It had been supposed to be a simple mission. In and out, kill the target and anyone who got in their way. Weiss had done this sort of thing so many times before that they should be able to do it in their sleep.

Somewhere along the line, however, Balinese had fucked up.

Kudou Yoji swam slowly back to consciousness, aware even before he opened his eyes that there was something wrong. He was lying on his back on a soft surface, and he could feel the familiar burn of having his arms bound about his head. He knew from the throbbing in his temples and his all too clear memories of what had gone wrong during the mission, though, that he was not at home. Which meant that he must have been captured. Which meant that he was in deep shit.

Stifling a low sound of irritation and pain, Yoji peeled open his eyes. As he had suspected, he was laying on his back on a wide bed, his hands bound to the headboard with... he craned his neck up to look... padded cuffs. His eyes widened at this, then he let out a small curse. His weapon was missing from his wrist. Whoever had bound him here had known to disarm him -- that did not bode well.

For a moment he was afraid he had fallen into Schuldich's clutches again, but the room he now cast his gaze about was far too opulent even for a member of Schwarz.

The bed he was resting upon was larger than any he had ever seen before, larger than a king size, and the bedsheets beneath him were black silk. Everything in the wide room was in shades of burgundy, black, and cream, with dark-stained walnut furnishings. There was more floor space here than anyone in Japan ought to need, the smooth wood gleaming under scattered rugs. The bed was actually set on a slight dais, with three steps leading up to it that Yoji could just see when he twisted his head the right way. There was a canopy on the bed, and soft cream curtains had been tied to its posts. Far across the room, there was an open window, a cool breeze whispering in from the night outside and dancing gooseflesh across Yoji's bare skin.

He had noticed it before, of course, but hadn't wanted to acknowledge the fact. He had been stripped down to his underwear; his jacket, his shirt, his jeans, even his socks were gone. He was bound and nearly naked and he had no idea of where he was or who had put him here.

"Ah, fuck." Yoji bit at his lower lip, tugging vainly at the padded cuffs that were fitted so snugly about his wrists. This was not good! He'd been in some sticky situations before, but... how was he going to get out of this one?!

"Fuck, fuck, fuck...."

He should have just stayed in bed when had Omi come pounding on his door.

***

"Yoji-kun!" *BAM-BAM!!* "Yoji-kun!" *BAM-BAM-BAM!!*

Yoji groaned, raising his head from the pillow and blinking blearily through tangled chestnut curls, trying to focus on the clock next to his bed. It read 5:30, and he was about to yell at Omi for waking him up so early when he realized that it meant PM, not AM.

With a muffled groan, the lanky brunette pushed himself up onto his elbows, then rolled onto one side, slinging his legs over the edge of his mattress. He paused there a moment, reaching up with a shaking hand to push his bangs out of his face. Dammit! Aya had been way too rough on him the night before, and again this morning. Thank God he'd had the day off. He'd managed to drag his bruised, raw ass into the shower before collapsing back into the tangled sheets, and he must have fallen asleep for pretty much the rest of the day.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," Yoji called, wincing as he pulled up a pair of sweat pants that were near to hand. Omi stopped banging on the door, but Yoji could swear that he heard the tapping of the boy's foot and could feel the weight of his glare, even through the thick wood.

Yoji tugged on a loose shirt as he made his way over to the door. There were too many marks on his torso and arms that would otherwise require explanation; especially when Yoji had bragged after the last several missions that he had not been hurt.

Large azure eyes were narrowed, golden brows drawn down, Omi's usually generous mouth pulled in a hard line. He looked really pissed.

"Ya, Omi." Yoji leaned against the door frame, smirking down at the youth and trying not to show much this simple action hurt.

"Yo~ji-ku~n...." It was impossible for Omi to sound menacing with his soft, husky voice, but he gave it a damned good try. Yoji resisted the urge to take a step back, his sleepy emerald eyes widening. "What are you doing?! We're leaving for the mission in ten minutes!"

"M-mission?" Yoji sucked in a breath, feeling as though he'd been punched in the chest. "Oh, shit! I completely forgot!"

"Obviously." Omi's voice was dripping with sarcastic exasperation.

Yoji offered his teammate a weak grin. It was the worst when Omi chided him, because when Omi did it he couldn't just blow it off. "Go on ahead. I'll be down in five!"

Omi's expression remained stern, though some of the tension left his body. "Be sure you are, Yoji-kun. I'm going ahead with Ken-kun. You're riding with Aya-kun."

Yoji bit off a curse and closed the door as Omi's sneakered feet pattered down the concrete walkway. That was all he needed.

Moving more than a little stiffly, Yoji threw on his mission clothes and took a brief moment to run a brush through his hair. He shoved a cigarette between his lips and lit up, then grabbed his keys and left the apartment. Car rides with Aya were always excruciating. Besides which, it was because of Aya that he couldn't quite walk right. Although if he complained Aya would undoubtedly tell him it was only his own fault, and that he had been asking for it.

"Aya yarou...."

The redhead was leaning up against the car when Yoji arrived -- with half a minute to spare -- his arms folded and his face calmly impassive. He looked dark and dangerous in his mission clothes. His ice-frosted violet eyes burned into Yoji with something that looked a lot to the brunette like accusation. Yoji averted his gaze.

