The Interpreter - Chapter 4

The Interpreter.jpg

Chapter Four – Toast and Marmalade

Plaza Hotel, Midtown Manhattan, New York City – July 1985 – Day Three of the Convention

Valerie attended the morning and afternoon academic seminars with Professor Mikhail Blavatsky. They ate lunch with the academic contingent and Mikhail had very little opportunity to fondle Valerie so he didn’t try.

Mikhail was still stunned by what he had seen the previous evening. The beautiful young interpreter assigned to him was not what she appeared. She had all of the trappings of a pretty girl with her long legs, a great ass, perky tits and a beautiful face but she had the genitalia of a man.

Mikhail had thought long and deep about it overnight. He was a distinguished professor so he was no idiot. He had soon figured out what Valerie was all about or at least he thought he had. Petra Donevski had told Mikhail about how she was going to be used as a honey trap at the Convention by the KGB to ensnare unwitting American men and blackmail them into spying. One of Petra’s favourite pastimes was to taunt Mikhail with lurid details as to how she intended to seduce these strangers.

It was obvious to Mikhail that Valerie had been sent on the same mission but her being a transwoman made blackmail more conclusive and inescapable. A wayward husband could fall on his sword and admit that he had been seduced by a beautiful young woman, but when that woman had a cock and balls the wife would be less likely to forgive him and government agencies, especially the military would never forgive him and would drum the gullible fool out of the military or lock him up.

This thing! This violation of nature had taken the place of his beloved Petra. Petra who was beautiful, intelligent and quick witted and always wore those shiny, silky nylons on her long legs that drove Mikhail wild. Petra, who had been cast aside and killed when a better instrument for blackmail had come along. And even worse... he knew that Petra only let Mikhail make love to her to keep him on a leash but this beautiful young transvestite was off limits to him and was treated better than he was by her KGB masters.

But now he knew her secret. What could she do if he fucked her? She had to keep her dirty little secret confidential or else she was useless. If she ran to Yuri Godekin and told him that Mikhail knew her secret she was likely to be punished for giving away her reason for being. Besides, she was a gorgeous young ingénue who Mikhail ached to possess. Why should the fact that she only had one hole between her legs prevent him from using her? It would be the spoiled little transvestite’s turn to feel humiliated. Fucking Valerie would not only sake Mikhail's lust; the pleasure he got from debasing her would be priceless. He would have his revenge!

He just needed to pick the right time and the right place.

“Valerie, you have no, shall we say – extracurricular activities this evening,” Mikhail had been uncharacteristically pleasant all day.

“No. I am free to attend the dinner being hosted by the Georgetown University faculty this evening,” Valerie replied.

“It is imperative that I continue to present myself as your interpreter and aide throughout the convention, as you know Professor,” Valerie added.

Mikhail bristled at Valerie’s condescending tone but outwardly he just smiled at her with his yellowed teeth.

“I need to spend some time with Comrade Godekin but I will be ready in plenty of time for the dinner,” Valerie smiled at Mikhail and he nodded curtly.

“I’ll see you in the lobby at seven,” Mikhail stood aside and allowed Valerie to exit the elevator ahead of him.

Valerie was wearing a charcoal skirt-suit and Mikhail’s eyes locked on her buttocks and her legs and he inhaled the scent of her perfume that she left trailing behind her. He became semi-tumescent, even though he knew that under that skirt she hid a secret. How could something so beautiful, feminine and sensually provocative be such an abomination? Mikhail had noticed that most of the men attending today’s seminars had gawked at Valerie and most of the women seemed more than a little jealous of her when they first met her.

Of course Valerie had been nothing but congenial and had flirted just a little with the men and garnered friendships with the women. She had spent most of the day dutifully interpreting for Mikhail and tending to his needs; anticipating when he might need an academic position paper, a finding or a reference source. She attended to him almost like a faithful servant but all that did was incite Mikhail further. She was what did the Americans say – Goody Two Shoes, too pretty and too attentive to be credible as far as he was concerned. It was all a charade and he hated her for it.

Valerie ordered coffee when she got to her room. She kicked off her heels and massaged her feet. There was a runner in the heel of her pantyhose and they would need to be replaced. She marvelled at the decadence she had come to accept as commonplace. Not that long ago she would have been thrilled to own pantyhose like these and she would have carefully darned the ladder and coated it with clear nailpolish to stop it from running. Now she was prepared to toss them away and simply open a new package.

She looked at her red-lacquered toenails looking for the culprit: a hangnail or a burr, but she couldn’t find one.

Room service arrived at the same time as Yuri Godekin who sat patiently while the valet poured coffee. He tipped the valet the equivalent of two day’s pay for a Soviet proletariat and waited for her to leave before he spoke.

“A productive day Comrade?” Yuri put cream into the two cups of coffee and offered one to Valerie.

Valerie blew the bangs out of her eyes and smiled wanly.

“Very. Professor Mikhail Blavatsky was pleasant enough and I didn’t have to keep slapping his hand away from under my skirt,” Valerie sipped her coffee, leaving a red lipstick imprint on the rim.

“Glad to hear our academic illuminatus has finally got the message. Did you study the file I left you?” Yuri looked at Valerie over his coffee cup; she looked tired but still stunningly beautiful.

“Dexter Folger, advisor to several Senate committees, in particular the Congressional Oversight Committee. Secretly has a penchant for cocaine and high-class callgirls,” Valerie summarised the contents of the file in one sentence.

“Tomorrow night he is hosting a dinner for select delegates and we have manipulated the guest list to include Professor Mikhail Blavatsky and of course his interpreter,” Yuri nodded.

“This fish might not be so easy to catch. He is staying in the Plaza overnight but he is unlikely to accept an invitation to your room. We suggest that you do what you do so well and encourage Mister Folger to invite you up to his room. He will be more comfortable with such an arrangement I’m sure,” Yuri put down his cup and poured more coffee but Valerie declined.

“As you say sir, I’m to do what I do so well,” Valerie sighed.

“That’s what you here for Valerie,” Yuri patted her knee, his fingers lingered a little longer than would be considered polite.

Valerie put her fingers over his and leaned into him, her lips almost touching his earlobe.

“I will do my duty Comrade,” she whispered and stroked the back of Yuri’s hand softly with the tips of her manicured fingernails.

Then she took his hand in hers and firmly removed it from her knee.

Yuri blushed and stood up, adjusting the fall of his jacket to hide his semi-tumescence.

“Enjoy your evening Comrade Sokolova. I will drop by just before midnight to inform you of any updates. Re-familiarise with the Minox. Put in fresh film and make sure the auto-advance and timer are functioning correctly,” Yuri said curtly.

