License to Give a Nasty Paper Cut


Caution: This Humor Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Fa/Fa, Romantic, Mind Control, Magic, Lesbian, Heterosexual, Humor, Pregnancy, Body Modification, Big Breasts, Transformation, .

Desc: Humor Sex Story: Secret Agent, James Blonde, faces his most difficult, yet rewarding mission, when he is forced to pay a little visit to Chrystal Heights. Question: What happens when you mix Ian Fleming, J.K. Rowling, Raymond Chandler, Monty Python and Erotic Bimbo author extraordinaire, Chrystal Wynd? Answer: An absurd parody that I hope will make you all laugh and give you a warm feeling (in your men and lady parts, that is, lol). Enjoy!

SOL Revision Dedication: To Gordon, who has read me elsewhere and to CW for inspiring this tale.

I walked into Benny's Bar and Grill and took a look around for my target. After about ten minutes, I saw her. She looked nothing like her picture of course. Women who were kidnapped and brought to the steamy burgh of Chrystal Heights seldom did once the magic was worked upon them. Still, I could not be bothered with a trifling little thing like magic. Contrary to popular opinion, not all Brits wore spectacles, goofy hats and murmured incantations.

I am, or at least I like to think of myself as a walking anachronism. In this day of rampant magic, I am a creature of another time. Still, in all ways that matter, my kind is timeless. When it came to this mission, Her Majesty thought so. The PM thought so. Even the girl's titled father thought so. They all knew that my skills and talents, along with the Walther PPK I carried in my pocket, were just as dangerous as any book of incantations. I walked up to the bar.

"What can I get you?" asked the barman.

"For starters, I'll have a Vodka Martini, molested; not stirred."

"What?" asked the man.

"Do I have to explain your business to you, you bleeedin' Yank?! Take the shaker, fill it with vodka, add a splash of dry vermouth, give the shaker to those two bimbos with the ridiculously large breasts, have them stick it between their cleavages, pull their bodies close to each other and have them jump up and down for five minutes. Then make them smoke a bloody cigarette."

"I'm sorry, sir. State law prevents smoking in all..."

"OK, they can dispense with the fags then."


"The bloody cigarettes!" I groaned. "Have them make out that way instead."

"OK, then that would make them 'female fags'," he laughed.

"Whatever," I said, not really in the mood for his somewhat amusing observation.

When he turned his back, I walked over to my target. She was holding court with a bunch of men who were all fondling her mammoth mammary marsupials.

"Please come with me," I said taking her arm.

"What the fuck?!" yelled one of the men, until I causally flashed the contents of my inner tuxedo pocket and he saw my Walther. "Fuck! He's got a gun..." he started before one of his friends jabbed him hard in the ribs when he saw that my darkened look meant business. I escorted my target back to the bar.

"Cor Love! Is that a gun in your pocket or are ya jus' 'appy ta see me," giggled the blond in a bizarre sort of cockney that would have made Dick Van Dyke proud (but nobody else).

Only a titled lady under mind control could concoct such a poor accent. That told me I had the right girl. The crescent moon birthmark on her right bum cheek confirmed that opinion.

When we got there, I saw the barman watching the giggling bimbos as they gave a double, bouncy tit-job to the Martini shaker. I caught his attention. "Where's Benny?" I asked.

"Benny's on vacation," he replied, his eyes trying to scan back to the bimbo barmaids. I would not let them.

"Call him now!" I ordered.

"He would not want to be disturbed."

I sighed. "Typical Benny," I thought and looked at the man earnestly. "Who's in charge in Benny's absence?" I said, as I felt the "Titled Trollop" stroking my John Thomas through my britches.

"Mike. He's kind of new. He's some hotshot college kid..."

"I don't need his life story. Just get him for me."

"Who should I tell him wants to see him," he asked.

"I'm Blonde ... James Blonde."

"But you have dark hair," he complained.

"It's my bleeding name! Now tell Mike to get his arse over here right now!" I yelled.

"OK, buddy. Don't have a stroke. I'll get him."

A few minutes later the barman returned with a young man who looked fresh out of University.

"Mike, I presume?"

"Yeah, Mister?"


