I don't own any of it... wish I had thought of it!
Villanelle had a number of quirky traits. She was highly skilled in any number of esoteric ways in which a target might be dispatched; she had a much-maligned and nearly infamous lust for the finest clothes (particularly French lingerie) money could buy; she took an almost orgasmic pleasure in watching the life drain from the eyes of her prey (perchance she had read one too many articles on ritualistic killings of primitive man and had gotten that little tidbit stuck into her imagination); and she whistled whilst she worked. Not during the killings, obviously, that would be beyond macabre – besides being a deadly giveaway when time, secrecy, and discretion were of the essence – but rather as she purloined the clothes and personal effects of those upon whom she was conducting research.
Getting Eve Polastri's nondescript little overnight suitcase away from the jack-booted thug who was both extremely feminine in his demeanor and yet fiercely butch in his dress was a simple enough matter. Villanelle was a master of reading human desire and manipulating it to her benefit. One glance at good ol' 'Bob', as she had heard Eve call him, and Villanelle knew there was pay dirt between the giant storm trooper-type and the little English buffoon. A moment or two to watch (hmmmm, file this 411 away for the personal imaginatorium for later), and they were clearly distracting each other. Not a moment later, Eve appeared and was obviously angry at the loss of her bag, but Villanelle had already slipped into a waiting cab and was speeding her way across Berlin to her hotel room.
Unfortunately, in her speed to get into her room and inspect the most intimate contents of Eve's bag, Villanelle forgot the one most important aspect of spy-craft: ALWAYS watch your back. As such, she was whistling happily along, going through Eve's knickers (no, not to smell them, just to see what she liked to wear) and such, tossing one item atop the next on her hotel bed when a dark shadow crossed her line of vision. Villanelle barely had time to turn before a blunt instrument struck her at the back of her head. As she was falling to the ground, she briefly thought that the vase from the entrance table was not damaged. She had liked the blue and white floral pattern of it and had considered lifting it upon checkout since she thought it would be a lovely addition to her kitchen back home.
Minutes later Villanelle came to and set her eyes upon a highly irregular scene: one of the most beautiful Indian women she had ever laid eyes upon was struggling to finish securing her to the hotel desk chair. The problems were several-fold: the dark-haired woman had not tied her hair back with any hair ties, and so it was a constant struggle to keep it up and out of her face as she went about her task. Additionally, the tank-tie shirt she was wearing was falling too far forward as she worked on securing the lines – Villanelle was able to see the distinct outline of her favorite part of the female anatomy: side boob. Even without the ball gag in her mouth, she doubted she would have had the decent sense of chivalry to tell her captor of the wardrobe malfunction… the view was too tantalizing to deprive herself of a little pleasure – and who knew how long she was even going to live?! Better to enjoy whatever small rewards were silently hers for the taking whilst she could. And there was something else, something Villanelle could barely recall in her memory… some very familiar scent. And why was the woman hunched over so unnaturally?
Finally frustrated with her own body fighting against her task, the woman drew herself up to her full height (5'10" maybe?!) and grabbed at her almost floor-length hair in exasperation. Tying it back into a modified half-pony/loose bun, she finally turned around so that Villanelle could see her face. To say she was glowing would be a weak cliché. Except that she was! There was the faintest jingle of bangle bracelets from her arms and a small silver-belled anklet affixed to her right ankle. She wore a typical salwar kameez in a deep cobalt blue, embroidered with shimmering silver strands, the colors and silken texture of which served to illuminate the darkness of her hair and the glow of her skin. Her skin itself was a deeply radiant shade of bronze, and Villanelle finally recognized the scent. The Indian woman was heavily pregnant. That was the familiar scent. All her life, Villanelle had somehow been able to tell when a woman was with child because pregnant women give off an intoxicatingly distinct aroma – a scent somewhere between sweet, ripe fruit and a woody forest. By the looks of this woman, Villanelle guessed she was at least seven months along. Which only served to perplex Villanelle further!
How and why in the hell was some gorgeous Indian woman keeping her, the queen of underworld assassins, bound as a hostage, in her own room?! She resembled a famous Bollywood actress, but Villanelle couldn't quite put her finger on it… Archie Panjabi maybe? Only darker. Villanelle was ripped from the reverie of her own mind as the woman approached. "Fancy a spot of tea?" she said. Ah. Villanelle quickly amended her descriptors of her captor: Anglo-Indian woman. Through the strictures of the ball gag she moaned appreciatively at the thought.
