Form Russia - Without Love

This story contains violence and cheating - if those aren't your thing, please pass.

All participants in sexual acts are 18 or older.

***

I, known as Mila Chekov, never knew parents - not just biological parents, but parents in general. My mother must have been tall, blond, and slinky, because I became that as an adult. One or both of my mother and father must have been athletic, because I am. As far as intelligence is concerned I wonder if mine is learned or innate - I'll never find out.

The state orphanage that I was told I arrived at when I was about one year old was fine while I was there - only because I didn't know any better. When I was eight years old apparently either my scores on tests, the fact that I had the best time at the obstacle course of anyone ten or under (boy or girl), and/or the fact that I kicked the shit out of a ten year old boy bully, got me noticed.

I didn't like the looks of the hard woman and man who one day about a month after my state-assigned birthday of May 1 picked me up out of the orphanage, told me to pack my few possessions (only a small knapsack full), and drove me in a black GAZ-31013 to somewhere on the outskirts of Moscow. I rode in silence away from the orphanage to my new home.

Physically my new home, a "shkola shpionov" (rough translation "spy school") was a lot nicer than the state orphanage, but more was expected of me too. I had to learn all sorts of subjects that I saw no immediate use for including lip reading, lock picking, handgun firing, techniques for memorizing long lists of numbers or facts, Communist ideology, snow skiing, American government and culture, electronics, and most importantly English, French and German. Starting at fifteen years old and intensifying every year thereafter I also was taught how to skillfully and evasively operate a number of different vehicles including cars, trucks, motorcycles, and small aircraft, and was schooled in "knife fighting" and explosives. Starting at seventeen I was taught what was called "zhenskaya seksual'naya psikhologiya" which roughly translates into English as "female seduction techniques." The days were long, the rewards few,

One of the few rewards, once my hormones started acting up, was testing my seduction techniques on my male schoolmates. Some I simply teased unmercifully - which I was able to get away with because I was the top student in the knife fighting class and was known to carry a Finka NKVD knife strapped to my left thigh under my skirt. Others I fucked, only to practice technique and get a cheap thrill, not because there was any romance involved.

I was told by the powers-that-be that I was a "golden girl" and that they had big plans for me.

Although I was always kept in the dark about details, I was led to believe that my "graduation" was coming soon. At that time I was nineteen and one-half years old, assuming that my state-assigned birthday was correct. I was told to meet the KGB Colonel in charge of our school one Saturday evening to get my first assignment. Leonid Ivanov was a big, strong, nasty man, whose reputation was as a Lothario. I was told that no weapons were allowed in Comrade Ivanov's residence so I had to surrender my NKVD.

The meeting started out friendly enough, although Ivanov seemed to be perturbed by my refusal of his offerings of food and drink - I was just on the edge of insubordination in doing that, but I didn't trust what might be in the vodka or caviar. As he drank more vodka, however, his tone started to change and it culminated with him groping me with the obvious intent to rape me. He was not being gentle or smart; I definitely was not going to put up with it. I pushed hard to the left causing him to brace himself in that direction, which allowed me to quickly spin to my right to reach the only object within my sight that I could effectively use as a weapon. It was a heavy square glass ashtray with four projections at its four corners, and full of cigarette butts.

I was able to just reach the ashtray before his grip hardened on me - he definitely was a big strong man. I was able to hit him in the head with the ahstray twice - not killing blows, but they hurt enough that he let go of me. When he let go I pounded him on the head with a corner of the ashtray at least a dozen times, some so hard that the ashtray even broke, obviously killing him and spraying blood everywhere, and bruising my hand.

I knew that the shit would hit the fan. I showered in his bathroom and washed out or covered up the blood on my clothes the best that I could. Then I crept back to my quarters, gathered up a few of my clothes and other things that I needed - including my NKVD - and took off.

