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Dominoe is the property of Trent Wolf. All other characters and events in this story are copyright 1999 by the author. This story contains scenes of violence, torture, and sexual situations. It is not appropriate for younger readers.

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(I)

The cavernous wildcat deck of the Petrotech Drilling Platform #3 was dark and deathly cold, cramped with pipe stands, powerful hydraulics, and caked with oily filth from two decades of continuous drilling. The powerful halogen lamps overhead were all dark and the thin light from the emergency lights was all but swallowed by the jungle of chains, winches, and mobile cranes hanging from the ceiling. Outside, the North Sea occasionally lashed out at the man-made eyesore, causing the entire platform to groan in protest. Normally 200 men worked on the wildcat deck 24 hours a day pumping crude oil from the ocean floor. Now only a handful remained, gathered around the central wellhead, a 9000-foot shaft 3 feet in diameter choked with filthy, ice-cold seawater. Their dark fatigues, automatic weapons, and foolishly lit cigarettes attested that they were not oilmen. They were murderers on the corporate payroll, and the stiff dead bodies littering the deck indicated that they did their work well. And they had one more murder to attend to after, of course, having a little fun.

"Two minutes, Major Sokov." One soldier noted, carefully monitoring his wristwatch.

"Very well, she should be surfacing any moment now."

The heavy shaft withdrew slowly from the icy wellhead, as it had been for the last 60 seconds since reaching a maximum depth of 50 meters. The segments of oily pipe finally giving way to the black and yellow crosshatch pattern of the drill unit itself. At last their prisoner broke the surface with a primal gasp followed by half-drowned coughs as she was raised fully from the hellish water to stand again before her torturers. She was no more than 25, with sultry brown eyes and long coppery hair now drenched and laying tightly against her head. Though she had the body of a bathing suit model, she was dressed for amphibious combat in a catsuit of rubberized lycra, short black diving gloves, booties, and military dive belt now stripped of equipment. The mysterious beauty was chained tightly to the drill shaft at the thighs, waist, and throat with her arms pulled entirely around the shaft in a reverse hug and manacled at the wrists. The bondage seemed to highlight her petite waist, delicately flaring hips, and firm breasts with nipples rock-hard from prolonged exposure to the icy water. The rubber soles of her boots rested on the
diamond-crusted grinders lining the tip of the drill. The only insignia on her glossy black costume was a shoulder patch showing a blood-red rook on a subdued yellow background–the badge of a CATT field agent.

"Feel like talking yet, Miss Newcastle?" Sokov asked in the sophisticated accent of one who spoke a half dozen languages. "Or are you ready for a 60 meter dive. It should require 2 minutes and 15 seconds submerged."

"What is there to talk about?" She managed between coughs. For a moment they regarded each other, the professional soldier and the young spy. Sokov was acutely aware that her men could not keep their eyes off their luscious prisoner. In fact, her body, face and appearance had apparently had been subtly altered for just that purpose; her haunting beauty was certainly a formidable weapon in a world of horny men. Sokov too felt an odd attraction to the girl, but business was business. It wasn't often one got the opportunity to torture a woman with the face of a movie star, the body of an exotic dancer, and the courage of a navy SEAL.

"Let's start with how you knew that we were planning to attack this drilling platform?"

"It wasn’t hard to spot six military surplus helicopters loaded with mercenaries massing at an abandoned airport."

"But you can’t expect me to believe that you rode out with us on one of our own helicopters. How did you know our objective?"

"Just lucky, I guess."

"And was it just luck when you killed 10 of my men and sabotaged the power distribution system to this facility?"

"No, your men were careless. It happens when all your other opponents are unarmed civilians."

"It seems you too were careless, attempting to rescue the prisoners. You forget that many people in this world will to betray their own mothers for one more moment of life."

Major Sokov drove her fist hard into the young agent’s muscular abdomen, driving the air out of her lungs.

"We’ll talk again when you’re feeling more cooperative. Please lower the drill to 60 meters."

"Yes Ma’am."

The guard at the controls pulled a lever and the drill started downward, taking their prisoner back down into the lightless well. The lovely spy breathed as deeply and rapidly as the chains and Sokov’s punch would allow, desperate to build up enough oxygen in her already depleted blood to survive another cruel plunge to a depth of almost 200 feet. It would require all her self-control to survive the next two minutes.

She had been submerged for almost a minute when the overhead halogens began to flicker dimly and the blowers again began circulating warm air. After five hours, the invaders had finally managed to repair enough of the damaged power distribution network to restore basic utilities. But the lights only revealed the full extent of their carnage: over a hundred bullet-riddled bodies strewn across the wildcat deck alone. Those few not killed in the initial raid on Platform #3 had been executed soon after. All except for the lone CATT agent that had attempted to foil their plans. She would die too of course, but her ultimate fate could certainly be much more entertaining than mere drowning and hypothermia in the depths of the wellhead.

"On the deck, attention!" A man shouted with military precision. The shock troopers came to attention as they were joined by a their leader. She was a tall elegant woman in her early 50s almost 6 feet tall with platinum hair and the bored expression of an aristocrat. She wore a black wool business suit with a mink stole, a fortune of diamond and emerald jewelry, and carried a riding crop in one gloved hand. Behind her was her pleasure slave, a delicious 5’2" blonde wearing leather pants, a leather halter-top, and high heels despite the cold room. The older woman had her slave on a leash secured to a stout leather collar, while a hobbling chain connecting her two ankle cuffs ensued that she walked only in shuffling steps.

"The power is restored, Major Sokov. My men will have the vault open in a matter of hours. Is the platform secured?"

"Yes Donna Matrix," the hard military woman answered smartly. "The grounds are secured and the missile batteries are set up. All prisoners, including your informants, have been terminated with the exception of the spy. I have been questioning her on her knowledge of our operation."

"The saboteur is a woman? A security specialist for Petrotech?"

"No, ma’am. She says her name is Angelica Newcastle. She is apparently a field agent for CATT."

"Hmmm, then the name is undoubtedly false. Bring her up immediately."

The controller immediately reversed the drill, which rose double-speed to the surface.

"I must warn you, ma’am, she’s a tricky one. I lost 10 good men trying to flush her out. One of your informants finally got a good lick in on her as she was rescuing him, hoping to gain favor and save his life."

"He’s been executed?"

"Yes. "

"Excellent."

When "Angelica" again broke the surface she was hanging weakly from the chains, shivering and on the verge of hypothermia. Again she erupted into fits of coughing, trying to clear her lungs to take in the oxygen her body was starving for. She didn’t even notice the arrival of the dangerous-looking woman and her sexy slave.

"My, my, my," Matrix pressed her riding crop against the prisoner’s shoulder to get a better look at her shoulder patch. "I see CATT knows the proper way to equip their female assassins. How could any foolish man casually execute such a rare beauty. What do they call you within CATT, my dear?"

The time for resistance was past. The spy could see that this woman had more sinister thoughts on her mind than simple interrogation. "Dominoe."

"I’ve heard of you; pity you don’t live up to your reputation. I am Matrix. Donna Matrix. You’ve heard of me, yes?"

"Of course. Matrix Chemicals. You also front a dozen illegal operations--drug smuggling, gambling, white slavery, extortion. A real girl scout."

"Hmm, yes. But I’m working on my deathtrap merit badge, but I’ll need your help. I saw the most intriguing little toy up on the deck."

"I think I’d rather try for 70 meters."

"Clever girl. Pixie, I’m afraid I’ll need a few of your toys, if you don’t mind. You men, take Dominoe to the pump room, and I’ll join you presently. Feel free to handle her roughly."

