Irsty Mitchell: After Goldeneye

(Disclaimer: This story is a work of fantasy; names and places are products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously.)

Kirsty Mitchell: After Goldeneye - Multiplayed

Groggy, the stunning brunette lifted her head from the stairs and slowly opened her vibrant blue eyes. Her mouth was dry, making her wonder if she had gone to sleep drunk, and it hurt to swallow, her throat scratchy and sore. But that wasn't what truly concerned her, the thirty-seven-year-old snapping awake when she looked around and realized she didn't know where she was.

The sound of distant gunfire brought her to her feet, the five-nine beauty pausing just long enough to note that she was wearing a pair of skimpy black shorts, matching pumps, and a sleeveless green top that showed off her firm shoulders and creamy fair skin.

"Oh god!" Kirsty Mitchell gasped, stumbling down the metal steps just as fast as her long legs would carry her. "Oh sweet Jesus!"

The Scottish actress had just finished a turn on stage in her native Glasgow, and now she was here, running for her life while the ground shook beneath her feet, a sudden explosion in the room above raining down debris and bloody chunks of meat. With no idea where she was going but carried along on a surge of adrenaline, she turned at the bottom of the rickety metal steps and hurried toward sunlight, gasping when she suddenly found herself in a large industrial area with the only exit blocked by a large Russian train that looked as if it hadn't been used in many years.

Before she could so much as catch her breath a camouflaged soldier popped out from behind a low wall and aimed his weapon in her direction. Kirsty screamed, throwing her hands in front of her face and flinching as the sound of automatic fire rang out.

When she didn't drop dead or even feel the pain of a bullet's graze, she peeked through her slender fingers to see the soldier convulsing on the ground in front of her, riddled through with several smoking holes. A bald man in blue body armor stood over him, waiting to be sure the man was dead before looking in her direction.

"Never cross swords with MI6," he called out, his accent English.

Slinging what looked to be an AK-47 over his shoulder, he drew a machine pistol from a holster on his hip and quietly approached her.

"Leave it to the Ruskies to send a woman into combat. And one so pretty."

Kirsty groaned, her head aching from the insanity of it all. She had suspected something from the get-go, but now there was no denying it--she was in the Industrial level from "Goldeneye 007", a video game she had acted in last year, giving her voice and likeness to the character of Natalya Simonova. And yet there was nothing artificial about this environment, nor about the man standing in front of her, his eyes lingering on her glistening cleavage.

"I'm not Russian!" Kirsty said, her words tumbling out. "I'm Scottish, and I have no idea how I got here!" She glanced at the dead soldier. "I don't know that man, and I swear to God--"

"Bitch," he muttered, slapping her hard across the face and knocking her to the ground. "Do you think I'm stupid? Do you think you can play me?"

"Please!" Kirsty wheezed, crawling through the dirt on all fours. "I don't know how I got here!"

But he was beyond hearing, sneering as he took her by the hair and pulled her to her knees.

"They say that you Russian whores go to special schools, that you can do things no Englishwoman can." He leaned in, bringing his face close. "Let's find out just how right they are."

Kirsty whimpered as he tore away the armor plating protecting his crotch, her jaw dropping when he whipped out a penis bigger than any she had seen in a long time. He slapped it across her face, leaving pre-cum on her creamy flesh, then yanked her head back and shoved it into her mouth before she had time to resist.

"Come on, love, you know you want to. Give Daddy his medicine."

Kirsty groaned, staring imploringly with her beautiful blue eyes. He was a heartless cad, without any hint of remorse, and when she took too long complying he gave her another sharp yank before placing his hand on his combat knife. That was enough for her, the brunette's strong shoulders slumping in defeat as she closed her eyes and began sucking.

She bobbed her head, putting enough effort into it that he removed his hands and left her to her work, leaning back and groaning loudly while she slurped on his cock. He rocked his hips, almost fucking her pretty face, and after a while Kirsty found she couldn't help moaning while she pleasured him, her pussy growing wetter and a fine sheen breaking out as she began to accept the finality of her situation.

"Oi, that's it, darling. You're a good little cocksucker, ain't ya?"

He licked his lips and grinned, turning her stomach with his arrogant posturing. Such a big man, making a frightened woman blow him at knifepoint.

