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Locke, Cock & Two Smoking Jetboots

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Even spies have the mother of all off-days.

Thanks to Sammy-Williams of Pixabay for the images I used to composite the cover.

 

The name's Blade. Jeff Blade.

Given that intro, you might think my life is one of an archetypal spy, packed with gadgets, glitz, glamour and girls. After all, I share initials with that double-o guy and he's drowning in pussy.

To a degree, you'd be right. Ladies find me irresistible. I'm debonair, can talk a good game, and I'm the right side of fifty without a hint of grey. I prefer my women both shaken and stirred. And, crucially, know which end of a Glock to avoid.

But there are times when things don't go to plan. When a mission snowballs into an almighty cock-up, and I not only wonder how I'm still alive, but how the threads of the farce unravelled so rapidly.

Let me share a story…

~~~

The masturbating brunette barely had time to scream before the skylight on which I landed began to splinter from one corner. The crack snaked towards me and gave way in a shower of glass above her bed.

Wait, maybe that's too far in. Let me back up a little…

~~~

"Ahhh, Agent Blade, good to see you, young man."

Shutting his office door behind me, I nodded at Hargreaves, the wrong side of fifty with more grey areas than tax law. "What bad guys do you have for me this time, Sir?"

He smiled. "That's what I like about you, Blade. All business."

"I enjoy my job."

"Quite. Well, it's bad girls this time, I'm afraid. One in particular. Ukrainian, from—"

"Ukrainia?"

He raised an eyebrow. "From an outfit calling themselves Dark Panthers. Operating out of Kyiv."

As I approached, Hargreaves spun a manila dossier stamped with [TOP SECRET] and slid it across the mahogany desk for me to flip open and skim. The legend beneath the grainy black and white telephoto snapshot stated Natalya Klebanov with all the usual details. Date of birth. Parents. Education. Affiliations. I flitted across the text, committing the key points to memory before returning to her photo. Presumably crossing the road, she was glancing over her shoulder, hair trailing mid-flick. Along with prominent cheekbones and gently tapered nose, the intensity in her gaze told me two things: a) she knows which end of a Glock does the damage, and b) I wouldn't get much change out of three a.m. in her bed.

"Impressive."

"Oh she's quite the revolutionary. We've had our eye on her a while."

"I can see why."

He shook his head. "Incorrigible."

I said nothing.

"Anyway, seems she's been working her way up the who's who of political influencers. Paying off ones she can bribe. Bumping off those she can't. Energy moguls. Tinpot dictators. Prime Ministers. Silicon Valley start-ups. All seemingly random. No obvious connections, and we can't prove it's her behind it all."

"And you want me to connect the dots?"

He nodded and drummed the desk with his fingers. "Last we heard she's attending a gala in the south of France this weekend. Your man on the ground is Marcel Lacroix. He'll get you anything you need. All intel's in the file."

"Timeline?"

"We're on the clock with this one. PM's breathing down my neck. We don't know what she's planning."

I snapped the folder shut. "Understood. Will that be all, Sir?"

Hargreaves nodded and I spun, pacing to the door.

"Oh, and Blade?" I turned, still holding the door handle. "Be careful. This one bites."

