By

Donna M.

I�ve often heard that professional athletes have the same problem I have. As with the athlete who plays on well past his or her prime, my reflexes weren�t what they used to be, and they used to be as sharp as a finely honed razor. I should�ve retired years ago, but this business gets the juices flowing like no other. When I was in my prime I could outwit, outshoot and if need be, outfight any opponent. The other side had some pretty singular adversaries, but I bested them all. Sadly, at forty nine, I should have retired, for my mind and my reflexes aren�t quite what they once were, and now it appeared I�d pay for that with my life.

I remembered the quick, sharp, wasp-like sting, and then nothing until now.

The room was dark, cold and slightly damp; a cellar, perhaps, though hardly a dungeon. The chair was a plain wooden model that was bolted to the floor, and seemed sturdy enough for the job. While I was unconscious, they�d stripped me down to my panties, whoever �they� were. Nakedness can equate to vulnerability, but that psychological ploy wouldn�t work on me. The cold had my nipples hard and achy, though they were the least of my problems. My arms were tightly bound behind me and my ankles were shackled to the chair legs with handcuffs. The fact that they used rope for my hands and not cuffs told me they were well aware of my unique skills.

�You are mine,� he said.

I hadn�t heard a door open or any other sound before he spoke. Had he been standing somewhere behind me ever since I came to? I let his three words work through my methodical mind. He sounded like a large man and he exuded confidence that didn�t descend to arrogance. There was a sexual undertone to his voice, probably an offshoot of his innate virility rather than an overt ploy. As my breathing quickened and my gut warmed, I figured out I had more to fear from this man than the obvious.

All that from three cheap words.

�I would say you�re right, at least for the time being, seeing I�m trussed up in this chair,� I said, trying to keep my voice calm and neutral. One can�t ever show fear. Plus, false bravado only worked in the movies.

�I could let you go, and you�d still be mine,� he said, closer. His voice barely above a whisper, this second sentence conveyed more menace along with the sexual undertone.

I measured my words carefully, and said, �Why don�t we do that, then? Untie me and take me. I�ll let you.� I didn�t think an offer of sex would work, but since it did twice before in my life�two men dead before their cocks touched pink�I had to try again.

�In time, Miriam. In time.�

With all my training and experience I tried to hide the fear; however the man knew my real name! If they knew that, then I surely was a dead woman. And maybe others would be dead too. Concentration was difficult, but that�s all I had to rely on. �Since you know my name,� I said, �you probably know everything else, so if you�re going to kill me, get it over with.� To my bosses, death was preferable to spilling secrets.

�You think I�ll torture you, don�t you?� When I said nothing, he continued in that low, suggestive voice of his, �Or maybe rape you? Isn�t that every woman�s fear, worse than death itself?�

�I�m not �every woman�,� I replied. I�d been gang raped in a small Middle Eastern country when I was younger and greener. It wasn�t my worst fear any longer.

�You certainly aren�t,� he whispered right behind me. I thought about throwing my head back trying to head-butt him, maybe just for the grim satisfaction, though I knew it wouldn�t get me out of this cellar. He said, �You�re quite a bit hotter than I anticipated.� I felt his fingers at my neck as he spoke. Still safely behind me, he slowly moved his hand down to the crest of my left breast. �Impressively firm for your age,� he murmured in the same seductive voice.

�How old are you?� I asked as I processed the new information. He fondled my left breast, so he most likely was left handed. I wasn�t blindfolded, so his caution implied that I may recognize him. He had a tattoo of an unusual lightning bolt on his forearm that came into view as he touched me. If I ever got out of here alive, maybe I�d have a means of identifying him.

He never answered me. His fingertips traced a line up from my left breast to a spot at the base of my neck, then around the side to its nape. He moved my hair aside. I felt something brush against the fine hairs at my neck. Whether the barrel of a gun, or a would-be lover�s lips, I couldn�t tell. I was aroused, and I was ashamed I let him get to my basic self this way. Maybe they�d drugged me with a secret aphrodisiac. I could rationalize my arousal but that wouldn�t help me get out of here alive.

For several minutes he didn�t say anything. To test if he was still behind me, I began working on the rope which bound my hands, not really expecting to get anywhere. Surprisingly, not only was I feeling a slight looseness that wasn�t there earlier, my captor didn�t intervene. Emboldened, I used every dexterous trick I knew to free my hands. After two minutes of surreptitious wrangling and still no movement or shouts of alarm behind me, I surmised that my captor had left the room. Even as I felt the blood trickle from my abraded wrists I kept working the rope.

As the rope loosened enough for me to slip out of it, I remained still, listening for sounds. The cellar (or wherever I was) stayed silent, so I slipped loose of the rope and without letting it fall from my hand (never lose a weapon when you have one) I quickly spun around in the chair, ready to fend off my new nemesis. No one was there.

I hadn�t heard him leave. I saw no obvious door by which he could have left. Where had he gone? What the fuck was happening here? My legs were still cuffed so I couldn�t bolt from the chair, at least not yet. I wasn�t one for paranoia, and yet I began to wonder if this entire episode wasn�t some sort of agency test. Maybe an entire group of men were right now ogling my jiggling breasts via a hidden camera. If true, then I�d already failed my test.

Knowing I risked further pain, I fell from the chair to the floor, twisting my legs in the process. Contortedly I studied the old wooden chair for cracks or splinters. I found a suitable splinter and worked it free. Hoping the wood was strong enough, I went to work on one of the cuffs with my makeshift wooden key. Like I said, I was good at this sort of thing. It took me around a minute to get the first one open, mangling my splinter with the effort. The second cuff took two minutes.

Not sure whether I was being watched or not, I padded around the dim room trying to locate an exit. My clue was a small disturbance of dust. I tried different methods to move a rack that was apparently affixed to the wall, until it moved a little on the fourth attempt. I�d found my way out, but I wasn�t stupid enough to charge out of there, not knowing where �out� led. My captors (it was prudent to think plural) were likely all men, so I knew I could use my nakedness as a distraction. I picked up the rope in one hand and the two sets of handcuffs in the other. The ratcheted end of an opened handcuff can be a very useful weapon if you know how to use it. I knew how.

I moved the rack aside a few millimeters to assess its noise capabilities. It didn�t make noise. I inched the thing farther, slowly and deliberately until the opening was wide enough for me to squeeze through. I scratched a nipple on the rough concrete; I had no time to think about it. The opening led to a stairwell leading upward into light. I crept up the stone steps.

Two men were there in what I considered to be the ground floor. They both saw me ascend. No element of surprise this time. I stumbled, letting my tits bounce and sway enough to draw their gaze.

�Help me,� I mumbled.

