"I've been thinking about writing this series for quite a while now. Of course, with college, work, and finishing Taylar's Awakening, I decided to wait until something really struck me with this. Well, that wait is over. My next series: an ex-secret agent, who turns to taking any pervy assignment she is given...any. Also, check out my new twitter page. I'll be making frequent updates and post about my stories and such. The address for my page is on my Literotica profile. Please comment, rate and follow me on twitter. Thanks for the reads and support!"
The relief that hit me walking into my apartment was like a heavy weight being taken off my shoulder. After eight hours of running around the office, I was glad to be back home for the day and also the weekend. I dropped my unusually heavy purse, and collapsed on my leather couch.
"At least the pay is good," I thought to myself. Ever since I had left my other job, I'd been struggling to get used to civilian life again and working so much. It probably wouldn't have mattered much, getting around the office, if I was in my combat boots or running shoes the whole day. Of course, I was in a office, so I had to wear business attire, including heels to work.
I brought the toes of my right heel to the back of my left and removed the shoe, doing likewise with the other shoe. My bare feet come out of their confines, glad to be seeing the light finally. My size eights had been scrunched in my undersized heels for hours, shown by the red lines across the skin of my feet and the defeated, pathetic condition they were in. I love my feet though, even if I put them through hell. They were just the right size and were as smooth as can be, until I scrunch up my toes and show all my sexy, deep wrinkles. I usually have them painted, but the heels chipped the paint so fast that I gave up and never repainted them.
I stretched out my toes, then my whole body, like a tired cat. The way things were going with this job, I might just quit now and save me the torture. I hated how the most exciting thing that happened this week was a co-worker's surprise birthday party. At one point, I was so much more than a secretary/mail runner/corporate slave. In fact, I used to work for the CIA.
Now, I know what people would say about that. "You didn't work in the CIA and you definitely were not a spy." Actually, that's correct, I was an assassin, not a spy. I killed bad guys and traveled the globe in doing so. Looking at me, of course, no one would think I could defeat ten men in close combat with nothing but my bare hands and extensive martial arts. I'm about five foot eight inches, so I'm not that short. My skinny frame hides a trained killer, at the peak of perfection. People would probably just dismiss it as I work out a lot.
The real reason people would never guess I'm ex-CIA is my looks. I'm walking eye candy to those around me. I have short, blonde hair, my gorgeous body, leggy and have the brightest blue eyes you will ever see. Growing up, everyone told me I should become a model. Boy, would my highschool friends be so surprised to see what I did instead. I was the most beautiful woman in the entire CIA. Not even the hot secretaries had enough firepower compared to me. Every secretary wanted to fuck the hot male agents. I just wanted them to leave me the fuck alone. Of course, they gave me the attention and left the secretaries to hate me for life. Good lucks aren't always so great.
One thing, however, that did make being sexy great was for getting what I wanted from my enemies. Imagine this: I'm at gunpoint by some horny villainous thug. He thinks he's got me and wants to have a little "fun" with me. Well, let's just say those guys all should have shot me when they had the chance.
I smiled, as I returned my thoughts back to the present. I'm in my last year in my twenties, and I knew that I still had the stuff. That brings my thoughts to my "other job" that I occupied. Reluctantly getting up from my cozy couch, I head to my computer desk. I open up to the login page like I have done a million times. I type in my password (my first pet's name, Sprinkles), and then push a secret button under the desk. Instead of going to Windows 8, my personal system opens up. In my folders, I have hundreds of top-secret files, containing thousands of faces. If the government still knew I had these, I would be shot dead. Fortunately, the feds believed me dead and I changed my hairstyle, name, address and such to cover my tracks. Unless my former co-workers saw me up close and personal, I was safe from harm.
I went to an off-the-grid email system that I had designed to keep my emails, contacts and info safe from any pesky intruders. Since I had left the service, I worked the jobs that I wanted for the clients that would pay. What exactly was my job? Well, it's different, I'll give you that.
The first thing I notice as my inbox comes up is that I have new mail. "Finally, about time," I thought to myself relieved. It had been almost a month since someone had given me a job. I opened up the email, which happened to have video included. Curious to see what it could be, I opened it up. Immediately, the video opens up and a gentleman, with his face in the shadows comes up. Typical unknown client type, from what I could tell. I pressed play and the video started:
"Greetings Valentina. I represent a number of adult entertainment industries. They are interested in your talents for a series of difficult, but well-rewarded missions. We understand that with your training, there is no place you can't get into, no person that can hide from you and no way they will get away without what you want. Inclosed in this email is information on your first target. Complete all these objectives under camera and video, send it to us, and you will be pay your first in what we hope to be many rewards. Save the address, but delete this message, so our competitors will never know. Have a pleasant day."
"Now we are talking." My mind was filled with excitement over the this opportunity. Until now. my jobs had always been a one time deal. Now, I was being offered a multiple deal. "Maybe I can quit that job now...and get a new pair of shoes," I thought, and wiggled my toes on the soft rug. I closed the video and opened up the email for the details. My first mission seemed easy enough. I had to get into a woman's house, undetected at night and find her sleeping. Then, I had to bind her to her bed, take pictures of her feet and worship them on camera, and get out. It would sound weird to anyone reading this: I'm basically making a porno. Absolutely I am, and I love it. I love doing the dirty deeds and getting paid better than any porn actress would. Whoever this was, the industry really wanted to get footage (no pun intended) of this woman's feet being worshipped by me. That's how I liked it.
I scrolled down a bit more. By the looks of things, it actually wasn't going to be easy. This woman was reclusive and lived in a large mansion with gates, trained bodyguards and a tight security system. Finally, there was a little note at the bottom that could have easily been missed. "Make sure that when you are worshipping this girl's feet, the video ends in her climaxing hard. She is believed to have a foot fetish and we wish to prove it. Also, bring a sweaty, dirty sock that she just wore, so we may auction it off for profit."
