Holey Nightie Golden Tongues Affair

Holey Nightie: The Golden Tongues Affair

When the door swung open, Miss Cashnickel nearly fainted. There in the doorway, dark eyes literally glowing with confidence, was Agent 0011-1/2. He removed his light jacket with a bold flourish and tossed it a dozen feet across the room, where it landed dead center on one of the hooks of the wood and copper coat rack, settling over it perfectly, coming to rest immediately upon landing.

"Good evening, Miss Cashnickel," the tall, handsome agent said, the tone behind the words sounding more like "Would you like to go down on me, Miss Cashnickel?" to the swooning secretary.

"Mister Bondage. Um...so wonderful to see you," she stammered, her eyes saying, "Yes, yes, yes!" to the words that only her mind heard.

James walked up to her with a swagger, leaned over her desk and rubbed her chin between his thumb and forefinger, staring into her eyes, smiling his sweet, disarming smile. She nearly creamed all over herself...as she nearly did EVERY time he gazed into her eyes like that.

"You here to see Number One, or are you going to finally sweep me off my feet and take me home with you?" she managed to say, surprising even herself.

James kissed the tip of her nose and winked into her pretty blue eyes. "Nonsense, Miss Cashnickel, no man could possibly deserve a treat as obviously tasty as yourself. You are above such things. For you to accept a mere mortal man, even myself, would be criminal. You deserve a true god to worship you properly...and I, Miss Cashnickel, am but a mere man. Above average, perhaps, but a man nonetheless." Again he winked. He released her chin and stood, nodding toward the large oak door to the right of her desk. "He's in, I take it?"

"Yes....he's.....in. He's...been expecting you." she sighed, her eyes glassy as she watched the incredibly good-looking man head for the door. As he opened it, he turned and winked again, blowing her a kiss. He then looked her up and down with a most obvious and evil sexual smirk on his face. Miss Cashnickel covertly reached for a box of tissues in her desk drawer, to sop up the growing moisture between her legs. When she looked back up to the door, James was gone and the door was shut.

"Ahh....Bondage....good to see you. I wish it were under more pleasant circumstances, however." The jovial looking, slightly round man held out his hand and James took it, shaking it with restrained vigor.

"A problem, Number One?" James's right eyebrow raised, his interest piqued.

"Please, sit down," Number One said, pointing toward the chair in front of his desk... a chair that James had sat in countless numbers of times over the last fifteen years. When both men were seated, he answered the younger agent's question.

"I'm afraid you've assessed the situation correctly, James. There most certainly IS a problem." Opening the center drawer of his desk, he pulled out a somewhat worn, cream colored file folder and tossed it over to James's side of the desk. "I'm sure you're aware of our ongoing problems with Holey Nightie. Most exasperating."

"Yes," James replied, flipping open the bulging folder and thumbing through its contents. "But I thought you'd finally sent someone to take care of her."

"Yes, we did," Number One said, running his hand agitatedly through his almost nonexistent hair. "But it appears she was onto us. Either she was aware of the trap we'd set for her, or we have a leak in the organization. Either way, she foiled our plan to....put an end to her constant interference in the States. As you can see from the first photo in the file..."

"Yes, yes, I see..." James sighed, sitting back in his chair looking at the eight by ten glossy. "That appears to be agent 009. And he appears a bit the worse for wear."

"Don't be coy, James. He's dead. That Holey Nightie witch killed him like she has so many of our top agents. The woman MUST be dealt with!" Beads of sweat were forming in rapid succession on Number One's forehead, a brow that had furrowed considerably in the last few moments.

James was silent. His keenly trained eyes were taking in every detail of the color glossy, disturbed at what he saw. But it was exactly the same as all the other photos in the file. Only the individual man in each photo changed. Everything else was exactly the same. It was Holey Nightie's m.o. And she never wavered from it.

"When can I see the body?" James asked, his brow now furrowing as well.

"Immediately. I want you on this case as of this very instant. The sooner this nefarious vamp is no longer a thorn in the organization's side, the better. I'll take you to the morgue myself. Come along." Obviously unnerved and in a hurry to set things right, Number One stood up quickly and strode past James out the door. James followed, deep in thought, not even bothering to tease Miss Cashnickel on his way out.

