Girl From G.O.T.C.H.A. Neptune Nemesis

The Neptunian ripped off Tacita Pruval’s pink-and-blue polka-dot bikini top and tossed it onto the soggy deck, then sank his fingers into her ample breasts. She let out a moan and placed her hands on top of his, her palms tickled by the tufts of wiry green fur sprouting from his knobby knuckles. “Tacita, Tacita,” he murmured, “why are you trying to ruin me?” His beady yellow eyes were riveted to her tits and he didn’t see the look of fear flash across her face. *Uh-oh! He knows! I’ve blown my cover! I’ve got to...* [[Act innocent and vehemently deny everything]] [[Draw a laser pistol]] [[Use a karate chop]]

“Whatever do you mean, Serrag?” she said innocently. “You know very well I have an important business appointment in Rio which will net me a cool million dollars, yet you keep distracting and delaying me, flaunting your curvaceous body before my eyes! First you tempt me, then you tease me, then you taunt me! I am like putty in your hands!” He pressed his brutish face against her cheek and stuck his scaly tongue into her ear as his maroon swim trunks tented, the bulge poking at her squirming rump. “Sure doesn’t feel like putty to me,” she said. “Oh Tacita, my little temptress, my luscious cream pie, you are driving me mad! I must have you! I must! I cannot endure any more!” She deftly extricated herself from his clutches and stood up, wriggling out of her panties and draping them around his neck. “Where are you going?” he said as she headed for the stern. “I’m just getting some K.Y. Jelly out of my bag.” Serrag eagerly doffed his trunks, revealing his massive, turgid dong, and hurried after her, leering at her backside as she bent over and reached into her cranberry Louis Vuitton handbag. “Huh,” she said. “It’s not in here. I must have left it back at the hotel.” She straightened up and started to turn around, then gasped and pointed excitedly at a beer can floating atop a nearby wave. “Oh look! It’s ...” [[“A life preserver from the Titanic!”]] [[“The tip of Poseidon’s trident. We must be near Atlantis!”]] [[“The Antikythera Mechanism!”]]

Tacita slipped a hand into the front of her bikini panties, reaching for the small pinky-shaped laser pistol concealed within her orifice. Serrag assumed she was pleasuring herself; he gently grabbed her wrist. “No need for that, hottie pie,” he said. “I am a master of foreplay. Allow me to demonstrate.” He yanked her hand from her panties before she could let go of the weapon. The moment he saw the tiny silver pistol clutched between her thumb and forefinger, the leer left his face, replaced by fury. “So!” he growled. “You are not the harmless gold-digging cockteaser slut you pretend to be! You’re just another secret agent trying to destroy my lucrative smuggling operation!” His grip tightened, crushing the bones in her wrist, and her nerveless fingers dropped the pussy pistol as Serrag’s other hand closed in on her larynx. *Crunch!* [[One<-try again]]

She lashed out with the edge of her left hand, driving it into Serrag’s scaly throat. If he’d been an Earth man the blow would’ve crushed his windpipe -- but he wasn’t, so it only made him cough. “So that’s it,” he growled. “I thought you were just another harmless cockteaser, but now I see the truth. You’re a secret agent trying to destroy my lucrative smuggling operation!” Tacita winced. Serrag hadn’t seen through her little charade after all. She could’ve bluffed her way out of it. But now she’d given herself away. He grabbed her throat in his powerful hands and thrust his massive thumbs into her windpipe. *Crunch!* [[One<-try again]]

“Who cares?” he said, scooping her up into his arms before she could dodge aside. [[Act innocent and vehemently deny everything<-try again]]

“The Antiky-what?” he said, with a look of utter bafflement on his face. “I’ve got to grab it before it sinks to the bottom of the sea! It’s worth a fortune!” “Uh...” Before he could recover his wits and stop her, Tacita dove over the side of the speedboat. Her sleek arms and shapely legs churned powerfully at the choppy water and soon she was safely out of range. She turned around, treading water and smiling at the Neptunian, who was leaning over the gunwale, grasping it tightly, his cock throbbing with lust, his bestial face contorted with frustrated longing. “Bye bye, Serrag,” she said, and ... [[fired her miniature spear gun]] [[hurled a mini-grenade toward the boat]] [[sent a radio signal to her discarded, booby-trapped panties]]

