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Message-ID: <37951asstr$1029852604@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: DrSpin <drspin@newsguy.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Bad Lady In Buenos Aires (Ace Dyson) (MF+) ~ NEW to ASSM ~ by DrSpin
Date: Tue, 20 Aug 2002 10:10:05 -0400
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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Bad Lady In Buenos Aires (M/F+)
(An Ace Dyson Story)
by Neil Anthony/DrSpin

---------------------------------------------------------
* This story is published here by kind permission of Ruthie's 
Club, where it appeared illustrated by Lloyd W. Meek under an 
exclusivity period for six months. Ruthie's Club 
(http://www.ruthiesclub.com) carries about 50 more of my new 
stories, including 18 new Ace Dyson adventures. 

* The author welcomes comments and opinions from readers 
and is invariably motivated to respond. Write to:
drspin@newsguy.com or neil@ruthiesclub.com

* DrSpin's Standard Disclaimer: 
I write and you read, if you care to. That's all there is 
to it. Any reader who is offended should not have been here 
in the first place.
---------------------------------------------------------

I'd just finished banging Dee Womack against the wall of the 
photocopy room when I got a terse summons from the Colonel. 
Stunned and amazed, I trudged slowly to her office. How the 
fuck did she know? The damn woman must have spy cameras 
installed.

Dee was forbidden territory. The Colonel expressly warned me 
off her after a previous office scandal. But what's a bloke to 
do when a randy woman sends him her pants in an inter-office 
envelope?

Helen, her PA and also forbidden territory after an even 
earlier office scandal, showed me straight into the Colonel's 
office. She was talking on the phone, and waved me to a chair. 
What to do? Where was my defence?

She hung up, frowned at me, stood up, and turned to look out 
her picture window at Sydney Harbour Bridge. Behind her back, 
her hands fiddled agitatedly.

"Dyson, I have to go into a clinic tomorrow for minor 
surgery," she said, speaking at the window. "It's most 
inconvenient, but there it is. In the meantime, I have an 
interesting little job for you."

I sat in silence, waiting. Whatever it was, it was better than 
being bawled out about Dee Womack.

"In four days all the bureau heads of Pacific Rimfire 
International will meet in Buenos Aires for a global planning 
seminar. I want you to represent me."

I cleared my throat. "Ma'am, it sounds like a job for a high-
powered on-the-ball executive person. We have such people in 
this building. I'm just me."

The Colonel, pacing up and down in front of the window, 
laughed her trademark bark. "I know who you are, Dyson. I 
watch you closely. The fact that you don't have the required 
weight for this task suits my purposes very well, because I 
don't want you to do anything but be there. The less you know, 
the less the damage you can cause."

She threw herself down carelessly on the big leather couch, 
kicked off her shoes, and stretched out her legs, pointing her 
toes. She had fine legs. I never tired of looking at them.

"I know what's going to be said and done," she said. "You 
might say I'm connected. It's just a junket for senior 
executives in an exotic off-the-beaten-track location. It's 
all organised, and it should be a nice
trip for you."

"I'll do my best for you, ma'am."

"I'm counting on it," she said. I could sense she was keeping 
something from me, and it amused her.

She turned her head quickly and caught me ogling her legs, but 
seemed not to mind. "There's also a special little job you 
might do for me while you're there. It concerns the Washington 
bureau chief, an old friend. I went to school with her."

"Her, ma'am?"

"Holly Hooper. A formidable woman, highly ambitious, extremely 
dangerous. Establish a rapport with her. I need to know 
everything I can about her, what she says, who she talks to, 
what she's thinking."

"I see," I said cautiously, noting the faint smell of 
brimstone in the air. "You are hoping we might hit it off and 
become good pals?"

She chuckled. "That would be nice."

"I will give it my best shot, ma'am. Is there anything else 
you should be telling me?"

She sat up and fixed me with a steely glare. "Just one small 
but important matter," she said. "Dyson, who do you work for? 
Pacific Rimfire International, Pacific Rimfire Australia, or 
me?"

"I work for you, ma'am."

"Correct. Don't ever forget that." She smiled pleasantly. "Now 
go to Argentina."

* * *

Buenos Aires is a yes-I-have-no-you-don't sort of city. Those 
who have mix the old world and the new with grace and style in 
magnificence. Those who don't eke out a meagre existence in 
sprawling suburban wastelands indelibly stamped "South 
America."

