The Interpreter
By
Michele Nylons
Chapter Three -- Pull Down Your Skirt, You Look Like a Slattern!
Novogorbovo, Russia -- July 1985
There was supposedly no class system in the USSR; everyone was equal. And everyone knew that was a myth but to keep up the charade the Ilyushin Il-62 long-range jetliner, specially fitted out for the delegation, did not have a designated First or Business Class. The delegates and aides were simply assigned a seat. The fact that the front section of the aircraft had the biggest, most comfortable seats with the extra leg room, better food and a full bar service, whilst the rear section was more indicative of Economy or Coach on a commercial airliner was not lost on Professor Mikhail Blavatsky.
He complained bitterly to the hostess who seated him in the middle section of the plane but she ignored him. Telling her that he was the head of the academic contingent of the delegation made no difference to her. What incited him further was that when he was seated he looked out the window he saw a small convoy of black GAZ Volga sedans pull up alongside the aircraft and Valerie Sokolova and Yuri Godekin alighted from one and were directed to the front section of the aircraft along with the VIPs.
Mikhail's bitterness towards his new assistant had become an almost constant hum in his brain. She was insanely beautiful and she dressed proactively (he was sure just to tease him) but she was untouchable and even worse she was treated with more reverence than he was.
Valerie Sokolova was given the window seat beside Yuri Godekin not as a privilege but because Yuri was going to give her final instructions and briefings during the flight and what they were about to discuss was not for the ears of the underlings in Coach. As soon as they were airborne Yuri took down his briefcase and pulled out a selection of dossiers.
"Colonel Steven Braxton USAF," he tapped a headshot of a handsome middle-aged man in a blue uniform.
Valerie nodded. She recalled the dossier vaguely from the many she had been given to study.
"He works on the Strategic Defense Initiative, what the Americans call Star Wars. He's assigned to work with research scientists in the fields of high-energy physics and supercomputing. He is a member of the science and technology contingent in the US delegation so you will not meet him during the conferences you are attending but there will be opportunities for you to meet him socially, especially at the `ice-breaker' reception tomorrow night," Yuri explained.
"He is to be your first target," Yuri said tapping the picture again.
"He is married with three children but our operatives in the US have discovered that he is a womaniser and sexual predator who also has a penchant for what he calls `Ladyboys'. One of our rezidentura nearly nabbed him when he went to a nightclub in Washington where she works as a drag queen but he slipped through her fingers," Yuri continued.
"He should be an easy mark because you can identify yourself as a transwoman who is seeking asylum. No need to disguise your gender with this one; he will take advantage of you for sure," Yuri chuckled.
"But when we show him the film of him in flagrante delicto with a Russian transsexual and threaten to show it to his wife and his superiors, I'm sure he will sell his soul to us," Yuri said gravely.
Yuri went on to identify particular targets and what he wanted Valerie to do with them. A meal was served and wine poured and for a while Valerie was just happy to recline in the comfortable seat and talk to Yuri. He was in one his better moods and allowed Valerie to slip into a deep sleep.
She had her seat fully reclined and slept facing him. Her face was pretty even when she was sleeping; in fact probably more so, except for on the rare occasions when she smiled; then she made his heart flutter but he would never tell a soul. She was wearing one of her business suits for the flight and her skirt had hiked up and the long expanse of her gossamer-sheathed legs were on display and Yuri could hardly tear his eyes away.
He was confused by his feelings for Valerie. At first he felt nothing but loathing for her. He considered Valéry Sokolova a weak-willed degenerate who had a perversion that he should control but couldn't. He saw Valerie only as a tool that had potential.
But things had changed over the weeks they had spent together and especially after her surgery. He no longer thought of her as a man in a dress; he only ever thought of Valerie as a woman. He was beguiled by her beauty, her intelligence, her poise and her vulnerability. He now fully understood that Valéry Sokolova had believed that he was a woman trapped in a man's body but that was no longer the case. Valerie Sokolova had emerged like a beautiful butterfly from a cocoon. She was attractive, intelligent and obedient with just a tinge of rebelliousness that made her a perfect spy.
But.
As much as he admired her; he could not get over what she was: a delightful and beautiful creature that was not fully a woman.
But she was a better choice for the mission than Petra Donevski had been. Valerie had the advantage of being a transgender woman so anyone caught compromising themselves with her was more likely to succumb to blackmail. Also, Petra had become overconfident and demanding. Yuri had made a mistake ordering her to seduce Professor Mikhail Blavatsky. She had become big-headed, telling both Yuri Godekin and Ivan Petrov, both of whom were sharing her bed, that she had complete control of the Professor and that perhaps her reward for serving the Soviet Republic by prostituting herself was insufficient.
When Yuri had proposed replacing Petra with Valerie, at first Ivan was against the idea but when Petra kept pestering him for better remuneration, both financially and politically, Ivan eventually came around. The proviso being that Petra had to be taken care of because there was no doubt that she would become impossible to control once she found herself replaced.
It had saddened Yuri a little to kill Petra but there were always causalities during war and make no mistake; the Cold War was still a war.
Yuri glanced at Valerie to confirm that she was sleeping deeply; the direct flight was ten hours and most of the delegates and the security detail were napping, the cabin lights dimmed. He took out his portable microfilm reader which resembled the View Master toys sold in the US but instead of a picture reel, the pictures were read from a strip that advanced when the operator pressed the trigger.
Yuri loaded the film strip into the reader and brought it to his face.
Vladimir Golubev had Valerie Sokolova on the bed; her evening gown pulled down and was suckling her breasts. Yuri advanced one click and Valerie was naked except for her stockings, panties and high heels. Vlad was lying on top of her rubbing his cock on hers through her panties, kissing her. One click later and she had her legs wrapped around him and she was grimacing with pain as she impaled herself on his phallus. Another click. They were rutting: kissing while Vlad was fucking Valerie, she had her legs around his waist and her arms on his shoulders; her beautiful face a picture of lust.
Yuri advanced the next three frames quickly. Vlad and Valerie were lying on the bed smoking and drinking, obviously relaxed and enjoying each other's company.
In the next frame Valerie's ass was to the camera, still wearing those tight red nylon panties, she was kneeling over Vladimir Golubev's torso and sucking his cock. In the next frame they were lying sideways, reversed; he was sucking her cock while she sucked his.
