Red Sunset

[HistBuff]

Chapter 4: Buckaroo!

Captain Sidorov's thoughts...

Dimitri woke me up and indeed commented on the smell in my room. I rose from the blanket-less bed, feeling dog-tired as I sensed I had something important to do and tried to remember what it was.

Minutes later, I was clean shaven and sat in my put-together uniform on the court-martial jury along with Rodionov and General Tatischev, who seemed flattered by the token office where he was, on paper, the highest-ranking officer. He nonetheless sat at Rodionov's left while I sat at the Kommissar's right, thus marking the true hierarchy.

The court martial was to be held in a drawing room on the main floor. Sentries I knew well stood at the door, with more ghost sentries lining the walls in the form of 15th-century armours that looked German in style, with elegant slender shapes, a round helmet that looked a bit like a chess bishop and extensive fluting—gothic armours that warmly reflected the lamps while the sky outside was of a brightening grey. The sentries were Sergei and Vladimir, two of my men who were there in Austria two years ago. A grandfather clock chimed at quarter past five while my eyelids were still heavy, although I was glad to be out of my room, still heavy with the lingering smell left by the Lithuanians. I heard steps and was glad the proceeding would soon begin. I was starving and couldn't wait to go and have a hefty breakfast.

The accused had to be helped to walk. He was clearly in pain. Dimitri was the one helping him as the "friend of the accused". Several soldiers marched in in his wake. He still wore his uniform, but the spot on his shoulder where Lithuania's shield used to be was empty now, since his mates had ripped off the scarlet badge where a knight in armour stood with his sword high on a prancing white horse. Then there was a loud commotion were a man kept shouting and yelling in Lithuanian. I smiled. Lieutenant Malinovski had found the note I had left for him at his door. The note was simple.

Take Kürschner with you and go arrest Sergeant Botkus. Bring him to the court martial and trust me for the rest. Burn this note!

So there was the old bastard, Sergeant Butkus whose eyes were ablaze with rage! He was being easily restrained by Kürschner who "kindly" saw him into the room as I leaned and spoke to Rodionov about the matter.

"Send him to jail and forced labour, and I'll have full control of the Lithuanians," I whispered. Then I stated the "charge". Butkus had been caught in the room of Countess Hendrikoff in the act of taking liberties with said Countess, in addition to assaulting and beating her maid Claire de Lavoisier.

"The brigand!" Tatischev ejaculated after Rodionov apprised him of Butkus's "shameful conduct".

"We shall proceed with this new matter forthwith!" Rodionov bellowed. "And you, piece of slime, quiet!" he added to the bearded pedophile who wouldn't stop whimpering in his chair, for the man had obviously been tortured. I would later learn he had been emasculated using a not-so-well sharpened knife, so the process was longer and that much painful. He had then been cauterized, little by little, using a red-hot poker. Simple and effective punishment for the monster who was already as good as dead.

"Sergeant!" Rodionov thundered. "I have just been told you've been in Citizen Hendrikoff's quarters and taken your liberties with her person. How do you plead?"

"Not guilty! It's..." Butkus replied immediately in bad Russian, and then, upon hearing Sergeant Kürschner translating Rodionov's words, he shouted angrily at us.

"Shut up!" bellowed Rodionov. "So, you claim you're not guilty. Well, Lieutenant Malinovski and Sergeant Kürschner caught you red-handed, didn't they? Guilty as charged!"

"Guilty!" I added, then looked at Tatischev past the Kommissar at my left. It was a fine long table with refined woodwork. Another privilege for us officers.

"Guilty! And this filthy criminal should hang!" the paper General said.

"So, hanging is proposed here by our third judge. I say forced labour for six years should do. What about you, Sidorov?"

"Oh, the Sergeant is a good soldier at heart and a staunch Bolshevik! I suggest he be held in arrest for two weeks and then transferred to another unit, perhaps in the Soviet Army of the Don?"

"Fine suggestion, yes very good!" Rodionov said.

"But he shall hang! He raped a Countess!"

"Shut up, old baboon!" Rodionov yelled at the old-world Count and General. "Now, taking consideration for our combined suggestions, the sentence will be as followed—Sergeant Butkus will be sent to eastern Siberia for a full year of forced labour so he can think of and correct his bad behaviour. After this formality, he shall be reintegrated to his former unit. With the rank of Corporal."

Butkus strangled himself with fury once Kürschner, grinning, had translated the sentence for him. The old balding Lithuanian was beside himself with rage. Much frothing slobber was exiting his enraged yelling mouth and I would have found it quite interesting, in a morbid way, to see such profusion of slobber exiting his wide open mouth when he would have taken his pleasure inside the Countess during the boat trip, but this was not to be. He was out of the trip and out of the way, just as I wanted.

"Behave yourself, Corporal! Consider yourself fortunate you're not to be hanged. Sergeant, Lieutenant, escort this brigand to jail and take one red triangle off his collar!"

The demoted Sergeant was thus escorted away by Kürschner and Milnokov and still vociferating and protesting in the strongest terms, all in his native tongue as he was too uneducated to know proper Russian. Good riddance! I was beaming and no longer tired. Quite refreshed in fact. A servant brought us spicy chai. Rodionov offered me a dash of cognac to warm it up with. He did not show such courtesy to Tatischev, reminding him where his true place was. Rodionov spoke again.

"Now, to the main matter of this court martial... judging here-named (he read from a paper) Ma..., Matas Ka...-Karosas, Matas Karosas. Matas, stand up!"

The tortured man painfully rose from the simple wooden chair he had been made to sit on, directly in front of us three judges. Alone with Dimitri standing next to him. Dimitri once more helped him to stand. The man was average in size. He was ghastly pale and thus his beard looked ink black. "A weak man trying to look strong with a beard," I thought. Only a weak man would hurt a child.

"Not so brave now, scoundrel!" Rodionov yelled, before going forward with the procedure we all knew the future result of. "Matas Karosas, you stand accused of criminally assaulting a nine-year-old girl. How do you plead?"

"—G... Guilty," answered the pedophile in tolerable Russian.

"You shall address me as 'Komrade Judge', scoundrel! So you plead guilty. At least you don't show the audacity of pleading not guilty, at least you show the good taste of speaking Russian. I shall take that into consideration upon sentencing you. Since you're pleading guilty, we shall now proceed to sentencing. Tell me, scoundrel, what would be a fair sentence for what you did to this poor child?"

"I—I think..."

"Think very carefully," Rodionov said, "but get it done quickly. I'm hungry and I do not wish my breakfast to go cold on the account of a pedophile."

"I would take one year in forced labour, then permanent exile over there in East Siberia."

"So you think we should let you live? After what you did? Live in exile? Where you will assuredly go on and prey on the children over there? A year! Just one year! You must be joking!"

"I think we should be lenient, Kommissar," I said.

"Lenient?! Lenient! Sidorov, now you are joking!"

"I mean we shall offer him the leniency of a quick death, since the accused pleads guilty. I say we shall execute him by firing-squad."

"No leniency for the monster!" Tatischev exploded, striking his fist against the pine table. "We should burn him alive!"

