Topless Agenda

by Lyle Christie

  “That was quite a lovely dinner date, though I never expected to end it with a full-fledged bar fight,” I said, as I handed her a glass.

  Lea smiled and gave me an appraising look.

  “Yeah, and clearly, you’re not in sales, toilet paper or otherwise,” she said.

  “And you’re obviously not in laxatives or prostitution, which means I’m pretty sure you’re Swiss FIS.”

  “Good guess—was it that obvious?”

  “Not at first, but after seeing how well you handled yourself down there, I knew you had to be government trained.”

  “Well, thank you, Mr. Finn, or should I say Agent Finn of the CIA.”

  “I used to be with the CIA, but I’m technically just a private investigator working as an independent contractor for the Agency at the moment.”

  “Assuming they’ve been keeping you up to date on relevant information, I suppose you already know that we’re keeping track of a Saudi hit team that’s been following your man Babineux.”

  “That’s what they tell me.”

  “Well, you just met the hit team.”

  “Are you shitting me?”

  “No, and that’s why I was in the bar tonight. Surveillance, though I never expected the hit team to hit on me.”

  “I think it would be more unusual if they didn’t—considering you were the most beautiful woman in the restaurant, if not the entire city of Davos.”

  “Clearly, you’re exaggerating, Mr. Finn,” she said, smiling bashfully.

  “Clearly not, and we can drop the whole Mr. Finn thing. It’s either Tag or Finn. There’s no need for all the formality.”

  “Sorry, I was just following official protocol since we’re officially working together now.”

  “Then, I’m officially Tag.”

  “And I’m officially Lea. So, Tag, how much do you know about our hit team?” she asked.

  “Not much, other than the fact that they’re Saudis, though I would rather know more about you.”

  She smiled.

  “Well then, first I’ll tell you what we know about them, and then we can move on to me. Now, as you may or may not know, a lot of our information on them comes from Interpol, MI-6, your CIA, and the Mossad, all of which have been tracking them for quite a while. Our little group of bearded assholes formed up sometime in 2005, and have been extremely active over the years with their primary specialty being assassinations, though they’ve also pulled off the occasional kidnapping and bombing. Their area of operation is Europe, North Africa, and the Middle East, and their leader, full name Ahmad Bousaid, is from a wealthy family loosely related by marriage to the royal family of Saudi Arabia. This is also what allowed him to obtain his masters degree in international business from Princeton. Unfortunately, for the world’s sake, he forsook business and instead decided to pursue a career in terrorism, and so he traveled to Afghanistan to join Al Qaeda. During his training there, he met the rest of his current team, where we suspect their shared national origin and hatred of the West became the glue that brought them together. The number two man is Saif Zaman, or, as you know him, Stinky. He’s also from a wealthy family and highly educated, though he attended University of Manchester in London. There, he met Jarib El-Amin, the two forming a close friendship before graduating and traveling to Afghanistan to join Al Qaeda. That just leaves Omar Kashish, Wasi Amjad, and Karim Ali, all of whom are from less wealthy families in Saudi Arabia, though they are by no means poor and were living quite comfortably in their home country before heading off to Afghanistan to join in the fight against the West.”

  “From privilege to prick-dom.”

  “Exactly.”

  “So, I’m curious—if we know so much about them and their illicit activities, how is it they’re still out there running around pulling off all this shit?” I asked.

  “Two words, sadly. Diplomatic immunity. Ahmad’s ties to the royal family and his own family’s highly lucrative business have allowed him and his compatriots to travel pretty much unhindered and avoid any kind of prosecution.”

  “I suppose that kind of immunity is also what allows them to act like such assholes.”

  “No doubt,” she said.

  I gazed at my beautiful guest and noticed that the front of her dress was soaking wet.

  “I’m sorry, I should have already offered you a towel or something.”

  She looked down and felt her dress.

  “Oh, yeah, that bitch with the guy in the yellow pants threw a glass of ice water on me during the commotion.”

  “Well then, what say we dry you off.”

  We grabbed our drinks and headed into my bathroom, where I grabbed a towel off the rack and handed it to Lea.

  “Are you cold? Do you need something to change into?”

  “No. I’ll be fine,” she said.

  No sooner had the words left her lips that she slid the straps of her dress off her shoulders and dropped it to the floor, leaving her in nothing more than high heels and red thong underwear. Gulp.

  “You Swiss aren’t very bashful are you?”

  “I don’t know about the rest of us, but I usually am. Unfortunately, I’ve had a hell of a day and could use a nice warm bath to go with this ice cold martini. Care to join me?” she asked.

  “In the interest of international relations, I feel it’s my duty. Start the water, and I’ll grab the bottle of vodka and some ice in case we need a refill.”

  When I returned, she was already sitting in the bathtub, the water just above her belly button but still below her lovely bare breasts. I searched the shelf and found some bubble bath and poured a little into the enormous tub and watched as bubbles immediately formed and spread across the water. As a child, I could have had a hell of a time playing with my GI Joe in a tub like this, but, tonight, I was thankful that I had the kind of bath accessories that I preferred as an adult—namely, a beautiful woman and a cocktail. I stripped down and, lacking the naked innocence of childhood, slid into the tub across from Lea.

