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London. Multicultural beacon of wealth and commerce. Home of her Majesty the Queen, the Prime Minister, the Houses of Parliament, and the best (arguably) apple-topped Pork Pie in all of Europe. However! We needn’t labour the point over our fair old city with its dismal parking prospects and militia of 3* Kebab and/or Chip shops, as we are, in fact, following the Mark 3 as it flies through the warm summer air just over East Finchley. Still; London, more or less.
The world’s greatest secret agent and the world’s most incompetent assistant were speeding home to their post-box flat in Mayfair after a trying day of saving the world from the heinous Baron Von Greenback and his Continental lackey Stiletto. This time, the terrible toad had replaced the whole of Britain’s evaporated milk and sugar stores with bicarbonate of soda (baking soda for you yanks), and all the Nation’s tea and coffee with a powdered vinegar concoction, resulting in several sour volcanos erupting all over the world’s workplaces, offices, kitchens, and boardrooms, in turn, throwing the country into complete and utter disarray.
Of course, the White Wonder had effortlessly thwarted the villain’s plans; a bit TOO effortlessly, as far as he was concerned, if his furrowed brow and fidgeting were evidence.
A little known fact, dearest reader, that Her Majesty’s Secret Service will forever endeavour to hide, is that their Greatest Secret Operative has a fatal flaw. Not his keenness for perfection, nor his more than Roman nose, mind you. No.
For Dangermouse was powerfully and most assuredly insatiable.
Indeed; DM had an unquenchable energy that he spent through his regular missions, pre-dawn 25k, daily gruelling workouts, and vitamin enriched, protein-packed diet. But when any of these were missed or diminished somehow, his amazing and fantastic vigour and prowess would get rather… uncomfortable. Like it wanted to burst out of him in a White Wonder Wave. Or gush.
The brave Brit did not have to trek far to seek out a mate, mind you. There were many a willing lass or lad who would have spent a few hours with the MI6's finest. But, Danger was just not that kind of mouse! Like any man worth his metal (or several medals and knighthoods in his case), one needed to have an understanding of your bit on the side. Shared a pint or three. At the very least shared a bag of popcorn at the pictures before a good shag in the back alley whilst the credits were still rolling. The issue was that DM didn’t have any ladies on the go – not until Fifi (ding dong!) next Tuesday. And none of the agency escorts were in heat, from what he could determine from the scent on the air...
He glanced over at his young subordinate, the air-headed hamster gleefully tapping his thighs to some rock and roll hit that DM had no time for as the Mark 3 glided soundlessly back to HQ. Looking forward to doing nothing at all dangerous. Maybe a bit of embroidery, trying to find the odd socks in the washing machine (without accidentally turning it on whilst he was still inside again!), or looking at the pictures from the newspaper when the Chief was done with it... Oo, carrots, yes!
Dangermouse felt a short pang of guilt seeing how innocent and naïve the younger spy was. But it was a mercifully short-lived feeling.
After all, Penfold WAS his assistant. He had a duty to keep his Chief in top form. Whether that be through fetching his morning brew, picking up his suit from the dry-cleaners, or laying down and thinking of England like a good little spy in training when his superior called for it. Despite that, DM hadn’t quite mustered the heart to have his way – his WHOLE way – with his bespectacled charge. Not quite yet. He’d managed to cop a feel of the hamster’s pleasantly round and plump bum from time to time, just settle the fellow in, of course, but other than that…
The dashing white mouse spied over the side of his classy red and yellow sports car, and perked up, seeing the peaceful expanse of green below. They were flying just over Cherry Tree Wood. A very quiet, secluded little park just off the Wellington Corner Station, “Right Penfold, I’m putting her down!”
“’Ey? But I thought we were goin’ ‘ome!” the young hamster complained, dismayed, “If I don’t call me auntie in Abergavenny before the football starts, she’ll ‘ave kittens…”
“Oh? I thought she was a hamster…?” DM chuckled as he steered behind and then under a bramble bush, having skilfully scoped the area out for any eavesdroppers, passers-by, together with any forms of mischief-making and evildoing.
