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The stallion faced a curious dilemma. His boss, the hard faced ice maiden wolfess, believed in a clean desk. Not so much clean as disinfected. In fact, there was precious little furniture in the room, and on the desk, nothing except a laptop.

Well, a laptop, and an intercom, and now a couple of long lines of thick stallion cum, perfect match for the ropes and small puddles on the Bokhara rug under his hooves.

That evil bitch Honeybadger had made him not just cum, but cum out his balls, a total nuclear orgasm that painted the office a nice shade of stallion semen. He looked around desperately, searching for anything, anything at all to clean up the terrible humiliating evidence, but there wasn't so much as a box of tissues to be seen.

"Through security point two heading for the lift Colt. I'd hurry up..." intoned the evil minded honeybadger through the doorway.

There was nothing else for it.

When the boss of MI6 waltzed past her secretary and into her office and closed the door, wearing a kick ass Armani in black, a hint of Chanel and a tastefully concealed Beretta with lapis lazuli inserts, she knew something was up. Her secretary didn't usually grin like that unless she had pulled some terrible evil stunt, or Arsenal had won. And Arsene Wenger was looking even more like a cats anus in the last surveillance shot she had of him just that morning, so it clearly wasn't that.

Nothing quite prepared her though for the sight of her most experienced and deadly secret agent on his hands and knees licking her carpet.

She gave a wry smile. Not really the carpet she wanted him to be licking.

Her nose however registered something, and she sniffed twice, precisely, as her nose wrinkled. The sound startled the stallion, whose tail suddenly fell to cover his cute ass, while his ears flopped against his skull.

The stallion had realised in a flash what he had to do. Any good secret agent must learn how to reach the right conclusion quickly, to meet decision with action, and to do what must be done. Still, for Stud Colt, this was beyond the call of Her Majesty's Secret Service.

He found licking his own cum off the sleek lacquered surface of his boss' desk to be a simple affair, and tried to ignore the fact that the taste wasn't at all unpleasant. The rug was proving a far harder challenge though. He had managed to do a passable job on the two largest puddles of horse cum and was working on one long ropey line of spoo with an eagerness he rarely brought to cunnilingus when he heard the terrifying sound of his boss sniffing behind him.

"Colt"

He froze.

"Colt...what are you doing."

"Um...checking for surveillance devices maam..."

"In my carpet?"

"You never can be too careful with those Russians maam..."

"Colt, I smell cum."

"Ahh..."

"Horse cum...yours if I'm not mistaken."

"No...really...that's..."

"Stud...did you just beat off over my rug?"

"No...No!...maybe...It's Miss Honeybadger's fault!"

"No it isnt!"

The disembodied voice that came through the intercom speaker sounded as if it was failing in an attempt to control a fit of giggles.

The boss of MI6 padded over to her desk and flicked the intercom switch.

"Thank you for your input Miss Honeybadger, I think I can take it from here."

The line went dead, and she stood, a picture of drop dead gorgeous ice calm control, staring at her employee. He had at least stood up, and was trying hard not to look her in the eye.

It was a pity...she liked him on his knees.

"Stud...I think we need to have that talk again."

He let out a long groan. This was not what he needed today.

"No, really maam..."

"Silence!"

She slapped one paw against the desktop, letting the sound like a pistol shot echo round the office. He quailed a little more, ears now twitching, eyes rolling.

Her quim became ever so slightly moist.

"Stud...I know sometimes you may get confused. I won't deny there is a certain...attraction here. Inside this, power ice maiden exterior, still beats the heart of a real wolfess with real needs. And its not as if I'm entirely immune to your attractions, those brooding eyes, that well stuffed sheath, the pectorals that bunch so beautifully when you sleep and the sight of your little pink tongue drooling on your pillow as you jack yourself half awake in the morning..."

"Um...maam...how do you know..."

"That's not important right now! What you need to know is that though I may alternate between treating you like despised cannon fodder and a wayward sexy son I want to fuck in a full on Oedipal breakdown, it's all just for show."

"What...what do you mean...?"

"It's for the punters Stud. All of it. The audience. A total win-win. The ones who want to imagine me humping you senseless and then unloading a cap in your skull in the name of duty, preferably immediately after I cum and before you do. The ones who want to see me watching electrodes zapping your genitals while I look on dispassionately through a screen fingering my pussy. The ones who want me to cuddle you and let you show mommy you're a good good colt. All of them, all their fantasies, all are possible when I treat you like this."

"I....I...maam...you just broke my heart."

"And the fourth wall. But I know which one I enjoyed most."

"Maam, I promise...I really, really wasn't thinking of you when I spooed all over your office and..."

"Silence! Stop denying it Colt...you want to go all Daniel Craig to my Judy Dench, don't you..."

"Um...no...really..."

She walked round to her employee, lifting his chin with a finger.

"It's ok Colt. I can forgive you...just this once. However, we need to take some...measures..."

The stallion had to gulp at that. Measures, in the Service, was usually a euphemism for something icky.

"It's also come to my attention that you have been having some...bad luck in the lady department."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, the current bodycount of your sexual conquests stands at forty-seven dead, thirteen on life support and eleven unaccounted for."

"Hey! Wait...forty-seven?"

"Yes, that lynx you were fucking this morning."

"Gretchen?"

"Run over by a steam shovel in Slough."

"Nooooooooooooo....well, she did claw my sheath so..."

"Now now Stud, I know under that hard stud exterior you are pained with deep existential angst for the death and destruction wrought on poor innocent girls you couldn't protect, even though that is the one thing you want to do..."

"Well, she was kind of a bad lay..."

"...the archetypal female in distress, helpless and vulnerable, who you try to save with your strength and yet your sexual needs lead you to bring about their downfall, and yours...

