Part 5: The Secret Agent
Claire was feeling horny.
The problem was that she had got used to coming regularly, under the oral ministrations of her co-worker in the RSPHNFFP charity shop, the talented Mr. Sharma. Of course the fact that she was allowing him to go down on her had nothing to do with sex per se.
It was just that she was allowing him to practice his arcane and unfathomable religion which insisted on his maximising the pleasure and minimising the pain of humanity. Claire, as a kindness, had allowed Mr. Sharma to lick her pussy; unfortunately she found herself coming many times and, in order to restore Mr. Sharma's karma or cosmic balance, she'd had to suck him off in turn.
The problem was that she had grown accustomed to his cultured and skilful tongue.
And now, he had disappeared.
It had all started when Claire had, through an unfeasible series of circumstances, found herself offering her body to a group of local teenagers in return for charitable donations. It had been Mr. Sharma's idea for Claire to sell sexual pleasure on a sliding scale, from great value handjobs all the way up to more expensive although tight, sticky and satisfying anal sex.
This unofficial sideline had been such a hit that the shop had found itself busy once more and Claire had rationalised her actions by knowing that at the very least she was doing her own bit for charity.
Unfortunately this had all ended abruptly last week when Mr. Sharma had vanished. At first everyone had been worried until it was realised that a significant amount of funds was also missing from the shop's bank account.
The shop had been closed immediately.
Claire, worried that the investigating police might find out what she'd been doing, kept a low profile.
At first she'd been deeply upset that all the money that she'd raised using her clever capable hands, her full bouncy breasts, her moist welcoming mouth, her thrilling expert pussy and her forbidden snug arsehole had gone straight into Mr. Sharma's own pockets.
But then she had begun to miss his tongue.
Her lucky boyfriend, Danny, had done his best to gratify her increased sexual appetite but, although he wasn't exactly bad in bed, he didn't have Mr. Sharma's sublime and rare skill.
So Claire found herself frustrated, both sexually and with her lack of employment.
Eventually, Claire's carnal dissatisfaction subsided but her disappointment at once again losing her career, if anything, intensified.
Would she ever be able to hold down a job?
She really missed her last long-term role as receptionist at a hair salon. She decided to look out for similar opportunities. There had to be something out there for her!
She knew was a presentable and attractive with long red hair, distinctive green eyes, pale freckled skin, long legs and a slender yet enormous-bosomed figure.
Maybe she wasn't the most academically able person in the market but she was kind and had a lot to offer in the way of experience including sales, teaching, acting as well as shop-work. Someone must want her!
But Danny objected to whatever she suggested, insisting on taking her to interviews and vetting her prospective employers. For some reason he was intensively possessive, always worrying that she would be abused by virtually every man she met.
True, she had found herself in various implausible and contrived situations in which she had had to use the full range of her luscious and moist bodily orifices to provide sexual pleasure to a large and unlikely range of fortuitous men.
However in none of these circumstances, had she not been in complete control. And she certainly hadn't been having actual proper sex. Nothing of the sort. Danny really was just too overprotective. She could look after herself.
Matters came to a head when he took her for an interview for the role of receptionist for a small stationery supplier. Worried that she had been in for the meeting longer than scheduled, Danny walked in on her allowing the owner of the business, a short bald Scotsman, to take pictures of her in nothing more than her spectacularly sexy underwear.
When Danny dragged her out of the office and back to his car, she explained that nothing underhand had been going on. The interviewer had just been taking a picture for his records to remember which interviewee was which.
When he asked why she needed to be half naked, Claire crossly explained that he had already interviewed another similar-looking young lady wearing similar outer garments and had wanted to make sure the picture had been distinctive. Claire had readily agreed. After all, in the cut-throat world of small business receptionist recruitment, one had to stand out from the crowd.
Danny just shook his head in disbelief at her naïveté but Claire was furious at his intervention.
They had an angry row on the way home which evolved into a silent sulk on Claire's part.
Eventually Danny went to a gig in Camden where he was due to do a guest DJ spot at a club, leaving Claire to fume by herself.
