The Spy Who Seduced Me

The woman riding my cock was absolutely gorgeous and she'd been trained well. They always are. They're trained to make a man believe they love him so much that they'll do anything he wants them to do. They're also trained to make that man believe they care about everything he does and they're trained in how to win his trust so he'll tell them what they want to know.

Lena Lulka was one of those women. She'd latched on to me at a bar named "The Blue Fire", just a few blocks from the US Embassy in Berlin one Thursday night in July,1974 right after I was assigned there as an aide managing local personnel. I was pretty sure I knew what she was because of who I am and how she acted.

I'm not a guy you'd ever find modeling anything for any magazine, so I don't usually attract gorgeous brunettes with big tits and tight asses. On the very rare occasion a woman does come up and start a conversation with me, I seem to attract the usual ordinary type of woman, not ugly but not beautiful and with a nice body even though she's a little heavy in the ass. Those women never ever give me hints about wanting to sleep with me.

Lena saw me sitting at the bar, walked over with her tits leading the way and her ass seductively swaying from side to side. When she climbed up on the stool next to me, she let her short skirt ride up her nylon-clad thighs enough I could see the lace tops of her black stockings.

She smiled with her perfect lips and then spoke in English with just enough of a Polish accent to make her low voice even sexier.

"Hello. I haven't seen you here before. Mind if I sit here? It's where I usually sit."

I decided to see if I was right so I said I'd like having her sit beside me and I offered to buy her a drink. She said she'd like a gin and tonic and then giggled.

"I love gin and tonic because of how it relaxes me. I might need help getting home if I have more than one of these though. They really relax me."

I imagined that a gin and tonic would relax her. I just couldn't figure out how she knew about them. The gin and tonic was a cocktail of British origin in India. At the time, quinine was supposed to be a cure and sort of a vaccine for malaria, a mosquito borne disease common in India. The tonic water of the time had a lot of quinine in it, and the drink became common among the British soldiers and other government employees of the day. To me, a gin and tonic is mostly gin with enough tonic water to make it taste really bitter.

When the bartender brought her gin and tonic, I asked Lena how she knew about them. She took a sip, shuddered a little, and then smiled.

"My father left Poland for England when the communists took over. He served in the British Air Force World War Two as a fighter pilot. The other pilots liked gin and tonics, so he tried them.

"When he came back to Germany, he brought the recipe and mixed his own. When I was nineteen, he gave me one to try. I loved it and that's what I drink when I need to relax."

That story was suspicious to me. I knew several Polish refugees because they were working at the embassy. Their drink of choice when they could get it was a Polish vodka with the name of Spirytus Rektyfkowany. A few bottles a month found their way over the East/West Germany border so I'd tried it once. It was smooth and didn't have any taste like most good vodka. It was also what I imagined it would feel like to drink flaming gasoline because it started burning at my tongue and burned all the way to my stomach. After laughing their asses off, the guys who gave me the vodka explained that they diluted it with water because it was about ninety-six percent pure alcohol.

The other thing that made me suspicious was Lena told the story too easily, like it was rehearsed. The facts were plausible, but I thought a bit of a stretch in some places.

Yes, Polish pilots flew in the RAF during the war and many received medals for their service. I just thought it doubtful any Polish RAF pilot would start to drink a gin and tonic as his first choice after being raised on Polish vodka. I concluded it was probably a story made up to show she had some roots in a democratically run country.

If her dress hadn't been cut low enough at the neck I could see the darker skin of her nipple beds peeking out of her low cut bra when she laughed, our conversation might not have seemed like the careful come-on that it was. All that cleavage she was showing was designed to make me forget about information security.

Our conversation wasn't all about me, of course. These women are trained much better than that. It started off about her.

She was twenty-two and was working as an accountant for a local business, but she aspired to bigger and better things. She wanted to get into investing and if I was interested, she could give me some help in investing in West German companies that were showing promise. What did I do for a living, by the way?

