Around The World In 80 Babes – Chapter 26: Cat And Mouse, Part 2

Around the World in 80 Babes

by: TRL

Chapter 26: Cat & Mouse, Part 2

M/F, FF, Anal, Voyeur

Kate Bosworth

Disclaimer: You should not be here if any of the
following applies to you: You’re not old enough,
you’re opposed to sex, you’re a bigot, you’re a member
of any religion’s fanaticism class, you’re undergoing
surgery in the morning, you’re not connected to the
internet, you’re blind and/or illiterate. If any of
the preceeding applies to you, stop right now.
Otherwise, please, read on and enjoy!

May 26th, 2005

Isla Fortuna,

Off the Coast of Miami, Florida,

The nice thing about string bikini’s, Richard Stall had found over the course of his life, was that they untied so easily. Unless the woman wearing the bikini in question had served time in either the Navy or the Boy Scouts, the bikini was usually tied no more securely than your average pair of sneakers – sometimes, not even that much. How the things didn’t come off more in the water, Stall didn’t know.

Besides, all that really mattered was that they came off while lying on his bed.

“Fuck me,” Kate Bosworth moaned as Richard Stall undid the bikini strings holding the bottoms of her yellow bathing suit. “I can’t wait, just fuck me!”

Stall smiled. Chalk another one up to Lambert’s chemical aphrodisiac, because he’d barely met Kate on the beach a mere fifteen minutes ago. Now, here she was, inside his rental house begging to be fucked.

Pulling his own swim trunks down, Stall climbed up and in-between Kate’s legs. He was already hard – Kate’s sexy body was more than enough to insure that. He eased his cock into Kate’s wet folds and slowly sunk into her. Clearly, Kate was no virgin, but she had a “good girl” image about her, and the tightness of her most private area made Stall believe that her own life wasn’t too far from that image.

“Oh, wow,” Kate moaned as Stall filled her. “God, fuck me now.”

“Sush,” Stall said, calming the young blonde. “We’re just getting started.” Never-the-less, he started pushing in and pulling out of her, his hands finding her breasts and kneading the flesh there. She moaned appreciatively, but still seemed to want more.

“Don’t go slow,” she said. “I don’t want to make love, I want to FUCK.”

“If you say so,” Stall replied. With that, he shoved himself into her hard, making her gasp in shock. He followed it up be slamming into her again, and again, and again, keeping up a nasty pace.

“That. Is. More. Like. It,” Kate replied between gasps and moans.

* * *

May 26th, 2005

The New York Pit,

New York City, New York, USA

“Business as usual, I see,” Tom Lambert muttered aloud to himself as he watched Richard Stall fuck Kate Bosworth. He had to admit, as he sat there watching the blonde actress’s tits jiggle in response to Stall’s hard fucking, that there were certainly worse jobs out there. Of course, it wasn’t like Lambert himself had been getting some hot celebrity pussy, but, then again, most people went through life without ever having sex with someone famous. And even more went through life without ever getting to watch super high-quality video of hot female celebs having sex. Really, it was worth the effort for that alone.

Still, Lambert hadn’t gotten laid since college – a painfully long time ago now – almost two full years! Somedays, he wished it was him on the other end of the camera, getting to fuck the hot and famous, instead of just sitting back here, recording it all.

On the screen, Kate Bosworth had rolled over, and Stall was clearly lining himself up to begin fucking her ass. Between Kate and Jennifer Lopez, Stall had been fucking a lot of ass lately. Lambert didn’t know what all the excitement about anal sex was – he’d never really had the chance to try it. His college “girlfriend” had only slept with him three times, and he’d barely managed to get that out of her.

He’d been tempted, more than once, to offer Marissa Call some money to have sex with him – Stall paid him more than enough for such things – but had always held back. Marissa seemed more than a little upset every time her past as a prostitute came up. Besides, he was so rarely in the same place as her, it seemed like it just wasn’t meant to happen.

Lambert sat back in his chair and watched as Stall started really fucking Kate’s ass. One of the problems with this job was that he was getting to the point that seeing all this sex wasn’t even turning him on anymore – all he was thinking about here as he watched Kate Bosworth’s gorgeous body getting all hot and sweaty was that he wished he had some chips to munch on.

He fought the urge to munch long enough to watch Stall unload into Kate’s ass, and then gave up. Standing up, he headed across the large loft to the kitchenette and opened up the cupboards, pulling out the first bag of chips he could find. Ripping the bag open as he headed back, his mind was already on how he was going to edit the Bosworth footage to present it to the Timekeeper’s Club members.

He was just about to pop the first chip into his mouth when he noticed the tiny little warning box that had popped up on his screen.

