Drastivocik Yarblov!

by Bea

 

The Chief of Station surveyed me through distrustful eyes. "John? Don't bullshit me!" she said. "You're our THIRD cipher clerk in two months! I can't believe that they're sending in someone new as long as they don't know what happened to your predecessors!"

"I'm sorry Miss Adams. I don't know what you're talking about!" I answered, excited to my boots about the thrill and romance of me being, finally, a spy!

She shook her head. "This is ridiculous! You were recruited by Sonia! Weren't you? If you weren't, what was that meeting all about?"

She sits across from me, SO strong, SO dominant that I want to confess, but then I remembered that I had felt exactly the same way about Miss Sonia Edwards when she'd interviewed me, and managed to restrain myself.

"Sonia? Oh, you mean Miss Edwards? As you know, Miss Adams, she's the head of the clerical section and . ."

"She's the goddam Agency rep! Think I haven't figured that out? What kinda stupid cunt does Washington take me for, huh?" She was flaming red, and pounded the table enough to scare me.

"She only discussed the ethics of my position and my responsibilities," I said, mouthing the exact words that Sonia – Miss Edwards – had pounded into me.

Miss Adams leaned back in her chair and seemed to relax. "You gay, John?" she asked casually.

"No. I am not!" I answered forcefully, wondering why everybody in this godforsaken country cared about my sexual proclivities so much.

"I certainly hope not," she said. "The two guys before you swore blind they weren't – but there was just a little 'something'? You know? A woman can pick up these vibes . ."

"You saying you're picking up those vibes from me?" I asked as coldly as I could.

Probably well aware of the possibility of being sued for sexual discrimination by a member of the U.S. Diplomatic Corps Clerical Staff, she took longer to answer the question than I liked. "No John. I guess not." Then she looked at me, "But you are kinda on the prissy side you know."

I felt the blood rush to my face, but didn't answer.

She laughed. "but you DO blush very prettily, you know." Then gave a deep laugh as I reddened even further.

Then she got down to business. "You'll be reporting to Ann Savage, who reports to me. You don't mind reporting to a woman, do you?"

"Of course not. Why should I?" I asked.

"Forgive me. I've just been in this goddam country too damn long – the last bastion of male superiority in the world I think. Just had to ask I guess."

"Well, we can all do our bit to educate them in the equality of the sexes, can't we?" I said primly.

She smiled and shooed me away with her hands. "Off you go then dearie."

I left her, secretly happy with this assignment to a new country. The staff here seemed to be comprised of practically nothing but women – and such strong, dominating types too! I felt a quiver in my groin at the thought of actually reporting to another. Hoped she was like the two I'd met so far.

To my delight, she was! I was in a state of mental turmoil as, after I'd been given my desk and various assignments, she allowed me to go home for the day and start unpacking and making my apartment presentable. I looked around my new furnished home which had been provided by the Embassy and wondered which of the three ladies I'd invite back for dinner first.

I pondered this as I scrubbed the floors and put shelving paper in the cupboards.. Got aggravated when I saw I'd got a small tear in my new apron. Decided to sew it later. Just had a small salad for dinner – I was getting a little tummy, and my frame is so slight that I can't carry any extra weight – you know how it is. Wondered if the Embassy had a fitness room, then grinned as the chances of me ever using it were slim. . Secretly, I was quite proud of my smooth skin and arms – I mean, whoever dictated that males had to walk around with a hairy body and bulging muscles for goodness sake!

I thought about my interview with Miss Edwards. Stocky with a no-nonsense attitude about her.

"You gay?" she'd asked as soon as I'd sat down in her office. "Not that I, personally, give a rats ass whether you are or not – but I want you to do something for your country, and if you're gay, you'll be worthless to me. Gays are really persecuted in this benighted country and gays in the embassy have learned to stay within the compound – or transfer out."

