The (Russian) Devil & the Deep Blue Sea

1) This story is a sequel to The (Russian) Devil in Mrs. Jones. It is not necessary to read that story before this one, but it might be more enjoyable to take them in order.

2) This story includes a wife who has sex with a man who is not her husband, and (most likely) ends up pregnant from it without her husband's knowledge. If these concepts trigger you, don't give me nasty comments or bad ratings, just move on to something more to your taste.

3) This story includes broad caricatures of Evangelical Christianity, Russia, the Arabian Sea region, and Islam. As you can see from the category, it is also a nonconsent story. If any of these things offend or irritate you, please choose a different story.

4) This work is sheer fantasy in all respects, and is intended for the purposes of erotic entertainment only. In real life it is incumbent on all of us to ensure consent in any situation, and to show respect and empathy to those around us--not just with regard to sex, but in every aspect of life.

5) All characters are over the age of 18.

6) I love to receive positive feedback and constructive suggestions. I hope you enjoy it.

The question of free will--

It's something every serious Christian thinker has had to wrestle with. If God is omniscient and omnipotent, and the universe is an exquisite mechanism built to His exacting specifications, then where is the room for free will? Can we truly be said to have any influence over our own destinies? And if not--if our every choice is predetermined to fit some Heavenly plan--then can we really be held responsible for our actions?

For most of her life, Abigail Jones had troubled herself little with such abstract philosophy. She felt in control of her destiny; but she was also convinced that her own choices and God's desires ran in perfect harmony. The things she wanted to do just happened (she believed) to match perfectly with the things He wanted her to do. And generally speaking, the outcomes of these choices had proven most satisfactory. To be the wife of a megachurch pastor and rising Christian-media figure was comfortable for Abby, in both a physical and moral sense.

Well, there had been one very difficult day, a couple of years earlier, that had dealt Abby's smug self-assurance a serious test. That day, she'd found herself doing things that seemed quite out of step with the church's teachings--and although she felt she had no choice but to do them, she still wondered if that was entirely true. After all, if she hadn't wanted to do those things, then why had she enjoyed them so much...?

Still Abby had weathered the experience, and eventually come to accept what she'd done. After all, who's to say that her actions that day hadn't had a place in God's heavenly plan? Perhaps He had simply guided her through the extremely unorthodox set of decisions that He needed her to make. At least she hadn't ended up getting swallowed by a whale, like Jonah!

Over the past week, however, a fresh series of incidents had once again shaken Abby's belief system--right down to the foundations. So now, as she crouched on hands and knees, naked, squinting into the glare of lights and video cameras, and waiting for this Arab emir to jam himself up her backside, she couldn't help but wonder about the limits of human agency.

For instance, what about her husband's decision to take them both on this trip abroad, in spite of all her misgivings. Did that make him responsible for the fact that his wife had ended up stranded on this accursed yacht, without her clothes and mired in nonstop debauchery? Had Steven, in some sense, 'chosen' this?

Or what about the fact that she was, for the second time, very likely to carry the baby of a Russian oligarch? To be fair, this outcome did stem from her own choice to cherish the sanctity of life, as God commanded. But fate had played a hand as well, by putting Brosaev in the position to have his way with her. The Russian always seemed to get exactly what he wanted. Why were his desires so especially potent--did he possess the power to warp all of divine creation into the shape of his choosing?

And then there was the devilish predicament she found herself in at present. In mere moments, she would be ass-fucked by some Middle Eastern potentate, and the entire incident posted to the internet. Could Abby in any way be said to have opted for this? Had there ever been a moment when she could have charted another course?

Her mind wandered back over the preceding days, reviewing the different choices she'd made, trying to decide whether she could have done anything differently... Like (she recalled), there had been that hop out of Nairobi, less than a week ago. What if she'd simply refused to get on the plane? Would that even have been possible?

And if she had, would circumstances have contorted to drop her into this same pickle anyway...?

Abby leaned back into the seat of the Gulfstream, as Nairobi dwindled to a hazy blur in their wake. It was more than two years since she'd been on a plane like this one, and it dredged up strange and unsettling memories.

