Alicia Moore was the devil in disguise – at least that's what the consensus of my High School buddies was. We weren't in the "in crowd," although we were among the smartest kids in the class and good athletes in "minor" sports (not football or basketball where the prestige was) but we all considered ourselves "late bloomers." To every heterosexual guy that I knew, who had ever entered her aura, Alicia Moore was the sexiest woman (I wondered if she ever was a "girl") in the world. While no physical feature of hers was the best anyone had ever seen – except for her oversized tits, which probably were the best – she had the notorious "it factor" in spades. There was something about the way she walked, the way she tossed her blond with red highlights hair over her shoulder, the sensuousness of her smile, and the way that her dichromatic eyes (one azure blue, the other emerald green) would bewitch anyone that she glared at, that made her the most desirable female on the planet.

Alicia Moore also lacked nothing in the smarts department either; her intelligence bordered on "gifted" and any minor lack of brain power was more than made up for by her cunningness and strange sense of morality.

While Alicia Moore's personality seemed lacking in many ways – she was obviously self-centered in addition to having a strange sense of morality – that was over looked by anyone that she paid any attention to. Just being in her aura was enough to overlook any fault.

I didn't know it as my senior year in High School started after Alicia Moore and I had turned eighteen at the start of the summer (we shared the same birthdate, something that always seemed to give me false hope through middle school and our first three years of High School), but she would become one of the most significant people in my life.

***********

My senior year in High School moved along about as expected the first semester. I did very well academically (I had only gotten As in High School), the cross-country season had gone almost as well since I finished 16th in the state meet, I dated a few nice looking and pleasant classmates on and off, and even lost my virginity including in an experience not nearly as awkward as many of my classmates. (I could write a separate story about that: it was with a girl/woman named Janet who was experienced. She was just visiting her grandparent neighbors of mine on a break from her school in another state. She was non-judgmental and seemingly simply loved to fuck, and a perfect teacher.)

Then Alicia Moore made an obvious effort to sit next to me in AP Physics.

Then Alicia Moore smiled at me.

Then Alicia Moore talked to me.

Then Alicia Moore didn't even seem to mind that I sounded like a tongue-tied moron when I tried to engage in a conversation with her.

Then Alicia Moore, on a day that I was walking out of AP Physics class with her, put her arm in mine and erotically asked (that's actually redundant since everything she did was "erotic") "Why have you never asked me out, Brian?"

"Uh...I...did...ask you...out several times...our sophomore year," I stammered in reply.

"That's when we were just kids," she laughed, provocatively tossing (another redundancy since everything she did was "provocative") her shimmering hair over her shoulder, and brushing her ponderous mammaries against my arm. "Why not since we've become adults?"

"Uh...well...I didn't think that you'd...uh...accept," I gulped.

"My parents will be gone this weekend. Why don't you take me out to dinner Saturday night and then go back to my house to watch a movie," she stated, didn't ask, with a sultry glare (yet another redundancy, everything she did was "sultry").

"Uh sure," I stammered feeling my entire body heating up to at least 110 degrees F as my crotch suddenly hurt.

Alicia Moore planned our date completely. I picked her up when told, we went to the restaurant she selected, and we left the restaurant at the time she decided to. Much to my relief I hadn't made any glaring errors and actually had a decent conversation with her during dinner. However, I was sweating like a pig when she snuggled up to me in my parents' Prius as I tried to navigate the way back to her house without crashing. She had me pull into her parents' garage, and then we went into their "media room" to watch a movie.

Alicia Moore got us drinks – we were under-aged but that seemed irrelevant to her – from her parents' bar, downed a rum and Coke (which appeared to be mostly rum) in one gulp herself, and handed me one. I sipped it – straight arrow that I was I never drank, and with ¾ rum in the drink she had handed me I couldn't do more than sip.

Then she selected a movie, put it into the DVD player, and started it up.

I was shocked when as soon as she pushed "play" on the screen appeared a naked woman with tits almost as big as Alicia Moore's being banged doggy style by a big dude with a wicked grin on his face, as her tits clapped together sounding like a theater at the closing curtain of a play.

Alicia Moore giggled as she said "Oh, sorry; my college-aged brother must have put one of his porn DVDs in a 'Sleepless in Seattle'" jacket." She seemed to be fumbling around to find the remote without much success while I stared at the screen mesmerized since the female porn star was plasma hot. She finally found it and laughingly pressed "stop." Then her voice suddenly got husky. "I see that I caused you a problem," she growled as she unabashedly looked at my crotch, where I had erected a nice pup tent. "Let me help you out."

With that, the unattainable goddess that called itself Alicia Moore got on her knees, unzipped my fly, pulled down my pants and boxers with my unconscious assistance, and started manipulating my balls and kissing my cock. I warned her that I would cum quickly. She just smiled and when she could tell that I was true to my word she engulfed the head of my cock with her steaming hot mouth and sucked down every milliliter of my ejaculation. While I was almost comatose, she was almost giddy as she wiped her lips with her fingers after releasing my reddened and still hard cock.

"You taste good. I hope that you like pussy for dessert because sucking down your cum has made me horny," she quipped.

Next thing that I knew we were in her bedroom, naked except for her high heels and one of my socks, and I was staring at a body that poets would write thousands of rhymes about, that minstrels would dedicate hundreds of songs to, and that no mortal man could resist.

Fortunately, during my five separate sexual encounters with Janet – my only sex partner up until that night in Alicia Moore's bedroom – Janet had taught me how to eat pussy, and Janet seemed to really enjoy it. I started in on Alicia Moore's pussy just like Janet had schooled me. It was sweeter than Janet's, Alicia Moore's clit was more pronounced, her slit was tinnier, and her thighs killer. I enjoyed it as much as Alicia Moore did when she seemed to have a rip-roaring orgasm. I played with her thighs and labia, and also the nipples of the marvels on her chest, until she came down from her climax; then she immediately maneuvered us into a sixty nine where I started sucking her clit while she sucked my cock, testicles, and then cock again.

Alicia Moore could obviously sense when I was about to cum again, at which point she rotated us 180 degrees and moaned "Get that cock in my cunt NOW."

I inserted my cock into the likely snuggest, wettest, warmest, place on the planet, and we both groaned. As inexperienced as I was I was overcome by passion and sucked on one tit and pinched the other as I pumped vigorously in-and-out. My orgasm was epic, and hers seemed to be virtually simultaneous.

My mind is fuzzy about the rest of the night. I do remember her giving me a little blue pill at two different points, and going in-and-out of euphoric consciousness several times. When I tried to count my orgasms, I couldn't really tell, but concluded that it was probably five, maybe even six. When I awoke as the sun streamed through one of her bedroom windows my cock hurt like hell and my balls were sore. I had bite marks on several parts of my body, and the sheets seemed damp with bodily fluids. What I didn't sense, however, was a body next to mine.

I stumbled into the bathroom, did my business, took a shower, and put on my clothes from the night before – no sign of Alicia Moore. I did find a note on the kitchen table, which was on my way from her room to the front door. "Had to run! Fun time! Call your parents! –smiley face–."

