by Henry Morgan
Sabrina allowed Justin a brief moment and then pulled on his sleeve. It was wet from the tussle in the snow and she noticed he had a bloody nose. In the first touching gesture she had extended to him in numerous months she held out her handkerchief and wiped away the blood. He took it from her and turned away towards his car, wiping away a tear as he did so. Sabrina followed and climbed into the passenger seat, and as they too fled the scene she began to gush with a thousand questions, but Justin remained silent and thoughtful as the bodies of the soldiers faded behind the speeding car.
After a very long period of silence Sabrina asked what Justin’s next plans were.
‘Odessa,’ he said simply. ‘Then home.’
‘How do we get there? Is it all set up?’
Justin turned to her. ‘You heard them. We’re on our own.’
‘And how do we get there?’ she asked again, then pointed at the dashboard of the Trabant they were travelling in. ‘In this? What about food, clothes? What about fuel?’
Justin reached into his pocket and pulled out the fat wad of roubles he’d been given by Viktor and Snejana. ‘That should do us.’
Sabrina thumbed the cash. ‘You did it, Justin. All this time I’ve been thinking you were just a soft wanker and you do this!’ She waved the money excitedly in the air and he took the opportunity to take it back from her. ‘I was obviously wrong,’ she continued. ‘You’ve finally woken up. Perhaps now we can finish what we came to this ice box for.’
Justin careered the car to the side of the road. ‘No way!’ he barked, displaying his renewed confidence. ‘I didn’t come through all this to start it all over again.’
The tension had brought a fresh flow of blood from his nose and Sabrina wiped it away tenderly. ‘But you can do it. We’ve got the money, and you…’ she sounded excited about him for the first time in a very long time, ‘you’ve got the courage to see it through.’
‘No!’
Sabrina dropped her hand into Justin’s lap and caressed him. ‘You’ve shown me a side to you I never knew existed.’ She unzipped his trousers. ‘Things will be different between us.’ His cock was soon free and Sabrina slipped it into her mouth. She sucked for a moment and then looked up at him with her girlish brown eyes. ‘I promise.’
Justin pulled the car back onto the road and switched on the wipers. It was beginning to snow again, but inside the car the heater was having a relaxing effect on both of them. ‘Going to Odessa and getting out that way is just as dangerous as chasing David,’ she said, between kissing and rubbing his cock. ‘You’ve shown me now that you hate to lose as much as I do.’ A black car containing four uniformed men sped past them in the direction of the carnage they had left behind. It sent the adrenaline rushing back through Justin, and in that brief second he considered their chances of getting out of the country. It was obvious that all borders, ports and airports would be on the look out for them, giving them no choice but to remain in the interior for some time yet. The thought also entered his mind that Snejana or Viktor may well see it in their interests to ‘help’ the authorities and inform them of their plans.
‘There’s no point,’ he finally said. ‘We just need to keep our heads down until we can get out. Besides, we don’t know where he is.’
‘I do,’ said Sabrina, smiling enigmatically. ‘Russian officers just can’t shut up when they’re in bed,’ and with those words she dropped her head once more into Justin’s lap.
The sudden jolt of the ice caravan from the forest path on to icy road woke David. During his sleep he had once again been tormented by nightmares. It seemed that every night he was reminded of being held captive by Sabrina and her plans to bring him to northern Russia and sell, or rather hire, his body to the rich women whose men were away in the great Arctic factories. He remembered the girl they had also sold to the islanders of the Orkneys, and how he feared they were going to drown on the rough sea passage to St Petersburg.
Then he recalled his escape and the tortuous months he had spent trying to survive in a strange country with the many different languages. He shook the frightening fog of memories from his mind and accepted the cup of chicory from a smiling Mishka. Fyodor was driving the deer and Natalya was working on her belt. The two Lapps were preparing food and the van smelled wonderful, and it was warm, unlike outside where a snowy squall reduced the visibility to about thirty feet. No one was concerned; they were on the road to Norilsk and a welcome stop for all the tribe, and David too.
