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Agent Violin

By: AndrewBlack



Chapter One

A BLOOD-RED BEAM of light cut through the darkness, sweeping back and forth, searching the tiny little room with deliberate urgency, finding nothing.

Good.

Gabriel Tanner stepped into the cellar and thumbed a switch on the laser sight of his MP-5 sub-machinegun. The red beam disappeared. Reaching behind him, he pulled a tiny figure into the room, then closed the rusty metal door, plunging them both into perfect blackness. 

But Tanner could see in the dark, and he immediately moved to the center of the cellar and a metal pillar which stood there. He struck a match, found the wick, and lit ancient kerosene lantern which hung there. 

A soft yellow glow rose to bathe the cold little cellar in flickering shadows.

Tanner pulled the night-vision goggles he wore from his head and tossed them onto a dirty wooden shelf drilled into the cinder block wall. 

The little cellar was cold, dank and dirty; it smelt of mildew. It was perfect.

He turned back to his companion now.

She was standing uncertainly by the door, her hands folded in front of her blue school uniform skirt, her dark Japanese eyes watching him expectantly.

Her name was Eriko, and standing there in her little blue school uniform, with its white blouse, white knee-high socks, black shoes, and red neck scarf, she looked like nothing more than a child.

Well… that was the idea after all, Tanner reasoned. To the unsuspecting world out there, that's all she was - a schoolgirl. To the people both she and he worked for, she was Special Deep Cover Agent "Violin." And that innocent little girl look probably explained a great deal of her success behind enemy lines.

"Get undressed," Tanner told her.

The girl hesitated for a moment before bowing to the inevitable: She pulled her uniform blazer off, untied her red kerchief and began to unbutton her white blouse.

Tanner didn’t watch. He moved to a dingy corner of the room, removing his long, black leather jacket en route and tossing it to the side. 

The big duffel bag was there, as promised. Leaning his sub-machinegun against the wall, Tanner knelt on one denim knee and unzipped the bag: 

Black camouflage fatigues - two sets; combat boots - two pair; seven SMG ammo magazines; two small, black backpacks - field rations, water packets, and even extra socks…

Tanner back over his shoulder to check on the girl.

She stood shivering slightly in the cold air of the cellar, clad now only in school regulation white bra, panties, knee-high socks and black shoes, her uniform blouse and skirt bundled in her small hands in front of her breasts.

"All of it," he said. He couldn’t take any chances: Clothing could be micro-bugged.

Lowering her eyes, Eriko dropped the bundled clothing to the cold concrete floor. She reached behind her back to unsnap her bra. 

Tanner turned back to the bag and resumed inspecting its contents: two compasses; two pistol belts with holsters; two-man pup tent; two man micro -"oven" bag; six seismic perimeter sensors; one Walther PPK compact 9mm pistol with three full magazines; and one RedMole Checker.

Perfect…

He picked up the RedMole Checker, stood, and turned to Eriko. 

The device he now held consisted of a handle-grip, inlaid with control buttons. Above the handle, a stainless steel protuberance jutted out, cylindrical, rounded at the top, about six inches long.

Tanner watched as Eriko kicked off her shoes, before pulling off her socks and then her panties. Then the girl straightened up and faced him.

Tanner looked her up and down…

So young… 

Late teens, according to her Profile - although her exact date of birth was unknown, even to her: Little Eriko was a war-orphan. 

Her breasts were perfect. Two ginger-colored globes, flawless twins - firm, proud, naturally tanned by Asian blood… brown nipples, hardened in the crisp air of the cellar, stood at perfect attention… A midnight-black bush between two slim, perfectly rounded hips… The slim, taut legs of an ice skater…. He remembered the first time he saw the official photo in the Profile: A perfect Japanese face, as cute as a teddy bear. 

He walked toward her with the RedMole Checker. 

The girl looked at it, at him, then away: She fixed her head up high, her pretty almond eyes staring past him - obedient to her duty, but nonetheless contemptuous of this unnatural, invasive procedure. 

Privately, she understood, however: Special Field Agent Tanner couldn’t risk bringing any Subcutaneous Implants - better known as "RedMoles" - back across the Freeside of the Lines. 

But she’d never been RedMole-Checked by a male before: Protocol stated that Checking should be performed by an Agent of the same sex - whenever possible.

There was the low wooden shelf upon which he had tossed his night goggles, andd Tanner gestured to it:

"Lean against that."

Setting her jaw, Eriko did as she was told, backing her naked tail up against the shelf.

"Spread your arms, please."

Eriko planted her hands on the shelf.

Tanner moved in close and activated the Checker.

It hummed lightly; a green indicator light glowed.

He began with her head. With the smooth, practiced strokes of a past-master, he ran the Mole Checker’s wide sensor probe through and around her shoulder-length raven hair; across her forehead; down one cheek, up the other, along her lips, then

"Open,"

inside her mouth. 

Then, the thin coating of saliva the sensor head had acquired was now lightly spread along her slim neck, then across her shoulders. 

Tanner tried to keep his attention on his work, following the sensor probe and watching the indicator light but, with an insubordinate will of their own, his eyes repeatedly wandered back to her chest… He felt his cock hardening beneath his blue jeans, joining his eyes in their lurid mutiny against his duty. 

The Special Field Agent tried to ignore it, tried to concentrate on the task at hand: He raised his gaze from her chest to find her staring at him, her deep, dark eyes slightly-accusing.

Tanner went back to work.

Returning his attention to the Checker, Tanner took one of te girl's hands, raising an arm out from her body, and ran the thing along her smooth skin. Then the other arm… 

The light remained green.

His throat felt dry as he moved on now to her chest. He ran the device down her right breast, the sensor softly depressing her soft flesh beneath it as it moved.

She trembled a bit as it hummed across a nipple.

"Raise your breasts, please," Tanner told her, trying to sound as nonchalant and professional as possible, trying harder to disregard his growing erection.

Expecting the command, Eriko cupped her breasts in her hands and lifted them, allowing him to run the sensor along the fleshy crevices where they joined her torso. 

Eriko had to admit - he was thorough.

"Thank you," he said, indicating that she could release herself.

Eriko returned her hands to the shelf as he moved on to lower down her torso…

The Checker traced the circle of her flat stomach, then moved down to her groin, where it purred through her black bush.

He ran it down the front of her hairless thighs, then

"Turn around," he ordered.

He could sense her nervousness increasing at the command, but she slowly complied, turning her bare little behind to him, placing her hands back on the shelf for support.

He began with the back of her neck, then worked his way slowly down her back, running the Checker in a circular motion along her naked skin. He listened to her nervous breathing as he proceeded, secretly enjoying the power he had over her, his swollen cock painfully straining against the confines of his clothing. He continued downward until finally he reached the twin humps of her little ass. 

Eriko involuntarily tightened her cheeks as he ran it down her crack. Tanner placed a hand upon the top of her rump, steadying her, as he pressed the sensor tip into her crack. He found her orifice and pressed on with smooth, gentle pressure. 

"Oh -!" the girl cried out suddenly, her cry sounding off the cold, silent walls, as the Checker’s metal sensor penetrated her ass, disappearing into her body.

The Checker hummed patiently in Tanner’s hand as he held it there for a few moments: The light remained green. Tanner smoothly pulled it back, removing it from her tight hole. 

The girl breathed a sigh of relief as the thing left her body, and she relaxed a tiny bit.

From the angle of his view, Tanner could see her other hole… the pretty rose-petal folds lying in the soft, dark garden of her pubic mound…

His breathing became heavier as he contemplated the view. We’ll save the best for last, Tanner silently decided 

"Raise your right leg," he told her.

The girl cocked the slender limb backwards to him. Tanner gripped her ankle and ran the Checker along and around her tiny foot before moving on to her firm, coltish calve. She had to hop a little on her free leg to maintain her balance. Finishing, Tanner released her ankle.

"Left leg, please." 

With a distinct sigh of impatience, the girl complied.

Getting antsy, are we, Violin? Tanner silently asked her naked back as he firmly took her ankle in his hand. Maybe you’ve been on your own, behind the Lines, too long…Maybe you’ve forgotten how to obey a superior officer… It might be time for a little refresher course in the Discipline of the Service… 

His erection seemed to grow with every smooth inch of her body that the Checker massaged.

He released her leg.

Eriko began to straighten herself up, started to turn her body around - but Tanner placed a firm hand on her back, forcing her to be still. He leaned forward, pressing his body against hers.

"We’re not finished, Agent" he said quietly, his mouth near her ear. He pushed her body forward, bending her down toward the shelf, jutting her cute little ass out to him again. He gently tapped her ankles with the side of his foot, much as a frisking police officer might, opening her slim legs. 

The naked Agent trembled as he ran his Checker up the sleek, polished skin of an inner thigh… She turned her head, craning her neck to see him. Her eyes found his, and she read them in an instant.

Tanner enjoyed the glimpse of fear that shot through her pretty eyes - but then he saw them steel into defiance, meeting his on equal terms.

Placing one hand firmly on the small of her back, Tanner ran the device up her other thigh, slowly. He returned her stare evenly, watching her eyes.

Her body jumped as the sensor head found her pubic mound… the defiance in her eyes turning to anger as the RedMole Checker hummed against her there.

"I have my orders, Agent," he told her coolly. 

He wasn’t lying: DCA Violin will undergo a full exam prior to exfiltration. Those were his instructions - and nothing he had done so far had violated them.

Nor would what he was about to do…

He ran the Checker up and down along her closed labia. 

The girl quivered beneath the hand rooted on her backside. The rounded tip of the sensor head explored the pink folds of her tiny flower, seeking access… 

The girl drew in a ragged, stuttering breath, which she let out again slowly through her trembling lips.

Tanner watched her eyes as he worked: It was gradual, but they were changing, the glaring anger falling away, something softer taking its place…

He pressed harder; his pretty subject gave a little grunt. He held her firmly: She wouldn’t give easily. He patiently worked the Checker, sliding it slowly up and down her closed lips… He felt her breathing grow shallower beneath his hand, her body reacting according to nature, not her will. 

Tanner’s erection was blinding him, taking control, demanding to be let out … His heated imagination began to produce dirty pictures… dropping the Checker to the floor… slamming her body forward on the shelf… whipping his cock out…ravaging her from behind as she begged him to stop…

He fought against them, but his pulsing dick was slowly becoming his master.

