Yes I’d agree, Steve is an amazing Cricketer, from some of the very best days of Australian Cricket! I think Mark probably would agree too, even though he was incredibly talented as well! Typical impoverished sledging from the POMs!
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Sexpionage III
- Thread starter Fossy
- Start date
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Grief Laid Bare (6)
The day following Kat’s funeral …
The cell complex in the basement of the MI6 SIS HQ in Vauxhall, London
Charlie ‘The Bastard’ Cooper had been at the girl for over two hours when Marcus Devonshire himself stepped into the cell and placed a hand upon Grace’s shoulder. “Charlie,” he said softly, “Don’t kill the little slut before she tells us everything.”
Cooper sniffed hard through wide nostrils, as if in disappointment.
Devonshire smiled, “The dead do not speak Charlie, so let’s just go a little easier.”
The maliciously minded Head of MI6 smiled with evil intent as he added, “In fact I have a rather distinct plan for Special Agent Miller …”
Grace slowly turned her dazed head when the cell doors opened and a clear plastic water tank was brought in. It was around six feet across and five feet deep. Beside it was a metal rectangular frame, which in turn was just a little smaller in dimension than the plastic container. Two heavy chains hanging from the frame were quickly connected to a lever mechanism installed in the roof of the dungeon room.
A large hose was dropped into the container and immediately began to spew forth a strong flow of gushing water, quickly filling the available space inside the tank.
“Oh God please, no …” Grace’s Achilles heel was water torture of any sort. Despite being a successful university-blue swimmer while at Oxford, she now hated being submerged after being nearly drowned in China (see operation Sinosphere). But in truth, Grace had not guessed the half of what was about to happen to her.
Special Agent Miller was released from her bondage and, collapsing into the waiting arms of her captors, she was led her to the frame whereupon the young girl was manhandled onto it so that she stood on the lower horizontal bar. A heavy chain, coming from the upper cross-pole, was wound several times around her neck and then padlocked in place to hold her head upright. When she was positioned appropriately, another rod was set locking her wrists in place.
Restraints were fastened around her ankles, locking her feet to the lower bar and straps secured to the two uprights were tied around her legs just below the knee, the pull on which, in turn, forced her thighs to open wide. The effect was stark and startling. Grace was thoroughly exposed, vulnerable, and scared!
Her semi-squat position rotated her hips so that the split oval of her vulva was fully displayed and open, and, adding to the efficacy of her bondage, the chained position of her arms lifted and separated Grace’s firm and ample breasts. Such a position allowed Cooper all the space he needed to apply a clear copper-scented body oil to her firm flesh, paying particular attention to her nipples. When he’d given her breasts a thorough coating ‘The Bastard’ moved to the Special Agent’s rear and began pasting her small puckered ass-hole, then, moving around, he coated her open pussy, giving her outer lips a comprehensive covering, before working the small applicator into all of her inner creases.
The ill-fated girl writhed and moaned under his attentive ministrations. They were preparing her … but for what?
Grace’s anxiety and humiliation peaked when Cooper began stroking the soft oily bristles over her clitoral hood, before pulling the flesh back between his thumb and forefinger to apply generous amounts of the oil on and around her clit.
With the preparations complete ‘The Bastard’ stepped back, picked up a small control box and waited until Marcus Devonshire himself had attached more pulley ropes to the metal bars. Cooper pressed a button and the frame began to rise up.
Grace screamed as she was lifted away from the ground.
When it was high enough to clear the edge of the container the frame moved sideways, before starting to descend into the tank. It stopped when the upper crossbar was at the level of the water, so that Grace was fully immersed, all except for her head. The Special Agent began to shiver with cold and no little fear.
“Has this piqued your interest Miller? Do you wonder what this is all about?” Devonshire’s tone was gleefully mocking as he prepared to answer his own question.
“The Macrobdella Mimicus Leech has three jaws and 59 teeth. It is quite literally a creature that will pierce your body, and drink your blood, only falling away once it is full.”
Grace’s wide eyes stared in horror as a host of black wriggling worm-like creatures fell into the water from above her head, and she screamed as the suckers immediately began probing at her exposed body. In a complete panic, the submerged girl’s head was moving frantically from side to side, but poor, horrified Grace couldn’t see down into the water, and had no idea of the leeches’ whereabouts until she felt their painful little pincers, attracted to the oil, sucking at her most tender parts.
The bloodsuckers were everywhere and she could sense the horror of what was about to happen. When the first leech attached itself to Grace’s inner thigh, just below her pussy, she screamed. Feeling it’s sharp teeth-hooks exploring her body, testing her flesh, Special Agent Miller gasped.
“Get them off me you bastard, get me out of here!”
The bulge at Devonshire’s crotch told the hapless girl that would not be happening anytime soon.
“Who are you working for Miller?” The key question was repeated.
“You Marcus, you fucking hell … please, I work for MI6!”
Grace’s body convulsed when the little mouth-claws dug in and the creature anchored itself to her leg. A still sharper pain followed as the three hypodermic needle-like fangs sank into her flesh and began sucking her blood.
Another leech fastened itself on Grace’s left ass cheek, near her anus. She threw her head back and screamed once more when she felt the snappy little fangs dig in. Another found the underside of Grace’s left breast, causing her to twist and jerk in a fruitless attempt to dislodge the parasite, before several more quickly attached themselves to the poor girl’s ass, one in particular slithering its way into the tight hole.
Special Agent Miller writhed and squirmed in the tank as leeches hung from her nipples like decorative tassels, their sucking incisors penetrating her flesh. At each place where a leech had started to suck, Grace felt a stinging sensation that quickly grew more painful.
More leeches found Grace’s breasts, growing fat on her blood. Then one found her left nipple-teat and fastened itself to the bud, nearly engulfing the small, tender stub of flesh in its slippery jaws, causing the Special Agent to shake frantically, but uselessly, in an effort to dislodge it.
And then …
“Ohhhhh, fucking hell!”
Now the leeches had found her pussy. Several were hanging from her outer lips. With horror Grace sensed one of the leeches probing near her clitoris. Unlike the other leeches which had fastened themselves where they first touched her skin, this one seemed to be exploring, the soft inner folds of her pussy drawing it further inside as it wormed its way into her body. The captive girl felt the pricking sensation as the bloodsucker navigated around her sensitive flesh before digging in its teeth on one side to pull itself along. It seemed to be seeking just the right place to engorge both itself and the hardening little nub.
Grace involuntarily held her breath, as if it would do any good, when she felt the sharp teeth nearing her clitoris.
“GET. IT. OFF!” Grace yelled as it’s multiplicity of jaws dug into the fleshy nub and the slithering creature pulled itself under the unsealed clitoral hood to position itself directly onto her clitoris.
Devonshire looked with lust-fuelled satisfaction at Grace’s face. The girl’s eyes were wide with fright, her mouth open, ready to scream. No longer twisting, she seemed to be frozen in fear of what was about to happen … and then she felt the leech digging its jaws in firmly around the stiffening glans.
Could the diabolical creature being have any sense of what it was about to do?
When it sank its fangs directly into Grace’s clit, the poor girl screamed to high heaven. Her vision exploded into a blurred white light, and her entire world shrank into a sharp, radiating pain that emanated from her core to run unfettered throughout her nubile, naked and bound body.
To Be Continued …
The day following Kat’s funeral …
The cell complex in the basement of the MI6 SIS HQ in Vauxhall, London
Charlie ‘The Bastard’ Cooper had been at the girl for over two hours when Marcus Devonshire himself stepped into the cell and placed a hand upon Grace’s shoulder. “Charlie,” he said softly, “Don’t kill the little slut before she tells us everything.”
Cooper sniffed hard through wide nostrils, as if in disappointment.
Devonshire smiled, “The dead do not speak Charlie, so let’s just go a little easier.”
The maliciously minded Head of MI6 smiled with evil intent as he added, “In fact I have a rather distinct plan for Special Agent Miller …”
Grace slowly turned her dazed head when the cell doors opened and a clear plastic water tank was brought in. It was around six feet across and five feet deep. Beside it was a metal rectangular frame, which in turn was just a little smaller in dimension than the plastic container. Two heavy chains hanging from the frame were quickly connected to a lever mechanism installed in the roof of the dungeon room.
A large hose was dropped into the container and immediately began to spew forth a strong flow of gushing water, quickly filling the available space inside the tank.
“Oh God please, no …” Grace’s Achilles heel was water torture of any sort. Despite being a successful university-blue swimmer while at Oxford, she now hated being submerged after being nearly drowned in China (see operation Sinosphere). But in truth, Grace had not guessed the half of what was about to happen to her.
Special Agent Miller was released from her bondage and, collapsing into the waiting arms of her captors, she was led her to the frame whereupon the young girl was manhandled onto it so that she stood on the lower horizontal bar. A heavy chain, coming from the upper cross-pole, was wound several times around her neck and then padlocked in place to hold her head upright. When she was positioned appropriately, another rod was set locking her wrists in place.
Restraints were fastened around her ankles, locking her feet to the lower bar and straps secured to the two uprights were tied around her legs just below the knee, the pull on which, in turn, forced her thighs to open wide. The effect was stark and startling. Grace was thoroughly exposed, vulnerable, and scared!
Her semi-squat position rotated her hips so that the split oval of her vulva was fully displayed and open, and, adding to the efficacy of her bondage, the chained position of her arms lifted and separated Grace’s firm and ample breasts. Such a position allowed Cooper all the space he needed to apply a clear copper-scented body oil to her firm flesh, paying particular attention to her nipples. When he’d given her breasts a thorough coating ‘The Bastard’ moved to the Special Agent’s rear and began pasting her small puckered ass-hole, then, moving around, he coated her open pussy, giving her outer lips a comprehensive covering, before working the small applicator into all of her inner creases.
The ill-fated girl writhed and moaned under his attentive ministrations. They were preparing her … but for what?
Grace’s anxiety and humiliation peaked when Cooper began stroking the soft oily bristles over her clitoral hood, before pulling the flesh back between his thumb and forefinger to apply generous amounts of the oil on and around her clit.
With the preparations complete ‘The Bastard’ stepped back, picked up a small control box and waited until Marcus Devonshire himself had attached more pulley ropes to the metal bars. Cooper pressed a button and the frame began to rise up.
Grace screamed as she was lifted away from the ground.
