Get James Bond!

by

J.P.

j.j.porter@worldnet.att.net


(This adventure took place early in the spy's career...well before his popular, recorded escapades.)

007 was in trouble. He had been chasing the evil Russian spy, Ivan, down a dark Baghdad street when suddenly found himself being the pursued. Ivan had literally disappeared, but now Bond was being chased by some vicious local thugs. He had fired his last shot at the fleeing Ivan and his black dress shoes kept slipping on the wet bricks of the narrow alleys in which he found himself. He had been watching Ivan at the black-tie affair at the British Embassy when his prey had fled. Bond had left the exotic Persian be had been seducing and followed Ivan. Now he was in desperate flight to escape these nameless goons. He was too young to feel scared and was actually salivating from the intense danger and excitement his present situation had created.

Bond could hear the gang closing in on him as he turned (slid) around a corner. Damn, those silly shoes with the paper thin soles! Besides being as slippery as hell, he could feel every stone on the ancient streets. His heart jumped as he realized he had turned into a blind alley. Nothing but solid walls and no place to hide with his pursuers scant seconds away. He cursed his youthful arrogance for not having a backup pistol and prepared for hand-to-hand combat.

Suddenly, a door opened out of the solid, featureless wall. A veiled woman beckoned him inside. He jumped in and quickly surveyed his surroundings: a dark room lit by a single bare light bulb dangling from the ceiling, stacks of huge Persian carpets, and the slender, dark-haired mystery woman. He started to speak but she put a finger to her veiled lips and urged him over to a dark corner. She bade him to squeeze behind a pile of carpets and hide in the narrow space between them and the wall. He hesitated only until he heard someone try the door he had just come through. He heard excited, foreign voices and then something large pounding against the door. He squeezed behind the rugs, holding his breath to fit in the tight space. His face was pressed into the rolled carpets and his back against the wall which felt like it, too, was covered with some sort of rug or tapestry. He narrowed his eyes and steeled his nerves as he heard the door give way and the men rush inside.

As he arched his back against the wall, it suddenly gave way and he felt himself falling backwards into the wall hanging. The wind rushed out of him when he landed, but he did notice two pairs of slippered feet near his head. Before he could react, the two youths attached to the feet quickly rolled him up in the rug on which he was laying. He found himself face down, rolled up in a scratchy rug with only his head and feet exposed. His arms were pressed tightly to his sides he could barely move his fingers. He was trapped!

By now, he was surrounded by the gang that had been chasing him. Although they all wore traditional, loose-fitting clothes, Bond could sense their strong bodies. Their faces were young, handsome, and brutal. All wore sneers on their swarthy faces. One of the men stepped up to Bonds head and used his dusty boot to lift his chin up from the floor. He laughed as Bond struggled to escape the humiliating foot.

Ah, Mr. Bond. You do not like my dirty boot, the man stated in perfect English. Perhaps later you will beg me to let you lick this boot and the big, dirty foot inside. Indeed, you may very well lick the feet of all my friends before the night is over.

The man removed his boot from Bonds face and snapped his fingers. Bond felt himself being lifted by several of the men and carried over to a large work table directly under the single light bulb. Strong rope was wrapped around the rug to ensure that the secret agent would not wiggle free. As Bonds mind furiously tried to figure a way out of this mess, the loud men grew silent. Bond strained his head and gasped as he looked right into Ivans malicious eyes.

I believe you were looking for me, Mr. Bond, he said with a truly evil grin. Well, you have found me. Shall I come along peacefully? The room erupted in laughter. As you might imagine, I shall require some information from you. Specifically, I need to know certain things about Her Majesty's plans here in Baghdad. Don't lets be a hero, Mr. Bond. Long, drawn out interrogations are a bore.

Go to Hell! Bond heroically replied.

I see you lost one of your expensive shoes, Mr. Bond. I think the other one should be removed for the sake of symmetry. The man who had spoken earlier removed 007s left shoe, leaving both feet clad only in black silk socks. Bond flexed his toes nervously. He mentally prepared himself for fire, knives, or something equally gruesome.

Mr. Bond, what an interesting position you find yourself in, Ivan said as he walked around to Bonds feet. In this part of the world the foot is recognized as an important part of the body. It is not ignored as it is in the West. Allow me to introduce you to the pleasures the foot can bring. Ivan began stroking Bonds socked feet using his fingertips to slide over the black silk. Bonds foot jerked at the first touch, but then he steeled himself to the strange feelings.

