They took control – and I let them. She got out her harness, fitted a medium-big dildo in it, then had me get up in doggie position and took me slowly from behind. Meanwhile, he knelt in front of me, his cock in my mouth. They started working me in unison, moving towards each other, then away at the same time. It felt like I was being squeezed between them, his cock pushing down my throat and she was pushing me towards him while burrowing deep into my cunt.

She was going at it harder than he, and since I needed to be used roughly, I grabbed him by the balls and used them as a handle to pull him deeper, until my nose pressed against his pubic bone and the fist holding his balls touched my chin.

They caught my need. She started to fuck me harder and faster, and he matched her until I lost it.

I was finally getting the fucking I had so desperately wanted all through our training, but couldn’t have…

 `

Norway

Our Cohort was down to eighteen, and I was on the third of three teams of six. We were shipping out to another camp, this time in Norway, for the next part of our qualification and training.

Our wake-up call was 2200 hours – 10 p.m. – for an 0400 departure. We dressed and straightened up the bay where we had lived for the first camp, gathered our travel gear, ate a light meal, and were loaded onto a bus that took us to an isolated airfield.

Just before getting off the bus, we were told to pull our balaclavas down over our faces and keep them down until further notice. We were also told to not talk amongst ourselves or with the aircrew unless told otherwise. Okay, no problem; nap time!

Our ride was a NATO C-130J transport plane, the biggest plane I had ever been on, but with far fewer amenities than any civilian transport. That’s okay – I planned on sleeping, so I didn’t care what it looked like.

To a casual observer, if there had been one, I imagine we all looked mysterious and dangerous as we were all armed and wore black tactical uniforms, boots, gloves, and light assault packs. It was quite the fashion statement.

Since the pallet with our kit bags had already been loaded, we went from the bus and walked up the aircraft’s tail ramp. Once seated and strapped in, the ramp was raised and the aircraft took off almost immediately.

I drifted off despite the racket of the engines. I had learned that you slept when you could, wherever you were because you were probably going to need it later.

The flight lasted about two hours and when we landed it was still dark. The plane taxied directly to another isolated hanger and stopped. The ramp was lowered and we were directed to a nearby bus. I noticed that the bus windows were blacked out. When all of us were on board and seated, a curtain was drawn between us and the driver, and we departed. All very secret and hush-hush. I just hoped these boys were enjoying their games. I went back to sleep.

I was clueless about where we were, but after an hour of bouncing around in the bus, we jerked to a halt at a facility surrounded by forest. As I got out, I could feel that it was distinctly colder – certainly below freezing – and wondered what kinds of fun and games we had ahead of us.

As the bus pulled away, we formed up and were told to “uncover” (remove our balaclavas), then led to a classroom for a briefing that lasted about an hour. From there we were sent to break down the pallet we’d built for our kit bags and stow our gear in our billets.

Our new home was modern, clean, and relatively comfortable – a definite upgrade from the stalag where we had lived for the first part of our training. The living area was still an open bay, and since there were fewer of us, we had more space. There were no bunk beds, plus the building had a separate dorm room for those instructors who had accompanied us.

It was now mid-morning, and we began drawing gear appropriate to the terrain – skis, ruck covers, over-whites for our fatigues, and additional gear for each team, such as a sled to transport equipment in the snow, a small tent, a stove, and similar equipment appropriate to maneuvers in a cold climate.

Then it was on to training.

A typical morning began with calisthenics at 0500, followed by timed wind sprints interspersed with crawls and buddy carries on a football field to replicate evacuating a casualty.

I mass about forty-five kilograms, or about 100 pounds, and I was supposed to drag some guy who was twice my mass or more for ten meters.

Fortunately, there was no lifting required. We would pair up, he’d stand back-to-back with me and I’d link with his arms. Then I’d lean forward and pull him with his heels dragging for ten meters. Slowly. Then we’d switch and I’d get to ride for the next ten meters. Somehow, my riding never lasted as long as my dragging.

