****** Top Dog by Seychelle ******
===============================================================================

Top Dog


A century before, those exiled to Siberia were said to have been "sent to count
the birches" - meaning the millions of birch trees in the endless forests of
the Taiga.

Lying on a snow-capped hilltop overlooking this same territory whose name once
struck terror into every Russian's heart, Donna Brogan saw not a place of
punishment, but Paradise. The eternal trees abided, dark frost-patched
evergreen, as numerous and densely packed as the hairs on her head, and
stretching from horizon to horizon, with irregular pauses for rivers, lakes and
oil and logging camps, out to the wintry western peaks of the Urals, their
lines delicate, ephemeral, more dreamlike than actual beneath the patchwork
grey of a sky of unwashed clouds.

The snow crunched beneath her blanket as she shifted in place to change her
angle. The crunch resounded in the solemn silence of the Taiga, as loud as the
dull drumming of a woodpecker, or a snapping twig beneath a bolting sable, and
she had no wish to disturb the clearing below - or the wolf pack who commanded
it.

There were eight adults, led by the dominant male and female (whom she
nicknamed Rocket and Ash), and their cubs. They were magnificent: sharp-eared,
sharp-faced, coated in a range of tawny greys and blacks, copper eyes
pinpointed with ebony, and animated bushy tails. Donna had watched that
afternoon as the dominant pair led four of the adults out to hunt, leaving the
remaining two to mind the cubs; now they'd returned, with jawfuls of elk for
those who'd remained. And as she observed their snaps and cringes, games of
dominance and submission, but with obvious co-operation and consent among them,
Donna wondered how such intelligent, social creatures could have become objects
of fear and persecution.

'Devushka?'

It was a cautious whisper which reached her ears, and a welcome one, and she
set aside her camera, twisting to watch the black-clad man approach, his size
undiminished by half-crawling up the hill, unnoticed by the pack on the other
side. As he reached the blanket he practically slithered to her side, arm
around her as if it had always belonged. 'There's bad weather ahead.'

'This is Siberia, Valentin Alexseiovich; some things can't be avoided.' She
glanced at the clearing again. 'He should be here any minute - there!'

Both went silent as another wolf appeared in the clearing, bold as brass. Donna
lifted her camera again and zoomed in on Stranger; he, too, had brought food,
but not before Rocket and Silver circled him twice, acknowledging his immediate
posture of abasement, then padded away.

'Looks like he's been adopted,' Val noted.

Typical Russian nonchalance, but Donna knew he shared her astonishment. Lone
wolves like Stranger normally avoided contact with all packs, and it was this
contrary behaviour below which snared her attention for much of the last
fortnight (no mean feat, considering how much else the Taiga offered visitors).

Val gave her a squeeze. 'We should go.'

Donna looked up at him. There was something about Valentin Alexseiovich Lavrov
that seemed too massive for chairs, or even rooms, something beyond his
muscular frame, beyond the worldly lines in his face and the strands of white
in his neatly-trimmed beard. Even when he smiled, the smile seemed too big for
just his lips. 'Maybe you love my land too much to return to England,
Devushka?'

She always smiled at his nickname for her - "Young Girl" - when he was only 38
to her 26. Her breath whitened between them. 'Defecting to Siberia? What would
Wildworld say?'

Val grinned Cheshire. 'Nothing, because when you send them your photographs,
your report, you'll be joined by hundreds, thousands more, all in love with the
beauty and majesty of the Taiga Reserves. Then, perhaps my government will stop
the loggers and riggers despoiling my land further.'

Donna smiled, warmed as much by the man's love for "his" land - she could not
picture a more devoted Reserves Warden - as by the man himself. She snuggled up
closer, trying again. 'Siberian winter nights are long; I'll need something to
keep me warm.'

He leaned closer, and with a slyness added to his grin and his words, offered,
'I have just the thing: the recipe for my special coffee-'

A playful kick to his booted shins initiated an impromptu wrestling match,
making Donna squeal and the wolf pack retreat into the forest.

The waystation consisted of several log cabins, linked by nocturnal guidelines
and wooden planks regularly swept clean of blowing snow, and set in a tiny
forest clearing; the satellite dish, protected in a heated aluminium dome, was
the only visible concession to the 20th Century. But it sufficed as the
Warden's station, as well as an emergency medical/communications outpost for
the area's loggers, riggers, even the odd Evenk nomad.

