Around the World in 80 Babes
2005 CSSA Award Winner for Best M/F Series
Chapter 41: Fun, Sun, and Mystery
Disclaimer: The following is complete, total, and
utterly fiction. Don’t read if you don’t like, or are
to young. Feel Free to insert your own funny comment
here, I’m in a hurry. Enjoy!!
August 23rd, 2005
The tiny, red-headed form of Isla Fisher bobbed up and down on Richard Stall’s cock, her tight pussy hugging his manhood in a most agreeable way. She
wore only a black bikini top, pulled down enough to reveal her impressive breasts to his eyes and hands. Other than that, only wet sand clung to her body where Stall had rolled her through the warm waters of Northeastern Australia’s oceanfront.
“Oh, fuck!” Isla moaned as she bottomed out on Stall’s cock. She was riding up and down on him in a cowboy position, which was great for Stall, because all he had to do was lie on the beach, hold on to her tits, and letting her do the work.
Seaman’s Beach was one of those hidden treasures that had yet to be found by the great tourist masses – a small, secluded beach whose owners didn’t advertize to anyone but the obscenely wealthy or the moderately famous. Richard Stall was obscenely wealthy enough, while Isla Fisher was rapidly becoming moderately famous enough – her newest movie, “Wedding Crashers,” was proving to be a significant hit in America, making the young beauty Australia’s new “It Girl.”
“Oh, fuck yes!” Isla said as Stall squeezed her tits a little harder. In response, she ground her pussy down onto him harder, twisting her waist a bit as she hit the bottom and pulled up again.
Of course, Stall hadn’t planed on fucking Isla today. He’d come to Seaman’s Beach because it offered almost everything he needed to score his next celebrity sex tape – privacy, plenty of light, a modest dosage of celebrities, and most importantly, a highly encouraged clothing optional rule. In all of Australia, Seaman’s Beach was the best place for celebrities to go and skinny dip along the Great Barrier Reef with little fear of the paparazzi finding them.
“Oh, god, fuck YES!” Isla screamed as her second orgasm in fifteen minutes shuddered through her system. Her pussy quivered as she collapsed on to Stall’s chest, momentarily spent.
Stall had arrived on Seaman’s beach with only Marissa Call and Tschelet Appleberg as company. Marissa was there to help scout for hot Australian celebs. Tschelet was there for protection. And while Stall hadn’t been surprised at all to see Marissa strip out of her bikini almost instantly upon hitting the beach, the fact that Tschelet doffed her top almost as quickly DID surprise him. All she wore now was a modest black bikini bottom and one of those sea diver’s knifes strapped to her right leg. When she dove under the ocean and came up moments later with water streaming off her ample chest, Stall was suddenly glad he’d kept his loose-fitting swim trunks on.
“My ass,” Isla said, rolling off him suddenly. She presented her sand-covered rear end to him, glancing back over her shoulder at him. “Fuck my ass!” Stall shrugged. He hadn’t cum yet, and he wasn’t going to turn down an offer like that.
Stall had met Isla almost by accident – he wouldn’t have recognized her at all if Tomas Lambert hadn’t spoken up about her in Stall’s ear piece. Stall hadn’t seen the “Wedding Crashers” movie yet, and didn’t know Isla from any other hot redheaded Australian woman. This was a plus, because as he chatted her up over the course of half an hour, the fact that he didn’t know she was a movie star seemed quite endearing to her. With a little help from Lambert’s chemical aphrodisiac, Stall had no problem what-so-ever getting her naked and wet.
“Fuck that ass!” Isla begged as Stall slammed his cock up her rear end. She’d done this before – he could tell. But her ass was significantly tight enough that he knew he wasn’t going to last much longer.
Filming one of his special sex scenes on a beach presented a few problems. While the hidden camera watches and jewelry Stall and his group used were more than waterproof, this particular sex session had sent Stall and Isla rolling quite a distance from where they’d started at her towels. So Marissa Call was helping out with the filming, using Lambert’s latest addition to the hidden camera equipment. As Marissa clearly wasn’t the only one on the beach watching Stall and Isla fucking away, no one seemed to upset by the notion. Add to the fact that the sunglasses Lambert had designed were small and stylish, and that she was far enough back that any normal camera would have a hard time getting the action, and no one would ever know.
Except Stall and the other members of the Timekeeper’s Club.
Stall groaned as he shot his load deep inside Isla’s ass, collapsing slightly atop her back.
“You are fantastic,” Isla said a moment or two later as the two lay in the sand, catching their breath.
“You’re not half-bad yourself,” Stall said, smiling at her.
“Well, I’ve got to wash this sand off,” Isla said, standing up. “I may look you up next time I’m in London,” she said, not even looking back as she walked off towards the water. Stall shook his head and merely enjoyed the view of her plump little ass waving back and forth as she strolled down into the water, hoping he was getting the shot on at least one of his hidden cameras.