“Don’t get up; I’ll see myself out,” Yuri about-turned with almost military precision and walked to the door and let himself out.

Valerie attended to her toilette which had become a routine regimen, a morning and evening ritual ingrained into her at Novogorbovo. Shave (although she had very little facial or body hair), brush her teeth and use mouthwash, douche until the water runs clear, shower, fix hair and makeup, dress and accessorise. This evening she settled on a little black cocktail dress. She tucked and taped because the dress was so short and she was not expected to have sex. As usual she wore her panties over pantyhose: black glossy fifteen denier sheer black nylons and bold red satin panties. She knew that she should really wear black panties but she decided to give anyone who deemed to look up her dress a thrill. It was her way of being a little rebellious.

The dinner was a boring affair but Valerie played her role, sitting beside Professor Blavatsky, embellishing his stories to make him sound witty, enduring the leers of old men and the spiteful looks of their wives and partners. She was glad that the dinner was over early at nine-thirty. The edict that the Soviet delegates were not to leave the hotel meant that the dinner was held in one of the many private dining suites in The Plaza.

Professor Blavatsky behaved himself again but he drank heavily and spent most of the night taking furtive glances at the red V of Valerie’s panties because her hem refused to stay put and kept riding up her glossy nylons.

Mikhail once again let Valerie precede him out of the elevator and he watched her walk to room 525, his head swirling with drunken lust.

Valerie had not even had time to take off her heels when she heard a knock on her door. She guessed that it was Yuri Godekin and she was thankful that they could conclude their business early and she could go to bed. She too had been a little overindulgent with the champagne.

She opened the door and was surprised to find Mikhail Blavatsky standing there instead of Yuri.

“May I come in briefly, there are just a few points I want to discuss with you about tomorrow’s program,” he gave her his best smile.

Valerie was not really in the mood but she couldn’t go to bed until after Yuri’s final briefing anyway so she swung the door open and turned her back on Mikhail to let him know that she had only let him in begrudgingly.

Valerie was stunned when Mikhail kicked the door closed and propelled her into the room, pushing her in the back, making her stagger on her high heels.

“Get in the bedroom you whore!” Mikhail hissed, pushing her though the door leading to her bedroom.

She fell on the bed and Mikhail jumped on top of her, pinning her down. He might be a gangly old man with a pot belly but he was far stronger than Valerie and she struggled beneath him, whimpering with frustration when she couldn’t fight him off.

He punched her once in the ribs and knocked the air out of her.

“Shut up and stop struggling you transvestite whore,” Mikhail hissed into her ear.

Valerie froze when she heard the word transvestite.

“Yes, I know your dirty little secret. You will be useless to Comrades Petrov and Godekin if I expose you. You will be of no further use to them and they will dispose of you as they disposed of my Petra,” he growled.

“They will dispose of you too!” Valerie said petulantly and hated the sound of her whiny powerless voice.

“Don’t be stupid you shlyukha. I am a preeminent academic and if anything was to happen to me it would raise brows in the hallowed halls of the Party room. Even the KGB are not immune from oversight under General Secretary Gorbachev’s newly revised Communist Party. The KGB has only limited freedom to act as they wish,” Mikhail sounded like he was lecturing a student.

In fact Mikhail Blavatsky was bluffing but he sounded convincing and Valerie was terrified because he knew her secret.

Lying on top of Valerie Mikhail had already become erect, feeling her body beneath him; her buttocks pressing into his groin, her pretty face inches from his; the feel of her body and the smell of her perfume were overwhelming.

“What do you want?” Valerie spat into the pillow, already stained by her colourful makeup.

“You know what I want. I’ve made it quite clear. Of course I didn’t know that you were a transvestite before; but now that I do it changes nothing,” Mikhail felt Valerie relax and used the opportunity to flip her over on her back so that she was facing him.

“No!” Valerie cried.

“You deny me what you give away so freely to the Americans and God knows who else!” Mikhail slapped Valerie across the face.

“Not my face Comrade Professor. You can’t mark my face!” Valerie cried.

Valerie might be in the direst of situations but she knew that no matter what happened she needed to keep her pretty face unmarked for her to be an effective operative.

“Ok, I won’t mark your face. But I need you to cooperate,” Mikhail knew that he had Valerie’s full compliance if she was still worried about her looks.

Valerie issued a sigh of relief and that angered Mikhail. He tore open the top of Valerie's dress and pulled her breasts from her brassiere and twisted a nipple cruelly.

“But there is nothing to stop me hurting you elsewhere,” Mikhail growled.

Valerie stifled a scream.

“I’ve told you what I want. Give it up and your secret remains safe with me. Comrade Godekin need not know that I know about you,” Mikhail leered at Valerie and twisted her nipple again.

“Of course Professor; just don’t hurt me,” Valerie surrendered.

Mikhail ripped off his shirt and lowered his face to Valerie’s and she turned away. Mikhail punched her in the ribs again and Valerie grunted and turned to face him. He looked down into her beautiful face, if anything made more beautiful by her smeared makeup. It made her look vulnerable… fuckable.

He put his liver-lips on her plump lipsticked lips and kissed her. Valerie did not respond but she did not turn away either. She simply surrendered and allowed Mikhail to ravish her. He unzipped his fly and Valerie felt his cock pressing into her belly through the slinky material of her cocktail dress. His cock was hot and pulsing and alive and felt as evil and terrifying as the Professor himself.

Mikhail rubbed himself against Valerie, crushing her lips with his, pawing at her breasts, tweaking her nipples until she winced but he was astute enough to realise that her ripe berry-like nipples had hardened and he attempted to thrust his tongue into her mouth, slapping her face when she refused to open her lips. Valerie whined and complied.

“Not my face!” she whimpered again as she opened her mouth wide and allowed Mikhail to slide his slithering eel-like tongue into her mouth.

He covered her mouth with his and waggled his tongue whilst still molesting her breasts and rubbing his rampant cock on her belly. Valerie felt helpless and debased.

But she also felt something else. She felt that she deserved it.

She was a whore, a slattern, a transvestite, an abomination of nature that no man could ever love. She had been fabricated and trained to be a common harlot, to entice men into her bed and lead them to their doom. She knew the effect that she had been having on Professor Blavatsky and she had done nothing but tease him and provoke him and now she was getting what she deserved.

She might as well use her skills to give him what he wanted; the sooner the better. Let him use her as a vessel for his lust and send the repugnant man away satisfied and he would leave her alone. At least until next time.

Valerie offered Mikhail her tongue and he smiled around his lewd wet kisses. The bitch had given in! But he would not make it easy for her.

