Title: "Company Man Strip-O-Gram"
Author: Laurel A
Email: [email protected]
SUMMARY: Webb must go undercover for an afternoon as an exotic dancer. Nothing says “Summer Re-Runs” like complete and total plot-less SillySmut!
SPOILERS: None
RATING: NC-17
CLASSIFICATION: PWP (Plot? What Plot?) Webb/Other
DISCLAIMER: Per usual, most everything belongs to Donald P. Bellisario and CBS, et al.
Once again I’ve drawn
the short straw. I guess I should take it as a compliment, being
assigned to pose as a male stripper for a bachelorette party. But
I want nothing more than to find out who in the office thought up
the scenario for this mission so I can get back at them as soon
as possible. We haven’t yet been able to turn any of the
South Korean Embassy staff and their security team has gotten too
good at detecting the radio transmitter listening devices we had
been using. So several weeks ago, the CIA planted a number of
voice-activated record-only bugs in the Ambassador’s
residence. The maximum amount of recording time for the devices
is two months. With all but one of the bugs recovered, the
deadline is getting dangerously close. Someone has to go in and
retrieve the final chip, which is residing in the
Ambassador’s Ethan Allen bed frame. So here I am knocking on
the door of the South Korean Embassy.
“Oh, you must be the stripper,” giggles a
twenty-something girl as she answers the door.
“Um, yeah. Where can I change?” I say, trying my best
to sound not that bright. The twenty-something is Hye Jin Chun.
She’s the Ambassador’s daughter, the best friend of the
bride-to-be, and host of this bachelorette party. Lisa Reyes, the
Spanish Ambassador’s daughter is getting married next week,
and it’s given us a window of opportunity to get into the
house with out raising suspicions. Hye Jin shows me to a large
guest room and tells me that my services will be needed in about
30 minutes. Embassy security appears to be busy keeping up with
the young rowdy guests, leaving me free to explore this wing of
the house unencumbered. I know from my briefing this morning that
the Ambassador and his wife are out of town, so getting into
their bedroom and to the recording chip shouldn’t be a
problem. And with the next half an hour to myself, I’m sure
I can get in and out with extra time to feign illness or some
other emergency before I actually have to strip for these young
women. Now, if they were going to strip for me, that’d be
another thing all together.
‘Give your head a shake, Webb!’ I say to myself.
I’ve got a mission to perform and I need to concentrate so I
can be on time to pick up Mother and escort her to the dressage
exhibition she’s been so looking forward to. Just in case
someone spots me though, I decide I’d better change into my
costume. The same diabolical mind that had the stripper idea for
this mission obviously picked out the costume as well. It’s
a Naval officer’s dress white uniform -- with gold wings no
less. I roll my eyes and examine the articles of clothing and
accompanying accessories. There’s a pair of skimpy
bikini-style underwear -- with a large gold anchor stitched over
the crotch, aviator sunglasses, a skin-tight undershirt, white
jacket and pants, and matching cover. I roll my eyes and squeeze
into the tight briefs. God, I hope I don’t have to stay in
these for long -- they’re dangerously close to cutting off
my circulation, and I’d like to have kids some day. As I put
on the rest of the outfit, I notice that the jacket and pants
have Velcro at every seam, presumably for tearing away at just
the right moment – whenever that is. I search the bag for
socks and shoes, which seem to be missing; I guess strippers
don’t really have a need for those things. I feel something
in the pocket of the pants and investigate. I come up with a
handful of condoms. I’m really going to have to exact some
revenge on who ever put this costume together. And God, I hope I
don’t have to use these. Shoving the prophylactics back in
my pocket, I check myself out in the full-length mirror and try
my darndest to flash a trademark Rabb “flyboy” grin. It
comes out more like a grimace and I wonder for a second if
it’s possible that he had something to do with this little
get-up I’m wearing. Rabb thinks wearing that uniform,
flashing that grin, and oozing charm will get him anything, and
anyone, he wants. Arrogant bastard. But I smile at myself in the
mirror again as it dawns on me that maybe the Commander is
compensating for a lack of something to be arrogant *about* in
another department. I check my watch and am relieved to see that
I still have 22 minutes to spare. Peeking my head out the door I
step into the hallway. Staying close to the wall, I make my way
to the back of the house where I know the Ambassador’s
private bedroom is located.