I booked into the Grand Hotel, and it was all that and more. 
The elevators creaked slowly and were too small for today's 
fast-travelling here-today-gone-tomorrow masses. The room was 
huge, with a balcony overlooking a formal square fronting the 
Presidential Palace where guards marched outside in toy 
soldier uniforms. The bed was high, and big enough to host six 
for a soiree, the furniture old and solid, the ceilings lofty. 
It was an old place and it didn't quite work properly but I 
loved it.

Raconteurs say Buenos Aires has more beautiful women per city 
block than any other place in the world. I strolled five 
blocks to the Sheraton to register at the PRI conference and 
fell in and out of love too many times to count. I gave my 
heart instantly to a tall, dark beauty with black hair hanging 
down to her buttocks and impossibly superb legs in an old-
fashioned mini-skirt. But I snatched it back seconds later and 
gave it instead to a long-haired blonde with pushed-out tits 
because she smiled at me with perfect teeth when my mouth fell 
open as she was passing.

Dazed, I reluctantly entered the Sheraton to register for the 
conference. All I wanted to do was walk the streets and look 
at women. The receptionist -- a local girl with huge, dark 
eyes -- must have known her cleavage was awesome as she bent 
to fill in my forms. Fuck walking the streets. I fell in love 
all over again.

"Mr. Dyson, I presume." The voice was so deep I had to turn to 
check whether it was male or female. The first thing I saw was 
a white crewcut. The second was lipstick so darkly red it was 
close to black. It was a woman, I gathered, and she was way 
too close and personal, right there in my face.

I took a step back and held out my hand. "Call me Ace," I 
said.
 
She grasped it and took a step forward. "Holly Hooper. I've 
been waiting for you."

I stepped back again. I like to look at more than a woman's 
eyes, nose, and mouth. "I've heard about you, ma'am."

She stepped forward again. "And I you, Ace. And I must say I'm 
not disappointed."

Back. "I'm a novice, ma'am. I'm hoping you'll look after me."

Forward. "Count on it, Ace."

She wasn't planning on stopping her invasion, and I couldn't 
keep walking backwards without hitting the wall. It so 
happened that I once learned the tango, and now it seemed 
timely. I clasped her hand, hugged her waist, and propelled 
her dramatically for a dozen steps, finally dipping her 
backwards over my arm.

"Nice," she said, looking up at me. "Though I prefer to lead."

I held her in the dipped position. "People are staring at us."

"Let them," she said, drooping her arm behind her 
theatrically. "They're jealous."

Holly Hooper bought herself a beer and ordered me the same. I 
should do nothing for a day and a half, she advised. People 
were still arriving. This was networking time. As long as I 
was there when the big boss delivered his opening address, 
anything else was up to me. All the real decisions had been 
made, and the conference was all about giving the appearance 
that PRI consulted its executives.

"So Colonel Webster knows everything already?" I asked.

"Surely," she said. "Ruth is on the inside. A formidable 
woman, highly ambitious, extremely dangerous."

Holly Hooper had a military-style haircut -- No.2, shorn on 
top with a fine-cut lawnmower, more white than blonde. She was 
heavily made up, strong lipstick making her wide mouth look 
even wider, dark eye-shadow, and heavy gold earrings. She was 
around forty, at a guess, and not exactly fresh and pretty. 
But she had a strong face and commanding presence, odd light-
brown caramel eyes with a golden tinge to them, a trim and fit 
figure, and a fuck-you attitude that would cause passing 
priests to cross themselves and pray for guidance.

"I'd rather stay with you," she said, eyes locking on mine 
like twin heat-seeking missiles, "but I have to go talk to 
people. Networking, you see. And speaking of networking, I 
would like you to join me for dinner tonight. In my suite. 
Cosy. Private. Instructive."

It was a cast-iron certainty. The only job the Colonel 
required me to do was being presented on a silver platter. 
Holly Hooper formidable? Huh. I'd soon have her licking my 
hand like an affectionate puma.

* * *

I passed the time back out on the streets, admiring the local 
talent, and found myself outside a small tailor shop. The 
window dummies were dressed like pre-World War Two gentlemen 
secret agents. I walked in the door on a romantic impulse and 
a company credit card, and one hour later emerged carrying a 
custom-made, hand-fitted suit of adventure and old-world style 
straight from the pages of Graham Greene.

