Candy Mann - Lusty Lady Lovers

She was twisting herself in his arms, frantically pressing herself down onto the cock which filled her cunt to thick, wonderful capacity. Her head suddenly lolled backwards as she reached the summit of her lust and he felt his prick jump and tingle with a surging power! Don launched himself at last on his frantic flight to ecstasy; knowing a delirium, a bliss that surpassed every other experience he had had.

And when he thought that there wasn't a single drop of cream left in him, Erica suddenly fought to press her thighs tightly together. She held his prick in an iron grip between her legs, at the same time fingering his balls so teasingly (nails scratching with the barest suggestion of sadism) that he shot a further stream of his come into her, feeling it jet out of the top of his cock in a violent, pulsing arc.

And then, they clung to each other as closely and as tightly as possible; seeking to prolong the warmth and the intimacy which they had known. He held her hot and trembling body against himself, and she sobbed against his chest.

The luminous hands of his watch caught his eye. They pointed to 12:45 a.m. Gently, he roused the girl, kissing her back into wakefulness.

"It's late," he told her softly. "The plane leaves quite soon." She stirred in his arms, reluctantly leaving the state of sleepy bliss which had stolen over her. "You'd better get dressed and I'll see you after take-off," he was saying.

She touched up her eye shadow in the one mirror and slipped into her uniform. Her body shivered and she couldn't be sure whether it was due to the fear inside her or to the cold air coming in the window Don had opened.

Acting as cheerfully and as naturally as she could, Erica kissed him goodbye. "You'd better get a move on," she said. “You're supposed to check-in at the airport by 1:15 a.m."

"Yes," he replied. "Don't worry. I'll be there." Don ran his hand over her face, stroking the softness of her cheek. "Don't forget to mail the package for me, will you?"

She nodded quickly, feeling her lower lip starting to tremble. So he still believed he wouldn't make it! She picked up her handbag and walked to the door.

"Why don't you come with me?" she asked him. "It doesn't matter if I'm a bit late."

Don shook his head. "No," he said. "I'd rather we went separately. I've got a couple of things to do before I leave, anyway."

Erica opened the door, gave him a brief wave of her hand and was gone. He could feel his throat constricted, a strange feeling of opportunities missed nearly overwhelming him. Using every ounce of his training, the man pulled himself together and got dressed. He picked up his small attachй case and then rang down to the desk and asked for a taxi.

The clerk was extra friendly, it seemed to Don, as he paid his bill and waited for the receipt. The stocky little man was not at all so serious and aloof as he had been during most of his stay.

“Your taxi is right outside, sir," the man said, bowing and clicking his heels when he handed over the receipt. "I hope your stay in Budapest was pleasant. Please… come back again… "

Was there something ominous in the tone of the pudgy little man's voice when he spoke those last words? How stupid at me, Don thought, once again looking forward with new confidence to seeing a great deal more of Erica Sondgaard. He quickly opened the door of the waiting taxi, its motor already running.

"Very clumsy of you, Mr. Cabot!" a shrill voice greeted him in a thick accent, and a gun pressed painfully into his stomach.

Immediately, there was the pressure of a gun barrel at Don's back too, and another thick voice ordered him to proceed into the back seat of the cab. He had absolutely no choice but to obey. He had walked so neatly into their trap. He should have suspected it from the attitude of the desk clerk, from the taxi that was already waiting, its motor running. As he slumped into the seat between the two Communist gunmen, he thought surely he was a dead man.

When the car sped off toward the old Pest area of the city, Don had no idea where they were taking him. It was all their game now, and the two agents were holding the big pistols at each temple of his head, talking in Hungarian and laughing. But their eyes were riveted on Don. They were ready, even eager, it seemed, for him to make the one suspect move that would provide them with an excuse to blow off the top of his head.

After a quarter of an hour, Don guessed, the car made a quick, squealing turn into a driveway, barely slowing down at all until it drove through the portals of a court, the gates held open for them, and then immediately closed, by two men in dark suits. The courtyard surrounded a large, stucco-like house on three sides, the front entrance to the big home obviously on the next parallel street.

The men took him into a room on the ground floor of the house, pushed him down into a chair and quickly bound his hands and legs, passing the rope from his ankles to his waist and then tying it tightly around his neck. If he had struggled the thick fiber would have strangled him.

After checking his bonds, they stepped back. A few moments later the door opened and a slim man well over six feet tall entered the room. The Western agent immediately recognized him as Jon Tzerny, bead of Communist Integrated Intelligence. He came right up to Don, his small beady eyes bright and filled with pleasure. It looked as if it was all he could do not to rub his hands together gleefully.

“So nice to have you with us," he chuckled. "We I have met before, of course, but never in circum-stances quite so appropriate. However, I regret that I have no time to waste on hospitality and niceties." He bent his anemic, perspiring face close to the Western agent. "You have been showing an unusual interest in one of our top scientists during your stay," he went on. "Acting like a good, conscientious member of the Party, she contacted us and told us of your attentions.

“There is not much time and I have no wish to be subtle and play cat-and-mouse with you, Cabot. We both know why you sought out Miss Harnecz. The question is, what did you find out about her that might be useful to your country?"

The Western agent looked him straight in the eye. "I confirmed that she's a lesbian," he told Tzerny. "And that she's only interested in members of her own sex." He shrugged his shoulders. “I know that she's working on a very important missile project for you, but I know nothing about the details of it. She wasn't exactly forthcoming about her work or her love life."

“Yes," Tzerny commented. "However, I doubt very much that you would be returning to the West with such scanty information. If that was all you'd discovered you would certainly not be leaving Hungary yet. Western Intelligence obviously knows these facts already.

"No, I think that wittingly or unwittingly, Miss Harnecz or her fellow-workers have revealed much more than you say about her work for us. You were posing as a Communist security agent. Oh, yes, she saw through your disguise. Miss Harnecz is a phenomenally intelligent woman. But nevertheless, before you got to see her, you had to pass through various checks and the people conducting them may have carelessly given you certain information."

He turned to the two gunmen. «Did you search him yet?" he demanded. When they shook their heads, he gestured at them impatiently. «Idiots I Do it now. He must have a written or taped report. He would post it at the airport or get someone to carry it to the West for him, just in case something happened to him en route."

Tzerny frowned. “Wait a minute. Are you quite sure no one contacted him at the hotel? Did he have an opportunity to pass anything to someone who might be traveling to the West?"

The men shifted uneasily. One of them said: 'Well, there was a girl in the bar this evening. He took her to his room."