by Kiera Zane
“Okay,” Jon says behind me, grabbing my arm. “Let’s go.”
“Jon,” I say. “I was just -- ”
“I thought you said you were here alone?” Robert asks me. He is clearly confused, and looking from Jon to me, I can see him calculating – he’s outmatched.
Ignoring him, Jon pulls me away, his fingers digging into my arm. “Ouch, you’re hurting me,” I say. I try to end it civilly with my college friends. “I am actually here with somebody, although I didn’t realize we were this close.” I laugh as Jon starts to drag me away from the table. “I don’t think he’d be interested in the orgy anyway.”
Robert and Mike stand. Chivalry to the fore. Great. “I think you better leave her alone, pal,” Mike says.
“Stand down, son,” Jon says, pulling me away from the bar. “We’re together.” I nod yes, and they back down. He doesn’t say a word until we’re back up in the room.
But that doesn’t stop me. “I was only having one drink and some fun. They offered, what harm could it do?”
Once in the room, Jon barks, “What the hell is the matter with you?”
“Like I said, it was just one drink. They’re going to have an orgy and they invited me.”
“You don’t know those people! They could have been mafia, or... who knows?”
I shrug. “I don’t think they were mafia.”
“And you say that based on what? How much do you know about the mafia?” He looks at me with a new interest, his eyes sinking to suspicious slits.
“Nothing,” I say, “it’s just a hunch, but I think they’re Harvard students.”
“And how did you arrive at that conclusion?” He’s still yelling at me, and it is beginning to irk me.
“Because they said they were going to Harvard, and they wanted to have sex with me. They weren’t exactly subtle.” I snap back sarcastically.
“Lexy, right now we don’t know who are enemies are. They could offer sex or an orgy to get you alone. They may not be mafia, but they could be from another senator’s staff, or even the KGB.”
My stomach turns when he says this, but I stare at him and hope my expression hasn’t flinched, giving me away. “Why would you think another senator would send people to have an orgy.”
Jon looks incredulous. “What is it with you and orgies? I’m being serious. You could have been hurt or killed. I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you. Another senator; probably not, but it could be a foreign country or other subversive agencies. I’m trying to protect you, protect us….”
“I... I never thought about it like that.” For me, the only hostile country is Russia, but it could be another country like Cuba or Korea.
“That’s the problem, you didn’t think!” His voice is sharp with an angry ring, each word a slap across my face. “You’ve been thinking entirely too little lately.”
“That’s a fine thing to say! I’m the only one in the office who thought enough of you to follow you to that meeting.”
“You were the one who took that call, the only one who knew. And, in terms of following me, hiding in the trunk was a stupid, childish thing to do. If they had shot at the car, you would be dead.” I glare at him defiant, and he stares me down.
“You don’t think I’m involved in some mafia gang competing for your waste management deal?”
The silence is thick between us, before he shakes his head and waves me off like a fool. “No, of course not, don’t be absurd. I just need you to think about these things a bit more. Stop and consider, you’re in way over your head.”
You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, I want to say. Mister big-time fancy-ass senator and you’re in bed with a KGB spy without a single clue. I could cut your throat here in Connecticut and be back on a plane to a hero’s welcome in Moscow before sundown. Talk about in over your head. Talk about not thinking..
You’re only alive because I want you alive, because I... I stop myself. It’s too early for that, too soon for love, too dangerous to even consider it. But there it is, that niggling feeling in the pit of my stomach, radiating outwards and upwards to my heart. I do love him already. I have loved him my entire life in visions; now, here in the flesh, I can’t help but love you.
Too late to stop now.
“Well?” He snaps me out of my revere.
“Well what?”
He stands in front of me frustrated and angry, “You can’t just run around willy-nilly like a child hanging out with the first group of people who come along. This isn’t child’s play. It’s the mob, and they will kill you.” He looks at me for another moment and his gaze turns thoughtful. “But you are barely an adult, more a child than an adult, aren’t you?” He rubs his chin with his hand, and I wonder what he’s thinking. “You must not do that again, Lexy.”
