Escapades of an Erotic Spy - Part 1 A Spy is Born (5 page)

Oh, wonder of fucking wonders! I'm playing
with his balls!

I heard him sigh ever so
slightly. It was obvious he liked having his balls played with. Or,
maybe, he just liked having
me
play with them.
Oh,
please, let that be the case!

I wrapped my right hand around his organ and
stroked vigorously. Beau was breathing very hard. His fondling of
my tits became more aggressive, rubbing and pressing on them like a
baker kneads dough. The feel of his palms sliding against my
silver-dollar-sized areolas caused my nipples to rise.

"They're growing." He was practically
drooling as he stared at my stiffening bumps.

"Wanna suck them?" I could hardly believe
I'd actually said that.

Further encouragement was unnecessary. He
ducked his head, leaned in, and took my right breast into his
mouth.

God, yes! Suck my tit!
Don't forget the other one! Yes, that's it! Suck them both! Suck
them hard! Suck
my big titties like you're
going to swallow them whole!

Beau's mouth had both my breasts moist, but
I was also wet elsewhere. Down below. From within the hairy, dark
triangle between my legs, my pussy was sopping and wide. Unwilling
to wait any longer for the further stimulation I craved, I took
hold of my lover's right hand and placed it directly onto my eager
sex. Beau responded immediately. His fingers shimmied over my
drenched folds until they located my yawning opening. Then he
plunged two fingers into me and rubbed from within.

Oh, such a feeling! Such a fucking
feeling!

And yet I still wanted more.

"Can we get under the covers?" I
wheezed.

Beau released me. We both stood only long
enough to turn down the sheets. I slid in first. Then he followed.
I pulled the top sheet and quilt up to cover us and scooted
directly into Beau's outstretched arms. My nude body was fully
engulfed in his. His strong arms had hold of me. His lips were
kissing mine. I felt the underside of his hard dick pressed up
against me, and I melted.

Suddenly, without warning, he pushed me onto
my back and rolled on top of me. My legs instinctively parted.

"I want you!" I gasped. "I want you in
me!"

I worked a hand between our bodies to grab
hold of what felt like a cock of iron, and I maneuvered its head to
my waiting hole. Upon finding the welcoming opening, Beau thrust
forward and submerged his dick deep inside my cunt.

Pure bliss!

His wondrous weapon filled me. The feel of
his hardness pounding within drove me to ecstatic madness. There
was nothing in the world I wanted more. No threat of danger could
have turned me away. Any risk was worth just being there.

Oh, fuck me, Beau! Fuck me!

I felt a stirring in my loins. Then
bubbling. Then boiling heat. I was on the verge of an eruption
beyond anything I had ever known. I heard myself moaning. Then
groaning. Then screaming. I was on the very brink—

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh!

I came with the thunder of a thousand
stallions stampeding. Like ten thousand cannons firing
simultaneously. Like the gods had packed into one solitary orgasm
the power of a million earthly pleasures. I writhed beneath my
golden lover, twitching every muscle without the ability to cease
or care. And then, as I lay there, a pool of spent energy, I felt
my boy give way to his own explosion. Beau came inside me, and it
pleased me all the more to know that he had. I was a woman—a newly
eighteen-year-old woman—who had made her man come.

Ah, rapture! Thy name is Beau!

* * * *

I left the house alone while the early
morning sky was yet undisturbed by the rising sun. It was just
safer that way. Had a neighbor spotted me leaving, it could have
caused immeasurable problems for both Beau and me. Better to go
under cover of full darkness. Beau said he'd stay in the McMahon
house just long enough to make sure everything was straightened up
and that there would be no remaining evidence to incriminate the
uninvited lovers. I trusted him to do that. At that moment, I'd
have trusted him to do anything.

