The Adventures Of Irina Spalko

(Disclaimer: This story is a work of fantasy for free entertainment. Indiana Jones and related characters are property of Lucasfilm Ltd. *Please DO NOT repost without permission*)

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George McHale dropped onto the bed, the springs groaning beneath his considerable weight, and rocked from side to side. When the frame creaked and crunched, threatening to snap at any moment, he shot to his feet and backed away.

He looked to the large man standing beside the door, his haircut and ill-fitting suit marking him as Russian. "They don't make 'em like they used to, do they comrade?"

The man didn't answer. He didn't even look at him.

George shrugged and picked up a near-empty bottle of scotch from the table, gulping it down and growing angrier with every swallow. He was fed up with this cloak-and-dagger nonsense: always looking over his shoulder and couching his conversations in code words and odd phrases; meeting his handlers in third-rate motels that should have been torn down years ago. Almost as if they weren't taking him, a former member of MI6, seriously.

He slammed the bottle down and pointed a thick finger at the guard. "Don't think you can judge me, you red son-of-a-bitch. I'm in this for the money. I could give a flying leap about your precious Motherland."

The man smiled. So, he did understand English.

Just then a car pulled up outside, older model by the sound of it. George moved to the window and pulled the curtain aside, his eyes taking a moment to adjust to the glaring midday sun. The driver, yet another Russian with a pistol bulging beneath his coat, stepped out and took a look around. Satisfied they weren't walking into a trap, he moved to the rear of the car and pulled the door open.

A black leather boot emerged, polished so deep the sun reflected off its surface like a mirror. It touched down in the hot dust as the rest of a tall, lithe woman clad entirely in a form-fitting light-blue uniform emerged from the backseat. In her late thirties, with jet-black hair bobbed at the jaw line and trimmed across the bangs, she was every inch a Soviet.

The beautiful pale-skinned woman brushed a black-gloved hand through her hair as she strode to the door, long legs and firm thighs catching George's eye. Dust kicked up around her, sunlight flashing off her fashionable black sunglasses as she turned to the window and smiled.

George jumped back with a start and bumped into the table. He quickly composed himself while the guard opened the door.

"I am Colonel Doctor Irina Spalko," the woman said as she came into the room, her English fluent but heavily accented. "And I am a very busy woman."

She removed her holstered pistol from her belt and handed it to the guard. He shut the door, locked it, then tucked the weapon under his arm and resumed his post. Irena took a look around, then brushed past George on her way to the mirror.

"We'll keep this short and sweet then," he said. He watched her adjust her hair, his eyes slowly making their way to her shapely posterior.

"Indeed we shall," Irina said. She turned away from the mirror and produced a fat envelope. "The amount you specified, plus a little extra."

George snatched it from her hand and tore it open. Irina looked at the guard and shrugged.

"I trust this will be the last time we meet," she said sternly. "I am many things, Mr. McHale, but patient is not one of them."

George nodded, too busy counting his money to notice the not-so-subtle threat in her words. "Call me Mac," he said. "We know each other well enough, I think."

To this Irina said nothing.

George chuckled. "Yeah, this will do for now." He shoved the envelope into his shirt pocket.

"Then our meeting is concluded."

George folded his arms across his burly chest. "I don't know about that," he said. "You Russians have been yanking me around for some time now. Maybe it's time you give me some reassurance, a little something to show I'm not just your fall guy for whatever scheme you're cooking up."

"Reassurance," Irina repeated. She tilted her head. "Such as?"

It was almost imperceptible, so deceptive were her lovely blue eyes, but George noticed right away how tightly coiled she was, ready to lash out at a moment's notice. He knew he was pushing his luck--one didn't rise to the rank of Colonel in the Soviet Union by virtue of being meek--but he was already in so deep that it didn't much matter what he did.

Irina exhaled loudly. "I speak for Stalin himself," she said. "Tell me what you want. If it is in my power to give, you will have it."

"You might just regret that," George said softly, forcing her to lean close to hear him. He gave his belly a gentle pat, and was surprised to find it hanging over his belt. He cleared his throat and silently resolved to lay off the booze.

