It was with the coldest of ice blue eyes that Anastasia Kovalenka gazed down on the
courtyard below her. She was standing in her father’s office; a room so opulently
furnished it might bring into question the man’s commitment to the communist cause. But as
Alexi Kovalenko was Head of the KGB in the Soviet controlled state of Mordavia, no one
would question any of his actions. Not even the President of this puppet of Moscow would
question a directive issued by Alexi; such was the power the man yielded.
       Anastasia took a sip from her glass of chilled white wine, some rather pleasant
Chablis which she had recently taken to drinking; and as she flavoured her palate with its
sharp dry acidity, she caressed her bare nipple with the tip of her finger, rejoicing in
the coolness she had stolen from the glass. Her sensuous pleasure in this self-arousal was
enhanced all the more by the vision she looked upon – a young man stripped to the waist –
an Adonis of perfect muscular proportions and handsomely crafted facial features. 
      Abandoning her nipple as she looked hungrily at the youth, Anastasia dipped her
index finger into the wine and brought it to her mouth. Her full luscious teenage lips
parted in acceptance and her soft supple tongue welcomed the digit. She closed her eyes as
she sucked on her finger, recalling the times she had sucked on the young man’s cock.
      A shiver of pleasure ran through Anastasia as those wonderful memories washed over
her. His cock was even more beautiful than his body; long and thick and vibrantly alive –
no man had ever filled her so well or brought her to such incredible orgasms.
      As she looked on him again, Anastasia’s hand drifted downwards passed the swell of
her creamy full breasts with their rose coloured nipples, then over the plane of her toned
flat stomach that she vowed would never be stretched by a child, to the wisps of fair
silky hair that adorned her swollen pussy. She covered her mound with the softness of her
fingers which absorbed the blood heated warmth of her sex. The middle finger was used to
run the lengthy of her cleft, curling and flicking as it prised the lips open, allowing
Anastasia to pleasure her inner folds. Again she closed her eyes in fond reminiscence – so
skilful the young man had been with his tongue. How had a youth of but twenty years old
managed to acquire such a talent?
      Anastasia bristled and reopened her eyes, all fondness now cast aside. The answer
to that question was obvious – that was why the young man was standing in the courtyard
and her father was striding towards him.
      She heard the smack through the opening in the window: a hard slap across the left
cheek that spun the young man’s head to the side, then in quick succession a reverse swipe
across the right cheek to spin his head again. This violence was followed by a tirade of
abuse that was hurled at the young man in a fevered pitch. Anastasia listened, fully aware
that the words were for the benefit of the assembled audience; the Mordavian police force
who were colleagues of the Cadet – the young man who was the focal point of her father’s
current wrath.
      “Filthy dog!” Alexi yelled. “You are employed at my patronage to keep stability in
this cesspit of a country – to keep your peasant race in check – to maintain law and order
in this piss stain on the globe. You are NOT here to fraternise with Russian women. Do not
think to foul your Soviet master’s gene pool with your inferior stock. Russian women are
NOT to be approached. MY DAUGHTER IS NOT TO BE APPROACHED! How dare you make advances! How
dare you touch her with your grimy hands! How dare you think she would even look at you!
SCUM! DEGENERATE FILTH!”
      Another slap across the face drew blood from the nose; it poured down the young
man’s chin and dripped onto his muscular chest; the swell of his pectorals was accentuated
by the bound wrists to his front. Anastasia winced at the severity of the blow, but she
felt no remorse for what she had done. He deserved this punishment – how dare he flirt
with another woman just because Anastasia had laughed in his face when he suggested they
make their affair public.
      Anastasia had enjoyed the sex with the young man – she had enjoyed it enormously;
but surely he must have realised that it could never be anything more. He was a Cadet in
the Mordavian police force and she was a high born Russian with unparalleled beauty and
influential connections in the Politburo. Her destiny was for greatness, not to be a
policeman’s wife. She had used him for pleasure, and given plenty back in return; but
their affair could never become public knowledge - it could never be known that she had
given herself to a Mordavian. She would be a laughing stock in Moscow and her father would
be furious – even more furious than he was at present. 
      It had been foolish to get involved with him, but oh so delicious. Anastasia knew
that the affair had to finish and had intended to terminate it in the fullness of time.
