Natasha is allowed to get comfortable

The many winding corridors of RAF Bristol were now well known to Lieutenant Eva, but she'd been stationed at this base for months now. She looked back at her follower. Natasha watched the passing walls with an eagle's eye. Eva wonder if the Russian sniper was as lost as she was those first few days she'd been here, or was Natasha already building a map in her head.

Eva's eyes were drawn to the rest of the other woman's body. Her outfit seemed sparse, especially when crawling through snow; it exposed the soldiers entire midriff and most of her thighs. But the British lieutenant was not quick to judge; the Russian war machine may have been unorthodox, but it was well thought out and effective. There was an odd beauty to the Soviets' crude designs that was hard to deny. Moreover Eva found it even harder to deny the beauty of the woman wearing the uniform, both natural and disciplined: crisp Slavic features with toned, slender muscles. Catching herself the straight-laced officer pursed her lips and **** herself to look forward.

The cell was sparsely furnished but at least it had all necessary amenities. Eva made sure of that. She was unfortunately familiar with the brutality of war but still believed prisoners deserved respect. "You'll stay here until the charges are sorted," she explained after showed Natasha the two small rooms. "If you need anything, just use the intercom. Or I can get you something now. Would you like some food?"

"Niet, I may want taste of fine English later," she said her accent still as thick as a blanket.

Eva collected the cuffs and locked the door behind her, but thoughts of the pale amazon followed her down the hall. If her uniform was designed for Russia's frigid temperatures, the poor sniper would be boiling by now and eager to take it off. Eva thought about the other woman's interest in "playing spoons." In truth she'd expected the mischievous Russian to say something sexual. Eva wondered if maybe she should get her some records with the improvised instruments being played to make the prisoner feel more welcome.

The urge to check on her new ward didn't take long to overwhelm Eva, and she soon found herself walking to the security office. Twice the usual number of soldiers were inside the small room, definately more than should be necessary. There were so many heads in the way it took the lieutenant a half minute to actually see the camera's display, but once she did, she immediately realized why the office was over crowded. The prisoner of war was stripping out of her leather uniform. Only a matching set of light gray bra and panties was covering her exquisite body. "Alright everybody out," commanded the lieutenant crisp and clear before she realized it.

"Yes ma'am," came the chorus of replies, respectful but with a fair amount of disappointment.

"Perverts," Eva muttered under her breath as the last voyeur left. That being said, it was important to keep an eye on her charge. She looked at the lithe body displayed on the monitor, and couldn't blame the airmen for staring. Natasha's body seemed a contradiction: slender yet muscular, a finely tuned weapon but with a soft feminine touch in her bust and rear. Not wanting to take her eyes of the feed, Eva felt around for a chair and sat down.

The image of the nearly naked Soviet command seemed somewhat **** as she pealed of the last of her leather. Maybe it was because she was at a safe distance and not towering over the lieutenant, but Eva liked to think it was because she saw her more as a person now. Underneath the Kevlar and leather of her uniform, Natasha was a human; she wore panties and had skin that would be warm to the touch.

There was no hesitation as Natasha reached for the clasp on her bra. If she thought there were cameras, she didn't care. Perhaps the snipers rigorous training had desensitized her to exposure. Had the years of being prodded into physical perfection by scientists and doctors taught her to be proud of her body? Or was she muzzling her embarrassment to retain some control over her situation.

The athletic woman's breasts were larger than Eva expected. Her orbs weren't as large as the lieutenant's own, but that was true of most women. Jiggling slightly when freed from their bindings, they jutted out round and firm on Natasha's chest, proudly presented by her strict military posture.

The panties would be next, but Natasha seemed to take her time removing those, slowly sashaying over to the simple shower stall instead. A part of Eva wanted to yell at her to rip the underwear off like she was a drill Sargent barking at a recruit.

It seemed like it took an eternity for Natasha to reach her shower, and once there, she turned the water on and tested it's temperature before hooking her thumbs into her waistband. She slid her panties down smoothly. From the camera's angle Eva couldn't see the beautiful woman's vulva, but she was treated to a splendid view of her shapely ass which Natasha stuck out slightly as she bent to slide her final garment past her knees.

Now in all her naked glory the lithe warrior woman stepped out of the crumpled scrap of cloth and into the pattering shower. The clear orbs of water danced erratically down her pale skin streaming off her at points. Her hands joined the crystalline water in gliding across her skin, guiding the droplets to wet every inch of her. Eva found herself wonder what the Russian's skin felt like; it looked soft the way it yielded to Natasha's hand. Eva tugged her sleeve up and ran her hand against her forearm with the same care she saw the showering woman.

Then Natasha turned and Eva was able to feast her eyes on something much softer. It was a delicate pink slit between Natasha's legs, tight and beautiful like every other part of the woman. Above it was a simple landing strip of pubic hair. Smiling mischievously to herself, Eva wondered if that simple line was meant to honor the MiG pilots that assisted her with airstrikes. Whatever the case it was a beautiful shrine indeed; Eva's breath quavered as statements of how to pay proper "lip service" to the elegant womanhood crept into her mind. Her hand gripped her own leg its fingers pressing her pantyhose into her skin, and she desperately resisted the urge to slide her hand under her skirt.