tagCelebritiesCovert Affairs: Operation Black Ore

Covert Affairs: Operation Black Ore

bynicoloco©

[Based very loosely on the TV character played by Piper Perabo]

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Annie had heard of cocks this size but had never seen one. It was certainly the biggest she'd ever had to suck. And by far the largest thing, flesh or fake, ever put in her ass. She sighed, musing about the things she did for her country...

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Annie Walker dressed to kill, if only figuratively. Even her casual clothes showed her keen fashion sense. But she didn't need to flaunt her figure. It would take a sack to disguise the trim, athletic and sexy body she knew was a prime asset in her job as CIA agent, as it would be in any job. It was a good fit with her open and innocent face.

People liked Annie, liked her quick, genuine smile, her easy grace, her obvious intelligence, the flash and promise of passion just below a chic veneer. Men, as men will, imagined Annie without those trendy clothes, positioned just the way they preferred. Some pictured her generous mouth forming an oval around their cocks. A lucky few didn't have to imagine.

Her job descriptions -- both for her real job, and for her cover job of acquisitions specialist for the Smithsonian -- didn't mention fucking. But she'd always known that sex was a major tool in the spy kit, one that male agents used without a second thought. No one said it, but it was understood that if sex was what it took, those Fendi slacks were coming off.

For female agents, seduction is both easier and harder. Easier because, well, duh. Harder because even with training in weapons and self-defense, the playing field isn't level. By its nature, her world harbors some wacky guys with major kinks. Come to think of it, that's the world we're all in.

Sex was never Annie's first resort. Sure, she flirted and charmed -- that's just life as a woman. Actually getting laid was somewhat rare, though it did seem to pop up more often lately. Good managers maximize the utility of their assets, and Annie had some fine ones.

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Annie first put her body on the line in Operation Date Palm:

"Grab your go bag, Annie, you're headed to Dubai on a 9PM out of Dulles," said Joan Campbell, Annie's boss as head of the DPD section. Annie was used to this sort of summons. Most operations are meticulously planned, but quite a few are go-right-now.

"What's the op? Will I need anything special for desert work?"

Joan laughed, "You won't see much sand this trip. You're attending a soiree at the home of Ali Khat, the oil sheik. He has a collection the Smithsonian would be interested in showing -- that's your cover.

"But your real goal is to scan some documents we think are in the hands of an Emirates businessman, Maktub Fatash, who'll also be at the party. His photo and details are in the packet. So, a cocktail dress this time instead of desert camo."

Annie just had time to find an appropriate, and expensive, dress before her flight. Twelve hours later she was in Dubai, with a day to get over the jet lag. An invitation was waiting at her hotel, and next evening a taxi took her to the wealthy sheik's modest 18-room city home.

Her outfit was somewhat daring, a bit over the edge of Muslim propriety. But this was Dubai, not Jeddah, and the lines weren't as bright here. Her dress conveyed the impression that Annie could afford any underwear she wanted, she just hadn't seen the need tonight.

She was a hit with the men, less so with the women. Using a skill honed since high school, she cut Fatash from the herd and steered him to a quiet nook. His drink -- he was a liberal Muslim -- soon had an extra ingredient, and Annie was helping him to a cab, then to his hotel room.

"I'm so glad you could accompany me, dear. I was quite taken with your frock and of course the lovely body so artfully concealed within it." Maktub may have been slurring, but he was still awake enough to grope Annie's tits.

He must have the constitution of an ox, she thought. There was enough tranq in that drink to lay out a wild boar, let alone this bore. But he wouldn't go down. He still believed he could get Annie out of her dress. With an eye on the clock, Annie considered her options.

She played along, sure she could outlast him. "Here, why don't I help with that," she said. Stepping back, she slipped the thin straps from her pale shoulders, revealing to him what every man that night had pictured.

"Oh, what a delicious sight you are, my dear," he said as he stumbled over to her. Almost out, thought Annie. But not quite quickly enough for her.

Her breasts were like laser-painted targets, and he was a crude missile. He sucked and tweaked them until, despite her mission sense, Annie started to turn on. Damn, how is he still standing? She knew one sure way to put a man to sleep. Besides, she figured, with that dose he wouldn't remember anything in the morning.