"Was that a yes? Let me introduce myself as I set the kettle to boil. I'm Chetna and it seems as if you have gotten yourself into quite a heap of trouble these last few months. Fortunately, or perhaps more accurately unfortunately for you, there are some high-placed people in MI-6 who find it more convenient to keep you alive and somewhat 'neutralized' for the time being, rather than having me off you here on the spot. If you can agree to behave like a lady, I will loosen those ties and see to it that you are made as comfortable as possible. Do you understand?"
Villanelle tried to speak a resounding 'yes' with her eyes and by vigorously nodding her head. Chetna moved to remove the gag. "Now remember, you misbehave and it goes right back in, got it?" Villanelle took a great heap of breaths and continued to nod. "Yes, ma'am", she managed to croak out. Chetna helped her to saucer her tea and in short order Villanelle felt herself falling fast asleep under the kind but worried gaze of this enchanting woman.
Awaking with a start, Villanelle was shocked to see that the shadows of the afternoon sun had given way to the darkness of early evening. How long had she been out? And what had Chetna done to her to make her so sleepy? Almost as if she could read her mind, Chetna tried to reassure Villanelle. "No, sweets, no nefarious drugs in your tea today (or for as long as you choose to behave). You seemed so exhausted but were fighting sleep, so there was a little valerian root in the blend. Perfectly harmless. And all three of us took a little nap." Chetna smiled thoughtfully as she absentmindedly cradled her swollen belly.
What seemed to Villanelle like several days passed uneventfully. She and Chetna shared a comforting ritual of tea and breakfast each morning, a vigorous (for Villanelle, less so for Chetna) exercise / stretching session as their mid-morning entertainment, a simple lunch of veggies, complex carbs in the form of lentils, and some lean protein. Dinner included light snacks of nuts and dried fruits and a bit of fortifying spirits as they viewed the evening news and selected a movie from the myriad selections on Chetna's tablet. Villanelle had to hand it to Chetna – she seemed in complete control of the situation, right down to their activities and diets. For once, she felt like giving up control to Chetna seemed as natural as breathing, and Villanelle was grateful for the reprieve of stress constantly weighing down upon her heart and mind.
Upon waking on the sixth day of her captivity, Villanelle could feel the cabin fever beginning to rise in her body. Even after having only slipped up once with the gag and having to face the indignity of Chetna admonishing her to continue to behave, the wrist and ankle ties were never removed for long. Villanelle ached to stretch out on the giant bed. Well, in truth, she'd wanted to stretch out more specifically to get within touching distance of Chetna. She glanced over to where Chetna had so carefully repacked and placed Eve's suitcase (godz, that felt like a lifetime ago now – she vaguely remembered some important purpose in her 'research', but damned if she could remember the why of it now) and saw that it was nowhere to be found. Panic came slamming into her heart and she struggled to breathe. Chetna saw her tells, despite Villanelle's best efforts to conceal her fears.
Apparently realizing that Villanelle believed she was now expendable, Chetna knelt before her on the bed, her black eyes gazing into Villanelle's, soothing her by petting her hair and whispering words of calm to her ear. But Villanelle was not to be placated. Using her reserves of energy she had been withholding throughout her confinement, she broke through the ties on her arms easily and set about trying to get to her feet before Chetna could react. This was a bad idea. A REALLY bad idea. For a pregnant woman nearly to term, Chetna was lightning fast. Hell, she was fast for ANY woman, really for any PERSON. She had Villanelle on her back on the bed in less than a second, and she just laughed in her face. "Perhaps little miss assassin was unaware I function as the spiritual emissary of the Durga. My people have been a warrior class for centuries, and you are neither strong enough spiritually nor physically to bear the brunt of my warrior rage."
What. The. Hell. Did that mean?! She had a sinking feeling she was about to find out. Villanelle saw the stars explode before her eyes just after she felt the blow strike her head. She passed out. When she awoke, Villanelle found herself hog-tied to the bed, without even the smallest of margins of play in her ties. Chetna sat at the desk chair, hair braided and pulled back, the tiniest of smiles playing at the sides of her mouth.
