Click Bait Ch. 03

Chapter Three -- Eighteen and Still a Virgin

Uri Kirill Orlov

Uri Kirill Orlov arrived in the United States in the late 1970s as a Soviet Jewish refugee under the Jackson-Vanik Amendment. He became a small-time criminal and was arrested in San Francisco for grand larceny, pleaded guilty to petty larceny and was placed on probation. He later became a bodyguard and chauffeur for the Odessa mob boss Alexi Agronov.

He became an enforcer and later headed up his own small criminal enterprise still working under Alexi Agronov who controlled most of rackets and bootlegging around northern California. Realising that Alexi had most of the better paying criminal enterprises sewn up, Uri moved south to LA and he and his crew developed their own special brand of extortion.

They specialised in home invasions around the Beverly Hills, Bel Air, San Marino, Pacific Palisades and Hidden hills areas. They hit low-profile but very rich couples, preferably but not always, without children living at home. Uri took his time extensively researching his victims and their houses.

The gang's victims had substantial wealth on hand: cash, watches, jewellery, antiques, collectibles; anything that could be easily moved and quickly fenced. But their main goal was to terrorise the man of the house into going to his place of business, opening it up and handing over more cash or valuables.

Uri's gang had a tried and true MO. After extensively casing the house the gang would drive up in a service vehicle, the type of vehicle used by a plumber, cable TV guy, electrician or any sort of tradesman who didn't look out of place driving a Ford Transit van, their vehicle of choice. They used a code reader to pick up the signal from the automated gates and garage doors and went in immediately after the owners come in from a night out.

There were usually four of them; all big and heavily armed, wearing masks and gloves. The guns were actually too big for the job, if they fired them the noise would wake the whole the neighbourhood but the big guns were there to intimidate the home owners. They also carried coshes and clubs which they were not afraid to use.

After gaining entry and ensuring that the alarm was nullified they would bind the man of the house with cable ties while Uri held onto the man's wife. He would threaten to rape her unless the man cooperated fully. Uri would demonstrate his intent by feeling up the woman while the man watched horrified and helpless. This usually did the trick; they seldom had to use their clubs or coshes but the odd miser who was more in love with his money than his wife sometimes had to be persuaded by using force.

Uri would tie the woman to the bed while the husband opened the house safe and handed over all the valuables in the home which Uri's men would load into the Transit. The homeowner, knowing that his wife was vulnerable and with Uri making obscene observations about what he would do to her if the man didn't comply, was usually very compliant. Two of Uri's men would then take the man of the house to his place of business and make him open up the safe and hand over the contents. They targeted jewellers, up-market restaurateurs, art gallery owners; high-end retailers... anybody who had a business that generated volumes of cash or held easily moved valuables on the premises.

His accomplices would call Uri and let him know when they had cleaned out the business owner's premises and Uri would gag the woman and chain her to the bed with stainless steel chain while his accomplices would do the same to the man, leaving him bound and gagged in his place of business. He and his other accomplice would make their escape in the home owner's cars.

Uri's team usually netted over a million dollars a hit, sometimes substantially more. Even after Uri kicked up a share to Alexi Agronov he still made a substantial profit.

Uri also ran a string of massage parlours, a couple of restaurants and two pawn shops, all of which he used to launder the stolen money. He had a sideline kidnapping girls and sometimes boys and selling them to people smugglers, usually runaways and delinquents who were seldom missed. The abductees were driven cross-country to a prearranged meeting place and handed over a man named Vlad Volkov, all arranged by Uri's accomplice Katya Kuznetsova who lived in New York State.

Uri didn't really have to accompany his gang on their home invasions but he liked the thrill of it and if the victim's wife was a looker he'd get a little excited when he felt her up. Actually raping the woman was an empty threat because it meant leaving behind DNA but the man of the house never thought about that when Uri hiked up the wife's dress and diddled her through her panties or ripped open the bodice of her gown and mauled her tits.

Uri had married a nice woman, who though she suspected, never asked him about his links to the Odessa mafia. He presented himself as a self-made businessman who lived comfortably and respectfully with his wife and two college-aged daughters in one of the better suburbs on the outskirts of LA.

All was going well until Uri fucked it all up.

