Escapades of an Erotic Spy - Part 1 A Spy is Born

by Lexington Manheim

  "Bonjour, mon chéri." She greeted the naked man with a smile and a quick stroke of his cock with her fingers. It was done so casually that it was as though it were some type of nudist handshake. Then she let her hands glide down to caress the fleshy sack that hung just below. She rolled his big balls in her palm. "Très bien."

  The man's penis started growing and stiffening. He gave both of us on the couch a lecherous smile. It was obvious this was a man who enjoyed his work. And that's what worried me.

  The photographer barked some instructions. The nude man stepped to the middle of the front of the couch, positioning himself between us. He faced the camera, his erection now almost complete. Nanette leaned in and took hold of his seven-inch cock with her left hand.

  "Come on, Dexeter," the girl coaxed. "Legs down. Put a hand here…right on his ass."

  Why I listened to her, I don't know. Yet, for some inexplicable reason—maybe just because I didn't yet know how to say, "no," to Nanette—I did as she said. I was once again wholly exposed for the camera, and I placed my right hand on the man's buttocks. He angled his stance such that the camera could see where my hand was. It also pointed his now fully hard cock toward the girl who was stroking it.

  This is just too fucking weird!

  Flash.

  Why the fuck am I doing this?

  Flash.

  What the fuck is wrong with me?

  Flash.

  The photographer gave further instructions. The nude man angled the other way. Now his dick was jutting toward my face. Nanette released her grasp on his manhood and offered it up to me.

  "Go ahead," she said. "Just hold it. Just take it in your hand. It's nice."

  "I'd rather not."

  "Go on. He wants you to. And you know you want to. Just feel it. Feel how hard it is."

  Truth be told, it was a good-looking dick. Firm and long and smooth. It periodically throbbed upward. It was as though it was beckoning to me.

  "Vite! Vite!" the photographer bellowed.

  Both frightened and mesmerized, I raised my right hand and gingerly allowed my fingers to lift the underside of his pulsating organ. How hot it was—like a dinner roll fresh from the oven. And how hard and stiff it stood out—like the handle on a frying pan. It almost felt as though he could be lifted by that sturdy appendage.

  Flash.

  More instructions. The nude man turned back around, and Nanette inched closer, her mouth opening.

  Oh, shit! She just put his dick in her mouth! She's sucking his dick! And he's… Oh, fuck! His left hand's squeezing my right tit! What the…? This isn't erotica! It's pornography!

  I slapped away his groping hand and leapt from the couch. A second later, I was putting on my clothes at what, for me, must have been record speed. The others in the room were clamoring words to which I paid no attention. I wanted only two things at that moment—to get dressed and get out.

  "Dexeter!" Nanette shouted. "What are you doing?"

  I didn't pause for an instant. Shout all you want, Nanette. I'm finally saying, "no!" This is a line I won't cross!

  "Give me my money!" I demanded of the photographer.

  "Dexeter, you don't get paid if you don't finish the job!" Nanette was up off the couch.

  No use, Nanette. That won't work this time.

  "Tell him to give me my money! I'm finished!"

  There was a raucous exchange between the other girl and the incensed photographer.

  "He says he won't pay if you leave now," interpreted Nanette.

  "Then I'll call the police."

  "He'll just laugh. What would you tell the police? You were holding a man's dick when you suddenly decided you wanted your money right away?"

  It was a compromising situation for me, to say the least.

  "Then tell him I've got friends, and they'll come here to make things very unpleasant for him if he doesn't pay me."

  It was a lie. The only friends I had in Paris were the Bardachs, and they weren't likely to pose any realistic threat. But Nanette didn't know that. She translated my demand to the photographer.

  His face purpling, Tristan Zenglitz reached into a pocket and counted out some francs, which he threw to the floor along with an assortment of bitterly uttered words I didn't comprehend. I scooped up the money and stuffed it into a pocket without stopping to count it—although I was reasonably certain it was a lot less than I had been promised. Then, without missing a beat, I charged for the door and raced down the stairs. A few moments later, I was on the street and relieved to be out of that pornography den. I took a deep breath and began my walk back home.