It was comfortably warm inside the main house, particularly the living room,
with a great stone hearth dominating one wall, its heat and light mocking the
feeble efforts from the ceiling bulbs. Mismatched chairs and couches filled the
centre, an entertainment unit sat in one corner, and maps and paintings adorned
the walls between the narrow, treble-glazed windows. Recorded classical guitar
complemented the pendulum clock and the fire's crackle.

Donna listened abstractly, curled up in the recliner, legs tucked beneath her,
mesmerised by the dancing flames. She nursed her medivka, a honey- and herb-
flavoured beer; she wasn't in a drinking mood tonight.

Nearby, Val relaxed on the couch, boots removed, warming his feet towards the
fire. He glanced sideways at Donna occasionally, exchanging smiles, but hardly
speaking since dinner. His drink was cradled in his huge hands, virtually
untouched; he didn't seem in a drinking mood, either.

His colleague, however, compensated for them both, whilst remaining constantly
on the prowl, an animal on a restless, mindless pace inside its cage, her drink
a lifeline. She stopped behind Donna's recliner, who forced herself not to look
up when the Russian woman finally spoke, her voice dry. 'You two are quiet
tonight. Hiding secrets, perhaps?'

Val glanced at Donna, more embarrassed for her than for himself, it seemed. 'We
have no secrets from you, Zofia.'

'I know, Valentin Alexseiovich; you're as open as the forests you love.' The
hidden meanings were unmissable.

Donna wanted to speak up, defend her friend, but held her tongue and finished
her drink, knowing the futility of arguing with her other host when she was in
one of her moods again. Then Zofia stepped onto the bearskin rug between Val
and Donna, drinking hand propped near her lips. 'Would you be just as open with
me, my dear?'

Donna knew she could be hanging herself, but... 'Sure.'

The older woman stared at her, challenging. 'Do you think I'm pretty?'

Dr Zofia Davidovna Tegal was a large woman who looked older than her 36 years.
Her preferred expression may have been glacial, but Donna had seen it rapidly
shift from permafrost to a spring breeze - or a summer storm. Her eyes were
grey bullets, her hair a pepper swirl, and her breasts and hips ample within
her sweater and jeans.

She was attractive, Donna decided - at least, in less-morose moods. In fact,
there were times when she saw Zofia as a kindred spirit: intelligent, with a
wicked sense of humour and a liberal outlook on life. Thus, she was sincere
when she answered, 'I think you're beautiful, Zofia Davidovna.'

The woman in question seemed taken aback by the response - so much so that, for
a moment, it appeared as if the spell of Byronic gloom which usually held sway
would evaporate. But it resolidified, with a wry smile and a mock curtsey.
'Spasee'ba, my dear. I should do well at the local night-club then, da? Shall
we go?'

Donna had enough, and setting her glass aside, slipped into her boots. 'I'm
tired.'

He nodded, rising as well. 'I'll walk you over.'

Zofia waited until they reached the door. 'Don't get lost, Valentin.'

It was a chill, starless night, the wind stirring the surrounding trees, a
precursor to the oncoming storm, while in the distance, the wolves howled,
marking their territory. They were barely outside before he announced, 'I'm
sorry about that.'

'It's alright-'

He stopped in his tracks, shaking his head. 'No, it's not, not for her. She
never realised what living out here would be like when she signed on as the
waystation doctor. She misses Novosibirsk, working in a hospital, going out,
meeting people. I feel sorry for her.'

Donna was less sympathetic, though she understood, even liked Zofia. She
circled an arm around his, as if to keep on the path in the near-total
darkness. 'She's an adult; you can't take responsibility for her bouts of cabin
fever.' Or when her hackles get raised by another female, she added to herself.
They stopped outside the guest house door. 'You're an uncommonly kind man,
Valentin Alexseiovich.'

He didn't respond at first, just stood before her, his hands now on her waist.
Then, finally, he kissed her. She relished the smooth brush of his beard on her
cold skin. There could be more.

She wanted more. 'Stay with me tonight.'

For a moment, he looked like he would accept. Then he shook his head sadly.
'No, Devushka.'

He turned to go, but she wouldn't release him. 'Are you two lovers?'

She was surprised at her boldness; but then, her time here was nearly over, and
she was too old to be beating around the proverbial bush. She wanted Valentin,
and her instincts told her the feelings were reciprocated; it was as simple and
an undeniable as any other force of nature. She had no childish romantic
illusions about either giving up their careers, their lives, to be with the
other; they were from different... packs. But he was handsome, intelligent,
kind, powerful - she couldn't resist him.