At eight that night I presented myself at Holly Hooper's door 
in my new white linen suit, club-striped tie, straw Panama 
hat, and brown-and-white two-toned shoes. It was more 
Caribbean than Argentinean, but what the hell. I was dressed 
to kill, feeling very tricky indeed.

"Darr-ling," she purred when she opened the door. "Cancel the 
food. I'll eat you instead."

I entered smugly. Next time, Colonel old dear, I said to 
myself, give me a tough one. I get lazy when they're this 
easy.

Dinner was silver service, three courses, served on heavy 
linen cloth, ushered in discreetly by hotel staff in livery. 
Buenos Aires does not come cheap, and Holly was spending big 
on the company credit card. We talked some shop. I told her a 
little about Sydney and she told me a lot about Washington and 
the deals she made on Capitol Hill. She was excellent company 
-- an animated talker, clever, witty, intelligent.

Over coffee, she lit her first cigarette of the night and blew 
smoke at the ceiling with a drawn-out, satisfied sigh. "My 
God, I've been looking forward to this," she said.

"Your cigarette?"

"Don't be obtuse, darling," she said. "Dinner is over. Take 
off your clothes."

"Gee," I said, taken aback, "that was going to be my line, but 
I had planned to take more time getting around to it."

"Don't try my patience, boy," she snapped, looking as cranky 
as she sounded. "No more banter. It's playtime, and I promise 
you I play very seriously indeed."

These Washington women were single-mindedly direct, obviously. 
Maybe they were too busy to have a lot of time for seduction. 
Oh well, same result, just a shorter race. I stood and started 
taking off my white suit.

"No no," she said. "The table is in the way. Come here, right 
here, so I can see you."

Okay. These older women knew what they wanted, obviously. They 
weren't exactly coy. I stood directly in front of her and 
continued to remove my clothes. She lit a second cigarette and 
watched greedily.

"Oh yes," she hissed, when I was naked. "She knows me too 
well. What a beauty you are, Ace. Delicious, like blue ribbon 
vanilla ice-cream."

"Who knows you too well, Holly?"

"Don't speak unless I say so," she snapped. "And keep calling 
me ma`am. I like the flat, drawling way you say it. It's been 
keeping me soggy all day." Her voice was lust-husky, and the 
visible desire on her face made me as hard as an iron bar.

She called me forward with a reaching hand and cupped my 
balls, appearing to feel the weight. Her hand then feathered 
along my shaft, squeezing the head quite hard. The exploration 
continued, my abdomen, stomach, chest. I stood as awkwardly as 
a nubian slave at a marketplace in old Imperial Rome.

"Now turn around." Two hands were on my buttocks, stroking, 
kneading. "Fabulous," she said. "Grade A1. You're fit and 
strong but not highly muscled. I guess you don't work out 
much."

"Only when I can't avoid it," I said.

"Just the way I like it," she said. "I can't stand those 
pumped up bodies. Turn around again."

I did, and she drew back her hands. "A real sugar-baby. Not a 
mark on you anywhere. She's too soft. She always was."

"Who's too soft?"

"If you can learn to shut the fuck up you can come and work 
for me in Washington," she said testily. "I'll pay you double 
what she does."

"Who? Colonel Webster?"

"Don't answer now," she said, standing up. "It's playtime. 
Stay right where you are. I'll be back in a flash."

Not in the bedroom? Oh well. The sofa was comfortable and the 
carpet was thick. Whatever. But my interest was drooping. 
Being poked and prodded like a Brahman bull at a primary 
produce exhibition wasn't really my idea of fun and games, no 
matter how flattering the compliments. Strange woman. Maybe 
she'd been a boss too long and was too accustomed to getting 
her own way.

I heard her return and I turned to look. Holly Hooper was 
naked but for high-heeled shoes, and a bizarre strap-on 
harness to which was attached a hard plastic iridescent lime-
green rampant dildo.

"Darling," she said, advancing. "It's time for you get 
fucked."

"Darling," I said, retreating. "You can stick that notion 
right up your arse."

She had little pointy tits with sharp nipples. Quite nice. 
They shook and swayed as she raised a riding crop and whacked 
me across the cheek. It stung, and once again visions of a 
Roman slave market flashed through my brain.

