Spy Games Ch 04 1

Carmen was our next live in domestic. Domenic came after Carmen followed by Evelyn, Francine and Gertrude. Each girl stayed with us for a month, giving me the opportunity to seduce her, bed her and then forget her. All of which were becoming increasingly easier as the months rolled by. Especially the forgetting part. With the exception of Gertrude, to this day I can't remember anything remarkable about the other girls. And the only reason Gertrude sticks in my mind is that she was the first girl Mrs. Bancroft hired that didn't have a smoking hot body.

Gertrude was what folks today would call a plus sized girl. Back then, we called them fat. Hippopotamus thighs, an ass that needed its own postal code, boobs that five-gallon buckets couldn't restrain, and a belly that rivaled a woman nine-months pregnant with twins.

"Did you hire her on purpose," I asked Mrs. B.

"Everything I do is on purpose. It's high time you realize I don't supply these girls for your personal pleasure. I am teaching you how to woo women to serve your country and there will be occasions that the woman who holds the information we desire will not be a fashion model."

"Yeah, that's fair. But couldn't you have broken me in kind of gradual. You know, transition from swimsuit model to chunky, make a quick stop at moderately obese and then introduce me to Gertrude?"

Mrs. B gave me her patented 'it sucks to be you' smile and said, "You know the drill. If I don't hear midnight moans of carnal delight by the end of the month, the next girl will make Gertrude look anorexic."

***

A week went by, and I wasn't making an inch of progress in my quest to separate Gertrude from her triple K bra. Considering the previous four girls succumbed to my charms in less than three days, I was beginning to think fat girls might be different.

"Yes and no," Mrs. B said when I asked her opinion on the subject. "Large ladies want the same things a size six desires ... love, friendship, acceptance, and multiple mind-blowing orgasms from the man of their dreams. But, unlike the women you have previously been with, you will never convince Gertrude that she is the most desirable woman in the room. In fact, she most likely suspects the opposite."

"She thinks she's ugly?"

"That's what she's been led to believe her entire life."

"But she isn't. She's just fat."

Which was true. The few times I managed to get a smile on her face, I could see a pretty girl trapped inside several hundred pounds of unfortunate genes.

"Then let her know, if that's how you truly feel."

"You want me to go upstairs, knock on her door and say, 'hey Gertrude, I don't think you're ugly. Want to go out for drinks some time?'"

"Exactly, but don't tell her you think she's pretty, and fun, and desirable. Show her."

"Now wait a minute. I might have said she's not ugly, but I never said she was fun ... and desirable? Not a chance."

"Like I've said many times before, you don't have to believe she is any of that. Your job is to make her believe it."

"So, you want me to lie to the girl with the sole purpose of getting into her double wide britches."

"If she was a true target, and her panties were the only path to information our country needed ... then the answer is definitely yes. But that's not the case here. All I'm asking is that you spend some time with the girl and treat her right. It will be good practice and she might surprise you."

Bullshit. Despite what she said, I know for a fact that Mrs. B wants me to fuck the fat girl.

The following morning, I went downstairs and helped Gertrude fix breakfast. My excuse for being there was that Gertrude made crepes that I could eat every morning for the rest of my life, and I wanted to learn how she did it.

Yeah, her crepes were amazing, but I also had to ask her out on a date.

"Thank you, but I'd rather not," she said when I suggested we meet for drinks at a local pub that evening.

"You don't drink?" I asked.

"I've been known to enjoy a glass of wine now and then; I just don't enjoy going to pubs."

"How about a nightclub?"

"Not my cup of tea."

"Restaurant?"

"Pass."

"I'm obviously going at this wrong footed. During those rare occasions that you do enjoy a glass of vino, where do you do it?"

"In the kitchen ... usually by myself."

"Okay, now we're getting somewhere. Suppose I were to happen by the kitchen this evening with an open bottle. Would you share it with me?"

"That would be acceptable, as long as you don't interfere."

That afternoon, while Gertrude prepared veal scallopini, I selected a bottle of merlot from Mrs. B's cellar using the "catch a tiger by the toe" method and poured each of us a glass. Thanks to my month with Amanda, I considered myself an adequate sous chef, but Gertrude insisted my ass remain planted on a bar stool or I'd have to leave her kitchen. And, to bring my odds of a successful seduction down to that of a succubus in a convent, she remained practically mute despite my numerous witty conversation starters.

