Psylons 6: Saved by Seduction.
Sometimes the best tactic is sex.
In our last episode, Chastity and Slade flew to the west coast to try and bag a member of the Russian mob. Today, we find out the results of that mission.
Psylons — Sexy super-spies with Psychic powers. Created in a secret government lab, the Psylons fight international criminals and their ever present hunger for sex. Follow their adventures here on Tantalizing Tales, with a new episode every Thursday.
Chastity sipped her chocolate martini and tried to look the part she was playing — a jilted woman.
Her target, one Anatoli Korsakov, sat perched on a barstool just down from where she’d set up. Sliding in next to him would have been too obvious.
The man was handsome and appeared charming as he chatted up the attractive female bartender, but as Chastity slipped into his mind, she also noted a definite sleaze factor. This was not a nice man.
There was a murder, front and center, that he seemed to take great pride in, but that was back in Russia, and out of CIA jurisdiction.
Korsakov was ex-KGB and now a high-ranking member in the Russian mafia. So, what was he doing in the USA?
That was Chastity’s mission. Her psychic abilities allowed her to read his mind, but this was one ugly mind to muck around in.
A quick flash. A blonde woman, naked and under him, struggling…no…fucking. There was a definite sexual element. She zoomed in on the woman’s face and it was like looking in the mirror.
Shit!
She pulled out of his mind and found the man staring at her. He raised his drink and gave her a wink.
She forced a smile back and added a slight wave of her hand.
Taking his drink, Korsakov made his way down the bar toward her, taking the vacant stool next to her. “Good evening, lovely lady.” His Russian accent was very pronounced.
“Hi,” she ventured. She sent a mental message to her partner, Slade Steele, who was in a van parked on the street outside. Contact.
“You look as lonely as I am,” Korsakov said, “and I am wondering why such a beautiful woman would be drinking alone on such a lovely evening as this.”
Chastity sighed. “My boyfriend…I should say, my ex-boyfriend, stood me up. He said he had to work late again, but I know different. He was with…her.”
“A man, I am guessing, that is unworthy of you.”
Yeah, this guy is smooth.
Then she picked up an image of a shipping container and his thoughts, There’s room for one more.
Chastity messaged Slade, sending him the image of the container with its identification number clearly visible. I get the impression it’s down at the docks.
Slade sent back, Checking it out.
She flashed a wink at Korsakov. “Could you be worthy of me?”
His smile broadened. “Tell me, pretty lady, what do you do for a living here?”
Perfect. It was just the opening she was looking for. “I purchase rare art pieces for wealthy clients. My ex-friend was going to give me some inside information on a rare eighteenth century painting, but I guess that’s not going to happen either.”
“You are interested in rare art?” He raised an eyebrow.
She handed him the business card the CIA had made up for her. Tonight, she was Christine Freeman, art buyer.
“An art buyer. Interesting,” he said. “I have, in my hotel room upstairs, a few pieces of art that I have recently acquired. I would love to have you come up and appraise them for me. Perhaps, maybe, I paid too much?”
Chastity ran a finger down the front of his shirt. “Your room? Art? If only we had a bottle of wine, it would be perfect.”
Korsakov held up a finger for the bartender. “That can be arranged.”
Korsakov didn’t have a room; he had a suite…and a large one. A living area with kitchenette, and a large bedroom with attached bath and king-sized bed.
“This is pre-Columbian,” Chastity said, gazing at the strange clay statue on the table before her. She’d sent mental pictures of each piece Korsakov presented to her to her partner. She and Slade had formed a tight bond.
They match a theft from a private collection three nights ago. It must be why he’s here…to transport them back to Russia.
As she inspected the pieces, Korsakov worked at opening and pouring the wine. Still in his head, Chastity picked up the fact that he was lacing her glass with GHB. Oh, he’s one of those guys.
The drug, one of a plethora of date rape drugs, was an interesting tactic, considering she was here willingly, and had indicated a willingness to sleep with him.
I’m sending up a team, Slade sent. We have enough with the stolen art to arrest him.
Not yet, she sent back. There’s something on the edge of his consciousness. Something big. I want to delve deeper.
So does he! Slade’s mental chuckle made her smile. There’s no need to fuck him. We’ve got him.
I want to. I want to give him something to remember me by. Warmth infused her core. With a little luck, the next person he seduces will be named Bubba from cell block #2.
Korsakov placed the wine glass in front of her, and she took a sip.
What about the drug? Slade warned.
Psylons are immune to GHB. Not really immune, but their heightened mental capacities could fight off the drug easily.
