A RIDDLE WRAPPED IN A MYSTERY INSIDE AN ENIGMA

[jaegerhunde01]

Thank you......more to come

[jaegerhunde01]

Locked myself out.......laptop screen just went, took a while to get back in

[jaegerhunde01]

THE SAFE HOUSE – THE NEXT DAY

Erika Kreuz, alias Zoya sat at the old scratched and pockmarked wooden table……….
She was bathed in light………...the rest of the room was in shadow…………..
A lone high watt light bulb hung from the ceiling by its black electrical cord………….the ceiling was stained but dry……..….a dirty old beige…………the paint was peeling in places……..
Likewise, the walls of the same colour………

She was fully occupied right now……..
Her shoulder length dark hair now loose and free…………… a little wild and unrestricted
In the shimmering light her hair displayed a slight tint of brown……..
Her hair was still looking slightly damp……….clinging to her fine long neck………..wet strands were pasted around her small ears……….she sported no studs or earrings
Her hair had come a long way since she had escaped from that prison transport………

A brief montage played out behind her dark eyes……… images from the past………..thinking of that van had triggered it……….

The said van had suddenly veered and swerved, and had then violently corrected itself………the male driver had oversteered…………..…the rain was hammering down, the road slick………it’s windscreen wipers inadequate for the task in hand…………
The sudden yaw had made those not belted and secure lose their stability and balance………it was like they had hit a pocket of air turbulence……….
The young female warder’s face had involuntarily landed in Zoya’s lap……….

She had been given a chance and had taken it………..and very quickly they were both manically struggling in the back of the van
The warder in her black service uniform………….her cap knocked off her head………..Zoya wanted that pistol she had briefly spied………..tucked into the waistband of her skirt and hidden under her tunic………
Her hands had been foolishly manacled to the front, her ankles unchained………..and they were not that tight either………
She had been sloppy in her work that guard………….

Her skirt was short already………..and in their desperate struggle it had risen even higher up her thick womanly thighs…………higher the skirt rose in the struggle, her legs bending, attempting to get under Zoya’s upper body, to push her off………..slowly the darker weave of the run guard on her tights slowly emerged on her thighs………
Zoya’s chained hands gripping her head and pushing it back……….making a mess of the foundation and rouge……
The warder screamed……..her hips and waist leaving the floor as she pushed her legs upwards……..
Until eventually one could begin to glimpse the sexy Vee her black seamless panties under the support seam of her dark black tights……………
If the warder was not being savagely throttled she would have been mortified that the gusset between her legs was now fully in view………….her legs now ungraciously spread wider than she would have normally wished………..
After kicking out wildly her tights had snagged and were now laddered on one leg……….
The trim warder was obviously losing the fight………..her face red and flushed, she was tiring………..her permed dirty blonde hair had become loose from its clips and pins……….the once groomed hair a complete mess………
A button or two had been ripped from the tunic……….
Zoya in her desperation had been ferocious…………
The warder’s skirt was now up and high on her stomach, totally scrunched up……….she was pinned against a bench, her back arched severely backwards…………her head jammed against the black metal of the van……….
And, she was being pummeled…………….her red glossed lower lip had been split………….
She should have worn a slip thought Zoya………it may have helped in hiding her modesty……….
The warders’ hips were now being thrust upwards………...her shapely black nyloned legs with her laced service shoes were kicking wildly…………looking for purchase………at least somewhere………
One arm was trapped under her back at an awkward angle……………
The other desperately lashing out in a hopeless defence……….
Her rounded stomach, her curved posterior and her curved pubis provocatively bucking up and down……….her choice that morning on choosing black seamless, shiny Lycra bikini panties being quite obvious to all………..

