What had I done? That was the natural tenor of my thoughts on receiving the letter. After our adventures in the Crimea and Romania, Sarah and I had come back to England, refreshed and invigorated. It had been hard saying goodbye to the gorgeous Emm, but as she seemed ecstatic to be remaining with the Russian Oligarch, Ekaterina, and as we would be seeing her at Christmas, the causes for sadness were few.
A few days after my return I had had a phone call from an unlisted number, which was, in itself interesting, as my phone was set to block such things. The voice had told me to be at an address in Kew on Friday afternoon at five o’clock. As I could make that, I said yes.
I talked with my wife, Sarah about it, and she said I’d make an ideal ‘Agent 006.5,’ though it was a shame Emm was not joining me, as she could be given a ‘licence to fuck.’ My comment, as I lay in her arms after making love, was that in Emm, James Bond would have met his match. She, I added, would have a ‘licence to thrill.’
‘Yes, well, my little sex-pot, as long as you don’t think you have a licence to fuck. I’ll spank your pretty little arse if you decide to go for pussy galore!’
‘No, Miss, or do I mean yes Miss?’ I giggled.
At that, she turned me over and had her wicked way with me.
So it was that, on Monday, wearing my best little black dress, with low heels, and some tactically applied make-up, I presented myself at the address. There, for the next two hours, I was grilled lightly over a medium flame – or at least that was what it felt like.
I was asked about my background, about what had happened in the Crimea and Romania, and about my sexuality. They seemed to know more about my sexual history than I remembered, and they also asked me about Emm and Ekaterina.
On Monday morning I received a call telling me to present myself for an interview at an address near Whitehall. Cancelling an appointment with my line-manager on the plea of illness, I presented myself once more.
My panel consisted of three women. The Chair, a blonde in her late thirties wearing a rather chic Versace business suit, asked whether I had heard of the Agency of the United Nations Trafficking Intervention – Extralegal, and I had to admit I had not. This seemed to cause general satisfaction. I was, I was told, being offered a post with it. As they would like my training to begin within the week, they had taken the liberty of telling my boss that I was being seconded to a Government project, and they had provided him with a suitable replacement.
‘And what if I say no?’ I asked, quizzically.
‘Then you’d be unemployed, which, given what you received for your work from the Russian Oligarch, would cause you no problems for at least a couple of years. Moreover, not to put too fine a point on it, your wife is not exactly a pauper, even on BBC Radio 3 rates.’
‘But,’ I protested, ‘I haven’t even seen a job description, let alone the salary.’
‘The latter you will find satisfactory, the former you will be making up as you go along. No doubt Human Resources can be fobbed off with some bureaucracy-speak. Oh, and by the way, you ought to meet your fellow agent.’
She pressed a buzzer.
The door opened, and in walked the last person in the world I had expected to see – Emm!
‘Hi, Pix! Darling! SO yummy to see you. You look quite pretty in that, shame about the tits!’
That was my Emm. But what the fuck! I could not quite compute all of this. Emm, an agent? Emm here? Emm, a spy?
‘Hehe,’ Emm giggled. ‘For once, Pix, it is you who looks confused. I’m here on a shopping trip with Ivana, as far as Ekaterina is concerned, and when she sees the lingerie, well, my darling!’
‘Okay, I see,’ said I, feeling far from okay or clear.
‘Miss Lee will be working casino şirketleri undercover with you, Agent Pixie.’
‘Ha!’ I laughed, ‘if you only knew what Emm can do under covers!’
‘Darling Pix, that’s just why they have me on the books. Can you think of anyone better able to penetrate the high-level sex trade?’
Put like that, the answer was no.
I gave darling Emm the biggest hug, getting lost, as ever, in that capacious cleavage – which was only one of my reasons for doing it, of course.
So that sealed it. I accepted.
‘So, Emm,’ I said, looking also at the Chair of the panel, ‘you do realise what that makes us?’
‘Well, erm, agents?’ Emm looked puzzled.
‘It makes us, darling, Emm, and Pix – the women from AUNTIE!’
So it did.
What had I done?
That, as it transpired, was a question with quite an answer.
‘This spying lark is not,’ I told my wife a few weeks later, ‘all it is in the films.’
‘Why is that, darling?’ Sarah asked me.
‘We don’t have a hunky Daniel Craig type man teasing the office secretaries, and dangerous brunettes wielding stilettoes,’ I complained.
I could tell by her giggles that she was taking this as seriously as she had my decision to join AUNTIE (The Agency of the United Nations Trafficking Intervention – Extralegal). We had a good laugh about my being a ‘natural auntie,’ as a gay woman who did not want children, with a straight sister who did, as well as the hilarious references to the ‘Man from UNCLE’ and ‘Pussy Galore.’ As I told Sarah, the latter would have been fine, and the men could make themselves useful doing whatever it was they did in their sheds.
