Beautiful American Spy vs. Sexy Russian Spy…With A British Twist!
By: Supporturgoddess
The time: 1am. The setting: A dilapidated, forgotten hotel in France.
On one side of a small hotel room stands a gorgeous Russian woman, standing 5’4” and weighing 127 lbs. Her long, straight, blond hair falls over her shoulders. The Russian goddess wears a sarong-style red dress meant to accent her flawless, snow-white skin and to reveal tantalizing glimpses of her long, magnificent legs and impressive breasts. Across from her stands a lovely red-haired American woman, 5’3” and 120 lbs, wearing a tiny, skin-tight black mini dress. A very nervous man stands at the door between them, holding a revolver in his shaking hand.
The hotel security guard brandishes his gun. “What is the meaning of this?”
“This woman is a Russian spy,” the redhead replies. “She stole plans to a new U.S. weapon system vital to Western security. I’m agent Brandy Hewlett. The American government sent me here to capture this spy and retrieve the stolen plans. You have to back off and let me handle her!”
Speaking in broken English, the Russian shouts, “She lies! She is an American traitor, the thief who stole the secret plans! I am Layla Romanavich Sagorsky. I am Russian, yes, this is obvious from my accent. I am double agent, working FOR America! The Americans sent me here to capture this traitor and retrieve the plans. She was to meet her Russian bosses here, to deliver the secret plans. The C.I.A. hoped she would believe me to be her Russian contact. That would let me lure her into my trap, where I could, as you say, take her out! I would have finished her by now, if you had not interfered!”
The security guard wipes his sweaty brow. “How does any of that explain…her?”
The guard motions. Barely visible threw a cracked-open bathroom door, a beautiful, 5’1”, 110 lb. girl sits crying softly, stripped down to only her bra and panties, her wrists and ankles handcuffed to a chair.
Layla offers, “As I prepared to spring my trap, your cleaning girl arrived at my door. Fearing her presence might spook my prey, I shoved her into the bathroom and bound her there. Her foolish blubbering might have alerted the American traitor. I had to gag her.”
The guard swallows, hard. “I’m calling the police!”
Throwing up her hands, the American shouts, “No! There’s no time for that! The plans she stole were impressed onto the pages of a magazine using ink only visible under ultra-violet light. The method ensures the ink will fade away after seventy-two hours. Times almost up! Her Russian contacts will be here any minute. If I don’t catch them with the plans before they fade away and disappear, they’ll be no evidence left to convict them with! If we can’t hold her for questioning, we’ll never know who gave her the plans in the first place!”
The man begins to hyperventilate. “I don’t know who to believe!”
The girl in the bathroom groans. The instant the man’s attention wavers, the rival spies simultaneously throw karate kicks to opposite sides of his face. He flies back, striking the wall hard enough to send his gun flying out the window. He hits the floor, unconscious.
Layla’s ice-blue eyes grow cold. “Now, weak, American woman, let us decide this matter ourselves!”
Beautiful but deadly rivals circle. A battle begins. They trade blows, parrying some while others connect. A spinning heel kick to the jaw sends the American down. She rolls, seizing her handbag to fire the small gun concealed inside. The Russian kicks the American’s wrist, sending the almost-silent shot off target. With the one-shot weapon spent, the American pulls a hidden rope from her dress and uses it to strangle her enemy from behind. The blonde cries out, face turning red. The Russian leaps back, slamming the American girl into the wall before flipping her over her shoulder and down to the floor. Brandy rises. A switch-blade knife pops out of Layla’s shoe. Layla thrusts her foot at Brandy’s throat, but the American catches the Russian’s foot and throws it up, sending the blond toppling over a couch. Instantly, the American pulls off Layla’s shoes. Layla brandishes a small knife. Brandy backs away, but to her shock, the ballistic knife fires a small blade, pinning the American to the wall by her hair! The Russian charges, but dozens of tiny flashbulbs concealed in the American’s necklace discharge simultaneously. Layla screams, thrashing around, momentarily blinded. Brandy wrenches out some of her own hair to free herself and sends the Russian down. As the American sits on her enemy, small lasers fed through fiber optic cables to the Russian’s earrings fire, stabbing into the American’s eyes. Brandy screams wildly, falling off, half-blind.
