Skating Free

Greetings, readers! Welcome to my submission for the 2018 Literotica Winter Holidays Contest! This story is probably quite different from most of the other contest entries, but I feel it fits the winter category to a T. Instead of being set at Christmas, as some of my previous stories have been, I've set this story during the 2018 Winter Olympics, which is when I got the inspiration for it. It's a simple concept, but one not out of the realm of possibility, and I had a lot of fun with where it led me. I hope you enjoy, and I'd appreciate a 5-star rating for the contest. Thanks so much!

*

The crowds at Gangneung Oval roared with excitement. The Pyeongchang Olympics had so far been a rousing success, and this was one of the most hotly anticipated events of all: men's speed skating. South Korea had experienced great success in the sport in recent years, and the fact that a local boy sat atop the leaderboard had brought the crowd's emotions to a fever pitch. Just two skaters remained, guaranteeing their hometown hero no worse than a bronze medal.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome our final pairing for the men's 1500-meter speed skate," said the announcer, speaking first in French, then English, and finally in Korean. "In the inner lane, representing the United States of America, Scott Erickson."

At the starting line, Scott gave a quick wave to the cheering crowd, making sure to keep his mind focused on the task at hand. He was in excellent shape, as one would expect from an Olympian, but he still couldn't believe he found himself in this position. Scott wasn't the greatest speed skater, lacking the explosive power to compete in the shorter events and not being quite lean enough to last in the longer races, but he had found a niche in skating the 1500-meter races. His athletic build placed him right in-between sprinters and marathon skaters, strong enough to get good starts yet still able to last the length of the race.

"And in the outer lane, representing the Democratic People's Republic of Korea, Moon Se-jun," the announcer continued.

Though crowd gave Scott a warm reception, their response to the North Korean skater was decidedly more tepid. Most South Koreans were relieved that the games had progressed without incident, thanks in large part to their own government's desire to have many North Korean representatives present at the games, but tensions remained high. Still, most of the athletes received at least polite cheers; everyone realized that North Korea's athletes were fighting for more than just Olympic glory. They were potentially fighting for their lives. Any embarrassment during the games would not end well once they returned home to face Kim Jong-un. Still, one section was almost hysterical in their jubilation as Se-jun stepped up to the starting line next to Scott.

"There they are," Scott chuckled to himself.

Since the day the Olympics began, the American media had fawned over the large squad of cheerleaders North Korea had sent to support their athletes. Wherever they went, the gaggle of young ladies was impossible to miss. They were young, pretty, enthusiastic, and highly coordinated. Of course, Scott knew damn well their devotion had to stem from years of brainwashing. The way the media fell over themselves to praise their routines sickened him; they were playing right into the hands of the North Korean propaganda machine. Shaking his head, Scott forced these thoughts from his mind. After Scott took his mark, the starting gun sounded and the two skaters were off.

To the casual observer, speed skating might seem an uncomplicated sport; the fastest skater wins the race. In reality, there was an enormous amount of strategy to such a simple race. For Scott, he had a strong preference for long track as opposed to the more popular short track. In short track, anywhere between three and six skaters would race at once, confined to laps around a hockey rink. This cramped space created frequent collisions and penalties; a clean short track race was a rare feat, and racers were often disqualified as such. But in long track, only two skaters raced at a time, one in each lane of the larger oval track. On the back stretch of every lap, the skaters switched lanes to equalize their distances, but even with this swap, collisions were quite rare. Scott liked it that way; it meant the most skilled skater won more often than not and minimized the risk of being disqualified due to an accidental collision.

As Scott and Se-jun took off, each displayed their unique strategy. Se-jun was built like a sprinter; the 1500-meter race was his longest possible race. As such, he exploded off the line with as much strength and power as he could muster. Scott, on the other hand, focused on his technique, attaining a full extension of his legs with each push he gave. He was not in the lead to start with, but this strategy had given him great consistency during his short career. Approaching the first curve, Scott began to show off his greatest advantage in the sport: his balance. He was able to get so low to the ground on the curves and maintain a consistently high speed that it sometimes felt to Scott as if he were racing in the Indy 500. The forces on his body as he whipped around the oval sure felt that way. By this time, he had caught back up with Se-jun, though Scott knew the North Korean excelled in the straightaways.