…then he would turn her around and pop her from the front awhile, watch her jiggle for him…

Deep Cover Agent Violin’s labia began to moisten against the steady stroking pressure of the sensor head. Her dark eyes continued to thaw, their rebellion languidly vanquished by uninvited desire, until finally they relinquished their lock on his, and she lowered them and looked away, surrendering…

Agent Tanner pressed the caressing tool more firmly against her soft pink as he stroked… He heard a muffled gasp from her.

She began panting lazily, her hot breath misting the cold air of the cellar.

Her pussy lips finally began to part for him, her juice moistening the tip of the sensor, which Tanner worked now in a circular motion, spreading her wetness up and down the length of her now-open snatch… 

The girl let out a stifled whine.

Tanner breathed deeply, fighting for control, his cock bulging in his jeans… He slid his hand a bit further down her body. Bringing it to rest atop her ass, he gently squeezed, pressing her cheeks together, while at the same moment his free hand smoothly entered her with the Checker. 

Eriko let out a long, sighing gasp; the thing hummed past her clit and the girl shook visibly. 

Slowly, Tanner began moving the Checker around inside her, exploring her cave with it. Her breathing became more rapid, her hands clenched the shelf tightly.

She moaned softly, involuntarily…

The light remained green.

She was clean… No RedMoles…

Tanner’s heart was pounding in his chest as he worked it inside her, his throat choking up with rising lust. His cock was screaming for release, demanding to be let out, demanding to take the Checker’s place within the warm wetness of the young girl’s body…

He slid it out a bit, twisting it slightly; a gasp escaped the girl’s lips, and she shuddered again.

Watching her reactions carefully, Tanner moved his free hand up her naked back and lightly pressed, forcing her to bend over yet further, flattening her plump breasts against the shelf.

Holding her still that way, he slid the Checker back into her, as far as it would go.

Eriko rewarded him with a little gasp.

Tanner twisted it again inside her.

"No…" she whispered, her voice breaking the monotony of the Checker’s humming.

His erection was killing him.

He could smell her sweat… he could smell her sex… feel her soft shivers brought on by his careful attention… 

His lust was burning him…

The tattered remains of his conscious told him to let her go, that she was clean, that it was over… But it was a distant voice, a lost echo of reason…

Get on with the mission, it said. 

But that didn’t help much: She was his fucking mission.

Get Violin out of Red Territory. 

But it was too late now. Primitive instinct commanded him now, military discipline was only a memory.

Tanner slowly slid the RedMole Checker out of the girl’s vagina.

The girl shuddered…

He leaned forward and held the glistening Checker in front her face, showing her the green light.

"Congratulations," he said, "you’re clean."

He tossed the glistening device onto the shelf beside her and stepped away from her.

He looked at his watch.

"We have about an hour before we go," he said, pulling his black t-shirt off, revealing his hair-swept, thirty-five year old chest.

Closing her legs, Eriko straighten up and turned to face him. 

Tanner kicked his boots off, then pulled off his socks.

Straightening up, he saw her staring at him. There was a kind of understanding, a boldness of intent that he hadn’t seen before; her hands absently smoothed her naked thighs…

He knew he should turn away now; toss her the little black fatigues that some anonymous gopher had planted here for her and call it good. 

Cover her up. 

She was so young…

SPECIAL DEEP COVER Agent "Violin," a.k.a. Eriko Matsuoka, serial number 256561: Japanese-American war orphan. Recruited by the Special Operations Service out of the New Vancouver Resettlement Center at the (estimated) age of twelve. Four years of intensive academic and physical training. Senior Graduate. Eight more months at the Green Mountain Special Operations School, Manitoba. Infiltrated into the Red Asian Security Zone two years ago. Enrolled with forged documents at the New Tokyo People’s Orphanage and Academy for Girls. Distinguished service to the Free Republic ever since: three Special Commendations for Exceptional Service; two for Exceptional Bravery. A fifth commendation was waiting for her on the desk of Senior Agent Carlisle: Tanner had seen it before departing to find her. "For exceptional service in the implementation of Operation Quaker," it said.

Tanner looked into her eyes.

Operation Quaker…

The assassination of Senior General Jin of the People’s Red Pan-Asian Army.

A nice piece of work. 

And you pulled it off, pretty girl? 

Taking her tight little body in, Tanner tried to reconcile the cold assassin he was sent to retrieve with the naked innocent he saw standing before him: They said you were a real pro - a perfect Deep Cover Agent…

"Arguably, DCA Matsuoka’s greatest weakness," her Profile read, "is her stunning, near-perfect beauty - as it constantly draws attention to her…"

Yeah… Tanner mused… He could see how that might be a problem…

He began to unbutton his Levis.

But, then again, the sexy little face he was staring into was the key to the success of Operation Quaker.

GENERAL JIN WAS - was - head of Intelligence for the entire enemy army in North America. He had a wide mandate, and a pitiless character which assured his success within it. The very name of General Jin brought with it a draft of fear, and when it was spoken, it was whispered. Jin had taken down 28 Free Republic Special Field Agents (SFAs) during his tenure, and 13 DCAs: All were dead - at least six by the General’s own hand. 

Against this sterling record, it was decided somewhere in the shadows of the Free Republic’s intelligence bureaucracy that General Jin should die for his sins. 

Everything that was known or surmised about the general was compiled, sifted, shuffled, and re-sifted, until finally a profile emerged.

It was known he was flamboyant: a garish character flaunting his status amid the cold, leveling utilitarianism of his socialist surroundings. 

He liked Italian food, American martinis, and money - proclivities tolerated by his Communist masters by leave of hypocrisy: He was good. Damned good. And if the sufferance of Bourgeois tastes was the price of his services, then (so reasoned his political masters) it was a bargain. 

But, most of all, more than gin and fettuchini - more than money, even - the dear old general liked pretty teen girls. And, with a continent overrun with war orphans, he was rarely at a loss in indulging his little fetish.

This was his chink, the fatal flaw in his armor that would damn him. 

All they needed was a sword.

Activate Special Deep Cover Agent Violin.

"The stars are setting and the Caravan Starts for the Dawn of Nothing - Oh, make haste!"

was anonymously posted on the Orphanage-Academy’s Internet Student Bulletin Board - a meaningless blurb from the Rubáyát. Meaningless to all, that is, except the one to whom it was addressed. 

After school, Senior Student Eriko Matsuoka heads to a little bakery near the city center.

"Excuse me, sir," she asks the man behind the counter. "Have you an order ready for Keiko Ozawa?" 

The old guy blinks at her.

"It," he begins slowly, "is ready." But he needs to be sure. "How is your aunt?" he asks.

"She is still unwell," Eriko replies. "She has been in bed for thirteen days."

"Well, here you are," the old guy concedes, handing her a full shopping bag. "Give your aunt my blessing." 

Eriko takes the bag, pays him, thanks him, and leaves, everything she needs - her orders, and the means to carry them out - ingeniously sealed in a can of pears.


Agent Violin Ch. 2



"This is how you’re handling the situation? A little game of Twenty Questions?"

Collins turned the laptop around to show the man in his office doorway the report it displayed. The most prominent features of the report were the photos of two female students.

Standing in the office door, Constable Takashi Nomoko blinked through his thick eyeglasses. Twenty Questions…. The reference meant nothing to him. 

"It is an initial step, Inspector," he said, beginning slowly. "We are trying to determine what they knew." 

"And..?" Collins fixed Nomoko with his icy blue stare. 

Constable Nomoko paused before replying, his eyes wandering past Collins to the spacious windows which dominated the ample, beautifully-furnished office and the New Tokyo skyline beyond. He could see the distant ruins of the old Space Needle, burning in the fire of the waning sun, the former world-wonder remade by war into a shattered reminder of the ultimate fate of the arrogant Hegemony he still fought.

"Apparently nothing," Nomoko admitted finally, turning his eyes back to his superior. 

"I could have told you that," Collins said, idly tapping a file folder which lay on his mahogany desk. "You don’t seriously think they’ll tell you what they know if you sit them down in Headquarters and serve them tea, do you?" 

"What alternative are you proposing, Inspector? They are Citizens. They have rights."

"Oh, Jesus," Collins moaned, "spare me the civics lession."

The Constable raised his eyebrows. ‘Jesus?’ 

What a quaint reference…

Collins crossed his legs and leaning back in his chair. "I’d propose," he went on, "that you push a little button on your speed-dial and call our… Old Friend…"

Constable Nomoko’s face darkened.

"I will not," he said with an even firmness, "turn over these children to that butcher. I hesitate to hand our enemies-"

Collins cut him off, waiving Eriko Matsuoka’s Official Academy Photo toward Nomoko’s face.

"This bitch was a student at that Academy for two years," Collins said in a patronizing, contemptuous tone. "She’s had a lot of roommates. A lot of friends… Now, I’d suggest you get over your petty moral qualms, stop wasting my fucking time and resources, and show me some results."

Nomoko’s eyes again sought refuge in the outside skyline. He wanted this little encounter over with.

But if, outwardly, Nomoko seemed to squirm under the gaze of his superior; inwardly, he burned - seething with resentment at having to prostrate himself before this golden-haired, pasty-faced Nordic asshole. But, Nomoko often (perhaps too often, he now thought) consoled himself within the thought that nothing is forever. Absolutely nothing… 

But Nomoko kept all of this hidden behind his passive Japanese eyes, framed and slightly magnified by those big black glasses. 

"I doubt very much, Inspector," the Constable said at last, and smoothly "that Eriko Matsuoka’s nightly pillow-talk with her roommates included the fact that she was a Republic agent."

Collins looked at him.

"You know, Nomoko, you’re probably right." He paused. "Now, that’s an idea…" he finally finished, as if speaking to himself.

"What ‘idea,’ Inspector?" Nomoko asked.

The Idea had obviously not fully formed in the Inspector’s head, and he waived it away for the moment.

"We’ll get to that in a minute," Collins said. "What about Matsuoka?"

"Very well," Nomoko said, at last entering Collins’ office and closing the door behind him. "The search for Matsuoka. The scouring of the city continues. Her likeness has been posted throughout the Security Zone. All outlying villages and hamlets are being searched, the inhabitants questioned. New roadblocks have been set up. 

