From Russia Without Love
Extract from book two (“Blowjobs.”), of the biography of a Covert Operator.
"From Russia Without Love."
(Rape, murder, and worse, resulted in a few gratuitous blowjobs.)
Some jaunts, like the one preceding this were of a quite routine nature. They didn't impinge on the memory or conscience all that much. Others left an unpleasant memory as legacy. The following is one of those unsavoury missions I undertook. It was jaunts like this that convinced me that the existence of covert operators like me was justified.
Memory recalls the time I was ensconced in a hideout a few miles inside the Russian border. I'd been despatched there to collect pictorial and other evidence, acquired by a regular British agent. It was cooler inside the Soviet Union. I had been sent straight from a job in Dawlat al-Imarat al-'Arabiyah al-Muttahidah (Trucial Oman). It had been damned hot and sticky holed up in the desert there for seven weeks, so the change was welcome.
The agent held a senior position in a bio-chemical plant only ninety miles inside the Soviet boarder - near Tbilisi. Unable to pass it through to the Embassy, he'd deposited the information with a British 'sleeper', planted there years earlier. The sleeper had a small farm, and lived with his wife and daughter there.
(Note: 'Sleepers' were agents set up with homes, jobs, and cover, in hostile countries. They remained undercover, carrying on normal life until a use was found for them. Some 'slept' for as long as twenty years before being 'awakened' to carry out a service.)
Flying from Saudi Arabia to Iraq, I took the train to Mosul, thence carried on up through the Kurdistan Mountains by donkey. Thereafter, I followed along the Greek/Iranian border without let or hindrance. All I suffered was a sore arse from riding a donkey too many miles. Once well into the mountains, I happened upon some drug-smuggling Iranians. They appeared almost out of nowhere, as I navigated a remote mountain pass.
Having debated on taking Jessica (My .22 special), it was more than gratifying I had chosen to accept the extra risk, and do so. Those dope smugglers were as surprised as I at the meeting. Like me, they tended to shoot first - and ask questions later.
Credit where it is due, one got off the first shot, and struck my donkey in the head. Using it as cover as it fell, my fire in reply was more deadly. In three short bursts, the seven were neutralised. They had little of value on them, other than one healthy mule. I swapped that for the donkey, and I took a heavy ex Russian army coat one of them wore. The cargo was 'brown shit'. (Marijuana), I debated, and then unloaded it, set the pack animals free, dragged the bodies, and cannabis into a heap, and set fire to the lot. Then stoking my mount into top gear, I headed north.
It was a small blow against the drug trade; however, I got a little satisfaction from my gesture. The killings were a necessity – anyway, they fired the first shot… Once through the mountains, it was onwards into the southern Soviet Union. It was bloody cold. My blood was thin after the stay in warmer desert climes. That army coat came in handy. I abandoned the mule, and prepared to cross the border…
Boarder guards vary, depending on Nationality and the Country they guard entry to, or exit from. With practice, it is as easy as strolling through a park to cross most boarders. Some can be tricky though. Probably the easiest are USA, and German boarders. In the first case, the Yanks are so cocky, and self-assured that a blind Arab wearing crossed bandoliers, and sporting an AK47 would be unlucky if he was not waved through a patrol checkpoint! Most anywhere else along the border, he could stumble over at will. Germans – they were so predictable: Their training required obeying the letter of the law. Every action was precise, and changeovers made to the second. Soviets were another kettle of fish: Away from main centres, they were an unpredictable law unto themselves, and at the whim of their commander.
The Turkish side of the boarder was no problem. The guards were neither alert, nor gave a shit: After all, who would be stupid enough to want to cross into Russian controlled territory! As for coming the other way - the Ruskies would take care of that…
After twenty-six hours of surveillance, I picked my crossing point. It was at a spot two hundred yards north of a Ruskie patrol's Control and sleeping quarters. It was well clear of the next patrol section. I had to traverse some two hundred yards of open ground, then penetrate inland hell knew how far, to be clear of the patrols.
Holing up for the rest of that night, I made my move an hour before dawn. (It is usually the safest time. (Old guards are sleepy, fresh guards are more concerned with getting comfortable and keeping warm.) In the case of Ruskies, they keep their good eye on ensuring their officer does not surprise them. The boarder guarding takes second place. The spot I'd chosen was patrolled irregularly, at intervals of anything between six and thirty minute intervals. The patrols consisted of two soldiers with their accompanying ferocious dogs.
