|In Her Father's Footsteps
Pt. 1 of 14
Erotic Adventures of Sexy British Super-Spy Jane Bond
by Latina ©
Jane looked around M's spacious office. M's huge desk dominated the office. She wondered why M needed such a big desk, when all that was on it was an ink blotter, a stand holding a gold pen, and a telephone. She wondered if a big desk, like a big gun, was a macho spy's way of compensating for certain, um, physical inadequacies.
M was definitely from the old school. Not only did he not have a desktop computer, like practically everyone else at the agency, but his telephone was still the old plain, black rotary-dial type. No modern innovations for this top British spy. M was such a relic that he had even been reluctant to admit female spies like Jane into The Service.
The walls of M's office were of dark, real wood paneling, that bespoke old-fashioned, old-world elegance. She thought that the office had probably changed little since her famous father had first signed "On Her Majesty's Secret Service" just after World War II. Then she noticed that one wall of M's office was lined with nothing but photos of her famous father, posing with world leaders, with movie stars, and especially, with lots of scantily-clad women. But then, publicity and women had always been her father's style. She hadn't been in M's office since here dad brought her there once as a little girl, but it looked pretty much as she remembered it from that one visit in the 1960s, when her father was just reaching the peak of his Cold War spying fame.
"Do you know why I called you in here, Miss Bond?" M asked.
"I imagine since I just graduated from the academy, you wanted to officially welcome me to The Service."
"Well, yes, there is that. After all, I welcomed your father into The Service when he first joined after military duty, back in 1946. But I really wanted to talk to you about your style and philosophy as a spy for the English Government. Your father--"
"Excuse me, sir, but I am tired of comparisons with my father. All through my training at the Academy, all I heard was James Bond this, and James Bond that. I am Jane Bond, not James Bond."
"I am very glad to hear that, Miss Bond--"
"Call me Jane, please. Or if you must be formal, I prefer Ms. Bond"
M gulped. Being of the old school, practically the poster- boy for the old-boy network, first names seemed too familiar, and M still had a hard time adjusting to the post- Feminist term "Ms." Still, if those were his only two choices...
"All right, Ms. Bond. While I have the utmost respect for all that your father did during his years with us, I want you to know up front that I always thought James Bond was too high-profile to be an effective spy. A good spy enters---"
"unobtrusively, gets the job done quietly, and leaves without anyone knowing he or she was ever there."
"Very good, Ms. Bond. I see you were listening to your instructors at the Academy. You know, we never had an academy to train our operatives when we started. Maybe that's why your father never learned what you just recited from memory. Sometimes, I swear that man had all the subtlety of of a--"
"Very good, Ms. Bond. I couldn't have said it better myself. Yes, well, anyway, I wanted to talk to you, get to know you better, get to more about you."
M tried to be very subtle in looking her over from head to toe, remembering that an experienced master spy like himself should not be detected in any covert activity. 40 years ago, he would have done a lot more than just look, but now M was content to just admire her and long for her, feeling too old now (he would soon be 80) to act on his desires.
Despite his charming attempts at subtlety, Jane Bond nevertheless caught M looking her up and down, and thought sarcastically to herself, "Yeah, I'll just bet you'd like to get to know me better." Maybe M was cut more from the same cloth as her womanizing father, than he realized or cared to admit.
M found a lot to like in Jane's exotic South American features. Although she was just five feet two inches tall, Jane had long, dark legs, like her mother (one of James Bond's many conquests), deep brown eyes that a man's gaze could easily and completely drown in, and shoulder-length dark hair that gave her an aura of mystery and unattainability. But M's infallible instincts told him that the right man could unlock that mystery, break down that unattainability, and release the wild Latina passion that he just knew lurked somewhere beneath her reserved exterior. Reserved was the word M would have chosen to describe her. She wore a knee-length navy-blue skirt, and a matching navy-blue blazer, that covered up everything.
Forty years ago, M might have sweet-talked such a woman out of that skirt and blazer. Sure, James Bond's female conquests were and still are legendary--Jane was the result of one such conquest during a typically-dramatic 007 Brazilian mission--but M had conquered more than his share of beautiful women in his day (he was just too much of an old-school gentleman to have kissed and told the way James had). Unlike James, however, M had finally settled on one woman, and for over 30 years now, he had been concentrating all of his love and lust on her, making Mr. and Mrs. M both far happier than James had ever been, when Bond was spreading himself thin between so many different women, and never getting to know any one of them very well.
Jane could see that M was lost in a daydream, as his gaze lingered on her, trying to see something, anything, through her conservative outfit.
What would M think, she wondered, if he knew that under this tight blazer, which buttons up high enough not to reveal even a hint of cleavage, she had on neither a blouse nor a bra. And under the conservative knee-length skirt, she wore neither stockings nor panties.
She felt more comfortable like that, and she felt deliciously wicked and sexy, knowing that only a thin layer of opaque fabric separated her from men's lustful intentions.
Still, there was only one man whose lustful intentions she cared about: her loving husband, Brad, whom she had met and secretly married two years ago, while both were studying at the Academy. He was so gentle and caring. No matter what mood she was in, he somehow always knew exactly where and how to touch her to suit that specific mood, and to slowly, patiently bring her to her most passionate boiling-point of panting, quaking, screaming, moaning, thrashing orgasm, like nobody else ever had before. Let that old buzzard M appraise her figure, and try to see her hidden treasures, if he wished. She knew that when she got home that night, she could honestly tell her husband that the hidden treasures concealed beneath her prim and proper attire were "For Your Eyes Only."
