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The Perfect Soldier(Ela Bosak Ap)
🕑 Added 2021-07-13 23:47:26 +0000 UTC
The flags were at half mast and Elżbieta had fresh bruises on her body, yet she did not cry. There was an urge to make a scene, to punch something, but any public display would just prove her dad's worries right, his presence felt even as his coffin was being covered by the family and friends who had arrived to his funeral. It would haunt her that she hadn't been there that night, trying to earn any sign of favor from him by focusing on an art project using gunpowder for texture. Yet if she was there, she didn't doubt she would be in the plot two away from him, the fact that her sister Zofia was already slated to be by his side when all this was over grating on her psyche.
She barely reacted to anything said by her father's government coworkers, unsure which had staged his suicide, certain it wasn't natural, though much about her upbringing was as far from normal as you could get. He had always been paranoid, but that fear had grown since he became the Minister of Internal Affairs, the rumors spreading about his rise after the previous president's assassination never quite reaching his ears, but they definitely reached Ela's. Since elementary school she had been bullied, every student seeing her grades and performance as beneficial treatment due to her father, every achievement she had either credited to him or torn away by the mocking masses. After a broken arm she almost asked her father to teach her how to fight, but her sister had intervened like she always had, the far off look in her eyes missed to the young girl as it was lumped in with all her usual jealousy towards Zofia.
Ah Zofia, if there was anyone who could encompass 'preferential treatment' then it would be the girl who had been their father's favorite since day one. And no one could change that, a fact Ela found out quickly after Zofia left, yet a her sized gap always stood between her and her father.
It was frustrating to know you'd always be your father's second favorite child, that fact beaten into her at a young age, quite literally in fact once the other kids realized it was a sore spot for her after an outburst. It was stupid of her to react to bullies, yet she couldn't help it, not wanting to tell her sister even though she could have ended it with a threat. Ela always felt dirty when she thought of her sister negatively, Zofia always doing her best to be there for her when she was younger, not that she was old now, but as she continued to deal with a father who only looked towards Zofia, she grew more moody around her sister, not wanting to owe her anything else. More than anything she didn't want to go back to school any time soon, knowing how hard her classmates would be on her now that they could smell blood in the water, but that meant spending time with her sister.
And here she thought she had gotten over it, accepting her father's preferences, knowing he'd never look to her the same way he did Zofia and she would be fine with that. She had insisted for the last two years that it didn't matter, that she didn't care. Zofia wasn't the one at fault it was their dad, and blaming her was childish and stupid and-
"Hello Ela..."
She hated herself at that moment, the churning anger in her gut refusing to give her peace as jealousy gnawed at her. No it was more than jealousy, something stronger, bitter, the feeling clawing up until it felt like it was about to burst.
"Ela? Are you okay you're trembling."
The concern sent her over the edge, the preteen running away before her sister could see her cry as she ignored the worried calls after her as she ran through the woods. She didn't like the dark feelings swirling through her, and she wasn't ready yet to face her sister. She needed some time alone, she needed to go back home.
Before she knew it she was there, her black dress frayed and covered in mud, her slip ons cracked and wet as she heaved, her exhaustion catching up with her all at once as she stumbled against the side of her house. She must have run three miles straight, unsure of how much time had passed as she braced herself on the front door, catching her breath as the knob wobbled in her hands. It took her a moment to realize something was wrong, sure that she had locked the door, her responsibilities not forgotten even in her father's death. Looking at the lock itself, she noticed tiny, intricate scratch marks around the edges, dread building inside as she recognized the signs of lockpicking, slowly opening the front door as quietly as she could, only for the hinges to creak with a thunderous crack. Ela silently cursed her father's purposeful lack of maintenance, insisting that he hear every door that opens or closes so that he could hear any assailants that broke in, or as she also suspected, to make sure she couldn't sneak away like her sister.
There was a muffled scuffling above, curses that just barely made it through the carpeted floors as a window shifted, the scattered footsteps on her roof the most she got from whoever had broken in as she was still too exhausted after her sprint back home. At least she wasn't in any danger, but knowing how easily her home had been broken into after her father's death was disconcerting to say the least as she made plenty of noise going upstairs, hoping to scare away any stragglers. It made her feel weak and useless to do things this way, sure that Zofia could easily handle any number of home invaders, her own inadequacy reinforced with every thumping step she took. By the time she reached his room, she regretted not making an attempt to fight back, feeling like a failure as she surveyed a room in disorder, drawers and closets rifled through. Clearly they were looking for something and to Ela's surprise, she knew where it was.
