Collateral Desire [ENG/Complete]

𝟐. 𝑺𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝑵𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒍 𝑺𝒆𝒄𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒚

There it was. This little tingle. A tingle I have not felt in years. Not since my training started. The more I looked at him, wiping the sweat off his forehead by shrugging his shoulder and catching a glimpse of that thing between his pants - in these baggy, camouflage cargo pants - my delicates started to tingle. I wondered how big it was and realized that I have not been thinking about dicks or sex for months, no for years. I didn't know what it was, me being accustomed to use seduction on people to gain information or just the nature of my traning itself that erased all of my own sexual desires for this time being. Having been here on my mission in Germany, working for the Russian agency, for almost two years now, I never felt desire - but I did now. And I couldn't understand where it this was coming from. When I slept with objectives to extract information, I never felt anything. Giving out sexual favors never made me feel anything, so it shouldn't make me feel anything now. I couldn't figure out what made this situation any different? 

I realized that he had gotten himself so hard, I was able to make out the outline very clearly. I put the flashlight down next to me, pointing it at the ceiling so it could cast a dim veil of light above our heads. Sadly, he was right; I failed the mission. I was underprepared. I had hoped no one would patrol on this day: their national independence day. And I was sure only the security cameras would catch me. But no one ever looked at live surveillance footage, to my knowledge, at least not the Americans. Until they figured out who I was or what I was extracting, I would have been out of here already. Believing I had free reign was stupid of me. I was too near-sighted and too eager. But what now? He was just this little patroling soldier. An oversized boy the Americans recruited to be their security puppet. I had no reason to trust him, but did I have a reason to distrust him? He seemed so sexually starved that this little mutual, alliance was the only thing he really wanted from me - and that this was the little price I had to pay to get away. What if I just gave him what he wanted? This little fantasy and then I would be out of her?

"Ok, it's a deal," I was so fixated to look in between his legs that I don't know whether I said that to him, or just thought that to myself. It might have been obsolete, because he did not show any signs of defiance, but I was walking back to the crates looking for something to tie his hands behind his back. I did not want him to touch me. After all, he could have easily overpowered me. After all, it could also be a front to trick me! Near the crates, I found string that was somewhat sturdy enough to tie him down. Using my pocket knive, I ripped it from around the wooden crate. Walking back to him, I kneeled down and spun it tightly around his muscular forearms and wrists. His meaty, muscular arms looked like a ham hanging in the storefront of a butcher's shop with that string wrapped around them.

My curiosity grew and I kneeled back down in front of him. I reached down to unbutton his pants and he willingly and eagerly pushed his hips closer and upwards. His dick outright jumped out of his pants. Damn, he must have been really, really desperate. This veiny, olive-toned piece of thick meat nestled in between the open fly of his pants. I felt my face turning red. I was shocked at how thick his shaft was. Sadly, I have seen many dicks in my life, and yes, some of them were very thick but short. I was impressed at the sight of his. It was very thick and long. I could feel my hot blood shooting up to my ears. I don't know what it was about him or his dick, but I started to become mesmerized by it. It was almost as if he hypnotized me, like a snake could be hypnotized with a flute. I reached for it, grabbed it, held it's weight in my hands and slowly squeezed it in my palm. My insides were pulsating. He straightened out his legs and without asking for permission, I sat down on him.
"At least one good side of feeding you steroids," my throat closed up at the thought of putting this thing in my mouth. It surely would not fit.
"American men have big dick, not like in Russia," I continued kneading it in between my hands. The sensation of his shaft, wrapped in this thick, smooth skin, as if it were a firm dough, took me back to a time, when I used to make peroshki with my adoptive mother.

"Oh, so your boyfriend has a small dick?", he asked me and I forgot that he was able to listen to me, yet alone, answer me. I completely forgot I said these things out loud.
"No," I answered shortly and looked him sternly in his dark brown eyes.
"No, he doesn't have a small dick? Or: no, you don't have a boyfriend?", he interrogated me while looking up, striking a pestering smirk on his lips.
"No, not your business, idiot!" I couldn't keep myself from hissing at this dumb perv, because I was so annoyed that he ruined my mission of breaking into the engineer's offices. As if it happened automatically, my hand rose and smacked him across his face leaving a red mark on his cheek. He sharply exhaled.
"Ooooh," he moaned and I felt him arching his back in excitement. His dick quaked in my hand. This dude was really melting under my touch, because I dominated him. This sick little fuck. I could not let him know, that I kind of started to enjoy this. I surely got a kick out of it as well. Out of curiosity I put it flat against my pubic bone to measure in my mind how deep it would travel inside of me, if I were to sit on it, and I could feel more of this tingly, disgustingly exiciting feeling between my legs. Damn it! What's wrong with me? I needed to focus!

I couldn't help but feel a twinge of excitement at the control I had over this muscular American soldier, but I had to finish this quick and leave! We didn't have all day, which is why I nestled the tip of his dick between my camel toe and I slowly started grinding his crotch against mine. The fabric of my unitard and my thin layer of underwear were the only barrier between us, but I could feel the intense heat radiating from his cock. It made my delicates throb with desire. The tight unitard didn't leave all that much to his imagination, because in this sitting position it rode up in between my lips. As I was rubbing him against me, he growled, he thrusted, and he couldn't keep his eyes off me and watched his meat in excitement, and how it slid in between my thighs. His little sounds filled the inside of the hangar and this oddly sweet scent, probably the fabric softener he uses, filled the inside of my nostrils. I noticed how my clit started throbbing from the rubbing sensation. This dry-humping was a lot of work and I had to anchor my weight by grabbing his muscular shoulder that was wrapped in a tan t-shirt. While I was keeping my eyes on his muscular, upper body, I noticed that there was no nametag on him. His breath quickened, pressing against my arm on his shoulder. He started to whimper like an attacked dog looking for shelter. His brown goofy eyes narrowed, his moaning indicated that he was yearning for release and I increased my speed; riding and sliding along his shaft as if I sat in a saddle that was too big for me.

He started to thrust his hips in time with my movements. It was clear that he was close to reaching his climax, and the thought of making this little, well actually, very buff footsoldier cum on his pants filled me with a perverse sense of satisfaction, but also utter disgust with myself. As we continued to grind against each other, I felt this wave of self-hatred washing over me. What the fuck was I doing here? I was not here to enjoy this! I didn't want any stains on my unitard, which is why I slowly slid off of him and grabbed his dick with a tight grip. I needed it to be over, collected all the saliva in my mouth and spat into his crotch. Tugging and squeezing his thick shaft, I milked him until he would stop writhing from climax. His helpless, loud moaning echoed in the near empty hangar, making him seem even more desperate. His dick unloaded all over his pants, his shirt and my hand. I couldn't bear the feeling of hot, sticky cum all over my skin, which is why I used his shirt like a towel to dry myself off.

His eyes gazed towards the roof, his little cries quieted down, his voice trembling with ecstacy. That was it, right? Now that he had gotten what he wanted?

"You can leave...", he announced.
"Even though I don't want you to leave," he continued ith his voice sounding dry and raspy.

Before I could do so, I cut the ropes around his wrists, but even then he wouldn't move. He sat there trying to catch his breath with his dick out and himself soiled with cum. That orgasm must have made him more incapacitated than my taking him hostage. How could someone so handsome, dark-haired and tan, be such a little wooz.