When it was high enough to clear the edge of the container the frame moved sideways, before starting to descend into the tank. It stopped when the upper crossbar was at the level of the water, so that Grace was fully immersed, all except for her head. The Special Agent began to shiver with cold and no little fear.
“Has this piqued your interest Miller? Do you wonder what this is all about?” Devonshire’s tone was gleefully mocking as he prepared to answer his own question.
“The Macrobdella Mimicus Leech has three jaws and 59 teeth. It is quite literally a creature that will pierce your body, and drink your blood, only falling away once it is full.”
Grace’s wide eyes stared in horror as a host of black wriggling worm-like creatures fell into the water from above her head, and she screamed as the suckers immediately began probing at her exposed body. In a complete panic, the submerged girl’s head was moving frantically from side to side, but poor, horrified Grace couldn’t see down into the water, and had no idea of the leeches’ whereabouts until she felt their painful little pincers, attracted to the oil, sucking at her most tender parts.
The bloodsuckers were everywhere and she could sense the horror of what was about to happen. When the first leech attached itself to Grace’s inner thigh, just below her pussy, she screamed. Feeling it’s sharp teeth-hooks exploring her body, testing her flesh, Special Agent Miller gasped.
“Get them off me you bastard, get me out of here!”
The bulge at Devonshire’s crotch told the hapless girl that would not be happening anytime soon.
“Who are you working for Miller?” The key question was repeated.
“You Marcus, you fucking hell … please, I work for MI6!”
Grace’s body convulsed when the little mouth-claws dug in and the creature anchored itself to her leg. A still sharper pain followed as the three hypodermic needle-like fangs sank into her flesh and began sucking her blood.
Another leech fastened itself on Grace’s left ass cheek, near her anus. She threw her head back and screamed once more when she felt the snappy little fangs dig in. Another found the underside of Grace’s left breast, causing her to twist and jerk in a fruitless attempt to dislodge the parasite, before several more quickly attached themselves to the poor girl’s ass, one in particular slithering its way into the tight hole.
Special Agent Miller writhed and squirmed in the tank as leeches hung from her nipples like decorative tassels, their sucking incisors penetrating her flesh. At each place where a leech had started to suck, Grace felt a stinging sensation that quickly grew more painful.
More leeches found Grace’s breasts, growing fat on her blood. Then one found her left nipple-teat and fastened itself to the bud, nearly engulfing the small, tender stub of flesh in its slippery jaws, causing the Special Agent to shake frantically, but uselessly, in an effort to dislodge it.
And then …
“Ohhhhh, fucking hell!”
Now the leeches had found her pussy. Several were hanging from her outer lips. With horror Grace sensed one of the leeches probing near her clitoris. Unlike the other leeches which had fastened themselves where they first touched her skin, this one seemed to be exploring, the soft inner folds of her pussy drawing it further inside as it wormed its way into her body. The captive girl felt the pricking sensation as the bloodsucker navigated around her sensitive flesh before digging in its teeth on one side to pull itself along. It seemed to be seeking just the right place to engorge both itself and the hardening little nub.
Grace involuntarily held her breath, as if it would do any good, when she felt the sharp teeth nearing her clitoris.
“GET. IT. OFF!” Grace yelled as it’s multiplicity of jaws dug into the fleshy nub and the slithering creature pulled itself under the unsealed clitoral hood to position itself directly onto her clitoris.
Devonshire looked with lust-fuelled satisfaction at Grace’s face. The girl’s eyes were wide with fright, her mouth open, ready to scream. No longer twisting, she seemed to be frozen in fear of what was about to happen … and then she felt the leech digging its jaws in firmly around the stiffening glans.
Could the diabolical creature being have any sense of what it was about to do?
When it sank its fangs directly into Grace’s clit, the poor girl screamed to high heaven. Her vision exploded into a blurred white light, and her entire world shrank into a sharp, radiating pain that emanated from her core to run unfettered throughout her nubile, naked and bound body.
To Be Continued …
Last edited:
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Grief Laid Bare (7)
The day following Kat’s funeral …
The cell complex in the basement of the MI6 SIS HQ in Vauxhall, London
With her body red and swollen from attention of those slivering black creatures, Grace Miller was now once again hung naked from the ceiling hook, her thighs spread by virtue of her ankles being secured to deadbolts in the floor.
They had not seemed interested in really questioning her when she was fastened into the leech infested water tank, it was as if Devonshire had put her in there simply to amuse himself!
The Head of MI6 had left the cell again once the leeches had rendered Grace virtually unconscious with their constant vampiric activity, and so now she was once again at Cooper’s mercy. “The Bastard” had worked her over time after time, knowing exactly where to punch and slap, pulling at clamps that had been attached to her nipples and clit, beating her breasts … and now, once more, the broken girl was barely conscious …
Then Marcus Devonshire returned to the scene of the action, whereupon he stood and simply stared at the beautifully erotic sight before him. A stretched naked girl was a glorious thing to behold, Grace’s breasts, full, firm and rounded were heaving. Devonshire wanted to reach out and touch the girl, to rub his fingers over her hairless mound, slide his longest digit deep inside her body and make her moan …
There were many ways to make a girl talk …
“Do you mind if I …” The Head of MI6 smiled at his Chief Interrogator, indicating that he would like to take over, if only for a while, making a play of rolling up his sleeves and clenching his fist so that he could see the veins on his forearm stand out, before cracking his neck from side to side.
Then he reached into the back pocket of his suit pants and pulled out a small packet which he proceeded to crack under Grace’s nose.
“Well, hello there, Special Agent Miller,” he said softly, keeping his voice calm and level. As the pungent smell infused her nostrils Grace groaned as the life slowly ebbed back into her body. Devonshire enjoyed the moments when captives like Miller came round as their consciousness returned. The haze in her eyes was very evident, at least for the first thirty seconds until reality once more dawned and that expression of anguished torment and fear once again etched itself into her features.
With an unthought out hiss, Grace twisted her head to sneer at ‘The Bastard’. “Is that all you’ve got,” she spat.
Marcus Devonshire placed a wooden chair behind the hung girl and then had her lowered onto it. In seconds her wrists were unshackled and then re-secured behind her back.
“Better access to you this way Miller.” Grinning, he stepped forward, and leaning down he put his hands on the waist of Special Agent Miller letting his hold trail down over the slight flare of her hips and then upwards to roam across the sensitive flesh of her breasts. Then he inclined forward, speaking confidentially into the ears of his victim.
“I don’t need to punch you Miller in order to cause you pain, nor stretch or clamp you … but I will make you scream for your life, unless you admit to having being turned by the SVR or come up with a plausible reason as to why they murdered Novikova but let you go.”
He moved his hand along her flanks, then upwards over her ribs, stopping only when he found what he was looking for. When he pressed two fingers hard into her body Grace screamed, tipping her head backwards and writhing in agony as far as the bondage would allow.
“Stop, noooooooo!”
Devonshire felt his groin bulging and his hard shaft begin to throb. He looked back to see Cooper smiling and nodding, and then he pressed the same pressure point again once more causing the young Agent to squirm like a hooked fish.
“I know that you are painfully aware of just how many of these delightful spots you have on your body Miller, and I have all the time in the world to play with you, and all you would be left with would be bruises, along with those wonderful leech blemishes of course … it would be so much fun.”
Grace knew exactly how many places on her body could create such appalling agony and she groaned letting her head fall forward onto her chest.
For the next thirty minutes Devonshire asked no questions, he simply touched and pressed and dug into the most agonising pressure points that existed on a human body, initiating one long scream after another from the poor chained girl.
When he stopped, Grace hung, her chest heaving as she gasped for breath. Still conscious but unable to form any kind of coherent words.
Devonshire leaned into her again, this time moving his mouth to her ear and gently sucked upon the fleshy lobe. Lubricated with his saliva he licked and nibbled harder until, feeling her nubile body stir in their restraints, he heard her moan softly. He laughed and moved to cup her mound.
“Oh, you hot little cunt,” he grinned feeling the heat emanate from her as he moved his free hand to toy with her nipples until they stood proudly erect.
“Please, don’t …” Grace whispered.
“Are you wet for me yet, my hot little spy?”
Grace moaned, shaking her head from side to side. Her nipples were like hard little pebbles whilst her labia were now moist and pliant as her pussy opened up for him.
Devonshire slid a finger into her body, and as her wet, warmth enveloped him, he too groaned. Nibbling once more at her earlobe before trailing his mouth down to her neck, the monster bit and suckled at the flesh as he slid another finger into her pussy.
Grace moaned, she couldn’t help herself as a violent contraction shook her body.
Devonshire added a third finger to his penetrative invasion and then proceeded to vigorously finger-fuck the young Agent.
“Do you want my cock little spy?” He growled in a tone low enough for only Grace to hear, though he imagined that Cooper was watching with great interest. “Maybe you can fuck both of us?”
The captive girl moaned yet again, twisting in her chains. The Head of MI6 smiled at his victim, relishing her helplessness.
“Tell me you want my cock Miller.”
Grace shook her head.
“Why did those bastards let you go. Are you working for the Russians?”
He fucked her harder with his sopping wet fingers.
“Why Miller, tell me!”
She could feel the onset of her orgasm.
“Are you a Russian spy Special Agent Miller?”
Her whole body tensed and she pushed her hips into his hand.
“Oh, you little slut. Are you going to cum?”
“Grace had no time to speak before the climax took her. Her body and mind became senseless as the juices flowed through every fibre of her nubile frame.
“Fuckkkkkkkkkkkk!” Was all she could groan as Devonshire continued to finger her until every last drop of orgasmic release had leaked from between her thighs.
He stepped away laughing. “What a whore you are.” Then he paused before adding … “Are you working for the Russian SVR, Miller?”
Grace slowly raised her head, saliva drooling from her mouth, and looked her boss in the eye. It was time for her reveal.
“It wasn’t the Russians that killed Kat you monster, it was the Americans!”
This brings to and end Part I of “New Beginnings”, “Grief Laid Bare”. We will have a slight pause now for a day whilst anyone who wishes to is able to catch up. Part II of this series will be back on Friday as we begin the serialisation of Part II, “Breakfast in America”.
Thank you for your support …
The day following Kat’s funeral …
The cell complex in the basement of the MI6 SIS HQ in Vauxhall, London
With her body red and swollen from attention of those slivering black creatures, Grace Miller was now once again hung naked from the ceiling hook, her thighs spread by virtue of her ankles being secured to deadbolts in the floor.
