0 comments/ 14308 views/ 2 favorites A Swallow's Bite Act 01 By: RAMJET69 MOSKVA, PRESENT DAY. "Winter becomes Mother Russia," Dominika Nedel'ka Patroph mutters to herself. Her brandy-toned eyes stare out the trolley's ice-incrusted window at the fur-wrapped Muscovites trudging along the snowy street. She glances down at the evening's duty assignment sheet in her gloved hand. "Infiltrate a formal business gathering and sniff out any intelligence of interest," is all it says. Dominika's luscious lips curl into her naturally sensuous smile. "With luck, I'll even keep my clothes on," she whispers to herself. "Astanovka pajalst," she calls to the trolley driver. With two sharp bell-clangs, the battered vehicle shudders to a halt. Its rear door unfolds and Dominika steps out into the bitter cold. Sveta Novoshev is right behind. Dominika frowns at the repetitive buzz coming from inside her shoulder bag. She removes the cell phone from under the Beretta 3032 Tomcat pistol that Russian Swallows like Dominika always carry. TOKYO. Halfway around the world a woman's curvy figure steps into a shadowy room made of teakwood. Turquoise and white water gurgles and bubbles in an oval hot tub. A match flares. Her delicate hand touches its flame to a candlewick. The amber glow illuminates Tomiko Kasawara. High cheekbones and dark brown, almond shaped eyes underscore Tomiko's haunting Asian beauty. A tiny snow-white Brazilian bikini hugs her flawless skin. DEBOVSK APARTMENT COMPLEX, MOSKVA. Light from a bare bulb slashes shadows across bearded faces . . . Middle Eastern faces. Sitting in the middle of the dingy apartment is a table filled with chemicals and mixing containers. Three men mill about fastening small canisters to a forth man's bare chest with strips of duct tape. The fourth man isn't Arab. He's of average build, clean-shaven and Russian. TOKYO. Reaching under her cascade of waist-length blue-black hair, Tomiko tugs at two knots. The triangular bra drops liberating small sloping breasts that stand high and proud, apparently immune to their own weight. Fragrant incense floats about the private bathhouse or Kousyu-Yokujo as the Japanese call it. A few feet away Yakamitsu Niguri removes his black silk robe. Tomiko's eyes twinkle with crafty intelligence as she browses his bronze, muscular frame and the elaborate tattoos of a dragon in a turbulent seascape that cover his entire torso, front and back. Fifteen plus years beyond Tomiko's twenty, Yakamitsu Niguri's entire presence emits the dangerous aura of the Nipponese Yakuza. Tomiko's gaze drifts lower. She feels secretly pleased that such an important man's body is acknowledging hers' with a growing erection. Niguri can't help but stare. Glints and shadows dance across Tomiko's succulent young breasts. They're the biggest of all the other "comfort women" he owns, bobbing only slightly as she steps nearer and bows. There's a warm rush between his legs as she turns and walks toward a small table laid out with oils other substances. As he settles into the oval hot tub's warm water, his focus rivets to Tomiko's butt-muscles rubbing rhythmically as they play a game of hide and seek with the thong's white center-string. MOSKVA. Dominika slams her cell phone closed. Her exquisite face has turned as icy as the sub-zero air biting at her cheeks. Dominika's pace turns into a brisk walk. "What is it? What's happened?" Sveta says catching up with her. "Viktor's just ordered us to kill Dmitry Rostislav." Sveta's eyes widen. "Dmitry? Holy-shit, why?" "He just became a suicide bomber with a short fuse." TOKYO. Tomiko's pink-nailed fingers slide under the thin elastic waistband stretched above the flare of her hips. The tiny back-string slips out of its hiding place and the scrap of white cloth skitters down her legs to the teak floor. With the appropriate amount of Oriental shyness, she turns around. Her nakedness swamps Yakamitsu Niguri's jet-black eyes. "Come here," he says in a gruff demanding murmur. There's a whisper of Tomiko's footsteps. The warmth of the hot tub's bubbles consumes one foot and then the other. MAIN LOBBY, HOTEL NEZHKA, MOSKVA. Dominika's glossy red fingernail anxiously presses the ancient elevator's up button. Its door grinds open. Both girls step inside the claustrophobic car. Motors vibrate. Gears clash. "Is Viktor sending backup or are we naked?" Sveta asks as the elevator moves slowly upward. "Naked." "Shit. Nothing like doing wet-work in close proximity to a bomb," Sveta mutters. Dominika glances into Sveta's bright blue eyes. "We'll just have to improvise." "Great. Do I storm in, pull out my Uzi and yell -- take this you creep?" "It may come down to just that." The elevator car jounces to a stop and the door grinds open. Both scurry into an empty cloakroom. Dominika pulls off her mink ushanka and tosses her head. Long golden blonde hair falls past her lower back, kept that way since her teenage years. "There're 200 people in there," Sveta says as her fur coat reveals a -- let it all hang out -- ivory micro-dress. Its snug silky material does little to conceal Sveta's beautiful breasts . . . one of a Swallow's most valuable commodities when employed to make many a man's mouth water. Dominika lifts her gaze to Sveta's heart-shaped face, framed with salon-styled short-cut blonde hair. "This could get sloppy." "We'll need a diversion," Sveta cautions. Dominika removes the Beretta from her purse and screws its silencer into place. "You do the dangle and I'll do the nasty." "Why do I always get the grunt work?" Sveta mutters. "Because you're friendly, loyal and trustworthy." "So is a damn dog. Hey Dom? You sure you're up to doing this?" Dominika clicks the Beretta's safety off and returns the weapon to her purse. "Guess we're gonna find that out, aren't we." "I love confidence," Sveta mutters nervously as they step into the huge ballroom turned battle-space. DEBOVSK APARTMENT COMPLEX, MOSKVA. Exhaust fumes billow from a black sedan that waits at the edge of the dark and deserted street. Three shadowy figures emerge from the dingy building and climb into the car. The clean-shaven Russian is now wearing a heavy fur coat. The sedan pulls away from the curb. THE GRANDE BALLROOM, HOTEL NEZHKA, MOSKVA. Gold and scarlet adorn the walls of The Grande Ballroom. The lavish décor is leftover from some Czar deep in Russian history. A six-piece ensemble plays a Viennese waltz. Dominika scans the wall-to-wall crowd of Russian oil moguls and wealthy tycoons from a dozen Asian and European oil-consuming nations. "Dmitry sure picked a target rich environment," Sveta whispers under the sound of violins, cellos and low murmuring voices. "Isn't that Nikolay Svyatoslavich the head-dick of Zukos Petrol Group?" Dominika nods. "Look there. It's Sergei Godunov, the chairman of the Central Committee of Petroleum Control." "Tasty tidbits for a bang and burn. How are we going to play this?" "I figure we got five minutes to find Rostislav," Dominika whispers. "You got two minutes to nail a patsy and come up with a diversion." "Gee, I thought I was going to be rushed. Standard signals?" "Check. Good hunting." As Sveta walks away, Dominika's eye-line tracks her sculptured muscles rolling smoothly under that ultra-snug butt-loving Spandex micro-dress. Dominika shakes her head. Sveta doesn't wear clothes -- clothes wear her. As Dominika becomes part of the crowd, an appropriate amount of male eyes drool over her carefully crafted curves, subtlety accented by a moon-glow evening gown. The dress is little but a loose swathe of cascading nylon. A gleaming diamond fastens it at one shoulder while another holds it low and snug about her hips. The loose-fitting back dips daringly deep, purposely fashioned to entice glances at her most treasured asset. Mentally, Dominika shrugs. With Viktor's little bombshell, this 3,000 ruble gown is about as useful as a pickaxe in the shower. That fact has her nerves standing on edge. Her eyes brighten. Played right, this situation could be a rare chance for advancement. With luck, her GRU superiors won't call her Gypsy Danger. They'll call her the INFAMOUS Gypsy Danger. Her gaze swings from a fat Frenchman to Aleksandr Novokuibyshev, the top kick at Gazflot, then over to Sveta. She's already nailed a fall guy. He's a shifty looking Cubin wearing cowboy boots and a cheap suit. He's probably somebody's bodyguard. Lust and that nearly translucent dress being what they are, Sveta will digest him with one chomp, two chews and a burp. TOKYO. Niguri watches as bluish bubbles tickle at the clean-shaven V between Tomiko's legs. Her petite body feels almost weightless as she lowers herself into his lap. Pressed against her hip, his cock feels like a stick of hot granite. Niguri raises a palm-full of water and watches the droplets glide down a breast slope then glint as they drip from Tomiko's tense, ash-brown nipple. His lips graze her areola then suck in the whole hunk of sensitive flesh. Tomiko closes her eyes as arousal soars. She lifts his head away from her breast, immediately missing the feel of his suckle. "May I pleasure you?" she asks her tone as soft as the whispering wind. Niguri considers then nods. "Wait please?" She stands, pausing a moment to let him see the water cascade from her gleaming skin. Turning, she slowly climbs the three stairs, knowing that Niguri's eyes are paying a caressing tribute to the thin but hard-muscled rear built by sweating for hours in the gym. THE GRANDE BALLROOM. Dominika's eyes rove from person to person. Dmitry Rostislav isn't among them. His attractive face materializes in her mind. Beneath her gown, the month-old imprint of his hand ripples across her bare breasts. Two months ago, they'd worked an espionage operation in Vladivostok. On a whim, she'd made love with Dmitry. His bedroom demeanor had been warm, loving and respectful. The orgasm he'd given her had been thunderous. After the Vladivostok Operation, they'd begun to date. She found herself growing quite fond of Dmitry, the man Viktor has ordered her to assassinate. A snobbish group of men from Chechnya pops the dilemma away like an exploding soap bubble. She tenses. That big man, heavy overcoat, standing alone, looks nervous. She jockeys for another position. No bomb, just blubber. She sighs as the memory resurfaces. Despite the tension of having to carry out her first kill, she can almost feel the texture of Dmitry's cock sliding in and out of her and hear his guttural groans as his fiery sperm ejaculated into her welcoming womb. A month after Vladivostok, Dmitry and Viktor had gone to Afghanistan. Only Viktor returned. Dmitry went dark, which isn't unusual for a frontline GRU agent assigned mole duty in a hostile territory. Then he shows up here ready to maim and murder his own countrymen. It makes no sense at all. Dmitry is a hardened veteran of the Soviet/Afghan war and a fiercely loyal GRU operative. He wouldn't join up with radical Afghan Muslims, would he? That possibility makes her shiver. TOKYO. Bathed in a candle's flickering light Tomiko hums as she carefully blends several honey-like liquids in an earthen bowl. THE GRANDE BALLROOM. Dominika's sensuous smile masks her frantic inspection of the vodka sipping VIPs. Thoughts surge through her head. It's crucial to toss aside personal feelings for Dmitry. Whatever the reason, the man is now the enemy, a rat-fucker, a traitor, a turncoat, a pig -- simply a target to neutralize. Dominika's imagination paints an ugly image. That bomb is certain to contain deadly bits of flesh-cutting razor wire. A blast in this close-quartered crowd will turn dozens of Russia's oil-elite and a hundred innocent people into chunks of charred, copped up gristle. Therefore, failure is not an option. TOKYO. Yakamitsu Niguri's dark muscled body is sitting Samurai-straight on a rice mat in room-center. As Tomiko mixes and blends, his attention is riveted to her creamy shoulders, smooth back, curving hips and widely crevassed bottom. Tomiko dips a fingertip in the golden mixture. Seemingly pleased with its consistency, she raises her finger, licks and swallows as if sampling the substance's flavor. BOULEVARD IVANTEYEUKA, MOSKVA. The black sedan's headlights swing wide as it makes a left turn into the Hotel Nezhka's parking garage. TOKYO. Bowl in-hand, Tomiko kneels before Niguri like a melancholy supplicant bowing before an ancient Oriental shrine. He can't help but stare at her breasts. Since boyhood, Niguri has always loved breasts. Tomiko's are small yet perfectly shaped, and resemble seductive fruit waiting to be felt -- then picked. Tomiko looks up. "When?" "Seventeen minutes," Niguri mumbles as he grazes one of Tomiko's hard bump-covered nipples with the stump of his little finger, a finger chopped off at the knuckle, the telltale mark of the Yakuza. THE GRANDE BALLROOM. Dominika's slender figure slides between a stuffy Chinese industrialist and his prissy female translator. Aleksandr Novokuibyshev's flabby face fills her view. "Dobre viechir Dominika," his old voice grates. Dominika congers up a smile that would charm the balls off a Siberian bear. "Dobre viechir Aleksandr. Nice to see you are in good health." "Not as healthy as you," he responds, leering at the long slash of skin left naked by the loose-fitting gown. "Izvinichye, schastliva, da-vai," she says excusing herself. As she turns away, a shiver whips up her spine. Swiping a look down the back of her dress is okay. Copping a feel -- isn't. Oh well. A light brush across the butt-crack is no crack in the universe. She turns back to Aleksandr, smiles, leans closer and whispers, "You can fuck me when you love me." Leaving Aleksandr speechless, she circles the room twice. Face after face is examined, then discarded as harmless. THE KITCHEN, HOTEL NEZHKA. A dented freight elevator door grumbles as it opens revealing the clean-shaven Russian in the heavy fur coat. He appears calm. Nobody pays any notice as he walks through the clamor of cooks, waiters and busboys. TOKYO. Tomiko kneels before Niguri. Setting the bowl on the floor, she opens a black lacquered box with a ritual akin to religious worship. Inside is a skillfully carved piece of bamboo, about the size and shape of a tongue depressor. She swirls it around in the amber solution. With Picasso-like strokes, she paints the golden honey-like fluid onto Niguri's blue-veined cock. THE GRANDE BALLROOM. Two minutes later, it's still zilch. Dominika glances at her watch. It's six forty-seven. With all the power packed into this room, orders to terminate Dmitry Rostislav must have come from very high in the Kremlin. Maybe Viktor had it wrong. Maybe he didn't. She wipes a bead of perspiration from her upper lip. If Viktor's information was reliable, there's thirteen minutes to detonation. TOKYO. "You're so hard," Tomiko whispers as the liquid flows from Niguri's testicles to his tip. Niguri smiles not. He slides his hand up her thigh. Tomiko widens her legs as Niguri's fingers near her swollen pussy mound. One touch turns the surrounding skin pinkish. Tomiko squirms. A soft stroke makes her moan softly. She stares into his eyes twisting her hips as he slowly works a finger inside. "You're dry," he mumbles. "You can fix that," she whispers gazing down at his gleaming cock. He's so aroused that that the tip nearly touches his navel. "May I taste?" Niguri nods. She leans forward. Dangling strands of long arrow-straight hair tease his bare legs. Her pink tongue emerges. He tenses. Her tongue-tip wiggles across the base of his cock. Her lips kiss each enlarged testicle. Tomiko's first long lingering up-lick robs Niguri of breath. Slurping sounds drift about as she works her way up toward his crown. Following each long lingering lick, she tips her head back, swallowing -- savoring the golden substance as if it's an intoxicating elixir. WORKER'S TOILET, HOTEL NEZHKA. Alone in a stall, the Russian carefully attaches a length of clear fish line to a detonation mechanism taped to his upper chest. With surgical precision, he treads the line through the coat's arm and loops it near his wrist, arranging it he can pull it with his opposite hand with a minimum of movement. A light tug and a slight "click" confirm the quality of his work. Appearing satisfied, he twists two electrical wires together, buttons the coat then glances at his wristwatch. TOKYO. "Ooooooh—mmmmm," Tomiko purrs. It's as if each tongue-stroke sets fire to the tender tinderbox between her legs. Her lapping tongue reaches his tip. Niguri trembles. His breath comes out in whooshing raspy pants. Her pointed tongue-tip skips across his cock-head then circles, pushing and probing as if trying to find its way inside his tiny ultra-sensitive slit. "Urga . . . urgaaa," Niguri moans, as his hands drift up and down her curving waist. Tomiko folds her fingers around the base of his cock. Short upward movements bring forth a drop of milky ooze. Bending at the waist, Tomiko licks it away. She tips her head back. Her throat moves as she swallows it down. Suddenly, it's as if the taste has ignited the blue flame of a welder's torch. Tomiko's glossy lips attack Niguri's cock-crown with vengeance. Her cheeks collapse. The pull is so powerful that Niguri's muscles cinch tight as if they're threatening to implode. Adjusting her neck, Tomiko takes in more, and then more, then even more, consuming Niguri's raging arousal inch by inch. "O-ksa-gnaaaa," Niguri groans as Tomiko juggles her head to work his cock-head into the deepest confines of her pulsing throat. Niguri's eyes clamp shut. His tattooed belly heaves as he luxuriates in the profound feeling of Tomiko's esophagus caressing and sucking for its seed. THE GRANDE BALLROOM. Precious seconds tick by. Beneath the plunging back of Dominika's gown, the pucker-factor is at red line and rising. She glances left. The Cuban fall guy is on station and ready to act. Sound the alarm and clear the room? There'd be mass panic and Dmitry would explode the bomb anyway, so scratch that option. Twenty feet away, she catches Sveta pointing to her eye and tapping her shoulder. Dominika swings around. Her heart thuds. Dmitry stands twenty feet distant sandwiched between a dozen important people. How to get a clear shot in this crowd? She wiggles past a fat old hag. She spots the fish line looped around his finger. Her stomach knots. One tug on that line and the game is up. TOKYO. Tomiko's eyes fix on Niguri's eyes. Their faces are just inches apart. Her hand closes around his cock as she lowers herself, settling her lower body onto his thighs. "Do you want into my special place?" she whispers, holding his cock and brushing the head across her pussy lips. "Taunt me no longer," he snaps. Tomiko's hip movements tease his cock-head with the burning, throbbing nakedness between her legs. Nibbling pussy-lips gobble for his tip. Niguri groans. Separation occurs by simply moving his cock-head from side to side with her hand. Outwardly, Tomiko craves Niguri's cock as one craves air in the vacuum of space. Inwardly, all she sees is her cunning plan unfolding here and a half world away. Writhing and twisting her hips, she slowly lowers her dripping pussy onto the stone-hard stick between her legs. "Mmmmm," she moans, reveling in the ecstasy of her quivering clitoris embracing the long and lethargic entry. THE GRANDE BALLROOM. Danger thrums through the air resonating with each thud of Dominika's heart. Dmitry seems unhurried, composed, working the crowd looking