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  • Models and Super Spies Ch. 01

Models and Super Spies Ch. 01

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This is the first chapter of a 13-chapter novella. All has been written and will be released over the next month, so no worries about the story coming to an abrupt end. It's been a long and wild journey to get from start to end, but I'm happy to have completed something after so many years. Many thanks to HallidayTee, who will be coming out with a few new pieces. Couldn't have done it without you.

Chapter 1: Trust and Loyalty

Trey pulled off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He'd been staring at this database too long; the numbers had begun to run into one another in a bleary mess.

His swivel chair creaked as he leaned back and stretched. They say you're supposed to let yourself stare out a window every ten minutes or so. "Too bad there're no fucking windows in this place," he muttered. He glanced around at the gray concrete columns, bare concrete walls, and exposed piping in the gray, concrete ceiling. It was supposed to be industrial chic, or some other such nonsense, but it couldn't disguise the worker-bee aura that hung in the air like stale coffee. No amount of dressing up could cover the fact that this was still a government bureaucracy.

"What I need is a smoke," he thought after twenty more minutes at his console. No, you need a breath of fresh air, buddy. That was out of the question, of course. C.L.O.A.K. was a black ops branch of the CIA, and it just wouldn't do for secret agents – even the analyst types such as Trey – to go popping out for a stroll around the lush campus of Bank One International.

So they set up a "smoking room" instead, ventilated enough to pass government regulations (not that anyone was checking). Trey rooted through his desk, pulling out a pack of Marlboro Reds, and started for the break room.

"Holy shit, where did you get those?" he heard a fellow analyst exclaim from one of the offices. The voice seemed excited enough that Trey was intrigued.

"Hey boys, what's going – holy..."

Two guys were huddled around the flat panel monitor that currently had a picture of a nearly naked woman. Trey didn't recognize the petite redhead, but that didn't stop him from admiring her outfit: a little black thong and a lacy teddy tailed with unused garter straps.

"Oh shit, shut the damn door and keep your mouth shut," the more awkward of the IT guys groaned, minimizing the shot of the woman.


"It's ok, Trey's cool," Ken said, an analyst who'd been with C.L.O.A.K. about as long as Trey had. The other guy, the IT specialist, had a reputation for brilliance, but Trey couldn't remember his name for the life of him. M-something.

"You can't tell anyone you saw these or Silva'll have my ass," the other techie said, pushing his plastic-rim glasses up the bridge of his nose in a classically nerdy way.

"Hey man, I'm married, I've got plenty of eye candy at home," Trey laughed, holding up his hands to show them his ring.

"It's true, man, you should see his wife." Trey felt himself preen at the compliment, but he knew it was only half true. While his wife, Alicia, was hot enough that she was a successful commercial model, you could never get enough eye candy.

The IT guy gave him one last wary look and turned back to his computer, bringing the picture back up. And there she was again, the petite redhead clad in lingerie and very little else. Now that he got a closer look, he thought she may look a little familiar. Something about those grey eyes and the light dusting of freckles across her... well, across most of her exposed skin.

"God, her tits look good," the two guys practically drooled. That much was true. Despite her obviously compact frame, her breasts practically spilled from the low-lined black teddy.

"Check out her... rear," the bespeckled IT stuttered, toggling to a shot from behind. Even from these stills, Trey could see she was built like a tigress, with sinuous muscles and a tight, dangerously fit body. And yes, her round ass was the marvel of youth and good genes.

"So who is she?" Trey asked.

The two guys looked at each other. "This doesn't leave this room, understand?"

"Yeah, yeah..."

"No, you don't understand. It really can't leave this room. The mission comes down from Silva, and... well, remember what happened to Kevin Bailey?"

This time, all the men exchanged nervous looks. In truth, no one knew what happened to Kevin Bailey. One day he was there, the next, he wasn't. Official word was that he was transferred, but he'd also given away the details of one of Silva's top secret assignments.

"Of course," a more sober Trey nodded.

"Well, she used to be a special agent, but now primarily trains them. Off-site, although the location is top secret, even to us. But this is a little different. Sometimes, Silva has her work undercover when none of the other agents are quite a good... fit. Silva's got her infiltrating some modeling agency. Misha Inc. or something like that. Apparently they're using their models for more than just showing off their latest line."