They had lust in their eyes�I guess the old broad still had it. I hid the handcuffs behind my back; however there was no hiding the rope. These guys were stupid, thinking of rape rather than whatever mission they signed up for. When the first one grabbed one of my tits, I flicked the handcuff ratchet upward, putting it deeply through his right eye socket. He carried the expression of dead surprise right to the floor. The other guy didn�t have time to react (probably since he was ogling my body) as I used a martial arts maneuver to turn him around. The rope was around his neck in seconds. A few more seconds and he too collapsed to the floor. He was still alive so I snapped his neck.

Neither one of these guys had the lightning tattoo, and for some reason that pleased me. Perhaps if my secret captor was able to arouse me so, I wanted him to be a worthier adversary than these two had been.

I sized up the two dead men. Thankfully, the non-bloodied one was closer to my size. I took his clothes. Without a bra, my abraded nipple stung as it rubbed against the inside of his course fabric shirt. I may still be moments from death�I wasn�t going to let a sore nipple bother me. Nor would the too-large boots.

Wherever I imagined I was, it wasn�t here. I expected a rural location, and yet the small, humble cottage seemed to be in the middle of the city�a city that looked like any old European city, just not the one where I�d been captured. Houses here didn�t usually have cellars; I wondered why this one did. The house�s location could make escape easier, I thought, planning my escape based solely on what I could see from a small window. I had a Plan A. There was no Plan B, unless it was a sniper�s bullet I would never hear coming.

I worked my way through the old neighborhoods with their horse cart-wide streets. As wary as I was, I didn�t hurry nor did I lurk. I walked as nonchalantly as I could until a few landmarks told me where I was. Good, we had a safe house in this city. I headed for it, my senses on alert for an attack that never came.

�Good to see you, Maryanne,� Peter said to me when he opened the door and let me scurry inside. Peter Mayer was one of the few in this business I really trusted. Each of us had saved the other�s life during past missions. We�d been lovers. Those times were long ago, and he used my code name. Something to think about.

I gave him a brief synopsis of my capture, saving some details for my handler. Of course he didn�t know of my mission, yet he was quite surprised I had been brought to this city. His city. That bothered me, too.

�You�re bleeding,� he said, looking at my chest. �You didn�t say you�d been wounded.�

�Not wounded, really. I scraped my�nipple�during the escape. Just needs a little first aid.�

An eyebrow arched. �Nipple? I better not ask,� he said with a wry smile. �Allow me to administer to it.�

�No you�re not!� I said. �It�s my breast, Peter, not a finger!�

�Yes, my dear, but I seem to recall fondly how those nipples of yours were often like little fingertips�poking�poking.�

I weakly punched his arm. �Still a dirty mind,� I said as I slowly unbuttoned the shirt so recently worn by a dead man. I winced when the fabric pulled from my abraded nipple. �Ouch�worse than I thought.�

�You killed two men and got out alive, and this is your worst injury; I�d say all-in-all that�s a good deal. Here, let me tend to that.� Peter washed it with some kind of special alcohol solution that stung like a bastard. I gritted my teeth and never made a sound. Some super-duper ointment, I�ve been told is only available to a select few US government agencies, was applied and soothed the pain immediately. Peter was staring at my tits. �You�re still beautiful, you know. Many younger women would die for those breasts, and I imagine a few men have died yearning for them as well.�

Peter�s soft touch transported me back to the cellar. I may have escaped the house, but I couldn�t escape what the man with the tattoo had done to me. My arousal still lingered, and now old fires were being rekindled. And maybe it was also the tendril of fear still lingering in my psyche. Thinking you�re about to die can do that.

Peter and I walked to the safe house�s bedroom. We undressed in silence. He was magnificently tumescent before I could even touch him. It had been too long. Old memories weren�t the only things that flooded back to me. He knew all my buttons. When he touched me, �flooded� proved to be an appropriate word choice.

His entering me solicited a long dormant moan. If this were a movie, we�d be slow, with soft music playing in the background. This wasn�t a movie. He thrust rhythmically and hard, and the thrusting of my hips matched him for raw intensity.

�Fuck me! Fuck me!� I uttered. To my ears I didn�t sound like me.

�Oh God�Miriam�it�s been soooooooo longgggggg!� he cried out.

His groans of climax came a millisecond before mine.

Languidly lying in bed afterwards, he professed how much he still loved me. �Besides what we just did, you have a strange way to show it,� I said, reminding him of the last time we saw each other, and the resulting panic with almost deadly results.

�You still think I ran, don�t you.�

�Look, we both know you bolted, so don�t bother. Maybe if I were in your shoes, I would�ve made the same decision. Who the fuck knows?�

�If you feel that way, then I must ask, what exactly happened to you before you came here? You were already horny before you saw my smiling face. I saw it. I didn�t kid myself; it wasn�t me you were fantasizing about.�

�I wasn�t fantasizing. I live in the real world, and you know that.�

He was always good at spotting a lie.

�Are you going to tell me the whole story about what happened? The part you�re NOT telling me?�

I pulled the sheet around me, now uneasy about my nakedness, and got out of bed. �I�m not telling you anything. Where�s the secure phone? I need to call Podolak.� Carl Podolak was my handler�my boss, so to speak. Peter told me where the phone was.

Carl would send someone to get me. �Someone I can trust,� I said, but he had hung up in midsentence.

Another city, another assignment.

In my younger days, I would�ve taken this kind of mission in stride. I�d always been good at the femme-fatale gig, seducing men (and also a woman or two) into giving up secrets. Even after my rape in the Middle East, I could still do it. However, at my age I couldn�t play the same role anymore. My wiles were now much more important than my body.

And I wasn�t going to be trapped again.

The cellar, the mysterious man who kidnapped me, who boldly said I belonged to him still haunted me, no matter what I told Podolak. I�d made a mistake. The fact it hadn�t been fatal meant nothing. Instead, what the mystery man had done to me was everything. Maybe I should retire. But I was here.

I met my contact at a seedy bar. I played my role: a bitter, depressed American widow, abroad and unhappy. Intelligence said the guy was a player who preyed on older women for their money. I must have been better looking than most of his marks; he zeroed in on me right away.

�Mind if I sit here?� he said, motioning to the adjacent barstool.

�There�s plenty more to choose from, but if this one is the one you want, then go for it. But please, skip the pick-up lines, okay?�

�Agreed, but you can�t blame a man for trying. You are a good looking woman. At least let me buy your next drink,� he said with his hands up in a surrender pose. I guess that was meant to imply safety. I knew better.

�I�ll take the good looking woman part, though I�m too old for you and I�m not about to spread my legs,� I said, exaggeratingly looking him up and down, �even if you look like you could do some damage.�

I told him what I was drinking and he ordered another. He ordered a 21-year-old Bushmills for himself. �Damage is never my intent�� he paused, waiting for me to relinquish my name.

