Uri Orlov drove very well for a man whom Jennifer estimated had drunk the best part of a bottle of Stolichnaya vodka. He could probably have driven better if he kept his eyes on the road rather than on Jennifer’s tits and legs. She tugged on her skater skirt but it kept riding up exposing most of her legs clad in the mauve opaque tights.

“No need to be shy. We will see plenty of each other over coming days,” Uri grinned and blew smoke out of the window.

They stayed on the I-95 heading north into Maryland, bypassing Baltimore and Towson on the I-695 until they came to Cockeysville off the I-83. Uri then took a series of secondary roads completely losing Jennifer. She was sure that he doubled back on some of the tree-lined lanes and he seemed to spend a lot of time looking in the rear-view mirror.

Uri turned his black SUV down a dirt road and came out of a grove of thick trees and pulled up next to an old colonial style house that looked like it could do with some renovations. It was what real estate agents called a ‘fixer-upper’. Jennifer saw a curtain twitch but the only sound she could hear was birdlife and somewhere in the distance a babbling stream or brook.

“Get suitcase. Come inside,” Uri puffed as he eased his large body of the car.

Jennifer buttoned her red wool coat and opened the back door of the car. She lugged her suitcase after Uri, the wheels useless on the gravel path. The door opened as they approached and Jennifer peered into the hallway of a two story cottage.

“Take your suitcase upstairs to the bedroom,” a woman’s voice with a Slavic accent called from inside the house.

Jennifer, with no assistance from Uri, lugged her suitcase up the wooden staircase and stopped on the top landing to survey her surroundings. The inside of the house had been renovated and she wondered if the exterior had been purposely left weathered and unchanged as a means of disguise. This was the obviously the safe house that Chase had referred to and she knew that Uri was in WITSEC. She presumed the female voice that she heard below came from Katya.

There were three bedrooms and one bathroom upstairs, the master had a half bath and it was obviously occupied by Uri because it stank of cigarette smoke. The second bedroom must be Katya’s. It was neatly kept with makeup, perfumes and lotions arranged neatly on a walnut vanity. A pair of vintage nylon stockings hung drying over the brass bedhead. A red satin evening gown was fitted to a tailor’s dressform; the garment looked to be nearly finished. A sewing kit was opened on the polished oak floorboards beside it.

The third bedroom was hers Jennifer supposed. It was small and neat with a double bed fitted with fresh bedding. It looked like it had been recently cleaned and aired. There was a red velvet chaise lounge arranged along one wall that seemed a little opulent compared to the rest of the surroundings. The bars on the windows were a little perturbing: were they designed to keep someone out or someone in?

“You can unpack later, come over to the window so I can get a good look at you,” Katya had crept up on Jennifer and made her jump.

How could she not near hear a woman wearing four-inch high heels walking on polished oak floors?

Katya Kuznetsova was a little over six feet tall in heels. A stunning slim woman with jet black hair cut into a severe bob which accentuated her deep blue expressive eyes. She had pert breasts and long legs clad in gossamer-sheer nylons and had a tattoo of a scorpion just above her left ankle. She made the simple black shift she was wearing look like high fashion. Her face was narrow, with accentuated cheekbones, a pointed chin and small nose. Her skin was pale and she wore heavy eye makeup and blood-red lipstick. If Uri Orlov was a caricature of Boris Badenov, then Katya was his Natasha Fatale, but with slightly better English.

Katya half-dragged Jennifer over to the window where the light was better and studied her. She lifted Jennifer’s chin, meticulously examined her face and opened her mouth to inspect her teeth.

“Not bad. I’ll need to fix your hair and makeup. Take off that skirt,” Katya ordered.

“What the fuck!” Jennifer was getting angry.

This woman, who hadn't even introduced herself, was treating Jennifer like a slab of beef, poking, prodding and scrutinising her.

“Don’t be bashful, take off your skirt,” Katya began to tug at Jennifer’s skirt and Jennifer slapped her hand away.

She unzipped her skirt and stepped out of it.

“Take off your top too,” Katya reached for Jennifer again and Jennifer stepped back out of the way but she pulled the body-shaper over her head.

“Stand still. Stop behaving like a brat,” Katya pulled Jennifer back into the light and inspected her body.

She lifted Jennifer’s small but shapely breasts and inspected the almost invisible silvery scars following the natural curve underneath her breasts.

“Your surgeon did a good job. Good size too… not too big. American women always want big hooker tits,” Katya said disdainfully.

“Don’t wear those shitty opaque tights again and take off those shitty shoes,” Katya tugged at the waistband of Jennifer’s tights and again she slapped Katya’s hand away.

“It’s good to put up fight a little. Customer will want that but don’t fight me; I am here to set you straight. What I teach you over next few days will save your skinny-ass life,” Katya let Jennifer take off her own shoes and roll down her tights.

Jennifer thought it was hypocritical that Katya called her skinny.

Katya studied Jennifer’s body critically and made her turn around. She cupped Jennifer’s buttocks and prodded and poked here and there.

“Nice ass cheeks and not synthetic, good figure, little bit of work done here and there but understandable, good legs, nice feet, fresh pretty face… you will do. Untuck please,” Katya said almost indifferently.

This time Jennifer gave Katya's hand a good wallop when she reached for her genitals. Jennifer didn’t tuck all the time because it was laborious but it was something she had learned to live with. She had developed a technique for everyday using surgical tape that didn’t cause discomfort and more importantly allowed her to pee without untucking.

Jennifer untucked and her penis swung free and her testes dropped out of her inguinal canals and filled her scrotum. She was freshly shaved down there. She flinched a little but managed to stand still while Katya hefted her genitalia in her hand.

“It’s a good size but not too big; you don’t want man to feel inferior,” Katya chuckled.

“Functionality ok? Not fucked up by hormones?” Katya gently squeezed Jennifer’s penis.

“It works fine!” Jennifer said indignantly.

“Ok, don’t get your panties in a bunch. Put on that robe and let me see what you brought with you. Just empty your suitcase on the bed,” Katya waved her hand at Jennifer’s suitcase.

Jennifer took down a white silk robe hanging off a coat hook fitted to the oak-panelled wall and put it on. While she was doing so Katya walked over to the door and held a whispered conversation with Uri who Jennifer didn’t even know was there. Had he been watching Jennifer undress? How did these two people get around so quietly?

Jennifer tipped out the contents of her suitcase on the bed as instructed and took a pair of panties, ripped off the price tag and stepped into them.

“You getting a good look?” she called indignantly to Uri who was watching her over Katya’s shoulder.

Uri stormed into the room and pushed Jennifer onto the bed where she fell with her arms and legs akimbo.

“You think you the first tranny-girl I’ve seen? Get over yourself! What we are doing here is important and for you means difference between life and death. Ok to fight a little when man come for you but don’t be insolent,” Uri loomed over Jennifer, his face red and menacing.

“Ok Uri, point made. Now leave us women to do women stuff. You brought me a good candidate. I’ll contact Vlad and tell him that the pictures will be up this afternoon,” Katya pulled Uri off Jennifer and he let her lead him to the door.

She closed it behind him and came back to the bed and helped Jennifer sit up and then sat down beside her and put her arm around Jennifer’s shoulders.

“Uri is under a lot of pressure; you understand?” Katya said by way of apology.

Jennifer just nodded.

“Good, now let’s see what you have here,” Katya actually smiled.

“Oh, Katya Kuznetsova by the way. Pleased to meet you,” Katya gave Jennifer a little hug and kissed her cheek which surprised her.

They arranged the clothing that Jennifer had purchased on the bed. Some items Katya dismissively threw into the corner of the room but most of the clothing they kept.

“No time to waste. Come with me and I’ll fix your hair,” Katya took Jennifer by the hand and led her to the bathroom.

She sat Jennifer down on a stool and began to arrange hair styling accoutrements on a towel next to the sink.

“What are we doing?” Jennifer asked.

“You saw the ad on website. The man wants a girl twenty or younger. Make you look younger,” Katya said by way of explanation.

Katya was all business. She made Jennifer put her head over the sink and washed her hair and towelled it dry then she went to work with hair-cutting shears and Jennifer felt some trepidation as her locks fell to the floor.

“Don’t worry you will look beautiful,” Katya said and kept snipping away.

Jennifer endured what seemed like an eternity of having her hair cut, dyed, crimped, and styled. Halfway through the process she was surprised when Uri arrived with cups of Russian coffee and they took a break to drink it.

The drink made with espresso coffee, cream, sugar and a shot of vodka was delicious and Uri offered his Marlboro’s but Katya refused and lit one of her own Marlboro Menthol’s and handed it to Jennifer and then lit one for herself.

“Ok. Fuck off and do whatever it is you do. We’re busy,” Katya stubbed out her cigarette and ushered Uri out of the bathroom.

After Katya had applied the finishing touches and blow-dried Jennifer's hair she led Jennifer to her bedroom, refusing to show Jennifer the results of her salon work until she had done her makeup.

Katya spent half an hour fussing with Jennifer’s makeup until she was happy with the results.

“Now you can see,” Katya spun Jennifer around on the swivel chair so that she faced the mirror.

Katya had cut Jennifer’s hair into a pixie-cut with swept bangs and coloured it a deep red with darker and lighter red highlights. She’d matched Jennifer’s pale skin tone with foundation and finishing powder, given her winged eyeliner, she’d used deep plum, vibrant copper and a shade of peach eyeshadow and finished with bright red lipstick.

She had painted Jennifer’s nails to match the shade of her lipstick.

Jennifer hardly recognised herself. Her face was transformed. She looked younger, prettier and very feminine.

“That’s amazing!” Jennifer admired herself in the mirror.

“I will teach you how to do your makeup like this and style your hair. The man will want you looking pretty at all times,” Katya said in her Slavic accent and Jennifer was abruptly reminded of why she was here.

“Come. We will take photos,” Katya pulled Jennifer out of the chair and ushered her down to her bedroom.

Uri had arranged lighting and set up a camera on a tripod in front of the chaise lounge.

“This first,” Katya pointed to a black basque lying on the chaise lounge which was not part of the collection that Jennifer had brought with her.

“Get yourself tucked and put on these panties,” Katya snatched up a pair of black nylon panties with red lace trim off the bed.

Katya disappeared while Jennifer stepped into the panties and put on the basque. The suspender straps flapped around her thighs and she looked to see if she could unhook them from the garment.

“No!” Katya screeched at her as she stormed into the room.

“Put these on,” Katya held out a pair of stockings and Jennifer wondered if they were the ones she had seen drying on Katya’s bedhead.

“Fucking American women with their fucking bare legs! They think they are liberated because they refuse to wear nylons! Wouldn’t dream of stepping out of the house without wearing makeup on their face or styling their hair but happy to show off their pale scabby legs, or fake-tanned limbs that look fucking awful. Fucking housewives of wherever!” Katya ranted.

“Real women wear stockings or pantyhose. Not shitty K-Mart hoses but quality, sexy nylons,” Katya settled down a little while Jennifer sat on the lounge to put on the stockings.

She didn’t understand Katya’s rage about hosiery, Jennifer herself was a fan of wearing nylons to enhance her legs but Katya seemed fanatical.

The stockings felt delightful, silky-sheer and decadent as she pulled them up her legs and smoothed out the wrinkles. Being fully fashioned they were cut to the shape of her leg and had a backseam which she had a little difficulty getting straight. Katya came over to help, making Jennifer stand while she straightened her seams and garters and evened out the dark smoky welts at the top of her thighs so that they matched.

“Here. Put these on,” Katya held out a jewellery case which contained a silver necklace, drop earrings and a bracelet all set with emerald stones.

“Swarovski crystals. Not expensive but not cheap either,” Katya explained.

She helped Jennifer fit the necklace and her sweet breath on Jennifer’s neck was quite pleasant. Katya’s perfume was something exotic and eighties, possibly Poison.

“Put on the fuck-me heels. You shouldn’t really wear open-toe sandals with stockings but we want to show off the Cuban heels and reinforced toes in the pictures.”

She helped Jennifer buckle the high-heeled sandals and because she was kneeling down Jennifer could see up Katya’s skirt. She was wearing hold-up stockings but it was too dark to see her panties. Katya saw her looking and smiled and Jennifer snapped her eyes away.

“Ok, go pose on lounge. Look sexy,” Katya waved at her.

They spent the next two hours taking photographs of Jennifer dressed in lingerie, an evening gown, daywear, even wearing schoolgirl and Girl Scout uniforms. Jennifer didn’t complain or ask where the costumes had come from. Katya fussed around her making sure Jennifer posed perfectly, touching up her makeup and brushing her hair as needed.

Jennifer was instructed not to smile. She was told to pout or look disinterested or peeved: to act like she didn’t like wearing the clothes or posing for the pictures.

“Ok good. Now we take a couple of dick picks,” Katya said matter-of-factly.

“What?” Jennifer thought she had misheard Katya.

“You are a tranny-girl that I want to trade for money. Buyer will want to see dick,” Katya said clinically.

“Get back into the basque and stockings and lie down on lounge,” Katya waved at the basque and balled up stockings on the bed where they had been thrown after the shoot.

“Why couldn’t we just take the pictures when I was dressed in the basque the first time?” Jennifer said a little sulkily.

It had been a long day already and she was tired.

Jennifer untucked again and put on the basque, stockings and fuck-me heels. Katya had her put on the black panties with the red lace trim and took some shots with Jennifer showing off the bulge in her panties and then she had Jennifer pull her cock out of the leg-hole of her panties and took some more and finally she took a couple with Jennifer without the panties.

“Ok, I need a few with you erect. The buyer want to know that it is fully functional,” Katya pointed to Jennifer’s flaccid penis.

Jennifer was no prude but she blushed.

“I’m not sure I can do that right now; I’m not really in the mood and I’m tired,” Jennifer complained.

“Last couple of pictures, couple of nudes, then we are done,” Katya smiled but she sounded annoyed.

Jennifer played with her penis but it would not respond. Being in this strange bedroom with a woman she had only just met and a brute of a man downstairs and being manhandled and ordered around were not conducive to arousal.

Katya held out a hand and helped Jennifer up off the lounge and Jennifer gave a sigh of relief now that the photography session was finished.

But it wasn’t.

Katya pulled Jennifer in close and pressed her body against her.

“I saw you looking up my dress earlier. You like women as well as men?” Katya’s voice was throaty, sexy.

Katya’s body was warm and in the tight black dress Jennifer could feel every curve and bump of her body.

Jennifer blushed again. Being so tall, Katya towered over her and Jennifer’s face was level with Katya’s breasts where Katya rested Jennifer’s head.

“It’s ok. Were nearly done,” Katya’s hand snaked down and she took Jennifer’s limp penis in her fingers.

Katya lifted Jennifer’s chin, lowered her face and kissed Jennifer full on the lips. Katya tasted like coffee-cream and vodka. Jennifer’s penis began to bloat as Katya slowly stroked it and tenderly kissed Jennifer. Jennifer felt soothed as much as she did aroused and she put her arms around Katya and nuzzled against her.

“Good; it’s working,” Katya whispered and continued to stroke Jennifer to full tumescence.

When the first little droplets of pre-ejaculate leaked from Jennifer’s penis Katya massaged the slithery fluid into Jennifer’s turgid cock. Katya kissed Jennifer tenderly, using only the tip of her tongue, the tips of her fingers flickering along Jennifer’s penis and tender parts.

“Ok. Now we can take pictures,” Katya disengaged from Jennifer and arranged her on the chaise lounge.

She took a series of pictures of Jennifer before her erection began to subside. Jennifer’s lipstick was smudged but it only made her look sexier.

“Ok. Take off the basque,” Katya helped Jennifer to her feet and unfastened the basque.

She carefully rolled up the fully fashioned stockings.

“Here. Put these on,” she handed Jennifer a pair of hold-up stockings still in the package.

Jennifer pulled the package open and slipped into the sheer black stockings, Katya knelt on the floor and helped her put on a pair of red high heels. Jennifer was naked except for the stockings and heels. Katya fussed with Jennifer's makeup a little and then she leaned in and kissed her again, pressing Jennifer into the lounge. Katya lightly caressed her small firm breasts and when Jennifer reached for Katya’s breasts she let her squeeze them through her dress.

Jennifer was becoming tumescent again and Katya broke the kiss and lowered her face into Jennifer’s groin and lapped at her penis. It immediately sprang to full attention and Katya sucked on it a little using her lips and tongue.

“You have a wonderful cock,” Katya whispered and disengaged and went back to the tripod and took a series of posed pictures.

This time Jennifer remained fully erect.

“No sense in wasting perfectly good erection,” Katya said clinically as she reached under her dress and pulled down her panties.

She came over to the lounge and eased Jennifer into a sitting position, her hard cock standing up proudly. Katya placed her legs either side of Jennifer’s and squatted down, putting her arms around Jennifer’s neck for support. Her soft lips found Jennifer’s and her tongue slid into Jennifer’s mouth at the same time as Jennifer’s cock slid into Katya’s warm, wet sheath.

In her high heels Katya was the perfect height to straddle the diminutive trans-woman. Jennifer’s long thick penis slid into Katya’s slick cunt all the way, Jennifer’s pubis pressed on Katya’s clitoris, furthering her arousal. She ground her groin on Jennifer’s and squeezed her cunt tight around Jennifer’s shaft. The feel of their stockings rustling together was delectable and Jennifer stroked Katya’s thighs and then cupped her buttocks.

She lifted Katya up a little so that she could fuck her and Katya took her weight on her heels and rode Jennifer's cock in time with her thrusts.

Not a word was spoken, their lips remained glued together, their tongues entwined. Jennifer felt her orgasm building and she could feel that Katya was becoming wetter and had begun to pant into Jennifer’s mouth as her climax approached. Their stockings rubbed against each other, sending little ripples of pleasure through their legs and into their groins.

Katya slammed her buttocks down into Jennifer's crotch, forcing every inch of Jennifer’s cock deep inside her and ground her clitoris on Jennifer’s pubis. Katya’s heels began to drum on the floor as her orgasm erupted and she hung onto Jennifer, driving her tongue deep into her mouth, sucking the breath out of her. Jennifer held Katya by the hips and pushed upward, driving her cock all the way inside Katya's tight, wet vagina and ejaculated.

The two women held onto each other, grinding against each other, kissing passionately, extracting every scintilla of pleasure from each other.

When they were done Katya put her head on Jennifer’s shoulder and sighed. She clung to her, the bigger of the two women hanging onto the smaller for support. Jennifer kept her cock inside Katya until it began to deflate and plopped out of her.

Katya abruptly stood up and lifted her dress up clear of her crotch.

“Can’t get spunk on my expensive black dress,” Katya said pragmatically.

She picked her panties up off the floor and wiped at her dripping cunt with them then threw them in the corner and dropped her skirts.

“You are a good fuck and you have a good cock,” Katya leaned down and kissed Jennifer quickly on the lips.

“Have a shower. Fix your makeup like I showed you and join us downstairs. We will post the photographs and then have dinner,” she stoked Jennifer’s cheek and left the room.

Jennifer lay back on the lounge, her head spinning.

“What the fuck was that?” she said to the empty room.

Jennifer showered and worked on getting her makeup the same as Katya had shown her. Jennifer prided herself on her makeup skills and she thought she did a pretty good job. Her face looked fresh and the mascara, winged eyeliner and red lipstick looked sexy. She slipped into a pair of sheer-to-the-waist flesh-toned pantyhose using the gusset to tuck, pulled a pair of purple satin panties over them and put on a simple red dress.

