Topless Agenda

by Lyle Christie

  Wow, he called me Finn. That was a big change, as he hadn’t called me anything but Asshole since the moment we met up in Switzerland.

  “It’s understandable. You were just worried about your sister.”

  “Yes, and from now on, I will stand back and let Letizia live her own life.”

  “That’s really nice, Poopy,” Letizia said.

  “What did you call him?” I asked.

  “Don’t say another word, Letizia!” Babs said.

  “Wait, you called him Poopy.”

  “Yeah, I have called him that since we were children. What’s wrong with that?”

  “Nothing,” I said, smiling at Babs.

  “Damn it, Letizia!” he said.

  “You’ve got your wish, Babs. You’re new nickname is officially Poopy.”

  “Poopy is pretty bad,” Jane said, as she came over and sat down on the adjacent chair.

  “Oh for fuck’s sake,” Babs muttered.

  “Don’t worry, Poopy. That nickname doesn’t leave this boat—until tomorrow,” I said.

  “Fuck you—Asshole.”

  At least everything was back to normal for the moment, but it was getting late and everyone decided it was about time to go to bed. We all said good night and headed off towards the guest staterooms, but Letizia and I paused when we reached mine.

  “Are you up for a sleepover?” I asked.

  “I am, actually.”

  “Well good, then I guess we’re home,” I said, as I opened my door.

  We both walked in and collapsed on the bed.

  “I could use a shower,” she said.

  “Me too.”

  I stood up and looked at Letizia.

  “Come my little hostage, and let me wash the filth of captivity off of your beautiful body.”

  She rose, and we stripped down and headed into the bathroom. It had been a long day and an even longer night, and the hot water felt especially soothing as it ran down over my body and eased the soreness that I was feeling in every muscle. Letizia and I soaped each other up then rinsed off and made our way to the bed, where we lay there cuddling.

  “I imagine you must be feeling pretty fucking exhausted,” I said.

  “No, truthfully I’m feeling pretty fucking unfulfilled.”

  “In what way?” I asked teasingly.

  “Sexually, obviously, and I’ve pretty much been feeling that way since we parted back in Sicily.”

  “Then I suppose we should do something about that.”

  She kissed me, and the exchange sent warm jolts of sexual electricity down my body and into my manhood, which stirred to life and began to swell and grow. Letizia felt it pressing against her lady-business and broke free of my lips so that she could take visual stock of my growing excitement. She abruptly rolled me onto my back, straddled me, and stroked my penis until it reached its full potential. At that point, she took firm hold of it with her right hand then leaned down and suggestively kept her lips a mere breath away from the tip.

  “I can’t believe I went two years without one of these,” she said.

  “At least now you can make up for lost time, and, just so you know, I’m one of those rare breed of men…”

  “Who enjoys letting a woman have her way with your manhood. Yeah, we’ve already established that fact, and, as I said before, its good to know there’s at least one of you left in the world,” she said, as she plunged her mouth down over the tip and took a moment to tortuously tease me with her tenacious tongue before pausing to gaze up into my eyes.

  The pleasure had been brief though intense and left me light headed and longing for more, though also curious as to why she had stopped.

  “Were you afraid that thing was about to go off?” I asked.

  “No, I just wanted to take a moment to make sure you were OK.”

  “I’m definitely OK. In fact, I’m fucking great.”

  “Good, because I enjoy the power of having a man’s arousal literally in the palm of my hand—or should I say at the tip of my tongue?”

  “Technically I’d have to say it’s both.”

  She smiled then returned to work, the strategic combination of her mouth and hands making ejaculation a clear and present danger. Fortunately, she was particularly attuned to my growing state of arousal and played me as though I were a fiddle—slowing and then resuming her efforts, though it wasn’t long before I realized I needed to intervene.

  “In the interest of prolonging what remains of the evening, I think it’s about time we switched places.”

  She ignored me and kept working fastidiously, pushing me closer and closer to release until a mere breath of wind would have been enough to bring about sweet climax. I therefore had to struggle to pull free of her inhumanly strong suction.

  “Sweet Lord! You have the power of a Dyson Vacuum.”

