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.