"Tatischev, behave!" Rodionov scolded him. "Take care of our furniture, or it is you who will stand before the court martial. We already decided on the sentence yesterday evening. Fire-squad it shall be. We owe it to the Lithuanians; they're all so angry that one of their own did such an abomination! None of the eight soldiers will be given blanks to fire as they won't have any remorse. They all requested the privilege of firing two shots in the accused."

The accused, who heard everything, became so white you could almost see through him. The Kommissar pronounced the sentence and made it official as the proceeding was typed with military efficiency by a pretty girl wearing a Bolshevik uniform and wearing on her collar a lone red square that said she was an officer. As I watched her typing, I couldn't help but feeling drawn to her figure and start to think of what would happen to her if a force of White soldiers stormed and captured this mansion.

Dimitri, who had most likely suggested him to plead guilty, helped the condemned to stand as the sentence was pronounced. The man broke down in tears and began to sob in spasms of terror as he heard he was to be shot and the sentence was to be carried out immediately. He was firmly restrained and brought outside in the front courtyard that usually was our parade square, but today it was an execution square where the eight Lithuanians forming the firing squad already stood there in a line, at ease, their rifles loaded, along with Lieutenant Malinovski who stood proud with his sabre proudly out of its scabbard. I could tell the Lieutenant loved any occasion to actually use his sabre. I was later informed that each one of these eight Lithuanians had won the privilege of being there by playing cards last night. Sergeant Kürschner now stood by near me a few paces behind the firing squad.

The condemned was tied up with ropes, firmly, by Lithuanians who spat in his face, at a post of cedar that had just been planted into the ground for this purpose. The firing-squad stood only ten feet away. He was offered no head cover and began to wail again and plead for his life, begging forgiveness and stating he loved little girls a bit too much.

"Stand at, atten-shion! Present, rifles!" the sabre-waving Lieutenant barked.

The condemned reverted in his native Lithuanian and kept begging while pitifully sobbing.

"Take, aim! —FIRE!"

The eight shots crackled together. The man shrieked in complete agony and his groin went all red and wet on his khaki trousers. He was still alive! Blood was dripping down from his crotch as he squirmed out of control inside his bonds and kept shrieking, while a distinctive smell arose and started to overwhelm the fading whiffs of gunpowder—He had lost control of his bowels.

They had all shot him in the groin! His shrieks went on, lingering and met with no shred of pity. The Lieutenant waited. The soldiers all looked at their former mate, waiting for the order before firing their second bullets. Time lingered on. The man kept screaming and started to beg his fire-squad to shoot him and put an end to his agony.

"FIRE!"

The shots all crackled again and the man was shaken in a horrific trance, his groin all covered in blood that soaked the khaki of his trousers. One of his knees was slightly bent the wrong way and was also soaked in blood—One of the men, if not two, had shot him there.

The man was still not dead. Lieutenant Malinovski gave no sign of pulling out his pistol and walking to the man and finishing him off. I began to pity the man, yes, even him. I stood no more than twenty feet away.

"POW!"

I had cleared leather and shot the man through the head. I was putting my Nagant back in its holster while my lone shot still echoed against the nearby houses, when the Lithuanians realized that the man was dead and it was me who had fired the shot. It was time the man was properly executed.

"Buckaroo!" one of the Lithuanians exclaimed.

"Buckaroo! Buckaroo!" Another one exclaimed. Before long, all eight men were saying it, my new nick-name. The rest of their platoon, who stood at ease further back with all four Corporals in front, also began to chant it. From then on, I would be known as Komroty "Buckaroo" Sidorov to the entire platoon of Lithuanians. They held skilled shooting in very high esteem and were now worshiping me!

"Right between the eyes!" exclaimed Sergeant Kürschner upon checking the corpse. "Plump in the middle, and a clean hole!"

"We'll dump this sack of shit outside the town and leave it for the crows," ordered the Kommissar, who stood near the mansion's main door while the pretty uniformed girl who had typed the sentence was near him, bending over in the act of retching, and losing her side cap in the process. Her long golden hair came in bright display under the rising sun and had me wondering whether her carpet matched her drapes.

Her khaki skirt did hint at a well-formed bottom and a nice pair of legs. "Sidorov, behave, you're a married man!" I scolded myself. I later learned she had her room on the second floor, next to the grand duchesses in the best-guarded part of the Governor's house.

"Buckaroo! Buckaroo!"

"Lieutenant Malinovski, give these men two glasses each of prime-quality vodka, you know, the bottles kept for officers only; they deserve it!" I ordered.

"Yes, Komroty!"

I was then informed my breakfast was ready and the Kommissar insisted on having breakfast along with myself. General Tatischev had gone back to the retinue's house, where he was most certainly in the act of consoling Countess Olga Hendrikoff. She was a very tried woman indeed.

My nostrils still intoxicated by adrenaline-inducing gunpowder, I treated myself to a hefty breakfast of pirojkis, bliny and Polish-style sausages. This with fine chai and even finer coffee. This was a very good day. May was my favourite month of the year.

[Lucius]

I can't help but wonder at the author's sheer inventiveness in the matter of ravishment scenarios.

The nurse squirming under me was not supposed to be Italian, but she was. She was perhaps Swiss and was an idealistic who felt sympathy for the Austro-Hungarian Empire. Maybe she had relatives in Austria? Maybe she had started the war in Hungary and remained there even when Italy actively entered the war on our side? It didn't matter. All that mattered was her pussy that I took immense pleasure in violating.

Sidorov, you're bad at ethnogeography! :D Austria-Hungary had a significant Italian minority along the Adriatic coast, concentrated in Trieste and Fiume.

[Lucius]

Chapter 4 does nothing for me... but I think it isn't supposed to.

[HistBuff]

Chapter 4 does nothing for me... but I think it isn't supposed to.

Beside development for the plot in establishing Sidorov as a powerful figure in control of the Lithuanians, this chapter introduces the young female officer, a minor character that will help me give a bit more depth to my novel, but most of all, the whole chapter is a "see the difference" thing showing what a pedophile really is---someone who preys on prepubescent children. At this point, I could go straight to the boat trip, but making this point felt important to me and I want this story to offer more than sex scenes. Sergeant Butkus would have been a bothersome nuisance on the ship, so I felt it was a good thing to just get rid of him.

Anyone who ever shot with a pistol for real knows it is a lot harder to shoot someone than the movies make it look, even from just 20 feet, especially between the eyes on a fast draw. Sidorov is a Soviert gunslinger! Better at shooting than ethnogeography

[Lucius]

Beside development for the plot in establishing Sidorov as a powerful figure in control of the Lithuanians, this chapter introduces the young female officer, a minor character that will help me give a bit more depth to my novel, but most of all, the whole chapter is a "see the difference" thing showing what a pedophile really is---someone who preys on prepubescent children. At this point, I could go straight to the boat trip, but making this point felt important to me and I want this story to offer more than sex scenes. ...

I see, I've been spoilt by previous chapters and sort of expected yet another set of various kinds of ravishment here.

[HistBuff]

Back in my first days on Ravishu, I sometimes read stories with many chapters without the slightest sex scene. @JustJess sometimes did this, but her rape scenes were worth the build-up. I remember a story from her about a Dungeons & Dragons session that suddenly morphed into a twisted sort of home invasion with paying customers watching from the computer's camera.

