Hope and love grows in a place that lacks both – 02

Emilia cried out in joy when one hand released the soft orb of her breast and leisurely slipped down her tight stomach towards her then very wet pussy. When it skirted her pubes, caressed her hip and her leg, the blonde groaned in frustration.

Emilia twisted in her bonds, trying to move her mound under that soft hand, but Zoey continued to caress the skin of her hips, thighs and tummy, studiously avoiding her pussy. Her other hand zeroed in on Emilia’s hard nipple, gently squeezing and relaxing, driving the captive woman to distraction. She felt an incredible hunger; all the while, Zoey kissed her, languidly exploring every millimeter of her mouth. Only very slowly did the Arab woman let the hunger they both felt begin to dictate the pace and passion of that long kiss.

Zoey eventually broke the torrid kiss and ran her tongue around Emilia’s lips, then down her chin, before she began to lick and kiss her way down Emilia’s long neck to the small hollow between her collarbones. Zoey swirled her tongue once in that hollow and then started up Emilia’s neck, along the line of her jaw and eventually to her sensitive ear. She breathed a soft warm breath that sent goose pimples along the tall woman’s spine.

Tiny teeth nipped the bottom of her ear, driving Emilia to whimper. The sensations were rolling, like a wave building in the sea. They piled up, one on another, melting, blending, adding their energy to the growing mass. Nails scraped along her hip, up her side, and along her outstretched arm. Delicate fingers squeezed and teased her nipple, while a soft tongue and tiny teeth worried her ear. The wave was peaking, towering above the shoreline, when Zoey’s fingers finally slipped through Emilia’s damp pubes and touched her slick lips.

Everything crashed in on Emilia, then, as a tidal wave, the sheer intensity of it wiped out every coherent thought in its path. Emilia gasped and arched her back so fiercely that she threw Zoey off. The slight woman somehow managed to keep her hand between Emilia’s legs and vigorously stroked the tall woman’s spasming pussy. Emilia tossed her head from side to side and moaned, babbling nonsense words as her orgasm slowly subsided.

Zoey crawled over her leg and settled between them; Emilia’s mind was just beginning to work again, when she felt the small woman’s tongue slide between her velvety lips and lap at her inner folds. Intense spikes of pleasure shot through her still thrumming body with each movement of that small tongue. Emilia moaned, thrashed in her bonds as the sensation passed the threshold between outrageously pleasurable and unendurable. Her tall body arched, lifting her hips far off the bed. Zoey quickly slipped her arms under and around Emilia’s body and held on tightly, keeping her mouth centered over her captive’s clitoral hood.

She lapped at Emilia’s pussy like a kitten, each swipe of her tongue making Emilia jerk and heave. Emilia knew this couldn’t last long. She felt the beginnings of another orgasm, the tinge at her back, the rhythmic clenching of her anus and inner walls, the slight buzz in the back of her head. Emilia’s clit revealed itself, and Zoey’s tongue found the nubbin. With soft, sure strokes, she carried the tall woman to another massive orgasm.

Emilia was sure she would lose her mind. Starbursts and fanciful patterns of light and color danced on the backs of her tightly closed eyes. Pulses of raw bliss radiated out from her pussy, and the insanely erotic sounds of Zoey’s tongue reverberated in her ears. She barely noticed the slight woman uncoiling and got off the bed. Her mind was still suffused with euphoria, when Zoey threw on her clothes and left the room.

Emilia awoke to the sound of explosions and gunfire. The room was dark and cool, but she had no idea how long she had slept. More gunfire erupted, quite nearby, from the sound of it. She smelled smoke, and was suddenly petrified by fear. Helpless as she was, the thought that part of the building might be on fire froze her heart.

The door opened, and Zoey glided in, her movements stealthy. She produced a large knife and, for a moment, Emilia thought it was the end. Instead of plunging the weapon into Emilia’s chest, the slight woman made two quick jerking motions above her head and Emilia felt her bonds loosen. Two more quick slices, and her feet were free. She sat up in a rush, pulling her limbs free of the now slack ropes. Zoey reached under the bed and tossed Emilia’s clothes into her lap. She also placed the big pistol on the floor.

“Dress quickly and escape if you can. Use the window; you will be killed immediately if you try the inner stair. May God protect you,” she whispered, and was gone like a puff of smoke.

Emilia struggled into her shorts and top, her urgency making the simple operation clumsy. Ignoring her socks, she shoved her feet into her boots, jammed the pistol into her shorts, and jumped to the window. She could hear the fire now, a not too distant crackling, and her nostrils were filled with the smell of smoke.

The window opened onto a small courtyard. It was a long drop, but she had no choice. Automatic weapons began to chatter, and she dodged back from the window by reflex. When she realized they were not aimed at her, she stepped over the sill, and lowered herself until she was dangling, with only her hands still gripping the windowsill. She let go and there was a dizzying sensation of motion, before the ground brought her to a painful stop. She fell backwards onto her ass, but a shooting pain told her she had twisted an ankle or worse.

Without time to worry about it, she stood painfully and ran to a darkened alley. A shout behind her in Arabic was followed by the chatter of an automatic weapon and the whine of ricochets. Emilia ran as best she could down the alley, but was followed by another shout and more shooting. She felt a solid thud in her thigh, and her leg gave way, dropping her in a heap.

Emilia tried to stand but couldn’t. Her leg was obviously broken. She rolled over and clawed for the pistol, only to find it gone. A robed figure approached her, AK-47 extended from the body. When he was close, she recognized him as the malevolent man from the bazaar and later ambulance.

He shouted something, his face twisted with hate, but his voice was eclipsed by the bark of a gun. The man stood on his tiptoes and then slouched, his weapon clattered on the ground as it slipped from nerveless fingers. Emilia looked up to see an Egyptian soldier, holding his weapon at the ready. Relief flooded her body, and with the let down in suspense came blinding pain.

Emilia sat quietly in the great room, watching the snowfall and enjoying the warm, friendly crackling and popping of the fire in the hearth behind her. Today marked the one-year anniversary of her coming to the U.S. Everything had happened so quickly in the chaotic days after her escape from the terrorist hideout. The clash between Egyptian security forces and heavily armed bank robbers had barely made the news. Only when the identity of one of the three dead was made and he was linked to the militant group Hamas, had interest been garnered.

By that time, she was already back in Tel Aviv and being debriefed. The information she had given them had allowed the IDF to thwart the bomb plot. Emilia had kept the identity of The Jackal to herself, however, saying only that she had met the man briefly and hadn’t gotten a good look at him. When her face began to appear on Egyptian television as being a “person of interest” to the authorities in connection with the shootout, she had requested and been granted an early retirement.

Her dual citizenship and some palm greasing in high places had made her immigration process a snap, and she now lived comfortably on her retirement and the income she garnered teaching fat Americans how to ski. Her neatly forged past as a ski instructor in the Alps had made landing the job easy. Emilia had kept the blonde hair and adopted a slight Germanic accent as well as a new name.