Spy Games Ch. 03

Spy Games

Chapter 3

Barbara, our next maid, was a nineteen-year-old college student doing a study abroad thing in English literature. She had "future librarian" written all over her, complete with the hair bun, horn rimmed glasses and conservative blouse buttoned to the neck.

Mrs. B stuck to her word and didn't interfere with my myriad attempts to break through Barbara's Victorian beliefs of chastity before marriage. I spent three weeks stumbling around until I found the right combination of words and deeds to get her in the mood for romance. It was a painful process of trial and error, but when I finally got her hair down, glasses off and blouse unbuttoned, the transition was astonishing.

Once Barbara experienced her first cock induced orgasm, she shelved her collected works of Chaucer and started an intense analysis of the Kama Sutra, using me as her study partner. And 'using' was the operative term. In her mind, my sole purpose in life was that of a blood supply for the ten inches of meat hanging between my legs. In our lone week of sexual congress, we progressed through the first forty pages of her Hindu instruction manual, which included a sixty-minute review of the Magic Mountain and Pretzel Dip positions the morning of her departure.

Unlike my experience with Amanda, no tears were shed when Barbara moved out... from either of us. I'd gotten everything I needed from her and there was no doubt in my mind that, when she got back to the States, she would go through an entire college fraternity before she got to the end of her Sanskrit sex guide.

***

With the maid's quarters temporarily empty, Mrs. B usually took me out for dinner rather than cooking in. On one particular night -- instead of the upscale restaurants she usually preferred -- she took me to a night spot popular with the young single professional crowd. We got a table with a good view of the bar, I ordered a beer, and Mrs. B opted for a martini.

"Tell me how you did it," Mrs. B asked when the waitress left to fetch our drink order.

"Ma'am?"

"Tell me how you finally talked Barbara into your bed. What was your strategy?"

"It uh... I wouldn't call it a strategy per se. I just kept trying different things until, well, you know. Things just sort of fell into place."

"So, you didn't come up with a killer line or the perfect gift?"

"No ma'am."

"And you didn't accidently touch her a certain way? A lingering handshake or brotherly hug?"

"Not that I know of... but whatever I did, it worked."

"So, you have absolutely no idea how you transformed a shy bookworm into an aggressive bedroom bimbo... which means you got absolutely nothing out of the experience."

'Except for a week of mind-boggling sex,' I thought, but was smart enough not to say.

"Look out over this bar," Mrs. B told me. "What do you see?"

"A bunch of people eating, drinking, and having fun?"

"That's the eighteen-year-old boy talking. An experienced field agent would say he sees a target rich environment."

"Like in a war?"

"The longest fought war in the history of mankind. Everybody here is fighting for supremacy over the others. The men want to hook up with the sexiest, most beautiful woman in the room and the women are looking for a smart, powerful, handsome man.

"Now take another look around and point out the leading lady. The girl of every man's wet dreams."

I wasn't sure where this conversation was leading but Mrs. B was buying the drinks, so I played along.

"The tall blonde in the corner," I said after a survey of the crowd. "Blue dress, shoulder length hair, sparkly earrings." And sufficient cleavage to hide a small dog.

"I would have chosen the brunette sitting with her, but let's continue. Take another look and pick out the alpha male... the smart, powerful, handsome man all the women secretly want in their beds tonight."

I again scanned the crowd. Twice. Nobody stood out. Sure, there were several men that I considered butt ugly due to obvious facial flaws. And the three hundred pounder stuffing bar food down his throat was also off the short list. But I didn't have a clue who the women would find attractive. I was just about to make a wild ass guess when Mrs. B said...

"Let me give you a hint. He's sitting at our table."

"Me?"

"Yes, my young prince. You. And I don't say that to inflate your ego. The fact that you have a handsome face and desirable body will be both help and hinder in your future line of work. Field agents generally want to blend in with the local populace. They want to be just another face in the crowd. You, unfortunately, have the face of a movie star, one that a woman will not soon forget.

"However, the advantages should be obvious. When the mission is to charm a woman into giving us something we need, your unforgettable face will serve us well."

