Message-ID: <37951asstr$1029852604@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: <http@lara.pathlink.com> X-Original-Path: extra.newsguy.com!newsp.newsguy.com!drn From: DrSpin <drspin@newsguy.com> X-Original-Message-ID: <ajt8dl01009@drn.newsguy.com> X-ASSTR-Original-Date: 20 Aug 2002 04:16:05 -0700 Subject: {ASSM} Bad Lady In Buenos Aires (Ace Dyson) (MF+) ~ NEW to ASSM ~ by DrSpin Date: Tue, 20 Aug 2002 10:10:05 -0400 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org> Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: <URL:http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/Year2002/37951> X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Story-Submission: <ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Moderator-ID: kelly, RuiJorge Bad Lady In Buenos Aires (M/F+) (An Ace Dyson Story) by Neil Anthony/DrSpin --------------------------------------------------------- * This story is published here by kind permission of Ruthie's Club, where it appeared illustrated by Lloyd W. Meek under an exclusivity period for six months. Ruthie's Club (http://www.ruthiesclub.com) carries about 50 more of my new stories, including 18 new Ace Dyson adventures. * The author welcomes comments and opinions from readers and is invariably motivated to respond. Write to: drspin@newsguy.com or neil@ruthiesclub.com * DrSpin's Standard Disclaimer: I write and you read, if you care to. That's all there is to it. Any reader who is offended should not have been here in the first place. --------------------------------------------------------- I'd just finished banging Dee Womack against the wall of the photocopy room when I got a terse summons from the Colonel. Stunned and amazed, I trudged slowly to her office. How the fuck did she know? The damn woman must have spy cameras installed. Dee was forbidden territory. The Colonel expressly warned me off her after a previous office scandal. But what's a bloke to do when a randy woman sends him her pants in an inter-office envelope? Helen, her PA and also forbidden territory after an even earlier office scandal, showed me straight into the Colonel's office. She was talking on the phone, and waved me to a chair. What to do? Where was my defence? She hung up, frowned at me, stood up, and turned to look out her picture window at Sydney Harbour Bridge. Behind her back, her hands fiddled agitatedly. "Dyson, I have to go into a clinic tomorrow for minor surgery," she said, speaking at the window. "It's most inconvenient, but there it is. In the meantime, I have an interesting little job for you." I sat in silence, waiting. Whatever it was, it was better than being bawled out about Dee Womack. "In four days all the bureau heads of Pacific Rimfire International will meet in Buenos Aires for a global planning seminar. I want you to represent me." I cleared my throat. "Ma'am, it sounds like a job for a high- powered on-the-ball executive person. We have such people in this building. I'm just me." The Colonel, pacing up and down in front of the window, laughed her trademark bark. "I know who you are, Dyson. I watch you closely. The fact that you don't have the required weight for this task suits my purposes very well, because I don't want you to do anything but be there. The less you know, the less the damage you can cause." She threw herself down carelessly on the big leather couch, kicked off her shoes, and stretched out her legs, pointing her toes. She had fine legs. I never tired of looking at them. "I know what's going to be said and done," she said. "You might say I'm connected. It's just a junket for senior executives in an exotic off-the-beaten-track location. It's all organised, and it should be a nice trip for you." "I'll do my best for you, ma'am." "I'm counting on it," she said. I could sense she was keeping something from me, and it amused her. She turned her head quickly and caught me ogling her legs, but seemed not to mind. "There's also a special little job you might do for me while you're there. It concerns the Washington bureau chief, an old friend. I went to school with her." "Her, ma'am?" "Holly Hooper. A formidable woman, highly ambitious, extremely dangerous. Establish a rapport with her. I need to know everything I can about her, what she says, who she talks to, what she's thinking." "I see," I said cautiously, noting the faint smell of brimstone in the air. "You are hoping we might hit it off and become good pals?" She chuckled. "That would be nice." "I will give it my best shot, ma'am. Is there anything else you should be telling me?" She sat up and fixed me with a steely glare. "Just