I called my house. My mom answered. She was frantic. "Where have you been?"

I didn't feel that I could tell her that I was getting my pipes cleaned by the woman of my dreams for the last ten-eleven hours. I told her a completely bullshit story, and when I got home I knew that I was grounded for the foreseeable future. "I was so worried about you," my mother cried. "That's completely irresponsible behavior," by father snarled.

However, for the rest of the day, despite being in deep kimchi with my parents and incessantly teased by my younger sister, I was in heaven. I couldn't concentrate on school work so for the first time in my memory I blew it off – but I felt so damn good. A goddess has showered me with her love for an entire night. My head was so full of endorphins that there was no room for rational thought – such as asking the question "Why did Alicia Moore fuck my brains out after ignoring me for years?"

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

Monday morning reality hit with the force of a linebacker sacking a quarterback. Alicia Moore gave me a polite, conventional "Hi" when I saw her in the hallway, and made no effort to accommodate me when I was obviously hoping to have a conversation with her. In advanced placement physics she moved her seat to the opposite side of the room, right near the door, and was out as soon as the dismissal bell sounded.

I was confused, perplexed, and heart broken.

For the next two weeks, despite my best efforts to engage Alicia Moore in conversation, including sending her numerous texts, I was either shown polite indifference, or was ignored. I couldn't understand how the best night of my life by a light year could suddenly be the source of constant anxiety.

As a result of Alicia Moore's coolness toward me I suffered in many ways. This included school work. I found it hard to concentrate, and much to the consternation of my teachers was getting mostly Cs on tests. My friends noticed my plight, but there was no way that I could talk to them about it. First of all, none of them even knew about my date with Alicia Moore since I didn't tell them in case it turned out to be a disaster. Of course none of them would believe for a second what really happened either – I was starting to have a hard time believing it myself, and the euphoria of that night had long since vanished. I never dated even when I was no longer grounded, and about the only area where I didn't suffer was track, where I turned my seething anger and anxiety into energy. Eventually, I even actually won the conference title in the 800, but that did little to overcome my general malaise.

It took a kick ass talk by my track coach, and a confrontation with a junior girl named Cheryl that I had dated a few times and who seemed to like me, to snap me out of it before it was too late.

The coach, in no uncertain terms, told me that although my actual performance was great that I was becoming a complete shit, and to snap out of it before he had me running wind sprints an hour every day.

Cheryl had a confrontation with me shortly after track practice two days after the coach had lit into me. Cheryl was also on the track team, and one of the more perceptive individuals I had ever met. She got right in my face.

"Brian Dozier – you've become the biggest stick-in-the-mud and jerk in the history of Hilton High," was the "pleasant" way that she started the conversation. "The only thing that could explain your attitude is that you've been 'Aliciaed.'"

"What...what...what the hell does that mean?" I snapped back.

"I know that as a guy you're probably too clueless to realize it but Alicia Moore is even more evil than she is good-looking. She's fucked up several guys in the classes before you including my brother and his best friend, two in your class, one in mine, and now you. I don't know all of the details, but that's the only thing that could explain it," she snarled.

She then went on to describe what had happened to her brother and his best friend which she had good knowledge of, and what had happened to the other three she mentioned which she had good gossip about; in each case Alicia Moore had used a guy to her advantage and his detriment. She concluded it by slapping me in the face and then announcing "Get your head out of your ass or your acceptances at Stanford, Duke, and Northwestern will be withdrawn and you'll have no hope of a scholarship; plus you'll miss the opportunity to take me to prom."

Then she turned and walked away.

That night I had a heart-to-heart with myself. I knew that both the track coach and Cheryl were right. I reviewed my performance in the six academic classes I was taking and surmised that I had a high C or low B in each. I had only about two months to recover.

The next day I cornered Cheryl after track practice. I sheepishly said "Thank you for setting me straight. I'll be forever grateful."

"Are you back to the old Brian Dozier?" she skeptically asked.

"If not, I will be by this weekend," I replied. "Will you go to a movie with me to see for yourself?"

"Will that lead to a prom date?" she inquired with an evil smile.

"If you'll have me I'll ask you right now – will you go to prom with me in two months?"

"I'll give you a tentative 'yes,' assuming that the old Brian Dozier does emerge. When are you picking me up on Saturday – we should be back from the track meet by 5:30."

"I'll be there at six thirty – your choice of movie, even if it is a chick flick," I grinned.

I am happy to report that I did get my head out of my ass and was able to get my grades up to four As and two Bs by report card time, and selected Stanford, including with a partial academic scholarship. I also had a great time with Cheryl, and she lost her virginity to me at post-prom. It was the first real sex that I had since my escapade with Alicia Moore. I treated Cheryl gently and she seemed very happy with the encounter. I unfortunately compared it to the white-hot sex with Alicia Moore and it paled by comparison, but I didn't let on. In fact, Cheryl and I had several other pleasant sexual encounters before I left for Stanford, even though neither of us expected a long term relationship. However, I would always be grateful to Cheryl.

Even someone as dense and star-struck as myself finally figured out Alicia Moore when she became valedictorian over me with a grade point to the second decimal place better than mine; her fucking up my mind for a couple of months while she plowed on got her the top spot in our class. No one that I knew clapped after she delivered the valedictorian address at graduation and the lack of a warm response was obvious to everyone there. Alicia Moore could give a shit – she got what she wanted.

Despite my general recovery, I found it hard to get the night of zealous, wanton, sex with Alicia Moore entirely out of my mind for years to come; and I also was bitter and felt foolish at the same time. I had this unfulfilled yearn to get revenge by using her like she had used me, something I realistically thought would never be possible. One thing that I did have to thank Alicia Moore for, however (aside from the best sex of my life even if only for one night), is that gave me a healthy skepticism. It was very unlikely that I'd ever be fooled again.

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

I graduated from Stanford with a B. S. in physics, and then Northwestern law school, and got a job as a federal prosecutor in Chicago. After two years there, I moved to the Washington, D. C. area to begin work as a prosecutor on a task force that dealt with organized crime. By the time that I moved to the Washington, D. C. area I had expelled all thoughts of Alicia Moore from my conscious mind (emphasis on "conscious"). I had no successful long term relationship during this time, although I did have my fair share of ass.

The task force that I worked on in the D. C. area included several state cops and even local cops from Northern Virginia, as well as FBI and DEA agents. About the third month I was working there I was introduced to a local cop, Alicia Grant, who had been undercover since I had arrived and was now emerging from the shadows.

Aside from sharing her first name with Alicia Moore, Alicia Grant appeared to be nothing like her. Alicia Moore is (or at least "was" when I knew her), as I earlier described, of average size with a soft (delectably so) body with enormous tits, blondish-reddish hair, and dichromatic eyes. Alicia Grant is big (probably 5 feet 11 inches tall, only three inches shorter than me, and a solid 150 pounds) with a hard body. She has tits that look too small for her large frame, but a world class ass and thighs if you like a big, muscular, no-fat, woman. Her hair is jet black, and her eyes seem to have jet black irises too, unique in my experience, which highlight an attractive face. While not classically beautiful she definitely is pretty in a Gina Carano, Ronda Rousey kind of way (good-looking former MMA fighters and now B-grade movie actresses).

