The Interpreter Ch. 01

Mikhail knew better than to try to kiss her. She clung to him like a limpet, her tight vagina rippling and quivering as she climaxed, milking his hard cock, drawing his seed from him and Mikhail sobbed as he ejaculated, overcome with the intensity of the pleasure he was feeling.

Petra drummed her heels on his back and suddenly stopped. She was spent and her orgasm was dissipating as quickly as it had erupted. Mikhail fucked Petra and clung to her, expending himself, trying to make his orgasm last as long as he could as he rode this beautiful goddess.

Petra was done with him and brusquely pushed Mikhail off her as the last few dribbles of semen ran down his still rampant penis.

They lay side by side on the big bed panting and sweating. When Mikhail tried to take her hand in his she pushed him away. Her rejection only made him want her more. He knew that he was being used but he didn't care; she was worth it.

"You know I don't like to be touched after sex until I'm completely recovered," Petra chastened him.

Professor Mikhail Blavatsky could hardly believe his luck when Petra Donevski was assigned to him as his interpreter and assistant for the forthcoming cultural exchange mission to the United States. She was beautiful, intelligent and quick witted and she wore those shiny, silky nylons on her long legs that drove Mikhail wild.

"When we are in America, we will have a big bed in a big hotel room and we will make love until we are exhausted and then we will order room service," Mikhail grinned, staring up at the cracks in the plaster ceiling.

"When we are in America we will do what we are told to do by our superiors," Petra said coolly.

She saw the smile disappear from Mikhail's face and she took his hand in hers and squeezed it.

"But I'm sure we will find time to make love my precious," she threw him a bone and the smile returned to his face.

How did a man nearly twice her age, who was balding, gangly-tall but with a protruding pot belly ever think that a woman as young and beautiful as Petra Donevski would ever fall for him. For a man of immense intelligence who was revered amongst the world's academia he was stupid when it came to the practicalities of the world.

The only reason that Petra had been assigned to him was because it had been ordered by the Party nomenklatura. And she had seduced him because she had been ordered to do so by her bosses at the KGB. She had work to do when the Soviet delegation arrived in America and it had little to do with slaking the desires of a tiresome old professor but she needed to keep him heeled.

Petra smoked a cigarette and then she sat up in bed and began to dress. When Mikhail pawed at her and begged her to stay the night she batted away his advances and told him she had work to do.

Dressed in a smart skirt-suit, carrying her purse over her shoulder she stopped at the door and let Mikhail kiss her cheek so that he would not smudge her lipstick. She tolerated Mikhail's infatuation with her but the truth was that she hated his sloppy liver-lipped kisses and revolting tongue.

Petra's heels click-clacked on the cold cobbles as she walked down the street from the old university academia housing blocks and onto the main road.

A sedan parked further down the street and across the road flashed its lights and Petra smiled and quickened her gait.

As she began cross the silent empty street she heard the roar of a car engine behind her and she turned on her heels in the middle of the street and was caught like a stunned animal in the blaze of the headlights on an oncoming vehicle.

She never felt the car hit her and break her beautiful body, snapping her neck as she flew up into the air, over the car's hood, bouncing off the roof. She lay dead in the street with her legs bent at an impossible angle.

Yuri Godekin got out of the car intending to check her pulse to see if Petra was dead but there was no need. Her head was twisted almost completely around, her beautiful blue eyes open and staring into whatever eternity awaited her.

Yuri got into the car and drove on into the cold darkness. The car parked across the street also vanished into the night.

Yuri Godekin reported immediately to Ivan Petrov, finding him still working late in his office.

"Are you sure we have made the right decision Yuri?" Ivan asked, pouring them both a liberal measure of vodka.

"Petra Donevski was incredibly beautiful, intelligent, conniving and conceited. She would have been a perfect plant in the delegation. With her beauty, her wit and salacious nature she would have produced a mountain of intelligence for us, either whilst in bed with those she seduced or from the men we blackmailed after they were caught in her honey trap," Yuri said.

"But Valerie Sokolova is even more beautiful and we can mould her to do whatever we want. She will appeal to many stupid American men who think with their little head instead of their big one," Yuri quipped.

This produced a chuckle from Ivan Petrov.

"And her secret will make the men she seduces even more susceptible to blackmail. A high ranking American delegate could withstand the scandal of being caught in flagrante delicto with a beautiful woman but not a beautiful woman with a cock. For all their so-called progressiveness, most Americans are intensely homophobic," Yuri sipped his vodka.

"But did we have to dispose of Petra in such a way?" Ivan sipped his drink.

"We needed a plausible excuse to replace her at short notice. Also she had become a little, shall we say, self-important," Yuri espoused.

"True. But such a waste," Ivan mewed.

"When do I get the pleasure of meeting this treasure you have so jealously protected?" Ivan asked.

"She is being detained as we speak," Yuri said staidly.

"And when we have finished with her? Such an abhorrence of nature can't be allowed to live amongst the people of the Soviet Union," Ivan raised his bushy brows.

"She will be taken care of quietly and without fuss," Yuri said in a comforting tone.

"Good, good, Yuri. Bring this abomination to me as soon as she gets here. I want to see if she is as beautiful as you say she is," Ivan patted Yuri on the back and guided him towards the door.

Novogorbovo, Russia -- May 1985

Valerie woke up from a deep sleep and realised immediately that she had not dreamt about being whisked away in the middle of the night in a helicopter to a remote palace in the forest. She was tempted to luxuriate in the soft, clean, fresh-smelling sheets a little longer but she needed to heed the call of nature.

