Pants Afire

Pants Afire Image

Pants Afire – Written by Vonda Norwood

There are gangs, mobs and plenty of thugs on the loose… The FBI’s got a lot to do. Wicked people are everywhere and they’re doing everything, which guarantees I’ll be on someone who’s doing something. My former associate grew weak… Close shaves, one after the next, he couldn’t stomach. Alone in my tasks, the NSA had nothing to ask. So what. God knows more than the CIA, and my perky Cs don’t need supporting.

I’ve scored a few missions and I have been completely successful. Some say it’s because I stand five-foot-five and weigh 120 lbs, but I swear it’s certainly not for knowing the true color of my shoulder-length hair. While members train to be deadly with their hands, sheer white stockings glide up my tan calves. My cover is so deep, my true eye color has never been seen. If you visit India avoid red scorpions.

I like to reminisce. Let’s do this:

Staked in the town where they say nobody sleeps, I slept quite often in a penthouse suite. 10-million-dollars is what the place was worth. The ATF, never said a word. One morning, near Wall Street, I sat in an alley, and whilst I gulped the last few drops of caramel Colombian, The Follicle Group for Males readied to make sales. I left behind an average tip and then I coordinated in; periwinkle Stilettos, sheer thigh-highs, a white peasant skirt and a shoe-matching, short-sleeved, silk blouse. I popped-in blue contacts and then I changed my name to Ginger McFib.

Heavily cloaked without a dagger, observation matters. Seated in the odious establishment and resenting the Green Beret for never getting me anything, was when the prey came moseying. Six-foot-tall and looking-like 200lbs displayed a delicious bare orb at the reception counter. From behind the desk, a grinning villainess took 45-year-old, Grady Barren’s name and address. Then she did what all thugs do and sent him back to meet the head goon. The a-bit-above-an-average-size man, sporting healthy round buns, beneath white jeans that outlined a half-swollen spear, strolled his precious glossy sphere, without fear, to the rear.

Special Ops do espionage… My long skirt, shrouded wandering eyes from warm, wet thighs. Health inspectors rarely wear teal, plus, some of them never carry and conceal, and yet, that Lady Menace, permitted me access. Though he was no Ranger Joe, and the Best of the Best wasn’t going to get undressed, a sworn duty to preserve silky globes was mine to uphold. The cranium vandal, inspected his victim, while I, on all three floors, set live packages behind each door.

Moments before my butt thrust against the exterior wall, Simper Fidelis 911 received my anonymous call. Shielded beneath a baseball cap, their duped dude, stepped through the exit. My ass slid across glass and blocked the entrance. “Excuse me,” said the chump. He pulled that Yankee nuisance from his round and oh-so smooth and completely bare surface.

“I’m a hand model. Just got back from Greece,” said me.

“That’s neat.”

“Want to make pornography?”

“Want… Wha—”

I raised my thumbs to the glass and then I tapped. My Cs bobbed with great speed, while I changed my wording, “This place is quarantined.”

You said, por

“They have an aggressive infestation.”

“That’s disgusting.”

I slapped the side of my face and I bounced in place. He stepped back and laughed, and so I, stopped moving. “You want to join me for coffee?”

Hazel eyes scanned from my head to Stilettos. “I just walked out of there… Everything was fine.”

I rubbed my thighs. “Accessory, caught at the scene.”

“Accessory?” He glared at me. “What?”

Shrieking sirens accompanied squealing tires. “The US Marshal, has posse.”

He gazed through the glass door. “Quarantined?”

“You want to be?”


“Come with me. We’ll make pornography.”


“Portugal tea.”


I grabbed his hand, and then to a cab we ran.

Working Vice can be nice, but it’s not better than being surrounded by mirrors with your laptop capturing fronts meshing centers, but… On the island, just inside the kitchen, Grady’s elbows rested on red marble tiles. Training kicks-in when shy men sit across practically exposed breasts and do nothing but sip. From the kitchen to the hall, bread crumbs must fall… “I’m glad you like the tea.”

