In Her Father's Footsteps Ch. 06

Erotic Adventures of Sexy British Super-Spy Jane Bond

Finally having had enough of dressing and acting sexy for a while, Jane Bond decided to dress more conservatively and head downstairs for lunch at Rick's Cafe Americain Hotel in Vienna. She pinned her wavy, shoulder-length brown-black hair up in a severe "school-marm" bun, and donned her nerdiest red-framed "Sally Jessy Raphael" style glasses. She wore the same conservative navy-blue jacket and knee- length navy skirt that she had worn in M's office, her first day as a British MI-6 spy. But this time, Jane Bond actually went to the trouble to wear a bra and panties under this outfit.

As Jane ate her lunch in the hotel dining room, she spotted Wendy Warmcox at the next table. Wendy was dressed in a half-length T-shirt that was provocatively cut off just below her jutting 40-inch breasts, showing off her slender stomach. She obviously wore no bra, for Jane could not only see Wendy's hard nipples pressing tightly against the soft cotton of her shirt, but also the entire bottom curves of both of Wendy's breasts. Wendy also had on a very short pair of blue-jean shorts, unzipped almost to the hair line above her pussy, and both flaps folded back to show off her navel and several inches of skin below that.

It was a hot day, and Wendy was obviously dressed this way to stay cool, and probably also to get every man in the place as hot and bothered as possible. Wendy looked sweaty, and sounded slightly out of breath, as if she had just been jogging or lifting weights. Jane thought for a moment that perhaps Wendy had just completed a different form of exercise, involving her husband, W. But then Jane remembered the video tape she had just watched, showing W cheating with the redhead who wanted to buy Russian AK-47 rifles. Now Jane doubted that W was the reason for Wendy's Current breathless, sweaty condition.

This time, when Jane finished eating, she did not immediately go to her room and leave Wendy behind, as she had during the previous night's dinner. Instead, Jane waited for Wendy to leave, and followed a few paces behind Wendy. Jane couldn't help but notice the tight bottom creases of Wendy's ass, fully exposed just below the cut- off line of her Daisy Dukes. Jane admired the sexy sway of Wendy's hips as she walked.

What a fool W must be, Jane thought, to cheat on a wife with such a luscious body and, if the stories about her were true, such a voracious sexual appetite and such a willingness (nay, eagerness), to bring her man pleasure. Taking down an arrogant, womanizing man such as W, who seemed to be cut from pretty-much the same cloth as Jane's own legendary father, James Bond 007, would be a pure joy to Jane. And, Jane hoped, to Wendy as well (if Jane could persuade Wendy to help bring her own husband to justice).

As Wendy stepped into the elevator, Jane, a few paces behind, called out, "Could you hold the lift door for me, please?" Wendy pressed the "Door Open" button and waited for Jane to join her in the elevator, before pushing the "6" button for her floor.

"Oh," Jane asked, acting surprised, "are you on the sixth floor, too?"

"Yes, Suite 69."

"Sweet 69?" Jane joked, closing her eyes and recalling her own recent 69 with her husband, Brad. "Yes, I do love getting into a sweet 69 with my lover!" she whispering in a husky swoon.

Wendy didn't know if the severe-looking woman was hard of hearing, or was making a joke, and decided that her best move was not to reply to Jane's comment.

After several interminably-long moments of silence, Jane realized that she would need to try a new tactic if she was to start a conversation with Wendy Warmcox, and make her an ally in defeating her husband W.

"I say," Jane began. "I couldn't help notice what a stunning woman you are, and how terrific that skimpy little outfit looks on you." This was only PARTLY an act on Jane's part, as she could feel her own crotch dampening while gazing at Wendy's curvaceous figure.

"Oh, no," Wendy thought, "the woman's a Lesbian, trying to pick me up. First she talks about sex with her lover, without saying if that's a man or a woman. Then she compliments how I look and how my outfit looks on me. I mean, look at her, that strict school-marm outfit, her hair pinned up, and those nerdy red glasses, like Elton John. Her whole appearance practically shrieks GAY!"

Wendy watched, fascinated but slightly repulsed, as Jane reached inside her blazer jacket, her hand feeling around for something--perhaps, Jane thought, for her own nipple. So Wendy was somewhat relieved when Jane pulled a billfold wallet out of her jacket's inner pocket, and started rummaging through it.

Then a new thought hit Wendy. "What if she is looking for money to pay me to sleep with her?"