for the most advantageous position. Using people as a visual shield, Dominika shadows Dmitry's every move, keeping her distance, maneuvering, waiting for the opportune moment to make the play. A hand gesture commands Sveta not to interfere. Options? Reason with him? Negotiate? Nyet. Viktor's orders had been very specific. Kill Rostislav. A Swallow's Bite Act 01 TOKYO. Tomiko's leg muscles slowly relax. Behind her eyes, a universe of stars explodes as Niguri's thick cock tantalizes her pulsing clitoris as it sinks deeper into her special place. Tomiko's jaws clench together as early orgasm explodes into body-thrashing, hair-whipping excitement. Pleasure rockets from her head to her breasts, pelvis to legs and into her tightly curled toes. She feels her pussy flood. Niguri grabs her butt-cheeks, pulling with near painful force. "Mooorrrr," he demands in a long throaty groan. Tomiko gasps as a hip-wiggle pulls in another inch. His mouth crushes hers. Tongues collide. His sidesteps hers and pushes deeply into her mouth. She forces her tongue into his. They battle as if craving to feast on each other. Tomiko's thigh muscles relax. Niguri's cock slides in deep -- deeper -- until his cock-tip invades the deepest part of her very roots. "Ummmm," Tomiko sighs, fingernails digging into his shoulders. "You're so tight," Niguri gasps. "As are you," Tomiko moans softly, running her wiggling tongue-tip along his chiseled jaw line. THE GRANDE BALLROOM. Twenty people-packed feet separate the hunter from the hunted. Dmitry moves near to Nikolay Svyatoslavich. Sergei Godunov is a short five feet away. Dominika's heart thunders like a base drum. TOKYO. Tomiko's heart thunders with similar force. Niguri's fingers slide up and down her soft middle. As if propelled by superconductors, pent-up electricity shocks through her clitoris. Jet-black hair whips around as he gropes for the underside of her jiggling breasts. He squeezes. Niguri's lips snare a nipple. His suck forces out a shrill scream. THE GRANDE BALLROOM. Dmitry is almost close enough to feel his heat. The self-preservation instinct pushes blood through Dominika's veins like a river-wild. An erotic, bubbling sensation leaps forward. She must carry out Viktor's orders. Dominika slides her right hand into her shoulder bag. TOKYO. As Tomiko licks the outline of the tattooed dragon on Niguri's chest, she feels his finger stroking the soft and sensitive flesh between her ass-cheeks. She gasps and whimpers, then releases a long soft pleasure-moan. Cradled and controlled by Niguri's large hands, Tomiko is like a coiled spring clamped in a vice -- a vice from which he thinks only one explosive event can release. She knows there are two. THE GRANDE BALLROOM. Inside her purse, Dominika's fingers fold around her Beretta pistol. The line of fire opens. Adrenaline shoots through her veins. Blood is about to be shed. "Shit," she mutters as four dark-suited Koreans step in the way blocking a clear shot. Emotions blink off half-second images. Dmitry's lips grazing hers'. His muscled chest crushes her breasts. Smooth, deep, sliding strokes spawn internal contractions that reach for Dmitry's sperm with titillating momentum. Flaming, burning nipples beg for his kisses. She shudders as his lips latch on. Each intimate touch, each thrust, each erotic plunge, seems to burn in Dominika's heart like flames of blazing benzene. Viktor's echoing voice suddenly shouts in her ears. "Your orders are to kill Rostislav." TOKYO. Tomiko's eyes are closed. She's facing away from Niguri, her knees on the floor and her butt pressed to his crotch. She murmurs and moans, rocking, pivoting at her hips, thrusting down then clamping her powerful muscles while rising and pulling on Niguri's cock. Niguri's hands reach around and cup the softness of her rigid breasts. She wags left and right then sits back, slamming down on his raging cock. She jerks her pelvis from side to side, molding, mashing and forming her angles and curves to Niguri's pulsing belly. Tomiko's butt muscles clamp together. Her clitoris feels like an expanding bubble that's ready to burst. THE GRANDE BALLROOM. Pushing her way around the Koreans, peculiar feelings crawl across Dominika's chest. If that bomb explodes, my life is over. Inside her purse, the cold steel of the Beretta's trigger snaps away fear and uncertainty. Dmitry is working his way closer to Svyatoslavich, Novokuibyshev and Godunov, three of the most important men in the Russian oil industry. They and anyone else in the immediate vicinity are the target. It's act now or be blown to bits. TOKYO. Niguri's fingers grip Tomiko's writhing waist. His arm muscles flex as he lifts her up and down. Teeth clench at each pleasure-slide. Deep inside her groin, Tomiko feels excitement mushroom as her internal clock signals the time is near . . . very near. Her body tenses. Lifelong dreams are just seconds away. Her backbone arches. With one last down stroke, her toes curl tight. Her cervix grips Niguri's cock like vice jaws. THE GRANDE BALLROOM. "Get out of my way," Dominika growls plowing through the Koreans. Eye contact. Dmitry freezes. "Dmitry, don't," Dominika says softly. His finger reaches for the loop of fish line. In a blur, the Beretta is out. Her feet and arms snap into the shooter's stance. Their gazes lock. His eyes are sad, like an injured puppy. There's a muffled poof. TOKYO. Something shatters in the depths of Tomiko's brain. It's like a crystal vase, struck by a bullet in ultra-slow motion. "Yesssssssssssss," she shrieks as orgasm balloons then explodes, drowning her trembling body in all-encompassing shockwaves. THE GRANDE BALLROOM. Blood gushes from a bright red hole in Dmitry Rostislav's temple. He drops to the carpet floor like a puppet whose strings have just been cut. TOKYO. Tomiko's spine snaps tighter. Niguri groans in a wild release of constricted pleasure. Tomiko shudders as squirts of white-hot nectar fire into her. Torpedoes of thrills surge up and down Tomiko's legs. They're rocketing into her womb, spreading like an exploding nebula, burning into her jiggling breasts, twisting her neck and melting sex-charged hips. Numbing pleasure surges from her scalp to her feet even into her toenails and fingertips. THE GRANDE BALLROOM. "Assassin -- assassin!" Sveta shrieks frantically pointing at the Cuban who's charging out the door. "Stop that man!" Two robust bodyguards grab Dominika by her arms. On the floor a few feet away, Rostislav's arm is moving. "Let me go," Dominika shrieks struggling frantically. His fingers claw for the fish line. "I'm a GRU agent!" Dominika yells. "That man! He's got a bomb!" The word BOMB resonates through the ballroom like a bolt of lightening. Women scream. Hordes dive for cover or stampede for the door. In the chaotic confusion, Dominika twists away from the two bodyguards. She charges forward. Rostislav has the fish line between his fingers. Her shoe catches his hand thwarting further movement. A point-blank shot incapacitates his free arm. She squats and presses the Beretta to Rostislav's ear. "You're shot to pieces comrade," Dominika whispers over the frenzy. "Don't even try to move." She twists her head toward the gawking bodyguards. "Don't just stand there! There are explosives under his coat. Evacuate those people! Move it, move it! Sveta?" "Right behind you, babe." "Call Viktor. Get the bomb disposal unit down here fast." "Already done." One of Dmitry's blood-washed eyes open. Under her foot, his hand strains, trying to get free. He gurgles and spits up blood. She leans in close. "Dmitry, as I see it you got two picks here. Tell me who put you up to this and you get a doctor. Or I pull the trigger and your corpse gets carted out of here in a rubber bag." She presses the Beretta harder into his skull. "Out with it Dmitry. Blink for yes. Your life for no." Rostislav's eyelids shut then open. His mouth quivers as if trying to speak but agony chokes off his words. Dominika's finger tightens on the trigger. With her free hand, she grabs a hunk of his hair and yanks. "Don't fuck with me comrade," she growls. "Viktor wants to know." "al-Gama'at al-Islamiyya," he mumbles in a garbled whisper. "al-Gama whaaaat?" "Dirt -- . . ." Rostislav's face stretches like a rubber band. "Dirt? Dirt what?" "Tee." Rostislav's bloody face fades wax-white. His eyes roll upward then go blank like a doll's eyes. "Do svi danya, Dmitry Rostislav," Dominika whispers shaking her head. TOKYO. For five minutes, Tomiko sits in Niguri's lap holding his full length inside. She hunches over slightly, shivering, coaxing her clitoris to trigger the last orgasmic shockwave no matter how minuscule. Niguri's face tightens, then relaxes as he feels her insides rippling over his length, squeezing, as if milking the very last drop of his precious sperm. Dragging a silent sigh through her lips, Tomiko wiggles her hips and lifts her abdomen. Her pussy releases his cock with a delightfully wet sound -- a soft slippery sound. She immediately misses its warm presence and the incredible feeling of just a moment ago. Turning on her knees, Tomiko bows until her nose touches the floor. "I am honored to be granted such wonderful pleasure," she whispers. Rising, she places tiny kisses over his face, neck and shoulders. "Cleanse me," he snaps. "As you wish," she whispers obediently. Tomiko's lips move to-and-fro as she leans forward then down. Her pink tongue licks with warm saliva-covered swaths as she washes his wilting erection with tongue and mouth. Her stomach accepts their mutual fluids without rejection. Deep in Tomiko Kasawara's eyes is a look of grand accomplishment. The first step has been taken. The second is about to begin. A Swallow's Bite Act 02 THE GRANDE BALLROOM. Four bomb disposal experts in body-armor wheel a metal container out the doorway. Police mill about as ambulance attendants heft Rostislav's body onto a stretcher. "See that your superiors file a detailed report on this incident," the tight-faced police detective says to Dominika. "Yes-sir. Lieutenant General Yezhov will see to it first thing in the morning." No sadness, remorse or queasiness sits beneath the slopes of Dominika's tight belly. She pushes feminine fondness and that wonderful orgasm aside. What unknown and powerful evil turned Dmitry into a rat-fucker? Viktor will unravel that mystery. She smiles. In one way, Dmitry was a prince. He's unwittingly promoted Dominika Patroph to Hard Man status. In the world of Russian espionage, a Hard Man is an operative who's worked a hostile environment and who has killed. She feels a soft tap on her shoulder and turns around. "We'd better check in with Viktor," Sveta says. TOKYO, THIRTY-SIX HOURS LATER. Niguri strolls through a green garden filled with blooming flowers. Two young girls flank him. The taller girl wears a short blue cocktail dress, while the other is in a schoolgirl's pleated plaid skirt and white blouse. "O-shiri kisu," Niguri snaps. Both cover their mouths and giggle mischievously. One hikes up her cocktail dress revealing rising curves clad tantalizingly in blue lacy thong panties. The schoolgirl crouches down, slips her tongue under the thong's back string and puts her lips and tongue to work. "Send these sluts away," Tomiko says as she approaches. Niguri waves his hand and the two girls giggle and scurry off. When they're out of earshot, he turns to Tomiko. "Project Burning Boot was unsuccessful." Invisible disappointment sinks from Tomiko's head to her toes. "That is disappointing news," she whispers. Niguri grunts and drags his eyes away from the naked breast that's peaking from beneath Tomiko's snow-white silk kimono. "Security may have been breached, perhaps implicating me. What further damage to project Checkmate, is unknown." "Was Wild Weasel caught and questioned?" she asks. "Rostislav was a coward. He hesitated then was murdered by a Russian assassin of your gender." Tomiko cocks her head. Her brow furrows. "What is known about this Russian assassin?" Niguri shrugs. "Our agents in Moscow could provide little but a codename. She's a young sex-spy known to the GRU and KGB as Gypsy Danger." "Gypsy Danger?" Tomiko takes a deep controlling breath. "How much does this assassin know of project Checkmate?" "Unknown. Our agent said she is a hard woman." Tomiko's large brown eyes look into his. "Niguri-san, there are no hard women -- only soft men." He grunts. Tomiko's frustration is masked by a bantam smile as his gaze travels from her eyes to her neck, then lower. He reaches for her kimono and ever so slowly parts it in the center revealing her creamy breast-skin as it separates. Niguri forces his eyes into hers'. "Is there an aggressive streak behind this magnificent bosom?" "It shall be only you that decides that." She slips the silky kimono from her shoulders and lets it flutter to the ground. Tomiko's nudity meets his lusty stare. She guides his hand toward a hardened, yet quivering breast. "This is not the time," Niguri snaps, jerking his hand away. "A new request has come from al-Gama'at al-Islamiyya by encrypted telex. Despite the Moscow setback, Phase 2 of project Checkmate shall proceed as planned. Due to the events in Moscow, I must travel to Afghanistan to arrange air shipment of the objects to America. Kasawara, you will journey there in my place. Work with our compatriots. Supervise all pre-strike details. I will join you in nine days and personally see that project Checkmate is carried out without flaw." "But Niguri-san, I am but a comfort woman, the maker of your meals and receptor of your seed. A woman is unfit for a task of such great consequence." "No," he says running a finger up and down the S curve of her smooth back and taunt bottom. "The fighters of al-Gama'at al-Islamiyya have hardened your body and disciplined your mind." His finger traces the jutting muscle line at the top of her leg. "Be honored Kasawara, that events give you a chance to make your mark within the movement." "I am humbled by your trust," Tomiko whispers with a secret smile. Raising her leg, she strokes his cock with her knee. This is working out better than she'd planned. THE GRU TRAINING FACILITY, NEAR KHODINKA AIRFIELD, MOSKVA. "Who or what the hell is al-Gama'at al-Islamiyya?" Sveta says sliding bright green exercise thongs down her legs. She kicks them aside. Dominika arcs twin chrome barbells from her thighs to above her head. "Viktor's trying to find out." "Viktor couldn't find his own dick in his shorts." Sveta sheds her exercise bra leaving her as naked as Dominika. "Dammit I wish they'd fix that heater. It's either freeze or fry in here." "Signs of a decaying superpower, darling." Dominika's biceps flex and her triceps tremble as sweat pours down her generous hills and valleys in shinny zigzagging rivulets. "This whole caper stinks of Arabs to me. Hey Dom, you were fucking Rostislav. He wasn't the type to walk into a party, toast a bunch of VIPs, yell Al`lah-u-Akhbar then blow himself to Katmandu, was he?" Dominika looks at her. "Gut feeling?" "Yeah and right behind my bellybutton. Look, Rostislav didn't take a shit without a workable escape plan. I'm not brilliant, but I ain't no idiot. I think Rostislav was just a minnow in a tank of hungry sharks -- Arab sharks." "Viktor has a whole staff of researchers trying to decipher what it all means." Dominika raises the barbells, mildly enjoying the tickle of sweat beads that trickle down her breast slopes, gather and drip from her pinkish nipples. She'd liked Sveta from the first time they met at the Bl'adovat' Interdisciplinary Academy in Kiev. Bl'adovat' is a training school that takes beautiful young girls and turns them into glamorous intelligence gathering machines. The faculty consists of the finest five-star call girls from Europe, each handpicked to teach recruits the fine-points of glamour, sex and seduction. Staff physiologists grind away all female inhibitions, shyness and shame. In their place emerges a Swallow -- a specialist -- a professional -- a woman of physical perfection and skilled in the sciences of romance, lust and human intelligence extraction regardless of gender. Students also gain a certain degree of personal ruthlessness, along with a love of danger, and the raw courage to face personal peril, scorn, or ridicule. Dominika rests the heavy barbells on her thighs and looks at Sveta. Busy Bikini is such a fitting codename for her. Dominika's eyes fall from Sveta's generous breasts to her curvaceous glutes that rival her own. Sveta brags to the other Swallows that Dominika has two of the nicest ass-cheeks any woman could ever hope to have. Dominika swipes intermittent glances as Sveta bends over and picks up a large dumbbell. Beneath her silky skin, thigh-muscles tighten as she squats, legs straining under the 100-pound weight slung across her shoulders. Sveta's hairless pussy-lips tremble, quiver open, and then slowly shut as she rises. A small smile falls across Dominika's lips. They'd pleasure each other later on. That prospect makes her clit push gently against its hood. Dominika always admired Sveta's zest for physical perfection, beauty and her rough-around-the-edges grace. Sveta has piercing blue eyes that seem to look right through your clothes and have a wonderful way of pinning you to the wall. When it came to sexual seduction for intelligence purposes, Sveta learned her lessons and learned them well. When so ordered by the Directorate, she'd willingly execute any sexual task, no matter how lusty, deviant, disgusting or perverted. Put bluntly, Sveta gets the job done. Sveta glances at the stunning nude beauty doing leg-lifts a few feet away. Dominika Patroph has such a complex persona. She's the ideal Swallow. Her face belongs on the cover of Vogue. She has the perfect ass, a dancer's legs and the most succulent up thrust boobs in the country, and actually takes pleasure in using the package as a tool. She romanticizes revolution and war, violence and sin, and approaches each duty assignment with intense desire and passion. Sex could be a throwaway or cherished depending on the target. Early in their relationship, Dominika had confided to Sveta that what makes her really drip is being part of the tricks, traps, deception, thievery and invasion of privacy, and now as a Hard Man -- assassination -- all in the name of the Russian Federation. THE PATHWAY MOTEL, BARSTOW CALIFORNIA. Smooth shoulder blades move under smoother skin as Tomiko fastens bra hooks behind her back and adjusts the garment to make her less than abundant cleavage more abundant. She slides a paper-thin pale blue chopped tank top over her head. Flipping her long hair from the neck, she looks into a mirror and frowns. "Fuck it," she whispers under her breath. The bra comes off and lands in an open suitcase. Hiking her coal-black scrap of a micro-skirt around her hips, she pulls off her panties. They land on top of the bra. Bending slightly she looks over her shoulder then throws a kiss at her reflection. "Ah America, the land of the free and the home of the brave." An open briefcase lies on the rumpled motel bed. On top is a photograph of a beautiful blonde woman. Written on it in Japanese is GYPSY DANGER. Tomiko closes the case and snaps the latches shut. Outside, the cold morning air kisses her breasts. Through the tank top's thin fabric, her dark nipples harden to solid points. She gasps as the cold air assaults her panty-free pussy. Shrugging, she walks toward the rented Ford