Chapter 1: The Stage Is Set

Caution: This Interracial Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Mult, Consensual, Romantic, Coercion, Drunk/Drugged, BiSexual, Heterosexual, Fiction, Slut Wife, Wimp Husband, Cuckold, Revenge, Spanking, Humiliation, Swinging, Group Sex, Interracial, Black Male, White Female, Safe Sex, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Masturbation, Sex Toys, Pregnancy, Voyeurism, Tit-Fucking, Analingus, Violent, Workplace, Military, .

Desc: Interracial Sex Story: Chapter 1: The Stage Is Set - Life and love at an American Embassy.

It was supposed to be one of those lazy Saturday mornings when nothing got done, nobody showed up for work and everybody was just marking time for the party to start at the Marine bar after the sun set on the Western horizon.

The hard-working section in the Consulate that processed student and work visas for the foreign visitors was typing, filing, and stamping documents needed for international travel. However, most of the workers in that section were local hires and they were used to working on Saturdays which they considered part of the work-week. The spoiled American workers seldom showed up for work on Saturday morning because they considered the requirement to be far too demanding on their free time in the low priority Embassy in a low priority country in a part of the world that many saw as unimportant in the overall scheme of things in current affairs.

In fact, the Ambassador had not even been replaced yet and the Charge d'affaires was far too busy with arranging a dinner party for the Brazilian Ambassador to tend to the day to day business of the Embassy. The entire operation was being looked after by the General Services Officer who was the senior professional Embassy staff member and with impressive connections in Washington, D.C.

The previous night's party at the Marine Bar was one of those bring a bottle and drink all you want affairs that often resulted in drunken behavior even by normally respectable folks. The wife of the Chief Canadian Engineer overseeing the dam construction under EU and NATO sanctions had left her children at home under the care of a local nanny and let her hair down whilst her spouse was toiling away in the valley where the dam was being constructed by hordes of foreign workers imported from North Africa and Turkey. The simple truth was that the local workers were uninterested in working for the base salary paid by the International Consortium that generally used cheaper labor from economically depressed countries with unemployed labor problems.

The Canadian woman's name was Florence and she tended to stutter when she was excited or had too much to drink. Her precocious children liked to make fun of her behind her back but without rancor when she fell into such a state but she never really appreciated that fact the longest time.

Florence Cunningham was one of those creatures who seemed a bit gawky or uncoordinated but when she was in a bathing suit and diving from way up high she was like a beautiful swan with perfect symmetry. She had even made it all the way to the Canadian Olympic team but twisted her ankle before the finals and had to withdraw. Still, it was a highlight of her early life and she often wondered if she should have continued and tried again four years later. Now, with two young children and a husband to tend, she didn't think it would be possible to return to her past glory.

She was a favorite of all the Marines because even though she wasn't a US citizen, she was from a country about as close as you can get and she even sounded like an American just like them.

It was Sergeant Wilson who got Florence all tanked up on the Russian vodka that he was able to take onboard without any problem because he was used to the original "hard" stuff from the mountains of West Virginia. The poor lady from north of the border was not any competition to him in a drinking contest and she was lucky they found a spare bedroom for her to sleep it off with some shreds of dignity still intact. The General Services Officer's secretary, Miss Honeyplenty was able to get her into the horizontal without showing too much leg and only a short glimpse of her red thong that made her look a lot younger and more unattached than an old married lady.

Miss Honeyplenty's orange-tinged curly hair looked a trifle odd but her face was first rate cutie-pie and her figure made her likely to get promoted fast on foreign assignment. A lot of the visiting dignitaries from the States were given special attention from Doreen Honeyplenty's availability calendar and they all gave her high marks for dedicated service. She was a constant customer of the Marine bar when they were having a party or even when they were not. Doreen was not by any sense of the imagination a slut but she certainly was about as flirtatious as you would expect to meet inside the ranks of the Embassy staff. She was one of the few female professional staff who was able to match drinks with the likes of Sergeant Wilson and her expertise came from years of practice at parties on the Washington, D.C. circuit on Embassy Row.

The Gunny in charge of the detachment was seconded to an alternate location because of the demands of a Human Rights Conference but Sergeant Wilson was able to keep things together in his absence even when he was off duty and tricking wayward females into matching him drink for drink. He was drinking some thick local coffee now and would be soon sober enough to check the security on the perimeter of the compound. They only had a small detachment and in fact the Human Rights component had more personnel than the Embassy itself.

The GSO thanked his secretary for her aid in taking care of the Canadian wife's drinking problem and she assured him in a low whisper that she would be available for his visit later that evening after the party was over. It was common knowledge that Doreen was putting out to her boss but like most similar situations, no one mentioned it in mixed company. The GSO was the most powerful man on the Embassy staff and nobody dared to challenge his authority.