In her attempt to ignore her father's indifference towards her, Ela had often noticed things and promptly stuffed them to the back of her mind. Whether it was a disappointed grumble, a lack of warmth or even his secret hiding spot, a section of carpet meticulously cut so that the grains would cover any seam that would normally be visible. He often vacuumed himself despite having her deal with most of the other chores and while she could be better, she had learned to be incredibly quiet when she wanted to, peeking in one day and seeing her father replacing the cut square of carpet that seemed to vanish as it fell into place. She assumed it was just pictures of Zofia, not wanting to even risk getting caught stealing into his office lest she be kicked from the house. Now, there was nothing left to stop her, and perhaps whatever was in there held some clue to his death. It took her a few minutes to find the exact hollow spot, then another to finally rip it up, the tangles of carpet all well tied together.
Any hope she had was dashed near instantly, the cubby holding little besides pictures and an old looking vial inscribed with "make a wish" and the stamp of GROM's science division, though she didn't know that as she fumbled with it, looking through the photos and seeing very little that could help. It was just her dad with other people in a room, smiling around a circle. She recognized some of them from the funeral, but even if they had something to do with his death, she realized there was nothing a little girl could do. Inevitably Zofia would find out, probably understand what they meant and take care of it herself. Maybe she should just let her, she wasn't a bad sister, she just had fifteen years of their dad to herself. It's not like she had a chance when she hadn't even been alive that long. She was one of GROM's top agents, and she saw how the world fawned over her. As she tried to justify it, her grip tightened, growing more strained until pain sliced through.
There was a sharp crunch as the vial broke, slicing into her palms as a mysterious liquid poured into the open wound, Ela cursing as the photos grew slick with blood. It was just another thing she'd go crying to Zofia about wasn't it? She got all her training, all the knowledge, all the praise. If only she was older, if there wasn't such a gap. If she had been born earlier then she could be just as important and respected as-
"Nngh!"
A shock ran through her body, starting from the cut in her palm as the cool liquid flooded in. She felt dizzy, delirious almost as she swore she could feel it swimming in her blood, bloating her vessels as it flowed into every corner with a numbing chill that grew into a buzzing prickle. Her mind was stalling out, her pulse slowing, her thoughts seemingly trapped under a thick mud as she tried to understand what she was feeling. Ela stood as still as a statue, her eyes glassy as her heart stopped...
A sudden punch to her body restarted it all again, Ela twisting on the ground as she grunted, coughing while her lips dragged greedily at the air around her. Her body felt like every muscle had fallen asleep, the strength draining from her legs as she failed to get back to her feet, her cut hand particularly numb as the wound on it crinkled in the corners. In a matter of seconds, the cut was healed, the skin smooth and unbroken, that smoothness textured with a tiny bit of callus as if nothing had happened. When the coughing fits finished and Ela had her wits about her again, she looked around with great confusion. Why was she in her father's study? And what was she doing? She could only remember running from his funeral after Zofia-
"Rrgh..."
The thought of her sister triggered something inside, the emotional vortex inside turning into a physical twist in her belly as she grew warmer, a trickle of sweat sliding down her back as she stumbled towards her room, clutching her stomach in one hand and her head in the other.
There was a blurring of the lines in her mind, her memories and personality undergoing subtle shifts as odd thoughts popped in and stayed. Moments she couldn't have possibly seen feeling clearer, early half remembered moments now firmer, more understandable. When she was smaller, Zofia used to share war stories of their grandpa, the details captivating her. She felt sad she never got to know him, his death a few years before... No it was right on the crossroads of her infancy and childhood, the hospital room feeling cold and alien to her.
Reaching her doorframe, there was a sense of Vertigo, her self made height markers wriggling as if alive, the top one stretching up as a crackling noise hummed in her ears. Muscles were stretching, rising, her wingspan increasing an inch as she slid against the frame, her spine shifting upwards as the tip of her head matched the rising black marker line. It was a bizarre sensation, like a finger bent in her back slowly flexing into a straight position. Ela's vision blurred as she moved away from the doorframe, the inching black squiggles making her nausea worse as she tried to ignore them. She stumbled against her book bag, the bright colors fading, a fact she thought was more nausea playing tricks on her, but was actually happening, black traces overtaking the more childish flourishes.
