Barcelona. Eight months after the last story.

As Carlos’s bedroom door closed behind her, Jun experienced a frisson of something like guilt. Sleeping with Dani had been agreed to and arranged by Kim, her husband. Sleeping with Albert had been her choice, but she had not yet been pregnant at the time and she had needed a baby at all costs, even at the price of fidelity. Carrying and birthing a Spanish baby was her best hope for securing Spanish residency, her husband knew this, and what was another lover if he saved both of them from being deported back to North Korea?

Going home with Carlos felt different. This time, she felt like she was cheating on Kim. For one thing, she was heavily pregnant with a child, and she was not entirely sure the baby was not Kim’s. Her belly was practically bursting out of her shirt. She was peeing what felt like every five minutes and even walking around was a chore. The due date was just two weeks away. What was in Carlos’s head, bringing home a woman about to birth another man’s child, was anyone’s guess.

Carlos was her colleague at the bar she worked at. He’d just started working there, and they’d hit it off at once. Jun and Carlos’s flirtation had become the source of much jocular teasing amongst the bosses and colleagues, but she didn’t mind. He made her laugh, but he also helped her relax. Carlos took Jun’s mind off of the uncertainty of her perilous immigration situation. She’d told him she was married, but separating from her husband and, from that moment on, he had pursued her single-mindedly, not that she needed much persuasion from this Latin hunk. Carlos was tall, muscular and ruggedly handsome. She wanted him so much that it practically ached.

Another reason she had for feeling a bit bad was that Kim had been working admirably hard to become a better lover in their marital bed. Jun was orgasming more and more often these days, and harder and better besides. If there was a dash of irony in Kim being inspired to learn how to please her by hearing her scream on the point of Dani’s cock, she could not deny that her body appreciated the improvements in his technique.

Carlos undressed, and she saw at once that his penis was comfortably the largest of the four she had experienced. All three of the Spanish men had left her husband’s in the shade, but Carlos’s really was something else. She did not measure it, of course, but she guessed he had to be next to nine inches. She thrilled at the thought of what was coming her way when he strode towards her, naked, his cock swelling rapidly.

Jun had tried to rein in her burgeoning sexual liberation. But sex with the young Spanish guys was just so, so much fun. Living in North Korea, she’d never dreamed she could orgasm that powerfully. In bed with Dani, she had screamed as pleasure possessed her. In bed with Albert, she had orgasmed for what seemed like forever and she had been left gasping.

Carlos lay next to her and they began to make out.

“You look so beautiful naked and pregnant,” he whispered to her, “Like an artist’s model.”

“Thank you,” Jun murmured back, and as they kissed, he slipped his fingers between her legs. She wrapped her fingers delicately around his penis and began to squeeze it and jerk at it.

“Do you know if it’s a boy or a girl?”

“No. But if it’s a boy, I hope for his sake that he’s hung like you!”

Carlos giggled, then kissed her. Unwrapping her hands from his dick, he began to kiss Jun’s body all over. He tenderly kissed her neck, brushing aside her silky black hair. He made love to her shoulders and her arms, pressing his lips to each inch of her bicep. Now he was nibbling at her breasts. Jun lay back and let him kiss her body, appreciating the attention he was giving her. If he lasted long enough, she would repay him with a blowjob, she decided. Gently, Carlos reached between her legs again and began to rub her clitoris, and as he did so he kissed her swollen belly.

“You know, I heard that sex can help to induce labour,” he said.

Kim giggled but did not say what she thought, which was, ‘Yes, and that’s part of the reason you are here!’

She’d been pregnant long enough, she’d decided. She wanted it over and done with.

When she was good and wet, Carlos pulled her legs gently apart and crawled up to her. Jun felt his penis nudging at the edge of her lips and then it popped in. He was rock hard, and exceptionally well endowed, and she gave an involuntary, “Wow!”

He smiled at her and, careful not to have his chest or belly bump against her tummy, began to move inside her…

*

Pyongyang.

Captain Jin Su Choek, chief of the district police, dusted off the epaulettes on his shoulder, then placed his cap upon his head.

“There might be an inspection today, so take extra care,” were the last words he said to his wife before stepping out into the street.

