21 comments/ 66264 views/ 33 favorites Russian Bride By: sxwriter42 It was late October when he first noticed her. There was something about her grey-blue eyes and blond hair with gentle curls that haunted him. Pete Hutchinson was an I.T. Specialist on the graveyard shift for a law firm in Manhattan. There weren't that many New Jersey Transit Trains coming and going at the hours he traveled. He guessed she must also have a midnight-shift job and that's why he saw her so often. The first time he'd seen her, she'd been a couple of seats down facing the opposite direction. They'd played a game of eye tag as he liked to call it. He'd look at her, they'd catch eyes, 'tag you're it' and he'd look away. Lather, rinse, repeat. When the train had pulled into Penn Station, she'd melted his heart with a shy smile as she left the train. They weren't always on the same car, but he would see her through the windows one or two cars down...and they shared the same stop, Rahway. There was usually a man with her when she got on the train, but he couldn't figure out their relationship. They never kissed, and barely even spoke. He had an imposing, angry presence that made Pete nervous just from looking at him. Pete grew bold one evening, walking through the train until he found her. Taking a deep breath, he gathered his courage and sat down in the seat next to her. She looked up and noticed him, then blushed and looked back down again. "Hello," he said. "No English," she said in a thick accent. "Russian?" "Yes." He tried a couple of times, but her English was incredibly limited. Through international fumbling sign language he was able to communicate to her that he did something with computers. She unbuttoned her coat enough to show him a polyester blue uniform dress and made washing motions, letting him know she had a cleaning job. That exhausted their ability to communicate and they sat there for several minutes in awkward silence. Pete eventually pulled out his iPod and was about to listen to it when he got an idea. Taking one earbud and offering it to her, she smiled and accepted it. He started playing the music and they spent the rest of the ride in listening to tunes. She observed her reactions to the songs and made a mental note of the ones she seemed to like the most. As the train pulled into the station, they looked at each other regretfully. "Pete," he said, indicating himself. "Ludmila," she said, smiling. Then a fearful look crossed her features. She looked outside to the platform fearfully then grabbed her things, pushing past him. "Good bye." She rushed off the train, holding up a warning finger not to follow her. She dashed down the platform and was soon out of sight. That morning, Pete watched the 7:09 outbound train leave and sat patiently in the station waiting for her to appear. As the time for the 7:45 run approached he grew nervous, not wanting to wait another half hour to get home. He looked up with relief as he saw her approaching. He started to walk toward her, but she caught his eye and shook her head almost imperceptibly, indicating the large man walking near her. Pete looked away from her and kept walking past. Once clear, he stepped quickly into a car on the train and watched through the windows where he could go unnoticed. The large man escorted Ludmila to a car and glared her ominously until the doors closed. Pete waited until the train had pulled out of the station then walked between the cars to reach her. Once again, he sat beside her without asking. She looked up at him with sad, exhausted eyes, but seemed to welcome his presence. "Music?" she said, awkwardly, pointing to her ear. Pete pulled out his iPod and they listened once again. She smiled as he cued up a song she had liked. Soon, he saw her eyes drifting closed. Slowly, she slid against his shoulder and his heart raced at the feel of her head resting there. He didn't move a muscle for the next half hour, not until the Linden stop, just before theirs. He gently nudged her with his shoulder and she opened her eyes, sitting upright abruptly. He pointed to the signs outside the window and she quickly got her bearings. She took out the ear bud and handed it to him sadly. "Thank you," she said as he walked to the other end of the car. Once again, he tried to be circumspect as the doors opened at their station. On the platform, he stepped to the side to watch as she was met by the man he always saw with her. When Ludmila got near him, he wrapped his hand around the back of her neck. Pete watched with concern as the man kept his hand there, gripped around her as they walked toward a car in the parking lot. As she got into the car, she cast one backward glance and again shook her head 'no' toward him and he stepped out of sight. His mind was burning with questions. Who were these men? What were they doing with her? Yet he couldn't ask her anything, not with the complete language barrier between them. He resolved to do all he could to change that. That night, he again found his way to her and sat beside her. "Music?" she said, warmly. "No," he replied. "Words." "Words?" She looked confused. "Seat," he said, pointing to the padded cushion across from them. "Window," he