She raised the whip again, so I snatched it from her hand, 
bent it over, tied it into a knot, and gave it back to her. 
While she was looking at it in consternation, I grabbed the 
velcro strap of the dildo harness and ripped it loose. The 
contraption clattered to the floor.

Holly Hooper stood naked in high heels, mouth open, stunned. 
"What the fuck is going on?" she asked.

"Uncanny," I said. "I was just about to put that to you."

"I smell a rat," she said. "Stay here. Put on your clothes if 
you feel more comfortable."

I was pulling up my trousers when she returned, wearing an 
exquisite black-and-red kimono and flourishing a note. "Here," 
she said. "Read this."

It was an email printout. It read:

"Holly dear, Sorry I can't make it to BA. Sending instead an 
adorable playmate for you -- one Ace Dyson, a handsome but 
pliable hunk who will respond appropriately to firm direction. 
Look after his innocent hide inside the conference and give 
him your best shot outside it, with my blessing. As always, we 
share the spoils of our labor. Kisses, Ruth."

"I've been duped," Holly said. "That note infers you'll be 
putty in my hands. It suggests, and she knows it does because 
she knows me, that you're a willingly submissive male. And 
you're not, of course. Not even close. You don't have the 
faintest idea about it."

"True," I agreed. "Ma'am, I'm virgin territory back there and 
it's gonna stay that way. I don't fancy penetration in the 
slightest."

"Don't fancy it all that much myself, Ace. Which leaves us 
both hung out to dry on a night I was hoping would be 
memorable." She looked at me regretfully. "Devious bitch. You 
were just what I was looking for, and she knew I'd fall hook, 
line, and sinker. What a pity. Sure you don't want to be 
smacked about a bit? Just a bit?"

"Dead sure, ma'am."

"Goddamn," she said. "You came in here so much like a meek 
lamb I never thought we were on different tracks."

"Ah," I said. "That's because she ordered me to get in close 
to you. Establish a rapport, she said."

"Air Force brat," Holly spat. "She's always been a sore  
loser."

"She wanted Washington?"

Holly nodded. "She got Sydney. But she's been doing well." She 
ran a hand through her short hair. "What in hell is she up to? 
It has to be more than a spiteful practical joke. She's 
smarter than that."

"Sorry about all this," I said, picking up my coat. "The 
Colonel tells me next to nothing. She moves in ways mysterious 
to me."

"Hell, don't go," she said. "I wasn't planning on sleeping 
alone tonight. Penetration might be out, but I'm sure we can 
work out something constructive."

"As long as it's not painful, ma'am, I'm at your service."

"I give damn good head, Ace. It's currency in Washington. But 
I expect reciprocation."

"I've been well trained, ma'am."

"Good." She smiled maliciously. "And for bedtime stories, I'll 
tell you a lot you don't know about the life and times of my 
old school buddy, Ruth Webster."

* * *

"I spy a succulent rabbit," Holly Hooper said into my ear. We 
were at an Argentinean government function, a purely 
decorative event to flatter the PRI brass, and we were ambling 
arm in arm around the wooded grounds of the palatial residence 
of a government Minister.

"Where?"

"Right here," she said. "Back me up and you will be rewarded." 
She took hold of the wrist of the host, temporarily free of 
company. "Minister, how nice," she said in her deepest voice. 
"A chance to become better acquainted."

Eduardo Alvarez, urbane Minister for Sport and Culture, smiled 
automatically and then looked down at his wrist. Holly had a 
tight grip, and it was getting tighter. "Holly Hooper from 
Washington," she reminded him. "This is my friend Ace Dyson 
from Australia."

Alvarez put out his hand, his free hand, to shake mine. He 
looked again at his wrist in her grip, then back at her face. 
"Yes," she smiled, moving close to him. "You are uneasy. I can 
see it and I can smell it. How lovely you are, Minister. 
Delicious, like blue ribbon caramel ice cream."

He looked at me in astonishment. "She is very direct," I 
advised him conspiratorially. "But she is a most unusual 
woman. If you like that sort of thing."

She drew him closer and reached around to slide both hands 
across his buttocks. "Oh, he does," she said, staring at him 
like an anaconda. "You play polo? Of course you do. Nice ass, 
Minister. I can't wait to bite it."

