Agent
Copyright© 2026 by MicaMeesha
Chapter 5
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 5 - 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
I had another idea for Ali, one that might get me closer to his terrorist support. But I wanted him to come to me; it was important I didn’t keep going to him, otherwise he would surely suspect something. I could go to Sunbridge Wells again on the off chance he would pick me up again, but that felt too contrived. I wasn’t sure what to do. I decided to go and wash the car. If he spoke, we spoke; if not, not.
I took a bucket of warm water out with me and ran my hose for rinsing after washing. Chamois leather in hand, I worked around my car from top to bottom. Chap opposite wandered across and introduced himself.
“Hello newcomer, I am Victor. How are you settling in?”
“Hello, Victor. I am Liz, and I am settling in fine.”
“That’s not a Yorkshire accent,” he said, “but I can’t tell where from.”
“I was born in Yorkshire many years ago,” I lied, “Cottingley, raised by the fairies, you know, but Mum and Dad moved a lot with his work. I came back recently after my marriage ended, a sort of new beginning if you like.”
“Ha, the old fairies’ joke, yes, many have been taken in by those sisters. So, on your tod then, no other half?”
“No, Victor, I don’t need men.”
“Oh, we are useful for a few things,” he laughed.
“Well, I can open my own jars, so I don’t really know what,” I said in a light-hearted riposte.
“When you have finished, why don’t you pop over for a mug of Yorkshire tea?”
“Well, that’ll be nice, thank you, I will.”
“Right then, lass, I’ll leave you to it till later.”
I wondered if he would be able to offer my any insights into my neighbour Ali; after all, he was directly opposite and so would see a lot of coming and going
I finished washing the car and chamois-ed it dry, tipped the water onto the garden and put the bucket and hose away, shutting the garage and locking it. Into the house I took off my wet skirt and T-shirt and put a mid-length dress on, sprayed some EDP here and there, grabbed my key and phone, locked the house and went across and knocked on Victor’s front door.
The door opened and Victor stood there beaming.
“Come in, lass, come in,” he said, holding the front door open for me. I entered and then followed him to the kitchen where the kettle was coming to the boil. He already had two mugs on the work surface, and as the kettle boiled, he took it off the stand and filled the mugs almost to the top. Milk from the fridge, and then he asked:
“Milk and sugar?”
“Just milk, please.”
“Excellent.” He made the tea and then left the milk on the work surface. That does irritate me; I do wish people would put the milk back in the fridge. It goes off so quickly.
“Let’s go through to the lounge, Liz,” he said, handing me a mug of tea.
I followed him into the lounge, and he sat in a single armchair; I sat opposite on his sofa. His sofa was well-worn leather with deep bases, forcing my knees up and apart. Probably not ideal when one is wearing a short dress. Oh well.
“What do you do Victor?” I asked by way of starting a conversation
“Oh, I ran an engineering company making precision parts for the aero and space industries. Someone came along and made me an offer I couldn’t refuse, and I sold it to them, bought this house and am now happily retired. They call on me every now and again for ideas, and that is fun. And you, what do you do?”
“I am a trained accountant, a bookkeeper if you will, but I am not working at the moment. I had a bit of a payoff from my recent employer, got divorced, and moved up here. I am not actively seeking work, but I will need to soon, I suppose.”
“So, a lady of leisure, and how do you like your leisure?”
I laughed and my legs parted a little more. “I have been so busy moving in and meeting people. I have actually had very little leisure time. If we had decent weather, I would love to lie in my garden and get an all-over tan.”
“Interesting, and I bet the neighbours would enjoy that.” He laughed and sat there for a moment chuckling.
“And I bet you would too, you rascal. I actually have a spot in the garden that isn’t overlooked by neighbours, so my modesty could be maintained, were I to use it.”
“My garden is very overlooked, not that I expect anyone would want to look.”
“Oh, I don’t know, there seems to be plenty to look at,” I said, my eyes focused on his groin bulge. “I haven’t met your neighbours yet; should I ask them for you when I do?”