tapped on the glass. "Coat," he pulled on his jacket. She looked at him in surprise. A curious joy shone in her eyes as she recognized what he was doing. With no hesitation, she dove right in. "Seat. Weendow. Coat," she said, indicating each item. The rest of the trip was an English lesson. As they neared Penn Station, she said thank you and moved away from him. Over the next few weeks they developed a regular routine. He would board, she would wait, the train would pull out, he would find her. "Hello, it is good to see you," she said, formally. It was mid-November and her English was coming along surprisingly well. "Very good, Milyushka," said Pete. He'd been doing research of his own and had found her Russian nickname. Her blush was all the response he needed to know she didn't mind him calling her that. "What we learn today?" she asked. "Today, we talk. We'll learn that way." "Oh good," she said, grinning. "I like talk. I like talk with you." They had adjusted the seats so they could face each other. The attraction between them was palpable, though neither of them had acted on it yet. "What we talk about?" she asked. He reached forward and took both of her hands in his, looking sincerely into her eyes. "Ludmila, who are these men? Who are the men who meet you at the stations?" She blanched, pulling her hands back from his and placing them firmly in her lap. "Those men. In New York, he is with job. The man at Rahway he is…how you say?" She held her hands to her head, pointing her fingers outward. "The devil?" said Pete. "Yes! The Devil. He is devil. You…you should never go by them. Stay away. For many reasons. I ask you this strong like." "Alright," said Pete. "I mean this Petrov," she entreated. "Bad, bad men." "I understand," said Pete. "Let's just talk now. Where are you from? Where in Russia?" "I lived in small town, outside city of Ukhta," said Ludmila. "What brought you here?" asked Pete. Ludmila looked off into the distance, not meeting his eyes. It was clear this was a very uncomfortable subject for her. "I was in University," she said flatly. "I was uh… tell stories with words." "A writer?" prompted Pete. "Yes. A writer. I was good. Perhaps no Dostoyevsky, but they say I do good. My father, work in petrol fields. He have accident. My mother, she drive too…uh…strong, fast to get to hospital. They die in rooms next to each other." She shrugged, trying to make it seem casual. "I have younger brother. Michael. Misha. I leave university. Get job. Money not so good. This…this thing in America comes. I take it. Misha is in school you sleep at." "boarding school?" prompted Pete. "Boarding school, yes," said Ludmila. "I pay for that. Is good." It didn't seem like it was all good to Pete. Tears brimmed in her eyes, but still she looked out the window impassively. She steeled herself, dabbing her eyes with her sleeve. "Now you, Pete," she said smiling. "Where you from?" "Missoula, Montana. In the West," said Pete. "Oh, West? Cowboys, Indians, bang-bang?" she asked. "Well, more cowboys than here…but not like in the movies." "What about mother, father?" "Both still alive. Retired to Arizona." "Tired?" asked Ludmila. "Like, sleepy?" "No," said Pete, "Not tired. Retired. Quit working. Pensioned." Their lessons continued in the more conversational mode from then on. She would ask questions and learn the words as he corrected her, or explained the words she didn't know. The attraction between them continued growing as well. There was casual intimacy between them and they were always touching as they sat together. It was Ludmila who initiated their first romantic contact on the homeward bound trip one morning. "I learn new word today," she said, as he sat next to her when the train was clear of Manhattan. "What's that?" he asked. She moved very close to him, leaning in to kiss him tenderly. "Kiss," she said as their lips parted. "This is kiss, yes?" "Yes," he said, his head buzzing. "This is kiss." Several minutes later, as their tongues met, he explained, "That is a French Kiss." "We say same thing," said Ludmila, laughing. That evening, as they met up on the inbound trip, each of them ached to touch. "I am, how you say, can't think anything but you?" she said, after they kissed passionately. "Obsessed." "Yes, I am obsessed by you," she said. "With you. I am obsessed with you, too," he murmured as he leaned in to kiss her once more. Two days later, she was wearing a woolen coat. As usual, there were few people aboard. She looked around to be sure no one was near and pulled his hand inside the lining. "How do you say this?" she asked. "Breast," he whispered. "Breast. Is called anything else? The men who work on buildings, they say something else. They whistle, they say "nice… teets?" "Yeah," he said laughing. "There's a lot of words. Tits, boobs, knockers, it goes on and on." "American men, they are no different than Russian. Find million names for favorite thing. Now, wait." She looked around once more, then reached up and unzipped her cleaning uniform. She was wearing a surprisingly sexy front-clasp bra. She undid it, letting her lovely breasts fall free. Taking his hand again, she put it on her bare breast. "Breast," she