[HistBuff]

Chapter 5: Sex At Night

Letter from Olga Nikolaïevna Romanova to her mother, Aleksandra Fyodorovna

May the 18th, 1918

Dear Mother, we're all doing well and everything is fine here in Tobolsk, although we are never allowed without as you well know. Alexei needs a bit more rest before being well enough for the trip. He's under the care of Nagorny, as always. We are to embark on the Russ the day after tomorrow and depart around ten o'clock, so we should be with you in Yekaterinburg in three days' time in the early evening. Thank you for leaving us medicines. They do us a lot of good. Nastya is now fully alive with colours in her face. Tatiana is as usual and I'm doing my duty as the elder of your children.

All our love to You and Father, and to Maria. Nastya misses Jimmy!

Olga.


Nastya indeed missed Jimmy, her young King Charles spaniel. Olga smiled in a rare episode of amusement upon re-reading the word "medicine". The elder Grand Duchess knew the Soviets would read this letter like all the other ones, so she wrote it simple and to the point. Medicine was the code word for the precious jewels she and her sisters had been sewing inside their undergarments, especially their corsets, since the year before. All except Maria, who had not been given any "medicines" to sew since she was shamefully flirtatious with the guards and had been the one most often groped by them.

This was one of the main reasons the Kommissar had the inner guards changed shortly before the second boat trip. Rodionov feared that one of the grand duchesses would seduce a guard into helping her escape. If only one of the royal family was able to join the Whites, this would create an icon that could cause the Russian people to rally and topple the Soviet regime that was still on shaky grounds. Such a scenario was extremely unlikely, but Rodionov was taking no risks, for such an icon could turn into a giant white dragon that would then become the Soviet's undoing.

Rodionov had read accounts from the Ipatiev House in Yekaterinburg about Maria having befriended one of the guards; she was trying the same bullshit over there. The Kommissar didn't want to sound like he was telling his colleague how to do his job. In a telegram to his fellow Kommissar in charge of the guards around the Ipatiev House, he simply reported he had observed the same sort of flirtatious behaviour from Maria. He wrote "Olga Tatiana need lesson manners", grinning as he thought about what he was going to do during the boat trip and let his colleague know it would be great if Maria knew that her own sisters were to suffer greatly as a consequence for her own actions.

By now all the inner guards except Dimitri were on board with the idea of gang-raping Olga and Tatiana, especially the latter. Thus far, Tatiana had nine "suitors" and Olga, only four including Sidorov himself, who had hesitated a bit and said it was a shame Maria wouldn't be on that trip.

"This will teach her!" Rodionov thought after sending the wire. He could picture beautiful Maria with tears in these famous blue eyes of hers; she would get the message about the fate of Olga and Tatiana, both of whom were already as good as raped. Rodionov had himself groped Maria on numerous occasions, usually her buttocks. As opposed to Tatiana's poise and classic beauty, Maria had the peaches-and-cream look he preferred; yes, it was a pity Maria wasn't to be on this trip. He hoped his fellow commissar in Yekaterinburg would read between the lines and proceed to give Maria a solid and brutal lesson in manners with the help of some strong guards, although it was unlikely they would dare go beyond groping when the former Czar was present.

This superstition about everything holy was persistent among the soldiers wearing the red star on their garrison caps. He felt sad for not having gone further when he had the chance. This was earlier in his assignment, when he still felt somewhat nervous in the presence of the former Czar, and some unexplainable force had kept him from doing what he did fantasize about Maria. He often masturbated to the idea he was fucking Maria's tits and shooting a prodigious load on that sweet peaches-and-cream face of hers, seeing the stupor in her famous blue eyes, before wiping his cock in her blonde hair. Aaaah, this would have felt so good!

Rodionov had spent the day "making sure Anastasia's well" by constantly checking on her, where Ortipo would stay either on Tatiana's lap or at the window and bark whenever Lieutenant Malinovski was having his frequent sabre practice with his Platoon Sergeant in the front yard. This while Olga kept reading, sitting quietly while Rodionov observed how quickly she was ageing for a woman still only twenty-two. Countess Hendrikoff had a more genteel face and was three or four years older. At one point during that day, shortly after noon, Anastasia stood at the window and he heard her say something, he wasn't sure what. Upon walking closer to the window where the view from three stories high commanded the whole retinue's house and most of the neighbourhood, Rodionov saw what it was she was observing. He didn't like it.

Komroty Sidorov, tall and elegant with his confident gait, looking young and handsome with nothing of his mid-forties showing at that distance, was walking arm-in-arm with Countess Hendrikoff, easily recognized through her wide wicker hat with bright white and sky-blue feathers, while Lieutenant Malinovski kept looking at him with an angry expression and his hand on his sabre, this while Kürschner kept trying to lead him into the retinue's house. He'd have to speak to Sidorov!

He then noticed Anastasia was gone. The maiden had moved away from the window as soon as he had walked there. She was now cowering behind her sisters. Rodionov stroked Ortipo and smiled, but the dark dog immediately came back to Tatiana and leaped on her lap.

Tatiana kept looking at him defiantly with her legendary gaze. Rodionov knew well that in the natural course of things, he would never had been in any position of power over her. He suddenly felt the barrier and the unexplainable force that shielded her from him. He wanted to walk at her and stroke her face, perhaps gently pinching her chin and smiling at her while watching her expression go from defiance to fear—Rodionov saw himself do it in his mind, but he walked by her and went out of the boudoir, angry with himself for being such a coward. Rodionov also felt a sting of jealousy as it was plain that Anastasia liked Sidorov while she clearly disliked him.

Anastasia kept looking at the tall officer with the same eyes she had observed him all through the game of colorito last morning; yes, he was old enough to be her father, and perhaps this was this sense of transgression that was drawing her to him. Why couldn't she stop thinking of him? This was the first time she ever felt something so strong for anyone. Why such an old man? Was it just boredom? Or something more. "Lucky Hendrikoff!" Nastya thought as she observed Sidorov walking on the boulevard arm-in-arm with the Countess wearing her well-known burgundy day dress under her famous feathered hat. Elegance and glamour came so easy to her; like a second skin. Nastya felt so inadequate; of course Sidorov preferred the Countess!

As soon as he was down on the main floor, Rodionov went into his secretary's office and locked the door behind him. The secretary who wore a side cap over her blonde hair had been typing notes and memos for the records. Sonja knew her rank and her comfortable assignment came with a sour-tasting price. The twenty-year-old girl was already on her knees in front of her boss.

"Good girl!" Rodionov said as he quickly unbuttoned his black cavalry trousers and freed a cock that soon expanded to its average size of five inches. It hardened to a most pleasing state when Sonja took it in her dainty hand that had just been at work at her typewriter, and Rodionov was further pleased when she took him in her mouth and began to do her true job, sealing her lips and working his length the way she knew he liked. He had very soft skin and this was the only pleasing thing about him.

Rodionov stroked her head as she performed her daily fellatio. Soon, her khaki side cap fell on the ceramic-tiled floor that seemed to glow with a peculiar beige yellow hue while Sonja filled the small office with the slobbered sounds of her mouth job while the Kommissar grunted, louder and louder now.

