San Salvador Surprise

Dirk Steele was the best of the best. Nineteen years of training, fighting, traveling and learning had made him a lethal and sophisticated weapon. Not a crude, blunt instrument, like a bomb. Agent Steele was a sniper, a scalpel, a ninja in the dark. He was the coup you didn't expect. The dark horse, the ghost in the machine. He was death to the enemies of his masters, fear to those who grudgingly did their bidding.

When Venezuela decided to nationalize the oil industry, he was there. Dirk Steele knew Saddam would invade Kuwait before Saddam did. In Panama, in Bosnia, in Libya, and on the streets of Detroit, men knew him without knowing him. He was the last resort. When political pressure failed, when invasion wasn't possible, they called Agent Steele.

His specialty was the creation of credible resistance. He knew how to organize, fund and arm a counterrevolutionary militia like he knew how to take out the trash. He was a master of propaganda and its dissemination. He knew how to turn a population against a leader who only had the best interest of his people at heart; he could kill a man and make sure his ideas died with him. He was an operator at every level. Deadly on the battlefield, literal or political.

He was a physical specimen. Tall, tan and heavily muscled, his body the reward for a lifetime of hard work. He was a Brazilian Jiu Jitsu black belt and a girevik -- a lifter of Russian kettlebells. Daily yoga practice had kept him flexible. He moved as a panther does, smooth and powerful.

Today Mr. Steele was on a mission again.

He sat in the back of a small San Salvador cafe, facing the door. El Salvador had recently become the first country on Earth to adopt Bitcoin as legal tender, and the IMF wasn't happy about it. They'd tried to apply pressure through more conventional means, but El Salvador's young President Bukele remained obstinate.

Dirk Steele intended to help him see the error of his ways.

The door of the cafe opened. In walked Agent Steele's contact, Andrea Hernandez.

She was a young Latina. The tan skin, long dark hair and full figure all matched the pictures he'd seen in her dossier. The man in him couldn't help but stir a bit at the sight of her. In another context she'd be exactly his type. He buried those thoughts as she approached and sat at the table next to him.

He made eye contact with her and smiled. She caught his eyes, smiled shyly, looked away and then quickly glanced back. He leaned slightly towards her.

"Hoy es un día muy soleado, ¿no?" he asked.

" Sí," she replied, "Y la luz es amarilla."

Code phrases exchanged, they both sat for awhile and enjoyed their coffees in silence. He left first. A few minutes later she came out of the cafe and came down the street to meet him. They spent the next few hours moving aimlessly around the city -- first by bus, then they took an Uber. After Dirk was convinced they weren't being followed they made their way back to Andrea's apartment.

Her place was small enough to be called cozy. Modern, with a third floor view of West San Salvador's trendy Escalón neighborhood. The AC felt great after the hours outside in the hot afternoon sun. Andrea invited Dirk to take a seat on one of the low couches in her living room while she got them some water from the kitchen.

She sat the glasses on the coffee table in front of the couch and then sat down next to him. Finally they could talk business.

He took a sip of water and knew instantly something was wrong. She was looking at him. He met her gaze, and her dark golden brown eyes seemed to flash with triumphant internal laughter.

"Oh, you are very good," she said. "Most people don't realize they've been drugged for at least another minute."

He tried to stand, to reach for the pistol concealed in the waistband of his shorts, but his limbs felt heavy. He was suddenly tired, as if he'd been running for hours. It was all he could do to keep his eyes open.

He felt he could still speak, but he didn't. There was nothing to say. Even the best make mistakes, and he'd made his. He would die here on this couch.

It was as if she'd read his mind.

"Don't worry," she said, "I didn't poison you. It's just a light sedative. So we can talk and I don't have to worry about you doing anything crazy."

"Talk?" he replied. If she wasn't going to kill him outright maybe there was a way this situation could still be salvaged. He couldn't move, but that wouldn't last forever.