one small but important matter," she said. "Dyson, who do you work for? Pacific Rimfire International, Pacific Rimfire Australia, or me?" "I work for you, ma'am." "Correct. Don't ever forget that." She smiled pleasantly. "Now go to Argentina." * * * Buenos Aires is a yes-I-have-no-you-don't sort of city. Those who have mix the old world and the new with grace and style in magnificence. Those who don't eke out a meagre existence in sprawling suburban wastelands indelibly stamped "South America." I booked into the Grand Hotel, and it was all that and more. The elevators creaked slowly and were too small for today's fast-travelling here-today-gone-tomorrow masses. The room was huge, with a balcony overlooking a formal square fronting the Presidential Palace where guards marched outside in toy soldier uniforms. The bed was high, and big enough to host six for a soiree, the furniture old and solid, the ceilings lofty. It was an old place and it didn't quite work properly but I loved it. Raconteurs say Buenos Aires has more beautiful women per city block than any other place in the world. I strolled five blocks to the Sheraton to register at the PRI conference and fell in and out of love too many times to count. I gave my heart instantly to a tall, dark beauty with black hair hanging down to her buttocks and impossibly superb legs in an old- fashioned mini-skirt. But I snatched it back seconds later and gave it instead to a long-haired blonde with pushed-out tits because she smiled at me with perfect teeth when my mouth fell open as she was passing. Dazed, I reluctantly entered the Sheraton to register for the conference. All I wanted to do was walk the streets and look at women. The receptionist -- a local girl with huge, dark eyes -- must have known her cleavage was awesome as she bent to fill in my forms. Fuck walking the streets. I fell in love all over again. "Mr. Dyson, I presume." The voice was so deep I had to turn to check whether it was male or female. The first thing I saw was a white crewcut. The second was lipstick so darkly red it was close to black. It was a woman, I gathered, and she was way too close and personal, right there in my face. I took a step back and held out my hand. "Call me Ace," I said. She grasped it and took a step forward. "Holly Hooper. I've been waiting for you." I stepped back again. I like to look at more than a woman's eyes, nose, and mouth. "I've heard about you, ma'am." She stepped forward again. "And I you, Ace. And I must say I'm not disappointed." Back. "I'm a novice, ma'am. I'm hoping you'll look after me." Forward. "Count on it, Ace." She wasn't planning on stopping her invasion, and I couldn't keep walking backwards without hitting the wall. It so happened that I once learned the tango, and now it seemed timely. I clasped her hand, hugged her waist, and propelled her dramatically for a dozen steps, finally dipping her backwards over my arm. "Nice," she said, looking up at me. "Though I prefer to lead." I held her in the dipped position. "People are staring at us." "Let them," she said, drooping her arm behind her theatrically. "They're jealous." Holly Hooper bought herself a beer and ordered me the same. I should do nothing for a day and a half, she advised. People were still arriving. This was networking time. As long as I was there when the big boss delivered his opening address, anything else was up to me. All the real decisions had been made, and the conference was all about giving the appearance that PRI consulted its executives. "So Colonel Webster knows everything already?" I asked. "Surely," she said. "Ruth is on the inside. A formidable woman, highly ambitious, extremely dangerous." Holly Hooper had a military-style haircut -- No.2, shorn on top with a fine-cut lawnmower, more white than blonde. She was heavily made up, strong lipstick making her wide mouth look even wider, dark eye-shadow, and heavy gold earrings. She was around forty, at a guess, and not exactly fresh and pretty. But she had a strong face and commanding presence, odd light- brown caramel eyes with a golden tinge to them, a trim and fit figure, and a fuck-you attitude that would cause passing priests to cross themselves and pray for guidance. "I'd rather stay with you," she said, eyes locking on mine like twin heat-seeking missiles, "but I have to go talk to people. Networking, you see. And speaking of networking, I would like you to join me for dinner tonight. In my suite. Cosy. Private. Instructive." It was a cast-iron certainty. The only job the Colonel required me to do was being presented on a silver platter. Holly Hooper