But he had fucked her so well, thrilled her body so intensely, it was difficult to bring
things to an end. Yet she knew an end must come; and she would have been prepared to do it
gently if only he had remembered his place. But he had dared to flirt in front of her with
some dark skinned Mordavian slut in a stupid attempt to make her jealous and yield to his
wishes to openly perpetuate their connection in defiance of all social norms.
      What an idiot!
      How dare he?
      Her father was right – he was degenerate filth. The Mordavian dog deserved all that
he got. 
      It was no lie that she had told her father. He had touched her – he had made
advances – she had been mortally offended by his behaviour – what did it matter if she had
been economical with so much else - her honour demanded satisfaction.
      So he was to be flogged in front of the capital’s police force as an example of
Moscow’s power over this pitiful little country, and a reminder to the inhabitants that
they should know their place – every last one of them, including the police.
      Anastasia took another sip of her wine whilst she leisurely toyed with her pussy.
Such a shame she would no longer have it pleasured by her youthful ex-lover, but a new one
would be easy to find. She was nineteen and stunningly beautiful, with long blonde hair
and ivory skin that had never been exposed to the sun – what man could ever refuse her?
And what man would ever defy her after this exhibition of her devious control?  
      Then the command was given by Alexi Kovalenko for the flogging to begin. The young
Cadet was tethered to the whipping post which had been installed in the centre of the
courtyard, and a Mordavian Captain stepped forward – this would be the man who would do
the flogging and take Anastasia’s revenge. 
      Anastasia looked at him with interest – he was massively built and had such an air
of authority despite being under the Soviet yoke – his face was hard and rugged with the
most incredible coal black eyes. He removed his uniform jacket then much to Anastasia’s
delight he removed his shirt to reveal a rich mat of black hair covering his broad manly
chest. Instinctively Anastasia’s fingers sought out her clitoris and she peeled back the
hood to squeeze on the little bud. At a guess she would put this man at around forty years
old, twice the age of her former lover, but maturity might be interesting for a month or
so. Anastasia made a note to find out the Captain’s name; perhaps he might be the lucky
one to next gain her favour and know the joys of her ravenous cunt.
      The Captain stood to the side and was handed the whip – a short handled cat of nine
tails. Anastasia watched with growing excitement as the Captain made a few trial swishes
then without any warning he brought the whip crashing down on the young Cadet’s back,
striking him squarely between the shoulders. 
      “One!” shouted a Russian military officer who stood to the opposite side of the
Mordavian police Captain; he was there to confirm that proper strokes were delivered.
      Anastasia saw her former lover jerk at the blow and responded in kind as she
squeezed on her clit and let out a pant to accompany his groan.
      “Two!”
      The blow landed a little lower, the Cadet groaned a little louder and Anastasia
squeezed a little firmer on her hardening clit.
      “Three! Four! Five!”
      Lower and lower; louder and louder; firmer and firmer did Anastasia squeeze and she
groaned along with her former lover as his back was flayed for a sin of her invention.
      “Six! Seven! Eight! Nine! Ten!”
      The Captain returned to the top of the shoulders then worked his way back down
again. With each blow Anastasia squeezed hard on her blood engorged clitoris using
forefinger and thumb, and between each stroke she fingered the fleshy petals of her vulva
and penetrated her vagina with the other three digits. She squeezed and frigged as the
Captain swished and flayed, masturbating to the rhythm of his whip; thinking of a cock she
could no longer have and fantasising over another that was there in the courtyard – a
mature meaty flogger to whip her youthful cunt.
      “Eleven! Twelve! Thirteen! Fourteen! Fifteen!”
      Anastasia was panting out the numbers in her head, dizzy with the metronomic sound
of the count and the thrill of the blows as they fell on the Cadet. The yells of her
ex-lover as he struggled under the pain were more intoxicating to her that the wine that
she drank; and the fire in her pussy, which drizzled with her juices, yearned for his cock
and that of his tormentor to stoke her heightening passion. She took a gulp of the Chablis
then tossed the glass aside; in true Russian fashion she smashed it in the hearth. She
grabbed hold of a breast and massaged its full flesh; she pinched on her nipple thinking
of his teeth.
      “Sixteen! Seventeen! Eighteen! Nineteen! Twenty!”