Valerie put her arms around Mikhail and lifted her legs so that her nylon-sheathed thighs pressed on his pale skin. She knew that men liked the feel of soft silky stockings caressing their flesh. She got the result she wanted when the Professor began to hump her belly faster and his tongue wriggled in her mouth. Could she make him come this way?

No.

The Professor was wise to Valerie’s ruse. Petra Donevski had used similar tactics when she wanted to make him come without entering her but with this transvestite whore he would have none of it.

Just when Valerie thought that she would be able to escape any further intimacy with the Professor he rolled off her and lay back with his head on the pillows and entwined his bony fingers in Valerie’s head and dragged her face to his groin. His gnarly cock stood erect, poking out of his flies. Valerie swallowed her bile and lowered her mouth to it. Best to get it over with. She was an accomplished fellatrix and she knew that she could make him blow his load quickly.

Mikhail slapped her face again.

“Undo my trousers you useless bitch, I want you to suck my balls,” he shook Valerie’s head, holding her by the roots of her hair, making her feel a little dizzy.

She unbuckled Mikhail’s belt and opened his pants. Although he had showered before dinner he had been sweating all evening and the reek from his groin was bilious, made worse by his cloying cheap cologne. Valerie took a deep breath and lowered her face to his pubis and lapped at his furry scrotum which was covered in grey wiry hairs. She began to gag but she used her tongue to slurp up the sweat and swallowed it until his ballsack was clean enough for her to suckle without gagging.

“Be careful you bitch… oh my god!” Mikhail moaned as Valerie expertly took his scrotum in her mouth and softly suckled it whilst using the tip of her tongue to tease his testes.

Mikhail pawed at Valerie's breasts while she suckled his balls. He tweaked her nipples and fondled her baps and Valerie suddenly became aware that she liked what the Professor was doing to her. The self-loathing, shame and humiliation that she instilled in herself fostered a mindset that she deserved to be used this way and that thinking somehow dissolved her revulsion. She was getting what she deserved so she might as well enjoy it.

No! She couldn’t think that way surely? Her face still stung from Mikhail's blows, her ribs ached from his punches. She would not take a scintilla of pleasure from what he was forcing her to do.

But her body betrayed her. She sensed Mikhail's hard penis looming over her face as she sucked his scrotum. She opened her eyes and saw his nodulous manhood, painfully erect, pre-ejaculate running freely from the eye and down the throbbing shaft.

She engulfed it and sucked it, swallowing the sweet nectar of his pre-seminal fluid which washed away the lingering fetid taste of his ballsack. She heard him moan and his fingers twisted tighter in her hair, guiding her bruised lipsticked lips up and down his proud erection.

Mikhail felt Valerie using her tongue on his glans and circling his fraenulum while her lips undulated back and forth along his shaft. He nearly surrendered. Valerie was stoking his scrotum with her fingertip while her mouth suckled his phallus bringing him close to the point of no return but he saw through her ruse.

He ripped her face away from his groin and threw her down on the bed, pushing her face into the pillows.

“I don’t want to see that filthy organ while I’m fucking your ass you whore,” Mikhail put his hand around Valerie’s neck and held her down while he pawed at her panties.

He hooked them aside exposing her sphincter than then he tore out the crotch of her pantyhose with a snaggled yellowed fingernail. Valerie was choking, fighting to breathe as Mikhail prodded at her sphincter with his distended cock and finally he forced his glans into her puckered bud.

Valerie squealed when Mikhail pushed himself inside her. She was raw and unlubricated and it felt like a red hot poker had been pushed into her bowels. She reached out her fingers and found the bedside table and was able to open the drawer. She scrambled blindly until her fingers found the tube of KY-Jelly. She took a deep breath and tried to talk.

“Here, use this. It will be better for us both,” Valerie waved the tube of lubricant in front of the professor’s eyes.

He snatched it, releasing her throat. His cock felt like it was fucking sandpaper because Valerie’s anus was so dry.

“You do it!” he rolled Valerie over so that she was facing him and handed her the lubricant, tearing his cock out of her as he did so, causing nearly as much pain as he did when he pushed it inside her.

Valerie unscrewed the cap of the KY-Jelly with shaky fingers and squeezed a dollop of the cool, slippery gel on her fingertips. She placed a gobbet of the gel in her puckered bud and smeared the remainder on Mikhail’s thick tool.

Then to Mikhail’s surprise she thrust two pillows under the arch of her back, lifted her legs and opened them wide and took Mikhail’s rampant penis in her hand. If she was going to be violated she might as well be violated with as little pain as possible. Valerie guided Mikhail’s prong to her glistening aperture and tried as hard as she could to relax her sphincter.

Mikhail’s cock slid slowly into her rectum until he had her fully impaled.

She suddenly wished that it did hurt. She wished that she had fought harder. She wished that she was not conditioned to be a slattern.

Although she detested the man lying on top of her, his glans pressed on her prostate and the girth of his shaft stimulated the sensitive nerves in her sphincter and she couldn’t suppress a groan of lusty pleasure. Having this repulsive man violate her had somehow triggered something suppressed deep inside of her that she had no control over.

She clung to Mikhail and crossed her ankles behind his back and rose up to meet his thrusts. She opened her mouth and welcomed his vile kisses as he fucked her hard, slamming her into the mattress, pounding his cock in and out of her tight channel. The more it hurt, the more Valerie loved it. She moaned like a slattern, dragging her fingernails across Mikhail's back, digging her high heels into his flanks, encouraging him to fuck her harder.

The bedsprings protested and the headboard shook as Mikhail’s cock jackhammered in and out Valerie’s anus. Mikhail marvelled at the tight velvety duct clinging to his cock as he fucked her, it seemed to be gently squeezing his cock; milking it almost. The sensation was amazing and he drove his tongue into Valerie’s mouth, tasting her, smelling her perfume, feeling her soft body under him, her nipples hard against his flesh.

He couldn’t see it, which was just as well, but Valerie’s cock had sprung free from her tuck and was rock hard. Unbeknownst to Mikhail every time he thrust into Valerie his fat belly rubbed on Valerie’s cock through her satin panties which were saturated with lubricant and pre-seminal fluid.

Mikhail drove Valerie into the bed and roared as his scalding semen erupted from his rampant cock and filled her void. Valerie released into her panties, her orgasm wracking her body, causing her to shiver and shake as she moaned around Mikhail's slobbering kisses. She clung to him, holding him tight, feeling his cock quiver in her anus as he deposited his vile load deep in her bowel. She felt disgusted with herself but the pleasure she felt was almost unimaginable and she just surrendered to it. She continued to ejaculate into her panties, spurting her issue as Mikhail's issue filled her anus.