He had started on the inspection squads himself, not that that would save him if the picture of the Dear Leader in his home was found neglected. He and his team used to choose a street in Pyongyang and then go house to house, knocking on doors one after the other and demanding to inspect the portrait of the President that hung, by law, in every home.

Every morning he had been issued with a new set of white gloves, which were necessary to ensure that the framed portraits were kept pristine and free of dust.

Jin used to run his fingers around the edges of the frame and, if it had not been maintained properly, he would find a trace of dark matter on the gloves, which set the residents trembling with fear.

Sometimes, they were able to buy him off with a bribe, but others he would haul off for interrogation.

Jin had loved the work. He had never been too bothered about the paintings, although, naturally, he believed firmly in paying the Dear Leader respect.

No, what he had enjoyed had been the chance to visit endless homes and catch tiny snapshots of people’s lives. He’d gone from door to door and, in each home, there had been photos that intrigued him and small trinkets signifying a larger story behind the lives of the people who dwelt there. He had ultimately had to accept a promotion, but he had been reluctant to move on from the inspection team.

Jin hurried through the city, nodding to other uniformed policemen who were patrolling the streets of Pyongyang. They seemed to get younger every day, he thought to himself as he paused to ostentatiously salute the gigantic statue of the founder of the nation in Liberation Square.

Ten minutes later, he arrived at the police headquarters of the city.

“Captain,” the younger comrades said, rising to their feet and snapping to attention as he passed. Curtly, he nodded to acknowledge them, breezing through the office to his desk. Tan, his underling, came to greet him.

“Good morning, comrade,” said Tan.

“Morning. Anything interesting happen overnight?”

“Yes, Comrade.”

Jin’s ears pricked up. He arrived every day, hoping for something other than petty theft or dusty portraits to deal with.

“Last night, we raided a woman’s house. The material we found left us with no choice but to bring her in. She’s in cell 32-A awaiting your interrogation.”

“What did she have?”

Tan grew circumspect, shuffling on his feet. Jin sensed a change in the atmosphere in the room. He realized other staff were listening in and trying to pretend they were not.

“Well, Comrade, alongside some…counter-revolutionary components, there was…some material of a private nature. An intimate nature.”

“Intimate how? A diary?”

“Not exactly, Sir.”

“Perhaps I had better see it for myself?”

“I think that would be best, Sir,” said Tan, evidently relieved. Tan returned to his own desk and soon presented Jin with a thick, white envelope stuffed with documents. When Jin looked inside, he saw that they were divided and a paperclip had been used to bind sheaves of them together.

“Stories, Comrade. Six individually written stories, bound together by paperclips.”

“Rather a bourgeois use of paper, one might think,” Jin said disapprovingly.

“Yes, Comrade. But, in some ways, Comrade, that is the least of it.”

“Really? How so?”

“I think I should leave Sir to read for himself.”

Tan scuttled back to his desk. Jin withdrew the bound stories from the envelope.

“Adieu, Dear Leader!” was the title of the first one. “The Most Important Penis In The World” was the title of the second. What an extraordinary title, Jin thought to himself. He laid the six out on the desk. Other stories were headed, “An Invitation to The Party!”, “Hold Your Tongue!” and “On Human Bondage!”

From the titles alone, Jin did not, initially, realize they were sequential. He selected the last tale out of the package, “Mother! (I’d Like To Fuck!)”, which was actually the third in the saga. Sitting back in his chair, Jin began to read.

*

Nailed. Screwed. Seen to. Rogered. Fucked, of course.

Jun had learned so many Spanish words for what she was doing, and she silently recounted them in her head even as Carlos thrust his cock inside and out of her. Her native language, Korean, was considerably less inventive, but, perhaps more poetic in its euphemisms for the act.

Laid. Done. Spitroasted. Had. Whatever each term entailed, she’d done it all with Carlos (and Albert) in the final two weeks of her pregnancy.

Jun’s breasts were swollen with milk in anticipation of the big day, and Carlos had fallen on them delightedly. But the intimate moments of the early foreplay were now behind them, and Carlos was enthusiastically thrusting his penis deep inside her. Jun’s legs were trembling as she neared orgasm. The anticipation of coming, for Jun, was almost as joyful as the event itself. She closed her eyes and rubbed her tummy, feeling her breasts tingle.

