Spy Games

by Jillian Boyd

  She can do whatever she wants with her hands.

  Chime runs her fingers across her neck, drawing the glisten of sweat together into a single bead that runs down between her breasts. The woman outside the closet moans, mouth still full, as Chime unbuttons her blouse just enough to slip her hand in and begin to massage herself.

  Feet move, weights shift, as someone stands up, and then the wet, hungry sounds of mouth on mouth. Chime’s fingers slip between the edge of her bra, the tips pressed tight against her skin as she circles her areola and feels the nipple swell. It’s aching to be touched, to be pulled. So when the bedsprings groan at the couple’s vigorous and unexpected entrance, Chime obliges and under the cover of the noise allows herself her own little moan. The sheets rustle as the couple jockeys for position, making Chime’s own movements.

  “Are you a spy, too?” The Drake’s play-acting brogue makes every part of Chime damp. “Say it for me, lass. I have ways of making you talk.”

  The woman gasps and thrashes, then shrieks.

  “No please. Please! I’m too ticklish.”

  The writhing stops, replaced by the dripping sounds of something thick and firm rubbing against something softer and wetter, more accommodating.

  “Well then, lass,” The Drake draws out his words, the pressure building between Chime’s legs, swelling with each syllable. Her free hand moves down to the hem of her skirt, but hesitates there. “I guess it’s time to use drastic measures.”

  The slick sound of his entrance and the woman’s gasp push Chime over the edge and her skirt up over her hips. As the bedsprings beyond the door begin to creak beneath the rhythmic percussion of skin on skin, Chime rubs herself furiously. The couple moans while Chime pants in her warm darkness, working at her own frustrations. The friction and the rocking both inside and out sculpt mirrored worlds in echolocation. Chime can hear the shape of them fucking and the shape of her now fucking herself.

  “Say it for me,” The Drake says as the woman beneath him wails in ecstasy.

  Chime hears the echoes of the past and Operator, but without the specter of Control, there is nothing to hold Chime back.

  “Say it for me.”

  Chime is pushing it harder and harder, a finger inside herself, now two. The couple outside are locked in an epic battle, but it’s nothing compared to the one raging in Chime’s hands and in her body. She feels herself becoming less and less here and more and more everywhere. Chime is ringing in new vibrations and about to sing.

  “Say it for me.”

  “I’m a spy!” The woman screams, The Drake groans, and Chime finally bursts. The sound of her pleasure is muffled, hidden to the others by their own cries, but to Chime it is this new crystalline sound of her own release that resonates in her ears.

  The rocking stops as The Drake falls into the bed beside the woman. Their breathing is deep and rhythmic, uniformly spent. They whisper to each other, but Chime is uninterested. Instead, all the different echoes of liberation in the eaves and belfries of her body enthrall her.

  The Drake and the woman are drifting off to sleep, but Chime hasn’t felt this awake in ages.

  When the couple drifts off, Chime slides the closet open. The couple is spooning and, if she wanted to, Chime could just glance at The Drake’s face. She could finally see him.

  But she neither needs nor wants to. Not now. Probably not ever.

  Instead, Chime slips out quickly and silently, easing the door shut behind her. In the hallway, she adjusts her skirt, buttons her blouse and walks to the elevator.

  ***

  Chime floats out of the hotel, light as air and through the streets like a sound. Smiling, head high, she moves through the crowd without touching or being touched, a creature of the world.

  Back to her building and up the stairs, the darkness of her cathedral room begins to weigh on her. Her feet drag her back towards her empty station at the desk, but she pauses first to open the window, letting in the night air and inhaling deeply. She flips the switch of the radio and the old oscilloscope twitches into life, but even as The Drake’s voice comes over waves, the old twitch in Chime’s root is sluggish. She recognizes the same deep chords that she has followed across The Moon, but having reached the intimacy and release, she’s done. Her attention keeps floating to the window and the rising moon over the patchwork of rooftops.

