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Finally, I was returning to Israel after five years. I never forgot Tamar Ya’akov, the soldier I had met on a chance encounter one night in Tel Aviv. I may have been with Tamar only a few days but the were enough for me to fall in love with her. Then, a chance meeting with her boyfriend’s cousin resulted in my leaving Israel under a cloud of suspicion and in pain. Now I was returning to Israel.
Why did I wait five years to return? One reason was that I could now get safely through Lod airport without encountering Daniellah Argov, my interrogator the night that Tamar and I were separated and a dominatrix of painful memory. Daniellah had taken a post as El Al’s security head in Toronto.
Another reason that I could go back was that Air Canada had recently instituted service between Tel Aviv and Toronto. By bypassing El Al, Mistress Dani would never discover that her favourite sub was returning to Israel. Finally, I was absolutely sure that Mossi Bar Lévi was out of jail by now and getting on with his life. Surely five years was enough time for even a Morroccan to forget me and how I had stolen his girlfriend.
As I sat in my airplane seat, I wondered if Tamar remembered me at all. Was she still available and did she still love me? Would she appreciate that I took up studying Hebrew for her? I hadn’t been wasting my time in the last five years. At least I would be able to find my way around Israel in search of the woman I love.
I remembered when I landed in Lod on El Al that the passengers burst out in hand clapping. This time there was stony silence. We’re Canadian after all. As I exited the airplane, the heat hit me like a hot iron that fell off the ironing board. This wasn’t Whitehorse, Toto. I had my passport stamped by the same unsmiling clerk as five years ago. Where do they get these people from?
I collected my luggage and made my way to the bus stop for the Ashdod Express. Why Ashdod, a city that wasn’t on anyone’s tourist list? I had stayed in contact with Colonel Chava Krotchnik, the only person I could trust in Israel who had any contact with Tamar. Colonel Krotchnik had had her own tragedies. She lost her lover and bondage partner, Percival Purves and got demoted at the same time. Somehow, she had rebounded, getting back her rank, although she wasn’t the Chief Army Censor now. We never talked on the telephone about our love life. It’s not something a young guy can discuss with an older woman.
So I had to see Colonel Krotchnik first on my way to find Tamar. The Colonel was in charge of the Israeli Army’s Ashdod Women’s Training Facility. When an Israeli girl got out of high school, her first month of army service consisted of Colonel Krotchnik beating her into shape. Well, that may be a poor choice of words. I knew the Colonel was a dominatrix but I was almost sure that she restricted her talents to submissive men. Colonel Krotchnik was a pervert but it didn’t involve young women.
I found the Army base in Ashdod and located Colonel Krotchnik’s office. She obviously hadn’t had the time to beat their girlishness out of the new recruits by the time I arrived at the base. The ones I met as I was escorted to the Colonel’s office giggled and stared at their male visitor.
As I sat outside the office, I practiced my newfound Hebrew and made out the letters “Chvh Qrtznk” on the door. Damn, what a difficult language. No vowels and what about that throat-clearing “ch” sound? Suddenly, I heard shouting and a uniformed girl burst out the door in tears. This girl wasn’t giggling and staring. Col. Krotchnik appeared in the doorway. She was fit, tanned and she stood ramrod straight so that she looked taller than her actual 160 cm. She hadn’t added one wrinkle in the five years since I last saw her. Her brown hair, tied in a roll at the back, didn’t have one grey hair. Her stern face turned into a cheerful smile when she saw me. When Colonel Krotchnik spoke, it was in an Eastern European accent so thick that you could smell the borscht on her breath:
“Chris, dollink. You come from Canada to zee me? Come in. Ve must talk dollink. I must apologize for zis unpleasant scene vit Private Zohar but Zahal must maintain its discipline. Please heff a seat. How long has it been Chris? Five Years? Ve must talk. I vill heff Private Reubens bring us zome refreshments.”
We sat down across her desk. One of the Colonel’s flunkies brought some café botz to sip whilst we performed the Middle Eastern socialization ritual. The Colonel brought me up to date on her reinstatement in rank and transfer to the Ashdod women’s barracks. When I asked her if she had ever gotten together again with Percy Purves, she shook her head:
“I neffer hear from Percy again. I hear from zome journalist friends zat he is vorking for American scandal paper writing stories about young ladies spanking bottoms of English lords. I don’t care vun bit because ze English heff zo many good submissives. I can heff my pick from ze English commandos who come train vit our army. Right now, I am bursa escort training two English officers, Captain Biff Whipple und Corporal Bart Bottomley, how to be good submissives. Ze men vear me out, ze vay zey luff to be beaten. But enough about me und my luff life, dollink. How can Colonel Krotchnik help my good Canadian friend?”