On that previous occasion, Abby had been flying to Berlin in the private jet of a Moscow oligarch--whisking her husband off to freedom after his violent and baffling detention by Russian authorities. It had truly been a blessing to see Steven redeemed from captivity that way. And yet, she could only shudder to think of the sins she'd incurred in order to make it happen.

The owner of that jet had been a man named Yevgeny Brosaev. He was a very powerful figure in Russia, not to mention a donor to Steven and Abby's international pro-life crusade--and so, in her desperation, she'd turned to him for assistance when Steven was imprisoned. Unfortunately, she'd soon discovered he was not the righteous man she'd imagined, but just one more lost soul, in thrall to the temptations of avarice and lust. And the price that wicked man had demanded for his help? It was... well, it still made her blush.

Abby had never told her husband what she'd done to get him released. Naturally, she'd wrestled prayerfully with that decision. Was it shame and cowardice that held her back? She told herself it wasn't. After all, she'd acted from good Christian motives when she submitted to the villain's demands (hadn't she?). So really, it must have simply been part of God's plan for her. And if God ever did want Steven to know, He was perfectly capable of bringing the truth to light Himself. The fact of the matter was, Brosaev had captured it on video...

Over time, Abby had come to peace with her decision--realizing that by keeping the secret, she had actually furthered God's purposes in the world. The entire incident had bolstered Steven's faith tremendously. In his ignorance, he looked back on his rescue as a bona-fide miracle, and it made him an even more zealous minister for Christ than he'd been before.

It appeared that Steven's mind had returned to that earlier flight as well. He nudged Abby with his elbow, murmuring in her ear so the people in the neighboring rows wouldn't hear him. "Remember when we were on that Russian businessman's plane? That was crazy, right? But I still don't really understand how you ended up in those clothes..."

Abby cringed at the image he conjured up. That evening, Brosaev had stranded her at the Moscow airport wearing a loose bandeau-top with a propensity for falling down around her waist, and a hot-pink micro-miniskirt that only arguably covered her crotch. And nothing else. She'd ended up flashing every traveler and baggage-handler in the place, before finally meeting Steven at the jet.

"I told you dear," she fibbed, "it was those ridiculous Russian security procedures. They had an all-female team screen me in a private room, and it was, um... very invasive. And somehow, they ended up shredding my entire outfit in the x-ray machine. After that, I had to wear whatever they could scrounge up." Even now, she couldn't believe Steven had ever swallowed that story. Maybe he just trusted her that much. Or maybe he had enough sense not to probe any deeper.

"Well... we did end up having a good time on the plane, didn't we?" He glanced at her, gauging whether she found the innuendo roguish, or vulgar. On the flight to Berlin, after giving Steven the first blowjob of his life, Abby had straddled him, right there in the aircraft, and taken him to completion. It was by far the most daring sex they'd ever had, and she guessed it remained one of the high-points of his life. But he obviously feared she'd find the allusion to it crass.

"Yes, it was very special." She smiled and patted his hand, causing Steven to grin conspiratorially.

When they'd been having relations on that other flight, the passenger cabin had been empty. Well, Abby corrected herself, it was true that the stewardess had strolled down the aisle halfway through--meeting the American woman's eyes with a glance that said: 'I work for Brosaev, so I've seen it all before.' Fortunately, Steven had been too transported to notice. He would certainly have lost his erection if he'd realized they were observed.

Today, however, most of the seats on the plane were occupied--filled with pastors, outreach directors, and missionaries. Steven, feeling emboldened, glanced around, voice still low. "Too bad we have so much company. I wouldn't have minded staging a repeat performance."

She nestled her head against his shoulder. "Hold that thought, dear. Once we get to the hotel, we'll have plenty of privacy."

A few hours later, at the Sheraton Djibouti, Abby plucked their freshly-used condom from the nightstand with tips of index finger and thumb, and dropped it in the wastebasket. Then, pulling on a robe, she paced to the window, looking out at the white-crested azure of the Arabian Sea and listening to Steven's quiet snores.

