Mystery Woman

"Yes Eve, I am."

"I'll be back Friday night and give you my answer then," she said while she got up and started getting dressed. "Is that acceptable?" she asked, with a real edge.

I just nodded, and watched her until her beautiful round ass disappeared from the bedroom. The front door slammed shortly afterward.

The next week may have been the longest of my life. When Eve is traveling normally about every other day she sends me an email - she never calls on the phone. This time I didn't hear from her at all. I had resigned myself to having to start over, sure that I would never find anyone else like Eve, when she arrived at my apartment on Friday night. She entered using her key. Her body language was tough to read.

"I'm pissed at you for giving me an ultimatum, Brian," were her first discouraging words. The next were much better. "I am truly in love with you though - I just can't understand why you don't believe me when I say that given that my very unusual job comes first you still want a marriage."

"OK; let me both ask some questions, and explain," I said, holding her hands.

She nodded.

"You're not a call girl, right?" I rhetorically asked, for the fifth time.

"Right."

"Your job helps the U S Government, right?"

"Right."

"You're not going to be doing the job forever, right?"

"I will be for at least another eight to ten years, though," she hesitantly replied.

"Are you interested in sex with anyone else?"

"No - you satisfy me completely."

"Do you love me?"

"Yes - lots."

"Then please, Eve, marry me."

"If you get down on one knee, I will," she replied with a mischievous smile. However she continued with the ominous serious statement, "But don't say that I didn't warn you that if I have to choose between my job and being married my job will prevail."

That caused me to gulp hard. Nevertheless, I got down on one knee, we got married in a simple ceremony, we both gave up our apartments but rented a larger one in the same complex, and I was happy.

*****************

Married life started out great - except for Eve's extended business trips, which sometimes came up on the spur of the moment. It was a little disconcerting that we could never talk substantively about where she was going or what she was doing, and several times I challenged her and asked if she was really working for the CIA.

"No, darling," she would always patiently reply. "I work for EIT, Inc. It's a private company. We have some contracts with the government, but I do NOT work for the CIA. I wish that I could tell you more, but even though I think that it's ridiculous, some of the things are Top Secret and on a need-to-know basis."

There were a few blips here and there. Sometimes when she returned from a trip there were marks on her boobs or ass, but she explained them as resulting from physical confrontations, and she never tried to hide them from me. Of course after watching her handle the two muggers, I was predisposed to believe that she occasionally got into fights. I was worried for her safety, but she was not.

After we had been married for three years, and had moved into a house, an enormous safe showed up one weekend. "I need to keep some sensitive materials in it, darling - and I won't be able to let you know the combination or have a key," she said while stroking the side of my face as it was being installed. It required the floor of our den to be reinforced including by several I-beams in the basement, to which the safe was attached by prison screws (the head breaks off when you tighten them so they can't be removed except with a torch).

About six months after the safe had been installed, Eve had been promised a completely hassle-free weekend by her employer, EIT. We celebrated at a dance club Friday night, went to a ball game Saturday during the day, a play that night, and then had an incredible sex session. After doing the Wheelbarrow, for an encore I used the butt vibrator on her when I fucked her. We could only use that technique when she was sure that she didn't have to work the next day, because it wiped her out. Me too, but she had all of her nerve endings fried and was convinced that she couldn't handle difficult situations for twenty four hours afterward.

Our deep slumber cuddling with each other after our fuck fest was rudely interrupted by her secure cellphone going off. She was required to have it on at all times, and like many people had different ringtones for people who regularly called her. This was the obnoxious office ringtone.

"Oh shit," she moaned as reached over me to the nightstand, trying to locate the offending object. After dropping it once and rolling her naked body over me, she fell onto the floor and answered it. Of course I just heard her end of the conversation until she went into the bathroom, closed the door, and turned on the water so that I couldn't hear anything else. What I did get was:

"What the fuck - why are you calling me, it's 4:30 in the morning...I'm supposed to have the whole weekend off...Why in the hell can't Barb..."

That's all that I got. I didn't need to hear more to know that our fabulous weekend was coming to an end, and that I would not be getting a wonderful morning blowjob or fuck.

After a couple of minutes the water at the sink was turned off, but I heard the shower running. Eve returned from the bathroom a few minutes after the shower stopped. She was equal parts pissed and apologetic.

"I'm so sorry, Hon; those bastards at work need me to come it right away," she said as she picked up the "Go Bag" that she always had ready, and added a few things to it.

"What happened," I was able to hoarsely get out, still not fully awake despite the activity of the last fifteen minutes or so.

"Barb was supposed to handle things this weekend, but she got in some sort of an accident and we're at a critical juncture with a project so I have to go right away," she resignedly said. As she clicked her suitcase closed and locked it, she sat on the bed next to me, gave me a passionate kiss, and then said "I promise to make it up to you - and don't give my spot away. I hope to be gone no more than three days."

"OK," I mumbled out loud, and "Shit, three days more away from me?" to myself. "Safe travel," I called to her as she exited the room.