Katya had tossed her Mary-Jane’s and anything that didn’t have a heel into the corner so she put on a pair of black high heel pumps. She accessorised with costume jewellery and checked the results in the full-length mirror inside the wardrobe door.

With her diminutive frame and pixie haircut she thought that she looked like a young girl trying to look older.

As she made her way downstairs she could hear Uri and Katya talking loudly to each other in a foreign language she presumed was either Russian or Ukrainian. Uri was in the kitchen banging pots and pans around, the ever present cigarette dangling from his mouth; Katya was sitting at the dining table working on a laptop computer.

“Come and see,” she smiled at Jennifer and called her over.

Jennifer sat next to Katya who had was freshly showered and changed into a crimson satin robe which was partially open revealing a bright red lace camisole. She was wearing sheer tan pantyhose and red heels, her makeup was freshly applied, heavy and perfect and she smelled of the same perfume that Jennifer thought might be Poison. The deep red satin contrasted magnificently with Katya’s ivory skin.

It felt a little strange sitting beside the woman whom she had only recently fucked but Katya did not seem the least bit perturbed. Jennifer watched her stripping the metadata off the photographs she had taken of Jennifer then she cropped selected images and adjusted the white balance, exposure and contrast, colour vibrancy and saturation, and sharpened the images.

“You look good eh? Like a little girl dressed to look older. Not happy but compliant,” Katya explained.

Jennifer read between the lines. She would stay here at the safe house while Uri and Katya prepared her and then she would be handed off to one of Dmitriy Yakovich’s people smugglers.

She was not looking forward to leaving the comfortable, centrally heated cottage to be taken who knows where but she understood the machinations of it all. Katya uploaded the images to a secure website.

“Ok. It won’t take long for Vlad to bite or reject you but he will bite. There are not many twenty-year-old pretty trans girls around for sale. Well not, how you say, American white-bread girl, anyway. Uri; how is dinner coming?” she called into the kitchen.

“You women set table, open wine and food will be ready soon,” Uri called from the kitchen from which delicious odours were emanating.

Jennifer didn’t realise how hungry she was. She hadn't eaten since the room service she’d had at the Conrad. She helped Katya set the table and Uri brought in a series of dishes and arranged them in the middle of the table. Katya poured wine and then they settled in and began to eat.

“Uri is good at many things. He’s a good fighter, good driver, good with money, good drinker, good fuck but he is also a good cook,” Katya leaned across and kissed him.

Jennifer had wondered if Uri and Katya’s relationship was more than just professional.

“Katya good at all those things too and she a lot smarter than me but lousy cook,” Uri downed his glass of wine in one long gulp and poured another.

“My wife was a lousy cook too so I had to learn to be good cook,” Uri forked a varenyky dumpling into his mouth.

“My husband was a lousy fuck but a good cook,” Katya shrugged her shoulders and shovelled a spoonful of borscht into her mouth.

“Ok. Need backstory. We have new identity documents for Jennifer Edwards. Good to keep same first name so you not become confused when called. Good backstory is same as real life story but altered only as required to fool interrogators. Easy to lie when most of lie is truth,” Uri counselled.

Uri and Katya looked at Jennifer expectantly and she realised that they wanted her to tell them her life story.

She did.

*****

Jennifer Jones

Jeremy Jones knew that something wasn’t right very early in his life. It wasn’t just that he was small and effete; he just didn’t feel right in his skin. He felt most right when he surrounded himself with feminine things. Not dolls and unicorns but books written from a female perspective (he loved bodice-rippers and identified with the heroine rather than the hero), he liked fashion (women's not men's) and he was a swimmer and a runner who also played soccer whilst most of his male classmates pursued football, baseball and hockey. He did enjoy rock climbing and was a good shot with both rifle and pistol.

Jeremy preferred his own company. He wasn’t really bullied; he just didn’t fit in and honestly wasn't interested in most ‘boy things’. Fiercely independent and headstrong, he didn’t care what others thought about him or the way he perceived himself and the way he presented himself. He began experimenting with makeup at a very young age and began to secretly dress enfemme.

Eventually he was caught. Jeremy’s mother, as diminutive as he and fatally attractive, suspected her son was crossdressing long before she caught him in the act. Jeremy and his mother had a long honest conversation about how Jeremy felt and the state of his sensibilities and his deep-rooted emotional state. She took him to a phycologist who referred him to psychiatrist who diagnosed gender dysphoria which came as no surprise to Jeremy or his mother.

It was Jeremy’s father who was horrified and outraged that his son was a sissy faggot (his words - not anyone else's). The family quarrelled and Jeremy’s father threatened to send him to a military school to ‘toughen him up’. Not that Jeremy really needed toughening. Despite being diminutive he was fit and wiry and could outshoot his father at the range.

Jeremy’s father had always been disappointed in him and Jeremy’s diagnosis confirmed to him that his son wasn’t right in the head. Jeremy was dispatched to a conversion therapy camp where he spent the most agonising eight weeks of his life and came home suffering from depression, anxiety, and feeling suicidal but remained ‘uncured’.

His father felt thwarted and betrayed by a wife who supported Jeremy and condoned Jeremy presenting as femme. There was no prolonged bickering, no late night fights, no drunken rages or custody battles. Jeremy’s father simply took the opportunity to walk away from a marriage he was done with and a wife and son who had bitterly disappointed him.

This left Jeremy and his mother financially marooned. Jeremy’s mother Sally was an attractive woman who had married his father right of high school and didn’t have any further education or employment skills. She could be a waitress, work in sales or be a room attendant, all of which she did to make ends meet. Sally was determined that Jeremy was not going to end up without the education he deserved.

Jeremy was top of his class in every subject and had already developed a fondness for the law. He dreamed of being a high-flying legal-eagle but in his dreams he was a she with flaming red locks, killer makeup, dressed in a short-skirted business suit. Sally allowed Jeremy to present as female at home and present as androgynous outside. Jeremy made no secret of his desire to become a woman but he didn’t push his agenda on others.

Enter Uncle Raymond. Raymond was not really Jeremy's uncle but that’s how Sally and Raymond preferred Jeremy refer to him. He was a man of some wealth and means and Sally had caught his eye and she was allured by his handsomeness, his personality and generosity. Sally might be a small gal but she was drop-dead gorgeous and dynamite in the sack.

Sally put it right up front that Jeremy was gender dysphoric and that if Raymond wanted them to live with him under his roof he would have to accept Jeremy as Jennifer, Jeremy’s femme alter ego. Raymond was not only understanding, he was supportive. He paid for Jennifer’s medications and surgeries including breast enhancement, some facial procedures and a tracheal shave. He also paid for Jennifer’s psychiatric support during her transition. In consultation with Sally and her psychiatrist Jennifer stopped short of genital reassignment because it was irreversible and because Jennifer felt she didn’t need it, at least not yet. If she changed her mind she could always undergo the procedure later in her life.

When Jennifer presented herself to the world as a trans-woman it surprised nobody who knew her.

But Jennifer was soon to be heartbroken. She had finally become the woman she wanted to be when her mother was diagnosed with an aggressive form of cancer that killed her in three months. Raymond was heart-sick too but life goes on. Jennifer was already in college but she continued to live under Raymond’s roof. Raymond remained supportive but Jennifer sensed that with her mother gone, Raymond was becoming more aloof and distant and was using the bottle for a crutch.

Despite or more likely because of her dysphoria Jennifer performed exceptionally well at school and had skipped a couple of grades and entered college at sixteen and began to study law. Two years on and Jennifer was a stunning young eighteen year old who still looked like she was fifteen when she wasn’t wearing makeup.

Because she was so busy studying and when she wasn’t studying she was engaged in swimming, rock climbing and running; she had given up team sports, Jennifer didn’t really have the time to think too much about sex. As she got older she had of course been approached by young men. Because she was so attractive and sweetly diminutive and made no secret that she was transgender she was coveted by certain types who pursued her with little success.

Masturbation and online pornography fulfilled Jennifer’s needs. She had no doubt that she would find a suitable man when the time came. She had no dreams of a white wedding or of settling down in suburbia with a loving husband or of adopting children. Jennifer was alone in the world with no other family except for those on her father’s side who despised and had disowned her and her uncle Raymond who seemed to be over Sally’s death and was actively pursuing short-term bed partners.

She was also aware that Raymond was becoming very forward with her. He kept telling her how much she looked like her mother and how pretty she was. She could feel his eyes on her ass when she wore her tights to go climbing or running and all over her body when she wore her swimsuit to go swimming.

Jennifer was not really perturbed because he was her uncle Raymond after all. He was also paying her bills and putting a roof over her head so she couldn’t afford to get him offside. Did she tease him a little? Maybe? She liked girly things and when she was home she didn’t dress down like most of her classmates. She liked little skirts and tight low-cut tops to show off her new rack, she liked nylons and makeup and heels. It almost seemed that because she had recently transitioned she had a need to present as ultra-feminine to juxtapose herself from her past.

Raymond cooked Jennifer a sumptuous dinner on the evening of her eighteenth birthday. They had celebratory drinks before dinner, wine with dinner and champagne with dessert and Jennifer felt a little tipsy. Raymond, like many others, believed the MDLA of 21 was a joke in a country that sent teenagers to war and let Jennifer partake freely in the booze he had provided.

Jennifer had dressed for the occasion in a red satin evening gown, flesh-toned fifteen denier sheer-to-the-waist pantyhose, red high heels, heavy put perfect makeup including cherry-red lips to match her dress and had her crimson locks piled high in an up-do. She looked beautiful and sophisticated but because of her size and her fresh looks she still looked her age. She was not wearing panties because she didn’t want to spoil the lines of the dress and she wasn't wearing a bra because the tight bodice of the dress supported her perky breasts perfectly.

Jennifer wasn't sad that she had no friends to share the happy event of her transition into womanhood but she was sad that her mother was no longer here to celebrate her becoming an adult.

Raymond did his best to make it a celebration, even offering to take Jennifer to a club but even with a fake ID she doubted she would gain entry; she just looked too young, besides Raymond was far too drunk to drive anywhere.

Instead Raymond put on some music, her mother Sally’s favourite playlist, and they danced in a cleared area of the lounge room. Jennifer was melancholy but content. She counted her blessings. The alcohol had made her mellow and she rested her head on Raymond’s chest contentedly as he held her close and they shuffled around the lounge room.

She wasn’t sure when she actually realised that Raymond was erect, but at some point in the evening she became aware that his penis was pressing into her belly. She didn’t want to embarrass him so she let it go. Having the same privy parts she knew that males often became aroused at the most inopportune times.

But when Raymond began to grind his erection in a circular motion on her body she knew that it was not just random penile tumescence that sometimes plagued Jennifer when she was tucked. Raymond was aware that he was aroused and he was furthering his arousal by pressing it against his de facto niece’s body. Raymond lowered a hand to her bottom and squeezed it gently.

Jennifer raised herself on her tippytoes.

“Please don’t do that Uncle Raymond,” she whispered in his ear.

That actually made matters worse.

Her sweet breath in his ear and her breasts pushing against him when she leaned in to whisper, inflamed her uncle’s passion. Raymond knew that his desire for this young woman was inappropriate. She was almost like family, like a daughter or a niece but Jennifer looked so much like Sally: so beautiful and sexy, she was even wearing her mother’s perfume, that Raymond found it difficult to supress his lust.

There was also the fact she was transgender. Raymond had never had a particular penchant for transgender women. He was not the type that entered ‘chicks with dicks’ into his web browser when the compunction for self-gratification overcame him. In fact he was firmly in the camp of: ‘there are no chicks with dicks, only guys with tits’ until he had met Sally and her daughter.

He had never thought of Jennifer as anything but female and been respectful and loving towards her. But with Sally now gone and Jennifer of age he often wondered what that beautiful young woman kept hidden inside her panties.

She had a fantastic body; there was no doubt about that. He should know; he’d paid for most of it. She paraded around the house in her short skirts, slinky tights, tight tops and tits out… he was only a man after all and even though he’d found solace in the one night stands he brought home from the bars, there was something about Jennifer lately that caused him an itch he needed to scratch.

Raymond also felt a little entitled. He’d taken Jennifer into his house and under his wing. He’d paid for her transition and was paying for her education. Wasn’t he entitled to a little ‘payback’ in return? It wasn’t like she was his real niece and she kept parading those long legs, pert tits and tight buns in front of him. It was like having a Barbie doll that he wasn't allowed to play with.

Raymond knew that he was rationalising but the feel of this girl-woman in his embrace: her tits pressing into his chest, her perky ass in his hands, her perfume in his nose, her breath on his neck was enrapturing and she hadn't actually said no had she?

‘Please don’t,’ wasn't NO!… was it?

Raymond squeezed Jennifer's buttocks again, feeling the satin of her dress slide over the slippery silky pantyhose underneath. His cock twitched and Jennifer felt it, as well as her uncle’s hand caressing her ass. She tried to ease away from him a little but he held her tight.

Jennifer wanted to make it all stop before it got out of hand. It had already got to the stage where they would both be embarrassed the next day but the situation was recoverable. At least she thought so.

When Raymond lowered his face to hers and tried to kiss her, Jennifer pulled her face away. Raymond held her tighter and chased her lips with his. He pressed his lips to Jennifer’s and sighed into her mouth and caressed her buttocks and his cock shuddered again.

Raymond was a handsome man and in another time and another place where Raymond had not been her mother’s lover Jennifer might have been tempted to let him take her virginity but this was very inappropriate. She told herself that as she held onto him to stop herself collapsing as he kissed her like she had never been kissed before.

Raymond’s muscled body pressing on hers, his handsome face so close, his soft sensuous lips on hers, the scent of his aftershave, the faint scratchiness of his beard on her soft cheek… the very manliness of him was arousing but so improper.

When Raymond slipped his tongue into her mouth she didn’t resist but she didn’t encourage him either. When Raymond put his hand between their bodies so that he could caress her nipples through her tight dress she didn’t resist but she didn’t encourage him either. When Raymond caressed her buttocks and rubbed her smooth satin dress against her glossy pantyhosed ass she didn’t resist but she didn’t encourage him either. When Raymond pressed his cock into her tiny body and ground it against her she didn’t resist but she didn’t encourage him either.

Being a law student Jennifer was very good at rationalisation. In class they were often asked to present an argument to prosecute an offence and then switch it around and offer a defence.

This was what Jennifer was doing now. She was condemning her uncle for molesting her whilst she defended her own actions for not fighting him off: she was too weak, she was the fairer sex, he was like family and should have been trusted, and he was twice her age and then some, so he should know better. All of her arguments held up under the scrutiny of the imaginary jury in her head.

Raymond was guilty and she was innocent.

But the defence had to be heard too: Why had she opened her mouth and let Raymond put his tongue inside her, why had she tentatively sought out said tongue with her own, why were her nipples hard and tingling with delight at the touch of his caress, why were her buttocks radiating rings of pleasure while her uncle kneaded and stroked them, why did being held against his firm muscled body make her feel like the woman she had always wanted to be.

And more importantly… why was her penis painfully erect against her perineum.

Raymond kept up the pretence that they were dancing and guided her toward the couch. She felt the edge of the seat on the back of her legs and when he gently pushed her she fell into the couch and Raymond followed her down so that he was lying on top of her.

“Don’t” she whispered when Raymond slipped a hand inside the split of her gown and began to caress her thigh.

Raymond smothered her objections with a passionate kiss which Jennifer found herself unable to resist. When he began to stroke her thigh through her glossy pantyhose she shuddered and sighed but she knew that she should put up a fight so she began to struggle. Raymond liked the feel of her small body writhing beneath him. He got to his knees and pulled down his pants and eased his erect cock out of his shorts.

Jennifer lay there gasping. She couldn’t believe this was actually happening. Then Raymond lowered his face to hers and she turned away but she didn’t flinch when he turned her face to his. He kissed her again and guilt coursed through her as she responded to the man who had once been her mother’s lover. When he guided her hand to his rampant penis she instinctively gripped it.

It was the only penis she had ever held beside her own. She liked the turgidity of it, the sleek flesh of the veiny shaft and the spongy mass of his glans as Raymond thrust his cock against her. Raymond was enraptured by the feel of Jennifer's fingers lightly grasping his cock and his glans rubbing on her satin gown when it pushed through her fingers.

The feel of Raymond’s throbbing penis in her fingers and pressing into her belly was exciting and empowering, even though she knew it was wrong. Her own cock was uncomfortable, cramped inside her pantyhose tucked between her buttocks where it was throbbing and leaking pre-ejaculate.

When Raymond’s hand slipped into the crevice where her thighs met her torso and caressed her there it felt like butterfly wings tickling her tender flesh. When it moved across her pudenda and between her legs she tried to clamp them shut but it was too late. Raymond's fingers caressed her swollen organ and she craved for it to be released. The pleasure and the pain were inseparable.

She sighed into his mouth when Raymond eased her bloated phallus from between her legs. Raymond moved her penis so that it lay flat against her belly, held there by the gossamer gusset of her pantyhose. Raymond caressed it and kissed her harder and Jennifer drummed her heels on the couch and struggled to get free but Raymond's muscled body pressed her down into the couch.

Jennifer justified to herself that she had tried her best when Raymond pressed his cock against hers and began to hump. Jennifer knew about frottage but she didn’t realise how wonderful it would feel as Raymond’s pulsing manhood rubbed on her own turgid cock.

Jennifer returned Raymond’s kisses, driving her tongue into his mouth. She wrapped her legs around him and pulled him tight. She was close to climax and thought that Raymond would be as well. She could live with it if there was no penetration. What they were doing wasn’t much more than foreplay and they were both intoxicated so they could justify it… laugh it off as an illicit drunken tryst.

Jennifer knew that her red sheath dress was close to being ruined when Raymond pulled down the bodice and exposed her breasts so he could suckle them. The seam on the side pleat was already torn where Raymond had tugged at the skirts so he could get his hands on her thighs and her ass.

He was cupping her buttocks grinding his cock against hers through her gossamer pantyhose while he suckled her breasts, using his lips and teeth on her nipples. Jennifer’s head was thrown back, her hair wildly tousled, her lips parted as she begged him to stop.

“Please, stop, please don’t,” she whispered, but the lust in her voice betrayed her.

What Raymond heard was ‘please don’t stop’ or so he justified to himself.

When Jennifer felt his fingers go back down into the crevice of her ass and begin to claw at her pantyhose gusset she really began to struggle. She was not ready for this!

Raymond held Jennifer down with his bodyweight and guided his cock to the hole he had torn in Jennifer's pantyhose. He nestled his glans in the little virgin winkle of her sphincter and Jennifer stopped struggling and froze. Raymond’s cock was slick with his own pre-cum and Jennifer’s pre-seminal fluid and she could feel more of the little droplets oozing from the eye of Raymond’s penis.

“Please don’t,” Jennifer’s beautiful green eyes enhanced by her heavy mascara and eyeliner had a pleading look in them.

But was it a pleading look implying that Raymond should stop what he was doing or was it a pleading look that implored him to deflower her?

When Jennifer lifter her legs and wrapped them around his body Raymond took it for the later.