“Shit,” he muttered. He recognized it at once – he’d set up the program after the fiasco that had happened in the hotel in New York, when someone else had tried to hack into some camera feeds that Lambert himself had been planning to hack.

Someone, no doubt the same person, was now trying to hack the encrypt on Lambert’s video feeds from Stall’s session with Kate Bosworth.

Lambert grabbed the microphone that connected him with the earpiece Stall was wearing. “Boss, unless you’ve got some real kinky plans for Kate, I need you to finish up. Someone’s trying to hack the signal. I need to cut the feeds from your cameras ASAP.”

On the screen, Stall was laying down next to a naked Kate Bosworth, idly playing with blonde’s nipples as they both came down from their orgasms. Stall looked right into the camera hidden in his watch and nodded once – obviously he couldn’t talk, but he knew enough to let Lambert know to go ahead. Lambert cut the feed at once.

But the damage was already done. Someone knew how to find his digital feeds. And there was no telling how long it would be before they could watch them, let alone track them.

Sighing, Lambert rolled over to a different computer and set to work. It was time to re-write some code.

* * *

May 26th, 2005

The Streets of Miami,

Miami, Florida, USA

“The signal cut off too soon, so I couldn’t get an exact trace. But it was originating in the Miami area. Though not quite in Miami itself.”

Hired assassin Crow rolled his eyes as he listened to the speaker phone in the rental car he shared with his partner, Raven. “Explain,” he said towards the phone’s pickup.

“I can’t, really. Maybe they were on a boat or something, but it seems like it might have been coming from just off the coast of Miami.”

“You’re not really helping, Slide,” Raven muttered as she drove the car.

“I’m a hacker, not a tracker,” Slide’s genderless voice came back through the phone. “I can’t get you any more information until they start broadcasting again.” With that, the hacker hung up, and the two assassins were on their own again.

“So, now what?” Raven asked, frowning.

“We keep checking the records of the hotels in Miami,” Crow said. “And, if we don’t find Stall tonight, I’m going to go out and have some fun.”

“Just be careful,” Raven muttered. “You left quite a mess in New York.”

“I’m always careful,” Crow replied.

* * *

May 26th, 2005

Miami International Airport

Miami, Florida, USA

“Had I known it was going to be this hot in Miami, I would’ve worn a thinner shirt.”

Inspector Agnes Stone sighed as she and Daniel Coach descended the boarding ramp of the plane they’d taken from New York to Miami. Her partner in this little wild goose chase was used to air conditioning and British weather. Miami’s heat was going to come as a bit of a shock to the computer wizard.

“You’re the one who said the last couple of broadcasts came from Florida,” Stone replied as she headed towards the gate.

“Oh, I’m sure they are – they match the signals we picked up in England and Europe almost exactly. I just wonder what terrorists are doing here in Miami.”

“We don’t know they’re terrorists,” Stone replied. “After all, they haven’t really done anything other than broadcasts these signals no one else can watch.”

“Well, what else would you broadcast with that kind of encryption on? I mean, the guy doing this has got some serious computer skills. We’ll have a hell of a time hacking his code.”

“Just find out where they’re coming from,” Stone said. “Then we can get through with this bloody assignment and go home.”

“Well, won’t be able to do that until they broadcast again,” Coach said, frowning. “No telling when that will be.”

“So what do we do until then?”

“Well, we’re in Miami,” Coach said, looking around. “Perhaps we should enjoy ourselves a bit.”

* * *

May 27th, 2005

Isla Fortuna,

Off the Coast of Miami, Florida, USA

Marissa Call awoke the next morning with Michael Burke’s arm draped over her naked body. The nineteen-year-old smiled, remembering the sex they’d had the night before. Her legs were actually still a bit sore. Not that she was complaining.

Slowly, she extracted herself from under Burke’s arm – he merely grunted and rolled over, exposing his ass to her from underneath the covers, but didn’t wake up. Smiling, Marissa put on her robe – a rather short, pink affair she’d gotten from a Victoria’s Secret in NYC a few weeks earlier. Once covered – she wouldn’t go so far as to say she was “dressed” – she headed downstairs to get some coffee.

She found some already brewing, and Richard Stall sitting at the kitchen table, looking over the paper.

“Morning,” he said.

“Morning,” she replied. “How long ‘til coffee?”

“Two or three minutes,” Stall replied. “Care for a piece of the paper?”

“What’ve you got?”

“Business section – you’re welcome to everything else.”

“Even the sports page?” Marissa said, surprised.

“Bloody Americans don’t even cover Football.”

