As you descend from the skylight, the rope will bunch along
your leg, constricting the flow of blood and interrupting your descent. You won’t even have a chance to act surprised
– you’ll just yelp and then clatter to the floor in a sudden rush of gear and
rope. Your leg, pinned underneath you,
will have lost some of its feeling, but you’ll have enough control over it to
rise to your feet and stretch. You’ll
test the leg cautiously, then look around to see if anyone’s heard you.
No signs of alarm will be apparent.
You’ll walk on your leg gingerly, tentatively at first, but
after a favorable step or two, your numb leg will give out underneath you and
you’ll tumble to the ground.
“Ugh,” you’ll mumble to yourself, struggling to rise. You won’t get more than halfway up before a stiletto
heeled boot stomps on your chest, leaving you gasping for air. “Oh my,” you’ll murmur, looking up the boot
to the thigh to the groin to the torso to the face of the gorgeous woman
attached to the boot.
“You are here for spies activity?” she’ll demure in a
Russian accent you could cut with a butter knife.
“What?” you’ll ask, unable to decipher her accent.
She’ll interpret this “what” as a romantic oeuvre of some
kind, leaning in and grabbing you by the front of your black turtleneck before
hauling you to her feet and pressing her mouth against yours. Her tongue will slither through your lips and
into the back of your throat. When she
finally pushes you away for breath she’ll be panting and rubbing her crotch.
“I have been wait for person-man like you to come for
person-lady like me and take me out of this place, da?”
You’ll cock your head to the side for a few seconds while
you translate her words into English, then nod.
“Okay,” you’ll say, licking your lips. “Can I steal the defense passcodes before we
go?”
She’ll throw back her head in a silent moan before dropping
to her knees and unzipping your fly. “That’s
a yes, then?” you’ll ask as she crams your penis into her mouth. She’ll nod, an unfortunate gesture under the
circumstances, but even as you wince you’ll smile. It’s good, after all, to be the best spy on
planet Earth.
Congratulations Mister Oops!
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