncomfortable,
that's all. Perhaps you know of another location, another place that's
not so... formal as the Polo Lounge?"
Jill named a popular LA resturant, and the car turned as
smoothly as an aircraft carrier coming about into the wind. They
arrived within minutes and were shown immediately to the best table in
the house. The food was plentiful and good, and they finished the meal
in a little under two hours. By that time, it was almost one in the
morning. Yoshi and Jill returned outside to find the limo idiling at
the curb. She wondered how they managed to do that, how the car always
managed to be ready for Yoshi. Then she realized that the bodyguards,
who had been mostly unobtrusive during the meal, must have a chase car
and radio contact with the driver of the limo.
Jill realized that the bodyguards might be a problem. If she'd
been armed, and this had been a straightfoward hit, she would have had
no compunction with taking the guards out, single shots to the head
for each. And then a final bullet for Yoshi. But this assignment was a
little more subtle than that. The bodyguards presented a...difficulty,
but she had an idea of how to overcome that.
The limo pulled up in front of Jill's loft, and she knew that
the entire place was blanketed. The two survailance technicians
upstairs would be in front of their consoles, tape reels turning,
recording everything said and everything done until Yoshi left. The
other NSA agents, posing as tenants, would be in constant radio
contact with the survail team. In case of trouble, if everything went
to shit, Jill would have eight NSA agents in her apartment in a matter
of seconds. She remembered her trouble code phrase: "I'm not sure this
is a good idea, Yoshi." If she said those words, all hell would break
loose. Six miles away, in an underground complex of the Los Angeles
Federal Building, an ISA (Intelligence Support Activity) QRT (Quick
Reaction Team) would be on constant alert for the entire time Yoshi
was inside the apartment. If Jill uttered her code phrase, the NSA QRT
could be overhead in four minutes by chopper. Jill felt protected at
the same time she felt like a speciman under a microscope.
Jill moved as if to exit the limo, but Yoshi placed a hand on
her arm. "Just a minute. My men wish to...inspect your apartment."
Jill felt a small tingle of panic run up her spine. "Check it
for what?"
"Listening devices, video...things like that. I'm a very
powerful, influencial man, Miss Tanaka. When you are in my line of
business, one can never be too cautious." The panic was rising inside
Jill now. She didn't know very much about electronic survail
techniques, but she wondered if they had any countermeasures to defeat
the bodyguard's detection equipment.
After a moment of thought, Jill relaxed. The NSA was the
single largest intelligence agency in the world, even larger than the
old, pre-reform KGB. If anyone could get her out of this, the NSA
could.
The wait was interminable. It took almost ten minutes, but the
bodyguards returned and gave Yoshi the high sign. He escorted her to
the elevator and they rode up in silence. Yoshi was carrying himself
with a self-assured air that made Jill want to kick him in the balls.
She knew she was going to sleep with him. She knew that it was
her job to get close to him. She knew that she was going to let Yoshi
seduce her. And she also knew that she was going to give him the inert
portion of the binary poison. Yoshi was halfway to death, and he
thought he was halfway to heavan.
***
They entered the apartment together, two of the three
bodyguards close behind. Jill glanced at Yoshi. "What are they going
to do...watch?"
"If need be," Yoshi said, and then, noticing the expression of
shock and horror on Jill's face, quickly added, "No. Of course not.
They will be out here, in the living room. In case I need them."
Jill didn't want to ask for what, and she didn't get a chance.
Yoshi suddenely leaned in and kissed her. At first, Jill was repulsed,
but she made a good show of it, molding her body against his, opening
her mouth and gently teasing lips and tongue with her own. The kiss
lengthened and deepened, gaining passion and urgency. Truth be told,
Jill was getting a little turned on, kissing like this in front of the
huge, silent bodyguards.
Let them watch, she thought. Let them see what they'll be
missing. Hopping up, Jill wrapped her legs around Yoshi's waist and
attacked his mouth with renewed vigor. They stumbled into her bedroom
where Yoshi dumped her uncerimonously on the bed. Jill lifted her
skirt and revealed her tiny, lace G-string panties to Yoshi's gaze.
The electronics millionaire reached down and softly rubbed his crotch.
"You like these?" Jill whispered. "You like my tiny little
panties?"
"Yes," Yoshi said. "Oh, yes."
"Fine. Why don't you tear them off my body and fuck me?"
Jill's harsh, nasty words had an immediate and visible effect on
Yoshi. His cock hardened against his pants, tenting them, and his
breath deepened. Jill got up off the bed and shrugged her jacket off.
