Langley, Virginia.

Former Middle East war orphan and current CIA operative Aisha Nabih glanced at the surveillance cameras situated in each of the conference room’s upper corners. “Is it just me or are there more cameras in this room than usual?” She muttered to her blonde colleague as they settled into their seats, a manila dossier lying in front of each of the half dozen agents. They patiently waited until the aging CIA director, a once magnificent lion of a man, his now portly physique a remnant of past glories, entered, welcomed his guests, dimmed the lights overhead and began the mission briefing.

“This is our primary target: Maximillian ‘Max’ Vaughin. In front of you is a file containing all relevant information. In summary, he served in the Marines for 5 years out of high school, graduated from MIT, worked in the public sector for several years and then founded Skywatch: a company that specializes in UAV military technology and is one of our primary contractors.” Throughout the director’s speech, a slideshow of Vaughin’s life was played, ultimately settling on him in his mid 40’s: bespectacled, sea-foam green eyes. Short, curly, auburn hair. His chin alternated between cleanly shaven or a 5 o’clock shadow. And though he’d left the military almost 2 decades ago, his physique would be right at home amongst his former corpsmen. But ultimately, there was something unnervingly, just ever so slightly, unattractive about him, leaving his complexion mysteriously less than the sum of its conventionally appealing parts. “However, we suspect that Vaughin might be using his company to smuggle heroin out of Afghanistan.”

One woman raised her hand. “Can’t we arrest him, seize his assets and investigate his activities?”

“Negative. Our evidence is flimsy at best and we’d jeopardize our hitherto symbiotic relationship. Additionally, we’re currently negotiating a new contract with Skywatch.” This elicited a loud scoff from another operative, her arms folded across her chest, which the director ignored.

“Vaughin’s divorced. He shares custody of his 2 children with his wife: Andrew, 12, and Lauren, 20. In particular, Lauren studies at Columbia University and is due to stay with her father for the month of August at his Malibu residence. We’ve approached Lauren and successfully convinced her to aide us with our investigation.”

The director hesitated, countenance contorted with emotion, shoulders clenched as though steeling himself. “I won’t mince words: you’ve been assembled here because you’re all attractive women, best suited for this honeypot operation.” The ladies’ leader stated bluntly, his countenance now resolute. “Half of you will pose as Lauren’s fellow undergraduates, whom Mr. Vaughin has agreed to host at his residence for a month, under the alibi that it’s your first time visiting L.A..”

“Additionally,” The director swallowed down a lump. “Vaughin frequents a private, high society BDSM swingers club hosted at Santa Catalina Island on a weekly basis. It’ll be the entry point for those who can’t masquerade as Lauren’s peers. Vaughin is known to bring back escorts using his private helicopter, even extensively retain them for his own pleasure before release.”

“You’re to gain his confidence using whatever means necessary. Investigate his home, monitor his daily communications, track his comings and goings. Because of Vaughn’s career, his home has premier security which encompasses 2 underground levels: armed guards, laser tripwires, heat sensors, the whole 9 yards. Ideally, this level of security suggests that there’s something incriminating underground. Breaking in without arousing suspicion will undoubtedly be difficult and take days, perhaps weeks, so prepare yourselves.”

Half the ladies were readily contemplating Vaughin’s picture, clearly daydreaming a sojourn in the lap of luxury. From the right angle, the man was handsome enough to give a couple tumbles. Hell, the sex might even be passable. But trepidation etched the others’ wary faces because though the occupation’s risks were ubiquitous, not one of them had actually participated in a honeypot before, and the man onscreen clearly wasn’t some fresh meat youngling who’d drunkenly reveal his secrets after a taste of anal. They could easily be bed a dozen times over, their suspended bodies subjected to welts all over, violated in ways even their significant others abstained from, and still have ultimately nothing to show for it except cum and handprints all over.

“Ideally, this a cooperative effort, but since you’re all eligible for promotion and there’s limited positions, the higher ups and I have decided that whichever 2 of you fine ladies who secure the most convicting evidence will be promoted. But competitiveness aside, don’t sabotage your fellow agents or blow your cover unless you’re certain that all agents can evacuate safely. Questions?”

When all the operatives had left the room and the director was alone, his stature crumpled inward like a paper sheet squashed between a man’s palms. He fumbled for his cell phone and brought it to his ear, looking directly at one of the cameras. 3 dials tones later, the line was picked up. “Mr. Vaughin, was… everything to your liking?”

“Yes. I look forward to meeting them all.” The man answered.

The director’ swallowed, then meekly muttered, “And in return, you’ll delete all the aeronautical footage of our smuggling operation?”

“If they meet my expectations.” A click and the line went dead.

The director’s chin hung low, but there was nothing else he could do. No, there was one thing. Hands clasped together, he silently prayed for God’s forgiveness for having condemned those unsuspecting, innocent women to a lust-ruled life that they didn’t deserve.

My vision: This is ideally aimed at a GM willing to play (and/or share control of) multiple female operatives who believe they’re conducting a honeypot operation on a billionaire military manufacturer only to ultimately discover after weeks of seduction, that their lives have been sold out by their own organization to cover up their government’s illegal overseas involvement. No objections to you having a main character as other operators will be introduced gradually throughout this initially light, but ultimately dark story.

Anyone who’s followed me knows that I’ve several prompts dedicated to DPP’s deliciously smutty buttslut writers. This one’s especially dedicated to the grandiose, lavish writers who focus on a woman’s catastrophic fall from grace.

Relevant Kinks: Betrayal, Corruption/Mindbreak/Ahegao, D/S, BDSM, Non/Dub-Con, Sloppy Oral, Huge Cocks, Cock and Ball Worship, Violent/Rough Sex, Drugs/Aphrodisiacs/Alcohol, Anal, Blackmail/Coercion, Sleep Play, Degradation/Humiliation.

My Profile