My Only Talent Ch. 43

"You are a master of understatement Robbie. Are you still also "The Master"? I'm not sure how I would respond to that costume now."

I chuckled. "That's probably a Halloween only thing now, at least in public."

She smiled and touched my shoulder. "I guess caution is indicated there, too." Yep.

Chrissy and I stayed late, then ended up walking back to my car to make out. At least I had fewer restrictions than in high school. She was every bit as wonderful as I thought, but I felt tentative and inhibited without Suzie signals to guide me. She wanted to take things slow, so that was okay with me. After some patient backseat stimulation, she was slippery when wet, so I was encouraged. To be continued.

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Both sides in the Kashmir conflict had drones purchased from China. They were cost effective and very capable, but they had some embedded MSS spyware and their intrusion defenses were not capable of withstanding Alexander's bright ideas and the skills of the DOD hackers working the issue. One of the sorties of aircraft from India was soon disrupted when the flight leader collided with his malfunctioning drone 'wing man' and they had to return to base with their ordinance load. The Pakistani attack formation had to divert when their radars showed enemy fighters popping up ahead of them unexpectedly at several points along their route, requiring several course changes and depleting their fuel and making them abort their mission. Luckily, terrible weather then set in and both sides were temporarily grounded, hopefully long enough for cooler heads to prevail.

Alexander's head was hot and bothered after two days of high stress brain work, and he was totally fried. When he left work Friday afternoon, he was desperate to get home and turn himself over to Carmencita for some relief. Just as he locked his little office door, a text came in from his bride.

"Honey, my dad was in a wreck, and it may have been because he had a little stroke. My mom is freaked out. I am on my way to DCA to take Southwest to San Antonio. I will update you after I arrive. I am going to miss you tonight."

Boy was he going to miss her, especially tonight. How was he going to get rid of this pounding headache?

He turned begrudgingly and began the long trek toward the far away parking spot that befitted his junior status. He heard a clacking of high heels on the hallway floor behind him. He turned to see Suzanne Pliskin strutting purposefully toward him.

Uh Oh.

His eyes lingered on the tall black high heeled boots she wore, setting off her raven hair. Her navy-blue suit was so tightly cut that her petite, but very shapely figure screamed right through the seemingly understated fabric, with just the right bounce as she moved toward him. Her shining dark brown eyes locked onto him and his breath caught in his throat. She smiled a tight little smile and said, with obvious sexual tension in her sultry voice, "Hello Alexander. We need to talk."

Uh Oh.

Ambassador Pliskin hadn't done any real field work in 30 years, but he could still follow someone unheard and unseen, especially in the White House where he knew every nook and cranny, and the perimeter was tightly controlled. His brain was just as fried from the 24 crazed hours of the Paki problem as his staff, but he needed to know what Suzanne was up to. He was afraid he knew. He also had to know how Alexander would react. If his new protégé succumbed to her power play, the Ambassador would be disappointed, but perhaps he could make some use of Alexander before sacking him. If he passed on Suzanne's temptation, he would be even more trusted and valuable in the future.

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Kevin offered me the weekend use of the condo at Horseshoe Bay, since his dad had paid for the rest of the year already, and I jumped at the chance to spend some truly private time with Chrissy. She was nervous, and I discovered that I was too. She, because she was on the road to losing her virginity, me because I was going to have to try to please her effectively without a Suzie signal to guide me. Friday night was a guest night at the UDP dining hall, so our evening started with having a meal there, along with Oiler and Ralph, who were both batching it this weekend while their girlfriends were back home visiting their parents.

We both hesitated when saying our goodbyes at the frat house, and then looked nervously at each other, knowing we were heading for a whole new destination in our relationship. It was about an hour drive to Horseshoe Bay, and I couldn't help but think about Mei Ling Johnson and the wild time we had the last time I was there. Chrissy was an entirely different situation, and this would be an entirely different evening, I was sure. After about 20 minutes of awkward silence as I drove, Chrissy took my right hand in her left.

"Robbie, you know I trust you to treat me well, don't you?"

