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Even though Bond has been living in M's flat for just over a day and a half, he's still a bit boggled by the elaborateness of her shower stall. It’s probably big enough to fit a family of four. There are a plethora of shower heads mounted onto the ceiling of the stall, and numerous jets coming out of two of the three walls. On the third wall is a metal panel, five inches wide by four inches long, with so many buttons, that it looks like something designed by the UKSA. Knowing M, it probably was. The space age image is enforced by the rectangular display screen that is seated in the midst of all the buttons. The display screen is currently dark.
A recessed nook takes up space below the console, and contains several pump type nozzle heads. A loofah brush hangs on a hook to the right of the metal panel. Bond assumes the nozzles dispense shampoo, conditioner, and the like, but he's never gone so far as to push them to find out. It took him long enough to work out how to get the water going, freezing and scalding himself, alternatively. The last thing he’d wanted was for M to be sore at him for breaking her shower.
He tries to make a point of not breaking things when he’s breaking and entering. So instead of poking around anymore than he had to, he’d ended up using his own things, which he’d brought with him. Besides, even if he’d dared to touch the pumps, he wouldn’t have wanted to end up smelling like M.
Well, that was a lie, but plausible deniability and all that.
He wasn't sure how much she'd splashed out for her shower, but how much ever it was, it was a damn sight more than he was willing to have her take out of his pay for breaking the thing. Besides, if he played his cards right, maybe M would let him stick around a little longer, and he'd get a very hands on demonstration of how everything worked.
M slides the glass door closed, and it shuts with a loud click. She motions for Bond to step back, then presses several buttons on the console. The display lights up green, then dims and shows the temperature of the water that gently begins to stream from above and around them.
As they stand, slowly getting soaked, Bond looks up and around. “You know, it’s like being under a waterfall.” Now that the heat of the moment has passed, he feels a bit weird about standing naked with M. Not in the least because the water has slicked her already short hair down against her skull. It makes her blue eyes stand out, framed as they are by the water droplets clinging to her lashes.
M makes an agreeing noise, then turns away from him to touch one of the pumps. This gives Bond a view of her plumply rounded rear. He looks away just before M faces him again.
M steps closer and slaps a handful of soap against his chest. The soap is rich and foamy, and makes M’s hand slide over his chest in the most distracting manner. He wonders if he dares to press his luck by trying to persuade her into a second go around. Even though he’s come only minutes before, he’s still half hard, and sharing a space, even one as spacious as this, with a wet M, isn’t helping his situation at all.
M turns away again to get more soap, and his condition becomes even more dire when she turns around and starts soaping herself with the frothy liquid. He moans as his cock flexes sharply, becoming fully hard. The sight of M briskly running her hands down her neck and over and under her full breasts does something to him, and Bond moves forward, crowding her into the corner of the third wall, where the spray is less noticeable.
He presses himself against her, prick rubbing over her abdomen. Raising his right hand to cover her breast, he lowers his left to cup her arse. He gives her behind a quick squeeze, before slipping his left hand lower and sliding his fingers between her legs to stroke at the lips of her pussy.
M gasps, then knocks his hands away, side stepping around him to take herself out of his reach. “Behave yourself, Bond.”
Grumbling, Bond tries to get closer again. M holds him off with a hand on his chest. “Bond!”
Bond stops trying to get at M, mentally cursing the size of the shower. At least if it’d been smaller, he could have brushed up against M’s slick body and called it an accident. As it was, he was rock hard with no place to go.
Feeling the need to release the pressure, Bond curls a hand around his stiff prick. He’s gets in one full stroke, thumbing the tip of his cock in a way that makes his eyes close in pleasure. Then M’s voice breaks his concentration.
“Bond!”
He opens his eyes to see M giving him such a stern look that his hand falls away from his cock almost instantly. Now he’s too bloody nervous to follow through. “Fuck!”
“Language, Mr Bond,” M snaps, her tone as arch as if they were standing in her office with her berating him. “Don’t you have any self-control?!”
“Not where you’re concerned,” Bond mutters.
“And just what is that supposed to mean?”
Bond eyes M’s glare and sighs. And now he’s back to being Bond instead of James. His good mood evaporates into the steam.
He’s standing with his prick pointing straight out like some sexual divining rod and no hope of relief. He knows what his proclivities are worth to M, so it is unlikely that she will let him get a proper grope in, much less let him solve his problem on his own, especially now that he’s tried her patience. Which he always seems to do, even when he doesn’t mean to.
“Nothing ma’am.” He makes a motion with his finger. “Turn around; I’ll wash your back.” As he waits for M’s reaction, Bond tries not to think about how ridiculous he’s being. There’s nothing stopping him from walking out of the damn shower and taking himself off somewhere to have a wank in peace. Nothing but the fact that M hasn’t given him leave to. And if that doesn’t say it all, nothing will.
When she gives him a suspicious look, he lifts a hand in a salute. “I promise to behave. Scout’s honour.”
The tension between them breaks when M snorts. “You were kicked out of your Scout group, weren’t you? Something to do with the Scout Master’s daughter?”
Bond ventures a grin. “I was advanced for my age.”
M’s body relaxes as she laughs. “I’ll bet you were.” She gives him her back and he steps up behind her, reaching past her to push the pump for more soap. As he slathers it over her nape and shoulders, he glances down and silently apologizes to his dick.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Breakfast is a short affair. Partly because M insists they’re running behind schedule, due to what she calls their lollygagging in the bathroom, but mostly due to the meagre contents of M’s fridge. Which he’s apologized for ten times over. He agrees to replace what he’s eaten by restocking her fridge the next time he breaks in. They end up having tea and toast, while sitting in M’s kitchen nook.
“I know why I have to go in to Six, but why do you? You’re listed as being off work.” It’s only after he’s voiced the question, that he realizes it might be a bit presumptuous of him to even ask.
M stares at him over the rim of her cup. When she lowers it, her lips quirk. “Perhaps I want to keep an eye on you, Bond.”
Feeling more than a little put out, Bond straightens in his seat. “I’m not a child, you know. I don’t need constant adult supervision.”
When M smirks, Bond decides to rebut. “If you’d carried on with your retreat as planned, I would have been unsupervised.”
M’s eyebrow goes up in that familiar motion. “Well, as Tanner is my second in command, that is part of his job description. By going in, I’m freeing him up to do something else with his time.”
Bond isn’t sure if M is joking or not. He crams a piece of toast into his mouth to keep himself from sinking even lower by asking.
M continues to sip her tea while she observes Bond. She’s feeling mellower than she usually does during her regular morning ritual. Granted her usual ritual doesn’t include shagging her best agent. It was a lovely distraction. But now comes the time for careful thought.
She needs to know how serious Bond is. Now that she’s seen his physical reaction to her, she doesn’t think she can easily go back to being non-responsive to his overtures. It was different when she thought he was just playing a game; tease the old broad a little. But he’d gone down on her with no hesitation, and then, he’d been frantic to fuck her, twice, if his behaviour in the shower a little while ago was any indication.