                                               ****

The officers of the Matrix Corporate Assault Team gathered in the pump room to watch the fun as Dominoe was prepared for an entertaining death. Donna Matrix had left the sultry agent in her skintight catsuit, but had added a leather single glove and large black rubber ball gag. Her waist had been expertly wrapped with a dozen coils of tight nylon cord, supporting a tight crotch rope that ran from just below her navel to a steel grommet on the end of the single glove. She also wore leather ankle cuffs secured by a one-foot chain. The men pulled the gear as tight as they could–there was certainly no point in preserving the circulation of a dead woman.

Dominoe was standing before a thick, black pipe that entered the pump room through one wall and exited through the opposite wall. Directly before her, Matrix’s men had opened a steel access cap, easily large enough to admit the sleek spy. Inside the pipe and just to one side of the opening was what looked like a conical digging nightmare from War of the Worlds. It had a forward-facing grooved cone with long steel teeth, as well as similar drill-like grinders angling up and down, contacting the walls of the pipe. The spinning grinder heads completely filled the pipe and would presumably be driven forward by an unseen track mechanism.

"Pity we don’t have more time to play, but this should serve as a tasty diversion while my men finish opening the vault door to the research center. This pipe is used to load tankers and runs for hundreds of yards across the platform. Its flushed with water after every use but it still gets very mucky so they use this scrubber to remove obstacles and scour the walls clean. And I also noticed this delightful feature."

Matrix pressed a button on a control console and lights just behind the grinder head came on. Near the lights were several protected camera lenses behind thick plates of glass.

"The scrubber is also used to inspect the pipes. I’ll give you a 30-second head start to wriggle down the pipe as far as you can before I release the scrubber. From here, we’ll watch the chase in all its gory detail. Sound like fun?"

"HMMFFF!" Dominoe’s eyes were defiant but her heart was racing. This was definitely not good.

"Major Sokov!" Came a voice over the radio. "In-bound helicopters from 035 and 273, low to the water!"

"So, Dominoe, it seems as if you were able to alert your friends after all," Matrix pulled on the crotch rope until Dominoe moaned into her gag. "I’ll delay the game just long enough for you to witness their destruction. Arm the missiles! Fire on my command!"

Dominoe was held in grips of iron as the seconds ticked by. The whipping wind and the pounding sea made it difficult to hear but finally her keen senses caught the faintest sound of helicopter blades on the horizon. Flying right into the hands of a paranoid lunatic with a huge weapons budget.

"Fire!" Donna Matrix said with obvious relish, tightening her grip on Pixie’s leash.

But then everything went wrong. The missiles had hardly left the rail when they suddenly detonated, throwing the entire group to the deck. Outside, fireballs filled the sky and it rained down splintered deck, burning wreckage, and twisted metal. The missile launchers themselves were completely destroyed.

"That little slut!" Matrix bellowed, "Dominoe’s responsible for this! Kill her immediately!"

A dozen pistols were drawn to fulfill Donna Matrix’s death sentence but they could not find a target. In the moment of confusion, Dominoe had apparently disappeared.

"She’s in the pipe, you fools!" Matrix seized a pistol from one of her men and fired down the length of the pipe in the direction Dominoe had certainly fled. Only when the gun was empty did she throw it back to the mercenary.

"Take defensive positions to repel the attackers," she ordered. "They’ll never expect such a large and professional force. Tell the men to continue working on the vault. Major Sokov, a word with you alone."

"Yes Ma'am. You heard her, men, dig in and prepare to destroy these CATT bastards."

The men filed out in military fashion, while Matrix surveyed the situation through a window now suddenly devoid of glass. When they were alone, Matrix continued.

"The platform is on fire in three places--in 20 minutes it will be an inferno. We will never get the vault open in so short a time. My direct approach to obtain the black ice has failed; we will need to revert to plan B.

"Call my private sub and meet me on the debarkation level, while the others cover our escape. But first, seal that pipe and activate the scrubber. It’s a pity I will only get to kill Dominoe once."

"Very good, ma’am." Sokov radioed the sub commander, then screwed the heavy steel cap back on the pipe.  Finally, she set the scrubber on its highest setting and sent it on its way.

                                               ****

Inside the pipe all was pitch black. Dominoe was already caked with crude oil sludge and half-delerious from the toxic fumes, but nevertheless willed her body forward like an inchworm through the glop. She had reached an elbow in the pipe just in time to avoid the hail of bullets, but she was still in terrible danger. The far-off explosions told her that a battle was going on outside. The elevated temperature told her that the oil platform was most likely on fire and she would soon fry. But, worst of all, the steady vibrations in the walls of the pipe told her that Donna Matrix had still managed to activate the scrubber which was even now bearing down on the hobbled, exhausted, and half-asphyxiated agent. It would be interesting to find out just which lethal menace killed her first.

And things were about to get worse. Her eyes, which were desperately trying to adjust to the profound darkness, finally caught the tiniest hint of illumination, but it was from behind her. Her heart sank as she realized that the scrubber was rapidly gaining ground. Then she struck on yet another disastrous surprise: the pipe before her suddenly pitched straight down and was completely filled with oil-polluted water.

So now it's between drowning or mechanical dismemberment. She thought to herself. And Rook always said they’d just fuck me to death!

She had been conditioned by CATT to internalize danger as sexual arousal instead of the paralyzing fear that lead to the deaths of most agents. And her libido was singing now but there was no point in delaying the inevitable. Just as she had done before each plunge into the well head, Dominoe drew in a rapid succession of deep breaths then plunged herself into the water-filled pipe with no idea when or if she would ever find air again. The natural buoyancy of her costume worked against her as she struggled to descend into the murk but fortunately the pipe leveled out after dropping only 5 feet. The daring girl continued her desperate crawl, now pressed by her own natural buoyancy against the top of the flooded pipe.

45 seconds. She timed herself as she wriggled slowly through the airless darkness. Losing it already. Her head was swimming and her thoughts were starting to wander. Not one person in 1,000,000 could have made it even this far, but it seemed that Death--whom she had courted for so long--had at last come to claim his bride.

But perhaps not. Even as she felt her limbs going numb, Dominoe heard a series of "plinks," and a dozen points of light materialized before her eyes. 20mm rounds! Now Dominoe wriggled forward with new purpose. The shells had entered from overhead and had left jagged entry holes lined with razor-sharp strips of metal. If she could get there before the water level dropped substantially she could use the shards like a knife against the single glove! Despite her burning lungs and the small tantalizing breathing space now developing at the top of the draining pipe, the sultry agent turned face down so that the single glove was pressed against the roof of the pipe and lurched forward.

RIIIIIIP!

The leather parted easily against the jagged steel knives of the bullet holes and Dominoe slipped her arms from the single glove, immediately removing the pressure on the crotch rope. But there was no time to celebrate yet.  Dominoe had no sooner removed the gag and pressed her mouth up against a bullet hole for some fresh air when the scrubber descended into the lower pipe, locking her in its headlights. A solid wall of whirling steel teeth advanced toward the ebon-clad spy and she crab-walked reflexively down the pipe to add some futile distance between them.  But the fast-moving scrubber advanced only as far at the bullet holes before hanging up on the same steel shards she had used to sever the single glove. In fact, the whirling head directly against the holes was stuck fast. This gave Dominoe both the opportunity and the point of vulnerability she needed. She drew a slim taser from a secret compartment in her night suit and fired it into the main body of the scrubber unit, slamming its circuitry with 20,000 volts of low-current charge. The deadly machine suddenly went inert in a flash of frying circuits.

