Chapter 3: Pull Down Your Skirt, You Look Like a Slattern!

Novogorbovo, Russia – July 1985

There was supposedly no class system in the USSR; everyone was equal. And everyone knew that was a myth but to keep up the charade the Ilyushin Il-62 long-range jetliner, specially fitted out for the delegation, did not have a designated First or Business Class. The delegates and aides were simply assigned a seat. The fact that the front section of the aircraft had the biggest, most comfortable seats with the extra leg room, better food and a full bar service, whilst the rear section was more indicative of Economy or Coach on a commercial airliner was not lost on Professor Mikhail Blavatsky.

He complained bitterly to the hostess who seated him in the middle section of the plane but she ignored him. Telling her that he was the head of the academic contingent of the delegation made no difference to her. What incited him further was that when he was seated he looked out the window he saw a small convoy of black GAZ Volga sedans pull up alongside the aircraft and Valerie Sokolova and Yuri Godekin alighted from one and were directed to the front section of the aircraft along with the VIPs.

Mikhail’s bitterness towards his new assistant had become an almost constant hum in his brain. She was insanely beautiful and she dressed proactively (he was sure just to tease him) but she was untouchable and even worse she was treated with more reverence than he was.

Valerie Sokolova was given the window seat beside Yuri Godekin not as a privilege but because Yuri was going to give her final instructions and briefings during the flight and what they were about to discuss was not for the ears of the underlings in Coach. As soon as they were airborne Yuri took down his briefcase and pulled out a selection of dossiers.

“Colonel Steven Braxton USAF,” he tapped a headshot of a handsome middle-aged man in a blue uniform.

Valerie nodded. She recalled the dossier vaguely from the many she had been given to study.

“He works on the Strategic Defense Initiative, what the Americans call Star Wars. He’s assigned to work with research scientists in the fields of high-energy physics and supercomputing. He is a member of the science and technology contingent in the US delegation so you will not meet him during the conferences you are attending but there will be opportunities for you to meet him socially, especially at the ‘ice-breaker’ reception tomorrow night,” Yuri explained.

“He is to be your first target,” Yuri said tapping the picture again.

“He is married with three children but our operatives in the US have discovered that he is a womaniser and sexual predator who also has a penchant for what he calls ‘Ladyboys’. One of our rezidentura nearly nabbed him when he went to a nightclub in Washington where she works as a drag queen but he slipped through her fingers,” Yuri continued.

“He should be an easy mark because you can identify yourself as a transwoman who is seeking asylum. No need to disguise your gender with this one; he will take advantage of you for sure,” Yuri chuckled.

“But when we show him the film of him in flagrante delicto with a Russian transsexual and threaten to show it to his wife and his superiors, I’m sure he will sell his soul to us,” Yuri said gravely.

Yuri went on to identify particular targets and what he wanted Valerie to do with them. A meal was served and wine poured and for a while Valerie was just happy to recline in the comfortable seat and talk to Yuri. He was in one his better moods and allowed Valerie to slip into a deep sleep.

She had her seat fully reclined and slept facing him. Her face was pretty even when she was sleeping; in fact probably more so, except for on the rare occasions when she smiled; then she made his heart flutter but he would never tell a soul. She was wearing one of her business suits for the flight and her skirt had hiked up and the long expanse of her gossamer-sheathed legs were on display and Yuri could hardly tear his eyes away.

He was confused by his feelings for Valerie. At first he felt nothing but loathing for her. He considered Valéry Sokolova a weak-willed degenerate who had a perversion that he should control but couldn’t. He saw Valerie only as a tool that had potential.

But things had changed over the weeks they had spent together and especially after her surgery. He no longer thought of her as a man in a dress; he only ever thought of Valerie as a woman. He was beguiled by her beauty, her intelligence, her poise and her vulnerability. He now fully understood that Valéry Sokolova had believed that he was a woman trapped in a man’s body but that was no longer the case. Valerie Sokolova had emerged like a beautiful butterfly from a cocoon. She was attractive, intelligent and obedient with just a tinge of rebelliousness that made her a perfect spy.

But.

As much as he admired her; he could not get over what she was: a delightful and beautiful creature that was not fully a woman.

