The big-time Hollywood film star, her personal aide and mandatory two security men cleared Christchurch Airport after completing Customs formalities and receiving, as her office had requested, a very low-key official New Zealand. In a hired 4X4 Land Rover they left the city heading towards the Southern Alps, the alpine backbone of the South Island, real mean country and definitely not for the faint-hearted.

Three hours later they reached their destination, a high country luxury lodge, where the celebrity and her party were the only guests, having booked out the entire facility. Margaret Withers went immediately to her luxurious quarters, ordering everyone that she not be disturbed until ten the next morning. At five she awoke to the sensation of a fingernail scraping her cheek.

As Margaret's eyes flicked open she saw it was a fingernail, attached to a very rough hand that ran all the way up to the shoulder, neck and then face of a weather-beaten, unsmiling man. "Hi," he said. "Hi," said she, wriggling a little in her silk pyjamas. He looked, well, hmmmm, interesting. Then she yelped, screaming, "Masters, Jones!"

The intruder looked at her, not moving and expression not changing. When the door burst open he simply raised his eyes and nodded to her security men, both of whom had the handguns they were specially authorised by internal security to carry within New Zealand. Both men were aghast that this interloper had slipped into their client's room undetected. "Lift 'em," snarled Harvey Jones, adopting his military-trained stance, ready to blow the brains out of the enemy.

Brett Masters said nothing, but was obviously itching to get the first shot away. Margaret tried to sink lower into the mattress, pulling the duvet over her body; hopefully that would soak up the blood and brains before the splattering reached her new pyjamas her mother had sent her from Paris. "Harry Childs at your service, ma'am." "Boys, stop! shrieked Margaret. "This is path leader." "Guide, ma'am. We don't have paths up in these mountains." The guns lowered, but remained at the ready. Margaret's protectors weren't at all sure about this hobo.

Where were his freshly pressured khakis, polished boots, desert-styled cap with neck protector and backpack? "You've got ten minutes max, Margaret - I shall call you Maggie - to get dressed and get out of here. The best part of the morning is at dawn and I don't want you to miss a thing." "Had a tiring flight, I need more sleep," Maggie said dismissively.

"You heard the lady, beat it," snarled Brett, waving his gun. In one fluid movement Harry had jerked Maggie out of her bed and had her shielding him from the gunmen. A long knife was in his hand, though not threatening her. "Tell them to kick those dick-empowering toys of their under the bed." Miss Withers was unable to restrain herself: Dick-empowering toys.

She giggled. Recovering, Maggie said, "You heard the man, boys. Do it." They obliged and Harry waved them to exit. "Go, boys, do what the man says," Maggie said, breathing heavily. "I ain't scared." "Nice tits," whispered Harry. "I'm scared," whispered Maggie. "Who the fuck do you think you are?" "Madam specified three days of high alpine adventure. It's begun." "Not until I say so does it begin." "Bite your dummy," Harry said to the 38-year-old, pushing her towards the bathroom.

"Ten minutes, otherwise I'm coming in and disciplining you." A shot of excitement made Maggie dizzy but she wisely refrained from commenting. Harry went through the double doors of the premium suite expecting a reception committee would be waiting for him, and was not disappointed. Immediately Harry went through the doors he was gripped in a bear hug and saw the grinning face of the man whom the receptionist had privately identified to him as Brett Master, pulling back his fist to depopulate Harry's mouth of some of his aging teeth. Harry is forty-three.

As the fist flew at Harry's mouth he turned the other cheek, so to speak, and the first slammed into Harvey Jones' mouth to re-arrange his teeth, for the worst. Harry spun out of the slackened grip and faced his two assailants. Spitting blood the gorilla Harvey charged. Harry calmly called "Boo!" and Harvey skilled to a surprised halt. Then Harry chopped his collarbone, going in quite deeply actually, because the bone broke into two. Brett put his arms up passively and took a message from Harry, very impassively.

"I don't want you following us as it's safe out there. If you do, it's at your own risk." Just on 10.5 minutes later Senator Withers was at reception night desk asking for the whereabouts of Mr Childs. "Your coach is waiting outside, ma'am." Miss Withers, a solo parent with one child, thought it would be unlikely her coach would be pink and fluffy with air-conditioning and all-day American-style coffee. She was not disappointed. Waiting for her was a 1950's style Amy jeep, but a very modified one.

Margaret wondered why he insisted on calling her Maggie? She walked to the vehicle; absolutely aware she'd been totally undressed, mentally of course. She could feel it, and her firming nipples confirmed this. Well, some unrestrained sex on a distant mountain-side would be rather therapeutic - after all she was out here to try to recover from near burnout. They set off at a surprisingly leisurely pace, both aware the Land Rover driven by Brett was in their wake.

Maggie knew that by now Brett would have two handguns and probably a shotgun and carbine and would now watch this hobo of a guide like a hawk. "Is this guy behind us a bother to you?" Harry drawled. "Not unless you have something embarrassing to draw from you repertoire." "Like what?" "Have you any idea how to give a pooped out gal from Hollywood a physical make-over."