I grinned. "I hope so."

~~~

The Saint-Tropez June heat was tempered somewhat by the lazy breeze drifting in from the French Riviera. Didn't make the day any less uncomfortable. My khaki shorts, open-neck white shirt, and Converse complained with every step through the narrow, crowded streets.

Buildings tapered above me, almost claustrophobic beneath the expanse of azure sky. A mixture of open and closed shutters adorned the patchwork salmon and lemon façades as I blended with shuffling tourists while hunting for Rue du Clocher.

GPS was spotty but I eventually found the street; more like a grown-up alleyway. People on the first floors could probably lean out of their windows and high-five the neighbours opposite.

I stole down the quieter street, thumbing the safety off the Colt in the small of my back. A holster would have shown under the shirt so I convinced Lacroix to let me fly native.

Garlic wafted from the rear of a restaurant and I slowed, passing an old couple conversing in Gallic shrugs, more wrinkles between them than a volcanic fault line. The next place was where I expected to find at least two Dark Panther members so I could start filling in the blanks. Ruffle their fur, so to speak.

A multi-coloured bead curtain separated me from inside and I paused adjacent to the entrance. Sliding my shades up, I darted my head around then back flat to the wall.

Two targets behind the counter. One male, one female. Unlikely to be a threat: they were just gatekeepers.

Pulling the weapon and chambering it, I spun and charged inside, gun raised. The element of surprise was mine; they didn't even have time to scramble. I flicked the barrel up twice and they got the message, raising their hands.

I paced to the counter, behind which were a plated array of cheeses that looked and smelled as if they could walk out of the place on their own. Never understood the attraction.

With another gun signal, left this time, I ushered them away from the arched doorway that led to the back. Raising the hinged counter, I stepped through to draw level with them. Perhaps not insisting they leave was foolish. My first mistake.

The silent alarm was a footswitch and the guy had it covered.

Adrenaline spiked but I didn't have time to react before the swish of fabric was followed by the cold steel of a gun muzzle pressed to my temple. A voice. Female. Husky, accented English: a misspent youth of smoking.

"Easy. Drop it."

I placed the gun across my body to the countertop and raised my hands. She was fast, and good, stepping behind me and moving it out of reach without giving me any angle for engaging hand-to-hand.

Her pistol nudged my spine, harder than strictly necessary. "Move."

I stepped through the archway behind the counter into a short corridor. Two curtained doorways led off either side – presumably one in which my assailant had been stationed. I faked a stumble when she prodded me, leaning into one shelved wall and slipping my watch off before she jabbed me to raise my hands again. I left the timepiece there just in case. Voice activation might be useful if I needed a distraction later.

She marched me towards a door ahead that opened into a tiled courtyard… no, more an atrium, its white walls stretching up to the glass above.

In the centre was a chair. Some rope.

A thump to the base of my skull turned everything black.

~~~

Convention dictates that megalomaniacs taunt their captives, deliver exposition about their nefarious plans then leave the hero in a seemingly impossible situation from which they escape to save the day. Groggily awakening tied naked to the chair with said megalomaniac gliding her pantyless crotch up and down my raging shaft wasn't exactly in the baddie manual.

I groaned. My head hurt and I flexed the bonds behind me, biceps cutting into the chair back. I brushed something else. Material. Warm, possibly damp. Sensing a body, I cupped my hand and she writhed against it.

Ahead of me, Natalya raised her hips, drawing all the way up until I rested at her wet entrance. Up this close she was even more ravenously alluring than her file photo. All curves and fierce energy. And she smelled of jasmine or rose. Maybe both.

"Throughout the ages," she began, and I sensed exposition, "there have been many forms of torture to extract information." Her accent was thick. "Everybody has limits, no?"

I stared into her grey-green irises. Waiting.

"But with men," she leaned in and flicked her tongue across my earlobe, her breath hot, "With men, I find they crack faster when tormented."

Sinking her hips to collide with mine, she exhaled in my ear and nibbled it as she corkscrewed her way back off my bobbing cock. "There is only so much someone can take of relentless—"

She eased down.

"Rhythmical—"

Up.

"Ravenous woman." She slipped her finger in my mouth for me to suck, impaling herself on me. Leaning back, she flipped up her tiny skirt, trailed the wet digit to her clit and circled, coating it in saliva. "She can take whatever she needs, over and over, and leave you…" She stood up and ran her silky fingertip under my nose. "Wanting."

Her companion ground her pussy against my upturned hand, slid the material aside and waited for me to crook my fingers before driving herself onto them. She fucked my hand, juices pooling in my palm.

Natalya sank to her knees and spread my thighs. "Sofia here," she purred, "is gifted at, how you say…?" Her tongue fluttered around the tip of my cock, hand slithering up my naked thigh to grasp my jittery shaft. She tugged me out of the seat as far as I could, given the bonds, "… Breaking men."

She let me return to a seated position, placed both palms on my knees, leaned in and engulfed my entirety, locking eyes with mine during the descent. I groaned and fingered Sofia as Natalya withdrew to her haunches.

