The Interpreter Ch. 01

But this was real. She was on her knees and one the most powerful men in Russia was offering her his penis. This man held the power of life and death over not just her but also her family.

Valerie reached out and tentatively touched the angry pink appendage that was just inches from her face. Valerie knew how to pleasure herself of course so it was not particularly difficult to figure out how to pleasure Ivan Petrov.

She gathered the string of pre-ejaculate in her fingers and worked it into Ivan's manhood.

Was it degrading and disgusting? Of course. Did she somehow feel empowered and aroused? She dare not answer.

Valerie began to stroke Ivan Petrov's appendage. It seemed to grow a little and become harder as she did so. She heard him emit a soft growl of content. She couldn't help but stare at the veiny shaft as it pulsated and quivered when she ran her fingers along it, lightly caressing it. The pink shiny glans was squat and mushroomed shaped, a continuous dribble of precum leaking from the eye.

She knew what she was doing was wrong on many levels but she couldn't help becoming aroused. She felt appreciated and desired. In her job she was treated like an underling, at home she had to hide her true self or sneak out night with the ever present danger that she may be identified as Valéry not Valerie.

But neither of those arguments could justify the growing erection in her panties.

Valerie rationalised that it was her body's defence mechanism: a psychological and physiological response to camouflage the disgust and degradation that she really felt being forced to her knees and made to perform a sexual act.

If it was possible the cock in her hand was becoming harder and the precum was flowing faster. Unbidden she spontaneously took Ivan's sac in her free hand and began to stroke and caress it, feeling his testes jiggle through his wiry pubic hair.

"Good girl Valerie," Ivan grunted.

Valerie wondered how many other women had been forced to offer sexual favours to save themselves in this very office.

Ivan put his hands on Valerie's head and pushed. She realised what he wanted and knew that she could not refuse. She had tried her best to bring him to extremis with her hands but she had failed and he was going to force her to commit fellatio.

Valerie opened her mouth and accepted Ivan Petrov's member. She didn't really know what to do but it seemed instinctive. Just wrap your mouth around it and suck?

She did that and Ivan appreciated it for a while. She could feel his stubby penis throbbing in her mouth and the stream of pre-ejaculate continued to ooze from his glans. It tasted almost sweet, not unpleasant at all.

"Use your tongue girl," Ivan encouraged her.

Valerie didn't know if it was the flattery of actually being called 'girl' for the first time or some primeval sexual response but she went to work on that cock with enthusiasm. She tried using her tongue on Ivan's glans, flicking the tip across his fraenulum and was immediately rewarded with a moan of desire. She pressed her lips on his shaft and worked them up and down his prick, suckling the glans, using her spit to lubricate it.

She alternated between gently stroking his scrotum and softly squeezing it and she felt Ivan's whole body tremble. Valerie was hard as a rock inside her panties and pantyhose, the caress of the delicate fabric on her penis felt delightful.

Suddenly Ivan held her head steady and thrust his penis in as far as it would go and Valerie felt it shudder and her mouth was filled with musky, salty semen. She worked her tongue on Ivan's glans encouraging him to ejaculate into her mouth, teasing out every drop. She felt so exhilarated, powerful and downright sexy.

Valerie felt herself ejaculating into her panties. The orgasm was not particularly powerful; more a delightful tingling in her nether regions, but it was nice.

She worked her mouth on Ivan's pulsing appendage, sucking his essence into her mouth, tasting it and then swallowing it. She caressed his testes, squeezing them softly to encourage him to give her all of his essence.

Then suddenly the enchantment was broken. Ivan Petrov ripped his cock from Valerie's mouth and pushed her head away so hard that she fell to the floor.

It was as if that, despite her great beauty, he was disgusted with himself for succumbing to the pretty transvestite. He waddled over his desk and snatched tissues from a gilt box and wiped himself and then pulled up and buttoned his trousers. He tossed the embossed tissue box at Valerie, barely missing her head.

She got to her knees and wiped her mouth and while Ivan had his back to her she lifted her skirt and dabbed at the glutinous pool of semen in the front of her panties. She straightened her skirt whilst Ivan straighten his tunic; both with their backs to each other. Both feeling the pangs of post coital regret.

"Clean this mess up!" Ivan grunted and Valerie collected the tissues and put them in the bin.