Now you sound like Papa after the time I got lost in the forest for a day. When he saw me, it was a combination of relief and fury. I had never made him that angry before or scared him that much. Jon had that similar look. “I am not a child.” I counter suddenly. “And, I can do anything I damn well please.”
“No, you can’t Lexy, and if I have to treat you like a child to get you to obey me so you can stay alive, then that’s what I’ll do.” In one swift motion, he sits down on the bed and pulls me over his lap, slapping me hard on the butt with his bare hands. The sting shoots through my cheeks, clenching beneath his flattened palm. “Don’t you ever wander away from me again, do you understand?” After several more slaps, he repeats, “Do you?”
I sob, “Yes, I understand,” I thought it was a rhetorical question.
“You are stubborn and selfish brat, and you will get us both killed with your bullheadedness.” He punctuates each word with a slap to the point where I’m willing to agree that the sky is chartreuse just to get him to stop. This is beyond embarrassing, and it hurts more than anything Sobchak did to me, because I realize that Jon cares and I really scared him. I only plotted to kill Sobchak when he whipped me in that cold, dank place he called the reeducation chamber. Hatred is a powerful painkiller, but with Jon I don’t have that luxury.
“Alright, I won’t do it again.” I blurt out, my face reddening, my lips trembling, my legs quivering, my loins churning once more. How can I be horny right now. I must be a really sick bitch, but then my mind seemed to be retreating into oblivion, and it doesn’t matter what he thinks I am, a selfish brat or a love goddess, as long as it isn’t a spy and as long as he stops soon.
He stops spanking me and gets up, leaving me to curl up on the bed. My body is vibrating with the effects of his aggression, the sheer contact inviting my body and brain back to the erotic landscapes of the night before. This is pain and pleasure, but the ancient and undeniable connection between the two is clearer to me than ever, granting me new insight into the minds and hearts of all the men who’d sought to combine them at my unwilling expense.
But this isn’t a sick kind of foreplay he’s giving me; he is really angry. He crosses to the television, turns it on, and sits watching it, completely ignoring me. My little whimpers of apology are lost on him. The subtle hints of my need for him, to feel him inside me again, also go ignored; even as they become less and less subtle.
Instead, he’s engrossed by the news broadcasts, not only of the shoot-out we barely escaped alive, but also of foreign news, in particular events in Cuba.
Cuba. Dragunov alluded to that, didn’t he? There are other factors at play.
The TV news anchor was saying: “President John Kennedy pledged today that the United States will not intervene militarily in Cuba to overthrow Castro...” Odd that we’re here after a falling-out with the mafia, who are known to have a strong presence in Cuba.. Could Jon’s interest in the mob have more to do with keeping an eye on Cuba than keeping an eye on New Jersey?
Finally, after nightfall, Jon returns to bed. I wrap my arms around him and start kissing his neck, breathing hard and heavy into his ear.
He gently pushes me a
way, removing my arms from around his shoulders. He says, “We going home tomorrow. You’re not going to budge from this bed all night, do you understand? If you do, you’ll get another spanking, understand?”
“Yes.” I turn away from him sulky and dissatisfied. I feel my loneliness again. Will we be close like we were last night? Have I angered him to the point where he thinks I’m not worth being friends or loving? Does he love me? I let myself drift off to sleep, Jon lying next to me. I nudge toward him, and he allows it, until I’m nuzzling on his chest.
As I sleep I have visions, but not filled with the horror that is their usual tone. I see myself, and Jon, as we lay in that hotel bed. I see him looking down at me as I sleep, smiling. I can almost hear his thoughts, how fond he’s becoming of me in spite of, or maybe because of, my stubbornness and willfulness. My fears that they have driven us apart don’t hold up under the warm picture of Jon’s quiet consideration and ample appreciation. He strokes my hair.
