Dragon Lady

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I had spent the morning lounging behind my desk, contemplating various pressing problems; unpaid bills, minuscule bank balance, serious dearth of clients, chronic lack of sex.

My last job had been five days ago. A worried wife, who I’d found out had every reason to be worried. However, it had taken me just over half a day to establish what her philandering husband was getting up to and with whom. Job done. My fee for this amazing feat of detection had covered about half of last month’s outstanding office rent.

To try to do something about the first three problems, I was toying with the idea of ringing around the insurance companies and solicitors who had employed me in the past to see if they had any work on hand. Then fate played its decisive hand. And it came in the shape of the Dragon Lady.

I spotted her shadow on the frosted glass office door, the one with Balfour Investigations stencilled on it. She opened it and stepped inside.

Ugly was not an unflattering description. Mid to-late-forties, I guessed, with a narrow hard face, a beaklike nose, black suspicious eyes, a grim slit of a mouth and spiky grey hair. However, a very decent pair of black nylon clad legs descended from beneath the hem of her white trench coat, ending in four-inch sling back heels – fuck me shoes, as the saying goes, which quickly aroused my interest. She carried a maroon document case and looked every inch a no nonsense type of person.

‘Mr. Balfour?’ she asked crisply.

‘At your service,’ I said, standing up.

‘Agatha Grundy.’ She handed me her business card. ‘I represent Goodwin, Osborn and Neill. No doubt you will have heard of us.’

In my line of work who hadn’t? One of the top-drawer legal firms in London. Solicitors to the famous and infamous in true Sue, Grabbit one I wanted to last and last. But no matter how hard I resisted, I couldn’t contain the inexorable rise of my climax.

I began to lose control as those black eyes bored relentlessly into me. She had me and she knew it. My fingers dug into her hair and my hips bucked as I fucked her voracious mouth, heart pounding. Then the spasms began, a wave of agonising pleasure coursed through me and as it peaked, I unleashed a flood of semen into her mouth. Agatha swallowed it greedily and she continued the torment long after she had devoured the full load.

Eventually, she rose gracefully to her feet, wiped a few globs from her chin with her fingers and licked them clean. ‘Satisfied?’ she asked with a mocking smile.

Oh, God – was I satisfied!

I nodded, feeling as weak as a kitten, watching her get dressed. Her arse was firm and tight and I fantasized about burying my cock into it. Finally, she fastened the trench coat, put on her gloves and picked up the briefcase.

‘I look forward to hearing from you in due course,’ she said; now back in full business mode. ‘Good afternoon.’

She turned eryaman anal yapan escort on her fuck me’s, opened the door and walked out.

I remained in my chair feeling slightly dazed, looking at the thousand quid on the desk and remembering the blowjob she had just given me. Christ, as ugly as she was, Agatha Grundy had sorted all four of my “pressing problems” at one fell swoop. What a woman!


‘Who’s today’s sucker?’ Flo Richardson asked, sliding into the client’s chair.

It was eight days after my interview with Agatha Grundy. Eight days I’d spent watching Lawrence, studying where he lived – a large mansion in Hampstead – and when and where he went, particularly at lunchtimes, and putting the nuts and bolts of the job together.

Flo was a stunning brunette in her late thirties, with a hard handsome face, dark eyes, a red inviting mouth and a no nonsense attitude. She’d once worked as a secretary for a Rotherham steel company, but being a nymphomaniac, she’d decided earning a living on her back, or any other position required, was far more enjoyable and lucrative than shorthand and typing. So using her savings she’d moved to London and set herself up as an escort as well as acting as a co-respondent in divorce cases when one was needed. She also gave great head with those luscious lips, as I could personally testify.

She was wearing a full-length grey Persian lamb coat, and a pillbox hat in matching grey decorated with a rhinestone brooch. She looked a million. In her case, the wages of sin were very rewarding.

‘Charles Hinds Lawrence, forty-four, a banker who can’t keep it in his trousers. Been cheating on his wife for years. She’s trying to divorce him but he won’t play ball. However, she reckons he will change his mind if she has pictures and threatens to use them. He’s a piss head and regularly looks for a woman at lunchtimes to spend the afternoon with.’

‘Sounds like he’s going to be fun. Where do I collect him?’

‘Simpson’s is his regular spot. Gets there about one. I’ve primed the headwaiter to make sure you get snuggly with him. Tell him you’re booked in at the Regent and desperately need some action.’ I passed her the key I’d got from Seth Bohanan, the security man at the hotel. ‘I’ll be in the next room with Wally. Bohanan’s fixed the lock on the connecting door. It’ll be easy.’

‘Does Charlie have any special kinks I need to deal with?’

‘Not that I know of. Get enough booze down his throat and he might have a job getting it up.’

‘Or throw up all over me.’

‘Occupational hazard, kid. Still, get on top and you shouldn’t have a problem.’

‘Easy for you to say.’

I passed her the agreed fee.

‘Ta,’ she said, putting it into her handbag. ‘Right, let’s get on with it, shall we?’


It went like clockwork. I waited with Wally in the room next to the one Bohanan had arranged. ankara escort The door was slightly ajar so I could hear their arrival. The minutes crawled along, then I heard Flo say, ‘Sod it, where’s my key?’ in too loud a voice, her signal to me.

