Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32
A deep and heartfelt thank you to Xpoerotica and Decal_Last for editing my latest foray into the world of storytelling and milking a tale of espionage and unrequited love out of my word salad, you guys truly are my rock.
Cormac and Mrs. Vee are two recurring background characters that are often featured in my stories, but this is my first attempt to flesh them out.
Please join me in this journey into the lives and loves of Valeria Volesky and her many husbands.
I know the exact moment Kolya fell in love with me.
He was sitting on a bench joking around with his friends when our eyes met, his smile froze and words failed him.
His stare followed me across the playground as I twirled with handkerchief in hand, showing my friend Anya all my sleek Barynya dance moves.
My long golden braids swung in the air, glowing in the morning sun but he would later confess that it was my warm laughter that caught his attention and my harsh green glare of disapproval that pierced its way into the silly boy’s heart.
Annoyed, I marched straight toward him and smacked his forehead.
“Blyat!” I cussed him, feeling my heart race.
“Ah! Kolya is in love!” the boys laughed.
His eyes stayed on me throughout the afternoon classes as we judiciously listened to our teacher naming the benefits of the Pripyat nuclear power plant being built just 300 kilometers to the south. I smothered my annoyance, the boy meant nothing.
His grades were terrible and like most artists, his wandering mind lacked the commitment to help advance our motherland into a brighter tomorrow. Plus, he was always smiling like an imbecile; what girl could possibly find that attractive?
After school, Anya ambushed me at the gates.
“You have an admirer,” she handed me a rolled piece of paper as I grabbed my Aist bicycle to hit the gym.
The drawing of a gorgeous teenage girl stared back at me. Stern eyes armored in thick eyebrows glared deep into my soul while anger turned her thin lips into a line. And yet all her exasperation only made the girl even cuter.
Seeing myself through his eyes, my cheeks flushed and Anya’s smile arched with mischief.
“W-who?” I held the silly girl’s arm, shaking her. “Who gave you this?”
A soft nod to her right steered my eyes toward Kolya. His waving hand recoiled before my ire.
“Stupid boy,” I scrunched the drawing and his love with it. Sadness clouded Kolya’s face and my heart sunk. My chest pressed watching his devastation.
No, I had to remind myself, love is weakness and the world is especially cruel and relentless when you’re weak.
Mom and Dad had frozen to death in a cell in Novosibirsk. Who would take care of my sister Nastya and Uncle Vadim if I screwed up chasing after stupid dreams of love and romance?
I fought the need to console him, there was no place in my life for foolish teenage crushes.
They stood staring as I rode away in a huff, fleeing these troubling emotions.
Spring had arrived in full force and Minsk was once again covered in lush greens as I glided down Stalyetava Street, taking in the scent of freshly cut grass. The whole city was buzzing with preparations for the 1975 World Wrestling Championships at Minsk Sports Palace.
Comrade Brezhnev had led the Soviet Union into an era of prosperity and everywhere pretty ladies showed off their counterfeit European bags while men proudly paraded around in their expensive American jeans. The economic stagnation was still years away and for this teenage Belarusian girl basking in the warm afternoon breeze, this was a good time to be alive. I didn’t need love in my life to complicate things, did I?
I had learned to like the old gym at Zakharova Avenue, it smelt of history, mold, dedication, and despair. With the end of Khrushchev’s restriction to the movement of rural populations, boys and girls from every corner flocked here with hope of qualifying for the Championship.
They all wanted to show their prowess but after a few crushing defeats, not one dared to enter the Krav Maga ring that we, the Volesky twins had claimed for ourselves.
“Would you do it with a Cuban?” my sister Nastya caught me off guard, jabbing her fist square on my chest.
Robbed of air, I withdrew a step.
“Wha… what do you mean?” I countered her with a spin kick.
She dodged it, then eyed the two tanned men in suits admiring our installation while our local official representative praised its Stalinist architecture.
“If representative Rybak asked you, as part of his Operation Charm,” a mocking tone colored her deep voice. “For Belarus. For the Motherland.”
Representative Rybak was a brown nose with deep connections to the Kremlin. A former World War II hero, he had been disgraced Bornova travesti by a scandal with the daughter of a party member and exiled to Minsk.
“Of… of course not.”
