A Swallow's Bite Act 02

THE TWELFTH DIRECTORATE.

The dark hallway smells of mothballs and stale tobacco smoke. Dominika's boot soles swish softly on worn out carpet. The hallway ends at a slash of light glowing from a half-closed door. She doesn't see the dark form standing in a darker doorway.

"Hello?" she calls softly. Silence except for a soft electric buzz from an overhead florescent light. She nervously fingers the I.D. badge that dangles around her neck. "Comrade Lieutenant General? Hello? Is anybody here?"

Suddenly a cruel grip snatches her arm from behind and twists it behind her back. She freezes. Cold steel of a gun barrel presses into the soft flesh just below her ear.

"Very careless of you Patroph," Viktor whispers in a brusque voice. "Mistakes like that can get you killed."

"A thousand pardons, Comrade General. It won't happen again. Will you let me go please?"

His large hand drifts up her arm, to her shoulder then slides beneath her coat. Her stomach knots as his hand settles on the underside of her left breast held snug only by a fitted brown cashmere sweater.

"Pardon me, Comrade Lieutenant General?" she says in a curt voice. "Why are you touching my breast?"

"Your breast?" he says with notable surprise. "These are not your breasts. They are the property of the people of the Soviet Union."

His index finger slides the downy material around her rigid nipple. "Do you forget that we are no longer the Soviet Union?" she asks, controlling her temper and nudging his hand away.

He smirks. "A mere political technicality. Now-now, Patroph. Don't be mad. Your countrymen pay for you. So don't sneer at me like I've done something I shouldn't."

"All for God and Mother Russia?" she mumbles.

"Something like that. My office, let's talk."

Hip to hip, they walk through the doorway. In his shadowy office, Dominika's eyes snap to the glowing TV screen. She sucks breath through her teeth at the taped image of her twisting face as Sveta's finger invades her most private of places. She glares at him.

He shrugs. "My operatives, what they feel and what they do, are my responsibility. It's my job."

She takes off her I.D. badge and coat, lays them neatly on a chair and turns to him. "Tell me Comrade General. Does your job give you the right to invade my personal privacy?"

He chuckles. "Personal privacy, Comrade Patroph, does not often serve the collective good."

"That -- Comrade General, is a left-over socialist ideology that has no business in the new system." Lifting herself by her palms, she sits on the edge of his large mahogany desk. Sensing that his gaze is where it doesn't belong she crosses her legs at her knees. "Now Comrade General, what's so important to call me here in the dead of night?"

Viktor picks up a rolled piece of parchment and stands next to her. "To give you this."

She unrolls the document and looks at the small green and white ribbon pinned to one corner. "The Za otvagu?"

"Yes, an award for your recent act of bravery and valor in the battlefield."

"Why Viktor, I'm touched."

He gestures with his thumb toward the TV screen. "Yes you are, aren't you?"

Dominika cringes at the humiliating scene of her face buried between Sveta's legs.

"Comrade Novoshev is quite the enchantress. I liked it when she poked her finger up your ass."

"Please Comrade General, switch that damn thing off."

With a flick of his finger, the image vanishes. "Patroph, I see a great future for you within the Directorate," he says stroking a curling tumble of flaxen hair and staring into the only thing that he feels surpasses Dominika's ass in raw feminine perfection -- her exquisite and hauntingly mysterious eyes.

Her thoughts are far from mysterious. The payback is so obvious. Oh well. What's a quick-fuck with a former communist and KGB stooge like Viktor? Countries have gone to war over less. Shifting her hips, Dominika wiggles her drum-tight brown miniskirt high enough to allow her next move. Raising a leg, she swings it around his hips and scissors his legs between her thighs. "All right Viktor. What should I do? Lie down on your desk and just let you -- go for it?"

"Come now Patroph, don't talk like a slut. Now then, it appears that the other night you unwittingly uncovered intelligence of extreme interest to the Kremlin and our friends at the CIA."

Dominika cocks her head. "You've discovered Dmitry's motive?"

"In part. Intercepted Intel shows that Rostislav sold out to a shadowy Asian unit with connections to al-Gama'at al-Islamiyya forces."

Dominika looks puzzled. "al-Gama'at al-Islamiyya forces?"

"They're a Muslim extremist organization headquartered in the mountains of Afghanistan."

Dominika's eyes widen. "That place is filled with murderers, criminals and terrorists."

"Yes. They may live in caves, but the Eleventh Directorate considers al-Gama'at al-Islamiyya dangerous enough to order the planning and execution of a Covert Penetration Operation. They've asked me to select agents to place in the field, primarily Afghanistan. Muslims adore European women and --."

"Please Comrade General," she interrupts as her thighs instinctively squeeze his legs, "don't send me to that awful place."