"Okay, if I'm so damn good looking, why did it take me three weeks to get Barbara out of her clothes and into the sack?"

"Just because you possess the tools doesn't mean you know how to use them. Owning a paint brush and easel doesn't make you a Picasso. A hammer in your work belt doesn't automatically turn you into a carpenter..."

"Okay, I get it. You're going to teach me how to use my supposedly amazing, good looks to attract girls. But you said they want more than a pretty face. You said they also want a smart and powerful man. I'm neither of those."

"I disagree. Just like beauty is in the eye of the beholder, so is intelligence and power. Despite your lack of formal education, you are probably smarter than any other man in this room. And although you aren't the CEO of a corporation or a high-ranking politician, you have power of personality. That is what I plan to develop these next few months."

"Nice speech Mrs. B. But you're still talking to the guy who took three weeks to seduce a closeted nymphomaniac."

"Do you doubt my methods?" she asked.

"Let's say I doubt my abilities."

"Well, I don't. And I'll prove it. I want you to stare at that blonde you find so attractive. Look her directly in the eyes until you make eye contact and then continue to stare for another few seconds before you look away."

I did as she directed and returned my attention to Mrs. B once I'd accomplished the task.

"So? What happened?" Mrs. B asked.

"Nothing. I looked at her and she looked at me."

"How long did she look at you?"

"I don't know. You told me to look away after a few seconds."

"And she was still looking at you when you broke eye contact?"

"Yeah. I guess so. Is that important."

"It's not important, it's monumental. You're in the game. You've got a nibble. You've flushed out a quail."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"The girl is interested in you."

"You know this because she looked at me for a couple of seconds."

"I know this because she didn't look away. She's been looking at you pretty much the entire time we've been here. You just haven't noticed."

"Okay, for the sake of argument, she's interested. What's my next step? Buy her a drink and have the barmaid deliver it? Buy her a drink and deliver it myself? Go up and introduce myself?"

"Absolutely not. Those are the moves of a desperate man. A man who came here for only one reason... to get laid. You, my young prince, are not desperate. Your lone reason for being here is to have a business dinner with your boss. Sex is the furthest thing from your mind."

"Alright. Assuming the object of this game is to separate the blonde from her friend and clothes, how do I convince her I'm not interested sex?"

"I didn't say you weren't interested in sex. It's just not what you planned to do tonight... until you saw the most beautiful girl in London sitting across the room from you."

"Didn't you think the brunette was prettier?"

"It doesn't matter what I think. What matters is what Miss Blondey thinks. Your job, for the next hour, is to convince her that she is the sexiest, most desirable woman you have ever seen."

"And I do that by staring at her."

"Exactly. She knows you're the hottest guy in a ten-block radius. If you can't keep your eyes off her -- even when you're having dinner with your boss -- by definition, she has to be the princess of the pub... the queen of the court... the fairest of the fair."

"All by looking at her?"

"Think of it as a conversation without words. You continue talking to me but, every minute or so, you can't resist a glance in her direction. After the second or third time your eyes meet, you give her an embarrassed smile and look away. The next time, your smile is a little brighter and, if the opportunity presents, you give her a quick under the table wave that I won't be able to see. Now it's important that she doesn't think you're being rude to your boss. Only look her way when I'm preoccupied. I'll send several texts and maybe take a call or two... ensuring you'll have plenty of time to work your magic."

What followed was by far the strangest meal I'd ever eaten. Not the food. Their lobster ravioli was excellent. But pretending to carry on a business discussion with Mrs. B while simultaneously casting ever increasingly friendly glances across the room made me feel like I was in the middle of a poorly conceived reality show.

"How's it going?" Mrs. B asked as she finished her chicken parmesan.

"I don't know if she's interested in me or not, but she and her table mate are sure enjoying themselves. Every time I look their way, both of them laugh and wave."

"Good. I guess it's time for you two to meet."

"How? A guy having dinner with his boss isn't going to excuse himself, walk across the room and hit on a random girl."