“They all do it, you know?” she smirked, looking at the foreign students watching our training in awe. “The Bureau operatives? How do you think they get the westerners to squeal their secrets? Mata Hari, Skarbek, Dalilah… women are the best spies in the world. We’ve always been. “
“We?” I laughed at my sister’s sense of self-importance. “You’re just a farm girl from Pogost, chasing after pigs and chicken. Just because Uncle Vadim got us here, you think you’re gonna be the next Bond girl, banging Americans in exchange for nuclear launch codes?”
“Shut up!” Nastya lunged at me blindly, furious, and stupid as a bison. I slid to the side, planting my fist on her jaw.
Our trainer’s whistle blew in anger before my sister even kissed the mat.
“Proshu proshcheniya!” I apologized for my roughness.
The State needed its pretty athletes to retain most of their teeth and radiant beauty at least until the championship. Inside I was fuming, the whole notion of pulling back punches was alien to me. Uncle Vadim had taught us all our lives how ruthless and unforgiving Krav Maga was. Giving anything less than 110% in the ring was an insult to both the philosophy of the discipline and your opponent. Disgraceful.
“Hit the showers, ladies, you’re done for today,” the sow dismissed us. Behind her, state eyes tracked us.
“Bloated korova,” Nastya grunted between teeth and I muffled my amusement. Four black foreign students watched us head out.
“Those are Zambians,” she grinned. “One day, they will graduate as doctors and engineers and return to their country to help spread communism there. Imagine the memories we could fill their brains with.”
“My classmate Anya’s mom cooks and cleans at Representative Rybak’s dacha and says they’re vacationing there.”
“Wow…” she turned to look at them again.
“Yeah, they study in Moscow. She says he takes them every night to all the pubs in Zybitskaya and feeds them a steady diet of Minsk’s finest bleached hookers. I doubt two virgin girls from Pogost could teach them anything they haven’t seen.”
“It’s cute that you think I’m a virgin,” she joked and I playfully punched her in the shoulder.
“Ow! Valeria!” Nastya feigned a lethal wound and I hugged her, giggling:
“Aww, my poor little Nasha.”
I was older by 17 minutes, which instinctively made me protective of her. Sometimes.
“Can I borrow your soap?” She treated herself to my bag, without so much as waiting for my approval. ” I forgot mine…”
“Again? Some superspy you’d make…” I mocked her. Nastya had a smart mouth and a quick tongue, but she’d lose her head if it wasn’t attached to her neck. She had failed to qualify for my school due to her poor grades and it still bothered her to this day.
Uncle Vadim had worked so hard to get us out of Pogost. Disappointing him had been crushing.
“What is this?” she rummaged through the content, producing Kolya’s drawing. I had kept it til I could find a garbage bin to dispose of it and completely forgotten. “Oh, it’s gorgeous!”
“That’s just Kolya’s stupid drawing. Cyka blyat, I forgot all about it…”
Her green eyes lost themselves on the graphite lines and her thick eyebrows softened. I knew very well that fascinated expression, a keen spirit was calling out to her through those pencil strokes on the paper.
“Kolya… is he a… classmate?”
“Just some hockey head who won’t shut up about Dinamo Minsk returning to the top league…” I blushed, reaching for the drawing. She held onto it.
“You and Dad used to love hockey…”
“It’s a stupid game that won’t put food on our table, give me that…” I pulled at my end as if my life depended on this drawing to live.
“No,”, she resisted. “Let me have it…”
“Riiip,” the drawing was torn in half and my heart stung. We both fell backwards, each holding a piece. Nastya hit a locker with a loud bang and my heart raced.
I rushed to my sister, was she hurt? Was she bleeding? That drawing, that stupid drawing. This is what happens when you let feelings…
“Oww,” Nastya moaned. “That hurt!”
Relief flooded my chest, thank God she was alright.
“A thick head like yours? Doubt it…” I smiled nervously, helping her get up. “You seriously liked it?”
“Of course, can’t you see it?”
Unlike my sister, I didn’t have an artistic bone in my body.
“Valeria, this boy is in love…” she swooned. Nastya was such a sucker for romance. I needed to do better, be better. ‘Don’t be weak’, I hammered those words into my brain, ‘Remember Novosibirsk.’
There Buca travesti was a garbage bin by the door.
“Love won’t put food on our table either, Nastya,” I crushed my half into a ball and threw it in, feeling myself die inside.
