Posted: September 2004
Title: Yorgi's Woman
I lead Xander to a room behind the bathrooms. It's a storage room, deserted except for some crates of beer and liquor, a couch, and a two-way mirror on the wall, which he doesn't even notice. For our purposes, it's perfect. As soon as the door closes, Xander is on me, his hands squeezing and groping like a wild animal. Next to Yorgi's fluid grace, the American is clumsy, like a maddened bear searching for honey. I know that I must slow him down, or he'll blow like a top and tell me nothing. So I push him away from me with a teasing look, and say, "Xander, honey, slow down. We have as long as we want – no one will bother us." I run a finger down his chest, between his muscled pecs and tuck it just slightly under his waistband. I can feel the head of his cock there, straining up for my touch as he bucks his hips up, and have to suppress a sigh. The man truly has no finesse.
He grinds his repulsive lips on mine, slobbering like the animal he is, and rams his tongue down my throat. I feel nothing, only slight revulsion. A tiny twinge of unease whispers through my mind, but I tamp it firmly down, because I remember that this is my duty. . Anything for the cause, for Anarchy 99.
I can't stand the thought of him grunting over me, so I slide gracefully to my knees, unzip his pants and push them to his ankles, then slide his penis into my mouth. It's big and thick, just like the man who it belongs to, but so much smaller than Boris's that I swallow it with ease, tightening my throat muscles around it, and he lets out a bellow and comes, spurting hot come down my throat, almost choking me with it. I swallow and swallow, the milky bitterness flooding my stomach and coming back up into my mouth until I have to concentrate hard not to vomit.
He finally stops and I clean him up, popping him out of my mouth like a lollipop, and smile up at him. "You taste good," I lie, and lick my lips, and I can tell that it wouldn't take much to make him hard again. I urge him over to the couch and he falls back on it, pulling me with him, some forgotten chivalry making him think he has to return the favor. And I realize that if I don't respond, he'll know something's wrong. I curl up next to him and lay my head on his chest that's still covered with the thermal-weave shirt he's wearing. His hands go to my breasts, pushing my blouse out of the way to pinch my nipples, and I close my eyes and imagine it's Yorgi touching me. Immediately, my nipples engorge and become sensitive, and I open my eyes and stare at the two-way mirror because I know he's standing there watching us. My face clouds over as I wonder if Ivana's there too, maybe blowing Yorgi while I blew Xander. Forcing that thought out of my mind – after all, there's not much I can do about it, and Yorgi did say that I was going home with him – I moan and my hand trails down to my pussy.
Xander's face goes slack, watching me play with myself, and I whisper, "Xander, this is how you'll live if you become one of us. Parties, sex, vodka, every night. Did you come here to join Anarchy 99? If not, what did you really come for?" I see his eyes narrow slightly as he tries to focus on what I'm saying, but I slide my fingers inside my pussy just then and give another little moan. "You're not here just for cars, are you?" I whisper.
I take my fingers out of my cunt and trace his lips with them, leaving them glistening with my juices. His tongue comes out and greedily licks them clean, then he slides from the couch and yanks my legs apart. "God, I love pussy," he groans, then dives in, sucking my clit and fucking me with his tongue as I stare at the mirror, imagining Yorgi watching jealously.
Xander spends about 30 whole seconds eating me, then suddenly he lunges up and shoves his hard dick in me, pinching my nipples between his fingers and talking dirty. "Yeah, baby, you love it when I fuck you, don't you? Your cunt's hot for me, isn't it? Come on, bitch, ride my dick." He fucks me for hours, it seems, grunting and talking the whole time as I fake getting turned on. God, he's so base, such an animal compared to Yorgi. But I remember my duty and grind against him while I moan and beg for his big dick.
Finally, finally he comes, banging me into the back of the couch hard enough to scrape my back raw, then collapses on me. "God," he says in a raspy voice, "You're one hot fuck."
I roll my eyes, knowing he can't see me, and whisper, "So join us. You're good, Xander, you'd be a good addition to our cause."
"Naw," he says, "I just wanna buy some cars." Then his phone rings. He tenses immediately, and after a moment, grabs it out of the back pocket of his jeans. "Yeah?" he says, and whoever is on the other end talks for a while. At one point, he cuts his eyes to me, then realizes what he's doing, so he immediately breaks eye contact, but I've seen. I know he's hiding something. I look up at the mirror and nod almost imperceptibly, making sure Xander doesn't see me.
When he closes the phone, I pout. "That's your girlfriend, isn't it? I'm jealous." His face smoothes out as he takes my bait, the stupid oaf.
"Yeah, that was… Marie." The small hesitation before thinking up a name clinches it for me. He's lying. If I had a gun at that moment, I would kill him.
I push off the couch and stretch, feeling his filthy seed spill down my thighs, then say with a smile, "I'm thirsty, Xander, you wore me out." Curling my arm around his, I lead him out of the room, back to the loft, right to Yorgi's side. I'm pleased to see Yorgi's eyes glittering, the hardness in his pants obvious.
