"A-Ahhh..." She groans at his touch, leaning back against him as his fingers slide inside her damp muff, leaning back against him. "I'm not really the passive type..." She purrs, as her ass begins to slide up and down, grinding against his erect cock through his pants.
(Yeah, I'd originally planned there to be a section where Olena changed, but I couldn't find art I liked for the uniform and then forgot about it. As for the documents, I'll say she was able to hide them away at the train station.) Mama exhales slightly, the ghost of a smirk on her pouty lip, as she takes the microfiche and begins to examine it. She doesn't stop Olena from staring, though her look of amusement at the younger woman's lust is a little embarrassing. "You've done well, Lenochka." She says, using a diminuitive of Olena's name. "But I'm afraid you won't have long to rest on your laurels. We're going to decrypt this information, and once we have, we'll be sending you out to investigate the leads we get from it. Andropov's clients need to be identified, and wherever possible, brought to justice."
Olena's blush only deepens as Mama not only visibly notices her appreciative stare but calls her a pet name. Vixen gulped - all of this tension might come across as amusing or even welcome if not for who Mama was and the power she wielded. Returning the topic of the conversation to her future tasking helped the redhead shake off the lewd thoughts. "I'll be ready, ma'am, and eager to get back at it. If there is anything else I can do, please make use of me!" Despite her words, the Ukrainian Amazon was already considering how she was going to get Andropov's financial documents to her CIA contact...
"I'm sure I will." Mama chuckles softly as she sees Vixen's reaction. "For now, you have the rest of the day at liberty. Go out, relax, work any...stress you might be having out of your system, and report here at 09:00 hours tomorrow morning." The older woman orders, before looking down at the microfiche. It's a soft dismissal - letting Olena know she can leave without ordering it. Olena thinks about her contact - this would be a good time to go and see them, assuming they don't put a tail on them. At the same time, she thinks about Lyudmila, remembering the busty maid she met at Andropov's dacha and her request for help. She could ask now, if she wants.
"Oh?" Alistair hummed as he twisted her nipple lightly. "How about we make it kinkier?" he raised a bra the woman dropped earlier. "Think you can be active with hands behind your back?" He asked as he lightly nibbled her ear. He had no illusion that the bra would stop the woman from freeing herself - it would just buy him a few seconds. It was more about aesthetics and he was curious about her earlier comment. Just what kinks did she have?
"Ah- Actually, ma'am. There's one more thing. There was a woman at the dacha that helped me secure the microfiche. She was masquerading as a maid to steal from Andropov's guests. Goes by Lyudmila. She gave me actionable intelligence and helped distract the guards with the promise I'd speak up for her... Request to visit Berlin." Olena arched her brow at that end, ensuring Mama picked up the drift that Lyudmila did not, in fact, merely want to visit the Soviet-sector of the occupied city. "I want to pay her back and get her there."
"Berlin..." Mama's fierce gaze is fixed upon Olena, instantly picking up on the subtext. "I'm not in the habit of aiding defectors. Do you think she could be utilised as an asset?"
Olena nodded, both at the meaningful tone in Mama's pronouncing the former capital of Germany and her question. "She was able to enter the service of a wealthy man's estate and got deep enough that she could get away with lifting highly expensive belongings off his guests. I think if she had to work back any favors dispensed, she's capable of doing it, especially if it's for her own good."
"Hmm..." Mama is silent for a long moment, before she finally nods her head softly. "Alright, I'll make the arrangements. We'll try her out and see if she's useful. Lyudmila, working at the Andropov Dacha. We should be able to make contact without much difficulty."
Olena would say her goodbyes and take her leave, hoping that Lyudmila wouldn't come to regret asking for her help... On more cheery news, she had some free time! Which meant she needed to check her improvised drop site and make contact with her other handler... She would take her time in changing into civilian attire to blend in with the locals, then take an indirect but reasonably fast route to her destination to throw off any tails.
"Oh, I am the type who likes many things~" Alistair said as he gently tied the woman's hands behind her back. In other circumstances, he would not bother - the woman was fire and was meant no to be bound. He loved Spaniard blood going just wild~ But... He could not risk the woman accidently finding the gun he had hidden in his clothes. That would be a disaster. He grabbed woman by shoulders and kissed her with passion, one hand groping her ass, other pulling her against his chest.
Mama watches her protege leave with curious eyes, before Olena exits, passing Uranus and Bagration in the hall as they head in for their own debrief. Both men meet her eyes - one with triumph, the other envy, but they pass by without a word. Olena figures it's the last she'll hear from them until they have another mission together. Wearing a coat over an inauspicious trouser/sweater combo, Olena heads out into Lubyanka Square, rushing over to descend into the metro station. After a few false starts, she crams herself into a car packed with workers hurriedly returning from their lunch breaks. After a circuitous walk around central Moscow, she finds herself outside the Vaganova Academy. She heads inside, getting waved past reception and heading into the backrooms. She opens up her locker, stripping down before donning her leotard, placing the Andropov documents in her gym bag. Olena has been dancing since girlhood - at one point the state actually had her on a list of perspective Bolshoi applicants, but of course they'd eventually decided she could be better used elsewhere. That her CIA contact was a dancing instructor was apparently just a happy coincidence - it provided an easy excuse for the two of them to meet without Olena having to suspiciously escape the eyes of Soviet surveillance. Hell, Mama had even encouraged Olena to retake the hobby - it was a good way to keep her footwork strong. The door to the studio creaks open, and she looks at her contact across the floor as she does her stretches. Ingrid Hauser, East German. A former Bolshoi dancer and a committed socialist who'd brought honor to the state with her skill until her career was cut short by injury. How the hell she went from that to an apparently decently high ranking officer in the CIA is a mystery, but Olena supposes it'll have to wait. She gazes at the other woman as she crosses the floor. Ingrid's face is kindly, her expressions delicate, demeanour soft where Mama's are hard. But something in the eyes makes Olena feel that neither woman is to be fucked with lightly. "Lena, just in time." Ingrid calls out from across the room, smiling. "Come, I'm just finishing my stretches."