                                                **

Tuk Chow, the first CATT agent from the strike team to reach the platform, was livid with rage as he searched among the dead civies for Dominoe. The rigged locator signal they had used to find her position and booby-trapped missile batteries were clear evidence that she had survived the initial attack on the platform, but the carnage everywhere attested to the brutality of her opponents. He didn’t have much hope of finding her alive, but he was at least determined to find her body before the platform collapsed. Needless to say, he was shocked when a hatchway almost directly before him slowly unscrewed itself and popped open. He raised his M16 as a small head popped out of the opening, completely caked with muck but unmistakable nonetheless.

"What the hell are you doing in there, Dominoe? I never figured you as one to duck out on a perfectly good firefight. "

"Tuk! My god, am I glad to see you–for a change! Get me the fuck out of here."

Tuk shouldered his rifle and helped his teammate out of the reeking pipe.

"EWWWW, you look like hell, girl. You’re going to be scrubbing this shit off you for a month. Any idea who’s behind all this?"

"Yes. And as soon as I find out why, she’s dead."

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(II)

It seemed like rich corporate sponsors were demanding more and more of their professional athletes these days, and Christian Lieberman, Petrotech's R&D Officer, was no exception. In this case he had demanded to spend the evening with the Bridgett Dulac, the rookie addition to the Silver Spectrum, Petrotech's international women's cycling team. He had met up with the team in Sestrieres, France where they were preparing for the International Women's Cycling Championships. The course for this year would go from the Alps to the coast of the French Riviera and unfortunately the Spectrum had lost their high-speed specialist to a freak ankle fracture. It was pure luck that they picked up Bridgett in Paris, a fearless flier that had given them hope of even taking the gold cup.  Lieberman had also heard that she was one of the most striking women to ever join the tour, so since business took him to the Alps anyway he couldn't resist the temptation to look in on the Spectrum's rookie sensation.

Bridgett did not disappoint. She had already been dubbed the "Renoire Rocket" on the tour for her ability to fly down the steep twisting mountainsides that characterized the early stages of the course. And she had proven equally skilled in Lieberman's private suite, driving him mad with clever flirting and sultry glances before she had even removed her nylon warm ups. What followed was for Lieberman a sexual marathon that defied his greatest adolescent dreams. They moved across the penthouse hotel suite like inspired artists from hot tub, to bearskin rug, to satin bed, to conference table, she always right there with the perfect touch, or kiss, or word that would arouse him anew. By three AM they had finally collapsed exhausted on the bed, still dripping wet from the hot tub where Bridgett had been showing him amazing things she could do to him with ice cubes. He collapsed utterly spent and at perfect peace, his angel tucked demurely under his arm. He was so deeply asleep that he completely missed the tiny prick that would send him into dreamless slumber for the next 8 hours.

"Hmmm," Bridget Dulac–known in the most secretive international circles as Dominoe--withdrew the tiny syringe but lingered a moment longer, savoring the moment. "You have some raw talent waiting to be developed, Mr. Lieberman. Wish all my men were as repressed as you. Time to go to work."

Dominoe gave the powerful and ruggedly handsome executive a final oddly passionate kiss, then slipped out from beneath the satin sheets and padded naked across the floor. There was no doubt why Lieberman had fallen easy prey to her charms. Dominoe was built (and in some cases rebuilt) to the very vision of feminine perfection. At 5'7" and precisely 117 pounds, she was long and lean with perfectly sculpted legs, softly flaring hips, a tiny waist, and full, perfectly rounded breasts that were simply too perfect to be natural. Her buttocks were perfectly heart-shaped and her abdomen was washer-board flat, arcing gently between her thighs to her artistically rendered pussy. Her face was disarmingly innocent, with huge pouting brown eyes, delicate rounded features, a long regal neck, and a lustrous mane of shoulder-length auburn hair. Every aspect of her appearance was scientifically balanced: she was gorgeous but not one feature stood out for recollection. You could be captivated by her gaze for hours, and afterward have no recollection of her appearance. She could completely captivate you in an instant; and leave you wondering for days if she had ever really existed. In other words, she was the perfect spy.

Too bad I won't be around for the race, Dominoe mused as she picked up her uniform from the floor near the fire and dressed. She pulled on her nylon panties, tights, and athletic top of metallic silver with the high-tech logo of Silver Spectrum across her chest. I have taken a bit of a dislike for the Deuchebank team. If only Lieberman had delayed a bit longer.

But Lieberman was making his deal with Matrix Chemicals and CATT was determined to head him off. Petrotech was strictly a small-time petroleum producer specializing in offshore drilling. But when CATT heard rumors that Petrotech had discovered an amazing new material called Black Ice in a nearly exhausted offshore oil well, they dispatched Dominoe to investigate. What Dominoe stumbled upon, however, was a clear attempt by Matrix Chemicals to make a grab for the revolutionary material in a military strike before word of its existence could leak out. Now the platform was destroyed and with it Petrotech’s secret lab where they stored their entire supply of the substance. But one sample of the material had apparently survived, and CATT learned that Lieberman was planning to sell it to an "unknown agent" for an astronomical sum. Dominoe could well imagine just who that agent represented–Matrix Chemicals.

Course, I'll need a little help with my disappearing act. Dominoe opened the sliding glass door leading to the open terrace and disappeared briefly into the night, returning with a black satchel that had been recently dropped off. The satchel contained a vest of black nylon with many compartments and straps. With amazing dexterity, the sexy spy opened the vest and stepped into the dual crotch straps, pulling them snug at her thighs and noting with satisfaction with weight of the 9mm Browning under her arm. She pulled a black "skrunchie" out of one pocket and pulled her hair back even as she made her way over to the closet that hid the small safe. Another pocket held an active listening device that could ping the tumblers of even an electronic safe. The poor safe proved just as vulnerable to the trained touch of Dominoe as had Lieberman, and in less than a minute she had cracked the code.

The safe contained a significant amount of cash, jewels, bearer bonds, and a small aluminum case. Within the foam-lined case was a vial of black fluid and a data disk, bearing the drawing of a complex polymeric molecule. The other valuables Dominoe ignored, but the Black Ice was coming with her!

"Alright, now to disappear like the wind…" Her hand strayed toward the spread-spectrum transmitter at her belt.  Three minutes to pick up after I activate the transmitter. Damn but I hate these balloon extractions. She pressed the button and hurried to the patio.

On the roof, Dominoe deployed a large red helium balloon from the back pocket of the vest. It rapidly rose to an altitude of 600 feet where it went "active," providing a homing signal for the EC-135 extraction plane that she couldn't see but could hear rumbling somewhere overhead. Just then she heard another noise, this one much closer.  It was none other than Major Serina Sokov, Donna Matrix's trained attack bitch. For another moment Dominoe pretended to be oblivious to the woman's stealthy presence, but then with a smooth, almost invisible motion she whipped out her pistol and trained it on the ex-KGB major.

"It would be a shame to have to kill you on a lovely night, Major Sokov."

"I could have shot you from across the roof, my dear Dominoe. I chose to reveal myself to you."

"Poor choice. I’m afraid I’m a bit hard-hearted toward mass murderers."

"I, too, was reminiscing about the drilling platform. You are by far the most magnificent subject I have ever had the pleasure to interrogate. It seemed like such a shame to simply shoot you in the back from my armored enclosure on the other side of the roof."

Enclosure? Could she be bluffing?

"Oh, I'm sorry CATT missed it. I just set it up this evening, along with a SA-4 anti-aircraft battery. Lieberman, it seems, is very concerned about international terrorists."

Dominoe stood relaxed, still looking up at the night sky with her gun held out laterally trained on the beautiful KGB interrogator. The engines of the plane were growing closer, unaware that they were flying straight into a trap. Nina felt a tingling thrill in her crotch, the sexual response that counteracted the worst of the suffocating fear that paralyzed most agents at moments like this. Thirty seconds from freedom, but was Sokov bluffing?