Her hand-shake was as firm as any man's. She was obviously no-nonsense, and looked me straight in the eye.

In a task force conference room Alicia Grant sat down with me, two FBI agents, and an assistant prosecutor (despite my relative youth I had quickly become the lead prosecutor) to discuss what she had learned over the last several months undercover. She was articulate, straight forward, and kick-ass. I tried to remain professional – and thought that I pulled it off – but I really wished that I had mirrored sunglasses on so that I could blatantly stare at her killer thighs.

When the meeting broke up I had one subject that I wanted to talk to her about one-on-one (that didn't involve the others) and she had something to bring up with me. After everyone else left I talked with her about my topic, she talked with me about hers – she wanted a month's break before going back undercover, which I agreed to – and then she said "I have one more issue."

"What's that?" I innocently asked.

"Why were you blatantly staring at my thighs? Not very professional, was it?"

At first I was taken aback; I'm sure that I blushed; then I decided that there was only one way to deal with this woman. Be as no-nonsense as she was.

"I'm sorry that you think that it was unprofessional. I meant no disrespect. However, it was hard not to since they are the best thighs that I've ever seen, and the rest of your package is enough to make a eunuch cum," I replied, staring directly into her eyes.

"Not into big tits, then?" was her deadpan reply.

"I don't have any body parts that I'm 'into' or not 'into;' I'm interested in entire packages, and I hope that I'm not being disrespectful or unprofessional if I can't help but be enormously impressed by yours," was my equally deadpan reply.

"Into only looks, Mr. Prosecutor?" she sniped.

"To me the 'whole package' includes intelligence and being happy in one's own skin. From just talking with you for two hours I know that you've got those covered as well," I sniped back.

"Seems to me that you want to date me, cowboy; how would that work with us on the same task force?" she inquired, this time with a wry smile.

"You're off for a month, we'll only need you for another month after that, and then we won't have any work connection at all," I smiled.
"I don't fuck on the first three dates," she replied, her smile now having been morphed into diabolical.

"Neither do I," I shot back with what I hoped was an equally diabolical grin.

"When are you picking me up on Saturday?" she confidently retorted.

"One thirty in the afternoon," I quickly replied. "Wear casual; enter your address and phone number into my smartphone," I said, pulling my iPhone out of my pocket and handing it to her.

She did as asked, made sure that our hands touched when she handed my phone back to me (causing an electric spark even though it wasn't static electricity), and with a smile said "You're an interesting dude," as she turned and sashayed out of the conference room, making sure to look over her shoulder once to make sure that I was following every movement of her ass – I didn't disappoint her.

I felt that I either needed a cold shower or to beat my meat once she left. It was the strongest feeling that I had had since – her body suddenly entering my mind like an invasive weed – Alicia Moore. "Alicia Grant is the only Alicia for me," I said under my breath, and then looked at the information that Alicia Grant had entered into my phone which surprisingly also included a devilish emoji.

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

Alicia Grant and I took full advantage of the month she had off the task force. While she had other obligations with the Arlington County Police force, since I had no personal life and we both had free time, we made the most of it.

Our first date that Saturday afternoon was at a paintball center. She was as kick ass at that as were her body and personality, and with her on my team we dominated three "wars" in a row.

After that we cleaned up and showered (separately) at her apartment, then worked out at her health club for 90 minutes. That was a humbling experience. I considered myself in good shape with good muscle tone, but in all except for a couple of upper body lifts she had me. We ran a mile on the club's indoor track after that, which was good for my ego since at least there I had her; by a full minute.

We cleaned up again, went to her favorite neighborhood restaurant for dinner, and then went to a free concert on the Mall in D. C. She carried her handgun with her everywhere (even in D. C. where you have to have a special permit – which she did – even if you're a cop from another jurisdiction) and after watching her at the paintball center I had no doubt that she was expert at handling it.

We were very compatible – "very" in all caps.

After our third date, on a Friday night, two and a half weeks after we met, we had as passionate a kiss as I could remember (Alicia Moore's lips now only a distant ever-fading memory) at her apartment entrance. It was clear that we were hot for each other. After she entered her apartment – sparks flying from both of our hands as we let go of each other – and closed the door I waited about ten seconds and then knocked.

"What's up?" she grinned as she answered.

"Neither of us fuck after only three dates, if I remember correctly," I deadpanned. "So I'm here for our fourth date."

Alicia Grant broke into a big smile. "We've been going all over the area on our first three dates; why don't we stay in on our fourth," she chuckled as she pulled me inside.

While there's a lot to be said about a compliant desirably soft body, I found out that night into the next morning that there's a lot to be said for a hard aggressive body too. We were so hot for each other that we were fucking on her living room couch within minutes of her pulling me into her apartment. I quickly found out that though her tits were small the nipples were incredibly sensitive and she almost went off from me sucking her tits alone as I tried to bury my hog.

Her pussy wasn't the snuggest in my experience – certainly nothing like Alicia Moore's, although I make that comparison now, but didn't then – but it was hot and wet and her pc muscles were like a milking machine. She must have extracted a liter of cum out of me when she started orgasming, and I thought that her muscular thighs might crush my pelvis.

After our animal fuck I picked her up – it was no small task since she definitely weighed all of 150 pounds and I weigh only 190 – but I was out to impress her and the adrenaline was flowing, so I successfully carried her to her bed without mishap. There I made another great impression by going down on her even though I had just fucked her. I had never done that before, but her naked body was such a turn on, and her pussy had done such a great job of milking me that I had to show her how much I appreciated her.

I never thought that I could wear this Wonder Woman-look-and-act-alike out, but after three orgasms complements of my oral and digit talents that I am so proud of she had been reduced to a blubbering blob of protoplasm. I then turned her on her stomach and stuck my impossibly hard cock up her channel and proceeded to give her the banging of my life. By the time that I ejaculated my second load into her she was ready to melt into my arms – which she did shortly after my explosion – sighing like the most contented cow on the planet.

I was awakened in the middle of the night by a goddess that had gotten her second wind. I found that a piece of hard body ass in the middle of the night is heavenly. I fell asleep a second time more serene than I could ever remember being in my entire life.

Alicia Grant was almost bubbly the next morning – not her normal demeanor. We exchanged completely honest expressions of gratitude and contentment as we – still naked – feasted on omelets the next morning. In a sudden flash of inspiration once I had finished my eggs I grabbed both of her hands.

"I think that you're who I've been looking for the rest of my life," I said, staring into her coal black eyes. "Am I moving too fast if I say that I love you?"

"I'll let you know if you exceed the speed limit," she smiled. "So far, you're legal."

"How long need it be before we move in together?" I confidently asked.