“Colonel, I’m on a mission to find and marry Tamar Ya’akov. I’ve been hiding from Daniellah Argov and Mossi Bar Lévi for the past five years. These have been five years of pure loneliness and increasing desire for my lost love. Even if I am in danger from Daniellah or Mossi, I must find Tamar. You were the last person I know who had contact with Tamar. Can you tell me how to find her?”
“I vish I could help more but all I know is zat Tamar completed her service in her home town of Be’er Sheva. I only know zis from ze army records. Ven Tamar und me left zeh Army Censor’s office, ve lost all contact. Zat girl didn’t vant to shame me because I vas demoted. Eff you find her, tell her no hard feelings, don’t feel guilty und don’t be a stranger. If you vant to find Tamar, I suggest you go to Be’er Sheva and see if she is still zer.”
“I thank you for the fine coffee and the help you’ve given me, dear Colonel. I’ll try and find Tamar there in Be’er Sheva or someone who knows where she’s gone. I’ll get right on the next bus.”
“Zer is no bus to Be’er Sheva until tomorrow. I heff a suggestion if you heff ze time. Biff Whipple und Bart Bottomley heff gone to Dimona to show our people ze English technique of interrogation. Zat Bart luffs to get a beating from ze rubber hose when he plays ze prisoner. I tell you zis; zat man is a born submissive. So, I heff neither of my true luffs vit me tonight. Since you must stay vun night in Ashdod, zo vhy don’t you spend zeh time vith me? I know ver ve can eat vun good falafel und I heff a leather thong, yust your size. Ve could heff a good time after zupper.”
“Colonel, I wouldn’t have anyone else show me the delights of Ashdod but you. But I must decline your idea of a good time. You’re a good looking woman but I’m not into whips and leather, whatever you may have heard about my last visit to Israel. But I promise you this. If I’m ever in the mood for a good beating, I want it to be at your hands and your hands alone.”
“OK dollink, ve only have supper und talk about zeh good old days. I see you ven I am off duty zis evening.”
The way Colonel Krotchnik said it, she gave an order I couldn’t refuse. She commandeered a jeep and ordered one of her soldiers to drive me to the hotel and another to load my luggage. As I walked into the hotel, I’m sure that I heard the driver whisper to the other soldier “takat yafeh” (nice buns). I snoozed away my jet lag in my room and was awakened precisely at 7:00 p.m. by the Colonel ringing me up on the house phone:
“If you ver in my unit, I vould make you do 50 pushups for sleeping so late. Get down here now, dollink. Ve heff a date.”
Colonel Krotchnik turned out to be a fun date. We were an odd couple, a 50-year old army officer and a young civilian. Despite the differences, there was something between us that clicked that night. The Colonel had a good sense of humor and a lot of stories to tell. Who knows? Maybe she was that rarest of breeds, a happy dominatrix. She didn’t just talk but she listened. She asked about my career as a journalist, as if I was any match for her experiences in life. Most of Colonel Krotchnik’s stories were about her days in the Army Censor Office.
“Of course, I got all zeh stories to be sent to Eastern Europe. Zose Communist journalists ver zo obedient zat I could tell zem to write anyzing. But zen, zey ver used to taking orders vere zey come from. Zey took orders zo vell zat zey vere almost as good submissives as ze English. It vas ze Americans who giff me trouble. Zey alvays zot zey knew grammar better zan Chava Krotchnik. I got speeches from ze Americans like you vouldn’t belief about Freedom of the Press. Zo, I alvays gave ze Americans und ze Canadians as a bonus to my Tamar to deal vit.”
“Tell me more about the Tamar you knew, Colonel. Was Tamar a good worker? Did you get along well with her?”
“Tamar vas to me like zeh daughter I neffer had. Such a good vorker und villing to go zeh extra mile. Ve had a good vorking relationship und personal relationship as vell. Tamar told me all about you and asked my motherly advice. It vas me who got her leaf for a veek to go avay vit you.”
“I didn’t know that. What did Tamar tell you about me and why would that convince you to give her leave so she could go on a trip like that?”
“Vell dollink, you know how vomen are ven ve talk? Tamar said that she fell in luff vit you ze first time you met. She said, zis guy, Chris, is kind, he luffs life, he’s good in bed but maybe a little stupid. But Chris is only a man, after all. She could go on for hours about how she vas neffer fucked the vay you fucked her und how she luffed your zain. Ven she found you again bursa escort bayan at the Censor Office, I tell her, ‘You must not let zis man get avay. Go vit him und enjoy der sex. He is perfect for you, effen if he has a goyische kopf.”