said. "I like breast." He smiled wryly, "So do I." "No, I like word, silly," she said. "What is this? This part?" She removed his hand, and rubbed her finger around the darker area. "Areola," said Pete, watching in fascination while also glancing around nervously. "Areola," she repeated. "And this," he said, taking her nipple in his fingers. "Is the nipple." "Neeple," she said, sighing as he pinched her softly. "I see you know about neeple." Their anatomy lesson was unfortunately limited as more people filtered onto the train as they got closer to Manhattan. It drove Pete crazy, knowing what was underneath as she zipped up her uniform without bothering to re-clasp her bra. The next morning, she removed her coat and placed it over her lap. "Pussy?" she repeated, having guided his hand there beneath her blue polyester dress. "Yes, or vagina, cunt…that one's pretty rude, I don't usually say that," he said, "There's lots more for this as well." "I like pussy, is good," she said. "There's more," he whispered, maneuvering his hand. "Labia." "Labia," she moaned softly as he moved his fingers to illustrate. "Clitoris, or clit," he whispered in her ear. "Clit," she gasped as he began rubbing gentle circles with his fingers, not stopping for several minutes. "G-spot," he whispered as he moved his fingers inside, keeping his thumb on the magic button. It was not long until her body shuddered, she buried her face against his shoulder and squealed as quietly as she could. "That was? What called?" she asked, once she was able to talk. "Orgasm," he said, "Or cumming." "Coming? Like, are you coming on the train?" she asked. "Yes, you say it the same." "I like cumming on train," she sighed. It was a few days before they could continue her anatomy lessons, but a slow Monday night found her hand beneath his coat. "Cock, or Penis," he groaned as she grasped him firmly. "I say cock. Better word," she said assertively. "Those would balls, or testicles," he gasped. "Balls. Cock. Good," she said, starting to stroke his shaft. "How you say, when you do this to yourself?" "Oh my god," he groaned. "That would be called jacking off, or jerking off, or masturbating." "Good. I jack you off now, my American Petrov." She worked him as quickly as she could beneath his coat. "You tell me when, yes?" she said, as his breathing quickened. "Now," he groaned as he felt himself reaching the edge. She dove beneath the coat and took him in her mouth as he erupted with the pent up reservoir he'd been mostly saving ever since meeting her. He shot forth into her warm mouth a couple of times before having his joy cut short by the door opening at the end of the car and the conductor approaching. He sat helplessly as Ludmila finished draining him, doing his best to keep some sort of normal expression on his face. The conductor, Bob, was there more often than not on this run. He was generally humorless and Pete worried at what would happen. Bob took in the situation in a glance, but his expression barely changed. He took their tickets from the back of the seat, clipped them, and moved on. "Nothing I haven't seen," he said nonchalantly as he exited to the next car. Ludmila emerged, redfaced from both embarrassment and from being in the rather steamy confines. "That was close," he said. "What is word for this?" she asked, holding up two fingers which she'd used to wipe away the last of his copious explosion. "Cum," he said, rebuttoning things below the coat. "This cum also. Hmm. I like make you cum. You cum very much. Been long time, no?" She licked off her fingers seductively then kissed him softly. That morning was busy on the train so they could only talk, but that night Pete got an even greater surprise. As the train left the station, he made his usual journey to find her, but didn't make it to her seat. As he passed the restroom, a hand snaked out and dragged him in. Slamming the door, Ludmila attacked him with a stunning ferocity. She kissed him deeply as her fingers rapidly worked the buttons on his shirt and soon his pants as well. She tried kneeling down to take him into her mouth, but the room was too cramped. She reached down and pulled her dress off, revealing no panties and a bra which she quickly shed. Pete gazed at her naked body in awe. "You are so beautiful," he said. "Thank you," she said, blushing. "But hurry, we must not be long." They found the counter was the perfect height. He lifted her up and positioned himself, ready to enter her. "Wait," she said, "What is called, this thing we do? I must know words, first." "Umm, making love, is the romantic way to say it. 