Lubyanka was buzzing with the news of the death of Major Sergei Bokov and his driver. Captain Vasili Leskov had been summoned to a special meeting of Cheka 3 and told to find the Chechen rebels who had carried out the assassinations – whatever it took. The captain picked his papers up from the desk and marched from the room. He had been reinstated after the controversy of his damaged vehicle in Murmansk, and he intended to repair his damaged reputation. In the corridor outside the Cheka 3 office his subordinate asked if he should round up all known Chechens in Moscow. The captain replied in the affirmative and added that three men were to be shot as an example to others.
‘Once we have found the pigs responsible we shall show them not to fool with the mother country,’ said the desperate-to-please soldier.
‘You will not find the rebels responsible,’ the captain informed him sagely, then in response to the soldier’s bemused expression he added, ‘There never were any rebels.’
The soldier hurried along beside his captain. ‘Then why are we to shoot three men?’ he asked.
Captain Leskov turned on his highly polished boots. ‘Because,’ he said coldly, ‘our superiors expect it.’
Chapter 12
The Nentsy caravan had formed their usual kraal just outside Norilsk, and the people were setting up all sorts of games to play while the elders went into the town to trade. Some children were racing their dogs against each other, women were teaching girls how to make their traditional belts and clothing, and a number of the men were enjoying a drink and telling tales around a crackling fire of sweet-smelling pine logs.
David and the girls were unloading their sled in preparation for their trip to the town and some trading of their own. The fog had mostly lifted, boiled off by the mid-morning sun, and the snow scurried in tiny vortices from the occasional gust of wind rather than fall from the sky. It was a beautiful day.
There was no such thing as a poor person in Norilsk. It was a mining town and they dug for nickel, copper and, more importantly, platinum. David had little to bargain with. As time had gone by he realised he had to make for Alaska; he had no idea of the whereabouts of Sabrina and Justin, but he did know the Russian military were on his trail. So it was no good trading his amber for roubles; they would be worthless in America. What he wanted, apart from enough fuel and supplies to get him to the Bering Strait, was platinum; something he could exchange for dollars. He squatted on his sled, and with Teena’s arms around Mishka who had hers around David, they gave Natalya a cheery wave and set off for the best trading centres in town – the bars, clubs and casinos.
Rich it may have been, clean it wasn’t. The whole town was a series of prefabricated buildings and gaudy neon signs that screamed encouragement to the money-laden miners and threatened electrocution as sparks flew from unprotected electrical connections. This was a town without a seedy quarter; it was a seedy town, full stop.
As David’s sled made its way along the central street, fur-clad miners meandered from bar to bar seeking out new ways to part with their money. He paused outside one ramshackle structure that deluded itself it was a casino, and peered inside. Two dozen drunken men were dropping roubles into machine slots in an attempt to rid the boredom of the icy wastes. As David suspected, they were being served by just two girls; the only Russian gold diggers brave enough or desperate enough to venture this far north.
He patted his own girls on the thigh. ‘Time to clean up,’ he said to himsel
f, and motored over to what laughingly described itself as a hotel.
A thousand or so miles away in Berezovo a tired out Trabant entered town. Its long hard drive over the Urals had finally finished its brave little two-stroke engine. A smiling mechanic came out of his garage to administer the last rights as he had done so often to those foolish enough to challenge the unforgiving mountains. Fortunately, a young man who possessed a modicum of English accompanied the mechanic.
After the car had been taken inside an old world war two airplane hangar Justin and Sabrina considered their options. They could wait a few days for the new distributor and head gasket for their car, but delivery times were notoriously variable and that would put time and distance between them and David. They could ask Boris, the mechanic, to replace the damaged parts with those from one of his other Trabants in the hangar, but they were almost as bad as the ones they would replace. That left buying the only good vehicle Boris had left, and good was more of a euphemism than a description. It did have some advantages though. They could at least start off again in the morning and any witnesses, like the four men who had passed them near the Cheka 3 recreation building, would be looking for the wrong vehicle.