"I have an idea, but it might be too animalistic for you." "Try me, if you wish?" "Right, Maggie. As I said earlier, nice tits. Hold on." In the thin grey light at the breaking of dawn they were entering a canyon, or gully as Harry called it. About fifty feet into it he pulled at his shift levers, turned and started going straight up a rock face. Maggie screamed but all Harry did was to put on a CD of soothing jazz. Feeling a little better, Maggie looked back to see that Brett was following them.

Suddenly his vehicle made a dreadful grinding noise as a rock tore into its bowels, jamming against a stone guard. "We've got superior clearance, superior transmission." They ground on slowly for around ten minutes. "Here we are," said Harry. "It's breakfast time." "We're here?" Maggie saw nothing about the territory to excite her. Harry looked at his watch.

"Give it three minutes and you'll see why." From a hamper Harry pulled out some thick bread and cheese sandwiches, saying proudly he'd made them himself and also the coffee. He then uncorked a bottle of sparking wine, handed Maggie one of the glasses, and said: "Cheers to the new sun." "If it ever comes," she grumbled. "Look up there," Harry said, pointing to the highest mountain peak.

Maggie watched spellbound at a tiny shaft of light cast a yellow, orange and green halo around it, and then the colouring became more defined and within a couple of minutes the whole mountain ranges, as viewed from their eastern direction, had a coloured mantle. Then great wide beams of light seemed to shaft skywards and suddenly dawn had come and high altitude finches were chirping. "That is absolutely awesome, that is absolutely a world-class vision," cried Maggie.

"Thank you," said Harry, bowing, taking credit as if he'd orchestrated it. "Right, you wanted to be revitalised, to be alone in the wilderness with just me and, if I manage to tickle your fancy, to enjoy sex with me?" Maggie looked at him wide-eyed. None of that had been in her carefully vetted and officially approved agenda. But to hell with it, this part-crazy bastard was original and mind-taxing. Actually he was damn good fun, so far. So she nodded.

"Right - hand me your bra, belt and shoes. I really need them, and will turn around if you require modesty." Maggie looked at him, about to protest, but he had turned around and appeared to be scratching his balls. Funny fellow. So it was to be sex at sunrise, with fuck all preliminaries? Oh well. "Shoes, bra and belt. I don't have my maidenhood to hand across." Harry looked at her, startled. So, Mr Big Shot was humane after all. The creep was cutting her bra strap seam open with his lethal-looking knife. Maggie watched him, now feeling decidedly nervous. He then held something up - something metallic.

"What is it?" "A tiny transmitter. Big brother wants to know were you are at all times. There will be back-up transmitters, of course." "The Hell you say?" "That I do?" Harry said that Maggie could put her bra on. "DD, thirty six?" She nodded, surprised at his accuracy. He appeared to be the kind of guy no bra-wearing woman would go near. "Nice," he grinned, displaying well-kept teeth.

Defiantly she stood facing him, taking off her fleece-lined jacket and two tops, baring her breasts at him, but he wasn't looking. He was studying her shoes, so she coughed to attract his attention. "Got a cold, have we?" he asked, without looking up. Feeling insulted, Maggie put her bra and tops back on. Just as she was about to haul on her heavy jacket, he called - "Hang on." Hang on what? Her breasts? No, that was being childish. He meant something else.

Where was the communication? "Hand me the jacket?" She handed it across, not pushing him to say please. He looked at the jewelled and silver tab on the zip and whistled, saying "Very nice." "Another one?" "Yep, this one is very high tech, probably developed for use by high-risk operatives. You are probably wearing at it on range trials in this foreign country." "Who are you, Mr Childs? Who are you really?" "A lot of people are not who they seem, Mrs Withers. May we leave it at that?" Christ, a bloody CIA equivalent. She had no idea little old New Zealand had such a service.

"Come on, let's roam around a bit and do some little walks to look at life as it should be." They had a wonderful day. Salad and white wine for lunch then at 3:00 Harry drove the Jeep into a rock crevice that was almost a cave. "If they've bugged my vehicle they will find it, but not us." "Who are they?" "I grew up in this region. When I was assigned to be your guide, some of your Embassy people told me not to get you lost.

I bet them five thousand bucks I could get you hidden and they'd not be able to find you. The next day I was summons to the Embassy and told the bet was on, officially." "Jeeze - playing with my life." "Nope, do what you're told and you'll be safe, at least pretty safe. The same rule would apply to my own mother. The primary purpose of the exercise is to give you a good time." "I've had a lovely time today." "Good, there's more to come.

We've got to walk for an hour this way. Come on." After a half hour, Harry stopped, dug the first transmitter he'd found deep into an apple, wrapped it in an old sock taken from his backpack, and hurled it down into a shale face. "One little diversion," he said. Harry then turned, took Maggie into his arms and kissed her thoroughly. She tried to resist, but failed. "There more of that if you want it," he said, releasing her. "Oh, original macho Man," she giggled. "I rather think not."