'Fucking' is the more…um, strong way of saying it," he said. "I like strong. Fucking. Fucking me, Pete." It didn't seem in order to correct her language at this moment. Pete pushed himself in, and she gave a cry as he pushed all the way into her already moist opening. "Are you alright?" he asked, tenderly. "Yes," she said, taking his face in her hands and kissing him eagerly. "Just so good. So very, very good. Now fucking me. We are fucking, yes?" "Yes," he said beginning to thrust inside her. "We are fucking." There was a desperation about Ludmila's lovemaking; a hunger. She kissed Pete with a longing he hadn't seen in their stolen moments on the train car. With each kiss, it was as though she was trying to devour him, with each thrust she was sucking him further into her. At the same time, she was trying to give herself entirely over to him, pushing down on his cock, wrapping herself around him with her legs. Keeping his face in her hands, she stared into his eyes intently. "I need this, my Pete. I need you so. I don't have the words in English to tell you how much…" and then she spilled over into Russian. He had no idea what she said, but it certainly was passionate she kept eye contact with him for the next few minutes, urging him in her native language to take her, while also throwing out the word fucking every once in a while. "Oh!" she screamed as her climax caught her by surprise. "Yes Pete, yes!" Now she did stop looking at him, closing her eyes and throwing back her head in ecstasy as the orgasm possessed her. Her own rapture pushed Pete into his own and he groaned with delight as his own release began. "Yes, Pete," she whispered into his ear, clasping him to her desperately. "Cum to me. Cumming in pussy. Please, please give me you." The surprises didn't end there, however. As Pete filled her, the emotional gates burst inside of Ludmila and she began to weep. He held her there, buried inside of her as she wept for several minutes. "What's wrong, Milyushka? Please tell me." "Oh, so much, Pete," she whispered, "But not this. This good. This I cry for. It has been so long since I knew good. I am good with you. Now we must go, before trouble." Pete buttoned up quickly and slipped out of the restroom, giving Ludmila room to get fully dressed. She came out a short while later and walked toward him with a smug expression on her face. Sitting beside him, she took his hand in hers, interlocking their fingers. She leaned against his shoulder and that sat that way, in silence, for several minutes. Pete's wheels were spinning. His life consisted of almost twenty-three mundane hours a day mixed with two half-hours of beauty each way on the train. If what he was about to say hadn't been true before this evening, it certainly was now. "Ludmila, I love you," he said. She looked up into his eyes with surprise. Her expression reflected countless, conflicted emotions. The spark in her eyes seemed to return his sentiment, but something was stopping her from saying any sort of reply. "Pete, you must listen," she said, seriously. "People in love, stupid things they do. A stupid thing would be to try and see me outside of train. Do not do this." "But…" Pete started, but she interrupted him sternly. "Promise me," she said, firmly. "Promise we keep this here." "If you say so," said Pete, reluctantly. She left his side earlier than usual that trip. The turmoil Pete was feeling was hard to describe. The next morning, she looked more tired and sad than usual, but she also seemed to welcome his presence more than ever when he sat down beside her. "I am obsessed with you even more," she whispered into his ear just before she fell asleep. Two days later, in the bathroom, it was basic and primal. Pete pushed her against the wall, her dress lifted. Fucking her from behind, he came in less than a minute. She insisted he return to his seat without doing more. "Not now," she whispered as she helped button his pants. "Wait little while. I have surprise. She opened the door of the restroom and pointed to a seat facing in the opposite direction. "You sit there." He went and sat, curious about what was to follow. Soon, he felt her lips against his ear as she whispered. "I like it, the cum. It makes things sleepery. You stay here." She walked down to a seat on the other side of the aisle, facing him. Again, with the intense gaze into his eyes, she put her hand beneath the concealing coat she draped across her lap. It drove him even more crazy to know what she was doing and not being able to touch her. She had a very good poker face, which made it extremely erotic when he saw the shift in her eyes as she climaxed. She returned to his side and draped her legs across his, running her fingers through his hair for the rest of the trip. Russian Bride He had done his best to ignore the odd situation with Ludmila's 'handlers' at each end of the train, but he couldn't hold back any longer. That night he called a college buddy who had gone into private security. "Look Don," said Pete, "I don't have a lot of cash to spare – but I can owe you. I'll do whatever it takes." "Petey, don't worry about the money," said Don. "Just fill me in on the situation and I'll see what I can do. Without you, I'd still be sitting at St. Mary's trying to pass Calculus. You got me through , don't think I've forgotten. I owe you." Pete filled him in on the situation, giving Don every detail he could think of. "So, she didn't speak any English at all?" asked Don after he'd finished. "Not until she met me." "These guys are there at the train every time?" "Well," said Pete, thinking. "I don't know about Manhattan, but yeah, the guy is there at Rahway each day. "First. Do what she says. Keep clear, don't follow her, don't be seen with her on the platform. Whatever