But she was a better choice for the mission than Petra Donevski had been. Valerie had the advantage of being a transgender woman so anyone caught compromising themselves with her was more likely to succumb to blackmail. Also, Petra had become overconfident and demanding. Yuri had made a mistake ordering her to seduce Professor Mikhail Blavatsky. She had become big-headed, telling both Yuri Godekin and Ivan Petrov, both of whom were sharing her bed, that she had complete control of the Professor and that perhaps her reward for serving the Soviet Republic by prostituting herself was insufficient.

When Yuri had proposed replacing Petra with Valerie, at first Ivan was against the idea but when Petra kept pestering him for better remuneration, both financially and politically, Ivan eventually came around. The proviso being that Petra had to be taken care of because there was no doubt that she would become impossible to control once she found herself replaced.

It had saddened Yuri a little to kill Petra but there were always causalities during war and make no mistake; the Cold War was still a war.

Yuri glanced at Valerie to confirm that she was sleeping deeply; the direct flight was ten hours and most of the delegates and the security detail were napping, the cabin lights dimmed. He took out his portable microfilm reader which resembled the View Master toys sold in the US but instead of a picture reel, the pictures were read from a strip that advanced when the operator pressed the trigger.

Yuri loaded the film strip into the reader and brought it to his face.

Vladimir Golubev had Valerie Sokolova on the bed; her evening gown pulled down and was suckling her breasts. Yuri advanced one click and Valerie was naked except for her stockings, panties and high heels. Vlad was lying on top of her rubbing his cock on hers through her panties, kissing her. One click later and she had her legs wrapped around him and she was grimacing with pain as she impaled herself on his phallus. Another click. They were rutting: kissing while Vlad was fucking Valerie, she had her legs around his waist and her arms on his shoulders; her beautiful face a picture of lust.

Yuri advanced the next three frames quickly. Vlad and Valerie were lying on the bed smoking and drinking, obviously relaxed and enjoying each other’s company.

In the next frame Valerie’s ass was to the camera, still wearing those tight red nylon panties, she was kneeling over Vladimir Golubev’s torso and sucking his cock. In the next frame they were lying sideways, reversed; he was sucking her cock while she sucked his.

Yuri was supposedly checking Valerie’s acumen with the miniature camera that he had given her to practice taking photographs during her honey traps but this was the fourth time he had viewed the pictures. He found them highly provocative: they both aroused and disgusted him. He couldn’t help looking at them and now he was concupiscent, tenting his trousers.

Yuri looked around the dim cabin and saw that most of the passengers were asleep and those who were awake were studying paperwork. He made his way to the toilet and locked it.

Yuri put the microfilm reader on the little shelf adjacent to the tiny sink and put his hand inside his jacket pocket and pulled out the pair of red, almost transparent, nylon full-cut panties that Valerie had been wearing when the pictures were taken. He had stolen them from her laundry basket and kept them as a souvenir. He unzipped his fly and released his semi-erect penis. He brought the viewer to his eyes and the panties to his nose and inhaled.

In the viewer Valerie was astride Vlad, riding him reverse cowgirl. Her head was thrown back and she had a beatific smile on her face, obviously enraptured. He inhaled again and could smell Valerie’s perfume. Of course there was no hint of vaginal odour but there was a slight muskiness in the front of the panties, the result of Valerie’s dried ejaculate.

He put down the viewer, the picture of Valerie riding reverse cowgirl burned into his brain, except that in Yuri’s mind Valerie was riding him not Vlad. He took another deep breath; Valerie’s panties pressed to his nose, and took his manhood into his hand. He stroked his now fully-erect penis, one, twice, three times and felt his balls churn, ready to discharge their load.

He wrapped Valerie’s panties around his throbbing cock, the cool slippery nylon felt like gossamer on his tender organ and he discharged himself into them, stifling a cry. His knees shook with the intensity of his orgasm. The sexy red panties bloomed darker as they soaked up his semen. In his mind he was thrusting his cock into Valerie and she was pushing back on him.

