Table of Contents
Join the Movement
Wine and a Russian
About The Author
Copyright
Join the Movement
Hey Patriot,
I’m glad you stopped by to hear about me and my Russian. It is hard work making sure things run smoothly for both of our governments, and a little R&R is exactly what we needed.
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A debt is only beautiful when it is repaid. - Russian proverb
A handsome man in a tuxedo brought the exclusive invitation to my hotel room right before checkout. I took the card, noting the expensive linen and the silver embossing. Immediately I knew who had sent it and I smiled. It’d been a few weeks since I’d seen Anton. Our schedules sent us to opposite hemispheres for a few weeks, so I knew it’d be a while before we had a chance to see each other again. I unfolded the card with anticipation.
Your flight has been rescheduled. My driver will take you to the airport. - A
As far as invitations went, it didn’t ask rather than demand, and that kind of turned me on. I liked my little Russian assertive. When he gave orders like “open your pants” or “suck my cock”, it was the hottest thing I’d seen in a damn long while. I nodded at the man. “I am ready to leave now.” I nodded to my garment bag and carry on sitting by the door.
“Very good, sir.” His slight English accent marked him as a local, and I wondered if Anton retained staff here. He picked up both bags and I followed him out of the room, my check out already taken care of. I left the key on the table by the door.
The limousine which took me to the airport was meticulous, with no logos to indicate to whom it might belong. Maybe he used a service. Most of us did who were in the business. He bypassed the commercial terminal and drove around to the private hangers. Interesting. Another layer to my Russian, that he had the power to change my flight or even cancel it without my knowledge or assistance.
“Mr. Yozhov’s plane will depart as soon as you’re aboard.” The driver stopped, and I waited for him to open the door. He gestured to someone to grab my bags and take them aboard the Gulfstream waiting. Again, no logos or insignia. It didn’t mean anything. A lot of us used private jet services. It certainly meant nothing to my business.
I was welcomed aboard the plane and sat in one of the rich, leather seats. A young man brought a chilled bottle of wine with another card. I noted the vintage and the fact that the wine was French, from the Côte d'Azur. Interesting, and perhaps it granted a clue. I flipped open the note and saw Anton’s scrawl. I’d seen his Russian script, neat and tidy. His English writing wasn’t quite as well-done, though clearly legible. I’d seen his handwriting a few times and knew I’d recognize it anywhere.
Why return to boring D.C.? Allow me to take you to a special place of mine. I’ve arranged some time for us. Anton.
He thought D.C. was boring? I stifled a chuckle. It was hardly that, though maybe Moscow or Berlin provided more excitement for him. Certainly they were less mired in their own pedantic troubles. The pilot came over the intercom to announce that they had been cleared for takeoff and it would commence shortly. I fastened my seat belt and indicated to one of the staff that I was ready. A few moments later, the plane taxied onto the runway.
A special place, Anton had said. I tried to envision where it might be. Perhaps somewhere in Russia or maybe even tucked away in Greece or Italy. When the pilot announced landing less than two hours into the flight I knew it had to be somewhere in Europe. Interesting. I needed to check in with the office when I landed. I had a business meeting tomorrow that no doubt needed to be rescheduled and a dozen other things to deal with. The plane came to a smooth stop in the hanger.
“There’s a car waiting for you sir. We’ll bring the wine.” The attendant already held my luggage, and I nodded. I’d had a glass on the flight, the rich flavors something to savor while trying to figure out our location. As soon as I entered the waiting limousine, I realized where we’d landed. Somewhere not far from Nice, France.
I’d always loved the French Riviera. While there were plenty of resorts and the necessary business of avoiding the public, there were also a fair number of exclusive hotels and villas who knew how to cater to my kind of people. In fact, I’d entertained some oil executives here last summer, along with a couple of Senators. Last I’d heard, Senator Ballman had been spotted with a health insurance lobbyist. Sloppy work, that one, and I’d always said he needed better handlers.
As I’d guessed, the car pulled up in front of an exclusive hotel that catered to the rich and famous. I recognized it as one that I’d stayed at before. Very nice choice. The driver opened the door, handed me a folded white invitation much like the others. “I’ll have your things delivered.”
Of course he would. In these circles no one touched their own luggage. I opened the card, saw the room number and room key, then allowed myself a grin. It seemed Anton had spared no expense. Each room had its own private courtyard or terrace, and he’d chosen one of the more lavish. I allowed the staff inside to guide me to the correct door, where I tried the key and it worked. I stepped inside, allowing the door to close behind me.
“I see you made it. Hello, Dwayne.” Anton sat on the couch, his starched white shirt unbuttoned at the collar. A suit jacket was thrown over the arm of the chair, matching the charcoal gray of his tailored slacks. Damn he was a sight for sore eyes. I’d planned on returning to D.C., meeting with clients, and trying not to be bored out of my mind. Meeting Anton in the playground of the French Rivera, now that presented interesting opportunities.
“Hello, Anton. This is a surprise.” I grabbed my phone out of my pocket. “Excuse me. I do need to check in with the office.”