He lowered his mouth to hers and silenced a scream as he slowly pushed his glands through the tight clutch of Jennifer’s sphincter and inside her anus.

He stopped there.

Jennifer felt the most incredible pain as Raymond’s rock-hard penis pieced her anus. There was only an inch or two inside her but the pain was undefinable. But not for long. Raymond had the good sense to stop and let Jennifer get used to accommodating his penis in her tight rectum.

After what seemed like an eternity the pain began to subside. Not completely but it was replaced by a wondrous feeling that Jennifer had never felt before. The delicate nerves in her sphincter and her anus began to tingle. The feel of the man-flesh filling her back passage was actually pleasant.

Jennifer had stopped struggling and sobbing and she was sucking on Raymond’s tongue. Raymond felt an almost imperceptible little kick from her heels on his flank, like one might use to encourage a horse to canter and Raymond took his cue.

He took his time and he had to. He was so close to coming. This gorgeous creature's anus was gripping his manhood, almost resisting him as he pushed himself further inside her. She would give a little whinny when the pain returned and he would stop. Then Jennifer would give him another little kick when she was ready and he would slowly begin to push again.

As Raymond’s bloated phallus began to fill her back passage Jennifer began to experience the most delightful sensations ringing out from her anus. Her cock was steely-hard and Raymond could feel it pressing into his belly.

Jennifer whimpered and began to shake when Raymond’s glans pressed on her prostate and it immediately triggered Jennifer’s orgasm. She began to writhe violently beneath him, wrapping her arms and legs around him and rising up off the couch to bury all of Raymond’s cock deep inside her tingling rectum. She screamed into his mouth as her boiling spend spurted from her penis. Her cock was tingled with the most delicious sensations and her anus was awash with delight, a deep gratifying magical buzz was radiating from her prostate.

Raymond had never been inside a cunt that was as tight and glorious as Jennifer’s ass and when she rubbed her nylon-sheathed legs on his flanks and pulled him deep inside her, kissing him with abandon, he had no recourse but to climax along with her. He could feel Jennifer’s hot cream saturating his belly as he unloaded his issue deep inside her.

Jennifer felt Raymond's cock judder in her bowels. His semen lubricated her back passage and when Raymond began to fuck her so hard that he literally drove her into the couch she hung onto him and squealed with delight as her orgasm intensified and then slowly began to abate.

When they had both peaked and plummeted from their climaxes Raymond lay still on top his tiny niece, his cock still inside her but slowly deflating. Jennifer could feel Raymond’s semen dribbling from her sphincter and soaking into her dress and Raymond could feel Jennifer’s spend cooling on his stomach.

The enormity of what they had done was suddenly apparent to them both.

Jennifer remained silent when Raymond disentangled himself from her, his cock slipped from her anus releasing a dribble of semen. She felt like a slattern lying there in her torn dress and pantyhose with her dead mother’s lover’s semen dribbling from her ass.

Raymond buckled his pants as he shuffled off to his bedroom, saying nothing, feeling guilty but at the same time feeling more satiated than he had ever felt. He cleaned up in the half bath and heard Jennifer down the hall using the shower. He turned out the light and climbed into bed filled with guilt, wondering what he was going to say to Jennifer the next day.

A few minutes later his bedroom door creaked open and the miasma of Jennifer’s perfume preceded her into the room. He felt her pull back the covers and climb into his bed. She was wearing pink rayon babydoll pyjamas and hold-up stockings. He couldn’t see them but he felt them as she snuggled up to him. He could taste her lipstick as she softly kissed his lips.

“We need to get some lube tomorrow,” she whispered in his ear as she took his burgeoning erection in her little hand.

Jennifer obtained her law degree in three years and went to work as a judicial clerk for a federal judge whilst earning her master’s degree and passing the bar exam. Although she had specialised in criminal law she had yet to practice and at the age of twenty three she made an application to the Federal Bureau of Investigation. She had seen enough of the criminal justice system to turn her away from the drudgery of the courts. Her time clerking for the federal judge counted as work experience and she met all the other employment requirements and the slipup by the bureaucrat who directed Jennifer to complete a Reasonable Accommodation Request ensured that she had to be recruited.

She had moved out of Raymond’s house as soon as she graduated and started clerking. By then Raymond and Jennifer knew that their relationship was doomed not only by their age difference but by the lingering guilt they both felt about Jennifer fucking the man who had been her mother’s lover. Their parting was amicable and by then Raymond had found a nice little cabaret singer who tickled all of his fancies and eventually Jennifer and Raymond stopped calling each other.

Jennifer liked living alone. She had her appetites and she appeased them usually with one night stands or sometimes she engaged professionals. She had no time for a serious relationship; her heart was set on graduating from the FBI academy and becoming a field agent for the Bureau.

*****

“Story is good mostly,” Uri nodded his head and looked at Katya who agreed.

“Like part where you live with uncle and he’s fucking you,” Uri chuckled.

“You know he wasn't really my uncle right?” Jennifer furrowed her brow.

“Yes I get it. You just call him uncle because he fucking your mother until she died. All that works. Except part where you graduate college. Man who place ad want educated girl but twenty years old or less so you are twenty and still in college. Use same college because you familiar with it. But you still working on degree and have to work part time in convenience store because uncle not paying way through college.”

Uri explained the rest of the backstory. Jennifer is working part-time at the University Market and Deli to help pay her way through college. Katya sees her there and offers Jennifer a modelling job; if she’s interested she’s to meet Katya at the Starbucks just down the block.

While she is drinking her coffee Jennifer begins to feel woozy and has a vague recollection of Katya helping her out of Starbucks and into a car. Next thing Jennifer knows she wakes up at the cottage where Katya keeps her drugged and takes pictures of her which Katya insists are for her modelling portfolio but Jennifer is not stupid and realises that she has been abducted but is too drugged to fight.

“You're very certain of yourself,” Jennifer sounded sceptical.

“Spotters working for Dmitriy’s organisation keep eye out for potential girls. Always looking for young pretty girls. Special girls for special orders and Katya find you. Is perfect,” Uri grinned.

“Where they find pretty young trans girl like you, already have top surgery? Not hooker, not porn star… poor little Jennifer Edwards working hard to put herself through college, abducted by nasty Ukrainian lady and sold to Dmitriy’s people,” Uri rubbed his hands together again.

“Ok. Go with Katya and examine documents. Practice backstory and get right. Not much time. You must be Jennifer Edwards by tomorrow,” Uri pushed his chair out from the table and stood.

“Tomorrow!” Jennifer said heatedly.

“Tomorrow we hand you to Vlad. Need to have everything in place when he collect you,” Katya explained.

Katya stood too and put out her hand indicating for Jennifer to join her. They went upstairs to Jennifer’s room and Katya opened a valise containing Jennifer’s new identity documents: a social security card, a driver’s licence issued in Maryland, a University of Maryland student ID card and a Bank of America credit card. The cards were sufficiently scuffed and worn to look authentic.

“Learn your social security and student ID numbers. The bank account in your name has three hundred and twenty seven dollars in it with records of transactions for last two years including deposits from the University Market and Deli where you worked until I drugged you in the Starbucks on St Paul Street,” Katya explained.

Jennifer knew that area well. It was about three miles from her old college campus. She knew that the ability to set up legitimate social security, driver’s licence, student ID and a bank account in a false name in such a short amount of time could only have been done using the Bureau's resources. Donald Chase had been busy once she agreed to the assignment.

Jennifer spent the rest of the evening going over her backstory with Katya who finished the evening questioning Jennifer to make sure she had it right.

“Ok Jennifer your life depends on this,” Katya tapped an innocuous little black box.

“This is a GPS tracker with a long-life battery. We will be able to track you to within five meters accuracy,” Katya tapped the little box with a painted nail.

Jennifer imagined a dark room at Quantico where a man sat behind a bank of computer screens intensely watching a little blip on the screen which indicated her position. She would be disappointed to know that it would be just Uri, Katya or Chase watching her on an app on their phones or a laptop. No one at Quantico knew where Jennifer was or what she was doing except Donald Chase and Mike Cole. The Director knew about the op but not the details. He wanted plausible deniability.

“When you eventually make contact with Dmitriy Yakovich and have enough evidence that you can testify against him you activate this button,” Katya tapped a recessed button on the small device.

“Only when you are certain, don’t panic and set it off early,” Katya said sternly.

“How will I know him when I see him?” Jennifer rightly asked.

Katya held up her phone and showed Jennifer one of the few pictures ever taken of Dmitriy Tanas Yakovich. Jennifer shivered involuntarily.

Uri poked his head around the door.

“Hey girly. You want join us tonight? Last night of freedom for a while; good fun. Threesome,” Uri grinned.

“Thanks for the offer but I think I’ll graciously decline,” Jennifer gave him a wan smile.

“Sleep well. Remember your backstory. Tomorrow the game is afoot,” Katya leaned in and kissed Jennifer’s cheek affectionately.

But Jennifer didn’t sleep well. The walls were thin and she heard bedsprings bouncing, moans and groans and other sex noises coming from Uri’s room for hours on end until Katya finally left Uri’s room to sleep in her own bedroom.

Jennifer fell into a fitful sleep and was up at first light.

She showered, fixed her makeup and dressed in a little black skirt and jacket with a red satin blouse under. Her pantyhose were glossy and flesh-toned, black high heels and the jewellery that Katya had given her completed the ensemble.

“Ah good, you are ready. Come we will pack your suitcase and I will show you where we will hide the tracker,” Katya put out her cigarette and led Jennifer upstairs.

When Jennifer was packed and ready to go Katya put her hands on Jennifer’s shoulders and looked down at her. Towering over Jennifer, Katya looked pale and sombre.

“The next few days will not be pleasant. Don’t panic; just remember it is only a job. No one is going to hurt you badly because you are an expensive commodity… but men will be men,” Katya shrugged her shoulders.

“Just keep your eyes on the prize: Dmitriy Tanas Yakovich,” Katya patted Jennifer’s cheek.

“Now it gets real. You will feel a little sting but then you feel good,” Katya whipped out a hypodermic and injected Jennifer in the neck.

Jennifer’s feet fell out from under her and Katya caught her and eased her onto the bed.

“Sorry kid, I have to make it look authentic,” Katya took off Jennifer’s jacket and rolled up the sleeves of her blouse.

She pricked the inside of Jennifer’s arm a couple of times in the crooks of her elbows and rubbed the wounds until they bruised.

“Now it looks like you’ve been kept drugged for a couple of days. Time to meet Vlad,” Katya said.

To Jennifer it sounded like Katya’s words were coming from a swirling dark well. She felt like she did just before she went under anaesthetic. It was a pleasant buzz but disconcerting that she had so little control over her body. She saw the shape of Uri’s huge body and then he lifted Jennifer and carried her downstairs and put her in the backseat of Katya’s car then he returned for her suitcase and put that in the trunk.

“Good luck,” Uri kissed Katya hard.

“No luck involved Uri. This is all planned. Our future depends on that girl,” Katya turned her face towards the car.

“Good luck anyway,” Uri kissed Katya again and Katya climbed in the car and was gone.

To be continued

Uri Kirill Orlov

Uri Kirill Orlov arrived in the United States in the late 1970s as a Soviet Jewish refugee under the Jackson-Vanik Amendment. He became a small-time criminal and was arrested in San Francisco for grand larceny, pleaded guilty to petty larceny and was placed on probation. He later became a bodyguard and chauffeur for the Odessa mob boss Alexi Agronov.

He became an enforcer and later headed up his own small criminal enterprise still working under Alexi Agronov who controlled most of rackets and bootlegging around northern California. Realising that Alexi had most of the better paying criminal enterprises sewn up, Uri moved south to LA and he and his crew developed their own special brand of extortion.

They specialised in home invasions around the Beverly Hills, Bel Air, San Marino, Pacific Palisades and Hidden hills areas. They hit low-profile but very rich couples, preferably but not always, without children living at home. Uri took his time extensively researching his victims and their houses.

The gang’s victims had substantial wealth on hand: cash, watches, jewellery, antiques, collectibles; anything that could be easily moved and quickly fenced. But their main goal was to terrorise the man of the house into going to his place of business, opening it up and handing over more cash or valuables.

Uri’s gang had a tried and true MO. After extensively casing the house the gang would drive up in a service vehicle, the type of vehicle used by a plumber, cable TV guy, electrician or any sort of tradesman who didn’t look out of place driving a Ford Transit van, their vehicle of choice. They used a code reader to pick up the signal from the automated gates and garage doors and went in immediately after the owners come in from a night out.

There were usually four of them; all big and heavily armed, wearing masks and gloves. The guns were actually too big for the job, if they fired them the noise would wake the whole the neighbourhood but the big guns were there to intimidate the home owners. They also carried coshes and clubs which they were not afraid to use.

After gaining entry and ensuring that the alarm was nullified they would bind the man of the house with cable ties while Uri held onto the man’s wife. He would threaten to rape her unless the man cooperated fully. Uri would demonstrate his intent by feeling up the woman while the man watched horrified and helpless. This usually did the trick; they seldom had to use their clubs or coshes but the odd miser who was more in love with his money than his wife sometimes had to be persuaded by using force.

Uri would tie the woman to the bed while the husband opened the house safe and handed over all the valuables in the home which Uri’s men would load into the Transit. The homeowner, knowing that his wife was vulnerable and with Uri making obscene observations about what he would do to her if the man didn’t comply, was usually very compliant. Two of Uri’s men would then take the man of the house to his place of business and make him open up the safe and hand over the contents. They targeted jewellers, up-market restaurateurs, art gallery owners; high-end retailers… anybody who had a business that generated volumes of cash or held easily moved valuables on the premises.

His accomplices would call Uri and let him know when they had cleaned out the business owner’s premises and Uri would gag the woman and chain her to the bed with stainless steel chain while his accomplices would do the same to the man, leaving him bound and gagged in his place of business. He and his other accomplice would make their escape in the home owner’s cars.

Uri’s team usually netted over a million dollars a hit, sometimes substantially more. Even after Uri kicked up a share to Alexi Agronov he still made a substantial profit.

Uri also ran a string of massage parlours, a couple of restaurants and two pawn shops, all of which he used to launder the stolen money. He had a sideline kidnapping girls and sometimes boys and selling them to people smugglers, usually runaways and delinquents who were seldom missed. The abductees were driven cross-country to a prearranged meeting place and handed over a man named Vlad Volkov, all arranged by Uri’s accomplice Katya Kuznetsova who lived in New York State.

Uri didn’t really have to accompany his gang on their home invasions but he liked the thrill of it and if the victim’s wife was a looker he’d get a little excited when he felt her up. Actually raping the woman was an empty threat because it meant leaving behind DNA but the man of the house never thought about that when Uri hiked up the wife’s dress and diddled her through her panties or ripped open the bodice of her gown and mauled her tits.

Uri had married a nice woman, who though she suspected, never asked him about his links to the Odessa mafia. He presented himself as a self-made businessman who lived comfortably and respectfully with his wife and two college-aged daughters in one of the better suburbs on the outskirts of LA.

All was going well until Uri fucked it all up.

He had started to delegate researching the home invasions to his lieutenant and most trusted collaborator Ivan Rakhimov who came to him with a job that seemed too good to be true. A man named Boris Balagula lived in a big house in Beverly Hills with his wife; the kids away at expensive boarding schools. He owned a high-end jewellery shop and slso traded diamonds. Boris had recently taken delivery of a cache of Australian Kimberly Argyle pink diamonds.

Uri got greedy. He took Ivan’s word for it as they looked over the schematics of the house and studied the business profile of the jewellers. Ivan didn’t do the extensive research into the home owner’s background like Uri always did. Ivan estimated that Boris Balagula had over a million dollars in cash and jewellery in the house and millions more in diamonds in the safe in the jewellery store.

Everything went fine right up until Uri held the man’s wife at gunpoint while his men tied up the husband. Boris Balagula had a Slavic accent but so what? Russian Jews were mired in the diamond trade. Wasn’t Lev Leviev, a Russian-Israeli Jew, known as the ‘King of Diamonds’?

Boris Balagula, put up a terrific fight. It took all three of Uri’s accomplices to overpower him and bind him.

Boris’s wife, a middle-aged, buxom bottle-blonde in a turquoise satin evening gown stood passively and watched her husband get beaten into submission.

When Uri held Boris’s wife in front of him and threatened to rape her Boris just grinned at the masked invaders.

“Fuck her. You can all fuck her if you want. She’ll probably like it,” Boris licked a trickle of blood from the side of his mouth.

“You don’t think we’re serious?” Uri countered.

Boris just shrugged.

Uri was furious. They had already given Boris a beating and he’d taken it like a man, never whimpering or crying, just huffing and groaning as Uri’s guys worked him over with their clubs and coshes.

“Ok. You can come and watch,” Uri dragged the blonde towards the bedroom and Uri’s thugs dragged Boris along behind.

The blonde didn’t struggle. She seemed resigned to her fate. They tied Boris to a chair facing the bed where Uri had tossed the buxom blonde. Uri was sure that Boris would relent as soon as he saw that Uri was true to his word.

But Boris just watched as Uri made the woman lie on the bed and open her legs. Uri started at her ankles, his fingers softly caressing the woman’s shapely legs through her gossamer hose. The woman lay still, even as Uri opened the side-split in her gown and moved his hand to her thigh.

Boris just seemed to watch disinterestedly.

“You know what comes next,” Uri grinned at the woman’s husband who said nothing.

Mrs Balagula flinched when Uri ripped open her skirts then she just lay there passively: her gown torn open, her long legs spread wide. She was wearing matching turquoise seamless nylon-elastin panties over her pantyhose. Uri’s wife had explained to him that the cut of the panties was designed to eliminate VPL. Why that morsel of knowledge flew into Uri’s mind he didn’t know; he just knew that Mrs Balagula had incredible long and shapely legs and appeared to shave her pubis.

“You don’t want me to do this. Cooperate. Take my compatriots to your wall-safe and open it, then a quick trip to your store and this will all be over. Your insurance will cover it,” Uri said to Boris while he stroked his wife’s legs.

Boris Balagula shrugged.

“Plenty of pretty blonde women out there. Not so many Argyle pink diamonds. You take wife; I’ll keep diamonds,” Boris grinned.

Boris’s blood-stained teeth, broken nose, cut cheeks and forehead gave him a grotesque appearance. His quiet stubborn resistance hid the seething hate and anger he kept suppressed. The thought of this big thug tampering with his wife while he was made to watch made him feel helpless, ashamed and dishonoured but handing over the diamonds was not an option.

Boris and his wife had discussed such a scenario. Although Boris led a quiet life and didn’t like bringing attention to himself, they both knew that because of his line of work an abduction or kidnap for ransom was possible: either Boris, his wife or one of their children. They had agreed that they would give up nothing; it would not be possible even if they wanted to. The abductee could do whatever was necessary to ease their own suffering but no ransom would ever be paid.

This was the situation that Boris Balagula found himself in now.

“We’ll see,” Uri was getting angry.

Uri was not a man who displayed his anger, Uri was more likely to quietly seethe then lash out but this diamond trader was proving a very difficult nut to crack. Boris would see what happened when Uri began to carry out the threats he’d made. No man would sit there helpless and watch his wife be defiled if all he had to do was handover valuables that his insurance company would recompense.