It had to be said (so I said it, at least five times, as Sarah reminded me) that the Headquarters of AUNTIE in a side-street off Victoria station was not quite redolent of the world of James Bond; of Q there was no sign. An undistinguished 1950s office block, it was obviously chosen for its cheapness and proximity to Whitehall.
‘Mind you,’ I said, ‘there was one incident you would have enjoyed.’
On her cocking an eyebrow to indicate that was extremely unlikely, I felt compelled to tell her. about our induction. To be fair to me, she did laugh at the end.
‘Right ladies,’ the rather tough-looking blonde who was running our induction, had said, as we approached the mid-point of the afternoon, ‘I wonder if there are any questions?’
As a newly-recruited agent, I kept quiet, letting the lickspittles curry favour with virtue-signalling questions. I looked at Emm, she looked back at me.
‘I’m confused, Pix, I thought we were spies going undercover to find sex trafficking victims, what’s GDPR and why should I care?”
I tried to explain to my glamorous blonde friend, who was officially in the UK on holiday from her Russian Oligarch Mistress, that the General Data Protection Regulation was a European Union requirement on all organisations which held data.
‘But Pix, I thought we’d left the EU, so why are they boring me with that?’
Short of explaining Brexit to Emm, a task way beyond me, I just giggled. But Mrs. Tough Blonde had picked up a disturbance in the Force.
‘Miss Lee, isn’t it, why don’t you share your thoughts with the rest of us,’ she said in a voice dripping with sarcasm. This was quite lost on Emm, who had two registers of behaviour, normal and horny. Smiling sweetly, she protested:
‘No Miss, I don’t think you’d want that.’
Those of us who knew Emm would have left it there. Her eyes were twinkling in a way they only usually did when she was about to lick ass. Tough Blonde clearly thought Emm a sweet, rather dim blonde, who was trying to get out of being told off, which was plain stupid to anyone who knew Emm; she adored being told off, preferably casino firmaları with a paddle on her ass.
‘Oh, but Miss Lee, I do.’ She smiled a great, false, politician’s grin.
Nothing fazed, Emm responded:
‘Okay, I was just wondering whether, if I sucked your cunt for long enough, the expression on your face would change, or whether you’d had your smile muscles surgically removed as part of the procedure which stuffed that poker up your arse.’
The room burst in giggles, interspersed with laughter. Tough Blonde resembled my idea of a Warder in a Women’s Prison and not the sort who’d strip you down in order to fuck you. It was rather fun to watch her face.
‘See,’ said Emm, as her face went red and her jaw dropped, ‘you can change from a scowl. But I’m still wondering about your pussy.’
‘Miss Lee, you are extremely impertinent.’
‘Yes Miss, and you are fucking ugly, the difference is that I can change my mood, and only a plastic surgeon could help you.’
Emm was the sweetest and kindest of friends, and those attributes, along with her 36c chest, blonde hair, long legs, and tight ass led some idiots to mistake her for a Bimbo, so she had developed a good line in insults to deal with those who tried to put her down. You could whip her tits, cane her ass until it bled, tie her down and string her up, and she’d love it all; but don’t try to put her down. As Tough Blonde discovered, that was a really bad idea.
‘But Pixie is Emm really working for AUNTIE. Does her Mistress not know?’
I explained that Ivana, the right-hand woman of the Russian Oligarch who owned Emm, Ekaterina, was on AUNTIE’s books, and therefore provided cover for Emm’s absence, with a story about her needing to see her family. Ekaterina was extremely fond of Emm, and always happy to indulge her; after all, her pussy had never been so well looked after.
‘Well,’ said Sarah, ‘I still think Emm is the most unlikely James Bondette imaginable.’
‘But darling,’ I protested, ‘that’s precisely the point of her. Who’d imagine she was a secret agent? Jane Bondage, on the other hand, that would be Emm to a tee.’
That was only a semi-humorous comment. Sex-trafficking was a major business growth area in Europe, prompted in part by great waves of migration. Where there were women to be transported, there would always be men to ensure they were taken to brothels. Our job was to use Ekaterina’s links to organised crime to help find and destroy some of the networks engaged in the trade.
There was, as my darling Sarah pointed out, an irony in Emm, (who wanted to be a branded slave and had achieved that ambition) helping stop modern slavery, but as she said to anyone silly enough to make the point, she had chosen that path, the women we were helping had not.