formidable? Huh. I'd soon have her licking my hand like an affectionate puma. * * * I passed the time back out on the streets, admiring the local talent, and found myself outside a small tailor shop. The window dummies were dressed like pre-World War Two gentlemen secret agents. I walked in the door on a romantic impulse and a company credit card, and one hour later emerged carrying a custom-made, hand-fitted suit of adventure and old-world style straight from the pages of Graham Greene. At eight that night I presented myself at Holly Hooper's door in my new white linen suit, club-striped tie, straw Panama hat, and brown-and-white two-toned shoes. It was more Caribbean than Argentinean, but what the hell. I was dressed to kill, feeling very tricky indeed. "Darr-ling," she purred when she opened the door. "Cancel the food. I'll eat you instead." I entered smugly. Next time, Colonel old dear, I said to myself, give me a tough one. I get lazy when they're this easy. Dinner was silver service, three courses, served on heavy linen cloth, ushered in discreetly by hotel staff in livery. Buenos Aires does not come cheap, and Holly was spending big on the company credit card. We talked some shop. I told her a little about Sydney and she told me a lot about Washington and the deals she made on Capitol Hill. She was excellent company -- an animated talker, clever, witty, intelligent. Over coffee, she lit her first cigarette of the night and blew smoke at the ceiling with a drawn-out, satisfied sigh. "My God, I've been looking forward to this," she said. "Your cigarette?" "Don't be obtuse, darling," she said. "Dinner is over. Take off your clothes." "Gee," I said, taken aback, "that was going to be my line, but I had planned to take more time getting around to it." "Don't try my patience, boy," she snapped, looking as cranky as she sounded. "No more banter. It's playtime, and I promise you I play very seriously indeed." These Washington women were single-mindedly direct, obviously. Maybe they were too busy to have a lot of time for seduction. Oh well, same result, just a shorter race. I stood and started taking off my white suit. "No no," she said. "The table is in the way. Come here, right here, so I can see you." Okay. These older women knew what they wanted, obviously. They weren't exactly coy. I stood directly in front of her and continued to remove my clothes. She lit a second cigarette and watched greedily. "Oh yes," she hissed, when I was naked. "She knows me too well. What a beauty you are, Ace. Delicious, like blue ribbon vanilla ice-cream." "Who knows you too well, Holly?" "Don't speak unless I say so," she snapped. "And keep calling me ma`am. I like the flat, drawling way you say it. It's been keeping me soggy all day." Her voice was lust-husky, and the visible desire on her face made me as hard as an iron bar. She called me forward with a reaching hand and cupped my balls, appearing to feel the weight. Her hand then feathered along my shaft, squeezing the head quite hard. The exploration continued, my abdomen, stomach, chest. I stood as awkwardly as a nubian slave at a marketplace in old Imperial Rome. "Now turn around." Two hands were on my buttocks, stroking, kneading. "Fabulous," she said. "Grade A1. You're fit and strong but not highly muscled. I guess you don't work out much." "Only when I can't avoid it," I said. "Just the way I like it," she said. "I can't stand those pumped up bodies. Turn around again." I did, and she drew back her hands. "A real sugar-baby. Not a mark on you anywhere. She's too soft. She always was." "Who's too soft?" "If you can learn to shut the fuck up you can come and work for me in Washington," she said testily. "I'll pay you double what she does." "Who? Colonel Webster?" "Don't answer now," she said, standing up. "It's playtime. Stay right where you are. I'll be back in a flash." Not in the bedroom? Oh well. The sofa was comfortable and the carpet was thick. Whatever. But my interest was drooping. Being poked and prodded like a Brahman bull at a primary produce exhibition wasn't really my idea of fun and games, no matter how flattering the compliments. Strange woman. Maybe she'd been a boss too long and was too accustomed to getting her own way. I heard her return and I turned to look. Holly Hooper was naked but for high-heeled shoes, and a bizarre strap-on harness to which was attached a hard plastic iridescent lime- green rampant dildo. "Darling," she said, advancing. "It's time for you get fucked." "Darling," I said, retreating. "You can stick that notion right up your arse." She had little pointy tits with