My lip quivers and I try to hold it still with my teeth. I am uncertain if I cry from pain or the disappointment of being deprived of feeling his hand...spanking me. I wait against the wall for more. He presses against me and grinds his hardness into my softness as he clasps my leash back on to my collar. Wantonly I press back against him drawing away for only a split second as his hand presses against the angry welt on my thigh. I relish the tingle as I press back into him and his hand strokes. Rhykov chuckled, "not if there's sheep in the paddock."The next morning, Rhykov awoke with a start. He was slumped in a corner of his office with a heavy greatcoat over him. Near his ear he could feel the warm caress of someone's breath.Olga had squeezed in next to him against the wall and lay fast asleep against his back. Sighing, Rhykov, unsuccessfully, tried to dismiss from his mind the sensation of her two rubbery breasts underneath her loose uniform shirt.In January 1918 Leon Trotsky and. More

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