| SLEEP ANOTHER DAY a James Bond adventure by Sleepwalker Ch. 1: The Escorts …in which Bond patronizes an escort service, but gets more than he bargained for. British superspy James Bond, 007, had just checked into his hotel suite. He still had a few hours to kill before meeting his contact to hand off the vital CD he carried in his briefcase, so he thumbed through the back sections of the newspaper he had picked up in the lobby until he found the section he was looking for: escort services. Then he dialed one of the numbers, spoke briefly with a sultry voice on the other end, and, satisfied, hung up and jumped in the shower. He was still rinsing the shampoo from his thick head of dark hair when the buzzer rang. “That was fast,” he thought suspiciously, “perhaps a little too fast.” He toweled off quickly, shimmied into a pair of bikini briefs and grabbed his handgun from the coffee table. Almost as an afterthought, he retrieved the precious CD and hastily stashed it in a nearby vase. Then he peered cautiously through the peephole of the door. Not one, but two young women in very short skirts and stiletto heels waited on the other side of the door, fidgeting with their miniature handbags. “Well, this is a surprise,” he exclaimed. “Just what the doctor ordered.” It had been more than a week since he’d had two women at the same time and he cast a glance behind him through the bedroom door. “Good,” he thought. It was a king-size bed, plenty big enough to accommodate all three of them. He was about to throw open the door and admit his sexy visitors when a sliver of doubt pricked his sense of good judgment. He’d been seduced into compromising situations before by women wearing high heels and short skirts. He tucked the gun into the elastic band of his bikini briefs, nestling it against the small of his back. He concealed the weapon, as well as his briefs, by wrapping a towel around his waist. Then he flung open the door. The blonde spoke first. “Hi, I hope you don’t mind if I brought a friend,” she cooed in a sing-song voice. “The agency is having a two-for-one special today only.” “Not at all,” Bond replied as suavely as he could and without much success, for he was trying hard not to stare at the impossibly long, slender pair of legs that emerged from beneath her micro miniskirt. Legs so long they could knock a man out cold before he even got within reach of the girl, if she was indeed a spy. Deadly legs. But he dismissed the thought as paranoia and offered the girls a drink. “I’ll take a vodka martini, Mr. Bond. Shaken, not stirred,” she replied. The shock of hearing his name, not to mention his trademark cocktail, was instantaneous. They knew him; his cover was blown. He reached behind his back for the gun, but the blonde had already beaten him to the draw. Before he could even pull it out, he found himself staring down the wrong end of a long black barrel as the blonde expertly leveled her own weapon at him. “That’s far enough, Mr. Bond. Hands over your head,” she ordered. Bond reluctantly obeyed. The brunette meanwhile moved behind him, stripped the towel away and yanked the gun from his briefs. “Very sexy underwear, Mr. Bond,” the blonde said with genuine interest. “I’m going to enjoy this, I can tell. But first, hand over the files listing your Moscow contacts.” “Never, bitch,” he said, forgetting his English manners momentarily. The brunette, still behind him, wrapped her arms suddenly around his head and neck. Sleeperhold, Bond recognized instantly! He grabbed her arms, but could not pry them apart. “Let me repeat myself, Mr. Bond. Hand over the files.” Bond twisted defiantly in the girl’s grasp, unable to break free. She was squeezing hard, cutting off the supply of blood to his brain. His vision was punctuated by a thousand points of light and the room was beginning to waver and melt. “I can see we’re getting nowhere. Tanya is going to soften you up a little. Then perhaps you will be more cooperative.” She nodded slightly to the brunette and Bond winced as Tanya wrenched his head and neck forcefully against the crook of her inner elbow. At the same time, a wave of blackness swept over him as he slipped quickly toward unconsciousness. Involuntarily, he drooled slightly on her arm. He knew he was going out and if he didn’t do something now he would be asleep in a matter of seconds. Summoning his remaining strength, he suddenly thrust both of his elbows backward, jabbing them sharply into the brunette’s gut. “Ooof!” she exclaimed and a rush of breath poured from her lungs as Bond buried his elbows deep into her belly. The maneuver worked, and the girl released her grip. But her sleeperhold had taken a toll on Bond: his legs were wobbly and would not support him. He abruptly slumped to the floor, moaning, trying to focus his blurred vision and stay conscious. He raised himself up onto his hands and knees and looked up, just in time to see the blonde’s long leg swinging swiftly toward his face. Her high-heeled foot caught him squarely in the