sharp nipples. Quite nice. They shook and swayed as she raised a riding crop and whacked me across the cheek. It stung, and once again visions of a Roman slave market flashed through my brain. She raised the whip again, so I snatched it from her hand, bent it over, tied it into a knot, and gave it back to her. While she was looking at it in consternation, I grabbed the velcro strap of the dildo harness and ripped it loose. The contraption clattered to the floor. Holly Hooper stood naked in high heels, mouth open, stunned. "What the fuck is going on?" she asked. "Uncanny," I said. "I was just about to put that to you." "I smell a rat," she said. "Stay here. Put on your clothes if you feel more comfortable." I was pulling up my trousers when she returned, wearing an exquisite black-and-red kimono and flourishing a note. "Here," she said. "Read this." It was an email printout. It read: "Holly dear, Sorry I can't make it to BA. Sending instead an adorable playmate for you -- one Ace Dyson, a handsome but pliable hunk who will respond appropriately to firm direction. Look after his innocent hide inside the conference and give him your best shot outside it, with my blessing. As always, we share the spoils of our labor. Kisses, Ruth." "I've been duped," Holly said. "That note infers you'll be putty in my hands. It suggests, and she knows it does because she knows me, that you're a willingly submissive male. And you're not, of course. Not even close. You don't have the faintest idea about it." "True," I agreed. "Ma'am, I'm virgin territory back there and it's gonna stay that way. I don't fancy penetration in the slightest." "Don't fancy it all that much myself, Ace. Which leaves us both hung out to dry on a night I was hoping would be memorable." She looked at me regretfully. "Devious bitch. You were just what I was looking for, and she knew I'd fall hook, line, and sinker. What a pity. Sure you don't want to be smacked about a bit? Just a bit?" "Dead sure, ma'am." "Goddamn," she said. "You came in here so much like a meek lamb I never thought we were on different tracks." "Ah," I said. "That's because she ordered me to get in close to you. Establish a rapport, she said." "Air Force brat," Holly spat. "She's always been a sore loser." "She wanted Washington?" Holly nodded. "She got Sydney. But she's been doing well." She ran a hand through her short hair. "What in hell is she up to? It has to be more than a spiteful practical joke. She's smarter than that." "Sorry about all this," I said, picking up my coat. "The Colonel tells me next to nothing. She moves in ways mysterious to me." "Hell, don't go," she said. "I wasn't planning on sleeping alone tonight. Penetration might be out, but I'm sure we can work out something constructive." "As long as it's not painful, ma'am, I'm at your service." "I give damn good head, Ace. It's currency in Washington. But I expect reciprocation." "I've been well trained, ma'am." "Good." She smiled maliciously. "And for bedtime stories, I'll tell you a lot you don't know about the life and times of my old school buddy, Ruth Webster." * * * "I spy a succulent rabbit," Holly Hooper said into my ear. We were at an Argentinean government function, a purely decorative event to flatter the PRI brass, and we were ambling arm in arm around the wooded grounds of the palatial residence of a government Minister. "Where?" "Right here," she said. "Back me up and you will be rewarded." She took hold of the wrist of the host, temporarily free of company. "Minister, how nice," she said in her deepest voice. "A chance to become better acquainted." Eduardo Alvarez, urbane Minister for Sport and Culture, smiled automatically and then looked down at his wrist. Holly had a tight grip, and it was getting tighter. "Holly Hooper from Washington," she reminded him. "This is my friend Ace Dyson from Australia." Alvarez put out his hand, his free hand, to shake mine. He looked again at his wrist in her grip, then back at her face. "Yes," she smiled, moving close to him. "You are uneasy. I can see it and I can smell it. How lovely you are, Minister. Delicious, like blue ribbon caramel ice cream." He looked at me in astonishment. "She is very direct," I advised him conspiratorially. "But she is a most unusual woman. If you like that sort of thing." She drew him closer and reached around to slide both hands across his buttocks. "Oh, he does," she said, staring at him like an anaconda. "You play polo? Of course you do. Nice ass, Minister. I can't wait to bite it." His mouth was open but he hadn't managed a word. His poise and sophistication had crumbled under