In the leather bustier and microskirt, she looked like a vision of
hot, wanton sluttishness that every man dreamed of. Including Yoshi.
Jill stepped over to where he was standing and removed his
tie, slinging it over her shoulder and moving on to his jacket. She
slid it over his shoulders and down his arms, letting it fall in a
fabric puddle at his feet. The shirt was next. Jill bent her face and
used her mouth to undo his buttons, a trick she'd learned from the
Thai whores back at the NSA training facility. Yoshi's shirt fell
away, and Jill moved to his pants. Her hands glided over his throbbing
erection and Yoshi groaned, moving his hands to Jill's heads.
Good little Japaneese wives don't suck dick, Jill thought...
but I do. She unbuckled and unzipped Yoshi's pants and let them fall
around his ankles. He stepped out of them, and his shoes and stocks,
finally standing in front of her wearing only his boxer shorts.
Jill reached for the waistband, lifting her head to gaze into
Yoshi's eyes. His expression was one of barely controlled lust. Jill
smiled at him and lowered the shorts. Yoshi's cock was not exactly
large. In fact, it was puny, like most Japaneese men. Just over four
and a half inches long, it was the diamater of a hot dog. Jill hid her
dissapointment well. All this thinking about fucking Yoshi had gotten
Jill hot, and she'd been looking foward to a fat, hard cock that would
make her cunt happy. What she got was...Yoshi.
Jill opened her mouth and lowered her face over Yoshi's cock,
reaching with her tongue to lick the purple, throbbing head. Slowly,
gently, Jill began sucking Yoshi's cock, easily taking all of it into
her wet, slavering mouth. Yoshi's hands tightened on Jill's head and
he started humping his hips into her face, pulling her mouth hard
against his groin.
Jill let Yoshi lead, eager to have him cum in her mouth and
get this over with. The sooner Yoshi emptied his load inside of her,
the sooner she could open her purse, get the vial and-
Her purse! Jill almost bit Yoshi's cock off in surprise. Her
purse was still in the front hallway! She'd dropped it when Yoshi had
started kissing her. The bodyguards were out there, doing God only
knew what... her purse, goddamn it! That was a mistake only a rookie
made!
Incredibly angry at herself, Jill began sucking Yoshi's cock
with a vengance. Yoshi tried to slow down, tried to hold off, but it
was no use against Jill's educated, experience mouth. Within moments
he was shaking and gasping, and then he was erupting, emptying himself
inside Jill's mouth. She licked and slurped at his spitting rod,
drowning herself with his copious load.
Yoshi fell to the bed, a wide grin on his face, pulling Jill
along with him. His hands were all over her, removing the bustier,
working the zipper of the skirt down, tearing her clothes off. Before
a moment had passed, Jill was wearing only her garterbelt, stockings
and heels. Yoshi was above her, panting hotly, staring down at Jill's
young, tanned, trim body, his little cock hard and rejuvinated again.
Yoshi was not a very... good lover, Jill realized. He basically got on
top of her and just thrust like a rutting rabbit. He had no finesse,
no skill, no desire to do anything that might please Jill. And to make
matters worse, it was over in about two minutes. Yoshi rolled off of
Jill, turned over, and started snoring twenty seconds later.
Jill lay there, stunned. This man was perhaps one of the
wealthiest in the world. He could have almost any woman in the world,
at any time, in his bed...and he was a dead fuck. Well, she thought,
in a few weeks, it wouldn't matter anymore. Yoshi would not just be a
dead fuck, he'd actually be...dead.
And that reminded her. The inert portion of the binary poison
was still in her purse, which was still in the front room, under the
watchful eye of the bodyguards. She had to figure out a way to get out
there, get the purse from under their noses, and return to the
bedroom, all without raising their suspicions.
Jill got out of bed, careful not to disturb the sleeping
Yoshi. She stripped off the garterbelt, stockings and heels, and
picked up Yoshi's shirt. It hung down below her butt by about two
inches. Combing her hair out, Jill checked herself in the mirror one
last time. On an impulse, she unbuttoned the shirt all the way. It was
held closed only by the weight of her breasts. If she moved too
quickly in any direction, it would billow open, giving revealing,
tantalizing glimpses of her perfectly round breasts. If she could keep
the bodyguard's attentions on her body, Jill knew, then they wouldn't
care about the purse.
