Spy On Spy 2

“You have wonderful tits,” Gentila sighed, turning her head to kiss Caity’s inner thigh as her hands roved up Caity’s flat belly, feeling out the ticklish little softnesses and sensitivities that kept her stomach from being a mass of rigid muscle. Caity pitched her hips forward, trying to focus Gentila’s attention onto her mound, but there was no distracting her from the large mammaries whose heft had been promised by Caity’s tantalizing clothing all night.

Gentila’s hands reached Caity’s cleavage, flittering over their roundness, finding the already hardened nipples, pulling and twisting at them until they felt to Caity like they would melt into molten lead.

“Oh, God, Gentila—yesss,” she sighed, almost losing herself in this fantasy that went on and on. 

Gentila pulled Caity’s breasts out into fleshy peaks, then her hands crushed down on their sleek perfection, kneading them from pale translucence into a feverish red, torturing the beautifully swollen nipples with pinches that brought as much relief as they did tension. 

“Guess you’re enjoying yourself, huh?” Gentila teased. “C’mere…”

She pulled at the nipple of Caity’s right tit, having made it so tender that Caity was compelled to follow the tug to keep the delicate pleasure she felt from becoming unbearable. Gentila put both hands on the breast, massaging it, rubbing it, finally pushing it up to Caity’s face. Caity unconsciously followed her cue, bowing her head and taking the swollen nipple into her mouth. She licked and lapped at it under Gentila’s approving gaze, feeling ecstasy flow through her as she sucked her own tortured breast. 

“Good girl,” Gentila hummed, abandoning Caity’s breast entirely to reach up and pet both sides of Caity’s head, teasing her hands down the full length of her hair. “Suck that tit like I’d suck it. Pretend it’s me doing it. Pretend I’m fucking that tit.” The softness of Caity’s hair purred through Gentila’s fingers as she stroked it, encouraging Caity to suck harder, to fill herself with autoerotic glee. “You want to get fucked, don’t you baby?”

Then, finally, she lifted her head to run her tongue along the other woman’s trembling cunt, sliding along the wetness, tasting the flavor of her arousal, and watching Caity stop pleasuring herself to moan aloud.

“Yes… yesss,” Caity sighed, feeling Gentila’s tongue quiver on the surface of her pussy like waves on top of the ocean. Her cunt felt just as deep, just as wet, just as powerful.

“You taste like you want to get fucked,” Gentila concluded, pressing her jubilant smile to Caity’s pussy in a light kiss.

Caity tried to set the pace, to control the situation by ramming herself onto Gentila’s tongue instead of being licked, but the pleasure she felt wouldn’t leave her alone to control her body. She had underestimated her opponent, and even though there would be no consequences other than the spectacular orgasm she felt quivering inside her already, her pride stung that Gentila had so vividly overwhelmed her. It stung even more that she found herself curious just how hard Gentila could devastate her taut little pussy…

Gentila seemed to know just how Caity subconsciously longed to surrender to her enemy, for she taunted Caity further by putting a stop to her cunnilingus. Instead, she drew her tongue over the quivering muscle of Caity’s inner thigh, the skin there so soft, so sensitive, but nowhere near as tender as the flesh she’d been pleasuring inside of Caity. As she smacked her lips kissing Caity’s thigh, the first two fingers of her right hand slid into Caity’s sex, fucking deep inside her. It felt so good to Caity that she moaned and panted, audibly conceding that Gentila was fucking her every bit as good as she’d gotten Gentila off before.

“Hh! Un! Fuck me, baby!” she gasped out, pausing to lick her lips, but then continuing to submit, to beg. “Fuck me like no one else ever has!”

Now Gentila only nuzzled against Caity’s thigh, smiling up at her--lips glossy with Caity’s own juices—two fingers coming out of her and Gentila’s thumb replaced them, working into of Caity’s slit, its thick touch rolling along the top of Caity’s passage. It came out drenched in her arousal. Gentila smeared it against her lips with a smug look directed up at Caity… the sound of her thumbnail clicking against her teeth… and then the thumb went down, under Caity’s groin, between her buttocks, pushing deep into Caity’s untouched asshole.