Taurus. Tomiko parks the car next to a low-slung cinder-block building with a flashing BUD sign on its roof. She goes inside. Purchasing the 9 mm Colt semiautomatic pistol from the less-than-honest gun show merchant is simple. Her very apparent lack of underwear isn't a liability either. Tomiko pops a Gummy Bear in her mouth and floors the Taurus. The car merges into freeway traffic, heading east, toward Utah. A nondescript green station wagon falls in behind. GRU OPERATIONS CENTER, MOSKVA. A bluish spotlight sweeps the grounds next to a glass-encased building known only as "The Aquarium". Tonight, the foreign intelligence organ of the Russian Ministry of Defense is as quiet as the clouds drifting across the quarter moon. A hard-faced sentry lights a cigarette and looks up at the single light glowing in the visibly rundown nine-storey tower. Across the nine-acre grounds, armed security patrols have the authorization to use deadly force to should strangers intrude. THE TWELFTH DIRECTORATE. On the Aquarium's sixth floor, a muscular broad-shouldered man sits in a dark office rocking in a squeaky chair. He flips a switch on a small metal control box. A large wall mounted Plasma television screen flickers then fades to a razor-sharp full color image of a one-room apartment sparsely furnished in tasteless green. Lieutenant General Viktor Yezhov leans forward in his chair to watch. Codenamed Cold Juice, Viktor's eyes dominate his distinctive and manly presence. They're colorless eyes . . . cold eyes . . . a spy's eyes. APARTMENT 27B, GRU OPERATIVE'S HOUSING. A scratchy, warbling rendition of Elvis' "Love Me Tender" drones from an aging three-speed record player. Stretched along one entire green wall are makeup tables and clothes racks jammed with the latest in diva-wear sewn by the classiest designers in Paris, Roma, and America. Dominika's lungs jerk in a sharp involuntary breath as Sveta's hand slides underneath the loose pale blue chopped muscle-shirt she wears. Sveta's gentle touch makes her eyes drift closed. Between her legs, a miniscule pleasure-drop balloons in response to Sveta's soothing all-knowing breast play. Dominika's blood-flow quickens. Every sense seems to bloom with arousal. Nudged by Sveta's fingers, both breasts swell and harden, and then glow warm as the muscle-shirt's coarse fabric and Sveta's soothing strokes stimulate sensitive nerves. "Oh," she gasps, breath catching in her throat. Through the coarsely woven muscle-shirt, the softness of Sveta's lips nibble at her hardened nipple-shaft, nurturing a sensuous wave of instant pleasure. THE TWELFTH DIRECTORATE. Ice cubes tinkle as Viktor swirls a glass of vodka. "Love me tender, love me true," Elvis' romantic voice sings from the TV's speakers. On the control box, he touches a tiny joystick. The TV's image zooms in to a close-up of Dominika's beautiful face framed by a sea of golden hair. Her head twists slowly on a blue throw pillow as Sveta kisses, licks and sucks on a nipple that's protruding through her muscle-shirt. Viktor tilts the image down as Sveta's short blonde hair lifts away. A slight touch eases the picture into a close up of Dominika's thrusting breast. It zooms closer, filling the screen with her nipple and the oval left darkened and wet by Sveta's saliva. APARTMENT 27B, GRU OPERATIVE'S HOUSING. Sveta's pink-glossed lips nibble at the nipple then slide from the cloth-covered breast up to Dominika's neck and come to rest on her sensuous mouth. Tongue-tips touch. Mouths open. Lips squish, rub then furiously attack in a passionate starving embrace. Dominika feels Sveta's hand pushing down the back of her skin-snug black jeans. Her ass clenches to the digging wiggling touch of Sveta's probing finger. A bead of saliva stretches then pops between their stroking tongues. "Hurry babe," Sveta gasps as she sheds her tank top and mashes her cloud-soft breasts against Dominika's back. "God I want it. I'm sooo dripping. I-I gotta have it." "Wait," Dominika pants. "Help me get naked." THE TWELFTH DIRECTORATE. Viktor sips his drink and drums his fingers on his thigh. On the TV screen, Dominika's hands crisscross then lift her pale blue muscle-shirt. Magnificent breasts, crowned with pinkish up thrust nipples burst into view and bore into Viktor's chilly, unblinking eyes. "What a pair of knockers," he whispers. He tilts the image down. A curving leg rises. Sveta unzips her black high-heal boots and pulls them from Dominika's perfectly pedicured feet. Viktor tilts the image up. Dominika's glorious rear, incased in skin-tight black denim, fills the screen. Sveta's fingers loosen Dominika's metal-studded belt. Dominika's curving waist and smooth jutting hips wag from side to side as Sveta tugs on the jeans. "Yes, yes, show me that celebrated ass," Viktor murmurs. Sveta pulls, slowly revealing high mounds of smooth skin, lightly suntanned except for a thin curving Y rising from Dominika's deep depression. Viktor swallows, mesmerized by the mouthwatering mountains he'd fantasized about since first laying eyes on the extraordinary Dominika Patroph. APARTMENT 27B, GRU OPERATIVE'S HOUSING. Dominika's bare feet kick the black jeans away. The hugging heat of Sveta's nakedness sizzles through Dominika's naked skin. Breast-flesh crushes against breast-flesh with the heat and intensity of a solar flare. Hard nipples chafe against harder nipples. Kisses are cautious then suddenly turn feverishly wide and open-mouthed. Dominika's hands slide up and down Sveta's hourglass waist and then push under the waistband of the ripped up scrap of denim she calls her sex-shorts. Sveta's ass-cheeks are all but bare. Between her legs is little but a thick thread-rich crotch seem, scarcely covering tender flesh that aches for Dominika's finger or tongue. Locked in each other's powerful needs, they stumble to the bed. Dominika's fingers unfasten Sveta's waist button. A downward pull on the zipper's metal tab spreads the shorts open. On her cheek, Dominika can feel warmth radiating from the curtain she's just opened. Working her face between Sveta's thighs, she puckers her lips, and then blows aside some threads. She brushes her nose against the thick denim seam covering Sveta's gaping pussy lips. Using her front teeth, she grabs a hunk of denim threads. Sveta squirms, moaning softly as Dominika twists her head and tugs working the shorts down Sveta's smooth thighs and curving legs. Gasping and unable to wait, Sveta pulls the shorts away and clamps her thighs around Dominika's neck. THE TWELFTH DIRECTORATE. Viktor raises his glass and drains the remaining liquor. The TV screen boasts a vivid close up of Sveta's red-tinged pussy. Her labia lips are open, clit out and extended. "Now that's luscious," Viktor chuckles softly to himself. He pans the camera over to Dominika's ass and zooms in to fill the screen with her pinkish sphincter. "Dominika Patroph, I'm curious. Has a penis ever trespassed there?" The image follows Dominika's long yellow-white hair as it descends, teasing at Sveta's inner thighs. With her fingers, Dominika spreads Sveta's fiery lips wide. Her long reddish tongue extends. Sveta's face tightens at the lingering, lethargic pleasure-lick. Viktor clears his throat and reaches for the telephone. APARTMENT 27B, GRU OPERATIVE'S HOUSING. Sveta groans and squirms like a tortured animal, treasuring each of Dominika love-licks far more than any man's lusty cock-thrusts. One hand kneads her own breast while the other slides over the smooth rising slopes of Dominika's bottom. In Sveta's mind, a twang of nervousness materializes. During the Academy's girl-on-girl classes, Dominika hadn't fared well at all. Is she ready for the intimate touch she desperately deserves? Dominika's long pussy-lick explodes the question into oblivion. Against Dominika's tongue, Sveta's pussy feels oil slick and wonderfully warm. Her scent is pleasant, resembling the soft fragrance of French vanilla. Her clitoris is lustfully hard and sensitive to each tender tongue-touch. Dominika gasps as her butt-muscles pucker tight. Sveta's finger runs gently up, then . . . down . . . slowly orbiting . . . THE TWELFTH DIRECTORATE. Viktor gazes, the buzzing phone in hand, his body paralyzed, eyes and ears transfixed on what the two gorgeous women on the TV screen are doing. "Oh ggggod," Dominika breathes. Her hips thrash about at the touch of such a prohibited place. "Love me long, take me to your heart, for its there that I belong." Sveta whispers mimicking Elvis' creamy romantic voice. "Bitchin' so fuckin' bitchin'," Dominika whispers. So wild, so alien is Sveta's finger that her teeth tighten at the tiny ripples of a numbing orgasm. "More-more, deeper, don't stop." "I'll be yours through all the years, till the end of time," Sveta whispers as Elvis sings. Dominika's back arches as Sveta's finger worms around, exciting -- stimulating -- here-to-fore unknown nerves. APARTMENT 27B, GRU OPERATIVE'S HOUSING. Dominika's clit is screaming. "Yes, oh-fuck-yes," Dominika moans. Suddenly nerves ignite fire-fingers. "Yes, oh yesssss," she groans as she thrashes about, relishing in the blasts of orgasm powering their way through her very nucleus. "Now babe, now," Sveta moans. Gasping, Dominika rolls over on her back. Sveta kneels over her face. Dominika opens her mouth wide. Sveta lowers herself slightly. Dominika's lips close over Sveta's entire pussy, slit-top to slit-bottom. Raising her legs, Sveta's finger teases her sphincter then slips inside again. Another enthralling orgasm burns deep in Dominika's trembling body. She curls her tongue around Sveta's clit. The little engorged nub reacts like a shuddering stone. "Holy-fuckin'-a," Sveta groans as her length stiffens from early orgasm. Over Dominika's slurping and sucking sounds, there's a repetitive scratch from the record's soundless groove. Then the telephone rings. A Swallow's Bite Act 02 THE TWELFTH DIRECTORATE. The dark hallway smells of mothballs and stale tobacco smoke. Dominika's boot soles swish softly on worn out carpet. The hallway ends at a slash of light glowing from a half-closed door. She doesn't see the dark form standing in a darker doorway. "Hello?" she calls softly. Silence except for a soft electric buzz from an overhead florescent light. She nervously fingers the I.D. badge that dangles around her neck. "Comrade Lieutenant General? Hello? Is anybody here?" Suddenly a cruel grip snatches her arm from behind and twists it behind her back. She freezes. Cold steel of a gun barrel presses into the soft flesh just below her ear. "Very careless of you Patroph," Viktor whispers in a brusque voice. "Mistakes like that can get you killed." "A thousand pardons, Comrade General. It won't happen again. Will you let me go please?" His large hand drifts up her arm, to her shoulder then slides beneath her coat. Her stomach knots as his hand settles on the underside of her left breast held snug only by a fitted brown cashmere sweater. "Pardon me, Comrade Lieutenant General?" she says in a curt voice. "Why are you touching my breast?" "Your breast?" he says with notable surprise. "These are not your breasts. They are the property of the people of the Soviet Union." His index finger slides the downy material around her rigid nipple. "Do you forget that we are no longer the Soviet Union?" she asks, controlling her temper and nudging his hand away. He smirks. "A mere political technicality. Now-now, Patroph. Don't be mad. Your countrymen pay for you. So don't sneer at me like I've done something I shouldn't." "All for God and Mother Russia?" she mumbles. "Something like that. My office, let's talk." Hip to hip, they walk through the doorway. In his shadowy office, Dominika's eyes snap to the glowing TV screen. She sucks breath through her teeth at the taped image of her twisting face as Sveta's finger invades her most private of places. She glares at him. He shrugs. "My operatives, what they feel and what they do, are my responsibility. It's my job." She takes off her I.D. badge and coat, lays them neatly on a chair and turns to him. "Tell me Comrade General. Does your job give you the right to invade my personal privacy?" He chuckles. "Personal privacy, Comrade Patroph, does not often serve the collective good." "That -- Comrade General, is a left-over socialist ideology that has no business in the new system." Lifting herself by her palms, she sits on the edge of his large mahogany desk. Sensing that his gaze is where it doesn't belong she crosses her legs at her knees. "Now Comrade General, what's so important to call me here in the dead of night?" Viktor picks up a rolled piece of parchment and stands next to her. "To give you this." She unrolls the document and looks at the small green and white ribbon pinned to one corner. "The Za otvagu?" "Yes, an award for your recent act of bravery and valor in the battlefield." "Why Viktor, I'm touched." He gestures with his thumb toward the TV screen. "Yes you are, aren't you?" Dominika cringes at the humiliating scene of her face buried between Sveta's legs. "Comrade Novoshev is quite the enchantress. I liked it when she poked her finger up your ass." "Please Comrade General, switch that damn thing off." With a flick of his finger, the image vanishes. "Patroph, I see a great future for you within the Directorate," he says stroking a curling tumble of flaxen hair and staring into the only thing that he feels surpasses Dominika's ass in raw feminine perfection -- her exquisite and hauntingly mysterious eyes. Her thoughts are far from mysterious. The payback is so obvious. Oh well. What's a quick-fuck with a former communist and KGB stooge like Viktor? Countries have gone to war over less. Shifting her hips, Dominika wiggles her drum-tight brown miniskirt high enough to allow her next move. Raising a leg, she swings it around his hips and scissors his legs between her thighs. "All right Viktor. What should I do? Lie down on your desk and just let you -- go for it?" "Come now Patroph, don't talk like a slut. Now then, it appears that the other night you unwittingly uncovered intelligence of extreme interest to the Kremlin and our friends at the CIA." Dominika cocks her head. "You've discovered Dmitry's motive?" "In part. Intercepted Intel shows that Rostislav sold out to a shadowy Asian unit with connections to al-Gama'at al-Islamiyya forces." Dominika looks puzzled. "al-Gama'at al-Islamiyya forces?" "They're a Muslim extremist organization headquartered in the mountains of Afghanistan." Dominika's eyes widen. "That place is filled with murderers, criminals and terrorists." "Yes. They may live in caves, but the Eleventh Directorate considers al-Gama'at al-Islamiyya dangerous enough to order the planning and execution of a Covert Penetration Operation. They've asked me to select agents to place in the field, primarily Afghanistan. Muslims adore European women and --." "Please Comrade General," she interrupts as her thighs instinctively squeeze his legs, "don't send me to that awful place." His finger pad slides up her thigh and toys with the hem of her leather miniskirt. "Comrade Patroph, to defy a Directorate order is -- treason." The implication sends a cold ripple down Dominika's spine. "Oh no-no Comrade General, I would never refuse a Directorate order." Looking deep in her eyes, Viktor detects no protest as his hand ventures under her skirt. The cool softness of her inner thigh muscles surprises him. The heat coming from the objective doesn't. His intimate touch brings a tiny helpless moan from Dominika's throat. "You never wear under-pants, do you?" "I believe you are already know that, Comrade General." She feels a tightening in her clit as his knuckle brushes over her outer lips. "Does this feel good?" he asks. "Yes Comrade General, you know it does," she murmurs. He moves his finger higher. His eyebrows rise. "What's this?" "Just a three-karat diamond," she whispers, holding her stare. "A vulva piercing?" "Most targets think its -- well -- daring." Her hands move, but she holds her stare rigid, like a lioness on the hunt. Two sweater buttons succumb to her fingers. She tugs the sweater from her skirt's tight waistband. Viktor watches her hand movements and speaks evenly. "Now intelligence has surfaced that al-Gama'at al-Islamiyya forces have received funding and are planning something -- something big." Viktor stares as she parts the sweater bringing her left breast into view, then her right. "How big?" she whispers lightly stroking a nipple with the back of her thumb. "Very big," he mumbles, gaze transfixed on what's just inches from his fingers. "May I?" "Are you asking or ordering?" "That depends on you Patroph." She nods and chews her lip. Viktor cups her left breast. Never has he felt a breast like this. It has the stolidity of stone, yet feels soft as a cotton puff. Its up-tilted nipple hardens then softens as the brush of his thumb triggers sparks in his swelling cock. Dominika's heart bounces then skids to near halt as his finger circles her super-sensitive areola. She squirms slightly as he assaults the nipple's roughness with thumb and finger. Under her skirt, his other fingers push and pinch. He feels her outer pussy-lips contract then ooze slightly wet. She twists, unable to control her clit from springing to attention. Within her body, a searing effervesce demands a response. Instead, she does little but hold her stony stare. His fingernail scratches the underside of a nipple-shaft coaxing out a rash of tiny milk-buds. Both breasts swell and quiver as she lets her body fill with natural stimulus. She raises her arms and rests her wrists on Viktor's broad shoulders. Her fingertips just graze the back of his neck as her unflinching stare fuses on the black dot in the center of cold colorless eyes. "Do you want to fuck me?" Dominika whispers boldly. "Should I want to?" he whispers back. "Most men do." "I'm not most men." Pulling a hand from his shoulder, she rubs his hard erection through his slacks. "I can handle it Viktor," she murmurs. "Can you?" "Don't insult me," he snaps softly. Dominika tugs his neck until she can feel his hot breath on her cheeks. She attacks suddenly with a grinding kiss fueled by fever-like passion. Tongues battle with the gentleness of two bullies in a schoolyard scrap. She finds the roof of his mouth and wiggles her tongue across its rough surface. Mutual breathing quickens. They pull apart. Anxious arms contort. Buttons pop. Buckles unbuckle. Zippers unzip. Shoes land on the floor with two thuds. His trousers and under shorts fall around his ankles and are discarded. As he tugs Dominika's sweater from her arms she appraises his attractive slab-muscles flexing beneath his chest-skin. Her gaze drops south. In the world of cocks, Viktor's is standard issue. Well, she thinks. A girl has to fuck a few frogs before one turns into a prince. Grabbing his hips, she guides Viktor's nakedness back between her thighs. "Ummmm," she moans as her spine stiffens in cadence with each squeeze of her hypersensitive breast-flesh, spawning sparkles of pleasure pangs. Is she responding to my touch? Viktor wonders silently, mesmerized by the rigid softness that graces his fingers. Or -- is she still tender and fantasizing about Sveta's hands? He leans down and brushes his lips across her left nipple. Dominika's mind spins, momentarily irked at her inability to control her swelling breasts and throbbing nipples from relishing his nibbling, suckling lips. Another thought thunders through