The tableaux began to fade as Yuri’s orgasm began to subside. The lust and lechery he had felt looking at Valerie’s pictures while he relieved himself into her underwear dissipated and was replaced by guilt and shame. He jammed the semen-drenched panties into the little bin, pushing them down deep and put a layer of tissues over them. He put his cock away, zipped and washed his hands and put more paper towels over the incriminating garment.

When he left the toilet he looked calm and confident, nodding to one of the delegates who looked up from the paperwork he was studying, but inside he was in turmoil. He would be glad when the convention was over and Valerie was out of his life forever. Then of course there was that to deal with. It would be his job to dispose of her once the mission was complete.

Yuri eased himself back into his seat and saw that Valerie was still fast asleep and as beautiful as ever. He viciously elbowed her awake.

“Wake up! We have work to do,” Yuri made a show of opening his briefcase to take out some dossiers.

He slipped the viewer inside its case and put it away.

Valerie stretched and her skirt rode all the way up her legs, momentarily exposing the white satin panties that she was wearing and Yuri became overcome with guilt. He poked her again.

“Pull down your skirt, you look like a slattern!” he growled.

“Your people designed these clothes not me!” Valerie countered angrily and immediately regretted it.

Yuri slapped her across the cheek. It didn’t really hurt that much but the shock and shame that Valerie felt was worse than any pain. She demurely pulled down the hem of her skirt as far as it would go and sat upright.

“I’m sorry I snipped at you sir; it was uncalled for,” Valerie whispered and Yuri felt deep regret for hitting her but he would never show it.

He put down Valerie’s tray table and put a file on it and opened it to a picture of a man leaving the Pink Parrot nightclub in Washington. Yuri tapped the picture.

“Colonel Steven Braxton USAF, member of the US science and technology contingent. Has a thing for transvestites. He’s my first target and I am to take pictures of him compromising himself with me,” Valerie stated as if by rote.

“Ok let’s discuss options,” Yuri went over their plan again and Valerie, who had the options firmly in her brain, dutifully followed Yuri’s every word.

It gave her the opportunity to study his face which was interesting. There was no doubt that he was handsome; his eyes were deep blue and his skin tanned; his hair thick and wavy. The long thin scar that began under his left eye and curved away across his cheek to his neck and ended somewhere under his collar didn’t distract from his attractiveness; instead it made him look ruggedly handsome and dangerous. He was a strange man who could be gentle and kind in one minute and lash out brutally the next. Valerie felt nothing for Vladimir Golubev who was also handsome and had taught her how to make love; but she felt something for Yuri Godekin. She just didn’t know what it was.

The Ilyushin Il-62 touched down at John F. Kennedy International Airport and the passengers began the scramble to take down their carryon baggage.

“I’ll see you tonight. Remember your mission,” Yuri said curtly as he stepped into the aisle.

Valerie was to wait for Professor Mikhail Blavatsky to come up from Coach and disembark with him. From now on, whenever they were in public, she was to present as his aide and interpreter. Mikhail ambled down the aisle and gave Valerie a withering look then thrust his overstuffed briefcase into her midriff and walked ahead of her. She followed dutifully behind him carrying Mikhail’s briefcase and her handbag.

There was to be no limousine ride for Valerie this time. The primary delegates were ushered into a waiting convoy of limousines once the formality of greeting the Soviet Ambassador to the United States of America was completed. This included Professor Mikhail Blavatsky. Valerie and the other aides, administrative staff and most of the security detail boarded minibuses and were soon speeding along the Van Wyck Expressway with most of passengers rubbernecking to see the marvels of capitalist America.

None of the delegates were free to leave the hotel unless accompanied by a Soviet security agent and every excursion had to be approved by the head of the delegation who was a KGB stooge. There were cultural events outside of the hotel to attend of course and organised tours and even a supervised shopping expedition but the hotel entrances would be under close scrutiny by both the KGB and the FBI. The convention would be a disaster for the USSR and an embarrassment to the USA if any of the Soviet delegates were to defect.

When the delegation arrived at the Plaza Hotel they were directed to a huge ballroom that had been designated as the main conference room for the bilateral convention. Several smaller ante rooms led off the main room so that the delegates could break down into their specialist contingents and where private meetings could be held. The US State Department had booked two floors for the Soviet delegation and once the keys to the rooms were handed over the KGB went through every room and swept them for listening or recording devices.

