Top Secret Spy Fantasies
TOP SECRET
SPY FANTASIES
Written By: Holly Sinclair
© 2013
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Table of Contents
The Kidnapping
The Interrogation
The Honey Trap
The Break In
Intelligence Gathering
More Sexy Stories By Holly Sinclair
One Last Thing…
The Kidnapping
Rosalyn and Dante, two strangers, have a date that is part of an elaborate game which ends with he as the predator and she as the prey.
He’s been sitting at the bar for more than half an hour, watching the anxious woman occasionally walk by the bar windows and look in nervously. He likes this part of the job. He gets to sit here and slowly enjoy a stiff drink while knowing and that her nerves are frazzled and soon will only get worse.
Of course it’s a game. She has a card in her purse to remind herself what the “escape word” is and the fact that none, absolutely none, of what seems to be happening actually is. None of it, until they start fucking, that is. That’s always very real, and it’s obviously the best part of the job.
She finally pulls herself together, and with trepidation, enters the bar. You’d call what she’s wearing business casual, but the worn out nature of her appearance undermines it somewhat. She is clearly warring with herself over her craving for someone new and exciting versus–from looking at her–at least two decades of built-up adult stuffiness.
She sits down, and the man, whose name is irrelevant, but who goes by Dante on these “missions,” holds a lone finger to his mouth to keep the woman from speaking, as she begins to open hers. Instead, he inclines his head to the bartender, who brings her a drink, her favorite, as it turns out, and a small envelope.
She takes a reaffirming sip of the cocktail, the ice rattling as her hand shakes, then opens the envelope. Inside are a note and a Polaroid of a young girl, a teenager, tied to a chair. The girl’s eyes are huge over the gag in her mouth, and she looks terrified.
The woman, Rosalyn, who knew what she asked for this evening, but not how it would be accomplished, is utterly shocked. She almost drops the photo before disgustedly shoving it back into the envelope, the image gone from her eyes, but still engrained in her mind. The note reads:
We have your sister. Call this number to confirm that she is still alive. If you cooperate fully, that is how she will remain.
Dante slides a prepaid phone across the bar to her. She eyes him, the reality of what she has become caught up in and the level of his involvement now clear. She opens her lips, but he gives her a hard look and a quick shake of his head to quiet her before she can find the words.
She picks up the phone and dials. The voice message, even though it is from a stranger pretending to be her sister, brings tears to her eyes. At the end of the message, the recording says, “To continue your session, press one.”
Dante watches closely as she brings the phone down into her hand and looks at it. After a long pause, she pushes the 1 key and brings the phone back up to her ear.
Dante knows what instructions she is getting now: to take the key that he will give her, to go up to the corresponding hotel room, and to do everything she is told. That is, interestingly, he thinks, her fantasy after all. She looks like she’s ready to jump out of her skin, but apparently this is exactly what she wants.
And I think we’ll leave our kidnapper and his blackmail victim alone for just a moment now. My name is Victor, and arranging these little games is what I do. I help put the spring in the step of people who are downtrodden or bored with the tedium of their everyday lives. I realize that everyone wants an adventure, and most adults would like that adventure served up with a side of sex, the kind of recreational, exciting, crazy sex they feel like they can’t have in real life. Honeymoon sex. Hotel room sex. Business trip sex. That, packaged with a fantasy experience and a sense of adventure, is what I sell.
What my clients don’t know is that it all gets videotaped for my own personal amusement. It’s a wonderful side benefit, considering all the work I do. This is an excellent example of what I sell to people, an experience that arouses the senses and excites the mind and which, in the end, also provides a substantial release of pent-up sexual energy.
Most of the experiences we sell, since they are adventurous, relate to one level or another of crime or espionage. It’s not what people always expect, but it has turned out to be the easiest way to scratch certain itches. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
Rosalyn is almost quivering with tension, fear, perhaps even arousal when Dante slides the small envelope with the hotel room number on the outside and the hotel key on the inside. There are also instructions inside, but she doesn’t know that.
Once more she almost speaks, but this time she thinks better of it and quiets herself. Instead she finishes her drink in a long, dramatic pull, swallows hard, straightens her skirt, and turns to walk to the elevators.
Dante lets her go, knowing he will catch up with her soon.
In the elevator she opens the envelope and finds a small set of instructions wrapped around the key.