Slightly stupid was I? It sounded like a good time to change the subject before she got too curious about my zain. I was curious how an apparently normal woman like Chava Krotchnik end up as an officer in Zahal and an accomplished dominatrix? We were at a sidewalk café and had downed a few 777 brandies. That loosened both of us up a bit so I decided to ask the Colonel a personal question.
“Colonel, how come you never got married? I mean you’re fun to be with, you’re a good looking woman and you seem to like sex, even if it’s a little on the perverted side. Are you one of those people married to their careers?”
“Vell, I vas actually engaged vunce to be married. It vas anuzer soldier doing his compulsory service like me, Tzvi Studman. I vasn’t into ze bondage zen. Tzvika made luff zo beautifully, it vas like music made by zer Israel Philharmonic. He vas der man for me. He vas zo vell hung und he knew vat to do vit it. Ze first time ve made love, I zink he push my vomb up into my stomach. I neffer see again in my life zain on any man like I see on my Tzvikah. He vas a sex machine zat could play Chava Krotchnik like Yitzhak Perlman play ze violin. Ven ve finish our army service, ve vanted to start a farm of our own. By day, Tzvikah could plow ze ground und, by night, he vould plow up Chava’s insides. I vas zo happy and looking forward to being under ze choopah vith Tzvikah zat I bought a vedding dress vhile I vas doing my service.”
“But what happened to Tzvikah and your dreams of life on a farm.”
“Ze Yom Kippur Var ended my dreams. Tzvikah vas killed during heavy fighting in ze Sinai. I vas devastated but I stayed in ze army zo I vould alvays remember zeh time I had vit Tzvikah. I couldn’t stand ze zought of being vit another man until I met a man who didn’t vant sex, just a few slaps on his bottom. I discovered I had a talent as a dominatrix und, hineh, here I am.”
Tears began to well up in Colonel Krotchnik’s eyes as she told me about her long-lost love. I didn’t think that an old dominatrix could cry but there she was with mascara running down her cheeks. She dabbed her eyes with her napkin, smearing around more mascara. I put my hand on the Colonel’s free hand. It was smooth and warm. She didn’t push my hand away.
“I didn’t mean to bring up am old hurt, Colonel. I can imagine how losing your fiancé that way would break your heart. What can I do to make it up to you?”
“Let me clean up my face in your room. Zey heff no bathroom in zis place.”
I took Colonel Krotchnik back to my room. OK, you know what happened next. I ended up fucking a 50-year old woman, Tamar’s old boss no less, when I should have been looking for Tamar. How could I do that, you ask? As I said, Chava Krotchnik really wasn’t a bad looking woman. Probably she looked even better in the evening and with a few shots of 777 brandy in me. I checked to make sure she wasn’t carrying a bag full of sexual toys, so I wasn’t in for a beating.
Then there was the curiosity factor. Did Colonel Krotchnik still have it after 50 years? Someone once told me that an older woman was the best lay because she never knew when she was going to get it again. Was that true? If she still had it, how does an old dominatrix respond to her first plain vanilla sex in 20 years? And was Tzvikah’s technique as pure and unperverted as the Colonel implied? And was Tzvikah better hung than I was? My curiosity turned into a challenge, but it wasn’t any trouble to get the Colonel into bed, naked and no leather . In fact, she was already in bed when I got out of the bathroom. She had placed her uniform neatly on my suitcase and made sure it wouldn’t wrinkle. Her brassiere and panties were on the floor beside the bed. As I came out of the bathroom, The Colonel took the clasp out of her hair and let the roll cascade down to her shoulders. Long brown hair completely changed Colonel Krotchnik’s face. She was smiling, an almost sensual look on her face. I undressed without ceremony and climbed under the sheets with her.
She whispered, “Please call me Chava, Chris. Please be gentle with me und I vill show you vat an old lady can do.”
Chava Krotchnik turned out to be one wild woman in bed. I had no sooner slipped under the sheets than she was all over me, kissing and thrusting her tongue in my mouth and kissing my face. I thrust my tongue back in her mouth and checked for dentures. None. The thought occurred to me that either they fluoridate the water in this country or they have good dentists. Chava’s teeth were straight, all accounted for and a delight to run my tongue over. I remembered when she was smiling in the restaurant that her teeth were nice and white. The Colonel didn’t smoke like so many Israeli women.