Waiting until the patrol passed me, moving east away from me, I nipped into no-man's-land for fifty yards, dumped the heavy coat, and dashed back. Then I made my way parallel with the patrol, travelling in the same direction. I heard them stop, and then start their return. Giving them three minutes, I started my crossing. Only a few yards into my journey, the two dogs started barking. A shot rang out, and a searchlight beam illuminated the border area. I had guessed right. The dogs had found the coat, and then followed my tracks back to Turkish territory.
A minute later, the Turks woke up and added their searchlights to the area. Running fast, but steadily, I penetrated Soviet territory. I could visualise the situation I’d left to my rear: Soviets would be remonstrating with Turks, but staying on their own side. After a few minutes - and possibly a bit of bartering by the Ruskies for any 'Western goodies' they could acquire - the Turks would return to continue their interrupted sleep, the Ruskies would report to their commander. Not wanting to submit a report, and admit his patrol had allowed an unauthorised crossing - thereby leaving him open to serious punishment – the officer would instruct his guards to forget the incident, and carry on their patrol. By that time, I would be the best part of two miles inside Soviet Russia.
Daybreak found me holed up in a small thicket, some eight hundred yards from a large wood. I felt safer there, and spent most of the day resting. Late afternoon, I checked my compass, and headed further into enemy territory. It took eighteen hours to reach my approximate target - another large wood. It was an hour past dawn by then - time to hole up again.
It would have been so easy to be lax, and just climb a tree or something; training dictated otherwise. I found an open spot in some rough ground a hundred yards clear of the wood. The spot commanded a good view all round. Taking a sachet of pepper, and ground liquorice root, I spread a thin, one-yard band in a circle on the ground, ten yards out from my hide. (Though hidden from casual observation, dogs would quickly have sniffed me out). That particular mixture played havoc with a dog's sensory organs, and fucked up their nasal passages good. It proved unnecessary on that occasion, but saved me on two later jaunts.
Barely had I got settled when a military convoy came into view across the fields. In the space of thirty minutes, the whole area was bristling with Ruskies. There were no tanks, but several tracked vehicles, and around three-dozen other trucks. Just how many personnel were involved was difficult to assess accurately. (It seemed at the time it was about three-quarters of the whole Soviet army!) I figured they were searching for me. A couple of soldiers passed within twenty yards of me. It was then - from my smattering of Russian, and their looks and dress - I gathered they were merely young recruits in the closing throws of a military training exercise.
Remaining concealed, and shivering my balls off in the low temperature, I watched them get organised, and then do a simulated combing of the wood for enemies. My training had paid off. It was as sure as Hookers sell their Pussy that I would have been found if I had holed up in there!
Two hours after nightfall, I emerged to do some warming exercises, take my bearings, and move on. The skimpy sketch map provided proved extremely accurate: In only minutes, another forest edge came into view. I skirted it to look down into the shallow valley beyond. The available starlight revealed the outline of a building nestling down there. I was reasonably certain it was the farmhouse I sought. The urge was strong for me to get there in the darkness, get inside among friends - and thaw out my frozen balls. Alas, I could not afford such luxuries: The mission - and my life - depended on caution.
Finding a vantage point some four hundred yards from the building, I secured my cover, to await the dawn light, and observe any activity, before making any final approach. As the sky lightened, and the first bird-sounds started, I used Jessica's scope to sweep the whole area. It was well that I did so: Further down, and to my left, I caught the faintest of movements, which did not tie in with nature - a camouflaged figure was taking a pee.
The chances of one guy being out on his own at such a time was negligible - unless it was another idiot like me! Sure enough, a more detailed scrutiny of the area confirmed my first thoughts: the farmhouse was under surveillance by others besides me. I made out four figures, laying outstretched in the gloom. Remaining motionless - as light increased - two others were discovered by me. One of those was in the process of sweeping the area with powerful binoculars!
The cogs within the old brain whirred rapidly, assessing the situation, and the most probable reason for their presence. From their stealth, concealment, and general demeanour, it seemed these were not kids out on any exercise: They were professionals laying in wait for someone. That someone was assuredly Frankie! Without doubt, my mission had been compromised. Worse, the lack of any signs of the house inhabitants stirring boded ill for them: Farmers rise early to start their daily chores.
