Sexual Service

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1

Copyright © 2000 by Ray Gordon.

First published in Great Britain in 2000

by Hodder & Stoughton

A division of Hodder Headline PLC

First published in paperback in 2000

By Hodder & Stoughton

First published as an E-book in 2005 by Ray Gordon.

The rights of Ray Gordon to be identified as the author

of Sexual Service has been asserted by him in accordance

with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be

reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted,

in any form or by any means without the prior written

permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in

any form of binding or cover other than that in which it

is published and without a similar condition being imposed

on the subsequent purchaser.

All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

2

lexis Spew, head of the British Secret Service, slouched at his desk and shook his head A despairingly as he opened a red folder marked
Sleaze File - Top Secret
. Sex scandals involving MPs were rife, and the Prime Minister was far from happy. The odd cabinet member caught with his trousers down and his purple knob embedded in a prostitute’s gobbling mouth was one thing. And MPs strutting about on Clapham Common dressed in red miniskirts and fishnet stockings was almost acceptable. But hordes of half-naked MPs in compromising positions regularly spotted in public toilets was intolerable.

With sleaze continually fronting the tabloids, the PM had instructed Spew to root out the guilty cabinet members and have them discreetly done away with. “I’ve had enough,” the PM

had stated firmly during his visit to Spew’s office. “The newspapers are full of stories concerning MPs lurking on the common seeking the disgusting and unwholesome services of rent boys. Last Sunday’s story was one blow-job too many.”

Spew had immediately realized that this was a job for top Special Agent, Dick Shaft. But, as always seemed to be the case when Dick’s services were required, he was in Moscow on another assignment. Special Agent Miss Flange would have been an ideal candidate for such a mission, but she’d disappeared in action some three years previously. There was only one man available for the job, the infamous Special Agent, Haynes Blond.

3

A knock sounding on the door, Spew looked up from the file and grimaced. His narrow eyes frowning over his gold-rimmed glasses as a good-looking young man entered the office, he brushed his greying hair back. “If only Dick was here,” he murmured, opening a small bottle of Valium and making a mental note to buy some more
Black as Midnight hair dye for ageing men
.

Swallowing a pill, he sighed as he rested his elbows on the desk.
Any special agent would have
been better than Blond,
he reflected irritably, rubbing his lined forehead
. The fucking cleaning
woman would have been a better option than Blond!

“My name’s Blond, Haynes Blond,” the besuited man grinned as he breezed across the plush carpet. “Blond by name, dark by nature. Unlike your hair, sir.”

“You’re an arsehole, Blond,” Spew returned agitatedly, banging his fist on the desk.

“And leave my hair out of it. Do you think I don’t know who you are?”

Blond loosened his crumpled, beer-stained, red polyester, Marks and Sparks tie. “I apologise profusely for my arsehole, sir,” he said wryly. “I was simply practising my intro.”

“Your intro?”

“My name’s Blond, Haynes Blond. That’s how I introduce myself. It also helps to remind me who I am when I doubt my identity, as I quite often do.”

“You doubt your identity?” Spew echoed, rubbing his aching fist.

“Only my sexual identity, sir. Er ... Who am I? Oh, yes. My name’s Blond, Haynes Blond. By the way, I had beans on toast for breakfast.”

“Shut the fuck up, Blond,” Spew growled. “Where the hell have you been for the last three months?”

On a severe bender
. “Er ... On a secret mission, sir. A secret missionary position.”

“On fucking holiday, more like. I won’t even mention your expense account.”

4

“It has been creeping up of late. I mean my account, not my ...”

“Blond, you were supposed to have returned from Morocco at the end of June. It’s now fucking September.”

“You really should try and curb your foul language, sir.”

“I’ll curb your balls in a minute.” Spew paused, straightening his bow tie as he scrutinized Blond. “Where
have
you been?” he finally asked, wondering how one would curb someone’s balls.

“Enjoying beans on toast.”

“Before that, you fool!”

“Er ... I was waylaid, sir. I had a spot of bother with customer services ... I mean, customs. They took an unhealthy interest in a plastic bag they discovered in my suitcase. When they noticed that it contained white powder ...”

“White powder?”

“Er ... Talcum powder. It’s for ... It’s a present for a young tart who squats over my face.

Actually, she squats in a dirty, filthy, basement bedsit in Brixton.”

“A present?” Spew echoed.

“I should say, it
was
a present. The customs officer deemed it his duty to confiscate the aforementioned bag of powder. He also had me incarcerated by the balls, which I found rather pleasant. I mean, most painful. Still, I’d rather be incarcerated than incinerated.”

Spew held his hand to his head. “I worry about you, Blond,” he sighed.

“Worry killed the cat, sir.”

“
Curiosity
killed the cat. I’m also worried about your psychiatric tests. I’m expecting the results at any time.”

“There’s nothing like a result,” Blond chortled. “So, what’s on the gender bender?”

5

“On the what?”

“What’s on the agenda?”

Spew’s voice took on a serious note as he locked his narrow eyes to Blond’s. “The PM

was here yesterday. He gave me a right seeing to across this very desk.”

“Lucky you,” Blond sniggered. “I haven’t had a right seeing to across a desk since I last popped into the local girls’ school and ...”

“This is serious, Blond. The Prime Minister is concerned about sex and ...”

“I’m not surprised, if that’s the sort of thing he gets up to. It’s bloody disgusting, carrying on like that. Which reminds me of the time I was in a cute little whorehouse in ...”

“Stop waffling and pay attention, Blond!”

“Yes, sir.”

“Sex scandals are rife within the government and the PM wants those involved discreetly done away with.”

