by Glen Frost
Straddling his knees, Destiny air-squatted, her buttocks mere inches from Wilson's legs. She placed a hand on each of his shoulder blades and began to sway, slowly at first but with increasing intensity, rocking her hips from side to side and then from front to back. Bringing her bullet-hard nipples to within an inch of the SEAL commander's face, so close that she could feel his hot breath on her naked skin, the exotic dancer gave him a close-up eyeful of her boobs.
Without warning she suddenly turned through a complete one-eighty, throwing a leg up and over without so much as grazing her client. Now she was facing away from Wilson, looking toward Anya. Maintaining eye contact with the Russian girl every step of the way, Destiny put her own head down and her ass up in the air, treating Wilson to an up close and personal view of her air-fucking just above his chest.
Wilson was unashamedly hard right now, his dick tenting up the front of his jeans. Destiny didn't know what this guy did for a living, but he was damned good-looking and had paid her well; obscenely well, a thousand bucks cash for a ninety-minute private session with him and his girlfriend. His girlfriend was plenty hot too, and there might be a possibility of milking him for even more money.
Calculating the movement precisely, Destiny allowed her buttocks to come into contact with the all too obvious bulge in his crotch. When he didn't shy away, she brushed against it again, and again, and again, her eyes never leaving Anya's. For her part, Anya kept her face a blank mask, completely expressionless and impossible to read. Yet when the dancer who was all but dry-humping her boss flipped her a sly wink, Anya felt a sudden burst of lust ignite deep down inside her.
"Come on over here," Destiny pouted. "I'm getting a little lonely. I could use some company...and a little help."
Anya obeyed without question. Stepping away from Wilson for a moment, she slid her arms around Anya's waist and whispered into her ear, "Your man paid pretty good for this, honey. Let's give him a show to remember, shall we?"
Before she could answer, Destiny's hands were snaking their way up her back, expertly unhooking the clasp on her bra. It fell to the floor at their feet, exposing Anya's firm breasts.
"Very nice," breathed Destiny, demonstrating her appreciation by flicking at each nipple in turn with her tongue. If the coldness of Anya's skin came across as strange, the dancer failed to mention it; she was far too busy nuzzling her way down Anya's flat belly, sinking to her knees until she was kneeling down before her.
Anya ran a hand through her unexpected lover's lustrous red hair, putting up no resistance whatsoever when Destiny took the front of her panties carefully within her teeth and began to slowly slide them down toward her knees. She stepped out of them gracefully, parting her legs slightly in eager anticipation of what she knew must be coming next.
She was not to be disappointed. Destiny flipped onto her back, pulling insistently at Anya's legs to draw the Russian woman down on top of her. Anya straddled Destiny's face, tossing her own head back in pleasure when the dancer buried her face in Anya's pussy and began to tongue her clit with an expertise that bordered on the sublime.
Moaning with ecstasy, Anya squirmed atop Destiny's face, helping the dancer hit her G-spot with the tip of her questing tongue. As she drew closer and closer to orgasm, Anya realized that it would be selfish of her to receive and not give something in return. She bent forward, opening her legs wider still, and craned her neck down in order to grant her easy access to Destiny's vagina.
Anya caressed the dancer's thighs lightly. She began to nuzzle Destiny's totally shaven pussy, lapping at it like a kitten with a saucer of milk. Now it was Destiny's turn to groan; she pushed herself against Anya's face, eagerly accepting the reciprocal cunnilingus.
Wilson simply watched as the two girls entwined in their 69, licking, slurping, and moaning into one another's moistness. They soon found a rhythm. The moans grew loader, more strident. Destiny arched her back and wrapped her thighs around Anya's head, her legs crossing at the ankles. The Russian loved the sensation of being encased by the other girl's silky-smooth thighs; it made her feel warm, secure, and protected, something that she had not felt in a very long time.
Each grinding against the other's face, the two women reached climax simultaneously, their cries drowned out by the thumping bass of the rock music coming through the walls that adjoined the main part of the strip club. They simply lay there for the moment, a tangle of arms and legs, enjoying the afterglow of their mutual pleasuring.
Now that, Wilson thought to himself with eyes as wide as saucers, was the best thousand bucks of government money I’ve ever spent.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
As soon as he heard the first gunshot come from behind the closed medical cell door, Dave Felix turned and ran.
Prison protocol was pretty clear on that point. If there was a violent episode, nobody wanted to add more potential victims into the mix — they could easily end up as hostages in the event of a riot. Dave and the rest of the medical staff were considered to be effectively civilians. They had each signed a waiver stating their understanding and acceptance of the fact that in the event of a hostage situation, they would be given no special protections because of their status. Hostage negotiators would not bargain for their lives, so they could not be used as bargaining chips in the event of a siege; if the worst came to the worst, their lives would simply be forfeit.
No wonder they received federal hazard pay…which suddenly wasn’t looking to be even remotely worth the risk.
After fewer than a hundred steps, the doctor was out of breath. He kept running, spurred on by raw adrenaline, and in two minutes flat managed to make it back to the infirmary. Huffing and puffing, he slammed the double doors behind him and locked them both.