I heard her bustling a little in the den, then the front door opened and closed, and off she went. I peeked out the window in time to see her entering the back seat of one of the EIT black sedans which likely was driving her to the private jet terminal at the airport.

I was so wiped out from the previous night's sexual gymnastics and the long day that preceded it that I got back to sleep despite my angst at having my tranquility destroyed - not to mention the possibility of a delicious fuck or blowjob.

I finally dragged my ass out of bed about 9:30 a. m. I got dressed in casual clothes, made some breakfast, got the morning paper from the end of the driveway, and went into the den to read it. When I sat in my wheeled chair I happened to bump into the massive safe. The door popped open slightly. Obviously, in her sexually-induced stupor at 5:00 a. m., Eve had not - for the first time ever - properly closed up the safe. It required both a combination and key, and the key was still in the lock and obviously she had not twirled the combination dial.

I chuckled to myself, intending to close it right up, twirl the dial, and put the key in her desk (I didn't know where she normally kept it) and then rib her when she got home about not being able to protect national secrets. That plan became moot, however, when as I rose from my chair it again banged against the safe, and a photo fell out.

The photo was of my wife, completely naked, sticking one of her enormous, succulent, nipples into the face of a Middle Eastern-looking guy whose arms looked cuffed to his body.

As I picked both the photograph and my jaw off of the floor, a chill went up my spine. Even though I knew that what was in the safe was Top Secret, there was no way that I could not investigate further. I was compelled to find out what the hell the photo depicted - to try and find some sort of explanation, or at least context.

I saw that the photo had fallen out of a 10 x 13 inch envelope with security markings on it that obviously Eve had taken something out of and not closed up properly. I removed the envelope from the safe and, shaking, collapsed onto the chair and opened it up completely.

As I perused the contents of the envelope, I vacillated between sick, irritated, sad, deflated, and angry - but through it all I was mesmerized. The envelope contained the basic background of the most fascinating terrorist interrogation technique that I had ever heard of, some parts in very technical terms using psychologists' jargon, other times using laymen's language. It all started with what "EIT, Inc." was an acronym for: "Enhanced Interrogation Techniques, Inc."

The whole philosophy of EIT's approach was that for many detainees that they called "targets" - mostly known or suspected terrorists - waterboarding or other torture was only marginally effective. Usually during torture the target told the interrogator whatever he thought the interrogator wanted to hear, so the information had only a 5-10% probability of being accurate. EIT took a different approach. While EIT's operatives kept the targets uncomfortable, they never physically abused them but instead played with their minds. While they used a variety of approaches, the one of interest to me was called NFPW - Naked Female Psychological Warfare.

As far as I could tell, Eve - who was never referred to by name, but only as "Agent White" - was one of three female interrogators who employed the NFPW technique. All were psychology majors in college, and had gotten CIA and DIA training after graduation, although they were never technically employed by the U S Government. For situations where the NFPW technique was deemed to likely be effective, the target was restrained in a room with only two chairs in it. The "Agent" casually stripped in front of the target during initial low-key interrogation, and depending upon the reaction of the target used her provocative nakedness as either a carrot or a stick to entice answers.

How was it used as a stick? Some targets - supposedly for religious reasons - were completely embarrassed by the Agent's nakedness, especially if she made provocative comments. Under those circumstanced the target promised to talk if the Agent agreed to dress.

For the carrot approach, if results were favorable, tit sucking by the target, or sometimes even a little pussy rubbing, was allowed. Most targets were mesmerized by Eve's big tights, blond hair, and prominent clit, and completely opened up under her skillful questioning.

Apparently the Agents practicing NFPW were good at their job. The three of them obtained what checked out to be worthwhile intelligence 80-90% of the time. Not surprising to me, Eve was the best.

The envelope certainly explained Eve's travel. The interrogations were rarely conducted in the United States. Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, Saudi Arabia, and Italy, of all places, seemed to be the most common venues.

Emotionally drained, I finally put all of the photos, reports, and analyses, back into the envelope, put it in the safe, closed the safe door, spun the dial, and removed the key and put it in Eve's desk.

With the benefit of hindsight, what I should have done is just tell Eve that although the safe was locked that the key was in the door when I got up and that I put it in her desk; and then let it drop. I could have secretly sought professional help if I could not deal with what I had found out. After all, Eve had warned me several times that I wouldn't like what she did if I found out about it, and that her behavior indicated training that the average woman wouldn't have; but I had pushed ahead with love blinders on.

Instead of just dropping it, what I did do was confront Eve when she returned from her impromptu trip.

After I gave her a frosty hug and saw the puzzlement in her eyes I said "You left the safe open in your rush to get out Sunday, and some very revealing things fell out of it."

"What?" she said completely startled.

"You let terrorist suck your tits and finger you - what kind of a fucking job is that?" I angrily blurted out.