It was hard to feel certain of anything as she fell onto her bed, groaning as her clothing began to feel snug around her body, more of her navel showing itself as another inch added itself to her height. New insults were leaking into her memories now, jokes of string bean and icicle coming to the forefront, feeling the most recent even though she had been short and small moments prior. It was amazing what a few inches could do though, her baby fat flattened out, though the word 'flat' held a new annoyance to her, though why she couldn't explain, the teasing of the boys more aggravating now that she had feelings for... what?
No that didn't make sense, what was this weird flutter when she thought of Jan or Aleksy? It always felt the worst when they used that term, 'flat' becoming more and more... wait that was wrong. Those two weren't her classmates, they were in the year above weren't they? Or was it two years? Zofia had warned her about-
"Ugh! No no no!"
She did not want to think of her sister, their fiftee- twelve year gap no reason to trust her so fully. The darker emotions were getting stronger now, Zofia around now long enough for the start of her pubescence, the care that was always appreciated if soured by jealousy now feeling more annoying, as if she resented her for trying. How easily protectiveness became overbearing, especially as Ela's ego grew more hungry, more desperate for recognition. Though it felt like just a moment ago she was a child, her mind felt disgust for who she had been, the trappings of childhood she used to take comfort in now seen with disgust.
What meager decorations she had along her room were vanishing, some sliding under her bed, others tearing into stuffing as her emerging edgy phase took its toll on her stuffed animals. Colors were draining fairly quick from the rest of her room as more memories popped into place, one or two of her grandfather's stories actually now coming from the man's mouth himself before he grew too weak to talk. But that wasn't the only thing bubbling into her, the heat growing unbearable as she began twisting and wrestling about the sheets, unsure what exactly she was feeling as her body crossed into puberty, a cocktail of estrogen and other hormones making her mood all the more tumultuous as processes that should have taken years began working in minutes. It was an entirely different sort of discomfort now plaguing her as she gave a curious little moan, feeling as if she could resolve the terrible heat between her thighs on her own, yet the specifics of how remained out of her grasp.
Ela's short cut hair tickled against her shoulders, growing to the further reaches of her midback before suddenly slicing off at the chin, the cut off green locks fading from existence as makeup applied itself onto her scrunched up features. The mascara on her lashes first applied itself messily, her foundation done with clear lines and not enough blurring as her appearance became more conscious to her. It wasn't like she had never been aware of herself, but where before she was more occupied with her status and treatment, there was also a comparative edge to her thoughts. Grades and honors were always competitive, but looks were similarly up there now given how few boys actually appealed to her in town...
"Mmm~ d-darn, dangit, f-fuck?!"
The curse word came with a bevy of new memories, each one maturing her as the seams of her clothing strained, tiny gaps appearing between the stitching as roundness added to her hips, her shoulders struggling in the kids size shirt as her nipples puffed not from cold whenever they did, but from something else, something far more enjoyable as her cheeks darkened with confused lust.
There was a nice ring to that word, "fuck." Mouthing it added clear gloss to her lips, feeling slightly swollen as they puckered around the thought. Her hips were swirling in a circular pattern now, the hazy outline of that word's other meaning becoming clearer as she tried satiating her want on the bedsheets, still not satisfied as the heat grew worse and worse. Her makeup was reapplying itself, editing with experience as the contours became cleaner, the lines and layers blending into a natural look that was indistinguishable from the rest of her look as baby fat melted from her cheeks. Shit was this really how she was going to go through the rest of her education? Flat as a board and a vir-
"AHHHHHHH~!"
She was about to have a number of firsts, all starting from that one insecurity.
Memories of her first kiss warped her features, her tongue lolling as it mirrored the sloppy movements of her first time, skill ingraining itself in the muscle memory of it as her mental partners aged with her, gangly adolescents to pimply teens to the first few proper hunks as her cheekbones rose to prominence. A few other objects entered her mouth mentally as she gave a proper moan, her voice rumbling as it cracked and lowered, that childish keen drowning in a mature sultriness, though gruffness added an edge as her awkward hip circles turned into a more focused, but still aimless thrusting against... something. Her mind was maturing faster than her body, the memories frightening and exciting as she tried to remember what she wanted, what she was trying to thrust into.
Oddly through the building lust, her thoughts briefly returned to her grandfather, the dead man's influence growing as more of his stories and concerns became a part of her life. She remembered him so clearly now, sitting on his lap, growing up on his stories as he filled the gap her father left behind as he focused on Zofia. He was the only one who seemed to notice she was growing into an adult, and had been the one to give her advice, though for Zofia's part, she mostly seemed to deal with boy's teasings through violence or threats. Another reason to dislike her as after Zofia's infamous anger at the boys, it had taken years for Ela to have any fun, her last year of school when she finally able to learn the fun of being adult as her first time began imprinting itself on her body, her moans rising to a lust filled howl as her figure finally came into her own.