“Oh Commander…” a sing-song voice calls to me.
Damn, I was almost there.
“Um, is this the way to the ‘little sailor’s
room’?” I bluff.
“No, it’s this way. But hurry, we’re ready for you
now.” Great, just great. It looks like I’m going to
have to dance after all. I hope I can pull this off. All those
years of ballroom dance lessons as a kid and they never once
covered *exotic* dancing, much less stripping. I duck into the
bathroom for a minute and staring at my reflection I think,
‘Okay Webb, you can do this. There’s no way this can be
harder than facing down an enemy operative.’ Yeah, right. I
suppose it’s now or never though, and I quickly return to
the guestroom to retrieve the tape of music I’m supposed to
dance to. Hye Jin meets me in the hallway, takes the tape and
bounces off into the living room to let the women know I’m
coming. I hear cat-calls and female laughter just as this awful
disco version of Anchors Aweigh starts to play on the stereo and
again I curse the responsible party. I steel myself against the
on-coming humiliation, take a deep breath, and stride into the
living room. I shake my ass around a few times and try to feel
the beat of the music. In no time, I’m feeling like one of
the Village People. As I make my way around the room I mentally
identify the guests, silently going over the list of individuals
expected to be in attendance. They’re all daughters or young
wives of the diplomatic community. And I smile, sure that none of
their parents or husbands would appreciate the current situation.
My hat’s long gone. The glasses came off when the daughter
of the Argentinean Ambassador swiped them off my face to plant a
wetter-than-necessary kiss on my cheek. And two of the women are
sliding their hands up the bottoms of my pants. I wriggle away
from them, turning around to come face to face with a guest I
don’t recognize from the mission’s briefing book.
She’s got flaming red hair and sparkling green eyes.
“Take that jacket off him, Colleen!” a guest squeals.
In response, this Colleen woman rips my jacket off in one motion.
I’m stunned and kind of impressed. But her presence has made
me wary. She’s a little older than the others and
there’s something else that makes her stand out, but I
can’t quite place what. Before I have time to ponder this
mystery woman any longer, I find myself nearly divested of my
pants as well. And while I have to admit that I’m really
enjoying being undressed by a slightly unruly gang of young
women, I think I’d rather take my own pants off, thank you.
I back away, shaking a scolding and teasing finger at the three
culprits. With the music continuing on, I slowly tear away the
trousers, taking an extra long time as I get to the part where
they’ll get the first look at my skivvies. Soon I’m in
just the undershirt and anchor bikini-briefs and I realize that
the shirt is meant to be disposable. It’s ripping apart at
the shoulders already. An image of the Incredible Hulk’s
muscles busting out of his shirt flashes through my mind as I
flex my own muscles and feel the shirt tearing apart further.
Wow, that’s some ego boost. Maybe I should invest in some of
these for myself. The women finish off the shirt, leaving the
tattered shreds in a pile on the floor. I can tell they’re
now expecting the show to begin in earnest. So I grab my cover
off the head of the Swedish Ambassador’s *very* young wife
and I hold it in front of my crotch. I wiggle around a bit,
waving the hat back and forth, covering and un-covering myself,
occasionally turning around to give them a flash of my rear. I
been told I have a nice ass; it’s from all the riding that I
do. And now I put that ass to good use as I toss away my cover,
shake my hips and stick my rear out for my admirers. This elicits
another round of cat-calls and shrieks and I have to admit that
I’m loving every minute. Who knew this kind of thing could
be fun? I feel like a piece of meat and now I know how women must
feel as men ogle them like livestock. And if I were a woman,
I’d probably resent it. But I’m a man and frankly,
I’m rather enjoying being the center of this kind of
attention. Hands are patting, pinching, and petting me all over
as cash is tucked into every edge of my underwear. With all this
touching I’m really getting turned on. God, do professional
exotic dancers get erections while performing their jobs? How
could they not? I look down to see what sort of state I’m in
and realize that I don’t need to worry. Perhaps you
haven’t noticed, but it’s hard to tell the state of a
man’s arousal after something like $200 in ones, fives, and
tens have been stuffed into his underwear. My package really
looks more like a Wells Fargo money bag than anything obscene.