Sometimes, in lieu of the wind sprints, we’d go for a five-kilometer run, which was no problem for me. My legs might not be as long as the rest of the Cohort, but I didn’t have as much mass to lug around and my endurance was among the best.

All of this was followed by an hour in the state-of-the-art fitness center. We assembled in teams and followed a different exercise circuit each day involving the use of free weights or exercise machines. Then after each circuit, we would perform a ten-meter/thirty-two-foot rope or pole climb.

Pole or rope climbs were my strong point. The guys could all throw more weight around, but none could scamper up a rope line or do a pole ballet as I could.

On our first pole exercise, the instructor in charge of that event asked if anyone had experience climbing a pole. I kept quiet, but he called my name anyway and told me to give a demonstration of a pole workout. Without knowing specifically why he picked me or what he had in mind, I worked that pole like a stripper, swarming up it with hands and feet in nothing flat.

When I got to the top, I leaned back, no hands, and did a slow head-down corkscrew around the pole. After coming about three-quarters of the way down, I reached up so my head was upright, did a descending one-handed swirl, landed lightly on my toes, then took a bow to a cheering ovation from my teammates.

The instructor grudgingly told me my pole exercise was a good if somewhat unorthodox way to gain attention prior to giving a class.

Then he said, “Now teach these guys how to scramble like a squirrel.” So I did – which, unfortunately, doomed me to being called “Squirrel” from then on. Oh, well – I’ve been called worse. But as time wore on I became the designated roper and tree climber, which made sense because I was the lightest and most agile.

After our workouts, we would clean up, change into our “work wear,” eat lunch, and muster with our equipment kit.

Then the entire Cohort would ski to the range and shoot from the firing line to “warm up”. Ha, what a term, it was fucking freezing! Then we would ski from point to point engaging pop-up targets along the way. Then we’d ski to one of the other training sites.

Next, we practiced things like climbing, rappelling, or wilderness survival. Everyone else in the Cohort had been trained in these things before, so it was no big deal for them. Me? I was an embarrassing newbie starting at square one.

I found mountaineering particularly challenging because I really had to focus and catch up. Climbing, learning how to fall, rope work, knots, building a traverse, rappelling – this is all fun I kept telling myself. Fortunately, when we did mountaineering or target shooting, we worked in pairs, which helped as I drew a bright and supportive guy from another team named Albert. Albert was an actual Alpinist. For him, the mountaineering training we were doing was rudimentary, so he was able to coach me and help me over the rough bits.

Was it luck that I was paired with Albert? I don’t think so. During training, the cadre had begun pairing us with people from the other teams so we could coach each other. It was also a way to get us to know others and draw us out of our team cocoons.

Even though I was a novice shooter at the beginning of the selection process, to almost everyone’s surprise, including mine, I had done well. I really paid attention to what I was taught, but I would also slip into what I called “The Zone.” I had learned and developed this in my training as a slave, as well as in martial arts, yoga, and my dance routines. In The Zone, I let go of all the distractions around me, focused on the target, relaxed, controlled my breathing, and gently squeezed the trigger until it broke. As a result, when I shot, I hit. Thank you, Miriam!

As for Albert? He had more training in shooting than I had but was stiff when he shot. I helped him loosen up on the range, and he helped me up on the mountain.

As it happened, this phase of the training got me interested in competing in national and international biathlons later on. This turned out to be a real plus since being a legitimate competitor or a corporate sponsor for international competitions was a great way for me to “visit” places of interest without suspicion.

In the afternoons the Cohort would remain together for topics like advanced and wilderness first aid, communications, surveillance tools and techniques, and tactical planning. Then we would regroup as teams to refine or apply what we had been taught. Finally, we would break for dinner.

After dinner, we’d return as teams to the classroom or fitness center. The location would alternate. Some evenings we would learn basic phrases in other languages (an aptitude test, perhaps?), maybe do additional combat training or spend time on the climbing wall. Regardless, we were always building upon what we’d done before.

