Lesbionage

Thanks to all the wonderful Readers who have supported me and my fictional friends over these fifty-plus projects (the first fifty numbered Smokey Sagas and additional stuff in between). After writing and posting all these, I decided to write an "anthology" of sorts, commemorating the first fifty stories, but for a number of reasons, I've decided against publishing it on the site. In lieu, I intend simply to continue getting on with the new stuff, so here you are, and do please enjoy.

***

Smokey Saga #51: "Lesbionage"

Yes, this is indeed just what it sounds like from the portmanteau title—not straight-gay conversion of any sort, just plain good ol' girl-spy war. Not to be confused with the Peach/Red Dragon porn film of the same name. This story contains two main sex scenes, though quite a bit of (violent) action occurs before we reach the second one. But it's definitely there, and it's definitely intense.

***

The Mission

Thursday, May 21th, 2015, 3:52 p.m.

Chief Darla Boyd picked up her private phone and dialed a single digit.

"Lacroix? Get in here, please."

28-year-old Sadey Ava Lacroix—born and raised Brooke Johnson from St. Paul—rushed to her secret agency office I.N.T.E.L.I. (the Internal Network of Tactical and Elite Logistics Intelligence), entered her passcodes, gained access, and reported to her boss. Miss Boyd faced away. Sadey/Brooke strode through the office to Darla's desk and perched in the seat across from her. Hearing her sink into the cushy leather, Darla slowly spun 180° in her own chair.

"You have a new assignment."

Sadey immediately cleared away a generous share of memory space. She leaned forward, folding her arms on the desk, focusing undivided attention. Boyd lowered her voice, glaring at her with cold, steely calculating eyes.

"Mission critical, Lacroix. The organization is in danger. I have summoned you because you are my finest agent. We've learned that a number of operatives belonging to V.I.P.E.R. have been recruited as nuclear specialists, under the guise of dummy agents."

Sadey's brows rose as her eyes widened. Vicious archenemy organization V.I.P.E.R.—a.k.a. the Vital Investigations Personnel of Espionage and Reconnaissance—was I.N.T.E.L.I.'s most mortal adversary. V.I.P.E.R. had been gunning for them from the beginning, but both agencies knew that the opposition was tougher and sharper than spikes. It would take one hell of a cunning scheme on either part to infiltrate the other with the goal of neutralization. And V.I.P.E.R. had concocted just such a scheme.

Fortunately for I.N.T.E.L.I., the overseeing chiefs had a few tricks up their own sleeves, and tapped their way into V.I.P.E.R.'s top-secret network. This was an entirely new level that had been reached. A level of life-threatening jeopardy. Miss Darla Boyd went on.

"To the extent of our power, we've pieced together an outline of the plot being hatched by the likes of V.I.P.E.R. Their nuclear experts have devised plans to build an extremely innovative...and powerful...laser-powered detonation device."

"Oh my God," Sadey muttered.

Boyd gave a nod. "You bet your fucking ass, oh my God," she repeated. "We're talking War Of The Worlds shit here, Lacroix. I'm sure I needn't explain the havoc a motherfucker like this can, and will wreak upon us."

"You needn't," Sadey shook her head, now determined to carry out her assignment. "Tell me where I come into play."

"In order for proper construction, V.I.P.E.R.'s nuclear experts have configured a supply of plutonium, at an isotope level so explosive, so life-threateningly dangerous, it has yet to be defined."

Sadey's mouth descended open.

"This is a once-in-a-millennium opportunity for our enemies, Lacroix," Boyd told her intensely. "The resources necessary to produce this unholy degree of radioactivity...are all but unobtainable. Such an instrument of Earth-shattering destruction would never have been built before...and it never will again. This is their one and only shot. If V.I.P.E.R. succeeds, the annihilation of I.N.T.E.L.I. is but small potatoes. Today it's us, tomorrow it's the free world as we know it."

"Holy shit."

"I.N.T.E.L.I. is not in the habit of mindless eradication of its fellow organizations, Lacroix. You know this. But in the case of lethally nuclear carnage, we must make an exception. Self-defense is justifiable action. On the contrary; if we succeed...V.I.P.E.R. will be taken out of commission—if only to prevent further threats of world domination. Once this is done, we place the plutonium in the capable hands of the federal government, to be properly disposed of.

"But first, Lacroix..."