"Feeling less puckish, sweets? So glad you decided to rejoin the party! Now then, no more of that nonsense… always easier to gather flies with honey than with vinegar, no?"
"I have decided we'll take a different tack with you from here on out… ok? Instead of ties and bindings, let's try to make you WANT to stay with me until your attention has been fully redirected away from your kill list and toward more rewarding (and less dangerous) endeavors."
By ascent given from her green-grey eyes, Villanelle agreed.
"Do you find my attractive, Oksana?" Oh godz. She knew her name. Well, of COURSE she did – hell, anybody who could sneak up on her in her own room and keep her captive for what HAD to have been more than a week at this point probably knew everything about her, even her little quirks and oddities. Ugh. That was a thought! Villanelle nodded vigorously at the question. Who wouldn't find this warrior woman attractive? Come on!
"We've been in this room together for many days now, Oksana. Is there something you see you'd like to try?" Sweat broke out on Villanelle's brow. Surely this mesmerizing creature was not suggesting they pass the time enjoying each other?! But as Chetna moved slowly and gracefully closer to her face, Villanelle suspected that was PRECISELY what she intended. Chetna smiled wickedly and displayed a small pocket knife she must have kept hidden in her long scarf. Villanelle's eyes opened wide as a dying deer's and she began to mewl in fear. Chetna merely chuckled in amusement. A swift flick of the knife and Villanelle's wrist came free. Another flick and her feet swung loose. For the briefest of moments, the thought crossed her mind that this was her one and only chance to flee… to escape this strange waking-nightmare before something dire occurred. Sensing her thought processes, Chetna shrugged. "Your choice, miss assassin, but rest assured you would be missing out if you decided to take your leave of our little party right now."
Having always been up for the dangerous adventure or twelve in her life, Villanelle shrugged back and relaxed into the duvet cover on the bed. What's life without a little risk? she thought.
For the first time in their odd encounter, Chetna turned her back to a fully capable and aware Villanelle. Reaching in to her own travel bag, Chetna retrieved what appeared to be very expense, very long silk ropes. Villanelle's heart soared with approval. Risk, indeed, she thought.
Ever so slowly, with the attention and detail more given to the celebrated Japanese knot-masters, Chetna trussed Villanelle up into the sexiest spread-eagle position imaginable. Chetna stripped her of her clothing by ripping through the seams of her shirt and pants with that little pocket knife, which upon closer examination had a shimmering mother-of-pearl hilt, a little silver sheath, and a glimmering blade of tungsten. Villanelle was properly impressed with Chetna's choice of rope and weapon. Clearly, this was a formidable woman (opponent? lover?).
Laid bare and naked with her clothes forming an outline beneath her, Villanelle slowed her breathing so as to not appear too eager for what might come next. Little could she anticipate Chetna's next steps. Painfully slowly, she let down her hair – removing each little tie and setting it to the side. Next, she unplaited the heavy strands, letting out a sigh of relief mixed with pleasure. A brief scalp massage seemed in order as the full weight of her hair descended her back.
Chetna glanced carefully at the image she struck in the mirror. She seemed to be silently criticizing invisible lines and faults – none of which Villanelle had been able to see (and she sure had been searching). Ever so slowly she removed her omnipresent white scarf, rolling it up against itself as she unwound it from around her neck. Villanelle caught a glimpse of the slightest of scars just under Chetna's ear. The scar extended from one end of her throat all the way to the other, gleaming like the flashes of silver on her shirt. Villanelle was horrified that someone could have so callously and brazenly marred the beauty of such a woman. She felt herself tense in anger. Chetna saw this out of the corner of her eye and laughed mirthlessly. "The spoils of war in a world made for men. Don't fret, little assassin – he got the worst of our battle, for certain!"
Chetna carefully stepped out of her pants as she simultaneously pulled the blouse up and over her head. She was wearing the thinnest of undergarments, from the very same boutique Villanelle purchased her own – maybe they had more in common than Villanelle had initially appreciated! The lace camisole which concealed Chetna's heaving bosom could hardly have been expected to be strong enough for the task at hand. And the silken panties encasing her lower regions had an unmistakable shadow of dampness at the apex of her mound. All of which served to leave Villanelle breathless and hungry for contact. How long had it actually been? Villanelle searched her mind. Not counting the times she had 'enjoyed' Eve alone in the privacy of both her own flat and (unbeknownst to her) Eve's place, and the last time she had played with Nadia just before she ran her over with the Jeep, it had been months – maybe even years since Villanelle had REALLY had a good play date. This was turning out to be the best kidnapping she'd ever been forced to endure!