Her right hand gripped the fingers of her left hand and pulled them straight up, revealing a small tube surgically implanted in the underside of her wrist. She flexed her thumb and a miniature spear shot from the tube, hurtling toward the Neptunian. *Whoosh!* But just as she fired, a swell shifted the boat’s position just a tad and the spear missed its target and plunged into the water on the starboard side, impaling the beer can. Serrag watched the can sink beneath the surface, then turned back to face Tacita. “Why you treacherous little...” Tacita turned and swam like hell, desperate to get to shore, but it was nearly a half-mile away. She heard the roar of the speedboat’s engine and glanced over her shoulder and saw the craft bearing down on her with Serrag hunched over the wheel, grimacing with rage. She dove beneath the waves, her legs kicking frantically, and felt the wake of the propeller as it passed only inches above her toes. She swam underwater as long as she could and when her lungs were ready to burst she finally surfaced, too exhausted to take evasive action as the boat swung around and rushed toward her one more time. The bow struck her in the side, flipping her onto her back, and the propeller finished her off, chewing up her abdomen as it passed. The fish dined well that day. [[“The Antikythera Mechanism!”<-try again]]

She slipped a hand into her panties and removed a spherical mini-grenade from her orifice, then bit down on the pin, yanked the grenade free and hurled it at the boat. But a low-flying seagull passed the boat at just the wrong moment and the grenade struck the bird and deflected into the water a few feet in front of the bow. *KABOOM!* A geyser of water spouted, drenching Serrag as it came down. And now it dawned on him that Tacita Pruval was not the harmless gold-digging slut she pretended to be, just another secret agent trying to destroy his lucrative smuggling operation. He scrambled to the cockpit and shoved the throttle forward and jerked the wheel to the left, sending the boat into a tight banking turn till it was headed in Tacita’s direction. He slammed the throttle to the firewall and the motor roared to maximum RPMs and the sleek craft knifed through the water on a collision course with the fleeing girl. She dove beneath the waves, her legs kicking frantically, and felt the wake of the propeller as it passed only inches above her toes. She swam underwater as long as she could and when her lungs were ready to burst she finally surfaced, too exhausted to take evasive action as the boat swung around and rushed toward her one more time. The bow struck her in the side, flipping her onto her back, and the propeller finished her off, chewing up her abdomen as it passed. The fish dined well that day. [[“The Antikythera Mechanism!”<-try again]]

She pinched the bionic cuticle on the pinky finger of her left hand, sending a radio signal to a tiny detonator chip hidden beneath the label of her discarded panties, which were permeated with Kablammo. *BOOM!* The explosion blew the Neptunian and his speedboat to bits. Chunks of metal and fiberglass and flesh and bone pelted the water around Tacita, and a cylinder head from the Evinrude motor plunked down only a few feet away from her as a fine red mist drifted through the air, mingling with the roiling smoke and leaping flames. Tacita turned away and swam toward shore as various kinds of watercraft began converging on the burning oil slick. A few boaters noticed her and immediately altered course; the race was won by a black Campion manned by a pair of college-age boys, one dark haired, the other blonde, with gleaming white smiles set in suntanned faces. Tacita took one look at their rock-hard bodies and kindly accepted the outstretched hands they offered. “Are you alright?” the dark-haired boy said, his eyes zeroing in on her well-groomed pussy as she climbed over the side. “Yeah,” she said. “Thanks for giving me a lift.” “No problem,” the blonde said, casually holding a hand over the big lump forming beneath his red-and-blue M.Nii trunks. “My name’s Chet.” “And I’m Biff,” the other boy said, making no attempt to hide his own bulge. “What’s yours?” “Pruval,” she said. “Tacita Pruval.” Chet nodded at the disaster in the distance. “So what happened?” [[“I think he overheated.”]] [[“He was torpedoed by a Russian submarine.”]] [[“I’m a secret agent and I blew up that boat with a bomb.”]]

