“Radar Contact!”
Allied intelligence had notified us of the presence of the Slava-class guided missile cruiser Moskova, flagship of Russia’s Black Sea fleet. We were unaware of the exact position of this lethal ship, but my unit was to fire upon it if it came within the 280km range of our Neptune R-360 anti-ship missiles.
The Moskova had gained dubious fame when it demanded that a Ukrainian military unit on Snake Island surrender. “Russian warship, go fuck yourself,” was the response of the unit, who were subsequently captured and taken prisoner.
I’m twenty years old. I was conscripted into the Ukrainian Army two years ago. My country had been the victim of increasing Russian belligerence and was preparing for more. My unit, the (CENSORED) Brigade, aided by the (CENSORED) Regiment, was posted at (CENSORED), where our truck-mounted radar swept the Black Sea, searching. Our radar operator had just established radar contact.
The Captain ordered the crew to ready the missiles. The coordinates of the target were set and the missiles were armed.
“Fire Number 1,” the Captain barked. The rocket ignited and the missile sped off, trailing a flame ten meters long.
“Fire Number 2.” A second missile flew off to find its target.
We weren’t optimistic about hitting the cruiser. The Neptune is a subsonic missile and can be intercepted by a ship with a layered defense, which the Moskova had, but both missiles found their target. The cruiser was soon in peril and ordered abandoned. The Moskova subsequently sank. She is the largest active warship sunk since World War II.
My unit was then deployed east to the Donetsk region where we would be in the front line of defense in the coming Russian invasion from Donbass. We were outnumbered, outgunned and, notwithstanding our Switchblade attack drones, out-equipped. Nevertheless, we fought bravely until surrounded and captured near Kreminna. We were taken to Novoazovsk, a so-called ‘breakaway region’ of Ukraine backed by Russia, to a ‘filtration camp’. We were ‘filtered’ to determine if we’d be pressed into forced labor or ‘isolated’.
“You are now a guest of Russia,” my interrogator informed me with a crooked smile.
“A guest?”
“Yes. A foreign worker.”
“You mean a slave.”
“We are not savages. We don’t enslave people. Russia has a deep, rich culture,” he sneered.
“You don’t have to tell me,” I sneered back. “I’ve seen the Bolshoi Ballet. I’ve heard orchestras perform Tchaikovsky, Rachmaninoff, and Shostakovich. I’ve read Tolstoy and Dostoevsky. Nabokov, too.”
“‘Lolita’ being your favorite, I presume.”
“It is,” I confessed.
“It would be a waste to place a well-read, urbane fellow like yourself with the rest of your unit in an arms factory.” He shuffled his papers. “What was your job in your so-called army?” he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Shooting foreign aggressors.”
He glared at me menacingly, and then went on.
“Anything else?”
“I was a sometime cook.”
“I see.” He thought for a moment. “I’m going to place you in a small cafe’, a tea room. The proprietor is a man of some rank in our glorious Red Army. His wife is running the cafe’ while he’s off fighting your fascist Ukrainian comrades who are committing acts of genocide against ethnic Russians.”
“That’s bullshit and you know it,” I snapped.
“Nevertheless, you will be assigned to the cafe’ and will do whatever is told of you. And don’t think this is an easy assignment. I’ll remind you that work that is less than satisfactory is punishable by imprisonment or a visit by some of our husky security agents.”
“Glad you’re not savages.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I was transported under guard to the small restaurant. I was to work twelve hour days, six days a week. The cafe’ was a comfortable little establishment frequented by officers of the Red Army. As I mostly worked in the kitchen I was able to avoid their glares and derision.
Being a Ukrainian soldier, I was a curiosity to the serving girls. They’d smile and flirt, but as I was still suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) I doubt I could have performed. The wife of the proprietor was a woman in her late thirties. She dressed as a peasant in a loose house dress, wearing ugly service shoes, her hair in a bun, with a sheen on her face from sweat and grease. A cot was set up for me in the back of the kitchen, where I’d be locked in at night.