This went on, an act without passion from her, done in the same work-like spirit she typed memos and letters. She knew it was her duty and she needed the extra pay to send to her family who had a difficult time in Moscow. She massaged his base with her hand, with a little twisting motion that stiffened his grunting while she began twirling her tongue around his glans, putting maximal pressure there while she now accelerated the hand massage on his throbbing erection, moving faster, then even faster. Rodionov twitched in her hand and the room was filled with his groan as he detonated and came with a load of sticky heat that polluted her left cheek and the bridge of her tiny nose.

"Aaaahh! Thank you, Sonja! See you tomorrow, harlot!" Rodionov said as he wiped his thing using her hair.

"At your service, Komrade Kommissar!" the pretty girl said while affecting to smile and look happy where she remained on her knees, sitting on the heels of her boots with the higher buttons of her shirt undone to give him the joy of her cleavage. "The pig! I'll have to wash my hair AGAIN!" she thought under her servile smile as she stood up and saluted her boss before he walked out the door. He didn't even return her salute.

***

Olga's thoughts...

Another day gone by in this never-ending nightmare! To-day is May 19th and this will be our last day in Tobolsk. This morning they shot a man who had been caught doing something unspeakable with a child. For once, yes for once I have to agree with the Soviets. Execution is the appropriate sentence for such monsters. Ortipo barked when the soldiers fired their rifles, but for some reason the man was still alive after the first volley—He screamed so loud that even here, three stories higher, we heard him loud and clear, even louder than Ortipo's barking while Nastya was horrified and came into my lap to cry. Nastya's so lovely and delicate! She's often acting as if she were still twelve. And then came the second volley. A sharp cracking of rifles.

The man was still alive and screaming even louder!

Then came a pop shot, different from the rifles, and I came at the window to know what just happened. A tall officer stood behind the firing-squad at an angle, already putting back his revolver in its holster while a soldier of the fire-squad said, "Buckaroo!" It was the same officer who had had the audacity to play colorito with Nastya. His expression was one of pity and then I understood and was surprised. He had shot the suffering man out of pity. Why didn't he led this monster bleed out and suffer a long, agonizing death? "Buckaroo! Buckaroo!" the Lithuanians chanted on. A couple of them spotted me and Nastya at the window and began whistling us. Vile men! Gross! I took Nastya's shoulder and wanted to pull her away, but she firmly resisted and remained glued to the window, ignoring the whistles and catcalls.

"That's him! Him!" Nastya said as she looked down at the front yard. "Listen, the men call him 'Buckaroo'. Oh, he's so strong and handsome in his uniform! I can't wait to see him again! What's a buckaroo? Does it mean he's good with women?"

"Nastya! Behave!" Tatiana scolded her while Ortipo barked and wagged her tail in Nastya's arms, as if she was just as happy as Nastya to see this tall officer. My worst fears were confirmed as plain as day. Nastya was in love for the very first time in her life! She was a young woman now. Ortipo barked on, now sitting on the window sill while Nastya remained there, stoic at the sounds of men whistling and catcalling her. My mind began picturing her with this Sidorov and I hated myself for having such thoughts. I pulled her away from the window with all my might and slapped her. She massaged her flushed cheek and stared at me, her blue eyes resonating with silent shock.

Then she smiled and her eyes narrowed as she ignored the tears welling there. "You're jealous he likes me and not you; you're jealous," Nastya said. I went to slap her another time, but stopped myself as she recoiled, her face turning to fear. What was happening to us? Tatiana had half risen from her chair, staring at me with surprise and disapproval. This was the first time I ever lay hand on our baby sister.

"You're jealous, I can see it in her eyes!" Nastya added.

"Nastya, behave!" Tatiana finally said. Nastya returned to the tall window. Was I truly jealous? Nay, this Sidorov was too old. But then, why did Nastya have such crazy feelings for him? She was in love, hopefully smitten with nothing more than an infatuation that would soon be past.

Things had quieted down in the front yard. I heard crows. It was time for breakfast. I was indeed hungry and welcomed the arrival of our porridge with pirojkis. Unfortunately, I had some discomfort down there as it was that time of the month for all three of us. The womanly discomforts are the same even for grand duchesses; there's justice in this. We grow older and eventually die the same, the rich and the poor alike. I'm growing worried by my own reflection in the mirror. I thought about the favourite picture of myself that dated back from 1914 when I was still only eighteen, and confused about my feelings for men being so diffuse. I sigh whenever I see this picture now, for I'm no longer this young woman whom the Prince of Romania had proposed to. Back then, I had a face that could be described as pretty, although I doubted it myself. Now I'm becoming more of a middle-aged woman with each passing day, and no child of mine yet. I hope we'll soon get out of this turned-evil Russia. Now, I would love to marry an English nobleman and become a novel-reading Countess. There's solace in humility.



I remember my discussions with Countess Hendrikoff and I like her ideas. Without us nobles, and without the Church, the people will be left without anything to dream of and feel spiritually elevated by. It would be the iron age in its bloodiest expression. There's also something else; I feel strongly attracted to Countess Hendrikoff; I feel like kissing her and touching her, and this must be why I didn't marry when I had the chance a few years ago. Had I done this, I'd be unhappy, yes, but I would be safe in Romania.

Countess Hendrikoff is strangely very dear to me. I fear she doesn't share my feelings. When I was serving as a nurse during the Great War along with Tatiana, I took a lover like my stronger sister and explored my sexual self a bit more. What struck me, and it greatly troubled me, was the fact I felt insanely attracted to one of my fellow nurses and not so much to my lover, although he was a most handsome young officer from a noble lineage. He soon grew discontented with my lack of affection and broke off, while Tatiana remained with her own secret lover until our world was turned upside down. It seems I'm a lot more attracted to other women, but this is so wrong! It is against God! And when we'll be in England, I will marry and save face—And do my duty to my husband. I hope he'll be a good, understanding man. Hopefully he wouldn't mind being part of a ménage à trois with me and another woman. I heard somewhere that some men like having two women under their roof, like some Turkish vizier. This would be ideal, but never to be I'm afraid.

***

Tatiana's thoughts...

Another day when time slowed to a snail's crawl. I can't wait for us to be gone into exile! Yes, even me who love Russia so much! This is not Russia anymore. There's nothing left for us in this country gone to the dogs. Every night I cry myself to sleep, for my own mother Russia is dead. Nothing left for us, but humiliations! The roll-calls! Rodionov! The pig of a man who keeps leering at us! I'm so terrified! There are worse humiliations in store for us. I feel it in my bones.

The one they call Dimitri is the only decent man around here. We got changed into our travel gowns, which meant all three of us showed ourselves to his eyes, and the honest man turned around and shut the door as he left—against orders—while we swiftly got changed out of our usual gowns, heavier with gems sewn into them, and into neutral gowns that fell comfortably lighter on my shoulders that have not felt the touch of a man in almost a full year. The groping from the guards doesn't count. As I discussed with Olga, we hid our precious gowns and corsets deep inside our portmanteaus and would travel wearing only half-corsets and those light gowns under our day dresses.

With tears in her eyes, Olga told me it was our mission to protect our gems, and protect Nastya by any means necessary. I also had tears in my eyes as I got changed. This could mean distracting the guards' attention using our natural charms. This could go all the way to paying the ultimate price at the hands of those pigs. How would I live with myself after THIS? I can't even contemplate being forced to copulate with them as they would take their turns inside me and Olga. I can't even comprehend such horror; it's like trying to understand what lies beyond the world's farthest edge, what lies beyond the stars. God. Would God allow THIS to be?!