Her surprise was instantly replaced by her own anger. "Let me give you a real piece of advice, asshole. Don't ever, ever, ever tell anyone what you saw in that safe otherwise you will be prosecuted for expropriation of top secret material, if not treason. Plus I told you before you begged me to marry you that you wouldn't like what I did on my job, and now that you find out you complain? Fuck you!"

With that she turned and stormed out the door.

I was pissed and miffed at how strong her reaction was. Then I remembered back to when I did beg her to marry me, when she told me that if it ever came to a choice between me and her job that I'd lose. That sent another shiver down my spine.

Saturday I swallowed my pride and tried to call her cell phone. It had been disconnected. I never saw her the entire weekend, and was feeling really shitty when I straggled into work on Monday. That afternoon I was served with divorce papers citing irreconcilable differences. I called her attorney and asked for a meeting. I was told in a cold, unfeeling manner, that there would be no meeting.

When I got home from work on Monday not only were all of her possessions gone but so was the safe - there was only a hole in the floor where it used to be.

There were mysterious forces that I couldn't understand or resist working behind the scenes because the attorney that I hired was powerless to prevent the Court from sealing the record of our divorce (unspecified national security implications), and pressuring me to settle with a 50-50 split of assets. The judge himself made it clear that I fought the divorce I would be responsible for both parties' attorney fees and that my split would be lower. I had no choice but to settle. I never did see Eve, even at the final hearing granting dissolution of the marriage, which was concluded in record time.

****************

After my divorce was final, if I wasn't clinically depressed, I was close to it. I found that, harking back to my pre-marriage days, I was pursued by a number of women. That resulted in a series of meaningless one-night stands because once a woman found out that I was damaged goods, her pursuit stopped. I finally went to see a shrink and got my act basically together about a year after my divorce, although I didn't get the same joy out of life as I did when I was married.

It was about four years after my divorce was final when Wyatt and Jill - I was still friends with them from our apartment complex days - invited me to go to a dance hall with them. I was single at the time, having just concluded one of three five or six month long relationships since I had gotten my act basically together. At first I was reluctant to go, feeling like a fifth wheel, but Jill insisted. "Maybe you'll meet the girl of your dreams there," she chuckled.

"I already did and let her get away," I deadpanned.

She punched me in the arm and said "Hope burns eternal in the human bosom, so no more Debby Downer bullshit; you're coming with us."

So I went with them.

The dancehall was quite a lively place, and there were a few single women there that were pleasant. I had had a half dozen energetic dances with four different partners when I was sitting at a table with Jill and Wyatt and a slow song started. Jill insisted that I dance with her, and Wyatt grinned his approval. A minute into the song a buxom brunette tapped Jill on the shoulder and asked "May I cut in?"

"Sure," Jill replied with a diabolical smile and then quickly exited.

Before I got a really good look at her face the buxom brunette said "Hi; my name's Amber Brighton," as she plastered herself against my chest with her head resting on my shoulder.

"I'm Brian McCarthy," I introduced myself without seeing her face.

"I know," was her terse response. There was something familiar about her.

"I've just started a new job in the HR department of a local office of a Fortune 500 company," she whispered as we danced. "I'm looking for a relationship with someone where absolutely nothing about the past is ever even acknowledged, let alone discussed. You interested?"

"Wow, you're direct, aren't you?" I chuckled. "How do you know that I'm decent relationship material, though?"

"Jill vouches for you. Plus, looking at you I'm sure that you're an awesome fuck, especially if you put a vibrator up my ass."

I froze on the dance floor, and moved Samantha arm's length away from me. It was Eve, with dyed brown hair, a few wrinkles on her face, but otherwise just as beautiful as she was four years ago; in fact there was something about the interplay of her azure eyes and her new hair color that made her even more intriguing. I don't know how long I just stood there speechless and gap-jawed, staring at Eve/Samantha while she had what I could only describe as a bemused grin on her face. Finally, she pulled me tight to her, again pressed her big boobs against my chest, and put her head back on my shoulder.

"I think that you'll find me your best ever in bed," she mumbled, "if you're agreeable to a start from scratch relationship."

My mind was in turmoil, but there was one thing for sure. I was NOT going to blow this opportunity.

"You talk a good game," I snickered; "are you willing to back it up tonight?"

She pushed away from me slightly. "Try me," she laughed, and then led me by the hand back to where Jill and Wyatt were sitting with shit-eating grins on their faces, obviously part of a setup.

"I'll be taking Brian home with me," Eve/Samantha chuckled as we passed Jill and Wyatt.

"Have fun, Samantha and Brian," Jill chortled while Wyatt just grinned.

**************

Samantha and I did start from scratch. We never did even mention our previous relationship, and now that Samantha no longer worked for EIT, Inc., and no longer traveled on business, there were no lingering issues. By keeping my mouth shut about the past I get to use all of Samantha's holes whenever I want, and am truly in love and happy again. We got married (we did not consider it a re-marriage) within a year of when we danced, and celebrated our nuptials with a week-long fuck fest in Aruba.