Special Agent Chrissie

Chrissie flattened her back against the wall inside the warehouse listening to the lone pair of footsteps approaching. They walked noisily without caution, a good sign, she thought—they must not know they have a visitor.

She readied her pistol in her upraised right hand, though she wasn't planning to fire it. The informant said there could be as many as five others and she didn't want to alert them.

Chrissie felt foolish creeping around the dusty, greasy building in her purple babydoll dress, but when the agency called she had to tell Steve the date would have to wait. She thought the dress looked good on her, sexy in fact. Her size-D breasts bloomed disproportionately over the high waist of the short, flared frock, mixing voluptuousness with schoolgirl appeal in a way she imagined would be exciting to men. Her effort was aided by a cute, round face, a light-brown bob that reached just below her ears, and a height not quite measuring 5'4".

Earlier she'd hoped the fashion combination would lead to finding Steve's cock buried deep in her pussy that night. Now she hoped he'd accept the change in plans as a postponement rather than an end to the brief relationship. When she started wondering what Steve's cock in fact looked like, she jerked herself back to the warehouse. She needed all her senses present in the now.

When Chrissie saw the first approaching toe swing into view around the corner, she launched her left foot and pivoted on her right, briefly coming face to face with a bespectacled blond man of medium height. The toe of her spike heel crashed into his left temple, bending his steel frame glasses and giving him a spectacular beaver shot before his lights went out.

"Well, at least it's easy to move in this dress," thought Chrissie, checking for a pulse.

Dead.

"He won't be much good in the interrogation room," she thought. "But he won't be bothering me while I look for the others."

Next to him she found a gun and a thick roll of blueprints he'd dropped—detailed plans of the munitions warehouse. She tossed the blueprints out of sight onto a cabinet several feet above her head, hid his gun under his body, and tiptoed off to look for the others.

Near the end of a hallway she heard voices in an open area and she peered in, staying in the dark. She saw three men, two squat beefy ones and one tall and thin, near the middle of a mostly empty room nearly the size of a small airplane hangar. They seemed to be fidgeting and toying with their guns. Chrissie figured they were waiting for the dead man and soon would figure out he wasn't coming. She hoped her backup agent would be there before that.

While crouching in the shadows waiting, she sensed a movement and ducked her head just in time to avoid getting it cracked open with what turned out to be the butt of a pistol. The weapon landed on the back of her shoulder, painful but dull. She wheeled her gun hand around to deliver a weak, glancing blow at the head of the attacking shape, which delivered a punch just above stomach level, knocking Chrissie onto her back and stunning the gun from her hand, the clatter attracting the attention of the men in the next room. They turned in time to see Chrissie's attacker lunge at her. She raised a leg and the heel of her right shoe popped four inches deep into the abdomen of their heavy-set partner. As he screamed she pulled her foot back and in the same motion reclaimed her gun and filled the room with an explosion, sending a bullet from her position on the floor up into the bottom of his chin.

The bullet stopped his screaming but Chrissie wasn't listening anyway. She rolled to face the three men racing at her with guns pointing. She sent a slug straight through the heart of the thin man while the other two returned shots in the direction of the shadows, then fell and tried to hide themselves against the nearest wall. One of their bullets hit the hallway several feet above Chrissie, another skipped off the cement floor inches away. Then a high-pitched voice from farther down the shadowy hallway yelled, "Enough."

By now Chrissie was on one knee, and her wrestling had moved her out of the hallway and into the light of the large room. The voice said calmly, "You won't be able to shoot all three of us."

The logic was chillingly sound. Chrissie was too exposed to the widely separated shooters, one of which she couldn't even see. But the voice made a mistake letting her know she had exactly three opponents.

"Slide your gun into the middle of the next room and stand up with your hands extended," said the voice.

Chrissie did some quick calculating without coming up with any option better than following the instructions. She raised herself with arms out like she hoped to fly away.

"Now, walk slowly to the middle of the room. Alex, Benji, keep your guns on her and ready to shoot. I think we have a formidable opponent. Benji, grab her gun." The hulk to Chrissie's left ran to the middle of the room, retrieved her exit visa, and returned to his position.

"Alex, Benji? Sounds like a couple of dogs," thought Chrissie as she clacked her heels softly into the middle of the room. The two big guys inched a couple steps out from the wall, and the voice stepped out of the hallway shadow.

Chrissie turned, arms still outstretched, to face the voice. He was medium height and build, pale with a long blond ponytail and wearing sneakers, jeans, and a solid black t-shirt. His right arm extended toward Chrissie, pointing a gun at her.

"Aren't you a pretty little thing," he said. "Take off your clothes."

"What? You're insane," Chrissie laughed. The ponytail responded, "Irrelevant. You're not in charge here. I am."

This guy wasn't much of a talker, thought Chrissie, he might be hard to distract. There was a hallway behind the guy named Alex, but she didn't like her chances of making a break for it. Three guns aimed at her from three different directions, and she stood in tall heels in the middle of the empty room—her closest foe was more than 15 feet away.