"...and she did claw my sheath, and it fucking hurt..."

"...like a Greek tragedy. Oedipus...again...or Orpheus and Eurydice...so I know how much this hurts. And I don't want to see you hurt, I really don't stud."

"No, I'm ok, really!"

"No, don't thank me. I have been speaking to OH&S section, and they have done a risk assessment, and declared your cock to be..."

"Yes?"

"A weapon of mass destruction."

He gripped his cock through his trousers then, as he gulped at the sheer magnitude of the horror, as much as the sheer rankness of the joke. This wasn't even Roger Moore standard.

"No...no...not that..."

"Yes, when we have finished our briefing, you will need to go and see Q branch to be fitted with...your new protective equipment."

"Please! For the love of God, not that!"

"Colt, it is done. Consider it a form of performance management...the kind I most enjoy."

He knew better than to argue then. Once OH&S were on the case, you were toast. Not even HR were that bad.

"Now, to less...sexually innuendo laden matters. And why I called you in this morning."

"What, do you mean, there is some actual plot?"

"I know this is furry porn but we are allowed some. Now, multiple surveillance sources have been picking up indications of a major operation for some time. In the last week, however, communications intercepts have been increasing significantly. It appears that whatever this is, it is coming close to going active."

This was better, the stallion thought. Action, death, the chance to have people fire automatic weapons at him for hours while he came out unhurt and murdered scores in return with only a small fruit knife and a spork.

Being unable to fuck nubile females and tear their affections away from the evil doers with his magnificent stallion cock was a small price to pay for being able to activate God mode for a few days.

"What do we know so far maam?"

"The operation is called Operation Kardashian. We first thought there was some Kanye West angle, but that proved a busted flush with no credibility."

"Like Kanye."

"Yes...like Kanye..."

Their eyes roamed the room while whistling quietly.

"Now, we have picked up strong indications that the Russians maybe involved. Or the Chinese, or possibly both. The operation, as near as we can make out, involves some form of grand international government level extortion. We have however no lead yet on that...I went to see the minister this morning, and according to him, nobody in the British Government has been contacted with any extortion demands."

"So, perhaps the Americans maam?"

"According to the Cousins in Langley, they have the same message from the White House. Nothing."

"Intriguing maam...perhaps we have caught it just in time?"

"Perhaps, which is why I need you to go to the epicentre of what appears to be this operation and find out what you can. Make contact with sources at station G, and you are authorised to use deadly force. Even against the Russians...if they are involved, it's a declaration of war by their service after years of mostly mutually agreed peace apart from the occasional Polonium poisoning of journalists and anyone that doesn't want to fellate Putin before breakfast which we totally roll over and take like a bitch."

"Yes maam...and this epicentre. Somewhere rich and exotic? Prague? Paris? Rio? St Petersburg?"

"Stuttgart"

"Stuttgart?"

"Yes Agent Colt...beautiful, scenic and yet surprisingly modern and altogether business friendly Stuttgart."

"But...Stuttgart...its so..."

"Boring?"

"So, so fucking boring. Not even a decent brothel."

"Aww my poor colt. The way you will be, that will be the least of your issues."

"But...Stuttgart..."

"And it has absolutely nothing to do with the large cheque from the Stuttgart tourism bureau..."

"Of course."

"So...why are you still here then colt?"

The stallion finally got up some courage, just a little in the face of the cold hearted bitch (well, she was a wolf) who controlled his life, and now it seemed, his genitals.

"Just one thing maam. You are going to have me...caged, so to speak..."

"Yes, I'm afraid it's the only way, given your predilection for fucking girls who then die and masturbating over my office rug."

"Me, who you see as a kind of surrogate son. You're having me...symbolically castrated, if you will."

"Well, only symbolically."

"Talk about fucking Oedipal."

"Not at all dear. It's for the punters. Believe me, there isn't a mother on the planet who hasn't fantasised about caging their son at some stage to keep him from fucking half the neighbourhood. Just throwing them a bone..."

He had to bite his tongue all the way down to Q branch.

*****

She watched his deliciously well muscled ass swaying as he left her office, letting out the breath she had been holding just as he closed the door.

The truth was of course, she wanted desperately to have him.But she was a professional, of course. He was going to die. They all did.

So she made do with substitutes.

The desk drawer opened silently at her fingerprint, and she pulled out the one item inside, a large glossy picture of Daniel Craig just emerging from the water, the sexy white lion all attitude and masculine beauty, muscles bulging, water streaming off a pair of almost see through well stuffed brief swimming trunks. She hugged it to her chest as she opened the door to her private bathroom.

For some reason though, she found that sitting on the toilet staring at the picture of her favourite white lion while she frigged her clit like a demon didn't cut it today. Not until she closed her eyes and imagined it was the stallion, her Stud Colt, bent over her desk while she pegged his ass as he recited the Hand to Hand Combat Manual for her and whimpered whenever she hit his prostate. He got to section 11 (Choke holds and submission holds) before she reached nirvana, spraying her paw with a coating of rich pleasured pussy fluid.

It only made her hornier though. She knew what she needed for that.

The intercom button was right next to the toilet roll dispenser.

"Miss Honeybadger...I may need some assistance..."

"Very good maam...shall I bring your favourite Dildo?"

"Yes...bring "The Daniel"...oh, and Miss Honeybadger..."

"Yes?"

"I'm afraid we may have to move those surveillance cameras in Agent Stud Colt's bedroom again. I might have given the game away."

"Maam...how did he find out?"

"I think I told him, I was quite distracted."

"Maam, do I need to bring the rolled up copy of the Official Secrets Act?"

"Y...yes Miss Honeybadger..."

Any good boss knew when she needed a spanking. It took a good subordinate to know it too.