One thing is sure. We absolutely must protect our precious gems, yes, even at the price of our honour. Once outside of Russia, we'll need the gems to pay for things. This evening, after the humiliating roll-call under Rodionov's gaze, I saw Olga looking at her picture from 1914 with tears in her eyes. She's so tired and it shows in her face. I retrieved my own picture from those days. Back then I was still innocent and thought I would one day become a queen in Denmark, or Sweden, or a at least a Princess in Bohemia. Maria had been proposed to by Carol of Romania last year in January. I had found this ridiculous and Father had laughed the proposal off since Maria was still only seventeen while Carol was already a grown man. Fools! Fools, fools we were. Had we said yes, Maria would be safe over there, living in a palace and foreign to the notion of being groped by drunkards in uniform! I feel guilty for bringing this on Maria. Oh, these were wonderful times! I shouldn't be looking at my maiden's picture like this.

Myself a few years back. A Grand Duchess with a future that will never be.



I went to sleep as usual, in the bed next to Nastya's. Nastya always sleeps between us, and one of us never fails to go with me or Olga whenever she has to go without our rooms to use the toilet. Those Red devils wouldn't leave us a chamber pot. They never miss a chance to further mortify us! They require us to use a loud bell and summon guards whenever we have to go to the modern loo, which is at the end of the hall. They even use technology to humiliate us more! Always more! Always worse! Maria once confessed she was much groped, even underneath her gown! The pigs! Olga and I have thus far made it without too many vexations of that sort. We never dare go to the loo alone. I remember every one of those two times when a guard touched my bosom at such time during the night. When I think back of it, it's a miracle they didn't do more.

When I woke up in the middle of the night and had to ring that infamous bell, I observed Olga. She was sound asleep, without a care showing on her features that seemed to have gone back to a younger, prettier state. I saw it plainly under the small lamp we are ordered to always keep burning. How could I disturb her happy dreams? And there was no way I was going to wake Nastya up. I let my sisters be and got up, feeling the cold floor under the soles of my bare feet. I sighed upon noticing my slippers were nowhere to be found. Whoever had removed them wanted to enjoy the sight of a barefoot Grand Duchess. Pigs! All of them!

Nastya was awake. She wanted to come along with me, but through some instinctive feeling I told her to remain in bed, that I'd be back soon, etc., while Ortipo had jumped off my bed and was at my feet, actually sniffing them and wagging her tail at the dark light of our little lantern while two guards walked in with a lantern of their own and lust in their eyes. It was the big strong one along with the rat-faced Corporal that I feared the most. I trembled, wanted to send them away and go back in bed, but my bladder wasn't to be denied and I had to change the rags I used for my month's bloody sunset. How many such indignities we'll have to endure until we're safe in England!

As I went into the hall with them after me, I heard them whisper comments about my figure being most certainly perfect for a nude painting, I felt naked inside my thin nightgown, the one that had no gems sewn in it. Then I felt one hand on my buttocks and stiffened. I hated them! Wished I were a vampyre like Carmilla and kill them both! Myrmidons! I would leave one alive with his arm weakened for life by my monstrous grip. If only I were a vampyre! Olga was right when she said we could have to sacrifice our honour to save the gems and protect Nastya. I then saw a third man, the one I hated the most. A peasant promoted out of the ranks. The horror! The Captain of our inner guards, Sidorov. He was looking at me while wearing a smirk that looked lewd and evil in the hall's uncertain light. He kept looking down at my bare feet as the soft pitter-patter of my footsteps sounded ghastly loud in the sleeping mansion. Ortipo was right there by my side, growling at the men. The brave dog felt their ill intentions.

***

Sidorov's thoughts...

Today was a long day. The lack of sleep caught up with me. Rodionov had a long breakfast with me in his office where he told me his plans for the boat trip in great length and detail. I was to keep the Lithuanians under control and on the deck while the inner guard would be downstairs and aft where the grand duchesses would be staying. "To make sure nothing bad happens to them," the brigand said with a lewd smile. Tatiana's dog would spend the trip with the Tsarevitch and Nagorny, whose cabin would be elsewhere on the ship. The Russ was a solid steamer, not small by any means, since the retinue was no less than forty people and the Lithuanians alone plus the inner guard and us numbered around sixty men, thus more than a hundred souls on board counting the ship's crew. The Skipper would remain silent as to whatever was to happen during the trip, provided he partook in the rape of Grand Duchess Tatiana. His first and second mates would likely enjoy the same officer's privilege while the third mate would stand the dog watch on deck.

When I asked whether the three sisters would be together in the same cabin, he said these cabin only had two beds and he evaded my questions as to where Anastasia would be spending the one night during the trip. He rather asked me about my shooting and told me I should fire some bullets at a target in front of the Lithuanians right away to consolidate my reputation as a buckaroo gunslinger. I felt this was no longer needed, but seized this opportunity to go outside and get some fresh air. Rodionov's office stank. It reeked with immorality. Rodionov was well on his way to become an absolute gross man; I could picture him in twenty years as a fat, balding General preying on innocent girls, even lewder than to-day. I thought of his unfortunate secretary, the pretty blonde I had seen typing the sentence during the court martial. She was most certainly giving him sexual favours she wanted nothing to do with.

After a short session of shooting at a target that Dimitry had plastered on the house's northern wall, I decided to take a stroll in town by myself. The people in Tobolsk weren't very warm to us. We were troubling their usual life in this remote part of Russia. A child boy smiled at me and his mother immediately scolded him and rushed him inside their house. There were some local people on the street and I wondered how many of them were Czarist spies. Could there be a special force of Whites hiding in Tobolsk and waiting for their hour to strike and whisk the grand duchesses away where they'd become icons for the enemy to gather around? Part of me longed for icons. What man in his forties doesn't long for the blessed days of his youth? Freeing the grand duchesses was nearly impossible since the Soviets kept a close watch over all roads leading to Tobolsk and even more eyes were on the railroad and other roads to Yekaterinburg where the former Czar was kept in firm custody with triple precautions.

I couldn't find the metal in me to face Countess Hendrikoff after what had befallen her during her night I witnessed through the key-hole. So I went about my usual routine, keeping the watches sharp and making sure everything was going smoothly. Stuff would only be loaded on the ship on the morning of departure so as to avoid anything or anyone being smuggled on board. Whenever I saw the grand duchesses, Nastya would smile at me and Olga would be like a mother telling her to behave. The more I looked at Olga, the more I liked her figure. Tatiana kept looking at me with ice in her eyes. It was perhaps time I taught her some manners.

After dinner, Rodionov called for me to his office, where he insisted I told him about another one of my "feats of arms" where me and my men took advantage of a fallen noble family. I was in no mood for this, but nonetheless went ahead, remembering the half-veiled threats on my wife. In this case, the story was about a country mansion we had found empty as the Baron and his folks had just fled. But this was during the winter, in February, and they couldn't be very far after the last few days' snowfalls. Their coach had left very clear prints in the snow. We thus spurred our horses after them.

My eyelids were heavy as I recounted the tale. We heard some gunshots and found the Baron lying dead on reddened snow and a small mob of local peasants and former soldiers surrounding the Baron's wife and his children near the capsized coach with the pair of draft-horses untied and placidly standing by. After the eldest son was beaten to a motionless pulp while the other son was bayoneted through the heart by a veteran of the Great War, the daughters and the wife screamed to the top of their lungs. We were witnessing the massacre of a whole family.

