Pink Slip

by Katrina Jackson

  “But I was thinking about this,” Lane said from behind her.

  Kierra turned and was not that shocked to see that the garment – a very generous word considering – in his hand was practically see through. Kierra squinted at it. Nope, actually it was fully see through. But it was a beautiful long sleeved, floor length, silk dress with artfully placed floral embroidery that might – might – cover all of her important bits.

  “Which do you prefer?”

  Kierra’s eyes closed in ecstasy at Monica’s whispered words in her ear; her body suddenly so close. If that wasn’t the question of the century, or at least the last three years.

  She answered them honestly, “Both. I like them both.”

  When she opened her eyes, Lane’s smiling face made her want to swoon. “That’s our girl,” he whispered.

  Monica’s breath tickled her ear.

  Kierra shivered.

  And then Lane disrupted the moment, whatever it was, with a sharp clap of his hands. “I’m going to defer to my wife’s expert opinion tonight. Wear the purple one.” He raised the dress in his hands up and looked at it with mournful eyes before hanging it back on the rack. “But I want to pick her shoes,” he said, turning back to them with a playful wiggle of his eyebrows.

  “Naturally,” Monica breathed, moving away from Kierra.

  Kierra hadn’t had the most PG dreams before she started working for the Peters. Why should she? She was a young, healthy, women in her twenties. But there was something about lusting after her married bosses that sent her right over the edge and she’d spent the past three years chasing every sexual desire she could think of in her fantasies. She thought she’d explored them all, but her imagination had completely failed her, because she’d never even considered how erotic it could be to have Monica and Lane dress her.

  Monica threw the slinky purple dress on the bed. She retrieved the oil that Lane had been spreading over her own body, poured some into her hands and then began to spread it up one arm and then down the other. Monica moved her hands over Kierra’s shoulders, her thumbs grazing her collar bone.

  The rational part of Kierra’s brain wanted to interrupt and remind Monica that she could moisturize her own body. But the not rational part of her brain bit her bottom lip and threatened her rationality to shut the fuck up and enjoy this because it was more than she’d ever let herself hope she might experience.

  “May I?” Monica gestured toward the towel wrapped around Kierra’s body.

  Kierra nodded.

  Monica delicately, more delicately than Kierra had ever seen her do anything, pulled the two sides of the towel apart to expose her naked body. Almost as if revealing a treat for herself.

  Kierra’s skin flushed under Monica’s gaze, goosebumps rising all over her body, her nipples hardening. How many times had she dreamt about Monica looking at her naked body exactly like this; as if she was good enough to eat.

  Monica pressed her hands flat to Kierra’s sternum, a soft, reassuring pressure. “You know we’d never let anything happen to you, right?”

  Kierra’s eyes widened at Monica’s whisper. That soft, gentle voice from earlier stroking her, but this time also pleading. Kierra felt foolish thinking it, but her voice almost sounded loving.

  She raised her eyes to lock with Monica’s. “I-” But her words were cut off as Monica’s hands moved down her chest, cupping her breasts, her thumbs moving gently over her nipples.

  Kierra sucked in a harsh breath.

  Monica’s hands moved down her torso as she continued speaking. “You’re the best assistant we’ve ever had. I know I don’t tell you often enough, but we couldn’t have managed the last three years without you.” Monica wrapped her arms around Kierra and pulled her close, their naked bodies pressed tightly together. Kierra’s brain was on the verge of shutting down completely.

  Monica moved her hands up Kierra’s back, locking her in place. “We’re going to miss you,” she whispered, her breath tickling Kierra’s lips.

  Kierra wasn’t sure if Monica had ever said so many words to her at once. But she knew that she’d never said anything to her so gently and it threatened to break something inside of her. Her resolve surely, but something else, something buried deep in her heart; something like hope. But she couldn’t let that happen. There were a pile of words balancing on the tip of her tongue but she could only whisper, “I can’t stay,” even though that wasn’t nearly the whole story.