Holly's full-on frontal assault. A woman appeared behind him, a question on her face. "Eduardo?" Holly didn't even look at her. "Your husband has invited us to stay after the party for a late supper," she said. "Excuse us, won't you? My friend will look after you." She took Alvarez away, around the corner of the house. The woman watched them for a moment, then looked at me with round, dark, and quite blank eyes. I smiled at her in my warmest way. "Dyson," I said. "From Australia. Call me Ace." "Luciana Alvarez," she said. "What is that woman doing with my husband?" "You don't want to know," I said, taking her arm and strolling comfortably in the opposite direction. "She's got him, I'm afraid, and there's nothing we can do about it. Don't worry, Looch, she's only passing through, and you might just find good old Eduardo is a different sort of a bloke tomorrow." She stopped and turned to me, lost. "I do not know what you are talking about." She was nearly beautiful, but so she should have been. Upper class Argentinean, protected, soft, taught from birth to be a good wife and mother, never done a day's work in her life. She had a previous century look about her clothes and appearance. So well-mannered, so proper, so female. And behind the luminous round eyes, lonely and unhappy. I patted her on the back of the hand. "You must show me your beautiful house." We'd done the entrance hall, the sitting room, and the dining room when she stopped outside a separate double-doored wing. "My husband's quarters," she said. "I never go in there." "Now's not the time to start," I advised. "Tell me, Looch, how long is it since you had sex? Six months? More?" A thin vase she had been fingering dropped to the floor and smashed, spraying glass across a wide area. "Mother of God," she whispered at me, horrified. "Is it that obvious?" I patted her on the back of the hand. "You must show me your bedroom." It was on the second floor. I swept aside the curtains overlooking the back lawns. "My guests," she said, looking down at the marquees and the lights. "Are leaving at exactly the appointed time," I said, standing behind and brushing my mouth over her neck and shoulders. She turned quickly and I kissed her with my best art. I could feel her heart beating fast, or maybe it was the pulse in her neck. She was as soft a woman as I had ever held in my arms. "Hold old are you, Luciana?" "Thirty," she whispered. Perfect. One of the three great ages a woman can be -- sixteen, thirty or forty-two. I started undoing, unhurriedly, the front buttons on her dress. "I have made love to only one man, my husband," she said tremulously. "Yes, Looch, I know." I opened the dress and swept it off her shoulders. She was wearing a slip, and my heart jumped. I love a woman wearing a slip. But it had to come off, and I eased the straps down. She was a full-figured woman. She was wearing silk loose- legged pants, and while I bent to draw them down her legs, she took off her bra. I stood back to look at her. Eyes downcast, she shivered in the light breeze wafting through the open window. Around her neck she wore a thin gold chain, from which hung a tiny gold locket, and on her hands, rings on every finger. There were tan marks on her body. I traced the lines with a finger, and she shivered again. "Luciana Alvarez sits by her pool in her little two-piece swimsuit," I whispered, "with nobody to look at and lust over her lush and beautiful body." She lifted her dark eyes and crossed one arm over her heavy breasts. "Please don't tease me," she said. Yes. Quite so. I picked her up, carried her to the bed, and placed her down gently. I undressed, and she closed her eyes, not bold enough to look. She rubbed her calves together and pointed her toes. A thirty-year-old innocent, flushing, blushing, warm, and ready. I climbed quietly on the bed and stretched out beside her. I put my tongue into her ear, and she jumped, but did not open her eyes. "You don't have to do a single thing," I murmured into the ear. "Be here, be with me, and receive." She got the full treatment. It took time, but it was worth it, and she was worthy. Outside the lights were switched off, all was quiet, and the night turned still and black. Project Luciana. I kissed her hollows and nibbled at her hills, first at her face, then at her feet. After a long, long time I arrived at the middle, the joining place, and I knew, because of who she was, she was going to object. "No," she said, as my nose quested into her fur. She lifted her head from the pillow, opened her eyes, and grabbed my hair with one hand. Silly woman. Her legs had