See, Mr. Bond, how pleasurable this can be? But perhaps such gentle stroking is too bland for a man of your experience. You might prefer more of a scratching motion. With that, Ivan began using his fingernails to scratch the bottom of they spy's foot. Again, Bond involuntarily moved his feet to try to get away from the relentless fingers. This time he could not make himself stop, no matter how hard he tried. He felt horrible laughter welling up inside and bit hard on his lip to quell it.

Mr. Bond, you are not ticklish...are you? Imagine, an international playboy as ticklish as a schoolboy?

No! Stop it! I'm not...leave my bloody feet alone, you cretin!

Tsk, tsk. Such ingratitude. I am treating you to an ancient Eastern experience and I am rewarded with your temper. Ivan dug his fingers into the crevice at the base of Bonds toes and wiggled them.

Ahhhaa! Oh! No! I mean, OOOOH! S-stop it!

But Ivan only increased the pressure, running his fingers up and down the desperately wriggling feet. Bond tried to keep quiet and still, but the insidious stroking was maddening. He broke out in regular bursts of laughter followed by increasingly shorter periods of self control. His heart went into his mouth when Ivan began removing his socks. He curled his toes frantically to try to keep them on.

What are you doing? Don't do that!

James Bonds bare feet now stuck out of the Persian rug, pink and vulnerable. The feet were masculine, large and well formed with strong, even toes and a high arch. The soles were clean looking with smooth, creamy flesh tinged with pink at the toes, balls, and heels. The instep was meaty and the tops had strong tendons leading up the lightly haired toes to the trimmed and shiny nails. Bond inexplicably blushed as the roomful of men stared at his feet. He felt naked without his shoes and socks. The idea of being completely dressed except for his feet in a roomful of men who were fully dressed and had him in their power made him feel weak as a kitten. Englishmen do not go about barefoot.

Ivan began the torture again and 007 lost all semblance of control as his bare feet were tickled. Ivan was an expert at this and his fingers never lost contact with the helpless feet. His tone had changed from affected formality to smirking villain, his true nature.

"Ha! Bond, what a spy you turned out to be. As ticklish as a girl. Yes, Mr. Secret Agent, I am going to tickle you to death. Your fucking brain will be pudding when I am though with you. How about right here on your arch? Ah, that's the spot isn't it?"

"HAAAHAHA HAARRRGH! Noooo-N-N-ooo! S-S-S-top it, Arrgh! NOT THERE!

Y-You bastard! I-I'll kill youOOOH NOOO! Ah-aha-haaaa-ha-ha. Argh! P-ple...no, I won't...AAAAAAAAahahaaaahahoooooeeeee! Please, p-please...

"Beg all you want, superspy. We've only begun to destroy you."

Ivan nodded to one of the men who came over to the end of the table with some silk strands. Ivan stopped his torture and the man instantly began using the silk to tie Bond's toes together. He ended by tying the two big toes together, which effectively removed Bond's ability to even wiggle his toes, his only relief from the tickling. Bond felt the panic rising as he saw Ivan smiling at him while running a long, stiff feather between his fingers.

"This feather feels so soothing, Mr. Bond. Imagine how it will feet on the bottoms of your feet and between your tied-up little toes. No more wiggling for them. You will not be able to scrunch up your toes anymore. These smooth soles will just have to enjoy the feather. Feel how soft it is." Ivan stroked Bond's sweating face with the feather, causing him to squirm. His whole body shuddered when the tip of the feather invaded his ear. Ivan went back to the feet and started stroking the stretched-out soles. Bond spasmed and tried to move his toes. The silk prevented any movement and only increased the torment as it rubbed between his toes. The feather on his bare feet was driving him crazy. He felt more helpless than he had ever imagined possible. Still, he could not betray his country.

Ivan tired of the feather and James sighed as he felt it removed from his tortured feet. He groaned when he saw what Ivan had picked up instead, a wicked looking brush. The men in the room gave grunts of approval as Ivan held up the innocent instrument of torture.

Bond, drained of almost all dignity, said in a shaking voice, "No more, no more. This is exceedingly cruel. You can't continue this! I cannot tell you anything, so please, in the name of God, stop!"

"Forget it, Bond. It's too much fun to see you squirm like a worm. You are going to cooperate or I will let every man in this room have a go at your fast. Their imaginations will be your undoing. You may find ten tongues licking between your tied up toes or a beard running furiously up and down your soles or strong white teeth nibbling your arch. One of them might cover your feet with honey and let the hundreds of alley cats in Baghdad in to feast on your feet. Know this, Bond, you will surely be mad by morning unless you tell me what I need to know." Then Ivan applied the brush to Bond's feet.

