Spy Games Ch. 20

It started with a simple gesture. Janis bought six silk scarves during her shopping spree with the Russian girls. One for each Russian woman and one for Raven. Now I certainly couldn't tell Raven that the gift-wrapped box containing a white silk scarf was from the woman who was haunting her dreams. So, I made up a bullshit story about scarfs being the newest Moscow fashion. It took me a while to convince Raven to wear it. Probably because it covered her two most valuable assets. But after a bit of coaxing and a few threats, she wrapped it around her neck and agreed.

We arrived at the party fashionably late making a grand entrance with her on my arm. My goal was to give the impression that we were close business partners who might have recently made the transition to lovers. To my delight and Raven's amazement, all five of the Russian girls had creatively included their newly purchased scarves into their outfits.

I spent the next two hours flirting with the Russian girls -- making sure I learned each of their names and something about them, drinking with the Russian men -- matching their shots of vodka will my shots of water since I needed them drunk and me sober, and avoiding the mayor and city council. Thankfully, the Merryvilliens couldn't keep up with the hard drinking Russians so, by 10:00, all the locals were gone. That left Raven, the Russians and me.

Once I poured the last American into an Uber, I approached Alek Popov.

"Your men are to be commended," I told him in Russian. "They not only kept their hands off Miss Hardwood all week, they even managed to behave themselves in front of your guests."

"It wasn't easy," he replied. "Men such as these are not accustomed to polite conversation and fancy cocktail parties."

"The night is young and there is still plenty of Vodka. Please tell your men that they are free to party like only the Russians can. Miss Hardwood and I will not be offended."

"That is very generous of you. In return, I would like to make you the same offer you made me when we first met."

"You're going to sell me a hundred houses at below market prices?" I asked knowing full well that wasn't what he had in mind.

Popov laughed. "We both know that was a lie. But do not worry. You have made your profit and, when I resell these houses to my associates, I too will get my share.

"However, I believe you were sincere when you offered me the services of your Miss Hardwood. So, in return, please take your choice of one of my women."

"Only one?"

"You can handle more than one?"

"I would certainly like to try."

"So be it. Take as many as you want, but in return, even though it is forbidden to touch, I believe my men deserve the opportunity to see Miss Hardwood without her clothing."

"I couldn't agree more." I snatched two glasses of Vodka, handed one to Popov and we sealed the deal the Russian way.

The debauchery started almost immediately. When Janis bought the scarfs, I'm sure she had no idea how they would be used. The Russian girls, on the other hand, knew exactly what they were doing.

Anya, one of the smaller breasted Russian women came to the party with her scarf fashioned as a bikini top. It accidentally slipped down a couple of times earlier in the evening, giving the church going wives of the city council something to gossip about for the next couple of weeks. It was certainly no accident when she untied it and draped the silk around the thick neck of Leonid Vasiliev, one of Popov's trusted bodyguards. Despite the slowly tightening scarf around his neck, Leonid didn't resist... most likely because another scarf draped girl was kissing his lips while she removed the big man's shirt.

Anya loosened the scarf around his neck so the second girl, Tatiana, could transfer a double shot of vodka from her mouth to his. And then they got serious. While Anya increased the pressure around Leonid's throat, Tatiana removed his clothes and, while all that was happening, two other girls stripped off what was left on Anya and Tatiana's outfits.

The end result was an extremely red faced Russian strong man sitting naked on a stool with a determined wanna be model strangling his throat with a scarf as another girl deep throated his larger than average cock. All the while, the rest of us circled around the threesome like spectators in a Roman Coliseum ... waiting to see if he would cum before he suffocated.

"Is this what I think it is?" Raven had purposely ignored me the entire evening, preferring to work the crowd. But once things got a little outside her comfort zone, she was right by my side.

"You've never done erotic asphyxiation before?"

"I've heard of it. But never seen it done, and certainly never experienced it."

"Well take notes. You might be next."

Raven's eyes opened wider than silver dollars as she watched Leonid's face turn fire engine red due to lack of blood and oxygen.

"Aren't they afraid they'll suffocate him?"