She stood in the centre of the room with her head bowed, waiting further instructions. She felt humiliated and violated. The feelings of power and seduction had dissipated. She was nothing more than a whore.

Ivan closed in on her and put his thick hand around her neck and forced her to look him in the eye.

"This never happened!" he scowled.

"You will tell no one!" he hissed.

Valerie did her best to nod. She couldn't talk because Ivan was squeezing her windpipe closed.

Ivan let go of her and Valerie gasped.

"Leave. Get out! Make sure you accomplish the mission Valéry Sokolova or the next woman to kneel before me will be your sister Valentina. Maybe I'll make your mother watch? Maybe I'll fuck your mother too? Give her something to remember me by while she digs coal out of a mine in Siberia," Ivan issued one last threat.

Valerie said nothing. The threat had already been made and she knew that Ivan Petrov was a man of his word. She turned on her heels. The walk to the door seemed like a marathon and when she got there her hand was shaking as she reached for the door knob.

"Valerie?" Ivan called after her.

She turned and looked to him.

"That wasn't bad. You'll get better," he chuckled and then began to shuffle papers on his desk, dismissing her.

Yuri was waiting patiently for her outside of the door. If he knew what had just taken place in Ivan Petrov's office he gave no indication.

"This way," he said politely, indicating for Valerie to precede him down the corridor.

Yuri could guess what had happened. Valerie's lipstick was almost gone and what little remained was smudged around her mouth. Her clothing was slightly dishevelled; the hem of her skirt was slanted.

Yuri knew that his boss used his position as the Director of Directorate Five to his advantage and not just for political and financial gain. He'd used his power and position to force many a fair maiden into surrendering their virtue to him in order to save themselves or their loved ones and he was not the only one in the hierarchy of the KGB who did so.

What surprised Yuri Godekin was that Ivan had become enchanted by this transvestite. There was no doubt that she was beautiful, feminine and sexually appealing, Yuri couldn't help staring at her legs and her ass as she walked ahead of him, but she was still a transvestite. He supposed that some men were beguiled by her type.

Yuri directed Valerie out into a quadrangle at the rear of Lubyanka Square where her ears were assaulted by the clatter of a 'Hind' transport helicopter ground running. Yuri took Valerie's upper arm and guided her to the noisy aircraft and he and a member of the aircrew bundled her into the beast. Her skirt rode right up her thighs as she climbed into the cankerous noisy machine and both the air crewman and Yuri appreciated the view.

The air crewman fastened her into the canvas seat and put a helmet on her head and gave her a thumb's up. Valerie just nodded. She noticed that Yuri leapt easily into the helicopter and seated himself, adjusted his webbing and put on his own helmet. He was obviously familiar with flying in military helicopters. Yuri's helmet had a microphone attached and he spoke into it and the helicopter began to ascend.

Valerie felt like she was having a delirium dream, having been ripped from her flat, interrogated by one of the most senior offices in the KGB, blackmailed into volunteering to do something of which she had no idea and finally being forced to fellate him. Now she was in a helicopter being whisked off to who knew where!

Unable to communicate, Valerie watched the city disappear below her as they flew across the sprawling suburbs of Moscow until finally they were flying over complete darkness but Valerie sensed they were flying over dense forest. A pinprick of light in the distance began to slowly grow until she could make out a walled compound consisting of several substantial buildings.

The helicopter descended and hovered over a large expanse of lawn in the centre of the compound and finally touched down. Yuri unbuckled Valerie's webbing waist belt and shoulder straps and helped her to her feet. He and the air crewman assisted her out of the throbbing machine, this time her skirt rode right up to the top her legs but she didn't care; she just wanted her feet to be planted on solid ground.

She tugged at her skirt as Yuri led her away from the Hind which was already increasing engine speed to an ear-splitting roar as it began to ascend leaving Valerie and Yuri alone in the dark.

"Come," Yuri took Valerie's hand and led her to the largest building in the compound.

She was glad to be out of the cold when they entered what appeared to be the lobby of an opulent hotel.

"It is late. You need to sleep," Yuri said in English and led Valerie up an expansive sweeping staircase to an upper level corridor.

The corridor had many doors on either side of it just like one would expect in hotel, although something told Valerie that this was no hotel. He led her to one of the doors from which a key dangled from the lock and he opened the door and ushered her inside.