Chetna languidly sauntered over to the bed, still wearing her undergarments. Although Villanelle could not possible reach up and take anything off of her, Chetna clearly would not have allowed it at any rate. "Ah, ah, ah, little assassin – good things come to those who wait!"
Before removing those last tantalizing bits of cloth, Chetna settled herself over Villanelle's hips and began a slow grind. Never before was Villanelle so grateful to have been well behaved enough to have ditched the gag. She couldn't help herself as she wolfishly licked her lips while she watched this goddess pump up and down on her most sensitive area. Swiftly, Chetna switched position and graced Villanelle with her breasts right up next to her mouth. "Funny thing, this pregnancy – it's my first, and who knew you could actively nurse months before giving birth?" Villanelle's eyes widened as Chetna slipped part of her camisole down, just enough to give Villanelle full access to her darkened, dripping nipple.
Villanelle sucked it into her mouth and began working on that nipple like her life depended on it. In a way, she supposed that it did. It seemed like Chetna was somehow trying to break her of her murderous tendencies, but toward what end? At the moment, Villanelle neither knew nor cared. She was tasting the food of the godz as she slurped hungrily at the glorious milk Chetna was providing. Just as she was hoping Chetna would switch sides and let her attack the other swollen breast, she jumped off of Villanelle with a spryness anyone seeing how pregnant she was would think impossible. When she returned to Villanelle's eye line, the camisole had been removed and she was rubbing cocoa butter all over her body. Still reeling from having her milk dinner removed so callously, Villanelle could not have expected what Chetna did next. She straddled her chest, giving Villanelle full access to her tremendous belly. Did she really mean to have Villanelle taste this evidence of her sex? This physical manifestation of the child growing within her? Yup, she did, thought Villanelle, as she happily gave a slow and sensuous tongue bath to the pregnant agent's belly.
As Villanelle worked her tongue up and down, over and across the expanse of pregnant skin, Chetna was letting out the most erotic sounds of pleasure. She certainly seemed to be enjoying Villanelle's ministrations. Or was it her own hands milking her engorged breasts? Could be both. Villanelle felt her clitoris hardening painfully into an erect statue. Her own nether regions were soaked in her own fluids, and she felt that if she wasn't penetrated soon that she might cum from desire alone. Seemingly satisfied with Villanelle's work, Chetna slowly slid down her body until their faces were flush with one another. Grateful for the access, Villanelle began an assault on her face of sucking and kissing. Chetna seemed pleased with her initiative, and rewarded Villanelle with fingers on each of her nipples. The slight twisting motion tied up Villanelle's abdomen in the most delicious manner. Whatever else Chetna might have on tap to do to her, Villanelle could think of no more pleasant way to die than in the arms of this incredible woman. Ever so slowly Chetna traced a hand toward the pool of liquid heat pouring from Villanelle's sex. Teasingly at first, and then with greater force and urgency, Villanelle found herself impaled upon the delicate hand of Chetna. Faster and faster Chetna plunged her hand into Villanelle, all while sucking and kneading her breasts and nipples.
Just as abruptly as it began, Chetna removed her hand and lifted her body off of Villanelle and the bed. Villanelle's disappointment was palpable – how COULD she just leave her, aching thusly, on the verge of a mind-blowing orgasm? The child-like part of her personality pouted in frustration and angst. The manipulative sociopath in her fought her mind quickly for a way to get what she wanted, no – what she NEEDED.
As fast as she had left the bed Chetna returned. Villanelle had been so locked in her own reverie and desire that she had not noticed Chetna reaching back into her bag and retrieving the largest vibrating silicone double-dildo Villanelle had ever seen. Chetna had somehow managed to secure it to herself via a sturdy but sexy harness, the other end of which she was now jauntily whipping in Villanelle's general direction. "Do you think you have been well-behaved sufficiently to have your release, little miss assassin?"
Villanelle nearly passed out. Whether it was from her lust, her desire, or the length and girth of the toy she wasn't sure. What she knew was that in the immediacy of the moment she felt a connection to Chetna she had never experienced, and damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead, she was all in for whatever came next…