Bond awoke and opened his eyes. He was groggy and no idea
how he had ended up tied to a table in the basement of Trump Tower. The last
thing he remember he had been flirting with a big busted Eastern European model
in bar at Trump Tower. From Slovenia. A little old for his taste but still
toothsome.
He had ordered extra dry martini’s shaken not stirred. It
seems that something had been stirred into his drink. That must have been how
he ended up in this predicament.
He heard a purr in the corner. Bond turned his head and saw
an orange figure dressed in white. He had an obvious hair piece. He was
stroking a pussy. It was him. The mastermind. Mr. Trump.
“I see you are awake Mr. Bond. Finally.”
“What is the meaning of this Trump? Why have you drugged me
and tied me up in this most undignified fashion.”
“I need some information Mr. Bond. It seems that you were
the source of a scurrilous report that my political enemies and the mainstream
media are trying to use to discredit me. So I need to know your sources and
methods so I can discredit them in turn. Who gave you this information? Putin?
Hillary? Jake Tapper?”
“Seriously my dear Trump. I cannot possibly reveal who my
sources might be. Not cricket you see old chap.”
“That is most unfortunate my Bond” replied the orange hued billionaire.
“To use a cliché I do have ways to make you talk.” He reached out and pushed a
button. The pneumatic door opened and two pneumatic woman dressed in short
fitting tunics sauntered into the room. One white. One black. They had on transparent
Roman style tunics. Thigh high spiked white boots. And no panties.
“I am afraid that Mr. Bond is being most uncooperative
ladies. You know what to do.”
“Yes Mr. Trump” they chorused. They walked over to where the
supine secret agent was restrained and proceeded to help each other to climb up
and stand over him. They were not too careful in their ascent and managed to
puncture his skin in several places with their razor sharp seven inch heels. He
didn’t mummer. He was so entranced by the view.
One the woman was ensconced directly above his head. The
other over his waist.
“Do you expect me to talk Mr. Trump?”
“I expect you to be peed on Mr. Bond.”
2 comments:
Have mercy on a fellow germaphobe, Trump!
They were not too careful in their ascent and managed to puncture his skin in several places with their razor sharp seven inch heels.
Urine is sterile so no infection risk. Hey, that kinda shoots down Trump's "germaphope" excuse, huh?
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