Page Title

The trio of covert operatives from Area-51 are back. Black
Widows Bondage continues the action packet sexy spy-fi
adventures of the “super agents” from Angels Keep Watch, led
by Dr. Sterling Striffe, with his paramour partner, the mysterious
Myla Trench. Joining the duo in this sexy espionage thriller is
their close intimate companion, fearless ace pilot, Rusty Petals.
Their transformation goes beyond the normal range of human
senses into the realm of the paranormal.

Once again, to save the planet and protect America, they race
against time and space to track down a fugitive Nazi war criminal
to the far corners of the planet.

“Doctor Striffe?” Sal asked with a hesitant murmur. “Not aliens? Oh, thank God.”

“Oh ye of little faith,” Striffe said mockingly. “You should thank someone. Besides,
no such thing as aliens, Sal. We are the aliens.” He offered with emphasis.
“Strangers on this strange planet. We’re the Men in Black too. The stuff of
nightmares. Here to make dreams come true.”

“Oh my God,” Sal said, nerves frayed, voice on edge. “It’s really you. You’re alive.
But, I thought…” He got himself under control. “You know, you and you’re buddy
Lovejoy. The yacht club. All that ruckus about a shooting. Go figure the news
media. Thank God you’re okay.” He strained to a sitting position, stared up at
Striffe. “Whew, we’re glad to see ya, you know.”

“Always quick to recover and cover up.” Striffe unzipped, then pulled off his web-
fingered gloves.

“Hey, we was just cruising around,” Sal defended, giving a fake expression of
surprise.

“Lancer Lovejoy has left the country,” Striffe said, reaching inside a compartment
on his suit. “He’s asked me to look after his domestic investments. That means
your cover is blown. You’re collusion will cost you greatly.” He pulled out a Walther
PPK pistol, a gift from an old friend. Retooled by Perl at Area 51, the gun carried
nine .32 caliber projectiles. The barrel held a modified muffler to ensure ultimate
sound suppression. “There’s much to atone for. Sacrifices have to be made. But,
first some questions.”

“Lovejoy, yeah, yeah, right, whatever,” Sal said, rubbing his chest, absorbing the
impact. “You gonna kill us, Striffe?” He attempted to get up and got shoved down
again.

“Stay down, Sal,” Striffe ordered, voice filled with malice and menace. “Pandora, a
deck chair, please.” She eased passed Malik, gave him a sly grin. She found two
chairs and handed them to Striffe. “Thank you, my dear. Here, Sal. Sit and let’s
talk.” He unfolded the chairs, side by side, at angle to Malik and Pandora. He
watched Pandora guard Malik, encircling as spider to a fly. Inch by dangerous inch,
creeping toward the subtle vibrations of the web’s silky movements.

“How ya doing, Abdul,” Pandora asked teasingly. “Long time no see. Still trying to
get your manly courage up? Shooting blanks? Making veiled promises you can’t
keep?” She was good at cutting to the core of manhood, striking at the tented pole
of testosterone with surgical precision. She could make a stiff masculine ego weak,
useless, and limp through her vicious taunts.

“Myla Trench, Pandora de something?” Malik said “Striffe and Lovejoy.” His voice
held close and low, he seemed to muse at the possibility of coincidences. “Sterling
Striffe. Wait, that name is familiar to me.” He snarled out a sigh, rendering an
excellent English accent. “In the name of the Almighty, you’re CIA. Ah, the story
unfolds.”

“Oh, for goodness sakes,” Pandora said. “Just like you. Always in a hurry, missing
the point. No stamina or staying power. Middle Eastern men are highly over-rated.”
She taunted and tested.

“No one’s perfect my dearest, except you,” Striffe shot at gleam at Pandora’s
testiness.
“Thank you, my dear,” she replied, threw him a kiss.

“And, you’re a bagman for Middle East terrorism,” Striffe tossed at Malik. “Born in
Saudi Arabia to wealthy royal parents. Educated in the U.S. and England. The best
of all worlds. A fake guerilla fighter, fighting a fraudulent cause. Making lots of
cash. You’re a vast conduit of intelligence, money laundering, and contraband
materials. Criminal enterprise for the sake of personal gain.” Striffe found his black
leather cigar case and produced one of his expensive cigars. He clinched it
between his teeth and stared into Malik’s soul. “You’re just a fraud pretending to
be the pious protector of religious deceit.”

“Fuck you, Striffe,” Malik hissed with temper flaring. “We’ll crush your world.
Destroy your satanic ways.” He spewed curses, paused and regrouped. “You know
I’ve had this woman. She moaned under my pleasured advances. Now, she’s you’
re slut. You can have what’s left.”

“That’s not nice,” Pandora hurled and swung her fist. She planted it hard, straight
and stiff in Malik’s gut. Striffe feigned a yawn of disinterest in Malik’s provocation.
“No way to talk about a lady.” Pandora scolded. She drew back her fist again.

“Bitch!” He blew out heavily, collapsed forward, and doubled over. He hugged the
railing and coughed out recovery. “Whore.” Again, he suffered a blow to the
midsection.

“Whoa, slow learning curve here.” Pandora pouted after swinging another punch.
She glanced at Striffe. “Can I kill him now?”

Black Widow's Bondage
Randy Gonzalez