Chapter 1

Her mama’s name was Olga, her older sister was Tanya, and her name was Natasha. Their father was executed for some unnamed crime in one of those forgotten former Soviet Republics that were filled with corrupt politicians and criminals with no shame at their transgressions against a suffering populace.

They got out of that place as quickly as possible before they all became victims of the same corruption that they suffered no matter where they went in the city or anywhere inside the entire country where evil was rampant against all women.

Natasha was sixteen and could not be described as “sweet”.

Her mother, sister, and she, Natasha herself, had been raped by government officials on two separate occasions before her sixteenth birthday and she was sodomized by the landlord each month to reduce the rent to an amount her mother could afford to pay without them being tossed out onto the street in the middle of winter. She didn’t mind the sodomy that much because the landlord had a tiny cock, and he was all talk and no action when it came to making her take it from behind. Still, it was quite degrading, and she knew her mother and sister pitied her being the one being used by the landlord for the humiliating task of spreading her ass cheeks for the man’s pleasure on his paunchy lap for her anal impalement. She pretended to be under great distress from his pounding of her posterior, but her whimpers and tears were for the man’s ego more than the reality of any stressful pain or even discomfort at the forcing of his nasty and rude public ride.

At that early age, Natasha already spoke two languages fluently, Russian and the native Arabic of the Republic learned in the home with Russian taught in the school system. She also had a good understanding of French since her mother had learned it as a child and she had passed it on to both her daughters in the hope that some

It had seemed like an impossible dream come true, but they all finally made it to Paris, the city of love on a cold winter morning.

The city was busting at the seams with refugees from Eastern Europe and it was relatively easy for all three of them to find jobs in the labyrinth of human flotsam and jetsam that added to the diversity of the Parisian night scene in that time of trouble.

Natasha practiced her French and went to the French school to study English in an intense environment. Four years later she could say that her understanding of both French and English was fully completed, and she applied for a government job as a translator on the anti-terrorism taskforce based at the old Submarine base in Nice. She received special training as an interrogator for the French Foreign Legion and was taught how to kill efficiently and effectively as a commando in night-time operations. She was skilled despite her relative petite stature and her gender and had the advantage of having a beautiful face that made her seem innocent to unsuspecting bad guys more interested in what she had between her legs rather than the danger of her deadly hands in mortal combat.

Natasha had no sexual hang-ups due to her harsh up-bringing to survive in a dog-eat-dog world and she used her feminine folds to her advantage just like her mom and her older sister before her on the long dirty road from Eastern Europe to their destination in Paris.

Her English teacher in school was a former member of the special anti-terrorism taskforce and he mentored her in her studies and used her body for his personal pleasure showing her new ways of killing her prey in the shadows of the dark.

She excelled in her interrogation training using her seductive ways to turn bad men into willing witnesses and worming her way into the minds of female detainees by appealing to their gender bias against all men in general and the target.

Natasha ran all throughout her training.

She ran in the early morning, the middle of the day and even later at night when the sun was gone from the sky and the cold night air cut into the lungs when one was breathing so hard to get oxygen into the lungs as quickly as possible.

As an enlisted female, she was at the bottom on of the ladder in the military infrastructure and she knew that her success would depend on her attitude to follow orders from any officer that ordered her to “Bend over the table and close your eyes!”

Her early training with the demanding landlord served her well because she treated each degrading experience yet another lesson in learning how to survive in a man’s world. A world where females are mere chattel to be used and discarded like yesterday’s garbage with not a single thought about “feelings” or simple common decency for a fellow human being.

Thankfully, the Algerian debacle was a memory of the past and the Legion now was focused on places like Iraq and Yemen and Afghanistan.

She had been recently transferred to Afghanistan to act as a scout and translator in a special squad which eliminated all terrorist elements discovered in the places of assignment. She soon acquired the nick-name of “Ms. Nasty” instead of Natasha because she was uniquely bloodthirsty when it came to rooting out the Taliban and other bad guys in the small villages.

Her specialty was to either cut their throats unexpectedly or use the wire device on her watch to slice off their head before they even knew that they were being killed by her innocent petite form moving like a shadow behind them.

After her “liquidations” had passed the three digit mark, she began to assume the look of a sniper on duty with a thousand -yard stare that looked off in the distance and only saw her target.

Before she shipped out to the Middle East and the battlefields of Afghanistan, Natasha took advantage of the offer of a 72 hour pass to Casablanca. She checked in with the French Embassy there and the small French Foreign Legion post that monitored its members in the area.

She had all her uniforms and equipment stored at the Legion Post and only took the civilian clothing to the hotel in the downtown market area. The streets were teeming with people of all races and varied countries. Natasha tried to hide her sexiness under layered clothing and hid her hair in a cap of indistinct outline or point of origin.

As usual, she wore no make-up which was sort of a trademark with her after years of staying out of the limelight of attention sought by most young females wanting to get laid as soon as the sun went down for the day.

Of course, she was never without her Harry, the razor thin stiletto blade she carried with her ever since the first time she was raped at the tender age of fourteen. She wore Harry hidden between her legs in a place where fumbling hands were not welcome and still ready for action in a split second.