  “Unu, doi, trei, patru...” The Drake is repeating his Romanian numbers, digging his way deep into a Wallachian gral, but Chime loses interest long before he reaches zece. She flips the “Record” switch and leaves the desk.

  Outside the streets are bathed in silver light and beneath her a sea of laughter and voices rolls. Her scalp and her spine and her being start to tremble at the openness beyond the window. Shivering in anticipation, she runs her fingers across her neck, riding the tremor of pleasure.

  Chime turns to the empty room and speaks to walls, but really beyond them and to the ears for ears for ears.

  “Tell Control that I’m ready to go back into the field.”

  Two minutes later the phone on the desk begins to ring, but Chime has already left for the night.

  Clean Lies

  Anna Sky

  The hotel suite was vast but Ciara wasted no time in locating her target. She knew she had a window of about five minutes, and that was more than enough time. The maid’s outfit she wore was somewhat closer fitting than she’d have liked but with the amount of money she was being offered for this job, it was a discomfort she accepted. Casting her eye around the room, she spotted the desk area. On it was an expensive laptop setup and, very conveniently, a double-socket sat immediately behind.

  Quickly digging into the cleaning caddy mounted on the vacuum cleaner, she pulled out a matching socket, although this one would sit further off the wall than the last due to all the extra wiring and circuitry. She took a deep breath, all the while listening carefully for any danger as she pulled on her insulating gloves. Exhaling slowly, she unscrewed the existing socket and disconnected the wires with a little electronic screwdriver disguised as a pen; although it was a joke present from a friend, it had actually turned out to be a pretty useful tool. The new wireless keylogging socket was easy to fit back in place, and Ciara quickly stripped off the gloves and cleared all the evidence into the vacuum cleaner.

  As she stood back up, she started backwards. Somehow, undetected by her, the room’s occupant had returned and was standing directly in front of her, a look of amusement on his face. Ciara noticed his shoes first; they were black, highly polished brogues, obviously high-end and bought by a discerning fashionista who had money to spare.

  “Can I help you?” The man’s voice was deep with a soft Scottish brogue, the sort of accent that would normally make Ciara’s heart melt in a beat. Right now though, she panicked. What had he seen?

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” she stuttered, “I’m from room service and was just trying to make this damn machine suck rather than blow!”

  “Yes, that’s always helpful. Sucking rather than blowing.” There was distinct amusement in the man’s voice and, when Ciara dared to look up at him, he was definitely raising his eyebrow flirtatiously in her direction. His dark eyes smouldered at her, and she nearly lost her composure as they met hers.

  “I’ll come back later, leave you to it.” His confidence threw Ciara and she floundered for second. He didn’t seem arrogant with it though, not like her employer would have her believe. Damn, it was harder when she actually met the mark.

  “Oh no, don’t come back on my account,” he replied. “I’ll just sit here and watch you do the rest of the room.” He paused and glanced at her fake name badge. “If that’s alright with you, of course, Lucy?”

  Shit, that wasn’t a question!

  “Of course, sir,” she replied, panicking as she pulled out a duster from the caddy and turned to the orna
te mantelpiece, trying to buy herself some thinking time. How on earth was she going to convincingly make the bed? What if room service actually turned up? Ciara grimaced; she was just going to have to run with this one and find an opportunity to escape. She turned to see where the man - Ben Jones-Wright, multi-millionaire venture capitalist, according to his file - was. He was sitting in one of the comfortable armchairs, pulled round to face her.

  He sat in a relaxed pose, one leg crossed over the other, his ankle resting halfway up his shin. He rested his chin on one hand, elbow carefully placed on the arm of the chair. His eyes keenly followed her as she pretended to work. Ciara tried not to let his obvious good looks affect her; he was definitely her type and this was a peculiar form of torture. She knew that images of him would keep her busy that evening. His strong, shaven jaw and penetrating brown eyes were enticing enough but teamed with the three-piece tailored suit? Being trapped in the room was anguish.

  It was then she realised his other hand rested in his groin area and she grinned to herself; he wasn’t doing anything off-putting but he had definitely given too much information away. Knowing that he was turned on already, Ciara played more on her role of maid; leaning over to allow her skirt to rise further up her legs, or show off her cleavage as she moved into a new cleaning position.

