Spy Harder

**recent commission, customer wanted a one-sided beat down. not my favorite setup, but I can write it. Kind of like writing the delusion of hope into the loser's perspective, though**



Amanda Pines entered the hotel, presenting her fully prepaid registration to the clerk. Nothing out of the ordinary about her at a glance, apart from a particular rare beauty about her. She was preened and primped with extreme effort, finely done makeup and hair and reasonably expensive clothes. A fine fur-lined coat covered most of her body apart from some boots and slacks on to keep out the cold winds of a New York winter. Nothing out of the ordinary, especially for another American traveler.
Of course, Agents Pines wasn't necessarily a normal traveler, beneath her cover. She went upstairs, entering her room and reviewing her schedule as she shed her winter clothing. The cleaning staff was supposed to be working this level about now, but she'd seen that the usual worker would be delayed from car trouble. It left Room 158 without a cleaner for the day, but Ilsa wouldn't be expecting this. It was a perfect chance for Pines to launch her ambush and stop the crooked commy spy once and for all, quickly and quietly.
Pines granted herself a look into the full-length mirror attached to the closet. She wore her trusty form-fitting catsuit underneath it, hugging her slim and sexy 5'8, 112 lb figure tightly enough to leave nothing to the imagination. A healthy and well defined body; slim waist, long legs, well-kept hair and makeup, a tight ass, and perky, shapely C-cups. She was the envy of girls half her age, and she knew it. A part of her adored it, and while her suit was ideally chamoflauged as a dull black, left no loose bits to leave skin samples or clothing fibers to identify her with, and provided minimal friction to her movements, she loved most of all was the faces she got on distracted targets and henchmen who got a look at her.
She flashed herself a winning smile at the mirror and walked briskly and quietly out the door to her room. She knocked lightly on Ilsa's door. "Housekeeping," Pines called softly.
"Come in," responded a clear, American-sounding voice. Pines still recognized the voice, swinging the door open and bursting in. Ilsa awaited her inside, a gun raised at her. Amanda was ready for such an occurance, a quick slam of her palm hitting the side of her pistol and pinning it to the wall, a twist of her wrist spiraling it out of Ilsa's grip.
Ilsa shook a strong wrist to break her hand free from Amanda's grip rather quickly. The girls took a half pace back, regrouping and giving Amanda her first good look at the Russian agent.

Ilsa was shorter but significantly bigger than Agent Pines, for better or worse. She was 5'4, and 250 lbs, and had a lovely face with thick dark hair, and most resemblances ended there. Ilsa was a full figured woman, plenty of muscle even if it was mostly buried under a few layers of dense fat. Her tits were huge, almost spherical E cups, soft and with a low enough cut on her suit to show them jiggle with almost any movement. Her arms were widely built, though the muscles only showed much when she flexed, and thighs and belly were far wider and meatier than Amanda's. While Amanda was poured into her costume like a liquid, Ilsa's body barged inside of her outfit and demanded it make room for her.
 When she confidently cocked her hip, placing a hand on her side, just above her buttock, her own catsuit bulged in reaction to contain her broad body. "Cute. Is this the best the Americans  have to stop me?" she grinned broadly.
"It's all we need for a lousy spy like you," Amanda insisted, maintaining her confidence. Ilsa was bigger than she'd expected up close, but she was still a trained secret agent. She'd fought bigger targets, usually armed. She rainsed her hands in a flexible martial arts stance, while Ilsa strut after her with at least as much confidence as the American agent, big hips wiggling with her stride.
Amanda lashed out with her fingers extended stiffly, a thrust trying to stop the fight quickly with a jab to the throat. Ilsa surpised her as she easily batted the hand away in mid-strike with her forearm, Amanda taking a desperate swing with her other hand at the Russian's head. She halted the sloppy move just as easily, both arms raised and ready as she swung her big hands inward to box the American's ears. A nasty pop went through Amanda's head from the move, knees getting weak as her nerves reacted poorly to the whole experience. She caught herself on the wall, leaning on it and wincing painfully as she held her head. It was more than enough of an opening for Ilsa to swing a meaty fist up into Amanda's belly, knuckles sinking into her shallow stomach and beating the wind right out of her.
"UHFFF!" Amanda wheezed, holding her belly and falling to her knees. She coughed some air back into her lungs while Ilsa towered over her, laughing loudly down at her. "Puny American barbie doll! Is U.S. so short on soldiers they send street walkers to fight me?"