“You mean Soccer,” Marissa corrected him, taking the front page. No good news, there. More deaths in Iraq, a brutal rape/murder of a gay club owner in Miami, the price of gas going up again.

“Whatever,” Stall muttered.

“So, what’s on the agenda today?” Marissa asked.

“Lambert’s working on the camera feeds – trying to increase the encryption anyway. We need to avoid using them for a bit. My suggestion? Go out, have some fun, and only have sex with people you actually want to for once.”

Marissa smiled. “I’ll have to keep that in mind. You going any place special?”

“There’s a fancy Cuban bistro opening up in Miami today that’s owned by a friend of mine from back in England. I thought I’d check that out. He wasn’t expecting too many celebs, and it’ll mostly be people from England there. A shame he’s not serving British food.

“Sounds like you’ll have a ball,” Marissa said. “Count me out. I’m hitting the beach.”

“Somehow,” Stall said, “I knew you were going to say that.”

* * *

May 27th, 2005

Swarthers Bistro,

Miami, Florida, USA

“You would think they’d give the place more of a Cuban name, wouldn’t you?” Daniel Coach asked as he and Agnes Stone entered the small restaurant in the middle of Miami.

“You’d think here in Miami, they’d be sick of Cuban food,” Stone replied. She was clad in a light blue dress with a hint of gold pipping around the edges. It was cut low – lower than many things Stone would normally wear – and showed off her bare shoulders. It was the only formal outfit she’d brought with her on this trip, and then only because her superiors at Scotland Yard insisted she have some formal attire while traveling abroad.

They’d managed to score seats at the bistro on opening day through Coach – or rather, Coach’s uncle, who had business dealings with the owner. When Coach’s uncle had heard he was going to be in the area, he arranged to get them tickets.

“See anyone famous?” Coach asked as the two worked their way through the small crowd of people waiting outside.

“Not really,” Stone said. “I don’t think this ranks as too high a celebrity event.”

“Too bad,” Coach muttered. “I thought Miami was supposed to be a big celebrity hang out.”

“Bollucks,” Stone said suddenly. “Coach, check out who’s sitting at the bar inside.”

“Is it someone famous?” Coach said, turning around to scan the bar just visible inside the windows.

“Hardly, but it’s someone we know. Third from the left, drinking a martini.”

“Don’t know him,” Coach said.

“I do,” Stone muttered. “That’s Richard Stall.”

“Stall? The guy who was with Heidi Klum when those gunmen tried to kill her earlier this year?”

“The same, and the same guy who, less than a month later, was kidnaped with Angelina Jolie by Zico Nures just before his organization went bust.”

“Nures,” Coach said, his voice suddenly going cold. “The same guy we thought was using the computer signals we’ve been tracking.”

“And now those same signals lead us to Miami, where Richard Stall just happens to be. Coincidence?”

“If it is, it’s a bloody big one,” Coach muttered. “What do you want to do?”

“Nothing we can do right now,” Stone said. “But he’s just become my lead suspect.”

“Where are you going?” Coach asked as Stone headed inside.

She smiled back at him. “To get a drink. You contact the boys back at The Yard and have them send us a complete file on Richard Stall”

* * *

“Martini, dry, please.”

The pleasant English voice coming from right next to Richard Stall stirred him from his aimless thinking. His mind had just been tumbling around possibilities of how to use Lambert’s cameras now that someone was on to their signal – mostly wondering if he could get the 42 celebrities left just through the bugging of rooms and showers.

Glancing up at the voice, he was greeted by the smile of an attractive red-headed woman wearing a gorgeous blue dress. Smiling to himself, Stall figured life wasn’t that bad after all.

“Hello, Mr. Stall,” the woman said.

“Hello yourself,” Stall said. “Have we met?”

“Yes, back in February.”

“February?” Stall asked, trying to remember. Was she a business associate? He hadn’t done much business work in February. He had been traveling around Europe at the time, using Marissa Call to score some famous European women for his tapes. “I’m sorry,” he said. “But I’m afraid I’m still not recalling your name.”

“Agnes Stone,” she said, offering him her hand. He took it, and gently kissed her knuckles.

“Charming, Mr. Stall. It’s nice to see you when someone hasn’t been shooting at you in the last twenty-four hours.”

That set Stall reeling. “You’re the detective from Scotland Yard?”

“Officially, my title is International Inspector,” she said with a sly smile. “But I think that if you’ll let me call you Richard, you can call me Agnes.”

“It would be my pleasure, Agnes,” Stall said, still surprised. He’d thought the Inspector attractive when he’d first met her, but had been rather distracted by the first attempt on his life. Though Scotland Yard had pretty much assumed that it was Heidi Klum who’d been the target, Stall was certain it was him – especially after what happened in New York.