He seemed to redden slightly and moved his eyes from my crotch to my face. “I don’t know, it has been so long that I doubt I would know what to say.”
“I have always said talking is overrated; deeds are the thing. It is what you do that matters.”
We flirted and bantered for about twenty minutes, and then I decided it was time to go; things with Victor could be built up in the future. I was sure he enjoyed the view of my fanny from up my dress; I hoped it would feature in his dreams and give him enough courage to proceed in the future.
“I hope to see more of you,” Victor said as I left.
“Oh, I am sure that you will, Victor.”
I was smiling as I crossed the street to return home but had to run and jump onto the footpath as Ali screeched into the street and onto his drive. He jumped from his car and came rushing over.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“No thanks to you, you bloody maniac. This is a suburban street not a fucking racetrack.”
“I am sorry, yes, I had some bad news and my mind was elsewhere.”
“Well, your distraction nearly killed me and then my mind would then have been elsewhere.”
I was exaggerating, part of my attempt to ensure he didn’t suspect me or my motives. In reality I had been fine and had plenty of time to move out of his way.
“Again, I am sorry. Are you busy?”
“What? No, I am just standing here thankful to be alive.”
“Can I take you for lunch as a way of an apology?”
“I don’t know. My blood pressure must be sky-high at the moment.”
He took my hand and felt for my pulse.
“No, seems good to me,” he said with a smile on his face.
“Okay then. Give me five minutes to get cleaned up.”
“Yes, fair enough.”
Good, a chance, and hopefully I could find out what his issue was that had made him so angry that he was distracted in his driving. In the house I quickly washed my groin and face, but not in that order. Sprayed some fresh EDP on my décolletage and thighs and checked that my clutch bag had a credit card, cash and a tampon, which is useful for absorbing unexpected emissions when I am out. I locked the front door behind me and went next door, cutting across his grass lawn on my way.
He must have seen me because his front door opened as I approached. He walked out and opened his front passenger door on his car. I got in and as I sat, I realised I had forgotten to put knickers on, and he would have seen my fanny. Getting into a car seat is never elegant when a short dress is in place. Oh well. He pretty much thinks it is his to use as and when he wants anyway.
He shut the door and went around and got into the driver’s seat.
“I hope that you are not going to drive like a maniac,” I said as I buckled my seatbelt.
“No. That moment has passed.”
We headed out of the estate to the far side of Keighley and stopped at a pub called ‘The Engineer’s Shovel”. The pub picture had a steam train with a man shovelling coal into the furnace on it. A blast from a very long time ago.
We went in and Ali found us a table in the corner. He sat next to the wall looking at the room; I sat opposite looking at him. We both had steak; I had ribeye, and he had fillet, and we both drank sparkling water.
“Well,” I said, “are you going to tell me what irked you so much that you nearly killed me?”
“I had a consignment go missing.”
“Go missing? What method were you using to transport it?”
“A courier. He has been found dead. It is annoying because we are secretive and we use different couriers and routes so as to not create a pattern.”
“Then you have a leak, a spy, in your camp. Look at your CCTV; see who could have watched or listened.”
“I am already on it; someone is doing that now.”
“Let’s hope the person doing it isn’t the spy.”
He looked at me and then he sighed deeply. Obviously, that had never occurred to him.
“I had a thought,” I said, “on your business.”
“Oh, yes?”
“Well, the Chinese make a lot of things that are significantly cheaper than here in the UK.”
“Yes.”
“Well, I was thinking that you could set up some dealerships to sell some. I was thinking in terms of construction and farm equipment.”
“I know nothing about them.”
“You don’t need to; you hire people for that. What you do is you order them in bulk. They come across in a shipping container, which you can keep for storage or sell. The thing is, you sell for cash, the buyer is happy with the cheap deal, and you are happy because you can then put it through the books at whatever price you like. You then have a legitimate business for moving things around the world and channelling cash into your business bank accounts.”
He looked thoughtful and then asked, ‘What equipment are you thinking of?’
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