Leaving that early meant not only a cold
walk to the trolley stop, but, also, a bone-chilling wait for the
trolley, the first of which wasn't due for at least a couple of
hours. However, that didn't trouble me. Not a bit. I had been with
Beau. I had made love with him. I was, without the slightest doubt,
his lover. And he was mine. Nothing could change that now. What's
more, I derived a sense of warmth from the piece of paper I now
carried in my pocket. That paper contained Beau's address at
college. He said I could write him there, and he'd write to me.
We'd still be separated by the miles, but while he was away, I'd no
longer have to suffer in the silence of deprived communications
that had tainted the autumn. Through written words, Beau and I
would remain connected, no matter what.

Our correspondence grew even more
personal—more emotional—more evocative. Letter salutations changed
from "Dear" to "Dearest." Signatures that previously were preceded
by the words "Fondly" or "Warmly" progressed to the point where
they unfalteringly followed the word "Love."

Valentine's Day:

It was early February when
Beau wrote to invite me to come visit him in Charlottesville. He
had never done that before.
Wouldn't that
be dangerous?
Surely, it would. But Beau
wrote how much he missed me and how much he wanted to be with me on
Valentine's Day.

"When that special day arrives, we should be
together," he wrote. "There's no one on this planet I could wish
more strongly to hold when the sun is setting on that day."

Valentine's Day in 1918 fell on a Thursday.
It would mean my having to beg off of two workdays, and it would
also cost me the loss of those days' wages in order to be with him
that evening. But, of course, I couldn't refuse him. My body ached
for his touch. Anything was worth that. So, when he sent the money
for my train ticket, I wrote that I would be there on the afternoon
of the 14th.

Beau gave me instructions that, once I
arrived in Charlottesville, I should go from the station to a small
hotel located on outskirts of town. I couldn't meet him on the
university campus as that might spill the beans about us to too
many people who knew him there, and we weren't ready to make our
relationship public knowledge. Even going to a hotel was too risky
if we entered it together. There was no telling who might see us
and gossip to the wrong people. So the plan was to travel
separately and rendezvous at the hotel when we were certain no one
was looking.

The walk to the hotel was a little far, but,
although it was a cloudy, gray afternoon, the weather wasn't
terrible for a winter's day, and I got to the out-of-the-way
three-story inn without any trouble. There was a stone fence across
the street and just down the road about a hundred feet from the
hotel. That's where Beau said I should wait for him. So as not to
arouse suspicion, he'd go alone into the hotel to register for the
room. Then he'd signal me when it was safe to come join him.

Occasionally, people passed along the
street. They paid little to no mind to the girl sitting on the
fence. That was good. I certainly wasn't trying to call attention
to myself. I just sat there patiently, huddled within my winter
coat. Beside me was a small bag that held a few personal effects
and a new pretty green dress with a burgundy sash I had bought
especially for the occasion. I planned to wear it for Beau later
that evening, perhaps while we had dinner. We wouldn't be eating at
a restaurant, of course. That, too, would be pushing our luck.
Rather, Beau said he'd bring some food with him so we could eat in
the room. Perhaps it was less than ideal, but, to me, an intimate
dinner with my love sounded romantic, and I was looking forward to
it.

Beau's timing was pretty good. He showed up
at the hotel within fifteen minutes of my arrival. After giving a
quick glance up and down the street to see if anyone was looking,
he flashed me a smile and a rapid head nod. All was well. He ducked
into the hotel as I waited at my post. About ten minutes later, he
reemerged from the front door, checked the street again, and held
up first six fingers, then two fingers. That meant we had Room
Number 6 on the second floor. I knew where to go. Now I just needed
to get there—unseen.

Beau disappeared back into the hotel.
According to the plan, I was to wait about five minutes, and then,
if the coast was clear, wander over to the hotel and go through an
alley to the back wall of the building where Beau would let me in
through a service entrance. He had scouted out the building in
advance and knew exactly what to do. I bided my time, as the scheme
dictated. Then, seeing no one in sight, I picked up my bag and
sauntered toward the inn. I was extra cautious when I reached the
alley, pausing to look in both directions—twice. Seeing no one, I
darted down that passageway and rounded the corner at the back of
the building. There was Beau, peeking out from behind a tiny crack
in the door he promised would be there. He swung the door wide and
let me in.