After the insidious feather, the rough brush made Bond's mind explode. He thought he would die from the sensations coursing through his nervous system. The bristles explored every nook and cranny of his feet and scrubbed the tops of his poor, straining toes. Bond began shaking his handsome had back and forth as the feelings in his feet overcame him. Sweat was running down his face, along with tears. He could not decide which was worse, the fierce tickling or the impossibly tight bondage of the rug. He noticed in his fevered brain that his famous cock was rock hard from the friction of rubbing against his silk boxers and the rug. Just as Bond thought he might actually have to talk, the torture stopped.

The ropes were removed and the rug dizzingly unraveled. He rolled onto the table, disconcerted. Strong hands grabbed him and ripped off his sweaty tuxedo. Before he could throw a punch, he was bound again. This time, the fiendish Russian hung the agent from a hook in the ceiling. His bare arms were raised over his head exposing his armpits and highlighting his young muscles, strong, smooth biceps and triceps, and corded, hairy forearms. His legs were spread wide and raised to the ceiling also, which had the effect of exposing his entire groin and asshole to the room. The men all whistled and made lewd comments about his hard body, dripping cock, and pink, open asshole.

"Your stubborn refusal to cooperate has resulted in this situation. I shall not be able to control these men much longer." One of the drooling men came up to Bond's uncut cock and began tying it with that silk which was still wreaking havoc on his toes. His balls were tied down tightly and the silk strands covered his cock. The bastard had pulled down his foreskin and stopped the silk bondage right below the exposed pink head. Precum dribbled onto the red silk. Bond squirmed at the exquisite sensation, then shuddered as Ivan brought a feather down on the cock head.

"UUHH! OOOH! Noo-Oh my God! Please! OOOH! Not that! I really c-c-an't bear it!

Ivan laughed and slowly moved the feather down the silk covered shaft and over the balls.

"NOT THE BALLS!!!"

Goosebumps appeared over the secret agent's entire body as his balls were cruelly stroked. That feeling, however, was nothing compared to what Bond experienced when Ivan worked the feather over the cord that ran from Bond's balls to his asshole. Bond shrieked and his whole body tensed as he felt that secret part of his body relentlessly stroked by that horrible feather. Ivan kept going over the cord with a slow, steady hand. Bond was babbling and shaking all over, promising anything if only the fiend would stop. With a nasty grin, Ivan brought the feather right to the rim of Bond's asshole.

Ivan slowly stroked the opening of Bond's virgin asshole as he described how the feather would feel on the inside of his hole. "Feel it, Bond, the soft innocent feather slowly stroking you to madness. Imagine how it will feel inside, scraping gently against your velvety lining. The silky fronds exploring that secret region. You know, you will never be the same. No man gets fucked by a feather and feels the same about himself. You will always remember the exquisite, helpless feeling of the feather and my complete control of your sanity."

Bond shuddered and sweated. The feather had already driven him halfway to insanity and he was dreading what was coming. Yet, his asshole twitched and his cock continued to drool. He wiggled his butt to escape the feather, but to no avail.

Ivan gestured to one of the men who approached Bond with a hungry look. Ivan nodded and the man began stroking Bond's right wrist. The man's fingers were soft and warm. His touch teasing. He started slowly moving up the underside of Bond's arm, titillating the soft, white flesh. Bond's heavy breathing got heavier as the man worked his way up the arm. He jumped and gasped when the man hit the inside of his elbow, the joint between the triceps and the forearm. Ivan was still stroking just the rim of his asshole, and now a third man started stroking the creamy, hairless inner thighs of the spy with fur mittens. He jerked and tried to bring his legs together, but they were splayed in a near split. His powerful thigh muscles strained in vain. Yet another member of the gang started gently teasing his pink nipples, which became even harder than they were. Another began sucking on his tied up toes and still another used a feather to create ever smaller circles around his belly button. Now, the fingers were in his right armpit. He screamed as those unstoppable fingers probed and teased his sensitive pits. His cock was straining from the stimulation to his body.

All at once, everyone stopped and Bond held on to a fleeting, pregnant second of hope. Ivan laughed and plunged the feather into his now open hole. Bond's entire body went rigid and he saw blinding white light. Ivan worked the feather like a dildoe, screwing the wide open ass of James Bond. His hole spasmed and tried to close in order to protect itself from the alien sensation.