I eased the connecting door open a fraction. Lawrence dished out some “my wife doesn’t understand me” crap. Flo laughed and told him she understood him all too well. Then there was the sound of clothing being discarded, followed by Lawrence’s urgent demand for Flo to suck his dick. He gasped and grunted as she carried out his wishes, before the sounds faded away. Seconds ticked slowly by into minutes. Suddenly, Lawrence started groaning. Time to move.

Cautiously, I opened the connecting door. Flo and Lawrence were on the bed in the missionary position, her legs clamped around his flabby waist, his lardy arse pumping up and down. Flo feigned ecstasy in time to his thrusts. She grinned at me over his shoulder.

I stepped aside to let Wally do his stuff. One, two, three bright flashes. Job sorted! Lawrence yelled and pulled out. Flo rolled off the bed and away into the bathroom, locking the door. Wally shot back into the other room and scuttled out into the corridor.

Lawrence, red-faced and spluttering, looked wildly around, hands clasped across his genitals, as if I cared about the size of his prick and balls.

‘Who are you?’ he shrieked, cowering back on the bed.

‘I work for your wife’s solicitor.’

‘You mean that wretched Grundy woman?’

‘Spot on. Now listen to what I have say. You will immediately agree to give your wife her divorce. If you don’t, Grundy will see to it that the pictures that have just been taken will be shown to some very important people in your life, including your kids. Understand?’

‘That’s… That’s blackmail,’ he stammered.

‘True, Charlie, but what are you going to do about it? I’m damn sure a man in your position won’t want them going public. Think of the embarrassment. The derision aimed at you behind your back. The effect on your career at the bank and with those high profile charities you’re involved with. Just do as you’re told and they will never see the light of day again. Okay?’

Faced with the horror of the situation unfolding in front of him, he had no choice but to agree. He nodded dumbly, tears welling in his eyes.

‘Good. Now get dressed and get out.’

A few minutes later, I watched a bedraggled half-dressed Lawrence tripping along the hallway, jacket and waistcoat over his arm, the tail of his shirt hanging down over his arse, trying to get his bare feet into his shoes. The stupid pillock had forgotten his socks.


Wally turned up at the office the next morning with the photos. He was an old school photographer and still used 35mm film, which he developed himself.

‘Here you are, Mr. Balfour,’ he said, a etimesgut escort grin on his wily, lined face. ‘I reckon you’ll be well pleased with ’em.’

I grabbed the envelope and tore it open. As usual, Wally had produced two sets of prints and negatives, one set for Agatha Grundy and one set for me. They were first rate. The shots of Lawrence were razor sharp and he was clearly identifiable; and at the vital second Flo had turned her face away from the camera so she couldn’t be recognised.

‘Top job, Wally,’ I agreed and handed him his money. ‘Have a few drinks on me.’

‘I most certainly will, Mr. Balfour,’ he said, and sauntered out grinning and whistling.

I picked up the phone and called Agatha Grundy.


Goodwin, Osborn you’d make a great one,’ I told her and walked out feeling as happy as Larry.


We were on the vast double bed that dominated the ornate bedroom of Agatha’s luxurious flat. Long mirrors hung on the walls on each side of the bed, giving a clear view of the activities taking place on it, and the lighting was soft and subdued. Perfect for serious fornication. Clearly, Agatha wasn’t a novice at this game.

Her pale body was stretched out below me on the purple satin bedspread; legs apart, left hand behind her grey-haired head, the fingers of the right gently stroking her clit. There was a disdainful smile on her harsh face, suggesting she wasn’t impressed by what she was looking up at.

‘Is that just for show?’ she asked, nodding at my erection. ‘Or are you going to put it to some use?’

‘Sole purpose of my being here.’

‘Then hadn’t you better get on with it?’

‘Delighted to,’ I replied.

‘Then do it,’ she ordered. ‘Let’s find out how good you are.’

So I did.

‘Oh Jesus!’ Agatha gasped wide-eyed as I penetrated her. Her legs came up and she crossed her ankles around the small of my back. Next moment I was jammed balls deep inside her.

I pulled back again – slowly. Then I drove in deep, pumping in and out, alternating from slow to fast, using my full length. She urged me on, returning my thrusts with equal intensity. Her sharp nails raked over my shoulders, down my spine and up again.

The sound of flesh slapping against flesh along with her cries and moans filled the bedroom as I rammed her. She squirmed underneath me, her Gorgon features flushed with lust, making low, animal like sounds deep in her throat. Her eyes were closed and her head rocked from side to side on the satin pillows as she thrust her body up at me, forcing my prick in and out of her at high speed.

‘Ahhh, I’m cumming!’ Agatha cried suddenly. ‘Christ, I’m cumming!’

Her back arched and she slammed herself against me, nails digging into my flesh like crampons into ice, body shaking as the orgasm ripped through her. I continued to fuck her hard as her pussy muscle held my prick in a vice like grip.

She locked those thin lips on mine, biting me, forcing her tongue almost down my throat. I felt myself falling into a whirlpool of excruciating pleasure. Then the delicious tingling started to race up my shaft and moments later my body tensed as it peaked.

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