Amanda growled lowly, pulling herself back to her feet. More infuriatingly, Ilsa LET her. She stood with an almost impatient posture that goaded her on. Ilsa wasn't going to be afraid of her, she'd have to make her learn to be.
Agent Pines was only mostly upright when she blindsided Ilsa with a horizontal kick to the leg, connecting with her beefy thigh. Ilsa barely budged, her juicy tits wobbling more than her tree trunk legs. Ilsa took a moment to look down at the stunned American agent, grinning before she took her by the hair, her hefty hand pulling her closer to her as Amanda flailed and screamed at the painful pull. Ilsa yanked her head under her arm, locking a meaty arm around her head and snaring her in a headlock.
Pines was begrudgingly forced to face their size advantage up close, her face pressed up against Ilsa's chubby side as a brawny limb pushed down on it. Ilsa fought for breath a moment before swinging her smaller fists into Ilsa's sides, a wild spray of punches to try and deter the meaty Russian. Her fat sides wobbled from the hits, Amanda worrying at first that the blubber was outright absorbing them before Ilsa let out a frustrated snarl, twisting her body to slam Amanda's head into the nearby wall. The American saw stars and stripes as she hit the carpeted floor, taking some tiny amount of pride in the fact her attack had at least aggrivated Ilsa, or hurt her if she was lucky.
Ilsa, meanwhile, was grinning over her. This was the agent at her best, and after a few hits like those, she looked spent. She wanted to toy with the American, break her body and her pride some more.
"Come on, super girl! This the strength of your precious country?" she goaded, waving her hands out invitingly. Amanda dragged herself up to a knee, holding her head. She threw a punch for Ilsa's big belly, bouncing off and getting a rather tiny grunt out of the dark-haired Russian. Amanda's spirits sank as it felt like her fist had barely even penetrated her hated enemy's natural padding. Ilsa flashed her a mouthful of teeth and a cruel booming laugh before grabbing Amanda by the wrist. The sheer power in her fingers made Amanda give a shout, body quivering in a jolt of pain as Ilsa twisted it, bending her arm so the rest of Amanda's body had to twist to follow.
"AHH! AHH! AHH!" she pleaded wordlessly, the pressure strong and steady on her arm in Ilsa's grip. Utterly at her mercy, Ilsa grinned down at her. She stepped over the American girl, straddling her body a moment before her big body came crashing down. Ilsa's big round ass hammered into her lower back, smashing Amanda to the ground as her slender body couldn't possibly hold over 100 pounds more than she weighed, especially in her condition.
Amanda did her pancake impression on the carpent, modest tits crushed under her ribs as she flopped pathetically. Ilsa's center of weight was apparent, as her huge ass enveloped and spread out over the skinny agent's own toned bum, as if devouring it as the weaker of its kind.
"Have I mentioned I love American girls?" Ilsa gloated over her as Amanda groaned and moaned as she grabbed for anything to pull herself free or arm herself with. But her firearm, and even the bedstand and tables, were too far for even her long lanky arms. "You all make such beautiful noises when you're in pain! Just like eeevery other yankee who comes after me!"
Ilsa was facing Amanda's feet by now, so she grabbed the taller girl's long sexy legs, bending them up until her pelvis left the mat. Amanda let out another groan as her slender back was agonized, not helped by Ilsa having still pinned her down with her grand backside. Amanda's legs were bent backward and upward, mimicking a boston crab hold from pro wrestling but practiced enough in hurting and killing to make sure the pain was real.
When she felt Amanda was satisfactorally pained, thigh and calf muscles stretched near their limits, Ilsa shifted her position, hooking her legs out and wrapping them around the American beauty's. While Amanda's were long, tight and slender, Ilsa's body once again outdid and overpowered hers, her fat but solid limbs crushing them towards her back. It wasn't much stronger than Ilsa's brawny arms, but the legs that had taken Amanda's leg sweep like a summer breeze were sturdy as could be. They supported a body like Ilsa's, after all, on top of the excess training and exercise under her (very wide) belt, so the combined weight made her legs not even consider budging against the puny might of Amanda's.
"I could do this all day, American," Ilsa smirked. "Tell me. Make Ilsa laugh. What is it you were trying to do when you found me."
"I won't talk," Amanda growled, clearly more spirit than power behind it.
"Good! With lovers and prisoners, Ilsa likes screams more than talk anyway." She leaned back, arching her chubby body until her tits looked ready to quit their current position and explode right out of her catsuit. It also served to yank her legs back further, getting another feminine howl out of Amanda.