It hadn’t seemed like he’d been calling up the mental image of some younger, more alluring woman, which was a common trick of the trade when having to seduce an undesirable mark. He’d been totally focused on her, and it had felt wonderful. A little too good, perhaps. Sex was fun, but it wouldn’t do to lose her heart to the great James Bond with no idea of what his true feelings were.
If he was serious… If he was serious. M grips the handle of her teacup a little more tightly than she intends to. The thought that James Bond might actually want a relationship with her is at once exhilarating and frightening. It would change everything. Everything.
They really need to have a long talk. Sooner rather than later. Now, in fact. The logical thing to do would be to stay at her flat and hash the whole thing out. As Bond has said, she doesn’t need to be at Six today, and she could easily call Tanner and have him list Bond as away.
However, one thing stops her. She feels less in control here than she would at Six. Here, theoretically, she’s on home turf, but honestly, with the way Bond always makes himself welcome whenever he wants - this latest incidence being a prime example - it's almost beginning to feel like neutral territory, or worse, like his turf.
It’s one of the many things she thinks they’ll need to discuss. This breaking and entering habit of Bond’s. While he’s disobeyed her order right from the beginning, somehow she’s always startled when he shows up in her flat. Probably because he doesn’t do it with any sort of consistency. She half expects it but then she’s still caught off guard. It’s unsettling and she doesn’t believe he understands that.
At least in her office, she’ll be on surer ground. If only because they’ll be different people there. Here, even though Bond calls her M, he treats her differently. Is more familiar than he’d be anywhere else. In her office the dynamic will automatically shift. She'll be back to properly being M and he'll be back to being Agent 007. It's an instinctive thing for both of them.
In her office, it will be easier to be restrained. For both of them. If this talk is going to happen, and if goes the way she’s beginning to suspect it might, she’s going to need that limitation.
~*~*~*~*~*~
James Bond, current moniker Agent 007, feels as though he’s fallen into another dimension. A dimension where he’s had sex with his incredibly gorgeous boss. He still can’t quite believe he’s not dreaming. That bathroom tryst was something straight out of his fantasies. And God knows he’s had many over the years. The only thing that reassures him that it really did happen is that in his imagination he always takes the lead.
He must have been hit in the head one too many times. That he would think, even in his dreams, that M would play the coy and blushing damsel was ludicrous. It was the thing that first snagged his interest; that she didn’t fall for his charm. And he’s only grown more captivated as time has gone on.
He’s currently taking them both into work as M had dismissed her guard and driver, saying that if he was going to loiter about her flat like a wayward teenager, he might as well make himself useful. He can think of other ways he’d like to make himself useful, but he doesn’t dare voice his thoughts. He’s not sure if M intends their encounter to be a one off or not, and he doesn’t want to do anything to put himself into her bad books.
Bond groans when he realizes that thinking about this morning has made his problem reassert itself. Beside him, M chuckles and he glances to the side to see her staring at his crotch. He feels his face heat, but there’s nothing he can do since he has to drive. He looks back toward the road. “Sorry,” he mutters.
“On the contrary, Mr Bond. It’s quite flattering, if somewhat surprising. I wouldn’t have thought a woman my age would be to your taste.”
“You’re not just any woman, M.” He’s embarrassed by his declaration but he can’t let M think she’s just a fuck to him. He doesn’t look to see her reaction; frankly he’s a bit scared to know, but he takes it as a good sign that she’s not yelling or making light of his statement.
He’s in the middle of changing lanes when M says quietly, “So that’s why you keep breaking into my flat. I thought it was just about annoying the hell out of me.”
Bond completes the changeover, then clears his throat. “Uh. Well. That too. If you were annoyed, at least that meant you were thinking about me.”
M snorts. “Well, your cunning plan worked splendidly. I can confirm that you were never far from my thoughts, Bond.”
He doesn’t know what to make of that. The words are negative, but M’s tone is neutral. She doesn’t sound upset or angry. At the risk of sounding like a broken record, he mumbles another apology.
“We’ll discuss it when we get to the office,” M says, then looks out the window, effectively ending the conversation.
Bond concentrates on driving, doing his best to block out his anxiety about the upcoming discussion. At least his worry has put a damper on his libido.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Tanner meets M on the way to her office. He glances at Bond, who is walking a few paces behind her, then focuses on M. “Ma’am? I thought you were going to be away until Sunday night?”
M shakes her head. “So did I, Tanner. So did I. I assume my schedule is still open.”
“Yes, ma’am. I could reshuffle things again, if you’d like. There are a few people who were most disappointed that their meetings with you would be postponed.”
M reaches her office as Tanner is talking. She slips inside and settles into her chair behind her desk. “I’m sure they were. No, thank you, Tanner. I think I’ll leave things as they are. I’m sure you can keep things well in hand.”
Tanner nods. “Very well, ma’am.”
When Tanner leaves M activates the privacy protocols.
Bond, who had followed her inside, and was now standing to the left of the doorway, stiffens.
“Do take a seat, Bond.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
M stares at him without speaking and Bond reminds himself that he’s a trained agent; he’s been through interrogations by hostiles. It doesn’t seem to matter. He still has to force himself not to fidget under M’s scrutiny.
Closing her eyes, M breathes deeply, which makes her chest heave, and Bond can’t help the way his gaze falls to her bosom, before he drags it back up. He flushes when he realizes she’s staring at him again. Her eyebrow arches, but her lips twitch slightly, so he figures she’s not about to kill him. At least not yet.
“Just what is it that you want from me, Bond?”
Blinking, Bond finally succumbs to the urge, and shifts in his chair. “Um.” He is at a loss. He’s never even considered that he’d have any chance with M.
M tilts her head. “It’s an easy enough question. What do you want? Casual sex? A long term commitment? Marriage?”
Bond stares, thoughts racing. He knows she’s been widowed for just over a year, but it never seemed like she was ever interested in dating, much less an actual relationship. He wonders if she’d want that with him. He licks his lips. “Whatever pleases you, ma’am.”
To his shock, M giggles. She claps her hand over her mouth to muffle the sound, her eyes bright with merriment. Getting herself back under control, she lowers her hand and grins at him. “Oh my dear boy. You have no idea.”
M, carried away by laughter, is in turns, an innocent, yet sensuous vision. She laughs with her whole body, lush and provocative. Even now, reined in as her emotions are, she is radiant. Mortified, Bond feels his cock twitch.
He stares at a point over her right shoulder. He doesn’t trust himself not to ogle her chest and he can’t make himself meet her gaze. Gone is his debonair repartee. This matters too much for him to be glib. “I meant it. Whatever pleases you. Whatever you want. Whatever you want to share.” He forces the words out, laying himself bare.
M makes a small humming noise. “So, if I wanted to ride you hard and put you away wet? Use you to scratch the occasional itch?”
