Spying on Watchtower agents in the shower (Mission 1, Part 1)

The gentle landscape of golden dunes and the occasional rocky outcroppings is a distant blur beneath the aircraft. The gleaming glass and chrome towers of the megacity rise from the shimmering horizon as if they are a mirage. The vertol jet swoops through the clouds and approaches a landing pad on the tallest and most beautiful of these opulent towers. The name PRYCE glows in backlit letters two stories high.

That’s my name. On my tower.

I am Jacob Pryce, the world’s only multi-trillionaire. My orbital businesses are more profitable than Lichang’s, my tech businesses boast more users than Toggle and Facepage combined, and my heavy industries have built the towers and cities just like this one all over the world. I have conquered the business universe. And, frankly, I am bored with it.

The vertol’s engines begin to cycle down and the platinum blonde in her trim, white uniform approaches my seat. 

“We have arrived, Mr. Pryce,” she says, her voice cool and professional, but her hand an invitation as it caresses my arm. I glance at her cleavage as she leans forward enticing me to want more. Her breasts are creamy and ample, straining at her tunic, cradled by a hint of lace. She purrs, almost directly into my ear, “Is there anything else I may assist you with, sir?”

She is beautiful. She is everything a man should want. And I’ve had a hundred women like her.

“Not today,” I say, rising from my seat.

“Of course, sir,” she says moving out of my way.

Three steps out of the vertol and I couldn’t tell you the color of her eyes. I walk from the sun-baked landing pad and into my building, where I am greeted by my assistant, Talbert. He is old and British and he never forgets where I need to be or what I need to be doing. He is also one of the few people in the world who knows everything about Project Watchtower. 

“Any updates?” I ask him. 

He adjusts his reading glasses.

“None on the primary target, sir,” he says, indicating one of the icons on the tablet. “I believe Silencer is still in transit, perhaps undercover.”

Silencer. Now there is a woman worth my time and attention.

“She does not usually use a cover identity,” I say. “Let me know when she arrives in Numbari. If we can ascertain why she is there, I might be able to make my move.” 

The thought of catching up with her is exciting. Silencer is easily one of the most beautiful subjects I have been spying on, but she is also one of the most dangerous. She is an assassin and her tragic history does not change the fact that she works for the syndicate called Venom and is now a cold-blooded killer.

Talbert walks with me into my office and over to my huge desk with its curving banks of display screens. He taps one of the control surfaces and brings up a fish-eyed HD video feed. 

“Is this live? What is this?” I ask. 

“Live, sir. The motion sensor activated while I was waiting for you to arrive.”

Steam gusts past the camera, momentarily obscuring it. I can hear the drum of water on tiles and indistinct voices. I recognize the source. It’s one of my camera drones perched in the showers at Watchtower’s Gibraltar headquarters. Watchtower is the international organization of skilled and often eccentric heroes who have stepped forward to protect mankind from existential threats. Self-righteous do-gooders, to be sure, but their exploits merit just as much attention as those of Venom’s operatives.

“I believe Tracker is conversing with the Russian,” says Talbert, adjusting his glasses. “Ah, yes, there she is.”

Tracker zips through the steam, causing it to puff aside as she seems to appear in front of the flowing shower. She keeps her wild, boyish brown hair out of the splashing water and lets the stream drum against her collarbones and small, perky breasts. She is cute, with long, slender legs and a petite upper body. She was the youngest member to ever join Watchtower a few years ago and she is only in her mid-twenties now. 

Someone outside of audible range calls out to Tracker. The cute tomboy giggles as she lathers her breasts with a washcloth. She shouts, “That makes you the rotten egg then, love.” 

“I never win race with you.” Aleksandra Zoyenka steps into the steamy shower behind Tracker. The pink-haired Russian towers over the Brit. Her body is a sculpture of toned muscles, an almost masculine physique softened only by her prominent breasts with their wide, rosy areolas and fat nipples. She is an Amazonian beauty. I can just make out her words over the rush of water, “Little bee. Always flying away. Come here. Come to Zoyenka.”

Zoyenka wraps her arms around Tracker and kisses the petite Brit on the shoulder. Tracker giggles and presses back against the enormous Russian beauty.

“Promise you won’t spank my bum again?” Giggles Tracker, looking up at Zoyenka.

Talbert has the good sense to duck out of my office as I enjoy the live stream of Zoyenka and Tracker beginning to kiss. I was once guilty about watching these intimate moments. Now I consider the erotic voyeurism a benefit of my real objective: to seduce the women of Watchtower and Venom. It might seem crazy to some, perhaps pointless to others, but I can think of no diversion more worth my time than to make love to some of the most beautiful and powerful women on earth. 

After all, what is a trillionaire supposed to do with himself? 

Tracker gives Zoyenka another playful kiss before the big Russian picks Tracker up in her arms and kisses her passionately. The slender Brit moans into the kiss. I can see their tongues swirling together as the steamy water washes over Zoyenka’s broad shoulders and spills between her breasts. She pulls Tracker tight and the time-bending Brit’s smaller tits are smothered with Zoyenka’s pale, plump mounds.

“No getting away now,” grunts the Russian. “I pin you to wall and I fuck you.”

“Ooooh, promise, love?” Tracker giggles.

Tracker wraps her long legs around Zoyenka’s muscular hips and the big Russian cradles Tracker’s lovely bum. Zoyenka does as promised, pushing Tracker back against the wall of the shower as the water streams over their glistening bodies. Tracker squeals with delight, clinging to Zoyenka as the pink-haired Amazon slips lower, kissing her way down Tracker’s body until the slender Brit wraps her thighs around Zoyenka’s head.