"But," Nomoko pulled a little rectangular box from a pocket, set it on Collins’ desk, and turned it on. A light glowed at one end of the box and a huge topographic map spring into being, projected by the box into empty air, while from another pocket he pulled a laser-pointer. "We expect, however, that she is attempting to make her way out. To the Republic. The clearest way out is through the Eastern Mountains - the ‘Cascades,’ as the locals call them…" He traced a probable route on the holographic map with the pointer. "To counter this possibility - probability - we have Special Operations teams searching on land, and air assets searching from the sky. Hunter/Killer Teams are on station, of course. If she is indeed making for Republic territory, we have a fair chance of catching her."

"A fair chance?" Sitting in his high-backed desk chair, Collins looked unimpressed. 

"I can guarantee nothing, of course," the Constable replied flatly. "She may already have been extricated. By air… by sea, for all we know. Suffice it to say, we are doing all we can do." 

Nomoko took the liberty of an uninvited chair in front of Collins’ desk and sat down, switching off and re-pocketing his little projector as he did so.

"It’s all a very orderly process," the Constable concluded.

"A very long process," Collins said grimly. He stood up from his chair and began to pace behind his desk. "Look, Nomoko - the governor-general is breathing hot shit down my neck on this one, pal. Christ," he ran a hand through his golden hair, "a goddamned orphan - a fucking schoolgirl - takes out the Chief of Intel while his fucking bodyguards watch the fucking door… Broad-fucking-daylight, too. In the middle of the fucking capital -"

Collins cut himself off. He was starting to rant… He stopped pacing, put his hands in his trouser pockets and stared at the carpeted floor, assuming an attitude of deep thought.

"The general was clumsy," Nomoko replied from his chair. "A fool."

"I don’t give a flying fuck about Jin," Collins growled between his teeth. "Frankly, I’m glad the old pervy-fuck’s dead. He was outliving his usefulness, anyway. No… it’s not the fucking general I’m concerned with." He looked a Nomoko now. "It’s the symbolism, Nomoko, the symbolism."

Nomoko raised his eyebrows as Collins sat down again.

"Look, if they can get one of their little cunt-bitch DCAs that close to our heart, that high up the chain," Collins explained in a fast clip, "then our glorious leaders stop feeling safe. And when our glorious leaders stop feeling safe - guys like you and me stop being safe. Right?"

Nomoko bowed his head in acquiescence: He could hardly argue.

"So, Nomoko," Collins went on, "two things: Number One," he tossed Eriko Matsuoka’s file in front of Constable Nomoko, "I want this… bitch roped like a dog and dragged through the streets to the Palace. Number Two: I want this Orphanage-Academy’s students interrogated."

"The list will be ready shortly," Nomoko offered.

Collins pulled a golden case and lighter from a desk drawer. He lit a cigarette.

"Never mind the list," Collins said, blowing out smoke.

"Then..?" Nomoko blinked behind his glasses.

Collins took another drag, planting his elbows on his desk, leaning forward, looking the Constable full in the face.

"Do you seriously think," he asked, "that little Matsuoka was the only Free Republic agent enrolled at that fucking school?"

Nomoko looked at his hands, tapping the little laser pointer against one palm.

"Highly unlikely, I suppose…" he conceded gently. 

"Could be a nest of spies, for all we know, right? And checking the backgrounds of war orphans more often than not futile - since, almost by definition, they don’t have backgrounds. Right?"

Nomoko nodded.

"Many, many public records have been destroyed in this war," he offered carefully - but Collins spoke over him:

"So," Collins concluded his point, leaning back again in his desk chair, "I want that fucking Academy quarantined - then taken apart piece by piece. I want the students removed and interred. I want that fucking place sterilized." 

The Constable looked quizzically at the Inspector, uncomprehending.

"Then…" Nomoko began. His voice trailed off, leaving the obvious question unfinished, pausing to think.

Across from him, Collins inhaled deeply, holding the smoke in for a bit.

"All of them?" Nomoko asked at length.

Collins, exhaled, sending his lung-full of smoke sailing toward the ceiling. 

"All of them," Collins confirmed. He took another drag. "You know, ‘let god sort ’em out,’ and all that." There was a wicked, crystalline glint in his blue eyes. 

"Very well..." Constable Nomoko exhaled slowly and stood. "However," he went on, "that will… er… require some preparation. For one thing, I’ll need more men."

"The 85th," Collins answered easily. "They’re in town. Just pulled in from the Front. A bit beat up. Encamped in Green Lake Park. They could stand a little R&R. Use them."

Nomoko nodded behind his docile lenses: Green Lake Park… It was People’s Victory Park now. But Collins often used pre-war place names. To Nomoko it was a reminder that the Inspector really wasn’t one of them; that he wasn’t committed. Just another damned Yankee mercenary with a gilded title. And the Constable hated him all the more for it.

Nomoko turned toward the door. Then he paused and turned back to Collins. "There is one more thing," he said. "We don’t know if it has any bearing on the case before us, but…" he indicated Collins’ laptop. "May I?" 

Planting his cigarette between his lips, Collins made a nonchalant gesture toward the little computer, and Nomoko pulled it to himself and tapped in a few commands. 

"Our South-Western Zone Security Cams," the Constable explained as he typed, "picked up a pair of images. A Caucasian male," he turned the screen back to Collins, "seen making his way through the Old Dockyard section."

Collins leaned down and stared at the grainy, black and white pictures Nomoko had brought up: one, a partial profile of a dark-haired, thirty-some man in a long leather jacket and jeans; the other a long shot of the man’s back.

"We have yet to identify him," Nomoko went on, "and these images are not the best… But, as I said, it may be nothing."

With one hand, Collins stabbed out his cigarette while picking up the laptop with the other:

"It’s not nothing," he exhaled slowly. "It’s everything… It’s little Eriko Matsuoka’s ticket out. Shit… Fuck."

Nomoko stared at Collins, who nearly spat his next word:

"Tanner."



GABRIEL TANNER REACHED down to take Eriko’s hand, helping her up over the last rise.

They stopped to catch their breath, turning to look back the way they had come.

The sun was setting now, sinking below the jagged line drawn by the Cascades against the reddening western sky, igniting the evergreen carpet below in a spectacular tangerine flame. 

Tanner looked down at the girl beside him.

Her pretty little face glowed in the fading of the sun, its dying rays highlighting her raven hair with strands of gold; but her dark eyes looked a bit sad as she gazed back over the high, wooded path they had climbed for the past two days.

It wasn’t exactly a paternal instinct which caused Tanner to reach out and put his arm around her. She didn’t move, stiffly accepting his gesture. 

But she didn’t look up at him either, as he had hoped.

They hadn’t spoken much during the past two days, confining their conversation to the absolute minimum needed to stay a live and on course, conserving their strength for the arduous journey they had undertaken. 

He wondered what was wrong with her.

But, hell, he could never read women.

He removed his arm from her shoulder, unslung his submachine-gun and pointed it to a ridge a bit further up the mountain upon which they stood.

"We’ll camp up there tonight," he told her. "Set up the perimeter sensors. I’ll get started on the tent."

The sun had gone now. 

Eriko nodded and pulled her backpack off.



THEY FINISHED THE TASK just as the last light of the day had faded to black. Eriko pressed a button on a tiny remote and was rewarded by an electronic chirp which confirmed that her perimeter sensors were active.

She turned and walked toward the dusky shape of Captain Tanner, kneeling next to the low, camouflaged hump of the little two-man tent.

"All set?" he asked upon her approach.

"The perimeter is active, sir," she replied.

Tanner looked up at her with a curious glance: ‘Sir?’ When did she get so formal?

Eriko ignored his look, and knelt next to her backpack, placing the sensor remote in an outside pocket.

"Well," Tanner shook his head slightly, "let’s get some rest. We’ve got a long climb tomorrow." 

They had to crawl into the tent’s narrow, slit doorway, dragging their packs alongside them, and there was barely room enough for two to move around inside. They sat side by side and pulled off their boots and fatigue tops.

Tanner laid his SMG within easy reach and crawled into the double-wide "oven-bag".

Eriko rose to her knees, giving the reclining Tanner a impressive view of her breasts beneath the black t-shirt she wore. She noticed his gaze, but tried to ignore it, as she unbuckled her pistol belt and laid it on the ground next to where her head would be. She placed the little perimeter monitor next to the pistol belt. Its little screen glowed lightly, displaying the status of the sensors she had set out.

Then, still avoiding his gaze, she crawled into the sleeping bag and laid down, her back to him.

Tanner brought his arm over her body, cuddling closer to her. She rolled away.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Fine."

Eriko didn’t close her eyes. She lay there and stared at the light, green glow of the perimeter monitor.

It was wrong. Everything. His presence. Hers. The two of them together like this…

She shouldn’t have to be lying next to him. 

She couldn’t wait for the journey to be over; to get back home. 

She was already planning. Six months of leave. A hot, hot beach somewhere, far away from the foggy, soggy Northwest. Then back to work. She was leaving the DCAs, that she had already decided. After Quaker, she would probably be no good to them anymore, anyway - except maybe as a Supervisor, and she didn’t have the rank for that. 

She could apply for the Reconnaissance Group, maybe… She had the language skills and the tactical training (not to mention the skin color) for that kind of work. There was even the Space Force… That would require her taking another degree. One thing she was sure of - she didn’t want a desk job. Playing the schoolgirl for the past two years had seen to that.

But for now, all she wanted was to get this mission over with. Then she would never have to see him again.

She didn’t just then know why she was so nervous, almost to the point of nausea, around her savior. But she was becoming surer by the minute that she didn’t like him very much. Smug, overbearing prick… 

Even now, she couldn’t look him in the eye.

He had had no right to do to her what he did back in that cold little cellar room … 

But, worse, she had had no right to take part in it, either; to have become his willing partner.

She wondered what was wrong with her.

Had she become what she had for so long been pretending to be: the docile, compliant little schoolgirl who smiled out from her Academy ID photo?

The old Eriko, the one who had graduated with honors from the Special Ops School, would never have let a superior do what he did. The old Eriko would have blackened an eye, knocked out a tooth… And then, had he chosen to continue, maybe, maybe, he could have raped her. And that would have been a black mark on his soul, not hers.

But, no. 

No. She had knelt before him, taken his penis into her mouth like an obedient slave girl. Pleasured him. Let him fondle her like a toy. Tamely contorted her naked body into whatever position his dirty lust demanded while he rode her like an animal and cursed her like a savage…

And she had enjoyed it. 

The memories of it came, secretly, to her body. The feeling of it. The rocking, rolling spasms of white hot, delirious joy. The huge, ceaseless thrusts of his cock, probing ever-deeper into her body, touching her center. Her screaming orgasm…

And lying there now, her face turned away from him, Eriko flushed with hidden shame.