�It�s Jane,� I offered. �Yours?�

�Jakob�with a k,� he said. The �k� thing was a nice touch, but I knew his real name. The trick moving forward was not to slip and reveal that fact.

�Oh, like Bob Dylan�s son,� I said.

Was it too soon to test him?

�No, my mother named me after a man she had an affair with, or so I�ve been told. I do not know this Bob fellow.�

I explained who Bob Dylan was, trying to convey as much world-weary pathos as I could. A woman so far from home and missing the culture was an easier target. It didn�t matter if he knew who Bob Dylan was or not. He wasn�t that good�I saw it on his face. He took me for an easy lay. A pro would�ve been a better actor. This guy wasn�t a pro. I had him.

I dropped enough subtle hints that I had money, and that had him as eager as a dog salivating over a piece of meat. After another round, he invited me to his room. My agreement was reluctant enough�I went for �resignation��that I knew he bought it. I tottered just so that I fell against him and he guided me to the door, practically in his arms. He must have signaled someone (an accomplice or a fellow agent?) that he had a mark, since a taxi was waiting outside for us. We already had his hotel room under surveillance, though we had no video assets inside. That was okay with me. Since I was probably going to let him fuck me, I didn�t want a video of it floating among my colleagues.

When he opened the door to his room, I made it a point to compliment him on his hotel choice, dropping hints that I�d stayed at some rather swanky hotels in the past. I made one more tipsy stumble against him. He took the opportunity to kiss me. I let him. Next he pawed at my breasts. I let him. He began removing my clothes. I let him. My apparent passivity evaporated when I grabbed the bulge in his trousers.

�Mmmmm, you have nice breasts,� Jakob said.

�Mmmmm, you�ve got a nice cock,� I said in return.

When we were both naked, he pulled me to the bed. He went down on me, unskillfully but what the hell. It wasn�t as if he�d give me an orgasm anyway. I helped with the condom before I pushed him onto his back and straddled him. Perceived vulnerability only went so far. While I fucked him, I yelled how handsome he was and how much I needed him. When he came very quickly, I hoped my performance wasn�t too far over the top.

�Oh, Jakob, I needed that so badly!� I said as he went to the minibar and retrieved a couple of small bottles of cheap Scotch and a can of soda. I guessed his tastes were flexible. I saw the wheels spinning. How �badly� he wondered.

After he poured each of us a scotch and soda, I asked him for ice. As he called the concierge for some, I did my thing, breaking a capsule I palmed from my clothing over his glass. Truth sera, and shit like that you see in spy movies are a bunch of crap. If a drug is powerful enough to get someone to talk freely about things they normally wouldn�t talk about, then an un-calibrated dose could more easily kill them first. What I slipped into Jakob�s drink was a drug designed to, shall we say, make a person more acquiescent to pain�no, that�s not the correct word�not agreeable, just focused on it. You see, I was about to use the oldest form of persuasion known to man�torture�after loosening him up with the second oldest�sex.

We drank. He smiled. He started touching me again. Then the drug hit. I saw it on his face. �Jane,� he said suddenly, �something�s wrong with me.�

I answered, �Headache? You haven�t been drinking that much. What is it?�

�No, not that�I don�t know�� He looked flustered, knowing that something was wrong yet puzzled by the strange symptoms.

�Why don�t you get out of that robe and lie down,� I suggested, helping him do just that.

The dizzying effect of the drug wouldn�t last long, so as soon as he got a little glassy-eyed I fished a handful of specialized straps similar to zip-ties, out of my purse. Except for a weak �What?� he remained silent as I bound him spread eagle to the hotel bed. He probably thought he was in store for some sex games.

I held my kit open before his eyes. What may have looked like an innocent manicure kit in my purse was far from innocent. I held the kit there while his eyes slowly focused upon its contents. He tried to scream but only a gargling sound came out. Good, I didn�t need the duct tape yet, though I had a strip ready. I was still naked, and whether the idiot still thought this was a sex game, or maybe from a side effect of the drug I�d never witnessed before, he was fully tumescent and erect.

�Jakob, Jakob,� I purred as I palmed his stiff cock. �Premature ejaculation is such a disappointing thing. You have to work on that.� I slowly stroked him. �I�ve been told that one trick a man can use if he has that problem is to hurt himself somewhere else on his body, sort of a distraction. You know what I mean, don�t you Jakob?�

I pulled a couple of long needles and a scalpel from my kit. The needles were close cousins to acupuncture needles, and were impressive to look at. When I held one close to his cock, he was impressed. The sounds escaping his mouth were getting louder. Now I used the duct tape.

Could he keep it up after I did it?

I made sure he followed my hand holding the first needle all the way to his cock. This version of acupuncture wouldn�t be so therapeutic. I slid the needle through his cock about halfway up the shaft. I knew the best spot, so even with his aroused penis blood flow I didn�t draw much blood at all. I did hit a nerve though. His scream was sufficiently muffled by the tough, gray tape. He thrashed about, but his limbs remained securely fastened to the bed.

Making sure he saw the scalpel in my hand, I whispered, �Of course, most men think too highly of their members. Perhaps the world would be a better place if they were cut down to size. What do you think?�

More thrashing followed, enough to repeatedly slam the headboard against the wall. I wasn�t too concerned. Any complaint from the adjoining room would be chalked up as over-exuberant fucking. He looked funny; his flaccid dick skewered by a thin needle. He wasn�t laughing.

�If you�re a good boy, I�ll show you a better place for one of these needles.�

More headboard banging. I wondered when the room�s phone would ring.

If you�re going to kill someone, you don�t care about leaving marks, only forensic evidence that might get you caught. I wasn�t going to kill him. I won�t leave a mark, except maybe on his psyche. Only the best micro-surgeon could find the trail my special needle made through his dick, and Jakob wasn�t exactly going to let anyone operate on THAT appendage to find out.

Good, he was beginning to focus and respect the fear.

�This is what will happen,� I said. �I�m going to remove the tape. You will not yell. You will not make any noise at all. I will ask you some questions. If anything comes out of your mouth except answers, the tape will go back on and your cock will come off.� I showed him the scalpel for effect. �Do you understand?� He nodded rapidly as best he could in his trussed up position. �Are you sure? You�ll get no second chance.� Some more nodding.

As soon as the tape was removed, he pled �Please don�t kill me! Please!� A move of the scalpel shut him up.

I�d removed a small recording device from my purse and began asking specific questions, ones I had memorized perfectly. The answers flew from his lips; probably prodded by the sight of the scalpel I let swing like a small pendulum. A few times he spoke so fast I made him repeat everything to be sure I had it all recorded. I knew the people he worked for had secrets. That�s why I was here. The magnitude of what he told me nonetheless scared the hell out of me.