**********************

"It's exactly the same as all the others," the rotund man said as he uncovered the body for Number One and James to examine, "and the photos just don't do the horror of it all justice. That Holey Nightie woman is the devil in disguise, I tell you. She's as cruel as they come. Look at this poor man."

"Well," James noted, "he appears to have died happy."

"Don't let that satisfied grin fool you, James. He died a horrible death. One can only imagine how he must've suffered before he died." Number One's eyes were round, red-rimmed and pupils dilated, such was his conviction in this heinous matter.

"Looks to me like he scored with every one of the Dallas Cheerleaders before he died," James blundered, realizing all too late that he'd ruffled some feathers.

"James! Really!! I'll not abide such talk. Agent 009 was one of our best operatives, and if he's dead it's not a joking matter!"

"Sorry, Number One," James said, trying to rebound from his poor attempt at humor, "What I mean is that this Holey Nightie must be insidious indeed to make a man smile so, even as she's snuffing out his very life."

"Exactly my point, James. Evil in the flesh! She MUST be stopped!"

"I agree, Number One. Now, let me just examine our fallen comrade here for clues."

Agent 009 lay on the shiny metal table, grinning in death. James examined him closely, finding every inch of his head, from his slickened hair to his sticky neck, covered in a dried, yellow-white, tacky substance.

"Cum, sir," the morgue attendant said bluntly. "We've analyzed it. It's the she cat's sexual fluids, it is. They're all over his face and neck. It's even glued his eyes shut, it has. We had to pry the lids open to examine them. She's made a sticky mess out of the poor man's head! If not for her little note in his mouth, we'd probably have had to pry THAT open, as well. As it was, we had to pump out a tenth of a liter of it from his mouth before we could get to the note. A most disgusting process it was, I can tell you. She thought of everything, however, and left her cheeky little note in a baggie! A she devil, I tell you!"

"I couldn't agree with you more, my good man," James noted coolly. Then, rubbing his chin he queried, "I can assume, then, that lack of oxygen was the cause of death?"

"Yes, sir," the attendant replied, "though we can't tell yet if he choked on her cum or if he was simply smothered. We've yet to examine his lungs, though I'm dreading what we'll find there. A full autopsy is pending."

"Smothered?" James asked, his right eyebrow raising again with piqued interest.

"Yes, sir....um.....if you'll just read the note. We put it back into his mouth so you could see exactly how it was placed before we removed it initially. But we DID clean out the.....ah....fluids for you, sir."

"Very gracious of you," James murmured as he leaned forward, snapping latex gloves over his hands, to open the smiling mouth. From inside it he pulled out the baggie with the enclosed note. Before he had completely removed it, however, he noticed something odd. There was an awful lot of room in that oral cavity, and it didn't seem right. Then James realized why there was so much room. The man's tongue was missing. He looked back at Number One.

"Yes, James," Number One said, "it's just like all the others. That she devil has removed the tongue of every one of our agents she's killed. Read the note. If it's the same as all the others, the witch will explain why she does it. It'll make you shudder, I'm sure.

James opened the baggie and then carefully unfolded the note. The paper was crisp and dry, well protected in the baggie. "Apparently, Holey Nightie went to great lengths to protect the note."

"Yes," replied Number One, "she obviously wants us to know her sick reasons for what she does. Arrogant, that one."

"Yes, I would tend to agree," James said as he finished opening the note. When it was fully opened, a tiny piece of red satin fell out from the folds, landing on Agent 009's pale, cold shoulder.

"That's the other part of her m.o." said Number One. "Apparently, that's how she got her name. With each victim she seduces and ... neutralizes ... she tears off a piece of her nightie and sends it back with the deceased along with the note. I dare say the trollop's nightie must be getting pretty shabby by now. Very sick woman, that one."

