Spy Games Ch. 02

I either did what she said or starved.

On the flip side of things, following Amanda around the grocery store or helping her peel potatoes wasn't the worst fate I could imagine. While certainly not an ugly girl, she was far from a raving beauty and insisted on treating me like an annoying little brother. But she did have her high points... like long toned legs that begged to be wrapped around a man's waist... and the cutest little boobs you'd ever find in a B cup bra (I popped open a couple of her blouse buttons one day, just to keep in practice). So, I stayed the course, hoping my rapt attention to her every word would somehow force her to look at me as an equal.

My first indication that she might be tolerating my constant presence was when she asked me to take her clothes shopping a week after she signed on as our maid.

"I don't expect you to buy me anything," she said. "I'd just appreciate the company... and perhaps a strong pair of arms to carry my purchases."

This was my first experience in a lady's clothing store. From watching old movies, I wasn't surprised when Amanda came out of the dressing room to get my opinion on each and every outfit she tried on. Asking me to come into her dressing room to help with an especially tricky zipper also seemed normal. But, after I displayed my amazing dexterity with buttons, snaps, zippers and all things that keep a woman's clothes secured to her body, I was shocked when she asked me to remain with her while she tried on several other items.

Don't stare, I told myself when she removed her blouse. Look her in the eyes.

She had the decency to turn her back when she removed her bra but then spun around with a new bra in each hand.

"Red or black?" she asked.

"Huh?"

"Which one do you prefer?" she asked, alternately holding a red and then a black bra against her boobs.

"I uh, I like them both." The words stumbled out of my mouth as I was forced to look where Mrs. B said I never should.

"How about neither?" she asked, pulling both bras away, giving me an unobstructed view of her small but enticing breasts.

My eyes darted between her eyes and her boobs and finally settled on her impish smile. I didn't know if she was smiling with me or laughing at me, but I was definitely being played.

"Definitely my favorite," I said. "They should go well with the sheer white blouse."

"With or without the jacket?"

"That's a good question. Why don't we pop down to the pub, have a couple of beers and ask for the barkeep's opinion?"

"I don't think so. These are for your eyes only."

Amanda closed the small space between us and kissed me lightly on the cheek. I responded with a slightly more forceful offering to her lips. When she didn't draw back, I kissed her again... on the lips and then the chin.

"Are they only for my eyes, or am I also allowed a taste?" I knelt down to a knee and wetted a nipple with the tip of my tongue.

"Maybe just a nibble..."

A knock on the dressing room door interrupted what could have been the best conversation of my young life.

"No gentlemen in the lady's dressing rooms please," an elderly female voice called out over the partition.

"Give us a minute," Amanda replied. "My zipper's stuck."

"Do you need assistance?" the lady said.

"No need. My boyfriend seems to have everything well in hand. We'll be right out."

Amanda quickly changed back into her own clothes, giving me my first view of her panty clad fanny as she changed skirts. I opened the dressing room door to see a scowling store owner flanked by a young shop girl who winked when we passed by.

"Boyfriend?" I asked as we exited the store.

"What was I supposed to call you? The deviant young man with no visible means of support who lives with my employer?"

"You could have claimed I was your brother."

"Not likely, considering what I have in mind for us."

Amanda looped her arm into mine as we walked towards the tube station and, at that moment, I realized I had crossed the barrier. I had jumped the chasm between acquaintance and friend... soon to be lover. The problem was, I couldn't put my finger on how I did it. Sure, I spat out a few nifty lines, all plagiarized from the romance books Mrs. B forced me to read. But that happened after she invited me into the dressing room... after she removed her blouse and bra. She was the pursuer. I was pursued.

What happened between yesterday and today to make her suddenly take an interest in me?

We prepared baked cod with a lemon sauce for dinner that evening. I'm sure a starch and vegetable were also on the menu, but what made the meal special was the change in Amanda's attitude towards me. Gruff orders to grate a lemon were replaced with "be a dear" and "if you don't mind".

The normal drudgery of clean up also took on a lighter mood. As usual, I washed, so her nails wouldn't get ruined, and she dried, because I never put the pots and pans in the right place. Unusual, was the occasional kiss on the cheek or the playful flick of the drying towel on my ass as we accomplished the otherwise mundane task.

A happy but confused teen-aged boy went to bed that night. Sleep didn't come. I lay awake, trying to figure out what I had finally done right. What words, actions or deeds broke through Amanda's defenses and led me to the inner sanctum?