Wendy tried to look Jane over from head to toe, without Jane noticing her, for fear that Jane might take this as a sign of interest. Wendy thought that Jane looked slender and shapely enough, and maybe if she dressed a little less conservatively, wore a short skirt, unbuttoned a few of her blazer buttons, let her hair down, and lost those awful glasses, she might have the potential to be somewhat pretty. Maybe not a glamorous model, but not exactly repulsive, either. Wendy thought that with a new look, Jane might be more successful attracting men, or women if she went that way as Wendy suspected. With a new look, this stranger might not have to corner strange women in elevators and offer them money to sleep with her. Wendy's imagination was really running away with her by now.

Jane Bond continued rummaging through her wallet. MI-6, the British spy agency, had provided Jane with all sorts of phony business cards, for just about any imaginable profession, so she was certain that she could find one that would give her an identity to break the ice with Wendy Warmcox, gain her trust, and enlist her help in stopping W from selling any more weapons to terrorists.

Finally, Jane found the perfect card. "Samantha Paddington- Smythe, free-lance photography."

Handing the card to Wendy, and thinking fast on her feet, Jane said, "I'm Samantha Paddington-Smythe. I'm here in Vienna to do some photography for one of my clients, a popular men's magazine. I couldn't help but notice you at lunch. You have just the look our male readers appreciate. I wonder if you would be willing to pose nude for us?"

Wendy hesitated for a moment, wondering if this was just a front for getting her into bed. She studied the proffered business card. With raised letters and multiple ink colors, the card looked expensive to print. Too professional- looking of a card to be a fraud that this woman created just to pick up women. Besides, who would make up a name like Samantha Paddington-Smythe, and think that such a name would attract one-night stands, male or female, to her bed. Let alone attracting any long-term, committed relationships. No, Wendy figured, this Samantha Paddington- Smythe must be on the level. For the first time, Wendy relaxed in Jane's presence.

"Do you really think I look good enough to be in a men's magazine?" Wendy asked.

Jane knew that she was starting to gain Wendy's trust, and moved in for the kill. "If it weren't against my ethics to sleep with our models, I'd push the stop button, and take you right here and now in this elevator, that's how I think you look attractive--hell, I might as well say it straight out--how HOT and SEXY you are." Jane wondered to herself why she, a healthy heterosexual woman with a stud at home who satisfied her so completely, was getting turned on at the thought of a Lesbian relationship with her elevator companion.

"Gee, I'm glad SOMEBODY thinks I look sexy."

"Trouble in paradise?" Jane asked, thinking about the MI-6 Polaroid snapshot of Wendy and her husband naked in Suite 69, and recalling her own video of W cheating on Wendy with a red-headed weapons client. It took every ounce of the spy's willpower now not to slip her hand down to her own aching crotch, at these memories.

"My husband is too busy with his career to have time for sex," Wendy replied. "When we first got married 11 years ago, we locked ourselves in our hotel room for a whole year of lovemaking. He's hardly touched me since. The last time I even bothered trying to get him interested in me was about two months ago. I even took Polaroids of the whole damned seduction scene. But even though I could and did still make him awfully damned hard that day, and my face still lit up when I saw how hard I was getting him, he just couldn't and wouldn't satisfy me. I've had to content myself with gazing at the photos and satisfying myself ever since. Except I misplaced my favorite photo of the bunch, the one that showed me smiling while standing naked over his 10 inches, which were pointing straight up."

Jane smiled to herself, knowing that thanks to Moneypenny, she possessed the photo that Wendy couldn't find. Jane grinned at Wendy when she realized that the two ladies now had something in common: both had made themselves come while looking at photos of Wendy's failed attempt to seduce W.

Jane fought to suppress a laugh as she thought about W being too busy for sex. W hadn't looked too busy for sex with a stranger on last night's video tape. And if the stories were true, W hadn't been too busy ten years ago, to fuck Wendy round the clock, every day and night for an entire year. But Jane couldn't risk tipping her hand about how much she already knew about W and Wendy, and instead nonchalantly asked, "So you'll do it? You'll pose for me?"

"When do we start?" Wendy replied enthusiastically.

"No time like the present, I always say. My equipment is up in my room. Room 67. Give me about half an hour to set up my lights and cameras, and I imagine you'll want time to freshen up and change into your slinkiest lingerie for the photo-shoot. Why don't you just drop in whenever you're ready?"

"Room 67? That's right next door to mine. I'm in 69."

"I know," Jane let slip, recalling how she had slunk around Suite 69 in her sexy cat-burglar suit.

"How did you know what room I'm in?" Wendy asked suspiciously.

Jane feared that she'd blown her cover, but quickly recovered. "You told me when we first got on the elevator. Don't you remember, I made a joke about how I like a Sweet 69?"

"Oh yeah. I thought that was a pick-up line."