“I’m sure,” Stone said, taking a sip of her drink.

“So, what brings you to Miami?” Stall asked.

“Funny, I was about to ask you the same question,” Stone replied.

“Vacation,” Stall said.

“Really?” Stone asked. “Were you also on Vacation when you were in South Africa?”

“South Africa?” Stall asked, surprised.

“When you and Angelina Jolie were kidnaped?” Stone said, looking at him expectantly. “After all, it made the papers.”

“Yes, as I continue to try and forget,” Stall muttered. “I lost more than a month of my life trying to straighten out that mess.”

“Funny how getting tangled up in a major international incident will do that,” Stone replied, turning back towards her drink.

“Well, hopefully, I’m done with that now,” Stall said. “Are you here with someone?”

“Are you?” Stone asked back. “I find it hard to believe a man who runs in the same circles as Heidi Klum and Angelina Jolie spends too many nights sitting alone at a bar.”

“I’m not sitting alone,” Stall said, turning on the charm. “You’re here, aren’t you?”

“Indeed,” Stone said.

Stall wasn’t going to be deflected. “Have dinner with me,” he said.

“And if I already have a dinner date?”

“Then have dessert with me.”

“I don’t usually have dessert.”

“Indulge a little.”

“Indulge what? My appetite? Or yours?”


“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Mr. Stall?”

“What happened to calling me Richard?”

“It doesn’t suit you,” she said. “You seem very much a Mr. Stall.”

“Should I take that as a compliment, Agnes?”

“You should not,” she said. “And you should call me Inspector Stone.”

Stall sighed. “A shame. Agnes is such a lovely name.”

“Is this the part where you tell me I’m lovely enough to match my name?”

“Hardly,” Stall said.

She seemed surprised by that. “Really? I’m not lovely?”

“You are,” he said, taking a long gulp and finishing his drink. “But I would never dare charm an International Inspector from Scotland Yard.”

“Weren’t you just asking me to have dinner and dessert with you?”

“And breakfast, if you were available,” Stall admitted, standing up. “But that was back when you were Agnes. Now you’re making me feel like I’m a suspect in a crime.”

“Are you?” Stone asked, her face deadly serious.

“Should I be?” Stall asked. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“No, you just happen to keep appearing where I’m looking,” Stone said.

“Have I now?” Stall asked. “And what, exactly, have you been looking for?”

“I don’t know,” Stone admitted. “But I was looking in Europe, and there you were. My sources were leading me to Africa when you ran into Zico Nures. And then, when my trail brings me to Miami, who should I find here but you.”

“We seem to travel in similar circles, Inspector Stone,” Stall said. “Perhaps we should start traveling together.”

“Why do I sense you would enjoy that far more than I would,” Stone said.

“If you were to wear that dress again, I guarantee that would be true,” Stall replied.

“I thought you wouldn’t try to charm an International Inspector.”

“Huh,” Stall said. “So did I. I hope you find what you’re looking for, Inspector.”

“I’ve got my eyes on you, Stall. If you’re up to something – anything – I’ll find out.”

Stall gave her a long look. Finally, he sighed again and shook his head. “It is such a shame you and I couldn’t have dessert together.” With that, he turned and walked out of the Bistro, never to return.

* * *

May 27th, 2005

Gatorator Motel,

Just Outside Miami, Florida, USA

“Got him.”

Raven frowned at the speaker phone. “Are you sure?”

“Yep,” Slide’s mechanical voice came back over the speaker. “And I know why Stall’s last broadcast seemed to be coming from off the coast.”

“Do tell,” Crow muttered as he glanced up from the hotel listings for the Miami area.

“He’s got himself a house on an exclusive island retreat called Isla Fortuna. Caters to the filthy rich and obnoxiously famous. He rented one of the smaller places on the island for two weeks, and most likely has been fucking the local celebs for all they’re worth.”

“Fantastic,” Raven said. “Can you get us directions to the place?”

“It’s a man-made island off the coast of Miami,” Slide said. “You two won’t get on that island without a couple million dollars to waste on renting your own house there.”

“Who said anything about doing it the legal way,” Crow said. “We can get a boat and strike in the middle of the night.”

“All right, if that’s what you want, I’ll get you the brochure information on the island and the house Stall’s in.”

“Figure we hit tomorrow?” Raven asked.

“Might take a few days to get all the equipment we need. Especially since it’s a weekend.” Crow thought for a long moment. “We’ll hit Monday night.”

“Then it’s settled,” Raven said. “Richard Stall dies May 30th.”

This entry was posted in Anal, MF, TRL, Voy and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.