This phase’s graduating event was during the third week. Operating as teams we were required to perform a clandestine surveillance of a “criminal element,” being a group of instructors. This required planning, stealth, patience, and accurate reporting. We were inserted by helo, then had a day and a half to reach the target area, which required skiing, climbing, and traversing rugged terrain. We set up a stealth base for surveillance which was moved daily, snooped to obtain the required information, and then reported the results by encrypted radio.

Finally, we were told to exfiltrate to a distant extraction point. I was not the one only who wondered if we were being set up again for another trip to the Gulag. Accordingly, we were hyper-vigilant and detected and successfully bypassed two ambushes. Yes!

We knew something was amiss when we received a message informing everyone that Team Two was not responding to contact efforts, and was therefore presumed lost. We later learned what actually happened during the post-exercise debrief – they had stumbled into an ambush and were flunked out. So the six on that team, plus another two who had been injured during the exercise, were gone, which was sobering.

One of the injured guys was from my team, who had blown out a knee. We treated him and checked on him during halts. Whenever we moved, I took point as team scout. My job was to make sure the way ahead was clear and keep us out of an ambush. The other four guys on our team handled the communication and navigation and carried our injured guy on a jury-rigged litter.

That division of labor made sense. They had the brawn whereas I had demonstrated a “feel for the forest,” and could sense when something wasn’t right. Our extraction went off without a hitch, and when we arrived at our landing zone, we loaded our teammate into a waiting medical vehicle and bid him goodbye, then the remaining five of us boarded the helicopter back to base. There we were taken to a meeting room, debriefed, and told to prepare for transfer to Scotland for the final phase of qualification and training.

The Cohort was now down to ten.

 `

Scotland

Our departure for Scotland was the same song, second verse. Another early wakeup and flight in the dark. Same rules of non-engagement, same type of aircraft as before. Balaclavas down, keep mouth shut, nap, and go where we were told. The only difference was that there were fewer of us.

The training in Scotland emphasized direct action. Most of the guys spent their time in the “firehouse,” where they did live fire exercises, including Breaching and Close Quarters Battle simulations.

I only spent only a half-day doing that because I was told it was only necessary for me to become familiar with the drills, not to be proficient in executing them. Instead, I and three others were going to be receiving what was called technical training. As a result, we had a different training schedule and became immersed in pre-operational surveillance techniques and advanced marksmanship.

The surveillance techniques covered things like wiretaps, phone cloning, bug sweeps, and so on. Our instructor for this topic reminded me of the tech guy, Q, in the Bond films. He even had the same exasperated air about him and jealously protected his equipment.

At the start of our first session, he set the scene by telling us to imagine that we were alone, without support or assistance in hostile territory, charged with gathering the info needed for a successful, upcoming operation.

I didn’t say anything, but I had flashbacks to my times in Brussels, Frankfurt, and Stockholm. I suspected that it wasn’t chance that landed me in this group and that I was being led along a predetermined track.

The other part of my training, advanced marksmanship, and target surveillance, meant I was now expected to be able to accurately engage – kill – targets up to about 600 meters away. Consequently, I swapped out my previous rifle, an HK416, for an HK417 with a sniper scope, and spent time on range honing my skills. This included the techniques used to make a stealthily approach, and conducting surveillance of a target.

One time, during a break, while we were on the range, our instructor said, “Compared to the other types of action, what you are doing now requires an ability to act on your own, to be patient and vigilant, and to be able to respond quickly to change. It’s more personal because you’re working solo – there is no one else to consult or discuss things with. You either have what it takes to do this kind of work, or you don’t. We can’t train for it.”

That was probably why I had been selected for this training: because I had done precisely this kind of surveillance and intelligence gathering on my own, and Victor knew it.

Anyway, while the four of us were practicing shooting, crawling about, or tinkering with the gadgets, the other six members of the Cohort were refining their assault skills. Finally, we were all put to the test at the beginning of the third week during a three-day, live-fire exercise.

Starting on the night prior to Day 1, I and another tech were inserted and began surveillance of the target. Based on our reports, plus video from a drone that we launched and controlled, the other two techs, who were at the assault team’s rehearsal site, were able to build a refined target profile. As the plan evolved, the assault team rehearsed their attack. Upon signal, I switched roles from surveillance to sniper.

