The Spy Who Fucked Me

"I have no doubt you do, but for the sake of your boss, and our future relations, it might be best if you joined me tonight. If we can reach a measure of ...harmony... would that not in turn inform both our relations with your master?"

"I-I suppose it might ease some tension." She could feel a palpable charisma in him. She felt it pressing against her being, willing her to do his bidding. Trained to respond she adopted a submissiveness that matched his aggression. Not too much, but like dancers feeling out the first few steps they blended desires together in a tentative flirtation.

"I'll send a car for you. Will you give me your address?"

Nadja wrote down her address underneath her chosen name Desiree Labelle.

"Desiree Labelle... hmmm seems appropriate, I desire you and you are lovely to look upon." He took the paper from her and their fingers touched, his warm and strong her's cool and delicate. "I look forward to tonight. Dress formally."

And he swept away his stride confident and quick.

Nadja was going to enjoy this mission.

Her first mission had been terrifying.

Every time she went into the field of war she recalled the feelings of her first mission. She felt it grounded her in the stakes of this job, reminded her of her vulnerability. It wouldn't do to deceive herself into thinking she was perfect at this.

As of her first mission she had still never killed a man. She had been training to do so for ten years now. At twenty six she was a perfectly honed killing machine. She was an adept weapon's master who could kill with everything from a rolled up newspaper, to a pencil, any gun, edged weapon or explosive.

Her mind was highly trained to process risk, assess a victim's state of mind, read body language, anticipate attack, and minimize exposure.

She was beautiful, deadly and calculated and yet she was still a novice in the field having as of yet no missions completed.

The first mission she was given was to eliminate an American agent who had discovered a project that her country was setting up in the Middle East. The American appeared to know he had stumbled onto something and was being extremely cautious. Another Russian agent had tried and failed to eliminate the American, so the man was on his guard, hiding.

At this point in the Cold War things were tense and overt elimination had to be avoided at all costs. She was in Libya as Gaddafi was angling to take the country and become a pro-Russian element in the Middle East, a necessity for the oil starved Soviet Republic.

Her handlers in the KGB insisted that she be deployed to draw the man out and get him killed by a mob of anti-American zealots.

Lying on the balcony of her hotel room she felt vulnerable and exposed. In this Islamic country her attire was a religious crime punishable by stoning. She wore a tiny string bikini smaller than what most women would wear in a progressive country at this time and she felt naked.

Her room was low, on the first floor and anyone in any of the many buildings towering above her in the bustling capitol of Tripoli could have seen her laying there. But most importantly the American was thought to be facing down over her from one of the floors above in the adjacent building.

Her transistor radio played American music and every-so-often an American DJ would talk about the war in Vietnam or comment of the latest sporting events going on in the States. The voice would also sneak intel to her via coded messages regarding the perimeter set up around her.

Her target had been spotted and was peering out of a curtain at her. A sniper could have ended things right there but that would have tipped their hand alerting the Americans of their involvement in Libya.

Instead Nadja sat up, looked around for any observers and then removed her top baring her small, perfectly formed breasts.

She then began to rub suntan oil on her lightly tanned skin, caressing her breasts a little bit longer and more erotically than necessary.

She felt certain she had his attention now.

Soviet scientist had long ago done studies that proved that men made poorer decisions when influenced by feminine visual stimuli. Not restricted merely to the influence of women, even the idea of women, images of women or simply the smell, clothes, hair of a woman and any concept associated solely with the feminine.

That had been the genesis of her division in the KGB and was now being practiced by her. Nudity and accessibility should draw this man out if anything would, his mind would no longer assess the risk of exposure as being as dangerous as it had been.

She remained laying there topless for almost an hour before the voice on the radio informed her in code that her target had withdrawn some minutes ago. She dressed in a light summer dress that was scandalous for Libya but sweet and flirtatious for America and she relocated to the café below for some food, acting the tourist.

This went on for three days.

