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Training Fortune's Heiress	By : Unaplicable Category: +A through F > Dead or Alive Views: 3070 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: None of the characters mentioned are my own and I do not own the Dead or Alive Franchise. I make no money or profit from this story.

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Helena’s six inch heels clicked strode across the deck of her luxury cruise-liner, droplets of sweat gleamed on her sleekly toned thighs, shining on her slender shoulders and on her smooth forehead. Despite the tropical heat, Helena had selected a sleek black qipao dress formed tight to her hourglass figure from her walk-in closet. Sericulture from the finest black silk, its layer was almost transparent. Its high collar framed her slender noble throat and adhered tight to her chest, the silk seemed to simulate her rosy nipples, they stood taut, and the silk flowed over Helena’s proud D-cup breasts and resembled a stream coursing over a small cairn.
The traditional dress was sleeveless, baring her slender, yet well-toned arms. Her wrists, elbows, and biceps were flawless cream hued. The qipao was likewise tight across the aristocratic bubble-butt of Helena. Only a slender calve length of black silk covered Helena’s curvaceous ass-cheeks, which matched with a length over her most inmate place. It meant Helena’s long toned leg was flexing with subtle gym-musculature, making her creamy smooth skin ripple with toned flexibility. The dress’s hemline began with a high upside down V, which clearly showed Helena’s choice of lingerie; black and French-cut.
Surrounding the Freedom Survivor in the distance were sun-soaked lush tropical islands, the sun’s rays made the deep blue Mediterranean reflex off the white-and-bluish iron of the vessel’s hull in shimmering ripples. The ship’s name was etched onto the bow in delicate golden cursive. Despite the impressive passenger compliment, the cruise-liner was empty, save for Helena herself. Even before the young heiress had sent off Hayate, Ayane, and Hayabusa to Donovan’s oil rig, the vessel had been quiet, with only herself, Kasumi, and her trusted maid, Marie Rose left on board. Now that she had just dispatched Kasumi of to foil whatever plans Donovan was scheming, the Freedom Survivor was almost dead silent. Helena had allowed the crew a few days of rest and relaxation on the tropical islands before reporting back to her by five am sharp on Monday.
Helena checked the current date: Friday 28^th 2012, the sun was still high in the clear blue sky, the heat still hot and humid.
It didn’t take long for Helena to reach her room, located beneath the water line to prevent the natural rocking and rolling of the vessel, the luxury suites rivalled the Ritz or Marriott for comfort. The rooms had polished wooden floorboards, various expensive lounge chairs, and an elegant Scandinavian Burr Walnut pedestal desk, fashioned in an art deco manner, complete with golden pens and DOATEC letterheaded paper. Everything Helena needed to run her international entertainment company. Currently the CEO was heading for her bedroom.
Within its own suite was an impressive queen-sized bed with white silk sheets, with several accessories spilled out onto the bed from an unseen wardrobe, could be spied from the half open door as Helena approached the room. It was only when she pushed the door open did Helena saw who laid sensuously across her white silk bedsheets.
Christie had donned for her infiltration a simple sleeveless black turtleneck sweater and tight black leather pants, in spite of the black cotton’s thick smothering texture, the assassin’s full 37DD-cup breasts were straining the fabric and pulled the cotton taut to their perfect tear-drop contours. Christie’s breasts were firm enough to push the cotton from her slim toned midsection, baring two inches of untouched alabaster skin above her belly button. The supple flexing limberness of Christie’s belly were clearly evident.
Not that Christie’s leather pants made up for her turtleneck for sublime tightness, the black leather was seemingly vacuum packed onto her professional gym-toned long thighs and taut bubble-butt. As the assassin turned gracefully on her heel, the smooth creamy curve of her lower back was presented. The leather glued itself to her flaring svelte hips like a second skin, all complemented by Christie’s black heels that sculpted her slender calves and muscular thighs, displaying the athletic tones that flexed across their surfaces. A cruel smirk of confidence spread across Christie’s black glossed lips as the look of shock on Helena Douglas’s classically beautiful features slowly change into intense loathing. Both formidable women stood on opposite sides of the bedroom.
Helena’s undeniably aristocratic sharp facial features: blue-green irises narrowed in hate; ruby lips thinned from anger. Even her segmented blonde locks that farmed her beautiful heart-shaped face were trembling as Helena tensed her graceful jaw. Christie saw that the little heiress had chosen to wear her lacy black hair tie, its two filigree wings were resting upon her svelte upper back, which must have tickled Helena whenever she turned her neck.
None of which seemed to bother the white-haired assassin; she had laid herself languorously across Helena’s bed on one elbow, facing the door. Her svelte curves formed in a perfect front-on view, giving desirably show for many, yet certainly unwanted to Helena, the assassin’s flaring hips stood out against her thighs and toned calves, as did her slim toned belly. Christie’s glorious rack was pushed up against her black turtleneck by her pose and allowed a glimpse of the limber line of musculature that halved her waist. Due to the wall-length mirror in the back of the bedroom, Helena was given an eyeful of the vile woman’s bare smooth lower-back and leather-encased bubble-butt.
“Que se passe-t-il!?” Helena uttered unconsciously. “How did you get in here?!”, she finally demanded after a few moments of complete shock.
“Oh, I have my ways darling”, Christie gave the heiress that made her blood run cold, and she couldn’t understand it! There was just no possible way she could be here, unless one of her crew had told, yet none of them knew what was happening. Helena knew for a fact that Hayate and Ayane couldn’t have reached Donovan’s facility yet, they would be only halfway there by now. All these flashed though the heiress’s mind in a second. Unless… the realisation came to her in a moment, the only other person who could have known what the she had been planning with the three ninjas was Marie Rose, and Helena knew that her faithful servant would never have put her mistress in harm’s way.
“You know, Helena”, Christie’s cold English stopped Helena’s thoughts in an instant. “Did you name this cruise-liner after your family’s legacy? Survivor? Rather pitiful isn’t it?”
Helena let out a cry of pure loathing and charged the beautiful tall assassin, hoping to catch her off guard as she sprawled out across her sheets. Helena’s rounded ass cheeks jiggling as her ran across the wooden floorboards, her sleek muscular flexing, her sleek black dress bellowing.
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Training Fortune's Heiress