Sadey could now see where this was headed. And she could see her assignment was clear as day.

"...You are to locate V.I.P.E.R.'s secret headquarters...secure the plutonium, and herein abscond. Do you copy?"

Sadey nodded. "Perfectly."

Darla nodded back. "Then you've not a second to lose...after my final instruction to you."

She slowly stood from her chair, placing her palms firmly on the surface of the desk. Sadey did the same. They leaned in together until the tips of their noses were barely an inch apart.

"...I reiterate, Lacroix: the mission, is, critical. Imperative. We cannot fail. If you fuck this up...

"...We will have to kill you."

***

Hideout And Seek

Thursday, May 21st, 2015, 4:38 p.m.

From a childhood age, Brooke Ava Johnson—who kept her real middle name under her spy alias—fostered an effortless fascination in that which was secret and mysterious. Social obligations such as school bored her to tears, as she had to share the information she was taught with twenty or thirty other children. She'd have arranged for private tutoring if she thought she could learn elusive things to which others were not privy. Oh, how she thirsted for the excitement of concealed knowledge, for that which only she was privileged to learn. She wanted others' secrets, and she wanted her own. She wanted a life with suspense.

She'd find it one day in her 20s, in the thrill ride of espionage. She'd been playing the perilous spy game for five years already, since the comparatively tender age of 23. Her folks had always urged her to follow her heart, but did not see this vocational path coming. They had not counted on a future of such unwieldy hazards for their sweet young daughter. But they also failed to anticipate the degree of sharpness and stealth to which Brooke honed her keen, fresh mind. She was smart, slick, and quick. She was cunning, sly, and sneaky. She possessed all the key ingredients to claw her way to the rank of master spy. Her zeal for excitement and danger drove her to succeed in missions, if only to ascend to a new plateau, to feel the rush of what lay lurking around the next corner. She was extraordinary in her dedication once she'd found the calling. And she may have been blessed with an incredibly agile mind, but she knew it wasn't enough to merely be a natural. It required work to get this good. Work which she was prepared to take on.

Her speed, attention and ever-peeled eyes paid off. In five years, she had turned in a performance spanning territory normally covered by hardened, seasoned veterans. She'd coerced vital secrets from some of the toughest fiends and assassins to cross her path. Sometimes, though, her easily-come cunning didn't suffice alone; on rarer occasions, she had to be downright ruthless. She'd admit it: sometimes she had to do things she didn't want to.

And all this wasn't to say she never landed in harm's way herself. She'd fallen into some all but deadly traps in her career. And she'd come nail-bitingly close to being eliminated, but one way or another, she'd always found some way out. She had to admit, however, to a fair deal of intimidation on this case, both because she'd never gone up against the forces of the notorious V.I.P. before, and because Darla had never threatened her with termination should she fail. She wasn't infallible. She'd made a few semi-serious slip-ups here and again, but the harshest reprimand she'd faced to date was a marginal (albeit firm) smack on the wrist.

The opening step in her investigation was locating V.I.P.E.R.'s secret hideout. By this point in her career, such a recon stage was a piece of proverbial cake. It would be no small feat, taking some deep digging, and her time was limited. But stacked up next to her following instructions, this initial task was a walk at the beach and a day in the park.

Her first stop after leaving headquarters was back to her own residence—to change into an inconspicuous outfit—accompanied by a fellow I.N.T.E.L.I. operative—as well as a personal good buddy—named Irene. The ops often escorted one another home for security and protection, in case an enemy spy happened to be following. They never knew. They could afford to trust no one outside of their own organization. They firmly, however, trusted each other. When a new recruit was taken into the agency, he or she was introduced to everyone, and informed that this was his or her new family. And for airtight reason: if any I.N.T.E.L.I. spies turned against the family, or stabbed them in the back, they were terminated. Permanently.

As well as an ally and a friend, Irene was also something of a detective. And she had a fellow detective friend herself, who, as luck would have it, happened to know of a dark haunt down in Hemdale, regularly frequented by one of V.I.P.E.R.'s active ops. It was called the Black Claw, a gothic restaurant located on Kent Street. One well-placed phone call later for a rough dossier on the subject, Sadey was on her way down to Hemdale, her friend Irene due to report back to the agency.