I couldn't exactly say no to that, so I said nothing.

"But that doesn't mean you have to be inhibited with me."

Time for some truth telling. "Chrissy, you know that I think you are a very nice girl, from a good family, with a good heart, all that stuff, right?"

Her fingers tensed around mine. She cleared her throat. "But? You didn't say that word, but I heard it in there."

I relaxed. Her fingers did not. "But... you are also very hot. You trigger some deep feelings in me. Earthy feelings, you might say politely. Dirty feelings to put it more honestly."

Her fingers were now digging into mine. "And?"

"I will be tender and gentle with you sometimes, but sometimes I will do some very nasty things to you. Things that get me off. Things you might not have even thought about, things you might not expect. But you are going to let me do them."

My hand was going to sleep from the pressure of hers. She whispered, "like what, Robbie?"

I drew a deep and dramatic breath. "Like your ass. I have been looking at your long legs and tight little buns through those tight little jeans you always wear since that first movie we went to. I want to pull those jeans down and own your hot little ass. Feel it, kiss it, spank it, tongue it, and fuck it!"

Her fingers tensed even more, then relaxed. She began to stroke my hand gently, and then laughed. "I told my mother those designer jeans were worth every penny!"

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Debbie "Dee" Delaney threw herself whole heartedly into her latest assignment, as she always did. She had a reputation to protect. Like the legendary lawmen of the old west, she always got her man. It was appropriate that she was hunting this one in Texas. She used Go-Pros and hidden microphones instead of Colt pistols and Henry rifles, but she was usually just as deadly and on target. She studied her prey intensely, learning his habits and tendencies, reading all the available news items on him, and vacuuming up all related social media accounts.

At first blush, she thought Jay Kincaid would be an easy target: typical privileged rich asshole frat rat, daddy's money, spoiled brat, etc. With a spoiled wife of similar background that he probably cheated on like crazy. When she first began studying Jay, her biggest worry was the he would turn out to be gay and wouldn't respond to Debbie's incredible sexual appeal. But as she went through her checklist, most of the vulnerability boxes she looked for were not checked. First, he grew up at a working ranch, not a country club. He drank beer like most frat boys, but he had no DUI arrests and no reputation for using dope. He had placed in some junior rodeos and made good grades in high school.

She went through all the video and audio that Binky and Ashley sent, and began to see him as more of a challenge. His wife Millie was plenty hot, and they seemed to be doing good things for each other in the bedroom. That hooker costume thing might be just what Millie said it was. They both had more money than God, there was no prenup, and Texas was a community property state. Jay was open and self-confident, and she didn't get any hint of that furtive vibe she often picked up from her prey.

She would have to get up close and personal to study this one and then take this him down. There was a donor dinner coming up at the Rosewood Mansion in Dallas, and she had donated enough to get a seat near Jay. Binky had protested the expense, but Debbie had insisted on it. She chose her outfit carefully. This would be a reconnaissance mission, not the actual takedown.

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Debbie Delaney didn't know it, but in Washington DC one of her 'comrades in arms' was also preparing for a mission not entirely unlike hers. He too was somewhat of a setup artist, albeit a much more well trained and expensive one than Debbie could ever dream of being. He worked for an obscure think tank, officially, but really was employed by one of those three letter government agencies that seek to remain anonymous and unseen. His group was known colloquially in the intelligence community has the "HDees" or Honey Drippers, after some old musical group that one of the ops managers favored. Their official acronym changed about every other administration, as political correctness trickled down to operational reality, but they were more properly called the honey trappers, developing romantic relationships and sexual encounters to facilitate espionage, counter espionage, or even assassination attempts.

He was new to the game, having been trained in his unusual specialty for only three months after being unexpectedly pulled out of his special forces unit. He was dead last in his class in swimming, hand to hand, and marksmanship, but he still met the unit standards, and was much more capable than the average soldier. But he had an incredibly high pain tolerance and was also top of his class in sex appeal. A compact but muscular mesomorph body type, almost perfectly symmetrical facial features, and a confident demeanor all combined to turn the heads of most females and many males. He had always expected a long-term mission in Europe, because his parents were from Quebec and he was native speaker fluent in French but was surprised to learn he would be posted to DC, not far from his Virginia training grounds.