  “The water feels good,” she said.

  “It certainly does,” I agreed.

  It wasn’t often that I had met or worked with foreign agents that were as lovely, charming, or deadly as Lea, so this bath was an unexpected treat.

  “Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?” I asked.

  “Not at all.”

  “What the hell made you choose a life in government service? It’s an unusual career choice, and you’re obviously beautiful and intelligent, and could be doing something a lot less risky for a lot more money.”

  She thought for a moment.

  “Well, I chose it for two reasons—dedication to my country and adherence to family tradition. My father and mother both worked for the FIS, and, believe it or not, it’s actually where they met and fell in love.”

  “Romantic.”

  “Kind of, but their superiors weren’t too happy, though they eventually rectified it by moving them into separate departments.”

  “So, you were born into the job.”

  “Sadly, yes.”

  “That doesn’t seem like a sad thing.”

  “Well, it wouldn’t be if it didn’t have such a negative effect on my personal relationships.”

  “Actually, that’s something I can understand, as I had some pretty lonely years when I was a full-time spy. It’s not as glamorous as the movies make it out to be.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “And what happened today to drive you into a bathtub with a complete stranger?”

  “My fiancé of four years called off our engagement and broke up with me.”

  “Why in the hell would he do that?”

  “He said that I don’t care enough about him—that I’m too dedicated to my job.”

  “Fuck him! I find your dedication admirable. Clearly, he’s a dumbass.”

  “Maybe, but I hope this isn’t an omen of a life where I end up as one of those lonely, miserable women with nothing but her job and a cat.” />
  “Do you have a cat?”

  “No.”

  “Then what are you worried about?”

  She smiled and took a sip of her martini as she lifted one of her long, beautiful legs out of the water and placed it beside me on the edge of the tub. I reached over, took hold of her foot, and started massaging it by running my thumb deep into the ball. She closed her eyes for a second and let out a long appreciative groan.

  “Oh God that feels good. Those high heels were fucking killing my feet.”

  “Ahh, the sacrifices we make for our country,” I said, as I transitioned to her toes.

  She smiled, but then her look turned a bit sad.

  “I’m serious though about ending up alone. The thought really scares me,” she said.

  I switched to the other foot as I spoke.

  “I know, but trust me. A woman with your beauty, charm, intelligence, and world class fighting skills will never be alone for long. I had a semi the minute I saw you across the bar, and it was hard as rock by the time you took down that asshole in the restaurant. The minute the world knows that you’re officially back on the market, there will be a line of eligible bachelors from here to China, and I’ll be at the front of that line, with my boner proudly standing at attention. Of course, by then, your dumbass fiancé will realize that you were the best thing he ever had, and he’ll be begging for you to take him back.”

  “Would you mind if I thanked you?”

  “For what?”

  “For earlier tonight in the bar, and for being here right now. You are doing an excellent job of cheering me up.”

  “Not necessary. The pleasure is all mine.”

  “Yes, but I really want to thank you in my own special way.”

  Lea finished the last of her drink and moved across the tub and leaned in and kissed me, making me realize that I liked the way the Swiss people showed their gratitude. It was a lot warmer than a hug or a handshake and had the unintended side effect of sending copious amounts of blood flowing into my favorite organ. Soon thereafter, she slipped her tongue between my lips and made it very clear that she meant business. Unlike her country of origin’s policy of neutrality, Lea was definitely not so when it came to matters of the flesh, and, quite to the contrary, was more than happy to invade my personal space. Of course, I was more than happy with this eventuality and decided to make the most of it, and that entailed breaking free of her sweet lips and taking an ice cube from my cocktail before going back in for another kiss. I surprised her with the icy treat, thus initiating an impromptu battle for control of the cube, the two of us pushing it back and forth in a tiny game of tug of war. With a quick twist of the tongue, victory was mine, and I held the cube between my lips and slid it down her neck towards her breasts, a trail of wet goose bumps marking its passage. I set upon her nipples, tickling each tip with tongue and cube causing Lea to arch her back and wriggle in delight. When the ice was fully melted, I played my tongue over each taut nipple then delivered a playful kiss before leaning back to gaze at my work. Both nipples were extended to their full potential, pointing proudly as though saluting my noble efforts.