Slade had been able to send her rough estimates as to what the art pieces were worth, and Chastity related the information as an appraisal to Korsakov.
“Very good,” he said. “I paid much less.”
Yeah, because you stole them. She rose from her chair and confronted him. “Now, I’ve done something for you.” She started working the buttons on his shirt. “How about you do something for me.”
“We should take this into the bedroom, where I will do whatever you wish.”
Until I fall asleep, at which point you will do whatever you wish.
YOU DON’T HAVE TO FUCK HIM! Slade’s mind message was the most forceful she’d ever received. It was nice to know he cared.
But Chastity had other reasons for seducing Korsakov. The hunger was building inside her.
The hunger was a side effect of the process that produced the Psylon agents. A growing need for sex that, if not met, could actually kill the agent.
Chastity wasn’t that bad yet, but she wasn’t about to pass up an opportunity for some relief. “You can arrest him after he comes.”
They both shed clothing as they stumbled toward the bedroom. Both were stripped to their underwear as they tumbled onto the bed.
He pulled up her bra, freeing her breasts. Molding one in his hands, he dropped his mouth over the peak, tonguing her pebbled nipple.
His erection pulsed hard against her thigh.
She slid her hand under the waistband of his boxers and gripped him. He may be a scum bag, but he’d been blessed with a huge cock.
A groan rumbled from his throat as she began to jack him, sending wonderful vibrations through her core.
He pulled back, slid out of his boxers, and hooked the sides of her panties, drawing them down and off her legs. “Spread for me, Baby. Let me see you.”
He cupped her mons, then spread her pussy lips wide with his fingers, as his thumb played her clitoris like an Xbox controller.
“So beautiful. So wet and ready.”
She was ready. Ready to send this asshole to heaven, before she sent him to prison. “Fuck me. Fuck me hard.”
She slid into his mind once again, enhancing his libido, stoking his need and desire.
Precum seeped from the tip of his shaft, as he fisted it and moved to position it at the juncture of her thighs.
The bastard didn’t even ask if I wanted him to use a condom.
Not that she did, but it was the principle of the thing.
He pushed deep inside her, his mind a turmoil of erotic images she kept feeding him. Stimulated almost instantly to the brink, he fought to hold off his orgasm. “Oh God, what you do to me.”
You have no idea.
“I can’t…I can’t…”
He buried his shaft deep and ejaculated. Hot spurts erupting inside her and easing her growing hunger.
Not a light man by any stretch of the imagination, Korsakov collapsed on top of her, panting hard. “That was amazing.”
“You were okay too,” she said, faking a big yawn. “But for some reason, I can’t keep my eyes open.”
She closed her eyes and forced her body to go limp under him.
“That’s it, my pretty, sleep.” He pushed up and slid his cock out of her.
I got a swat team right outside the door, ready to bust in and arrest that bastard. Ready? Slade’s tone indicated that he certainly was.
Once again, Chastity picked up the image of a packing container down at the docks.
Korsakov ran his hand down the side of her face. “So pretty. They will love you.”
That didn’t sound good.
Yeah. Ready.
She heard the door open in the other room, and booted feet tromping through the suite.
“Federal Agents!” Slade hollered. “Anatoli Korsakov, you are under arrest.”
By the time Chastity showered and dressed, Korsakov and the Agents had left the room. Slade waited for her at the kitchen counter with a cup of coffee he’d brewed.
“Mission accomplished?” she asked.
He nodded. “Mission accomplished.”
“Did you check into that packing container?”
He slid his phone to her with pictures. “Four boys and nine girls all between the ages of thirteen and seventeen, plus the woman Korsakov was with last night. You saved them from a trip to Russia and a lifetime of slavery.”
The kids looked wretched.
“Most were runaways, picked up off the streets.” Slade shook his head. “This should put Korsakov and whatever of his gang we can round up on ice for the rest of their lives.”
Slade drove Chastity to the airport the following morning.
“Aren’t you coming with me?” She asked when he let her out on the tarmac by the CIA’s private jet and she noticed he didn’t take his luggage out of the SUV.
“I’ve got a lead on Jennifer I want to run down. I’ll meet you back in Bayside in a few days. Until I get back, Paul Fredericks can see to your needs.”
“I could come with you.”
“This is off the company clock. I can’t ask that of you.”
“You don’t have to ask. And I bet you could use someone with my talents where you’re going.”
He smiled. “You must have read my mind.”
Does Slade Steele ever find Jennifer? You can find out in Suburban Spies. Available on Amazon Kindle and free to read on Kindle Unlimited. Here’s a sneak peek:
And you can read the next episode, Psylons 7: First Tango in Paris, here:
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