Should never have stopped doing cardio, Dave cursed himself, panting madly and leaning against the door jamb for support. After allowing himself a moment to catch his breath, the doctor went back to his office. He wanted to know just what the hell was happening inside Prisoner Zero's cell. For that, he needed the monitor screens.
"What the fuck...?"
He watched in astonished disbelief as the bloodbath unfolded across the camera feed, hardly able to believe his eyes. In no time at all, three of the four prison guards that he had met outside the cell were down, murdered by their colleagues in the most horrific of ways.
Finally, only the big man — what was his name? John something? — was left. And the woman, Prisoner Zero. They seemed to be talking calmly to one another, which was nothing short of surreal considering the fact that he had just crushed the skull of one his buddies using only his bare hands.
The doc reached underneath his desk and pushed the concealed panic button with one trembling hand. Then he began to stack what office furniture there was against the double doors. Whatever had sparked the violence in Prisoner Zero's cell just now, he wanted no part of it. They paid him well, he had to admit, but not nearly well enough for him to be a hero.
He knew that the silent alarms would already be sounding in every single one of the Supermax facility's guard rooms and security monitoring centers. Now all that was left for him to do was hole up and wait for the cavalry to arrive...
CHAPTER TWENTY
Commander Wilson took Anya back to the Cleveland Steamer several times more over the course of the next few weeks. Anya became quite the expert pole dancer, which served to increase her reflexes and agility by an impressive amount; thanks to her ongoing liaisons with Destiny, she also became a far more proficient lover...at least, when it came to female partners.
She found, much to her surprise, that she was beginning to prefer the feel of a woman between her legs to that of a man. That was just fine with her; she had no sexual hangups to speak of. It was simply a case of recreation before work: after so much time spent as a working girl on the streets of Denver, she couldn't help but associate fucking a man with the notion of it being work. It had felt like a chore for as long as she could remember.
It was totally differen
t where Destiny was concerned. Anya felt free, truly free, when she was making love to her; not that either woman was under the illusion that they had true feelings for one another. It may not have been true love, yet it was something more than plain old animalistic fucking. Whatever it was that they shared after each pole training session, it existed in a grey area somewhere between those emotional states that blurred the boundaries of each.
For his part, Wilson had no issue with allowing Anya to continue her little lesbian affair, on the condition that he could remain in the room as an observer. He had to admit that it was one hell of a nice perk, but the reason he insisted upon being present was nothing to do with satisfying some hidden voyeuristic urge. Anya wasn't yet cleared from The Finishing School, which made him responsible for her whereabouts every second she was outside The Agency's installation. Not that he thought she would run; the promise of bringing her daughter to the States was too tantalizing a lure for that.
Wilson was also painfully aware that if Anya did decide to turn on him, he probably couldn't put up much of a fight against her. She was inhumanly fast once she'd taken in even a small amount of blood. Like every SEAL, he was trained to an expert level in both armed and unarmed combat...yet Neil suspected that Anya could have ripped his head off before he even had time to draw his Beretta from its belt holster, if that's what she chose to do.
Even so, Anya didn't show even the slightest sign of discontent with her new lot in life. In fact, the very opposite appeared to be true. She settled into the daily routine of constant training without complaint, even seeming to relish the fresh challenges that each new session brought. Neil had seen potential SEAL candidates coming into BUD/S that couldn't have touched her for strength, speed, weapons ability, or tactical savvy.
"She's shaping up to be one hell of a warrior," he told Director Hubbard at the end of Anya's third month in the training program. "Damn near perfect, to be completely honest."
"And that includes her attitude?"
"It does," Wilson nodded. The Director had offered him no liquor this time, and he found himself craving a good beer or six. "No whining. No complaint. It's borderline weird, frankly."
"Never look a gift horse in the mouth, Commander." Hubbard smiled thinly. "Well, fair's fair. Anya's giving us one hundred percent. We need to give her a little something in return."
Concealing his surprise, Wilson could only nod in agreement.
Gina picked up her secure Voice Over IP desk phone and hit a sequence of buttons, speaking to her personal assistant. "Have Sergeant Galloway come on up here please. Yes. The call we discussed. Once it's set up, please send for Recruit Kurlyenko. Thank you."
In less than fifteen minutes, a somewhat nonplussed Anya found herself sitting behind Gina's desk. The Director herself stood alongside Commander Wilson by the office door. Tech Sergeant Galloway making a few adjustments to the PC, then turned the monitor to face Anya. He gave Hubbard a nod.
"Anya, I promised you that we'd play fair with you if you played fair with us. Commander Wilson tells me that you have performed exceptionally in all aspects of your training."
"Thank you, ma'am. I have done my best." Anya sounded a little wary, as though she was waiting for the other shoe to drop.
"Keep it up. You'll soon be ready for operational deployment, assuming that you stay on track. I see no reason to believe that you won't. It's now time for The Agency to make good on its promise to you. Consider this to be the first payment of many. You have fifteen minutes. Sergeant Galloway, you may proceed."
Double-clicking the mouse, Galloway opened up a Skype connection. The application chimed several times before the video call was picked up at the other end. The woman who answered squealed in joy.
"Anya! Dearest one!"
