Title: The Monaco Dong Affair
Polly Solo is proud of her body, of what it can do (punch, kick, climb, lift, shoot) and how it looks (36-24-36, totally fabulous in a miniskirt), but she's never quite bothered to look at the bodies of other women--the women she knows are professional femme fatales, studied and mannered, or maidenish to the point of sexlessness, like Miz Waverly, the head of A.U.N.T.I.E., and neither appeal to her.
Ilena Kuryakin is a different type of girl, and Polly's taken with her from the moment she sees her across the briefing table. Her close-cropped blonde hair makes her big blue eyes and soft lips look boyish, rather than delicate, and her button-down white shirt and black tie don't quite hide the slight swell of her breasts. Polly watches as her new partner slumps unashamedly in her chair and plays with her gleaming revolver. She tries to hide the way her breath is coming fast, the way she squirms in her seat, but she knows Ilena's eyes are on her.
They're in Monte Carlo, in a hotel way too lavish for A.U.N.T.I.E.'s expense account because Polly's professional assessment is that they need to monitor a possible ally, and Ilena's professional assessment is that Polly is stalking another suave jerk who's going to break her heart or try to kill her. Polly's professional assessment of that is that Ilena needs to butt out every so often and let Polly try to get some, and Ilena's professional assessment of Polly's professional assessment is Polly is acting like a ninny and Ilena is going down to the bar until Polly comes to her senses.
Unfortunately, Polly's rendezvous with Mr. Bond is interrupted by a series of explosions and a cadre of ninjas, and by the time she's managed to fight off the last one, Mr. Bond is nowhere to be seen. Sweaty, out of breath, and horny, she makes her way to the hotel room and downs an ice-cold bottle of sparkling water that will cost more than her dress, and then flops onto the huge satin-covered bed, pulls up her dress, and shoves her hand into her panties.
Polly's observant, but Ilena is silent, and it's not until Ilena is standing in front of her, hands on her hips, that Polly thinks to open her eyes. "Mr. Bond didn't work out?" Ilena asks.
Polly lets her hand rest on her mons venus. "Not yet," she says breathily. "Shove off and let me finish, won't you?"
"Take a cold shower," Ilena says, "I'm not spending another hour in that nasty bar just so you can console yourself." When Polly doesn't move, she makes a sour face and stalks to the bathroom, pulling her black turtleneck over her head. Polly watches her go, the curve of her pert ass nearly hidden by her bulky jeans.
Mr. Bond's polished, debonair face and the faint heather of his Scottish accent won't quite come to the forefront of her mind, so Polly tries to speed along the fantasy. She makes a V with the index and middle finger of her other hand and slides it across her clit, jerking her hips up to meet the pressure, and then slips one finger into her cunt, then two. Bond would have pressed her against the rough brick wall of the casino and forced his hand up her skirt, sliding his fingers across her thigh...
Ilena emerges from the bathroom, clad in an oversized white T-shirt and a pair of ratty old men's boxer shorts. "I'm going to do the crossword," she announces, and proceeds to seat herself at the small breakfast table across the room. Polly temporarily abandons her Bond fantasy and peers covertly at Polly. Ilena doesn't shave her legs, and the afternoon sun coming through the gauzy curtains makes her fine, blonde hair create a halo around her slim shapely legs.
Polly wonders how Ilena's legs would feel against hers--if they would be prickly and rough, like a man's stubble, or smooth as silk.
She forces her attention back to her Bond fantasy. Yes, he would slide his hand up her thigh, and Ilena is watching her too, watching Bond inch his fingers under the elastic of Polly's panties, watching how Polly's panting from just a touch, getting wet. Bond is pressing his thin lips to her neck, but she's watching Ilena's blue, dispassionate eyes...
Very well, if Ilena will insist on forcing her way into Polly's fantasies, Polly is happy to include her. Bond is taking Polly roughly, spreading her legs and fucking her on the white sands of the beach at Monaco, while Ilena slides her hands over Polly's breasts, pinching and stroking her nipples, relishing Polly's cries of pleasure...
Ilena clears her throat and flips a page of the newspaper. Polly viciously imagines Ilena getting fucked by Bond, but he only gets to thrust into her twice before Ilena pulls out her revolver and blows his brains out.
Polly hurriedly turns her imagination back to the simple fantasy of Bond fucking her on a beach, no Ilena in sight. His cock would be thick and strong--she slides another finger into herself--and long, too, sliding all the way into her until she was perfectly filled...
She grinds down onto her fingers and sighs in dissatisfaction, pulls them out of herself and wipes them off on the bedspread. "Could you hand me my hairbrush?" she asks Ilena plaintively.
"Hairbrush?" Ilena looks at her curiously, then leans over and picks up Polly's hairbrush. "Only you would worry about how your hair looks when the only person you're trying to please is yourself."
Polly's cheeks burn. "Not for that," she snaps, "just give it here." She holds out her hand.
Ilena turns over the brush, runs her fingers along the bristles, studies the shape of the handle. "Really, Polly?"
"Some of us need a little extra help," Polly replies defensively.
Ilena places the hairbrush back on the table and shakes her head, making a tsking noise. "I'm not going to sit here and watch you do that with a grooming implement. It's barbaric."