“You don’t know half of it, Chief!” The bespectacled young spy waved his arms around to visually illustrate his Chief’s awesome lack of understanding, “Crumbs! She tore me favourite tie and bit through me trouser-leg on me last visit! And just because I hadn’t sent her a Mother’s Day card last March… she’s not me Mum, but she said she still thinks I should send her something because she gets well jealous of the rabbit next door. You know? The one with 20 kids…?”
“Crikey. 20, ‘ey? That must be murder on the milkman.” DM replied, imagining a 15+ trailer milk float tottering unsteadily through the Welsh vales, waking the dead and upsetting the grannies trying to enjoy their 4am Weetabix in peace.
“Oo, you think??” Penfold gasped, clapping a hand over his mouth dramatically, “But Chief, I thought Mrs Rarebit was happily married!” gotten the wrong end of the stick, but it was not a far-fetched notion. Penfold then looked forward, dark eyes huge behind his thick-rimmed specs “Golly! I’ll never look at Mr Weasel-Evans the same way again… but then he did always have his hands down his trousers when he used to pick our bottles up—"
“What have I told you, Penfold? There’s a baddie around every corner,” Dangermouse lectured, a white finger raised, as the younger rodent worried, looking around and under his seat fearfully, giving DM a fine view of his round little rump, which only spurred the Chief’s bravado on. “What’s more is you’ve yet to thank me for saving you from that army of piranhas. Nor the ring of fire. Not to mention the electrified guillotine!”
The stout hamster’s head shot up from under the glove compartment, and he retorted indignantly, “Ere! I DID! Right after! I was right polite even though they bit through the bottom of me pockets and made me lose me change!” he flapped the hems of his frayed suit, having it flutter around his shirt-clad hips, before folding his arms and pouting, “So there!”
Dangermouse was undeterred, and leaned forward, a dark eyebrow raised, “You may have thanked me, Penfold, but you didn’t thank me. If you know what I mean…” the handsome white mouse waggled his brow for emphasis.
”’Ey?” Penfold chirped, vacantly.
DM placed a large white palm on the hamster’s thigh at this, and gave it a demonstrative squeeze, “Hmmm?”
The younger spy blinked, and stared at the Chief’s busy hand, before his round cheeks turned rosy, and he looked up, trailing a finger over the White Wonder’s forearm playfully, “Ooo. I DIDN’T thank you, did I? That was naughty of me, wasn’t it, Chief?”
Confident that his apprentice had finally gotten the point, DM moved away, and back into the drivers’ seat, paws moving to his collar, “Mmhm…! You'd better get to it, then, before I have to do something about it myself...”
“Yes, Chief!”
With a satisfied smirk, the super spy unclasped his white suit at the neck. As he did so, a gust of compressed air burst free, instantly allowing the outlines of his taut, battle-hardened body to show through the softened material. For the spy’s white suit was made using a special material that hardened and moulded over the curves, contours and bulges of the wearers body to a perfect smoothness to allow for an agent’s modesty. Didn’t need that now, of course.
The fantastic mouse unzipped the front of his suit, several groomed, silky tufts of pure white fur emerging as his powerful chest was exposed to the summer air. The zip clasp continued its merry way over his stony abs. Penfold sucked a finger, waiting patiently, looking from his Chief to the huge bulge straining the crotch of the super spy’s suit. The zip hitched and stopped just under DM’s hard, furred stomach, before opening to reveal a thicker patch of white fur, and the handsome mouse looked pointedly at his charge, who was near bouncing on his seat, pouting around his finger, under a fierce blush.
A slow ziiip down later, and Dangermouse let out a relieved breath as his long, thick pink cock bounced free of the white confines, having already escaped the restraint of his white furry sheath, arching towards the brambles above.