I reached for one of Chava’s breasts to check escort bursa out if other parts of her were still in shape. Chava had small breasts for an Israeli woman, which meant that she had a pair which a woman anywhere else would kill for. A Colonel’s uniform was no better at displaying breasts that Tamar’s regular soldier’s uniform. Chava’s breasts had a slight sag in them – well, they had been hanging there for 50 years. Chava started to moan and squeal like a 15-year old as soon as I touched her tit. Probably she had forgotten the pleasure of a man gently touching her breast during her years of administering beatings.
As I played with Chava’s tits, sucking on her nipples and then gently pressing them between my fingers, Chava’s moans and squeals went up in volume. She was no singer but any woman who expresses herself with noise makes the music I love to hear. As I ran my hands along her hips and along her thighs, I didn’t find one speck of fat or love handles. Chava Krotchnik still had one nice tight body for her age, just the slight bulge around her stomach, not anything you would term a potbelly.
I reached down to Chava’s crotch and parted her legs. I wondered what I would find there. It’s always an adventure touching a woman’s pussy for the first time but this was my first touch of fifty-year old pussy. I had heard so many stories from my friends about how older women’s pussies dried up like the Negev Desert once past menopause. It was usually accompanied by my friend giving a graphic descriptions of the pain of a dry fuck and the discomfort of a foreskin being sandpapered off. There I was in a foreign country without a foreskin to protect me and no KY lubricant.
As it turned out, I didn’t need to worry at all. Chava’s crotch was soaked and the juice was running down her thighs. I parted her outer lips. If I remember my Slavic language studies correctly, the surname Krotchnik must mean “little crotch”. If I was right, Chava Krotchnik was carrying on a proud family tradition. As my finger glided up between her inner lips, it was like exploring between two narrow, hard walls. Chava was a tight little package between her legs. When I get back to Canada, I’ll have to tell the guys that everything they told me about older women was wrong.
I stroked the lower side of her clitoris lightly, never touching the tip, always staying on the side. Chava was so wet that my finger glided easily and lightly up and down these sensitive parts. Chava enjoyed the light touch. She didn’t complain about tickling. The only sounds she made were groans, gasps and sighs the reached a crescendo as her clitoris bulged up as large as a baby’s pecker. Chava’s body convulsed as she had a prolonged orgasm.
You can take the dominatrix out of her leathers but you can’t take the domination out of the dominatrix. When Chava stopped coming, she told me to lie on my back. I lay there with my pecker in the air while she fumbled in one of the pockets of her uniform on the suitcase and pulled out an army-issue condom. I already knew that the civilian Israeli condoms were as thick as a rubber boot so the military ones must be like truck tires. I had to put an end to this.
“What’s with the rubber, Chava? I hate those things.”
“But I tell all my recruits to use zese ven zey heff sex. It has ze Zahal serial number right here. Zere is vun of zese kaputs in effery Israeli soldier’s field equipment, male or female. It’s in ze regulations.”
“I can’t recall that you read that regulation to Tamar. Besides, you left the Colonel on my suitcase. You’re Chava right now.”
“OK, ve don’t use der rubber if you promise neffer to tell my girls.”
I promised, Chava discarded the package and she eagerly started to suck dick. She was even better than Daniellah at fallatio. Chava could not only apply the vacuum to a dick but she could run her tongue up and down the shaft of the dick at the same time. In no time at all, I shot off. I don’t know if it was Chava’s intention to blow me off but she swallowed without letting go of my dick. If Chava was typical, Israeli soldiers must be tough women.
I got hard again as Chava kept sucking my dick and maintaining my dick at full alert. Finally, she was satisfied with its condition and squatted so that our business parts touched and lined up. Her pussy was even wetter with excitement as she sensed that she was about to get some young zain again. She rubbed my tip a little between her pussy lips and then inserted the tip in her cunt.
Damn, for 50 years old, Chava was a tight little piece. My buddies told me stories about 50 year old women so completely fucked out that they were big as a coffee can down there. I shouldn’t have worried. Chava hadn’t had any children in her 50 years. I had checked for stretch marks while I was kissing her stomach. My dick hurt as she pushed to get me in but finally her cunt yielded and I was in an inch. Chava gasped:
“You’re effen bigger zan Tzvikah. I vill heff trouble vit you tonight.”
Was Chava saying that to make me feel good or was I really was bigger than her first love? Was she tight like a virgin because she never got a poke from her submissives? After all, what did I know about what really went on in the bondage scene?
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