Yuri was supposedly checking Valerie's acumen with the miniature camera that he had given her to practice taking photographs during her honey traps but this was the fourth time he had viewed the pictures. He found them highly provocative: they both aroused and disgusted him. He couldn't help looking at them and now he was concupiscent, tenting his trousers.
Yuri looked around the dim cabin and saw that most of the passengers were asleep and those who were awake were studying paperwork. He made his way to the toilet and locked it.
Yuri put the microfilm reader on the little shelf adjacent to the tiny sink and put his hand inside his jacket pocket and pulled out the pair of red, almost transparent, nylon full-cut panties that Valerie had been wearing when the pictures were taken. He had stolen them from her laundry basket and kept them as a souvenir. He unzipped his fly and released his semi-erect penis. He brought the viewer to his eyes and the panties to his nose and inhaled.
In the viewer Valerie was astride Vlad, riding him reverse cowgirl. Her head was thrown back and she had a beatific smile on her face, obviously enraptured. He inhaled again and could smell Valerie's perfume. Of course there was no hint of vaginal odour but there was a slight muskiness in the front of the panties, the result of Valerie's dried ejaculate.
He put down the viewer, the picture of Valerie riding reverse cowgirl burned into his brain, except that in Yuri's mind Valerie was riding him not Vlad. He took another deep breath; Valerie's panties pressed to his nose, and took his manhood into his hand. He stroked his now fully-erect penis, one, twice, three times and felt his balls churn, ready to discharge their load.
He wrapped Valerie's panties around his throbbing cock, the cool slippery nylon felt like gossamer on his tender organ and he discharged himself into them, stifling a cry. His knees shook with the intensity of his orgasm. The sexy red panties bloomed darker as they soaked up his semen. In his mind he was thrusting his cock into Valerie and she was pushing back on him.
The tableaux began to fade as Yuri's orgasm began to subside. The lust and lechery he had felt looking at Valerie's pictures while he relieved himself into her underwear dissipated and was replaced by guilt and shame. He jammed the semen-drenched panties into the little bin, pushing them down deep and put a layer of tissues over them. He put his cock away, zipped and washed his hands and put more paper towels over the incriminating garment.
When he left the toilet he looked calm and confident, nodding to one of the delegates who looked up from the paperwork he was studying, but inside he was in turmoil. He would be glad when the convention was over and Valerie was out of his life forever. Then of course there was that to deal with. It would be his job to dispose of her once the mission was complete.
Yuri eased himself back into his seat and saw that Valerie was still fast asleep and as beautiful as ever. He viciously elbowed her awake.
"Wake up! We have work to do," Yuri made a show of opening his briefcase to take out some dossiers.
He slipped the viewer inside its case and put it away.
Valerie stretched and her skirt rode all the way up her legs, momentarily exposing the white satin panties that she was wearing and Yuri became overcome with guilt. He poked her again.
"Pull down your skirt, you look like a slattern!" he growled.
"Your people designed these clothes not me!" Valerie countered angrily and immediately regretted it.
Yuri slapped her across the cheek. It didn't really hurt that much but the shock and shame that Valerie felt was worse than any pain. She demurely pulled down the hem of her skirt as far as it would go and sat upright.
"I'm sorry I snipped at you sir; it was uncalled for," Valerie whispered and Yuri felt deep regret for hitting her but he would never show it.
He put down Valerie's tray table and put a file on it and opened it to a picture of a man leaving the Pink Parrot nightclub in Washington. Yuri tapped the picture.
"Colonel Steven Braxton USAF, member of the US science and technology contingent. Has a thing for transvestites. He's my first target and I am to take pictures of him compromising himself with me," Valerie stated as if by rote.
"Ok let's discuss options," Yuri went over their plan again and Valerie, who had the options firmly in her brain, dutifully followed Yuri's every word.
It gave her the opportunity to study his face which was interesting. There was no doubt that he was handsome; his eyes were deep blue and his skin tanned; his hair thick and wavy. The long thin scar that began under his left eye and curved away across his cheek to his neck and ended somewhere under his collar didn't distract from his attractiveness; instead it made him look ruggedly handsome and dangerous. He was a strange man who could be gentle and kind in one minute and lash out brutally the next. Valerie felt nothing for Vladimir Golubev who was also handsome and had taught her how to make love; but she felt something for Yuri Godekin. She just didn't know what it was.
The Ilyushin Il-62 touched down at John F. Kennedy International Airport and the passengers began the scramble to take down their carryon baggage.
"I'll see you tonight. Remember your mission," Yuri said curtly as he stepped into the aisle.
Valerie was to wait for Professor Mikhail Blavatsky to come up from Coach and disembark with him. From now on, whenever they were in public, she was to present as his aide and interpreter. Mikhail ambled down the aisle and gave Valerie a withering look then thrust his overstuffed briefcase into her midriff and walked ahead of her. She followed dutifully behind him carrying Mikhail's briefcase and her handbag.
There was to be no limousine ride for Valerie this time. The primary delegates were ushered into a waiting convoy of limousines once the formality of greeting the Soviet Ambassador to the United States of America was completed. This included Professor Mikhail Blavatsky. Valerie and the other aides, administrative staff and most of the security detail boarded minibuses and were soon speeding along the Van Wyck Expressway with most of passengers rubbernecking to see the marvels of capitalist America.
None of the delegates were free to leave the hotel unless accompanied by a Soviet security agent and every excursion had to be approved by the head of the delegation who was a KGB stooge. There were cultural events outside of the hotel to attend of course and organised tours and even a supervised shopping expedition but the hotel entrances would be under close scrutiny by both the KGB and the FBI. The convention would be a disaster for the USSR and an embarrassment to the USA if any of the Soviet delegates were to defect.
When the delegation arrived at the Plaza Hotel they were directed to a huge ballroom that had been designated as the main conference room for the bilateral convention. Several smaller ante rooms led off the main room so that the delegates could break down into their specialist contingents and where private meetings could be held. The US State Department had booked two floors for the Soviet delegation and once the keys to the rooms were handed over the KGB went through every room and swept them for listening or recording devices.
The room assigned to Valerie Sokolova was a little more opulent than her station deserved. It was located on the VIP floor but she had been assigned the room for a reason. A KGB specialist had only this morning installed a miniature video recording device which could be activated from the adjoining room which was assigned to Yuri Godekin. The camera could record for four hours without replacing the video cassette.