Walking softly back into the front of the apartment, Jill
found the two bodyguards standing in the kitchen. They stood, staring
off into space, holding their hands in front of their waist. They
looked at her quietly, studying her, looking for...what? A suspicious
move? To see if she was going to get a knife from the drawer and go
back into the bedroom and finish Yoshi off?
She walked into the kitchen and made a big show out of getting
a mineral water from the icebox. She smiled coyly at the two men and
bent carefully over as she pretended to search the interior of the
icebox for the water. Jill knew that the bottom of the shirt was
slowly crawling up her body, revealing more and more of her firm
buttocks to what she hoped was their freverent gaze.
She shut the door and turned to face Yoshi's men. "Can I get
you two anything?"
The taller of the two looked at her and grinned softly,
intentionally lowering his gaze to stare at her almost-visible tits.
His grin widened as he saw her nipples harden under his view. Almost
against her control, Jill was getting excited having this man look at
her. She knew it was wrong, but she suddenely wanted this man. She
wanted both of them, right there, right then. Yoshi was asleep in the
next room, and probably would be for another few hours. And her purse
was still on the counter, where one of the men had put it. Jill hoped
that they hadn't gone through it.
"Really?" Jill asked, stepping a little closer to the man.
"Both of you want...me?"
The big one turned to his partner and shrugged. The little one
turned and left them alone. Jill smiled up at her new friend and ran a
shaking, tenative hand over his chest. He was completely unlike Yoshi.
His body was hard and firm under her fingers. "We have to make this
fast," Jill said, "your boss might wake up at any second."
"My partner will keep watch for me, just as I will when he has
you. If our employer awakens, he will be...detained until things are
once again as they should be. For the time being, we can be assured
that we will not be interrupted." And with that, the man reached down,
grasped Jill's waist, and lifted her onto the kitchen table. Jill's
shirt parted, revealing her body to the man's hot, horny gaze. He
smiled at the sight of her, and Jill actually found herself blushing.
The bodyguard pulled out a chair and sat in it. And then his
face was approaching Jill's crotch. She watched in amazement as he
lowered his mouth between her legs and began to expertly, patiently
eat her cunt. His mouth was everywhere at once, teasing and licking
and probing, tasting her most intimate of spots. It didn't seem to
bother him that Yoshi had been there first, and in fact, if anything,
it made him eat her that much harder. His hands came up and found her
thighs, pushing them apart, spreading Jill wider so he could get at
her cunt.
Jill lowered her hands to his head and rode his face, grunting
softly as she felt her first orgasm rapidly approaching. She wondered
what kind of joke the Gods were playing on her. Why was it that the
rich man, the one she was supposed to want to be with, was a dead
fuck, while this man, the bodyguard, the man-servant, was a skilled
lover that was making her cunt leak like a facuet? Why was it always
that way? Why was it that the ones you didn't suspect always turned
out to be the animals?
Putting that and all other thoughts from her mind, Jill
surrendered to the pleasure and rode the man's face through an
incredible climax. Her cunt gushed lubrication and the man doubled his
efforts, finding Jill's clit with his fingers, twisting and tweaking
it, making the poor girl shudder and shake with pleasure and joy.
Finished, he sat back and sunzipped his pants and fished out a
truly huge cock. His gaze was fixed on Jill's face, and she just
smiled, moving as if to take it into her mouth. His hand stopped her,
and he lifted her again, moving her over his lap. Understanding what
he wanted, Jill reached down and grasped him, lining herself up with
his prick.
With a single smooth lunge, Jill settled herself down on the
man's prick, taking it completely inside. Her tight vaginal walls
clutched and massaged the man's prick, and when Jill conciously
applied pressure he groaned. His huge hands came up and swept the
shirt off her shoulders, baring her tits to the night air. His mouth
closed over one erect nipple and he tongued it hungrily, making Jill
moan and groan. They began moving together slowly, liquidly, staring
deeply into each other's eyes as the nameless man fucked Jill. Jill
had the ability to tighten her pussy muscles to an almost unbearable
level, and keep them that way for as long as she wanted. Other men
that had had her, other men that had fucked her, had all sworn at one
time or another that she was about to rip their cocks off, tear them
at the root and leave them implanted inside her body. Jill loved
watching the men trying to concentrate, trying not to loose control as
her slick, impossibly tight cunt took them for the ride of their
lives. She knew she was an incredible sex partner, and took power from
that.
The man suddenely pulled out of Jill, grimacing as he did so.