"You… fucking…WHORE!" he had said.

Exactly right, Captain.

"You’re awfully quiet tonight," Tanner’s deep voice interrupted her quiet reverie.

Eriko lightly shook her head, saying nothing. She could feel his body pressing hers from behind. She could feel his erection…

"You okay?" He reached around and lightly brushed the dark bangs from her eyes, then moved to stroke her cheek.

Eriko deftly caught his hand and pushed it away.

"You’ve had your fun, Captain," she said, and closed her eyes.



THE MAN PULLED his camouflage veil down from his weathered face as he knelt and studied the ground. Despite the cool mountain air, he was sweating under his fatigues, his breath steaming into the darkness. It had been a long, hard climb.

But now, Senior Sergeant Zeng smiled behind his night-vision glasses… 

Footprints. Two pair. Combat boots: Republic issue. One set, large - an adult male. The other, small. A girl… 

A very pretty one, he already knew. 

He had her photo in one of his pockets. It kept him warm at night; at night when he fantasized about how he would find her; about how he would use his knife to kill the Yankee soldier protecting her (he had his photo, too) as she watched - and then take that same knife and cut off her clothing piece by piece. And then… She would scream as he fucked her in the dirt, beg for her life as his manhood stripped her of her traitor’s pride. In his fantasy, there would be a convenient boulder nearby, and he throw her over it, scraping her plump tits on it, his knife on her pretty throat; he would enter her from behind, making her scream again and again; again and again as he raped her like an animal. And then, just as he gave her his load, his knife would cross her throat…

And then he would return to the city and his wife. The little wife would be in for a hard time when he returned from this one…

Smiling complacently to himself, Senior Sergeant Zeng activated a little mic on his collar.

"I have their trail," he said softly into the transmitter. "They passed by here perhaps three hours ago, moving north by northwest up the slope."

"Continue tracking them," came the reply into his earphone. "We’ll be close behind."

"Affirmative."

Zeng replaced the camouflage veil, hoisted his long rifle, and began moving again, making his way carefully up the slope.



HE DIDN’T HAVE to go far.

Half a thousand feet further up, he spotted it.

It was thermal-shielded, and he could barely see it through his night-goggles, but it was there: the little mound of a two-man tent.

The crescent moon was just rising to the east as Zeng reached for the little mic clipped to his collar. 

"Hunter Shark One," he said quietly. "They’re up here. Fairly close."

"Do not engage them alone," came the reply through his earphone. "Wait for us."

Zeng nearly cussed. There were only two of them -

"Affirmative…" he replied thickly.

Well… He couldn’t stay where he was. There were some rocks up ahead. They would cover him.

He had moved forward about seven careful, silent steps, when he froze. There was a light up there, barely perceptible even through his night-glasses. Without them, it would have been perfectly invisible. Zeng touched a sliding switch on the side of his glasses, instantly magnifying his gaze, bringing the little light artificially closer to his eyes.

A little globe. 

A seismic area sensor… ‘Fireflies,’ they were often called in slang.

Well, well… 

Zeng briefly considered informing his superior down the mountain… but he could handle this little nit.

Carefully lowering his body until he was prone on his stomach, Zeng slowly pulled a thing from a specialized holster on his hip. It was roughly the size and shape of a small handgun, but it looked incomplete - like the skeleton of a pistol. A small sighting scope was mounted on top. From the base of the pistol grip, he extracted a small cylindrical object which looked like a tiny missile - fins and all. 




Agent Violin Ch. 3



"More tea?"

"Thank you."

"Can't abide these little packets, myself, but, I suppose one takes what comes. There you are."

"Thank you."

"Now, where were we?"

They were entering the second hour of their conversation - that last word loosely construed: It was more or less a monologue, the woman talking, the girl listening, and during it Eriko had learned much about the tall, slim woman in the olive-green fatigues seated opposite her.

"So, then you signed up, ma'am?" Eriko prompted politely.

"Oh, no. No, dear. I'm not the sort to stand in queue waiting for orders like some silly ranker. They, you see, asked me."

Emily Mauve Qian. 

Major Emily Mauve Qian, of His Royal Majesty's Special Intelligence Group (SIG). 

Born in Hong Kong ("The most beautiful city on earth, dear… Or was. Began falling apart the day that bitch Thatcher gave it back to the ChiComs."). Early years spent in Hong Kong. Daddy was "one of the largest shipping magnates in the whole harbour."

History was not Eriko's forte, and so she was forced to resist the urge to interrupt and ask who Thatcher was, satisfying herself for the moment with the knowledge that Thatcher was a bitch.

"Of course they didn't even ask us. It was all decided for us. No plebiscite, nothing."

Major Emily poured herself another spot.

"Now, let me ask you, darling - who would you rather be governed by, Whitehall or Beijing? Which is my whole point, of course."

Actually, Eriko found the woman's way of speaking sort of... condescending. Although she wasn't sure she should have.

Eriko had seen Brits before: at the Ops School - a pair of O/As (observer/advisors) on a month-long tour - but only at a distance. She had never encountered them face-to-face, and the most striking thing about them in her memory was the tan berets they had worn.

So the young American girl had no real context in which to judge this Englishwoman - or a British-Chinese (Sino-Brit?), or whatever she classified herself to be - and the Eriko was forced out of a sense of polite fair-play to assume that the 'Luvs,' 'Dears,' 'Sweethearts,' 'Darlings,' and even the occasional 'Child,' with which the lady peppered her conversation were simply considered polite by her people.

There was really no way for her to tell otherwise, for, while well-educated by the standards of any university librarian, the path of Eriko's young life (refugee - Special Ops School - deep-cover in an orphanage) had not been inductive to even an narrow cosmopolitanism; and so, while Eriko knew of the divers people who spotted the globe, she knew them only as the astronomer knows his stars: distant; fixed; familiar only by their remoteness - a fact evidenced by (tone and terms of address aside) the keen fascination, near-wonderment, which she took in this strange woman seated across from her. 

Eriko was beguiled by her soft, elegant Chinese features; riveted by the melodic singsong of her upper-class British accent - so superior (Eriko thought) to the flat Americanese with which she was forced to respond. The woman was worldly, wise. Sophisticated. She had seen so much, been so many places…

She was rich. 

Eriko's imagination could barely fathom that condition. What must that be like?

Just listening to her brought to Eriko's mind a startling objectiveness about herself, about her own life: How narrow her world was. How limited. How… poor.

Major Emily went on talking.

Shortly before the final "ChiCom" takeover of her beloved Crown Colony, Emily and Mum and Daddy and their money had closed up shop and moved - first to Australia ("A perfectly dreadful place, dear - though, if you ask me, it suits those sodding Aussies to a 'T'.") - and then, finally, thankfully, a few years later, to London. There, Daddy's new East-West Import/Export concern had thrived, Emily had gone to Cambridge, and then the war had begun.

And then they had asked her.

Her natural skills with the Chinese language and customs were only part of the reason.

Equally important was her keen, arithmetical mind, which birthed an uncanny problem-solving ability: a near-electric thought process that dumbfounded her instructors and filled her peers with respect and envy, spreading even to the legend of that she had turned an old junk cash register ("till") into an encoding machine. Major Emily neither confirmed nor denied the veracity of that little tale.

Recruited into the Field Office of the "SIGs" after graduation, she had spent time in South East Asia ("Please - don't ask, Luv."), East Africa, India, Iran, western China (Sinkiang and a bit in Tibet); she had been a temporary intelligence liaison to the new provisional Russian government. Most recently, she had been trouping around in those benighted little "Stans" (Tajiki-, Kazakh-, Kyrgyz -, etc.) which fissured the Asian map, posing as a textiles buyer. She had a chest full of medals and a filing cabinet drawer full of commendations.

The woman related all of this as modestly as her upbringing and simple love of facts would allow.

"So, what brings you here, ma'am?" Eriko inquired during a pause, desperate to hold up her end of the conversation - though as soon as she asked, she knew that she shouldn't have.

"Now, hush, hush, doll," Major Emily replied. "I could tell you, but then… Well, you know the joke."

But Major Emily hated the war, she really did. She missed London. She had been away too long. She missed the streets, the shopping, the restaurants… The auctions. But most of all, Major Emily thought, she missed her dear old Bentley - which Eriko (sweet child) assumed must be the name of her dog.

"Well, now," Major Emily suddenly changed tack, "tell me a little something about yourself, darling."

It was the question Eriko had been dreading.

AFTER TAKING HER pistol, the knife had vanished from her throat.

Eriko had remained frozen, her hands in plain view.

"Hello?" the English voice had sung from behind her… and slowly, very slowly, Eriko had turned around.

She was very pretty, that was Eriko's first impression of her - Asiatic, probably Chinese. Thirty years old, maybe? Her black hair was cut rather short, falling just to the collar of her green fatigues. 

She was smiling.

"Good morning," the woman said cheerfully.

Eriko just stared at her, and at her own pistol which the woman held. The woman's own weapon hung holstered on her hip. The fatigue design wasn't American and there were no insignia on her which could tell Eriko who or what she was. But, then again, there was nothing on Eriko's own uniform which might return the compliment.

"On your way in, or out?" the woman asked, re-sheathing her knife, but maintaining her grip on Eriko's pistol.

Eriko blinked.

"What?" she asked with trepidation.

The woman nodded her head toward the western horizon.

"New Tokyo," she clarified. "Going in - or out?"

Eriko didn't want to answer. Training was telling her brain to go into POW mode - Name, Rank, Serial Number… But practicality overrode that: She wasn't the one with the gun.

"Out," she said finally, reluctantly.

"Heading for Seville?"

"What?"

"Seville."

Eriko shook her head, uncomprehending.

The tall, pretty woman cocked her head to one side and looked at her quizzically.

"Are you alone up here?" she asked.

Eriko cast a glance back down the mountain.

"I am now…"

"So," the English lady said, "someone sent you up this way."

"Yes..."

"Then, you must be heading for Seville," the woman concluded with flat certitude.

Eriko just blinked again: She had no idea what her captor was talking about. She said nothing.

"Well," the woman continued, "if your friend sent you up this way, the he or she must already know the way. We'd just as well go on by ourselves, and let him or her catch up, don't you think?"

Eriko just stared at her.

"After you," the lady had said, gesturing up the slope with Eriko's pistol, and Eriko had had no choice but to comply.