He remained a silhouette in the main house lights. 'Sometimes. As you said
today, Siberian winter nights can be long.'

'But if you two aren't really a couple-'

'When humans are isolated for long periods, baser instincts dominate; they
fight over chocolate bars, milk rations. Anything. Thus, you become acutely
aware of the hurt one can feel when another has... something... that they
don't.' His head bowed, once. 'I'm sorry, Donna; I won't hurt her like that.'

She watched him return to Zofia, quickening his pace as if in fear of the
distant wolves.

Fingers of light danced from her small fireplace as Donna shed her clothes,
running her hands over her nude body, enjoying the freedom, then stretched in
all directions, studying her reflection in the wardrobe mirror. At 26, she
could appreciate the image which returned her scrutiny - chestnut hair cut
short in a pageboy brushing slim shoulders, almond eyes, small round white
breasts, a slight curve around the waist, a dark trimmed triangle steepling
firm thighs - an appreciation shared by past lovers.

If only her career had been as notable. After nearly two years with Wildworld
Tours, she'd finally earned a coveted field assignment to evaluate the tourist
potential of the Siberian Taiga, for Adventure Holidays and naturalist
excursions. She was to be assisting the more experienced, more respected David
Cannon, but he'd contracted food poisoning on the flight, and though the
company had promised a replacement, none had been forthcoming. Not that Donna
was complaining; this assignment - with Val's help - would be her passport to
greater things.

Donna sighed with pleasure as she slipped into her thick terry caftan and
climbed beneath the covers. The bed was lovely- with room for two-

How ironic: once lucky in sex if not career, now the reverse was true. But she
could still fantasise, her hand taking a familiar path beneath her caftan
towards her vulva, full, expectant. She pictured Val entering the room, his
desires overpowering his reservations, undressing and climbing in beside her,
as the wolves howled outside...

'There they go again!'

It was an uncannily warm day for March, melting much of the snow on the ground
into dirty slush; Val insisted it was literally the calm before the storm, and
seeing the Eastern black clouds, she concurred. Donna lay atop a slope
overlooking a wide river cutting a crooked path through the forest. >From here,
she watched Ash and Stranger playing, snapping at each other's tails, then
mating again. Their lovemaking was fierce, brief, but intense, passionate - not
what she'd expected of any animals other than humans. But wolves mated for
life, or so popular thinking went, and Donna had to wonder at this new
development.

Beside Donna, Val lay on his back, eyes shut, content to bask in the relative
warmth - so easy to kiss now, she gauged. 'Aren't you enjoying this weather,
Devushka?'

'I'm busy.' She tried to keep her mind on her work. But he wouldn't let her,
setting a hand on the small of her back, stroking lightly; Donna fought back
the shiver that ran through her like a wire. 'There's much here to enjoy, Val.'

'Da.' His caress became a playful smack on her bum as he sat up. 'Like
swimming.'

Donna watched with both disbelief and expectation as he removed his top,
revealing a hirsute, perfectly muscled chest, and biceps that confirmed the
waystation exercise machines' effectiveness. She almost declared her lack of
costume, settling for the more valid comment, 'The water will be freezing!'

'The river's fed by a hot spring; Zofia and I swim here often.' He grinned as
he removed his boots and socks. 'Of course, if you haven't her courage-'

'What about the wolves?'

'They'll ignore us, or run off. Trust me.'

She did; it was a question of trusting herself. She could have refused, made
excuses. Instead she copied him, pulling her shirt over her head as he
disappeared. Donna stripped off quickly; this was just a harmless bit of fun,
she reminded herself, hearing him yelp as he splashed into the river, not a
prelude to sex. Then, naked herself - and in the open, too! - she swallowed
hard, rising and following him, cursing the cold mud and sharp stones beneath
her steps, certain her face was beetroot.

He was waist-deep in the river, his back to her; Ash and Stranger had vanished.
As first suspected, the water was glacial, making her gasp aloud and her
nipples scowl as she rushed deeper into it, unwilling to prolong the initial
shock and provoke more teasing. As Donna neared, she saw the scratches on his
back, fresh confirmation that Zofia and he did have sex - and ferociously, too.
She was nearly up to her breasts when he finally turned around, as if having
waited for her benefit.

It seemed so natural to Val, playfully splashing Donna, making her squeal and
splash back. The riverbed was a ticklish silt carpet, and the water a constant
pull downstream. She kept moving, invigorated now, accustomed now to Val seeing
her breasts, or other parts of her, as she swam about.