When you arrive in the room, you will see a small suitcase on the bed. Take off your clothes, all of them, and put them in the bag. Put on the clothes that are in the bag. Your host for the evening will join you soon after and will give you further instructions.
Your escape word remains “bronze.” If you wish to pass on intelligence, the pass phrase is “Aardvark.”
Rosalyn didn’t know how it worked, but she was completely lost in the scenario. She didn’t have a family, really never had, but she was somehow so worried about that poor girl tied to the chair. Of course it was fake, it was part of the game, but the immediacy of it seemed to fool her mind. She knew that she’d do whatever she had to tonight, and the first reason why would be to save that girl, even if she wasn’t real. The fact that anonymous sex in a hotel room, sex that was forced upon her so she could enjoy it without guilt, so she could surrender, where she would put on whatever was offered to her and do as she was told, by now that reason felt secondary.
She enters the hotel room, which is spacious and comfortable, and immediately sees the small, carryon suitcase on the bed. She opens it and inside are the most salacious clothes she would have ever worn. A small, rubber-looking set of boyshorts, a bra that is all straps and no cups, heels twice as tall as she was used to wearing and…she gulps. A collar.
This time she doesn’t hesitate, however. She takes off the clothes she had been wearing, date clothes, her nice clothes, she thought, and folds them carefully, then puts them in the suitcase.
Then, with hesitation, she dresses herself in the clothes that had been left for her. They fit, of course, they knew things about her, like her favorite drink was a Rob Roy. She doesn’t think twice about that, but does question her comfort level and the fact that she is so exposed in such a ridiculous outfit. She feels like a grown-up pervert’s Barbie or something.
Once she changes, she slides the suitcase under the bed and sits down atop the mattress. She looks around, takes the room in and out of the corner of her eyes catches sight of the cuffs. They hang over the top of the door that joins to the other room, at just the right height to latch someone’s wrists to the top of the door. Her heart freezes for just a moment as she stares intently, a million thoughts racing through her mind. She sits there practically naked, anxious and wondering what happens next.
She jumps at the sound of the swipe of the key card in the lock outside the door. Then he enters. It is the same man from the bar, and she hadn’t noticed until now just how powerful he looked. He wasn’t tall, rather compact actually, but she could tell from his stance that he knew how to move and it made her afraid anew.
“Move over to the door,” he commands to her, his voice level, but treacherous.
“I don’t—“ she starts, and in two steps he is on top of her, a hand in her hair, pulling her head back as she starts to scream without even thinking about it. His other hand leaps up and covers her mouth and she freezes like a panicked animal.
“You know what this is, you know why you’re here. You know what I want from you. You tell me what I want to know, we all go home. In the meantime, you do what the fuck I tell you to do, or it’ll be very bad for you.”
His hand slips away from her mouth, leaving her room to speak.
“Yes, but—“
With his free hand, he finds a spot on her torso and manipulates it just so with his thumb. Her breath explodes out of her lungs as if she had been kicked and she sags into his arms. She gasps as he half carries, half drags her over to the door, stands her up and pushes her against it. Before she knows what is happening, her arms are locked above her. She’s not uncomfortable, just now exposed to an ever great
er degree and conscious, very conscious, of how this pose makes her breasts jut out. With another quick series of movements, the man pulls something, a small bar of metal, out from under the TV stand, and uses it to lock her legs open in a spread position.
She opens her mouth to speak again, and this time instead of hushing her, he slams his fist in to the door right next to her face. She flinches away.
“You speak again and I’ll gag you. Clear?” he says.
She realizes that he hadn’t said anything in a threatening manner yet, his voice had been very calm, but his actions were terrifying. She gives a shivering nod and he walks away. He retrieves a drink from the minibar, goes into the bathroom and has a piss with the door open, then sits on the bed and watches TV. He never even glances over at her, and she isn’t sure if she should be offended that she is so easy to ignore or glad that he isn’t looking at her.
Finally, he rises up, gives a stretch and a groan, and approaches.
“Would you like some water?” he asks.
She realizes then that yes, she is parched, and while she remains carefully silent, she gratefully accepts some refreshment, which he lets her drink from a plastic bottle in small sips.
“Now, I’m going to ask you some questions. If I need you to speak, I’ll tell you that you are allowed to speak? Clear?”
She hesitates for a moment and then nods.
“Good. Do you know why you’re here?”
She is about to nod, of course she knew why, she paid to be here, but in terms of the game? She shakes her head.
