For April, for as long as I can I will try to write and post a piece of erotic flash fiction a day.
“Cranberry flavoured vodka on ice with a twist of lime. Interesting. I think we’ve met before, in Stalingrad.” The black-haired woman said nothing, sipping her drink with crimson lips as she continued to survey the casino; her elegant black evening gown hugged her lithe body with an alluring show of sexuality.
“Laphroaig whisky. On the rocks. I too believe we met briefly in Stalingrad. But I must bid you farewell, Mr …”
“Thunderballs. Jack Thunderballs.”
She gave a cursory smile, as her eyes focused on a big spender a few tables away from the bar. “I trust you will have a good night, Mr Thunderballs, but I have …”
“You’re watching Gregori,” I voiced loudly as she went to move away from me; she froze. “He’s staying the night in room seven-zero-two.”
“Very good, Mr Thunderballs. I see MI5 haven’t left all of their files on commuter trains.”
I gave a polite titter. “I’m the Intelligence in MI5. So I’m staying in seven-zero-one. With a balcony opposite.” She put her glass on the bar. “And I don’t even believe you managed to get a room in this hotel. Now, if you wanted to pool resources,” I whispered. “You could work … underneath me.”
“Mr Thunderballs, if you think I am sleeping in your room tonight …”
“You will be in my room,” I interrupted. “But most certainly not asleep.” Her eyes watched as Gregori slammed his fist onto the table and swore brutishly at his diminishing pile of chips. “You were told to stop him, by any means necessary.” She coughed as I adjusted my tie. “Miss …”
“You can call me Pussy Hoare,” the agent replied, adding nothing as the Russian sulked from the casino towards the stairs and his room. “Mr Thunderballs, my employers would be very grateful if we can have a deal. For one night.”
I agreed. She picked up her coat, and turned to face me; she had dark hair, but 24 hours previous she had blonde locks and a tight PVC outfit. She was sexy then, and she was gloriously sexy now.
I had seen Pussy escape from the rooftop as Gregori’s top female assassin hunted the spies looking for the Russian gangster; Pussy managed to flee, I didn’t. I didn’t really want to: the sexy manslayer captured my attention with ease, and we played a game. Svetlana was gorgeous, and after a mild bout of amateur seduction, she was bouncing on my cock. She forgot her task as she screamed in pleasure, before clamping her wrists around my neck. She screamed at me to die, my cock twitching in her treacherous cunt, as she squeezed my windpipe. I fought her, and her quivering pussy, desperately trying to free myself as she cackled ominously.
Of course, Pussy would play harder to get.
I don’t think she ever expected to see me again, but Mr Thunderballs is not called Double-O Heaven for nothing; with a twitch of my fingers on Svetlana’s clit, I was taking control of her body once again, causing her writhe and wriggle with undulating cries. She was mine: I was executing my License to Thrill, and after a few more orgasms – it was the decent thing any gentlemanly spy would do – she was cuffed and taken into custody, while I went after Gregori.
“I will never have sex with you,” Pussy warned as I closed the door to my room and hung up my suit.
“Never say never,” I taunted.
“You’ve just come from that Russian girl, surely you’re spent,” she patronised.
“That girl was not enough!” I winked at the defiant spy, and unbuttoned my white shirt. “Anyway, she lost control after her sixth climax. Complete amateur. I’m sure you won’t be quite so easy.”
“No man has ever made me come,” Pussy said as she stared into my eyes. “No man.”
“OK.” I glanced at the bed. “But this is a clothes-free zone,” I told her, as my trousers hit the floor. “Just so I know there’s no concealed weapons.”
She groaned; I loved her long elegant arms, as she fumbled with her dress: there was no point in arguing with me; she turned away, sexily gazing out of the window as her clothes pooled on the floor. My hands rubbed her bare back softly as she glanced into the darkness and at Gregori on his balcony. “He’s reading …” She whispered.