Tacita shrugged. “A man offered to take me for a spin on his speedboat and everything was cool – until he stopped the boat and claimed he was out of gas. Then he did his best octopus imitation, but he wasn’t my type so I took the plunge. That’s all I know. Maybe something on board got ... overheated.” Biff smirked. “I can see that happening.” “Too bad about the boat,” Chet said, glancing at the smoldering flotsam floating atop a flaming, slowly spreading oil slick. “That was one nifty piece of marine machinery.” “So the guy wasn’t your type, eh?” Biff said. “What exactly is your type?” Her violet eyes roamed over his buff chest and sinewy thighs. “Well-built college boys with lots of staying power and no hang-ups. Know anyone who matches that description?” He grinned. “Can’t think of a single one.” He leaned forward, his lips fusing with her own, his hands grasping her massive melons. “Hey, wait for me,” Chet said... Twenty minutes later, Biff and Chet lay flat on their backs, utterly spent, their limp, gooey cocks draped across their bellies, their eyes glazed with satiation. Tacita took one last look at them, sighed wistfully and dove over the side, swimming toward the beach as the boys’ seed streamed out of her pussy and butt, to be gobbled up by a passing school of hungry minnows. Biff struggled into a sitting position and looked around dazedly before spotting her in the water. “Hey, Tacita! Where ya goin’?” “Sorry boys, I’ve got things to do.” [[Two<-continue]]

Sometimes Tacita couldn’t resist being a smartass. But Chet and Biff didn’t laugh at her little joke. Instead they exchanged a meaningful glance, then reached into their trunks -- and much to Tacita’s disappointment they didn’t pull out anything fun, just 9mm Makarov pistols equipped with silencers. “Our submarine did not fire a torpedo at that speedboat,” Biff said, with a trace of a Russian accent she hadn’t noticed earlier. “It’s been lying inconspicuously on the bottom of the bay for some time,” Chet said, “awaiting our return from a vital mission in downtown Miami.” “We aren’t even carrying torpedoes on this trip,” Biff said. Chet pointed an accusing finger at her. “If anyone blew up that speedboat it was you, Tacita Pruval.” “You must be an American spy,” Biff said. “But why did you destroy the speedboat?” Chet said. “It had no connection to our operation.” “A diversion, perhaps?” Biff said. “Or did you miss your intended target?” Chet said. Tacita held up her hands. “Hold on, fellas. I was just kidding. I had no idea there was a Russian submarine within a thousand miles of Miami Beach. Honest.” The boys cocked the hammers on their pistols. “We don’t believe you,” Chet said. “Even if you didn’t know about our submarine before,” Biff said, “you know now.” “You could expose us,” Chet said. Tacita shook her head. “I won’t breathe a word of this to anyone. I promise.” “You’re right,” Biff said grimly. “You won’t breathe ... at all.” *Pfft! Pfft!* The pistols coughed and a pair of red splotches blossomed on Tacita’s ample bosom. The KGB agents planted kisses on her cheeks and then lifted her up over the gunwale and let her shapely but lifeless body slip into Biscayne Bay. [[sent a radio signal to her discarded, booby-trapped panties<-try again]]

Sometimes Tacita got bored with the same old cover stories and liked to liven things up by telling the truth – assuming no one would actually believe her. So she smirked at the boys and said, “I’m a secret agent and I blew up that boat with a bomb.” “Oh yeah?” Biff said. She giggled. “What, you don’t believe me?” “Oh we believe you,” Chet said somberly. He reached into his trunks and grabbed his bulge and pulled it out. To her dismay, it wasn’t what she was expecting, but a Browning automatic equipped with a silencer. “We’ve had you under surveillance for two weeks,” Chet said. “But we had to be sure before we made the hit. Thanks for confirming out suspicions.” She gulped. “Surveillance? ... Hit? ... I thought you guys were college students on spring break.” Biff also drew a gun. “We’re students, but not from any college.” “Interns, actually,” Chet said. “With an organization called ... SPECTRUSH.” “Shit!” Tacita said. She leapt off the boat and dove into the depths as bullets plowed through the water around her. One of them struck her in the back. And everything went black. [[sent a radio signal to her discarded, booby-trapped panties<-try again]]