Viktor's mind. I've seen that magnificent ass. Now it's mine and I'm going to explore every square inch of it with my tongue. His finger probes the back of her miniskirt, teasing her tailbone then the top of her warm crevasse. Dominika's leather belt and metal buckle press against her stomach as he jams his hand down the back of the butt-hugging skirt. She feels his fingers claw at a rigid mound while others gently stroke her flaming pussy-lips. He stops. "What's the matter Comrade General?" "This is -- not -- a good idea," he says in a breathy mumble. "Why?" she whispers, thwarting his escape by tightening her legs around his. "Because." "Is there some rule against the boss screwing the hired help?" "Well, ah." Leaning forward she flicks his tiny nipples with her tongue. He pushes her away. "Control yourself Patroph. Sex in the workplace is not official Directorate business." "Well Viktor," she says her tone suddenly coldly curt. "Let's make it official." Wiggling her hips, she bunches the skirt up around her waist. His gaze focuses on the glint from the gleaming diamond sewn just above her freshly-shaven pussy slit. She folds her fingers around his cock. "Talk business Comrade General," she whispers, moving his foreskin, slowly sliding it up then down. "Business?" "Speak to me Viktor," she says holding her rigid gaze to his eyes. One hand tugs on his buttocks, while the other eases his cock-tip across the diamond. Slowly she drags the tip down the burning blaze below the gemstone. "Tell me about the Eleventh Directorate . . . what are . . .?" Sporadic pleasure shocks shoot up her spine as she forces her pussy lips to open and gobble for his cock-head. She pulls harder on his hipbone. "Dammit Viktor. You're not in me. Scrunch closer and talk about the Eleventh Directorate. Okay, now pushhhh--." Viktor grunts. Dominika moans. "They focus o-on strategic nuclear . . . issues . . ." "And world-wide terrorism threats, correct?" Throwing her head back, both of her hands pull hard, while she rotates and grinds her pussy-mound against his cock-head. "Before he died, Dmitry . . . spoke . . . the English word -- dirt . . . unh, unh, push, yes Viktor, t-there -- uh, uh, ummmm." Her moans are as if every molecule is screaming with demanding want. Natural juices ooze then flood around his pushing penetration. "Ahhhhh," she groans as she forces her inner-lips to grab then suck at his cock-head. "W-what does -- dirt -- mean?" "We don't knowwwww." "Yessss-oh-yessss," she whimpers. His slow probes are igniting pleasure tingles that spread like spider webs across her heaving chest. "What are al-Gama'at al-Islamiyya's objectives?" "We believe . . . they want to control . . ." Holding her eye-stare taut, Dominika slowly guides his hips and cock-shaft deeper into her. "Ummmm, ahhhhh," she moans. "Oh-yes Viktor ohhh yessssss." Her tightness releases. Entry is long and lethargic. Intense mind-muscle control allows Dominika to force her powerful pussy walls to clamp down on command. Wild pleasure-tingles rocket across her clitoris spreading like wildfires through a tinder-dry forest. "Dammit Viktor, don't pump me," she manages to gasp. She gulps, shakes her head to retrieve the cool and level stare. "Stroke me Viktor, easy now, oh-ah-yesss. That's it. Caress my clit. What does al-Gama'at al-Islamiyya want to control?" With a wet slipping sound, Viktor's cock glides backward. "We think . . . oil flow . . . f-from Siberia . . ." He pushes in again. Sheer willpower tightens her cervix around him. "H-how?" she pants. "By force . . . money . . ." Viktor slams in hard. Rashes of gooseflesh crawl across Dominika's boiling breasts. "Or . . . any . . . means to . . . get it, uhhhh" Viktor groans. As if immune to each powerful and authoritative thrust, Dominika's steady stare into Viktor's sex-glossed eyes is unrelenting. For a panting moment, she clamps her thighs around his legs to hold his cock-head just inside. Trained muscles pulse and ripple as she commands her velvet-like inner-core to caress and control. "Talk to me Comrade General. Oh god, don't stop. Tell me-eeeeee e-everything you know." "Chatter . . . uggg . . . and noise level . . . among the . . . . uh-uh-uh . . ." "Deeper Viktor, push, go balls-deep now," she murmurs, her amber eyes boring into his like spinning drills. "C-chatter among Arab militants is . . . is high." Bare skin squeaks as she squirms forward on the desk's mahogany surface to await his next thrust. "How high? Ummmmm." "Eighty per . . . cent above nor . . . mal," he groans driving his cock in anew. Muscles crimp tight as Dominika fights off an overwhelming impulse to let orgasm rule. Viktor slams into her. Sex-shocks race from her clit to her scalp, then roar down her legs, into her knee-high boots and consume her tightly curled toes. "More Viktor, more," she demands over the thump-thump of her boot heals hitting the desk front. "Stroke me, love my clit. Make me burn." "Like this?" he groans, shoving in hard. "Oh-god . . . that feels so . . . gooooood," she whimpers as he withdraws. "N-noise . . . level . . . believability rating?" she huffs, rocking back and forth so his cock rubs every inch of her blazing pussy-walls. Her hands close about his thrusting waist. She yanks. The slamming stroke nearly throws her insides into orgasmic fits. "Eleventh Directorate analysis," his face tightens, "rates noise level at . . . F-6." Dominika abruptly jerks him with all her strength. Penetration is so sudden, so intense, so deep, that breath bursts from her lungs. Quickly, she regains composure. "F-6 is un-unknown re-liability?" "D-dubious at best," he mumbles as his teeth gnaw at her bare shoulder. Hands grab a taunt breast. "Ah-ohhhhhh," she moans, repressing a scream at the hostile, pinching and rolling attack on an inflamed nipple. She swallows hard, accepting the pain, telling her brain that pain will explode into pleasure in moments. "Source q-quality?" "Un . . . certain." "More-more-oh-god more!" She widens her legs. "Dammit Viktor, can't you fuck me fucking harder?" "Like this?" His cock rips across her clit. "God-yes-oh-yes! Now faster, faster. Uh, uh, uh, uh. Fill me fill me!" She pauses, gasping for breath. Her eyes settle on his. "Funding sources?" "We suspect -- a -- wealthy -- Japanese -- called -- Niguri," he grunts, speaking each word with each successive drive. "He -- may have -- strong -- Yakuza connections." "Ya-ku-za?" she whispers keeping her stare cemented to his. Her fingernails dig into his shoulders as he eases his cock out. "The . . . Japanese . . . Mafia? They're ruth . . . lessssss." "Yes." His hips thrust forward like a hydraulic ram. He pants to the sounds of moist squishes and sucks, increasing in an ever-quickening frenzy. "Analysis . . . of . . . competitive . . . hypotheses?" "In . . . conclusive." She shakes off another powerful urge to orgasm. "Conclusions?" Suddenly, it's like gasoline thrown on a piece of glowing coal. With a throaty groan, Viktor grips Dominika fiercely about her butt-mounds, lifting her from the desk, pinning her, furiously jerking his cock over her clit, his hips thrusting back and forth, faster and faster, faster -- faster -- deeper -- deeper -- deeper. Dominika's orgasm begins with a soft enraptured moan. With her amber eyes glued to his, she feels him expand and spasm. Her first is like a tingling feather. Her second rips through her entire body as if her blood burns with the scarlet heat of sun-center. His pre-cum grunt is guttural and sharp. She can hold that stare no longer. Her eyes drift closed. She heaves her torso like a twisting snake. Resembling a powerful yet eloquent mechanism, she forces her cervix to close around him. Muscles fuse. Nerve endings spark like shorted wires. Viktor's guttural groan nearly rattles the walls. He feels his cock explode. Inside, Dominika feels the first warm gush. It's soft, like a pleasing, numbing injection of a wonderful narcotic. Subsequent squirts are like a milky mist spreading throughout her fiery insides capturing each nerve ending deep within each breast. In an instant, a swelling wave of blissful pleasure rolls then crashes, inundating Dominika's inner senses with the feel of pleasure soothed by liquid flaming metal. Winded and semi satisfied, Dominika slides her arms around Viktor's waist and revolves him slowly. Self-discipline and rigorous practice enables her to command her cervix and inner walls to cling to a cock at will. She opens her eyes and renews that constant stare. "Thank you Comrade General," she says in a nearly breathless voice. His breath slows. "Is that all?" "No." She hooks her ankles together and hugs his thighs with hers'. "You were discussing conclusions." She moves her abdomen slightly, flexing and rippling her love-muscles to suck for his last milky globule. "How good you feel, Dominika Nedel'ka Patroph. Not only do you have the perfect ass, you are one incredible piece of ass." "I'm flattered Comrade General." She walks her butt-cheeks backward. With a small sucking sound, he pops out. "Flattered? Is that all you can say Patroph?" "Don't look so glum, Comrade General," she says rocking to-and-fro to wiggle the miniskirt over her hips and upper thighs. "My orgasm was quite real and reasonably enjoyable. Now, what of these conclusions?" Dominika watches him gather his clothing. "There's insufficient data to allow any conclusions as yet." "Speculations then?" she says, slipping her arms into her sweater. "We know that one of their most trusted operatives, a young Japanese woman by the name of T. Kasawara, is on the move. She landed yesterday in the United States." "Fascinating. But why Amerika?" He shrugs. Dominika's mind whirls as she watches him step into his boxers, then his trousers. The GRU is a man's world. The chance for a Swallow to advance beyond fuck-toy status is rare. Intuition says another opportunity is knocking. All she has to do is pick the lock and open the door. She slides off the desk and smoothes her skirt over her butt-curves. Honed instincts say that naked boobs keep even a spymaster like Viktor off balance. So leave the sweater open. She crosses the room to where Viktor is tying his shoes. A Swallow's Bite Act 02 "Comrade General. It is my fear that grave danger looms for Mother Russia. After Vladivostok, Dmitry hinted that he had uncovered Intel about a secret Asian organization who's investing heavily in some of our oil fields." Viktor glances at her. "Then Dmitry goes over to the other side. Before his sudden demise, Rostislav mumbled two words in what sounded like English. Durr and tee. That can only mean -- dirty -- and that can only mean one thing -- dirty bomb. The logical conclusion is that al-Gama'at al-Islamiyya has obtained a nuclear device and will not hesitate to use it to achieve its ultimate goals." Viktor's steely eyes rise from his shoes, pause on her breasts, and then with some effort lift to her face. "Your conclusions are quite correct Patroph." Dominika's eyebrows rise. "Do know this to be factual?" "We're certain of it. Because you see, Dmitry Rostislav stole at least six atomic devices from us and smuggled them to Afghanistan." "For what purpose?" "Solve that mystery and you'll win a cookie. Patroph, what I'm about to tell you must not leave this room, understood?" "Of course." "These aren't just dirty bombs. They're codenamed Cobra Fangs. The devices contain extremely powerful plastiqué explosive. After the initial blast, there's a secondary explosion that expels clouds of the highly radioactive element plutonium 557." As he'd spoke, Dominika felt a fine sheen of sweat appear on her skin. "Go on." "Intercepted chatter has indicated that Rostislav's black operation was possibly a dry-run. We believe that al-Gama'at al-Islamiyya moles will infiltrate and plant the devices within the Russian Federation, perhaps even the Kremlin, possibly this very building." Dominika rolls her eyes. "I'm moving to another country." Viktor chuckles. "That's not very brave Patroph. Now then, our penetration efforts will be codenamed Quick Fix. I will go to Afghanistan, and you Patroph, will . . ." "Hold on Comrade General. I'm puzzled. If the target is the Motherland as you say, for what purpose does this T. Kasawara travel to Amerika?" "As a decoy, obviously." "A decoy? I wonder." "Use your head Patroph. The Yakuza never deploy a woman to do a man's job." "With all due respect Comrade General, I suspect Kasawara is more than a decoy. The Yakuza modeled themselves after the Sicilian Mafia and use threats and extortion to achieve their ends. If they're financing Arab militants, the danger is very real. I am now a Hard Man and wear the Za otvagu. If it pleases the Directorate, deploy me to Amerika. There, I will find this T. Kasawara, and interrogate her." He thinks for a moment. "Petroph, how old are you?" "Twenty-two. Why?" "Could you kill the Kasawara woman?" "Ask Dmitry Rostislav." "He's dead." "Need I say more?" He nods. "I get your point. If so ordered, how would you carry out the task?" "Cleverly." "How cleverly?" She shrugs. "I like grotesque accidents, the more grotesque the better." His eyebrows rise. "That's pretty gutsy." "I am gutsy." "Arrogant too. I like that in an operative." Dominika puckers her lips and blows him a kiss. "When do I depart?" AFGHANISTAN, 73 MILES NORTH OF JALALABAD. Pinnacles of treeless peaks scratch the cobalt sky. A battered beige Nissan pickup chews its way along a rutted rocky road. An Afghan tribesman is at the wheel. Yakamitsu Niguri sits in the passenger seat. Without warning, there's an ear-splitting thud and blinding yellow fire-flash obliterating the vehicle and its occupants. The blast's echo Ping-Pongs between the stark mountain peaks. THE RUSSIAN EMBASSY, WASHINGTON D.C. Slants of dusty sunlight rake across the stuffy office. In one corner stands a red bag of golf clubs vigilantly guarded by a huge portrait of President Vladimir Putin. "Welcome to America Miss Patroph," the dark-suited Russian says, his gaze falling from her face to her shoes and back. "Thank you Mister Assistant Ambassador." "Here, let me take your coat." He slips the coat from her shoulders. "Oh and please, call me Boris." In a smooth motion, Dominika lowers herself into a straight-backed chair fronting his desk. She pauses to let the mystery settle then crosses her legs at the knees. She smiles at his faint but oh-so-predictable reaction. Her hip-hugging royal blue micro-skirt, the tightly tailored gray sweater and smartly cut jacket all emit a mix of feminine directness and just enough subtle sexiness to milk Intel from a stodgy Russian bureaucrat with a butt is as broad as a bench. "How is Viktor?" he asks taking a seat behind his desk. "He is well. He sends his best." "Viktor and his team have always been respected and liked in the Kremlin." "We try to please. Shall we get down to business?" "Of course. According to the latest field report, CIA surveillance teams have tracked the Kasawara woman to Utah." "Can you be more precise?" He slides a manila folder across the desk. "This is a summary of the CIA's surveillance activities. As of nine this morning, they've trailed her to a ski lodge in the mountains east of Salt Lake City. Moscow has told me nothing. Perhaps you can tell me why there's such intense interest in this young Japanese national?" "I could, but then --." His lips form a tight O. He slides a piece of paper across his desk. "This just came for you by encrypted text message." She looks at the typewritten note. To Gypsy Danger: Urgent Commo Fr Busy Bikini ref Quick Fix|Be at Stargate Hotel | Rm712|tonight | eighteen-one-five-zulu | end. "What is this all about Miss Patroph?" "Just routine, Mister Ambassador." "GRU operations are never routine. T. Kasawara must be big game." "Do you have anything else for me?" "Only that the CIA has advised me that unless we can show tangible proof that the Kasawara woman is a threat to U.S. interests, their agents will abandon surveillance in 24 hours." Dominika nods. "That's enough time for me to get to Utah and interrogate her." His eyes narrow. "Heed my warning, Miss Patroph. It is Kremlin policy that we maintain good relations with our former Cold War adversaries. GRU operatives do not enjoy diplomatic immunity here. Therefore, be cautious while operating in America." "Sir, I am a trained penetration agent of the Twelfth Directorate. I am fully aware of such matters." "Penetration agent? Ha, you are a Swallow." "Yes, and I do my job with great pride and finesse. Thank you for your time, Mister Ambassador." Dominika watches his hopeful gaze drop as she prepares to stand. "I'll see myself out." Giving him another treat serves no purpose. She turns and walks toward the door. "Nice ass Patroph." She stops. Coddling up to do-nothing chauvinistic bureaucrats has no place in Dominika's programming. She turns around. "Correction Mister Ambassador. I don't have a nice ass, I have the perfect ass." Her directness visibly takes him aback for a moment. He rises to his feet and smiles. "You'll have to show it to me sometime." "I will. But, I also remind you that I speak four languages without accent, have been awarded the Za otvagu for bravery and scored a nine-point-seven-five on the GRU's field test for marksmanship." He raises and lowers his shoulders. "Such things mean nothing here. So see that that perfect ass stays out of trouble. If there is any, this Embassy will deny any knowledge of you or your operations. Is that clear?" "Perfectly clear." "Do svi danya." She smiles at him. "Do svi danya," and go stick your dick in a fucking lawnmower, she adds mentally. THE STARGATE HOTEL, ROOM 712, WASHINGTON D.C. Raindrops trickle down the wide window overlooking the darkening Washington skyline. On a bedside table, the luminous face of the digital clock reads 8:10PM. Dominika nervously flips the pages of Glamour Magazine. The ring of the phone freezes her fingers. She lifts the receiver to her ear. "Hello?" "Dom darling how are you?" Sveta says in English over the scratchy, hissing long-distance phone noise. "Sveta? Where the hell are you?" "Afghanistan. Viktor shanghaied me. Boy, you must have fucked him but-good 'cause you're in a posh hotel room while I'm shivering in a cold cave with a disgusting Afghan who stinks worse than his camel and the camel's got a better disposition." "Fun and adventure is why you joined the GRU darling. So what's this urgent commo?" "The Niguri threat is neutralized. Cold Juice did the nasty." "Was my Object of Interest as we suspected?" "Right up her Yakuza asshole. Now cherish this Intel babe, 'cause to get it, I had to let my pet Afghan strip me down, tie me up, and piss in my face." Dominika laughs. "Talk about a funky bacterial bath. Did his camel get to watch?" "I'm in the butt-hole of the world and you're trying to be humorous? These cave dwellers are dorks. Hell, they'd snitch on their own friggin' mothers for a hunk of ass. I managed to milk this hot Intel out of my pet Afghan. al-Gama'at al-Islamiyya is financed by the Yakuza. They've organized a sleeper cell somewhere in Utah and they're alarm clock is about to go off." "Strength?" "About six hard-core and an undetermined number of sympathizers. The objective is Uncle Sugar, repeat Uncle Sugar." "When? Where? Detailed specifics?" "Precise target's unknown. All my pet Afghan would say that the nasty will go down somewhere in America, possibly Utah, Texas or Louisiana. Now here's the kick in the rump. They've