"Prostitution?" Trey asked.

Both men shrugged. "No one's sure on that detail, although I don't think C.L.O.A.K. would go in just to bust up a hooker ring."

"Nor would Liz here agree to something like that."

The men watched enraptured as the pictures scrolled by, showing the athletic young agent in various states of undress. She never got explicitly nude, although there was one shot of her from the back without a stitch of clothing on. She was looking over her shoulder, straight into the camera with her smoldering grey eyes and a curl on her glossy lips. Now there was a look any man would love to wake up to.

Trey walked out of the office, trying to shake that image of the red-haired agent from his thoughts by thinking of Alicia. His blonde wife was very different than the woman they called "Liz," tall and willowy with rich, tanned skin and a photogenic face and body that had already landed her some pretty successful shoots.

He sighed as he finally made it to the smoke room. This was going to be a long day...

***

Alicia took a deep breath to shake off her nerves. What the fuck was she doing? her mind screamed as she paced back stage, waiting for her cue. She pulled the long, gossamer robe around her otherwise naked body even tighter.

Mishin Modeling was the premiere modeling agency in LA. Several of their girls had just landed high profile gigs with Covergirl and one had graced the cover of last month's Vogue. When Alicia had received the invitation to test for Alexander Mishin – from none other than Alexander himself – she'd been shocked.

"You need me today?" she remembered herself asking incredulously over the phone that morning.

"Is that a problem?"

HELL NO! she practically screamed, although she replied with something a little more civil. They just wanted to do a few test shoots, and to see how she moved on the runway. What she didn't realize until she arrived later that day was that they wanted to see her move on the runway... in the nude!

"We need our models to be comfortable with their bodies," the surprisingly non-gay agency owner explained as they sat at the end of the (very) long runway platform. He spoke with a refined Russian accent, mixed with a touch of British. "And for many, there's nothing more daunting than the catwalk. So, I have all my models audition this way."

Alexander – "Call me Alex" – had the look of a designer down: frosted blonde hair with dark highlights, week-old growth of facial hair, a body as slender as a knife. But the way his sparkling blue eyes had wandered her body as he spoke – something she was used to, just not from most of the men in the fashion world – had eliminated any thoughts that this man was gay. In fact, his appreciative look had quite the opposite reaction on her. Especially when she thought about the prospect of him seeing her walk nude...

Alicia had been overwhelmed, giving him an uncertain, "OK," before being led into the back to make up by his assistant, Roy, who was most certainly gay.

She had taken a little comfort in this, stripping out of her clothes after he'd made up her face and her long, blonde hair. His eyes had worked her body like an artist worked a painting – he was meticulous as he brushed away what few blemishes she had, but there wasn't a glint of desire in them.

"Can I get you anything else?" Roy had asked with a hint of a lisp. He'd handed her a sheer robe that draped itself along the floor, even when worn on her 5'8" frame and tall heels.

"Anything else?" She'd cursed herself for sounding like another bimbo and was grateful when Roy didn't take it that way.

"Something to calm your nerves. A glass of white wine. Or maybe a little coke, perhaps?"

"Um... wine would be good. Thanks." If anything, the mention of drugs had gotten her even more nervous. It had also cemented the feeling that this was it. The Big Time. Success just down the runway.

By the time Roy had left her alone and she was pacing backstage, she'd begun to wish she had taken him up on the coke – not that she did that kind of thing. But so many girls did these days, so there must be something to it.

Then the music started, a crisp yet subdued techno beat that would set the pace for her walk. And her disrobing. She polished off the last of her wine, took one more deep breath, and stepped out before her small audience.

Alicia had done catwalk jobs before and knew how to work them; this one was really no different. So she told herself. Long strides, eyes forward, hard, no-nonsense look that set off her high cheekbones and large eyes. Half-way down the runway, she reached for the belt of her robe. The breeze from her strut ran up the opening of the covering and through her décolletage.

Now or never! She pulled it open with a quick, dramatic flourish, leaving the black silk like a butterfly emerging from its cocoon. Alex's cameraman flashed enthusiastically around her as she continued her model's stride down the platform.