At the end of the bar, the Regional Security Officer (RSO) was slowly sipping his Scotch and water happily watching the interplay between the Embassy staff, the Marines and the local employees. It was a typical crowd with more females than males and the wives were flirting with any male with the slightest glimmer of interest in feminine assets.

The young and inexperienced Marines were chasing the pretty young things who were just interested in a free ticket out of the country. The wives were willing to settle for anything providing they were discreet and polite about it.

The RSO followed the local girl back to the alcove behind the kitchen and she bent over ready to please him with familiar obedience. It was amusing to the husband and wife CIA team of covert operators because he was so transparent in his transgressions. They didn't care about his terrible judgement but his vulnerability to blackmail was a major concern and they were documenting his activities to expedite his removal and replacement with a more discreet officer with higher moral standards. In fact, the girl employed by the Embassy as a translator was working for them and had entrapped the RSO in his ill-conceived activities.

The Canadian wife was snoring loudly in the back room but none of the Marines bothered her because she was "off limits" as a guest of the house.

The female half of the CIA husband and wife team had been drinking a little too much but she was able to handle her booze after years of practice and her husband who was really not her husband but a lover from years ago told her to get some shots of the screwing couple that they could use as evidence if needed when they sought his replacement. The photos were probably not necessary but it was good practice for Doris and her supposed husband Ralph liked to screw with her when she was drinking too much. Doris knew it but she didn't mind because he took care of her needs without making a big deal out of it and besides it was all in the guise of maintaining proper cover.

Nicolai was happy with his dark wine from Montenegro and the fact it was free made him even happier. He liked this bar and the open attitudes of the Americans. He knew who the CIA agents were but he also knew they knew that he knew their identities. Of course, they recognized him from those bad days in Germany when the Soviets were pushing the envelope and trying to get the allies out of Berlin. Everyone knew that was a stupid idea doomed to failure but orders are orders for the Soviets as well as the German ex-Nazis. Now, it was just a case of matching wits with the pussy-chasing RSO and the jaded CIA husband-wife team with no sense of humor. His primary concern was that things were rumored to be changing in Moscow and he was beginning to think that defection might be his best course of action in surviving the never-ending "cold war". Of course, that would mean throwing his young wife Olga to the wolves but she deserved it after cuckolding him with his own boss when he was on field duty. His only regret was that his younger sister Lena might be sent to Siberia to suffer the cold for his sins. She was young and still in her twenties without spouse or children and probably headed to spinsterhood either way. He hardened his heart and sipped his drink like he was tending a wayward prize trying to escape his thirsty lips.

Sergeant Wilson was a bit tipsy but he was sober enough to know he was not very nice to the attractive Canadian MILF with the nice ass and sarcastic mouth. He kept forgetting her name, what was it? Oh, that's right, it was Florence and she had used her hand on him inside the van one time when they were going back to Italy for some supplies. He hadn't asked her, she just did it because she was mad at her prick of a husband who had been screwing around with one of the local secretaries with a loose reputation. He remembered the sadness in her eyes right when he was enjoying it the most and spurting his stuff onto her pretty hanky. She hid the evidence in her pocket and smiled at him with her mysterious smile that was still sad but proud that she had given him some respite even if it was fleeting and without complete satisfaction.

The GSO, Mister Goldman, was a frustrated Ambassador want-a-be and he generally did everything by the book except for his reputed fascination for "born in America" secretaries with nice backsides. Normally, he would abstain from bonking his own secretary because he knew it was a surefire way of getting extorted but he had made an exception with Miss Honeyplenty because Doreen was an old friend who had tended his needs back in Washington, D.C. and they were exceptionally close drinking buddies. His policy of staying away from the native female staff was well documented by the CIA infrastructure who found his attitude refreshing and in accordance with their own personal rules and regulations. It was the horny Marines who managed to break that rule quite often and they had to recommend several undocumented transfers just to keep the local intelligence services without sources of information.

Florence was stirring on the hard bed and she dreamed that a tall dark stranger was kissing her right on the lips. It was so nice that she almost heard the slurp of her lips against the wet intruder's long and demanding tongue. She cracked one eyelid and saw Sergeant Wilson's red and gold stripes right in front of her eyes. Still pretending to be asleep, she returned his loving kisses safe in the knowledge that it was his way of trying to make amends for his shabby treatment of her in the bar. He reminded her of the way her husband had focused on satisfying her obsession with kissing before they were married and he used her need for his lips to gain a full time housekeeper and mother for his children without any mention of compensation. Now she was trapped and had no chance for either kissing or romance and it bothered her more than she could express in mere words.

She moaned and opened her mouth wider not letting on that she was alert and fully aware of what the young handsome Sergeant was doing to her eyes-still-closed face in the shadows of the dimly lit room. He stroked her hair before leaving and she rolled over to the wall feeling that nice little surge of passion way down low where it mattered the most.

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