The driver and co-driver were shouting…………and looking over their shoulders through the wire grill that separated them from their female colleague who was receiving a severe beating……….she was screaming for help……………….
The van was swerving wildly………...all over the road………..tires were screeching…………
Which was not aiding the distressed and shrieking female one bit…………

Then Zoya saw that she had somehow managed to pull the pistol from the waistband of her belted skirt……….
The trapped arm behind her back………
Zoya had instinctively grabbed the hand…………..and pushed the gun away…………towards the driving compartment
She remembered there being a loud bang…………..a red mist had briefly filled the air

They were all screaming now except Zoya……….
The van was swaying and then bucked and dipped as it hit some obstacle that would not move…………it tipped violently to the right………it was going over……….
The noise was horrendous………
There was metal shrieking on tarmac………….a series of loud bangs and jarring thuds…………the female warder was screaming her head off………..
She briefly bounced off Zoya………..she herself was flung in the opposite direction………they had literally passed each other in the air………..

Then Zoya briefly felt her head connect against cold steel……..
Then for Zoya everything went momentarily black………….

Then as suddenly as she thought of it all the montage was gone…………
Resigned to her memory……..

She absent mindedly stroked the wet hair on her neck………..
When incarcerated in solitary confinement they had kept her hair short and trimmed……….almost boyish……….or gamine
It had been hard to feel like a woman in there, especially when forced just to wear T shirts and a boiler suit type uniform……….
And the underwear……..rough, boiled and grey……….no bras or bralettes in there……….just a grey manlike vest……….and equally grim, coarse and heavy cotton boxer shorts………….
Her footwear………..issued with no laces………a slip-on loafer type thing………..likewise she had been denied socks for some reason……………

Her mind wandered back five years………..she remembered that day, being at the ministry………at her desk…………she standing up and upon request heading towards a grey filing cabinet………it must have been a quick chop to her neck that had rendered her senseless………
Initially, she had been surprised that he was capable of such a calculated and cold act………
On retrospect, he had not always been old…………she should have known better than to turn her back on him…………
She had started that day dressed as real woman…………they were not her own clothes of course…………..let’s just say they had all been borrowed…………
When she had woke up………much, much later…………..she had been clad in the prison issue garb……..and would remain so for those long five years………
They had even shorn her of her long hair……….once dyed blonde to mimic the secretary she had replaced……………they had removed any trace of her makeup…………..even the perfume she had stolen………
All whilst she had been unconscious or drugged………..
A hard bar of Government Issue soap being her only form of perfume from now on………
Otherwise, she generally stank………..

She had not long ago showered……….she felt clean and fresh…………
All her filched makeup, creams and lotions had been washed and wiped away………
Her face now glowing with a natural beauty……..
When relaxed Zoya tended to look younger………her inner calm affecting her engineered genes
And right now, she felt really relaxed and moderately secure after her recent adrenaline fueled escapades……..

She had made contact……..
The successful infiltration of the prison that had incarcerated her darling Irina………but they had been waiting for her to do so, she had expected it………
Yet having that expectation met had made it no less unenjoyable…….
Her subsequent speedy exit, the pursuit, the sanctuary within that department store and her lucky encounter, the stalking, the masquerade and then a rather flirty flight from Harding and Howells……..

For now, she had lost them……..for the present at least she reminded herself……..
They were out there now waiting….........being patient………….waiting for her to take the next step………they knew she would………

Here she felt relatively safe……….
This place was nowhere……….
In this room, above the large industrial sized laundry she was taking stock, recovering her equilibrium……….and at present she was planning………….making preparations for the next part of her plan……….
She would not run……….

She was currently concentrating on writing up a progress report on a loose-leaf writing pad………she was using a cheap black bic biro pen…………the report also included a number of requests………one request in particular would be vital………..
She needed a certain drug………….when she had first heard of it the drug had been experimental, that was before the prison………....now it was being trialed……….…..definitely in the United States, but was it available in Britain……..

[jaegerhunde01]

The drug had attributes that would come in very handy on the next phase of her plan……..
If anyone could find it………he could and would………………
A plan that would finally result in the release of Irina……..
Either that or she would die trying………..failure was not an option
But only if Onkle would assist her……….he had so far…………….after all, this was his safe house……….
Everything she had been able to accomplish so far had been down to his benevolence…….