Without any more comment Chrissie grabbed the bottom edge of her little dress and started raising it over her head. In the process she slipped an inch-long flesh-colored blade from the hem and concealed it between her fingers, in a move she'd practiced hundreds of times until no human eye could notice. She didn't see much of a chance to use it, but it was all she had.

The dress pulled off awkwardly over her head, mussing her hair. She dropped it on the floor and felt ridiculous, standing in a grimy room, strands of hair seductively over one eye, wearing her skimpiest, highest-end matching shiny blue underwear meant for Steve's room, not a warehouse audience of thugs. She didn't know which was more humiliating: treating the bad guys to her provocative, low-cut brassiere that pushed most of her mountainous boobs out the top and the teeny panties that barely covered her crotch, or the full frontal show she was about to give them.

Chrissie didn't spend much time pondering the dilemma. She reached back, unhooked her bra and tossed it on the dress. Her young and round breasts barely sagged at all when they were unleashed. She grabbed the wisp of panties and stepped out of them, keeping her back straight and not breaking eye contact with Mr. Ponytail. He'd tried to act cool but Chrissie detected a couple flickers around the eyes and mouth. From the sides of her eyes she detected the two sidekick's pupils widen and their jaws go slack. She knew she looked good. Her breasts pointed upward, proud and high on her chest, small, light pink areoles set dead center, nipples pointing straight out. Her rib cage sloped dramatically down to a tiny waist, above slim hips easily ignored in favor of the wisps of light pubic hair that drew attention to the little triangle of skin and joints below her belly that seemed to point downward and inside her at the same time.

"The shoes, too," said Ponytail. "I've seen how you use those."

Chrissie crooked one leg at a time, again keeping her body upright as she unbuckled and dropped the last of her wardrobe on the pile. The concrete floor chilled her bare feet, raising goose bumps on her short legs. The loss of her heels made her look even tinier in the middle of the cavernous room. Chrissie was raised to be modest about her body, and this was about as far from that as she could get. Still, maybe she could find a way to turn this exposure to her advantage, though standing stark naked in a roomful of guns pointed at her didn't strike her as the kind of competitive edge most people would choose. She took the chance of dropping her arms to her sides, without objection from her aggressors. She took that as small victory, and a lapse of attention on their part.

"Alex, fetch something to tie her up," said Ponytail. "I saw some rope and electric cords in the next room."

"Fetch? Maybe they really are dogs," thought Chrissie, as Hulk #2 disappeared down the hallway.

Ponytail took two steps toward Chrissie and straightened his gun arm at her, more for effect than anything else.

"How did you know to come here?" He asked. "If there's a tattletale among us, we'd like to know."

"All I know is I got a call," she answered. She was telling the truth, but she wasn't sure whether that would prove to be to her benefit.

"We'll see," he threatened.

As Alex came running in with a handful of ropes and cords, Ponytail said, "Face down on the floor."

Chrissie again reviewed the limited options, and slowly lowered herself, meeting the cement with the full length of the front of her body. Ponytail walked over quickly and placed a foot firmly and squarely in the middle of her bare back, pushing out some of her breath.

"Tie her hands together," he commanded.

Alex arced Chrissie's arms until they met at the front of her prone figure. She thought of several moves she might make, but Ponytail seemed to have anticipated all of them.

Alex's hands were warm, wet, and shaking as he looped and knotted the rope around her wrists. Chrissie took that as another glimmer of hope.

"Tie a cord around each ankle," ordered Ponytail. Chrissie felt plastic being secured around her legs.

Ponytail removed his foot, retreated ten steps and ordered, "Stand up." As she maneuvered to her feet with her hands lashed together, Ponytail hurled a coil of rope skyward, looping it over a thick water pipe suspended from the ceiling.

"Keep your guns on her," he told his henchmen as he set his gun down and pulled on the rope, raising Chrissie's hands over her head, until, if she pointed her toes they just barely scraped the floor. He secured the end to the column of a sturdy looking shelf.

He paused to admire his work. His helpless specimen hanging to her full length, wrists together, upper arms bracketing her head, enormous tits jutting somehow upward, nipples extended after their encounter with the cold floor, brief but shapely legs rising from toes to pudendum. Chrissie kept a close, trained watch on his reactions.

After he was done ogling her dangling figure, he went for the extension cords around her feet. He fastened one around a pillar, the other to the knob of an open door, pulling on them so her legs separated from each other until her ankles were nearly three feet from each other.

Chrissie hung like an upside-down Y; legs spread enough to open her crevice. She couldn't imagine being any more available to advance or attack. She was certain that's exactly the psychological effect Ponytail had in mind. She was hoping he was also doing it for kicks.

He picked his gun back up and put stood two feet from her: "You don't look so dangerous now," he sneered. Then he took two steps forward and stuck the barrel of his gun into her vagina. She silently congratulated herself for not flinching at the cold metal inside her.

"How did you know to come here," he spat in her face. "Who told you?"

Chrissie didn't answer, staring him down until he thankfully removed the pistol and stepped back.

"I have an idea that might get a reaction from you, "he said, setting his gun on the floor and unbuckling his belt. He pulled off his tennis shoes, then took off his jeans along with his underwear. Chrissie stared back at Ponytail's thick, 7-inch and lengthening cock. She thought, "Well, he's got one redeeming quality."