Amanda seemed to only have the strength to claw and beat on the carpet, Ilsa using her new angle to admire herself in the mirror, much like Amanda had minutes earlier. The difference was, naturally, that she had a prize to pose with, and the original poser was now buried under 200+ pounds of Russian plus-sizedbeauty.
"Come now, princess," Ilsa said when she was done preening. "Much more time to play!" She unwrapped her legs from Amanda's, which fell like lifeless stumps to the floor. Amanda was panting, finally able to get a breath in that wasn't quite so forced or part of a scream. Ilsa stood up over her, patting Amanda's ass condescendingly.
"Come come, on your feet for Mama Ilsa!" she urged, and when Amanda's body failed to obey, whether her mind did or not, Ilsa grabbed onto her hair with a rough fistful. Amanda let out an "AIEEE!" of pain, skinny body writhing at another shocking jolt. Ilsa used her other hand to get a grip on Amanda's catsuit, just below the waist, and tugged up hard with a hefty grunt, reminding Amanda distantly of one of those strong man contests or weight lifters.
It came to her why, as she felt herself whizz through the air. She saw briefly in the mirror that she was horribly accurate with her association. Ilsa had lifted her clean off her feet, and lifted her with no minor effort, but still completely over her own head like a dumbell. Amanda flailed and screamed in surprise, then in fear as she realized just how far down it was between her face and the floor.
"Oh, you want down!?" Ilsa laughed loudly, clearly sweating but only just so with the force of lifting and balancing the invading American. "Ilsa can help with that!"
She swung her arms down and let go, abruptly smashing Amanda down on the bed. She hit hard and bounced clean back off the springy bed, not once but twice before settling on her back, staring agape at the ceiling splayed out like a corpse.
"No time for bed, sleepy girl!" Ilsa grinned, suddenly appearing in her line of sight. It was getting incredibly strange for Pines to keep seeing the shorter, thicker girl appearing over her. Then again, the last time she was above her was when she was being lifted like a rag doll, so maybe it could be worse.
Ilsa wrapped her thick gorilla arms around Amanda's slender waist, lifting her up off the bed in her strong but loose grip. She pulled Amanda sharply into her, bearhugging the skinny American into her bigger body. Amanda cried out painfully, Ilsa recklessly wrecking her back with the hug as none of thestaff would be there to overhear them. She lifted Amanda up higher, the American agent able to rest her head briefly on her shoulder. Ilsa made sure even her long legs wouldn't be touching the ground at the angle, concentrating the pain of her squashing grip right into Agent Pines' back.
Amanda's face went red and wide-eyed from the cracking in her spine as Ilsa played chiropracter on her. She slapped at Ilsa's back, for leverage at first to minimize the pain, the clawing and thumping her fist between her shoulder blades. Even that couldn't budge the burly Russian, as she swung herself in one direction, leaving Amanda's spindly body to buck along with her and snap to a halt in the iron grasp, giving another jolt through her spine. Ilsa's belly wobbled aginst hers, like miniature slaps to Amanda's own tight and slender stomach.
"Aghhh!!" Amanda howled out, managing to get her body back to an angle where she could get her hands between her and Ilsa, shoving at the shorter thicker woman's chest. It ached her back further, bending herself like that as her hands sunk into Ilsa's impressive tit flesh like shallow quicksand. Ilsa smirked confidently at her struggles, getting nowhere fast in the sturdy arms of the Russian. Amanda tried to grab at her biceps and shove them outward, but they were all but set in stone, her biceps twitching a bit but unrelenting in the squeezing.
Desperate for a way out, Amanda had nothing more to prove. She brought her painted nails up in a quick rake across Ilsa's face, the beastly strong woman letting out a sharp surprised growl as releasing one arm to hold her face and the red marks that lashed across her eyes. Ilsa's eyes watered, but she still held on tight to Amanda with her remaining arm. Amanda shoved and kicked at her, pushing away with both hands... and STILL she barely moved! Ilsa was still keeping her captive with one arm to her entire body! She was fighting a miniaturized mountain of a woman!
With all her might, Amanda ripped her body from the blinded Ilsa's monstrous grasp, panting and muscles screaming at her in agony. She had to escape. Regroup. Try another approach! Anything to get away and fight another day! Her body was beaten, and her catsuit was stretched and starting to get torn from her being tossed around so frequently. Her throat was sore with screaming and groaning, head was throbbing from all her deprived oxygen.