But she did let me refill her wine glass ... several times.

It wasn't until she had the veal in the oven, the vegetables sliced and the pasta in the pot before she asked me the obvious question.

"Why are you here? What do you expect from me?"

Okay, it was two questions.

"I, uh ... I just wanted to enjoy the company of somebody closer to my own age."

"You'd enjoy the company of the girls at the pub a lot more than mine, I'm sure. If you were to go down to the Fox and Hound, you'd have no problem chatting up any lass in the place."

"Suppose I don't want to chat up just any lass? What if I want to talk to you?"

"But you don't. Nobody wants to be with me."

"Is that why you don't like pubs and night clubs?"

"Would you if everybody ignored you?"

"Yeah, I guess I wouldn't. But that doesn't explain why I'm here in the kitchen with you and not competing with the Hounds for the Foxes. So why do you think I'm here?"

"I think ... even though you can have any woman you want ... I think ... for some sick reason ... I think you want to shag a fatty."

Gertrude folded her hefty arms under her ginormous tits and stared me in the eyes, daring me to prove her wrong. And she was wrong. Sort of. I had absolutely no desire to fuck the largest woman I'd ever met. But telling her I was only doing what our joint boss told me to do would devastate whatever limited self-esteem the girl possessed (not to mention open a snake pit of questions about why her new employer wanted my oversized cock in Gertrude's 'yet to be determined' sized pussy). So, my only recourse was to agree with her.

"You're absolutely right," I told the two-legged hippo. "If I went to the local pub tonight, there's a decent chance I would find a lady willing to invite me to her bedroom for an hour or three. But I chose to stay here and drink wine with you. And yes, I would jump at the chance to get intimate with you. I'm a guy who likes variety and, hopefully, you'd enjoy the experience as well."

Gertrude held her pose and silently looked me over. I was beginning to think she was having some sort of out of body experience when she finally spoke.

"Once and only once. In the kitchen. Tomorrow. Before Mrs. Bancroft returns from work."

***

Nothing was said about our afternoon rendezvous over breakfast the next morning. Gertrude brought us our coffee, served us scones and eggs, and then disappeared into the kitchen to eat by herself. I left at 8:00 for my twice weekly lessons on "mobile personal surveillance techniques" (how to follow someone without them knowing and how to know when you're being followed). I had to cancel my afternoon 'un-armed combat' session with the SAS so I would be available for whatever Gertrude had in mind. Truth be told, I was dreading what she was planning more than the standard ass kicking I got at the hands of my battle-hardened UC instructor.

I stopped at a pub on the way home for lunch and a pint. Gertrude was right. Even at that hour, there were several young ladies there who looked as if they wouldn't mind skipping an afternoon of work if I offered an afternoon of delight. One pint turned into two and might have led to three if the pub didn't close at 2:00.

When I walked into the Mrs. B's kitchen, Gertrude was sitting on a stool, head in hands, crying.

"Sorry I'm late. Got caught up at the office." I regretted the words even as I spoke them.

"Do you work in a pub? I can smell the beer on your breath from here."

I crossed the room and put a hand on her shoulder.

"Go away. You don't want to be here, and I don't want you here."

"Give me ten minutes to prove you wrong," I said. "If you still want me gone at 2:30, I'll leave and never bother you again."

Since one hand was already there, I started with Gertrude's shoulder muscles. Using gentle finger pressure, I located the tight spots and, with increasing force, worked them until she quit crying and visibly relaxed. The back of her neck was another mass of tension that took half of my allotted time to soothe. I started working her upper arms with two minutes left and, when 2:30 rolled across the clock and she didn't stop me, I kept going.

I'm not sure when she realized I had unbuttoned her blouse. Possibly when her unrestrained boobs felt the cool kitchen air. But if not then, my fingertips on her nipples certainly gave the fact away. Regardless, she didn't complain and even assisted my efforts to remove the garment.

Seeing the girl topless for the first time, I was tempted to stop what I was doing and survey the scene. Just how big were her tits? How fat was her belly? But I didn't. She seemed to be in a daze of acceptance, and I didn't want to break the spell.