They had not seemed interested in really questioning her when she was fastened into the leech infested water tank, it was as if Devonshire had put her in there simply to amuse himself!
The Head of MI6 had left the cell again once the leeches had rendered Grace virtually unconscious with their constant vampiric activity, and so now she was once again at Cooper’s mercy. “The Bastard” had worked her over time after time, knowing exactly where to punch and slap, pulling at clamps that had been attached to her nipples and clit, beating her breasts … and now, once more, the broken girl was barely conscious …
Then Marcus Devonshire returned to the scene of the action, whereupon he stood and simply stared at the beautifully erotic sight before him. A stretched naked girl was a glorious thing to behold, Grace’s breasts, full, firm and rounded were heaving. Devonshire wanted to reach out and touch the girl, to rub his fingers over her hairless mound, slide his longest digit deep inside her body and make her moan …
There were many ways to make a girl talk …
“Do you mind if I …” The Head of MI6 smiled at his Chief Interrogator, indicating that he would like to take over, if only for a while, making a play of rolling up his sleeves and clenching his fist so that he could see the veins on his forearm stand out, before cracking his neck from side to side.
Then he reached into the back pocket of his suit pants and pulled out a small packet which he proceeded to crack under Grace’s nose.
“Well, hello there, Special Agent Miller,” he said softly, keeping his voice calm and level. As the pungent smell infused her nostrils Grace groaned as the life slowly ebbed back into her body. Devonshire enjoyed the moments when captives like Miller came round as their consciousness returned. The haze in her eyes was very evident, at least for the first thirty seconds until reality once more dawned and that expression of anguished torment and fear once again etched itself into her features.
With an unthought out hiss, Grace twisted her head to sneer at ‘The Bastard’. “Is that all you’ve got,” she spat.
Marcus Devonshire placed a wooden chair behind the hung girl and then had her lowered onto it. In seconds her wrists were unshackled and then re-secured behind her back.
“Better access to you this way Miller.” Grinning, he stepped forward, and leaning down he put his hands on the waist of Special Agent Miller letting his hold trail down over the slight flare of her hips and then upwards to roam across the sensitive flesh of her breasts. Then he inclined forward, speaking confidentially into the ears of his victim.
“I don’t need to punch you Miller in order to cause you pain, nor stretch or clamp you … but I will make you scream for your life, unless you admit to having being turned by the SVR or come up with a plausible reason as to why they murdered Novikova but let you go.”
He moved his hand along her flanks, then upwards over her ribs, stopping only when he found what he was looking for. When he pressed two fingers hard into her body Grace screamed, tipping her head backwards and writhing in agony as far as the bondage would allow.
“Stop, noooooooo!”
Devonshire felt his groin bulging and his hard shaft begin to throb. He looked back to see Cooper smiling and nodding, and then he pressed the same pressure point again once more causing the young Agent to squirm like a hooked fish.
“I know that you are painfully aware of just how many of these delightful spots you have on your body Miller, and I have all the time in the world to play with you, and all you would be left with would be bruises, along with those wonderful leech blemishes of course … it would be so much fun.”
Grace knew exactly how many places on her body could create such appalling agony and she groaned letting her head fall forward onto her chest.
For the next thirty minutes Devonshire asked no questions, he simply touched and pressed and dug into the most agonising pressure points that existed on a human body, initiating one long scream after another from the poor chained girl.
When he stopped, Grace hung, her chest heaving as she gasped for breath. Still conscious but unable to form any kind of coherent words.
Devonshire leaned into her again, this time moving his mouth to her ear and gently sucked upon the fleshy lobe. Lubricated with his saliva he licked and nibbled harder until, feeling her nubile body stir in their restraints, he heard her moan softly. He laughed and moved to cup her mound.
“Oh, you hot little cunt,” he grinned feeling the heat emanate from her as he moved his free hand to toy with her nipples until they stood proudly erect.
“Please, don’t …” Grace whispered.
“Are you wet for me yet, my hot little spy?”
Grace moaned, shaking her head from side to side. Her nipples were like hard little pebbles whilst her labia were now moist and pliant as her pussy opened up for him.
Devonshire slid a finger into her body, and as her wet, warmth enveloped him, he too groaned. Nibbling once more at her earlobe before trailing his mouth down to her neck, the monster bit and suckled at the flesh as he slid another finger into her pussy.
Grace moaned, she couldn’t help herself as a violent contraction shook her body.
Devonshire added a third finger to his penetrative invasion and then proceeded to vigorously finger-fuck the young Agent.
“Do you want my cock little spy?” He growled in a tone low enough for only Grace to hear, though he imagined that Cooper was watching with great interest. “Maybe you can fuck both of us?”
The captive girl moaned yet again, twisting in her chains. The Head of MI6 smiled at his victim, relishing her helplessness.
“Tell me you want my cock Miller.”
Grace shook her head.
“Why did those bastards let you go. Are you working for the Russians?”
He fucked her harder with his sopping wet fingers.
“Why Miller, tell me!”
She could feel the onset of her orgasm.
“Are you a Russian spy Special Agent Miller?”
Her whole body tensed and she pushed her hips into his hand.
“Oh, you little slut. Are you going to cum?”
“Grace had no time to speak before the climax took her. Her body and mind became senseless as the juices flowed through every fibre of her nubile frame.
“Fuckkkkkkkkkkkk!” Was all she could groan as Devonshire continued to finger her until every last drop of orgasmic release had leaked from between her thighs.
He stepped away laughing. “What a whore you are.” Then he paused before adding … “Are you working for the Russian SVR, Miller?”
Grace slowly raised her head, saliva drooling from her mouth, and looked her boss in the eye. It was time for her reveal.
“It wasn’t the Russians that killed Kat you monster, it was the Americans!”
This brings to and end Part I of “New Beginnings”, “Grief Laid Bare”. We will have a slight pause now for a day whilst anyone who wishes to is able to catch up. Part II of this series will be back on Friday as we begin the serialisation of Part II, “Breakfast in America”.
Thank you for your support …
Wonderful stuff. Christ, that Devonshire is either a buffoon or a traitor, maybe both? Fed information only to have it confirmed by one of his top operators in duplicity, yet he just accepts it! Oh how the mighty shall fall!
@Wragg, Devonshire’s much higher rated according to my Loathometer compared to Cooper, who’s just a sadistic minion. Besides, how can I dislike any professional sadist, really?
@Wragg, Devonshire’s much higher rated according to my Loathometer compared to Cooper, who’s just a sadistic minion. Besides, how can I dislike any professional sadist, really?
Sharkman
Governor
Is there a reward for Grace? She has well done. In his sadistic eyes ... and body response. One more round leech feeding in the tank?
Devonshire has indeed some more fiendish ideas. Poor hot Grace ... I am sure she will mentally Die Another Day (2002).
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
After suffering so cruelly at the hands of her own team, is Grace Miller ready for duty? Read on to find out as we begin the serialisation of 'New Beginnings, Part II - Breakfast in America' ...
Breakfast in America (1)
SVR Headquarters, Yasenevo District of Moscow
The man from Kat’s funeral, the one who had on a black suit and tie with a white shirt, now wore jeans and a tight dark tee shirt that made it obvious to anyone watching just how well-built he was.
“Agent Komanov, Yuri …” came the welcome.
“Colonel Andreytov …” his response pleased Anatoly Andreytov, who believed he would never grow tired of being addressed as Colonel, his newly acquired SVR rank.
“Yuri …” Andreytov continued, “… tell me that everything is going to plan.”
“Yes Comrade Colonel it is. Miller has been interrogated and she allowed them to push her until they genuinely believed that she could take no more …”
“Then she told them about the Americans?”
“Yes Sir, she did.”
“Good, I have also released the ‘chatter’ for those idiots to pick up.” Andreytov sounded very smug as he continued to summarise the situation. “So, we eliminated Novikova and turned Miller into a double agent, all whilst sowing seeds of doubt in the minds of the British Secret Service?”
“Indeed Sir …”
Andreytov continued with his narrative, “And MI6 really believed that the Americans were present in that restaurant basement, which of course is a lie because they were not.”
“That is correct Comrade Colonel, and Miller gave them the name of Joseph Wiley, the US Secretary of State, though I believe she told her bosses that he was not present himself, but sponsored the US involvement and had a man sent over to London.”
“That is good,” Andreytov gloated, “… and so now the UK believes that America played a lead part in the death of Novikova because she knew enough to destabilise their bid to re-engage politically with Belarus?”
“Yes, Comrade Colonel.”
“And those fools still have no idea that Miller works for the SVR now?”
“Correct, Sir.”
“Perfect. Good work Agent Komanov, we will soon have the British and the Americans at one another’s throats, and then we will strike with the biggest Cyber Crime wave in history.”
The office of Marcus Devonshire, SIS Building, Vauxhall, London
Grace sat warily upright on the couch in Devonshire’s office, the view of London from their Vauxhall location looked imposing as the River Thames wound its route away to the near-horizon. She was dressed in a white shirt and jeans, looking casual and relaxed whilst feeling anything but. Two pots of steaming coffee in FCO emblazoned mugs sat on the table in front of them.
“We are proud of what you have achieved Special Agent Miller, I wanted you to know that. Your commitment to our great country has not gone unnoticed.”
Grace wanted to drive a knife blade through his eye, she hated this man who left her for dead and facilitated the murder of Ekaterina, but there was a caveat …
Of course, she still detested Devonshire but now she had to ‘play the game’. Whilst ever the Russians retained the potential to murder her family, Grace would have to be a good little Agent, appear to believe whatever bullshit Marcus Devonshire dished up, and make sure she had good information to feed back to her SVR Masters.
Fuck! She hated this. Grace wanted both Devonshire and Andreytov dead, but she was completely hamstrung!
“Thank you,” said Grace waiting for her boss to say something more.
“Are you ready to be assigned to a mission Special Agent Miller?”
He asked nothing about her well-being, offered up no apologies for the appalling torture he had personally meted out in the dungeon just several floors below from where they were now sitting, and was acting as if things were back to normal.
‘One day you monstrous bastard, one day …’ was the comforting thought passing through Grace’s mind as she once again imagined the blade cutting through his eyeball …
Grace stood and said, “I am ready to start work, Sir.”
