Stiletto Dolls

by C. L. Black

  Stiletto Dolls

  By C. L. Black

  Copyright

  This novel is a work of fiction. The characters, locations, events, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and shall not be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, places, or persons, living or not, is entirely coincidental.

  STILETTO DOLLS. Copyright © 2011 by C. L. Black. All rights reserved under international and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.

  E-Book: By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to, store, access, and read the text of the e-book by electronic means. No part of this e-book shall be reproduced, transferred, downloaded, uploaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in any information storage and retrieval system, in any form, or by any means, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of Blachmann Press.

  First edition print. © December 2011

  For Christine and the kittens

  The Cast

  Presented in order of appearance

  Our Protagonist, Dame Jane Sterling: A former CIA spy code-named Cougar73. Jane, age 36, believes she is a pediatric psychologist. Jane moonlights as a freelance operative under the cover of a professional dominatrix.

  Katrina GoodKnight Blachmann: aka Tiger69, age 40. A KGB trained child assassin, she became a “Hushgirl” at age 6.

  The Countess Kristin von Krump: aka KK, age 25. KK is the “special” pain in Jane’s side.

  Miss Christi: aka Mum, age 68, is Cougar73’s Stiletto Control. She plays a grandmotherly role, but is nobody’s Granny!

  Miss Catherine Katrina Black: aka MK, age 15. Catherine may be the daughter of Katrina GoodKnight. One fact is certain—she’s trouble!

  Heinrich von Krump the sixth: aka Papa, age uncertain. Papa is the billionaire mystery man that Jane is in pursuit of throughout the story.

  The K-A-T, Katerina: aka Boris, aka Tiger66, age 43. This ex-KGB assassin is Katrina’s half-sister and Jane’s mentor. Given a new identity, she is now Ms. Kate Smith.

  Elsa Weiss: Miss Weiss, age 33, is KK’s girl of many hats.

  The DC Client: Work name Peter, (Pete) Long, age 47. Pete was Jane’s CIA case officer.

  The DC bargirl: Nina, age 23, provides Miss Jane with unhealthy drink and distraction.

  Natasha White: aka Snow White, age 28. Miss White is the beautiful blonde damsel-in-distress honey-pot whose mission is to garner Jane’s affections.

  The Lady Jacqueline Churchill: age uncertain. A member of MI6, Lady Jacqueline is a prickly thorn from Jane’s past life.

  The kittens, Danielle, and Giselle Wright: Twin sisters, age 20. They live at the Blachmann Castle with Miss Christi and make life interesting for Catherine and MK.

  Dr. Samantha (Sam) Resnik: aka the Temptress, age 30. Sam also lives at the Castle and helps Miss Christi with the kittens.

  Senator Winter: age 37, is the subject prompting Jane’s return to DC.

  Secret Service Agent Carol Daniels: age 29, and Jane have a past.

  Part I

  The Old Game

  Bloody Hell

  Aéroport de Cannes—Mandelieu (LFMD) Cannes France, Tuesday, 26 May 2009, 11:22 local

  Dark windows of a lightly armored white BMW 750 glistened in the hot sun. The distinct odor of burnt jet fuel seeped in through the ventilation. The stretched sedan was parked, its engine running, by a gleaming white Gulfstream G550 luxury jet. The world traveler still seated in back didn’t dare kill the air. She was done with killing, and she was way too hot. She’d have plenty of time to cool off once on board—if she ever made it on board.

  Bloody hell. Grow up, will you?

  “Nein!” shouted the doll.

  Like the BMW, the Gulfstream was owned by Krump Industries GmbH. Four armed guards—Krump security, standing watch, appeared concerned by the gathering crowd. The year-old jet was scheduled to leave yesterday for an expected nine-hour transatlantic flight. Even from a distance, the Countess, Kristin von Krump’s jet, was easy to spot. Its neon pink stripe grew wider as it ran along the fuselage, ending in a big bold K that filled its tail feathers.

