Olena fully turned to face Andropov as he suddenly approached, raising her arms to reflexively place them against his chest. Of course, she does nothing to resist, tilting her head back and allowing a deep moan to escape her, clearly more vocal when she didn't have a cock in her mouth. Her hands snaked their way up the older man's arms and around his shoulders, biting her lower lip as she allowed her chest to be played with. As quickly as Andropov had descended on her tits, Olena found herself enjoying the texture and softness of the silks - enjoyed the fantasy that sprung to mind of being an influential man's concubine - naturally arching her back and spreading her legs for her conqueror... Who quickly obliged her hungry hole with the fucking it so clearly desired, hot and soaking wet. Her vulvae were pronounced, the sign of a woman who was used to being used, but she was no less tight around the invader inside her for it. Immediately, the Vixen wrapped her legs around the rogue banker's waist, pulling him against her with each thrust and resisting every attempt to pull away from her. Naturally, mouth unobstructed by cock or tongue, she ensured he knew just what she wanted and how well he was doing. "Angh~ Hah~ Uuungh~ F- fuck me fuuuull~!" Olena cried, making no attempts to withhold her whorish squeals of ecstasy. Her head fell limply against the mattress, her alabaster throat, soft and smooth, exposed as her blue eyes glazed over and rolled around in her sockets, utterly lost to the sensation of being desired, made useful, used. It didn't take her long to cum - her voice reached a fever pitch, eyes widened with sudden focus, before she squirt past Andropov's manhood, soaking it and the mattress below with yet another shameful admission of submission to the older man...
Andropov's hand slides around her throat, squeezing, driving his cock deep inside her with thrust after thrust, hard enough to make the bed squeak with every one. "Yes, take it, my dear..." He groans. "Good girl..." He kisses at her neck, biting and sucking, before finally giving a groan, filling her womanhood as he hits his limit, collapsing atop her with a groan.
Olena slowly came down from the peak, letting out quiet coos, moans, and the occasional choked noise as Andropov indulged in a bit of erotic asphyxiation, before the older man collapsed on to her. Spent... For a few moments, so was the Vixen, panting after one of the most intense sexual experiences of her life... Alas, all things must come to an end. Olena wrapped one arm around Andropov's neck and the other under one of his arms and squeezed, inflicting a shoulder choke - or Von Flue choke - using her victim's shoulder to complete a constricting choke around both sides of his neck to render him unconscious...
"H-Hngh!" Still coming down, Andropov can't react in time to put up an effective resistance. She feels him twitch, then his movements grow softer, and he goes limp. Holding him, Olena realises it's up to her now - let him wake up dizzy, or keep the hold for a few more seconds and have him not wake up at all.
Olena wasn't a liar... That, and Andropov gave her some surprisingly good dick for an old man, so she softened her grip and allowed him to simply drift into fitful slumber than eternal darkness. "Sh- shiiit~!" She moaned as she uncoupled the two of them, a stream of cum running out from her twitching entrance. "Ugh... Going to have to get something to make sure it doesn't take." She internally groused. Giving Andropov a rub on the back, the Vixen slips out from under him and goes to search through his pockets for any sign of a key that would allow her to disable the alarm on the microfiche's container... Getting dressed could wait.
Alistair disliked working under the watch of agency - the travel in the open - especially when one of theirs could be a traitor! He had bad experience working like that... But he would not make such a mistake again. As he unpacked and gave away the documents... He had an itch to just throw it all away and burn, while using their own documents. Well... He would see how good the director was... "Whisper." He turned to Russian assassin. "Take Frostbite and go to teh center of the city, to the grand hotel - the one nearest the US embassy. Prepare the place, as if we w puls be staying there for a longer time - use the surname Brownwood." He explained. "I will go with Witch to check the safehouse of our lost lamb. We will meet you in hotel later." He checked his handgun and documents - then that everyone had their baggage and weapons. He sat in one of the jeps and started it. After making sure, everything was clear, he drove to Marisol's safehouse.
Andropov's seed slowly trickles down Olena's thigh as she squeezes her way out from underneath the older man. As she slides off the bed to stand up on slightly shaky legs, she gazes down at her target - surprised at how the man who so easily dominated her before now looks so harmless, drooling slightly as he lies slumped against the bed. Moving across the room, still naked, she finds her way to Andropov's discarded suit, pulling out the pockets. Spoiler: Luck Roll D100: 81 https://www.rolldicewithfriends.com/rooms/coldwarrpg She frets a moment, seeing nothing but a heavy wallet and a pack of condoms Andropov evidently forgot about or deliberately didn't use, frustration rising. She paws at the fabric, until she feels an bulge against her finger. Ripping at the fabric, she pulls it open, a small iron key tumbling to the floorboards. Gripping the key, and taking a deep breath as she contemplates the risk of sounding an alarm that brings every guard in the house to this room, she slides the key into the box's slot, chest slowly rising as it clicks without sounding a piercing scream. The lid flies open, revealing a nondescript roll of microfiche film, comfortably housed in a foam indentation. She has no way of reading the contents right now, but she's reasonably confident Andropov wasn't screwing her over with a fake.
