In Her Fathers Footsteps Ch 05

Erotic Adventures of Sexy British Super-Spy Jane Bond

After settling into her room at Rick's Cafe Americain hotel in Vienna, novice British spy Jane Bond decide to infiltrate the notorious Suite 69, where wanted terrorist arms merchant W and his slutty wife Wendy Warmcox allegedly spent the entire year of 1987 making passionate love with each other. Jane had shown a photo of W and Wendy to the desk clerk, who knew the couple well. They stayed in Suite 69, probably for sentimental reasons, every time they visited Vienna, and that was several times a year.

Jane's training with computers, and a few lucky breaks, had helped her track W to this location, and now her expertise at electronic surveillance would also be put to the test. She had decided to plant a bug, and a voice-activated video camera, in Suite 69. She wasn't quite sure what she was hoping to record, she only knew that she needed something she could use to stop W's sales of weapons to terrorists.

Although it was not at all necessary to her mission, Jane decided to don an all-black cat-burglar style jump suit, like spies do in movies when they break in to plant bugs. Besides, she was dying to wear that slinky new jump-suit, which accented all of her delectable curves, so breaking in to bug someone's hotel room was as good an excuse as any for this outfit. She deliberately wore nothing underneath, to make her feel all the more sexy and naughty as she prowled around the love nest of W and Wendy.

As Jane walked stealthily around Suite 69, she bent over various surfaces, looking for inconspicuous locations to plant a microphone.

Each time she bent over, the soft fabric at the crotch of her jump suit pressed a little bit further up into her slit, slowly building her moisture. Jane thought about how her moisture slowly builds in just that way, every time her husband Brad slowly licks her inner walls and her throbbing little clit. Thoughts of Brad back in London made her even wetter, but she fought to stay calm and focused on the job at hand. Besides, she didn't want to get too excited, and risk seeping out any of the two injections of Brad's love juice, which she was still carrying deep inside of her from last night's "bon voyage" fuck.

Jane finally found a low shelf in a corner next to the bed, and she planted the microphone underneath. The shelf was too low to crawl under, and the corner was remote enough that nobody would look for a bug there, yet close enough to the bed to capture any secrets that W might reveal to his wife during pillow talk. Of course, it would also capture their moans and squeals of delight. Jane pulled the tiny color Polaroid photo out of her pocket again. There was Wendy Warmcox, standing naked beside the very bed that Jane now stood in front of. Wendy's long, blonde, hair cascaded straight down to her curvy ass, and her 40-inch bust jutted out in two perfect globes. On the bed was her arms-merchant husband, W, his arms and legs securely tied to the corner bed-posts, and his impressive ten inches of hard cock pointing straight up. Jane compared the scene in the photo, to the real location in which she now stood. For the first time, Jane noticed the arm and leg restraints mounted on the wall, above the bed, close to the ceiling. The restraints on W in the photo were no fluke: Wendy and W evidently liked to get kinky on a regular basis. As Jane studied the room and the photo, and tried to picture in her mind the kinkiest activities that W and Wendy might have performed in this very room, she found herself getting steadily wetter. She was surprised at her own reaction, because she had never had any attraction for bondage or S&M.

Summoning all of her will power, Jane forced the images of W and Wendy out of her mind, and carefully tucked the photo back into her pocket. She found a good hiding place for the video camera, behind some books. Jane deliberately aimed the hidden camera so it would not only capture their voices (which she hoped would be discussing the next terrorist arms deal in between their passionate moans), but as an extra bonus, the camera was aimed straight at their bed, where Jane instinctively knew that the camera would record the best possible images of W's enormous cock and Wendy's wide-open, dripping pussy as the couple carried out their legendary sexual gymnastics.

As a final measure, Jane installed a tiny radio transmitter in the doorknob of Suite 69. Every time the knob turned to let someone in or out of Suite 69, Jane's radio receiver in her own suite next door would pick up a signal. After two such signals--one for W entering the room, and one for him leaving again--Jane could safely break into Suite 69 again, and retrieve whatever her hidden video camera had recorded, of weapons dealing and perhaps, if Jane was lucky, also some tape that Jane could watch in the privacy of her own room, showing Wendy Warmcox's renowned passion for her husband, W.