As she neared the shore she tapped her belly button three times, activating her Instapparel app, and a small aperture opened in her tummy, spewing out a substance resembling Silly String that wrapped itself around her body, solidifying into a bikini top and panties – the non-explosive variety. A crowd had gathered on the beach, gawking at two Miami Beach Police patrol boats speeding toward the wreckage, and no one noticed Tacita as she waded out of the surf. She made her way to a parking lot behind a closed crab restaurant and sat down on a bollard, then twisted her index finger. A flesh-colored panel in the palm of her right hand popped open, revealing a touch screen. After sending a brief text message, she ... [[activated her bionic jet pack and took off]] [[switched to her Angry Candy game to pass the time]] [[activated her bionic roller skates]]

She touched a beauty mark on her left hip, activating the mini-jetpack inside her rump. Two small ports opened up in her butt cheeks and tiny nozzles slid out, poking through little slits in her panties. She tapped her thumbnail and the jetpack motor roared to life. *Whoosh!* She soared into the air, using her thumb and forefinger to control the jetpack’s speed and direction as she headed toward downtown Miami. But she’d forgotten about the three tacos she’d consumed for lunch. As a fart escaped her body, the heat of the jetpack’s exhaust ignited it and the blowback ruptured the fuel line. *BOOF!* [[Two<-try again]]

Ten minutes later, a scarlet 1968 Ford Mustang convertible with cream interior pulled up. Tacita saved her game, shut her palmtop and climbed into the car, smiling at the driver. Raoul Lopez was devilishly handsome, with a rakish mustache and curly dark hair, and was wearing his trademark tailored white suit with a red carnation in the lapel. A cigarette dangled from his lips. He shifted the car into gear and they roared off, heading for downtown Miami. “Report,” he said. “Scratch Serrag and his boatload of coke.” Raoul grinned. “Good work. He was clever, that one, smuggling drugs inside fake bananas concealed within the sleek hull of his powerful purple-hulled speedboat. But now his foul cargo has been consigned to the depths, leaving one less dose of poison to course through the troubled bloodstream of America – those mean streets of the inner cities where desperate youth cling to whatever comforts they can, and the posh suburban enclaves of bored elites who’ll do anything to forget their shallow, jaded lifestyles. We’ve cut one head off the Hydra, but there are more, many more. And I won’t rest until this city, this country, this world, is free from the taint of narcotics in every vile form!” “Well put, Raoul. As usual. And now it’s on to Rio. And Basir Rillet.” Raoul took one last puff on his Winston and crushed it out in the car’s ashtray. “Sorry, Tacita, but Rio’s off the schedule for now.” “Why?” “Something else has come up that’s far more important.” She arched an eyebrow. “Oh? What could be more important than cleansing the bloodstream of America’s mean streets and posh suburban caves from the jaded poison of desperate narcotics, or whatever you said?” “You got the gist of it, but never mind all that. GOTCHA has received word from reliable sources that SPECTRUSH is about to unleash another diabolical plot upon an unsuspecting world.” “Oh no! What are they up to this time?” “All we know is the code name of the operation – Cobalt Falcon Deltoid.” THANKS FOR PLAYING

She pinched the big toe on her left foot and a dozen mini-wheels popped out of the soles of her feet. She skated out of the parking lot and slalomed down the sidewalk, listening to an old rock song on her earbuds and smiling contentedly. She had accomplished her mission and soon she would rendezvous with Raoul, her devilishly handsome supervisor, and report her success -- after which they would go somewhere private and screw like crazy. But she forgot one thing: Even secret agents who’ve survived dozens of dangerous adventures in exotic locales all over the world are not immune from the commonplace hazards we all face every day in our own neighborhoods. The “Walk” sign was lit up when she stepped off the curb, but she didn’t check for turning traffic and never saw the food truck whipping around the corner. *Thud!* [[Two<-try again]]