Cuban Candy

Overall, it had been glorious.

She was careful to maintain the position the black stud had put her in, thinking he was going to fuck her again when he came out of the bathroom. But he didn't. He did keep his eyes on her, as if he was daring her to move, while he dressed, but then, giving her a smile and a salute, he went to the door and opened it. This was certainly strange to her, because this was his hotel room.

As he exited the room, though, another man--older but with the look of an American Marine general, which was close to what he really was, entered and walked to the foot of the bed.

"Let me introduce myself," he said. "I am Sam Winterberry. I head up a special unit of the CIA called the Candy Store. Our agents use sex to further the intelligence interests of the United States."

"Excuse me. I don't--"

"Shut up and listen. And don't change your position. You must accept that you are the vulnerable one here." He unzipped himself and pulled out a massive cock, half hard. It thickened as he stroked it and continued to talk. "I control my agents with this. You are a Cuban spy but you are going to become an American spy, as well--under me, and I mean that in all of its meanings."

"You've got the wrong person. I'm just a stripper in a Panamanian club."

"That's just your cover. You also gather information for the Cubans using the same means the Candy Store does--through sex. You therefore won't need much training to double for us."

"Double for you?"

"Yes, you can continue to work for the Cubans, but you have to give us whatever you give them, and if we give you something to give them, you must do so."

"Again, you have the wrong--"

"The Panamanian general Torres has been screwing you and is dealing with a king pin in a Colombian drug cartel, who has screwed you too. You are here in Rome because the Panamanians want to do an arms deal with an Italian arms merchant, Luigi Salvitore, and you are part of that deal too. The Cubans want to know about the arms deal. You are going to give them information on that. But you are going to give the information to us too."

"Brody, the black stud, he--"

"Works for me, yes. He's a Candy Store agent."

"So our encounter wasn't a coincidence? The flight? Staying in the same hotel here in Rome?"

"No, none of that was coincidence."

"You had him fuck me."

"Yes, and you don't seem to have noticed the cameras that caught all of that." He pointed to the devices acting as hooks the paintings each of the four walls were hung on. "The videos are insurance in case you run right back to the Cubans and fail to join us. The Cubans know Bordy works for me. He told me in passing at the door that you're a great lay. I'm going to fuck you too, but no photos, I'm afraid."

"Brody isn't really a Canadian, is he?"

"No. He isn't even Brody. He does play a mean game of basketball, though."

"Will I see him again?"

"He did you royally, didn't he?"

"He certainly did."

"If you give us service that justifies rewards, yes, we can have him screw you again."

"On Cuba. You don't have any--"

"That U.S. passport you travel on. You're an American citizen. You can work with us or go to prison for spying for the Cubans."

"Bueno, joder--Well, fuck," Claudine exclaimed and collapsed back on the bed.

"Yes, that's the next order of business here. Spread your thighs," Winterberry said, moving between her parted legs, saddling up and mounting her. He penetrated her very nice, surgically supplied cunt, and began to assert the Candy Story unit control.