Coming out of the second curve to finish their first lap, Scott and Se-jun were neck-and-neck, forcing Scott to let up a bit as they swapped lanes. In long track skating, the skater swapping from the outside lane to the inside always had the right of way, but this still provided Scott a perfect opportunity to skate directly behind Se-jun for part of the lap, gaining a speed boost from his draft. As long as he was back in his proper lane by the time he reached the curve, this was well within the rules. While Se-jun set up for his turn, the crowd cheered in surprise as Scott zoomed ahead from the draft and rocketed around the curve at breakneck speed. Unbeknownst to Scott, he was demolishing the time of the South Korean who currently led the field, yet the crowd was loving it all the same.

Two laps later, the pair entered their final lap. The crowd watched with baited breath, seeing the American still just ahead of the record previously set by the South Korean. All the while, Se-jun remained just a half second behind. Seeing that their man could defy the odds and win an Olympic medal, the Army of Beauties erupted into a cheer, chanting Se-jun's name. Se-jun started the lap by drafting behind Scott, gaining a speed boost as Scott had done earlier in the race. His speed was incredible, but he still lacked control on the curves this late into a longer race, and he began to fall behind again on the final turn. At last, the two skaters crossed the finish line to the deafening roar of the crowd in Gangnueng Oval.

"And now for the results," said the announcer. "With a time of 1:44.25, Scott Erickson is now in first place and has won the gold medal for the United States of America!"

Scott lowered the hood of his racing suit and stared in disbelief. He had never expected to medal, let alone win the gold, yet the time was there in front of his face. He was an official gold medalist!

"And with a time of 1:44.80, Moon Se-jun is in third place, capturing the bronze medal for the Democratic People's Republic of Korea! Your silver medalist is Kim Sang-han from the Republic of Korea!"

At that point, Scott couldn't have cared less what country Se-jun came from; he had just medaled when every expert predicted he would finish well outside the top five! Turning to the North Korean, Scott smiled and extended a hand.

"Usuhan jongjog!" he said, roughly translating to, "Hell of a race!"

Se-jun cocked his head and gave a lopsided grin as he shook Scott's hand. "You speak Korean?" he asked in slow yet clear English.

"I do. My grandmother was born here. You speak English?"

"Yes," said Se-jun. "Dear Leader wants us to be able to communicate our great nation's ideals across all tongues."

"Ah, I see," Scott replied, trying to be as polite as possible. Thankfully, Se-jun's handler arrived at that moment and whisked him back to his coaches. Still, Scott couldn't help but smile at the elation on Se-jun's face; perhaps he had earned a better life for himself and his family back home.

The rest of the day was a blur of activity for Scott. His coach nearly crushed him with a bear hug and his parents couldn't have been more thrilled with his victory. It seemed odd to him that Tom, his identical twin brother, wasn't with them, but they assured him that Tom was just feeling a bit ill and was glued to the TV in his hotel room. As evening drew near, there were interviews and press conferences galore, followed by the medal ceremony itself. As a former member of the U.S. Army, Scott had heard more than a few renditions of The Star-Spangled Banner in his day, but this one almost made him tear up. Almost.

*****

As Scott left the final party for U.S. athletes before the Closing Ceremony the next day, he grabbed his phone and typed up a text message to his brother.

"Hey, Doofus. You still playing sick, or can I actually come by and rub your nose in this gold medal of mine?"

"That's not much incentive for me to be well if I'm indeed 'playing' sick," came the reply.

"Smartass..."

"But yeah, I'll be up for a while. Stop on by."

"Cool. See ya soon."

With that, Scott began to walk the two blocks back to his hotel. The night was bitter cold, as were most in Pyeongchang, but the thrill from actually winning a gold medal during these games was more than enough to keep him warm. As he approached the hotel entrance, Scott could have sworn he heard a struggle of some sort coming from a side alley. Though his first inclination was to keep his head down and move on, hearing a few choice words and the yelp of a female voice changed his mind.

"Ssi-bal nyeon!" came a rough male voice.