"I'm hetero, Miss Edwards," I'd assured her – though I did not divulge that I was still a virgin so technically could not claim to being hetero although, in defense of my claim, all of my sexual fantasies centered about women.

"Good!" she said, nodding with satisfaction. "Now, something is happening to our cipher clerks in this embassy. You're our third in as many months – and I've got to know why they're disappearing . ."

I paled. "I'm just a clerk Miss Edwards. Not exactly James Bond . ."

She gave me what she must have assumed was a reassuring smile. "Look, there's no physical danger in this assignment, I assure you. It'll simply be a question of keeping your ears open and reporting anything you hear to me."

"But I don't know any people here - nor the language. I'm complimented that you think I could help, but . ."

"Look. You're a man! Means a helluva lot in this country. We've got ONE good contact – but he won't deal with women. Goddam pain in the ass – like all of the men here. Women are on this earth for fucking – nothing else, is his viewpoint. It's a wonder he'll even talk to me on the goddam phone!" She laughed. "Thank god I have a deep voice!"

"How will I meet him?" I asked, somewhat calmer knowing there would be no danger involved.

"His name is Anton Kirivov and you needn't bother looking him up – he'll get in touch with you at his own convenience."

"Any idea of when?"

"Not a clue. Just make sure you get pally with him. You DO take a drink, do you not?"

"Yes. I do indulge now and then." I admitted – I mean, I just dote on Banana Daiquiris – as long as they're light on the alcohol I mean – though I didn't mention that – or the fact that I can get awfully tiddly if I have more than one.

"Thank god for small mercies!" she said. "For a moment I thought you were gonna tell me you were teetotal. Anyway, our friend Anton has a taste for single malt Scotch, but doesn't have the dollars to cater to it – so make sure you dig deep into your wallet when you belly up to a bar – yes, you'll be reimbursed for your expenses." she added when she saw my reaction. Then she spoke again. "But watch what you say to him. Like all the other pricks in this country, he's a touchy bastard – but he's the only contact I've got – so treat him with kid gloves."

My ruminations were interrupted by the doorbell. I almost forgot to take my apron off, but remembered in time. Untied it and draped it over a chair. Opened the door. A bulky, dark haired man with a bristling moustache stood there, his dark eyes impassive.

"I am Anton Kirivov," he announced proudly. "You were expecting me, no?"

Nervously, I looked around the landing. "Yes, Mr. Kirivov, but not quite this soon . ."

"Are you saying that I'm not welcome?" He growled.

"Oh no! Mr. Kirivov! Not saying . ."

"Well, if I am? Why do you keep me standing here – it is only women who stand and chatter on landings!"

"Oh! I'm sorry! Come in, please!" I said and opened the door to let him come in, and he stalked past me.

"The place is a bit of a . ." I started, but he pointed at my apron lying over the chair.

"Woman have left her work clothes there! Bad start! You need to talk to that bitch!"

I was about to frostily inform him that it was my apron, then remembered the comments about my need to appear macho – and though the apron wasn't overly feminine, it did have a frill or two – I mean, there's nothing wrong with an apron being slightly feminine, is there?.

"You are absolutely right, Mr. Kirivov! I noticed it as soon as I came in. I left it there so that the cleaning woman could see how she had not performed her duties! Did not wish to touch such a thing!" I said this, impressed with my improvisational skills.

He nodded, appeased. "She a local woman?"

"Yes. Don't think she can speak much English," I said. "Otherwise? If I'd seen this I'd have spoken to her immediately."

"Good! But you cannot speak my language?"

"No. I'm sorry."

"Then you must learn one phrase when dealing with women! That is Drastivocik yarblov!"

"Huh? What does that mean."

"Never mind for now. Just repeat it for me. Drastivocik yarblov!"

 

I did my best to repeat it, but did miserably. He coached me patiently until I had it down pat, then made me practice saying it firmly – from the chest – until he was satisfied. Finally, pleased with the fact that he seemed to be warming to me, I asked him again what it meant.