Lovemaking within the bounds of marriage was perfectly respectable, of course--Abby had always told herself that. Yet, the reality was that for most of their years together, she and Steven had both been very uptight about sex. The conservative religious upbringings they shared colored even marital intimacy with a scarlet tinge of shame; a tinge far too intense for mere logic to erase. Oh, when they were co-leading the newlyweds-group at church, they did their best to sing a different tune. But once they found themselves in the bedroom, embarrassment and discomfort had made intercourse more of a duty than pleasure.

Since that trip to Russia, though, things had changed. Abby felt freer than before--french-kissing, giving her husband oral sometimes, even (gasp!) hinting at what she liked and wanted. And gradually, she'd dragged Steven along with her, in his halting, starchy way. Their couplings had become more interesting and enjoyable, and she'd managed to climax with Steven on more than one occasion.

Even so, Abby couldn't help suffering grave doubts when she recalled the events that had given rise to this transformation. Was their newfound intimacy really proper? Could such a good truly arise from the fruits of sin? In these moments, she sometimes despaired of herself as a fallen woman in God's eyes.

When it came right down to it, it wasn't so much the things she'd done on that desperate day in Moscow that made her feel this way, nor the things she did with her husband now. The real problem lay in the indecent way the two mingled in her psyche. When Steven was inside her, and their bodies were most in sync, Abby would sometimes squeeze her eyes shut and discover her mind filled with... Brosaev. The billionaire's imperious manner; his booming energy and charisma; his powerful, animated body; his (Lord forgive me) deliciously beefy organ...

For you see, that had been the price to free Steven. The Russian businessman had made her break her vows before husband and God--made her give herself over to him, take him in her mouth, let him implant his seed in her womb. At an earthly level, the experience had opened her eyes to what sex could be. But at what cost to her eternal soul?

So, Abby found herself leading something of a double life now. Most of the time, when she was thinking straight, she recognized that the thug's actions had been those of a vile, depraved sinner. She prayed for him, and for herself, with sincere repentance in her heart--and felt God's presence, assuring her that He understood why she had yielded herself. It hadn't been for her own gratification, but to save her husband; so that he could care for his family and continue doing the Lord's work.

But then there were those occasions when she was carried away by the throes of passion, and Yevgeny returned to haunt her--tantalizing her with the extremes of sensation and arousal he had given her, extremes she hadn't experienced since. At such times she understood that even with a world between them, the oligarch still owned a piece of her.

That was how it had been just now, with Steven.

Her husband stirred and sat up. "We've gotten a lot better at that over the years, haven't we? I know it's blasphemy to say it, but I sometimes think that's exactly what the rapture will be like. Now aren't you glad you came on the trip?"

Looking out at the ocean, she twirled a strand of her long chestnut mane about a dubious finger. "I enjoyed it too. But honestly, I still don't think either one of us should have come. Not after what happened in Russia."

"Oh Abby, we can't let fear stop us from treading the Lord's path." He'd shifted into the tone he used with members of the youth group who balked at handing out fliers at the mall. "Africa is exactly where we need to be. In the developed world, abominations like abortion, birth-control pills, plan-B, and IUDs have taken a devilish hold. But here, we have a chance to head them off before it ever gets to that point!"

"Yes, but Steven--we were answering God's call in Russia too, and look what happened there." Abby knew the proper Christian answers to plaints of this sort; yet it came spilling out of her anyway.

His reply was indulgent. "Now honey, we'll be perfectly safe. We're on a different continent from Russia, for goodness' sakes! Plus, we're not alone this time--we're with a whole delegation of Christian leaders. No government would dare molest us."

Seeing that her face remained set in a stubborn scowl, he rose and pressed up behind her, wrapping his arms around her middle. "Besides, even if things did get nasty there for a minute in Moscow, we mustn't forget that it was the Lord who saved us. He delivered me from captivity, using that businessman, Brassevich, as his vessel."

"Brosaev," Abby corrected him automatically. And silently, in her mind, she added: 'but Steven, you really have no idea what vessel He used to rescue you--nor how thoroughly that vessel was defiled!"

Waking refreshed the next morning, Abby resolved to put the demons of the previous day behind her. She was never going to see Yevgeny again--there was no reason to let him go on casting a shadow over her life.