"Yes," she said, with a bit of a menacing laugh in her smoky voice. "You see, the people I work for think you could be very useful for us. But you're going to have to cooperate."

"What do you want from me?" he asked, hoping to drag the conversation out. Of course he'd die before he betrayed his mission, but the longer this went on the more chance he had for the drug to wear off.

"You're going to work for us now. Well, for me. You'll tell me everything you know about your organization's efforts to destabilize my country's economy. And you'll report to me anything you learn in the future. We'll have other things for you to do, too, but for now la informacion es todo necesitamos." There was an unnerving certainty in her tone.

"Why would I do any of that?" he asked, defiantly.

She laughed ominously.

"Oh, you won't have a choice. We know quite a bit about you, Mr. Steele."

"Then you know there's nothing you can use to blackmail me."

Her full, plump lips pulled back to reveal a brilliant white smile. "Who said anything about blackmail?" she asked, teasingly.

He said nothing.

She leaned in a bit closer. "Can I ask you a question, Mr. Steele?"

Her hand settled on his thigh. He would have reacted if he could, but the drug kept him relaxed and immobile. She was very close now. He could feel her hot breath on his ear, his neck. He tried to ignore it, but his dick twitched in his shorts. At least some part of him could move.

"Do you have a big penis, Mr. Steele?" she whispered.

Instantly he felt his ears get hot, his cheeks flush. A bolt of icy cold fear shot through his stomach. Did she know his secret? No, there was no way. She must have gotten lucky. He was going to be fine. He'd be able to resist her.

Her hand moved to his now rock hard bulge.

"Oh, no," she crooned, rubbing him. "You poor thing. Such a big, strong man, with such a tiny little cock..."

He couldn't think. She had him out now, his shorts pulled down just far enough. She was stroking him, up, down, her strong hand gripping at the base and rubbing at the head. He was mortified, embarrassed, exposed, and for the first time in his professional career completely out of control. And she was still talking in that low, husky, soft feminine voice.

"Such a good little hard dick," she said. "You love my hand on it, don't you? You love how I jerk you off so good. So many missions, so much travel, you probably don't have much time for a girlfriend, do you? And with this -- what should we call this? Your dirty little secret? I don't see you pulling many women from the clubs. You masturbate all the time, don't you, Mr. Steele?"

"Yes," he replied, in spite of himself.

"Mmm," she moaned softly. "You must be so horny. Don't worry. Mama is going to take care of you."

He felt his cock pulse in her hand.

"Ooh," she said with a hint of triumph in her voice, "That's a good little boy. But I have to tell you something. Mama has been bad. The drug she gave you didn't just make it hard for you to move. Tell me, Mr. Big Bad Agent Steele, do you know anything about hypnosis?"

He was simultaneously totally aroused and completely terrified. Her hand was still on his dick, slowly moving up and down, squeezing, teasing. Then her hand closed around his balls.

He couldn't help but let out a little moan.

She smiled. "Well?" she asked again, giving his balls an encouraging squeeze.

He didn't know anything about hypnosis. But he was sure under normal circumstances he'd be able to resist any form of mental control. But these weren't normal circumstances. His mind raced. There were only one or two women on Earth who knew about his weakness. They must have gotten to one of them. If that was the case, he might really be in trouble.

No! His inner samurai fought back. He'd be able to resist this thick Latina bitch with her big ass and her strong hand on his cock. God that hand felt good.

"Fuck you," he finally replied.

She laughed again. "You're a fighter. I like that. The drug I gave you is really pretty amazing. On its own it just does what you're feeling now. Makes it hard for you to move. But when it's combined with dopamine and oxytocin in the brain it has a very interesting effect. It makes even the strongest minds completely blank and docile, ready for suggestion. Ready for hypnosis."

Her hands were running all over his body now. His stomach, his chest, her fingers circling his nipples. She kissed his neck and nibbled his ear as she talked. He tried not to enjoy it, but it felt so good. He could listen to her beautiful Spanish accented voice all day.