Layla gasps. “We’ve run out of tricks. Let us finish this body on body, woman on woman!”
Layla yanks Brandy up by her hair, throwing her toward the bathroom door. Brandy suddenly reverses, sending the Russian crashing through the door instead. The redhead charges. The blonde leaps up, pressing her palms against the door facing, balancing high at the top of the open doorway while kicking her legs up and around the American’s neck. Eyes bulging, Brandy knows she has fallen into Layla’s deadly “Black Widow” choke hold. The Russian’s flawless legs tighten around the American’s neck. Unable to breathe, Brandy’s pulse pounds in her forehead, and a roar fills her ears. She feels consciousness slipping away. A sudden squeal from behind breaks Layla’s concentration. As she looks behind her at the little cleaning girl, her hand slips. The American spins the Russian into a power-bomb, slamming her back to the hard floor. The deadly rivals roll, teeth bared fiercely, eyes blazing, locked in potentially mortal combat. The American feels the Russian’s arms snaking around her. The Russian’s legs coil like hungry pythons around her own. The Russian locks on her favorite hold, a full-body bear hug. The blond Russian squeezes, pushing her larger breasts into the American’s smaller ones and forcing the redheaded American’s breath from her lungs. Brandy’s ankles lose circulation. Her legs give in. Inch-by-inch, she feels Layla’s body overwhelming hers. The American redhead looks up into the blond Russian’s eyes and lets out a long exhalation. Her eyes close.
Layla stands with one foot on the unconscious American’s stomach, brushes back long, blond hair, and trumpets her victory. “The superior woman claims the prize!”
“I couldn’t agree more,” says a voice from behind.
Layla spins, eyes and mouth wide open. Behind her, the ‘cleaning girl’ stands in the bathroom doorway in only her tiny powder-blue bra and panties, twirling handcuffs around one finger.
In broken English, Layla shouts, “Is impossible!”
The smaller girl smiles, her short, black hair bouncing on her bare shoulders. “I had no trouble freeing myself while the two of you were fighting. You should have guessed. I only pretended to be a cowardly cleaning girl. It was all an act. As long as we’re introducing ourselves by our cover names, you may refer to me as Wendy George. I’m a British secret agent! My government learned of the American’s top-secret weapons program, investigated, and learned plans to the system had been stolen. My government sent me to retrieve them. Don’t you see? I couldn’t be sure which of you is lying, so I tricked you BOTH into coming here. Now I can capture you both, take photos of the plans before they vanish, and turn you and the photos over to my bosses. I’ve played along until now, but it’s time I finish the job.”
Layla sneers. “Silly British girl, you are merely a weak little girl from a weak little country. If the American could not defeat me, what chance do you have?”
The nearly-naked Brit brushes bangs out of her eyes and slowly circles the pale Russian blonde in a daring dress now torn to shreds. With the unconscious American at their feet, a new battle begins. Lightning fast karate blows and kicks fly. The Russian ducks under a swing, comes up behind the Brit, and delivers a wicked karate chop to the back of her neck. The Englishwoman pivots, seizing two fistfuls of long, blond hair. Pivoting on her toes, the brunette Brit spins the howling blond round and round, flips her head-over-heels, and then sends the Russian’s back crashing down over a small coffee table. The glass table shatters. The Brit covers, but the Russian kicks her off. Layla dives for Wendy, but the Brit judo flips the Russian through a bedroom door. The Russian climbs up the doorway, hands pressing against the facing, legs spread wide to catch her prey. Having watched the Russian in action, the adorable Englishwoman refuses to make the mistake made by the American. The Brit charges, but just as Layla kicks her legs out to catch Wendy by the neck, Wendy ducks low and somersaults under and between the Russian’s legs, tumbling under the Russian’s trap and bringing her heel crashing up between the Russian’s legs! The blond cries out and falls. The British brunette kicks her in her ribs. Layla flies back against a far wall. A kick to the Russian’s jaw sends her sliding down to the floor, her eyes closed. Wendy sets, knowing one more kick should finish her….
