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Cynthia is the manageress at the 5* Spanish hotel I’m staying in. She’s wearing a charcoal grey trouser suit and high heels, very professional. She’s a confident woman, running the hotel with efficiency and a friendly face. But she’s not the sort of person to get on the wrong side of, as her staff know when they’re caught slacking. But even the strictest bosses can be brought under control.
I meet Cynthia when I check in. She’s standing behind the desk overseeing the receptionists, making sure they deliver the right customer service. I make friendly conversation with the girl on the desk while Cynthia stands behind. From the corner of my eye I catch her giving me the up and down, looking secretly impressed by my taut chest and arms in white Hugo Boss shirt, or maybe the Acqua di Parma fragrance I’m wearing. When I return the stare she turns away, pretending she hasn’t noticed.
I spend the day in Barcelona following a local businessman around town from bar to bar, sampling tapas and drinking cold beer while keeping tabs on him. MI6 believes he’s helping to fund terrorism in Spain, the financier of a small sleeper cell based in the city. I follow him from meeting to meeting, drink to drink in the warm summer sun. By the end I’m a little tipsy, but I’ve managed to record most of his conversations on hidden camera. Now I’m done for day and head back to the hotel.
Cynthia is sitting in the grand lobby when I pass through in light blue Ralph Lauren shirt and khakis. She looks up and stares at me as I approach, but quickly turns away when I get close, pretends to get back to the document she’s reading. But I have plans for Cynthia, the strict fox.
Later that night I’m sitting on my balcony watching the sunset over Barcelona. I’ve opened a bottle of complimentary Champagne from an ice bucket in the room. And I want Cynthia. I want to strip that professional upstanding manageress, see what she’s got on underneath. I call down to reception and complain that the bathtub in my room is broken, water isn’t flowing from the taps. I request it be seen to immediately, unacceptable in a 5* hotel.
Ten minutes later I get a knock at the door. As I expected, Cynthia is standing there, the perfectionist, seeing to guests’ problems herself. I let her in and close the door.
Cynthia smiles awkwardly as she enters my room and walks past my Louis Vuitton case to the bathtub. Seconds later water is flowing. My mistake I tell her, must be the Spanish faucets causing confusion. She smiles, brushing back her blonde hair and apologising for the confusion. Then she starts making for the door, like a decent professional would. But Cynthia’s night is just beginning.
I stop her on the way out and request that, as a courtesy for the confusion, she join me for a glass of Champagne. She resists at first, explaining how she must get back to work. But in the end she can’t resist the British charm and agrees to stay for one glass.
Three glasses later and Cynthia the strict professional has her lips locked round mine, putting her hand against my hard chest. I move my arm up her thigh, caressing her from outside her suit trousers. She pulls away and tries to explain that doing this is against all the rules. But it’s too late. I put a finger over her lips.
Then, standing in the room, I tear her white blouse open, buttons popping, revealing her bulging breasts in tight black lacy bra. She gasps as her bra is exposed. But she doesn’t resist. Now I’m in charge.
I order Cynthia to move over to the bathtub. She obeys. I sit down on a chair in front of her, glass of Champagne in hand. Cynthia looks anxious, uneasy about not being in control for once. I tell her to slowly take off her blouse and then slide down her suit trousers. Finally, she accepts that she’s mine tonight and hesitantly does what she’s told, slipping her trousers down to reveal a tiny black lace thong and belly jewel, kinky girl. Her blonde hair hangs down over her cleavage.
I tell her to sit on the edge of the bathtub. Anxiously she climbs into the tub and perches on the edge of the cold ceramic, hands between her legs. She looks over at me like an innocent girl, but her lacy black lingerie suggests she secretly wants to get done hard. I finish my Champagne and move over to her. She tenses up as I get close, but keeps looking into my eyes, not resisting.
Time to show this manageress who’s in charge. I grab hold of Cynthia’s long blonde hair and pull it back behind her head. She looks up at me. Then, climbing into the bathtub, I move Cynthia towards the edge. Again she explains that she must be getting back to work. But there’s no going back now.
She gasps again as I bend her over the side of the bathtub, her upper body out of the tub, hands touching the floor outside. No more time for excuses. Holding her hair back with one hand, I rip her black lacy thong down to her knees with the other, exposing her smooth private area from behind.
And without giving her another chance to object, I drive myself so far inside her from behind. She cries out and reaches up to clutch the sides of the tub. I leave myself deep inside her for a few moments, letting her know that I’m in charge now. Then slowly I slide all the way back out to the edge of her hole. She takes a breath, but she’s not wet yet. So I drive in all the way again and she whimpers. She’s not the boss now; she’s all mine.
Her body is forced forward as I thrust in, then out, in, then out until I can feel she’s getting wet. I get faster and harder as she tries to hold onto the sides of the bathtub. But her hands are slipping. I keep hold of her hair so she can’t move too far forward, so I can push myself all the way into her each time.
Like a machine, I get faster and harder. She cries out each time I enter her tight hole, my length stretching her to the limit. I manage to unclip her black bra as I’m thrusting forward, letting her bulging breasts break free. Her bra falls to the floor. Her tits bounce back and forward over the bathtub.
I screw Cynthia hard, going so deep inside her each time. Until I start to feel her body tensing up, her hands clutching the bathtub sides tighter. And then she pushes back into me as I drive into her, not allowing herself to be forced so far forward. She explodes, crying out and moaning as I continue steaming into her from behind. I don’t let her relax though; she orgasms bent over the bathtub while I keep pumping her.
Eventually I start slowing down, letting her catch her breath. But I keep hold of her hair. She lets out some final moans and groans as I come to a stop. And she thinks it’s all over. But I’m not letting her regain control just yet.
Finally, I pull out of Cynthia. And clutching her hair I turn her round viv thomas girls to face me. Her face is red and flustered, her body damp. She’s out of breath, but can see I’m rock hard and that means she’s still got work to do. With a handful of her blonde hair in my grasp, I push her head down my chest. She obeys. And then, crouched down in the bathtub, she breathes in before putting her mouth around my hard column.
agentsandstorm