His mouth was open but he hadn't managed a word. His poise and 
sophistication had crumbled under Holly's full-on frontal 
assault. A woman appeared behind him, a question on her face. 
"Eduardo?"

Holly didn't even look at her. "Your husband has invited us to 
stay after the party for a late supper," she said. "Excuse us, 
won't you? My friend will look after you."

She took Alvarez away, around the corner of the house. The 
woman watched them for a moment, then looked at me with round, 
dark, and quite blank eyes. I smiled at her in my warmest way. 
"Dyson," I said. "From Australia. Call me Ace."

"Luciana Alvarez," she said. "What is that woman doing with my 
husband?"

"You don't want to know," I said, taking her arm and strolling 
comfortably in the opposite direction. "She's got him, I'm 
afraid, and there's nothing we can do about it. Don't worry, 
Looch, she's only passing through, and you might just find 
good old Eduardo is a different sort of a bloke tomorrow."

She stopped and turned to me, lost. "I do not know what you 
are talking about."

She was nearly beautiful, but so she should have been. Upper 
class Argentinean, protected, soft, taught from birth to be a 
good wife and mother, never done a day's work in her life. She 
had a previous century look about her clothes and appearance. 
So well-mannered, so proper, so female. And behind the 
luminous round eyes, lonely and unhappy.

I patted her on the back of the hand. "You must show me your 
beautiful house."

We'd done the entrance hall, the sitting room, and the dining 
room when she stopped outside a separate double-doored wing. 
"My husband's quarters," she said. "I never go in there."

"Now's not the time to start," I advised. "Tell me, Looch, how 
long is it since you had sex? Six months? More?"

A thin vase she had been fingering dropped to the floor and 
smashed, spraying glass across a wide area. "Mother of God," 
she whispered at me, horrified. "Is it that obvious?"

I patted her on the back of the hand. "You must show me your 
bedroom."

It was on the second floor. I swept aside the curtains 
overlooking the back lawns. "My guests," she said, looking 
down at the marquees and the lights.

"Are leaving at exactly the appointed time," I said, standing 
behind and brushing my mouth over her neck and shoulders. She 
turned quickly and I kissed her with my best art. I could feel 
her heart beating fast, or maybe it was the pulse in her neck. 
She was as soft a woman as I had ever held in my arms.

"Hold old are you, Luciana?"

"Thirty," she whispered.

Perfect. One of the three great ages a woman can be -- 
sixteen, thirty or forty-two. I started undoing, unhurriedly, 
the front buttons on her dress.

"I have made love to only one man, my husband," she said 
tremulously.

"Yes, Looch, I know." I opened the dress and swept it off her 
shoulders. She was wearing a slip, and my heart jumped. I love 
a woman wearing a slip. But it had to come off, and I eased 
the straps down.

She was a full-figured woman. She was wearing silk loose-
legged pants, and while I bent to draw them down her legs, she 
took off her bra. I stood back to look at her. Eyes downcast, 
she shivered in the light breeze wafting through the open 
window. Around her neck she wore a thin gold chain, from which 
hung a
tiny gold locket, and on her hands, rings on every finger. 
There were tan marks on her body. I traced the lines with a 
finger, and she shivered again.

"Luciana Alvarez sits by her pool in her little two-piece 
swimsuit," I whispered, "with nobody to look at and lust over 
her lush and beautiful body."

She lifted her dark eyes and crossed one arm over her heavy 
breasts. "Please don't tease me," she said.

Yes. Quite so. I picked her up, carried her to the bed, and 
placed her down gently. I undressed, and she closed her eyes, 
not bold enough to look. She rubbed her calves together and 
pointed her toes. A thirty-year-old innocent, flushing, 
blushing, warm, and ready.

I climbed quietly on the bed and stretched out beside her. I 
put my tongue into her ear, and she jumped, but did not open 
her eyes. "You don't have to do a single thing," I murmured 
into the ear. "Be here, be with me, and receive."

She got the full treatment. It took time, but it was worth it, 
and she was worthy. Outside the lights were switched off, all 
was quiet, and the night turned still and black. Project 
Luciana. I kissed her hollows and nibbled at her hills, first 
at her face, then at her feet. After a long, long time I 
arrived at the middle, the joining place, and I knew, because 
of who she was, she was going to object.

