Agent
Copyright© 2026 by MicaMeesha
Chapter 4
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 4 - After the events described in 'Justice', she takes on a new identity and a new role in uncovering criminals
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Lesbian Heterosexual Fiction
At just after nine my door went; it was Alice. She quickly stepped in and embraced me.
“Liz,” she gasped, “I was dreaming about you all night.”
“Oh, Alice, I have to go out in just over twenty minutes.”
She looked crestfallen. But I had no time, not for me.
“Quick”, I said, “in my front room, get your knickers off.”
“I’m not wearing any,” she said.
“Perfect, sit on the settee and let me at you.”
She sat and lifted her dress and parted her things. I threw a cushion down to kneel on and leant forward and blew up and down her crease.
“Oh Jesus,” she gasped.
I followed my blowing her crease with a slide up and down with my tongue between her lips and then a suck of her clitoris; she was gasping quite heavily. I gently pushed two fingers into her fanny and wiggled them back and forth; Alice was panting and gasping.
I sucked her clitoris hard into my mouth, and Alice gasped, and a small orgasm rippled through her, my fingers squeezed tight by her fanny.
I eased away and stood. “I really have to go,” I said. “We’ll have more of an opportunity at another time.”
She stood and brushed her dress down and kissed me before leaving. I quickly washed my face and went round and knocked on Ali’s door.
“Good,” he said, “on time. Let’s go.”
I went and stood by the front passenger door of his car, and Ali called, “No, in the back, we have a driver.”
I moved and stood by the back. Another man came from Ali’s house and beeped the car unlocked. I opened the door and got in. Ali got in on the other side, next to me, and then the driver got in, and we were off.
The driver and Ali conversed in Arabic; I gave no indication that I understood. We were going to somewhere called ‘Jamal’ first. I leant back and looked at the buildings and houses as we drove. Ali rested his hand on my thigh, high up as before. After about ten minutes we pulled into what looked like an old factory or mill and parked up.
We got out; the driver stayed with the car. I followed Ali to a side door and we went in. It was quite dim inside, and I could hear the sound of moaning.
“Say nothing,” Ali instructed as we entered a room. There was a man sat on a stool in the centre of the room; as my eyes adjusted, I could see he was bound to the legs of the stool.
“This is Jamal,” Ali said. “He was trusted with some product, but Jamal thought we wouldn’t notice if he took a little from every package.”
Ali picked up a piece of wood and hit the man across his back; the man whimpered.
“We have calculated that what he took was a total of two point five kilograms. He now has to supply us with that missing two point five kilograms, either with product or from his own body weight.”
The man moaned, and I heard him say in Arabic, “Please no, sir. Please no, I will do anything, sir.”
I stood motionless. “Perhaps a foot,” Ali said, and then we can weigh it and see if we need more. He went over to a table and picked up a Sawzall and buzzed the blade; the man on the stool wet himself.
Ali put the saw down and ushered me from the room. “I will not show you that, but it will happen; I cannot be cheated by people I put trust in.”
“I understand. The men in Birmingham had a similar approach, a pound for a pound. It is from Shakespeare, I believe.”
“Indeed. The Merchant of Venice. I assume your ex husband would have faced a similar dilemma.”
“He may, but that was not my concern; I made my settlement and left. I do not know what happened to him.”
“It would be difficult for an accountant if he, or she, were to lose their hands or eyes, would it not?”
“Yes. I am not so stupid.”
“I hope so.”
He paused and then said, “The product was white powder, similar to cocaine, one that we had manufactured to our specifications by a chemist in Leeds. It was he who alerted us to Jamal’s light fingers. The chemist is untouched and unharmed; he was honest with me.”
“As I was in Birmingham.”
“Indeed. The white powder returned us five hundred per cent, but we could not offset the costs to the chemist, nor could we declare profits on the powder.”
“Well, no, but there are legitimate ways to process those profits. A bank abroad would be of benefit. Do you have one?”
“Yes.”
“Is it in a jurisdiction that is less caring of where payments come from?”
“Yes.”
“Can you travel there, or one of your people, in a way that allows money to be carried without being seen by customs?”
“Yes.”
“Well, a lot of your funds could go there and be used to, for example, purchase property in the UK, which could then be sold on or used as a business premise and thus legitimise the money.”
“I see; we were simply storing the funds; we had not thought to invest back in the UK.”
“It is an option to explore.”
“Yes.”
“If, for example, one of those properties were to provide a business that dealt only in cash, even if you had no paying customers, you could declare that you had and legitimise the money that way, like a barbershop, for example, that requires little in the way of consumables, just a man that cuts hair.”
“Yes.”
“But you would need a lot of barbershops.”
“It could work; I could set up barbers on many streets in many cities.”
“Yes, but don’t link them in a public way; they must all appear independent. You don’t want nosy reporters putting things together.”
“Okay.”
He took me into another room. On a table there were several piles of bank notes, mostly sterling, but some euro, some rupee and some dirham that I recognised.
“What can I do with this?”
“Have you considered betting shops? They are a great way to legitimise money; there is no way or authorities to validate how many customers you have and how much they have gambled.”
“No.”
“Well, I would look into that if I were you. Where does this money come from?”
“Various sources.”
“Okay, I don’t need to know.”
“This money that you have abroad could buy houses and let them out, perhaps room by room. The rents could be paid in cash. There need not be a person for each room that pays rent, If you see what I mean. You would have to notionally check each person who rents is legitimate, but, well, a small number of people with valid IDs could rent a number of rooms across a number of towns, if you see what I mean.”
“Yes. Now, I need something else; put your hands on the table and lean forward.”
I guessed what was coming next. He was a man that liked to exercise control. I leant forward, and he pushed my dress up over my back, pulled my knickers to one side and pushed two fingers inside me; it hurt, as I wasn’t aroused. He moved his fingers back and forth, and then I heard the rustle of his shalwar kameez being lifted, and then his dick pressed between my cheeks, and he pushed inside me, roughly filling me.
A shag meant nothing to me; it was a tool in my arsenal. I didn’t mind using it, but I would prefer a little participation and pleasure, not being simply used as a receptacle for his ejaculate. He pressed hard and deep, and his tempo increased as he shagged. I could feel his glans as it slid in and out, scraping the inside of my fanny with its passage.
I simply stood there, legs apart, as he shagged me, and waited until I felt the inevitable spurts inside me, and then he pulled back. I adjusted my knickers, glad that I had worn the more absorbent cotton ones and stood up and faced him.
The rest of the morning was more touring of premises. One was a large house where women, some only girls, worked out of each room. “I just rent them a room,” he said.
“I am sure that you get more of a return on that though, and be careful; they will come down hard on you if they discover underage girls.”
“No, they won’t. There is no age limit in my culture. And the police turn a blind eye as they do not wish to offend the community.”
“Just be careful; the political tide may turn, and they may not turn a blind eye anymore.”
“We will know in advance.”
“I suggest that you set up a number of foreign-based companies and let them own these properties; the rents can all go abroad then, and if the authorities decide to clamp down, your foreign company can transfer ownership to another company and then become bankrupt, end of trail.”
“I shall look into it.”
To read the complete story you need to be logged in:
Log In or
Register for a Free account
(Why register?)
* Allows you 3 stories to read in 24 hours.