Company Man Strip-O-Gram

Once again I’ve drawn the short straw. I guess I should take it as a compliment, being assigned to pose as a male stripper for a bachelorette party. But I want nothing more than to find out who in the office thought up the scenario for this mission so I can get back at them as soon as possible.

We haven’t yet been able to turn any of the South Korean Embassy staff and their security team has gotten too good at detecting the radio transmitter listening devices we had been using. So several weeks ago, the CIA planted a number of voice-activated record-only bugs in the Ambassador’s residence.

The maximum amount of recording time for the devices is two months. With all but one of the bugs recovered, the deadline is getting dangerously close. Someone has to go in and retrieve the final chip, which is residing in the Ambassador’s Ethan Allen bed frame. So here I am knocking on the door of the South Korean Embassy.

“Oh, you must be the stripper,” giggles a twenty-something girl as she answers the door.

“Um, yeah. Where can I change?” I say, trying my best to sound not that bright.

The twenty-something is Hye Jin Chun. She’s the Ambassador’s daughter, the best friend of the bride-to-be, and host of this bachelorette party. Lisa Reyes, the Spanish Ambassador’s daughter is getting married next week, and it’s given us a window of opportunity to get into the house with out raising suspicions.

Hye Jin shows me to a large guest room and tells me that my services will be needed in about 30 minutes. Embassy security appears to be busy keeping up with the young rowdy guests, leaving me free to explore this wing of the house unencumbered.

I know from my briefing this morning that the Ambassador and his wife are out of town, so getting into their bedroom and to the recording chip shouldn’t be a problem. And with the next half an hour to myself, I’m sure I can get in and out with extra time to feign illness or some other emergency before I actually have to strip for these young women.

Now, if they were going to strip for me, that’d be another thing all together.

‘Give your head a shake, Webb!’ I say to myself.

I’ve got a mission to perform and I need to concentrate so I can be on time to pick up Mother and escort her to the dressage exhibition she’s been so looking forward to.

Just in case someone spots me though, I decide I’d better change into my costume. The same diabolical mind that had the stripper idea for this mission obviously picked out the costume as well. It’s a Naval officer’s dress white uniform -- with gold wings no less.

I roll my eyes and examine the articles of clothing and accompanying accessories. There’s a pair of skimpy bikini-style underwear -- with a large gold anchor stitched over the crotch, aviator sunglasses, a skin-tight undershirt, white jacket and pants, and matching cover.

I roll my eyes and squeeze into the tight briefs. God, I hope I don’t have to stay in these for long -- they’re dangerously close to cutting off my circulation, and I’d like to have kids some day.

As I put on the rest of the outfit, I notice that the jacket and pants have Velcro at every seam, presumably for tearing away at just the right moment – whenever that is. I search the bag for socks and shoes, which seem to be missing; I guess strippers don’t really have a need for those things.

I feel something in the pocket of the pants and investigate. I come up with a handful of condoms. I’m really going to have to exact some revenge on who ever put this costume together. And God, I hope I don’t have to use these.

Shoving the prophylactics back in my pocket, I check myself out in the full-length mirror and try my darndest to flash a trademark Rabb “flyboy” grin. It comes out more like a grimace and I wonder for a second if it’s possible that he had something to do with this little get-up I’m wearing.

Rabb thinks wearing that uniform, flashing that grin, and oozing charm will get him anything, and anyone, he wants. Arrogant bastard. But I smile at myself in the mirror again as it dawns on me that maybe the Commander is compensating for a lof sof something to be arrogant *about* in another department.

I check my watch and am relieved to see that I still have 22 minutes to spare. Peeking my head out the door I step into the hallway. Staying close to the wall, I make my way to the back of the house where I know the Ambassador’s private bedroom is located.

“Oh Commander…” a sing-song voice calls to me.

Damn, I was almost there.

“Um, is this the way to the ‘little sailor’s room’?” I bluff.

“No, it’s this way. But hurry, we’re ready for you now.”

Great, just great. It looks like I’m going to have to dance after all. I hope I can pull this off. All those years of ballroom dance lessons as a kid and they never once covered *exotic* dancing, much less stripping.

I duck into the bathroom for a minute and staring at my reflection I think, ‘Okay Webb, you can do this. There’s no way this can be harder than facing down an enemy operative.’

Yeah, right. I suppose it’s now or never though, and I quickly return to the guestroom to retrieve the tape of music I’m supposed to dance to. Hye Jin meets me in the hallway, takes the tape and bounces off into the living room to let the women know I’m coming.

I hear cat-calls and female laughter just as this awful disco version of Anchors Aweigh starts to play on the stereo and again I curse the responsible party.