"It's happened," I said. "But they seem to have controls in place."

"Controls?"

"Notice that his hands are on Anya's thighs. If she gets carried away with her scarf, he gives her a tap and she backs off."

Which he did, once or twice, taking a quick breath when Anya temporarily relaxed her grip on the scarf around his neck.

With Leonid's cock buried deep in Tatiana's throat, she too was at risk of suffocation and his powerful hands on the back of her head were preventing her from backing away. When she first tickled his balls, he didn't respond. But when she grasped his family jewels in her tiny hands and threatened to squeeze, he got the hint. When Leonid let loose of Tatiana's head, Anya relaxed the pressure on her scarf. The sudden flow of blood to his brain was sufficient to push him over the edge and he roared like a grizzly bear on the attack as his cum covered Tatiana's face and chest.

Not to be out done, the rest of the Russian men took their turns with one or more of the Russian girls. As I sat back in a comfortable voyeur's chair to observe the hedonistic proceedings, a couple of things came to mind.

Firstly, the entire event was "man centered". Sure, the women initiated the orgy ... they bought the scarves for the express purpose of what Raven and I were now witnessing. And they certainly weren't being tortured ... a few of them might have even come close to a minor orgasm. But the pleasure they derived from the experience was mostly from one of the other ladies or the thrill of nearly asphyxiating one of the men.

What bothered me was that the men were so clueless. In my mind, the best thing about sex was not the release at the end. Any slob with money can hire a hooker and pound her puss until he comes. But what's the challenge in that? I get a lot more pleasure from pleasuring my partner. Nothing turns me on more than seeing a woman quiver in response to my touch, feeling her heart rate increase as I strok her like she always dreamed to be stroked, smelling her arousal when the inevitable approaches, hearing her unrehearsed screams of pure joy as she succumbs. The men in front of me would never experience that sense of conquest and the women would most likely live their entire lives not knowing what was possible.

As the last drunken man spewed his seed over an equally clueless girl, I happened to glance at the fully clothed woman sitting in the chair to my right.

Raven's expression was an odd combination of fear, revulsion and... desire? So far, she hadn't been forced to participate and, even though Popov's men weren't allowed to touch her, she didn't know that. What was going through her mind? Was she so scared and repulsed at the sights in front of her that she wanted me to pick her up and whisk her away to safety? Or did the thought of joining in the fun harden her nips and dampen her puss?

Lastly, did I care what Raven wanted?

Hell no. It was time to put our plan into action. I glanced over at Popov, caught his eye and gave him an imperceptible head nod.

It was well past midnight and Popov was not a young man. Although not as drunk as the rest of his men, when he stood to walk towards us, he had to use a table to steady himself.

"No free show comrades. We entertained you, now you do the same for us," he said to Raven and me.

Which was my cue. I rose from my chair, bowed to Raven like I was in a ballroom and asked her to dance.

Not having any choice of the matter, she took my extended hand and I led her to the middle of the room which was littered with the remnants of women's clothing and men's spilt sperm. As pre-arranged, one of the Russian girls picked out a Russian classic from the sound system and played it over the built-in speakers.

One of Mrs. Bancroft's maids was an accomplished ballroom dancer and Mrs. B was no slouch herself. I spent many a Sunday afternoon in one of those two women's arms, learning just enough to not embarrass myself if the need to waltz, foxtrot or rhumba ever arose. The steps those ladies taught me in my teens came in handy numerous times in years to come but I never thought I'd get the chance to combine my limited dancing skills with those I learned from Boris the pick pocket.

As the familiar strands of Shostakovich's second waltz filled the room, I led the apprehensive Miss Hardwood around the floor and was pleased that, while far from ballerina material, she too knew the basics and was able to follow my lead. After our first circuit of the improvised ball room, keeping my eyes rivetted on hers, my right hand slowly meandered up her back and undid the tiny clasp behind her neck ... the clasp that joined the left and right sides of her dress.

I doubt that Raven or anybody else noticed the move which took me six weeks of practice on Boris' mannequins to perfect. Nor did she initially realize that, as my hand descended back to the small of her back, it brought the zipper with it.

