The spy (8)

My eyes slowly flutter open. The mattress under me is soft and plushy, holding me like I’m weightless. Soft sunlight spills into the room through the windows, and I can’t tell if it is morning or evening. Hell, I don’t even know how long I’ve been here. My body feels like Jello, a feeling I’ve only ever experienced after a visit to the spa. I don’t remember being to a spa lately.

As the grogginess fades and clarity returns, memories of our escapades flood my mind. Color rises to my cheeks when I remember how I had begged the men to please me. I remember yelling at them to fuck me already, and boy, they did. They fucked me good. Every part of me got the attention of their loving hands, their supple lips, and their delicious cocks. I have never had such incredible sex in all my years of being sexually active. Thinking about it alone is enough to make my opening tingle.

But something doesn’t add up. With all that much action, I expected my body to be very sore right now, but I am extremely relaxed. Is there something I’m missing? Then it clicks. I remember being carried to a bath and the gentle care they gave me after. I fell asleep in the tub. Naked. I look down at myself, and I’m in a pair of warm sweatpants and a t-shirt that looks three sizes bigger than me. It is long enough to pass as a minidress. No one has to tell me whose they aren’t mine because that is common sense. It is either First Guy’s or Thirst Trap’s.

There are no bruises on my skin. Odd. No matter how great they were with aftercare, there should be some soreness and a little bruising from all the spanking, whips, and restraints on my hands. There is none of that. Not even a little change of color. I clench my insides to feel any discomfort just in case my eyes are deceiving me. Nothing. In fact, my core feels excited at the little movement.

Could it be that I imagined everything? Was this all just a long, sweet dream of all my womanly cravings? Could it be that I’m still in my hotel room, in my bed, and I never left this place the whole time? Does it mean that there were no hotties worshiping my body like that? No. That can’t be! A wave of disappointment washes over me in a way I didn’t expect.

I spring up to a sitting position and frantically scan the room, looking for evidence that everything did really happen as I remember. The room is big and cozy, but it looks modernized, unlike the cabin in my dreams. I can’t lose the feelings and the experiences I had with them. I want to meet them again. I want them pleasuring me again. I couldn’t get enough of those two perfect creations. The thought that maybe I never even had them in the first place crushes my heart. I close my eyes and say a silent prayer.  Lord, please let it not be a dream.

I scamper out of bed and rush to the bathroom, almost falling when I trip on air. The first thing I do is strip naked and look at myself in the mirror. Like, really look. Still nothing. My body is as good as new. My shoulders slump, and the little hope I had crumbles.  I drag myself over to the toilet and sit there in disappointment. I refuse to believe none of that was real. It felt way too real to be a figment of my imagination. There has to be a way to figure this out.

Minutes later, I return to the room and plop down in a black loveseat sitting in front of a small tv mounted on the wall. The remote sits a few inches away from me, and I reach for it. What other great way to pass time than to watch some random ass show on TV?  I flick it on, and right before I start searching for something to watch. Then my face pops up on the screen.

I freeze. It is a photo of me in my military uniform, and it is not just any photo. It is a photo that is normally used when a soldier falls in the line of duty. The photo zooms out, and I catch the ceremonial proceedings taking place.

“O MY GOD!” The remote clatters on the floor as my former boss reads my obituary. “WHAT DO YOU MEAN I’M DEAD?!” I shriek as I stare at the screen in disbelief. I’m standing right here alive and healthy. Why the hell does the world think I’m dead?

“We did all we could, but we were still too late,” the boss finally says as he flips the next page. “The Russians still got us.”

Bullcrap! Anger consumes me the more I listen to those pretentious people. They did nothing to get me out of that precarious situation. No one showed up for that extraction. They left me about to die alone in enemy territory. What right do they have to be shedding crocodile tears over there and holding a ceremonial funeral for me? Could it be that this was their plan all along?

Strength leaves my limbs as I put two and two together. The worst still happened, and my file was eventually buried in the ‘missing in action’ file. That was a tactical elimination. I’m dead to the world, which means I can no longer return home or to the base. I am a person who is no longer allowed to be alive, even if I do show up alive. The only welcome I will receive is a shriek from my family members or a shot through the head from my superiors. Ghosts are not allowed to roam around in the land of the living. Which means I’m now stuck here, wherever this is.

But something doesn’t add up. Where am I and why am I here? How long have I been here? The memories I have, and the reality don’t tally. Nothing makes sense. I need answers, answers I don’t know where to get them.

Before I spiral, the door cracks open, and I snap my face towards the sound, ready to fight or flee. I leap to my feet at the sight of the person who enters, and before I can stop myself, I throw myself into his arms. I have never been so excited to see someone. It wasn’t a dream, and I am not crazy. First Guy is real!