Irina raised one pencil-thin eyebrow, immediately taking the hint. "You Westerners are all the same," she laughed, "thinking with your balls instead of your brains." She clasped her hands behind her back. "That is why your so-called democracy will fail."

"Perhaps, comrade, but until then you need men like me." George took her by the waist. "And I'm going to wring everything I can out of you."

Irina scoffed. "You flatter yourself, I think." But she didn't pull away, staring at him for some time before slowly nodding.

She stepped back and said something in Russian to the guard before walking over to the table and taking a seat. She removed her gloves, her boots and socks, and finally her belt, then stood up and took a small wrapper from the guard.

"You will wear this," she said. "If you remove it, I will kill you myself."

George looked down as she dropped a Soviet-made condom in his hand, then up at the guard. "I don't normally do my business in front of other men," he said. "Not if I can help it."

"He is my bodyguard. He will not judge."

George shrugged and began undoing his shirt. "Yeah, alright then."

When he pushed his pants down around his ankles, Irina raised the other eyebrow.

"You are big everywhere but where it matters most," she said with amusement. "This is disappointing."

She rattled off in Russian. The guard turned red, firming his jaw and trying not to laugh.

George ignored them, his face burning as he continued to undress. He left his black socks on.

"Okay, honey. Come over her and warm pappa up."

Irina sneered with disgust and pushed his hand away. "Not until you put on the prophylactic."

"Later, sweetheart. When we need it."

Her eyes flashed. "I am the property of the Premier and party apparatchiks! I will not touch you even with my little finger until you put that on."

"Fine," George said. He tore the package open with his teeth and rolled the condom over his semi-hard penis. "Happy now?"

Irina nodded and licked her sensual lips, accentuating her lack of makeup before dropping to her knees in front of him and lapping at his swollen shaft. "Mmm," she murmured, gazing up at him as she slowly sucked him into her mouth. "Mmm-mmmm."

"Oh god," George groaned. "Yeah, that's the stuff."

He held his breath, watching as his cock slid in and out of her pretty face. Irina bobbed her head with expert Soviet precision, moaning like a woman who was enjoying herself.

George put a hand on the back of her head and pulled her deeper onto his manhood. Eyes closed, he humped his hips while she flicked the sensitive underside with her tongue. He hadn't had this kind of treatment in years, not since that night in '54 when he and Indy teamed up on Charlotte Gray, some chippy they knew from the war and one of the best cocksuckers in all of Europe. But even a pro like Gray paled in comparison to Irina, a moaning, slobbering Soviet who could suck dick like no other woman he had ever known.

She pulled off his cock and stroked his wet staff. "Do not be ashamed if you finish quickly, Mr. McHale. Not even Khrushchev can last long in my mouth." She licked her lips and swallowed him back down.

She sucked, twisting her head from side to side and making sure to hit all the right places. George groaned at that, his cock growing even harder, the prelude to ejaculation. Sensing this, Irina slipped back to focus on the sensitive crown, sucking hard while she pumped his staff.

George couldn't take it. He grunted, then blasted into her mouth and rocked his hips back and forth as he shot a nice sticky load all over her tongue. Only when his cock began to shrink did he pull out, so amazing was her mouth.

He opened his eyes and frowned when he realized he hadn't given the Russian slut a week's worth of semen like he'd pictured, but had instead filled his condom to the point of bursting. So much for that fantasy.

Irina wiped her mouth before pointing to the wastebasket by the door. She remained where she was while George disposed of the dripping rubber.

"What happens now?" he asked, towering over her with his flaccid cock dangling in her face. Irina looked up, unreadable as always.

"That is entirely up to you, Mr. McHale. This was your idea."

George looked down at his limp member and smiled. It would be several minutes before he was ready for action, but his wasn't the only cock in town.

He pointed to the guard and said, "Suck him next. While I watch."

Irina gave him a hard look, then slowly turned her head and looked at the guard. She took a breath and spoke to him in Russian. He stared stupidly. She repeated the command, louder and much harsher, and he immediately snapped to attention and undid his pants.

George wasn't shocked to discover the man was bigger than him. Most were. He took a seat on the end of the bed and watched as Irina crawled across the floor, her curvy ass swinging hypnotically from side to side.