"It's hot, but normally I like to touch my man too..." The beautiful Colombian breathes before he kisses her. She reciprocates eagerly, her tongue wrestling with his as she presses her body against him, letting him feel the swell of her breasts against his chest, his hard on rubbing against her stomach through his pants and underwear. Her soft skin yields to his touch, his fingers sinking into her ample ass.
Olena smiled at Uranus and Bagration as they passed one another - something that was shockingly rare in the KGB's headquarters, surely - regardless of how sour the latter likely looked. He would be fine, she figured, even if it took until their next mission together to cheer him up. However, she had other business that extended into Olena's "extracurricular" activities that she was concerned with. She smiled as she looked herself over in her leotard. The skimpy nature of such a thing mixed with the fact hers was just a bit tighter and shorter around the swell of her derriere than strictly necessary gave her a bit of a rebellious thrill... The occasional blush it elicited from the other girls in the dancing class was an added bonus. Olena had become altogether neutral to her past as a dancer, but she recalled with some amusement how much she hated them in her youth. The State could make all the demands it liked, but hell hath no fury like a teenaged girl inconvenienced. In theory, it wasn't a bad way to keep a young girl active, and it made sense in the collective mindset of a still socially conservative eastern Europe. In practice, the sense of having such a path forced upon her left a bad taste in her mouth, one that echoed with the familiar and unwelcome echoes of her mother... Olena was pulled from her meditations by Ingrid's greeting, earning a grin and a wave as she approached. The German seemed like if you took Mama and Olena together and made a baby. So warm in demeanor (and body, Olena approvingly judged with a quick scan) yet with a hard look in her eyes that made it clear she was fully able and willing to kill - if she hadn't already, by word or deed. Beyond first impressions, the redhead wondered if Ingrid shared her thoughts on socialism, her sense that something beautiful had been tainted and needed cleansing... "Stretches? Ah, does the lioness need to stretch before she hunts the antelope?" Olena asked with a broad, easy grin. Despite her words, she raised a leg, before wrapping her arms around it and pulling, steadily bringing the bottom of her foot up towards the ceiling. "Sooo, meet anyone neeew? Anyone interesting enough to bring home?" She crowed in that too-curious tone a younger sibling took to annoy their elder. An amusing concept on its own... However, to Ingrid's ears, she could decipher the question Olena was really asking. "Is there anyone paying close attention to us?"
Ingrid smirks, extending her long and toned, but deliciously meaty, leg on the stretch bar, leaning her curvaceous body across to grip her toes. "I've had a few men show interest, but alas, none of them wanted to stick around and get to know me. I guess age is catching up with me." She should play poker - on her face is just the dreamy expression of a jolly but slightly lonely older woman, no hint of her real meaning. "Just standard security sweeps at the regular time. No indication of a targeted interest in me." Ingrid kicks off of the bar, rolling her toes as she goes through the last few exercises. "So, are you here for regular practice, or is there a move you need help with?" "Is this just a check in, or do you have something for me?"
"Oh, don't say that!" Olena interjected at Ingrid's self-effacement, altogether too genuine for her own good, even through the coded language. "I promise you... Slavic guys? Ha! They love being mommied. Even if you gain a few pounds, crow's feet, and some silver in your hair, you're irresistible." The redhead clasped her chin between her thumb and a curled index finger, looking at her dance instructor with a contemplative look, before the impish smirk returns. One must wonder how much this had to do with their work, her mischievous nature, or if she was actually flirting. At the very least, Ingrid probably didn't have a covert translation for whatever that was. "As for today," Olena started, raising one arm over her head and leaning to the side, her other hand on her hip as she stretched, "there is a technique I would like you to take a look at. I saw a soloist do it on a televised show and I thought I'd try it for fun. It seems intense, so I'll grab some water for the remainder of the class today." "I have something. Bonus material from another mission. Could be dangerous. Let's do the swap now." The Amazonian Ukrainian waited for Ingrid to signal she was ready to observe, before miming the performance she recalled, something that would be believably difficult to any observer.
"Sometimes, it's interesting to try something new~" he chuckled. "Besides, you started with such an aggressive story first~" He increased his strength as he squeezed her tits. He pushed her forward, against the desk, so she sat on it, then pushed her to half-lay, as his fingers slid into her sex. He started pumping, heating her up, as he looked into her eyes, observed her face...
"A few pounds and crow's feet? I hope you're just speaking in hypotheticals..." Ingrid teases with a mock-offended tone as she lifts her leg from the bar and turns to face Olena properly. "I'm glad to see you're being proactive about your dancing. Show me, and I'll tell you what I can." She watches with eagle eyes as Olena does her best attempt at some move she's seen. "Ah, Barrel Turns? I'll do my best." Olena watches as the dancer gracefully completes a series of acrobatic jumps, turning in the air with greater and greater speed, before landing with catlike reflexes close to the younger woman. "It's all about your center of balance. You see, if you lift your leg-" Ingrid goes into her explanation, before having Olena have a try at the complex move. Olena's huffing and puffing when the older woman leans in close. "Let's go to the changing rooms." She whispers. "I arranged for a camera to be found there the other day. With all the stir about creepers, no one will have been able to plant recording devices there. You can show me what you have there."
"I still feel, ooh, like you're missing out..." She purrs, moaning softly as his fingers delve inside her, feeling the warm slickness of her walls hugging the invading digits. She gazes into his eyes, her expression lustful and needy.
