The Compound
Copyright© 2025 by Pete Fox
Epilogue
Erotica Sex Story: Epilogue - Hedonistic prepper nudists, Shoshone trial marriage customs, a group of like-minded families prepare a bug out community in Wisconsin. Government bureaucrats, doctors, former military, farmers, and actors. In the background gain-of-function research, H5N1 influenza, spy games, sex, story progresses to 2020 pandemic over several instalments. Pete, a State Dept employee prepares his cabin and family for what he does not know. Much sex, drama, family fun, 1st POV, NSFW.
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa mt/ft Ma/ft Mult Teenagers Fiction Historical Sharing Incest Exhibitionism Lactation Masturbation Oral Sex Pregnancy Voyeurism Big Breasts Nudism Politics
August 2011 – Prague
The bell above the restaurant’s front door chimed as an attractive blonde in a cream-colored coat entered, her eyes scanning the room. We smile at the same time, instantly recognizing each other. Sarah looked great; her honey-blond hair fell in waves around her shoulders, accompanied by a warm smile. She had wholesome Midwestern looks that attracted men, including me. I stood as she set her tourist map on the table next to my beer glass.
I remained standing as she glanced around the small Czech restaurant. “Good to see you, Pete, this is nice,” she said, her voice warm and teasing. Damn, that lacy, pink bralette under her coat barely contained her generous chest.
“You too, Sarah,” I said, meaning it. I stepped around and gave her a hug. I held her for a moment, a long glance at the lacy bra that held her ample tits.
“You said to dress for an evening out,” she said, smiling as she pulled out a chair and sat down, noting my dirty plate and nearly empty glass. Apparently, she was not embarrassed that I could see her nipples through the sheer fabric.
“I did. Where we’re going, you’ll fit right in,” I said. “Are you hungry? I had the goulash and dumplings,” I added. “They recommend the pork knuckle.” I love Czech food and beer. In this crowded local eatery, I didn’t want to talk business. We took separate trains from Germany, arriving in Prague today. I had meetings in Stuttgart prior to returning to Kenya, and Sarah was attending a security conference in Munich.
“No, thank you. I had something to eat at a little café I know. So, we can go. I’m curious what you found out that you couldn’t email me,” she said, taking my glass and finishing my beer. We were old friends.
I chose Smíchovský’s for its good reviews and its proximity to the bar I’m taking Sarah to. It’s a place where we can talk privately.
“Who are we tonight? Girlfriend and boyfriend on a date or long-lost lovers meeting at last?” Sarah asked. The CIA analyst loves the role-playing aspects of our jobs, tonight creating a simple ‘cover for action’. I like the way she thought, always had.
Our walk took 4 minutes. We went out the door, took a left turn, and were at Hells Bells Rockin’ Pub, a local bar in Prague 5. I used to frequent this bar when I was living in Central Europe in the late 1990s. It was called something else then, but the underground location was a good spot for an off-the-books meet-up.
“How about lovers, having a torrid affair?” I said, adding color, “We can sit close and talk.” I took her arm as I opened the door, loud rock and roll music washed over us. She wore heels with her matching pleated skirt, so I didn’t want her to stumble on the old, smooth steps.
Sarah turned her head, tossing her blonde hair, and kissed my freshly shaved cheek, lovers, it was.
On Thursday night, it was not too crowded. A dozen Czechs and a few expats sat at the bar and tables, and more people were filtering in. In early August, it was warm in the dungeon-looking bar with its old arched roof, a long bar along one side, booths on the other, and tables in between. No band tonight, just a ‘classic rock’ playlist blasting from the speakers. I brought us two glasses of Czech Budweiser (Budvar) pilsner, not the same as the American piss water of the same name.
We had a corner booth that I had reserved, and we sat side by side, where we could see the steps leading into the bar. Sarah wiggled out of her coat until I could see the very tight and lacy bralette she wore with her skirt. She smelled nice, unlike the rest of the patrons in the bar.
“You said dress for going out, not this. I do like a good local pub, next time I’ll choose,” Sarah said as she lifted her glass to her red lips, mirth in her eyes. I wore beige chinos and a blue short-sleeved shirt, and carried a light coat, nothing fancy.
We tapped glasses and drank. I let my eyes wander over Sarah’s ample chest, wide raspberry nipples, I thought. She wiped the foam mustache from her top lip, cute.
“Nice, good choice of beer. Now what have you got for me? I have things to tell you, too,” Sarah said, turning to business.
I handed her a new digital voice recorder with earbuds. I had transferred the pool conversation from my old device, which was now locked in a safe, to this one. She stuffed an earbud in her ear and hit play. I put an arm around her smooth, warm shoulders and took one earbud and placed it in my left ear, listening again to the alleged female CCP agent and our two Americans from NIAID (National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases) conspire. The lady bartender brought us a small bowl of mixed nuts, and I ordered a basket of fries and two more beers.