Rodionov was smiling and kept saying they deserved it. Nobody deserves this! It is pure evil to treat fellow humans like this. Once the baby daughter and the daughter deemed too young were dead and the snow made just as red as our brigand regime, the wife and her elder daughter were both stripped naked very summarily and gang-raped by the entire mob of peasants and former soldiers wearing patchwork uniforms from the dead Czarist rule. The wicked old-leather face of a peasant looked so incredibly evil as the daughter's naked bosom was exposed in an explosion of ripping fabric as she shrieked, her eyes in panic as she vainly begged the pity from the pack of peasants turned brigands; her nipples hardening under the icy breeze were soon warmed with their slobber as all the former subjects surrounded her with lewd whistles and catcalls as they further ripped her garments and helped her bright white nakedness to find the wintry sunlight.

The daughter soon endured the fast-paced ordeal in silence, her torn garments lying on the snow while her face twitched with every stroke from the man or lad on top of her, her pretty head bobbing amid the loose silk of her brown hair, with her mouth blowing white smoke amid the heated and prolonged fury. We stood by along with firs and birches and the low golden sun, as witnesses of the times gone barbaric. The naked mother kept calling her daughter's name and wailing her sorrow as she was similarly raped by a much less numerous pack, right next to her dead husband and her dead children.

The peasants were so enthralled in their savagery that it took them a while to become aware of our presence. None of us had the stomach to partake; none except that rat-face Corporal. Stefan, the rotten apple among my men. When it was over, the sky had turned twilight red with clouds that seemed to feel gold-ablaze-sorry for being there; angels were there to comfort the dead husband and children and take them to heaven. The peasants wanted to take the mother and her surviving daughter to the village so they could parade them and further abuse them, but we ordered them to hand over the prisoners, and our rifles and pistols weren't to be argued against.

Once the mob was gone, both women begged us to kill them. We did so out of mercy. The firs and birches of this estate near Finland bear the haunted memory of the tragedy.

Rodionov was a bit disappointed by my tale since nobody seemed to have sodomized neither the Baroness nor her daughter. I told him these peasants were very religious and most probably feared going to Hell if they did such an abomination. And besides, they were all in such a frenzy that they had all raped the daughter and her mother on top of them, most crudely without a shred of art, just filled them up in great urgency, some men being so sordidly aroused they went at it twice if not thrice. Not even a kiss for the daughter's gorgeous breasts, which I took the liberty to suck myself. She begged me to shoot her as many of my men ended up masturbating and quickly heated her cold-nipple breasts with a grunting homage. I finally shot her through the head. Her voice will haunt me forever. She will be waiting for me when I die; she'll be there, gazing at me with her face ghastly pale, beyond tears.

Stefan and some of the men quickly ejaculated on the mother's cold-stiff face before Dimitri kindly bayoneted her through the throat. We covered the bodies with snow since the ground was too frozen to dig. We brought back the horses and they were used for meat. It was a harsh winter.

***

I turned in very early and had Dimitri waking me up in the dead of the night. It was just past two o'clock on my old-style brass watch, a pocket watch crafted in the 1850's that had once belonged to an uncle of mine, on my mother's side, when he was but a lad. I had worn it over my heart as a good-luck token during the Japanese war and the Great War. It must have brought me good fortune, for no enemy shells or bullets ever found my skin. Only a couple ones whizzing past me.

I grinned at Dimitri and he hurried back to his own room downstairs as I swiftly got into my uniform again. The Kommissar had had my room switched for another room that was close to the boudoir and bedroom where the grand duchesses were kept. The pretty officer who had typed the sentence was now sleeping in my former room and enduring the lingering smell. Two minutes later, I took quiet steps in the boudoir and proceeded to the girly bedroom where all three captives slept like princesses. Anastasia looked positively childish with this baby fat on her face. So many dangers hoovering over her head! Birds of doom I deeply wished to protect her against. My target slept at her left—Tatiana was stirring like someone about to wake up. I then noticed something dark about her feet; her dog. Ortipo had been sleeping at her feet and was now awake and observing me. She began to growl, telling me to stay away. Brave dog who understood my bad intentions!

I made a quiet strategic retreat. Once in the hall, I told Boris and Stefan to wait until she'd ring the bell and hopefully she'd be by herself. "We'll only act if she's alone. We won't be able to keep two of them silent while we do our business. Too risky. And then, we'll only strike when she'll be on her way back from the loo. We will lull her into a false sense of safety."

"Yes, Komroty, we'll do her in that recess of the hall near the toilet," Boris whispered back.

Stefan didn't answer. I felt quite disappointed for having him there, but Sergei was unwell and Stefan happened to be there. It would have been far better without him, just between me and Boris.

Soon after, the bell rang and we escorted "Her Royal Highness" Tatiana to the loo. I immensely enjoyed the sense of stinging humiliation in her as she walked down the hallway with her face downcast, her dog in her footsteps. I loved the pitter-patter of her bare feet and truly looked forward to the chance of forcing my mouth and tongue on them. Most of all, the brigand in me looked forward to rape her while watching the disdain and hatred in her face morph into submissive terror. I wanted to rape her while watching tears roll down her cheeks as her eyes would become void of pride. There was only one problem; her dog. Ortipo kept growling at us the whole way. Much to my disappointment, Stefan groped her buttocks against my orders. Ortipo growled louder while Tatiana stiffened her pace. Why did he have to be so stupid?

Once Tatiana was in the loo, Ortipo sat near the toilet's door and growled at us while waiting for her master to be done with nature's call.

"We need to get rid of that dog," Stefan said.

"I can wring her neck easy," Boris offered. He was indeed as strong as a gorilla.

"No," I whispered back. "I can't harm an animal just to take a woman. I hate hurting animals. No, the deal is off."

"What?!" Stefan replied, a bit too loud. "This is the perfect opportunity! There is always two of them usually, if not all three."

"No," I whispered! "The deal is off and she's alerted now that you spoke too loud! And you and your foolish groping! No, we'll have to wait until the boat trip. And Stefan, even though you're a hopeless fool and it's a mystery you made it to Corporal, you will be first to go inside Tatiana tomorrow night since I finally chose Olga. Don't make me change my mind!"

We escorted Tatiana back to her bed next to Anastasia's while Olga pretended to sleep. I was very disappointed about the lost opportunity, but it was nonetheless fun to see how livid Tatiana was. She had no doubt overheard Stefan and must know how close she had been to getting raped by such a rat-faced nobody, after enduring the same from Boris, who was nothing but a brute to her, and from me first, a man she hated and despised as an officer she felt had no business being an officer. Maybe she was right.

Once back in my own room, I felt I wasn't alone in the dark and promptly lit up an oil lamp.

A young woman in a dark khaki uniform with long blonde hair stood by my bed and smiled. A lone red square on her collar. The pretty female officer! She stood perhaps a couple inches above five feet, and looked at me with an air of amusement as she swiftly removed her uniform, long skirt and all, until she stood before me in the short gown she wore under it. She was of course barefoot now after I observed her bending over and removing her long leather boots as swiftly as she had typed the sentence last morning. It was the quality regulation boots issued to all officers in the Red Army, but delightfully smaller in her case. The way she kept them well-shined spoke of a girl with a healthy sense of pride and dignity.