  Lea decided she was ready for more and pulled me in and kissed me hungrily, all the while running her hands down my body and onto my mantool, which she worked fastidiously—her efforts bringing me dangerously close to release. Intoxicated with lust, I lifted her out of the water and onto the edge of the tub so that I could return the favor in my own special way. With my Swiss miss safely above the water, I kissed her one last time on the lips then moved south, stopping yet again at the twin peaks of her personal Alps before venturing unto the lowlands, where I discovered a neatly tended valley the color of corn silk. She was a natural blond, one of the few I had ever seen, so I decided to commemorate the moment with something special. I glanced over at my martini and saw that there was still ice. Perfect. I slid a cube into my mouth and set forth upon Lea’s lady fruit, using the ice to tease, torment, and tantalize the entirety of her essence. Traveling from opening to clitoris, and back again, her giggling soon turned into soft moans of pleasure—and the same fingers that had taken down a dangerous terrorist only minutes ago were now cradling my head and gently guiding my efforts. Lea, as I quickly learned, had a very sensitive clitoris, and hardly a minute had passed before she started to cry out and arch her back as she climaxed, her thighs quivering uncontrollably through each orgasmic aftershock. She came to rest, and I pulled back and gazed up at her face to see she was still recovering from the intense pleasure, her heavy breathing making her breasts rise and fall directly before my eyes. It was too much visual stimulation to bear, and I had to take hold of them, one in each hand as I kissed her nipples before moving on to her neck—lingering just long enough to deliver a soft kiss. I returned to her lips to feel her mouth open and her tongue eagerly awaiting my return. Our kiss was hot and harried, our efforts frantic as we remained joined at the mouth. She abruptly pulled back and gestured for us to switch positions, our new orientation leaving me sitting on the edge of the tub.

  “In the interest of international relations, it’s only fair to reciprocate,” she said.

  “Fair is fair, but I should warn you that I’ve been on the verge of ejaculating since I joined you in the tub.”

  She smiled.

  “Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing. My ex used to call me the penis whisperer.”

  “How in the hell could he have left you? It’s yet more proof that he is the dumbest man on Earth.”

  She took a sip of my martini and grabbed the last ice cube before kissing me and starting the whole frozen tug of war anew. I was just thinking I had won when she stole it back and smiled before sliding down towards my monument of international relations. I must say, she was representing her country admirably, delivering some very strategic tongue and ice cube action, encircling the tip of my manhood and driving me mad with pleasure. Just when I thought I could take no more she’d run the cube down my shaft before returning to the tip and starting anew. She truly was the penis whisperer, though it wasn’t long before I had to put a stop to her efforts for fear I was about to deliver some rather sticky diplomacy.

  “You certainly earned your nickname.”

  “What can I say? I like delivering pleasure.”

  “With that kind of selflessness, you’re definitely not going to be alone for very long.”

  She smiled and stood, bringing me with her as she stepped from the tub and led me over to the sink, where she took a seat and proceeded to reach down and direct my manhood unto her warm wet essence, or, as they called it in the Alps—her crevace. At that point, she wrapped her powerful legs around my back and guided us into a robust pace, and it wasn’t long before I reached around, took hold of her buttocks, and combined my strength with hers. This orientation conveniently allowed me to add a little grinding motion that made sure her clitoris wasn’t left out of the fun, and soon thereafter she started calling out and increasing her efforts, the result being that her fabulous breasts were now undulating up and down and presenting me with a couple of tantalizing treats. I decided they needed some attention and leaned in, hopeful I might be able to wrangle one or both. The experience was not unlike bobbing for apples, except these apples were soft and supple and moving about like children in a bouncy house. I therefore had to cheat by employing one of my hands to bring each breast to my mouth, so I could deliver a healthy helping of tongue action to each of her nipples. This seemed to spur her on, and it was suddenly more akin to riding bareback on a wild stallion, the two of us at full gallup, going hard atop the marble. Our hips were crashing together, our cries growing louder as the pace increased with an urgency that signaled our ride was nearing its inevitable conclusion. I leaned in and kissed her hard on the mouth and that was the final impetus to achieve sweet release—officially bringing international relations to a new high as Switzerland and the United States truly came together. Our cries diminished, and we slowed our pace so that we could revel in post orgasmic eup
horia. At long last Lea let out a long glorious sigh of content and came to rest.

  “Thank you, Tag.”

  “No, thank you, Lea.”

  She reached over and had the last sip of the martini, then we exchanged a kiss and parted hips before stepping into the shower. We spent a few playful minutes under the hot water then rinsed and adjourned to the bedroom, where we slid into the cozy down bed and snuggled up to each other. I gazed at the beautiful woman in my arms and had the sudden thought that it might be time to pursue a career in the NBA considering how many rebounds I had made in the last two weeks. With that final thought, I smiled to myself, closed my eyes, and soon drifted off to a deep dreamless night of sleep.

  Dawn came around seven, and Lea and I came about ten minutes later. I learned that the Swiss were early risers, and my new compatriot enjoyed sex in the early morning just as much as she did late at night. This worked out great for me, as it meant I could skip my morning ab and cardio routine and go straight to the weights had they not been five-thousand, eight-hundred, and nineteen miles away in my local gym. Instead, we had made sweet love, then I ordered up breakfast and coffee, and we dined next to the fireplace in the early quiet of morning, all the while watching as the valley came to life outside our window. After we finished eating, Lea went to my room to shower, while I studied a map of Davos on my laptop. I liked to memorize all the major highways and landmarks when I was operating in a new city. That way, if things went to shit, I knew exactly where I was and where I needed to go. I heard a stirring in the opposite bedroom and, shortly thereafter, the door opened, and I was greeted by a sleepy looking Corn wearing white butt-hugger underwear and a T-shirt.

  “Why are you up so fucking early?” he asked, groggily.

  John walked out of his room a second later, also scantily dressed in a T-shirt and boxers, though his undergarments were decorated with little pigs and had the slogan Free Hog Rides written across the front.