My partner and I moved separately to new positions and were in what is called Overwatch. Our job was to engage the four external guards, two for each of us, and then deal with anyone who tried to enter or depart the target site. Fortunately, the assault went like clockwork, taking seven minutes from start to finish. 

Upon completion, the whole Cohort was assembled and debriefed. Then we were told we would be going on a Romp, which is instructor-speak for a cross-country hike. No big deal, right? Then they gave us the rules, and it became clear that it was no kind of fun and games.

First, there was a time limit for completion, and we would not be told what it was, but if you didn’t reach the finish line in time, you were out.

Second, each of us would be given a different initial destination. Pick your own route, then when you arrived at that destination, you would be given your next one. The process would continue until completion. We wouldn’t be told where the finish line was until we got there.

Third, if anyone wanted to quit, there would be no shame attached to it. Just sit beside a main road and someone would be by to pick you up.

Questions? No? Good. Let’s get started.

So: no known distance or time limit, no known route. All the while we would be zig-zagging over hills and dale and thru marshes and moors. Probably no sleep either. Just go and don’t quit. Ja, ok, I get it. Fun!

So it began – as did the rain. As I learned later, we were expected to cover approximately eighty kilometers in less than seventy-two hours. I didn’t quit, but I did cross paths with a few of the others who were running low on energy and desire. Some of them recovered and pressed on. I was dog tired, and starting to feel lightheaded, but I’d felt that way before. I didn’t like it, but I knew I’d survive, and that I had to keep going.

Then I stumbled on one of the guys from my team, sitting by the side of the road, on the verge of giving up, saying he was tired, wet, exhausted, and that he was going to chuck it, he didn’t need this shit. I tried to pull him up, coax him, curse him, shame him. I called him a pussy, hoping to humiliate him into going further. I even said I’d help carry his ruck. No luck.

I finally shrugged and said goodbye, and walked away, thinking, Good riddance. I kept going and, unbeknownst to me, got two points for persevering.

I was more than a bit loopy by then – cold, wet, shivering, and exhausted. My feet hurt, my stomach hurt, and all I wanted to do was lie down and sleep when I arrived at the second stop on a main road. They asked if I wanted to rest there in the dry, but I wasn’t going to be suckered into quitting, so – nope, not stopping. Got to get my next coordinates and go. I stood up, shouldered my pack, and asked where my next destination was.

The instructor manning the stop took my name, pointed to a vehicle, and told me to get in and warm up. I got mad at him and shouted, “Fuck no, I’m not quitting, give me the next goddam point!”

He just laughed and said, “There is no next point, you completed the course, and you made your time. Now do what you’re told and get in the vehicle.”

When the Romp was completed, five of the others had quit. The Cohort was down to five.

 `

Evaluation & Decision Time

After the Romp, the final evaluation process lasted five days and pulled together all of the data that had been accumulated during the entire nine weeks of weeding, training, and assessments. Things like performance scores, instructor comments, peer reviews, and psychiatric interviews were reviewed and evaluated.

During that time, no one really bothered the five of us – we were left to our own devices. I turned in my equipment, had a physical and a couple of sessions with a psychiatrist, then was left on my own. I just tried not to go crazy. After weeks of non-stop, flat-out effort, everything stopped. It may even have been part of their evaluation process – to see how we responded to such an abrupt change.

So I slept, ate like there was no tomorrow, spent time at the gym or running, and read books.

I also privately started planning my next steps if I was not selected. There would be no tantrums or begging. I would just smile, depart, and return home to Nederland, get healthy, gather necessities – and then disappear to continue my hunt. In fact, all their training would help me vanish.

On the fifth day, once the reviews and such were completed, there was a final interview. Here the key leaders of The Organization called The Board, used the data provided to them and interviewed each of the five remaining finalists. This was the final hurdle.

