From Russia Without Love
By B. Hairday
The Brutalsky Brothers, Vasilli, the older one, 7’3.5”, 153 lbs., broad-chinned and broad-shouldered, his imperious aquiline nose often broken but artistically reconstructed, his mouth a thin line of determination, his gloriously blue eyes hid behind designer shades, dark as his hair, gelled back with meticulous accuracy, having the incredibly expensive diamond ear studs show, impeccably clad in his Armandi made-to-measure suit, and Mihkail, the younger one, at 7’4.3”, 155 lbs. with the same broad chin and shoulders and imperious aquiline nose, only less often broken, but even more handsome with the faint smile that never left his lips, the spiky haircut and actual earrings, in a matching suit, raised their feet at head height and with a synchronous roundhouse kick kicked in the door, burying the guard behind it under it, revealing a small chamber of 7’ x 14’ with no window, no other door and no furniture but a simple chair, on which Sonia said, slightly distressed but impeccable as ever, even in torn clothes.
“Finally,” commented Sonia.
“Sonia, darling,” Vasilli hailed her greetingly.
“Sonia, honey,” Mihkail purred like a tiger.
Vasilli got out his 4.5” fixed blade high carbon steel blade military-grade outdoor-knife with Miracta scales handle, spine jimping, full tang construction, lanyard hole, and finger choil, and cut the ropes binding Sonia.
Sonia sighed, gracefully got up and fervently gave first Vasili, then Mihkail a passionate kiss. “What did you bring for me to wear?” she asked quizzically.
“We brought one of your 120 favorites dresses, the dark one in pale pink with white frills, which just does not cover your beautiful ass,” Mihkail declared explainingly.
“That one? But it’s not the right light today to wear it! Okay, can’t be helped. Give me,” Sonia demanded claimingly.
“We left it in the limousine, wouldn’t want it to get stained with blood,” Mihkail explained declaringly.
“What - you expect me to--” Sonia complained bitchingly, being cut off by a loud racket.
“The alarm,” Vladimir stated soberly.
They saw Asians amassing outside. The Chinese were armed differently. First came some with machine-guns. They came running firing nonstop. Then came goons with pistols. Last were the sword-wielding samurais. A hundred men altogether. They stormed into the room.
Vladimir and Milan drew their guns. They both drew two 12” barrel Wildies with 8-round magazines, fully loaded with armor-piercing full-metal-jacket .475 Wildie Magnum Cartridges, night-vision laser-optics out of the shoulder holsters well hidden under their suit jackets.
“This could become dirty, honey,” Vladimir said. “Better get down.”
Sofia complied quickly, knelt down on her knees, opened his fly and got down on him, taking his 12.4” long and 2.2” wide cock out and swallowing it whole without ado.
“Unfair,” Milan complained grumpily, got out his 12.3” long but 2.3” wide dick out, and rammed it through the remains of Sofia’s panties into her tight but receptive ass. Sofia never missed a beat but kept bobbing her head and throat up and down on Vladimir’s cock.
Vladimir and Milan stood side by side, their dicks in both ends of Sofia, set their guns to full-automatic, and began spraying the Yakuzzi goons with bullets from all barrels. Within seconds, two scores of the lay splattered on the ground, each goon taken out by two well-placed rounds. Vladimir kept pumping Sofia’s ass, Milan her throat, stretching her esophagus. Brass was flying all over the place, and two more scores of goons went down, piling up on the first.
“Give it to me, guys!” Sondra breathed seductively around Viktor’s cock, which tickled her larynx. Viktor and Miroslav grunted for an answer and immediately flushed her both ends with cum while simultaneously downing the last score of enemies, which had to climb onto their predecessors to get close to the Brutalskys and now lay on top of the pile.
“Highscore!” Miroslav exclaimed happily.
He let the tablet sink into his lap and boomed the back of his head into the wall behind the bed. The pain he felt on the outside of his head was by no means bad enough to drown the pain within.
This. Was. All. Sooo. BAAAD!
He reconsidered and stopped booming, but too late: she stirred from her dreams and blinked at him.
“Hello,” she said sleepily. Her hair was a mess, as always in the morning, she was wearing an old shirt of his as a nightie, and she had of course not a trace of makeup in her face — in one word, she looked gorgeous; just as he liked her best. Only that he was in a really, really bad mood now. He tried a good morning smile, but it didn’t work well.
She spotted the tablet. “Edit in the morning?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he said hoarsely.
“No good? That’s not quite the appropriate wording. Coming to think about it, maybe I need to find a new term to have any appropriate wording!”
“You’re exaggerating,” she said and stretched.
“You have no idea,” he said.
She sat up. “May I have a look?”
He unlocked the tablet and handed it over. “You have been warned.”
She shoved some strands of her wild hair aside and started reading.
He watched her, ready to save his tablet when her brain got fully awake and made her throw the unfortunate medium of the abomination away in self-defense. Instead, to his utter astonishment, he saw a smile forming on her lips. Then she — she giggled! She looked at him, saw his face and covered her mouth with her hand.
“What?!” he said, unable to control himself. Her behavior was intolerable! And unexplainable!
With visible effort, she pulled herself together and suppressed her smile. Well, mostly. “The ... the part where one guy tells the woman to go down, and she goes down on him, that should be exactly your humor, shouldn’t it?”
He frowned. Seen in isolation, this was a pun alright. Silly, but not the worst kind of it. “Well, it’s a nice try.”
“Ooh, how generous! The great editor chooses to be benevolent for once!” she said and giggled again.
What was the matter with her?! He took a deep breath. Probably she was just too drowsy to comprehend the full horror. “Look, it’s just ... Nothing of it makes sense, you see? It’s full of contradictions! The room is described as very small, but there is a whole battle with one hundred and three participants happening in it! The Brutalskys spray the attackers with bullets but at the same time kill everyone with two aimed shots! And they kill one hundred attackers with four guns containing thirty-two rounds, without any chance for reloading, and again they use even two rounds on every attacker! Not to mention they just stand there in machine-gun fire, which is better submachine-gun fire to be anywhere near reality, without getting so much as a scratch! The attackers are Chinese, but there are also samurais, and they are Yakuza, not Yakuzzi, which is a mix with Jacuzzi. Samurai and Yakuza are Japanese! And those guns! Monstrous guns, well hidden in shoulder holsters? No fucking way! And twelve-inch barrels? That wouldn’t even be a handgun anymore!”
“Oh, and you are sure in this?”
He stopped. There was something very unusual in the tone of her question. “Is this about me playing the expert because I have read one book on it again?”
“Do you know for sure or don’t you? Did you check?”
He seized the tablet and started a search. He needed several tries, then he said: “This gun exists?!”
She just smiled for an answer.There is more of this story...The source of this story is Storiesonline