"Da." Nadia nods, gesturing to Frostbite before heading to a jeep and getting inside. As the engine roars to life and the vehicle disappears down a jungle track, Witch approaches. From her tight - and rather flattering - jeans, she pulls a 1911, showing him the magazine before reinserting it and secreting it back down her waistband. "You have history with this Marisol girl, right?" She asks, as she and Windigo get into the remaining jeep, with turns on with a strong rumble, before following after Whisper and Frostbite down the jungle track. Looking at her, Windigo recalls that Witch wasn't there for those years.
Windigo checked his gun before he started driving through the jungle. He disliked working in such environment - it was simply not his specialization... But it was better then trenches during the Great War. "I have." He confirmed to Whisper, not giving more details. The woman was still new, and he was almost sure she was placed in his team as a minder - possible mole. If things go south, he knew who to kill first. He glanced at the thought shirt around her chest - maybe he would be able to bag her before bagging her. He looked back at the road. This was always his weakness. It started on Titanic, whit that beautiful noble from England. He could still remember the tightness of her pussy, the sway of her hips, the bounce of her breasts, the lustful and desperate expression on her face. He could even remember what information they managed to ply from her... He remembered the joy of having such a high class woman or himself for the first time in his life, feeling like someone. The joy of breaking the bitch bending her to their desires - all under guidance of his mentor... Making her moan and begg like a slut they made her... But for the life, he could not remember her name... What was her name? He wondered as he continued driving, the two jeps soon parting ways, as Whisper made her way to set up shop and Windigo to check out Marisol's place.
"So it's just standard operating procedure to...have relations...with all the women under your command?" Witch says, frowning with disapproval. "When Baroness is already your girlfriend?" She adds - and Windigo has to suppress a smile as he imagines how shocked the American would be if she knew what Baroness' relation to him actually was. The jungle path ends, and the car begins to fly down asphalt road, the city looming in the distance. "I hope you understand it's never going to happen with me." She scowls.
Olena smiled brightly as the microfiche was revealed to her. Short of tearing the dacha apart to find the other one, the Vixen figured this was as good as her chances were going to get. She quietly allowed a triumphant "yes" to escape her, before quickly returning her warm form to her sweaty bodysuit - kind of gross, but at least the moisture had cooled down and provided a decent balm to bring her back to focus after having her brains fucked out. Speaking of which, the Amazonian Ukrainian loomed over Andropov's unconscious form. For a moment, she wondered why she allowed him to have his way with her... Maybe he did remind her of her father, a man who had struggled against a herculean enemy in a war that devastated the world. A curious mix of melancholy and affection drew her down to the rogue banker, planting a kiss on his forehead, before slipping out of the room and making her way back to the balcony, looking for an easy route to escape with the microfiche and the financial documents... She would have to put out feelers to help Lyudmila later, if she wasn't able to coordinate with her before she left.
Well, it was a standard for Black Canaries... But Windigo did not officially recognize Witch as one yet. "Understandable." He said instead, and decided to see if he could get a little raise from the woman. "It's difficult to fight over your preference for women." He made an easy allusion to potential lesbianism.
Struggling to divorce herself from her emotions and focus on the mission, Olena zips up, the financial documents getting somewhat damp against her skin as she tucks them into her bodysuit, squeezed between leather and sweaty flesh as she zips up. Focusing on her exfiltration, Olena identifies two main exfiltration routes - those that don't involve disguises or a shootout, that is: - The first would be simply to go back the way she came, heading back down the stairs and through the rear hallway, going back into the basement and out through the rear of the dacha, heading off into the treeline to safety. Ideally, the couple that was fucking in the basement will have been satisfied with a quick romp and cleared off, and the guard on the basement door is still off hitting on maids. If not, she'll have to stealth past them or take them down. - The second way is to go out onto the balcony through the office window, moving around the exterior of the house to an area where no partygoers are lingering down on the grounds and drop down. It shouldn't be high enough to cause an injury, even if she messes up the landing, but the noise could be problematic. Speaking of noise, Olena starts to hear one - an unpleasant squeal of furniture against floorboards, coming from one of the rooms down the hall. It seems the handcuffed guard has woken from his slumper. "Hey, cyka! This ain't funny any more! Bring me the keys!" He shouts, voice slightly muffled by distance, and then Olena hears thumping - probably the man trying to break whatever part of the bed he's cuffed to.
