AdvExGen A Field Agent of Valentina s Espionage
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"Hurry up Donald, I need you to fuck me now," whispered Sandy into Nakamoto's ear. He was finishing up some research on the computer at Honolulu Police Headquarters. She gestured or said "Hi" to the few cops working the night shift, almost all of them she knew, hiding her seething libido. The pretense of just stopping by for a meal with her friend proved difficult to maintain. The scene at Maggie's had her boiling. Leaning over him to see what kept him busy allowed the whisper to happen. She actually wanted to see the screen but couldn't focus on it. "Please," she moaned. He printed and closed the file with a couple quick key strokes.
She wanted to race out of the Homicide bureau, pulling him into some place private, but the pretense held her back. They nonchalantly walked through the hallway and into an interrogation room. He made sure of privacy, no listening devices or potential voyeurs through the one way glass. She shucked off her pants and panties while he checked.
When he reentered the cold room with a bare table and hard chairs, her pink pussy gaped in front of him. She had lain back on the table and spread herself open. At first he knelt before her fragrant cunny, giving it a couple of licks. "That's good, Donald, but I need it filled." He swiftly unbuckled, unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, pulled them and his underwear down to his knees, releasing his rising manhood. Hard enough to enter, once the head touched lips it hardened further. He shoved it all the way in, stopped to feel the beautiful pleasure of her cunt, the heat, the tightness, the movement inside her before thrusting deep and hard and fast.
"Yes, darling, yes, so good, so good, fuck me Donald, fuck me right." He held her waist firmly, his fingers digging into her pale giving ass. She couldn't move in his tight restraint. His rapid piston fucking was just what she needed. They both marveled at the sight of his cock burying and emerging from beneath her dirty blonde pubic hair. He kept watching, transfixed by the sexy vision, but she had no need for vision. Feeling was everything.
She closed her eyes, leaned back and felt like a hot spring fed pond, the spring at her center spreading its heat in turgid pulses throughout her body. He continued fucking with powerful strokes in, pausing to enjoy the pulsations of her orgasm and withdrawing until the head threatened to pop out before shoving it back.
When her orgasm quieted, he resumed the fast fuck, bringing a climax that blew him away. He stopped to enjoy the bliss until he sensed she neared another peak. With the last of his energy, and with the aid of his finger driving into her back hole, he got her there. She tightened with a grimace.
"Eeeh," she squeaked. "Oooh," she moaned as she relaxed, lying back on the table and pulsating into oblivion.
Sitting in the booth at a diner open after midnight a couple blocks from headquarters, Sandy and Nakamoto shared a club sandwich. "Why do you want to know?" Nakamoto asked, answering a question with a question. Her inquiry into the Coleman case had broken through the quiet warmth of their post orgasm bliss. Was it a suspicious glare that had replaced his loving stare?
"Okay," said Sandy. "I have a client who wants us to look into it."
"A friend of Rhonda's I presume. And he or she hasn't done his or her civic duty by coming in to talk to us."
"I know. We want her to talk to you, but she's afraid of collateral damage. The people she and Rhonda have been hanging out with are into some shady business. I don't think the two girls entered into any illegal activity as far as it goes, but she doesn't want to be the cause of any of her friends being arrested."
"And what if these illegal activities include murder?"
"She's pretty certain they're not murderers, but if we have an inkling that they are, I'll let you know immediately."
"You'll forgive me Sandy if I'm skeptical," said Nakamoto.
"I guess I deserve that. But I promise I'll do all I can to let you in on any and all information relevant to the case. Think of it this way: If these people are criminal types, they won't be too trusting of the police."
"Or maybe we could get some leverage."
"Don't you think if you shine your police light on them, they'll scatter like cockroaches? Let Joe do some undercover work. I think it's the best way to break it."
Nakamoto thought on it for a couple of minutes. Sandy sat quietly, not wanting to aggravate him further.
"Okay, Sandy," said Nakamoto. "But as far as Sam goes, this conversation never happened. I don't want to be on his shit list for putting his best friend's son in harm's way again. You report to me directly, okay?"
"So the investigation is not going well?"
"A brick wall would best describe it."
"And the autopsy?" she asked, taking the conversation full circle.
"I can't let you see the report. I don't want to chance it. But I know it by heart. There were signs of intercourse, but not any signs of assault, either physical or sexual. Rhonda had consensual sex and the man left his seed. The semen was somewhat unique, AB negative, so getting a sample of blood from a suspect could prove fruitful. Cause of death was drowning. The liquid in her lungs contained salt, and other odd chemicals, but not the type found in sea water. The chemicals seemed to be used for olfactory purposes."
"Like perfumes?"
"Yes."
"Good. I'm going to give you your first assist from our side of the investigation. Sensory deprivation tanks, specifically those created somewhere in Northern California. You might want to give a call to Joe's mom in San Francisco. She has a new age shop there. I don't know the name of it."
"Have Joe give me a call," said Nakamoto with a smile. "I hope you're not using me just for this."
"No, Donald," said Sandy with a wicked smile, "I'm using you for that fabulous cock of yours." She patted his dormant penis.
Kitty's income wasn't huge, though she did well enough at the prestigious Steven Brown Salon where the political and social elite of Hawaii got their hair done mostly by the proprietor. Living at home must have allowed her to create a substantial savings account. I had never known her worth, but she didn't flinch when she provided my usual $1000 retainer. Even when the expenses included the rental of a windsurfing board and the purchase of an appropriate outfit, she seemed more than willing to pay.