"Yes, obviously so," James replied, a chill dancing along his spine. But somehow the satin in his hand felt tantalizing. He rolled it around in his palm, feeling its softness, its sleekness. He imagined the rest of the nightie, and the alluring Holey Nightie wearing it. His pulse quickened. But then his spy's strength of will jarred him back to reality. His attention returned to the note. With angry but curious eyes he read every word. In neat, bold, hand printed block letters the note proclaimed:

Dearest Number One,

Surely, you can do better. Every agent you've sent to capture or kill me has been no match for my wiles. Nonetheless, I've given each of them the most ecstasy they've ever had in their lives...before I killed them, of course. Every agent I've returned to you was unable to stop smiling. I dare say that even your British morticians have been hard pressed to get rid of those smiles. Such is the joy and ecstasy of being amorous with the Holey Nightie. And should you be wondering exactly HOW your proud warriors succumbed to death, simply put two and two together. Their heads are covered with my own personal fluids. Does that give you a hint? If not, let me be blunt. All my lovers must please me orally before they can get any further with me. It's a hard and fast rule of mine. If they can't make me cum with their tongues, they can't have me any other way, either. Conversely, if they DO manage to please me orally, I will then allow them to satisfy me with other...parts of their bodies. I'm sure you can guess what I mean. I'm far too demure to discuss such things. When one of your top agents

pleases me orally, I keep his tongue as a part of my growing collection. So far, every one of your agents - eleven so far, I believe, I do lose track - has been able to do so...hence, I have a rather large and varied collection at the moment. However, when given the opportunity to please me with their more "formidable" organs, they have all failed miserably. I think you need to train your agents in more than just oral expertise. I should like to collect more than just tongues, you know. But until you send an agent who can match me thrust for thrust, I shall simply have to cause their demises the old fashioned way...by sitting on their heads until they either suffocate or drown in my rather copious

sexual juices. But please don't think me evil or cruel. As you have seen by the bodies I've returned to you so graciously

, each and every one of them has enjoyed my "cruelty." As I said earlier, you'll be extremely hard pressed to remove those smiles, now won't you?! I do have that effect on men. In the future, should you send another agent to seduce and conquer me, won't you please send one who can fuck worth a damn? I'd truly appreciate it. I've plenty of tongues now, thank you. What I need now is a cock that can melt me and make me coo like a dove. Please do send only your best from now on, won't you? I've little time for the less skilled among your help. I generously thank you in advance for your anticipated cooperation in this matter. The Holey Nightie

"That bitch!" Number One spat. "Now do you see why we've given you this assignment, James?"

"Yessss....," James sighed, deep in thought, "I see why I'm the only possible choice to stop this madwoman. And, rest assured, Number One, stop her I shall. I will avenge my fallen comrades. You can count on that."

"I'm sure you will..." Number One began, but then cut his words short as he saw James examining the body closely once more. He was bent over, peering intently at tiny, glimmering spots that dotted Agent 009's neck and shoulders, many of them not buried beneath sticky vaginal fluids.

"What have you there, James?" Number One asked.

"Insidious. It's flecks of molten gold." James looked ahead, eyes blank, deep in thought. "I can only guess at what that Hellion did with that gold. She's even more diabolically disturbed than I could've imagined. She MUST be stopped....at all costs!"

"Exactly, James," Number One said, clenching his fist and gritting his teeth.

"And I'm the only one who can stop her," James stated fiercely, his eyes hardening, smoldering, his mind churning ahead to his meeting with the Holey Nightie.

"Yes, James, that's why we've finally come to you to take care of this...sticky matter."

"Don't worry, Number One. Holey Nightie won't be suffocating any more of our agents under her sticky crotch. She's met her match, now. James Bondage is coming for you, Holey Nightie. You'd best be on your guard. You'll be panting your last happy breaths while squirming on MY formidable cock. YOU'LL be the one on a morgue slab smiling from ear to ear. Your day has come! This, James Bondage vows!"

As James swaggered out of the morgue, Number One yelled to him, "Go get her, James! Fuck that arrogant bitch to death! Rip that sarcastic harlot in half!" Then, his chest heaving with indignation, he once again ran his agitated fingers through his few remaining wisps of graying hair. What he then muttered neither James nor the morgue attendant could hear.

As the door to the morgue slammed shut behind James, the morgue attendant and Number One heard his final comment. "Oh, that I will, Number one. That I will."

The flight was long and tiring, but James felt the need to hurry things along. Natasha Badenoff - alias the Holey Nightie - had snuffed out the futures of over a dozen of the agency's top field agents...all good men, several of them friends of James's. As if that weren't enough, she threw it arrogantly into their faces, speaking of the world's best operatives as if they were playthings for her to use for her pleasure then snuff out like mere bothersome insects. She'd even mutilated the bodies, removing the tongues from each, for what despicable purpose only she and Satan himself could know. It galled James. Not only did it ignite a deep loathing within him at the low esteem in which she held human life, but how callously and remorselessly the American vixen ended that life. It itched inside him like a rash on his very internal organs.