"No," she said, as my nose quested into her fur. She lifted 
her head from the pillow, opened her eyes, and grabbed my hair 
with one hand. Silly woman. Her legs had parted, her thighs 
had opened, she was pushing her pubis at me, and I could 
taste, feel, and smell her arousal.

"Lie back," I said. "Close your eyes. Relax and receive."

She let go of my hair and slowly eased back. I could feel the 
tension on the surface of her skin. She was like a mantrap 
with a delicate trigger.

I put my tongue directly on her clitoris, and the trap went 
off. She snapped her legs together, and I feared for a moment 
she would break my neck. But I persevered, licking and 
nibbling. She was moaning in Spanish, and it sounded like a 
prayer. But then, everything in Spanish sounds like a prayer.

Her breathing seemed to stop and she was deathly still. Then 
she gasped, and shook with a writhing spasm that bumped my 
nose and threw my head to the side. Then another, and another. 
She calmed and was still. A long, drawn-out sigh followed.

I pulled right away and stretched out alongside her. "I will 
wait," I said softly. "You may be sensitive. There is plenty 
of time."

"Yes," she breathed, her breasts rising and falling, 
silhouetted against the faint light coming through the window.

With my head propped up on my hand, I told her in the mildest 
and nicest way I could what I thought was likely to be 
happening to her husband. I talked about his passivity, his 
desire to be sexually dominated, and how she could turn this 
to her advantage. I told her she was an under-valued woman. 
She could continue to be a supportive wife - but behind closed 
doors, she should take charge. She would be happier for it, 
and so would he. It was a new way, and it was better, richer, 
than the old.

She listened in silence and passed no judgement. I did not 
know how she would balance these things against her 
traditional upbringing and her religion, but that wasn't my 
business. All I could be was there and then, in the dark 
beside her. She rolled toward me and fluttered her fingers 
down my face. It was time.

I reached under the pillow and pulled out the condom packet 
I'd placed there. She took it from my fingers. "No," she said. 
"Not necessary."

"Looch, are you sure?"

"So what if I have a baby?" she asked. "I've wanted one for 
years."

I tried to give her what I thought she hadn't had - slow 
strokes, patient, smooth, long, but full and to the hilt, 
pushing upwards and grinding against her pubic bone. For a 
long time she did nothing but receive. A storm was gathering. 
First it was her hands, reaching out and clasping my arms, 
shoulders and neck. Then her hips started to roll, and she was 
pushing back at me, matching the rhythm. Finally she lifted 
her legs. I looked over my shoulder, and they were high in the 
air, stuck straight up.

I picked up the pace and she was with me now, behaving like a 
woman who wants and won't be denied. Spanish prayers were 
spilling disjointedly from her mouth. Once again, her 
breathing seemed to stop and she locked dead still. Then she 
let it out, threw back her head, and wailed at the ceiling, 
shaking me violently. Enough, enough. I took the cork from my 
own bottle and released all I had been holding back for so 
long.

Exhaustion. It had been at least a half-marathon. I was 
finished. Nothing left. All gone.

* * *
 
In grey light I caught a cab back to my hotel. I was sleeping 
like death when a body slid into the bed beside me and cuddled 
against my back. I may have slept some more, and it was still 
there, breathing evenly. 

"Luciana?" I croaked.

"You wish," said a deep American voice. "You realise we're 
missing the old man's big speech?"

I sat up. Yes, my room at the Grand Hotel. Memories of Luciana 
still clung to me. I looked down at the white crewcut showing 
above the sheets. A dress was draped over the bed rail.

"Holly," I said, "I hope you didn't come here for a fast fuck, 
because I haven't got one bullet left in the chamber."

She snorted. "Lucky, because I'm so mellow I couldn't stop you 
if you tried."

"A good night?"

"Fucking glorious," she said, stretching. "I'm so bad I'm in 
awe of myself."

"Holly, what are you doing in my bed?"

"I came to get you to front up for the big speech. But when I 
saw you sleeping like a big old baby, I buckled at the knees 
and joined you. Frankly, Ace, I'm jiggered. The old man can go 
fuck himself."

"Yeah," I agreed, sliding back under. "Sounds good to me."

"I only have one complaint," she said.

"What's that?"

"You could have had a shower. You smell like a cathouse."

I laughed for a long time. Then I sat up and swished back the 
sheets. She was huddled up, wearing only pants and stockings. 
"Come on," I said. "Shower time for both of us. I'll wash your 
back. Then we'll come back to bed, snuggle up, and snooze the 
day away."

