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George McHale dropped down on the bed, the springs groaning under his considerable weight, and rocked from side to side. When the frame creaked and crunched, asian avenue threatening at any moment to asian ass snap, he shot to his feet and backed away.
He looked at the big burly man standing in front of the motel door, military haircut and ill-fitting suit marking him as Russian, and said, "They don't make 'em like they used to, do they, comrade?"
The man said nothing, wouldn't even look at him. George shrugged and picked up a near-empty bottle of scotch off the table. He gulped it down, growing angrier with each swallow; fed up with all the cloak-and-dagger, J. Edgar Hoover bullshit. Tip-toeing around the globe, always looking over his shoulder, asian xxx couching his conversations in bizarre phrases and code words; meeting his new masters in third-rate motels in the middle of nowhere, held prisoner by armed men.
George slammed down the empty bottle and pointed a thick finger at the guard. "Don't think you can judge me, you Red son-of-a-bitch. I'm in this for the money. I don't give a flying leap about your precious Motherland."
The man smiled. So, he did understand English.
George heard a car pull up outside, an older model. He stormed over to the window and pulled back the curtain, trying to see through the glaring midday heat reflecting off the dry, cracked ground. The driver, another big Russian, climbed out, pistol bulging under his armpit, and looked around. Satisfied they weren't walking into an ambush, he walked to the rear of the car.
The door was pulled open: a moment later a black leather boot emerged, shined so deep the sun glared off the surface. It touched down with a gust of hot, dirty dust as the rest of a tall, lithe young asian woman clad entirely in a form-fitting light-blue uniform climbed out of the car. She was late-thirties, with short jet-black hair parted in the center, and every inch a Soviet.
She brushed a black-gloved hand over her hair and strode to the door, long legs and strong thighs catching the eye. asian girl galleries Dust kicked up around her, sunlight glared off her sunglasses. She looked at the window and smiled.
George stumbled back, nearly toppling over the asian panties table, and quickly composed himself. The guard stepped aside just as the door was flung open.
"I am Colonel Doctor Irina Spalko," the woman said before setting a foot into the room. Her English was fluent and heavily accented. "And I am a very busy woman."
She kicked the door shut with her heel and removed a scabbard from her belt, handing it over to the guard. She gave George a cursory glance and walked to the mirror, where she carefully adjusted her hair.
"We'll keep it short and sweet then," George said with a grin. He kept his eyes on her curvaceous posterior.
"Indeed," Irina said. She turned around, reached into her uniform, and produced a small envelope. "The amount you asked for"--she held it out--"plus an extra thousand."
George snatched it from her hand and tore it open. Irina looked over at the guard and raised an eyebrow.
"I trust we will have no more of these meetings," she said, her stern gaze coming back to George. "I am many things, Mr. McHale, but patient is not one of them."
George nodded. He counted his money, oblivious to the subtle threat in Irina's words. "Call me Mac," he said. "We know each other well enough, I think."
To this Irina said nothing.
"Yeah, that'll do for now." George shoved the envelope into his bulky shirt pocket.
"Then our meeting is concluded."
"I don't know about that," George said, folding his arms. He jabbed a thumb at his chest. "Maybe I need some reassurance from you."
"Such as?"
It was almost imperceptible--so deceptive was the soft, slender neck, the disinterested eyes set in a lovely face--but Irina was tightly coiled, primed to lash out at a moment's notice. George knew asian ass he was pushing too far, but he wasn't about to step back and play it safe. Not when he was already in so deep.
Irina groaned, tiring of his game. "I speak for Stalin himself," she said. "Tell me what you want. If it is in my power to give, you will have it."
"You may just regret that," George whispered, forcing Irina to lean forward to hear him, "when you hear what I want." He patted his belly, somewhat surprised to find it hanging over his belt, asian massage and resolved to lay off the booze.
Irina raised one pencil-thin eyebrow and laughed. "You Americans are all the same: asian chicks thinking with your balls instead of your brains." She clasped her hands behind her back. "This is why your so-called democracy will fail."
"That may be, comrade, but until then you need me." He put a hand on her slender waist. "And I'm going to get everything I can out of you."
Irina scoffed. "You flatter yourself, I think." She stared at George for several seconds before nodding.
She jabbered something in Russian to the guard. Then she walked over to the table and sat down. She removed her gloves, her boots and socks, then her belt. She stood and took young asian sex a small wrapper from the guard.
"You will wear this," she said, and dropped the condom into George's palm. "If you remove it, I will kill you."
George shrugged. He looked over at the guard. "I don't like to do my business if front of other men, not if I can help it."
"He is my bodyguard. He will not watch."
George undid a button on his shirt. "Yeah, okay then."
Irina raised that eyebrow again when he undid his pants and pushed them down to his ankles. "You are big everywhere but where it matters most," she said with some amusement. "This is...disappointing."
She mumbled something in Russian. The guard turned red, trying very hard not to laugh.