It was true. She was … she had to be.
“It is always an honour to serve your country, Special Agent Miller,” he said, fingering the small metal Union Jack back secured to his suit lapel.
“There is no greater honour, I agree ... Sir” He looked at the girl before him with an invasive stare as his gaze slipped to her ample breasts pushing against the cotton of the white shirt.
Fleetingly he once again saw Grace Miller tied to that chair, naked and writhing under the invasive touch of his fingers.
“This operation is completely dark Miller. Despite what we think we know about US involvement in Ekaterina’s death, our friends Stateside must have no inclination that we suspect them. They cannot have even the slightest awareness of this mission.” He sipped at his coffee.
“Your job is to make contact with Joseph Wiley and find proof of his alleged involvement. Once we have that we can make a much more bold and much more controlled response. Do you understand Special Agent Miller?”
Grace nodded, recalling how, when she had recovered from the hell Devonshire, and that mother-fucking interrogator Cooper, had put her through, the Head of MI6 had calmly explained that despite Grace’s allegations, and the Russian chatter, more proof was required before the Americans could stand accused. If Grace wanted the job, then she had it … he thought he was doing her a favour, or maybe he just thought that this was another excellent opportunity to throw her to the dogs. What he did not realise was just how much he was compromising his own country by assigning her to this mission.
“Good, you fly out to Washington DC tomorrow morning Special Agent Miller.”
The meeting was over.
To Be Continued …
Breakfast in America (1)
SVR Headquarters, Yasenevo District of Moscow
The man from Kat’s funeral, the one who had on a black suit and tie with a white shirt, now wore jeans and a tight dark tee shirt that made it obvious to anyone watching just how well-built he was.
“Agent Komanov, Yuri …” came the welcome.
“Colonel Andreytov …” his response pleased Anatoly Andreytov, who believed he would never grow tired of being addressed as Colonel, his newly acquired SVR rank.
“Yuri …” Andreytov continued, “… tell me that everything is going to plan.”
“Yes Comrade Colonel it is. Miller has been interrogated and she allowed them to push her until they genuinely believed that she could take no more …”
“Then she told them about the Americans?”
“Yes Sir, she did.”
“Good, I have also released the ‘chatter’ for those idiots to pick up.” Andreytov sounded very smug as he continued to summarise the situation. “So, we eliminated Novikova and turned Miller into a double agent, all whilst sowing seeds of doubt in the minds of the British Secret Service?”
“Indeed Sir …”
Andreytov continued with his narrative, “And MI6 really believed that the Americans were present in that restaurant basement, which of course is a lie because they were not.”
“That is correct Comrade Colonel, and Miller gave them the name of Joseph Wiley, the US Secretary of State, though I believe she told her bosses that he was not present himself, but sponsored the US involvement and had a man sent over to London.”
“That is good,” Andreytov gloated, “… and so now the UK believes that America played a lead part in the death of Novikova because she knew enough to destabilise their bid to re-engage politically with Belarus?”
“Yes, Comrade Colonel.”
“And those fools still have no idea that Miller works for the SVR now?”
“Correct, Sir.”
“Perfect. Good work Agent Komanov, we will soon have the British and the Americans at one another’s throats, and then we will strike with the biggest Cyber Crime wave in history.”
The office of Marcus Devonshire, SIS Building, Vauxhall, London
Grace sat warily upright on the couch in Devonshire’s office, the view of London from their Vauxhall location looked imposing as the River Thames wound its route away to the near-horizon. She was dressed in a white shirt and jeans, looking casual and relaxed whilst feeling anything but. Two pots of steaming coffee in FCO emblazoned mugs sat on the table in front of them.
“We are proud of what you have achieved Special Agent Miller, I wanted you to know that. Your commitment to our great country has not gone unnoticed.”
Grace wanted to drive a knife blade through his eye, she hated this man who left her for dead and facilitated the murder of Ekaterina, but there was a caveat …
Of course, she still detested Devonshire but now she had to ‘play the game’. Whilst ever the Russians retained the potential to murder her family, Grace would have to be a good little Agent, appear to believe whatever bullshit Marcus Devonshire dished up, and make sure she had good information to feed back to her SVR Masters.
Fuck! She hated this. Grace wanted both Devonshire and Andreytov dead, but she was completely hamstrung!
“Thank you,” said Grace waiting for her boss to say something more.
“Are you ready to be assigned to a mission Special Agent Miller?”
He asked nothing about her well-being, offered up no apologies for the appalling torture he had personally meted out in the dungeon just several floors below from where they were now sitting, and was acting as if things were back to normal.
‘One day you monstrous bastard, one day …’ was the comforting thought passing through Grace’s mind as she once again imagined the blade cutting through his eyeball …
Grace stood and said, “I am ready to start work, Sir.”
It was true. She was … she had to be.
“It is always an honour to serve your country, Special Agent Miller,” he said, fingering the small metal Union Jack back secured to his suit lapel.
“There is no greater honour, I agree ... Sir” He looked at the girl before him with an invasive stare as his gaze slipped to her ample breasts pushing against the cotton of the white shirt.
Fleetingly he once again saw Grace Miller tied to that chair, naked and writhing under the invasive touch of his fingers.
“This operation is completely dark Miller. Despite what we think we know about US involvement in Ekaterina’s death, our friends Stateside must have no inclination that we suspect them. They cannot have even the slightest awareness of this mission.” He sipped at his coffee.
“Your job is to make contact with Joseph Wiley and find proof of his alleged involvement. Once we have that we can make a much more bold and much more controlled response. Do you understand Special Agent Miller?”
Grace nodded, recalling how, when she had recovered from the hell Devonshire, and that mother-fucking interrogator Cooper, had put her through, the Head of MI6 had calmly explained that despite Grace’s allegations, and the Russian chatter, more proof was required before the Americans could stand accused. If Grace wanted the job, then she had it … he thought he was doing her a favour, or maybe he just thought that this was another excellent opportunity to throw her to the dogs. What he did not realise was just how much he was compromising his own country by assigning her to this mission.
“Good, you fly out to Washington DC tomorrow morning Special Agent Miller.”
The meeting was over.
To Be Continued …
Angry reaction is for that bastard Marcus Devonshire, my loathometer is off the f’ing chart!
And he’s sooo stupid, or possibly a double agent himself, hmmm the latter is far far more likely.
And he’s sooo stupid, or possibly a double agent himself, hmmm the latter is far far more likely.
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Breakfast in America (2)
The Hay-Adams Hotel, 15 minutes from the White House Washington DC
It was the morning after her arrival in Washington DC. Having had her shower, Grace was eating breakfast, sitting at the table in her suite at the Hay-Adams hotel, wearing nothing but a short white robe, when the room phone rang.
“I’m sorry to bother you, Miss Miller,” said the reception clerk, “but there is a gentleman here to see you.”
“Does he have a name?” Grace enquired.
“Spence, ma’am.”
She looked at her watch. It was just nine o’clock, he wasn’t due for an hour. Her natural red flag was immediately activated.
“Okay thank you, you may send him up.” Grace poured herself another cup of coffee, got up, unlocked the door, and then took the Glock from her bag and laid it on the table, behind the coffee pot.
HQ had booked this place for her, which was no more than fifteen minutes from the political epi-centre of Washington DC. Even Devonshire had to agree that if she was to attract attention from a man like Joseph Whiley, she needed plush surroundings in which to do it … it was the least that bastard could do for her.
So here she was in Washington DC, just a few short days after spending time in the torture cells at the SIS MI6 building in London. For the British Secret Service, she was here to find proof that she knew did not exist, and for the Russian SVR Grace was tasked with inventing and planting that proof, in other words making sure it did exist.
Fuck … what a mess.
“Oh Kat,” she sighed, taking another sip of the comforting caffeine, “What would you do?”
Her late, lamented friend and lover had no time to answer because at that very same moment there was a tap on the door.
“It’s unlocked,” she called. The heavy wooden door swung inwards cautiously, and Grace rested her hand on the pistol. The man was certainly short and squat and balding, and carried a briefcase, fitting the description she had been given, and so Special Agent Miller relaxed.
“Miss Miller?” He was also definitely not an American, and undeniably taken aback at the sight of her, so obviously wearing only a skimpy dressing gown, with her feet bare, and her hair loose.
“Mr Spence? You’re very early.” Grace would need to revert to her natural well-heeled and roundly-educated eloquence for this mission, and so it was her natural accent from the English Stock-Broker belt that greeted the MI6 Fixer called Spence.
“I took the first flight in from the Big Apple. Mister Devonshire at HQ said you were in a hurry.” Spence was MI6, but based in the US, New York to be precise.
Grace waited, and he closed the door.
“Thank you, Mister Spence. Come and sit down. Would you like coffee?”
The question was genuine but as Grace sat her robe fell open and the poor man’s ability to speak was severely hampered.
Spence advanced, still very cautiously, and sat down. “You don’t keep your door locked Special Agent Miller? I could’ve been anybody.”
Grace used her left hand to move the coffee pot, and he gulped. “Holy shit!”
“It's the safest way to keep your guard down, and If you’d been ‘anybody’, Mister Spence, at least anyone I didn’t like the look of, you’d be dead already.”
“My God! They told me you were ruthless …”
“And now you know they were telling the truth, shall we get down to business?”
“Yes, sure. May I?”
“Be my guest.” Grace replied.
Carefully he moved various plates and pots and placed his briefcase on the table, while Grace sipped her coffee. He opened the case and delved into it.
“One set of papers and a new ID.”
Grace nodded as Spence held out the little booklet. “There you go.”
Grace opened it. She was a British citizen named Grace Johnstone. Spence believed in sticking to the correct Christian names where possible, as he had a theory that the quickest way to detect someone using a false identity was to address them by their true Christian name and watch their response.
Special Agent Miller reflected on her back story. Grace Johnstone. Born in England, in the Surrey Stockbroker belt and attended Oxford University (all true). Her father was an entrepreneur, who, through funding several start-ups in the dot.com boom era, had made hundreds of millions. When both her parents were killed in a car crash Grace became the sole heir to and benefactor of her father’s money.
Now, all Grace did was travel the world as a socialite, and tonight she would be socialising at a Fall Season House and Garden tour, at the Whitehouse no less, to be followed by a lavish dinner and ball. Whiley would be there and she had to make him hers, at least for the night.
