Persuasive Lips Page 2

  Denial. Plausible denial. It’s all in code. No way could he know about the impending siege in the Northern Mariana Islands.

  “You caught me. I have a side job typing smut for...” think Della Davis, think... “Mr. Hitchcock pays me handsomely to type up scripts to stag films.” Yeah, that’ll work.

  “Is that so? Well now, I’d never suspect the stodgy old bloke of such mischief. Hiring the President’s secretary for such a tawdry task is just deplorable. I shall bring this to the Commander in Chief’s attention right away.”

  “Wait.” I can’t get Hitchcock in trouble. It would ruin him. And I adore his films. If only the President had been apprised of the current cryptology in use... But, no, gosh, of course he could never be. What would his wife think? Oh, his wife is the salt of the earth. She’d understand it’s for the good of the world. Wait a minute; my thoughts are way off the task. “What was it that you asked me?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Hunh?” She was so cold. And thirsty. “I’m really cold, will you be so good as to untie me and direct me to my clothes and get me a drink of water? No, hot coffee. Yes. Be a dear and go down to the dining car and fetch me a pot of coffee and then when you return, I’ll be dressed and we can discuss this matter like the routine business...government business which it is.”

  Agent Jones cupped her breasts in his large hands and kneaded them in an erotic circular motion as she lay still, bracing herself.

  He said, “I’ll warm you up in the way you’ve been dreaming I would.” His voice meant business.

  Isn’t he full of himself? Not that she hadn’t had a few rouge fantasies about him late at night, coming to her office with his predictable sack of Tiny Tavern hamburgers. But he couldn’t know about that. Could he?

  “Stop. Please stop. I need to get dressed and we’ll have coffee and talk like two coworkers, colleagues, fellow patriotic Americans. It’s really a simple, cute story.”

  Her heartbeat quickened as did her breath. She tried to keep her mind off of her captor’s unwanted abuse, but my, was he skilled. She fought the pleasure as the compartment magically warmed.

  “Please remove your hands.”

  He did. “For now. But you’ll be begging me for them later.”

  “Be a good boy and untie me and produce my clothes and fetch me a hard drink...hot drink, I mean...”

  “Down girl. So you want a hard drink do you now?” He pressed his midsection against her leg and she felt his patriotic member as he lightly slid it down her thigh, stopping at the knee.

  A zing of desire ran through her. Good girls didn’t taste what she suddenly craved. “No, I meant coffee. Or tea will work. Hot cocoa? Broth? Any hot beverage will do.”

  Agent Jones pivoted to the closet, opened the door and removed an oversized ice bucket chilling a six pack of beer. He set it on the floor, removed a circular ice cube and traced the waistband of her garter with it. She gasped and trembled as melted water ran down her sides.

  “I said I was cold. I need to cover up and...”

  “Miss Davis, you’re mouth says cold, your curves say molten.”

  “What exactly is it that you want from me? You have the script.” Her voice cracked again. “You caught me. I’m a bad girl. Why this elaborate interrogation method? Don’t you realize what trouble you’ll be in when they find out you’ve kidnapped one of the President’s secretaries?”

  “Oh, they know.”

  “Who knows?”

  “They do.”

  “They who?”

  He leaned down and whispered, “You’re being filmed, Miss Davis. Make sure you put in an extra good performance if you want your Academy Award. Make lots of pleasurable expressions. Talk dirty to me.” He licked her earlobe, tracing the small fake garnet earring.

  She shuddered. No. He has to be joshing me. Or is he? Oh my God, Does Alfred Hitchcock really direct those kind of movies? Eww! Is that fat bald man watching me?

  Agent Jones unbuttoned his suit coat, grabbed her waist and lifted her behind off of the bunk, pulling her toward the edge of the bed.

  “Stop. What are you doing?” He is so strong.

  “Making room.”

  “Making room for what?” Her eyes swept the small private train compartment, searching for the camera lens. He is just fooling with me. Messing up my mind. So that he can have his perverted way with me. How long until I can escape? Do I want to escape? Why didn’t I listen to Mother and get a job at the airplane factory?