The room assigned to Valerie Sokolova was a little more opulent than her station deserved. It was located on the VIP floor but she had been assigned the room for a reason. A KGB specialist had only this morning installed a miniature video recording device which could be activated from the adjoining room which was assigned to Yuri Godekin. The camera could record for four hours without replacing the video cassette.

The delegation was given a final briefing and warned for the thousandth time that they could not under any circumstances leave the Plaza hotel without permission and then they were given their room assignments. They were told that their baggage would be delivered to their rooms directly.

Mikhail Blavatsky was peeved when he found out that Valerie was assigned a room on the VIP floor the same as him. He grunted at her to follow him to the elevator and made her carry his heavy briefcase. When a valet attempted to relieve Valerie of her burden Mikhail snapped at him and Valerie interpreted that it was ok, it was Valerie’s job to carry the Professor’s briefcase, although what Mikhail had said to the valet in Russian didn’t bear repeating. He had sworn at the valet in Russian and told him that Valerie was his servant.

They made their way to the elevators, the Professor rudely stepping into the car ahead of her and indicating for Valerie to stand next to him. He continued to berate her in Russian in the crowded elevator car.

“You may be Yuri Godekin’s little toy outside of the conference but during the day you work for me,” Mikhail snarled at Valerie when they got to his room.

“Do you get it; you useless little tchotchke in a skirt suit!” Mikhail growled.

“Make sure you are at my side throughout the opening ceremony and the meet-and–greet this evening to interpret for me,” Mikhail added before Valerie could answer.

The elevator arrived at the VIP floor and Valerie followed Mikhail down the corridor.

“Comrade Godekin has assigned a task for me to undertake this evening Professor,” Valerie said demurely as they entered his room.

“Ah! You are to start fucking the Americans immediately. A whore has her duties to perform I suppose but you better make your service to me your number one priority,” Mikhail stepped into Valerie, his face inches from hers.

“My duty is to the United Socialist Soviet Republic, Professor. I am merely a tool,” Valerie replied levelly.

Mikhail reached around her body and grabbed Valerie by the buttocks and pressed himself against her. He squeezed her breasts through her suit. She could feel his erection pressing into her but she remained stoic.

“You are a pretty little whore indeed but you are not a patch on my Petra. I can see why they recruited you,” Mikhail thrust his hand under her skirt and squeezed her buttocks.

“You stay close to me this evening until you have to perform your task. You work for me not Comrade Godekin,” Mikhail’s hand slipped around the front of Valerie’s skirt and found her pantied pudenda.

It was a perfect V-shape, smooth and soft through her satin panties. Valerie removed Mikhail’s hand before he could discover that Valerie was hiding a secret between her legs.

“I believe my duties do not include providing you with sexual gratification; unlike Petra,” Valerie hissed.

Mikhail pushed Valerie away from him so hard that she slammed into the wall.

“You are an impertinent little suka! Go to your room and make sure you are on time to escort me to the opening ceremony,” Mikhail hissed dismissively.

Plaza Hotel, Midtown Manhattan, New York City – July 1985 – Day One of the Convention

“There’s Natasha Fatale,” Bob Munsen dug Vince Gruffalo in the ribs and pointed with his nose towards Valerie Sokolova who was standing next to a balding, gangly-tall man with a protruding pot belly dressed in a bad suit.

“That’s Professor Mikhail Blavatsky, head of the Rooskie academic contingent. Valerie is his interpreter,” Vince told Bob, who needed no reminding.

“That chick is hotter in real life than she is in her photograph. Check out those pins man; they go forever,” both agents were openly ogling Valerie.

But they weren’t the only ones doing so; every red blooded man in the foyer was ogling her.

Vince and Bob had been assigned the job of keeping the members of the Soviet delegation under surveillance whilst they were in Plaza Hotel. If any of them left the hotel the agents were to contact other members of the Special Task Force whose job it was to tail any potential operatives. Later that evening there would be an the opening ceremony and a mixer afterwards but the FBI agents were expressly forbidden from attending any of the conferences or social gatherings. Their task was to provide security. Unless any of the Soviet delegates left the hotel, they could only observe them discreetly in the public spaces.

