The Art of Motivation

Sophia had already pushed him back onto his wooden chair by the time the office door closed. The commander was already working on his fly as she unbuttoned the front of her Commissar's uniform and let it fall away from her tall, exquisite form. He had seen her, and indeed used her, before; but that was in his capacity as a Comrade as was the right of every noble companion in the Red Bloc. It was a quick, drunken affair where he took her from behind by hiking up her skirt as she cleaned her pistol after a particularly successful day defending his city.

What he beheld now was something officers such as himself feared more than anything: the lustful eyes of the Terror of Moscow intent on addressing him personally. If he were not properly "motivated" to complete whatever order he was about to be task with, he would promptly feel the snow on his knees and a barrel at the back of his head; the price for failure.

Still, the sight of her perfect alabaster body and flowing black hair stirred passions in him he had not felt since his time as an idealistic youth in the October Revolution. He remembered the wild embraces of willing peasant girls and screams of the elites as he ravished a banker's wife in the cold snow. His cock throbbed as her lithe, nude body insinuated itself onto his; first her leg straddling his, waist and then her right. He took deep breaths as his rough hands groped and kneaded her heavy, firm breasts while his stubbly lips scratched her tender pink nipples as they swelled in his mouth.

She slowly slid her wet, hot lips against the underside of his shaft as he suckled her; her long delicate fingers running through his thinning gray hair. His hips twitched upward involuntarily as his cock sought the source of the heat, just out of reach. She wrapped her arms around his head and pulled his face between her large warm breasts and descended down his swollen shaft before slowly rising and lowering herself in waves of motion.

His breath deepened as she enwrapped him. He couldn't help but think of something he'd overheard a group of artillery men say during a night of drinking. "Her pussy is so hot it could drive back the Winter!" one exclaimed to the roars and laughter of his comrades. That warmth was now engorging him, and the commander couldn't control himself any longer.

Quickly, he held her legs and stood. Sophia smiled as she wrapped her legs around his waist. They slammed into the wall hard enough to shake dust from the ceiling and send it floating into the light beaming down from the bare bulb above. He drove his cock into her as fast and deep as he could while her throat formed husky moans in his ringing ears. With his hot, foul breath on her pale cheek, she turned her face and kissed him passionately before pushing him hard enough that his legs it the desk. He looked at her, both of their chests heaving as she rushed him.

He nearly had to catch her she was on him with such ferocity, her body pressed against his and her hand around his cock. She kissed him again, and dropped to her knees. Looking down as her hands pumped his cock in opposite directions with her pouty lips opening, the war-scarred commander erupted. Sophia managed to catch most of the first thick rope of semen in her mouth, but the second and third arched high and splashed across her forehead. For the remainder, she squeezed and stroked him directly into her sucking lips.

He hadn't realized he'd closed his eyes until the harsh light of the bare bulb filled his vision. With the weary expression of an infantryman on his last legs, he glanced down to see her gently wiping the cum from her face and licking her fingers clean. She stood suddenly, walked over to her discarded clothing and started to button the uniform back up. She straightened her hair as his shaky hands awkwardly worked his fly. Finally, she donned her hat and placed a hand on the door.

"I trust you will follow your orders and make your country proud." she said. He nodded and saluted as she walked out.

The commander laughed to himself. With motivation like that, he'd **** the Fuhrer himself.