“We have your little sister. We don’t want to hurt her, but we will if we have to. All we want from you is a password for the mainframe. You know what it is, we know you have it, and we can do all the rest without you. So, would you like to make it easy on yourself and just tell me what it is?”
“I can’t do that,” she says, the words coming out of her mouth before she even knows what she is saying. Now that she understands what the stakes are, what the rules of the game are, she cannot resist pushing her luck a little bit.
The man shakes his head in disappointment. Then his hand flashes out and grasps her by the chin. She tries to pull away, in surprise and fear, but he holds her tight and brings his face in close. She can smell the drinks on his hot breath, and also some kind of spicy cologne scent from his body. His reply makes her feel as if she was in a movie, and it is just like she’d hoped it would be.
“You can,” he says, “You can and you will.”
The Interrogation
Dante interrogates Rosalyn for the password while he keeps her bound in his hotel room.
He paces back and forth before the woman who is bound to the door. Dante has high hopes she won’t cave immediately, there were always women who did, who gave the safe word or the password before things even really got going, who might even have regretted it after the fact. Dante knew that as intimidating as he was, the fact that he was a good-looking man probably didn’t hurt his percentages. Nearly ten percent more women stuck around for him than did for every other guy who ran the kidnapper scenario. Once he’d even come up to the room to find that she had never even bothered to show up. There were no refunds, so barring a tip, which most people forgot to leave as they departed their fantasy wobbly legged and mind blown, if the client didn’t want to go through with it, it wasn’t any skin off Dante’s nose.
Except that he damn well liked his work. This kidnapping scenario brought in women with all kinds of kinks and the life and death scenario seemed to grease the skids for every last perverted one of those kinks. When everything went right, his job was the best in the world. When things didn’t go right, he got paid and he went home. He just didn’t get laid. It wasn’t a bad deal.
This woman has a tighter body than he had expected for her age. Pilates, he figures. Or spinning. Her breasts are small enough to still be perky instead of sagging, and her nipples appear to be very hard. Usually it was a combination of arousal and fear, but whatever it was now, he liked it. The outfit had been chosen to push her buttons by the company, not with his input, but he agrees with the choices. Her breasts on display and the shorts drawing attention to her nice long legs. He grins.
She follows him with her eyes as he paces back and forth before her like a caged animal. She isn’t sure if he might move in quickly and attack her again, but she doesn’t want him to take her by surprise. That had been terrifying, but in the place of her mind that wasn’t locked to a wall, where the fight or flight mechanism wasn’t giving her fits, she’s pretty sure that being that terrified is an amazing feeling.
“Do you know what happens now?” he asks, stopping his pacing before her.
Remembering this time, she shakes her head.
“Well, first I try to get the information I want out of you. And if that doesn’t work, eventually we move onto your poor little sister, who really has nothing to do with any of this. But if we have to, we will.”
She opens her mouth, stops herself, and then slowly runs her tongue over her lips.
“Did you want to say something?” he wonders.
“Please don’t hurt my sister,” she says very quietly.
“Do you want me to hurt you instead?”
She shakes her head fiercely.
“Well I’m not going to go around in circles with you. You don’t want us to work over your sister, you won’t tell me what I want to know, so that means I get to go to work on you. You brought this on yourself.”
He pauses and then retreats to fix himself another drink. When he stands in front of her again he takes a long, obscene, obvious look at her. All of her.
“Do you have any suggestions?” he asks.
She shakes her head.
“Really? I’d have thought you had at least one. I mean, you came here dressed to get fucked, so I figured that’d be your suggestion.”
“No! This outfit—“
He punches the door next to her head again, this time she feels his skin past her ear. She wrenches away, held fast by her bonds, craning her neck away.
His face remains completely still and calm when she finally finds the courage to look at him.
“Did you have something to say?” he asks.
Again she shakes her head.
“That’s funny, because I think you would have something to say. I think you need to admit you wore that slutty little costume because you knew what you were going to have to do.”
He just stares at her until she finally gives him a hesitant nod.
“I can’t hear you.”
She swallows. “I wore this on purpose.”
“You wore what on purpose?” he questions.
“I wore this slutty outfit on purpose.”
“Because you’re a little whore.”
She stares at him and he doesn’t blink. She looks down and mumbles the words. Anyone would think they were the truth, he reckons, at her reaction.
“I couldn’t hear that,” he demands.
“I wore this slutty outfit on purpose because I’m a little whore,” she says, her voice quivering.