Basically, the seven-member Board, decided if someone was a good fit as an agent in their organization. Did the person play well with others, were they stable and did they bring something useful to the table?

I suppose it should have been no surprise, but Victor was a member.

After I was introduced, I was asked to give a brief summary of my life, which I did – with a few omissions. Then I was asked how I saw myself. Why would I be an asset to The Organization?

I wasn’t sure what to say at first, but thought about it, then said, “I’m a chameleon who can become someone else, or vanish and become completely invisible.” At first, no one said anything, then finally the person in the middle, whom I guessed was the Chair, smiled, nodded, and said, “So you’re a ghost?”

When I said yes, that set the tone for the questions that followed. Finally the Chair said, “Thank you, that will be all for now.” I got up, nodded, and went out.

I waited an hour, wondering about the significance of the comment about being a ghost, but suspected that Victor had told them that he thought I was der Geist whom he was aware was paralleling his investigation into Miriam’s death but had been unable to trace.

When I was summoned back into the room, the Chair smiled, and congratulated me, telling me I had been selected and would be brought on as a TSS – Tech Support Specialist. 

My first reaction was, what the fuck? Am I going to be the Gadget Gal? But I just smiled and said I would not disappoint. Then I was dismissed. Turns out there was a bit more to the job than just gadgets.

By the end of the interviews, only three of us made the final cut out of the original sixty-one, and one of the others was my shooting and climbing buddy Albert. He had been on the assault team. The other was one of the techs who had been my partner during the live-fire exercise.

All three of us were given fourteen days' leave, and they didn’t have to tell me twice.

 `

Aftermath

I flew – First Class – to Rotterdam to see Gregor and consult with him about my future plans. He was the only living person whom I trusted completely since Hans had betrayed me to Victor. That his betrayal might eventually work out alright was one thing, but he had committed me without my permission. I might forgive Hans, but I will never forget.

As before, I picked the lock and slipped into Gregor’s house in the early evening, then waited in his office to see him. He walked in, stopped, looked at me, and said, “You look like shit.”

“I feel like it, too.” I stood up, walked over, wrapped my arms around him, and hugged him hard, tears in my eyes, sniffing.

After we broke, he leaned back and searched my face. “That bad?”

I paused, then shrugged. “Yes and no. Sit, and let me tell you.”

So, I told him how Hans had betrayed me, how I had been recruited by a NATO organization…and he stopped me.

“You Kazak (Cossack) now?” using a Russian slang term meaning cop, fascist, or government fink.

I nodded. “It’ll help me find Miriam’s killer. After that…,” and I shrugged again.

He shook his head, but I could see a small smile on his face. “I wonder if they know what they’ve done to themselves.” Looking up at me again, “They catch a tiger, and think they got a pussy, nyet?”

I grinned back at him.

He leaned back in his chair and waved his hand. “So tell. Tell all.”

Which I proceeded to do, long into the night.

I stayed with Gregor for five days, eating, sleeping, and discussing things with him. I wanted his assessment of my situation, his advice, and – perhaps most of all – his approval. I would use The Organization for my ends, just as they intended to use me for theirs. But Gregor was older, and even more cynical than I was. I trusted his instincts.

When we were done with our discussions, after five days of on-and-off talking, he looked at me. “You Kazak, be good Kazak – but leave on your terms, not theirs. Be careful – you jump before they grab, da?”

“Yes, Papi. My terms, not theirs.”

I hugged him tight, kissed both his cheeks, then let myself out the back door and disappeared into the alleys of Rotterdam. I could probably have caught a cab from the front door, but the habits of my last several months, plus the training I had just completed, told me to vanish when I could, and appear only when needful.

My next stop would be Stuttgart to visit Hans and Marie – and my son, Eric. I grabbed a taxi from an upscale hotel to the airport, where I had booked First Class flights, with connections, arriving in Stuttgart in the early afternoon. As I had told Hans I was coming, there was a uniformed limo driver waiting for me at the arrivals baggage area, holding up a card with my name on it.

