Karate Karate Girls Unlimited, Chapter 4
by SleepWalker bob102655@yahoo.com
An agent makes a run for it, but is brought down by tranquilizer darts!


Sabrina, Jade, Giselle and two other trusted lieutenants were gathered around
the heavy oaken table on the second floor of the administration building. The
muted sounds of hand-to-hand combat filtered through the open window. Quite
audible were the grunts, groans and sighs of men slipping unwillingly into
unconsciousness at the hands of their female combatants.

"The training sessions seem to be proceeding nicely," commented Sabrina,
surveying the grounds below through a pair of binoculars. "I've ordered the
girls to practice their kickboxing skills today."

She focused on one group of girls who seemed to have been recruited solely on
the merit of their long, slender legs. It was a hot day and they were all
stripped down as usual to tiny black bras and miniscule thongs.

In the midst of the group a well-built male clad in a small blue bikini was
staggering under a barrage of high kicks from a long-legged girl in a black
thong. Her kicks were catching him under the chin and along the side of the
head. The man fought to retain his balance, but the girl landed a final kick
to his temple and he went down like a ton of bricks. He sprawled onto the mat
on his back, arms flung helplessly out to either side. His head turned once
from side to side as he let out a muffled groan; then he lay still,
unconscious at the girl's feet. She prodded him in the side gingerly with one
of he stiletto-heeled shoes, but he didn't move. Then she giggled shyly and
walked out of the ring, as two female assistants appeared, also in tiny
thongs. One girl grabbed the sleeping man under his shoulders while the other
grabbed his ankles. They hoisted him, then carried his limp form away.

"Another one bites the dust," commented Sabrina, lowering her binoculars with
a grin on her face.

Just then, a commotion erupted from a group in the foreground, not far below
Sabrina's vantage point at the window. A male prisoner had broken away from
the girls circled around him and was bolting toward the perimeter of the
compound.

*     *      *      *      *      *      *      *

Special agent John Sloane of the CIA had had enough. He had been repeatedly
kicked, chopped, and squeezed into oblivion every day for the past month, ever
since a pair of sexy girls had kidnapped him from his hotel room in Paris.
They had gained entrance to his room by masquerading as French maids. He tried
to ignore them as they went about straightening the room, but Sloane was
having a hard time concentrating on anything else as he stood at the mirror,
shaving. When one girl bent over to turn down his bed for the evening, her
micro miniskirt rode above her perfect round ass, exposing her long legs to
their full length. Sloane inadvertently drew in a long audible breath and
turned back to the mirror.

But suddenly one of the maids was approaching him from behind. Before he could
react, she wrapped one arm around his throat and extended the other along the
side of his head.

"Sleeper hold!" Sloane gasped, mostly to himself, and tried to break free, but
the girl's grip was too tight. She was forcing his neck sideways into the
crook of her other arm, pressing mercilessly against his pulsing carotid
artery. Sloane felt himself grow suddenly light-headed and weak.

The girl constricted her arms sharply and squeezed. Sloane knew he would be
out cold in a matter of seconds, unless he could free himself, but his arms
were losing strength. Then they slid down to his sides where they dangled
uselessly. He knew he was going out.

The other girl had come around to the front, where she now stood facing him.
She had lit a cigarette and was smoking nonchalantly, smiling as she looked
into his glazed eyes. Sloane's legs gave out and he collapsed, sliding slowly
downward between the two girls. His last image was of the girl in front, her
full breasts and her hard, tanned abdomen. Then he was slipping down past her
long thighs and elegantly curved calves. His knees hit the floor first, then
his upper body and head crashed heavily down. As he lay with the side of his
head plastered against the carpet, he peered out from between fluttering
eyelids to see a high-heeled platform shoe only inches away. Then he passed
out with the scent of cigarette smoke and French perfume in his nostrils.

*     *      *      *      *      *      *

That had been a month ago. Since then, he had been used as a guinea pig in
this training camp for female agents. His neck, head and jaw ached from the
hundreds of kicks and chops he had sustained. He had had enough. He was
getting out now.

So when the two female guards in their familiar thongs and heels had led him
between them toward the mat for the morning bout, he wrenched himself from
their grip and bolted. He could see the high wall which surrounded the
compound come into view in the distance. He looked at the towers perched
intermittently along the length of the wall and hoped the guards inside were
watching Oprah or something.

Sabrina, watching from the window of the administration building, drew the
long-barreled gun without thinking from the black leather holster which was
slung low about her hip. She leaned out the open window, her bare ass
protruding at an angle above her long, straight legs below. She leveled the
gun at the escaping man, then pulled the trigger. The gun emitted a quiet
twang, and recoiled slightly in her long-fingered hand.

Sloane was halfway to the wall, passing the admin building, when he was
alarmed to hear something whistling through the air just behind him. A
microsecond later, something sharp pierced the side of his neck. He stopped in
mid-flight and brought his hand up to the wound. His fingertips brushed
against something bristly and he plucked the projectile from his flesh. It was
a tiny feathered dart and he held it up to scrutinize it with uncomprehending
eyes. He reached a hand up to his neck again and discovered there was no
blood, only a tiny pinhole puncture.

Sloane stood gazing at the tranquilizer dart pinched between his thumb and
forefinger and tried to think clearly, but his brain was already fogged by the
drug. Just then, another needle slammed into the side of his neck and he cried
out. His hand involuntarily went up again to cover the second dart, then he
turned to see where it had come from.

A tall blonde with long bare legs was approaching, slowing now from a full
run. When she saw that her shot had found its mark, she holstered the long
black gun she carried.

"Missy, that was unnecessary," Sabrina called from the window. "I had the
situation under control."

"Sorry, ma'am," the girl called, turning to look up at the commander. "I just
wanted to make sure, ma'am." She approached the man, who was now weaving
profoundly and wobbling like a drunk. She strode up to him and stood there,
waiting before him.

She saw his eyes roll upward into his head as the drug took him completely
now. Without warning, he pitched forward into her, collapsing against his
captor's soft, sleek body. His head buried itself of its own accord into the
sweaty cleft between the two globes of her breasts. She held him there for a
second, then let him fall to the moist grass. She bent down and plucked the
little red dart from his neck where it was still lodged. Then she placed two
fingers against him to check his pulse. Satisfied, she straightened and stowed
the dart in her holster.

"You've been a bad boy, Mr. Sloane," she whispered to the drugged agent. "With
a double dose, you'll sleep until tomorrow. But that doesn't mean we can't
have a little fun while you nap. Darlene!" she called to an approaching girl,
who was also putting her weapon away once she saw the male's prone body
against the turf. "Take him back to my quarters. I have my own plans for Mr.
Sloan." She smiled, then turned and sauntered away, her sculpted ass swaying
provocatively from side to side.

copyright 2002 by SleepWalker