The cheery hamster had already scrambled over his Chief’s suit-clad legs and plopped his diminutive self between them – there just being room for a small one between the driver’s seat and the wheel -which DM was able to turn directly up and out of the way at times such as this. Very considerate of the HQ boffins, that. Almost like they knew about the virile mouse’s carnal requirements in their system updates and automotive maintenance. Ah, technology, 'ey?
“Cor, Chief!” the bespectacled youth cooed, his Chief’s large dick immense between his little paws, “You're ever so BIG!” He smoothed them up the hot, wide length of flesh, as the white spy pushed back against his backrest, a restrained groan rumbling in his throat.
Penfold blinked at the mushroom head of his Chief's knob, noting the translucent dew beading there, and dipped a finger into it, causing the mouse to tense.
Staring wonderingly at the blob of ace-juice on his finger, the young spy stuck out his tongue tentatively, and give it a taste. He was such a fussy eater, that one! DM coloured a bit at that, blinking himself, awaiting his mate's taste verdict with some rare felt anxiety.
He needn't have worried.
For the Hero's apprentice beamed happily, a sight that melted the mouse's heart and hardened his rock-hard roger, as the hamster raised his mouth to the still-wet and raring tip of DM's dong, and popped his lips over the beading slit. He licked it clean with his eager little tongue. He was enjoying himself – so engrossed in Dangermouse's Cor-inspiring cock that he had jolly well forgotten that the mouse was still attached, the little brat! The happy hamster kissed and sucked at the throbbing slick tip, and then trailed his mouth down, licking a wet, glistening path down his partner's thick, pulsing shaft and sucking at the firm rib right at the front and base.
He'd treat his ice lollies exactly the same way. His favourite Fabs, in particular. Labouring over the sprinkles and chocolate coat on the top, and then slurping over the creamy middle, only to lap at the strawberry ice at the very bottom to assure that the melting syrup didn't run down his arm and make a mess of his suit, shirt, and light-brown fur.
DM wasn't too pleased about this approach, even when his cock was very much enjoying it. That was not the way a super secret spy should suck schlong, surely! What a cheek! The white mouse's yellow eye narrowed gravely down at his playful charge, his hands gripping the sides of the driving seat steadfastly.
The little—! He WAS treating his cock just as he did his Fab ice lollies! Good Grief! He’d have to put a stop to—
Dangermouse’s right foot thumped the floor of the car and he gritted his teeth, strong back arching against the backrest as Penfold’s hot pink tongue massaged the underside of his bell-end, flicking and leaving, flicking and leaving the sensitive flesh. DM again glared down at his charge, who’s dark eyes sparkled up into his yellow one mischievously. Oo. That’s his game, is it?
The handsome white mouse raised his chin, and tensed himself. Muscles in his abs tightening, his reddening head set against Penfold’s passionate ministrations as the stubborn spy willed himself to calm.
That did not deter the cheeky hamster, but he did pull back, and his hands started to play with the massive dick, squeezing ever so gently but firmly, from base to tip, and then running little fingers over the ridges of the head in appreciation, “You’re so big, Chief,” the hamster mewled, “you’re so big,” He then looked up, almost shyly, blushing, “And proper super,” he knew how to push his Chief's buttons, in more ways than one. He could make DM so exasperated that he'd threaten to take the hamster over his knee in one moment, and in then next have him offering to take them both out for a drink or dancing despite being more partial to training at any sniff of free time. Penfold fancied the Chief well enough. More than fancied. What was more than fancying? Penfold did not know. He'd have to ask his Uncle Rod Shrewart – he had so many kids that he ought to know!
“You're well amazing,” the young hamster continued, looking back to the trembling dong at his mercy, “and fantastic...”
“P-Penfold...s-sh-shs...shush!” Dangermouse hissed falteringly, as even his ego blushed under the praise and sensual attention he was getting.