smuggled in unknown numbers of Cobra Fangs and your Object of Interest might, repeat MIGHT just hold the match." Suddenly, there's a sick feeling in the pit of Dominika's stomach. "CIA assistance?" "They bail as of zero-nine-hundred Zulu tomorrow. So I'm afraid you're on your own doll." "Cold Juice?" "Gone missing." "Missing?" "Yup, he vanished right after blowing Niguri to smithereens. That's why the lights in the Aquarium are burning all night and I'm sweating sheep-shit. Now this is direct from Iron Hand. You're the only GRU agent in country. They figure there's 3 days to neutralize al-Gama'at al-Islamiyya's American operation. They're paranoid about you being a woman. They're demanding to know if you have the balls to handle it." Dominika is stunned. She feels a trickle of excitement too. Somehow, pull this off, and who knows where a girl's espionage career might go. "Dom? Dom -- are you there?" "I'm here. Sveta. Commo these precise words to Iron Hand. Gypsy Danger may not have balls but DANGER is my fucking name. Therefore failure is not a fucking option." "Dom, you do know who you're talking to, don't you?" "I know exactly who I'm talking to. And Sveta, commo the Aquarium. Advise com-center to keep the emergency phone and text messaging active, 24/7." "Check. Holy shit-bucket he's comin'. Gotta go. Do svi danya and good luck sssssss . . ." The hiss turns into a crackle then sputters into distant static. As she returns the phone to its cradle, reality strikes like a hot branding iron on tender flesh. Viktor's been captured and maybe killed. Now Iron Hand has dumped a major international operation right into the center of her lap. She looks at the digital clock. The red-eye to Salt Lake City leaves in 30 minutes. MID-MOUNTAIN WARMING HUT, CEDAR VALLEY SKI RESORT, UTAH. Pale morning sun shines through a veil of white that promises new snow by nightfall. Dominika grinds her snowboard to a skidding stop. A large man, face hidden under a black balaclava, tips the top of is head toward a doorway marked WOMEN. As Dominika releases her boots from the snowboard, he hangs an Out of Order sign on the door. He scratches his ear. She returns the signal. He skis off. Inside the public toilet, Dominika's ski boots clunk on the cold cement floor. It's empty except for a pair of legs visible below the door of the third stall. She tenses her shoulder muscles to prepare them for impact. In one swift motion, the door explodes. Dominika twists Tomiko from the toilet seat, wrenching the stunned girl to her knees. "Good afternoon Miss Kasawara," she growls into Tomiko's ear. "President Vladimir Putin sends his greetings." Grabbing a handful of hair, she forces Tomiko's head just above the toilet bowl. "Now you and I are going to have a nice friendly chat." With a powerful push, Dominika shoves Tomiko's face into the piss-filled toilet bowl. "They know about you in Moscow and Washington. We know about your sleeper cell, your Yakuza pals, the dirty bomb, all of it." Dominika jerks Tomiko's head out. She coughs up a mouthful of yellowish piss-water. "Your little plot fizzled. Now we need to know where you've planted those atomic devices." "I ain't tellin' you nothin'," she gurgles, kicking and wrenching trying to squirm away. "I'd rethink that stance Miss Kasawara. Your boy Niguri got his ass captured by our agents in Afghanistan. Now unless they hear from me in twenty minutes, they'll start cutting off his fingers, one by one. When they run out of fingers, they'll a take a pair of pliers and twist out his tongue." Gripping her by the ears, Dominika shoves Tomiko's nose and mouth in again then yanks her out. "Am I getting through?" Vomit explodes from Tomiko's mouth. "You're bluffing," she whimpers through dribbles of coughed up puke and piss. "Bluffing? Oh how you misjudge me." Dominika pushes on the back of her head. Tomiko's nose bends against the edge of the bowl. "GRU agents have no code of ethics. We NEVER bluff. You see, I specialize in disfigurement. Fuck with me and I'll pour sulfuric acid into your eye sockets. While acid turns your eyeballs into sizzling goop, I'll smash your knees with a pipe wrench. You'll be blind and crippled for life. Get the picture?" "Yeah-yeah, wide screen Technicolor." "Good. Now where have you planted those bombs?" An arm comes out of nowhere and clamps tight around Dominika's mouth. An ice-cold knife blade touches her neck threatening the tender skin just below her jaw. "Let her go," a man's voice growls just above a whisper. "Nice and easy now, Blondie." With no choice and no options, Dominika releases her hold. She makes a quick assessment of the enemy. He's large, well muscled, mean-faced and of Arab descent. Quick conclusion: If his IQ was six points higher, he could be a plant. "Mister, whatever she's paying you, we'll double it." "Shut up," he snaps. "Listen mister, if I don't contact my people in Afghanistan in ten minutes, your boss Niguri is dead meat." "Bring her," Tomiko says as she jerks her pants up. "She can make the call from my room." The Arab muscle nods. He grabs a fistful of toilet paper, stuffs it into Dominika's mouth and covers her head with a balaclava. "Okay Blondie, move." Dominika moves. ROOM 102, CEDAR VALLEY LODGE, 10 MINUTES LATER. "Narmani. Kagdah? Da-da, Niguri kanyeshna, da-da, niet. Kak dolgah? Da vai. Do svid Aniya." Dominika hangs up the phone. "Okay, that buys you four hours. Now what?" "Park your butt in that chair and keep your yap shut," Tomiko snaps. She nods at the Arab. He opens the door and leaves the two women alone. UTAH STRATEGIC PETROLEUM RESERVE REPOSITORY. An ice-foggy night settles over the Great Salt Lake Basin. A large canvas-covered truck turns into a back road leading to a sprawling complex of warehouses and dozens of massive pumping stations. Below, bored deep in the earth, are underground salt caverns filled to capacity with millions of barrels of crude oil. In the back of the vehicle are five hardened faces -- Arab faces. Between their feet are several oblong boxes made of shiny aluminum. Headlights sweep across an armed sentry as he steps from a red-striped guard shack. Brakes squeak as the truck stops. "Siphon extractor-pump delivery for Station 69," the truck's driver calls down from the cab. "Here's the paperwork." The truck drives through a vast zigzagging maze of gleaming silver pipes, huge valves and silent spigots. There's a beep-beep-beep as the heavy vehicle backs up to a half-circular structure built from concrete. A solid steel rollup door keeps out unwanted intruders. Above, a sign reads: PUMPING STATION 69 RESTRICTED AREA ABSOLUTELY NO SMOKING Five dark figures swing down from the truck and begin unloading their dangerous and deadly cargo. ROOM 102, CEDAR VALLEY LODGE. Flickering fire-flames dance on wood-hewn walls. Dominika leans against the back of a sofa. Tomiko paces. Both stare at each other like predators sizing up pray. She's small and probably not very strong, Dominika thinks. Jump her? The semiautomatic in Tomiko's hand rejects that idea. Suddenly Tomiko whirls around and slams her closed fist into Dominika's belly. Her rock-hard abdominal muscles accept the blow without objection. "That's for shoving my face in piss-water," she growls shoving the gun to Dominika's cheek. "I ought to shoot you fuckin' dead." "Do that and you kiss your boss's ass goodbye." "That's the only thing keeping you breathing. I'm gonna change. You stay put." In a few minutes, Tomiko comes out of the bedroom dressed in a scrap of black latex that poses as a miniskirt and a white blouse held closed only by one button. She jams her feet into a pair of black patient leather come-fuck-me boots. The phone rings once and goes silent. Tomiko tosses a plastic shopping bag toward Dominika. "Put these on. Then get in the bathroom and make yourself all pretty-pretty." SAFE HOUSE, CEDAR VALLEY, FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER. Snow showers sprinkle from the charcoal sky. A black SUV pulls into a circular driveway and stops near the front door of a large mansion. Tomiko and Dominika get out and go inside. "That way," Tomiko says pressing the revolver's business end into Dominika's tailbone. They go through a double door. Wisps of warm steam rise from a bluish indoor pool. Next to a bubbling Jacuzzi is a bar. A man is perched on a swivel stool with his back to them. He turns around. Dominika's jaw drops on an indrawn gasp. "Viktor?" "Hello Patroph." "Mother of God, what are you doing here?" "Being a traitor," he says with a shrug and a cold smirk. Dominika's heart thuds. Now, I have a madman on my hands. A Swallow's Bite Act 03 THE SAFE HOUSE, CEDAR VALLEY UTAH. Dominika's heart thuds then races at double-speed. First Dmitry and now Viktor? The weight on her shoulders feels like a ten-ton anvil. What immense evil has the power to turn intensely loyal Russians into rotten rat-fuckers? Fear suddenly numbs her limbs. She'd pledged to neutralize al-Gama'at al-Islamiyya's American operations directly to Iron Hand -- the Kremlin. Failure means death or a miserable future as a forgotten number in a frozen labor camp that no one knows exists. Such a cock-tease she is, Viktor is thinking as he scans Dominika from head to toe. Look at her. Those perfect breasts are held by nothing but a tight beige turtleneck sweater. Those tan corduroy pants hug her curves like sausage casing. And that sexy silver waist chain tinkles as the free end bounces on her perfect ass as she walks. Too bad, she has to die. Viktor looks at Tomiko and gives her outfit equal appraisal. "All right ladies. Let the game begin." "With pleasure," Tomiko says. She swings her gaze toward Dominika. "You will cooperate, won't you? Dominika's stare is steady. "Do I have a choice?" "No," Tomiko says, her stare just as steadfast. "This way Gypsy Danger." All three walk toward the Jacuzzi. Dominika ponders the two people at her side. Although Tomiko's grip on her upper arm is surprisingly strong for a small girl, she can't be the brains behind an international terror attack. Well, whatever brainsick behavior they've planned, there's no choice but to play ball and find out what they're up to. There's always solutions, always hope. They reach the Jacuzzi's tiled edge. "I forgot my swimsuit," Dominika says dryly. A bantam smile washes over Tomiko's face. "You won't need one. All right Viktor. I said I'd deliver a night you'd remember. So watch and enjoy." Tomiko gradually immerses one patient leather boot into the foamy water and then the other. As she steps down the submerged stairs, water rises past her boot tops and creeps up her thighs teasing at the hem of her skirt. Swirling bubbles rise as she reclines into the tummy-deep Jacuzzi. Viktor grins, watching her body's S curve become a silhouette against the bluish glow of the underwater light. On her face is a look of sexual bewitchment, as if the delights of a pleasurable orgasm are consuming her. Viktor looks at Dominika. "Okay Patroph. Your turn." "Viktor, I'm not going in there fully dressed." He smiles. "Oh yes you are." "With all due respect Comrade General, kiss my fucking ass." "Patroph, don't make me force you. It'll hurt too much." She shrugs and wets her lips, her sixth sense saying that a good performance might present the chance to catch them with their guard down. Slowly Dominika lowers one foot onto the underwater stair. Warm water seeps through the boots and around her toes. "What's it feel like Patroph?" Viktor asks with a lusty gleam in his eye. "It feels, well -- wet." "Where? Between your legs?" "Viktor, what kind of nut-job are you?" Glancing between the two of them, Viktor's look is that of a hungry tomcat inside a fish store. "Take another step Patroph." She shrugs and does so. Water darkens the tan cords as it rises toward her knees, flooding the Italian-made boots zipped tight against her calves. "Another." Thigh deep, Dominika looks at Viktor. "Am I supposed to like this?" "It feels good, doesn't it?" Viktor says softly. "I guess it feels well kind'a, well, different." She wades over and sits on the pool's tiled edge. Raising a leg, she looks at the water falling from the glistening boot-leather. "Mind telling me what the point of this is?" "The point is between Viktor's legs," Tomiko says as she lifts a leg out of the bubbling water. "I told Viktor that getting wet in my clothes always makes my pussy sizzle. When I got boots on, it makes me so horny that I can't wait to be fucked. He said prove it. Well Viktor? Wet some threads too. I have big plans for that luscious cock of yours. Get your ass over here Patroph." Dominika wades over to Tomiko. She stands and parks her gaze in Dominika's eyes. "Gypsy Danger, when it comes too fucking, Viktor tells me that among the Swallows, you're the best of the very best. So we're gonna find out just how good you are." "How?" Dominika asks. "By seducing Viktor." Dominika doesn't even blink. "Okay, Gypsy Danger, Mz. Sex-spy extraordinaire. Put that fine body to work. You got one minute to take your best shot." For a moment, their stares are two crossed swords locked in battle. "Fair warning, bitch," Dominika mutters. "I never lose." "Fair warning, bitch, I never lose 'cause I don't play fair." Dominika turns away from Tomiko. "All right Viktor. I'll play your little perverted game. Watch very carefully." Using slow purposeful steps, she wades deeper. Percolating bubbles rise toward the wide camel-toe V between Dominika's legs. "Viktor," she whispers, "it's -- ummmm -- warm water's soaking around my pussy now. You know I loathe wearing panties. Ahhh, now I can feel it seeping in and around my hot pussy-lips. Do you like the waist chain? See the way it teases my ass? You fantasize about fucking my ass don't you?" Viktor stares mesmerized as Dominika lowers herself enough so that the water flows past her thick belt and then up, meeting the silver chain that surrounds her bare and slender waist. Water inundates the fuzzy brown turtleneck and flows around her breasts. She leans back and rises slightly so they stick up like two brownish islands in the middle of a lake. Closing her eyes, she delicately scratches her nipple-tips with her fingernails. "Is your cock throbbing yet?" she whispers. "Come here and I'll suck on your testicles. Think of your cock buried deep in my throat. I'll swallow your cum. You'd like that, wouldn't you Viktor?" "Time's up," Tomiko says with a giggle. "Gypsy Danger, you'd better consider taking up plumbing because that was about as sexy as a bowl of week-old milk-toast." Dominika's temper sizzles. If she had a tire-iron, she'd bash that little bitch's brains in. Viktor's attention swings to Tomiko. With delicate fanfare, she works her skirt up around her hips. Her long-nailed fingers drag her black lace thong up and down coaxing her red-tinged pussy lips open. She turns around and slips the thong out of her wide crevasse. Leaning against the tiled edge, she raises her legs and slips the panties off her dripping boots. "My pussy needs you Viktor," she whispers, slowly sliding one finger across her bald lips. Her other hand lifts a breast under her translucent top. "I'm so horny my pussy is sizzling. My titties are hard and ache for your mouth." Dominika wades between them. "Forget this little bitch Viktor," she murmurs kneading her breasts through the soaked turtleneck. "Sure, you've fucked me before. But this time I promise it'll be like nothing you've ever felt." Viktor's stare drifts from Dominika's sultry eyes to her wet heaving breasts then to the sudsy waterfall cascading from Tomiko's creamy curves. Sloshing behind Tomiko, Dominika rubs her hand along Tomiko's board-flat butt then teases her pussy by slowly dragging a finger upward. "Mmmmm, Gypsy baby," Tomiko shudders. "You know how to make a girl feel good. But you're no match for me." Bending slightly, she spreads her ass-cheeks with her hands and looks over her shoulder. "Hey Viktor, if your beautiful cock's hard enough you can fuck me in my ass." Viktor chuckles. "Ha. I just might call your bluff." "It's no bluff. My asshole is virgin." "Mine isn't," Dominika murmurs softly, running her finger up and down Tomiko's wide crevasse. "Viktor, Tomiko's ass is like a flat tire." "I ought to slug you for that," Tomiko snaps. "Don't squabble," Viktor says. Dominika places her hands on Tomiko's hips and eases her around to face her. "Easy now, Tomiko. Let's both try and enjoy this." She leans toward Tomiko's sadly small breasts, barely cloaked by very see-through nylon. Tomiko's soft skin depresses as Dominika places a kiss just above each nipple. Forming an O with her mouth, Dominika sucks Tomiko's entire left nipple into her mouth through the blouse. In response, Tomiko throws her head back and moans softly. Dominika's slow side-to-side tongue motions harden Tomiko's nipple like a bullet. "Milk me Gypsy Danger," Tomiko moans as she runs fingernails through Dominika's long blonde hair. "Suck me hard. Chew on my blouse. Oh-hot-damn, nipple-sucking feels so-so fucking good." This is like being in a holy shrine, Viktor is thinking as he stares down at the gleaming wet corduroy stretched across Dominika's butt-mounds. Putin should erect a monument to Patroph's perfect ass . . . and that metal chain, that sexy metal chain. Tomiko pulls her breast from Dominika's mouth. She giggles as she sinks and rolls over in the water like a playful dolphin. Raising her butt above the surface, she spreads her cheeks with her hands. "See Viktor, I'm wide open and waiting for your big hot cock." Dominika rolls her eyes at Tomiko's brash gutter-slut vulgarity. She looks at Viktor. "Viktor, I don't think you're man enough for a butt-fuck." Viktor's face goes tight. "If we were in Moscow Patroph, you'd choke on those words when I force them down your gullet." "Come here," Tomiko whispers. "Let us strip you naked." Viktor's shoes and trousers accept the warm water with slight sloshing sounds. Tomiko's painted fingernails dance over her swollen nipples, partly submerged in swirling bubbles. Water cascades down her leg as she raises it. She slides her hands down her leg and starts unzipping her right boot. "Stop that," Viktor snaps. "Patroph, get on your knees." "What for?" "Do as you're told. Okay Patroph, you went to sex school. I want to see you lick her boots. Lick the water off. Kiss her virgin asshole. Put your tongue in her. I dare you." A sultry smile forms on Dominika's lips. "Mmmmm, I think I like the sound of that. How about you Tomiko?" "I never pass up a dare," she says smiling a vixen-like smile. Viktor looks at Dominika. "You'd do anything for pleasure, wouldn't you Patroph?" "I am a loyal Russian, which is more than I can say for you." "I've become a capitalist," Viktor chuckles. Tomiko dunks her boot into the water then swings her leg toward Dominika's face. "Okay Gypsy Danger, how about a little sole food?" Dominika hesitates. Why should I give mouth-to-mouth to a fuckin' boot for this demented Japanese and a Russian rat-fucker who's betrayed his country? Viktor roughly shoves her head toward the boot. "Get busy boot-lick. Chew fucking leather." Although the insult jolts Dominika's core, there's no choice but to capitulate. She grips Tomiko's boot by the heel. Starting at the pointed toe, she extends her tongue and licks the shiny surface. Through the flooded boot leather, Dominika feels Tomiko's toes wiggle. Slowly she works her way up the front, licking and nibbling with each