The Hottest Fire Ch 04

Chapter 4.

The Iron Lady

They met as scheduled. It was her style to meet for lunch in a simple restaurant, to avoid the very expensive, exclusive places where her presence would be noted and reported. Yet it was also her style to be wearing only the best, the top of the line, the most expensive clothes and jewellery available. The mink coat was

de rigueur

, the strand of pearls around her neck likewise. The gloved hand she offered him was adorned with a bracelet studded with diamonds, quite real and very big. And yet she had about her the air of a true aristocrat, someone who could wear such an outfit in broad daylight and pull it off naturally, without appearing a whore or a film star. And this, of course, was because she was a true aristocrat.

Her wardrobe was a study in black, her jet-black hair was cut in a severe pageboy; her age was indeterminable. There were lines on her face, but not unsightly battle scars of age; rather the kind that showed where smiles went. She was old enough to be in charge of the Organization, to have climbed to the top, yet somehow she managed to look youthful despite her age. The black colour of her hair was quite natural. She filled the dress she wore well; nice breasts, a slim waistline and a pair of hips that immediately brought to mind a certain activity. She could have been anywhere from thirty-five to sixty. Ludlow suspected she had a picture in the attic as ancient as Babylon, and probably just as sinful.

She looked at Ludlow over half-rimmed spectacles as she peered over the menu and somehow the effect was quite sexy, startlingly so.

There were whispered rumours within the Organization about her true identity, her titled family, but nobody knew for certain. This strict compartmentalization was the nature of the Organization. Given the broad scope of the Organization’s charter the strictest of security both within and without was absolutely necessary. No mole had ever penetrated the super-secret Organization. Ludlow was not even certain of her actual role within the hierarchy of leadership. To operators and department heads alike she was only known as The Lady, or more often than not The Bitch. Ludlow kept it simple; he called her Ma’am.

Like everything to do with the Organization The Lady was a study in opposites. It had startled him the first time he heard her swear; nowadays he was used to hearing the basest profanities uttered from those delicate lips. Indeed, it would make him uncomfortable be in a conversation with her when she

didn’t

cuss like a sailor, because then he would know something was terribly out of the ordinary.

But today things were in order. She was sharing a story about a recent encounter. “It was at a party I went to the other week, this young American fellow just came right out and asked me, ‘

Do you shag?

’”

“Cheeky fellow!” Ludlow replied.

“Yes, well, quite.”

“What on Earth did you say?”

“I didn’t say a word; I slapped him right across the face.” Ludlow imagined her decking the oaf. “It turns out that the

Shag

is a sort of a dance they do out there in the colonies.”

“Yanks.”

“Yes, quite. Naturally, I took him with me afterward and let him know what it is that

we

call shagging.” Ludlow could picture her laying it to the naive American with a sixteen-inch strap-on. Egging him on with a riding crop, no doubt.

There was something distinctly British about having The Lady in charge of the Organization. It was something that seemed to reach from the distant tribal origins of Britain itself; ever since Queen Cholea led the Celts against the Romans Britons had been following women. Elizabeth, Victoria. And just like Elizabeth had her Drake and Victoria her Gordon, so Ludlow felt he served The Lady as her gentleman adventurer.

Today’s agenda was Ludlow’s next assignment. “I can’t brief you here. Have some lunch and we’ll go to a secure location,” she said. He ordered the roast beef sandwich – it came with a whacking great hunk of bread and was served

au jus

. She had a martini.

Her chauffeured limousine dropped them off at one of the white row houses in Somerset Mews – the entire street looked like it was done in white marble. The Lady produced an encoded card from her purse, swiped it at a box by the door and donned her spectacles before pressing a series of numbers on the pad before opening the door with a conventional key. They entered.

The interior of the house was cold, the furniture was draped in drop cloths; it was clear nobody was in the place. The Lady said, “brrr,” and held her mink about her as she went down the hallway and turned the knob on a radiator. When she returned to the alcove by the door where Ludlow politely waited she held a silver-plated automatic in her gloved hand. A Berretta .25 ACP Jetfire, more suited to a pimp or a prostitute than a professional, still in her capable hands it was a very, very lethal weapon and Ludlow knew it. And it went well with her diamond encrusted silver bracelet.

“Let’s get on with it, shall we?” she said, looking at him in deadly earnest over the half-rims. “Take off your coat.”