Did my handlers in the agency know the extent of what this Jakob knew before they sent me on this assignment?

�I�m going to remove the needle from your cock. Don�t scream or I�ll tape your mouth again.� I had the strip of duct tape ready, but as I extracted the long needle, he merely whimpered. They usually hurt much more on the way in than on the way out. �Since you�ve been such a good boy, I�m going to do you a favor.�

When he saw me extract another, smaller needle from my kit, he began crying, �No�No�No,� until I placed a fingertip on his lips and said, �Don�t fret, Jakob. This one is different�like acupuncture�and you�re going to like it.� He was still whimpering when I palmed his limp cock and searched for the correct spot just below the glans. My trained fingers guided the needle before I tapped it home. He moaned as his cock swelled to an immense erection. It was much larger now than before.

I released his right arm. �Have you ever felt better down there, Jakob?�

�No! God, I need to cum�I need it!� he hollered.

I hovered over him. He stared at my tits as he masturbated furiously with his one free hand. He moaned as an almost steady stream of semen erupted from his swollen cock, some spraying me but most of it falling back on him in a creamy shower. I used the sheet to wipe his cum off me before gathering my clothes and dressing. �No yelling,� I chastised him, showing him the scalpel as reinforcement. �I�ll send someone up to let you loose, and don�t worry, it�ll go down eventually,� I said. Despite the copious cum-shot, he was still extremely erect and was stroking himself in earnest once more.

Unless it doesn�t go down�ever. His problem, not mine.

I stopped at the desk and mentioned to the clerk that I had heard a commotion, gave her the room number, and said I thought the man inside was seriously ill. She assured me that she would send someone up to check. He could make all the statements he wanted to the police; they�d see no crime, just sex play gone awry.

I was whistling when I exited the hotel, rather pleased with myself, when I saw the man leaning up against a wall. My sixth sense hadn�t abandoned me with age. I walked by, ready for the attack when it happened; even assessing what disadvantage I had because I was in a dress. The man was good, but I was better. I sidestepped his initial move and with a swift kick took out his knee with an audible snap. A lesser man would have gone down and stayed down, but this guy came at me again, ruined knee and all, this time with a knife. His first lunge missed. My counterstrike didn�t. The crunching sound meant I shattered his jaw. This time he went down, with his knife now in my hand.

A couple of bystanders approached us quickly. I had only seconds to discover what I could from the guy; guaranteed he was connected to Jakob in some way. I leaned down while grabbing his shattered jaw. That got his attention. �Who are you, and who do you work for?�

He mumbled something in German that I didn�t catch. The original witnesses, a man and a woman, along with others who joined them said they called police. I heard sirens in the distance. The man, a Brit, said, �Did he hurt you?�

I told him no, but now I was desperate to get away before the police asked questions I didn�t want to answer. The woman wanted to know the specifics of my �training.� I gave her a vague reply, and then said I had to go back into the hotel to use the ladies� room. �I think I�m going to throw up.� No one followed me after that pronouncement.

I never went to the ladies� room. Instead, I zigzagged down a few corridors until I exited a service door on a back alley. I commended myself for the extra planning I did in studying the hotel�s layout. As I walked away, I checked my purse to be sure nothing had fallen out during the melee, especially my handy little recorder and my tool kit. I made sure my assailant�s knife was safely tucked away in a side pocket of my purse so as not to smudge any prints that may be on it. I never saw a picture of the guy before in any of my briefings. Hearing the sirens at the other side of the big hotel building, I figured one way or the other�prints on the knife, police booking info we could hack, or at least an artist�s sketch produced from my memory�we would find out who he was.

Identifying my attacker was more important to me than to the agency. When he stabbed at me, I saw a lightning bolt tattoo on his arm. He was not my captor; deep down I knew that. However, discovering who this man was could lead me to him. What would happen when I found him I couldn�t say for sure and perhaps that was the most troubling of all.

�You�ve been cutting it too close, taking too many chances, Miriam. I�m worried about you,� Podolak said to me after I�d handed over all the information I squeezed from Jakob.

�Is that your best �you�re getting too old� speech?�

�That�s not it, Miriam, and you know it.�

�Don�t worry about me, Carl,� I said, not willing to reveal for one second that I had my own troublesome doubts. He�d been ecstatic, as he should�ve been, when I played the recording. Jakob had been sitting on a gold mine of intelligence, and now we had it. The good guys. I gave him the knife and he promised to put people to work finding out whom my assailant was. I didn�t tell him anything about lightning tattoos.

�Okay then. They want you back stateside; some lobbyist concern in DC. Here�s everything,� he said, handing me a large manila envelope. �You know what to do with it.�

Commit to memory, and then destroy.

Unfortunately my mind wasn�t processing a new assignment yet. Instead, I was processing how damned horny I was, and had been ever since the attack outside Jakob�s hotel. I hadn�t dwelt upon the connection with Carl, yet something connected my earlier capture with the latest attack. Perhaps connecting Jakob with the man outside was a mistake. Perhaps I�d been careless all along and was followed. That fucking lightning tattoo! That�s all I was thinking about; and the unexpected moisture in my panties confirmed everything. Carl Podolak was a good man who always had my back, but he never had the rest of me and he certainly wasn�t the man I needed to scratch my present itch.

My arousal was messing with my judgment. I still didn�t know the content of the envelope, and here I was ready to toss it on the bed and forget about it until my itch got scratched. I got out my phone and speed-dialed. �Mario, mon ami, are you available?� I said when my favorite male escort (at least in this city) answered. He said yes, and I gave him my hotel info and room number. Mario was about 35, and the buffest son-of-a-bitch I knew outside of my profession. He was discreet, handsome, hung, and an expert in knowing just how to please a lady in bed.

I�d showered by the time he arrived, and was ready for him. After some niceties, I whispered, �No foreplay needed, Mario,� as I let my robe slip to the floor.

�Mon Dieu! You are indeed wet! For me?� he said as he placed his hand between my thighs.

�Oui, for you,� I murmured just before he took me to bed.

Mario undressing is like the unveiling of a marvelous sculpture, and he knew it. �Like the finest wine, you are better with age. See what your loveliness does to me, non?� he said, his splendid tool rising as he spoke.