The music winds down and I’m not sure if I’m relieved
or disappointed. Stealing my costume back from the women
who’d grabbed up the pieces, I make my exit and start back
toward the guest bedroom so I can catch my breath and unwind a
bit before finishing off this mission. Although, a growing part
of me is tempted to *finish myself off* before doing anything
else, all that dancing and gyrating has me horny as hell. As I
walk, I try to bring my focus back to the job at hand – no
pun intended – while I dig the bills out of my underwear.
The corners of the cash are cutting into places I’d rather
not have paper cuts. But, before I get even half way down the
hall, I’m stopped in my tracks. There are hands on my ass.
Obviously, I’d turned at least one head with my dancing and
for a moment, I feel a flush of pride wash over me. I stand
stock-still. “Hello?” A lilting voice answers in my
ear, “You didn’t think you were going to get away that
fast, did you?” I edge away from her hands and turn around
to face my “assailant.” It’s Colleen, who earlier
had torn my jacket away so deftly. I’m immediately
suspicious.
“Who are you?”
“Colleen Ryan. My father’s the new Irish Ambassador.
Hye Jin only invited me out of some stupid protocol
obligation.” I filter this information through my brain and
find that I can’t come up with anything out of place in her
story. But it doesn’t sit quite right, so I decide I’d
better play along while I figure her out. She appears to be a
little wobbly on her feet and I assume she’s had too much to
drink. Colleen all but confirms my suspicion by tipping over a
bit too far and she has to balance herself against the wall for a
moment.
“Well sailor, can I fly with you sometime?” Before I
can answer, she’s throwing more innuendoes my way,
“I can watch your ‘six’? Isn’t that what you
Navy pilots say? We can fly tandem, if you know what I
mean?” I do know what she means, and I can see now how Rabb
manages to get so many women into his bed. The uniform works like
a charm. And under different circumstances I’d be tempted to
follow through on this myself. But I’m here on a mission.
I’m here on a mission. I’m here on a mission. I’m
here on a mission. This becomes my mantra as Colleen now has her
hands on my ass again and she’s pressing her breasts into my
chest in a most appealing way. I guide us to the
Ambassador’s bedroom. Heck, if she’s going to provide
me with a great alibi as to why I’d be in the forbidden
room, I might as well take advantage of it. I’m hoping
she’ll just pass out once we get to the bed. Then I can get
the chip, get out of here, get back to the office and de-brief.
We hit the door frame at the same time that our lips meet.
Colleen gets the last of the money out of the way, giving her
free access to my growing erection. An erection that never really
went away after having all those other hands on me. But I’m
enjoying this one-on-one attention much more. I moan into her
mouth as she caresses me and we kiss, our tongues sliding over
and over one another. She never takes her mouth away from mine as
she pulls us into the room, shuts and locks the door, and walks
us towards the bed. At least I won’t have to worry about the
door being unlocked. And I’m still hanging onto a shred of
desire to ditch this woman and complete my mission. A shred. She
unbuttons her blouse and picks up my hands to bring them up to
her breasts. I can feel her nipples harden under my fingers and
she growls. The sounds she’s making are driving me wild. I
quickly toss her blouse to the floor and reach around her to
unhook the lacy bra, giving me better contact with her naked skin
and breasts. Colleen counters by shoving my underwear down,
almost violently releasing my erection. The women I’ve been
to bed with in the past have all been pretty docile. I seem to
attract the reserved, demure types. They expected me to do all
the initiating, all the work – Colleen is *nothing* like
that. She's been taking the lead since she first grabbed my rear
in the hallway. And trying to match her pace is getting me hotter
and harder by the moment. No sooner does that thought pass
through my mind, than I suddenly feel my body fly through the air
as she flips me onto the bed with amazing force. It's such a
turn-on that I almost forget why I'm here in the first place.