advancing move. Although barely palatable, wet leather has a nice fragrance and feels cool and smooth against her tongue. "Harder," Tomiko pants. "Lick harder. Make me feel your tongue." Using her teeth, Dominika grabs on to the zipper tab and slides it down an inch. She wiggles her tongue between the freed leather, her tongue-tip tickling at the sensitive skin behind Tomiko's knee. "Ah-ooooo-ahhh," Tomiko says on indrawn gasps. "That's what I call licking." Dominika advances up her thigh, planting little tooth-nips on Tomiko's glistening skin. Tomiko settles back in the water, kneading her breasts with her hands, eyes and face looking as if she's lost in a hypnotic trance. "Roll over," Dominika whispers. Extending her tongue, she traces the half-circles where Tomiko's butt-muscles slope out from her legs. Tomiko's twin cheeks quiver as Dominika's lips glide over her smooth bottom. Behind her, Viktor's breath is fast and heavy. Through her submerged cords, Dominika feels her pussy contract as Viktor's hands toy with the dangling chain. She smiles as he squeezes her butt-cheeks, feeling, exploring the leading light of his wet dreams. His thumb drifts down and pushes at the tight center-seam. His exploring hand slides between her legs. Through the cords, she feels his fingers claw her pussy. Although imprisoned in the soaked material, she can feel her natural juices ooze like a ruptured honeycomb. Dominika's naturally seductive smile remains on her lips. He's feeling for that little stone. S.P.R. REPOSITORY, PUMPING STATION 69. Flashlight beams slice the cavernous darkness. The large chamber is a maze of red valves, silver pipes and monitoring stations with pressure gauges and glowing lights. Silhouetted figures cart in one of the heavy aluminum containers. Each footfall echoes like a scream in the night. A bearded man motions with his hand. Others set the container on the oil-coated cement. The bearded man opens a small door. He flicks a toggle switch on a control panel. The numerals 4:00:00 glow green in the darkness. His fingers turn a rotary switch from SAFETY ON to the "ARM WEAPON" position. He flicks a toggle switch labeled TIMER. A red light begins to blink and the mechanism begins to tick. The digital readout blinks: 3:59:59, 3:59:58, 3:59:57, 3:59:56 . . . THE SAFE HOUSE. "Oh yes Viktor," Dominika murmurs, her senses firmly overpowered, mind unable to prevent her pelvic muscles from convulsing to each of his leisurely finger strokes. "Don't stop. oh-yessssssss, touch me thereeeeeeee." A foot away Tomiko is laying tummy down on the underwater step. As Dominika's focus rivets to Tomiko's butt-skin and the little water rivers that slosh in -- out -- and around . . . she begins to plot and plan. Sexually befriending this little bitch just might be the way to beat her at her own game. Scrunching forward, Dominika brushes each glossy muscle-mound with her nose. Tomiko's spine arches as Dominika blows bubbles into the small pool gathered in and around her crevasse. Tomiko raises her hips slightly, allowing Dominika's licking tongue to circle the outer edges of her puckered sphincter. Kittenish whimpers compliment each diminutive kiss. Inside Dominika, the Bl'adovat' Interdisciplinary Academy's relentless training kicks into high gear. Using her tongue-tip, she probes, swabs and caresses Tomiko's ass making her shudder in pleasure. Dominika lifts her face from Tomiko's bottom and smiles into her smoky aroused eyes. "Ummmm," Tomiko purrs. "No one's ever kissed my ass like that before." "No one's quite hated you as much before." Dominika blows her a kiss. Tomiko looks mystified for a second. Viktor reaches around and shoves his hand under Dominika's turtleneck. He finds her dripping breast warm and hard. Air sucks through her teeth as he twists the stiff nipple. "Get on your back Tomiko," is his mumbled order. There's a little splash as Tomiko complies. With his other hand, he pushes Dominika's head toward the soft, yet yielding thickness of Tomiko's reddened, water-washed pussy. "Suck on it Patroph," Viktor demands. "Her clit?" "No, you idiot." He yanks Dominika's shoulders jerking her to a seated position. Grabbing Tomiko's leg, he shoves her boot into Dominika's lap. "Here, hard-man, you've licked it. Now suck on it like it was a cock." "Give a blowjob to a fucking boot?" "You're the Swallow, so do it!" Taking the dripping boot in her hands, Dominika brushes the sole across her nipples first. Bending at the waist, she licks the pointed toe as if it were a juicy Popsicle. "No Patroph, the toe, take it in your mouth -- all the way in." Dominika's jaw muscles clench. Her thoughts are silent. Where does this rat-fucker get off telling me -- well, at this point, refusing Viktor's ultimate sex fantasy will gain nothing. Play it out. Then when they're all gaa-gaa, it'll be time to improvise and make the move. Dominika opens wide. Guiding Tomiko's boot with her hand, she slides the sharp-pointed, metal-capped toe into her mouth. She almost gags as she takes the pointed toe in deeper, slowly bobbing her head up and down swabbing the steel tipped boot with her curled tongue. Dominika's moans are soft, as if she's overwhelmed in the abyss of loving pleasure. Some loving pleasure, she grumbles silently. Viktor's nothing but a perverted former communist with a feeble-witted fantasy to force one of his former workers give fellatio to a stupid shoe. Well, the rat-fucker's gone over to the Arabs, so whatever feeds his fucking camel. Tomiko pulls her boot away. "Dammit, I'm hotter than Satan's throne. Someone better fuck me before I go into meltdown." "And I'm just the one to do it," Viktor says in a throaty whisper. Dominika's heart skips a beat. Has he chosen? Have I lost? Moving with feline grace, Tomiko artfully peals her soaked blouse from her chest. She slides the leather skirt off and discards it. Viktor gazes at her shapely shrine of flesh. Naked except for boots, she wades forward and presents herself to Viktor's groping arms. Mouths meet. Lips grind against lips. Tongues torment tongues as she grinds her chest against his. Viktor's fingers fondle her ass then pinch at her pussy. "Ease off babe," Tomiko gasps breathlessly. "My pussy's not going anywhere. Sit down in the water. Get over here Bootlick. Let me watch you strip him naked." Dominika obeys. She removes his shirt then goes for his zipper. His stick-like cock feels heavy as she pulls it from inside of his pants. Tomiko's eye line goes from his cock to Dominika. "Well, Gypsy Danger. Looks like whoever wins gets the short end of a short stick." Dominika stifles a laugh. "Let me tell you bitches something," Viktor growls. "It's not the length of the wand, but the magic in the stick." "I'll swear to that," Dominika giggles, recalling that night at the Aquarium and the faked orgasm she'd played like an Oscar winning actress. S.P.R. REPOSITORY, PUMPING STATION 69. Glowing numbers pierce the darkness as the machine ticks off the minutes: 3:46, 3:45, 3:44 . . . THE SAFE HOUSE. Tomiko and Dominika stand shoulder to shoulder in the Jacuzzi, one naked and the other in soaked clothing. Tomiko raises her hands to the flare of her hips. "Okay Viktor. Which hungry pussy gets your magic?" He points to Tomiko. "My choice is you." "I'm honored you have chosen me," Tomiko says in a sultry voice. She sloshes over to him, pausing boot-top deep in the bubbles. "I will please you -- as the Bootlick or any other woman never has -- or ever will." Dominika steps behind him, crushing her breasts to his back and circling his erection with her hand. His cock instantly expands, hardening with what must be unimaginable need. "Go sulk Bootlick," Tomiko snaps, shoving her. "You're ass has been deposed." "You heard her," Viktor commands. Content to leave them be, Dominika wades across the Jacuzzi and hoists herself to the tiled edge to plot and plan. With a taunting twinkle in her eyes, Tomiko gives Viktor a prolonged stare at the jut of her gently heaving breasts. Beneath the foam, Dominika sways her legs to-and-fro. That Japanese will get her just deserts, she mutters, momentarily enjoying the naughty feeling of wearing classy high-fashion boots in a Jacuzzi. Her eyes settle on the two figures locked in a kissing embrace a few feet away. Tomiko skims her warm water-slick skin over Viktor's admirable slab muscles. Their kiss is long, urgent and deep. The cooling affect of the soaked cords does little to impede the erotic scene from making Dominika's pussy simmer like a radiator about to overheat. Tomiko pulls her mouth from his and lowers herself to her knees, dragging her nipples down his chest as she goes. She takes his cock in her hand. "It's so red," she whispers. "May I taste this magic of which you brag?" A Swallow's Bite Act 03 "Only if you take it in all the way," Viktor rasps. "All the way is the only way I like it." As if his cock was a flute-glass filled with fine wine, Tomiko opens her mouth. Her pink tongue-tip makes a brushing contact with his cock-head. He stiffens as her tongue's slight roughness brings on an almost forbidden feeling. She licks his full length, and then covers his tip with her glossy lips. Little sucking kisses make Viktor lurch and groan. While they're absorbed, Dominika's quick eyes swipe a fast scan about the room. Her eye-line zeros in on Tomiko's revolver. It's on a table -- just five feet away from her hand. How careless of her. "Don't even think it Patroph," Viktor barks. "I wasn't," she says, mentally rejecting the revolver as an escape tool. "I know I've lost, but do you mind if I watch?" "You like to watch, don't you?" Viktor mumbles over Tomiko's slurps and suckles. "We all have our perversions, don't we Viktor?" Inching downward, Tomiko gobbles in more. Viktor's eyes close tight. He tries to move back, but she's holding him tight between her tongue and upper mouth refusing to let him go. He grunts. Dominika stares wishing it were she. One hard bite would make the rat-fucker yelp like a wounded pig. Viktor's naked knee draws over Tomiko's left breast, then her right. His hands tug at her gleaming locks of wet black hair. Tomiko's sucking him hard, taking in inch by throbbing inch, moving his cock-head toward the back of her throat. Her cheeks collapse as she applies pulling power, hungry power, searching for the climactic spurt of sperm. Viktor throws his head back, panting, moaning with the deepest of pleasure-looks. Tomiko slides Viktor's cock from her throat. "Your cock feels so good," she whispers. She lifts both breasts and thumbs their aroused nipples. "Do you like my breasts?" Dominika puts her hand to her mouth to cover her laugh. What breasts? The girl needs a boob-job bad. "Look at my nipples Viktor. They get so hard when a thick cock goes down my throat." "Do you spit or swallow?" Viktor mumbles as he nibbles on her bare shoulder. Tomiko licks her lips. "I swirl it around in my mouth first, then I drink it all down. I just love the taste of cum. I get such a wild feeling when it goes into my tummy." "And you Patroph?" "You figure it out Viktor," she says dryly. "Oh, the sarcasm," Tomiko says lowering her hands from her breasts. Viktor's gaze rivets to her naked pussy-slit. Squeezing her breasts with her upper arms, she wiggles a finger inside herself and spreads her hole. "Look at me Viktor," she groans. "Look at my pussy. Imagine how wonderful and warm it will feel when it hugs your cock. I love to swallow too. But it sends me to the moon when a guy fills my pussy with his cum." Closing her eyes, she ventures further, using a fingernail to stroke her clit while whimpering softly as her arousal intensifies. Dominika slides off the tiled edge and sits on the underwater step. She stares down at the water gently lapping at the corduroy lumped between her legs. A second diversionary tactic flowers. Success rating? Marginal. "You'd best come over here," Viktor gasps nearly breathless. "Can the rat-fucker read my mind?" Dominika mutters silently. Pushing off the stair, she sloshes over to them. Viktor lifts his mouth from Tomiko's nipple. "I like you Patroph. So stay close so I can watch you. I wouldn't want you to be tempted to try anything we'll BOTH regret." Tomiko slides her arms around his waist. "Fuck me, Viktor," she coos, placing little peck-like kisses across his chest. "Take me in my pussy or my ass. I ache for your thick cock. C'mon baby. Quit screwing around and let's start screwing." Viktor instantly becomes like a maniac. He grabs Tomiko's head. His lips claim her willing mouth. Tomiko swirls her tongue around his, as she crushes her aroused breasts to his chest. This close, the demand for escape versus the swirling fog of held-back desire suddenly becomes a whirlwind of unruly lust. Dominika works a hand between Tomiko's legs then in between their undulating bellies. Finding his erection, she teases the head with her fingertips then bends it down so his shaft nestles between Tomiko's legs. Breaking their embrace, Tomiko playfully shoves Viktor into the bubbling foam. Together, they splash around, both girls toying with him like two kittens playing with yarn. Dominika lies on her back, raises her boot and pushes Viktor's cock from side to side with the toe, then presses it to his belly with the sole. Viktor points at Tomiko. "Get your ass over here." Tomiko giggles as she turns and splashes over to the edge. She hoists herself out of the Jacuzzi. Her sleek naked figure resembles a polished stone gleaming in the soft light. One by one, she eases off her boots and drops each into the bubbling water. "I said get over here," Viktor snarls. "No lover," Tomiko says swiping her tongue over her lips. "If you want to fuck my ass, get yours over here." Too aroused to argue, Viktor splashes over to the edge of the Jacuzzi. Unfolding her legs, Tomiko spreads them wide and plants her calves on his shoulders. Her thighs squeeze at his neck. "You've lusted after my pussy since Afghanistan," she purrs, voice taunting and challenging. "It's your night bad boy. You're the racy Russian. So go for it. Eat me out. I dare you." Without hesitation or question, Viktor leans forward, shoves his nose between Tomiko's legs and starts to lick. Tomiko's body jolts as if she's been shocked. "Yes, oh yesssss," Tomiko moans slowly swaying her head. "Stick it in me. Tongue me, Viktor. Oh-oh-oh, lick my clit, babe." A tremor shoots through her body, a quiver he couldn't possibly have missed. "Yesss. That's it. Ohhhh --." Dominika grazes her breasts across his back. He arches at the feel of her pebble-hard nipples. Even with water washing around her crotch, Dominika's clit is out and rigid. The tip chafes at the tight corduroy, the feeling driving her mad with desire. Reaching around his hips, she locates his cock-shaft and strokes it gently, listening to Tomiko's long breathy moans as Viktor's tongue enters and withdraws, in ravenous slurps and gulps. He partakes fully of Tomiko's taste, working his way up and down her red-flushed pussy-mound. His tongue flicks her quivering clit, now fully extended like a tiny cock. He tries to lift his head away. Tomiko tightens her thighs around his neck. "Okay babe, I've tasted you and you've tasted me. Now use that beautiful thing of yours." She lays back on the decking and spreads her legs wide. "Come to me babe," she urges. "I'm empty and ache to be filled." "You'll find me hot as a fire's flame," Viktor says as he sloshes out. "Woooo-who, I like the way you talk. C'mon baby. Stick it in. Ram and slam me." Viktor straddles Tomiko's thighs. His hands attack her curves and valleys with frenzied furor. Bending at the waist, he shoves his nose into Tomiko's beckoning breasts. Burning nipples are tinged red with unspent passion. His right cheek grazes her left breast. His mouth grabs on to her nipple. Tomiko groans as his cheeks cave in. Taking him by the ears, she directs Viktor's nibbling mouth to suck on one nipple then other. Dominika's submerged breasts swell against her sweater, literally crying out in envy. Viktor lifts his lips from Tomiko's thrusting chest. "Patroph, get your butt over here." In two splashing kicks, Dominika is floating near the Jacuzzi's edge. "Yes Viktor?" she says say looking up at them submissively. "Touch yourself," he commands in a panting whisper. Underwater, she unbuckles her belt and wiggles the tight corduroy over her hips. She rises to a floating position. As Tomiko licks his chest, Viktor watches. Dominika's right forefinger travels down her neck. Reaching her left breast, her fingertips pause on the nipple-mound protruding though her sweater. "Put your fingers in yourself," he orders. "Don't look at me like that, Patroph. I know you do it. I've seen you." Archived on tape for a circle jerk-off? Dominika mumbles to herself. Even washed by cool water, she knows that the slightest touch to her clit-shaft will send her tumbling over the cliff. Escape, I must escape, she chides herself as her fingers separate her tender flesh. Touching brings on an instant and quite pleasurable turbulence, but no orgasm. "Do it more, Patroph. Do it deeper." "Yes Viktor," she moans. "Are your fingers where my cock has been?" "Yes Viktor." "Are you rubbing yourself?" "Yes Viktor," she gasps, fighting off the gushing, nearly overwhelming urge. "You like doing it to yourself, don't you?" "Ummmm." Although absorbed in her own naked lust, Dominika is vaguely aware of Viktor's growling voice and the soft sound of limbs moving on the cement. Her pre-orgasmic gauze thins, revealing Tomiko. She's on her knees, hips high, mumbling for him to take her in her ass and to hurry-hurry. Dominika's vision snaps sharp. Viktor kneels behind Tomiko. His cock is in his hand. He runs the head up and down her creamy center slit. "Quit teasing, sugar," Tomiko mumbles between panting breaths. "Get it in my ass hot-man. Make me cum before I die of frustration." "Wait," Dominika whispers. Tugging the cords up over her hips, she splashes out. "I want to be part of this." "No," Viktor snaps. "You just get to watch." He pushes Dominika away and returns his attention to Tomiko's up thrust bottom. "Get ready, you sex-starved Yakuza cunt. I'm gonna ram this cock up your ass and fuck the shit out of you." "Ohhh, I can hardly wait," Tomiko purrs softly, tugging her ass-cheeks open. "You must use a condom and anal cream," Dominika says. "No," Tomiko gasps. "I want to take it bare." With his fingers gripping his cock, he presses the head against her sphincter, pushing against the tightly closed aperture. "Open up damn you," he growls. Tomiko grunts, trying desperately to force her aperture to open, while Gypsy Danger's words "Fair warning bitch, I never lose" echo in her ears. Viktor groans. He pushes. His cock bends. Her hole refuses to yield. "Waaaait," Tomiko moans. "Give me a second." She revolves her lower body in a circular motion, breathing deeply, letting out a series of short gasping sounds. Her hands spread her ass-cheeks wider. "Okay, try it now." Snorting, Viktor makes a second courageous attempt. Even holding himself taunt with his hand, Tomiko's entry still refuses to budge. "No Viktor," Dominika says. "She's just too damn tight. Now if you would have picked me . . ." "I can have your ass anytime," Viktor growls. "C'mon on you twat. Is this the best your Jap rump can do? Who taught you how to ass-fuck? Khrushchev? Or was it Mickey Mouse?" Viktor's large hands grip her butt-cheeks spreading her even wider. Again, her