THE ASCENT HAD been steep, physically taxing not only on the legs, but also the hands which were often needed for support on the way up. 

The sun, a blessing earlier, had become an affliction - too hot even way up here - bringing sweat to Eriko's brow, and beneath her boots and clothing.

They had not spoken at all during the climb, the woman and the pistol maintaining a discreet distance behind Eriko all the way, and it was about an hour before the woman behind her suddenly said: "Here we are."

Eriko stopped, breathing hard.

They had made the crest of the slope, not far from the top of the mountain.

Here we are, where? she wondered.

"Over there," the woman waived Eriko's pistol, and Eriko walked over to the slightly indented rock face.

The woman reached over Eriko's shoulder from behind and pulled on a small outcropping of stone. There was a click, and the outcropping opened, hinging outward to reveal a numeric keypad - startlingly, ridiculously, incongruous with nature.

"The code, please," the woman said.

Eriko froze for an instant, before jerking her head around to look the woman in the eyes - which she could see were perfectly serious.

She looked back to the keypad, which only offered a glowing red Zero.

The code?

How would she know- 

Then she stopped, staring at the keypad.

And it all came back to her in a flood. 

Of course… 

It had been so long - but she suddenly remembered… It was as if half her brain were coming back to life.

Of course…

Seville.

Code.

Access code.

Seville… 

This was a Safe Haven…

Safe Haven Seville. 

And that little conversation back down the mountain finally made sense.

"Having trouble, Dear?" the woman asked from behind her.

"No…" Eriko said in a tone of revelation, her eyes still on the keypad.

But, she would have to think for a moment.

The access code would be the date - today's date - day/month/year, multiplied by the cube-root of the day, plus the square of the month, this sum then divided by the year. Plus one.

All right, then…

But, God, she would have traded her left boot for an electronic calculator right then.

"Oh," the lady behind her said, "math not your thing? Here you are." She handed Eriko a small pad and pen from one of her pockets.

"Thank you," Eriko replied.

"Not at all."

Within a minute or so, Eriko had the right figure and, praying she hadn't forgotten to carry a One or something, tapped it into the pad. She pressed Enter.

Just to the left of the keypad, a four-foot diameter section of the rock face disappeared, rolling to the side with a pressurized hiss. There was a small tunnel behind it.

"Very good," the woman complimented her. "Here you are." She held out Eriko's pistol to her. "Let me guess - you're a DCA?"

Taking back the weapon, Eriko nodded.

"Thought so," her new-found ally replied. "Sorry about all the fuss, but I couldn't have me shooting me, now could I?"

SAFE HAVEN SEVILLE.

All Safe Havens were named after cities of the world, past or present. They came in a variety of shapes and sizes - attic rooms, broom closets, the little chamber behind the false panel in the wall, abandoned cars… Caves.

Safe Haven Seville was a cave - albeit a thoroughly modern one. Begun by nature, finished by the hand of man, it burrowed its way straight into the side of the rock near the summit of an anonymous mountain near the eastern edge of the Cascade Range, sealed from the outside world by the camouflaged hatchway which allowed no egress of detectable heat. The atmosphere inside was maintained by something called 'passive re-circulation' (submarine technology).

It contained food, water (chemically purified and protected from staleness), a small assortment of weapons and munitions, along with other assorted field gear. It had a sleeping chamber, complete with pneumatic mattress, toward the back, next to a partitioned water closet. The main area, the lion's share of the cavern, had a low table with pneumatic cushions which sufficed as seats; a work-bench, a computer terminal on a small desk, and a well-stocked First Aid station. The whole lot was heated by a small chemical stove in the center of the main chamber, which kept the temperature inside (relatively) comfortable. 

"WELL, now, tell me a little something about yourself, darling." 

Seated across the low table, Eriko's eyes lowered a little. In the back of her mind, she had hoped the major would keep on talking forever - not least because (her genuine interest aside) the more she learned about this exotic woman, the more she realized that she had nothing to say, nothing to offer.

But, very quietly, Eriko told the major where she had grown up.

At the mention of the place, the older woman decorously averted her own eyes and nodded politely - exactly the reaction Eriko had expected.

Mountain Home, Idaho.

"I see…" Major Emily said, trying to sound blithe, interested; but Eriko knew that her side of the conversation had effectively ended: That was all the woman needed to know. That was Eriko's life, her biography prior to the Service.

A rundown, decommissioned Air Force Base in the frozen Rockies, ill-famed as one of the filthiest, and most dangerous of the dozens of refugee camps which dotted the North American map.

Even now, so far away in space and time, that place often provided the setting for Eriko's dreams… the smell, the low-hanging smoke of the cooking fires; the ceaseless, stuttering growl of the gasoline generators, competing with the mournful wails of the little babies and the hollow yelping of the skinny dogs… and in them, she was always hungry.

"Well," said Major Emily after a pause, ending the awkward moment and graciously changing the subject. "I wonder if there's anything to eat around here…."

Of course, all they found were field rations. Dry powdered and mixed with water from one of the cisterns, they were designed to keep a body alive, not to delight the palate. But, at least they were filling.

Over dinner, once again, Major Emily supplied most of the conversation.

She talked about the war. 

And Eriko, deprived by her Deep Cover assignment of even a semblance of the truth about world events, leaned forward and hung on her every word.

The offensive in the Middle East had stalled along a line running from the Iranian plateau, west to Basra, and thence to the lower Jordan. The Combined Armies' thrust into Arabia had been thrown back with grievous losses ("You know those macho grunts, Eriko Darling- always thinking with their balls."), and 'Abd-al-Krim - the "Mad Mullah of Muscat" - remained firmly ensconced in his fortress-city of Dubai.

On the Far Eastern Front, the news was a little better. Okinawa was still in the hands of the enemy - but Taiwan, miraculously, yet held out; had even managed to retake some ground with Anglo-American air and naval support. South Korea held on, its Northern cousin in no shape to take them on - and the Chinese were too busy elsewhere to help. The Vietnamese, having had a belly-full of Eastern Alliance bullying, had (de facto, if not de jure) joined up with the good guys, making a secret pact with the South East Asian Front. Luzon was firming. The Aussies were holding the line above New Guinea and the Solomons, while Indonesia remained quiet - which was how both sides seemed to prefer it. The Russians, though still reeling, had managed to stem the ceaseless, slaughtering assaults into their steppes. 

Closer to home, the breach along the Rio Grande had been sealed, thanks to a newly-promoted general named De Cartagena, who had taken over command of the combined US-Mexican forces; "Whilst up north, you Yanks and your Canadian cousins continue to hold the fort against the Occupied West Coast," the lady concluded, ending her whirlwind tour of the planet.

It was a lot for Eriko to take in, digest, and she was quiet for quite a bit. 

"So," Major Emily asked finally, in-between spoonfuls, "how's life in the DCAs?"

Eriko quietly replied that it "sucked."

"Hmm…" Major Emily replied, thoughtfully chewing her high-protein gruel, while Eriko sat and thought that the lady probably considered her irredeemably gauche for using such a plebeian term. Had Eriko been psychic, however, she would have realized that the Major's Hmm… was a Hmm… of agreement. She would have further realized how dangerously close she was to receiving another well-informed monologue concerning the relative virtues of the various branches of the Allied secret services.

In fact, Major Emily had just opened her mouth to speak when the hatchway leading to the outside world hissed open, turning her attention from her dinner companion to the door. Her eyes lit up.

"Gabe!" she exclaimed. "So you're the intrepid soul come to take our Eriko back to her home. Lord, Darling, you look like a drowned puppy… Or rat."

Gabriel Tanner's fatigues were soaked and filthy, his dark hair matted to his head; he was visibly cold - yet he took one look, and then looked as if he wanted to bolt back out into the great, wild beyond. 

"Jesus-tap-dancing-Christ…" he said.

"Now, Gabe," Major Emily cheerfully admonished him, wiping her mouth and standing up, "is that any way to say hello to an old lover?"

Major Emily walked up to stand before him and, smiling up at him, slapped him hard across his cold, dirty face.

"There," Major Emily said. "That's better."

"Fair enough," Tanner replied morosely, tossing his submachinegun onto the computer table. "Just one thing… Don't call me 'Gabe.'" 

THE SMALL GIRL hidden under the desk with the chair pulled in heard sounds from outside in the hallway. She crouched lower behind her chair and listened. Her name was Rei.

"Hey!" Rei heard a man call out from behind her door. She huddled deeper in on herself beneath the desk. "Come here, girl!"

There was silence for a moment, as if the voice was waiting for the unseen girl to obey.

"That's better -" the man's voice began… 

Then he cried out - short, sharp, painfully. Something heavy landed on the hallway floor with a dead thud.

Then the door burst open.

"Aiko!" a girl's voice called out. "Aiko!"

Terrified, Rei cowered even deeper in the alcove of her desk. But through her fear, Rei thought she recognized the voice… Could it be..?

"Aiko..?" the voice called out again. "Shit…" 

Rei heard light footfalls cross the floor. A drawer clattered open. Rei heard rummaging. Slowly, the frightened girl leaned forward slightly, hoping for a peek - but her balance slipped and, to avoid falling, she was forced to grab the seat of the chair. There was a tiny squeak as the chair shifted slightly on the floor. Rei cowered back, her hand going up to her mouth, her eyes wide.

The room was silent for a moment. Rei sat frozen, balled up under the desk, hardly daring to breath, listening…

The chair was suddenly, violently ripped from under the desk, exposing Rei to plain view. 

The girl cried out in shock, looking up to see the little black hole of a gun pointed right at her head.

"No!" Rei covered her face with her hands, her eyes tight-shut. "Don't!"

"Rei?" 

Rei heard her own name. But she didn't move; she kept her face behind the tiny, futile shield of her shaking hands.

"Rei-" she heard again. Then someone grabbed her arms and pulled her up and out of the alcove. Hands gripped her shoulders, shaking her. "Rei!" 

Rei opened her eyes.

She instantly recognized the pretty face.

"Minako?"

Minako let go of her.

Rei stared at the gun the older girl held, shaking, trying to imagine where in the world the older girl could have gotten such a thing.

"Rei," Minako said, "where's Aiko?"

The younger girl's eyes left the gun and she looked back up at Minako's face.

"W…what?"

"Aiko," Minako repeated firmly. "Have you seen Aiko?"