"Mmmm, I could do this all day." Grasping my shoulders, she stood and stepped onto my thighs so I was gazing up her long, tanned legs to the treasure at their convergence, steadying herself by gripping my head. She bent her knees, easing her mouthwatering pussy to my face. I air-snapped and she snarled. "Greedy boy. We have barely begun, and look at you."

Her juicy cunt connected with my mouth and I shoved my tongue inside, French kissing her centre. Then she was gone, hopping off me, her secretions drying on my lips.

Sofia tipped my head back, bent over to kiss me and shared her colleague's nectar. The kiss was powerful, our lips crushing. Almost frenzied as she drove her pussy onto my upturned fingers. She bit my lip, I swear almost drawing blood as she bounced again and again until she gasped and came, drenching my hand.

Natalya applauded animatedly when her compatriot stood and eased herself from my grip. "This is fun, no? And you know the best thing about woman?" She circled me then leaned to my ear, whispering, "We can come again and again, as much as you can take. And then more. But you… you men," she spat, "are finished in one shot."

Sofia rounded to face me. Turned away, bent at the waist, flipped her skirt, thumbed the elastic of her sodden purple panties and eased them to the floor. A perfect view of her perfect rear before she stood. I struggled in the bonds as she spun and approached, smearing her infused knickers across my nose then balling up her underwear and stuffing the garment in my mouth.

I rolled my head side-to-side as she filled me. God she smelled amazing. I craved to devour her and my cock throbbed.

She leaned over and kissed me, trailing her fingertips to a nipple and gently pinching it. "Careful, baby. You wouldn't want to come too soon."

My brow knitted as I fought the urge to hump the air, wondering if the friction of the atoms might be enough to tip me over the edge. Natalya laughed. "Did we not mention that if you come," she raised her arm and pressed the revolver to my forehead, "you die."

I went cold. Swallowed behind the gag as she traced the muzzle of the gun's silencer over my cheek, chest, abdomen and brushed the steel down one edge of my manhood. Despite the urgency it would not stop bobbing and swelling as the cold tip teased the exposed ridge.

Natalya dropped to her knees again. Ran her tongue over the gun's point, spitting on it, then slithered it along my inner thigh to rest against the knot of my arse. "Like I say, one shot and you are finished." Her lips split into a crooked grin as she eyed me, descending my shaft to the hilt while I shook in the bonds, fighting the urge to paint her masterful throat with hot jets of seed.

Squeezing my eyes shut, it took a moment to realise she'd pulled away, the two of us joined by a thin hammock of spit that stretched and splattered to the tiles. I snorted, writhing in the chair, eyes wild. Natalya appeared delighted.

"Who do you work for? I assume Tony Parker is alias."

I shook my head. Snarled as she crept the gun barrel into my behind.

"Who. Do. You. Work for?"

Wiggling the gun she opened her mouth and consumed my prick once more. Sofia paced to stand behind me, kicking a block of wood by the chair and standing on it. She angled my head back again and sat on my face, humping me as I struggled. Fuck, I'd have given anything to have my tongue free so I could taste her properly. Her clit grazed my nose and her incredible scent enveloped me. When she inched forward, smothering my mouth with her pussy, my nose became buried in her musky crease. The chair began to tip backwards, rocking on its rear legs.

I knew I was going to lose it and panicked. Didn't want my arse blown off over an orgasm. Had to do something. Then it came to me in a flash. I hunkered down in the seat, seemingly to escape Natalya's ferocious blowjob or Sofia's delicious behind. The knot binding my right ankle slipped off the raised chair leg. I twisted my hips and the left did the same.

Some might say my next move, with a loaded gun jammed up my butt and two crazy women toying with me was foolhardy. But needs must. Flexing my legs, I shoved my feet to the floor, forcing the chair to tip. As I flipped onto my back, Sofia losing her balance, I wrapped my thighs around Natalya's neck and crossed them behind her head. Thankfully the gun slithered free as she reached to claw for my legs and the three of us sprawled to the tiles.

I tightened my grip, arms aching still bound to the upended chair. Sofia scrambled free but I could see in her eyes that the life of her boss meant more to her than doing anything rash. She froze as I applied enough pressure until Natalya went slack, then released her. She'd have an almighty headache when she regained consciousness.