The delegation was given a final briefing and warned for the thousandth time that they could not under any circumstances leave the Plaza hotel without permission and then they were given their room assignments. They were told that their baggage would be delivered to their rooms directly.
Mikhail Blavatsky was peeved when he found out that Valerie was assigned a room on the VIP floor the same as him. He grunted at her to follow him to the elevator and made her carry his heavy briefcase. When a valet attempted to relieve Valerie of her burden Mikhail snapped at him and Valerie interpreted that it was ok, it was Valerie's job to carry the Professor's briefcase, although what Mikhail had said to the valet in Russian didn't bear repeating. He had sworn at the valet in Russian and told him that Valerie was his servant.
They made their way to the elevators, the Professor rudely stepping into the car ahead of her and indicating for Valerie to stand next to him. He continued to berate her in Russian in the crowded elevator car.
"You may be Yuri Godekin's little toy outside of the conference but during the day you work for me," Mikhail snarled at Valerie when they got to his room.
"Do you get it; you useless little tchotchke in a skirt suit!" Mikhail growled.
"Make sure you are at my side throughout the opening ceremony and the meet-and--greet this evening to interpret for me," Mikhail added before Valerie could answer.
The elevator arrived at the VIP floor and Valerie followed Mikhail down the corridor.
"Comrade Godekin has assigned a task for me to undertake this evening Professor," Valerie said demurely as they entered his room.
"Ah! You are to start fucking the Americans immediately. A whore has her duties to perform I suppose but you better make your service to me your number one priority," Mikhail stepped into Valerie, his face inches from hers.
"My duty is to the United Socialist Soviet Republic, Professor. I am merely a tool," Valerie replied levelly.
Mikhail reached around her body and grabbed Valerie by the buttocks and pressed himself against her. He squeezed her breasts through her suit. She could feel his erection pressing into her but she remained stoic.
"You are a pretty little whore indeed but you are not a patch on my Petra. I can see why they recruited you," Mikhail thrust his hand under her skirt and squeezed her buttocks.
"You stay close to me this evening until you have to perform your task. You work for me not Comrade Godekin," Mikhail's hand slipped around the front of Valerie's skirt and found her pantied pudenda.
It was a perfect V-shape, smooth and soft through her satin panties. Valerie removed Mikhail's hand before he could discover that Valerie was hiding a secret between her legs.
"I believe my duties do not include providing you with sexual gratification; unlike Petra," Valerie hissed.
Mikhail pushed Valerie away from him so hard that she slammed into the wall.
"You are an impertinent little suka! Go to your room and make sure you are on time to escort me to the opening ceremony," Mikhail hissed dismissively.
Plaza Hotel, Midtown Manhattan, New York City -- July 1985 -- Day One of the Convention
"There's Natasha Fatale," Bob Munsen dug Vince Gruffalo in the ribs and pointed with his nose towards Valerie Sokolova who was standing next to a balding, gangly-tall man with a protruding pot belly dressed in a bad suit.
"That's Professor Mikhail Blavatsky, head of the Rooskie academic contingent. Valerie is his interpreter," Vince told Bob, who needed no reminding.
"That chick is hotter in real life than she is in her photograph. Check out those pins man; they go forever," both agents were openly ogling Valerie.
But they weren't the only ones doing so; every red blooded man in the foyer was ogling her.
Vince and Bob had been assigned the job of keeping the members of the Soviet delegation under surveillance whilst they were in Plaza Hotel. If any of them left the hotel the agents were to contact other members of the Special Task Force whose job it was to tail any potential operatives. Later that evening there would be an the opening ceremony and a mixer afterwards but the FBI agents were expressly forbidden from attending any of the conferences or social gatherings. Their task was to provide security. Unless any of the Soviet delegates left the hotel, they could only observe them discreetly in the public spaces.
The KGB security detail was openly going about their business the same as the FBI. They were not being furtive and neither were the FBI, on the contrary they were openly advertising their presence to the delegates. The two agencies had a grudging accord. It served both their interests that the convention run smoothly and to that end there was an informal détente between them.
"I'm going to keep an eye on the Professor. You stay down here in the lobby," Vince said to Bob.
"You're going to keep an eye on her ass," Bob Munson chuckled.
Bob didn't mind staying behind. Babysitting the Soviet delegates was easy work and he got paid the same whether he was chasing down bad guys or sitting in a hotel lobby sipping coffee and checking out the asses of the passing ladies. He took a seat in the lobby and got to work comparing the asses of the women in the lobby to those on his `female cartoon characters I'd like to fuck' list.
Vince got into the same elevator as Valerie Sokolova and Mikhail Blavatsky with some of the other delegates. Valerie was struggling to carry the Professor's oversize briefcase as well as her own handbag and for a fleeting second he considered offering to help her but he didn't want to draw undue attention to himself in the elevator car so he stood against the back wall of the car and checked out her ass and legs.
The photograph in the file did not do her justice. Valerie was quite striking with a pretty face framed by her jet back hair, a curvaceous figure, small but perky breasts, long legs and a squeezable bottom all wrapped up in a nice tight skirt-suit and shimmery nylons. He could smell her perfume from the back of the car. The Professor was talking to her quite animatedly in Russian.
Vince got out of the elevator after them and watched Valerie accompany the Professor to his room and then leave after a little while and proceed to her own room. He wandered down the corridor and checked the room numbers against the list he had been given and satisfied that it was correct, he went back down to the lobby.
That evening Valerie emerged from her room wearing a strapless, floor-length, emerald-green, charmeuse evening gown, matching four-inch high-heeled pumps, accessorised with a faux ruby choker, bracelet, drop earrings and a slim black clutch. Her makeup was daring and sexy: smoky eyes, red lips, rouged cheekbones; her hair had a sheen that glistened under the overhead lighting in the ballroom.
She had dutifully picked up the Professor from his room. He had made an effort and wore a tuxedo and had combed over his balding pate and had smothered himself in cologne. Mikhail almost looked decent but his mood was still foul and he did not compliment Valerie on her appearance but openly leered at her, especially when the side split opened and showed off her nyloned limbs.
