Spy Games

This chapter of Spy Games coincides with chapters 13 and 14 of Real Estate Games and Chapters one through five of Realtor Revenge.

***

Spy Games

Chapter 14

An hour after discussing the business of our day, I was preparing dinner while Sixty-nine was at her computer doing whatever it was she did. I had just put a rice and bean casserole in the oven and was working on a green garden salad when Sixty-nine joined me the kitchen.

"I finished recording the day's contracts," she said. "Would you mind if I poured myself a glass of wine?"

"Just because I cook for you doesn't mean I'm your mother. And even though you think I'm old enough, I'm also not your father. If you want a glass of wine, pour yourself a glass of wine. You don't need my permission."

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry to disturb you."

For some odd reason, hearing Sixty-nine apologize yet again pissed me off.

***

Before I continue, a little context seems appropriate.

A professional boxer will throw hundreds of punches a day to maintain his form and then run or skip rope for hours to maintain his stamina. Even if he has already faced and beaten several dozen opponents in his career, he will still spar with a variety of other boxers to ensure he can defeat whatever new kind of defense a future opponent might use.

At that point in my life, I had seduced an untold number of women and had never failed. But, just like the championship boxer, I had to continuously work to improve my skills and maintain my stamina. At Mrs. Bancroft's suggestion, I tried to please at least three or four different women every week and, whenever possible, seek out the unusual ... the girl who didn't arch her back and scream with pleasure three minutes after I licked her clit.

My point is, I'd already been with three other women that day and didn't need Sixty-nine's body for sexual release. But the girl had an annoying habit of apologizing every fifteen minutes and I was determined to break her of it.

That, and I was curious, from a professional perspective. Two nights ago, when she asked me to bring her to her first orgasm, I brought the fledgling spy to the edge by exercising her myriad erogenous zones and then sent her over the top by paddling her ass. I wondered if the reverse would work.

***

I gave Sixty-nine a forceful swat on the ass as she passed me on her way to the wine cabinet.

"What was that for," she asked.

"For apologizing. I told you to quit."

"I'm sorry Agent Alpha, I promise to never do it again." The glint in her eye let me know I was being set up.

I grabbed the young lady by the hand and bent her over the kitchen counter.

"I've also warned you about not using my cover name," I said as I delivered another open hand spanking. "You are to call me Mark or Mr. Seiman for the duration of this mission."

Whack.

"Do you understand?"

"Yes, Agent Alpha. I'm sorry if I angered you."

Another apology. Game on. The girl wanted to be spanked and I was the man to do it.

"Lift up your dress," I ordered.

She complied to reveal a completely bare bottom.

Whack.

"Looks like you forgot to put your undies on this morning."

Whack.

"I'm sorry sir, I thought you wouldn't mind."

Whack.

"Did you also forget to wear a bra?"

Whack.

"No sir. I've got a bra on."

Whack.

"Take it off, along with your blouse."

She stood up and, with trembling fingers, removed her blouse and bra ... revealing well shaped C cup breasts that rode high on her chest. She pitched her upper garments to the floor and, without me asking, resumed her position, bent over the counter while pulling her dress back up to her waist.

I continued to work on her ass, trying to evenly spread the punishment over the broad expanse of flesh, until both cheeks were a cherry red. Her yelps of anguish, when I began the seduction, soon turned to grunts of acceptance as each successive blow raised her discomfort level, and eventually transitioned to moans of desire when she crossed over the pain/pleasure threshold.

I stopped for a moment, to give my arm and her ass a much-deserved rest and slid my finger along her exposed slit. She was ready. Her outer lips had pulled back. Her inner core was dripping lady lube down her thighs. Her clit was exposed to the open air as if looking for something, anything, to push her over the edge. Honoring my promise to not put my cock inside of the Ball Busting Bitch's newest agent, I was about to slide two fingers into her inviting and well-prepared hole when something else caught my eye.

Before I was interrupted, I was preparing a salad. I had the lettuce, radishes, onions and tomatoes lined up on the counter less than a foot from where Sixty-nine's boobs were squished against the granite surface. The last item for my salad, which I had originally planned to thin slice, was a cucumber.

