On Her Majesty s Sissy Service A Call To Action
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On Her Majesty's Sissy Service - You Only Cum Twice free porn video
On Her Majesty's Sissy Service - You Only Cum Twice
By Katharine Sexkitten
The man could fuck, I?ll give him that.
He was full of surprises, actually.
We were in my hotel bedroom, finally. Shakespeare said something about
?the best laid plans? going awry, which just showed that humanity hasn?t
evolved much in the few hundred years since the Bard put quill to paper.
The goal for the Squad at the start of the evening was simple: get the
man into the suite, get his clothes off in the massive living room, along
with the briefcase he hardly ever let go of, then get him into the
bedroom for a good amount of time, so the two computer technicians hiding
behind the false wall with the security guard had time to go through the
man?s papers, phones and tablet.
Simple.
He?d surprised me first by being so eager to stay in the living room.
I?d brought him here, a short walk from where the evening had started.
The whole suite was wired for sound, and video. From multiple angles. A
little deal we?d worked out with the owners of this five-star boutique
residence. They let us use the upscale suite whenever we needed it and
we looked the other way regarding their use of undocumented labor. Most
of their cleaners and housemaids and maintenance people and kitchen staff
were from elsewhere, not legal to work, paid very little and treated like
dogs. Not that the customers knew. Or cared. They simply knew the
place for what it was. A top-notch discrete bit of refinement in the
heart of the city, where the staff knew not to comment or question
anything they?d see. Ever.
A private word from someone high-up at Ten Downing had worked wonders.
It always did.
This particular night had seen the entire Sissy Squad dolled up and
trolling for action at our favorite nightclub in London. The Far Out
Club. Catering to the entire spectrum of CD?s and Trannys, from full-out
drag queens to the Fem boys who wore panties under their androgynous boy
clothes, the place was quite the magnet for the men who enjoyed such
pleasures. The facility was almost always busy. Tonight had been no
exception.
The four of us had been there, two or three times a week, for close to
two months, practicing our skills.
Which were, in no particular order, looking like the sexiest sluttiest
?special? women alive, finding attractive men to buy us drinks all night
long, and then letting them fuck our brains out.
I was a firm believer in the adage that there can never be too much
preparation before a mission.
But, make no mistake; this was not the kind of training written down in
any manual, by any army.
And in a not-so-amazing coincidence, this nightclub was also proving to
be an opportunity to catch a modest criminal red-handed. Certain
government documents, mostly centered on economic policy, had somehow
been leaked and made public, causing no small amount of titillation in
the media and several red faces in the Cabinet. The usual behind-the-
scenes investigation into the leak had come up with one strong
possibility, a certain Assistant to the Assistant to the Undersecretary
of the Chancellor of the Exchequer. Which, despite its bland sound, was
a reasonably senior role in government, quite high in the bureaucracy,
and therefore assumed to be held by someone who knew how to keep his
mouth shut.
This one didn?t.
We?d been working the case for a couple of weeks. Originally, we?d
thought Isabella would get to him. The man was known to be a semi-
frequent and entirely eager visitor to the club, and while in the past
he?d demonstrated interaction with the full spectrum of ?special ladies?,
as he called us, he was thought to have a leaning towards the younger
CD?s and sissies. Our data was limited. And the former Mr. Bedminster,
a Warrant Officer with almost ten years in, made for the most attractive
of young fresh sissies.
She is a sight to behold.
Make no mistake, so is Sandra, the former Mr. Willoughby, and Tatiana,
the former Mr. Head. Not to mention me, for that matter.
The former Mr. Blonde.
It turns out the talkative man with the bad teeth and a surprisingly
impressive-sized cock, which he liked to refer to as ?The Duke?, had a
previously-unknown occasional penchant for an older sissy. A more mature
CD. The cougar-type, the randy Helen Mirren clone.
So I?d taken over the hunt.
And he?d been putty in my hands, the entire time.
In keeping with my cover, I was dressed bordering on the edges of sultry
and matronly. My natural hair, grown out now after seven weeks of Sissy
Squad boot camp, was mostly gray, and styled simply, much like Ms.