Bond’s gaze snaps back to M’s without his input. She merely looks curious, instead of mocking. He bites back a groan, as his hands clench into fists on top of his thighs. He’s had sex for worse reasons. He swallows hard. “I think this morning proves I don’t have a problem with that.”
“Perhaps not at first.” M clasps her hands on the top of her desk and looks at Bond intently. “But suppose it went on for months? Maybe I’d have you in my bed for a week, then never have you for a month. What if I wanted you to be my ‘bit of stuff’ on the side?”
Thinking of M with someone else leaves Bond feeling cold. The casual sex he could handle; it’d be nothing more than what he does now. However, the idea of M going to someone else for something he could easily give her is unbearable.
There wouldn’t be anything he could do about it. He has no claim to her. “I’d hate it,” he confesses in a low tone. “I don’t have any right to make demands, but I want more than that from you.” He looks away from M’s penetrating stare.
He hears the noise of M’s chair being pushed back, then her legs appear in his field of vision, seconds before her hand rests lightly on his chin. Standing at his side, M turns and tilts his head up so that he has no choice but to look her in the eye. “And just how do you imagine this ‘more’ will play out, James?”
Her touch, along with the use of his first name, makes him shiver. “I don’t... I don’t follow,” he stutters. M is close enough that the light scent of her perfume wraps around him and below that the warm, earthy smell of a woman ripe for plucking. Because of their height difference, even though M is keeping his head up with her fingers against his chin, Bond is vividly aware that he only has to glance down to look at M’s beautiful cleavage.
Instantly, he remembers how the water and soap had run in rivulets over M’s breasts, flowing around her nipples and down over her rounded abdomen before trickling through her pubic hair, and down her legs. Her skin had glistened, sheened as it was by the water’s surface. Against his will, his cock, thwarted as it was by the morning’s events, responds swiftly. Reflexively, he spreads his legs.
M looks down at Bond’s movement. She stares for a moment, and when she looks back up again, her gaze is sly. Her lips curve. “Well. Will you be wining and dining me, James? What do you do with your girls?” She continues to smile.
Bond wants so much to kiss her, he can barely think. He hesitates; he doesn’t really want to say normally he just goes to a bar and waits. Usually, by his second drink, he’s caught someone’s attention. And by his third, they’re negotiating in whose flat the deed will take place. He always manages to convince his bed partner that their place is better.
It’s less of a mess, he finds. He doesn’t have to worry about tossing some clingy female out. He just slips on his clothes and leaves. He can imagine how well that statement would go over with M. “The only time I wine and dine is when I’m on a mission,” he settles on saying.
M doesn’t seem surprised. She simply taps his chin before drawing back her hand. “Eyes up and to the front, James,” she says, as she turns away and walks back to her chair.
Once she’s seated again, she cocks her head and Bond realizes he hasn’t really answered all her questions. He rubs a hand over his face, trying to give himself a few more minutes. When he lowers his hand, he sighs. “I… You’re not like the others. I don’t… If you want to be wined and dined, I can do that. If you don’t…” Bond shrugs.
M shakes her head. “You’re probably wondering why all the questions. I’m trying to ascertain whether you’ve actually considered the impact of what you’re asking. Of both of us. On both of us. It’s not just the two of us involved. I’m sure you are well aware that I am always under observation. My department in general, but myself most of all. As complimentary as your feelings are, do you imagine we could just decide to have a relationship and then start dating?”
She’s right of course. Bond knows this, even if he didn’t consciously think about it. Within Six, it would be near to impossible to carry out an ‘office romance’. Security being what it was, there would be no opportunities for lingering touches, let alone anything more overt. And the logistics of trying to take M on a date, without anyone knowing, were, frankly, mind boggling.
There would be her bodyguard and driver, the guards at her flat, whatever surveillance was secretly installed, and while here in her office, with the protocols in place, they were free from prying eyes and ears, he didn’t doubt that someone, somewhere, was probably monitoring just how often M activated the system.
“I didn’t really get that far,” he murmurs. “I never thought you’d be interested. But I understand your point. It would be very complicated.”
Leaning back in her seat, M studies Bond. “But worth it?” Her voice is very quiet.
Her question startles him, though he’s not sure why. Given his reputation, M is well within her rights to be doubtful that he’d want to be in it for the long haul. She doesn’t have any reason to, but he wants a chance to prove otherwise. “Yes, ma’am. Very much so.”
She grins, and his cock, which had been slowly relaxing, starts perking up again. Bond nearly rolls his eyes at himself. He’s beginning to understand M’s amusement.
M’s grin fades, but she still looks relaxed and pleased. “So? Our date? How would you proceed?”
Bond feels a little zip of adrenaline at the thought. “Well,” he says slowly, thinking it through. “We definitely shouldn’t be seen leaving together. And I probably shouldn’t be seen picking you up at your flat. Unless you feel like bribing your guards.” He pauses, waiting to see if M will comment.
She just shakes her head no.
“Right. The logical thing would be to meet at our destination. You could get your driver to drop you off and then pick you up later. However, that still leaves your bodyguard.”
“It does.” M looks at Bond expectantly.
“You could order him to wait outside.”
“That wouldn’t be at all suspicious.”
“Give him the night off?”
“See previous answer, Bond.”
“Take him into your confidence?” Bond knows he’s clutching at straws.
“Are you sure you’re a 00, Bond?”
Bond sighs. “That would be pretty risky, wouldn’t it?”
“Indeed.”
“Well, what do you suggest? I’m all out of ideas.” Mind boggling was putting it lightly. Carrying on even a semi normal relationship with M was going to be very difficult.
“Giving up so soon, Bond? That’s not like you. Am I not worth the effort?” M is hard pressed to keep from laughing out loud at Bond’s horrified expression.
Getting up, M waves away his spluttering protests and apologies. “Relax Bond. Here’s my suggestion.” Stepping in front of his chair, M leans down. She’s fully aware she’s flashing Bond with the tops of her breasts, evidenced by the fact that he sucks in a deep breath. Placing both hands on his shoulders, she puts her mouth next to his ear. “Why don’t you break into my flat at 7pm sharp?” With that, she nips at his earlobe, then straightens up and moves away.
“Fuck!” Bond is pretty sure he’s going to sprain his prick with all the rapid changes. “Yeah, language, Mr Bond,” he says in sync with M.
She gives him a cheerful look. “Exactly as you say. Now out of my office.”
“What? Now?” Bond looks down at his lap and then back up at M.
“You’re a 00, Bond. Stealth is supposed to be one of your talents. I’m sure you can make it from my office to yours unseen. And James…”
The way M draws out the syllables of his name feels like a caress. His cock hardens even more. He swears under his breath.
“Hands off your gun. I want you fully cocked and loaded for this evening.”
M winks at him, and to his embarrassment Bond feels himself blushing. He gets to his feet and leaves as quickly as he is physically able to.
He’s barely made it into his office when his mobile goes off, indicating he’s got a text message. He’s reaching for his jacket pocket when it registers that it’s his private mobile and not his work one. He switches directions to his trousers pocket.