I don't claim to be a cucumber expert ... don't know if it is a fruit, vegetable or alien artifact. However, I did know it was stiff and cylindrical with a curved head on one end. The cucumber in question was about ten inches long, maybe an inch and a half thick and had a slight bend to it.

Sixty-nine gasped when I slid the length of the cucumber along her dripping slit. But the more I pressed it up against her wanton crease the more receptive she became. Not wanting to shove a foreign object into the woman without her knowing what it was, I tickled her clit with it for a few minutes and then held it in front of her.

"You're going to put that inside me?" she asked.

"Only if you want me to."

"I'm afraid it might hurt."

"I promise to take it slow."

"Can we do something to make it slippery?"

"I don't see why not. Have you ever given a man a blow job?"

"No, but if I'm going to be a spy, I should probably learn."

I was damn near positive that oral sex was not a required skill for a Company agent. But when Sixty-nine took the cucumber from my hands and started licking the shaft, I thought it best to not correct her. And when she shoved a good five inches of the gourd into her mouth, I did what I thought appropriate at the time ... which was sucking one of her breasts into my mouth while tweaking the opposite nipple between thumb and fore finger. I nibbled on her nip for a minute or two and then removed the now saliva-soaked cucumber from her mouth and placed it at her other entrance.

"Be gentle please," she said as I poked the first inch of the green phallus into her pussy.

This was a first for me. Never before had I used an artificial penis to pleasure a woman. And why should I when I had the real thing permanently attached? Yes, I had gotten quite a few women off with my fingers and tongue but, just like my cock, when those personal appendages were inside a woman, I could feel what her pussy was doing and knew when to pause, when to temporarily retreat and when to plunge onward. Not so with the cucumber. The inanimate object provided no tactile feedback. So, I looked for other, more subtle cues to measure my progress. Like the tension in her tummy muscles, the grip of her hand against my arm, the slant of her eyebrows.

Her yelling "push it in deeper, I can take it," also helped guide my hand.

Another thing I didn't like about the cucumber was that I had to keep my hand on it to make it functional. Not that Sixty-nine seemed to mind. She came with an explosive release not five minutes after I started pumping the false cock into her under-educated pussy ... with several smaller orgasms following shortly thereafter. Which was the problem ... If I had truly been fucking the girl, I could have prolonged the inevitable and, with use of both hands, enhanced the result. Or, to put it more succinctly, when we were done, the girl was still conscious. That wouldn't have happened if the BBB hadn't put my cock on house-arrest when Sixty-nine was concerned.

Never-the-less, I learned a few things about my young protegee, and we were done before the casserole was ready to come out of the oven.

***

Flanagan came home just before midnight. He didn't seem a bit surprised when Sixty-nine showed him the video of the morning meeting between Raven Hardwood and Mayor Stuffit.

"The first favor Raven asked of me was to keep an eye on Janis Moorehead," Flanagan said. "At first, I thought it was a business thing, seeing that the two women are far and away the two top realtors in town. But hearing what she asked of the mayor, wanting Janis killed, goes far beyond a little unfriendly competition. Raven is dead serious about this. We just spent most of the day getting blackmail material on one of the city council members."

"Which one?" I asked.

"Today's target was Casey Green. He's a middle-aged asshole that inherited a good-sized fortune and spends it seducing underaged girls by promising acting roles in his local theatre."

"Does she have plans to blackmail any of the others?" I asked.

"Best I can tell, she plans to blackmail the entire council. And I volunteered to help her."

"What's in it for you?"

"Unrestricted access to her body whenever I want and the Chief of Police job when she takes over the town."

"Free sex and a promotion. Not bad for a few days of skullduggery. What happens once you've got sufficient dirt on the entire council?"

"Well ... if we can believe what she and the mayor talked about this morning, she gets the city council to do away with Janis which makes her the logical choice to work with you. With the number of houses you plan to buy and sell, Raven is looking at a seven figure paycheck in the not so distant future ... if she can eliminate her competition."

"True, but I already told Raven that I planned to fire Janis and hire her. Why would she still want Janis dead?"

"Did I mention that the two women hate each other?"

"Two birds with one stone? Get rid of your primary business competitor and your worst enemy at the same time?"