When I said I worked in personnel for the US Embassy, she pressed her right hand over her big tits and gasped.

"Oh, that must be an important job. I have a friend who works in Personnel at my company, and she has to review the past record of anybody who applies for a job there. Some of the things she's found out...well, you wouldn't believe them.

"This one man she found out was a sex addict. He couldn't go for more than one day without having sex at least twice. Now, I like sex and I like it a lot, but twice every day seems like too much. How would you get anything else done? For me, once a day is fine. I might have sex in the morning and after dinner on a weekend if I really like the guy, but not twice a day, every day."

She sipped her drink, and then looked at me and grinned.

"It might be fun to try twice a day for a while though. What do you think?"

It wasn't hard to see where this was going. It was going to be interesting to see just how fast she'd try to get there. I was sure there would be more. I grinned.

"I've had the experience, but only for a couple weeks. I probably wouldn't have, but this woman wouldn't let me go. I'd wake up in the morning and she'd be there trying to get me to have sex. We would, and then I'd go to work. When I got back home, she'd be there, naked, and wanting sex again.

"On the weekends, we didn't really get out of bed. It was just sex and then more sex. She told me she was addicted to orgasms. After that two weeks, I told her we had to stop having sex that often because I was going to get fired because I was tired all the time. I guess she couldn't handle that, because she left me."

Lena's eyes were open wide and she was smiling when she put her hand on my arm.

"Did she...did she really have one every time?"

I nodded.

"Yeah, sometimes twice, one right after the other. It didn't seem to take much to get her there."

Lena licked her upper lip and stroked my arm.

"Then you must be a wonderful lover. She should have stayed with you."

I shrugged.

"I don't know how good I am. I just did what I do."

Lena sipped her drink and then sighed.

"I wish I could find such a man. Most men in Berlin only think of themselves. They don't understand that women have desires too, desires that need to be satisfied. I left my last lover because he never satisfied me. He would finish and then roll over and go to sleep and leave me wanting and needing more."

Lena slipped off her stool then.

"Would you excuse me for a few minutes. I need to go check my makeup."

As Lena walked to the ladies room, she gave me a fantastic view of her tight ass swaying back and forth. Her dress fit her tight enough I didn't think she was wearing much of anything under it. She'd probably look pretty fit when she was naked. I was pretty sure that sway was intentional, and that only confirmed what I figured she was up to.

She was trying to establish a relationship with me, a relationship she would use to gather information about what was going on at the Embassy and especially information about which Embassy employees were CIA agents and who their contacts were. She would try to gain my trust and confidence with sex, and then begin casually asking questions about my job at the Embassy if I didn't volunteer the information myself.

It did work with some men, especially the type of men who tend toward being socially inept. Sex is a very strong drive and when a man has found a woman who seems to love everything about him including his performance in bed, it's human nature for such a relationship to become as trusting as a marriage.

If that didn't work, meaning I wouldn't talk about work to her, she had another option available. Once we were involved in what the rules for any US Embassy call a "continuing, meaningful, romantic relationship", she could force my cooperation with the threat of revealing the relationship to the press. The media in America and Europe love a good story about a foreign agent compromising an embassy employee. Someone in the Russian government would make sure the story was leaked to the press if I didn't cooperate.

First there would be the breaking story, and then at least several days of speculation about how much that embassy employee revealed to the foreign agent along with multiple opinions from experts in international politics about how much political and strategic damage revealing that information would result in.

If sex was involved, that just makes the story headlines even juicier. The end result would be the Ambassador making a public statement that such conduct was not condoned and that the employee in question was no longer employed at the Embassy.

That was "government speak" that could mean a lot of things. It could mean the agent had just been reassigned to another post somewhere where he or she wouldn't be recognized, like Chile or Haiti. It could mean the agent had been kicked out of the CIA. It could mean the agent had been charged with espionage and was headed for some prison time.