"You're absolutely right. That's why I'm going to go powder my nose while you go to the bar and get us another round of drinks."

"If you're going to the loo, why don't we have the waitress bring us drinks and I go say hi to the blonde?"

"Just trust me on this one." Mrs. B got up and headed for the lady's room before I had time to rebut. As usual, I did what she said.

There was a bit of a crowd around the bar. I elbowed my way in and was trying to get the barkeep's eye when a voice said, "when you get his attention, would you be a dear and get me a glass of wine?"

I turned to find the blonde standing inches from my side.

"White or red?" I asked.

"You choose. Impress me."

Not good. What I knew about wine would fit in a thimble and still leave room for the blonde's left nipple, which was currently pressed up against my forearm. I knew simply ordering "white" or "red" was the wrong answer. The smart, worldly, powerful man that the blonde supposedly wanted in her bed that night would rattle off the name of some exotic wine and request the proper vintage. To make matters worse, as I racked my brain for what sounded like a cultured choice, the barkeep magically appeared, expecting me to quickly tell him what I wanted while he took a glance down the blonde's blouse.

"Give me a vodka martini with two olives, a pint of lager and..."

Crap. Think of a wine. Any wine. Mom loves wine. She and Dad share a bottle every night. Think, damn it. There was one she used to tease me with. I can see the bottle sitting on the table. The label had a picture of a kid getting his bare ass spanked while laying over a barrel. She always jokingly said that's what would happen to me if Dad caught me drinking. And its name was...

"... and a glass of Krover Nacktarsch for the lady."

"Nacktarsch?", the blonde said. "Never heard of it."

"Trust me, you'll love it. It's a family favorite."

"What's the story with your date?" the blonde asked as the barkeep poured our drinks. "Are you a poor judge of women or is she paying you to sit with her while she reads her text messages?"

"Considering I spent a good bit of the evening looking at you instead of her, I consider myself an excellent judge of women. And yes, in a sense she is paying me to sit with her. She's my boss and I'm her assistant. I readily admit she gets caught up in her work, but she takes good care of me."

"So, is it strictly professional between you two or do the rules and roles change when the sun goes down?"

"If you're asking if I sleep with her, the answer is no. Look at her," I said as Mrs. B returned from the lady's room. She was dressed in her normal work clothes -- the women's version of the power suit -- which did an excellent job of hiding both her figure and encyclopedic knowledge of all things sexual. "Does she look like somebody who dallies with the hired help?"

"Yeah, I guess not. So, when are you off the clock?"

"As soon as we finish dessert and I put her in a taxi."

"And then what? Back to your apartment? A late-night date with your girlfriend?"

"Actually, my plans for this evening depend entirely on you."

The barkeep brought us our drinks. The blonde thanked me for the wine, gave my arm a squeeze and rejoined her friend. I returned to my table.

We passed on dessert. Mrs. B took three sips of her martini, paid the check, and then had me escort her outside to catch a cab.

"If the blonde asks, tell her I got called away on business." She kissed me on the cheek and stepped into the cab. "Now get your ass back in the restaurant and finish what you started. I'll expect a full report in the morning."

I returned to our original table, retrieved my beer and joined the blonde (Lucille) and her brunette friend (Linda). Thirty minutes later, I'm in an elevator with both girls, ascending to their shared sixth floor apartment.

Like many working-class London apartments, their living space was extremely small. Besides a bathroom and single bedroom, they had a small kitchen which opened to a multipurpose dining/living/TV room. Lucille led me to their lone couch and sat next to me while Linda retreated to the bedroom. Which made sense. Since the two girls lived together, they probably had an unspoken agreement that, when one of them has a man over, the other makes herself scarce.

Considering what I had in mind for the evening, I would rather have Linda on the couch watching TV while Lucille and I explored each other's bodies in the bedroom. But, on the other hand, taking a strange guy directly to your bedroom was probably a social no-no for all but the most promiscuous of women. So, as long as Linda stayed in her room, I was sure we could make do on the couch.

I was just getting a taste for Lucille's lipstick when Linda emerged from the bedroom wearing bright pink panties and an even brighter smile.