She likes me! It's the only thing that makes any sense. After spending a week working close to me, she decided I was boyfriend material.

Very seldom in one's life is a theory so quickly confirmed by facts. Like a sign from Aphrodite herself, shortly after I thought it, I knew it was true.

I heard soft footsteps come down the stairs. I saw a sliver of light illuminate my bedroom as the door opened. I felt a warm, naked body slip under the sheets. And I heard her enchanting voice whisper...

"We must be quiet. I don't want to wake Mrs. B."

***

There was no doubt in either of our minds that Mrs. B knew what we were doing. If Amanda shouting "Oh my God that thing is huge" the first time she saw me with my pants off didn't wake my supposedly sleeping mentor, then the sound of the two of us rolling off the bed and crashing to the floor while we fought for the top position should have certainly got her attention. But the only outward hint that she knew of our nightly sex-capades was the temporary interruption of her lessons with me.

Sex with Amanda was completely different from what I'd been doing. I'm not saying I didn't enjoy my sessions with Mrs. Bancroft, but there was never a doubt that I was the student, and she was the teacher. When the lesson was over, Mrs. B turned back into my boss, and I remained her ward.

Amanda was always Amanda. She giggled and laughed and teased whether we were fucking in the bedroom or cooking in the kitchen. We couldn't get enough of each other, and not just sexually. She wanted to tell me everything about her life -- from the name of her first kitten to the date of her last period -- and expected me to do the same. Which was a problem.

I never had a kitten or a period... and damn near every major or minor event in my life was classified. Sure, I had a cover story. I was taking a year off between high school and college. Mrs. B was a friend of the family and was gracious enough to host me for a few months. But when Amanda asked about where I grew up, who my friends were or what my parents did for a living, I was forced to either talk in generalities or make shit up. Like everybody's mother told them, once you tell the first lie, you'd better have a hundred more ready to go.

A few days after our memorable trip to the clothing store, Amanda met me at the door, grabbed my hand and drug me into the kitchen.

"I got a part," she said.

"A part of what?"

"No dummy. A part in a play."

"Which one?"

"Taming of the Shrew."

"The Shakespeare comedy?"

"Sort of. It's a modernized version that takes place in the present and I'm going to be in it."

"That's fantastic. You're a natural for the shrew."

"Watch what you say, or I'll show you how well I can play the bitch. But no, they don't give the lead to newbies. I'll be playing the Shrew's maid."

"How appropriate. You're already doing it in real life."

Her upcoming debut on the professional stage helped keep our dialogue centered on Amanda and off my past. Especially when she asked for help learning her lines.

"You're the maid. How many lines can you have?"

"Three actually. But I'm also the understudy for the lead, so I must learn all her lines as well."

So, when we weren't cooking, cleaning, or fucking, we read through the play... so many times that I knew the entire farce by heart. Especially the scene where the Shrew gets spanked by the leading man. And I'm not talking about a gentle slap on the wrist when the Shrew disobeyed her husband. We're talking a sit on the chair, bend the girl over your lap, pull up her dress and redden her ass kind of spanking.

"Don't hold back," Amanda said the first time we practiced the scene. "The patrons in the back row need to hear your hand hit my bum."

***

I spent the next three weeks enjoying Amanda's company and body while trying my best to avoid her personal questions. I wanted to tell her everything. I wanted to brag about my newfound pick pocket skills and complain about my lack of friends. I dreamed of taking her to my friend's ranch in Montana and introducing her to my parents. But whenever the subject of my past came up, I tried to steer the conversation back towards her.

My month with Amanda was over well before I was ready.

"You don't have to go?" I told her after we made love that last night. "I'm sure I can talk Mrs. B into letting you stay."

"I can't." Tears welled up in her eyes. "I start full time rehearsals tomorrow and won't be able to cook or clean for Mrs. Bancroft anymore."

"So what? We got by without a maid before. I'll do the cooking..."

Amanda's tears turned into a waterfall.

"I can't stay longer than a month because that wasn't part of the agreement."

"What agreement?"

"Mrs. Bancroft promised to get me a part on a London stage if I worked as her maid for a month."

"Why would she do that?"

"Oh God. I love the hell out of you, but you are so naïve. I agreed to let you seduce me in exchange for a bit part in Shrew. And now that you've learned all you can from me, I have to move out so she can bring in the next bimbo for you to fuck."