  Plans change. One day later, the pink jet and its flight crew were again ready to go. The whole scene was taking place outside a large and very private hanger also owned by Krump Industries. Captain Schumacher checked the manifest—Miss Smith, Jane?—then huffed, Miss Smith should have gotten off an hour ago. At least their VIP was finally at the airport. Now, if Miss Smith would just get her sweet ass off that back seat. They’ve been making good-bye for ten minutes already. So involved with the other, neither woman noticed their driver remove Jane’s luggage and load it and the special farewell gifts on board the spotless aircraft.

  The burly captain appeared uneasy as he neared the car. The BMW’s doors stayed shut. Once more, he checked the time. He tickled his thick black beard, waiting for their driver to return. The captain dared not open that door. The high-pitched whine emanating from the luxury jet’s APU was deafening. Inside the car, the muffled sound provided their tardy passenger a pleasant distraction from the little problem confronting her as she too checked the hour.

  Bloody hell…

  The captain yelled, beckoning the BMW’s driver. His brow perspired heavily as he pointed to his watch then shouted in her ear. She must have understood. Satisfied, the overheated pilot headed for the cockpit. The driver spoke only German and Russian. She too was getting hot, waiting in the Mediterranean sun. Their wealthy employer, Herr Krump himself, had instructed her in German. Tie the little bitch up if you must! My daughter shall not get on that plane! Only the mistress, Sterling, and the parting gift. Be certain you leave it where she will see it.

  “KK! Must—oui—you?…Stop that…”Oui. Jane Sterling looked down at the tangled mop of blonde JBF hair occupying the space between her long booted legs. Bloody hell, oui … She pushed against the attractive young woman’s well-tanned slender shoulders, forcing her hungered tongue away. “KK!…oui… You promised Miss—oui!” Jane caught her breath as KK did her best to get her to stay. Knew it was a mistake…oui, oui… “I must get off soon.”

  The twenty-six year-old countess, on her knees since leaving the marina, pleaded for her Miss Jane to stay. Head dipped, she lifted her way-too-slender sun bronzed torso. Bare silicone proudly on display, she said, “Promised?” The tangled mop slowly lifted, revealing a childish grin. “What?” Though glazed with Jane, KK’s face was beautiful. Jane’s grip eased.

  Along with Papa—the mysterious, secretive, and always reclusive Heinrich von Krump the sixth—KK owned the Hush-Hush Lingerie and Fragrance empire. Hush-Hush was the fastest-growing woman’s specialty retailer in what was once called the Eastern Bloc. KK’s Hush-Hush empire spanned from Eastern Europe to the Middle East and into Central Asia. Last year KK convinced Papa they should expand Hush-Hush west into all of Europe and then on to North America. These days, KK lived aboard her sixty-nine meter superyacht, the Knotty Girl. Home port for both knotty girls was Cannes.

  Papa gave her the sixty-million-dollar yacht, a hand-me-down, as a birthday gift last September eleventh. The same day she gained sole control of her trust fund, estimated then to be worth in excess of five hundred million euros. It was only days later when Wall Street’s latest bubble burst, triggering the Great Recession of 2008–9. Today, while many struggled and the recession dragged on, KK was worth considerably more.

  It was May 2001 when Papa, the sole trustee of the Krump Empire, sold or mortgaged everything they owned, converting their entire wealth to gold. At the time, gold was selling at $250 per troy ounce. Today, that same ounce of gold sold for more than one thousand dollars. On matters of finance, KK always insisted that Papa make the decisions. On matters of love,
KK insisted, there was no decision.

  One hour earlier, KK stepped off the Knotty Girl, already thirty minutes late, and dressed in her usual beach attire. She had on a short pink silk wrap, a pink string bikini bottom, and five-inch beach wedgies with matching hand bag—both Prada. At only five-four, the East German–born Countess wouldn’t be caught dead in public without at least a four-inch lift, five when accompanied by one or more of her long-legged Hushgirl lingerie models. KK didn’t look up to anyone, except for her Miss Jane.

  That’s how KK addressed her latest conquest. She loved that her Miss Jane towered over her. Always insisted Jane wear her tallest heels. Her Miss Jane was everything poor KK wasn’t: Six foot tall, surefooted, confident, independent, sophisticated yet still feminine. But most important to KK, Jane possessed an intense, assertive, dominant nature. All the qualities she found so attractive in her women yet felt so incapable of achieving within her own true self.