"I hope you don't mind if Linda joins us," Lucille said, momentarily interrupting our kiss. "We not only share our apartment and bed, we also share our men."

Not giving me a chance to protest -- as if I would -- Lucille reattached her lips to mine as Linda went to work on relieving me of my trousers. The zipper on Lucille's dress descended in tandem with that of my pants. My hand found Lucille's soft breast flesh at the same time Linda's found my hardening man pole.

"Blimey Lucille. We've hit the Lotto with this one. Take a gander at what he's been hiding in his knickers. It's absolutely scrummy."

As Lucille broke our kiss to gaze upon my manhood, I lowered my lips to her nearest nipple which repositioned my second head inches away from Linda's cute little nose.

This is where one of us should have suggested moving the party into the bedroom. I couldn't because my lips were busy entertaining Lucille's luscious tits. Linda also had a mouthful. So, I blame Lucille for what happened next.

Having teased Lucille's nipples to a diamond like hardness, I continued my way south towards her cleanly shaven pussy. To give me easy access to her rapidly dampening sex, Lucille flayed her legs apart with one foot on the floor and the opposite ankle resting on the top of the couch. Linda had already swallowed the first few inches of my cock and was trying her best to stuff her nose into my dark curlies. Doing my best to keep my tongue deeply embedded in Lucille while also help Linda in her quest, I twisted my six-foot-two frame so the top of the couch supported most of my weight and trusted Linda's two-handed grip on my ass to keep me from falling. For Linda to continue her excellent work on my now well lubricated cock, she needed a good solid base... which put her knees on either side of Lucille's head... with her bushy slit perched directly above Lucille's mouth.

I lapped happily away at Lucille's free flowing love trough, Linda's tonsils tickled my piss hole, and Lucille's tongue probed what lay under Linda's bush. As improbable as it may seem, this strange triangle of bodies worked for a while... until Lucille had an unexpected and violent orgasm.

Okay, it might have been partially my fault. But how was I to know that simultaneously biting down on Lucille's clit while twisting both of her nipples would instantly send her over the edge. I instinctively pulled back when she squirted what seemed a gallon of vagina wine all over my face and, in doing so, sent my dick even further down Linda's throat... which made Linda take her hands off my ass in an attempt to push me away... which in turn forced me to grab hold of Lucille's boobs to keep from falling... which forced her face up into Linda's pussy... which forced my dick even further down Linda's throat.

Despite all of the above, disaster could have been averted if the back right leg of the ancient couch hadn't chosen that particular moment to snap, sending the three of us ass over pussy over tit.

When the dust settled, I took a moment to survey the damage. Couch parts were spread evenly around the three of us. Lucille lay off to my side, staring off into space with sightless eyes. Linda was laying underneath me... completely comatose... definitely not breathing... possibly dead... with the murder weapon still lodged deep in her throat.

Fuck. It's the first time I successfully pick up a girl and I end up destroying her furniture, killing her roommate and traumatizing her into a lifetime of therapy.

But all things are not what they initially seem. Linda started breathing as soon as I removed the impediment, Lucille quickly came down from her post orgasmic high and, apparently, they never liked that couch anyway.

"Oh my god, that was fucking fantastic. Let's do it again."

Lucille said it, Linda agreed, and we adjourned to the bedroom for round two... and three...

***

I woke early the next morning to find myself tangled in a web of arms, legs, hair and boobs. It took a while to sort out which appendage belonged to who but, once I got all the testosterone laden parts separated from the estrogen bits, I recovered my clothes and slipped out the door before the ladies thought to ask me for my name and number.

I got back home with enough to time to shower, change clothes and report my progress to Mrs. B as we ate breakfast.

"You were right," I told her after detailing the events of the night.

"About you being an outrageously good-looking man or my foolproof method for picking up women in a bar?"

"You were right about the brunette being better in bed than the blonde. But something happened last night that makes me realize I need some additional tutoring."

"In how to properly manage a ménage à trois?"

"Well that too. But I also need to know how to order wine."