Agent Violin



THE GENERAL LIKED to take his afternoon martinis every Monday on the front balcony of a little café on Chairman Deng street, his bulky frame surrounded by half a dozen nappily-suited Praetorians. 

Motive, method, and opportunity were now all in place.

And so, one Monday a drop-dead beautiful Japanese schoolgirl happens to walk by - "on her way home from school," of course - blue skirt floating, book bag swaying carelessly in her hand. It is late afternoon, and the general is well into his fifth martini. 

As planned. 

Seeing her, the General’s bleary eyes light up. He orders a pair of his bodyguards to "detain and question her." 

Predictable as a pig: It was hardly the first time he’d used this little dodge against vulnerable girls. 

The guards pretend to be dissatisfied with the official ID documents she gives them, and with her nervous answers: She will have to see the General Himself to explain herself.

The quivering schoolgirl is taken up to a rented room in the hotel above the café, where the General waits.

The guards remain outside.

Once alone with the orphan girl, the General Gin-Breath bends to kiss her trembling neck, ignoring her "No, please, sir..." 

Beyond buzzed, and thinking only of his latest little conquest, Comrade General was unprepared for what awaited him. He works his disgusting lips along her neck. He barely notices when her hands go to his neck… 

Weepy schoolgirl eyes harden: one tiny slice with a razor-sharp press-on nail. The fat general slides slowly to the floor: Death in under four seconds.

And then, Agent Violin goes for the Oscar:

She screams at the imaginary loss of her virginity.

She pants, moans, whines, pleads for mercy… all the while searching the dead General’s person and room… There are some papers in his pocket: They go into Eriko’s book bag. 

"Oh, no! please! it hurt! it hurt!" she cries in broken Chinese

In his center desk drawer, she finds his diary -

"Oh, please, sir! It too hard!" 

- and puts that in her book bag, too.

The General was known not to take long, so neither did she.

Mussing her hair, twisting her skirt, rolling down a sock, popping open a button or two, she is ready to open the apartment door.

Her lowered face a mask of shock and humiliation, barely able to restrain her tears of shame, she whimpers to the guards that the General wants to sleep for two hours.

They nod, hand her ID documents back to her, and down the hall and out the doors she goes.

Leaving the hotel, she ducks around a corner to hurriedly fix herself up, then rushes back to the New Tokyo Orphanage and Academy for Girls.

Bluffing off the questions of her roommates back at the dorm, she flushes the deadly nail, gathers a few things she’ll need, posts a message on the Academy’s Internet Bulletin Board: "Dear Sally - Miss Gina gave my book report an ‘A’," and walks out of the Academy and disappears into the busy late afternoon streets.

SECURITY CAMERAS ARE everywhere in the People’s Democratic Republic of America, of course, and they ID Eriko within hours. 

A state of emergency is declared, and her Official School Photo is in every window, on the door of every bus, in the hand of every gendarme and Security Agent in New Tokyo: Wanted "for Crimes against the People…"

SPECIAL FIELD AGENT Tanner had set out to retrieve Violin six days before Quaker was scheduled to take place.

He arrived two days after it had gone down.

He had found her where they said he would, huddled under a blanket in the rubble of a bombed-out shoe factory, still in her Academy uniform, hungry, cold, and thirsty.

"Excuse me," he addressed her in Japanese, "I’ve lost my cat."

"I saw it drown, honorable sir," she replied, hope welling in her pretty eyes.

"It’s time to go home, Violin."

THEY COULD HAVE left her here; left her to be tortured (she knew nothing of her handler’s activities; only of her own) and to die.

Even in that moment, his eyes feeding on her young nakedness, Tanner was reaffirmed in his faith that he was on the right side: A loyal little helper like this was worth saving, even though - famous as she now was - she could never again serve behind the Lines. The stinking Commie trash he fought would have let her die, had things been reversed. 

Tanner’s mission was purely one of mercy, the rescue of a helpless comrade. 

Well… almost…

She also had General Jin’s diary. That in itself was worth his errand.

Special Deep Cover Agent Violin…

So young…

But already such a woman…

So beautiful…

He doubted that she was a virgin: Sex was arguably the most potent weapon in a female DCA’s arsenal, even (perhaps especially) for the younger ones: ride a secretary in his office to get an Inter-City Visa; go down on a sentry in his box to get past the gate; let the Language teacher doggy-bang you on your desk after class to get an hour of Internet access. Sex sells…

Eight days in the bush, trekking to save her.

He wondered how grateful she was…

His eyes went back to her tits…

Maybe he should find out.

He was barely aware of pulling his jeans and underwear off together, but suddenly there they stood, man and girl, naked in the soft glare of the lantern.

ERIKO RAISED HER eyes to look at it - an involuntary, natural response. 

It was big.

It pointed to her with the mindless intent of a compass needle.

She raised her eyes to his. She saw the carnal lust in them, then lowered her head, yielding the game. She knew that this was how men were. They couldn’t help it. 

Anyway, she was deeply in his debt. She owed her life to this stranger who was also her comrade.

At least he was handsome… Rugged. Quite a bit older… Must be in his thirties. It had been a long time since she’d seen a Caucasian man in the flesh.

He moved toward her.

"Sexuality is the greatest power that females wield over males of the species…" a distant voice sounded in her head. 

It was Major Newton… Her old SexFam teacher back at Special Ops school…

And now, as the big, naked man neared her, Eriko realized that the power of female sexuality was often involuntary… She also said a silent prayer of thanks to Major Newton.

"INTER-SEX FAMILIARIZATION TRAINING." Colloquially known as SexFam (it was gigglingly known as "Pecker School" among the female students). 

Course length: two weeks.

Curious, and assured that she could drop the course at any time, Senior Graduate Eriko Matsuoka volunteers.

The purpose behind SexFam was far from salacious. There was logic behind such training: Rape was a common method of obtaining information from female captives. The Gang-rape and sexual torture of suspects was common. Inter-Vaginal Probes (known to the females in the Service as "truth-serum dildos") were even more effective, and only slightly less brutal. 

Faced with the unpleasant mandate of having to send some of the prettiest, brightest, bravest (and, often, youngest) females in the Free Republic behind the Lines, SexFam was devised. Graduates, virgin or otherwise, were given the option of submitting to two weeks of what amounted to intensive deflowering.

Eriko had lost her cherry to a machine.

THE INSTRUCTORS WERE all female - as were their Assistants.

The first day of the course was taken up by "Basic Sexual Mechanics." 

"How to hump," Eriko’s best friend and desk-mate, Wendy Asaka, had whispered. 

"Quiet, please," the Instructor, Major Newton - a tall, serious blonde in her forties had asked.

The big-screen viewer was switched on in front of the seven volunteers who made up Eriko’s SexFam class.

A 3D, computer-generated couple stood naked before a bed.

"The mating of a man and a woman for the purposes of reproduction," the narrator’s deep voice had intoned, "is called ‘sexual intercourse’."

"Duh," Wendy whispered.

"Quiet, please."

"The couple we see here are about to engage in this process. They first seek to arouse each other, using both visual and tactile stimuli: For example, the man touches and feels the woman’s breasts." 

The CGI man reached for CGI woman’s boobies.

"This action arouses both the partners," Deadly Serious Voice continued: "The man’s penis engorges with blood, making it stiff, in a process known as ‘erection.’"

CGI guy’s computer-generated weenie grew longer and stood out from his body.

Wendy’s hand went to her smiling mouth, her pretty green eyes crinkling in laughter. Wendy was half-white. Her mom, a naval officer, had died in the Battle of the South China Sea about ten years ago. Her father was killed in action on the Rio Grande eight months later, leaving Wendy alone. It never seemed to get her down, though.

"While at the same time, the woman’s vagina engorges and begins to secrete juices, which lubricate her and prepare her for the insertion of the man’s penis…"

This went on for some minutes, the narrator droning every turgid detail, right down to oral sex - and here, Eriko actually learned something: sometimes guys put their thingys in girls’ mouths.

"Blow job," Wendy had whispered helpfully. Wendy knew more stuff than most girls her age. Eriko attributed it to her Caucasian half. 

Finally, the CGI couple got down to business:

The animated woman laid down on the bed, the man went down on top, his legs between hers. A close-up showed the man’s weenie passing the lips of the woman - 

"The man’s now fully-erect penis enters the woman’s well-lubricated and engorged vagina…"

- and then a zoom-out revealed the man, now fully inserted, lying atop the woman: "The man begins thrusting his penis in and out of the woman’s vagina." 

CGI Guy began pumping…

"Squeak, squeak, squeak," whispered Wendy, drawing another disapproving stare from Major Newton.

Eriko didn’t get it.

It squeaks?

But the rest went pretty much as Eriko had envisioned it in her budding sexual imagination: She knew that the woman could ride on top; she had heard of "doggy-style," but hadn’t been sure of how it worked: CGI couple obligingly demonstrated.

At last, the money-shot:

An interior view of the vagina; the man’s last few pumps, then orgasm - his semen ("gism," according to Wendy) splashing happily around inside the woman.

"With orgasm, the process of sexual intercourse is complete."

Day One was completed by a lecture on sexual mores in various cultures, the ways in which sex has shaped human history - Antony, Cleopatra, and all that; pregnancy, VD, and prevention. Then, they were dismissed. 

On Day Two, the seven girls lost their virginity.

ENTERING THE ROOM, Eriko and her six fellow students were told calmly and matter-of-factly to remove their clothes: Seven blushing teens climbed out of their uniform jumpsuits, undershirts, and drawers.

"Nakedness is no cause for shame," Major Newton had assured them in her calm, mature voice. "Indeed, in the career you have chosen to pursue, you must grow accustomed to it."

The tables were padded for comfort. Eriko had thought that they would each get a separate room, but the tables were lined up in two rows, facing each other.

Major Newton’s two female assistants moved about, helping the girls onto the tables and settling them. 

The naked girls’ legs were strapped down with padded hoops, spread at a fair angle; their arms were left free, heads resting on little square pillows.

At the foot of each table was a big, black box. A stainless steel rod protruded from it, pointing up the legs of the table’s inhabitant.

Eriko had craned her neck down to see it: the shiny coldness of it frightened her.

Surely not…

"Ladies," Major Newton said, "we will begin."

Wearing surgical gloves, the assistants began fitting the stainless rods with pink rubber tubes - shaped like circumcised penises - but with small protuberances sticking out of the tops, like a little weenie growing out of a bigger one.

What was that for? 

Eriko was scared.

