In From the Cold

by Eternuer



The USSR, 1984:


            Vladimir Doestokiev opened the door of his apartment and stood face-to-face with the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.


            She was the archetypal Russian beauty, with deep brown eyes and flowing dark hair, her skin between the milky whiteness of the West and the exotic darkness of the East. He had asked for the loveliest girl Dimitriov could find, and knew his “provider” had provided.


            Had Doestokiev been dissatisfied, he would have made sure Dimitriov never saw the light of day again.


            The girl greeted him in a professional manner and followed him inside. She seemed relaxed, and was content to stand in the middle of the room, smiling faintly, without asking questions.


            Of course, she had no reason to be suspicious. If she had talked to the apartment block’s other residents, they would have repeated the lie he had told them: that he was an office clerk. And if he ever had cause to think one of them did not believe him, he could easily have that individual silenced. Anonymity was essential in his business.


            But the girl’s inscrutable smile hid secrets of her own. She knew his real occupation, and she was as impressed with Doestokiev as he was with her. He was the classic tall, dark, handsome man. A young forty, he was not the ageing scientist she had expected.


            Doestokiev was a truly brilliant man, the KGB’s foremost expert in biological weaponry and the mastermind behind a top-secret plan to unleash a deadly virus on the West. The Soviets had all been immunised – through the state-controlled media, the nation’s populace had been led to believe that the massive vaccination programme was needed to protect them from a more common and less deadly disease.

The lethal virus was to be released in the West a few days from now. After it had taken effect, the USSR’s armed forces would invade unopposed. Everything was going according to plan...


            In the meantime, Doestokiev was free to enjoy leisure activities. And his privileged position meant he was able to entertain delightful creatures like the one now in his apartment.


            He smiled at her. “Your name is?”




            “I'm Vladimir. Delighted to meet you.” He lifted her hand and kissed it.

            Experienced as she was in these matters, the lovely Tania felt a shiver of pleasure run through her.


            They made polite conversation as Vladimir poured them each a small vodka. Tania found him quite the Prince Charming. The Devil always was a gentleman...


            “My father used to tell me – never mix business with pleasure,” said Vladimir smoothly. “But there is no business like pleasure!”


            Without further preliminaries, they went to the bedroom, stripped and admired each other’s nakedness. Then they made fierce love, limbs tangling in the most intense sexual passion either had experienced. They seemed perfectly matched.


            He was enchanted by the exquisite beauty and youthful zest of the girl; she was exhilarated by the passion, strength and tenderness of this experienced lover fifteen years her senior.


            “What is your deepest desire?” she asked breathlessly.


            He whispered in her ear; she smiled warmly.


            “Let me see, then, if I can satisfy you.”


            She took a tress of her flowing hair and began to caress the tip of her delicate nose, letting a few silky strands wander up her nostrils to tickle sensitive membranes.

“AHH...AHHH...AHHHH...” And no more.


            Doestokiev’s face sagged with disappointment. “'Please...please...”


            “I…um…ah…I don’t think so.” Tania was restraining the strong sneeze building inside her nose, her head, her whole body.


            “I beg you! I beg you!” Even as he pleaded, he thought: I am a fool; I am playing her game. But he couldn’t help himself; she must continue.


            “No,” she replied.




            “Not unless you tell me what I want to know.”


            What could she mean? He could give her almost anything she desired. Certainly, if it was wealth she wanted, he could supply it. He could give her power as well, providing it did not rival his own. If she was more “romantically inclined”, he could satisfy her in this regard too. And he was good with words. If she wanted poetry, praise or erotica, she could have them.


            He would do anything to hear this beautiful woman release the delicious power building inside her. It would be a priceless treasure!


            “Anything you want. Ask it!”


            Tania felt she was about to explode into a sneeze. But it was imperative that she kept the urge in check.


            Vladimir cried out again: “Anything you want, anything at all, just give me what I need!” He sounded as if he were enduring an appalling torture.


            She whispered into his ear her request. The scientist, driven insane by desire, lost in a fog of unreasoning passion, blurted out the information she needed.


            And Tania finally released an earth-shattering: “AAAAAAHHHHHHCHOOOOOOOOOOO!!!”


            The two came as she sneezed. Both were satisfied.


            Doestokiev breathed out in relief. When he opened his eyes, the girl had gone, her presence – her scent – like a fading dream...



A day later. The office of the head of MI5, London, England:


            “Excellent work, Agent 700. With your information, our scientists have already duplicated the antidote and an immunisation programme is underway. Her Majesty the Queen has personally sent a message of gratitude, and I should think you’re up for a medal. You’ve saved the West from the most deadly threat our Russian enemies have yet posed. No need to say it again, but I will anyway: top stuff.”


            “Thank-you, Sir. I was only doing my duty."


            Agent 700, Sarah Smith, a dark-haired English beauty and First Class Oxford graduate, had been the ideal choice for this mission: worm her way into Doestokiev's affections in the guise of a high-class Russian prostitute, and use her considerable charms to learn the antidote’s formula.


            Sir Spencer Smythe, head of MI5, had to restrain an urge to gape lustfully at Agent 700, as did all her male colleagues. He knew she had used some devilishly cunning sexual techniques to trick the KGB boffin, and he couldn't help wondering about the details.


            “Um, off the record, Agent 700, just exactly how did you manage it? I once met Vladimir, and he’s a wily old dog…”


            “Sir! With all due respect, you should know that a field operative never reveals their methods! Not even to someone such as yourself.”


            Sir Spencer cleared his throat. “Of course. Quite correct, Agent 700.” Damn, he thought. “Um, would you do me the honour of joining me for dinner tonight?”


            “I’d love to, Sir, but I…I…ah…” The lovely agent’s features became positively orgasmic. Sir Spencer raised an eyebrow as Sarah flung back her head. “AHH...AHH...AHHCHOOOOO!!!! Oh dear…Excuse me. As I was saying, I’d love to, Sir, but the Russian climate seems to have given me a really nasty cold.”


            “God bless you, Agent 700. Actually, you do look a bit peaky. I suppose you had better get home to bed. Can’t be helped.”


            “Thank you, Sir."


            He watched her leave. Double damn! He’d have to get out his Bananarama video tonight instead. His mind returned, not surprisingly, to the matter of how she had made Doestokiev talk. He must have been a tough nut to crack.


            “I suppose sometimes only a woman has a nose for these things,” he muttered to himself as he opened a file and continued the laborious paperwork generated by the superpowers' ceaseless espionage. Blast this Cold War! It was nothing to be sneezed at.