The Spy Who Came : Wank Wednesday

It's Wank Wednesday once more, and today the prompt word is #recipe. To find out more about this writing challenge, and to read the other contributions, check out Ruby Kiddell's Erotic Notebook.

The Spy Who Came

The year was 1955. The place - Louisville, Kentucky. Natasha Suckyanobov was on her most important, and potentially dangerous, mission yet.

It was the height of the Cold War, and Natasha was devoted to the cause of global Communism. There was no reason, she had been led to believe, why her people - the people of the Soviet Union - could not enjoy all of the benefits which were enjoyed by the citizens of western nations like the United States. It was her job to use her powers of seduction to liberate the information which would make this possible.

She was particularly good with accents. As she sat in the Purple Parrot Lounge, sipping a strawberry daiquiri, she chatted with the barman in a perfect southern accent.

At 8.17 her target entered the bar.

"How's it going, Harland?" enquired the barman of the distinguished gentleman with white hair, glasses and goatee.

"Mighty fine! Mighty fine!" he replied. "Give me the usual."

The barman poured out a double bourbon.

"Perhaps I could buy something for the lady, too," he suggested, with a naughty twinkle in his eye.

"Why, thank you kindly, good sir," drawled Natasha, as he sat down on the next barstool.

Well, one thing led to another and an hour later Natasha and the man referred to in official Soviet documents as "H.S." were back in her hotel room.

"So, are you one of the Lexington Sackville's?" H.S. asked.

"I'm the one they don't talk about," purred Natasha.

"I wondered why I hadn't heard about you," he told her, as he removed his trousers, to reveal a pair of baggy boxer shorts draped around a massive erection.

"Well, you are glad to see me," she smiled.

"A gentleman always stands for a lady," he replied, pulling down his boxers and giving her an eyeful of his bountiful boner.

Natasha was now standing in just her black silk bra and panties. In her underwear she was the spitting image of Betty Page.

"So are you really a military man?" she asked. "Because that's quite a weapon you have there." She walked over and ran her finger tenderly down the length of his cock.

"No," he replied. "My title is purely an honorary one."

Natasha sank to her knees and took H.S.'s cock in her mouth, licking and sucking on it hungrily. "Mmmmm, mmmmm," she sighed, popping it back out again. "Taste's delicious."

She stripped off her last garments and lay back on the bed with her legs spread.

"Come and get it," she smiled.

H.S. climbed up onto the bed and slid a couple of fingers deep into her wet pussy. He rubbed her clit at the same time with his thumb. And he kissed her passionately as he wanked her off. His beard tickled her chin.

"Oh, God! I'm cumming!" she cried, almost losing her accent in her ecstasy.

He pulled his fingers out of her cunt and licked the juice from them.

"Mmmmmm. Mmmmmm. Finger lickin' good," he sighed.

Then he pressed her back onto the bed so that her full breasts were squashed against his manly chest as he slid his cock home into her lubricated love lounge. Her cunt juice basted his balls as he began to pound her pussy long and hard with his pulsating prick which was also long and hard.

"Oh, yeah," she sighed. "Fuck me like a good member of the proletariat."

"I beg your pardon?" queried H.S., as he continued to probe her pussy with his prodigious member.

"Errr, I just said, 'Don't you love that TV show Ozzie and Harriet'," she stammered.

"You're a strange, but very sexy, woman," he declared. "Oh, yeah, honey chile, here it comes!" And with that he spurted several jets of hot spunk deep within the pussy of his secretly sinister lover.

That night he fell asleep in her arms, but he awoke to find himself tied spread-eagled to the bed. She was approaching him threateningly with a feather. He could stand anything but tickling. How did she know?

An hour later Natasha was communicating by radio with her bosses in Moscow.

"I have the secret recipe," she informed them. "Yes, that's right. All eleven herbs and spices."

The End