Kirsty balled her hands into fists, saliva running down her chin and splattering on her cleavage while she sucked him. She had always given messy head, something she had learned under her ex-boyfriend Joe McFadden's tutelage, and that was apparently right up this one's alley, his head rolling from side to side and his lower lip quivering while she swirled her tongue along the underside of his shaft and used the tip to tease his balls.

"Ah, you filthy cunt!" he suddenly groaned, taking her head with both hands and grimacing as he pried her off. "I know what you're up to, and you're not getting off that easy."

He shoved her down into the dirt, pressing her face against the ground while he drew a blade from his boot and leaned over her. Kristy whimpered, fearing that he meant to kill her outright, suddenly relaxing when he sliced through her top and tore it from her body. She let out a pathetic moan, trying to keep him from seeing her bare breasts even while she struggled to keep him from dragging her shorts over her firm hips and down her long Scottish legs. It was a losing battle, the brunette finding herself both aroused and humiliated as she was left wearing nothing but her slutty black pumps, the once-acclaimed actress looking more like a '90s-era pornstar than a helpless woman lost in a video game world.

"Oh god!" she breathed as he entered her without warning, digging her fingers into the ground while his hairy balls tickled her sticky pink slit. "This isn't happening, this isn't real!"

"Quiet!" he gritted, giving her arse a sharp slap before using his weight to press her into the ground. He grunted into the back of her neck, fluttering her dark brown hair while he humped her hard and fast and treated her like the Russian whore he thought she was. Kirsty groaned and whimpered as he drove his above-average length into her warm feminine center, reaching out for a savior that would never come. This wasn't the game; there was no James Bond waiting to repel down and whisk her away. It was just her and the soldier, his prick making her pussy squish with every pump.

"You like it, don't you?" he groaned. "Yeah, I can tell. You Ruskies always love the English cack."

Kirsty continued to whimper, drooling into the dirt while he pounded her from behind. Her entire body shook with the effort, her arse turned a bright red as he repeatedly slammed against her. Her amble breasts were mashed beneath her, her long legs starting to go numb from the constant pressure, but for the life of her she couldn't help but enjoy herself, her moans growing louder and more heated the longer and harder he took her.

She squeezed her eyes shut, her mouth hanging open while she endured him for several long minutes. She refused to open them even when he rolled her over and took her missionary-style, feeling like little more than a cheap prostitute as she kicked off her pumps and locked her ankles behind his back. Only when he pried her off once again and forced a long leg against her chest did she finally look him in the face, her bare foot jouncing in the air while she dug her nails into his muscular arms.

"Ugh!" she grunted, her other leg pinned back, her knees pressing against her naked chest while he lifted onto his hands and pounded into her aching pussy with everything he had left. "Huhh--huhh!"

She curled her pretty toes, body jiggling with every thrust, and when he leaned in to kiss her she didn't resist, groaning into his mouth while she sucked on his tongue.

That spelled the end for him, her sudden willingness to be with him causing his cock to swell inside of her. He came hard, spurting deep inside of her and coating her velvet walls with his potent load. Kirsty almost screamed with shock at the unexpected climax, tears rolling down her face as she helped him to defile her.

He pulled out as quickly as he had entered her, glancing at the naked Scot before walking over and picking up his discarded pistol. Kirsty sniffed, lowering her legs and wiping the sweat from her eyes while she watched him. Her makeup was smeared, her nose red, but somehow she looked even more beautiful than before, mussy hair fluttering in a gentle breeze that left goose bumps all along her glistening arms and legs.

The man flipped off the safety, his back to her while he prepared himself to take her life. "Hate to do it, love, but I can't leave an enemy at my back, even a fine Russian princess like yourself."

He turned on his heel, prepared to snap off a quick burst--only to stay his hand when all he found was a pair of black pumps lying in the dirt.

"Bloody hell," he muttered, looking up and listening as the sound of pounding bare feet receded into the distance.

Kirsty never looked back, an arm slung across her jiggling chest as she ran for life. As before, she had no idea where she was going, but anywhere was better than here, the brunette's naked body dripping in the heat, the insides of her thighs sticky with a stranger's seed.

She never saw the missing grating, a sharp scream escaping her pouty mouth as the ground suddenly opened up beneath her.

She landed face-first in the hard-packed snow. Strangely enough, she didn't feel cold.

Looking up, her face coated with ice, Kirsty counted at least eight more soldiers locked in mortal combat, their guns going silent as one by one they noticed the bare-arsed Scot in their midst.