She reached around and rubbed his neck and his back and breathed in his masculine scent, clean, earthy and expensive. This guy must get a lot of girls, she thought to herself, especially if word gets around about that monster between his legs. His dick was really hitting the spot now. Between the bursting stomach, her need to pee and the incoming orgasm, she felt like a dam about to burst or a blocked sewer on the point of being drained.

“You’re close,” Carlos whispered. She nodded.

“Do you want it faster or slower?”

“No….just…like…that…oh! Oh! Oh! Oh, my God!”

Orgasm flooded her body.

“Ye! Ye! Ye!...” In her ecstasy, Jun reverted to her native language. Her orgasm made her heart rate shoot up and her head swam. For a second, she was afraid she was going to pass out. She laid her head back, feeling her swollen breasts jiggle uncontrollably, feeling the weight of the baby in her tummy and the hard shaft of the cock on her vagina and the gorgeous warmth of the orgasm.

At length, she regained possession of herself.

“Would you like to finish like this? Inside me? Or I could suck it for you?”

Carlos nodded eagerly. He pulled out. Jun saw at once that he would not last long. His erect penis trembled like a skyscraper swaying in an earthquake. Jun dived down without hesitation and went directly to deep throat. The penis made her gag, so she took a breath, then pounced back upon it, sucking hard from the midst of the shaft to the top.

“Oh, fuck, yeah!” Carlos gasped…

Just then, the baby gave a great kick and she felt a tremendous gush of liquid empty around her legs. Oh no! Of all the timing…her waters had broken! Poor Carlos, she was going to have to cut him off mid-blowjob!

*

Captain Choek laid the story, which broke off with the last sentence and he suspected was unfinished, down and shifted awkwardly on his seat. His penis had grown hard while reading the stories and he could not stand up in the crowded room lest his erection be observed.

While he waited for his arousal to subside, he scribbled some notes on the stories he had read. The first one was clearly the most problematic.

“Adieu, Dear Leader!” narrated the story of a couple leaving North Korea, and the writer had dared to use the terms ‘escape’ and ‘fled’, as if Pyongyang and the People’s Republic were undesirable places to live.

The other stories were set in Spain and, if less politically dangerous, they were also hardly innocent. In “The Most Important Penis In The World”, for example, there was a passage that read “Even the best places in Pyongyang were poorly stocked and frequently short of goods to sell.”

This would not do at all. If one of the Dear Leader’s capitalist enemies abroad were to read that, they would think the People’s Republic a poor country, and create anti-Korean propaganda. The woman who wrote this seditious material would have to be severely punished and reeducated.

“Comrade Tan!” the captain called.

“Yes, Sir?”

“I’d like to meet the prisoner who wrote these stories now.”

“Yes, Sir. Follow me.”

Tan led Captain Choek through the office to the door that admitted them to the cell block, which was down a flight of stairs. Jin always felt a frisson of fear whenever he descended those steps. He knew that you were only ever a slip of the pen, a careless remark or a vengeful neighbour’s denunciation from being led there yourself as a prisoner, even if you were a police captain.

Cells one to thirty were for petty criminals and thieves and, while there were more of them and the overcrowding was worse, they at least had a greater chance of release in the future. The smell of unwashed bodies was always fouler at this end of the corridor, Jin reflected grimly as he passed cells built for one but containing up to four grown adults.

Beyond cell number thirty, the political prisoners were housed. They had their own cell while they awaited trial, but it was not out of humanitarian concern. Political prisoners had to be kept isolated to prevent seditious ideas from being shared.

“Cell thirty-two A, sir, comrade Jun Sun Park.”

Blinking in the gloom, the captain looked through the bars at the prisoner. When, out of the gloom, he was able to make out her profile, he was unable to stifle a gasp.

An ancient woman sat on a three-legged wooden stool. Her face was lined with wrinkles and her hair was stringy and grey. She lifted her head and smiled at the captain, and he saw then that all but one of her teeth had fallen out.

“Comrade,” the woman said hoarsely and nodded in his direction.

Slightly nonplussed, the captain acknowledged her with a smile and nodded back.

“Good morning, comrade,” said the captain, “Perhaps I could start by enquiring about your age?”

“I have seen about seventy-five years,” she said, “I was born during the revolution and the war period in the late forties or early fifties, but I cannot tell you exactly.”

“Do you know why you are here?”

