Wednesday, September 13, 2006

A Seductive Slumber

Tasha was asleep in her large bed one night. She was very exhausted from a long, hard day at work. All she wore in her bed were a white satin nightshirt and matching lace bikini panties. Her shoulder-length brown hair rested on the pillow as she was sleeping on her side. Even though she was asleep, Tasha heard footsteps. It was her boyfriend Victor. He slowly and quietly walked into her bedroom. With his hand, he began caressing her foot and then up to her thigh.

He felt the soft, smooth, sweetly scented skin of her body. Carefully, he laid her on her back. His lips softly began kissing her face down to her neck. He caressed and then unbuttoned her satin nightshirt. His hands had caressed every inch of her hourglass-shaped body.

With his tongue, he softly licked her belly button before planting light kisses of her stomach. His hands were touching her thighs, hips, and legs. With his tongue, he lightly licked both of her thighs. Victor touched her upward from her stomach to her breasts. He cupped and squeezed them with his hands. He replaced his hands with his mouth, sucking and licking them. He could hear her stirring from her slumber, letting out a soft moan.

Victor began taking off his clothes. Once he was naked, he let his mouth move lower to her wet woman lips and began to softly lick them as if he was licking slightly melted ice cream. Tasha let out another soft moan. She softly opened her eyes to find Victor licking her. He looked up at her and smiled. He kissed her lips once more, deeper and more passionate. She touched Victor all over his body with her hands. He pulled her body up close to him as he deeply, slowly went inside her. As he went in and out, she could feel him swell inside her womanhood.

Her moans were louder and after her orgasm Victor laid down beside her, giving them both room to breathe. Tasha was so glad to see him; she hugged as they fell asleep in a warm embrace.

THE END

Denise Fallon-CIA Spy: Royal Desire

LOCATION: St. Petersburg, Russia

ALIAS: Miranda Davenport, sex historian from New York City

MISSION: Find and retrieve a stolen sex journal belonging to Catherine The Great and catch the thieves.

For this mission, I traveled to St. Petersburg. When I arrived there, it was really cold. I came out of the plane, wearing a long black wool coat, a red peasant blouse, and a black knee-length stretch cotton skirt with a three-inch slit on the side and red knee-length faux suede boots. Under my dark brown hair was a black wig with hair down to my neck. According the case file, someone has stolen a sex journal that once belonged to Catherine The Great two nights before. The journal was to be part of an exhibit on Russia’s royalty at the city’s art and history museum. The last time I heard of a robbery in Russia was when someone stole a massive collection of Faberge eggs that once belonged to the Romanovs.

I got to my hotel room after leaving the airport. I even had a dress to wear to the museum gala later tonight, a white, halter-style backless dress with a jeweled brooch in the back with white Aldo sandals. I also got a beautiful multi-colored, butterfly-shaped rhinestone barrette that doubles as digital video and photo camera. But first I had to find out more about the stolen item in question. I went to the museum and talked with the five-foot-four, blonde curator Gina Herzekova.

“So tell me about what is special about this stolen sex journal.” I said.

“The sex journal you’re talking about had once belonged to Catherine The Great. In it, she would write down about all her sexual encounters. Her lovers were the best fighters in the Russian-Prussian war and during her reign. She even wrote about the night she seduced Peter The Great before he was murdered.” Gina said.

From what I’ve heard of Catherine The Great, I found her fascinating, being that she was an empress and a seductress. Who knew that powerful women could be such great leaders and lovers. Gina showed me to the where the journal when it was stolen two nights ago. The journal was said to be on display under a bulletproof glass case and protected by Russian police.

After talking with Gina, I went back to my hotel room to get ready for the museum gala. I put my hair up in a fancy, high up do, keeping the hair away from my face. I put on my dress and heels, but kept the barrette on. At the museum gala, there were plenty of rich people, history enthusiasts, culture seekers, and art admirers. I gazed at the amazing art while eating fresh, expensive caviar on a cracker and sipping champagne.