He had started to delegate researching the home invasions to his lieutenant and most trusted collaborator Ivan Rakhimov who came to him with a job that seemed too good to be true. A man named Boris Balagula lived in a big house in Beverly Hills with his wife; the kids away at expensive boarding schools. He owned a high-end jewellery shop and also traded diamonds. Boris had recently taken delivery of a cache of Australian Kimberly Argyle pink diamonds.

Uri got greedy. He took Ivan's word for it as they looked over the schematics of the house and studied the business profile of the jewellers. Ivan didn't do the extensive research into the home owner's background like Uri always did. Ivan estimated that Boris Balagula had over a million dollars in cash and jewellery in the house and millions more in diamonds in the safe in the jewellery store.

Everything went fine right up until Uri held the man's wife at gunpoint while his men tied up the husband. Boris Balagula had a Slavic accent but so what? Russian Jews were mired in the diamond trade. Wasn't Lev Leviev, a Russian-Israeli Jew, known as the 'King of Diamonds'?

Boris Balagula, put up a terrific fight. It took all three of Uri's accomplices to overpower him and bind him.

Boris's wife, a middle-aged, buxom bottle-blonde in a turquoise satin evening gown stood passively and watched her husband get beaten into submission.

When Uri held Boris's wife in front of him and threatened to rape her Boris just grinned at the masked invaders.

"Fuck her. You can all fuck her if you want. She'll probably like it," Boris licked a trickle of blood from the side of his mouth.

"You don't think we're serious?" Uri countered.

Boris just shrugged.

Uri was furious. They had already given Boris a beating and he'd taken it like a man, never whimpering or crying, just huffing and groaning as Uri's guys worked him over with their clubs and coshes.

"Ok. You can come and watch," Uri dragged the blonde towards the bedroom and Uri's thugs dragged Boris along behind.

The blonde didn't struggle. She seemed resigned to her fate. They tied Boris to a chair facing the bed where Uri had tossed the buxom blonde. Uri was sure that Boris would relent as soon as he saw that Uri was true to his word.

But Boris just watched as Uri made the woman lie on the bed and open her legs. Uri started at her ankles, his fingers softly caressing the woman's shapely legs through her gossamer hose. The woman lay still, even as Uri opened the side-split in her gown and moved his hand to her thigh.

Boris just seemed to watch disinterestedly.

"You know what comes next," Uri grinned at the woman's husband who said nothing.

Mrs Balagula flinched when Uri ripped open her skirts then she just lay there passively: her gown torn open, her long legs spread wide. She was wearing matching turquoise seamless nylon-elastin panties over her pantyhose. Uri's wife had explained to him that the cut of the panties was designed to eliminate VPL. Why that morsel of knowledge flew into Uri's mind he didn't know; he just knew that Mrs Balagula had incredible long and shapely legs and appeared to shave her pubis.

"You don't want me to do this. Cooperate. Take my compatriots to your wall-safe and open it, then a quick trip to your store and this will all be over. Your insurance will cover it," Uri said to Boris while he stroked his wife's legs.

Boris Balagula shrugged.

"Plenty of pretty blonde women out there. Not so many Argyle pink diamonds. You take wife; I'll keep diamonds," Boris grinned.

Boris's blood-stained teeth, broken nose, cut cheeks and forehead gave him a grotesque appearance. His quiet stubborn resistance hid the seething hate and anger he kept suppressed. The thought of this big thug tampering with his wife while he was made to watch made him feel helpless, ashamed and dishonoured but handing over the diamonds was not an option.

Boris and his wife had discussed such a scenario. Although Boris led a quiet life and didn't like bringing attention to himself, they both knew that because of his line of work an abduction or kidnap for ransom was possible: either Boris, his wife or one of their children. They had agreed that they would give up nothing; it would not be possible even if they wanted to. The abductee could do whatever was necessary to ease their own suffering but no ransom would ever be paid.

This was the situation that Boris Balagula found himself in now.

"We'll see," Uri was getting angry.

Uri was not a man who displayed his anger, Uri was more likely to quietly seethe then lash out but this diamond trader was proving a very difficult nut to crack. Boris would see what happened when Uri began to carry out the threats he'd made. No man would sit there helpless and watch his wife be defiled if all he had to do was handover valuables that his insurance company would recompense.