Flipping it open, he sees the text is from an unfamiliar number. He presses okay and the prompt opens up into a small box with a few sentences. Since I’m not supposed to be in today, I’ve decided to go home early. See you at 7pm. Don’t be late.
Bond sighs in relief. With M out of the office, at least he doesn’t have to worry about his runaway sex drive.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Bond is in the middle of actually writing up a report when he gets another text alert on his personal mobile. He’s a bit surprised when he sees that it’s another text from M. He figured she’d be out getting her driver to take her all over, it being a rare day off.
When he opens it, there is just one sentence. Do you think this necklace is too ostentatious for a first date? Below the text is a picture of the necklace plus a very generous shot of M’s cleavage. He can see the lacy trim of her push up brassiere.
Bond’s mind blanks out at the thought of M standing practically naked in her bedroom. Scenes from earlier play back in his mind’s eye. His prick, which had finally gone soft once more, starts to swell as he remembers the scent and taste of M, as well as the way she clenched around him.
His hands shake a little as he replies. Pearls are never ostentatious, M.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Over the next couple of hours M sends him two more pictures. Thankfully, neither of them are as stimulating as the cleavage shot. Though, he has to admit that the way M had tilted her head in the photo of her wearing a set of pearl earrings, had made him long to give her the biggest, reddest hickey imaginable. Which is a bit of an impossibility really. He sighs.
He makes it through to the lunch hour without any more messages from M and deems it safe to wander down to the canteen to get something to eat. He settles on a bowl of tomato soup and a bread roll, heavily buttered. He figures it’s light enough not to interfere with whatever M plans for dinner. For their dinner date. He catches himself smiling ridiculously, and schools his face into its more taciturn expression.
Taking a seat in the semi crowded room; he waits for his soup to cool enough for him to eat. Next to the bowl, his personal mobile registers another message. What are you doing? The banality of it makes want to grin. He taps out his response. Having lunch.
I’d be having lunch too if someone hadn’t eaten all my food.
Would it help if I apologized again?
I can’t eat your apology, James.
Do you want me to bring you lunch? He pauses, then pokes at the keys some more. And things to make dinner with?
Suspicious, James. Why are you my best agent, again?
I have no idea. In my defence, I tend to lose my head around you. He hits send before he loses his nerve. His soup is no longer steaming, so he picks up his cutlery, and spoons up a bit.
Both of them, apparently.
He’s just taken a mouthful of the soup, and he nearly chokes on it when he sees M’s reply. When he’s finished coughing, he types up his answer. You did that on purpose.
I have no idea what you mean, James.
Before he can answer, another message comes through. Is your lunch as tasty as I was?
Bond stuffs a bit of bread roll in his mouth to muffle his whimper.
~*~*~*~*~*~
The afternoon passes quietly. Bond, amazingly, gets caught up on nearly all his paperwork. Some would call it arse kissing, but Bond considers it raising his odds. Though he wouldn’t mind actually kissing M’s arse.
It’s a little after four pm, when he starts to get restless. His desk is mostly clear. Both Eve and Tanner have threatened bodily harm if he keeps bothering them, and Q, well, the less said about Q, the better.
He can’t help it; he’s bored. He’s bored and a nervous wreck all at the same time. He’s going on a date with M. And sure, they’re not actually going anywhere, but still, it’s a planned event.
He’s just wondering if he can get away with leaving early, when his private mobile rings. It’s from the same number that’s been texting him all morning. When he answers, he can hear the sound of water swishing back and forth.
“M, are you…” Bond clears his throat. “Are you bathing?”
“Mmm.” The sound M makes is not unlike a post coital noise, and his body responds predictably to the stimulus.
“Have to make sure I’m nice and clean, don’t I, James?”
The water swishes again and Bond can picture M holding the phone in one hand and rubbing a washcloth over her breasts with the other. He could always hang up, but that would end the game, and it’s clear M wants to play. Even though there’s no one is the room with him, he scoots his chair close to his desk in order to hide his very physical reaction.
“I’m sure with all your snooping, James, you were aware that my husband was ill for many months before he died.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Bond isn’t sure where M is going with the line of conversation. He can hear water trickling, and he envisions M either lifting the wash cloth away from her body or lifting an arm or leg free of the bath water altogether. Either image is titillating, as it brings to mind M’s body barely covered by water. He wonders if she’s using bubble bath or if he’d be able to see her completely.
“However, you probably weren’t cognisant of the fact that our sexual relations suffered because of it. I’ve had to make do with vibrators or dildos all this time.” M makes another happy little noise. “Sometimes, James, fingers aren’t quite enough.”
Bond bites his lip, and squirms in his chair, as he pictures M fingering herself, or even more arousing, getting herself off with toys. There is a very loud slosh. Eyes widening, Bond grips his mobile tightly with one hand, while the other clutches his thigh.
There are only two things that noise could be. Either M is standing up, getting ready to leave the tub; Bond visualizes her, skin slick with water and rosy from the heat of the bath. Or...
M gasps. And then, “Oooh.”
Bond squeezes his eyes shut as M’s breathing grows a little heavier. His morning orgasm seems like eons away, and his arousal, which has ebbed and flowed, surges to the forefront again. He digs his fingers into his thigh to keep himself from palming his cock. If he touches himself now, with M’s voice high and fluttery in his ear, he knows he’s not going to be able to stop.
“You know, James.” M’s voice hitches, and she lets out a little cry. “One shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, but my husband was a respectable size, and yet he couldn’t hold a candle to you. This morning was wonderful; you filled me right up.”
“Oh my God,” Bond whispers.
“It’s quite fortunate this bath is as big as it is. Lot of room to stretch. The two of us could fit quite nicely. You could easily fuck me here.”
“Christ.” Bond can see it as clearly as if he were there with M. Her legs spread wide; hand below the water, stroking and teasing.
“I’d let you too. Not like this morning in the shower.” M’s breathing quickens as she starts to pant. “But maybe I’d make you take me from behind,” she whimpers. “Otherwise, we’d make such a mess. Water all over the place. That way you could pinch my nipples; tug them. Oh! Oh, James! Please!”
“Fuckfuckfuck!” Bond can hear the water vigorously slapping at the sides of the tub. He knows it’s the result of M frantically rubbing at her clit and pussy walls. There’s a clatter, and then a short, sharp cry of his name. Bond’s eyes snap open as he realizes M dropped her mobile just before she climaxed.
His prick is pressed tight against the front of his trousers and he’s afraid to look to see if he’s leaked through the fabric. He’s breathing just as fast as M had been and his head is in a fog. He can’t stop hearing her pleading for him and calling his name.
His fingers twitch against his thigh. He wants to touch himself so badly. This isn’t something he’s used to. It’s always been easy to get what he wanted.
M sighs blissfully when she gets back on the line. Bond curls his fingers into a fist to keep them from inching inward toward his swollen cock. Right now, it would just take a few long strokes.
“I can hardly wait for this evening, James.” Her tone, however, is more serene, than excited.