sphincter refuses entry. He swats her left butt-cheek. "Open up Jap or the only thing you'll be fucking is Siberian oil workers." "Don't hurt me -- don't hurt me," Tomiko yowls like a wounded puppy. Dominika's boots squish as she steps closer to them. "Wait Viktor, let me try something." Reaching under her cords, she dampens her palm with pussy juices. She circles her hand around the tip of Viktor's erection mixing her lubricant with his milky pre-sex sperm. She slides her hand up and down, coating his blue-veined cock with the slippery mixture. Lowering to her knees, she cups Tomiko's breast and rubs her palm over its throbbing nipple. "Easy now, Tomiko," she whispers, her tone almost loving. "I've butt-fucked before and the trick is to stay relaxed. Take deep breaths and think of how nice it felt when my tongue was there. Once his cock penetrates, any pain will explode in bolts of magnificent pleasure, I promise." "Ummm," she purrs. She takes three deep breaths. "Okay, I'm ready." "Okay Viktor. Go slow and easy. Tomiko? While he enters I'll lick your nipples, okay?" Tomiko nods. Dominika licks. Tomiko's jaw tightens. Every inch of her nakedness trembles as air rushes in and out of her lungs. Viktor pushes, hard. "Oh-jeezzzzz," Tomiko whimpers through deep guttural gasps. Dominika squeezes Tomiko's breast and furiously licks its nipple. Viktor pushes. Against her tongue, Dominika feels Tomiko's nipple go stone hard. She adjusts herself to see Tomiko's aperture and Viktor's probing cock-tip. Her sphincter contracts then loosens, accepting just a bit. "Oh-geez-oh-yes-oh-yes," Tomiko groans. "Now Tomiko, now pull on him," Dominika says between furious breast licks. "Tighten your bowel muscles then exhale to relax them." With a deep roaring gasp, her hole embraces half of his cock-head. Tomiko's face tightens like piano wire. "God-jeezzzes-god. It hurts -- it hurts. Stop Viktor. Please-oh-please stop?" "When hell freezes over," Viktor snarls forcing another half-inch into her. "Owwwww," Tomiko whimpers. She jerks forward. He pops out. "You're all mouth, Jap." "I'm so sorry, but it hurts too much." Viktor swats her butt-cheek with an open hand sending the sound bouncing off the walls. "Oooooh, owwww, that fuckin' hurt. You hit me you Bolshevik bastard. Why did you hit me?" "Because you wag your cock-teasing ass around and can't perform. You've annoyed me since I first met you in Afghanistan." "Goddamn, oh-jeeze," Tomiko moans. "Do it regular pleeeesse. Cum in my pussy?" "You disappoint me Jap. Patroph has a perfect ass. She'd take it, never whine and thank me for the opportunity." Dominika smiles at Tomiko's dismal failure. If this were Bl'adovat', the instructors would make her parade around naked for a week with bright red butt-plug shoved up her asshole. "Please Viktor," Tomiko begs. "Move it down. Yes, that's it baby. Do me doggie-style. Open my hot pussy." "Like this?" "Oh, yeah babe. That's my special spot. That feels goooood. Oh please, please split me up my seam." He rolls his thighs around, cock head teasing at her beckoning pussy lips. She gasps as her crimson folds squirt a flood of juices. Viktor leans back with his eyes closed. "Yessssss, oh yes-yes-yes-yes," she cries, not loud, but in breathy musical whimpers. "Now push it in deeeeeep. Ahhhhhhh oh yes, oh god yesssss. Now find my back wall." Her whimpers change to deep delighted breaths as Dominika thumbs her nipple and watches her dripping pussy swallow Viktor's cock -- inch by throbbing inch. Held in Dominika's hand, it's wonderfully erotic to feel Tomiko's breast harden as lust climbs toward her boiling point. S.P.R. REPOSITORY, BENNINGTON TEXAS, PUMPING STATION 23. Another deadly mechanism is set near a huge red regulator panel. One of the men turns a rotary switch from SAFETY ON to REMOTE. Echoing footsteps leave the mechanism alone in the darkness. There is no "tick-tick-tick" sound. THE SAFE HOUSE. "Good, oh-yes," Tomiko purrs, "ummm-now baby, fuck me - stroke me - fill me, fill me, fill me. Make me cum. Oh god I want to cum." Dominika slides back into the warm Jacuzzi boots first. Standing belt deep, she fingers her waist chain as she watches Tomiko's pussy guzzle Viktor's thrusting cock. Although fantasized, she can almost feel Tomiko's pleasure in her pounding clit. At minimum, demotion to bystander at this perverted sex-romp presents opportunities for escape. She must find out where they've planted the Cobra Fangs and warn the Americans. Swallow's sense says they'll be most vulnerable to intelligence extraction in the post-sex environment. Besides, Tomiko's pleasure-groans are awakening deep feelings. Dominika's clit is no longer just at attention. Each pulse against the waterlogged cords is agony. Both breasts ache, their nipples now more erect than ever. Watching Tomiko on her hands and knees, ass up, her small glistening breasts swaying gently as Viktor's thrusts rock her to-and-fro is hypnotic. Suddenly, participation isn't a prerogative. It's a bodily demand. Water cascades from Dominika's legs as she climbs the stairs. She yanks off her boots and launches them into orbit. Her turtleneck and sopping cords follow. Naked except for the waist chain, she swings her legs over Tomiko's back. Facing Viktor, she positions her chest near his hungry, panting mouth. Viktor opens his eyes. Their gazes' lock-on like twin tractor-beams. "You couldn't do it, could you Patroph?" She shakes her head, cups her breasts and offers them to him. "Please? Suck on my breasts? Give me some pleasure." His head leans toward a nipple. Wildly trembling lips grab on. She throws her head back in utter bliss as the whole breast tingles with instant rolls of pleasure. His pelvis thrusts forward. With a slurping noise, his cock slides into Tomiko as deep as it will go. He draws back. Dominika watches his cock-shaft slowly emerge. It glistens with Tomiko's oozing juices. She shudders as he plunges in again. Tomiko's damp hair whips against Dominika's bare back. Eyes closed, all three are cognizant of little but the wild plumes of the building bombshell. Like a swinging pendulum, they rock back and forth. Viktor's cock slides in and out while Dominika's extended clit skims the ripples of Tomiko's undulating backbone. Soft cries and gasps explode from Tomiko's lips. Viktor's hand claws at Dominika's waist chain. She feels the hard metal links squeeze between her butt-cheeks. Viktor tugs back and forth on the chain. Metal probes deeper into her crevasse and chafes across her pussy lips. Amidst a multitude of sucking sounds, Viktor groans. Dominika's right nipple flames from his bite. Her clit tightens to the point of pain as Viktor pulls. Chain links assault her clit, dragging, thumping across the sensitive nub. Waves of swamping gratification instantly follow, blitzing anything else, mental or physical. Aaaaagh -- aaaargh," Tomiko groans breathlessly, as skin slaps against skin. Between her legs, Dominika feels Tomiko's backbone quake. She jerks. Her pelvis bucks nearly sending Dominika tumbling. Freezing mid-arc, Tomiko gulps down a scream. Races of gooseflesh ripple across her buttocks. Viktor groans deeply. Pulling her nipple from Viktor's lips, Dominika worms herself to-and-fro, grazing both breasts across Viktor's nose. Shoving forward, she buries his face in her quivering softness. His lips grab a nipple then spit it out. Viktor's body wrenches tight. He trembles. His cock pumps Tomiko faster and faster. He freezes -- groans -- his muscles snap rigid like ropes suddenly pulled. "Uuuu-hhh, mm-ffh, mmffh," Viktor growls deep in his throat. "Ahhh - ahhhh, ummmm, yes, yes yes, now!" Tomiko shrieks. Between her thighs Dominika feels orgasm after orgasm after volcanic orgasm erupt in Tomiko's writhing, trembling torso. Repeated grunts and nipple bites mirror each deep stroke as Viktor rewards Tomiko's thirst for sex, injecting her with shooting pulses of sperm. Dominika wiggles her finger around the chain then pulls it back and forth across her clit as she stares at Viktor. His eyes are half closed. His face shows that he's completely absorbed in the warmth and turmoil exploding inside him -- rather than the pleasure he's bringing to Tomiko's wildly shuddering womb. Direct contact from a finger-stroke brings a slightly painful lurch between Dominika's legs. Toenails scrape against the deck tile as her finger and the chain extract a mild inner explosion. Then the whole world seems to split in one shattering stab of light after another. Somewhere in a blaze of orgasmic quivers, she sees Dmitry. He's holding her in a tender, loving embrace, covering her face with soft kisses. The vision and pleasure explode in a free-fall tangle of swirling stars, tortured voices and horrific screams as rebels in Chechnya brutally murder her mother and younger sister, and then Dmitry's wax-white face laying dead on the floor of that Moscow ballroom. Between her legs, sex-pleasure is like a squirming worm, overshadowed, then squished by the relentless call to arms for Mother Russia. A Swallow's Bite Act 03 Nothing is said as they untangle themselves. Depleted, breathless and dripping with sweat, they lay side-by-side on the cement deck. Rolling over, Viktor buries his face in the softness of Tomiko's thrusting stomach. Dominika feels his foot slowly caressing her pussy, one toe paying attention to the little diamond. To the tune of bubbling sounds from the Jacuzzi, he's asleep in a few minutes -- as is she. Dominika's wide-awake gaze flicks to the revolver. It's still sitting on the table a few feet away. S.P.R. REPOSITORY, PUMPING STATION 69. 2:48, 2:47, 2:46 . . . THE SAFE HOUSE. Two metallic clicks stab the bubbling silence. Dominika's eyes jerk left. "Freeze or I shoot you dead," Tomiko says in a low threatening voice. "I fucking mean it." Dominika withdraws her hand away from the weapon and looks at the naked girl standing in the shadows. "Sorry, but staying alive is an old habit." Tomiko gestures with the revolver she's holding. "Step back from the table." The waist chain tinkles as Dominika takes three steps backward. She holds her stare on Tomiko's naked figure. "I must say that you are the most tempting terrorist I've ever met. Viktor has excellent taste." A smile spreads across Tomiko's mouth. "It was fun. Too bad we're on opposing sides. We'd make a good team. By the way, I meant what I said. Nobody's ever kissed my ass like you did." Dominika laughs uneasily. "Or gave a blow-job to your boot either." She chuckles. "That was pretty kinky." The dangling waist chain bounces lightly as Dominika steps nearer. "That's close enough," Tomiko warns, raising the revolver. Dominika raises her palms and stops. "Okay, okay. Say, that was some orgasm you had." "Orgasm? Ha. I was play-acting." "Bull-fuckin' shit. I had my legs wrapped around you. Did you know that your backbone weaves during your orgasm?" "I don't know from backbones. Hey, that diamond is so rad. What's it mean?" "It's an award for valor in the line of duty. Shouldn't we get dressed?" "So you can tackle me when I'm putting on my shirt? How dumb do I look?" Dominika takes a deep breath. "Tomiko, I won't jump you. Now I know you're going to kill me anyway, so do a girl a favor and tell me what I'm dying for?" "Because you're a spy and expendable," Tomiko says staring at Dominika's breasts. She's probably jealous, Dominika thinks privately. "C'mon, okay? Grant a condemned girl her last wish." "Guess it won't hurt. Ever heard of America's Strategic Petroleum Reserve?" "Vaguely. It holds millions of barrels of crude oil, doesn't it?" "Ten point nine-seven, to be exact." "Where?" "One place is about five miles south." A chill runs down Dominika's spine. Play the bimbo, instinct whispers. "So they got a big gas station five miles from here and you need a fill-up?" "I'm already filled." "Okay, so you set off a bang and burn and the Americans put it out. Big deal." "Oh there's more to it than that. We got dirty bombs planted all over the place -- not just one device, but a whole series at each Storage Depository here and in Texas. My people will have the installations in Louisiana wired about two hours from now. Remote triggers'll detonate them. The first explodes tonight." "Where?" "Tut-tut, that's my secret. But I plan to be about fifty miles away when the boom-boom goes boom. The sexy thing is that after the first one goes off, the radioactivity prevents anyone from defusing the rest of the bombs." "It's the ultimate terror attack," Dominika whispers. "You bet your fat ass it is." "America's emergency oil reserves fall under Arab control." "al-Gama'at al-Islamiyya forces to be exact." "There's economic chaos, panic, world oil prices shoot through the roof." Tomiko smiles like a Cheshire cat. "Russian oil prices babe. You see, our secret corporation has been quietly buying honest interests in your oil fields." "You'll be millionaires." "No, billionaires. And your perfect ass arrived just in time Gypsy Danger. Because I'm going to see that you're there to personally witness the attack." Tomiko steps forward and trails a fingernail around the bottom curve of Dominika's left breast. "You got great boobs. Such a waste. When the fire's out, all they'll find is radioactive wreckage, bits of burnt bone and a few charred teeth." Gooseflesh ripples across Dominika's naked rear. "Oh, there'll be enough left for DNA sampling and a positive I.D." Dominika grits her teeth. "Then Russia gets the blame. Brilliant." "You bet it's brilliant." "Tomiko, I'm impressed. Whose idea was all this?" "Mine." Dominika stares at Tomiko. Her body language reads absolutely no remorse in the international crisis she's about to cause. Suddenly Dominika feels horribly alone, like someone's dumped the world's problems right on her shoulders. Stall for time is all she can do. "Niguri's already dead, you know. Viktor murdered him." Tomiko looks down and shrugs her shoulders. "Niguri was an -- unfortunate -- sacrifice." Sensing something in the way she'd spoken, Dominika steps closer. "You loved him, didn't you?" "Love Niguri? Ha. I was fucking him. I liked fucking him. He made me feel good." "What about Viktor? I understand how you got to Dmitry, but how'd you manage to turn Viktor into a rat-fucker too?" "You of all people should know the power of the pussy. Part of Viktor's payment was our little sex-game. He's useful for now. When I grow tired of his cock, he'll be sacrificed too. Then I and a few Afghan imbeciles will own everything." "And the Yakuza?" "With all our dummy corporations and Swiss bank accounts, they'll be chasing their tails for years then give up." Dominika stares at Tomiko trying to decipher what makes this dangerous woman tick and what deception or trick will put a stop to her maniacal plan. Nothing triggers but helplessness. Tomiko motions with her revolver. "In the bedroom. You can borrow a pair of my jeans. Then we take a little ride." UTAH S.P.R. REPOSITORY, PUMPING STATION 69, ONE HOUR LATER. The hood over Dominika's face fills with pungent fumes. Footsteps and one second ticks echo across the eerie chamber. A cone shaped flashlight beam cuts through the cold darkness. Tomiko swings her flashlight beam to the denim stretched incredibly tight across Dominika's jutting rear. The waist-chain sways and the denim creases slightly with each forward step. The greenish camouflage greasepaint on Tomiko's face ripples into a scowl. Her teeth grind together. "Damn that perfect ass," Tomiko mutters to herself, "that swaying, rolling, man-pleasing ass. That fuckin' Russian's butt hole gave in to a man's cock and mine wouldn't." To Tomiko Kasawara, that meant humiliating failure, intolerable failure. Through the hood's small eye slits, Dominika spots an aluminum box. Her heart rate doubles. Viktor stops, turns to Dominika and jerks the hood from her head. "On your knees Patroph," he says, his breath blooming in the frigid air. "Viktor, please? Don't be a fool. She's using you. Can't you see that?" "I said kneel." Dominika kneels, her ears transfixed on the ticking sound, her eyes glued to the bomb's blinking numbers. Options? Try to jump them? Viktor weighs 170 and scored high in GRU paramilitary training. Tomiko's holding a gun to her back and won't hesitate to use it. Odds? Bleak at worst, discouraging at best. Her knees touch the oily cement. Viktor pulls her arms behind her back. Her butt thumps on to the cement. Oil instantly soaks through the denim. There's a ratcheting sound as cold metal clamps around one wrist. Viktor threads the handcuff's chain through a handle on the aluminum box then fastens the other side to Dominika's opposite wrist. He jerks the handcuff's to confirm their solid hold. "Viktor," Dominika pleads. "In the name of God and Mother Russia, don't let her use you like this. She has plans to take you out too. She told me so herself." Tomiko laughs. "Pull in your pussy Gypsy Danger. You can't lie or fuck your way out of this." Dominika's gaze rises from Tomiko's pointed steel-toe boots up her tight black jeans across her braless breasts to her camouflaged face. "I'll see you both in hell." Tomiko laughs softly. "Let's go," Viktor says. Tomiko turns. "Hold on Viktor. I almost forgot." She squats down and loosens Dominika's belt. "What the hell are you doing?" Viktor asks. "Getting something to remember her by." She unzips Dominika's jeans and works them over her hips. "You won't need it where you're going." Dominika squirms as Tomiko's fingers stroke her pussy lips and fondles the diamond. "Viktor, give me those wire cutters." Dominika grits her teeth as cold steel presses on warm skin. There's a soft click. Dominika squeals in intense pain. "Oh my," Tomiko giggles, "did I cut you by mistake?" She stands and tosses the diamond up and down in her palm. "Gag the fucking bitch." Viktor stuffs a cloth rag into Dominika's mouth and ties another tightly around her jaw line. "Some Hard Man you are Gypsy Danger," Tomiko needles. "Your bosses in the Kremlin should see you now, just an unfucked Barbie Doll with a gagged muzzle and a bleeding pussy. Have a nice life sex-spy. I figure you got about an hour left." "I'll get you," Dominika mutters through the cloth gag as they turn to leave. Tomiko turns and gives her the finger. GATE 27, SALT LAKE CITY MUNICIPAL AIRPORT. A uniformed airline attendant swings the Jet-way door open. Passengers file out. A curvy blonde in white emerges, her blue eyes scanning the terminal like high-powered surveillance radar. PUMPING STATION 69. Cold oily cement grates on Dominika's bare butt as she struggles with handcuffs. They won't budge. Her big amber eyes stare at the deadly mechanism. Blinking red numbers sizzle into her head: 1:05:49 . . . 1:05:48 . . . 