George ignored it, his face burning, and finished undressing. He asian tits left his black socks on.
"All right, darling, come over her and get me warmed up."
Irina slapped his hand away. "Not until you put on the prophylactic."
"Later, cutie. When we need it."
"I am property of Stalin and party apparatchiks. I will not put my mouth on you without it."
"Okay, okay," George said. He sighed and tore the package with his teeth. He rolled the condom over his semi-hard penis, pulled it tight, then smacked the swelling head.
Irina stepped forward and knelt before him. She licked the tip of his cock, sending a jolt of pleasure into George's body. "Mmmm," she said, sucking him into her mouth.
"Ah, yes, that's the stuff," George said. He laughed and looked down, barely able to breathe as his cock slid into Irina's face, his mouth falling open when it slid out. She bobbed her head and moaned again.
He put his hand on the back of asian pussy her head and pulled her deeper onto his cock. He closed his eyes and humped his hips, cock thrusting in and out of her mouth, her tongue flicking at the underside. He hadn't had this kind of treatment in some time, not asian milf since that night in '54 when he and Indy had teamed up on that gal Charlotte, some chirpy they knew from the war years. But even she hadn't been able to make him feel the way Irina was making him feel. This moaning, slobbering Soviet could suck dick like no woman alive.
Irina pulled her mouth off him and looked up. "Don't be ashamed to finish quickly," she said, stroking him roughly. "Not even Nikita can last long with me." She licked her lips and swallowed him back down.
George grinned and threw his head back.
Irina sucked gently, twisting her mouth from side to side and flicking her tongue at all the right spots. George groaned and grew thicker, the prelude to ejaculation. Irina slipped back and focused on the head, sucking it hard while stroking his shaft.
George groaned and blasted into Irina's mouth, smiling with glee as he shot a sticky thick load all over her tongue. He rocked his nude asian women hips back and forth, not wanting this feeling to end, but stopped when his cock began to shrink.
It wasn't until he opened his eyes and was able to breathe again that he realized he hadn't give the Russian a week's worth of semen, but had instead filled his condom to overflowing. So much for that fantasy.
Irina wiped the spit from her mouth and pointed at the wastebasket by the door. George pulled the condom off, tied it, and dropped it in. Irina remained where she was.
"What now?" George asked. He stopped in front of Irina, flaccid cock dangling in front of her face. She asian anal looked up, features unreadable.
"That is entirely up to you," she answered quietly. "This was your idea."
George looked down at his asian nudes limp organ: Irina wouldn't be getting an encore for at least several minutes. He smiled. But his wasn't asian milf the only cock in town.
"Suck him next," he said, pointing at the burly guard. "While I watch."
Irina looked over at the guard, then back at George. She said something in Russian. The guard gaped at her. She repeated the words, louder this time. He snapped to attention and undid his pants.
George sat down on the end of the bed, shocked that the man's dick, which wasn't even hard yet, was already bigger than his. He stroked life back into his limp dick, watching as Irina crawled across the room on all fours, her pert ass shaking in the air.
She slipped a hand into the guard's pocket and retrieved a condom. She tore it open and slipped it over his cock. The guard grunted and tried not to look at her, but Irina barked and he forced himself to look down at her face. His face was red.
Irina slipped her mouth onto his rigid manhood and fellated him like he was the last man alive. He gasped and threw his head back, muttering over and over in his native tongue.
George stroked with both hands, one on the head, the other on the staff, and watched the show. It wasn't going to last long judging by the way Irina was going to town on the shuddering man.
The man lasted about as long as George, which was something at least. He grunted and grabbed Irina's head with both hands, jabbing his hips forward to impale her. She choked, her face turning red, and squeezed her hands into tight fists, but she kept sucking. The guard gasped, and George knew he was shooting off. He let go of Irina's head and put both hands over his face.
Irina pushed off and glared up at him, thick lines of saliva attaching her face to his cock. She looked over at George, chin dripping with spit, and frowned. "Satisfied, Mr. McHale?"
"As a matter of fact, no." George stood up, his cock hard and eager for more. "So get up and lose the uniform."
Irina glanced back at the big Russian before standing up. There was no hesitation in her movements, no shame on her face. She undid the shirt and pulled it off; then the undershirt, followed by the tight garment beneath. Her breasts were medium-sized, creamy, with small pink nipples. She undid her pants and pushed them down her legs. No underwear.
"And now, Mr. McHale?"
"Hand me one of those, ah, prophylactics and get on the bed."
The Russian dropped his condom in the asian sex wastebasket with a splat and passed Irina a fresh one. She stepped out of her pants and walked over to George, who was pleased to see that the Russian beauty had adopted the western style of grooming: shaving her legs and underarms but leaving a thick, black triangle of curls for him to play with.