"No smoking in my car," Aya said implacably.

"Ch'!" Yoji tossed away what was still half of a perfectly good cigarette, and slid into the passenger seat.

"Do you remember what we're doing?" Aya asked, his voice level, as he joined Yoji inside the vehicle. It wasn't his tone; it was the fact that he had asked the question at all that sank a stone into the pit of Yoji's gut. If that wasn't a pointed put-down, Yoji had never received one before.

"Yes," he bit out shortly, staring out the window. It had come back to him, of course, as soon as Omi had reminded him. He wasn't a complete fuck-up, no matter what others might think.

Aya nodded -- Yoji could see his reflection in the window -- but did not speak to him again. Yoji swallowed down a thick sigh and tried to find a comfortable way to sit in the leather bucket seat with a sore ass. There wasn't one.

He could tell already; this was going to be a fun evening.

***

Things had only gone downhill from there. Yoji had been hoping that he would loosen up and lose some of the dull ache in his joints as he moved about, but this hadn't been the case. If anything he had become stiffer and slower as the mission progressed. And spending nearly half an hour crouched in the tiny area under a flight of stairs while two bodyguards talked about the chicks they had laid the night before right outside his hiding place hadn't helped one bit.

He'd still done his job, and quite efficiently too. Balinese's wire sang, Abyssinian's blade flashed, Siberian's claws tore through flesh, Bombay's darts hit with meaty thunks. Blood spilled and bodies tumbled. The target died, swiftly and violently. The kittens had done their damage and then they had moved to pull out.

That was when things had really gone wrong.

Balinese had fallen behind, due to his inability to sprint without limping. This would not have been a problem in itself, except that someone had evidently missed killing a bodyguard somewhere. He had come gunning for Balinese, quite literally, with blood in his eyes. Balinese had dodged the wild shot fired by the wounded guard, but it had thrown him off balance. Feeling a leg buckle under him, he had cursed. Before he could recover, his opponent had struck him in the temple with the butt of the his weapon..

Balinese's world had exploded momentarily in crimson-hot sparks, before the black well of unconsciousness had swallowed him whole.

***

Yes, he'd well and truly fucked up. Yoji gnawed on his lower lip, tugging at his bonds once more. They were tight and thick enough that he didn't think he'd be able to escape them, even if he deliberately dislocated his thumb joints. He hated doing that, anyway. The metal was unyielding, and although it was padded with what felt like suede and a tiny bit of stuffing beneath, the cuffs bit into wrists already abraded by rough cords the night before.

Yoji shifted his aching shoulders, bracing his heels against the plush surface of the mattress and pushing himself a little further up against the pillows propped behind him in an attempt to ease the downward pressure on those joints. He'd have thought that his body would be used to finding itself in this position by now, but it still hurt. He didn't think he would ever get used to it.

Realizing that he was allowing himself to become distracted, Yoji focused on the problem at hand; namely his situation. He had to get out of here. He didn't know who had captured him or what they intended to do with him, but he had no intention of just laying here and taking whatever some sicko had in mind for--

"Yoji!"

The familiar voice sounded through the room like a whip crack. Yoji froze, his eyes flying wide, his gaze swinging around, attempting to locate its source. That had been....

"Manx?" he queried incredulously.

The svelte operative moved into view, her arms folded and a strange smirk curving rouged lips, but Yoji hardly noticed so relieved was he to see her.

"Quick, Manx," he said urgently, tugging at the metal locked around his wrists, even though he already knew it would be useless. "Get me loose and let's get out of here!"

Manx tilted her head, auburn curls bobbing on her shoulders, her aqua-bright, slanted eyes gleaming. "Why would I want to do that?" she asked, her voice a sultry purr. "When I was the one who cuffed you to the bed in the first place."

Yoji stared blankly, his brain stuttering, trying to process the woman's words. "Wh-what?" He blinked rapidly, thick lashes fluttering over dazed emerald. "You what? M-Manx... what are you talking about?!"

The Kritiker operative stalked toward the bed, something predatory in her body language. A very lush body it was, and Yoji suddenly noted that the woman was not wearing any of her normal clothing, but was clasped into something that he could only recognize as being a black vinyl bodysuit. It hugged the sweeping curves of her hips and waist, blatantly cupping the firm upthrusts of her generous breasts.... Her long legs were bare, pale flesh glowing in smooth perfection, the vinyl molded to the faint swell of her womanhood where her thighs met. She was wearing boots of black leather that came up above her knees, and gloves that strapped around her upper arms.

Yoji swallowed tightly. This was so far out of the realm of the norm that he had no idea of how to react. Manx was dressed like some wet dream dominatrix. And she was advancing on him with a look of... of *meaning* in her eyes. He should have been turned on, but instead he was just suddenly very, very nervous.

For all he flirted outrageously with the Kritiker operative, Yoji had never expected Manx to do anything other than blow him off. He certainly couldn't have imagined that she would cuff him to a bed and show up looking like this!

"What are you doing?!" he asked, appalled by the slight squeak that had entered his voice, but more aware of the jump of panic that bounced his heart against his ribcage. "Manx?!"

The woman smirked, coming to stand beside the bed, placing her gloved hands on her hips now and gazing down at him with an unreadable but somehow amused expression.