"You're right at the speed limit now," she chuckled, "but as long as I keep my apartment while in your condo we check each other out for hidden flaws and idiosyncrasies, I don't think there's a need for a ticket."

"You haven't even seen my condo yet," I replied.

"I'm a cop, dude; I investigate things; I know your condo and I like it better than my apartment," she chuckled.

"What are we waiting for, then?" I asked.

"I need another sperm deposit in my bank and then we can work on logistics," she laughed.

So I made another, wonderful, fulfilling, sperm deposit in her bank, and then we spent the rest of the weekend moving her stuff into my condo – that is when we weren't fucking, cuddling, or eating, the fucking and cuddling parts seemingly the most time consuming.

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

Alicia Grant and I mutually decided to keep our relationship secret. We never had any displays of affection in public, nor did we exchange "looks" and we weren't always agreeable with each other in public. Even when she started working for the task force again we never let on to anyone.

In private, the relationship progressed better than I had a right to expect, especially since it was my first truly loving experience (Alicia Moore was a teenage infatuation, certainly not love). Our relationship was real – not phony. If we disagreed about something, we aired it out. Of course we had arguments, but we never went to bed mad, or without saying – with sincerity – "I love you."

The sex was out of this world. With the exception of my now too-distant-to-remember-exactly night with Alicia Moore, it was way better than anything else I had ever experienced. We were experimental without being wild. When she had her period, she insisted on anal, something that I had never done before. I liked it. While I preferred her pussy, anal with her was better than any sex I had ever had with anyone else (again the memory of the long ago night with Alicia Moore having faded).

We did pay a price for our secrecy, however. Since no one at her office knew that she had a significant other, after her time on the task force was up her department assigned her to another undercover operation. She hoped to get out of it after a week, but by then she was in too deep, and successful operative that she was, couldn't pull out.

Since we had achieved most of our objectives, I was pulled from the organized crime task force about a week after she was assigned an undercover job, and I was promoted to a national security task force.

Our new assignments played a little havoc with our relationship since we couldn't spend as much time together as before, but we made it work. We made it work because we both held the other person's best interests and feelings in greater esteem as our own, and because we really were madly in love with each other. The three or four nights a week that we were together we made love – true passionate toe curling emotionally satisfying love.

One time when our schedules were such that we had an entire weekend together as we lay in each other's arms after a spectacularly loving and rewarding copulation Alicia Grant put her nose to mine. "Brian, I've never, ever, been even half this happy in my entire life."

I smiled broadly. "That sincere statement means that I'm also twice as happy now as I have ever been too."

We passionately kissed and soon were in dreamland.

Alicia Grant and I didn't see each other except in passing on that Monday so I had time to think. I came to a conclusion, visited a jewelry store the next day, and when I saw Alicia Grant Tuesday evening I said "When is the next night that your schedule is completely clear?"

"My main targets will be in New York all Saturday, so probably Saturday night," she replied with a smile. "Why?"

"I'm tired of going to neighborhood restaurants or on cheap dates when we go out. I want to go elegant Saturday; a four star restaurant for dinner, and a play at the Kennedy Center," I responded, returning her smile.

"I don't have anything to wear," she complained.

"I'll take care of that too," I smiled.

"You're looking to get laid tonight, aren't you cowboy," she smirked while snuggling up to me.

"Maybe...just maybeeeee," I snickered.

I did get laid – boy did I get laid. No bronco was ever ridden harder than she rode me.

After that over-the-top fuck, even for her hard, delicious, body, I had to deliver. I was like a fish out of water in the high-end dress shop I entered on Wednesday, but fortunately an elderly saleswoman took pity on me. She got me the right size 6 little black dress, which perfectly matched the onyx necklace, bracelet, and earrings that I had purchased the day before, without ripping me off (or at least without me thinking that I had been ripped off). She also promised one-hour alteration service when I described Alicia Grant's hard body with small breasts and delightfully big ass to her. "The dress will need a little tweaking," was the way she put it.

I gave Alicia Grant the dress on Friday morning while we were in passing, gave her the saleswoman's card, and told her about the one hour alteration service. I got her to promise to take time that day to get it altered – she was awed by the quality and style of the dress and didn't object.

We spent the morning on Saturday in bed doing what we did best. When we got up about ten o'clock I gave her the onyx jewelry which she made appropriate oohs and aahs about. She took off for a one o'clock trip to the spa, and when she returned about four she was literally glowing.

Alicia Grant wouldn't let me see her in her dress or with her makeup on or new hairstyle – I was relegated to taking my clothes to the guest bedroom and using the second bathroom to get ready. When she emerged from our bedroom at 6 p. m. sharp I wasn't disappointed.

When I could talk – after her appearance initially took my breath away – I simply repeated "Wow – holy shit," about ten times. She simply smiled and then said "Do you like?"

"Like would be the understatement of the century. You literally are breathtaking. I have never seen anyone, or anything, more beautiful in my life." I was completely honest when I said that.

Her smile was as wide as the Mississippi River when I complimented her. Then she looked perplexed when I said "There is one problem, though."

"What?" she asked.

"I'll need your handgun because I'm going to have to keep every heterosexual male we encounter away from you," I responded.

"I'll help you out," she laughed, "even in these three inch heels I have a mean karate kick.

[She does!]

The dinner was perfect, except for at least a dozen guys leering at her. The food was delicious, the service impeccable, the atmosphere romantic, the conversation enchanting. The play was a comedy, and we laughed heartily throughout – again the only drawback this time was the hundreds (or at least it seemed like that) of leering guys.

When we got home we clutched each other as we kissed and I squeezed her world class ass. "That was the most fun I've ever had with my clothes on," she giggled when we broke our lip lock.

"I couldn't agree more – but there's one more thing on the agenda tonight," I replied. With that I got down on one knee, pulled the ring purchased at the same time as the onyx jewelry out of my coat pocket, and said "Alicia Grant – will you make me the happiest man in the world and agree to marry me."

Through her tears she seemed to be saying yes so I slipped the ring on the ring finger of her left hand. If there was any doubt that her response was positive it was removed when she shed her dress, bra, and panties with lightning speed, pulled me up off my knees, jumped into my arms with her legs wrapped around me, and whispered "Take me to bed to consummate our engagement."

I didn't realize that engagements – as opposed to marriages – needed to be consummated, but I didn't object. Maybe I should have because the next morning I was barely able to walk or talk since my dick felt like it had almost been ripped off and my mind was so full of endorphins that there was no room for thought.

The only bummer was that Alicia Grant couldn't wear her ring except in the condo or when we were out where no one we knew would see us; it didn't mesh with her undercover operation. However, the first thing that she did as soon as she entered the condo was to put it on, and it never was taken off, for any reason, until she left.

**********

The date was set, the parents and other relatives had been met (her mother was a smaller version of Alicia Grant and if Alicia Grant looked like her mother when her age I will have hit the jackpot, and her dad looked like an NFL defensive end), and our love seemed to be getting deeper every week.

Then a glitch.