"Surrender yourself now to me, Dominoe, and the six brave men up there tonight will still be six brave men tomorrow. Resist and you will die, they will die…"

"…and you will die."

"Yes. And I thought this was going to be a boring night."

Then Dominoe heard an electrical whine and she knew Sokov was holding all the cards. The hidden SA-4 battery was even now tracking the EC-135 in passive mode. She would never get out by air and if she resisted she would only kill the aircrew as well, along with the innocent civilians below killed by the falling debris. With great regret Dominoe pulled the ripcord that released the recovery balloon to the empty air.

"Very well, Major Sokov," Dominoe safed her gun and dropped it. "But you should have just shot me when you had the chance."

"I think you have it backward, Dominoe," Sokov’s men came forward and seized the spy by either arm. "You should have shot yourself when you had the chance. Now we have some time to play."

                                              *****

The air was damp and chilly at 2300 meters, and it was made more so by the stiff downwash of the waiting helicopter. The view from the top of the Sestrieres, the first stubby peak of the Alps, was gorgeous; the asphalt road from Switzerland plunged from the summit down for thousands of meters into the lush green heartland of France headed for the Riviera some 120 kilometers distant. This road was the most demanding leg of the Tour de France, and also the route chosen for the women’s Cycling Championship. It was only fitting that Lieberman should choose this location for the death of his treacherous cyclist.

Still looking a bit groggy from the effects of Dominoe’s injection, Lieberman stepped out of the helicopter, proceeded by Donna Matrix (with her slave, Pixie), Sokov and her security contingent. The guards then extracted Dominoe herself, who had been dressed in cycling singlet of wet-looking lycra, black cycling shoes, and gloves. Her chestnut hair was in a French-braid behind her head to better accept her black cycling helmet. She looked every bit like a beautiful cyclist--except for the high voltage shock collar around her throat, the tight black bondage belt, and the fact that her hands were cuffed behind her back.

"Ahhh, Good morning ‘Bridgett,’" Lieberman smiled as the group walked away from the 'copter toward the licorice-strip of twisting road. " I must say I’ve never seen anyone fill out a triathlon suit quite like you."

"I never figured you as the sort who would traffic with international terrorists, Christian."

"Nor did I figure you to be a treacherous slut, Ms Dominoe. We all bear our secrets. You should be thankful that I am going to kill you today myself, rather than turning you over to Donna Matrix. It's my way of thanking you for last night."

"Yes," Sokov approached the bound spy and teased her breasts beneath the silky fabric of the tight singlet. "Gonji, my acupuncture master, taught me 15 auto-erotic torture constellations. It’s a pity you only got to experience the first four." A chill ran down Dominoe’s spine at the thought of the night she had spent in strict bondage at the mercy of the KGB master. The intricate patterns of needles had produced indescribable sensations of pleasure-pain that had even Dominoe on the verge of pleading for mercy. Death would be the least of her concerns if she were turned over to Donna Matrix.

"As it is, I’ve arranged a most fitting death for you."

From the back of the helicopter the guards produced a sleek black racing cycle and set it on the road, held upright by removable steel stand. Though it appeared in most respects to be a conventional top-of-the-line racing bike, several modifications were obvious. First, the water bottle holder had been replaced with metal clips that could hold nothing larger than a slim vial. Second, the handlebars, seat stand, and pedals were modified with steel attachment points so that the rider could be bound in place. And finally, the cycle had no brakes whatsoever.

"Since you are by natural a speed specialist, Bridgett, I decided we should put your skills to the test. Gentlemen, would you kindly help our daring racer onto her cycle." The guards complied, lifting Dominoe by the belt and setting her on the bicycle. Using custom sized chains they secured her belt to the seat stand, wrists to the low handlebars, and feet to the pedals.

"This is one of the fastest cycles on the tour. Your top speed is limited only by your own ability to control your descent down the mountain. You will set a new world’s record or will suffer a spectacular fall."

"Great, I’ve always wanted to see the Riviera." Dominoe tested her bonds, as the guards adjusted her helmet, removed the shock collar, and slipped on a pair of Oakley sunglasses.

"Oh and I almost forgot your water bottle." Lieberman opened an aluminum transit case and produced a delicate-looking tube of glowing green fluid. "This is amprhypoxophil, a highly unstable compound that bursts into a huge fireball upon contact with oxygen. Matrix makes it for the military." With great care he slipped the vial into the water bottle holder. "This glass vial is only 500 nanometers thick, and will shatter very easily. You’d best be careful or you could get hurt."

Lieberman stopped to run his hands along Dominoe’s legs. She was now permanently secured into a cyclist's crouch, head almost to the handlebars and sunglasses absorbing the light. He smiled lustily as the beautiful spy discretely tested the bonds securing her shapely buttocks to the seat.

"Any final words, Dominoe?"

It was odd, but Dominoe’s first thoughts were about Donna Matrix’s elvish slave, Pixie. Something about her nagged at the corner of Dominoe’s mind, like the face of an old friend appearing unexpectedly in an obituary.  Something about her just seemed so…sad. But then the thought was gone. She had more serious problems right now than brooding sex slaves.

"Yeah. I’ll be seeing you at the bottom."

"You make that sound almost inviting, my dear." Then he turned to his men. " I will be returning to the village with Dr Matrix and Major Sokov. Release Dominoe after we’ve cleared the area, so we can observe her final race from overhead."

                                               ****

As the helicopter gunned to full throttle for a high altitude take off, Dominoe was chilled to the bone, and not merely from the powerful downwash. Just beyond her slim front tire the road rapidly dropped away, at points as steep as a 16% grade with constant twists and double-backs. She had ridden down the mountain over 40 times during her training, but on a conventional bike and with ample use of the brakes. This time there would be no stopping and the slightest impact would mean instant death. And to make matters worse, as she mentally reviewed the course, she could pinpoint a dozen places where a missed turn would send her hurling off a cliff, only to be shattered on the rocks below. She had to escape from the cycle, but was joined to it by a multiple chains and straps. Her heart pounded in her chest and her pussy tingled madly as her fetish for danger took over. The tight costume, strict bondage and the pressure of the slim seat against her sex left her thoroughly wet and aroused.

"Ready to die, slut spy?" A guard came up from behind her once the helicopter was away. "Too bad the bosses are watching; there ain’t a limp dick on the entire mountain."

"Well maybe I could arrange something, but I’m in a bit of trouble right now."

"Got that right, and it looks great! We’re taking bets how long it will take before you go BOOM."

"What’s your bet?"

"One minute, 35 seconds to one minute 45 seconds."

"Honey, on this rig I’ll be going 80 kilometers per hour by then, on hairpin turns."

"Then you’d better be as good a they say you are." The guard released the bike from its stand and it started rolling all too quickly down the lonely mountaintop.

                                               ****

"There she goes!" Lieberman pointed out. "Look at her corner!"

Dominoe was a sleek black blur hurling down the mountainside at speeds that would be lethal even without the explosive vial. She hit curve after curve in machinegun sequence, and each time she took every inch of the road, at times leaning down into the curve so far that her outstretched shin was almost on the ground. The wheels would inevitably begin sliding out from under her with each turn and only a superhuman act of balance slowed her pullout in time.

"She’s making the turns," Sokov was impressed. "Amazing."

"Look there, how she shimmies the bike," Lieberman pointed out like a proud excited coach. "That helps keep her speed down. Coming out of turns she will occasionally even get the front wheel fully perpendicular to the road for a moment. Big breaking effect if the tires hold out. Magnificent."

