Alistair smiled as he heard the address she used. Oh, he did implanted it in her deep, alright~ He was quite proud of how long the conditioning held... At this point, he doubted it would ever break. He must admit, at the time when he recruited her, he doubted she would last as long as she did. She exceeded his expectations. And she still did. He grunted from pleasure as the busty disgraced widow bounced on his dick. He enjoyed the stimulation, the velvet grip of her cunt - ooh, he understood what the minister saw in her. His eyes locked on the naughty expression, as the woman lost herself in pleasure, he gripped the two bouncing globes, squeezing them. Then he felt her clamping - she tried to prolong her pleasure, to resist, to last longer - but he conditioned her body too well. She arched, screaming orgasmically, as she started squirting. "Cumming already? That's a display not worthy of a noble wife... Not even a concubine." He slapped her ass. "Your performance was more askin to that of a whore... Or a simple slut." Alistair mocked Olivia.
She rolls her hips forward, cunt welcoming his cock deeper as her hips make a repeating circular motion, womanhood clinging to him. His fingers sink into her tits, nice and soft and real, unlike the silicon ones that have become all the rage in the past few years. She yelps as he smacks her ass, groaning. "Yes... I'm a fucking whore... I'm your whore, my lord..." She breathes, all but drooling. "Not a...ooh...noble... Just a cunt for your enjoyment..."
"I am glad you understand your position." Alistair said, then rolled with her, so she was on her back, legs dangling from the desks- ! He started pounding her pussy, with all his strength, driving his dick deep into her inviting, quivering folds, messing her up. He continued fucking her roughly, stimulating her pleasure - making her orgasm once, then deny it for a couple of moments, before allowing her to orgasm again. But finally, he reached his limit, driving his dick deep into the woman, he grunted as he flooded her pussy with his cream...
The dull slap of flesh on flesh fills the room, matched only in volume by Olivia's cries of frustration and delight, the Englishwoman both loving and hating what he does to her as he uses her body, toying with her pleasure. It's been a while since Alistair's been able to empty his balls, and it shows - even after he pulls out of her, his cock still erupts, spraying cum over the Englishwoman's body. She climaxes as she feels his seed flood her womb, twitching and panting in pure bliss. It takes a long moment before she's cognizant again, breathing heavily. "You should... Be careful..." She pants. "I'm not quite so old that I can't get pregnant."
Amusement flashed in his eyes. "I doubt that a whore like you could~" Slap! His hand slapped her breast. "But, let's see if I am wrong~" He picked up a small round bottle of alcohol and pushed it into her pussy, stretching her, pushing the cum inside. "Let's make sure nothing flows out and the cumm is deep in your womb~" ! He pushed the bottle deeper, pushing the cum deeper into her cunt, while stretching her pussy. "There, all buttled up~" He chuckled. As he stepped back checking his handiwork.
"W-Wait! I didn't mean-" Her eyes flash open, stirred from her stupor as she sees the bottle, "Aaaiieee!" She howls as her pussy is forced to accommodate the thick foreign object, writhing as he shoves it deeper and deeper inside. "Ahem..." Alistair hears from behind him, turning to see Witch standing in the doorway, the blonde looking at his wrinkly naked ass with undisguised contempt. "I don't mean to...interrupt, but you've got communication from Langley. Someone called McGuire says she's prepped transport for the Canaries to South America?"
Alistair observed the witch for a moment. She totally wanted to interrupt. "Is that so?" He asked as he stepped from Olivia, fixing his clothes. The woman managed to walk on him - was he that distracted or was he getting old. He thought for a moment. He then walked around the desk and picked up the phone. "Yes." He greeted the director - he did not give his name, it was something he learned not to do a long time ago.
Elena looks back at him, barely hiding her distaste. She wasn't recruited by him, and he knows she's far from okay with the complete debauchery the Canaries represent. Still, she does her job well, so it's hard to justify anything against her. She steps aside, redirecting the phone call to his office phone. "Robertson Airfield. I can have the plane fuelled for you in an hour." Nicolette says as he answers. "We have an airfield outside Bogota for you to land. The officials there won't ask questions."