"Did you miss me?" I tease, and am startled when he ignores me totally, handing a drink to Xander instead, toasting and laughing with him. I stand to the side, watching them, the pain inside me almost pushing me to my knees. What did I do wrong?
The rest of the evening is spent that way - me to one side, watching Yorgi play up to Xander. They drink until they stagger, singing dirty drinking songs with their arms around each other. Finally Yorgi shouts to the group, "Come, let's move the party to my house!" Then, for the first time, he looks at me. I can't read the _expression on his face; it terrifies me in its blankness. "Come," he says harshly, and holds out his hand to me. I get up and put my hand in his, and he leads me out to a sedan that Boris is driving.
Yorgi pulls me into the back seat with him, tight against his side. His hold on me is almost painful, and chaos swirls through my head. I can't even think a coherent thought, I'm so terrified of him. Suddenly he grabs me and crushes my lips under his, forcing his tongue past them, fucking my mouth with it. I whimper, half in pain, half in pleasure. Even in my fright, Yorgi manages to turn me on. He yanks my legs apart and pushes two fingers deep inside me, then pulls them out and shoves them under my nose. "You have another man's come inside of you, bitch." The words are pieces of ice, shattering into frozen shards as they leave his mouth and strike my heart, freezing it as they do.
I look into his face, confused, my panic mounting. "You told me to do whatever it takes. So I did. It's him, Yorgi, he's the spy." But Yorgi's face is so contorted with rage I barely recognize him.
"You're dirty now. You're contaminated." He shoves me away from him violently and I slam into the opposite door hard. I can't help the cry that escapes me, partly from the pain of the impact, but mostly from the pain of his rejection.
"Yorgi," I plead, "I didn't know. It'll never happen again."
He turns to me and I actually feel sorry for him, the suffering is so evident in his face. "Yelena betrayed me, too." I freeze as the implications of his words sink in.
"No, Yorgi…" I stare at him in horror, half-expecting him to pull out a gun and kill me at that moment. How was I to know? But then guilt swamps me and I realize that I should have. I just should have known. And now, because of my error, I will die. I am no longer worthy to be his queen.
And at that point, if he'd have handed me a gun, I would have killed myself.
Yorgi hands me out of the car as if I was royalty. His brittle politeness nearly undoes me, but I don't want to make a scene in front of the drunken crowd by becoming hysterical. He guides me with a hand at the small of my back through the hallways to our bedroom without a word to anyone. I assume he's taking me there to my death.
We go in and as soon as the door closes, I collapse on the rug- my legs won't hold me up any longer. He kneels in front of me, his face shuttered, and runs a gentle finger down my cheek, tracing a tear that I didn't know had fallen. "Little Anna," he murmurs. "Not so loyal as I thought." A sob escapes me and I start to beg, but his hand covers my mouth softly. "Too late, Anna." He looks at me in disappointment, then says, "Take your clothes off." It takes a moment for his command to process through my brain, then I pull the blouse and skirt off hurriedly, in a pathetic bid for forgiveness, and sit naked in front of him.
He stares at me for long moments, then pulls his own clothes off, revealing his jutting erection. My nipples tighten at the sight and wetness pools between my legs, so much that it actually drips onto the carpet under me. I squeeze my legs together so that he doesn't see.
His soft words are a sharp counterpoint to the anger laced in them. "I've waited all day for you, Anna. Waited for your cunt. For the body that should be mine. And now you've taken that away from me." The lines between his eyes deepen. "All I ask for is loyalty. Can you not give me that?"
Before I can say anything, he grabs my hair and pulls me roughly to him, kissing me. I fall against his chest, my arms wrapping around him as I press my body against his. I want him so badly that my body is trembling, shaking with need. His hands tangle in my red curls and he deepens the kiss, biting my lips and tongue, clashing his teeth against mine, thrusting his tongue in my mouth so deeply it's almost as if he's trying to swallow me. I kiss him back, and like our first kiss, I taste the metallic tang of blood.
He finally stops, and pulls me onto his lap so that I'm straddling him, which causes his cock to ride in the cleft of my pussy lips. I move against him, unable to keep my hips still, and as he growls deep in his throat, his hardness slips deep inside of me. "Fucking bitch," he grates, and bites my shoulder so hard that blood flows freely from the wound, down over the slope of my breast and drips off my hard nipple onto his stomach. I jerk at the pain and he grabs my hips and slams into me so deep that I feel like he's splitting me in two.
"Yorgi," I cry out in pain, "Stop, please stop." I can handle the pain of the bite, but this hurt deep inside me is unbearable.
My words are like an alarm in his ear. He jerks in shock as though he is suddenly awakened, and seems to realize what he's doing. Staring at the blood dripping down my body, he looks up with wild, unfocussed eyes. "Anna?" he whispers, and his eyes slowly clear as he recognizes me. He realizes that he's buried deep inside my pussy, and shoves me off of his cock and off of his lap, in disgust, staring at me with dawning horror. "You've sullied me," he says softly. I start crying brokenly, and he sits staring at me as his erection wilts.