After a time, he made a show of pursuing her, and she half-stumbled to escape
his clutches, shrieking and giggling as he chased her out of the water and onto
the bank, both of them collapsing, rolling over each other, muddying
themselves.

Then she felt his erection against her thigh.

Donna's eyes widened as their wrestling ceased, both of them aware of how the
circumstances had suddenly changed, with that simple, undeniable physical
reaction on Val's part. Then, with only some surprise, she found her own desire
present, calling, as if it had been there all along, awaiting the ideal moment.

When they kissed, not as friends but as imminent lovers, a warmth coursed
through her, sending her belly into somersaults; Zofia or not, Donna needed
what Val could provide. Their bodies fitted together, tongues dancing, his
erection pressing into her mound with wild anticipation.

He parted from her, the breath leaving his body in a shudder, and she looked
between them, at the firm stem of his cock, long and thick, its damask head
collared by darker skin, and rearing up from a clump of black curls over his
balls. Boldly she reached down and grasped it, easily drawing the foreskin back
and forth, as if to confirm this was real, not some fantasy. Then he gently
eased her onto her stomach, her breasts pressing into the mud, saying nothing,
having no time or need for courtship. She acknowledged how he wanted her; she
wanted it, too, rising onto all fours. Warm fluid seeped from between her
thighs, and she desperately craved to be stretched to capacity, literal
fulfilment.

With something like a growl Val parted Donna's thighs and lifted her up, before
mounting her. The lips of her sex swallowed the cooler head of his cock, then
almost the full stem as he pressed into her, enveloping him totally. She felt
his balls slap against her with every thrust, while his hands gripped her
sides, unwilling to release her. They found a mutual rhythm, each giving, each
gaining, her mind and body awash with the sensations invoked.

But soon Val coaxed their rhythm into a more urgent gallop, one Donna agreed
upon: lovely. She pictured how they might look to the wolves: naked, muddied
animals caught in their own heat. This image, and an extra deep thrust on Val's
part, made her climax with a strangled cry; wave after wave of pleasure ran
through her, making her dig her nails into the mud.

Val came, too, grunting, his body spasming behind hers. After a time he
withdrew, leaving her feeling empty but immensely satisfied, and they lay
together, facing each other, their pulses still rapid.

Relishing her dying post-coital embers, the warmth of spent lust seeping from
between her clenched thighs, Donna stroked Val's mud-stained beard as they
kissed, appreciating the weight of his arms and legs upon hers. It had been an
inexcusably long time since she last felt this way - but worth it now.

She nuzzled into his ear. 'What about what you said last night?'

She could feel his smile against her. 'I saw what was on offer today.' The
smile evaporated. 'We should wash, and return.'

The reminder spoiled her bliss. Return - to Zofia. Perhaps if the woman was
less possessive, especially of a man she had no real claim over, Donna might
have felt some guilt. Then again, Val didn't appear too contrite either, not
like she expected.

A yelp in the distance made them glance up. Across the river, Rocket had
happened upon Ash and Stranger, and was now snarling and snapping at the lone
wolf; it could come down to a fight to the death, a rare but not unknown
occurrence. But then Stranger prostrated himself, on his back, legs in the air,
throat bared, the lupine posture of utter submission to a superior.

Donna clutched Val's arm, holding her breath. What would Rocket do now? If he
were human...

But instead Rocket chose to take Stranger's place with Ash. Stranger, seeing
this, rose again, staying near, a voyeur. More games; how very... civilised. If
only human problems were as easily solvable.

She turned to Val, her nipples lightly grazing against his skin, her gaze
fixed, serious. 'Val, do you want to do this again?'

He smiled, stroking her arm gently, sending shivers through her. 'That...
depends.'

She nodded. 'On Zofia; I know, I've not forgotten.'

'Neither have I. We're rather selfish, aren't we?'

'Yes.'

Each looked ready to speak, sparks of inspiration in their eyes. But then the
heavens interrupted with a thunderous clap, and a subsequent outpouring of cold
rain. Hands linked, they rose and dove back into the river to quickly wash
themselves and return to the waystation. Donna waited until they were dressed
and in the jeep, before revealing the bud of an idea. To her surprise, Val was
thinking along the same lines.

The storm was at its peak by evening, mercilessly buffeting the forest and the
waystation with lashings of sleet. Not that the trio inside the main house took
notice; dinner was finished, and now they sat or stood in the living room,
watching the fire rising with every backdraft of wind from the chimney.