Mirren. My makeup and jewelry were perfect, of course. I was wearing
the lightest silk blouse, Periwinkle blue, with the top three buttons
open, showing the lovely lines of curves my push-up bra was creating. A
St. John?s blazer and knee-length skirt, from the most-recent autumn
collection, in the softest ivory colour. My stockings were black, and
silk, and my shoes were specially-adapted Laboutons, from Italy, as blue
as my blouse, with three-inch heels. The adaptations were simple enough.
One heel had a dagger in it, under a false cap, tipped with lethal
poison. The other had a small vial filled with a mild nerve agent. One
or two drops in a drink, and its ?goodnight, mother?.
A spritz of Chanel on my neck, and a dab on both wrists, my clutch purse
in one hand and a glass of Chardonnay in the other.
The only thing out of the ordinary was the choker I was wearing. It was
simple, black leather, and stylish.
The letters C and D were embossed onto it. In certain lighting, they
shone out quite clearly.
I let Nelson, that?s the idiots name, see me walking around the club. I
made sure he watched my hips sway. I?ve been walking in heels since
before he?d been born, and I could work it. Finally, I?d chosen a table
near his, not a random act to be sure. He?d smiled at me several times
before coming over and asking if he could join me.
I feigned interest in all the bragging, his job, his stature, his
connections. How important he thought he was, in the running of the
world. He told boring stories, which I made him think were the most
interesting and, where necessary, funny anecdotes I?d ever heard. I made
sure to move my neck enough to catch glints of light from all over the
club, showing him the letters on my choker. I?d seen his eyes bulge a
couple of times.
I knew within five minutes that he?d think I was the toughest challenge
of his life yet, but that he?d be in bed with me before the night was
over. You could see it in his eyes. He was confident that he was going
to make love to me. I used just the right amount of faked genuine
possible interest combined with the whole really? me? all these young
slutty sissies running around and you want this old bag of bones?
attitude, for close to two hours.
I made him spend most of the banknotes in his wallet.
Back at the hotel, I reasoned I?d get him out of his clothes more quickly
by telling how hot he?d made me, and demanding to suck him off. It
turned out he loved the idea, but only if I did it in front of the floor-
to-ceiling windows, with the curtains open, on display to all the other
buildings in the Hyde Park neighbourhood. Anyone looking up, or across,
from certain other hotels, would have seen a mature woman on her knees,
eagerly and expertly blowing a pale-skinned dumpy sort of fellow with a
modestly decent-sized cock.
They?d have seen her swallowing too, after a disappointingly short amount
of time. I suspected the man didn?t eat balanced nutritious meals. His
cum was on the bitter side.
The next surprise came immediately. He wanted to suck me off. Right
there, in front of the window.
The voyeurs of London were getting a double feature tonight.
I made him work for it. I kept thinking, with no small amount of wry
delight, that the two technicians and the Sergeant from the Royal Marines
with the weapon behind the fake wall were certainly getting a show for
their cooped-up troubles. They couldn?t have seen anything, but they
certainly would have heard it all. He was very vocal when I sucked him
off.
He was almost as vocal sucking me off.
A very loud moaner, our leaky civil servant.
After he?d made me cum, a special kind of bonus for a working double-oh
sissy, he wanted to share it with me. So we snogged for a few minutes,
passing cum back and forth on our tongues. Snowballing. He was, I had
to admit, a more than half-decent kisser.
Finally, I got him to the bedroom. Fellating me had made him hard again,
after my lips and tongue had originally drained him, and I told him I
wanted him to fuck me on the bed, missionary, so I could see his face
when he came in me.
Most horny men eat that shit up.
Which is when I got the biggest surprise.
The man could fuck.
He had a particular hip movement, as he sawed in and out of my pussy. It
was intermittent, and unpredictable, and entirely delicious. Combined
with his length, and girth, the unexpected occasional change in movement
touched something inside of me that felt really good. I don?t know if it
was planned, or if he just had some sort of physical injury or
disability.
Either way, he made the night a pleasant surprise.
