The Adventures of the British Ambassador's Secretary
Chapter 5

Copyright© 2011 by harry lime

Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 5 - This is an assortment of stories about Lady Patricia Prendergast. She is the British Ambassador's Secretary and had been well groomed by her Father to be a source of pleasure to the male gender. Her oral skills are beyond reproach and she has developed impressive anal talents rarely found in Western females. These stories will continue with new episodes starting in the Spring of 2012.

Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Coercion   Consensual   Drunk/Drugged   BiSexual   Heterosexual   Fiction   Incest   Brother   Sister   Father   Daughter   Uncle   Niece   Humiliation   Light Bond   Rough   Spanking   Group Sex   Orgy   Interracial   Black Male   White Female   White Couple   Anal Sex   Analingus   Cream Pie   Exhibitionism   First   Masturbation   Oral Sex   Squirting   Voyeurism  

Lady Patricia thought that the opening ceremonies were a trifle too garish almost as if the organizers were attempting to compensate for the embarrassing little difficulties with the facilities. It was amusing to see some of the tourists and even the athlete's exchange war-stories about the challenges of finding clean water or a toilet that worked properly. Some of the stories were quite funny in a pitiful sort of way.

Her sex-obsessed room-mate Cynthia was more concerned with her sore slit and her slightly

damaged bottom. She had been ridden hard by the Norwegian downhill skier and showed that the energy had been sucked from her body like the filling from a sweet-roll. Patricia kept her opinions to herself and just offered the required level of sympathy to keep on good terms with the hedonistic divorcee.

They had both been invited to a post-opening party at the Russian pavilion and Cynthia was all a-flutter about what she should wear. Patricia was forced to bite her lip to keep from telling her to wear her bikini at attract more male attention. She was afraid the woman might actually consider it as a joke of sorts. Instead, she helped her pick out a simple black number that accentuated the nice curve of her bosom. She even allowed her to borrow a pair of her special six-inch heels to finish off the ensemble. For herself, she selected her red dress that she loved to wear when dancing the Tango because of the way it flared out at the bottom when executing a quick turn.

The Russian pavilion was bristling with armed security guards and special dogs trained to sniff out explosive compounds and dangerous items. They had to pass through detectors two times before entering into the large reception hall with a long bar along the thick cement wall at the back. Patricia noticed there were a lot more men than females and she attributed it to the fact that the international community participants of the female gender were much more likely to gravitate to the more liberal countries like France or Italy for social interaction. It also looked like this go round the Americans would be staying more to themselves because of terrorist concerns. Some of the female attendees were obvious "party girls" probably called in from the hinterlands to flesh out the parties and the events.

Patricia hoped that she and Cynthia would not be mistaken for paid "party girls" because they seemed to fit the mold of the East European sex-pots. They managed to get hit on a half-dozen times before they even made it to a table safely off the dance floor. Actually, the entire affair was rather well set-up with tasty treats and specialty items like caviar and lobster snacks. The booze was excellent and the service was first-rate. It was obvious the Kremlin crowd had spared no expense in projecting an image of modern culture. There was even a four piece musical group playing a medley of classical and popular tunes to keep up a spirited atmosphere.

She over-indulged herself on the caviar but tried to stretch her vodka tonic to avoid that certain "buzz" that often resulted in next day contrition. Some Americans were making a nuisance of themselves on the dance floor but nobody seemed to care because it was just in their nature to be so sure about everything as if they had a monopoly on being right. She recognized the young black couple as a pair of speed skaters who had been touted by the media as ready to assume the mantle of a "Golden" couple with medals to match. They had practiced in London just before the Olympics and were well known to the general public.

Lurking in the shadows was an old acquaintance. She was not quite sure if he could be described as an enemy or as a friend. They had been on opposite sides in the Balkans and again in Libya but it had not come to downright physical confrontation. She remembered that he had tried to get rid of both she and Harry on the far side of the "Locks of the Danube" as they photographed the new ships being readied for the control of the Black Sea. In Tripoli, he emerged as the man behind the scenes when her informant was "disappeared" in the middle of a chaotic night near Bengasi. Her information was that he went by the name of Boris from Donetsk but like everything else in the end of the cold war, facts were difficult to pin down. Here he was, in the Olympic Games in Sochi resurfaced like a submarine coming up for air.

Patricia could tell he recognized her but he gave no outward visible sign of it. She considered just ditching Cynthia to her own devices but she knew that would be a surrender of sorts and she was definitely not in the mood. One of the Russian organizers started making a long speech that was being translated into French and then into Japanese because of a large contingent of Japanese businessmen and investors looking for a window into the emerging Russian market. She didn't see any Japanese females in the group so she assumed the attractive dining companions were compliments of Russian hospitality.

Cynthia was in a heated discussion about the lack of coordinated focus by the EU in almost every area with a strident German EU supporter backed up by two young French women who looked a lot like a lesbian pairing. She thought for the moment that her friend had gone off her trolley but then realized the crafty thing was looking for some up close and personal time with the handsome German businessman. It was obvious the happy French couple would be no competition.

All of a sudden when she turned around, Boris was right next to her within arm's length. Her heart started to beat rapidly knowing how dangerous he really was. He smiled at her and she felt a draft of ice cold fear run up her spine like a premonition of evil.

"Lady Prendergast, it has been a long time. Are you still working for the Ambassador?"

She was a little taken aback because Boris had a reputation of being very guarded in his conversation and his actions. It was the first time he had ever directly spoken to her with acknowledgement of her position.

"My dear Boris, it has been ages. Don't tell me they have had you locked up in the Kremlin?"

He laughed and shrugged his shoulders.

"We have, as you say, turned a new leaf and now we are only interested in world peace and friendship."

 
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