Now, Scott's grandmother had taught the entire family to speak Korean, but she would have never taught any of them such language, the equivalent of "fucking bitch." But when Scott was studying Korean as a thirteen-year-old boy, it was only natural for him to seek out curse words in said language. Scott took a deep breath and allowed his military instincts to rule his senses as he rounded the corner into the alley. He expected to come across a mugging of some sort, but the actual scene before him was far more confusing. He saw a young college-aged woman lying on the ground in a crumpled heap. Standing over her was not a mugger, but a young man about his age wearing a coat bearing the North Korean flag. There was no way this was going to end well, but he had no capability to walk away from a defenseless girl in need.

"Jungji!" Scott shouted, demanding the man stop.

The man turned in surprise, expecting to find a local behind him, but instead, he saw a man wearing a United States Olympian coat.

"Go away!" he spat in English. "This does not concern you!"

Scott studied the North Korean for a moment. He supposed this man thought himself intimidating, what with the scar across his cheek and a larger than average build for a Korean, but Scott had seen far worse. He wasn't afraid of this punk.

Ignoring the man, Scott asked the girl if she was hurt. "Neo sangcheo ib-eoss ni?"

After a moment, she stirred and looked up with her brown eyes, mascara running down her cheeks from her tears.

"Please... help," she said weakly. "I wish... to... defect..."

"Shut up! Geol-le-gat-eun-nyeon!" said the North Korean man, kicking her in the face for good measure.

That did it. Not only had he called the girl the dirtiest of all whores, but now the man was physically assaulting her. While the man still had his back turned, Scott stepped forward and latched his hand around the man's wrist. The North Korean retaliated in an instant, spinning around and attempting a swing with his other hand, but Scott was ready for the telegraphed move. After ducking under the North Korean's punch, Scott stunned him with a punch to the gut. This allowed him to twist his arm behind his back and pin the man against the brick wall of the hotel. The man tried to struggle for a moment, but one further twist of his arm quashed that effort.

"Apologize to the lady," Scott growled.

"Kaesaekki," he seethed.

"You can call me an S.O.B. all you want, but you will apologize to the lady. Now! Sugnyeoege sagwahada!" Scott repeated in Korean, ensuring there was no misunderstanding.

As the pain increased, the North Korean eked out, "Nae moyog-e sagwahanda."

"Good boy," Scott replied with a grin. "Now, get out of here!" he continued, tossing the soldier onto his ass.

"You will regret this," he muttered.

"I don't think so," said Scott, standing over the man with his fists at the ready. "Oh, and don't even think of going for a weapon. I felt you up, there; you've got a pistol in your coat and a knife in the small of your back. You'll be a mass of bruises before you can even touch them. Just leave."

The man growled, "You meddlesome-"

"GET OUT! If I ever see you near her again, I'll kill you myself!"

Scott and the North Korean stared each other down for several long seconds, each waiting for the other to make a move. Were this a fair fight, the North Korean knew he would likely have the advantage in hand-to-hand combat, but Scott had gotten the drop on him from behind. Worse, he knew where the North Korean had his weapons on him, leaving him without his own element of surprise. Whoever this American was, he had considerable combat knowledge. As much as the North Korean hated to admit it, reengaging him now would be a foolhardy attempt. With a final glare, the man stood and jogged off into the night.

"He's gone. You're safe now," he said to her, keeping one eye on the entrance to the alley in case the goon returned.

In a flash, the girl lunged forward on the ground, wrapping her arms around Scott's ankles. "Brave American, I ask your pity!" she said, her English clearly heard even through her tears. "I seek asylum with your leaders! Please!"

Moved by her emotional plea, Scott knelt down and gently helped the girl to her feet, tilting her head to look him in the eyes as he did so. He made sure to give a warm smile for her, letting her know that he would do her no harm. Once she was up, he saw the bump on her forehead from where the soldier had kicked her, along with the subsequent gash from where her head had struck the concrete.

"Please..." she whispered once more.

Nodding, Scott said, "Come with me. I'll call the right people who can help you, but first, we need to take care of that gash."