"It's basically an abbreviation," he said, "but translated roughly it means WOMAN! SHUT THE FUCK UP AND KNOW YOUR PLACE!"

His eyes were searching for something so he missed my shocked expression at hearing this blatant sexism from his mouth. "We need to talk," he said. "Have you any Scotch in here?"

I was SO indignant at what he'd said, but remembered the warning Miss Edwards had given me and just was capable of sounding apologetic. "No Anton. I'm sorry. Haven't had time to get it in yet."

He nodded. "Okay. But we need to talk – and I would like to discuss things in a civilized manner, over a drink."

"Very good!" I said, hiding my nervousness. "Let me get my jacket on, and we can go to a bar."

He smiled for the first time, showing bad teeth. "I know a good place! Let's go!"

I thought the place he took me to was strange for a bar. More like a house – and an ornate one at that, where a rather attractive maid in a black dress led us into a sort of sitting room. He seemed as if didn't see the girl at all, and she seemed to accept this although when I smiled at her, she seemed to become very nervous and shied away quickly.

He noticed this. "I forgot to tell you, You don't see these things in black dresses. Do not talk to them or acknowledge . ."

"Anton – Darling! How lovely to see you? How nice of you to visit!" He was interrupted by a large lady in a red satin dress.

"Gloria!" He bellowed and gave her a hug, "But I was telling John here something and you interrupted me! Drastivocik yarblov!"

An alarmed expression crossed her face. "I'm SO sorry Anton! I did not mean any . ." But she halted when he smiled and tapped her cheek gently. "I'm too thirsty Gloria. Two Scotches for me and my friend here – and then he and I will get down to business!"

"It's quiet tonight," she said. "Shall I send some of the girls in?"

"Yes, of course. But the Scotches first – large ones!"

It wasn't until I was looking at a glass of Scotch in my hand that I realized we were in a brothel! Some girls came in – all good looking and paraded around us – in varying stages of undress all smiling at us – with a few of the bolder ones eyeing us up frankly. I was terrified! Knew I had no idea of how to behave – and was fairly sure I couldn't perform sexually, but Anton wasn't doubtful of his own capabilities for a minute. "YOU!" he growled, pointing at a red head. "Do you fuck good?"

"Of course, sir," she smiled. "Give good blow jobs too! Like a threesome with your friend?"

"You're that new American girl, aren't you?" he growled. "Have too much to say for yourself!. Drastivocik yarblov!"

She knew she'd been dismissed and shot a petulant sneer our way, but Anton was already in conversation with a dainty brunette, who was in his lap seconds later. He smiled at me over her shoulder. "Well John? Pick a girl and I'll meet you back here in two or three hours. Okay?" With that, he rose to his feet, lifting the girl at the same time.

I didn't choke on the drink, though it was a close thing. Guess it gave me some Dutch courage. "I'll take her," I said, pointing at a cute blonde that looked like a schoolgirl. She gave me a warm smile, then came over and planted a kiss on my cheek. " Okay Jonnnee, Let's fuck!" then she led me to her room.

She started to undress right away. "Please don't!" I said. "I don't care to exploit women!"

"No unnerstand. You want fuck?" she said, concentrating on her English.

"No. Would rather talk. How did a nice girl like you get here?" I asked.

"Want talk? No fuck?"

I nodded, and her face got clouded with indecision. "But me no how talk." Then her face brightened. "Me get Charlene!"

She left the room, then came back with the red-haired American girl. "Tiffany here, says you want to talk?" she asked disbelievingly.

"Yeah, I'm too tired after that trip. Just not used to jet lag," I said.

This obviously made sense to her. "Can be a bitch, huh?"

"Yeah," I said in my best John Wayne imitation. "Got that right, sister. How come . ."

"Look." She said. "No offence mister, but I'm a new girl here. Tiffany gets the idea I'm horning in on her action? She'll be all over me. Why don't I just act as interpreter between the two of you?"