On the ground, behind the sunglasses of the world’s sexiest spy, the world was a lethal blur. The wind seemed to get no bite at all on her triathlon suit, and the bike accelerated at a rate that was dangerously close to the force of gravity. It was more like being on a racing motorcycle than sport cycle and the short straight-aways gave her precious little time to work at the clever bondage. But her determination was paying off--miraculously she had managed to stay alive as far as the Snakeback, the most treacherous part of the entire course. She was still bound to a speeding cycle bearing a highly unstable explosive but at least she could not be directly observed from the air.

"Damn," Lieberman cursed, "We’ve lost her. She certainly won’t survive the Snakeback, so I guess we’ve missed her final moments. Felix, take us down to the base of the mountain. We will be stopping just long enough to drop off Dr Matrix in the village."

The chopper broke off from the pursuit and headed back to the hotel. The entire deal had gone off far better than Lieberman could have expected, with Matrix taking delivery of the Black Ice molecule and Lieberman taking possession of a cool 100 million to finance his own private activities. Only Sokov still seemed a bit glum at losing the opportunity to toy with the CATT agent, but his years on the stage of international intrigue had taught him that a quick death was always the correct action when dealing with dangerous adversaries. Dominoe was good--very good–and if it hadn’t been for a quirk of circumstances he would have awakened this morning thoroughly disgraced.

"When do you plan to begin mass producing the Black Ice molecule, Dr Matrix?"

"Why never, Mr Lieberman. With the convenient destruction of the Petrotech lab and the loss of the platform I now have the only existing sample of the super lubricant in existence. It is worth more to me for extortion purposes than for mass production. The industrialized nations of the world will pay handsomely to prevent me from delivering the formula into the hands of their economic adversaries."

"Somewhat anti-competitive, isn’t it Doctor?"

"I’m not interested in competition, only power. When it pays to mass produce the molecule I will produce it. In the mean time there are several interested limited-quantity applications I would like to explore. It’s a pity you’ve just executed my star research subject."

The two heartless masters of industry engaged in pleasant negotiation, while Sokov gazed calmly out the window and all three pondered pleasantly the grisly fate of their luscious enemy. But at last the 'copter touched down on the green to the rear of the hotel and Matrix disembarked with Sokov to catch their own helicopter to the Riviera. The air was much warmer down here, some 1000 meters below the summit and Christian was thoroughly sated. The spy had been absolutely superb the previous night–he hadn’t realized he was even capable of so many fulfilling climaxes in such a rapid succession. In many years of searching he might never come across again a woman so alluring, quick-witted, capable, and horny. That night was worth all the risk it had implied, he decided, especially since it was Dominoe who had paid the ultimate price.

What was that?

Lieberman sat up in his seat. It seemed for a moment that he had seen a flash along one of the roads just above the hotel. He rubbed his eyes and carefully surveyed the mountain, climbing steeply up away from the green in a lush wreath of alpine woods. Surely it had been a trick of his eyes, a lingering effect of the sleeping drug Dominoe had slipped him while committing her treachery. After a moment of fruitless searching he finally convinced himself to relax, so he almost entirely missed the black blur that leapt over a guardrail and shot directly for his helicopter.  Rider and cycle managed to sail completely over the whirling blades of the helicopter, but a slim vial tumbled free from the rider’s hand, glinting briefly in the morning sunshine. The explosion was deafening, sending a huge fireball 200 feet into the air and throwing Serina Sokov and Donna Marix to the ground in a rain of burning wreckage.  Sokov responded quickly pulling her two charges back into the hotel to relative safety.

By the time they returned to the helipad, Lieberman’s helicopter was nothing but charred and twisted metal. Matrix stood stoically on the walkway quietly seething, while Sokov explored.

"Dr Matrix, " the sexy Russian shouted. "Look here." She held up a sleek black racing bicycle, with its front wheel completely twisted. Cycling shoes and gloves were still secured to the pedals and handlebars but Dominoe was gone.  Somehow the CATT agent had outfoxed them and Lieberman had paid with his life.

"There’s no telling where she is now." Matrix spat. "To the helicopter quickly. I don’t want to risk any more unsettling surprises."

=====

(III)

"Must she wear that uniform? It seems… indecent."

Margaret Bowman, deputy assistant director of the National Security Agency, looked over her thin glasses critically at the two before her. The man was Smith, Western Operations Director for CATT, wearing a suit that he had clearly slept in the night before. The woman was one of Smith’s "super agents," a gorgeous woman known only as Dominoe. She wore the white utility uniform of a Navy Lieutenant Commander, but on her body the conservative clothing took on the appearance of a fantasy costume for a table dancer.

"Dominoe is authorized to wear the uniform of every armed service at the rank of Lieutenant Commander or the equivalent, Mrs. Bowman. She’s also authorized to wear the Seal Training badge, the Ranger School Badge, the Combat Engineers Badge, the Sniper School Badge, Combat Pilot Wings, Airborne Wings, the Underwater Demolition Badge and a few others, if I’m not mistaken."

"Its okay, Smith. I apologize if the uniform disturbs you, Mrs Bowman. If you’d rather that I change into business clothes, that’s fine. It's just a little more nondescript here in the Pentagon if I appear as a member of the naval staff."

"No no, far be it from me to give you yet another opportunity to remove your clothing, my dear."

"Yes," Smith continued through the awkward silence, "Well, Dominoe let me introduce you to Margaret Bowman, she’s with the NSA. They’ve come to CATT with an urgent matter. They requested you personally and their paper comes all the way from the top."

"I’m flattered, sir."

"Don’t be, " Margaret cut her off. "I’ve asked Bill to bring you in so I could brief you myself. We have a very sensitive matter that requires attention but it must be handled with utmost discretion. Considering CATT’s penchant for botching one important operation after another, I thought it best if I meet with you personally to avoid any misunderstandings."

"I understand." Smith’s knuckles were white behind his back but Dominoe was pleasant and relaxed. "Please go on, Mrs Bowman."

"Very well. As you are no doubt aware, a company known as Petrotech has made an important discovery: A new petrochemical called Black Ice that acts as a perfect transmitter of energy. In small quantities it makes an almost ideal lubricant, and once distilled into a substance known as sonigel it can also be molded to create any number of low-friction objects. The refinement process to create sonigel was discovered in a secret lab located on an offshore oil well. I understand you were instrumental in its destruction."

"Yes ma’am. It's in my report."

"Yes. And your sketchy report also implicates Donna Matrix of Matrix Chemicals in this caper." The snobbish executive nodded to Smith and he punched up a picture of a middle-aged woman in an elegant business suit. She was apparently talking at some sort of luncheon. "Look familiar?"

"Yes, that’s her. I saw her both on the offshore drilling platform and in Switzerland, where she purchased the only surviving sample of Black Ice from Christian Lieberman."

"Indeed. Despite your cold-blooded murder of Christian Lieberman we’ve managed to confirm with Petrotech that Matrix Chemicals has the only surviving sample. In fact, they didn’t even know about Lieberman’s. Based on our analysis of the molecule you sketched from the data disk, Matrix will be able to create a huge quantity of sonigel from the base sample of black ice. She plans to use it to extort money from the West by threatening to turn it over to our adversaries."

"A risky move."

"Yes, but any country that gets the sonigel formula can build entirely new classes of military equipment and consumer goods. The administration wants to ensure that it is us."

"So you want me to go after the formula?"

Margarett Bowman flashed up another slide, this one of a huge high-tech dirigible of black rubber. "Donna Matrix is holding a party for foreign dignitaries aboard her personal dirigible tomorrow evening in Paris. We expect that she will make a demonstration of the sonigel and announce her demands. Before the party you are to infiltrate the dirigible and obtain a sample of Black Ice. Even a small sample will allow us to synthesize a militarily significant sample of sonigel to serve as a lubricant in a new family of military aircraft and armored vehicles. "

"Very good."