Each day she wore less and less while sunbathing. First topless, then lowering her bottoms over her buttocks, then on the last day pulling them off altogether. She began to play with herself as she lay fully exposed.

Behind her sunglasses she could see dozens of men standing on balconies above her watching her vulgar display. Her music played loudly covering the cat-calls and curses she garnered. She only knew it was happening because of her comrade on the radio.

The American came out onto his balcony for the first time and craned his neck to see all the people gathering both on the balconies above and the street below. Nadja was in serious trouble from the angry Islamic locals.

Finally a pounding on the door of her hotel room penetrated the din of her radio. She stood and put on a robe to answer the door. An angry hotel manager told her she must leave. Behind him other men from the hotel stood ready to evict her.

As quickly as possible, and with no small amount of legitimate fear, Nadja packed under the watchful gaze of six hotel men. She put on her thin summer dress in the bathroom and was escorted aggressively from the hotel.

On the streets below an angry crowd had gathered, stirred up by local soviet spies. The mob was aggressive and ready for anything. Nadja allowed herself to be herded into the middle of the mob and as they hissed at her and called her foul names in their native tongue she staggered about pretending to be terrified and bewildered.

No-one had touched her as of yet, but her fearful demeanor and unwillingness to leave would incite them soon. Her bare arms and legs and plunging neckline as well as her obviously bra-less breasts were going to enrage the Muslims.

Then at last her ploy worked and the American came to her rescue.

The big dark haired man pushed through the crowd and took her arm. She screamed a real scream when she felt his grip and when she saw who it was she hesitated.

"I'm an American. Come on let's get you out of here."

"Where?" she shouted over the mob in her American accent.

Here was the crux of her part of the plan. She needed to get the crowd to kill him. The difficulty lay in Nadja getting out alive.

"Let me take you to the embassy."

"I don't know where it is." She cried.

"This way. C'mon." He took her arm making it plain he was going to lead her.

She turned and behind the American's back she gave a man on that side of the encircling crowd a locally rude gesture that meant he was a homosexual, one of the greatest insults to the conservative religious men here.

Anger erupted all around that side of the mob. The man she had gestured at lunged for her and pulled her loosely bound hair. It hurt, but not terribly. He let go right away, but Nadja reacted as if he were still holding her and pulled that direction falling to the cobbled street and unbalancing the American.

She dropped her suitcase as she fell and freed up her arms to catch her fall. The American turned back seeing her on the ground and taking in the enraged faces of the men behind him. He was white with fear and for a moment Nadja thought he would flee.

Then he bent to help her up and as he did so she reached for him and lifted a leg. She planted her foot in his midsection and flipped him over her body sending him into the midst of the angriest part of the mob.

The men behind the front row only saw the American suddenly on the ground among the men immediately before them. A frenzy began as these men perceived a threat and attacked the American.

They rained down blows and kicks and he grunted and tried to protect himself. He used martial arts to take out multiple attackers from his prone position but the mob numbers had grown too great and his attacks further enraged them.

As Nadja pulled a hijab from her otherwise empty purse and attempted to don it, she retreated from the pummeling the American was taking. Men hit her and pulled on her clothes as she tried to cover herself.

She became embroiled in a tug of war over her disguise and as the American struggled to save his life she realized she too was in real peril as more of the crowd turned to face her.

The American stopped moving and Nadja was not covered as she had planned. Screaming faces surrounded her, bloodlust in their eyes. Thinking quickly she thought of the only thing that might halt them from beating her to a pulp too. She reached down to the hem of her flimsy dress and lifted it over her head bearing her body to the religious fundamentalists.

As she hoped the men pulled back from the sight of her nudity, the unclean woman an affront to their eyes.

In the scant seconds she had to live before rocks did to her what fists and feet had done to the American she ran. As the mob parted trying not to touch her she saw before her a scooter tipped over on the street where a man had dropped it to join the riot.

Picking it up Nadja straddled it, her naked thighs parted wide, her sex pressed to the cracked plastic seat. Starting it up she aimed it right into the thick of the crowd. She had to be absolutely sure the American was dead.