  It had been a bad experience. A very, very bad experience. But it was over. I was shaken, but physically all right. I'd simply have to be more careful about the jobs I took. A woman alone can't be too careful.

  I hadn't quite reached the corner when an automobile sped up to the curb and stopped just a little ahead of me. Two men in dark clothes jumped out.

  "Dexeter Foxx?" asked one of them. From the way he spoke English, I could tell he was American.

  As if this day could get any more bizarre, now two men I've never seen before are asking for me by name?

  "Uh…" I froze.

  "Miss Foxxe," said the man, "we're with the United States Army. We'd like you to come with us."

  CHAPTER 3

  Dark Mata Hari

  U.S. Army H.Q. in Paris:

  I still don't know why I got into the car. My initial inclination was to run screaming in the other direction, hoping some kind citizen would step forward to offer assistance or protection. Unfortunately, I was in a neighborhood where people tended to mind their own business and ignore as much as possible of what was going on around them. I was on my own and feeling vulnerable. Even so, now that I think about it, I don't suppose there was anything mandatory about my cooperation. The two men didn't say I was under arrest. What authority did they have anyway? I was in France. The U.S. Army had no right to detain people there. Still, something about the fact that they knew who I was put a scare into me, and my resistance disintegrated.

  We traveled mostly in silence. The two men said nothing to me, and I decided the safer course would be for me to ask no questions until someone explained what was going on. They drove me to a part of town I didn't recognize, to a little gray building with blue shutters on the windows and black wrought iron framing the door. I was led inside and upstairs to a small plain white office with a large wooden desk and three chairs. One of the men, a tall fellow, told me to sit and stayed with me while the other man went elsewhere. About a minute later, two different men entered the room. Of the two new men, one appeared to be in his forties. He sat behind the desk. The other was somewhere in his late twenties and took the remaining chair a few feet to my left. Both of them were wearing uniforms signifying they were officers in the United States Army. The older man dismissed the tall man, who had led me to the room, and told him to close the door as he exited. Now I was alone in the presence of two more people whom I didn't know from Adam, but who exuded an air of knowing plenty about me.

  "Miss Foxxe," the older man began, "I'm Major Harbaugh. This is Lieutenant Ricci. We're with the Military Intelligence Division."

  That meant nothing to me. "So?" I tried not to sound too nervous, despite my trembling.

  "So," he continued, "we've asked you here to talk about something. Would you like some coffee?"

  "No, thank you."

  "Glass of water?"

  "No." To me, the major's attempts at civility seemed not in keeping with the situation. "You could tell me why I was brought here."

  "Invited," hastened the major. He sat back in his chair and rubbed his clean-shaven chin with his knobby fingers. His sandy brown hair was immaculately clipped and combed.

  The lieutenant was equally well groomed, although his curly hair was much darker and his jaw more square. He didn't appear to be especially muscular, but the younger man had the look of someone who could take care of himself if the need arose
. His deep brown eyes were currently riveted on me, and the disconcerting feeling he gave me caused me to turn a little in the other direction.

  "Your invitation," I remarked, "didn't really seem to offer a girl much choice."

  "Miss Foxxe, I'm sorry if our methods disturbed you." The major leaned forward and folded his hands on the desktop. "But we have something very important we need to discuss. A proposition, actually. Possibly mutually beneficial."

  "You're not opposed to honest work opportunities, are you Miss Foxxe?" They were the first words the lieutenant had uttered since entering the room. His mellifluous baritone voice suggested confidence, and his enunciation hinted there was a level of higher education in his background.

  "Of course not," I said, still trying to avoid the piercing stare of those dark brown eyes.

  "Good to hear," said the major. "So it's possible we might be able to come to some arrangement."

  "I'd have to know what it is first." I was suspicious.

