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Mira is dead. Alexandra succeeds to the seat of power
The Present Day

Mira Destovsky and Ivanova were dead and gone. Mira’s younger sister, Alexandra, had assumed command of Mira’s business empire.

My name is Jelena Miskoba. I was trained by the former KGB as an assassin. I only graduated when the Soviet Union was in total disarray after its collapse. I had learned the arts of cold-blooded murder and excelled in them. I was not like some of my peers who orgasmed when they killed. It was not a sexual thrill for me, it was a job. I was also highly trained in English because my mother had been from that country but I was also fluent in both French and German. It was intended that I would be deployed in England as the killing arm of my country there. Because of my innate sexuality, a lesbian, I had also been expected to target useful women for intelligence purposes.

The Union’s collapse meant that job had disappeared just as I was ready to embark on my career. I was fortunate to meet Alexandra. She was the second child of Andrei Destovsky who had acquired a massive business through ruthless determination, good contacts with some of my former bosses and extreme violence. Fear was the key to his success.

On his death the empire had passed to his first daughter Mira. She was aware of the dangers from her father’s rivals and had taken extraordinary measures to ensure her safety. Eva Borodin was Mira’s head of security. She had been a member of a military unit which specialised in the protection of senior members of the Party. She was brutal and revelled in her cruelty, inflicting totally unnecessary pain whenever she could, merely for her own pleasure. Borodin was not particularly intelligent but she had animal cunning and was, therefore, formidable.

It was Borodin who had interrogated me after Mira’s death. I had insinuated myself into Mira’s trust and confidence. It had been a long mission during which I had had to tolerate many humiliations and, all the while, maintain the fictional identity of the English journalist, Joanna. Borodin had been very suspicious and I had to call on my reserves of strength to withstand her questioning. It was fortunate that her cruelty was not matched by her intelligence.

Satisfied that I was not involved in the murders of Mira and her secretary she paid me off handsomely but with threats of dire repercussions should I ever talk. It was perhaps fortunate that ‘Joanna’ was killed in an air accident a few days after her release. I was able then to return to my native Russia and make my way back to join Alexandra in England but using my identity as Jelena. It is not of course my real name. Sometimes I can barely remember what that is.

Three Years Earlier

The bar of the Hotel de Gascogne in Paris is a sophisticated and elegant place. A piano was playing quietly in one corner and I was sitting at the bar. I have naturally black hair and was wearing it long and loose. I was wearing a long, black silk evening dress with silver straps over my shoulders and with silver embroidery around the neck and hem. Black and silver sandals covered my stockinged feet. I wore a silver broach on my left breast. It was a stylised handcuff.

My training in the KGB, even though I had never been sent on a mission, had given me skills others cannot understand. Using those skills I had identified a number of well-placed women who, given the right circumstances, might employ me and pay me well. I knew of the vicious animosity between Mira Destovsky and her sister, Alexandra. I also knew that Mira had secured the services of Borodin and that I would never be able to supplant her. I wanted power and wealth. I had used other dark skills to acquire sufficient funds for my efforts to achieve my aims.

Alexandra Destovsky lived a life of enormous wealth despite her sister having assumed control of their father’s business interests. I knew she seethed with jealousy. I also knew she had inherited her father’s ruthlessness, as indeed Mira had. The women shared a weakness, sexual excess. Alexandra, having moved to live in both England and France, pursued her interests in different circles from Mira. She preferred the decadence of the French lesbian scene which was too expensive for most people. It was also a bit rich for some. I knew, because I had undertaken exacting research and had felt the sting of a whip more that once.

And so, there I was in the Gascogne’s bar, confident that it was the route to meeting Alexandra and making my first steps into her life. I had had to endure several nights there, ignoring men’s approaches, politely but firmly asking them to leave me alone. Some women, too, had approached me, for the bar was known as an assignation point for some of the louche denizens of Parisian lesbians. Alexandra was known to go there to find women. She did not have a permanent partner. She preferred, it seems, not to allow anyone to get close to her.

My outward demeanour did not change when she entered the bar. It was 11 pm and she was alone and wore an evening gown of incredible beauty. Her short cut, blonde, almost silver hair contrasted with deep red lipstick which matched the red in her dress which covered only one shoulder. Slashed up the left side to her thigh, the dress revealed a bare leg rendered shapely by the nail like spikes of her heels. She stopped in the entrance and surveyed the room. I did not look at her directly. I had so positioned myself that I could watch the entrance in the mirror behind the bar. I nursed my gin and tonic, occasionally glancing at the Cartier Tank on my left wrist. It was not a real Cartier but would pass for it to anyone but an expert. There had been no point in squandering my ill-gotten gains on the real thing. That would come soon enough.

I watched as she made her way across the bar and made no attempt to look at her when she sat two seats away from me. I heard her speak in French to the barman.

“Champagne. Also, get this lady,” in the mirror I saw her point to me, “whatever she wants.”

I turned slowly to look at her. “No, thank you. I’m fine.” I spoke in Russian.

“How do you know I am Russian?”

“Because your French is accented.” I smiled and she returned the smile.

I studied her. She had high cheekbones and her makeup was delicate, aside for the lipstick, and delicately applied. She had not done it herself. Her hair shone in the subdued lighting and deep blue eyes surveyed me. I knew she was wondering if I would be hers to enjoy this night. She wore no jewellery except a pair of drop earrings studded with diamonds, a bracelet of silver in the form of a bull whip curling around her wrist – a sign of her membership of an exclusive fetish club in the 6eme arrondissement close to her lavishly appointed townhouse and the Gascogne itself.