I turned the stool until she was facing me, and used my fingers, lips and tongue until her surprisingly small nipples stood proud, like marbles perched on the ends of watermelons. Okay, maybe her nipples were average size or slightly larger. They only seemed small in comparison to the boobs that supported them.

With her top half attended to, it was time to work on the lower acreage. I coaxed her to stand and lean against the granite countertop. A simple drawstring was all that held her skirt in place. Once released, her skirt fell to the floor, and I had proof Gertrude had come prepared for sex. She wasn't wearing any undergarments.

It was time to perform. I had a naked woman in front of me, I'd removed my shirt shortly after I removed hers, now it was time to take off the pants and get to work. Which scared the crap out of me.

Suppose I can't? What if I'm so repulsed by her body that my dick shrivels up like a worm on hot pavement? Not only would that make Gertrud feel like a complete loser, it would also prove I don't have what it takes to be a field agent. If I can't get it up in my own kitchen for a pretty faced fat girl, how will I perform in a foreign land with the ugly wife of a sultan?

I know, I'll ignore the slabs of fat in front of me and think happy thoughts. Like Amanda climbing in bed with me or sliding my dick between Mrs. B's boobs.

Good plan, but her gargantuan naked ass was impossible to ignore. It was like an entity to itself. Two humongous globes of flesh that met in a deep dark unexplored valley. When I first touched them, the term "shook like a bowlful of jelly" came to mind ... forever ruining my favorite Christmas poem.

But time was wasting. Gertrude was giving off all the signs of a woman ready for love, but my window of opportunity would slam shut if I didn't take action. So, I dropped trou, kicked off the skivvies and discovered that my penis had a mind of its own.

There's a lesson to be learned here. While my brain was repulsed by the expanse of Gertrude's ass, all my dick wanted was a soft warm place to play. Released from the confines of my boxers, it immediately hardened up and lunged for her butt crack. I can't think of any other way to explain it. One second I'm debating which fantasy could override my current reality and the next, I'm sliding my cock between her lower cheeks. I'm not talking anal. At this point, I hadn't entered any of her holes. It was more like I was titty fucking her but using an alternate pair of fun bags.

And if that wasn't stranger than a three headed juggling squirrel, Gertrude was loving it. Apparently fat girls, or at least this one, had an extra erogenous zone that normally proportioned women lacked. Instead of pulling away, she leaned into me and, once we got into a rhythm, flexed her gluteus maximus to show her appreciation.

Taking full advantage of the situation and my extra-long arms, I reached around her considerable girth and grabbed a boob with each hand. Let's face it. For some unknown reason, a girl's, arms, belly, ass, thighs, calves and ankles can be too big. Hell, even fat ear lobes will turn most guys off. But, as the Daryle Singletary song said, "there's no such thing as a girl too pretty, a car too fast" and if it wasn't for the censors, the next line would have been "boobs too big."

For the next ten minutes, my dick pillaged her butt crack, my hands mauled her massive mammaries and, from the sounds she was making, Gertrude enjoyed the hell out of both.

But I had yet to make a woman come without involving her pussy in some manner. And since I only had one shot at this, I wanted to leave the girl with a favorable impression ... not just of me, but of men in general, since I was fairly sure this was her first time. So, once I heard her heart rate rise, felt her nipples harden, saw her pupils dilate and smelled the distinctive odor of a pussy in heat ... once I knew she was ready, I released her boobs, pulled my dick out of her butt crack and slid it into her surprisingly tight and amazingly well lubricated pussy.

Gertrude whimpered when I first penetrated her folds. I stopped barely inside her and waited ... hoping she wouldn't pull away. When she held her ground, I gave her another inch or two and came up against a barrier which confirmed my belief that I was her first.

"Are you sure?" I asked.

She remained silent but nodded her head.

I momentarily retreated and gently probed the unobstructed inches until she visibly relaxed. Then, with a quick shove, like pulling off a band aid, I plowed through her hymen and introduced her to the wonderful world of intercourse.

There was no doubt that she enjoyed the experience. She didn't scream out in ecstasy or yell "My God I'm Cumming". In fact, the girl didn't say a single word the entire time I was inside of her. But she came. Several times, if her cunt contractions on my cock were any indication. And when I painted her womb white with a carafe of man seed, she came one final time and collapsed on the counter ... crushing her belly and boobs on the granite in the process.