I still wasn't positive that was her goal, but it was looking very likely because I was one of those CIA agents assigned to the US Embassy in Berlin. I'd been recruited just six months after I graduated from Michigan State with a degree in Computer Science. They found me because I was programming nuclear fallout models for a civilian contractor to the Department of Defense.

According to the official roster of the US Embassy, I was an aide in Personnel and my job entailed hiring and managing local residents to work in the Embassy as clerks, cooks, maintenance, and cleaning service providers. I did perform that function, but it was the minor part of my duties. My primary function was to gather intelligence from those same clerks, cooks, and maintenance and cleaning service employees about what the Russians were doing in East Germany and Poland. Technically, the East/West German border was closed tight with barbed wire fencing and land mines, hence the name "The Iron Curtain". In truth, there were ways in which families split by WWII crossed the border to reunite in West Germany. They brought with them the story of the happenings in East Germany and Poland as well as other Soviet occupied territories.

I did this by becoming friends with them, having a drink with them now and then, and if they were married, meeting their family. There are also certain things made in the US that were difficult to come by in Germany. My little gifts were appreciated and served to establish a bond between us, a bond that loosened their tongues about what they heard was happening in the East.

I was also always on the lookout for locals who were willing to do some intelligence gathering and get paid for doing so. Usually, they had other motives too, like the Russian man who repaired the Embassy plumbing when it went bad. After the war his parents had been sent to a re-education camp and he'd been sent to a Soviet boarding school. When he escaped to Germany, he was able to find out his parents had both died in that camp. His motive was revenge, though I paid him for the information he gave me.

The information from most sources always comes in seemingly innocent bits and pieces, but just like a jigsaw puzzle, once you put all those bits and pieces together, you can form a pretty good picture of what's going on.

I would suppose some might call me a "spy", but that term has a lot of connotations caused by the movie industry and those connotations are for the most part false. The intelligence agents in the movies would stick out like a sore thumb in any real-world situation, and they would be compromised immediately.

I didn't dress in a suit and tie every day. If we were having important visitors, I did, but usually I wore casual clothes so I wasn't intimidating to locals working a job at the embassy. I was just the dumb schmuck American they worked for.

I didn't walk around with a pistol or any other weapons hidden in my clothing either. I'm proficient with a number of different weapons, but I never carry one no matter where I'm assigned unless I'm walking into a situation that might require one.

I try very hard to avoid situations like that. In most countries, an American being caught carrying a weapon would make that American a very interesting person to that country's intelligence service. In some of those countries, being interesting means you find yourself in one of their prisons. There are no charges and no trial. They just question you 24/7 until they figure you've given them everything you know. Then, you just disappear.

For the same reason, I've never been assigned to "neutralize" anybody, at least on a physical basis. Yes, I know, those things aren't supposed to happen anymore, but they still do. They're carried out by very highly trained people with a lot of help supporting them. They come into the area, do the job, and are usually out of the area and on their way home before anybody even suspects something might have happened.

I didn't drive a car that was fast enough to outrun any local police car, drive under water, or that has any sort of armor or weaponry on board. I drove a 1964 Opel Kadett station wagon that had seen better days, but still got me where I wanted to go and it blended in with the normal traffic instead of screaming that I was somehow different.

I've never flown a plane and I don't scuba dive. I did drive a small motorcycle during my tour at the embassy in South Korea because they were a pretty common way of getting around in South Korea, but I didn't have one in Berlin. The auto accident statistics in Berlin were scary enough I didn't want to take my chances on a motorcycle.

I don't speak fifty different languages. I speak only three fluently -- English, and thanks to some intensive language training, Korean and German. From my high school Spanish class, I know enough Spanish to find a bathroom, order a beer, and to get my face slapped.

The reason for all this is that it's common knowledge among any nation's intelligence network that at least several employees in any US Embassy are CIA agents. It's just difficult to tell which are if we go out of our way to avoid attracting attention. The best way to not attract attention is to not do anything most normal local residents in the area wouldn't do.