“I assume it is because of something you found in my house last night.”

“It is,” said Comrade Tan, “We found material of an extremely counterrevolutionary nature!”

“Ha! You cannot mean my stories,” she laughed, “Just the fantasies of a tired old woman! Surely the party has better things to worry about?”

Comrade Tan grew angry at this.

“Do not belittle your crimes! You have written dangerous tales of wanting to leave the People’s Republic and even implied that you are from a nation inferior to the Capitalist West! And, although that was bad enough, you have also written truly filthy accounts of outrageous sexual exploits!”

“Which I have no doubt you enjoyed masturbating to, comrade,” the old woman sneered.

Comrade Tan’s face flushed and he reached for his keys. Seeing that his deputy was beside himself with fury, Captain Choek laid his hand on Tan’s arm.

“Comrade, calm yourself. I will interrogate the prisoner. Go and see what other cases need your attention.”

Reluctantly, Tan turned and walked away. When he was out of earshot, Captain Choek addressed the old woman.

“Comrade, you have no record of previous arrests. There is nothing politically suspect in your records. At your time of life, what possessed you to write such things? Why did you turn against the party and your country in your old age, when you have enjoyed the fruits of the revolution for so long? You must be aware that the penalty for possessing counterrevolutionary material is a decade of hard labour, followed by execution. Were you influenced by another? You could make life easier for yourself by giving up the names of any co-conspirators?”

There was a long silence, but the prisoner looked hard at the captain and he squirmed a little under her gaze.

“Comrade,” she said at last, “You are young. You have every reason to be afraid of the Party, and every reason to kiss the Dear Leader’s backside. But I don’t. I ache just standing up. I can barely eat, now my teeth are all gone. My husband, my siblings and even one of my children have all predeceased me.

I’ve lived seventy-five years of unfreedom. I’ve scrimped and saved and laboured and cursed for bread, and somehow I’ve survived three-quarters of a century of grinding poverty. Now, the blissful release of death is so close that it is my last thought of every day and I weep every morning that I wake up.

So I began to imagine myself in a better place, where the sun shone and the food was plentiful. I imagined that I was young and attractive again, and I pictured the handsome men who would make love to me. Dani, Albert and Carlos became my only friends, and in my mind’s eye they would appear to me naked and handsome and my body would tremble with a desire I’d forgotten I ever felt. I day-dreamed of the orgasms that I would have, and the pleasures of the flesh that my body would give the three men.

A little fantasizing eased the discomforts of old age, and if the Dear Leader doesn’t approve, well, if he and his shit hole country had given me even half a good life, I wouldn’t have sought escape in the one place he could never get to me. In here.” She tapped her head.

“So go on, sentence me to hard labour. Make me starve to death a little faster or you could do me a favour and just shoot me because, to tell you the truth, I don’t give a shit.”

Captain Choek found he was breathing heavily. He was so shocked at hearing such criticism of the country voiced so carelessly that he was struck dumb. He looked around. It was quite unlike any situation he had ever faced.

When he had first laid eyes upon her, his instinct had been to release the old crone, but now she had criticised the nation, the party and the Dear Leader within earshot of the other prisoners, who were listening intently. If he were to let these insults go unpunished, they would know and inform on him for dereliction of duty. They would tell his prison staff to buy favour, and his underlings would certainly report to his superiors.

Although the other prisoners were eavesdropping, they would not be able to see him in profile from around the bars, and they certainly couldn’t see inside the old woman’s cell. He unlocked the cell door, stepped inside with her, and closed and locked it again. He stood before the defiant woman. Captain Choek pulled from his pocket a pad and paper. On it, he wrote, “I have to show them I’m the boss, or I’m dead. Squeal when I nod.”

He showed it to the woman, who nodded.

He took off his jacket, then rolled up his sleeve. He struck his own bicep hard with the flat of his palm, and the crack of skin resounded in the cellblock. The woman duly squealed as if struck herself.

“Oh, officer, please!” she cried out, stifling a giggle.

“Shut up, old bat!” cried the Captain, then he struck his bicep again. The old woman wailed, playing her part to perfection. She was, Choek thought, a born actress as well as a writer. In another life, she could have made something of herself.