From the quizzical look she gave me, her first impression that we were doing more than dancing was when the first strap fell off her shoulder. As she released my left hand to pull it back up, I used the opportunity to dislodge the opposite strap and then let gravity do its thing. Not wanting her to trip over the dress that now puddled around her ankles, I gently pulled her high heeled feet off the floor and kicked the dress to the side while box stepping away.

Raven's custom-made bra was a marvel of engineering. How such a small collection of fabric, metal and elastic could support her mammoth breasts was well beyond my understanding. Thankfully, the clasp was the standard, four prong, hook and eyelet design which, thanks again to Boris' tutelage, I could disarm with a single swipe of my thumb and two additional fingers. It must not have been a comfortable piece of lingerie ... the elastic fitting was so tight that, when I released the clasp at the bottom of a dip, the strapless bra sprung off her chest like a champagne cork released from its' bottle and flew six feet into the air. Amazingly, the scarf I forced her to wear was still around her neck, tucked securely between her bountiful boobs.

We took two more trips around the floor, I still in my suit, Raven down to her high heels, panties and scarf. I had fulfilled my promise by giving the Russian men an unfettered view of my realtor's voluptuous body. When the music stopped, I handed Raven over to Popov and turned my attention to the five Russian beauties.

Just like I had done with Raven, Anya took me by the hand and led me back onto the dance floor where her four compatriots had formed a circle of naked blondes. Pushing me to the center, Anya joined her friends and they all danced seductively around me as a familiar Russian folk tune replaced the previous waltz.

Anya seemed to be their leader. She was the first to break out of the circle and, while still shimmying to the beat of the music, removed my tie. Two other naked nymphs removed my coat while a third started on the buttons on my shirt, kissing the bare skin of my chest as she progressed downwards.

Once the shirt joined my coat and tie on the floor, Anya reached around me from behind and caressed my bare chest while Tatiana undid my belt and trouser button. She was reaching with her hand for my zipper when Kira tapped her on the shoulder and politely asked to cut in.

I long ago lost count of how many women have knelt before me as they lowered my zipper, but Kira was the first to not use her fingers. With her hands on my ass and her teeth on the zipper, she slowly opened my fly, letting her nose press against my boxer ensconced dick as she descended. It must have gotten my complete attention because, when she finally lowered my trousers to the floor, I discovered that, sometime in the process, I had also lost my shoes and socks.

Anya took the honors of slowly slipping my boxers off my hips. The music was fairly loud so, when my shorts reached my knees, I'm fairly sure Raven and none of the Russian men heard her gasp and say:

"Miss Janis wasn't exaggerating. It's almost as long as my forearm."

"And just as thick," another one of the girls added.

Not wanting to hear any further comments about my deformity or risk them mentioning their outing with Janis, I decided to take over.

"All right ladies, you've entertained me and the rest of our guests. Now it is time for me to entertain you. I'd like you to line up facing our host and let me express my appreciation for this wonderful evening."

The girls did as I requested and were soon line abreast not ten feet from Popov's chair.

"Excellent, now if each of you will bend forward at the waist and place your hands on your knees, I will demonstrate how American men treat their lady friends."

Janis was right. If I wanted to help these girls, I had to not only know their names but also enough about them to differentiate one from another. To humanize them. That's what I did during the first, tamer, part of the party. I made a conscious effort to spend time with each of the girls... one on one. Not only to learn her name, but also to discover who she was... what she liked and didn't like... where she hoped to be in five or ten years and, most importantly... what did she want.

That was the key. Pounded into my head by Mrs. Bancroft so many years ago. "Find out what she wants and then give it to her." And now that I had them all lined up in front of Popov, that was my goal. Give each girl at least a small taste of what she wanted, even if it was only the satisfaction of knowing I remembered her name.

The first girl in line was Anastasia Volkov. She was probably the slimmest of the five and had aspirations to work at least one fashion show in New York City. I approached her from behind and gently stroked her slender upper arms as I whispered in her ear.

"Anastasia Volkov, you are an amazingly beautiful young woman. No matter what happens here tonight, I want you to invite me to your first New York show."