She knew that Brad would slowly unbutton her blazer and wrestle it off her shoulders, and then slowly unzip the back of her skirt, let it fall, to their floor, and watch her step out of it. She knew that he would delight in finding her 100% naked under that single outer layer of clothing. She knew that he would fondle, caress, massage, kiss, lick, and nibble all of her favorite spots, especially her soft, firm 36-C breasts. And she knew -- oh yes, she was absolutely certain -- that after his long, "Gold Finger" had probed her into dripping-wet excitement, once again, she would get her hot, hungry, tight little pussy completely, thoroughly, and mind-numbingly fucked, in ways that only Brad had ever been capable to do with her. She knew, as did M, that when a married couple loves, respects, listens to, and cherishes each other, it makes the sex much more rewarding than any one-night stand ever could be.
While M was daydreaming about how, so many years ago, he might have found a way to unlock Jane Bond's passion from the reserved front that she presented to the world, he had no idea that Jane was married, and already had a husband who had unlocked that passion in ways that M couldn't even begin to imagine.
When Jane and M finally both snapped out of their daydreams, they both stumbled to pick up the lost threads of their previous conversation. Finally, M spoke first. "So, you can assure me that you are nothing like the rogue elephant that your father was?"
"I am my own person, sir. I do my job without fanfare, and my reward is knowing that I have successfully performed my duty for my country and my Queen." A good thing, she added to herself, that M doesn't know how much like her father she is in one regard: her unbridled and unquenchable thirst for sex, anywhere and anytime, as long as it with her Brad. And just like James Bond, Jane Bond's real reward for a successful mission was the passionate sex that always seemed to follow immediately afterward.
M seemed to respond as much to her secret naughty thoughts as to what she had actually spoken out loud, when he said, "Good, good. Glad to hear it, Miss--I mean, Ms. Bond. I want to send you on your first mission. I've followed your academic career with great interest, and I know that you graduated at the top of your class at the Academy. So I know that you are ready for this mission, and I'm convinced that you are the best candidate for the job."
"I'm ready to serve, sir. What is my mission?"
"Well, before we begin, we need to assign you an agent number." Having no buttons or buzzers on his antiquated phone, to page his secretary, he yelled out through his open office door. "Miss Moneypenny, what is the next unused Double-Oh agent number?"
On her computer, Moneypenny punched up a file listing licensed agents, and replied "Double-Oh-Sixty-Nine."
"Thank you, Miss Moneypenny. Very well, Ms. Bond, your agent number is0069." She couldn't resist shocking the old geezer by squealing, "Ooh, 69, my favorite position. I won't forget MY agent number! That even SOUNDS like me in the middle of a 69: 'OH! OOOHHH! SSSIXTYYY-NNNNINE ME!'"
M was seeing Jane Bond in a whole new light. Maybe she wasn't as reserved as he had thought on first impression. His mind briefly wandered back to wondering what charms were hidden under her tight blazer. He began to wonder if maybe she would use that same teasing sexual enthusiasm, which she had just briefly revealed, to benefit the agency during an assignment. M knew that, what with strict policies against harassment, he couldn't ASK her to use her smoldering Latina good looks and apparently inherited lustful passion in that way, but he still thought it might be nice if she CHOSE to be a sort-of modern-day Mata Hari. He stopped his wandering mind again, to focus once more on briefing Jane for her first spying mission.
M now tossed a stack of photos across his enormous desk at her. "This is W. We can't determine his real name. We just know that he is one of the world's most successful arms dealers. He has been supplying the most lethal sorts of weapons to every extremist, crackpot, and terrorist organization on the planet for at least ten years that we know of. Sometimes, we think he must have graduated from our academy, because he always enters--"
"unobtrusively, gets the job done quietly, and leaves without anyone knowing he was ever there?"
"Yes, quite. Well, this time, we have an advanced tip about when and where he's making his next arms deal. We want you to find a way to infiltrate that transaction, and to stop it before it takes place. You are to do whatever it takes to stop him, but we prefer that you keep as low a profile as possible, and don't risk getting yourself or anyone else hurt or killed."
"I already told you, I'm not like my father," she snapped. "Do you know who my hero is?"
"The unknown tax accountant whose evidence put Al Capone in prison for tax evasion, when the famous Elliott Ness had tried and failed for years to get Capone on bootlegging, murder, extortion, and racketeering charges. The best way to bring a criminal down is with something as subtle as taxes, not with loud explosions and fast-paced car chases like Elliott Ness, or my father. And you can count on me to bring subtlety and discretion to this mission."
"Good," M said, "I knew you wouldn't let me down."
M then began to fill Jane in on the details of her mission, and on the few facts that British Intelligence had learned about the mysterious W. One of the details that Jane filed in the back of his mind, was that W was known to have a wife; Jane wasn't quite sure yet just how, but she sensed that this fact could be useful in bringing the mysterious W to justice. As M talked, Jane already began to form a plan that would use two of the subjects at which she had excelled at the Academy: electronic surveillance, and computers. But she did not feel that she could tell the 80- year-old M about the details of her strategy, because he knew nothing about either subject. After all, electronics and software had not been part of the agency's repertoire in its Cold War 1960s heyday. But then, neither had female agents like Jane Bond.
To Be Continued...
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