"A-a-alr-right! AAAAHHHHRRRRGGGHHHAAAAA! Y-you win! St-stop, PLEASE! I can't stand it OOOOOO! No! Really, I'll t-talk!" Bond was buying time. He had no intention of talking, but he had to stop the torture to try to think. If only his cock weren't so hard. He had to cum soon. He was not used to being denied release.

Just as Ivan was about to ask Bond the question he needed the answer to, a boy came running into the room, breathless from running. He spoke in excited tones to Ivan. Ivan handed the boy a substantial sum of money and the boy left as quickly as he had come. Ivan turned back to Bond with a bigger and more sinister grin than before.

"Ah, Mr. Bond. I have just learned that the information I required from you is now totally irrelevant. Your mission is a complete failure. The Supreme Soviet is has learned more than you ever dreamed possible at the party we so abruptly left this evening. I fear I must leave for Moscow immediately. You are no longer necessary. I have enjoyed this night together. It seems you have also." He drew a circle around Bond's cockhead and James shuddered. "So long, Mr. Bond," Ivan said as he walked out of the room. He turned at the door.

"Oh, yes. The local boys will take care of you."

Bond nearly cried as he looked around the room. Left alone with these lust crazed barbarians. Tied up and exposed, cock tied and dripping, asshole gaping, and every sensitive, ticklish part of his body on display.

"Now listen, fellows..."

Bond was silenced by something being forced into his mouth. A dirty sock! It was put in by that first man who had taunted Bond with his boot. Bond's eyes grew wide and the men began taking their boots off.

"Alone at last, Mr. Bond. Remember our earlier conversation? You have nothing to give up. Ivan has paid us well to get you and how he is gone. You are ours to play with for as long as we like. We have watched your reactions tonight and we know your spots and the places on your body where a single finger can make your cock jump and dribble. We are going to do things to your body that will have you begging to cum. In case you've wondered, those silk bindings on your cock and balls are not just for aesthetics. You will not spill your seed so long as your dick is so bound.

The man had swung himself up to a rafter so that his now bare foot hung right over Bond's gagged face. He used the big foot to stroke Bond's face. He grabbed the straight nose with his toes, causing Bond to scrunch up his face.

"When you are ready to lick my feet, Bond, shake your head and I will remove the sock."

Bond stubbornly shook his head "no."

The torture began again with Bond's bare feet getting two sets of fingers and each armpit another set. His ribs were massaged and his cockhead feathered. The big bare foot still played with his face, the musky smell affecting Bond's confused brain. Suddenly, he shook his head "yes" and the tickling stopped and the sock removed from his mouth. The foot was shoved into his mouth and he have a few half-hearted licks. The man gestured and Bond's bare feet were again tickled. Bond quickly began licking in earnest.

"Very good, Bond. Your tongue feels good between my stinky toes. See, I am not ticklish like you, little boy. Perhaps I shall take you away to be my boot boy. To be chained and naked as my slave, always aware that I could slowly tease you to death with my fingers and a feather or two. I would make it so you could spill your seed, yet keep you in constant heat. Think of it, Mr. Bond, naked at my feet for the rest of your life, only a stroke away from insanity."

James Bond was used most basely for the rest of the night. He serviced the bare feet of every man in the room, and then every cock. His own feet were regularly teased, as was his cockhead. As dawn approached and the last man had finished with Bond's ass and had fallen asleep, exhausted, on top of his comrades, Bond took a breath. Could they really all be asleep? Bond was weaker than he ever remembered being, and his sexual frustration and over sensitized body left him frazzled. He had to think. He heard a door slowly creak open and he saw a young urchin standing in the doorway to the alley. The young man stole over to Bond on silent feet and signaled him to be quiet. He cut Bond down from his restraints and, surpassingly, lifted the weak man over his shoulders. He stepped over the worn out villains and carried Bond outside. Bond felt himself passing out from relief as the boy carried him through the predawn street of Baghdad. He drifted off into exhausted sleep.

Bond woke with a start to the noonday sun. His ordeal came flooding back to him as he tried to rise. Oh no! He was tied up again, hands over the head, legs spread, and still naked. He was on a filthy mattress in a small, dirty room. His rescuer came into view.

"What's going on? Who are you? Thank you for saving me, but why have you tied me down?"

But the boy spoke no English. He had watched last night as the men had tortured the westerner, and he had drooled at the sights he had seen. Now it would be his turn. He pulled from his pants a long feather he had grabbed from the site of the torture. Bond groaned as the boy crawled toward his tied bare feet.

J.P.
j.j.porter@worldnet.att.net




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