SLEEP ANOTHER DAY Chapter 2
a James Bond adventure
by SleepWalker
Chapter 2: Chloroformed and Interrogated
…in which Bond succumbs to Tanya’s favorite anaesthetic
Bond awoke slowly. The ceiling came into focus first; he realized he was lying on his back on the bed. He moaned and tried to turn over on his side, but found he could not: his wrists and ankles were secured to the corners of the bed frame. Then he became aware of the brunette sitting with her long bare legs crossed alluringly a few meters away. She was scrutinizing him. Gradually he remembered the battle: it was she who had knocked him out and tied him up.
“How long have I been out?” he asked groggily.
“About 30 minutes,” she answered matter-of-factly, all business. “I squeezed you out with my legs.”
Bond eyed her long legs stretching from beneath her tiny miniskirt: so sexy, yet so deadly. His neck was still sore. And his head ached from the kicks she had delivered before scissoring him into unconsciousness.
“The disc?” Mr. Bond, she inquired simply, standing. Then she reached for the cloth and bottle resting nearby on the dresser.
“Who do you work for?” Bond asked, ignoring her own question and watching her nervously as she moved toward him. She twisted the cap off the bottle, tipped it and and thoroughly saturated the cloth. Then she bent close to him. Bond immediately recognized the sickly sweet smell of the chloroform. He drew a deep breath and held it.
“You’ll have to breathe sooner or later,” the girl laughed, the first trace of emotion she had betrayed. She leaned over and pressed the cloth over Bond’s nose and mouth and held it firmly. Bond couldn’t help but notice that her miniskirt slid upward as she bent over, exposing the lower portion of her two soft cheeks.
Carbon dioxide was building up in his lungs and he knew she was right, of course: he would have to breathe. Involuntarily, he inhaled and immediately felt weakened and drowsy. He stared up at her as she smiled down on him, pressing the cloth against his face. Then his gaze wandered downward over her full breasts bulging from beneath the tiny sheer top. Her nipples were erect and swollen. She was apparently aroused by the prospect of putting him to sleep.
“Where’s the disc, Mr. Bond?” she asked again.
Bond’s eyes continued to wander downward, over her flat, well-tanned abdomen, down over the delicious curves of her thighs, knees and calves. Long legs. Chloroform. Images came to him in his drugged, dreamy state. Then a memory surfaced and he recalled that it wasn’t the first time he had been drugged by a sexy enemy agent.
It was years ago now. He had followed the girl in the ultra-short hot pants back to her apartment and waited impatiently while she disappeared into the bathroom for no more than a minute. He had watched, mesmerized, as she strode toward him on long, supple legs, hands behind her back. Was she hiding something, he wondered? But then she had let those hotpants drop to her ankles, still propped up high on narrow stiletto heels. He forgot to follow up on the thought, for her tiny black thong commanded his full attention.
Suddenly she pounced on him, straddling and pinning him to the couch. She raised her hand swiftly and chopped him once hard on the neck. A second chop stunned him completely. That gave her just the few seconds she needed to reveal the bottle and cloth she had been concealing. She quickly doused the cloth and clamped it over Bond’s face.
The karate chops had themselves sufficiently weakened him, but one breath of the chloroform and he was already slipping into unconsciousness. He grabbed her thighs, but he was passing out now and his hands slid uselessly off her sweat-slickened legs. Then he surrendered to the drug, her smooth body and her deadly femininity.
When he awoke, she was lying unconscious on top of him, a feathered dart imbedded in her neck. Sabrina, his partner, was standing over them both with a look somewhere between pity and disgust. She held a long-barrelled tranquilizer gun in one hand and it dangled listlessly against her bare thigh. Luckily, she had tailed him and saved his sorry ass.
But now someone was slapping his face. He awoke to find himself back in his hotel room with the Russian brunette straddling him.
“You passed out on me, Mr. Bond, without revealing the location of the disc,” she said in a thick Russian accent. “Perhaps a different strategy is in order.” She reached behind her back with one hand and pulled on the string of her bikini top. It came away suddenly in her hand and she tossed it carelessly into the corner. Bond looked up, suddenly wide-eyed and alert, at her full, firm breasts, the nipples still hard and now fully exposed.
Very deliberately, as if in slow motion, she reached for the brown bottle and dabbed several drops on each nipple. Then she smoothed some more of the chemical sensuously onto the underside of each lovely breasts, cupping them gently, caressing them as she applied the chloroform. Then she leaned down and pressed her drugged breasts into Bond’s sleep-worn face.
Bond struggled, trying to turn his face away, but she grabbed his head and pulled it into her chest, smothering him with her fleshy mounds. Bond held his breath again briefly, choked, then gave in and breathed deeply. The pungent scent of the drug again sent him immediately hurtling toward the depths of unconsciousness. She sensed he was going out again, so she pulled away abruptly so as to keep him conscious long enough to reveal the information she needed.
“How does it feel to be drugged by a woman’s breasts?” she asked in a sinister tone. “Or, better yet, to be drugged by a woman’s long legs?” She reached for the bottle again and this time slathered the chloroform on the smooth, fleshy insides of her soft thighs. Then she lay down on the bed with her head toward his feet. She grabbed a healthy shock of his hair and pulled his head into her, pressing his face deeply into the insides of her thighs. Bond struggled weakly, but was already slipping into unconsciousness. He could feel the moist skin of her legs pressing against his nose and lips, enveloped in the sickly sweet scent of chloroform. She sensed he was about to pass out and opened her legs suddenly, allowing him to catch another breath of fresh air.
“The disc, Mr. Bond?” she persisted. The combination of the drug and her soft legs was too much for Bond and at last his resistance broke down.
“The…vase,” he mumbled incoherently.
“Thank you,” she replied. “Now sleep on this.”
She clamped her legs together again, burying his face in the flesh of her creamy thighs. The fumes took him quickly and he passed out between her long bare legs.
Tanya stood up and strode into the living room where Natasha was busy ransacking the desk. She reached into the vase and pulled out the precious prize.
“Voila,” she announced with a smile, just as the phone rang. “Mr. Bond’s suite,” she said, answering it.
“What?” asked a feminine voice with obvious surprise. “Where is Bond?” she demanded.
“He’s out right now,” Tanya replied, snickering.
Downstairs in the lobby, Sabrina slammed the phone down and bolted for the elevator. Bond had failed to check in at the agreed time and now a strange woman had answered. Something was wrong. The doors of the elevator closed and the lift began to ascend. Luckily, she was alone. She reached into her handbag and pulled out the tranquilizer gun, a snub-nose version of her trademark weapon, somewhat less accurate, but very effective at short range.
Upstairs in Bond’s suite, Tanya hung up. “We’ve got company,” she informed Natasha, who was sliding the disc into her purse. “Some babe.”
Natasha mused. “An unexpected delay, but perhaps well worth it. Two for the price of one, so to speak.”
The two women smiled in anticpation at one another as one moved behind the door and the other crouched behind the sofa, readying themselves for their uninvited visitor.
NEXT:
Chapter 3-Unwilling Combatant
…in which Sabrina is forced to KO her own partner