“Good work.”
The Brit spins around and sees the American rising.
The redhead rubs her chin. “I’ll return the plans and take this Russian tramp into custody.”
The Englishwoman shakes her head, apologetically. “I’m afraid I can’t allow that. My leaders sent me to take pictures of your secret plans and to capture the thief. I’m working for Britain, not America.”
The American tosses up her hands, shouting, “We’re allies!”
Wendy raises an eyebrow. “Mmmm…most of the time. We still have to keep an eye on you, to keep you out of trouble. Besides, how can I be certain you’re not the traitor she claimed you to be? I can’t risk turning over the plans to a spy!”
The American agent shifts into a martial arts stance. “I won’t let you leave here with those plans.”
Grinning defiantly, the Brit adopts her own stance. “I was rather hoping you’d say something like that!”
Friends can fight as fiercely as enemies. The allies leap together and begin a tremendous struggle, employing almost every imaginable fighting style. Fists crack against lovely faces and drive deep into tender, trim bodies. Kicks impact with bone-jarring impact. They flip each other around the room, flying wildly and toppling furniture. They roll body-against-body on the floor, one on top and then the other, moaning, groaning, and straining for advantage. The 5’1”, 110lb. Brit emerges as the superior wrestler by a hair, but the American proves to be a better boxer. Evenly matched, the battle of wills and bodies goes on and on, testing hearts and physiques to their limits. The American sinks a fist deep in the Brit’s belly, sending her crumpling to the floor. Wendy sits up, moaning. Brandy sits behind her, wrapping her thighs around the Brit’s waist while pinning her arms back. As the American’s thighs crush her tiny stomach, the Englishwoman cries out harshly, face red and filled with anguish. Waves of excruciating pain tear through the Brit’s petite body for several minutes. Finally, she slams her head back into the American’s teeth and breaks free. Too hurt to risk another boxing match, the Brit kicks. The American responds. Wendy, an expert in the European savate style of fighting, finally finds a clear advantage. Foot-to-foot, the American is outclassed. Wendy soon has Brandy in full retreat.
“That’s it,” the Brit thought, “keep watching my feet….”
Preoccupied with the Brit’s flashing feet, Brandy doesn’t see the Englishwoman’s fist coming. A moment later, The American lies flat on the floor. The British beauty sits on Brandy’s back, first pulling the American’s upper body up and back in a clutch variant and then leaning forward and wrapping her arm over and around her throat. Wendy leans back, pulling the American into a dragon-sleeper. The American’s arms drop lifelessly at her side, as consciousness fades.
The Brit’s eyes widen. Feeling the onrush of air she spins…too late. Layla’s fist slams into Wendy’s button nose, almost breaking it.
The Russian stands imperiously over the downed Brit. “You pretended to be my captive so you could watch me expend energy fighting this American. Turnabout is fair play, yes?”
The Russian attacks, but the Brit fights like a little spitfire, sending the Russian to hands and knees. The Russian leaps up, slashing at her foe with a shard of broken glass. Screaming in pain, the Brit kicks the glass away, but this leaves her open. The Blond Russian slams her fist into Wendy’s belly, tortured by the American moments before. Falling to her back, the Brit looks up through eyes wide with terror, feeling the Russian’s arms and legs snaking around her own. The Russian smiles down viciously, as she locks on her favorite hold, a head-to-toe bear hug. The cute little Brit strains until she screams, but the Russian proves too big, too strong. The Russian’s smile fades. Where the American had met power with power, the Brit chooses guile. Having learned the trick long ago, she suddenly dislocates her hips and shoulders, slips free of the Russian’s grip, and reverses the hold!