Donna was in her stretch black party minidress, a sleeveless, strapless
favourite of herself and many admirers. Knowing she was coming to the
wilderness, she wondered why she'd even bothered packing it, or her high heels;
now she was glad.

Val, too, was well-dressed, looking noble and powerful in an old-fashioned
white shirt with billowy sleeves, and black dress trousers. He was silent,
casual, drinking cautiously.

Zofia, in contrast, remained in her chequered red work shirt and jeans, planted
beside Val on the couch, never questioning the reason for their evening
clothes. But the looks Donna was receiving told her the plan had a good start.
Now for the next step...

She found a raunchy dance number on the radio, and began to slowly sway and
side around the room, letting her body move with the beat, knowing both
Russians were watching (for different reasons). Finally she cavorted onto the
bearskin rug before them, slowly gyrating. 'So, who's for a dance?'

Zofia smirked confidently. 'Neither of us dance-'

'I'd love to.' Val set his drink aside and joined Donna, planting his hands on
her waist and easily moving in step with her. As Zofia watched, dumbstruck, the
couple began a deliberate, leisurely duet, Donna's arms brazenly descending to
his waistline, then his buttocks, as Val copied her movements.

Their bodies pressed closer, Donna felt her nipples harden beneath her dress,
even as Val's erection poked at her in reply. And when Donna's back was to
Zofia, Val clasped the hem of her dress between thumbs and forefingers, lifting
it up to reveal Donna's black silk panties, pulled tight against her cheeks.
When she could, Donna stole glances at the Russian woman, worried her initial
instincts might be incorrect, and Zofia might wrongly react to this bold
intrusion into 'her' territory.

Finally the dance ended, Val planting an open kiss on Donna's lips, his tongue
probing, a prelude to what else might follow, if all worked out-

Zofia flung her glass aside, springing to her feet. 'Get away from him, bitch!'

Donna parted from Val's lips, but still clutched his waist, her face a defiant,
theatrical dare. 'He's mine now, Sweetie; what are going to do about it?'

Zofia stormed towards her, crossing the distance between them so quickly that
Donna barely had time to sink to her hands and knees and prostrate herself onto
the polished wooden floor, head bowed, arms forward, back arched. Her pussy,
tight within her knickers and alarmingly moist, tingled; was it just the
novelty of striking such a submissive pose, particularly for another woman,
that made her feel like this?

Donna couldn't look up, could only listen excitedly to the creaking floorboards
and the rustling of clothes, could only imagine Zofia's expression now. Was she
aghast, offended, still angry? Or did she grasp what was being offered her?

When she finally spoke, it was with cruel satisfaction. 'So, at last the little
bitch acknowledges her proper place here, da?'

Face still to the floor, Donna smiled to herself, knowing their scheme was
working, and hoping she sounded suitably nervous. 'Da.'

'I didn't say you could speak!' Zofia barked. 'Look at you, in that tart's
dress! Remove it immediately!'

Donna rose to her knees, hesitating at the sight of Zofia, her trousers, socks
and boots now removed, revealing long, pale legs disappearing into her shirt,
while Val stood behind, kneading her breasts. Then Donna obeyed, casting off
her dress and leaving her in just knickers and shoes, as two sets of eyes
feasted on her. Zofia squirmed in place, more animated than Donna had ever seen
before, the dominant female retaining her supremacy, even if only on a symbolic
level. Then Donna saw the look in Val's eyes: desire, yes, but also, strangely
enough, gratitude, for tonight, for Zofia's sake. Donna smiled back; feeling
more aroused, more in control in her submissive role than she had expected,
this was hardly turning out to be a great sacrifice on her part.

Then Zofia fell back into character, removing Val's hands and nearing Donna.
'Is that a challenge I see in your eyes, my dear?'

Donna feigned nervousness. 'No, no, Mistress-'

'We'll see.' She marched towards the firewood, quickly snapping off a thin
length of birch, slicing the air as she tested it against her own palm. She
glared at Donna. 'Crawl over here, bitch, and kneel before me.'

For a heartbeat, Donna paused; yes, she had wanted to appease Zofia, however
little the woman actually deserved it, but she hadn't planned on being switched
for her troubles. Still, neither had she planned on being so highly charged by
the scenario, nor on the thought of further humiliation striking a hitherto
unheard chord within her libido. Knowing she could stop the proceedings at any
stage, she nodded her assent quickly, then started crawling towards the
bearskin rug before she had time to think twice.

