A Swallows Bite Act 02

THE GRANDE BALLROOM.

Four bomb disposal experts in body-armor wheel a metal container out the doorway. Police mill about as ambulance attendants heft Rostislav's body onto a stretcher.

"See that your superiors file a detailed report on this incident," the tight-faced police detective says to Dominika.

"Yes-sir. Lieutenant General Yezhov will see to it first thing in the morning."

No sadness, remorse or queasiness sits beneath the slopes of Dominika's tight belly. She pushes feminine fondness and that wonderful orgasm aside. What unknown and powerful evil turned Dmitry into a rat-fucker? Viktor will unravel that mystery. She smiles. In one way, Dmitry was a prince. He's unwittingly promoted Dominika Patroph to Hard Man status. In the world of Russian espionage, a Hard Man is an operative who's worked a hostile environment and who has killed. She feels a soft tap on her shoulder and turns around.

"We'd better check in with Viktor," Sveta says.

TOKYO, THIRTY-SIX HOURS LATER.

Niguri strolls through a green garden filled with blooming flowers. Two young girls flank him. The taller girl wears a short blue cocktail dress, while the other is in a schoolgirl's pleated plaid skirt and white blouse.

"O-shiri kisu," Niguri snaps.

Both cover their mouths and giggle mischievously. One hikes up her cocktail dress revealing rising curves clad tantalizingly in blue lacy thong panties. The schoolgirl crouches down, slips her tongue under the thong's back string and puts her lips and tongue to work.

"Send these sluts away," Tomiko says as she approaches.

Niguri waves his hand and the two girls giggle and scurry off. When they're out of earshot, he turns to Tomiko. "Project Burning Boot was unsuccessful."

Invisible disappointment sinks from Tomiko's head to her toes. "That is disappointing news," she whispers.

Niguri grunts and drags his eyes away from the naked breast that's peaking from beneath Tomiko's snow-white silk kimono. "Security may have been breached, perhaps implicating me. What further damage to project Checkmate, is unknown."

"Was Wild Weasel caught and questioned?" she asks.

"Rostislav was a coward. He hesitated then was murdered by a Russian assassin of your gender."

Tomiko cocks her head. Her brow furrows. "What is known about this Russian assassin?"

Niguri shrugs. "Our agents in Moscow could provide little but a codename. She's a young sex-spy known to the GRU and KGB as Gypsy Danger."

"Gypsy Danger?" Tomiko takes a deep controlling breath. "How much does this assassin know of project Checkmate?"

"Unknown. Our agent said she is a hard woman."

Tomiko's large brown eyes look into his. "Niguri-san, there are no hard women -- only soft men."

He grunts. Tomiko's frustration is masked by a bantam smile as his gaze travels from her eyes to her neck, then lower. He reaches for her kimono and ever so slowly parts it in the center revealing her creamy breast-skin as it separates.

Niguri forces his eyes into hers'. "Is there an aggressive streak behind this magnificent bosom?"

"It shall be only you that decides that." She slips the silky kimono from her shoulders and lets it flutter to the ground. Tomiko's nudity meets his lusty stare. She guides his hand toward a hardened, yet quivering breast.

"This is not the time," Niguri snaps, jerking his hand away. "A new request has come from al-Gama'at al-Islamiyya by encrypted telex. Despite the Moscow setback, Phase 2 of project Checkmate shall proceed as planned. Due to the events in Moscow, I must travel to Afghanistan to arrange air shipment of the objects to America. Kasawara, you will journey there in my place. Work with our compatriots. Supervise all pre-strike details. I will join you in nine days and personally see that project Checkmate is carried out without flaw."

"But Niguri-san, I am but a comfort woman, the maker of your meals and receptor of your seed. A woman is unfit for a task of such great consequence."

"No," he says running a finger up and down the S curve of her smooth back and taunt bottom. "The fighters of al-Gama'at al-Islamiyya have hardened your body and disciplined your mind." His finger traces the jutting muscle line at the top of her leg. "Be honored Kasawara, that events give you a chance to make your mark within the movement."

"I am humbled by your trust," Tomiko whispers with a secret smile. Raising her leg, she strokes his cock with her knee. This is working out better than she'd planned.

THE GRU TRAINING FACILITY, NEAR KHODINKA AIRFIELD, MOSKVA.

"Who or what the hell is al-Gama'at al-Islamiyya?" Sveta says sliding bright green exercise thongs down her legs. She kicks them aside.

Dominika arcs twin chrome barbells from her thighs to above her head. "Viktor's trying to find out."

"Viktor couldn't find his own dick in his shorts." Sveta sheds her exercise bra leaving her as naked as Dominika. "Dammit I wish they'd fix that heater. It's either freeze or fry in here."

