The Interpreter Ch. 03

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.