Taking her hand, Scott led the girl with haste through the empty hotel lobby and to the elevator. As they ascended, he pulled his cellphone from his pocket and dialed the first speed dial option. During the briefing that all the athletes had received before traveling to Pyeongchang, several things had been made clear to them on avoiding international incidents. These games represented goodwill and a casting aside of differences, after all, and they were considered ambassadors of the United States. Their handlers had spoken to them of the possibility of defectors, but Scott had never imagined it would actually happen to him. Raising the phone to his ear, he waited for his handler and best friend from his army days to answer.

"Scott! What's up, my man?"

"Hey, Willie. I need your help; got a bit of a situation here."

"Situation? Is something wrong?"

"I... I met this girl. She says she's from North Korea and that she wants to defect."

"Holy shit... where are you now?"

"At my hotel. When I found her, she was being beaten by some goon with a North Korean flag on his uniform, I'm guessing her handler. I'm taking her up to the first aid kit in my room."

"Ok, treat her wounds and stay there. I'll get my boss and we'll head over, maybe thirty minutes ETA. You good 'til then?"

"Yeah, we'll be fine. Thanks, Willie."

"And Scott, no matter how much you believe her, don't turn your back on her for a second. We still need to check her out."

"Will do." As he hung up, he said to the girl, "My boss is coming. He can help you."

"Thank you..."

On the way down the hall, Scott stopped to grab a bucket of ice from the vending area, figuring it would help her head. Soon, they arrived at his door.

"Come in. Let's get your head taken care of," Scott said, ushering her in.

She only nodded and took a seat at the small table in the corner. The poor girl was still dazed from her run-in down in the alleyway. After placing some of the ice in a plastic bag, Scott handed it to her and instructed her to hold it against the forming bump on her head. Next, he cleaned a small amount of blood from her wound with a bit of gauze from the first aid kit before reaching for the disinfectant.

"This may sting," he said, moving the cotton ball to her wound.

The girl recoiled a bit from the medicine, but her body soon began to relax, allowing Scott to bandage her wound with some gauze and tape.

"How does that feel?"

"Better," she admitted.

Taking a seat in the chair across from her, Scott said, "My name is Scott Erickson. Who are you?"

"Park Chin-sun," she replied with a tiny smile. "You may call me Chin-sun, Erickson Ssi."

Recognizing the honorific, Scott answered, "And you can call me Scott."

"Scott," Chin-sun nodded. "Thank you... you saved my life."

"I'm just happy you're safe."

In spite of Chin-sun's injuries, Scott was struck by her beauty. She appeared two or three years younger than him, perhaps twenty or twenty-one, with a youthful face and a warm smile. Her skin was a gorgeous shade of porcelain, standing in stark contrast to her long black hair, which was tied into a low ponytail with a red ribbon. This suggested that she came from a relatively wealthy family by North Korean standards. The notion was further reinforced by the fact that she did not appear malnourished in the least; her body was fit and toned. This brought about an ominous realization in Scott's mind: if someone so affluent wanted to defect from North Korea so badly, things there must be worse than he had ever imagined. At that moment, Scott recognized the red and blue jogging suit she wore.

"Have I seen you at some of the games?" he asked.

"Yes! I saw you race against Moon Se-jun!" Chin-sun replied, at last recognizing Scott from the speed skating finals. "I am captain of the Spirit Ambassadors. You have seen us?"

"I have. You and your friends put on quite a show," said Scott, trying to be polite.

"Oh... yes. It is a show," Chin-sun said, her face becoming sad. "We look so happy and excited, do we not? But inside..."

"They treat you badly, don't they?" Scott realized.

Chin-sun nodded. "It is our purpose to promote Juche, the ways of our homeland. We are instructed to capture the hearts of our enemies, to show them how wonderful our ways can be, and especially the wonders of Dear Leader Kim Jong-un," she said, emphasizing her last words with clear disgust. "But there is a great darkness in our group. The other girls, they are trained into absolute obedience, even when none of our overseers are present. There was one time when we were riding in our bus and everyone started screaming for the driver to stop. I at last saw what they were screaming about: there was a poster with a picture of Dear Leader on it that had been left out in the rain. These girls think, 'how could anyone allow an image of Dear Leader to become wet?' and they form a human ladder to take it down and bring it inside..."