  "Of course." The major leaned back and put his hands behind his neck. "We believe you may possess certain skills that might be useful to us. Useful toward bringing a successful conclusion to the war. You'd like to see the war come to an end, I take it? Our side the victors?"

  "Sure."

  "Good," he continued. "Well, we're in the business of collecting information…information that could benefit our side. We think you could help us there."

  "What do I know that could possibly help? I don't know anything."

  "It's not what you currently know, but what you could find out." Major Harbaugh leaned forward again. His face expressed a seriousness that made me even more nervous.

  What the hell is he talking about? And why is he looking at me like that?

  "It's an intelligence gathering operation," explained the lieutenant. "We sometimes employ people to assist us."

  "Me?" I asked.

  "You," answered the lieutenant.

  "Why me?" It seemed so ludicrous, I almost laughed.

  "Because," responded the major, "sometimes a woman can get things that a man can't. She can get into certain places a man can't. Get close to certain people…people who like the company of beautiful women. Get them to say things no man could ever hope to get them to say."

  "And, when they say it," added the lieutenant, "you tell us."

  It was all starting to become clear.

  "You're talking about spying." I shifted uneasily in my chair.

  "As Lieutenant Ricci put it," said the major, "we prefer to call it intelligence gathering."

  "But what you're really talking about is my spying for you."

  "Think of it as Mata Hari," quipped the lieutenant, "only a slightly darker shade."

  "Didn't they shoot her last year?" I asked, agitated.

  "For being a double-agent," the lieutenant fired back. "Never pays to get greedy."

  "Miss Foxxe," said the major, "your country is calling on you."

  "I don't live in America anymore," I said with coldness. "I live here now."

  "Then do it for your adopted country." The major looked most determined. "Surely, you hear the cannon fire. It's the unmistakable calling card of the enemy threatening Paris."

  This is just absurd. Me? They want me? To be a spy?

  "You still haven't answered why me?" I pushed.

  "As I said, you have special…qualities…suited to a particular task." The major was choosing his words carefully. It made me even more wary.

  "You've got the wrong girl," I insisted. "Spy work? That's not me. Sure, I hope the Allies win. But you're talking about the kind of work that can get someone shot. So, no. No."

  The major leaned back, a less than amiable expression on his face. "Lieutenant," he said in a way that suggested the younger man knew what he was supposed to do.

  "On February 19th," the lieutenant began, "a mulatto woman named Daniela Fenster boarded a ship bound from New York to France. Stunningly, there's no record of her getting off the ship in Le Havre. So, either she got off somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic and decided to swim the rest of the way, or she disembarked as someone else. French immigration records show they processed a passenger—a woman identifying herself as Dexeter Foxxe—also described as mulatto. I take it the passport documentation was the product of a steerage forgery acquisition?" He turned to the major. "I'm told it's become its own seaboard industry—churning out fake passports in the lower decks for those with a desperate need."

  "You'd think they'd check these things at the port more carefully," bemoaned the major. "I mean, there's a damned war going on."

  "I guess she didn't look German," the lieutenant said, shaking his head. "Beyond that, they just don't care all that much." He turned back toward me. "Must've cost you a pretty penny. Or did you work it out in trade?"

  "You are incredibly rude!" I remonstrated. I knew what he was insinuating. How dare he!

  "And you are a woman who skipped on a summons to appear in court on a criminal matter." The lieutenant sat rigid, his face betraying no emotion. However, his words shot through me like a jolt of electricity. "We're in the intelligence industry, remember? There's not much we can't learn about our own people, if we're motivated."

  So is that it? All of this is about hauling me back to America to face trial?

  "We're not in America," I protested. "They can't do anything to me here."

  "Well," sighed the lieutenant, "the French would probably be equally happy to provide you a prison cell for entering their country fraudulently…after which, they'd likely deport you back to Virginia, where I'm told the judges can get very angry when people disobey their orders."

  I started breathing heavily. My eyes were tearing up. I must have looked as though I were about to faint.