It took the KGB more than two weeks to find me. When cornered by three agents with guns drawn I was surprised by their reaction. "We're not here to arrest you Mila," the female agent said. "We're here to bring you back to the school and give you your first assignment. Your dispatch of Comrade Ivanov has been determined by Moscow to be justified even though it was a test gone bad and not a rape attempt - you couldn't know that."

Of course I didn't believe them that it was a "test gone bad;" KGB agents were notorious liars. To put it in modern terms they were as truthful as Xi, Trump, Putin or Duterte - in other words if their lips were moving they were lying. However, for whatever reason - maybe someone with influence was just happy to get rid of Ivanov and was impressed not only by my ability to kill someone outweighing me by fifty kilos but also to avoid capture for sixteen days - no one was concerned by what I had done.

I was treated like a hero by most students, and some teachers, at the school; apparently Ivanov wasn't well liked.

When I passed my colloquial English proficiency test at twenty years old I was then actually given my first assignment - in America.

My American name was Nancy Faber from McCall, Idaho, a town of about 3,000 people 100 miles north of Boise that was known for winter sports. I had a long fake biography which operatives much more skillful than I am planted in schools, municipal records, and anyplace else that could be hacked. I memorized my 105 page resumé that also included photos of my fake family home and elementary school, and my now dead fake parents. I was tested on my background both orally and in writing. Once I had essentially assumed the identity of the fake Nancy Faber, I went to New York, and then the Washington, D. C. area, using my counterfeit American passport.

When I got to the Northern Virginia suburbs of Washington, D. C. I met my handler, American name Jeff Wilson, real name Boris Rabinov. Wilson was a good-looking man only about six or seven years older than I am, young for a handler. He started my indoctrination to Northern Virginia life and gave me the details of my assignment. I lived with him for three months while going through an indoctrination period, and of course we fucked. He was unhappy that I always made him use a condom, but he was aware of my history and didn't want to mess with me. He was a decent fuck, and had one advantage over most Russian men - he liked eating pussy. That alone would have gotten him laid by me as often as he liked.

While Wilson encouraged me to give up my thigh-strapped knife (I had traded the Russian NKVD for an American Ontario MK 3 knife) I refused, although I could never wear it when going through a metal detector.

My assignment was to get a job at a military installation that did not require a high level clearance, and to marry a targeted military scientist who was considered by the KGB to be a rising star. As luck would have it the KGB went out of existence on December 3, 1991, only a couple of months after I arrived in America. That didn't stop Russian spy activities in the U S, however. First it transitioned into the FSK, and then in April, 1995 became the FSB. While the name changes, and changes in the top personnel, were somewhat disruptive, there never was a change in my mission. My three month indoctrination with Wilson ended in January, 1992 at which time I was hired at what was then called Bolling Air Force Base in a low level position, and my target was pointed out to me.

My target was Parker Simmons. He was only twenty six at the time, but was already considered one of the top weapons scientists in the United States. He was extremely intelligent, having already obtained his Masters in Physics from MIT at the age of twenty one. As would be expected for someone so smart who skipped grades his social development had been arrested, and he had never had a long standing romantic relationship. He was slightly geeky looking (though not close to Albert Einstein in looks) but was surprisingly big and strong. If he had developed normally he might have been an athlete.

One of the few things that Parker Simmons enjoyed for recreation was cross-country skiing, something that I was very proficient at since it was actually part of my curriculum in school. Wilson and his superiors located the area where Simmons was going for a long weekend at the beginning of February, 1992, and made arrangements for me to just happen to be staying at the same lodge.

While Parker was big and strong he and the married couple that he had come to the lodge with were no match for me on cross-country skis. I zipped past them on several occasions, waited for them to catch up pretending that I was taking some photos of the scenery, and then caught up with them again. I even started a little trash talking with Parker and his companions the 2nd and 3rd times that I blew past them.

Later at the lodge I waited until Parker and his friends were seated for dinner and then aimlessly walked past their table. Parker wasn't socially adept enough to call out to me but the wife of the married couple - Walt and Jill - was. "You're moving a lot slower than you were on the trail," Jill said as she rose and waved me over.