Uri unzipped his flies and unleased his throbbing monster cock. It was an angry, pulsing weapon: big and veiny with a blushed red glans that was leaking pre-cum. When Uri got angry it was often accompanied by concupiscence which was also fired by the sight of Mrs Balagula lying on the bed with her legs spread and her tight turquoise panties clinging to her pubic mound.

He rubbed his hand up and down the blonde’s thighs and she just lay still, even when Uri put his hand between her legs and began to massage her vulva through her panties and pantyhose. She was warm and her panties were damp. What the hell?

Mrs Balagula harboured a rape fantasy that she and her husband sometimes played out. Her powerful husband often took her in the most inappropriate of places: up against the wall in the alley outside the restaurant where they were having dinner, in the toilet of a friend’s house, next to a walking track in the park, in the back seat of their car in a parking lot, in a darkened cinema. They got off on having sex in improper and unseemly places. It was always quick and often brutal and they never undressed.

Mrs Balagula enjoyed her husband’s impromptu sexcapades and she built her own little fantasies around them. She was being brutalised by a stranger and forced to enjoy the experience.

Despite the real danger that they were both in and her husband’s injuries she was now living her fantasy. Terrified as she was, she couldn’t control her involuntary reactions to Uri’s ministrations. When he was stroking her legs it was pleasantly debauched but when he caressed her vulva it ignited a burning intense fire in her vagina; a pleasant itch that needed scratching.

When Uri mounted her, still fully clothed, his enormous penis poking out of his trousers, it was just like what Boris did to her. But this wasn’t Boris. This was some brutal thug who was about to ravish her. Her fantasy had become reality.

Uri pressed his hard cock into the woman’s vulva, her honour protected only by the gossamer fabric of her pantyhose, Uri had eased the crotch of her panties aside.

“Last chance to cooperate or I fuck her,” Uri looked back over his shoulder at Boris Balagula who looked almost pathetic, beaten and bleeding tied to the chair.

Boris looked back at Uri impassively.

“Enjoy her. It will be the last fuck you ever have,” Boris grinned his bloody grin again.

Uri thrust forward and his cock ripped open Mrs Balagula’s pantyhose and slid into her warm wet vagina like a knife through soft butter. The woman did nothing more than grunt when Uri’s cock slid inside her. She was biting her lip suppressing the urge to moan like a slattern as waves of rapture washed over her as the brute's huge phallus ignited her pleasure centres.

The woman wasn’t tight but she was no tunnel-cunt either. Considering she’d given birth to two children her vagina was a snug fit for Uri’s huge cock.

Uri began to fuck her and she could no longer pretend that she wasn’t enjoying it. Knowing that her husband was watching her being defiled right before his eyes only added to her gratification. She recalled their agreement to cooperate in any way to minimise their torment if they were ever abducted, knowing that no ransom demands would ever be met. This was how Mrs Balagula justified lifting her legs and wrapping them around Uri to encourage him to fuck her harder.

Uri did. He pushed the woman down into the bed and slammed his cock in and out of her sopping maw as she shrieked and mewed beneath him. He doubted they were cries despondency; to him they seemed more like cries of lechery.

Then she amazed him. She wrapped her arms around him, locked her ankles behind his back and began to fuck him back. When he lowered her lips to her mature, elegant face, she opened her lipsticked lips and her tongue met his.

They thrashed on the bed for no more than a couple of minutes, Uri’s cock being milked by the woman’s clinging pudenda, her nails raked his flesh, she bit his lip, her heels drummed on his back until the woman elicited a muffled scream and began to judder.

Boris Balagula knew that his wife was coming. Her orgasms were short, sharp and explosive. Boris usually stifled her cries by driving his tongue into her mouth which is exactly what Uri did as his cock exploded deep inside her, flooding her with his scalding issue.

When he was done Uri climbed off Boris’s wife who was now curled up into a ball sobbing with post coital regret. He hitched up his pants and zipped his flies.

He wasn't worried about leaving his DNA inside Mrs Balagula, he strongly doubted that Boris Balagula was going to report the sexual assault part of the home invasion; it would be too demeaning.

“Now. Take me to the safe and open it or I’ll let the rest of my guys take turns with your wife,” Uri leaned in, his face only inches from Boris Balagula.

Boris spat in Uri’s face and Uri hit him with a powerhouse punch that toppled the chair and knocked Boris unconscious.

“What now?” Uri could see Ivan was sweating under his mask.

“Do we all get a turn?” Ivan poked Mrs Balagula in the ass with his forefinger.

“He’s not going to give up and she’s… well you saw how she is,” Uri sighed.

“Clean out the house. Take everything of value. Then we get the fuck out of here. I should have researched the job myself,” Uri growled.

The team went to work opening draws and cupboards, taking jewellery, silverware, the artwork off the walls and even the 17th century antique Persian rugs. While they were ransacking the house Uri went back into the bedroom to check on Boris Balagula and found Ivan riding Mrs Balagula like a brood mare. She didn’t seem to be complaining. Boris was still unconscious.

“They got a Tesla, a Bugatti and a Beamer in the garage,” one of Uri’s henchmen reported.

“You and Benjie take the Bugatti and the BMW. The Tesla will be too hard to sell,” Uri grunted.

The gang loaded everything into the Transit with routine efficiency. Two of the gang drove the Bugatti and the BMW away while Uri and Ivan jumped into the van. They had left Mrs Balagula chained to the bed and Boris, still unconscious, tied to the chair. They had put the heavy-duty stainless steel chains around him to slow down his escape.

Back at Uri’s main pawn shop the gang went through the proceeds of their crime. The two high-end cars had been dropped off at the garage of man who dealt in the sale and shipment of stolen luxury vehicles and had netted fifty thousand dollars, a trifle of their true value. They estimated the cash, jewellery and other items stolen from the house to be in the region of seven hundred thousand dollars when fenced, Mrs Balagula’s diamond jewellery making up the bulk of the profit. It was not a great return but respectable.

“He just wouldn’t give up those fucking diamonds,” Ivan cursed bitterly.

“Maybe we should have worked on her with a knife,” one of Uri’s henchman grumbled.

“That man sat passively while I raped his wife. You think cutting her would change his mind?” Uri barked.

“Why not just give up the diamonds? Surely they are insured?” Ivan asked and Uri shrugged.

He didn’t know.

But he was about to find out.

Whilst Boris Balagula did leave a quiet life as a respectable jeweller and diamond trader he was also the banker for Dmitriy Tanas Yakovich whose criminal proceeds Boris laundered and then converted from cash into diamonds. Transactions over $10,000 had to be reported by reputable financial institutions but a small bag of diamonds worth millions could be hidden in a person’s luggage and transported anywhere in the world and still hold their value.

Boris Balagula knew that he was as good as dead if he’d handed over any of Dmitriy’s diamonds to the home invaders and it wouldn’t be a pleasant death for him, his wife and his children. As it was, Boris had had to dispose of his wife. Despite their agreement to do whatever was necessary to save themselves in the event of an abduction, Boris just couldn’t put out of his mind the picture of Uri Orlov fucking his wife with that monster cock.

It wasn’t so much that his wife had obviously enjoyed being raped; it was the indignity of having to watch her.

She now lay in a shallow grave in the dessert somewhere between LA and Las Vegas. Ridding himself of her had also reduced the number of people who knew about the home invasion to only Boris, Dmitriy and the perpetrators.

Dmitriy thanked Boris for being a good soldier and assured him that he and his wife would be avenged.

Three days after the home invasion Ivan Rakhimov’s head disappeared in a pink mist as he was alighting from his classic two-door Ford Thunderbird on a busy Los Angeles street. The fifty calibre M107 semi-automatic long range sniper used by Dmitriy’s assassin was overkill but Dmitriy was sending a message. Uri’s other two henchmen suffered similar fates but Uri was not to be so lucky.

After hearing about Ivan being shot Uri raced home to find his wife and two daughters being held at gunpoint by four armed men. They didn’t bother wearing masks; no one was going to leave the house alive. Uri was forced to watch the men take turns raping his wife and his two adult daughters before they were executed in front of him. He was to be taken to Dmitriy Yakovich so that Dmitriy could deliver retribution personally whilst Boris Balagula watched.

Fate interjected when the car in which he was being transported was hit by another vehicle. The driver of the other vehicle had suffered a massive heart attack and as his heart spasmed he mindlessly jammed his foot on the accelerator pedal, slamming his car into the car in which Uri was being conveyed, forcing it over the safety rail of an overpass.

The driver of the car died on impact and the other thug was badly injured. Suffering only minor injuries Uri was able to put his cuffed hands over his abductor’s head and strangle him. He managed to find the handcuff keys in the dead man’s pocket and free himself before the chase car with the other two henchmen embarked was able to get to the bottom of the arroyo.

Uri flagged down an old man driving a rusty old pickup and had him drive Uri to an abandoned farmhouse that Uri had purchased as a redoubt just in case of just such an event. He kept the farmhouse secret from everybody else. He debated whether or not to kill the grizzled old man who had driven him to his hideout. Prudence said he should but he’d seen enough killing for one day and the man would likely forget where he had taken Uri because Uri doubted the old man could even remember his own birthday. He gave the old man five thousand dollars and sent him on his way.

Uri pulled up some floorboards and found the lockbox he had hidden there. He opened it to check the contents: one million dollars in cash and Krugerrands. He pulled a briefcase out of the hole and checked its contents: a set of car keys, a burner phone and two driver’s licences and passports in fictitious names, good enough to pass scrutiny from law enforcement and Homeland Security officials.

His suit was tattered, torn and dusty and he had a number of superficial wounds from the car crash which he treated with the contents of a first aid kit. He cleaned up as best he could and changed into new chinos, a chambray shirt and leather sneakers. In the barn of the farmhouse was a Ford Explorer. Uri checked on his cache and started the car at regular intervals because it was his means of emergency escape. The Explorer started immediately he pressed the start button.

He knew that Dmitriy Yakovich’s men would be circling out from the crash site searching for him. He loaded up the Explorer and hit the road. He didn’t fly because he didn’t want to use his new identity documents until he was well clear of California and Dmitriy’s men would be watching the airports so he drove. Using the I-40 and staying at the speed limit with an overnight rest stop at a no-tell motel where he paid cash for a room it took Uri a little over two days to drive to Long Island.

Outside of Bethlehem Pennsylvania he made a call from a truck stop using a land line. He spoke to Katya Kuznetsova.

Katya informed him that Uri’s boss Alexi Agronov had been brutally slain. He had been hung from the rafters of his horse stables and skinned alive, Alexi’s wife and children had been killed and their house burnt down with their bodies inside it.

Dmitriy Tanas Yakovich was sending a message to other organised crime organisations that he would not tolerate insubordination or infringements. He had put out a one million dollar reward for Uri Orlov, delivered to him alive and threatened that he would kill anyone along with their families is they aided Uri Orlov’s escape.

“I didn’t know that Boris Balagula worked for Dmitriy Yakovich. I not go anywhere near him if I knew. Dmitriy Yakovich is madman… psychopath!” Uri hissed into the phone.

“He’s worse than that. You are a dead man walking Uri,” Katya stated the obvious.

“Can I come to you?” Uri asked, desperation in his voice.

“I still have my cottage on at Southold on Paradise Point Road, you remember?” Katya breathed into the phone.

“Of course remember,” Uri grinned.

Katya Kuznetsova was now the only person in the world that Uri could trust; Dmitriy Tanas Yakovich had poisoned the well.

Katya Kuznetsova

On her eighteenth birthday Katya Kuznetsova ran away from her home in Rohoziv Ukraine. Already a natural beauty she had dreams of following in the footsteps of other Ukrainian exports such as Milla Jovovich and Mila Kunis and becoming a famous actress in America. Adequately educated but poor, she had established an online relationship with a man claiming to be a scout for a theatrical agent in Hollywood.

He asked for her measurements, shoes size, and for pictures of her dressed scantily and eventually a series of nudes. Katya wasn’t that stupid; she guessed the man might just be a troll looking for pictures of young women but she had nothing to lose. When the man purchased her airline tickets from Kiev to Los Angeles she was as surprised as anyone, including her friends who told her that she was likely being enticed into forced prostitution which was a common fairy tale that the teenage girls in Rohoziv used to scare each other.

“Did you hear about Rosa? She answered an ad to work as an au pair in Bonn and ended up being forced to work in a brothel!” was an oft repeated dark tale.

Rosa was actually backpacking around the UK and working as a waitress in a fast food restaurant at a motorway services stop near Manchester England; but never let the truth get in the way of a good story.

Two years earlier Katya had applied for a passport so she could go on a school excursion to London but her mother couldn’t afford the fares and Katya still had the passport. Fed up of being poor and looking forward to a life of drudgery working in an office or a factory she had dreams of leaving home and making her way in the world.

Being a stunning beauty she had attracted many young and not so young men with whom she had flirted and who had schooled her in the art of seduction but she soon tired of them and she had not surrendered her virtue. Her mother had told Katya that her pretty face, long legs and what she kept between them could be the key or her future. But her mother, also a good looking woman, was no exemplar for that kind of life. Her husband had left her destitute and her current boyfriend beat her regularly and had recently taken an unhealthy interest in Katya, stealing her underwear and sneaking around her bedroom door.

No. It was time to leave Rohoziv and leave she did.

She was met at LAX by a man who spoke Russian but demanded that they converse in English. If Katya was going to make it in the US of A she needed to speak good English he insisted. Katya half expected to be driven to some hovel where her passport would be taken from her and she would be raped and forced into prostitution just like the grim tales her girlfriends told in Rohoziv. But the man was driving an expensive car, was dressed in a suit and appeared quite civilised.

Katya was surprised when the car turned down a long driveway protected by a manned guardhouse built into a substantial brick wall which ran along the borders of the property. Inside the walls were manicured lawns, landscaped gardens scattered with marble and sandstone sculptures and several fountains. The house itself was imposing but modern and stylish. Whoever lived here had money and was important. Was she really going to meet some big time producer or theatrical agent?

There were more men in suits patrolling the grounds or at least they seemed to be patrolling. There were also gardeners and household employees going about their business. The place was busy.

The car pulled up in front of the house and the driver opened the door for Katya.

“You should be very grateful and impressed that he is seeing you personally; he only sees the special ones,” the man said which Katya found a little puzzling.

“Go inside. I’ll bring your suitcase up to your room,” the man waved her away.

It was only then that Katya realised that the man who had collected her at the airport had never introduced himself.

Katya figured that she should be grateful that she was considered one of the special ones and went inside the house where she was met by a stunning woman wearing an expensive looking skirt-suit.

“I’m Liza Lawton, please follow me,” the young woman with the British accent led Katya up a curving marble staircase.

“What is this place? Who am I here to see?” she asked as she followed the woman up the stairs.

Katya noticed that Liza was wearing seamed stockings which seemed a little archaic but the woman’s sense of style couldn’t be questioned. The elegant dark suit fitted her perfectly: cinched at the waist, moulded to her bosom, the hem of the skirt resting mid-thigh, her blonde hair perfectly coiffed, her makeup heavy but flawless. Katya doubted the sparkling stones around her neck and the drop earrings were fakes and the red soles on her high heels implied Christian Louboutin. Katya also noticed that Liza had a small scorpion tattooed on her left ankle.

Liza herself could be a movie star or a model; maybe she was?

They entered a large bedroom that was styled with soft beige carpet and matching curtains. The furniture was ornate and expensive, the bed the size of a small swimming pool.

“Freshen up. Take a shower. There are cosmetics on the vanity and clothes in the armoire. Wear the red dress and heels. Hosiery is not optional in this house,” Liza said dourly.

It was not lost on Katya that Liza had not answered any of her questions. Was she about to be interviewed? Given a screen test or required to walk a runway? Surely she would receive some sort of training before she was made to do so? Three years of amateur theatrics at the musical school in Boryspil was hardly an adequate background for a future as model or an actress.

Whatever she was required to do didn’t really matter for now. Katya had never seen such opulence. The ride from the airport through streets which were clean, sunlit, and filled with people who seemed happy and affluent was a far cry from the poverty and squalor she lived in at home. This was the miracle she had hoped for so why look a gift horse in the mouth?

The ensuite bathroom was as big as the whole of the ground floor of the house she lived in in Rohoziv. It was tiled with pink marble and the fittings appeared to be gilded with gold. She stripped out of her travel clothes which were quite funky and stepped under the rainfall shower and lathered herself with the Hermès eau d'orange verte hair and body shower gel. It was an extravagance that she savoured and she was reluctant to leave the shower but she was impatient to see what other wonders lay waiting for her in this house.

She brushed her teeth and rinsed with mouthwash and suddenly realised that she was ravenously hungry. She had eaten only airline food for the last two days. She dried her shoulder-length raven hair with the blow drier and wished that she had been able to get her hair cut and styled before she left home.

She checked out her body in the full-length mirror and as she did Liza entered the room.

“Let me see,” Liza had Katya stand naked before her.

Liza examined Katya’s body.

Katya was tall and slim and long-legged with small perky breasts and flawless alabaster skin. She had striking emerald green eyes just like her mother who had warned her to make the most of her looks while she was young. If her mother could see her now she would eat her heart out with jealousy.

Liza pointed to a white satin robe lying out on the bed.

“You can wear that while you put on your makeup,” she turned on her heels and left without saying another word.

Katya she slipped into the cool satin robe and sat down at the vanity. She stared at the cosmetics arrayed like toy soldiers on the antique wooden vanity: Oriflame, Estee Lauder, MAC, L'Oreal, Chanel, names she had heard of but never dreamed of owning.

She put on her makeup deciding that she needed to make a spectacular entrance when this theatrical mogul saw her for the first time. She used very little foundation and only a light dusting of finishing powder and a little blush and went to work on her eyes which she accentuated with heavy black eyeliner, mauve and purple eyeshadow and thick mascara. For dramatic effect she applied Bond No. 9 lipstick in Park Avenue red to her lips and found a matching shade of nailpolish that she carefully applied to her fingernails and did her toenails for good measure.

While she waited for the nailpolish to dry she contemplated her future. Had she been discovered by some wealthy executive in the entertainment industry? Was she to be a model or a TV star? The lavishness of her surroundings suggested that the man she had come to see was rich and powerful.

Katya went to the armoire and opened it up. There was quite an array of runway-label clothing and footwear all in her size. The surprise effect was wearing off. The online talent scout had asked for her measurements so it made sense that the clothing and shoes were in her size. She picked up a high heel and was not surprised to find it was a genuine Louboutin. As directed she took down the red Dolce & Gabbana low cut silk sheath. It was sleeveless with a plunging neckline. She opened the drawers and found lingerie and hosiery, selecting a pair of hi-cut, seamless full-briefs made from nylon and spandex in red.

She figured the panties would be undetectable under the sheath dress. She found the matching seamless wire-free brassiere and then went looking for hosiery of which there was an extensive collection. She selected a pair of flesh-tone Wolford Individual ten denier pantyhose which she carefully stepped into.

She admired herself once again in the mirror. The sheer-to-the-waist pantyhose exposed her Brazilian waxed pubic hair which she achieved herself using a safety razor and depilatory cream.