“M. M, please.” As much as he would like nothing more than to spill himself in M’s warm, moist cunt, he can’t wait. He just needs her to say yes. Then he can open his trousers, push down his pants, and cup his aching prick. His hips thrust up at the thought and he hisses as the sensitive tip brushes against the inside of his pants and trousers.
“Ah, ah, James. That’s for me. It’s customary for the guest to bring a gift. That’s yours.”
“I’d rather bring a bottle of wine,” Bond grumbles.
M laughs. “Be good, James. And believe me; I’ll know if you’ve been bad.” She disconnects the call.
Bond lowers his mobile from where it’d been pressed tightly against his ear. Placing it on his desk, he rubs his ear, which is now a bit sore. He doesn’t dare try to put the mobile back into his trouser pocket.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Bond spends the next hour breathing deeply, trying to rein in his wayward body. It’s difficult. Every time he gains a measure of calm, he is besieged by images which send his lust spiralling upwards. He’s never felt so out of control in all his life; not even when he was a teenager caught in the grip of hormonal surges.
Finally, it’s time to go, and he’s managed to bring himself under enough control that he’s not walking in a suspicious manner. However, he does have to carry his suit jacket in front of him. Luckily, no one harasses him with embarrassing questions, as everyone is equally in a hurry to leave.
After leaving MI6’s parking garage, Bond drives for almost fifteen minutes before he realizes he’s taking the route to M’s flat. Cursing, he turns around and heads for home. He’s pretty sure if he presumes to show up early, dinner will be all he gets.
Traffic is such, that by the time he gets to his flat, he has just enough time to change before having to head out again. He decides to dress down a little. Breaking into M’s flat in the middle of the night is a vastly different endeavour to breaking and entering in the early evening. He decides to go with slacks, a dress shirt and leather jacket, since stuffing himself into his jeans is out of the question. As he leaves, he hopes he survives the night.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Bond slips silently into M’s flat, bypassing both her guards and her security. It’s always bothered him that it’s so easily done. Yes, he’s a highly trained agent, but it isn’t as though he’s the only highly trained agent in the world. Sometimes he thinks about suggesting to M that she not dismiss her bodyguard after she arrives home, though, to be honest, the idea of someone else being that close to M in a professional manner is just as abhorrent as if she was dating.
Nearly all the lights are off except for the one in the dining area, and after hanging up his jacket in M’s hall closet, Bond makes his way there effortlessly. He knows M’s flat as well as his own. As he reaches the doorway to the dining room, he sees M standing next to the table, which has been shortened so that it seats two people without them having to be miles apart.
She has her back to him, and Bond freezes in shock. He’s seen M naked, and he’s seen her in her power suits. He’s even seen her dolled up for the boring business related events she has to attend; he’s never seen her like this.
The dress is a full length, pale blue number that bares M’s entire torso from her nape to the small of her back. The cut out ends in a V shape that points directly to the rounded curve of M’s arse, while the fabric itself clings, simultaneously hiding and revealing. There is a slit mid-center that runs from the hem to just below the bottom of M’s rear.
As Bond watches, M leans to put a covered dish on the table and the slit gapes, giving Bond a glimpse of M’s stocking clad legs. He thinks vaguely that it’s just as well he didn’t bring a bottle of wine, as it would have ended up on the floor, broken.
“I can feel you staring, James.” M’s tone is dry. She turns.
“Fuck!”
The exclamation is torn from him. The bottom half of the dress’ front is quite sedate, almost boring in its plainness. It flows to the floor without the attention grabbing divide of the dress’ back. The top, however.
The top consists of two narrow strips of fabric that converge at the back of M’s neck. Pearl earrings dangle, catching the light. The pearl necklace, from the picture that she’d sent him earlier in the day, is looped around her neck with the excess knotted into a ball that nestles perfectly between M’s voluptuous breasts. Breasts that are barely covered. It’s very easy to see that M is not wearing a brassiere.
Bond feels himself become hard in what seems like an instant. He doesn’t remember crossing the threshold, or the short distance between himself and M. He’s only aware of stepping into M’s personal space, shoving her up against the edge of the table, and trying to push her legs apart, so that he can rub against the apex of her thighs.
M’s legs remain stubbornly closed. “James, you’re being a very naughty boy. Dessert comes later.”
Groaning at M’s double entendre, Bond runs his hands from her hips to her chest. His palms slip on the silky fabric before sliding beneath to cover her breasts. They spill over the sides of his hands as he squeezes them, then ducks his head to nuzzle her ear.
“Oh Christ, M. Please. Need you so bad.”
Bond kisses the side of M’s neck, barely restraining himself from giving her the hickey he wants to. He does allow himself to graze his teeth over the skin below her ear. Thumbing her nipples, he continues to rock frantically against her pelvis.
“Oh God, please!” He’d be mortified by the whine, if he wasn’t so desperate.
M shudders and moans, but does nothing to help the situation. Instead, she puts her hands on his chest, obviously intending to push him back. “James.” Her voice is firm.
“Nonono.”
Bond feels like a teenager in the midst of his first sexual encounter, only that event, went much smoother than his current one. His hands fall to M’s waist, and lower, stealing under the gap in the back of M’s dress. When he raises his hands to grope M’s arse, he gets his second surprise of the evening.
M is not wearing any knickers. It’s by virtue of M’s fast reflexes that disaster is averted. It’s only her hand, tightly gripping his overwrought prick that stops Bond from ruining his trousers and pants.
Cursing, Bond moves his hands, about to reach for M’s hand to shove it away. He needs to come like five seconds ago. He aborts the attempt when M squeezes him harder.
“For tonight, James, this is mine. I may let you use it later, but you’ll have to be a very good boy. Yes?”
“Fuck! Yes!”
~*~*~*~*~*~
Though her voice is steady, M is feeling anything but. This is a James Bond she’s not familiar with. She’s aware of all the standard seduction techniques taught by Six, and she’s been privy to enough of Bond’s bedside missions to know that he never loses control. She wonders briefly if he was this way with Vesper Lynd, but dismisses the thought as quickly as it materialises. The dead have no place here.
“James,” she says softly. “I need you to calm down.”
Bond’s strangled laugh borders on hysterical. He rests his hands on M’s hips again, and slumps. “I’m dying here, M,” he murmurs into her hair.
M does her best not to laugh. She isn’t unsympathetic to his plight. She can’t stop her shoulders from shaking though. “James, no one ever died from lack of orgasms.”
“Says the person who’s already had one. Besides, there’s always a first time.” He sounds pitiful.
Bracing herself more fully, M wraps her free arm around his shoulder, even though it’s a bit of a stretch. Her breasts feel swollen and her nipples ache. There’s a slight dampness between her thighs. She’s very much tempted to forego her plans. James isn’t the only one with self-control issues.
Bond squeezes her hips, then closes his eyes and focuses on regaining his equilibrium. It’s strange. M’s hand is on his prick; her perfume is wafting around his head; the heat of her body is soaking through his clothes. He should be even more turned on than before. However, enveloped as he is in her embrace, it’s more of a comfort than anything else.