She lay under Mikhail, his weight crushing her, his sweat dripping on her face, his foul breath almost making her gag. She felt his cock slide out of her anus and his semen dribble between her legs. Her arms and legs were spread wide on the bed. She no longer wanted to hold him, she no longer wanted to kiss him; she felt disgusted with herself as the afterglow of her orgasm diminished.

Mikhail too was feeling post-coital regret. Yes he had accomplished what he set out to do: he had fucked his pretty assistant but the reality of what she was and what he had done to her made him feel dirty and depraved.

He climbed off Valerie without saying a word and she lay there silently staring at the ceiling while he dressed.

“See you tomorrow at breakfast. Don’t be late and don’t say a word about this,” he poked her in the ribs and smiled when she winced.

When Valerie heard the door close she ran to it and locked it and then raced into the bathroom and ripped off her clothes and jumped into the shower turning the water on full and as scalding hot as she could stand it.

FBI Field Office, New York City – July 1985

FBI Special Agents Vince Gruffalo and Bob Munsen and MI6 Agent Brice Bronson sat around the conference table talking intensely.

“So London and Washington have agreed to conduct this as a joint operation?” Bob Munson ruminated, swirling coffee grounds around the bottom of his cup.

“Yes, although I don’t know why. She’s operating on our turf,” Vince Gruffalo growled.

“I think MI6 are being very generous old chap. If not for us you Americans would have no idea that the Soviets were running an operative at your little Convention,” Brice sniffed.

“There was supposed be détente during the Conference. No defections and no covert operations from either side. Spirit of cooperation and all that bullshit,” Vince’s distaste for such an arrangement was evident in his tone.

“You never can trust the Ruskies. Now look here; we need to turn her. Find out who she has already lured into her honey trap and then get her working for us. If she’s still employed as an analyst in KGB Directorate Five, when she returns to Moscow she’ll be an invaluable source of information,” Brice said smugly.

“And if the Rooskies continue to run her as a field operative she will be just as valuable,” Vince countered.

“It’s win/win. We just have to nab her and turn her,” Bob Munsen piped in.

“I think it’s a job for the Limey; she’ll have seen you and I around the hotel conducting our security detail and the KGB know who we are too,” Bob continued.

“I hate to say it but you’re right Bob. Don’t forget Agent Bronson, she’s a shared asset once she’s turned,” Vince turned to Brice Bronson and pointed an accusatory finger at him

“Oh, of course old chap. That’s the agreement. Now let’s figure out how we are going to lure the spider out of her web,” Brice replied and three men got down to business.

Room 525 Plaza Hotel, New York City – July 1985

Valerie spent as much time in the shower as she dared. Her fingers and toes were starting to prune when she finally stepped out. She used her douche and squirted Professor Mikhail Blavatsky's seed out of her body. She looked at herself critically in the mirror.

Most of the blows to her face had been slaps and the flushing on her cheeks was dissipating but the front of her lower lip was a little swollen and she had a small bruise under her left eye. Her ribs still ached and there were purple bruises on her abdomen and her nipples were still tender.

She got to work with her makeup and covered up the damage to her face. There was nothing she could do about the bruises on her body. She stepped into fresh pantyhose and pulled on a pair of high-waisted nylon panties to cover her belly, tucking herself but not taping.

She picked up the pantyhose and panties that she had been wearing when Mikhail Blavatsky violated her and threw them in the trash. She was ashamed that her own semen was comingled with the Professor’s but recriminations would have to wait until after Yuri Godekin’s visit. The black cocktail dress followed. It was a shame because she really liked the dress but if she kept it, it would forever remind her of the evening’s events.

She slipped into a silk nightgown and brushed her hair and examined her face in the mirror. Her makeup was heavier than usual to disguise her swollen lip and the bruise under her eye but she always wore heavy makeup so no one was likely to think anything was wrong.

Valerie looked at the mantle clock and saw that it was just after eleven. She opened the minibar and poured two miniature vodkas over ice and drank them. Then she started on the scotch. She hoped that alcohol would numb the pain, both physical and psychological.

She was dozing when Yuri tapped politely on the door before letting himself in.

“How was the dinner?” Yuri asked as he entered, waking Valerie from her slumber.

“Boring but mercifully over quickly,” Valerie forced a smile.

“You should have called my room. I could have come earlier and you could have gone to bed early and rested up. You’ll be busy again tomorrow,” Yuri placed a file down on the side table and then he noticed the empty vodka and scotch bottles.

“You were having a party?” Yuri frowned at the miniatures and the empty glass in front of her.

Valerie recalled the Professor lying on top of her, pounding her into the mattress and she winced.

“Hardly,” she replied.

Yuri had seen her wince and his sixth sense kicked in. He strode over to Valerie and helped her to her feet. She wobbled a little and flinched at the pain in her ribs.

“Are you drunk?” Yuri searched her face.

Valerie shook her head.

“I might have had one drink too many,” she corrected herself.

Yuri studied her face and then he tenderly reached out and touched her cheek and try as she might Valerie couldn’t help wincing when his finger touched the contusion under her eye. He gently wiped at the concealer, foundation and powder and revealed the mauve bruise. Then he wiped her lipstick with the back of his hand and revealed the swelling on her bottom lip.

“I’m sorry. It was my fault. I can still complete the mission. Please don’t beat me,” Valerie lifted her chin stoically.

Yuri took a step back and Valerie braced herself for the blow but instead Yuri opened her nightgown and gasped when he saw the yellowing bruises on her ribs and belly.

“I’m sorry. I deserved it. I should have just given him what he wanted,” Valerie tried her hardest to supress a sob.

“Given who?” Yuri looked perplexed.

Before Valerie could answer storm clouds brewed in Yuri’s eyes and he clenched his fists.

“Professor Blavatsky!” Yuri hissed.

Valerie lowered her head and said nothing.

Yuri turned on his heels and stormed out of the room.

He returned half an hour later and found Valerie curled up on the bed quietly sobbing. He took off his jacket and shoes and climbed on the bed and cuddled her, spooning her tiny body into his. He stroked her hair and whispered to her.

“Nothing was your fault. No one should ever harm you. I am so sorry that this happened to you; I blame myself,” he murmured and pulled her closer.

He stroked her hair and her cheeks. Just before she fell asleep, finally feeling safe, she noticed that Yuri’s knuckles were skinned and bleeding.

Plaza Hotel, Midtown Manhattan, New York City – July 1985 – Day Four of the Convention

When Valerie awoke Yuri was already up and about. He had returned to his own room, showered and changed into a fresh suit. A full breakfast awaited Valerie on a room service trolley.

“I am sorry that I allowed myself to be damaged. I can still perform my mission. You saw last night that if I apply my cosmetics carefully I can conceal the wounds to my face. I’ll wear a corset or a chemise to hide the bruises on my body,” Valery said, her voice sounded like she was pleading.