Holding her by the waist, he lowered the small Eurasian woman to the
floor and got between her legs again. With the better angle, he was
better able to penetrate her, and the bodyguard took Jill for the ride
of her life, fucking the shit out of her tiny body. Jill moaned and
groaned and fucked back at the man, lifting her hips off the floor to
take him as deeply as possible with every single stroke.
With a huge grunt, the man came, but not before taking Jill
with him. She felt the pleasure exploding from her groin, enveloping
her entire body, spreading out to her arms and legs in crackling
electric waves of joy.
The man continued to cum, pumping Jill's pussy full of his
cream, emptying himself inside her. Jill felt each spasm and spurt
against her walls and she clutched at him, eager to have it all inside
her. The bodyguard finished off inside her, and stood, pulling his
limp, dripping cock out of her cunt. He stood there, looking at her
with a serious, studious expression on his face.
"I do not wish to make assumptions," he finally said quietly,
"but my comrade..."
"Sure. He can fuck me too," Jill said, turned on beyond
beilef. The thought of having another man right after this one was
exciting and arousing and just a little bit nasty. She could feel the
first one's semen slowly leaking from her pussy, and she wanted
another load shot inside her, she wanted another man to drop down
between her legs and bury his cock inside her hungry, clutching hole.
A minute later he was there, smiling widely, undoing his pants
in his eagerness to fuck Jill. She just smiled at him and spread her
legs further, eager to have him fucking her. The man was naked in a
heartbeat, and then he was upon her, poking at her thighs and belly
with his cock. His inexperience showed, and Jill lowered a hand to
help him out, grasping him firmly and guiding him inside.
The second bodyguard fucked Jill hard, using short, brutal
strokes that filled her every time. Closing her legs across his back,
Jill reached up and brought his face down to hers, losing herself in a
hard, crushing kiss. The two relative strangers moved as one on the
cold kitchen floor, and Jill had a fleeting thought of the two
survailence technicians getting an eyeful of her performance upstairs.
What the hell, she thought. If they ask nice, maybe I'll let them fuck
me, too.
Jill's mind, in the middle of the frenzy of sexual activity,
diverged into two wholly concious halves. The one half concentrated on
the pleasure she was giving and reciving, revelled in the feel of the
hard, fat cock squishing around inside her cum-filled hole. The other
side quietly debated the entire issue of Jill's sexuality. She knew
that she liked sex, and under certain circumstances, loved it. Jill
knew that she was a very sexual person, that she liked the give and
take and the physicality of the sexual acts. She liked the fact that
certain things were considered dirty or nasty or just wrong, and she
loved the fact that she liked to do those things for that specific
reason: Because they were dirty or wrong. She had been brought up to
believe that nothing two people did to each other that felt good could
be all wrong.
She remembered back to the gangbangs she'd eagerly
participated in while undergoing NSA training. A small portion of her
mind knew, instinctively, that she had been molded, shaped to be the
way she was, that she had been taught this so that she would have no
difficulty submitting to the various and assorted sexual appetities of
her future targets. It was said that the most powerful men, accustomed
to having any woman they wanted, had lost the taste for the thrill of
the chase, and thus had to resort to more exotic sexual practices to
get their jollies; Jill was specially trained, hand-picked, to get
close to these men and be able to stand whatever they wanted to do to
her, to eagerly participate if the scenario so required.
Jill wondered if she, too, would eventually fall to that
sexual cynicism. Would she ever be bored with this, with the joy of
being filled with a man? Would she have to revert to deviant sexual
practices to get her fullfilment and satisfaction?
All those thoughts were blown out of Jill's mind as the third
man to fuck her started to cum. The feel of his goo impacting against
her walls sent Jill over the edge with him, and the duo shook and
screamed on the floor.
Slowly, the man rolled off of her, and Jill stood on shaky
legs. Her purse was on the counter, three steps away. She made it in
the blink of an eye. She thrust her hand inside and found the secret
compartment that held the vial.
Nothing.
It was gone.
"Looking for this, I suppose?" Jill spun, naked, the combined
semen of three men slowly leaking from between her legs, to find the
first bodyguard, standing in the door, holding the vial in one hand
and a silenced Browning Hi-Power 9mm pistol.
"I'm not sure this is a good idea," Jill said, hoping that the
technicians upstairs would know what the fuck was going on. Jill and
the bodyguard stood, studying each other silently for a full thirty
seconds.
And then all hell broke loose.
=====================================================================
End of Part I
Tell me what ya think, folks. Comments, suggestions, questions, etc
can be addressed to [email protected].
--
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