Having planted the electronic surveillance equipment in Suite 69, Jane returned to her own hotel room to await some result from the microphone or the voice-activated video camera. She drew a warm bubble bath, and as she relaxed in the tub and let the warm water and apricot-scented bubbles work their magic on her jet-lagged body, Jane tried to picture W and Wendy fucking each other's brains out for an entire year in Suite 69 back in 1987. She then pictured her husband Brad and herself spending a year locked in a hotel suite, Jane sucking Brad's throbbing 8 inches all the way down her throat as he worked his long, magic tongue against her inner walls and her hard, excited little clit.

As Jane relaxed and daydreamed in the tub, her fingers instinctively and involuntarily pried open her pussy lips, working their way inside of her already-dampening slit. As her finger rubbed her G-spot, she wished that it was Brad's long fingers and thick knuckles massaging her innermost recesses, touching her in all the right places as only he seemed able to do. She desperately wanted to come against her own fingers, but at the same time, she feared that triggering her own orgasm might cause some of Brad's thick globs of love juice from the previous night to escape their imprisonment in her pussy. Sighing, a little frustrated, Jane forced herself to stop pleasuring herself, and emerged from the tub just as the water was starting to turn cold and her fingertips were starting to wrinkle in the soapy water.

As she sat on the edge of the tub and toweled herself dry, Jane ran her fingers and palms all over her breasts and nipples. She closed her eyes and let herself daydream again, imagining Brad's long tongue curling up in a U shape and flicking out at her half-inch-long nipples and wide, reddish-pink areolas. As Jane recalled the many times that Brad had kissed and licked the curved underside of her breasts, she let her fingers slip back inside of her tight, hungry pussy, pulling the mixture of her gathering juice and some of the residue of Brad's come out of her pussy, onto her outer lips and her thighs, and spewing Brad's and her own goo into her thick triangle of dark-brown hair just above her pussy, matting-down her pussy hair with their moist love cocktail. As Jane came, and let out a long, low, series of "ohhh's" and "mmm's" she was glad for the thick walls of these quaint old European hotels. Now she was glad, too, that Brad had injected a double dose of his magic love medicine into her the previous night, because even after letting some escape from her juicy opening during her orgasm, Jane could still feel a huge volume of his juice sloshing around deep inside of her, and she knew that there would be plenty more Brad Juice that could escape the next time that she needed to relieve her chronic horniness.

Jane dressed for dinner now, and headed downstairs to the restaurant of Rick's Cafe Americain hotel. Since the real Rick, of Casablanca fame, had established this hotel just after World War II, it did not surprise Jane as she entered the dining room to see a piano player in the dark, smoky lounge, nor did his choice of songs come as much of a surprise: As Time Goes By. Jane almost expected a group of Germans and Frenchmen to start singing their national anthems in loud competition with each other, as in the movie.

As Jane sat down and perused the menu, two things did surprise her. The high prices on the menu were certainly not those of Casablanca in World War II. And the busty blonde woman three tables away sure looked like Wendy Warmcox. Wendy's bright red mini-dress showed off her long, slinky legs, and the plunging neckline revealed about as much as Wendy legally could, or maybe more than was legal: with no bra underneath, the inch-long nipples at the tips of Wendy's luscious 40-inch breasts jutted straight out through the thin red fabric. Wendy's ass-length, golden- blonde hair was combed over to one side, probably so she wouldn't sit on her hair while eating her dinner. Jane couldn't help but gazing at Wendy's beauty. But Jane also realized that if Wendy was back in Vienna again, Jane's prey, the notorious weapons merchant W, could not be far behind.

Although Jane knew that Wendy had no idea who she was and could not possibly recognize her, Jane spent her entire dinner nervously covering her face with the menu, a newspaper, a book, a cloth napkin, anything that would keep Wendy from spotting Jane, while still letting Jane peer out to see if Wendy noticed her (and also to avoid detection while gazing hungrily at Wendy's lusty body, barely covered by her skimpy red dress). Jane was not yet as experienced a spy as her famous father, James Bond, and did not realize that all of her nervous behavior, instead of keeping her inconspicuous, was actually calling attention to herself. Fortunately, Wendy Warmcox was too absorbed in savoring her own gourmet Viennese dinner, and in her daydreams about tasting (not to mention licking, sucking, and swallowing whole) her husband's enormous 10-inch shaft for dessert, to notice Jane Bond's dinner-time antics.