I was dressed in black military fatigues, so he looked at me with a slight frown of disbelief. Yet, when I introduced myself as Frau Wolf, and gave him Miriam’s cold stare he recovered, said the right things, and whisked me to Hans and Marie’s front door.

Marie opened the door, “Veronika! Willkommen! Gott im Himmel! You look awful! Look at your gaunt face! Did they starve you?” and wrapped her arms around me and hugged.

Hans appeared behind her, “Shush, Marie. They didn’t starve her, they worked the baby fat off her.”

I leaned back from Marie’s hug. “Fuck you, Hans! You did this to me!”

Then I moved from her arms to his and got an even bigger, rib-cracking hug.

“God, it’s good to see you, Nika. Victor told me you were brilliant, amazing – but I expected nothing less. Miriam saw the diamond hidden inside the coal – and she was never wrong.” He broke and held me at arm’s length. “But we will try to fatten you up again, hein? You’re more a stick than a slut!”

“And like a slut, I could use a good fucking, thank you very much!”

Hans smiled but shook his head. “Such language! You’ll have to be careful in front of the baby, ja? But come in and see him. He’s a fine boy – and beautiful, like his mother!”

Just then, the nanny walked in carrying Eric in her arms. Somehow he teleported to my arms, and after that, no one else existed in my world.

It had been months since I’d held him. He’d grown a lot since the night I’d faked my own death. I looked down into his eyes, so blue they were almost purple and wrapped one finger in his blonde curls. I leaned forward and kissed his head, smelling his hair, and feeling tears spring to my eyes.

He was, indeed, beautiful, and his eyes reminded me of Miriam as if she were looking up at me. It hurt – a lot – but in a good way. I kept hugging him close and crying.

I know they must have moved us both because I found myself sitting in a wooden rocking chair in his room. All I recall is the intense feeling of dreamy happiness, holding this wonderful armful and rocking back and forth, tears streaming down my face…

I sat next to Eric, and helped feed him at supper – which he imperiously took as his due – with his nanny hovering nearby. She was obviously uncomfortable with this stranger taking her place, even temporarily. Eventually, though, she won him back and took him off to bed. It was time for Hans, Marie, and me to discuss family matters.

“You’re his mother, and he should know,” Marie started, “Hans and I have settled it.”

I shook my head, “No, Marie. You and Hans are his parents – mother and father – because you are the ones who are raising him, and you’re doing a far better job than I ever would. You’re the ones giving him love every day, and taking care of him. That’s what parents do – and that’s who you are. I will be Tante Nika – a very close and special aunt, but not his mother. Later, perhaps, we can tell him the truth, but the truth is that while I’m his birth mother, you are his real mother.”

They tried to argue, but I wouldn’t budge. I finally persuaded them that it was best for Eric, and then they accepted it.

We also talked about financial affairs, and I told them about the trust arrangements I’d made both for Eric and a little bit about what I’d done for myself – but not all of it. Through it all, Hans sat back with a small smile on his face.

Finally, when I’d said everything that needed saying, I turned on him. “What?”

He shook his head. “So many people have underestimated you, Nika. The police. The poor fools who killed Miriam and will pay for it. Ivan. Victor. Even me. I marvel at how Miriam found you – and am amazed that she saw you for what you really are. You are far, far more than people give you credit for, perhaps because you are so damned sexy!”

I sat there, staring at him, then snorted. “Well, if I’m so damned sexy, how come I’m not getting fucked?”

That started him chuckling. He stood up, reached over, and took my hand, pulling me up. “Come along, Marie. It’s time we gave this one what she wants!”

Marie and I made a Hans-sandwich. So much tastier than a mere ham sandwich, and much more engaging. I was riding his cock, reverse cowgirl style, while Marie was sitting behind me on Hans’ chest, running her hands over my tits, up and down my sides, and finally finding my clit while she let Hans eat her pussy.

She used one hand to play with my nipples, pulling and twisting them, while the other hand slowly – too slowly – stroked my clit. She pressed her back against mine, her tits rubbing against my back, while I rode Hans’ impressive cock up and down.