She slid a hand into the guard's pocket and retrieved a condom, quickly tearing the package open and slipping the rubber over his cock. He grunted, his face flush, and stared straight ahead. Irina barked again. He coughed nervously and forced himself to look down at her.

Looking into his eyes, she slipped her mouth over his rigid penis and began to fellate him as if he were the last man alive. He gasped, muttering in his native tongue, and threw back his head.

George's cock quickly came back to life, and not a moment too soon. Judging by the way Irina was going to town on the poor fellow, his next turn wasn't long in coming.

Even as George was thinking it, the guard grabbed Irina's head and jammed his cock deep into her mouth. She choked, her face turning red, but squeezed her hands into fists and continued to perform. The man gasped, obviously about to come, and doubled over.

Irina moaned whorishly. It must have been tough for her to feel that hot cum in her mouth, separated from her tongue by only a thin layer of plastic, and know she could never taste it without risking her career and maybe even her life.

The guard finished up before releasing her. He immediately looked away.

Irina pulled off his cock, thick strings of spit dripping from her chin while she glared at George. "Are you satisfied now, Mr. McHale?"

"As a matter of fact, I'm not." He got off the bed and took his swollen cock in hand. "Get up and lose the goofy uniform."

An annoyed look passed over her face, but Irina immediately came to her feet and began undoing her shirt. There was no hesitation in her movements, no shame anywhere to be found on her beautiful features. The blue tunic fell to the floor, then the white undershirt, and finally the lacy supporting undergarment. George rubbed his chin. She had the most delicious pear-sized breasts, creamy mounds with small pink nipples, and a nice flat belly. It was enough to make his mouth water.

Irina undid her pants and pushed them down until they pooled around her ankles. She wasn't wearing underwear.

"And now, Mr. McHale?"

George loosed an impressed whistle. It was refreshing to see a Russian adopting the Western style of grooming: shaving her legs and under her arms but leaving her dark curls untouched.

He looked into her bright blue eyes and grinned.

"Hand me one of those, ah, prophylactics and get on the bed."

The guard at the door dropped his used condom in the trash and passed Irina a fresh one. She stepped out of her pants and came to George, who waited until she was within arm's length before seizing her by the sculpted shoulders and throwing her down on the bed.

He was right behind her, flopping on his belly and pushing her long legs apart before going right to her burning temple of doom.

Irina gasped and arched her back. George paid her little mind, her strong scent making his eyes water, and ran his rough hands over her soft thighs while he licked her creamy folds. He flicked the tip of his tongue between them, then moved up to give her clitoris a hard suck. Irina dug her fingers into the mattress and bucked her hips. George smiled and pushed his tongue deep inside her pussy, making her writhe and squirm as he took a nice long taste. He did this for several seconds, perhaps minutes, until he was certain she was ready for the next step, then eased back and replaced his tongue with two incredibly fat fingers.

Irina, her face and chest starting to glisten, pushed up on her elbows and looked down between her legs. A heartbeat later, murmuring in Russian, she collapsed in a heap of pleasure and tugged at the damp sheets while thrusting her hips to meet his fingers and rapidly flicking tongue. George chuckled and lapped at her pussy, his fingers pistoning in and out with such speed they were little more than a blur. Irina squeezed her breasts in response, giving them a hard slap and tugging on her nipples until George thought they might come off.

He pressed a finger to her asshole. Irina groaned and reached down to stop him, but a few light nips on her clit made her gasp and grab the headboard. George, holding his breath as Irina humped against his face, slid the tip inside and made small circles to loosen her up. Then he gave her a hard shove.

Irina screamed and bucked so hard the box spring groaned beneath her. George glanced to the side, afraid he had gone too far, and was relieved to see the guard frantically stroking himself. What a world. A simple foot soldier, the man had probably fantasized about Irina for years, never believing he would ever see her in the buff, and certainly never expecting to one day be drained by her expert mouth. Yet here he was, in enemy territory, watching as his gorgeous superior demeaned herself with a filthy American capitalist.