Leaving Wendy to finish her dinner, Jane returned to her hotel room. The red light on her radio receiver was lit, indicating that someone had entered the now heavily-bugged Suite 69. Since Wendy Warmcox was still downstairs enjoying her dinner, Jane guessed that her target, terrorist arms dealer W, must be in the room. Jane felt her heart start to race, and she assumed that it was because she was so close to catching and stopping this dangerous dealer of death and destruction. As she put her hand on her breast to steady her heartbeat, Jane felt that Polaroid snapshot, one of the British spy surveillance photos, inside of her jacket pocket. She pulled it out again, and studied the photo one more time. The photo made her heart race even faster, and now she wondered whether it really had been her fear of being caught that made Jane's heart race so. Maybe it had been spying on the gorgeous, sexy Wendy that had gotten Jane so excited.

In the photo, there was Wendy Warmcox, completely naked, standing over the bed in Suite 69, her long, shiny, golden- blonde hair cascading down over her shoulders, ending in the front by swirling around the pale, perfect globes of her 40-inch chest, and ending in the back by caressing the soft creases at the base of her smooth, round ass, which looked like a perfect fit to cup in a large man's hands. In the photo, Wendy's eyes sparkled, her lips curled upward in a lusty smile, and indeed her whole face lit up with joy and excitement. Studying the photo, it was not hard for Jane to see what had brought Wendy such joy, for there on the bed was Wendy's weapons-dealer husband, his arms and legs securely tied to all four bed posts, and his rock-hard 10-inch shaft pointing straight up into the air. Heck, just looking at the PHOTO brought a smile of joy to Jane's face, and Jane was happy with her Brad's 8 inches, so she could only imagine what joy Wendy must feel every time she has W's 10 inches, not in a photo, but wrapped inside her fist, or between her lips, or down her throat, or best of all, jammed deep into her pussy, pumping rapidly in and out of her wide-open and fully-stretched pussy lips.

And what about W? He must really enjoy sucking on the perfect globes of Wendy's enormous breasts, licking her moist inner walls, coaxing her shy love button out of hiding with his fingers and tongue, rubbing, sucking, and nibbling her hard little clit until she squirms on their bed, and she thrashes and moans with the pleasure of his touch. He must enjoy brushing aside her long, shimmering blonde hair so that his lips can faintly kiss her soft, round, ass cheeks, and the perfect little creases where her ass cheeks curve down to meet her long, slender, creamy- white legs. And surely he must enjoy using his 10-inch rod to press the silky ends of her long blonde hair deep into the crease of her butt. As Jane stood beside her hotel bed, studied the photo, and let her imagination fill with such images, she was in too much of a hurry to bother stripping off her good clothing. Still standing, Jane simply lifted her skirt, pulled the waistband of her panties down to just below her pussy, and jammed her middle finger deep inside of her. Sighing with her increasing lust, Jane let her middle finger slide in and out of her dampness at a furiously-rapid pace. She shut her eyes, and imagined that her busy middle finger was really her Brad's long, talented tongue rapidly licking against her swollen clit. Letting out an ear-piercing scream, Jane thrust her hips forward and let herself flow all over her own invading finger. As her juices trickled down both of her dark, Latin-American thighs, she felt a little more of Brad's day-old love injection escape down her thighs as well. She had let some of his juice escape twice this evening. At this rate, even with him having pumped two full loads into her steaming pussy the previous night, Jane was not sure that any of his spunk would be left inside of her by the time she returned to her Brad's warm, loving arms after just three days in Vienna.

As their mixed love juices streamed down Jane's inner thighs, she suddenly felt faint from all of her excitement. Jane let the snapshot of W and Wendy fall out of her hand and onto the carpeted floor of her hotel room. She let herself collapse face-down on the bed, with her skirt still raised and her panties still halfway down her slender, dark legs. As Jane collapsed, she wondered to herself which person in the snapshot had made her more excited, W with his well-muscled chest and fully-extended ten-inch cock, or Wendy with the perfect curves of her 40-inch breasts and her ass cheeks. Jane was too drained from the evening's two orgasms to care, and she clutched her pillow in her arms, falling asleep pretending that the pillow Jane was clutching so tightly was really her husband, Brad.

When Jane Bond awakened in her Vienna hotel room the next morning, she saw that her radio receiver lights indicated that whoever had been in Suite 69 last night, had left again. It was now safe to retrieve the tape from the video camera that she had hidden in W and Wendy's suite.

