Joins The O.S.S.

When Lieutenant Taylor entered the area outside Major Billingsley's office bright and early the next morning, he nodded to the enlisted men sitting at the typewriters. Looking around the room, he commented, "Corporal Winthrop not here yet?"

Nodding towards Billingsley's door, the Staff Sergeant replied, "She's already inside."

With a look of mild surprise, Taylor knocked on the door before stepping inside. Besides Billingsley and Winthrop, there was a Captain that Taylor had not seen before. "Ah! Taylor," Billingsley greeted, "Glad to see you. I was just introducing Captain Avery to Corporal, I mean, Junior Leader Winthrop. You two will be working for him now." He turned the meeting over to Avery by saying, "Captain."

After shaking Taylor's hand, Avery said, "Professor... Mrs. Drake... I have a car downstairs. Let's go over to O.S.S." He nodded to Billingsley, who wished the three of them luck.

Avery drove, with Taylor and Winthrop sitting in the back. It was a short drive, one spent in silence. After they had parked and were heading towards the south building, Avery told them, "From this point on, you will only go by the name of Drake. You are not to ever use your real last names, even in private. You will also, never, ever refer to your military ranks. The more thoroughly you two can immerse yourselves in your new identies, the greater the chance of your mission's success."

The first order of business was their documents. The photo 'studio' had numerous jackets, shirts, and blouses so that pictures of the two could be made without duplicating their attire. Once that was done, they were taken to the supply room. Each was issued five hundred dollars in cash, that they had to sign for. As Lieutenant Taylor, now Proffessor Drake, started to write his name, Avery put his hand on Taylor's wrist. "Proffessor Drake," he reminded him.

Feeling that Samuel was too long for Drake, he shortened it and wrote 'Sam Drake'. Taylor studied his signature for a moment, mentally rolling around the name 'Sam Drake'. It sounded like a spy's name.

When Taylor signed for a PPK pistol, Winthrop asked the issuing sergeant where was hers. "Are you qualified with a pistol?" he asked her, meaning had she pasted tests on the firing range under supervision.

"No," she drew out the word. "And although he might be 'qualified'," she jerked her head in Taylor's direction, "I doubt if that number-cruncher turned Egyptologist has actually fired one in anger. If the situation arises where we have to use one of these, I would just as soon rely on my inexperience rather than his inexperience."

So much for the persona of Sam Drake, Secret Agent.

Avery tried to suppress a smile as he took another pistol from under the counter and held it out for the sergeant. "Write down the serial number," he told the man. "Then take Mrs. Drake down to the basement. Have her fire off a half dozen clips. After the first clip, show her how to field strip, clean, and reassemble it. After the fourth and sixth clips, have her do it on her own."

Grabbing the top of Winthrop's hand, he lifted it and rotated, so that her palm was facing upwards. Still holding her hand, he held the pistol a few inches above it. Staring into her eyes, he told the young woman, "This is not a toy and it is not to be used to threaten or intimidate some one. If you pull it out," he slapped the weapon into her palm the way a scrub nurse would slap the handle of scalpel into a surgeon's hand, "be prepared to use it."

By five o'clock, the couple had been briefed in depth about their backgrounds, given immunization shots, and completed various forms. Taylor spent two hours with a (real) Professor of Egyptology from Georgetown University, and after the one-on-one lecture, was given three books to take with him on their mission. "Keep in mind," Avery said once the Georgetown Professor had left, "You are not being sent out to convince anyone that you are an Egyptologist. It is just your 'cover'. The less you speak about your 'profession', the better."

Winthrop had a similar meeting with the wife of a different Professor who talked about campus life as a member of the faculty.

Driving the two back to their homes - the barracks for Winthrop, the Wilson-Hasting Hotel for Taylor - Avery told them that were to meet at nine o'clock in Union station, window nine. A pair of train tickets for New York City would be waiting for them. Once in New York, they were to go to the Hotel McAlpin where they had a pre-paid reservation. A charge account had been set up for the Drakes at Macy's, and they were to buy new wardrobes, suit-cases, and a steamer trunk.