Sarah leaned against me, hip to hip, as we started on our second beers. She caught me glancing at her cleavage and blew me a kiss. The conversation ended with the short, silver-haired man agreeing to meet again and to provide more information on the recent breakthroughs in gain-of-function H5N1 mutation at the University of Wisconsin–Madison from early 2011. He thanked her for the gift bag, and she thanked him for the document and his interest in supporting Chinese research by providing access to advanced American technology. The American woman with him was mostly quiet throughout the conversation.
She stopped and rewound the conversation a couple of times at the mention of the Wuhan Institute and a USAID program called Predict before pulling out her earbud. “Keep it. That conversation, plus what research I was able to do on my own, is kind of frightening,” I said, leaving the recorder in front of her.
Unlike most Americans, I knew the Chinese government was hard at work stealing every secret, big or small, they could get their hands on and buying up farms near military bases and other strategically important properties.
Sarah put a hand on my thigh, ate some fries, deep in thought, then took a couple of folded pages of paper from her purse and turned to face me.
“You’re right to bring this to me in person. I’m one of the few people at my agency tracking this type of research as a threat down the road. At the same time, I’m busy working on leads from the intel developed from the Osama bin Laden raid,” she said. Osama had been killed earlier this year on May 2, 2011, to America’s relief.
I opened the pages. The first paper was an organizational chart of NIAID. The name at the top was circled in red marker. I memorized the name of Silver Hair. Further down, another circled name, Pale Woman, is a mid-level employee who managed the distribution of grant money.
Sarah elaborated, “He is top dog and has supported, in my opinion, some sketchy, dual-use research for at least a decade, from what I have been able to dig up. The US government is deeply involved, providing funding to universities and institutions doing gain-of-function research and virus sample collection, all in the name of science. When the research is too controversial, it is farmed out overseas with the final recipients of the funding buried in the grants process,” Sarah said, watching my face as she drank.
“To China, you mean,” I finished her thought. “Now they want a piece of this gain-of-function mutation, hence the Wuhan Institute that was mentioned,” I said, understanding maybe why our little nudist pool meeting took place within an hour’s drive of the University campus in Madison.
“You got it, see you Army types can think, if shown the way,” she said, taking a dig.
The next paper was a copy of visa application photos for two Chinese nationals.
I continued to observe a couple that had come down the steps and were at the bar. A dark-haired Asian male and an attractive Asian female dressed as tourists took their beers and sat at a table in the center of the room. Not the same Asians from Wisconsin, but I was on edge, they were kind of out of place here. I put my left hand on Sarah’s warm thigh, under her skirt, drawing her attention to the new arrivals.
After a glance at the couple, Sarah put a finger on the woman’s photo, Tiger Lady, “Zheng, she is a Major in the PLA, works on the consular staff in Chicago while her father holds a very high position in the Party,” she said. “Our records show she graduated from Princeton University and has undergraduate and graduate degrees in Chemistry.
I nodded, the picture becoming clearer as to what I observed at the pool last month and heard on the recording. Zheng had that look; she was attractive, confident, and well educated.
“The man with the girl works at their Consulate in San Fransico. Best we can tell, he is also military, while the girl is possibly his daughter,” she said. That accounted for Small Penis and Butterfly.
“I’m tracking,” I understood, removing my hand, I slid a data stick from my pocket and put it in her purse next to the recorder. “That’s all the pictures, another copy of the recording, and some original research I asked a nurse I know to compile.”
“Thank you, Pete. For now, I have a small working group at my office, you at State, the person who is running the informant who gave us the tip, and I’ve looped in a doctor I trust. Dr. Hopkins at your former employer, DIA’s NCMI (National Center for Medical Intelligence), to put on their radar,” Sarah said.
I understood. After I left DIA in 2006, NCMI had been heavily involved with surveillance of the H1N1 pandemic that originated in Mexico in 2009 and explaining the global threat the virus posed to policymakers, I remember reading many of the reports. Before leaving Camp Black Hawk, I had a conversation with my dad, sharing what I knew. He said the same. To keep watching and gathering information. Black Hawk could take steps, buy more protective items, and develop a more detailed pandemic response plan. Dad would make discreet inquiries.
I didn’t like the Asian couple at the table. They looked wrong, out of place, and had glanced our direction a couple of times and appeared to be using the bar mirror to casually surveil us, I felt. Was I just being jumpy?
I showed Sarah my Nokia burner phone with its camera function and explained what I wanted her to do. First, I made a call.
“Yes, this is Pete. I would like a massage for my wife and me. Is Katya available? Great, we would like two hours and the jacuzzi room, see you soon.” I ended the call and smiled at Sarah, who was pulling on her coat, but not buttoning it.