Here lurk Dragons. Dark, dragons.
Ukraine, Fifteen years earlier…
Ivanka stroked the check of the man strapped to the table. She’d seduced him slowly over time. They’d gone on dates, had sex and cuddled while watching sappy American movies. She promised him that she would consider his offer and said that he should come over for dinner. When he came to her apartment for dinner, she took him. The shoe was on the other foot as those strange Americans said.
It had been so easy to capture this American. So easy to fool him and make him believe that she’d spy on her own country. What he didn’t know is that she worked for the KGB. They did the same job, finding people to turn and then milk them for information. James had used good food, sex and presents. Ivanka liked pain. Causing pain. She’d shown such promise in the Interrogations Division, that they promoted her. It wasn’t until some time later that she discovered that sex and pain was even better than just pain.
Now she was going to milk him of information, just like she’d milked his cock earlier. Ivanka had slipped drugs into his tea and then when he fell asleep, she’d had her helpers strip him and strap him to her table. Similar to a St. Andrew’s Cross, this one was a horizontal X. Once tied, she woke him up with the sting of a crop across his thighs. Explaining exactly what was going to go on, Ivanka gave him the chance to give her the information before she began. Stupidly, he had given his name, and some ten digit identification number. She’d laughed and proceeded to enjoy his pain as she whipped him.
James had cried out, but refused to tell her what she wanted. To his disgust, his cock had reacted to her stroking hand as she talked to him softly. Each time he came close to orgasm, she stopped. Ivanka would ask her questions and when he refused to answer, she’d start again. First the crop and then the soft hand. His body finally could take no more and he came hard, coating his thighs and stomach with cum. She left him alone for a while. In the dark, it had seemed like hours, when in fact it had only been ninety minutes.
She whipped him again, only this time she didn’t spare his cock, balls or nipples. She thought she might break him at once point when she shoved an anal plug roughly in place, lubed only by his spit, but that didn’t work. Ivanka had been so furious, that she’d walked away from him for two hours, leaving him in total darkness. He was such a soft man that it shouldn’t take this long. He was ruining her record.
Eventually, she came back. Ivanka gave him sips of water and stroked his welts and comforted him all the while, she told him if he just talked, just gave her what she wanted, he could go free. She even pulled the anal plug out of his ass. Still he defied her. He recited love poems.
Ivanka shoved the anal plug back in and circled his cock with a leather strap once she’d gotten him hard. Lifting her skirt, she let loose the strap around his cock and spoke softly to him as she straddled and mounted his cock. She rocked back and forth. Ivanka enjoyed herself and tried to take him with her emotionally. He came at last, as did she, but still he wouldn’t tell her what she wanted.
Ivanka threatened to let her helpers rape him. Nothing. She let the bigger of the two men have him as she held his head and talked in his ear. James recited more poetry. He sang bad western songs. He gave her no information. She lost her temper. Ivanka whipped him again. This crop had a sharp edge, which broke the skin when it hit just right. She was very good at making it hit just right. With his skin coated with a fine film of blood and sweat, she asked him for the information she craved. He told her to fuck off.
She broke his fingers. Then she began to play a game of Russian Roulette. She fired the gun next to his head and then reloaded it and spun the barrel. Instead of putting it to his head, she held it to his crotch. Klick. She spun the barrel just as the door blew open and the bodies of her helpers were tossed inwards.
Screams, the thud of a whip on flesh and the silence had not moved Borys Chunko, aka Boris Korsak to action. The gunfire had. He swiftly moved from his position and with a quick movement sliced the throats of first one and then the other man standing guard. He kicked the door and threw the bodies in, gaging correctly that the first thing through the door would be fired upon. The bodies took the bullets. He counted. When the gun was empty, he entered the room to see field agent James Anders strapped to a table and the Russian bitch holding a gun to James’ head. Borys couldn’t be certain if it was loaded or not.
“Drop the weapon, he said.
“Drop yours,” she answered wondering why one of the Vory was interested in her guest for the evening.
“I ask you first,” said Borys. He saw her wrist relax for a fraction of a second and fired his gun catching her in the chest. The impact threw her back against the wall. She dropped like a stone. Borys ran to the man and with a knife, cut him free. He left with him slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
A week later, in an English hospital, James identifed Ivanka’s body in a photograph provided by the clean up team. They’d had just enough time to snap the photos before the KGB clean up team arrived. It took another six weeks of surgery and healing to repair the physical damages. The mental damages took much longer and in the end resulted in James resigning from his position in the CIA. Had it not been for Boris, he would have killed himself. Boris took him to an acquaintance, Lord Duncan who helped him regain his mental equilibrium. James never knew what it cost his friend to ask for help from Lord Duncan.