parted, her thighs had opened, she was pushing her pubis at me, and I could taste, feel, and smell her arousal. "Lie back," I said. "Close your eyes. Relax and receive." She let go of my hair and slowly eased back. I could feel the tension on the surface of her skin. She was like a mantrap with a delicate trigger. I put my tongue directly on her clitoris, and the trap went off. She snapped her legs together, and I feared for a moment she would break my neck. But I persevered, licking and nibbling. She was moaning in Spanish, and it sounded like a prayer. But then, everything in Spanish sounds like a prayer. Her breathing seemed to stop and she was deathly still. Then she gasped, and shook with a writhing spasm that bumped my nose and threw my head to the side. Then another, and another. She calmed and was still. A long, drawn-out sigh followed. I pulled right away and stretched out alongside her. "I will wait," I said softly. "You may be sensitive. There is plenty of time." "Yes," she breathed, her breasts rising and falling, silhouetted against the faint light coming through the window. With my head propped up on my hand, I told her in the mildest and nicest way I could what I thought was likely to be happening to her husband. I talked about his passivity, his desire to be sexually dominated, and how she could turn this to her advantage. I told her she was an under-valued woman. She could continue to be a supportive wife - but behind closed doors, she should take charge. She would be happier for it, and so would he. It was a new way, and it was better, richer, than the old. She listened in silence and passed no judgement. I did not know how she would balance these things against her traditional upbringing and her religion, but that wasn't my business. All I could be was there and then, in the dark beside her. She rolled toward me and fluttered her fingers down my face. It was time. I reached under the pillow and pulled out the condom packet I'd placed there. She took it from my fingers. "No," she said. "Not necessary." "Looch, are you sure?" "So what if I have a baby?" she asked. "I've wanted one for years." I tried to give her what I thought she hadn't had - slow strokes, patient, smooth, long, but full and to the hilt, pushing upwards and grinding against her pubic bone. For a long time she did nothing but receive. A storm was gathering. First it was her hands, reaching out and clasping my arms, shoulders and neck. Then her hips started to roll, and she was pushing back at me, matching the rhythm. Finally she lifted her legs. I looked over my shoulder, and they were high in the air, stuck straight up. I picked up the pace and she was with me now, behaving like a woman who wants and won't be denied. Spanish prayers were spilling disjointedly from her mouth. Once again, her breathing seemed to stop and she locked dead still. Then she let it out, threw back her head, and wailed at the ceiling, shaking me violently. Enough, enough. I took the cork from my own bottle and released all I had been holding back for so long. Exhaustion. It had been at least a half-marathon. I was finished. Nothing left. All gone. * * * In grey light I caught a cab back to my hotel. I was sleeping like death when a body slid into the bed beside me and cuddled against my back. I may have slept some more, and it was still there, breathing evenly. "Luciana?" I croaked. "You wish," said a deep American voice. "You realise we're missing the old man's big speech?" I sat up. Yes, my room at the Grand Hotel. Memories of Luciana still clung to me. I looked down at the white crewcut showing above the sheets. A dress was draped over the bed rail. "Holly," I said, "I hope you didn't come here for a fast fuck, because I haven't got one bullet left in the chamber." She snorted. "Lucky, because I'm so mellow I couldn't stop you if you tried." "A good night?" "Fucking glorious," she said, stretching. "I'm so bad I'm in awe of myself." "Holly, what are you doing in my bed?" "I came to get you to front up for the big speech. But when I saw you sleeping like a big old baby, I buckled at the knees and joined you. Frankly, Ace, I'm jiggered. The old man can go fuck himself." "Yeah," I agreed, sliding back under. "Sounds good to me." "I only have one complaint," she said. "What's that?" "You could have had a shower. You smell like a cathouse." I laughed for a long time. Then I sat up and swished back the sheets. She was huddled up, wearing only pants and stockings. "Come on," I said. "Shower time for both of us. I'll wash your back. Then we'll come back to bed, snuggle up, and snooze the day