The ballroom had been set up with tall tables and stools around the perimeter and a wet bar at one end; the middle of the room was left open so the delegates could mingle. White-coated waiters and short-skirted cocktail waitresses carried trays of champagne and canapés.
Mikhail Blavatsky paraded Valerie around the room, showing her off as if she was his possession. They mingled with their American counterparts; Valerie interpreting Mikhail's Russian into English, embellishing it to make him sound more refined and funny than he actually was when he told jokes.
When she could finally get Mikhail by himself she whispered in his ear.
"Professor, I have a mission to undertake so I must leave you alone. Mishka Malkovsky is over there with the other academics. She speaks perfect English and can interpret for you," Valerie pointed to a woman in a cocktail dress who was also an interpreter.
"I don't need Mishka. I have you!" Mikhail snipped.
"Professor, you know that my work for you is a ruse and that I have important duties to perform," Valerie said impatiently.
Mikhail grabbed Valerie's wrist.
"Petra told all about the so called duties that she would be required to perform. You are nothing more than a whore," Mikhail hissed.
"I am an officer in KGB Directorate Five and you are preventing me from carrying out my duties," Valerie hissed back at him and tried to pry her wrist from his grip.
"Is there a problem here Comrades?" Yuri Godekin had sidled up to them, looking dashingly handsome in a black suit and tie.
Mikhail begrudgingly released Valerie's wrist and she rubbed the sting out of it.
"I warn you Professor that if you keep Miz Sokolova from performing her duties there will be consequences," Yuri said levelly.
"Miz Sokolova, your mark is over there in the blue uniform," Yuri pointed with his chin across the room.
Valerie took a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and sashayed away across the room.
"What consequences?" Mikhail spat at Yuri.
"You might have a tragic accident. Remember what happened to Petra Donevski," Yuri gave Mikhail a sinister smile and Mikhail blanched.
He walked away to join the other academics; his eyes now locked on the long pantyhose-clad legs of Mishka Malkovsky. She was no Valerie Sokolova but she was still an attractive woman with great legs.
"Well hello; my night just got better by a thousand percent," Colonel Steven Braxton said to Valerie when she stopped at his table to put down her drink.
"I just needed to get away from the crowd so that I can have a cigarette," Valerie gave him her brightest smile.
"And you speak perfect English too. My night has got better indeed. I'm Colonel Steven Braxton United States Air Force," he grinned at her.
`As if his uniform and name bar wasn't a giveaway,' Valerie thought but returned his smile and introduced herself as Professor Mikhail Blavatsky's aide and interpreter.
"Well he sure is lucky but I'm afraid you aren't, you can't smoke in here," Steve gave Valerie his most engaging smile, knowing it made him look even handsomer.
Valerie knew she couldn't smoke in the ballroom but she put on her disappointed face and took a half-step so that the hip-high split in her gown opened and showed off all of her legs. She smiled inwardly when Steve Braxton tried not to look but couldn't stop himself.
"Follow me and I'll take you to where you can smoke," Steve said and walked towards one of the ante rooms.
He knocked gently to see if it was occupied and then slipped inside and Valerie followed. He led her to the far side of the room and opened the window.
"Blow your smoke out of the window Valerie," Steven indicated the window where the curtains were billowing softly in the breeze.
"Want one," Valerie took cigarettes and a lighter from her clutch, put a cigarette in her mouth and shook the pack at him.
"I don't usually but why not. I've only just met you and already you have me indulging in bad habits," Steven grinned.
He took the gold lighter from Valerie and lit her cigarette, leaning in so he could smell her perfume and look down her décolletage. He lit his own cigarette and handed the lighter back to Valerie and her fingers lingered on his hand and her smoky shaded emerald eyes held his.
They chatted while they smoked, Steve Braxton turning his charm up to full brilliance, enchanted by this beautiful sexy woman with the Russian lilt to her seductive voice. They tossed their cigarette butts out the window after crushing them out on the sill and Steve Braxton was frantically trying think of a reason to keep this delightful creature engaged when Valerie leaned into him and pressed a keycard into his hand.
"Room 525. I implore you please come up to see me. I need to talk to you about things that I cannot possibly talk to you about here," Valerie leaned in and softly kissed his cheek, ensuring her pert breasts pressed into his chest.
She turned and walked away knowing that her sheath-dress was giving Steve a great view of her buttocks and legs and slim waist.
Valerie went back into ballroom. Yuri spotted her immediately; he had watched her engage with Colonel Steven Braxton and follow him into the ante room. He was almost proud of her and although he would never admit it, a little jealous of Braxton.
"He has the key. The rest is up to him," Valerie said leaning on a corner of the bar.
Yuri stood beside her with his back to the bar; both of them appeared to be waiting for their drinks.
"I'll go up to my room and prepare the camera; make sure you remove the picture covering the lens. As soon as the Colonel enters your room I'll start the camera. Keep the action on the bed so it is in view of the camera," Yuri whispered.
"I know what to do," Valerie's hissed.
She wasn't sure if it was nerves or Yuri's constant niggling at her that made her angry or was it that she was about to lure a stranger up into her bedroom and fuck him on camera so that he could be blackmailed. She had no sympathy for the married cheating American Colonel who thought he had beguiled the pretty young naïve Russian girl but she did feel a little self-loathing for what she was about to do to him.
Yuri turned to her and gave her a stern expression.
"Remember your training," he whispered and walked away.
Valerie heard the soft knock on her hotel room door and then the door clicked open and Colonel Steven Braxton stepped inside and softly closed the door. Valerie was standing in the middle of the room with a worried look on her face. He made a show of putting the key down on an occasional table inside the door and then he strode over to her.
"What is it you need to tell me?" Steve took Valerie's hand in his.
"I think I can trust you because you were so kind to me downstairs so I will come straight out with it. I know that after I tell you what I have to tell you that you will find me repugnant but I also think that you are good man who will listen to what I have to ask you," Valerie began.
The wheels were already spinning in Steve Braxton's head. The girl was in some kind of trouble and she needed his help and she trusted him. He had used his position of power and authority before to seduce women or bend them to his needs; it was one his favourite ruses. Pretend to care about a woman's problems, get her into bed and then abandon her.
This hot Russian chick with the cute perky tits, bubble-butt and long legs would be quite the conquest and once he'd finished with her, who would give a fuck about some low-ranking Rooskie bag-carrier. He could promise her the world, fuck her brains out and then walk away knowing that she couldn't say a thing and that is exactly what he intended to do.