It started with her sleeves, the stitching popped and torn as her shoulders outgrew it, the torn off sleeves sliding down to her hands as they wrapped around, turning to a loose pair of black tactical gloves though the fit was becoming increasingly snug as her fingers stretched inside. It was painful to tear through cloth like that, even the threadbare hand me downs slicing in their grip, but pain was the last thing on her mind as a hand slapped at her heaving chest, her erect nipples trapped under the girl's shirt as they tried to break free.
There was a wonderful sparking to the binding, her thoughts in a tizzy as the shocks of warmth from her nipples seemed to hum through her whole body, the buzz at its strongest between her thighs as a refreshing wetness cooled the heat there. Ela's nipples were surging, hard enough to tear as she thrashed about her bed, her fingers latching onto any holes they could find to free her needy nipples from the binding. Inevitably in her attempts to tear, her fingers found her nipples, grinding against them, tugging, teasing. Before she understood what she was doing, she was playing with her chest, moaning as her teasing seemed to spur bubbles in her chest, the flesh inflating as more strips of shirt burst apart or shredded as her figure matured.
As amazing as it all felt, the growth and teasing only made her thighs worse, so hot it almost felt like they were melting. In a way they were, the skin sagging as it first gave some give before the constant rubbing of her thighs kneaded the meat inside like dough, rising with each bit of slack as the triangle of heat pouring from her privates grew more trapped in the stopgap of adult thigh meat. In a matter of minutes, Ela had gone from preteen to graduate, screaming in what she now knew as ecstasy as her shirt fully burst her breasts bouncing freely as a hand groped their new heft like an old friend, her other hand finally knowing what to do as she groaned, ready to douse this fire.
She had always felt so stifled by her family after her grandpa had passed, it only made sense that she'd find liberation in others, not having to think of Zofia's perfection or her father's back when she was on her own. She stabbed through the tearing pleats of her skirt, the strings of her panties snapping once she started to thrusting into her fingers. It took another minute and two years of mental growth for her amateurish masturbation to gain some technique, her thumb and pinky going from hanging about to massaging the edge of her labia, her pointer and middle doing the bulk of the fingering as the gloves helped with her motions, adding a frictional pull as her fingering went from jabbing the clit to stirring it.
Fuck, why was she so horny? She didn't think this was what she'd be doing after returning home from being abroad for... how long was she gone again? Was it days, weeks, years? Time seemed to be blending together, condensing down between her thighs as she moaned in her native tongue, her voice's gruffness only accented as a few packs of cigarettes and plenty of pot from years in a fine arts dorm textured the cries of pleasure as her masturbation kicked into a higher gear. She was thrusting into her fingers now, her bony hips bouncing with fat, her ass jiggling as the thickness in her thighs finished evening out her lower half, her body on the cusp of climax as she tried to drown her problems out like she always had either with sex, art or ignorance. Finally she could take no more, squealing as the heat between her thighs twitched, her body's movements slowing as pleasure surged through every inch of her, the heat boiling out as a hot, wet puddle of relief as she drowsed on her now soiled sheets.
She was satisfied momentarily, but the climax brought only a brief reprieve, her mood souring as she was forced to think about the day again, Zofia a blight on her mood as her fingers gripped the bedding until it tore.
When she had been a child with decades of difference in age, while her frustrations were always on a slow boil, Zofia's needs and position were far enough removed that she had taken an almost motherly role at times in her own standoffish way. She could feel the caring there and it was obvious just who was at fault. But as the age difference blurred together, so too did her role, the already present anger condensed as that competitive feeling now rubbed up against her sister more consistently. It wasn't just her image she was bristling against, but Zofia herself. Now rather than a specter, she was a constant presence in her life, outdoing her, absorbing their father's attention like a sponge, refusing to let her even try to get close to their dad out of what Ela saw as jealousy.
