" He smirked, and held the garment out so I could see, they had been worn to a playdate judging by what was clearly cum all over the crotch. "What happened here?"I shrugged, and smiled coyly at him, "They're all like that, I guess I just don't know how to behave." I punctuated my statement with a little giggle, tugged the panties from his hand and tossed them back into the machine. Closing the lid, I popped my coins into the slots and started the cycle, then turned as to leave but found my way blocked. Standing barely a foot from him, I realized how tall he was, easily nine inches taller than me, and his toned, athletic build was filling the aisle between the wall and the row of washers."Do you misbehave often?" he asked, not moving. I simply shrugged again, smiling sweetly. "Are you a bad girl?" I waited a moment, then two, then slowly nodded. The next thing I knew, there were two large hands wrapped around my waist and I was being lifted, then seated on the washer I had just. My twin, Eric, and I were born to Andrew and Sophia Griffin, the best assassin team the Organization had ever seen.They both died on a mission when we were just a few months old. The Organization (we never had need to know its real name) took it upon itself to train us, to replace our parents.From the time we could stand and hold a knife, we were trained in all types of combat, including martial arts, archery, weapons, and poisons. We were also taught a dozen different languages.Bruises and sprains were an everyday event. Fighting while injured or in a cast was regular part of our training.We were well fed, maintained and taught, but we weren't loved. The Organization was not equipped to raise a child.Our teachers would change every few weeks. They wanted us loyal to the company, not a person.By the time we hit puberty, there wasn't a gun we couldn't disassemble, clean, and reassemble, blindfolded, in less than three minutes. We knew dozens of fighting styles, and hundreds of ways to.
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