“Please don’t send me back to Russia until after the Convention. Until after I have completed my mission. I must save my family,” she whispered.

“Come and have some breakfast,” Yuri held out a hand and helped Valerie off the bed.

She winced a little but was steady on her feet. Yuri held her at arm’s length. The bruising under her eye was almost purple but a little concealer would take care of that. The swelling on her bottom lip was not as bad. Valerie’s lips had been injected with collagen before she left Russia to plump them so the wound was hardly noticeable unless you looked for it. Astute application of lipliner and lipstick would hide what swelling remained.

“I’m sorry Yuri,” Valerie apologised for what seemed to be the hundredth time and tears ran down her face.

Yuri pulled her into his arms and held her close, feeling her heart beating against his chest and her soft breath on his neck. He lifted her face and saw fear, anxiety and helplessness.

He lowered his face to hers and kissed her softly, acutely aware of her bruised lip. Valerie stiffened and then she melted in his arms. For the first time since she had been marched out of her dingy apartment by the State Security goons Valerie felt safe.

Yuri felt Valerie tense up and then relax. She put her arms around his broad shoulders and clung to him and returned his kiss. The kiss was soft, warm and tender without a hint of salaciousness. Yuri could hardly believe that he held this woman in his embrace knowing what he knew about her. He had tried his best to despise her, to detest her for what she was but his hatred had worked against him. Valerie’s true nature had overcome his animosity towards her.

She clung to him and he felt her helplessness and he wanted to protect her. He had taken revenge for her; probably at the expense of his career and possibly his life.

He kissed her a little more ardently and despite the sting, Valerie returned the kiss and opened her mouth a little. Yuri slipped the tip of his tongue inside her lips and tickled her mouth with it. Valerie sighed. She could feel herself becoming aroused and she was untucked but luckily was still wearing her pantyhose and high-waited panties. She thought that Yuri would find her repugnant if he felt her genitals becoming engorged.

She could feel that Yuri was becoming aroused too. She could feel the girth of him though her diaphanous nightgown.

Yuri knew that he could take Valerie whenever he wanted and part of him wanted to. But that would make him no better than Ivan Petrov and Professor Mikhail Blavatsky both of whom had taken advantage of Valerie’s vulnerability. Yuri would be committing exactly the same sins because there was no doubt that Valerie was feeling the most vulnerable she had ever felt.

Instead Yuri gently eased Valerie out of his embrace and led her to a comfortable chair next to the little dinette and rolled the room service trolley over and placed the breakfast tray on the table in front of her.

“Eat. You will need your strength,” Yuri said, his voice choked a little with unstated emotions.

“Are you having some?” Valerie lifted the lid off a plate loaded with a full American breakfast.

A rack of toast and pot of coffee accompanied the feast.

“I’ll take some coffee,” Yuri pulled up a chair and sat down beside her.

Valerie thought that she would be unable to eat but once she started eating she realised that she was ravenous. She’d hardly eaten the night before, substituting champagne for sustenance.

Yuri drank coffee and watched her eat amusingly. He knew that Valerie had been told to limit her food intake to ensure that she kept her figure and for the practicalities of anal sex. A thousand thoughts bounced around inside his head and eventually he decided what he must do.

“I am late already. I must get dressed and join the Professor for today’s activities,” Valerie said once she was sated.

“The Professor will no longer be participating in the Convention,” Yuri said sombrely.

“I have rearranged your schedule with our organising committee. Mishka Malkovsky will undertake interpreter duties today. Professor Ukoff will take over as head of the academic contingent,” Yuri added.

“Then where is Professor Blavatsky? What am I to do for the remainder of the Convention?” Valerie sounded panicked.

Yuri held out a hand to Valerie and once again she noticed the skinned knuckles. She stood up and searched his eyes and saw that the coldness that she usually saw there was gone. The coldness had been replaced with something softer but she was not sure what it was until he leaned in and kissed her again. This time he made no attempt to hide his passion for her. He held her tight and pressed himself into her and kissed with ardour and desire. He had one hand on her buttock and another around her waist and Valerie fitted against him like she was made for the purpose.

Valerie imagined that she was dreaming. What had brought about this change in Yuri Godekin?

Yuri broke the kiss and looked into Valerie’s emerald green eyes; his face as serious as she had ever seen it.

“I have done something that has placed us both in grave danger. You have a small window of opportunity to save yourself at my expense. Go and see the head of the delegation and tell him that I and Professor Blavatsky fought over you and that I killed the Professor,” Yuri breathed.

“Tell him that I was jealous and became enraged when I found you both together. You have the bruises to show him where I beat you before I went to the Professor’s room and beat him to death,” Yuri sighed and lowered his head.

The enormity of what Yuri had done washed over Valerie like an arctic wave; chilling her to the bone.

Valerie put her fingers under Yuri’s chin and lifted his head. She traced the fine scar down the side of his face with her fingertip and then lifted her face and kissed him softly.

“Whatever you have done, we are in this together,” Valerie whispered.

“Are you sure?” Yuri searched her face.

Valerie did not reply verbally. She simply kissed him again and nodded.

“The convention committee is easily fooled and they will not miss Professor Blavatsky for a day or two but the KGB will become suspicious unless you continue with your mission which is all they care about,” Yuri said.

Valerie nodded again.

“I hate to ask you to do this but you must keep your assignation with Dexter Folger this evening,” Yuri said gravely.

“You don’t have to ask me; just tell me,” Valerie replied.

“You are not my chattel any longer Valerie. I have broken that bond,” Yuri said.

“Then I will do it for you. It is only you that can save us now but I have every faith in you Yuri,” Valerie gave him a wry smile and pecked his cheek.

“Maybe you have too much faith in me. Stay in your room until I return. I have much to do before tonight’s festivity,” Yuri was suddenly all business and he released Valerie and strode to the door.

He turned back to Valerie and saw her looking after him with both vulnerability and hope on her face. He strode back into the room and kissed her passionately, taking her breath away.

“Now I really have to go,” Yuri said and this time he did not look back.

Yuri had been a field officer for many years and disposing of body was an easy task for him, although this time it was made a little more difficult because he was in the Plaza Hotel in the middle of Manhattan. Yuri cleaned Mikhail Blavatsky’s room of all evidence of the battering Yuri inflicted on the Professor and packed up the Professor’s clothing and personal affects. He put Mikhail Blavatsky’s body in a laundry cart and used the service elevator to take it down to the basement and then went back for the suitcases. The hotel’s parking facilities were off-site but Yuri had acquired a nondescript looking van and to anyone looking on it would appear that Yuri was loading laundry; he was wearing coveralls and a watch cap.