"Then go back in the bathroom!" Polly snaps.
Ilena holds up a finger. "Wait," she says, and crosses the room to rummage in her duffel bag. She returns holding something black and frankly enormous--more than a foot long, and at least as big around as Polly's wrist.
Polly sucks in a breath. "Is that..."
Ilena tosses it onto the bed, then underhands a wrapped condom and a small bottle. "Here. Go nuts."
Polly picks up the dildo. It's the same texture as an erect cock, soft and squishy with a hard, solid core. She tries placing it against her body, and gasps--with the base pressed against her cunt, the tip extends nearly up to her ribcage. Although she's sitting on the bed, her knees feel weak.
She looks up at Ilena again. "You use this on yourself?"
"I clean it each time," Ilena says defensively. "No nasty bugs."
Ilena has a small, boyish frame; her breasts are small, pert A-cups, and her slim waist drops down to narrow hips. If it weren't for her wiry muscles, she would look terribly delicate. The thought of petite Ilena with the grotesquely long, thick dildo wedged all the way inside of her body makes Polly so dizzy she has to lie down.
"Enjoy," Ilena says, and turns her back. "I suppose I should take a shower."
Polly is thankful that Ilena disappears into the bathroom again, and that she shows no signs of coming out. She rolls the condom down over the dildo and drizzles the lubricant over the head, then squirts out a liberal glob and absently smears it over the shaft.
She lies flat on the bed and spreads her legs as wide as she can, holding the lips of her cunt apart with one hand, grasping the dildo under the head with the other. If Ilena can take this thing, Polly can too. She breathes in, breathes out, and slowly presses the bulbous head against her hole.
This thing has been inside of Ilena, she thinks, Ilena has used it on herself, fucked herself with it, pleasured herself. It's made her come, and come hard. She can feel herself opening up to it, can feel the pleasant, dull ache of being filled turn into the burning sensation of being stretched.
Ilena has taken this thing inside her, and her thoughts turn to Ilena. Maybe she slides it into herself slow, wanting the feeling of being filled to her limit, but afraid of the pain. Maybe she rams the thing into herself fast and hard, liking the pain, getting off on the endorphin rush from the burn.
Maybe it's a present from an old girlfriend, Polly thinks, suddenly imagining herself into jealousy. A girlfriend who wanted to fuck Ilena, who bent her over a table and gave it to her fast and hard, wracking her slender frame with her violent thrusts. Or maybe Ilena wore it herself--she can imagine Ilena standing over her, stroking her enormous, rampant cock, ready to wreck her cunt with her assumed manhood.
No, that won't do. Polly presses the dildo further into herself and imagines herself wearing it. Ilena knows judo, but so does Polly, and in a pinch she thinks she could take Ilena. She could twist her fingers in that silken, platinum hair and bend her lithe frame over the bed, kick Ilena's legs open so her wet, pink cunt is open, vulnerable to Polly. She'll press the head of the cock against Ilena's opening, tight and slick despite her masturbatory habits. The mirror in the headboard will show her Ilena's blue eyes going wide with a mix of fear and arousal. She might refuse to cry out, or she might demand that Polly let her go, but Polly won't give in either way--she'll slide the cock into Ilena, slow and relentless until Ilena's body is still under her, trembling with the pleasure and the pain.
The bathroom door slams, and Ilena steps out, wrapped in the thick, fluffy hotel bathrobe, her blonde hair rumpled up into a shock of spikes. "Cold shower!" she declares, and cocks her head to the side. "Still not done?"
Polly whines with frustration. "No," she mutters. "It's...it's too much."
"Aww." Ilena wriggles out of the bathrobe and lets it fall to the ground. Polly takes in her pink, pebbled nipples, the dip of her navel, the sparse thatch of golden blonde hair covering her pubis. "Do you need some help?" She stalks over to the bed and strokes a calloused hand along Polly's thigh, then presses the heel of her hand to the base of the dildo and pushes. "This is nothing. You haven't had anything until you've had that shoved into your cunt and been forced to run an obstacle course with it inside you. Or had two in you, one in your cunt, one in your ass. My god, I thought I was going to explode, just get torn in two."
Polly whimpers. Ilena is pressing the dildo even farther into her in a slow, steady rhythm. "This is more than you've ever taken, isn't it? I thought you'd been with a lot of men, but I suppose they weren't much compared to this. You've never been stretched out this much." She grins evilly. "This is going to ruin you, Polly. You'll never be satisfied with another man after this."
Deep, deep breaths, and Polly lets the dildo rub against that little spot inside her that always makes fireworks happen. "And after that?" she asks.
Ilena makes a fist, makes a circle with her other hand, slides the fist through. Polly imagines Ilena's hand inside her, her cunt convulsing around Ilena's fist, and then she comes so hard it hurts. She can feel her hips slamming down onto the dildo, pulsating at the core of her.
Her body stills, and she lies there for a moment with the dildo inside her, slowly sliding out of her. It feels big and alien in her, less painful than uncomfortable.
Ilena sighs and gets up, wraps her bathrobe back around her. "Go clean that thing off and take a nice cold shower. I'll call Miz Waverly and let her know we're on Bond's trail."