  “Your lipstick.” Jane offered a tissue. Lately, Miss Jane felt more like a babysitter than KK’s lover.

  To most everyone, KK not only looked, she acted like a life-size version of a Barbie doll. Maybe with a bit more jiggle, wiggle, and giggle. Like the world-famous talking doll, if you pressed her button just right, she was capable of a few phrases. Unlike the still popular child’s proxy into an adult fantasy world, KK was much more twistable. Some even said she was bent. Certain aspects of the comparison held true. Both dolls were engineered to be played with by girls of all ages. Both came wrapped in pink packaging. Both shared a love for synthetics. And neither was shy about showing it.

  Even as a little girl in East Germany, KK loved inventing fashion, both elegant and, especially, fetish. There was something about those shiny PVC fabrics that gave her joy. Twenty years later, Papa's Hush-Hush brand was on the verge of going global. Like her Miss Jane, KK had a lot on her plate. Too bad none of it was very nutritious.

  This was an important day for the German fetish fashion doll. After bidding farewell, she was to be on her way to meet the hottest new face in Europe. KK had only recently “discovered” Petra, at one of her after-hour LGBT costume parties. She held them nightly on board her Knotty Girl during the annual Cannes film festival. All proceeds went to benefit Papa’s foundation. Papa was dedicated to the eradication of toylike landmines and to the care of their child victims.

  KK surfaced, a little more lightheaded. She took in some much-needed air and huffed, “So.”

  She really didn’t care. Licking her glistening lips, and without clearance, she descended for more. She could repair her face on the way to the beach. She planned on enjoying some sun before meeting Petra for lunch. She was determined to prove to Papa she could get Petra signed to an exclusive modeling contract with Hush-Hush. She knew just how, too.

  “Now KK! Be a good girl,” scolded Jane, returning some sharp-edged pressure to KK’s shoulders. “Never should have let you see me off at the airport. I’ve already broken a very important—” Oui.

  KK wasn’t listening.

  “KK! Stop!” Her tone firm, Jane pushed her undernourished oversexed doll away, this time maintaining a defensive grip. She extended her long bloodred nails a bit too deep.

  “Ouch! Okay!” Her resistance waned. Her mop drooped. “Sorry Miss Jane.”

  She began kissing Jane’s silk stocking top. Her lips worked down over Jane’s knee-high stiletto black boot. She licked at its toe then began an advance back up the other boot. Traces of pink lipstick marked a telltale path to Jane’s still-hidden gift.

  “KK! Oui! You must let Miss Jane…oui…go…at…oui…at once…oui—more.” Having regained herself, she scolded sounding like a schoolteacher. “Miss Jane really must, oui, be in DC by twenty-one-hundred local.” She worked against those persistent little hands, only partially succeeding in pulling her white leather pencil skirt back into place.

  Lifting her head from between the two attractively long and well marked legs, KK began, “Oh Miss Jane! You have time for one more orgasm.” Two sets of well-chewed pink nails crawled back under the leather. Playfully, they tickled the inner thighs, just above the stocking tops. Delicately, she teased with Jane’s garters, “Papa’s little plane will get you there in plenty of time. Ja. I just wanted to give you a goodbye present.” Down she went.

  Here we go again. Oui…

  KK surfaced, licked her drippy-drooly lips then said, “Besides, Miss Jane said!” She deepened her voice then repeated Jane’s words, spoken not much more than an hour before. “KK could see that Miss Jane got off, alright, at the airport.” She waited. “Well?” She didn’t wait long.

  Eyes rolled. “Yes, love. However—” Oui. Never should have taken this bloody assignment.

  KK popped up. “We’re at the airport, aren’t we?” With that explained, she pushed the buttery soft, ridiculously expensive, slightly snug designer skirt back up against Jane’s twenty-five inch waist. KK had purchased it and the matching fitted blazer for her lover only last week. Jane was now nicely exposed. Eight black garters hugged her not-so-firm white thighs.

  “Ja. Very wet!” KK snickered as she studied the very expensive, bloodred silk panties. She glared at Jane then shook her head in utter disapproval. “Not Hush-Hush, I see.” Neither eye came off the sweetly scented treasure as her delicate right hand reached into Jane’s left boot.