The only setback was money. Boris obviously realised that a product was only worth what you could get for it, and for the creaking Opel that had hardly moved in two years, he sensed he could get a lot. The fall of communism had a lot to answer for.
Darkness was also closing fast and they would need somewhere to sleep. As one horse towns went Berezovo didn’t register as one with a donkey; there was no hotel. Neither Sabrina nor Justin relished the thought of one more night huddled in the Trabant. The previous night had almost seen them succumb to exposure so they took up the only option available, the back room of the hangar cum garage. It had a potbellied stove that burned peat and there was a number of old settees and chairs for them to sleep on. It did mean though, that they could cook something hot. Boris and the boy, Stepan, had a room on a mezzanine floor that was only slightly more comfortable than the space on offer. It was a take it or leave it choice. They took it.
Darkness had now fallen and the temperature outside had slumped as if in challenge to the coming spring. The three men settled down to an evening of cards, Boris using an old engine block as his seat, and Sabrina found herself busy preparing a meal of soup and bread. It was a drop in status for her, but she was still shocked at the character change Justin had undergone, and she was beginning to realise just how much she needed him.
She carried the food to the table and noticed the glances the two Russian men were casting at her. When she came back to sit with them Boris produced a bottle of homemade vodka. She took a sip from her glass and coughed at its coarseness, prompting laughter from the men.
‘What?’ she spluttered, and held up the glass. ‘It’s brake fluid, isn’t it?’ She took another sip and swallowed it defiantly. ‘Or aviation fuel?’
When Justin and Stepan laughed again Boris joined in and refilled everyone’s glass. It was a happy atmosphere and Sabrina was quite content to take away the dishes and clean them when Justin told her to, and when she returned the aviation-fuelled vodka was taking effect on the three men. They sat beneath a bare bulb and played their game, and all the time they were whispering, and Sabrina noticed the glances were becoming more frequent and intense.
‘Deal me in,’ she announced, after noticing the game they were playing was rummy. She held out her hands expectantly but no cards were forthcoming. Boris dealt only to the men.
‘I’ll play,’ Sabrina repeated.
This time Boris grunted some sort of reply and Stepan informed her that women couldn’t play cards with men, so she stood up and sulked around the garage, although she remained close enough to the stove to benefit from its warmth.
The garage was scattered with spare parts and tools and she returned to the table and its single bulb before she stubbed her foot on one of the many clumps of metal that lay on the floor. The men continued playing as if she was not there, and tired of being ignored and unfamiliar with not being the centre of things, she broke her silence and interrupted them.
‘What are you playing for?’ she asked, desperate for any sort of conversation.
‘The Opel,’ Justin replied.
Sabrina took up the near empty pack of Belomor and removed a cigarette. ‘I thought we’d agreed to buy it already,’ she said.
He didn’t look up from his hand. ‘It’s too much.’
‘We’ve got the money.’
Justin turned on her, and in a manner that made her feel suddenly and unusually vulnerable he snapped, ‘I’ve got the money. And it’s too much.’
Sabrina stood and paced the floor anxiously. ‘So what is it? You win the money off him and buy the car with his own money?’
‘Sort of.’
‘What do you mean, sort of?’ she snorted. ‘What if you lose? We end up with less money and we still have to buy the car.’
‘If I lose,’ Justin answered calmly, ‘I pay the asking price. If I win I pay half the price and Boris and Stepan get to fuck you.’
The two men stared hungrily at Sabrina.
‘What?’ she exclaimed. ‘What sort of a bet is that?’
Justin put down his cards and took up a second bottle of the homemade drink. ‘Just that,’ he answered confidently. ‘A bet, and I’ve just won.’ He slumped down on a greasy sofa. ‘So get ready to pay up.’