  Lane ’s voice made Kierra jump.

  “We know, sweet girl. Doesn’t mean we’re not sad about it,” he said.

  Monica kept Kierra’s body pressed to hers as Lane leaned down, with oil in his hands, and began to rub it into her legs. His hands never strayed anywhere they shouldn’t, although if their spy outfit had an HR manager Kierra was sure they’d say that all of this was inappropriate. And they’d be right, of course. But as it was, Kierra was the entire administrative staff and as acting, unofficial HR manager she kept her lips shut tight as Lane oiled her body and Monica’s deadly serious stare pinned her in place as surely as her hands; their breasts pressed together and their breaths mingling.

  When Kierra’s skin was glossy from the oil, which smelled slightly of lavender, Monica finally released her with a barely perceptible frown. She and Lane wiped off their hands on Kierra’s towel and then Monica picked up her dress. Kierra reached for it and Lane grabbed her hand, pressing his body against her back.

  Kierra’s couldn’t help the strangled cry that escaped her lips.

  “Let us do that, sweet girl,” he whispered against her cheek.

  Monica leaned forward and Kierra lifted one foot and then the other into the neck of the dress. And then she tried to keep her entire body from shaking as Monica and Lane pulled the dress up over her hips and torso, smoothing the fabric against her skin. Kierra slipped her arms into the short bardo sleeves. Lane’s hands settled gently on her exposed shoulders, his thumbs massaging the base of her neck, while Monica scraped her nails softly across Kierra’s jersey-covered nipples.

  Kierra moaned. She only had so much willpower.

  “Now for your equipment,” Lane said, his voice full of glee.

  Kierra squinted her eyes in confusion, her brain clouded by lust. Monica turned to grab a small box from the dresser that Kierra had been too distracted to notice. She opened it and Kierra registered equipment she’d ordered and sent for repair, but never had cause to use.

  “This ear bud is directly linked to one’s we’ll be wearing,” Monica said, pointing at the item with her pinky. “You’ll swallow this temporary tracker. We don’t plan on letting you out of our sight, but if we get separated, we’ll be able to communicate and find you.”

  Kierra nodded and reached for the earbud. Monica helped her situate it comfortably. Lane moved away and when Kierra grasped the tracker, he handed her a glass of water.

  “It’s biodegradable. It’ll disappear in twelve hours,” he informed her.

  She nodded again.

  “Now are you ready to have some fun?”

  Kierra shivered. Weren’t they already?

  five

  Kierra didn’t know what European sex clubs were supposed to look like, but Club Ménage felt very uninspired; like a bad porno or a 70’s spy movie. She said as much to Monica and Lane.They both smiled indulgently at her and then turned back to scanning the room.

  Kierra had never really given much thought to what missions were like, but she’d just assumed that they would be nonstop action. If asked she would have guessed there were guns blazing, Monica throwing off her heels to run barefoot down a deserted street after a hitman, Lane scaling rooftops to catch a rogue operative. You know, like in the movies. So she was very disappointed to find that this mission, the first and likely only mission that she’d ever be on, was boring as all get out.

  She looked out over the room with disgust. There were tall tables at the center around which, people dressed as if at a fancy cocktail party – not a European sex clu
b – stood, talking and drinking. She, Monica and Lane were sitting on a very cliché tufted couch, wide enough for them to invite a few friends and long enough for them to recline if they wanted, or needed.

  Kierra slouched against Lane’s side.

  “What’s the matter, sweet girl?” He asked, but kept his eyes on the crowd in front of them.

  “I’m bored,” Kierra sighed.

  Monica turned toward her, eyebrows raised. “I thought you were worried we were putting you in harm’s way. Now you’re bored?”

  “I’m not saying I want a shootout to start, but this is a sex club, is it not?” Kierra whispered back.

