This is another story I've had in my head for a while, and I decided to start it while waiting on the poll for my first one. This tale features heterosexual and lesbian sex, an Arab/Israeli sexfight, irreverent commentary on American and Middle Eastern politics, and flippant treatment of serious international crises. If any of these things offend you, stop right here.
*********
Yasmina al-Hussaini was not the most religious Muslim student at Georgetown University. Born in suburban Detroit to a mixed Syrian/Lebanese family, she had several tattoos, including one of Arabic lettering running down her spine. A frequent visitor to many of Georgetown's student bars, she enjoyed spending seemingly every weekend night on the dance floor, gyrating her lithe, taut body and drinking in the abundant male attention. And she was not above using her sex appeal for other purposes. For example, Yasmina needed to get an A+ in Russian class to get the GPA she wanted, but was currently on track for a B. But there was more than one way for a pretty undergrad to earn a good grade, and right now Yasmina was busy earning it-bent over her Russian professor's couch, her tight jeans, midriff-bearing top, and lacy thong all forgotten on the floor below, moaning as her older but still attractive Russian professor vigorously ate out her pussy from behind. In a few more minutes, the man would stop his oral attention to her womanhood, only to pull Yasmina's head back by her long black hair as he fucked her brains out doggystyle. As Yasmina came to climax after screaming climax, the small part of her brain still capable of rational thought decided this would have been totally worth it even if her grade hadn't been in question.
Indeed, some time later, as she enjoyed the warm afterglow in her professor's arms, still clad in nothing but a sheen of sweat, Yasmina would turn to Professor Ivan and say, with a sly wink, "You're too fucking good at this-you've done this before, haven't you?"
"Oh, yes, several times." said the professor in his distinct Russian accent. "Of course, I could say the same about you. Just last night you were with Zaid Fares, and this past week you were enjoying the attentions of Miss Dominique Ghosn-your third female lover since you came here, I believe-and then before that there was Mark Johnson, David Hardwicke, Richard Newburn..." Ivan went on and on, and Yasmina's mouth hung open wordlessly as her professor somehow demonstrated a better recollection of her love life than she had.
"Of course", Ivan continued, "your amorous adventures are not the only thing you've been up to here. In your freshman year, you ran a Twitter account that alternated between posting pictures of yourself in various attractive outfits and, more importantly, giving a quite well argued defense of the Russian government's actions in Syria. Unfortunately, you had to scrub that account after a jealous ex threatened to denounce you as an 'Assad propagandist', but you soon started an anonymous account-'Bint ash-Sham', isn't it?-making the case-in a very erudite way I might add-for Russia's aid to the Syrian government, and later for Hezbollah's resistance against Israel. Your affection for Russia seems to have grown, for after the beginning of our Special Military Operation in Ukraine, you posted multiple dozen-point twitter threads arguing why our actions were not only justified, but completely necessary. Indeed, I would go so far as to say that you have consistently been one of Russia's best advocates on this campus. A grateful Motherland has noticed."
Yasmina's mouth opened and closed, wordlessly. "How-", she finally managed to stammer-"how the fuck do you know so much about my life?"
"A fair question," said Ivan. "I must confess that Russian Professor at Georgetown is not my only job in the United States, or even my primary one. I also work for Russian intelligence, and for many years my job has been to monitor the goings on at Georgetown-this university trains a whole lot of American spies-er, I mean diplomats-and its quite helpful to our government to have someone monitor them in their formative years. As I said, you came to our attention for a different reason. Russia is very much aware of your advocacy on our behalf, and we thank you."
"What can I say?", said Yasmina. "I'm a Shia Arab, even if I don't go to mosque much and do...other stuff I probably shouldn't do." She guestured around at the general situation, and her and Ivan's state of undress. "But I do remember my people, and try to defend them as best I can-and Russia has been our people's finest ally as far as I'm concerned. But why are you telling me all of this now, Mr. Russian Intelligence? You want something from me-I can sense it."
"You are correct," said Ivan. "I have a request for you. Or rather an opportunity. And opportunity best suited for someone with your brains, and your"-Ivan gave a sly wink-"other talents."
"And just what would that be?", said Yasmina-nervous, but also rather curious.
"I trust", said Ivan, "a politically astute girl like you knows who Representative Jackson Hawthorne is?"
"Freshman congressman from North Carolina," said Yasmina. "MAGA firebrand. Father owns a chain of...car dealerships, I think? Anyway, he got elected to congress with Daddy's money and says the most outrageous right wing crap I've ever heard. Thinks he can out-Trump Trump. And now I'm really curious, what the fuck does Congressman Hawthorne have to do with me?"
"Hawthorne has, you might say, a...turbulent personal life." said Ivan. "Married and divorced before he was 25, sleeps with every woman in DC he can coax into his bed."
"Yes, I've heard the rumors." said Yasmina. "And if for some reason you've decided to have me have sex with that arrogant prick-well, I'm really very sorry, but that's too far even for me."
"Well, there's another thing about Hawthorne that you probably don't know, but which has come to Russian intelligence. Mr. Hawthorne has, using anonymous accounts in several private chat rooms, expressed sympathy for the Russian position in Ukraine...and also for the plight of Palestine and Lebanon."