She looked over to the next bed, where Wendy lay, finding no reassurance: Wendy’s normally smiling eyes were as frightened as her own.

"Ever since we were little girls," Major Newton went on, "we have been taught that chastity is precious. That those who do not honor it, who lose it, are nothing but whores."

Behind the fake weenies were tubes filled with some kind of jell… Eriko watched them being locked into place. 

"That may be true, for those who seek to enter religious orders. But for we who choose to serve our country, virginity is no gift. Quite the contrary."

The fake weenies were all in place now, each jutting menacingly toward its designated target. 

The Assistants moved among the tables now, pressing a button on each black box.

The boxes began to hum.

"For we who serve," Major Newton went on with the rehearsed tone of a many-times given speech, "virginity - which is nothing more than sexual ignorance - is a curse: an impediment, which is best dispensed with as early as possible."

The rubber weenies began moving now, slowly pushing forward toward their targets… Eriko watched with wide little eyes. The weenie which extended toward her began to sweat… 

Eriko stared - then, through her fear, understood: The jell containers affixed behind the penises were lubricant.

"Which is why I congratulate you young women on you courage and intelligence in accepting this challenge."

The weenie was half-way up her naked thigh. 

Eriko was trembling: She wanted to cry out - tell the Major to stop; that she had changed her mind. But her shame wouldn’t allow it to pass her lips. She had made her bed, and now…

She looked over at Wendy… Her best friend was visibly shaking…

"Although you are frightened now, girls, know that when you are finished with this course of instruction, there will be no sexual situation you will be unable to handle. You will be women. Women in the service of the Republic. And masters of your own bodies."

A blonde cried out down the opposite row, a short, sharp cry of shock and pain.

Eriko was sweating… She laid her head back, unable to watch, and closed her eyes. She felt it touch her. Her torso jumped involuntarily. 

It pressed harder.

A tear ran past a tight-shut eyelid.

It was pushing in on her now: It felt warm, slick, rubbery.

Eriko felt a hand grip her forearm. She turned her head toward it: It was Wendy. Wendy was near tears, too, pain in her pretty face. She gripped Eriko’s hand hard, and Eriko returned the grasp.

It passed her lips…

Eriko lay back and pursed her mouth.

"Oh!" Wendy called out next to her, her hand gripping Eriko’s even harder.

Eriko forgot herself, and turned back Wendy: She could see the pink thing slowly entering her friend.

"It’s okay," she whispered to Wendy. 

It broke into her at that moment - 

Eriko cried out loudly

- and ended her virginity.

Another girl whined. Then another.

Assisted by the lubricant it discharged, the rubber weenie slowly buried itself, until the wide flange at its base came to rest against her pubic hair.

Eriko lay gasping, her hair matted to her head, her eyes rolling…

The unnatural cock slid back a few inches. It then pressed forward again. 

Back.

Forward.

Back.

Forward.

It assumed a steady rhythm then. Sliding in and out of her. 

Fucking her. Fucking her… 

It was fucking her… 

It hurt -

Eriko moaned, her hand tugging Wendy’s who tugged right back. She arched her hips, raising her butt off the table, trying to squirm away. It didn’t help - but the little protrusion above it found her "mouse-ear."

It hummed against her clit, wetting it with its lube, sliding up and down on it like - like the man’s tongue in the movie.

It was like the little weenie was licking her…

Eriko shook on the table, her head rolling from side to side. Through the haze, she saw one of the assistants. The young, blonde woman was looking on with the cool impassivity of long experience.

It fucked her steadily, preprogrammed, merciless.

Eriko’s hips thrust against it, in vain. Instinct forced her to seek the attitude that brought maximum stimulation to her clitoris. She moaned out loud, all modesty swept away in the surreality of what was happening to her. 

The protrusion concentrated on her clitoris, lubing it, working it.

Eriko couldn’t help it. It was welling up inside her. It was sliding up and down her clitoris. The main rod continued to pump her virgin pussy…

Beside her, Wendy was moaning. Eriko couldn’t tell if it was with pleasure or pain. Eriko couldn’t have answered that question about her own little cries…

The rod buried itself again, moving now from side to side in her; its little companion remained occupied with her "mouse-ear…"

Eriko’s mouth widened, her head bobbed uncontrollably. It was rising like a wave within her… She felt like her lower body was melting.

She moaned again, louder.

"Ooohhhh…"

She was barely conscious of the groans and cries of the six other girls in the room, or of the blonde assistant who, watching her closely, slightly adjusted a control on her table’s box.

The mechanical penis began pumping her faster, working itself even deep into her helpless body; it began spinning as it pumped, little flecks of lubricant spattering her soft inner-thighs. The thing on her clit remained fixed, working it with computerized precision.

Eriko bucked on the table. Her hand lost Wendy’s. She felt she was going to pass out. The cries of her classmates faded further in her head to near-zero.

Faster, it fucked her.

Faster…

Eriko’s hips lost control, forcing her body down the table, bringing the thing deeper into her, her ankles rattling the hoops which bound them.

"Oh… God!" 

And then it came, gushing, rolling out every part of her. Shattering her. Her back arched. Her lips parted with a scream, half pain, half ecstasy, her body quivering feverishly.

And then it was over.

Eriko’s naked little body collapsed onto the table, soaked with sweat, limp and helpless.

The dildo slowly withdrew from her. Dripping with both artificial and natural juices, it retracted on its rod back into its box.

She lay there for what seemed like a long time, listening distantly as the whines and cries of the other girls of the other girls gradually faded, and the room became quiet.

"Excellent work, ladies," Eriko heard through the panting numbness that she lay in. "The hardest task is behind you. You are now women."

The assistants removed the dripping dildos from their mounts. The girls legs were unshackled, they were given blankets and told to rest awhile, before being taken to the shower room.

The next day, the class began Advanced Sexual Techniques.

AGENT TANNER TOUCHED her breast.

Eriko quivered a bit, but she was ready for him. There was nothing he could do to her…

"We have some time to kill," Tanner said softly.

Tanner licked his lips as he flattened an erect nipple with his finger.

Her perfect tits heaved with her short breaths…

He worked the nipple, rolling it around.

She sighed quietly, her eyes down and away…

He released her breast, and took her hands in his. He guided them to his groin, and placed them on his rod. She obediently took it in both hands, taking it in again with her softly-lidded eyes.

She lightly squeezed it.

Tanner moaned softly and pulled her to him, his big arms encircling her naked body, his cock pressing up against her warm stomach.

Tanner groaned as he bent down and kissed her neck up and down, feeling her plump breasts rub against his lower chest…

"Oh, baby…" he groaned

Violently, he pulled her body up to his mouth, arching her back, and he tasted a nipple with his lips and tongue.

She shook in his arms; gasped as he flicked the nipple with his tongue; her little hands finding his high shoulders. He tasted her other breast, gently biting a nipple, bringing a little cry from her.




Agent Violin



His erection was throbbing painfully, threatening to burst. He wanted to jam her right there, pound the hell out of her right where he stood; but his fevered mind conveyed other possibilities, all of them hot, wet, and indecent…

He kissed her, then whispered "Come here…" 

He pulled her by the shoulders to where her uniform lay, and forced her to kneel on it.

He gripped his cock in one hand, and placed the other on the back of her head. Taking a handful of soft, black hair, he guided her pink lips to his swollen, circumcised head.

Submissively, the girl opened her mouth, and Tanner felt the moist heat of her breath on it. The girl expertly withdrew her teeth as it passed her lips, and then he felt her hot tongue.

"Oh…"

She tasted him… then traced an expert path around his knob with her tongue…

"Oh… fuck…"

He put both hands on her head now, forcing it back into her mouth…

"Suck me, baby…" he moaned.

Her lips closed around it, and it filled her mouth, forcing her to breath through her nose.

"Suck me…"

Tanner gripped her dark hair and pumped gently, fucking her pretty little Asian face…

Eriko brought a hand up to guide her, sliding it up and down his shaft in concert with her mouth, jacking him.

"Oh, fuck, baby…" he moaned.

She began sucking faster, her hand jacking his dick, threatening to make him come.

In his unrelenting lust, he was tempted to just let her suck him to orgasm…

Just let her suck you until you come…. Splatter her pretty little face with your load…

It was so good…

But no…

He watched her sucking him; watched her tits jiggle…

Maybe that’s what she was hoping for…

No…

No way, baby girl…

She wasn’t getting off that easy…

Tanner pulled her head off his dick.

Startled, Eriko looked up at him with wide little eyes.

Tanner took her by the arms and pulled her up. Avoiding her lips, he kissed her face and neck, then went down to a tit. He sucked it; then the other. His little charge gasped, her hands gripping his shoulders.

Tanner straightened up and pushed her back to the wall with his towering body; her naked back hit the cinder blocks with a little pat. 

He gripped her tight ass and lifted her up onto the shelf next to his night goggle and the Checker, his torso forcing itself down her baby-smooth inner-thighs…

His long cock lay atop her raven bush, and he pumped her fur a bit.

Eriko was panting, whether from fear or excitement, he didn’t know.

He didn’t care.

His balls touched the petals of her pink flower. 

She gasped…

"Oh, fuck…" he hissed, losing it - 

He gripped his cock and touched her swollen lips…

Her hips shuddered, clasping at his thighs… 

His swollen dick throbbed in his fist as he worked the head up and down her drooling slit… 

Her eyes were begging his, her mouth hung open drawing in hard breaths…

"Oh… I’m gonna fuck you so hard…" his basso voice growled down to her with strained coherence…

He pressed it against her folded pink… the moist, silky flesh gave easily to his determined push…

Running the head along her steamy gash, he found her clit…

Eriko gasped, her little body jumping at the contact…

Tanner dipped lightly into her, moistening himself, then brought it back to her clit, slowly, deliberately painting her engorged little bump with the spongy tip of his cock…

A shuddering gasp escaped the girl, her body tensing in heat…

Tanner worked her clit with his prick, bringing her up slowly, her juices wetting the soft wool that fringed her vagina…

She moaned softly up to him, her eyes glazing, her naked inner-thighs stroking his hips, her fully-open and drenched vagina softly humping against his probing cock, welcoming him…

Agent Tanner groaned with wicked delight, looking down on her panting sweetness, feeling her wetness lapping at his dick, his over-heated desire forcing him over the brink…

"Oh… I’m gonna fuck you, girl," he rumbled through his teeth…

With one fierce stab, Tanner sheathed himself in the girl’s body.