That day was a long and very cold one for me. Remaining undiscovered was of prime concern. It must have been no less arduous for that ambush party, better clothed as they were - for surely that is what it was. They had been well trained, and stuck to their task admirably. During the day, I made out that their leader was a female. She had eight soldiers under her command, so far as I could see - I discovered two more holed up, one either side of the farmhouse, and just a few yards from front and side entrances. Day turned into night. Then night turned into another day. I could have abandoned the jaunt under cover of darkness. That was not my way; I needed to know more.
The three days I spent there in inadequate clothing - mostly totally motionless, freezing, and cramped - could only have been endured because I was a pigheaded, egotistical bastard, with a determination that I was more durable than any Ruskie soldier was. It paid off. By the evening of the third day, indications were, that the officer had reached the conclusion that any Agent she'd been led to believe was coming, was not going to appear. That night the patrol relaxed somewhat. I figure she'd made her mind up to spend another token night laying in ambush, and would call it a day come the dawn. It was time for me to make a move.
Snaking slowly backwards for the best part of a hundred yards was painful, exhausting, but necessary. I needed to be well clear of possible detection, before my next move. The next quarter hour I spent loosening limbs, regaining circulation, ingesting hard-rations, and sugar-water. The while, I went over previously devised plans again. It was my intent to gain access to the house, and - hopefully - find what I'd been sent to collect. Depending on the outcome, I may then make good my escape. Adrenalin flowing, my mind blanked to all but the task ahead.
Making a wide detour, I approached from the opposite side of the building. The last hundred yards were of necessity slow, as I had two guys laying in wait for just such a fool as me. The one nearest was the easiest: The three soldiers that had occupied that position at different times, had all positioned themselves with their backs to the direction I was approaching from. Caught unawares, one blow severed his spinal column at approximately his fifth vertebrae. He died without a sound. Making my way round to the other one showed he was sat facing me, but dozing. It took several minutes to get within striking distance, and then a swift boot in his face allowed me to slit his throat in silence. I moved to the rear, and a window.
The window was slightly open - a fortunate coincidence? However, seldom do people like me get such lucky breaks: That female officer had learned the manual. She had covered for all possibilities. Careful examination showed that any movement on it would trip a hand-grenade. It was reasonable to assume all other entrances were equally protected. It took a few minutes to remove a glass pane, then reach in and disarm the booby-trap. Once inside I saw it was the kitchen. It had one partly open door. Advancing with care, and examining it for trips, I opened it further to view the room beyond.
In the gloom it was difficult to make much detail out, however, light from the new moon filtering in was sufficient to reveal that all was not well.
This must have been the main living room of the house - though little seemed to be alive. On the floor in front of me lay the headless body of a naked woman. It was minus the nipples, and most of either breast. The belly had been slit lengthwise. It gaped open to show a large hollow of congealed bloody innards. The vagina had been messed about badly too. It flashed through my mind just in what order the desecration had been committed. I fear if it had followed normal practice of certain interrogators, then the woman had suffered considerably.
It may seem unnecessary to go into these details, but I will: It is such things that in my book justify the existence of 'Blowjob' bastards like me.
One can presume the woman was tortured in an attempt to get her husband to talk. The standard practice of specialist field patrols - like the one outside - would have followed the pattern of slapping the farmer around first to get him to talk. That failing, the next procedure would be for the soldiers to get sexual gratification by raping his wife before his eyes, in hope he would talk then. If that failed, cutting off her nipples was another usual ploy. (It took a hard man to watch that without breaking down and confessing everything.) The belly slitting was not something we had much evidence of. Hacking the head off was a normal practice, whether information had been gained or not.
The reason for the belly being slit open became obvious as I closed the door behind me - a purely instinctive gesture to 'cover my back': Hanging impaled on a hook on the door was the remains of a near full-grown foetus of a boy-child. The woman must have been heavily pregnant, and the babe almost certainly was removed whilst she was still alive. It is at moments like that when one is thankful to be able to remain dispassionate, and focused on the job in hand.