Rolling onto my side I scrambled to my knees and roared through Sofia's panties, spinning the chair as I pirouetted, smashing it against the wall. Free of the bonds, we were equals, albeit I was still naked. The gun was under Natalya. Sofia was unarmed. She wisely ran to the back room further off the atrium and I tugged her underwear out, gasping.

With no way of knowing what was back there, I had to move. My clothes were nowhere. Gun and belongings gone. All I had were Sofia's panties. I shrugged, and pulled them on. Utterly ridiculous, they barely covered my spit-soaked erection but I scarpered for the exit, picking up Natalya's gun in the process. It was light and I checked the chamber. Empty. I'd been fucking played.

Tossing the useless weapon, I entered the short corridor, grabbing my watch and spinning the dial to summon the car. It was parked a few hundred yards up the main street into Saint Tropez.

I waited in the cheese store as long as I dared; the gatekeepers had long fled. But a commotion out back forced my next move.

Sofia. With backup.

I dove into the street through the beads and tore virtually naked up Rue du Clocher, conscious that my cock was unsupported in the flimsy panties. Shouts behind me and the clunk of rounds being chambered spurred me on, scuttling around the corner into the main street, much to the bemusement of shoppers and natives alike.

The cobbles slapped under my bare feet and I ran, lungs bursting. My pursuers closed the gap and I darted into a side street then charged for the end leading to a parallel shopping rue dotted with cafés, art shops and boulangeries.

If this had been a John Woo movie, I'd have disturbed a flock of doves in slow motion as I rounded the corner. If it'd been a Michael Bay flick, the ice cream cart I grabbed for leverage and overturned would have exploded twelve times from fifteen different angles. Neither happened. The tubs scattered behind me like icy marbles and I tore up the street, barging pedestrians out of the way.

My watch bleeped faster. The car was close, approaching from the boulevard on the left, and I'd be able to intercept it at the next junction. The tyres screeched as it braked hard and swung into the cobbled street ahead of me…. then juddered to a stop in a rending of metal and concrete, wedged between the buildings, accelerating futilely in plumes of tyre smoke.

Fuck.

The next software update ought to take into account the width of roads. Launching myself at the bonnet I scampered over the car, cock and balls flapping wildly in the ludicrously small panties.

I jumped down into the street beyond the stricken vehicle, turned and popped the boot. Scanned what Lacroix had provided: a sub-machine gun and a pair of chrome jet boots. Peeking over the car I needed to buy some time from the approaching Dark Panther members. I grabbed the weapon, aimed over the roof and volleyed a few rounds into the smoke-filled alley, praying I didn't hit a civilian.

The report was deafening even over the car engine and, if they weren't already on their way, I knew the gendarmes would soon descend. Shots fired, vite vite. Time became even more of an enemy. Out of sheer desperation, I grabbed the jet boots, threw them to the floor and stepped in. With a hiss, each clamped shut around my ankles.

The hand-held remote was like a fancy Scalextric controller. A few buttons and dials on top and a trigger out front. Wished I'd paid more attention to Lacroix's explanation of how to use the damn things but I'd switched off after zee boots fire an inverted gravity pulse… wandering off to inspect the flamethrower-disguised-as-a-pen his crew were testing. Would have been more useful than the fucking boots.

They were heavy. I tried to run but it was like sprinting through a swimming pool of custard. Angry shouts echoing from the mouth of the alley as the gang piled over the car galvanised me into action. I hammered the trigger and there was a satisfying WHUMP that launched me into the air a few metres and propelled me up the street.

In your face, Dark Panthers.

My victory was short-lived as I splatted into the patisserie window at the end. The surprise on the face of the owner at having someone in bigass boots and ill-fitting women's panties smearing pink pancakes on their shop front was something I wished to never see again. Mind you, she probably prayed for mind bleach as I writhed against the glass under the relentless pressure from the boots, sullying the vision of her perfect batch of Tarte Tropézienne. They did look delicious.

When it dawned on me that I still had the trigger depressed and I let go, I slithered to a stand, self-consciously tucked my cock back into the underwear, turned and glanced at the dial on top. Ranging from zero to twelve – good old Blighty, ever clinging to imperial units – it was currently on three. I cranked it up to eight, leaned forward and feathered the trigger.

