-bigtitsinuniform | Mackenzee Pierce -inglourious French Maids P

He smirked. "Empty your… uniform."

The dress sagged, revealing the edge of a lacy black bra and the pale, freckled swell of her chest. For one crucial second, Von Hammer’s gaze was locked exactly where she wanted it.

She slipped away, climbing the servant's staircase to the second floor. Von Hammer’s study door was locked, but a hairpin from her impossibly coiffed blonde hair and a soft click later, she was inside. There, on the mahogany desk, was the leather folio. She photographed each page with a miniature camera hidden in a powder compact. He smirked

Von Hammer’s smirk faltered. He was a disciplined officer, but he was also a man. His eye flicked down.

The ballroom was a sea of wolf-gray uniforms and champagne flutes. Mackenzee navigated the edge of the crowd, carrying a silver tray of hors d'oeuvres. Every saluting officer's gaze dipped from her face to her décolletage, a predictable trajectory she exploited ruthlessly. "More champagne, mein Herr ?" she’d purr, leaning just so, allowing the fabric to gape. The generals became drooling idiots. One colonel nearly walked into a burning fireplace. She slipped away, climbing the servant's staircase to

" Auf Wiedersehen , General," she whispered.

She slipped out the service entrance just as the first Allied bombs began to fall, the stolen microfilm safely nestled in the one place no Nazi officer had ever thought to pat down. The Inglourious French Maids had struck again, and the Duchess had proven that the greatest weapon of all wasn't a gun—it was the distraction of a perfectly tailored uniform. She photographed each page with a miniature camera

Pop. The third.