He put on his caring, serious face and looked into her eyes with empathy and took her hands in his.
"I am not what I appear. I am a transwoman pretending to be a real woman. I stole my sister's identity papers when she died in an accident and I assumed her identity. We were close, only one year between us, and she knew that I wanted to be woman and she helped me feminise myself," Valerie let mascara-streaked tears run down her cheeks.
"I know that she would forgive me and be happy that her death meant that I could come out from the shadows and be the woman I always wanted to be but I'm always sacred and terrified that the authorities will find out about me," she took the handkerchief offered by Steve Braxton and dabbed her cheeks.
"Do you know what they do to my kind in Russia? If they don't kill me they will send me to an internment camp, probably for the rest of my life. They will find the doctor who did my surgery and he will suffer the same fate," Valerie dabbed at the corners of her eyes.
"I wish to seek asylum," Valerie sighed and fell into Steve Braxton's arms, shaking with fear.
She and Yuri Godekin had rehearsed this many times. The story was implausible but would probably be believed by an American who had no idea how thoroughly the delegation would have been vetted and scrutinised. He wouldn't ask why Valerie approached an Air Force Colonel instead of someone from the US State Department to ask for asylum. His predatory nature would likely make him brush aside any rational thoughts and questions as he became enraptured with Valerie's looks and sexuality and how he could use her plight to get into her pants.
They were right.
The wheels were spinning in Colonel Steven Braxton's brain as to how he was going to turn this to his advantage. He had no power or legitimacy to offer political asylum. This loopy Russian underling had come to the wrong guy if she was looking for compassion and protection. Braxton knew that he should inform the State Department immediately. The American delegation had been thoroughly briefed what to do in event they were approached by a Soviet operative or a civilian requesting asylum.
"There, there, Valerie. You're safe with me. I won't let anything happen to you," Steve pulled her into his embrace and took the opportunity to feel up her tits before he put his hands on her ass and held her close.
"Oh, thank you Steve, I don't know how I will every repay you," Valerie whispered into his ear breathlessly, feeling his cock stir against her hip through his pants.
"You know I will need to verify your story before I talk to my people," Steve said, his lips pressed to her glossy black hair.
"I'll do anything Steve. I understand. Maybe it's best if we just get to the crux of the matter and I show you that I am real," Valerie whispered and felt Steve's cock twitch against her leg.
She stepped back from him and pretended that she was going to remove her dress but Steve pulled her back into his embrace.
"No need to rush Valerie. I like to unwrap my presents slowly so that I can fully appreciate what's inside the wrapping," Steve used one his cheesy lines on her.
Valerie knew that she had Steve Braxton right there. She cleared her mind and let her training take over. All she had to do was let this man use her for his pleasure and he would seal his own fate, which as far as Valerie was concerned he deserved.
Steven kissed her and Valerie responded, opening her mouth to receive his tongue and extending her own. His hands were all over her, caressing her breasts, squeezing her buttocks and stroking her thighs. He knew when to be gentle and when to be forceful; he gently stroked her inner thighs and then squeezed her bottom firmly. He kissed her neck and caressed her breasts though her dress and her nipples engorged as did her cock which was held in place by her pantyhose and tight black nylon panties. She was deliberately not taped.
Steven lowered Valerie onto the bed and stared at her magnificent young body lying on the bedspread with her arms spread out like a beautiful angel. He tore off his clothes and joined her on the bed, climbing on top of her, pressing his cock to her nylon-shrouded thighs, his mouth on hers, his hands squeezing her small firm breasts.
"I should get out of this dress," Valerie gasped.
She wanted out of the dress for a number of reasons: She didn't want it ruined; it needed to be obvious to the camera that she was a transsexual woman and the dress might cover her genitals, but more ashamedly she actually wanted to feel Steve's body on hers when he fucked her.
Steve leapt off the bed and rolled Valerie over. He was now in a rush to unwrap his present and he unzipped the bodice of her dress and then rolled her on her back and pulled the dress off her. The dress had inbuilt cups to support Valerie's breasts and when Steve tossed her dress aside Valerie lay on the bed dressed only in panties, pantyhose and high heels. Steve could barely contain himself.
He leapt back on the bed and began kissing Valerie who found his kisses to be very sensual and arousing. Now that his flurry of impatience to undress her was over he took his time; teasing her with his mouth and fingers. He kissed her softly but sensuously, his tongue wriggled sensuously inside her mouth. His fingers caressed her breasts, circling her areolas and then softly pinching her engorged nipples. Steve put his mouth on her breasts and she cradled his head while he suckled her teats; teasing them with his tongue and then nipping them with his teeth.
Valerie lay back moaning like a slattern. Her superiors wanted her to be a whore so she might as well be one. This thought flashed across her mind but was forgotten when Steve began to stoke her thighs while his mouth worked her breasts.
His fingers circled the delicate nylon pantyhose, caressing her flesh through the gossamer fabric, starting just above her knees and slowly working his way up each leg, stopping where her legs met her torso. He traced the crease where her hip joined her leg and found her pudenda.
To Steve it felt like a smooth perfect V. The tight nylon panties over the sheer-to-the-waist pantyhose looked the same as it would on any woman but he could feel that there was no labia under the sheer fabric, just soft pubic flesh.
Valerie froze when Steve pushed his hand inside the waistband of her pantyhose and forced his finger between her legs.
"What do we have here?" Steve's smile was a leer and Valerie lost any compassion she felt for the man.
He found her semi-erect penis wrapped in her empty scrotum and let it spring free. Valerie did the equivalent of a kegel and her testes descended from her inguinal canals and filled her scrotum. Steve arranged Valerie's penis along the flat of lower belly and snugged the pantyhose and panties back in place.
"Well it seems you are telling the truth," Steve smirked and began to stroke Valerie's cock through the layers of silky fabric and Valerie groaned.
She reached for him and found Steve's engorged manhood leaking precum which she used to lubricate the shaft as she stroked him. He lowered his face to hers and kissed her as they slowly stroked each other's penises. Valerie felt rings of delight as Steve circled his fingers around her hard phallus and jerked his hand up and down. She reciprocated and wrapped her fingers around Steve's hard spongy mass, her fingernails tracing the thick veins, her fingertips fluttering on his fraenulum, causing him to gasp.