Her mind briefly went back to that red public telephone box………it was a working weekday for most………..…but not for her, she pretending to be a woman just out shopping………….and not the tired and drab type lugging lots of plastic bags either…………

The street had been teeming with people and traffic………..
A place called Ashdon………..the high street………...that was it, another English term she had never really understood…………..
She looked like a woman just out shopping, but not for groceries or any household chore either………..
As was her way when the situation allowed and was required she was dressed very smartly………….and looked very appealing and attractive………..

A leather shoulder bag over her shoulder……………a brown canvas shopping bag in the other, adorned with a brand name of course…….………
She had been wearing a long light grey trench coat with a wide collar……….open at the front, the waistbelt trailing at her sides………….
After all,………if she was stopped and questioned………or someone stared too long at her………….she wanted then to stare at her bust……….and not her face…………

Underneath the coat was a beige wool and cotton mix dress, with a crenelated weave in the design, tight and figure hugging, belted around her waist therefore pulling on her rounded and healthily sized chest……….
The dress ending just above her knees, with a split or vent at the rear……….she wore over her legs taupe shaded tights………………dark and dusky
Her feet sported brown leather shoes………. open on the foot………....the heel high but sturdy enough…………the pointed toe of the shoe hiding her nylon seamed and painted toes………..

Jewellery adorned her ears, chest and fingers……….
Her decolletage or low neckline sported a thick gold chain……….a small Celtic Torque in design……..twenty-five carat no doubt…………..
The dress’s halter rounded on her chest and fully covering her bra strapped shoulders…………low, but not enough to reveal a cleavage……..
But tight on her best………the dress’s fabric unfortunately hiding her choice in underwear that day……
Her ears sported gold rings………small and not too pretentious………..
One hand exhibited a gold wedding band and a diamond engagement ring……………she had obviously purloined them from another woman……..
On her other wrist was a gold identity chain……….the gold plate stated a name………….’Claire’ in lovely swirling script………..

Her face had been made up with a petite use of cosmetics, a light tan eyeshadow, a little mascara………a light pink rose lipstick………….a little light foundation and a dab of rouge………….
Nothing gaudy or ostentatious………
She herself exuded the aroma of flowers……….…sweet and fresh……….….and very feminine…………..
Her suspiciously short hair, and a dead giveaway had been camouflaged by the convenient use of a jet-black wig…………in the style of a popular and longish bob………the hairpiece was made of a high-quality material and looked very convincing and authentic………..
It looked like her natural hair……………

Zoya walked along the street………..passing normal people going about their daily lives………..as she strolled along, appearing nonchalant she occasionally stopped at shop windows, pretending to take an interest on what was on offer………..she did take an interest in one establishment, a lingerie boutique, an independent retailer……..if their window display was anything to go by then then proprietor had stocked some really nice wares……….she noted they also stocked foreign brands……….American and European
But she was not interested in a making a purchase……….why would she, the house where she was currently residing was well stocked in quality ladies’ intimates……..…….

She smiled and nodded at people who acknowledged or smiled back at her…….………
After all, she was one of them……….a member of the community
Or so they naturally assumed…………
Husbands or young men taking stolen glances at her looks, her figure……….and her style of dress
She liked that…………especially if they were accompanied by their partner…………
She had nothing to fear……..she was dressed like a lot other women she had seen or passed in the street………


But it was what she wore underneath her dress that really made her feel rather special……….

To Zoya’s secret and fetish delight she was wearing silky stretch satin ivory coloured bikini style knickers under those dark tights………..sheer floral fronted, full on her rump…….…..a matching bra with strong straps and a straight torso band upon her concealed back, half the bulging cup a sheer floral design, with a hard trim………..a flower type bow set between her breasts………..her nyloned legs sliding underneath a matching soft half slip with a lace trimmed slit on her right leg and thigh……..
Zoya had loved the feel of it all upon her skin…………..her nylon sheathed legs sliding and hissing on the smooth slip…………

And why did she feel special wearing the garments……..
After all, they were pieces of normal underwear……..nothing kinky………….
It was because they had originally not belonged to her………..her body was never intended to be enveloped and bound inside them……..
It was her fetish……….