As I said earlier, the official wording for what Lena was trying to wrap me up in is called "a continuing, meaningful, romantic relationship". The unofficial wording for what Lena was trying to do with me is "info-fucking". While technically not allowed by CIA regulations, when it comes down to gathering good intelligence, most CIA supervisors look the other way because the relationship can be made to work both ways.

I'd been trained in the methods to turn trust into information gathering, and you have to trust someone to have sex with them more than once or twice. Lena would think she was fucking me to get information from me for her supervisor. I would be fucking her to get information from her for my supervisor.

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As I figured she would, when Lena came back from the lady's room, she finished her drink and then called the bartender for another. I paid for her drink because that would tell her I was interested in her.

Half an hour later, and half of her second drink, Lena slipped off the barstool and fell on her ass. When I helped her up, she grinned.

"I think the gin and tonic caught up with me sooner than I thought it would. I should probably go home, but I don't know if I can make it by myself."

Well, there it was, the invitation to take her home. Of course, I volunteered.

"No problem Lena. I have a car outside. Tell me where you live and I'll take you home."

Lena's home was an unassuming, second-floor apartment over a shoe repair shop. She was pretty shaky going up the first two steps, so I put my arm around her waist to help her up. After two more steps, she had her arm around my neck and her big left tit was pressing into my chest.

When we got to the second floor, Lena rummaged in her purse for almost a minute before pulling out her keys and then promptly dropping them on the floor. After I handed them back to her, she tried to get the key in the lock a couple times before she said, "I'm too drunk to unlock my door. Would you do it for me?"

I got the lock unlocked, opened the door, and then walked Lena into what looked like her living room. Like most inexpensive apartments in Berlin, it wasn't furnished very well, but it was homey in a college apartment sort of way.

Lena still had one arm around my neck, and once we were inside, she put her other arm around my neck, pushed her tits into my chest and breathed gin breath in my face.

"Thank you...You know what? I don't know your name. What is it?"

I smiled.

"I'm Gregory Koslov."

"Koslov is Russian. I thought you were from the US."

"I am. My grandfather left Russia for the US in 1910. He lost all his family in the cholera epidemics and thought maybe the US was safer."

Lena pushed her tits into my chest a little harder and breathed in my face again.

"Thank you, Gregory, for bringing me home. I hope I can get myself undressed and in bed. When I drink gin and tonics, it would be nice to have someone to help me do that."

I figured I must be Lena's first assignment. I was sure she wasn't as drunk as she pretended to be. She'd stumbled a little coming up the stairs, but she'd have caught herself if I hadn't. An experienced agent wouldn't have basically asked me to undress her and put her in bed either. She would have hinted that she'd like to see me again, but that would have been just the bait intended to hook me in the end.

I grinned and gently pulled Lena's arms from my neck.

"I think you'll manage. I need to be going anyway. I have four interviews to do tomorrow so I need to get a good night's sleep."

Lena sighed.

"I understand. Will you come back to The Blue Fire?"

She couldn't entice me into bed, so she was telling me she was still interested in doing so. I shrugged.

"I don't know. It's a nice bar, but I don't know anybody there and it's kind of lonely sitting on a bar stool by yourself."

Lena smiled.

"You know me. I go to The Blue Fire almost every night. If you come back tomorrow night, I'll sit with you again. I won't let you be lonely."

I let myself out and heard Lena lock the door as I started back down the steps. It may have been her first assignment, but she knew what she was doing. Tomorrow was Friday, and she'd know I couldn't give her the excuse that I had to work on Saturday or Sunday. She'd be ready to do everything she could to get me into her apartment and in bed with her.

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It was seven that Friday night when I climbed up on the same stool at The Blue Fire. I only had to wait ten minutes before I felt a hand on my shoulder. When I turned, there she was, smiling. I think her dress was cut a little lower in front and the bottom was definitely shorter.