“Killed, sir?”

“If necessary.”

“That reminds me. I must remember to buy some brown bread. I just hate beans on white toast without brown sauce.”

“Blond!”

“Sorry, sir. I was making a mental note.”

“That shouldn’t be too difficult for you. So, what the hell do you suggest we do about ...”

Ignoring Spew, Blond walked over to the map of the world adorning the far wall and began mumbling to himself. Wondering what he was up to, Spew finally came to the conclusion that he was probably devising a dastardly plan to do away with the perverted MPs. There again, 6

Blond never came up with a plan, dastardly or otherwise. Apart from plans to lure young girls into bushes and rip their cunny-wet knickers off.

Watching Blond run his finger over America, Spew pondered on rounding up the perverted MPs and packing them off to some remote island. Far away from the shores of Great Britain, they could carry on with their disgusting and highly illegal ways without upsetting the electorate.
Better still, castrate the filthy bastards
, he mused.

“Stroke me, baby,” Blond murmured abstractly, turning on his heels and facing Spew.

“Stroke your what?”

“Stroke me, baby. It’s a chat-up line I used in a seedy bar in Mexico. Although I say it myself, it worked rather well. She was a randy bit of skirt with bloody great knockers and a shaved ... What time do Sainsbury’s close?”

“For God’s sake, Blond! We are
not
here to discuss your sordid exploits, or the opening hours of supermarkets.”

“Sorry, sir. Please, carry on.”

“Thank you. The tabloids are full of sleaze concerning the government. The PM wants us to discover which cabinet members are involved and ...” Spew paused, frowning disapprovingly as Blond nonchalantly unzipped his trousers and hauled his balls out. “Blond, what the hell are you doing?”

“Scratching my bollocks, sir. I picked up a nasty little rash when I was in Morocco. She was a horny little tart by the name of ...”

“Do your trousers up, man! For fuck’s sake, Miss Honeycunny might come in.”

“She might come off when she sees my equipment.”

7

“Talking of equipment,” Spew said, rising from his chair. “I want to show you something in the lab.”

Time for a wind up
, Blond mused, frowning at Spew. “I know how much you like me, sir.

But I’d rather not go to the lav’ with you.”

“The
lab
, you fool!” Spew returned, his anger rising as he stared hard at Blond. “And I don’t like you at all.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. There again, I’m not surprised. By all accounts, I was a most unlikable child. A most unlikable child most unliked by most. My mother couldn’t stand the sight of me and my father ... I don’t think I had a father.”

“You do this deliberately, don’t you?”

“What’s that, sir?”

“Try to annoy me. You deliberately try to annoy me. And put your balls away.”

“
Me
, try to annoy you? Nothing could be further from my mind,” Blond replied, zipping his trousers.

“If I believed that, I’d believe anything.”

Opening a door behind the desk, Spew walked into the laboratory and tripped over an electric cable lying on the floor. “Fuck!” he spat, hauling himself up as Blond sniggered. The sound of whirring computers resounding around the lab, Blond gazed at a bank of panels of flashing lights as he walked across the tiled floor. A group men in white coats fiddling with a piece of electronic equipment, others scribbling on clipboards, the place was a hive of industry.

Turning his attention to a curvaceous young woman as she bent over to pick up her pen, he plunged his hands into his trouser pockets - which he’d cut holes in should an occasion like this arise - and fiddled with his stiffening cock. Eyeing the woman’s tight red panties faithfully 8

following the contour of her rounded buttocks as he massaged his swollen knob, he imagined slipping his solid penis deep into the hot shaft of her anal canal.

“What does this look like?” Spew asked, grabbing a mobile phone from a bench.

“It looks like something worth pursuing,” Blond grinned, his eyes locked to the young lady’s rounded buttocks, her taut panties clearly defining the deep gully of illicit pleasure between her anal orbs. “I’d love to slip my bayonet right up her ...”

“Your bayonet?” Spew broke in, following Blond’s gaze. “I’m talking about
this
,” he snapped, waving the phone in front of Blond’s face.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Er ... It’s a mobile phone, sir.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Spew laughed triumphantly. “It
looks
like a mobile phone but ...” His smiling eyes frowning as Blond unashamedly fiddled with his tackle through his pocketless trousers, he shook his head. “Pay attention, Blond,” he sighed exasperatedly. “I haven’t got all day.”

“Sorry, sir.”

“Now, this is a neat little gadget designed by our top scientists,” he continued as Blond again focused on the firm globes of the young woman’s alluring buttocks. “Are you listening to me, Blond?”

“Mmm? Oh, yes. Intently, sir.”

“This is a technological fucking breakthrough.”

“You’re swearing again, sir. What does it do?”

“I can’t tell you, that’s classified information. Apart from the nature of its function being classified information, I have no idea what it does. But you are to carry it with you at all times. It could save your life.”

9

“Life’s a bitch and then you die,” Blond quipped. “I shall keep it about my person, sir. In my jacket pocket, to be precise.”

“You do that, Blond. And now for your new car.” Spew walked across the lab and opened two huge metal doors. “There it is,” he beamed proudly. “This is the result of years of work.”

Gazing in amazement at the vehicle, Blond scratched his head. He’d driven some amazing cars in his time, but nothing like this.
I can’t believe it!
he thought as Spew opened the driver’s door and began rambling on about the host of electronic gadgets that had been fitted to the vehicle. Blond eyed the alloy wheels, the deep-throat exhaust and the blackened windows.
I
can’t drive a
... Breaking Blond’s reverie, Spew climbed out of the car and clapped his hands.