Ivanova’s eyes lit up when the door to her apartment opened. It was 11pm. She knew that only Mira Destovsky had a key and she hoped this meant that she was about to feel the kiss of the whip or the cane that hung on a hook behind her bedroom door. Mira came into the large, sparsely furnished lounge and shrugged off her long, black leather coat. Beneath it she wore tight, also black leather trousers and a black silk shirt.
They spoke as always in Russian when alone.
“Pour me a drink.”
Ivanova went to her kitchen and removed a bottle of Konik’s Tail vodka from her freezer. She poured generous measures into two large shot glasses and carried them through. She handed one to Mira then lifted her glass and said, “To pain.” She smiled.
Mira did not smile. She sat in a large chair, chrome and red leather, and lifted her glass to her glossed lips, murmuring, “To pain.”
Ivanova sat facing her. She was quite naked and her long black hair glistened like her eyes in the low light of the room. Her legs were spread in invitation. After some time, Ivanova stood, walked to her Mistress and fumbled at the zip of her trousers. Mira spread her legs so that the secretary could open them and release her girl cock. Kneeling, Ivanova sucked it, opening her mouth and taking it deep into her throat. Mira pushed the girl away, stood and walked through to the dark bedroom, large, but not as large as her own. She kicked off her shoes and pushed her trousers down but kept the black silk blouse on. Ivanova followed, knelt on the bed facing the foot and felt it dip as Mira knelt behind her. The tip of the dildo touched her pussy lips which were already wet.
She asked, “How is your English whore?”
‘She is good, I can trust her, I will own her.” Ivanova felt the pressure increase and she relaxed to allow the hard silicone enter her.
“Is she as good as me?”
“She is better than you, you whore.” Mira drove suddenly and ferociously into her and Ivanova moaned in a mix of pain and pleasure. She knew Mira was in one of those moods, that she would feel the pain she craved in due course.
Mira pushed deep, almost withdrew then drove in again. She repeated this, her pace increasing with each stroke. Ivanova’s head was lifted, looking straight ahead of her.
Mira spoke, “She is easy. She knows nothing. She is a fool but she is good.”
Ivanova did not care now, all she could think of was the pounding pace of the dildo and its imminent intrusion into her arse. She felt it withdraw from her, then touch again at her dark hole and groaned as it pushed past her muscle and into her.
“My God, yes.” She pushed back, her fingers grasping the sheets of the bed. Her mouth was open and her animal like lust rose in anticipation of the pain to come. Mira's pace increased and became a frenzied pumping into her pain loving secretary. She slapped Ivanova's arse, hard and often and the dark haired woman beneath her screamed in pain and ecstasy until their orgasms burst from them almost simultaneously and they slumped together, still conjoined, the dildo deep in Ivanova's arse.
Mira slowly withdrew from Ivanova and stood beside the bed. Ivanova lifted herself onto her knees again and turned to watch Mira as she went to the bedroom door. Ivanova smiled - anticipating the imminent sting of cane or whip but was puzzled as she saw Mira stop and stand stock still. She could see Mira staring as if trying to penetrate the darkness of the room, one hand paused in the moment of reaching for the cane on the door's hook. Ivanova turned to look in the same direction.
There was a noise like a cough. A third eye opened between Ivanova's two natural eyes and the girl slumped, blood seeping from the wound in her head onto the bedspread.
Mira Dotevsky had no idea what had happened. In the almost complete darkness of the bedroom she detected a movement in the corner facing the end of the bed and tried to make sense of the situation. She noticed a form, indistinct in the darkness.
A light came on and Mira gasped. That was her second to last gasp. The cough came again and she slumped with her last gasp, dead, falling to the floor, a neat hole in her forehead to match that of her secretary.
I was at my desk t around 8.30. Maria placed a cup of strong coffee onto my desk then turned and was returning to her own station when she stopped. I looked up and saw, standing in the doorway Mira’s head of security. She was a short woman with thin hair and eyes that were cold, like a lizard’s.
“I will search your office and possessions. You,” this to Maria, “Go to your desk and remain there.” Maria scuttled out.
“You will do no such thing.”
“Stand in the corner, please. I do not wish to bring muscle in but I will if I have to.”