  "Don't worry, Miss Foxxe," soothed the major. "We've no interest in that. None, whatsoever. As the saying goes, we've bigger fish to fry right here. We just want your cooperation on one project. Anything else is none of our business, and we've no intention of doing anything about it."

  Have you ever felt both comforted and trapped at the same time? That's the way I felt then. I gauged the truth of the major's words to be genuine. The Army absolutely had much bigger issues to deal with than little me. I couldn't, for a moment, imagine they would take time out of fighting a war for the sole purpose of tracking down a girl who missed a court appearance. So I believed him when he told me they had no interest in my personal issues. Yet, there was Lieutenant Ricci, sitting there, staring me down—representing, to me, the very picture of menace. If I didn't do what these officers wanted, would he be less inclined to guard my secret from those who might care enough to take some action?

  I started to think to myself: how would my mother handle this? How did my mother handle it with the judge…?

  Gentlemen, isn't there some way we could work this out? After all, you're men. I'm a woman. You've got needs. I've got a mouth. I've never done it before, but, if you'll just undo your pants… Yes, let me get on my knees. Why, you gentlemen are so big and hard! Very impressive! I'm not sure I can swallow all of that. But let me try. Let me open my lips and take your massive cock into my mouth. Feel how nice I suck on it, Lieutenant. Doesn't that feel good? See how well I suck on you? You can come in my mouth. I'll swallow every drop, I promise. Every drop. That's it. Come for me. Come good. Oh, you're filling my mouth with your love juice. Squirting it deep into my mouth. Down my throat. I'll bet that feels good, doesn't it? To come inside my lips. You like that, Lieutenant. I can tell by how much juice you shot into my mouth.… And now you, Major. Oh, you're even bigger! I guess that's why you're a major! You've got a major sized dick for me to swallow. Let me suck it. Let me suck it all the way. All the way until you shoot your wad into my sucking maw. Oh, how big…

  The major coughed, disrupting my brief reverie of lewd fantasy before it could proceed any further. He leaned in again. "We wouldn't ask if it weren't terribly important…and if we didn't think you're the one we need right now. Won't you pl
ease reconsider?"

  The Proposal:

  Did I really have a choice? The cock-sucking fantasy just didn't seem to be a real possibility. These weren't silly, sex-crazed men. They had important work to do, and I sensed they couldn't be bought off.

  "How dangerous would it be?" I asked.

  "I won't lie to you," said the major. "There are less risky occupations. But we'll do everything in our power to protect your safety. While you're working for us, you're only valuable to us if you're alive and well."

  I contemplated that for a few moments. "What would I have to do?"

  The two officers relaxed a little. Their expressions conveyed that they knew they had prevailed.

  "As Major Harbaugh said," began Lieutenant Ricci, "you can't help but notice the Germans have made a major push into French territory. In fact, from a purely military standpoint, you've got to hand it to them. They've been very efficient. Too damned efficient for their own good, actually. Their supply lines can't keep up with their front lines."

  "And that's a situation we'd like to maintain," chimed in the major.

  "Exactly," concurred the lieutenant. "If those front line Germans get food, ammunition, medical supplies—it'll make it that much tougher on America's doughboys when they're deployed soon. Anything we can do to disrupt those supply lines works to our advantage."

  "It could save thousands of American lives," said the major.

  "Sure, I get it," I said. "But how does that involve me?"

  "German supply trains for the Western Front are being scheduled and routed from a headquarters in the city of Strassburg." The lieutenant moved his chair a little closer to mine. "They've got their top supply officer in charge…General Wolfgang Vogler. Nothing goes in or out of the Front without that man's knowledge. And it's his job to kick as many backsides as he needs to in order to get the troops supplied. The fate of Germany's war plan depends on it."

  "You're not telling me you want me to kill him?" I asked incredulously.

  "No, of course not," said the major. "If it were a simple matter of eliminating one man by getting someone close enough with a gun, you would not be our choice."