The KGB security detail was openly going about their business the same as the FBI. They were not being furtive and neither were the FBI, on the contrary they were openly advertising their presence to the delegates. The two agencies had a grudging accord. It served both their interests that the convention run smoothly and to that end there was an informal détente between them.

“I’m going to keep an eye on the Professor. You stay down here in the lobby,” Vince said to Bob.

“You’re going to keep an eye on her ass,” Bob Munson chuckled.

Bob didn’t mind staying behind. Babysitting the Soviet delegates was easy work and he got paid the same whether he was chasing down bad guys or sitting in a hotel lobby sipping coffee and checking out the asses of the passing ladies. He took a seat in the lobby and got to work comparing the asses of the women in the lobby to those on his ‘female cartoon characters I’d like to fuck’ list.

Vince got into the same elevator as Valerie Sokolova and Mikhail Blavatsky with some of the other delegates. Valerie was struggling to carry the Professor’s oversize briefcase as well as her own handbag and for a fleeting second he considered offering to help her but he didn’t want to draw undue attention to himself in the elevator car so he stood against the back wall of the car and checked out her ass and legs.

The photograph in the file did not do her justice. Valerie was quite striking with a pretty face framed by her jet back hair, a curvaceous figure, small but perky breasts, long legs and a squeezable bottom all wrapped up in a nice tight skirt-suit and shimmery nylons. He could smell her perfume from the back of the car. The Professor was talking to her quite animatedly in Russian.

Vince got out of the elevator after them and watched Valerie accompany the Professor to his room and then leave after a little while and proceed to her own room. He wandered down the corridor and checked the room numbers against the list he had been given and satisfied that it was correct, he went back down to the lobby.

That evening Valerie emerged from her room wearing a strapless, floor-length, emerald-green, charmeuse evening gown, matching four-inch high-heeled pumps, accessorised with a faux ruby choker, bracelet, drop earrings and a slim black clutch. Her makeup was daring and sexy: smoky eyes, red lips, rouged cheekbones; her hair had a sheen that glistened under the overhead lighting in the ballroom.

She had dutifully picked up the Professor from his room. He had made an effort and wore a tuxedo and had combed over his balding pate and had smothered himself in cologne. Mikhail almost looked decent but his mood was still foul and he did not compliment Valerie on her appearance but openly leered at her, especially when the side split opened and showed off her nyloned limbs.

The ballroom had been set up with tall tables and stools around the perimeter and a wet bar at one end; the middle of the room was left open so the delegates could mingle. White-coated waiters and short-skirted cocktail waitresses carried trays of champagne and canapés.

Mikhail Blavatsky paraded Valerie around the room, showing her off as if she was his possession. They mingled with their American counterparts; Valerie interpreting Mikhail’s Russian into English, embellishing it to make him sound more refined and funny than he actually was when he told jokes.

When she could finally get Mikhail by himself she whispered in his ear.

“Professor, I have a mission to undertake so I must leave you alone. Mishka Malkovsky is over there with the other academics. She speaks perfect English and can interpret for you,” Valerie pointed to a woman in a cocktail dress who was also an interpreter.

“I don’t need Mishka. I have you!” Mikhail snipped.

“Professor, you know that my work for you is a ruse and that I have important duties to perform,” Valerie said impatiently.

Mikhail grabbed Valerie’s wrist.

“Petra told all about the so called duties that she would be required to perform. You are nothing more than a whore,” Mikhail hissed.

“I am an officer in KGB Directorate Five and you are preventing me from carrying out my duties,” Valerie hissed back at him and tried to pry her wrist from his grip.

“Is there a problem here Comrades?” Yuri Godekin had sidled up to them, looking dashingly handsome in a black suit and tie.

Mikhail begrudgingly released Valerie’s wrist and she rubbed the sting out of it.

“I warn you Professor that if you keep Miz Sokolova from performing her duties there will be consequences,” Yuri said levelly.

“Miz Sokolova, your mark is over there in the blue uniform,” Yuri pointed with his chin across the room.