There was a dark green Zhiguli parked in front of our building on Kazlova Street when we got home. A brand new VAZ-2101. State officials? Did someone hear Nastya call our trainer a bloated korova?
“Uncle Vadim, there is a car parked out… side…” I froze. Representative Rybak was standing in our tiny kitchen with a cup of tea in hand. Uncle Vadim sat on the chair, staring at the tiled floor.
“Privet,” he greeted me, offering his gloved hand. “You must be Valeria.”
“Dobryy vecher…” I shook it nervously, wondering how he could tell us apart. The clothes, I was in my school uniform.
“Your Uncle Vadim has been hiding you from us all these years, what a fine Belarusian emerald you are, my dear…” he ignored Nastya’s presence. “Don’t you agree, comrade Kruk?”
Behind us, a shadow stood admiring the tiny twin red star badges decorating our living room bookshelf. The 3rd grade Little Octobrist pins that we had once worn with so much pride. Was he trying to guess which one was mine? Unremarkable in all aspects except for the way he moved, the man approached us like a predator circling his prey.
“Indeed,” he offered me his hand as well, rugged and warm. ‘Beware of men with warm hands, their hearts are cold’, I’m sure I’ve once heard babushka say. “What a pleasure to meet you, Valeria.”
“Comrade Kruk and I go way back, he has an eye for people with great potential,” Representative Rybak smiled. Way back to their Kremlin days, he meant.
So I was his latest ticket out of Minsk, headhunting the local talent to ingratiate himself with the party. Watching them together, I realized I must have seen comrade Kruk a dozen times at the gym and never noticed the man. So this is what a real spy was supposed to look like? I was too nervous to feel disappointed.
My eyes kept traveling back to Uncle Vadim, so tired and defeated. Just like Dad, on the night men came to take him to Novosibirsk. Just like Mom, two weeks later. The last time we saw them. ‘Treasonous Trotskyist reactionaries’, an official had called them.
“Uncle Vadim?” He never lifted his head.
“Your Uncle has agreed that you’re wasting your youth out here, Valeria,” Representative Rybak’s arm enveloped my shoulders. “Growing old, turning into a ‘bloated korova’… there is no worse thing in the world than wasted potential, don’t you think?”
“A crime, really,” comrade Kruk added. “A real crime.”
My eyes found their way to Nastya sulking in the corner, rendered as small and defeated as Uncle Vadim. This was what she had wanted, her dream. Mata Hari. Bond girl. This should have been her moment.
“Tomorrow, you start at the Institute. You do know the address, yes?”
“W.. what about Nastya?”
Comrade Kruk stared at me, questioning my intelligence. Had his instincts failed him? Was I a stupid girl after all? Would I like to go back to Pogost, perhaps? Or maybe a one way trip to Novosibirsk for wasting their time?
“Yes…” I nodded. “I know the address.”
“Excellent! Your family will never have to stand in the breadline again, Valeria,” comrade Kruk added, grabbing his coat.
“Yes, comrade…” I nodded again, watching through the corner of my eyes Nastya melt into a quiet, sobbing breakdown. “Spasiba, comrade.”
Representative Rybak hugged me, ecstatic. I was his ticket back to Moscow.
“We expect great things from you, Valeria.”
The following week was brutal, physical, and psychological exams at the Institute from dusk until dawn. A slight anemia, but nothing that couldn’t be fixed with a supervised diet. Endometriosis tissue in my fallopian tubes suggested infertility.
My parents’ Trotskyist background raised concerns and my ease with a Tokarev rifle raised eyebrows. My Krav Maga background was noted and my participation in the Championship considered. They seemed far more interested in my ability to maintain a cool head while being bombarded with horrific sounds and imagery of torture, violence, and death.
My brain was mush when I got home, wondering if Kolya had missed me. Being away made me realize I missed feeling his eyes on me, tracing the lines of my features.
“Hi, Uncle Vadim, is Nastya in yet?”
“You’ve just missed her,” he peeked from the kitchen. “She said she forgot her pencil case at school.”
“That’s so like her…” I smiled, grabbing her school bag off the floor. Its content had spilled onto the carpet in her rush to get back. The pencil case rested at the bottom of the bag. I stared at it in my hand, wondering what this meant. What could she be up to?
The Konak travesti visit from the state men still weighed heavily on my mind, Nastya hadn’t taken it well at all. We barely spoke that night or the following days, but I could see the accusation in the line of her lips. I had stolen her Bond girl dream.