"Oh...I was just seeing if there is anyone I know here - haven't found anyone yet," I fake sheepishly replied (everything I did in those days was fake).

"We have an open chair - come join us," Walt smiled.

"I don't want to impose," I responded.

"Nonsense, we'd love to have an Olympic skier sit with us," Jill chuckled.

While Parker didn't really verbalize anything his eyes said it all; they looked like they were held open with toothpicks they were so wide as he stood and moved the chair next to him out from the table so that I could sit in it.

Poor Parker - he never had a chance. I was by far the best looking woman ever to show any interest in him, and since my job was to nail him and despite his intelligence I knew that the vast majority of his blood wouldn't be in his brain when he was around me, it didn't take long.

I fucked him the first time after we had gone out on five dates - I didn't want to seem like a tramp and fuck him sooner than that; I had a long term plan and with my seduction techniques and body as long as I didn't do something stupid he was mine. After the first time that I fucked him any hope that he had was gone.

After a movie on our fifth date I invited him to my apartment. I could tell that he was nervous, but if the tent in his pants was any indication he was more excited than nervous. After we each sipped a glass of wine I snuggled up to him. "Do you like me, Parker?"

"Uh...yeah...Nancy, I really...uh...like you," he stammered.

"Do you think that I'm at least decent looking?"

"What? Nancy you're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen!"

"If you think that, would you be willing to make love to me Parker? I haven't met anyone who I like since I've moved to Virginia except for you; I feel lonely and unwanted."

After uttering that bullshit I kissed him gently on the lips and rubbed my hand over the tent in his pants. That was all that it took, especially since all I had on was my dress - no panties or bra, and I had kicked my shoes off to snuggle him on the couch.

While Parker wasn't real experienced, he did have one thing over Russian men (aside from Jeff Wilson); he ate my pussy, and did a respectable job of it - respectful enough that I had an orgasm. After my orgasm I pulled his pants off and sucked his cock for a minute or so; I was pleased that it was a girthy circumcised one with two large low-hanging testicles. I could tell that he was almost ready to blow after a short period of time so I pushed him on his back down on the floor - with his shirt still on - pulled my dress over my head, and mounted him.

Even though this was my job I saw no reason not to get some pleasure out of it so I bounced up and down on his girthy cock and moved his hands onto my C cup tits (a D cup in Russia where the sizing is different). I gave him the ride of his life, which resulted in him prematurely ejaculating, but being a good spy I faked an orgasm. I was pleased that when we took to my bed after that he got up again quickly when I sucked him, and this time I encouraged him to do me doggy with his hands on my tits. I had a more than decent orgasm when he ejaculated into me the second time.

Since those were my only two fucks in my life without a condom (except for one when I got drunk on my 19th birthday and fucked one of my classmates) they were real nice.

By the time that he left the next morning with a smile wider than the Volga on his face I was actually quite pleased. It was clear that he was enamored with me and although inexperienced he was obviously willing to learn and had nice equipment, so I just might get sexually fulfilled fucking him (and Wilson every two weeks or so when I reported to him).

When I met Parker's parents at first they were quite skeptical of me. However, I was able to win them over after meeting them four or five times, and I had only been fucking Parker for about six months when - with my subtle encouragement and seduction techniques (seduction isn't just for sex - it's for control and information too) he proposed. We got married in a small ceremony only three months later. The only people on my side were several Russian operatives who were fake "cousins" and one fake "uncle," and a few friends from my work at Bolling Air Force base. Our honeymoon in Bermuda was actually quite nice; by then I had taught Parker all aspects of how I liked my pussy eaten and how I liked to be fucked, and he did a really nice job; a B+ if not an A-.

Of course Wilson still wanted to fuck every two weeks or so when I reported to him - but as long as he used a condom what did I care; I mean I wasn't actually in love with Parker, although by then I did like him. Wilson and I would contact each other by phone only in an emergency; normally we could wait two weeks for me to give him information and for him to give me any instructions from Moscow, whether it be from the FSK or FSB.