I could tell that Alicia Grant had been troubled by something for a week. When we finally had an entire day together I asked "What's wrong?" simultaneously with her saying "We need to talk." We worked out together for 90 minutes and then grabbed some sandwiches from a local deli and walked to our neighborhood park.

Alicia Grant started the conversation as soon as we finished eating, although she didn't seem to have her normal healthy appetite: "There's a reason that I've been in the dumps lately. My undercover work is coming to a conclusion and it's going to go one of two ways within the next two or three weeks."

I said nothing, but just held her hands and looked into her eyes.

"Either we're going to bust the biggest human trafficking ring on the East Coast, or all of the major players will escape justice. It's in my hands," she lamented.

"Seems obvious that you need to ensure option #1," I replied.

"Unfortunately, option #1 is likely to require me to do some things that are completely inconsistent with a committed exclusive relationship," she responded, a single tear in her left eye.

I said nothing, just thinking, for a good five minutes while she alternately looked me in the eye, and then at the ground.

"How many people will totally busting the ring save?" I inquired.

"At least 150 women and girls right now, thousands in the future," she quietly replied.

"I don't see a choice," I said. "I'll love you whether or not you're a hero, but you'll be more content if you are one after all of the time and effort and pain that you've already invested. It seems like Option #1 is the only realistic one."

Alicia Grant cried as she flung her face into my shoulder and her arms around my neck. We made slow, highly emotional, love that night. The next morning she handed me her engagement ring. "Put this someplace safe and give it to me when I return in two or three weeks. I'll be unreachable until then. I've already informed my mom that only she will be dealing with wedding plans for the next few weeks – although I hope that you'll help if she needs it."

"My only concern is – will you be safe?"

"Nothing is guaranteed but the operation is designed so that I have instant backup – plus you've never really seen how I can handle myself; I'm a real-life Wonder Woman," she laughed.

The next seventeen days, six hours, and forty one minutes were hell for me. Every possible scenario – most of them bad – ran through my mind. I never slept more than a few hours a night, and if I hadn't poured myself into my work and exercised at least 90 minutes a day I would have gone crazy.

After the time lapse indicated above I got a call at work on my cellphone. "I'm back – safe and sound – but I need you badly. Now!"

"I'll be there in less than an hour," I replied.

I passed off a FISA hearing to another prosecutor (the FISA court grants warrants 98% of the time so I wasn't jeopardizing my national security case), and got home immediately. I took a sobbing Alicia Grant into my arms.

"Tell me the result – no real details, just the highlights," I said after I calmed her down.

"It was a 100% success. Not only did we get the top five dogs, but four of them were killed when they decided they didn't want life in prison – including three at my hands," she said after drying her tears. "The fifth one is singing like a canary."

From the look in my eyes she could see that I was flabbergasted, so she continued. "I shot two males and killed the female with my bare hands. All three were the worst scum on the planet. It's mandatory that I see a department shrink a few times but I have zero remorse or guilt," she replied, evoking a smile.

I gave her a big kiss.

"Plus, there's a real bonus. Instead of being assigned desk duty until the hearing required for an officer involved shooting, I talked my superiors into three weeks 'suspension' with pay. I intend to use those three weeks to pamper you like never before, and plan the rest of the wedding."

I smiled, took the necklace holding her engagement ring off of my neck – as she squealed with glee – and put it on her finger. Then we went to our bedroom and did what we loved to do most; consummate her return.

As seemed to be common in the Brian Dozier-Alicia Grant relationship, the next morning again my cock felt like it had almost been ripped off, I was sore all over, and I had a smile as wide as the Rio Grande!

I proudly attended the award ceremony where Alicia Grant was given the highest honor available in Virginia and was awed by all of the nice things her commander said about her and her performance. I never questioned her about any details – in fact I told her that I never wanted to discuss them – which made her very happy.

By the way, she did pamper me until her hearing completely cleared her of all wrong doing (as expected) in the deaths of the three criminals, after which I demanded that she let me pamper her for a while.

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

The wedding went off without a hitch; it was the happiest day of my life. We didn't have time for a real honeymoon, so we just went for three nights to the Greenbrier, a luxury resort in West Virginia. Alicia Grant – now Alicia Dozier – was promoted and moved into public and media relations, the least dangerous job on the force.
In the meantime the homeland security task force had identified Dimitri Borisovich as the master of the Russian spy ring we wanted to dismantle. However, we were having trouble getting the goods on him and his top lieutenants, even though one of his five lieutenants (code name "Marlin") was an FBI operative. In fact we were starting to worry about the undercover operative's safety in view of some electronic chatter we had picked up. The chatter wasn't directed specifically at Marlin but there was a suspicion about "a traitorous lieutenant." Also, unfortunately the chatter indicated that the spies suspected that there was a task force looking at them, and even speculated that I and one of the FBI agents most directly involved had some association with it.

One day I was reviewing some recent satellite photos of Borisovich and his entourage when I noticed a woman that we had seen only rear view winter coat versions of before. She was in Florida so she had a sundress on, with sunglasses and a small hat. She sure looked like Alicia Moore. I quickly put that idea out of my head; coincidences like that do not pop up in real life.

At one brainstorming session shortly after I noticed, and dismissed, Alicia Moore being in a photo with Borisovich a group of us collectively came up with a plan: try and provide false intelligence to Borisovich that one of the lieutenants aside from Marlin is the Fed so even if we couldn't get him on spying we might be able to nail him for murder – since that certainly would be the result. Since the four lieutenants besides Marlin were total and complete scum, who in addition to spying were previously linked to murders and extortion, we had no qualms about that plan. Unfortunately none of us could come up with a good way to make it work.

It wasn't more than three days after our brainstorming session than I was at a Deli for a quick lunch when I heard a distinctive and recognizable female voice say "Brian Dozier, is that you?"

There, in the flesh, no more than five feet away, looking not much different than in High School (except maybe that her tits were bigger – probably not, I just hadn't seen the like of them since High School so they likely just looked bigger) was Alicia Moore.

My unfulfilled need for revenge was the first thing that crossed my mind. The two most disturbing thoughts were smashing her face into the table that I was sitting at, or bending her over the table and fucking her ass. I must have had a blank look on my face when weighing these options because she said "Don't you remember me; I'm Alicia Moore."

That gave me time to think. I quickly came to the conclusion that she was here to use me once again to find out who the Borisovich lieutenant that was the Fed was, and that she may be our vehicle to giving him false information. However, I couldn't bring myself to be friendly even though that might be in the task force's best interests.

"Oh, Hi Alicia Moore," I deadpanned. "What are you doing in D. C.?"

"Oh, I just came here for a vacation – to see the sights in the Nation's Capital, and am staying at a hotel on 18th Street, just a couple of blocks from here. I can't believe my good luck in coming across you – I heard from the alumni office that you lived in this area and are a Federal prosecutor, but didn't expect to see you by chance," she gushed.

I didn't remember keeping in touch with my High School's alumni office – she obviously got her information some other way.