"Signs of a decaying superpower, darling." Dominika's biceps flex and her triceps tremble as sweat pours down her generous hills and valleys in shinny zigzagging rivulets.

"This whole caper stinks of Arabs to me. Hey Dom, you were fucking Rostislav. He wasn't the type to walk into a party, toast a bunch of VIPs, yell Al`lah-u-Akhbar then blow himself to Katmandu, was he?"

Dominika looks at her. "Gut feeling?"

"Yeah and right behind my bellybutton. Look, Rostislav didn't take a shit without a workable escape plan. I'm not brilliant, but I ain't no idiot. I think Rostislav was just a minnow in a tank of hungry sharks -- Arab sharks."

"Viktor has a whole staff of researchers trying to decipher what it all means."

Dominika raises the barbells, mildly enjoying the tickle of sweat beads that trickle down her breast slopes, gather and drip from her pinkish nipples. She'd liked Sveta from the first time they met at the Bl'adovat' Interdisciplinary Academy in Kiev. Bl'adovat' is a training school that takes beautiful young girls and turns them into glamorous intelligence gathering machines. The faculty consists of the finest five-star call girls from Europe, each handpicked to teach recruits the fine-points of glamour, sex and seduction. Staff physiologists grind away all female inhibitions, shyness and shame. In their place emerges a Swallow -- a specialist -- a professional -- a woman of physical perfection and skilled in the sciences of romance, lust and human intelligence extraction regardless of gender. Students also gain a certain degree of personal ruthlessness, along with a love of danger, and the raw courage to face personal peril, scorn, or ridicule.

Dominika rests the heavy barbells on her thighs and looks at Sveta. Busy Bikini is such a fitting codename for her. Dominika's eyes fall from Sveta's generous breasts to her curvaceous glutes that rival her own. Sveta brags to the other Swallows that Dominika has two of the nicest ass-cheeks any woman could ever hope to have.

Dominika swipes intermittent glances as Sveta bends over and picks up a large dumbbell. Beneath her silky skin, thigh-muscles tighten as she squats, legs straining under the 100-pound weight slung across her shoulders. Sveta's hairless pussy-lips tremble, quiver open, and then slowly shut as she rises. A small smile falls across Dominika's lips. They'd pleasure each other later on. That prospect makes her clit push gently against its hood. Dominika always admired Sveta's zest for physical perfection, beauty and her rough-around-the-edges grace. Sveta has piercing blue eyes that seem to look right through your clothes and have a wonderful way of pinning you to the wall. When it came to sexual seduction for intelligence purposes, Sveta learned her lessons and learned them well. When so ordered by the Directorate, she'd willingly execute any sexual task, no matter how lusty, deviant, disgusting or perverted. Put bluntly, Sveta gets the job done.

Sveta glances at the stunning nude beauty doing leg-lifts a few feet away. Dominika Patroph has such a complex persona. She's the ideal Swallow. Her face belongs on the cover of Vogue. She has the perfect ass, a dancer's legs and the most succulent up thrust boobs in the country, and actually takes pleasure in using the package as a tool. She romanticizes revolution and war, violence and sin, and approaches each duty assignment with intense desire and passion. Sex could be a throwaway or cherished depending on the target. Early in their relationship, Dominika had confided to Sveta that what makes her really drip is being part of the tricks, traps, deception, thievery and invasion of privacy, and now as a Hard Man -- assassination -- all in the name of the Russian Federation.

THE PATHWAY MOTEL, BARSTOW CALIFORNIA.

Smooth shoulder blades move under smoother skin as Tomiko fastens bra hooks behind her back and adjusts the garment to make her less than abundant cleavage more abundant. She slides a paper-thin pale blue chopped tank top over her head. Flipping her long hair from the neck, she looks into a mirror and frowns. "Fuck it," she whispers under her breath. The bra comes off and lands in an open suitcase. Hiking her coal-black scrap of a micro-skirt around her hips, she pulls off her panties. They land on top of the bra. Bending slightly she looks over her shoulder then throws a kiss at her reflection. "Ah America, the land of the free and the home of the brave."

An open briefcase lies on the rumpled motel bed. On top is a photograph of a beautiful blonde woman. Written on it in Japanese is GYPSY DANGER. Tomiko closes the case and snaps the latches shut.

Outside, the cold morning air kisses her breasts. Through the tank top's thin fabric, her dark nipples harden to solid points. She gasps as the cold air assaults her panty-free pussy. Shrugging, she walks toward the rented Ford Taurus.

Tomiko parks the car next to a low-slung cinder-block building with a flashing BUD sign on its roof. She goes inside. Purchasing the 9 mm Colt semiautomatic pistol from the less-than-honest gun show merchant is simple. Her very apparent lack of underwear isn't a liability either.

Tomiko pops a Gummy Bear in her mouth and floors the Taurus. The car merges into freeway traffic, heading east, toward Utah.