is going on is some serious, serious shit. I have some ideas. It might take me a few days because I've got a bunch of other stuff going on, but I should be able to work something out soon. Just give me those train times again." The next week was nerve wracking for Pete, waiting to find out what Don had discovered and having to play it cool with Ludmila. That didn't stop him from enjoying his time on the train with her, though. They both took joy in finding new and different ways to please each other. The bathroom was certainly occupied a fair amount on their trips, but they found other ways as well. The most adventurous time of all was on a morning trip home. Somehow, Ludmila found a way to sit across his lap sideways and work him inside without it looking like anything more than a girl with a long winter coat sitting on her boyfriend's lap. "You let me do work," she said. Without moving at all, she began squeezing herself around his cock. Somehow, she was able to start at the base and caress him all the way up. "My god, how are you doing that?" he muttered, trying to keep a normal face. "I have good pussy, yes?" she said, matter-of-factly. "Oh, yes," he confirmed. "Now you no talk, just enjoy but don't make obvious." If Pete hadn't known better, he would have sworn she had somehow inserted some hands inside of herself, the way she was working him. Tighter and faster she squeezed him, with only a slight change in her breathing to even indicate it was an effort. "Oh Ludmila," groaned Pete as he exploded inside of her "Oh so good, my Petrov," she whispered while kissing him. She then stood to shield him while he got his pants back on and sat directly across from him in the bench. The train was fairly empty by then. Taking advantage of this, she opened her coat and lifted her dress to give him a perfect view. Taking his juices which were still oozing out, she fingered herself into oblivion. Twice she was interrupted by people passing through. Throwing the coat over herself, she would put on an innocent but wry expression, to be replaced with ecstasy as soon as they passed and let her get back to business. She reached across and grasped his hand firmly as the orgasm began, and gripped it tighter and tighter as she came. It was that day that Don called Pete. "So how much do you like this girl?" Don asked. "I love her," said Pete. "More than you can imagine." "That's what I was afraid of," said Don. "Then you don't want to know what her life is like, and you sure as hell don't want to see it." "Yes, I do," said Pete, "I have to know everything." Don hesitated. "Alright, do you know the Lipstick Building?" "Sure," said Pete, "53rd and 3rd." "Right. Meet me there at midnight, the East service entrance." It was a long ride in. Pete was grateful it was a busy train so he and Ludmila were able to keep clear of distractions which he knew he wouldn't be able to focus on. Once at Penn Station, he scrambled up to the street and jumped into a cab to get him to his destination. When he arrived at the Lipstick Building, he was surprised to find not only Don, but an official man and woman who looked very, very federal. "Pete, I'd like you to meet Mr. Eric Jones of the state department and Ms. Tricia Levins of the I.N.S." "I.N.S.?" said Pete. He pulled his friend aside and whispered, "Fuck Don, I just asked you to look into this, not get her deported." "Pete, I had to call them. This isn't amateur hour. Like I said, this is some serious, serious shit." The woman, Tricia stepped in. "Mr. Hutchinson. Pete. We understand you have a personal attachment here, and we'll do all we can to help you and this woman out." Somehow, Pete wasn't reassured. "Shall we go up and have a look?" said Jones. Pete nodded, reeling from this strange twist of events. They went up to a darkened conference room. "Don't worry about being seen," said Don. "The glass is tinted and no one is looking for us here. You might want to grab a chair though, could be a while." They all grabbed chairs and sat at the window while Don pulled out his laptop. "On here,' he explained," I have access to the security cameras in both this building and the one across the street we'll be watching. I'm a consultant with the firm that handles security for both buildings. Shit, don't let me forget to have you sign a non-disclosure, Pete. Now here we go, the graveyard shift cleaning crew is arriving." They looked down at the building across the street to see at least thirty women gathering at the side of the building. Pete thought he recognized Ludmila amongst the crowd, but couldn't be sure. "As for the profile, there's nothing unusual about the nationality of the cleaning crew," said Don. "Lots of companies contract with all Russian, Polish, Puerto Rican workers, whatever. What I did find unusual was the age range. I'm not trying to be stereotypical, but I used to work at One Battery Plaza. All the nice Polish ladies who were on the cleaning crew were, shall we say, more matronly. Let's take a look at the ladies riding freight elevator number one." He clicked on an icon to pop up a screen with a video shot of about twenty women riding a large elevator. Whether skinny or buxom, tall or