I’m so distracted, that I can only stare as she shimmies out
of her skirt, leaving her in just a pair of thong underwear. I
start to sit up but Colleen lays her hands flat on my shoulders
and pins me to the bed. I’m pretty sure now that she’s
neither drunk nor the daughter of the Irish Ambassador, and it
looks like I’ll have to play this out all the way. Thank
God. Part of my brain is telling me to keep my guard up because
I’m still suspicious about who this woman really is and why
she’s here. But that part of me shuts off as I reach out to
where our groins are touching and I slip my fingers under the
elastic of her panties. Because of the way her body is positioned
on top of mine, as I rub her wet folds I’m also stroking my
erection. It’s turning me on even more so that my hardness
becomes almost unbearable. I close my eyes and just feel where
we’re joined as my hand and fingers continue their motions.
Colleen catches on to the way I’m touching myself as I
simultaneously delve my fingers into her hot core.
“Enjoying yourself?” she pants seductively.
“Oh, yeah.” I reach down with my other hand to give
proper attention to both of our arousals. Her wetness is
spreading down and across my cock as I pump my fist up and down,
and I can’t wait to be inside her.
“I don’t suppose that costume of yours comes with any
protection?”
“Pants pocket.” It’s all I can manage to say as I
remind myself to thank the person who thought up this mission. In
the few seconds that it takes for her to grab one of the condoms
I think: she can’t be any danger to me. If she’d wanted
to inflict any serious injury she would have already done so. And
I certainly didn’t find a weapon when I undressed her.
Whoever Colleen Ryan really is, I don’t think it’s
foremost on her mind at the moment either, because she’s
immediately tearing off her underwear and mounting me again. She
has a soft, easy expression on her face as she unrolls the condom
over my erection. All of her earlier aggressiveness was so
arousing, but turn-about’s fair play. I grab her hips and
flip us over on the giant bed so that I’m positioned just at
her hot wet opening. She looks up at me smiling and I know
she’s enjoying the control I’m asserting as much as I
was enjoying being under her control. We both let out a
crying-grunt as I enter her in one stroke. She’s tight and I
thank God for the condom, because I don’t think I’d
last two minutes without the desensitizing latex between us. As
it is, I’m not going to last long. Colleen raises her legs
high and holds me in place with her ankles locked behind me. I
bend down and crane my neck just low enough to take one of her
nipples in my mouth to nibble on it.
“Yes,” she gasps as I bite a little harder. But I
can’t keep up the coordination of sucking, biting, and
thrusting so I rise up again and lower my mouth hard on hers. She
takes my lower lip in her mouth and sucks for a minute as we
thrust back and forth, making the Ethan Allen bed frame creak and
groan. I reach down between us to find her clit; I think
she’s close, but I’m positive I’m closer and
there’s no way I’m leaving this “mission”
unfinished. I feel the heat and wetness between us as I locate
the sensitive nerves and start to stroke her in coordination with
our thrusting hips. She’s got her hands over her head and
her knuckles are turning white from the grip she’s got on
the headboard. With a few more jerks of my hips and passes of my
fingers over her clit, she’s coming and squeezing me hard
from the inside. I pause for a moment as her climax subsides,
then firmly thrust into her one last time to reach my own
release. If possible she’s squeezing me even harder than
before and I feel the condom filling with my hot fluid. I grab
the base of the condom as we roll apart panting and lay side by
side gasping for air. After a few minutes, her breathing slows to
normal and I get up to dispose of the prophylactic. Even though
I’m positive now that she was never drunk, when I come back
to the bed she appears to be sleeping soundly. ‘I guess I
haven’t lost my touch,’ I think as I smile at her naked
form and the feel of the heat we’ve generated in the room.