* * *
August 23rd, 2005
The Streets of Sydney,
“Lost it,” Daniel Coach muttered, closing down his lap top.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Agnes Stone, International Inspector for Scotland Yard said. “We didn’t get anywhere close to it!”
“I know, I know,” Coach said. “But with just the one laptop, we’re basically going to have to get directly between the broadcast source and the receiving end to get a lock.”
Stone shook her head. “We don’t even know if Stall’s in Australia or not.”
“He may not be,” Coach agreed. “And if that’s the case, then Hardwell is going to have your ass for breakfast.”
“Bloody hell,” Stone said. She’d had to beg, cajole, and all but blackmail herself and Coach into the assignment to track down these secret transmissions that were popping up around the globe. Both Scotland Yard and the American Central Intelligence Agency seemed to think it was some kind of terrorist communications system, but Stone wasn’t too sure. Every time she looked into a country where the broadcasts were coming from, she kept finding English businessman Richard Stall. Stone didn’t know where or how Stall fit into the broadcasts, but she was sure he did. It didn’t help that Stone also found Stall more than a bit attractive, despite his record of hooking up with any half-famous woman he could attach to his arm for a night.
“We can’t do this alone,” Coach muttered. “I need at least one more computer, two if at all possible.”
“What will more computers do?” Stone asked.
“Allow us to triangulate the broadcasts,” Coach said. “Just like a radio broadcast. Problem is, this broadcast is so encrypted that only a dedicated laptop like this one will be able to determine if it’s locked on to the right signal or not.”
“Scotland Yard’s not going to give us more computers, let alone the people to use them,” Stone pointed out.
“Then we’re going to have to find help elsewhere,” Coach said.
“And where are we going to do that?”
“The only place I know – the internet.”
* * *
August 23rd, 2005
“The Australian Pit,”
“Damn it,” Tomas Lambert swore.
“What is it?” Chelsea Smythe asked, coming up behind the computer expert.
“Someone was trying to trace our last transmission,” Lambert said.
“Did they get a fix?” Smythe asked.
“Not at all – nowhere near us, actually,” Lambert said. “But they were here in Syndey.”
“I’ll tell Tschelet to route Stall to Canberra, instead. We’ll need to get out of Australia tonight.”
“Hold on,” Lambert said. “I said they didn’t find us.”
“But they are looking,” Smythe said. “That’s enough to prove those killers are still after Stall.”
“Not quite,” Lambert replied. “It could be anyone. And they’re going about it in a very half-assed way. Only one comp somewhere here in Sydney. They couldn’t find us that way unless they got damn lucky – they’d literally have to be in a straight line directly between us and Stall, and even then they’d have to track it back to Stall, which could take hours, even days, depending on how far away he is. Unless he lands inside to world’s largest all-female celebrity orgy in history, he’d never broadcast that long.”
Smythe seemed to consider that. Lambert was right – unless Stall stumbled upon some secret mansion where all of Hollywood’s top celebrities engaged in lesbian sex 24-7, he’d never run his cameras that long from one location. So anyone tracking them would never really catch up to him unless he happened to be in Sydney when it happened.
“What about us?” Smythe asked, suddenly.
“What do you mean?” Lambert asked.
“Could they trace the signals back to us?”
Lambert froze. “I-I suppose so,” he stammered. “They’d have to be fairly close as it is, and then get in the straight line, and they wouldn’t know they’d found us until they moved past us. It wouldn’t be easy with just one computer, but it could be done.”
“Any way you can prevent that?”
“Maybe,” Lambert said, his mind racing. “Maybe setting up some dummy receivers throughout the city. I could have those receivers then re-encrypt the signals and beam them to me on a completely different frequency.”
“What happens if they find one of the receivers?” Smythe asked.
“They’d find a tower and something the size of a laptop battery,” Lambert said. “We’d know as soon as the found it, and by the time they figured out what they had on their hands, we’d have shut down and they wouldn’t be able to find us.”
“So we could do that a couple of different times. Maybe set up a camera or two on each station, so we’d know who is coming looking for us,” Smythe said, thinking hard now. “It’s a good idea. Can you do it?”
“Sure,” Lambert said, already rolling to another computer. “My guys can set up stuff like that in less than a day. It means I’ll have to pull them off my other project, but this is simple enough. The Boss might not like the cost-”
“But he won’t complain if it saves his life,” Smythe said. “Do it. Let Stall worry about his wallet later.”
“He just loves it when people say that,” Lambert said, smirking.
* * *
September 1st, 2005
327 Koala Street,
It had taken more than a week for Stone and Coach to find someone in Sydney with both the equipment and the skills to help them out. That worked out fine, because there hadn’t been any more broadcasts during that time, and no sign of Richard Stall, either. So the two Yard officers would’ve just been cooling their heels that entire time otherwise.