"Tell you the truth, I don't know what to talk about," I said.

"Oh, all the girls here are curious about the States. Don't believe half of what I tell them, but they'll listen to a man!"

"Hey, thanks!" I said, and she said something to the girl who brightened up and nattered something back at her.

She wants to know if everybody has cars there – like you see in the movies . ." Charlene said.

I smiled at her. "Not quite, but there ARE a lot of cars on the roads . ."

Tiffany nattered something. "Do you drive a big car?" came at me.

"No. I don't have a car." I admitted, "Can't drive as a matter of fact."

The girl looked incredulous. "But women are allowed to drive there – like Charlene says?" Charlene interpreted.

I grinned. "Oh Yes! Wouldn't like to try and stop them."

Charlene smiled at me. "Look, it's a quiet night. Would it be okay if I got some of the other girls in here? They'd be fascinated, honest!"

"I was flattered. "No problem. Go ahead," I told her.

It was a small room and got a little crowded. I ended up sitting upright on the bed with my back to the wall, very conscious of the half naked women who surrounded me, their satin clad bodies and the perfumes emanating from them. Soon Charlene was firing questions at me, then my replies would be listened to avidly, they'd maybe discuss something amongst themselves, then come back with more questions.

Soon, it was very evident that their primary interest was in a woman's life in the States. First of all, they seemed amazed that men didn't beat up on women – could actually go to jail for it! This drew gasps of surprise. Then, they asked me some questions about fashions – women's of course.

I pride myself on being well informed in this area and they regarded me with wide eyed wonder as I displayed my knowledge of designers, and the styles and fabrics they used. I also couldn't help showing off my knowledge of cosmetic shades and fashions either. I saw them flash glances at each other – which I took for admiration – and their eyes started to shine in a way that I took for jealousy – well, why not? The United States is a beacon of democracy for all the world to see! All men – and women – are created equal, I stated grandly.

But now they were pressing in on me on all sides and I started to feel as if I were being submerged in a sea of femininity. My hands seemed to be touching soft womanly flesh under satin all the time now, and I started to sweat.

"You look very warm John," Charlene said.

"Well, it is rather close in here," I said. She said something to the girls, and suddenly my jacket had been removed.

"Oh, I say – girls!" I protested, but was ignored.

"Tiffany thinks that your shoes are making a mess of her bed covers. You don't mind, do you?" Charlene said, and my shoes had been removed before I could say anything.

Then. "What material are your socks made of?" I was asked.

"Don't know," I replied. "Some man made fiber, I guess."

"They want to have a look. You don't mind, do you?"

And now I couldn't even see my feet, for the warm female bodies that seemed to be enveloping me. But I felt my socks being removed. Heard sighs of appreciation

"The girls are admiring your feet John. Think your toenails are very pretty. Is that a pink shade you use?"

"Ha ha! No. At least I don't think so – I was in a hurry the last time I gave myself a pedicure . ."

"Your fingernails are nice too. The girls are totally impressed John," she said

And now, somehow, I was lying flat on my back looking up at a bunch of women who were smiling down on me but looked predatory. It had to be the lighting, I thought

"How many women have you beaten, John?"

"Me? Beat women? Don't be silly!"

"Any women ever beat you? Spanked you perhaps?"

"Just mummy," I said and all the women nodded approvingly.

"You seem to know a lot about women's clothes John. The girls are wondering if you ever wear them."

"That's ridiculous!"

"Never? Ever?"

"Well – Just that once. It was a costume party."

 

The women all let out a collective sigh as she translated my answer to them. "What did you wear, John? A dress? Skirt and blouse?"

"An evening dress if you must know."

"Pink and frilly?"

"No. Blue as a matter of fact."

"Frilly?"

"Yes – kinda."

"Naturally, you wore the proper underclothes too, huh?"