middle of his forehead, propelling him backward. He lay on his back, writhing, his limbs convulsing slightly in subtle spasms as he tried ineffectually to make them respond. “You’re going to pay for that, Mr. Bond,” Tanya said, wincing slightly and rubbing her sore abdomen. She squatted down, straddling and pinning him to the floor. He tried to rise, but he couldn’t throw her off. His arms were pinned to his sides by her soft inner thighs. He lay there, helpless, wondering what she was going to do with him next. “Again, Mr. Bond: where is the disc?” she persisted. Bond only glared. She reached down and twisted his head to one side, exposing his neck. Then she raised her hand, suspended it in mid-air momentarily, flattened it, and brought it down hard, chopping him with its edge. “Ungh!” Bond grunted. She raised her hand again and delivered another karate chop. Bond’s brain was overwhelmed by a sudden fog and his limbs felt watery. Unconsciousness was swiftly rising to take him once again. “The disc, Mr. Bond?” the Russian vixen repeated. Bond’s body was weakened and his willpower was also slipping away. But before he could assess his ability to resist her further, she twisted his head to the other side and chopped him hard on the opposite side of his sore neck. Bond groaned and fell into delirium. He couldn’t have revealed the location of the disc even if he had wanted to. The girl had gone too far: he was sliding rapidly into unconsciousness. “What should we do with him, Natasha?” The blonde still had her gun drawn and was standing off to the side, watching the bout. “Finish him off for now. Then take him into the bedroom and continue the interrogation,” Natasha said impatiently. “With pleasure,” Tanya replied. She looked down at her fading victim. “How would you like to be put out, Mr. Bond? You’ve had a taste of my arms. You’ve had a taste of my deadly hands. Have you ever been put to sleep by a girl’s legs, Mr. Bond?” She stood up and stretched, perched upon her high heels. Bond looked up, groggily. Like her partner, she too had long, slender legs. His eyes moved upward, drinking in their length, the smooth contours and soft, glistening skin of her calves, knees and thighs. He raised his head. If he could just get to his feet, perhaps he could fight her off. But that was as far as she was going to let him rise. She kicked him hard on the side of the head, the toe of her shoe meeting his temple. He flew suddenly to one side, rolling and coming to a stop in a limp heap. She strode forward on her long legs and waited. Bond slowly pushed his upper body off the floor a few inches and rested momentarily on his forearm, shaking his head. She moved around him in order to get into a better position. The she kicked him again, her foot smashing into his jaw. He collapsed onto the floor. She bent over, her lovely round ass protruding from beneath her tiny skirt, grabbed his chin and swiveled his head back and forth, checking to see if he was still awake. He groaned softly, indicating he was not quite out. “It’s time for you to take a little nap, Mr. Bond. Then we’ll continue our little question and answer session in the bedroom,” the sexy spy informed him. She sat down behind him, lifted his head and placed it in her lap, almost lovingly. She repositioned his head so that it rested on top of her bare thigh. Then she crossed her other leg under his chin, wedging his throat into the angle of her bent leg, just behind the knee. She grabbed her ankle and pulled it toward her. Bond immediately felt the pressure. His chin was propped against the soft flesh on the side of her knee. She pulled again and her shapely calf and back of her knee dug deeply into the carotid artery on the side of his neck. Blackness filled his brain and he began to feel very sleepy. She readjusted the figure four hold slightly, pushing his head farther forward so that the back of her knee was cinched more tightly around his throat. Suddenly she yanked hard on her foot, pulling it inward. Bond felt a powerful pulse, a quick, decisive constriction that shocked his carotid, as well as the nerves at the base of his neck. He drooled again, the saliva running onto the soft flesh of her inner leg. He moaned and then surrendered himself to unconsciousness. His whole body convulsed once, then lay still, entwined in her bare legs. Tanya looked down at the sleeping man, then pulled one of his eyelids up and noticed a glassy, unresponsive stare…nothing more. Satisfied, she hoisted him up, draped his limp form over one shoulder and carried him off toward the bedroom. “Here, use this,” said Natasha, as Tanya retreated. She pulled a small brown bottle and white cloth out of her tiny handbag and handed it to her partner. “I haven’t met a man yet who can withstand the effects of chloroform.” Tanya took the items, smiled and walked into the bedroom. “Let the games begin,” she cooed into the ear of her unhearing victim. Next: Chapter 2…The Interrogation …in which Tanya drugs Mr. Bond just has help arrives |