  “I never lose suction, no matter how full I get.”

  I had to smile, as it was a pretty good felatio joke, and one I would have never made myself while a woman had her mouth on my privates. It wasn’t out of fear of her stopping or delivering a retaliatory bite—it was purely out of respect. If a woman was nice enough to perform oral sex, then I would be gracious enough to enjoy it and keep my big mouth shut. In fact, it was one of the only times when you could pretty much guarantee that I wouldn’t talk any shit—at all—ever.

  “Quid pro quo,” I said, kissing her once more on the lips before setting off on a journey to what I considered to be the professor of archeology’s most interesting dig site.

  It was, of course, her lady fruit, but, getting there was half the fun, and I had a fews stops to make along the way. First was her neck, which I kissed just long enough to bring on a number of goosebumps, which formed a trail that I followed down to her breasts. Her nipples were already hard in anticipation, and I encircled their tips with my tongue, thus causing Letizia to moan and run her fingers through my hair. I lingered but a second more then continued on, dragging my lips down her stomach until reaching her great divide. There, I pressed my tongue into her center then moved up towards her clitoris but abruptly paused, and it made her rise up onto her elbows and look at me questioningly.

  “You’re not seriously stopping right there are you?” she asked, indignantly.

  “Hell no, I just wanted to take a moment to make sure you’re OK.”

  “I’m better than OK. In fact, I’m fucking great,” she said, purposefully repeating my earlier words.

  “Good, because you’re going to want to hold on tight,” I said, with a devilish smile.

  At that point, I wrapped my hands around her backside and pulled her pelvis to my mouth, the move allowing me to entrap her clitoris between my lips, where it became a prisoner to the whim of my tongue. The pleasure was so intense that it made her arch her back and begin calling out—each lustful moan a little louder than the last. Two years without sex meant that going down on Letizia was like winding a jack-in-the-box, and each and every twist of my tongue began tightening her spring. Only seconds passed before her vocal cries and convulsing body alerted me to the fact that jack was literally about to leap out of the box, and my lovely half-Italian, half-French companion was at the beginning of a an extremely auspicious orgasm. She instinctively grabbed my head and pulled me tight against her essence, keeping me there until I had extracted every last ounce of orgasmic joy from her body. She let out a long luxurious sigh then guided my face up and brought her lips to mine, enjoining our tongues as though they were the conduits to meld our souls into one being. As we kissed, she reached down and guided my manhood into the warmth of her essence, and we set unto the glorious task of sweet, hard lovemaking. The pleasure was so pure and intense that it felt as though we were walking a tightrope and falling meant succumbing to instantaneous climax. The goal, then, was to make it last by balancing on the edge of ecstasy. One moment, it was a harried sprint, the next, we’d slow our pace, allowing me the time to deliver a heated kiss or tickle a nipple.

  Teetering over
the abyss, lust eventually won out over restraint, and neither of us could hold back any longer. We pounded our hips together until the tightrope suddenly disappeared, thus propelling us into free-fall, our minds lost to the growing pleasure. Letizia threw back her head as her entire body started to tense—her back once again arching as her nipples went taut and pointed skyward. I leaned down and kissed them then moved on to her mouth, where the simple connection of our lips created the final spark to bring us both to climax. We called out in carnal joy, continuing on until our bodies were spent and shaking. At long last, I rolled to her side, and we shared a long luxurious final kiss.

  “Thank you, Tag Finn, for bringing me back from the dark abyss of abstinence,” she said.

  “You’re welcome, Letizia Babineux, and let’s hope the bright light of sexual activity continues.”

  “Oui, mon amour.”