Claire stomped around the house for a while, now doubly livid as she'd been due to go with Danny but had refused sullenly when he said it was time to go.
After some more moping, Claire decided that she wanted to go out for a drink, despite her standing promise to Danny that she wouldn't go out without him for fear of being tricked and abused by unscrupulous strangers.
Who the hell was he to control her life, she fumed.
She decided to call her friend, Bianca.
Two hours later, Claire was with Bianca in a trendy cellar bar in the West End, sipping a Bacardi and Coke.
Bianca was one of Claire's oldest friends and was always up for a good time. She was also fabulously attractive with rich dark skin, tight curly black hair, a lush curvaceous body and intelligent brown eyes. Indeed she used her body in her day-to-day role as a glamour model and in the evening as an occasional upmarket prostitute.
However where Claire was naïve and easily manipulated, Bianca, despite her fat tits and peachy arse, was sharp, quick and clever.
Claire had told her about some of her more interesting adventures and Bianca was often left stunned at just how easily Claire managed to get herself into such unlikely situations.
By contrast, Claire was disapproving of Bianca's lucrative sideline, often scolding her judgementally for allowing ugly grunting old letches to use her body for money. The irony of Claire's criticism made Bianca laugh, considering Claire's own inadvertent erotic escapades.
Despite this, the two friends were close and right now were both equally attracting a lot of male attention in the bar.
Claire was wearing a short cropped white t-shirt which emphasised her formidable bust and revealed her flat creamy stomach, as well as a sage green micro-skirt over bare legs and unfeasibly high black strappy heels. Bianca was in a shimmering gold tight low cut dress that ended mid-thigh over high black stiletto boots. They both looked delicious.
Over the evening the girls were chatted up many times my many men. Bianca, used to being the target of such advances, flirted adeptly, refusing all offers and not allowing anyone to separate her from Claire.
Claire, still angry at Danny, enjoyed the attention although she was slightly annoyed at Bianca's over-protectiveness.
In any case the girls didn't have to buy themselves a drink all evening and got gradually drunker and drunker as time wore on.
Eventually Bianca found herself being seduced by a man she liked, a handsome C-list up-and-coming TV presenter. She decided that she'd like to go home with him to fuck but she knew she couldn't leave a half-drunk Claire by herself in a bar.
Claire was having fun and didn't really want to leave but Bianca managed to persuade her to leave and even found a licensed taxi with a female driver to take her home.
"See you later, Claire, and remember -- don't talk to any strange men!" Bianca giggled happily as she walked off to her flat, arm-in-arm with her newfound friend, who had already slipped a hand up her dress to finger her pussy.
Bianca sat in the back of the cab and decided, in a drunken way, that she needed to text Danny to tell him that she loved him.
She looked for her phone in her handbag but couldn't find it.
"Wait!" she said to the driver who was just about to pull away. "I've left my phone in the bar. I need to go back and get it," she explained as she jumped out the cab and back in.
She got to the bottom of the stairs and walked back into the bar, still rummaging in her handbag, before suddenly finding her phone tucked under her purse. She let out a huge sigh of relief. Thank goodness for that!
She was just turning to go when a man approached her and put his hand on her arm urgently.
"Please, help me. It's just possible you could save my life!"
The man who was clinging onto her arm was middle-aged, balding, short and plump with unsightly acne. Claire hadn't noticed him earlier but then most of the men who had chatted her up had been of the confident sort and generally more attractive.
"What do you mean?" she asked, startled, leaning in towards him to hear him over the loud music.
"I need your help. My name is Fiddle, Con Fiddle. I work for MI5," he said importantly.
"Really?" Claire looked him up and down. He was wearing a yellow polo shirt, his stomach bulging unpleasantly over his jeans. She loved watching Spooks and other such spy series and Con didn't really look much like a spy.
"Don't be fooled by my disguise. Here, look at this," he answered holding out a card.
Claire inspected it carefully, wary of Bianca's warning. It was a normal business card but it had 'MI5' and a circular crest emblazoned over the top with a grainy picture of Con, his name and the title 'Senior Field Officer' underneath.
Claire looked up. "Is this real? It's not even laminated," she complained.