Katya didn’t need Liza’s warning about hosiery not being optional. All the girls at her school had been shaving their pubic hair as soon as they started secondary school and they all wore pantyhose rather than the ugly thick tights preferred by the older women in Rohoziv. Katya had started shaving her legs and wearing pantyhose as soon as her mother would let her. She even wore them under her cheap knock-off skinny jeans that she bought at the local flea market because it made it easier to slip into the tight denim pants. Katya loved the way hosiery made her long legs look perfect and elegant. She didn’t understand western women’s disdain for pantyhose.

After smoothing out her pantyhose she slipped into her panties and bra; the panties sent little tingles of excitement up her nylon-sheathed legs as they slid them on and pulled them tight around her buttocks and pubis. She gave herself a tiny little rub but didn’t want to get her juices flowing into her fresh clean underwear. Although a virgin Katya was a keen masturbator and enjoyed languidly stroking her clitoris until she was close to orgasm and then backing off. She would edge herself for hours that way, alone in her bed during cold winter nights.

The sheath dress slipped over her body aided by her slippery nylons and silky smooth bra and panty set. She pulled it into shape and it was flawless, not a bulge, seam or pantyline in sight. The hem rested mid-thigh and tickled her legs in a nice way. She slipped on the Louboutin’s and took another twirl in front of the mirror. She reached for perfume but found only a solitary bottle of Poison so she doused herself liberally with the heavy parfum. She was ready.

As if on cue Liza burst through the door unannounced and strode over and studied Katya from head to toe. She made a show of straightening a hemline that didn’t need to be straightened and picking imaginary fluff off Katya’s dress. Katya sensed a little jealousy.

“You’ll do I suppose,” Liza sighed.

She went over to a picture and swung it on hidden hinges to reveal a wall safe. Liza opened the safe and took out a blue felt-lined box and brought it over to the vanity.

“Stand still,” she ordered and put a simple silver and sapphire necklace around Katya’s neck and matching earrings in her ears.

“Come,” she led Katya back to the mirror.

Katya had never looked so beautiful. Her jet-black hair contrasted with the red dress and her alabaster skin, her bold eye makeup, red lipstick and sapphire jewellery all complemented the ensemble. She towered over Liza in her heels and felt beautiful and powerful. There was still some trepidation but she was ready to meet her mysterious benefactor.

“Keep your eyes down, be respectful and don’t speak until you are spoken to,” Liza warned her and led Katya out of the bedroom and along the mezzanine to a big room that was expensively decorated with ornate furniture, exotic artwork and antiques.

“Wait here,” Liza ordered and opened the door to an adjoining room.

“The new girl is here. Vlad did a good job this time, she’s everything you saw in the photographs and more,” Katya overheard Liza say.

“I am Dmitriy Tanas Yakovich and you are Katya Kuznetsova of Rohoziv Ukraine,” the most handsome man that Katya had ever seen said as he entered the room.

He was tall and held his head high. He had striking blue eyes set in dark sockets, a long elegant nose, chiselled cheekbones and a narrow chin. His skin was dark and tanned and he sported a well-manicured black beard; his hair was long, thick, black and lustrous. His lithe frame was well muscled. Katya could see his chest and calves because he was wearing only a blue silk robe with gold embellishments and leather sandals. His cologne was exotic and pungent; his full lips were parted with a smile that displayed prefect white teeth. Every part of his exposed skin except for his face was heavily tattooed.

The man exuded power and wealth.

He took Katya’s hand and softly kissed it, his beard tickling the back of her hand and then he circled her slowly and examined her like a trainer would inspect a fine filly.

“Eighteen and still a virgin?” he directed his question to Liza.

“So she claims. I haven’t had her examined yet,” Liza responded.

“Amazing,” Dmitriy lifted Katya’s chin and examined her face.

Katya found the discussion about her virginity a little unsettling. This was not the 1940’s where an unmarried female celebrity’s virtue was a point of discussion.

“Her English is good?” Dmitriy asked.

“Very good. Widens the market. She’s a little old for some of our customers but she’s an exquisite specimen,” Liza replied, a little pleased with herself.

“What do you think?” Dmitriy continued to circle Katya, examining her closely.

“If we get her to Dubai this week I think we can get two hundred, maybe two hundred and fifty. Same down in Brazil, three hundred in Japan or China if we dye her hair blonde,” Liza said matter-of-factly.

Katya thought she was going to faint. She could hardly breathe. The old wives tales the girls told to scare each other in Rohoziv were true. She had been lured into a sex trafficking ring.

“What if she wasn’t a virgin?” Dmitriy lifted Katya’s chin again and smiled at her.

If Katya didn’t perceive that this man was a people trafficker she would likely fall for him, although he was a little older than her he was stunningly attractive and gave off an air of dignity and eloquence.

“Half of what I quoted you Dmitriy. You’re not going to fuck her are you? She’s not worth it. Keeping her hymen intact doubles our profit,” there was anger and jealousy in Liza’s response.

Dmitriy turned on Liza and his eyes burned with anger. He was not a man who was used to being told what to do and certainly not by a woman.

“Leave us! Cancel the rest of my appointments and have the staff deliver dinner for two to my private dining room. I am not to be disturbed… understand!’ Dmitriy growled at Liza.

He didn’t raise his voice because he didn’t need to. The menace, evil and malevolence in his voice and manner were enough to convey his intent.

Liza left the room and Katya began to shake with fear.

“You heard what we said? You know why you are here?” Dmitriy stroked Katya’s cheek.

Katya had been so close to her dreams. She had seen the prosperity and wholesomeness around her: the nice houses, nice cars, the stores filled with exotic wares. Now it was all gone because she had been naïve and stupid. She articulated such to Dmitriy.

“I should have known it was all too good to be true. I’m stupid,” she refused to cry and refused to look down as Liza had ordered her to do.

She glared at Dmitriy defiantly, her ice-blue eyes burning into his.

“There is something about you. It’s not just your incredible beauty, you have a fire in you,” Dmitriy stepped into her, his lips almost touching hers.

“If I send you to the Middle East, Asia or South America, even back to Europe, you will not live a bad life. The man who buys you will cherish you,” Dmitriy whispered.

“Until something better comes along and he sells me to someone else or puts me to work in a bordello,” Katya said plainly.

“My god you are so exquisite. I don’t think I will let you go just yet,” Dmitriy pressed his lips to hers.

Katya neither resisted nor yielded. Her head was spinning but the beginnings of a plan began to form.

“So is it true what Liza said? Will my price be halved if I lose my virginity?” Katya tentatively reached out and stroked Dmitriy’s upper arm.

“Blonde virgins make the most money but someone as beautiful as you would likely make the same, even with that striking black hair. You are like a black pearl hidden amongst whitest of Akoya pearls that are harvested in the hidden bays off the coast of Japan. A rare and precious find,” Dmitriy kissed her again.

“I can tell that you covet and cosset rare and precious things,” she returned Dmitriy’s kiss, softly resting her full lips on his.

Although Katya was tall, she was lean and Dmitriy was easily able to lift her into his arms and carry her to his bedroom. He lay her down on the downy coverlet and kicked off his sandals and lay down beside her.

“Should I undress?” Katya asked meekly.

“No. You are a present that I wish to unwrap myself,” Dmitriy smiled down at her.

This time when Dmitriy kissed her she sensed his restrained passion and Katya put her arms around him and returned the kiss but softly. She was careful not to be too aggressive. She might be a virgin but she was experienced in the art of seduction and knew that playing the innocent coquette was the way to Dmitriy’s heart.

They kissed for a long time, Katya’s mouth was sweet and she smelled of the Poison perfume that Dmitriy preferred. Her tall lithe body moulded perfectly to Dmitriy’s who was used to the diminutive young blondes that his customers mostly wanted.

There was something about this girl. She might present as naïve and inexperienced but he sensed there was an undercurrent of sensuality and maturity that she was keeping hidden.

Their kisses became more passionate and Dmitriy began to use his tongue on her and Katya mimicked his actions, pretending to be a novice in the art of seduction. Dmitriy lay her down flat and straddled her and Katya could feel his hard cock pressing into her belly. It was not the first time she had felt a man’s erection against her body but it was certainly the biggest. She knew it was impossible but she thought she could sense the heat of it.

Dmitriy put a hand inside the low-cut dress and scooped out Katya’s beasts. They were perfectly formed, small but perky and pert. Her areolas were pink against her alabaster flesh and Dmitriy lowered his face to them and began to suckle on them. Katya entwined her fingers in the tresses of his hair, guiding his leonine head from nipple to nipple when they became too sensitive.

She arched her back and sighed as Dmitriy lapped, nipped and licked her sensitive teats. Pleasure radiated out from her breasts and pooled in her belly; she could feel herself becoming damp.

When Katya was delirious with rapture Dmitriy returned to her pretty face and kissed her again prolonging the anticipation of exploring the treasure that lay between her legs. His fingers stroked and kneaded her nipples which were hard and elongated. His cock was hard and throbbing and craving for release but he would not be rushed.

Dmitriy explored Katya’s breasts again with his mouth, smiling to himself when she gasped and wriggled on the bed. This time he did not return to her face but began a slow journey down her body, taking his time to explore her belly and her hips with his mouth. He could sense her delicate flesh through the tight bodice of her silk sheath and Katya could feel his lips, tongue and teeth through the gauzy fabric. She had never considered her belly and her hips as erogenous zones but Dmitriy was a devil in the art of seduction.

He followed the shape of her body, carefully avoiding her pelvic region. His lips followed the curve of her hip down to the top of her thigh and then he licked her leg from the top of her thigh down to her ankle and back again. He did this to both her legs, pushing up the hem of her dress to the top of her thighs. He spent some time exploring the little wrinkles in her diaphanous nylons at the back of her knees and the crease where her legs joined her torso.

Katya’s fingers were tangled in his hair, pulling on it, guiding his face to the places she wanted him to explore. The feel of his mouth on her legs through the ten denier nylon felt like she was being caressed by angel’s wings. All of her pleasure centres were ignited and a deep ache was emanating from her sex which was yearning to be fondled.

Dmitriy deliberately stayed away from Katya’s pubis and began to kiss her on the mouth and then began his exploration of her body all over again. He did this three times until Katya was moaning with excitement and yearning. Twice she had reached for his cock and twice he had slapped her hand away, scared that if she so much as touched him he would explode.

This gorgeous creature was the most exquisite treasure that he had ever encountered and soon she would be plundered. But only when he was ready.

Katya wished that Dmitriy would tear open her dress and ravage her; she had never felt so wanton but he teased her for hours. The only compromise he had made was to take off his robe so that all that remained were his Calvin Klein briefs. He let Katya rake his chest with her long nails and caress his dark muscled tattooed skin but if her hands strayed below his belly he slapped them away. Likewise he stopped her from taking off her dress or her heels. He could feel her frustration and it excited him.

On his final journey from mouth to ankle he made a detour on his way back up Katya’s thigh and pressed his mouth to her sex. Her panties were soaked and he grinned. Katya could feel Dmitriy’s lips on her pubis through the silky layers of her panties and pantyhose. He teased her, lapping at her cunt through her panties and stockings until her heels were drumming on the bed, her fingers almost ripping his hair from his scalp.

She was simpering and whimpering with desire. Dmitriy had been teasing Katya for nearly two hours before he even put his mouth anywhere near her pudendum. He removed his mouth from her pubis and kissed her on the lips again.

“Please, please, please Dmitriy,” it was the first coherent word that either of them had uttered for over an hour, instead they had communicated with gestures, sighs and groans.

Dmitriy smiled and returned his mouth to Katya’s pubis. He eased aside the gusset of her panties and bit a hole in her pantyhose, exposing Katya’s vulva. The delicate folds of her labia unfolded like pink petals exposing her clitoris which was swollen. Dmitriy deliberately kept his tongue away from the inflamed nubbin as he lapped at her sweet moist cuntal lips.

Katya sighed. It was sigh of relief as much as it was a sigh of gratification. Dmitriy had finally put his mouth where Katya wanted it. Rings of intense pleasure radiated from Katya’s pubis, her nipples were erect her legs spread wide, the two-thousand dollar dress hiked up at the hem and pulled down at the neckline, almost ruined. Katya could care a skerrick about the dress as she encouraged Dmitriy to lap at her swollen vulva. She wanted to feel his lips on her clitoris from which radiated a deep ache.

Dmitry finally put his mouth on her clitoris. Drawing back the clitoral hood with his lips, he used the tip of tongue to tickle the inflamed bud.

Katya moaned as an intense orgasm ignited in her pudendum and spread through her body. She bit her lip to stop herself screaming as she lay on the bed convulsing as Dmitriy continued to lap at her super-sensitive button. Tears ran down her face as she shuddered and groaned as the most intense climax she had ever experienced racked her body.

Dmitriy grinned. She was ready.

Dmitriy ripped off his underpants and climbed between Katya’s legs while she was still moaning from the intensity of her orgasm. He guided his penis into the hole he had chewed in her pantyhose and placed his glans inside her labia. He could feel the resistance. She was tight.

He pushed a little and Katya screamed as Dmitriy's thick phallus pressed on her hymen. The thin ring of tissue guarding the entrance to Katya’s vagina stretched but did not give. Katya pressed her buttocks down into the bed and pushed at Dmitriy’s shoulders with her hands, trying to force him to take his penis away from her vagina where pleasure had suddenly been replaced by pain.

“One scintilla of pain my love that will soon be replaced by ecstasy,” Dmitriy whispered lovingly in Katya’s ear as he pressed her down into the bed and pushed.

He put his mouth over Katya’s to muffled her screams as his bloated appendage tore open her hymen and stretched her tight passage. Katya drummed her heels on the bed and writhed and wriggled underneath Dmitriy as he lay on top of her holding her down, impaled on his mighty rod. He’d only just got his glans inside this girl and she was screaming with pain already.

Katya sobbed and Dmitriy lapped at her tears and kissed her softly on the cheeks but he did not relent. He whispered words of endearment and encouragement as he slowly forced his bloated organ inside her. Katya didn’t care if the words of devotion that Dmitriy was whispering were true; she just wanted the huge phallus that was raping her tight vagina to withdraw.

Dmitriy had deflowered his share of virgins but none as exquisite, delightful and tight-cunted as Katya. He kissed her softly and pressed his body down on hers so that his chest pressed on her nipples which he noted where still erect; whether from pleasure or pain it mattered not. What mattered was that he finally had his full ten inches of hard flesh inside this beautiful creature.

He didn’t move.

Dmitriy kissed Katya a little more passionately and she reluctantly responded even though her vagina felt stretched and bloated and was aching incredibly. She felt so… so full! Dmitriy used his mouth on her nipples again, his cock still buried inside her, unmoving. He kissed her again and this time she responded and put her arms around his neck.

“Please don’t hurt me anymore,” she whispered in his ear.

“Of course not my precious. Try to relax,” Dmitriy smiled at her and again she was overcome by how handsome he was.

He lay on top of Katya hardly moving but when he felt that her vagina had accepted his girth he began to rock his hips almost imperceptibly. He kept this up, his pubis pressing on Katya's pudendum and her clitoris.

After a while Katya began to feel little rings of pleasure radiating from her clitoris. Her vaginal juices began to flow. Her cunt felt filled and swollen but it was no longer painful, instead it radiated a pleasurable ache.

When she was ready Dmitriy began to slowly thrust his cock in and out of Katya’s tight vagina. At first she hissed with pain when his phallus chafed her ripped hymen but she lifted her pantyhosed legs and wrapped them around his back.

“Fuck me,” she whispered in Dmitriy’s ear and he involuntarily ejaculated.

Hearing her say those words and the feel of her tight quim stretched around his aching rod was too much. He groaned and held his breath as an intense orgasm coursed through him. He filled Katya’s tight cunt with his glutinous issue. His semen mingled with Katya's vaginal juices and lubricated her love tunnel.

Now he was able to properly fuck this delicate flower.

The delicate flower turned out to be not so delicate as for the first time in her life she experienced having a huge throbbing cock inside her. She drummed her heels on his back and rubbed her silken-sheathed legs on his flanks, her nails raked his back, her mouth pressed viciously to his, her tongue fluttered in his mouth as she lifted her hips off the bed and ground her pubic mound against his.

They came together, holding onto each other like their life depended on it. Waves of pleasure engulfed them and for that moment in time they were the only living beings on the planet. Dmitriy’s cock slammed in and out of Katya’s swollen hole, the amalgam of blood, vaginal juices and semen providing all the lubrication needed. The deep ache and sharp pain caused by Katya’s ruptured hymen blended with the intense ripples of pleasure that emanated from her sex as a prolonged orgasm washed over her.

Dmitriy felt like Katya's tight fleshy channel was milking his cock as it pulsed: dilating and constricting in little wavelet-like contractions triggered by her climax. His cock ejaculated continually, filling her with his scalding semen until he thought he would faint.

Then he did… almost. He lay exhausted on top Katya, his breathing erratic, his body shuddering uncontrollably now and then. Katya too was spent. She lay with her legs wide apart, her arms around Dmitriy, stroking his sweat-matted hair and caressing his muscled back as she felt his mighty organ slowly deflate inside her. It plopped out of her and she felt the rivulet of semen, blood and cunny juice soak into her ruined panties and hose and steep into the bedding. She liked the weight of his body on top of her.

Finally Dmitriy rolled off her but he pulled her close and nuzzled her.

“That was amazing,” Katya sighed.

“Yeah, pretty good I suppose,” Dmitriy smiled wickedly and Katya batted at him.

He caught her wrist and looked deeply into her eyes.

“No. You are truly amazing,” he whispered and then kissed her softly and stroked her hair.

“Would you like some dinner?” Dmitriy asked, looming over her so he could take in her beautiful face.

“Yes I would like some dinner. Then I would like more of this,” she tugged at his flaccid penis and grinned up at him.

“You are a minx,” he smiled down at her.

“So that girl Liza? What exactly is it she does for you?” Katya asked, sitting at the cosy dining table forking duck confit into her mouth.

“She is how they say… my Girl Friday… my personal assistant… my aide. Why do you ask?” Dmitriy asked.

“Because I want her job,” Katya replied brazenly, causing Dmitriy to gag on his wine.

“Really? What qualifications do you have Katya?” Dmitriy teased her.

“Non, but I will learn quickly. Liza will teach me before you ship her off to some other position in your organisation,” Katya waved a fork at him.

“And why would I replace Liza with you?” Dmitriy gave her a challenging grin.

“Because otherwise you will spend every day imagining some little Asian man dressing me as a schoolgirl and sticking his tiny weenie in me, or some greasy Arab bending me over and raping me anally, or some Latin Lothario sharing me around his friends, or…” Katya began to recite vulgar scenarios.

“Enough! Enough! Enough!” Dmitriy banged the table with the flat of his hand.

“If I keep you for myself I lose nearly three hundred thousand dollars,” Dmitriy frowned.

“But I will learn to be the best PA you ever had and you get to do what just did to me every day any time you want to,” Katya grinned at him.

Five years later it was Katya who was sent away while Dmitriy deflowered another pretty virgin. Katya knew that she could only hold Dmitriy’s interest for so long. They had exhausted a long list of Dmitriy’s fantasies and although the sex was still incredible Katya knew that eventually another younger version of herself would replace her. She had prepared for the inevitable, amassing her own considerable nest-egg and establishing a relationship with Vlad Volkov who oversaw Dmitriy’s people smuggling operations on the east coast.

It was an amicable breakup even though Katya had to suffer the indignity of training up the blonde cutie who had replaced her; just as Liza had suffered the indignity of training Katya.