"Really? Hawthorne, pro-Palestinian?!", said Yasmina. "I never would have guessed."
"Only tentatively, and anonymously. But we think he can be...guided in the direction we want. Imagine an anti-Israeli, anti-Ukraine figure of Hawthorne's stature in MAGA world. The whole direction of the Republican party might be changed. And that, my dear Yasmina, is where you come in. You applied to be an intern at the Capitol, have you not?"
"Yes, and I haven't hard back." said Yasmina.
"We have the contacts to make sure you hear back, and that you get placed in Hawthorne's office. Once there, you are to seduce him-considering how he usually treats secretaries that probably won't be too hard, but we need more from you-we need you to make him fall in love with you. To trust you utterly. To regard you as a close confidant. At that point, he is certain to start having political conversations with you. And once that happens, you are to lead those conversations in a...certain direction. I trust you know what that direction is."
Yasmina sat in thought. "You're right-converting Hawthorne to our cause would be an absolute bonanza. Something tells me the guy has the smallest dick in the world, but I guess I could do it...for Lebanon, for my homeland."
"I thought you would say that eventually," said Ivan, "but I didn't realize you would come around so soon. You truly are a very remarkable woman, Yasmina."
"Thank you," said Yasmina. "And now, before I go off to do my duty, could you be so kind as to give me one more proper fuck, Mr. Russian Spy?"
"With pleasure." said Ivan.
***************
Adara Cohen laid back on the couch, her breathing growing shallower and shallower. Her eyes were closed, her long red hair was splayed out on the pillow behind her. Her naked body, thin and lithe without an ounce of fat, was clothed in nothing but sweat, and her pert breasts jutted towards the ceiling, their nipples erect and hard. The cause of Adara's condition was readily apparent-Esti, the female Israeli bartender at one of Adara's favorite spots, currently had her head buried between Adara's legs, her magical tongue working Adara's pussy towards a truly shattering climax. Usually, Adara preferred men, but there were some women who she could make an exception for-like Esti, who though a bit older than Adara still had a curvy, attractive figure, wavy blonde hair and irresitable lips. Not to mention the mysterious stories the woman liked to tell about her time in Mossad and Israeli special forces. Altogether, Esti was an enigma, a fascinating, delicious enigma, and from the time Adara had met Esti-in her first week back in the US as a student at Georgetown-she had been determined to get to know everything there was to know about her older countrywoman, to feel and explore every part of Esti she possibly could. And oh-thought Adara the instant before she screamed out her orgasm-it was a truly delectable pursuit.
After they were done-and Adara's tongue had returned the favor to Esti multiple times over-Esti got up and walked, naked, to her apartment's closet, coming back with a box. She had a serious look on her face, one that seemed utterly at odds with the lovemaking they'd just had. Adara was about to ask Esti what was wrong when Esti opened the box. Adara immediately recognized its contents-she'd done her required service with the IDF in military intelligence, and had seen the kind of radios Mossad gave to field agents. In the box next to the radio were a bunch of small notepads with seemingly random numbers: one-time pads, Adara realized, used for decrypting secret messages. And suddenly, the realization washed over Adara-Esti was not a former Mossad agent, she was a current Mossad agent. And-even more remarkable-she was letting Adara in on this.
"Why-why are you showing me this now?" Adara stammered.
"I have a mission for you." said Esti in a serious voice. "A mission that requires a current Georgetown college student with American citizenship and exceptional talents in the bedroom. With both men and women."
Adara beamed inside. It was high praise coming from her lover, and Esti had involved her in multiple threesomes and so was definately in a position to know. "And what is this mission?" asked Adara, her voice burning with curiousity.
"Mossad has picked up intelligence about a joint Russian/Iranian influence operation in progress. Specifically, Russia and Iran aim to plant a spy in the office of Congressman Jackson Hawthorne in order to seduce him to the Palestinian cause. Their agent is going to be an Arab student here, though we don't yet know her identity. And we need to stop it-our enemies could do incalculable damage if they compromise Hawthorne."
"I see." said Adara. "And just where do I come into this?"
"You are an American citizen, so you are eligible to serve as an intern in Congressman Hawthorne's office. We'll have our contacts get you a place there. Once you have Hawthorne's eye, you are to...persuade him to the Israeli cause, by any means necessary." A smirk crossed Esti's face and Adara returned it-Hawthorne's reputation was legendary in DC, and part of Adara had been quite curious to try him out and see if he was as juicy a morsel as was rumored.
"Also," said Esti, "you are to watch the other staffers in Hawthorne's office. One of them, a woman your age with an Arab background, will be the Russian agent...and you are to destroy her. I'll let you figure out how." A wolfish grin crossed Adara's face. "Don't worry, Esti. I know...quite a few tricks. Most women become rather addicted to me in short order. And that leads to all kinds of delicious possibilities."
A light danced in Esti's eyes as she leaned in to kiss Adara. "Oh my devious little darling. Before you go seducing and betraying that poor Arab girl, I think you should...seduce me a little bit more. For training purposes of course."
"With pleasure." said Adara as she began to kiss her way down Esti's stomach.