“Oooh, a'right!” the younger man pouted in response, before he finished with a naughty finality, “But you don’t half taste good!” he sucked the end of his Chief’s cock then wholeheartedly, unbuttoning his shirt and loosening his favourite black and yellow tie, but fumbling and making a hash of it, before popping his hands back to DM’s meat - like he couldn’t bare to be free of the Danger Dong for more than a moment. Tiny latte-coloured paws cupped DM’s throbbing snowy white balls, which clenched against the touch as the handsome spy turned his head and hissed through his teeth.
His altruistic nature got the better of him, though. For he had spied his charge's fidgeting thighs, as a telling dark patch told of the shorter man's excitement. Despite the eyepatch, it was plain to the dashing mouse that although his Penfold may have been a dwarf hamster, his manhood was by no means small or dainty, judging by the pains and strains that the crotch of his blue trousers were now facing. Small milky coffee coloured paws were far too bus pleasing their Chief to deal with anything else.
Ah, well. Nothing for it, then.
Dangermouse chewed his lower lip, and raised one of his feet, using his dextrous toes to knead his assistant's arousal whilst fighting against his own desire to let loose. DM was above all a gentleman. No man gets left behind, and all that.
At that, Penfold all but squealed like the young hamster he was, slapping at his Chief's bold feet, which caused him to take the man's huge cock right down to the shaft, both his squeal and glorious heat taking DM's sexual furnace to another level, as he arched his back in delight, “Th-that's it!”
The younger spy looked up at his panting Chief with huge dark eyes behind his glasses, and he beamed, only to begin bobbing up and down Dangermouse's dong with real gusto. Golly, he loved to make the Chief squirm like this--!
Only... he wasn't quite experienced enough to know how much he could handle. Not just yet. He'd hidden from the slipper and traded sweeties in school and the academy more than humped behind the bike sheds. Although he had unknowingly been solicited several times mistaking classmates' suggestions of shagging and riding for carpet weaving and bicycle road safety lessons...
That all meant that when DM made the slightest thrust up; and showed the flimsiest lack of restraint, Penfold pushed back down with his all, stoked by hi usually calm partner's dropped composure.
At the little agent in training's renewed efforts, Dangermouse saw stars even behind his eyepatch (despite having no eye to see them through), and when the younger man came back up for air the throbbing tip of DM's head burst forth with several hot shots of white mouse spunk that spattered all over Penfold's rosy face as he blinked in astonishment.
Crumbs!!
There was a lull in the Mark 3 as both British Top Secret agents panted hotly, until the White Wonder leaned back in his seat and grinned down at his assistant's pearl necklace. Or tiara, more rightly, “Well done, Penfold... bang on job, that!”
The younger agent mewled under the praise, twiddling his fingers, only to gasp at himself and gesture at his shirt hotly, "Oh, Chief, look! You’ve made a right mess! Look at me suit – it's definitely one for the dry cleaners!
“Now, there's no need to cry over spilled milk, Penfold – after all: it was YOUR poor timing that caused that little mishap,” Dangermouse chided as he zipped his suit back to the neck, having deftly cleaned his bits and bobs, the air breathing back into the white wear and returning its smoothness. He was smiling fondly down at his charge, though, despite his lecturing. He was rather pleased with his little friend's efforts. More than that, perhaps. So much so that he could probably go for another. And another after that. Had he not amazing and fantastic and overall British restraint, that is, “All the more reason for you to earn your whites, 'ey?” he chuckled as he patted his suit for emphasis, as Penfold glared at him ready to jolly well sulk up a storm.
All the bubbles of sexual practice burst between DM's ears (and legs) as the video screen on the Mark 3's radio phone buzzed, calling him to action. Within mere moments, his right hand was in and out the glove compartment with the one of several white chocolate bars that he had to bribe his mate to action on many a mission, and his left hand had deftly lifted and plopped Penfold back into the passenger seat. DM tore the Milky Bar wrapper with his teeth, and he chewed and swallowed just over half of the too sweet treat with a grimace, and then forced it into Penfold's tiny paws as the screen crackled to life.