Several minutes pass before Bond regains a modicum of control. He straightens up slowly, then looks down at M. “You can let go now.” His smile is wry.
M’s lips quirk. “If you’re sure.” She releases him.
Taking a deep breath, Bond steps back, giving M more room. He looks over her shoulder, and for the first time, sees what M has prepared for their dinner. The table is covered by a crisp white table cloth; two dinner plates sit across from each other, with the proper set of cutlery to the left and the right. In between the two plates are several dishes, each containing a small amount of food.
There is a bowl of asparagus with a smaller bowl of what looks like avocado dip beside it. Beside the asparagus, is a bowl containing a few oysters. Next to the oysters, is a small bowl of strawberries, already de-stemmed. There is also a little fondue pot of melted chocolate on a stand. Inside the stand, below the pot, sits a tea light candle to keep the chocolate soft. A wooden handled, long tined fork lies beside it. A plate, with one banana, sits near M’s dinner plate. Two glasses of red wine complete the tableau.
It doesn’t escape Bond’s notice that all the foods displayed are known for their aphrodisiacal qualities. He gives M a look. “Pretty sure I don’t need the help, ma’am.”
M smiles. “Perhaps they’re for me,” she says innocently.
“I know you don’t need the help.”
Grinning, M waves at a chair. “Have a seat, James.”
Bond sits, and M sits across from him. The table is small enough that they can reach each other without stretching. Lifting her glass of wine, M tips it in Bond’s direction.
“To new beginnings.”
Taking up his glass, Bond reaches out and taps it against M’s. “To new beginnings,” he repeats. He sips the wine, instead of gulping like he wants to. He assumes that it’s an excellent vintage; he’s too focused on M to discern the bouquet.
M sets down her glass, and waits while Bond follows suit. “How do you feel?”
“You just had your hands full of how I feel.”
“James.”
She’s looking at him very seriously and Bond ducks his head. “Sorry. I feel good. Nervous. But good.” He tries not to squirm. He always feels a bit like a schoolboy when he’s around M, which is another one of his fantasies. He cuts off that train of thought before it can do any damage.
M touches his hand. “If it’s any consolation, I’m nervous too.”
Turning his hand palm up, Bond laces their fingers together. “One would never know.”
Giving Bond’s fingers a little squeeze, M draws her hand back. “Well, I dare say I’ve had more experience.”
“Don’t remind me.”
“At looking calm when I’m not, James!” M says, laughing.
“Of course.”
Shaking her head, M serves herself several spears of asparagus and some of the avocado dip. She nudges Bond’s ankle with her toe. “The oysters are all yours.”
Bond is startled by both the statement and the fact that M’s feet are bare. He’d been so fixated on her stocking clad legs; he hadn’t noticed that she wasn’t wearing any shoes. He scowls even as he pulls the bowl towards him. “Told you. I’m not going to have a problem with that.” Picking up an oyster shell, he slips the oyster into his mouth in one smooth move.
“They’re also supposed to be good for sperm production,” M says mildly, as she swirls a spear of asparagus through a bit of dip.
Bond coughs in the middle of swallowing. When he recovers, he looks at her, eyes wide. “I don’t think I’ll have trouble with that either!”
M smiles, then pierces her asparagus with her fork. She eats it delicately, licking along the stalk before sucking on the tip.
Bond stares, mesmerized. He’s not surprised when his trousers become too tight. He’s never considered himself the caveman type, but right now, all he wants to do is sweep everything off the table, throw M down, and ravish her.
When M finishes her asparagus, and spears another, Bond drags his gaze away. There are a couple of oysters left and he makes short work of them, trying to ignore how the sight of M’s tongue inflames him.
After the oysters, Bond helps himself to the rest of the asparagus, because frankly, he needs to rid M of her ammunition. If he has to sit and watch her eat more than what she’s already placed on her plate, he’s going to lose it. As it is, he can’t stop thinking about M’s tongue on his body.
Between the two of them, they finish both the asparagus and their wine. M declines to refill the glasses. “I wouldn’t want either of us to be tipsy later on,” she explains.
Bond hardly thinks that either of them would get tipsy off one bottle of wine, but he’s happy enough to hurry things along, especially since this way, he doesn’t have to plead with M to hurry things along. He might plead with her for other things, though, as she picks up the fork, pierces a strawberry, twirls it through the chocolate, then holds it out to him.
The act of M feeding him makes something inside him uncurl. Maybe he’s a bit of a Neanderthal, after all, since he likes it very much. He leans forward, holding M’s gaze as he closes his mouth around the strawberry and removes it from the fork without touching the tines.
The strawberry is tiny enough that it’s just a small mouthful and when he bites down, the two kinds of sweetness, juice, and chocolate, burst onto his tongue, combining in a wonderful way. He’s not really one for hedonistic pursuits as related to food; sex or alcohol is more his thing, but it’s delicious.
M is watching him as he chews, and he notices her eyes darkening and her breathing getting deeper. Her nipples are hard against the scraps of fabric covering her breasts. At least they’re on the same page.
Bond swallows and M gives him a moment, before dipping another strawberry and offering it. Neither of them bother to speak. Bond takes it as he did the other, watching the way M watches his mouth. He groans as he tastes the second strawberry. Partly because of the lovely flavour, partly because M staring so intently at his mouth is making him think of all the places he could put his mouth on her, but mostly because M’s stocking clad foot is sliding its way up the inside of his leg.
Lowering a hand below the table, Bond grabs M’s foot as it reaches his inner thigh, even as he spreads his legs a little. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, ma’am,” he says, after he’s finished chewing and swallowing. He finds himself rubbing her instep with his thumb.
M tilts her head and wiggles her toes against Bond’s palm. “What if I promise to make it worth your while?”
Groaning, Bond squeezes M’s foot. “You are a very dangerous woman.”
“Is that a no, James?” M isn’t smiling, but she looks like she’s about to at any minute.
“That depends. Will you let me come?” His prick is half hard again, and having her foot in proximity is making it take even more notice.
“Eventually.” M’s smile finally slips free.
Bond figures there’s only one way to answer M’s question. He’s sure that if he even hinted it was too much, M would call her game to a halt. And if he’s honest with himself, he’s quite curious to see what his limits are. He’s never wanted to do this with any other woman. Give up his control.
“Prague,” he says finally.
M immediately becomes serious. She lays the fork aside. “James, it’s alright to say no. In this setting, I’m not your employer, though Christ knows you don’t have any trouble telling me no at work.”
Bond tightens his grip on her foot to keep her from moving away. “I’m not saying no. I just...” He exhales harshly, annoyed at having to struggle to put his feelings into words. So much for his savoir faire. “Look, you’re driving me crazy. Don’t know if I can. Never done something like this before, but I want to try,” he says gruffly.