1:05:47. She yanks furiously on the metal cuffs. Twisting her head, her eye-line zeros in on the metal bar holding the handcuffs to the aluminum box. Four Phillips head screws are the difference between life and international disaster. "God-damn, I'd give my left tit for a fucking screwdriver," she mumbles, her voice barely intelligible through the oily, foul-tasting cloth gag. She looks down. At least she's not bleeding any longer. SALT LAKE CITY MUNICIPAL AIRPORT, BAGGAGE CLAIM #3. "Please check your luggage tags carefully as many look alike," a monotone voice drones over the loudspeakers. Among the travelers is a tall, good-looking man in his mid-thirties. He wears a dark business suit and sunglasses. Somebody catches his eye. She's a shorthaired blonde with luscious curves enclosed in a white camisole top and low-rise wafer-thin tight white pants. He chuckles to himself. If that's my rabbit, she needs a CIA course in concealment. He steps toward her. "Miss Sveta Novoshev?" Sveta's blue eyes zero in on the man's attractive face. "In the flesh." "I'm Pastor." Sveta's face turns icy. "Sorry pastor, I'm not religious. So quit lookin' at my boobs and buzz off." "Sorry. Wait, you don't understand." He leans closer to her and whispers, "Name's Michael Pastor, with the CIA's Counter Terrorism Go Team. I'm assigned to be your Escort Officer." "I don't need a nursemaid, Mr. Pastor. But let's talk over there." Mike Pastor lets out a mental whistle as he follows Sveta to an unoccupied part of Baggage Claim. No wonder the Russians code-named this diva Busy Bikini. "Did you have a nice flight Miss Novoshev?" She turns to him. "Look Mr. Pastor. I just got off rough mole duty in Afghanistan. My body clock got jettisoned somewhere out over the Atlantic. So let's dispense with the fat and get down to the bone. Have you found our agent Dominika Patroph?" Pastor nods. "We tailed her and the Kasawara woman to a mansion near Cedar Valley. They left about an hour later in a black SUV, accompanied by an unknown male. Our men lost them in traffic. Salt Lake police have an APB out. Hopefully we'll hear . . ." The cell phone on his belt rings. He listens. Sveta fidgets. "Okay. Continue ghost surveillance." Pastor clicks the phone closed and looks at Sveta's naturally flirtatious face. "Local police just spotted the SUV northbound on highway 40, south of the Strategic Petroleum Reserve complex. Only one female occupant." "Was the female blonde or brunette?" "Too dark and snowy for any positive I.D." "You've gotta arrest whoever's driving that vehicle and fast." "Huh? On what charge? We can't just arrest . . ." "You're the Central Intelligence Agency, so come up with something intelligent. Speeding, broken taillight, whatever. Look Mr. Pastor. Haven't they told you what this is all about?" "Only that there's a remote possibility --" "Sir, the GRU has solid information that extremists are planning a devastating attack on U.S. interests." "Has this been confirmed?" "Not yet. But in all probability, it's immanent." "The target?" "There isn't time to explain everything. But it's imperative that I question the Kasawara woman immediately." Pastor frowns and flips his cell phone open. HIGHWAY 12 SOUTH, NORTHBOUND LANE. Mike Pastor drags his eyes away from what's under Sveta's thin camisole top and forces his attention back to the snowy freeway. As he looks over his shoulder to change lanes, his cell phone rings. He listens and clicks the phone shut. "Good news. They just arrested Kasawara." The phone rings again. "What I need is an unlisted number," he mumbles. "Pastor here." He nods grimly as he listens. Sveta looks at Pastor, her mind buzzing with questions, dread turning her stomach into knots. "Now the bad news?" "That was CIA Special Ops in DC. New Intel reports that al-Gama'at al-Islamiyya fighters trained Kasawara in Afghanistan. I know those boys. They're tough as ten-penny nails. My guess is that she'll slit her own wrists before revealing anything or betraying her co-conspirators." Sveta's eyes flirt with his. "Wrong my American colleague. She hasn't met me yet." THE SAFE HOUSE, 20 MINUTES LATER. Blooms of flickering blue lights cut through the snowy night. At the front door, Sveta stamps chunks of snow from her brown suede cowboy boots and follows Mike Pastor inside. Five uniformed cops stand around the living room. Tomiko is sitting on the sofa staring straight ahead. Her makeup is perfect, her lovely face no longer masked by camouflage greasepaint. Pastor introduces himself. "She hasn't said a word," one of the officers says. "We've got her on a misdemeanor weapons charge." Pastor nods. "Okay Sergeant. We'll take it from here." The police file out. "Miss Kasawara, my name's Michael Pastor. I'm with the Central Intelligence Agency." "I want a lawyer." "You'll have one shortly. It's my duty to inform you that you have the right to remain silent . . ." THE SAFE HOUSE'S KITCHEN, A FEW MINUTES LATER. "Leave us alone Mike," Sveta says. "Let me handle this." "Remember, Miss Novoshev. She's on American soil and therefore she has Constitutional rights." Sveta nods then adds mentally, "Like I care about this broad's rights when she's got a Cobra Fang and a frikin' match." Pastor goes out the door. She looks at Tomiko. "Sit," she snaps suddenly. Tomiko lowers herself into a straight-backed kitchen chair. "My name's Sveta. I'm an interrogator. I -- MAKE -- people talk." Tomiko just glares at Sveta. Sveta's boots swish on the tile floor as she walks around Tomiko. Her eyes fall to the thongs peaking out from Tomiko's black jeans. Does this little bitch think that taunts a trained Swallow? Despite her aggressiveness, Sveta feels insecure, being far more proficient in sex sciences than interrogation methods. When Viktor went mysteriously missing, she'd taken a huge chance coming to America on her own. There'll be hell to pay at the Directorate if the next few minutes are unsuccessful. "All right Miss Kasawara. Where's Dominika Patroph?" "Who's that?" "The GRU agent you kidnapped." "I don't know who or what you're talking about. I don't even know why I've been arrested." The waistband of Tomiko's panties catches Sveta's eye. She grabs the elastic and yanks, and then twists it tight. "Oh you know all right." Tomiko squirms as the garment grinds at her skin still tender from Viktor's powerful cock-thrusts. "Stop it," she whimpers. "You're hurting me." Sveta pulls even tighter. "This can go down easy or very hard. It's all up to you. Now where's Dominika Patroph?" "I don't know anybody named Patroph. I'm on vacation. Let go of my panties. Go away. I don't have to tell you anything!" Sveta notices something odd on the back of Tomiko's neck. The substance is greenish in color. She touches it with her first finger and then rolls it with her thumb. A light goes off in Sveta's head. It's camouflage face-paint. This sneaky broad's been up to something -- tonight. To get it out of her, she'll have to bluff and bluff big. Sveta grabs Tomiko's hair and yanks her head backward. "Listen you small-time bitch. I'm Russian. Moscow knows all about your terrorist activities. Now we Russians are very good at torture. The Federal Security Service trained me, so I know exactly how to correctly cripple and make a prisoner suffer." "You don't scare me. And like that man said, I got rights. So don't you dare touch me. And where's my lawyer?" Elastic snaps at Tomiko's backside as Sveta releases it. She takes a paring knife from a kitchen drawer and holds it near Tomiko's eyes. "Miss Kasawara, I'm going to tell you exactly what you have to fear." Tomiko's eyes blossom as Sveta slowly drags the knife blade across her shoulder then down to the rigid nipples protruding through her black tank top. "My last assignment was in Chechnya," Sveta says with an icy softness. "When prisoners wouldn't cooperate, military interrogators put them in handcuffs and sat them down face-to-face around a nice wooden table. Then they'd call me into the room. It was my job to nail the prisoners' tongues to the edge of the table." Tomiko's eyes gape at the gleaming knife blade. Suddenly Sveta slams the knife point into the table. "I don't got any nails just now, but as you see, this knife will do quite nicely." Tomiko's eyes widen to the size of saucers. "Now you little bitch. Start talking or lean forward and stick out your tongue." PUMPING STATION 69. Dominika struggles against the metal bounds circling her wrists. She twists her arm to try a different angle. No success. The timer on the bomb ticks like the clock in Red Square. There's only 40 minutes remaining. HIGHWAY 12 SOUTH, NORTHBOUND LANE. Blinding snow swirls outside the car's windshield. Sveta looks at Mike Pastor's face. His expression is tighter than her nipples. "How long?" Sveta asks as she turns up the heater. "In this blizzard, thirty-five minutes, maybe more." "Can't you go any faster?" "Not and get there alive." "How about police escort?" "They're supposed to meet up with us a mile ahead." "Bomb disposal teams?" "They're already on the way." Sveta crosses her arms over her breasts cussing herself for wearing window dressing rather than a down parka. A bolt of deep concern rears up. "Damn fuckin' Arabs," she mutters coldly. Gorgeous, sexy Dominika, my friend, confidant and sometimes lover might already be lying dead on some cold cement floor. PUMPING STATION 69. Blood drips from Dominika's wrist. The tussle with the handcuffs has chaffed her skin nearly to the bone. Outside, a car door slams making her jump. There are booming noises then a grinding sound from the rollup door. "They couldn't have gotten in here," a distant voice shouts. "Lock's secure, no sign of forced entry." A Swallow's Bite Act 03 "Give it a quick once-over anyway." Security guards, she gasps to herself. The gag smothers any attempt to cry out. She yanks on the chain making it rattle. Hissing machinery, yelling and tramping echoing footsteps drown it out. "Secure that door," a man yells. "There's nothing in here." "Nothing but a dead Swallow," Dominika mutters as the rollup door grinds down and slams shut with an echoing boom. S.P.R. REPOSITORY, SECURITY OPERATIONS CENTER. Three police cars come to a skidding stop in the snow. Mike Pastor's car is right behind. Parked haphazardly around a low cement structure are a dozen trucks and emergency vehicles. Blue lights flicker off Sveta's face as she follows Pastor into the building. "Who's in charge here?" Pastor barks. A uniformed man steps from the half dozen men mulling around the small room. "I am. Gene Acres, Security Chief." "Mike Pastor, Central Intelligence Agency. What's the update?" "Security teams are searching every inch of the grounds. So far, they report nothing suspicious or out of the ordinary." "Bullshit," Sveta says. "She's here. I know it." "She? Who's she? Who's here?" The man looks at Sveta then at Pastor. "What's with the foxy broad?" "She's with me," Pastor says. "I'll explain later." "What is this?" Sveta shouts at Acres. "A fucking sewing bee? Why are you standing around? Where's the bomb disposal teams?" "Five minutes out." "Why aren't you searching? Don't you know . . .?" "Lady, this is a forty acre complex. I got only a few men and --." Sveta hooks her thumbs in her pockets. "Listen Mister Green Acres. We have credible information that there are fucking dirty bombs planted all over this fucking place. You keep screwing around and your little slice of heaven will explode in a fucking fireball bigger than Mt. Vesuvius." The tenseness in the room quadruples. "Now, unless you wanna be a radioactive Crispy Critter you'd better turn some mother-fucking screws." "Lady, we're doing all we can," Acres says. "Believe me I recognize the danger. If nothing is found in twenty minutes, I pull the plug and order a general evacuation." "Bullshit. You there? You got a passkey?" A skinny security guard nods. "Get your butt over here." "Wait lady," Acres says. We got rules around here." "I play by my own rules," Sveta snaps. She points to the skinny guard. "C'mon you're with us. Let's go Mike. We got twenty minutes and I smell Dominika's scent." THE GROUNDS. Outside, Sveta glances around the snowy complex. Although accustomed to the brutal Moscow winter, Sveta shivers as her cowboy boots attack the ankle deep snow. Searchers, security guards, and bomb disposal teams in thick body armor dart from building to building. Radios crackle orders, indicating sectors unsearched and sectors checked and rendered clean. High above a military helicopter circles, its brilliant spotlight illuminating the search teams that scurry around like ants. OUTSIDE PUMPING STATION 69. "Attention! Attention all Security Personnel and others on the special," a loudspeaker cracks through the snowy night. "This is a general evacuation order. All search teams report immediately to their vehicles. You are commanded to withdraw. All personal report to checkpoint Whiskey. This is no drill." "C'mon Sveta," Mike shouts from twenty feet away. "That means us too." "What about in there," Sveta shouts back. "We've already searched it," the skinny security guard says. "It's clean." "Well we're gonna search it again." "I told you, Lady. It's clean. We've been ordered to pull out, so I'm doin' just that." Sveta cocks her hips. "You're not going anywhere mister." "Hey, I don't take orders from you. Who the hell are you anyway?" Sveta puts her face close to his. "Listen flatfoot. I'm freezing cold and I got no time to fuck with you. My informant said something about the number sixty-nine. If you're too scared to search it again, hand over the fucking key." "Here you go Lady. I got no interest in being blown to bits, burned alive or glowing from atomic poisoning, so I'm outta here." "Chicken-shit creep," she mutters as she charges toward the dark building. As she approaches the rollup door, Sveta hears the thump of footsteps in the snow. "C'mon Sveta," Pastor says. "My superiors will roast me alive if I don't play this by the book." "You go. I can't read English, so I'm searching for Dominika." He grabs her arm. "Oh no you're not." She twists away. "Yes I am. We're wasting time. I'm going in." "Don't make me force . . ." "Hey, if you want to stop me, shoot me." He stares at her not knowing what to do. Sveta steps closer to him. "Look Mike. I know it's risky, but if you prevent this from happening, you'll be everybody's hero." Pastor glances down at her nipples then rolls his eyes. "Okay. Give me the key." She drops it in his palm. Frantically he tries to insert it into the keyhole. "My orders were to keep your ass out of trouble. Now I'm up to my ass in trouble, big trouble." "Look at the bright side. We're standing on a million barrels of flammable crude oil with a radioactive time bomb in the immediate vicinity." "That's the bright side?" "This is. I think you got a cute ass." "I'll remember that as I'm being burned alive." He twists the key. Motors grind and the door begins to lift upward. "Mike, if we don't make it, I just want to say thanks for the attempt." "Just my weak effort at international relations. Let's make this quick." They duck under the door and flick their flashlights on. Sveta cups both hands around her mouth. "Dominika!" she yells into the dark cavernous building. "Dominika?" Nothing responds but the sound of hissing machinery. She turns to Pastor. "You search right, I'll search left." "Okay," Pastor says. He lopes off muttering, "I gotta be out of my fricken mind." Sveta darts around a huge pipe, then another and another. Her boot soles skid as she freezes. The device and Dominika sit ten ominous feet away. "Mike!" Sveta manages to shriek. "Over here quick! I've found her!" Dominika squirms helplessly as Sveta approaches. "Dom? Dom baby? Are you all right? Please say you're all right." She feels Pastor at her side. "Fuck," he mutters gazing at Dominika's blood-soaked crotch then the bomb. "What kind of maniacs did this?" Sveta's eyes jerk to the timer. It reads: 00:00:55 . . . 00:00:54. "I'll get the bomb guys back here," Pastor croaks, his mouth dry as dust. Sveta shakes her head. "There isn't time. You know anything about bombs?" "Just what they taught me in spy school. Don't mess with 'em." "Some help you are." Dominika squirms trying frantically to choke out words through the gag. "In a minute babe," Sveta says. "C'mon Mike. Think of something, quick." "Can't we just unplug the damn thing?" Dominika kicks Sveta's shin. She squats down, yanks off the gag and pulls the cloth wad from Dominika's mouth. "Left side," Dominika rasps, "control panel, under a little door." Cautiously Sveta finds the door. Her pink-nailed fingers lift it open. Six knobs and a like amount of switches greet her terrified eyes. "Careful," Pastor cautions. "Good chance it's booby-trapped. Move any one of them and it might explode." Sveta looks over her shoulder. "If we don't do something, it WILL explode, in-in like 35 seconds." "Dammit, I should have taken sick leave when I had the chance. Okay, go ahead." "But which one?" "Center one looks like a likely candidate." Sveta looks at Mike, leans forward and kisses him on the mouth. "For luck." "Hey," Dominika rasps. "I know you two are in love, but the bomb?" Crouching next to the ticking machine, Sveta reaches her shaking hand toward the center knob. Her fingers close around it. Her left index finger curls around Dominika's finger and hugs it tight. She looks at Pastor. "Turn it to the left or right?" "This thing's made in Russia and you're asking me?" "I think they turned it to the left," Dominika says. Try the opposite way." Sveta frowns. "If you're wrong, I'll be very pissed." Sveta closes her eyes. There's a soft click as she turns the switch. The readout blinks to STANDBY. The ticking stops. ROOM 307, CEDAR VALLEY LODGE. Opening the door to the connecting suite just a crack, Dominika watches. The connection of their eyes guides their faces toward each other's. Muscles tense as arms fold in a soft embrace. Lips lock onto lips. Mike Pastor's hands slide across the thin white pants that cling tightly to Sveta's backside. They aren't just kissing -- they're devouring each other. The sight isn't exactly painful, Dominika thinks. Sveta really fancies this guy and he's enthralled with her. Who wouldn't be? Sveta is a prize. Besides, having a friend with close connections to the CIA never hurts a girl's espionage career. Between their clenched bodies, Mike Pastor's hand drifts from the hardness of Sveta's ass to the softness of her breast. Beneath her gray sweater, both are as free as she is. His fingertip rolls a nipple until it's hard. Their mouths break apart. Sveta smiles impishly as she lifts the camisole top over her head. Brown-nipped breasts stand high, beckoning for his loving hands. Employing the Swallow's standard "come and get it" look, Sveta slips the bun-hugging pants down an inch. Pastor's breath catches. "I didn't think you were wearing any," he whispers. "Swallows never wear any," Sveta says with a mischievous giggle. The stretchy pants come off with little effort. She doesn't bother taking off her boots. Comfortably nude, Sveta goes to work. As his hands drift down her bare back she unbuckles his belt and slides his pants down. His shorts follow. Lowering herself to her knees, her mouth closes over his cock. He does have a nice ass, Dominika chuckles to herself as she silently shuts the door. ROOM 309, CEDAR VALLEY LODGE. Dominika crosses the hall and opens the room with a passkey, easily commandeered from a horny desk clerk. She sniffs the air instantly recognizing Tomiko's perfume. In prison, she won't need the clothes that hang on an open clothes rack. The briefcase sits in a corner. There are two clicks as she opens it. Rummaging through its contents reveals scribbled notes, used airline tickets, maps, and an open pack of chewing gum and a box of Gummy Bears. Something catches her eye. She unfolds the paper. The communiqué is in Russian. Each word makes her blood run cold. Roughly translated, the communiqué means: "On-sight GRU agents confirm that al-Gama'at al-Islamiyya has six more Cobra Fangs hidden in Afghanistan. Dominika's eyes widen as she looks up. "Viktor is on the loose," she whispers breathlessly.