That part she could do … but the part about having to create the evidence before planting and then ‘finding’ it still had her bewildered.
“Anything else?” Grace asked.
‘‘Oh, yes. Mister Devonshire said to give you this.” He handed over a sealed envelope. Grace slit it and scanned the brief note.
“Special Agent Miller, you must do whatever it takes to see this through. We absolutely have to have the required proof and we need it quickly. It’s the only way to avenge Ekaterina.”
What the fuck do you care about seeking revenge for Kat you moron. Words that stayed inside Kat’s head as she continued to read.
“… But you must remain covert because if your cover is blown this issue between Britain and the United States could quickly escalate into something far more serious.”
“Thank you, Mister Spence.” Grace carefully folded the note back up and handed it over to her guest for him to destroy. “Are you going to have breakfast with me?” Special Agent Miller asked as she closed the open front of her white towelling robe, hiding away her partially exposed breasts.
“No. Thank you." He was still flustered. "Much as I’d like to, I’m taking the next flight back to New York.”
“Well, then.” She got up, smiling. “Thank you for coming and maybe we will meet again some time.”
“It’s quite possible, Special Agent Miller.”
Grace closed the door behind him, locked it, and placed the papers and passport in her bag, along with the pistol. Then she got dressed in jeans and a shirt, thrust her feet into a pair of black ankle boots, checked around the suite, and made her way downstairs. The party was tonight, but right now she would take a walk around DC and get her mind straight.
To Be Continued …
The Hay-Adams Hotel, 15 minutes from the White House Washington DC
It was the morning after her arrival in Washington DC. Having had her shower, Grace was eating breakfast, sitting at the table in her suite at the Hay-Adams hotel, wearing nothing but a short white robe, when the room phone rang.
“I’m sorry to bother you, Miss Miller,” said the reception clerk, “but there is a gentleman here to see you.”
“Does he have a name?” Grace enquired.
“Spence, ma’am.”
She looked at her watch. It was just nine o’clock, he wasn’t due for an hour. Her natural red flag was immediately activated.
“Okay thank you, you may send him up.” Grace poured herself another cup of coffee, got up, unlocked the door, and then took the Glock from her bag and laid it on the table, behind the coffee pot.
HQ had booked this place for her, which was no more than fifteen minutes from the political epi-centre of Washington DC. Even Devonshire had to agree that if she was to attract attention from a man like Joseph Whiley, she needed plush surroundings in which to do it … it was the least that bastard could do for her.
So here she was in Washington DC, just a few short days after spending time in the torture cells at the SIS MI6 building in London. For the British Secret Service, she was here to find proof that she knew did not exist, and for the Russian SVR Grace was tasked with inventing and planting that proof, in other words making sure it did exist.
Fuck … what a mess.
“Oh Kat,” she sighed, taking another sip of the comforting caffeine, “What would you do?”
Her late, lamented friend and lover had no time to answer because at that very same moment there was a tap on the door.
“It’s unlocked,” she called. The heavy wooden door swung inwards cautiously, and Grace rested her hand on the pistol. The man was certainly short and squat and balding, and carried a briefcase, fitting the description she had been given, and so Special Agent Miller relaxed.
“Miss Miller?” He was also definitely not an American, and undeniably taken aback at the sight of her, so obviously wearing only a skimpy dressing gown, with her feet bare, and her hair loose.
“Mr Spence? You’re very early.” Grace would need to revert to her natural well-heeled and roundly-educated eloquence for this mission, and so it was her natural accent from the English Stock-Broker belt that greeted the MI6 Fixer called Spence.
“I took the first flight in from the Big Apple. Mister Devonshire at HQ said you were in a hurry.” Spence was MI6, but based in the US, New York to be precise.
Grace waited, and he closed the door.
“Thank you, Mister Spence. Come and sit down. Would you like coffee?”
The question was genuine but as Grace sat her robe fell open and the poor man’s ability to speak was severely hampered.
Spence advanced, still very cautiously, and sat down. “You don’t keep your door locked Special Agent Miller? I could’ve been anybody.”
Grace used her left hand to move the coffee pot, and he gulped. “Holy shit!”
“It's the safest way to keep your guard down, and If you’d been ‘anybody’, Mister Spence, at least anyone I didn’t like the look of, you’d be dead already.”
“My God! They told me you were ruthless …”
“And now you know they were telling the truth, shall we get down to business?”
“Yes, sure. May I?”
“Be my guest.” Grace replied.
Carefully he moved various plates and pots and placed his briefcase on the table, while Grace sipped her coffee. He opened the case and delved into it.
“One set of papers and a new ID.”
Grace nodded as Spence held out the little booklet. “There you go.”
Grace opened it. She was a British citizen named Grace Johnstone. Spence believed in sticking to the correct Christian names where possible, as he had a theory that the quickest way to detect someone using a false identity was to address them by their true Christian name and watch their response.
Special Agent Miller reflected on her back story. Grace Johnstone. Born in England, in the Surrey Stockbroker belt and attended Oxford University (all true). Her father was an entrepreneur, who, through funding several start-ups in the dot.com boom era, had made hundreds of millions. When both her parents were killed in a car crash Grace became the sole heir to and benefactor of her father’s money.
Now, all Grace did was travel the world as a socialite, and tonight she would be socialising at a Fall Season House and Garden tour, at the Whitehouse no less, to be followed by a lavish dinner and ball. Whiley would be there and she had to make him hers, at least for the night.
That part she could do … but the part about having to create the evidence before planting and then ‘finding’ it still had her bewildered.
“Anything else?” Grace asked.
‘‘Oh, yes. Mister Devonshire said to give you this.” He handed over a sealed envelope. Grace slit it and scanned the brief note.
“Special Agent Miller, you must do whatever it takes to see this through. We absolutely have to have the required proof and we need it quickly. It’s the only way to avenge Ekaterina.”
What the fuck do you care about seeking revenge for Kat you moron. Words that stayed inside Kat’s head as she continued to read.
“… But you must remain covert because if your cover is blown this issue between Britain and the United States could quickly escalate into something far more serious.”
“Thank you, Mister Spence.” Grace carefully folded the note back up and handed it over to her guest for him to destroy. “Are you going to have breakfast with me?” Special Agent Miller asked as she closed the open front of her white towelling robe, hiding away her partially exposed breasts.
“No. Thank you." He was still flustered. "Much as I’d like to, I’m taking the next flight back to New York.”
“Well, then.” She got up, smiling. “Thank you for coming and maybe we will meet again some time.”
“It’s quite possible, Special Agent Miller.”
Grace closed the door behind him, locked it, and placed the papers and passport in her bag, along with the pistol. Then she got dressed in jeans and a shirt, thrust her feet into a pair of black ankle boots, checked around the suite, and made her way downstairs. The party was tonight, but right now she would take a walk around DC and get her mind straight.
To Be Continued …
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Breakfast in America (3)
At the Fall Ball, following the Grand Tour of the Whitehouse and Gardens
“Mister Whiley, do you dance?” Grace motioned toward the dance floor where other couples were already gathering. With a smile, Joseph J Whiley II stood and held out his arm. Grace placed her right hand in his left and allowed him to lead her to the centre of the dance floor.
Just as they had been doing all day, the gathered throng parted to make room for the US Secretary of State. Special Agent Miller felt his touch upon her back, and placed her left hand upon his shoulder. When the music reached an appropriate beat, he sashayed her about the floor.
Although not a great dancer, it was apparent Secretary Whiley knew the steps and was capable of leading a partner. Having little dance experience, herself, Grace frequently had to correct her moves in order to keep up with him. He was patient and never showed the slightest annoyance over her missteps, simply delighted to be in the close presence of this sensual socialite as he guided the young beauty around the polished floor of the White House Ball Room.
The song was coming to an end. “Could you ask them to play another slow one?” Grace said to the Secretary.
“Real slow, you mean Miss Johnstone?”
Grace smiled her most flirtatious smile. Whiley nodded to indicate that he understood and went directly to the leader of the band while his gorgeous partner waited on the dance floor. A few words exchanged and the band began playing a very slow, romantic piece.
The Secretary returned with a look of accomplishment.
“Real Slow,” he announced. She smiled.
Once again, they assumed the commencement pose. However, this time she crept closer to him which meant her body brushed against his. As she swayed with the Secretary, Grace made sure her breasts were pushed hard against his chest. All part of the job. She needed this man to want to fuck her, and take her somewhere private in order to do so.
She moved her face close to his ear. “I like dancing with you, Mister Secretary.”
“Thank you, Miss Johnstone, I like doing this with you too.”
“Please call me Grace.”
“And you must call me Joe.”
Now, she was really making progress. Unaccompanied by his wife to this formal occasion, Secretary Whiley had been eyeing Grace all day, and the young Special Agent had made no secret of the fact that was enjoying his attention. Wearing tight, body-hugging clothes to the tour, Grace had pouted and smiled, acting both shy and forward … in short, she had spent the day trying to make Joe Whiley II crazy about her. It seemed now that her efforts were paying off. Grace nuzzled even closer, almost resting her head on his shoulder.
“Do you? Do you like me … Joe? Really? Am I the kind of girl you like?”
“Yes, you are, very much so.”
“Good. Because you’re the kind of man I like.” She eased her head into his fleshy jowls. “I like a strong man.”
“Strong?” His tone suggested he wasn’t sure of the what she meant.
“Big, strong and powerful, oh so powerful!”
“Ah!” he nodded.
“Would you like to know how much I like men like that … men like you?”
“How much?”
“Very, very much.” Grace purred. “For a man like that, I would do anything.”
His eyebrows rose. “Anything?”
“Anything that man wants me to do.” Special Agent Miller fluttered her eyes and then cast them down … perfectly submissive behaviour and it hit the spot flawlessly.
It suddenly occurred to Grace that they had stopped dancing. The same realisation must have come to the Secretary, because on the next downbeat, he started them moving again.
A couple, both fair skinned, blond, and probably in their thirties, were dancing to their left. The Secretary made a slight nod in their direction.
“Do you think that girl is pretty?” he asked. “Not so pretty as you, of course. But … pretty?”
“She’s pretty,” Grace agreed.
“Pretty enough to kiss?” He was starting to confuse his dance partner, and she tried not to overreact.