Maybe this wasn't really Manx -- maybe this was a trick, a charade of some sort, meant to confuse him, to set him off his guard....

And yet, it sure looked like the Kritiker operative he had known for so many years. Yoji could place a female by her ankle; how could he mistake the face of a woman who had been delivering the missions to Weiss ever since Yoji had joined?

Manx still hadn't answered his barely articulate question, and was only standing there, staring down at him with that disconcerting smirk. Yoji opened his mouth, intending on voicing it again, and then left it hanging open. A pair of pale arms twined about Manx's torso, ivory against the black of her bodysuit, long, slim fingers with pearly pink nails splaying over her flat belly, then moving up to cup her breasts.

"I think we should tell Yoji why he's here," came a soft, feminine husk, then two familiar hazel eyes, fringed with thick raven lashes and overhung with silken dark hair appeared over the redhead's shoulder.

"Bir-Birman?!"

"Hi~!" The woman slid from around Manx, raising one of the hands that had been groping the other woman's breasts in greeting and smiling sweetly; as though this was nothing more than a random encounter in a grocery store or launderette. More slender than Manx, Birman was still quite well-shaped, her gentle curves barely covered by a wispy white teddy, her pink nipples visible through the thin material. She also had on what appeared to be a white satin thong, and her eyelids were frosted silver. She looked as innocent as a fallen angel, and no less menacing than Manx in all her black vinyl.

"Manx... Birman...." Yoji tried to keep the fear out of his voice, but he couldn't hide the strain. "What...?"

"Hush." Birman leaned over, affording the bound man a generous view of her cleavage, and pressed a warm, soft fingertip to his lips. "We're going to tell you, darling Yotan. Just lie there quietly for a moment and listen."

"It's not as though I have much choice," Yoji remarked ironically, watching with a sort of horrified fascination as Birman straightened and leaned back against Manx, her head resting on the auburn-haired woman's shoulder. Manx must be wearing stilettos or something -- she was taller than Birman, but not *that* much taller. Black-gloved fingers traced over the lines of the gauzy white teddy, brushing over nipples that hardened in response, before sliding down to toy with the dark-haired woman's navel beneath the transparent front of her lingerie.

Yoji swallowed tightly, shifting on the mattress. He found himself to be extremely uncomfortable with this blatant, unrestrained display. He might have found it titillating -- he still considered himself to be bisexual, even though he hadn't been with a woman in longer than he cared to remember -- but this was Manx and Birman! He'd never even thought of them "that way", much less being "that way" together!

"You... have been a bad boy, Balinese," Manx said, her rich voice deep and throaty. She tilted her head, her aqua-green eyes fixed on his face. Yoji tried not to notice as her fingers slipped down lower, beneath the edge of Birman's scanty underwear.

"How do you mean?" the prone man asked, willing his voice not to crack. It didn't... quite.

Manx released Birman, who climbed gracefully onto the mattress, moving to curl up cross-legged on the other side of Yoji. Her legs were long and gloriously bare, her toenails painted to match her fingertips. Manx remained standing beside the bed for the moment, folding her arms once more, a hard gleam in her eyes.

"Where do you think you would be if we had not rescued you, Yoji?" the auburn-haired woman asked severely. "You were careless and slow on a mission and managed to get yourself knocked unconscious. Do you think that the bodyguard who attacked you would have left you alive if we had not interfered?"

Yoji bit at his lower lip sharply. He hadn't forgotten.... Well, not quite. And every sharp word of Manx's reproach rang true. Whatever she and Birman had been doing at the site of the mission, whatever they were planning with him here now, he would have been dead if it had not been for them. He couldn't refute this fact, and to do so would have been the height of ingratitude.

"I'm sorry," he ventured weakly, his gaze flickering contritely between the redhead standing beside the bed and the brunette seated on the mattress. "It... it won't happen again...."

"Oh, but it will," Manx snapped, planting her hands on her hips, her eyes flashing. Yoji's teeth clacked together, narrowly missing his tongue. Birman made a soft murmuring sound in her throat and leaned toward Yoji, marking tingling patterns over the bare flesh of his chest. Manx continued her tirade. "As long as you continue to indulge in harmful bedplay with Abysinnian, you're a danger. To your teammates, to Kritiker, and to yourself."

Yoji bit his lower lip, averting his eyes. It stung all the more because it was true and he couldn't refute Manx's words.

He knew he ought to end it. He was an assassin, equal to Aya in strength and experience. It wasn't as though he was truly being forced.... And yet, there was something in him that couldn't resist, that couldn't stop Aya when he took what he wanted, always forcefully. There was something in Yoji that desired to be dominated, to be handled roughly, to be hurt.... The pain let him know that he was alive. There was something in his deepest heart that told him he wasn't deserving of more than the abuse that Aya subjected him to, and that it was good just to feel that he was worth *something* to someone....

"And so you're going to have to be punished!" Birman said cheerfully. Yoji stared at the woman, his eyes rounded. Where was the demure, soft-spoken Kritiker operative he was used to dealing with? Birman had sounded almost as though she relished the idea! And maybe she did. That was even more frightening.

"W-wait.... Why...? What--?" Yoji wasn't exactly articulating, but he managed to get the gist of his meaning across perfectly well.