I rubbed his cock to its full hardness while talking dirty to him, telling him everything I wanted him to do to me. I wanted him to be rough, and he knew I�d be rough in return. That was my nature. That�s how I wanted sex, though most men can�t accommodate me. With a condom on he entered me without hesitation. It was as if he speared me to my core, which in all reality was what he did. In the missionary position, he slammed into me hard with long thrusts as my legs locked around him and my feet beat on his backside. My hands explored every part of his body I could reach. I reveled in every flexion of his muscles as he fucked me, especially his ass muscles as they alternately clenched and relaxed in rhythmic magnificence. I dug my fingers into his back, pulling him to me, thrusting my hips to meet each of his thrusts. My eyes were closed. I imagined it was my captor�the faceless, nameless man with lightning on his arm�instead of Mario who was between my legs and sending me over the edge.

�Sweeeeeeeeeeeeet Jeeeeeeeeeeeessssssssssssuuuuuuuussssssssssss!� I cried as the first wave of orgasm hit my shore. I kept cumming and cumming in an amazing state of bliss, not realizing he�d ejaculated until later when I helped remove the spent and full condom from his still semi-rigid member.

�It is not my place to understand what makes you tick, as you Americans say. Perhaps you have had a harrowing experience that has necessitated my, ah, service, non?� he said as he dressed. Of course Mario didn�t know what I did for a living. I�ve always been an American �businesswoman� to him, leaving things vague enough so as not to complicate matters.

I laughed, saying that his service was always welcome, as I donned my robe, paid him, and escorted him to my hotel room door. Bidding him �Adieu� with a kiss, I wondered if I�d ever see him again. Maybe it was an agent�s biggest hurdle�paranoia�but I did see Mario eyeing the manila envelope before he left, the one containing my next assignment lying there on the bed�s end table.

I better look it over and get rid of it, now that my itch has been satisfactorily scratched.

On the flight home, I pondered my assignment for a while until thoughts of �Lightning� (as I now think of my erstwhile captor) pushed everything else aside. No matter how much I tried, I�d never been able to place his accent. He hadn�t sounded European, whatever that meant, but knowing that I could pull off several Continental accents made it clear to me that he could probably do the same. Maybe someday I�d be back in Europe and run into him again; this time I�d be the captor.

I began surveillance of my target almost immediately. He was a nondescript middle-aged DC lobbyist who�s been living beyond his means, or at least that�s what a few of the agency watchdogs believed. No one was saying he was up to anything dirty. That was my job to find out. This assignment didn�t look harrowing (to use gigolo Mario�s word) on the surface, but sometimes those were the ones that got you killed.

His name�Myron Biggston�as well as his looks didn�t, upon first impression, make you suspicious. To me he looked like dozens of others like himself; trying to gain influence with politicians who considered most of their interests small potatoes, though that wouldn�t stop the pols from taking the proffered money anyway. I tracked Myron all over the District, wherever possible taking photos of everyone he met (I have fake credentials that will get me into most government buildings�they come in handy, and I don�t overuse them).

After several boring days of this, I hooked up with my technical team to go over all the photos and identify the people I couldn�t. None of them were heavy hitters, and no one raised a flag. It wasn�t until the beginning of week two that a flag was raised.

Myron met with a stately Asian man in a park. They sat on a bench and talked. It took me about twenty seconds to deploy the long-distance microphone, and unfortunately I wasn�t rewarded with clarity. I hoped the recording I was making could be enhanced in the lab. I heard enough buzz words to make it interesting.

�Plans��

�Targets��

�Can�t let us�� were a few of the words and phrases they spoke and I understood.

Podolak was back in the good old US of A, so I arranged a meeting with him to hand over what I had and ascertain what he wanted me to do next. �You�re right,� he said. �This Biggston guy doesn�t look like he�s hiding anything. Have the techs identified the Asian yet?�

�Not yet, and neither have they been able to enhance the recording, though one of them said he was going to try some �white noise algorithm,� whatever the hell that is.�

�Stay on him. I�ll leave the decision up to you on Strat-S. You know I never push you toward that option, even though I�ve heard how good you are at it,� Carl said with a grin. Strat-S is our code word for seducing someone in order to coax secrets from them. I couldn�t see myself enjoying the seduction of good old Myron Biggston. I�d table thoughts of that strategy until it seemed necessary, and hoping it never would.

I followed Podolak�s instructions and stayed on the lobbyist, shadowing him as much as humanly possible and taking many pictures. I never saw the Asian man again.

When the techies got back to me, I had more questions than answers. To say my people were surprised at not finding my last assailant�s fingerprints on file with any agency was an understatement. Not even Interpol could ID the guy. The identity of the mysterious Asian fellow was clearer though no less enigmatic. He was supposed to be a low-level Chinese bureaucrat, though to me he hadn�t looked Chinese or low-level. The tech report stated that others were looking into him further. The techs so far were unable to clean up the recording I made.

I sent an encrypted message to Podolak to ask him if the techies had looked into any police or hospital reports on the man.

Carl�s reply was, WHY ARE YOU SO INTERESTED IN HIM?

Mine was, SOMETHING ABOUT HIM MAKES ME BELIEVE DEEPER INVOLVEMENT IN THINGS�AND YOU KNOW I DON�T LIKE LOOSE ENDS.

Carl�s message was, I TRUST YOUR INSTINCTS, I�LL FIND OUT.

My assignment became surreal when I followed Myron Biggston to a park bench rendezvous and watched him speak for a long while with a man in jeans and polo shirt who didn�t look at all like a DC power player. I set up my long-range microphone and listened. Today�s reception was even poorer than others, which made me wonder if Biggston had some sort of electronic jammer. That may explain everything, and give credence to all the suspicion.

I took a gamble, one my boss would probably be angry with, and followed the other guy from the park instead of Myron. The man didn�t appear nervous though he did glance around from time to time. If he suspected a tail, he wouldn�t spot me. I am good at what I do, and this part hasn�t been affected by age. At my closest, I saw he was around thirty and very fit and handsome. He walked for block after block along Georgetown streets until he quickly looked around and darted up the stoop of a colonial era brownstone. I noted the address and hung around for a while but he never emerged. Time to call it a day, report in, and find out whatever I could about the place the mystery man ended up.

I looked at the façade of the uninteresting building in the northeast corner of the District before I entered. So much went on behind its electronically shielded walls and yet no one knew, and that was exactly the point. This was our headquarters�my office. I checked in with the tech group to find that my assailant with the broken jaw had received medical attention but the bill payment couldn�t be traced, which was telling in and of itself. The other interesting tidbit, though I didn�t know what to make of it, was that he gave police his address as one immediately next door to the safe house. Had he been playing with us all along? I made a note to call Peter Mayer and find out what he knew.

When the time was appropriate for a call to Europe, I dialed Peter�s encrypted portable phone. My surprise came when he answered, �I�m in the US, Miriam. Northern Virginia�close to you, in fact,� he told me after I enquired.