short, they were all in their twenties and were all gorgeous in some fashion. "Not a bad cleaning crew, wouldn't you say?" They watched the monitor as the girls got off one-by-one and went to their floors. "Here's the crazy thing," said Don, "They actually do clean. They even do windows." "And that's all, right?" asked Pete with false hope. "Do you think I'd call you here if it was? Now we sit tight and wait." The next hour was fairly boring as Don flipped through screens of attractive Russian women emptying waste bins and vacuuming floors. "Here's the first arrivals," said Don, breaking the boredom. Flipping to the lobby camera, several men had walked in. One security guard stayed there, while two others led the men to the elevators and up to the floors. "Let's see, eighteenth floor. There we are," said Don, flipping through the screens and bringing two up side by side. "There is Milla polishing the desk of some exec with a very nice office and here comes a client in the hallway. Notice, the man does all negotiating with the security guard, and pays all money to him as well." The guard and the man finished their transaction and the man went into the office. With very little fanfare, the man sat in the large leather chair behind the desk. The cleaning woman knelt before him and started to service him. "What were the other floors?" said Don. "Twenty-three, twenty-nine, sixteen, and eleven. Motion sensitive systems, doesn't take too much searching. " He flipped through four scenes, two women were also on their knees. One was being taken from behind, leaning across a conference room table, and the fourth was straddling her client in a chair. "And all the while, more are arriving." He switched back to the lobby where about ten more men were waiting. "It's really a perfect setup," said Don. "I mean, why would Vice ever think about watching office buildings? They're busy enough keeping an eye on the streetwalkers and the high-price girls at the Plaza. Cleaning and prostitution. I bet these ladies don't see much of the money for either job." "Can you find Ludmila?" asked Pete. "No, I don't know about that, I…" "Just fucking find her, Don. You know where she is," said Pete, angrily. "Okay, buddy. You shouldn't have to watch this, but here." Don clicked over to the twenty-second floor where Ludmila was busily cleaning cubicles, emptying trash, and wiping off desks. She actually seemed very good at the cleaning part of things. Pete watched with growing trepidation at what was about to happen. He had a strong suspicion he was about to find out she was decent at the other half of her job too. A man appeared and Ludmila put down her cleaning supplies to approach the man. He gestured to her uniform, and she zipped it down to remove it. Below she was wearing a lacy black bra and thong, looking as hot as ever. She seductively removed the two undergarments, then reached to grab something from her cleaning cart. It became clear what it was when she opened it and rolled a condom onto the man's cock. The man then took her to a cubicle and lifted her up onto the surface, entering her. "Can you zoom in?" asked Pete. "Come on, man don't torture yourself." "I'm not, just please let me see her face." She was in the exact same position they'd been in their first time in the train bathroom, but Pete's heart leapt at the difference. She was pulling the man to her, her face over his shoulder. That was the first difference, she wasn't looking him in the eyes the way she had with Pete. The second big difference was her expression. She was removed, distant. Pete tried to recall the look on her face, and remembered it was the exact same one she'd had when she'd talked of her parents' death. It didn't make the situation alright, but it actually erased any jealousy he was feeling. Now his only emotion was concern for her wellbeing. "Mr. Hutchinson, perhaps we should talk," said Tricia, from I.N.S. He tore his eyes away from the screen and crossed over to sit with Tricia at the table. "Would you mind telling me what you know again?" she said. "Don has briefed us, but it would help to hear it from you." Pete went through the details again, though he was a bit distracted by what was happening on the computer monitor across the room. "What I don't get is why she didn't tell me," he said at the end. "I mean, we love each other, I know we do. She should have told me." "Mr. Hutchinson, this sort of thing goes on all the time. How this is happening is different from anything I've seen, but what is happening is fairly typical. First, they keep these girls in ignorance. I doubt if any of them can speak English. If they can't speak the language, they can't ask for help. Second, each of those girls has family members back in Russia who they've been told will be killed if they speak to anyone. Whether that's true or not, the fear is enough to keep them in check. "What's going to happen?" asked Pete, "What's going to happen with all of these girls?" "We're going let things go on as they have been while we gather evidence. Then we'll be making arrests. The organizers are the folks we want the most. With the girls? Truthfully, many will be sent back home. Some might be able