My feet flipped over my head as the gravity pulse rocketed me skyward. I went end over end like I was in one of those NASA G-force simulators, narrowly missing being impaled on the flagpole jutting from the bank's second-floor window. As my feet spun within reach of the wall, the pulse launched me back along the street, over the heads of the angry Panthers below. Automatic rifle fire zipped past me as I Supermanned for a short distance, losing altitude and heading for grating my face along the cobbles.

Easing off the throttle allowed me to right myself, which provided lift. I was getting the hang of it, but the Panthers didn't care for my acrobatic prowess, trying their hardest to shoot my dick off as I looped and wobbled and zipped overhead like a bad Wile E. Coyote skit.

No way I could outrun them without practice so I did the only thing I could. Cranked the dial to twelve and pounded the throttle, careening up out of the street and over the buildings.

When the distance was too great, the pulse lost its effect. And that's how I came to crash land on the skylight above the startled brunette. With pure comic timing, the crack snaked towards me and gave way. I fell through in a shower of tiny glass cubes – safety glass, thank fuck – and landed on her bed.

And for third time that afternoon found myself the wrong side of a gun barrel.

She clicked off the safety. Flicked hair from her bare shoulders to cover her pretty little breasts, and simply demanded, "Who the fuck are you, asshole?"

As casually as I could, I delivered my line: "Blade. Jeff Blade. I'm in a… bit of a pickle. There are some people chasing me and I had to uhhh," I glanced down at my cock, barely contained in the skimpy, stained panties, "Improvise. Can I lay low here please?"

"Wait, that was you making all the noise out there?"

"Guilty. Hey. You're American?"

She nodded.

I tipped my head at her gun. "That's a service piece. You here on government business?"

"Maybe."

"Snap. British Intelligence."

She rolled her eyes and ran fingers through slightly damp coffee tresses. "Such an oxymoron."

"Thank you, Miss…"

"Locke. Mackenzie Locke."

Re-engaging the safety, she slipped the gun back under her pillow and we eyed one another, both wearing nothing but panties. I scanned the room – typically French with half-finished wiring – then broke the silence:

"Sorry for rudely interrupting your… y'know."

She waved it off. "Here on my own, had some downtime. What's a girl to do, huh?"

I grinned and sat up. "Mind if I take these damn things off?"

She nodded, eyes widening. "Purple's not your colour."

"I meant the boots."

"Oh." She chewed her lip. "Sure."

After a bit of fiddling, I managed to release the catches and the boots clonked to the floor. It was like the freedom after removing ice skates and I wiggled my relieved bare toes.

She eyed me. "So what are the chances of us chasing the same people?"

"Given the timing, I'd say pretty high. Does your target have the initials NK?"

Mackenzie nodded. Flicked her gaze up and down my body. "Goddamn. Of all the skylights in all the towns…"

"Yeah. Funny. Should we… swap intel?"

"Would our bosses approve?"

"Would they have to find out?"

She wound a curl of hair around her finger. "Guess not."

The distant two-tone wail of sirens drifted through the ceiling and we both looked up. I didn't mean to laugh but the release after what I'd been through caught up with me. She joined in, laughing then brushing cubes of glass into a pile on the bed. I did too, our fingers skimming occasionally as I filled her in on my afternoon.

When clear, I lay back in the space staring at the open sky. "How the hell am I going to explain that to the hotel?"

She lay back too, the crowns of our heads almost touching. "You speak French?"

"Nope."

"Me neither. But I should phone the concierge. See if I can change rooms. Where are you gonna get clothes?"

"No idea. With phone and wallet gone, I'll have to get my handler on the case."

"But… not tonight?"

"Unlikely."

"Sooo, guess you’re stuck here."

"Guess so."

"Beats another night of dinner for one."

"Are you… asking me out, Miss Locke?"

"Well, I was thinking more like room service. Plus, you owe me for the interruption."

"You know I can't pay."

"With all that British Intelligence you'll think of something."

I smiled. "Think the bad guys can wait?"

"They'll still be bad guys tomorrow. And it's getting late. So much intel we could share before then."