She wasn’t The Lady anymore; she was definitely The Bitch. Ludlow removed his overcoat, tossed it to the floor.

“Now your jacket. Carefully.”

He tossed his jacket aside.

“Good. Now put your hands on your head.” She relieved him of his pistol, the big American .45 he carried. Most in his line of work favoured little pop-guns like the one she held on him now, but Ludlow liked them to go down and stay down when he had to put one in them; hence the artillery. The peace of mind the thing gave him more than made up for having to put up with the extra weight. The Bitch put the large handgun on the side table, then reached around his other side and withdrew the fighting knife he always carried as backup. She knew him only too well.

She proceeded to pat him down, keeping the Berretta tucked up against her hip and safely out of his reach as she did so. Satisfied, she said, “You aren’t carrying a wire. Good. You can relax now. Have your toys back.” She nodded to the gun and the knife on the side table, the Berretta was snapped neatly back inside her purse. She turned so he could take her mink. He placed it on a coat hanger and hung it on a coat hook on the wall. Her dress was a print done in black and grey with some interesting purple motifs. It was cut modestly, yet hugged every curve. The black gloves went up to the elbow. With her back to him she said, “Undo me?” the gloved hands indicating the zipper that went up the back of her dress.

Ludlow undid her zipper, pulled it down far enough to reveal the back of her black lace brassiere. The Bitch turned and looked at him with those dark eyes of hers, then quite simply said, “Shall we shag, then?”

He followed her upstairs. She doffed her dress, then the brassiere came off and joined it on the floor. She wasn’t wearing panties; Ludlow would have been surprised if she had. The Bitch turned and faced him, quite nude, as if putting herself on display before him. The black elbow gloves, the diamonds, her black, thigh high stockings lent a certain naughtiness to her nudity as if exaggerating somehow her nakedness. The half-rimmed reading glasses that she still peered over only added to the overall sinful effect.

Her full, round breasts showed barely a hint of sag. Black-gloved hands fluttered about them in a carefree manner, her fingers tracing little circle about her nipples and pinching them to delicious hardness. The black hair at the junction of her shapely thighs was trimmed to a severely short buzz cut. Other than an abbreviated triangle, which narrowed to a sharp point ending right at the top of her slit, her pussy was shaven quite bald.

The sheer beauty of her naked body never failed to amaze Ludlow. No matter how many times they bedded together he always found it a thrill to see her, to experience the pleasure of her body. There was something about an older woman, an unquestionably more

experienced

woman, which made The Bitch a truly exciting bed-partner. It was whispered that she’d slept her way to the top. With a laugh she’d once openly admitted as much to Ludlow, “Now that I’ve fucked my way to the top of the ladder, I’m working my way back down again,” she’d told him right before their first time together.

Quite comfortable in flaunting herself thusly, The Bitch walked over to seat herself on the bed and assumed a leisurely air. Ludlow moved to her. Her black-gloved fingers moved to his waistline. As she undid his belt and unzipped his fly Ludlow managed to pull off his shirt and kick off his shoes. Once his trousers fell to the floor his cock poked straight out, inches from her face. Her gloved hands caressed his tool, her eyes flashed and she gave him a naughty smile before pursing her lips to lightly kiss his cockhead. His dick quivered. A pearly bead of moisture formed at the tiny slitted opening, leaked across her red painted lips. Her tongue darting out like a cat’s to quickly lap it up. Lolling her tongue about the blunt end of his rigid pole, she proceeded to lick her way up and down his length.

She flicked her tongue as she worked her way down to the base and up again. She palmed his cock, rubbing the underside of his shaft all over her face and kissing it, continually giving him the eye-fuck as she did so. She boldly watched him as he watched her perform her cock-worship, intensifying the taboo aspect of it all. Then she closed her eyes, parted her lips and took his cock deep into her wet mouth.

Ludlow groaned with pleasure as The Bitch sucked his cock with the finesse of a true connoisseur. She stroked him with one gloved hand while tickling his balls with the other, sucking up and down his pole all the while. Beyond the totally exquisite feeling itself, the total disconnect of having a lady of the highest station seated before him, naked, with his dick in her mouth, served to all the more intensify the sensations to his dick.