My first week saw repeated visits from the Russian Federal Security Forces (FSB) to check on my conduct. I would overhear the wife report that I was a good worker and was well liked. At the end of my first week of service, at the close of business, the wife beckoned to me.
“Come with me,” she ordered. Her apartment was above the cafe’ and I followed her up the stairs.
She opened her door and said, “Come in.” She closed the door behind us.
“Your work here is quite satisfactory. Have a drink.” She poured some Russian Standard Gold vodka.
“Nostrovia,” I said, raising my glass.
“Nostrovia,” she replied. We drank.
The vodka loosened her tongue. “Stupid war. A combination of Russian machismo and blatant revanchism. Who would have thought there would be a border war in Europe in the twenty-first century? I thought such a thing could never happen again. I’m a proud Russian woman, but I’m not proud of my country.”
She went on. “My husband was called back to active duty. He served the Red Army for seventeen years. He was finally discharged and we opened this little cafe’. Then he was reactivated for this asinine war. Promoted to Major. Stationed somewhere up north, near Kyiv.”
“I’m sorry about your plight. But as you know, my duty as a Ukrainian soldier is to escape and rejoin my army.”
“You’d never make it. This area is swarming with Russian troops and spies. You’d end up being shot. So you will stay here in my service,” she announced flatly.
With that, she stood, took my hand, and led me to her bath. “We both need a shower,” she announced. She undressed me, and then herself. She let her hair down and shook it loose.
My hostess was a good looking woman. Underneath her peasant clothes was a slim and lithe body. Her breasts stood proud and were topped by generous nipples. A flat tummy led to an attractive mound. Her long legs were shapely.
“You’re a beautiful woman, Svetlana,” I said, my eyes feasting on her.
“Thank you, Vasily. You’re pretty buff yourself.”
She turned on the shower and we stepped in. Handing me the shampoo, she ordered, “Wash my hair.” I obeyed my taskmistress and, standing behind her, I worked the shampoo into her luxuriant hair. She reached back and held my hips as I did.
“That feels so nice,” she cooed.
I rinsed her hair and took the soap and washed her body from head to toe, spending extra time on her breasts and vagina.
“It’s good to feel the touch of a man again,” Svetlana commented.
I finished rinsing her and she turned to me, soap in hand. She washed me, fondling my pecs and my genitals.
I had never appreciated the sex appeal of an older woman; I guess I just never noticed. I didn’t expect the sexiness she exuded as she handled my body. It caused my arousal. My pang of guilt for being naked with a married woman faded quickly and I pushed my lengthening erection toward her mound.
“Not yet,” Svetlana ordered.
We toweled off and she led me to her bed. Taking my full length in her mouth, Svetlana let out some contented sighs while she indulged. She couldn’t wait any longer and mounted me. I held my erection vertical as she positioned herself. She hesitated, my tip between her lips, then slowly settled on me.
Svetlana remained motionless as she let out some sighs. Leaning on my pectoral muscles she then slowly began to raise and lower herself.
“Oh, Vasily, it’s been too long,” she panted.
Svetlana spent some time on top and then dismounted and lay back.
“Take me, soldier boy,” she ordered. I had no choice but to collaborate with the enemy.
Truthfully, I didn’t have a lot of experience with women. Sure, I’d had some adult play in the dark with girls who had no more experience than myself. But now I was in a whole new league; I was with a real woman. There was a seventeen or eighteen year age gap between Svetlana and me, possibly more. Svetlana had years of experience in the marital bed. I was a twenty year old neophyte forced to demonstrate my credentials as a lover, of which I had few. Moreover, I had to be respectful while doing it. Carefully, I mounted Svetlana and slowly entered her.
“Good boy,” Svetlana complimented as I pressed in.
Intimacy with Svetlana was an absolute joy. The art of lovemaking was so natural for her and she shared herself freely. I soon came to the grim realization that I had never made love with a woman before; Svetlana was, in a sense, my first.