"Bad boys get punished," Manx purred, her voice a throaty rasp. She moved to sit gracefully on the edge of the bed, raising a booted foot to lie alongside Yoji's prone figure. As he had thought; she was wearing stiletto heels. For some reason this made him even more nervous than he had been already. He was now flanked by two beautiful, nubile young women in the wildest of fetish gear, on a broad bed, with his hands bound above his head, one of them touching him intimately... and all he could think was how much he wished he wasn't here. He had never felt less turned on by something so incredibly erotic.

Manx was giving him a stern look. "You've allowed yourself to become too attached to Abysinnian, and it's affecting your performance."

"But... but you've never interfered with Ken and Omi!" Yoji protested vehemently, trying to ignore the soft, slow slide of Birman's fingertip as she traced an ever-closing spiral around one of his nipples. It was really no secret that Siberian was banging Bombay; at least not to Yoji, though the two youngest Weiss members seemed to think they were being quite circumspect.

"Ken has never left Omi too sore to properly fulfill his part in a mission." Manx frowned at him, looking as though she meant it. "Ken has never caused Omi to falter to the point of being incapacitated by an enemy. This has nothing to do with Ken and Omi."

Yoji chewed over this for a few moments, but he could find no flaws in her logic. However.... His brows drew down in a defiant scowl. "How do you even know that Aya and I are-- are--?!" Yoji would have sounded more vehement if he could have finished his sentence. But he knew that no amount of blustering was going to put off either of the two Kritiker agents who were currently holding him hostage.

Now there was a smirk curving Manx's ruby lips that was approaching evil, and her hooded eyes gleamed, but it was Birman who replied.

"Silly kitten." She brushed her finger over the blunt tip of Yoji's nipple, leaning close enough that he could smell the strawberry gloss that glistened so moistly on her lips, as well as the clean scent of her shampoo and the faint bitterness of red wine on her sweet breath. "Do you think that Manx and I don't have your entire building wired with cameras and microphones? There's nothing any of you do that we can't find out about."

That was something Yoji hadn't wanted to know, and didn't really care to contemplate. For a long moment his mind went blank, the roar of white noise filling his ears, his eyes staring unseeing. Unbidden into the forefront of his mind came the image of Manx and Birman settling down on their sofa with a video feed to Ken's apartment, cuddling and sipping at drinks as they watched the dark-haired jock debauch a thoroughly willing Omi....

Yoji shuddered. What was worse, though, was the implication that Manx had made; that they had seen even a handful of Yoji's encounters with Aya. If they had been watching last night....

Not that this would have been the worst of it, but it had been bad enough!

Blinking his eyes clear, Yoji discovered that the women had not been idle during his momentary mental breakdown. Manx had moved to join Birman, stilettos and all, and they were curled together on the mattress near him.

Yoji caught his breath, unabashedly staring as their lips met, moist and plush, ruby rouge and shiny gloss mingling. Birman had practically crawled into Manx's lap, her arms ringing the other woman's neck. She was nuzzling up against Manx, her mouth brushing almost delicately against Manx's. Manx held the slender brunette loosely with one arm slung around her waist, her other hand spread over Birman's hip, black gloved fingers stark against creamy skin.

Yoji shifted, self-consciously raising the knee closest to the two Kritiker operatives. Now that they were not menacing him or lecturing him, and now that they had turned their attentions to one another, he was beginning to feel the stirring of sexual reaction. Yoji wouldn't have considered himself to be a red-blooded male if he hadn't been turned on by seeing two beautiful women making out right beside him. He might be Aya's bed-toy currently, and he didn't want to remember what Schuldich had made him do on those stolen summer nights nearly a year ago, but he had always loved women, and he always would. Like any man who was not one hundred percent fey, he could consider what was happening next to him on the bed right now to be something of a wet dream come to life.

As Yoji had been left in only his underwear, any state of arousal would be only too evident if either of the women happened to glance his way. Not that they weren't seemingly totally focused on one another. Yoji thought with tentative relief that if this was the punishment that Manx and Birman had settled on, then it might not be so bad. Sure, it was humiliating to be cuffed to a bed and chewed out for his mistakes, and mortifying to be unable to do anything while the two women got it on right beside him, but all things considered....

Birman was making soft cooing noises in her throat, hitching closer in Manx's lap as their mouths moved together. Manx had her gloved fingers twined in Birman's hair, petting the back of her skull as though she was stroking a cat. Her other hand slid down to move against the firm swell of Birman's rear, leather over soft flesh. Now Birman's arms were twined about Manx's torso beneath her arms, one hand insistently fondling a vinyl-covered breast. As Yoji watched, enthralled despite his own scruples and sense of self-preservation, Manx slipped a hand between Birman's thighs, touching, rubbing.

Yoji lifted his legs a little higher, even though there was no way to disguise the growing bulge between his thighs. He never wore boxers, and his tight black briefs did a poor job of hiding anything. At least neither of the women was looking his way....

Manx ran her tongue along the swell of Birman's pink lower lip, then caught it between sharp white teeth, her dark, amused gaze flickering toward Yoji. The brunette assassin gulped and averted his eyes hastily toward the ceiling. He could feel his cheeks heating and this embarrassed him even further. It wasn't as though he was some gauche virgin -- it was just that this situation was too bizarre to be taken calmly!