  We lay there in the still of the night, feeling the subtle rocking motions of the Sozo as it plied through the dark Mediterranean Sea on its way to the Spanish island of Majorca. I didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, but, tonight, I was happy. At last, I closed my eyes, succumbed to my exhaustion, and fell into a deep slumber, ever hopeful for a better tomorrow.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  The Upper Crust

  I WASN’T AN early riser by nature, but anxiety and uncertainty could be as effective as an alarm at waking me up in the morning. I, therefore, wasn’t too surprised when I opened my eyes and looked at the clock on my bedside table to discover that it was seven thirty. To most people that wasn’t early, but to me it was the crack of dawn. Ever since leaving government service, I took a lot of pride in creating my own schedule, and that began with staying up late and waking up later. Recent research had even shown that people who tended to be night owls generally had higher IQ’s. Did that imply that people who got up early were dumb? It’s hard to say because another study found that early risers tended to be more successful. Smart and poor, or wealthy and stupid? Maybe I could find a happy place in the middle. I went over and started the coffee maker, and soon the heavenly aroma of freshly brewing java filled the room and brought Letizia out of her deep slumber.

  “Bonjour,” I said, as she opened up her eyes and smiled.

  “Thank God, you’re still here, and it wasn’t all just a dream.”

  “Still here for now, but God only knows what will happen in Majorca.”

  She sat up in bed, allowing her bare breasts to make their first official appearance of the day.

  “It doesn’t make any sense. Why the hell would they want to take you and my brother to Majorca?”

  “No idea, unless they own a nightclub and they desperately need a Frenchman and an American to fill out their guest diversity quota.”

  “I must say, my brother doesn’t seem too concerned.”

  “No, he doesn’t, but that would imply that he’s in league with Dick and Jane, which would also imply that he’s a sneaky, lying motherfucker.”

  “It’s entirely possible considering what he’s been involved with, but I do get the impression he likes you, and that means it’s doubtful he would do anything that would put you in any kind of real danger.”

  “Hopefully, anyway.”

  The coffee finished brewing, and I poured us each a cup and sat down next to her in bed. I took my first sip and felt my entire body come alive as the caffeine entered my blood stream. She also took a sip but accidentally spilled a tiny drop onto her right breast.

  “I’ll get that,” I said, as I leaned down and licked up the coffee and snuck in a quick nipple kiss.

  “Delicious. There’s no getting around the fact that coffee just tastes better when served on the lovely bosom of a half-Fench, half-Italian woman.”

  She tilted her cup and dripped a little on her left nipple, which I took as a sign to repeat the performance. It was just as good the second time around, and, now, she was properly symmetrical with both nipples equally hard. Of course, delivering swift tongue action to her lady bits now meant there was something else getting hard—namely, Tag Junior.

  “Is that what you Americans would call a morning boner?”

  “Funny you should ask, because I’ve had this discussion before, and technically it can only be called a morning boner if you wake up with it.”

  “So, then what would you call that?” she asked.

  “A breakfast sausage.”

  “Well how convenient that it happens to be time for breakfast,” she said, as she reached over and took hold of my manhood—teasing it with her particularly agile tongue.

  Just then, the door opened and in walked Corn, his unexpected appearance causing Letizia to quickly let go of my boner and cover herself up with the blanket.

  “Nice boner. You got any more coffee?” Corn asked.

  “Yeah, but you barged in before I could finish making the cream.”

  “Yeah, I think I’ll take it black for now.”

  I used a pillow to cover myself then went into the bathroom and put on some shorts and a T-shirt then came back out to deal with my unwelcome guest.

  “So, what the fuck brings you by?”

  “We need to talk about how we are going to deal with our situation,” Corn said.

  “Let me guess. You’re planning on taking back the ship.”

  “Well, not exactly, but you’re close.”

  “Honestly, I don’t think it’s possible to do anything too extreme without putting a lot of innocent people in danger, and let’s face it—Dick, Jane, and their masked friends have been quite civilized.”

  “Yeah, but we can’t guarantee that they’re going to honor what they say. There’s too much at stake here not to at least try something.”

  “So, what idiotic plan have you thought up to get me killed?” I asked.

  “Well, rather than try and take back the Sozo, I figure it makes more sense for you to just escape with Babs.”

  “Escape?”

  “Yeah, and I figure you’ll have the best chance of doing that when you guys go ashore. They’ll have to split up their force and leave the majority of their men behind to watch us, so there’ll only be a couple of guys left to with you two. That means all you have to do is pick your moment, overpower your captors, and make a run for it. Once you’re free and clear, contact John, and he’ll take it from there.”

  “Oh, thank God! I was afraid for a moment that it was all going to fall on me.”