to plead a case for asylum, and some might find other ways of staying…but most will have to return." "What about Ludmila. What can be done?" "I honestly don't know," said Tricia. "These cases are very complicated. Mr. Jones over there from the State department might be of some assistance, but I can't make any promises." *** It was well into December. Ludmila had noticed a change in Pete's lovemaking. He was more gentle, more caring. Often, he didn't even want to make love, but instead just held her hand and talked with her. The week before Christmas, Ludmila seemed very nervous and upset. Pete asked her what it was about. "It is Misha, my brother," she said. "I have not heard from him in week. I am not allowed…I don't talk with him much. Always he email every Sunday. This Sunday, nothing." "Well, it's winter break, maybe he went skiing or something. "Yes. Maybe." She still seemed worried. That Thursday, Pete arranged for something extra special. He led her up toward the front of the train and they saw Bob, the stone-faced conductor. He was just stopping a man from going to the very front car. "Sorry sir," said Bob, "This car is out of service for this run." Bob was putting a sign to that effect over the window of the door leading into the compartment. As the man walked away, Bob unlocked the car and opened the door to them with a welcoming gesture. "Your palace awaits," he said. Letting them in, he placed a black vinyl window covering on the door leading into the train which and started out. "It's a slow night, we don't need the car. They've put that advertising poster crap over the windows, so it's hard to see in. Don't get too near the windows and everything should be fine. Merry Christmas, kids." For the first time, he smiled. With a wink, he closed the door and they heard his key turning in the lock. "What's happening, Pete?" Ludmila asked. "Well, I got to talking with Bob there, and it turns out he's a romantic at heart. Plus, he said he was worried we were going to get busted if he didn't give us this chance." "Busted?" "Caught," he explained. "Now, my Russian beauty, what do you say to finally doing this lying down?" Pete reached around to the first seat and grabbed a sleeping bag, which he unfurled and rolled out on the floor. "Oh my goodness, Pete. You do this for us?" "I certainly did." She pulled him into the most tender, romantic kiss he had ever experienced in his life and then she began undressing for him. Images of what he'd seen on the security camera unavoidably lingered in his mind, but it was the expression on her face that he clung to. Her eyes were not distant, not somewhere else. She was here, for him. She lay down on the sleeping bag, unbelievably beautiful. He also undressed and stood before her, naked and in awe. "Come to me, my Petrov," she said, holding up a hand. "Come to me, and then cum to me. We have not so much time." She pulled him to her and he pushed himself in easily, kissing her as she did. "Well this is different," he said softly. "Naked, lying down, I could get used to this." "So could I." There was a deliberate haste about their lovemaking. They'd never had the luxury of so much time, nor of horizontal positions. At the same time, they only had twenty minutes, or so. For Pete, there was an added urgency which he didn't dare reveal to her. There was a small part of his brain that feared this might be their last time, at least for a long while. They finished with her on top, her hands wrapped in his, her breasts grazing his chest. She had already climaxed, but continued to moan with joy as Pete found his own divine release. Again she wept, not so passionately as the first time, but from the overwhelming joy she felt at being with him. As they lay next to each other, she smiled, laughing a bit. "What's so funny?" he asked. "Not funny. I don't know how to say. This reminds me of first time." "Your first time?" asked Pete. "Da. In Russia we have trains with places to sleep. It was my, finish-school time…" "Graduation?" "Yes. Graduation trip. Our class go Moscow. My boyfriend, Anton, he sneak into my bed. We have both our first time on train." "Was it good?" asked Pete, his fingers gently combing through her golden curls. "Good?" she laughed. "No, I not say good. Clumsy. Both of us. But sweet. Yes. Very sweet. Not sweet like us, but I always remember. I remember this, too." It was with greater reluctance than usual that they parted that night. Ludmila kissed him until the last possible moment, then glanced out at the platform and dashed to the man who was waiting. *** Pete looked in through the one-way glass to the examining room beyond Tricia from I.N.S. pointed to pictures of various men, asking questions in Russian while Ludmila stared impassively at the mirror behind which he was sitting. "I no talk," said Ludmila in English. "Ludmila," said Tricia, also switching languages. "We can protect you. We won't let you get hurt." "It is not me I worried for," said Ludmila, folding he arms and fighting back tears. "I understand," said Tricia. "I'll give you a few minutes." Tricia exited the room, and soon entered the place where Pete was sitting with Jones from the State Department. "Going