Alistair looked after the Witch, as she left the office. He would need to deal with her one way or another soon. As Nicolette explained the situation, he felt a frown on his face. He disliked it. But... He would play his own game. "Roger that. I will be there with my team." He assumed the line was on tap, so he did not expand, as he disconnected the call. He would be there all right. He fixed his clothes and moved past his desk, leaving Olivia still laying on it, unconscious. He took all the papers and packed them, then walked out. "Witch." He addressed the woman. "Go get Whisper and Frostbite. We will be deploying abroad - meet me by car." Once he gave the order, he went to seek his second in command - the Baroness.
He finds her downstairs in her room, cleaning her rifle. "Father." She saays simply, looking up at him.
He paused at the sight of her - she reminded him soo much of her grandmother, with a character of her mother... "We are deploying abroad to find a missing agent. Here are details." He said as he gave her the folder. "I am going with Witch, Frostbite and Whisper. Since there is a suspicion of someone from inside being involved, we will be acting in open. You will deploy with a team of your choice and perform independent investigation. We keep the contact once every three days, by messages only - unless, the situation changes." He explained.
"Understood." She says, reading over the contents of the folder, her demeanor professional and measured - just as he'd expect from a second in command. Then, he sees her expression soften. "Be careful, okay?" She adds. It's an odd feeling for Wendigo - he's used to having women he's seduced or mentally broken. Baroness, on the other hand, genuinely loves him and cares about him.
A soft smile graces his lips as he moves closer to hug his daughter. "I will." He whispers softly. A moment is gone, and Windigo leaves. He makes his way to the car and entered. Soon, the four of them drive to the airport.
When sight of Andropov's manhood springing out caught her gaze and his pet name for her reached her ears, Olena couldn't help but let out a needy whine, especially as he retreated to the sofa that was nearby. She pursued him, not on her feet like a person, but on her hands and knees like a collared pet. As soon as the older man took his seat, the redhead planted her hands on his knees before shuffling between his legs, her hair obscuring his groin from any who might enter the room behind her. Vixen, much like her namesake, preferred a different approach to merely wrapping her lips around delectable meats. As Olena descended on the cock, her nose met the meeting point between Andropov's baby-batter making orbs and the base of his rod, and sniffed. As his manhood rested over her face, partially obscuring one eye from view as it rested parallel to her nose, the rogue banker could watch as his musk overwhelmed his would-be assassin's mind, blue eyes rolling back as the musky smell of a man filled her nose and lungs. A deep moan escaped Olena, mindlessly opening her mouth and running her tongue down the seam between Andropov's testes. As the Amazonian redhead debased herself for the older man's pleasure, eyes rolled back in submissive bliss under the cock she was servicing, back arched for his approving inspection, and thick thighs stimulating her clitoris as they rubbed together, one could describe Olena in only one word: conquered. Soon, Andropov's conquest had run her tongue over every inch of his seasoned scrotum, giving his testes a tonguebath that covered every angle. However, Olena knew that what me really wanted was a kiss on the head... And so, she rose, running her tongue along the older man's cumvein, When the tip of her tongue passed over the underside of his glans, her lips wrapped themselves around the rim of the head, sucking and licking it in a perverse approximation of a passionate kiss. For now, she was content to let her technique work her conqueror. Her suit was sweltering now as her body heat increased, just a tad bit distracting from her self-appointed duty to wring every last drop out of Andropov's testes. Thus, she chose to distract herself by adjusting her position - she dropped her hands from the silver fox's legs, planting them on the floor and framing her leather-clad breasts beautifully as they pressed against one another. One of her hands snuck back, rubbing against her weeping womanhood through the crotch of her suit, the zipper to the groinpatch jingling quietly past the sounds of slurping, moans, and coos.