Katya moved east and set herself up in a well-appointed cottage in Southold on Long Island, hiding amongst the moneyed elite. She tried marriage for a while but it didn’t stick so she established a business scouting young virgins to pass onto Vlad Volkov who would arrange to have them abducted and sold into sexual slavery.

She did this without a conscience justifying to herself that she had effectively been Dmitriy's sex slave for five years. Working for a man who sold people, drugs and stolen property and committed crimes such as kidnap for ransom and murder at a whim and headed up his own arm of the Russian Mafia whilst distancing himself from the dirty work, had hardened Katya. She became immune to the everyday barbarity of it and knew that she herself was only a heartbeat away from meeting a similar fate to the abducted sex-slaves or the possibility of being killed by Dmitriy because she knew too much about him.

Katya met Uri Orlov on one of her many trips to LA.

She returned to California regularly to pay homage to Dmitriy who liked to summon select members of his organisation to remind them of their fealty to him. Katya was too far down the pecking order to really be invited to the big event that Dmitriy was organising but he still had a soft spot for Katya which he demonstrated by bending her over his desk and vigorously fucking her when she visited him in his office. Homage had been paid as far as Dmitriy was concerned and she was not invited to the extravagant dinner that Dmitriy was hosting that evening for his top confidants.

Katya was glad not to have to attend the boring dinner where the heads of Dmitriy’s criminal organisation would compete to see who could stick their head furthest up his ass. Instead she found herself mixed up with a group of Russian and Ukrainian gangsters at a party hosted by Uri Orlov who had accompanied Alexi Agronov as his bodyguard.

Katya had gotten drunk because she was still angry at being treated like a chattel by Dmitriy who even though he had traded her for a younger model wanted to remind her that she was still his any time he wanted her. As if the scorpion that he had tattooed on her left ankle wasn’t enough.

“You one of Dmitriy’s girls?” a drunken thug asked Katya, pointing at her ankle.

“I used to be. Now I’m my own woman,” Katya spat back defiantly.

“Yeah, sure you are, you fucking whore,” the man glared at her.

She went outside to get away from the boorish thug and smoke, wondering around the ornate gardens. The man who had insulted her inside at the party came out of nowhere and pinned her to a tree with his hand on her throat whilst his other raked at her panties.

Uri Orlov appeared like a knight in shining armour and pulled the man off Katya. The boorish man produced a wickedly sharp knife and in the ensuing fight the thug opened up Uri’s face leaving him with a scar that started across his left eyebrow and drooped along the side of his face.

Uri still managed to overpower the man, take his knife and stab him repeatedly in the heart until Katya pulled him off the bloody corpse. Uri dragged the man’s body into the bushes and sent Ivan Rakhimov to dispose of it the next day.

Katya took Uri to her rented apartment and tended to Uri’s wound as best she could. Then Uri called a doctor to whom Alexi Agronov paid a lot of money to treat his men when they were injured. The doctor stitched the wound and advised Uri to bed rest for a few days.

Uri spent three days recovering in Katya’s apartment during which time they became lovers. Katya promised Uri her undying gratitude for saving her from the thug at the expense of his face and told him that he could call on her if he ever needed help of any kind.

Their affair was one of smouldering lust. When they were together they were ravenous; their appetite for sex insatiable, but they knew that they could never live together full-time. Katya sought out Uri whenever she was on the west coast and Uri sought her out whenever he went east.

As Uri became more successful, the more he travelled and the more he got to see Katya, usually in one for New York’s finest hotels where Uri inevitably stayed, even when Uri travelled with his wife he would sneak away from the hotel to visit Katya.

Theirs was a special and unique bond and when Uri called Katya from outside of Bethlehem Pennsylvania she was expecting the call. She knew that Uri had severely fucked up and that Dmitriy Yakovich wanted Uri’s head.

Of course she would help but there was nothing she could do for him in the long term.

Uri would have to hand himself into the authorities and promise to cooperate if they put him in witness protection. If Uri remained at large he would certainly be caught, tortured and killed. Katya would be free to work both sides of the fence. She could help Uri whilst not working directly for the law enforcement agencies because if Dmitriy found out that she was, he would skin her alive.

To be continued

The rendezvous with Vlad Volkov took place in a car park at the head of a hiking trail that was seldom used at this time of the year. All Jennifer remembered of the journey was waking occasionally and seeing trees, clouds and sky passing by the car window. She was in a drug induced sleep for most of the journey and was only starting to feel herself when Katya pulled into the gravelled lot.

The lot was deserted except for a large black van parked near a grassy swale at the entrance to the hiking trail. Leaning against it was a tall thin man with long stringy hair and a short balding fat man. They were both dressed in denim jeans, flannel shirts and Carhartt coats. They were both smoking.

Katya pulled up next to the van and got out leaving Jennifer locked in the back seat.

“You have the tranny?” Vlad peered over Katya’s shoulder trying to look in her car.

“Yes I have the tranny,” Katya handed over Jennifer’s social security card, driver’s licence, student ID and Bank of America credit card.

Vlad inspected the documents briefly and handed them to the fat man who still leaned against the van with a permanent scowl on his face. The fat man put the documents in his pocket.

“Her suitcase is in the trunk. I packed all of the clothes I used for her photo shoots,” Katya activated the key fob and the trunk popped open.

Vlad waved at the fat man and he went and collected the suitcase, peering into the window to look at Jennifer who was curled up on the back seat.

It was imperative that Vlad take Jennifer's suitcase because the GPS tracker was secreted inside it. Sometimes the people smugglers ditched the girl’s luggage but because of the quality of the garments that Jennifer had been photographed in, it was more likely they would keep them.

The fat man dropped Jennifer’s suitcase next to the back door of the van but didn’t open it.

“You took this one yourself. Usually you just scout out the targets and leave it to us to abduct the girl,” Vlad lit another cigarette.

“This one is a special order and I wanted to make sure we got her. She’s a college kid alert to stranger danger. You and fatso would stick out like dog’s balls anywhere near that campus, whereas a nicely dressed matronly lady like me sipping coffee with a pretty university student would not attract attention. Besides, I’ve taken girls before,” Katya snatched Vlad’s cigarettes and lighter from his hand and helped herself.

“You run the cards?” Katya had sent pictures of the driver’s licence, student ID and credit cards to Vlad.

“The cards check out. Where is her mobile phone?” Vlad asked.

Uri and Katya knew that Vlad would want to check the recent call list on Jennifer’s phone as another means to establish her validity and find out who may be looking for her.

“Don’t be stupid! Law enforcement agencies can track a cell phone. I threw it in the trash right after I picked her up,” Katya sneered at Vlad.

“I didn’t see any appeals in the media for a missing girl and our scanners didn’t pick up any BOLOs,” Vlad sneered back at her.

“A twenty-year-old transgender college student who is pretty much orphaned and lives alone who has an uncle who likes to fuck her occasionally but hasn’t any real feelings for her? Who is going to report her missing and who the fuck cares?” Katya sniped back.

Vlad just shrugged his shoulders and grinned at Katya.

“You want the merchandise or not?” Katya put her hands on her hips.

“Twenty years old? Couldn’t you get something younger?” Vlad whined.

“Wait until you see her. She could pass for a schoolgirl. She’s had the top surgery and some other improvements. Girls like her are hard to find,” Katya countered.

She was used to going back and forth with Vlad who always tried to lower the agreed price at the last minute.

“She looks good in the pictures you posted but pictures can be shopped. Trannies aren’t my thing anyway?” Vlad turned down his mouth.

“Well you don’t have to fuck her. Just sell her,” Katya studied the end of her cigarette.

“Dmitriy wants to see her. You know this?” Vlad grinned at Katya.

Vlad knew Katya’s history. How she had once been one of Dmitriy's favourites and how she had become Dmitriy’s personal assistant before being cast aside for a younger girl. Vlad knew that Dmitriy took a special interest in select girls.

“I know that. That’s why I sent you all the information I have on her along with the pictures. Why don’t you come and check her out and we can conclude our business and get out of this fucking cold,” Katya dropped her cigarette butt in the gravel and ground it out with her high heel.

Katya popped the doors on her car and reached in and grabbed Jennifer and pulled her out of the car. She was still a little unsteady on her feet and she leaned against the car for support.

Vlad stepped in to examine her.

He studied her face: her pixie-cut haircut with swept bangs coloured deep red with darker and lighter red highlights, her perfect alabaster skin and deep emerald eyes enhanced by her winged eyeliner, deep plum and vibrant copper eyeshadow, and her full lips finished with bright red lipstick. She looked pretty and young and vulnerable. Perfect.

Vlad took off Jennifer’s coat leaving her shivering dressed in her little black skirt and red satin blouse. She was tiny, weighing in at just over ninety pounds standing five foot tall with narrow shoulders and hips. Her high heels gave her a couple of extra inches and Vlad noted that her legs were long and shapely swathed in glossy flesh-toned pantyhose.

Jennifer tried to stop him when Vlad put his hand under her skirt but she was too weak. Vlad found Jennifer’s penis and scrotum tucked along her perineum held in place by her pantyhose and panties. He gave it a quick squeeze and removed his hand.

“Was that necessary?” Katya asked.

“I always feel I need to wash my hands after I check out a tranny. I’m glad we don’t deal with them much but trade in them is expanding. Some of our more refined customers like to have one of every kind of girl in their harem, even ones with dicks. If it was me, I’d pass on the ladyboys,” Vlad joked.

Katya took Jennifer's jacket from Vlad and helped her put it back on.

Vlad nodded at the fat man who opened the door to the cab and took out a tablet computer. He fiddled with it a little and Katya's phone pinged. She took it out and looked at it. The agreed amount had been transferred into her account.

“Check out the site when you get back. Got a customer looking for a Chink virgin. Wants the whole Jap schoolgirl fantasy,” Vlad took Jennifer by the arm and headed over to where his fat friend was standing at the back of the van.

Katya took one last look at Jennifer and said a silent prayer and got in her car and drove out of the car park. She punched up Uri’s number on her hands-free and it was immediately answered.

“Exchange successful,” she said and immediately hung up.

In the old colonial style house just outside of Cockeysville Uri and Donald Chase were bent over Uri’s cell phone which was on speaker. They gave each other a high-five when Katya told them that the exchange had been accomplished.

Back in the car park the fat man opened the back of the van. The cargo compartment was caged off from the driver’s cabin and at the rear by floor to ceiling reinforced steel mesh with a heavy-duty lock set into the rear door. The cargo was effectively caged inside the van with the steel mesh door and the van’s double doors providing security and privacy. There were no side or rear windows, but there was overhead lighting and the compartment was heated.

Five young women sat on the padded seating running down the sides of the van; four blondes and one brunette. They were all pretty despite the forlorn looks on their faces. The young women were all dressed in skirts, hose and heels and were wearing makeup, although three of the girls mascara had run because they had been crying.

The day before Vlad had instructed the girls to present themselves that way. When one of the girls complained he taken her aside and given the girls a public demonstration of what would happen if they didn’t do as he ordered or if they caused him any grief as they got closer to their destination. The bruises on the girl would not show because Vlad had beaten her on the torso using oranges inside a stocking which caused damage to her internal organs but left no topical evidence. The initial impact was absorbed by the soft matter in the oranges causing few broken surface vessels but produced muscle and organ trauma and intense pain.

The girl had screamed and passed out and when she came too she was hunched over and in severe pain for hours after the beating. The fat man had given her ibuprofen and sleeping tablets but the lesson was well learned by the other girls, some of who had been in the van for four days. After the beating the girls dressed as they were told to dress, remained respectful and never complained.

Three of the girls, including the one Vlad had beaten were virgins which meant that they were saved from the repeated raping inflicted on the other two whenever Vlad or the fat man decided to relieve their sexual tension. Driving five pretty girls cross-country caused them to be almost constantly horny.

“You, you get out! Bring blankets,” the fat man pointed to the two non-virgins.

They knew what was coming and one of them, the brunette, began to cry while the other girl shook the hair out of her face defiantly.

“What about I just give you a blowjob; you know I’m good,” the defiant blonde girl asked as she climbed out of the van.

“Nah. You give good blowjobs but I like your tight pussy,” the fat man smirked.

“Well use some fucking lube this time; that thing is like a fucking cucumber,” she said haughtily.

The other girl just stood there looking at her feet silently crying, holding her blanket tightly.

The effects of the sedative had nearly fully receded and Jennifer realised what was about to happen and she felt her anger building. With her training she could probably take out Vlad using the element of surprise and then the fat man would be easy to deal with unless of course they were armed but she didn’t see any guns or knives.

She knew that even if she could take the men down, she couldn’t, because the mission would be over. Jennifer knew what was at stake and she had been thoroughly briefed what to expect but seeing it happen in front of her eyes was such a shock. She felt so sorry for the forlorn girl dangling her blanket in the dust. Well she did for a while.

“What about her - the new girl! She’s prettier than all of us. Fuck her and let me go back in the van,” the forlorn brunette had lifted her head and was defiantly pointing an accusatory finger at Jennifer.

“Yeah! You can both fuck the pretty redhead. That little thing would have a sweet pussy I bet,” the defiant blonde joined in.

“No! We don’t fuck that. We fuck you,” the fat man pushed the defiant girl towards the tree line.

“She a virgin like the others?” the defiant blonde spat.

The fat man chuckled and kept driving the blonde towards the grassy glade at the edge of the woods.

“She loses her virginity every time she shits,” Vlad laughed caustically and pushed Jennifer towards the back of the van.

Jennifer ignored the insult and climbed into the back of the van as instructed. Vlad threw her suitcase in after her and slammed the cage door shut and locked it. He dragged the brunette over to the grassy swale where the fat man had made the blonde lie down on her blanket.

Vlad and the fat man had taken off their Carhartt coats and hung them on convenient branches and pulled down their jeans and underpants. It was cold so the two men and the two girls kept the rest of their clothes on.

“They leave the door open so we can watch. They either get a kick out of it or it’s another means or terrorising us,” one of the pretty blondes spoke up.

Jennifer sat down beside her and turned to look out the back of the van.

Vlad had the brunette down on the blanket and was lying between her legs humping her. The girl just lay there non responsive. The blonde on the other hand had her legs wrapped around the fat man and was encouraging him as he vigorously fucked her.

Jennifer turned away.

“Jackie says that if she goes along with it, he takes it easy on her. I think she secretly likes it as much as she bitches. I’m Wendy by the way,” the pretty blonde sitting beside Jennifer said by way of introduction.

“Jennifer Edwards,” Jennifer held out her hand.

“Surely she doesn’t like it?” Jennifer was aghast.

“She does what she has to do to minimise the pain and suffering. She’s from the streets so…” Wendy left the sentence hanging.

“The other girl?” Jennifer asked.

“Oh Gabriele. She’s sweet. Gave up her virginity to the starting high school quarterback but I bet she wished her hymen was still intact now. Vlad is sweet on her and rides her hard every chance he gets. I just wish she’d stop fucking crying,” Wendy sighed.

Jennifer understood the syndrome that the hostages were going through. They had subconsciously adopted survival skills to minimise their physiological pain and suffering, hardening themselves, grateful when it was someone else being hurt rather than them.

“They don’t abuse the virgins?” Jennifer played dumb.

“They treat us ok. They told us that virgins bring them more money and that we are going to better places than the non-virgins. Like we hadn't been abducted to be sold as sex slaves and instead were going on vacation,” Wendy laughed bitterly.

“Other than Michelle, who they put a beating on to demonstrate to us what would happen if we didn’t do as we were told or tried to escape, they have been pretty good to us… well except for Jackie and Gabriele who they fuck a couple of times a day,” Wendy smiled sourly.

“So far we have stopped every night in houses in remote locations. The doors are bolted and are steel reinforced as are the windows. They keep us all together in one room. There are other girls at the houses but we never get to talk to them. They look like they’re ok. They are well dressed and unblemished but we can hear fuck noises coming from the other rooms. I think the houses are brothels and the girls are forced to work there,” Wendy said.

What Wendy said tied in with what Jennifer had been briefed. Dmitriy’s lieutenants had safe houses scattered across the country where their henchmen could store their ill-gotten gains, smuggle people and use as whore houses and drug distribution centres. It was a business model that worked well for the Russian mafia and as soon as they suspected a location had been compromised they shut it down and opened another one nearby. They had their own underground railway for transporting contraband and people across the USA.

“So what’s your story Jennifer?” Wendy asked.

“I am… or I was attending the University of Maryland and working part-time at a Market and Deli to help pay my way. This hot-looking older woman dressed like a fashion queen came into the store, saw me, and told me I could be a model. I know I’m good looking but I thought I was too short but you know how it is? Every girl’s dream right?” Jennifer rolled out her story.

“This Katya woman told me to meet her at the Starbucks just down the block. I did and then I blanked out. She must have drugged my coffee. I woke up in this house and was forced to strip and then to model in all these sexy get-ups while some creepo took pictures of me. They drugged me for most of the time I was there,” Jennifer pulled up her sleeves and showed Wendy the punctures and bruises in the crook of her elbow.

“They did the same with us virgins at the houses we stopped at. Made us put on makeup and dress up and took pictures of us. Some creep put his finger in our cooches to confirm our virginity,” Wendy shook her head in disgust.

“Anyway here I am,” Jennifer opened her hands.

“How old are you, you look really young,” Wendy asked.

“I’m just small and have a young face under this heavy makeup. I actually turned twenty not that long ago,” Jennifer said.

“Fuck! You look like a kid playing dressup,” Wendy chuckled.

“And there’s something else… I’m a transgender woman,” Jennifer studied Wendy’s face for her reaction.

“We had two transgender kids in our high school: one femme the other male. They were treated pretty good but some of the kids wouldn’t talk to them,” Wendy said in a matter-of-fact way.

“That’s pretty much how it goes,” Jennifer acknowledged, recalling her own high school days.

“You still got a dick?” Wendy asked brazenly and they both started laughing.

“How can you two laugh while our sisters are being raped just outside this van!” the girl that Wendy had identified as Michelle screeched at them.

The van went quiet.

Jackie and Gabriele returned to the van and climbed inside and the fat man closed and locked the cage and then the van’s double doors. The van immediately became a little warmer.

Jackie slouched in a corner and took a roll of paper towel from a cardboard box, tore off some strips and shoved them down her panties and wiped her vagina. Gabriele slouched in the opposite corner and two of the other girls went over and comforted her.

“Better them than me,” Wendy whispered in Jennifer's ear.

Jennifer soon came to realise that there was little camaraderie amongst the five young women. Resigned to their fate it was every woman for herself. They shared the snacks from the cardboard box and the drinks from the cooler and told each other stories but they knew that there was no escape and eventually they each would have to fend for themselves.

It was part of the people trafficking business model. Make sure the subjects felt isolated and alone even when crowded together, making only alliances that benefitted themselves, selling out the others if necessary. It prevented the subjects from working together to formulate escape plans or demonstrating group solidarity and resolve.

The van began to lurch and the girls gripped the seats as it made its way across the gravel car park. The ride smoothed out when the van hit the blacktop.

The girls, except for Gabriele, were keen to hear Jennifer’s story so she repeated it. Her story was similar to the other girls: Gabriele and Jackie had been roofied in a bar where they were drinking using fake IDs. Two others had simply been snatched in broad daylight, one in a park, the other off a quiet street. Wendy had gone to meet a guy she met online who promised her he would take glamour shots of her and put together a portfolio and send it around the modelling agencies. As soon as she entered the warehouse where the shoot was supposed to take place she was abducted.

