Chapter 4

After two disappointing cancellations, the cell meeting was to be this evening on a tour boat cruising the river mostly for the benefit of visiting tourists. The only other true believer of my acquaintance at the meeting would be PC Anderson and I rejoiced at the opportunity to feast my eyes on her perfectly shaped bum once again.

There were five of us total.

I was the “implementer”, PC Anderson was our “security”, and some dark-skinned lad from Manchester was our “logistics” and gave the exact directions to the caches of necessary supplies for the operation. A young extremely thin female from London was “transport” and handed over keys to four strategically located nondescript vans with full tanks of petrol. The last member was a posh-looking bird who was a high-level support staff for a disgruntled Member of Parliament. Anything of a financial nature was to flow directly to her for sorting out. I was uncertain if the member herself was cognizant of the plot or if the staff member was the only non- true believer on-board. She gave us all detailed instructions on our “exit” strategy with two possible options. The first option was a studied disengagement from the scene of the action covering our tracks with careful layers of disinformation. The second option was much more surgical involving a “scorch the earth” process that would tidy up any witnesses with fool-proof disappearances or an unavoidable accident with tragic results. That less preferable strategy necessitated the change of identity and exfiltration of all participants from the country within 72 hours. It would mean I would be forced to leave my precious Jesse and the delicious “fish and chips” available on almost every street corner.

PC Anderson, my temptress with the honey-blond tresses and the ass that made me squirm with insatiable desire, sat beside me and I felt the pressure of her heated thigh on my leg causing my business to activate with anticipatory hope for action. She was of my faith, I knew her to be totally devoted to the cause, and I was most comfortable inside her clutching vagina knowing my seeds were well planted inside the womb of a true believer. During most of my stay in the UK, I was fairly well content to spray my juices into the pucker holes and mouths of the infidel females who constituted my “cover” for the assignment, but I knew I needed the reassuring vaginal opening of one of my own kind to give me solace on my pre-destined journey to my paradise of fluttering virgins.

My Jesse was an obliging female and was submissive to a fault. She absorbed my taunts and insults and even the degrading kinky humiliations that I heaped on her when I was feeling particularly out of sorts. I confess that I did enjoy the heat of her reddened ass cheeks after a lengthy session of behavior modification. Her tears were sublime as she looked up into my eyes pleading for my favor.

I used her quite shamefully in all manner of ways, but she was still always at my side waiting for my pleasure. The difference between her and “bitch” her predecessor was astonishing. Stupid “bitch” would find fault with any silly little unessential concern. Then, when I deemed it necessary to lead her to enlightenment over my knee, she often hissed and spat at me like some of these independent-minded Western pussies are inclined to do. The only solution to her rebellious nature was the insertion of my long, thick cock into one of her openings with dispatch. That usually sent her into one of her boring “fuck me, please, fuck me” moods that almost always ended in her screaming orgasm.

It was a matter of “honor” when I was forced to dispose of “bitch” when I caught her sucking our landlord’s cock right in the hallway of our modest lodgings. I was incensed at her explanation of, “I had to do it to get him to wait for our rent that you forgot to pay!” fell entirely on my religiously dedicated deaf ears. Such matters were below my concern and of little consequence. I suspected the landlord had some genetic makeup of the spawn of “Little Satan” and that made her action doubly unforgivable.

My current cum-bucket Jessica was just the opposite. I was indeed fortunate to secure her services for my personal use and I thanked God for her physical presence in my bed. For an infidel, she was unexpectedly clean and I wasted no expense of time and effort to insure her correct behavior to boost my morale and keep my precious bodily fluids flowing with energy and sublime concentration.

In accordance with proscribed procedure, I was the only one other than PC Anderson to know the exact nature, location and time of our target. That was SOP (Standard Operating Procedure) for a mission of this magnitude.

I wanted to meet separately with PC Anderson after the cell meeting but she had to report into her station for duty almost immediately and the posh-looking operational finance demanded that I accompany her to a different location for fund transfer and “special” instructions. Admittedly, I was a bit put off by the skinny bitch with her “nose in the air” attitude that reminded far too much of the preferably forgotten “bitch” who was much too quick to fall to her knees for any excuse.

We generally did not exchange names and tended to use titles or numbers to identify each other. Therefore, I was surprised when the nicely-dressed woman informed me with an unsmiling face that her name was Hyacinth. I struggled to disguise my amusement at the banality of one being named after a flower of dubious distinction.

Hyacinth led me to a nearby Inn and we ascended the narrow staircase to a tiny room with only a desk, chairs, and a bed that squeaked outrageously under my weight. I could tell she was not pleased with my sitting on the bed, so I hastened to move onto one of the uncomfortable wooden chairs with the silly spindle backs that looked like they had been retrieved from a desolate landfill. None of the chairs matched and the table was covered with a tattered cloth to hide the many scars.

Hyacinth handed me a small leather case filled with low denomination bills and told me,

“Only cash and try to use stores without cameras, Mister Patel.”

I smiled because it was second nature to me now and I had no need of instructions from an infidel female.

“Of course, my dear Hyacinth, I am but a tool of the Gods.”

I could see her squinting at me as if she doubted my sincerity, but I was, in fact, in dead earnest.

When she offered me a drink from her silver flask, I made sure she took a full sip first, to avoid any attempt to overwhelm me with some type of drug or poison. It was a sin for me to imbibe such liquids, but I needed to stay well hidden in my role as a Westernized person. She told me that she was divorced from her husband of some 20 years and had not had sex of any variety for well over a year. I immediately deduced she was relating this tidbit of information to me in hopes that I would spring on her like a crazed hyena and grant her respite from her unwelcome period of abstention.

I was not too pleased with that thought because, in all honesty, her tiny tits and lack of curvature to her buttocks inside the form-fitted business suit did not fill me with any sense of sexual desire. I could tell, however, from her accelerated breathing that she was on the verge of anticipated coitus and decided that it might be a good idea to make her closer to me in case I needed a future favor or ally when some problem arose.