"Of course, you are free to choose your method of insertion and extraction, but there is one political complication you must be aware of." Dominoe glanced over at Smith and could tell from his grim expression that it would be a good one. "Donna Matrix is one of the largest contributors to the Democratic Party and a key member of the reelection effort. The administration has given us permission to take care of this matter, but only if they are guaranteed plausible deniability."

"So I’ll be going in without backup?"

The ice woman smiled. "I prefer to think of it as a ‘freelance operation.’ Smith has orders to remove all federal markings from your equipment and stand down all back-up units. If you’re killed or captured then naturally all government agencies will disavow all knowledge. We must protect the administration at all costs."

"Certainly." If Dominoe saw any irony in putting her life on the line to protect the reputation of this particular president, she gave no indication.

"I know this may sound like a difficult assignment, but our research into the Matrix Dirigible shows it to be little more than a pleasure yacht for Matrix’s owner Donna Matrix. I’ve seen to it personally that only the most trusted individuals are even aware that this operation exists. You will be taking Matrix Chemicals completely by surprise."

                                              *****

BEEEEEP.

It was the phone; Donna Matrix’s private line. She left strict orders with her secretarial team that she was not to be disturbed during her private sessions with Pixie on pain of prolonged bondage, so surely it was someone with direct access. That left only a few people who could be calling, all with good news. She sighed and handed the whip she had been using to an assistant.

"Sorry, my dear, but it seems I must mix business with pleasure. But fear not, I’ll make sure you’re properly entertained while I am away." She turned Pixie’s sweat and tear-stained face toward her cold scowl. The ring gag kept Pixie’s mouth open in a dainty "O," suitable for all sorts of things. Currently it held a rubber bladder to muffle her screams while Matrix worked her spread-eagled body over with a long flat whip. The night before it had certainly been full of less pleasant things while Pixie was worked over by the four gigolos she retained on her permanent staff. It was a pity that the cute little blonde had started exhibiting preliminary signs of memory relapse; Matrix had initially thought her reprogramming had been a complete success. Fortunately, the intensive therapy over the last 48 hours was beginning to have its intended effect. "Place her in the flex swing. I will return shortly."

Noting with pleasure the look of horror on her petite slave’s face, Donna Matrix crossed her office to her ponderous desk, dust-free and impeccably arranged with a black-shelled computer, a Turkish pen set and alabaster carvings of women in intricate bondage. At the center of the desk was a briefcase made of theft-resistant aluminum, containing a few new toys she had created especially for her newest prime enemy, Dominoe. And this was only the crowning touch--she had invested millions in the previous weeks perfecting elaborate new tortures for the world’s most beautiful spy.

"Matrix, this had better be important."

"Good evening, Doctor."

"Why Margaret Bowman, how nice of you to call. Have you considered by little request?"

"It's already done. The dolts at CATT are sending Dominoe to the Matrix Dirigible in Paris to acquire a sample of Black Ice. She will strike on the same night as the reception."

"Excellent! And no other complicating factors."

"No, she will be absolutely alone, even CATT is being forced to disavow all knowledge. "

"Excellent work, Ms Bowman. I have such delicious plans for our fearless little friend."

"I’m looking forward to her performance at the reception. And we can count on your support in the primary next month?"

"The check's in the mail, Ms Bowman."

"The President will be pleased. And how are things going with that fiery British agent we delivered to you last year in the mock sub recovery? What was her name–Shadowcat?"

"We haven’t mentioned that name around here in quite a while." Matrix glanced over at "Pixie." The poor girl now had her ankles chained together behind her head while one assistant adjusted her suspension harness and a third mounted a huge dildo microphone-style on a stand beneath her. Once suspended, the dildo would perfectly align with the poor girl's painfully exposed love canal. "She has proven fully as resilient under torture as she had in combat.  My revenge has been time-consuming but immensely satisfying."

"I am pleased. It took a lot of talking to convince the Brits that she was dead."

"And your efforts will be well rewarded. And I can assure you’re the fate of Shadowcat is infinitely preferable to the torments I have planned for Dominoe. I will be seeing you at the reception!"

=====

(IV)

It had been a dark and icy plummet from 45,000 feet, with only the blast of the wind and the sound of her own labored breathing behind the pressurized oxygen mask. When Dominoe bailed out of the blacked out EC-135 the lights of Paris were nothing but a hazy patch of light in the larger constellation of Western Europe. But soon she could distinguish the various districts of the Eternal City, The Rue le Monde, Arch de Triumph, and even the theater district where she had countless times strolled in silk gowns with handsome gentlemen, both good and evil.  And of course she could see the Matrix dirigible, a slowly growing cigar of darkness moored to the Eiffel Tower.  The moment she could see the first hint of light reflecting off the Seine River, she checked her wrist altimeter, then pulled the ripcord. Over her head the graceful black paraglider quickly deployed, slowing her decent to almost nothing with a viscous jerk. As soon as she built up some forward velocity, Dominoe veered the paraglider sharply, making for the oval of darkness.

The Matrix dirigible was one of a kind. Though hydrogen hadn’t been used in lighter-than-air craft since the days of the Hindenburg, Matrix had deliberately used hydrogen as mute testimony to their trust in the lightweight Matrix bladders used to contain the explosive gas. As a result, the craft was much more spacious and more luxurious than blimps based on the relatively meager lifting power of helium. And, despite Margaret Bowman’s claims that the craft was little more than an airborne yacht, it was well defended against undesired intrusions. It carried two carbon dioxide laser turrets, one under the gondola and one perched atop the superstructure. The lasers were controlled by an advanced German fire control system and this greatly limited Dominoe’s selection of insertion vehicles and equipment. To spoof the radar she had to keep the number of metal objects on her person to an absolute minimum.  This meant no gun, no steel buckles for the parachute, no grappling hooks, and no stun grenades. She also had no other choice for insertion vehicles except a carbon composite paraglider. Any other method of conveyance would almost certainly be detectable by the expensive radar system. But with the paraglider she would get only one chance to transfer to the dirigible, and then only near the rear fins.

Funny, she had been given "complete freedom" to plan her assault on Matrix, but the unique combination of airship and radar system made only one avenue of intrusion even remotely possible. Under normal circumstances that would have been enough for her to call off the operation, especially given the fact that she would have no backup and no heavy weapons. But this mission was called by the President himself, and it was his roll of the dice. As an agent of CATT she was used to being placed in harm's way, but her pussy tingled at the unpleasant thought of the night she had spent as a guest of Donna Matrix and Serina Sokov. Only Christian Lieberman’s intervention had earned her the opportunity to die honorably the last time. If captured again on Matrix’s own dirigible, her death would certainly be most unpleasant. And still, there was something about Donna Matrix’s slave, Pixie, that gave her a bad feeling about this op. If only she could put her finger on it.

Dominoe did not relish the thought of instant dissection at the hands of unseen laser beams, so it was a great relief when the lovely spy finally touched down on the rear stabilizer and pulled the quick-release handles to jettison the nimble little paraglider. As she removed her harness and slipped out of her nylon jumpsuit Dominoe took in her surroundings. The City of Romance was now bright all around her and she could hear honks far off as in greeting to the first airship to have docked on the tower in 60 years. The stabilizer fin itself was the size of a racquetball court, coated with a black rubbery substance that apparently formed the fabric for the huge balloon stretching out before her like a capsized luxury liner. It was a unique Matrix composite that was very strong and pliable. Cutting her way in was out of the question, especially given the small utility knife she had allowed herself for the mission. She would have to find another way in.