Hemdale was a rough, hostile part of town. It was still daytime as Sadey rolled along the noisy, bumpy Kent, heading westbound past brownstones, folks shouting, music-blaring cars and other downtown entities. Finally reaching the corner of Kent and Hemmings, there it was, looming heavy and dark at number 1221: the Black Claw.

She got out and proceeded to head for the dank eatery, making the point to try to look just like any normal person going about her business. Fortunately, should a nasty, predatory thug or any of the sort mess with her, a severe lesson would be taught. She entered the smoky, dark interior, greeted by a striking facsimile of Bela Lugosi.

"May I be of service, madame?" asked Lugosi, glaring into her eyes.

Not allowing herself to be daunted by the atmosphere, Sadey bravely shook her head.

"No, thank you. I'm looking for someone."

Mentally consulting the dossier she'd committed to memory, Sadey commenced to circumnavigating. She easily blended into the murky background, shuffling along the dark shadows, passing candles, empty porcelain bowls, marble slabs, banquet tables adorned with skulls, scrolls, and other knickknacks she didn't care to identify. This element was strangely comfortable for Sadey, a master spy with a keen sense for spotting camouflaged anomalies. Luckily, her shifty behavior would not be considered suspicious at all, even had patrons been studying her movements. Her attention to detail ruled out most of the shady characters right away.

Soft pipe organ music permeated the air. Clinking tableware and conversing voices filled whatever silence was left over. The sound of her footsteps failed to register. She skulked along her search, until—

There she was.

She spotted her. Undoubtable. It was Agent 183—as she, Irene and their detective friend now referred to her. Sizzlingly hot—albeit lethally so—flowing ginger hair, parted flawlessly atop her crest, swimming down her shoulders, impeccably framing the sculpted face of an empress of evil. Sadey knew the woman was a ravishing ginger from the detective's description, that she would know her when she saw her, but nonetheless remained stunned by her remarkable magnetism, almost even...dazzled. Almost...

Stop, she strictly reminded herself. She is the enemy. Do not allow yourself to be drawn in by her beauty, even if it is...magnificent...you have a mission to carry out. Cast all impure thoughts from your mind this instant.

Sadey knew her only as 183. The ginger's real name was Kat McCree. She sipped a martini between cigarette puffs, resulting in thick, plumy clouds billowing from her ruby lips. Sadey smirked as she decelerated pace. Hm. A martini. How cliché. Have you no originality? She averted her gaze to look for a vacant seat nearby, where she could keep an eye on her.

The ginger suspected nothing...Sadey believed and hoped. She held her in sight as she waited, unfolded her napkin and idly played with it, trying her hand at some origami. Soon, a waitress approached to ask if she'd care for anything. Not very hungry, Sadey felt yet less suspect should she order something. So she requested a glass of iceless water.

Twelve eventless minutes passed before Ginger 183 paid for her drink and rose. Alerting herself, Sadey tossed a few dollars on her own table, slipped out from her seat and gave pursuit, granting the obligatory head start. No one monitored her movements—certainly not Lugosi, who was taken with some business or other in the back. The advantage of windows wasn't provided, so she'd need to hustle through the door as not to lose sight.

Once outside, she followed the sound of footsteps, which had abruptly increased in pace. Sadey picked up speed trotting behind. Perhaps Ginger 183 sensed she was being tailed, and was hurrying off for a quick escape. Sadey halted at the corner of the building when she heard the footsteps stop. She instinctively hid behind the corner as she heard a chirp!—Ginger remotely unlocking her car. Sadey ever so discreetly poked an eye around the corner to see the driver's side door of a silver Mercedes slam shut. The ignition started. Ginger floored the gas and rapidly pulled out.

XY3-G41. She leapt back behind the building as the Mercedes accelerated, peeling around the corner onto Kent, heading east. Her tires squealed, leaving patches of burnt rubber. Sadey watched her speed away, stealing a glimpse at the rear plate for confirmation.

The license tag was all she needed. Once the coast was clear, she dashed back to her own car. It was equipped with, among other things, a mapping device that operated like a GPS, but rather than giving directions, tracked license tags. She activated the map, entered the code, and a blinking red dot appeared, traveling further east down Kent, until turning left onto Holabird Highway. Sadey started her ignition and threw the gearshift into drive.