“Do you want to kiss her … Joe?”
“Not me,” he said. “Do you like her enough to kiss?”
“Do I want to kiss her?” Grace paused and then realised what he was doing. “I told you, Joe, I’ll do anything for the right man.”
“And who here tonight is the right man … Grace?” The Secretary looked down into her eyes.
“Only you,” Grace whispered her reply, pushing her chest harder against his.
He exhaled with some force. “May I see you tomorrow?”
Fuck – yes! He’s on the hook!
“I’d like that very much Joe. Should we meet here? Is your office here?” Grace Miller knew full well his office was at Foggy Bottom in the Harry S Truman building, but ‘Grace Johnstone’ wouldn’t necessarily have known that.
“No, my office is a few blocks away. We should meet at my house, or at least my Washington residence.”
“Your house?”
“Yes, I will send a car to pick you up. Don’t worry, my driver is very discreet. Where are you staying?”
“The Hay-Adams Hotel.”
“Okay, your transport will arrive at seven o’clock tomorrow night.”
“I will look forward to it, Joe.” Grace looked as bashful as she could and gave him her warmest smile.
The Hay-Adams Hotel, 15 minutes from the White House Washington DC
“How’d it go?” She had made the call directly to Marcus Devonshire’s private phone, as instructed.
“Fine. He’s sending a car for me at seven … tomorrow.”
“Whiley is? Really?”
“I’ve got a private date with him at his home.”
“Good girl.”
“Being good had nothing to do with it.” Grace sighed expressing the exasperation she felt at actually having to talk with a man she considered to be evil and moronic.
“Well,” he said, “… you know what to do.”
“Fuck him, search his home, find or create the required evidence and report back.”
“That’s it, Special Agent Miller, and I’m certain it’s a task you will warm to.”
Fuck you Devonshire … “Will that be all … Sir?”
“Yes Grace. Keep me posted.”
The call ended and Grace fell back onto the bed. How the fucking hell could she do this? What evidence could she actually find or create or … plant? She would need emails that talked about Whiley’s team being in London, and his knowledge of what happened there. Or … or … or what else?
At least now she would be inside his home, with him, and she would simply have to hope for the best.
To Be Continued …
At the Fall Ball, following the Grand Tour of the Whitehouse and Gardens
“Mister Whiley, do you dance?” Grace motioned toward the dance floor where other couples were already gathering. With a smile, Joseph J Whiley II stood and held out his arm. Grace placed her right hand in his left and allowed him to lead her to the centre of the dance floor.
Just as they had been doing all day, the gathered throng parted to make room for the US Secretary of State. Special Agent Miller felt his touch upon her back, and placed her left hand upon his shoulder. When the music reached an appropriate beat, he sashayed her about the floor.
Although not a great dancer, it was apparent Secretary Whiley knew the steps and was capable of leading a partner. Having little dance experience, herself, Grace frequently had to correct her moves in order to keep up with him. He was patient and never showed the slightest annoyance over her missteps, simply delighted to be in the close presence of this sensual socialite as he guided the young beauty around the polished floor of the White House Ball Room.
The song was coming to an end. “Could you ask them to play another slow one?” Grace said to the Secretary.
“Real slow, you mean Miss Johnstone?”
Grace smiled her most flirtatious smile. Whiley nodded to indicate that he understood and went directly to the leader of the band while his gorgeous partner waited on the dance floor. A few words exchanged and the band began playing a very slow, romantic piece.
The Secretary returned with a look of accomplishment.
“Real Slow,” he announced. She smiled.
Once again, they assumed the commencement pose. However, this time she crept closer to him which meant her body brushed against his. As she swayed with the Secretary, Grace made sure her breasts were pushed hard against his chest. All part of the job. She needed this man to want to fuck her, and take her somewhere private in order to do so.
She moved her face close to his ear. “I like dancing with you, Mister Secretary.”
“Thank you, Miss Johnstone, I like doing this with you too.”
“Please call me Grace.”
“And you must call me Joe.”
Now, she was really making progress. Unaccompanied by his wife to this formal occasion, Secretary Whiley had been eyeing Grace all day, and the young Special Agent had made no secret of the fact that was enjoying his attention. Wearing tight, body-hugging clothes to the tour, Grace had pouted and smiled, acting both shy and forward … in short, she had spent the day trying to make Joe Whiley II crazy about her. It seemed now that her efforts were paying off. Grace nuzzled even closer, almost resting her head on his shoulder.
“Do you? Do you like me … Joe? Really? Am I the kind of girl you like?”
“Yes, you are, very much so.”
“Good. Because you’re the kind of man I like.” She eased her head into his fleshy jowls. “I like a strong man.”
“Strong?” His tone suggested he wasn’t sure of the what she meant.
“Big, strong and powerful, oh so powerful!”
“Ah!” he nodded.
“Would you like to know how much I like men like that … men like you?”
“How much?”
“Very, very much.” Grace purred. “For a man like that, I would do anything.”
His eyebrows rose. “Anything?”
“Anything that man wants me to do.” Special Agent Miller fluttered her eyes and then cast them down … perfectly submissive behaviour and it hit the spot flawlessly.
It suddenly occurred to Grace that they had stopped dancing. The same realisation must have come to the Secretary, because on the next downbeat, he started them moving again.
A couple, both fair skinned, blond, and probably in their thirties, were dancing to their left. The Secretary made a slight nod in their direction.
“Do you think that girl is pretty?” he asked. “Not so pretty as you, of course. But … pretty?”
“She’s pretty,” Grace agreed.
“Pretty enough to kiss?” He was starting to confuse his dance partner, and she tried not to overreact.
“Do you want to kiss her … Joe?”
“Not me,” he said. “Do you like her enough to kiss?”
“Do I want to kiss her?” Grace paused and then realised what he was doing. “I told you, Joe, I’ll do anything for the right man.”
“And who here tonight is the right man … Grace?” The Secretary looked down into her eyes.
“Only you,” Grace whispered her reply, pushing her chest harder against his.
He exhaled with some force. “May I see you tomorrow?”
Fuck – yes! He’s on the hook!
“I’d like that very much Joe. Should we meet here? Is your office here?” Grace Miller knew full well his office was at Foggy Bottom in the Harry S Truman building, but ‘Grace Johnstone’ wouldn’t necessarily have known that.
“No, my office is a few blocks away. We should meet at my house, or at least my Washington residence.”
“Your house?”
“Yes, I will send a car to pick you up. Don’t worry, my driver is very discreet. Where are you staying?”
“The Hay-Adams Hotel.”
“Okay, your transport will arrive at seven o’clock tomorrow night.”
“I will look forward to it, Joe.” Grace looked as bashful as she could and gave him her warmest smile.
The Hay-Adams Hotel, 15 minutes from the White House Washington DC
“How’d it go?” She had made the call directly to Marcus Devonshire’s private phone, as instructed.
“Fine. He’s sending a car for me at seven … tomorrow.”
“Whiley is? Really?”
“I’ve got a private date with him at his home.”
“Good girl.”
“Being good had nothing to do with it.” Grace sighed expressing the exasperation she felt at actually having to talk with a man she considered to be evil and moronic.
“Well,” he said, “… you know what to do.”
“Fuck him, search his home, find or create the required evidence and report back.”
“That’s it, Special Agent Miller, and I’m certain it’s a task you will warm to.”
Fuck you Devonshire … “Will that be all … Sir?”
“Yes Grace. Keep me posted.”
The call ended and Grace fell back onto the bed. How the fucking hell could she do this? What evidence could she actually find or create or … plant? She would need emails that talked about Whiley’s team being in London, and his knowledge of what happened there. Or … or … or what else?
At least now she would be inside his home, with him, and she would simply have to hope for the best.
To Be Continued …
That's gone well, up to now, Grace!
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Breakfast in America (4)
The Washington home of Joseph J Whiley II, US Secretary of State
A large black Range Rover Evoque stopped in front of the Hays-Adams hotel precisely at 7 p.m. The driver was tall and dark suited, and yes, he was wearing shades despite the time of day. He hopped out of his seat and trotted to the passenger side to open the door for Grace. With an affable smile she entered the luxury vehicle, and, by the time she had settled herself into the seat and readjusted her short red dress, the driver had the car moving again.
He drove in silence and with haste, negotiating corners with only a moderate decrease in speed. Grace supposed he was under orders to deliver her to the destination with no undue delay and as inconspicuously as possible, though whether or not driving like this was considered to be inconspicuous, she wasn’t sure. As they weaved the road system Grace had no idea where in the city they were, when the car finally came to a stop. It was somewhere on the outskirts where buildings were larger and far more spread out. The only house within sight was a two-story white one with a manicured front garden. It had green shutters and an elaborate trim at the base of its pitched roof.
A pathway through fresh cut shrubbery led to the home’s entrance. The driver escorted Grace to the front door and then rapped twice before standing to the side. To Special Agent Miller’s complete surprise, when the door opened, it was a woman standing in the threshold. She was a blonde in her early forties with light skin, blue eyes, and a sharp nose. She was a little shorter than Grace, and she wore a yellow dress that covered what appeared to be an athletically robust frame.
Upon seeing the nubile girl in the red dress, the woman’s eyes darted from the younger girl’s head to her toes, before the corners of her mouth curled upwards. “Welcome. Miss Grace Johnstone, I presume?” She offered a hand and beckoned Grace to enter. The woman said a few words to the driver, and he departed with a smart turn on his heels, allowing the door to close, leaving Grace and this female, whoever she was, alone in a tastefully furnished hallway.
The Special Agent had no idea why this woman seemed so pleased to see her. “Ahh, Miss Johnstone!” It was the Secretary. He bounded in from another room, his smile beaming, his attire informal, his collar undone. “How nice to see you again!”
Despite her jitters, it was a relief for Grace to see him. At least she knew now that she was in the right place, but she still had no idea what this other woman was doing there. Is she his maid? She doesn’t look like a housekeeper. But she’s here, in his home, so she must be on his staff in some capacity. Grace’s mind whirred into overdrive, but she managed to focus only on Secretary Whiley as she made what she considered to be a dignified greeting to the Senior Government Officer.
“Miss Johnstone,” he said, “… this is Maria.” Their relationship seemed to be very cordial indeed, far more so than he would have allowed with one of his staff members, surely?