She padded to the bathroom in stocking feet, amazed by the grandiosity of the place. As she pulled down her plain white full-cut tricot panties and cheap pantyhose she realised that the bathroom was bigger than her whole apartment in Moscow. Valerie peed sitting down when she presented enfemme, which if her understanding of the situation was correct, was to be always in foreseeable future.

She pulled up her underwear and looked at her reflection in the mirror. She had taken off her wig before she fell into bed but her face still looked feminine even with her smeared makeup and dishevelled hair. Valerie was once again convinced that she had been born into the wrong body, or perhaps more correctly, into a body that had the wrong private parts.

Valerie could hardly believe the force of the crystal clear hot water that gushed freely from the shower. She luxuriated in it, lathering herself with the scented soap repeatedly and then washing away the fragrant bubbles. Clean hot water... such luxury! She brushed her teeth and put on the silk bathrobe that was hanging behind the bathroom door.

When she went back into the main room she found that her tawdry clothing had been removed and the bed made. There was a note on the pillow.

Don't get dressed, just wear the dressing gown and slippers. You will be collected at 10am the note read.

Valerie looked at the gold embossed mantle clock on the shelf above the fireplace and saw that it was 9:30. She had never slept in this late! She smiled to herself and walked over to the wardrobe and opened it and was overwhelmed by its contents.

An assortment of dresses, skirts, blouses, jackets and coats hung from the rails. The drawers were filled with lingerie, stockings and pantyhose, the shoe rack with high heeled shoes. The vanity was overflowing with cosmetics, scents, perfumes and toiletries, a lighted mirror fitted above it.

Everything was top quality; not cheap imports or local tat. It was like she had gone to heaven.

She dug out a pair of leather slippers from the line of shoes on the rack. They were soft and supple and fitted her perfectly. She found a pair of boy-leg satin panties and slipped into them and then she went to explore the cosmetics. She sat down before the vanity but before she could touch any of the makeup the door to her room opened an attractive middle aged woman wearing what appeared to be white nurse's uniform entered the room.

"No need for makeup, you're perfect as you are," the woman smiled at her.

"I'm Anya and I will be... shall we say, your helper, for the next few weeks," Anya gave Valerie an engaging smile.

"Follow me," Anya opened the door to the room and indicated for Valerie to step out into the corridor.

"Where are we going?" Valerie asked.

A vexed look passed across Anya's face very briefly but was immediately replaced by her smile.

"Valerie, sometimes it's best not to ask questions. This will usually be when you are being asked to do something. Why don't you just assume that even though you are being asked politely to do something; in fact you are being told to do it, and we will all get along well together," Anya's smile never wavered and Valerie meekly followed her into the hall.

She was led to an elevator which descended below the main floors into the subbasement and they walked down a long corridor passing closed doors with little windows set in them. The place smelled of antiseptic and a strangely sweet smell that Valerie associated with hospitals. Through the viewing ports she saw men and women in white gowns and assumed correctly that she was in an infirmary.

In one of the cubicles she was invited to lie down on an examination table while a man in a white coat who never introduced himself examined her and asked her questions about her medical history. In another room a man in a suit asked her about her gender dysphoria, although he didn't use that term precisely, but she told him about how she felt like she was a woman trapped in a man's body and how dressing as a woman eased her discomfort.

He asked Valerie about her sexual history and she blushed when she admitted that she was still a virgin. She did not disclose her encounter with Ivan Petrov but admitted that when she presented as Valerie she found some men attractive and sometimes had sexual fantasies but nothing specifically graphic.

The doctor looked up at Anya knowingly and nodded and Anya nodded in return.

She was told to remove her robe and undergarment and to put on a surgical robe that tied in the rear. Then she was given a pair of paper underpants, a paper hat and cotton slippers.

"This is one of those times when you don't ask questions," Anya said when Valerie hesitated and looked questioningly at her.

Valerie was invited to lie down on a gurney and a man in hospital scrubs appeared out of nowhere and jabbed her with a syringe. Anya walked alongside Valerie, talking comfortingly to her as the gurney was pushed down a corridor, Valerie slowly losing consciousness during the journey. Her last coherent thoughts were of the blindingly white lights above her and a pretty nurse putting a mask over her mouth and nose.

Valerie awoke in her room with a coppery taste in her mouth. She was lightheaded and felt a tightness in her chest. She was still dressed in the surgical scrubs and the paper panties.

"Ah, you're awake," the pretty nurse that Valerie had seen before she drifted into unconsciousness said.

She took Valerie's temperature and blood pressure and then helped her to sit up. She opened Valerie's robe and fiddled around her upper body which to Valerie felt numb.

All the time Anya was present holding Valerie's hand and smiling reassuringly. Valerie was still very disoriented and had no idea what was going on. Anya gave her a cup of ice chips to suck on while the nurse prodded and poked her upper body.

"What's going on? What happened to me?" Valerie asked through trembling lips.

"She doesn't know?" the nurse said to Anya who shook her head.

"Would you like to see?" the nurse smiled at Valerie who was too confused to respond.

In any event, the nurse fiddled with some bandages around Valerie's chest and then Anya held up a mirror.

Valerie stopped breathing.

She had breasts. They were swollen and felt tight. The nurse gingerly lifted one of Valerie's breasts to show her the incision underneath her breast crease. The stitches were almost invisible.

"I have tits," Valerie said in an amazed voice.

"You have tits," the pretty nurse smiled at her.

To Be Continued