"Where am I? What's happening?" Valerie said forlornly

"Some things you will work out for yourself; the rest will be explained when you need to know," Yuri gave her a wan smile and closed the door.

Valerie heard the latch engage and when she tried the door handle it was securely locked.

As much as Valerie would have liked to explore the palatial surrounds she was exhausted. The room was lit only by two bedlamps and the dim glow coming from what she discovered to be the bathroom. The bathroom was fully stocked with everything a girl would need and it all appeared to be new and very Western. She unwrapped a toothbrush and loaded it with Crest toothpaste and brushed away the taste of cigarettes and Ivan Petrov's stale semen.

Valerie kicked off her knock-off stilettos and shimmied out of her navy-blue skirt suit and white polyester blouse. Leaving on her plain white full-cut tricot panties and pantyhose she crawled into bed. Her cheap, hand sewn, clothing looked tatty and out of place amid such opulence; the linen sheets were clean, cool and luxurious. She pulled up the comforter and was asleep within seconds.

J. Edgar Hoover Building, 935 Pennsylvania Avenue NW in Washington, D.C. -- May 1985

"This is a shit sandwich," Special Agent Vince Gruffalo grumbled as he surveyed the files arranged neatly on the large conference table.

"You're lucky that you haven't been suspended Gruffalo. Rimmer is still in hospital and has three months of hard physical therapy ahead of him before he can walk," Special Agent Mike Shilling grunted.

"He knew the job was dangerous when he took it," Vince quipped, trying to make light of it but deep inside he was sorry about what had happened to his last partner.

Vince had received a tip about two low level Mexican Cartel members meeting in a New York hotel and rather than passing the tip on to the DEA or calling for backup, he and his partner Max Rimmer had burst in on them without a warrant intent on making an arrest. During the subsequent shootout the two Narcos were killed and Special Agent Max Rimmer took one in the chest, the bullet stopped by his vest, and another in the leg, fracturing his femur.

The FBI did its best to sell the bungle as a successful strike against the Narco organisation that had recently kidnapped, tortured and murdered DEA Agent Enrique "Kiki" Camarena in Guadalajara, Mexico. The truth was that it was it was a clusterfuck and once again Special Agent Vince Gruffalo had acted impulsively and recklessly.

Vince should have been suspended without pay but because the Agency had sold the debacle as a success the Agency's hands were tied so they appointed Vince Gruffalo to a special task force that was really nothing more than a babysitting detail where he could do no harm.

The Soviet Union was sending a delegation to the United States ahead of a proposed agreement between the United States of America and the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics on exchanges in cultural, technical, and educational fields. This would be the first such agreement since the beginning of the Cold War.

The FBI had no doubts whatsoever that the delegation would be riddled with spies, intelligence operatives and possibly espionage agents. The Special Task Force that Special Agent Vince Gruffalo had been assigned to was tasked with conducting counterintelligence and monitoring of the Soviet delegation.

"I think it best if we hand out the case studies to each agent based on the specialty of each contingent within the delegation," the SAC said after an introductory speech that had bored the pants off Vince Gruffalo.

It was suspected that the technical delegation would be full of Soviet operatives because the Soviets regularly stole proprietary technology and intellectual property. This was where most of the covert counter-surveillance would occur and the Special Agent in Charge Mike Shilling was hell bent on keeping Vince Gruffalo away from it. He assigned Gruffalo to the academic contingent knowing they were unlikely to undertake any illegal activity.

"A babysitting shit sandwich," Vince whined as he was passed a stack of files.

Each file represented a member of the delegation and included the curriculum vitae provided to the American State Department by the Soviet Embassy which would likely be doctored to frame the delegate as of superior intelligence to his American counterpart or possibly a complete fabrication to hide a KGB operative. Also included was an assessment on each delegate provided by the CIA and FBI counterintelligence departments. The files of the delegates assigned to Agent Gruffalo were flimsy because in some cases little was known about the delegate. They were all considered low threat.

The only file that piqued his interest was the dossier on Petra Donevski, the interpreter assigned to the academic contingent. The potted CV provided by the Soviets purported that Petra was employed at the Moscow University in the Cultural Development department where she wrote dissertations on western literature for the professors and acted as an interpreter when needed. The CIA and FBI assessed her as low risk.