She was right. I was naïve. And dumb as dirt. Professional actresses don't fall in love with teenaged boys... especially one whose only experience with women came from the internet and an aging nymphomaniacal spy.

"It was all an act?" I asked in the calmest voice I could muster. "Make the kid fall in love, collect your fee and move on. Bravo. I'm sure you've got a great career ahead of you because I sure believed your performance. Now take your bow and exit stage left."

"You're right, it was an act. But don't give me all the credit, because you weren't the only one to fall in love."

"You can't really expect me to believe that."

"It doesn't matter if you do or not. Either way, I'm forbidden from ever seeing you again or even speaking your name. Once I walk out that door tomorrow morning, I can never come back."

"What are you saying?"

"Let me spend the night in your arms. Give me one more memory before I have to forget the best month of my life."

***

Amanda was gone when I woke the next morning. Gone from my bed, from the condo and from my life.

"Why did you pay her?" I demanded when Mrs. Bancroft walked into the kitchen for breakfast.

"Well done. You discovered her secret."

Not quite the answer I was expecting. And then it came to me. Mrs. B's challenge when she first brought Amanda into the house. 'You have thirty days to discover her secret'. I was so smitten with the girl that I'd completely forgotten.

"That's her secret? She was being paid to be my girlfriend."

"No. She was being paid for cooking and cleaning. Getting the part in "Shrew" was her bonus if she let you seduce her."

"Fine. You didn't pay her to fuck me. You bribed her... with the one thing she wanted most in the world. But my original question remains. Why did you do it? You obviously hired her so I could practice on a younger woman, so why did you bribe her to make love to me. Didn't you trust me to seduce her?"

"I gave you a week. If you remember, despite your best attempts, she would have nothing to do with you the first seven days she was here. She ignored you at best and scorned you whenever you made an attempt at romance. Once it was evident you weren't going to get the job done by yourself, I gave her a little incentive."

"She really thought she was going to be a maid?"

"Yes, a maid for a month, until I found somebody permanent. But since you were striking out at every turn, and your confidence was in the cellar, I decided to help things along... you know, give you an ego boost."

"Well that obviously didn't work."

"Why would you say that?"

"Because now I'm a confirmed loser. I'm eighteen and the only girl I ever dated was a hooker."

"Do not say that about Amanda," Mrs. B said. "She is not a prostitute."

"I'm sorry. You're absolutely right. A prostitute doesn't pretend she loves you."

"Tell me young prince, how many times did you and Amanda have sex?"

"What does it matter?"

"Humor me. Was it just the one time or were there more?"

"You already know the answer to that. We were doing it right across the hall from your bedroom. You had to know we were screwing every night for the last three weeks."

"Which proves that you are an amazing lover."

"Huh?"

"The deal I made with Amanda was for one night. If she had sex with you one time, I promised to get her a part in the play. She came back for all the subsequent nights because she wanted to. And trust me, I don't care how good of an actress the girl is, from the sounds that came through your door, she was not faking those orgasms and from the tears in her eyes when she left this morning, her love for you is the real deal."

"Then why does she have to leave?"

"To make room for the next girl."

"I don't want another girl. I want Amanda."

"Why? Why do you want Amanda?"

"Isn't it obvious? I... I have feelings for her."

"Come on. You can do better than that. What type of feelings?"

"You know. Romantic feelings."

"Damn it boy. Just say it. You love the girl."

"Yes," I screamed. "I love Amanda and plan to spend the rest of my life with her. There will be no more secrets between us. She's going to meet my only other friend in the world, we'll have Sunday dinners with my parents and..."

I stopped. Because continuing would be fruitless. I had just proven Mrs. B's point. Amanda was going to be a famous actress, always in the spotlight. I was going to be a spy, forever in the shadows. I couldn't live in her world, and she certainly couldn't exist in mine.

Mrs. B held me in her arms -- right there in the middle of the kitchen -- while I stained her blouse with my tears.

"Oh, my poor boy. Getting your heart broken is never easy, especially at your young age. I'd like to tell you that it gets better each time, but that would be a lie. The only cure I know of, is to never fall in love."

She held me until my tears dried and for a while longer.

"When does the next girl show up?" I finally asked.

"Next week."

"Do me a favor with this one. No secrets. No bribes. Give me the entire month to bed her on my own."