The girl’s cry echoed off the cold walls as it disappeared into her, her eyes transforming into beautiful shock.

"Oh… fuck…" Tanner stood there, his half-open eyes on the ceiling, delighting in the tight, wet warmth that washed around him…

He looked back down.

Agent Violin’s tits pointed up to him; her face was distant, dreamy… her mouth open, panting softly… his light-brown fur mingled with her black as he listlessly soaked himself in her hot, milking tightness…

"Oh, fuck…" was again all he could manage.

He ran his hands down her body, cupping her firm breasts, gently squeezing them, running his fingers across her rigid nipples, making her moan, her small hands stroking the thick hair of his forearms. 

"Please…" she whispered distantly…

Tanner’s hands caressed down her stomach, before spreading to grip her tiny waist. He looked down to watch his long cock as it slid slowly back out of her, her hot oil gleaming on it in the dim light…

"Oh… baby…" he groaned as he brought it back until only the fleshy head remained inside her…

Carnal hunger shone from his eyes as, with a savage growl, he lunged forward again and reburied it to the hilt.

Agent Violin’s high, little whine again filled the cellar.

Tanner licked his lips, drunken with lust.

He brought it back again… and stabbed her again.

Again.

He slammed her again.

The girl bucked against his pounding cock, rewarding each hard drive with a high, little whine.

Tanner’s fucks became faster, each one finding her end…

"Oh… fuck…Oh… baby…" 

Hot sweat ran down his brow and he closed his eyes, as his groin pounded hers with savage intent, lost in reckless passion.

The girl’s fingers dug into his forearms, her cries becoming louder and even higher. 

Tanner looked down on her contorted face, her bouncing breasts; his own steel-hard shaft, which slid in and out of her hot young womanhood like a well-lubed piston. 

Tanner fucked her harder, her airtight pussy lapping in competition with her cries.

"Aaaahhh…" she let out. "Ple-ease!"

Tanner had lost himself in her body… his whole world centered on his plunging organ…his sole vision was her sweating, bucking nakedness…

"Oh… you little - bitch!" he seethed… He had no idea what he was saying: His hard, primitive lust commanded his entire being…

"You fucking bitch…" he moaned.

Tanner whipped his soaking cock out of her -

"You fucking bitch…" he panted.

- he pulled her off the shelf and spun her around. 

"You’re gettin’ FUCKED, girl…" he breathed into her ear.

This little slut didn’t know what fucking was… 

He would show her… Teach her… Break her, make her his own… Strip the tough little agent of her pride… Make her beg for mercy…

He bent her naked body forward, forcing her to grip the dirty wooden shelf…

With the precision of a heat-seeker, his jutting cock found her pussy and he viciously broke into her again from behind.

Agent Violin’s squeal was deafening in the tiny room.

Tanner gripped her ass and pumped her hard and solid, grunting with exertion and lust.

The girl clenched the shelf in a death grip as her fellow agent fucked her violently from behind, each thrust more brutal than the last, her cries filling the cold air.

"Oh… you goddamned BITCH!" he fucked her….

His hands reached around her to find her wildly bouncing tits, and he used them as handles to repeated slam her back onto his manhood. 

"Eriko shrieked, her long black hair flying as she floundered in his arms like a rag doll

His growling moans mingled with her high whines as his fucks became faster.

Faster. 

She gasped.

Faster.

Her little ass quaked with the impacts of his groin.

His cock plunged deeper… his fat, circumcised head finding her center… 

Agent Violin began to moan for him… long and low…

Agent Tanner licked his lips, leering down on her smooth, bare back. His hands left her breasts and gripped her slim waist… He drew his cock back - then reburied it with all his might.

"Ooooohhh…" the girl let out, filling his ears with her pleasure.

Tanner buried it again, bringing another long, whining moan from her.

Again.

"Ooooohhh… Noooo…" Eriko began her orgasm.

Tanner began a steady rhythm, manipulating each thrust to bring the girl up to just the right point. 

Her tight muscles milked his cock. Her moans were becoming longer, louder, more steady. She was getting close…

He wanted to see her again: her lovely face; to watch her perfect tits bounce for him; to watch her come…

With regretful urgency, Tanner whipped his soaking rod out of her, pulled her upright and spun her around.

The Japanese girl panted, looked up at him with dreamy, lustful eyes… Her disheveled hair dangled before her face, her sweat glistened on her breasts… 

The smell of sex wafted between them as, burning, Tanner clutched her naked waist. Her hands instinctively went to his shoulders to help him as he lifted her body up to meet his. His cock stood straight up against her… He balanced her dripping flower over it before sliding his hands behind her to grip her slick shoulders… 

Their eyes met in a begging union… Tanner’s arms tightened and with one clean move, impaled her on his manhood.

The girl howled loud and long, tears squeezing out of her shut eyes, her fingers digging into the big man’s shoulders.

Sliding his hands down to her waist, Tanner pulled her petite body up on his rod, bringing her chest to his face, and he tasted the sweat of her breasts.

The little agent moaned for him, her arms encircling his neck, her head flying back, mouth open.

Hands resting just above the curve of her hips, Tanner brought the girl back down on him, drilling her to her end.

A spasm struck the girl, her naked body jolting in his arms, her little snatch grinding madly on his cock.

"Oh… oh… no-oo…" she let out, inarticulate with pleasure; her pussy was sopping wet, her juices flowing in a helpless gush.

Tanner slammed his groin upwards, spearing her, finding her center.

"Oh… no - Go-od!" Eriko cried.

"Oh… you… little… bitch!" he hissed, barely able to form the words. 

He drilled her again, harder. 

Again - the collision of his crotch bucking her upward.

"Oh… God! God!" the girl cried out again; she held his shoulders and bounced herself on his rod, her little body grinding down on him, quaking beyond control.

Tanner’s own thrusts sought now to match the cadence of her bounces, his cock ramming upward to meet her descending pussy in perfect symphony.

Eriko was moaning in his arms, her head bobbing uncontrollably, her sweat-streaked breasts jogging.

"Oh… oh my God -!" she let out again.

His hands gripped her tiny waist like a vise, slamming her downward, repeatedly, fucking her, overcome with barbarous frenzy. 

"Oh, fuck…" Tanner hissed. "Fuck-" He embedded his cock to the nuts, worked it around inside her, drew it back, then mined her again. 

"Oohh - No-oo…" Violin whined…

He fucked her faster, fucked her like an animal, the liquid sound of sex filling the cold room. He was getting close; could feel his load building up deep down in his pipe…

Faster -

The sound of their slapping bodies echoed in the tiny space.

Deeper - 

His groin pounded hers with savage efficiency. 

Harder - 

Her pussy was melting around his cock, liquefying as he pumped her, grinding down on him madly, forcing him even deeper, her hot juice soaking his nut sack.

"Oo-ohh - GOD! Uhhhhh!" Eriko cried out suddenly, before, with one last huge moan, she gave him her orgasm, her hot juice splattering his groin, her hands releasing his shoulders, her upper body going limp and falling back.

Tanner wasn’t far behind - only about a dozen hard jabs, which he gave eagerly, pumping viciously, hoarse with passion, the sight of her orgasm finally driving him over the edge. 

Agent Tanner let out a long groan, his cock burying itself and flooding her drenched cavern with his white-hot load… 

"Oh… fuck… Fuck…" His orgasm shook both their bodies. "Fuck…" he repeated, his lust draining with his semen… He pulled the near-lifeless girl up to him, holding her against his chest; she rested her panting head on his shoulder, her little pussy milking his softening prick. Only the sound of their hard breathing remained in the tiny room’s chilly air…

But Tanner’s legs were weak: he couldn’t hold her any more. He slid the motionless girl off his lowering staff and released her, setting her feet rather roughly on the cold concrete below.

Eriko stumbled back away from him, her flailing arms finding the dirty little shelf, and she fell on it for support, mouth open, breathless, stunned, the overfill of his passion running down an inner-thigh.

Tanner stood panting, his dripping cock slowly beginning to lower. He ran a hand over his wet face to clear his head.

The room was silent. 

Neither looked at the other; and they stayed that way, silent and apart, for what seemed a long time, slowly returning to sanity. 

Finally, his sweaty body rapidly cooling in the chill of the cellar, Tanner summoned the sense to look at his watch. 

Nearly half an hour…

Fuck…

They had to get moving.

He looked at her now.

The sweaty, naked girl’s eyes were focused downward as she leaned on her shelf, staring mistily at nothing. Her body was glistening, flushed with sex; her hair was wet, ragged and matted… Thin, milky rivulets of his come were running down her legs…

The kid was a mess…

He watched her lick her lips and swallow.

Tanner crossed the tiny room, bent down, and picked up her school uniform blouse.

"Here," he said quietly, handing it to her as he passed, moving on to the equipment duffel.

Eriko took the blouse. She looked at it weakly for a moment, as if her first impulse was to fold it: She’d been playing the schoolgirl for a long time.

She began to wipe herself off.

Tanner knelt by the duffel. He pulled out the little Walther PPK.

The girl was wiping her crotch and inner thighs as he approached, holding the pistol. She eyed the little 9mm gun and then looked up at him. Tanner pulled the slide back, chambering a round.

"You’re certified in small arms, right?" he asked.

Violin nodded slowly. Of course she was: What a stupid question.

The naked man un-cocked the now-loaded weapon, put it on Safe, and handed it to her.

"Only if you absolutely need it," he said.

Nodding again, the girl dropped her old school blouse to the floor and carefully took the pistol from him.

"The sun’ll be down in about fifteen minutes," Tanner informed her as he turned away and moved back to the bag. "We have to get moving,"

Tanner piled up the smaller set of fatigues, underwear, socks and boots, and held the resulting bundle out to her. 

Eriko put the pistol on the shelf, took the bundle, and began sorting through it.

Tanner began to dress himself, pulling his drawers up, then the black fatigue trousers.

"No bra?" Violin asked suddenly, her small voice unnaturally loud in the cold stillness of the chamber. Her English was perfect, albeit with a slight Asiatic accent.

Tanner was somewhat surprised by her little outburst: It was the first real conversation she had made since they had entered the cellar. He turned and looked into her dark, questioning eyes

"No bra," he replied. "T-shirt."

© 2001 By Andrew Black. All rights reserved.

====================

I would appreciate any comments (nice, nasty, or otherwise), suggestions, etc., sent by e-mail.