But as they walked on, the more she began hungering for a repeat. He possessed the hardest body of any man to grace the sides of her thighs and belly for, well since heavens knows when. They came to a deserted tramping hut, and Harry cut the transmitter off her jacket zip and tossed it inside. Maggie heard the sound of a helicopter approaching and asked would that be friendly or allied friendly? "A smart distinction," he said. "It's my ex-wife in her family's chopper that they use for farming." "She'll be an unreliable pilot if she sees you with another woman." "No, she's now happily remarried and has two more kids to go with the one we had together. We grew up together and always will remain friends." "Well, I wish I had friends like that."

The cheerful redhead greeted Maggie so warmly that she took to her instantly. She was introduced as Shona and took them down to a high-level sheep station. "Shona, drop down low in a couple of rough parts about ten miles apart and drop these shoes, please. I suspect they contain transmitters, so make it difficult for our pursuers who are on an official exercise."

After the helicopter had disappeared, Maggie asked, where they. "The Harrison's place - I went to school with Elizabeth and she's absolutely in love with me, but won't concede it. Even John her husband knows and knows she'll not forsake him. He's chuffed about her loyalty to him and both will do anything for me. "They are away in Christchurch for the next couple of nights, giving us the run of their homestead and farm. I'll take you horse riding in the morning. Do you want your own room, or to share?"

Maggie felt alive and happy, her heart was pumping, the woolly feeling between her ears was all but gone. "I want to share a room providing we have some sex." Harry's reply confused Maggie somewhat, saying, "I think we may be able to manage that." What did he mean - was his penis in a splint? 'Think, 'may'. What on earth was wrong with the man?

Then she saw the bulging at the front of his thick trousers. "I think there's something in there trying to get out," she pointed. "Think - that's rather weak terminology?" he censured, making Maggie gasp indignantly. That quickly passed.

Booting the front door shut with his foot, Harry asked if she wanted a bath first or afterwards or during. Maggie thought first, so used the toilet while Harry ran the bath. She came out nude, finding Harry in the same state. The site of his edible-looking stiff cock excited her, just as her spilling breasts captured his attention. Maggie winced, knowing she was carrying quite a lot of flab whereas he was without it. "Ah, plump fat breasts, exactly how I like them," came the admiring call, making Maggie feel very much better.

"God woman, look at that ass - do you, do you, um?" Maggie nodded and looking at his chest and especially his belly, licked her lips. "I think unless we do something physical right now, we are both going to cum without touching each other," he exaggerated. "Plug my hole." "Which one,' he leered. Maggie simply shrugged and shivered. Harry made her a nest of towels over the end of the long bath, and helped her to lean forward on to them, positioning her so that he could fondle her breasts. He then got one finger working into her vagina, and then two quickly followed the third.

Meanwhile Maggie was working her nub. Working slowly with long even strokes as his cock fully slotted, Harry reached around and began to roll a nipple. In turn, Maggie basked in the warm satisfaction of knowing that she was being expertly fucked. She felt him thickening inside her and beginning to tremble so she got more slimy juice on to her nub and circled it and hit it repeatedly. Just as he began to fire shots into her Harry pushed a thumb into the entrance of her ass, causing her to squeal and gush just the way she wanted - in soul stroking waves.

Five days later security was tight around the late evening commercial flight to the United States from Auckland. The last person to board was Miss Withers who had just completed a television interview in which she extolled the beauty of the foothills of New Zealand's Southern Alps.

She then made one of those celebrated TV Bloopers that inevitably find their way around the world, this one being broadcast live on the late news around the country. In an absent-minded aside the celebrated female star said: "A wonderful place in the world to get pregnant, one would think, although one would hope one had not." A full Embassy turnout had come up from Wellington for the farewell, including an official with a broken collar-bone and his companion/superior was about to get officially reprimanded for allowing United States 'resources' in a foreign country to be brought into disrepute by the activities of just one foreign operator.

As the last ground crew person came down the external mobile steps after causing an unexpected delay, the head of USA Security (Wellington) turned purple, pointing as that person appeared on the tarmac off the aircraft. It was none other than special operative Harry Childs. The Ambassador received an on-the-spot verbal report, remaining calm.

Pointing to Harry, the Ambassador instructed the security chief; "I want that man in Washington within forty-eight hours on six-months loan at whatever the cost. Mr President wants our security beefed up and that Harry fellow has the genius to test our systems for holes." Three days later Harry was in Washington, on the phone.

His request was simple. If Miss Withers had any holes in need of filling, she was invited to spend every weekend at her convenience in Washington. "Oooh, how fortunate. My next film starting in a month is based in Washington. I suspect I shall need to arrive early to settle Annie into her new school. Which hole did you have in mind?"