After the fifth fake slap, a prisoner dared to raise a voice in protest;

“Take it easy, she’s just an old woman!”. At this, Jun had had to bury her face in her shawl to muffle her laughter. Choek pretended to hit her a sixth and final time.

He was about to leave when Mrs. Park held up her hand to stop him. To his amazement, she reached from her stool and took hold of his belt, and used it to pull him closer. Her hands shaking, she unzipped his trousers, and then he felt his package being fondled.

Choek could not believe the turn this interrogation was taking. He knew that female prisoners gave guards sexual favours in exchange for kinder treatment, of course. He received them himself, occasionally. But she was old enough to be his grandmother! She didn’t have any teeth. It felt so wrong. And yet…

His dick grew hard as she fondled it through his pants. Soon, it was too erect to be comfortable and she hooked his underpants off his hard-on and it burst through his open fly.

“Big boy!” She mouthed silently to him, and then she leant forward, opened her mouth and drew his penis slowly towards her throat. Choek closed his eyes and tried pretending it was his secretary, Ms. Heung, blowing him, instead of this old hag. Being blown by a toothless woman was certainly an unusual experience. He felt her gums press to the top and bottom of his cock and there was an unpleasant wrinkle to her lips, but her tongue was as alive as it had ever been. She sucked it hard and well, skilfully covering his mouth in saliva and judging perfectly the balance between force and tenderness with each tug. Choek had to bite down on the sleeve of his jacket to prevent himself from making a sound. His knees were trembling. If Comrade Tan came down to the cells now, he would not believe his eyes, he thought.

Choek’s penis felt fantastic. It felt like it was being washed with a warm flannel and caressed by his wife. His wife who had never given him a blowjob, not in ten years of marriage. If he hadn’t accepted them from desperate prisoners, he would never have had one at all. He had to put his hands on the old woman’s stringy hair to steady himself and he felt his balls swell as his orgasm neared. She paused for breath and looked up at him, smiling.

“Please, don’t stop now!” he whispered. She immediately returned his cock to her mouth and tugged and the suction around the head of his cock made his eyes water. Choek reached down to squeeze his own balls and shake the base of his cock, and Mrs. Park gave a long, steady suck as if she were trying to drain his body of its fluids. He had to stay silent, he couldn’t exclaim when he came, he couldn’t let the prisoners know what was going on in cell 32A…

Choek stuffed his military jacket into his mouth to muffle the sound he knew he would make when the inevitable came. His dick was in her mouth again, and it was warm and wet and felt like the most delicious massage of his genitals imaginable. He had quite forgotten about the stories, about the prisoner’s age, about his job. All his thought was bent on his penis and the sensations of the blowjob. He was starting to wish it would never end, that he could die at that moment of pure sexual joy, and that would be an escape as good as the characters in her stories from the repression that he was both cause and victim of, but as his mind soared, his penis juddered in her mouth and he emptied his load into Jun’s mouth.

Captain Choek had Jun cover her face with her shawl. He took her arm and led her up the stairs through the office. The other officers stood as he entered, watching the old woman. He addressed his underlings.

“The comrade informs me that she is suffering from a terminal disease that causes temporary insanity. It was under one such spell of madness that she wrote those strange stories. She has confessed in full and, given her advanced age and serious condition, I have decided that state resources are better used on more urgent political cases. She is released to die at home.”

The other captains watched them go, amazed at the mercy shown by the normally ruthless Captain Choek.

They made a strange pair as they made their way slowly through the streets of Pyongyang. Mrs. Park was bent near double and her gait was more of a shuffle than a walk, while the young captain next to her marched at her pace with his back straight and his chest out. Cyclists passing by stared at them, and there were faces at windows all along the route watching them go.

When they reached her apartment block, she pulled the shawl off her head. Captain Choek watched her struggle up the stairs, silently hoping that death would come for him before he ever got that old. At last, he found himself outside her apartment door.

“Could I have my stories back?” she asked.

“No, comrade. They have been archived.” Then he felt the need to add, “Don’t push your luck.”

“Archived…and photocopied, I am sure,” she replied with a twinkle in her eye as she unlocked the door.

Captain Choek was unable to suppress the twitch of a smile at the corner of his mouth.

“Adieu, Dear Captain!” the old woman said with a wink and a lick of her lips, before disappearing behind the front door.

Captain Choek smiled, shook his head, then set off at a march back to the jail.