I have to say that given my deprived childhood I really did enjoy living in America. I had never taken particularly well to the Communist indoctrination classes, although I did memorize the material so that I passed the tests. I had a job to do, however, so I tried my best to gather information that could be useful to my superiors. Because of how low level my job at Bolling was, however, I really didn't get much information there, and despite the fact that Parker was head-over-heels in love with me even using my most skilled seduction techniques I could never get him to give me any weapons information that was truly worthwhile.

After I had been married to Parker about nine months and still hadn't given my superiors any really worthwhile information, the next time I went to see Wilson his boss, Igor Yahontov, was there. I never was given Yahontov's American name - it was on a need-to-know basis, and apparently I didn't need to know.

Wilson and Yahontov were unhappy with my performance and even started making noises about sending me back to Moscow - something that I wanted to avoid at all costs since I liked my life in America, and was liking it more and more. Since they were heterosexual macho men who like all others, regardless of national origin, thought with their dicks when around an attractive woman I was able to buy at least six months by having a three-way with them. Yahontov didn't like using a condom, but he didn't have a choice and he wanted my pussy so bad he was virtually frothing at the mouth.

Yahontov was a disgusting pig, but I pretended that he was a great lover.

I realized at that point that I needed to develop some sort of plan to get information otherwise I might end up back in Moscow or dead. I appreciated that I didn't really need to give them accurate information - just relevant information.

Using not exactly public, but certainly not secret, resources available at Bolling I falsified them to make them to seem more significant, and fed them to Wilson. He seemed very pleased with the first two batches.

Next, I talked to Parker and told him that I wanted to know more about his field. I asked him to get me any sort of non-secret information he could about weapon developments worldwide. He was very pleased to do that since his primary goal in life at that time seemed to be making me happy (as long as it didn't involve passing on classified information). Using the vast amounts of non-secret, but obscure, information that Parker provided, and doing a little creative editing, I kept Wilson happy for the next three years.

A funny thing happened over that three year period. I started to like Parker more and more. He was no longer geeky, his cock and tongue kept me well-satisfied sexually, he treated me with respect and as an equal, and he was masculine without being macho. I didn't know what love was, but it seemed like I was approaching a loving relationship with him, although it was still somewhat guarded on my part. Then an event happened that changed things completely.

When I went to Wilson's condo at a normal two week interval to deliver information to him, despite the fact that it was mid-afternoon he was drunk. Having an intelligent conversation with him was difficult. Then he started pawing me.

The first strike against him was when he partially ripped my dress in a clumsy attempt to get it off.

The second strike against him was when he spilled vodka on me as he was fumbling to get his pants down.

The third strike was when he tried to stick his dick in my pussy without any foreplay and without putting on a condom.

Apparently his inebriation made him forgot my history. When I was on my hands and knees and his bare cock was at my vaginal vestibule I reacted the way that I was hard wired to react - I pulled out my American Ontario MK 3 and stabbed him in the side. He screamed, broke off contact, and rolled around on the ground in obvious pain. The wound was non-fatal, but since I knew then that the repercussions for me could be significant, and since I now valued my relationship with Parker and my life in America, something that I had been thinking about in the back of my mind came to the forefront.

I was going to rid myself of my handlers.

I pretended to be very concerned for Wilson and asked if I should call an ambulance. Of course the last thing that a Russian handler would want was to enter an American hospital with a knife wound and try to explain it. He asked for his phone so that he could call Yahontov and have an underground doctor help him. I handed Wilson his bulky late-90s style cellphone which he opened using his left thumbprint and once he told me to press the code for Yahontov I slit his throat.

I talked excitedly to Yahontov in Russian, telling him that Wilson "had an accident." He told me what to do to keep Wilson alive until he arrived (not knowing that I had already killed him) and said he would be there in thirty minutes.

The thirty minutes gave me enough time to use Wilson's thumbprint to operate his computer, download everything on it onto three floppy disks, and to find Wilson's pistol and suppressor.