Soon the dress was on the floor and all of her on display. He was delighted to find Annie as smooth as a young girl, save one small patch at the top of her juicy crevice.

"Oh, I always say, the way to my heart is a shaved part, and yours is a very nice part indeed. Let me see if it is as welcoming as it looks."

Staggering, with one hand he worked open his fly to release a thick, rigid cock. The other slithered downward, grazing her pulsing clit as he dipped a rough finger into her slick groove. He licked his lips in anticipation, but alas for both of them, those were the only lips he'd lick tonight.

Annie knew it wouldn't take much, but it would take something. So she jacked his meaty prick, stroking it and fondling his balls until, with a last great spasm, he shot a pearly load onto his chest. She lapped it up as a reward for her hard work, and to cover her tracks.

Finally he was out cold. Annie tucked him in and got down to the real business of the night. She tossed the room while still naked, careful to leave no evidence of her search. She found his papers in the room safe, easily cracked by anyone with Agency training. Her cell camera scanned the details and sped them to Langley.

She slipped on her dress and Louboutins and eased out of the room, mission accomplished. Cost: one dress and one hand job. The Agency only reimbursed for clothing.

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In her field ops over the next few months, Annie had little occasion for anything beyond casual flirting to meet her mission goals.

The one exception came in Istanbul, stuck out in the boonies, having used up every spare bit of cash to pay off an asset. Sweet persuasion didn't work on her corpulent taxi driver, leaving only her oral skills for cab fare. Annie was a trouper: if sucking a fat Turkish dick was the worst thing she ever did for the Agency, well, god bless America.

That all changed, big time, with Operation French Letter:

"Annie," said Joan, "this is a deep-cover op. We're setting you up in Paris ('oh no, not that', grinned Annie) to get close to Henri Ladouche, who we're sure is diverting small quantities of fissionable material to someone in the Middle East. Your job is to figure out who, and how.

"He's a mid-level guy at ASN, their equivalent of the NRC. And he's careful as hell -- none of the agents we've thrown at this have gotten even a sniff. You're going in as a Canadian exchange student, cover name Mary Achiband, so you'll have to tweak your French to sound Quebecois."

After a quick refresher in Quebec accent and idiom, and some time to learn her legend, Annie arrived in the City of Light. She took a flat in Henri's building, and they grew friendly over the next few weeks. Neighborly coffee chats became a sharing of life stories. Annie's of course was pure fiction, framed to make her vulnerable, needy and available.

Sensing that Annie (er, Mary) was feeling low, Henri made a pitch. "Come to dinner chez moi, Marie. I have a recipe for lapin d'Andalou that never fails to improve one's mood," he teased. "I am certain they have nothing like it in your province."

"Oh, Henri, I wouldn't be good company. I got email from Paul today saying it's completely over for us. I'm feeling sad and lumpish and unlovely and I'd just bring you down."

"Nonsense, cherie, instead I will bring you up. Come, we'll open a bottle of wine or two, and drink a big fuck you to this idiot Paul."

Annie laughed and agreed. During dinner she had, oops, a bit too much vin rouge and got a bit weepy. Henri consoled her, then consolation turned into comforting. He caressed her shoulder until her shoulder became a breast.

"No, Henri, not that. I like you, but I can't get involved with anyone."

"Ah, cherie, this is just two friends, not 'involved'. It will do you good to get this bad lover out of your system, and we need never speak of it after tonight," schmoozed an obviously experienced Henri.

A powerful (if fictional) need rose in Mary, and before long they were kissing and groping, then naked and horizontal. Henri got his first look at the delicious Annie Walker. He couldn't believe his luck.

He pressed his prick insistently at her lips. "Oh, cherie, I have been watching that beautiful mouth for days, knowing it would be heaven itself for you to suck me. Take it, ma Marie, tongue me, suck it, ohhhh, yes..."

Annie nearly swallowed his cock; he, like a well-mannered Frenchman, ate her to a nice climax before splitting her with the tool she'd so thoughtfully lubed. Weeks of escalating sexual tension exploded in just minutes. Sure, it was a job to Annie, but who says you can't enjoy your work?

The new lovers were insatiable that night, screwing every way they could dream up. Both agreed that 'en levrette' was the best, where he could plow her from behind while cupping and kneading her tits. Henri had a sexy new toy, and Annie had her entree into his world.