Then, a tall gentleman stood behind me and said in his Russian accent fluent English, “Excuse me miss, I couldn’t help but notice the lovely brooch on the back of your beautiful dress.”

I turned around and there was tall, dark-haired, blue-eyed Russian man in a black-and-white tuxedo. He introduced himself as Sergei Demsakov. He works as a Russian diplomat working at the U.S. Embassy in Moscow. Sergei and I shared a conversation. He even talked about his family, career, and interests.

Sergei smiled as he said to me, “So you’re a sex historian and you live in New York City?”

I said, “Yes, I am. I work at the History of Sex Museum in New York.”

Then, Sergei had introduced me to his brother Eric and his wife Irena who had just walked in. Eric looked a lot Sergei but shorter than him by two inches and he works as a chemical engineer at a power plant. His wife Irena was tall and slender with deep brown eyes and chocolate brown hair down to her shoulders. She was also a model-in-training who planned on going to New York so she could start her modeling career. She wore a black, strapless gown with a floor-length skirt.

I gave Sergei an invitation to a nightcap at my hotel room after the gala. Later that night, I was still in my dress when I sent information about the journal and Eric and Irena to headquarters. I heard a knock on the door. Sergei arrived with flowers in hand and he wore button-down shirt and jeans because he had changed clothes before coming over. I loved the flowers he gave me.

“When I saw you in that white dress, I couldn’t help but bask in your aurora. You’re even hotter than Anna Kournikova. You’re very sexy, Miranda.” Sergei said.

Slowly, I kissed his lips before changing into my nightclothes. Minutes later, I came back, wearing a blue satin under bust corset exposing my breasts with a matching thong. I even wore a blue feather boa around my shoulders. Sergei got up and unbuttoned his shirt. He revealed his sculptured body to me. He told me he would work out and was once an Olympic gymnast. Sergei was a diplomat and a former gymnast with a male model body. He had washboard abs and strong shoulders and arms. He stood behind me and touched my body with his large, gentle hands while kissing my neck. I turned around to face him and with my hands I touched his body. He cradled my head and stroked my hair with one hand while he felt one of my breasts with the other.

“Miranda, you have a body that is so tempting.” Sergei said as he started kissing my breasts.

I was so aroused I let my boa fall to the floor. His tongue licked my nipples while he laid me down on the bed. My fingers were running through his dark hair. His fingers were unhooking my under bust corset. His lips moved lower to my belly button, circling it with his tongue. He took off his jeans and underwear. Once he saw my thong, Sergei pushed it aside. My clit and pussy were glistening with juices. With his mouth, he was kissing them the same way he was kissing my lips while licking them.

My moans were at a screaming level. Then, he replaced his mouth with his fingers. My juices were coaxing them, as I was nearly cumming. He laid me on my back as removed my thong. I held on to him while his 9-inch cock went in and out of me. My legs were wrapped around his waist. His thrusts were deep and fast until he spilled his seed inside me. After the orgasm, Sergei laid on top of me as we collected our breaths.

“Miranda, I just remembered something about the journal.” Sergei said.

“What about the journal?” I asked.

“Before I was talking to you at the gala, I overheard Eric talking about it. He was there at the museum the night it was stolen. He heard if it were to be sold, it would be worth millions.” He said.

I thought and then said, “He was there? Where was Irena?”

“Getting headshots for her portfolio.” He said.

Sergei and I put our clothes back on and stepped out of the hotel. As we went for a walk, we saw Eric with the journal in his hand and we ran after him. When we got caught up to him, I gave Eric a very hard kick and punch in the back and he fell to the ground in pain. Sergei held Eric down while I found the journal in his jacket pocket. Sergei called Irena and Gina while the police were called.

