The Best Erotic Stories.

In Her Father's Footsteps Pt. 3 of 14
Erotic Adventures of Sexy British Super-Spy Jane Bond
by Latina
  

Jane Bond, daughter of famous British spy 007, spent a frustrating third morning in her new job at MI-6, British Intelligence. Her first mission since graduating from the British spy academy, was to find the elusive terrorist arms merchant called W, and stop him from making his next arms deal.

Jane had discovered that W had also attended the British spy academy, class of 1987, calling himself William Washington Walker in those days. His wife had also attended the spy academy at the same time, and then went by the ludicrous alias of Wendy Warmcox. That was all a good start, but after spending her entire third morning crunching through The Agency's massive database, she was still no closer to finding the real names, or current whereabouts, of William Walker or Wendy Warmcox. So Jane was relieved when it was finally lunch time, and she could take a break in the agency's cafeteria.

The only table available in the small, crowded cafeteria was next to the bar (it went without saying, that MI-6's cafeteria, established by notorious old-school womanizers such as her own father, had a bar). Jane would normally not have accepted sitting so close to so many swaggering male spies, bragging about their latest female conquests, as they consumed their three-martini lunches. But after the unproductive morning that she had just suffered, Jane was too tired and frustrated to find another eating establishment now.

As Jane sat down to eat lunch, she overheard a group of young male spies at the bar, talking about their recent graduation party, held in Vienna, Austria. Jane knew from her father's stories, that Vienna had been a favorite hangout of Cold War spies, both eastern and western. Spies on both sides had enormous respect for each other's professionalism, and in neutral Vienna, they could break bread and share a drink, without being suspected of sharing each other's national secrets.

An older spy at the bar, slightly inebriated, piped up "Aww, you kids don't know the first thing about wild graduation parties. You know, when we first set up the Academy, one of our senior spies STARTED the tradition of graduation parties in Vienna. Now, HE knew how to throw a party!"

The younger spies laughed. "And who would that be, old man?"

"Double-Oh-Seven. James Bond," he stated flatly, in his best Jack Webb "Just the Facts, Ma'am" voice, tinged with both triumph and reverence.

"James Bond?" the boys whispered in hushed tones of great reverence.

Jane couldn't help butting into this conversation. Turning to the older spy, she challenged, "Oh, what would YOU know about my father?"

"Your father?" one of the younger spies chimed in. "Do you mean that you're--"

Jane pushed her chair back, stood up, and extended her hand to shake the young spy's hand.

"Bond. Jane Bond." She had always wanted to say that!

One of the young and inebriated spies asked, incredulously, "YOU'RE Jane Bond?"

"In the flesh."

"And VERY nice flesh it is!"

"Thank you. Play your cards right, and maybe I'll show you MORE of this flesh," Jane smiled and winked saucily, knowing that not one of these young spies would ever get a thing out of her, when her Brad was a far better lover than any of them could ever be.

The older spy lightly touched Jane's hand, bowed, and in a gesture of attempted gallantry that didn't quite work in his drunken stupor, kissed Jane's hand. The younger spies snickered over his botched attempt at a quaint, old- fashioned gesture, but Jane felt mildly flattered.

"I'll tell you what I know about your father, young missy," the older spy slurred. "One of the last parties he threw, was one of the best. It was for the class of 1987."

Another spy chimed in, "I was in the class of 1987. I remember that party. It was at Rick's Cafe Americain hotel in Vienna. James Bond had picked that spot, because he was a real fan of the movie `Casablanca', and its hero, Rick, had started that hotel in Vienna after the war."

Jane began to wonder where movies left off and reality began. Her father was better known for Sean Connery's portrayal of him, than for the real man whom she had barely known as a child, and had not seen in many years. And Jane had always assumed that Casablanca was fiction, yet here she was hearing that Humphrey Bogart had portrayed a real character after all, and her legendary father had apparently known the real Rick.

"1987 was one of the first years we allowed women would-be spies into the Academy," the man at the bar continued. "I remember one of these co-ed spies, a pretty blonde, had a reputation for having a lot of men, but she seemed to be inseparable from one of her male classmates. So maybe she put out for him, but I, for one, did not believe the stories that she had put out for a lot of boys when she was younger. Her guy was a real jock type--those kind always get all the pretty girls. She supposedly had done it with a lot of jocks, but again, I didn't believe any of it. I mean, she never left his side, they were constantly hugging and kissing all through the party, and dancing real close. I mean, you could see he had his hard cock pressed tightly against her pussy all through the dancing. When they weren't dancing, you could see the triangle of her pussy against her tight, short skirt, and the bulging ridge along the front of his pants. They were just completely inseparable, I tell you, and if not in love, at least in deep lust, with each other. So I ask you, when would she have found time to fool around with a lot of other guys, like the rumors said she did?"

"OK, maybe those two were wild, but what made the party itself wild?" one of the younger spies wanted to know.

