Spy Games Ch. 19

"Nothing," the BBB said when I asked the question.

"That's impossible. All that data and you don't have any actionable intel?"

"Let me rephrase what I said. Despite agent Sixty-nine's best efforts to cover your guilty ass, I have positive proof that you've screwed all three of the female Chinese women at least twice and circumstantial evidence that you are pimping out your current realtor. Be prepared to explain your actions to Control when the mission is complete. However, as far as the Chinese are concerned, when they weren't talking about screwing you or your realtor, they talked about building cars."

"They really plan to use the plant to build cars? Not nuclear bombs?"

"That's what the intel suggests."

"Do you think they discovered the bugs and are just putting on a show?" I asked.

"That's a possibility, but if they are, they're very good at it. Most people don't discuss the intimate details of their sex lives if they know they're being recorded."

"So, what happens now? Do we call the whole thing off and let them build their cars?"

"Not on your life. Control is convinced they're up to no good. Especially since the Russians are also involved. If the Chinese only wanted to build cars, why would they need the Russians... especially a group led by Alek Popov. Be very careful next week Agent Alpha. As we discussed earlier, if Popov discovers your true identity, even Agent Foxtrot won't be able to protect you. My recommendation was to replace you two with another team but, despite your history with Popov, Control still thinks you're the best man for the job."

The Ball Busting Bitch hung up before I could respond.

***

The night the Chinese left, when I climbed into bed and snuggled up against Miss Moorehead, I was pleasantly surprised to feel a soft cotton nightie covering her delightful body instead of the usual flannel burka she started wearing after her unfortunate incident with the city council.

"Does this mean you are finally getting more comfortable with my touch?" I asked as I played with her belly button through the fabric.

"My change in nighttime attire is entirely based on temperature. You have an extremely hot body -- "

"Thank you very much."

"-- and, as much as I enjoy cuddling with you, I was way too warm in the heavier, full-length night gown. Please don't jump to any conclusions. I have always enjoyed your touch. And it is no secret that you want to use this bed for other activities besides sleeping. So do I. All I ask is that you give me a little more time."

"I understand completely. We'll take it entirely at your pace."

I'm not saying that I didn't want to continue my exploration of Miss Moorehead's body that evening... or any evening... or morning... or afternoon... but, if asked to choose between fucking any other woman in Merryville (to include Miss Hardwood) or cuddling with Miss Moorehead for the night, I would choose the blonde beauty in my arms eleven times out of ten.

So, I kissed her on the neck and said, "sweet dreams Miss Moorehead" as I settled in for what I knew would be a good night's sleep. Because I always slept soundly with her in my arms.

"I think I know why you do it?"

At least that's what I think she said. I was nearly asleep when she decided our pillow talk session wasn't quite over yet.

"Why I do what?"

"Why you always refer to women by their last name?"

"I do?"

"Consistently. Mrs. Bow, Miss Crocker, Mrs. Pope, Mrs. Browning... every woman you bought a house from, you used her last name."

"Isn't it appropriate to use the surname of a business associate?"

"Usually. Although, most men transition to a lady's first name sometime between their first kiss and their third mutual orgasm."

"I'm not sure that is completely accurate but, for the sake of discussion, let's assume that I do sometimes avoid using a lady's given name. What is your theory about this character flaw of mine?"

"You already mentioned it. When you're on one of your secret spy missions, every encounter with a woman is a business relationship. Even when you're balls deep into her pussy while she screams praises to the god who made your oversized cock, you treat the exercise like most men treat a board meeting... business as usual. I mean, that is your specialty, isn't it? That's the role Mrs. Bancroft trained you for."

"Does that bother you?"

"No. You are who you are. But I think it bothers you. The man who selflessly holds me every night, not with the hopes that I'll pleasure you, but just so I can sleep... that man is not the fuck 'em and forget 'em secret agent people take you for. That's why, when you are forced to seduce a woman for the betterment of society, you justify whatever you do to the poor girl by thinking of her as nothing more than a business associate. Hence, the proper pronoun followed by her last name. For some reason, forcing Mrs. Cook to give her soon-to-be ex-husband a blow job was more palatable to you than doing the same thing to a woman you called Mary."

"Ah yes. Jeff and Mary Cook. That was an interesting afternoon. I wonder how they're getting along with their young roommate?"

"Don't try to change the subject. Just because you are good at what you do and most of the women you associate with have fond memories of their time spent in your thrall, that doesn't mean you feel right about it. Deep down in that complicated conscience of yours, is a man longing to earn the familiarity of a lady's given name. Hopefully, when and if you ever marry, you won't refer to your wife as Mrs. Seiman."

"You got all that from a good night kiss?"

She took my hand, the one that was now resting on her belly, guided it up to her lips, gave it a gentle kiss, and then placed it on her breast.

"Good night Mr. Seiman."