The man had been crucified by nailing him spread-eagled to the other door with kitchen knives. His genitals had been removed, and eyeballs slit. Again, those things would have been done whilst he was still alive. His ears were missing. He had a shoulder bullet wound, and one in his thigh. As his throat had not been slit, I assumed he'd died under torture, or from his wounds. That was not the worst of it…
On the table lay the remains of a girl of around twelve years of age - judging by the youthful face, small protruding breasts, and sparse pubic hair. One can only imagine the suffering she had been put through in front of her father. Obviously, the almost statuary gangbang rape would have taken place. The handle of a homemade besom broom had followed this. It had been inserted into her vagina to impale her. The savagery of this attack must have taken more than one person to accomplish: Only the twigs were visible between her bloody thighs. The handle had penetrated right up through her body, and exited by her neck.
However disgusting and inhuman you may think such actions performed by those Russians, just remember, many similar atrocities have been perpetrated, and later discovered as having been done by ordinary soldiers of several nations in recent conflicts. They still go on. War turns many normal persons into the most heinous of beasts…
Time was of the essence for me. More in hope than expectation, I searched the floor to the right of the fireplace. Prizing up a stone paving-flagstone revealed what I had hoped for - a hiding place. The tin inside contained a quantity of money, passports, travel papers - and a sheath of copies of documents and photos. The photos were of the interior of a laboratory, and of labelled containers, and phials. I could not translate the writing, but assumed what they denoted. The documents were photocopies of technical data - I had what I wanted.
(Note: At the time, Agents, Sleepers, and 'Safe-houses', used the floor on the right of a fireplace to secret documents, handguns etc. It was standard practice, but the practice has surely been abandoned and superseded since then.)
Logic would have dictated I get the hell out of there smartly, with my prize. I had other ideas…
In view of the attitude of the others in the patrol earlier, I guessed they would at best be still sleeping, at worst, less than in a state of top visual awareness. I exited the house by the same window, and then circumnavigated the area towards my quarry. Only one was awake - the officer. She was relieving herself a short distance away from the others. Waiting until she had finished, I still caught her with her pants down. It would have been easy to neutralise her, however, I had other plans for her… a calculated blow to the temple sufficed to silence, and temporarily immobilise her. Moments later, a half clip of dum dums spewed out in a dull tattoo from the silenced Jessica, neutralising the rest of the platoon.
A cursory examination revealed only one was still breathing. A single shot spattered his brains. Silence reigned all around. It took moments to see exactly whom I had been up against: These bastards had been GRU Spetznaz (Glavnoe Razvedyvatel'noe Upravleni Special Services). These boys were the pick of the Russian Army. They mostly did sabotage, or intelligence work outside Russia. One thought of concern was: 'What the fuck were they doing here?' Of more concern was that our intelligence indicated they worked in groups of eleven! I wondered where the other two might be! The officer was uppermost in my mind. Stripping a cord from a soldier's cami-hood, I secured her hands behind her. Ripping her knickers off, I removed the elastic. I stuffed her pants in her mouth, and secured them with the elastic. That would hold her temporary.
The largest soldier was smaller than I was, but his outer clothing fitted me near enough. I made use of it. Taking a chance I had time, I stripped the soldiers naked, removed their heads, and threw them well into the woods. I slit open the torsos. It would be difficult to recognise them within hours, as hungry wild animals would soon smell the blood, and relish the feed. Rousing the officer, I collected the clothing, and directed her towards the farmhouse. Pushing her through the window, and dumping the clothing behind her, I followed.
I pushed her into the living room, and pointed to the bodies - "Вы затем”. I spat the words, glaring at her. My knowledge of Russian was extremely basic; however, I hope that meant 'You're next.' The brief flash of fear in her eyes conveyed she knew what I meant. It was replaced immediately by a blank stare. A quick check confirmed that both doors were booby-trapped. The way her eyes changed as I glanced at the girl on the table caused me to check. Moving the girl's body would have triggered another one. These sods were not only callous, but also bloody thorough professionals.
Using a few bits to hand, I started a fire, smirked at her, and left quickly. The noise behind showed she had followed. I guessed she would. I looked at her with contempt, muttering, "Russian chicken”. She gave me a challenging stare:
"No chicken. While life, there is hope, yes?" It was the first indication she either understood, or could speak English. As soon as I saw what unit she was from, I figured it a safe bet she could. It was standard for all those Speznaz to have a working knowledge of English at least - if not other languages. It also showed she had managed to drop her knickers again - from her mouth this time.