Mikhail Blavatsky’s naked battered body would be fished from the Hudson River the next day. He was never properly identified and assumed to be a vagrant or a tourist who had been robbed and beaten to death. Either way, with nearly nine hundred murders to solve that year, Mikhail Blavatsky was quickly designated a John Doe and his murder stacked in the cold case files.

Yuri’s possessions went into a dumpster and ended up at Fresh Kills Landfill on Staten Island. Yuri would have been amused by the irony if he knew.

Yuri hung a do not disturb sign on the Professor’s door and directed the switchboard not to disturb the Professor. The story that Mikhail Blavatsky had taken ill was accepted graciously by the head of the delegation. Nobody like the arrogant, angry buffoon anyway so his absence from the Convention was considered a blessing.

Having done all he could to conceal his crimes, all Yuri could do was wait. He had an inkling of a plan but it depended on people over whom he had very little control. All he could do was to send Valerie on her mission tonight and while she was busy with Dexter Folger he would make his play.

Having done everything he could for now Yuri returned to Valerie’s room. She was still dressed in the satin dressing gown, pantyhose and panties and was curled up on a sofa studying Dexter Folger’s file.

She smiled when Yuri came into the room and her smile lit up his heart.

“I have done everything I can for now. I want you to pack a bag with just the essentials. We need to be ready to move at short notice,” Yuri poured himself a vodka noting that room service had replenished the minibar and taken away the breakfast tray and trolley.

“Where are we going?” Valerie looked perplexed.

“Do you trust me?” Yuri scooched onto the sofa, putting Valerie’s feet in his lap.

“Yuri, there has been no one else in my life except you for so long. Of course I trust you,” Valerie replied.

She liked that Yuri was absentmindedly stroking her feet.

“I mean do you trust me as a person, not as your boss,” Yuri continued to massage Valerie’s feet; he liked looking at her pantied toenails through the gauzy nylon.

“I trust you completely,” Valerie gave him that heartbreak smile and Yuri felt his heart flip.

“Then you will just have to have faith in me Valerie. Go and do your duty tonight and I promise you this will all be over soon,” he waggled her little toe and Valerie squealed.

“Stop that, I’m ticklish!” she giggled like girl.

“What about this then?” Yuri held Valerie’s foot and tickled the sole and she squirmed and squealed.

“Stop that!” Valerie tried to sound serious but her wry grin gave away her frivolousness.

“Or what?” Yuri leaned into her but not threateningly.

“Or this,” Valerie planted a sloppy kiss on his mouth.

“Really?” Yuri grabbed her ankles and pulled her down on the sofa and lay on top her.

“Now what girly?” Yuri grinned, his lips nearly touching hers.

“Now this,” Valerie put her arms around him and kissed him passionately.

Yuri opened Valerie’s nightgown and gently cupped a breast. He felt the nipple harden when he caressed it. Valerie could feel his heart beating and she felt both yearning and trepidation. She knew that she was young and beautiful but she knew that Yuri had only shown distaste for her because of her gender. Would he baulk if he continued to explore her body?

He lowered his face to Valerie’s small, firm breasts and licked and then gently nibbled her nipples, listening to Valerie’s breathing quicken and her heart beat faster. He couldn’t stop kissing her and his lips left her breasts and sought her mouth while his hands went back to her breasts.

Their kisses started out passionate and became fiery and urgent. Their lips smashed together and tongues intertwined, Yuri’s hands slowly journeyed from her breasts to her ribcage down to her flat belly. She winced when they touched her bruises and Yuri jerked his hand away and Valerie took hold of it and placed it back on her belly. The feel of Yuri’s gentle caress was worth a little pain. They communicated without talking.

Yuri’s hand slid past her hip and found her legs. He slowly and sensuously stroked Valerie’s thighs and she groaned into his mouth around their passionate kisses. Yuri delighted in the feel of her silky nylons on his fingertips and he stroked and fondled her legs until he could no longer stand the uncomfortableness in his groin. He picked Valerie up in his strong arms and carried her to the bed and gently lowered her onto the comforter.

He took in her rare beauty as he disrobed. Her small lithe body seemed longer as she lay on the bed, her perky breasts were proportionate to her size, the curve of her hip and her bountiful bottom drew his eyes to her legs that seemed to go on forever clad in the diaphanous pantyhose. The gauzy black chemise accentuated her smooth unblemished alabaster skin. Then there was her gorgeous visage. Her full and glossy centre parted raven-black hair with the severe straight fringe cut across her brow which framed her heart-shaped face with its flawless creamy complexion accentuated by her full red lips and bright emerald-green eyes.

Valerie gazed up at Yuri. She knew that he had a powerful body under the suits he wore but seeing it for the first time took her breath away.

He was incredibly handsome with deep blue eyes, tanned skin and thick wavy hair. The long thin scar that began under his left eye and curved away across his cheek to his neck and ended beneath his collarbone gave him a dashing appearance, like a pirate from a romance novel. His lean body was smooth and muscular with hardly any body hair; his shoulders were broad, his chest muscular, his belly flat and six-packed, his legs strong. There were numerous scars on his body earned during service to his country. Between his legs his magnificent member was fully engorged, long and thick with a smooth bulbous glans. A bead of pre-ejaculate glittered in the eye.

Valerie reached out and softly caressed the magnificent member and felt the velvety firmness and heat of it and she felt her own penis uncoil between her legs. She could barely get her fingers around the shaft and Yuri looked down and smiled at the contrast between her graceful long fingers with her bright-red fingernails and the pale flesh of his shaft. Then she slowly traced the veins with her fingertip and he gasped.

He lay down beside her and they kissed and Yuri’s hands went back to Valerie's legs where they had left off and stroked her delicate flesh. She had her hand around his magnificent organ and was softly caressing it, teasing it; afraid that if she stroked it too hard it would explode.

Yuri had never been so aroused. Valerie’s sweet mouth, lips and tongue evoked the most sensual passionate kisses, her deft fingers caressed his manhood and rings of pleasure radiated from his groin and he was glad that Valerie was using only a featherlight touch. He adored the feel of her legs and buttocks swathed in those diaphanous pantyhose. He had always admired her legs and bottom and now he was actually touching them.

But in the back of his mind was the surprise that she kept in her panties. Yuri wasn’t sure how he was going to deal with that so he kept his thoughts elsewhere and concentrated on the delightful feelings that Valerie was eliciting from his flesh.

Valerie too was anxious about how Yuri was going to react when they had to face the reality of her gender. Her cock was rampant and had sprung forward and was tenting her pantyhose and panties. It ached to be touched but Valerie knew better than to direct Yuri’s fingers to it because he would likely recoil and the moment would be ruined.