Layla cries, “No! Is impossible! You cannot defeat me!”
As Layla’s throws her mouth wide open in a silent scream, Wendy looks down, taunting, “Tell me again how I’m only a weak little girl from a weak little country!”
Hearing a noise, Wendy looks back over her shoulder in time to see the American scrambling on hands and knees, hoping to attack them both from behind.
“Oh no you don’t!”
Moving like lightning, the Brit released her legs from around the Russian’s and kicked both feet up and back, flat into the American’s face! Wrapping her ankles around the dazed American’s neck, she slams her to the floor. Though the American flops around like a fish on a hook, her neck remains firmly trapped between the Brit’s feet.
Using the distraction, Layla fights back, squeezing the air from Wendy’s lungs. Despite the terrible pressure, Wendy holds in a deep breath until she fears she might burst, squeezing the Russian with all her might. Suddenly, the Russian throws her mouth open wide in a desperate attempt to catch a breath. Instantly the Brit covers the Russian’s mouth and nose with her own and exhales, forcing her own hot, wet breath into Layla’s mouth and lungs. Layla falls limp. Unable to speak, the Russian’s eyes speak for her, seeming to cry, “Is impossible! Impossible!”
The Russian’s eyes close, as she falls completely unconscious.
Still holding the flailing American’s throat between her feet, the beautiful British agent props up on her arms and uses her hands to walk along the floor and climb across furniture until she finds the secret plans.
The American kicks in a tantrum, shrieking, “We’re allies! You could prove it! You could call our embassy!”
Wendy shakes her head. “Sorry. Part of my mission is to take pictures of your secret weapon plans. Your leaders would never consent to that!”
The American stamps her feet in a blur. “We’re supposed to be friends and allies!”
One eyebrow raised, Wendy smiles, challengingly. “If we’re such close friends and allies, why were you developing a secret weapon and keeping it from us?”
Unable to answer, the American throws herself into a fit of wild thrashing, bucking, and kicking, shouting a stream of profanities.
Wendy rolls her eyes. “Oh…do shut up!” Sitting back on a couch, the Brit pulls up the America wrists with her hands and cups the bottom of her bare foot over the American’s mouth, using her toes to clamp the redhead’s nose shut. With her air supply denied, the American’s struggling slows.
Looking down at the fading girl, Wendy smiles sheepishly and shrugs. “If you truly ARE an American agent and we ARE allies, well, I’m terribly sorry about this. All’s fair in love and war, etcetera, etcetera. I hope you understand.”
A slight blush fills The Brit’s cheeks. A smile spreads over her lips, as she feels the American’s lips and nose rubbing up and down on the sole of her foot, as if the American nods not only to signify understanding, but also in acceptance of the Brit’s place as the superior woman. Seconds later, the American is out cold.
The Brit stares down at the twin spies she defeated, lying side-by-side, unconscious at her feet. Hearing the hotel guard beginning to stir, Wendy grabs a special camera she had hidden earlier and uses the ultra-violet flash to take photos of the secret plans, moments before the invisible, disappearing ink fades away forever. She reaches down, taking one fistful of the Russian’s blond hair and one of the American’s red hair. The Englishwoman then drags the two defeated spies by their hair down a waxed hallway and out of the hotel. She flips them over onto their bellies and drags them face-first by their hair down a filthy, muddy alley. She finally reaches a van at alley’s end. She slides open the side door, tosses the Russian in, and then dumps the American in on top her.
The driver and fellow British agent looks back. “I see you completed your mission.”
Wendy tilts her head. “Was there ever any doubt?”
“No,” the man replies, “but I know you prefer lab work. I’m sorry you had to dirty your hands on these two.”
A broad smile spreads across the Brit’s apple cheeks. “Actually, I rather enjoyed it!”
A van starts up and drives away, vanishing into the night.
Anyone have a comment?