"What's the matter darling? Didn't you like the taste of your own cunt?" I added sharply, "One tiny sound will be your last”.
She looked a Jessica, "What weapon is that?”
"That, darling is ten times more powerful than your AKM's. Now move - Up through the valley to the trees”.
She set off at a good pace. I kept her walking on for two hours. It was a lonely, mostly uninhabited area. Despite a constant vigilant watch, I saw no further sign of humanity until we came across an almost derelict, abandoned shack. It was time I had a piss, a drink, and got rid of my companion. She was highly trained - and highly dangerous. I knew that by this time she would have her hands nearly free behind her though she had been walking in front of me all the way. At the slightest opportunity she would strike. I'd only taken her along because two persons dressed in military camouflage gear would attract less immediate attention, if observed, and give an extra few seconds for any action needed. She was a bitch, I intended her to suffer at least a tiny portion of what that family had suffered under her command.
Ushering her inside the shack I indicated for her to strip. She shrugged, "How? My hands are tied?"
"Then undo them, you cunt." She knew I was no fool. With a flick, she dropped the cord, and started undressing.
Remaining just out of reach, I waited and watched. She was certainly a bitch - but a bitch still in her twenties, and with a fair figure. For a randy sod like me - that had been without Pussy for far longer than was healthy for me - her body was extremely attractive. Tired I may be, but a good fuck seemed more than inviting. I looked at her as if debating something -
"What’s your name?"
With the slightest of hesitation she answered, "Major Helvanov”
"Well, Major Helvanov, you are in the shit, and you know it. Even if I just cut off your tits," I indicated her breasts”, then let you go, you will probably die here. In any case, if you are found in time, your superiors will punish you, and probably kill you for failing, and losing your platoon." I paused. "So what happened to the rest of your platoon?" She shrugged -
"We took casualties when we attacked."
(That explained the two bullets in the farmer. Good for him if he’d blown two of the bastards.)
Having built up some slight rapport, and feeling easier now I knew about the two 'missing' soldiers, I pressed on with the plan I had just formulated.
"Yes, my darling, either way you are in the shit. In my case, the chances of me getting back to the West are not very good. That leaves us both in the shit, eh?"
"You will never make it to cross the border." She sounded as if she believed it. Then she asked, "Who are you Sir? The Sir came as a surprise. Whatever she thought, I was confident I could cross any border. However, I let her think I believed her.
"No. I probably will not make it back home. Who am I Major? A bigger catch than you can imagine." Giving her chance to digest that, I looked her straight in the eye. "Just supposing I did not want to go back? Suppose I was fed up with the West? Supposing I defected? What then?" That set her mind working furiously. Her changing thoughts, and a spark of hope reflected in her dilating pupils.
"That would be a wise decision Sir. Russia looks after her friends very well." She looked at me almost smiling, "May I put on my clothes Sir, It is freezing?" It was so tempting to let her see the anger gnawing within me, and to tell her to get fucked. Instead, I hesitated, as if debating.
"Just what deal can we work out here, Major? She looked enquiringly, as if needing clarification, I continued. "What is your first name Major?"
"Kisa - It means Kitty."
"Kitty, eh! Well you look like a nice piece of Pussy to me." The quick glance to her breasts, and her imperceptibly displaying her charms, showed she not only understood, but also, like most women, could not resist a complement. This did not stop her being more dangerous than a roused rattlesnake.
I pressed on in a noncommittal tone - "Anyway. This deal, or agreement I am thinking about, Kisa: Just suppose I defected? Suppose I surrendered to you? You could return as a hero. I have very valuable information for your superior officers. We could make up a story that it was not just one man that killed all your patrol, and took you prisoner. We could say that it was a large force of airborne British Speznaz. You fought bravely, but were heavily outnumbered. You escaped with me, and saved the secret documents falling in enemy hands? You would get promotion and a medal, Kisa."
She was not only digesting that, but certainly, her brain was working on how she could double-cross me - and actually take me prisoner. She could use the rest of the lie, and be a national hero anyway. I disillusioned her.
" However, if I was a prisoner, I would tell nothing, other than that I wiped out your troop single-handed whilst you were all asleep. That would mean total disgrace for you, and your family. They would never get me to talk, because I swallowed a new biological poison. Unless I get the antidote injected in less than thirty-six hours, I will die. A doctor with the antidote is waiting across the border. We never take chances on being forced to talk." That changed her train of thought.