"That's how I see it," Flanagan said.

"Possible, but I still don't see the entire council agreeing to murder an innocent woman, even if they are being blackmailed."

"Unless -- and this is the genius part of Raven's plan -- unless they think Janis isn't so innocent. If the council thinks Janis is the one blackmailing them, they might not be so hesitant to get rid of her."

***

The next seven days were jam packed with fun and intrigue.

With Janis Moorehead's able assistance, I bought a dozen Merryville houses and, in the process, sampled the charms of an equal number of the town's most desirable female homeowners. And that was my day job. When I wasn't enjoying the pleasure of Miss Moorehead's companionship or her client's bodies, I helped Sixty-nine explore the razor thin boundary between pain and pleasure. My masochistically inclined intern purposely gave me a nightly excuse to punish her, usually within ten minutes of me walking in the door.

"I'm sorry agent Alpha, but..."

That's always how it started. No matter what minor offense she committed -- be it not getting everything on the grocery list or failing to send the Ball Busting Bitch our daily report on time -- whenever she said, "I'm sorry agent Alpha," I knew what she really wanted was a spanking. Followed by a tongue lashing (the literal variety). Which eventually lead to me shoving something phallic shaped up her clean-shaven pussy. Consistently leading to one or more back-arching, toe-pointing, nipple-hardening orgasms.

I didn't mind satiating Sixty-nine's unusual carnal desires every evening, knowing full well that I wasn't allowed to use her to satisfy my own needs. I had a town full of women at my beck and call for that purpose. Although I was a bit worried about where our relationship was headed. But the nightly exercise not only made Sixty-nine a much more pleasant companion, it also did wonders for her self-confidence. So, for the sake of the mission, I continued to molest the young lady's shapely body, hoping a better solution would eventually surface.

Meanwhile, as I honed the skills taught to me by Mrs. Bancroft so many years earlier, Flanagan was learning the art of blackmail from the local master. By the time the week was over, Raven Hardwood, with Flanagan's willing cooperation, had either discovered or manufactured sufficient dirt on each city council member to make them commit murder. Specifically, Miss Moorehead's murder.

Despite everything else on our plate that week, we also spent a good amount of time choreographing the demise of Janis Moorehead.

"It is imperative that Miss Hardwood, Mayor Stuffit and the entire Merryville city council believe they have a hand in killing Miss Moorehead," I told Flanagan during an evening strategy session. "The threat of a murder conviction is the only way we're going to convince them to sell out their town."

"How do you plan on doing that? Give each one of them a rifle, line Janis up against a wall and yell 'Ready, Aim, Fire'?"

"Not a bad idea, if I really wanted Miss Moorehead dead. But I'd much rather she survived the experience."

"Why?" Flanagan asked. "We've been told the entire town is expendable. Why risk the success of the mission to save one person out of thousands?"

"I happen to like this one person," I said. "I'd miss her if she were gone."

"Since when did our personal feelings have an ounce say on who we killed? Besides, once we're done with this job, you'll never see her again. Just like all the other women you've used."

"Do you think we should let the council kill her?"

"Hell no. I like her too. But if we screw this up and the mission goes wrong because we let Janis live, the Ball Busting Bitch will turn us both into eunuchs."

"Then we better come up with a fool proof plan," I said. "And Miss Moorehead can't know about it."

"We're going to pretend to kill the woman in front of the town leadership and not let her in on it?"

"We don't have any choice. The council, the mayor and especially Miss Hardwood must believe they killed her ... no doubts in anybody's mind. I don't think Miss Moorehead is a good enough actor to pull that off. She has to think she's being killed and then look dead."

"I'm assuming you or I can't be there to help."

"Correct."

"How about Sixty-nine?"

"Definitely not. But I think we can get Miss Hardwood to help us."

"I thought she was supposed to think she killed Janis."

"She will. But later."

"You're not making a lick of sense," Flanagan said.

I explained my plan and watched as my lifelong friend's doubting demeanor turned into a conspiratory grin.

"It's risky," he said when I finished. "Ordinarily I'd say it wouldn't work. But Raven's hatred of Janis goes so deep, we might be able to pull this off."