I didn't answer, but she pressed on. "Bra and panties? Slip? Garter belt and stockings? Come on now John, tell Charlene. Bet you were pretty. Makeup and a hairdo?"

My clothes were slowly being removed, but all I could do was look up into a sea of women's wet, shining, eyes. Slowly, I nodded in answer to Charlene's question.

And now, clothes were being put back on me. Silks and satins were caressing my skin, nylons were sliding on my legs, tiny buckles were being adjusted on fine straps at my shoulders. I didn't cry out or argue. Just laid there docile and submissive while the women worked on dressing me, cooing and touching me in the most familiar manner imaginable. Then I was standing on my feet and a black dress was being slid over my head.

"Okay girls! A joke's a joke!" I tried to get our relative status established again. "I think this has gone far enough! Ha ha!"

"Oh Joan, shut up for goodness sake!" Charlene snapped. "Let the girls get your wig and makeup on!"

And a platinum blonde wig was being put on my head and I was being forced to sit on the bed. Two of the girls were putting makeup on my face and another was applying a brilliant red polish to my nails.

"Hey! Please stop!" I cried. "I can't have Anton see me like this! Please stop this – immediately!"

"Got news for you sweetie. Anton can't see you. You're invisible to him now." Charlene said.

"What are you talking about. Of course he can see me – just not like this!"

"Joan? That's your name now, by the way. Sissies like you become maids – especially in brothels like this. Men in this country refuse to acknowledge that a male could possibly dress like a woman – because if they did, they'd have to fuck you – and that is so far beyond their comprehension that they totally ignore sissies. Can't see you. Can't hear you."

"You can't be serious!" I said, almost laughing at the absurdity of it all. Then I remembered what Anton had started to say before Gloria had interrupted. Suddenly, I was frightened. "Hey Charlene! Help a fellow American out, will you. Please?"

"Help you out? Why should I. because I'm an American? Why do you think I came to this country in the first place? Why do you think I stay here?" She was angry.

"I don't know, Charlene. Why?"

"Because here? men are MEN – and women love them! Pansies like you come in handy as maids – but nobody ever thinks of them as men! Now I suggest that you get out of here and go and report to Gloria. She'll find plenty for you to do."

"But Charlene? I've got to get to work tomorrow!"

"Joan? This is your work now. Behave properly and maybe they'll let you go and be a ladies maid to some nice woman some day. But until Gloria lets you go? You're a whorehouse maid!"

She muttered something at the girls and three or four of them surrounded me then, giggling and chattering, led me out of the door and down the hall where they knocked on a large, ornate, door.

I heard Gloria's voice. "Yes? Come in!" And I was led in.

To my amazement, Gloria was there – but so also were Miss Adams, Miss Edwards – and Ann Savage, all of whom were lounging on easy chairs with drinks in their hands.

"My! That didn't take long." Miss Adams said.

"He's a pretty one too," said Miss Edwards.

"Geez. I must admit – these psychological profiles you use to get candidates really work Sonia!" Ann Savage said, laughing delightedly.

"Yup!" Miss Edwards said smugly. "But I've lost the flip the last two times. This one's mine." She looked over at Gloria. "Where's my dildo hon?"

Gloria got up and went into another room. Returned with a huge dildo and handed it to Sonia.

"We get to watch?" Miss Adams said. "Because I'll want a turn afterwards and I always say that watching a pansy take it up the ass gets me right in the mood!"

"Can we watch too?" the girls at the door said.

"Sure! No problem! But these ladies will probably be first after me. You can have him after that." Sonia said, lifting her skirt and starting to adjust the straps of the dildo around herself. "Here Joan! Come and put this on me!"

"I can't do that!" I said whining. "Please Miss Edwards?"

Gloria walked swiftly across the room. Before I knew what was coming, she rocked me with a slap to my face.

"Drastivocik yarblov!" she hissed.

The end

  

  

  

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