"Well, nice seeing you, but I have some important issues about a spy ring that I have to deal with, so I need to scoot" I seemingly lamented. Of course I never would have mentioned "a spy ring" to anyone else, but I wanted to "chum the waters" to see if she really was associated with Borisovich and would take the bait.

"Oh, before you go, let me just tell you something," she said, sitting down and putting out her chest – like anyone wouldn't already notice it. "I'm in a twelve step program like AA but dealing with past personality issues that I had that I want to reform. One of the steps is apologizing for past wrongs. I know that I wronged you in High School, and I want to make up for it. Would you agree to let me buy you lunch – at a nice restaurant? Please."

Even though my base instinct was still to bend her over the table and dry hole her ass, I did have to think about all of the work that had been put into trying to break up the spy ring. So I gave her a small, less than sincere, grin and said "Maybe we could work something out IF it would help YOU. How long will you be in town?"

"At least a week and my schedule is fluid, so I could extend – or come back," she smiled making a gesture to touch my hand, which I subtly pulled away.

"Why don't you give me your cellphone number and I'll call if I have some time," I replied.

"That would be great," she smiled. "Here's my personal card; my business' name and information is on the front and my cellphone number and personal email address on the back – I only give this out to special people."

After taking the card from her I jumped up, said "Nice seeing you and I'll call if my schedule opens up," and then beat it out of there.

I thought that I heard her say "Bye, bye."

After I exited the Deli, without being seen I looked through the window at her. She was standing and on her cellphone. Even though it hurt me to admit, there was no doubt that she still had the "it" factor since it seemed like ever male in the place was either blatantly or subtly staring at her. Plus, that chest...

When I got back to the office I called all the task force members that weren't in the field together. I immediately put our top tech guy on getting as much information as possible using her cellphone number and email address, even if it required a FISA warrant to be complete. After he took off, the others immediately started pressuring me into meeting with Alicia Moore – and doing whatever it took to plant false information with her.

I made it clear that I would not be doing "whatever it takes," but asked everyone to brainstorm about options. "I'm married and Alicia Moore is the world's expert on using and seducing men – I'm not going there." I gave only brief information about the High School vixen who called herself Alicia Moore, but certainly no details, especially when it came to me.

That night I told my wife about my encounter with Alicia Moore. "Are you going to lunch with her?" she asked.

"Not a chance. We'll find some other way to use her to pass on false information to Borisovich," I sternly replied. Since Alicia Dozier still had her security clearance from the organized crime task force, and was the most discreet person I knew, I had no problems sharing information with her that I never would with any other person outside of the task force.

I changed the subject and she didn't ask anything else, although I could see that curiosity was eating her up since in a weak moment long ago I had told her some details (but certainly not "the best one night stand of my life by a light year") about my interaction with Alicia Moore.

The next day our team tried, unsuccessfully, to come up with any good scenario on how to use Alicia Moore. I could see lots of pleading eyes in the room, but I remained firm.

The day after our failed brainstorming session I was surprised to see both the Attorney General and the Secretary of Homeland Security (both of whom I had met before to brief them about the task force's status) show up at my office mid-morning.

"Madam Secretary, Mr. Attorney General; what brings you here?" I asked as I shook their hands.

Madam Secretary did the talking, and didn't beat around the bush: "I'm going to try to convince you that you have to put the interests of the United States before your own and contact this Alicia Moore woman."

Thereafter ensued a very unpleasant fifteen minute conversation in which the "best interests of the United States" trump card was played over and over again. I was even forced to relate my personal experience with Alicia Moore along with my assessment that she would never be naïve enough to be deceived unless we ended up in the sack. I got some expressions of pity, but nothing more. When they left I hadn't committed, but I lied (because I had made up my mind "No way, no how!") and told them that I'd "Think about it."

"Don't think too long – we can't let her get away," Madam Secretary said before they left.

As I drove home I was trying to think of a way to positively decline without everyone thinking that I was a traitor, and hurting my career. When I entered the house my charming beautiful wife planted a scorcher of a kiss on my lips. "Listen little lady," I beamed (for some reason she liked being called "little lady" even though she was anything but "little") "you better be careful or we're not going to be eating dinner tonight – except for me at the 'Y.'"

"Promises, promises," she laughed and then kissed me again. "So how was your day?"

"Interesting – I'll leave it at that," I replied unwilling to answer questions about why the Secretary of Homeland Security and Attorney General were in my office.

"I had an interesting day at work too. The Secretary of Homeland Security visited me apparently right after she left your office," she smiled as she laid that bombshell on me.

"What...uh...the...fuck...what?" I stammered.

"She wants me to talk you into using Alicia Moore for the good of the United States. She makes a very convincing case," she replied with a smirk.

"No fucking way," I said, trying to walk away.

Did I mention that Alicia Dozier is the strongest woman that I know? Anyway, she grabbed me and wouldn't let go. The only way I could have broken away would be to fight her – and I was pretty sure that she'd clean my clock if I did that.

"Listen to me; let's sit in the living room and talk," she pleaded.

We did sit; she made out the case for contacting Alicia Moore better than the Secretary and Attorney General had including by specifically pointing out that the review of her cellphone and email records didn't lead to anything particularly worthwhile.

"What's your problem? Come clean; you can't hide anything from me; I'm your wife, and love you unconditionally," she finally said, shaking me.

I told her the whole story of my High School interaction with Alicia Moore including my subconscious need for revenge, leaving out only my opinion of how over-the-top great the sex was. I pointed out that Alicia Moore was smart and cunning and would never believe information that I gave her unless she thought that she had tricked me and had a hold over me by getting me in the sack, and that she was the personification of evil; and that I would never cheat on Alicia Dozier, and certainly not with a siren/bitch.

My wife listened carefully, and seemed to be thinking things over. Then she said "For the greater good – saving thousands of women's and girls' happiness and lives – you told me to do what I had to when I was undercover no more than a year ago. Now, can you honestly say that what you're trying to do – break up a spy ring that might have disastrous consequences that we can't even know the extent of at this time – is any less noble?"

I stared at her periodically thinking that she was the most noble, idiotic, patriotic, naïve, or wonderful woman in the world. I stammered "I just don't think that I could do it."

"You don't want revenge on that bitch – something that's been in your subconscious since High School? You can put her in jail for the rest of her life – how's that for revenge?" she announced.

As I was contemplating this she stood up, retrieved a paper from the coffee table, and handed it to me. "This is a separation agreement I had the department attorney draft up as soon as Madam Secretary left my office," she said. "We are legally separated until your mission with Alicia Moore is accomplished," she continued, shoving the one page document – which she had already signed before a notary – in my face.

I read it over. The important parts were paragraphs 2 and 3. Paragraph 2 said that as of tomorrow, during the period of separation I'd get a hotel room paid for by the task force. Paragraph 3 said: "During the period of separation Brian Dozier is relieved of all marital vows and responsibilities regardless of their nature, including sexual exclusivity."

I was stunned. After cogitating for a while I wanted to say "But it isn't mutual, and that's not fair to you." Fortunately, I caught myself. She didn't make this provision so that she could fuck around, just like I didn't when she was undercover; and she would be highly insulted if I said something about mutuality. Her only concern seemed to be relieving me of my guilt.