At the police station, Eric was explaining to them why he stole and tried to steal the journal. He told him he wanted to sell the journal for as much as 40 grand and wanted to use to money to support Irena’s career and medical bills. Eric was a chemical engineer at a power plant in Moscow, but had gotten sick because of chemical exposure from a small explosion that was nothing like Chernobyl back in the 1980s. Many of the employees including Eric were sick but none had died. He was also once a member of the KGB before he was a chemical engineer, but left under “suspicious circumstances” which no one knew. The Russian police and Gina thanked us for returning the journal.

So Catherine The Great’s sex journal was back in the museum and remained intact. Irena divorced Eric, who’s now serving 10 years in jail, and has since moved to New York to pursue a modeling career. After leaving my hotel and saying goodbye to Sergei, I had a martini before going on a flight to my next destination.

Until next mission, Denise


THE END

A Photographer's Erotic Fantasy Journal:Fireman Fantasy

After the huge success of the premiere issue of Fantasies for Women, the magazine had thrown a big party to celebrate the joyous occasion. Tessa Williams, the magazine’s editor-in-chief, was amazed at the photos Wendy and me took. She was so impressed she wanted us to take photos for the next issue.

Tessa said the next issue will feature men in (and out) of uniform and Wendy and I will get to take pictures of firemen, policemen, and military men (sailors, army men, navy SEALS, air force men, etc.) while the magazine interviews them. We were very excited and couldn’t wait to take photos of men in uniform.

The next week, we went to work on the shoot. We first went to a firehouse and started taking photos of this sexy fireman named Ryan. Under his fireman’s uniform lies a hunky, sexy, brave, All-American guy. First, I photographed Ryan in his fireman uniform; jacket, helmet, pants, suspenders, and all. He even told Wendy and I of how he stripped and lap danced for charity the week before. Ryan had the sexiest smile. Next, he took off his helmet, boots, and pants. He had short dark brown hair, bright blue eyes that are like little blue pools you can drown into, and a smoking hot body that of a hetero male porn star. Taking pictures of him and his body was so hot, I was afraid my camera would either break or melt. We walked over to the fire truck was he was making sexy stares and poses while standing next to it. Wendy, my assistant photographer and best friend, couldn’t help but stare at Ryan. She almost began drooling at the sight of his ink-free physique. She told me of her fascination with firemen since she would buy a NYFD calendar every year since after 9/11, watch reruns of the show Third Watch, and would have fantasies of being rescued by a fireman and then make hot, steamy, passionate love.

We watched as Ryan slowly took off his underwear, a pair of white boxer briefs. We had finally got to see all of him, including his 8-inch manhood. After that, the three of us took a little 15-minute break. I was reloading my camera.

Wendy said to me “Kristy, Ryan is the most hottest fireman I had ever seen. He’s almost as hot of those New York firemen in the calendar. Can you help make my fantasy come true?”

I looked at her and said, “Let’s make it happen.”

After the break, Ryan was back in his fireman’s uniform and Wendy was ready to be rescued. Once I reloaded the camera, I was ready to take more pictures.

Ryan smiled and said to her, “Ready to be rescued, Wendy?”

Wendy replied, “I’m very ready.”

I started snapping photos when Ryan scooped Wendy in his strong, muscular arms and carried her into the firehouse. He laid her down on the big brown leather sofa and deeply, passionately kissed her lips. He then took off his helmet and rested it on the floor. He unbuttoned her stretch cotton green shirt one by one, revealing a black lace bra underneath. Ryan continued kissing Wendy’s lips while his hands felt every inch of her body. Wendy softly licked his throat as she began taking off his shirt and suspenders. Ryan began kissing both sides of her neck while one hand was running through her shoulder length strawberry blonde hair and the other was resting on her back.

Ryan moaned softly as Wendy his front body with her hands. He looked at her body while unzipping her jeans. His lips moved lower to the tops of her voluptuous breasts and kissed her there. Ryan unhooked the front clasp of her bra, releasing them. Wendy moaned and groaned as she felt him licking, sucking and kissing them. He was still doing that once he took off her jeans, leaving her in only a black lace thong. Then, Wendy laid Ryan on his back as she began to leave a trail of baby soft kisses from his face down to his abs. She took off his pants, so he too would be in his underwear.