She froze when Yuri’s fingers caressed the crease at the top her leg and then began to drift towards her groin. She shot her hand down there and grabbed his wrist.

“You don’t have to do that. I can satisfy you orally or you can bend me over so you never have to see it,” Valerie whispered.

Yuri looked down into Valerie’s eyes and saw the conflicting emotions: the fear, the anticipation, the expectation of revulsion, the rejection she expected.

Yuri brushed her hand away and continued to explore her groin. The back of his hand brushed her erect penis through her panties and pantyhose and he was surprised when he wasn’t repulsed by it. It was long and sleek. Not as big as his but handy and it was warm and spongy under the layers of nylon. It actually felt quite exotic.

Yuri abhorred homosexuals and homosexuality but this was different. Valerie was not a man and he was not a homo; he was a man infatuated with a woman who was uniquely different and exotic.

Yuri kissed Valerie with even more passion and took a deep breath and wrapped his fingers around her nylon-shrouded penis. He was not repulsed. It was undiscovered territory for him but as he gazed at Valerie’s beauty and her magnificent body, the appendage between her legs did not seem out of place. He realised that he was comfortable with it for now and decided to explore further.

He began to stroke Valerie’s cock through her panties and he felt it quiver and her whole body shudder and she gasped into his mouth and she matched his rhythm and stroked him in return. They would have gone on like that, masturbating each other as they kissed but Yuri crawled on top her and rubbed his manhood on her panty-clad mound; the frottage eliciting a rapture that both of them felt almost overwhelming.

Valerie locked her arms around Yuri’s neck and her legs around his waist and rubbed her calves on his flanks and Yuri shuddered. She could sense that he was close and realised that she need not dread him rejecting her, because coitus might not occur. She humped against him, her cock feeling his steely rod press on hers through her panties. She was close to extremis too and soon they would climax together and it would be over.

But Yuri had no such intention. He tore open the crotch of her pantyhose, slipped his cock inside her panties and nestled his glans in her puckered bud.

“No!” Valerie whispered into his neck.

But it was too late.

Yuri pushed forward and his long thick cock slid inside her tight cleft and he ejaculated immediately, his semen providing the lubricant which allowed him to thrust his magnificent sword all the way into her scabbard.

Valerie felt him fill her and stretch her void. His hard belly pressed on her groin as he did so and a wave of intense pleasure washed over her as she ejaculated into her panties.

Yuri kissed her hard and drove his tongue into her mouth, his cock quivering as he planted his issue deep inside her. He had never felt anything as rapturous as Valerie's tight anus clenched and unclenched around his manhood, expressing his essence. He could feel her warm slippery semen on his belly and smell the muskiness of it. Far from being revolted he was delighted that he had brought Valerie to climax.

They lay like that hardly moving, clinging to each other, joined at the pubis and the mouth. After what seemed like an eternity…

“I can’t believe I'm still hard,” Yuri whispered.

Valerie could feel his steely phallus embedded deep inside her. Her anus had dilated to accept his girth and ringlets of delight fluttered from the nerves ringing her sphincter. The head of Yuri’s penis was pressing on her prostate and driblets of pre-seminal fluid dripped from the eye of her cock into her already saturated panties.

“Well fuck me again then,” Valerie giggled and looked up into Yuri’s face, the lust and devotion evident in her emerald eyes.

“If you insist,” Yuri smiled down at her and kissed the tip of her nose.

He began to move slowly in and out of her, building to a crescendo which evoked another earth-shattering orgasm in them both. He collapsed on top of her after and Valerie held him close and whispered endearments in his ear.

Yuri nibbled her earlobe.

“Is too early to tell you that I love you?” he whispered in her ear.

Valerie began to cry.

Plaza Hotel, Midtown Manhattan, New York City – July 1985 – Day Four of the Convention

Special Agents Vince Gruffalo and Bob Munsen were strategically placed in the lobby of the Plaza Hotel. Vince nudged Bob with his elbow when Valerie Sokolova exited the elevator wearing a strapless red minidress that left nothing to the imagination. Her small but perfect breasts heaved as she walked on those long legs clad in glistening flesh-toned pantyhose, her feet shod in red satin fuck-me-pumps. Her glossy black hair was perfectly centre-parted; her eye makeup bold and those sensuous lips painted the same red as her dress and her fingernails.

She looked stunning and had hidden the contusions on her face and body perfectly.

All heads turned as she exited the elevator and strutted across the lobby to the ballroom for another round of the seemingly endless meet-and greets which were really just boozefests.

Valerie was doing her job perfectly: keeping the eyes of the intelligence agencies on her as well as the male Convention attendees and in particular one Dexter Folger. As soon as Valerie entered the ballroom Dexter broke away from the group of attendees that he was standing with and made a beeline for Valerie.

By agreement the Soviet and American security and intelligence services were not to enter any of the conferences, meetings, discussion groups or social gatherings so that the delegates could mingle and talk freely. They were confined to the periphery where they could monitor security.

This suited Special Agents Vince Gruffalo and Bob Munsen as they were providing picket duty for Brice Bronson whose job it was to confirm their suspicion that Valerie Sokolova was in fact Valéry Sokolova so that they could begin the process of recruiting her.

Upstairs in room 525 Brice Bronson was carefully inspecting the contents of the drawers and cupboards in Valerie’s hotel room looking for evidence of her duplicity. He was currently sifting through her lingerie drawer and couldn’t help but bring a pair of her red satin panties to his face so that he could inhale the vestiges of her perfume.

Brice had already found the lens of the camera hidden behind the daguerreotype picture hanging on the wall facing the bed. Its purpose was obvious and if he had time he would break into the room next door and find the camera and hopefully some film stock that he could use to further blackmail Valerie.

“I don’t think you’ll find what you are looking for there, Brice old chap,” Yuri Godekin had used his passkey and silently entered Valerie’s room and sat in an overstuffed armchair facing Brice.

He was holding a silenced 9mm Makarov pistol and had it pointed directly at Brice Bronson.

The mocking British accent that Yuri had used was not lost on Brice and he was not sure if he was more embarrassed about actually being caught committing espionage on foreign soil or sniffing Valerie Sokolova’s knickers. He dropped the panties and reached for his own weapon but Yuri put a bullet close to his left ear; the action of the Makarov making more sound than the ‘phut’ of the projectile which imbedded itself in the wall behind Brice.

Yuri waved his pistol at Brice indicating that he should drop his weapon and Brice took his Walther PPK in a two-finger grip and placed it on the coffee table and slid it across to Yuri. Yuri waggled his pistol indicating that Brice should sit down opposite him.

“I thought you and the Yanks had an agreement that there would no espionage or intelligence gathering during the Convention,” Brice smiled at Yuri.