well, huh?" said Jones, ironically. "Jesus they put the fear of God in these girls," said Tricia. "Not a single one of them will say a word. Just like we thought, each one has family in Russia they're fearful for." "They recruited well, that's for sure," said Jones. "Any news on our incoming package?" asked Tricia. "Any minute now," Jones replied, smiling. "Well," said Tricia, "Might as well let Pete here have some one-on-one time with her. Might make her more comfortable." "Are you sure?" asked Pete. "I mean, her seeing me here…" "Pete," interrupted Tricia, "It will be fine." Ludmila looked up to the door as it opened and went pale upon seeing that it was Pete entering. "What are you doing...? No! No, no, no. You can't be here!" She broke out in desperate tears and ran away from Pete. There was nowhere to go in the tiny room, so she went back and forth between the two corners away from the door. Finally, she went to one of the corners and collapsed to the floor. Taking an almost fetal position, she buried her face into the wall and wept, refusing to look at him. "Ludmila. Milyushka," he whispered, kneeling beside her and caressing her hair. "You can't be here," she repeated. "If you are here, then you know." "I don't care," he said. "Oh Pete. I come here. I marry the man, Jacob. The man you see at train stop. But he is no husband. He uses me for money. I go to job. Pete, when I go to job in city I…" "I know," said Pete. "I know what they were making you do." "You do?" she said, looking to him with a horrified expression. "Pete, I do these things, but it is not like with you. With you, it is…love. I promise." "I know, Ludmila. I know." "But now I am caught!" she cried, "They will find Misha. Maybe already they have. They will kill him, I know it!" Just then, a knock came on the door. Jones stuck his head in. "I'm sorry to interrupt, Ludmila, but we need your help. We need a translator." "My help?" she said. "My English is not good and…Misha!?" A blonde teenaged boy had pushed in behind Jones. He had long, unkempt hair and steely-blue eyes. The eyes alone left no doubt he was Ludmila's brother. She ran to him and embraced him, covering his face in joyful kisses. They spoke briefly in Russian, then Ludmila turned to Jones with a newfound confidence. "Now I talk," she said. "I look at pictures, I tell you what these men do." *** Once Ludmila had her brother safe and by her side, she had no reservations about giving witness against the men who had kept her, including her 'husband' Jacob who was now assuredly behind bars. It had been several long days and now they found themselves riding the outbound train on Christmas morning. They hadn't even realized what day it was until they emerged to the empty streets and saw the Christmas greetings as they took a cab through Times Square. Pete sat listening to the excited Russian chatter between Ludmila and her brother. Pete watched them quietly, his heart thrilling every time she would catch eyes with him and bless him with her joyful smile. Russian Bride Misha finally ran out of words and sat watching the receding New York skyline in wonder. Ludmila switched seats, nestling in with Pete. "One thing I question of. How you get Misha here? " "You can thank Mr. Jones back there for helping out with the paperwork and the Visa," said Pete, smiling. "In terms of the plane tickets…and the bribes, thank you very much, think of that as an early wedding gift from my parents." "Wedding? I don't know this word." "Marriage. Man. Wife. Ring." "But…" stammered Ludmila, "I am married, to devil Jacob." "Not for long, Tricia said that will be easy to annul…uh, cancel…break." "True?" "True," said Pete. "And you say you wedding me? Is that what you say?" "I uh…just out of convenience. You know, so you can stay here." "Oh," she said, a twinkle in her eyes. "That is very kind of you, Mister American Petrov." "I do what I can," said Pete, but he couldn't go on this way for any longer. "Aw hell," he said, slipping out of his seat and onto his knee. "Ludmila, I don't even have a ring or any plans, everything has happened so fast I haven't even had the chance to do things right. But I'm asking you, I'm begging you, will you marry me? I'll take care of you, and Misha, and get you into college so you can write again if that's what you want. Will you, Milyushka? Will you marry me?" "I will," she said, beaming. Misha didn't need to know English to gather what was happening. He kissed Ludmila on the cheeks, and Pete as well, offering his congratulations in Russian. "We go home now," said Ludmila, after things had settled down and she sat next to him, holding his hand as if she'd never let it go. "Yes," said Pete. "To our home. I already cleared out my spare room for Misha." "Our home," echoed Ludmila. "Oh! And bed! This mean now we finally have each other in bed." "That's true," said Pete. "Hmm," she said. "I miss this. I miss what we do on train." "Maybe we'll take a ride now and again," said Pete, kissing her tenderly. The last time he'd been on the train, he'd been a bachelor. Now, Christmas morning, he was returning home with a soon-to-be wife and her brother to care for. He could think of no greater gift.