After a moment of watching her chest evenly rise and fall, I
crouch down to the back edge of the bed to retrieve the recording
chip. Now all my missions will be complete. “Did you get
what you were looking for?” I jump at the sound of her
voice. Damn, she must have woken up.
“Oh yeah, you were great.” I’m hoping that
she’ll think I’m just looking for some article of
clothing that got tossed aside in our passion.
“No, Mr. Webb. Did you *find* what you were looking
for?”
“Excuse me?” Shit. What’s going on here? I knew I
should have been more suspicious of her.
“Colleen Ryan, Mossad Intelligence, at your service Mr.
Webb.” Oh. My. God. Okay, I can play this cool. Well, as
cool as I possibly can while squatting naked on the floor of the
South Korean Ambassador’s bedroom with a Mossad agent
looking down at me from the high framed bed.
“Colleen Ryan. That’s an unusual name for a Mossad
agent.” I’m trying to project some measure of
superiority so she won’t think she’s completely got the
advantage. But she replies with a casual air.
“My father’s Irish. Comes in handy, wouldn’t you
say?”
“And how’d you know who I was?” I’m impressed
with her confident nature. She’s got control of the
situation, but she’s not giving in to an amateur’s
temptation to get cocky and lazy about it. She must be a seasoned
pro.
“We had intelligence that there would be a CIA plant here.
Took me a while to figure out it was the stripper and not one of
the guests. Once I got better look at your face, I recognized you
from our files.”
“I should have guessed you were Mossad when you flipped me
on the bed like that. Only Israeli combat training teaches that
move -- and it’s one hell of a move.” I smirk to remind
her of what we just did and the vulnerability we *both* exposed
ourselves to just a few minutes ago.
“You should have recognized me as well, Mr. Webb. I’m
in your photo files from a 1998 Eid al-Fitr gala in
Damascus.”
“I don’t recognize you.”
“That was the idea. I was undercover as the Syrian Defense
Minister’s new secretary.”
“Well, those photos don’t really do you justice.”
I can’t help complimenting her. Colleen smiles broadly back
at me.
“I should hope not.”
“So, who’s going to go first?” At this point, I
know there’s no choice but for us to either lie or tell the
truth about what we’re really doing here, but someone’s
got to start.
“I know you’re here to pick up the recording chip
planted in the bed frame.” She grins at me full of self
assurance. Damn. I guess a lie won’t do me much good at this
point. And there’s something about her confidence that makes
me admire her professionalism. In this line of work you
don’t often come face to face with a peer -- or a worthy
adversary -- so when you do, it’s a real pleasure to do
business.
“And you’re here to steal it from me.” I get to my
feet, giving myself the physical advantage.
“Not exactly. I was assigned primarily to confirm our
suspicions that the CIA had planted the bugs. The secondary goal
was to approach the CIA plant and negotiate a deal for the
information on the chip.”
“You mean *blackmail* not negotiate,” I correct. Now
that she’s confirmed that the US has been bugging the
diplomatic residence of one of its allies, the Mossad can use the
information to leverage better deals on arms sales, access to
higher-level intelligence, or other political favors.
“It’s all semantics. And from where I’m sitting,
I’ve got one or two pieces of information I’m sure you
wouldn’t want getting around.” She’s got a smile
on her face that’s slightly seductive and more than a little
knowing. I’m not sure if she’s referring to my Anchors
Aweigh act earlier or the fact that I gave in to my carnal
desires while on a mission. Not that I regret either, but she is
right. I don’t want this getting out.
“Maybe we can be of some use to each other,” I offer,
trying to mirror her somewhat playful tone as I perch on the side
of the bed and lean over, placing my hand on the other side of
her body, pinning her down.
“An exchange of information perhaps?” she says almost
coyly. I grin as I lean to kiss her.
“A through de-briefing, you might say,”
“This could be the beginning of a beautiful
friendship,” Colleen says against my mouth.
~ Fade to Black ~
THE END