One expense was provided by my new lover. Margarita bought me a matching pyramid medallion to dangle on a gold chain necklace against my chest. When we went to the new age store, equivalent to my mom's in San Francisco, I actually spent time browsing its contents, something I avoided doing at my mom's. I studied the herbs, perused the records of shakuhachi flute, endless guitars and whale sounds, and glanced through the books, finding and purchasing a large volume on sensory deprivation. Figuring there might be a pamphlet on the subject, I found a tome of over five hundred pages with all kinds of mystical illustrations along with some bland black and white photos and mechanical diagrams of the tanks. After pocketing the receipt for Kitty and walking through the hollow bell jingle of the door, I paused just outside and began to worry about the sanity of my mother. That small store generated a great deal of obsession over a bunch of holistic pseudo-science.
Margarita insisted on accompanying me to the beach in Kailua where Kitty's friends lived. You never know how dangerous going undercover can be, but danger always exists. Perhaps the fact that I loved hanging out with this cute, pretty woman weakened my argument. But I didn't really have a chance of swaying her. I found her relentless stubbornness sexy. Her fiery eyes burning, the power of her body language, every inch of that petite frame awed me. I found myself the passive one in our relationship. I liked it. She rode me hard well into the early morning hours once I agreed.
Borrowing Sandy's dependable old Buick, we outfitted it with a rack for the windsurfing board and headed to the windward side. Having grown up in Hawaii Kai, I had some experience with the sport of windsurfing. One of the best beaches for the sport was minutes from my father's house. My experience allowed the teaching of Margarita to be both actual and undercover.
We spent the morning getting Margarita to stand up and take the board over waves. She proved to be an able student. I got to hold my dark haired beauty close while giving her instructions. Her round little ass would often intentionally or unintentionally rub against my constantly semi-rigid man meat.
Around noon, I spotted Kitty getting out of her little white Honda Civic and entering a large beach house. She soon emerged, accompanied by a couple of muscular and handsome young men, a blond and an Asian, both wearing only swim trunks, both tanned a golden brown. She caught my eye, barely acknowledging me. For these young men it had to appear we never met. A couple of hard bodied blondes in revealing bikinis also emerged from the house. Kitty looked out of place dressed in the black slacks and pink polo shirt uniform of the salon. I later found out she scored some flake for her cocaine and champagne loving boss. I didn't know the why at that time, but I knew the when. We had planned for her to show me her friends. She raced off.
As we hoped, the two men went around to the back of the house, the side facing the ocean and pulled out their windsurfing boards and sails, colorful blocks of reds, blues and yellows floating in a white field. I approached the men, leaving Margarita to watch over our rather plain white equipment.
"Nice sailboards," I said. "I haven't seen any like them."
"Our own design," said the Asian dude. "The girls and I designed them."
"I'm Joe," I said.
"Bran," answered the Asian, "and this is Jason." He waved towards the haoli busy putting his rig together.
Arriving at the tail end of the conversation, one of the hot blondes joined the introductions. "I'm Heather, and that's Myra." The two were obviously identical twins, both featuring narrow faces and lithe, athletic bodies, ex-tom boys breaking out of their boyish shells to reveal their womanly beauty. We spent a moment checking each other out.
"You two going to get your shit?" asked the disapproving and tough sounding Jason. Heather gave him a stabbing glance, but the two blonde babes obeyed. I figured she was matched with Jason, probably making Bran and Myra the other couple.
The sailboards they brought out impressed me. Heather's displayed pastel, flowery feminine art while Myra's looked abstract with a curving flow of colors, gradients of blue, green and red that paled into white. It reminded me of an ocean scene with a rainforest edged beach at sunset. I especially liked hers.
"Wow," I said. "I wish I lived here. I'd have you create a couple for me and my girlfriend."
"Where you from?" asked Bran.
"My mother's got a place in San Francisco," I answered. "My father lives here." So far I needed the least amount of lying I had ever done going undercover, lowering the sexual tension I get from creating these disguises. Having to put the lie in somewhere, I added, "I come visiting my dad during spring break and some of the summer. I brought my new girlfriend along this year. Margarita!" I gestured for her to join us.
"Hi," she said, a little out of breath. When I placed my arm affectionately around her shoulder, Jason seemed to ease up his distasteful expression and Bran surveyed my little fox. Introductions were again exchanged. With the two of us together, Heather, having gotten her stuff out and ready for some wave action, came back for more chatting and couldn't help noticing the pyramid medallions.
"You know Rhonda?" she asked, which got the attention of the rest of the group who gathered together in front of Margarita and myself.
"No, I don't know any Rhonda," I said, truthfully.
"Rhonda Coleman," said Jason in a suspicious tone. My dislike of this guy increased. "Don't you read the newspapers? Don't you watch television?"
"No," I said. "I guess I'm not much up on the goings on in the world."
"But she had the same pyramids as you guys have," said Myra, at last vibrating the air with her vocal chords. Not surprisingly she had the same high West Coast/Hawaiian youthful accent as her sister.
"Aren't these cool?" said Margarita. "Joe's mom owns a new age shop in San Francisco. She and Joe turned me on to pyramid power."
"Yeah, I'm studying holistic medicine, training to be a healer," I lied. "I believe the soul of the sick needs more treatment then the chemical shit the medical establishment tries to shove down our throat so to speak and make all that money from poisons they inflict on us to make us worse."
"Joe," said my darling Margarita, playing the scene to the hilt, "they don't want to hear your preaching."
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