“Motherfucker!” Caity grunted, uninhibited hitch in her breath as the thick thumb seemed to take up all of her asshole, pain, discomfort, it hurt, then Gentila’s two fingers went back in her cunt and she had both at once, too much, so much happening, thumb and fingers separated only by a membrane that felt exquisitely thin.

“Oh, God, baby!” Caity moaned, squirming against Gentila’s hand, her torso flexing, breasts jiggling, as though she was riding a man’s cock, trying to inflame his senses with the sight of her writhing body. “That’s incredible! You’re driving me wild!”

“You haven’t even started going wild,” Gentila promised her, parking her chin on the knuckles of her right hand and lapping furiously at the upper portion of Caity’s slit, Caity’s labia splayed to expose her pink inner flesh by the fingers at the bottom of her sex. 

It felt like a lightning strike, having Gentila’s tongue suddenly against the unprotected raw nerve of her glossy folds. Caity crooned, then cried out as Gentila’s lips found her clit and sucked on it so hard Caity could’ve believed it was going down the woman’s throat. She was stretched taut, suspended between Gentila’s fingers and thumb and tongue, and when Gentila’s small white teeth came down on her clitoris, Caity was torn apart.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Caity shouted, her voice rebounding off the walls as she tried to contain the currents of ecstasy rolling through her. She lost control, feeling wave after wave of passion crashing down on her, washing over her, leaving nothing but a wild animal that felt only pleasure. “I’m—I’m coming!”

Gentila could tell. She felt the renewed superiority of having repaid her earlier gambit in allowing Caity to dominate her—both of them knew that their little duel had ended in Caity coming far harder than her, utterly wracked with ecstasy. Her juices were flowing freely from her, wetting Gentila’s entire hand, running tastefully over her lips as she sucked away, with her two fingers working furiously into Caity. Not so much to prolong Caity’s orgasm as to keep Caity submissive to her for as long as possible. No matter how willful Caity was, at that moment of supreme pleasure, she would’ve done anything for Gentila, and Gentila wanted to savor it for quite a while.

Caity thrashed around insanely, drifting back so that her shoulder blades touched Gentila’s hips, her body spiking upward, hips jostling Gentila’s face, arms flailing, fists pounding on the bed, a physical manifestation of the cries she was releasing as her ecstasy had its way with her.

Finally, her convulsions died down, her screams falling down to a softly contented moan as Gentila continued to lap up the succulent cream from her still body. Caity was utterly ruined and Gentila ran a hand over her fine physique as though it belonged to her, for in that moment of conquest, it did.

“Can’t wait for the rematch,” Gentila said, her SoCal accent more blissful and carefree than ever, the only insult she added to injury as she left Caity lying there, sexually overwhelmed. 

Getting up, she went to pick up Caity’s robe from where it hung on the wall. Naked, her every step made her body stretch and jiggle, more attractive than a striptease artist cavorting and gyrating. Caity would’ve watched her in the nude all day, reading a book or going through her morning routine, her very being so sensual that it invested every movement with pure sex. 

She felt her own body: a riot of fucked-out rapture, her cunt still boiling with lust, an aching exhaustion in her flesh warring with the desire for more. She could’ve done anything for Gentila just then; an urge to do whatever Gentila’s sexy little voice asked of her in order to buy herself more time in this state of submissive bliss. Her pride wouldn’t let her give in, but Caity couldn’t suppress the satisfaction she felt, the lingering need that made all of her warrior body soft and warm.

Gentila wrapped herself in Caity’s robe, which was so light that it covered her body the same way a Zip-Loc bag concealed its contents. The sheer chiffon hung off her curves, folding and wrinkling and tangling up in itself, but doing nothing to hide the sight of Gentila’s bare flesh, her breasts high, nipples hard, long legs and taut belly all a vivid dream inside a layer of modesty no more substantial than a spider’s web. And yet, that thin, nonexistent covering made Caity burn to rip it away, to see Gentila once more in full, explicit detail, to take the first step back up the stairway to the height of pleasure she was still coming down from.