Inside the shoulder bag she even had a strange woman’s driving license and her personal documents……held within the brown leather purse inside the larger bag………….
If they were quickly scrutinized, she may be able to bluff it out…………after all, the British driving license had no photograph……….
Strangely, any official form of identity was anathema to the British……….
This peculiarity worked to her advantage…………….

She personified the respectable Mrs Suburbia…….not one gave her a second glance
It was as if she had been born there……….
But of course………this was Zoya………..a natural in blending in……..whatever and wherever the environment………….
It was what she had been trained for……….

Finally, she saw what she had been looking for……….the sole purpose of her rather risky journey outside in the real world………
After five years alone she was still adjusting to being free………..she just did not trust herself right now……
She was suspectable to spontaneous urges…………….and they could prove to be her undoing

A red public telephone box had been installed near a T junction on the street……….
A public house or pub not too far away……….
The phone box was empty and she naturally pulled on the heavy wrought iron door……….
She squeezed herself and her belongings inside……….there was not much room inside

Her small nostrils were instantly assaulted by the smell of stale urine……….
No doubt the result of late-night patrons from the nearby drinking establishment……
She ignored the smell.
She just hoped the telephone had not been vandalized………it looked in good shape……….

She pretended to study a list of plastic-coated numbers inside and above the phone……….for appearance’s sake her newly red varnished nail tracking downwards……….
In reality she had memorized the required phone years ago……….

She was apprehensive when she had dialed the number………
A number long ago memorized……..a number for just this type of situation……….
Would someone pick up……..
She had a coin ready to insert………a woman’s brown purse lay beside the large chipped and gray public telephone………
Her bags still over shoulder and in her hand………..she dare not place them down on the concreted floor……….the smell was warning enough
She had operated the phone with one hand……….
The dialing tone buzzed……………….it kept ringing……..
Ringing……….
Until finally………and thankfully………..someone at the other end had picked up……….

And now she was at that place where she had been told to go to………

She wrote in a slow and Precise manner……..all in a very neat script………
The writing was not in English either………nor was it in either German or Russian………or in any other mainstream European language to be exact………..
To any in England it would look just like a load of gibberish…………..maybe they would think she was an avid fan of Tolkien……..
In fact, she was writing in Irish………or Gaelic to be more precise…………
Once Onkel had taught her the basics of the language, to speak anyway………on her own at the institute in Leipzig she had taught herself………reading and writing too……….until she was very proficient
As of yet she had never set foot on the shores of Ireland……….but she was prepared………..

[jaegerhunde01]

It was her homage to him………for when he occasionally returned unannounced………and during her life there were not that many visits………
But each visit she had treasured………..

The report and request were intended for one person only……….him……….her Onkel………or Uncle in English……….
She was writing to her sponsor………..her only protector now, the state had betrayed her……….he was more than that though……
He was her Paddy……….but the ‘Chief’ or the ‘Boss’ to others………..someone to fear……….

To Zoya he was her late mothers only Friend…………and her guardian ever since she was a child……….
Then it was the institute………a special place run by the state………..a world within itself
Over time his visits became less and less……….
And then she had entered the ‘Family Business’ so to speak………after that she became an instrument for the powers to be………

Zoya was once again in a state of semi undress……….
Her current attire suggested that she was in a state of mental neutrality……….she was pretending to be no one but herself………..but in reality that was never the case………
Even on her so called ‘off Time’ she could never be her true self…………

She was clad only in black cotton and nylon briefs, there was a sheen to them…………hipster style, very tight and stretchy………..her strong legs and thighs were accentuated as she sat on a basic wood and metal chair………..her legs either side of its supports………her legs were spread wide…………her bare feet positioned behind the same rear supports………..

