Author: agentsandstorm

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Link to original with sexy image in the comments.

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Jessica works on reception at the 5* hotel I’m staying at in Los Angeles. She’s got long blonde hair and wears a tight grey skirt and matching jacket, the hotel uniform. Her skirt sits above the knee, showing off her long tanned legs. She balances on a tall stool, legs crossed, typing into a computer.

She smiles coyly as I approach reception to check in. Standing over the desk, I notice the top buttons of her white blouse are undone. Peeking out is a silver lacy bra, her firm breasts pushing against the cups. The buttons holding her blouse together look like they’re about to pop.

She checks me in, giving me a quick once-over, seemingly impressed. I’m wearing a white Ralph Lauren Polo shirt and dark khakis. I worked out hard in the gym this morning, taking advantage of the facilities at British Airways’ first class lounge. The jacuzzi afterwards felt so good.

As Jessica goes to over to the printer to collect my receipt, she has to uncross her legs and shift off the stool. In doing so, she opens her legs and reveals a tiny peek of silver lace underwear beneath her skirt. I can make out a little silk ribbon at the top. Dirty girl. Read more »

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I meet Anna Slavko in Sofia, Bulgaria. She works in a luxury clothing shop in the city. What initially attracts me to her is the tight grey skirt she’s got on, pressing against her slender curves. Her long bronze legs command authority as she strides over to the changing rooms in high heels. Her shiny brown hair falls by her shoulders.

I look around the shop, picking up a couple of Lacoste polo shirts, white and navy blue. The little green crocodile reminds me of past holidays in the sunny Mediterranean, where Lacoste shops sit along prestigious arcades, backing onto sleepy piazzas.

As I get near the changing room area, I spot Anna Slavko again. She’s busily putting hangers back on clothes people have tried on. Then, as I’m admiring the view, she drops a hanger on the floor. She crouches down to get it, but as she does so I can’t help but glimpse at the little black and white dotted underwear she’s showing beneath her skirt, probably a thong. Naughty girl. She quickly stands back up. But now I want her. Read more »

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I push Amber back over the car hood, her slender body scorching in the French sun. Her breasts are about to burst out of their little bikini bra. She keeps her legs together as she falls back. But I soon pull them apart. I let her keep her high heels on for this.

I’m in France, speeding down beautiful coastal roads between Boulogne and Calais, hopefully in time to meet our boat and be extracted back to the UK. Amber is a French informant, passing on secrets to the British from her base in Paris. But she got careless, slipped up. And now I’m extracting her before the French authorities have their way with her.

We desperately need to reach Calais port on time, or we risk missing our opportunity to cross the channel to safety. But the sun is so hot, beating down on us as the calm blue ocean washes ashore on our left. The sleepy little towns we speed through are so quintessentially French: old buildings with wooden shutters closed, boulangeries selling fresh croissants, quiet bars serving cold beer. The temptation is overpowering. Read more »

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Link to original with sexy image in the comments.

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Anna Slavik is manageress of the 5* hotel I’m staying in. But right now she’s blindfolded in my room, her slender body lying back on the floor in black bra and thong, legs in the air, breasts about to burst out of their cups. Her arms are above her head as she struggles to fight the pleasure. But it’s no good. She can’t manage the situation. She explodes.

I’m in Bratislava, Slovakia for a couple of nights spying on the owner of a local chemical factory. MI6 believes he’s secretly supplying poison to Russian agents on their way to the UK. We want to break the deadly supply chain.

I spend my first day wandering around the city, getting a feel for it. Bratislava is full of classic old backstreets, buildings and romantic little squares. I get lost in a maze of boutique shopping streets and bars. And before long I stop in a quiet cafe for a beer, watching people go by. Chilled house music plays in the background as I sip my drink. Slender Slovak girls walk past, some of them stopping in the bar I’m in. One of them, a tall brunette, is particularly sexy, revealing a bright blue thong peeking out of her tight jeans as she sits down in front of me. Read more »

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Link to original story with image in the comments.