Tough Blonde had learned the hard way not to mess with Emm, which, unless Emm wanted to be messed with (which she often did), was not a good idea.
‘Miss Lee, I will report you to HR.’ She said.
‘Fine, if you have someone else who has my links to the sex trade, feel free to do so. Maybe your ugly mug will appeal to pervs who want women who look like butch boxers, but I doubt it. You’ll find my interrogation technique second to none!’
Tough Blonde was not, it seems, wise enough to quit while she was behind.
‘I tell you what Miss Lee, we have advanced interrogation next, and if you can make me give up the secret, we shall say no more about this. If you can’t, I report you, deal?’
‘Hehe,’ Emm said, ‘deal!’
‘Well are you going to tell me what happened Pixie,’ Sarah demanded when I stopped.
‘Only if you use the feeldoe on me tonight,’ I teased.
‘Is that supposed to be a disincentive, my gorgeous one?’
‘No, a bribe,’ I giggled.
Now güvenilir casino my fate for the evening was sealed, I was happy to tell Sarah, knowing it would prepare her for what was to come.
‘Well, Emm did, as requested, and Tough Blonde was allocated to her. The way it works is that we have an hour to make someone talk. The victim is wired to a machine which measures their reaction to what the interrogator described. Tough Blonde said that was too mild and volunteered to sign the waiver to allow actual interrogation techniques to be used. That meant Emm only got half an hour. Tough Blonde clearly thought she had won an advantage.’
The only people who ever signed the waivers were pain sluts, who found it a useful (and free) way of getting their fix. Tough Blonde clearly fitted that category. One of the Trainers said I should prepare to say goodbye to Emm. I said she had not seen the Emm technique. She looked skeptical.
Tough Blonde agreed to be bound to a St Andrew’s Cross. She looked, almost longingly I thought, to the whips and crops on the side table. But to her surprise, and that of everyone except myself, Emm ignored them. Instead, she picked up the scissors, usually used to release the captive.
Tough Blonde smiled, ‘giving up already, Lee?’
Emm then, proceeded to cut her skirt off and sliced through her tights and panties, leaving her lower half naked. She was the possessor of a fine bush. Emm pulled it, hard, yanking out some hairs. Tough Blonde moaned.
Emm knelt in front of her.
‘Hey, bitch, is there a bunch of Aussies in that bush?’
Swiftly, Emm cut at the hair, using the cut-throat razor and some foam to shave Tough Blonde, who began to gasp. Emm then began to lick her exposed cunt.
‘Hey, ugly bitch, you are wetter than the Amazon down there, here, what’s up, this turning you on? You fucking slut, I’ve already shaved your pubes, maybe next I will shave your head and fit you with a dildo mask to fuck me. Do you like what you see, bitch?’
I think everyone liked it, as Emm discarded her dress and stood in her black latex bra, latex panties and stockings with a suspender-belt. As Emm jutted her ass out as she began to eat Tough Blonde, the temperature in the room rose. Emm’s ass was something to behold, especially with her bending in tight latex panties. Her thick lips and the contours of her sex were visible to all.
Emm licked up from the Blonde’s perineum to her clit, using the breadth of her tongue, and her fingers, to part the lips. Grabbing the whip, she proceeded to use it to plug Tough Blonde’s cunt, ramming it up unceremoniously.
‘Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck,’ the Blonde moaned, as Emm dilated her cunt by several inches.
Carefully collecting her cunt cream, Emm applied it to her asshole, and then repeated the trick with the whip with a smaller one. Rhythmically ramming both whips in and out of both the Blonde’s holes, Emm called her a slut, and proceeded to suck her clit. Several times it looked as though she was on the verge of an orgasm, but then Emm pinched her clit, stood up and placed her wet finger under the Blonde’s nose.
‘That’s your fucking cunt goo, bitch. Do you want to come for Mistress Emm?’
Tough Blonde was tough no longer. Emm ripped her blouse off, revealing that her small tits had erect nipples. Emm slapped them. ‘Well, Blondie?’
‘Yes, yes, yes please Mistress Emm.’
‘What will you do to earn your cummie, slut?’
‘Anything, Mistress,’ she gasped.
‘Anything, slut? Think carefully.’
‘Yes, please, anything.’
‘Tell me the name of the Agent then.’
Without any hesitation (well Emm was slapping her clit) the Blonde gave the name.
Emm rubbed her clit, thrusting both whips in.
Tough Blonde came and came.
And that, I told Sarah, was how Emm passed the training course, with a merit badge for interrogation.
‘Fuck, Pixie, I want you, bed, now!’
It might, after all, be possible to combine work and pleasure, I thought, as Sarah carried me upstairs.