I steel myself against the on-coming humiliation, take a deep breath, and stride into the living room. I shake my ass around a few times and try to feel the beat of the music. In no time, I’m feeling like one of the Village People.

As I make my way around the room I mentally identify the guests, silently going over the list of individuals expected to be in attendance. They’re all daughters or young wives of the diplomatic community. And I smile, sure that none of their parents or husbands would appreciate the current situation.

My hat’s long gone. The glasses came off when the daughter of the Argentinean Ambassador swiped them off my face to plant a wetter-than-necessary kiss on my cheek. And two of the women are sliding their hands up the bottoms of my pants.

I wriggle away from them, turning around to come face to face with a guest I don’t recognize from the mission’s briefing book. She’s got flaming red hair and sparkling green eyes.

“Take that jacket off him, Colleen!” a guest squeals.

In response, this Colleen woman rips my jacket off in one motion. I’m stunned and kind of impressed. But her presence has made me wary. She’s a little older than the others and there’s something else that makes her stand out, but I can’t quite place what.

Before I have time to ponder this mystery woman any longer, I find myself nearly divested of my pants as well. And while I have to admit that I’m really enjoying being undressed by a slightly unruly gang of young women, I think I’d rather take my own pants off, thank you.

I back away, shaking a scolding and teasing finger at the three culprits. With the music continuing on, I slowly tear away the trousers, taking an extra long time as I get to the part where they’ll get the first look at my skivvies.

Soon I’m in just the undershirt and anchor bikini-briefs and I realize that the shirt is meant to be disposable. It’s ripping apart at the shoulders already. An image of the Incredible Hulk’s muscles busting out of his shirt flashes through my mind as I flex my own muscles and feel the shirt tearing apart further.

Wow, that’s some ego boost. Maybe I should invest in some of these for myself.

The women finish off the shirt, leaving the tattered shreds in a pile on the floor. I can tell they’re now expecting the show to begin in earnest. So I grab my cover off the head of the Swedish Ambassador’s *very* young wife and I hold it in front of my crotch.

I wiggle around a bit, waving the hat back and forth, covering and un-covering myself, occasionally turning around to give them a flash of my rear.

I been told I have a nice ass; it’s from all the riding that I do. And now I put that ass to good use as I toss away my cover, shake my hips and stick my rear out for my admirers.

This elicits another round of cat-calls and shrieks and I have to admit that I’m loving every minute. Who knew this kind of thing could be fun?

I feel like a piece of meat and now I know how women must feel as men ogle them like livestock. And if I were a woman, I’d probably resent it. But I’m a man and frankly, I’m rather enjoying being the center of this kind of attention.

Hands are patting, pinching, and petting me all over as cash is tucked into every edge of my underwear. With all this touching I’m really getting turned on.

God, do professional exotic dancers get erections while performing their jobs? How could they not? I look down to see what sort of state I’m in and realize that I don’t need to worry.

Perhaps you haven’t noticed, but it’s hard to tell the state of a man’s arousal after something like $200 in ones, fives, and tens have been stuffed into his underwear. My package really looks more like a Wells Fargo money bag than anything obscene.

The music winds down and I’m not sure if I’m relieved or disappointed. Stealing my costume back from the women who’d grabbed up the pieces, I make my exit and start back toward the guest bedroom so I can catch my breath and unwind a bit before finishing off this mission. Although, a growing part of me is tempted to *finish myself off* before doing anything else, all that dancing and gyrating has me horny as hell.

As I walk, I try to bring my focus back to the job at hand – no pun intended – while I dig the bills out of my underwear. The corners of the cash are cutting into places I’d rather not have paper cuts.

But, before I get even half way down the hall, I’m stopped in my tracks. There are hands on my ass. Obviously, I’d turned at least one head with my dancing and for a moment, I feel a flush of pride wash over me.

I stand stock-still. “Hello?”

A lilting voice answers in my ear, “You didn’t think you were going to get away that fast, did you?”

I edge away from her hands and turn around to face my “assailant.” It’s Colleen, who earlier had torn my jacket away so deftly.

I’m immediately suspicious. “Who are you?”

“Colleen Ryan. My father’s the new Irish Ambassador. Hye Jin only invited me out of some stupid protocol obligation.”

I filter this information through my brain and find that I can’t come up with anything out of place in her story. But it doesn’t sit quite right, so I decide I’d better play along while I figure her out.

She appears to be a little wobbly on her feet and I assume she’s had too much to drink. Colleen all but confirms my suspicion by tipping over a bit too far and she has to balance herself against the wall for a moment.

“Well sailor, can I fly with you sometime?”

Before I can answer, she’s throwing more innuendoes my way, “I can watch your ‘six’? Isn’t that what you Navy pilots say? We can fly tandem, if you know what I mean?”