Struggling to regain even a modicum of power, Caity pulled at the bedsheets to bring them over herself. They clung to her sweaty body, outlining her curves, every inch of her hourglass frame from the ponderous outcropping of her breasts to the sleek expansion of her waist into her hips, dwindling down again into firm, slender thighs. There was plenty of moisture between her legs to catch the bedsheet, Caity feeling almost a tightness at her groin, and knew that her sex was on display as much as Gentila’s perfect body was.

“I think I could use a drink,” Gentila said, an edge of condescension in her voice as she regarded Caity’s attempt to match her seductiveness like it was some childish game. Yet to Caity, her words sounded slightly strained. As if she had avoided being overcome herself by the skin of her teeth, and now had to reassure herself that it was not as close a thing as it had been. “Why don’t you mix us up a little something while I freshen up? Then—once you’ve recovered—we can see what happens when we try again?”

Caity gritted her teeth. God, the goading, insolent tone of Gentila’s voice, like Caity doing to her what she’d done to Caity was only the premise of a joke—like Caity hadn’t defeated her, at least initially. She knew she had, she knew Gentila had given in for real… But she swallowed her pride and agreed with a nod--still not trusting herself to speak. Perhaps not even able to, after she’d screamed out her climax to the point of satiation.

Satisfied with that reply and the lack of force to it, Gentila went to the bathroom. Caity got up herself. There was no point in clinging to modesty, trying to pretend she hadn’t been dominated like a cheap whore, or enjoyed it as only a nymphomaniac could. She shed the bedsheet, feeling the chill air on her naked body, actually cooling the warm sweat that seemed to immerse her like the air of a sauna. Caity thought of opening the window. If Gentila had taken such enjoyment of her nude flesh, why shouldn’t everyone with a pair of eyes? But no, no. She would not give in, not to one minor setback. She would reclaim her pride and pay Gentila back tenfold, leaving her a ragdoll of exhausted sexuality.

So thinking—allowing her simmering, stung pride to flame and grow to replace her wounded honor—Caity diligently prepared drinks at the minibar. And so it happened that she was there as her communicator rung, the tiny gadget concealed artfully within the box of ice, as if no more than a prank ice cube with a fly inside.

Glancing at the bathroom door to see if Gentila had heard, Caity could see no telltale shadow interrupting the light that streamed between the door and its frame. Gentila could not possibly be close enough to hear. Even Caity’d had to have intensive training to be able to hear the nearly subconscious noise with any consistency.

She picked up the ‘ice cube’ and, with a careful twist, opened it, then took the ‘fly’ from inside and placed it comfortably in her ear. It rapidly scanned her biometrics, recognized its owner, and began playing the message so that only she could hear.

“An agent of HOOK has been spotted in your vicinity. Leave is canceled. You must eliminate this enemy agent on sight.”

Caity held the ice cube to her eye, turning it into an eyepiece to match her earpiece. In the tiny image that nonetheless filled her vision, she saw a grainy image that was undoubtedly Gentila, surrounded by a dossier and vital statistics that matched the information her earpiece reeled off. Caity quickly replaced the earpiece in the ice cube, secured them both, and returned the gadget to the icebox. She looked at the bathroom door, now seeing the shadows of Gentila’s feet between the threshold and the door. She hadn’t brought any weapons on vacation; the communicator was her only concession to her agency’s vexingly paradoxical demand that she be on-call. Normally, she’d have no doubt she’d be able to take Gentila in hand-to-hand combat, but after the showing Gentila had made in bed, Caity couldn’t take anything for granted.

Heat rushed to her cheeks, wetness pooled in her groin as she thought once more of how Gentila had fucked her. Perhaps it was a sign of how shaken she was at being made Gentila’s sexual conquest, but the remembrance gave her an idea. She now knew that, at the very least, she hadn’t been outdone by some anonymous civilian, but by an operative as trained as she was. That was cold comfort; it only made her want to pit her skills against Gentila even more. It wasn’t just her personal pride on the line anymore—it was the reputation of the entire CIA! And perhaps that was exactly how she could beat Gentila.