  Kierra was a master of noticing Monica’s micro-expressions. And by the small quirk of her almost smile, she knew that she was amused, but she turned away to scan the crowd before the smile had time to fully bloom on her beautiful face. Lane’s pleasure was much less difficult to decipher. His rumble of laughter bounced her body along his chest. For the past three years, Monica’s vague amusement and Lane’s joyful laugh had been enough, more than enough, to make Kierra’s day. But that was before she’d had their hands all over her body.

  Kierra leaned forward to rest her chin on Monica’s bare shoulder, which gave her a very nice view down the plunging neckline of her dress.

  “You promised me fun,” she said in a soft whisper.

  “Lane,” Monica stressed, “promised you fun. I’m working.”

  Kierra, feeling bold and horny raised her head, pressed her lips to Monica’s ear and moaned. “It wouldn’t be fun without you.”

  Kierra felt Monica’s body tense and she turned to stare at her. Their mouths were so close. Kierra knew that Monica could see her pleading for a kiss with her eyes. And she looked as if she was just about to give her exactly what she wanted –had wanted for three years – when Lane leaned forward.

  “He’s here,” he whispered. Monica’s eyes sobered and she again turned back to the crowd.

  Kierra tried not to pout, even though she wanted to. This was serious business. She leaned forward and grasped her glass of wine, raising it to her mouth, barely wetting her lips as her eyes scanned the crowd.

  She spotted President Banovíc easily. Honestly she would have been disappointed if a bonafide Eastern European dictator dared to enter a sex club under the radar. What was the point of being a tyrannical overlord if you had to slink into a bordello to get your rocks off?

  He was wearing a clearly expensive, but ill-fitting, designer military uniform, even though he’d never once served in his country’s military or any other.

  “What is it with dictators and terrible fashion?”

  Lane chuckled. “Very good question,” he said and placed a soft kiss to her shoulder.

  “I count three on his personal guard,” he whispered into Kierra’s skin loud enough for Monica to hear.

  “There are two more in the crowd at your two and ten,” Monica replied.

  Kierra leaned forward to place her glass on the table in front of them, surreptitiously glancing around the room clocking all of Banovíc’s guards.

  Monica ran a hand down Kierra’s back and Lane gripped her hip tightly.

  When she straightened, Monica turned toward her and leaned forward. Kierra couldn’t stop her heart racing thinking it was finally happening. And as if Monica knew that, she smirked, like a real, visible, Kierra could have seen it from the moon, smirk. In comparison to her regular micro-expressions, that not subtle movement of her lips felt like a grand gesture. Monica raised an eyebrow, mocking her with that tilt of her mouth, and then she reached out to grasp the back of Lane’s head. Their lips crushed together right in front of Kierra’s face. She was momentarily dejected, but then she saw the flash of their tongues swirling together and her sex clenched in lustful glee.

  Out of the corner of her eye she saw Banovíc settle onto a couch a few feet away and notice them.

  “He’s looking over here,” she whispered to Monica and Lane.

  They stopped kissing but kept their mouths close. “Of course he is,” Lane said, “I’ve got the two most beautiful women in the room with me.”

  Kierra giggled.

  Monica turned toward her, moving her hand from Lane’s face to the space between Kierra’s breasts. From far away, it would look like Monica was whispering seductive words to her. “Keep him in your peripheral vision. Don’t be obvious. Tonight is purely for recon.” Monica’s index finger circled one of Kierra’s nipples and she gasped. “There’s absolutely no need to rush.”

  They weren’t the most romantic of words, but Kierra felt very seduced nonetheless.

  ◆◆◆

  They spent the next hour or so pretending to slowly sip their drinks and survey the other groupings around the room. There seemed to be a ménage for every flavor but Banovíc’s eyes kept returning to them. Eventually they pretended to finally notice and then turned to acknowledge his attentions with raised glasses, but nothing more.

  After a while more people moved to the couches and Kierra’s eyes bulged as miles and miles of flesh was bared to the slightly cool air of the room and her greedy attention; some she was happy to see, some she wasn’t.