They ate snacks and drank the sodas and in the afternoon they stopped for a toilet break at an abandoned camping ground. The fat man took Jackie into one of decrepit cottages and made her blow him which she preferred to having to fuck him she said.

That night they stopped at a house where they were allowed to wash in a communal sink and given a hot meal. Gabriele and Jackie were taken away by Vlad and the fat man while the remainder were locked in a single room with mattresses on the floor with a stack of blankets to share. Gabriele and Jackie returned a while later, Gabriele was crying but she got no sympathy. The other girls told her to shut up so they could sleep.

The next morning Jennifer was separated from the other girls. Vlad simply roused her and told her to follow him out into the walled courtyard where a town car with heavily tinted windows awaited. She never did say goodbye to her short-term travelling companions.

The besuited driver was stoic and said very little after he’d put her suitcase in the trunk and opened the rear door for her. The door locks clicked shut ominously and the privacy screen went up as soon as the driver pulled away. Jennifer was cocooned in her own little world.

It was hard to imagine that only a few days ago she had been in a similar town car heading to the Conrad Hilton in Washington. She had no idea where she was but one thing was for sure, she was nowhere near L.A. where Dmitriy Yakovich was titularly based although he never stayed long in one place. He was rumoured to have a number of residences across the USA and in many overseas countries.

She shivered when she realised that if the driver was to take her to an airport and put her on a private plane she could end up in a country with no extradition treaty with the US. Jennifer realised she was being melodramatic. She was just a pretty transgender woman who had been abducted to become a sex slave for a customer on Dmitriy’s website and had piqued Dmitriy’s interest. She wasn’t that special.

Thirty five miles away Dmitriy Tanas Yakovich was enjoying a late breakfast in his estate near Portsmouth New Hampshire. His current PA Tiffany Crouch had laid out the morning papers on the dining table and opened a number of tabs on his tablet that required his urgent attention.

The wifi and device encryption were more secure than any Defense or law enforcement cypher and Dmitriy dealt with the issues that Tiffany had brought to his attention quickly, one of which was to confirm to the buyer that he had acquired the attractive young transgender woman that the buyer had ordered. The buyer, an Arab sheik in the UAE, should be grateful that Dmitriy himself was about to inspect the merchandise personally before he had it shipped.

Tiffany flittered around Dmitriy annoying him. He could sense that she felt insecure. Dmitriy was losing interest in her and she didn’t share his bed as often as she used to, instead Dmitriy would choose a girl from the stable of women at his disposal. Sometimes Tiffany would be asked to join them but most often not.

He opened a tab where the pictures of Jennifer Edwards had been uploaded and studied her. She was so petite and so beautiful and unique that Dmitriy was captivated by her. He had never been with a transgender woman before. It wasn't that his interest hadn't been piqued it was more to do with his concern that his masculinity might have been questioned.

But when the sheik had placed his special order it made Dmitriy realise that no one would ever really question his masculinity, and if they did they would soon regret it. We lived in a day and age where gender and sexuality were accepted as being fluid, there were now openly gay mobsters and even female mafia bosses.

Dmitriy was becoming jaded and was looking for something exotic to rekindle his desires, not that he wasn’t a virile man who fucked women daily, but he was looking for something unique to inflame his passions. When he read the sheik's special order it captured his imagination and when he saw the pictures of Jennifer Edwards he was beguiled by the petite red-headed vixen.

Trust Katya Kuznetsova to fill the special order. He still had a soft spot for his old flame but he made it a point to never show favour to those he had finished using. He’d had Tiffany contact Vlad and instruct him that he would personally inspect this unique chattel before she was shipped on. He had seen the brief flare of anger and jealousy in Tiffany’s pretty eyes when he had told her to do so and it only further inflamed him.

Tiffany came in again to personally take away his plate. She deliberately leaned into him so that her breasts rubbed his arm. She was wearing Poison, Dmitriy’s favourite perfume and when he looked down at her legs he could see that she wearing tan fully-fashioned stockings with dark seams and Cuban heels. Dmitriy had a nylons fetish and demanded that all women in his employ and those brought to him for his pleasure wear either pantyhose or stockings.

Tiffany knew that Dmitriy had a particular penchant for classic nylon stockings. She seldom wore them; usually wearing sheer pantyhose for the convenience but today for some reason she was wearing his favourite nylons.

Dmitriy knew why. Whenever Dmitriy inspected one of the special orders Tiffany went out of her way to look her sexiest and to tease and inflame his desires, giving into his every whim and performing sex acts for him that he knew that she didn’t particularly like. She felt insecure and so she should. Before Tiffany Crouch there had been Priscilla Montgomery, before her Katya Kuznetsova and before her Tiffany Lawton and before them a string of other beautiful intelligent women who had been Dmitriy’s Personal Assistants.

A woman was less likely to try to overthrow him. Not that he didn’t trust his many lieutenants, but he kept them distant. His PA was dependent on him for her life and she was treated with loving respect and knew his darkest secrets… until he tired of her or something better came along. He’d only had to kill two of his previous PAs who for various reasons had lost his trust.

The others had retried to live a life of luxury and two of them ran high-class bordellos run by his organisation and Katya worked for him through Vlad finding girls to fill the ever-increasing demand for fresh-faced pretty young women. All of his former aides were kept under surveillance because they knew so many of his secrets.

Tiffany’s honey blonde hair tickled his cheek and her breast pressed harder against him as she leaned into him. Dmitriy’s hand went to her ass and squeezed her buttocks through the tight skirt she was wearing. The fabric slipped across her plump buttocks. He knew then that she was wearing the plain pink transparent full-cut panties that he especially liked. He put his hand under her skirt to confirm his suspicion stopping briefly to caress the dark welt of her stocking.

Tiffany kissed him as Dmitriy’s fingers stroked her shaved slit through the diaphanous panties. He was rampant and for the moment had forgot about Jennifer Edwards as his tongue explored Tiffany’s mouth and his fingers explored her vulva. He knew that Tiffany was seducing him to take his mind off the beautiful transgender woman who was arriving today but he didn’t care what her motives where. Right now he had an erection that needed tending to even if he did have a busy day ahead of him.

Dmitriy was concupiscent and impatient. He pushed back his chair and physically lifted Tiffany onto the table and pushed her down so that her ass was on the edge. He was wearing a handmade Derek Rose Verona 52 jacquard pure silk dressing gown and nothing else. He opened the dressing gown to expose his huge organ and rubbed it on Tiffany’s thigh, dribbling pre-ejaculate on the dark welt of her stocking.

He could see the lips of her labia through the transparent pink panties, dewy droplets of vaginal secretions in the folds indicated her arousal. She gasped when Dmitriy rubbed the head of his cock on her vulva, pushing the gossamer fabric into the folds of her labia, bringing cascades of sensual pleasure from her clitoris and intensifying his own gratification as his glans rubbed gently on Tiffany’s nylon-shrouded vulva.

Impatient, Dmitriy used a finger to ease aside the gusset of Tiffany’s panties and slowly pushed his bloated organ inside her tight vagina until it was buried inside her up to the hilt. Tiffany moaned and wrapped her legs around Dmitriy’s waist, encouraging him to fuck her. She ensured that her stocking-sheathed legs were inside his gown so that her nylons caressed his bare flesh. She knew what he liked.

Dmitriy lifted Tiffany up so he could he could kiss her as he slammed his cock in and out of her steaming cunt. She put her arms around him and screamed into his mouth as she orgasmed. One of the things that had drawn Dmitriy to Tiffany was her ability to experience multiple orgasms; she had climaxed the very instant he put his cock to her and taken her virginity.

Dmitriy’s was the only cock she had ever known and as far as she was concerned it was the only cock she ever wanted. His massive organ fitted her vaginal sheath perfectly and she always came hard and often when he fucked her.

Dmitriy kissed Tiffany harder and increased the intensity of his thrusting, her climax had inflamed his lust and he was close to extremis. The feel of her silken-sheathed legs on his sensitive skin, her warm wet vagina squeezing his cock, her lips on his, her tongue in his mouth, the rampant beating of her heart, triggered his orgasm. Dmitriy held Tiffany by her thighs and drove his cock all the way inside her and deposited his scalding issue deep in her cunt which triggered Tiffany’s second orgasm.

Dmitriy left his organ inside Tiffany until he had finished ejaculating, his cock convulsing and his knees trembling, then he quickly extracted his deflating organ. He eased the gusset of her panties back into place and patted her pudenda, watching his semen and her juices soak into the diaphanous fabric. He eased Tiffany’s legs from around his waist and closed his robe.

“Good girl. Now go and clean up and ensure that all the arrangements have been made for our guest,” he leaned down and kissed Tiffany affectionately on the nose.

Tiffany hopped down off the table and straightened her skirt. She felt sticky and defiled and her cunt was still tingling but most all she felt used. Not that she minded being used. She and Dmitriy had spent languid weekends in bed experimenting with all kinds of sexual deviances but sometimes they would just spontaneously fuck: in the back of his limousine, on his private plane, in his box at the opera, in the pool, in a closet in someone else's house, and of course, in his office. But this morning felt more like a convenient formality; simply a satiation of desire so as not to distract Dmitriy from other pressing matters.

Tiffany Crouch couldn’t have been more right and she left the room pouting sulkily with her panties sodden and her nylons askew.

Dmitriy retired to his bedroom for a long languorous shower.

Just as Dmitriy was taking his shower and Tiffany was changing out of her nylon stockings into a pair of practical pantyhose, the car with Jennifer Edwards embarked was pulling into the driveway.

Jennifer noted the security. There was a sandstone buttress running along the front of the house with flowering plants and arborea planted atop it. Ostensibly the low wall looked ornamental but Jennifer knew it was designed to counter anyone trying to drive a car bomb or a ram-raider into the house.

Men in black suits, some of them openly carrying longarms, patrolled the grounds. She noted the floodlighting mounted on poles and the many security cameras that would provide coverage of the whole property.

She knew that she was close to Dmitriy.

Tiffany Crouch came outside to greet Jennifer.

“I’m Tiffany Crouch, Dmitriy Yakovich’s personal assistant,” she introduced herself without offering her hand.

Jennifer sensed the animosity immediately.

“Follow me,” Tiffany turned and Jennifer followed her.

Still dressed in the little black skirt and jacket with the red satin blouse under and her flesh-toned glossy pantyhose that had caught a runner somewhere, Jennifer felt dirty having only had a birdbath the night before.

“You smell and those clothes simply won’t do,” Tiffany led Jennifer up a curving marble staircase to the second story and into a large bedroom.

Jennifer noticed the scorpion tattoo on Tiffany’s left ankle; the same one she had seen on Katya at the safe house.

“You will find everything you need in this room. Do not leave it until I come for you,” Tiffany said curtly.

“I’ll need my clothes. My suitcase.” Jennifer snapped.

“There is no need for you to unpack. You won’t be here for long,” Tiffany glared at her.

“The clothes that Dmitriy wants you to wear are hanging in the armoire. You will find lingerie in the drawers and shoes on the bottom shelf. As I said… everything you need is in this room,” Tiffany waved her hand at the room like a game show hostess.

Tiffany closed the door and Jennifer heard it lock rendering moot Tiffany’s advice not to try to leave the room.

Jennifer needed to freshen up and clear her head now that she was in the lion’s den. She wasn’t too concerned about not having the suitcase right now; she’d need concrete evidence of Dmitriy’s crimes before she activated the tracking device and although it had never been specifically stated she knew that she would have to get the evidence out of Dmitriy using pillow talk.

The shower was luxurious and she took her time luxuriating under the waterfall shower-head letting the hot water clear her mind. She brushed her teeth and used mouthwash. The tube of lubricant standing like a sentinel beside the sink reminded Jennifer why she was here. The bath towels were huge, white and fluffy and she wrapped herself in one and padded out into the bedroom where she spied a white satin robe lying out on the bed.

Jennifer slipped into the cool satin robe and sat down at the vanity. She stared at the array of cosmetics and selected what she needed and went to work.

She applied foundation and a dusting of finishing powder and blush. She accentuated her eyes with black eyeliner and mascara and for dramatic effect applied a blend of brown, grey, navy, and green eyeshadow. She put bright-red lipstick on her lips and matching nailpolish on her fingernails. It was only early afternoon but she had spied the gown that Dmitriy wanted her wanted her to wear so she had put on the appropriate dramatic makeup.

While she waited for the nailpolish to dry she contemplated her future. Katya had told her about being in almost exactly the same position the first time she had met Dmitriy. Jennifer’s position was even more tenuous; she needed to get enough information out of Dmitriy so she could testify against him and provide evidence that locked him away for life. Her worst case scenario was Dmitriy deciding that she didn’t interest him and sending Jennifer on her way to the online buyer.

She would activate the tracker in any event and be rescued but it would mean a waste of all that effort, time and money and Katya’s cover would be blown and she would have to go into WITSEC with Uri, waiting for another opportunity to bring down Dmitriy.

Jennifer went to the armoire. There was a single black Dolce & Gabbana low cut silk dress hanging in it and upon opening the drawers and she found a pair of seamless full-cut satin panties, a matching brassiere and a pair of flesh-toned ten-denier pantyhose.

She carefully put on the pantyhose using cotton hosiery gloves and then stepped into her panties and put on the bra.

She admired herself once again in the mirror. Jennifer loved the way hosiery made her legs look long and elegant despite her being petite.

The dress fitted her perfectly and why wouldn’t it? Katya had uploaded her measurements onto the sex-trafficking site. She smoothed out the dress and it was flawless, not a bulge, seam or pantyline in sight. It was knee-length with a split in the side that went all the way up to the top of her thigh. She slipped on the black patent leather Louboutin pumps and reached for perfume. One solitary bottle of Poison had been provided so she doused herself liberally with the heady scent.

Tiffany burst through the door and stood there with her hands on her hips and studied Jennifer.

“A boy dressed as a girl. But for some reason he wants to see you,” Tiffany sniped.

“Come,” she led Jennifer along the mezzanine to a closed door.

She knocked and waited.

“Enter,” Jennifer heard a rich deep voice.

Tiffany opened the door and indicted for Jennifer to enter.

“Don’t fuck it up bum-boy; he’s likely to peel the skin off you if you displease him,” Tiffany hissed in her ear as Jennifer passed her to enter the room.

“I am Dmitriy Tanas Yakovich and you are Jennifer Edwards of Baltimore Maryland,” Jennifer recognised Dmitriy from his pictures but in real life he was even more handsome and radiated elegance and energy.

He was tall with striking blue eyes set in dark sockets that lingered on Jennifer, taking in every tiny inch of her. He had a long elegant nose, chiselled cheekbones and a narrow chin. His skin was dark and tanned and he sported a well-manicured black beard; his hair was long, thick, black and lustrous. His lithe frame was well muscled; he was wearing the same jacquard pure silk dressing gown that he had worn to breakfast.

Jennifer studied the tattoos on the parts of his exposed flesh. He was wearing some sort of exotic body spray and exuded power and affluence.

He took Jennifer’s hand and softly kissed it, his beard tickling the back of her hand, the he circled her slowly and examined her like did all the girls brought to him.

“I can’t believe that you were born a boy?” he said more to himself than Jennifer.

“Amazing,” Dmitriy lifted Jennifer’s chin and examined her face.

Jennifer was not used to people discussing her transgender identity so openly and she frowned.

“Sorry for being so forward but we need to be honest here. I’ve paid a pretty sum for you and I need to make sure that I’m getting my money’s worth before I pass you to the buyer,” Dmitriy said plainly.

Jennifer and Katya had talked about how Jennifer should act in Dmitriy’s presence. Should she be the scared little girl shivering in her boots, should she be the angry bitch, lashing out at him and demanding she be released, or should she play the shocked, dazed and confused student who didn’t really understand what was going on?

“You have shown remarkable resilience in your life and you are intelligent and resourceful. Best if you just act a little defiant but also resigned to a fate that you have no control over,” Katya had told her and Jennifer agreed because that was how she really felt.

“The woman who held me captive… she kept me drugged and took pictures of me told me that you wanted to see me before I was sold on to some other man. The last twenty-four hours spent with the other girls in the van has enlightened me what to expect once I leave here,” Jennifer said a little defiantly.

Dmitriy noted the bruises and track-marks inside Jennifer’s elbow.

“I have never been with a special lady like yourself. You are so beautiful and delightful; I’m so looking forward to it. I have been captivated by you ever since Katya uploaded those pictures of you on my site,” Dmitriy smiled at Jennifer.

“You mean your people smuggling site? The site you use to sex-traffic young girls and boys?” Jennifer wanted Dmitriy to admit to his crimes but he said nothing.

“Let’s not discuss business right now. Please follow me,” Dmitriy got up from behind his desk and led Jennifer to another door.

He opened the door and Jennifer saw that it adjoined a bedroom where a massive four-poster with satin sheets rested imposingly against the back wall.

“Let’s not pretend you are here for any other reason than to join me on the bed,” Dmitriy pointed at the bed but Jennifer didn’t move.

He took her arm and guided her to bed and forced her to sit on the edge.

Dmitriy took off his silk dressing gown and threw it on a padded chest at the base of the bed.

Naked his muscled, heavily-tattooed body could be seen in all its glory. His muscles were ropey, not an ounce of fat on him, his body was covered in a pelt of fine black hair. His cock dangled between his legs, not yet fully-erect it was long and thick and looked dangerous. Jennifer couldn’t help but stare at it.

Dmitriy leapt on her and Jennifer fell back on the bed with Dmitriy on top of her. Then he suddenly rolled off her and lay beside her.

“Sorry I was just teasing. I’m not going to ravish you. I want to explore you and find out your mysteries. You will have to help me a little; as I said I’ve never been with a woman like you before,” Dmitriy’s face was right beside her cheek as he whispered to her.

There was manliness about him, a scent, a musk that was like a pheromone; enticing and exotic. The presence of such a powerful man in close proximity was stimulating… arousing. Jennifer tried to keep her head clear; keep herself in the game.

Dmitriy turned her to face him and she didn’t struggle when he put his lips on hers.

He wrapped her in his arms and kissed her.

She tasted exactly as he thought she would: sweet but exotic, soft but resilient. Jennifer didn’t struggle, she seemed resigned to her fate and he marvelled at how her body seemed to meld to his like it was meant to be. He kissed her, eager to explore her body but making himself take his time. There was no rush.

Jennifer tried her best to be non-responsive but Dmitriy was an excellent kisser and the feel of hard body and his manhood pressing into her body was incredibly exciting. Besides; wasn’t it her implied duty to seduce this man so she could elicit confessions of his criminal liability? Wasn’t spending time in his bed the best opportunity to do so?

Jennifer knew that she was vindicating her actions; justifying taking pleasure from this evil man because she had to admit that she was intrigued by him: seduced by his handsomeness, excited by his power… and yes… enticed by his evil.

There was something so incredibly bewitching and compelling about being on a bed with a man so powerful that he ruled a criminal enterprise that spanned the globe and could have her torn apart at a whim.

Jennifer put her hand to his face returned his kisses, adjusting herself on the bed so she could feel every muscle of his torso and his rampant penis on her body.

