You Only C.U.M Once (Pt. 02)

It felt very strange to be in an airplane not flown by Amanda. It felt even stranger to be in an airplane not flown by Amanda without Amanda bouncing in my lap. Since, that was normally what kept her from flying airplanes, my dick being deep inside of her deliciously tight pussy. I mean. Except for when it didn't. But Amanda was more than capable of putting down with a wing on fire and three out of four jet turbines blown off without even scraping the tarmac -- all while I was fingerfucking her and sucking on her neck like I was Count fucking Dracula.

It was a big part of why I loved her.

That and she was clever and brave and pretty...

And snarky too.

I sighed, slightly, glancing out the window of the plane as it soared above the vast, glittering Atlantic, then glanced across the way at my new companions. Michelle was sitting in the seat across from me with a bottle of really expensive whiskey sitting next to a tray of gun parts that she had stripped from her tricked out AR-15 assault rifle -- she'd gone whole hog in getting it a scope, supressor, some rail extensions for additional clip ons, laser sighted, underslung grenade launcher. She was currently checking the reciever, pulling it open and peering inside to see where she needed to oil and fiddle around with the weapon itself.

"You do remember we're covert agents, right?" I asked.

"Oh wait, fuck, we are?" Michelle snapped, glaring at me. She, like me, was an S-Agent. This meant that she was packing more than just an assault rifle under her rough jeans, and she sat like she wanted the whole world to know it -- with her thighs spread and her back slumped down, slouching. Manspreading! Manspreading as a trans woman. Ugh. How uncultured.

Wait.

Was manspreading the right term? Since, like, that was what she was doing. Like, deliberately so? I'd never met an S-Agent who was this fucking butch in my life (Ugh, she was annoyingly hot about it too, fuck.) But, like, even if she was being butch, it was kinda like misgendering her, to use manspreading? Right? Could cis girls manspread? I'm pretty sure cis girls could, but cis girls got to do lots of fucking bullshit trans women never got to. Hmm...okay, so, what if...

Butchspreading?

"More like bitch spreading," I muttered under my breath, vexed that Michelle was being so troublesome as I adjusted my very tight suit pants to make sure my bulge was more appropriately displayed as I swung my gaze from her to Kate, our nominal leader.

Kate was a picture of late sixties, early seventies pure sophistication. She was dressed in a sleek dress that looked like it was both functional and fashionable, though she hadn't gone for an 'out of time' dayglow or brightly colored look, she also managed to evade 'reality is gray and brown' look that a lot of people preferred today. Her clothing was all soothing, dark colors -- but they were rich and eye catching and form fitting. And when she swiveled in her comfortable seat to face us, her face concealed by the large dossier she was flipping through, she only barely hinted that she had a dick that could put a horse to shame.

Now that was classy.

"So, Miss Thorton," I said.

"Please, darling, you may call me Kate," Kate Thorton said, folding her dossier shut. My heart fluttered and my cheeks flushed as I gave her a big, goofy smile.

"Uh. Right. Kate." I coughed. "Uh, how is adjusting to the 21^st century for you?"

"Oh, it's not all that different," she said, dryly. "Despite what you may think from your popular culture, the nineteen sixties weren't all orgies and shag carpeting." She smiled. "The real culture shock isn't from the real world, but your digital one." She shook her head. "It seems positively dystopic to me -- which I'm sure you feel is quite a quaint and old fashioned viewpoint." She smiled, placing her fingers upon her chest as she gave a self deprecating chuckle.

"Nah, we think that too," I said.

"I don't have twitter," Michelle said with a grin, letting her gun's breach clack back into place. "Or facebook."

"It's not impressive to not have facebook, you cavegirl," I said. "But no Twitter? How do you know who Milkshake Ducked today?"

Michelle looked at me as if I had started speaking in tongues, then swung her gaze over to Kate.

Kate, though, was chuckling huskily. "Oh, a delightful aphorism -- but the chances of running into some random fellow in reality that was racist on the internet is small enough to render it a minor concern in a world with atomic weapons and climate change." Her eyes sparkled, then she looked back at her dossier, flipping through it.

Oh my god, she's so cool, I thought.

The airplane banked, then, and as it banked, Michelle slapped the last piece of her rifle back together again and checked the sighting, aiming the barrel right past my head. I frowned at her. "You know you shouldn't aim it at anyone you don't want to kill, even if it's not loaded?" I muttered.