"Well, you ain't heard nothing yet," the 1987 alumnus continued. "After the party, that pair disappeared into one of Cafe Americain's suites. A bunch of us would pass back and forth past the room, just to hear those high-pitched female moans, giggles, oohs, ahhs, and screams. We would see room service deliver food up to their room, the door would open just enough for an arm to reach through and grab the food from the waiter, then the door would slam shut and the dead-bolt lock would click, and we would hear the chain sliding into place to double-lock the door. Then we would hear food slopping around, and hear her say things like `Yes, put that mashed potato right there, and lick it off me. Mmmm! Oooh, yes!' and stuff like that. Day after day, it went on like that, and the `Do Not Disturb' sign never left their door. They never came out for anything, they had everything delivered up to their room."

The story continued. "Curious how long they could keep it up, I took the room right across the hallway from theirs. I would hear their bed creaking at all hours of night and day. I would hear her moaning, screaming, yelling out `Yes!' at the top of her lungs, stuff like that. I would hear them filling up their bathtub, and the two of them splashing around in there. I would hear him hollering stuff like `Suck it! Harder!' and `Here it comes, baby. I'm going to fill you up!' In a way, it was kind of funny, like an X- rated movie with a sense of humor, but it was also a turn- on, especially when I could hear HER yelling, screaming and moaning!"

"You're full of it!" one of the younger spies slurred through his fourth or fifth martini. Shaken, not stirred.

"Well, I tell you, I stayed in that room a full year, until the 1988 graduating class threw their party. They never came out once that whole year, just stayed in that room and fucked each other's brains out for a whole year."

"I agree, you ARE full of it!" another young spy confirmed.

"When they held that 1988 party," the story-teller continued, unphased by the heckling, "this couple finally emerged from their hotel room after a year. They joined the 1988 party, had food and drink, danced together. I watched them the whole evening, they were still just as romantic with each other as they had been at the 1987 party. At the end of the evening, they strolled out the front door of the hotel, arm in arm, making googly eyes at each other, both smiling and giggling. They walked out into the streets of Vienna, and nobody at MI-6 has seen either of them ever since."

"Yeah, right!" one of the hecklers continued. "If this really happened, what were their names, smarty?"

"I don't remember his name--"

"Uh-huh! Of course, you don't You made it up!"

"BUT--" the story-teller continued, sputtering.

The younger spies all began jeering and heckling.

"BUT!" he shouted, even louder, and they quieted down. "But I DO remember HER name. Her name matched her reputation. She was Wendy Warmcox."

Jane's ears perked up at that now-familiar name.

"Bullshit!" one of the hecklers yelled. "What kind of name is Warmcox? No woman has a name like that!"

"Excuse me," Jane Bond said. "Did you say Wendy Warmcox?"

"Yeah, what's it to you?" the story-teller, by now tiring of all the heckling, challenged her.

Jane reached in her purse and pulled out the little color Polaroid snapshot of Wendy and W naked in bed, with W's wrists and ankles tied to the four corner bed-posts.

"Is this her?" Jane asked.

"Yeah, that's her. And the guy is the man she was always with, for a whole year in that hotel room. His name was William Weston, or Warburton, or something like that."

"Walker?" Jane asked.

"Yeah, that's it. William Walker."

The younger male spies gathered around Jane and her snapshot, their eyes bugging out as much at W's 10-inch cock as at Wendy's inviting naked curves and big-nippled 40- inch chest.

"Where did you get that photo?" the story-teller asked.

Jane put her index finger to her lips. "Shh! That's an MI-6 secret. I could tell you," she smiled, "but then I'd have to kill you!" She burst out laughing.

"Well, that photo looks like it was taken in their suite at Rick's Cafe Americain, in Vienna. The very room where my story took place."

Jane perked up again. "Do you remember the room number?"

"Of course. I had room 68, right across the hall. Their suite was number 69."

"Sixty-nine? You've got to be kidding," Jane said.

"Yeah, it does seem a coincidence. William and Wendy probably did a lot of 69 in room 69."

"Yeah, well I like to 69 myself," Jane smiled. "Maybe that's why they made me Agent 0069! You know, 'OH! OOOOHHHH! SSSSIXTYYY-NNNNINE!'" she cooed. She was starting to like saying her agent number in this sexy way, almost as much as she liked saying "Bond. Jane Bond."

The men who had gathered around her stepped back now, and began to look Jane up and down, with not even the pretense of stealth that M had exhibited on Jane's first day in M's office. Funny, they hadn't noticed before how stunning this dark, Latin-American beauty was. They all tried to picture getting into a 69 position with her.

"Well," Jane smiled, "my lunch hour is over. I have to get back to work. I imagine you boys do, too."

"What are you doing AFTER work?" one of the younger men asked.

"Going home to screw my husband all night long." As Jane said this, she pictured all the things she would do with Brad that evening, and wondered if she and Brad could last a whole year in a hotel, having nothing but wild sex all day and night for a year. As she headed back to her computer, her mind wandered to deliciously naughty thoughts about her and Brad, and about Wendy and arms merchant W. She felt her panties begin to dampen. She also began to formulate a plan, to fly to Vienna and visit Suite 69 at the Cafe Americain Hotel. She wasn't sure what she expected to find there, and she doubted that M would authorize such an expense for a new hire, but Jane just knew that this was something she had to do.

To Be Continued...

 

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