They both gasped, surprised at the emotions that were stirring inside themselves. Jennifer was supposed to allow herself to be ravaged but not to enjoy the ravaging and Dmitriy, intrigued as he was by Jennifer, was not supposed to feel empathy and affection for her.

Dmitriy slid his tongue into Jennifer’s mouth and wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to closer to him, if that was possible; enclosing her in his arms, feeling her breasts pressed into his chest and her heart beating through her dress.

Jennifer's head was spinning; she felt so womanly and cherished. Dmitriy whispered in her ear, telling her that she was adorable and beautiful. She felt his erection throbbing against her body; her own penis uncomfortably tucked under her groin was distended. She responded to Dmitriy's kisses and they continued to embrace and kiss whilst enfolded in each other's arms.

Dmitriy guided Jennifer’s hand down to his groin; impatient now, and she found his manhood hard and hot to her touch. Jennifer ran her fingers lightly up and down Dmitriy's shaft, gently brushing his fraenulum with a long manicured fingernail. Dmitriy gasped and pushed against her, encouraging her to tighten her grip on his phallus and stroke it. Jennifer wrapped her fingers around Dmitriy's engorged member and squeezed a droplet of pre-ejaculate, which she massaged into his glans. Dmitriy groaned into her mouth.

He eased himself away from her a little and reached onto the bedside table. Jennifer shuddered as he held up the stiletto, the blade glittering wickedly in the dull light. He put the knife to Jennifer's throat and she didn’t breathe. She looked into his icy-blue eyes with adoration. He slowly cut Jennifer out of her dress, slicing through the fabric that joined her bar cups, marvelling at her creamy white skin, her pretty face, her pert breasts with berry-like nipples already erect in anticipation, her flat belly and those long, long legs.

"Magnificent," he whispered and dropped the knife on the nightstand and lowered himself to her breasts.

Jennifer gasped and cradled his head while Dmitriy suckled at her teats. He sucked and nibbled her nipples and Jennifer felt wavelets of pleasure burst forth from her bosom. She stoked his leonine head; his long black hair tickled her belly.

Dmitriy's lips slid along her décolletage, along her neck and he found her mouth again. Jennifer kissed him passionately, wrapping her leg over his and caressing his cock with her nylon-clad thigh, using the fingers of her free hand to stroke his glans.

Jennifer was delightfully surprised when Dmitriy slid his hand inside her tight satin panties and freed her erect penis. He had told her that he had never been with transgender woman and his audacity and boldness impressed her. She gasped and kissed him deeply and gripped his manhood; caressing and stroking it as she felt the pulse of his heartbeat in her hand.

Dmitriy rolled on top of her and lay between her legs and instinctively Jennifer opened them wide and then lifted them up and wrapped them around his torso, raising her buttocks so that their cocks pressed together, delighting in the feel of their throbbing penises rubbing on her panties and pantyhose. They ground against each other, pre-seminal fluid beginning to flow freely, saturating Jennifer’s panties as Dmitriy suckled on Jennifer's bosom. They writhed together on the big bed, steadily building their pleasure and lust.

“Am I doing it right?” Dmitriy chuckled.

“Oh yes, you are doing it perfectly?” Jennifer moaned.

"You are ready?" he smiled down at her.

Jennifer nodded and eased the gusset of her panties aside and guided Dmitriy's manhood to her puckered sphincter, only the gossamer of her pantyhose preventing him from entering her. Jennifer relaxed. Dmitriy’s cock was enormous; she had lubricated herself in the bathroom fully expecting to be fucked today by this evil crime lord. Why else would the lubricant have been provided?

But Jennifer was excited rather than dreading being defiled by the handsome tattooed gangster. She lifted her torso and pressed herself against Dmitriy who pushed forward and his cock split open her pantyhose and his glans slid inside her. Jennifer wrapped her arms around Dmitriy's neck and kissed him with fervour as she lifted herself up and pressed harder so that Dmitriy's long thick cock slid all the way inside her.

"Wonderful!" Dmitriy gasped as he felt his erection fill her back passage.

The tiny nerves at the entrance to Jennifer’s anus were tingling with excitement and the head of Dmitriy's phallus pressed on her prostate.

"Now fuck me Dmitriy," she looked up longingly into Dmitriy's handsome face.

Dmitriy obliged and began to thrust his penis in and out of Jennifer's anus, extracting the tip of his glans to the very entrance of her channel and then burying it deep inside her, grinding his pubis into hers as his scrotum slapped against valley between her buttocks. His hard belly rubbed against her penis as he fucked her, stimulating her delightfully.

Jennifer locked her legs around Dmitriy; her silken-sheathed thighs stimulating his sensitive flesh. The two lovers clung to each other, rutting, gasping and growling; their mouths locked as they kissed, nipped and fondled each other, building their passion to its peak.

Dmitriy gripped Jennifer by the hips and drove himself deep inside her as he climaxed; Jennifer strove to meet him and cinched her heels behind his lower back, straining to hold him close as her anus spasmed and milked him. Her own member ejaculated hot semen onto her abdomen and Dmitriy's belly smeared the viscous fluid across her belly as he continued to erupt inside her. He began to thrust again and his spend seeped from her sphincter and ran between her buttocks.

Jennifer sobbed as intense feelings of lust and gratification washed over her and she had to admit that she also felt some self-loathing. How could she give herself away so easily to this man? Dmitriy kissed her and held her tight as they both rode their climaxes to fulfilment and Jennifer’s self-doubt dissipated.

They stayed in bed kissing and caressing each other; Jennifer naked except for her pantyhose and when Dmitriy’s short refractory period expired, Jennifer took him in her mouth and made him hard again.

Dmitriy threw Jennifer on her hands and knees and buggered her until she screamed with passion and ejaculated on his satin sheets and Dmitriy pulled her back against him as his huge throbbing penis ejaculated deep in her anus.

They rested for a while and did it again. This time slowly and intimately and almost lovingly.

“You are indeed an amazing and beguiling creature. I’m not sure I’m going to let go. I’m sure Katya can find another one similar to you. Not another like you because I believe you are unique,” Dmitriy said as he put on his robe.

“Yes you are indeed unique and I might just keep you for myself,” Dmitriy helped Jennifer up off the bed.

He helped her into her tattered dress which she had to hold closed around her waist. There wasn’t much she could do about her ruined makeup, her frazzled hair, and the dribble of semen leaking into her panties when he showed her to the door and told her to go back to her room while he considered her future.

When Jennifer returned to her bedroom she was relieved to see that her suitcase was sitting on a luggage stand set against the wall.

“You are to unpack and put your clothes in the armoire. Dmitriy says you’re staying for a while,” Tiffany Crouch had crept up behind Jennifer and was glaring at her.

“He only likes you because you are different. He’ll play with you for a while and sell you on. You’ll be buggered daily by a bunch of swarthy Arabs in some shithole in the Middle East, or be forced to dress as a schoolgirl and poked in the poo-chute every day by some Japanese businessman and his cronies or worse… held in one of those bordellos that Vlad operates, servicing a continual line-up of losers,” Tiffany hissed.

“Why do you hate me?” Jennifer asked.

“I don’t hate you; I pity you,” Tiffany slammed the door on her way out.

Jennifer strode over to her suitcase and took everything out and put it away in the armoire. She looked around the room to see if there were any cameras. There was nothing obvious but with technology today she could be being watched and would never know about it.

She put her back to the room trying to shield the suitcase as much as possible and opened the secret compartment at the bottom of case.

The tracking device was gone.

Jennifer thought she was going to faint. She could feel her heart pounding and the blood rushing in her ears. She couldn’t breathe. She madly pulled at the lining of the case hoping forlornly that the device was still there but it wasn't.

The door opened and Tiffany popped her head inside the room.

“Dinner in one hour. Dress appropriately,” she said dryly and shut the door.

Jennifer was terrified but her FBI training kicked in. She kept calm and began to get ready for dinner. If Dmitriy’s men had found the tracking device he surely knew about it but she was still alive. She was still about to have dinner with him. He could easily have had her taken away and killed but for some reason he hadn't done that.

Dmitriy held all the cards. She needed to know what exactly he was up to so she dressed for dinner as directed.

She stripped and took a long shower, did her makeup and hair and dressed.

She wore a bright-red floor-length Saint Laurent slinky satin sheath detailed with spaghetti straps, a ruched waist and dramatic low back; it was split to the waist.

Underneath she was wearing flesh-toned Wolford Fatal 15-denier seamless pantyhose and had forgone panties to eliminate any lines or creases in her dress. A red Vassarette push-up bra with a deep centre plunge accentuated her meagre cleavage; she had selected a pair of red Christian Louboutin Alminette suede pumps. She'd accessorised with the silver necklace, drop earrings and a bracelet all set with emerald stones that Katya had given her.

Jennifer fussed with her hair and swept bangs in the mirror while she waited. Her fiery red locks, smoky eye makeup, emerald jewellery and bright-red lipstick complemented her luminous porcelain skin superbly.

Tiffany opened the door exactly one hour after she had last shown her face and beckoned Jennifer to follow her.

“He wants to see you in his office first; then we will dine,” the resentment in her voice obvious.

“Why does he want to see me in his office?” Jennifer asked but Tiffany just gave her a blank stare.

Jennifer had never been so scared in her life. She half expected Dmitriy to greet her with a gun or a knife or for the floor to be lined with plastic with a body bag on hand. She was worried that no one knew where she was and that no one was coming to rescue her.

Dmitriy was dressed in a midnight blue two-piece evening suit distinguished by grosgrain jacket lapels and similar stripes along the outseam of his trousers. He had never looked so handsome. His dark skin and long coiffed hair manifested his power and eloquence; the only detraction on his features were the tattoos visible on the backs of his hands and on his neck.

He stood up as Jennifer entered and he smiled at her and indicated the leather chair in front of the desk.

“You look ravishing my dear. Every time I see you I am surprised by your beauty,” he rested his hands on the desk and sat when Jennifer did.

Tiffany left the room, closing the door silently behind her.

Jennifer wondered if Dmitriy was going to kill her himself or have one his henchman do it. Would she be tortured? Most likely she thought.

Dmitriy opened a desk drawer and set the little back box down on the desk between them. Then he laid out Jennifer Edwards’ social security card, driver’s licence, student ID and credit card. He tapped the cards one at a time.

“You have three hundred and twenty seven dollars in your bank account and you are enrolled at the University of Maryland and work at the Market and Deli,” Dmitriy smiled at her.

“It must keep you very busy because at the same time you are in your nineteenth week of training at the FBI Academy at Quantico Virginia,” Dmitriy's smile became a smirk.

“What did you think was going to happen when you pressed the button?” Dmitriy tapped the little black box.

Jennifer knew that the question was rhetorical.

“Did you expect the FBI SWAT and Hostage Rescue Teams to rappel down from stealth-modified Black Hawk helicopters and arrest me and rescue you?” Dmitriy continued to tap the little black box.

Jennifer was rooted to the chair, frozen with fear.

Dmitriy pressed the button on the GPS tracking device and a little red LED began to flash.

They waited in silence for what seemed like an eternity but nothing happened.

“Oops,” Dmitriy pursed his lips and made a two-handed ‘awkward turtle’ gesture silently marking the situation as awkward.

He reached into the same desk drawer and pulled out a small recording device. He tapped the play button:

‘If her cover gets blown there is no way out. She’s buckwheats. The upside is we have plausible deniability. Not that she would ever be found, but in any event we will expunge her Bureau records as soon as she is assigned to the case, she has no real family and very few close friends. She’ll be a Jane Doe,’ Mike Cole’s voice could be heard pain and clear.

“Do you know what buckwheats is Jennifer?” Dmitriy asked.

Jennifer said nothing. She just stared at the digital recorder sitting on the desk.

“It means to be assassinated in a slow, gruesome and painful manner, Jennifer” Dmitriy grinned.

“This is what the Director of the ‘eff bee eye’ and his cronies think of you. There is no record of you ever having been a member of the FBI,” Dmitriy steepled his fingers.

“There are no stealth helicopters coming, no SWAT teams. Mike Cole has retired to Switzerland where he is living comfortably off the very generous stipend I provide for him. Did you know he has a thing for latex bodysuits, whips and young men with big cocks? He was my best informant ever and I have many. Did you ever meet him?” Dmitriy pursed his lips.

“Of course not; you never met him did you? He was one of the faceless men in the ivory towers who send little darlings like to do their dirty work.”

“You knew Donald Chase of course. He died in a car accident on the I-95 only yesterday; very sad.”

“Uri Orlov’s car exploded this morning. Nothing to hide there. I was sending a message.”

“Katya Kuznetsova. Katya, Katya, Katya… I always had a soft spot for Katya; call it a weakness.”

“Do you know she was here? Right here in this office yesterday evening, right after she dropped you off to Vlad. She was sitting right where you you're sitting now. I threw her a sympathy fuck. Well it was a sympathy fuck for me, she didn’t really like it but it’s amazing what a woman will do with a gun to her head.”

“Vlad has her now. He’s always had a thing for her. When he’s finished with her he’ll put her to work in one of his whorehouses. For her it will be worse than dying. Buckwheats right?”

“I wonder how long she will tolerate it before she takes her own life? But Katya is nothing if not resilient. Maybe she’ll get used to being fucked by fat old men every day for the rest of her life, who knows?”

“Now you Miss Jennifer Jones… what am I to do with you?” Dmitriy smiled at her like the proverbial Cheshire cat.

*****

“There. That one,” the man sitting beside Jennifer Jones pointed to a pretty young blonde girl who was looking around the mall expectantly.

Jennifer got up from the bench and walked over to the girl.

“Are you here to meet Stephan for the photo-shoot?” Jennifer gave the young woman her most dazzling smile.

“Yes I am. Are you one his models?” the girl beamed a brilliant smile in return.

“Yes. Pleased to meet you I’m Jennifer,” Jennifer started walking towards the side entrance to the mall and girl followed.

“It’s so exciting. How long have you been modelling for Stephan?” the girl beamed.

Jennifer wondered how the girl could be so stupid and naïve but who was she to take anybody else’s inventory?

“Oh, there he is,” Jennifer pointed to a handsome man in a dark suit standing beside a black BMW M4.

As they started walking towards the BMW a black Transit Van pulled up beside the two women and the young blonde was unceremoniously hauled into the back of the van which then sped off.

Jennifer kept walking towards the BMW.

The next day the driver of the BMW was parked in the Union Station multi-tiered parking garage and he exited the vehicle and popped the trunk and took out a leather valise. He opened it and had Jennifer check the contents: 10 one kilo bags of cocaine, double-wrapped in plastic.

The man handed the valise to Jennifer who was wearing a black Alexander McQueen pantsuit and camelhair topcoat. He just nodded; Jennifer knew what to do. Jennifer took the escalators to the mezzanine shopping level which was packed with commuters, tourists and shoppers.

She spotted the man sitting outside a Starbucks at a plastic table for two sipping a café Americano. He had an identical valise at his feet. Jennifer sat opposite him and put her valise on the ground next to his. She looked around and saw that no one was interested in them and opened the man’s valise and peered inside to see bundles of US currency of the same denomination in equal straps of 100 notes each. All the strap edges were vertically aligned into a single organized stack and oriented in the same direction.

Wordlessly she stood, picked up the man’s valise and made her way back to the parking garage and dropped the valise on the back seat and climbed in the car. The driver took the exit ramp. They had been in Union Station less than ten minutes.

Two days later Jennifer sat in the passenger seat of the same BMW M4.

“The man in the trench coat,” the driver pointed to a middle-aged man wearing a fawn mackintosh and a trilby hat.

Jennifer got out of the car and walked towards the man who was sitting on a park bench feeding the birds at his feet.

He looked up at Jennifer and smiled. The diminutive young woman with the red hair wearing the navy-blue short-skirted suit under the $3500 red Dolce and Gabbana tailor-cut two-button blazer was stunning. Her face was pretty and her legs were incredible.

Jennifer had left her blazer unbuttoned and had worn the micro-miniskirt deliberately to divert the man’s attention to her legs.

He never even noticed when Jennifer pulled the sound-suppressed Ruger .22 auto pistol from her coat and shot him four times in the head.

She looked around the park but the mother and her three children playing on the swing set fifty meters away hadn't heard a thing and continued to laugh and giggle raucously.

The man slumped back against the bench and Jennifer adjusted his trilby so that it covered his wounds. She walked back to the BMW M4 looking like she didn’t have a care in the world but inside she was terrified but also excited. It was the first time she had killed a man.

It wouldn’t be the last.

Dmitriy was waiting for Jennifer when she returned to the penthouse suite he was leasing. The two armed guards nodded to her as she exited the elevator and made her way to the door. Dmitriy was naked under his dressing gown, sitting on a white leather sofa drinking a glass of champagne. He held out the tablet he had been studying and Jennifer took it from him after she had taken off her red blazer laid it over the back of the sofa. She was still wearing the micro-miniskirted blue suit.

Jennifer pressed play on the video app that Dmitriy had been watching. She saw herself assisting in the abduction of the blonde girl at the shopping mall, swapping drugs for cash at Union Station and assassinating the trench coat wearing man in the park. Jennifer had never asked what transgression the man was guilty of and she had no intention of asking now.

“How did my little challenges stand up against the simulations you exercised at Quantico?” Dmitriy poured a glass of champagne and handed it to Jennifer.

“They were more realistic… more lifelike,” Jennifer chinked her glass to Dmitriy’s.

“Well you have completed your training and it didn’t take twenty weeks. You will be my best personal assistant ever. You have so many skills that your predecessors never had… never dreamt of having,” Dmitriy smiled at Jennifer.

“What about Tiffany?” Jennifer asked; not that she really cared.

“If I told you to take her somewhere secluded and shoot her in the head would you do it?” Dmitriy looked at Jennifer over the rim of his glass.

Jennifer just nodded and took a sip of the Dom Perignon 2010 Vintage Champagne.

“I’m not going to do that; she has served me well. She hates you, you know?” Dmitriy topped off his glass.

“I don’t blame her. I’m taking her job,” Jennifer said emotionlessly.

“I’ve offered her something else in my organisation that pays well. The job is in Paris so she’s happy with that,” Dmitriy explained.

“As you will when you replace me,” Jennifer said matter-of-factly.

“Oh that’s if I ever do. You’re far more interesting that any of my other Girl Fridays,” Dmitriy chuckled.

“And even if I do; you have so many more useful skills than any of my other girls have ever had,” Dmitriy took Jennifer’s hand and kissed it.

“Shall we retire the bedroom?” Dmitriy kissed her cheek.

“Shall I take off my suit?” Jennifer asked.

“Just the jacket for now. I want to fuck you in that skirt,” He grinned at Jennifer and she smiled back.

Jennifer took Dmitriy’s hand and let him lead her to the bedroom.

Jennifer took off her jacket and hung it on a coat hanger. As she did so she could feel the faded photograph of her mother that she kept in the left breast pocket. She sprayed herself liberally with Dior Poison Eau de Toilette and sat on the bed and waited for Dmitriy to disrobe.

The new scorpion tattoo on Jennifer’s left ankle itched a little and she resisted the urge to scratch it.

The End – At Least for Now.

Author’s Note: As usual I adore receiving your comments and criticisms as they inspire me and compel me to write more. Please tell me what you think

Michele Nylons November 2021