Ponytail's eyes again hungrily roamed up and down Chrissie's toned, spread-eagled body, pumping his organ to a full horizontal position. He stepped toward Chrissie, moving his face inches from hers, pressing the tip of his hardened prick against her belly.

"You know you're going to pay for killing my buddies," he said, then louder, "Alex, get out your cell phone and get ready to take some pictures. I'm sure our police lady here has a boyfriend we can track down with her phone. He'll be fascinated to see what his cutie was doing just before she died."

Thug #1 fumbled the phone out of his pocket and held it in front of him as Ponytail grabbed a right hand full of pecker and a left hand full of Chrissie's ass and started maneuvering his oversized erection between her labial lips. His cockhead entered with difficulty, because of its size but also because Chrissie's canal hadn't been inclined to lubricate itself. She cursed herself for letting out a yelp as Ponytail pushed further inside her, then thought better of her regret, and turned her exclamation into a moan.

"I thought you'd like that," he bragged as he plunged his full length into Chrissie. The way she was trussed, finding leverage for any kind of movement was difficult, but she was able to work her hips into a rhythmic roll. She gyrated the cock inside her until Ponytail let go of her ass, letting the well-developed muscles of Chrissie's midsection rock him to ecstasy.

He grunted and pulled out, yelling, "Alex, make sure you get the money shot," as he frantically stroked his piston inches from Chrissie's snatch.

Ponytail yelled and sent a stream of semen at Chrissie. The instant it stuck a warm, gooey line onto her stomach, and before a second stream had the time to fire, she sliced the blade she'd worked from her fingers, through the rope holding her up. Summoning all her highly practiced strength and coordination, Chrissie kicked her legs back and her head forward snapping her forearms down to deliver a violent blow to Ponytail's throat with the edge of her bound hands, crushing his windpipe. Gurgles came out of his throat and his hands started flailing at the air as Chrissie's falling body knocked his to the ground, hers' falling on top of him. In one motion she lunged for Ponytail's gun on the floor, rolled onto her right side and placed a bullet high in Benji's chest before he had a chance to react. She rolled the other way and as Alex juggled at dropping his cell phone and aiming his gun, Chrissie shot him in the middle of the face.

Chrissie used Ponytail's gun to smack him hard in the head, which reduced the gagging and wheezing noises. She guessed he'd live, but he might wish he hadn't by the time the doctors and the interrogators finished with him.

As she gathered herself to her feet she heard a man yell, "Freeze!"

But Chrissie was fed up. It may not have been the smartest tactic but she spun and aimed toward the sound, stopping the process just in time to see Evan's familiar face behind the other gun pointing at her.

She paused a half a beat then panicked at her nakedness, and covered her pussy with the gun while her left hand crossed her chest, covering her nipples but necessarily leaving most of her substantial boobs peeking out above and below her arm.

"Freeze?" She yelled at Evan. "Where'd you come from, Dragnet?"

"I'm impressed with your modesty," Evan holstered his gun and smiled at the beautifully shaped nude trying to cover herself in the middle of the warehouse room floor. "But does the phrase 'too little, too late" mean anything to you?"

"I ought to be asking you that question," said Chrissie, keeping her private parts shielded anyway. "Where the hell have you been?"

"They set up a diversion across town," said Evan. "This must have been pretty well organized. And what happened here? Are you OK?"

"Fine. Read about it in the report. I don't feel like talking about it now," Chrissie sputtered, looking around for her clothes.

"Aww screw it," she said, and bared herself to anyone watching, lowering her left hand, tossing the gun down, and walking over to where she'd piled her dress and underwear.

"Uh, Chrissie?" called Evan as she bent to pick up clothes without a sag anywhere on her body.

"What?" she shot back, straightening to face him, holding a bare wisp of a pair of panties in her right hand.

Evan took in Chrissie's flushed and flustered but still cheery face, her long waist and stomach that angled down to her cute little cunt, and the largest and most perfectly proportioned tits he was sure he would ever see.

"What?" she said, louder and more insistent.

Evan stage-whispered, "Thank you."

Chrissie sagged her pretty shoulders a fraction of an inch, gave a small half-smile and said, "Well fuck you," more out of impatience and embarrassed self-consciousness than anger. "If you want to help, get my pack, it's just outside the east entrance door. And you can repay me by calling in a cleanup for this mess."

Evan double-timed to retrieve the bag while Chrissie dressed. When he returned with the backpack she fished out her phone.

"Steve. I'm really sorry about dinner, but I need to see you tonight, or this morning, I mean now," she almost panted into the receiver. "I know it's late, and no, you're not either going to work tomorrow. You're calling in sick. OK, I'll see you in about 35 minutes. And Steve? When I get there, make sure you're naked."

On her way out she detoured a few steps to the resting place of Alex's body, and the camera phone he'd used to photograph her tied, nude, poked, and sprayed. As she raised her foot Evan shouted, "Chrissie, that's evidence in an investigation." She drove her heel through the small package of electronics, smashing it brain.

"Not any more," she said, and left the building.