"It was. But I would never really have gone through with it. I mean, you are VERY attractive, just looking at you makes me HORNY as hell. I'd like nothing better right now than to eat you out, and to let you lick my wet pussy. But I am always a professional with my models. I already told you, I DON'T sleep with my models." Besides, Jane thought to herself, as sexy as Wendy looks, Jane Bond would never cheat on her husband, Brad. Or would she? Jane's mind was telling her no, but her eager, dampening pussy had other plans. Was it just Jane getting into the role of Samantha, or was this growing lust for Wendy genuine?

"I DON'T sleep with my models," Jane repeated, more to convince herself than to convince Wendy.

"OK. I'll meet you in room 67 in 30 minutes," Wendy replied. Although she had no Lesbian inclinations, Wendy took Samantha Paddington-Smythe's mild rejection of her sexy self as somewhat of a challenge, to change this photographer's mind about sleeping with her.

The elevator doors opened on the sixth floor, and Jane and Wendy headed to their separate rooms. "Don't be late," Jane called out as Wendy unlocked the door of her hotel room.

In Room 67, Jane placed a frantic call to Miss Moneypenny back at MI-6 headquarters in London. "I know you already stuck your neck out for me once, approving a trip without M's knowledge, but I need your help again."

"Who is this?" Moneypenny demanded sternly.

"Oh, sorry," Jane replied contritely. "Bond. Jane Bond. You know, my father was James. James Bond."

"Jammmes Bonnnd!" Moneypenny half-sighed, half-cooed.

"Are you there, Miss Moneypenny?"

"Yes, I'm here. Sorry. The name James Bond always has -- James Bond always has --has -- OOOOOHHH!"

"Has what?"

"Sorry again. That man's name just has the strangest effect on me. It makes me sigh and get all dreamy, and all tingly deep down inside, if you know what I mean."

After two years of marriage, Jane very well knew exactly the kind of tingly feeling to which Moneypenny referred. Just Brad's touch, or the sound of Brad's deep baritone voice, made Jane all wet and tingly between her legs. But she never knew that just hearing a name could have this same effect. "What, the name James Bond has that effect on you?" Jane asked in wonder.

"Jammmes Bonnnd!" Moneypenny sighed again. By now, Moneypenny was panting heavily, and repeatedly crying out "UNNNNGHHH!" in a sweet, seductive Soprano voice.

Jane realized that she had to stop saying her father's name if she was ever to get Moneypenny to calm and and start helping now. "OK, well this is JANE. And I need your help."

Moneypenny snapped out of her swoon and removed her exploring fingers from under her tight skirt. "How can I help?"

"I need some professional-looking cameras. A couple of Nikkons, and some extra lenses. Some studio lights. Some backdrops. A couple of those white umbrella things that photographers use to aim the light. I have 30 minutes to make my hotel room look like a professional photographer's studio."

"Oh, is that all?" Moneypenny yawned with the boredom of the request. "I thought you were going to ask me for something HARD to do!"

"Sarcasm doesn't become you, Miss Moneypenny."

"What sarcasm? A resident of your hotel has a cover as a photographer. He's really on our payroll. He can have his equipment set up in your room in a few minutes, and still have time left over to train you how to use everything, then make himself scarce. OK?"

"Thanks, Moneypenny. Dad told me once that I could always count on you. I couldn't count on HIM, but I could count on you."

"Yes," Moneypenny thought as she hung up, "women couldn't count on James Bond at all." How often had she herself tried, without success, to get James to slip his ring on her finger. Or even tried, again without success, to corner 007 into a closet and get him to slip her something else of his, other than a ring. Over 2,000 women had found James Bond an irresistible lover, and all Moneypenny had wanted was to experience for herself what all the fuss was about. Well, maybe she wanted to be MORE than just another notch on his belt. She knew that she would not have been Bond's first lover, but even now she was convinced that she was a remarkable enough, skilled enough lover that she would have been his last--after her, Bond would not have found any other woman quite measuring up! Maybe Bond knew that, and that is why he had never given in to Moneypenny's many seduction attempts. Anyway, here she was, still MISS Moneypenny, not Mrs. James Bond. Moneypenny was glad, at least, that she could be there to help James Bond's daughter, Jane, and in that small way be part of something that had to do with the life of her unrequited love.

After precisely a half an hour, not a second late, Wendy Warmcox knocked on Jane Bond's -- or rather, Samantha Paddington-Smythe's -- hotel room door. Wendy was dressed in a long, beige trench-coat. Jane was still in her conservative navy-blue business suit, nerdy red glasses, and pinned-up hair. Wendy quietly pushed the door closed behind her, and locked it. Without the slightest nervousness or shyness, Wendy quickly removed her coat and tossed it over the back of a chair.