His finger pad slides up her thigh and toys with the hem of her leather miniskirt. "Comrade Patroph, to defy a Directorate order is -- treason."

The implication sends a cold ripple down Dominika's spine. "Oh no-no Comrade General, I would never refuse a Directorate order."

Looking deep in her eyes, Viktor detects no protest as his hand ventures under her skirt. The cool softness of her inner thigh muscles surprises him. The heat coming from the objective doesn't. His intimate touch brings a tiny helpless moan from Dominika's throat.

"You never wear under-pants, do you?"

"I believe you are already know that, Comrade General." She feels a tightening in her clit as his knuckle brushes over her outer lips.

"Does this feel good?" he asks.

"Yes Comrade General, you know it does," she murmurs.

He moves his finger higher. His eyebrows rise. "What's this?"

"Just a three-karat diamond," she whispers, holding her stare.

"A vulva piercing?"

"Most targets think its -- well -- daring." Her hands move, but she holds her stare rigid, like a lioness on the hunt. Two sweater buttons succumb to her fingers. She tugs the sweater from her skirt's tight waistband.

Viktor watches her hand movements and speaks evenly. "Now intelligence has surfaced that al-Gama'at al-Islamiyya forces have received funding and are planning something -- something big."

Viktor stares as she parts the sweater bringing her left breast into view, then her right. "How big?" she whispers lightly stroking a nipple with the back of her thumb.

"Very big," he mumbles, gaze transfixed on what's just inches from his fingers. "May I?"

"Are you asking or ordering?"

"That depends on you Patroph."

She nods and chews her lip.

Viktor cups her left breast. Never has he felt a breast like this. It has the stolidity of stone, yet feels soft as a cotton puff. Its up-tilted nipple hardens then softens as the brush of his thumb triggers sparks in his swelling cock.

Dominika's heart bounces then skids to near halt as his finger circles her super-sensitive areola. She squirms slightly as he assaults the nipple's roughness with thumb and finger. Under her skirt, his other fingers push and pinch. He feels her outer pussy-lips contract then ooze slightly wet. She twists, unable to control her clit from springing to attention. Within her body, a searing effervesce demands a response. Instead, she does little but hold her stony stare. His fingernail scratches the underside of a nipple-shaft coaxing out a rash of tiny milk-buds. Both breasts swell and quiver as she lets her body fill with natural stimulus. She raises her arms and rests her wrists on Viktor's broad shoulders. Her fingertips just graze the back of his neck as her unflinching stare fuses on the black dot in the center of cold colorless eyes.

"Do you want to fuck me?" Dominika whispers boldly.

"Should I want to?" he whispers back.

"Most men do."

"I'm not most men."

Pulling a hand from his shoulder, she rubs his hard erection through his slacks. "I can handle it Viktor," she murmurs. "Can you?"

"Don't insult me," he snaps softly.

Dominika tugs his neck until she can feel his hot breath on her cheeks. She attacks suddenly with a grinding kiss fueled by fever-like passion. Tongues battle with the gentleness of two bullies in a schoolyard scrap. She finds the roof of his mouth and wiggles her tongue across its rough surface. Mutual breathing quickens. They pull apart. Anxious arms contort. Buttons pop. Buckles unbuckle. Zippers unzip. Shoes land on the floor with two thuds. His trousers and under shorts fall around his ankles and are discarded. As he tugs Dominika's sweater from her arms she appraises his attractive slab-muscles flexing beneath his chest-skin. Her gaze drops south. In the world of cocks, Viktor's is standard issue. Well, she thinks. A girl has to fuck a few frogs before one turns into a prince. Grabbing his hips, she guides Viktor's nakedness back between her thighs. "Ummmm," she moans as her spine stiffens in cadence with each squeeze of her hypersensitive breast-flesh, spawning sparkles of pleasure pangs.

Is she responding to my touch? Viktor wonders silently, mesmerized by the rigid softness that graces his fingers. Or -- is she still tender and fantasizing about Sveta's hands? He leans down and brushes his lips across her left nipple.

Dominika's mind spins, momentarily irked at her inability to control her swelling breasts and throbbing nipples from relishing his nibbling, suckling lips.

Another thought thunders through Viktor's mind. I've seen that magnificent ass. Now it's mine and I'm going to explore every square inch of it with my tongue. His finger probes the back of her miniskirt, teasing her tailbone then the top of her warm crevasse.

Dominika's leather belt and metal buckle press against her stomach as he jams his hand down the back of the butt-hugging skirt. She feels his fingers claw at a rigid mound while others gently stroke her flaming pussy-lips.

He stops.

"What's the matter Comrade General?"

"This is -- not -- a good idea," he says in a breathy mumble.

"Why?" she whispers, thwarting his escape by tightening her legs around his.