  She turned her attention to the desk, making sure to get a good look at his technical setup whilst polishing the new socket and chrome of the desk lamp. Turning, she barely avoided bumping into him. Ben was nearly a foot taller than her, and her head came up to his chest-level. Ciara momentarily day-dreamed about what he’d look like without the suit on, wondered what he’d smell like up close, until she realised he was talking.

  “I think you missed a bit,” he said, his hand lightly brushing her arm as he pointed to where she’d just polished. “Perhaps you ought to do it again.” Little sparks seemed to fly from where he’d touched her, and she inwardly berated herself for losing control.

  Taking a deep breath, Ciara turned back around and obediently re-polished the bit of desk. Perhaps if she continued, she mused, she would get to find out more about him...She didn’t have long to wait. Whilst she bent over to reach the back edge, she felt his presence behind her. He rested his hand on the small of her back and when she didn’t flinch, he stood behind her, so she could feel his body pushing against her. She couldn’t help herself and wiggled obligingly back into him, enjoying the feel of his erection.

  “You’re a naughty little maid, aren’t you?” Ben’s soft tones sounded sexier than anything and Ciara wondered what he had in mind. “Perhaps you need a spanking,” he continued, “unless of course you have other rooms to attend to...?”

  His voice trailed off, calm and controlled. Ciara realised that this was her get-out clause. She could walk out of the suite and he wouldn’t be offended as he’d offered her a chance to escape. All she then had to do was capture the data the next time he logged on, send it to her employer and that was it. A large amount of money would be deposited into her account.

  Ciara stood demurely, eyes downcast and hands clasped behind her back; she’d made her decision - after all, it wasn’t every day that a sexy millionaire offered a spanking.

  She shivered as she felt Ben circle around her, as a predator would circle its prey. He was so close she could feel the warmth from his body but he remained tantalisingly out of reach. He stood behind her and rested his hands on her hips. They felt broad, gripping her firmly, and a frisson of excitement shot through her entire body, radiating from where his fingertips made contact. A hint of citrus hit her nostrils, as he leant forwards to speak to her. His voice was low and quiet, his breath warm as it grazed her cheek. “I think a naughty maid like you needs punishing. Let’s get you over my knee...”

  He pulled Ciara in a firm grip over to the dining area of the suite. He had hypnotised her with his voice and manner, and her arousal was unmistakable. Inside the tight outfit her nipples chafed against her bra, and she suddenly felt light-headed. Normally her decisions were rational, and here she was letting her groin rule her head and get her into a very surreal, yet very sexy situation.

  The anticipation of the spanking made her press her thighs together to quell the pulsing sensation between her legs but there was no mistaking the wetness she knew was building. She waited with bated breath, the seconds ticking by agonisingly slowly as Ben pulled out a dining chair. Firmly and deliberately, he placed it on the floor in front of Ciara before sitting down and arranging himself.

  Without words, he pulled Ciara roughly over his knee. She was taken by surprise at his strength and speed, and as she struggled with her balance on his legs, couldn’t help but let out a small yelp. “Enough of that,” he hissed, slapping her buttocks through her skirt. It didn’t hurt but she took it as a warning of what he expected from her.

  “Sorry Sir,” Ciara replied contritely. “It won’t happen again.” She felt him position her over his knee. His thighs were hard and toned, pressing up into her groin, and her feet and hands barely touched the floor. One hand pressed down on the small of her back and she knew she was now held in place and couldn’t stand up without his consent. All the tension and adrenaline of changing the socket then getting caught flooded into her, and the swelling, pulsing sensation grew to a crescendo. She wriggled, trying to press down her groin against his thigh to gain some relief.

  “And no moving either!” Ben’s hand came down again, this time harder and the pressure on her back increased, his fingers spread for maximum leverage. She felt each fingertip individually, holding her in place. Ciara’s head swam. Her nipples were hard, pushed against his steely thighs, and her pussy throbbed mercilessly. She forced herself to relax, took a few deep breaths, and steeled herself mentally for what was to come.