Also now on the map blinked a blue dot, representing Sadey herself. Her tracker led her north to the outskirts of Hemdale, as it began to get dark. Another couple of minutes, and she was directed up into the Hect's development. She passed Randall's View Terrace, on the way to the next stretch of property, known as the Dixie Sands. This nest of luxury homes was certainly more welcoming and accommodating than Hemdale's sketchy milieu. Her map chimed as a message box appeared.

TARGET PARKED: 21584 DIXIE SANDS, TWELVE PINES, it read. The red dot was now stationary, allowing Sadey to meet it.

Bingo. Ginger had reached her destination. Sadey was right in figuring her friend 183 here was heading home. She wasn't sure until they pulled into the neighborhood, but she had a pretty strong feeling V.I.P.E.R. headquarters wasn't to be found in such an upscale housing block. Still, she couldn't be certain until she caught up.

Sadey muted the tracking map and cut off the headlights as she came in close. Building 21584, Dixie Sands. Beneath a streetlight, sure enough, there again was the silver Mercedes. XY3-G41, she reread with a satisfied nod. Sadey shifted into reverse, backed up a few buildings, and slid into a generous open stretch of curb. And...park. Ka-chunk went the gearshift. Now, a few moments to think.

Clearly, this was Ginger's residence. Even if V.I.P.E.R. foolishly tried to disguise their hideout as a luxury home, there would be far too much irregular secret activity going on for neighbors not to take notice. Eventually, someone would report something. So, Sadey still hadn't found the enemy headquarters. But she had the license tag now, and Ginger had to report back to the real V.I.P.E.R. office at some point. All Sadey could do now was wait.

While she waited, there were a couple things she could do. She could tune up some music or talk radio. She could go into her knapsack for a snack or some water, or to read the next chapter in her spy novel. Hell, if she felt the inclination, she could even pull back up beside Ginger's house, re-park, take out her binoculars and see if she could catch the vixen in the middle of a shower. Just this idea in and of itself gave her the inklings of that funny feeling between the thighs.

Sadey, stop that! her brain commanded. Enough! You're a spy, and no matter how fucking hot she is, she's your enemy! Entertaining curiosity about her with your damn hormones is gonna get us nowhere but dead. Got it?!

Yeah, yeah, a'right, got it. She could just go back to her own home now. After all, she did have the license tag, and could continue tracking and following as much as necessary. But staying here staking out the place would give her an edge on time, whenever Ginger did again report to headquarters. And she needed just such an advantage. Given the option, she would rather sleep in her bed than her car, but she had chosen a demanding career, and these were conditions that sometimes applied.

On the other hand...she closed her eyes with an impish smile. Hanging out in only her car made certain things more exciting. She booted her laptop and retrieved an external flash drive from another compartment of her knapsack. Connecting the drive, she waited for it to register, and opened the contents. Her private flash drive contained items she personally enjoyed in her leisure time.

She navigated to a very specific folder, a folder dedicated exclusively to steamy images of her personal idol of both worship and lust, Mata Hari. Brooke-slash-Sadey was intensely enamored of her, practically since birth. Mata Hari had died seventy years before the girl was born, but regardless, had taught Brooke wonderful things as a child: how to be a spy...how to subdue an opponent through merciless seduction...how to make it through puberty...how to pleasure herself like a real woman, even as a mere teenager...

Much as one part of Sadey wished Mata Hari had not left her world a century ago, her other side regularly faced the fact that if she ever had to go up against her, she wouldn't stand a chance. The Dutch siren would flash her that devastatingly evil leer, own her before she knew what happened, and have Sadey in a melted heap at her feet. And then...oh, the things such a sly temptress could do to her...when on her clock, Sadey Lacroix was a relentless, emotionless secret agent who stopped at nothing to effectively complete her assignments. But in personal, non-top secret pursuits of sweet carnal delights, Sadey reveled in sheer submission.

She climbed into the backseat. In younger years, Sadey/Brooke had enjoyed some romantic dates and playful romps, having yet to this day to find her other half. But that was perfectly fine; she preferred the unattached life, leaving herself unhindered in her top-secret escapades. Espionage and ongoing romance did not mix. No one wanted to sit home alone waiting for her, frightened to death of what might happen at any given moment, and Sadey couldn't blame them. She certainly didn't want to put anyone through that. No, she was content between periods of duty to lie beneath the spell of Miss Hari, jilling herself crazy to her.