"Because."

"Is there some rule against the boss screwing the hired help?"

"Well, ah."

Leaning forward she flicks his tiny nipples with her tongue. He pushes her away.

"Control yourself Patroph. Sex in the workplace is not official Directorate business."

"Well Viktor," she says her tone suddenly coldly curt. "Let's make it official."

Wiggling her hips, she bunches the skirt up around her waist. His gaze focuses on the glint from the gleaming diamond sewn just above her freshly-shaven pussy slit. She folds her fingers around his cock.

"Talk business Comrade General," she whispers, moving his foreskin, slowly sliding it up then down.

"Business?"

"Speak to me Viktor," she says holding her rigid gaze to his eyes. One hand tugs on his buttocks, while the other eases his cock-tip across the diamond. Slowly she drags the tip down the burning blaze below the gemstone. "Tell me about the Eleventh Directorate . . . what are . . .?" Sporadic pleasure shocks shoot up her spine as she forces her pussy lips to open and gobble for his cock-head. She pulls harder on his hipbone. "Dammit Viktor. You're not in me. Scrunch closer and talk about the Eleventh Directorate. Okay, now pushhhh--."

Viktor grunts.

Dominika moans.

"They focus o-on strategic nuclear . . . issues . . ."

"And world-wide terrorism threats, correct?" Throwing her head back, both of her hands pull hard, while she rotates and grinds her pussy-mound against his cock-head. "Before he died, Dmitry . . . spoke . . . the English word -- dirt . . . unh, unh, push, yes Viktor, t-there -- uh, uh, ummmm."

Her moans are as if every molecule is screaming with demanding want. Natural juices ooze then flood around his pushing penetration. "Ahhhhh," she groans as she forces her inner-lips to grab then suck at his cock-head. "W-what does -- dirt -- mean?"

"We don't knowwwww."

"Yessss-oh-yessss," she whimpers. His slow probes are igniting pleasure tingles that spread like spider webs across her heaving chest. "What are al-Gama'at al-Islamiyya's objectives?"

"We believe . . . they want to control . . ."

Holding her eye-stare taut, Dominika slowly guides his hips and cock-shaft deeper into her. "Ummmm, ahhhhh," she moans. "Oh-yes Viktor ohhh yessssss." Her tightness releases. Entry is long and lethargic. Intense mind-muscle control allows Dominika to force her powerful pussy walls to clamp down on command. Wild pleasure-tingles rocket across her clitoris spreading like wildfires through a tinder-dry forest.

"Dammit Viktor, don't pump me," she manages to gasp. She gulps, shakes her head to retrieve the cool and level stare. "Stroke me Viktor, easy now, oh-ah-yesss. That's it. Caress my clit. What does al-Gama'at al-Islamiyya want to control?"

With a wet slipping sound, Viktor's cock glides backward. "We think . . . oil flow . . . f-from Siberia . . ."

He pushes in again. Sheer willpower tightens her cervix around him. "H-how?" she pants.

"By force . . . money . . ."

Viktor slams in hard. Rashes of gooseflesh crawl across Dominika's boiling breasts.

"Or . . . any . . . means to . . . get it, uhhhh" Viktor groans.

As if immune to each powerful and authoritative thrust, Dominika's steady stare into Viktor's sex-glossed eyes is unrelenting. For a panting moment, she clamps her thighs around his legs to hold his cock-head just inside. Trained muscles pulse and ripple as she commands her velvet-like inner-core to caress and control. "Talk to me Comrade General. Oh god, don't stop. Tell me-eeeeee e-everything you know."

"Chatter . . . uggg . . . and noise level . . . among the . . . . uh-uh-uh . . ."

"Deeper Viktor, push, go balls-deep now," she murmurs, her amber eyes boring into his like spinning drills.

"C-chatter among Arab militants is . . . is high."

Bare skin squeaks as she squirms forward on the desk's mahogany surface to await his next thrust. "How high? Ummmmm."

"Eighty per . . . cent above nor . . . mal," he groans driving his cock in anew.

Muscles crimp tight as Dominika fights off an overwhelming impulse to let orgasm rule. Viktor slams into her. Sex-shocks race from her clit to her scalp, then roar down her legs, into her knee-high boots and consume her tightly curled toes.

"More Viktor, more," she demands over the thump-thump of her boot heals hitting the desk front. "Stroke me, love my clit. Make me burn."

"Like this?" he groans, shoving in hard.

"Oh-god . . . that feels so . . . gooooood," she whimpers as he withdraws. "N-noise . . . level . . . believability rating?" she huffs, rocking back and forth so his cock rubs every inch of her blazing pussy-walls. Her hands close about his thrusting waist. She yanks. The slamming stroke nearly throws her insides into orgasmic fits.