“Your schedule is clear all week.” He gestured to the couch next to him. “I’ve missed you. Come. Relax.” He paused for a moment. “Don’t worry. I’ve swept the room. We’re safe here.”
Ah, the words that told me that he’d make sure whatever happened here wouldn’t make it back to the KGB, at least not the personal things anyway. I relaxed slightly and focused on his earlier words: come and relax. Oh I’d probably be doing that in just that order. “How’d you clear my schedule?” I asked as I walked over to him. I sat. I didn’t acknowledge his words about the room’s security. Neither one of us said anything about that, and I figured it was better not to ask about my files within the KGB. I had no doubt Anton worked for them, even peripherally. You didn’t get to be that high in the Russian hierarchy without paying your dues and gathering kompromot was just one of those dues. “One of the reasons why I hired my secretary is that she’s like a bear with cubs when it comes to access to me. She wouldn’t let you just change my schedule.”
“Don’t worry.” Anton leaned in. “I can be very persuasive.” He brushed his lips across mine. “Mmm, you tried the wine on the flight.” Cupping the back of my head, he increased the pressure of his lips on mine. I gave in. How could I not? Anton was my Russian. Not even my beast of a secretary knew about him, and I trusted her ability to keep a secret implicitly. Still, I hadn’t told her. Not yet, anyway.
He de
epened the kiss, his tongue stroking the seam of my lips, and I forgot all about my schedule or how he’d been able to clear it. I opened, inviting him deeper. I got hard. Painfully, so just thinking about Anton reaching for the waistband of my designer trousers and freeing me from my equally expensive boxer briefs. I flattened a hand against his shirt, fingers toying with the buttons. I slipped first one, then another free, until the fabric gaped and I could stroke his perfectly sculpted chest. God, if Michelangelo came to life again, he’d find no better model for his David than my Anton. I thanked the Russian military training and his vanity for the ridges of muscles I teased and stroked. My fingers found a flat nipple and I tweaked it.
Anton moaned into my mouth.
I swallowed the sound as he bore down on me, pushing me back against the arm of the couch. Had I stopped kissing him, my head might have dangled off the arm rest. All the better reason not to. I tugged his shirt free of his pants, then shoved it off his shoulders. He quickly discarded it and rid me of my shirt just as quickly. His fingers found the curls between my pectorals—I couldn’t bring myself to completely shave, just enough to keep tidy—and kneaded. Oh yes! He ended the kiss, then pressed his advantage with kisses over my jawline and down my neck. He reached my clavicle, and tongued my skin on his way to my pecs. I arched beneath him, fingers spearing into his short blond hair.
His lips circled my nipple and he sucked hard.
I moaned and bucked my hips beneath him.
“You’re eager,” he whispered against my skin. His breath cooled my overheated skin and my nipple puckered even more. “I like that.” His hand slid down my abs to the waistband of my pants. He flicked open the button and lowered the zipper. “One day I’ll teach you to go without these.” He plucked at the fabric of my boxer briefs.
“And deny me the joy of watching you take them off of me?” I laughed and took advantage of the pause in his attention to kick off my shoes. I lifted my hips and slid my pants down my legs.
Anton pulled them the rest of the way off, and then quickly rid me of my boxer briefs. Naked, the sumptuous fabric of the couch pressed against my skin, a cool contrast to the hot Russian leaning over me. A moment later Anton was naked and from somewhere had procured a condom and tossed it on the coffee table next to us. I trusted he’d told his help to delay bringing in my luggage. I didn’t want to be walked in on, but a man like Anton took care of everything. He had assured me the room was safe. Had he not made that assurance, I might have wondered if something would be staged. But no, not today, and I allowed myself to hungrily stare at Anton. For today, tonight, maybe tomorrow, this handsome hunk was mine, and I wanted to kiss every inch of his body, sucking and fucking him until I had to go back to D.C. Things certainly weren’t as fun there.
Anton encircled my cock with his fingers and stroked from base to tip. His thumb swirled the precum around the head, drawing it along the underside and the sensitive vein there. He tugged gently on my balls; I bit my teeth not to cry out. I wanted to make him work for my sounds of pleasure, make him think the American wasn’t his just for a single look. Of course we both knew he was wrong.
He licked the tip of my cock, tonguing the hole. I shuddered. When his lips wrapped around me, and his cheeks hollowed as he sucked me deeper into his mouth I nearly came right there. I didn’t, though the feel of his warm breath against the base of my shaft had my balls tightening. His fingers, slick with my own juices, slid between my cheeks to probe my anus. I lifted my hips again. Oh yes. I’d jacked off many nights since I’d last seen him to the remembered sensations of Anton’s cock buried deep in my hole. His lips and tongue worked on my shaft, bringing me so damn close to release, I thought I’d blow right in his mouth.
He pulled away. “So eager. You are always so eager.” He reared back enough to roll the lubricated condom onto his cock and press my knees toward my chest. “We’ll take the edge off, shall we?” The tip of his cock pressed against my opening and I pushed against it. The bulbous head slipped inside and this time I did moan aloud. Anton’s moan followed mine and then he began to move.