Driving into the press of men she scattered them with her speed and nudity. Before her the American lay still on the road a pool of blood forming under his head. Aiming the scooter at him she drove over his skull crushing it flatter and sliding in the wet fluid of his life force.

Then she fled through the streets of Tripoli riding naked on a stolen scooter.

She didn't look back to see if anyone pursued her she rode as fast as the crowded streets would allow, aiming for a bazaar she had visited on her first day.

The market was massive and the rows and rows of stalls would shield even a naked blonde woman for a few moments.

She nearly caused another riot when she sped into the throng of shops and milling shoppers. She let the scooter go and allowed it to run into a press of jewel shops spilling precious trinkets all over the dusty street.

A teeming mass of looters immediately bent to scoop up the spilled wealth and in that confusion Nadja crawled to a rack of hijabs. While a woman screamed at her Nadja dressed in a black covering and shielded her nudity at last.

Once dressed she was able to steal some sunglasses and mingle with the crowd. Within moments she had disappeared into the confusion and any pursuers were lost.

She had made her first kill.

It had been a close thing, her escape far from assured and other missions like that had forced her to realize the lack of care the Soviets had for their agents.

And so when Blowfield had approached her a couple years later and asked her to come work for him she had agreed. She had subtly said her goodbyes to her few friends and then with Blowfield's help she had faked her own death and disappeared.

For the last three years she had been working with Blowfield aiding him in his organization's aim of controlling the world through manipulations and a weakening of the major powers leaving a vacuum for them to fill.

Now it was her aim to kill the man most responsible for impeding those aims.

Dressed in a nearly transparent sequined evening gown that had spaghetti straps around the neck and a peek-a-boo centre to show off the swell of her breasts down the centre she was essentially naked while covered from ankle to collar bones.

Her nipples poked out the material and the dark of her areola were just visible behind the sequins. He back was bear down to the the middle and her hair cascaded down to cover the expanse of bare flesh.

Her subtle makeup made her face glow with health and seem flushed with excitement. She was the height of Parisian elegance and sex appeal. More than beautiful enough to catch any man's eye.

Yet when she saw her target it was she who felt weak in the knees. He looked so handsome in his tuxedo and his animal magnetism caused her stomach to flutter as he kissed her wrist in greeting.

"My dear Desiree you look ravishing."

"You look very handsome yourself Mr. Fischer."

"Call me James." He grinned.

They ate a light dinner and drank a fabulous wine she had read about in his file but never tasted. Subtly he probed her about her employer and she answered distractedly, playing the role of a woman being seduced and not wanting to talk about work.

It seemed to her that any woman who was in fact innocent would hardly notice his investigating her boss. Nadja played as innocent as she could, while maintaining the idea that her character was intelligent yet not initiated into the secret organization behind the front Blowfield hid his true ambitions behind.

He took her dancing and his hands on her body as they whirled around the floor made her yearn for more. She informed James that she occasionally traveled with Blowfield, but that he never took her when he went to his Asian holdings. She longed to see Asia, she sighed. She teased him with information masquerading as a jealous employee.

Nadja, trained to do so, could sense when James was getting the information he wanted. She used that same training to feed him the knowledge that she was more than willing to go to bed with him soon. Overlaying all her manipulations she kept herself consistently sexually aroused. In fact he made it very easy to be squirmingly horny.

Occasionally she felt his erection pressing into her belly.

"Oh James." She sighed when he did so purposefully. She pressed back and enjoyed the size implied by the bulge there.

"Shall we continue this elsewhere?" he whispered into her ear.

"Yes, please." She cooed.

As soon as the door to his suite was closed her target was slipping her dress off her body, the nimbleness of his fingers getting her even more aroused. Already she had been pleased to intuit through his behaviors that this man drew pleasure from giving a woman pleasure. She read in his actions a dominant man who reveled in his desirability to woman. The file had said he lost his parents early and had been raised by his aunt just as he reached puberty.