But there was something more. Something about himself he didn't even like seemed to be coming to the surface. Somehow, the twisted words in that folded note sucked him into an unholy challenge. From what the most recent note - as well as the others that preceded it - said, Holey Nightie sat on her would be captors or assassins and either smothered them beneath her grinding sex organs or drowned them in her gushing fluids. Either way, her pleasure became their demise. And she'd scoffed at their sexual prowess, boldly stating that if any one of them had been a halfway decent lover, she'd have removed and collected more than just their tongues. James, in some unspeakably perverse way, took that as a challenge. He would not only prove to her that British agents were the best in the world at espionage, but in the sexual arena as well. He would break her. He would use his sexual knowledge and expertise to humble her and ultimately put her behind cold, steel bars. He knew he would. It would be his toughest challenge ever, but he would succeed. He MUST succeed!

And so Britain's number one secret agent came to be in this tawdry, southern U.S. bar. Given the seedy name of "The Tasty Clam Lounge," it was by far the biggest moneymaker for the equally seedy hotel that harbored it: the "Roving Palms Hotel." The lounge - and the hotel itself, as well, James suspected - was obviously a den of thieves and hardened malcontents. Evil and debauchery lurked around every corner.

James stared at his own reflection in the greasy mirror behind the even greasier looking bartender, but it didn't register on his mind. If it had, he'd have seen the two approaching gargantuans plod up behind him, their ogre faces looking unduly expectant.

"This hotel belongs to Ms.Natasha Badenoff, mister. And I don't think she knows you. It might be in your best interest to walk on out of here right now, before we have to...assist you out."

James looked up at the two hulking figures, neither appearing to have an IQ above fifty, but both looking deadlier than cyanide. Their arms and legs were tree trunks surrounding their rock hard barrel chests. They looked like they ate bellhops for breakfast and secret agents for dinner. James eyed them nonchalantly, not the least bit impressed, except by their icy but vacant stares and their slack-jawed mouth breathing. Typical enforcement goons.

"Perhaps if Ms.Badenoff knew who I was, she'd be interested in meeting me. If I were you poor fellows, I wouldn't be so hasty about ... assisting me to do anything without checking with her first. If she knew who you were assisting out the door, she might have you both sauteed and served for tomorrow's main course. Maybe you should check with her first...just to keep your testicles in their usual locations? One can never be too cautious with a woman like Ms.Badenoff."

The brute nearest him held one fist inside the other, cracking one set of knuckles in the squeezing palm of his other hand. He was itching to pummel James into so much steaming pudding. But, while dumber than a tumbleweed, some minuscule synapse in his brain fired just enough to realize that James just might be correct. At any rate, it apparently wasn't worth taking the risk.

"And just who might you be, Mister Fancy Dan? Who should I tell Ms.Badenoff is interested in meeting her? Before I crush your puny bones into dust, that is."

"My name is Bondage....James Bondage. Think you can get that right, my good....man?"

The knuckle-cracking behemoth sneered. His nostrils flared. His eyes glinted with his desire to mangle James beyond recognition. But he kept himself under control, though his muzzle glowed an angry, meaty red.

"Yeah, smart mouth, I think I can get it right. But I gotta tell ya, if Ms.Badenoff isn't interested in talking to ya....yer gonna wish you'd left when we asked ya to. Ain't that right, Bimbo?"

The other cretinous monolith chuckled, showing two incomplete rows of amazingly yellow teeth. "Yeah, that's right, Samson. He'll be wishin' outta his ass when we're done with him." A gurgling chuckle followed, making James feel an urgent need to clear his throat.

"Ahhh, how sweet," James said, "Now please....run along and fetch Ms.Badenoff, won't you? I think she'll be VERY willing to meet me. She might even give you some new chew toys to play with afterwards, as a nice reward."

The two musclebound protectors seemed confused by the comment, which James figured was just as well. They turned almost in unison and shambled off around the bar to a side doorway covered by hanging lengths of clacking beads. They were gone quite some time, causing James to believe that possibly he was barking up the wrong tree. Even though Holey Nightie owned this hotel, it was possible she wasn't here herself, preferring to let some underling run it. If such was the case, his search would have to continue elsewhere.