Will the State Police catch up to the Cobra Crew and their hostages? Find out in the final installment of "Cobra Crew: Preemptive Strike". What did you think of the story? Let me know by leaving a comment or contacting me.
I'm not sure when we will see the Cobra Crew in action again, but I had a blast writing this one, so keep an eye on this site. Thanks everyone!
Disclaimer: All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
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Special Agent Natasha Cole of the FBI came to slowly. The first thing she felt was the throbbing pain from the side of her head. Instinctively, she moved to soothe the spot, but her arm would not move.
Panic began to swell in the federal agent when she discovered none of her limbs would move. It took another moment for her fingertips to find the cold, unyielding steel bracelets snapped around her wrists. She found her arms raised and spread out from her, tethered to something unyielding over her head. Natasha tried to stand, but rope - thick rope - was holding her snugly to a metal chair. Her legs were bent backwards with her ankles bound to the rear legs of the chair, and her spirited swaying on the chair got her nowhere.
Cobwebs clearing, Natasha opened her eyes - only to find she was still in complete darkness. Some kind of black hood was strewn over her head. She tried to shake it off, but to no avail. She tried to scream, but the sound was muffled - her tongue confirmed the piquant-tasting cloth packed in her mouth, and her lips were sealed together with tape.
Natasha felt cool air over her chest, especially the tops of her bosom not covered by her bra. Her blouse was open - yes, torn during the fight with the leader of the Cobra Crew. The FBI agent moaned as she searched the fragments of her memory - boarding the flight out of D.C., meeting up with her State Police escort, rushing into the Archives. But she had overpowered the criminal, so why-
The brunette snapped her head towards the sound of a bolt lock turning and a metal door creaking open. Judging by their unhurried footsteps, those entering the room were not her rescuers.
She held her breath as someone reached under the hood - and a pair of feminine hands brushed softly at her face. A surprised and angry Natasha shook her head wildly, which only seemed to amuse her captor.
"You took a nice long nap there, Agent Cole." The voice belonged to the leader of the Cobra Crew, which confirmed Natasha's worst fears.
She was a captive of the very gang she was tasked to bring to justice.
"Lift her."
A pulley turned somewhere in the room, and the restraints on her wrists began to raise. Some of the rope around her were loosened, and the FBI agent gasped as she was pulled to her feet. She waited for the moment when her ankles were released from the chair, and lashed out hard with her foot - but her leg remained stationary, clasped by a pair of iron fists.
"Don't bother." The deep guff voice told her. Natasha knew it was the notorious "Romeo" - the muscle of the crew. He easily rendered her legs completely immobile while softer hands - no doubt belonging to "Vixen" - worked to fit some type of metal restraint on her ankles. The FBI agent protested behind her gag in vain, when he ran his hand up her legs in order to spread them apart.
More chains clicked into place, and when the brute finally released his grip, Natasha found the cuffs on her ankles were fastened to the ground. She could barely move an inch in any direction. Meanwhile, her arms were hoisted even higher, leaving her standing helplessly, straining to stay on the ball of her feet.
"Much better." Cobra commented, the sound of her heels tapping all around the bound FBI agent. Unceremoniously, the hood was yanked from her head. Natasha blinked furiously, eager but equally dreading to regain her sight.
The federal agent found herself to be the center of attention in an otherwise empty, windowless, concrete room. Natasha deduced she was in an industrial storage room, likely below-ground. The only means of escape appeared to be through the vault-like metal door with a tiny window. If not for several construction-use spotlights shining on her, this would be a very cold and dark place.
She was, in effect, imprisoned in a dungeon cell.
The captive agent was surrounded by the Cobra Crew, each canvassing her in their own evil way. Each was beaming with victory, but the Bower knife on the leader's belt and a shiny .357 Magnum revolver in the young woman's hand served notice that they had not let their guard down.
Natasha realized her costly mistake at failing to recognize 'Vixen' posing as the officer at the Archives desk. By now, the ladies had dropped their disguises, leaving them in their natural form - and beauty. Maybe it was the casual sundress that clung tightly to Vixen's body, or the simple black tank-top that accented Cobra's buxom, but Natasha could not deny the two dangerous women were - enchanting? - In their way.
She turned to size up the brawny 'Romeo' and was immediately caught up in sight of the rippling muscles on his forearm. The simple grey t-shirt he had on seemed to stretch in all the right places. Then there was the unmistakable bulge in his gym shorts. Catching her gaze, Romeo winked at her and licked his chops.
Disgusted, Natasha turned away, only to discover a fifth person in the room.
At the feet of 'Romeo' was a beautiful but disheveled medium blonde, who was kneeling with her hands bound behind her. She was wearing a nothing but a black lacy teddy that cleaved to all the attractive curves of her body, its "neckline" plunging straight down to her navel. The tops of her heaving breasts were glistening with her own drool, with trails running down her chin, a direct result of the black rubber ball held behind her teeth.
Strangely, there was a shiny police badge hanging around her neck, the chain sitting over the nylon collar and leash placed on her neck. On closer inspection, the FBI agent realized it was an authentic badge of the State Police. Even before meeting the frightened woman's gorgeous blue eyes, Natasha realized her fellow captive was none other than State Police Lieutenant Samantha Dawson.
"I believe you two have met." Cobra smiled and stepped closer, as if reading Natasha's mind.
"But today... you're going to get to know each other REALLY well."
The venom in her voice was a sharp contrast to her gentle brush of Natasha's walnut brown strands. A furious Natasha reacted strongly to her touch, spearing forward with her head as hard she could, but the woman easily dodged the attempt.
Almost immediately, the hulking giant was behind the bound federal agent and wrapped his lumbering forearm around Natasha's throat and neck. A mere half-minute of his controlled squeezing left her very light-headed, gasping for air.
"Dumb, dumb bitch." After placing several sharp, stinging slaps across her face, 'Cobra' proceeded to tear the duct tape from her face, causing Natasha more agony. "Go ahead, spit it out, I want to hear you scream..."
They watched her labour to expel the soggy fabric from her mouth. Natasha immediately regretted her look of horror when she saw she had been chewing on two pairs of panties.
"Did you enjoy the taste, cunt? The blue pair, that was courtesy of your State Police escort - oh, what's her name again, Vixen?"