Alex was there, waiting for her at the terminus with a very appreciative smile. He wore an expensive black Gucci suit that fit his slim frame the way designer clothes should, but for an instant, Alicia wondered what he would look like up here, naked as the day he was born.

If her nipples hadn't hardened the moment they'd hit the cool air of the room, they would have grown hard then. Stop it, girl, you're married, her conscience berated her, although she also returned Alex's flirtatious smile.

She paused at the end of the stage, long enough to let his eyes study her nudity. Did he like her breasts? They were only a B-cup and she'd considered having them done, but Trey had talked her out of it.

His eyes swam lower as she did a little pirouette to give him the whole package. She'd had to scramble that morning to get ready for the shoot, but was glad she'd shaved her pubic mound. The thought of this man's eyes seeing her with stubble was unacceptable.

"Very nice," he nodded when he saw her ass. She had more padding than most of her model friends, but also found that most men liked her rounder butt. It had single-handedly gotten her a couple lingerie shoots over other, skinnier models.

The walk off the runway was much easier. Alex's clear blue eyes gave her a gust of confidence like a second wind. One step in front of the other. Sway those hips. Work it.

Roy was backstage, waiting for her with another robe – this one plush cotton, something she could snuggle into for comfort. Alex came backstage to join them; he was all-smiles. "You looked fabulous out there. If I'm not being too presumptuous, I'd like to sign you today."

Alicia didn't know what to say. "Um... I'll have to call my agent, but—"

Alex shook his head before she could finish. "No agents. I don't work well with them, never have. I thought I mentioned that when we spoke earlier today." Alicia couldn't remember now. "Nevermind. In any case, will that be a problem?"

If she signed without speaking to Doris, her agent, she'd have no agent. But then again, this was Mishin Modeling. Turning this down now that she was so close would be like an actress turning down a part in the latest Spielberg project.

"No, not a problem. Where do I sign?"

Alex's laugh sent that shiver of excitement racing through her. This was going to be dangerous...

"Well, why don't you get dressed and Roy will show you to my office. But hurry please, I have a 3 o'clock appointment."

"Sounds good."

He left, and Roy wasn't far behind. "I'll be just outside. Come out when you're all set and I'll show you to Mr. Mishin's office."

She nodded, then quickly dropped her robe. Everything was moving so fast! The call this morning, the test shoot, and now a contract! A little voice inside her head warned her to call Doris anyway, to get her to at least look over the contract she was given, but Alicia pushed it away easily. It was easy when there were things like the cover of Vogue and jobs like Covergirl to distract her!

When she was once again adorned in her short beige skirt and flimsy little blouse, she found Roy waiting just as he'd said. "I haven't seen Mr. Mishin that excited about a model since Gabrielle."

"Gabrielle Dubois?"

"Do you know of another Gabrielle?"

"No, I just didn't realize she was with Alex."

He reclined his head. "She's his star, although getting jobs is no longer difficult for her. They've become good friends." Another thrill passed through her. Gabrielle Dubois had obtained supermodel status three years ago. Her own perfume line, her own reality TV show. She was now rivaling Tyra Banks for popularity. And she started here. Did she...

Sensing her question, Roy nodded. "Yes, even the Great Ms. Dubois walked the runway nude on her first audition. Mr. Mishin is very particular with his methods, but I think you'll find them very... effective."

He stopped in front of a pair of wide, double doors. "Well, Ms. Kennedy, it's been a pleasure making your acquaintance. I'm sure I'll see you a lot more after today."

***

"He's a pig," Liz Hawkins spat as she sat in Vincent Silva's office. She'd almost gone through with it. Almost gotten her foothold into Alexander Mishin's modeling world. She did the racy photos, the naked cat walk. But she couldn't do what was required to prove her "loyalty." "A goddamn pig."

"Well, you're certainly worked up," Vincent said with a grin. Sometimes, her former partner could be a real cocky ass.

"You'd be as well if someone flat out asked you to suck his dick."

"Wouldn't be the first you'd sucked," Vincent pointed out.

Liz gritted her teeth. This was a mistake. She'd only agreed to come out of retirement because Vincent had practically begged her. She didn't need this shit. "I've never compromised myself like that, Vincent. Not for this job."