It took him half an hour to find the obscure office deep in the Pentagon. He was even more surprised when his only mission briefer turned out to be a Psy Ops bird Colonel and ex-Ranger. He had even heard of this guy, who must have a security clearance so high that it made your ears pop. What the hell had he gotten himself into?

He was about to ask just that question when the briefer raised his fingers to his lips. "This mission never happened, so you can never mention it to anyone. I am officially your briefer, but after I leave this meeting, you can't even talk to me about it. You will only debrief with one person." The Colonel stood, walked to the door, opened it, and stepped out. A guy in his sixties in a dark blue suit stepped in. He looked very average and unremarkable, except everyone in the special forces community recognized Ambassador Pliskin.

"I won't kid you, Steven, you have just been dropped into some deep shit here! If you do your job, and keep your mouth shut, you will advance in rank several grades and your career will be made. If you fuck it up, or even if you succeed and then blab about it, you'll be praying for a cell in Leavenworth instead of where I'll post you, and you'll be incommunicado until you age out. Understand?"

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Debbie Delaney hired a limo to drop her at the Rosewood. It wouldn't do to arrive at a big-time donor event in an Uber. She was rocking her basic black dress with a little cashmere stole and got some amazing looks from the valets and bell boys when she made her entrance in the lobby. Debbie was used to that kind of reaction from men. She was a late bloomer at 16, but once her flower opened everyone wanted to sniff it, something she rapidly learned how to take advantage of. She sashayed to the Sheppard King Room and presented her invitation to the faux secret service but really rent-a-cop working the door.

A quick visual survey revealed that Jay Kincaid had not yet arrived. She also noted that she was by far the most attractive woman in the room, which was normal. Debbie had learned to recognize men's suits as a shortcut to estimating their financial resources, and she binned them into three categories: Men's Wearhouse, Nordstrom, and bespoke. There were no Men's Wearhouse guys in this room. Running on autopilot, she worked her way through them, dropping her stole lower on her shoulders for one, shooting out a hip for another, and reading their tells. Bespoke suits with ostrich cowboy boots was a uniquely Texas twist - she didn't often see that in California. Only a few guys looked her in the eye - they were the real players. Most stared wistfully at her unobtainable body like a teenager.

She found her place card and found it suitably above the salt, if not right next to Jay, and discretely made one switch of another card so she had men on both sides of her. One of her tasks was to estimate what it took to be seated closer to Jay at the next event. She also wanted to identify his advance men, handlers, and event planner.

She looked up to see a woman approaching her with a painted-on smile. She supposed an introduction was unavoidable. The woman's deep voice announced, "I'm Rosalinde Hunt, I'm sure we haven't met." Debbie somehow vaguely remembered that Rosalinde was a German name that meant something about horses, so she had no trouble using her standard memory tricks, because Rosalind was a horse faced woman if she had ever seen one. About 50, tall, in pretty good shape, and with very expensive clothes and jewelry.

"I'm Charlotte DeVoy." Debbie smiled sincerely, slipping into her cover character quickly.

Rosalinde took charge of the conversation. "My husband and I were very early Kincaid supporters, as our families have known each other for years. We think Jay is a fresh new face on the Texas political scene, with a bright national future. How do you see Jay's future?"

Before she could reply there was a stir as Jay entered the room, but without Millie. Debbie was pleased. Time to get to work. She intended to see Jay's political future folded, spindled and mutilated, all in HD video.

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Monday morning found Alexander Walton continuing to be frazzled from stress. His wife Carmencita was still in San Antonio with her dad, whose stroke had luckily been very mild one. TPA was administered quickly, and he had some clumsiness on one side, but no real cognitive deficits, and was expected to recover without any permanent damage. Alexander felt relieved at the news but had no relief personally from the stress headaches he developed last week. She should be home in a couple more days, and he was looking forward to seeing her for many reasons.

