Chapter 26

M sent me on assignment to Luxembourg on a dreary winter day, and he sent me unarmed! Q took my Walther PPK (as usual) and my watch that doubled as a laser rifle and High Frequency radio transceiver. I had to depend on my wits, my catlike reflexes, and my multi-function Swiss Army knife. I was after an enemy double agent known only as Mauvais.

The Grand Duchy of Luxembourg is simply glorious in the summer, but in the cold drab of winter it’s dreadful. Wet, cold, foggy ... the low-hanging clouds and ever-present fog make London seem like a tropical paradise. It was the weather that a person could disappear into and be lost forever. I was in a city that hid thousands of enemy agents that could cause irreparable damage to my mission, so I was on high alert. And yet somehow, I let Mauvais slip through my fingers. The security of the western world was at stake, and Mauvais disappeared into the chill December fog of Luxembourg City, leaving me without a clue as to his whereabouts. My trail went cold here. All I could do is report back to MI-7 that I lost my target and, hopefully, the fallout isn’t too severe.

Trying to move swiftly but not draw suspicion, I gently elbowed my way through the crowded Chrëschtmäert, or Christmas markets where customers from all over Western Europe searched for the perfect holiday gift or memento. Breaking free from the crowd, I silently crept up an empty street, using the fog as cover, looking left and right for my contact, Agent Trung. He would have to report my failure up to M, but he was nowhere to be found. Water dripped from the ancient gray stone buildings, mocking me in my failure. The ancient gargoyles were working overtime that day. I flexed my fingers and my fine leather gloves creaked as I made fists of frustration.

The misty morning drizzle soon turned to a light snow, delighting the customers of the Chrëschtmäert, but it did nothing to lift my spirits. I turned a corner and saw a small outdoor café, and though the weather was damp and cold, the café was crowded; the servers were busy serving hot drinks and food to the Chrëschtdag (Christmas) revelers. I was about to turn away, but I recognized a familiar face in the crowd. Could it be?

Long, glossy, ebony hair wrapped in a severe bun pinned in place with a pair of ivory bâtons de mort (Murder Sticks), dark brown almost black almond-shaped eyes framed by wire-framed glasses, white gold skin, tiny nose, red lips a man would kill his own brother to possess for just a short moment in time. Small of stature, but a giant of intellect. It was her! Nguyen Hoang Lanh, the Vietnamese double agent known to the west as The Dragon Lady, and someone who has been on my “list” for years. And here she was in a little out of the way street café in a corner of the world that Asians and Americans know little about.

I crept up on her, my steps muffled by my soft-soled shoes. But I could have been wearing horseshoes, and she probably wouldn’t have heard me; her tiny ears were protected from the cold by luxurious mink earmuffs. In this game, that could be dangerous. I quickly took a chair next to her and her mysterious eyes turned to me, and she gasped. “So, Dragon Lady,” I said smugly, “we meet again! A serendipitous liaison, is it not?”

“You!” she gasped. “I thought I lost you in Rome!”

“And so you did, Dragon Lady,” I smirked, “or may I call you by your given name, Lanh.”

“You may not!” she snarled, her beautiful eyes darting side to side, looking for an exit. Unfortunately for her, she was seated in the middle of the crowd. There was no way she could egress this situation without raising the attention of the local authorities and alerting Interpol.

“Fine, then Agent Nguyen it is, or do you prefer to be called Dragon Lady?” Just then, a waitress in a traditional costume came up to the table, and I smiled. I held up two fingers and said, “Gudde Mëtteg jonk Fra, kéinte mir zwou Taass Kaffi drénken?”

“Oh jo,” she smiled, “ech kommen direkt zréck mat Ärem Kaffi!” and she dashed off to get the two cups of coffee I just ordered.

“So!” snarled Dragon Lady. “You speak Luxembourgish.”

“A simple western German dialect mixed with enough French to keep it interesting,” I said smugly. “My partner and I worked on it before I took this assignment.”

The waitress quickly returned with our drinks and placed them before us. “Bitteschön!” she chirped sweetly.

“Ah, merci!” I gushed as she placed the cream and sugar on the table.

As the waitress flounced off, the dragon lady poured cream into her coffee and sipped. “I prefer fresh cream,” she growled.

“I’m afraid the American institution of homogenization and pasteurization has reached this tiny cradle of civilization,” I sighed with an air of superiority. We sipped our coffee and studied each other’s eyes over the rims of our cups.

“You’ll never find him,” she finally said.

“To whom are you referring?” I asked with mock incredulity.

“Your contact, Agent Trung,” she said as she put down her coffee and leaned back. “My cohort Angela made contact with him not long before you sat down with me.” Her smug attitude grated on my nerves. She continued, “Angela probably has him wrapped around her little finger and is doing to him what you men only dream about.”

Tall, slim, with flowing blond hair, large heavy breasts, and a pert round bottom, Angela was a marvel of midwestern America. There’s something about that agent that made me long to be in Agent Trung’s position. Not in Agent Trung’s shoes. He’s probably not wearing any right now. Something inside of me snapped. I leaned forward and said, “Where were you on June seventeenth?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She tried to make me snap with her false innocence, and she almost succeeded.