Then she gripped his cock and began to stroke it.
Steve could only endure the pleasure for so long before he was close to extremis and he pushed Valerie's hand away and lay on top of her, kissing her, pressing his cock against hers through her panties and nylons but hardly moving.
"I don't want to cum yet," he gasped.
They lay like that, kissing and caressing, hardly moving until Steve's feelings of ejaculatory inevitability dissipated and then Valerie disentangled herself and made her way down Steve's body, stopping to lick then to nip his nipples, causing him to gasp, her tongue slid across his flat belly where she poked it in his belly button and licked up his salty sweat and finally down to his thatch of pubic hair.
His erection had subsided a little and his penis was in a semi-erect state. Valerie engulfed it and glided her lips up and down the shaft while her tongue went to work on his glans, flicking the fraenulum and lapping at the corona. She felt Steve shudder and his cock became rampant again. Her crotch was pressed into Steve's face and he kissed her hard cock through her pantyhose and then began to lick it.
Valerie knew that Yuri would want pictures of Colonel Braxton committing what his wife and superiors would consider depraved acts. The feel of his mouth on her genitals through the layers of her almost transparent nylon panties and sheer pantyhose was exquisite and she wriggled her pubis against his mouth encouraging him while she slavered at his hard cock.
She felt Steve pull aside her panties and tear out the gusset of her pantyhose with his teeth. He guided her erect penis to his mouth and sucked it.
Steve seldom fellated the `ladyboys' he picked up in Asian brothels when he was overseas or the drag queens and transvestites he met in gay bars in America but there was something compelling about this spectacularly beautiful Russian woman. Even though she had the genitals of a man, there was nothing male about her and the way she was working her lips on the shaft of his penis, her tongue on his glans and her fingers tickling his scrotum inspired his to reciprocate.
Valerie had ensured that they were lying across the bed when she began to fellate him so that the camera caught everything and now Colonel Steven Braxton USAF was being filmed fellating a Soviet transwoman. She knew her job was done but she was so sexually driven that she wanted more.
She spat out Steven's penis and snuggled up to him and began to kiss him while she stroked his now massively engorged penis. Steve knew that he close to climax but he didn't want to cum in her hand; he wanted to possess this woman.
He threw Valerie onto her back and tore off her panties. He opened her legs and lifted them over his shoulder and spat on his erect member and pushed it into her tight sphincter.
Valerie was now very well versed in anal sex and she was able to relax her sphincter just before Steve thrust his cock into her anus. It still hurt but she believed that she deserved the pain. She was a whore for her country but a whore none the less. She couldn't deny the pleasure she was feeling but she also felt guilt. She pushed the guilt from her mind but it was still there like an undercurrent. She pain she was feeling was justified. It was her punishment. She deserved it!
Valerie wrapped her legs around Steve's torso and lifted her buttocks off the bed and pressed back against him as he thrust, driving his cock all the way inside her, spearing her on his phallic weapon. The pain became searing but only for a second. Steve's cock was leaking copious amounts of pre-ejaculate and it began to lubricate Valerie's tight passage.
Steve could not believe how snug Valerie's anus was; it gripped his cock like a silken glove, her sphincter spasming around the base of his cock when he pushed it all the way inside her.
He looked down at her beautiful lipstick-smeared face and saw the grimaces of pain and tears of distress rolling down her cheeks leaving trails of black mascara. But all that did was incite him. He felt no pity for this Russian whore.
He slammed his cock all the way in her and Valerie began to whimper. At first he thought she was crying and then he realised that her cries were the sighs and mewling of a lustful slut. She wrapped those magnificent silken-clad limbs around him and rose to meet his thrusts. She pulled his face to hers and kissed him viciously; all the tenderness replaced by lechery.
She wrapped her arms and legs around Steve and he guessed that her muffled screams were Russian obscenities that could only mean `fuck me' in English because she was fucking him! Valerie raked her nails down his back and dug her heels into his flanks as he fucked her hard and fast.
The pain had long dissipated and Valerie could feel Steve's cock driving in and out of her tight slick anus. His glans crashed in her prostrate, his thick shaft massaged her sphincter, his cock filled her and she was delirious with desire. She surrendered to her lust and kissed him, nipping at his lips, driving her tongue into his mouth, amplifying the pleasure that radiated from her battered rectum.
Steve pushed Valerie into the mattress and fucked her as hard as she was fucking him. He drove his steely sword into her tight, pilous tunnel, feeling it pulse and shudder around his cock.
Valerie began to scream obscenities in Russian and Steve covered her mouth with his to stifle her screams and moans, his tongue deep inside her. He was a little scared that she might bite him as her whole body began to tremble, her nylon-shrouded limbs fretting against his tender flesh. Then Steve felt the warm, glutinous mess on his belly and he realised that he could feel her cock juddering against his flesh and he knew that she was climaxing.
It triggered his own orgasm and he drove his cock all the way inside her and hung on to her as she shook and convulsed beneath him. The intensity of her orgasm was astounding and he rode along with it. His cock erupted, filling her rectum with his searing ejaculate. The rings of pleasure radiating from his cock as Valerie's tight anus expressed his juices from his juddering organ were like nothing he had ever felt before.
Steve pushed Valerie down on the bed and knelt between her thighs while he pounded his cock in and out of her tight tunnel, Valerie's cock standing proud, erupting like a volcano as the last spurts of her climax spattered on her belly.
For a split second Valerie could only think of what a brilliant moment that must be when it was caught on camera. There would be no doubt to anyone watching that Steven was fucking a transwoman.
Then he fell on her, not caring that her semen was smeared all over his belly. It soaked into her pantyhose but there was so much of it that it clung to his belly in a viscous puddle. His own spunk was dribbling from Valerie's anus as her sphincter relaxed and his cock fell out of her with an audible plop.
Steve lay on top of Valerie and was suddenly consumed by post coital regret. He needed to get out here before anyone discovered him.
He leapt from the bed, stopping briefly to kiss Valerie on the forehead with an almost fatherly peck.
"I'll just take a quick shower," he said brusquely and ran to the bathroom.