"M-Mother!" she stammered, hardly able to believe her eyes. "It is so good to see you! SO good..."
"We'll wait outside," Gina whispered. Galloway and Wilson followed her out, closing the office door quietly behind them. Even the Training Director, who was widely considered to have a heart made out of pure granite, couldn't resist a smile; the sobs which could be heard coming through the office doors were born of pure joy, the sound of a long-separated family finally being reunited.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Anya felt better than she had in a long, long time. Life — or its undead equivalent, at least — had taken on a fresh sense of wonder and delight since last night's Skype conversation with her parents. The only downer was that Darya, her sweet precious little Darya, had been at school when her mother had called.
"Don't worry," Wilson had told her after she had terminated the connection to St. Petersburg, "Just keep going the way you're going. Director Hubbard assures me that there will be plenty more family calls in your future."
"Thank you Commander. It felt so good to talk to them again. So good."
It was Saturday morning. The pair of them were walking down to the indoor gymnasium. Both wore standard issue gym kit: Shorts, t-shirts, and cross-training shoes. Wilson had told Anya that she would be meeting a new trainer today, and that he would probably be the most important one of all. If she weren't so caught up in her memories of the phone call, Anya would have been intrigued.
"Your parents are well?"
"They are." She smiled. "They miss me terribly, of course, as I miss them. But having Darya to care for helps them, I think. They understand why it was that I came to America in the first place. They support my decision. It is just so very hard to be so far away, for them and for me."
"I understand. Or at least I think I do." Wilson turned left into the long corridor which led to the gym, pushing open a set of double security doors after unlocking it with his index fingerprint. "I've spent the last fifteen years of my life on one deployment or another. Spent more birthdays and holidays than I care to remember getting my ass shot at. Never did leave much time for a family life."
"You are not married?"
"Monogamy was never really my thing," he admitted frankly. "Never being at homes makes it hard for a wife and children. I've seen it with my buddies on the teams. Lot of broken homes and a lot of divorces."
"My mother will tell Darya that I love her and miss her," Anya continued without missing a beat. "I will speak with her by computer as soon as the director will allow it."
"Sounds like a plan."
The gymnasium was deserted, which was exactly as Wilson had planned it. He'd reserved the facility from eight until ten this morning. He hadn't been kidding about the importance of today's meeting. In addition to the military skills she'd been taught and also Destiny's own unique brand of physical training, Anya had also been instructed in the finer points of covert surveillance, cyber security, tactical field medicine (not for her own benefit, but the SEAL was convinced that someday she would have to patch up a comrade or a member of the public) and high-performance driving. When she'd joked about learning to fly a helicopter, Wilson had fixed her with his best deadpan stare and said that getting her a pilot's license wasn't entirely out of the question.
She didn't know whether to believe him or not.
A door opened at the far end of the cavernous gymnasium. The man who entered was of medium build and on the wrong side of sixty, if his close-cut grey hair was an accurate indicator. He wore a black gi, the clothing favored by martial artists from around the world. As he came closer, approaching with a confident stride that belied his age, Anya saw that the gi was secured at the waist with a knotted black belt...though whether that was an indicator of his skill or merely a sartorial choice was anybody's guess.
"Sensei." Wilson bowed low at the waist when the martial artist stopped six feet in front of him. The man looked younger from this distance. His skin tone and facial features suggested a southeast Asian ancestry, though from exactly which country Anya could not have said.
"Neil." The newcomer returned the bow, though Anya noticed that he didn't go down as far as the SEAL had done. "A pleasure as always."
Anya studi
ed the man's face. It had piercing brown eyes, which somehow managed to appear both wise and compassionate. She got the sense that this was a face which was used to laughter, yet could also be deadly serious when circumstances dictated the need.
The man was studying her in return, turning those intense eyes upon Anya's body. There was nothing lecherous in his stare; he was simply assessing her, as though trying to gauge her potential.
"This is Anya, Sensei. She is our latest recruit. I will be leaving her in your capable hands today."
Taking her lead from Wilson, Anya bowed low to the sensei, who returned it solemnly.
"Good day, Anya. My name is Miko. You may refer to me as ‘Sensei’ while you are under my instruction."
"Very good, Sensei." She wondered why it was that Wilson had referred to him by his title rather than his given name. The Navy SEAL appeared to be reading her mind.
"I still attend regular training sessions with the sensei," he explained. "For the warrior, the training never ends. I still have so much to learn."
"I understand," she said, eager to be getting on with the day's events. She was ready to complete her training, fully aware that every day she successfully completed brought her one day closer to her beloved Darya.
"Then I'll leave you two to get acquainted." Wilson turned and walked out of the gym, heading off for his habitual Saturday morning ten mile run.
"Commander Wilson has told me of your special capabilities," Miko said. "He believes that you have the potential to be a great warrior, if properly disciplined."
"Properly disciplined? Sensei, I have spent the past three months doing nothing but be disciplined."
"Military discipline. Gah." Miko dismissed her comment with a wave of his hand. "It has its place, but the discipline of the soldier is merely a starting point for the warrior. Tell me this, Anya: What is the most important conquest for a soldier to make?"