      The Cadet was sinking, his contrition was complete and Anastasia was soaring with
such blissful revenge. His agony was her ecstasy; his subjugation was her mastery; his
public humiliation was her private triumph. As he screamed under the impact of the final
stroke and count, Anastasia screamed as well under the waves of orgasm that flowed from
her oozing cunt. The Cadet whose name she was wiping from her memory had brought her to a
climax for the final time. Now the Mordavian dog who had dared to cross her could be
consigned to the gutter and forgotten forever. She would have no more to do with such
degenerate filth.
      Such was the view of Anastasia Kovalenka as she collapsed against the wall still
riding her orgasm; two fingers squeezing hard on her blood engorged clit and three wedged
up her drizzling cunt, a hand massaging her full ripe breast.
      But fate can be fickle and ever so cruel – cruel like a Russian bitch in heat!
      Down in the courtyard, the punishment now over; the Captain who had delivered the
strokes went to assist in the freeing of the Cadet from his bondage.
      “Forgive me, Dimitri, but I had no other choice,” he whispered into his nephew’s
ear. “I held back as best I could – be assured that the blows would have fallen harder
from one of their own men – they can be so easy to fool at times. We will tend to these
wounds immediately, although I fear there will be some scarring. Bare your marks proudly,
my boy, in remembrance of our struggle. The times are changing, Dimitri, and this public
exercise may yet serve us well. We will rise from the ashes of our subjugation as these
communist mongrels fall all around us. And we will have our revenge – on the Russian dogs
who think to enslave us, on that bastard of a tyrant who has issued this decree, and on
his slut of a daughter who has brought this all about – she above all others will know of
our revenge. The revenge of the Karinovs will be brutal indeed.”
      So spoke Yuri Karinov – a man of his word, and the future Chief of Police.

Chapter 1
Afternoon Fun 
      
      
      “Oh Yes! Yes! Yes! Aaagh! Aaaaagh! Aaaaaaargh!”
      Anastasia Tursinova thrashed her head from side to side as another orgasm ripped
through her body. She was lying on her back at the edge of a stranger’s bed, her hands
flaying the mattress beneath her and clutching at the sheets. Her legs were held at the
ankles and spread wide apart by the remarkable young stud who had been pleasuring her for
the past two hours. He had already brought her to orgasm on several occasions, eating her
cunt in the most delicious of manners and fucking her hard till he spurted out a load,
then licking her all over as he regained his erection which he used to shaft her again and
again in a variety of different positions.
      God, he was a tonic; and Anastasia Tursinova was mightily parched - she was
guzzling the young stud up.
      Anastasia could hear him grunting as he continued to fuck her, driving her climax
onwards and onwards. She screamed repeatedly as her orgasms erupted and tore through her
beautiful body. Lost in her own pleasure, Anastasia’s pussy flesh convulsed around her
mystery lover, and squeeze tightly on his big fat prick, taking the young man to an
unrecoverable edge. He was banging into her, stabbing her repeatedly with his virulent
meaty spear; his heavy balls slapping against her ass. He thrust at Anastasia’s spasming
body with all his might; growling in his chest as his own body tensed. 
      She thrust to meet him, matching his rhythm, welcoming his flesh as it slammed
between her legs. The headboard was banging against the wall, adding to the sounds of
their animalistic rutting. Wave after orgasmic wave crashed over Anastasia as the stud
fucked her into utter delirium. Then with one final thrust he let out a yell and Anastasia
knew the glory of his second coming; his hot thick spunk spurted into her cunt to mingle
with her own copious juices.
      Purring like a cat, Anastasia continued to thrust, milking the stud dry of every
drop of his cum. Still panting and writhing she looked up at his body, the hard chiselled
form of his muscular physique. Luxuriously she ran her hands over her own stunning body,
massaging her full breasts with their milky white skin, so in contrast to the light brown
flesh of her latest casual fuck. She could feel him softening inside her and wondered how
long it would take for him to recover; another hour of full on fucking would round off her
afternoon perfectly. It had been too long since she had been properly shagged and she
wanted to make the most of this impetuous coupling – take full advantage of this splendid
young man who happened her way whilst she was out shopping, and apparently had no idea who
she was - thus he presented no risk to her precious reputation.
      But she knew it was impossible to stay any longer, it was time to leave and head
back to the mansion that was her temporary home during this return to Mordavia after a gap
of seven years. Her husband was expected back within the hour and it would never do to for
him to find her missing. And she needed to prepare herself for the reception tonight when
the President of this country, which had inflicted on her such sorrow, would be
figuratively forced to kiss her beautiful ass.