We enjoyed our coital union, with me moving with Svetlana, driven by my desire to please this forlorn woman. Svetlana soon ordered me off and positioned herself for a rear entry. I held her hips as I delicately worked her until-now unattended vagina.
Svetlana soon attained orgasm. She reached back and caressed my testicles, causing me to finish grandly. So much for the PTSD
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~.
Our love life has blossomed. Svetlana has a way of making you desire her more than anything in the world. Being the more experienced partner, Svetlana took control of our lovemaking and of my orgasms. She has an innate sense of when I’m going to finish and orders me not to until she is ready for me. It’s sexy.
Svetlana is an uninhibited teacher and has taught me the finer arts of romancing a woman. She taught me how to respectfully remove a woman’s bra and panties. Svetlana taught me that a woman’s vagina is her altar of love and should be venerated accordingly. She instructed me how to kiss her vagina, and how and when to bring her to orgasm. She taught me how to lead a woman on, making her want you, and then entering her respectfully.
Svetlana practices what she teaches. She handles my erection like a precious gem. She takes ownership of it, always gently caressing it, rubbing it on her face and in her hair. She enjoys masturbating me with her breasts and in her mouth.
“I love swallowing you,” she sighs in her intimate way.
No woman has ever respected a man’s penis more than Svetlana respects mine. I would marry Svetlana if she wasn’t already married.
As genteel as Svetlana is, she can also be very earthy in bed. She’ll be on top, riding me in her sexy fashion, and then slide up and sit on my face. “Put your tongue inside me,” she orders. She then tickles herself. After attaining satisfaction in my mouth, she resumes her ride. Or when she’s reverse cowgirl, she slides back and rubs our sex all over my face as she takes me deep in her mouth. Then she repeats until she decides where I will finish, in her vagina or her mouth.
I have some earthy desires of my own. When on top of her, I withdraw and slide up, pressing and holding my sticky erection on her pretty face. She gives it sidelong kisses and rubs it on her high cheekbones. I then reinsert it in her vagina and repeat. Svetlana relinquishes control of my orgasms here; if I’m suddenly ready, I squirt on her face. I do the same when I’m between her breasts, but Svetlana enjoys the facial more.
I know that I am being kept as a toy, but I don’t mind. I owe a debt of gratitude to Svetlana; she taught me how to make love to a woman. When Svetlana found me I was a boy. She turned me into a man.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“I got rid of those FSB goons, so you won’t be bothered by them anymore,” Svetlana informed me one day.
It suddenly made sense; because of Svetlana’s husband’s rank in the Red Army, she carried considerable weight with government apparatchiks. She told those goons to beat it, and they did. Come to think of it, was that why I was placed into forced labor with her? Did some bureaucrat send me to provide her company while her husband was away? I made a subtle reference to her marriage one night.
“Based on the treatment you give me, Svetlana, your husband must miss you dearly.”
“I’ve never done any of our activities with my husband. He is strictly ‘roll on, roll off’. Strictly missionary. Because he never tries to bring out my sexuality, he doesn’t know my needs and desires.”
She paused and continued. “He would never suspect that I keep a young boyfriend. Nor must he ever know of our wonderful sex life. He thinks I’m waiting for him.”
“My lips are sealed,” I promised. We commemorated our pact with tender lovemaking.
After finishing inside her, I withdrew and placed my dripping erection on her tummy. Svetlana took hold of it and pulled it up to her face.
“I’m going to keep you in my service, soldier boy,” she said as she kissed my penis. “I love the things we do. Your stamina is wonderful. You’re the first man who has ever pleased me.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
General William Tecumseh Sherman said “War is hell” and he was right. The sooner the guns fall silent, the sooner the killing stops. Until then, I’m doing all one man can do to foster convivial relations between Russia and Ukraine.
Copyright © 2022 by Plinytheyounger
All Rights Reserved
No part of this story may be reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author.