A nondescript green station wagon falls in behind.

GRU OPERATIONS CENTER, MOSKVA.

A bluish spotlight sweeps the grounds next to a glass-encased building known only as "The Aquarium". Tonight, the foreign intelligence organ of the Russian Ministry of Defense is as quiet as the clouds drifting across the quarter moon. A hard-faced sentry lights a cigarette and looks up at the single light glowing in the visibly rundown nine-storey tower. Across the nine-acre grounds, armed security patrols have the authorization to use deadly force to should strangers intrude.

THE TWELFTH DIRECTORATE.

On the Aquarium's sixth floor, a muscular broad-shouldered man sits in a dark office rocking in a squeaky chair. He flips a switch on a small metal control box. A large wall mounted Plasma television screen flickers then fades to a razor-sharp full color image of a one-room apartment sparsely furnished in tasteless green.

Lieutenant General Viktor Yezhov leans forward in his chair to watch. Codenamed Cold Juice, Viktor's eyes dominate his distinctive and manly presence. They're colorless eyes . . . cold eyes . . . a spy's eyes.

APARTMENT 27B, GRU OPERATIVE'S HOUSING.

A scratchy, warbling rendition of Elvis' "Love Me Tender" drones from an aging three-speed record player. Stretched along one entire green wall are makeup tables and clothes racks jammed with the latest in diva-wear sewn by the classiest designers in Paris, Roma, and America.

Dominika's lungs jerk in a sharp involuntary breath as Sveta's hand slides underneath the loose pale blue chopped muscle-shirt she wears. Sveta's gentle touch makes her eyes drift closed. Between her legs, a miniscule pleasure-drop balloons in response to Sveta's soothing all-knowing breast play. Dominika's blood-flow quickens. Every sense seems to bloom with arousal. Nudged by Sveta's fingers, both breasts swell and harden, and then glow warm as the muscle-shirt's coarse fabric and Sveta's soothing strokes stimulate sensitive nerves.

"Oh," she gasps, breath catching in her throat. Through the coarsely woven muscle-shirt, the softness of Sveta's lips nibble at her hardened nipple-shaft, nurturing a sensuous wave of instant pleasure.

THE TWELFTH DIRECTORATE.

Ice cubes tinkle as Viktor swirls a glass of vodka. "Love me tender, love me true," Elvis' romantic voice sings from the TV's speakers. On the control box, he touches a tiny joystick. The TV's image zooms in to a close-up of Dominika's beautiful face framed by a sea of golden hair. Her head twists slowly on a blue throw pillow as Sveta kisses, licks and sucks on a nipple that's protruding through her muscle-shirt. Viktor tilts the image down as Sveta's short blonde hair lifts away. A slight touch eases the picture into a close up of Dominika's thrusting breast. It zooms closer, filling the screen with her nipple and the oval left darkened and wet by Sveta's saliva.

APARTMENT 27B, GRU OPERATIVE'S HOUSING.

Sveta's pink-glossed lips nibble at the nipple then slide from the cloth-covered breast up to Dominika's neck and come to rest on her sensuous mouth. Tongue-tips touch. Mouths open. Lips squish, rub then furiously attack in a passionate starving embrace. Dominika feels Sveta's hand pushing down the back of her skin-snug black jeans. Her ass clenches to the digging wiggling touch of Sveta's probing finger. A bead of saliva stretches then pops between their stroking tongues.

"Hurry babe," Sveta gasps as she sheds her tank top and mashes her cloud-soft breasts against Dominika's back. "God I want it. I'm sooo dripping. I-I gotta have it."

"Wait," Dominika pants. "Help me get naked."

THE TWELFTH DIRECTORATE.

Viktor sips his drink and drums his fingers on his thigh. On the TV screen, Dominika's hands crisscross then lift her pale blue muscle-shirt. Magnificent breasts, crowned with pinkish up thrust nipples burst into view and bore into Viktor's chilly, unblinking eyes.

"What a pair of knockers," he whispers. He tilts the image down. A curving leg rises. Sveta unzips her black high-heal boots and pulls them from Dominika's perfectly pedicured feet. Viktor tilts the image up. Dominika's glorious rear, incased in skin-tight black denim, fills the screen. Sveta's fingers loosen Dominika's metal-studded belt. Dominika's curving waist and smooth jutting hips wag from side to side as Sveta tugs on the jeans.

"Yes, yes, show me that celebrated ass," Viktor murmurs.

Sveta pulls, slowly revealing high mounds of smooth skin, lightly suntanned except for a thin curving Y rising from Dominika's deep depression. Viktor swallows, mesmerized by the mouthwatering mountains he'd fantasized about since first laying eyes on the extraordinary Dominika Patroph.

APARTMENT 27B, GRU OPERATIVE'S HOUSING.