Somehow he had fixated on pleasing women, she suspected because of the aunt. Whatever it was, she perceived in him an insecurity with women that he battled by overcompensating in his need to seduce any woman he wanted. For him the conquest and complete satisfaction of a woman was a powerful totem that he used to buoy up his low self-esteem.

That all meant that tonight as they made love she was free to give herself over to pleasure and allow herself to orgasm as often as she liked. The more she did the better he would feel and the lower his guard would be.

As he kissed his way down her neck and then to her breasts she trembled with passion. His mouth was so good. He kissed better than any man she had ever been with. It would appear that he deserved his reputation as an excellent lover.

As he took her nipple in his mouth she whimpered. It was involuntary, his perfect application of pressure, moisture and heat sent a shock of bliss from her breast right to her clitoris.

An eternity passed as his mouth ravaged her breasts. Time had no meaning as he brought new facets of pleasure to her that went beyond anything she had learned in her years of training.

Gaping, moaning and sighing she clung to the door-frame as she almost staggered under the delightful onslaught that was his worship of her breasts.

His skill lay in the pure joy he took from tasting her breasts. His utter love of the female form- not just hers, this was in no way personal- came through in every lick and kiss. He was a connoisseur of breasts.

Her assessment of him was that he wanted to be the one to end this, so she leaned back against the door and submissively endured what amounted to pleasurable torment. No doubt that was his wish. He wanted to master her and force her to succumb to his skill.

She happily did so, slowly, achingly she slithered down the door as he ravished her breasts with his hands and mouth.

Then when she was seated he pulled her legs and slid her along the hardwood floor. His mouth lowered and even here he made her purr with contentment as he gave homage to her flat toned belly. His lips and tongue consumed her soft flesh and dove into her belly button making her quiver with lust.

Then, as her body tensed with impatience for the ecstasy it now anticipated, he placed his mouth on her sex.

Even as he began his first few expert licks Nadja allowed herself to cum. Her body wound as tight as a bowstring arched back and her legs opened as far as they could. Her arms pressed back into the floor sending her breasts skyward, her head twisted back and forth as her mouth opened in a silent scream.

Pleasure more intense than anything she had yet encountered thrashed along her nerves and scourged her body with lashes of tingling gratification. Her brain shorted out, thought scoured from her skull and the emptiness refilled with rapture.

On and on this deluge of delight washed over her drowning her in a sea of euphoria. He would not lift his mouth from her opening, refused to release her from the iron grip of his benevolence. Torturing her with his mastery of cunnilingus he enraptured her, enthralling her with his tongue.

She was utterly subjugated by his skill and her being was wracked with elation writhing around the floor seeking escape from the unstoppable gift of his tongue.

At long last he tired of chasing her across the floor. It ended just before she was defeated and forced to end her pleasure using her training in shutting off her climax. She had been gathering her scattered awareness and was preparing to end the torture when he stopped.

The effort of so many orgasms left her spent and damp on the floor her chest heaving from lack of air, her throat raw from screams she didn't remember uttering.

Her enemy left her limp and newborn-weak on the floor as he stood and took off his jacket and tie, unbuttoning his tuxedo shirt and gazing down at her.

Nadja was barely able to focus on him towering above her, and he seemed to be gloating as he undressed himself. Her mouth was dry and her head spinning as if she had been drugged.

When he pulled off his pants and underwear her dry mouth suddenly filled with saliva as he exposed the most beautiful cock she had ever seen.

Her experiences were many and varied. In her years of training and of service since she had encountered over two hundred penises of all shapes and sizes; from massive to miniscule. She had seen erections that repulsed her and ones that made her crave them, and yet none had been as aesthetically pleasing as his.

It was big, but not massive; perhaps seven to eight inches long and thicker than her wrist. The head was a gorgeous shade of dark pink, looking healthy and perfectly in proportion to the length and girth of the shaft.

The shaft itself was veined in a delicious mix of bumps and shadows giving an air of both strength and vulnerability. There were neither too many nor too few.