The new reality was that for ten to twenty hours a day Watson was homeless. Someone sitting on a well padded chair, at a big desk, inside a warm office, and drinking coffee at the headquarter of homeland security had decided on our covers. I was a bride recruited from the Internet for the Muslin terror warriors, and my partner, Watson was posing as a homeless man in order to be the outside any one of them on any given day.
Watson pretended to live near the terror location dejour, and just drifted around near their safe houses. Meanwhile they were busy working on their Jihad shit inside. He planted highly technical remote listening devices for homeland security. They were the locations I had pinpointed for him from my travels with one or another of the leaders. They had lots of storage sites and meeting places.
Watson spent his days when he wasn’t planting bugs, just taking pictures. Hell we both did our things and we both were cold all day everyday. Me because under the heavy dress and the Hijab I was naked. The Muslim terrorist cell leaders liked their whore ready at all times to service them.
I accompanied them almost everywhere. I was their introduction and their recruitment incentive. I was shared like coffee from the communal coffee pot. I was considerably less valuable than coffee on a cold day. I was just a white whore to them.
A Christian whore named Jazmin. I gave them pet names, since I couldn’t think of them as real. I managed to stay sane only because I though of them as cartoon characters. They weren’t real and I did not do the things I had done. That was Jazmin, not me. I had a feeling I was going to need a lot more counseling at the end of the current gig.
Since I spoke no Farsi, or whatever language they used, they felt comfortable speaking around me. They were also relaxed after my visits so some of them spoke freely on the disposable phones. I didn’t understand them, but I did transmit the conversations. The Hijab was perfect for the chore. Sometimes I was forced to strip naked, at those times the transmitter continued to broadcast from the veil hanging on a nail somewhere.
I trusted Watson to make recordings on the digital recorder hidden in his shopping cart or his bike. Watson also did a good imitation of a wino. At least I hoped his visit to 5th avenue still held. I needed him living in the moment not a haze.
During the final days, I had been given to a cell leader I called rotten teeth. He would be a nervous chipmunk, if he were a real cartoon character. He was always moving around in jerky spasms. I wasn’t sure if he was on something, or had mental issues. I only knew he loved anal intercourse. He often lifted my dress after a meeting. He would then insert himself quickly and painfully into me. Yes he knew I was a transgender female, but it seemed to make it better for him. He felt no guilt in what he did. He even held my limp penis as he fucked my ass.
God help me I even came to enjoy the ass fucking. I had been told that I might, but I never expected to like being ass raped. It was a completely physical sensation, but it was strong one.
Of course, I sucked a lot of cock while I was undercover. The bastards seemed to enjoy a blowjob from a woman in a Hijab. I was told not to spit out their seed, so I swallowed it. I had to fight back the nausea every time. I admit that it did get easier. I might have enjoyed the mouth action part, if I could stop before the bastards came. Yes it would have been enjoyable, I had to admit.
I never mentioned what I did or it’s effect on me to Watson. I had a feeling he would put an end to it. Knowing Watson, it would be in the worst and most painful possible way. Someday, I swore to myself, I would catch Watson in a weak moment and maybe then show him.
I often whispered to Watson after violent sex with rotten teeth, “I’m okay keep your calm, our day is coming.” I doubted that he understood it.
It must have worked, because he never busted in guns blazing. Then again they never spoke to me in English, and I never described it. Watson might not have understood exactly what was going on. At least not till someone translated the tapes. Even then I doubt that he got a copy of the translations.
Like all nasty things, the mission eventually came to an end. Homeland security raided all the safe houses and confiscated all their weapons, funds, papers, and explosives. I was ‘set free’ in that raid.
Watson cried when we were united after that operation. He hugged me tight and wouldn’t let me go for what seemed like hours.
.... There is more of this story ...