When she arrived, Zofia lifted the front of her shirt, revealing a neatly
trimmed black triangle. 'Kiss it.'

It should have ended before now, with Donna and Val leaving for his bedroom.
But it was as if they were on an irreversible course, a stomach-churning
rollercoaster - with Donna loving every minute of it. She couldn't tear her
eyes away from Zofia's bush, the familiar musk, so like her own, the glint of
silver in the strands, the division of her sex beneath. She pursed her lips and
kissed, tasting honey.

'Now, back on all fours.'

Donna's face felt flushed by more than the fire, but the excitement was greater
than the embarrassment, and she wriggled slightly, positioning herself so that
her bum was nice and round and impatient.

Zofia didn't keep her waiting, the birch making sharp bursts of contact on
Donna's cheeks, It wasn't painful; indeed, Donna felt a warm glow spreading
from her backside, bridging and heightening the points of arousal in the rest
of her body. She yelped with each switch, more because it was expected than
from the actual stings, keeping her bum high, well-displayed and aching for
more.

'Enjoying yourself, Devushka?' Val whispered.

Donna nodded, unable to deny it.

'You're not meant to enjoy it, bitch,' Zofia informed her with relish. 'Pull
down your knickers!'

Donna rose to her knees and obeyed, drawing them from the moist heat of her sex
to her trembling knees, noting the soaked gusset, and the aroma of her own
bush: amazing. She willingly, eagerly resumed her position, feeling so close to
climax, waves of bliss rushing through her trembling body as each switch landed
on her now-bared bum. The strokes quickened even after she cried out, burying
her face and fingertips into the fur of the rug, feeling like the fire had
spread from the hearth to encompass the whole room.

Someone - Val - knelt and removed her shoes and knickers. Opposite, Zofia knelt
also and looked into Donna's near-tearful eyes, wiping her cheeks gently before
kissing her, finding their tongues hot, zealous, so alike. The breath caught in
Donna's throat as Zofia's fingers lightly stroked her breast, acknowledging the
excitement she, too, shared. Games of dominance and submission over, Donna
fulfilled a lifetime's fantasies as she reached up and squeezed Zofia's breast
through her shirt, appreciating its size, its firmness.

Feeling powerless to resist, Donna allowed herself to be led to a bedroom -
Zofia's, from the scents she detected - dominated by a thankfully large bed
flickering in firelight. She was tempted to conclude that she was dreaming, and
was about to wake in her own bed, or even back in London. But when Zofia held
her, reaching around to tease her burning, tingling backside while Val
stripped, the sensations couldn't be more real. When Val was naked, he pulled
Donna onto the bed, offering his cock to her; eagerly she sucked greedily on
its length, tasting his excitement, feeling him tighten further within her
mouth as she darted her tongue along its underside, allowing Zofia the
opportunity to finish undressing.

Donna started when she felt Zofia's long fingers and hot breath crossing her
thighs, unceremoniously parting her moist, aching lips and fastening around her
stiff clitoris, spurring Donna on to provide similar pleasure to Val; his moans
complemented her performance.

Then Zofia parted from her. 'I want to see Val fuck you.'

Donna felt empty again, her brain jolting at the thought of the delicious
circumstances she had wrought tonight. Val wasted no time, drawing Donna's head
up to the pillows and parting her thighs; with her knees high up, her pussy
pulsated from Zofia's ministrations as if shivering from the cool air, eager
for Val to fill her up. He didn't wait long, the crown of his cock impatiently
nudging against her moist sex momentarily, before plunging in. She squealed
aloud, reaching up and adding lines to his shoulders.

Zofia climbed up, exploring with Val every exposed inch of Donna's glowing skin
with their fingers, their tongues, a total caress greater than any one lover
could manage, until Donna cried out, her pussy aching with sweet torment. Even
as she was pushed over the edge, it continued relentlessly, until she begged
for relief.

But it didn't, not until later, when she was near-insensible, and rapidly
sinking into a well-deserved sleep. Thus, snuggled up beneath the covers,
between her two lovers, she couldn't confirm - or care if she did - Val
whispering to her, 'Devushka, we must confess: Zofia and I had this arranged
all along; her "moods", our swim, the sex afterwards, our "plan." All a game,
to get you in the proper frame of mind. And you were wonderful!'

All she recalled vividly was the howling in the distance, breaking the
dominance of the storm.

END

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