He headed toward his little office praying for a week that was only moderately stressful, hopefully without the threat of a nuclear exchange over Kashmir, or another creeping intelligence failure that was covered up by bureaucratic inertia. He planned to immerse himself in the routine activities of meeting prep and memo response, and hopefully avoid more stress until lovely Carmencita could administer the special treatment he needed.

But just a few feet from his office, he heard bold strutting heels tapping on the floor, coming his way. Suddenly he was caught in a hormonal storm. Cortisol and testosterone were a dangerous admixture, especially with Suzane Pliskin as their catalyst. Her dark hair swayed in the light and her probing brown eyes fixed his as she approached. She knew how hot she was, and how it affected him.

"Hello, Alexander. You look a little stressed. Perhaps we can help each other out?"

He was too freaked out to speak, but she took his silence to mean he wanted to hear more.

"I'm sure you know about my husband's injuries, which have incapacitated him in some particularly unfortunate ways until he completes his rehabilitation. You also are uniquely aware of some of my physical needs, which you have fulfilled in the past quite nicely, and you are also aware of the need for maximum discretion in such things, vis-á-vis our current situations."

She unbuttoned her wool suit jacket and moved a little closer, bending to expose her décolletage, displayed in a more daring than normal fashion with a frilly silk blouse, and began to caress the inside of his arm with her hand. His flesh burned at her touch, and his heartbeat sounded loudly in his ears.

"I think we should meet once or twice a week, very discretely of course, for some mutually satisfactory physical tension and release. We will have time to go far beyond what happened in that hospital room in Austin, and we can do things for each other even more delightful than that brief interlude was. I really liked controlling you and pleasing you as I did then, and I know you liked it too. I can also be very demanding, and I will make sure that you enjoy some very high intensity interval training, so to speak, while working hard to please me."

Alexander was stunned, and suddenly strangely philosophical. A year ago, an offer like that from Suzanne would have made his dreams come true and he would have accepted without hesitation. But now they were both married to someone else, and he was totally committed to his wife. Carmencita was all for effective rehab, but she would not be in favor of Alexander offering or receiving this kind of treatment with anyone else.

When he said nothing, Suzanne continued to press her case, adding a political stick to her very attractive carrot. "I would feel very hurt if you turned my offer down! I rather think I could influence my father very negatively as far as your career was concerned. But if you help me out, I will help you, too."

It was that last bit that made his mind up for him. But how to turn her down diplomatically?

"Suzanne, what happened in Austin was wonderful, one of my fondest memories."

She smiled and moved even closer to him, reaching between his legs. But before she could touch him, he continued.

"But I could never betray Carmencita. And I am certain she would not approve." He didn't mention that Carmencita was proving to be much more accomplished at teasing and pleasing him than Suzanne had ever been.

Her face and the motion of her hand both froze. Then she turned and stomped away. What would happen next?

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Chrissy was silent as we climbed the stairs up to the condo. So was I. She was looking up toward the doorway, and I was looking up at her ass as she went up the stairs. It inspired me. I clicked the door shut behind me, and suddenly a smell triggered my memory of Mei Ling's little gang bang, and I was in rut.

Apparently so was Chrissy. The smell was coming from her, it was beyond enticing and enchanting, and it was emboldening and enabling me. I didn't need any special talent to gauge her mood. She hesitated at the top of the stairs, looking out the big picture window to a couple of lonely sail boats catching the slanted and rose-tinted late day sun. Then she went over and closed the curtains.

I took her in my arms and kissed her tenderly, suddenly fearful again of pushing her too hard. I couldn't hear her Suzie, so I couldn't tell just how fast to go and what to avoid. Our kiss became deeper, and her breathing accelerated. She broke away and looked at me with an expression I had never seen on her face before. Was she worried, or thoughtful, or what?

Then she got a tight little smile and turned her back on me! She put her hands on the wall and leaned slightly away from me, sticking her buttocks out shamelessly. That was body language anyone could interpret, especially me.