The screen flickered from black and then glorious colour, to reveal the suited, doughty body of the British agency's big strapping boss, Colonel K, at his desk furiously pressing all manner of buttons despite having no idea whether he was talking to his favourite and greatest secret agent, or the chap who delivered his mid-morning tea and biscuits, “Dangermouse! Come in, Dangermouse! Oh, dash it all, how do you work this blasted thing...?!”
Even if he hadn't understood the reasoning for it, Penfold was contentedly nibbling his chocolate and smiling at both the Chief and then the big and gruff chinchilla man on the other side of the video screen, much to Dangermouse's relief.
“Hearing you loud and clear, Colonel!” he affirmed, adjusting the picture as the huge fellow almost fell back and out of his chair in fright. The Colonel had been Head of MI6a Intelligence for longer than many in the agency could recall; and it seemed superfluous to pass the role onto another more suitable now despite the several communicative issues that the strapping gent had on a more than daily basis... hey-ho.
The large man positioned himself back at his desk, and smoothed down his beard and whiskers, coughing demonstratively, “Ah! Ahern! Hrm, hrm, ah, there you are! Jolly good! Hearing me loud and clear?”
DM nodded and responded promptly, “Yes, Colonel!”
“With those ears I should say so! Just checking in for the debrief, DM. Job well done as always. You’re a ruddy hero!” the Colonel commended favourably.
“Oh, now, that is a bit strong, Sir… “ Dangermouse reddened, infinitely humble, as the Colonel looked to the younger man at his side.
“Ah, Penfold, you’re there too?” The big man peered forward, leaning on his chair and squinting at the young’un, “Been dusting the cobwebs from inside the agency-issued hamster ball, have you?
The White Wonder’s assistant would have answered, but was far too busy happily chewing on a mouthful of white chocolate, lolling his legs, staring at the surrounding greenery in all innocence… his face still spattered with baby batter.
DM did not miss a beat, cleared his throat, and answered his superior quick-sharp, “Just enjoying a Milky Bar without restraint, sir.”
The Colonel leaned back, folding broad arms behind his bald head, “Milky Bar, eh? Blimey. Haven’t ever tried one of those boys. Go mad for a Twix, though. Mrs Boathook’s been squirreling them away from under the manilla envelopes in me top draw – me blood sugar, she says. Blasted woman I know me own blood; might be thick as treacle, but it still flows don’t you know—hey ho.” The large fellow brightened, looking again at the young hamster on the other side of the video screen, “How do you like it, Penfold?”
The little hamster blinked, and ran a tiny finger down his cheek to catch a fat droplet of Danger seed, only to slip it into his mouth, smiling appreciatively, “Weeell, it’s really yummy, Colonel!"
DM cleared his throat, ready to steer the conversation in another direction as his *** hardened yet again, before the Colonel ho-humed reflectively, “Is it now? I’ll have to give it a try…!”
The now clean, wet finger made an audible ‘pop’ as it was removed from Penfold’s mouth, and he beamed playfully, “You’ll have to ask the Chief very nicely, sir!”
“Penfold, shush!” DM snapped, readjusting his belt as his beef bayonet had, most inconsiderately mind you, sprung back to rampant life at the cheeky hamster’s gesturing.
“You have any going spare, DM? I’ll have to get me sugar from you, old chap, if the missus and Mrs Boathook are withholding—" The gruff old military gent rumbled on, giving his whiskered chin a knead, as Penfold chuckled behind his rumbled cuffs, very much enjoying his Chief’s discomfort.
The white mouse lamented, lolling his eye to the sky and away from his naughty charge and his oblivious boss, trying not to imagine him giving them both the buggering of their lives, stripped bare right down to their fur, chests slick and heaving, completely at his every dirty whim and mercy… DM swallowed, willing his amazing and fantastic libido to calm itself.
“Oh, Good Grief…!”