"You never told me your name, Sir”, her English was very good, “you have a very good plan. You will be a Russian hero too. You will make a very good Russian spy if you wish."
I laughed, "No thank you Kisa. I want to get out whilst I am still alive." Adding, craftily, "I want to meet a Russian lady as beautiful and intelligent as you, and spend most of my life in bed keeping her happy." I swear she blushed a little, her reply betrayed some of her own thoughts.
"That lady will be very lucky, Sir. I think you are a very handsome man under all that paint.” (My features were still camouflaged with greasepaint.) She continued with an almost open invitation, "I love big men. Unfortunately, I have had little time to enjoy that side of life for some time. What is your name please? If we are to be good friends?"
The invitation was obvious. Trap it may be: I was willing to bet it was not. I smiled, "Right now it is still 'Sir.' However, If we had a deal, and got to seal it with a kiss, say, Kisa, and maybe - Well I would not only tell you my name, but anything else you wanted to know."
She was caught with the proverbial hook, line, and sinker. Just a few minutes earlier, she had been facing - at best - an ignominious end, minus her breasts. That had changed in moments to the strong possibility of her being a national hero. More than that, the elation had set her other juices flowing - there was a prospect of overdue sex. Her nipples had been small and hard with the effects of cold. Now they were starting to blush red, and dilate for a different reason. She answered, with a quite wicked female grin,
"Well, I want to know your proper name Sir, and your plan is very excellent, and it has been too long since - since I had a man, so -" She put her arms on her hips, thrust her pelvis forward invitingly, and challenged, "do I get dressed, or do we seal our deal with a kiss - and celebration?"
"Kisa, we have got a deal on one condition!" The tiniest frown of doubt creased here forehead.
"What is that, Sir, please?"
"Well, your body is driving me crazy, Kisa. The deal is you make passionate love to me." She looked around, and spread her clothes to form a bed, looked askance.
"If I had some of yours to lay on, it would be more comfortable!"
"Just a moment then, we don’t want to be caught making love. Leaving her, I did a thorough check of the area all round. Seeing nobody, and observing the birds in all directions were behaving unconcerned, I returned inside, just in time to catch Kisa fingering her Pussy. She stopped, self-consciously, I joked, "Don't stop for me, Kisa, I like my Pussy warm and juicy."
I tossed Jessica to one side - apparently carelessly - but out of her reach. I shrugged off my rucksack. Facing her, I stripped my top garments, tossing the clothing for her to add to her bed. Her eyes showed surprise as I bared my top, and I removed my hidden knives. She never spoke. However, when my lower half bared to reveal my almost fully gorged penis, her eyes widened more and a slightly shocked gasp escaped her lips - "Oh оно настолько больш." I guess she thought it was big.
Having only dropped my trousers, but left them and my boots on, I waited for her to lay, eager to get my end away. She smiled and offered me the bed suggesting:
"You lie here please? You are - I think I like to sit. I do not know if - it is big. I take what I can. I will still fuck you good. You will not hurt me?"
It seemed she figured she might not get it all up her. She was eager to fuck, but wary of its size. I smiled to re-assure her. "You sit and put it in, Kisa. I will leave it up to you how much you put in." She straddled me somewhat gingerly, and gave a little 'Oh' of pleasure, as she took in the first few inches and started moving up and down on it. I seldom knew a woman come so fast. I had hardly got a hand on one tit before she strained, holding still, gasping, and then relaxed. I reckon it was ten seconds at the most. She apologised:
"Oh! Sorry. It has been so long, and you are so - Now I do it again. I will fuck you good."
Fondling and kissing her breasts, I encouraged her. She bounced up and down rapidly. As her enthusiasm took her down further on some strokes, she gasped, but carried on. I was wearing nothing. Either in her eagerness, she had forgotten precautions - or didn't care - I don't know. I know I didn't give a shit either way, and shot off inside her. She smiled, ceasing her efforts.
We lay resting a few moments, and then I was rock hard again. I asked her, "You ready for another go, Kisa?"