When she got within reach he lunged forward and pulled her onto the bed. He pushed her down on her back and went right for her temple of doom, sliding between her legs and running his rough hands over her soft outer-thighs. Irina moaned. He spread her open and licked her puffy lips, the tip of his tongue flicking between them. He moved up to suck on her clit. She bucked her hips and dug her fingers into the bed. He moved back down and attacked her pussy, pushing his tongue as far as it would go. Irina writhed, gasping loudly when he pushed two fat fingers inside her body.
Irina pushed up a moment, murmuring something in her native tongue before dropping back against the damp sheets and thrusting her hips up to meet his mouth. George lapped at her pussy, fingers pistoning in and out, tongue flicking up to hit her button. Irina reached up to play with her breasts, squeezing them roughly and giving the hard nipples light slaps.
George pulled his face away from her pussy, took several deep, gasping breaths, then dove back in.
He slid a finger down to meet Irina's asshole. The woman groaned and stirred, perhaps to stop him, but George redoubled his efforts on her pussy and she went back to her original position. He slid the tip of his finger inside, gently turning it from side to side to loosen her up. Irina humped against his face. George laughed, and pushed past her ring.
Irina bucked hard and screamed. George looked over and wasn't shocked to see the guard madly stroking himself. What a world. The man was a simple foot soldier, and probably had never dreamed he would see Irina Spalko in the buff, let alone be drained by her own expert mouth. But here he was, in America, watching her demean herself with a filthy capitalist.
George worked his finger all the way inside Irina's body and started to piston. By now he was tuning out her incoherent babbling and focusing on the job. He sucked at her dripping pussy, tongue going back and forth between the juicy lips and rock-hard nub. He asian tits pulled his finger out, waited a asian sluts moment, then jabbed it back in. Irina's body went limp. George laughed and worked both holes, sucking hard on her clit. She opened her mouth in a mute scream and shuddered. Cum washed over George's face, into his mouth, up his nose, dripping from his fingers. He lapped it up, hungry for everything she could give him, this gorgeous Russian whore.
The orgasm died down, and Irina leaned back, groaning and murmuring on. George pulled his fingers out of her body, gave her pussy a last lick, and sat up. He reached out and tugged on her nipple, making her moan.
"Not bad for a commie," he said, his cock in hand. "But what else can you do?"
Irina gave him a wicked grin and sat up. Now it was she who took charge, forcing George down onto his back and climbing on top of him. She reached down and guided him into her pussy. George grunted and thrust up, filling her tight Russian snatch with some good old fashioned western meat.
Irina laughed and started riding him. His big belly kept getting in the way, and her hands were constantly slipping off his wet chest, but she squeezed her thighs tight against his sides and soldiered on. The sounds were wet and loud, his hips smacking against her delicate bottom, the bed creaking beneath their weight. She reached over and grabbed the headboard for leverage; she slid off his cock and repositioned herself so that she was on her feet, then she sank back down, taking George even deeper inside.
"Oh, God," was all he could manage.
Irina clenched her pussy, making him scream. She slid up and down, coming off until just the head remained inside of her body, then slammed back down with a wet smack. She moved quicker. George did, too, grabbing her by the waist and slamming up as hard as he could before grinding roughly against her sex.
"Not bad," Irina breathed in English, "for someone so small."
She balanced on one hand and reached up to slap her breasts. George grinned and did the same to her ass, hitting her so hard tears formed in her lovely eyes. Neither slowed down. Their moans grew louder.
Irina took a deep breath and leaned forward, mashing her breasts against his face and wrapping her slippery arms around his head. She rode him hard, the only movement coming from her hips as they slid up and down his cock. George thrust back, chewing on her breasts and inhaling her musky scent. He was almost there, just about to fall over the edge. Irina was just too good.
"Here it comes, here it comes." He rolled her over onto her back and humped away between her legs. She dug her nails deep into his back.
"Yes, yes, yes," she whimpered, jouncing back and forth beneath him. "Fuck me, you capitalist dog. Fuck me."
It was too much. George's balls tightened up, and burst. Irina moaned, his cock throbbing in her swollen pussy. George buried his length inside her and held tight, shot after shot of cum pouring into his condom. Irina thrashed her head from side to side, not a hair out of place, and screamed her head off. George grunted again, his pace slowing, and collapsed on top of her. He rested a moment, then pulled out and got out of bed.
He yanked the condom off and threw it into the trash. He looked back at Irina and couldn't help but smile. She looked like an angel--legs parted, chest heaving, skin glistening with sweat. An evil Red angel, but an angel nonetheless.
"And now, Mr. McHale?" Her accented English made his cock twitch.
They both turned their heads, slow and sure, of one mind, and looked at the guard. He was perpetually astonished, a rigid cock in his hand.
George McHale sat down at the table and lit a cigarette. He leaned back and took a drag, content for the moment to watch the burly Russian mount Irina Spalko and penetrate her with one quick stroke. They fucked rough, the headboard slamming against the wall, Irina wailing away like a common whore.
This Cold War was just heating up.