As I sleep, I think I feel his fingers caressing the side of my head, but I can’t be sure if the clarity of the vision is convincing my body, or if Jon’s touch on my body is in fact directing the visions.
When the morning comes, sunlight streaming in through the window, it hardly seems to matter. It’s a new day and we’re together.
Chapter Eight: Tumult
"Nature, in her most dazzling aspects or stupendous parts, is but the background and theater of the tragedy of man." -- John Morley
Coming home from Connecticut, Jon insists on escorting me up to my apartment and searching through the place to make sure nobody’s there waiting for me. Does he know about me? Why would he think somebody would be here? Does you think the mafia would try to kill me? Do you actually suspect I’m in league with them?
I’m worried about Jon stumbling upon Dragunov, who would very likely be waiting for me; if not in my room than a mere floor above.
My apartment is empty, and Jon seems ready to leave.
I say, “Jon...” then trail off to say, “Senator Caine, I...”
“Lexy,” he says, approaching me. “It’s Jon, now and always.” Then he kisses me, our passion spilling over the walls of his anger and of my worry. Our tides mingle again, powerfully pounding in the craggy rocks of our hardened souls, refreshing them in the salty spray.
Every part of me is alive and tingly. Each of his kisses cause me to moan. Touch me there, kiss me there. He leans down taking kissing my nipple as his hand slides down under my shirt while his other hand undoes the button on my skirt. It falls away, then Ihe pulls my blouse and I unbutton it for him. All men everywhere in Russia and America know how to relive a woman of her bra. I think they learn it about the same time they learn to shave. My bra hits the floor.
He’s still kissing my breasts; he’s driving me crazy. Aroused is an understatement. I gasp as his hand slides inside my panties, finding me wet, open and my clit hard and stimulated. I reciprocate pulling at his pants. He obliges and the touch of his hands on my waist makes me jerk as it becomes part of the sweet, delicious sensation. I am so alive and horny when he touches me, something I have never felt with any other man. Not even in my humping and grinding youthful explorations have I felt this way. I love the way he takes his time, touching me everywhere, watching and smiling at my reaction then caressing, kissing and teasing me somewhere else.
My stomach feels like it’s twisted into knots, and my legs feel like jelly. I am trained to seduce him; why is he seducing me? His mouth is insistent and hungry against mine, I gasp as his breath tickles my neck. He is pushing my panties down, and his hands feel cool against the smooth skin of my buttocks.
I feel his cock hard against my stomach as presses against me. His finger slides up and down across my clit. Even though I want him inside of me, he is slow and considerate. Up and down in my wet pussy. I am in heaven, sheer bliss at his touch as his fingers rub my clit continuously. Just as I think it can’t get any better, he stops rubbing me, picks me up easily and walks towards my bed. I pout because he’s stopped and he smiles.
“Patience, baby.” he whispers in my ear and then lays me down on the bed. Spreading my legs gently, he opens me up and gently tongues my clit. I am in heaven once more as I build toward orgasm.
“I want you inside me.” I know I’m whining but I want what I want. He smiles and stops licking me and angles his long, hard cock into between my legs. As he goes inside, he grunts and lets out a moan moving rhythmically inside of me. He gazes down at me, those green eyes smiling as he fills me up.
He moves in and out, faster and faster as I lift my hips and my vagina stretches to take his entire girth. I never knew sex could feel so good. I moan loudly as I lift my hips as he’s pounding his cock with a slowly increasing tempo. We orgasm in unison as my pussy convulses against his cock, sucking at it and clenching to keep him inside me. He lets out a loud moan and as he finds release inside of me.
He lays down rolling off and out of me, covering me with kisses in the process. “I care so much about you.” He kisses me and looks like he might fall asleep, but after a few minutes he regains himself and rises to leave. I want him to stay, but I also know that Dragunov is coming for me, and I prepare an ambush to kill him once and for all if necessary; a long kitchen knife already hidden in the couch cushions.