The stairway to the upper
floors was in the front of the building, next to the registration
desk where the clerk worked. Beau's task was to distract the clerk
while I snuck upstairs. I stayed behind in a small back corridor
while Beau made his way to the front desk. I heard an exchange of
voices. One was clearly Beau's. The other I presumed to be the
clerk's. Then I heard the front door open and the voices became
muffled. Beau said he'd devise some ruse to get the clerk to step
outside with him. Whatever that ruse was, it must have worked. I
peeked round a corner and saw the registration desk was empty. With
the opportunity at hand, I silently stole past the desk and up the
stairs. Fortunately, there was no one coming down those
stairs.
No need to explain myself to
anyone
. I emerged on the second floor
landing and saw a number 6 on a door right before me. Beau had left
the door unlocked, so I plunged into the room.

I did it. I'm inside. No one saw me.

The tiny room was rather stark. The walls
were a pale blue, and the floor was bare wood. There was one purely
functional chair, a small wooden table with a pitcher on it, and
the bed covered with whitish sheets and a sand colored blanket. I
sat on the bed's edge, too afraid to move, too afraid even to take
off my coat. If the clerk suddenly burst through that door, I think
I might have tried to jump out the window. That's how scared I
was.

Dear God, please don't let us get
caught.

I flinched when the door
opened. It was Beau.
Thank God, it was
just Beau!
He shut the door behind himself
and turned toward me, his mouth displaying a triumphant
grin.

"Here at last," he said.

His beaming face made everything all right.
I stood to receive him, and he practically jumped to embrace
me.

It was no more than a few minutes before we
were both nude, on the bed, and pawing each other madly. The
waiting since our first encounter had been interminable. Now was
the opportunity to make up for lost time, and we went at it with
abandon. I longed to experience every delight of the flesh with
Beau. To that end, we were without limits—fondling, groping,
sucking, fucking.

Oh, my precious one! Yes! Fuck me! Fuck your
everlasting lover! Fuck my cunt with your gorgeous, huge cock! Make
me come like a ravished woman! Don't stop! I'm yours forever!

We were lying under the covers, holding each
other in the afterglow of our love-making—perfectly content,
profoundly happy—when it happened. The unexpected sound of a key in
a lock. The door bursting open. The rush of heavy footsteps. We
were under attack.

Four men charged into the room, three of
them wearing sheriff's deputies' uniforms. Someone must have seen
me sneaking in and called the cops. I shrieked and pulled the
covers tight against my naked body. Beau shot out of bed, nude but
ready to defend against who-knows-what. However, there was no
defense available. One of the deputies—a fat man with a chaw of
tobacco in his mouth—gave a look of disgust first to me then to
Beau.

"Under the laws of the Commonwealth of
Virginia," the fat deputy drawled, "you're under arrest for
violation of anti-miscegenation law."

"It's not miscegenation," protested Beau.
"We're not married."

"Then it's illicit
fornication, at the very least. We'll leave that to the courts."
The deputy didn't blink an eye. "You should be ashamed, boy. With
one o'
her kind!"

I suppose this is as good a
time as any to confess that, in addition to my little tendency to
occasionally embellish stories, I also sometimes neglect to include
certain details, like—and this one's kind of important here—my skin
color. I'm not a white girl, if that's what you were thinking. At
least, not according to the definitions found in the laws that
forbid the mixing of non-white races with white ones. Some states
say it only takes "a single drop" of non-white blood. With me,
there's more than a drop. You see, while my mother is white, my
father was a black man, and my light caramel toned skin was clear
indication of it. So, to the world, that made me a woman who's half
white and half black. But, believe me, there in that Virginia hotel
room, there was nothing
halfway
about anything. I was in a whole lot of
trouble.

A young, skinny deputy rooted through my
bag.

"What've we got here?" He pulled out my new
green dress and held it out for display. "Ain't that purty."