  The first couple of spanks were easily bearable. He carefully controlled each one, sending only a mild reverberation through her buttocks. He covered the whole fleshy area of her bottom, down to the sensitive tops of her thighs in a steady tempo. Endorphin slowly oozed round Ciara’s system, and she relaxed, taking pleasure in her predicament.

  Ben lifted up her skirt to reveal her skimpy thong, and she inwardly groaned at her choice of underwear. His intentions were obvious and there was little protection for her now. The next couple of blows were more difficult to take. He spanked harder and faster on her naked flesh, taking his time to strike the same area several times in exactly the same spot before moving on to the next. Each impact rippled through from where his hand struck, sending a wave of pleasure and pain coursing through to her pussy. Ciara knew that he’d see how turned on and wet she was, let alone smell her arousal. She felt hot and bruised but still wanted more.

  He had other ideas though, massaging her rosy flesh and pushing the pain inwards. He pinched and rolled, sparks of pain shooting through Ciara, all ending in her swollen clit. She was on the edge of orgasm, every nerve ending on fire and she nearly cried out as his fingertips skimmed lightly across her panties.

  The next moment she was roughly pulled to her feet and she felt Ben’s hand twisting deep into her hair. She struggled not to trip over her panties, which were still wrapped around her ankles. He led her over to the edge of the bed, and left her standing as he kicked off his shoes and hung his jacket on the back of a chair.

  “Now, be a good little maid and finish undressing me.”

  Ciara stood just in front of him and inhaled. The citrus scent from earlier was still present, and as she carefully unbuttoned his shirt it grew stronger, mixed with a faint smell of sweat and musk from his recent exertion. She ran her hands over his torso, the warm skin of his chest covered in smattering of hair. He had tightly defined abdominal muscles layered with just enough flesh to suggest a life of fine wine and dining. Leaning forward, she darted her tongue against him, tasting shower gel and perspiration, as she took in his scent again.

  “Less of that.” The slight catch in B
en’s breath betrayed his words, but he quickly took charge again and held Ciara by her wrists, preventing her from moving towards him again.

  “Now, do as you’re told and undress me.”

  Ciara removed his shirt, admiring his well-toned back and his muscular arms. She folded the garment across the back of the nearby chair, staying in her role as maid. Turning back, she carefully unbuckled his belt and pulled, listening to the swish as it came out of the loops. The bulge in his trousers was unmistakable as he said in a low voice, “Perhaps I should have punished you with that instead.” Impatiently, he unzipped his fly and let his trousers fall to his ankles. In an easy movement he took them off, followed by his underwear.

  Ben stood naked and commanding in front of Ciara, and she couldn’t help but look him up and down appraisingly. She grinned, feeling the familiar throb from earlier return to her pussy as she looked at his cock. It was obscenely erect, and she reached out her hand, wanting to feel its girth in her fist. He laughed and backed on to the bed, grabbed something from the nightstand and threw it at her. “You’re going to have to wait,” he berated teasingly. “Here, put this on me and come and thank me properly for your punishment.”

  Ciara pulled the condom out of the pack he’d thrown at her and slowly unrolled it down his hard cock, squeezing and releasing her hand to tease him. She was rewarded with a low groan, and kicked her legs out of her underwear so she could give them what both they wanted.

  She moved against him like a predator, straddling his wide and firm thighs. His chest was warm to her touch, and she pushed him backwards, one hand on each shoulder until he was fully laid back on the mattress. Ben grabbed her buttocks in his hands in return, roughly gripping the bruised flesh to pull Ciara into place, his cock just pushing into her vagina. He held her in place, his hands stopping her from sliding down. She moaned in frustration. All she wanted was relief from all the teasing he’d put her through. He bucked his hips and she felt herself expanding frustratingly slowly around his cock, before he relaxed back on to the bed. Despite her efforts to bear down, she was held firmly in place; he was not going to let her have her way.