"Wow!" was all that Jane could say. Before her stood this tall, blonde goddess, dressed in a sheer, silky black teddy that barely reached below her pussy, leaving her sleek, creamy-white thighs and long, slender legs completely exposed. Her small, bare feet looked soft and smooth, and her dark-red toenails were among the sexiest that Jane had ever seen on any woman. Her 40-inch chest and jutting nipples were completely visible through the thin, delicate fabric of her teddy. Her golden-blonde hair cascaded all the way down her back, to caress the perfect globes of her shapely ass cheeks. Jane thought that Wendy was a dyed blonde, until Jane noticed Wendy's blonde eyebrows and soft blonde peach-fuzz on her arms. Jane wondered to herself whether Wendy was naturally blonde in other areas of her anatomy as well. As Wendy walked into the room, she took small, catlike steps, crossing her legs sexily in front of each other as she slowly stepped forward, her hips swaying invitingly.

Getting into the role of Samantha Paddington-Smythe now, Jane commented "You look absolutely stunning. I don't know what will turn our readers on more, seeing you in or out of that teddy. I wish I was making a video, not still photos, so my audience could see the sexy way you walk. They would want to devour you right here on the carpet!"

"And what about you? Do YOU want to devour me right her on the carpet?"

"I told you, I don't touch my models."

"Not ever?"

"No, never."

"We'll just see about that," Wendy thought to herself as she continued slinking catlike, slowly and seductively, toward the bed, where the studio lights and three 35 millimeter cameras were all aimed.

"How do you want me posed?" Wendy asked, draping herself sexily on her left side on the bed, propping her head on her arm, supported by her elbow on the mattress.

"That's a good start," Jane Bond replied, snapping the remote shutter that controlled all three cameras. "Now, slowly open your teddy."

"Thank goodness for speed shutters," Jane thought to herself, as she clicked the shutter in rapid succession, not missing a single moment on film of Wendy stripping. Jane would now be able to pick the best and sexiest moments of Wendy's stripping, to publish in the magazine. If only there really was a magazine to publish this in. As she continued to snap the shutter on Wendy's strip-tease action, Jane suddenly realized that she would have to get Moneypenny to have some sleazy men's magazine actually publish these photos, if Jane Bond was not to blow her cover as Samantha Paddington-Smythe.

With Wendy now completely naked on the bed, Jane moved her lights and trio of cameras in closer. Wendy lay flat on her back, her head propped up on two thick, fluffy pillows. As Jane resumed the rapid succession of shutter clicks, Wendy began squirming her hips from side to side, and cupping her enormous breasts in both hands. Wendy surprised Jane by sitting up, pushing her enormous breasts up into her face, and licking her own nipples. Jane stood watching, fascinated, then realized that she had been too absorbed in the action to remember to keep clicking the remote shutter. The line between the pretend lust of her character Samantha, and Jane's genuine horniness for Wendy, was starting to blur.

When Jane regained her composure and resumed the photography, Wendy now began rubbing a finger along the outside of her pussy lips. The rubbing soon had Wendy's pussy lips opening up all by themselves. Wendy took that as a sign that it was time to slip a finger inside of herself. Jane quickly changed rolls of film in the camera, and began the rapid-fire clicks on the remote shutter again, not wishing to miss recording a single frame of the erotic action unfolding before her eyes.

Wendy began bucking her hips up and down, her pussy arching up into the air, and then her curvy ass cheeks gently settling down onto the sheets again. All the while, Wendy didn't miss a beat in rapidly sliding her finger in and out of her wide-open pussy, and Jane didn't miss a beat recording it all on film. When Wendy began to moan, it was too much for Jane, who lifted her own skirt and slipped a finger inside her own dampening panties. Once again, Jane was too distracted to continue with the photography.

Suddenly, Wendy let out a loud moan, riveting Jane's attention on her model once more. Wendy began squirming, thrashing, and bucking quite vigorously now. Jane quickly grabbed the remote button to the shutter again, and began clicking furiously, just in time for all three cameras to record a torrent of pussy juice oozing out past Wendy's wide-open lips, and out onto her light, curly wisps of naturally-blonde pussy hair and smooth, silky thighs. As Wendy's breathing returned to normal, Jane couldn't stop staring up Wendy's wide-spread legs and deep into the pink depths of Wendy's delectable femininity. The view between Wendy's come-splattered thighs and up Wendy's dripping pussy soon had Jane jamming her hand deep inside of her own panties again.