Still, it had felt like a wasted week to Stone, who would have given almost anything to have stumbled across Stall somewhere in Australia at the time.
Coach had spent most of the week tracking down some of the more colorful computer personalities in Australia. Finding someone who had the equipment, the skill, and the inclination to help two law officers from halfway around the world wasn’t exactly easy. His search had started in chat rooms and bulletin boards, then traveled into two strip clubs and one particularly colorful gay bar before returning to a computer chat room linked to a highly suspect server running out of Kenya. According to Coach, that same server was suspected of providing computer support for terrorists, drug dealers, the Russian mafia, and at least two separate white slave rings running out of the Carribean.
Somehow, through all that, Coach had found one computer hacker who seemed willing to help them out. Stone wasn’t sure how trustful their new assistant would be, but they had few other choices.
“The encrypt on these broadcasts are amazing!”
“We still haven’t been able to crack it,” Coach said.
“These are nasty buggars, to say the least. Can’t say I blame you for not cracking it.”
“Can you crack it?” Stone asked.
“Me? Probably. Give me three, maybe four months, and I should be able to do it.”
“Three or four months is a bit long,” Stone said.
“Then I can’t really help you. At least, not with cracking this encrypt.”
“But can you help us track it?” Coach asked.
“Oh, sure. Give me three, four days, and I can whip up some tracking devices that’ll let us zoom in on the broadcasting unit through triangulation.”
“The broadcast source keeps moving,” Stone said. “We want the receiving end.”
“Same process, then. Generally the broadcasting end is easier to track, but you two already have a good start on finding the receiving end. Shouldn’t be that much harder, especially with all three of us on it.”
“Then you’ll help us?” Stone asked.
“Sure. And I’ll only charge my standard rate – nothing extra, despite the leg work.”
“We’ll do most of the leg work,” Coach replied.
“That’s why I’m only charging you the standard rate.”
“No discount for friends?” Coach asked.
“No discounts for anyone. I’m too in-demand for that. Gotta earn top dollar, you know.”
“Fine, you’ll get your standard rate,” Stone said.
“Good. Come back in three days. We’ll start then.”
“And who do we make the check out to?” Stone asked.
“Abigail,” the hacker said, smiling up at Stone. “Abigail Slider. Have the first payment ready to go when you get back.”
* * *
September 3rd, 2005
“The Australian Pit,”
“So, apart from an alarming lack of celebrities hanging out a nude beaches in Australia, what else have we had going on around here lately?” Richard Stall asked.
“We’ve set up the dummy receivers around the city – six in all,” Tomas Lambert replied from where he sat on the couch. “No one’s going to find the Pit here anytime soon.”
“What if they find the dummy broadcasters?” Tchelet Appleberg asked.
“In theory, if they find one, they’ve still got five more to fight their way through. In all honesty, If we get six more broadcasts out of Australia, we’re doing well,” Lambert said. “It’s not as if there’s a real lack of hot female celebs here, it’s just finding them all. Considering we’re down to a mere four months and have a whopping 23 celebs to go, we’ll need to move on to more fertile ground before too long.”
“He’s right,” Michael Burke said. “If we aren’t in Hollywood by October, we’re not getting this done.”
“Technically, we’ve hit all the location requirements for the bet already,” Marissa Call said. “Europe, Africa, Asia, North and South America, and with Isla we’ve got Australia. We now just need to get those 23 babes on tape, and we’re good to go home. We should move on to Hollywood as soon as possible.”
“The problem with moving on too soon is that Isla can be argued,” Lambert said. “She may have been raised in Australia, but she was born in the mid east, and her parents have a mixed heritage. If someone wanted to contest the results, that’ll be a real sticky point.”
“And if I know William Neal, he’ll contest every chance he gets,” Stall said. “Lambert’s right. We need at least one more tape from Australia, more if possible.”
“I’m working on one right now, but it’s tricky,” Lambert said. “Earlier this year, Nicole Kidman had an incident where the guard house on her estate was wiretapped. Since then she’s called in new security personnel and gets regular sweeps of her house for bugs.”
“Are you saying we’re not going to get any tapes of her in her house?” Stall asked.
“Actually, I think it’s the best bet to get her – she’s not out and about all that much in public,” Lambert said.
“But how do we get past the security sweeps?” Burke asked.
“I’m working on it – got a few more things to check, but I’m willing to say right now that if I stay here in Australia for a while, I’ll be able to get camera footage from inside her house.”
“But Hollywood is set to broadcast to the American Pit, isn’t it?” Stall asked.
“It is, and if I’m not there, you won’t be able to get more than one or two tapes in, and they won’t be edited at all.”
“Then we should wait for you,” Stall said.
“It would help,” Lambert said.