"I... You know, the room's still smelly and..." she said, finishing her sentence with a lovely gesture toward the bed. I had no idea she liked me this much. She looked so young! Nineteen, twenty at the most. I nodded, enthralled by her voice. And her lovely little feet.

"I understand. It's all right, Miss, you may have the bed and I'll sleep on the floor. Just give me the sheets."

"Oh, but it's a cold night, Sir! If you take the sheets and I keep the wool blanket, we'll both freeze! No, the only way I see for us to sleep comfortably is you join me and we both sleep under the same sheets and blanket," she said with a wide smile and some play in her eyes, which looked greener than brown at the lamplight. "Oh, by the way... I'm Sonja."

"Ivan Sidorov, Captain Ivan Sidorov, but since we're going to sleep together, you may call me Ivan," I replied while removing my uniform jacket after undoing my gun belt. Not long after, I was wearing only my short brays which I feared weren't clean enough to be in bed with a girl, so I began unlacing them and then I went to turn off the light before removing them.

"Please, keep the light on," Sonja said, her eyes on me.

She smiled when I stood in front of her in the nude. Her eyes on me and my sex, she knelt on the bed and promptly removed her gown, blowing my mind with the golden of her long hair and the bright charms of her hips, the slimness of her maiden's waist and the near-perfection of her breasts that offered the loveliest shapes, gently pushed out of her torso with nipples that were so pale I didn't see them at first. The hair between her legs was a virgin-like place that perfectly matched the hair that spent the day graced by her side cap. Her petite figure had not changed much in the last few years.

"You're very pretty, Sonja," I said, smiling as I joined her on the bed and we kissed. As we kissed more ravenously, I gently stroked her hair, with the same affection I would have for my wife. Sonja was a simple, endearing girl who would make a good wife. She was beaming as I kissed her eyes, then her nose; she had a lovely little nose. "Your hair smells like heaven! You smell so lovely, sweet Sonja!"

She began laughing under my repeated kisses.

"I washed them to-night. So they're fresh again. Thank you, Ivan... Oh, you're a very tender man! I wish I had met one like you, before... You're wife is a lucky girl..."

She had obviously seen my wedding ring, but it didn't make her less eager. She became very aroused and began covering my torso with kisses and heated affection. I could tell she had done this many times before, but something in her felt genuine, and led me to think she was giving me more than she usually did for the likes of Rodionov. This made me apprehensive about having full-blown intercourse with such a promiscuous woman. But her touch felt good.

"Aren't you a bit tired?" I asked.

"No, not really, I... I feel lonely. Very. I... Will you believe me? I've never spend the whole night with a man before."

Her answer gave me something to ponder about. She wanted affection more than anything else. She wanted a man who would treat her like something more than a toy. I nudged her into lying down on the bed and began to cover her with kisses and caresses from head to toe. I felt like a father becoming immorally intimate with his daughter since she looked so nubile and I was twice her age. Her high-riding breasts gave me treasures of merriment as I tasted her little nipples and slobbered all that pale soft skin around them, not without a sense of shame and guilt, enjoying the yielding softness of her flesh. She reacted very strongly, showing me she loved having her breasts sucked and gently fondled. She responded with long lingering moans when I licked the underside of her tits and made a heated trail of kisses down to her navel. She proved less responsive when I kissed and licked her golden plate of pubic hair. She was more into tits-sucking than cunt-kissing.

Gaining this knowledge, I treated myself to a sensual tour of her legs, which proved just as soft to the touch as her breasts, before learning how lovely her feet felt in my hand and how lovely they tasted; such treasures hiding inside her officer's boots all day long. I enjoy a girl's feet like a connoisseur who loves good half-firm cheese with subtle mushroom accents. She grew impatient as I sucked her toes while caressing the priceless lines of her ankles. She rolled herself around and moved herself with youthful energy until she was on all fours, smiling at me while flaunting her ass. Her slit waiting for me right there. The brightness in her eyes was an invitation. After taking a tour of her daughter's body, I had quite a raging erection. I knelt behind her and ran my hands all over her curves, the butt of a young nymph, astonished at how even such young women seemed to come at me effortlessly since the start of the Revolution. Seducing officers came with privileges; she was probably going to ask me for some money in the morning, or ask me a favour.

I found her wet as I punched myself inside her, and as I took her waist and began to pound her in a steady pace, she went into a regular pattern of low whimpering, clearly enjoying the coitus. She even moved herself against me to increase her pleasure. As I copulated, I ran in my head the same fantasy as when she sat at her typewriter during the court martial—A whole pack of White troops had stormed the drawing room and shot all men present, and I was their leader, a Czarist officer. Impossible! We swiftly grabbed Sonja and ripped her Soviet uniform off her, stripping her naked while calling her a Bolshevik bitch only good for our semen, baring her long hair as her garrison cap fell while she screamed and begged us to please stop, offering us to take each man inside her mouth if we spared her virginity.

My pleasure inside her grew to a whole new level as I kept fucking her from behind on the creaking bed, her low whimpers filling the air, while I kept thinking how I was raping her on that very table next to her typewriter, amid scattered sheets, with her legs propped up and her feet casting a spell on all us Whites! The raping of enemy women right after victory was an extreme rush impossible to convey through mere words. Many times I had fucked my wife Sumeyye, deep and hard and good and much to her content while thinking of the lovely Italian nurse I had raped in the trenches two years prior. I never felt more intensely alive than when I raped. This will be my undoing.

We called her "Soviet bitch" and "whimpering slut" as we all took our turns inside her, loving how her young breasts jiggled as she got gang-raped by Czarists who celebrated their victory and the capture of Tobolsk by spewing their loads inside the pretty officer.

"AAAAAAAAARRHHGG NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN..."

I kept pounding her as much as I could throughout my flourish. It was a massive one! Sonja was very good to fuck with a butt that pulled a lot of sperm. I tenderly caressed the contours of her taut, juicy buttocks while she now rested on her elbows, her curves protruding between my hands as she used her own hand and feverishly finished the job on herself, intensifying her whimpers and then going into a full-blown series of plaintive-sounding moans which she tried to keep as low as she could. I felt happy to give her so much joy. I loved her subtle shivers as she went deep in her girl's blind heaven. Her scent became quite intense.

"What were you thinking about, Sonja? I mean during..." I asked while we lay next to each other, still both covered in sweat as we cooled off.

"Ha! Ha! Ha! That's a secret no Soviet must know!"

"But I'm here as a man," I pleaded while putting a hand on her now-quiet breasts.

"Ooh, maybe you're right... Promise you won't tell anyone!"

After I kissed her while gently kneading one of her tits, she confessed...

"I'm on the Trans-Siberian bound for Peking. The train gets ambushed by a large band of bandits! Mongols. Once they make short work of the handful of soldiers on the train, they take hostages, including all the young white women they find on board. After a day-long march in the steppe, they halt to camp for the night and that's when they undress us and gang-rape each and everyone of us white women. Mongols never get girls with a peaches-and-cream face. When you were pounding me, Ivan, to me you were the leader of this band of Mongols, whose men all enjoyed me in this very same position after him. Oh, Ivan... Your wife is a very lucky girl. Now you're turn! What were you thinking about when you filled me up? Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!"