I do know what she means, and I can see now how Rabb manages to get so many women into his bed. The uniform works like a charm. And under different circumstances I’d be tempted to follow through on this myself. But I’m here on a mission.

I’m here on a mission. I’m here on a mission. I’m here on a mission.

This becomes my mantra as Colleen now has her hands on my ass again and she’s pressing her breasts into my chest in a most appealing way.

I guide us to the Ambassador’s bedroom. Heck, if she’s going to provide me with a great alibi as to why I’d be in the forbidden room, I might as well take advantage of it.

I’m hoping she’ll just pass out once we get to the bed. Then I can get the chip, get out of here, get back to the office and de-brief.

We hit the door frame at the same time that our lips meet. Colleen gets the last of the money out of the way, giving her free access to my growing erection. An erection that never really went away after having all those other hands on me. But I’m enjoying this one-on-one attention much more.

I moan into her mouth as she caresses me and we kiss, our tongues sliding over and over one another. She never takes her mouth away from mine as she pulls us into the room, shuts and locks the door, and walks us towards the bed.

At least I won’t have to worry about the door being unlocked. And I’m still hanging onto a shred of desire to ditch this woman and complete my mission. A shred.

She unbuttons her blouse and picks up my hands to bring them up to her breasts. I can feel her nipples harden under my fingers and she growls. The sounds she’s making are driving me wild. I quickly toss her blouse to the floor and reach around her to unhook the lacy bra, giving me better contact with her naked skin and breasts. Colleen counters by shoving my underwear down, almost violently releasing my erection.

The women I’ve been to bed with in the past have all been pretty docile. I seem to attract the reserved, demure types. They expected me to do all the initiating, all the work – Colleen is *nothing* like that. She's been taking the lead since she first grabbed my rear in the hal. A. And trying to match her pace is getting me hotter and harder by the moment.

No sooner does that thought pass through my mind, than I suddenly feel my body fly through the air as she flips me onto the bed with amazing force. It's such a turn-on that I almost forget why I'm here in the first place.

I’m so distracted, that I can only stare as she shimmies out of her skirt, leaving her in just a pair of thong underwear. I start to sit up but Colleen lays her hands flat on my shoulders and pins me to the bed.

I’m prettye noe now that she’s neither drunk nor the daughter of the Irish Ambassador, and it looks like I’ll have to play this out all the way. Thank God.

Part of my brain is telling me to keep my guard up because I’m still suspicious about who this woman really is and why she’s here. But that part of me shuts off as I reach out to where our groins are touching and I slip my fingers under the elastic of her panties.

Because of the way her body is positioned on top of mine, as I rub her wet folds I’m also stroking my erection. It’s turning me on even more so that my hardness becomes almost unbearable. I close my eyes and just feel where we’re joined as my hand and fingers continue their motions.

Colleen catches on to the way I’m touching myself as I simultaneously delve my fingers into her hot core. “Enjoying yourself?” she pants seductively.

“Oh, yeah.” I reach down with my other hand to give proper attention to both of our arousals. Her wetness is spreading down and across my cock as I pump my fist up and down, and I can’t wait to be inside her.

“I don’t suppose that costume of yours comes with any protec?”
?”

“Pants pocket.” It’s all I can manage to say as I remind myself to thank the person who thought up this mission.

In thw sew seconds that it takes for her to grab one of the condoms I think: she can’t be any danger to me. If she’d wanted to inflict any serious injury she would have already done so. And I certainly didn’t find a weapon when I undressed her.

Whoever Colleen Ryan really is, I don’t think it’s foremost on her mind at the moment either, because she’s immediately tearing off her underwear and mounting me again. She has a soft, easy expression on her face as she unrolls the condom over my erection.

All of her earlier aggressiveness was so arousing, but turn-about’s fair play. I grab her hips and flip us over on the giant bed so that I’m positioned just at her hot wet opening. She looks up at me smiling and I know she’s enjoying the control I’m asserting as much as I was enjoying being under her control.

We both let out a crying-grunt as I enter her in one stroke. She’s tight and I thank God for the condom, because I don’t think I’d last two minutes without the desensitizing latex between us.

As it is, I’m not going to last long. Colleen raises her legs high and holds me in place with her ankles locked behind me. I bend down and crane my neck just low enough to take one of her nipples in my mouth to nibble on it.

“Yes,” she gasps as I bite a little harder. But I can’t keep up the coordination of sucking, biting, and thrusting so I rise up again and lower my mouth hard on hers. She takes my lower lip in her mouth and sucks for a minute as we thrust back and forth, making the Ethan Allen bed frame creak and groan.