He wasn't in there long before he came out with a towel wrapped around his body. Valerie noted cynically that he had made sure not to wet his hair so could return to the meet-and-greet. He dressed hurriedly, hardly looking at Valerie at all. She had wrapped a sheet around herself but not before displaying her full body to the place where she knew the camera lens was hidden. There could be no doubt about the sexuality of the woman that Colonel Braxton had just fucked.
"When can we begin the asylum process?" Valerie asked meekly.
"Well it's not that simple Valerie. I'll have to go through my contacts in the State Department," Steve stuttered the lie as he laced shoes.
He could hardly bring himself to look at her now that he was finished using her.
"But you promised me that you would help me," Valerie whined.
"And I will my dear. You just have to be patient. I'll get back to you soon," Steven gave her a perfunctory kiss on the cheek and bolted for the door which he ripped wide open and bolted out into the corridor.
Valerie stood up with the sheet wrapped around her body and then dropped it as she approached the pinhole drilled in the wall.
"I trust I performed my duties to your satisfaction," she spoke dryly in Russian but she looked forsaken and forlorn.
Then she waved meekly at the camera and replaced the small daguerreotype picture over the aperture.
On the other side of the wall Yuri Godekin had been watching the video on a small screen. Valerie's final gesture was not lost on him and he wondered whether he felt sorry for her or if he hated her.
Out in the corridor Steve Braxton brushed past Professor Mikhail Blavatsky who was angry and frustrated because Mishka Malkovsky had declined his invitation to accompany him to his room and had done so quite rudely. He became even angrier when the American officer barged past him and Mikhail was about to berate him when he realised that the door to Valerie Sokolova's room was open but slowly closing.
He saw her standing, facing the wall, naked except for her pantyhose and high heels, her hair was messed up, her makeup ruined, and her belly glistening with what he assumed were sex juices. What made him immediately lose his anger and become dumbfounded was that the beautiful woman who had obviously been recently ravished by the American airman had a penis between her legs. He stood with his jaw wide open as the door to Valerie's room silently shut.
Plaza Hotel, Midtown Manhattan, New York City -- July 1985 -- Day Two of the Convention
Colonel Steven Braxton USAF told the head of his delegation that he had been recalled to Washington on important business and would not be able to attend the rest of the Convention. It was merely an excuse so that he wouldn't have to see Valerie Sokolova again. It had nothing to do with guilt because Steve didn't feel sorry about lying to her in order to get her into panties. He just didn't want Valerie pestering him regarding the progress of her claim for political asylum. He had fucked her and now she was of no further use to him.
On the train to Washington Steve was approached by a Soviet operative who showed him a series of still photographs of him having sex with a Russian transsexual in a room at the Plaza Hotel and advised Steve that the video was available should he wish to see it. At first Steve was terrified that both his career and his marriage were over but then his true nature came forth.
Of course he was willing to provide the Soviets with information regarding the Strategic Defense Initiative and hand over propriety technology in the fields of high-energy physics and supercomputing. But he wanted to be paid for it. He needed to support his expensive habits somehow, so why not sell his soul to the Rooskies if they were willing to pay him a good price.
The next day Valerie awoke feeling remorseful and dirty. She felt guilty about having enjoyed the sex with Steve Braxton and even guiltier about knowing that Yuri had filmed it from the adjoining room. She had not a shred of sympathy for Colonel Braxton; he was a user and a liar and would get what he deserved but now she was on film for anyone to see if Yuri were so inclined.
She showered, put on her makeup and squeezed into a miniskirted, low-cut business suit and four-inch fuck-me pumps and swung by Professor Blavatsky's room to pick him up for breakfast as previously arranged. There was something different about the Professor this morning. He leered at her openly as he usually did but he said little; his mind seemed to be elsewhere; his eyes however remained fixed on her tits, legs and ass.
Over breakfast they discussed the day's program and Mikhail gave her an exhaustive list of chores that he told her was important research but was mainly busywork as punishment for abandoning him at the cocktail party even though he knew it was her duty to do so. He went back up to his room to retrieve his briefcase and Mishka Malkovsky slid into the seat across from her. Mishka too was dressed in a skirt-suit but it was not cut as provocatively as Valerie's although it did show off her legs to advantage.
"How can you stand working for that pig?" Mishka glared at Mikhail Blavatsky's back as he left the dining room.
"I was assigned to him," Valerie replied.
Mishka and Valerie had formed a loose loyalty being two of only five Soviet women attending the Convention. The other three were middle-aged scientists who looked down on the two interpreters as run-go-fetch assistants.
"I couldn't rid myself of him last night and he kept trying to paw me and made indecent proposals," Mishka poured coffee.
"I saw you duck out with the handsome American Colonel. Did you rendezvous later?" Mishka had a conspiratorial grin on her face.
"We went out for a smoke and I left the party not long afterwards because the fucking Professor had work for me to do," Valerie lied.
"At least we get to wear decent clothes and have nice American pantyhoses and lingerie. The USSR can't have their women portrayed as sloths," Mishka smiled.
"I wonder if the American women have to live under such subjugation." Mishka nodded her head at a table of well-dressed American female delegates.
The Americans had deliberately stacked their delegation with women in an effort to present themselves as equal opportunists. Mishka and Valerie were conversing in Russian so they were not afraid of being overheard.
"Uh oh. Here comes your handsome knight in shining armour. Don't think I haven't noticed that you and he have a thing going on," Mishka winked at Valerie and stood up to leave.
"Good morning Comrade Godekin," Mishka nodded curtly at he brushed past her.
Yuri Godekin did not sit instead he nodded at Valerie.
"Wait five minutes and then go back to your room. I will debrief you and discuss further tasking," he said curtly and walked over to the bank of elevators.
Valerie waited five minutes and went back to her room and was not surprised to find Yuri already inside, sitting in a chair near the window.
"Do you have keys to every room?" Valerie asked leaning into the mirror refreshing her lipstick.
"The KGB has duplicate passkeys to all of our delegates' rooms," he replied stiffly.
"The American delegates too?" Valerie said sarcastically.
Yuri did not answer. He sensed Valerie's mood by her tone.
"You did well yesterday. The rezidentura will approach the American Colonel today and as the American's say: make him an offer he can't refuse," Yuri said instead of answering Valerie's question.
"He will become a spy for the glorious Soviet Republic," Valerie said snarkily.