  She tried to keep her eyes roaming so that she could keep track of Banovíc’s guards. Every now and then she’d get distracted by Lane’s hand on her hip or Monica’s on her thigh. But in all Kierra thought she’d done a passable job on her first mission, considering the fact that she was a poet, not a spy.

  Monica turned toward her after they’d been at the club for around two hours. “Ready to go home?”

  Kierra nodded, only in that moment feeling the coming exhaustion of jet lag and stress threatening to descend upon her.

  They stood to leave but were cut off by one of Banovíc’s guards, one who Lane had guessed was his most trusted, since he hadn’t left the president’s side once all night. Until now.

  He stepped in front of them and Lane’s hand tensed on Kierra’s hip. Monica reached down and twined her fingers with Kierra’s. When the guard spoke, his very accented English was a mean, guttural hiss that made Kierra’s pulse race in fear. “We would like to invite you for a drink,” he said to Lane.

  Lane craned his head to look at Banovíc and nodded. “Unfortunately, we were just leaving. Maybe next time.”

  The guard seemed frustrated. He turned and looked at his boss. Whatever silent thing passed between them was settled and then he turned back to them. “Very well. My employer is having a private party here in one week. Please leave your name at reception and we will send an invitation.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Lane said amiably. Monica and Kierra turned to Banovíc and smiled, which seemed to please him. And then they were on their way.

  When they were safe in the villa, Kierra finally let her body relax and yawned loudly. Monica grasped her hand and led her to their wing of the house.

  At Kierra’s door, Monica turned and reached up to Kierra’s ear, pulling the earbud loose.

  And then it happened. Monica leaned down and pressed her lips to Kierra’s. It was chaste and teasing and perfect. Kierra wanted more, but she was too tired to ask for it.

  “You did great, sweet girl,” Monica whispered against her lips and then let her go.

  And then Lane cradled Kierra’s head gently and pressed his mouth to hers. “Sleep well.”

  Kierra watched them enter their bedroom before she pushed into her own.

  She could hardly tear her dress off fast enough. She slipped into bed and masturbated to the mental image of Lane and Monica. The only difference this time was that she didn’t have to wonder what their hands and mouths would feel like against her skin.

  Her orgasm was intense and left her a sweaty, shivering mess, naked on top of her sheets. She couldn’t stop herself from screaming their names.

  She hoped they heard.

  Lane

  Lane intrinsically knew that a large portion of good spy work meant being seen when necessary so that you could go unseen at o
ther times. It was part of the reason that working with Monica had always been so easy. When they wanted to be noticed, Lane could pull attention with his loud mouth whenever necessary. It never took much work; people loved a spectacle. And his loud personality took the pressure off of Monica since she patently hated talking any more than was absolutely necessary. He also allowed her to keep a watchful eye on their surroundings. While everyone had their eyes on Lane, she had her eyes on them.

  Now that they’d made first contact with Banovíc, they needed to make sure to be seen in all of the right places for tourists of their caliber, because he would be looking for them. In less than an hour after leaving their cover names at Club Ménage, they’d watched as the Serbian intelligence agency began investigating their identities: entrance in the country, personal websites and banking history. It was a strong cover and they weren’t worried about it, but their online footprint was only half of the story.

  They began spending time out during the day, casually skirting along the edges of Banovíc’s associates: corrupt politicians and other wealthy, bored socialites interested in kink. They made sure to eat at the right restaurants, shopped in the right stores and eyed the right men and women as they passed. That was the easy part.

  The hard part was at night. If he was as interested as he’d seemed their first night at Club Ménage, they knew that Banovíc would be looking for them at the city’s other clubs, wanting to confirm for himself that their tastes were compatible with his. They were not, but Lane’s easy smile always fooled people into accepting him as a kindred spirit. The problem was that, to convince Banovíc that they were potential playmates, they would have to put Kierra in his line of sight and they agreed that the goal was to do that as little as possible.