Spoiler: Manipulation Roll D100: 10 "Keep the mental image - it's all you're going to get from me." Witch scoffs, as they drive into the city. There's a flood of colour and sound as they move past the suburbs and into the city itself. It seems today is some kind of festival day - there's no full parade blocking off the streets, but there are crowds of people everywhere, food stalls and small block parties where people dance raucously - and to Alistair's delight - without too much in the way of clothing. The jeep comes to a stop at a rare empty space around a block away from Marisol's safehouse - a two story apartment building decorated in warm colours. Spoiler: Awareness Roll D100: 70-10 (Crowd)= 60 (Success) It's hard to be certain due to the crowds, but as Alistair does a well-practiced examination of the area, he doesn't spot anyone who could be lurking for an ambush, or doing surveillance.
Alistair smirked. He did not hear a 'no' to his statement. Well, there would be other times to 'convince' the little miss spy... If she lasts that long. As he drove through the streets, he took note of the crowds. It's always a pleasure to work in eye-candy filled space. If a little distracting at times. There seems to be no people checking the building right now, but he did not leave to his age, by assumptions. Windigo made his way past the building, then walked around the next couple of buildings, before turning around, and walking into an alley, behind the street. He walked back, until he was in the rear entrance of Marisol's safehouse - only then he entered the building with a witch, through the back door...
Dodging past dancing girls and drunk guys, weaving his way through the crowd, Windigo makes it around to the back of Marisol's building, and inside. He and Witch see a staircase and head up, the blonde American covering him as he looks around. They get up to the third floor, finding a deserted hallway - Windigo guessing that most of the inhabitants of the building are out celebrating in the festival. A blue door marks the entrance to Marisol's hideaway. Testing the handle, he sees that it's locked, though irregularities in the paint job point to it being recently repaired - Windigo supposes the CIA team who reported Marisol missing fixed it up and locked it on their way out, to not attract attention "Should we pick the lock or just kick the door in? With the noise from outside, I don't think anyone would hear." Witch says.
Windigo put a finger to his lips. "Better to be careful and not leave a mess behind." He said. "Lockpick it." He ordered as he stood to the side. He observed the surroundings to check if there was no one who would interrupt them. But also he ordered Witch to lockpick the door, not to be in the burn zone if someone was waiting with a weapon on the other side... callous, but that's how he survived for so long.
Spoiler: Luck Roll D100:77 Looking around, Windigo sees no one coming down the hall as Witch kneels down, pulling out a lockpick and deftly sliding it into the the keyhole and working the tumblers. The door creaks slightly as it slides open. Heading inside, the spies don't see someone waiting with a gun. The apartment is empty, looking almost untouched. Windigo walks inside, examining the place. It's a fairly spacious and warmly decorated area, matching Marisol's vibrant personality. The first door leads into a kitchen, where he sees nothing. The second brings him to a bathroom. Inside, he heads to the mirror, where he's surprised to a see a polaroid stuck up with a bit of tape. It shows a woman, beautiful and shapely, in a nice dress. A target, perhaps? Or maybe a lover? Windigo knows from experience that Marisol is far from hesitant to play around while on a job, but if she's keeping the woman's picture, it must indicate some deeper connection than just sex. Heading through into the bedroom, he smirks as he opens her bedside drawers, examining the plentiful dildos, beads, handcuffs and whips he finds there. As Windigo is distracted by them, Witch stoops down, looking underneath. She comes up with a small metallic object. "Recording device." She goes silent, announcing through hand signals, before identifying the microphone and covering it. "CIA manufactured. Looks like it's broadcasting the audio it picks up somewhere else.." She
As he made his way through the room, Windigo took the picture of unknown woman. It was better to take it then to allow a stranger to take it and take advantage of it. He walked around the bedroom, searching for hidden spots for cameras - he was curious for the sex tapes, how Marisol had her fun... And with whom. As I heard what she said I turned to the Witch. "And you just informed whoever was listening about our presence here." I say, with a sligh scowl. I look at the device thinking quickly. This... Could be made into opportunity. I turn to the Witch. "They probably already sent a team here to check on you." I make sure to indicate that she was the one who fucked up. "Can you trace where it is sending a signal?" I asked, not really having hopes for it.
Looking around, Windigo can't see any traces of a camera - though he wouldn't be surprised if she had a 'recording studio' somewhere, if not here. "I'm blocking the the receiver." Witch says irritably. "I can't trace it right now, but if I go to an electronics store I should be able to rig up a detector. I practiced with these on the Farm." She says - referring to the CIA's training camp. Alistair came into the organisation before The Farm was established, so he doesn't know too much about how the new generation is trained there. The thought of all the young female agents going through there, nice and naive and pliable, crosses his mind, and he idly wonders if he should ask if they need instructors. Before he can be distracted, though, Witch continues. "The tracker emits a strong signal so you can keep track of it, even underground or in the air. The drawback is that such a strong signal is easy to pick up if you know what to look for. I should only need an hour or so to get the gadget working."