Why did she get all the accolades? Why did everyone give so much of a shit about her sister over her?! It's bullshit that she had to literally leave her fucking country just to feel like she existed. It wasn't until she left that she had finally become strong, after being poisoned by her sister's presence and her father's indifference for so long. She felt a little dizzy at the thought, that strength forming as a raw ache began to wrestle its way through her body, exhausting her further as that soft, mature body of hers began to harden, just like her personality. It wasn't just school and art she did in her college years, but sports and traveling, her thighs thickening once more as hard muscle bolstered their shape, firming them up like concrete mix as years of backpacking and running built inside her thighs. Yet much like her, all that muscle couldn't be contained in just her legs, creases forming in her sides as hard ridged abs formed, her arms beefy as more intensive training pounded its way into her body, and her mind.
She stood, her changes nearly finished as the last blurry parts of her history came into focus, GROM agents scouting her as the chance to finally beat her sister on her own battlefield was too good an opportunity to pass. That's when she lost all scent of childhood, not wanting another man to ever be able to even sneer down at her. Those fights at school were all violent, and gave her a taste for destruction ever since, imagining her bully's face whenever she cracked a nose or bruised some skin. Of course she had some self restraint, never going too far to-
"NNGH!"
No what was she thinking? Killing had always seemed like a step too far until she had, she... When was her first kill again? It wasn't usually something you'd forget, but after enough death and gore you became desensitized to it. It was either a knife fight gone wrong in France or an enemy combatant with her Scorpion during a chaotic entry. It all bled together, much like her enemies after she concussed them away from any civilians. Of course Zofia had finally acknowledged her, or that's what she figured once her sister tried contacting her, but of course it was of fake concern asking her to avoid such dangerous tasks. Like always Zofia wanted the glory all to herself, and now here she was trying to tell her to stop now that their father was dead. Ha, as if she cared anymore what that crusty corpse would think. Besides he never spared a thought for her, so why should she give up what SHE wanted while her sister got to go on the front lines every damn day?
No, she wouldn't let that bitch take any more from her, nor would she let her make amends to worm her way into her thoughts. It had taken years to grow past her own inferiority complex from those two. Her only regret in leaving was not being able to visit her grandfather's grave as often as she would have liked to, but he would have supported her freedom and would not want to hold her back.
Looking around her room made her sick, though perhaps that was from the dust, thick motes of it carpeting her room save her freshly used bed, her nose twitching as she tried not to sneeze. What was she doing here again? Oh right she thought she heard some noises in her father's room while she had been enjoying herself now that he was dead. Even without her usual loadout, she was confident in her physical skills to take care of anyone in close quarters combat. The only issue was her nakedness, pulling her sheets off as a simple wrap before investigating.
She did find herself distracted as the sheets slithered around her form, thickening to kevlar, the patterns turning speckled shades of green as the childish bedspread became tactical camouflage. Her torn scraps of clothing from what felt like a lifetime ago were rising up, plastering together into military boots, the sheets slipping under to form socks and the starts of camo pants, pouches bulging as the instruments and their uses and purpose in battle were cemented in her own thoughts. Some of the stuffing from her mattress ruffled through her hair, her black cap and headphones emerging from the debris as she took a step, feeling oddly light as she fiddled with her doorknob.
Looking back to make sure she hadn't forgotten anything, her eyes landed on the pillow she had been muffling her moans in a few minutes prior, a thought coming to her that made no sense logically, yet something told her to do it as she grabbed it, flipping it over her back and letting go. Straps almost instantly grafted onto the pillow, its insides getting heavier as mines and guns formed from the goose feathered stuffing, the white outer covering tearing as it hardened to rubber and kevlar, the form of a black backpack etched in her mind as always there, even if it made no sense, its previous form gone as she stepped through the doorway, only instead of burglars she found someone far worse, her sister Zofia.
For a second her sister looked horrified, confused at what she was seeing as reality was still altering to fit what had happened, though as some of the dust blew in from Ela's old room, her vision grew foggy, a sneeze ending the confusion as only worry was left behind.
"Ela are you insane?! He is not even cold in the ground and you are already suited for the next mission? Why this competitive streak? Why won't you just talk to me and-"
"Don't want to talk about it. If you want family, have your own. Now get lost."
"Elżbieta!"
But she was gone, deciding that this was the last time she'd ever visit her home again. If Zofia wanted to make amends, she had had twenty years to start. The cold air was good for her anger as for the second time she ran from her sister, but this time she had a destination in mind, a life to live beyond this town. The freedom was exhilarating, and for a moment she allowed herself to laugh, rare for one of GROM's toughest hardasses. But she couldn't help it after hearing her sister yell at her like that, even saying her full name after all these years. What did she think she was, a kid?
Comments
kyriezhai
ela is my favorite operaer，thx