"I'm not aiming at you, I'm aiming right below the cartilage on your right ear," Michelle said, coolly. "Don't worry, I got this..." but as she spoke, Kate reached out with one hand and gently pushed her barrel down and towards the floor.

"Girls," she said. "I believe we should discuss the mission -- I've finished reading the dossier. Both of you have skimmed it?"

"Yeah," I said, nodding. "At 1930 hours this Friday, the Silverstones were having a great big gala. The Silverstones are minor nobility in the English country who have managed to survive by investing quite a bit into the petrochemical businesses. The family was one Arthur and Gwendolyn Silverstone, the parents, and their son, Gordon Silverstone, and their daughter, Lisa Silverstone. They were having a dinner party for their various associates -- a few bankers, a tech bro..."

"The genius inventor Marcus Etan?" Kate asked, curiously.

"He's not a genius and he's not an inventor," I said. "He just pays people to invent things like electric cars that explode and rockets that explode and tunnels that explode-"

"The SpeedZoom Car Holes haven't exploded," Michelle said. "Right?"

"I thought you didn't have twitter," I said.

"NPR, dipshit," she said, scowling at me.

"And no, they haven't exploded." I paused, then muttered under my breath. "Yet."

"We get it," Michelle said. "It is a party full of the worst human beings on the planet."

"I mean..." I paused. "There was, uh, an environmentalist there, from Green...something?" I paused, pulling out the dossier, frowning. "...oh, uh, he was that guy that got kicked out of Greenpeace and founded his own organization and now makes his money pretending climate change isn't happening." I coughed. "Or, should I say...he used to do that." I closed the dossier and began to tap my fingers against it. "Because at 2121 hours, that very evening, the entire mansion exploded."

"Not sure why T.A.S.K is getting involved," Michelle said, shrugging a bit.

"Did you miss the part where they broke down the security systems?" I asked.

"Yeah, cause it's a baseline security system, it's gonna be boring and suck," Michelle said.

Kate chuckled. "Well, Michelle, I think you should learn to work upon your paitence." She turned her eyes upon me and looked quite proud. "Kimberly?"

Ohmygosh, she called me Kimberly! I thought, my heart hammering in my chest. My throat felt dry and my lips went even drier. I licked them, then actually squeaked as I started speaking. I had to cough a few times. "W-Well, uh, the house was surrouned by a concealed moat, with genetically engineered bomb sniffing sharks in them," I said, nodding. "There are laser trip wire mines and flechette turrets in the shrubbery, and the hedge maze at the back of the premises has Siberian trained combat danes that used to be used by the Soviet special forces to kill enemy heavy infantrny. There are no less than four chutes that lead straight to the basement, which has just below the legal limit on acid pits for a Sussex estate."

"Christ!" Michelle exclaimed. "Are they S-Agents or something?"

"That's what we're considering -- these plans were kept secret until the bomb explosion forced the family's soliciter to divulge them to Scottland Yard," Kate said. "Good thing too, the poor bobbies almost walked face first into the surviving acid pits."

I grinned, looking at Michelle. "I think the first thing we should do is talk to the survivors." I looked at the Dossier. "We have Mr. Ian Smith, the youngest of the three bankers who had arrived. He was outside the grounds, balls deep in a maid at the time. Can't blame him, she's fine..." I crooned, looking down at the dossier. "Said maid, Missus Lucy Westfields, is also in hospital -- she took a bit more damage than he due to, ah...well, back to the wall, bomb from in the building..." I frowned. "Bad pool that."

"Terrorist attacks are well known for not discriminating when it comes to hot pieces of ass, Woods," Michelle said, dryly.

"I know that, Archer," I shot back, glaring at her. "But look at this exceptionally fine piece of ass." I turned the dossier around to show her the file photo of the big titty blond haired blue eyed maid who, even now, was likely covered with more bandages and intubators than skin.

"...dang..." Michelle whispered, shaking her head.

"Then, we have poor Mr. Etan, he has survived as a double amputee," Kate said, clicking her tongue. "And, of course, the youngest of the family, Miss Lisa Silverstone. She is comatose, but unharmed. The police found her underneath some debris with only the mildest of burns."

I nodded. "Okay...we have a few people to question. What about the residence?"

"That is where things get a mite tricky," Kate said, smiling. "Are you aware of MI6?"

We nodded.

"What about MI-69?" she asked, her voice quiet. "Their S-agent branch?"