But I wasn’t listening, my touch was cupping her bare bottom, gliding over her gorgeous buttocks. She sighed as I kissed her neck, shivering as I showered her back with my gentle osculations. She couldn’t move, mewing as my finger swept over her mound, rubbing her trimmed bush.
She squirmed; I could see the fight in her eyes in the feint reflection of the glass: her resolve to not yield to my smooth seduction and light touch. Her body was filled with elegance and grace in the moonlight, the light dancing across her firm thighs and glorious body. I wanted her; I always wanted the girls I took, but I wanted her more than anyone else and angled my head between her thighs, sliding my tongue down her buttocks.
She trembled; the cool wetness of my flicking tongue across the whorl of her anus sent shivers up her spine. She gulped; the dutiful girl watched the evil gangster diligently as my tongue twisted against her arousal and muttered under her breath as she leant onto the railings.
I was coaxing the wild woman from her body and she pushed her butt further into my face. She needed her relief; she desperately needed my vibrating tongue onto the desperation in her body. My right hand twisted her nipple, running my fingers over her pert breasts; alive to my attention, demanding my touch and overflowing with excitement.
She gulped as my fingers found her pussy; parting her legs with alacrity as my attention turned to her slick snatch, she was expecting it: her stance showed she wanted it. I pressed against her clit.
Pussy never realised it at first, the sweet melody on her anus combined with the firm touch on her button, was taking her further than any man had ever done. Her thighs quivered as the last moment of resolve crumbled and she gripped the balcony railings: writhing her body with animalistic groans. She glanced over her shoulder: her eyes were saturated with lust; I was not going to deny her the orgasm and she knew it.
Mr Thunderballs never let his women or his country down, and her unrestrained proclamations, signified her gratitude at the orgasmic explosion, detonating in her cunt.
I wrote her a poem on her butt with my tongue, as my fingers delved into her shaking wetness; effortlessly, easily gliding into her puffy mounds. It was too much for her, as she stepped away and pulled me to my feet, pushing her mouth onto mine. “Do it,” she pleaded, her eyes fiery and stacked with desire. “Let’s see your Thunderballs in action!”
I could not resist, and pushed her onto the railing, entering her from behind.
Her long hair streaked over her back, as we continued our reconnaissance mission with carnal entertainment. Her cunt was tight; she looked so sexy, she felt so divine. Pussy’s pussy stretched as my girth filled her; her fingernails gripping the railings with impassioned desire. It may have been underneath the stars, but this was no slow, sensual fuck: I rammed into her with force, feeling the thrust of my vibrations in her thighs and watching her reflection in the glass door. Her face plastered with lust: she loved it.
She was loving the ferocious hammering on her cunt, the finger tips digging into her waist, the uncompromising sating of her lust, and the intensity of her second climax creeping up on her. She needed it; wailing and squealing, crying out obscene comments into the atmosphere; I contemplated putting my hand over her mouth to silence her, but wanted to hear the crushing intensity of her climax.
I pumped forcefully into her; her legs quivering as I felt that she was riding the cusp of her arousal. She was on the brink, the split-second where she knew her body was going to be swept by an intense relief at any moment.
That moment was then; her pussy clamped down on my thrusting cock and I came inside her, filling the gorgeous agent with my seed. “You were saying I’d not make you come,” I whispered to her, as my hands played with her nipples. “And perhaps now Miss Hoare, you can come clean.”
She slouched on the railings as I reached onto the table behind me and grabbed a pair of handcuffs to fasten her to my room’s balcony. “You are also in the employ of Gregori, Miss Double Agent. Tell me, what is he planning?”
She writhed in annoyance. “What?”
“Oh come on, we know all about you. What’s Gregori up to?”
“I will never tell you.”
“Then I may just have to get it out of you, any way I can,” I replied and slid down her body to press my tongue against her anus. “We have all night! I can be Doctor ‘O!’”
Featured image from here