“You know exactly what I mean,” I growled. “June seventeenth! Two years ago! Where were you?”

“I’ll never tell the likes of you, “ she sneered in a tone of voice that let me know exactly why she’s called the Dragon Lady.

“That’s it, let’s go em yêu.” I tossed enough Euros on the table to cover the bill and add to the waitresses’ Chrëschtdag merriment. Agent Nguyen tried to get away, but I grabbed her wrist and twisted her arm up behind her back, letting her know who was driving. “Let’s go up to my room and have a talk,” I whispered in her ear, and led her through the crowded sidewalk café. Her only response was a pitiful whimper. Although she’s one of the most respected agents in the field, she’s tiny, standing well under five feet tall and I had full control ... as long as my hands don’t slip. Then I’m in trouble.

I led her up a narrow street in the light snow, then into an unremarkable door that led to my safe room. Through the lobby that could be a lobby for any hostel or inn in western Europe, I guided her. “I’ll scream for help,” she threatened.

“I dare you,” I hissed in her ear, and she remained silent. She was obviously planning something. Up a small flight of marble stairs and we were in front of my room. I opened the door to reveal a room that was a marvel of modern Ikea designed simplicity, only built stronger. I locked the door behind us and realized that I was locked in a room with the most desirable woman in Europe, maybe in all of NATO, but also the most dangerous. “Tell me again, where were you on June seventeenth?”

“I’ll never tell.”

“Fine!” I took her overcoat, but I left the earmuffs. They will drown out the sound of her own screams. Now she was standing in front of me in a red silk Chinese sheath dress that clung to every curve of her body. High collared, it went from her neck to her knees, and it was decorated with a golden dragon. It clung so tight her hard nipples jutted out like they were trying to burst out of the dress. I basked in the glory of that vision.

“My eyes are up here!” she said huffily.

“Yeah, but your tits are down here!” I said, as I reached out and grasped each turgid nipple between thumb and forefinger. I pulled her toward me with her nipples and she gasped a little bit.

“I’ll never talk,” she said, but she didn’t sound so sure now. I pinched harder and twisted. She gave a little squeak and then repeated, “Never!”

I grabbed her shoulders and spun her around, then slowly eased the zipper down ... down ... revealing more and more delicious, flawless skin as the zipper traveled south. “Careful! I wouldn’t want to ruin this beautiful dress” I hissed in her ear. I could see in the mirror that her eyes popped wide open, and she gasped when I said that.

She whimpered pitifully and held her hands crossed over her delightful breasts, but still standing behind her I grabbed her wrists and pulled them down, then pulled the wrist cuffs of her long sleeve dress down. Her dress slid off her shoulders and arms and pooled around her ankles. “No bra? No panties Dragon Lady? You were waiting for a hot date?”

“I’ll never tell you that either!” but her voice wasn’t as firm as it was a moment ago. We stood in front of the mirror; she was totally naked. She was beautiful, her breasts firm and proud, the finest example of “Killer B’s” that I’ve ever seen, her nipples dark pink and erect as missiles, her areola slightly bigger around than an American quarter. They were dark pink like her nipples, and perfectly circular. Further down, her waist narrowed, then flared out delightfully to her hips.

At the juncture of her legs was her womanhood, protected by a soft thatch of silky-smooth long black hair, all lying flat and parallel as if she combed them for my inspection. Her little legs were perfect in every way, ending at the tiniest adult feet I’ve ever seen. We made an interesting picture in the mirror, her in her naked splendor, and I was still fully dressed. Her nipples were now crinkled even harder, if that was possible. I strummed my fingers over them, and they were as hard and as tight as a rubber eraser, and she whimpered with each touch. I toed off my shoes then said, “Now it’s your turn, undress me.”

Through the mirror, her eyes met mine. Was that fear I saw creeping into her gaze? She shook her head and said, “I will never debase myself...” Her declaration was interrupted by the loud crack my hand made when it slapped her delightful, round ass.

“Let’s try that again Dragon Lady,” I paused for effect. “Be polite and undress your host please.” She didn’t move. CRACK! This one was much harder, and her body shuddered from the blow. Concern and maybe pain crept into her gaze, and she bit her lower lip. “Today? I did ask politely.”

Slowly, with trembling hands, the tiny Asian beauty bowed to my will and undressed me. Evening jacket, tie, shirt, they all came off and were hung up neatly. She was probably delaying the inevitable, hoping I’d lose interest. Soon I was standing before her, wearing only my boxer briefs. “All of it,” I chided her.

Her hands shook visibly as she grabbed the waistband of my shorts and pulled. My painfully erect cock sprung free, hitting her cheek as it snapped to attention. “Woah,” she gasped. She looked up at me with a strange look in her eyes. “I thought they were kidding when I heard them call you Agent Double Oh Seven and Five Eighths.”

As she inspected my cock with both hands, I gave her a magnanimous offer. “I will release you, Dragon Lady, if you can make me cum within the next five minutes.” Her sweet mouth broke into a huge grin as her hands began sliding over my length, but that smile of victory disappeared when I gave my only stipulation. “No hands!”