Uri unzipped his flies and unleased his throbbing monster cock. It was an angry, pulsing weapon: big and veiny with a blushed red glans that was leaking pre-cum. When Uri got angry it was often accompanied by concupiscence which was also fired by the sight of Mrs Balagula lying on the bed with her legs spread and her tight turquoise panties clinging to her pubic mound.

He rubbed his hand up and down the blonde's thighs and she just lay still, even when Uri put his hand between her legs and began to massage her vulva through her panties and pantyhose. She was warm and her panties were damp. What the hell?

Mrs Balagula harboured a rape fantasy that she and her husband sometimes played out. Her powerful husband often took her in the most inappropriate of places: up against the wall in the alley outside the restaurant where they were having dinner, in the toilet of a friend's house, next to a walking track in the park, in the back seat of their car in a parking lot, in a darkened cinema. They got off on having sex in improper and unseemly places. It was always quick and often brutal and they never undressed.

Mrs Balagula enjoyed her husband's impromptu sexcapades and she built her own little fantasies around them. She was being brutalised by a stranger and forced to enjoy the experience.

Despite the real danger that they were both in and her husband's injuries she was now living her fantasy. Terrified as she was, she couldn't control her involuntary reactions to Uri's ministrations. When he was stroking her legs it was pleasantly debauched but when he caressed her vulva it ignited a burning intense fire in her vagina; a pleasant itch that needed scratching.

When Uri mounted her, still fully clothed, his enormous penis poking out of his trousers, it was just like what Boris did to her. But this wasn't Boris. This was some brutal thug who was about to ravish her. Her fantasy had become reality.

Uri pressed his hard cock into the woman's vulva, her honour protected only by the gossamer fabric of her pantyhose, Uri had eased the crotch of her panties aside.

"Last chance to cooperate or I fuck her," Uri looked back over his shoulder at Boris Balagula who looked almost pathetic, beaten and bleeding tied to the chair.

Boris looked back at Uri impassively.

"Enjoy her. It will be the last fuck you ever have," Boris grinned his bloody grin again.

Uri thrust forward and his cock ripped open Mrs Balagula's pantyhose and slid into her warm wet vagina like a knife through soft butter. The woman did nothing more than grunt when Uri's cock slid inside her. She was biting her lip suppressing the urge to moan like a slattern as waves of rapture washed over her as the brute's huge phallus ignited her pleasure centres.

The woman wasn't tight but she was no tunnel-cunt either. Considering she'd given birth to two children her vagina was a snug fit for Uri's huge cock.

Uri began to fuck her and she could no longer pretend that she wasn't enjoying it. Knowing that her husband was watching her being defiled right before his eyes only added to her gratification. She recalled their agreement to cooperate in any way to minimise their torment if they were ever abducted, knowing that no ransom demands would ever be met. This was how Mrs Balagula justified lifting her legs and wrapping them around Uri to encourage him to fuck her harder.

Uri did. He pushed the woman down into the bed and slammed his cock in and out of her sopping maw as she shrieked and mewed beneath him. He doubted they were cries despondency; to him they seemed more like cries of lechery.

Then she amazed him. She wrapped her arms around him, locked her ankles behind his back and began to fuck him back. When he lowered her lips to her mature, elegant face, she opened her lipsticked lips and her tongue met his.

They thrashed on the bed for no more than a couple of minutes, Uri's cock being milked by the woman's clinging pudenda, her nails raked his flesh, she bit his lip, her heels drummed on his back until the woman elicited a muffled scream and began to judder.

Boris Balagula knew that his wife was coming. Her orgasms were short, sharp and explosive. Boris usually stifled her cries by driving his tongue into her mouth which is exactly what Uri did as his cock exploded deep inside her, flooding her with his scalding issue.

When he was done Uri climbed off Boris's wife who was now curled up into a ball sobbing with post coital regret. He hitched up his pants and zipped his flies.

He wasn't worried about leaving his DNA inside Mrs Balagula, he strongly doubted that Boris Balagula was going to report the sexual assault part of the home invasion; it would be too demeaning.

"Now. Take me to the safe and open it or I'll let the rest of my guys take turns with your wife," Uri leaned in, his face only inches from Boris Balagula.

Boris spat in Uri's face and Uri hit him with a powerhouse punch that toppled the chair and knocked Boris unconscious.

"What now?" Uri could see Ivan was sweating under his mask.

"Do we all get a turn?" Ivan poked Mrs Balagula in the ass with his forefinger.