In an act of pure bravado, I told her what I had never told any other girl before, not even my wife. I told Sonja about her legs propped up and her lovely young person getting gang-raped by enemy soldiers on the table in the drawing room, next to her typewriter, with the ticking grandfather clock and the gothic armors as the witnesses of the erotic tragedy where her bare feet were kept hoovering near every soldier's grinning face as a whole platoon of Czarist troops used her while her breasts were kept in a constant tumult and her pussy kept full and hot with seed. She laughed, but not without fear in her eyes. My fantasy matched her worst fear. No enemy was near, but any female soldier had that fear ingrained in her—The fear of getting captured by the enemy. A girl who truly understood life feared her own camp even more, as friendly soldiers are nearly always the most immediate risk.

"I'm sorry, Sonja, I didn't mean to scare you. You asked, so I told you truthfully. Would you like me to disguise myself and pose as a Mongol next time?"

"No, but if you want, you may have me again with my legs propped up. You seem to like my feet, even though I wonder what's so special about them. I can put my uniform back on and you could, you know... I'll take care of that thing between your legs. You'll see, I'm quite good with my mouth and it would be the first time I really enjoy taking a man inside my mouth. And go rough; maybe it will dispell my fears. Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!"

We did that. We hastily put back our uniforms, me under my peak-cap and she wearing her garrison hat over her loose hair. Once inside her uniform again, she went down on her knees and swiftly took my manhood. Oh Good Heavens! She sucks cock like a dream! I loved this and was right before my edge when she stopped and lay herself down on the bed, looking at me and silently spurring me on to strip her out of her uniform and ravish her hard, long and good.

I climbed on bed and covered her with my much larger frame, calling her a cheap Red whore as I opened her uniform jacket and tore her khaki shirt! I let out a loud grunt when I uncovered her peachy breasts so savagely! Then I bunched up her long skirt against her waist after urgently removing her long boots. Doing her like this while kissing her feet would give me a massive load of enjoyment. Propping her legs up, I rammed myself inside her with a solid erection! I love how tight she felt around me and began to roughly take her, enthralled by my role-playing as a Czarist officer in the act of raping her while her jiggling breasts offered fantastic shadows near the small lamp on my bedside. The bed creaked with definite force as I took her while kneeling and holding her waist and keeping her butt off the mattress while she sounded like moaning out of pain, but she looked at me with the eyes of a girl having a good time. Her tits were incredibly erotic against the dark khaki of her open jacket. She was the Red Army as it should be.

Sonja began to speak amid the heated session, her head bobbing amid her heaven of golden hair. My arms were growing tired, so I had to lower her back down on the tumult-creaking bed, and I kept her under my relentless barrage while keeping her legs folded with her feet up, going even harder inside her while she spoke moaning words about her Mongol fantasy...

"Yes! Yes, yes... The Mongols! They rip off all my clothes! They scream as they give me their sperm! Loud and fierce! They're raping me, a white girl... Yes! Yes! Yes!"

She helped me in lifting her buttocks off the bed again and kept her feet where I could see them close. Only Sumeyye had done this for me before. Her feet were a dream to sniff, smell and kiss. They fed my erection as I kept fuck-raping her in a rut of pleasure bordering on pain, my fatigue allowing for a long session of sex that kept her whimpering as she kept saying how the Mongols submitted her to their law of the steppe. I had once more the feeling of being a father raping his own daughter, or an uncle fucking his niece after the sudden confession of his feelings for her. Words couldn't do justice to what I felt as I remembered Sonja as that professional-looking officer typing the sentence versus the whimpering girl being fucked with her legs up where her gorgeous feet guaranteed a massive load for me, this while her blonde head kept bobbing on my bed while I pictured her being gang-raped for hours on end by a mob of soldiers, on her desk next to her typewriter, amid scattered papers as Czarist grunts echoed against the high walls and the gothic armours.

I couldn't help but yell my loud rush of bliss as I shot raging bolts of sperm inside her while giving her feet a barrage of slobbering kisses during this wonderful explosion. And she lay there, panting, in sweat and beautifully half-naked, nearly steaming in the cool room. "Did you enjoy this, lover?" her eyes seemed to say.

Once we were both nude together under the blankets, Sonja cuddled herself against me.

"I feel so lonely! At last, I'm with a man for the night! The men here only want one thing from me. None of them will spend the night with me. You're different, Ivan. I wish I had met a man like you before I joined the Army. Now I can't marry before the term of my four years."

"You'll find someone who cares, Sonja. You're a very good girl and will make a wonderful wife. Don't despair, you're lovely, I can attest to this. Now let's get some sleep. Do you know what I do each time I go to sleep?"

She shook her head before I shut the lamp.

I went on. "I wrap myself in my blankets and close my eyes. I imagine I'm in a castle. It can be anywhere you want. England. Denmark with fog hugging the castle, and if you listen closely, perhaps you'll hear ghosts, but you're safe and warm under the blankets. I sometimes imagine I lie there, dead for centuries past. It feels peaceful and simple."

"Ghosts, castles. So very gothic! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!"

"Try it. Close your eyes. You can go wherever you like. You're free. This is a freedom nobody can ever take from you. Just close your eyes. Feel the sense of peace. You can be in a magical kingdom, with winter elves attending to Snegorushka the Snow Maiden in her summer quarters under northern lights, where the sea never stops roaring against grandiose fjords, where reindeer roam endless forests of evergreen trees. The Snow Maiden lives there."

My young companion lay silent, her hand lingering on my chest, the scent of her hair casting a spell that lulled me into a dream where a fair and genteel Countess morphed into a gigantic dragon, white with black teeth and fangs, that devoured a whole platoon of fifty Lithuanian nutcracker soldiers trying to flee; in vain. Each and every one of them ended as a bloody mess where their bones sounded like branches making crackling sounds in the deepest cold of the wintry night.

The white dragon became a two-headed eagle of pure gold, with three diamond crowns, regal with the cross on top, the crown on top much larger. The eagle's right talon held a royal sceptre, its other talon a royal globe with a Christian cross on it. The two-headed eagle guardian of the Faith. The Eagle of the Romanov! Its core covered by a blood-red shield showing a white knight wearing a blue cape blown by wind, and whose spear was down inside an evil dragon caught under the hooves of his white horse.

"Ivan. You belong with us," the white knight said while the Eagle's twin heads kept devouring Bolshevik soldiers whose blood intensified the shield's red. "Ivan. You belong with us."

[Lucius]

Fascinating, both the Olga and Tatiana bits -- going from the pinnacle of society, from honorary colonelcies and ships named after them, all the way to this -- and the hot Sidorov/Sonja, whose fantasies seem slightly familiar.

[0716]

Another well written fictional history story. These stories are always exciting, plausible and stimulating. Good job History Buff.

[HistBuff]

Another well written fictional history story. These stories are always exciting, plausible and stimulating. Good job History Buff.

Thanks, 0716. To give due credits, I had some help from Lucius in areas where I had forgotten to do some research. There is a real possibility that the Romanov sisters were sexually abused by their guards during this trip by boat and railway. Having some basis in real facts really helps in making the story believable. So yes, thanks!