She spent longer than usual dithering over her clothes. The delegates were scheduled to spend a couple of hours touring the Grand Pecherie market, followed by a luncheon and opening plenum for the conference at St. Gabriel Church. That meant Abby needed an outfit with a lot of versatility. Eventually, she settled on a knit dress in hunter-green, with a high boat neck, long sleeves, and ankle-length skirt. In deference to local sensibilities, she also hid her wavy tresses beneath a lavender paisley scarf.

As they rode the elevator down to the lobby, Steven tucked a small stack of 3x5 cards into his jacket pocket. "Last night, when I was working on my speech, was that your sister you were zooming with?"

"Who else?" There wasn't much point in denying it. Steven was prone to teasing her about her daily calls home, but she let it roll off her. It had been hard to leave the kids--especially Jacob, he was still so small. "Mark and Esther are fine. She did all right on that pre-algebra test. But I'm afraid Jakey got in trouble at toddler-group. Apparently, he's been hogging all the toys. His new favorite word is 'mine!'"

"I wouldn't worry about it. As a child of ours, he'll soon learn to value the fruits of the spirit above worldly temptations."

"Yes, I suppose..." Abby agreed, without conviction.

In point of fact, she had serious doubts whether Jacob actually was a 'child of theirs.' Steven naturally assumed the tyke had been conceived during their unlikely coupling on the hop to Berlin, and Abby had done nothing to disabuse him of the notion. Privately, though, she reckoned she'd been impregnated somewhat earlier in the day than that. In Brosaev's limousine, perhaps, or on top of his office desk...

Ugh, Brosaev again. The rapacious billionaire seemed inescapable!

And that was the thing, really. Given what had happened, how could she ever hope to escape his looming presence? The truth of it was, Abby had been keeping tabs on the oligarch since the day they returned home from Russia. She wasn't proud of it--but Jacob's impending arrival made it seem justifiable, and perhaps even necessary. When she'd searched the internet in English, she'd found very few traces of the man. However, she'd had more luck paying a Slavic student at the local college to translate articles. Abby told Steven the inquiry fell under 'major donor outreach,' and he fully approved.

By these efforts, she'd learned that Jacob had (presumably) some twelve or fifteen half-siblings, either definite, possible, or rumored. She'd also developed an almost voyeuristic sense of how Brosaev spent his days--hobnobbing with senior politicians, tearing down business rivals, gadding about Moscow with one 20-year-old model after another. And always, always, building his empire bigger.

Now that Abby thought about it, it seemed likely that Yevgeny's favorite word was 'mine' too...

They strolled out of the hotel lobby, to find a row of black SUVs idling in the driveway. The conference wranglers were busy parceling Christian luminaries into different vehicles. Seeing so many stalwarts of the faith in one place, Abby thought again what an honor it had been for a young minister like Steven to be included in the delegation. It would provide a real boost to their organization-building in Africa.

Really, though, her husband had earned his place in such company. In the years since their visit to Russia, his already promising star in evangelical and political circles had only continued to rise. Recent stunning successes for the pro-life movement reflected well on his advocacy; his TV ratings were strong; and his home flock was expanding rapidly.

Most of all, Steven's dramatic tale of imprisonment and miraculous escape from Lukashenko Prison had done wonders for his image. The way Steven told the story, it evoked the Apostle Paul being released from jail in Philippi.

Which, to Abby's chagrin, cast Brosaev in the role of the virtuous warden who freed the apostle, after accepting Christ in his heart...

When they reached the Pecherie, the motorcade disgorged its occupants, and they spread out through the maze of shops and stalls. At first glance, the bazaar was gaudy and colorful--but, it didn't take Abby long to conclude that it was actually a pretty flea-bitten enterprise. The structures were rickety, the trinkets on display were shoddy and overpriced, and the smell of fish hung over everything. She considered buying a few mementos for the kids, but worried about lead paint and thought better of it.

By the time she and Steven had crisscrossed the place once or twice, Abby was beginning to think they should head back to the cars and hang out there until lunch. Abruptly, however, a rich, resounding baritone sliced through the din of hawkers and hagglers.