"What!?" I exclaimed, sitting up, while Michelle scowled.

"Those limey sons of bitches!" she said. "Ah, uh, no offense."

"None taken," Kate said, her voice slipping from her light Scottish brogue to a heavy one. "The English get tae fuck, the arsepieces." She then lifted up her hands in a double fingered gesture that I recognized as being...exceptionally rude.

Michelle and I both exchanged a glance.

Slipping back to her normal accent, Kate chuckled. "The only place you can find people who hate the Engish more than Scottland is in Ireland. And I think the only place to uptick from there would be India -- though, I'm sure, there are some Irish who'd disagree, but, I am digressing. MI69 has locked the site down. T.A.S.K has offered assistance, but with the current government and, ah..." She waved her hand. "European issues..."

"Brexit," I said.

Kate made a face. "Yes. Well. With such issues an ongoing complication, T.A.S.K has been asked to step back. But our superiors don't precisely trust MI69 to accomplish the task with a maximum amount of transparency. And if there is a new S-Agent threat in the world, then T.A.S.K wants to know about it."

I nodded.

"I believe it's best if we split up for this," Kate said. "As I am still all at sea when it comes to the social niceties of the day, why don't you two head to the hospital and check in on Mr. Etan, Mr. Smith, Miss Silverstone and the maid?" She gave us both a little nod. I shot a look at Michelle. Michelle narrowed her eyes at me. "And then I shall scope out the mansion's ruins -- we can infiltrate together under the cover of night."

"Sounds like a plan," I said.

Michelle slapped her magazine into her rifle.

When the plane landed, Michelle had her rifle concealed into a duffel bag, and I had my pistol tucked into my wasteband, and the two of us started off and into Londo herself. Sussex, where the bomb blast had taken place, had several lage cities and rather fancy hospitals nearby -- but apparently, the Silverstones had arranged to have any guests injured on their premises treated at the finest possible hospital in England, which meant St. Thomas' Hospital in London. Michelle and I walked out of the airport, her duffel bouncing against my hip -- which forced me to elbow her a bit, scowling a bit. "Hey, watch where that's going," I muttered.

"Why don't you don't stand so close to me, then?" she grumbled.

"Why did you bring that kind of hardware to fucking London?" I hissed. "The cops here don't even have guns."

"That means we need it even more than we normally would," she snapped back, then held out her hand to wave down a taxi cab. A cab drove up to where we stood and she scrambled into the front seat before I could -- even going so far as to slam the door almost on my fingers to keep me back. I slid into the back seat while the driver, a kindly older looking gentleman, chuckled.

"Where too, ladies?" he asked.

"St. Thomas," Michelle said, bluntly.

"Oh?" the cabbie asked, his brow furrowing. "Are you two visiting family?"

"No," Michelle said.

"Yes," I said, at the same time.

Michelle and I glared at one another.

"Ah, sisters," the cabbie said, laughing.

"We're not sisters!" we both said at the same time.

"Really?" This, even more so than our destination, took him aback.

I glared right back at Michelle as she glared at me -- and off we went, the cabbie driving into the hideous, nightmarish hell that was London traffic.

***

...you prolly expect that the first thing that would happen would be me and Michelle, fucking like rabbits in a closet. But that'd require me to find her short, stocky, curvy, muscular body to be hot. Like, who would even be into a gorgeous shortstack with abs that could crack a wallnut and full, heavy breasts and a really cushy ass -- like, she had enough softness to blanace out her muscle, to make her just this incredible looking woman. But she wasn't hot and I wasn't into her, fuck you.

Instead, once we got out of the cabbie's cab and paid his stupidly high fee, the two of us immediately split up -- at least, that was the plan.

"I'll take Lisa Silverstone," we both said at the same time as we walked away from one another.

I froze, then turned back, expecting to see Michelle offering her alternative. She didn't.

I frowned. "Or...you can take-"

"I can take?" she asked, crossing her arms under her tits, hefting them up slightly. I scowled down at her, walking forward to glare down into her eyes as she glared up at me. "I thought that this whole mission was about getting you to work with other people better?"

"Get me to work better with other people?" I grumbled, leaning forward, my nose almost bumping hers. "You're supposed to be able to get through this without blowing up half the fucking building. Which, I hasten to add, is gonna be a bit hard when you have, what, six forty milimeter rifle frag grenades in there?"