"Yes, or he will suffer the consequences of his actions," Yuri replied taking out his cigarettes and then remembered where he was and put them away.
"Pictures and movies of him fucking a Russian transsexual. That won't go down well at home or at work," Valerie said sarcastically.
"Why are you so emotional? You knew what the job was and you have been trained for it. The American is nothing to you," Yuri snapped.
"I feel nothing for the American. He will get what he deserves. I just can't get over this feeling of self-loathing," Valerie was close to tears.
"And when you were fucking Vladimir Golubev back in Novogorbovo?" Yuri rubbed salt into her wounds.
"As you said; it was part of my training. You and Ivan Petrov have turned me into a whore and I'm performing my role perfectly," Valerie turned and glared at Yuri.
"Yes. You are merely a tool to be used and you are indeed performing perfectly," Yuri spat back at her rising out of his chair.
"Fuck you, fuck Ivan Petrov and fuck the KGB!" Valerie hissed and instantly regretted it.
Yuri strode across the room and pulled back his hand and Valerie braced herself for the blow.
The blow never came.
Yuri gently placed his hands on Valerie's shoulders.
"I know what we do is dirty work. Don't you think I'd rather be at the front in Afghanistan or working out of one of our embassies as an operative instead of being here pimping you out?" Yuri said; his voice emotionless.
"Don't you think I hate having to watch you perform? Don't you think I hate what I have made of you?" some emotion crept into Yuri's voice.
The couple stood gazing into each other's eyes, searching for words that neither of them would ever say.
"You have an eyelash," Yuri placed a finger on Valerie's cheek and gently picked up a mascaraed eyelash with his fingertip.
He showed it to her, the long eyelash balanced on the pad of his fingertip.
"Blow and make a wish," he whispered.
"That's a silly superstition," Valerie said meekly.
He smiled at her and Valerie smiled back and gently blew the lash from his fingertip.
"You are a good woman Valerie Sokolova. Don't berate yourself for doing something that you have no choice but to do," Yuri breathed.
He leaned in and kissed the corner of her mouth and Valerie closed her eyes and for a second she felt herself floating above the room looking down at them.
Yuri cleared his throat and was all business.
"Today you have only Convention duties. You will have another mark tomorrow. I'll leave you the file," he said gruffly and walked to the door.
Valerie waited for Yuri to wipe his mouth or spit away the kiss but he didn't. He gave her a wan smile and closed the door behind him.
In the corridor Yuri's mind was in turmoil. Valerie was to be taken to a secluded place and executed on her return to the USSR and he was to be the executioner.
FBI Field Office, New York City -- July 1985
Special Agents Vince Gruffalo and Bob Munsen sat in a briefing room drinking coffee. They had been called away from the Plaza Hotel to the Field Office for what they were told was a special briefing.
The door burst open and the Station Chief and another man wearing an impeccable Saville Row suit and polished brogues entered.
"Gentlemen meet Agent Brice Bronson from MI6. Special Agents Vince Gruffalo and Bob Munsen," the Station Chief made the introductions and left the room because he was not cleared for the operation.
"I believe you chaps know this lady," Brice laid a series of photographs of Valerie Sokolova out on the conference table.
They were of pictures of Valerie Sokolova taken in the foyer of the Plaza Hotel and later that evening at the ballroom. From the resolution it was clear that they had been taken covertly.
"I didn't know that we had invited the Limeys to the party," Vince said offhandedly to Bob Munson but it was clear that he was pissed.
"The Convention is not an opportunity for the Brits to run a covert operation or conduct surveillance," Bob Munsen made no attempt to hide the anger in his voice.
"Steady on old chap, there's more," Brice said in a clipped British accent and smiled sardonically.
He laid out another series of photographs, this time taken outdoors at night but the woman in the picture was clearly Valerie Sokolova but she was wearing a cheap ladies skirt-suit and appeared to be in a park of some kind and was wearing a blonde wig.
"So what?" Vince was getting angrier and wanted the Limey to get to the point.
"One more set chaps," Brice said, nonplussed.
He laid out a third set of photographs, one of them a young slim man with black hair wearing a uniform. Then another three of the same man, this time dressed as a civilian with his black hair worn longer.
"Get to the point!" Vince said angrily.
"This is Valéry Sokolova an analyst in KGB Directorate Five," Brice tapped the photographs of the man in the uniform and the man in the cheap business suit; he pronounced Valéry in the masculine tense as `Val-errey'.
"And again; so what?" Bob Munsen joined in.
"And this is also Valéry Sokolova," this time the MI6 agent pointed at the pictures of Valerie taken at The Plaza and in the park.
"These pictures were taken in the park adjacent to Valéry Sokolova's flat in Moscow," he pointed to the pictures of the woman with blonde wig.
"I don't get it," Bob said, sounding confused.
Vince Gruffalo couldn't hear a thing; his head was ringing with a noise that sounded like an approaching train. The noise dissipated and then Vince picked up the pictures and looked at them closely.
"They're the same person," Vince handed the pictures to Bob.
"They can't be! This guy is, well... he's a guy. And this... this is the pretty young interpreter who is accompanying Professor Mikhail Blavatsky," Bob sounded incredulous.
"A little dickybird told one of our operatives in Moscow about a low level KGB staffer who likes to play dressup and walk around the local streets and park near his apartment at night. We too were surprised when we saw how convincing he was at presenting as a woman," Brice explained.
"We were going to blackmail him. Give him the choice of either working for us inside the KGB or facing a firing squad but then he disappeared," Brice continued.
"We had the Convention under surveillance of course and don't get all uppity; the CIA does exactly the same thing in London," Brice said to Vince as his face reddened in anger.
"Imagine our surprise to find that Valerie Sokolova is part of the Soviet delegation and appears to have greatly enhanced her feminine, shall we say je ne sais quoi," Brice smirked at the two Americans.
"Ain't no way that chick is a guy!" Bob Munsen banged the pictures of Valerie.
"Well I'm not sure she is a guy any longer. It appears she's had some work done, our analysts believe those breasts are real," Brice tapped the newer pictures of Valerie.
"The question is gents, where did Valéry Sokolova go to when he disappeared for nearly two months and why is Valerie Sokolova attending the Convention here in New York?" Brice Bronson pronounced Valéry in the masculine tense and Valerie in the feminine.
To be continued
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