"Are you sure?" I asked, probably gray-faced.

"I'll show you how sure," she said as she pulled her cellphone out of her pocket and hit a speed dial number. "Michelle," she said into the phone, Michele being our next door neighbor who is a paralegal at a private law firm, "I need you to notarize the document I briefly mentioned to you. Should we come over?...OK, we'll look for you."

"She'll be right over," Alicia Dozier said as she stood up and walked to the front door. No more than ten seconds after she opened the door Michele was there, notary seal in hand. After an exchange of pleasantries I signed the original and two copies of the agreement, Michele notarized each copy, I was given one, Alicia Dozier kept one, and the other was put into a sealed envelope addressed to the Arlington County Clerk's Office which Alicia Dozier asked Michelle to mail the next day.

After Michelle left Alicia Dozier grabbed me by the arm and started leading me to the bedroom. "Let's consummate our separation – then I'll make you a good dinner, then we can consummate some more," she grinned.

The next morning as I packed two suitcases I was both overjoyed and distraught. I was overjoyed with how well that Alicia Dozier had cleaned my pipes the previous few hours and how her love for me came through loud and clear. I was distraught by what I had to do and apprehensive about how it would affect my marriage.

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

I checked into the hotel room the task force had set me up in early in the morning and then called Alicia Moore. She asked me to meet her for lunch at her hotel at noon that very day. We at the task force decided exactly what false information I would give her – over time, without making it obvious – and the IT guys gave me a cellphone charger that if hooked up to her cellphone would download into our server the substance of all of her texts and voice mails. While we had information from the previous FISA warrant about dates and times of texts and voice mails that wasn't of much use except to confirm that she had a relationship with Borisovich; we needed to connect to her phone to get the substance.

Alicia Moore worked faster than even I suspected. What was on her mind was clear when I saw her outfit, which perfectly accentuated her sexuality, including a view of her stupendous mammaries just short of the nipples. With a semi-drunk, completely contrite act, accompanied by the most realistic crocodile tears that I had ever seen, and by – in all modesty – great acting on my part, she had me up in her room by 1:30 p. m. I really didn't want to admit it but when I saw her naked body all I could do was lust.

Although she had been fantastic in High School – to the extent that I could remember it – she had learned some things since then, and unfortunately our first fuck was as physically satisfying as any I had had with Alicia Dozier, although it was completely bankrupt of emotional involvement.

After some pillow talk in which she subtly questioned me about my job she informed me that she had grown very fond of "titty fucking" and would I like to try that. Since titty fucking wasn't an option with my wife I knew that I would feel less guilty about doing that than the pussy fuck I just had, so I agreed. I wasn't prepared for how satisfying it was, however. It was not only physically incredible but ejaculating onto her chest and chin seemed to partially satisfy my craving for revenge since it seemed to me to be demeaning (although the enthusiasm with which she licked her fingers after wiping up the cum seemed to belie my belief that she considered it demeaning).

After those two fucks I begged off, saying that I had to get to work. When she was in the washroom I was able to find and switch her cellphone charger with the one from my IT guys, and was on my cell with a phony call when she exited the bathroom. I stage whispered – so that she could hear me – before I fake terminated the call "Well make sure that our undercover guys aren't made by Boris-shit."

We kissed goodbye and made arrangements to spend the night together.

I honestly don't think that I was dragging things out just because the sex was great – especially the titty fucking – by spending the next three nights with Alicia Moore. Our cellphone charger had worked perfectly and we not only could read all of her texts and voice mails – even deleted ones – but all of her conversations were now bugged. She reported twice a day to Borisovich and some of her comments were enlightening. I was especially intrigued when she playfully told him "Oh, Dimitri, this Brian guy is doing a really good job servicing me. Aren't you the least bit jealous?"

"I told you not to like it too much you bitch," Dimitri snarled on the other end.

"Just teasing," she laughed, in a voice that apparently didn't convince Dimitri.

"When will you have complete information on the traitor or traitors? What you've got so far isn't enough," he pestered.

"He's putty in my hands now; I expect him to reveal things to me tonight or tomorrow night; he's getting more and more careless in making his late night phone calls," she chuckled.

That night, after I ate her, fucked her pussy, and then fucked her tits, when I pretended to be asleep but knew she was still awake I pretended to talk in my sleep. Most was gobbledygook but I interspersed things about "Snake," and "Lover Boy" not being identified by Borisovich.

The next night, after I again ate her, fucked her pussy, and then fucked her tits, I arranged to get a call in the middle of the night. While I exited the bedroom when I took the call, I made sure that she was awake and that the bedroom door was cracked open; in a mirror I could see that she was listening in. One of Borisovich's lieutenants had a snake tattoo on his chest and another "Lover Boy" (in Russian "Lyubovnik") tattooed on his arm. In a stage whisper, sure to be overheard by Alicia Moore if not recorded, I said "We've got to protect Snake and Lover Boy from Boris-shit's suspicion. Can't we give out some false information about one of his other lieutenants to take the pressure off of them? You know if he finds out that they're Feds, including by looking in their glove compartments, that they're toast...OK, let me know if you can plant some social media chatter pointing a finger at one of the loyal lieutenants and away from our guys."

As I terminated the call I heard Alicia Moore subtly sneaking back to bed. When I returned, fake groggy, she asked "What was that, Brian?"

"Nothing my little titmouse," I replied, almost ralphing at my own endearing nickname. "just some business about the spy ring."

"I like to fuck spy chasers," she cackled. "Let your little titmouse make you happy."

With that she sucked my cock hard, mounted me, and while I did my best to maul her tits rode me like an award-winning cowgirl.

By the next morning we had tight surveillance on both Snake and Lover Boy, and days earlier had planted incriminating evidence in the glove compartments of their cars. Alicia Moore did not disappoint. I left her hotel room about 6:40 a. m. and by 6:46 she had placed a call to Borisovich.
"Dimitri, I got the information you need," she excitedly said.

"You better, calling me before seven o'clock," he groaned in a sleepy voice.

"I overheard a conversation where Brian called the traitors Snake and Lover Boy, and said that they needed to remove the incriminating evidence in the glove compartments of their cars, and that he has plans to feed you false information about another lieutenant to distract you from them," she exclaimed.

"Snake and Lover Boy, huh; that can only mean Maxim and Nikita," he snarled. "I'll get everyone over to the warehouse by 10:30 this morning and inspect their glove boxes. Good work, now get the hell out of there," he barked.

"It might be best if I stay one more night to cover my tracks..." she started to say.

"You're just looking for another good fuck, aren't you," he snarled.

"Actually, I was thinking that I could dispose of this Brian guy for you; plant some incriminating evidence on him, or even knock him off," she half-heartedly replied.

"No – check out today; see you in New York tomorrow," Borisovich said before he terminated the call.

When I heard the call back at the office I resolved to do something to get my final revenge on the bitch, while at the same time greasing the skids for convicting Borisovich.