I couldn't suppress another smile. Irresistible. "Mind if I shower first?"

"Sure."

Padding to the bathroom, her eyes I'm sure glued to my rear, I ran the tap. As the steam billowed around the screen I peeled off Sofia's sticky panties and dumped them on the tiles. Turned left and right in the gradually fogging mirror. Not bad at all.

I climbed in the tub and let the needles of water wash away the day. Found her coconut shower gel and lathered up. Got as far as rinsing my hair before Mackenzie stepped in behind me and took over with the suds, scudding fingers across my skin, working their way down until she found my gradually elevating cock.

She was far gentler than Natalya. Soaped my length to full hardness, cupping my balls and washing those too.

I moaned under the spray. "Thought you were already clean?"

She turned me around and hopped up into my arms, letting me press her sinewy frame to the tiles. "Only on the outside."

Burying my face in her chest and lavishing kisses on the perky nipples I found, it was her turn to moan as the peaks stiffened fully. I bit. Tenderly at first then harder at her insistence as she ran fingers through my hair and clutched me.

I roamed my kisses up to her neck and nibbled her ear. "Is this good intel?"

"The best," she breathed. "In the interests of international relations, you got anything to slip into my dossier?"

"Mmmm. A few… hard facts."

Her legs clutched my hips as I nudged her tight, silky entrance. Eased inside. Filled her and we kissed passionately, tongues duelling. She reached up and rotated the shower dial to a harder pulse, then rested her forearms on my shoulders and bounced between my dick and the wet tiles. Each time she drew upward and I split her on the return, she sighed.

Picking up the pace, her sighs turned to moans. I supported her tight behind, fingernails digging into her flesh as she rocked and slammed and ground onto my length, chasing our interrupted orgasms. With a gasp, she stiffened, burying me deep as she came. That triggered my climax. Groaning into her neck, I pulsed inside her spasming channel, bodies fused while we quivered.

It was quick. Too quick. Setting her down, we stood and soaped one another a while, exploring. I took off the showerhead, knelt and directed the spray up at her pussy, delighting at the way the droplets clung to her sparse triangle of hair and rained down her thighs.

Leaning back against the tiles, she reached down and peeled her lips apart for me. I played the jet across her clit, flicking it in a rhythm to tease her, moving it in close and then further away in response to her bucking hips. When I knew she could take no more teasing I handed her the showerhead and kissed my way down her belly to nuzzle her sweet pussy.

Directing the spray over us, she let me take my time nibbling and kissing her thighs, mons, pussy lips and, occasionally, clit. I loved how she jerked into me as I circled a wide arc around her sensitive clit, finishing with a flash of my tongue on its tip.

Every so often I wrapped my lips around her jewel and sucked. Such a reaction! She groaned loudly and ground her hips up against my mouth before I pulled away and swirled my tongue instead. I especially adored the way she started to beg:

"Slide your fingers in me, pleeease. Harder. Faster. More!"

I let her beg. I'm like that. Teased her entrance and drew geometric shapes around her button with the point of my tongue until she gave in, dropped the showerhead and grabbed my hair instead, jamming me to her needy clit. I crossed my fingers and drove the pair up inside her, twisting with each thrust until she screamed and froze, fingertips clamping me to her shuddering frame.

With the spray bobbing uselessly alongside us, we stayed locked together riding out her orgasm. My chin was slick with her juices when she finally let me go and I hungrily licked everything I could, cleaning both of us before standing. She grabbed my head and tugged me to her lips, sharing her taste in a torrid kiss.

Returning the showerhead, we played some more under its spray before finally exiting and towelling off. She headed to reception and negotiated the room across the hall, promising faithfully that my government would pay for the repairs. Hargreaves wouldn't be happy.

We transferred. I stretched out naked on the fresh sheets, the same brand of shoddy wiring above the headboard. "Think we'll figure out what the Panthers are up to before it's too late?"

Mackenzie eyed me. "Yeah, but," she shed her shorts, underwear and top, crawled over me and straddled my face, "You need more practice withstanding their interrogation methods first."

Who was I to argue? She smothered my mouth and I devoured her.

 

 

 

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