The government got all the data it needed to prove his guilt and stop the
leak. My squad, acting independently but working as a team, had another
credit to add to the long lore, and I got half-decently shagged.
Despite my dirty talk about missionary earlier, we were on our sides, and
spooned through most of it. He held my left leg up and out, and worked
his magic from behind me. He seemed to like that. It gave him the
opportunity to give me a hickey, sucking as he was on the back of my
neck. The crafty bugger made me orgasm, for a second time, about ten
minutes in. It crept up on me quickly, and I lost control for a moment
or two. He was good.
There wouldn?t be a third time for me. That?s not a criticism of his
love-making abilities, but rather a statement of the utmost rule in the
Sissy Squad.
You only cum twice.
Another ten minutes of increased tempo and energy later and he lost it
for his second time. A few post-coital kisses and cuddles followed, and
then he made his escape. He covered it with excuses about ?the heavy
mantle of responsibilities in government?, but like most blighters, he
was at his core only interested in getting off and then getting out.
Heaven forbid he?d have to spend time with a sexual conquest where real
emotions and genuine feelings might enter into things.
The two techies and the security man were safely back behind the fake
wall before he left.
He?d never know he?d been played. He?d wind up quietly resigning his
position, losing any hope of a pension or even severance pay, and
retreating from public life to general ignominy somewhere boring and
quiet.
The Sissy Squad?s participation was over.
Except for the After-Action Reports.
Even sissies had to do paperwork.
So the next day I was back in M?s office for the debriefing.
Moneypenny almost choked on his tea when I walked in. Never mind the awe
on his face at seeing the rest of the ladies. The last time he?d looked
at me, I was in male civvies. This time, I was in full-out feminine
attire, on sissy autopilot. When he launched to his feet, I watched a
huge lump instantly appear in his trousers. A lump I knew very well.
The same large lump I?d sucked off seven weeks before, while his boss, M,
watched.
M, too, seemed startled to see me this way when I burst through his
office door unexpectedly. His big jaw flapped open, and he stumbled at
finding something to say.
I closed the door and sat down without being asked. I crossed my legs,
and let my skirt ride up my thighs slightly. I pointed the top leg, the
dangling foot. It flexed all the muscles, and made my leg, long and
smooth and shapely in my trademark silk stockings, look fab-u-lous.
M took a few moments to return to earth.
"Bloody good work, Blonde," he begrudgingly said, "on the leaker."
I nodded my thanks.
"Chalk another one up for the Sissy Squad," I replied, a subtle dig at
M?s years of objecting to our existence.
He grumbled something that sounded modestly conciliatory.
"So," he continued, "I?ve been going over your weekly progress reports,
regarding the Squad and your training."
I said nothing.
"And I suppose the immediate question, double-oh six nine, is whether you
think they?re really ready."
I smiled.
"Why not let Moneypenny make that determination?"
M looked confused. "Whatever are you talking about, Blonde?"
I stared him down.
"Your precious lover, Moneypenny, is all man, right? A confirmed butch,
correct?"
M just nodded, still shocked that I was bringing all this up.
"And how did you enjoy his fucking of you, the last time I was here?"
His face went red. He remembered.
"I was in male mode seven weeks ago, retired for almost fifteen years,
and out of the game. And yet I promised you I?d suck his cock, on my way
out the door, and you believed me. You knew I not only could, but would
do it. So you begged me to go easy on him, leave him so he?d still have
enough petrol in the engine to run in here and take you, make love to
you, in any position he wanted."
M realized I was quoting him.
"So how was it?" I asked.
His red face began turning redder, as his thoughts drifted back, and then
the corner of his lips starting curling upwards.
M closed his eyes for a second, and opened them again, looking directly
at me.
"It was wonderful."
Now it was my turn to smile.
"I?m glad to hear that," I bragged. "Now, why not fire up your monitor,
and look at how the previously-labelled ?butch? Moneypenny is doing
surrounded by my Squad."
M?s head snapped to his left, staring hard, as if he had the power to see
through a closed door.