“Portugal ice tea?”

“Why not?”

“It’s good.”

“Better than being stuck with a bunch of thugs, huh?”

“Quarantine…” He took a drink from the straw and then released that tall, slim glass. “Very bizarre.”

I leaned forward and my half-covered breasts wobbled above my glass. “You got lucky.”

“Thanks to you. I’ve never heard of place like that being quarantined.”

“Gentlemen have been known to hear far worse when hanging around hair traps.”

“Hair traps?”

I had one pearl button that held the thin line between sexy and obscene, so my fingertips did away with it. “The graffiti was on the wall.”

He stared at my breasts. “Comfortable?”

“Yes.” I pressed my finger to the glass and slowly glided it toward me.

He shifted in his seat and glanced around the room. “Do you think the FBI’s involved?”

The cold and wet container met with my skin and then frost covered its brim. My silky-smooth, cream-colored nipples stiffened. “That gang has a national chain,” I said, while shivering.

He sat at attention and cleared his throat. “Gang?”

Without taking my eyes off his gleaming, bald head I wrapped my lips around my straw and then I sucked. Hot droplets trailed to my navel, where it then evaporated. Chill bumps covered my bosom. “I’ve seen the things they do… Some of that stuff, you have to take a machete to.”

“All I wanted was a hairpiece.” His tongue darted across his lips.

I pushed the drink away. “That’s scary.” I sat back, and brought my palms to my nipples and my fingers to breasts, and then I massaged.

His eyes grew wide and he pointed to his head. “If I considered plugs, I might have been stuck in there with everyone else.”


“It’s an option.”

“You mean, was.”

“I’ll find another place. This was the third time I talked to a specialist.”

My back stiffened and I sat tall. “You didn’t learn from the other two chances?” I took that unbuttoned pearl button and I re-buttoned. “That’s strike three, Grady.”

“I learned quite a lot… At the first place I—”

“Follow me, please.” I slithered off the bar stool and then scurried through the kitchen, where I pulled cookies, candies and chips from the pantry. “Let’s go to the living room.”

“Can I help with anything?”

“Grab the drinks.”

Determined-to-get-rid-of-what-I-love, ineptly sat on the couch, which was surrounded by photos of people I knew nothing about. I dropped the snacks on the coffee table and handed him the TV remote-control. “I’m going to go change. It’ll just take a couple minutes.” Rushing toward the hall, I snatched the phone, it vibrated and I halted beside the red island and read a message from Operative June: On Wall street, hundreds of red scorpions brought an end to the nefarious plans crafted by, The Follicle Group for Males.

I replied:Inform the judge, she’s gonna get her some.

…And then I coordinated in; a platinum wig, brown contact-lenses, black thigh-highs, red heels and a low-cut, ruby dress. After hailing a cab, I sent security a tip, and during my taxi trip, news flashed from the radio, “Local PD reads rights to a squatter named Barren.” Upon my face appeared a big grin for knowing that an Honorable woman shall decide to confine sexy bald Grady, to her-house-arrest, where she will detox his system and finally rid his rug addiction.

At JFK, handing over phone surveillance paid the way for me and my cargo to embark. Behind in line, I heard middle-age men whine, “The Follicle Group for Males better fit each member of this support group with toupees.”

“They promised!”

“I wouldn’t be flying to Buffalo, if they hadn’t.”

Contact Sally handed a ticket to me. “You and your cargo are all set.” She glanced at the five baldies standing behind me, and then the young operative gave me a wink. “Many meshings in Buffalo, I think.”

“Front and center, I always deliver.”


Wicked people are everywhere and they are doing everything. Fortunately, operatives will ensure that what is natural continues to flourish. We are out there every day risking life and limb to service the at-risk civilian, which basically guarantees – we’ll be on top of everyone who’s doing something. If you visit Buffalo, even for just moments, avoid rodents.

I’m Vonda Norwood. I write comedies, romances, and sexually explicit stories.