The silky nylon of the jumpsuit gave way to Dominoe’s preferred uniform, a black catsuit of buttery soft kid leather custom-tailored to her dimensions. It fit her like a second skin, allowing complete freedom of movement and some protection from the elements even as it ensured that no man would kill her without at least a second glance. Short leather gloves, calf-length boots, and a broad utility belt completed her costume. The CATT shoulder patch and belt buckle had been removed, implying that she had completely relinquished any claim to diplomatic immunity. She was now just an ordinary citizen in a sexy costume committing multiple felonies against one of the most vicious lesbian murderers on the planet. However, surely the loss of diplomatic immunity was much less significant than the lack of a heavily armed CATT extraction team to pull her out if the op went sour.

Directly below the stabilizers were the airship’s massive impellers, curving multi-bladed fans set into cylindrical titanium frames some 10 feet in diameter. The impellers were actually long tunnels running the length of the airship subdivided by multiple stages of turbofans. They would have made excellent covert access points but unfortunately the shipbuilders knew this as well so they included special shutters that sealed them off when not in use. But they had also added a small exhaust ejection scoop under the main impeller opening for use while testing the engines at dock. The port even had an unprotected access hatch that allowed entry directly onto the engine catwalk. No special precautions were necessary since the only way to get to the hatch was to squeeze into the tiny vent while hanging upside down from the main impeller grill hundreds of feet over the ground. No one could possibly have the combination of compact size, tremendous strength, and sheer daring to attempt such a feat.

Dominoe pulled a line from her belt terminating on a locking carabeener. She secured the steel hoop to the grill housing the massive impeller, flipped upside down like a spider, and started down. The city streets of Paris waited hundreds of feet below; she could easily make out the Arc de Triumph in the distance. Her life now depended on the thin line and the small steel locking ring. The glossy black shadow inched down some three meters below the level of the stabilizer until se could just reach the gracefully curving lip of the intake, the last physical surface before open space. Without hesitation Dominoe clamped surprisingly strong fingers on the lip of the inlet and started playing out more line, maneuvering herself headfirst into the blackened duct. The surface was cold and slick and it took a tremendous amount of wriggling to make any progress deeper into the engine. But finally she found the slimmest of handholds along the joint between two pieces of aluminum skin and this give her the final push she desperately needed to reach the interior handle of the access panel. The door opened with a soft click, and the fearless spy finally released the lifeline from her belt and slipped undetected into the airship.

Once inside it was a simple matter to use her IR goggles to navigate the network of catwalks criss-crossing the pitch-black envelope of the dirigible until she was close to the small laboratory that CATT intelligence indicated was being used to store the small sample of Black Ice. It took a bit of guessing but Dominoe finally found the proper air duct that dropped her immediately outside the secured facility.

The guards never knew what hit them. A black shadow simply descended from overhead and overcame them with a quick series of deceptively powerful blows. By placing the lifeless hands of both men against panes of black glass, Dominoe got easy access to the lab.

Almost too easy, the young daredevil thought to herself. I’ll have to be on my guard.

Inside, the lab seemed to be little more than a large open area with stainless steel walls and a rubberized floor populated with by several rows of stainless steel cabinets. Surly there were hidden surveillance cameras somewhere but the sharp-eyed agent could detect no other alarm mechanisms, at least none that were currently active: no ports for lasers, no vents for poison gas; no grounding mechanism for an electrified floor. There was nothing to be done about the surveillance cameras that could be made on a chip these days, so Dominoe simply took the plunge, striding confidently into the dimly-lit room. Just take the sample and run; it all came down to this crude tactic.

She reached the cabinet that Margaret Bowman’s sources had told her contained the formula. She slipped a key synthesizer from her belt and quickly sprang the lock, but she was in for a big surprise when she opened the slim drawer. Instead of samples of the black ice or clear sonigel, the drawer contained a variety of hobbling equipment: A black ball gag with head harness, a black single glove, a broad black bondage belt (intended for someone with a very thin waist), a series of textured dildoes in rubber sleeves, heavy rubberized cuffs, long coils of rope, and many lengths of chain. All of the toys were made of a glossy black polymer except for the steel items that glistened coldly.  Clearly this was Matrix’s way of announcing that she had walked right into a trap.

"Welcome to my little playroom, Dominoe." The voice of Donna Matrix was clear and bright in victory. "Please don’t move. Things could get messy."

Three of the stainless steel panels slid down into the floor in the blink of an eye to reveal black turrets bearing mini-guns with rapidly rotating barrels. Mounted on the turret immediately above the gun was a dome of sensors resembling the eye of an insect. The turrets moved side-to-side nervously, as if they considered every air current in the room to be a potential target.

"Marx, ASa150.01 autosentry systems," Donna Matrix’s voice betrayed her smirk though Dominoe dared not turn her head to regard her. The turret directly in front of her was already taking far too much interest in the area where she stood. "They will shoot anything that moves, unless you have the correct ID chip on your person. I don’t suppose CATT thought to supply you with the chip I provided for my guests this evening. Ohhh, what a shame. Then you’d best hold very still."

Donna Matrix came slowly into Dominoe’s field of view. She was dressed as her name suggested, in an ultra-sheer body stocking that covered her from neck to toe and a black patent leather teddy with high-heels. Her waist was belted with several lengths of chain and she lore lacy black gloves. Donna Matrix’s slave, Pixie, was somewhat less comfortably dressed with a nylon bikini top, black rubber chastity belt, inflatable bladder gag and high heels. Her arms were bound behind her back with nylon rope at the elbows with her wrists tied off at her sides to the chastity belt. She also wore leg manacles that were connected by a short chain forcing her to take mincing steps. Her knitted brow and rolling hips indicated that the chastity belt was doing more than just protecting her virtue.

"I’ve been counting the hours until this night, Dominoe," sleek powerful arms, gloved and clad in rubber, slipped around Dominoe’s waist. It was certainly Sokov, who immediately set to work removing Dominoe’s lightly loaded equipment belt. "Just think, one shove and you would die in my arms. The sentries have very precise line-of-sight calculations. They would avoid me while riddling your lovely body with bullets. Here let me show you."

Dominoe’s belt finally came loose in Sokov’s hand. The sexy interrogator hurled the belt out into the middle of the room. A thrill shot through Dominoe’s body as the guns thundered all round her. Before the belt had hit the ground it had been torn to shreds under a hail of gunfire. Sokov’s hands returned to Dominoe's prone body, running powerful fingers up her taught abdomen to tease her defiant breasts.

"They’re all over the dirigible," Donna Matrix continued. "I left them in training mode for your harrowing entrance.  Had they een activated, you would have been killed four times just getting into the lab."

"But that would be too easy a death for you, wouldn’t it, Dominoe?" Sokov came around to regard the trapped spy from the front. Sokov herself was dressed in a rubber catsuit with thigh-length high-heeled boots and short gloves.  Under other circumstances Dominoe would have considered her enemy extremely sexy. "We have something very special planned for you tonight. But first we need to--apprehend--you."

Donna Matrix took up the ball gag and approached Dominoe from the front while Sokov took up two black rubberized ankle manacles and walked around behind. Dominoe again felt Sokov’s skilled, rubber-clad fingers on her body, starting at the upper thigh and working slowly down until at last she secured the heavy shackle to one slim ankle before repeating the process on the ther.

"You must remain as still as possible, my little danger slut," Matrix held up the huge black ball gag for Dominoe to inspect. "Your close proximity to Major Sokov will earn you some mercy from the sentries but not much. Now open.’