I was scared now. I stood and moved to the corner of my office. The ugly Russian moved through my office, ransacking my desk, tipping the contents of my bag onto my desk. She went through everything, slowly and thoroughly.
“Mira will fire you for this.”
“Mira is dead. Did you kill her?”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
She looked up from her minute examination of my property. “Did you?”
“Of course I didn’t. What the hell is going on?”
“You will find out in good time. Do not talk to anyone.” She looked at me searchingly. “Do not leave the premises. Stay here in your office.”
She stumped out on her thick soled shoes and I heard the lock turn in the door as she closed it behind her. I lifted my ‘phone but it was dead. I picked my mobile off the desk and found I had no signal. I sat in my chair and surveyed the mess she had left behind.
The two women spoke in Russian.
It was two days later and Alexandra Dostevsky, Mira’s sister and now the head of the organisation who was taller and yet more beautiful than her sister sat in the seat of power. Like Mira she had almost silver blonde hair but hers was cut tight to her head. She had deep blue eyes that spoke of gentleness and intelligence.
Mira’s head of security faced her across the desk in Mira’s office.
“Her body has been removed to Russia. We do not know who killed her and Ivanova. It was obviously a professional, a silenced pistol, two single shots for each victim, no fingerprints, no signs.”
“Are the British Police involved?”
The reptilian woman shrugged dismissively. “They know nothing. This is a Russian matter. I have paid off the English whore and she will remain silent. Everything has been cleared away. She knows the alternative to silence, very clearly.” A shadow of a cruel smile crossed her eyes. “I made that abundantly clear to her.”
Alexandra almost shuddered, knowing what that evil smile meant, even if the details were unclear. She nodded. “So, no loose ends?”
‘Of course there are loose ends. We have no idea who killed your sister. But she is most definitely dead.”
“It was always a possibility. My security must be your sole priority. If they got to Mira they will try to get to me. What about the English woman?”
She was with friends the night of the killing. She has an alibi. It is not perfect but the perfect alibi is always the most suspicious. We searched her office, her belongings, her flat: nothing. She is who she says she is. We had checked her before she worked for Mira and we have done so since. Nothing. She has left London. We have paid her off and, as I said, she knows the consequences of talking.”
“You are a fool, Eva Borodin.” The security woman bridled but remained silent. “We will never know who killed her. Our enemies would use a Russian professional, or a Bulgar. He will be miles away. Now, get out.”
Alexandra lay in bed, silk sheets covered her. Between her legs, which were spread wide and lifted at the knees, a woman pressed her face hard to her, her tongue probing deep into the folds of her, licking her wet, swollen pussy. A finger delved into her arse, curling and another replaced her tongue, then a second joined it and the two fingers crossed inside her. Alexandra bellowed an orgasm, her hips lifting off the bed. As she calmed so the woman slithered up from under the sheet and kissed her mouth. They embraced in the darkness.
She spoke in Russian. “You are a constant delight.”
Alexandra turned on the light beside the bed and examined her lover. Her fingers trailing over the burn marks on her breasts and upper arms, the livid bruise on her face beside her right eye.
“I am sorry you had to suffer.”
“It had to be done.”
Her lover’s jet black hair was as short as her own and Alexandra’s fingers ran through it.
“Is Joanna dead too?”
“Joanna is dead. I am, once again, Jelena Miskoba. I arrived from Moscow yesterday. No-one can trace my movements except to find that I left Sheremetyevo on the Aeroflot flight yesterday afternoon. I sat in first class, I attempted to seduce the stewardess, she will remember that. She will also remember that I wore dark glasses and a long sleeved shirt. She would not, could not have seen the marks.”
“I think I preferred you as a blonde. Was Borodin her usual self?”
“She is a brute. She is also utterly ineffective.”
“Then she will believe that Mira died at the hands of our enemies?”
“What alternative is there for her to believe?”
Alexandra smiled. “Then, my love, all this is mine.”
“I think you mean ours?”
“I mean that this is all mine and we will share it.”
Joanna, that is to say I smiled into her eyes and licked her chin. “Let us say ‘ours’ Alexandra, please. I think I prefer that.”
Alexandra saw the darkness in my eyes and shuddered.
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