To cement his statement, Bond shifts M’s foot a little higher, pushing it against his groin. He runs his palm as far up her leg as he can reach, just to have the pleasure of seeing her gasp, then puts his hand back on the tabletop.
M feels a surge of affection that has her blinking in surprise. “Alright, James. Prague it is. However, I don’t want you to be stoic. If you need to stop, tell me.” She gives him a sharp look. “And believe me, James, if I have to stop you myself because you wouldn’t use your word, it’ll be the first and last time. Understood?”
“Yes ma’am,” he says, as his prick twitches hard. It’s embarrassing how that tone always gets him going.
She gives Bond a nod, then presses the ball of her foot carefully, keeping an eye on him as she does so. He shudders, nearly closing his eyes. She can feel him swelling beneath her toes. She flexes them, and his hands clench in response.
Leaving her foot resting against Bond, M turns her attention back to their food. She picks up the fork again, spears a third strawberry, and swirls it in the still warm chocolate. She extends the fork, keeping her foot totally still.
Shaking his head, Bond chuckles a little. “Making me work for it, huh?”
“Something like that,” M says in agreement.
Bond leans forward, moving slowly, but the shift in position still causes him to rub against M’s foot even though she’s not doing anything. Taking the strawberry as quickly as he can without making a mess, Bond leans back to relieve some of the pressure. Not that it helps much. As M said earlier in the day, he’s fully cocked and loaded.
M lifts another strawberry, and Bond discovers that his sporadic movements are more frustrating than if M was deliberately moving her foot. After he’s taken his bite, Bond cautiously shifts his hips. He’s not sure if M would consider it cheating.
She only raises a brow, and Bond calls that permission. He rocks his hips, biting back a whimper when M’s toes drag against the head of his cock. It’s swollen to full mast, straining against the front of his trousers, and rubbing over the full length of M’s foot with every roll of his hips.
Reaching beneath the table, Bond grips M’s ankle, holding her foot tightly against his groin as he thrusts. He’s very glad there’s only one strawberry left, as he’s not entirely sure he’s going to have enough brain cells left for chewing in a minute. As he leans forward to take the last one, M’s heel strokes over his balls and Bond sucks in a breath, hand tightening around M’s ankle.
He breathes deeply, then completes the motion, slumping back in his chair after pulling away from the fork. The last is as delicious as the first, and yet it’s lost its appeal. He chews quickly and swallows. It’s difficult but he stills the movement of his hips, even managing not to whine in dissatisfaction. He has the feeling that M isn’t finished with him yet.
This thought is borne out when she starts to draw her foot away. He lets go at once, and feels his cock throb at the lack of stimulation. He watches to see what she’ll do next, pleased to see that she’s flushed, her lips red from being bitten. Her breathing isn’t any steadier than his.
Looking over the table, Bond sees that there’s only one piece of food left uneaten. He hadn’t given it much thought at first glance but now he’s wondering about the oddity of having one banana at the dinner table. Aside from its purported qualities, it is a great deal more phallic in shape than even the asparagus.
Surely M doesn’t think he needs a lesson in how to put on a condom. He glances back at her. M is wearing a Cheshire cat grin. Bond feels vaguely worried.
As he stares, M lifts the banana, and peels it leisurely. She lays the peel aside on her plate, and then, very purposely, holding Bond’s gaze continually, slowly deep throats the fruit.
“Jesus fucking Christ!” Bond clutches at his cock and squeezes firmly; glad he hadn’t moved his hand from his lap. He closes his eyes tightly, though it’s already too late. That imagine will be forever burned into his mind.
He counts back from one hundred as he tries to calm down, tightening his fist when it feels like his body intends to force the issue. He hears a soft slurping noise. He imagines M withdrawing the banana, which doesn’t help.
He is just repeating his count when he hears M chewing and swallowing. He sincerely hopes M doesn't plan to do that to his cock. He dares to open both his eyes and his hand. M is gazing at him, hands folded just in front of her plate, looking for all the world like she hasn’t just nearly killed him.
“Bed. Now,” Bond growls, when he’s finally regained his speech.
M dips her head. “As you wish.”
~*~*~*~*~*~
As she gets to her feet, M is not surprised to find that her thighs are a little bit slick. The whole day has been as much as a tease for her as it’s been for Bond. Dinner being the culmination.
All through dinner her pussy had tingled and throbbed. Watching Bond struggle with his desire had been more potent than any of the foods she’d laid out. It had taken all her will power not to push her hand between her legs and bring herself off a third time. Only the fact that she was very much enjoying the anticipation stayed her hand.
She looks across the table at Bond. “Coming, James?” Her smile is cheeky.
“Har Har. Very funny. I suppose that’s up to you, isn’t it?” Bond looks down at his lap. “Uh. Give me a minute. Would kinda like to walk without injuring myself.”
M hides her widening smile with her hand. She’s so very proud. There are not a lot of men who would willingly give up control after years of having women just fall into their beds. The old adage why buy the cow when the milk is free is very much in play.
Once again, a wave of affection sweeps over her and M steps around the table to stand at Bond’s side. She almost laughs when he looks up and realizes that he has an eyeful of her cleavage. Lifting a hand, she runs her fingers through his short hair. “You’ve been very good, James. I’m very pleased. Even if it turns out that you can’t, I’ll still be pleased that you tried your best.”
Bond trembles, before leaning into her touch. “M,” he whispers.
“I think, James,” M says, increasing the pressure of her caress, “that given we’re about to have sex for the second time today, you’re allowed to call me Olivia.”
Shuddering, Bond shoves back his chair, and wraps his arms around M’s waist. His forehead rests between her breasts. He breathes deeply.
“James?” M cups the back of his head.
“Can’t,” he mutters against M’s skin. “I can’t think of you as Olivia and still do this. If I call you Olivia, I’m done.” Turning his head a little, Bond kisses the underside of M’s breast.
This reminds M that her breasts ache, as well as her pussy. “Alright.” She eases her way out of Bond’s embrace. “Come on. I think you said something about a bed?” She moves away, and Bond gets to his feet gingerly and follows her.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Once they’re inside her bedroom, M switches on the lamp on the bedside table, bathing the room in a soft light. She starts to turn, but is stopped by Bond’s hands on her arms. She leans back against his chest as his hands slip under the two bands of fabric that form the top of her dress.
His fingers pinch and twist her nipples, calluses adding to the friction. Her back arches, pressing her breasts into his palms. Tension starts to coil low in her belly, and M shoves a hand between her legs.
The fabric of her dress is smooth and offers little resistance against her pussy lips. As nice as Bond’s nipple play is, she needs more. She twists, and finds herself looking at Bond’s shirt covered chest. She starts to unbutton his shirt, but Bond stops her, his hands gentle around her wrists.
“You first, otherwise this will be over before it’s started.” Bond lets her go, and reaches for the clasp that holds the top of her dress together. Ducking his head, he brushes his lips against M’s until she slides her arms around his neck. He deepens the kiss, and unhooks the fastening at her nape.
