escaping from the submarine (F/M and F)

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The cold seeped into Kelsey's bruised skin, a stark contrast to the fire that burned in her eyes. The black sports bra and bikini panties were a mocking reminder of her capture, the humiliation fueling her resolve. Enzo, a young, handsome Cobra soldier, stood outside, his gaze a mixture of lust and apprehension. Kelsey, ever the strategist, saw an opportunity in his weakness.

With nimble fingers, she freed herself from the cuffs, the metallic click echoing in the silence. "Enzo," she purred, her voice a husky invitation. He hesitated, then succumbed, stepping into the dimly lit storeroom. Kelsey feigned helplessness, her eyes locking with his. "I know you've been looking at me," she whispered, her voice laced with promise.

He closed the distance, drawn in by her beauty and the intoxicating vulnerability she projected. Her hands found his, her touch light and teasing as she guided him closer. A kiss, soft at first, then deepening, tongues dancing in a dangerous ballet. Her hand trailed lower, finding its mark, and he groaned, lost in the moment.

But this was no surrender. It was a calculated gambit. As he reached the peak of his arousal, Kelsey struck. Her grip tightened, a vise on his manhood, the pleasure turning to excruciating pain. The kiss stifled his scream as she kneed him in the gut, the air rushing from his lungs. With practiced efficiency, she used the freed cuffs as a garrote, his struggles weakening as his vision blurred. His hands clawed at her, tearing at her sports bra, but it was too late. He crumpled to the floor, unconscious, his boxers stained with semen.

Stripping him of his uniform was a cold, clinical act. The white t-shirt, the cargo pants, discarded on the floor. She paused, her gaze lingering on his limp form, then pulled down the wet boxers, stuffing them into his open mouth, a final act of defiance.

The uniform felt alien against her skin, tainted by his touch. But survival demanded compromise. As she was about to don the soiled clothes, footsteps echoed outside. Issy, another soldier, young and wary, approached the door. The scent of semen hung heavy in the air, arousing her suspicion.

Issy's eyes widened as she took in the scene, her shock turning to horror. But Kelsey was faster. The torn sports bra became a weapon, a silent, deadly garrote. Issy's struggles were brief, her life snuffed out in the blink of an eye.

Stripping Issy was easier, the uniform a better fit. But the bra was needed, leaving Issy's bare breasts exposed to the cold, her nipples hard and erect. A dark thought took root in Kelsey's mind. She re-cuffed Enzo, the metal biting into his wrists as he regained consciousness.

Fear flickered in his eyes as he saw Issy's lifeless form. Kelsey pressed her advantage, interrogating him, her voice a low, menacing whisper. He cracked, spilling the secrets she needed, desperate to avoid a similar fate.

With the information secured, Kelsey's cruelty reached its zenith. She forced Enzo's face into Issy's chest, the dead woman's breasts smothering him. His muffled cries filled the room as she whispered false reassurances, telling him he was handsome, that he would be remembered. Then, silence.

She arranged the bodies in a grotesque tableau, Enzo slumped in the corner, legs splayed, Issy's face buried in his crotch, her open mouth engulfing his stiffening penis. A final, macabre joke.