Dominoe had no choice. She opened her mouth slowly and allowed her sadistic captor to force the ball between her ivory teeth, and secure it into place behind her head. While Matrix turned her attention to a heavy set of rubberized wrist manacles Sokov seized the opportunity to enjoy Dominoe’s body. Beneath the baby-soft leather and her thong panties Dominoe's pussy was already soaking wet from the tense drama of the standoff. Sokov detected this immediately and after channeling the sexy spy’s own juices up through her crevice, began running a very long fingernail like a knife blade across her clit. The effect was electrifying. Fortunately, Sokov relented after a few strokes and turned her attention to Dominoe’s inviting breasts, but only after Matrix got the second set of manacles in place.

"How does it feel to be so close to death, Dominoe?" Sokov preened into her ear. "Your next cough, your next sneeze, even your next climax would be your last. Yet with every passing moment, your freedom is slipping away."

Indeed, even as Sokov lovingly teased her nipples, Donna Matrix was preparing several long chains to connect the manacles. With every passing second the situation was getting progressively more dire; the jaws of a sinister trap were closing in on the doomed young agent. Yet she could do nothing to save herself. She had to think fast, but it was difficult given Sokov’s expert stimulation.

"But if I were you, I’d choose the bullet," Sokov continued. "Donna Matrix has been working all week just to make an example of you. Your prolonged execution will serve as a vivid example to the world of Donna Matrix’s determination, and fathomless cruelty."

But even as Sokov whispered her taunts, a thought struck her. How could the gun know the precise dimensions of Sokov? Matrix herself had said it was a chip, and if so, the chip would have to be in close proximity to the person’s skin. But it would also have to communicate data back to the guns, so you’d want to make sure the signal wasn’t blocked by anything you were wearing. Matrix’s necklace! It was small and non-assuming, exactly the opposite of its wearer, specifically designed so as not to call attention to itself. So if Matrix was wearing one…

Suddenly, Dominoe whirled around with one arm and clawed at Sokov's throat. Her gloved fingers closed around a thin silver chain, and she pulled for all she was worth. The chain snapped even as the guns filled the room with deafening noise. Dominoe felt powerful vibrations as blood spattered her catsuit, and for a tense moment she and Sokov locked gazes. In fact, Sokov's superior smile never left her face, even as the sexy Russian sank to floor oozing blood from a dozen lethal bullet wounds.

Dominoe wasted no time taking full advantage of the stunning reversal of fortune. She took out the first guard with a viscous kick to the trachea, then scissor-punched the second at the nerve bundle under his chin. In almost the same motion, the lovely assassin drew the falling man’s pistol from his holster and leveled it on Donna Matrix and her sex slave. She couldn’t speak of course, but the look in her eyes told the industrial mogul that she had best remain where she was.

"I must say I’ve enjoyed your little double-cross," Dominoe said as she finally got the gag off and removed the ID chip from Matrix. "Now the party’s over. Sorry about Major Sokov, but she was a real bitch. Are you coming, Pixie?"

Dominoe didn’t know what possessed her to ask the question, but it seemed that somehow Pixie was being kept here against her will. Though it would make their escape that much more difficult, she felt that she had to invite the petite blonde along for the risky ride. Her flashes of intuition were very rarely wrong.

"No, no," Pixie looked confused. "I couldn’t leave."

"Look, the next time I see Donna Matrix it will be in the scope of a sniper rifle. So unless you want her head exploding all over you I’d come now."

"Just go," Pixie's words were strong but tears were welling up in her eyes. "I can’t leave. I’m sorry."

"Me too," Dominoe ripped the chip off Pixie and backed away. "You can shake off the conditioning, you know, but it will take some time. Believe me, I’ve been there. I’ll come back for you."

Pixie nodded and Dominoe backed slowly out of the room, then sealed the door. With any luck Matrix would be on ice until Dominoe was clear of the area. The impeller shafts were not a great option for getting into the dirigible but they were ideal for escape. Using the long tunnels she could reach any of six different escape points. Even if the alarm sounded immediately, the rent-a-cops on board would be hard-pressed to even find her, much less take her down. Dominoe moved quickly to the nearest access hatch and blew it open with her pistol. Then she slipped into the darkness, her greatest ally, and…fell.

The normally graceful spy landed awkwardly on her butt and dropped the gun, but it didn’t stop there. She continued sliding slowly down the shaft. Or at least she thought she did, for as soon as the rectangle of light shining through the access hatch was gone, she was plunged into complete darkness. She tried to roll over onto her stomach but her arms simply failed to get any kind of grip on the walls of the tube. Only by twisting her body violently did she managed to generate enough momentum to flop herself over, but it did no good. No matter what her position was, she simply couldn’t get any traction to stop her forward progress. Only by remaining perfectly motionless did she finally slow to an approximate stop.

CLICK

Rings of red light suddenly came on in the tunnel, glinting coldly off Dominoe’s leather-clad body.

"Well, well, I see you’ve found another of the deathtraps I had waiting for you, just in case."

It was Matrix. Somehow he had not been paralyzed by the loss of the chip after all.

"I guess I should have told you, I carry two chips. But you’ll never guess where the other one is! Try not to move, dangerslut. The walls of the impeller tubes are coated with black ice, the very material you were sent here to collect.  Its primary application is as a super lubricant, though I was planning to show you a few other more stimulating applications of it as well. But Christian was correct, you are simply too unpredictable a toy to play with. I’ll use my current secret agent to serve as an example for the heads of state."

Current secret agent? What was she talking about?

Dominoe’s thoughts were cut short as the walls of the shaft began to vibrate. The level of the vibrations rose to a deep powerful rumble as the turbines lining the impeller started up. Hot wind whipped Dominoe’s face and she began to slowly slip down the shaft once again.

"Shadowcat! You made her your sex slave!" Dominoe shouted over the raging winds. Shadowcat had been an agent equivalent to Dominoe but working for the British Government. She had disappeared almost a year ago while attempting to recover a nuclear warhead from sunken submarine.

"Very good, Dominoe! Shadowcat kept fucking with me so now it's my opportunity to fuck with her. Fortunately for her, I decided to destroy only her mind, while keeping her wonderful body for myself. In your case, I’ve decided to destroy everything. The engines are at idle, but the force of the hot gasses from the turbines should be more than adequate to push you into the next fan, 80 meters behind you."

Dominoe looked instinctively down through the valley formed by her breasts, past her high heels and into the reddish murk beyond. She couldn’t see the turbine but had no doubt that it was down there. And sure enough, she was picking up speed.

"It must be getting very hot in there. The internal engine temperature is 240 degrees. In a matter of a few minutes it will be at least 140 degrees in the impeller shaft with high levels of nitrogen, carbon monoxide, sulfur dioxide, and formaldehyde from the kerosene we burn in the engines. Hardly the place for a beautiful young lady. Oh and you see those cuffs I secured to your wrists and ankles before your dramatic escape. They’re magnetic!"

Dominoes wrists and ankles suddenly snapped together tightly as if they had been fused. Her sudden struggles resulted in her sliding even faster down the super-slick tunnel. The wind was hot and dry and the fumes were choking.

"I’ve sealed and booby trapped every access hatch into the impeller shaft. The only way out, I’m afraid is through the teeth of the turbo fans. And with imaging infrared we can watch every moment of your blistering death. My, but doesn’t this remind you of old times?"

"Yeah, except this platform hasn’t gone up in flames," Dominoe coughed defiantly "Yet."

But despite her brave words she knew she was in desperate trouble. The turbine blades would easily chop her to bits and nothing but 60 meters of ultra-slick aluminum stood between her and the kiss of steel. She was already getting dizzy from the fumes of the turban exhaust, and by the time the tunnel reached 140 degrees she would be almost frying in a frictionless, poisonous hell. She had been sold out and good.

To Be Continued…

~~~~~~

NEXT: OUT OF THE FRYING PAN…