He nodded, his face blank. "Well, at least you got a tap on Mishin's security system. We'll be able to see what he sees." Vincent pondered the situation, tapping his finger on his lips as he thought. "I do have one other lead..."

Liz didn't like the way he said it. "What?"

"Bring up the feed," he ordered, scratching his goatee. When had the flakes of gray appeared there? His clipped beard had been as dark as his eyes when they were partners, five years back.

Liz tapped a couple keys. The shades to his office closed, the lights dimmed, and the large monitor against the wall snapped to life.

"Just in time," Vincent said, turning his chair to face the flat panel monitor. "That's my girl..."

On the screen, they were looking into Alexander Mishin's office, which was best described as masculine. His desk dominated the room, all dark wood and steel. His furniture was contemporary, things made of black leather that gave the room its heavy, organic feel. High ceilings, lots of open space, and a large floor to ceiling window that looked out into the smog-choked city of Los Angeles.

Mishin was pacing the room, gesticulating grandly as he spoke to a skinny blonde who fidgeted nervously on the couch. The angle of this camera was eye level, but the feed was good. Liz remembered the room, and the floor to ceiling mirror that sat opposite the windows. The camera must have been behind it.

"Is there sound?"

"Yes, of course." Liz tapped a few more keys and the room filled with Mishin's cultured accent.

"He still hasn't completed shook that hint of Russian..." Vincent said absently as he focused on the conversation being fed over the speakers.

"Stay with me and I promise you, you'll be up there with names such as Giselle, Tyra, Heidi, and Gabrielle. Your face will be adored by millions. Grace billboards. But I need two things from you. These things must be absolute."

The girl nodded, her stunning brown eyes distant as she fantasized about his promises. Liz had heard them herself, just a couple days ago. She'd been sitting in that very chair, listening to this very speech.

The girl had high cheekbones and shiny, golden hair. The more Liz watched, the more beautiful the woman became. Who was she? Someone Vincent knew, obviously.

"First, I need your trust. You've given that to me when you walked the runway." The model's face turned red and she averted her eyes. Mishin leaned against his broad desk and smiled. "The other thing I need is your loyalty."

It was Liz's turn to avert her eyes. She knew what came next. She didn't need to see it again. In her mind, she saw herself fleeing. And hoped the blonde was doing the same.

When she looked back, the girl was still there, watching horrifically as Mishin carefully brought his hands to his trousers and slowly unbuckled the belt. The room was silent but for the clink of its clasp.

The girl's head shot up, terror twisting her pretty face as she realized what she had to do. "Can you show me loyalty, Alicia?" He drew the zipper of his pants down. The blonde didn't move.

"I'm... I have a husband," she said hesitantly.

"He will never know. What happens here, at Mishin Modeling, happens in the strictest confidence. No one has to know. Not your husband. Not your agent. Not even Roy out there."

The model, Alicia, gasped as he pulled out his cock, semi-erect and already impressive. "I can give you anything you want. I can make you a supermodel. But first, I need that show of loyalty."

Liz watched the girl take a deep breath as she contemplated her very hard decision.

"Who is she?" Liz asked as the girl's brown eyes traveled the spectrum of emotion. From horrified to thoughtful to decisive.

"Alicia Kennedy. One of our analyst's wives." Vincent was mesmerized by the monitor, enraptured as Alicia rose from the couch, smoothed out her tiny skirt, and began to cross the room.

"And you're going to what? Bring her onboard? If her husband works here, won't he object?"

"We're going to make sure he doesn't. We're going to offer him something he won't be able to resist."

"Take your clothes off, dear," Mishin ordered. He began to stroke his cock.

Alicia's breath caught once again, but she hesitated less this time, pulling her blouse up over her head and stepping quickly out of the skirt. Her bra matched her plunging thong, a satin black push-up thing that earned its title as Miracle.

"Exquisite," Alexander Mishin praised as he stiffened in his grip. "Now the rest."

No hesitation this time. She reached behind her and popped the bra off, revealing her round, scooped breasts that were perfectly proportioned to her slim body. The thong came next, her thumbs hooking into the waistband and pulling the elastic away. She did it slowly, but not out of nervousness. She was teasing now.

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