George laughed and continued to pummel Irina's incredible asshole until he had her babbling incoherently. He sucked on her dripping pussy, switching back and forth between her juicy lips and swollen nub, then out of nowhere pulled his fingers free. He waited a moment, letting her sweat a bit before jabbing them back inside. Irina let out a gasp and went limp.

George was oblivious, lost in a world of incredible smells and tastes. Irina screamed bloody murder as he absentmindedly bit down on her clit, just as quickly slapping a hand over her mouth and shuddering uncontrollably as she washed cum all over George's face and lapping tongue. The big man drank up as much as he could, hungry for anything this precious Russian goddess could give him.

Irina's groans grew softer, and she murmured exhaustedly as her orgasm began to fade. George removed his fingers and gave her pussy a few more deep licks before reaching over and giving her sore nipples several sharp tugs.

"Not bad for a Commie," he said grudgingly. "But let's see what else you can do."

Irina sat up with a wicked grin. Taking charge, she pushed him on to his back and quickly mounted him. She reached down, took his cock in hand, and guided it to her pussy. George grunted as he came in contact with her damp heat, thrusting upward as hard as he could and in one motion filling her tight Russian cunt with almost five inches of good old American meat.

Irina laughed and began to ride him.

His big belly got in the way, and her hands repeatedly slipped off his wet chest, but Irina squeezed his porcine body with her rock-hard thighs and soldiered on. The sounds they made were loud and raunchy: his hips smacking against her supple ass, the bed creaking beneath their combined weight until Irina reached over and grabbed the headboard for leverage. Briefly sliding off his cock, she quickly repositioned herself so that she was in a deep crouch, using her feet for support instead of her knees.

"Oh god," was all George could say to that.

Irina bore down with her pussy so hard he was forced to shout. She bounced wildly--lifting so high his cock nearly slipped free--and slammed herself against him with such fury that the room was filled with wet slaps. George groaned, beginning to feel a little out of the loop, and took her by her slender waist before slamming up to meet her.

"Not bad," Irina grunted. "For one so small."

She balanced on one hand, using the other to abuse her breasts. George did the same to her ass, smacking the pale cheeks until tears welled up in her eyes. Neither showed any inclination to slow their frantic fucking.

Irina fell forward and mashed her breasts against his face. She rode him hard and fast, the only movement coming from her hips as she slid up and down his cum-soaked shaft. George chewed on her nipples and drooled all over her tits, inhaling the sweet scent of her skin as he thrust into her. He was so close now, just barely hanging on.

"Here it comes," he gasped. "Here it comes!"

He rolled her over on her back and frantically humped away between her long, gorgeous legs. Irina dug her nails into his back and kicked her feet in time with his thrusts.

"Yes!" she cried, her breasts jouncing wildly. "Yes yes yes! Fuck me, you capitalist dog! Fuck me!"

George felt his balls tighten up. He buried himself in her sweaty body, eyes popping, and shot off inside his condom while Irina moaned and thrashed her head from side to side. So much hot cum for her greedy Soviet pussy.

He collapsed on top of her, nibbling at her neck and gently humping as the flow turned into a trickle. Irina squeezed his fat arms and ran her bare foot over his sweaty body until he finally had enough and his cock began to shrink.

He moved to kiss her, but only got her cheek when she turned away in disgust. George rolled his eyes and pushed off.

He climbed out of bed and trashed the condom before looking back at Irina. She glowed like an angel: long legs spread, chest heaving, skin glistening, and not a hair out of place. Only when she narrowed her eyes and licked her lips did the softness fade away and her true hard-as-steel nature surface.

"Satisfied now, Mr. McHale?" Her thick accent made his penis twitch.

George shrugged but said nothing. They both turned their heads and looked at the guard. He stared back with open astonishment, eyes flicking from George to Irina, his rigid cock throbbing in his hands.

George took a seat at the table and lit a cigarette. He leaned back, took a long drag, and watched as the burly man mounted Irina Spalko and penetrated her in one go. They fucked hard, the headboard cracking against the wall while Irina moaned like a common country whore. George smiled, grabbing his semi-hard penis and stroking it in time with their sweaty exertions.

This Cold War, it would seem, was just heating up.