What struck Vince was how beautiful this young woman was. She was tall, slim, long-legged and had flowing auburn hair. There was the obligatory portrait provided by the Soviets and a couple of full-body pictures provided by Western intelligence agencies collated from open sources. If Vince had to babysit a bunch of Soviet intelligentsia, he might as well enjoy keeping an eye Petra Donevski. She might be a low level staffer of little intelligence value but Vince was thinking he'd like the opportunity to bang her brains out. She was hot!

As well as having a cavalier attitude to his job, Vince also had a cavalier attitude to women; hence his divorced status and reputation as a pussy hound. Although some of the secretaries and female staffers in the J. Edgar Hoover Building found his good looks and charms agreeable; there were plenty who regarded him a snake.

Academia Staff Quarters, Moscow University -- May 1985

Petra Donevski lay on Professor Mikhail Blavatsky's bed with her legs open lewdly. Through the transparent gusset of her pantyhose, the only garment she was wearing besides her high heels, Mikhail could see the dark thatch of her pubic mound.

"You are a goddess," Mikhail whispered and looked at Petra with devotion and lust.

She just smiled up at him with her red-lipsticked lips and opened her legs a little wider.

Mikhail's cock became even harder if that were possible.

He fell on the bed, his head between Petra's legs, the pungent odour of her cunt assailing his nose, the exotic perfume she was wearing mingling with her vaginal stench.

He ripped out the little cotton panel in the crotch of her pantyhose with his teeth to expose her thick vaginal lips, surrounded by the mat of her pubic hair. Her cunt resembled a half-open clam nestled in a seaweed patch.

Petra's pantyhose were imported and expensive but she didn't mind that Mikhail destroyed them every time they fucked because in her current circumstances she had an endless supply of imported luxury commodities. The only reason she let Mikhail Blavatsky fuck her was because of those commodities.

She guided his face to her pubis and Mikhail lapped at her labia like a dog drinking water from a bowl. He wasn't particularly good at cunnilingus but he was good enough. Petra let him lick her vaginal lips and tingling circlets of pleasure began to radiate from her cunt. She pressed harder and Mikhail took the hint and began to circle her clitoris with his tongue.

Until Mikhail met Petra he had no idea where a woman's clitoris was. It had been a mystery to him but she had solved it for him and he worshipped her for it. He worshipped her for wearing those shiny pantyhose. He worshipped her for letting him lick her pussy. But most of all he worshipped her for letting him fuck her while she was wearing those shiny pantyhose.

Mikhail's tongue fluttered on Petra's clitoris and she entwined her fingers in his whispy greasy hair and forced his face harder into her mound. Mikhail's crude slavering had nowhere near the finesse of Yuri Godekin's tongue-tip, which could keep her on the edge of orgasm for what seemed like an eternity before he used his mouth to bring her to an earth-shattering climax. But it was enough; Mikhail's tongue hit the mark every second lick or so and soon Petra's legs began to shake.

"Lick it how I like it, you useless schoolteacher!" Petra moaned.

Mikhail pretended that Petra's taunts during sex turned him on but he actually felt belittled by them. But he would do anything to fuck this goddess.

Mikhail sucked on Petra's clitoral hood and used the tip of his tongue on her tender nubbin, enduring the pain as Petra tugged at his thinning hair. A glistening long slimy rope of pre-ejaculate dribbled from his cock and onto the bed linen. He ached to take his penis in his hand while he suckled Petra's cunt but he knew he would blow his load as soon as he touched it so he left it alone.

Petra's whole body began to quiver and a low growl started deep in her throat and rose to a shriek as her orgasm washed over her. Waves of intense pleasure radiated from her clitoris and coursed through her body.

"Now!" she screamed.

Mikhail Blavatsky leapt on top of Petra Donevski and slammed his cock into her sodden minge and began to fuck her hard. She wrapped those gossamer-sheathed limbs around him and raked his flanks with her high heels and scratched his back with her long red fingernails, encouraging Mikhail to fuck her harder and faster as her orgasm peaked.

He revelled in the feel of the cool, slippery, sensuous nylons on his tender flesh, her softy milky-white skin pressing on him, her pert titties pressing into his chest and her beautiful face contorted with lust as his cock was enveloped by her velvety vagina.