"Pfft," she huffed. "Half HEAT, half thermoberic."

My eyes widened. "Fucking what?"

"They're just in case," Michelle said, shrugging.

"You brought...thermoberic rifle grenades...just in case?" I whispered, very softly, trying to sound calm.

"Yeah?" Michelle looked at me like I was the crazy one.

I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Michelle. What. The. Fuck?"

"Hey, listen, I've never been in a situation where I suddenly went 'oh man, I wish I didn't have the ability to blow this room up'," she said, shrugging dismissively. "You never know when ninjas are going to show up."

"Ninjas!?" I put my hands on my face, now, dragging my fingers down against my skin. "Fucking Ninjas!"

"I mean, only the hot ones," she said.

I couldn't help it. I had to drop my hands from my face and grin at her. "Nice."

She and I bumped knuckles.

Then it was back to glaring at one another.

"How do you want to settle this?" I asked. "Roshambo?"

"Holy shit, a nurse with just, the most amazing boobs just came out of the eleveator behind you," Michelle whispered, her eyes widening. I snorted.

"You think I'd fall for that-" I paused as a gorgeous, drop dead beautiful nurse came sauntering by, her head wrapped in a brightly colored and beautifully decorated headscraf -- I wasn't as up to date on Muslim headdressing to know the specific term, but I did know that whatever the type, be it hijab or niqab, it was pretty as hell. But Michelle had not lied. She had an amazing rack, contained as it was in her work clothes. She was walking along with a focused expression on her face, and when she swept past, I found that her rump was just as lovely, despite the best efforts of her otherwise professional clothing to concela it.

"Nice," I whispered.

There was no answer from Michelle. I looked over -- and saw she was gone. I spun and saw her in the elevator, grinning wickedly, while holding her smartphone in her hands -- angled to take a photograph or three of the girl.

"Clever girl," I muttered.

***

Mr. Marcus Etan was, as befitted his status, in one of the lager, fancier rooms in the hospital. He had been at the edge of the bomb blast, and had been mostly spared from the fires and the flames -- instead, the chunks of debris that had tagged him had taken off his arm at the elbow and his leg at the thigh. He was wrapped in bandages and life support gear, and looked rather grim as I stepped into the room, adjusting the collar of my shirt.

He looked rather like someone who had been bullied once in high school and earned an entire fortune to ensure that that would never happen again -- only to never really lose the attitude of cringing servility. The fact he was one of the richest men on the planet hadn't really done much to wipe that cringing, weaslness to him. I smiled as I came to his bedside. "Mr. Etan?" I asked, curiously.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"The name is Woods. Kimberly Woods." I flashed him a badge -- the kind of badge T.A.S.K had made up for its field agents that looked official but unclear. I pocketed it before he could read it and gave him my warmest 'we're here from the government and we're here to help' smile. "I'm here to ask some questions about the bombing you recently survived. I know it was terribly truamatic, but it is important that we get the information so that we can catch the people who did this as quickly as we can."

He looked up at me with a wide, watery eyed look. "I..." He blinked, then shook his head. "I'm...sorry, which agency did you say you were from?"

"Oh, I'm involved with a few -- CIA, NSA, DOH," I said, casually, tugging my chair over and taking a seat. "We're very interested in tracking down how the bomb was smuggled into the home of the Silverstone's -- it was quite a defensive location, was it not?"

"Of course," he said, frowning. His expression was petulant. "That was the whole reason I came there in the first place -- it was safe."

"Did you have reason to fear for your life?" I asked.

"Of coruse!" he said, his eyes widening as he pushed himself up with one hand, the bed creaking faintly under the shifting of his weight. "Have you seen how hostile the world is to people of our class these days?"

"Any...specific threats?" I asked.

He frowned. "I've forwarded a list of them to your superiors."

I nodded. "Understood -- now, did you notice anything unsual at the dinner party?"

He shook his head. "No, nothing. It was all normal, until suddenly...boom." He sighed. "I..." He paused. "I think I was discussing, with Lord Silverstone, his evacuation bunker-" At my curious look, he flushed. "I mean, his summer retreat."

"Not many retreats are called bunkers," I said.

"Well, you know how the world is," he said, sniffing. "The collapse is coming, whether we like it or not. Climate change has hit its inevitable peak, and both Lord Silverstone and I agreed. That's why he had been building a place to...ride out the storm." He pursed his lips. "You understand? We have no other choice but to be ready."