“Then I guess it’s settled – we’ll stay here in Australia for a while. Let’s say until either the first of October or until we’ve had five more tapes – we don’t dare push that sixth one unless we can jump out of the country the moment it’s done.”
“We should consider the fact that the people after you could come looking for you without tracing the broadcasts,” Chelsea Smythe.
“We’ll keep the same precautions going,” Stall said.
“What about being more proactive?” Smythe asked. “Trying to find these killers before they find us.”
“And how will we do that?” Lambert asked.
“I have some contacts,” Smythe asked. “It won’t be easy, and it won’t be particularly cheap, but I might be able to dig up some info on them.”
“Is it something you can do while we’re moving?” Stall asked.
“Here in Australia, yes – some of my more… esoteric contacts can be reached here,” Smythe said. “Once we leave for America, that becomes a little harder – and more expensive.”
“We’ll see what we can do about it,” Stall said. “But the more things cost, the more I need to win this bet. Our top priority for right now should be score more films of Australian celebs. We can’t let technicalities force us out. Not when we are so close.”
“I can run some checks through the internet, see if I can dig up where some of Oz’s more attractive stars will be showing up,” Lambert said.
“And I will check the tabloids,” Marissa said.
“What on earth for?” Burke asked.
“Well, why not?” Marissa said. “Those things are loaded with info on where celebs have been. If we double check some facts, we might be able to predict where they’ll go next.”
“I suppose it can’t hurt,” Stall said. “I’ll leave you in charge of that, Marissa.”
“Finally,” she said as she stood up. “A job that pays me to sit around and do stuff I would’ve done anyway.”
“We should all be so lucky,” Smythe said.
* * *
September 3rd, 2005
Australian Airlines Flight 586
Over the Pacific Ocean
It had been a calculated risk, but one Crow had felt was worth it. The Asian stewart had been running his ass back and forth before the assassins eyes for half the flight. Blue pants a little too tight around the package didn’t help Raven keep his eyes off his next victim.
Getting him alone hadn’t been easy. Red Eye flights were great for joining the Mile High Club – the only problem was that almost everyone knew that, and with only four bathrooms on the flight, at least two were in use at almost any time. Crow had already spotted three couples coming out of different bathroom stalls that should’ve had trouble fitting one person. And he was almost certain there were a pair of Australian coeds in one of the tail-end bathrooms at this very moment, exploring their lesbian desires with each other.
Crow had finally managed to snag a bathroom, and then laid in wait. He hadn’t had to wait too long before the Asian steward with his bubble butt had gone by. One quick sleeper lock, and the poor little fellow had been knocked out and hauled into the bathroom without anyone noticing. Crow shoved about half a roll of paper towels into his mouth to keep him gaged, then removed both the too-tight blue pants around the steward’s legs, and his own jeans.
Using the complimentary hand soap as lube, Crow had rapidly raped the poor steward’s ass. And while he certainly enjoyed himself – raping men was his favorite pastime – he couldn’t help but feel like something was missing.
He hadn’t enjoyed one of these little assaults as much as he had in the past since he’d gotten ahold of Stall’s driver, the Burke fellow, in Mexico. It had been the most brutal assault Crow had committed, finishing with him shoving his knife into Burke’s gut. Somehow, the little twerp had survived – though now stuck in a wheelchair. That pissed Crow off more. He was an expert assassin, raking up a kill count so large, he’d lost track a long time ago. And while Richard Stall had been the single most difficult target he and his partner, Crow, had ever dealt with, it galled Crow more than Burke was still alive.
To date, Burke was the only man to ever survive one of Crow’s rapes. And THAT had to be remedied.
Crow finished off with the still-unconscious flight attendant, and quickly snapped the man’s neck. He left the dead body on the toilet seat, then slipped out – he wouldn’t be found until well after the plane landed. Making sure he wasn’t seen, Crow returned to his seat, to find his partner talking on their satellite phone.
“What have you got?” Crow whispered as he sat down.
“You’ll never guess who I’ve got on the phone right now.”
“Blackbird?” Crow asked, thinking of their former employer. Chances were, Blackbird was out of business right now, seeing as how almost all of his other assassins had died in the catastrophic assault on Stall’s London mansion.
“The hacker?” Crow asked. Slide had been hired by Blackbird to provide some technical support to Raven and Crow during their adventures in New York City hunting down Stall.
“The same. Claims he’s got a lead on Stall.”
“Where?” Crow asked.
“Nothing specific yet, but apparently he’s running around Australia right now, doing his little sex shows.”
“Unbelievable,” Crow said. The duo were currently flying to Melborne to get a connecting flight to India where they’d get transport back to Europe.
“Guess we’re going to miss our connecting flight,” Raven said, smiling up at him.
“As long as we catch Stall this time. This has gone on far too long.”