Valerie took a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and sashayed away across the room.

“What consequences?” Mikhail spat at Yuri.

“You might have a tragic accident. Remember what happened to Petra Donevski,” Yuri gave Mikhail a sinister smile and Mikhail blanched.

He walked away to join the other academics; his eyes now locked on the long pantyhose-clad legs of Mishka Malkovsky. She was no Valerie Sokolova but she was still an attractive woman with great legs.

“Well hello; my night just got better by a thousand percent,” Colonel Steven Braxton said to Valerie when she stopped at his table to put down her drink.

“I just needed to get away from the crowd so that I can have a cigarette,” Valerie gave him her brightest smile.

“And you speak perfect English too. My night has got better indeed. I’m Colonel Steven Braxton United States Air Force,” he grinned at her.

‘As if his uniform and name bar wasn’t a giveaway,’ Valerie thought but returned his smile and introduced herself as Professor Mikhail Blavatsky’s aide and interpreter.

“Well he sure is lucky but I’m afraid you aren’t, you can’t smoke in here,” Steve gave Valerie his most engaging smile, knowing it made him look even handsomer.

Valerie knew she couldn’t smoke in the ballroom but she put on her disappointed face and took a half-step so that the hip-high split in her gown opened and showed off all of her legs. She smiled inwardly when Steve Braxton tried not to look but couldn’t stop himself.

“Follow me and I’ll take you to where you can smoke,” Steve said and walked towards one of the ante rooms.

He knocked gently to see if it was occupied and then slipped inside and Valerie followed. He led her to the far side of the room and opened the window.

“Blow your smoke out of the window Valerie,” Steven indicated the window where the curtains were billowing softly in the breeze.

“Want one,” Valerie took cigarettes and a lighter from her clutch, put a cigarette in her mouth and shook the pack at him.

“I don’t usually but why not. I’ve only just met you and already you have me indulging in bad habits,” Steven grinned.

He took the gold lighter from Valerie and lit her cigarette, leaning in so he could smell her perfume and look down her décolletage. He lit his own cigarette and handed the lighter back to Valerie and her fingers lingered on his hand and her smoky shaded emerald eyes held his.

They chatted while they smoked, Steve Braxton turning his charm up to full brilliance, enchanted by this beautiful sexy woman with the Russian lilt to her seductive voice. They tossed their cigarette butts out the window after crushing them out on the sill and Steve Braxton was frantically trying think of a reason to keep this delightful creature engaged when Valerie leaned into him and pressed a keycard into his hand.

“Room 525. I implore you please come up to see me. I need to talk to you about things that I cannot possibly talk to you about here,” Valerie leaned in and softly kissed his cheek, ensuring her pert breasts pressed into his chest.

She turned and walked away knowing that her sheath-dress was giving Steve a great view of her buttocks and legs and slim waist.

Valerie went back into ballroom. Yuri spotted her immediately; he had watched her engage with Colonel Steven Braxton and follow him into the ante room. He was almost proud of her and although he would never admit it, a little jealous of Braxton.

“He has the key. The rest is up to him,” Valerie said leaning on a corner of the bar.

Yuri stood beside her with his back to the bar; both of them appeared to be waiting for their drinks.

“I’ll go up to my room and prepare the camera; make sure you remove the picture covering the lens. As soon as the Colonel enters your room I’ll start the camera. Keep the action on the bed so it is in view of the camera,” Yuri whispered.

“I know what to do,” Valerie’s hissed.

She wasn’t sure if it was nerves or Yuri’s constant niggling at her that made her angry or was it that she was about to lure a stranger up into her bedroom and fuck him on camera so that he could be blackmailed. She had no sympathy for the married cheating American Colonel who thought he had beguiled the pretty young naïve Russian girl but she did feel a little self-loathing for what she was about to do to him.

Yuri turned to her and gave her a stern expression.

“Remember your training,” he whispered and walked away.

Valerie heard the soft knock on her hotel room door and then the door clicked open and Colonel Steven Braxton stepped inside and softly closed the door. Valerie was standing in the middle of the room with a worried look on her face. He made a show of putting the key down on an occasional table inside the door and then he strode over to her.