"How large an account?" the blonde W.A.A.C asked excitedly.

"You can buy some jewelry and a reasonable amount of clothing," Avery replied, "But keep in mind that you are supposed to be the wife of a member of academia. At a very small college. Not a movie star."

Within a day or two, steamship tickets would be delivered to hotel. He finished the details by telling them that an account at Barclays in Cairo had been set up for them, with five thousand dollars on deposit.

***** ***** *****

The radio in Samuel and Margaret's room was playing 'Jingle Jangle Jingle' by Kay Kyser.

The aptness of the song was probably lost on the rollicking, frolicking sweat-covered couple. Their vigorous cavorting and romping was causing the king-size bed to creak and grate. Like the song said, "I've got spurs that jingle jangle jingle, as I go ridin' merrily along...", Margaret was in her favorite sexual position, astride her partner, bouncing up and down on him like a cow-girl. Her full, womanly tits were flopping around wildly, making loud slapping sounds as her warm, wet pussy was clenching on Samuel's cock. Lying flat on his back, the young man was bucking and thrusting, his fingers digging into his partner's thighs.

"Oh, you fuck!" Margaret began to rant as her orgasm got closer. "You bastard! You fucking bastard!"

She lunged down on him, grabbing his face between her hands, covering his mouth with hers, her lips moving demandingly against his lips, her tongue seeking out his tongue. It was as if she was trying to devour him, until suddenly she threw back her head and screamed, "FUUUUUCK!"

Her buttocks and thighs twitched uncontrollably, her fingers gripping his shoulders, and her mouth hung open as she slowly shook her head from side-to-side. The release washing over her was nearly painful in its intensity.

Samuel was right behind her. The clamping, squeezing, spasming vagina grasping his cock caused him to explode. His hot sperm blasted up inside her, giving her his seed, emptying out his nuts and his soul.

Collapsing heavily on top of him, Margaret gasped and panted in her young lover's ear. "Wh-why do... do you drive... drive me so crazy?" She planted several quick pecks on his cheek.

Samuel had his arms around the older woman, holding her close. "You... you..." But he could not complete his sentence.

***** ***** *****

Lying propped up in bed, Samuel's arm wrapped around Margret's shoulders, she nestled into his protective embrace, the two were smoking cigarettes. Neither was speaking, each was savoring what had just happened, how they had gotten to this point, what the future might hold for them. Taking a deep drag on his cigarette, Samuel finally summoned up enough courage to say, "I got a set of orders today."

He could feel her tense. For several seconds she said nothing. When she did speak, it was in a low, meek voice, "When do you leave?"

His reply of 'tomorrow' prompted her to pull away from him, swinging her legs out of bed, and padding barefoot over to the phone. When the hotel operator answered, she recited a number. Samuel was sitting up straight, watching her intensely, fearing that she was angry at the news.

"Sarah? This is Mrs. Ferguson," Margaret said, "Is the Senator there?.... Well, if you see him tonight, tell him that I shan't be home tonight. I am stuck up here in Maryland somewhere. I think it's Maryland... No, no. I'm alright. I had lunch with a couple of my girlfriends. One martini turned into two into three. Somebody had the brilliant idea of driving up to Silver Spring. Anyway, I wound up driving in the wrong lane coming home so I figured let me just pull off and spend the night at some motel.... Yes... Yes... I am sure I am alright, just a bit... tipsy. I'll be home in the morning... Yes... You, too... G'Bye."

Strolling calmly back to bed, she relished the feel of Samuel's eyes on her naked body, and deliberately exaggerated the swaying of her hips.

"I won't ask where you are going," she said as she crawled in to cuddle with him. "If you were able to tell me, you already would have. But what I do I ask... is that you come back safely. After all, I have grown accustom to your..." She reached between his legs to cup his balls, sticky from her pussy-juices and the sperm that had leaked out of her. "...face."