"Eleventh Directorate analysis," his face tightens, "rates noise level at . . . F-6."

Dominika abruptly jerks him with all her strength. Penetration is so sudden, so intense, so deep, that breath bursts from her lungs. Quickly, she regains composure. "F-6 is un-unknown re-liability?"

"D-dubious at best," he mumbles as his teeth gnaw at her bare shoulder. Hands grab a taunt breast.

"Ah-ohhhhhh," she moans, repressing a scream at the hostile, pinching and rolling attack on an inflamed nipple. She swallows hard, accepting the pain, telling her brain that pain will explode into pleasure in moments. "Source q-quality?"

"Un . . . certain."

"More-more-oh-god more!" She widens her legs. "Dammit Viktor, can't you fuck me fucking harder?"

"Like this?" His cock rips across her clit.

"God-yes-oh-yes! Now faster, faster. Uh, uh, uh, uh. Fill me fill me!" She pauses, gasping for breath. Her eyes settle on his. "Funding sources?"

"We suspect -- a -- wealthy -- Japanese -- called -- Niguri," he grunts, speaking each word with each successive drive. "He -- may have -- strong -- Yakuza connections."

"Ya-ku-za?" she whispers keeping her stare cemented to his. Her fingernails dig into his shoulders as he eases his cock out. "The . . . Japanese . . . Mafia? They're ruth . . . lessssss."

"Yes." His hips thrust forward like a hydraulic ram. He pants to the sounds of moist squishes and sucks, increasing in an ever-quickening frenzy.

"Analysis . . . of . . . competitive . . . hypotheses?"

"In . . . conclusive."

She shakes off another powerful urge to orgasm. "Conclusions?"

Suddenly, it's like gasoline thrown on a piece of glowing coal. With a throaty groan, Viktor grips Dominika fiercely about her butt-mounds, lifting her from the desk, pinning her, furiously jerking his cock over her clit, his hips thrusting back and forth, faster and faster, faster -- faster -- deeper -- deeper -- deeper.

Dominika's orgasm begins with a soft enraptured moan. With her amber eyes glued to his, she feels him expand and spasm. Her first is like a tingling feather. Her second rips through her entire body as if her blood burns with the scarlet heat of sun-center.

His pre-cum grunt is guttural and sharp.

She can hold that stare no longer. Her eyes drift closed. She heaves her torso like a twisting snake. Resembling a powerful yet eloquent mechanism, she forces her cervix to close around him. Muscles fuse. Nerve endings spark like shorted wires.

Viktor's guttural groan nearly rattles the walls. He feels his cock explode.

Inside, Dominika feels the first warm gush. It's soft, like a pleasing, numbing injection of a wonderful narcotic. Subsequent squirts are like a milky mist spreading throughout her fiery insides capturing each nerve ending deep within each breast. In an instant, a swelling wave of blissful pleasure rolls then crashes, inundating Dominika's inner senses with the feel of pleasure soothed by liquid flaming metal.

Winded and semi satisfied, Dominika slides her arms around Viktor's waist and revolves him slowly. Self-discipline and rigorous practice enables her to command her cervix and inner walls to cling to a cock at will. She opens her eyes and renews that constant stare.

"Thank you Comrade General," she says in a nearly breathless voice.

His breath slows. "Is that all?"

"No." She hooks her ankles together and hugs his thighs with hers'. "You were discussing conclusions." She moves her abdomen slightly, flexing and rippling her love-muscles to suck for his last milky globule.

"How good you feel, Dominika Nedel'ka Patroph. Not only do you have the perfect ass, you are one incredible piece of ass."

"I'm flattered Comrade General." She walks her butt-cheeks backward. With a small sucking sound, he pops out.

"Flattered? Is that all you can say Patroph?"

"Don't look so glum, Comrade General," she says rocking to-and-fro to wiggle the miniskirt over her hips and upper thighs. "My orgasm was quite real and reasonably enjoyable. Now, what of these conclusions?"

Dominika watches him gather his clothing. "There's insufficient data to allow any conclusions as yet."

"Speculations then?" she says, slipping her arms into her sweater.

"We know that one of their most trusted operatives, a young Japanese woman by the name of T. Kasawara, is on the move. She landed yesterday in the United States."

"Fascinating. But why Amerika?"

He shrugs.

Dominika's mind whirls as she watches him step into his boxers, then his trousers. The GRU is a man's world. The chance for a Swallow to advance beyond fuck-toy status is rare. Intuition says another opportunity is knocking. All she has to do is pick the lock and open the door. She slides off the desk and smoothes her skirt over her butt-curves. Honed instincts say that naked boobs keep even a spymaster like Viktor off balance. So leave the sweater open. She crosses the room to where Viktor is tying his shoes.