away." She sat up and rubbed her eyes. "You fucked Mrs. Minister good?" "Very good," I said. "I'm so good I'm in awe of myself." "You never did give me an answer, Ace. The offer still stands. Come to Washington and I'll double your salary. I can use a man of your talents." I pinched her sharp nipple lightly. "Tempting," I said. "But loyalty is my strong suit, and I have no complaints about Colonel Webster." Well, not this week, anyway. Apart from a small personal matter, which I would be dealing with in my own way. * * * I arrived back in Sydney mid-morning. The proper thing was to go straight to the office and report to the Colonel. But she'd double-crossed me in Buenos Aires, and now she could sit on her bony bum and wait until I was damned good and ready. On the way home to my apartment I visited a friend, a make-up artist at a film studio. Luckily she wasn't busy. She gave me the works. At home I rang Helen, the Colonel's PA, and told her I was too battered and beat up to come to work. I needed a couple of days, I said. In twenty-five minutes the key turned in the lock and the Colonel, who seemed to have an endless supply of my door keys, came rushing in. I was wearing only my briefs. I was waiting for her. She stopped in her tracks when she saw me. "Oh my God," she said, appalled. As well she might be. My creative friend had given me black, blue and yellow bruises on my face, and long, crusty, and bloodied welts and weals across my back, chest and upper thighs. I looked like an Afghan atrocity. I sat gingerly on a chair, looked at her reproachfully, and tried to muster some dignity. "I did as you asked, ma'am," I said. "Dear God, don't say that," the Colonel said. "I didn't mean this to happen." She came to me, sat on the arm of the chair, and cradled my face into her chest. "Ace, I'm so sorry. I had no idea she'd sunk this low." I knew I didn't have long before she discovered the make-up, so I poked my nose between the Colonel's breasts, put my arms around her, snuggled up, and smiled happily. Already her hand was on my back, and the crusty make-up was falling away at her touch. I felt the quickening in her body as she bent her head for a closer look. "Deceit and subterfuge, ma'am," I said, my mouth against the swell of a breast. "All is not what it appears to be." She pushed me away and jumped to her feet, her face flushed and angry. "Dyson, you dare to play tricks on me?" "Tit for tat, ma'am. I think I have the high ground." She stood there looking daggers at me. I'd won the point, but I couldn't press it. Never back a boss into a tight corner. "So how was your surgery, ma'am?" Her shoulders relaxed. "Successful, thank you." "I had a most pleasant trip. Ms. Hooper and I are the best of buddies, as you required." I fetched a folder from the table and gave it to her. "My report on her musings." She opened it and flicked her eyes over a couple of pages. "Interesting," she said. "You don't know how helpful this can be to me, and I'll read it thoroughly later. You've done well, Dyson. I'm pleased with you." She tilted her head at me. "I knew you two would hit it off. You're both so instinctive, so feral, so predatory." She laughed, delighted. "So you really did get alongside the notorious Holly Hooper?" "Not quite in the way you think, ma'am. But she did offer me a job in Washington at twice my current salary. Several times, in fact. It's in the report." The Colonel pointed a rigid finger at me. "Don't try those cheap blackmail stunts on me, Dyson," she said icily. "In my view, you're overpaid already." "I turned her down," I said. "Devious bitch," the Colonel muttered, and I was pleased, because once again I'd got to her. "You should understand, Dyson, that we are old friends but bitter rivals. She always did want what's mine." "I understand, ma'am," I said. "But she said you don't mind sharing occasionally. She told some interesting stories. Of course they are not in the report." The Colonel blushed. Never seen it happen before. She actually blushed. "I hope I have not made a tactical mistake putting you two together," she said. ENDS Edited by Ruthie and Nat * DrSpin/Neil Anthony is at http://www.ruthiesclub.com * also at neil@ruthiesclub.com and at http://www.ruthiesclub.com -- Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com> | | FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderator: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d, look for subject {ASSD}| |Archive at <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org> Hosted by <http://www.asstr-mirror.org> | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+