  “They were a gift."

  She casually withdrew a fancy-handled, chrome-bladed stiletto dagger and growled, “Don’t move.”

  Jane rolled her eyes then yawned. “Right then. Mind the garters sweetie.”

  Using the thin shiny blade, KK sliced through the offensive moist silk with little effort. A quick cut at each hip. “Told you not to wear them,” giggled KK, taking one eye off the treasure just long enough to return the razor-sharp chrome stiletto to the safety of its scarab inside the boot. Her eyes returned to meet Jane’s. She grinned slyly then descended.

  Employing only perfect white teeth, KK lifted the damp silky fabric and rocked back, just far enough. Unlocking her jaw, she smiled like a cat—more like a kitten. The sweet scent of truth still playing tricks with her head, her eyes beckoned Jane’s to follow. Together each viewed the results. The red silk wrapping was felled, hanging limp off the seat. She had succeeded in exposing Jane’s loveliest gift.

  A true submissive, KK’s jollies were aroused only by pleasing a dominant mistress. None had ever before, or after, proved more skilled in meeting her naughtiest of needs. As KK licked on, Jane reached into her bag to retrieve her mobile.

  Bloody hell. “Right then. Be bloody quick about it.” No point arguing with this lovesick kitten. Finding it best to comply with lovesick logic, she acquiesced. A master of the greatest strategy games—chess, NFL football, and sex—the Mistress Sterling settled back and made herself comfortable. Jane found they possessed much in common. After five months of playing KK, she knew the little sweetie’s tactics well. She’d just received a text:

  You’re late! Last chance Cougar.

  Bloody hell. She slipped her right hand through KK’s soft blonde mop and twitched, oui, oui as the rough tongue ventured lower, “No; lower,” oui. “KK! You’re a very naughty girl. We’ll have none of that today.”

  The text was from the client. Cougar had already missed two confirmed appointments. Her DC-based client wasn’t impressed. Jane tapped, shredding the text, then dropped her new iPhone, a gift from KK, back into her bag. She should have arrived there last night. His little DC slut could wait one bloody day longer. The other reason, also cooling its heels in DC—Can’t. Oui! She tapped, opening the photo.

  The image was received from Mum late last night. The girl in the boots. Those bloody boots. How in the bloody hell did that kid get them? The better question was, from whom? Was it—No! Jane wouldn’t, couldn’t say her ex-lover’s name. But it couldn’t be. She’s dead. “Oui.” The boots were with her. There was no way they could have survived. “Oui.” Not under all that rubble. Have to get on that bloody plane. “Oui.�
�� She killed the image and noted the time. Perhaps—“Oui!”

  KK’s tongue had pressed, doing its devilish best to dissuade Jane from her departure. Those fingers were busy again, having found their way under the silk blouse. Its snaps gave way. “Oops.” Stroking, pinching, encouraging the unnaturally large nipples to further stiffen. Both enjoyed the nipple play. Her tongue ventured further south. All too soon, powerful hands aggressively clawed KK’s jumbled hair. Sharp nails dug in, demanding that tongue get back north, where it was most sorely needed.

  KK knew it was time. She had to let go. Her wonderful mistress commanded. She licked her way back. Jane’s gift, now swollen thick and pulsing in lust. The kitten pounced, sucking it in with hungry lips. She sucked it hard, like on a straw stuck in a thick creamy float. KK sure loved her ice cream, so long as it wasn’t plain vanilla.

  Jane too knew her little Krump doll, all too well. She pushed the captive’s blonde mop then squeezed her thighs tight. She had the love doll trapped in her most happy place, cut off from all distraction. Now with KK occupied, she took a moment to think. How had the boots found their way to the feet of that girl? Had Kat—No! She wouldn’t say that name. The daughter—she was supposed to be dead too. They were all supposed to be bloody dead. She hadn’t slept a quiet night in the eight years since. There was only one answer that made any sense. The boots were a fake and so was that bloody girl. She tapped the picture. Bloody hell. That arse looks just like her mum’s. Have to get on that bloody pink jet.