***

Four days before Miss Moorehead died, Flanagan found the perfect place to bury her body. It was a forty-acre pasture located thirty miles north of town. The farmer who previously owned the land had been dead for over a year. Several of his grandchildren were fighting what promised to be a long and protracted legal battle for rights to the acreage. It was several miles off the nearest paved road and surrounded on three sides by tall stands of poplars. The only building on the property was an ancient wooden shed that looked like a significant breeze would topple it to the ground.

We spent the next three days digging the grave, buying a coffin and then making the necessary modifications to both the grave site and coffin. All the while, Flanagan helped Raven Hardwood collect blackmail material on the city council and I continued buying houses with Miss Moorehead.

It wasn't easy being with Miss Moorehead for most of the day and not divulging our plans for her. I stuck with my cover story. I was a well-financed real estate speculator who liked buying houses almost as much as I enjoyed pleasing women. Despite my best efforts to keep Miss Moorehead off my list of conquests, there was something about the lady I just couldn't resist.

The first time I stepped over the line was at a house on Uranus Ave. I readily admit that I had no qualms about what I did to the lady of the house. The woman was so desperate to sell and leave Merryville, she essentially offered her body to me the minute we walked in the door. And I took it ... Not necessarily in the hole she initially had in mind, but she got a good price for her house and a new life experience out of the deal.

Somehow in the process of negotiating the price of #2 Uranus Avenue ... after I satisfied the homeowner sexually but before I wrote her a check ... I found myself on a bed with a raging hard-on staring down at Miss Moorehead's exquisitely naked rear end. Despite my best intentions, I ended up balls deep in Janis' ass and unable to extract myself until I squirted a load of DNA laden semen into her lower digestive tract.

This was bad for two significant reasons. First off, the Ball Busting Bitch told me to not spread my semen amongst the local populace. She didn't say I couldn't fuck anybody (except Sixty-nine). I just wasn't supposed to cum. Since Alek Popov was offering a huge reward for a sample of my semen, I needed to be careful about where it went. Not that I thought Miss Moorehead would sell my DNA to the Russian mafia but, according to Flanagan, Janis was trying to get a sample of my sperm to see if it matched that of the man who blind folded her, tied her down to a bed and then had his way with her the day after we met (which was Flanagan). She kept the cum stained sheet and, as soon as she got what she knew was a verified sample of my DNA, she planned to send both samples out to a lab to see if they matched.

Yeah, it's complicated. Way more convoluted than any op should be.

The gist of it all was that if Flanagan's or my DNA somehow got into any public medical record system, Popov might find out. Which would be bad because the well-connected Russian mob boss had a "shoot on site" order for whoever matched the foreign DNA that came out of his wife's, daughter's and housekeeper's bodies.

Despite all of the above, my main concern about accidentally sodomizing the good-looking blonde realtor was that it was the wrong thing to do. She was a genuinely good person ... one of the very few I met in my line of work. Except for Amanda Zimmerman (Mrs. Bancroft's first London maid), Miss Moorehead was the only woman I considered a possible soul mate. Shoving my overly excited cock up her ass was not the best way to start that relationship.

The house at #2 Uranus was the last house I bought with Miss Moorehead. That was the day before Janis was scheduled to die. I knew this because we had Mayor Stuffit's phone bugged.

Miss Moorehead and I had dinner together that evening at the fanciest restaurant in town ... The Sharper Knife ... which was the favored eatery of the mayor and city council. With a little help from the Company's tech wizards, Flanagan transformed the dolphin entangled pearl necklace that I stole from Popov's wife into a microphone. I gave the necklace to Miss Moorehead at dinner, in full view of at least three council members. Further proof that she was on my side and therefore scheming against them. In retrospect, rubbing it in their faces may not have been a good idea, but who knew that small town politicians would be so nasty.

Later that evening, I met Miss Moorehead in her apartment to prep her for her next morning's meeting with the city council.

Still dressed up from dinner, she let me in the door, offered me a drink and then sat on her couch. I sat next to her and placed two small boxes between us.

"Before you open your gifts, we need to have a little discussion," I said.

"Is there something in those boxes I'm not going to like?" she asked.