�How did you wangle a stateside assignment?�

�I didn�t �wangle� it. Something came up and I�m following through on it. Okay, so why did you call? I know you don�t do anything on a whim.� I told him about the address given to police by my assailant. He was quiet for a moment before he said, �He gave that address? Mmmmmmm, I always thought this elderly lady lived there alone. Do you want me to look into it?�

�If it�s not too much trouble.� We spoke of minutia before closing the call. There was a time when any conversation between us would have been peppered with double entendres and have a sexual undertone. No longer, it seemed.

I got busy learning all I could about the house �Jeans Man� had entered, and thus something about the man himself. That the owner was hidden behind a succession of vague corporate entities piqued my curiosity. In DC, that fact alone wouldn�t mean much, but with the house connected to something ostensibly clandestine, warning bells went off in my head.

I left a synopsis for Podolak and headed out to Georgetown. I began a moving sweep, which basically is surveillance undertaken while walking around. I arranged a few sweater and hat options in the trunk of my car. As I walked down the block and back I kept my eye on the house and noted with a surreptitious photograph or two who came and went. After every pass, I�d stop at my car and change sweaters and hats, doing a few things with my hair each time. It wouldn�t fool someone who was specifically looking for those things, but I hoped no one was.

I was about ready to quit when �Jeans Man� emerged wearing a $2,000 suit. A less disciplined observer than me would not have recognized him. He walked up the block and got into a 7-Series BMW. I hastened to my car, already nervous about tailing him through congested DC streets. What the hell; it was worth the risk.

He drove north through Bethesda before getting onto I-495 and then I-270 heading to Frederick. As with most of the area highways, the congestion didn�t ease after leaving the District. The man drove like a maniac, weaving from lane to lane to pass, and so he was difficult to keep up with. His apparent reckless abandon got me wondering if he had some type of diplomatic status that made him immune to law enforcement efforts. Anyway, neither one of us were pulled over.

When he abruptly left the highway beyond Rockville, I nearly missed the ramp. I followed him to a residential neighborhood where he parked in the driveway of a modest gambrel-roofed home. I drove past and stopped, noting the street address. The suit and car didn�t fit here, so I figured this wasn�t his place. A safe house of some sort? I waited a half-hour, and when he didn�t emerge I left my car and walked closer on the opposite side of the street. I took pictures of the car and house with my unobtrusive little spy camera. I had a decision to make.

Maybe it was rash, but I walked back to my car and retrieved a clipboard and some generic forms. Voila, I was the survey lady�one of my role-play personas. I knocked and my mystery man answered, looking dapper even with his suit jacket off. The guy was better looking close up. As crazy as it sounds, I secretly hoped he had a lightning tattoo. Like a learned response my panties were wet.

�Hi, do you have a few minutes sir, to answer some questions�� I never finished my spiel. I felt the wasp sting of injection. My thought before darkness set in was, Oh shit, here we go again.

I awoke in a room that appeared to have once been a bedroom. Black-out drapes were closed over the solitary window. No chair this time. I was duct taped face down to a steel or aluminum table. I was naked, the cold metal uncomfortable against my nipples. My new captor or captors had stretched me out so my head had a very limited range of motion, which may have been a blessing because, if I were to confirm my suspicion that I was on an autopsy table like a medical examiner used, I may have panicked. Only my top half was on top of the table. The bottom half was over the edge and each of my legs were taped to the table�s legs. The purpose of this positioning was obvious�I�d been raped at least once since I was knocked out.

�I see you�ve joined us again,� a voice spoke up behind me. The man walked into my line of sight. He was the guy I followed here, but now he wasn�t wearing a suit. Now, he was wearing nothing but a hard-on.

�Viagra�right?� I managed to say through painful lips that felt split and torn.

He laughed, but the humor didn�t show in his eyes. �I was told you were still tight for an old bag, and goddam, he was right!� I wondered if I�d live long enough to find out who the mentioned �he� was, especially since the man held a knife in one hand. �I think I need a second helping,� he said, before moving out of sight behind me.

He held onto my hips and fucked me hard. I took it, and I had to admit it wasn�t all that unpleasant, though he didn�t last long enough to satisfy my semi-detached interest on whether I could orgasm in such a situation. Maybe it was the thought of that knife. He groaned and was finished, not showing himself for nearly a minute. Then he was on top of me, painfully pulling my head back by my hair and placing the knife at my throat.

�Maybe now you�ll tell me who knows you�re here,� he said, the knife sliding just enough to draw blood.

I expected any other question but that one. He didn�t ask who I was or for whom I worked. He didn�t ask what I�d discovered about him, Myron or anyone else. That meant only one thing�he already knew.

�Don�t waste your breath,� another male voice spoke behind me. �She�s always been a maverick, taking chances, like coming here with that idiotic survey bullshit. We�ll get rid of her but not with that fucking knife. Why make a mess?�

I knew that voice.

He continued while my rapist moved the knife away and climbed off me, �I�m not one for sloppy seconds, so I�ll pass on that hole. Since I�ve always wondered what that tight asshole would feel like I think that�s where I�ll go.� I heard a zipper and the rustle of clothing.

The first guy chuckled and said, �Man, that thing�ll do some damage!�

He was right.

In life, there�s a first time for everything, however being raped wasn�t how I ever dreamed I�d experience my first anal penetration. The shock exploded from my violated sphincter right into my brain. For seconds I couldn�t breathe. It felt as if I�d been impaled on a two-by-four. A thought flickered through my traumatized mind: an image of seeing my naked self dead, stuck on a pike and planted for all to see outside headquarters.

This fleshy pike fucked my ass hard. Thankfully things remained rather numb down there throughout. I knew the excruciating pain would come later, but maybe by that time I�d be dead anyway.

He uttered, �Damn! Old but with a virgin-tight ass! Scott, I�m gonna fill her�I�m filling her!� His reaction said he ejaculated heavily though I didn�t feel anything.

I asked the only question I needed answered. �Peter, why?� He laughed but remained behind me; probably not wanting me to gauge his facial expression so he could speak to me more easily.

�Money, of course. I got sick of playing nursemaid to a bunch of agents like you who got all the fun assignments while idiots like Carl Podolak ran things and made the big bucks.�

�Why are you doing this to ME?� I said. �You�re going to kill me, so why the rape�why this?�

The other guy, the one Peter called Scott, said, �Why not, bitch! May as well get some use out of you before you�re terminated.�

Peter said, �Enough, damn it, you know I once cared for you, maybe even loved you, but that wasn�t good enough for the queen in the end. The adrenaline rush of the job meant more to you than being with me.� There was no answer. He was probably right, yet I wasn�t going to spend my last moments of life thinking about any regrets. I was thinking of ways to survive this; however my idea list so far was empty.