He could hear a throaty chuckle, then he felt the tickle of gloved fingertips dancing up the tense muscle of his thigh. He lowered his eyes to stare at the wickedly smirking redhead, trying to tug his leg out from under her unexpected touch. Slim fingers tightened, squeezing painfully; something that Yoji was familiar with. It froze him momentarily, as he reacted the way he had been conditioned.

"I think we've lost our little Yotan's interest," Manx purred, running her palm upward along the man's lean leg, drawing far too close to his crotch for his comfort. "He doesn't want to watch us. Maybe we had better see what we can do about that."

"Mmm." Birman slid down to curl with her head in Manx's lap, her flushed lips pressing against the strip of ivory flesh that showed between the other woman's bodysuit and her boot. She cast Yoji a coy glance from under thick lashes. "I know just the thing...."

Yoji's eyes widened in alarm as Birman rose, crawling over his prone body, with a lingering caress of her bare inner thigh across his chest. She leaned over the edge of the bed, giving both Yoji and Manx a clear shot of the satin-tight thong that barely covered her most intimate area, the material already faintly damp and clinging to the gentle folds.

Yoji swallowed dryly and once more turned his gaze away. He didn't feel that it was right to be seeing this much of a woman that he respected... or that he had at least *used* to respect.... No, no! He still respected Birman! Didn't he?

Manx was watching him watching Birman with an expression that was equal measures amused, proprietary, and sexual. In other words, she looked like a cat who had been at the cream and who knew that she could have another taste any time she liked.

Her captive shifted awkwardly, trying to draw his knees up without being obvious about it. Instead of making him anxious, Manx was actually beginning to turn him on. That wasn't good! What would she do if she noticed his burgeoning "interest"?

"Got it!" Birman crowed, popping back up and spinning to face the other two again. She was beaming brightly, and there was a thin strip of dark material dangling from her pearl-tipped fingers. Yoji blinked, feeling suspicion swell in his chest. Was that...?

"Put it on him," Manx instructed, sitting back and tracing idle patterns on the vinyl of the bodysuit where it covered her flat belly.

"Wh-what?!" Yoji tried to toss his head as Birman leaned in close, but with a swiftness and skill that he couldn't help admiring, no matter how pissed off he was, the woman tied the blindfold around his eyes. Not tight enough to be irritating, yet not loose enough that he would be able to see even the smallest crack of light, and there wasn't a strand of hair caught or pulled. This was harder to do than it seemed, Yoji knew from past experience. Still, he didn't feel he was exactly in a position to appreciate this. "Hey! Take this thing off of me!"

"We've told you; you've been bad and you have to be punished," Birman said, her soft gentle voice sounding reasonable and smooth, not at all suited to the reality of the situation. "Now don't start protesting; the night is very young."

Yoji gaped at this blithe pronouncement, then started as bare fingertips moved once more over his chest. Now that he had been cut off from the world of sight, it was harder not to take note of the sensation, impossible to pretend this was not happening.

A trembling shudder swept over him as Birman stroked his pectorals, brushed against his nipples, then moved down to caress his upper belly. It had been so long, he had almost forgotten the sensation. Slender, soft fingers, not powerful hands hardened with sword calluses. A gentle touch, not forceful. The refreshing smell of strawberries and mint filling his senses, not the sweetness of hothouse flowers and bitterness of old blood.

"I think I have his attention now, Manx," Birman said huskily. She leaned down; Yoji could feel the silken, tickling brush of her hair against his shoulder, her breath breaking hot and moist against his chest. A wet tongue lapped at one of his nipples, nearly drawing a startled cry from his throat, and Birman's hand moved flat and warm against the quivering, bunched muscles of his stomach.

"I'd say so." Suddenly there was a firm hand encircling him through his briefs, the touch both warm with body heat and cool from the leather glove. Yoji let out a startled cry, his hips bucked before he could quell his reaction. In his confused, clouded mind he wasn't even sure whether it was out of a desire to escape this assault, or whether it was his body demanding more.

"Ooh, bad kitten!" Birman teased, the words gusting hot against his moist nipple and causing shivers to run over the surface of his body, nearly overriding the coursing waves of burning arousal that Manx's too-intimate grip had ignited. Yoji jolted, then jerked unconsciously at his cuffs when a warm body slung itself over his prone form, and suddenly Birman was sitting across his stomach. "If you can't behave and lay still, then I'm just going to have to make you!"

The tone was playful, but Yoji could feel the fingers dancing knowingly over his chest, pinching at sensitive nipples, nails dragging along his collarbone. And with his eyes covered, forced to rely upon his other senses, he was all too aware of the humid heat that was centered in one particular spot just above his diaphragm. Birman's inner thighs were smooth and warm against his ribs, and when she shifted slightly, dragging herself back so that she was seated over his navel, he caught his breath. He had almost forgotten about the hold Manx had on his pulsing cock, focused as he was on the feverish sensation of Birman's slick skin and the thrilling damp-heat of her crotch where it pressed into him through the thin material of her thong.

Then Manx gave his erection quite a firm tug. Yoji yelped, his hips jolting again, though not as much, with Birman's full weight settled on his belly.