I reach down between us to find her clit; I think she’s close, but I’m positive I’m closer and there’s no way I’m leavinis “is “mission” unfinished. I feel the heat and wetness between us as I locate the sensitive nerves and start to stroke her in coordination with our thrusting hips.

She’s got her hands over her head and her knuckles are turning white from the grip she’s got on the headboard. With a few more jerks of my hips and passes of my fingers over her clit, she’s coming and squeezing me hard from the inside.

I pause for a moment as her climax subsides, then firmly thrust into her one last time to reach my own release. If possible she’s squeezing me even harder than before and I feel the condom filling with my hot fluid.

I grab the base of the condom as we roll apart panting and lay side by side gasping for air. After a few minutes, her breathing slows to normal and I get up to dispose of the prophylactic. Even though I’m positive now that she was never drunk, when I come back to the bed she appears to be sleeping soundly.

‘I guess I haven’t lost my touch,’ I think as I smile at her naked form and the feel of the heat we’ve generated in the room. After a moment of watching her chest evenly rise and fall, I crouch down to the back edge of the bed to retrieve the recording chip. all all my missions will be complete.

“Did you get what you were looking for?”

I jump at the sound of her voice. Damn, she must have woken up.

“Oh yeah, you were great.” I’m hoping that she’ll think I’m just looking for some article of clothing that got tossed aside in our passion.

“No, Mr. Webb. Did you *find* what you were looking for?”

“Excuse me?” Shit. What’s going on here? I knew I should have been more suspicious of her.

“Colleen Ryan, Mossad Intelligence, at your service Mr. Webb.”

Oh. My. God. Okay, I can play this cool. Well, as cool as I possibly can while squatting naked on the floor of the South Korean Ambassador’s bedroom with a Mossad agent looking down at me from the high framed bed.

“Colleen Ryan. That’s an unusual name for a Mossad agent.” I’m trying to project some measure of superiority so she won’t think she’s completely got the advantage.

But she replies with a casual air. “My father’s Irish. Comes in handy, wouldn’t you say?”

“And how’d you know who I was?” I’m impressed with her confident nature. She’s got control of the situation, but she’s not giving in to an amateur’s temptation to get cocky and lazy about it. She must be a seasoned pro.

“We had intelligence that there would be a CIA plant here. Took me a while to figure out it was the stripper and not one of the guests. Once I got better look at your face, I recognized you from our files.”

“I should have guessed you were Mossad when you flipped me on the bed like that. Only Israeli combat training teaches that move -- and it’s one hell of a move.” I smirk to remind her of what we just did and the vulnerability we *both* exposed ourselves to just a few minutes ago.

“You should have recognized me as well, Mr. Webb. I’m in your photo files from a 1998 Eid al-Fitr gala in Damascus.”

“I don’t recognize you.”

“That was the idea. I was undercover as the Syrian Defense Minister’s new secretary.”

“Well, those photos don’t really do you justice.” I can’t help complimenting her.

Colleen smiles broadly back at me. “I should hope not.”

“So, who’s going to go first?” At this point, I know there’s no choice but for us to either lie or tell the truth about what we’re really doing here, but someone’s got to start.

“I know you’re here to pick up the recording chip planted in the bed frame.” She grins at me full of self assurance.

Damn. uessuess a lie won’t do me much good at this point. And there’s something about her confidence that makes me admire her professionalism. In this line of work you don’t often come face to face with a peer -- or a worthy adversary -- so when you do, it’s a real pleasure to do business.

“And you’re here to steal it from me.” I get to my feet, giving myself the physical advantage.

“Not exactly. I was assigned primarily to confirm our suspicions that the CIA had planted the bugs. The secondary goal was to approach the CIA plant and negotiate a deal for the information on the chip.”

“You mean *blackmail* not negotiate,” I correct. Now that she’s confirmed that the US has been bugging the diplomatic residence of one of its allies, the Mossad can use the information to leverage better deals on arms sales, access to higher-level intelligence, or other political favors.

“It’s all semantics. And from where I’m sitting, I’ve got one or two pieces of information I’m sure you wouldn’t want getting around.” She’s got a smile on her face that’s slightly seductive and more than a little knowing.

I’m not sure if she’s referring to my Anchors Aweigh act earlier or the fact that I gave in to my carnal desires while on a mission. Not that I regret either, but she is right. I don’t want this getting out.

“Maybe we can be of some use to each other,” I offer, trying to mirror her somewhat playful tone as I perch on the side of the bed and lean over, placing my hand on the other side of her body, pinning her down.

“An exchange of information perhaps?” she says almost coyly.

I grin as I lean to kiss her. “A through de-briefing, you might say,”

“This could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship,” Colleen says against my mouth.

~ Fade to Black ~

END