  “Come on! Where’s the Tag Finn I used to know?”

  “Oh, he’s here—wondering what kind of tombstone he should pick out.”

  “Dude! This is not the time to start being a pussy.”

  “Pussy? Seriously? Have you even thought about how ridiculously insane this little plan of yours is? Maybe I should do a recap for you. Part one—I single handedly take out a deadly team of highly trained and heavily armed gunmen. Part two—assuming I survive part one, I contact John, then casually ride off into the sunset with Poopy.”

  “Exactly. It should be totally easy for a man with your unique talents.”

  “You mean my talent for reconnecting with old friends and then foolishly agreeing to put myself in imminent danger?”

  “Pretty much, but that’s why you get paid the big money,” Corn said.

  “Why don’t I just write you a check for a hundred and fifty million, and we can call it even.”

  “Sorry, dude, but there’s no taking it back now. You’ve got the money, so you’re still on the clock.”

  “Stop calling me dude, dude.”

  “Whatever—dude, I’ll see you at breakfast,” he said, as he turned and left.

  What had started out as such a lovely morning, had just deteriorated with Corn’s untimely arrival and wonderful idea about me making an escape attempt. I was already stressed enough as it was, but, now that I had an actual agenda, I needed to take a minute to sit on the bed and quietly ponder this new turn of events. Sweet Lord, what the fuck had I gotten myself into?

  “I’m still w
aiting for breakfast,” Letizia said, as she slithered out from beneath the blanket and proceeded to guide me back under the covers.

  There was nothing in the world quite as effective at making you forget about your problems as a beautiful woman with her hands on your privates. The boner returned, and soon we were making sweet love, switching positions, and even creating some new ones. Our final orientation had her on top, and it afforded me the glorious task of keeping her breasts steady as she road me like the wild west—her hips pounding into mine and our cries increasing in frequency and volume. Time started to slow down, my vision blurred, and I felt as though we were in the Millennium Falcon and about to go into hyperspace. I slid my thumbs up and over her nipples, and this subtle final touch became the impetus to at last reach sweet release. We came together and drifted in orgasmic ecstasy, our minds and bodies intertwined until finally coming to rest in the stillness of the morning. Letizia turned her gaze down to me and smiled.

  “Best breakfast ever,” she said.

  “Yeah, and if I end up dying today, at least I can say I went out with a bang.”

  She laughed then slid over beside me, and we proceeded to relax and sip our coffee, and it was a perfect morning in spite of my looming mysterious meeting in Majorca. Of course, I also had my appointment with my porcelain paramour coming up, but that would have to wait until Letizia got ready and left my cabin. She finished her coffee then disappeared into the bathroom, and, a minute later, I heard the toilet flush followed by the running water of the shower. Sweet mother of God, she might even have squeezed in a number two, but I’d never know because of the universal laws of the dump-time continuum. I’m sure Einstein could explain it with complex mathematical formulas, but all I knew was that it was true—and had probably been so for the entirety of human existence.

  Stepping out of the bathroom six and a half minutes later, she dressed and left to go talk with her brother, leaving me to at last be alone with my oldest and dearest friend—my toilet. Well, it wasn’t technically mine, and was, in truth, a loaner, but I preferred to think of it more intimately as—my foster toilet. My second cup of coffee was now on the sink beside me, and my laptop was on the conveniently placed pull-out shelf. I reached over, grabbed my cup, and took a sip at exactly the same moment that I released my intestinal avalanche. Let the quality time begin. I opened my Internet browser and Googled Majorca, as it was a place that I had never visited in person, and what little I did know came from watching some silly television program on the E-Entertainment Network. The show had been called Wild On, and each episode featured their beautiful swimsuit model hostess traveling to a new and exciting party spot. It had been mildly informative, but the real entertainment value was derived from watching the beautiful hostess frolic in her various skimpy swimsuits. Still, I learned a few things, first and foremost being that Majorca was one of Europe’s premiere vacation destinations, and it even had a nightclub that filled up with bubbles at midnight—or was that in Ibiza? Either way, I had a sneaking suspicion that wasn’t where they would be taking us.