"I would wager that your dyed-in-the-wool manly Moneypenny is right now
having the time of his life, and probably fucking one of my sissies on
top of his desk as we speak."
For a man in his sixties, M could still move fast.
When he wanted to.
His hands pulled out a tray, from under his desk, covered in buttons.
Two pushes later, and one of the computer monitors on his desk came to
life.
A second after that, the wonders of modern electronics blazed across the
screen.
Moneypenny had Tatiana on his desk, on her tummy, her skirt hastily
pulled up, her panties pulled down, and his not-for-the-weak-of-heart
penis, fully erect and fully ensconced in the Flight Leftenants gorgeous
ass.
M fairly gasped his shock.
At the same time, Moneypenny was also trying to insert his tongue into
the lungs of both Isabella and Sandra, Bedminster and Willoughby
respectively, bouncing back and forth between their soft wet lips and
mouth. Between Head?s ass gyrations, moving and flexing her lower body
to ride the great pole, and the ministrations of my two newest recruits,
Moneypenny was in his glory. The previously-in-the-closet-dead butch-
I?d-never-touch-a-sissy tough guy was overwhelmed with feminine
sexuality.
I suspected M might have to find a new candidate to join him on the
weekends at his private residence in Purfleet. It seemed possible
Moneypenny might have found a new kink to follow, and might become a
fixture at the Far Out Club.
M switched the monitor off.
"She seems to be taking it well," he said, matter-of-factly.
I chuckled. "Tatiana is the size queen of the Squad. We?re all adept at
big cocks, but she?s able to out-do us. I remember," I added, "back when
she was a new recruit, on perhaps only her third or fourth mission, we
were at a sex club in Havana, back when the Cuban Leftist Anarchy
Movement rose up, do you remember?"
He nodded. "Yes, of course. You destroyed them. They were one of your
easiest conquests, as I recall, from the files. You had them for
dinner."
"Yes," I agreed, "we ate CLAM."
He nodded again. "Except the leader."
The memories came back. "Yes, slippery one, that. And hard to pin down.
I was in the room with him, but only the once. A raspy voice, more or
less, is all that sticks with me. Unique. Eerie. Brings a chill up my
spine just thinking about him, almost hearing him again. I remember, it
was quite dark, and the night vision cameras weren?t as sophisticated as
they?ve become, and the only picture my bra lens could capture is fuzzy,
and dark."
"Yes," he said, "shaggy looking fellow, scruffy, with that great shock of
facial hair."
My mind went back in time. The one that got away.
The Bearded CLAM.
I let the memories fade slowly.
"Anyway, Blonde," he proffered, "you were saying something about a sex
club?"
"Quite right, M. Tatiana, the former Mr. Head. There was a nasty little
drug-runner there that night, on the periphery of the crime syndicates,
enjoying himself. His nickname was ?Piton?, which is Spanish for
?Python?. Some hidden camera pictures got digitally scanned and
measured, and the boys in our lab confirmed that Piton was exactly
thirteen and three-eighths inches long, and as thick as my wrist."
"Good heavens," he exclaimed, somewhat dreamily.
I smiled. "Tatiana took all of him. Twice, that night. He ended up
with the rest of them, burned alive in the fire. But he died a very
sexually satisfied man. No one had ever taken his full length before,
according to local legend." I paused, and nodded my head towards the
outer room. "Moneypenny?s cock is impressive, no doubt, but it?s nothing
she can?t handle."
Then I thought about M, taking that same big cock, for who knows how many
months or years. Without admitting it, M had agreed with my assessment
that Moneypenny was not only a very good Personal Assistant, but also a
very very good personal provider.
I gained some respect for M, at that moment. Not everyone can take them
that big.
"Quite right," he said, bouncing back to the present, "anyone can see
your Squad has more than met their goals. Reading all these reports, the
ones you submitted and the few that various people at Fenwick Park filed,
show the four of you to now be qualified in all manners of hand-to-hand
combat, and small arms usage. You?re all certified in jump school.
You?ve all satisfactorily learned enough French to fool any Parisian.