She continued. "Now, do you have any idea how we might get some dopamine and oxytocin into your brain, Mr. Steele?"

He knew, but he didn't answer.

"I'm going to make you cum," she whispered into his soul. "Then you'll be mine."

"I'll never cum for you!" he responded, hoping he sounded more confident than he really was.

"Oh no?" she replied, her voice full of mock concern. "My beautiful hand isn't enough? Well then. I guess there is one other thing I could try..."

She stood in front of him, grabbed his legs, and lifted him up onto the couch. Before he knew it he was lying on his back, staring up at the white plaster ceiling. His dick was still rock hard, but he was starting to feel a little hopeful. He could move his toes, just a bit. The drug was wearing off. If she rode him he knew he could resist cumming inside her long enough to get free. It was only a matter of time.

He couldn't crane his neck to watch what she was doing, but he felt her soft warm body as she straddled him.

"I meant to ask," she said, and he could tell by the sound of her voice she was facing away from his head, "Do you like my perfume, Mr. Steele?"

He did like it. He'd noticed as soon as she sat down next to him on the first bus they took. She smelled like flowers.

"Us Latinas always like to smell good. We're so clean and pretty. But you know we have a secret, don't you, Mr. Steele?"

He felt his dick throb and his blood run cold.

"It really was such a hot day," she continued, slowly starting to stroke him again. "I'm all sweaty...down there. Honestly I feel a little dirty. Do you think you could help me with that, Mr. Agent?"

He saw the white hem of her sundress first. It was stretched tight around the luscious curve of her big brown ass. Then the fabric pulled up as she sat back further, and he saw it for the first time. Something deep inside him broke, and he knew the fight was over.

She had a big pussy, with meaty lips and a big swollen brown clit. She was hairy. The curly dark brown hair went all the way around her cunt and down to her asshole. A queen pussy.

Then she sat back, ever so gently, until the tip of his nose was lodged firmly between those sweet pussy lips. He felt the weight of her fat ass press his head down into the couch. Her hand started pumping faster, harder.

Her strong Latina scent engulfed him. Musky, with a tinge of urine, full of pheromones that invaded and conquered his mind like the Romans when they finally got to Carthage. He took a deep breath in, and heard her chuckle.

"Clean me," she commanded, her voice made of soft silk and iron.

He obeyed at once, licking her eagerly, loving every sweet salty drop of her pussy juice on his tongue. She was already soaking wet. He kissed her lips first, ran his tongue up and down inside her slit, expertly teased her clit with his practiced servant's tongue. She let out a low moan and settled her hips more down on his face, pressing him deeper into her. He pulled her fat horny clit into his mouth and happily began to suck.

Her hand was moving much faster now, up, down, up down, squeezing him hard. He tried to move his tongue on pace with her hand as he kept her clit in place with constant suction. She was moaning loudly now. Her hips bucked up and down in time with his tongue, rubbing her big wet smelly hairy pussy all over his face. He drank her juice, lost in her scent.

"That's it," she said from so far away, "That's a good little dick! Make that little big dick cum for your queen's stinky pussy!"

"Oh! Dick! Hand! Stinky pussy!" he moaned into her cunt and came. The lights went out, his world collapsed into dark ecstasy and Dirk Steele went to sleep.

She felt him throb, twitch, then squirt spurts of thin watery cum. The little gringo fucker really did jerk off a lot. Good thing he came when he did, though. That tongue of his had been close to overwhelming her.

She got off him and went to the bathroom to get a towel. Her bush, asshole and inner thighs were all completely soaked. She needed to cum, badly, but there was work to be done first. For the next half hour her pet secret agent would be perfectly docile, completely receptive to her every suggestion and command. Then he'd wake, completely unaware anything had happened. Maybe she'd put that tongue of his to work then.

Andrea smiled. Who said counterintelligence operations couldn't be fun?