And of course it didn't end with the evening -- no one night stands for our Mary, who transferred her dependence onto this new man in her life. She'd do anything for her Henri, a premise he would soon test.

There was more to M. Ladouche than the Agency knew. Henri was one of those kinky dudes that inhabit Annie's shadowy world. One evening that week he introduced her to an old friend, a man who believed as Henri did that good fortune should be shared.

Earlier, Annie had seen the two men in animated discussion on the street. She couldn't hear it, but their conversation (in Farsi) had gone like this:

"Henri, you pussy hound. You know nothing about this girl. She could be sent to trap you, trap us. You break our first rule just because you like the way she sucks your dick."

"But my friend, even if so, what could she discover? We commit nothing to writing, there is no trail back to us, and our meetings are innocent. Yes, I like the way she sucks, you will too. She clings to me and will do anything I ask. Come and meet her." The man grumbled but agreed.

Soon they were at her door. "Marie," said Henri, with a possessive arm around her waist, "say hello to my bon ami Pervez, who is on a short visit to Paris. I've been telling him what a treasure you are. He and I go back forever, and have shared so much together." As we will share you, was his unspoken thought. "Come to dinner with us, I have a table waiting."

Pervez, whose dark complexion and clipped accent marked him as a man from elsewhere, was not a subtle person. At the restaurant he openly appraised his friend's new lover, his gaze lingering on her curves. Uh oh, thought Annie. This could get complicated. But overall it was a civilized evening, and she relaxed in their company.

On her way to the restroom she sneaked a cell pic, and when she posted it home, Langley buzzed like a Rabbit with fresh batteries. Pervez Mosadegh was highly placed in Savak, the notorious Iranian secret police: this was the contact. She was instructed to spare nothing -- a euphemism that everyone understood -- to find out how these two worked their scheme together.

They worked at least one scheme together well. Pervez became a regular at their evening meals. Henri had been taking increasing liberties with Annie's body in his friend's presence. Then after one meal, when all were well supplied with wine, Henri dropped his bombshell.

"Marie, ma cherie, I have been telling our friend what a marvelous mouth you have, how it is made for sucking. But I may have praised your skills too much, as he does not believe anyone could be so good."

"Mary" was in total shock at his brazen betrayal of their, she believed, most secret life. Annie, on the other hand, had seen this coming from several kilometers away.

"Henri! What are you saying? That's a very private thing between us, not something to speak of with others. Please tell me I misunderstood you!"

"But no, cherie. You please me greatly, and you would not want my friend to think I falsely boast, hien? It would be but a small thing for you to suck me here, now, to show him I am not one to exaggerate."

With a pretense of great reluctance and embarrassment, she eventually complied, fishing out Henri's cock and working it to full erection as Pervez looked on with a leer and a smirk. As she bobbed and stroked over Henri, Pervez exposed his own cock and idly stroked it until it grew to impressive, if somewhat crooked, proportions. Fuck, Annie thought. I didn't sign on for something like that.

That night she learned that Iranian cock tastes a lot like French cock (though better than at least one Turkish cock). And of course it couldn't stop there. After dinner a few days later, Annie was the dessert.

"Ma Marie, it is hard to believe that Pervez has not seen your lovely body. You have touched his private parts, and still you remain as mysterious to him as a veiled virgin. You should dance for us, and shed those veils as you dance. Come, this music has the perfect rhythm."

She refused, indignant, but they cajoled her and plied her with more wine. Before long she did dance for them, shedding her blouse to show off a lacy bra, twisting out of their lewd reach as she unzipped her skirt.

They stripped her of her filmy lingerie, and she found herself writhing naked on their laps, pushing her wine-flushed breasts into their faces. The two men nipped and tweaked and probed until she was frantic with need. She ground her dampening pussy on their clothed erections, which they soon freed. She sucked and stroked them and lavished them with lust, until her pretty face and mouth received two large loads of male seed.

The men were sated for now, but Annie was still revving, her lust unslaked. It took more wine and several licks on their limp dicks, but eventually she had them at full stand again, Pervez just a bit ahead.

"You're going to fuck me with this," she said, grasping the curved shaft she'd first sucked off just a few nights ago. "You may be too big or too bent for comfort, but by god you're going to fuck me."