Technology, check. Cover identities, check. Background stories, check.
You?re all, and I quote, ?overly attractive, overly wily, and overly
successful at bedding men,? end quote."
I interrupted.
"Not just gay men, either."
He shook his head. "No, agreed. The weekend with the visiting Canadians
by itself is impressive. None of those chaps were suspected of having
any history of playing for your team, and yet almost all of them ended up
in your beds."
"Or on our couches. Or standing up in our shower stalls. Or on their
knees, doggy-style in the canteen, or..."
M interrupted me this time.
"Yes, granted," he said, his eyes scanning back and forth across an open
file folder, the pages on letterhead I?d never seen before.
"The base Commander was particularly impressed with the depth of your
squad?s initiative."
I was slightly surprised by that. My few interactions with the regular-
army Colonel over the last two months had led me to believe we couldn?t
have impressed him in any way, at any time.
"How so?" I asked.
"Sex on the parade ground itself?" he stammered, the indignation obvious.
"Inside an armored-personnel carrier? In the sauna of the Officers
Club?"
"Ah," I smiled, and thought back, "the week of the joint exercises with
the American Delta Forces, yes."
His pretend shock ramped up in volume.
"Did you find it absolutely necessary to seduce a bible-carrying visiting
two-star General?"
I instantly remembered the amount of steam that kept rising while I laid
back and let the big Yank pile-drive me. He?d been reluctant at first,
but after several long minutes of my mind-blowing kisses and several more
even-longer minutes of my mind-blowing fellatio, the supposedly straight-
as-they-come God-fearing apple-pie and Stars and Stripes fellow from
Texas couldn?t wait to flip me onto my back, put my ankles up over his
shoulders, and give me the old ?one-hundred-percent real-meat hot dog?
while humming Amazing Grace.
I squealed when I orgasmed.
How sweet the sound, indeed.
"The Squad has had an insanely short ramp-up time, M," I said, my voice
reasonable and quiet, "so yes, our efforts to become fully-trained
required us to, how shall I say this, amplify the usual timeline. Under
normal training conditions, as you are no doubt aware, full-out
sluttiness would not have come along until much later, months later.
This push of yours for us to take ANAL quickly, with only an eight-week
window, had us improvising, to be sure."
"I dare say," he added. "The sniper is still in hospital."
"Still?" I asked, incredulously, "it?s been almost a month, now."
M nodded his head, scanning a new file.
"The doctors think his testicles will be healed soon, but the
psychological damage your men did may end his career."
I smiled, mostly at the use of the word ?men?.
"On paper, Jenkins was the perfect choice for the job. I needed to bring
some genuine danger into our training. Anyone can pretend to be a bad
guy, for the sake of an exercise. Especially if that exercise results in
men getting laid. I needed my ladies to know that real harm, and
potentially death, can happen at any moment. Even on home base.
Vigilance is necessary, at all times. With Jenkins, his previously-
buried indiscretions, all those times he?d beaten up hookers within an
inch of their lives and had everything covered up for him, probably by a
committee you serve on M, official or otherwise, they were just the
ticket. I knew that given the right triggers he?d flip out again, and
though I risked serious harm to a member of my team, I don?t apologize
for the op."
"She damn near killed him, Blonde," M said, ruefully. "A bloody good
sniper is not so easy to find. He?ll never have that level of ability
again, according to the doctors. He?s lost his calmness, his
peacefulness, his centering. Snipers need those qualities, the whole
lay-up and wait philosophy, bringing their heart rate down to just above
corpse-levels, moving in and out like the wind. Did she really have to
burn him, like that?"
"M," I said, seriously, leaning towards him, "he had Sandra by the
throat, choking her. And yes, sometimes certain men enjoy that, and the
Sissies are trained to withstand it. But this was beyond any normal
sexual kink. He was genuinely trying to kill her. I?ll show you the
video clip, if you insist. It?s horrific. We had him on camera. He was
grinning, he was enjoying it. He was so high on drugs his teeth were
wet, his lips were shiny, his eyes were like tiny little pinholes in his
face."
I waited for him to make his scoffing noise.
