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This story is a sequel to 'Alicia Grows a Pair' but is stand-alone.
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"Can you pop into the briefing room for a minute please?"
Alicia was sitting at her desk, busy daydreaming about the operations she'd been on recently. She was a member of a police undercover unit that specialised in international smuggling, but she was clearly a lowly pawn in high-stakes games. Now Anthony, her Detective Sergeant had a new job for her in the unfamiliar world of covert operations.
The DS closed the door firmly behind them, "We have a new operation for you, which looks like it fits your skills and attributes". That was an ominous phrase and it hung in the air for a minute while she sat down on a seat. Several others were there already, seated on the thinly cushioned chairs around a long table.
The room was large, gloomy and windowless. The computer monitors were all switched off today, unplugged with the wires hanging down to show they weren't connected to anything. From inside nobody could see that the office was on the top floor of an anonymous building that appeared to be part of a car dealership.
Alicia had learned that secrecy and security were endemic through the department, nobody knew what others were doing unless they were involved in the same operation. It was considered poor form to make enquiries about what people were working on and no sensible answer would be forthcoming anyway. There were no WW2 'Walls Have Ears' type posters on the walls but it felt like it, people might chat about getting drunk on their days off or where they went on holiday, but work was kept strictly to the computer or private meeting rooms.
However, now they were out of earshot of outsiders they would be updated. Just as far as necessary and no further. First they was told the allocated codename; it was Operation Lightfoot, generated by some computer algorithm to ensure anonymity. Code-names that indicated the subject matter in any way were for the Christmas drink-drive campaign, when they used things like 'Sleigh-ride' that any moron could work out. Then she was given a briefing sheet, which she knew contained some unique wording that was different in some way from everybody else's. That was so that if it fell into the wrong hands and was published, a simple comparison against a database would reveal just whose version had been disclosed. It was best if she looked after it.
Anthony cleared his throat self-importantly, "Lightfoot is part of our remit of proactively investigating what appears to be an organised crime group. At this early stage it is a lifestyle investigation into a person who is living well beyond their visible means. The subject is immensely wealthy, travelling around the globe by private jet, the full works. We don't know the source of the wealth; there's almost nothing being declared tax-wise so that's what we want to find out. What in the world is going on."
He went through the paper, not doing much more than reading it out. Alicia though that they could save some time and read it themselves. Then he addressed her directly, "Alicia. What it comes down to, is we need someone who can infiltrate the inner circle. That person has to be someone who can come across as a bit of a body-builder, someone who obviously knows their way around a set of dumb-bells but can move up to the next level with proper training."
Instinctively Alicia looked down at her arms, she had been working out a lot and as a result she had a decent set of biceps. She was fairly satisfied with her look overall; she had a flat stomach, firm buns and bulging thighs due to her spending her lunch breaks at the office gym and even an hour after work in her own time. She'd always had an athletic build but she'd recently caught the exercise bug and the effect of the extra effort was there for all to see.
Anthony was still talking, "Alicia, your way in is going to be via a gym linked to the suspect. From what we know this might involve some modelling, maybe pole dancing or bar-work. Tight T-shirts, that sort of thing. It'll all need some initiative, you'll have to play it by ear. If you're not comfortable with that, say now. That's important. We'll look for someone else'. He paused expectantly.
Alicia thought for a moment. People didn't seem to pay her much attention but she liked it on the rare day when they did. On holidays abroad where nobody knew her she got a kick out of going topless and getting a perfect tan. Seeing people on the beach secretly check out her pert little boobs was amusing and this sounded like it could be fun, indulging in a bit of exhibitionism. She hadn't joined 'the job' to hand out parking tickets. She tried to pay attention to the details as Anthony continued but when he came to the obligatory health and safety spiel at the end she'd heard the statutory warnings before and her mind wandered into some weird fantasy.
What would Anthony look like naked? Did he have a big stiff one? Or would he have a little lazy-lob hiding under a pot belly?
Would he lust over her if she got her perfectly shaped but tiny tits out? Her nipples were impossible to ignore, always erect and coffee-brown against the honey coloured flesh. Maybe he was into massive mammaries and nobody ever accused her of having those. She had been ironing-board flat until she had her implants, the smallest available, just enough to give her some shape; she didn't want to look like one of those girls with half-grapefruits bolted on. She'd read stories of how they all lost all sensation and had numb nipples syndrome. How would any boyfriend be enticed by those fake things? Surely a lad couldn't get all lusty over those.