(You're an excellent writer . Sorry it's taken so long to write a response. I didn't like my earlier response so I axed it.) "Hah! I guess the KGB trains its people well..." Andropov cackles, looking down and indulging in the sight of a much younger woman working his cock with such intensity, groaning with delight as he luxuriates in the feeling of not only defeating an enemy but conquering her. Taming her. She feels his hand against her scalp, fingers roughly squeezing to grip a handful of her hair. "What a very good girl you are indeed..." He groans. "But even good girls require punishment." Olena's eyes go wide as she feels the old man tugging, pulling her head forward as he spears his manhood down her throat. "That's right... Take every fucking stroke..." The older man groans as he forces himself deeper and deeper, 'till his grey pubes rub against her nose, his musk filling her senses. Tears crest her eyes as he pulls back, allowing her just a moment of breath before shoving himself forward again. The room fills with the sound of her gagging, a steady "gakh, gakh, gakh" as the old man uses her throat, a trail of saliva running down her chin to fall onto her hands. Her vision blurs at the edges, lungs starting to burn as she feels the lack of oxygen get to her, but even that only serves to raise the intensity of her sensations.
(Thank you! The only thing is trying to come up with sexy words for things like "nuts" and "ballsack." ) Olena let out a quiet squeal at both being praised and feeling Andropov's fingers curl within her hair. What didn't she like being subjected to? Apparently, being asphyxiated by musky cock wasn't on that list, as she kept her eyes obediently on her conqueror's, worry warring with ecstasy as the feeling of a growing tightness within the chest of her suit combined with the electric sensations running up her body from where she touched herself. In fact, the sound of leather rubbing against leather only intensified as she continued to stroke herself through the bodysuit. It wasn't the first time Olena had allowed her throat to be used as a masturbatory aid, adapting her breathing to account for Andropov's cadence. Her tongue splayed out each time he bottomed out in her throat, the tip of her tongue running along the base of his shaft and along the upper-front of his testes. When he pulled her back, the Vixen planted a wet, slutty kiss on the tip of his glans each time before the process of being throat-fucked started all over again. The sound and look of subservient bliss she presented, between the slurps and coos that escaped her and the smoldering stares interrupted by the occasional eyeroll, demonstrated just how much she was used to and loving the rough treatment... And how close she was to getting off on it. The sheer excitement of her building arousal caused Olena to push herself onto all fours, her leather-clad derriere rising higher and higher as her back arched, giving Andropov something else to look at.
Andropov groans as he sees the much younger woman's ass rise, leaning over her body to reach out and grope at her leather-clad cheeks, fingers squeezing and kneading the soft flesh as the wet sounds of flesh on flesh and the steady drip drip drip of saliva fill the room every time he thrusts into her throat. This is the life. He thinks to himself. At this point, he doesn't care if she completes her mission and blows his brains out immediately afterwards. The thrill of having a young beauty, one sent here to kill him no less, obediently sucking on his manhood, accepting it as he ravages her throat, is worth it all. He gazes down into those big blue eyes, watching the expression of devotion on her face, and it's all he can do not to laugh. He doesn't know what the KGB did to this girl, but they did it well. Olena feels blessed air finally return to her lungs as Andropov pulls out of her throat as roughly as he entered it. He lets go of her hair, and she collapses into a puddle of her own drool, coughing and sputtering in a heap. The old man is far from done, though, slipping his hands beneath her armpits and hoisting her up. She feels him push her up against the wall, bringing his face to hers. The kiss is nothing like the fairy tale pecks she'd imagined sharing with Prince Charming when she was a girl. This is forceful, dominant - his tongue invading her mouth to press against her own, as he presses his body into her. She feels his manhood rubbing against her leather-clad thigh. Finally, they break. "A blowjob isn't enough, girl... Come with me." He grips her hand, leading her out into the hallway, and through to a well-decorated chamber filled by a large bed with silk sheets. "Get that silly thing off." He orders, pinching at the fabric of her bodysuit - degrading the symbol of her power and authority as an agent.
