Beaver Jones was walking slowly towards the bank of the river Minge. She was a tall blonde assassin. With red lipstick, a fur coat, and a killer smile to die for. The people saw her as public enemy number 1. Her juices flowed from the de-industrialisation penis, swollen with the heady gains of a capitalist sweat-gland. It was a powerful symbol of the Soviet non-struggle for non-independence. She wanted to be seen as a sexy, horny spy. A dirty, double-dealing minx. This was her secret weapon; a pneumatic pussy. That was why she had wiped out more secret agents than Smooth-clit Carleen, the former MI5 agent. She liked licking a wet foreskin, while her pussy got hot as a pepper, and then she got very wet, and stuffed FBI meat and two vege throbbing, into her cavern of deceit and intrigue. But what she really enjoyed was a good facial, from a cock of incredible stiffness, or a cream-pie from the sperm-sack of an important Soviet official and spy, like Nuts Fingers Dildo.
Nut Fingers Dildo was by all means a mean looking spy, with a thick black moustache, and yet beneath that hard exterior, he had the heart of a lion, and the cunning mind of a fox. The speed of a cheetah. And the dick of a donkey.
He was tall, strong, magnetic and magnificent. When they got together, two spies in a pod, fireworks exploded across the eastern sky.
She thought of the last time they had met…
She started licking her lips, and then let his wandering fingers run up her skirt, edging ever closer to her gaper. Her gaper got moister and moister. His thoughts turned to tonguing her wonderful espionage wet pussy. She smelt delicious, and the feel of her lips was like a velvet rainbow.
"Kiss me, Nuts Fingers Dildo," she murmured whilst licking softly up his chest. He was masturbating her slowly, she was groaning and groping his dick while he was wanking her clit, and she bent over and started sucking his oscillating jossilating testicles. Her titties began bouncing this way and that way while she was giving head. Nuts thought "this is better than choking the rooster back in my army barracks, with fantasies of cunnilingus running through my lonely head. My pathetic, sad, lonely head. Oh woe is me, this heartbroken spy, this spinster of the Russian Secret Army."
Through these sad thoughts, his woeful hard-on began to wither. Wither and die like a tiny flower. Really, it was totally flat, like a wilted daffodil. A pressed daffodil in a book of pressed flowers for Children in Need. A sad, flat, useless specimen. Poor Nuts.
Beaver stopped lapping the end of his dick and looked deep into his soulful Russian eyes. Beneath her magnificent jugs, her heart skipped a beat. "How about some of my delicious fanny-juices, pussy ejaculation, wet dripping excited cunt, my darling? That should put the lead back in your wilted pencil".
"I have a great propensity for tickling your pussy, stimulating it with my expertly teasing tongue".