She sat up and rubbed her eyes. "You fucked Mrs. Minister 
good?"

"Very good," I said. "I'm so good I'm in awe of myself."

"You never did give me an answer, Ace. The offer still stands. 
Come to Washington and I'll double your salary. I can use a 
man of your talents."

I pinched her sharp nipple lightly. "Tempting," I said. "But 
loyalty is my strong suit, and I have no complaints about 
Colonel Webster."

Well, not this week, anyway. Apart from a small personal 
matter, which I would be dealing with in my own way.

* * *

I arrived back in Sydney mid-morning. The proper thing was to 
go straight to the office and report to the Colonel. But she'd 
double-crossed me in Buenos Aires, and now she could sit on 
her bony bum and wait until I was damned good and ready.

On the way home to my apartment I visited a friend, a make-up 
artist at a film studio. Luckily she wasn't busy. She gave me 
the works.

At home I rang Helen, the Colonel's PA, and told her I was too 
battered and beat up to come to work. I needed a couple of 
days, I said.

In twenty-five minutes the key turned in the lock and the 
Colonel, who seemed to have an endless supply of my door keys, 
came rushing in. I was wearing only my briefs. I was waiting 
for her.

She stopped in her tracks when she saw me. "Oh my God," she 
said, appalled. As well she might be. My creative friend had 
given me black, blue and yellow bruises on my face, and long, 
crusty, and bloodied welts and weals across my back, chest and 
upper thighs. I looked like an Afghan atrocity.

I sat gingerly on a chair, looked at her reproachfully, and 
tried to muster some dignity. "I did as you asked, ma'am," I 
said.

"Dear God, don't say that," the Colonel said. "I didn't mean 
this to happen." She came to me, sat on the arm of the chair, 
and cradled my face into her chest. "Ace, I'm so sorry. I had 
no idea she'd sunk this low."

I knew I didn't have long before she discovered the make-up, 
so I poked my nose between the Colonel's breasts, put my arms 
around her, snuggled up, and smiled happily.

Already her hand was on my back, and the crusty make-up was 
falling away at her touch. I felt the quickening in her body 
as she bent her head for a closer look. "Deceit and 
subterfuge, ma'am," I said, my mouth against the swell of a 
breast. "All is not what it appears to be."

She pushed me away and jumped to her feet, her face flushed 
and angry. "Dyson, you dare to play tricks on me?"

"Tit for tat, ma'am. I think I have the high ground."

She stood there looking daggers at me. I'd won the point, but 
I couldn't press it. Never back a boss into a tight corner. 
"So how was your surgery, ma'am?"

Her shoulders relaxed. "Successful, thank you."

"I had a most pleasant trip. Ms. Hooper and I are the best of 
buddies, as you required." I fetched a folder from the table 
and gave it to her. "My report on her musings."

She opened it and flicked her eyes over a couple of pages. 
"Interesting," she said. "You don't know how helpful this can 
be to me, and I'll read it thoroughly later. You've done well, 
Dyson. I'm pleased with you." She tilted her head at me. "I 
knew you two would hit it off. You're both so instinctive, so 
feral, so predatory." She laughed, delighted. "So you really 
did get alongside the notorious Holly Hooper?"

"Not quite in the way you think, ma'am. But she did offer me a 
job in Washington at twice my current salary. Several times, 
in fact. It's in the report."

The Colonel pointed a rigid finger at me. "Don't try those 
cheap blackmail stunts on me, Dyson," she said icily. "In my 
view, you're overpaid already."

"I turned her down," I said.

"Devious bitch," the Colonel muttered, and I was pleased, 
because once again I'd got to her. "You should understand, 
Dyson, that we are old friends but bitter rivals. She always 
did want what's mine."

"I understand, ma'am," I said. "But she said you don't mind 
sharing occasionally. She told some interesting stories. Of 
course they are not in the report."

The Colonel blushed. Never seen it happen before. She actually 
blushed.

"I hope I have not made a tactical mistake putting you two 
together," she said.

ENDS

Edited by Ruthie and Nat

* DrSpin/Neil Anthony is at http://www.ruthiesclub.com

* also at neil@ruthiesclub.com and at http://www.ruthiesclub.com

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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