Wendy stared into Ryan’s blue eyes and said, “Ryan, you’re very hot for a fireman.”

He smiled and then said, “Wendy, you’re so irresistible. Let me make you hot.”

Wendy felt herself getting wet, dampening her thong. Ryan began to finger her pussy with two of his fingers when he pushed the thong aside. Her screams of pleasure increased as his fingers were covered in her juices. Once he took off her thong, Ryan replaced his fingers with his mouth.

He kissed her clit and pussy the same way he kissed her mouth. Wendy moaned loudly as she was getting from feeling his mouth on her, tasting her wetness. It was so steamy, I thought my camera lens would fog up, but I kept on taking pictures. Ryan, then, took off his boxers. He was ready to get inside Wendy.

Ryan slightly opened her legs with his hand and deeply entered her pussy. Wendy’s woman lips clamped his manhood as he was swelling up inside her. He grinded his hips against her while moving in and out of her, slow and deep. His hands held on to her body as she groaned and moaned against his neck. Ryan was calling her name as they were near orgasm. She laid on top of him as he came inside her.

I said to them while smiling and fanning myself, “Wow, that was very hot! Great job, Ryan and Wendy.”

Ryan pulled himself out of Wendy and kissed her on the cheek. Wendy said to him, “You were amazing, Ryan. Thanks to you, my fantasy has been fulfilled.”

He grinned and replied, “I’m glad I can help, Wendy. I would to love to see you again sometime.”

Wendy gave Ryan her phone number as he gave her his once they got back into their clothes. After the red-hot photo shoot, Wendy and I went to lunch at a deli. We talked the fireman shoot all day, but we didn’t stop there because we had more pictures of men to take in and out of their uniform.

THE END

Denise Fallon-CIA Spy:Roman Carnival Caper

LOCATION: Rome, Italy

MISSION: To seduce and catch a jewel thief and to stop another jewel heist from happening.

I arrived at Rome. Other than the mission, I thought of so many things about Rome, like the architecture, the history, the romance, the food, the wine, and the art. I even liked the language. My alias was Alyssa Solomon, a jewelry buyer/designer from Los Angeles. I was staying at a suite. I even got a costume to wear for the carnival coming up, a big, flowing, black satin dress with red satin trim with a corseted-bodice, long, floor-length ballroom skirt with red tulle over it, black 6-inch stilettos with rhinestones, long, flowing peasant sleeves, and a black mask with red lace trim around to match my costume.

The jewel thief in question is named Simon Weatherton. According to the CIA files, he’s an expert jewel thief who goes by the name of Harold Felton claiming to own and operate an upscale jewelry boutique in the UK, hailing from London. He was last seen stealing extremely valuable jewelry all over Europe. While other jewel thieves steal from wealthy women who marry old money millionaires and wear Tiffany’s, Kay, JCPenney, and Zales, Weatheron prefers to the likes of Harry Winston, Movado, Carlyle & Co., and Cartier from movie stars, singers, heiresses, supermodels, and even royalty. He’s not only a jewel thief, but a charmer as well. He’ll even steal crowns, wedding sets, and tiaras and has never seen a gem he didn’t like. He takes jewels, no matter the material, cut, number of carats, piece, color, or even maker. He even stole some valuable jewels from the queens of Sweden, Denmark, and Turkey. Everyone began posting lost or missing signs and even promised rewards to anyone who finds them.