"You look more like a brunette to me. Nice dye job, by the way" he smirked. The joke never got old.

"Do you know who this is?" I asked, as I hauled the big-titted bimbo in front of him.

"Looks like your run-of-the-mill bimbo to me. A hundred bucks an hour since it's a really slow night," he grinned.

"Listen, you young upstart. This is Lady Jane Siccupp..." I started.

"Looks more like 'Lady Jane Triple G-Cup', if you asked me," he said, smirk intact.

Now I was really getting angry. "Look, you realize about the treaty between Her Majesty's government and Chrystal Heights?"

"What?" he asked.

"You are forbidden from kidnapping Her Majesty's citizens and turning them into bimbos without prior authorization and you are not permitted under ANY circumstances to kidnap a titled woman and affront her sensibilities by converting her into a bimbo!"

Mike scratched his chin. "I've never heard of any such rules. My guess is that you're lying. Benny told me not to trust any 'frogs'."

"I'm not French."

"No, but I bet you have webbed feet."

Now I was livid. "Call your boss right now!" I yelled.

"He wouldn't like it..."

"Then call the Mayor. He helped negotiate the treaty," I tried to reason.

"I'm not talking to him."

"Why?" I asked, expecting to get the ridiculous answer I would get.

"Because I didn't vote for him."

"Look, I don't have time for this. I'm taking her."

"Not unless you pay. You can't leave the building with her either."


"Because, it wouldn't be good for business, if I let you," he menaced.

"Well, I'm going to take her," I said, allowing my steadfast partner to show from my tuxedo pocket.

"That's a fair cop!" laughed the bimbo formerly known as Lady Jane Siccupp, in her ridiculous cockney.

"You don't think that'll do you any good in here," said Mike, as he pulled out a magic wand.

"Shit! I hate those bloody things," I thought, but I was not really worried. While I personally bemoaned the mothballing of Zed and his "Zed Division", I had to admit that the new "M Division" was the only way to fight these modern magical terrorists.

"Benny was just telling me before he left that he wanted more monkeys around here," grinned Mike. "He has this idea that a good way to drum up business was to get a bunch of bimbos, give them organ grinders and monkeys. As you can see, he's got plenty of bimbos. He got a deal on a huge lot of organ grinders, wholesale. Now he just needs monkeys. Since you're wearing a 'monkey suit', I think you'll fit in quite nicely around here," he said, waving the magic wand at me.

I felt myself begin to change. I felt furry and started to get shorter. All of a sudden, the process reversed and there was a small explosion of energy from me and it fired back at Mike. Within seconds, he had gotten hairy and shrunk out of his clothes. He began to hop around making a huge row; knocking over bottles behind the bar with his tail. He was quickly captured and put into a cage in the back with another bunch of monkeys.

"That will teach you to mess with good British counter-spells. What did you expect? We're the home of Merlin and Harry bloody..." I started to boast, but was interrupted.

"Is that a real gun?" asked the barman, pointing to the bulge in my tuxedo jacket pocket.

I shook my head at what impressed these Yanks. "Yeah, it's got real bullets too."

"I bet you're one of those Secret Agents ... you know... 'double O..."

"No, that's the other guy," I said, bemoaning that HE got all of the press. "I'm still a man with a sexy accent and straight teeth. I can get any girl I want," I boasted again.

"Then why are you here?" he asked.

"I came for Lady Jane."

"She looks like a bimbo to me."

I looked at my companion who had again started to stroke my member with one hand and twirling her golden locks with the other. The barman may have been a simpleton, but in a way, he was right. "Well, I'm going to take her now if you don't mind."

"OK, you have a gun and license to kill, so I ain't gonna stop you."

"Well, to be honest, my 'license to kill' does not work here because of the treaty. I do have 'license to give you a nasty paper cut..."

"Is that all?" laughed the man.

"On your 'John Thomas'." I clarified.

"What?" he asked.

"On your..." I said looking down at my crotch.

"Shit! No!" he said with a horrified expression.

"And dip it in battery acid after," I grinned, as I watched his face shrivel and his hands block his crotch.

"Just kidding," I laughed. "I'd just kill you."

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