Dominika's bare feet kick the black jeans away. The hugging heat of Sveta's nakedness sizzles through Dominika's naked skin. Breast-flesh crushes against breast-flesh with the heat and intensity of a solar flare. Hard nipples chafe against harder nipples. Kisses are cautious then suddenly turn feverishly wide and open-mouthed. Dominika's hands slide up and down Sveta's hourglass waist and then push under the waistband of the ripped up scrap of denim she calls her sex-shorts. Sveta's ass-cheeks are all but bare. Between her legs is little but a thick thread-rich crotch seem, scarcely covering tender flesh that aches for Dominika's finger or tongue.

Locked in each other's powerful needs, they stumble to the bed. Dominika's fingers unfasten Sveta's waist button. A downward pull on the zipper's metal tab spreads the shorts open. On her cheek, Dominika can feel warmth radiating from the curtain she's just opened. Working her face between Sveta's thighs, she puckers her lips, and then blows aside some threads. She brushes her nose against the thick denim seam covering Sveta's gaping pussy lips. Using her front teeth, she grabs a hunk of denim threads. Sveta squirms, moaning softly as Dominika twists her head and tugs working the shorts down Sveta's smooth thighs and curving legs. Gasping and unable to wait, Sveta pulls the shorts away and clamps her thighs around Dominika's neck.

THE TWELFTH DIRECTORATE.

Viktor raises his glass and drains the remaining liquor. The TV screen boasts a vivid close up of Sveta's red-tinged pussy. Her labia lips are open, clit out and extended.

"Now that's luscious," Viktor chuckles softly to himself. He pans the camera over to Dominika's ass and zooms in to fill the screen with her pinkish sphincter. "Dominika Patroph, I'm curious. Has a penis ever trespassed there?"

The image follows Dominika's long yellow-white hair as it descends, teasing at Sveta's inner thighs. With her fingers, Dominika spreads Sveta's fiery lips wide. Her long reddish tongue extends. Sveta's face tightens at the lingering, lethargic pleasure-lick.

Viktor clears his throat and reaches for the telephone.

APARTMENT 27B, GRU OPERATIVE'S HOUSING.

Sveta groans and squirms like a tortured animal, treasuring each of Dominika love-licks far more than any man's lusty cock-thrusts. One hand kneads her own breast while the other slides over the smooth rising slopes of Dominika's bottom. In Sveta's mind, a twang of nervousness materializes. During the Academy's girl-on-girl classes, Dominika hadn't fared well at all. Is she ready for the intimate touch she desperately deserves? Dominika's long pussy-lick explodes the question into oblivion.

Against Dominika's tongue, Sveta's pussy feels oil slick and wonderfully warm. Her scent is pleasant, resembling the soft fragrance of French vanilla. Her clitoris is lustfully hard and sensitive to each tender tongue-touch. Dominika gasps as her butt-muscles pucker tight. Sveta's finger runs gently up, then . . . down . . . slowly orbiting . . .

THE TWELFTH DIRECTORATE.

Viktor gazes, the buzzing phone in hand, his body paralyzed, eyes and ears transfixed on what the two gorgeous women on the TV screen are doing.

"Oh ggggod," Dominika breathes. Her hips thrash about at the touch of such a prohibited place.

"Love me long, take me to your heart, for its there that I belong." Sveta whispers mimicking Elvis' creamy romantic voice.

"Bitchin' so fuckin' bitchin'," Dominika whispers. So wild, so alien is Sveta's finger that her teeth tighten at the tiny ripples of a numbing orgasm. "More-more, deeper, don't stop."

"I'll be yours through all the years, till the end of time," Sveta whispers as Elvis sings.

Dominika's back arches as Sveta's finger worms around, exciting -- stimulating -- here-to-fore unknown nerves.

APARTMENT 27B, GRU OPERATIVE'S HOUSING.

Dominika's clit is screaming. "Yes, oh-fuck-yes," Dominika moans. Suddenly nerves ignite fire-fingers. "Yes, oh yesssss," she groans as she thrashes about, relishing in the blasts of orgasm powering their way through her very nucleus.

"Now babe, now," Sveta moans.

Gasping, Dominika rolls over on her back. Sveta kneels over her face. Dominika opens her mouth wide. Sveta lowers herself slightly. Dominika's lips close over Sveta's entire pussy, slit-top to slit-bottom. Raising her legs, Sveta's finger teases her sphincter then slips inside again. Another enthralling orgasm burns deep in Dominika's trembling body. She curls her tongue around Sveta's clit. The little engorged nub reacts like a shuddering stone.

"Holy-fuckin'-a," Sveta groans as her length stiffens from early orgasm.

Over Dominika's slurping and sucking sounds, there's a repetitive scratch from the record's soundless groove.

Then the telephone rings.