And then I see his erection start to grow again, and look up at his face. My short moment of hope dies, though, as I see his _expression. His eyes are glittering madly, and he smiles, baring his teeth in a feral grin. "You've desecrated me, but that doesn't mean you can't still service me." He grabs me, flips me to my stomach, and says in gentle counterpoint to his harsh actions, "Get on your hands and knees, whore." And I know what he's going to do to me, something I've never done, never wanted to do, and I know the pain that I felt when he was in my pussy is nothing compared to the pain I'm going to feel.
When I don't respond, he jerks me up, one arm under my belly, and kneels behind me. "Are you still loyal here, little Anna?" he asks, as he touches a finger to my asshole. I tremble as I nod. "Good, good," he murmurs, and slides a finger into my pussy. And to my amazement, my body responds. "You whore," he says softly, almost tenderly, the words caressing me as spring warmth caresses a frozen landscape, "still wanting to get fucked. Was Xander not enough for you? Shall I get Boris?" I shake my head pathetically, begging him not to, even as my pussy clenches around his fingers. He adds another finger, then another, scooping the wetness out of my pussy and coating the small puckered hole behind it. He slides them back into my pussy and says, "Is this what you want?" and brushes that spot, so gently that I can barely feel it, but enough that I'm immediately on the verge of an orgasm.
"Please," I beg, "please." He touches it again, a feather brush, and I sob in frustration and buck my hips back, straining for the orgasm that eludes me. "Yorgi, I'm sorry, please." I cringe at the words, even as I open my mouth to speak more, unable to stop myself. Then, "no!" I wail, as his fingers slide out of me. I reach back to try to keep him inside of me, and he snarls and yanks my arm back behind my back as he shoves my face to the ground.
Without any preparation, he puts his cock at my asshole and pushes, hard, sliding his head in as I scream in pain. Still holding my arm behind me with one hand, he reaches the other hand out and grabs my hair. He pulls savagely and forces my body back against him as he sinks the rest of the way inside me. The pain is excruciating and my screams cover his moan of intense pleasure. He holds still long enough for my pain to dull slightly, and I gasp in the lull, sobbing and begging him to stop.
"Oh, no, little Anna," he croons, "this is the epitome of anarchy. No rules, just pleasure. I truly understand now."
And so do I. Yorgi isn't thinking of others. He isn't a selfless vessel guiding this world toward perfection. My vision shatters, the pieces falling around me, cutting the dark ribbons of my misguided loyalty to shreds, allowing the clarity of Yorgi's madness to shine around me, as the sun bursts from behind the clouds after a rainstorm.
He starts to move inside me and I grit my teeth against the agony, not willing to allow him the victory of my pain. He's grunting with every thrust, his hand still tangled in my hair, pulling it each time he plunges back into me. After an eternity, he lets out a yell and I feel his seed spurt into me, burning me, and I can't hold back a tiny sob, one small teardrop of noise. And then he reaches for something and I hear the sound of a gun being cocked as he places the muzzle against my temple. "My Anna. My little traitor, I have discovered that you are the spy. And now you'll pay the ultimate price." The hammer falls on the loaded chamber as I scream, the last sound I hear before my world explodes.
"Anna?" I feel arms around me as I cringe against something solid, wondering if I'm dead. I'm sobbing, and only slowly become aware of the man saying, "Hey, are you okay? Anna, what's wrong?" The panic in his voice cuts through mine, and I raise my head from his chest and stare directly into Yorgi's eyes. Terrified, I try to jerk away, but his arms tighten around me. "Hey, hey, love, it's okay, calm down." The voice is soothing, gentle, tinged with an unmistakable Kiwi accent, and the world shifts slightly around me as I realize Marton and I are standing in the dark alleyway behind U medvídku.
Marton's clear hazel eyes are looking at me, concern shining out of them as he cradles me against his chest, stroking my hair over and over again. "You're okay, it was just a car backfiring." I take a huge, shuddering breath and wipe my face with my hands. I'm trembling and my body's so cold that I'm shocky. Marton looks around for a place to sit and guides me gently to the stairs and sits me down with him, pulling me close.
Finally, my trembling stops, and I give him a wan smile. "I'm sorry. I… I had a bad experience with a gun and the backfire must have thrown me back into the memory," I lie, trying to explain my hysteria away. I'm dazed, the events of the last several days, or what I thought was the last several days, whirling around in my mind. Have I gone crazy? Did I just dream the entire Yorgi thing? "I…" I start, then shake my head. "What are we doing out here?"
And Marton gives me a funny look. "We came out here to talk because I couldn't hear you in there. You were explaining your improvisation of the AHAB scene to me. And what Anarchy 99 means to you." His face changes subtly as he answers me.
I shake my head, uncomfortable with his _expression, as I edge away from him slightly. "No, Marton, it's not important," I say, and he pulls me a little tighter.
"Yes it is, I want to hear your thoughts, little Anna." The Russian accent is unmistakable. "And call me Yorgi."