Annie swung a leg over his seated form and eased her wet and aching pussy onto the fat-headed cock. With a moan of pleasure she sank to the root, then began fucking herself up and down with deliberate strokes. Her gaze never left his as she worked for solid, slippery contact between her itching clit and his rigid tool.

Pervez took over the action, spearing up into her with maddening slowness. "Fuck me, oh, yes fuck me you bastard. Ah, christ what a cock, I've never felt one so deep. Fuck, fuck..." Annie had by now abandoned all tradecraft, consumed by the need to come, to release what this debauched night and this devil-cock had built up inside her. At this moment she was more horny woman than spy. But she was always a spy.

She glanced at Henri, half expecting to see a look of anger or betrayal at her wanton assault on his friend. Instead what she saw was amusement, excitement, lust -- maybe even a little pride. He reclined and stroked his smaller but still adequate member, surveying the scene before him.

"Look how firm her young breasts are, how little they bounce as she fucks. Now you know I was not telling tales." Annie was beyond embarrassment at any lewd comments about her body. After all, she was fucking one man in front of another, a first for her. She was also finding that a cock with a curve has a charm of its own, making an old motion seem new and different.

"Ah, but you should try her from behind, my good friend. You will enjoy the view, as well as the feel of her tight pussy. Go ahead, that's right, swing her around. I assure you she well loves a hard pounding from the rear."

Pervez took the suggestion and manipulated Annie onto her elbows and knees. When he again inserted himself, he touched new places in her heated core. Now in full control, he upped the depth and intensity of his thrusts, but kept his pace steady. He was fucking Annie like a pile driver, his ball sac slapping her clit on every stroke, impelling her toward release.

The dam broke for Annie and she shouted out her climax. The room, the men, the world, receded until there was nothing but a wave of pleasure spreading outward from this hot, stabbing cock to every part of her body and mind.

Pervez came too, jetting milky ropes of semen deep into Annie's womb and adding his voice to hers in a mutual concert of passion. Both collapsed, Annie spent from throes of delight that ranked in her personal top five.

Henri was pleased and aroused by the spectacle. "Bravo, brava, my friends. Normally I would not wish to interfere, but perhaps ma Marie could at least relieve the tension she has caused," he said, indicating his firmly erect penis. Annie obliged by taking it passively in her mouth, accepting the generous gouts that quickly issued.

As the trio disentangled, she fell into an almost comatose state, apparently dead to the world, spunk oozing from her mouth and pussy. The men grinned and slapped hands, then slipped into Henri's office and closed the door. There they could have a quiet talk in Farsi, a language they knew Annie couldn't understand even if she did overhear.

But they were wrong. Annie, ever the professional, had feigned her stupor. She was in fact fluent in the Persian tongue, and many others. She listened through the door, using her Agency cell phone as an amplifier and recorder, as the men reviewed their next exchange. This was exactly what was needed, and provided a culmination to her mission that almost matched the one she'd just had on that warped Iranian cock.

Annie passed her intel on, but hesitated before ending the operation. If she just disappeared, they'd figure something was up and change plans. Winding down over time was the smarter course. And so the lovely Annie Walker was passed between two horny men for four more days, fondled, fingered and fucked until she -- almost -- didn't want any more.

Her report was a textbook example of how to report events without revealing things best left secret. Although oddly, no one can say just how, a picture of an erect penis with a wicked bend to the left found its way into the file on Pervez Mosadegh.

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By now Annie was a seasoned pro, her mission success rate the envy of her section. Sure there were failures, even fiascos, but overall she'd done very well, and had gained the respect of her bosses and colleagues.

Now she had her toughest assignment yet, in a dark and primitive area far from the enlightened centers of America and Europe, or even the cultural oases of the Gulf States.

This was Operation Black Ore:

"Annie, we have reports of new conflict around Lake Kivu in Africa, which borders several countries. This includes the eastern Congo, with lots of desirable minerals. A swarm of militias, gangs really, are fighting for control of the many small coltan mines around Goma."

Any burp in the coltan supply, a source of tantalum metal for electronics, was bad for business, and the Agency was always responsive to commercial interests. Coltan ore, black and potent, qualified for protection.

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