“Oh come on Brice. You are a British MI6 field agent conducing espionage on foreign soil. Do the Americans know what you are up to?” Yuri returned his smile.

Yuri Godekin and Brice Bronson had never met face to face but they were well of each other, bring operatives in opposing intelligence agencies. It was as if two old friends were catching up after a long absence.

“Oh, we’re cooperating old chap,” Brice remained stoic.

“This is quite the little honey trap that you have going and quite a clever little scam using Valerie Sokolova to bait it,” Brice’s smile widened.

Yuri bristled when Brice motioned Valerie in the context of the honey trap and Brice saw the storm clouds gathering in Yuri’s eyes and knew that he had hit a nerve.

“Sorry old boy; didn’t realise there was a thing between you two,” Brice twisted the knife diplomatically.

“I take it you were looking for evidence you can use to blackmail Valerie and turn her,” Yuri would not be distracted.

Brice just smiled his diplomatic smile.

“Of course you’d have to be working alongside the Americans,” Yuri continued.

Brice said nothing.

Yuri placed his Makarov on the table deliberately and stood up and went over the refrigerator, turning his back on Brice, giving him the opportunity to seize the upper hand.

Brice was intrigued and remained seated while Yuri poured two vodkas and dropped in ice cubes.

“Sorry about the ice old chap but I prefer my vodka chilled,” Yuri used his mocking British accent again and smiled at the joke as he handed Brice a drink.

“Oh don’t worry old chap. Ever since the colonials have become fixated on the stuff I’ve rather gotten use to diluted icy drinks,” Brice snapped back.

“Now to business,” Yuri made no attempt to pick up his gun.

“What if I was to make you a better offer?” Yuri smiled, clicked his glass against Brice’s and took a sip.

“A better offer than what?” Brice was intrigued.

“A better than offer than whatever the deal is that you have the Americans,” Yuri continued.

Room 712 Plaza Hotel, New York City – July 1985

Valerie had found it even easier to seduce Dexter Folger than she had Steve Braxton. He was a braggart and a scoundrel and had drooled all over Valerie, practically raping her with his eyes. She used a similar tactic and lured Dexter away from the main ballroom into an ante room and told him her dilemma of being a transwoman in the Soviet Union and requested political asylum.

Dexter was not at all turned off by the fact that Valerie was trans. In fact it fascinated and excited him. He was as duplicitous as Colonel Braxton and insisted that Valerie come up to his hotel room and prove to him that she was telling the truth.

He verified Valerie’s story by having her perform fellatio on him and then buggering her, bent over a chair, with her dress hiked up and her panties and pantyhose pulled down. He was mercifully quick and once he was finished with her he couldn’t wait to get Valerie out of his room, lying to her that he would take her claim for political asylum to the relevant authorities.

Before the sex and while Dexter was in the toilet Valerie had strategically placed the Minox miniature camera on a bureau so that it took a series of photographs of Valerie performing sex acts on Dexter Folger and ensured that her genitalia was in full view while Dexter was sodomising her. She surreptitiously snatched the camera up on the way out of his room and secreted in her clutch.

As she had been directed by Yuri, she made her way back to the party and mingled with the guests.

Vince Gruffalo had followed Valerie and Dexter to his room taking a separate elevator. He guessed what was occurring in room 712 but was helpless to do anything about it. He just hoped that Brice Bronson was gathering the evidence they needed to blackmail Valerie. He was thinking it might be to his advantage if he were the one to confront her; alone and somewhere private where she might offer him a similar service for leniency. He became tumescent when he imagined sliding his cock into Valerie’s pert little derriere.

Yuri went down to the cocktail party and found Valerie surrounded by a circle of men eager to engage with her. He made his apologies and whisked Valerie away back up to her room.

Craftsman’s Cottage, Aylesford, Kent Southeast England – June 1986

Valerie lay snuggled under the comforter looking out the window at the spectacular view bathed in rare bright British sunlight. She could just make out the symbolic 14th century stone arched bridge crossing the River Medway and the spires of St Peter and St Pauls Churches through the trees.

Yuri ducked his head under the low mantle of the doorway as he entered carrying a tea tray loaded with a teapot, crockery, a toast rack, and jam pots.

“It’s such a beautiful day, come back to bed and we’ll drink tea just like the English,” Valerie extended a leg outside the comforter.

Her leg was still clad in sheer nylon because Yuri liked Valerie to wear satin chemises and pantyhose or stockings to bed. They were still in the stage of their relationship where they made love at least twice a day.

Yuri put down the tea tray and sat on the bed and placed the nylon-shrouded limb in his lap and stroked it gently.

“I have to go into London to Century House and continue being debriefed and if I get back into bed with you I won’t want to get out,” Yuri, now known as Stefan, continued to stroke Valerie’s long leg.

Stefan and Valerie Petrović were a married couple who had immigrated to the UK from Crimea and with their considerable wealth had purchased Craftsman’s Cottage in the Kentish town of Aylesford. They had assimilated into village life and Stefan’s accented English often brought a chuckle to some of the locals in The Kentish Quarryman which the Petrovićs had adopted as their local pub.

Stefan and Valerie had all of the legal documentation to establish their bona fides, a benefit of which was that Valerie was legally a woman. She kept her trans identity a close secret. Finally being able to live openly as a woman enjoying the freedom of the quaint British town and nearby London was everything Valerie could hope for.

Yuri had assured Valerie that with glasnost and perestroika firmly on Gorbachev's agenda, it was not in the interests of the KGB to come after them; they had more important items on their agenda like how they were going to maintain power when the Union of Soviet Social Republics collapsed.

Valerie had been able to contact her family in Russia and they had assured her that they were safe. Her mother and father had retired to a little farm near the Ukraine border and her sister Valentina was happily married to her soldier husband and was expecting a baby. Valerie was not able to disclose her location or tell her family that she was now living as woman. They still though of Valerie as Valéry, their son and brother respectively.

Century House was MI6 headquarters and both Yuri and Valerie had spent countless days there being debriefed, handing over everything they knew about KGB operations. Yuri was a goldmine of information regarding the inner workings of the KGB and had revealed the names of two high ranking British government officials who were spying for the Soviets.

Yuri had been astute and had insisted on a comfortable life for himself and Valerie and guarantees for their safety and their secret identities.

“If you won’t come to bed, at least pour me a cup of tea and hand me a slice of toast and marmalade,” Valerie pouted.

“Toast and fucking marmalade and fucking tea! You’re becoming more English every day,” Stefan Petrović teased his wife.

Valerie threw a pillow at him which resulted in a wrestling match on the bed.

Needless to say that Yuri was late arriving at Century House that day.

The End



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