She also wore a black sleeveless top, more like a vest made of a matching material……..…open and wide around her chest………high over her arms and shoulders……….
The black top was very taut on her shapely and bulging upper torso………
The black cotton top was tight enough to emphasize her natural and fully rounded breasts…………a full and deep cleavage was being presented………….
It was quite obvious that she was not wearing a bra………..
Her bare nipples were deliciously poking through the black fabric of the said vest like top…………
Her breasts, unsupported, hung low, loose and wide upon her chest………..

But how could she really be herself when the sporty looking underwear had not originally been her own…………
It was rare nowadays and a long time in the past that she had worn any clothes purchased by her own hand………..she could not really remember when the last time it had been……….
She wore and enjoyed doing so the underwear and clothes that incorporated the intimate tastes, choices and unique personalities of many a woman…………..
She reveled in the violation of doing so………..she was stealing something that was part of them……
She dressed in clothes that had caught the eye of another women………..a lot of women too over time…….
She classed it as just a perk of the job……….a bonus

A psychologist may have ventured a very different opinion on her rather odd fixation…………..concluding that she was probably suffering from an identity disorder brought on by her early childhood experience of being bereft of normal parenthood……….and the strict party and military discipline practiced by the institute………

Maybe……..
Which had been staffed by females in authority and were generally good-looking women……….and that authority was on display in how they all power dressed……….be it in civilian or military wares………….

She had always been watching them……..wanting to be them…………to look and dress like them……..
Being party women, they had access to clothes and fashions unknown to the general post war population……….western clothes too, such luxuries as French underwear, real nylons and cosmetics…….

She knew………she had seen them, held and stroked them with her own hands…………
But they had never known that………….
She had learnt early on how to break into a supposed locked dormitory bedroom when the occupant was away………

They had busy social lives those party girls………..
She had deftly searched intimate drawers and closets……….never leaving a trace that she had been there………she had never worn any of the garments herself, although she ached to do so……….taking nothing…………
She had never been caught…………..her skills were very unique even then………….and improving every day………
She was bright and very quick witted, a survivor………the perfect party student…………her instructors liked her……..thought she had promise and potential for further training as an operative……….she was what they were looking for……..
But underneath that pretty smiling face was a darkness………..a darkness watching and lusting………

Eventually………..
It reached a point that when a female instructor took a class……..or a lady party boss addressed them at a rousing rally then the young Erika had probably deduced already on what they had all chosen to wear beneath their tight uniforms or equally taut civilian outfits that day………

If she spied the lacy hemline of slip………or could see a certain bra under a blouse……..then Erika was sure that her hands had been all over that particular garment……..
If not, she was sure to do so on her next lonesome and uninvited visit to that particular woman’s bedroom………..
They were all high heels, silk stockings and garters………..tight skirts and blouses or figure-hugging dresses…….
She had loved it all

There had been a look of pure joy on her young face at party rallies and overly enthusiastic clapping
Her enthusiasm had been contagious, infecting the other female students around her………..
But her enthusiasm was based on something else……….
That something being the women on the podium themselves………..as she imagined them in the underwear and stockings that she herself was just as familiar with as they………..
They all mistook this overt behavior for party fervor……….
They were none the wiser……….so they approved
Her frustration became an obsession………….but she had kept it in check
Only once had she slipped……….but that slip up had been the key that had unlocked the door to her future career………..

The story was something like this……….

[Sakanre]

Locked myself out.......laptop screen just went, took a while to get back in

Oh no! Thank you for the new addition

[hahaderen]

Very delighted to see the new content! You are truly an exceptional writer! I wish you all the best!

[jaegerhunde01]

Most Kind.......never lose or forget a password or username configuration, the reset in non operational. Support and reach out is defunct, you are are on your own out there. Luckily I had a moment of clarity and a eureka moment, finally guessing what the password may be

Take care