"Silly Yotan," Birman husked, and Yoji could feel her firm, plush breasts pressing into his chest through the gauze of her teddy, then there was the slick slide of her tongue along his jawline. Her hands were warm and soft on his shoulders, and she shifted against him in a slow undulation that had all the hairs on his body prickling.

He could hear Manx's wicked chuckle, then her fingers curled under the band of his briefs, tugging so that he was exposed to the cool air of the room. He writhed beneath Birman, fighting growing arousal and abject humiliation, his wrist aching when he pulled uselessly at the cuffs ringing them, his breath coming shorter as Birman's mouth trailed over his cheek and jaw, teasing, taunting, not coming close to his own lips. Not that he thought he *wanted* the Kritiker operative to kiss him -- that would have been just too much.

Manx was active further down his body, pulling off his briefs with a quick, efficient motion. At least she had released his cock.... This relief was short-lived as Yoji was divested of his last remaining article of clothing, and Manx's gloved hand returned to stroking the upright proof of his sexual stimulation. Her fingers were sure, the pressure firm and steady but not enough. It was not enough, but it was too much. Yoji groaned, tossing his head back and rocking his hips, telling himself he was trying to get away, trying to loose the woman's hold....

"That's better," Birman purred, mouthing the arched line of Yoji's neck, nipping with hard teeth. One hand twined in Yoji's hair, gripping tightly and holding his head immobile. "We want your undivided attention, our little Yotan kitten."

Yoji squeezed his eyes closed behind the weight of his blindfold, half convinced this was some crazy dream and that he would awaken in his own bed, sporting a monster hard-on, with Omi pounding at his door. He wasn't sure that this was what he wanted, but it would have made more sense in his little world of flowers by day and assassinations by night.

Manx's thumb was now rubbing at the tip of his fully erect cock, her fingers encircling its width. Yoji gasped, his thighs flexing as he attempted to press upward, silently begging for more pressure, more friction. He could hear a dark, dangerous chuckle, and then there was another gloved hand cradling his balls, handling this delicate area with skill and assurance. Yoji swallowed tightly, both made nervous and incredibly turned on by this masterful handling.

"Do you think he's ready yet?" Birman asked, shifting so that she was once more seated upright, her legs clasping more closely against Yoji's sides. From the sound of her voice, she was peering over her shoulder, taking her cues from the other woman.

"Mmm." Manx sounded contemplative. "I'd say so. You can take off his blindfold."

Yoji blinked rapidly as the cloth was lifted away, his dilated pupils contracting at the sudden light, and then Birman's warm weight left his torso at the same time Manx released his aching erection.

"Come here," Manx commanded, her voice throaty, and Yoji watched as Birman once more joined her coworker beside his sprawled thighs. He drew his legs together, belatedly modest, as the two women once more clinched, Manx tasting the flavor of his flesh off of Birman's lips.

There was one neatly tied bow holding Birman's thin teddy closed in the front. Manx now grasped the ribbon in gloved fingers stained with Yoji's juices, giving a tug that unraveled it perfectly. The gauzy material fell open, Birman's breasts now bared and bobbing playfully against the vinyl-cupped swells of Manx's own chest.

It was a sick fascination, something he could not avert his eyes from. Yoji stared, mesmerized, as Manx's black leather-clad fingers bit into the rich white swell of Birman's breast. Birman moaned softly, arching her back and rubbing her crotch against Manx's thigh where the boot met pale flesh. Manx pressed her lip to the dark-haired woman's throat, testing, tasting. It was one of the most erotic displays Yoji had ever seen, and he desperately wished that he had his hands free so that he could reach down and jerk himself off.

"Mmm. I think we've recaptured the kitten's attention," Manx said, turning her attention back to the bound, squirming assassin. Yoji froze, his eyes wide. "Maybe it's time for his punishment."

Yoji stared. His... punishment? Hadn't he already been subjected to...? Wasn't that what they had been...?

Birman snickered, shifting off of Manx and sitting back on the bed, her teddy tumbling open in the front to expose her breasts to the view of both the other two on the bed. Yoji averted his gaze once again. It just... didn't seem *right*. Never mind that he now knew that the women watched what was going on in the Weiss members' bedrooms after hours. There was still something in him that felt squeamish. Even though Birman had a really lovely body....

Manx had slipped off the edge of the bed and was doing something arcane just out of his sight. Yoji might have been able to see if he twisted around where he lay, straining his bound wrists. Somehow, though, he didn't think he wanted to do that. Whatever it was she was doing, he had a powerful feeling he was in for some serious trouble.

There was the buzz of a zipper, and the quiet but distinct sound of leather moving over vinyl, and Birman was making an amused noise that wasn't quite a giggle, but something pretty close to it, catching in the back of her throat in a light gurgle.

Yoji bit at his lower lip, wondering just what this "punishment" was that Manx had spoken of. And then the auburn-haired woman moved back into view, and his mind temporarily went on hiatus.

"It's called a strap-on," Birman purred in his ear, leaning down so that she was pressed to his side, one of her bare breasts squeezed against his chest. Yoji barely noticed, though, as he stared at the phallus projecting from Manx's groin, pointing proudly at him. It was of black plastic, and should have been hard to make out against all the black vinyl she was wearing, and yet he couldn't see anything else.