Every day I had been surrounded by cocks in the communal shower, some of them quite extraordinary, but since they were dangling from my Cohort mates, I hadn’t dared touch any of them no matter how tempting it was. Worse, I had to make sure they didn’t come onto me as I would have been the one blamed – and flunked out.

As a result, I was incredibly horny, even for me, and was working Hans in and out of my kitty, pulling up high, then slamming down onto him each time in order to tickle my G-spot and make him bottom out against my cervix.

All of which meant that it wasn’t long before I came – hard – while Marie wrapped her arms around me, and hugged her face to my back, stroking my hair.

But one cum was nowhere near enough. Hans tapped Marie on the shoulder so she moved off of him, then pushed me sideways onto the bed, onto my back, lifting my knees up, and walking himself forward on his knees to position his cock at my slit with my knees on his shoulders. He didn’t push my knees up too high – his dick was already plenty big – and he didn’t have to force himself in very far in order to bottom out again. That didn’t stop him from banging hard each time he shoved forward.

At first, he was moving quite deliberately, even slowly, teasing me to the edge of my next climax. It didn’t take long before I saw a change in his face and felt him start to fuck faster as the urgency of his own approaching climax hit him. He cried out and came, pumping spurt after spurt of warm cum into my cunt, which clenched around him, milking him, as I came with him.

He collapsed onto his hands, hanging his head and panting, then lifted up and looked at me, smiling through his sweat. “You’re still the best fuck Miriam ever had!” And he leaned forward and kissed me. I wrapped my arms around his neck and my legs around his back, kissing hard in return.

“And you’re the biggest prick I know!” I giggled.

Marie tapped Hans’ shoulder, and this time he moved off, flopping onto his back on their king-sized bed. Marie lifted her leg, and moved into soixante-neuf, with her on top, wriggling down so her pussy was well-positioned over my mouth, then leaned in and started to lap up some of Hans’ cum, teasing my pussy lips, but avoiding my clit.

I took the hint and went to work on her pussy, starting by edging around her pussy lips, then flicking my tongue up between them and eventually finding her button. I gave it some loving attention for some time until I heard her exhale hard, so I started to lick from her perineum, up between her lips, then on and around her pearl.

She started to mimic my actions, and before long, we were both moving urgently toward my third climax of the evening. And when it happened, I buried my face in her cunt, licking and screaming simultaneously, allowing the vibrations of my cumming-call to vibrate her pussy, making her scream as well.

After that, we all fell asleep for a bit, until I woke up with a start, wondering where I was, then smiled as I remembered. I was positioned between them, and, greedy as I was, I turned, knelt up, reached over, and started lightly stroking Hans’ prick with one hand, while starting to lightly trace around Marie’s nipples with the other.

Before long, both sets of eyes opened, and both bodies started to respond.

This time, they took control – and I let them. Marie got out her harness and fitted a medium-big dildo in it. Then she had me get up in doggie position and took me slowly from behind. Meanwhile, Hans knelt in front of me, his cock in my mouth. They started working me in unison, moving towards each other, then away at the same time. It felt like I was being squeezed between them, Hans’ cock pushing down my throat and Marie’s pushing me towards him while she burrowed deep into my cunt.

Marie was going at it harder than Hans, and since I needed to be used roughly, I grabbed Hans by the balls and used them as a handle to pull him deeper, until my nose pressed against his pubic bone and the fist holding his balls touched my chin.

The two of them caught my need. Marie started to fuck me harder and faster, and Hans matched her until I lost it, dropping my grip on Hans’ sac, and blubbering around his cock when I could breathe. My whole body shuddered – then shuddered again when Hans pushed forward, cum exploding in my mouth and down my throat. Marie backed off slightly so I could breathe, reached around, and started playing with my clit, rubbing and twisting it, and I started keening…

I must have blacked out, because the next thing I remembered I was lying on my back, panting, and they were, once again, on either side of me, stoking my body, leaning on their elbows, and smiling over me.

“Welcome home, Nika,” said Hans.