If he comes at me, I will kill him and then I will have to make up some excuse for Sobchak. I pray that Sobchak will believe that Dragunov attacked me from jealousy or anger or just plain insanity from being in America. Sobchak will send another agent to ghost me, and I will have another excuse to delay him and the onward marching of the boots of Mother Russia.
But when Dragunov does arrive, he’s surprisingly pleasant. He waves off the shoot-out with the mafia as a mere trifle, the price of doing business. He assures me that he has won me a final chance to prove myself, which I know means that he is still forbidden to kill me.
Sobchak has given me another chance, and Dragunov is more than happy to take credit for it. Maybe he thinks there’ll be some carnal reward in it for him, I cannot tell. But I do know that only his frustration will be stoked, today or any other day.
And Dragunov doesn’t push that point either. He’s altogether too reasonable, which I know must be under the threat of death. I know that, for now, he only draws breath because I do, that my death will mean his own.
For now.
And I know that won’t be long. As the days go on, I try to find things I can give to Dragunov that won’t be too damaging to Jon; the restaurant bill, some interpersonal office communications about Jon’s speeches and his associations with various lobbyists and pressure groups around Washington. It’s all pretty banal stuff, and I can tell Dragunov is getting less and less patient as Sobchak becomes less and less satisfied.
I know Dragunov is ready to kill me, and the fact that he hasn’t means Sobchak has forbidden it. But I also know that Sobchak’s desire to keep me alive won’t last, I can almost feel his heart hardening against me from halfway across the entire planet. Soon his decision will flip, and his desire will be for my part in the mission, and in life, to come to an abrupt halt. And when that happens, I feel sure that Jon and perhaps countless others will be eradicated as well.
I’ve been given one more chance, and I can feel it slipping away. I need to give them something good, very good, or I’m dead. Soon.
***
November 1963
I begin to suspect that Dan Oglvy is watching me, suspicious of disappearing lunch receipts and too many quick visits to the photocopy machine. I begin to operate under the constant concern that he’ll lurch out from a doorway and stand before me, accusing me with some undeniable proof of my true guilt.
So when I hear someone say, “I know what you’re doing,” I’m surprised it’s Myron’s snide tenor and not Dan’s bombastic baritone.
I say, “Excuse me?”
He smiles and looks me over. “You can’t fool me. I know exactly what you’re up to.”
“I
... I don’t know what you mean.”
“Nice try. We all know about your little trip to the country. We all know you’re sleeping with him. And we all think you’re a vicious, little slut.”
Before I think about it, I slap him, the sound echoing through the bullpen, grabbing everyone’s attention.
“What’s all this?” Jon approaches all eyes on him and on me and Myron.
I look behind him and Vivian is behind him heading back to her desk. Obviously, you got Jon when you saw Myron heading my way. Now, why would you help me?
“He called me a slut.”
Myron stammers, “I only meant to say that I think she’s moving in a little too fast. I’m worried about your career, Senator Caine.” You just realized who is higher on the food chain.
Jon stands, emotionless, cold, his face a stone mask. “Did you call her a slut or didn’t you?”
Myron looks around, then at the floor, then up at Jon. “Yes sir, I did.”
Only the ringing telephones dare to intrude on the exchange, and they only do so unknowingly. Everyone is holding their breath, looking elsewhere but listening to the exchange. I know it will determine in everyone’s mind where I am positioned in the shark pool. If Jon protects me, they will know to leave me alone. If he takes Myron’s side, I will be fish bait.
Jon looks at me, and then at Myron, I also let my eyes bounce from one man to the other. I know that sleeping with a man is a powerful inducement to protect me, but will Jon let it be known that we are together. What happens next will give everyone in the office that answer.
Jon says, “I see. Very well.”
Myron relaxes, obviously relieved to still have his job. The sharks will start circling my desk, bidding me a bon voyage as I am kicked out. Myron will lead the charge. He glares at me, feeling he has won power over me, proven his status as my superior and branded me forever as a usurper and slut.