"Please." Just the one word, and she sat up to start again. That session was longer. She seemed to enjoy it more, but was still careful to take just what she could comfortably manage. I helped her, enjoying the pleasure of her breasts. As I drew near a second orgasm, I sensed she was almost there too. Leaving her breasts, I held her buttocks, riding in and out with her as she became suddenly tighter, and started the gasping throws of a more prolonged orgasm. This time I intended to have a proper fuck. With her in mid orgasm, I thrust in and out, sinking fully home. The pleasure of her orgasm changed to shrieks of pain. She struggled, but I could hold her like a toy, keeping her flaying hands out of reach of my face.
I kept fucking long after I had ejaculated for a second time, then changed my grip to pin her arms and fucked her until I was ready to ejaculate again. Her screams died, as her body relaxed in a faint. I made it to a third orgasm, and then dumped her to the ground by my side. Pinning her there, I tore more cord from the clothing, and bound her hands cruelly tight behind her. Rising, I re-dressed, checked the outside area quickly, and returned. She rolled over. A mixture of fear and pain furrowed her brow. She managed the one word:
"Very simple, really, Major. It's a while since I had a decent fuck, and you have a good body. I could have raped you, but see no pleasure in that. It was far better to have you do it willingly, and eagerly. You did a good job. Thank you."
"What about -" I took it she was wondering about our agreement, so cut her short."
"There was no agreement, Major, I just fancied a fuck." I chose my next words more carefully. "You are a heartless, sadistic bitch. You organised the inhuman torture of that whole family. Despite your filthy cruelty, you learned nothing. With all your training, you are still a pathetic, inadequate creature. Now it's time to taste a bit of your own cruelty. Not because I enjoy inflicting pain, Kisa, but to serve as warning for those that find you. What your lot does will not be tolerated by decent people." She knew she had been conned. However angry she may have been with herself for that, fear of what lay ahead was what filled her eyes.
Other thoughts occupied part of my mind. It was unlikely anyone had found the other bodies by the wood. Any military in the area would be unlikely to know of the secret Speznaz mission. It was also unlikely their absence had been noted. The house I'd set alight as a funeral pyre for the family was also unlikely to have been noticed because of its remoteness. If it had, and anyone had investigated, it would be assumed to have been an accident. Even so - I had pushed my luck more than enough to get a decent shag - it was time to move on.
Looking at her, I had no pity. Whilst wanting others of her ilk to get the message that their methods were barbarous, I did not want to sink to their level - quite. On the other hand, I wanted the bitch to suffer - permanently. When I spoke, it was without passion or anger. I merely made a statement:
"What you did was wrong and evil back there, Kisa. I want you to pass that message on to your friends. I, and others, will hunt you all out. It will take time, but we will get you all. Your Speznaz is no match for us." Any hope she was harbouring of her going to live to tell the tale unscathed were soon dashed, as I continued -
"You are a bitch, Kisa. You have to suffer. I hope you can make it to get help, and give them my message. You can get dressed and try. However, scum like you should neither be allowed to reproduce, nor enjoy the act of trying." The fear returned to her eyes as I produced a knife. Grabbing some clothing, I ripped a hunk sufficient to stuff in her mouth to still her screams. I bound it tightly, and set to work…
Her nipples were first to be removed. Then forcing my hand inside her, I hooked my finger inside her uterus and pulled… it was unlikely she would ever bear children as a result. Not quite finished, I removed her clitoris. By that time, she was unconscious. I sliced the binding to set her hands free, and then roused her. As she fully wakened, I spoke -
“No serious damage has been done, Kisa. You will live. But you will never enjoy sex again, or bring any bastards like yourself into the world. You can patch yourself up as best as you can, then do what you will. I'm off." I wiped, and replaced the knife, rubbed my hands to clean them a bit in the clothing, and shouldered my rucksack. I crooked Jessica in my arm, checked outside, and headed for the boarder. I figured that despite her injuries, she was tough enough to survive: Those Ruskie wenches are hard birds, and she was one of their elite.
The journey back was free of any incident of note. Making my way to the British Embassy in Ankara Turkey, I had them phone my number, and give my code-name. Shortly after, I gave Room 47 my report. The documents I left with the Embassy. I was instructed to take six weeks R&R (Home leave,) and then report to 'Bombay' (My UK home base.) The break was most welcome…
Details of the first book in this biographical trilogy can be found here: www.candidsonline.net/adultoffer.htm