  “I’m making room on the mattress for the typewriter.”

  “What?”

  “You’re going to type out exactly what you did this evening and then below it you will decode it.”

  “But I don’t have a copy of the encryption key from the girls at the Office of Strategic Services.”

  “Surely you remember the gist of the communication.”

  “Nope. Can’t help you. Won’t help you.”

  He rolled a sheet of paper into the carriage and moved the typewriter to the bed.

  Della watched in disbelief. My whole life is typing. I can’t believe I even have to type when I’m kidnapped. It’s just not fair. Not fair at all. I can do other things besides type. I have a very clever intellect. I just need an opportunity to blossom.

  Jones shoved a beer bottle in the pewter opener screwed into wall near the closet door. He popped the cap off and tossed it into the typewriter keys. His eyes met hers as he took a long pull.

  The train honked and whistled through a grade crossing. As it picked up speed, Della shifted her weight, trying hard to stay on the edge of the bed as the locomotive bumped and jostled her and the typewriter around.

  “I can’t type with my hands tied up.”

  “Now, see, you’re thinking logically. I knew you’d come around.” The emphasis he placed on the word come made her very uncomfortable.

  He took the first page of the document and held it over her face, an inch from her nose. “Read this to me.”

  She shook her head and wriggled, kicking him down as she fell off the bed. Her arms were above her head, tied to the bed rail by two pairs of stockings knotted into long tethers. The silk slid down the brass rail as she landed on top of him, her rear end firmly planted on his chest.

  Thrashing with the silken bondage, Della struggled to loosen the ties sufficiently for her escape. She finally stopped trying when she realized her bottom now hovered over his face. He circled her inner thighs with his tongue, exploring the outer reaches of her secret universe. A jolt of feminine awareness singed through her. She raised her bottom.

  “No! I mean...I’m sorry. Excuse me for sitting on your face.”

  She clambered off of him, contorting and twisting her arms. Her injured shoulder screamed. She winced.

  He rolled from under her and helped untangle his captive by releasing one tether, the arm closest to her wound. He helped her stand up. “How is that feeling?”

  “It hurts. Are you sure it was just a flesh wound?”

  “Yup. Here, have a beer.”

  He removed a second bottle from the melting ice and opened it. He handed her the cool alcohol and tossed this cap into the typewriter keys too.

  She took a long guzzle. The Miller High Life tasted so good. It occurred to her that she could untie her other hand.

  He removed his navy blue suit jacket, revealing a pistol in his tan leather shoulder holster.

  Perhaps she shouldn’t untie herself just yet. She certainly didn’t want to be shot twice in one night. Della felt ninety-nine percent sure Agent Jones meant no violent harm to her. She wasn’t quite sure what this game was, nor if she was completely offended by it. Honestly, this was a rush. Her fantasies coming to life. She loved the smell of danger in the air. And it smelled like Secret Service Agent Ashley Jones. Like Ivory soap and lime aftershave. The mothball scent had dissipated, thank goodness.

  He hung his coat on a hook on the back of the closet door and removed his black necktie. It was a clip-on. Cops wore clip-ons
so thugs couldn’t strangle them. He tucked it into a pocket of his jacket then unbuttoned the top button of his white shirt. Grabbing his bottle from the floor, he guzzled the cold beer as he stared at her lips around the neck of the brown glass. His gaze shot down her body, lingering on her crotch, then down her legs to the harlot stilettos.

  Her crush on Agent Jones had begun the very first day she’d laid eyes on him. He had been snacking on hamburgers and martinis with President Roosevelt in the oval office when she walked in to deliver a Congressional bill. Della smiled, remembering the bolt of electricity that rumbled through her at the first site of his chiseled face. She wanted to feel the zing again. She wanted him to touch her. Down there.

  Della decided to go along with his program and see how it played out. “I’m not going to be able to type on that thing if you keep throwing things on the keys to jam them up. I’m good enough at jamming them myself when I get going. I type a hundred and twenty words a minute you know.”

  “Do you now?” He smiled. “Are you that fast in your love making as well?”