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Isabella lies back on my hotel bed in just her white underwear. Her little lacy knickers are almost see-through at the front, her long bronze legs crossed, protecting her private area. Her blonde hair is spread out around her. She’s lying on a fur cover, her slender Polish body surrendered to me.

I’m in Warsaw, Poland for a couple of days, trying to track down a Neo Nazi leader said to be living in the city. He’s recruiting overseas, particularly trying to establish ties with far-right groups in the UK. MI6 is having none of it, so they’ve sent me to neutralise the threat. But this guy is proving tricky to catch.

Having worked out hard in the gym this morning, my muscles feeling ripped, I drive the sporty Mercedes I’ve rented into Warsaw centre. And I do some digging, moving between dodgy backstreet bars, stopping for a cheeky drink, asking around. Nothing. No one can get me close to this Neo Nazi gang. Read more »

Adriana Lopez sits tentatively by the pool, unable to move back any further without getting wet. Her tiny blue bikini matches the water; her curvy bronze body is turned slightly to one side, anxious about what’s going to happen. But secretly she wants it to happen.

I’m in Puerto Rico for a few days, trying to get to the bottom of a secret arms deal going down. Intel back in London suggests a corrupt Cuban minister is meeting with a communist sympathiser here in San Juan. They’re supposed to be talking prices while smoking Cuban cigars at a backstreet bar in town. But I spend three hours waiting in the bar today, and the meeting doesn’t happen. I pass the time drinking cocktails in the sun. It’s hard going, but I manage it.

I meet Adriana later that evening in another quiet little bar. She’s waitressing there, serving me exotic rum cocktails. And before long, I can’t help notice her curved bronze body, tightly concealed under a figure-hugging white shirt, top buttons undone to reveal a red lacy bra every time she bends over my table to put drinks down. As she turns away, looking back with a cheeky smile, I try not to stare at her long brown legs going all the way up to a loose black skirt. As she paces back to the bar, I see a flash of matching red knickers with every stride, a firm ass pushing out against that skirt. Read more »

Hanna Tamm lies on my hotel bed, arms above her blonde head, white lacy blouse held loosely together by a silk belt, covering her fit tanned body. Her long legs are crossed, her private area concealed by little white knickers decorated with a pink ribbon. She looks the epitome of innocence.

But innocent she is not. By day she works in the accounting department of a large Estonian finance company, analysing numbers in tight skirts and white shirts, occasionally letting her boss get a glimpse of a red lacy bra when she bends down. But it’s all a game. By night she stays late, when everyone’s gone home, creeping round her boss’s office stealing valuable information.

MI6 believes her boss is helping finance Russian spies in London, a front man for the KGB still operating incognito in Estonia. She’s been passing secrets to us for just over a year now, since I recruited her in Tallinn. My choice to use her was partly based on her willingness to break the rules, and the fact that when I first made contact with her, her little white skirt was so thin, I could see her pink thong underneath. And she liked the attention. Read more »

Sára Kovac lies by the edge of the pool, her arms above her head, her eyes closed, her dark blonde hair dipping into the warm water. Her little purple bikini is tight against her tanned body, but her long legs are crossed, very ladylike, protecting her modesty. She waits for me to take control.

I met Sára the night before in the luxury spa hotel I’m staying at in Prague. I’m sitting in the bar, a glass of fine Champagne on the table, a voice recorder concealed under my newspaper. I’m discreetly recording a conversation on the table next to me, between two Czech businessmen, who intel in London suggests are passing information from the British Embassy in Prague to the Russian KGB. MI6 doesn’t know what they’re sending or why. But, like any spy agency, we like to poke our noses into other people’s business.

Having successfully recorded the conversation, which I’ll send back to London for analysis – just two drunken buffoons talking about Cuban cigars by the sounds of it – I order another drink: whiskey on the rocks. Then I spot something that catches my eye: long tanned legs protruding from a short grey skirt, crossed under the table, tight white top, high heels, dark blonde hair. She’s reading a book while sipping a cocktail, Mojito I think. I take a sip of whiskey, unable to look at anything else, but pretending to read my newspaper. Read more »