With Ilsa still fighting blind, but wiping up the last of the reactive tears as her face was twisted in more rage than pain or fatigue, Amanda cursed the broad woman's endurance. She tried to pad her chances of escape by swinging a kick at her. "Go DOWN you fat bitch!" she huffed desperately, her foot swinging up between Ilsa's thighs... and staying there, as her meaty thighs got in the way and slowed the blow a split second enough to slap shut around her leg. Amanda looked with her mouth wide open in shock and horror, realizing she was trapped on one foot with her long slender leg caught in Ilsa's beartrap of a pair of legs.
"Just what I'd expect of cowardly American cowgirl," Ilsa spat, opening her eyes up fully again to leer at her prey. Amanda's heart sank as they met eyes, the fury in the Russian's and the despair in Amanda's making it more than clear who would be walking away from this matchup.
Ilsa slammed a fist down onto Amanda's knee, getting a pained scream from her as her body tried to double up, locked in her awkward one-legged dance to stay up. Ilsa grabbed out at her standing leg, ripping it out from under her and forcing Amanda's body to obey gravity and slam backward onto the carpet, banging her shoulders and skull against the ground until she swore she could see little canaries spiral around her eyes. Still, her leg was crushed and twisted in Ilsa's snaring thighs, fat legs devouring her limb like a toothpick as her body jiggled with every twist of her figure.
"Tell me that's not all, American! Tell Ilsa you've got more fight left in you! Tell me you're not as pathetic as you look right now!" Amanda was on her back, writhing miserably and looking ready to cry from the constant agony brought on by the dominant Russian dom. "Get up!" Ilsa barked, finally parting her legs enough for her foot to fall weakly to the mat, marked with a bit of sweat from Ilsa's crevice. "Take your beating and PRETEND you are self-respecting woman!" She put a sharp stomp to Amanda's ribs and belly, making her curl up weakly.
Ilsa grabbed her hair, trying to rip Amanda to her feet as she'd demanded like her blond strands were painful puppet strings. When all Amanda did was sob, she reached her feet and collapsed the second Ilsa let go, only managing to get to her knees and stay there. She crawled on all fours backward, like a cowering dog until her back hit a wall. Ilsa marched after her, big feet and weight thundering the floors as she moved, adding to her intimidation. She grabbed Agent Pines by the throat, shoving her semi-upright against the wall as her nails traced against the skin of her neck.
"Now one more time, please." Ilsa flexed her fingers against Amanda's throat, lifting her another few inches off the ground. Her weak legs flopped like noodles in the breeze to try and get under her, but  the angle was bad enough as it was for her long legs to try and find purchase. "What are you doing here?"
Amanda's training and resistance broke almost instantly at this point, so broken and beat up now that she just wanted a chance to survive her enounter withthis Russian monster of a woman, proving herself superior to her in every way she could think of.
"I'm here on a counter-terrorism mission!" she blurted, teary-eyed and struggling for air in Ilsa's vicious grasp. "We found you were in the city and wanted to thwart you from any assassination attempts on the diplomats meeting tomorrow."
"I am not here to kill your diplomat," sneered the Russian. "Is just what I wanted you to expect." When Amanda gave her a dumb, dazed, half-lidded stare, she grinned.
"Is like I said. Ilsa just lovs to hear American girls scream. Especially your high and mighty agents." Ilsa hit Amanda's face with a loud cracking slap that rattled her head. She gave a  mighty swing of her arm to toss Amanda to the ground like a used up toy, letting her flop ragged to the ground choking and spasming. She stood over Amanda, putting her large foot down onto Amanda's neck. She gurgled and choked under the woman's superior weight, feeling Ilsa lean into it with enough force that she could her feel her brain cells sputtering as she blacked out, but only just enough to do that. Still, Amanda could register enough flexing of her calf muscles and the held back pressure that it seemed Ilsa could crush her neck as easily as an elephant at this position.
"I do not have to kill you, Yankee slut. And for now, I won't. But this is your warning. Once. If I ever run into you again. Spot you on my mission, ee you on a street, hear you in a crowd... I will find you again, and I will end you. Much worse than I did tonight. Longer, more painful, much more... final." A derisive wad of spit his Amanda's face moments before her last conscious breath. "Remember this. Stay out of my way, pigdog."


Amanda woke back up in her own hotel room. It was not hard to imagine that Ilsa had figured out where she'd come from and had an easy enough time carrying her back. There was no trace of Ilsa when she did some more reconossaince, and the diplomats at the city were indeed left alone. But whenever the Russians were involved, the once fearless Agent Pines would always find a way to back out of the mission, fearing what might befall her if a particular counter-agent was on the scene.