Boris and Stepan got to their feet, and Sabrina remained rooted to the spot. Suddenly Boris cleared the table with a sweep of his hand that sent cards and glasses to join the other debris littering the floor. There was no place for Sabrina to run to, and she allowed Stepan to grab her by the neck and move her to the table, where Boris was already unbuckling his belt. Stepan was young and fit and his grip was unrelenting, and as he forced her over the table she saw Justin sitting comfortably. He was pouring himself another vodka and smiling smugly, settling down like a man about to enjoy a movie. He even raised his glass to her as Boris lifted her skirt, and his contempt and indifference to her plight stirred emotions in her that she hadn’t felt for him in a long time.
The skirt now lay across her lower back, exposing her pale silk knickers. Boris removed them without Sabrina having to lift a leg; he simply tore them in two and cast them aside. And he did not find her unreceptive; her submissive nature was again coming to the fore, but this time it was Justin who was driving her desire. She wanted him to see her being used, needed him to see her forced.
Stepan increased his grip as the old mechanic sought out her entrance. She felt his entry and spread herself accordingly, only the slight grimace she displayed as his width bullied its way inside her was evidence of what she was enduring. She watched for some emotion on Justin’s face. She knew he loved her, rescuing her the way he had was evidence enough of that, but he was looking on impassively. His cold stares frightened and excited Sabrina. She began to respond, began to snatch and strain for Boris’s hard cock. She wanted Justin to want her like Boris did. She reached back with searching hands and urged him on. Boris responded briefly before growling and releasing himself into the girl’s sheath. His ejaculation was prolonged and copious; he didn’t have many outlets for his needs in Berezovo. The only contact between the mechanic and Sabrina had been his cock. He hadn’t touched her or even tried to kiss her. His was simply a release, and now he was sated he placed his hand on the girl’s neck to keep her pinned to the table. It was time for Stepan to collect.
The youth was in no hurry. For him Berezovo was a happy, if limited, hunting ground. Nonetheless, it was always nice to have a different female, especially if she wasn’t even from the same town. He made a great show of removing all his clothes and stroking his impressive penis in front of Sabrina; Stepan’s conquests had no cause for complaint in that department. What the girls usually didn’t agree to was where Stepan liked to put it.
&n
bsp; Unlike his older friend Stepan was very tactile. His hands roamed freely over Sabrina’s body and he took the liberties expected of him by Justin. When he had tired of exploring the lovely thing pinned helplessly to the table by the strong mechanic he made his way behind her, and to his favourite orifice. Sabrina tried in vain to glance back, but Boris held her tight to the table. Her only vision was of Justin watching her being abused. She knew he was enjoying it; the way he adjusted his trousers to accommodate his thickening muscle was evidence enough, and that made her enjoy it too. The Russians thought they were holding her against her will but she would have bent over for them anyway. All Justin had to do was tell her. For now though, she would go along with their game. She even yelped when Stepan stung her bottom with several swipes of his hand, and deep down the stinging thrilled her.
No matter how excited her body though, Stepan’s intrusion was to prove uncomfortable, at least initially. The girls in the town had always struggled to harbour his girth. It was that which excited him the most, to see them grimace as they struggled to take him, to watch them wince at what they had to accommodate, and he revelled in their shame.
Stepan pulled the cheeks of Sabrina’s bottom apart and anointed her sphincter with saliva. It took him several minutes to prise her open, but he was in no hurry. He was enjoying watching her gasp for breath as the mushroom head of his cock pushed its way past her tight ring. Sabrina held her breath and closed her eyes, and then the resistance yielded and Stepan’s glans sank into her rectum until his humid groin pressed down on her buttocks.
It was not the first time Sabrina had been buggered, but she had never been impaled on anything quite so big. Her whole being felt like it was under invasion from some great meaty spit from which she had no escape. She instinctively tried to squeeze him out of her bottom, but it was useless. There was only one response for her to make. With each thrust of his gnarled prick she squealed, the way he wanted her to. Her obvious discomfort made him even thicker and she wailed all the more. It was a vicious circle that could not end until he had fired his sperm into her rectum. Sabrina knew that. She knew it would come, and she saved her loudest squeal for that moment, but what Stepan didn’t know was that her desperate exclamation hid the onset of her own shattering and exquisite orgasm, the culmination of being treated so ruthlessly.