What do you say to a naked fat girl whose virginity you've just stolen? In this case, nothing seemed appropriate. So, I held her until she recovered her equilibrium, pulled my shrinking cock out of her leaky pussy, gave her a gentle kiss on the neck, and walked away.

***

I did it. I fulfilled my contract with Mrs. B by fucking the fat lady. Mrs. B wouldn't hear Gertrude's moans of pleasure from across the hallway. She'd have to take my word for it. And any further attempts at molesting Gertrude's body would go against our agreement. "Only once."

With that in mind, why did I walk into the kitchen the following day with another bottle of wine and two glasses?

Maybe I was following Mrs. B's prime directive. "Give a girl either what she wants or what she deserves." At that point in my training, I didn't completely understand what that meant. But, from our single encounter, I wasn't convinced I'd delivered what Gertrude wanted and was sure she didn't deserve the 'slam, bam, thank you ma'am' treatment I'd administered the previous day.

Another possible motive for my return to the kitchen was a deep-seated desire to let Gertrude know I wasn't just using her. She accused me of "wanting to shag a fatty" with the implication that, once I'd done it, I'd go brag to my friends, have a good laugh, and never approach her again. Little did she know that I had no friends.

If I was totally honest with myself, the real reason for being there was I wanted to be. Something about the large, mostly silent girl intrigued me, and I wasn't ready to be rid of her.

Other than a quick glance in my direction, Gertrude didn't acknowledge my presence and continued to prepare a chicken for dinner. I set the glasses on the counter, filled them both and lifted my glass in a silent toast. A gesture she initially ignored. She continued with her culinary duties for several minutes while I silently emptied my first glass.

I refilled my glass and placed hers closer to where she was working. This time, when I raised my glass, I kept it in the air and stared into her eyes. I planned to hold that pose until she either reciprocated or my arm got tired. It took longer than I thought necessary, but she finally wiped her raw chicken infested hands with a wet rag, grabbed her glass and took a small sip.

"I'll need thirty minutes to get the chicken in the oven."

"Anything I can do to help?" I asked.

"You can keep my glass full." She took a sizeable gulp of wine, gave me a quick wink and returned to her task.

Getting her out of the kitchen and into my bedroom took a little coaxing. Getting her out of her clothes and onto my bed was a bit simpler. Getting my cock out of my pants and into her pussy was a piece of cake.

I don't know if Gertrude was a religious girl, but she seemed to have a preference for the missionary position. I had my doubts at first. I doubted that she would be physically able to spread her thick thighs wide enough for me to gain entry. I doubted that my weight on her enormous belly wouldn't injure her. And I doubted that even a pecker as long as mine could push through the layers of fat blocking access to her lust tunnel.

I was wrong ... on all accounts. Yes, her body was large, but it was also amazingly flexible. It took a bit of trial and error but, after several near disastrous misadventures, we had her ass on the edge of the bed, my feet on the floor, her feet leaning against my shoulders and my cock balls deep in an extremely excited pussy.

Once in a comfortable fucking position, I started her out with lazy deliberate strokes. All the way out and then a slow penetration to the hilt. As I increased the frequency of my penis plunges, I was amazed at the effect it had on her body. When we first started, every in stroke caused her belly and boobs to bounce towards her head only to return in the opposite direction when I pulled back. But as I sped up the process, her belly, being larger than her boobs, took longer to flap back than her tits. With a little experimentation, I could get her belly and breasts out of phase, making them crash against each other with every stroke. And if I came at her from a slight angle, her boobs circled her chest while her belly bounced off one and then the other.

I had no idea that fucking a fat girl would not only be fun, but also a physics lesson. I got so involved in making her tits and tummy dance I was taken completely by surprise when she arched her back (which damn near pushed me over on my ass) and clamped down on my pussy ensconced cock so hard I was momentarily immobilized.

Then, and only then, did I look at her face and, as if it was the first time, saw, not a fat broad who's only redeeming virtue was the largest pair of boobs in the United Kingdom, but a beautiful, desirable woman in the throes of an orgasm. Her mouth formed a perfect circle from which the faintest of moans emanated. I leaned down and pressed my lips against hers. What started as a gentle touching of lips slowly transitioned into a full blown, passionate, battle of the tongues, kiss.