He was as solid as a rock. She released him from her mouth and moved back onto the bed to spread out, once more display her charms. One gloved hand pinched a nipple, the other moved south down her nude body to linger about her

mon du Venus

. She was a figure from an erotic Baroque painting, a noble woman reclining in the nude, pleasuring herself absentmindedly while a celestial audience of cherubim and seraphim, nymphs and satyrs looked on. White skin encased in black gloves and stockings, pink nipples; down below her neatly trimmed black triangle served to emphasize her splendour like a beauty mark. Lightly fingering her bare cleft and smiling in a most sweet and innocent manner, the words that came from her mouth were predictably outrageous. “Now come along, there’s a good lad, and suck my clit.”

He held her ass-cheeks in both hands and began to lightly kiss her slit. The Bitch threw her head back and closed her eyes. She tickled and pinched her nipples with gloved fingers. Ludlow pressed his face to her pussy and gently probed her slit with his tongue. The Bitch moaned her approval, sucking in her breath as he closed his lips around her budding clitoris and circled his wet tongue around it.

Her gloved hands went to his head. She ran her fingers through his hair and pulled his face even closer into her pussy as his tongue swirled around her swollen nubbin of flesh. Her pussylips were open; she was very wet. He moved down to delve her hole with his tongue, then moved back up to the main object of his attentions. Forming his lips like an “o” he sucked her clit right into his mouth. The Bitch openly moaned as a series of mini-orgasms raced through her system.

Finally she could take it no more. Indicating for him to release her pleasure-button from his oral ministrations, she pulled him up. Holding his face in her hands, she looked into his eyes, kissed him, her tongue relishing the taste of her own juices. “Please, fuck me now,” she said quite breathlessly.

Ludlow moved over her. Beneath him, the Bitch looked into his eyes with an air of expectancy; her glove- and stocking-clad limbs were all about him. The head of his dick rested upon her slit. He licked his fingers, reached down and expertly spread her swollen pussylips. His shaft quite easily slid into her dripping pussy.

Her pussy muscles clamped around his dick, gripping him as wave after wave of orgasm immediately coursed through her body. She squeezed her eyes shut and pulled him close as her wet pussy saturated his dick. A hot feeling burned in her loins, a bright ball of orange and purple light exploded inside her brain. Ludlow hung on for dear life; it was all he could do to thrust his hips, plunging his dick in and out of her hot, wet hole.

Her pussy assumed a life all unto itself; it became like a sort of undersea creature that gripped and sucked, seeking sustenance from his hard pole. As the pressure of his mounting orgasm reached crescendo a stream of fluid started to flow from Ludlow’s dick. She gripped him tight, the walls of her pussy clamping down around the base of his cock as they came together. Gallons of cum issued forth as he spurted searing, hot liquid into her.

They lay together, still enjoined. Her pussy seemed reluctant to release his now softening cock. Finally he rolled over; exhausted, spent. She moved on her side and placed her head on his chest, eyes closed, a gloved finger tracing little circles on his nipple. They dozed off in each other’s arms.

Ludlow awoke to the sound of the shower running. Wisps of steam emitted from the open bathroom door. Then the shower stopped and he heard her step out of the shower stall. He got up, still nude, and went into the bathroom. She was standing before the sink with a towel wrapped around her, her hair done up in another like a turban. He looked at her bare shoulders, the way the towel hung about her breasts, looked at her shapely legs. For the millionth time he marvelled how beautiful she looked, despite her age, even without her makeup.

She looked at him, looked down his body and let her eyes linger on his cock, then looked back up at him and smiled. “You’re a good operator, Jonathon,” she said. It was quite out of character for her to address him by his given name. “You’re going to love your next assignment.”

He finished showering, towelled off and stepped into the bedroom. The Iron Lady sat at a little side table wearing a white terrycloth robe. She’d brought a pot of tea up and was pouring a cup. “Ah, there you are,” she said, looking up at him with a smile. “It’s two lumps, with milk, right?” How well she knew her prize operator. Ludlow smiled and joined her at the little table. As they had tea she briefed him.

The assignment involved enrolling as a graduate student at University College. The Organization was concerned about an underground cell of Middle Eastern terrorists they suspected was active amongst the foreign student body there. Ludlow was to establish himself on campus, to recruit possible agents, and to hopefully expose and eradicate the terrorist presence. It was a difficult assignment, but given the government’s current high priority to anti-terrorist operations Ludlow would enjoy an extraordinarily liberal amount of time to achieve his mission, not to mention a generous budget. This was Iron Lady’s way of rewarding Ludlow for his successful performance on missions to date, and, of course, for his performance in certain ‘extra-curricular’ matters.