�How we doing this, boss?� Scott said, the knife expectantly back at my throat.

�Sedate her and then we�ll get her clothes back on. Did you get the word on the landfill?�

�Yeah, the only men on duty are working at the west end. We�ll have the rest to ourselves. They�ll never find her.�

�Good.�

I felt the prick of the needle but didn�t immediately black out. I desperately clung to the edge of consciousness as they cut the tape that bound me to the table. The dosage must have been minimal so I had hope, though I wasn�t able to will myself into any defensive action. They dressed me, not bothering with underwear, before they re-bound my hands with more duct tape. Both men had changed by then into work clothes, appropriate for killing someone and burying them forever in a landfill. Can�t ruin a $2,000 suit, I hazily thought. They hustled me into a car and drove away from the house.

Anyone in this business knows they could die at any time. I guessed it was my turn. I�d never make my fiftieth birthday. I replayed my life in my mind, and still harbored no regrets. Okay, perhaps one. I�d been in love, but never found the man I wanted to live my life with, that one true love. I was never going to feel that love. One tear rolled down my cheek. Only one.

They hadn�t blindfolded me, so in my drugged stupor I could still see outside. We continued down a road that grew increasingly rural until we came to an intersection. A Ford van was stopped at the stop sign in front of us. For some reason the driver wasn�t going even though there was no cross traffic. Scott, who was driving, blew the horn several times to no avail. The van didn�t move.

�Go see what�s the matter with this idiot,� Peter said.

Scott gave Peter a look as if saying why the fuck don�t you go? before getting out of the car and walking toward the van. When Scott got to the driver�s door, his head moved slightly as a red mist enveloped it. There was no other sound, so Peter didn�t react right away, his attention still mostly on me. A man was out of the van before Scott�s body hit the pavement. By the time Peter saw him and pulled his gun, it was too late. Two well-placed shots from the man�s silenced Glock took him out.

When the van driver opened the door to get me out of the car, he said, �I always hated the prick. You okay?�

�W�W�Who are you?� I managed to spit out. He reminded me of my handsome French gigolo, Mario. Cargo pants and a polo shirt couldn�t hide a buff body. He smiled at me, and for some reason I couldn�t explain, even after being raped, I felt aroused.

�I�m the man who saved your ass twice now, though in hindsight I should�ve done more for you the first time instead of worry more about my cover.� He placed the automatic into a pants pocket and reached in to cut my hands free. I must have flinched when I saw his knife, for he said, �I�m one of the good guys. We�re on the same team regardless of this.� That�s when I saw the tattoo.

�Y�You�re�him!�

He helped me from the car and led me unsteadily to his van. �You�re better than me at figuring out angles. Are you clear-headed enough to tell me how I should stage this?�

I nodded and then told him what I would�ve done after asking if his gun was traceable in any way. When he told me it was �clean� he went through the script I�d laid out, hurrying in case anyone came along. He U-turned the van across the road, then pushed the car forward so it was at the stop sign and next to Scott�s body. Removing Scott�s gun from its holster, holding it with a handkerchief, he shot through the car from the driver�s side and into the passenger door. He quickly took Peter Mayer�s gun and fired it a couple of times into the car toward the driver�s side. Both guns were wiped as a precaution and placed into their owner�s dead hands. He then took his own automatic and fired a few rounds into and around the car.

When he climbed into the driver�s seat of the van and we sped away, I explained aloud more for my own benefit than his, �With all those slugs, they�ll never figure out how the �shootout� went down.�

�Should we call in our own folks or let local LE have it?�

�Do you have an encrypted phone? Why don�t I ask Podolak? I think that decision is beyond our pay grade.� Of course, not knowing who this stranger was kept me clueless on pay grades.

�I trust Carl,� he said as he handed me his phone.

I called Podolak and gave him the briefest of explanations along with the coordinates my new friend rattled off from his GPS unit. I�d fill him in on everything, including my stupidity, later.

After I closed the call, I said, �Now can you tell me who you are and how you managed to �save� me twice?�

�First of all, my name is John Irving��

I cut him off. �What, not Oliver Stone?� thinking of David Baldacci�s fictional character.

He smiled, �No, really, that�s my name. My code names in the field are much more impressive.� He explained how he came to be with me in that cellar and how he teased me into thinking he was my captor. �One of the crew was watching so I had to play my role, though I managed to keep them off you, if you know what I mean.�

�How did you do that?�

�I told them you were HIV-positive.� It was my turn to smile.

We�d driven for a few miles when we were passed by two black, tinted-window Escalades flying in the opposite direction. Neither one of us commented on the clean-up crew. He said, �I left the house but remained in the area. You can believe me or not, but I�d decided to blow my cover and go get you when you came out of the house. I don�t know what I would�ve done if they�d hurt you in the meantime.�

�I believe you,� I said barely above a whisper. �But�the tattoo��

�The stupid symbol of the gang I infiltrated. Not terrorists, per se, but pretty bad in their own way. I have a date with a laser to get rid of it. Something I�m not looking forward to.�

�How did you end up here? Did you know where they were taking me?�

He gave me the rundown on his latest assignment�to ascertain if Peter Mayer was dirty. �I know you two had a history, so it kind of freaked me out when I saw you casing that house. I can�t say it didn�t cross my mind that you were still tied in to him somehow.� He explained the use of that house as a sort of double-agent safe house, and how the agency had managed to install a listening device. �We still don�t know its connection to your assignment, that Myron dude.� They hadn�t heard what Peter and Scott did to me, but John and the other listeners heard the landfill talk in the car so they knew where they were going. �Before they dragged you out of the house all I thought about is how I would fail you if they�d killed you inside. Please forgive me for not charging into the place and saving you there.�

I would never tell him or anyone about being raped. �You saved me, that�s all that counts.�

�We knew the route, so I convinced the rest of the crew to let me go alone, set up the little surprise. Anything else would�ve gotten you killed.�

Obviously he was still on an emotional high after killing the two men, with a monologue retracing second by second of the action. I wasn�t over my drug-induced somnambulistic state quite yet, so I sat there in the passenger seat of the purposely unremarkable van and watched and listened to him. We were back to I-270 heading toward the Beltway, and I was horny. I finally met the man I fantasized about, and he was proving to be in every way worthy of the fantasy.

�Why me?� I asked him during a moment of silence.

�What do you mean�saving you? I had to.�

�What am I to you? I mean, we�re all taught to be expendable. I was ready to die.�

He glanced over at me while driving. �I couldn�t let that happen. I just couldn�t. You�re someone�I�ve respected�for a long time, like a legend.� He blushed, and repeated, �I couldn�t let it happen.�

�You said �You are mine��was that just a line?� He was saved from answering me by the distinctive ring of his encrypted phone. I picked it up and answered.

