” “Ah, a trait in short supply when I was a young operative.” “That is the tragedy of our country and our service. The men with memory were ki...led. Your generation had no, what is the word in English?” “Mentors.” “Yes. The men who would have been your mentors were slaughtered like sheep in ’37, ’38.” “They were killed because of their memory. Stalin wanted no memories except of himself, in his glory.’ Lev allowed himself a tight, ironic smile. ‘Smert Shpionam. Death to spies. Only Stalin killed. He pulled my wrists behind my back, uncovering my mouth.Then my hair was yanked hard and the man showed me a big knife he held. I felt something wrapped around my wrists, tying them behind my back.I heard a tearing sound. A piece of silver duct tape went over my mouth. He made me lean over the hood of my own car.“My lucky day, bitch… you are a hot piece of ass…” He growled.My purse was set on the hood next to my head. The man was rifling it.“A nice neighborhood, bitch… I should go to visit you. Four years on, I still have that video on my phone. I jerk off to it sometimes, imagining pretty golden boy, Todd Bittle, bending over and I'm shoving my rock-hard cock in his ass. One night while laying on my bed I connected my phone to my large flat TV screen and watched Todd's sex video that was five minutes long. My left hand went inside my boxers and pulled out my cock and it began twitching, coming to life as I listened to the moans of pleasure. My hand moved faster when I heard Todd say,. She sat very near to me and continuously touched my arm with her manicured finger tips, frequently bending forwards to peer at the plans, ‘accidentally’ rubbing her tit against my arm and displaying her cleavage provocatively. She was wearing a very soft plain white silk bra beneath the blouse and after a while I noticed that her nipples had stiffened and were clearly visible through the fabric and looked large and hard. She was making me seriously horny and I had to keep concentrating on the.