Jane donned her sexy, slinky black "cat burglar" jump suit again, and again with no underwear. Jane then re-entered Suite 69. She quickly removed the miniature video tape from the video camera that she had hidden on a bookshelf. Jane unzipped the front of her jump-suit, letting her soft, firm 36-C breasts pop out, and slipped the micro-tape into her cleavage. She clutched both of her breasts in her palms, pressing them upward and together, and carefully tucked them back into her tight jump-suit, zipping it back up again. Now she slipped a fresh blank mini-tape into the hidden video camera, and returned to her room with her surveillance tape safely tucked between her warm breasts. Jane's purpose in planting a video camera had been to record any secret information that W might reveal about his weapons dealings, but as she slipped off her shoes to get comfortable in her hotel room, Jane secretly hoped that she had also recorded some of the vigorous athletic activity that W and Wendy reputedly enjoyed in their suite. Had W and Wendy really spent an entire year in that suite, making passionate love to each other, as one of Jane's fellow British spies had told her? Would the tape show Jane any of that passion, after W and Wendy had been married for 11 years?

Jane reached into her suitcase and took out the special adapter that MI-6 had provided to her, the one that let her view these mini-video tapes in a standard VCR. She stood in front of a mirror, watching herself as she unzipped the front of her form-fitting jump-suit. When her bouncy, 36-C breasts were once more fully-exposed, she cupped them in her hands, letting her palms massage her breasts while her fingers pulled at her hardening nipples. When her nipples were fully extended, she pushed her breasts away from each other, and she retrieved the mini-video tape that she had hidden in her cleavage. Jane placed the tape in the adapter, and then slipped it into the hotel room's VCR.

Pushing the PLAY button, Jane stretched out on her bed, propping her head on her pillow, stretching her dark, shapely legs (hidden by her jump-suit) in front of her, and crossing her legs at her ankles, lazily wiggling the toes of her bare feet. She left her zipper open to her waist and her breasts exposed, so she could resume playing with them if (as she hoped) the tape contained some sexy action, as well as the talk about selling weapons to terrorists that Jane was SUPPOSED to record.

As the tape began, Jane recognized the elusive arms merchant who calls himself W, standing beside the bed in Suite 69. He turned down the bed sheet, and arranged the pillows, as if preparing for bed. He slipped off his shoes and socks. But where was his wife, Wendy?

W continued to stand beside the bed, not completing the task of undressing for bed, and from time to time nervously glancing at his watch, seeming to be impatient at the amount of time elapsing as he just stood over his bed. Jane could understand his impatience. The tape seemed interminable and boring, as the minutes ticked by without W saying or doing anything. Jane had secretly hoped, when she saw W take off his shoes and socks, that the tape would continue to show him undressing, revealing the rippling muscles of his chest, his flat, washboard stomach, and finally the best feature of all, his throbbing 10-inch cock. Jane now feared that the mini-tape would run to the end before anything interesting happened.

Finally, a woman emerged from the bathroom, and approached the bed. She had short, wavy, fiery-red hair, and looked to be about 10 years younger than Wendy Warmcox. She had on a tight, black-leather skirt that reached not quite halfway down her thighs, exposing about a mile of black-stockinged show-girl legs and stiletto-heeled, open-toed dressy black leather strap-on shoes. She had paired this skirt with a Victorian-style lacy, heavily-ruffled white silk blouse, buttoned up to her neck, with a black choker around her neck and a cameo pin at the front.

As this unfamiliar woman approached W, she stopped, and stood facing him. They instantly threw their arms around each other, and kissed passionately, their lips pressed tightly against each other. The woman was first to part her lips slightly, but W opened his mouth a split second later, and soon, both had snaked their tongues down each other's throat as their passionate kisses continued. After a few minutes, they backed arms length away from each other. The woman slowly began unbuttoning W's shirt, as W unpinned her cameo and removed her black choker band from around her neck. As the woman pulled his shirt-tails out of W's trousers and pulled his shirt open, he began unbuttoning the front buttons of her old-fashioned ruffled blouse. She leaned in close to him again, and began kissing his muscular chest, rubbing her palms up and down his exposed skin, and gently nibbling on his nipples. By this time, W had finished unbuttoning her blouse, and he slid the sleeves off of her arms. Her blouse softly landed on the carpeted floor of the hotel suite, revealing a sheer, lacy black bra underneath, and a firm young stomach. Now only her short black leather skirt hid this woman's charms from W's sight and touch.