  “I’m not that kind of girl.” Della was emphatic, even though she secretly wanted to be that kind of girl.

  “The evidence begs to differ.” He picked up page two of the document and read “Lillian begged, ‘Throw me over the radio and take me like a rabbit, big mariner.’”

  She blushed. “You don’t understand. That’s code. It’s just a boring little memo. You know everything is encrypted while we’re at war. It’s not what you think. I can’t help it if the girls at the Office of Strategic Services got bored and came up with a pornographic lingo.”

  “So says you. Maybe you, Miss Davis, are the bored sex-a-tary who sat at her desk into the wee hours of the night, typing up your fantasies, waiting for an unsuspecting cop to wander in so you could have your way with him.”

  How’d he guess? No, wait a minute...the code really is pornographic. “Oh, you’d just love to be that innocent cop, wouldn’t you? You think I sit at my desk, hoping you’ll come by and feed me hamburgers and make wild animal love to me?”

  “You admit it. But I have to be persuaded, I’m not the type that just gives it to any horny fat girl.”

  Anger rose up inside Della. Schoolyard taunts replayed in her brain. “That was mean.”

  “What was mean? Me defending my scruples?”

  “You know very well what I’m talking about. I can’t help it, I have a glandular problem.”

  “Me too. My glands are working overtime sending the signal to sew my seeds deep into the most luscious creature I’ve ever met.”

  “What?”

  He grabbed her derrière. As he plumped her cheeks he whispered, “You have the most perfect T and A I’ve ever seen. You don’t know how long I’ve craved you. The things I’ve dreamed of doing to you. For you. Because of you.”

  “What kind of masher are you? Stop it!” She gyrated and turned away to scramble back onto the bed. Before she could climb on, he maneuvered behind her and pressed his erection up against her plump rear end. She froze.

  He whispered, “Type the first line and read it aloud to me.”

  “No.”

  “You don’t want to be uncooperative, Miss Davis. Type and read me the first line. Again and again. Type dirty to me...” His voice was low and seductive with just a hint of malice.

  She grabbed the memo from the bed and placed it next to the typewriter. She spread her feet shoulder width and bent over to reach the keys. Miss Jones began typing as she cleared her throat. “Throw me over the radio and take me like a rabbit, big mariner.” Her voice cracked.

  He moved his hands to her breasts and rolled her nipples between his thumbs. “Type it again. Read it again. Type dirty to me, Miss Davis...”

  She arched her back, sucked in a breath and repeated as the keys jammed, “Throw me over the...big mariner.”

  “You left out some words, Miss Davis.” One hand slipped down to her dark curls. He traced the perimeter.

  She felt blood rushing to her feminine zone. Tingles singed her legs. Miss Davis spread them slightly, getting a firmer stance in the high heels. She peeked at his hand on her womanly need and the white garter and sexy stockings. Oh yes. She was going to participate in his perversion. Her perversion. She was up for whatever he desired.

  “Tell me what it means.” Agent Jones demanded in a guttural voice.

  She panted, “It just means the Army and Marines are going to invade Saipan. In the Northern Marianas Islands.” Oh no, I’ve divulged military strategy. I’m going to be fired or hung for treason. I don’t care. Tonight is my night. Our night. I can’t believe this is happening.

  “That is not what it means. You want me to give it to you doggie style, you dirty little girl.” His voice turned husky with sexual hunger as his finger settled on her clitoris. “Type dirty to me,” he commanded.

  The circular motion of his touch and the side to side swaying of the train clouded her thoughts. Della tried to remain professional. “Sure it does. The whole document is about the battle plan for the rest of the allied invasion. You must have read it. All the stuff about Lillian being juicy and trouble is just military strategy to surprise the Japs.”

  Agent Jones slipped his other hand between her legs from behind. Miss Davis’ juices flooded his fingers as he rubbed her engorged vagina. She gasped and threw her head back against his chest.

  “Tell me some more, Lillian. My juicy Lillian.” He insisted.

  Her knees were weakening. She felt light headed and shocked at the sensations. She swallowed. “Lillian is dreaming of blowing his little member.” And so was she.