Baroness rubs her face in the crook of her father's neck, her powerful hands, honed by years of training, tightly wrapped around him as she holds him close. "I'll see you when you get back." Softly, she kisses his neck, leaning back to gaze into his eyes, and Alistair half suspects that she's not going to be satisfied with just a kiss to leave her with. Finally she relents, and backs away. Nothing more need be said, so she just nods. ----- "On final approach now." The pilot, a stern CIA guy speaks for the second time of the flight, as Windigo looks behind him at his team, before turning to look out the window, gazing at the small air strip carved into the Columbian jungle. The small plane stops only long enough for its passengers to get off, before the rotor speeds up and sends the aircraft hurtling back down the runway and into the skies. Windigo and his small team move on, heading to the small hangar at the side of the runway. Next to it, he finds two hardy looking jeeps. Checking the glove box of the first, he finds passports with his team's faces on them, and different names - multiple for each, with different nationalities. With transportation arranged ahead of time, Windigo plans his first move. His first instinct is to go into Bogota and investigate Marisol's safehouse. Perhaps he can find something the CIA response team missed - the are combat, not investigative, units after all. Then again, he could go see Nadia - he has history with her and she has history with Marisol. Plus, she's an important cog in the drug operation, so she very well might know something. He could decide to head for Marisol's partners, either to approach them or stalk them, depending on how he wants to approach things. Finally, he could save the investigation for later and just focus on getting a safehouse for his team to operate out of while they're here.
Olena took a deep breath as soon as the the option was available to her, settling on her knees before the small pool of drool between her legs and adding its shine to her chest. She had little time for respite, however, as Andropov lifted her up and pressed her against the wall, hands pinning her wrists in line with her head as his tongue plundered her mouth as surely as his cock had. While the Vixen had her flights of childish fancy of being married to a wonderful, well-off man that would take good care of her, she had long since forsaken those fantasies, replacing them with the more grounded desire of being... Well, desired. Sought after. Played with. Made useful... Used. Thus she allowed herself to be orally invaded, while she grinded herself against her conqueror's manhood, made wet by her saliva. "Not enough," Olena's mind concurred with Andropov, though she was a bit busy trying to catch her breath. Heady with breathlessness and the taste and smell of the old man's cock still fresh in memory, the redhead offered no resistance as she was ushered along into another room. Andropov's bedroom? The thought came and went as he pinched her suit - pinched her, considering how tight it was. She let out a low squeak, followed by another husky, submissive "yes, sir," before stepping away. She makes a point to turn her back on him as she takes a couple paces away, allowing him to see just how tightly the bodysuit clings to her every curve before she removed it for his benefit. She twisted about, placing one hand just above the right side of her derriere, a mix of smoldering desire and nervous energy clear in her expression as her other hand reached for the zipper below her throat, beginning to slowly, slowly, slooowly pull it down, revealing inch after inch of milky pale flesh... As the bodysuit grew looser, hopefully the financial documents fell deeper into it, hiding it from Andropov's gaze... Hopefully. However, as the bodysuit began to split open, Olena teased Andropov by turned back to her front, still looking over her shoulder at him as her tits, nipples erect in the cold air and charged atmosphere of the bedroom but hidden from view for now. As consolation, the Vixen began to sway, wide hips that begged to be grabbed and filled out undulating from side to side like a ship at sea. Her voluminous derriere jiggled each time the motion terminated and pendulously swung back in the other direction. All the while, the bodysuit continued to peel downward, half from the zipper descending and half from momentum... When it reached her waist, Olena hesitated. This was her last chance to come to her senses. Her last chance to show the old man she wouldn't submit so meekly to him. That she wouldn't stand to be treated like a whore. A slut. A... A toy... And with those thoughts in mind, that alternative course of action that would be more in line with who she was expected to be, the voluptuous double-agent shook the bodysuit down the over the swell of her posterior, baring herself to the man that - without firing a shot or swinging a fist in anger - had so thoroughly subdued his would-be assassin. Pale ass out for Andropov's pleasure, Olena twisted her torso about, repeating her initial pose, now showing him everything she had to offer, from her plump breasts, to her hard six-pack of abs, to her fat ass, and thick thighs... For now, at least, he had won.
Andropov looks at the redheaded spy slut, something about those big doe eyes turning him on further than normal, that effortless submission driving something inside him, bringing out a more animalistic side in the normally well composed man. He watches her expose her body for him, advancing on her. He grabs at her, pawing at her soft breasts before leaning in, lips finding her nipple as he sucks. Eventually he tires, pushing her back until her knees hit the bed and she collapses atop the bed. Soon he follows, pinning her down under his weight. She feels the head of his manhood press against her nether lips, and then she feels him enter her, forcing his cock within her.