Oh damn, I’d missed this. I’d missed Anton. Every pump of his hips pushed me higher. The sounds of our pants and muffled moans filled the room along with the wet sounds of sex. I grunted when he hit a particularly sensitive spot, and when his fingers curled around my cock once more I thought I’d come right there. A single squeeze and I did come, shooting my seed along Anton’s chest and abs. With a ragged cry, he followed me, slamming hard into my ass and filling the condom with his release.
He slumped onto me. His breaths cooled the sweaty skin of my shoulder. “Now we can enjoy the wine.” He pulled away and removed the condom, rolling it up in a tissue before tossing it into a trashcan. “The bathroom is over there.” He pointed across the room.
I stood, thankful my legs held me and went to clean up. By the time I was done Anton was dressed again, and I quickly followed. When we both were presentable, he poured two glasses of the fine wine he’d sent with me, and typed something on his phone. A moment later one of his men brought my luggage. He carried it into the bedroom without a word—did Anton have his men do things like this all the time?—and quickly left.
“I ensured that your secretary knew that a prominent client wanted your attention for the next few days. She resisted at first, but when I let her know the plans I had for your firm, she gladly made the time. She is a hard taskmaster. I would swear she is Russian.” Anton sipped his wine.
“Plans for my firm?” This was the first I’d heard of it.
“Yes. A few of my clients have mentioned using your services to reach influential individuals. I believe Senator Ballman has a tough reelection race coming up.”
“He does.” I had to be careful, even if we didn’t exactly break the rules, we were skirting them pretty closely. But then again the Russian proverb, Ne poyman — ne vor app applied very nicely here. Unless one was caught, one wasn’t a thief. That was something Anton had taught me in our first meeting, and I’d held the knowledge close ever since. “What did you have in mind?”
He named a figure that would have made any Fortune 500 CEO cough a bit, then named a couple Super PACs, I’d worked with in the past. “Either one of those would work, but we would run it through one of our holding companies.”
“Of course. This is purely American money.” Anton drained his glass of wine.
The money was as American as this wine came from California, but I said nothing. A vote would be coming up soon on some additional sanctions. Too bad Putin was getting antsy about his toy not performing as advertised. No doubt Senator Ballman could be persuaded to do the right thing. That was only one Senator though and the figure Anton had mentioned would do more than raise heads if it were dumped into a single SuperPAC or even a couple. I didn’t press. Anton would tell me his plans in due time. For now, I was in the French Riviera.
Not packing swim trunks wasn’t an issue when your Russian lover simply had a member of his staff pick up a pair of designer swim trunks in my size. A debt is never so beautiful as when it’s repaid, he told me with a smile as he handed me the blue and red garment. If he thought I’d let him buy is way into a Senator’s reelection for a pair of swim trunks…well there were better ways to repay a debt.
The transactional nature of our relationship didn’t bother me. Not much, anyway. We’d met at a conference for financing candidates, after all, and I deal with purchasing people and things every single day. Of course, it was the gift economy, as the buzzword wielding business professionals liked to say. It wasn’t what you did, but what you could do for someone that brought in the dollars. Washington ran on it.
He shared his sun screen with me, and applying it to his back nearly had us tumbling to the floor to have sex again. I controlled myself, as did he, and together we went to the secluded beach that was off our room’s private courtyard. I dipped my toes into the Mediterranean and watched the waves lap over my ankles. This totally beat out the Potomac any day. We spo
ke of inconsequential things, wine and culinary pursuits. Anton assured me the restaurant in the hotel would be well worth the prices, though he had everything covered, of course. It bothered me then, the implication that because he brought me to the French Riviera, fucked me, bought me food and clothing, that perhaps I’d turn over a few Senators to him. I would. But there was something more lurking under our business arrangement, and I was sure Anton felt it too.
He’d spread out a blanket and sat down, just out of reach of the waves. “Come back. Do not tempt fate.” He patted the blanket beside him.
I returned and sat beside him. “You worried? They haven’t closed the beach yet due to sharks.” I hardly doubted any shark would find dinner in six inches of water.
“Jellyfish. Sting Rays. Stay where you can see what is coming at you. That’s how you avoid dangers.” Anton slid his hand closer to mine.
I didn’t lean against him as I wanted to, as I craved. Instead, I let the tips of our fingers touch, a gesture far more intimate because of our being in public like this. The beach was still secluded. No tourists walked behind. Still, he, as well as I, worried about being seen. We had to keep up appearances in our respective countries. Right now an alliance with a Russian was like smoking a Cuban cigar so soon after the Kennedy era. Delicious, yet scandalous.
“Kiss me.” I tempted him with a tilt of my head.
“We are not tourists.” Anton stared at the ocean.
“There’s no one around.” I was curious how far he’d go.
“There’s always someone around.” Again, the hint that he’d had dealings with organizations more secretive than I had. I didn’t like it. I knew, or rather I should have known because there have always been hints, rumors, and innuendo surrounding the Russians. A blow job on the beach sounded heavenly, whether giving or receiving.
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