It was Carl Podolak. �We cleaned it up,� he said, and I didn�t have to ask him what he meant. Peter Mayer was one of ours, after all. �I don�t have to tell you how glad I am that you�re okay, Miriam. I�ll expect a full debrief tomorrow, but where are you going now? I want to be sure you�re safe.�

�We have a house in Potomac, right? I need a shower and unwind. We�re going there.� John acknowledged that he heard me, and quietly mouthed that he knew where the house was. I finished my call by saying, �I�ll see you tomorrow, Carl�I�m alright, I really am.� After I closed the call, I faced John and said, �What did you mean by that?� I wasn�t about to let the subject go.

�I was�oh shit�I�ah�you turned me on seeing you like that in that chair. I never thought��

�That I wasn�t some old hag?� I answered for him.

�No�not that,� he stammered, which I thought was funny; a cool customer so flustered by an older woman.

�Don�t forget what else you said.�

�What?�

�Never mind,� I said. We fell into silence as he left the highway and drove through the streets of Potomac, Maryland. He had the garage door code programmed into his phone, so as we pulled into the driveway the door was up and we drove right in. �Nice security touch,� I said, more or less to myself. When I got out of the van, I stumbled and he hurried around the vehicle to help me walk. �Lead me to the shower.�

As he helped me into the house, he said, �Are you gonna be alright, standing in the shower, or would a bath be better?�

Whatever the attraction was, pheromones or chemistry or whatever, it was knocking me for a loop far more than my recent close call with death. I looked up at him, smiled and said, �I would be okay in the shower if I had a strong man in there to hold me up.�

For a moment I thought he would reject the offer based on his hesitation and facial expression, but he nodded and took me by the arm toward the master bath. I thought, the government spares no expense when I saw the oversize walk-in shower with all its nozzles to spray at you from every imaginable direction. Without a word he helped me undress.

When he hesitated in taking off his own clothes, he said, �I can�t. They raped you didn�t they?�

I manipulated every button and zipper on him as I answered, �Yes, but they didn�t hurt me. You won�t either.�

When I pulled down his boxers and his splendid member rose to greet me, he said, �I remember what I said.�

�I hope you do. You said �in time.� That time is now.�

We soaped the sweat and fears from each other. I�ve experienced no finer foreplay. When he finally entered me from behind, I worked at not showing my pain. It didn�t hurt for long; naturally aroused lubrication works wonders. With shower spray hitting me from all sides and a hard cock hitting me where it counted most, I felt like it was my first time all over again. I don�t know how he did it, but he was gentle and rough at the same time. I stared at the lightning bolt inked into his arm as it held my hip tightly. It didn�t make me think about the cellar, the chair. It made me think instead of what I�d given up in my life for the job.

�Oh�oh�John�John�Oooooooooooooooooooooooohhhhhhhhhh!� I wailed until I choked on the shower water that had sprayed into my gaping mouth.

He groaned and cried out, �I�m cumming too.� Every throb of his ejaculating cock was in harmony with the pulsating walls of my orgasmic vagina. Between spitting out water and the tension of sex, I began to collapse but John�s strong arms held me up. He helped me from the shower stall and toweled me dry. Even that was tender and arousing.

John guided me to the bedroom and got me under the covers. He kissed me on the cheek, and I fell asleep. For once I slept peacefully, without a bad dream. Nobody was chasing me anymore.

I awoke to cooking smells. I wrapped the sheet around my naked body and headed to the kitchen. John was dressed and preparing a meal. It smelled good, stirring up gastric juices like he�d stirred up juices of a different sort.

�Hello, sleepyhead. How are you feeling?�

�I�m much better now. What time is it?�

John laughed, �You should�ve asked what day it was. You�ve been out for over twenty-four hours.�

�What about Podolak, the team? I�ve got to report in,� I said, even now that I�ve found my mystery man and we�ve made love, the job came first.

�Don�t worry about Carl. He told me to tell you to take as long as you need. He also said my assignment was to take care of you.�

I reacted badly. I said, �I don�t need anyone to take care of me. Thank you for saving my life, but you�re not going to be my nursemaid.�

His answer was to put down his cooking utensils, walk to me and take me in his arms. The kiss was long, full of tongue action, and had the desired effect. I didn�t want food, I wanted him. I wanted him to carry me back to the bedroom and ravage me. Like he read my mind, he said, �Some things can wait. You need food.� Still wrapped in the bed sheet, he sat me in a chair and waited on me. He poured a glass of wine for me before serving a magnificent pasta dish, that in my hunger I wolfed down much too fast to fully appreciate.

He was my dessert.

Our lovemaking this time was more relaxed and luxuriously sensual than the first time in the shower. Even my gigolos were not the considerate lovers John was. I lost track of how many times I orgasmed and still he kept it up. During one intense spasm I groaned �You can�cum�now, you�know.�

�I think�I�will,� he muttered before moaning loudly.

As I lay in his arms, magnificently sated in oh so many ways, I did some soul searching aloud, questioning if I should retire from this spy business. �I�m not as good as I used to be, and either that or crazy recklessness nearly got me killed. If it hadn�t been for you��

�Stop that talk. You�re better at this than anyone I know, even me,� he said. He paused for a moment, then continued, �I talked with Carl and the second deputy director, and made a proposition to them. I proposed we team up; you and me. I still have a lot to learn, especially internationally, and who better to learn from than the best.�

�You didn�t!�

�Yep. They agreed, by the way. Now it�s up to you.�

�I don�t understand. It�s clear to me that I�ve lost a step or two at my age. I may put you in danger. Why would you want that?�

�Like I said, I have a lot to learn from you, especially your acupuncture skills.�

�You don�t need to learn that to be good at your job,� I said, but all the while I was thinking you don�t need one of those skills; your cock doesn�t need any extra swelling.

That�s when he floored me, �Besides, I�m in love with you, that�s why.�

�You can�t be.�

�Ever since I saw you in that chair; when you should�ve been scared and vulnerable, but instead looked radiant and defiant. I felt like a wuss leaving you there even if logic dictated I should. I knew I was in love with you from that moment on.�

I couldn�t believe this talk, and yet it felt so good, so right. Maybe someday I�d tell him about my obsession with finding him. What I did tell him was, �Take me again, love.� Forty-nine and maybe I still didn�t know what love was. All I knew was that I wanted to be with him for as long as he�d have me. After we made love again, and after watching the lightning bolt on his arm mirror the lightning bolts I felt between my thighs, he told me of the appointment to have it removed.

I said, �Keep it for a while. It does something to me.�

Something very special.

THE END

Donna M.

© 2012

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