"He's not going to give up and she's... well you saw how she is," Uri sighed.

"Clean out the house. Take everything of value. Then we get the fuck out of here. I should have researched the job myself," Uri growled.

The team went to work opening draws and cupboards, taking jewellery, silverware, the artwork off the walls and even the 17th century antique Persian rugs. While they were ransacking the house Uri went back into the bedroom to check on Boris Balagula and found Ivan riding Mrs Balagula like a brood mare. She didn't seem to be complaining. Boris was still unconscious.

"They got a Tesla, a Bugatti and a Beamer in the garage," one of Uri's henchmen reported.

"You and Benjie take the Bugatti and the BMW. The Tesla will be too hard to sell," Uri grunted.

The gang loaded everything into the Transit with routine efficiency. Two of the gang drove the Bugatti and the BMW away while Uri and Ivan jumped into the van. They had left Mrs Balagula chained to the bed and Boris, still unconscious, tied to the chair. They had put the heavy-duty stainless steel chains around him to slow down his escape.

Back at Uri's main pawn shop the gang went through the proceeds of their crime. The two high-end cars had been dropped off at the garage of man who dealt in the sale and shipment of stolen luxury vehicles and had netted fifty thousand dollars, a trifle of their true value. They estimated the cash, jewellery and other items stolen from the house to be in the region of seven hundred thousand dollars when fenced, Mrs Balagula's diamond jewellery making up the bulk of the profit. It was not a great return but respectable.

"He just wouldn't give up those fucking diamonds," Ivan cursed bitterly.

"Maybe we should have worked on her with a knife," one of Uri's henchman grumbled.

"That man sat passively while I raped his wife. You think cutting her would change his mind?" Uri barked.

"Why not just give up the diamonds? Surely they are insured?" Ivan asked and Uri shrugged.

He didn't know.

But he was about to find out.

Whilst Boris Balagula did leave a quiet life as a respectable jeweller and diamond trader he was also the banker for Dmitriy Tanas Yakovich whose criminal proceeds Boris laundered and then converted from cash into diamonds. Transactions over $10,000 had to be reported by reputable financial institutions but a small bag of diamonds worth millions could be hidden in a person's luggage and transported anywhere in the world and still hold their value.

Boris Balagula knew that he was as good as dead if he'd handed over any of Dmitriy's diamonds to the home invaders and it wouldn't be a pleasant death for him, his wife and his children. As it was, Boris had had to dispose of his wife. Despite their agreement to do whatever was necessary to save themselves in the event of an abduction, Boris just couldn't put out of his mind the picture of Uri Orlov fucking his wife with that monster cock.

It wasn't so much that his wife had obviously enjoyed being raped; it was the indignity of having to watch her.

She now lay in a shallow grave in the dessert somewhere between LA and Las Vegas. Ridding himself of her had also reduced the number of people who knew about the home invasion to only Boris, Dmitriy and the perpetrators.

Dmitriy thanked Boris for being a good soldier and assured him that he and his wife would be avenged.

Three days after the home invasion Ivan Rakhimov's head disappeared in a pink mist as he was alighting from his classic two-door Ford Thunderbird on a busy Los Angeles street. The fifty calibre M107 semi-automatic long range sniper used by Dmitriy's assassin was overkill but Dmitriy was sending a message. Uri's other two henchmen suffered similar fates but Uri was not to be so lucky.

After hearing about Ivan being shot Uri raced home to find his wife and two daughters being held at gunpoint by four armed men. They didn't bother wearing masks; no one was going to leave the house alive. Uri was forced to watch the men take turns raping his wife and his two adult daughters before they were executed in front of him. He was to be taken to Dmitriy Yakovich so that Dmitriy could deliver retribution personally whilst Boris Balagula watched.

Fate interjected when the car in which he was being transported was hit by another vehicle. The driver of the other vehicle had suffered a massive heart attack and as his heart spasmed he mindlessly jammed his foot on the accelerator pedal, slamming his car into the car in which Uri was being conveyed, forcing it over the safety rail of an overpass.

The driver of the car died on impact and the other thug was badly injured. Suffering only minor injuries Uri was able to put his cuffed hands over his abductor's head and strangle him. He managed to find the handcuff keys in the dead man's pocket and free himself before the chase car with the other two henchmen embarked was able to get to the bottom of the arroyo.