“Come.” He held out a hand to guide Grace. She thought that Maria had been dismissed, but now the Special Agent was to follow her upstairs. She tiptoed up the staircase, the Secretary right behind her, and found herself in a second-floor bedroom that had a distinctive feminine quality about it. It had more touches of pink and delicate lace than she would have thought the preference of a male. There was, however, a large, sturdy brass bed that one could tell was just the sort of sleeping place a big man like Secretary Whiley would require. The blond woman was turning down the covers, making it ready. How very accommodating of her.
Grace was motionless, mouth agape, asking herself what the fuck was going on, when the Secretary waved her over toward the foot of the bed.
“Sit here.” He positioned Grace. “Maria will tell you what to do.”
Now the younger girl was thoroughly confused. She would take charge of this? What the hell is going on? Maria stepped up to where Grace had been positioned and stroked the Special Agent’s cheek with the back of her hand.
“Mmmm,” she hummed.
Fucking hell.
Meanwhile, the Secretary placed a chair just away from the bed, positioning it so it was facing the two females. He relaxed himself into it, looking like a man in a cinema awaiting the start of the movie. Maria slid her hand down to Grace’s neck and then on to her shoulder. From there, she allowed her fingers to wander over the bare expanse of upper chest and across to the front zipper on Grace’s short, red dress.
Grace’s mind was filled with confusing thoughts as her eyes darted everywhere around the room, anywhere that was, except directly at the woman who was now touching her so intimately.
Was she … his wife? Given her comfort and disposition in this house, that had to be the only explanation.
The woman’s nimble fingers began to slowly pull the small metal tag downwards and the dress pulled apart to reveal the cleavage of the Special Agent’s ample breasts.
“Stand up Grace,” Whiley ordered, allow Maria access to your body.
Then Grace got it.
Maria was going to undress her while her husband, if that’s what Joseph J Whiley II actually was, watched. Although Grace tried not to act as if this was a little strange, she was in fact, flabbergasted. What kind of Svengali power does this man wield over his wife to be able to get her to do this for him? To have her strip his next sexual conquest before his very eyes! Grace barely had time to mull this over before her dress was off and deposited on a nearby table.
She next slapped at the outside of Grace’s arms and gestured upward. Had she lost her tongue or were the gestures all part of the power play that was clearly going on here.
“Mmmm,” Maria purred again, gazing at Grace’s exposed, braless chest. She cupped the underside of her left breast, and weighed it in her hand like she was estimating the weight of a bag of flour.
“Mm-hmmm.” She gave an approving glance at her husband, who licked his lips as he took it all in. Grace didn’t know what type of strange marriage these two had, but it was making her feel most uncomfortable.
She hadn’t planned on having his wife involved.
To Be Continued …
The Washington home of Joseph J Whiley II, US Secretary of State
A large black Range Rover Evoque stopped in front of the Hays-Adams hotel precisely at 7 p.m. The driver was tall and dark suited, and yes, he was wearing shades despite the time of day. He hopped out of his seat and trotted to the passenger side to open the door for Grace. With an affable smile she entered the luxury vehicle, and, by the time she had settled herself into the seat and readjusted her short red dress, the driver had the car moving again.
He drove in silence and with haste, negotiating corners with only a moderate decrease in speed. Grace supposed he was under orders to deliver her to the destination with no undue delay and as inconspicuously as possible, though whether or not driving like this was considered to be inconspicuous, she wasn’t sure. As they weaved the road system Grace had no idea where in the city they were, when the car finally came to a stop. It was somewhere on the outskirts where buildings were larger and far more spread out. The only house within sight was a two-story white one with a manicured front garden. It had green shutters and an elaborate trim at the base of its pitched roof.
A pathway through fresh cut shrubbery led to the home’s entrance. The driver escorted Grace to the front door and then rapped twice before standing to the side. To Special Agent Miller’s complete surprise, when the door opened, it was a woman standing in the threshold. She was a blonde in her early forties with light skin, blue eyes, and a sharp nose. She was a little shorter than Grace, and she wore a yellow dress that covered what appeared to be an athletically robust frame.
Upon seeing the nubile girl in the red dress, the woman’s eyes darted from the younger girl’s head to her toes, before the corners of her mouth curled upwards. “Welcome. Miss Grace Johnstone, I presume?” She offered a hand and beckoned Grace to enter. The woman said a few words to the driver, and he departed with a smart turn on his heels, allowing the door to close, leaving Grace and this female, whoever she was, alone in a tastefully furnished hallway.
The Special Agent had no idea why this woman seemed so pleased to see her. “Ahh, Miss Johnstone!” It was the Secretary. He bounded in from another room, his smile beaming, his attire informal, his collar undone. “How nice to see you again!”
Despite her jitters, it was a relief for Grace to see him. At least she knew now that she was in the right place, but she still had no idea what this other woman was doing there. Is she his maid? She doesn’t look like a housekeeper. But she’s here, in his home, so she must be on his staff in some capacity. Grace’s mind whirred into overdrive, but she managed to focus only on Secretary Whiley as she made what she considered to be a dignified greeting to the Senior Government Officer.
“Miss Johnstone,” he said, “… this is Maria.” Their relationship seemed to be very cordial indeed, far more so than he would have allowed with one of his staff members, surely?
“Come.” He held out a hand to guide Grace. She thought that Maria had been dismissed, but now the Special Agent was to follow her upstairs. She tiptoed up the staircase, the Secretary right behind her, and found herself in a second-floor bedroom that had a distinctive feminine quality about it. It had more touches of pink and delicate lace than she would have thought the preference of a male. There was, however, a large, sturdy brass bed that one could tell was just the sort of sleeping place a big man like Secretary Whiley would require. The blond woman was turning down the covers, making it ready. How very accommodating of her.
Grace was motionless, mouth agape, asking herself what the fuck was going on, when the Secretary waved her over toward the foot of the bed.
“Sit here.” He positioned Grace. “Maria will tell you what to do.”
Now the younger girl was thoroughly confused. She would take charge of this? What the hell is going on? Maria stepped up to where Grace had been positioned and stroked the Special Agent’s cheek with the back of her hand.
“Mmmm,” she hummed.
Fucking hell.
Meanwhile, the Secretary placed a chair just away from the bed, positioning it so it was facing the two females. He relaxed himself into it, looking like a man in a cinema awaiting the start of the movie. Maria slid her hand down to Grace’s neck and then on to her shoulder. From there, she allowed her fingers to wander over the bare expanse of upper chest and across to the front zipper on Grace’s short, red dress.
Grace’s mind was filled with confusing thoughts as her eyes darted everywhere around the room, anywhere that was, except directly at the woman who was now touching her so intimately.
Was she … his wife? Given her comfort and disposition in this house, that had to be the only explanation.
The woman’s nimble fingers began to slowly pull the small metal tag downwards and the dress pulled apart to reveal the cleavage of the Special Agent’s ample breasts.
“Stand up Grace,” Whiley ordered, allow Maria access to your body.
Then Grace got it.
Maria was going to undress her while her husband, if that’s what Joseph J Whiley II actually was, watched. Although Grace tried not to act as if this was a little strange, she was in fact, flabbergasted. What kind of Svengali power does this man wield over his wife to be able to get her to do this for him? To have her strip his next sexual conquest before his very eyes! Grace barely had time to mull this over before her dress was off and deposited on a nearby table.
She next slapped at the outside of Grace’s arms and gestured upward. Had she lost her tongue or were the gestures all part of the power play that was clearly going on here.
“Mmmm,” Maria purred again, gazing at Grace’s exposed, braless chest. She cupped the underside of her left breast, and weighed it in her hand like she was estimating the weight of a bag of flour.
“Mm-hmmm.” She gave an approving glance at her husband, who licked his lips as he took it all in. Grace didn’t know what type of strange marriage these two had, but it was making her feel most uncomfortable.
She hadn’t planned on having his wife involved.
To Be Continued …
C’mon, Grace, you can take the opportunity to have both of them eating out of your hand! I have faith in you!
Not sure how she'll manage to sneak off and have a gander around the house... she'll have to work double hard to get them both to doze off!
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Breakfast in America (5)
The Washington home of Joseph J Whiley II, US Secretary of State
When Secretary Whiley said that they would meet at his house, Grace simply assumed that she was being invited to the politically convenient home that the US Government provided him with in Washington, she never dreamed that she’d come face to face with his spouse, let alone one so compliant to the situation.
‘What the fucking hell is taking her so long?’ Grace’s inner voice spoke. ‘Please, Mrs Whiley, Maria, whatever … just finish stripping me and get out so your husband and I can get on with what we all know is the inevitable ‘fucking’ part yet to come. She’s not planning on sticking around to watch, is she?’ Inwardly this was what her mind was saying. Outwardly Grace softly bit down on her bottom lip and purred for the benefit of both her active and passive audience.
Grace wasn’t anxious to fuck Secretary Whiley, but she was anxious to finish fucking him so they could talk and she could make whatever devious plan she could think of to get what it was she needed to get. So, the sooner they got this show on the road, the sooner they could complete what, for Grace, would be the unpleasant part and get on to the part where she’d coax him into divulging secrets about his work, and providing her unwittingly with a lead that could prove to be his own downfall.
Maria tugged at Grace’s brief panties next, leaving a smooth, bare shaven mound on display. She stopped at the ankles to give the Special Agent’s right leg a tap. Step up and out. Step up and out. Grace was free of all her clothing It was a strange feeling, being stripped by Mrs Whiley while her husband drooled and salivated from his chair.
The young Special Agent squirmed, wanting to cover up, but didn’t dare. Whatever depravity this couple wanted to dish out, she’d have to accept it. Her life and the lives of her family depended on it.
Maria leaned in close to the side of Grace’s face, who thought that older woman was going to whisper something. Instead, and to the Special Agent’s surprise, Mrs Whiley kissed her cheek. Grace turned her head to see what Maria was doing. Perhaps she interpreted that as an invitation, because the next kiss was on the lips, as Whiley’s wife closed her eyes and sucked at the younger girl’s mouth.
‘What the fuck’s she doing?’ Grace’s inner thoughts activated themselves once more. The kiss hadn’t yet ended when Maria slid her hand downwards, and Grace braced herself as feather-light touches brushed over her mound, and then her pussy. Then Maria began her work in earnest. Grace was being kissed and fingered by an older female while her husband watched!