It had, indeed, been strapped on, with four black leather straps holding it around her waist and hips. It was difficult to make out, but it appeared that the dildo was doubled, and that Manx had slid the other end into herself, through the crotch of her bodysuit, which she had unzipped.

Yoji might have found this to be sexy, but instead he was simply frightened out of his mind. He was beginning to realize what Manx and Birman had meant by "punishment", and he did *not* want to be here anymore!

"Prepare him, Birman," Manx cooed, shifting her hips from one side to another, with a satisfied quirk to her lush lips.

Birman chuckled, licking at the hollow beneath Yoji's jaw, before she lifted herself and knelt beside him once more. Manx handed her what was obviously a tube of lubricant, and Yoji stifled a whimper. He didn't want to be totally unmanned, and yet that seemed to be precisely what the two Kritiker operatives had in mind.

Birman moved to kneel between his legs and he offered no resistance. He could not. Birman pressed Yoji's thigh wide with a soft hand. Yoji was frozen, his eyes round. He almost wished that they had not taken the blindfold off. And yet he wouldn't have wanted it back on, to be awaiting what was to come without sight....

Birman had rapidly unscrewed the cap of the tube and was squeezing a generous amount of lube onto her pearl-painted fingers. Yoji wondered for a mad moment just whether she knew what she was doing. Then, deciding that she was so familiar with the motions that she must, he wondered just where she had gained this skill.

"Up, Yotan," Birman urged, setting the tube on the mattress and hooking her free hand under Yoji's knee. She lifted, pressing his leg up toward his torso, opening him wide. Yoji barely stifled another whimper, closing his eyes tight. He was still sore down there, and he awaited Birman's touch with something like dread.

"Be gentle," Manx instructed quietly. By the rustle of the sheets and the shifting of the mattress, she had climbed back onto the bed.

"Of course," Birman replied, and then there was a slick, soft, ever so careful finger rubbing over the delicate skin of Yoji's anus. He gasped, his hips pulsing faintly, captivated by this tender touch. It had never been like *this* before....

"Poor little Yotan," Birman whispered, easing more lubricant into the raw flesh, soothing and teasing at the same time. "Aya rides you hard, doesn't he?" Then there was the hot swipe of a tongue over the base of his cock, and Yoji thought that maybe the top of his head had blown off. He had been so focused on what Birman was doing down there, his eyes still closed tightly, that the sensation had been doubly intense.

He squirmed against the bed, realizing as Birman pulled her mouth away that there were two slim fingers inside of him now. It felt good, this invasion, and he couldn't quite contain a low moan as she slid them in and out, massaging more lube into his ans. The soreness had been entirely forgotten, and there was only pleasure here.

Birman whispered softly to him, soothing sounds, her fingers moving inside of him, always renewed with more lubricant, until he was slick and ready. Even then she continued, fucking him with four fingers now, her lips pressing to the blunt head of his leaking cock, her tongue lapping at the slit, milking him. Yoji had his head arched back, salty tears trying to squeeze their way out through his lashes, his throat working as he fought to restrain involuntary sounds of enjoyment and entreaty.

"My turn, love," Manx spoke up huskily, and Yoji's head jerked up, his eyes popping open once more as Birman's warmth and sweet touch were abruptly removed, leaving him feeling cold and empty.

He watched in a passionate haze as Manx and Birman's lips met once more. Birman had taken the tube of lubricant with her, and both her hands were moving over the phallus Manx wore, slicking the black plastic up liberally. Manx had Birman's bare breasts in her hands and she caressed them almost roughly.

Then Birman was finished, and Manx was moving to take the other woman's place between Yoji spread legs. He caught his breath, his gaze fixed on the glistening strap-on jutting out from between Manx's thighs. *This* was his punishment, he knew now. And it was as sweet as it was bitter.

Birman slid up to press her mouth to the corner of Yoji's lips in something that was not quite a kiss. Manx situated herself so that the slightly chill, hard head of the strap-on was positioned at the pucker of the man's anus. A wordless communication passed between the women.

"Be ready, Yotan," Birman purred, nuzzling his jaw. Yoji caught his breath, trying not to tense up, as Manx thrust her hips forward, pressing the phallus into him in a slow, easy slide. The penetration was nearly painless, and he gasped for breath, wrapped up in the feeling of it, barely noticing the cuffs digging into his wrists or the burn of his arm muscles or the soft warmth of Birman's mouth as she swallowed his exhalations, still not truly kissing him.

It was not the same as having a cock inside of him. The strap-on was harder, stiffer, more demanding. It was also colder, but it soon heated as Manx paused a long moment, leaving it sunk deeply in his body. Yoji groaned, his hips twitching, his brow beaded with perspiration.

"Open your eyes, Yoji," Manx commanded, her voice husky and thick with arousal. A gloved hand stroked his wildly pulsing cock, and he struggled to obey, to peel up heavy lids.

Manx was between his spread thighs, smirking down at him, her aqua-green eyes dark with lust and desire. She was still wearing her bodysuit, but she couldn't have looked more sexual if she had been naked. She shifted her hips slightly as she caught Yoji's gaze on her, and he moaned as the plastic phallus moved inside of him. Then Manx pulled out before plunging back in, and Yoji yelled, his body jolting beneath her. This was what he was used to, this was what he wanted, needed, what he must have.