"You?d rather have a good agent dead than a good sniper on duty?"
M looked at me, deciding whether to take the bait. Defend his position,
and be known as a leader who doesn?t care about his troops. Agree with
me, and undercut the whole justification for the conversation.
"So your sissy agent thought it best to burn the man?s genitals?"
I nodded.
"Tradecraft, M. Firstly, he?d already made her cum twice, and was well
on his way to a third time. For that, he?s to be congratulated. A
horrible human being, but an amazing lover. In any event, there is no
third time, in our world, so she had to stop him, in any way she could.
It?s grilled into her, every day, from sun up to sun down. Two sexual
releases, fine. Three? Never. That, combined with the fact that the
sick, twisted arsehole from Cumbria was once again losing his marbles and
trying to strangle a fellow human being, and she did the only thing
possible. The only thing logical. She managed to flail her hand around,
find her open purse, pull out her flame-thrower lipstick tube, and
activate it. She saved herself."
M studied me for a few moments. I could tell he had a question, but was
hesitant to ask it.
"Why no third orgasms, Blonde?"
I was disappointed in him.
"You don?t remember double-oh three six?" I asked.
His eyes moved up and left, and his thoughts were suddenly far away.
"Lance Corporal Tucker," he whispered.
My own thoughts also went far away in time.
"Christina," I whispered.
His eyes popped back towards me.
"Ah, yes, quite right," he said, "one of the senior officers in the
original Squad, just after you were recruited and joined."
"My mentor," I answered, my voice strained, the memories of her flying
back into my consciousness.
"What about him? Why did you bring him up?" M asked.
I looked up at him.
"Monte Carlo. On the yacht. She?d forgotten to take her Soberin,
and..."
He butted in.
"Soberin?"
I nodded. "It?s like aspirin, but it keeps you completely sober, no
matter how much alcohol or other drugs you consume, freely or otherwise.
So she ended up getting drunk on champagne, and before she could
extricate herself that vicious little Lebanese bastard seduced her, and
made her cum three times in one session."
He nodded, urging me to continue.
"Look, M," I said, "those of us in the field use Soberin all the time.
Because we?ve all been taught, we?ve been trained. Any of us, sissies or
otherwise, can withstand two orgasms without losing our edge, that
sometimes subtle last degree of awareness, the tipping point of mental
acuity. Sometimes we?re close to that line, but there?s still enough
sense in us to operate. But a third cum, that?s the killer."
"How so?" he asked.
"The physiological shocks of three orgasms leave you too low in multiple
areas. Endorphins, minerals, enzymes, vitamins, to name a few. But most
tragically, testosterglobin. That?s the decider. Lose that, and you?re
done."
I paused for a moment, filling the room with silence. Then I heard a
muffled moan, from outside. A man?s voice.
Tatiana was finishing her task.
Dollars to donuts, Moneypenny just blew the biggest load of his life
straight up her pussy.
If M had noticed it, he wasn?t saying.
"Christina," I said, returning to the topic at hand, "lost her edge. The
result was partying with him too much, going past the two-only rule,
falling into his trap. She ended up being tortured, beaten horribly, for
six continuous days, enduring agony I shudder to think about, before that
animal finally ended her."
I felt a tear slip out of the outer edge of my left eye. A tiny bead
slithered down my cheek, glistening in the garish office lighting.
"Whatever happened to him, that Lebanese man?" M asked.
A second tear rolled down my cheek, thinking of her.
"I cut off his dick while he was still alive, and stuffed it into his
mouth. Then I shoved that eight-inch carving knife slowly into the back
of his skull, just before I pushed him out of a seventeenth-story
window."
M just stared at me. Knowing I had a license to kill, and actually
hearing me tell him about one of my many victims, were two completely
different things.
Now I stared at him, deadly serious.
"Since that day, almost three decades ago, every candidate at Sissy
School has been taught the same mantra. Over and over again."
He looked at me, rapt attention on his face.
"Every sissy knows?" he asked.
"Yes. Without question. First order of business.
"You only cum twice."
The End.
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