‘What the fucking hell? Is there no end to what this woman will do to please her man?’ Grace’s inner mind began yet another diatribe. Then Maria’s mouth pulled away from their erstwhile task and made a gradual descent over the waiting expanse of smooth flesh. She kissed Grace’s chin, her neck, her collarbone. Lower still she ventured. Her lips roamed all over the younger girl’s chest, as one finger inside the Special Agent became two.
“Fuuuuucking hell!” Grace could not stop the expletive-ladened groan from issuing forth. The only other sound that could be heard was the liquid ‘sloshing’ as dampness became soaking wet between Grace’s thighs. The Secretary remained motionless. His eyes didn’t blink. His breathing was laboured, his groin was bulging but so far, his cock remained hidden away. What a dirty old pervert! To make his own wife do this!
Maria’s head slipped down further. Now her cheeks were framed by the firm flesh of Grace’s breasts as the older woman nestled her face into the shadowy valley and licked her wet tongue along the inviting gorge at the centre of the younger girl’s chest, all the way to the areola and the nipple. First one side then the other.
Grace closed her eyes. Not only did she not want to witness this happening, she also didn’t want to catch sight of the Secretary watching. Too humiliating. It would be even more demeaning if he saw her cum … which, it embarrassed Grace to admit. was now more than a distinct possibility.
Maria moved her hands to the back of the Special Agent’s thighs and prised them further apart. Grace gave no resistance. She was too far gone, and what was going to happen was going to happen. Arching her hips forward, a few seconds later, the younger, naked girl came all over Maria’s face.
“Oh my God, fucking hell, please, ohhhhhhh yes!” The ripples of pleasure sprouted in all directions, from Grace’s loins to the furthest reaches of her body. She was shamed and lustfully satiated all at once.
As the feeling ebbed, her knees went weak, and, without awaiting direction or asking permission, she collapsed onto the bed where she lay still, breathless.
With a quick glance at her audience, the Special Agent once more silently addressed herself.
‘All right, you overweight pervert. You’ve had your dirty little show. What’s next? Is it your turn to climb on top of me?’
As Grace rested her head on the mattress, gasping for air, she awaited what she was sure would be the next act in this macabre sexual drama … getting fucked by the big guy. She
looked with expectation in his direction, surprised when he didn’t move.
“Is it your turn now, Mister Secretary?” Grace asked, trying to keep the hope out of her voice.
“No, no!” Maria waved a scolding finger in Grace’s face. “It’s never Mister Secretary’s turn!” She pointed two index fingers at the young naked girl and then at herself.
“Maria is in charge here,” the US Secretary of State said quietly. That’s when the Special Agent noticed Maria undressing. She stripped rapidly and had everything off, in seconds. It was Grace’s first real look at her body. There was a slight chunkiness to her, but not in a bad way. Her waist had the middle-aged spread that one often sees on a woman of a certain age. Her breasts weren’t large, but they had enough firmness to hold a high position when she moved.
There was neatly trimmed line of fair pubic hair on display. Mrs Whiley’s arms and legs were muscular and her buttocks full. All in all, she was well proportioned for someone of her age, and Grace would have thought the Secretary, a man about twenty years her senior, would have considered himself lucky to have such a wife.
So, what the fuck was happening here?
The Special Agent had little time to contemplate further as Maria joined her on the bed, kneeling on the mattress by her side. A kick of her right foot, and she was straddling Grace, legs wide apart. Her bare ass pressed against the prostrate girl’s breasts, and her splayed pussy presented itself in full view inches from the Special Agent’s gaze.
Now what?
Mrs Whiley shuffled her way forward, her pubic region getting closer and closer to Grace’s face. Her outer pussy lips were swollen, her labia prominent and glistening, the scent pungent.
‘Oh, my god! Does she want me to…?’ Grace’s inner voice now sounded incredulous. Another inch forward and Maria’s slit was almost at the younger girl’s lips, or more pertinently ... her tongue!
“Lick!” It was the only word Maria said before the older woman pressed her pussy into Grace’s face. The Secretary’s wife had given an orgasm, now she wanted the favour returned.
To Be Continued …
The Washington home of Joseph J Whiley II, US Secretary of State
When Secretary Whiley said that they would meet at his house, Grace simply assumed that she was being invited to the politically convenient home that the US Government provided him with in Washington, she never dreamed that she’d come face to face with his spouse, let alone one so compliant to the situation.
‘What the fucking hell is taking her so long?’ Grace’s inner voice spoke. ‘Please, Mrs Whiley, Maria, whatever … just finish stripping me and get out so your husband and I can get on with what we all know is the inevitable ‘fucking’ part yet to come. She’s not planning on sticking around to watch, is she?’ Inwardly this was what her mind was saying. Outwardly Grace softly bit down on her bottom lip and purred for the benefit of both her active and passive audience.
Grace wasn’t anxious to fuck Secretary Whiley, but she was anxious to finish fucking him so they could talk and she could make whatever devious plan she could think of to get what it was she needed to get. So, the sooner they got this show on the road, the sooner they could complete what, for Grace, would be the unpleasant part and get on to the part where she’d coax him into divulging secrets about his work, and providing her unwittingly with a lead that could prove to be his own downfall.
Maria tugged at Grace’s brief panties next, leaving a smooth, bare shaven mound on display. She stopped at the ankles to give the Special Agent’s right leg a tap. Step up and out. Step up and out. Grace was free of all her clothing It was a strange feeling, being stripped by Mrs Whiley while her husband drooled and salivated from his chair.
The young Special Agent squirmed, wanting to cover up, but didn’t dare. Whatever depravity this couple wanted to dish out, she’d have to accept it. Her life and the lives of her family depended on it.
Maria leaned in close to the side of Grace’s face, who thought that older woman was going to whisper something. Instead, and to the Special Agent’s surprise, Mrs Whiley kissed her cheek. Grace turned her head to see what Maria was doing. Perhaps she interpreted that as an invitation, because the next kiss was on the lips, as Whiley’s wife closed her eyes and sucked at the younger girl’s mouth.
‘What the fuck’s she doing?’ Grace’s inner thoughts activated themselves once more. The kiss hadn’t yet ended when Maria slid her hand downwards, and Grace braced herself as feather-light touches brushed over her mound, and then her pussy. Then Maria began her work in earnest. Grace was being kissed and fingered by an older female while her husband watched!
‘What the fucking hell? Is there no end to what this woman will do to please her man?’ Grace’s inner mind began yet another diatribe. Then Maria’s mouth pulled away from their erstwhile task and made a gradual descent over the waiting expanse of smooth flesh. She kissed Grace’s chin, her neck, her collarbone. Lower still she ventured. Her lips roamed all over the younger girl’s chest, as one finger inside the Special Agent became two.
“Fuuuuucking hell!” Grace could not stop the expletive-ladened groan from issuing forth. The only other sound that could be heard was the liquid ‘sloshing’ as dampness became soaking wet between Grace’s thighs. The Secretary remained motionless. His eyes didn’t blink. His breathing was laboured, his groin was bulging but so far, his cock remained hidden away. What a dirty old pervert! To make his own wife do this!
Maria’s head slipped down further. Now her cheeks were framed by the firm flesh of Grace’s breasts as the older woman nestled her face into the shadowy valley and licked her wet tongue along the inviting gorge at the centre of the younger girl’s chest, all the way to the areola and the nipple. First one side then the other.
Grace closed her eyes. Not only did she not want to witness this happening, she also didn’t want to catch sight of the Secretary watching. Too humiliating. It would be even more demeaning if he saw her cum … which, it embarrassed Grace to admit. was now more than a distinct possibility.
Maria moved her hands to the back of the Special Agent’s thighs and prised them further apart. Grace gave no resistance. She was too far gone, and what was going to happen was going to happen. Arching her hips forward, a few seconds later, the younger, naked girl came all over Maria’s face.
“Oh my God, fucking hell, please, ohhhhhhh yes!” The ripples of pleasure sprouted in all directions, from Grace’s loins to the furthest reaches of her body. She was shamed and lustfully satiated all at once.
As the feeling ebbed, her knees went weak, and, without awaiting direction or asking permission, she collapsed onto the bed where she lay still, breathless.
With a quick glance at her audience, the Special Agent once more silently addressed herself.
‘All right, you overweight pervert. You’ve had your dirty little show. What’s next? Is it your turn to climb on top of me?’
As Grace rested her head on the mattress, gasping for air, she awaited what she was sure would be the next act in this macabre sexual drama … getting fucked by the big guy. She
looked with expectation in his direction, surprised when he didn’t move.
“Is it your turn now, Mister Secretary?” Grace asked, trying to keep the hope out of her voice.
“No, no!” Maria waved a scolding finger in Grace’s face. “It’s never Mister Secretary’s turn!” She pointed two index fingers at the young naked girl and then at herself.
“Maria is in charge here,” the US Secretary of State said quietly. That’s when the Special Agent noticed Maria undressing. She stripped rapidly and had everything off, in seconds. It was Grace’s first real look at her body. There was a slight chunkiness to her, but not in a bad way. Her waist had the middle-aged spread that one often sees on a woman of a certain age. Her breasts weren’t large, but they had enough firmness to hold a high position when she moved.
There was neatly trimmed line of fair pubic hair on display. Mrs Whiley’s arms and legs were muscular and her buttocks full. All in all, she was well proportioned for someone of her age, and Grace would have thought the Secretary, a man about twenty years her senior, would have considered himself lucky to have such a wife.
So, what the fuck was happening here?
The Special Agent had little time to contemplate further as Maria joined her on the bed, kneeling on the mattress by her side. A kick of her right foot, and she was straddling Grace, legs wide apart. Her bare ass pressed against the prostrate girl’s breasts, and her splayed pussy presented itself in full view inches from the Special Agent’s gaze.
Now what?
Mrs Whiley shuffled her way forward, her pubic region getting closer and closer to Grace’s face. Her outer pussy lips were swollen, her labia prominent and glistening, the scent pungent.
‘Oh, my god! Does she want me to…?’ Grace’s inner voice now sounded incredulous. Another inch forward and Maria’s slit was almost at the younger girl’s lips, or more pertinently ... her tongue!
“Lick!” It was the only word Maria said before the older woman pressed her pussy into Grace’s face. The Secretary’s wife had given an orgasm, now she wanted the favour returned.
To Be Continued …