"Please," Yoji husked, when Manx once more stopped, the phallus barely held inside his clenching anus. She was gazing down at him with a strange look in her eyes. "Please?"

"Are you going to be a good boy, then?" she questioned quietly, sliding in a few more centimeters, only enough to taunt.

"Yes!" It was as much a plea as it was an affirmation, but Manx apparently decided to accept it at face value, and she drove the strap-on deeply into Yoji with a forceful thrust of her hips. Yoji howled, bowing up under her.

Birman was sprawled a little ways off, resting up against a couple of pillows. Yoji's gaze flickered towards her, then caught and held as he realized that she had her hands between her legs, pleasuring herself as she watched Manx fucking Yoji. He moaned, writhing beneath Manx's long, powerful thrusts, his eyes fixed on Birman. Her cheeks were prettily flushed, her pink lips parted for small panting breaths, her fingers rubbing and sliding over and inside the petal-bright, moist folds of her womanhood.

Manx pushed into Yoji, over and over, the hard, unyielding plastic cock pressing against his prostate, causing him to cry out, his body jerking on the mattress. Her gloved fingers locked around his hips, and she was making little moaning noises with each penetration, her hips giving another jolt when she was settled as deeply as her strap-on could go. Evidently it *was* double-sided and she was gaining as much pleasure she was giving him, both of them being impaled at the same time.

Still, there was no doubt that it was Manx fucking Yoji. And he welcomed this, canting his hips upward into the violation, lifting himself as best he could with his hands bound over his head. Everything was a blur of hardness and softness, of sweetness and sweat, of being surrounded by femininity but being boned mercilessly, and Yoji was driven to the edge simply by the reality of the situation.

His climax was building in his loins, burning, itching, aching, and he rocked his hips against Manx, begging for more, urging her onward. He could faintly hear Birman utter a little stuttering cry, and then Manx gave him a last thrust that speared directly into his prostrate, and Yoji screamed, convulsing as the ecstasy spilled over, ripping through his body and sparking every nerve ending. The release of tension was almost painful, the pleasure overwhelming, and he felt as though he was shooting his essence out through his jerking, spraying cock.

He fell back on the mattress, limp and breathless, barely noticing that Manx had also come to a stop. He groaned as the plastic phallus left him, dragging at the muscles of his anus, leaving him cold and empty inside.

He wanted to open his eyes, raise his head, but he was too drained. That had been one hell of an orgasm. His body was still tingling with it, his limbs quivering. He was completely drained.

He thought that he only lay like this for a few moments, but then he started awake, suddenly aware that he had drifted to sleep. There was the click of metal, and then his wrists were lowered.

Yoji rolled over, his hands held to his chest as pins and needles prickled his arms. It was almost enough to make him forget that he was sore and sticky, and that he had just been fucked into oblivion by two female members of Kritiker.

"Rest for a while, Yoji." Warm lips brushed his forehead, and he pried his eyes open. Manx was wearing her burgundy suit, and behind her was Birman, in a cream colored sweater and blue skirt. Both women looked fresh and innocent, and only the faint dampness of their hair, hinting at a recent shower, gave any indication that anything untoward had just happened.

Yoji thought that he said something rude, but it was probably nothing more than a jumble of inarticulate noises. Manx smiled, looking amused and affectionate.

"Remember, Yoji. You promised."

With this cryptic utterance, the two women turned and left. Yoji blinked, then groaned, levering himself up and dragging the stained silk sheets over his body. He tried to recall exactly what it was he had promised, but he couldn't. He knew it would come to him later, though, and so he didn't worry over it too much.

He wondered where he was and how long it would take him to get home. He wondered whether he was going to tell the other Weiss members about the cameras and microphones. He wondered whether Birman had been telling the truth about those at all and decided she must have been.

He wondered whether he ought to feel honored or violated by what had just happened.

Then he decided, as sleep stole over his senses, that it didn't really matter. He had been fucked by Manx and he had enjoyed it, punishment or not.

Yoji was profoundly grateful that there was no way Aya could find out about what had just happened. Then Yoji fell soundly asleep,

***

Aya glanced up as a sharp knock sounded at his door. He was resolutely telling himself that he was *not* worried that Yoji had never made it home from the mission the evening before. That wasn't why he hadn't been able to sleep all night. He just... had insomnia.

*tok-tok*

Certain that he was going to open the door to Yoji's smirking face, and that he was going to make the man pay for worrying -- that was, for *not* worrying him -- Aya flung the door open.

There was nothing but the cool breath of early morning wafting over his cheeks and an empty walkway and Aya frowned darkly. If this was someone's idea of a joke....

When Aya took a step forward, intending to seek out the culprit, his bare foot connected with something hard. He looked down, brow creasing in a scowl.

It was a video tape in a plain case, looking remarkably like the ones that Manx and Birman brought them their missions on. But there was no way that either Kritiker operative would bring such a thing here and just leave it lying outside Aya's door.

He curiosity reluctantly piqued, Aya bent and picked up the video. Closing the door, he examined it. Nothing out of the ordinary, unmarked, rewound.

Crossing to his entertainment center, Aya popped the video in.

Maybe it would take his mind off the absent Yoji, whatever it was....

Aya sat down on his sofa and pressed the 'play' button.

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