She remembered her first lust. Was it love? She'd thought so at the time, the memory made her heart jump even now. From things she'd heard from her girlfriends, they didn't always have happy memories of their first time, or even their first boyfriends. Their cherry-pickers always turned out to be boorish idiots.
But she had fond recollections of Tommy. She had come home from her holiday, he had gone home from his. Never to see each other again. What was he doing nowadays, would he be pleased to see her again if she were to look him up? Maybe he was married with children and a dog and she'd be arrested as a stalker.
They had taken a shine to each other over a game of beach-soccer and later on it had developed into a couple of encounters in the dunes where they'd done the deed. Broken their mutual ducks, plucked their cherries.
Afterwards they'd spent much the rest of their holidays together languishing in their hotel rooms exploring each other's bodies. It was strange how she'd been confidently topless on the beach in public, running across the sands with the breeze flowing over her body. But now, in the privacy of her room lying on the bed with her boyfriend she had flushed as he gazed at her laying there exposed, uncovered for him. He traced a finger over her belly, over her ribs and slowly, millimetre by millimetre, spiralling in to her sensitive and erect nipple. She had no breast tissue to speak of, certainly not enough to fill his cupped palm as she yearned to do, but he was unconcerned.
But by the time he reached it, it was tingling and she was leaning in so that he touched it more quickly. Then round and round he circled, teasing her, building the anticipation even further. At last he held it between finger and thumb, squeezing ever so gently. She could have fainted with exhilaration.
He kissed it but even more exciting than his lips was the warm breath as he exhaled. Unable to bear it any longer she put her arm around his head and mashed his face against herself, her nipple now between his teeth.
Once she'd recovered herself, she pushed him down to her stomach. Now his breath was on her groin and he repeated the process, running his fingers through the wisps of fair hair that she had down below then tracing the pink crinkles of her labia. With her legs wide apart, she allowed Tommy to stroke her, discovering her moistness and her clitoris that was so prominent and eager to be played with.
She wriggled around to allow him to continue while she returned the compliment, feeling the firmness of his midriff and the softness of the hair that framed his male organ. He was already engorged of course with the eagerness of youth, just as she'd read about in those magazine stories aimed at impressionable females. She practised easing back the skin that hid his glans, purple-red and glistening in the sunlight.
It fascinated her, she was nervous of touching him there; it looked so tender. Instead she moved down to study the parts that had been ignored in the magazines, the parts that she had only really seen depicted in textbooks. His balls were held snugly against his body, but as she nudged him there there was a slow ripple across the skin that reminded her weirdly of the movement of a snake's scales. She repeated the touch and it happened again.
Ignoring his erection, she concentrated on his testicles and felt him ever so tenderly with her fingertip, brushing over the organs that produced his life-force. Cupping the pair together, she held his power in her palm. Eventually she liberated them and kissed them each in turn. She did like a good symmetrical set of balls.
At last she turned to it, the organ that would soon ease into her. It needed kissing, this provider of pleasure, that would be moving her innards aside on its way to her very core. She licked her lips, moistening them ready to envelop that purple tip.
"Just sign here then please", Anthony burst the memory. He held a form for her, yes she'd had this briefing, yes she'd had the notes, yes she wouldn't leave them behind on a bus. Sign all over, starting off neat but ending up a bored scrawl. What had he been droning on about for the last few minutes? It was just official bollocks, like the safety announcements on a flight to Spain. Emergency exits are there, there and there, raise your reclining seats and the window blind before landing.
* * *
She had some preparations to make over the next few days which were taken up with buying new gym kit; her old stuff was showing signs of wear and tear and she needed to make an impression. So she went into the city and searched out the expensive shops that she would never have dared enter otherwise. The tax-payer's credit card took some pain.
She chose some cute bra tops, thong underwear and yoga pants that fitted right up between the cheeks of her ass. Some top-end sports shoes and a few accessories for luck. She had tried the outfits on and decided that some of the bras needed to be a size smaller. She was just about a B cup since she'd been 'done', a small handful but there was always room to slide a finger into the gap. She had some expensive made-to-measure bras which fitted perfectly, but an A cup was filled to overflowing and she liked the way that looked after all those years being flat as a board.