Her survey ran from my face, down over my body to my feet then returned to rest momentarily on my broach. She had clearly recognised it for what it was. At least she recognised it as an indication of my inclinations but in reality it was a lure, bait to trap the fish I hunted.

To the barman she said, “Get her a drink.”

She engaged me in conversation and told me to move to the stool beside her. I complied. Occasionally, as she questioned me about where I lived (I lied of course) and what I did, her hand would cover mine. She was interested, more than that perhaps. I did not touch her. I wanted her to make all the running. I knew I’d have to draw on all my resources, particularly my pain tolerance if things went as I hoped.

“Why did you come here?”

“I think you know why.” Her mouth smiled but the smile did not reach her eyes. She touched my broach with the hand above which the whip bracelet curled.

“Perhaps.” She lifted her wrist in front of my face and curled the bracelet around it. “Have you seen one of these before?”


She smiled again and let her hand descend to cover mine again.

"Then we might go somewhere together this evening, somewhere we can enjoy ourselves.” She paused. “Perhaps we may.”

The Present Day

Eva Borodin took the lift to the garage beneath her apartment block. She wore black trousers and a greatcoat against the cold, a fur hat covered her thin, ugly hair. Her face was not set in its customary mask of misery. She had discovered a member of Alexandra’s staff stealing and was on her way to question the miserable wretch. The woman, who had been employed for several years was being held in Eva’s interviewing room and the two women who guarded her would even now be strapping her to the table. Borodin was not a woman who enjoyed conventional sex but her nipples were hard and her pussy moist at the prospect of a delicious orgasm soon.

When interviewing she always wore latex underwear. She liked to feel it tight against her. She liked to let her victims see the pleasure she took from her cruelty so they’d know it was only going to get worse. She hated them to give in too easily. The more they resisted the better her orgasm would be.

She squirmed as she felt a trickle of wet into her panties.

The lift door opened onto the brightly lit garage and she made her way across the concrete to her Mercedes. Next to it was a silver car. Its boot was open and a woman in a long black raincoat, bent deep into the boot. As Eva got close to the door of her car, the woman emerged from the rear of the silver car.

“I’m sorry to trouble you, but do you have a flashlight?”

As she asked the question in English, the woman moved close to Borodin who replied, curtly, “No.”

That was the last word Eva Borodin ever uttered. The thin stiletto blade entered just below her left breast and skewered her heart. A look of astonishment passed over her face then the pain hit her and she made to scream but it never arrived. She slumped to her knees and I stepped back to avoid the blood. I wiped the blade on her greatcoat, slipped it back into the sheath beneath my raincoat and left her. I drove steadily through the London streets to return to Alexandra and join her in bed; my mission for that night was accomplished.

“Did it go well?”

“It was satisfactory.” I clambered naked into bed with my back to her and she curled her body to the shape of mine, her strapon slithering between my legs to stroke between my lips, her right hand over my breast. She entered me then, slowly and gently. I groaned as she pushed into me then more as she rocked behind me, her nipples hard against my skin.

Three Years Earlier

Alexandra’s chauffeuse drove us from the Gascogne in the huge, black Lexus. We sat in the rear, a glass screen between us and the blonde who drove. Alexandra’s hand slithered over my thigh, enjoying, it seemed, the feel of the silk of my dress and the stocking beneath.

It was, by now, 1 am and the traffic was quieter. The blonde manoeuvred the car skillfully through the small streets and stopped outside an ordinary looking house with a dark blue door. Respectfully, she opened the door and Alexandra got out of the car. I followed. I watched the car move off as the door opened and we entered a discreetly furnished hallway, lit low and with deep carpet.

I followed Alexandra through a heavy oak door to another room like a lounge bar. She called for Champagne and led me to a quiet booth.

“Take your panties off before you sit and give them to me.”

“I would if I were wearing any.”

“Show me.”

I lifted my dress to reveal stocking tops and my trimmed black triangle of hair. She smiled. The waitress arrived with an ice bucket and champagne flutes but Alexandra did not let me drop my dress. The girl seemed not to notice.

“Sit but keep your dress up so your arse is on the leather and spread your legs.”

She sat facing me across the table.

“You seem well trained.” If only she knew how well trained I was.

We drank champagne and talked for a while. She told me to come and stand beside her, legs wide and dress held up. She took a small, jeweled earring of the screw type form her bag and quite gently pulled my labia open. She screwed the earring to my left outer labia, screwing it tight. The pain was nothing but I feigned discomfort and saw the cruel smile in her eyes. She took a second, identical earring and applied to the other lip. She enjoyed the moan that I made.

“Sit again.”

I faced her and she began to question me, her hand rolling that bracelet around to emphasise her point.

“Have you tasted the whip before?” I nodded. “I can be very efficient with it.”

“I’m sure you can, Alexandra.”

“You will soon discover how efficient.”

She stood and came to stand beside me. She slid her hand down into the top of my dress and pinched my nipple, very hard. I groaned and looked into her eyes which sparkled as she pinched even harder. I reached my hand to her for the first time, laying it flat on her pubic mound over the deep red silk of her dress. I allowed my thumb to trace the shape of her. I knew she was wet, I could almost smell her arousal. Even in the sparse light I could see her nipples harden under her dress.

Abruptly she removed her hand, the blood returning to my nipple really did make me gasp and she loved it.


I followed her from the lounge, through another oak doorway and into a corridor. We entered a room off the corridor, a bedroom, dimly lit with a large bed set at one end.

“Pleasure before pain,” she said as she slowly removed her shoes and dress.

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

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