Something else inside her bag caught my eye, the drawing. She had straightened it out and taped the two torn pieces back together. She hadn’t just grabbed my piece from the garbage bin and joined them, care had been poured into meticulously cleaning up and restoring it; effort and dedication.
In a frenzy, I rushed to our bedroom, fearing what I was going to find. My school uniform was missing.
My bicycle flew up Stalyetava Street as I pedaled all the way to my school. Inside my aching chest, my heart was pounding. My burning lungs threatened to explode out of my mouth.
The boy. The stupid boy. I prayed for him not to be as dumb as I feared.
School had just finished when I arrived at the gates. How many times had Kolya and I strolled through these? Laughter filled the air as the students walked out, excited to get home after another hard day of learning.
“I’m so happy for you two,” Anya’s voice sang from behind me, and at that moment I knew.
The soft scent of oak and birch trees filled the warm late afternoon, adding to the enchantment of the sunset. My heart stung as I turned to face them.
Kolya’s lips were on Nastya’s. It hurt so much seeing him hold her gently in his arms, like a priceless treasure. His soft fingers caressed her hair, playing with her long blonde braids while a tear of happiness glided down his cheek. His heart belonged to her now. He would never be mine.
That was the exact moment I realized I was in love with the stupid boy.
Their mouths finally parted for air and his eyes fell on me. Kolya turned to Nastya in disbelief:
“Valeria, I didn’t know you had a twin sister,” his gaze traveled back and forth between us.
Nastya shrugged in my uniform, glaring at me with emerald fire: “Surprise!”
FROM PARIS WITH LOVE
“H! H! Vicky!” He slid in and out of my tight womanhood. “Ooh, Vicky, you’re the best!”
“Baise-moi! H! Hm! Oh! Oui!” I moaned in the thralls of ecstasy. The man was as big as a house, his arms large as trees. And yet his wasn’t the biggest black cock I’d ever had.
Standing erect at 28 centimeters length and eight centimeters diameter, The Ethiopian Ambassador from the Ritz Hotel abduction job still beat him by three centimeters.
Not that it mattered, I was never fond of huge monster cocks and the way they stabbed at my cervix.
No, what I liked about Cormac Peters’ technique was his timing and pacing. He knew how to read my body and adjust his technique. I craved the slow gliding sensation of his member as it drove in and out of my intimacy, taking all the time in the world to savor the moment. The delightful touch of his soft skin brushing against mine.
His kissing technique was also excellent, almost on par with Pavel’s who, together with the Dutch avionics engineer from the Dassault Aviation heist were in a league of their own.
I rode him to completion for an hour of complete bliss. And then, once I had climbed to my perfect spot, he mounted me and fucked me like a whore in heat. The way I convulsed on the sheets as he filled me was almost embarrassing. My limbs flailed in the air as I orgasmed again and again, screaming at the top of my lungs.
Vive Paris! What a stellar pounding, even better than the Tuscan chauffeur from the IBM RP3 switcheroo mission. Genuine tears of joy rolled down my cheeks as he slowly eased me down from the heights of ecstasy.
Surrounded by his powerful arms, I mused that I could have learned to love this man if my heart didn’t belong to Kolya. Kolya, who I hadn’t seen in over ten years. He had married my sister Nastya, who I hadn’t spoken to in just as long, then divorced her. Uncle Vadim’s letters never elaborated why.
Thinking about them dragged me back to reality and I rolled on the sheets, peeking outside.
Ten years since I left home, ten years since I had last seen Nastya and Uncle Vadim, Anya and Kolya.
Five since I had finished my operative training at the Institute with excellent grades in marksmanship and linguistics. Five years of lying, killing, fucking, kidnapping, and stealing.
Somewhere out there, my husband Pavel was now preparing to execute our latest target, Cassiel while I kept his Zodiac Team One buddy busy. It was a simple assignment, I fuck A while he terminates B. Sometimes I took care of A while he kept B busy. The sacrifices we did for the Motherland.
There was no light in the apartment in front of us. My delighted grin shriveled.
I knew that place well, we had used it before. The curtain was rolled up, Pavel was in there shrouded in darkness, watching me fuck Cormac through a teleobjective lens. Instead of tracking Cassiel to put a bullet in his head.
The moron. The fucking moron. I knew he was going to be a problem.
Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32