“Naughty girl,” moans Tracker, throwing her head back and arching against the wall to push her pussy against Zoyenka’s face. I can see the Russian’s eyes gazing up at Tracker and the water-slicked pink of her hair, but I don’t have a very good view of what Zoyenka is doing. 

I need to remedy that. 

I tap the nearest control surface and call up the motion controls for the drone. It’s a crawler model, about the size and shape of a large spider. It is perched between the knobs controlling the shower in a hidden recess of the wall. A few taps sends it scurrying out from its hiding spot and up the wall of the shower. 

“That’s it, love,” gasps Tracker. “Don’t be afraid to use a finger there. Ooooh! That’s it. Do you taste my honey?”

“Mmmmmphmm, da,” moans Zoyenka. “Yes, little bee. So sweet.” 

I move the drone a little higher up the wall, bracing two of its legs on the ceiling, and I can finally see Zoyenka hungrily lapping at Tracker’s blushing mound. Zoyenka licks and kisses the time-skipping Brit’s delicate velvet and begins to push two thick fingers into Tracker’s glistening channel.

“Yes! Oh, yes, love! One up my bum too!”

Zoyenka laughs and eagerly complies, pushing her pinkie into Tracker’s tight arsehole. That seems to push Tracker over the edge. She pulls Zoyenka’s head back down to her pussy and bucks wildly with short gasps of pleasure. She moves her athletic hips, flexing her long legs and her shapely ass, grinding against the Russian Amazon. 

“Mmmmmm!” Zoyenka sucks at Tracker’s clit as she fucks two fingers into Tracker’s pussy and another up Tracker’s tight bum. 

“Sensational!” Tracker exclaims. Her taught abdomen flexes and her small, firm breasts shudder with the force of her orgasm. There is a flash of blue light from the cybernetic implant in Tracker’s back and she moves and convulses with superhuman speed, thrashing against Zoyenka until the big Russian finally has to pull back.

“Well, that just happened,” laughs Tracker, looking particularly flushed and happy.

“You almost dislocate jaw,” says Zoyenka, massaging her masculine chin.

“Aw, love, just delivering the payload.” She drops off Zoyenka’s shoulders and gives the big Russian a long, tongue-twisting kiss. “Mmmm, I do taste sweet. Now, let’s have a look at that fanny.”

Zoyenka stands up with a lopsided grin on her face. She puts one foot up on a soap dish built into the wall and runs her thigh fingers over her pink-tufted pussy. Tracker goes down on her knees and curls her arms around Zoyenka’s thick, muscular thighs. 

“Ooooh, you’re a sculpture,” says Tracker. She pets Zoyenka’s fleshy pussy and dips her middle finger into the Russian. She pulls the finger out and sucks it clean. “Mmmm. Let’s have a taste from the source, shall we?”

Tracker begins to lick at Zoyenka’s fat clit. Her tongue teases, her fingers plunder. She looks up at Zoyenka and almost directly at the camera drone. I’m sure she has seen it, but her eyes slowly close and the implant on her back flashes softly. Tracker’s tongue blurs. It moves as fast as a hummingbird’s wing and her fingers disappear in a flash of sudden motion. Tracker seems to vibrate with the rapid motions of her arm and tongue. Zoyenka’s round breasts jiggle as if she is holding a jackhammer. Her muscles bulge and she seems to convulse with a sudden orgasm.

“AAHHHHHHH! Too much!” Zoyenka cries, her face twisting with pleasure. “Stop this! STOP THIS!”

“Right on target,” laughs Tracker and she goes back to licking Zoyenka’s clit with her flickering tongue. 

“Enough!” Shouts Zoyenka.

She grabs Tracker and tosses her across the shower and into the other wall with an impact that nearly dislodges my drone. The view tilts for a moment as the tiny robot corrects its grip on the slippery tiles. Tracker drops down the wall with a grin on her face and Zoyenka’s juices listening on her chin. The big Russian picks up the slender Brit and they press their bodies together. From the drone’s perspective, Zoyenka’s big body seems almost to engulf Tracker. 

Zoyenka slings Tracker over her shoulder, the Russian’s lovely firm bubble butt perfectly lined up with the camera.

“What are you doing, love?” 

“Now I take you to bed,” says Zoyenka. She gives Tracker a good swat on her shapely cheeks. “I punish you, Tracker.”

“Heeeyyyy! That hurts!” Tracker pouts, her lovely bottom squirming.

Zoyenka carries her out of the steamy shower, saying, “No pain, no gain.”

The shower shuts off automatically as they depart. I don’t dare try to send the drone after them, but they put on quite a show for me. I save the video log with a marker to indicate it’s particularly choice. 

I’ve saved rather a lot of choice video logs of Watchtower and Venom operatives. There is frequent fraternization among the various agents; something about the mixture of apex warriors, adrenaline, and close-quarters heightens sexual urges. Oddly, nearly all of the sexual liaisons I have managed to observe have been among the female operatives. 

Only in two cases have I noted an exception. Tracker will “have it off” with just about anyone she “fancies.” I favor my chances with her if I ever meet her alone, but I know her to be fiercely loyal to Watchtower and her fellow agents. 

Another Watchtower operative, Grace, a particularly gorgeous blonde medic with an angelic affectation, had a brief and downright filthy affair with a Venom agent. His name is Warthog, a massive, tattooed, gasmask-wearing operative with an enormous belly. Why such a pristine beauty would allow such a foul brute to despoiler her is beyond my understanding. It was also completely beyond the bounds of the rules at Watchtower and she was forced to end the relationship as soon as it was discovered.

To be continued...