**********

The strike team at Borisovich's NYC warehouse recorded the conversation where he confronted Snake and Lover Boy with the FBI phone numbers and related incriminating evidence in their glove boxes, but waited until they heard the gunshots ending Snake's and Lover boy's lives before charging in. One of Borisovich's goons put up a fight so he was killed by the raiding FBI agents. Three other goons, the three lieutenants (including Marlin for the sake of appearances at this juncture), and Borisovich were led away in cuffs, and charged with murder, racketeering, and spying. Other agents searched the warehouse courtesy of a FISA warrant.

As soon as the news was relayed to me I went back to Alicia Moore's hotel and had two FBI agents wait for me in the lobby. I got a key card to Alicia Moore's room from the manager by showing my credentials, with the agents also showing theirs, and went up to her room and let myself in.

I had a hair brush with a small diameter blunt end handle, lube, duct tape, scissors, and a pair of handcuffs with me.

Alicia Moore was coming out of the bathroom seemingly having just brushed her hair when she heard me enter about 11:20. "Brian, what are you doing here..." she started to inquire.

"Listen titmouse," I said in a voice dripping with sarcasm, "I have some news for you. Dimitri Borisovich and his goons have just been arrested."

"I...I...don't know...anyone by named that...by that name," she stammered.

I approached her, put the handcuffs on her in front of her body, sat her down on a chair and then duct taped her mouth. She struggled, but she isn't very physically strong and I had no trouble subduing her. Then I marched her into the bedroom, but her on her knees on the mattress facing the metal headboard, undid one handcuff and refastened it with the chain secured by a metal post.

I could hear her muffled protests.

As I talked to her I started cutting her clothes off with the scissors. "Alicia Moore, I'm going to do you a favor while exorcising my demons from the way you treated me in High School. The favor is that I'm going to give you an all-time fuck since mine will be the last dick in your pussy, unless it's a prison guard's, for the rest of your life.

Once I finished cutting her clothes off I lubed up the handle of the hairbrush and gently inserted it into her ass. She complained with shouts muffled by the duct tape, but stopped after I moved the handle halfway in, and then seemed to moan more in pleasure than protest. I then started fingering her twat. Proving that she was a total cunt she got sopping wet within about two minutes. I then got behind her on the bed, grabbed her ponderous tits with both hands, and inserted my rock-hard cock into her moist channel.

I banged the bitch as hard as I could while squeezing her tits until I felt a charge of cum boiling in my balls. I then removed one hand from a tit and slowly pulled the hairbrush handle out of her ass as I ejaculated into her. She acted like she had been tasered so powerful was her orgasm from the dual action on her asshole and cunt. She finally calmed down, panting heavily.

While she was still groggy I pulled the duct tape off of her mouth. "Ouch," she moaned. I then got a wash cloth and cleaned off the cum leaking out of her cunt, and the lube visible on her rosebud.

"The FBI will be arresting you shortly; I'll give them a treat and leave you here naked. How does it feel to be used instead of being the user, bitch," I chuckled.

I picked up her cut-up clothes, put them in a laundry bag along with the implements I had brought into her room, and went down to the lobby. I handed the agents the key card and told them that she had just gotten out of the shower when I entered and was uncooperative so I handcuffed her to the headboard. I saw a gleam in their eyes.

I tossed the laundry bag into a garbage can and went back to my office.

I didn't want to immediately go back to my wife for several reasons. Among them was the initial work I had to do to make sure that all of the bookings were done right, and to debrief Dimitri; I wanted to put some time distance between me and Alicia Moore and to get an STD test since all fucking had been done without a condom; I wanted to get an appropriate gift for Alicia Dozier; and I simply needed some time to decompress. I stayed in my hotel room for three nights before going home.

During this time Alicia Moore proved how cunning and resourceful she was by turning state's evidence; she apparently sang like a song bird in the hopes of getting put into witness protection instead of prison (which, unfortunately, she did successfully finagle after agreeing to testify against Borisovich). Since I might be a witness I could no longer handle the prosecution and was assigned to another department. Marlin and the search of the warehouse also provided a treasure trove of evidence so Borisovich and his henchmen were going down for the count whether or not they plead guilty, and the spy ring was smashed.

I waited until I knew that Alicia Dozier would be home from work before I returned. I rang the doorbell and when she answered I held up my copy of the separation agreement which I had just put a match to. She smiled as it went up in smoke, got out her copy, and did the same thing. After planting a passionate kiss on her I gave her the diamond bracelet that I knew that she coveted.

"Welcome back, husband," she smiled. "I hear that the spy ring is smashed."

"How did you know?" I asked.

"The Secretary of Homeland Security called me to thank me, and told me about how you perfectly fed the false information that led to the arrests," she smiled.

"I'm happy to be home wife, and your information is correct. However, there's one thing that yet needs to be done," I grinned.

With that I mustered all of my strength, slung her over my shoulder in a fireman's carry and started marching toward the bedroom while she mock protested as she tried to suppress a giggle.

"Stop complaining," I chuckled, "we need to consummate the end of our separation."

Over the next several hours I did everything to her that she loves the most; we didn't eat food until about ten o'clock, and mated again in the middle of the night.

I awoke the next morning feeling like a two ton weight had been lifted off me, and saw my wife staring at me. "Well?" she said.

"Alicia Moore is purged from my mind forever – and you and I are gonna have four kids and live happily ever after," I grinned.

"If we're gonna have four kids I better get off birth control soon; I'm not getting any younger," she laughed.

"Tomorrow," I said as I stuck my tongue in her mouth and my fingers in her snatch.

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

A week after I returned home we went on our long delayed honeymoon to Aruba. Ten days lying in the sun, swimming in the pool and ocean, getting massages and spa treatments, and fucking whenever we had the chance (including once in the ocean), rejuvenated us completely. With my physics degree, trial experience in the prosecutor's office, and additional courses that I had taken over the years, I was snapped up as an intellectual property trial attorney for a private firm in Seattle within a week of when we got back from our honeymoon. Alicia and Brian Dozier gave their two week notices to their places of employment the next day.

Now ten years later we have three kids – we decided that three is enough since they are all active, and very challenging, and we love them to death – while I make a good living and Alicia Dozier is the head of two local charities while doing a spectacular job of raising our offspring and assisting the volleyball coach at the local High School. My love for Alicia Dozier also seems to grow stronger every day.

Just last week I got a call from a friend of mine at the Justice Department. After some small talk she said "I thought that you might be interested in a bit of news that just came across my desk."

"Really...what, Judy," I replied.

"A woman known as both Constance Danner and Alicia Moore bugged out of witness protection about sixteen months ago. She was found at the bottom of an elevator shaft in NYC yesterday – apparently ruled an accident by the coroner," she related.

"Yeah, right – an accident," I chuckled to myself.

"Thanks Constance; that closes a circle for me."

Aside from a minor blip the news had no effect on me. There had only been one Alicia in my life for more than a decade; I didn't give it another second of thought.