Thinking she might be an inner elbow kind of gal, my caresses moved down to the area I suspected was more sensitive than most. When her heartbeat and breathing confirmed my suspicions, I let my cock rest against her ass and said:

"Say the word and I'll stop now. But if you let me continue, I promise to not hurt you."

She didn't answer me in words. Instead, she reached behind her and guided my more than ready erection towards the dripping entrance of her willing love hole.

As promised, I took my time penetrating the lithe beauty's folds and made sure to hesitate once I established a beach head to let her get accustomed to my girth. My hands found her small but well-formed tits as I waited. It only took a few seconds of stimulation before her nipples hardened and she gave me a gentle nod, signaling me that she was ready for more.

The initial stroke is extremely important. First impressions are lasting, and I wanted Anastasia's pussy to feel completely safe and comfortable as my cock slowly learned its way around her most private cave. I used the next two snail paced strokes to draw out her natural lubrication in preparation for what was to come. When my cock felt the tight space turn into a slippery slide of fun, when my ears heard the slushing-sucking sound of my piston priming her pump, when my lips tasted little pearls of sweat forming on her back and when I finally smelled her arousal... that's when I shifted gears and stepped up the pace.

The transition from idle speed to second gear got her body up to running temperature. My hands transitioned from her nips to a firm but gentle grasp on her boobs.

As a soft moan escaped her lips, I straightened my back, moved my hands to her thin waist to get better control and bottomed my belly onto her butt, giving her my full length for the first time.

I waited until her moans turned to gasps ... until she was bucking backwards with each of my forward strokes to get me even deeper into her hungry snatch ... until my helmeted head punched against and eventually through her cervix, looking to violate her womb. Then, and only then, did I grab her hips and jump into jack-hammer mode.

A properly prepared woman, as Anastasia certainly was at that point, rarely lasted more than a minute or two when I got them to this point of the seduction process, and she was no exception. Her orgasm seemed to start in her throat as she loudly announced "I'm cumming" just before her body tensed up, as if temporarily paralyzed, and then completely collapsed into a shivering blob of erotic ectoplasm.

Once she was done -- when her convulsions and screams of pleasure stopped, when she no longer had the strength to stand -- I gently lowered her to the floor and, while she sucked up copious amounts of air to restart her heart, I moved one girl to the left.

Natasha Sidorov, was the bustiest of the five. Not by much, but her C cup boobs were more of a handful than the B's and A's around her. As was she.

I took me a while to figure out what Natasha wanted. While she didn't object to my fingers on her nips or my palms hefting her breasts, she also didn't respond as most women would. Not to be deterred, I transitioned to other popular erogenous zones and, when those also left her unimpressed, I reached further into my bag of tricks and explored some of the more unusual things that girls past have enjoyed. Nibbling her ear didn't do the trick. Caressing her flat tummy got a giggle but nothing more.

Not until I started to kiss and lick the back of her calf, did I sense a slight change in her composure. I could see and feel her relax as my tongue transitioned up her thigh. Stopping just short of her sex, I repeated the process on the other leg, this time letting my fingers play in the pubic patch as I progressed. When my lips and tongue reached that spot where her legs stopped and pussy started, Natasha displayed her flexibility by leaning further forward and placing her hands directly on the floor -- without bending her knees -- giving me unfettered access to her ass and pussy.

I had a fifty-fifty shot. Which hole should I explore first? A quick tonguing around her puckered hole brought an immediate "nyet" so I quickly aimed my licker a couple of inches lower and was rewarded with a soft spoken "da".

As my tongue split her outer folds and explored her inner lips, a finger gently caressed the tiny nub at the top. Cunnilingus, when done properly, should not be rushed. Some women respond after the first touch, but most require several minutes of attention before wanting you to move on. Mrs. B would let me spend the entire night down there, bringing her orgasm after orgasm. Natasha and I didn't have that much time and I didn't know how long the girl could hold her current pose without getting cramps in her legs.

So, I did the gentlemanly thing and kept at it until I got her juices flowing before reeling my tongue back into my mouth, standing and pulling Natasha back to her original, hands on the knees, position.