My mission is to seduce and catch Weatherton before someone else’s jewels are stolen. That day, I ran into Harold Felton a.k.a Simon Weatherton at the Spanish Steps. He was a strapping 6-foot-5, brown-haired, brown-eyed, British gentleman. We went to an Italian café, sipped cappuccino, and talked of jewelry. I even showed some of my jewelry pieces, one of them being a voice recorder and another being a tracking device. I asked him to meet me for dinner at my hotel suite tonight and he accepted my invitation. That night, I ordered room service before my dinner date arrives. I wore a long, black lace dress with high slits on both sides that were up to my hips and black strappy Jimmy Choo sandals and for accessories, a pearl necklace with a heart-shaped diamond worth 25 carats. Underneath my dress was a black micro fiber bra with matching bikini panties. Ten minutes later, Harold arrived nicely dressed with fresh flowers in his hand. We sat down, ate Italian pasta, and drank some fine wine. We stared into each other’s eyes while sharing conversation and enjoying the food. Then after dinner, I made my move. I deeply kissed his lips. My hands began stroking his hair.

He pulled back and took a long look at me.

He said, “Alyssa, you look absolutely stunning, especially in black lace.”

I watched, as he took off his suit, piece by piece until he was in his underwear. His body was mostly muscle but lean.

I told him “Wait right here. I have to slip into something more comfortable.”

Minutes later, I came back into the room, wearing a long, red silk nightgown with a V-neckline. I was still wearing the necklace.

I said to him in a seductive voice, “So tell me what do you do.”

His hands were resting on my hips as he was planting baby kisses down my neck.

He replied, “I own and operate a jewelry boutique in London, specializing in fine jewelry. I hope to open it soon.”

Carefully, he pulled down the straps of my nightgown as he began kissing my breasts. Then, his watch began going off and got up from the bed.

He said, “As much I want to stay and admire your body, I have to go. I have business to tend to tomorrow. I hope to see you at the Carnival.”

I looked and said, “I’ll be there.”

Once he left my suite, I listened in to his conversation from the tracking device and voice recorder through a pair of headphones. I listened in. Harold was on his cell phone talking to his soon-to-be-fiancee, Susan. He was talking about a plot involving stealing jewelry from the Countess Isabella Alexa Drivolia at the carnival tomorrow. The Drivolias are one of many non-title royal families in Italy. They consist of father Count Reginald; mother Countess Tessa Gina, Countesses Isabella Alexa and sisters, Francesca Olivia, Natalia, and brothers Counts Anthony and Tomas. After hearing the conversation, I sent the info to CIA headquarters before turning in for the night. I received a photo of Countess Isabella. She was a long, raven-haired beauty with an infectious smile and curvaceous figure.

The following night was the first night of the Carnival. I arrived by gondola wearing my black and red satin number with mask, black rhinestone heels, and jewels. The scene was wonderful. Lanterns lit up the almost dark sky and people were wearing fancy costumes and masks like it’s a huge masquerade party. I got a view of Countess Isabella and her family while keeping an eye out for Harold. My mask doubles as a camera so I can take pictures. I watched as Harold, who was wearing a dark-green-and-black costume with mask, talk or dare I say flirt with Countess Isabella. I had watched as he was about to take the Countess’s pink-and-blue diamond Harry Winston necklace that was about more 60 carats and costs about 20 grand. I began to run, following Harold. I took out my gun, a .20 caliber, and ran after him. After going through the crowd, I had cornered Harold and shot him on the side. He fell as he held on to side while bleeding. I took the necklace from his hand and I alerted headquarters. Undercover agents and Interpol had caught Harold Felton also known as Simon Weatheron. He confessed to doing all the jewel thefts all over Europe. “Susan”, the soon-to-be-fiancee he was talking on the phone with was an undercover Interpol agent. They found all the stolen jewelry in Simon’s hotel room, which were in his luggage. I returned the necklace to Countess Isabella. The Drivolias thanked me for returning the necklace. Simon was carried away to Italian police. I guessed the only jewelry he can take are the silver bracelets. The Carnival continued on and everyone was having a good time. Count Tomas even asked to dance with him and I accepted.

Within weeks, all the jewelry were returned to the rightful owners. After being caught and recovering from the wound, Simon got 15 years in prison. As for me, I stayed in Italy for two weeks and checked out all of Rome and Italy before going on my next mission. I even received a gift basket and a bottle of fine Italian wine from the Driviolas.

Ciao until next mission, Denise.

THE END