The fabric falls away and Bond lets his hands drift down to palm M’s breasts. She gasps into the kiss, but doesn’t pull away, and Bond squeezes gently, thumbs rolling over the taut peaks. He plays with them for a few minutes, then gentles the kiss, so that he can draw away. Before M can protest, he bends lower and closes his mouth over one nipple, while still fondling the other.
M runs her hands over Bond’s hair, regretting that it’s too short for her to get a good grip. Bond’s mouth feels as wonderful on her breast as it did on her pussy and she lets him continue to lick and suck even though the ache between her legs is getting more pronounced. It’s when he sets his teeth on her nipple and tugs that she grabs his ears and pulls.
“Clothes off.” She’s already half naked, so it’s only a matter of shimmying out of the lower half of her dress. She leaves it pooled on the floor, and lifts off her pearl necklace and places it on the night table, beside the lamp. She leaves on her earrings. She stands, clad only in her stockings and garters.
She’s sure she’s never seen anyone undress as fast as Bond does, and then he’s standing before her, fully erect in more ways than one. Bond’s cock is snug against his abdomen, the tip leaving damp trails over his skin with each breath. She reaches out, and even before she touches him, a shudder runs through his body. She rubs her forefinger under his balls, then circles each, before dragging her fingertip slowly up the shaft until she reaches the head of his cock.
His prick jerks, and a drop of precome beads up. Bond curses as M lightly caresses the tip, rubbing the slick fluid over the swollen head. She strokes her hand down again, then grips Bond tightly at the base of his cock.
Bond’s eyes widen as M sinks to her knees, free hand holding his hip to ease her way. “Oh fucking Christ, M. Please…” Bond’s not sure if he means please yes or please no. It becomes a moot point a second later when M angles his cock down, then slides her mouth over the head and down the shaft.
“M!” Bond would be embarrassed by the volume of his shout, but all he can focus on is warm and wet and fuck, his balls are drawing tighter against his body. He snatches at her hair, hands slipping on the short strands. His hips snap up hard and M just takes it, which really makes it that much worse.
Tightening her fist even more, like an impromptu cock ring, M holds Bond’s cock in her mouth and throat for a few seconds before withdrawing slowly. She licks the head before tilting her head to look up at Bond. “Prague?”
Bond’s hands clench, and he shivers. It’s several minutes before he can untangle his fingers from M’s hair. He looks down at her, kneeling at his feet. It would be a submissive pose if she wasn’t the one in control of his cock. He shakes his head. “No,” he rasps.
“On the bed then.” M’s voice is as rough as Bond’s.
She lets him go, and he helps her up, before cautiously moving toward the bed. The covers are turned right down to the foot, and he sits on the edge. He’s not sure what M wants him to do.
M comes to stand in front of him. She nudges his legs open wider, then kneels again. Bond whimpers. Cupping her breasts, M leans forward, until Bond’s prick is nestled tightly between them.
Bond grips the edge of the bed. His precome drips onto M’s chest and she uses it as lubrication to slide her breasts up and down the shaft of Bond’s cock. He’s incapable of keeping his hips still.
He fucks M’s tits rapidly, panting harshly as his hips rock up and down. His gasps for breath are interspersed with little grunts as M flicks the head of his cock with her tongue on every up stroke. It only takes a minute of his senses overwhelming him, before he’s teetering on the edge again. He almost yells Prague when M clamps him off again, but he bites his lip and the only thing that escapes is a whine.
It takes longer for Bond to calm down and after she’s opened her hand, M has to brace herself on the mattress and push in order to get to her feet. “On your back, James. Hands on the headboard. No touching.”
Panting, Bond does as he’s told, and M gets on the bed with him. He’s flat on his back, and she straddles him, smiling at the way he bucks up when her pussy brushes against his cock. She rubs against him, eyes closing as his hard prick rides between the lips of her pussy.
“Fuck! Christ! Oh God, please M! Please, let me fuck you! Let me come!” Bond grips the rungs of the headboard tightly even as he begs for relief.
M rolls her hips, teasing herself a little more. “Just a little longer, James,” she gasps, before moving up his body. She holds herself up over his face, hands braced against the wall.
Bond doesn’t wait to be told. He tilts his head up and licks at M’s pussy. She’s moist and when his tongue slides along her folds, she shudders and breathes his name. He pushes in, tonguing her walls and flicking her clit. He’s barely started before she’s coming with a loud cry.
M slumps against the wall, breathing heavily. She can feel Bond shaking beneath her. Leaning over a little, she scoops some lube out a little bowl on her night table. She hadn’t wanted to fumble around with her tube. She fingers herself quickly, stretching herself as much as she can in the short time that she wants to take, making the aftershocks from her orgasm work through her body more forcefully.
She wipes her hand on the pillow case, then leans over again to pick up the condom packet that’s sitting next to the lube. Pushing herself away from the wall, she wiggles her way down Bond’s body, until she’s sitting on his knees. Bond has a death grip on her headboard.
M eyes the condom, then Bond’s flushed and straining cock. She’s going to have to be very careful. Opening the packet, she tosses the foil container over the side of the bed, then gently places the condom over the purple tip of Bond’s prick.
Bond makes a guttural noise as he fucks the air. “Easy. Easy. Breathe, James. Breathe,” M murmurs. She rolls the condom down slowly, stopping every inch or two to allow Bond time to calm down. When it’s on completely, she dips her fingers in the lube again and slicks it quickly, keeping her touch as light as possible.
She wipes her hand off on the sheet this time, then straddles Bond, stopping when she feels the head of his prick pushing against her cunt. Leaning forward, she kisses Bond’s chest. He’s been so fucking good; she’s going to let him have whatever he wants after this.
“Okay, your turn.”
Bond sucks in a loud breath, and his hips thrust up, shoving his cock into M with one hard push. M, still riding the wave of her orgasm clenches around him and Bond comes with a scream. His cock pulses, and he pries his fingers off the headboard and grips M’s hips, rolling them over.
As soon as M is pinned beneath him, he digs his toes into the mattress and shifts his hands, bracing them on either side of her head. He looks down as he fucks her frantically, but he registers nothing but the throbbing of his cock and his balls releasing his pent up sperm in rhythmic spurts. The bed creaks and the headboard knocks against the wall as Bond rides M, and they both fill the room with their cries and loud grunts.
Dazed and overcome, M feels herself winding up to another climax. It hits her suddenly and she yells, pussy flexing around Bond’s thrusting cock. Above her, Bond slams forward one last time and freezes as he finishes spilling inside M. He collapses on top of M, too out of it to be concerned about keeping his weight off her.
Even squashed as she is, M is too boneless to care at the moment. She feels blissed out, like she’s high. Vaguely, she thinks she’d like to keep Bond chained in her bedroom, so she could do this again and again.
She really should try and rouse him, get him to remove the condom. It feels too good though, having him inside her. Her pussy is still contracting, the muscle spasms getting smaller and smaller as her orgasm fades away. In a minute, she thinks, as she drifts off to sleep.