  “I can’t help you with that.” He pressed his still clothed big member harder against her and began grinding it into her rear end.

  “Little member. The Japs.” She panted and reached one hand behind her and placed it as a barrier between her bare bottom and his trousers. Palm side against him, she shocked herself as she betrayed her good girl instincts and closed her hooded eyes as she traced his contours. “Oh yes. Her boyfriend, Big Bruno, is gonna be mad when he catches them.”

  “Who is Big Bruno?” He sucked hard on the right side of her neck.

  She tried to pull away, knowing he would leave a love mark. July in Washington was way too hot and humid to wear a high necked ruffled blouse to work.

  She located the tip of his phallus below the crotch on his left thigh. She playfully pinched it.

  He groaned. “Who is big Bruno?”

  “You are. The Americans. You are the Americans. You are my American man. My Big Bruno.” She moaned breathlessly.

  He twisted her around and kissed her. Shoving his tongue in, he took command of her palate. The train pitched hard to the left and knocked her head against the window. It separated them.

  “Oh Miss Davis, are you all right?”

  “Yes. How about untying me?”

  “No. I can’t do that until the mission is complete.”

  She ran her tongue across her swollen lips. Tasting caked on lipstick. “What is the mission?” She unbuttoned two of his shirt buttons, then ripped it the rest of the way open. No undershirt. Strong chest. Dark hair in just the right thickness. She ran her hand across his pectoral muscles and captured a male nipple between two fingers. She teased it taught and leaned her head down to lick it. “What is the mission, Agent Jones?”

  He unbuckled his trousers and unfastened them. They pooled around his ankles. He kicked his brogan shoes off and awkwardly stepped out of his pants.

  This erotic vision was just too much for a good girl to handle. A cop with his armed holster still on, his shirt ripped open showing the most amazing male chest and heaven help her but she wanted him to take his shorts off. Miss Davis ran her hand down to the waistband of his white drawstring shorts and slipped a finger inside, tenderly stroking the mass of fur.

  He pulled the string and the shorts dropped to the floor. His big, big Bruno sprung upright.

  So that’s what it looks like. He�
��s amazing. She took one step back and admired the whole package. This was so surreal. Better than any daydream she’d had of him. “What is the mission?” Della slipped her hand down to his family jewels and caressed them in the cleft, careful to be very gentle. They were warm and soft. She liked touching him there. So intimate and naughty.

  He moaned. “To make a training film.”

  She closed her eyes, “There is no camera in here. Come on...tell me the mission.

  “To make a training film for the cryptographers.”

  He was working her breasts again, so eloquently she felt the connection to her clitoris, something Mother had never told her about. Fine, I’ll play along. “Well I guess I flunked out, hunh?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Her hand trailed up and down the length of his erection. It felt hot and smooth and very hard. “I gave up the secrets. Dang, I should have bit down on the cyanide capsule.”

  “No, you most certainly did not flunk and I know you don’t have a cyanide capsule in your mouth. I thoroughly searched it, remember?”

  “Perhaps you need to use a different probe?” She couldn’t believe she’d just suggested such a thing.

  He groaned. She felt a drop of pre-ejaculate drip out. She wiped it with her fingertip and ran it across her lower lip. Her tongue nipped at it. Hot and salty. Yum. “What is the mission?”

  “To make a training film for the cryptographers to determine if their code words make sense. If they make it seem like a plausible way to make love.”

  “All the cryptographers I know are women. They wouldn’t want to watch me... Oh, but I see, they’ll be watching you...” She snorted. “There is no camera on this train, why am I even going down this fantasy road with you...?”

  He hoisted the typewriter back onto the desk. Agent Jones untied Miss Davis, kissed that wrist, and lifted her onto the bed. He locked his eyes with hers as he shoved her legs back against her shoulders. She grabbed her knees, splaying her legs further open. He knelt beside the bed, placing one elbow on each side of her waist before he kissed her. She let go of her knees and ran her fingertips over his scalp, circling in sequence with their tongues.