“Some cognac to celebrate?”
She nodded.
Louise loved to have sex when she was drunk—it seemed to heighten the pleasure.
For almost half an hour, Schneider debriefed Louise. It was slow and pleasant and each knew the other wanted sex and so each teased the other, very slowly.
“He was a 30-seconder, as you predicted.”
Schneider remarked he was not surprised.
“So the material is good?”
“No, it is not.”
Louise frowned for a second until Schneider raised his hand, like a policeman stopping a car while directing traffic.
“No, the material is not good. The material will change the path of world history in a significant way.”
Louise felt her nipples tingle, she was starting to get aroused again. Her skin was alive.
Schneider continued, “What the President of the United States reviewed today is a plan for the Americans to attack the British Empire, starting with an undeclared attack on Canada.”
Louise’s mouth sagged opened and she stared at Schneider.
“That can’t be true—the Americans are allies of the British.”
“At the moment, but the gods have an amusing sense of humor. Remember what the Britisher Palmerston said, ‘Nations have no permanent friends or allies, they only have permanent interests.’”
They had been sitting on the overstuffed burgundy leather club couch, Louise sitting with her legs crossed. With Schneider’s pronouncement, she uncrossed her legs without thinking and moved forward on the seat. She was lubricating intensely.
“Oh my God, that is the most exciting thing I have ever heard. I hope you are not going to tease me too much longer.”
Then she suddenly said, “So we will announce this to the world now, right?”
“Well that would be the best way to expose and destroy our source. Would that be a good idea?”
Schneider explained that with material this powerful, it was essential that nothing leak.
“This is like fine wine, we need let it age a little. In a month or two, and after a few more Locked Wrists using people other than our source to the White House, then we will be safe to use it. This material will not go bad with age.”
Changing the topic to what she was most interested in, she simply said, “Fuck me now, please.”
Schneider realized Louise had understood.
Louise was a beautiful young woman, but Schneider’s experience was such that he felt not a twinge of nervousness, the opposite of young Jones.
He kissed her on the lips and she forced her tongue into his mouth. “The assignment has done all the preparatory work for me,” Schneider thought.
Louise grabbed his trousers and unzipped them. She had her elegant hand around his hardness and was squeezing and took her thumb and rubbed it over the tip. She was pleased to feel that oily wetness that always excited her. She had opened her legs and his hand was teasing the now wet area of her upper thigh.
“Oh for God’s sake, stop teasing me, put it in me, now. I want to feel it in me now. All the way.”
Schneider rose and took her to his desk. He had already moved the ink well and blotter, so the area was clear. She lay on her back with a sigh of anticipation and opened her legs to their fullest extent. Schneider slid inside; she was astoundingly wet, not just from Jones but also from her own body.
“God. Jesus that. Oh yes, that. I want that. All the way. Put it in all the way. I want it all in. Deep. Dump it all in me now.”
He could already feel the small contractions starting, and her juices were running down her legs and bottom to the desk. He slipped his left hand under her and lifted her a little. Her contractions were rapidly increasing in both strength and frequency. She was squeezing her nipples though her blouse. She was fast approaching climax. Schneider was pumping so hard that the front of their pelvic bones were hitting at each thrust. “About 20 seconds,” he thought. At this stage, when she was too far gone to complain, Schneider gently but insistently slid his index finger into her back door.
Her eyes widened, her mouth opened for a second and no sound came, then, “Oh my God. Yes. Fuck me. Fuck me.”
She closed her eyes and was moaning louder and louder.
Her head was wildly moving side to side. When his finger was all the way in, she stopped moving, and got up on her elbows on the desk. She opened her eyes wide and looked at him, a look of shock on her face.
“A big one,” is all she said.
Then she started to climax. While she was contracting, he worked his finger backwards and forward; as the contractions started to weaken, he moved the tip of his finger more and more. He could feel himself through the walls of her body. As the tip of his finger moved more and more, her weakening contractions started again to strengthen. He continued this for two minutes.
Finally, he thought he should stop. He gently withdrew his finger and with his other hand stroked her brow.
“You’re safe, just relax, honey. Let me get you some water.”
Louise’s body was uncontrollably twitching on the desk, her legs were quivering. She had her hands to her mouth. It was as if she was crying, with light, defenseless pants.
“Just stay here,” he whispered.
Quickly he slipped in to the small bathroom at the corner of his office. He washed his hands and poured two glasses of water and dampened a hand towel with warm water.
Returning, he found her a little less distraught.
After a moment, she opened her eyes.
“What was that?”
“Hmm, little different to the American Jones?”
Her breathing returned to normal, and she put her hand to her forehead.
“I have never felt like that before. What in God’s name was that?”
Of course, a gentleman like Schneider was never going to explain to a lady the explicit details of what he sometimes referred to as “the plumbing.” Such details would destroy the romance; years ago while serving in a Freikorps, he had been given some photos—“saucy,” as he called them—of French ladies. Some of these were so explicit they seemed to belong in a medical doctor’s text book. How, he asked himself, could such photographs be considered erotic when they removed all the mystery.
Actually, Schneider had kept the photographs as a test; he would show them to candidates for his department with the threadbare excuse that he had them thrust upon him by a soldier, and “what do you think of these?” The answers always fell into one of three categories: “do you have any more” (instant rejection), or—at the other end of the spectrum—“these are horrible” (instant rejection), or “interesting, but frankly, I find these images destructive of romance and more suitable for education of medical students” (possible). His recently-hired aide, Herman Jäger, had expressed the third opinion.
It was with Jäger over brandy one evening that the conversation had moved to the female “plumbing” and Schneider had for some reason explained the technique.
“Jäger, you see, in every woman’s backdoor there is a spot, about this far in,” he held up and extended his index finger.
“And this special spot when stimulated correctly increases the strength and the duration of her climax. Done properly—and it does take a lot of practice—a woman’s climax can be extended to one minute, or even two full minutes, or even longer.”
From Jäger’s face, it was clear this was new to Jäger, and he frankly said, “Herr Schneider, I did not know that. I will try this at the next opportunity.”
Schneider quickly offered some warnings,
“Jäger, ensure your finger nails are all trimmed right down to the quick. Also do not start this until the lady’s motor is already running and warned up. Down cold, as it were—too early—the effects can sometimes be of revulsion. Use her nipples as a judge. Of course, women’s nipples vary tremendously in shape and size, but the common point of observation is the change in the size of the nipples. I’ve known some women whose nipples in normal life are actually dimples, but always—always—when aroused the little buggers come out of their hiding places to stand up over-sized to proudly take their place in the world.”
Jäger laughed at this last comment, and nodded his head, as he too had observed the same phenomenon. Schneider thought Jäger too young to be told of the time in Peking when Schneider entertained a Chinese lady, whose nipples grew to two centimeters in length and moved like worms; Schneider was so dumbstruck at this that he quickly and politely moved to à chien—those two worms were very off putting.